by Warhammer
‘Think,’ Manfred said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Think of lying sleeping in your bed and hearing the soft pad of approaching feet and no breathing whatsoever except your own… You could lie there listening to your heart pound and know that no heartbeat tolled within the chest of the approaching–’
‘Yes,’ Felix said hurriedly. ‘I’m sure it will be an excellent work. You must let me read it when it is complete.’
He decided to change the subject, tried to think of one that would appeal to this strange young man. ‘I was thinking perhaps of writing a poem myself. Could you tell me more of the von Diehl curse?’
Manfred’s face froze. His glittering look made Felix shiver, then Manfred shook his head and smiled and became his old affable self.
‘There is little to tell.’ He giggled lightly. ‘My grandfather was a very devout man. Always burning witches and mutants to prove it. One Hexensnacht he roasted a pretty maid called Irina Trask. All his subjects came to watch, for she was a beauty. As the flames rose about her, she called on the powers of hell to avenge her, to bring death to my grandfather and the wrath of Chaos to his heirs and followers and all of their children. The darkness and its children will take you all, she said.’
He fell silent and stared gloomily towards the hills. Felix prompted him. ‘What happened?’
‘Shortly thereafter my grandfather was killed while out hunting, by a pack of beastmen. There was a quarrel amongst his sons. The eldest, Kurt, was heir. My father and his brother rebelled and ousted him. Some folk say that Kurt became a bandit and was killed by a warrior of Chaos. Others claim that he headed north and met a much darker fate.
‘My father inherited the barony and married my mother, Katerina von Wittgenstein.’ Felix stared at him. The Wittgensteins were a family with a dark reputation, shunned by normal society. Manfred ignored his stare.
‘Uncle Gottfried became their warleader. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father disappeared. Gottfried seized power. Since then we have been dogged by ill-luck.’
Felix could see a figure approaching downslope. It was Frau Winter. She seemed to be in a great hurry. ‘Disappeared?’ Felix said distractedly.
‘Aye, vanished. It wasn’t until much later I found out what had happened to him.’
Frau Winter approached, glaring at Manfred. ‘Bad news,’ she said. ‘I’ve discovered an opening on the hillside up there. It is barred by runes, but I sense a terrible danger lies beyond it.’
Something in her tone compelled belief. She swirled on down into the camp. Manfred glared daggers at her back.
Felix looked over at him. ‘There is no love lost between you two, is there?’
‘She hates me, has done ever since uncle named me heir. She thinks her son should be the next baron.’
Felix raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh yes, didn’t you know? Dieter is her son. He’s my father’s bastard offspring.’
Moonlight dappled the waters of Thunder River. It gleamed like liquid silver. Old gnarled trees hung over the banks at this point, reminding Felix of waiting trolls. Nervously, he looked about. There was something in the air tonight, he decided; a tension, a feeling that something was not right. He had to fight to control the sensation that somewhere something evil stirred, hungry for his life, for the lives of all the people of Baron Gottfried’s entourage.
‘Is there something wrong, Felix? You seem very distracted tonight,’ Kirsten said.
He looked over to her and smiled, finding pleasure in her presence. Normally he enjoyed their nightly walks by the river but tonight foreboding came between them.
‘No. Just tired.’ He couldn’t restrain a glance in the direction of the nearby hills. By the light of the moons the opening looked very like a gaping maw.
‘It’s this place, isn’t it? There’s something unnatural about it. I can feel it. It’s like when Frau Winter does one of her dangerous spells. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Only this is much worse.’
Felix saw terror surface in her face, then disappear again. She looked out over the water. ‘Something old and evil dwells below those hills, Felix. Something hungry. We could die here.’
Felix took her hand. ‘We’re quite safe. We’re still by the river.’ His voice quivered and his words did not come across reassuringly. He sounded like a scared boy. They were both shaking.
‘Everyone in the camp is afraid, except your friend Gotrek. Why is he so fearless?’
