by Warhammer
The stinging ebbed enough for Felix to recover himself. He heard the axe and chain whistling behind him and spun and ducked at the same time, Karaghul lashing out high. The rune sword sheared through the haft of the axe and the heavy head bounced hard off Felix’s shoulder. The chain wrapped around Karaghul and held it tight.
Milo laughed and yanked hard, hoping to pull Felix off balance. But Felix was ready and went with it, lunging forwards to slam into Milo’s chest and knock him to the ground. The bandit swung his headless axe at Felix’s legs, but Felix kicked it out of his hand and wrenched Karaghul from the coils of the chain. He raised the blade high for the death stroke, but suddenly a little figure blurred in from his right and shoved him aside.
‘No!’ cried Kat. ‘He’s mine!’
She kicked Milo in the face, then dropped down with both knees on his chest. Her hands were still tied, but somehow she had them in front of her now, and they held a bloody dagger.
‘Kat…’ said Felix.
There was no stopping her. She stabbed down with the little blade, plunging it into Milo’s neck, and then his eye, and then his screaming mouth. ‘No man ties me!’ she hissed. ‘No man holds me!’
Felix blinked, stunned by her fury. Milo was long past hearing her, but still she stabbed.
‘Kat,’ Felix said again, then, ‘Kat! He’s dead!’
The girl looked up at him with the wild eyes of an animal, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. Felix stepped back, unnerved, but after a moment her face softened and she came back to herself. She lowered the dagger, and hung her head.
‘I’m sorry, Felix. He…’ she paused, then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Felix, still a little shaken. ‘I’m sure he deserved all of it.’
He looked around. The battle was over. Gotrek and Snorri stood in the centre of a ring of dead bodies and red snow, while a handful of bandits legged it for the trees.
Felix knelt by Kat and took the dagger from her hands, then used it to saw at the ropes on her wrists. She was trembling so hard he was having difficulty not cutting her.
‘He… he took my boots,’ she said. ‘So I wouldn’t run. But I… I ran anyway.’ A big sob erupted from her, then, and as he parted the last strand of rope she threw her arms around him and wept on his neck. Felix paused, bewildered by her sudden change from feral fury to frightened girl, but then he took off his cloak and wrapped it around her.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, holding her and murmuring into her hair. ‘It’s all over now. We’re going south to Ahlenhof to spread the word of the herd’s coming. You’ll come with us. Everything will be all right.’
She looked up at that, snuffling back her tears. ‘But, but no. I can’t go. I have to stay and protect Bauholz. I won’t let another village fall.’
‘But, Kat,’ said Felix, as gently as he could. ‘It’s inevitable. The herd is ten thousand strong if it’s a hundred. Stangenschloss fell before it. How can you expect Bauholz to stand? Rodi has stayed behind to convince everyone to leave.’
Kat shook her head. ‘The herd will miss the village,’ she said. ‘The beastmen have gone due south from Stangenschloss. I’ve been watching them. If they stay on course, they will pass fifteen to twenty miles to the east of Bauholz. It is only the foragers we must worry about.’ She stood and padded back to the wagons in her bare feet. ‘And they may not come.’
Felix followed her. ‘Even so,’ he said, as she pulled her boots and clothes out from under the buckboard and started pulling them on. ‘If the foragers come in force, you don’t stand a chance. A bunch of starved peasants, one old knight, one Slayer–’
‘Three Slayers,’ said Gotrek, stepping up to him.
Felix turned on him, sighing. ‘Come, Gotrek, you said that we must go south to warn the Empire.’
‘That was before,’ said the Slayer. ‘When the town’s doom was certain. ‘This is a fight we can win.’
‘You might survive it,’ said Felix. ‘But what about the villagers? Even a small force of beastmen will kill too many of them.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Gotrek, stroking his beard and looking speculatively at the heavily loaded wagons with his single glittering eye.
It took almost two hours for them to turn the wagons around and ride them back to Bauholz, and by then the day was guttering down to a dull grey twilight.
‘Sigmar be praised!’ said one of the guards at the gate. ‘You’ve brought the weapons back,’ and waved them through the gates.
