by Warhammer
‘Herr Gurnisson, what do you think?’ Zauberlich asked. He turned to beseech the Trollslayer.
‘I will be going down into the dark anyway,’ Gotrek said. ‘It does not bother me what you do. Settle your own quarrels.’
‘We have already lost three-quarters of the people we set out with,’ Zauberlich said, glancing from Jules Gascoigne to Aldred. ‘What purpose would it serve to throw away our own lives?’
‘What purpose would it serve to give up, save to make our comrades’ sacrifice meaningless?’ replied the Templar. ‘If we give up now their deaths will be in vain. They believed that we should find Karaghul. They gave their lives willingly enough.’
The Templar’s fanaticism made Felix uneasy. Aldred talked too casually of men laying down their lives. Yet he also had a calm certainty that gave his words a compelling urgency. Felix knew warriors would follow such a man.
‘You took the same oath as everyone else, Johann. If you wish to foreswear yourself now so be it, but the consequences will be on your own eternal soul.’
Felix felt a wry sympathy for the mage. He himself had sworn to follow Gotrek while drunk, in a warm tavern in a civilised city, after the dwarf had saved his life. Peril had seemed remote then. He shook his head. It was easy to swear such oaths when you had no idea of the consequences. It was another to keep them when the path led to dismal places like Karak Eight Peaks.
Felix heard approaching footsteps. There was a knock and the door creaked open to reveal the female dwarf who had stood beside Belegar in the throne room. ‘I’ve come to warn you,’ she said in her low, pleasant voice.
‘Warn us about what?’ Gotrek enquired curtly.
‘There are terrible things loose in the depths. Why do you think we live in such fear?’
‘I think you had better come in,’ the Trollslayer said.
‘I am Magda Freyadotter. I keep the Book of Remembering at the temple of Valaya. I speak with the voice of Valaya, so you will know that what I say is truth.’
‘Accepted,’ Gotrek Gurnisson said. ‘Speak truth then.’
‘In the darkness, unquiet spirits walk.’ She paused and looked around at them. Her gaze rested on the Trollslayer and lingered.
‘When first we came here we numbered five hundred, with a few mannish allies. The only perils we faced were the orcs and their followers. We cleared this keep and parts of the upper city as a prelude to reclaiming our ancient mines.
‘We made forays into the depths, seeking the vaults of our ancestors, knowing that if we could find them word would spread among the kinsfolk and more would flock here.’
Felix understood the strategy. Word of a treasure find would lure more dwarfs here. He felt a little guilty. It had brought himself and Gotrek.
‘We sent expeditions into the depths in search of the old places. Things had changed from the ancient plans we memorised as children. Tunnels had collapsed, ways were blocked, foul new passages dug by orcs inter-connected with our own.’
‘Did the dwarf Faragrim lead any of these expeditions?’ Gotrek asked.
‘Yes, he did,’ Magda replied.
Gotrek looked at Felix. ‘That much of what he claimed is true then,’ the Trollslayer said.
‘Faragrim was bold and sought deeper and further than all others. What did he tell you?’
Gotrek studied his feet. ‘That he had encountered the mightiest troll he had ever seen – and fled.’
Dwarfs are not good at lying, thought Felix. It seemed impossible that the priestess could not tell he was hiding something. But Magda didn’t appear to notice anything amiss.
Felix thought back to the night in distant Nuln, in the Eight Peaks tavern, when the awesomely drunken Faragrim had poured out his tale to Gotrek. The dwarfs had been so inebriated that they had even seemed to forget there was a human present and had talked excitedly in a mixture of Reikspiel and Khazalid. At the time Felix assumed the dwarfs were only attempting to outdo each other in telling tall tales. Now he wasn’t sure.
‘So that is what terrified him – we thought it was the ghosts,’ Magda said. ‘One day he returned from the depths. His beard had turned pure white. He spoke no word but simply departed.’
‘You spoke of terrors in the depths,’ Zauberlich interrupted.
