Gotrek & Felix- the First Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  A flicker of movement attracted his eye as the head of a huge elk, as high at the shoulder as a man, emerged from bushes overlooking a ledge of rock fifty yards above him. It gazed down warily as if judging whether it was safe to come down for water. Felix eyed the mighty sweep of its antlers with respect.

  As the clouds parted, shafts of sunlight illuminated the valley. The chatter of birdsong reached his ears and mingled with the muted roar of the falling water. He bent to pick up a pine cone, enjoying the scaly roughness of its serrated edges beneath his fingers.

  For a moment the beauty of the scene held him enthralled. Even his thoughts of revenge on the merchant’s son evaporated. He felt relaxed and at peace, and the pain of his beaten body temporarily vanished. He was glad he had seen this place, that all the steps of his long journey had brought him here. He knew he would be one of the few men who ever saw this valley. The thought pleased him.

  The presence of the elk was right. It made the scene look like a perfectly composed landscape painting. Then it struck him that perhaps it was rather odd that the deer was raising a horn to its lips with a massive, suspiciously human-looking hand. Then a blast of sound echoed down the valley and before it had faded the knowledge filtered into Felix’s brain that he had not seen the head of an elk. It was the head of an altered one.

  He lobbed the pine cone in the direction of the lake and, pulling his cloak around him against the increasing chill, he hurried onward and upward after Gotrek. He looked around for signs of pursuit but saw none. Even the elk-headed mutant was nowhere to be seen.

  Now Felix knew for certain that they were being followed. Looking back down the winding trail he could see their pursuers, a band of mutants. All that long afternoon as he and Gotrek had climbed the flank of the mountain they had gathered behind them. The way back to Fredericksburg was blocked.

  He stopped and let his breathing and heartbeat return to normal. He tried to count the number of their pursuers but it was difficult. The early evening gloom caused the creatures to blend in with the grey of the rock face. Felix made the sign of the hammer across his chest and commended his soul to Sigmar.

  He had always known he would die in some out-of-the-way place. His participation in the dwarf’s quest made it inevitable. He had just not imagined it would be so soon. It was all so stupid. Gotrek would not even get his heroic doom. The Slayer was too busy staring blankly into space, oblivious to their danger.

  At first it had been easy to pretend that nothing was happening; that the horn-blowing beast was but a solitary creature too scared to tackle two well-armed travellers. But as the day wore on, the signs had mounted to tell them it wasn’t so.

  When Felix had seen the cloven-hoofed tracks mingling with clawed human footprints in the mud surrounding a ford he had managed to dismiss them as old spoor, something to which he did not need to pay too much attention. Yet even then he had loosened his sword in its scabbard.

  Sometime later, as Felix clambered his way ever upwards after Gotrek’s uncaring back, he had caught sight of scuttling shapes keeping pace with them. They flitted from tree to tree on either side of the path. He had tried to get a closer look but the shadow under the pines had defeated even his keen eyes. All he was left with was the impression of tentacled figures keeping carefully from view.

  His nerves had begun to fray. He felt like charging under the canopy of the trees and seeking his foes. But what if he lost the path? Or what if there were more than one or two of them? Vague suspicion had kept him inactive. He had pushed aside his fears and kept climbing.

  It had become almost unbearable when he had heard the horn blast away to his right and it had been answered by a similar one from the other side of the trail. He knew then that the accursed ones were closing in, that they were gathering for the feast. He was tempted to make a stand then, to get it over with – but some impulse had kept him going up towards the snowline.

  He told himself it was the urge to keep trying, not to give up in the face of certain doom that drove him onwards, but he was honest enough with himself to know that it was just fear. He did not want to meet the mutants; he wanted to postpone the inevitable end for as long as possible.

  Now he stood on the ridge near the snowline and looked back down the trail and knew it was finished. Here, in this frigid, windswept, barren place, his life would end along with the day. There would be no revenge on Wolfgang, no homecoming in Altdorf, no epic poem for Gotrek.

