[Gotrek & Felix 11] - Shamanslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  “Did the old lady say what this destiny was?” asked Gotrek.

  “No,” said Snorri. “But Snorri hopes it doesn’t come soon.”

  Gotrek turned, fixing Snorri with a hard stare. “What? Why is that? Do you no longer seek your doom?”

  A look of shame came upon Snorri’s ugly face. He hung his head. “Snorri shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Gotrek stopped walking and faced the old slayer, his one eye boring into him like an auger. “Snorri Nosebiter, if you have renounced your vow to Grimnir, we will no longer walk together.”

  “It isn’t that, Gurnisson,” said Rodi. “He—”

  Gotrek held up a hand. “I would hear it from his own mouth.”

  Snorri continued to stare at the ground, a look of such lugubrious misery on his face that it was almost comic. “Snorri has a great shame,” he said at last. “A new great shame.”

  “What shame is this?” growled Gotrek.

  “Snorri…” The old slayer swallowed, then continued. “Snorri has forgotten why he became a slayer.”

  TWELVE

  Gotrek blinked, a look of blank shock on his hard face. “When did this happen?”

  “Snorri doesn’t know,” said Snorri. “He tried to remember after the fighting at Middenheim but nothing came to his mind. There was nothing there.”

  “Too many nails in the head,” muttered Rodi under his breath.

  “It’s shameful for a slayer to forget his shame?” asked Felix, confused.

  “It is worse than shameful, manling,” said Gotrek, not taking his eye off Snorri. “It is a crime against Grimnir.” He sighed. “A dwarf becomes a slayer to atone for a great shame. If he forgets that shame, then he cannot atone for it. If he dies without remembering, he will not be admitted into Grimnir’s halls. He will have no peace in death.”

  It took a moment for the immensity of Snorri’s plight to sink in, but then Felix saw that it was a terrible thing, the equivalent of a devout follower of Sigmar discovering that he was growing a tentacle or a third eye. Snorri was being denied salvation and forgiveness.

  “Snorri is making a pilgrimage to Karak Kadrin,” said Snorri. “To pray at the Shrine of Grimnir. He will ask Grimnir to give him his memory back so he can have his doom.”

  Gotrek nodded. “That is the right thing to do, Snorri Nosebiter. May Grimnir grant your boon.”

  “But if you are afraid to meet your doom before you get your memory back,” said Felix as a thought came to him, “why are you still fighting? Isn’t it a terrible risk?”

  Snorri shrugged. “The old lady said that Snorri had a destiny, so he is safe until he finds it. And also,” he grinned, sheepish, “when there are things to slay, Snorri gets excited and forgets that he has forgotten.”

  “Forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders,” said Rodi.

  Gotrek shot the young slayer a hard look, then turned and started shouldering through the snow again. “Come on,” he said. “We have a long road ahead of us.”

  A while later, when Rodi and Snorri had fallen a little bit behind, Felix turned to Gotrek and lowered his voice.

  “Gotrek, don’t you know why Snorri became a slayer?” he asked. “Couldn’t you tell him and relieve him of his misery?”

  Gotrek shook his head. “A slayer does not tell of his shame,” he said. “Not even to another slayer. He has not told me. And even if I did know, I would not tell him.”

  “Sigmar, why not?”

  “It is a slayer’s responsibility to keep his shame firmly in mind,” Gotrek rumbled. “If Snorri Nosebiter has forgotten his, then it is his burden to bear, and his problem to solve. To tell him would be as wrong as killing him to give him his doom. There is no easy path to Grimnir’s hall.”

  Felix thought this was cruel and unfair, but then, much of what passed for dwarf philosophy seemed harsh to him. He sighed and pushed on, suddenly depressed. Poor Snorri. He had never expected to feel sorry for the happy-go-lucky old slayer — he hadn’t really thought Snorri had the capacity for sadness — but it seemed that the grimness of the Old World was great enough to touch even the most oblivious. It was too bad.

  On the fifth day, the second storm cleared off, and by the middle of the sixth day they came again to flattened snow, which told them that the herd was no more than a day ahead. Felix began to worry about Stangenschloss. Even if Kat had made it in time to warn them, what could the fort do to prepare for the oncoming herd? Would the soldiers abandon it? Would they send south for a wizard? Would they hope that the herd would pass them by? Would they even believe Kat’s story?

