by Warhammer
Slowly Oleg weakened as his strength drained from him. He tumbled forward onto his hands and knees. A ghastly rattle emerged from his throat and he sank to the ground and was still. Gotrek tightened the noose one last time to make sure of his prey and then stood up, gasping and panting.
‘Easy,’ he muttered. ‘Hardly worth the killing.’
‘Get me down from here,’ Felix complained.
Gotrek fetched his weapon. In four strokes of the axe, Felix was free. He raced over and retrieved his sword. From up above, he heard the sound of windlasses turning, great metal doors being raised, and the howling of a bloodthirsty horde. Felix and Gotrek had just time to brace themselves before the door to the laboratory was thrown open and a tide of frenzied mutants swept down the stairs. Felix thought he recognised some of the creatures from the earlier battle. This was the place where the mutants came from.
One dived from the landing, its reptilian eyes glazed with bloodlust. Felix used a stop-thrust to take it through the chest, and then let his arm slump forward under the weight so that its corpse slid free from his blade. The tide of mutants flowed on, inexorably, pressed forward by their own bloodlust and the weight of those behind them. Felix found himself at the centre of a howling maelstrom of violence, where he and the Trollslayer fought back to back against the chaos-spawn.
Gotrek frothed at the mouth and lashed out in a great figure-of-eight with his blood-stained axe. Nothing could stand in his way. With the chains still hanging from his wrists, he carved a path of red ruin through the howling mob. Felix waded along in his wake, dispatching the fallen with single thrusts, stabbing the few mutants who got past the flailing axe.
On the landing above, Felix could see Kruger. The sorcerer had caught up his staff once more. A greenish glow played around his face, and illuminated the whole scene with an infernal light. Kruger chanted a spell and suddenly viridian lightning lashed out. It arced downwards and narrowly missed Felix.
The mutant standing in front of Felix was not so lucky. Its fur singed and eyeballs popped. For a moment it danced on stilts of pure sorcerous power and then fell to earth, a twisted, blackened corpse. Felix dived to one side, not wanting to be the target of another such bolt. Gotrek surged forwards, cleaving a mutant in two as he hacked his way to the foot of the stairs.
The lightning lashed out, aiming for Gotrek this time. He was not so lucky as Felix had been. The green bolt hit him head-on. Felix expected to see the Trollslayer meet his long-threatened doom at last. Gotrek’s hair stood even more on end than usual. The runes on his axe blade glowed crimson. He howled what might have been a final curse at his gods, then something strange happened. The green glow passed right through his body and along the length of the iron chain still attached to his wrist. It hit the ground in a shower of green sparks and dissipated harmlessly.
Felix almost laughed out loud. He had heard of such a thing before in his natural philosophy classes. It was called earthing: the same thing that let a metal lightning rod conduct the force of a thunderbolt harmlessly into the ground had saved Gotrek. He gave himself a moment to consider this, then flipped his hidden dagger from its sheath and cast it at Kruger.
It was a good throw. It aimed straight and true and buried itself in the foul sorcerer’s chest. It hung there for a moment, quivering, and Kruger stopped his chanting to peer down at it. Kruger dropped his staff and clutched the wound. Greenish blood oozed from the gash and stained the wizard’s fingers. He glared down at Felix in hatred – then turned and fled.
Felix gave his attention back to the melee but it was all over. The small mutants had again proved no match for the Slayer’s axe. Gotrek stood triumphant, his muscular form covered in blood and ichor. A faint glow faded from his axe. Bear fat sizzled and spluttered on his hair.
Felix raced past him up the stairs and out into the corridor. A trail of greenish blood led off down the passage. It wound past a mass of open, empty cages. Felix guessed that it was from these that the mutants had come. They had been the products of Kruger’s foul experiments.
‘Let’s free the children and get out of here.’ Felix said.
‘I want that sorcerer’s skull for my drinking cup!’ Gotrek spat.
Felix winced. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘It’s just an expression, manling.’
