[Gotrek & Felix 10] - Elfslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  As they hurried on, young Farnir fell back and bowed respectfully to Gotrek. “Can you tell me, master Slayer, what is this threat to the holds? Is it the same thing that you say will destroy the city of Marienburg?”

  “I will not speak to you, coward,” said Gotrek, staring straight ahead. “You are a disgrace. You should have died before allowing yourself to be captured.”

  The young dwarf flushed. “Forgive me, Slayer,” he said, “but I was captured when I was an infant. I was raised here.”

  Felix had never seen Gotrek brought up so short in all the time he had travelled with him. The Slayer turned on the slave, his eye bulging. “What?”

  Farnir cringed before his gaze. “But my father has taught me much about the old ways and our noble ancestors. The mine code, the book of—”

  Gotrek cut him off with a curse. “Your father? Your father is a-' He bit off what he had begun to say and returned his gaze to the way ahead, his fists clenching and a thick vein pulsing in his temple as they continued on.

  Without exception, the slaves they passed were pale, miserable things, with close-cropped heads and downcast eyes, gaunt from undernourishment and hunched as if they expected to be whipped at any moment. It made Felix’s heart sick just to see them. Many times in his life he had seen men and women in much more miserable straits—chained, starved, diseased, wounded, mad or suffering from horrific mutations, but the look of hopelessness in the eyes of the slaves, the dull acceptance that their life would never change, that salvation would never come, was almost more than he could bear. These people had sunk below despair to an empty blankness that made them more like the undead than any living, breathing thing. Here they were, in a part of the ark that the druchii never visited, and still the slaves did not talk to each other or allow themselves to relax. They just hurried on, eyes fixed on the path ahead and glancing neither left or right. They hardly gave Gotrek and Felix a second look.

  At the intersection with a slightly larger corridor, Farnir paused and turned to his dwarf companions. He whispered in their ears and sent them off in different directions, then turned and beckoned the escapees on.

  After another few minutes, they came to a straight corridor that had evenly spaced doors all along its left side.

  Farnir stopped at the third one and turned to them. “Captain Landryol’s house.” He said. “This is the kitchen.”

  Gotrek strode forwards, raising the iron pole.

  “Wait, master Slayer,” said the slave. “No need.” He motioned them out of sight.

  “Betraying us will be the last thing you do,” said Gotrek.

  Farnir nodded, cowed, then stepped to the door and knocked as Felix, Gotrek and the pirates stood against the wall.

  After a moment a slot opened in the door.

  The dwarf slave bowed. “A delivery for Master Landryol. Wine from Bretonnia. Three casks.”

  “One minute,” said a flat voice.

  The slot closed, and then a latch clacked and the door swung out.

  “Who sent it?” said a human cook in an apron, stepping out. “I don’t remember—”

  The dwarf slave wrenched the door out of the cook’s hands and slammed it open. Gotrek, Felix, Aethenir and the pirates shoved quickly past them and into a dark, low-roofed kitchen.

  “Hoy! What are you-' said the cook, but the young dwarf clamped a big hand over his mouth and shoved him inside. Felix closed it behind them.

  The kitchen was lit by torches and the fires that burned in ovens and hearths. Gape-mouthed kitchen slaves stared at them from long work tables, where they were preparing trays of food and drink. A serving man almost dropped a tray of silverware. But all these details were overwhelmed and obliterated by the delicious, overpowering smell of cooked food. Felix’s stomach rumbled and growled like a caged lion at the scent of it.

  “Who are you?” asked the cook, looking wide-eyed at them and their weapons. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing of you,” said Felix, fighting down his hunger and returning to the business at hand. “We only want a word with your master.”

  The serving man yelped at that and ran for a set of stairs, but Jochen leapt after him and shoved him down, then stood in front of the stairs with his sword drawn.

  “We’d rather we were unannounced,” said Felix. He turned to the cook. “Is the captain in?”

  The cook said nothing, only stared at him, trembling, until Gotrek grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him down so he could speak in his ear. “Answer him,” he said softly.

