Gotrek & Felix- the Fourth Omnibus - Nathan Long

by Warhammer

  The sergeant frowned and turned to his men. ‘Any of you lot remember?’

  They shrugged and muttered amongst themselves.

  ‘Them jaggers at the Middenstag, was that them?’

  ‘Nah, that were the Knights of the Silver Fist.’

  ‘How about them fellows that got torn up by orcs in the hills?’

  ‘I never heard their name, but they had a bird, didn’t they?’

  ‘Aye, a bird, not a heart.’

  There was another minute of this, then the sergeant turned back to Felix. ‘Sorry, mein Herr. Don’t think we saw them.’

  Felix shrugged. ‘Thank you anyway, sergeant.’

  He and Gotrek were just turning to survey the room for someone else to ask when a big man in a barman’s apron appeared beside them. They looked up. The man was Milo’s height, but thicker in the chest and the arms. He smiled at them.

  ‘Get you gentlemen a drink?’ he asked politely.

  ‘No thank you,’ said Felix, and continued to look about the room.

  The man didn’t move. ‘Have to have a drink if you want to sit at a table,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’ He was a little less polite this time.

  Gotrek glared up at him.

  Felix grunted. ‘We paid for drinks less than five minutes ago,’ he said. ‘We left them at the bar.’

  ‘Still need a drink to sit at a table,’ said the man.

  ‘You don’t have any drinks worth the name,’ said Gotrek. ‘Get lost.’

  The Wissenland spearmen were starting to take an interest.

  ‘We don’t want a drink,’ said Felix quickly, before the man could say anything that would make Gotrek stand up. ‘We just want to sit here.’

  ‘Then there’s a table tax,’ said the man. ‘Two shillings an hour, paid in advance.’

  ‘A table tax?’ said Gotrek dangerously. ‘What kind of man-nonsense is that?’

  ‘We’re a tavern, sir,’ said the man. ‘Not a refugee camp. Tables are reserved for paying customers.’

  Felix looked around the room again. It was still only a quarter full. There was plenty of room to sit. ‘What if we leave when you need these seats?’

  The barman crossed his brawny arms. ‘I’m not going to argue with you, sir. If you won’t drink and won’t pay, you’ll have to leave.’

  Gotrek stood. The man stepped back warily.

  ‘Listen, you clot,’ said the Slayer, advancing on him. ‘I will pay for a beer when you bring me a beer that doesn’t taste like you pissed it into a mouldy rain-barrel!’

  Ortwin stared. Felix groaned. The Wissenland spears laughed and applauded.

  ‘That’s exactly what it tastes like!’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Get out,’ said the barman, stepping back again. ‘We’ll have no violence here.’

  ‘If you want me out,’ said Gotrek, still advancing, ‘throw me out.’

  The barman hesitated, his fists balled at his sides, but then turned and hurried back behind the bar as the soldiers jeered at him. He whispered to the other barman, then disappeared into the back room.

  The Wissenland men began to pound the table with their mugs. ‘Real beer! Real beer!’

  ‘Come on, manling,’ said Gotrek, turning away. ‘There are more to talk to.’

  He started across the tavern towards a trio of young pistoliers who had been watching the whole episode with amused eyes. Though they were dressed in the latest Altdorf fashions, Felix could see that their boots and clothes were worn, and had been patched extensively – as had they themselves. One had a parting in his hair that had been made with an axe, and another had a hook for a left hand.

  He saluted Gotrek with it idly as the Slayer and Felix and Ortwin sat down at their table. ‘Well done, Herr dwarf!’ he said in a noble accent. ‘I’ve been wanting to express that particular opinion all week.’

  ‘And I as well,’ said his scalp-scarred companion. ‘Damned busybodies won’t give a man a moment’s peace. ‘Fill your cup, m’lord? Another beer, m’lord. Steal your wallet, m’lord?’

  ‘Damned if I don’t think they hold the boats on purpose so they can milk us for our last few crowns before we sail,’ said Hook-hand. He smiled at them, then indicated his friends and himself. ‘Abelhoff, Kholer, and von Weist. Now, to what do we have the pleasure?’

  ‘You’ve come from the fighting?’ asked Felix.

  Von Weist laughed and held up his stump. ‘I didn’t get this playing euchre, my lad.’