From the look on Gotrek’s face, Felix wasn’t so sure about that.
They advanced down the corridor towards their goal. The thought of saving the children gave Felix some comfort. At least he and the Slayer would be able to do some good here, and return the young ones to their parents. For once, they would actually manage to act like real heroes. Felix could already picture the tear-stained faces of the relieved villagers as they were reunited with their offspring.
The rattling of the chain on Gotrek’s wrist began to get on Felix’s nerves. They turned the corner and came to a door. A single sweep of Gotrek’s axe reduced it to so much kindling. They entered a chamber which had obviously once been Kruger’s study.
The massive silver moon shone in through its single huge window. The Chaos-corrupted sorcerer lay slumped over his desk, his greenish blood staining the open pages of a massive leather-bound grimoire. His hands still moved feebly as if he were trying to cast a spell that might save him.
Felix grabbed his hair from behind and pulled Kruger upright. He looked down into eyes from which the greenish glow was fading. Felix felt a surge of triumph. ‘Where are the hostages?’
‘What hostages?’
‘The villagers’ children!’ Felix spat.
‘You mean my experimental subjects?’
Cold horror filled Felix. He could see where this was leading. His lips almost refused to frame his next question. ‘You experimented on children?’
Kruger gave Felix a twisted smile. ‘Yes, they’re easier to transmute than adults and they soon grow to full size. They were going to be my conquering army – but you killed them all.’
‘We killed… them all.’ Felix stood stunned. His visions of being feted by joyful villagers evaporated. He looked down at the blood that stained his hands and his tunic.
Suddenly blind rage, hot as the fires of hell, overwhelmed Felix. This maniac had transformed the village children into mutants, and he, Felix Jaeger, had taken a hand in slaughtering them. In a way that made him as guilty as Kruger. He considered this for a moment, then dragged Kruger over to the window. It looked down onto the sleeping village, a drop of several hundred feet down a sheer cliff face.
He gave Kruger a moment to consider what was about to happen and then gave him a good hard shove. The glass shattered as the sorcerer tumbled out into the chill night air. His arms flailed. His shriek echoed out through the darkness and took a long time to fade.
The Trollslayer looked up at Felix. There was a malevolent glitter in his one good eye. ‘That was well done, manling. Now we’ll have a few words with the innkeeper. I have a score to settle with him.’
‘First, let’s torch the castle,’ Felix said grimly. He stalked off to turn the accursed place into a giant funeral pyre.
ULRIC’S CHILDREN
‘In spite of all our efforts, yet somehow unsurprisingly, we failed to reach Nuln before winter set in. Worse yet, lacking a compass, or any other means of navigating in the deep forest, we were soon lost once more. I can think of few circumstances more frightening or hazardous to the traveller than to be lost in the woods in the winter snows. Unfortunately, by some quirk of the dark destiny that dogged our steps, it seemed we were just about to encounter one of those “few circumstances”…’
— From My Travels with Gotrek, Vol. II,
by Herr Felix Jaeger (Altdorf Press, 2505)
The howling of the wolves echoed through the forest like the wailing of damned souls in torment. Felix Jaeger pulled his threadbare red Sudenland wool cloak tight and trudged on through the snow.
Over the past two days he had seen their pursuers twice, catching glimpses of them in the shadows beneath the endl
ess pines. They were long, lean shapes, tongues lolling, eyes blazing with ravenous hunger. Twice the wolves had come almost within striking distance and twice they had withdrawn, as if summoned, by the howling of some distant leader, a creature so frightful that it had to be obeyed.
When he thought of that long wailing call, Felix shuddered. There had been a note of horror and intelligence in its cry that brought to mind the old tales of the darkened woods with which his nurse had frightened him as a child.
He tried to dismiss his evil thoughts.
He told himself he had merely heard the howling of the pack leader, a creature larger and more fearsome than the others. And, by Sigmar, the howling of wolves was a dismal enough sound without letting his mind populate the forest with monsters.