  He looked at the Slayer who stood nearby, watching the oncoming mutants, his axe drooping in his clumsy grip. Felix counted about ten of them. The one in the lead was a familiar gross fat giant. His heart sank even further. He had envisaged perhaps begging for mercy or offering the prospect of a ransom, anything that would extend his life. Surely, though, the obese giant would want his revenge for the slaughter of the previous day.

  Wait – what was growing at his feet? Small yellow flowers grew in clumps of thin soil in the shelter of the ridge. As the sun began to sink he realised it was what he had been sent to find. It seemed like a very slim chance but…

  Swiftly he plucked a few blossoms and thrust them at Gotrek.

  ‘Eat them,’ he commanded. The Trollslayer stared at him as if he were truly mad. Slowly a frown passed across his scarred face.

  ‘Don’t want to eat flowers,’ he said in bemusement.

  ‘Just eat them!’ Felix roared. Like an abashed child, the Slayer shoved them into his mouth and began to chew.

  Felix studied him carefully, hoping to see signs of some change in the dwarf, the sudden, miraculous return of his old ferocity stimulated by the supposed magical quality of the flowers. He could see none.

  Well, it had been a faint hope anyway, he told himself.

  The mutants were close now. Felix could see that it was definitely the survivors of the band which had previously attacked them. Gotrek spat out a cud of yellow and moved behind Felix.

  Oh well, Felix decided, best to meet death with a sword in his hand. At least this way he would take one or two of the warp-spawned to Hell with him. As he unsheathed the sleek weapon, the fading sunlight caught the blade, and caused the runes to glow. Felix studied them as if for the first time. The approach of death made all of his senses keener. He appreciated the workmanship of those old dwarf craftsmen as he had never done before. He wondered what the runes meant, what their intricate symbolism signified. There was so much he would never know now and so much he wanted to find out.

  The mutants had stopped not fifty paces away and their giant leader peered at Felix myopically. After a pause he cuffed the elk-headed mutant about the ear and advanced.

  Felix wondered whether he should charge at the foul thing and hope to slay him. Perhaps that would break the morale of his confederates. Sword versus great stone club, he was sure he could win if only the others didn’t intervene. With that thought some semblance of courage returned. There was some hope. He grinned a feral grin; fear had passed him and he almost started to enjoy the situation.

  The leader paused ten paces from Felix; a great wobbling mound of fat, girded around with studded leather and many weapons. Waves of blubber cascaded from his chin like tallow melting on a candle. His huge hairless head was like a ball of meat with tiny holes poked in it for the eyes, nose and mouth. To the man’s surprise he seemed quite nervous.

  ‘I’m not fooled, you know,’ the mutant said at last. His voice sounded like the tolling of a great bell. It boomed out from within his vast chest. He was so close that Felix could hear his phlegmy, wheezing breaths.

  ‘What?’ Felix said, bemused. Was this a trick?

  ‘I can see through your plan. Trying to get us within range of your friend’s axe, then slaughter us.’

  ‘But–’ The unfairness of the accusation mortified Felix. Here he was, standing waiting bravely for death and his disgusting opponent was claiming it was the other way about.

  ‘You must think us complete idiots. Well, the warpstone didn’t melt our brains along with our bod
ies. How stupid do you think we are? Your friend here pretends to be afraid but we recognise him. He’s the one who killed Hans and Peter and Gretchen. And all the others. We know him and we know his axe and there’s no way you’re going to lure us within its sweep.’

  ‘But–’ Now that he had mustered his courage to make a brave last stand Felix felt cheated. He wanted to demand that they get on with their attack.

  ‘I told Gorm Moosehead that I thought it was you, but he said “No”. Well, I was right and he was wrong, and I didn’t gather the clan just so you and your nasty friend could collect the bounty on mutant heads.’

  ‘But–’ Slowly it dawned on Felix what was happening. They had been reprieved. He forced his mouth firmly shut before it could betray him.

  ‘No! You may think you’re clever but you’re not clever enough. This is one trap we’re not going to fall into. We’re too smart for you. I just wanted you to know that.’

  So saying, the mutant leader backed slowly and cautiously away. Felix watched the foul band melt back into the gloom and only then did he let out his breath. He stood transfixed for a moment. The twilight on the nearby peaks was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He even rejoiced in the chill and the pain that throbbed in his hand. They were signs he was still alive.