Felix laughed quietly. ‘Gotrek is a Trollslayer, sworn to seek death to atone for some crime. He’s an exile from his home, family and friends. He has no place in this world. He is brave because he has nothing to lose. He can only regain his honour by dying honourably.’
‘Why do you follow him? You seem like a sensible man.’
Felix considered his reply carefully. He had never really questioned his motives that closely. Under the gaze of Kirsten’s dark eyes it suddenly became important for him to know.
‘He saved my life. We pledged blood-loyalty after that. At the time I did not know what the ritual meant but I’ve stuck to it.’
He had given the barest facts, the truth in a sense, but not an explanation. He paused and stroked the old scar on his right cheek. He wanted to be honest.
‘I killed a man in a duel. It caused a scandal. I had to give up my life as a student, my father disinherited me. I was full of anger, got into trouble with the law. At the time I met Gotrek I had no goals, I was just drifting. Gotrek’s purpose was so strong I just got sucked along behind him. It was easier to follow him than to start a new life. Something about his self-destructive madness appealed to me.’
She looked at him questioningly. ‘It doesn’t any more?’
He shook his head. ‘What about you? What brings you along Thunder River?’
They approached a tumbled tree. Felix gave Kirsten a hand up onto the bole, then jumped up beside her himself. She smoothed the folds of her long peasant skirt, tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear. Felix thought she looked very lovely in the light of the twin moons, with the mist beginning to rise.
‘My parents were vassals of Baron Gottfried’s, serfs back in Diehlendorf. They indentured me to Frau Winter. They died back in the avalanche, along with my sisters.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Felix said. ‘I didn’t know.’
She shrugged fatalistically. ‘There has been so much death along the way. I’m just grateful to be here.’
She was quiet for a long moment and when she spoke again her voice was soft. ‘I miss them.’
Felix could think of nothing to say, so he kept quiet.
‘You know, my grandmother never travelled more than a mile from Diehlendorf in her life. She never even saw the inside of that bleak old castle. All she knew was her hut and the strips of fields where she laboured. Already I’ve seen mountains and towns and this river. I’ve travelled further than she ever dreamed. In a way I’m glad.’
Felix looked at her. Along the shadowy planes of her cheeks he could see a teardrop glisten. Their faces were very close. Behind her, tendrils of mist drifted from the surface of the river. It had thickened quickly. He could barely see the water. Kirsten moved closer.
‘If I hadn’t come I wouldn’t have met you.’
They kissed, unskilfully, tentatively. Lips barely brushed lips. Felix leaned forward and took her long hair in his hands. They leaned into each other, holding one another hungrily as the kiss deepened. Passionately their hands began to wander, exploring each other’s bodies through the thick layers of clothing.
They leaned over too far. Kirsten screamed slightly as they fell off the tree trunk onto the soft wet earth.
‘My cloak’s all muddy,’ Felix said.
‘Perhaps you’d better take it off. We can lie on it. The ground’s all wet.’
Under the shadow of the deathly hills they made love in the mist and moonlight.
‘Where have you been, manling, and why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’ Gotrek asked
surlily.
‘Down by the river,’ Felix replied innocently. ‘Just walking.’
Gotrek raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘You picked a bad night just to go walking. See the way this mist thickens. I smell sorcery.’
Felix looked at him, feeling fear creep though his bones. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. He remembered the mist that had covered the moors around the Darkstone Ring a year before, and what it had hidden. He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness.
‘If that’s true we should tell Dieter and the baron.’
‘I’ve already informed the duke’s henchman. The guard has been doubled. That’s all they would do.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Get some sleep, manling. It will be your watch soon.’
Felix lay down in the back of the wagon on top of some sacks of grain. He pulled his cloak tight about him. Try as he might, sleep was a long time coming. He kept thinking of Kirsten. When he stared at Morrslieb, the lesser moon, it seemed he could see the outline of her face. The mist grew thicker, muffling all sound except Gotrek’s quiet breathing.
When sleep finally came, he dreamed dark dreams in which dead men walked.
