Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  The sentries at the gate crossed their halberds to deny the adventurers admittance. Felix could see that there were plenty more behind them. Hard-eyed suspicious men with a haunted look in their eyes. Hardly surprising under the circumstances. What had happened tonight was enough to make even the easiest going suspicious, and the guardsmen of Praag had never been famous for their tolerance.

  ‘State your business!’ said a tough-looking sergeant. ‘And be quick about it!’

  ‘I don’t like your tone,’ said Gotrek nastily, and raised his axe. Not now, thought Felix. We have enemies enough to worry about without getting into a brawl with the duke’s personal guard.

  ‘We bring a warning to the duke. There are traitors within the city. They sought to poison the Watergate granary.’

  ‘The granary is guarded by a score of men,’ said the sergeant. ‘They would never get past–’

  ‘There were a score of men,’ Gotrek sneered. ‘There’s a score less now.’

  ‘Dark magic was used to overcome them,’ said Max. The sergeant looked at the wizard. He appeared to recognise him.

  ‘You’re the mage from the White Boar. The one who was too busy to see his grace. You changed your mind.’

  Now it was Max’s turn to sound testy. ‘Be grateful I did,’ he said, ‘and be grateful to these brave warriors, for otherwise one of these days you would all be eating poisoned bread.’

  Max’s tone, and probably his reputation as a sorcerer, seemed to impress the sergeant. ‘Get the captain,’ he said. ‘You can explain all of this to him. Get inside. Ulric knows we can use all the wizards we can on a night like tonight.’

  For the first time, Felix noticed the very real fear in the man’s voice. He like all the guards seemed strained to breaking point. It occurred to Felix that if the Chaos sorcerers had deliberately unleashed the ghosts to undermine morale in the city they could not have done a better job.

  The duke looked tired, thought Max, and that tiredness had done nothing to improve his temper. Then again, all of them were the worse for wear. It had been a night to fray the nerves. Inwardly Max thanked the guard sergeant. The captain had been a reasonable and competent man, and he had listened to all they had to say, and sent them on to the duke’s chambers where the ruler and his council were in emergency session.

  ‘So glad you decided you could join us, Herr Schreiber,’ said the duke. There was heavy sarcasm in his voice.

  A hard man to like, the Duke Enrik, thought Max. There was something in his abrupt manner that brought out the worst in people. Max prayed to Verena that Gotrek would hold his tongue and his temper. He knew there was little enough chance of it, but if he could get in first… ‘And nice of you to bring a retinue of armed bodyguards.’

  Suddenly the duke smiled for the first time, and there was something almost likeable in his face. ‘A man could probably not find better ones on this continent, or so I have heard.’

  He looked at the Slayers for an instant, and said in dwarfish: ‘Do you come to keep the ancient oaths of alliance?’

  Max was startled. He doubted that there was anyone in the city save himself, a few scholars, the priests of Sigmar and the dwarfs themselves who could have made themselves understood in the old tongue of the elder race.

  Enrik was making himself more than understood. He sounded positively fluent. It was a surprising achievement in a Kislevite ruler. Perhaps they were not all the barbarians Max had thought them to be.

  ‘Yes,’ Gotrek said in the Imperial tongue. ‘That we do.’

  ‘Then be welcome. What brings you here in the middle of the night?’

  Swiftly Max outlined the events of the evening. The duke’s visage became darker and darker as he spoke. When Max finished he barked out orders that guards be sent to each of the granaries and all of the wells. Then he turned to them and said: ‘Foul deeds have been done this evening. We owe you a debt of gratitude for rooting out these traitors. I will think on your reward.’

  ‘The only reward I need is a row of Chaos worshippers ahead of me, and an axe in my hand.’

  Enrik gave one of his rare smiles. ‘That should be easy enough to manage given our current situation.’

  ‘And you, Herr Schreiber, you appear to know more of these matters than all the mages and priests on my council. I wish you had revealed your gifts sooner – I would have offered you a place on my council.’

  ‘I would have been honoured,’ Max said in turn.

  ‘Then we must see that you are. Go now and sleep. I will speak with you again on the morrow.’

  NINE

  Grey Seer Thanquol stared out into the snow. He hated it. It got everywhere, melting and making his fur reek, turning his nose cold. The accursed stuff did not in any way, shape or form suit the skaven metabolism. He was miserable and ill. An icicle of snot hung from the end of his snout and he could not find the energy to break it off. For the hundredth time he longed for his nice warm burrow back in Skavenblight or at least for the security of the underways that he had left behind.

  He glanced around. They had taken refuge from the blizzard in one of the deep, dark pine woods that provided the only relief from the monotony of the endless Kislevite plains. Snow made the branches droop and block out the light, giving a comforting dimness to the spot. Thanquol could hear hundreds of skaven paws softly crunching snow all around him. It was the only vaguely reassuring thing about the whole scene.

