by Warhammer
Felix looked out of the chamber window. It was small and circular, and covered with thick well-made glass. Through it, he could see a fine view of the mountains opposite. Behind him, he heard Ulrika stir on the bed.
‘I must be leaving soon,’ she said. Felix nodded, wondering what business she had here in the Slayer King’s palace.
‘Where are you going?’
‘The court of the Ice Queen.’ He continued to gaze at the mountain opposite, noticing the crown of clouds around its peak. Suddenly the meaning of her words sank in, and he swung around to look at her.
‘Right now?’ he asked, his heart sinking.
‘Now is as good a time as any. I have a message to deliver to my queen.’
‘You can’t,’ Felix said. Her posture stiffened. Her face became a controlled mask.
‘What do you mean by that? Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do?’
‘I am not trying to tell you what to do.’ Felix knew that she was right. He had meant to tell her she could not go, he did not want her to, but at the same time he also knew he had no power over her. He searched for a way to retrieve the situation. ‘I was just saying you don’t know the way.’
‘I dare say I can find out. Someone here must know the way back to human lands.’ She sounded unreasonably angry. Once again, Felix suspected she was trying to pick a fight. ‘The king will know for sure, and there must be libraries with maps. Perhaps he can arrange a guide.’
‘Why not wait until the Spirit of Grungni is repaired. It will surely get you there much quicker than your own two feet. And a lot more safely.’
‘In the way it got us here safely you mean?’
‘Yes. No. I mean, once it’s repaired it can cross these mountains a hundred times as swiftly as a man or woman on foot.’
‘Maybe, but how long will that take? And who says I must go afoot? Surely there must be some horses in this city.’
‘Dwarfs are not famous for their cavalry,’ he told her.
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’
‘I am not being sarcastic. They don’t use horses much save to draw carts, and as pit ponies.’
‘There are human traders here.’
‘We are in the mountains. They most likely use mules, if anything.’
‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’
Where did this anger come from, Felix wondered? Why were they both so prickly? He was confused. This was not like the stories he had read, the plays he had seen. There were emotions here lurking below the surface, like pike in a pond. Emotions that did not seem logically connected with their words or with their relationship, and which he knew were somehow part of it. How could he be attracted to this woman, care for her, and still be so annoyed by her attitude? How could she feel the same way about him? Somewhere he felt there was a gap between his image of love and the reality of it, and it was not something he had been prepared for by books and poems.
‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘I don’t. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.’
He hoped his expression of concern might pacify her a little but it did not. ‘Something bad has already happened,’ she said. ‘It’s happening to the entire world.’
Felix could not fault her reasoning there. He felt the same way. He reached out to pull her close, but she backed away. Unreasoningly annoyed, he turned and walked away himself. The door made a satisfying slamming noise behind him, but already he felt weak, and foolish and guilty.
Max poured another goblet of wine for his newfound companions. If they had noticed that he had slowed his own drinking they did not seem to care. Boris Blackshield and his brother, Hef, were hard drinking men, and weren’t too picky about who paid the tab. After all, as Boris was quick to point out, with the Manflayer loose in the mountains, and the dragon burning the vales, who knew whether you would be alive tomorrow? He seemed proud of the fact that he and his brother blew all of their pay as caravan guards as soon as they hit town, and would leave again with nothing in their purses save their fire-making flints. After all, it just meant that any orc that killed them wouldn’t make a profit on the transaction.
Max didn’t really care. Their caravan master had already retired to his chamber but before he did so he had agreed to deliver Max’s message to a certain address in the Ulrikstrasse in Middenheim, on the understanding that he would receive several gold coins for his trouble. Seeing the glint in the merchant’s eye, Max did not doubt it would be delivered. The Ulrikstrasse was only two streets away from the market to which the merchant was bound, and two gold pieces was a hefty reward for a short step. Max knew he most likely should have left after concluding the bargain, but when he had heard men discussing the road to the dwarf city he had decided to stay. After all, he might have to walk home, if the Spirit of Grungni could not be repaired, and it did no harm to find out a bit about one’s route. Unfortunately, what he heard was more than a little discouraging.
