[Gotrek & Felix 02] - Skavenslayer

by William King - (ebook by Undead)

  Thanquol raised his paw and gestured for silence. In a moment all was calm, save for a few coughs from the back rows.

  “Lament, skaven! Tragic news!” Thanquol said, and even the coughing stopped. “Mighty Warlord Vermek Skab is dead, killed in a terrible accident involving a loaded crossbow and an exploding donkey. We will have the traditional ten heartbeats of silence to mark the return of his soul to the Horned Rat.”

  Immediately all the skaven started to talk among themselves. The chitter of conversation only fell silent when Thanquol raised his paw again and let the warning glow reappear around his talons. All of them sensed the menace in the gesture and went quiet. None of them wanted to be the next to be consumed by those terrible wiggling bands of energy.

  “Now we will prepare for the next phase of the master plan,” Thanquol said. “In the sad absence of Lord Skab, I must reassume control of the army of conquest.”

  “With great respectfulness, Grey Seer Thanquol, such is not the case. As senior skaven here, my duty it is to assume command.” The booming voice of Izak Grottle filled the chamber. “Clan Moulder had provided many warptokens to finance this expedition and I must see that they are spent wisely.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Vilebroth Null inquired. The words bubbled phlegmishly from his ruined throat. “If any is to command here, it should be me. To Clan Pestilens will go the honour of overthrowing the mancity. We have great plans! Great plans! It is our secret weapon that will destroy the human city!”

  “No! No! I disagree,” chittered the reedy, high-pitched voice of Heskit One Eye. The siege machines of Skryre will make victory possible and so to Skryre should fall the leadership. Naturally, as the ranking representative of Clan Skryre I will now assume my duties as supreme commander.”

  This is a vile usurpation of Clan Moulder’s privileges,” Izak Grottle roared. The rat-ogres, hearing the anger in his voice, bellowed with barely suppressed fury. The sound of their wrath echoed around the cavern. “Mutinous behaviour cannot be tolerated! No! For the good of the force, warn you I must that one more word of such treachery and my warriors will execute you instantaneously.”

  The jezzail teams around Heskit swiftly brought their weapons to bear on Izak Grottle. “Your warriors? Your warriors? There speaks a mad skaven. By what right do you name the warriors of my command your troops?”

  “Both of you are trying my patience,” Vilebroth Null burbled. “Seeing my two senior lackeys bickering in such a runtish manner cannot help but demoralise my army. Cease such treacherous behaviour at once or face the hideous and inevitably fatal consequences.”

  Null flexed his paws menacingly and suddenly there was a package of filthy stuff in his hands. No one present could doubt that it was dangerous. The plagues of Clan Pestilens were famously deadly.

  Grey Seer Thanquol looked on in baffled rage and barely concealed glee. He half hoped that the various leaders would come to blows, that violence would erupt and that these upstarts would slaughter each other. Unfortunately, until circumstances proved otherwise, he had to assume that he needed all of their help to overthrow the mancity. So it was time to put a stop to this nonsense.

  “Brother skaven,” he said in his most diplomatic voice. “Consider this. Until the coming of Vermek Skab, the Council of Thirteen placed me in command of this army. Since Vermek Skab is sadly no longer with us, the leader’s place in the rear must still fall to me by edict of the council. Of course, if any of you wishes to challenge the council’s ruling I will notify them of this at once.”

  That quietened them, as Thanquol had known that it would. No skaven in his right mind would even hint at the possibility of disobeying a direct edict from the council. The dread rulers of the skaven race had a long reach and their punishments were swift and certain. By invoking the council’s authority, Thanquol knew that he would ensure the obedience of all present until such a time as they could check back with their clan’s rulers and representatives on the council. Hopefully in that time Thanquol would have brought the mancity to its knees.

  “Of course, you are correct, Grey Seer Thanquol,” Heskit chittered. “It is only that, as your second-in-command, I felt that these others were overstepping the bounds of their authority.”

  “I know not how Heskit can claim to be your second-in-command, grey seer, when all know my respect for you is boundless, and my devotion to your cause without limit,” Izak Grottle said.