The snow crunched below his feet. Chilly wetness seeped through his cracked leather boots and into the thick woollen socks he wore beneath them. This was another bad sign. He had heard of woodsmen whose feet had been frozen solid within their boots who had to have their toes pared off with knives before gangrene set in.
He was not really surprised at finding himself lost deep in the heart of the Reikwald just as winter was setting in.
Not for the first time, Felix cursed the day he ever encountered the dwarf, Gotrek Gurnisson, and sworn to follow him and record his doom in an epic poem.
They had been following the tracks of a large monster that Gotrek swore was a troll when the snow had started to fall. They had lost the trail in the whiteout and were now completely lost.
Felix fought down a surge of panic. It was all too possible that they would trudge around in circles until they died of exhaustion or starvation. It had happened to other travellers lost in the woods in winter.
Or until the wolves picked them off, he reminded himself.
The dwarf looked just as miserable as Felix. He trudged along using the haft of his huge axe like a walking stick to test the depth of the snow ahead of him. The great ridge of red dyed hair that normally towered above his shaved and tattooed head drooped like the crest of some bedraggled bird. The sullen madness that glittered in his one good eye seemed subdued by their dismal surroundings. A great blob of snot dripped from his broken nose.
‘Trees!’ Gotrek grumbled. ‘The only things I hate more than trees are elves.’
Another piercing howl broke Felix out of his reverie. It was like those earlier howls, full of malign intelligence and hunger, and it filled Felix with blind primordial fear. Instinctively he flicked his cloak over his shoulder to free his sword arm and reached for the hilt of his blade.
‘No need for that, manling.’ Malicious amusement was evident in the dwarf’s harsh flinty voice. ‘Whatever it is, it’s calling our furry little friends away from us. It seems like they’ve found other prey.’
‘The Children of Ulric…’ Felix said fearfully, remembering his nurse’s old tales.
‘What has the wolf-god of Middenheim got to do with it, manling?’
‘They say that, when the world was young, Ulric walked among men and begat children on mortal women. That those of his bloodline could shift shapes between that of man and wolf. They withdrew to the wild places of the world long ago. Some say their blood grew tainted when Chaos came and now they feast on human flesh.’
‘Well, if any of them should come within reach of my axe I will spill some of that tainted blood.’
Suddenly Gotrek raised his hand, gesturing for silence. After a moment he nodded and spat on the ground.
Felix paused fearfully, watching and listening. Nowhere could he make out any sign of pursuit. The wolves had vanished. For a moment all he could hear was his own pounding heart and the sound of his rasping breath then he heard what had caused the Trollslayer to stop: the sounds of a struggle, battle-cries and the distant howling of wolves drifted on the wind.
‘Sounds like a fight,’ he said.
‘Let’s go kill some wolves,’ Gotrek said. ‘Maybe whoever they are attacking knows the way out of this hell-spawned, tree-infested place.’
Panting from the run through the thick snowdrifts, face stinging from where branches and briars had torn at him, Felix bounded into the clearing. A dozen crossbows swung to cover him. The smell of ozone filled the air. The corpses of men and wolves lay everywhere.
Slowly Felix raised his hands high. His gasping breath clouded the air in front of him. Sweat ran down his face despite the cold. He would have to remember that it was not a good idea to run through the winter woods in heavy clothing. That was if he was still alive to remember anything after this. The heavily armed strangers looked anything but friendly.
There were at least twenty of them. Several were garbed in the rich furs of nobles. They held swords and gave orders to the others: tough-looking, watchful men at arms. For all their obvious competence there was an air of deep unease about all these men. Fear was in their eyes. Felix knew that he was instants away from being pin-cushioned by crossbow bolts.
‘Don’t shoot!’ he said. ‘I’m here to help.’
He wondered where Gotrek was. He had run for quite a distance. In the heat of the moment he had let his excitement and his longer legs carry him in front of the dwarf. Right now that might prove to be a fatal mistake, although he was not sure what even the Trollslayer could do faced with this glittering array of missile weapons.
