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

by Warhammer

  ‘Is this the deep road?’ asked Felix, stooping. He could not stand upright.

  The dwarfs laughed.

  ‘No, Herr Jaeger,’ said Hamnir. ‘This is still the mines. You will know the deep road when you see it.’

  ‘He thinks this is the deep road,’ chuckled Karl.

  ‘Still down a few levels,’ said Arn.

  ‘Follow us,’ said Ragar.

  The dwarfs tramped along the dark tunnel, their lanterns making a travelling pool of light around them. Felix limped along behind, bent over like an old man. He hoped the passage would open up before long. He was already getting a crick in his neck. If they had to fight anything in here, he’d have to do it on his knees.

  Gotrek walked beside him for a while, muttering under his breath and shooting sharp glances at Hamnir. Then, after the party had descended three more levels in silence, he stepped ahead and fell in with Leatherbeard.

  ‘You did well there, Slayer,’ he said. ‘You’ll find a good doom. I don’t doubt it.’ He looked forwards and raised his voice, loud enough to carry to the front of the line. ‘And it won’t matter who you travel with, for glory isn’t something you share, it’s something you win.’

  Felix frowned. This sort of camaraderie wasn’t Gotrek’s way. What was the matter with him?

  ‘You shouldn’t worry about fighting unworthy foes on this journey,’ he said, louder still. ‘Even a Slayer may put aside his doom to honour his oaths, if, that is, he’s an honourable dwarf.’

  Now it made sense. Gotrek might be talking with Leatherbeard, but he was speaking to Hamnir. Felix was stunned. This level of indirectness was unheard-of for the Slayer. Gotrek was normally as blunt and forthright as, well, as a punch on the nose. Again, he wondered what it was about Hamnir that got under Gotrek’s skin.

  ‘Who is the one without honour?’ said Hamnir, rising to the bait. He turned his head as they marched. ‘You insult me. You strike me, and you know I cannot strike back for I need you in this enterprise. Is that honourable?’

  ‘More honourable than a dwarf calling on an another’s oath when he doesn’t keep his own,’ shot back Gotrek.

  The party stepped out into an enormous room – the junction of many rail lines, all coming to a platform in the centre where the mine carts could be dumped into large ore trains. Battered old carts sat where they had been left on the rusty tracks, and neat stacks of rails and wooden ties hugged the near wall. The ceiling soared above the reach of the dwarfs’ lamps.

  ‘Only you say I am an oathbreaker,’ shouted Hamnir. ‘Only you say I am dishonourable. All others know me as a dwarf of my word.’ His words rang back from the dark reaches of the room.

  ‘That’s because only I know you as you truly are,’ growled Gotrek. ‘Only I know your tricks. You wear a thicker mask than Leatherbeard.’

  ‘It wasn’t a trick,’ said Hamnir, stopping and facing Gotrek. The party halted around them, looking warily into the darkness. ‘It was a disagreement. You said it should be included in the spoils. I said it shouldn’t. It was worthless anyway.’

  ‘Ha!’ Gotrek turned to the others. ‘You see. He always has an excuse. Worthless, he says.’

  ‘The others agreed with me,’ said Hamnir.

  ‘Only because your tongue is trickier than an elf ambassador’s!’ Gotrek snorted. ‘Hah! Maybe that’s it. Maybe your mother had a night with some elf lord come to parlay.’

  There was an intake of breath from the dwarfs, and Hamnir froze, staring at the Slayer. Finally, he broke, dropped his axe, and began struggling to shuck his pack.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s it. We’ll have this out here and now, as it seems that’s what you want. I will waive your obligation to help me take Karak Hirn and we will fight dwarf to dwarf.’

  ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ sneered Gotrek. ‘I want you to pay me what you owe me. I want you to give me my share of what you held out from the split.’

  ‘I owe you nothing but a thrashing,’ said Hamnir. ‘Perhaps that will finally penetrate your thick skull.’ He threw down his pack and put up his fists. ‘Now fight.’

  ‘You’re not worth fighting,’ said Gotrek. ‘Just pay me and you can end this grudge painlessly, as you could have a hundred years ago in Tilea.’

  ‘Coward,’ spat Hamnir. ‘It’s as I have long suspected. You won’t fight without your axe in your hands. Without it you are nothing.’