  Vilebroth Null merely coughed enigmatically and said: “It pains me to see these overbearing oafs challenging your rightful authority, grey seer. Surely the power of my clan and my proven dedication to your person must mean that I rank second here.”

  “I have yet to decide who the Underleader will be. I must retire to my burrow to contemplate strategy.” So saying, he descended from the bell carriage and the seething sea of skaven parted before him. Thanquol felt satisfied for the moment that he had the challenge to his leadership under control.

  This was more like it, thought Thanquol. Let them bicker over who gets the scraps. The glory will belong to me.

  As was only right.

  Lurk Snitchtongue crouched down in his favourite hiding place, a small cave above a long narrow gallery far from the main Underways. He was worried as only a skaven of a naturally nervous disposition could be. He knew that he had only days to make good on his claim to be able to destroy the dwarf and the human who had humiliated Chang Squik, or else he would suffer the same fate as the messenger from Skavenblight.

  He shuddered when he thought of that demonstration of the grey seer’s awesome power. Truly, the warpstone magic that Thanquol wielded was to be feared. He knew that hiding would not help him, that the grey seer would find him no matter how deep he burrowed, but old instincts were hard to overcome. Even as a small runt, in times of trouble Lurk had always sought out the hidden places where he could spy on the bigger skaven and plan his revenge.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, rage skittered around on small, padded claws. He knew that Thanquol had picked on him and the instinctive need for vengeance made him want to bury his fangs in the grey seer’s throat. The fact that he understood why he was Thanquol’s chosen victim did not make it any easier to take. Basic skaven instinct told him the reason for Thanquol’s decision. From an early age, every young rat-man learned to sense who it was unwise to antagonise and who it was possible to bully with impunity. Those who did not, died in all manner of horrific ways and were usually eaten by those who killed them. On one level, he understood that Thanquol had victimised him for good, sound political reasons because he was the youngest of the skaven leaders, and the least secure in his position.

  Lurk had risen to his current position as a junior warlord in Clan Skab by being the favourite of Vermek Skab, and by informing on those who had plotted against his distant cousin. He had a nose for ferreting out information that might be useful, a talent that was more than useful in a society so full of intrigue as that of a skaven clan. But now Vermek Skab himself was dead, and Lurk doubted that even his powerful kinrat would have been able to protect him against the wrath of a grey seer. No, he decided more realistically, Vermek would not have found him useful enough to be even bothered to try.

  It was looking like his promising career was about to come to an end. He would either die at the axe of a maniacal dwarf whom, rumour had it, even Grey Seer Thanquol feared—or he would be blasted by the seer’s mind-bogglingly potent sorcery. Neither prospect was particularly appealing to an ambitious young skaven. Still, at the moment, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it.

  Lurk heard voices coming from below him. He froze in place, realising that others had sought out this lonely place for their own purposes. He knew it was best to be quiet, for he was on his own and packs of skaven had been known to fall upon and devour solitary rat-men they found in remote tunnels. If truth be told, Lurk had done it himself. He listened carefully, his keen ears twitching, hoping to find out more about the approaching skaven.

 
; “Curse Grey Seer Thanquol!” he heard a voice that he recognised as belonging to Heskit One Eye. “He has denied me my rightful place at the head of this army, yes. Credit for victory over the humans should rightfully belong to me and, of course, to Clan Skryre.”

  Lurk’s whiskers twitched. This was treasonous talk and he was sure that Grey Seer Thanquol would like to hear about it. He listened now as if his life depended on it, thinking that he might have found a way out of his predicament, a path on which to creep back into the grey seer’s good graces.

  “Yes-yes, greatest of lords. A fool Thanquol is. Perhaps he too could have an accident like Vermek Skab!” Lurk recognised the fawning voice as belonging to Heskit’s henchling, Squiksquik.

  “Hush-hush! Speak not of such things. It has been tried before but somehow accidents always seem to happen to someone else, not to Grey Seer Thanquol. Perhaps it is true. Perhaps he does enjoy the favour of the Horned Rat!”

  So even the mighty Heskit feared the grey seer. This did nothing to reassure Lurk about his own position. But still—what a patron the grey seer would make if Lurk could ingratiate himself. By clinging to Thanquol’s tail, Lurk could rise very far indeed. The next thing he heard made his tail stand on end.

