by Warhammer
As soon as he made contact, he wished he had not. The man was in great fear, and the shadow of another presence had fallen on his mind. Teclis suspected it was the shadow of a daemon.
‘We must go now. Your friend is in grave danger,’ said Teclis.
‘Lead on,’ said the dwarf as Teclis stepped through the glowing arch and into the nightmare reality of the Twisted Paths.
CHAPTER NINE
The other world was different this time, Teclis realised. He was not seeing the same things at all. Maybe it was because he had increased the diameter of the weave of his protective spells, but he suspected it was the presence of that axe. The more time he spent in its presence, the more he realised how powerful it was. More than that, now that Gotrek Gurnisson was in the ambit of his spells, he could sense the strong magical links between the dwarf and the weapon.
He had heard of such phenomena before, but this was the first time he had seen it acted out so powerfully. Over time psychic links could be formed between any magical device and the person who wielded it. Such was an inevitable by-product of magical forces but this was something more. Power flowed down those links into the dwarf, power subtle enough to change even a creature so resistant to magic as a dwarf, and powerful enough to hold at bay the currents of Chaos here. He would have given a lot to know the history and provenance of that weapon, he thought. He doubted that the dwarf was going to share it with him though.
If the Slayer was daunted by the bizarre nature of their surroundings he gave no sign. Teclis wondered if they were seeing the same things. At the moment, they floated within a bubble of clear air defined by the boundaries of his spell. Outside, the magical currents of the Paths of the Old Ones flowed. Teclis sensed the inhabitants out there. Some were neutral spirits, elementals and other creatures who could feed on the direct flow of magic. Most were actively inimical, creatures of Chaos who had entered the pathways and been trapped there. Or perhaps they simply chose to live there. There were resonances of older things, spirits that had been hostile to Chaos, who had perhaps been set there as guardians by the Old Ones themselves, but who had been swamped and submerged and perhaps corrupted long ago.
Once again, he felt the fascination of the scholar. There was so much to learn and so little time to learn it in, even with the lifespan of an elf prince. There was material for a hundred studies contained within this place, if only he survived to write it. He fought to bring his thoughts back to the task at hand. First he needed to find the human, and then he needed to return to his quest. Had he not felt such a strong intuition about the dwarf and his axe he doubted that he would have even offered to help. Yet some instinct had told him that this was the right thing to do. You did not just encounter the wielder of such a weapon by chance. Their destinies had touched and intertwined at this point, of this he was sure. One thing had not changed, though; the great tidal swirl of energy still moved to and fro through the Twisted Paths, pushing the bubbles of reality hither and yon.
He reached out with the divination spell again, and sensed the human’s pain and fear. If they did not reach him soon, it would be too late to do anything. He urged the sphere onwards through the aether, hoping that by sheer force of will, he could make it get there in time.
Felix watched as another of the daemons came closer. He threw himself forward against the chains, knowing already that it was useless. They were strong enough to resist even Gotrek’s massive strength. His sword lay just out of reach, positioned there to add to his torment and his hopelessness.
The daemon leaned closer. He could see that its eyes were not like a human’s. At first they appeared like pits of pure flame, but if you looked into them, you could see that a malign intelligence dwelt there. Instead of pupils, small flames danced in the ember pits that filled its sockets – sentient flames, flames of pure evil.
The daemon laughed, and the sound was chilling even in the heat. It was the laugh of a creature to whom the most unspeakable cruelty was the most natural of things, that found pleasure in the pain and fear of others, that somehow fed on them as an epicure might feast on pickled lark’s tongues. Its mouth opened wider and he could see yellow teeth and a long snaky bifurcated tongue. It leaned forward, and he could feel the heat radiating from it. The thing emanated it like a furnace. The tongue snaked forward and licked his face.
This is not real, Felix thought. This is merely a horrible dream. But he knew it was not. The daemon knew it too.
