Warhammer Red Thirst

by Warhammer

  Vukotich sat up in bed. His wounds didn't pain him so much now, although his throat was still tender.

  Genevieve! Gone!

  "She said something about a Retreat. Some convent or other. In Kislev. You'd best leave her be, lad. Heroine or not, she's still... well... not quite like us, you know. No, not quite like us."

  Maximilian poured him a goblet of the dangerous spirit, and he scalded his throat with it.

  "She left you something, though. She said you'd know what it was for."

  Vukotich took another fiery swallow. Hot tears came to his eyes. It was the strong spirit. Alte Geheerentode would make any man's eyes water.

  The Grand Prince threw the padded ring, shining silver where it was sawn through, onto the bed.

  "Genevieve said you'd understand. Do you?"

  Fingering the marks on his neck, Vukotich wasn't sure. Inside him, the last sparks of her were fading. The wounds he would wear forever, but the link he had had with the vampire was shattered with their chain.

  He picked up the silver, and gave it to Maximilian. "Give it to the temple," he said, "for the poor."

  "Which temple?" asked the Grand Prince.

  Weariness crept up Vukotich's body again. Inside him something was dying.

  "Any one," he replied. "Any one."

  THE DARK BENEATH THE WORLD

  by William King

  A scream echoed through the cold mountain air. Felix Jaegar ripped his sword from its scabbard and stood ready. Snowflakes fell, a chill wind stirred his long blonde hair. He threw his red woollen cloak back over his shoulder, leaving his swordarm unobstructed. The bleak landscape was a perfect site for an ambush; pitted and rocky, harsher than the face of the greater moon, Mannslieb.

  He glanced left, upslope. A few stunted pines clutched the mountainside with gnarled roots. Downslope, to the right, lay an almost sheer drop. Neither direction held any sign of danger. No bandits, no orcs, none of the darker things that lurked in these remote heights.

  "The noise came from up ahead, manling," said Gotrek Gurnisson, rubbing his eye patch with one huge, tattooed hand. His nose chain jingled in the breeze, "There's a fight going on up there."

  Uncertainty filled Felix. He knew Gotrek was correct; even with only one eye the dwarfs senses were keener than his own. The question was whether to stand and wait or push forward and investigate. Potential enemies filled the World's Edge Mountains. The chances of finding friends were slim. His natural caution inclined him towards doing nothing.

  Gotrek charged up the scree-strewn path, enormous axe held high above his red-dyed crest of hair. Felix cursed. For once why couldn't Gotrek remember that not everyone was a Trollslayer?

  "We didn't all swear to seek out death in combat," he muttered, before following slowly, for he lacked the dwarfs sure-footedness over the treacherous terrain.

  Felix took in the scene of carnage with one swift glance. In the long depression a gang of hideous green-skinned orcs battled a smaller group of men. They fought across a fast-flowing stream that ran down the little valley before disappearing over the mountain edge in a cloud of silver spray. The waters ran red with the blood of men and horses. It was easy to imagine what had happened - an ambush as the humans crossed the water.

  In mid-stream a huge man in shiny plate-mail battled with three brawny bow-legged assailants. Wielding his two-handed blade effortlessly, he feinted a blow to his left then beheaded a different foe with one mighty swing. The force of his blow almost overbalanced him. Felix realized the stream bed must be slippy.

  On the nearer bank a man in dark-brocaded robes chanted a spell. A ball of fire blazed in his left hand. A dark-haired warrior in the furred hat and deerskin tunic of a trapper protected the wizard from two screaming orcs, using only a longsword held in his left hand. As Felix watched a blonde man-at-arms fell, trying to hold in entrails released by a scimitar slash to his stomach. As he went down burly half-naked savages hacked him to pieces. Only three of the ambushed party now stood. They were outnumbered five to one.

  "Orcish filth! You dare to soil the sacred approach to Carag Eight Peaks. Uruk mortari! Prepare to die," screamed Gotrek, charging down into the melee.

  An enormous orc turned to face him. A look of surprise froze forever on its face as Gotrek lopped off its head with one mighty stroke. Emerald blood spattered the Trollslayer's tattooed body. Raving and snarling, the dwarf ploughed into the orcs, hewing left and right in a great double arc. Dead bodies lay everywhere his axe fell.

