by Warhammer
After no more than ten paces, Gotrek’s steps slowed and he looked down at the floor. He stamped the floor with his boot heel, then did it again.
‘There are many levels below us,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ said Rodi, nodding in agreement. ‘At least six.’ He sniffed the air. ‘And they touch bedrock.’
‘What were they used for?’ asked Felix.
‘Burying the dead, by the smell of it,’ said Rodi.
Felix shivered, the idea of countless ancient corpses flaking to dust in the silent tombs below him giving him a sudden chill.
As they continued on, they passed other tunnels that intersected with theirs, black maws yawning in the rock walls that seemed to swallow the light of the torch, and from which Felix imagined he heard soft scuttlings and whisperings. He tensed at each one, fearing that some trap or ambush would spring out at them, and that they would hear old Hans’s mad titter echoing from the distance.
The dwarfs took lefts and rights without pausing, never once consulting Hans’s map or conferring amongst themselves. They seemed to know the way by heart, despite never having been here before.
At one intersection, wider than the rest, Gotrek looked at some symbols carved in the wooden support posts. He spat, disgusted. ‘These tunnels weren’t only used for escape. Vile things were done here.’
He took his axe off his back and shaved away some of the symbols with the razor-sharp blade. ‘Foolish manlings,’ he growled.
They walked on, Felix even more uneasy than before. Perhaps the dead in the halls below weren’t in tombs after all. Visions of crowds of weeping captives driven to mass sacrifice in some deep chamber came unbidden to his mind, and he found it hard to banish them.
A little later, Gotrek held up a hand and they stopped. The dwarfs cocked their ears to the ceiling. Felix listened too. There was a faint tremor in the air, and a distant muffled thumping that never ceased.
‘We are under the herd now,’ said Gotrek.
A short while later, they came to a place where the walls and floor became mortared stone. These halls were painted with browns and blues and yellows – crude faded murals of men in horned helmets and long beards fighting orcs and beastmen in great battles, and other murals of the same men on their knees, offering meat and drink to a white wolf with a moon over its left shoulder and the sun over its right.
‘The catacombs of Tarnhalt’s castle,’ said Rodi. ‘Not the best painters, were they?’
After a few more turnings, they came to an ancient stairwell. Air poured down from above, bringing with it the reek of animal fur and wood smoke. The constant vibration of the walls and ceiling was echoed by far-off roars and wails. It sounded like there was no door between them and the herd.
Gotrek stopped. ‘The circle is above us.’
‘Looks like the old man led us true after all,’ said Rodi.
‘Praise Taal for that,’ said Kat.
Snorri raised his head and inhaled at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Snorri smells beastmen,’ he said. ‘Time to go fight them, aye?’
‘No, Nosebiter,’ said Gotrek. ‘Time to turn around and go back.’
The sudden sadness on Snorri’s face was so comical that Felix had to turn away to keep from laughing.
The rest of the day was as cold and boring as the previous one had been – more endless grey hours without news or incident. Felix had known they would hear nothing from von Volgen and Plaschke-Miesner. It was impossible that the messengers could ride to the monastery and the armies advance to the herd’s position in a single day, and yet the waiting still set his teeth on edge and tightened his shoulders into knots. When would the armies come? How many would come? Would they come at all? Having had a sample of their bickering, he knew it was entirely possible that the two young lords had fought again and that one or the other or both had decided not to come as a result.
There was also the nagging worry that – despite the encouraging evidence of the map – old Hans was lurking in the background somewhere, planning some revenge on them for holding him against his will. Felix could not imagine that the frail old man’s vengeance would be anything but petty spite, but even something seemingly insignificant might inadvertently alert the beasts to their presence and bring them crashing down upon them.
Felix made more notes in his journal, and watched again as Snorri followed Gotrek and Rodi around, babbling cheerfully. But this time he noticed that Gotrek was shooting hard, surreptitious glances at the old Slayer when he wasn’t looking, and once, when Snorri had gone off to relieve himself away from the camp, Felix saw Gotrek talking earnestly with Rodi as the young Slayer nodded gravely, fingering his plaited beard. When Snorri returned, the two stepped apart, for all the world like guilty schoolboys, and greeted him with painfully affected false cheer.