‘Tell me about this Manflayer again,’ he said to Hef.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Humour me, and assume I do.’
‘Big orc chieftain, he is, and a bad one. Likes to skin his enemies alive and make his tent from their cured flesh. They say he’s assembling an army of greenskins in the mountains, and intends to drive the dwarfs out of their cities.’
‘That doesn’t seem very likely. This is the strongest fortress I have ever seen...’
‘Except Middenheim,’ Boris said drunkenly.
‘Except Middenheim,’ Max agreed gently. ‘Surely no mere orc warlord could take it.’
‘You can never tell with orcs,’ said Hef. ‘They’re sneaky and clever savages and they say this one has a shaman behind him, a shaman with powerful magic.’
Max felt a prickling of professional interest. ‘I’d like to hear about this shaman.’
‘Don’t know much,’ Hef said. ‘Just heard tales from the survivors of the caravans they attacked.’
‘Not that there’s many of them,’ said Boris. ‘And all of them was fast runners. Who takes the word of yellow-bellies?’
‘Just tell me what you heard,’ Max said persuasively and poured more wine.
‘They say he speaks with the old orc gods,’ said Boris.
‘And that the gods listen,’ added Hef.
‘The gods listen to everyone who prays to them,’ said Max. ‘I don’t imagine that orc gods are much different from ours.’
‘The difference is that the orc gods answer this shaman’s prayers. They say he can tumble cliffs with a howl and smash the walls of forts with a wave of his hand.’
‘Maybe he’ll do it to the walls of this city,’ said Hef.
Max doubted it. The dwarfs had worked runes into their walls that were as potent as any defensive spell known to man, and more powerful than most. It would take more than some howling spellshouter to tumble them down. Max was possessed of a great deal of knowledge about defensive magic, and he doubted that he could protect this city any better if he had a hundred good apprentices and twenty years to work in. It wasn’t places like Karak Kadrin that were at risk, he knew. It was the small villages and trader towns along the way.
In any case, though, what he was hearing wasn’t good. There were dragons in the mountains and orc warbands gathering. In the north, a Chaos horde advanced, and he had seen for himself that the skaven were active once more. It looked like all those seers prophesying dark times a-coming had the right of it. The world was in a bad way, he thought. Maybe he should drink some more wine. He fought down the urge.
‘Tell me about the dragon,’ he said.
‘It’s big and it’s bad and it’s burned most of the villages between here and the eastern lands.’
‘That’s all you know?’
‘It’s an old beast or so I’ve heard, slept for centuries until something woke it.’
‘Woke it?’
‘Aye. They say two hundred years ago it took up residence in a cave on Dragon Mountain,
ravaged the land and then just as suddenly vanished. Some thought it had died. It seems now it was only sleeping. They say dragons can do that. Sleep for centuries.’
‘Very old dragons do that,’ said Max. ‘So I’ve read.’
‘You can read?’ asked Boris.
‘Aye. Have some more wine.’
The sellswords drank and talked but Max was not listening too closely any more. Could the dragon really have slept for all this time? And if so, what had wakened it? Maybe it’s just the coming of Chaos, he thought. Maybe it’s just a sign of the times.
Or perhaps it was something else entirely. There was a pattern emerging here, he felt sure of it. He sensed something dark and evil at work.
The forge blazed brightly. The heat was sweltering. Felix noticed it as soon as he walked into the chamber. He halted for a moment and took a deep breath. His anger had burned down now and he felt more guilty than ever. Perhaps he should go back and speak to Ulrika and patch things up. Part of him wanted to do that and part of him fought stubbornly against it. The latter part won. Anyway, he had come here to find something out, and he might as well continue.
He glanced around, looking for Makaisson. Amid the heat and fumes, it was difficult to be sure if he was there. There were many dwarfs present working bellows, hammering cherry-hot metal into new shapes, working with odd engines the purpose of which Felix could not even begin to guess at. All of them were moving with the sort of purposefulness that only dwarfs with a mission could muster.