  Felix flushed, embarrassed, and a bit irked that a boy twenty years his junior was calling him ‘my lad’, then let it go. ‘We were wondering if, during your travels, you met an order of knights known as the Templars of the Fiery Heart?’

  The three pistoliers looked at each other, frowning, then the third, Kholer, who hadn’t spoken yet, nodded. He did not appear to have suffered the kind of wounds his companions had, but there was a gravity about him that suggested that he had seen his share of horrors.

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘We met them. They were at Stangenschloss when we came through, about a month ago. Not many of them left as I recall. Lost half their number at Middenheim and Sokh, their bugler told me.’

  ‘Were they still there when you left, m’lords?’ asked Ortwin eagerly.

  Abelhoff, the one with the scarred scalp, shook his head. ‘They got wind of a village on the edge of the Howling Hills being threatened by some great herd of beastmen and went out to defend it.’ He shook his head. ‘Mad of course. All templars are. Took no support. No foot troops–’

  Ortwin stood up hotly at this. ‘I am a novitiate of the order, sir. We are not mad!’

  ‘Easy, lad, easy,’ said von Weist. ‘No offence meant. We’d have been with ’em like a shot if we weren’t all returned to store for want of parts.’ He grinned like a cat. ‘That kind of madness is our bread and butter.’

  ‘And they didn’t return?’ asked Felix.

  Kholer shook his head. ‘Not before we continued south. Haven’t heard what became of them. Sorry.’

  Felix nodded. It looked like a trip to Stangenschloss was inevitable.

  ‘I say,’ said von Weist, turning to Gotrek. ‘You’re a Trollslayer, aren’t you?’

  Gotrek looked at him with his single eye. ‘And if I am?’

  Von Weist smiled. ‘Oh, nothing. Just an interesting coincidence, that’s all. We saw three of your sort at Stangenschloss.’ He laughed. ‘They were mad too!’

  ‘Aye,’ said Abelhoff. ‘Fiery fellows. Fight you as soon as look at you.’

  ‘Except the one with the nails in his head,’ said von Weist. ‘He just drank, mostly.’

  Felix and Gotrek both looked up at that.

  ‘Nails in his head?’ asked Felix.

  Von Weist held up his stump. ‘I swear to you it’s true. He wore them like Herr Slayer here wears his crest.’

  Gotrek and Felix looked at each other, then Felix leaned forwards to question the pistoliers further, but just then there was a commotion in the street and a handful of men ran into the tavern.

  Felix, Gotrek and Ortwin looked up with everyone else. Standing inside the door were a half-dozen men in the uniform of Ludeker’s men, and with them stood the burly barman who Gotrek had menaced.

  ‘There!’ he said, pointing directly at Gotrek. ‘Those are the ones! They threatened me and didn’t pay the table tax.’

  The leader of the guards nodded and swaggered forwards, his men spreading out behind him. He was a big man, with a bulging belly that spoke of three meals a day, with an occasional snack in between. In a starving town like Bauholz, Felix found that obscene.

  ‘These tables are reserved for drinkers, lads,’ he said. ‘Buy a beer or go.’ His men began to surround them.

  ‘We bought a beer,’ said Felix.

  ‘And it wasn’t a beer,’ said Gotrek.

  ‘You’ll have to buy another,’ said the guard. ‘And while you’re digging in your purses, there’s a fine for disturbing the peace. Two shillings each.’ He held out h
is hand.

  Gotrek growled in his throat.

  Felix and Ortwin shot him a nervous glance.

  ‘Easy, Gotrek,’ said Felix. ‘We can’t make trouble. We’ve got to stay here another day, and I want to talk to more people about the templars.’

  ‘Then get him away from me,’ said Gotrek.

  Felix turned to the leader of the guards and opened his belt pouch. ‘All right, we’ll pay. Four shillings for the fine, and two for two more “beers”.’

  ‘It’s six shillings for the fine, mein herr,’ said the guard.

  Felix frowned. ‘You said two each.’

  The guard pointed a stubby finger at Ortwin. ‘Ain’t he with you?’

  ‘But he didn’t do anything. It was only us.’

  ‘Still a member of your party,’ said the guard.

  Gotrek stood and faced the guard. ‘Take the four shillings and get out, before I throw you out.’

  The guard stepped back. His men laid their hands on their truncheons.

  ‘Threatening an officer of the law,’ said the guard. ‘That’s an eight shilling fine.’

  ‘And he’s got a naked blade, sir,’ said one of his men, pointing to the axe on Gotrek’s back.

