by Warhammer
Felix, Narin and Galin attacked the third orc, doing their best to emulate Gotrek’s ceaseless assault. Felix dodged behind its back and reached for its torque. It jerked away and slashed at him. Felix danced back, a hair ahead of its axe, and Narin made a grab for the torque from the other side. It spun back as Narin ducked. The axe cut a horn off Narin’s helmet. The fight reminded Felix suddenly of some children’s game, a deadly version of tag or keep-away.
He lunged in again, and this time got his fingers around the gold circlet. He pulled, but it was tight, cutting deeply into the orc’s slimy, cable-muscled neck. The brute twisted around and caught Felix on the side of the head with his carapaced forearm. White sparks exploded behind Felix’s eyelids and he crashed to the ground, but the torque came with him as he fell.
He dimly saw the orc raise its cleaver over him for the death stroke. Then it grunted and dropped to its knees, thick, clear blood gushing from its mouth as Galin chopped through its spine. Felix flinched and stuck his sword up as the orc pitched forwards on top of him. The point sank into its white gut up to the hilt.
Narin rolled the corpse off Felix, and Galin severed its neck. Felix stood unsteadily and tugged his sword free. The side of his head was running with blood. The world seemed tilted. He tossed the torque aside.
‘Well done, manling,’ said Narin.
‘Only five more to go,’ grinned Galin.
‘Hurry, you jackdaws!’ shouted Gotrek. The two orcs had the Slayer pressed against the wall, and he was blocking and dodging for all he was worth.
Narin, Galin and Felix ran to help. As they passed the hole, one of the fallen orcs hooked its axe over the lip of the hole and another started climbing its back.
‘Grimnir!’ cursed Galin. ‘They’re coming out!’
‘Go on,’ said Felix. ‘I have this.’
He grinned. This was not to be missed. As Narin and Galin ran on, he stepped to the edge of the hole and reached out over the climbing orc’s head for its torque. The brute snapped at him. Felix jerked his hand back, and tried again.
This time he got it, and ripped it from the orc’s filthy neck. ‘Ha!’ he cried, tossing it aside and drawing back his sword to chop its head off.
The orc threw out its unnaturally long arm and caught Felix’s ankle, yanking it. Felix slammed flat on his back, his sword bouncing away with a clang. The orc got its other hand up and tried to lever itself out of the hole, but its palm slipped on the oil and it started sliding slowly back, dragging Felix with it. Felix threw his free leg out and tried to dig in with his heel, but the oil was underfoot. He couldn’t get purchase. The orc was pulling him inexorably towards the blade of the axe that the first orc had hooked in the lip of the hole. The blade was going to cut him in two from balls to brains.
Felix flailed for his sword. He couldn’t reach it. ‘Gotrek!’
The dwarfs were too busy with the other orcs. They didn’t hear him.
‘Gotrek!’
Gotrek looked around. His eye blazed. ‘Curse you, manling! How do you get into…’
He broke away from the fight and ran to the hole. His two opponents charged after him, shouldering Narin and Galin to the floor as if they were children. They seemed to understand that the Slayer was their greatest threat.
The climbing orc was backsliding quickly, its transparent nails scraping across the oily stone like shards of glass. Felix slid with it, his crotch inches away from being bifurcated by the razor-sharp axe.
Gotrek slammed his blade down on the climbing orc’s wrist, and then dodged aside, inches ahead of his pursuers. Felix’s orc fell back into the hole, stump spurting clear blood, and Felix crabbed back from the axe blade, the severed white hand still gripping his ankle. Near the wall, Narin and Galin were getting to their feet.
Gotrek spun to face his attackers, batting aside one slash and dodging another. They hammered at him unceasingly, pushing him back towards the hole.
As Felix snatched up his sword, he saw the orc who had hooked its axe in the rim of the hole trying to climb its haft. Felix kicked the axe-head on the flat. It screeched across the floor, cutting a white line in the basalt, and dropped off the edge. The orc tumbled back onto its mates.
Felix stood as Narin and Galin ran to help Gotrek. Narin bashed the left orc on the spine. Galin ran straight up the back of the one on the right and grabbed its torque with his thick fingers. The orc spun, hacking at him. Galin flew off and crashed to the floor, his head bouncing off the stone flagstones with a hollow thud. The gold band flew from his limp hand and skittered across the floor.