‘Yes. Our patrols below soon spoke of encountering ghosts of ancient kin. The spirits howled and wailed and begged us to free them from the bondage of Chaos. Soon our early successes were reversed. What dwarf can bear the sight of kinsmen torn from the bosom of the ancestral spirits? Our forces lost heart. Prince Belegar led a mighty expedition to seek the source of the evil. His force was destroyed by the lurkers in the depths. Only he and a few trusted retainers returned. They have never spoken of what they found. Most of our surviving folk departed to their homelands. Now barely a hundred of us are left to hold this keep.’
The colour drained from Gotrek’s face. Felix had never seen the Trollslayer display such fear before. Gotrek could face any living creature boldly but this talk of ghosts had leeched away his courage. The worship of their ancestors must be very important to his people, thought Felix with sudden insight.
‘I have warned you now,’ the priestess said. ‘Do you still wish to go below?’
Gotrek stared off into the fire. All eyes in the room were on him. Felix felt that if Gotrek abandoned his quest then even Aldred might give up. The Templar seemed convinced that the Trollslayer was the dwarf of his prophecy.
Gotrek clutched his axe so tightly that his knuckles were white. He took a deep breath. He seemed to will himself to speak. ‘Man or spirit, alive or dead, I fear it not,’ he said quietly in a voice that was not convincing. ‘I will go below. There is a troll I have to meet.’
‘Well spoken,’ Magda said. ‘I will lead you to the entrance of the realm below.’
Gotrek bowed. ‘It would be an honour.’
‘Tomorrow then,’ she said and rose to go.
Gotrek held the door for her. After she had departed he slumped into the chair. He laid down his axe and clutched at the armrests as if he feared he would fall over. He looked very afraid.
A huge doorway gaped in the side of the mountain. Above it, rising from the rock, was a great window cut through the rock. The window was roofed with red-slate tiles, many of which had fallen in. It was as if a keep had been built and then sunk beneath the earth so that only the tallest parts protruded above the ground.
‘This is the Silvergate,’ Magda said. ‘The Silverway runs to the Upper Granaries and the Long Stairs. I believe the Way is clear. After that, beware!’
‘Thank you,’ Felix said. Gotrek nodded to the priestess. Aldred, Jules and Zauberlich bowed. The men looked very sombre.
They began to check their lanterns and the supply of oil. They had plenty of provisions. All their weapons were oiled and ready.
Magda reached within the sleeves of her robe. She produced a tube of parchment and handed it to Gotrek. He unrolled it, gave it a quick glance and bowed from the waist until his crest touched the ground.
‘May Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya watch over you all,’ Magda said and made a peculiar sign of benediction over them.
‘The blessing of Sigmar upon you and your clan,’ Aldred Fellblade replied.
‘Let’s go,’ Gotrek Gurnisson said. They hefted their gear and passed under the arch. Felix could see that it was marked with old dwarf runes that time had yet to erode.
As they passed below, they were cast into shadow and chill. Felix could not repress a shiver.
Light from the great window illuminated the way down into the gloom. Felix marvelled at the precision of dwarfish engineering. At the brow of the slope he turned and looked back. The priestess and her escort stood there. He waved to her and she raised an arm in farewell. Then they began the downward way and the lands above were hidden from view. Felix wondered if any of them would ever see daylight again.
‘What did the priestess give you, Herr Gurnisson?’ Johann Zauberlich asked. Gotrek thrust the d
ocument into the magician’s hand.
‘It’s a map of the city copied from the master-map in the temple of Valaya the Rememberer. It covers all the ground that Prince Belegar’s expeditions explored.’
By the light of the glowing crystals overhead the sorcerer inspected it, then scratched his head. Felix looked over his shoulder and saw only a scrawl of tiny runes connected with lines in different coloured ink. Some of the lines were thick, others were thin and some were dotted.
‘It is like no map I’ve ever seen,’ the mage said. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of it.’
Gotrek’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘I would be surprised if you could. It’s written in the rune-code of the Engineers’ Guild.’
‘We are in your hands, Herr Gurnisson, and Sigmar’s,’ the Templar said. ‘Lead on.’
Felix tried to count the number of steps he took but gave up at eight hundred and sixty-two. He had noted the passages leading off the Silverway and began to have some idea of the scale of the dwarf city. It was like the floating mountains of ice that mariners reported in the Sea of Claws. Nine-tenths of it was below the surface. The scale overwhelmed any of the works of man Felix had ever seen. It was a humbling experience.
