“Do not help the slayers,” said Gotrek, starting forwards. “They will not thank you.”
There was a thrum at Felix’s ear and one of the Kurgan who faced the spearmen barked in pain, an arrow sprouting from his back.
“Go,” whispered Kat. “Go!”
Gotrek, Felix and Ortwin charged out of the trees, running low as more of Kat’s shafts whistled past their heads. The Kurgan howled and turned as the shafts pin-cushioned them. Felix grimaced. They were hideous — impossibly muscular gargantuans in furs and rusty armour — but their bearded faces were painted up like fright masks. Felix hurled his flaming branch at one with striped cheeks and purple eyelids, then slashed at him with his sword. Ortwin dodged a blow from one with black lips and pink matted hair. Gotrek smashed through the shield of one who fought entirely naked, but with so many iron rings piercing his flesh that he looked like he wore chainmail.
The Empire spearmen cheered as they saw their enemies flanked, and the line pressed forwards with renewed energy.
“On them!” shouted a captain. “Keep the advantage!”
The eyes of the painted Kurgan shone with berserk frenzy, and though the arrows had caught their attention, they didn’t seem to have slowed them down. Felix blocked an axe blow from his opponent that nearly shivered Karaghul from his hands. Ortwin’s blade bit deep into the pink-haired one’s sword arm, but the giant only moaned as if in ecstasy and struck back savagely, knocking the boy to the ground with a blow that sent his helmet bouncing across the trampled earth. Felix cursed. He had forgotten how hard the Kurgan were to kill. They had hides like iron, and when their battle-madness was upon them, they seemed to feel no pain.
Gotrek killed the pierced one with a chop under the ribs that sunk to his spine, then backhanded the one who had flattened Ortwin, shearing through his pitch-smeared armour and biting into his back.
Felix stabbed his painted opponent through the leg, but he didn’t even flinch, and Felix had to leap back ungracefully to avoid being gutted by his double-headed axe. As the huge weapon whipped by, Felix gashed the madman across the back of the wrist, cutting him to the bone. That the Kurgan felt. He howled and dropped his axe, but then drew two daggers the size of short swords and leapt again at Felix, still screaming wordlessly. Felix stabbed him in the sternum, trying to keep him at a distance, and felt Karaghul grate against thick bone. The marauder came on, pressing his breastbone against the tip of the sword and forcing Felix back with his weight as he swiped at him with his daggers, just out of range.
Suddenly Kat screamed up beside Felix and hacked the painted berserker in the shoulder with one of her hatchets. He swung a dagger at her face.
“No!” cried Felix, but the girl ducked it neatly and slashed at the marauder’s knees.
The berserker jumped back and Kat and Felix advanced, pressing him back towards the Empire spearmen.
“Come on, then!” shouted Felix, trying to keep his attention fixed forwards.
It worked. The berserker didn’t hear the spearmen behind him, and as he raised his axe to strike at Felix, a spearhead burst from his abdomen. He turned, roaring in pain and fury, and Felix jumped forwards and decapitated him with a whistling slash. The Kurgan’s painted eyes stared with surprise as his head tumbled from his slumping body.
The head rolled to a rest against Ortwin just as the boy was sitting up and looking around. He yelped as it hit his leg and scrambled up, kicking at it.
Felix and Kat turned, searching for more opponents, but there were none. The spearmen had capitalised on the Kurgan’s confusion and had slaughtered the rest while they were distracted. On the far side of the fire, however, the battle between the two slayers and their massive opponents still continued.
The spearmen turned towards it.
“Leave them be,” said Gotrek, holding out a warning hand.
“Not to worry, slayer,” said the captain, a long-jawed veteran with a battered helmet and a bloody face. “We know the rules.” He grinned at Kat, throwing her a jaunty salute. “Lo, Kat. Might have known. It is proof of Sigmar’s grace that you found us in time.”
“It was Gotrek that heard the fight, Captain Haschke,” said Kat, humbly, then turned to watch the slayers fight.
Two of the marauders were down, one with his bald head cleft down to the neck, the other with his guts spilling out of his stomach and sizzling in the fire, but though the two slayers still stood and fought strongly, Felix could see they had paid for their victories.