  Part of him argued that it would be best for him to go back, that it would serve no purpose for him to remain here above ground in the freezing cold and dazzling whiteness. It would do skavenkind no good if he were to catch a chill and die. He desperately wanted to give in to this part of him but he could not. He needed to find out more about this huge surge of dark magic being drawn down from the north. To his mage senses the great current of dark magical energy was as visible as the snout in front of his face. It writhed across the sky, carrying within it an enormous charge of energy. Thanquol had not yet dared reach out and attempt to draw some of that power into himself. He suspected that if he did so he would come to the awareness of whatever powers had created that roaring river of power, and he was not sure he was quite ready for that encounter yet.

  And there were other reasons to remain. His troops were here, scouting the land, looking for evidence of the forces of Chaos and their plans, and it was all too possible that if they encountered them without Thanquol’s decisive leadership to guide them, they would do something foolish that would get them destroyed. He doubted that Izak Grottle, who had been assigned to be his second in command, could handle the threat posed by the Chaos warriors. But if he did, he would doubtless use any credit gained from the exploit to try and undermine Thanquol’s authority.

  Thanquol was having none of that. He was a past master of the politics of leading skaven armies, and he had a great deal of firsthand experience of Grottle’s treachery. Thanquol still suspected Grottle had a hand in the destruction of his master plan to conquer the city of Nuln. Perhaps he had even betrayed Thanquol’s infallible plan to the humans. What else could explain his survival when every other skaven leader in the great assault, save Thanquol, had been exterminated?

  Besides, Thanquol was no longer sure even the underways were safe. Several times on the journey south they had encountered beastmen and mutant humanoids within the hidden tunnels. Thanquol was not sure how they could have got there. Was it possible that skaven traitors had shown them the hidden entrances? It seemed a far more plausible explanation than that they had simply stumbled into the secret cave mouths out of the snow. Thanquol dismissed Grottle’s inane suggestion from his mind. He had found that in all things, the simplest explanation was rarely the best. In real life all things were complexly inter-related, usually by the scheming of his enemies.

  Still there were some good things about the situation. He had replenished his supply of powdered warpstone back in Hell Pit. Indeed, he had managed to convince the Moulders that given the nature of the emergency, he should ha
ve a whole sackful of the stuff. It was the best and purest powder he had ever found. Thanquol wondered if the Moulders were secretly sending their warriors into the Wastes to acquire it, or whether they had some other source. He decided that when all of this was over, he would make it his business to find out.

  He took a pinch of the powder and immediately felt its tingling warmth pass out of his mouth and into his bloodstream. He felt alive once more, and could ignore the crippling cold. Using the faintest hint of a spell, he blasted the snot icicle from his nose and freed his body from the taint of fever. It was good to be using his power once more. It was even good, he admitted, to be surrounded by so many skaven warriors. His long trek across the plains of Kislev with only the treacherous Lurk for company and dubious protection had made him more aware of such things. It was a good thing to have so many of his furry kindred to stand between him and any approaching enemies.

  He wished that Clan Moulder had provided a larger force. He was uneasy with only the few thousand warriors he had at his disposal. The fools had maintained that they needed the bulk of their troops to hold their ancestral citadel at Hell Pit. They were passing up the chance of rich pickings and great glory following in the wake of the Chaos horde and waiting for the opportunity to strike. A burst of warpstone-inspired confidence and contempt surged through Thanquol. As if preserving that worthless pile of rock could be worth more than protecting the life of the greatest of all skaven geniuses.

  Izak Grottle glared at him red-eyed. Had it not been for the warpstone in his veins the look would have filled the grey seer with justifiable caution. As it was, he half wished that the obese Moulder warlord would provoke him so he could blast him. In fact, thought Thanquol, why wait for provocation? Why not just avenge himself on the fat monster?

  As if reading his thoughts, Grottle bared his fangs in a menacing snarl, and then gestured to the hundreds of massive Moulder stormvermin who surrounded them. Why not, thought Thanquol? That was a good reason. He did not doubt that with his awesome magical powers he could blast hundreds of these worthless vermin into oblivion should they prove troublesome but he could not kill a whole army of them. Not unless he reached out and grasped that awesome flow of power in the sky. He was almost tempted to do it. For moments he stood there, tail lashing, fangs bared, matching Grottle glare for glare. The urge to draw on that power and slay became near overwhelming.

  As quickly as it came, the warpstone-inspired fit passed and he shook his head. The red haze lifted from his mind. The desire to kill and maim subsided somewhat. He felt as if he had just thrown off some evil spell. For a moment, he had a brief intense awareness of something. All of his long training as a grey seer, and all his great experience of working magic, rushed forth to provide him with an extraordinary insight.

  Something within the warpstone was responding to that current of Chaos magic, and he was responding to whatever it was that was in the warpstone. Just for an instant there he had almost lost control of himself, and destroyed a skaven force which, no matter how richly deserving of destruction, could still be used to serve his purposes. Worse than that, he had almost risked his own precious hide to do it.

  He shivered and glared off into the distance. The world was changing. The Old Gods were putting forth their strength. They had somehow almost managed to influence even Grey Seer Thanquol. He knew that he would have to be very careful. He would not risk tapping into that river of power.

  Not yet anyway.

  ‘What is going on out there?’ Felix asked, squinting out into the dawn light. Even as he watched the eerie glow around the menhirs and the war machines seemed to fade. He knew it was not gone; it had just faded to invisibility in the stronger light of the sun. Felix wondered how long that would last. Morrslieb was still a presence in the sky, a greenish smear of its light visible even through the grey clouds.