  Felix half-ran, half-slid downslope. He fell at the bottom. Wet grass tickled his nostrils. He rolled to one side as a scimitar-wielding monster half-again his bulk chopped down at him. He sprang to his feet, ducked a cut that could have chopped him in two and lopped off an earlobe with his return blow.

  Startled, the orc clutched at its wound, trying to stop the blood flowing down its face. Felix seized his chance and stabbed upwards through the bottom of the creature's jaw into its brain.

  As he struggled to free his blade another monster leapt on him, swinging its blade high over its head. Felix let go of his weapon and moved to meet his attacker. He grabbed its wrists as he was overborne. Foetid breath made him gag as the orc fell on top of him. The thing dropped its weapon and they wrestled on the ground, rolling downslope into the stream.

  Copper rings set in the orc's flesh pinched him as it sought to bite his throat with its sharp tusks. Felix writhed to avoid having his windpipe torn out. The orc pushed his head under water. Felix looked up through stinging eyes and saw the strangely distorted face leering down at him. Bitterly cold water filled his mouth. There was no air in his lungs. Frantically he shifted his weight, trying to dislodge his attacker. They rolled and suddenly Felix was astride the orc, trying to push its head under water.

  The orc grabbed his wrists and pushed. Locked in a deadly embrace they began to roll downslope through the freezing water. Again and again Felix's head went under, again and again he floundered gasping to the surface. Sharp rocks speared his flesh. Realization of his peril flashed through his mind; the current and their own momentum carried them towards the cliff edge. Felix tried to break free, giving up all thoughts of drowning his opponent.

  When next his head broke surface, he looked for the cloud of spray. To his horror it was only twenty feet away. He redoubled his efforts to escape but the orc held on like grim death and they continued their downward tumble.

  Ten feet now. Felix heard the rumble of the fall, felt the distorted currents of the turbulent water. He drew back his fist and smacked the orc in the face. One of its tusks broke but it would not let go.

  Five feet to go. He lashed out once more, bouncing the orc's head off the stream bottom. Its grip loosened. He was almost free.

  Suddenly he was falling, tumbling through water and air. He frantically grabbed for something, anything, to hold. His hand smashed into the rock and he struggled for a grip on the slippery streambed. The pressure of the freezing water on his head and shoulders was almost intolerable. He risked a downward look.

  A long way below he saw the valleys in the foothills. So great was the drop that copses of trees looked like blotches of mould on the landscape. The falling orc was a receding, screaming greenish blob.

  With the last of hs strength Felix flopped over the edge, pushing against the current with cold-numbed fingers. For a second he thought he wasn't going to make it, then he was face down in the stream, gasping in bubbling water.

  He crawled out onto the bank. The orcs, their leaders dead, had been routed. Felix pulled off his sodden cloak, wondering whether he was going to catch a chill from the cold mountain air.

  "By Sigmar, that was well done. We were sore pressed there," said the tall, dark-haired man. He made the sign of the hammer over his chest as he spoke. He was handsome in a coarse way. His armour, although dented, was of the finest quality. The intensity of his stare made Felix uneasy.

  "It would seem we owe you gentlemen our lives," said the mage. He too was richly dress
ed. His brocaded robes were trimmed with gold thread, scrolls covered in mystical symbols were held by rings set in it. His long blonde hair was cut in a peculiar fashion. From the centre of his flowing locks rose a crest not unlike Gotrek's save for the fact that it was undyed and cropped short. Felix wondered if it was the mark of some mystical order.

  The armoured man's laughter boomed out. "It is the prophecy, Johann. Did not the god say one of our ancient brethren would aid us! Sigmar be praised! This is a good sign indeed."

  Felix looked over at the trapper. He spread his hands and shrugged helplessly. A certain cynical humour was apparent in the way he raised an eyebrow.

  "I am Felix Jaegar, of Altdorf, and this is my companion Gotrek Gurnisson, the Trollslayer," Felix said, bowing to the knight.

  "I am Aldred Keppler, known as Fellblade, Templar-Knight of the Order of the Fiery Heart," said the armoured man. Felix suppressed a shudder. In his homeland, the Empire, the order was famed for the fanatic zeal with which they pursued their crusade against the goblin races. And those humans they considered heretics.