The orc clapped a hand to his bare neck, grunting. Gotrek swung for its face. It grabbed his arm, but not quickly enough. The axe blade imbedded itself between its eyes. With a gurgling sigh, it toppled backwards into the hole, still clutching Gotrek’s arm. The Slayer and the orc crashed down on the mound of rotting bodies as the orcs in the pit leapt aside.
‘Gotrek!’ Felix cried.
But he had his own problems. The second orc was after him, swiping mightily with its maul. With its elongated arms, its reach was incredible. Narin harried it from the rear, but it still had its torque, and his blows did nothing. Galin lay behind them, blood streaming from the back of his head, struggling to regain control of his limbs. Sounds of furious fighting came from the hole.
‘Get behind it, Jaeger,’ said Narin. ‘I can’t reach its neck.’
‘Easier said than done.’ Felix ducked under a wild swing and tried to slip to the orc’s rear, but it turned with him.
Narin joined him in front of the orc. ‘I’ll hold him. Move.’
Felix slipped left again. The orc turned, but Narin hooked its knee with his axe, slowing it. The orc turned back and swung at Narin to dislodge him, and Felix got behind it. Narin skipped back, laughing, as the maul ruffled his blond beard.
‘Come on you unnatural brute!’ he jeered. ‘Can’t you see with those eyes?’
Felix leapt on the orc’s back, his sword arm around its throat, and grabbed the torque.
The orc bucked, trying to throw him off. Felix held on, his legs flopping and banging, and pulled again. The torque came free.
‘Ha!’ Narin ran in, axe high, and chopped into the orc’s chest, shattering its ribs.
The orc roared and spasmed, as if it had regained its orcish fury in the moment of death. It swung its maul and hit Narin’s chest with a sound like a melon popping. The dwarf and the orc collapsed to the floor as one, their blood mingling.
‘Narin!’ cried Galin. The engineer was sitting up, a lump like a bleeding plum on the back of his head.
Felix fought back nausea and sadness as he blinked at the red ruin of Narin’s chest. There was no time to mourn. Gotrek was still in the hole. He ran to the lip, skidding to a stop just short of the spill of oil, and looked down.
The orc with the severed hand was dead. Gotrek fought the other two on the mound of rotting corpses, which moved and shifted with their every step. The Slayer was bleeding and battered. The orcs didn’t have a scratch on them.
Galin joined Felix at the edge. He looked unsteadily back at Narin. ‘Poor lad,’ he said. ‘Died well, for an Ironskin.’
Gotrek dodged behind an orc, putting it in the way of the other. They stumbled around on the uncertain footing, trying to close with him again. It looked as if they had been performing this dance for a while. Gotrek staggered and nearly caught an axe between the eyes. ‘Get their torques!’ he rasped over the din of steel.
Felix nodded. Yes, get the torques, but how? Jumping into the pit was not an option. There was barely enough room for Gotrek and the orcs, and if he tried to lean in over the oily edge and grab one, he’d fall in. He needed… ‘The planks! Galin! A plank! Help me!’
Felix stepped to one of the planks he had heaved aside earlier and took up one end as Galin took the other. They laid it across the hole.
‘Hold it steady,’ said Felix as he stepped out over the hole.
Galin nodded and sat on one end. Felix care
fully lowered himself to his chest on the narrow board, and slid out along it. The orcs fought right below him, but didn’t look up. They were too intent on killing Gotrek. Felix reached down a hand towards one. His fingers brushed the torque, but he couldn’t grasp it. He strained further. The orc lunged at Gotrek and circled away, taking the torque out of his reach. Felix cursed silently. It was like trying to pluck a brass ring off the horn of a rampaging bull.
The other orc moved under him, angling for Gotrek’s flank. Felix strained down again. The orc dodged back and forth as it tried to corner the Slayer. Felix edged his chest off the board for a better reach. The orc backed up – right into Felix’s hand. He grabbed the torque. The orc jerked forwards, turning to see who was behind it, and the torque came free.
Gotrek struck too fast to see. One moment the orc was looking blankly up at Felix; the next, its head was flying from its shoulders. It collapsed like a ruined tower.
The other orc also struck quickly, swinging at Gotrek’s back in the same instant that the Slayer cut down its comrade. Gotrek dived to the side and the cleaver cut a ragged slice through the meat of his left shoulder. He slammed into the wall and fell among the corpses.