‘You are mine,’ it said. ‘By Tzeentch, you should not have come here.’
‘It was not my idea,’ he said. The creature backhanded him with its open palm. He could see that it had long talon-like nails.
‘I do not like your human humour,’ it said. ‘I like your fear, and your pain.’
‘Not many openings for a jester around here, then,’ said Felix because he could think of nothing better. It was a weak joke, but it annoyed the daemon, and that was about all he could manage at the moment. The thing moved eye-blurringly swiftly again. His head smacked against the warm rocks. Small stars danced before his eyes. Pain blurred his vision. Felix lashed out with his foot, but the heavy chains slowed him, and the thing danced aside easily.
‘I like it when my food struggles,’ it said, in the sort of voice a cat might have used to a mouse, if it were capable of speech.
‘I’ll see what I can do to oblige,’ said Felix, throwing himself forward against the chains once more, hoping to catch it with one of the links. It danced away and returned slashing with its claws.
Teclis saw the glowing oval ahead, and the shapes that surged around it. He knew then that this was not going to be easy. The man had been sucked into one of the reality bubbles floating through the paths. Perhaps even one constructed by his own thoughts and fears. He was trapped within it, and there were daemons all around it. A few had entered already to feed. Teclis had no idea what was awaiting them within it, but he knew that in order to rescue the human, they were going to have to go in.
‘There are daemons ahead,’ he said to the dwarf.
‘Bring them on,’ said Gotrek Gurnisson. ‘My axe has a thirst.’
Felix bit back a scream as the daemon’s needle-like talons pierced his bicep. Blood stained his shirt. Blood filled his mouth. It was all his, too, despite his best efforts to hit the daemon.
‘Giving up so soon,’ it said, malicious humour filling its voice. ‘I have barely started and my kindred have yet to have their turn. It’s been an age since we had such sport, or so it feels to us. It’s not often you humans are foolish enough to enter the Paths of the Old Ones unprotected.’
‘Go to hell,’ said Felix.
‘We’re already there, or hadn’t you guessed?’
As soon as they contacted the bubble reality, Teclis knew it was going to be bad. Humans always had vivid imaginations and quaint superstitions about hell, and he guessed that he was now inside one of them. Still, he thought, it could be worse, we could be caught in a dark elf’s dreams.
‘I can smell daemons,’ said the dwarf. ‘Where are we?’
‘You would know what a daemon smells like, would you?’ sneered Teclis before he could stop himself. Clever, he thought, very diplomatic.
‘Actually, elf, I would. And I can smell them now. Along with brimstone and sulphur.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Teclis. ‘We’re in a bubble reality created from the stuff of Chaos. I am guessing it is one of the human hells.’
‘A bubble what?’ said the dwarf, stomping forward across the reddish stone between the fire pits. ‘Never mind. I think we have found what we came for.’
A smiling daemonic figure looked up, and said, ‘Oh good, more food.’
Teclis smiled back at it. The daemon’s face froze and he looked closer at what he was seeing, and then the smile vanished from his face completely. Swiftly Teclis wove a low-level spell of interference which would prevent any of the creature’s kindred from coming to its aid, at least for a time. He cast spells of inhibi
tion over the area to restrict the creature’s powers. He did not want to try anything more ambitious because he wanted to conserve his power against more pressing need. He did not want to have to draw on the tainted magical energies within the Paths of the Old Ones unless he was in the direst straits.
The daemon realised what he was doing and turned from the human. He threw himself at Teclis, his form changing in mid-air even as he did so. He became a creature much larger, far more ugly with scaly reptilian skin and huge jaws full of needle-like teeth. Teclis had his sword out instantly but before he could do anything the massive axe flashed forward. The daemon’s wings opened with a snap, hurling it backward out of the way at the last instant. Still, despite its eye-blurring speed, the dwarf had managed to connect. Where the axe had hit, the daemon’s flesh was scorched as if by flame. Its eyes widened with malice and hate. Anger and fear flickered over its expression. It opened its mouth and let out a long wailing howl, like a wolf summoning its pack to fight. From far off in the distance came the sound of response, and Teclis felt daemons press forward against the wards he had set. The spells were not intended to stop them, only slow them and cause them pain. He was gratified to realise that they were performing their work well, even here in this strange realm.