‘Where’s Makaisson?’ he asked, reaching out and grabbing the shoulder of the nearest passing dwarf. The squat muscular figure jerked a thumb in the direction of one of the other doorways and continued on his way.
Felix moved through the workroom and ducked his head as he entered the chamber beyond. Makaisson was there all right, bending low over a table containing plans and schematics marked with what Felix recognised as the runes used by the Engineers Guild. He looked up as the man came in, sucked his teeth and said, ‘Aye, weel, whaut can ah dae for ye, young Felix?’
‘I was wondering when the Spirit of Grungni will be ready to leave.’
‘A couple o’ weeks maest likely. Plenty o’ time to get this stuff sorted oot and gae that bloody dragon a guid seein’ tae.’
‘You’re not serious,’ said Felix, although he knew the Slayer Engineer was most likely all too serious. He had hoped the airship would be repaired soon and could carry Ulrika all the way to the court of the Ice Queen. He had hoped that it might take him with her.
‘Ah am so. That big lizard damn near smashed ma airship, and he killed pare young Varek. That’s a grudge tae its credit that ah’ll soon be settlin’, believe you me.’
‘How? We barely scratched the thing.’
‘Aye, well, ah hae a few thoughts aboot that, don’t ye worry. There’s a few wee engines ah’ve haud the idea o’ for years, and right noo, ah think is as guid a time as ony to be buildin’ them.’
‘What good can any weapons do against a thing as mighty as Skjalandir?’
‘Ah would hae thocht that by noo ye’s hae mare faith in ma machines, Felix Jaeger.’
‘I do have faith in your skill, Malakai, but–’
‘Well, ah don’t suppose ah can blame ye. It was a bloody big beastie richt enough. Even so it can still be killed with the right weapon. Any livin’ thing can.’
‘So what are you building?’ Felix asked, glancing over at the plans. Malakai moved between him and the spread sheets of parchment. Like all dwarf engineers, Felix guessed he could be more than a little touchy when it came to sharing his designs with the world. A very secretive people, the dwarfs.
Makaisson looked up at him for a moment then grinned. ‘Tak a look if ye want,’ he said, stepping aside, ‘Though ah doobt ye’ll be able to make hade nor tail o’ them.’
Felix looked down and saw that the dwarf was right. The blue papers were covered in squiggles. To some of the lines were attached runic symbols, to others there were none. It was like looking at a scroll inscribed by a particularly demented astrologer.
‘You’re right. I have no idea what these are,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
Makaisson rubbed his meaty hands together in satisfaction. ‘Ye’ll find oot soon enough, don’t ye worry. Noo, oot ye go, young Felix. Ah hae got a lot o’ work tae dae, and no all that much time to dae it in.’
With that he shooed Felix out of the workshop and into the street. Felix trudged back towards the palace. It was time to bring Ulrika the news. Somehow he just knew she wasn’t going to be pleased.
SEVEN
PREPARATIONS
Felix looked around the tavern blearily. He did not care for it. The Iron Door was a haunt of lowlifes – Slayers, tunnel fighters, renegade engineers, outcast mercenaries and others. It had the reputation for being the nastiest hellhole in the city of the Slayer King, which was saying something. For all that, he noticed, the scarred and surly dwarfs were giving their table a wide berth. Felix was quite glad of it. He was now the only human present, and he did not doubt that if he had not been in the company of Gotrek and Snorri, he would have been in deep trouble.
He knew he was drunk. It seemed that in the past few days he had done very little except drink. While Ulrika studied maps and made ready to depart, Borek and Max scoured the libraries for more information on the dragon and Malakai built his machines, he and the Slayers had done little else but throw down ale. And why not? There was nothing else to do. His fights with Ulrika had gotten worse, and the prospect of heading out to the Dragon Mountain did not fill him with good cheer. Why not get drunk? Why not enjoy himself?