The shorter, broader slayer, who wore his scarlet beard woven into two long thick plaits, and whose two side-by-side crests arced over his bald head to match, had a huge lump on the right side of his head and seemed to be having trouble remaining upright. He swung furiously but unsteadily at his enemy with a double-bladed axe, his head tilted at an odd angle. The taller, rounder slayer, who had a braided crest and a beard like an orange haystack, was bleeding freely from the stumps of two missing fingers on his right hand, and had a diagonal gash on his scalp that was flooding his eyes with blood. He could barely see to swing his long-hafted warhammer.
Still, both seemed to be in high spirits.
“Take a rest, Argrin,” said the double-crested slayer. “I can take ’em both.”
“And give you my doom?” scoffed the braid-crested slayer. “No fear, Rodi.”
Felix could see the spearmen inching forwards, wanting to help the dwarfs, but apparently their captain had schooled them, for they held back, though he could see it pained them to do it.
“Be ready if the slayers fall,” murmured Captain Haschke.
Then, abruptly, it was over. Rodi, the double-crested one, weaved drunkenly out of the way of an axe swing and found himself standing almost under the legs of his towering opponent. He hacked savagely at the marauder’s, inner knee with his axe, but overbalanced and cut off the Kurgan’s foot instead.
The giant screamed and tried to take a step, but collapsed when he put his weight on his stump and crashed into the other Kurgan, sending him stumbling into the path of Argrin’s warhammer. The massive weapon caught the second marauder in the ribs, knocking him flat. Argrin jumped up onto his chest and crushed his skull with a sickening pop, just as Rodi planted his axe deep in the chest of the first marauder, sending up a fountain of gore.
The spearmen cheered. The slayers didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy complaining to each other.
“See now, Rodi Balkisson?” said Argrin, turning to Rodi, who was decapitating the footless Kurgan, just to be sure. “You interfered in my fight. You’ve cost me another doom.”
Rodi sneered as he wiped his axe on his Kurgan’s furs. “You’ve a way to go before you reach the number of times you’ve cost me my doom, Argrin Crownforger. Nine times! I’ve kept count.” He turned to survey the rest of the clearing. “Now where did…” He broke off as he saw Gotrek. “Another slayer!” he said.
Argrin wrapped a cloth around the stumps of his two missing fingers and peered around. “Where? Oh, so there is. By Grimnir, where did he come from?”
“No idea,” said Rodi. “But where’s old Father Rustskull? I lost track during the fight.”
“There he is,” said Argrin, pointing to a heap of dead Kurgan who lay piled on top of each other near the fire. Felix looked closer and saw that there was a pair of short, thick legs sticking out from under them.
The two slayers limped forwards and grabbed the dead marauders by the arms and legs.
Rodi beckoned to the others. “Hoy. Help us shift these fat pig Kurgan.”
Gotrek, Felix and Ortwin and some of the spearmen came forwards to help. The Kurgan were unbelievably heavy, as if they were made of oak, not flesh, but finally, working together, they succeeded in rolling them off the dwarf who lay at the bottom of the pile, unmoving, his eyes closed.
Felix stared, stunned. The unconscious dwarf was a slayer with a huge white beard, an enormous warhammer held slack in one gnarled hand, an oft-broken nose, a cauliflower ear on one side of his head, no
ear at all on the other, and a crest made of dozens and dozens of big iron nails, all rusted to a dirty brownish orange. “Snorri Nosebiter,” said Gotrek softly. “As I live and breathe.”
SEVEN
“I think he’s dead,” said Argrin.
“The lucky bastard,” said Rodi. “Found his doom at last.”
Gotrek grunted. “He’s not dead. He’s out cold.” He slapped Snorri’s cheek. It sounded like a pistol shot. “Wake up, Nosebiter.”
Snorri didn’t move.
“Maybe we should give him some air,” said Felix, stepping back.
“Aye,” said Rodi. “He’s been breathing Kurgan’s armpit for the last ten minutes. That would kill anybody.”
“Chafe his wrists,” said the captain of the spearmen.
“Lift his legs,” said one of his men.
“Maybe we should give him a drink,” said Kat, reaching for her canteen.
“Snorri thinks that is a very good idea,” said Snorri.
“Ha!” said Argrin, as Snorri’s eyes flickered open. “He’s alive!”
