Warhammer Red Thirst

by Warhammer

  "Whatever you're going to do manling, do it quickly!" yelled the Trollslayer.

  Felix ran over and picked up his lantern. Sigmar, guide my hand, he prayed as he threw the lamp at the creature. The lantern impacted on its back, shattering and spreading burning oil. It ignited the fuel Felix had already dowsed the creature in.

  The troll screamed shrilly. It reeled back. Now, when Gotrek's axe fell, the wounds did not heal. The dwarf drove the blazing troll back to the pile of gold. It stumbled and fell.

  Gotrek raised his axe. "In the name of my ancestors," said the trollslayer. "Die!"

  His axe came down like a thunderbolt, severing the creature's daemonic head. The troll died.

  Gingerly Gotrek picked up the warpstone amulet with the broken shard of Felix's sword. Holding the thing at arm's length, he took it outside to throw into the abyss.

  Felix sat, drained of all emotion, on top of one of the dwarfish sarcophagi. Once more it comes to this, he thought, sitting among ruin and corpses after terrible conflict.

  He heard Gotrek's running footsteps coming closer. Panting, the dwarf entered the chamber.

  "The gobbos come, manling," he said.

  "How many?" Felix asked.

  Gotrek shook his head tiredly. "Too many. At least I have disposed of that tainted thing. I can die happy here amid the tombs of my ancestors."

  Felix went over and picked up the dragon-hilted sword. "I would have liked to have returned this to Aldred's people," he said. "It would give some meaning to all this death."

  Gotrek shrugged. He glanced to the door. The archway was filled with green-skinned marauders, advancing behind their grinning moon banners. Felix slid the Sigmarian sword smoothly from its sheath. A thrilling musical note sang out. The runes along its blade blazed brightly. For a second the goblins hesitated.

  Gotrek looked over at Felix and grinned, revealing his missing teeth. "This is going to be a truly heroic death, manling. My only regret is that no-one will ever hear of it."

  Felix looked back at the oncoming horde, positioned himself so that his back was to a sarcophagus. "You don't know how sorry I am about that," he said grimly, making a few trial swipes with the blade. It felt good, light and well-balanced, as if made for his hand. He was surprised to find he was no longer afraid. He had gone beyond fear.

  The standard bearer halted and turned to harangue his troops. None of them seemed to be anxious to be the first to meet the Trollslayer's axe or the glowing runesword.

  "Get on with it!" bellowed Gotrek. "My axe thirsts."

  The goblins roared. The leader turned and gestured for them to advance. They surged forwards as irresistibly as the tide. This is it, thought Felix, steeling himself, preparing to lash out, to take as many foes as he could into death with him.

  "Goodbye, Gotrek," he said and stopped. The goblins had halted and stood, looking panic-stricken. What's going on? Felix wondered. Cold green light streamed over his shoulders. He looked back and saw ranks of regal dwarfish spirits. They seemed fierce and terrible.

  The standard bearer tried to rally his troops but the ghostly dwarfs reached him and touched his heart. His face drained of colour, and he fell, clutching his breast. The spirits surged into the goblins. Spectral axes flickered. Greenskin warriors fell, no mark upon their bodies. A hideous keening filled the air, a thin reedy imitation of dwarven war-cries. The remaining tribesmen turned and fled. The ghostly warriors pursued.

  Felix and Gotrek stood in the empty vault, surrounded by the towering sarcophagi. Slowly the air in front of them coalesced. Tendrils of greenish light drifted back through the entrance, took dwarfish shape. The spirits looked different. The ghost who had spoken to Gotrek earlier stood there. She looked different, as if a terrible burden had been lifted from her. She looked at Gotrek.

  "The ancient enemies are gone. We could not leave them to despoil our tombs now that you have cleansed them. We are in your debt."

  "You have robbed me of a mighty death," said Gotrek sourly.

  "It was not your destiny to fall here this day. Your doom is far greater and its time is approaching."

  Gotrek looked quizzically at the ancient queen.

  "I may say no more. Farewell, Gotrek, son of Gurni. We wish you well. You shall be remembered."

