by Warhammer
Felix did not like the look of interest that appeared on the Slayer’s face. ‘If any of your swamp fiends show up, leave them to me,’ he said. ‘They will taste my axe.’
‘Well spoken,’ said Murdo.
Some of the men had taken up bows and spears and stood watchful. They seemed to be more interested in what they could hear than what they could see. Felix supposed it was because the mist limited their vision.
Old Murdo stood on a platform at the front of the ship, guiding them, making the choice whenever they came to a fork in the channel. As they rode along, Felix realised that in addition to everything else, the swamp was a huge labyrinth of murky water and unstable land. He doubted that he would ever be able to find his way back to Crannog Mere even if he wanted to. Perhaps that was part of the plan.
‘What is the matter, Felix Jaeger?’ Teclis asked. ‘You look pensive.’
An open boat where everybody could hear was no place to go voicing his suspicions, Felix knew. Matters were delicate enough between them and the men of Albion. Right now they were dependent on them to get where they wanted to go.
‘I was thinking about how we are going to get home after this,’ he said. The elf laughed.
‘It is good that you look on the bright side of things, Felix Jaeger.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Who says we will be going home afterwards?’
‘It’s always good to have a plan.’
‘Let us cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said the elf and gave his attention back to the waterways. He looked as if he intended to memorise them. Perhaps he could, Felix thought, and cursed the mist and rain.
‘Is it always like this?’ he asked Murdo.
‘It’s no usually so nice,’ said Dugal, one of the Crannogmen, with a cheery grin. Felix laughed until he realised that the fellow was not joking.
At first as they travelled, Felix only noticed the sound of the water lapping against the side of the boat, and the swishing of the poles through the water. Occasionally a man would grumble something and then fall silent as if realising what he had just done. After a time, he began to notice other noises – the calls of birds, the growls of animals, distant furtive splashings as something big entered the water. The air was dank and damp and smelled of rot. There was something about the swamp that reminded him of an old half-ruined house by the river he and his brother had once gone into as a dare when they were children. There was the same air of abandonment and chill gloom, and a sense that things were stirring just out of sight. Looking back on that long ago adventure, Felix was certain that the worst things in the place had been merely the phantoms produced by their own imagination. He was not so sure here.
Albion was a haunted land. You did not have to be a magician like Teclis or Max Schreiber to know this. You could sense it. Old powers stirred here, strong magic was in the very air you breathed. He thought of Teclis’s tale of how the island was integral to the magical fabric of the world, and he could now believe it.
All around he could see the twisted trees rising out of the murky water. They looked trollish and menacing, more like twisted evil giants than plants. Things scuttled along their branches. Once something dropped onto the deck of the boat in front of him, and began to slither across the floor. At first Felix thought it was a snake, but then he realised that it was segmented and insect-like. Culum brought a heavy sandaled foot down on it, and glared at Felix as if he wished the thing were his throat.
Murdo came back to study it. Felix examined the remains with him. It resembled a giant millipede but its jaws were enormous and ant-like. ‘Treescuttle,’ said the old man. ‘Lucky it did not bite you.’
‘Poisonous?’ Felix asked.
‘Aye – saw a man bit once. Before he could be treated his arm had swelled and turned black and bloated with the venom. We had to amputate. Still he died, raving about daemons and fiends. Some of the other shamans and wizards collect the venom, and use it in small quantities to bring on visions. That way lies madness, I think.’
Teclis strode over and looked down on the scuttler’s corpse. His eyes were bright with curiosity. ‘Interesting,’ he said, tipping the thing onto its back with his dagger. ‘I have never seen one this big before.’
Felix wondered how he could be so cold about the thing. Just the sight of the creature made him shudder. Its legs were moving despite the fact that its body was crushed in the middle. Teclis produced a small sack from within his robes and carefully sliced open the head, revealing the venom sacs. He took them out on the knifepoint and placed them in the sack. A gesture and a word and the sack was sealed.
‘You never know, I may have the chance to sample this at some later date.’