The daemon was less pleased. ‘Soon, we shall feast upon your souls,’ it said, but it sounded less than confident.
‘I grow tired of endless bombast,’ said the dwarf. ‘Now you die.’
Teclis noted that their surroundings had changed. The crumbling cavernous walls now resembled well-dressed stone. There was even a hint of delicate elvish sculpting. He guessed that his presence and that of the dwarf was altering this bubble of reality subtly. It was only to be expected in a place so malleable.
The daemon looked at the dwarf and then at his axe. He was measuring himself against his opponent and quite obviously found himself wanting. He turned swiftly and lunged for the human, intent on killing him rather than letting him be rescued. Teclis could not allow that. He sent a bolt of energy surging towards the daemon. It was not enough to destroy it, but it was enough to cause it considerable pain. Using the lightning as a whip, he drove the creature away from its prey. It disappeared howling into the stone corridors.
‘It will be back,’ Teclis said. ‘And it will bring friends.’
‘I care not,’ said the dwarf, moving over to the human. The axe flashed. The chains snapped, and the man slumped forward but recovered himself so that he did not fall. A moment later he reached down and picked up his sword. As soon as it was in his fist, he stood taller and straighter, and seemed ready for action.
‘I am grateful for the rescue,’ he said. ‘Have you found an ally or is this another daemon of this foul place?’
‘Worse than that, manling,’ said Gotrek Gurnisson. ‘It’s an elf.’
Teclis ignored the jibe; he had other things to do. The daemons were coming closer, pushing into this bubble reality, in search of their prey. They were in sufficient number that he doubted that even he and the dwarf could stand against them all, at least in this place, and the daemons were trying a new strategy. Rather than trying to painfully push through his wards, they were collapsing the bubble reality, pricking its edges and allowing the magical energies to flow in and sweep away his delicate spell weave like the tide overwhelming a child’s sandcastles on the beach.
‘Elf or daemon, you have my gratitude, sir,’ said the human. They exchanged names and introductions.
‘You are very welcome, but now we must go,’ said Teclis. The dwarf glared at him. Teclis felt that given the Slayer’s avocation it would not be the cleverest of things to inform him that an overwhelming horde of opponents was about to descend upon them. He decided on telling the lesser, but still worrying enough, truth.
‘This bubble reality is about to collapse, and a tide of wild magical energy flow in. I doubt this is the sort of doom you seek, Slayer. It would be a rather pointless death.’
The dwarf nodded. Teclis gathered his magical energies around him once more, cloaking himself and the dwarf and the human. Heartbeats later the bubble did indeed give way. He could feel the tide of magical energy smashing through his delicate weaves. A moment later, the walls glowed and vanished and they were back in the seething sea of magical energy. This was not a good place to attempt to fight the daemons. It was their natural home and their senses were far more attuned to such a place than any mortal being’s, even his. He thought that perhaps he could impose his will on a bubble reality and create a place more suited to himself and his companions, but that would be a futile strategy in the end. He would have to maintain it against the combined efforts of the daemonic horde to tear it down, and en masse they would prove stronger than he, at least in this space and time. What they needed more than anything else at this moment was to get out of here, and there was only one way to do that.
He let the protective sphere of enchantments rush free into the currents. It hurtled forward like an inflated wine bladder thrown into a stream. He wove his most powerful and painful protective enchantments around its edges, and bound them as tight as he could. He applied the force of his will to sending them hurtling ever faster down the energy stream in the direction he wanted to go. For a moment they tumbled onwards faster and faster, and he thought they might out-distance the horde that pursued them, but then like sharks scenting blood the daemons set off in pursuit.