  ‘Why, so he does,’ said the leader. ‘That’s five shillings.’

  Gotrek took a step forwards. ‘I’ll feed you your five shillings at the end of my–’

  ‘Gotrek!’ yelped Felix.

  ‘Threatening again!’ cried the guard, backing away. ‘The fine’s doubled for the second offence. Sixteen shillings! That’s… that’s…’

  ‘One crown, fifteen shillings total,’ said his man helpfully.

  ‘Gotrek, don’t,’ said Felix as the Slayer raised his fist. ‘I’ll pay. We can’t afford trouble. We…’

  He paused as he heard the shing of drawn steel beside him. Everybody turned.

  Ortwin stood with his sword drawn, glaring at the leader of the guards. ‘You are dishonourable men!’ he said in his high, clear voice. ‘These are not the honest laws of the Empire, and you have no right to enforce–’

  One of the guards clubbed him from behind and he fell forwards, his blade gouging the leader of the guards in the leg as he slumped to the ground.

  ‘Committing violence upon an officer of the law!’ roared the leader. ‘Get them!’

  His men charged in from all sides, clubs swinging. Gotrek blocked with his forearms as Felix ducked and snatched up a stool and the three pistoliers scattered away.

  ‘Sorry, lads,’ called von Weist. ‘Not our fight.’

  ‘Good luck to you!’ cried Abelhoff.

  Felix parried a club with his stool and kicked a guard in the knee. Gotrek buried his fist up to the wrist in the leader’s soft belly, then swung at two more guards as the fat man crashed to the floor, puking. Felix cracked another guard on the helmet with his stool, then turned as a cudgel across the shoulders staggered him. One of the guards stood on the table, raising his arm for another strike.

  Felix kicked the edge of the table and the man stumbled forwards. Felix swatted him with the stool as he fell. Gotrek shoved a guard into a stone pillar, then threw another over his shoulder, sending him crashing through another table.

  In less than a minute Gotrek and Felix stood panting in the centre of a ring of bruised and fallen men, all groaning and holding various parts of their anatomies. The room burst out into spontaneous applause. The Wissenland spear company whistled and stomped their feet. The pistoliers clapped politely.

  ‘Good show!’ cried von Weist.

  But before the cheering had died away, another crowd of guards had run through the door – a score at least – all breathing hard and with weapons drawn. At their head was a trim, compact man with a head that thrust forwards like a crow’s. He wore a captain’s uniform, and four pistols and an expensive rapier at his belt.

  ‘What’s all this?’ he said, with a voice like a file scraping rusty iron.

  SIX

  The burly barman hurried out from behind the bar. ‘Captain Ludeker! These men–’

  ‘Never mind, Geert,’ said Ludeker, his sharp eyes fixing on Gotrek and Felix. ‘I see what they’ve done.’ He stepped forwards, his hands behind his back, shaking his head as soldiers and curious citizens of Bauholz began to edge into the tavern to see what was going on.

  ‘Disturbing the peace,’ said Ludeker. ‘Destroying private property. Drawing a sword within the boundaries of the town. Resisting arrest. Striking officers of the law. Damaging the uniforms and equipment of officers of the law.’ He smiled darkly as he stopped in front of Gotrek and Felix. ‘Such barbaric behaviour cannot go unpunished. Fifteen days in the strong house, and a fine of…’ His eyes slanted to Gotrek’s gold bracelets. ‘Of twenty gold crowns, or the equivalent.’

  Gotrek laughed, harsh and loud. He beckoned Ludeker forwards with a massive hand. ‘Come and take it.’

  Ludeker drew two of his pistols and aimed them both at the Slayer. ‘You’re making it worse for yourself, dwarf. Thirty crowns.’

  Felix sneered. ‘You’re not an officer of the law,’ he said. ‘You’re a thief in uniform.’

  Ludeker turned one of the pistols towards Felix. ‘Forty crowns. Do you want to go higher?’

  Just then there was a commotion in the crowd and Kat pushed through to the front, her eyes wide.

  ‘Felix! Gotrek! What happened?’ she gasped.

  Ludeker glanced at her. ‘Take her too,’ he said. ‘She’s the one who brought these troublemakers.’

  Felix knew he shouldn’t. He knew that the best thing to do was to try to talk their way out of the situation – to bargain with Ludeker, or find a way to buy some breathing room, but somehow he just couldn’t help himself. He threw the stool at Ludeker’s head.