From this, Felix was certain that they had been talking about the old Slayer behind his back, but as to the nature of their conversation, he hadn’t a clue.
Von Volgen’s messenger returned at last at dawn on Hexensnacht eve with news that the two lords’ armies would be in position by noon.
‘How many men?’ asked Gotrek.
‘Lord von Volgen says that he has found fifteen hundred men, Herr Slayer,’ said the messenger. ‘Mostly spearmen and archers, but with three hundred mounted men-at-arms, and Lord Plaschke-Miesner brings almost a thousand, two hundred of them knights, as well as two cannon.’
Felix winced. It was more than the lords had promised, but it was still far from enough. The beasts would slaughter them all. ‘Any news of von Kotzebue?’ he asked.
‘Aye sir,’ said the messenger. ‘And good news at that. The baron has sent a messenger forwards to say that he crossed the Talabec with more than four thousand men two days behind my lord’s march, and he is pressing south as quickly as he may.’
Felix exchanged looks with Gotrek, Rodi and Kat. Kotzebue’s four thousand men would be welcome – even though they would still not put them at even odds with the beasts – but if they were two days behind at the outset, would they be here in time? It didn’t seem likely.
‘My lord and Lord Plaschke-Miesner beg you to wait as long as you dare to begin your mission,’ the messenger continued, ‘in order to give Lord von Kotzebue time to get into position.’
Felix didn’t wonder at the request. Without von Kotzebue’s troops backing them up, any attack the two young lords made would be nothing more than suicide.
‘We will wait,’ said Gotrek. ‘But if he doesn’t show by full dark, we will wait no more.’ He turned to Sergeant Huntzinger and Sergeant Felke and their scouts. ‘Go back with the messenger. The time for scouting is done. Better to die with your comrades than with us.’
The scouts paled at this malediction, but lost no time gathering up their gear.
As they watched them pack, Felix bit his lip and turned to Kat. ‘You should go with them,’ he said.
She looked like he had hit her. ‘I’ll not leave your side, Felix.’
‘But, Kat–’
‘I will not take the woman’s part in this,’ she continued, cutting him off. Felix could hear her fighting to control her voice. ‘I… I thought you understood.’
The hurt in her eyes was like a dagger in his heart. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I don’t ask it because you are a woman. I ask it because…’ He looked around at the staring scouts and lowered his voice. ‘Because I love you, and I don’t want you to die.’
‘I am not afraid,’ she said, lifting her chin.
‘It’s not a question of that.’ He sighed, then took her arm and led her away from the others. ‘Kat, I know you are brave, but this…’ He shook his head. ‘It is impossible that any of us will survive. I have made a vow that I will follow the Slayer and witness his death, and I know I will die doing it. But you… you don’t need to die here. You have so much life ahead of you.’
She glared at him. ‘You forget I have a vow too.’
‘I know you do,’ he said. ‘But there will be other herds, an
d other fights, fights where your help will make a difference.’
He knew as he said it that it was the wrong thing to say.
Kat’s eyes got colder still and she drew herself up. ‘You doubt my skills?’ she asked, stiffly.
Felix ground his teeth. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. The time for scouts is done, just as Gotrek said.’ He nodded towards Felke and Huntzinger’s men, who were lining up in preparation to march. ‘I only want you to do what they are doing.’ I only want to save your life, he cried inwardly, but did not speak it.
Kat hung her head and nodded. ‘You are right, Felix. This is no place for scouts. I should go.’
Felix let out a sigh of relief. At last she was seeing sense.
‘But,’ she said, and all of Felix’s tension returned as if it had never left. ‘But still I cannot leave you.’
‘Sigmar’s blood, why not?’ Felix cried.
She looked up at him with liquid brown eyes. ‘Because I do not want you to die either.’
‘But Kat,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I will die! There is no question.’