  The ghosts seemed to coalesce into one cold green flame that glowed like a star in the darkness. The light changed from green to warm gold and then became brighter than the sun. Felix averted his eyes and still was dazzled. When his sight returned he looked upon the tombs. The place was empty except for himself and Gotrek. The dwarf frowned thoughtfully. For a moment a strange expression gleamed in his one good eye, then he turned and looked upon the treasure.

  Felix could almost read his mind. He was considering taking the wealth, desecrating the tomb himself. Felix held his breath. After long minutes, Gotrek shrugged.

  "What about the others? Shouldn't we lay them to rest?" asked Felix.

  "Leave them," said Gotrek. "They lie among the mighty. Their bodies are safe."

  They went through the arch, and Gotrek touched the runes according to the ancient pattern. The tomb was sealed. Then they made their way up through the old darkness towards the light of day.

  THE SPELLS BELOW

  by Neil Jones

  Katarina Kraeber strolled through the streets of Waldenhof. Early morning sunlight slanted in over the close-crowded rooftops; the air was full of the smell of freshly baked bread. Around her, townsfolk were already going about their business, calling out the occasional greeting to one another. Katarina felt relaxed and happy: she was on her way to her lessons in wizardry.

  Above her, mounted on a high gable, she saw a gilded weathervane clearly outlined against the blue summer sky. The spells that Anton Freiwald - and her father before him - had taught her came whispering into her mind.

  A glance up and down the street showed her that no-one was looking in her direction. Lifting one slim hand, her brown eyes intent on the weathervane, she began to murmur the words of a spell.

  Very slowly, the weathervane began to turn, moving counter to the breeze that was stirring the morning air. It completed one full turn, and then began to pick up speed, creaking as it did so.

  A plump merchant stopped directly across the street from Katarina. He looked upwards, frowning, then peered suspiciously at Katarina. Her blue tunic, hose and cap clearly marked her out as an apprentice of the Wizard's Guild.

  Katarina broke the spell at once and continued on down the street, her easy mood gone, replaced now by a sense of unease. Wizardry was legal in Waldenhof but both Anton and her father had warned her about the need to be circumspect. Ordinary folk feared magic, often with good reason.

  As she hurried on through the streets, she sensed that the mood of the townsfolk around her had begun to change, too. Some of them were exchanging words and glances, as if there were something going on that she was not aware of.

  She turned the corner into Ostgardstrasse and, looking down it to where it opened onto the expanse of Sigmarplatz, she saw the steel helms of soldiers. A feeling of alarm went through her as sharp and as sudden as a knife-blade.

  She pushed her way through the crowd that was beginning to gather and found herself behind two burly soldiers. Beyond them, there were hundreds more already in the square. Sunlight glittered off their weapons and armour. The banner of Waldenhof's Graf, Jurgen von Stolzing, fluttered in the breeze.

  The soldiers were drawn up into an arc that went around three sides of the square and stretched into Zoffstrasse on her left and Merzbahn on her right. The row of elegant four-storey mansions directly opposite her was surrounded. And in the centre of that row, its red-lacquered door and shuttered windows gleaming against grey stone, was the residence of Anton Freiwald.

  Anton, Katarina thought, remembering. When her father had died in debt and there had been no-one she could turn to, it had been Anton who had come to offer her his help. Recognizing her talent, he had made her his apprentice. And then later,
when her respect and gratitude had been joined by other, stronger feelings - of attraction, affection - they had become lovers.

  Now Anton was the one in trouble and it was her turn to help him.

  Taking a chance that everyone's attention would be focused on the square, Katarina cast a simple garrulity-spell upon the two soldiers immediately in front of her. One promptly leaned towards the other and muttered: "Remember, the Graf said to take him alive. There's a reward in it for us if we do."

  "It's secrets they're after," the second man whispered back. "Dark magic secrets. They want to put him to the question. But it's a waste of time. Everyone knows you can't torture anything out of a dark magician."

  "What's it matter so long as we get paid?"

  The squat bulk of a siege engine came into view, rumbling slowly forward across the cobbles. Following behind it were people that she recognized - all members of the Wizard's Guild. With alarm, she saw that there were dozens of them, wizards of every level, from all of the various colleges. Hastily, Katarina allowed her spell to fade, hoping it had not been detected.