‘Decadent beard-clipper,’ came a voice from the back of the ship. Felix felt sure that it belonged to Gotrek.
Felix sat at the back of the ship and listened to the sounds of the twilight. They had taken on a different quality. The bird songs were lower and less musical. Something large and winged sometimes flapped overhead hooting. Glowing bugs emerged from out of the water and swirled around them like lost souls. The shadows lengthened. There was a strange and rather frightening beauty about the whole thing.
‘How much further?’ he asked Murdo. The old man stood rock-still, showing no fatigue although he had been there most of the day.
‘Such impatience, laddie. It will take more than a day’s poling to get us to the Wise One, but our journey is almost done for the day. We will tie up near the Haunted Citadel.’
‘That sounds inviting,’ said Felix sarcastically.
‘There’s nae need to be afeared – the place has been deserted for a dozen lifetimes.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Felix, as a gigantic ominous stone shape rose out of the mists.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The men of Crannog Mere brought the barge coasting to a halt just out of bowshot of the island. They did it by the simple expedient of driving the poles down into the water and tying the ship to them with long hempen ropes. One man apiece stood watch at prow and stern. The others broke out meat and bread and cheese from the knapsacks and began to sip whisky from their flasks, mixing it with what smelled like beer from huge leather skins. Murdo offered Felix some.
‘Best take it, the water here is oft undrinkable and haunted by the foul spirits of plague.’
Felix helped himself. It was small beer, malty and watered. He had heard some claim that the process of brewing purified water. He was quite glad to have it anyway. Teclis stood at the prow examining the ruins. The mist had parted slightly and the moons were wanly visible overhead. Just looking at the stonework, Felix could tell that the structure had not been built by men. There was something about the construction he could not quite put his finger on.
‘The gates are too low and square,’ said Gotrek, as if reading his thoughts. ‘The stonework is carved with runes. You can see them near-buried beneath the moss.’
‘If you can see in this gloom like a dwarf,’ said Felix, although he did not doubt the Slayer was correct.
‘This place was not built by my people or yours,’ said Gotrek. ‘Nor by the elves. I have never seen anything like it.’
‘I have,’ said Teclis. ‘On the coasts of Lustria. One of the abandoned cities of the slann, overgrown by the steaming jungle.’
‘I thought the slann naught but a legend,’ said Felix.
‘You will find that there are truths behind many legends, Felix Jaeger.’
‘I was taught they became extinct long ago. Scourged from the earth by the gods, wiped out by fire and flood and plague for their sins.’
‘I believe they still live,’ said the elf carefully, as if considering his words. ‘I believe that in the heart of Lustria there are still cities where they practise their ancient rituals.’
‘Why would there be a slann fortress here? We are a long way from Lustria.’
‘I do not know. The slann prefer places that are warm. They are a cold-blooded race and c
hill makes them sluggish. This place is very old – perhaps when it was built the climate was different. Or perhaps there are other reasons.’ The elf looked as if he might have some idea of what those reasons were, but did not want to discuss them. ‘I would never have guessed we would have found such a thing here in the heart of Albion.’
‘You did not find it,’ said Murdo. ‘We have known about it for centuries.’
‘I wish to take a closer look at this,’ said the elf.
‘In the morning,’ said Murdo. ‘There will be more light and it will be safer.’
‘I do not need light,’ said Teclis. ‘And I do not fear anything we might find here. And tomorrow we need to start moving again.’
‘You propose going ashore then?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I will accompany you and so will Culum and Dugal. I have sworn to help you, and it would shame me if any harm came tae ye.’
Felix looked at Gotrek knowing what the Slayer was going to say already. ‘Anywhere the elf can go, a dwarf can go too.’
Felix shrugged. There was something about this place he did not like, an eeriness that had nothing to do with it being deserted but rather suggested some strange inhuman presence brooding over the ruins. It’s just your imagination, he told himself, affected by the hour, the mist and the talk of the pre-human slann.
