by William King
Felix could not help but notice that there was a note of bitter irony in the king’s voice.
Felix stared at the fish suspiciously. It was large and it looked well-cooked, yet there was something odd about it. After a few moment’s consideration he realised that it had no eyes. The meat smelled good and everyone else was eating it, yet he kept thinking of the things he had seen in the Wastes, of the mutants and beast-men, and of all the things he had been told about warpstone dust. He just could not bring himself to eat a mutant fish, and he knew there was good reason for this.
By all accounts it was possible for mutation to be passed on through eating mutated food. It was said that the worst mutants were always cannibals who fed on other mutants. He had no desire to put this theory of mutation being contagious to the test.
“It’s blindfish, manling,” said Gotrek from across the table. Felix realised that the Slayer must have seen the look on his face and understood what was going through his mind. “It is naturally this way. Dwarfs have feasted on it since long before the coming of the Darkness. You can eat it.”
“It’s a delicacy, actually,” Varek added. “In the dwarfholds we breed them. They dwell in the deep cisterns. We feed them on mushrooms and insects.”
Somehow this knowledge did not make the fish seem any more appetising. Unaware of the effect he was having, Varek continued to speak. “They live in darkness. Some loremasters think that is why they have no eyes. They don’t need them. Try some.”
Felix speared some on his knife and lifted the flesh up for examination. It was white and tender looking and when he tried it, it was delicious. He said so.
“It can be monotonous,” said Hargrim, who was sat on the other side of him. “We live on mushrooms and bugs and blindfish. There are times when I wish I could have something different.”
Felix dug into his pack and produced a strip of beef jerky. Hargrim looked at it just as suspiciously as Felix had inspected the fish. “Try some,” Felix said.
Hargrim took some and began to chew. Eventually he managed to swallow. “Interesting,” he pronounced carefully.
Snorri laughed. “Now the blindfish doesn’t taste so bad after all, does it? Here try some of this to wash it down.”
Snorri handed over a flask of Kislevite vodka. Hargrim swigged it down. For a moment, he looked like he might actually cough but then he recovered and smacked his lips and took some more. That’s better,” he said.
Felix emptied his pack onto the table. There was waybread and cheese and more jerky. It added to the mushrooms cooked in blindfish oil, the blindfish itself and the jugs of water. “Help yourself,” he said.
Hargrim did so.
With the speed the provisions disappeared Felix was glad that Hargrim was the only one of the local dwarfs who had joined them at their table.
Felix looked around the room. It was richly furnished with thick but worn carpets and drapes, fine dwarfish statuary and a merchant’s ransom in silver and gold. It was one of the royal apartments. Each of the comrades had been given a similar one. Felix supposed that was one good thing about the casualties the dwarfs had suffered: there was plenty of room. He pushed the thought aside as unworthy and realised that he was getting drunk.
“I still cannot believe that we have strangers here,” Hargrim said. From the flush on his face, Felix could tell that the captain was inebriated as well. “It astonishes me. For so long we thought we were the last dwarfs in the world. We thought Chaos had overrun everywhere else. We sent out messengers and scouts into the wilderness but they never returned. It all seemed so hopeless and now you arrive and tell us that there is a whole world beyond the Wastes, that Chaos was thrown back, that the Empire and Bretonnia and all those other places of legend still exist. It hardly seems possible that others have survived these past twenty years without us knowing it!”
“Twenty years?” spluttered Felix and Varek almost simultaneously.
“Aye! Why do you look at me that way?”
“It has been two hundred years since the last incursion of Chaos!” Felix said.
Hargrim looked at him in astonishment. “That cannot be!”
“Time flows strangely in the Chaos Wastes,” Varek reminded them.
“Strangely indeed,” said Felix, remembering what Borek had told him of the odd powers of the place. Could the Dark Powers warp even the flow of time, he wondered, or was this some strange property that the Wastes themselves possessed?
“Believe me,” Varek said to Hargrim, “Here in Karag Dum only twenty years may have passed but beyond the Wastes it has been centuries, and there Chaos was thrown back.”