  In the late afternoon of the seventh day, they saw the first signs of battle — a soldier’s helmet tossed to one side, a trail of red in the snow, the scattered skeleton of a horse, scraps of meat still sticking to its bones. A little further on they found a headless corpse wearing the uniform of Ilgner’s company. After that, the slayers readied their weapons and went more cautiously. Felix did the same. The herd might be just around the next bend, or the one after that.

  An hour later, as the setting sun was turning the snow as red as the spilled blood, they came to the fort at last.

  The beastmen’s trail led right to it, entering the cleared fields that surrounded it from the rear.

  Felix and the slayers paused before stepping out into the open area and surveyed the fort. The walls still stood, and there was no column of smoke rising from it, but there were also no signs of life — no glint of helmets from the walls, no kitchen smoke, no sound. “Have they deserted it?” asked Felix. “We’ll see,” said Gotrek.

  They started around the edge of the clearing, keeping within the tree line. The ground along the side of the fort was littered with a score of dead beastmen, all with arrows sticking from them, but no other signs of a battle. The walls were undamaged, and there were no dead soldiers.

  Felix began to wonder if the herd had tramped past and not bothered to assault the fort, but when they could see around the corner tower, his heart sank, capsized with a flood of dread. The gates were wide open and no sentries stood before them. “Look,” said Rodi.

  Felix turned and followed his gaze with the others. On the far side of the cleared fields, a gap had been cut in the forest, just like the one they had entered from.

  “The beastmen have moved on,” said the young slayer. “But have they taken the garrison with them?” asked Gotrek.

  Panic surged in Felix’s chest. “Kat,” he said, and he had to forcibly hold himself from racing towards the fort to look for her. If she were dead or changed it would have happened hours, maybe days ago. No mad charge now could change it.

  He and the slayers crept warily towards the entrance, passing more arrow-studded beastmen as they went, and eyeing the battlements every step of the way. No arrows came from them, however, nor any spears or stones or shouted challenges.

  Finally they reached the open gates and looked in. The courtyard was still and silent, but only because it was too cold for there to be flies. There were corpses everywhere — men and beastmen all hacked to gory pieces, some still locked in the struggle that had killed them, and bright blood mottling the snow between them like red islands in a frozen sea.

  “Snorri missed a fight,” said Snorri.

  “Not much of one,” said Rodi. “There are barely a score of men dead here.”

  “Two score,” said Gotrek.

  Rodi snorted, “Your eye is failing you, Gurnisson. I don’t count more than—”

  “Look at the beastmen,” said Gotrek. “They wear the same uniform as the men they fought.”

  Rodi turned and Felix followed his gaze. It was true, all the beastmen in the yard wore torn jerkins and dented breastplates, all marked with Ilgner’s colours and device.

  “The stone,” Felix groaned.

  “Aye,” said Gotrek. “It has done its evil work.”

  Felix thought again of Kat and this time he could not restrain himself. “Excuse me,” he said. “I must…” and he ran of
f across the courtyard.

  “Manling,” barked Gotrek. “Wait.”

  Felix hurried on, ignoring him, and looking fearfully at each beastman he passed to see if it wore a scarf and a hat and a heavy coat of wool.

  As he turned the corner into the stable yard he saw a little figure in silhouette kneeling over a corpse and his heart gave a great leap, but then he saw that it was a boy, dressed in peasant rags, and that he was tugging at the rings on the hand of a dead knight.

  “You, boy!” called Felix.

  The boy looked up, eyes wide, then bolted for the kitchen yard, which was around another corner of the keep.

  “Come back here!” called Felix and ran after him. He might have news of Kat!

  He saw the boy disappear into a wooden storage barn built against the outer wall, and slowed to a trot. There was no exit from the shed. He was trapped.

  “All right, then,” he said, stepping into the wide doorway. “Come out. I only want to talk—”

  He cut off abruptly when he saw that he was facing a bristling thicket of daggers and spears and clubs, with a gang of frightened-looking rustics behind them.