  ‘What do you say?’ said Gotrek, bristling.

  ‘I say that it is your axe that deserves your fame,’ said Hamnir contemptuously, ‘that any dwarf who picked up such an axe would have become great. Without it you are just another dwarf, and perhaps less than most.’

  ‘You think so?’ bellowed Gotrek, throwing aside his axe and his pack. He raised his ham-sized fists. ‘Come ahead, elf spawn. I’ll introduce you to the floor.’

  Hamnir started for the Slayer, but Narin and Galin stepped in his way.

  ‘Prince Hamnir,’ said Galin. ‘This isn’t the time for this.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Narin. ‘You must be whole and hale to lead us. Not battered–’

  Hamnir pulled himself up, indignant. ‘Who says I will be battered?’

  Galin and Narin cast sidelong glances at Gotrek, eyeing his massive physique and comparing it sceptically to Hamnir’s soft, merchant’s body. Felix had to agree with their unspoken assessment. Hamnir didn’t stand a chance. Gotrek was wider and more heavily muscled than any dwarf Felix had ever seen, and uncannily resilient, recovering from wounds and blows that would have crippled or killed another dwarf. Not five days ago, he had been shot and fallen the gods knew how many feet, and all he had to show for it was a bandage on his shoulder that seemed to trouble him not at all.

  Narin coughed. ‘This is all very brave, Prince Hamnir, but there’s no need to prove–’

  ‘I do not fight to prove my bravery,’ said Hamnir, interrupting, ‘but to defend my honour and that of my late mother.’ He started forwards.

  ‘But, prince,’ said Galin, stepping before him again, ‘you can’t win. It’s obvious. He–’

  ‘Then I will die. At least I will die in the right.’ He pushed past them and punched Gotrek as hard as he could in the ribs.

  Gotrek didn’t even grunt. He buried a fist in Hamnir’s belly and the prince collapsed like an empty sack, dropping to his knees and retching.

  Gotrek glared down at him. ‘There. Had your fill?’

  Hamnir shook his head, dazed, and tried to push himself back to his feet. He lost his balance and fell again. There was a harsh chuckle from the darkness. It sounded like someone grinding gravel between millstones.

  The dwarfs looked up, grabbing for their weapons. Felix looked towards the edges of the room. Two massive trolls stood in the doorway that the dwarfs had only recently come through, watching the fight with moronic grins on their ugly, mottled faces.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The troll on the left roared something unintelligible and smacked his fists together, as if indicating that Gotrek and Hamnir should continue. The one on the right, a she-troll, even uglier than her mate, clapped her hands and hooted.

  ‘Our hosts have come home,’ said Narin.

  ‘Isn’t their home,’ growled Arn.

  ‘A worthy doom at last,’ said Leatherbeard, drawing his two axes.

  Hamnir lifted his head, mumbling, but couldn’t get up. Thorgig stood over him protectively, glaring savagely at Gotrek. He looked like a hero in a painting.

  Gotrek crossed to his axe and snatched it up. The runes upon it were glowing. No one had noticed. ‘Start a fire, manling,’ he said, and stalked forwards, his thumb stroking the axe’s keen edge. It drew blood.

  The trolls bawled, disappointed, and motioned again for Gotrek and Hamnir to keep fighting.

  ‘A fire,’ said Galin, backing from the trolls uneasily. ‘Good idea. The man will need help.’

  The others shot sly looks at him as they spread out and readied their weapons and shields.

  �
�Knees shaking a bit, engineer?’ sneered Narin.

  ‘It takes more than axes to kill a troll,’ Galin said defensively. ‘You should thank me for allowing you the glory.’ He started across the huge room. ‘Come on, man. These ties should do.’

  As Felix followed him to the stacked wooden rail ties, memories of the catacombs under Karak Eight Peaks flooded his mind – the hideous mutated troll that guarded the treasure vault, its wounds closing up almost as soon as Gotrek had opened them with his axe, Felix’s desperate attempts to light the thing on fire. He was glad that Narin and the others seemed to know what they were about. They were unhooking their lanterns from their belts and holding them in their shield hands, ready to throw.

  The trolls roared at the approaching dwarfs and banged clubs the size of tree trunks on the floor. Even twenty strides away, the impacts stung Felix’s feet.

  ‘Easy now,’ Felix heard Narin say. ‘No one get too far ahead.’

