by Warhammer
Felix felt a surge of despair. How had it come to this? A few minutes ago they had been seated around a cheery fire in a comfortable cave, and now they were, well, the gods alone knew where, fighting some hideous daemonic thing.
Unless he did something desperate he could see no chance of surviving. Snarling, he drew back his sword and cast it like a spear directly into the one huge eye of the beast. It flew straight and true and embedded itself in the foul jelly of the great unwinking orb. The sword buried itself deep and Felix hoped it had lodged in the creature’s brain.
A second later he regretted his actions. The monster let out an evil high-pitched shriek and began to lash the air blindly with its tentacles. Felix saw Gotrek sent tumbling head over heels to land on the floor by a convulsion of the thing’s tentacles. Felix threw himself flat to keep himself from being swatted like a bug.
The huge monster began to retreat away from them, still lashing the air. A few seconds later a foul cloud of black inky gas billowed from orifices near its beak. Felix had just enough time to hold his breath before the cloud overwhelmed them, cutting off sight.
Felix noticed that his skin was stinging and tears billowed from his eyes. A foul stench filled his nostrils worse even than that of the giant Chaos warrior. That the gas was as poisonous as that from some vile skaven weapon, he did not doubt. Desperately he launched himself backwards, hoping to get out of it before his lungs gave out and the fumes overcame him.
Even as he did so, he saw the blurred outline of something huge and snake-like emerge from the mist. He had only a second to recognise it as one of the daemon’s tentacles before it made contact with his skull. The force of the impact of the great rope of muscle smashed him flat. Involuntarily he opened his mouth, and took a lungful of the foul polluted air.
Damn, he thought, as his chest felt like it was catching fire, and a wave of blackness sent him tumbling down into the darkness.
CHAPTER SIX
Teclis thought he had found the key to opening the ways now. He paused for a moment to check that all his defensive wards were in place, that all the manifold protective charms and amulets he wore were active. He murmured the spell of opening, then drew power to himself and sent tendrils of it out to touch the spells of the ancients. Ever so gently, like a master thief inserting a pick into a lock, he brought his magic into contact with theirs. For a moment, nothing happened. He stifled a curse, then faintly at first, and with ever-increasing force, he felt a tremor within the mystical structure of the spells. Light danced from stone to stone illuminating the archway. They swirled in a manner reminiscent of the auroras he had once seen in the uttermost north.
The way was open. He was free to enter the Paths of the Old Ones. Far off, he felt the faintest of tremors, as magical energy surged within the system. He could see nothing amiss. He had activated no traps – none that he could perceive anyway, although it was certain that those who had built this place would be capable of creating spells of the utmost subtlety. He wondered whether to proceed. This was useless. He could remain here until doomsday wondering about such things. Acting on instinct, he decided to follow it and strode through the archway.
The transition was instantaneous. One moment, he was standing in the vault in Ulthuan, the next he was somewhere else. It resembled nothing so much as a huge corridor carved from stone, every block of which bore runes of that ancient inhuman pattern. Closer examination revealed that the stonework was corroded in places, vilely tainted and mutated, and he knew at once that Chaos was loose within the paths. Overhead, strange gems set in the ceiling gave dim greenish illumination.
He looked back over his shoulder. Behind him, the way was still open. He stepped back through to the vault just to make sure he could. He considered returning to the surface for the griffon but he knew that attempting to compel it to follow him into this vast labyrinth would drive the creature to the brink of madness and perhaps beyond. He released it from the spell and set upon it a compulsion to return to Lothern.
What now, he wondered? Leaving this entrance open was not a good idea. Some innocent might wander in, or more importantly something might emerge into the land of Ulthuan. He shrugged, stepped through the portal once more and uttered the charm that would close the way. As swift as the dropping of a headsman’s axe the gate closed. The vault vanished to be replaced by a view of a long stone corridor. He was committed now.
All around him he felt the surge of magical energies pulsing through the ancient network. They permeated the stonework and the runes. He thought of the few extant descriptions of this place, written by Tasirion and other sorcerers who had dared study it. Most claimed that it was dead; others that it was dormant, with the merest trickle of power. Such was not the case now. The place was alive with it.
Were these the forebears of the rune workings of the dwarfs, he wondered, or did they represent some parallel development? Perhaps they were not connected at all. He had no way of telling. The sorcerer in him was fascinated and he wished he had time to study these things and make sketches to show his fellow mages, but there were more urgent matters to consider, and he needed to push on into this vast magical maze.
He was in a halfway house, he realised, a place somewhere beyond the world he knew and close to the realm of Chaos though not yet part of it. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a great shaft that proceeded downwards to near infinite depths. Somewhere up ahead was another larger and more powerful portal.
Even as that thought came to him, he realised that he was not alone. He could sense other presences: vast, powerful and most likely daemonic. They had not yet sensed him, he realised, but it was only a matter of time. Wrapping himself in his most potent charms of concealment, he pushed on.