“How did it happen?”
“Magnus the Pious rallied men and dwarfs to his cause, and broke the hordes of Chaos at the Siege of Praag, in Kislev. Eventually the followers of the Dark Ones were driven back to beyond Blackblood Pass.”
“And yet no one ever came to relieve us,” said Hargrim, and he sounded almost bitter.
Felix did not know what to say. “Everyone thought Karag Dum had fallen. The last reports were of the city being overrun by the hordes of Chaos.”
Gotrek surprised him by speaking. “No one knew what had happened. The Chaos Wastes had retreated but they had still advanced beyond where they once had been. They always do. Karag Dum was cut off. No one could find a way through. It was tried, believe me. Borek sought long and hard for a way to return.”
“I do believe you, Gotrek, son of Gurni, for I have seen the Wastes, looked out from our highest towers, and I know they stretch as far as- the eye can see. I have fought the warriors of Chaos and know they are as uncountable as flakes of snow in a blizzard. We have so few warriors that we soon stopped trying to get messengers out. Many were captured and hideously tortured.”
“How have you survived?” Varek asked—somewhat tactlessly, Felix thought. Still he was glad the young dwarf had asked the question. He wanted to know the answer himself. Hargrim shook his head.
“With great difficulty,” he said at last and smiled wearily, “But that is not a fair answer my friends. The answer is that our foes are divided and we hide and fight them as we may.”
“What do you mean?” Gotrek asked.
“Tell Snorri about the fighting,” said Snorri.
“After the last great siege, when the forces of the Enemy used terrible sorcery to break our walls, we retreated deeper and deeper into the mines, determined to sell our lives dearly and make them pay for every inch of dwarfish territory with blood. Our people divided up into their clans and hosts and made their way to the secret fastnesses we had prepared against such a day.”
“Like this one,” Felix said.
“Precisely. We retreated under the earth, to places shielded by runes of power, and we emerged into the debated halls to raid and fight and we discovered a strange thing…”
“What was that?” Gotrek asked.
“We found that the forces of Chaos had fallen out with each other. We did not know then but we found out from captured prisoners that their supreme leader, Skathlok Ironclaw, had been drawn away to a battle in the south, and that his lieutenants, each of whom followed a different power, had fallen into dispute over the spoils.”
“When was this?” asked Varek.
Hargrim gave a date in dwarfish which meant nothing to Felix.
“It was the Imperial Year 2302,” Varek translated. “At about the time of the Siege of Praag,”
“If this was the case, why did you not drive them from the city?” asked Gotrek. Hargrim laughed and there was no mirth to his laughter.
“Because there were still so few of us left, son of Gurni. After the Great Siege we numbered less than five thousand warriors, and those were split between five hidden citadels. Even with the majority of their warriors gone, our foes numbered ten times that and divided though they were, we knew they would unite to fight against us if we emerged in strength. So, over the years, we learned to sally forth in small groups and pick away at our enemies. It was not a goo
d strategy, as we later learned.”
“Why?” asked Felix.
“Because for every one of their warriors who fell, another one would appear. For every war-band we destroyed, two more would come in from the Wastes. But when we lost a warrior we could never replace him. We may have killed twenty for every stout-hearted dwarf we lost, but in the end we had no way of replacing our losses, and they did.”
“I can understand this,” said Felix. There are many warriors out in the Wastes, and this is a worthy citadel and would provide them with shelter.”
Hargrim shook his head sadly. “You do not understand the followers of Chaos at all well, if that is what you think, Felix Jaeger. They came here because there was treasure here—gold and dwarf-made weapons, and most of all the black steel they covet for the making of their armour and the forging of their foul weapons. They came here because they knew they would find others to fight of their own kind, and thus win glory in the eyes of their insane gods. This place has become a kind of testing ground for the warriors of Chaos, where they can find others to slaughter in order to advance themselves.”