The orc spun to finish him off, raising his axe over his head, right at Felix! Felix yelped and pushed himself up. The axe missed his nose by inches, but smashed through the plank, splitting it in two. The two ends tipped into the hole and Felix went down with them, crashing on top of the orc. He clutched at its arm, as much to save himself from falling as to stop its swing.
The orc hardly wavered. Felix, dangling from the slimy bicep of its axe arm, stared in terror at the greenskin’s white, horned face. It was like clinging to a greased statue.
Gotrek lurched up from the mound of corpses. His left arm was red to the wrist. He started unsteadily across the shifting, stinking ground. ‘That’s it, manling! Hold it.’
Felix laughed mirthlessly. Hold it?
The orc plucked him off like a man picking lint from his sleeve, and held him up by the throat. Felix kicked and fought, choking as the massive fingers tightened around his windpipe. He slashed with his sword at the orc’s face. The blow glanced off harmlessly. The orc didn’t even flinch. It drew back its axe to cut Felix in half. Gotrek fell as he put his foot through a rotten ribcage and slipped on putrid organs. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
‘Hoy! Arsebreath!’ Galin launched himself from the rim of the hole and caught the orc’s axe arm in a bear hug. The orc stumbled, its weapon drooping.
‘Come on, Slayer!’ roared Galin.
The orc shook its arm, trying to dislodge the dwarf. He held fast.
Gotrek was getting to his feet.
Felix slashed at the orc’s head again, the world dimming around him, the torque winking tauntingly at him, only a sword’s length away. A sword’s length?
As the orc slammed Galin against the wall, Felix stabbed at its neck with his sword. Its point slid across the slick white skin as if it was marble, and wedged under the torque.
The orc bashed Galin into the wall again. Blood flew from the dwarf’s mouth. Felix pushed his blade under the torque and twisted. Another bash and Galin dropped, stunned. The torque wasn’t coming free. The orc swung its axe at Felix. There was no escape.
‘No you don’t!’
Sparks flew as a red and silver streak flashed in the way of the orc’s strike. The cleaver skimmed an inch over Felix’s head. Gotrek!
The orc grunted and raised Felix up as he swung at Gotrek. Through the roaring in his ears, Felix heard a jingle of metal rattling against metal.
Gotrek kicked the orc between the legs. Fool, thought Felix dimly. Axes can’t hurt it. Why would a boot? But the orc groaned and let go of Felix’s neck. Gotrek hacked its head off with a grunting backhand as Felix fell amongst the corpses. The orc sank to its knees and pitched forwards, its head rolling down its back.
Gotrek sat down heavily on the chest of another orc. The wound in his shoulder gushed red.
‘But, how?’ whistled Felix through his crushed throat. ‘I didn’t get the–’
‘Didn’t you?’ Gotrek pointed at Felix’s sword. The greenskin’s torque dangled from his quillons.
Gotrek shook his head and wiped his brow. ‘Grimnir’s beard, what a scrap.’ He raised his voice. ‘Ironskin! Lower a rope.’
‘Narin… Narin is dead,’ said Galin, sitting up and clutching his head.
‘Dead?’ said Gotrek. His face hardened.
Felix stood, massaging his throat. He could hardly swallow, and his head throbbed abominably. ‘Thank… thank you, Gotrek. I would be…’
Gotrek shrugged. ‘Thank yourself. That kick wouldn’t have done a thing if you hadn’t got its cursed torque off.’ He stood and picked up one of the broken planks. He grounded one end in the floor of corpses and leaned the other against the wall. ‘Let’s get out of this stink-hole.’
One by one they crawled up the narrow board and out of the pit.
When he reached the top, Gotrek looked at Narin, lying in his own blood under the orc he had slain, and shook his head. ‘Stubborn fool. Told him not to come.’
‘Gotrek…’ came a weak voice.
‘He’s alive!’ said Galin.
They crossed to the dying dwarf, their boots splashed in his blood. His ribs rose from his smashed chest like broken white fingers from a red stew.
He looked up at them, grinning glassily. ‘Well I… I did it. Escaped being thane. Escaped my… wife. My conjugal bed.’ It was an effort for him to get the words out. ‘Tell my father I’m sorry I… I didn’t give him an heir. But not… very.’ He laughed wetly, blood spraying from his mouth.
Gotrek knelt. ‘Aye, I’ll tell him.’