  “The farsqueaker explosion should have worked but Thanquol has the luck of a daemon, most far-sighted of plotters.”

  “Never, never refer to that again. The farsqueaker malfunctioned—that is all. Nothing more. If Grey Seer Thanquol was even to suspect that it was anything else, the consequences would be very bad, very bad. How goes the… other plan?”

  “Well, greatest of warp engineers! We have located a hidden route into the manplace. Our warriors stand ready to grab the devices the moment you command it. Tonight is auspicious. The humans have all been summoned to a feast by their ruling breeder.”

  Lurk felt the soles of his paws tingle. Here was something else to report back to Thanquol. A secret Clan Skryre scheme to acquire human treasures. Surely Grey Seer Thanquol would reward anyone who would report such a thing to him. He leaned forward stealthily so that so he could see what was going on below him. The movement dislodged some pebbles and sent them skittering to the floor. The noise disturbed the Clan Skryre skaven, he saw them jump into defensive stances and whip out their blades.

  “What was that sound-noise?” Heskit demanded.

  “I do not know, bravest of leaders,” Squiksquik said. “Quick! Quick! Go! Investigate.”

  “A leader’s place is in the rear. You go!”

  Lurk cursed his bad luck. The noise had interrupted the Skryre’s plotting and now he might never know what they were up to.

  “Most likely it is nothing, wisest of warleaders. Subsidence merely. Tunnels are old.”

  The two of them stood immobile in postures of listening. Lurk hoped they did not look up. He dared not even pull himself back into the shadows lest the movement attract the attention of their keen skaven senses. He felt sure that they would be able to hear the pounding of his heart. It was all he could do to keep from squirting the musk of fear.

  Slowly the two nervous Clan Skryre rat-men relaxed, letting their breath come out slowly and easily. After a few more heartbeats, they returned to their plotting.

  “What are your orders, most cunning of commanders?”

  “We will attack the man-things’ steamworks tonight during the dark of the moon. Their gun machines must be ours so that we can improve on them. Their steam-chariots must be examined to see how we may increase their effectiveness ten-thousand fold.”

  “It will be as you wish, most superlative of technicians.”

  “See that it is so!” Heskit barked and turned his back on Squiksquik to stalk away. Lurk could not help but notice that as soon as Heskit’s back was turned, his lackey flicked his thumb against his protruding incisors in the traditional skaven gesture of disrespect. Heskit turned. By the time his leader’s eye was upon him, Squiksquik had once again adopted a posture of fawning adoration.

  “Do not stand there all day. Come! Come! Quick! Quick! There is much work to be done.”

  In the darkness, Lurk smiled. He had learned many useful things here, and it was time to visit the grey seer.

  “What do you want?” Grey Seer Thanquol inquired, looking up from the scroll which he had been reading. “I thought you went to the surface. To kill the dwarf!”

  “No, most potent of sorcerers,” Lurk replied, adopting the form of address that worked so well for Squiksquik. He understood now its power. Thanquol seemed to swell visibly at the flattery and began to preen his fur. “While rushing to obey your most clever command, I stumbled upon evidence of plotting and knew that only the great Thanquol himself would have the intelligence to know how to deal with it.”

  “Plotting? Explain yourself! Hurry-hurry!”

  Quickly, and leaving out only the details of how he came to be there, Lurk outlined what he had overheard. Thanquol tilted his head to one side and bared his fangs at the news. As he listened his tail began to lash backwards and forwards, a sure sign that a skaven was agitated. When Lurk was finished, Thanquol glared at him for so long and with such an expression of piercing intelligence that Lurk feared his time had come and that he was about to be blasted. But the grey seer merely licked his lips, stroked his imposing horned head with one paw, and said: “You have done well, Lurk Snitchtongue. I must consider what you have told me. Hold yourself ready to instantly obey my commands.”

  “Yes, most shrewd of supreme commanders.”

  “And Snitchtongue—”

  “Yes, mightiest of sorcerers?”

  “Say nothing of what you have told me, to anyone. On pain of instant and most painful annihilation.”