She shook her head. ‘I have heard your stories. You have faced certain death before, and always there has been one little thing that saved you.’ She swallowed and put her hand on his chest. ‘What if, this time, I am that one little thing?’
Felix choked down a wave of emotion. The girl didn’t want to die by his side. She wanted to protect him. It broke his heart. ‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘There’s no chance. None.’
She stepped closer to him. ‘How many times have I saved your life?’
He coughed. ‘Er, twice? Three times? More than that?’
She looked directly into his eyes. ‘There is always a chance, Felix. Always.’
Felix sighed, despairing that he had failed to convince her, but at the same time overwhelmed by how much she cared for him.
Their men assembled, Felke and Huntzinger stepped forwards and saluted Felix, Kat and the Slayers.
‘Luck to you,’ said Felke. He took off his hunting horn and passed it to Kat.
‘And to you,’ said Kat, taking it.
‘Give our regards to Sir Teobalt,’ said Felix.
The Slayers just nodded.
A few hours later, Felix stood watch again at the lip of the ravine, his mind still so full of worry for Kat and self-loathing that it was doubtful that he would have spotted a beastman unless it had trodden on his foot.
It was just after noon and the day had so far been torture. While the Slayers had paced and griped and waited for news of the armies, Felix’s mind had churned ceaselessly, trying to think of new arguments that would send Kat to safety, but failing again and again. He knew she would not leave, no matter what he said, and he watched her come and go from her patrols in a bitter, brooding melancholy. She was such a strange, unique creature – so fierce and bloodthirsty and confident, and yet so shy and good and uncertain at the same time – that it seemed a tragedy beyond all measure that she should be snuffed from the world like this, and he had spent the morning despising himself for not being able to think of a way to avert that tragedy.
Pebbles rattled behind him, waking him from his unhappy reverie. He turned to see Gotrek climbing up the steep slope to join him.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked as the Slayer pulled himself up the last few feet and stopped beside him, dusting his palms.
‘Aye,’ said Gotrek.
Felix expected him to continue, but the Slayer just stood there, looking out across the endless hills. Felix frowned, wondering if he was supposed to guess the trouble. Had Hans the Hermit returned? Had beastmen found a way into the ravine? Had something happened to Kat?
Finally the Slayer spoke. ‘Snorri Nosebiter will not find his doom here,’ he said.
Felix raised his eyebrows. This sounded like prophecy. ‘How can you be certain of that?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to make certain,’ said Gotrek. ‘He will not die without remembering why he took the Slayer’s Oath.’
‘Ah,’ said Felix. ‘I see.’ He was quietly shocked at this pronouncement. Gotrek rarely thought of anything other than his own doom. To see him actively concerned about someone else’s troubles, even another Slayer’s, was rare. Felix recalled that Gotrek had helped Heinz when the Blind Pig had burned down, but he suspected the Slayer had felt partially responsible for the fire. This was different. Gotrek hadn’t caused Snorri to lose his memory. This was an actual, unasked for, act of kindness.
The Slayer kicked distractedly at the ground, his head low. ‘I am releasing you from your vow, manling. You do not have to witness my doom, nor write of it. Instead, you will stay with Snorri Nosebiter, out of the battle, and when it is done, you will see him to Karak Kadrin and the Shrine of Grimnir. Then you are free.’
Felix choked, stunned. He couldn’t believe what the Slayer was saying. ‘Are… are you sure?’
Gotrek raised his head and glared at him with his single angry eye. ‘Would I say it if I wasn’t?’
And with that he turned and stumped back down into the gorge.
Felix stared after him, blinking with shock. His mind whirled with a hundred questions and emotions, all fighting for his attention at once. Gotrek had released him from his vow – or rather he had given Felix a task that would give it a definite ending. He was so surprised that he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Was he elated? That he knew he wouldn’t die beside the Slayer was a relief, he supposed, and finally putting an end to the uncertainty of when his long, mad journey would be over was a weight off his shoulders, but he couldn’t say either thing made him happy.
