by William King
Gotrek laughed. “This is one of the ancient dwarfholds, manling. It extends for leagues under the earth. There are hundreds of levels. The total length of the corridors and halls must come to thousands of leagues. You could lose an army the size of the one outside in a small corner of this city.”
“Then how are we going to find any survivors which might be here?”
“If any dwarf lives on down here, there are certain places where they will be, and we are heading there,” Varek said.
With that, they pushed on into the darkness.
In many more places it was clear that the battles had not been fought between dwarfs and Chaos worshippers but amongst the followers of the Dark Powers themselves. Only occasionally did they come across signs that dwarfs had been involved in any of the warfare. It became increasingly evident from the bodies they found that there had been a war between the forces of Chaos. Here they found signs that the warriors of Slaanesh had fought against the berserk followers of Khorne. There they found evidence that the worshippers of Tzeentch had struggled with the plague-ridden servants of Nurgle. In one large hall, they came across a place where the followers of all four powers had fallen out and slaughtered each other.
Felix found the gloom oppressive. It was depressing to wander through these endless, battle-scarred corridors and find the remains of old battles. He thought of that vast army camped outside. Who did they represent? What were they waiting for? It seemed senseless. He shrugged. Then again, why did that surprise him? The followers of Chaos were not sane as he measured sanity. Perhaps they fought for the unknowable amusement of their Dark Gods. Perhaps they fought for the amusement of the evil thing he sensed down here. Perhaps they, too, were only being allowed to proceed by some whim of whatever thing lurked down here. He wondered if the others felt this same uneasy sense of presence. He could not find the courage to ask them.
As they passed through gallery after echoing gallery, and chamber after high-ceilinged chamber, it became obvious that Gotrek was right. There was certainly room enough in here to house a dozen armies even if they were all the size of the forces gathered outside. He wondered what it must have been like to dwell here in an underground city like this in its heyday. Even before the followers of Chaos came, it must have been near-empty, for he knew the dwarfs were a dying race and had been so for millennia. Still, there must have been a time when these streets were filled with dwarfs buying and selling, laughing and crying, loving and living and going about their daily business. Now it seemed like a tomb, and the dead bodies of interlopers everywhere seemed like a desecration.
Gotrek knelt beside the goat-headed corpse before which he had suddenly paused. It was not like the others they had seen—it was still warm! Flesh still clung to its bones. Warm black blood formed a pool under it. Nearby lay other beastmen, all just as dead.
Felix squatted for a better look. In life the beastman had not been pretty, and death had not improved its looks. It had the great head of a goat and the body of a man. Its furry legs ended in hooves. Its brow had been branded with the mark of Khorne. Its strange liquid eyes were glazed in death. They stared blankly up at the towering ceiling high overhead. A crossbow shaft protruded from its chest; another stuck out from its gut. One hand still clutched at the missiles which had killed it. The hand was beautifully formed, more like that of a monk than a monster, and Felix thought of how incongruous it looked on that bestial form. The beast stank of wet fur and the excrement and urine that it had released when it died.
Gotrek tugged at one of the crossbow bolts. It came free with a hideous sucking sound and a thin trickle of black blood oozed forth from where it had been. Gotrek turned the missile back and forth in his hand, studying it closely with his one good eye. Felix could not see what fascinated him so much about it. It looked well made but hardly any different from any other crossbow bolt he had seen.
This is a dwarf weapon,” Gotrek said eventually, and there was something which might even have been triumph in his voice.
“How can you tell?” Felix asked.
“Look at the manufacture, manling. No human ever made a point that fitted so well, or feathered a bolt so perfectly. Also, there are dwarf runes on the tip.”
“So you’re saying that these beastmen were killed by dwarfs?”
Gotrek shrugged and looked away. “Maybe.”
“Perhaps the beastmen found one of the armouries,” Varek suggested tentatively. He plainly didn’t want to contradict Gotrek, and Felix could see that he hoped he was wrong. He wanted for there to be dwarfs down here and still fighting.
