by ich du
"Perhaps I should escort you back," said Felix, inspecting the girl closely. She was small and thin; her face would have been plain except for the large dark eyes. She tugged her cloak of coarse Sudenland wool about her and hugged the package she had purchased in the trading post to her chest. She smiled shyly up at him. The smile transformed that pale hungry face, Felix thought, gave it beauty.
"Perhaps you could, if it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble whatsoever," he said. "Maybe those ruffians are still lurking about out there."
"I doubt that. They seemed too afraid of your friend."
"Let me help you with those herbs, then."
"The mistress told me to get them specifically. They are for the relief of the frostbitten. I would feel better if I carried them."
Felix shrugged. They stepped out into the chill air, breath coming out in clouds. In the night sky the Grey Mountains loomed like giants. The light of both moons caught on their snow-capped peaks so that they looked like islands in the sky, floating above a sea of shadow.
They walked through the squalid shanty-town which surrounded the trading post. In the distance Felix saw lights, heard the lowing of cattle and the muffled hoofbeats of horses. They were heading towards a campsite where more people were arriving.
Gaunt hollow-cheeked soldiers, clad in tattered tunics on which could be seen the sign of a grinning wolf escorted carts drawn by thin oxen. Tired looking drivers in the garb of peasants gazed at him. Women sat beside the drivers with shawls drawn tight, headscarves all but obscuring their features. Sometimes children peeked out over the back of the carts to stare at them.
"What's going on?" asked Felix. "It looks like a whole village on the move." The girl looked at the carts and then back at him.
"We are the people of Gottfried von Diehl. We follow him into exile, to the land of the Border Princes."
Felix paused to look north up the trail. More carts were coming down, and behind them were stragglers, limping on foot, clutching at thin sacks as if they contained all the gold of Araby. Felix shook his head, puzzled.
"You must have come through Blackfire Pass," he said. He and Gotrek had come by the old dwarf routes under the mountain. "And it's late in the season for that. The first blizzards must already be coming in up there. The pass is only open in the summer."
"Our liege was given till year's end to leave the Empire." She turned and began walking into the ring of wagons that had been set up to give some protection from the wind. "We set out in good time but there was a string of accidents that slowed us down. In the pass itself we were caught by an avalanche. We lost a lot of people."
She paused, as if remembering some personal grief.
"Some say it was the von Diehl curse. That the Baron can never outrun it."
Felix followed her. On the fires sat a few cooking pots. There was one huge cauldron from which steam emerged. The girl pointed to it.
"The mistress' cauldron. She will be expecting the herbs."
"Is your mistress a witch?" asked Felix. She looked at him seriously.
"No, sir. She is a sorceress with good credentials, trained in Middenheim itself. She is the Baron's adviser in matters magical."
The girl moved towards the steps of a large caravan, covered in mystical signs. She began to climb the stairs. She halted, hand poised on the handle of the door, then she turned to face Felix.
"Thank you for your help," she said.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek then turned to open the door. Felix laid his hand on her shoulder, restraining her gently.
"A moment," he said. "What is your name?"
"Kirsten," she said. "And yours?"
"Felix. Felix Jaegar."
She smiled at him again before she vanished inside the caravan. Felix stood looking at the closed door, slightly bemused. Then, feeling as if he was walking on air, he strolled back to the trading post.
"Are you mad?" hissed Gotrek Gurnisson. "You want us to travel with some renegade duke and his rag-tag entourage. Have you forgotten why we've come here?"
Felix looked around to see that no-one was looking at them. Not much chance of that, he decided. He and the Trollslayer nursed their beer in the darkest recess of the trading post. A few drunks lay snoring on the trestle tables and the sullen glowers of the dwarf kept the casually curious at bay.
Felix leaned forward conspiratorially. "But look, it makes perfect sense. We are heading through the Border Princes and so are they. It will be safer if we ride with them."
Gotrek looked at Felix dangerously. "Are you implying I fear some peril on this road?"
Felix shook his head. "No. All I'm saying is that it would make our journey easier and we might get paid for our efforts if the Baron can be persuaded to take us on as mercenaries."