Hargrim’s words made sense to Felix. He had occasionally wondered where the Chaos warriors got their weapons. He had seen no sign of foundries or factories or any kind of manufacturing since they entered the Wastes, yet the followers of the Dark Powers must get their gear from somewhere. He had simply assumed that it was the product of sorcery or bartered from renegade human smiths but now he saw another answer. Here at Karag Dum was ore and all the equipment produced by dwarfish industry. If some of the things he had heard were true, this one hold could produce more steel than the whole Empire. He voiced his suspicions at once.
“You are correct, Felix Jaeger. We tried to destroy all the forges and furnaces and anvils we could not dismantle and carry into the hidden places, but we did not have enough time to get rid of them all. Some were seized by the followers of the Ruinous Powers. Some were repaired using black and incomprehensible magics. Now the mines are worked by hordes of beastmen and mutant slaves, and mage-priests oversee the manufacture of weapons and armour.”
“If this place could be retaken, it would be a terrible blow to the powers of Chaos. For where else would they get their weapons?” Felix said in drunken excitement.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Hargrim said. The Chaos worshippers must have other mines and other foundries now and empty as Karag Dum now seems it is still well held.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is not now as it was in the early days. Many warriors of Chaos have come here and hold their own small fiefdoms. There are entire towns in the Underhalls now which are dedicated to the worship of one of the four Powers of Darkness. They each have their own liege lords and armies. They trade ore, weapons and armour to those outside. They exchange swords for slaves, spearpoints and arrowheads for their disgusting food, armour for magical devices.”
“You said there were other dwarf fastnesses in Karag Dum,” Varek said.
“Gone now,” Hargrim said. “Over the years, they have been wiped out. Those of their people that survived made their way here. Most did not. Many have been hunted down by the Hounds of Khorne as they fled. Others would not come here lest they led the followers of the Terror to our last haven.”
“The Terror?” Felix said.
“Of that it is best not to speak,” said Hargrim. “For it is our doom. When first it came it took the lives of hundreds of stout warriors. Our runemaster gave his life to drive it off. Now that it has returned I doubt that anything can stop it—although your axe gives me some hope, Gotrek Gurnisson.”
Felix’s heart sank as he saw Gotrek and Snorri exchange glances. He knew that Hargrim had aroused the Slayer’s professional interest. Hargrim saw this too and shook his head.
“Tell me: what do you think King Thangrim is thinking about?” Felix asked, just to change the subject. “Do you think it likely that he will send messengers to the outside world.”
“I do not know, Felix Jaeger. I think it likely that we will all die here.”
After that there was silence for a minute, and then Gotrek spoke: “I wish to know more of this creature known as the Terror.”
“This does not surprise me,” Hargrim said, looking up and inspecting the dwarfs tattoos. “You wish to hunt it?”
“I do.”
“That would not be wise.”
“It is not a question of wisdom. It is a question of my doom.”
“And Snorri’s,” said Snorri.
“Spoken like true Slayers,” Hargrim said. Very well. I will tell what I know of this fell creature It is a daemon of Chaos, potent and deadly. It was summoned by Skathlok in the last days of the siege and he treated it not as a master treats a servant but as a warrior treats his king. It came upon us at the south-west gate after that was thrown down and none of us could stand against it. It slew a dozen heroes armed with potent rune weapons. It almost slew King Thangrim himself when he faced it in the Hall of Shadows. They exchanged blows for mere moments but it had the mastery. He could not believe its strength.”
Gotrek reached down and grabbed his axe. A gleam had come into his eye. “It must be strong indeed to withstand the Hammer of Fate.”
“Stronger than anything it is, Gotrek Gurnisson. More fell by far than the three orc chieftains of the Red Fang. More dangerous than the three ogre mages of Ventragh Heath. Deadlier even than the dragon Glaugir, for all its poison breath. I speak without boasting when I say I have stood beside my liege as he measured himself against mighty foes, but this vile thing was by far the mightiest. I doubt that in the full pride of his youth, even so great a warrior as Thangrim Firebeard could have overcome it.”