  ‘For glory and death!’ bellowed Leatherbeard, and sprinted at the male troll, swinging his two axes wildly.

  ‘You mad idiot!’ shouted Narin.

  He and the others charged after him, Gotrek at the fore.

  The troll roared and swung at Leatherbeard’s head. The masked Slayer dived right and rolled up in front of the she-troll, gutting her with a swift upswing. She screeched and smashed down at him with her club as her intestines spilled from the bloody gash. Leatherbeard dodged the blow, but was jarred off his feet as the club shattered the flagstones next to him. The she-troll fell back, stuffing the ropes of her viscera back into the cut. It was already healing.

  The rest of the dwarfs closed in, swinging axes and hammers, and then leapt back again almost instantly as a backhand from the male nearly decapitated them all.

  ‘Force them this way!’ called Galin, kneeling down next to the rail ties and digging in his pack. He pulled out a handful of shiny black coal lumps and placed them around the stacked wood.

  Felix looked back at the fight. The dwarfs were dodging back as the troll spewed corrosive vomit at them. Smoking holes appeared in the floor where it had spattered. Arn threw away his shield as it began to disintegrate. The troll’s mate was bashing at Leatherbeard again, the rip in her belly now little more than a thin slit. If there was going to be any forcing done, it looked like the trolls would be the ones doing it. It would be a lot easier of if they could take the fire to…

  Felix stopped. The cart rails. The dwarfs and the trolls were fighting right on top of them, and they ran past the pile of ties.

  Felix hurried to a nearby cart and started pushing at it. ‘Olifsson, in here. Put the ties in here!’ The rusty wheels complained bitterly, but at last began to move.

  Galin looked up, saw the cart, followed the rails to the fight with his eyes, and grinned. ‘Good thinking. You must have picked up some dwarf common sense, travelling with Gurnisson all these years.’

  Felix nearly choked. Gotrek had many virtues, but he wouldn’t have said that common sense was one of them. He stopped the cart at the stack, and he and Galin began hefting the heavy ties into it while keeping an eye on the fight.

  The she-troll was taking another swing at Leatherbeard. He ducked and lashed out with a wild backhand, cutting her hand off at the wrist. Hand and club spun away and knocked Ragar and Karl’s legs out from under them.

  Narin hurled his lit lantern. The he-troll batted it aside with his club, but Arn threw his a second later and it smashed on the brute’s shoulder, dousing it.

  ‘That’s done it!’ cried Karl, getting up.

  The flame didn’t catch.

  Ragar groaned. ‘No it hasn’t.’

  Gotrek charged in under the thing’s club and chopped into its left leg at the hip, nearly severing it. It howled in agony and swung at him. The Slayer blocked, and axe and club connected with a crack that hurt Felix’s ears. Gotrek tried to pull back for another swing but couldn’t. His blade was stuck in the wood of the club.

  The troll swung the club up with both hands and lifted Gotrek with it, his hands still clamped tight around his trapped axe. The Slayer lost his grip as he flew over the troll’s shoulder and spun through the air to crash to the floor neck-first, ten yards behind it, leaving his axe behind in the club.

  The other dwarfs lunged in, smashing and chopping into the troll in half a dozen places, and then darting back as it screamed and fanned them back with the axe-stuck club. The haft of the axe chimed off Arn’s pick and knocked him flat.

  Leatherbeard continued to slash at the she-troll, trying to cut off her other hand. She vomited at him, but he danced back and the deadly bile missed its mark.

  Gotrek staggered up, blinking and shaking his head like a bull, and aimed himself unsteadily at the he-troll’s back. ‘Give me my axe,’ he growled.

  ‘That’s enough, Herr Jaeger,’ said Narin, as they heaved a last tie into the cart. He lit the lumps of shiny coal from the wick of his lantern and tossed them in, and then smashed the lantern down on the wood. Oil splashed everywhere and the flames spread rapidly.

  Felix made to push the cart, but Galin stopped him.

  ‘Wait for it to catch properly.’

  ‘Wait?’ Felix looked anxiously back at the fight. Could they afford to wait?

  Gotrek shoulder-tackled the troll behind the knees as the others danced and dodged before it. It slammed down on its back, roaring in surprise, and flailed its club at Gotrek, who had ended up half under it. He jerked aside and the troll mashed its own foot. It screeched in agony. Gotrek scrabbled on top of it and ripped the club out of its hand with sheer brute force.