In the distance a horse whinnied uneasily. A huge hand was clamped over Felix’s mouth. He struggled furiously, wondering whether Lars had come back for revenge.
‘Hist, manling! Something comes. Be very quiet.’
Felix came groggily to full wakefulness. His eyes felt dry and tired; his muscles ached from the mattress of sacks. He felt weary and lacking in energy.
‘What is it, Gotrek?’ he asked softly. The Trollslayer gestured for him to be quiet and sniffed at the air.
‘Whatever it is, it’s been dead a long time.’
Felix shivered and drew his cloak tight. He felt fear begin to churn in the pit of his stomach. As the meaning of the dwarf’s words sank in, he had to fight to restrain the terror.
Felix peered out into the mist. It cloaked the land, obscuring vision at more than a spear’s length. If Felix strained every sense he could just make out the wagon opposite. He cast a glance back over his shoulder, fearful that some frightful denizen of the dark might be creeping up behind him.
His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears and he remembered Manfred’s words. He pictured bony hands reaching out to grab him and carry him off to a deep dark tomb. His muscles felt as if they had frozen in place. He had to struggle to get them to move, to reach for the hilt of his sword.
‘I’m going to take a look around,’ Gotrek whispered. Before Felix could argue or follow, the dwarf dropped noiselessly off the cart and vanished into the gloom.
Now Felix felt totally alone. It was like waking from one nightmare to find himself in a worse one. He was isolated in the dark and clammy mist. He knew that just outside the range of his perception hungry, uncanny creatures lurked. Some primitive sense told him so. He knew that to stir from the cart meant death.
Yet Kirsten was out there, sleeping in Frau Winter’s carriage. He pictured her lying in bed as terrible pressure was exerted on the caravan’s door and slowly the timber buckled inwards, to reveal–
He drew his blade and leapt from the cart. The soft thud of his feet rang as loud as the tolling of a bell to his fear-honed senses. He strained to pick out details in the mist as he moved through the outer ring of wagons to where he knew Kirsten was.
Every step seemed to take eternity. He cast wary glances about him, fearful that something was creeping up stealthily behind. He skirted pockets of deep shadow. He wanted to cry out loud to alert the camp, but something instinctively stopped him. To do so would be to attract the attention of the terrible watchers – and that would mean death.
A figure loomed out of the shadows, and Felix brought his sword up. His heart was in his mouth until he noticed the figure was wearing leather armour and a metal cap. A guard, he thought, relaxing. Thank Sigmar. But when the figure turned, Felix almost screamed.
Its face had no flesh. Greenish light flickered in its empty sockets. Age-rotten teeth smirked from the fleshless, lipless mouth. He saw that the helm which he had originally taken for a guard’s was verdigrised bronze and inscribed with runes which hurt the eye. The smell of mould and rotten leather rose from the thing’s tunic and tattered cloak.
It lashed out at him with its rusty blade. Felix stood frozen for a moment and then, acting on reflex, flung himself to one side. The thing’s sword nicked his ribs. Pain seared his side. He noticed the movement of ancient tendons under the paper-thin skin of the hand which held the weapon. He countered with a high blow to the neck, his body responding with trained discipline even as his mind reeled in horror.
His blade crashed through the thing’s neck with a cracking of severed vertebrae. His return blow chopped through its chest like a butcher’s cleaver through a bone. The skeletal warrior fell like a marionette with its strings cut.
As if Felix’s blows were a signal, the night came alive with shadowy figures. He heard wood splinter and animals scream in terror, as if whatever spell had held them mute was broken. Somewhere off in the night Gotrek Gurnisson bellowed his war chant.
Felix rushed through the mist, almost colliding with Dieter as he tumbled out of a wagon. The big man was fully dressed and clutched a hand-axe.
‘What’s going on?’ he shouted, through the cacophony of screams.
‘Attackers… dead things from under the hills,’ Felix said. The words came out in jerky gasps.