Rodi swaggered up to them as they led the wagons towards the centre of the village. ‘So, you’re not running away after all,’ he grinned.
‘We heard you crying and came back,’ said Gotrek.
‘Any more word of the herd?’ asked Kat.
Rodi nodded, his face growing serious. ‘A scout came an hour ago to say that they continue due south, but that a band of foragers was heading straight for us.’
‘How many?’ asked Gotrek. ‘And how soon?’
‘The scout reckoned about a hundred, and a few hours at most.’
‘Snorri doesn’t know if he can wait that long for a hundred beastmen,’ said Snorri.
‘Kat! You’re safe!’ came Doktor Vinck’s voice.
The old surgeon was hobbling out of the temple of Sigmar, now properly fitted with its gilded hammer. Sir Teobalt walked beside him, tall and proud despite his limp. Felix avoided his eye.
‘And you’ve brought back the wagons too,’ said Vinck as he stepped up to them. ‘My prayers to Sigmar have been answered.’
Kat hopped down from the first wagon and embraced the doctor as the others pulled to a halt.
Doktor Vinck returned the hug, but then pulled back and looked sadly at her. ‘Though you should have kept going south and forgotten about us. It will end badly here, I think, despite your return.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Gotrek. ‘I have an idea.’
Doktor Vinck turned to him. ‘If it is that we should leave the village, like your fellow Slayer suggested, we will not do it. We have bowed before violence and savagery for too long. We will do so no longer.’
Gotrek shook his head. ‘Not that. I have another way.’ He turned and looked at the barrels stacked on the cart. ‘We will put this looted blackpowder to its proper use at last.’
Sir Teobalt and Doktor Vinck frowned at him, confused.
‘But we have no cannons,’ said Sir Teobalt.
‘And few guns,’ said Doktor Vinck.
‘We don’t need them,’ said Gotrek. ‘All we need is all the drink in the village.’
FOURTEEN
As Gotrek began to outline his plan, Sir Teobalt finally caught Felix’s eye and gestured for him to step into the temple of Sigmar with him. Felix’s heart shrivelled in his chest as he did so. The moment had come to tell the old templar what had happened to Ortwin and the other brothers of the Order of the Fiery Heart, and he dreaded it.
Teobalt limped to the newly refurbished altar and turned, stiff. Felix noticed that, beneath his armour, his arm and shoulder were still wrapped with bandages. ‘As you have returned,’ he said, ‘I wonder if you have time now to speak with me of the fate of my squire, Ortwin, who I see is not with you.’
‘Yes, Sir Teobalt,’ said Felix. ‘I apologise for not telling you sooner, but…’ He motioned back towards the door.
‘It was a matter of great urgency, aye,’ said Teobalt, his eyes never leaving Felix’s. ‘But now it is finished. So…’
He left it hanging. Felix nodded, but still hesitated. Should he lie? Should he tell the knight that Ortwin and the other templars had died nobly in battle fighting the beastmen? It was an attractive idea. It would be so simple, and so kind. It would ease the old man’s heart and make him proud. But what if he should learn the truth? Ortwin and the templars couldn’t tell, but Gotrek and Snorri had been there. They knew, and Slayers never lied. Besides, Teobalt had asked for the truth. No matter how much of a kindness, to lie to him would not be ho
nourable. It would not be a fitting way to win Karaghul. Felix would cringe at the taint of it for the rest of his life.
‘Very well, Sir Teobalt,’ he said at last. ‘I will tell you. You… you heard from Kat how the herdstone that the beastmen carry changed Lord Ilgner and his men into beastmen?’
‘I heard this from Doktor Vinck,’ said Teobalt. ‘Who heard it from her. A foulness. Did Ortwin die fighting these abominations, then?’
‘No, sir,’ said Felix lowering his head so he wouldn’t have to meet Teobalt’s eyes. ‘He… he changed too. He became a beastman.’
There was silence from Sir Teobalt.
Felix swallowed and continued. ‘And I fear that this is what happened to the Knights of the Fiery Heart as well. We killed a beastman wearing armour with the order’s insignia upon it. At first we thought that the beast had stolen the armour, but having seen Ortwin change–’
Sir Teobalt’s palm cracked Felix hard across the cheek, staggering him sideways. Felix caught himself and looked up, clutching his face.