  They stood once more on the great watchtower, overlooking the Gargoyle Gate. The walls below them were nearly ten strides thick. The tower was twenty times the height of a man, and bristled with ballistae and other siege engines. From somewhere a group of Imperial mercenaries had produced an organ gun and were manhandling it into position. It was hard work and the men were sweating profusely even on this wintery day. Felix drew his red Sudenland cloak tight about him and glanced over at the others. From somewhere the evil reek of alchemical fire rose to assault his nostrils.

  Gotrek looked stern and sullen. Max looked disturbed. Ulrika looked wan but determined. The other Slayers looked hungover. ‘The army is massing to attack. Even Snorri can see that is obvious, young Felix,’ said Snorri.

  ‘I meant what was that glow? What foul magic is being used out there?’

  Max clutched at the stones of the battlements with his gloved fingers. The duke had asked him to come here and report on the activities of the army. It seemed that from somewhere he had acquired the idea that Max was the most powerful and best qualified magician in the city. Felix suspected that this might even be true.

  ‘They are summoning daemons,’ Max said, ‘and a great deal of magical energy. I can only guess what they are going to do with them.’

  ‘And what would that guess be?’ Gotrek asked.

  ‘I would say that some of the daemons will be bound into those siege engines to move them, rather in the way you use steam to power your own war machines. I have read that such things are possible.’

  ‘Steam power has nothing to do with daemons,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘It was merely an analogy. I think the life force of the daemons will be used to allow those massive metal towers to move and use their weapons and perhaps do other things…’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Shield the occupants from magical attack.’

  ‘You said some of those daemons would be used for that. What about the others?’

  ‘They will materialise directly and be used as shock troops.’

  Felix thought about the great bloodthirster at Karag Dum and shivered. He had hoped never to meet such a thing again in his life, and now they were facing the possibility of an army of them. He voiced his suspicions to Max who shook his head.

  ‘I doubt that will happen. Such creatures are so powerful that even the huge pool of magical energy out there could not support more than a few of them.’

  Felix wondered at the equanimity with which Max said a few of them. One of those creatures had been almost enough to destroy an army. A few of them would be more than capable of overwhelming all of Praag. After all, they did not now have the Hammer of Firebeard to help them. Max carried on speaking, unaware of Felix’s dark thoughts.

  ‘Besides, I think our Chaos-loving friends out there have other uses for the power they are gathering.’

  ‘Such as what?’ Gotrek asked.

  ‘I think they will use it to overwhelm the defensive runes on part of the wall, then use their magic to cast down the towers and parapets so that their troops can come through.’

  ‘Have you any idea where they will do this?’ Felix asked.

  ‘Not until they actually make the attempt. I will be able to sense the flows of power then. Still I would say it’s a fair bet that it will happen where they mass their forces strongest.’

  ‘Unless that is just a feint,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘Look at that army out there, Slayer. It has no need of subtlety. It needs only its strength.’

  For once even Gotrek seemed abashed and fell silent. After a few moments he looked up and grinned, showing his rotten teeth. ‘There will be good killing at this gate,’ he said.

  ‘That there will,’ Max said with no great enthusiasm.

  ‘We are all going to die!’ shouted the zealot. ‘The end of the world is here. From the north the daemons have come. Death rides with them. Plague rides with them. Hunger rides with them. All manner of filth and foulness and abomination ride with them.’

  Felix thought that it was a measure of the change of mood in the city that the scrawny fanatic had managed to get such an attentive audience
in the crowded market square. A few days previously he would have been roundly jeered by the Kislevites. Now, people were really listening to his words.

  ‘It is time to repent your sins, and cleanse your souls. Outside our gates the daemons wait. They have come because we were unworthy, because we betrayed the principles of our ancestors, and sank into licentiousness and debauchery. We have consorted with outlanders and failed to keep the true blood of Kislev pure.’

  Felix frowned. The man had picked up a few more listeners. He could not be sure but he thought some of them were looking at him and Ulrika. He was, by his manner of speech, his clothing and his features marked as a non-Kislevite for sure. His nose was too long, his cheekbones were not high enough, and his features not flat enough. He was too tall to be mistaken for a citizen of Praag.

  ‘The duke has encouraged this. His has been a rule of iniquity where houses of ill-repute have flourished, where outlanders have soiled the native daughters of Kislev into wanton ways, where all manners of foreign vice have undermined the strength and manhood of our nation.’

  ‘He certainly has a bee in his bonnet about something,’ Max muttered. ‘Every lunatic in the city with an axe to grind seems to have come out today.’

  It was certainly true, Felix thought, but not necessarily the most tactful thing to say under the circumstances, particularly not when some of the zealot’s friends and supporters were in earshot. He glanced around. In the crowd he thought he could make out some of the faces of the fanatics who Gotrek had chased out of the White Boar a few nights ago. At that moment, he wished the Slayer was with them, but he had chosen to go off drinking with the other dwarfs, leaving Felix and Ulrika to accompany Max back to the citadel.