Part of him knew it was more than that.
The men of Crannog Mere poled the barge close to the shore, to where a great tree root ran through a broken wall and disappeared beneath the water like the finger of some giant clutching the island’s edge. Teclis bounded up from the boat and onto it effortlessly, running along the bark until he had vanished through the walls.
Gotrek went next. His axe bit into the wood easily and he pulled himself up its haft. As cat-footed as the elf, he too vanished silently through the gap in the walls. The luminescent insects swirled around them.
‘Some say they are the souls of the dead drowned in the swamp,’ said Dugal. ‘The fireflies, I mean.’
No one seemed inclined to disagree with him. He sprang up, scrambled onto the branch and away. Murdo and Culum followed. Some more of the tribesmen passed them torches. Felix threw himself upwards and was surprised by how wet, slick and slimy the surface was. He felt his fingers begin to slip, and frantically and ungracefully pulled himself up. The surface of the branch seemed slick and slippery as well. How did Teclis and Gotrek make this look so easy, he wondered, as he reached down for the torch offered to him? Arms wide, torch in one hand, sword in the other, he moved cautiously along the branch and into the ruins of a structure built by an Elder Race.
‘Would ye look at that?’ said Dugal, swearing softly.
‘No wonder men avoid this place,’ said Teclis. Felix could see what he meant looking down onto the ruins. There were many smaller buildings within the walls. What might have been streets between them were now canals, or at the very least sluggish channels of brackish water. Huge webs hung between some of the buildings. In some of them dangled bodies the size of large animals or men.
‘I would not want to meet the spider that spun those,’ said Felix.
‘I would,’ said Gotrek, running his finger along the blade of his axe meaningfully.
‘Seen enough?’ Felix asked the elf. He was half hoping that the mage would be discouraged and retreat. He might have guessed he could no more expect common sense from Teclis than he could from Gotrek.
‘There is something about this place,’ said Teclis. ‘I sense power here, like the power at the stone ring. Perhaps we have found another entrance to the Paths of the Old Ones.’
‘Excellent,’ said Felix sardonically. ‘Is that why you wanted to explore this place – you had already sensed something?’
‘In part, yes. But I am genuinely interested in this place.’
‘I’ll bet you are.’
Somewhere in the distance, Felix could have sworn he saw something large moving. He pointed it out to the others. ‘It’s a spider,’ said Teclis. ‘A big one. I am starting to understand something about this swamp. These twisted trees and luminous mutated insects are all of a piece. They are being warped by the power buried within these ruins. Its evil influence must contaminate everything for leagues around.’
‘That would be why it is unhealthy to drink the waters in these parts then,’ said Murdo, as if what the elf said jibed with something he already knew.
‘Certainly. Drink nothing and eat nothing found anywhere near here.’
‘Thanks for mentioning that,’ said Gotrek. ‘I was planning a feast.’
‘You can never tell with dwarfs,’ said Teclis. ‘I have heard you feast on blind fish and fungus found in the darkest depths beneath the mountains.’
‘And your point is?’
‘There’s no telling what a dwarf will eat.’
‘That’s good coming from someone who eats larks’ tongues pickled in sheep vomit.’
‘In aspic,’ said Teclis.
‘Same thing, isn’t it?’
‘Are we going to stand here all night discussing culinary matters or shall we proceed?’ asked Felix. The elf and dwarf glared at him. Felix was starting to suspect that in some sick way the two of them enjoyed baiting each other.
They moved along the wall. Ancient slippery stairs carried them down to the water’s edge. Murdo tested the depth with a spear, and they found out it came only waist high. The glittering bugs swirled around them.
Felix looked at them. ‘You can’t seriously intend to walk through this, can you? Who knows what lurks beneath this muck?’
‘Only one way to find out, manling,’ said Gotrek, splashing down into the water. It came up to about half the height of the dwarf’s chest. He carefully held the axe above the water as he proceeded. Teclis followed, but his feet did not descend below the surface. Instead he seemed to walk smoothly along the top of it. His fine footwear did not even appear to be slightly wet.
