Gotrek & Felix- the Third Omnibus - William King & Nathan Long

by Warhammer

  Gotrek grabbed him by the front of his chain shirt. ‘Stop your snivelling, Grimnir curse you!’ he rasped. ‘If something’s wrong, fix it!’

  ‘He’s lost his spine,’ sneered Sketti, turning away. ‘The greenskins stole it from him before he escaped the hold.’

  ‘You didn’t see!’ wailed Matrak. ‘You don’t know! We are doomed!’

  ‘Perhaps there’s another explanation,’ said Narin. ‘It doesn’t have to be cunning grobi. Perhaps the trapped clans have managed to retake some of the hold. Perhaps they have added new defences against the grobi.’

  ‘Or maybe the greenskins just walled up the far side of the door, and that’s what we smell,’ said Leatherbeard.

  ‘Whatever the case,’ said Druric, ‘we’d best go with caution. It would be a grisly joke to be cut to pieces by traps set by those we come to rescue.’

  Gotrek released Matrak. ‘Right. Get on, engineer.’

  Matrak hesitated, staring unhappily into the tunnel. Gotrek glared at him, hefting his axe. The engineer swallowed and at last stepped reluctantly to the arch again, examining every inch of the surrounding floor and wall before finally touching in sequence three square protrusions in the decorative border. Felix heard nothing, but the dwarfs nodded, as if they sensed that the trap had been disarmed. They started forwards.

  Matrak held up a hand. ‘Just to be sure.’ He took off his pack and dropped it heavily on the flagstones just inside the arch. The dwarfs stepped back, but nothing happened.

  Matrak let out a long held breath. ‘Right.’ He took two steps into the corridor and froze, peg leg in the air. He backed away and waved to the others to retreat. ‘There is a new trap.’ He was sweating.

  He squatted and examined the floor, running his fingers lightly along the hair-thin seam between two perfectly cut flags, and then looked around at the walls. Something along the moulding on the right side caught his eye and he shook his head.

  ‘Is it dwarf work?’ asked Narin.

  Matrak chewed his beard. ‘It can’t be anything else, but it’s… No dwarf would admit to work this bad.’ He pointed to a section of the moulding. ‘Look how poorly it’s set.’

  Felix could see no difference between it and the next, but the other dwarfs nodded.

  ‘Maybe they were rushed,’ said Thorgig. ‘Maybe they tried to finish it before the grobi found the passage.’

  ‘Even rushed, a dwarf would take more care,’ Matrak said. ‘Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong…’ He bent and pressed the new piece of moulding, then let out a breath as he sensed something that Felix couldn’t.

  ‘Go on, engineer,’ said Gotrek, more gently. ‘Test it and move on. We’re late as it is.’

  Matrak nodded, and tested the new trap with his pack. Nothing happened. He picked it up and inched forwards again, lamp low to the ground. They proceeded in this slow, painstaking way all along the corridor, Matrak disarming traps he knew, finding new ones he didn’t, and looking paler and shakier with each. The dwarfs watched his every move, tensing as he searched for the next trap, and relaxing as he disarmed it.

  Felix looked around at the walls and ceiling as they progressed, trying to see signs in the stone work of where these traps would spring from, but he could make out nothing. There were no holes or suspicious ornamentation in the shape of axe or hammer. The stone blocks were so well set, and their patterns so regular, that he could not imagine any trap behind them.

  While Matrak grew more and more petrified, the other dwarfs grew more at ease, becoming convinced that their brethren inside the hold still lived, and were putting up a spirited defence of reclaimed halls and chambers.

  ‘They’re keeping the grobi out,’ said Sketti Hammerhand, as they neared the end of the corridor. ‘It’s as plain as the nose on your face. There’ll be dwarfs on the other side of that door, I’ll bet my beard on it. We should stop this pussyfooting and call them to let us in.’

  ‘It will be my father,’ said Thorgig. ‘He wouldn’t sit in his hold doing nothing, waiting for rescue. He would be fighting back, attacking the attackers.’

  Matrak stopped before the last step. The door was only two strides away. ‘The final step is the last of the old traps,’ he said. He reached for a torch sconce in the right-hand wall and pushed on the side of the base with his thumb. It turned, and Matrak breathed a sigh of relief. ‘There,’ he said, turning to the others. ‘Only new ones to find–’

  Felix felt a deep thud under the floor and a click overhead.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The dwarfs froze. There was a rolling sound in the ceiling.

