[Gotrek & Felix 11] - Shamanslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  When he saw von Volgen, he spurred his horse to the mill, his eyes flashing.

  “What is this, cousin!” he cried, drawing up. “Have you forgotten what side of Priestlicheim Brasthof lies on?” His voice was high and clear and matched his overly refined features and long blond hair perfectly. If he hadn’t been horribly plagued with spots, he would have been as beautiful as a girl. Felix guessed him to be seventeen — possibly sixteen.

  Von Volgen looked the youth up and down contemptuously. “I do not ride for the house of Volgen, Oktaf,” he said, “but for Count Feuerbach. I do my duty.”

  “It is your duty to invade my lands?” said Plaschke-Miesner.

  “It is my duty, as it is yours, to protect the lands of our liege,” said von Volgen. “Had you been doing your duty, I would not be here.”

  “Am I not here?” said Plaschke-Miesner, putting a beringed hand to his breastplate.

  “Aye,” said von Volgen. “An hour after me, when Zeder is half as far as Volgen. But then,” he added with a sneer, “you weren’t coming from Zeder, were you? How long is the ride from Suderberg, cousin?”

  Plaschke-Miesner snarled and drew his sword at that, crying, “Longer, it seems, than the one from Count Feuerbach’s grave!”

  “You dare, you dog?”

  Von Volgen’s blade sang from its scabbard as, all around them, knights and soldiers from both sides rushed forwards shouting, “My lords! My lords!” and Felix’s head spun with all the names.

  He felt like he’d come in during the middle of a performance.

  SEVENTEEN

  Felix, Kat, Teobalt and the slayers stepped back as horses reared and soldiers and knights called out for calm. Von Volgen and Plaschke-Miesner were having none of it.

  “Leave off, curse you,” called Plaschke-Miesner, waving his men back with a gold-hilted sword. “He insults me on my own lands! I will have his blood.”

  “Away,” roared von Volgen. “I will not have my loyalty questioned!”

  Suddenly Sir Teobalt pushed forwards, his face red with fury. “My lords, there is no time for this! The threat of the beastmen—”

  “Stay back, templar,” said von Volgen. “This is a matter of honour.”

  “It is indeed a matter of honour!” cried Teobalt. “And you both dishonour your Empire and your names by—”

  A sidestepping horse knocked him back. Felix and Kat jumped to catch him before he hit the cobblestones.

  “Are you all right, Sir Teobalt?” asked Felix.

  “Insolent little fighting cocks,” rasped the templar. He could hardly catch his breath.

  Felix and Kat helped him away from the whirlwind that swept around the two nobles. Gotrek was growling under his breath as they passed him.

  “Do you deny that you have come from Middenland, then?” called von Volgen, trying to control his plunging horse. “Do you deny that you mean to marry a von Kotzebue and give your lands to the Middenlanders?”

  “Love knows no borders, cousin,” shouted Plaschke-Miesner in return. “Do you deny that your father is fitting himself for Feuerbach’s mantle before it is certain that he is dead?”

  “We only protect his lands in his absence,” said von Volgen. “As we have for generations!”

  “Liar,” shrilled Plaschke-Miesner, swiping wildly at von Volgen.

  “Traitor!” bellowed von Volgen, slashing back.

  “Enough!” roared Gotrek and, shoving forwards through the press of horses and men, he raised his axe then slammed it down between the two lords’ horses with such force that it shook the ground and buried itself up to the heel in the hard-packed earth.

  “If you want to tear each other to pieces,” said the Slayer into the sudden silence, “wait until Witching Night, when you can do it with horns and hooves. Now stop this manling foolishness and listen to the templar or I’ll give you a real fight!”

  The knights and soldiers erupted in outrage at this.

  “Kill the dwarf!” cried one. “He threatens our lord!”

  “Arrest them all!” said another.

  “You shall hang for this, villain!” said a third.

  “Come and try it,” growled the Slayer, pulling his axe from the earth in a spray of pebbles.

  “And try me as well,” said Rodi, standing at Gotrek’s shoulder.

  “And Snorri too,” said Snorri.