  ‘Thank you, Sigmar, thank you!’ he shouted, unable to contain his joy.

  ‘What are you shouting about?’ Gotrek asked excitedly.

  Felix resisted the sudden blinding urge to run him through with his sword. Instead he clapped the dwarf on the back. After a moment it struck him that they were stuck up here on the mountain until the morning. Even that thought was endurable.

  ‘Quick, we must gather the flowers,’ Felix said. ‘The sun hasn’t set yet!’

  ‘Who is it?’ Lothar Kryptmann called warily from inside, as Felix banged upon his door. ‘What do you want?’

  It was just early evening and Felix was surprised by the elaborate precautions with which the alchemist greeted them.

  ‘It’s me. Felix Jaeger. I’m back. Open up!’ Was it just his imagination or did Kryptmann sound more than usually nervous, Felix wondered? He turned and looked down the street. Lights glowed through the chinks in shuttered windows. In the distance he heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the metalled wheels of a carriage on cobbles, heading towards the taverns of the town square. The wealthy out to play, he supposed.

  ‘Hold on! Hold on! I’m coming.’

  Felix stopped knocking. He coughed. Just his luck to have caught a chill on that pestilential mountain-top. He mopped the sweat of fever from his brow and drew his cloak tighter against the chill mist. He glared at Gotrek, who stood stupidly at the top of the steps leading down to the basement apartment, holding the flowers he had collected. As usual the Slayer showed no sign of illness.

  Bolts snapped on the door. Chains were loosened. The door opened a little. Through the chink, light spilled out along with the pungent odour of chemicals. Felix pushed the door open despite the alchemist’s resistance and forced his way within. He was surprised to see Greta standing in the room’s other doorway. She had obviously been hiding in the other rooms.

  ‘Do come in, Herr Jaeger,’ the alchemist said tetchily. He stood aside to let Gotrek enter.

  ‘Wolfgang is looking for you,’ Felix said to the girl. She looked too scared to speak. ‘Why?’

  ‘Leave her alone, Herr Jaeger,’ Kryptmann said. ‘Can’t you see she’s terrified? She’s had rather a nasty shock at the hands of your friend, Lammel.’

  Swiftly Kryptmann outlined what Greta had seen when she ventured into the merchant’s son’s quarters the previous evening. Kryptmann was discreet about why she went but he mentioned the stigmata of Chaos she had noticed.

  ‘I feared as much. I should have known when he made me add warpstone to his weirdroot. I would imagine that’s when he started to develop the mark of the daemon.’

  ‘You added warpstone to his weirdroot? Warpstone?’

  ‘There’s no need to look so shocked, my young friend. Its usage is not that uncommon in certain alchemical operations. Many respectable practitioners of my art make use of it in small doses. Why my old tutor at Middenheim University, the great Litzenreich himself, used to say…’

  ‘I heard that Litzenreich was thrown out of the university for his experiments and that the Guild of Alchemists withdrew his license. There was quite a scandal. In fact, the last I heard he was an outlaw.’

  ‘There is always malice among academics. Litzenreich was simply a man ahead of his time. I mean, look how long it took Eisenstern’s theory that the sun goes round the earth to become commonly accepted. He was burned at the stake for claiming it originally.’

  ‘Regardless of the philosophical merits of your argument, Herr Kryptmann, warpstone is a highly illegal and dangerous substance. If a witch-hunter was ever to hear–’

  Kryptmann seemed to shrink in on himself. ‘That’s exactly what Wolfgang Lammel told me – though how he found out about my experiments is beyond me. I purchase the warp… the substance from a very small, very discreet emporium in Nuln. Van Niek’s. I told him I didn’t want to do anything illegal with it. All I wanted to do was learn how to transmute lead into gold – and warpstone is the very essence of transmutation.’

  ‘So Wolfgang is about to find out, it would seem.’ Try as he might, Felix could not keep an unseemly note of gloating from his voice. It was perfect. He would unmask the decadent swine as a mutant in front of the whole town. Thus would he repay him for the beating he had taken, and for what he had done to Greta too of course.