“How then was it beaten?” asked Felix, licking his lips nervously. “How did you survive to tell us this tale.”
“It was not beaten, it was driven off when our high Runesmith Valek smote it with the sacred axe you carry, then invoked the Rune of Unbinding. Such a wound it was that anything but a creature so great would have died instantly. This thing merely withdrew into the deepest depths of the mountain, near its fiery heart. It must have brooded down there for many years, recovering its strength, for now it has returned. As it prophesied.”
“Prophesied?”
“Even as it disappeared, it told us it would return to be our doom. It told the king that one day it would return and tear out his heart with its claws and devour it before his still-living eyes, and he told Thangrim that this was his doom. And all of us who heard it believed this prophesy, for there was a flat truth in its voice.”
“It was a daemon,” Felix said softly. “Daemons have been known to lie.”
“Aye, but this one gloated as it spoke and we knew that it intended to work our ruin in its own time and way. Some of the warriors even suspect that this is why we have been allowed to survive for so long. And our Runesmith Valek also spoke a prophesy before he died. He told us to fear not, for his axe also would return to us when the Last Days came. Many of us wondered about this prophesy, for how could the axe return to us when it was destined to remain hidden in our fortresses. Then the king’s son took the axe and we thought it lost. And lo, you have returned it to us but a score of days after the Terror returned.”
He looked meaningfully at Gotrek’s axe. “You can see why your coming has disturbed the king.”
“How did Valek invoke this Rune of Unbinding?” Gotrek asked.
“I know not. He was a runesmith and knew many secrets. I only know that he summoned its power and it killed him, consuming his life even as it banished the daemon. The axe you bear is old and potent beyond all reckoning. It passed from runesmith to runesmith from the most ancient times. Its full history was passed only from bearer to bearer, but with Valek’s death the tale was lost. His son and apprentice fell before him in that final battle. The king’s son, Morekai, took it from the runesmith’s smouldering corpse and bore it away with him when he tried to cross the Wastes.”
“Then without t
he Rune of Unbinding this creature cannot be beaten?” Felix asked.
“Who can say. That weapon is potent indeed even without the Rune of Unbinding. Perhaps in the hands of a warrior sufficiently strong…”
“Describe this daemon,” Gotrek said.
Hargrim leaned forward drunkenly and rested his chin on his fist. For a moment he smiled a smile empty of all humour. Then he sank into reverie and gazed off into the distance, as if looking once more on a sight he would rather not see.”
“Huge it was,” he said eventually. “More than twice the height of a tall man. Vast were its wings. Vast and bat-like, and when it unfurled them there was a crack like thunder. In one hand it bore a terrible whip. In the other an axe emblazoned with evil and eldritch runes that hurt the eye to look upon. Its eyes burned with infernal fire. Horns crowned its bestial head. On its brow was the mark of the Blood God.”
As Hargrim spoke, a silence and a chill spread across the chamber. Felix began to have a terrible suspicion that he knew what the dwarf was describing. It was a creature that was hinted at in the old books he had read about the time of Chaos. It was indeed a creature worthy to be known as the Terror.
“A Blutdrengrik,” said Gotrek quietly.
“The Bane of Grung,” Varek mumbled, tugging nervously at his beard.
“A Bloodthirster of Khorne,” Felix whispered, and felt the cold hand of fear touch his spine. He had just named the deadliest, most violent and implacable creature ever to emerge from the nethermost pits of Hell. A daemon second only to the Dark God it served in its mythical powers of destruction. A being which even the mightiest would fear to face.
“Let’s go and kill it” said Snorri.
“Let’s have another drink first,” Felix said, hoping to dissuade the Slayers from this foolish quest for as long as possible.
* * * * *
Felix awoke with that same feeling of disorientation which he had become quite familiar with over the years. He was in a strange place, looking at a strange ceiling and he felt somewhat nauseous. It took him a few moments to get his rebellious mind and stomach under control and to work out where he was. When he managed to do so, he wished he had not.