‘Foes!’ Dieter shouted. ‘To me, men. Rally to me!’ He gave out a wolf-like war-cry. From about them came a few weak answering howls. Felix charged on, seeking Kirsten’s home. From the shadowy gap between two wagons, figures leapt out, striking at him with long, wickedly curved blades.
He writhed aside from one and parried the other. Two more skeletal creatures leered at him. He chopped at one’s leg. It fell over as his blade broke through the knee. Mind numbed with horror, he fought almost mechanically, leaping over the blow of the one on the ground then bringing his heel down to break its spine. Blows flickered between him and the other until he chopped it to pieces.
He saw two of the fiends battering though the door of Frau Winter’s wagon just as he had feared. From inside came the sound of chanting, which he assumed was a prayer. He prepared himself to charge but his eyes were dazzled by a sudden blueish flash. Chain lightning flickered and a rank smell of ozone filled the air, overcoming even the stench of rot. When Felix’s sight cleared he saw the charred remains of two skeletons lying near the caravan’s steps.
In the doorway Frau Winter stood calm and unafraid, a nimbus of light emerging from her left hand. She looked over at Felix and gave him an encouraging nod.
Behind her was Kirsten, who pointed mutely over his shoulder. He whirled and saw a dozen undead warriors rushing towards him. He heard Dieter and his men run up to meet them. Then he joined the rush.
For Felix the night became howling chaos as he hacked his way round the camp in search of Gotrek. At one point the mist cleared and he pushed some quivering children under a wagon away from the bodies of their dead parents. The man lay in a night shirt, the woman close by, a broom handle clutched in one hand like a spear. Felix heard a sound and turned to face a skeletal giant bearing down at him. Somehow he survived.
Felix fought back to back with Dieter until they stood among a pile of mouldering bones. The battle surged away from him as the mist closed in and for a long moment he stood alone, listening to the screams of the dying.
A passing figure lashed out at him and they exchanged blows. Felix saw that it was Lars, a grin frozen on his face revealing missing teeth, terror froth foaming from his mouth. Berserkly he hacked at Felix. The man was mad with fear.
‘Bathtard!’ he hissed, chopping at Felix with a blow which would have felled a tree. Felix ducked underneath the blow and lunged forward, taking him through the heart. Lars sobbed as he died. Felix wondered how crazed Lars really had been. If the trapper had killed Felix it could have been
blamed on the attackers. He returned to the fray.
He rounded a corner to find a score of undead warriors being driven back by the furious onslaught of Gotrek’s axe. Blue chain lightning flickered and the area about him was suddenly clear. He looked about for Frau Winter to offer his thanks but she was gone, vanished into the mists. He turned to see Gotrek standing astonished, his jaw hanging open.
Sometime before dawn, their assailants retreated back towards the hills, leaving Baron von Diehl’s warriors to contemplate their ruined wagons and the bodies of their dead.
In the early morning light, Felix watched warily as Gotrek inspected the rubble of the old stone arch. The stench of dank air and mouldering bones that came from within made Felix want to gag. He turned to stare down the hillside, to where the surviving exiles were building funeral pyres for the dead out of the remains of ruined wagons. Nobody wanted to bury them so close to the hills.
Felix heard Gotrek grunt with grim satisfaction, and turned to look at him. The dwarf was running his hand expertly along the broken stones with their faint webwork of old runes. Gotrek looked up and grinned savagely.
‘No doubt about it, manling: the runes guarding the entrance were broken from the outside.’
Felix looked at him. Suspicion blossomed. He was very afraid. ‘It looks as though someone has been giving the von Diehl curse a helping hand,’ he whispered.
Rain lashed down from the grey sky. The cart rumbled southward. Beside the caravan the waters of Thunder River tumbled headlong towards their goal. The rain-swollen river constantly threatened to burst its banks. Felix jerked the reins; the oxen lowed and redoubled their efforts to move on the muddy ground.
Beside him Kirsten sneezed. Like almost everyone else, she was pale and ill-looking. The strain of the long journey and the worsening weather had made them all prey to disease.