  Felix groaned. The slayers were going to end up killing the people they needed most. He stepped forwards, raising his arms and his voice.

  “Friends! Don’t do this! We must all save our strength to fight the beastmen.”

  “Stand aside, vagabond,” said the burly captain. “Our lords have been threatened.”

  “Your lands are threatened!” cried Felix, feeling some of Sir Teobalt’s righteous rage infecting him. “The beastmen will take everything! Your homes, your families, your souls! Don’t you understand? If you do not put aside your differences and unite now, you will have nothing left to fight over! We will all become beastmen! There will be no Middenland, no Talabecland, no lands for you to inherit — just one great forest where beasts who were once men fight each other over rocks and dirt and scraps of meat.”

  The knights and soldiers started to shout him down, but both von Volgen and Plaschke-Miesner waved for silence.

  “No Talabecland?” said von Volgen. “There will always be a Talabecland.”

  “And what do you mean, ‘we will all become beasts’?” said Plaschke-Miesner.

  Sir Teobalt stepped forwards again. “The beast-shaman who leads this mighty herd goes south to perform a vile ceremony that is meant to turn all men who dwell within the shadows of the Empire’s forests into beastmen. If he succeeds, all of the north will be affected, from Middenland to Ostermark, and you can be sure that great herd of changed men will not stay in the forests. They will come south, into Wissenland, Averland and the Reik. No part of the Empire will be untouched.”

  The two lords and their retinues stared, dumbstruck. Someone at the back giggled. “But… but surely it’s impossible,” said von Volgen. “Aye!” said Plaschke-Miesner. “A fairy tale. No beast of the forest ever had such power. This ‘shaman’ of yours won’t succeed.”

  Sir Teobalt nodded gravely. “Perhaps not. But will you allow him to try?” He swung his arm to encompass the ruins of Brasthof. “Think wisely, my lords. For this is what awaits all of the Empire if he succeeds.”

  The two lords hesitated upon their horses for a long moment, alternately looking around at the devastation and glaring at each other.

  Finally von Volgen snorted and swung off his horse. “Thiessen, find a hovel in this wreckage that still has some furniture and make it fit for company.” He turned to a knight. “Albrecht, be so kind as to invite our cousin Oktaf to join me with his advisors for a discussion of the situation.”

  Plaschke-Miesner rolled his eyes and turned to one of his knights. “Creuzfeldt,” he said. “Please inform our cousin’s emissary that we accept his invitation and will be delighted to attend.” He shot a look at Teobalt. “And ask the templar and his odd sorts if they will join us as well, since they seem to know so much of the matter.”

  Felix and Teobalt and Kat let out long-held breaths.

  The slayers just grunted.

  As they settled down on some nearby steps to wait for a meeting place to be prepared, Felix saw an old man in long dirty grey robes watching everything from the far side of the market square, but more particularly watching Gotrek.

  Felix was about to say something to the Slayer, but just then the old man seemed to feel him watching and turned. For the briefest second, Felix felt their eyes meet, and he was jolted by the intensity of his stare. Then the man ducked back around the corner and the feeling faded.

  Half an hour later everyone gathered around a long table in the tavern with the demolished front von Volgen and four of his knights sitting on one side, Plaschke-Miesner and four of his knights sitting on the other, Gotrek, Felix and Sir Teobalt taking up the ends. Kat, Ro
di and Snorri had declined to be there so that they could scavenge for food. Felix wished he had gone with them. Picking his way through unstable buildings searching for week-old meat would have been infinitely preferable to listening to the two young lords snipe at each other and protest every suggestion just for the sake of protesting.

  The meeting was nearly over as soon as it began. Sir Teobalt started it by recounting their journey so far, and when he told of asking that Emil von Kotzebue and his army come aid in the fighting of the beastmen, Lord von Volgen jumped from his seat.

  “By Sigmar, it is a plot after all!” he cried, hammering the table with his fist. “These beastmen are a mere excuse to allow that damned Middenlander to cross the river with his army while we are undermanned! I’ll warrant he stirred up the beasts just for this.”