“When have you ever seen a beastman armed with a crossbow?” Gotrek asked.
“It might have been a dark warrior.”
“Or such a warrior armed that way, for that matter?”
It was a fair point. In all of his encounters with the followers of the Dark Powers, Felix had never met one which used such a sophisticated weapon. Of course, that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a first time. He decided to keep that thought to himself. Instead he asked: “How will we find these dwarfs then?”
“Maybe Snorri should ask those beastmen,” Snorri suggested from behind them.
Felix’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Snorri’s words. He turned to look in the direction that the Slayer had indicated. Sure enough, there stood a band of at least twenty beastmen. For a moment, they looked just as surprised as Felix but then they recovered from their shock and raised their spears for the attack.
“Or maybe we should just kill them,” Gotrek said, lowering his head and charging.
“No! Don’t!” shouted Felix—but already it was too late. Varek had started to turn the crank on his strange looking gun. A hail of bullets tore into the beastmen, killing two and dropping another pair. Howling with rage and frothing with berserk fury, the beastmen charged forward. Felix knew there was nothing for it now but to fight and most likely die in a futile skirmish with the Chaos worshippers. Snorri had obviously decided the same, for he had raised his weapons and begun to move forward as well. With the two Slayers blocking his line of sight, Varek started to move to a new position, hoping to out-flank the beastmen and pour fire into the side of their formation.
Felix drew his blade and raced forward to aid Gotrek and Snorri. Before he could get into action, before the two sides had closed to within twenty strides of each other, a new hail of crossbow bolts hurtled out of the dark and scythed into the beastmen. The missiles fell like a dark rain. Felix saw one dog-headed monstrosity tumble with a bolt through its eye, tears of blood running down its cheek. Its chest was pin-cushioned with bolts even as it dropped. Another clutched its heart and fell, to be trampled below the hooves of its brethren. The beastmen’s rush faltered as more and more of them fell. The survivors halted and looked around, desperately trying to see where the attack was coming from.
Gotrek, Snorri and Felix crashed into them and went through their line like an axe through rotting wood. Felix felt a shock run up his arm from the impact, then something warm and sticky was running over his hands. He pulled his blade free, kicked his chosen beastman to the ground and stabbed another. His sword took the surprised beastman in the shoulder, glanced up and lopped off an ear. Not waiting to draw his weapon back, he smashed the pommel into his foe’s face and felt teeth break in its mouth. The beastman bellowed in pain, before Felix clubbed it down and stabbed it through the heart.
Almost before it had begun, the fight was over. Overwhelmed by the fury of their foes, the last surviving beastmen turned and fled. Felix could see that Gotrek had slaughtered four of them; their sliced remains lay at his feet. Snorri was jumping up and down on a corpse, happy as a child playing in a sandpit. A burst from Varek’s gun chopped down the surviving beastmen even as they fled.
Felix looked around, panting more with reaction to the sudden short combat than from the effort. He wanted to see whoever it was who had aided them and thank them.
“Be very still!” said a deep, guttural voice. “You are in
ches away from death.”
SEVENTEEN
THE LAST DWARFS
Felix froze. He tried not even to blink his eyes, let alone breathe. He had no doubts that whoever was lurking in the shadows meant what they said, and he had no desire to find his body bristling with crossbow bolts.
“Are you dwarfs?” Varek asked, with what Felix thought was more curiosity than common sense.
“Aye, that we are. The question is: what are you?”
A massively broad-shouldered dwarf strode into view in front of them. He was garbed in leather armour, huge metal shoulder pads protected his upper torso. A winged helm with cheekguards shielded his face. Slung over his shoulder he carried a crossbow. A heavy warhammer dangled from a loop on his belt. He removed the helmet to peer at them and Felix could see that his face was craggy and his eyes were feverishly bright. His beard was long and black shot through with silver. There was an unnatural leanness about his face such as Felix had never seen in a dwarf before.