Teclis sensed them drawing closer. The runes on the dwarf’s axe grew brighter. The human’s face seemed strained, which given the circumstances they had just rescued him from was hardly surprising. They might all find themselves in similar circumstances soon, if he did not find a way out of here. Or they might find their flesh rent asunder and their souls the food of daemons.
Felix looked out beyond the confines of the strange shimmering spell-sphere in which they floated and wondered if what he was seeing was real. His experience with the daemon had left him doubting the evidence of his senses. Had Gotrek and this elf really shown up and rescued him, or was this all some sort of subtle torment dreamed up by the hell spawn? At any moment, was he likely to find himself back in that evil-smelling dungeon, in the clutches of that nightmarish creature? His heart beat faster and his palms grew sweatier at the mere thought of it. For a moment, he felt as if his sanity might be overthrown by the hideous prospect. He felt himself teeter on the edge of a vast abyss. What if he really was dead, and this really was some sort of hell?
Slowly, one step at a time, he stepped back from the edge. If this was a hell, it was a peculiar one indeed, and he doubted that even a daemon’s imagination would extend so far as having Gotrek appear in the company of an elf. That was stretching probability entirely too far. To distract himself from his uncertain thoughts, he concentrated on his companions.
The Slayer looked deeply, deeply unhappy. He glared daggers at the elf and then at Felix and muttered to himself in dwarfish. Felix wondered what he had done to deserve such looks, but slowly it dawned on him that the elf was a wizard, and Gotrek must have made some sort of pact with him in order to win Felix’s freedom. He could easily imagine that such a debt of honour was not the sort of obligation the dwarf cared to be under.
But who was this stranger and where had he come from? It seemed unlikely he had just been wandering about through these strange extra-dimensional passages. Felix studied the elf. He had never really had the opportunity to study one at such close range before although he had seen a few in the streets of Altdorf in his youth.
Teclis was taller than a man and much thinner. Indeed, he was quite feeble-looking, more so than any elf Felix could ever recall seeing before. He was extremely thin, and his flesh seemed almost translucent. His hands had long, extremely thin and fine fingers. His face was narrow and whatever physical weakness he might suffer from was not reflected there. It was a face that should have belonged to a fallen god, sculpted by centuries of pain. The almond-shaped eyes were clear and cold and cruel. The thin lips were curved in a malicious sm
ile. Felix could understand why the dwarfs were so prejudiced against elves if they all looked like that. He seemed to be looking out on the world with a constant sneer, judging everything by the high standards of his race and finding it all unworthy.
Be careful, Felix told himself, you do not know this. You may simply be judging him in the light of Gotrek’s attitude. He has done you no harm, indeed he helped rescue you, and at this moment seems to be doing his best to get us all out of this terrible place. As he thought this, Felix recognised another source of his prejudices.
Teclis was a mage and obviously a very powerful one. With a man like Max Schreiber he could accept this. He knew that he possessed a common humanity, a shared set of values with the wizard, but looking at this elf he was not at all sure he could say the same thing. There was something almost as alien about those coldly beautiful features as there was about an orc, or a vampire. Teclis might superficially look like a human, more so in some ways even than Gotrek, but Felix could not help but think that his point of view was even more remote from mankind’s than the Slayer’s.
He tried to recall all his tutors had told him of elves. He knew they were an ancient race, civilised when men had still been barbarians. They were mighty sailors and explorers and wizards without equal. They were said to be cruel and degenerate and given over entirely to pleasure. Elvish slavers often raided the coast of the Old World, and mortal man never saw those they took again. Some scholars claimed that there were two types of elves, some sworn to light, some sworn to darkness, and that it was the latter that enslaved mankind. Others claimed this was simply a convenient fiction that allowed elf traders to disclaim responsibility for their cruel corsair kindred. How was Felix to know what or who to believe? His own experience of such things was extremely limited.