  Matrak looked up, blinking. ‘The cunning villains,’ he breathed, with something akin to admiration. ‘They’ve trapped the disarming switch.’

  ‘Run!’ roared Gotrek.

  The dwarfs turned, but before they had taken two steps, a huge square of the ceiling above the door swung down, its leading edge hitting the floor with a boom. Kagrin screamed, his foot trapped under it, his ankle crushed to paste. A rumbling came from the hole in the ceiling.

  ‘Kagrin!’ cried Thorgig, turning back.

  ‘Fool!’ Gotrek grabbed him by the collar and dragged him on.

  Stone spheres the size of large pumpkins shot down from the hole and bounded down the hallway. The noise was deafening. One landed squarely on Kagrin’s head, squashing it flat, and then sped on with the others, leaving red splotches with each bounce.

  The dwarfs ran as fast as their short legs could carry them. It wasn’t fast enough. Sketti was mowed down by three spheres. They mashed him to a pulp. Another sphere hit his battered body and vaulted up into the air. Gotrek jerked his head aside and the sphere only grazed his temple. He staggered and wove on, bloody. Thorgig recovered his feet and ran past him. A sphere took Matrak’s peg leg out from under him and he landed flat on his back. Another dropped on his belly, bursting it.

  Felix sprinted ahead of the dwarfs, ignoring the agony of his ankle, and threw himself left at the end of the corridor. A stone sphere flew past him, missing him by inches. He looked back and saw another sphere knock Druric sideways into the corridor wall. He fell. Leatherbeard scooped him up with brawny arms and dived out of the corridor to the right. Narin was right behind him. Thorgig dodged a careening sphere and landed face first beside Felix. Gotrek came out last, staggering and weaving inches ahead of two spheres, and crashed on top of Narin, clutching his bleeding head.

  The spheres barrelled out of the corridor like charging bulls and smashed into Birri’s contraptions and workbenches, turning them into scrap and kindling, before finally losing momentum and coming to rest. A tall copper reservoir tank toppled slowly, two of its metal legs bent, and collapsed to the floor with a metallic crash and a billowing eruption of dust.

  Felix and the dwarfs lay where they had fallen, catching their breath and collecting their wits. Felix wasn’t sure if he was hurt or whole, or how many of his companions were dead. His mind was still a whirl of running and dodging, and the nightmare grinding sound of the rolling spheres.

  A groan from the corridor at last brought Thorgig up. ‘Kagrin?’ He stood.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up, lad,’ said Narin, sitting up and rolling his neck. He gingerly tested his left arm.

  Thorgig stepped to the mouth of the corridor. Felix and Narin got to their feet and joined them.

  Gotrek stood as well, but had to hold the wall. ‘Who tilted the floor?’ he mumbled.

  Leatherbeard pushed himself up and stood behind the others, pulling his mask straight so he could see through the eyeholes. Only Druric stayed where he lay, curled into a tight ball, his eyes clamped shut in pain.

  Another moan came from the hall. Felix and the dwarfs stepped forwards. Four yards in, they found old Matrak. He lay, half conscious, in a pool of his own blood, one of the spheres in the place where his stomach had been. He looked up at the dwarfs.

  ‘Knew it wasn’t right,’ he murmured. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

  Thorgig took the old dwar
f’s hand. ‘Grimnir welcome you, Matrak Marnisson.’

  ‘Am I dying, then?’

  He was dead before any could answer him. The dwarfs bowed their heads, and then Thorgig looked further up the hall. Sketti lay ten feet away, his body shattered, his sightless eyes staring accusingly at the ceiling. Beyond him was another broken lump. Thorgig started into the shadows.

  ‘No lad, said Narin. ‘You don’t want to see.’

  ‘I must!’ Thorgig cried.

  But before he could take another step, the door at the end of the corridor swung slowly open, half hidden behind the granite ramp of the ceiling trap that had released the stone spheres. A crowd of hulking silhouettes filled it. One reached in and touched the decorative border that surrounded the door. There came a sound of gears and counterweights from the walls, and the trapdoor that had released the stone spheres tilted back up into the ceiling. There were clicks and thuds from behind the walls all along the corridor.

  ‘These aren’t the survivors,’ said Narin, stepping back.