He sauntered around the four of them and inspected them with a casual air that was almost insulting. Felix could tell that Gotrek and Snorri had their tempers barely under control and if something was not done soon, murderous violence would ensue.
“Two of you look like Slayers,” the newcomer said. “One of you has the look of Grungni’s folk. The other, the human, must die.”
Almost before Felix realised that the dwarf meant him, the newcomer had unslung his crossbow and pointed it directly at his chest. Felix found himself staring at the glittering point of a crossbow bolt.
As if in slow motion he saw the stranger’s finger begin to squeeze the trigger. He knew he could never throw himself aside in time but his muscles tensed for the attempt.
“Wait,” Gotrek said softly and there was such a note of command in his voice that the newcomer froze. “If you harm the manling, you will surely die.”
The other dwarf laughed harshly. “Those are brave words for one who is in no position to back them up. Tell me why should I spare him?”
“Because he is a Dwarf Friend and a Rememberer, and if you kill him your name will live long in infamy and will be recorded in the Book of Grudges as a fool and a coward.”
“Who are you to speak of the Great Book?”
“I am Gotrek, son of Gurni, and if you cross me in this matter I will be your death.”
There was cold certainty in the Slayer’s voice that commanded belief. Gotrek added something in dwarfish, which caused the newcomer’s face to flush and his eyes to widen.
“So you speak the Old Tongue,” he said.
Felix heard a shocked murmur from around the hall, and suddenly realised how many other dwarfs were watching them.
It seemed inconceivable that such a large force could have moved through the tunnels with such stealth. He risked glancing around and saw that several score of lean, weary looking dwarfs had emerged from the gloom. All of them had weapons pointed at the party, and seemed prepared to use them. He could see that their wargear all had the same look, as of something that had been patched and reused many times over.
A brief spirited debate followed in dwarfish between Gotrek and the newcomers. Felix looked over at Varek. “What is being said?”
These dwarfs think that we are agents of Chaos. They wanted to kill us. Gotrek has told them that we come from outside and that we can help them. Some of them don’t believe it and say it is a trick. Their leader says that he cannot risk killing us and that it is a matter for his father, the king himself, to decide.”
To Felix this seemed like a very bald summary of what was obviously an impassioned debate. Voices were being raised. Harsh guttural oaths were being sworn. Both Gotrek and the dwarfish leader had spat on the ground in front of each other’s feet. It was an odd sensation to know that his very life hung in the balance and that he could neither say nor do anything to influence the decision. He was reminded of being on the airship during the great warpstorm. All he could do now was remind himself that they had survived that, and might survive this.
Varek continued to mutter: “It is only the fact that we speak the Old Tongue which keeps them from killing us out of hand. They do not want to believe that any follower of Chaos could have learned it. Certainly no dwarf would teach them.”
“That’s reassuring to know,” said Felix.
The argument ended. The dwarf leader turned and spoke to Felix in strongly-accented Reikspiel.
“I do not know if this tale of flying ships and other wonders is true. I only know that this is too grave a matter for me to decide. Your fate is in the hands of the king, and he will pass judgement on you.”
“I still say it’s a trick, Hargrim,” said one of the other dwarfs, an old, miserable-looking fellow with deep set eyes and a beard of pure grey. “We know that the world outside is ruled by Chaos. There are no other dwarfholds left. We should kill these interlopers, not lead them deeper into our realm.”
“You have had your say, Torvald, and my decision stands until the king himself overturns it. If the world has not been overrun by the forces of Chaos, this is indeed momentous news. It may be that we are not the last dwarfs.”
“Aye, Hargrim, and it may be that we are fools and dupes of the Dark Powers. But as you say, you are our captain and on your head be it. There will be time enough to kill these outsiders soon, if they prove false.”
“The king will know,” Hargrim said. “Come! Let us go. We have wasted enough time and I would not want to be caught in these halls if the Terror comes. Bind them and take their weapons.”
A group of dwarfs broke away from the main body and moved towards them. As they did so, Gotrek stepped forward menacingly.