Did he feel angry? Not precisely. Cheated perhaps? To have dutifully followed the Slayer for more than twenty years, waiting for him to die, only to be told at the end, ‘never mind, you don’t have to record it after all,’ rankled a bit.
But thinking about that made him realise the true enormity of the Slayer’s decision. Since Felix had known him, Gotrek had wanted only two things out of life – a good doom, and an epic poem to immortalise his legend and bring it to the world. That desire for fame was why he had asked Felix to join him on his quest for death all those years ago. It was, in a way, the Slayer’s greatest weakness – a flaw of the ego that at once drove him headlong into impossible danger, and held him back from less worthy dooms. That he was now willing to give up that dream of glory, to go to his doom without any record of it being made, to die anonymously and alone, was proof to Felix of how deeply he cared for Snorri Nosebiter. He was sacrificing the fame he had spent more than twenty years accumulating in order to try to safeguard Snorri’s afterlife, and without any certain knowledge that it would work. Felix was sure that Gotrek knew as well as anyone that Snorri’s prayers might be unanswered at Grimnir’s shrine, and yet he was willing to forego his remembrance for that faint, forlorn hope.
Understanding this, all of Felix’s initial misgivings vanished. He was not angry that Gotrek had dismissed him. He did not feel cheated. Instead his chest swelled with pride, for that dismissal meant that Gotrek trusted him enough to put Snorri’s salvation – a thing apparently more precious to him than his own fame – in Felix’s hands. It was the greatest honour Felix had ever been given.
He swore then and there that he would see it through without fail. He would hide Snorri during the upcoming battle, he would see him safely through the Worlds Edge Mountains to Karak Kadrin, he would accompany him to the shrine, and then…
Felix paused, frowning.
And then… what?
And then he would be free of his vow to Gotrek for the first time in his adult life. He would have… a future.
A new thought exploded in his head as that sank in. Gotrek had asked him to sit out the battle and stay with Snorri for the duration. If he would not be in the battle, then Kat would not be in the battle! She would live! They both would live!
Suddenly his mind was ablaze. A future! He and Kat could be together! They could live together, have normal lives toge
ther – well, no, not that. He still had his vow to take vengeance upon the skaven sorcerer who had brought about his father’s death, and she still had her vow to vanquish the beastmen of the Drakwald, but why couldn’t they travel the Empire and the forests together for the rest of their lives, hunting skaven and beastmen and sleeping in Taal’s bower, living the simple life of the wanderer and the woodsman? It wasn’t as if he would have to change his life much. He would still be a vagabond, as he had been for the last two decades. Only now he wouldn’t be sharing the road with a surly, monosyllabic dwarf, but instead with a sweet, beautiful girl with whom he could also share his bed.
That brought him up sharp. He was actually looking forward to Gotrek’s death! And the honour of bringing Snorri to Grimnir’s shrine had become a mere stepping stone to his selfish dreams of happiness. He cringed with shame. What kind of friend was he? He should be mourning the Slayer’s imminent passing and praying for Snorri’s recovery, not gleefully planning the life he and Kat would have once he was free of both of them. How could he betray such lifelong friendships so callously? It wasn’t right.
On the other hand, Snorri wasn’t the sort to deny another person happiness because he couldn’t find his own, and Gotrek was a Slayer. He wanted to die. He wouldn’t want his death mourned. He would want it celebrated. Of course, dancing on his grave before he was even dead probably wasn’t exactly what the Slayer had in mind.
Felix sighed, conflicted. There was no question that he would mourn the Slayer’s passing – and celebrate it. Gotrek had often been hard to understand, and harder to like, but their friendship, though rarely expressed, had been real, and Felix would miss it when it was gone. But he could not pretend that he wasn’t pleased and relieved that his life after Gotrek’s death, which he had often feared would be an empty and meaningless shuffle to the grave, would instead be full of love and life and joy.
He was suddenly impatient for his watch to be over. He couldn’t wait to tell Kat the news.
‘This isn’t a trick, is it, Felix?’ Kat asked warily. ‘You’re not still trying to send me away?’