Gotrek brightened at the mention of money. All dwarfs are misers at heart, thought Felix. Gotrek appeared to consider for a second then shook his head.
"No. If this Duke has been exiled he's a criminal and he's not getting his hands on my gold."
He ducked his head and looked around with paranoiac shiftiness. "That treasure is ours, yours and mine. Mostly mine, of course, since I'll do the bulk of the fighting."
Felix felt like laughing. There was nothing worse than a dwarf in the throes of gold-lust.
"Gotrek, we don't even know if there is any treasure. All we've got to go on are the ramblings of some senile old prospector who claims to have seen the lost horde of Karag Eight Peaks. Faragrim couldn't remember his own name half the time."
"Faragrim was a dwarf, manling. A dwarf never forgets the sight of gold.You know the problem with your people? You have no respect for your elders. Among my people Faragrim is treated with respect."
"No wonder your people are in such dire straits then," muttered Felix.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just answer me this. Why didn't Faragrim return for the treasure himself? He's had eighteen years."
"Because he showed proper fiscal caution.,."
"Meanness, you mean."
"Have it your way, manling. He was crippled by the guardian. And he could never find anybody he could trust."
"Why suddenly tell you then?"
"Are you implying I am not trustworthy, manling?"
"No. I think he wanted rid of you, he wanted you out of his tavern. I think he invented the cock-and-bull story about the world's largest treasure guarded by the world's largest troll because he knew you would fall for it. He knew it would put a hundred leagues between you and his ale cellar."
Gotrek's beard bristled and he growled angrily. "I am not such a fool, manling. Faragrim swore to the truth on the beards of all his ancestors."
Felix groaned. "And no dwarf has ever broken an oath, I suppose?"
"Well - very rarely," admitted Gotrek. "But I believe this one."
Felix saw that it was no use. Gotrek wanted the story to be true, so for him it was true. He's like a man in love, thought Felix, unable to see his beloved's frailties for the wall of illusions he has built around her. Gotrek stroked his beard and stared into space, lost in contemplation of the troll-guarded horde. Felix decided to play his trump card.
"It would mean we wouldn't have to walk," he said.
"What?" grunted Gotrek.
"If we sign on with the Baron. We could hitch a ride on a cart. You're always complaining that your feet hurt. This is your chance to give them a rest."
"Just think," he added enticingly. "We get paid and you don't get sore feet."
Gotrek appeared to contemplate this once more. "I can see I'll get no peace unless I agree to your scheme. I'll go along with it on one condition."
"What's that?"
"No mention of our quest. Not to anybody."
Felix agreed. Gotrek raised one bushy eye-brow and looked at him cunningly.
"Don't think I don't know why you're so keen to travel with this Duke, manling."
"What do you mean?"
"You're enamour
ed of that chit of a girl you left here with earlier, aren't you?"
"No," Felix sputtered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
Gotrek laughed uproariously, waking several slumbering drunks.
"Then why has you're face gone all red, manling?" he shouted triumphantly.
Felix knocked on the door of the caravan within which he had been told he would find the Baron's master-of-arms.
"Come in," said a voice. Felix opened the door and his nostrils were assailed with the smell of bear fat. Felix reached for the hilt of his sword.
Inside the caravan five men were crowded. Three Felix recognized as the trappers he had met the previous evening. One was young, richly dressed and fine featured, hair cut short in the fashion of the warrior nobility. The other was a tall powerfully built man clad in buckskins. He was tanned and appeared to be in his late twenties although his hair was silver grey. He had a quiver of black-fletched arrows over his back and a powerful longbow lay near his hand. There seemed to be a family resemblance between the two men.
"Thatsh the bashtard," said Lars through his missing teeth. The two strangers exchanged looks.
Felix stared at them warily. The grey-haired man inspected him, casually assessing him.
"So you're the young man who broke the teeth of one of my guides," he said.
"One of your guides?"
"Yes, Manfred and I hired them last season to steer us across the lowlands, along Thunder River."