  Ludeker ducked and fired convulsively, his shots going wild.

  Gotrek roared a laugh and charged. Felix was right behind him.

  Ludeker scrambled back, tossing aside his spent guns and grabbing for the other two. ‘Get them! Kill them!’ he bellowed.

  Gotrek knocked the captain’s front teeth out and sent him skidding across the stone floor on his back.

  There was a moment of shocked silence as the guards stared at the unmoving body of their leader, then they swarmed in, screaming, holding swords in their hands this time, not cudgels.

  Gotrek pulled his axe from his back and swept it at the oncoming men. Felix ripped Karaghul from its scabbard and flashed it around him in a wide arc.

  ‘Stay back!’ he shouted. ‘Do you want to die for this stupidity?’

  They didn’t listen. Felix parried and kicked and dodged as the guards mobbed him. Behind him he heard screams and shearing steel and snapping limbs as Gotrek went to work. Felix stabbed a man in the chest and elbowed another in the nose. A third man was coming up fast on his right. Then he fell, and Felix saw Kat standing behind him, holding a crimsoned hand-axe.

  Surrounded by a distant wall of mesmerised onlookers, Felix, Gotrek and Kat fought in a whirlwind of Ludeker’s men – kicking, swiping, ducking and lunging. Felix took a cut on the back and gave back a gash across the brow. Kat tripped a man and cut off the fingers of his sword hand. Gotrek took off the legs of another man with one swipe.

  That was the end of it. The guards had expected a one-sided slaughter, but hadn’t thought they would be on the receiving end. Those who could still run ran, shoving through the crowd to escape the terror of Gotrek’s bloody axe. Those who couldn’t run crawled away, weeping and begging for mercy.

  ‘Blatht you, dwaaff!’ lisped a hoarse voice.

  Felix and Gotrek turned to see Ludeker, his four front teeth missing, aiming his second pair of pistols at them. Gotrek hurled his axe just as Ludeker fired.

  Sparks flashed off the spinning axe and one of bullets ricocheted past Felix’s ear, while another shattered a mug behind Gotrek. Ludeker was punched off his feet as the rune weapon caught him in the face and slammed him into the wall, his head split in two halves from crown to chin.
He slid down the wall, his guns dropping from his slack hands, and slumped to the ground. Blood pumped from around the edges of the axe like a fountain and poured down Ludeker’s neck, turning his uniform from grey to red.

  The room was silent for a long moment. People were staring and backing away. Ortwin was sitting up and blinking around at the half-dozen corpses, bafflement and horror in his eyes. Felix felt like the squire looked. His stomach roiled with sudden nausea. No matter how corrupt, these had been Empire men. They had no doubt fought Archaon’s hordes. It shouldn’t have come to this.

  Kat stumbled to him and clutched his arm. ‘We’d better go,’ she said, glancing towards the door. ‘The others will be back before long, and with guns.’ She shook her head as she watched Gotrek pull his axe from Ludeker’s face. ‘Can’t wait two days any more. We’ll have to leave for Stangenschloss right away.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Gotrek. ‘I was sick of the place anyway.’

  ‘How did this happen?’ murmured Ortwin.

  ‘Just go,’ said Felix.

  He steered the boy towards the door. Gotrek and Kat went with them. The crowd parted silently before them, frightened. Even the three pistoliers eyed them askance as they passed.

  Felix was glad to have the air in his face as they stepped out onto the street, even if it was cold enough to freeze his snot.

  As they were running across the bridge to the refugee camp, they came upon Noseless Milo and his gang trotting the other way, all armed to the teeth. The big bandit gave them a grin and a jaunty salute. ‘Hear I owe you lads a favour,’ he said. ‘Ta.’

  His men laughed at that.

  As they ran on, Milo turned and called after them. ‘Herr Doktor’s house will be mine now, Kat! A warm bed and a warm fire any time you want it!’

  Kat curled her lip, not bothering to look back. ‘He should give it back to the doctor,’ she muttered.

  ‘Ludeker’s dead?’ asked Doktor Vinck, shocked. He was giving a shave to a man in the uniform of the Talabheim city guard, and almost nicked his ear.

  ‘Yes, doctor,’ said Kat, angrily stuffing her belongings into her pack. ‘But we didn’t start it. He tried to kill Felix and Gotrek.’