The way passed many openings in the wall. Some were still partially bricked up. The brickwork looked recent. Something had chipped through it using very crude tools. There was a smell of rot in the air.
‘Grain silos,’ Gotrek explained. ‘Used to feed the city in winter. Looks like gobbos have been at Belegar’s stores though.’
‘If there are any greenskins near, they will soon taste my steel,’ Aldred Fellblade said.
Jules and Felix exchanged worried looks. They were not as keen as the Templar and the Trollslayer to get to grips with whatever dwelled down here.
Felix lost track of time but he guessed it was half an hour before they left the Silverway and entered a hallway as large as the Koenigspark in Altdorf. It was lit by great slots in the ceiling. Motes of dust danced in a dozen columns of light taller than the towers of Nuln. The sound of their steps echoed, disturbing strange shadowy, fluttering things that lurked by the ceiling.
‘The Square of Merscha,’ Gotrek said, in a voice that held a note of wonder. He gazed into the hall with a strange mixture of hatred and pride. ‘Where Queen Hilga’s personal troops turned and stood off an army of goblins a hundred times their number. They gave the Queen and many of the citizens time to escape. Never did I expect to lay eyes on it. Walk carefully. Every stone has been sanctified with the blood of heroes.’
Felix looked at the Trollslayer. He saw a new person. Since they had entered the city Gotrek had changed. He stood taller, prouder. He no longer cast furtive looks around and muttered to himself. For the first time since Felix had met him the dwarf seemed at ease. It’s as if he’s come home, thought Felix.
Now it’s we men who are out of place, he realised, suddenly aware of the immense weight of stone which lay between him and the sun. He had to fight against the fear that the whole mountain, held in place only by the fragile craft of those ancient dwarfs, would fall in on him, burying him forever. He sensed the closeness of the dark, of the old places beneath the mountains that had never known daylight. The seeds of terror were planted in his heart.
He looked out across a square larger than any structure he had ever known and he knew that he could not cross it. Absurdly, far below the surface of the earth, he began to feel agoraphobic. He did not want to pass below that vaulted ceiling for fear that the artificial sky would fall. He felt dizzy and his breathing came in ragged gasps.
A reassuring hand fell on his shoulder. Felix looked down to see that Gotrek stood by him. Slowly the urge to run back up the Silverway passed and he felt some semblance of calm return. He looked back out over the square of Merscha, overcome with awe.
‘Truly, yours are a mighty people, Gotrek Gurnisson,’ he said.
Gotrek looked up at him and there was sadness in his eyes. ‘Aye, manling, that we were, but the craft which created this hall is beyond us now. We no longer have the number of masons needed to build it.’
Gotrek turned and looked back into the hall, then, he shook his head. ‘Ach, manling, you have some inkling of how far we have fallen. The days of our glory are behind us. Once we created all of this. Now we huddle in a few shrunken cities and wait for the end of the world. The day of the dwarf has gone, never to return. We crawl like maggots through the work of elder days and the glory of what once was ours mocks us.’
He gestured out at the hall with his axe, as if he wished he could demolish it with one blow.
‘This is what we must measure ourselves against!’ he bellowed. The startled men looked at him. The echoes mocked him. Somewhere among them Felix Jaeger thought he heard the sounds of furtive movement. When he looked towards the noise he could almost swear he saw winking amber eyes receding slowly into the dark.
As they progressed, the stone of the undercity took on a peculiar greenish tinge. They moved away from the lit hall into shadowy gloom, faintly illuminated by dim, flickering glowjewels. Occasionally Felix heard a tapping sound. Gotrek stopped and placed a hand against the wall. Out of curiosity Felix did the same. He felt a small, distant vibration pass through the stone.
Gotrek glanced at him. ‘Gobbo wall-drumming,’ he said. ‘They know we’re here. Best speed our pace to confuse any scouts.’
Felix nodded. The walls glittered like jade. He could see fat, red-eyed rats move away from the light. Their hides were pure black. Gotrek cursed and stamped at the nearest one but it evaded him.
He shook his head. ‘Even here, so close to the surface, we see the taint of Chaos. It must be worse down below.’
