Gotrek and Felix: The Serpent Queen

by Josh Reynolds

  Felix blinked. ‘Greedy-guts?’ he asked.

  ‘Gregory, my brother,’ Steyr said, ‘and Pieter, my other brother.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Be glad my sister Octopus isn’t here, or you’d be getting the whole Steyr family in one go, and I’ve been told that’s a heady experience.’

  ‘Octopus,’ Felix said, and then hazarded, ‘Ottilia?’

  ‘Close, neighbour – ah, there they are,’ Steyr said as he clambered off the hull. Felix saw two shapes emerge from the shadows beneath the trees. One was big, the other small. The former was a blond, hulking brute of a man, with enough muscle and fat to slab the bones of three smaller men. He was clad in rattletrap gear much like Steyr, and Felix wagered that was the only way he could find anything to fit him.

  ‘Don’t call me Greedy-guts, Soggy,’ Gregory rumbled, swinging the heavy, exquisitely engraved khopesh he carried from one round shoulder and stabbing it point first into the ground, so that he could lean on the hilt. ‘I’m not greedy, am I, Pieter?’

  ‘No?’ Pieter said. He was smaller than either of his brothers, and patently younger. He was leaner than Steyr, with a wasted, hollow look to him. He wore no armour, but had a slim Arabayan blade belted about his waist. Nonetheless, he moved quickly, with an odd, hopping motion. Felix was reminded of a weasel he had once watched dancing about a rabbit moments before it struck. ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘Altdorf,’ Felix interjected, dropping to the ground beside Steyr. Pieter hopped back, as if startled, but his lips twisted in a smile.

  ‘Altdorf? How’s that for luck, eh?’ The boat was from Altdorf?’ He padded past Felix and began to examine the hull. ‘These are Sartosian barnacles, aren’t they?’

  ‘You’ll have to forgive our Pieter, he’s a man of many questions,’ Steyr said. He smiled fondly at his brother. He glanced at Gregory and added, ‘Even as our Gregory is a man of singular hunger.’

  Gregory snorted. ‘You’re not as funny as you think you are, Soggy.’

  ‘Don’t call me Soggy, Greedy-guts,’ Steyr said, with genial malice.

  ‘Don’t call me Greedy-guts,’ Gregory retorted.

  ‘Do you have a nickname?’ Pieter said, appearing suddenly at Felix’s elbow. ‘Only you’ll need one, if you want to fit in, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been called a lot of things,’ Felix said, ‘most of them less than pleasant.’

  Steyr laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We can sympathise,’ he said. He looked at Gregory. ‘Are there any other survivors?’

  Gregory shook his head. ‘Fish-bait, the lot of them,’ he said. He gestured to Felix. ‘He’s it.’ Felix frowned, and looked up at the man hanging from the prow. He’d forgotten about him in the rush to save himself. The man hung silently, swaying in the breeze. Something had torn out his throat. Felix wondered when the ghouls had done that. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to Morr, to see to the man’s care and keeping.

  He thought about mentioning Gotrek, and then decided against it. If the Slayer was dead, it was no business of theirs, and if he wasn’t, there was no point in saying anything until and if they ran across him. Gotrek could take care of himself. Also, though he was careful not to let it show, Felix felt an instinctive wariness of his rescuers. Not enough to turn down their help, but enough so that he didn’t feel like spilling his life story to men he’d just met.

  ‘Well, no reason to tarry then,’ Steyr said. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the soft patter of rain on the leaves punctuated his words. ‘If we hurry, we can make the Mangrove Port by sunup.’ Steyr started for the trees, followed by his brothers.

  ‘We’re walking?’ Felix said, hurrying after them. The adrenaline that had sustained him through the fight with the ghouls was swiftly draining away, and before they had gone too far, he stumbled on a root. He was only stopped from falling into the water by a quick snatch from Gregory, who caught a handful of his cloak. The big man steadied him.

  ‘Well, we are. If you can fly, feel free,’ Steyr said. He looked back at Felix. ‘Horses don’t do so well here, and boats are in short supply.’ He peered at Felix. ‘Are you all right?’

  Felix leaned against a tree and used the edge of his cloak to mop at his face. He felt weak, and his throat was as dry as the desert. ‘It’s been a trying morning,’ Felix rasped. Steyr reached him as he began to sink down.