  Sir Teobalt controlled his temper with an effort. “Baron von Kotzebue would not be coming at all had I not invited him. Indeed, if we are unfortunate, he still may not come. But you are thinking only of yourself again, my lord. Can you not understand that we fight for the survival of the Empire itself?”

  “Aye, with von Kotzebue as Elector Count of Talabecland, no doubt,” snarled von Volgen.

  “You want the title for yourself perhaps?” sneered Plaschke-Miesner, throwing his blond hair back from his face.

  Von Volgen was about to retort when Gotrek cleared his throat and both young men fell silent.

  “It is a matter of numbers,” said Teobalt. “Not politics,” he held up his fingers. “The beastmen herd numbers between five and ten thousand. How many troops do you both command?”

  “I can muster a thousand from Volgen within a day,” said von Volgen. “Seasoned cavalry and spearmen just back from the war, as well as a few hundred militia.”

  “I can bring seven hundred,” said Plaschke-Miesner. “Swords, spears, handgunners, and my father’s two Gunnery School cannons.”

  “Then we are outnumbered by at least three to one,” said Sir Teobalt. “It will not be enough. This is why we need von Kotzebue. He can bring four thousand men to the field.”

  “It is too many,” growled von Volgen. “We won’t be able to fight him if he turns on us.” He glared at Plaschke-Miesner. “Particularly not if he is joined by turncoats.”

  “You have little choice,” said Sir Teobalt before young Oktaf could respond. “Unless you know of some other lord who can muster the necessary troops by Hexensnacht.”

  Von Volgen turned to his knights and they muttered amongst themselves, but none of them could think of anyone close enough who had enough men to make a difference, so at last, after more such convincing, the grim-faced young lord agreed that von Kotzebue’s help was needed, and they were finally able to turn the discussion to where they would fight the beasts and how.

  When Teobalt related what Ortwin had told him about the ceremony being performed in a stone circle atop a hill, one of Plaschke-Miesner’s knights suggested that the herd must be heading for the Barren Hills, which was known to be littered with such remnants of the old religion.

  Plaschke-Miesner was pleased to hear it. “For it gets them out into the open where we can use our cavalry and artillery against them.”

  “And my militia can rain a cloud of arrows down upon them,” said von Volgen.

  The two lords agreed to set a combined force of scouts on the herd’s trail while they gathered their forces and led them by road to the Monastery of the Tower of Vigilance, where the scouts would bring them word of the herd’s final position. Then they would wait until von Kotzebue arrived with his army, at which point all would advance to do battle with the beastmen.

  “And if the baron doesn’t come?” asked von Volgen.

  Plaschke-Miesner laughed musically. “Oh, you want him to come now? There’s a new tune.”

  “If von Kotzebue fails to arrive,” said Sir Teobalt, “then your fathers shall hail you as the heroes who saved the Empire with your brave sacrifice.”

  Felix saw young Plaschke-Miesner pale at that, but von Volgen’s chin raised, and there was a sudden fire in his eye.

  “Of more concern than von Kotzebue’s arrival, however,” said the old templar, “is the stone that the beastmen carry. With it, they are nigh invincible, since all who charge against them are in danger of changing into beasts themselves, and turning on their fellows.”

  Now von Volgen paled as well. “How can we defend against such a thing? Should we summon priests? Shall I raise the brothers of the Temple of Leopold?”

  “Can it be destroyed?” asked Plaschke-Miesner.

  “We don’t have to destroy it,” said Gotrek.

  Everyone turned to him.

  “What’s this, herr Slayer?” asked Sir Teobalt, hopefully. “You have some way to protect us? Some ancient dwarf rune of warding?”

  Gotrek shook his head. “The stone does nothing itself,” he said. “Only when the shaman strikes it does the blue lightning flash. If the shaman dies, it is no longer a danger, and your armies may attack.”

  The two lords looked at each other, frowning.

  “But how can we kill the shaman without going to battle against the herd?” asked von Volgen.

  Gotrek smiled a terrifying smile. “Leave that to me,” he said.

  And me, thought Felix with a resigned sigh. It was always the way.

  “One moment,” said Plaschke-Miesner, licking his lips nervously. “If this dwarf can render the stone harmless on his own, then what need is there to bring the herd to battle?”