“The poor bastard,” said Rodi. “Another doom missed.”
Gotrek helped Snorri sit up. The old slayer reached shakily for Kat’s canteen and upended it over his mouth, guzzling greedily.
Then suddenly he was spitting it all out again, covering them all in spray and hacking and gasping so much that his eyes turned red. “What… was that?” he sputtered.
“Only water,” said Kat, looking a little alarmed.
Snorri made a face. “Snorri didn’t like that at all.”
Argrin crossed to a pack with a small wooden keg strapped to the bottom of it. He brought it back and handed it to Snorri.
Snorri upended it like he had the canteen, but this time he drank smoothly and happily. After a very long pull, he lowered the keg, sighed happily and licked the foam off his white moustaches. “That was much better.”
He handed the keg back to Argrin and looked around at everybody, ending on Gotrek. He blinked, a look of confusion on his face.
Gotrek grinned. “Well met, Snorri Nosebiter.”
Snorri frowned. “Snorri knows you,” he said slowly. “Snorri knows he knows you,” he turned curious eyes to Felix. “And you too.”
Gotrek’s grin collapsed. “Gotrek, son of Gurni,” he said quietly.
“And Felix Jaeger,” said Felix.
“It’s only been twenty years,” said Gotrek. “You don’t remember?”
Snorri nodded. “Snorri knows Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger. They are his old friends,” he said. “Are you them?”
Felix and Gotrek exchanged a glance. Felix wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Gotrek look more unsettled.
“Please, sirs,” came a woman’s voice from behind them. “Please, can you free us from these chains?”
Everybody stood and turned. Felix flushed, ashamed. They had been so busy hovering over Snorri that they had forgotten the prisoners.
The slayers and the spearmen hurried to them and began breaking them loose. They were a pitiful lot — a flock of shivering half-naked men and women, all huddled around the tree they had been shackled to. The women wore the remnants of Shallyan robes, and some still had dove pendants hanging from their, necks. They wept and thanked the spearmen for their release. The men wore the same uniform as the spearmen — those that wore anything at all — but they reacted almost not at all to being freed, only stared unseeing at their unshackled wrists or looked about them with dark, haunted eyes, murmuring under their breath.
Kat pressed her lips together as she looked at them. “Neff’s men,” she said. “The guards of the supply caravan. What can have done that to them to make them like this?”
Felix shuddered. He didn’t want to know.
Kat turned to the spear captain. “Captain Haschke, how did you find them?”
Haschke grimaced. “The Kurgan bastards attacked the Shallyan hospital wagons two days ago, while they were on the way south to Bauholz. One of their guards escaped and got back to the fort. He led us to the place where they were attacked, and we followed their trail here,” he nodded sadly at the supply train guards. “I guess the Kurgan have been watching the trail.”
“Aye,” said Kat. “We found the supply train earlier. Neff’s dead. About seven others.”
Haschke sighed and shook his head. “Ah, that’s bad. I’ll be sorry to tell Elfreda.”
“I… I’ll tell her,” said Kat Haschke looked relieved.
Once they had freed all the prisoners and did what they could to get them up and moving — and put those who couldn’t move on the backs of the stolen horses — Kat invited everyone back to the camp she had made by the road. The Kurgan camp was a charnel house, and not fit to stay the night in.
The undergrowth it had taken Kat, Gotrek, Felix and Ortwin two minutes to run through earlier took half an hour to lead the horses and the staggering victims through, but finally they made it back and got everyone around the fire and settled.
Gotrek watched Snorri as the old slayer nodded off, then crossed to Argrin and Rodi, who were cleaning and wrapping their wounds and combing out their beards and crests.
Gotrek nodded to them politely as Felix and Kat watched from nearby. “Gotrek, son of Gurni, at your service,” he said.
The two dwarfs stood and bowed in return.
“Rodi, son of Balki, at yours,” said the short, double-crested slayer. He had arched black eyebrows and a sly look on his sharp-featured face.
“And I am Argrin Crownforger,” said the bigger slayer, whose braided crest was now unwound and hanging down over the left side of his square, lumpy face.
Gotrek acknowledged their names and they all sat again. Gotrek looked back at Snorri. “How long has he been this way?” he asked. “His memory.”
“Since we’ve known him,” said Argrin.