  ‘Whoa, easy there, neighbour,’ he said. He frowned and looked at his brothers and snapped his fingers. ‘Pieter, your waterskin,’ he said. Pieter hurried forwards, uncorking a waterskin as he approached.

  ‘Is he going to die?’ he said. He seemed curious, rather than concerned. Steyr waved him back, after taking the waterskin from him.

  ‘I’m not dying,’ Felix croaked, ‘though I’d kill for a drink.’ He felt wrung out and weak at the knees. He’d been running on fear and necessity, and all he wanted now was to sleep for a week. The prospect of tramping through the mangroves for a night was as intimidating as the confrontation with the ghouls.

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Steyr chuckled, handing him the waterskin. ‘Water, water everywhere and not a drop fit to drink. You’ll get used to it, if you stay here. I should have thought of that, I’m sorry. I was a little surprised to see a survivor, honestly.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve done this before,’ Felix said. The water wasn’t cool, and it tasted brackish, but it refreshed him nonetheless. He gulped at it greedily, until Steyr pulled it away slowly.

  ‘Easy,’ he said. Then, ‘It’s a chore, mostly. Men scour the coasts in either direction from the port, checking the usual spots. The currents tend to carry wreckage to the same locations. Wrecks are common enough along these coasts, and there are rarely survivors. Between the sharks, the lizards and the ghouls, not to mention the occasional greenskin war-party, it’s not often we’re in time to do anything but scavenge.’ He smiled. ‘This time, we had a bit of luck.’ He gestured back towards the wreck. ‘We’ve marked it, and we’ll come back with more men to collect the wreckage. Plenty of use yet in that wood, if we get to it before the heat and damp does. There are probably some supplies fit to scavenge as well.’

  ‘Maybe even a cask of wine,’ Gregory said, looking out at the mangroves. At the thought of wine, Felix unconsciously licked his lips.

  Steyr rummaged beneath his cuirass and pulled out a flat leather pack. ‘Here, some pemmican. We travel light, or I’d feed you something more substantial.’ Felix hadn’t realised how hungry he was until Steyr unwrapped the stiff strips of dried meat. He grabbed one and began to gnaw on it, until the taste registered. It had a strange taste, almost like pork, but not quite, and decidedly unpleasant. He spat it out. Steyr chuckled. ‘Not to your liking then?’

  Felix pawed at his tongue. ‘What is this?’

  ‘The local cuisine,’ Steyr said, smiling. He plucked a strip free and popped it whole into his mouth. ‘Quite nice, once you get used to it. Though I do miss more civilised fare.’

  ‘Chops,’ Gregory rumbled.

  ‘What about mushy peas?’ Pieter said. Felix could sympathise with the longing he heard in their voices. It had been years since he and Gotrek had been in the lands of the Empire, and he sometimes woke up with the taste of that thin stew his landlady in the Luitpolsstrasse had made in his mouth. It had been full of wharf rats, he suspected, but sometimes he still longed for it. He even found himself occasionally wishing for a horse-piss apple, from Hamhock Shivers’s stall on Pinchpenny Street. Not to actually eat, mind. Just to look at.

  Steyr helped him to his feet. ‘Why stay, then?’ Felix said.

  Steyr didn’t answer immediately. Then, ‘Where else would we go?’ Before Felix could ask what he meant, he continued, ‘The rain is getting heavier. If you’re feeling strong enough, we should go.’

  Felix peered up, and rain splashed against his face. It was warm and not refreshing at all. Steyr continued, ‘Keep the talking to a minimum from here on out. A lot of the beasties in these swamps hunt by sound, more so than sight.’ He sm
iled again, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for talking later, once we’re somewhere more convivial, eh?’

  The air had taken on a muggy quality by the time they got under way again, and as they moved across the roots and hummocks, Felix thought it felt like walking through soup.

  The increasing strength of the downpour didn’t help matters. The rain was a solid wall, obscuring his vision past a certain point, and his hood barely kept it out of his face. His boots squelched with every step, and the combined weight of the mud, water and mail threatened to send him to his knees more than once. Keeping in mind Steyr’s admonition to keep quiet, Felix asked no questions and for no help. They moved quickly, and Felix was soon puffing to keep up. The brothers Steyr moved with the speed and surety of natural-born foresters. They were quiet as well, and more than once he lost sight of one or two of them. Steyr stayed close to him, and Felix was grateful. He couldn’t even tell what direction they were moving in, and without his guides, he knew he’d be totally lost in the mangroves.