  ‘But it’s impossible,’ insisted Thorgig. ‘Grobi couldn’t have set these traps!’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Leatherbeard, ‘but they just disarmed them.’

  The orcs pushed into the corridor, looking down at Kagrin’s mashed corpse.

  ‘Forget the traps,’ slurred Gotrek. ‘Get them.’ He stepped ahead of the others, weaving drunkenly and slapping his axe haft into his palm.

  ‘Aye,’ said Leatherbeard, joining him. ‘They’ve much to answer for.’

  The orc leader spotted the dwarfs in the gloom, and barked an order. The orcs stepped over Kagrin and stalked ahead, silent and alert.

  ‘Ah,’ said Felix, back-pedalling. ‘I hate to be the voice of reason again, but we won’t make the front gate. Not with the whole hold roused. We’ll leave Prince Hamnir high and dry.’

  ‘The manling’s right, Slayer,’ said Narin, edging back. ‘We must return to Hamnir and warn him off his attack.’

  Gotrek spat and growled a vile oath, but stepped back. He plucked up the sphere that had crushed old Matrak as if it was made of wood rather than stone, and bowled it unsteadily, but forcefully, at the orcs. It caught the first two in the shins and knocked them back into the others, toppling them like ninepins and causing a jumbled pile-up. ‘Right,’ Gotrek said, turning. ‘Out.’

  As the other dwarfs started after the tottering Slayer, Leatherbeard stopped and squatted by Druric, who was still only semi-conscious.

  ‘Get him on my back,’ he called to Narin. ‘Hurry.’

  Narin turned back and lifted Druric under his arms. The ranger screamed in pain, spraying blood and spit. Narin ignored him. There was no time to be gentle. He draped him across Leatherbeard’s broad back. The Slayer caught Druric’s legs and stood. Then he went after the others. In the corridor, the orcs were picking themselves up and starting forwards again.

  Thorgig pulled the lever and the dwarfs squeezed through the slowly opening door onto the mountainside, turning down the path that led to the Zhufgrim scarp. When they were all out, Thorgig flipped the lever down and ran through as the door began to reverse directions, but it was closing much too slowly.

  They ran on.

  The sun squatted on the horizon, a bleeding red ball gutted by the jagged peaks of the Black Mountains. All its warmth was gone. The thin mountain air was growing colder by the moment. It froze the sweat on the back of Felix’s neck. The hour agreed upon for Hamnir’s attack had arrived, if it was not already past, and there was nothing they could do to tell him that the horn blast would not be coming.

  ‘I will repay the orcs ten-fold for the death of Kagrin Deepmountain,’ said Thorgig, his face set. ‘They have taken a great craftsman and a greater friend.’

  Who had no business being there, thought Felix, as he looked over his shoulder. The door was sliding open again, and the orcs were pouring out of it like a green river. There seemed no end to them, and they were already gaining.

  ‘Pointless to carry me,’ gasped Druric from Leatherbeard’s back. His face was white and slick with sweat. Each of the masked Slayer’s jolting strides brought him fresh agony. ‘Leg is broken. Hip as well. Won’t make it down the mountain.’

  ‘Bah!’ said Leatherbeard. ‘I’ll strap you to my back. We’ll get along.’

  ‘We’ll fall,’ said Druric through his teeth. ‘Pegs won’t hold two. Leave me with my axe and crossbow. Let me buy you some time.’

  ‘You want a great doom when I am denied one?’ snarled Gotrek. ‘Not likely.’

  Felix observed that Gotrek was having a hard time running in a straight line.

  ‘Aye,’ said Leatherbeard. ‘If there’s anyone stays behind it’ll be me. This is Slayer’s work.’

  ‘Ha!’ Druric laughed. Blood flecked his lips. ‘Do you really want to be remembered as a mere orcslayer? Leave me, and save yourself for a better death.’

  No one replied, but only ran on in grim silence.

  ‘Valaya curse you for fools!’ cried Druric. ‘I will not survive these injuries. Let me die as I wish!’

  ‘Leave him,’ said Gotrek, at last. ‘A dwarf should have the right to choose the manner of his death.’

  They carried Druric until the path became a narrow ledge between cliff and mountainside. The dwarfs could hardly walk it with their shoulders squared.

  ‘Here,’ said Gotrek.