  “This be our spoils,” said the one in front, a slope-shouldered fellow with a thatch of dirty yellow hair sticking out from under a stocking cap. “Go find yer own.”

  The boy was peeking out from behind him, glaring at Felix with angry eyes.

  Felix looked past the men and saw that they had been loading bags of flour and jars of cooking oil onto a cart with a bony old plough horse hitched to it. He stepped back, lowering his sword and raising his free hand.

  “Easy,” he said. “I don’t want your spoils. I… I only want to ask what happened here.”

  The men looked at each other, then back at him, still suspicious. “It weren’t our doing,” said the leader. “You can’t blame us for what happened.”

  “Of course not,” said Felix, as soothingly as he could. “It was the beastmen. I just—”

  “The blue light!” wailed a voice from a corner. “The blue light!”

  Felix’s hair stood on end at the eerie sound. He turned with the others. Another peasant sat in the corner, hugging his knees. He was a big man, a smith’s apron strapped around his barrel torso, but his face had the wide-eyed fear of a child woken from a nightmare. “The blue light!” he said again.

  “Quiet, Wattie,” snapped the leader. “They’re gone now, I told you.”

  “And where’s Hanna, Gus?” cried the big man. “Where’s Hanna gone?”

  “She…” Gus looked over at a canvas tarpaulin that had been draped over something by the door. A cloven hoof, small for a beastman, stuck out from under it. “She went on to Leer, Wattie. I told you. Now be quiet.”

  Gus turned back to Felix. “You best just go on yer way, mein herr. We don’t want—” He broke off as footsteps crunched across the snow from outside.

  The peasants’ spears and daggers thrust back into guard.

  “Who’s that?” snarled Gus. “Who’s with you?”

  Felix saw the shadows of the dwarfs stretch across the straw of the barn floor as they stepped into the door behind Felix.

  “What’s this, now?” asked Rodi.

  Gus stared, then dropped his spear and stepped forwards. “Master Rodi, you’ve come back!” Then, shooting a nervous look at the wagon full of plunder, “Er, is m’lord with you?”

  “No, master cook,” said Rodi. “Lord Ilgner’s dead. Argrin too. Killed by the beastmen.”

  Gus’ face fell. “Aw, that’s bad that is.”

  The other peasants groaned.

  “What happened here?” asked Rodi.

  Gus sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Don’t know, exactly. When the little forester girl brought word the beasts were coming, some of us was afraid and we went to hide in the old bandit caves.”

  “So she made it here!” cried Felix.

  “Aye,” said Gus. “Though much good her warning did, as ye can see. Only Wattie stayed behind, but he won’t say what happened. Something terrible though,” he said, glancing again at the form of the little beastman under the tarpaulin.

  “The blue light,” moaned Wattie from his corner.

  “When did this happen?” asked Gotrek.

  “We hid in the caves last night,” said Gus. “When we come back this morning, it was like this.”

  “The girl who brought the news,” said Felix anxiously. “Do you know what became of her?”

  Gus and the others shook their heads.

  “Saw her talking with Captain Haschke before we went to the caves,” said Gus. “But not since,” he turned back to Rodi. “You won’t tell on us, will ye, Master Rodi? We’re only fending for ourselves.”

  Rodi shrugged. “Who is there to tell?”

  Felix’s panic was returning. He backed out of the barn. “I must see if she’s here,” he said, and ran off again.

  He searched the fort from battlements to dungeon, torn between fear of finding Kat, and the frustration of not knowing what had happened to her. Every new body he found quickened his heart and tightened his shoulders. Every fallen beastman he came to made him cringe in anxious anticipation. At last, as the purple sky blackened to full night, he gave up. She wasn’t there, at least not that he could find, or in a condition he could recognise. Had she continued on to Bauholz? Had she gone out to fight the herd and died on the field or in the woods? He had to find out.

  He ran back down to Gotrek, Snorri and Rodi, who were rolling a keg of beer up from the cellars as Gus and his followers prepared a meal.

  “We have to leave for Bauholz,” said Felix. “Now.”

  “It’s too late in the day, manling,” said Gotrek. “We’ll start in the morning.”