"They're mountain men," said Felix, stalling for time, wondering how much trouble he was in.
"They're trappers," said the well-dressed youth, in a cultured aristocratic accent. "They cross the lowlands in search of game too."
Felix spread his hands. "I didn't know."
"What do you want here?" asked Greyhair.
"I'm looking for work, as a hired blade. I was looking for the Baron's master-of-arms."
"That's me," said Greyhair. "Dieter. Also the Baron's Chief Forester, Master Of Hounds and Falconer,"
"My uncle's estate has fallen on rather hard times," said the young man.
"This is Manfred, nephew and heir to Gottfried von Diehl, Baron of The Vennland Marches."
"Former Baron," corrected Manfred. "Since Countess Emmanuelle saw fit to banish my uncle and confiscate our lands rather than punish the real malefactors."
He noted Felix's quizzical look. "Religious differences, you know? My family come from the North and follow Ulric. All our Southron neighbours are devout Sigmarians. In these intolerant times it was all the excuse they needed to seize the lands they coveted. Since they were Countess Emmanuelle's cousins we get exiled for starting a war."
He shook his head disgustedly. "Imperial politics, eh?"
Dieter shrugged. He turned to the mountain men. "Wait outside," he said. "We have business to conduct with Herr...?"
"Jaegar. Felix Jaegar."
The trappers filed past. Lars gave Felix a hate-filled look as he came abreast. Felix looked straight into his blood-shot eyes. Their gazes locked for a second, then the trappers were gone, leaving only the whiff of bear fat hanging in the air.
"I fear you have made an enemy there," said Manfred.
"I'm not worried."
"You should be, Herr Jaegar. Such men hold grudges," said Dieter. "You say you are seeking employment?"
Felix nodded. "My companion and I..."
"The Trollslayer?"
"Gotrek Gurnisson, yes."
"If you want a job, you've got one. The Border Princes are a violent place and we could do with two such warriors. Unfortunately we cannot afford to pay much."
"My uncle's estates are now poor."
"We do not require much more than bed, board and carriage."
Dieter laughed. "Just as well really. You can travel with us if you wish. If we are attacked you'll have to fight."
"We are employed?"
Dieter handed him two cold coins. "You have taken the Baron's crown. You are with us." The grey-haired man opened the door. "Now, if you excuse us, I have a journey to plan."
Felix bowed to each of them and exited.
"Just a second," said an aristocratic voice. He turned and saw Manfred jump down from the caravan and walk towards him. The young noble smiled.
"Dieter is a brusque man but you will get used to him."
"I'm sure I will, milord."
"Call me Manfred. We are on the frontier, not at the Court of the Countess of Nuln. Rank has less meaning here."
"Very well, milord... Manfred."
"I just wanted to tell you that you did the right thing last night. Standing up for the girl, even if she is the servant of that witch. I appreciate it."
"Thank you. May I ask a question?"
Manfred nodded. Felix cleared his throat. "The name of Manfred von Diehl is not unknown among the scholars of Altdorf, my home city. As a playwright."
Manfred beamed broadly. "I am he. By Ulric, an educated man, who would have thought to find one here? I can tell you and I are going to get along, Herr Jaegar. Have you seen Strange Flower?Did you like it?"
Felix considered his answer carefully. He had not liked the play, which dealt with the degeneration of a noblewoman into madness when she found out that she was a mutant, devolving to beasthood. Strange Flower was lacking that open-hearted humanity to be found in the works of the Empire's greatest playwright, Detlef Sierck. However, it had been very topical in these dark days when the number of mutations was apparently increasing. It had been banned by Countess Emmanuelle, Felix remembered.
"It was very powerful, Manfred. Very haunting."
"Haunting, very good! Very good indeed! I must go now, visit my ailing uncle. I hope to talk to you again before the journey is complete."
They bowed and the nobleman turned and walked away. Felix stared after him, unable to reconcile this amiable eccentric young nobleman and the brooding, Chaos-haunted images of his work. Among the cognoscenti of Altdorf, Manfred von Diehl was known as a brilliant playwright and a blasphemous one.