“Though that hasn’t been long,” said Rodi. “We met him at the siege of Middenheim, a few months back.”
Felix saw Gotrek’s shoulders tense. “You were at the siege?”
“Aye,” said Rodi, his powerful chest swelling with pride. “Slew a daemon.”
Felix could hear Gotrek’s knuckles crack over the popping of the fire. “Did you?” he rumbled.
“It wasn’t a daemon,” grunted Argrin, as if they had had this argument before. “Not a real one.”
“It breathed fire and vanished into pink smoke when I hit it,” said Rodi, sticking his fork-bearded chin out.
“And it was the size of a cat,” said Argrin.
“Don’t lie, curse you,” snarled Rodi. “It was bigger than that! It was easily as big as—”
“A dog,” interjected Argrin.
“A wolf!” protested Rodi. “It was as big as a wolf! A big wolf!”
Gotrek cleared his throat meaningfully. “So, you don’t know when Snorri Nosebiter started to lose his memory?”
The two slayers broke off their argument and shook their heads.
“He’s always been that way,” said Rodi. “As far as we know. We sometimes have to remind him who we are, and he sees us every day.”
“Too many bumps on the head,” said Argrin.
“Too many nails in the head,” said Rodi.
Argrin shrugged sadly. “He remembers long ago like it was yesterday, and yesterday not at all.”
Gotrek cursed under his breath.
Argrin gave Gotrek an odd look. “He certainly tells enough stories of you, Gotrek son of Gurni.”
“Aye,” laughed Rodi. “And if they’re all true, then you’re the worst slayer of all time.”
“What was that?” growled Gotrek, balling his fists.
Kat sucked in a breath. Felix sat up, watching warily. This could be bad. His doom was a subject upon which the Slayer was notoriously touchy.
“Easy,” said Rodi, holding up his palms. “A joke, that’s all. I just mean that you must be too good. You should have been dead a dozen times over in the years you were with Snorri, and yet you defeated everyt
hing you met — daemons, dragons, vampires — and now it’s twenty years later and you still live.”
“Do you question my dedication to seeking my doom?” said Gotrek, rising, his one eye flashing in the firelight.
Rodi stood too, chest to chest with Gotrek. “Are you putting words in my mouth? I didn’t say that.”
Felix put a hand on his sword. Kat looked from one slayer to the other. The spearmen from Stangenschloss were turning their heads.
“Then what did you say?” said Gotrek.
“Come now, lads,” said Argrin, rising and trying to step between them. “Let’s not fight over nothing.”
“My honour is not nothing, beardling,” said Gotrek, snarling at him.
Felix stepped forwards anxiously. “I can confirm that the Slayer hasn’t let a day go by in the last twenty years without actively seeking his doom.” Except for those months in Altdorf where he tried to drink himself to death, he thought, but he kept it to himself.
“Stay out of this, manling,” said Gotrek.
Argrin put a hand on Rodi’s shoulder. “Apologise, Rodi. Come now.”
“But, I didn’t…” said Rodi.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Argrin. “A slayer’s doom is between him and Grimnir, not anyone else. You shouldn’t even have brought it up. Now apologise.”
Rodi made a sulky face, but finally bowed to Gotrek. “Forgive me, Gotrek, son of Gurni, I should not have asked after that which is not my business. Please accept my apology.”
Gotrek hesitated, looking like he still wanted to punch the young slayer in the nose, but then nodded curtly. “Accepted,” he said, and returned to Felix, still muttering under his breath.
Slowed as they were by the Shallyan sisters and the rescued men, all of whom were wounded and half-starved, it took two further days to reach Stangenschloss. Nothing happened on the journey, but it was still a difficult trip, at least for Gotrek and Felix. Felix spent the two days watching Gotrek watch Snorri, saddened to see the Slayer at such a loss.
Snorri was as cheerful as he had ever been, and seemed no less intelligent — and no more intelligent — than he had been before, but there was definitely something wrong with his mind. He greeted Gotrek and Felix as strangers each morning, and when they reminded him who they were, he would laugh and say of course they were and remember for the rest of the day, but at the same time, he would tell them stories of his old friends Gotrek and Felix, as if they were two completely different people from the man and the dwarf who walked beside him.
[Gotrek & Felix 11] - Shamanslayer Page 10