  “Yes! Yes! To hear is to obey, most merciful of potentates.”

  * * * * *

  Thanquol lolled back on the throne he had installed in this makeshift command cave. He scratched his itching back against the wood of the throne’s back, then leaned his horned head forward on his paw. That fawning sluggard Lurk had given him something to consider indeed. So, as he had suspected, the farsqueaker explosion had been no accident. When he thought how close he had come to death on that day, rage and fear warred in the pit of Thanquol’s stomach. Had Heskit stood before him at this moment, Thanquol would have blasted him into a thousand fragments, and let the Horned Rat take the consequences.

  And this news of Heskit’s treachery gnawed at his bowels. He fought to bring himself under control, knowing that such thinking was dangerous, that to give way to his rage would lead to eventual certain destruction. He had not reached his high position in skavendom by giving way to such impulses. He told himself that he would find other, more subtle ways of gratifying his thirst for righteous revenge. He would find other ways to pay back the treacherous filth for his attempt on Thanquol’s life.

  And this new scheme of Heskit’s—it was exactly the sort of thing he would have expected from those machine-obsessed traitors at Clan Skryre. Always lusting after new technologies and new machines. Always willing to betray the skaven cause for their own advancement. Always looking for ways to cheat their rightful leader out of his well-deserved share of the credit.

  But wait! Was it possible that Lurk Snitchtongue had concocted this whole thing simply to ingratiate himself with Thanquol? The grey seer immediately discounted this possibility. Lurk was simply too stupid and unimaginative to come up with such a tale. Furthermore, it fitted with reports which Thanquol’s other spies had brought him, of secret massing of elite Clan Skryre troops, of secretive comings and goings in the burrows that Heskit had commandeered for his forces.

  Thanquol considered the possible outcomes. The warp engineers were planning on attacking the new College of Engineering, that was obvious. They wanted to acquire steam-tanks and organ guns for themselves. The grey seer did not doubt that Heskit could make good on his boast of improving these human weapons a million-fold. He knew that no other race could match skaven genius when it came to constructing machines, and unfor
tunately, Clan Skryre were the most brilliant mechanics of a brilliant race.

  These new weapons would doubtless increase Clan Skryre’s power, and with that power would come increased influence on the Council. Just the news that Heskit had succeeded in acquiring the human weapons would bring a consequent increase in Clan Skryre’s prestige, perhaps even enough to have Thanquol called back to Skavenblight and Heskit awarded the supreme leadership of this army. Such an outcome was unthinkable. A clod like Heskit could only lead this mighty force to disaster. It needed the titanic intellect of Thanquol to ensure crushing victory over the human scum. It was Thanquol’s duty to his people to ensure that he stayed in charge.

  But what were his options? He had already decided that Heskit was too powerful and too useful to be destroyed out of hand. So what could he do? He could confront Heskit with the knowledge of his treachery. Not good enough. The warp engineer could simply deny it and it would be Lurk’s word against his. And doubtless he would simply find another way forward with his plans to steal the human machines when Thanquol’s back was turned and his mind occupied with more pressing affairs.

  Thanquol cursed Heskit and all his treacherous, ill-natured brood! Why did this have to happen now? He should be using his towering intellect to deal with more pressing matters than treacherous underlings. He should be planning the inevitable conquest of the mancity of Nuln and the destruction of Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger.

  But wait! Perhaps this was the key. Perhaps the Horned Rat had sent him the means to kill two babies with one bludgeon. A brilliant idea started to percolate into Thanquol’s mind. What if he used his two enemies as a weapon against Heskit? What if he simply informed them of where and when the warp engineer’s attack was to take place? Doubtless they would take steps to thwart the attack.

  Yes! Yes! The Slayer’s foolish quest for glory, and the fact that the pair were already discredited, would keep them from informing the stupid human authorities. Doubtless they would be moved to interfere in their usual blundering fashion, and would seek to stop Heskit’s plan. They were too stupid ever to work out that they were Thanquol’s pawns, and even if they suspected a trap it would not matter. The Slayer’s own pride and his desire for a heroic death would ensure his interest even in the face of overwhelming odds. No! No! Particularly in the face of overwhelming odds.