  As the wizards gathered together in the square immediately in front of her, a brazier was set up beside the siege engine. Strange odours began to rise from it, spicing the morning air.

  The house seemed a hundred miles away but she knew she had to get across Sigmarplatz to it and quickly. Her only chance was to slip past the soldiers and then make a run for it. The thought of it terrified her - but there was no alternative, not if she was going to help Anton. And she would have to do it now, before the Graf began his assault.

  She took a slow, deep breath. Then another, searching for calm. She took a step forward - and a hand closed on her arm.

  "Now," a cold voice said, "what sort of wizardling have we here?"

  Held by an iron-hard grip, she looked up into a dark-bearded face she recognized: Gerhard Lehner, Magister of the Wizards' Guild - and Anton Freiwald's bitterest rival.

  Two soldiers moved in to take hold of her arms. They marched her forward and a moment later she was standing before a tall, richly dressed figure: Graf Jurgen von Stolzing himself.

  "What's going on?" he demanded, his gaze moving from Lehner to Katarina.

  "A little surreptious spell-casting, my lord Graf," replied Lehner. He raised his hand in a deprecatory gesture. "Fortunately, very little indeed."

  The Graf stared at Katarina, suspicion gleaming in his pale blue eyes. "Who are you?"

  "Allow me to introduce you," said Lehner. He reached out to knock Katarina's blue apprentice's cap to the ground. Her hair shook free. "This is fraulein Katarina Kraeber, apprentice"-he lingered faintly over the word - "to Anton Freiwald."

  The Graf inspected her coldly, took in the brown hair, cut neatly at the jawline, the high-cheekboned face, the green eyes. "So," he said. "Another acolyte of Chaos?"

  "Quite likely, Graf," replied Lehner.

  Chaos. The full extent of the charges against Anton came home to her. No wonder they had come for him with such overwhelming force.

  Then her name finally registered with the Graf. "Kraeber?"

  "Yes, my lord. Her late father was Joachim Kraeber, of my own guild. Her grandfather - "

  "Yes, yes," said the Graf. "I remember the family."

  "They gave you loyal service my lord," said Katarina, seizing her chance to speak. "As I - "

  "What were you trying to do?" demanded the Graf, his thin face drawn into tight lines. "Tell me, or you'll be made to."

  Katarina's eyes went to the mansion, impossibly distant across the square. "My duty. Only that."

  "Your duty? As a citizen of Waldenhof - or as a servant of the dark magician, Anton Freiwald?"

  "My lord," protested Katarina, "don't believe Magister Lehner. He's jealous of Anton's talent, his spells, his - "

  "Spells?" said the Graf sharply. "What do you know of them?"

  Immediately, Katarina became guarded; Anton had warned her to say nothing of his research. "Only the ones he has taught me," she answered after a moment. "Those proper to an apprentice."

  "I think she knows much more than she's telling us, my lord," put in Lehner. "Best she be put to the question."

  "Yes," agreed the Graf. "Alongside her master." He swung around to face the house. "It's time we flushed that Chaos devil out." He gestured to Lehner. "Begin."

  Lehner stepped confidently forward until he was standing before the brazier. He lifted both arms into the air, his lips began to move - and then a voice was booming out over the cobbled expanse of the square. A human voice, the voice of Gerhard Lehner, but magically amplified. It echoed across the tiled roofs around them, out across the whole city of Waldenhof. "Anton Freiwald. You are charged with practicing dark magic. Surrender! In the name of Jurgen von Stolzing, Graf of Waldenhof."

  An expectant hush fell over the crowd. Moments passed. There was no response from the house. The Graf looked towards the siege engine, and brought his hand down in a decisive gesture. The command to fire rang out across the square. Wood and leather creaked, and then a massive stone was whistling through the air.

  The stone arced across the square, towards the house. Abruptly, there was a sound like water being poured onto white-hot coals - and rainbow light exploded around it.