  Between the rain and the shadows, there was no real light to speak of. When the sun had at last set, it was as if someone had doused a torch. There was no gradual slip into darkness. Instead, he went from being able to see, however dimly, to being surrounded by darkness on all sides.

  The only available light was the weak drizzle of moonlight that dripped through the leaves overhead with the water. The rain pounded down, making the roots beneath his feet slippery and the bark of the trees unpleasant to the touch. It was all he could do to keep the faint gleam of Steyr’s cuirass in sight. The moonlight caught on the wet metal, and to Felix, it was a welcome sight.

  He wondered whether it was merely the rain that kept his newfound companions from using torches or lanterns, or whether they feared something spotting the light and mistaking them for a meal. He thought of the ghouls, and shivered. How many more such creatures lurked in these swamps, or worse things besides?

  Out in the darkness, something roared. The sound reverberated through the trees, piercing the dull veil of the rain. Felix froze at the sound, and he cast about for Steyr, or his brothers. He saw nothing but rain, sheeting down. While he’d been lost in his thoughts, they’d vanished. He heard nothing but the rustling of leaves beneath the downpour and the gurgle of the current beneath the roots. ‘Steyr,’ he called out.

  There was no answer. Where had they gone? They had been right there, right beside him and now gone. Panic began to build in him. The roar sounded again. Beneath his feet, the roots seemed to twist and tremble, and water splashed. Something was coming towards him, something heavy. He made to call out again.

  A wet hand clamped over his mouth, startling him. His hand flashed towards his sword, but another hand interposed itself. Pinned, Felix heard Steyr whisper, ‘Quiet, neighbour. We’re not the only pilgrims abroad in the night.’

  Felix fell silent. He saw Gregory and Pieter slide out of the shadows, and he wondered if they’d been so close the entire time. Steyr’s hand rose and pointed. ‘Look,’ he hissed.

  Something vast and monstrous passed through the water close by them. It was taller than a ship’s mast and it moved smoothly, despite the current. It was too dark for Felix to discern its features, save for its broad, wedge-shaped head and thick torso. A tail undulated behind it as it stalked through the mangroves, and its breath sounded like a bellows being squeezed. A plume of foul air, stinking of carrion and blood, washed over him and he pressed a hand to his mouth to silence his instinctive gagging.

  It stank of the heat and the damp. As it moved past, he thought he saw something else, something large and blocky upon its back, almost like a howdah, with smaller forms moving on it and within it. Before he could get a clearer look, it stalked past them in the direction they‘d come from, and it left one last roar in its wake.

  ‘Wh-what in the name of the Magnus was that?’ Felix breathed.

  Steyr jerked away from him and said, ‘A lizard.’

  ‘It was a big lizard, wasn’t it,’ Pieter whispered.

  ‘And some little lizards,’ Gregory said, clutching his khopesh more tightly.

  ‘Lizardmen,’ Felix said, in sudden understanding. Steyr looked at him. Felix smiled weakly. ‘I’ve travelled. And I’ve heard things. I’ve seen things, though never a lizardman. I’ve seen some of the jewellery, though, those flat golden plaques with the frog faces and strange symbols.’ Gotrek had faced the creatures once or twice, and he’d said that there were smaller ones and larger ones, and that they sometimes rode beasts. At the thought of the Slayer, Felix’s smile faded. He wondered where Gotrek was, if he wasn’t dead. Was Gotrek hunting for him, even now? Or would the Slayer assume that he’d died, and continue on without him?

  The thought of the latter was at once heartening and annoying. For the first time in years, freedom from the dwarf’s mad quest was in his grasp, but he felt himself shying from it, like a horse too long in a paddock. The thought of Gotrek continuing on, as if Felix were nothing more than a footnote in his epic, was somehow an intolerable one.

  Steyr chuckled, and the sound shook Felix from his annoyed reverie. ‘Depths unplumbed, Felix.’ He peered up at the rain and said, ‘If they’re out and about, I’d rather not dawdle. The Mangrove Port is near, a few more hours at most.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Out in the darkness, the great saurian roared again. Felix hurried after his newfound companions.