Sir Teobalt advanced on him, his eyes blazing like blue suns. ‘Lies!’ he cried. ‘Damned lies!’
‘Sir Teobalt,’ said Felix. ‘I swear to you–’
‘Will you perjure yourself in the house of Sigmar?’ said the old templar. ‘Cease, sir, lest his hammer strike you down!’ He grabbed Felix by the front of his mail. ‘The knights of the Order of the Fiery Heart were true followers of Sigmar. Devout, strong in their faith, and perfect in the observance of their duties. It is impossible that such as these could be corrupted by the foul touch of Chaos. I will not believe that they fell prey to such weakness of the flesh!’
‘I’m sorry, Sir Teobalt,’ said Felix, cringing away. ‘But it’s the truth.’
‘It is not. You lie like a knave.’
‘But why should I?’
‘I know not. Perhaps to hide some fault of your own. Perhaps you failed to protect Squire Ortwin and now seek to blame him for your lapse. It matters not. You have betrayed my trust. And I will not have you by my side hereafter. Return the sword that you have taken unjustly and go from me.’
The knight held out an imperious hand. Felix hesitated, trembling with frustration. He wanted to try again to get the old templar to listen, but he knew that it would be fruitless. He doubted that even the testimony of Gotrek and Kat and Snorri would change his mind. What Felix had told him had broken the laws of Sir Teobalt’s view of the world, and he would not believe it no matter what.
‘Come, varlet,’ barked Sir Teobalt, beckoning impatiently. ‘Will you rob me as well as lie to me? Give me the sword or defend yourself with it.’
After another long moment, Felix sighed and began unbuckling the sword belt from around his waist. ‘I have told the truth, Sir Teobalt,’ he said. ‘But since I cannot convince you, I will honour our agreement.’ He pulled the belt free and wrapped it around the scabbard, then took a last look at the clawed crossguard and dragon-headed pommel of the ancient rune sword. He would miss it. With a catch in his throat, he held it out to the templar.
Sir Teobalt took it and pressed it against his breastplate. He nodded solemnly to Felix. ‘You have honour at least in this, Herr Jaeger,’ he said. ‘Now go. I would pray.’
Felix bowed as the templar turned to the rebuilt altar, then he sighed and started for the door, his heart sick with regret.
He should have lied.
Two hours later, under a sky of stars and scudding clouds, Felix leaned against the raw pine trunks of the battlements, above and to the right of the village gate, looking dully out at the black wall of the forest that waited in the darkness beyond the flickering bonfires the villagers had set in their fields. The beastmen were out in that darkness somewhere, and as much as he hoped that they would somehow pass them by and leave the village in peace, he also wished they would show up quickly and end the nervous tension that always came with waiting and vanished with action.
Kat sat cross-legged on the narrow walkway beside him, waxing her arrowheads with a candle stub and cutting the feathers at the ends of her shafts so that they were all even. Two nervous village boys knelt near her, watching intently and trying to copy what she did.
‘Why do you wax the points?’ asked one of the boys. ‘Do they fly faster that way?’
Kat shook her head. ‘They slip through skin and armour better. Important with beastmen, as they have tough hides.’
The boys’ eyes widened at this, and they fell to waxing their own arrows with more vigour than skill.
Felix smiled down at her, and it was all he could do to not pull her up to her feet and kiss her then and there. He thought back to the moment when he had seen her fleeing Milo’s wagons, her bare legs flashing as she pounded desperately through the snow. He wasn’t sure why everything had changed then, but it had. All his worries, all his confusion about what he felt had evaporated, and he had known that despite it all, he loved her.
Unworldly yokel she might be, tied to the forest by her vows to save it, and too young for him by a decade. None of it mattered. What did matter was that she was neither a fool nor a manipulator like Claudia had been, nor did she constantly measure him and demand tests of his loyalty and worthiness like Ulrika had done. She neither overvalued or undervalued him, or loved some idea of him concocted from her memories and his unearned fame. Instead, to his confoundment, she seemed to accept him for who he was, and loved him for it.