  ‘You won’t report me to the authorities, will you, my young friend? After all, I did treat your wounds. I promise that if you don’t report me, I’ll never have anything to do with warpstone again.’

  Felix glanced at the scared alchemist; he had nothing against him and Kryptmann might well have learned his lesson about dealing in illegal substances. But there was still the problem of the man’s bodyguards to deal with. Still, he had the answer to that too.

  ‘Herr Kryptmann, if you can cure my associate, I assure you that I will forget all about what you’ve done.’

  Felix toyed idly with the pestle and mortar while Kryptmann proceeded with his work. The pungent fumes filled the laboratory, rising from the pot in which the alchemist had reduced the sunblossom to a yellow sludge.

  The cool stone of the pestle was somehow comforting. The tang of the sunblossom perfume was noticeable even through his blocked nose. He had taken another two of Kryptmann’s healing lozenges and he felt slightly distanced from everything. He wished his head would clear, that all of the aches and pains would go away.

  ‘Felix?’ a soft voice said, bringing him back to reality.

  ‘What, Greta?’ He was still snappish. Human contact closed the distance between himself and the world, broke the barriers around him that Kryptmann’s medicine had built against the pain. It brought his anger back into focus.

  ‘What will Wolfgang’s men do if they find me here?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Soon Herr Wolfgang will have worries enough of his own.’

  ‘I hope so. It’s good of Lothar to hide me from him. It’s at terrible risk to himself. You know what Wolfgang’s bodyguards can be like.’

  Privately, Felix thought that the alchemist had hidden the girl simply to spite Wolfgang. He had no reason to love the merchant’s son. Or perhaps it was guilt for providing Wolfgang with the warpstone which had altered him. Had he always been a sadistic monster, Felix wondered, or had that transformation only come recently, with the mark of Chaos?

  Other questions flickered through his dulled mind. Why did his enemy feel the need to use warpstone in the first place? And what about the sinister rumours Greta had claimed to have heard about him? He pushed them away. He would probably never know the answers. One thing was clear, though; he would be doing everyone in town a tremendous favour by disposing of the fellow.

  ‘No! Put that down. That’s
acid!’ Kryptmann shouted at Gotrek suddenly.

  The Slayer stopped rooting about amidst the various jugs and beakers on Kryptmann’s bench. He looked as if he were about to drink from one large silver flask. Gotrek shuffled his feet and returned the container to its proper place.

  Felix glanced around the laboratory. He had never been in one before. It all looked so very arcane and incomprehensible. The benches were covered in intricate structures of pipework and beakers. Distillation equipment covered nearly half of one table. Several racks of stoppered glass tubes were stacked against one wall. Each contained liquids of cobalt blue or lime green or blood red. Some contained many layers of multi-coloured sediment. On one wall hung a framed certificate. Even at this distance Felix recognised the crest of the University of Middenheim, famed throughout the Empire for its schools of magic and alchemy.

  Charcoal burners heated flasks and pots containing various substances. Kryptmann moved briskly from one to another, stirring, adjusting temperatures and occasionally tasting with a long glass spoon. He opened a great cabinet and produced a large, padded, white gauntlet covered in scorch marks. He pulled it over his right hand.

  ‘Not long now,’ he said, picking up a heated flask and pouring it into the central pot. The mixture bubbled and hissed. He put a stopper on the second flask and shook it before uncorking it and pouring it into the mix. A great cloud of pungent green smoke billowed across the room. Felix coughed and heard Greta do the same.

  As the smoke cleared he saw Kryptmann carefully emptying the contents of the third alembic into the mixture. With each drop, a tiny puff of different-coloured smoke arose. The first was red, the second blue, the third yellow. Each rose, a tiny expanding mushroom-shaped cloud of vapour reaching upward towards the ceiling.

  The alchemist set down the alembic and adjusted the flame under the pot. He picked up a small hourglass and turned it upside down. ‘Two minutes,’ he said.

  A sense of triumph filled Felix. Soon Gotrek would be cured and they would visit the Sleeping Dragon. He would take out all of the many tribulations he had suffered on Wolfgang Lammel’s hide.