  He shrank back as everyone turned cold eyes on him.

  “I will assume that it is out of concern for the lives of your men, rather than your own life that you ask this,” said Sir Teobalt stiffly. “But there are several reasons. First, stone or no, your land has been invaded by thousands of the vilest enemies of man, and left to their own devices, they will spread wrack and ruin amongst your people. Second, though the death of the shaman will take the stone out of the battle, it is still a thing of great and fell power and must be destroyed before another shaman rises, or its evil influence spreads. We cannot destroy the stone without first destroying the herd.”

  The youth hung his head and thrust out his bottom lip. “Very well,” he said. “It was only a question.”

  In the end it was decided that Gotrek, Rodi and Snorri would join von Volgen’s and Plaschke-Miesner’s scouts, and once the scouts found the beastmen’s location, the three slayers would — no one was really certain how infiltrate their camp and kill the shaman. Once this was done, the scouts would report back to the armies and the battle could commence.

  Of course, where Gotrek went, Felix must follow, so he was going, and when Kat heard this, she said she wouldn’t be left behind, so she was joining them as well.

  Only Sir Teobalt was not coming. Instead he would be travelling with von Volgen and Plaschke-Miesner and their armies as military advisor. Felix was glad to hear the old man would be looking after them, for if the rivals’ command of tactics was anything like their command of tact, the battle might go very poorly indeed.

  Of course, if von Kotzebue’s four thousand troops didn’t show up, it would go even worse.

  The scouts assembled before dawn the next day — four from von Volgen’s force, and four from Plaschke-Miesner’s — with Felix, Kat and the slayers yawning sleepily among them. Two of the lords’ men held swift ponies, which they would use to bring messages to their masters once they had discovered the herd’s position.

  As they started south on their way out of town, a hunched silhouette stepped out of the swirling grey fog and approached them, bobbing its head submissively.

  “Greetings, my masters, greetings,” it said in a high, wavery voice. “I hear you go to the Barren Hills.”

  The party stopped and looked around. Felix frowned. It was the old man in the dirty grey robes who he had seen watching them so intently the day before, though he couldn’t imagine why he had earlier thought him sinister and suspicious. This morning he only looked harmless and s
lightly batty.

  Gotrek, however, didn’t seem to agree. “Who are you?” he growled, reaching for his axe.

  The old man shied back, cowering behind his hands. “Please, your worships,” he wailed in a trembling voice. “I mean you no harm! Please don’t kill me!”

  “Who are you?” repeated Gotrek, as cold as before.

  “Only Hans the hermit, my masters,” said the old man. “Who deals in rags, bones and trinkets.”

  Felix stepped back and covered his nose as the man sidled closer. He certainly smelled like a scavenger. Kat waved her hand in front of her face and edged upwind.

  “And what d’ye know about where we’re going?” asked Plaschke-Miesner’s sergeant of scouts, a lean, cleanshaven man named Huntzinger.

  The hermit tittered. “Soldiers talk, my master. Soldiers talk. I heard you go to fight the beasts that brought ruin to Brasthof.”

  “What’s that to you?” asked Felke, a ginger-moustached tough who was von Volgen’s scout sergeant.

  “Glad tidings is what it is!” cried the hermit, bobbing his head again. “I hate them beasties. I want ’em dead if you go to kill ’em, I want to help.”

  The scouts guffawed at this, and Felke grinned.

  “And what can you do, y’old bag of bones? Are ye hiding a sword under those rags?”

  The hermit shrieked as if that was the best jest he’d ever heard. “Oh no, your worship, old Hans can’t fight,” he said, slapping his matchstick knees. “But he does know the Barren Hills, and for a few coins, he would be pleased to serve your worships as a guide.”

  Felke rolled his eyes. “Ah, now we come to the real issue. A few coins.”

  Huntzinger sneered. “What need have we of a guide? We’re all scouts here, old fool.”

  “And the trail’s as wide as a temple and straight as a pike,” added Felke. “Be off with you, beggar.”

  He turned and motioned his men forwards, and the party started off again. But the ancient was not to be denied. He stumbled after them, bleating piteously.