  The knight gestured to the wizard. "This is my adviser on matters magical; Doctor Johann Zauberlich of the University of Nuln."

  "At your service," said Zauberlich, bowing.

  "I am Jules Gascoigne, once of Quenelles in Bretonnia. Although that was many a year ago," said the fur-clad man. He had a Bretonnian accent.

  "Herr Gascoigne is a scout. I engaged him to guide us through these mountains," said Aldred. "I have a great work to perform at Carag Eight Peaks."

  Felix and Gotrek exchanged glances. Felix knew the dwarf would rather they travelled alone in search of the lost treasure of the dwarven city. However, parting company from their chance-met companions would only arouse suspicion.

  "Perhaps we should join forces," said Felix, hoping Gotrek would follow his line of reasoning. "We too are bound for the city of the eight peaks, and this road is far from safe."

  "A capital suggestion," said the wizard.

  "Doubtless your companion, he goes to visit his kin," said Jules, oblivious to the daggered stare Gotrek gave him. "There still is a small outpost of Imperial dwarfs there."

  "We had best bury your companions," said Felix to fill the silence.

  "Why so glum, friend Felix? Is it not a lovely night?" asked Jules Gascoigne sardonically, blowing on his hands to warm them against the bitter cold. Felix pulled his spare cloak up over his knees and extended his hands towards the small fire Zauberlich had lit with a word of power. He looked over at the Bretonnian, his face turned into a daemonic mask by the underlight.

  "These mountains are chill and daunting," Felix replied. "Who knows what perils they hide?"

  "Who indeed? We are close to the Darklands. Some say that is the very spawning ground of orcs and all other greenskin devils. Also, I have heard tales that these mountains are haunted."

  Felix gestured towards the fire. "Do you think we should have lit this?" From nearby came Gotrek's reassuring snores and the regular rhythmic breathing of the others.

  Jules chuckled. "It is a choice between evils, no? I have seen men freeze to death on nights like this. If anything attacks us, it is best that we have light to see by. The greenskins may be able to spot a man in the dark but we cannot, eh? No, I do not think the fire makes much difference. However I do not think this why you are sad."

  He looked at Felix expectantly. Without really knowing why, Felix told the whole sorry tale of how he and Gotrek had joined the von Diehl expedition to the Border Princes. Von Diehl and his retainers had sought peace in a new land and found only terrible death. He told of his meeting with his beloved Kirsten. The Bretonnian listened sympathetically. When Felix finished telling of Kirsten's death, Jules shook his head.

  "Ah, it is a sorry world we live in, is it not?"

  "It is indeed."

  "Do not dwell on the past, my friend. It cannot be altered. In time all wounds heal."

  "It doesn't seem that way to me."

  They fell into silence. Felix looked over at the sleeping dwarf. Gotrek sat like a gargoyle, immobile, eyes shut but axe in hand. Felix wondered how the dwarf would take the scout's advice. Gotrek, like all dwarfs, constantly brooded on the lessons of the past. His sense of history drove him inexorably towards his future. He claimed that men had imperfect memories, that dwarfs' were better.

  Is that why he seeks his doom, Felix wondered? Does his shame burn in him as strong now as at the moment he committed whatever crime he seeks to atone for? Felix pondered what it must be like to live with the past intruding so strongly into the present that it could never be forgotten. I would go mad, he thought.

  He inspected his own grief and tried to recall it new-minted. It seemed that it had diminished by a particle, had been eroded by time and would continue to be so. He felt no better, knowing that he was doomed to forget, to have his memories become pale shadows. Perhaps the dwarfish way was better, he thought. Even the time he had spent with Kirsten seemed paler, more colourless.

  During his watch Felix saw a greenish witchlight far upslope on the mountain. As he stared he felt a sense of dread. The light drifted about as if seeking something. In its midst was a vaguely human form. Felix had heard tales of the daemons haunting these mountains. He looked over at Gotrek, wondering whether he should wake him.

  The light vanished. Felix watched for a long time but he saw no further sign. Perhaps it had been an after-image of the fire or a trick of the light and a tired mind. Somehow he doubted it.

  In the morning he dismissed his suspicions. The party followed the road round the shoulder of the mountain and suddenly a new land lay spread out before them under the grey, overcast sky.