  “Y-yes,” said the cook. “He’s in.”

  “Does he live alone?” asked Felix.

  “Yes. Alone.”

  “Any guards?”

  “Two men from his crew. They live above stairs.”

  Gotrek shook him again. “Where?”

  “At the back. Left at the top of the stairs.”

  “Any other slaves?” continued Felix.

  “The master’s body slaves. Four girls.”

  “Where are they?” demanded Gotrek.

  “Usually in his room.”

  “Right,” said Gotrek. He turned to Jochen. “You’ll stay here and keep these quiet.” He looked at Aethenir. “You too, elf. The manling and I will deal with this corsair.”

  The pirates nodded.

  “But first,” said Gotrek, turning to the tables where the food was being prepared, “we eat.”

  Felix’s heart leapt at the prospect. The pirates laughed. They advanced like wolves towards a downed deer.

  “You mustn’t!” said the cook. “That is Master Landryol’s food. We’ll be whipped.”

  “He won’t be wanting it,” said Gotrek, and tore the leg off a roasted chicken. “And bring more.”

  Felix and the others attacked the platters ravenously as the servants backed away to obey Gotrek’s demand. Even Aethenir ate like an animal, shoving food into his mouth with both hands and guzzling down wine and ale like all the rest.

  “You’re going to kill him!” said the serving man. “We must raise the alarm! They kill slaves who fail to protect their masters!”

  “And we kill slaves that warn their masters,” said Jochen.

  After that, the servants watched in silence as the intruders ravaged their master’s meal, and then his larder.

  Felix moaned with pleasure as he choked down bread and meat and fruit and washed it down with something that he suspected was Averland wine. Never in his life had food tasted so good. After the days of rotten gruel and filthy water it was like ambrosia. He practically wept as the smell and the taste filled his mouth, and he had to force himself to remember to chew and not just gulp it down like a snake.

  Then, only a minute after they had begun, Gotrek stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “We can’t waste time.”

  Felix groaned. He was only getting started. He never wanted to stop. His stomach was still howling for more. With aching reluctance, he stuffed one last piece of ham into his mouth and turned away, wiping his hands on his filthy breeches and taking up his curved sword as Aethenir and the pirates continued to feast.

  “Coming,” he said with a sigh.

  Gotrek grabbed the serving man by the front of his jerkin and shoved him towards the stairs. “You lead us,” he said. “And no tricks.”

  The slave whimpered and started up the stairs. Gotrek and Felix followed, their weapons at the ready. They came up into a dark hallway between, on one side, a dark-panelled dining area filled with small round tables and low chaises, and on the other, what appeared to be some sort of study. Maps covered its stone walls, and a large desk with scrolls, books and more maps sat in its centre. On this floor, they could better hear the alarm drums, still sounding faintly in the distance.

  The slave led them to the far end of the hallway, where it opened out into a high-ceilinged entry chamber, an ironbound oak door at its front, and a straight, iron-railinged stairway rising up to the second floo
r.

  They went up the stairs to a second floor, passing closed doors, and then up another stair to a third, but before they had reached the top, they heard a terrific explosion, far off, but still very loud.

  Felix exchanged a glance with Gotrek.

  “Euler’s men are putting up a fight,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  The third floor was a single corridor, very dark, with doors on either side.

  The slave stepped to a door on the left, then hesitated, shaking. He looked back at Gotrek and Felix, eyes wide with fear. “Have mercy, sirs,” he murmured. “If you kill him, we will die. They will kill us.”

  “Step aside, craven,” sneered Gotrek.

  He pushed past the quivering slave to the door and turned the handle. It was unlocked. He readied his weapon and looked over his shoulder. Felix gripped his stolen sword and nodded. They pushed in.

  “Is that you, Mechlin?” came a voice speaking sibilant Reikspiel from within the dark chamber. “Where in the name of the Dark Mother is our dinner? And what was that damned noise?” Felix recognised the voice as if from a dream.

  The entrance was curtained off from the rest of the room by heavy brocade drapes, but Felix could see through a gap hints of panelled walls and dark wood furniture glinting red in the light of a banked fire.