The others followed Gotrek, holding the torches high so that they would not be extinguished. Briefly Felix considered offering to wait here until they returned. There was something about this stinking, stagnant water that he did not like. He felt that at any second something might emerge from beneath its surface and seize him. He halted for half a heartbeat and then gritted his teeth as he entered the water. Wetness sloshed around him. It was warmer than he expected. The smell of rottenness increased.
Slowed by the water’s clammy grip he pushed onwards in the wake of the others. Wonderful, he thought. Surrounded by barbarians and giant mutated insects, up to my waist in slime, in a misty haunted swamp in a land hundreds of leagues from home – how could it get worse?
At that moment he noticed an insect had bitten him and the bite was beginning to swell. I suppose the gods had to give me that answer, he thought. He looked at Teclis with something like hate. It was very annoying that the elf could look so calm and clean and in control while all of the rest of them suffered. He felt an irrational urge to splash him with muck or tug his cloak until he too was pulled down into the slime. And he knew at least one person here would support him if he did it too.
Get a grip, he told himself. You are just tired and scared and focusing all your aggression on the nearest easy target. If events run true to form there will soon be other things to worry about. And he knew that was what really scared him.
Ahead of them, the others had come to something. A fallen tree branch had been run between two buildings over the stagnant water. It looked for all the world like a crude bridge. Was there some sort of intelligence at work here, he wondered? That is all we need – smart giant spiders. Although why a spider would need a bridge eluded him.
‘This looks like the work of men,’ he heard Teclis say.
‘I have heard tales of mutants and other degenerates dwelling deep in the swamp. Perhaps they had sought this shunned place as a refuge.’
‘Why did we come here again?’ Felix asked, but no one paid any attention to him. They were too busy cl
imbing up onto the log and striding into the opening in the nearby building. Felix decided to follow.
Inside, the structure was massive, hewn from great cyclopean blocks of stone. The stone was unmortared but fitted into place so cunningly that it seemed immovable, an illusion that the creepers and branches and roots running through the gaps did little to dispel. They seemed almost like organic parts of the place, part of a great design, rather than a random intrusion of nature. Felix told himself he was imagining things.
He noticed Gotrek running his massive stubby fingers over the stonework. A closer look showed him the Slayer was tracing more of those odd runic patterns. Once again they were all right angles, and they reminded him of the tattoos of the men of Crannog Mere. What is the significance of those things, he wondered?
Water dripped from the ceiling above them, forming puddles on the floor. Things with glittering eyes retreated before their torches, and Felix was glad that he only got the slightest glimpse of them. He was not fond of things so big that scuttled. They entered a chamber, and saw bones scattered all over the floor. They had been cracked open for the marrow. The Slayer inspected these too. ‘Human,’ he said. ‘Or my mother was a troll.’
Murdo and Dugal nodded agreement. ‘And they ate them raw,’ said Teclis shuddering slightly. As if that made a great deal of difference, Felix thought. He doubted that the inhabitants of this place found it easy to light fires. A moment later he asked himself: what has become of me? I am speculating on the difficulties of lighting a fire to cook people over. Once there was a time when the mere thought would have had me run screaming from this place. Now noticing my own reaction just leaves me amused and a little scared. He knew then that he had come a long way from home in more ways than one.
‘Looks like there’s nobody home now,’ said Gotrek.
‘Maybe they went shopping,’ said Felix. The elf lifted his hand and a glow surrounded it, brightening until it was almost the intensity of the sun. The whole chamber was thrown into relief. At first Felix flinched, expecting to see some huge monster about to attack them, but then he noticed the elf’s attention had been drawn to a massive stone table set in the middle of the floor. Teclis laid his hand on it, and fire spread, burning the moss and lichen causing it to shrivel and vanish in wisps of strange-smelling smoke. As it did so, Felix noticed that it revealed a pattern on the table top, one that was oddly familiar although for the life of him he could not quite work out why.