Where was Max? The wizard had disappeared again. He had only stayed long enough to drink a few goblets of wine and tell them what he had found out. The things he had said were enough to drive any man to drink. Skjalandir was old and powerful. He had awoken a few months ago and in that time he had already driven most of the dwarfs out of the high valleys and burned down most of the towns. A force of mercenaries hired by villagers had never returned nor had any of the many Slayers who had set out to kill him. It was feared that one day soon the monster would attack Karak Kadrin. No one had any idea what would happen then, but they all knew it would be bad. So why not get drunk? Ulrika might not approve, but so what? As she had pointed out, he could not tell her what to do so why should he let her order him about? He would get drunk if he wanted to, no matter how much she sulked.
And now he was drunk, gloriously so. They all were: Gotrek, Snorri Nosebiter, and himself. He was perhaps a trifle less inebriated than the others but it was touch and go. He had not drunk a quarter of what the Slayers had drunk but dwarf ale was stronger by far than human ale, and he did not have their tolerance for it.
The tavern was full. All around were the seediest dwarf warriors Felix had seen since they had fought their way through the halls of Karag Dum. As he considered this, he realised that they were being watched.
The stranger lurked in a shadowy alcove of the tavern. His features were in shadow but Felix could see from his outline that he had the towering crested haircut that was the mark of a Slayer. He seemed to become aware of Felix’s eyes upon him and a head poked out of the shadows. Felix saw a narrow-featured dwarf with mean eyes and a close-cropped beard. His crest was dyed grey and was shorter than Gotrek’s. He was lean and quite skinny for a dwarf and his jaws worked constantly as if he were chewing something. Tattoos covered his face and bare arms in odd patterns. He sauntered closer to their table. Felix could see he had a long dagger strapped to his leg and a short handled pick slung over his shoulder. His britches and vest were black, his sleeveless shirt grey.
‘Hear you’re going looking for a dragon,’ the stranger said. His voice was low, and the words seemed to come out of the corner of his mouth. He eyed the trio at the table stealthily.
‘What of it?’ asked Gotrek.
‘Dragons have gold.’
‘So I’ve heard. What is it to you?’
‘Skjalandir ha
s a big hoard. Should do anyway. That old firedrake has terrorised these mountains for nigh on a thousand years.’
‘It’s not its gold I’m interested in, it’s its life. I mean to kill the thing or die in the attempt,’ Gotrek said.
‘Not if Snorri Nosebiter gets there first,’ said Snorri.
‘Quite so. I understand exactly. And a mighty death it would be for a Slayer too. I mean to try it myself.’
‘Can’t stop you,’ said Gotrek. ‘Just don’t get in my way.’
‘Fair enough. Mind if I sit and sup with you a while?’
‘As long as you can pay for your own beer,’ said Gotrek.
‘I can do that and buy a round for you all too,’ said the newcomer.
Gotrek’s and Snorri’s eyes widened. Felix gathered this was uncharacteristic behaviour for a dwarf.
‘Steg, called by some the Light-fingered, at your service.’
‘A thief,’ Gotrek said tactlessly.
‘Once, to my shame,’ said Steg. ‘But I’m a Slayer now.’
‘You got caught!’ said Snorri Nosebiter.
‘Aye, in the treasure chamber of the Vorgrund clan with the amber necklace in my hands.’ The other Slayers looked at him with interest.
‘I’m surprised the Vorgrunds didn’t cut your knackers off.’
‘They intended to. First they threw me into their dungeon but I picked the locks and escaped. There was a hidden passageway out of their citadel. Of course, there was the shame of being caught and unmasked so I became a Slayer.’
‘The shame of being caught!’ Gotrek spluttered. Felix was not surprised at Gotrek’s outrage. He had always contrived to give the impression that dwarfs had higher standards of honesty than humans. Steg seemed to contradict this, although Felix thought the thief seemed a bit odd by dwarf standards. There was an almost boastful quality to the way he spoke, that was completely at odds with the reticence of Gotrek and Snorri. He was not entirely sane, Felix thought. On the other hand, how many Slayers were?
‘Aye. Once I was unmasked no one would speak to me, my clan ostracised me, my betrothed disowned me, which seemed particularly unfair because I only wanted the necklace as a marriage gift for her.’