  Gotrek drew the drapery aside a few inches to get the lay of the land, and they saw their quarry sprawled naked on a fur-covered sleeping platform with his head propped up on a tasselled bolster and his arms draped around the sleeping forms of four beautiful young human girls, completely bald, and clad only in delicate silver fetters at throat, wrists and ankles. They curled like cats around him. The scent of black lotus smoke hung heavy in the air, and Felix could see enamelled pipes and braziers glinting by the bed.

  “Stop cowering and come in, Mechlin,” drawled Landryol. “I won’t bite.” He chuckled and looked at his bedmates. “Not you, anyway.”

  “They seek to kill you, master!” shrieked the slave from the corridor. “Protect yourself!”

  Gotrek cursed and ripped aside the curtain, then charged across the dark room with Felix beside him as Landryol struggled to sit up and the four beauties raised sleepy heads.

  Gotrek leapt up onto the sleeping platform and caught the druchii captain around the neck with one massive hand. Felix stood beside him and put his sword to Landryol’s chest. The pleasure slaves shrieked and spilled off the bed in all directions.

  Gotrek raised the iron pole over his head. “Where is my axe?”

  “And my sword,” said Felix.

  “How do you come here?” asked Landryol, blinking drug-fogged eyes and looking back and forth between them. “No one escapes the pens.”

  Gotrek shook him like a doll. “My axe!”

  The druchii raised a trembling hand and pointed to a curtained alcove on the far side of the room. “Under the floor.”

  Gotrek shoved Landryol back down and sprang from the bed, looking back at Felix. “Watch him.”

  Felix nodded and moved the tip of his sword to the druchii’s throat as the Slayer disappeared behind the curtain.

  Footsteps thudded somewhere below them. Felix glanced to the door.

  “Guards coming!” Felix called.

  “Good,” said Gotrek from behind the curtain.

  “You will never leave here alive,” said Landryol.

  “We know that already,” said Felix, looking towards the door again. The footsteps were thundering up the stairs now.

  There was a sound of splitting wood from the alcove and then a grunt of satisfaction. The curtain jerked aside and Gotrek strode out brandishing his axe in one hand and carrying Felix’s scabbarded sword in the other.

  “My arm is complete,” the Slayer said.

  With a clatter of boots, two druchii corsairs ran in, swords drawn, and skidded to a stop at the scene that met their eyes.

  “Kill them!” said Landryol.

  The corsairs needed no encouragement. One charged Gotrek while the other leapt onto the bed and lunged at Felix. Felix whipped his stolen sword around and parried a blade aimed straight at his face, but Landryol kicked him behind the knee and he crashed down on the bed. The corsair slashed down at him. Felix rolled off onto the floor, sending one of the bed slaves scurrying for a corner. He scrambled up as the corsair came after him.

  “Manling,” called Gotrek.

  Felix looked up just in time to see his sword arcing towards him, thrown by the Slayer as he blocked the other druchii’s attacks.

  Felix’s opponent knocked Karaghul out of the air and stabbed at him again. Felix cursed and hopped back, then kicked the table with the pipe and brazier at him. The corsair stumbled back, trying to avoid the hot coals, and Felix flung his stolen sword after him then dived for Karaghul, drawing as he rolled to his feet. The corsair charged and they clashed again.

  On the other side of the bed, Gotrek blocked another blow by the second druchii, then kicked him in the stomach. The druchii curled up, retching and exposing his neck, but Gotrek only cracked him in the face with the heel of the axe and stepped back as he fell. “You will not die yet,” he said.

  He turned to Landryol, who had caught up a jewelled sword, and stood at the foot of the bed, entirely naked.

  “I vowed that you would be the first to die when I recovered my axe,” said the Slayer, striding towards him.

  Landryol’s lip curled in derision as he dropped into guard and extended his blade. “You may try, dwarf. But I am reckoned quite a formidable—”

  Gotrek’s axe hacked the slender sword in two and buried itself in the dark elf’s breastbone, and the rest of the boast went unsaid.