  A massed gasp of astonishment went up from everyone in the square, hands were raised against the glare. The light began to dim and the stone became visible once again. It was absolutely still, hanging suspended in mid-air.

  For a few seconds longer it remained there. Then it dropped to the ground and shattered against the cobbles. The shield, Katarina thought with sudden hope. The shield of spell-power that Anton had talked of. Somehow he had managed to get it operating in time.

  "Gerhard," said the Graf in a hushed voice. "Have we come too late?"

  "Perhaps, my lord," replied Lehner in a whisper. He looked shaken. "Or perhaps only just in time."

  The grip on Katarina's arms had slackened. The two soldiers who held her had given all their attention to the stone, and were still staring at the shards scattered across the cobbles.

  With a sudden effort, Katarina wrenched herself free of them. As she ran forward, hands grabbed at her. She struck out at them, dodged from side to side.

  Then she was out onto the open square, running towards the house.

  From behind there were shouts to halt. She ignored them. An arrow flew past her on the left. It sparked against the invisible wall across the square and fell to the ground, all its energy spent.

  Katarina ran on, calling out the words of a warding-spell, praying that she had remembered it correctly. Then the air around her was bristling with arrows. Her boots thudded on the cobbles. Sigmarplatz had never seemed so vast.

  She sensed magic stirring behind her, knew that Lehner and the others were spell-casting at her back. Then rainbow light was shimmering around her. She had reached the safety of the shield.

  Her movements slowed; it felt as if she were moving underwater. Safe now, she told herself. Almost home. All you have to do is keep moving. She could feel Anton's magic flowing through her, protecting her.

  Then her eyes snapped shut as the light around her brightened to a blinding intensity. It sounded as if a host of daemons were screeching at her. She tried to put her hands to her ears but they moved with dreamlike slowness.

  Something had struck the shield. Not a rock this time - something magical, she realized. A spell. Lehner and the rest of the Guild. All those wizards - of every level - acting together. Creating a combined spell of tremendous force, designed to tear the shield apart.

  Magical energy surged through her body as the two spells - shield-wall and shield-breaker - clashed. Too much raw magic, coming at her much too quickly. Anton could have weathered it easily, she knew. But despite his coaching, she was still so very inexperienced, barely out of the apprentice stage.

  For a moment, she stood there, twitching like a fly freshly caught in a spiderweb, her feet rooted to the ground. Then she remembered An
ton's strength-spell, brought his voice into her mind, heard him reciting it to her once again.

  She took a single step forward - and stepped fully into the sanctuary of the shield. As she stumbled across the remaining distance, she looked back over her shoulder. Light licked at the shield: gold, blue, crimson, jade. But the shield was holding.

  The red-lacquered door opened and two men wearing leather and chain mail darted out: Anton's hired Kislevan guards. As they pulled her roughly inside, she saw the other three Kislevans waiting in the hallway, their braided yellow hair hanging down across their shoulders. They had their weapons drawn. Katarina was surprised that they had all remained loyal.

  The door to Anton's study opened and then the wizard was standing in front of her. His dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, framing his broad, surprisingly youthful face. He was wearing an elaborately decorated robe; inscribed upon the chest was his personal symbol, based on the Great Wheel of magic itself. Each of its eight spokes was a different colour, representing the eight colours of the magical flux. The wheel's rim was comprised of bands of the same colours, each in their proper station.

  "Katarina," the wizard called out angrily. "What in Taal's name did you think you were doing?"

  Still trying to catch her breath, she said, "I came to warn you, Anton. You can't surrender. They mean to torture you."

  "I already knew that," he said, but his voice had softened.

  A diminutive figure, even smaller than a Halfling, appeared behind Anton, one bony hand clutching at the wizard's robe: Anton's familiar. Despite its physical approximation to humanity, the look of its pale coarse-grained flesh gave it a rough, unfinished appearance. It glared up at Katarina with its red-rimmed eyes, its lips parting in a snarl.

  Katarina looked quickly away from the creature, feeling the instinctive revulsion she had never been able to rid herself of.

  "Anton," she said. "They think you've turned to Chaos."

  "What?" he responded, clearly astonished. "They think that - and still they want to steal my knowledge?"