“You will take this axe from my cold, dead hands,” he said softly and with such menace in his voice that the dwarfs froze on the spot.
“That can be arranged, stranger,” Hargrim said just as quietly. Gotrek raised his axe and the runes on the blade flashed in the dim light. The closest dwarfs gasped.
“He bears the weapon of power!” Torvald gasped, and his voice held horror and wonder. “It is the Prophesy. Those are the Great Runes. The Terror has returned and the axe of our ancestors has come back to us. The Last Days are upon us.”
A look of shock once more passed over Hargrim’s face and he advanced towards Gotrek, his eyes fixed on the blade of the axe. As he read them, a great look of wonder appeared in his eyes.
“Where did you get this blade?” the dwarfish captain asked, then added something in dwarfish.
“I found it in a cave in the Chaos Wastes many years ago,” Gotrek replied slowly in Reikspiel. He appeared to be considering whether he should say more, then thought better of it.
“If you are truly a dwarf then you are favoured by the Ancestor Gods,” Hargrim said. “For that is a mighty weapon.”
Gotrek grinned nastily and scratched one of the Trollslayer tattoos on his shaven head meaningfully. “If the gods favour me, they have shown no great sign of it,” he said dryly.
“Be that as it may, such a weapon does not find its way into anyone’s hands by chance. You may keep your weapons for now, until the king declares differently.”
Hargrim looked at Gotrek for a long time, and what might have been a thin smile creased his lips. “It may be as Torvald says, Gotrek Gurnisson. It may be your coming was foretold. The king and his priests will know.”
He turned to his troops. “Come. We have far to go before we can rest, and we do not want to be caught abroad while the Terror stalks the Underhalls.”
He glanced back at them over his shoulder. “Come with us,” he said. The four comrades moved into place behind him and marched off into the gloom.
“We will rest here,” Hargrim said, holding up his hand to indicate that they should halt. At first Felix had no idea why the dwarf captain had chosen this spot. It seemed to be just another ruined hallway, like so many others they had passed through. Eventually, though, he noticed that there was a rune carved low in the corner of the wall,
and a jet of water sprayed from the wall into a large cistern. This, at least, would be a place where they could drink.
Hargrim barked an order to one of his warriors and the dwarf moved forward. He produced a stone from his leather satchel and dipped it in the water. For a few moments, he stared into the cup and then nodded his head.
“The water is clear, captain,” he said.
Hargrim noticed Felix’s curious glance. “Sometimes the outsiders poison the wells. Sometimes it contains Chaos stuff that causes madness and mutation. Mikal’s runestone contains old enchantments that warn of such things.”
“A useful thing to have,” Felix said.
“No. An essential thing to have. Without it, sooner or later, we would all die.”
“What is this Prophesy of which you spoke?” Felix asked, determined to at least try and get an answer.
“It does not concern you,” Hargrim said bluntly. “It is for the king to test its truth. Best get some rest while you still may.”
Wearily, the dwarfs threw themselves down to rest, except for four sentries who took up positions at each entrance to the room. Felix noted with approval the four exits from this chamber, so hopefully if danger threatened from any direction they would always have a line of retreat. He walked over and sat down beside Gotrek, Snorri and Varek.
All three of his companions seemed strangely elated. Felix thought he understood why—they had found their lost kinsfolk. There were still dwarfs alive in the Underhalls of Karag Dum. In defiance of all probability, a few still lived, even after two hundred years of isolation in the Chaos Wastes.
He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, thinking of the journey they had made to get to this isolated place. It had not been easy. They had made their way further and further into the labyrinth of tunnels beneath Karag Dum.
During the trip Felix had counted the number of dwarfs around him; there were nearly fifty. All of them wore leather armour and were lightly armed and armoured, very unlike the traditional dwarfish warriors he knew of. It seemed they travelled light and quickly through the halls of what once had been their city, and relied more on stealth and surprise for victory than on the strength of their arms. Tunnel fighters, Varek had called them.