They came to a stairway running down into the dark. Great columns had fallen away. Piles of masonry lay in a heap. The stair itself seemed crumbled. They disturbed a nest of flitterwings. The small bats took off like scraps of shadow and fluttered about. Uneasily Felix wondered how safe the stairs were.
They descended through galleries marked with the signs of orcish despoliation. Rats scuttled ahead of them from nests under broken stonework. Gotrek gestured for them to halt and stood sniffing the air. From behind them Felix thought he heard the sound of footfalls further up the stairs.
‘I smell gobbos,’ the Trollslayer said.
‘They are behind us, I think,’ Jules said.
‘All around us,’ Gotrek said. ‘This place has been used as an orc road for many years.’
‘What shall we do?’ Felix asked, exchanging worried looks with Zauberlich.
‘Push on,’ Gotrek said, consulting the map. ‘We’re going the way we want to anyway.’
Felix glanced back. He suspected they were being herded into a trap. Things look bad, he thought. Our way back to the surface has been cut off already, unless Gotrek knows another route. The Trollslayer’s expression assured him that Gotrek was giving no thought to such matters.
The dwarf glanced around worriedly as if expecting to see a ghost.
Their pursuers’ footsteps came ever closer. From ahead, echoing through the galleries, they heard a bellow that was deeper and louder than any orc’s.
‘What was that?’ Zauberlich asked.
‘Something big,’ Aldred said quietly.
Gotrek ran his thumb along the blade of his axe until a jewel of blood glistened on its blade.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘It must be close,’ Felix said nervously, wondering if his face was as ashen as the sorcerer’s and the scout’s.
‘Hard to say,’ Gotrek said. ‘These tunnels distort sound. Amplify it too. It could be miles away.’
The roar came again and there was the sound of running feet, as if goblins scuttled to obey an order.
‘It’s closer this time,’ Felix said.
‘Calm yourself, manling. As I said, it’s probably miles away.’
It stood waiting in the next hall, near the foot of the long stairway. They passed under an archway carved with skelet
al daemons’ heads and saw the beast: an immense ogre, half again as tall as and four times the bulk of Aldred. A crest of hair emerged from its scaly scalp. Like Gotrek’s crest, it was dyed. Unlike Gotrek’s, it was patterned in alternating black and white bands. A huge spiked arm-guard, its fist a long, wicked scythe, covered its right arm. An enormous spiked ball and chain dangled from its left hand. It looked like it could demolish a castle wall.
The creature grinned, revealing spiked metal teeth. Behind it hunched a company of goblins, green skins glistening. They clutched metal shields emblazoned with the emblem of the skull. Scabs and boils and pock marks marked their leering, ugly faces. Some wore spiked collars round their necks. Some had metal rings pinching the flesh of their torsos. Their eyes were red and without pupils. Felix wondered if this was another sign of the taint of Chaos.
He glanced around. To his right was tumbled masonry. It looked as if old dwarfish stonework had been brought down and cleared to make way for newer and cruder carvings. Iron chains were set in the wall near him. To the left was a great chimney carved so that the fireplace was the maw of a gaping daemonic head. Brownish blood stained the stone. Have we stumbled into some goblin temple? wondered Felix. Just what we need, a man-hungry ogre and a horde of goblin fanatics. Well, he consoled himself, at least things can’t get any worse.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to look back up the stairs. Down them poured another company of goblins led by a burly orc. In its left hand it clutched a scimitar and in its right it held a standard whose banner depicted a stylised representation of the tusked maw of the cursed moon, Morrslieb. Stuck on the top of the standard was an embalmed human head. Behind the bearer came more goblins armed with maces and spears and axes.
Felix looked at Jules. The Bretonnian gave a shrug. What a terrible place to die, thought Felix. For a long moment the three groups exchanged glares. There was a brief peaceful silence.
‘For Sigmar!’ Aldred cried, raising his great sword high and charging down the stairs with surprising nimbleness for a man garbed in plate.
‘Tanugh aruk!’ Gotrek bellowed, as he followed. Overhead, the glowjewels seemed to glow briefly brighter. ‘Kill the goblin-scum!’