  The she-troll clubbed Leatherbeard to the ground with her stump and leapt on top of him, trying to bite his head off. At least her hand hadn’t grown back, Felix thought, though there was already new flesh and bone forming at the cut. She didn’t renew herself as quickly as the mutated troll had, Sigmar be praised.

  The he-troll was up and grabbing for Gotrek. The Slayer dodged back, trying to free his axe from the club. The brute came after him, but without its club, it could no longer keep the dwarfs at bay. They slashed and bashed at it from all sides, cutting gaping wounds in its legs, sides and back, and breaking its bones faster than they could mend. It was giving ground.

  ‘Now, man! Now!’ cried Galin, pushing at the cart.

  Felix and Galin pushed the flaming cart along the rails towards the fight. The fire and smoke blew directly in Felix’s face and he coughed and cursed.

  The troll heard the rumble and turned. Its eyes widened at the sight of the flames and it jumped aside. They were going to miss it!

  Gotrek freed his axe at last and leapt at the troll, roaring.

  ‘Die, Grimnir curse you!’

  He chopped through both of its knees with one mighty blow. It shrieked horribly, and toppled off its severed lower legs to crash into the blaze, knocking the mine cart off the rails and scattering the flaming rail ties.

  Gotrek hacked its head off as it tried to crawl from the flames, then tossed its legs on top of it. He grunted with satisfaction. ‘Trolls never smell better than when they’re burning.’

  The others started for Leatherbeard, still thrashing under the she-troll. His right arm was caught in her remaining claw, the other held down with the bony elbow of her handless arm while she tried to bite his head off. He had lost one of his axes.

  He glared at the dwarfs through the tangle of her arms and her empty, swinging breasts. ‘Leave me be!’ he shouted.

  The dwarfs reluctantly did as he asked, watching anxiously as he struggled. He had one leg free and was kicking her as hard as he could in the stomach. His neck, below his mask, was crimson and corded with strain. Veins writhed across his trembling muscles.

  Gotrek edged forwards.

  ‘You’re not going to interfere?’ asked Felix.

  Gotrek glared at him. ‘Of course not, but if she wins…’ He hefted his axe.

  The she-troll’s neck bulged and she made a horrid ‘mumphing’ sound. She was going
to vomit! Leatherbeard would be reduced to a bubbling paste! With a desperate wrench, the masked Slayer ripped his right arm out from under her elbow and swung his remaining axe at her head. She jerked away and took it in the shoulder, spewing her vile puke on the flags beside him. A few spatters burned into his mask and neck.

  He swung again. The she-troll let go of his off hand to grab the axe. He thumbed her in the eye. She reeled to her knees, howling and clutching at her face. He surged up and leapt at her, burying his axe in her skull and knocking her back into the flames with his weight. She screeched and lashed him with her claw. There was a ripping sound as he flew back and crashed to the floor on his face.

  The she-troll tried to clamber out of the fire, but the split in her head was not healing, and her limbs only twitched weakly before she sank back dead, blackening in the blaze.

  ‘Well done, Slayer,’ said Narin, turning to Leatherbeard.

  Gotrek nodded in agreement.

  Leatherbeard pushed himself up, groggy and groaning. Felix and the dwarfs stared at him, shocked.

  He blinked back at them. ‘What?’

  No one answered.

  He reached up and touched his face. It was naked. ‘My mask!’ he cried, and looked back at the dead she-troll burning in the fire. The leather face hung from her claws, its straps snapped, its edges smouldering.

  ‘No!’ Leatherbeard leapt up and grabbed it out of the flames. He hurried to put it back on, but it was too late. They had all seen.

  The Slayer had no beard. His chin was cleaner than Felix’s. In fact, he was entirely without hair – his scalp was bald, and he was lacking both eyebrows and eyelashes. He looked like a pink, angry baby.

  ‘Now you know,’ he choked as he tried vainly to buckle the broken straps. ‘Now you know my shame. Now you know why I took the Slayer’s oath.’

  ‘Aye, we see, lad,’ said Narin, kindly.

  ‘But,’ Galin sputtered, aghast, ‘what’s wrong with you? Are you truly a dwarf? Were you born this way?’