By mid-morning the exiles were ready to leave. At the front of the long straggling line Felix could see a tired-looking white-haired old man, clad in a cloak of sable skin, mounted on a black charger. He rode under the unfurled wolf banner that was held by Dieter. Beside him Manfred leaned over to say something to the old man. The Baron gestured and the whole caravan of his people began to roll forward.
Felix felt a thrill pass through him at the sight of it all. He drank in the spectacle of the line of wagons and carts with their armed escort of mounted and armoured warriors. He clambered up aboard the supply wagon that he and Gotrek had commandeered from a crabbed old servant in Baronial livery.
Around them the mountains jutted skyward like grey titans. Trees dotted their sides and streams ran like quicksilver down their flanks towards the source of Thunder River. Rain, mingled with snow, softened the harsh outline of the landscape and lent it a wild loveliness.
"Time to go again," moaned Gotrek, clutching his head, eyes bleary and hungover. They rumbled forward, taking their place in the line. Behind them men-at-arms shouldered their crossbows, drew their cloaks tight and began to march. Their oaths mingled with the curses and the whipcracks of the drivers and the lowing of the oxen. A baby cried.
Somewhere behind them a woman began to sing in a low musical voice. The child's squalling quietened. Felix leaned forward hoping to catch sight of Kirsten among the people trudging through the sleet towards the rolling hills that unfolded below them like a map.
He felt almost at peace, drawn in to all that human motion, as if he were being borne by a river towards his goal. He already felt part of this small itinerant community, a sensation he had not enjoyed for a long time. He smiled, but was drawn from his reverie by Gotrek's elbow in his ribs.
"Keep your eyes peeled, manling. Orcs and goblins haunt these mountains and the lands below."
Felix glared at him, but when he gazed once more at his surroundings it was not to appreciate their wild beauty. He was keep
ing watch for possible ambush sites.
Felix looked back at the mountains. He was not sorry to be leaving those bleak highlands. Several times they had been assaulted by green-skinned goblins whose shields bore the sign of a crimson claw. The wolf-riders had been beaten back, but with casualties. Felix was red-eyed from lack of sleep. Like all the warriors he had taken double stints on watch, for the raiders attacked at night. Only Gotrek seemed to be disappointed by the lack of pursuit.
"By Grungni," he said. "We won't see them again, not since Dieter shot their leader. They're all cowards without the big bully-boys to put fire in their bellies. Pity! Nothing beats the slaughter of a few gobbos for working up an appetite. Healthy exercise is good for the digestion."
Felix gave him a jaundiced look. He jerked a thumb towards a covered wagon from which Kirsten and a tall middle-aged woman descended. "I'm sure the wounded in that cart would disagree with your idea of healthy exercise, Gotrek."
The dwarf shrugged. "In this life, manling, people get hurt. Just be glad it wasn't your turn."
Felix had had enough. He clambered down from the seat of the wagon and dropped off onto the muddy ground.
"Don't worry, Gotrek. I intend to be around to complete your saga. I wouldn't want to break a sworn oath, would I?"
Gotrek stared at him, as if suspecting a hint of sarcasm. Felix made his expression carefully bland. The dwarf took the idea of Felix's composition seriously; he wanted to be the hero of a saga after his death, and he kept the educated Felix around to make sure of it. Shaking his head, Felix walked over to where Kirsten and her mistress stood.
"Good day, Frau Winter. Kirsten." The two women surveyed him wearily. A frown crossed the sorceress's long face, although no expression seemed to flicker in her hooded reptilian eyes. She adjusted one of the raven's feathers pinned in her hair.
"What's good about it, Herr Jaegar? Two more men dead from wounds. Those arrows were poisoned. By Taal, I hate those wolf-riders."
"Where's Doctor Stockhausen? I thought he would be helping you."
The older woman smiled, a little cynically, Felix thought. "He's seeing to the Baron's heir. Young Manfred got his arm nicked. Stockhausen would rather let good men die than have little Manfred injured."