  “We can’t wait until morning,” cried Felix. “We have to get to Bauholz before the herd does.”

  “And we will,” said Gotrek, setting the barrel on its end. He nodded at Rodi. “The beardling has bought the cook’s horse and cart. We’ll take it by the forest road while the beasts carve their way through the trees, foot by foot. We’ll be ahead of them in a day.”

  “But we should gain as much of a lead on them as possible!” Felix insisted. “It will take some time to get everyone away.”

  “Relax, Herr Jaeger,” said Rodi. “A night under a roof will give us more stamina for the road. Besides, I’m hungry for a real meal.”

  “And Snorri is thirsty for real drink,” said Snorri.

  Felix growled with frustration, but he knew the dwarfs were right. A night wouldn’t make much difference, but it just felt wrong not to be moving, not to be doing something to find Kat — and help Bauholz, of course.

  It was a tortuous trip. Felix was cursing with impatience every minute of the five days it took. The bony old plough horse might have been quicker than the dwarfs on foot, but it was not fast enough. Every bump, every stop to ease the cart over a frozen rut, every time they had to tromp tracks in the heavy snow so that the wheels would not get stuck, drove Felix to nail-biting frustration. He wanted to run ahead and leave the slayers behind, and there were times when he almost gave into the urge and told them goodbye, but he knew it was folly. Without their protection he was prey to everything that lurked in the woods, and he would die not knowing if Kat lived. With them, as slow as they were, he was much more likely to get to Bauholz in one piece and be able to do something useful once he got there. When at last, at noon on the fifth day, the snow-covered fields and timber walls of the little town hove into sight, Felix breathed a huge sigh of relief. The chimney smoke rising in little grey ribbons from its; roof tops told him that the beasts had not touched it. He jumped down from the cart, unable to control his anxiety any longer, and jogged ahead to the gates. “I’ll just, uh, let them know we’re coming,” he said over his shoulder as he ran. “Aye, manling,” said Gotrek. Rodi chuckled slyly.

  The palisade walls were acrawl with villagers, retying the ropes that bound the logs together, setting new logs in the long-unrepaired gaps, buil
ding wooden mantlets at the tops to hide behind while firing bows. Felix nodded with surprised approval. It seemed that Noseless Milo had actually taken seriously his vow to protect the town when he took it over. Felix would not have thought it of him, though of course it would do no good in the end. Even without the foul stone, the shaman’s massive herd could overrun the little village without breaking stride. The people should be leaving, not preparing to fight.

  A pair of gaunt peasants were guarding the front gate, and only stared at him as he ran through. As he started down the main street, he saw that the village was as busy within as without. The townsfolk were doing what they could to strengthen their meagre houses — boarding up the windows, fitting the doors with crossbars and braces, making barricades to block the streets. Felix looked around for any sign of Milo or his men, and saw none. Were they all on the walls, helping with the defences? Or had the bandit failed to defeat Ludeker’s soldiers after all? But Felix saw no Wissenland uniforms among the villagers either. Strange.

  He ran to the Powder and Shot, the old Sigmarite temple turned beer hall, and stopped in wonder as he saw two men on ladders taking down the crudely painted tavern sign in preparation for replacing the gilded wooden hammer that had hung there before.

  A gaunt old man stood on the steps of the temple, watching the proceedings, and Felix recognised him as Doktor Vinck.

  “Herr Doktor!” he called as he ran towards him.

  The old surgeon looked up, then smiled as he recognised Felix. “Herr Jaeger, is it? Well met, sir. I confess I didn’t expect you to return.”

  “What are you doing here?” Felix asked. “Are you working for Noseless Milo now? Is Kat here with you?”

  Doktor Vinck’s smile faded. “I’m afraid the answers to all those questions are linked, my boy. I am here because Milo and his cronies left town as soon as Kat brought word that the beastman herd was coming this way. They have taken all the stolen supplies that Ludeker had gathered, put them on carts and headed south. We face our destiny with nothing but a few pitchforks and hunting bows.” He laughed and looked at the tavern sign, with its depiction of bullets and blackpowder barrel. “The powder and shot is gone, and so we must put our trust in Sigmar.”