The corridor was strange. It seemed to become higher and wider as he strode through it, as if time and space were being distorted. He realised that this might actually be the case, for it was the only thing he could think of that would allow what should have been journeys of several months to be completed in several days. Or perhaps this was merely a trick being played on his mind by his senses? Such things were possible when a lot of magical energy was involved.
There had been hints in Tasirion’s book that somehow these ancient roads ran through the daemonic realms of Chaos itself, although they constrained it in some way to make it manageable. That would be necessary, for the raw stuff of Chaos was a baneful thing, capable of warping the body and spirit of those who encountered it. Some claimed it was the very essence of magic, mutable, potent and destructive. It was not a thought calculated to reassure one whose chosen vocation was sorcery.
Of course, elves were more resistant to the baleful power of Chaos than most other forms of life. It was said that they had been created that way. Even so, resistant did not mean immune. Teclis had often suspected that the power of the Dark Gods had had more effect on the elves than they were prepared to admit. He sometimes suspected that the dark elves had been a product of Chaos’s influence acting on the elvish spirit over a period of millennia. It was one of those things that could never be proven, but to him seemed all too likely.
He noticed as he walked that the walls were becoming higher and thinner. In places they seemed to have worn away, and bizarre patterns of light shone through. It appeared the further he walked this road, the more corrupt it was becoming. He was grateful now that he was wearing his most potent protective amulets. If anything, he only wished that they were more powerful. He sensed he was close now to the portal he sought.
He wondered whether the ancients had walked these paths this way. Certain texts had hinted otherwise. They claimed the Old Ones had ridden in fiery chariots traversing these paths at greater speeds, that they could pass between continents in hours rather than days. That must have been something. He considered other theories that he had read.
Some claimed that the skaven had dug great tunnel systems under the continents. He had seen some of their works in his time and knew the terrifying magnitude of the ratmen
’s delvings but tunnels that covered thousands of leagues seemed unlikely. Was it possible that the skaven had somehow gained entrance to this ancient network and used it for their own foul ends? All too possible, he decided, particularly since his nostrils had started to detect the faint but unmistakeable taint of warpstone in the air. There was nothing those vile creatures would not do to possess that evil substance, and no doubt if it was to be found here they would sniff it out.
Warpstone was not the only thing down here, he decided. The sense of presence he had felt earlier returned, redoubled. He cast a glance over his shoulder. He was not nervous, not yet anyway. He knew his own capabilities and there were few things in this world or the next that daunted him. Even so, he felt some need to be cautious. He reviewed all the deadly spells he knew, and prepared himself to unleash them instantly.
Whatever it was, it was coming closer. In the distance, by the light of the glowing runes, he could see things moving. He spoke a spell of perception and his point of view rocketed towards them. To his astonishment, he saw that they were beastmen, led by a black armoured Chaos warrior. There were at least a hundred of them moving through the Paths of the Old Ones, moving towards the gate that emerged in Ulthuan.
Immediately he realised the full horrific implications of what he was witnessing. One hundred beastmen were no threat to the realm of the elves, but these might simply be the first of many. Whole armies could move along these paths, and invade the kingdom long before any force could be marshalled to meet them. Elvish domination of the seas around Ulthuan would mean nothing under these circumstances, would in fact be merely a liability. All the warriors crewing ships would not be available to meet an invasion force on land. And if these beastmen were to share their secret with the Dark Ones of Naggaroth…
He told himself he was leaping to conclusions. He had no idea whether these Chaos worshippers were the vanguard of an advancing army or merely hapless fools who had somehow stumbled into this strange realm. Even if they did hold the key to entering the Paths of the Old Ones at will, perhaps no gates emerged in the land of the Witch King.
Teclis was not reassured. Tasirion’s book had hinted at a vast network of gateways, and surely the Old Ones had been capable of building a system of such tunnels that would span the entire world.
The intensity of the threat posed to his homeland had doubled. Not only were these ancient ways threatening the stability of the continent by their very existence, they were an invasion route for the deadliest enemies of all sane people, the followers of Chaos. More than ever, he realised that he needed to track this threat to its source, and deal with it.
Briefly he considered turning back to warn his people of what was coming, but he realised that there was no time. Any moment wasted might prove critical if the gates were not returned to dormancy. A heartbeat later any decision was taken from his hands. The Chaos warrior looked up, as if sensing something, and gestured for his beastmen to move forward.
Too late, Teclis realised that this was no mere Chaos warrior but one gifted with sorcerous powers by the Changer of Ways. His spell had been sensed and now ruthless opponents sought him. The elf wizard considered standing and fighting, but realised that he could not afford to do so needlessly. He needed to conserve his power for greater challenges, not fritter it away in random conflicts with chance-met encounters in this vast extra-dimensional warren.
He wove a spell of levitation, feeling resistance to his spell as he did so. The corrupting influence of Chaos was interfering with his pure elven sorcery here. Even as he cast it he could see the beastmen come closer. He was not afraid… yet. He had overcome greater odds in the past. The spell took effect and he strode upward. The ceiling here was perhaps ten times the height of a man above him, and each step took him closer to it. If the beastmen chose to lob missiles at him there might be some problems, but he knew spells that would ward him against that. He was not too worried about any spells the Chaos warrior might possess. He had complete confidence in his own ability to deal with such things. He had long ago learned that there were few magicians in this world that he need fear.