  They paused to rest when the rain was at its heaviest, much to Felix’s relief. Sheltering beneath the arthritic trunk of a bent tree, the four huddled together, damp and cold. More than once as they sat, Felix caught sight of great grim shapes moving through the obscuring sheets of rain. More of the large saurians, Felix knew. The brothers did not seem concerned, but Felix couldn’t help but feel nervous. He flinched whenever a guttural roar pierced the rain and noise of the storm.

  His cloak was sopping wet, and it felt as if it held more water than the ocean, but he pulled it about himself regardless. The brothers sat in the rain with no more concern than if it were a light summer shower. The tree kept the worst of the weather off them, but water steadily slopped down onto their shoulders and the napes of their necks.

  Steyr shared out more of his peculiar jerky, and Felix gnawed on it gratefully. They spoke in low tones, about Altdorf, and the places they’d been. The brothers were not so well travelled as Felix, but their journeys had been nearly as fraught with danger. Felix found himself warming to them, or rather Steyr, at least. Gregory was a scar-faced lump whose taciturnity seemed to rival even Gotrek’s at his most morose, and Pieter was simply odd. Given those facts, he wasn’t surprised by Steyr’s need to talk to someone.

  ‘You’re a poet?’ Steyr said, after Felix had shared his occupation.

  ‘I wished to be, yes,’ Felix said, taking a swig from Pieter’s waterskin. ‘I’m not much of anything now, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Poetry cannot be discarded like a cloak,’ Steyr said.

  ‘Detlef Sierck, Reminiscences and Regrets,’ Felix said, recognising the quote.

  ‘Ha! Yes,’ Steyr said, clapping his hands softly. ‘You know Sierck?’

  ‘Who doesn’t know Sierck?’ Felix said, leaning forwards. He drew himself up. ‘The dramatist tells the truth. It is the historian who lies,’ he said, gesturing for emphasis.

  Steyr laughed and said, ‘Upon My Genius – a brilliant work, made all the more brilliant by its unflinching honesty.’ He shook his head. ‘It took me forever to scrounge up a copy of The Tragedy of Oswald. Brilliant play,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Sierck truly had an eye for the grim and the dark, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Felix said. ‘It was as if he were living with some poisonous flower nestled to his heart. Have you read To My Unchanging Lady?’

  ‘Ah, such sonnets as to make a man weep,’ Steyr said. ‘Frankly, and I say this as a man who has memorised whole stanzas of Jacopo Tarradasch’s Immortal Love, that particular sonnet cyc
le is as close to perfect as something of man’s creation can be.’

  Felix made a dismissive gesture. ‘Tarradasch – don’t even get me started. The Desolate Prisoner of Karak Kadrin is one of the most blatantly libellous works I’ve ever had the misfortune to read.’

  ‘Really,’ Steyr said. ‘I thought it had some interesting insight into the dwarf psyche. Their greed, their lack of human morals…’

  ‘While I have the greatest respect for Tarradasch’s ability to wring rhyme from thin air, what that man knew of dwarfs couldn’t fill this waterskin,’ Felix said, holding up the water-skin. ‘They’re a peculiar people, this is true, but Tarradasch emphasises their less salubrious qualities in favour of cheap drama.’

  ‘Oh, a dagger, a dagger to my heart – cheap drama, he says,’ Steyr said, chuckling.

  ‘I meant no disrespect,’ Felix said, ‘but I’ve had the honour of visiting Karak Kadrin, and of knowing a number of that race, and they are…’ He paused, seeking the right words. ‘They are like a precious jewel, still encrusted in rock and soil. They have facets within facets, just waiting to be discovered. They are a people of contradiction, but at the same time of utter and coherent logic. They are not men, and cannot be judged as men.’

  ‘They are not men,’ Steyr repeated. ‘That’s a wonderful phrase, Felix.’ He slapped his knees. ‘Ah, it is so good to have someone to talk to, you know?’

  ‘I’m sitting right here,’ Gregory said, somewhat petulantly.

  ‘And doing an admirable job of it, Gregory, yes, but I was speaking to Felix,’ Steyr said. ‘I hope you’ll stay with us for a while. It’s rare that I can discuss the literary merits of my favourite scriveners.’

  He was about to say something else, when a rattling bellow shook them all down to their bones. Felix was half on his feet, his hand on his sword hilt before the echoes of the cry had faded. The brothers had had the same idea. Gregory lifted his khopesh and Steyr had an arrow ready. Pieter met a glance from his brother and nodded. He slid out from under the tree weasel-quick and vanished into the darkness.