‘Oh you are, are you?’ said a sarcastic voice. ‘Just out for a walk in the woods, were you? Heard the sounds of a scuffle. Come to investigate this little disturbance, did you?’
The speaker was a tall nobleman. Felix had never cared much for the Empire’s nobility, and this man seemed like a prime example of the worst of that pox-ridden breed. A trim black beard framed his narrow face. Startling dark eyes glared out of his pale features. A great eagle beak of a nose gave his face a predatory air.
‘My friend and I were lost in the forest. We heard the wolves and the sounds of battle. We came to help, if we could.’
‘Your friend?’ the nobleman asked ironically. He jerked a thumb towards a tall, beautiful young woman who stood chained nearby. ‘Do you mean this witch?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,’ Felix said. ‘I’ve never seen that young lady before in my life.’
He glanced around him. The dwarf was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was just as well, Felix thought. The Trollslayer was not known for his tact. Doubtless right now, he would be saying something that would get them both killed.
‘I was travelling with a companion…’ It dawned on Felix that it might not be such a good idea to mention Gotrek right now. The Trollslayer was a conspicuous figure and an outlaw, and perhaps these men might want to claim the bounty, if they recognised him.
‘He appears to have got lost,’ Felix finished off weakly.
‘Put down your sword,’ the noble said. Felix complied. ‘Sven! Heinrich! Bind his hands!’
Two of the men-at-arms raced forward to obey. Felix found himself kicked to the ground. He fell face first into the snow, and felt the cold wetness of it begin to seep into his tunic.
He opened his eyes and found he was lying in front of the corpse of a wolf. As he gazed into the creature’s death-clouded eyes, the soldiers swiftly and efficiently bound his hands behind his back. Felix felt cold metal bite into his wrists and was surprised to find that they were using more than mere rope to hold him.
Then someone tugged down the hood of his cloak and pulled his head up by the hair. Foul breath assaulted his nostrils. Coldly crazy eyes gazed deep into his own. He looked up into a lined face framed by a greyish beard. A gnarled hand made a gesture in front of his face. As it swept through the air it left behind a trail of glittering sparks. Quite obviously this old man was a magician.
‘He seems untouched by the taint of Darkness,’ the sorcerer said in a surprisingly mellow and cultured voice. ‘It may be that he tells the truth. I’ll know more when we get him back to the lodge.’
Felix was allowed to slump forward into the snow once more. He re
cognised the voice of the noble speaking.
‘Even so, take no chances with him, Voorman. If he is a spy for our enemies, I want him dead.’
‘I’ll find out the truth once I have my instruments. If he’s a spy for enemies of the Order, we’ll know!’
The noble shrugged and turned away, obviously dismissing the matter as beneath his concern. A boot hit Felix in the ribs again and knocked all the air out of his lungs.
‘Get up and get on the sledge,’ a burly sergeant said. ‘If you fall off, I’ll kill you.’
Felix drew his legs underneath himself and reeled to his feet. He glared at the sergeant, trying to memorise every line of the man’s face. If he got out of this alive, he would have vengeance. Seeing his look, one of the men-at-arms drew back the butt of his crossbow as if to brain Felix. The magician shook his head mildly.
‘None of that. I want him undamaged.’
Felix shivered. There was something more frightening in the magician’s calm detachment than there was in the soldier’s unthinking brutality. He climbed on to the back of the sledge.
As far as Felix could tell, the party consisted of the nobleman, some of his toadies, the men-at-arms, and the mage. The nobles rode in horse-drawn sledges. The soldiers clung to the running boards or sat up front driving.
Beside him sat the young woman. Her hair was pure silver in colour and her eyes were golden. She had a sleek predatory beauty and a naturally haughty bearing that was in no way diminished by the collar and chain that attached her to the back railing of the sledge or the strange rune-encrusted metal shackles that bound her hands behind her back.