Having achieved a position of safety he considered his offensive options. There were many spells capable of dealing with even such a huge crowd of beastmen. He could spray them with molten plasma or blast them with fireballs. He could send a rain of magical missiles showering down on them. He could surround them with mists and illusions that would set them at each other’s throats. If worst came to worst he could simply reduce them to their component atoms, although that would require more power than he cared to expend.
So engrossed did he become in these calculations that it took him a few moments to realise that the beastmen were not charging towards him, but fleeing away from something. Wonderful, he thought. That puts an entirely different complexion on things. As the sour moment passed, he smiled. There is a lesson here, he thought. The entire world does not rotate around you.
He strode higher and cloaked himself in refractory spells, bending light about him to conceal himself. Within ten heartbeats he was glad he had. The thing that pursued the beastmen was horrific, a titanic creature that looked like a cross between a slug and a dragon. Its huge armoured form slithered softly along the roadway leaving a trail of bubbling corrosive slime behind it. The thing was as large as a ship, and its long serpentine neck raised its huge head nearly as high as Teclis’s present position.
There was something about it, an aura of menace and power that made even the elf wizard’s stout spirit quail. He did not blame the beastmen and their leader for fleeing before it. Even as he watched, the creature opened its mouth. Teclis had seen the great dragons of Ulthuan, and he thought he knew what was coming. Once again he was surprised. Instead of a gout of flame, a foul festering mass of mucus vomited forth to splatter the beastmen. Where it touched them it hardened swiftly, immobilising them, holding them in place. It seemed to have some of the properties of a spider’s web, and a butterfly’s cocoon, and one thing more. When it touched the beastmen, they screamed like souls in torment.
The alchemist in Teclis was fascinated. Poison or corrosive, he wondered? Whatever it was, it seemed to cause a great deal of agony. Teclis felt no sympathy for the beastmen. They were vile creatures living only for killing, torture and rape. Whatever they got now, they doubtless deserved.
Even as he watched, the great head swooped down, and the monster began to feed. Tearing his gaze away, Teclis proceeded along the Paths of the Old Ones. He needed to follow this path to the source of the disturbance. Up ahead, the corridor ended in a ledge. It was through this that both beastmen and monster must have come. There was nothing else there save another glowing arch; beyond it, he sensed, the real danger began.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Well, manling, you are alive,’ said Gotrek. He sounded neither pleased nor displeased. The expression on his face could have been carved from stone.
Felix pulled himself to his feet. He felt a little dizzy and the inside of his lungs felt rough. He coughed and noticed that his phlegm was stained black when he spat. That was probably not a good sign, he thought.
‘What happened?’
‘You blinded the beast, and it belched that noxious cloud and then retreated.’ Felix’s hand felt for his empty scabbard. The only weapon he had now was his knife. Realising what he was thinking, Gotrek jabbed his thumb towards the floor. Felix saw that his blade lay there glittering.
‘Must have fallen out when the thing shook its head,’ Felix said, moving over to pick it up. Traces of a jelly-like substance marred the blade. He wiped them off with a strip cut from his cloak and then returned the blade to his scabbard. He gave his attention to his surroundings once more.
‘Where are we?’ he asked. The Slayer shook his head.
‘I have no idea, manling. These tunnels are not dwarf work and they stink of sorcery.’
‘Tunnels?’ said Felix. He was thinking aloud. Of course, they were tunnels, they just did not feel like any tunnels
he had ever been in before. It was more like being caught within some vast alien structure, a labyrinth or a maze. And mazes in legends were always full of monsters.
‘Aye, tunnels, manling, although unlike any ever delved by dwarf. Still they have the feeling of runework to them. There is sorcery being channelled here, and no mistake.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Felix ironically. ‘I would never have suspected that from the way we passed through that arch and disappeared.’
Gotrek gave him a flat unreadable glance. Felix felt that perhaps he was amused. There was something about sarcasm that appealed to the dwarfish sense of humour, and Felix occasionally suspected that the Slayer possessed one. ‘More to the point, how do we get back?’
‘I don’t think we can, manling. I think the way behind us is closed.’
Felix had an awful feeling he knew what Gotrek was going to say next, and sure enough, he was not disappointed. ‘The only thing we can do is press on and hope to find a way out, or our doom.’
Wearily, Felix trudged after the dwarf, coughing unpleasant black stuff up with every second step.
‘What do you think those monsters eat when they can’t get beastmen?’ Felix asked. The question was much on his mind. He was starting to feel very hungry. It had been a long time since he had eaten, and his rations were all in the packs they had left back in the cave. Come to think of it, so was his water flask. As soon as the thought hit him, his mouth felt dry.
‘Curious humans,’ grunted Gotrek. Felix wondered if he was making a joke.