  The corsair facing Felix gaped at his master’s sudden death. Felix ran him through before he recovered.

  Gotrek wrenched his axe from Landryol’s chest, then turned on the corsair he had cracked over the head. The druchii was still struggling to stand.

  “Now you die,” said Gotrek, and beheaded him with a casual backhand.

  The room was suddenly silent, the only noise Felix and Gotrek’s breathing, and the soft weeping of the bed slaves. Felix wiped his sword clean on the bed furs and returned it to its scabbard. It felt good to have it again, but this was only the first part of what they must do.

  He turned to Gotrek. “Are you ready?”

  “One moment, manling.”

  The Slayer crossed back to the alcove and disappeared, then came back with an open wooden chest. The contents glinted in the dim firelight. He lifted out a heavy shirt of chainmail and handed it to Felix. It was his!

  Under it was a profusion of golden bracelets, armbands and chains.

  “Your gold,” said Felix.

  “Aye,” said Gotrek, obviously pleased. “Besmirched by elven hands, but all here, Grungni be praised.”

  Gotrek slipped it all back on his meaty wrists while Felix pulled his mail on over his head, then they strode back out into the hall. The slave who had brought them there still cowered by the door. Gotrek glared at him for a second, as if contemplating killing him for his betrayal, but then snorted and continued to the stairs.

  “The druchii will do worse to him,” he said.

  The kitchen slaves, all pushed into one corner by the pirates, stared in horror as Gotrek and Felix came back down the stairs to the kitchen holding their weapons.

  “You killed him,” said the cook.

  Felix nodded.

  The slaves moaned in misery. A scullery girl burst into tears. “We’ll be sold off now! To who knows who! How could you be so cruel?”

  Another patted her on the shoulder, comforting her. Felix glared, angry, though he knew not at whom. Shouldn’t slaves be happy that their master was killed?

  Jochen stepped up to them, looking grim. “We were right to come with you, it seems. The others didn’t make it out of the harbour. Blown up with their own powder.”

  “Where did you hear this?” asked Gotrek.

  Jochen nodded towards the dark end of th
e room, where the slaves’ meal table was. Farnir sat with the two dwarfs he had sent off earlier there, as well as two other dwarfs, a grizzled elder with a stiff brush of short grey hair, and a youngster with downcast eyes and a balding horseshoe of ginger hair. The newcomers’ beards were little more than grown out stubble. They rose in silent awe as the Slayer turned to face them.

  “What is this?” asked Gotrek.

  Farnir opened his mouth to speak, but the grey-haired dwarf spoke first, stepping forwards. “Farnir sent word to us that you’d broken the pens, and we came to see it for ourselves.”

  “Never would have believed it,” said the balding dwarf, shaking his head.

  “Never would have tried it,” grunted Gotrek.

  The older dwarf bowed his head respectfully to Gotrek. “I am Birgi, father of Farnir. And this is Skalf. It is an honour to meet a true follower of Grimnir.”

  Gotrek glared at him with cold contempt. “Your shame is twice that of the others. You live as a slave, and you raised a son into slavery. You are lower than grobi.”

  Birgi hung his head, “Aye, Slayer. We know what you think of us, but you’d be crest-deep in druchii at the moment if it weren’t for Farnir bringing you through the slave corridors, and it was us who told him the way to this house and to where the wizards are held, when you asked, so you might be polite.”

  Gotrek snorted, and looked about to retort, but then Jochen stepped forwards.

  “The dwarfs say the magister and the seeress are locked up downstairs in the druchii barracks,” he said. “Is that true?”

  Gotrek nodded. Felix sighed at this news.

  “I want to save Marienburg,” Jochen continued, “but is it necessary to walk into the middle of the whole damned dark elf army? Can’t we leave them?”

  “We won’t stand a chance against the sorceresses without them,” Aethenir said, looking up from where he was cleaning himself fastidiously at the kitchen’s pump.

  “We can lead you there,” said Birgi. “There are service tunnels down to the barracks level, but you can’t enter the barracks themselves without passing through a guarded gate.”