  Leatherbeard stopped and lowered Druric to the ground. Felix looked back. The orcs were hidden around the curve of the mountain, but he could hear them coming – heavy boots stomping, armour clanking.

  The ranger slumped across the ledge, cringing in pain. He took off his pack and field kit. ‘Pegs,’ he said, teeth clenched against his pain. ‘I cannot stand. Pin me to the wall.’

  The dwarfs didn’t question his order. Leatherbeard lifted him and propped him against the wall while Thorgig and Narin deftly tapped pitons through the back of his chain shirt at his neck and flanks.

  Druric grinned. His teeth were filmed with blood. ‘Good. This way I will block their way even when I am dead.’

  Gotrek was still having trouble holding himself upright. He kept shaking his head and blinking his one eye, one hand on the mountain’s flank.

  ‘All right, Gotrek?’ asked Felix, concerned.

  Gotrek grunted, but made no answer.

  ‘It’s done,’ said Narin, stepping back. He cocked and loaded Druric’s crossbow and put it in the ranger’s left hand as Thorgig put his axe in his right.

  The orcs rounded into view fifty yards back, loping like patient wolves.

  ‘I had hoped that I would be the one to fight you for the honour of my clan, Slayer,’ said Druric. ‘I regret that will not come to pass.’

  Gotrek stood upright and looked Druric in the eye. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. ‘Die well, ranger.’ He turned and started down the path.

  The other dwarfs saluted Druric in dwarfish fashion, fists over their hearts. They followed Gotrek without a word, Thorgig slinging Druric’s field kit over his shoulder. Felix wanted to say something in parting, but all he could think of was ‘good luck’ and that somehow didn’t seem appropriate. He turned, vaguely ashamed, and trotted after the others.

  Fifty paces on, they heard sharp cries and the clash of steel on steel echoing from behind them. Gotrek and Leatherbeard cursed, almost in unison. Thorgig muttered a dwarf prayer.

  Narin growled. ‘He was a good dwarf,’ he said. ‘Stonemonger or no.’

  For almost quarter of an hour it seemed that Druric might have stopped the orcs entirely, for the dwarfs heard no sounds of pursuit, but then, as they were climbing the narrow cleft to the treacherous snowfield, the heavy tread of boots found them again. Felix had fallen behind, his throbbing ankle slowing him, and he heard it first. He picked up his pace, hissing with each step, and caught up to the dwarfs.

  ‘They gain again,’ he said.

  Gotrek nodded. He seemed to have recovered his balance, but the left side of his head was bruised and pur
ple beneath the drying blood.

  ‘We will have trouble at the top of the cliff,’ said Narin. ‘They will cut the first rope before we can all traverse the bulge to the pegs.’

  ‘I will stay behind and protect the rope,’ said Leatherbeard.

  ‘I will stay behind,’ growled Gotrek. He stopped as they reached the top of the pass. ‘I’ll hold here. When everyone gets below the bulge, peg the end of the first rope and blow the horn. I’ll cut it myself and swing down. Keep them from following us down.’

  ‘Swing down?’ said Thorgig, alarmed. ‘You’ll pull the peg out.’

  ‘Peg it twice then.’

  The orcs appeared at the bottom of the pass and Gotrek turned to face them.

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘This is all mine.’

  But as Felix and the dwarfs turned to step out onto the snowfield, Leatherbeard looked up. ‘What’s that?’

  Felix listened. Boots were running above them. At first he thought it was a weird echo from the orcs in the pass, then he saw long, hulking shadows lurching across the mountainside above the pass. ‘They’ve split up. Found another trail.’

  Thorgig cursed. ‘They mean to go around the pool and come at us from behind. They’ll find the ropes and cut them.’

  ‘Flanked,’ Gotrek growled. ‘To the cliff!’

  He stormed out of the pass and led them down the saddle of snow. The orcs burst out not twenty paces behind them, flowing down the white slope after them like a green stain. The dwarfs ran as hard as they could, but they had been trekking and climbing and fighting all day, and were gasping and flushed. Felix hissed with each step. His ankle felt thick and spongy. By the time the dwarfs reached the mirror pool, the orcs were ten paces behind. As they raced around the shore towards the cliff-edge, they were only five paces distant, and Felix saw the other group coming down from the crags and circling around the opposite side of the pool. They would reach the ropes only seconds after the dwarfs did.