‘And… give him his splinter back.’ His hand fumbled in the blood-matted mess of his beard and tugged out the charred sliver of the Shield of Drutti. ‘Tell him I… wish him good luck fighting… you.’
‘I’ll tell him that too.’ Gotrek tucked the piece of wood in his belt pouch and took Narin’s hand. ‘May your ancestors welcome you, Narin Narinsson.’
Narin was already dead. Gotrek and the others lowered their heads.
Felix cursed silently. He had liked the sharp-tongued dwarf. Certainly, he had teased and insulted Felix like all the rest, but it had been different coming from him somehow – the easy familiar ribbing of an old friend, not the sullen distrust of the outsider that he had felt from the others.
There was a footstep. Felix and the others looked up. The surfaces of the room were so hard that it was difficult to tell from what direction the sound had come.
‘Who’s there?’ asked Galin, looking around. ‘Show yourself!’
All the dread that fighting the orcs had pushed away closed around Felix’s heart again. The hairs raised on the back of his neck. The orcs had only been servants of the thing they were here to destroy. They still had yet to face the master – a thing so powerful it could warp, not only the minds of its minions, but also their bodies.
Another step. A shadowy figure appeared in the far door. They turned to face it, weapons at the ready. It stepped into the red light of Gotrek’s axe.
‘Hamnir!’ cried Galin. ‘Hamnir, you live!’
‘Welcome, friends,’ said Hamnir slowly. ‘Welcome to the realisation of our dreams.’
Through the parting of the dwarf prince’s beard, Felix could see a glint of gold.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Galin groaned. Gotrek grunted like he’d been shot. Felix stared.
Hamnir drifted forwards in a somnambulant glide, spreading his hands. ‘I am sorry your welcome has been so violent, but you have slain so many of us that the Sleeper was threatened and sought to protect itself.’
‘Prince Hamnir,’ said Galin, stepping forwards. ‘What has it done to you? Take it off.’
Hamnir touched the torque around his neck. ‘This is the greatest honour ever bestowed upon me. I wear it with pride.’
‘Take it off, damn you!’ Galin wa
s red in the face. There were tears in his eyes. ‘It’s a thing of Chaos! Fight it!’
‘Do not threaten me,’ said Hamnir, calmly. ‘The Sleeper…’
‘A plague take the Sleeper! Take it off!’ Galin launched himself at Hamnir, reaching for his neck.
Quicker than the eye could follow, Hamnir drew his axe off his back and lashed out at Galin. The blade cut through Galin’s armour and his ribs as if they were so much paper and twigs. The engineer fell back, dead before he hit the floor.
‘Do not threaten me,’ said Hamnir, as calmly as before. Felix and Gotrek stared as he cleaned his axe on Galin’s beard. He took another torque from his doublet and looked up. He held it out to Gotrek. ‘The Sleeper does not wish to kill you, Gotrek. You are strong. You will be a great asset in the coming struggle. Take this and join us.’
Gotrek closed his eye. His head drooped. Felix had never seen him in such pain. ‘Ranulfsson,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘Hamnir, take it off. Fight it. You are a dwarf: a prince, not a slave.’
‘I am still a prince,’ said Hamnir, ‘a prince that follows a great god. Take the torque, Gotrek, and you will see.’
‘No, scholar,’ said Gotrek. ‘I have no master, dwarf, god or daemon.’ He raised his eyes and glared at Hamnir. ‘Now take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.’
‘Listen to me Gotrek,’ said Hamnir, his eyes shining with the fire of a zealot. ‘For how long have the fortunes of the dwarfs been on the wane? For how long have we lost hold after hold? For how long have we ceded territory and power to elves and men, and even vile skaven? With the torque comes strength, invulnerability. Nothing will stand in our way. With the grobi as our slaves, to dig our ore and work our foundries, we will become mightier even than we were in the golden age!’
‘Hamnir…’ said Gotrek, but Hamnir wasn’t to be interrupted.
‘The Sleeper enlisted first the grobi, because their minds are simple and easily reached, but even with its enlightened leadership, an empire of grobi will not stand. They cannot be taught more than the most rudimentary skills.’ He stepped closer. ‘But the dwarfs, the dwarfs are a great race, a race who will not be slaves, but equal partners in a shared destiny. It will give us its strength and power and the wisdom of ages beyond reckoning, and all it asks in return is to share the torques with our kin and to bring its children to every hold we visit.’