She looked up at him, as if she could feel his eyes upon her, and gave him a lopsided smile that went through him as if it were the arrow she held in her hand.
He smiled back, then shook his head as she returned to showing the boys how to cut their fletches. It seemed complete madness to him, but when he looked in her eyes he found that he was ready to love her for as long as the world allowed them both to live, no matter what obstacles might get in their way.
Of course, he thought, looking out towards the vastness of the forest with a sigh, that might not be for very long at all. In fact, it was highly probable that they would both die tonight, no matter how well Gotrek’s strategy worked.
When Felix had returned to the others after giving Karaghul to Teobalt, he had helped them put the plan into action. It had been fairly straightforward. They were making a beastman trap, and baiting it with alcohol. The idea was this. They would hide three of the wagons, leaving in the main intersection only the one that was loaded with barrels of blackpowder. These they would hide under barrels of beer, brandy and gin. When the beastmen came, they would lure them into the centre of the village, let them attack the wagon and try to steal the liquor, then – from a safe distance – fire the powder and blow as many of them as they could to smithereens.
If there were any survivors, Gotrek, Felix and the Slayers, as well as Teobalt and whatever villagers they could muster, would finish them off before they recovered from the blast.
Felix was afraid that the blast would blow up the town as well, for Ludeker had amassed quite a little stockpile of powder during his tenure as ‘protector’ of Bauholz, and Milo had crammed every barrel of it onto the wagon. Gotrek assured him that all would be well. The two structures closest to the intersection were the old strong house and the temple of Sigmar. Both made of stone and, in the Slayer’s words, ‘solid – at least by human standards.’
A shallow groove had been dug in the frozen earth of the intersection and match cord laid in it from the wagon to the strong house, where the Slayers would be hiding. Then a line of planks was laid over the groove, to stop the beastmen from accidentally kicking or tripping over the cords and pulling them from the barrels.
When all had been prepared, Sir Teobalt and Doktor Vinck had directed the townsfolk in their duties. Those who could pull a bow would man the walls. Those that could fight would lie in wait in the temple of Sigmar, and those that could do neither would hide on the second floor of the strong house, with instructions to lock the bottom door and pray once the fighting started.
Gotrek gave Felix and Kat s
pecial duties, and sent them to the walls to wait with the archers. Felix could tell that Sir Teobalt wished that Felix would have left town entirely and not participated in such a noble enterprise, but the templar had said nothing, only pretended that Felix wasn’t there.
Felix looked along the wall in the torchlight, sizing up the archers he could see. They didn’t look like much. Their bows were new and well made, taken from the wagons along with their swords and helmets, but they themselves were mostly not of the same quality – a handful of village boys, a dozen refugees from the camp across the river, so starved that their bow staves seemed thicker than their wrists. But among them were a few old soldiers, trapped in town like the rest by recent events. From what Kat had said, the moment she had brought news of the herd, anyone with money or connections or a boat had taken to the river and sped south as quickly as possible, leaving only the poor and desperate behind.
The soldiers looked hardly more well fed than the refugees, but at least they knew their business. One of them, a hunched little man by the name of Weir, who sported a week’s growth of beard and his own bow, had taken charge of the troops on this section of the wall, and was walking up and down the walkway with a profound limp, calling encouragement and cheerful abuse to his ungainly recruits.
‘Keep yer bowstring away from the snow, ye daft bug,’ he told a boy, ‘If it gets wet ye won’t be able to shoot five paces,’ and, ‘Can’t bend yer bow, laddie? Are ye a maid? Here now, step through it and bend it across your hip. See it? Strength of Sigmar now, hey?’ and, ‘Don’t stick ’em in the wood, ye lummox! Look ye, that won’t cut yer beard now, will it? How’s it to get through a beastman’s scalp? Sharpen ’em again! Sharpen ’em again.’ And on and on, keeping their minds away from the waiting and the fear of what was to come.
Felix sighed with uneasy impatience and put his hand on the pommel of his sword, then jerked it away again, surprised once more that he didn’t feel the familiar serrated shape of the dragon head under his palm. He must have done this twenty times already, and still it alarmed and depressed him every time.