  They looked down into a long valley nestled in a basin between eight mountains. The peaks rose like the talons of a giant claw. In their palm lay a city.

  Huge walls blocked the valley's entrance, built from blocks of stone taller than a man. Within the walls, next to a silver lake, sat a great keep. A town nestled beneath it. Long roads ran from the fortress to lesser towers at the base of each mountain. Drystone dykes criss-crossed the valley, creating a patchwork of overgrown fields.

  Gotrek nudged Felix in the ribs and pointed towards the peaks.

  "Behold," he said, a hint of wonder in voice. "Carag Zilfin, Carag Yar, Carag Mhonar and the Silverhorn."

  "Those are the eastern mountains," said Aldred. "Carag Lhune, Carag Rhyn, Carag Nar and the White Lady guard the western approach."

  Gotrek looked at the Sigmarian respectfully. "You speak truthfully, Templar. Long have these mountains haunted my dreams. Long have I wished to stand in their shadow."

  Felix looked down on the city. There was a sense of enduring strength about the place. Carag Eight Peaks had been built from the bones of mountains to endure till the end of the world.

  "It is beautiful," he said.

  Gotrek looked at him with fierce pride. "In ancient times, this city was known as the Queen of the Silver Depths. It was the fairest of our realms and we grieved its fall most sorely."

  Jules stared down at the massive walls. "How could it have fallen? All the armies of all the kings of men could be stood off in these mountains. Those fields could feed the population of Quenelles."

  Gotrek shook his head and stared down into the city as intensely as if he were staring back into elder days.

  "In pride we built Eight Peaks, at the zenith of our ancient power. It was a wonder to the world; more beautiful than Everpeak, open to the sky. A sign of our wealth and power, strong beyond the measure of dwarfs or elves or men. We thought it would never fall and the mines it guarded would be ours forever."

  The Trollslayer spoke with a bitter, compelling passion that Felix had never heard in his voice before.

  "What fools we were," Gotrek said. "What fools we were. In pride we built Eight Peaks, sure of our mastery of stone and the dark beneath the world. Yet even as we built the city the seeds of its doom were planted."

  "What happened?" as
ked Felix.

  "Our quarrel with the elves began; we scourged them from the forests and drove them from the lands. After that who were we to trade with? Commerce between our races had been the source of much wealth, tainted though it was. Worse, the cost in lives was more grievous than the cost to our merchants. The finest warriors of three generations fell in that bitter struggle."

  "Still, your folk now controlled all the land between the World's Edge mountains and the Great Sea," said Zauberlich with a pedant's smugness. "So claims Ipsen in his book Wars of the Ancients."

  The acid of Gotrek's laughter could have corroded steel. "Did we? I doubt it. While we had warred with our faithless allies the dark gathered its strength. We were weary of war when the black mountains belched forth their clouds of ash. The sky was overcast and the sun hid its face. Our crops died and our cattle sickened. Our people had returned to the safety of their cities; and from the very heart of our realm, from the place we imagined ourselves strongest, our foes burst forth."

  He stopped speaking and in the silence Felix imagined he heard the caw of some distant bird.

  "From tunnels far below any we had ever dug our enemies struck into the core of our fortresses. Through mines that had been the source of our wealth poured armies of goblins and rat-like Skaven and things far, far worse."

  "What did your people do?" asked Felix.

  Gotrek spread his arms wide and looked into their faces. "What could we do? We took up our weapons and went again to war. And a terrible war it was. Our battles with the elves had taken place under the sky, through field and forest. The new war was fought in cramped spaces in the long dark, with dreadful weapons and a ferocity beyond your imagining. Shafts were collapsed, corridors scoured with firethrowers, pits flooded. Our foes responded with poison gas and vile sorcery and the summoning of daemons. Beneath where we now stand we fought with every resource we could muster, with all our weapons and all the courage desperation brings. We fought and we lost. Step by step we were driven from our homes."

  Felix looked down at the placid city. It seemed impossible that what Gotrek described could ever have happened and yet there was something in the Trollslayer's voice that compelled belief. Felix imagined the desperate struggle of those long-ago dwarfs, their fear and bewilderment as they were pushed from the place they had believed was theirs. He pictured them fighting their doomed struggle with more-than-human tenacity.