Trollslayer

by William King

  She wondered whether she wanted what he wanted. Her major purpose had been achieved with the death of Hugo.

  It was simply the fulfilment of a long-held desire that left her feeling so, she told herself. For seven years she had been driven by her desire for vengeance. Now it had left her, snuffed out with the life of her tormentor. It was bound to leave a gap after so many years. She forced herself to concentrate, to feel the desire for power and immortality that came so easily in the presence of her daemonic patron. She managed to summon up a faint shadow of it. It was enough.

  ‘We have destroyed our first victims,’ she said to them, voice strong. ‘But there is one survivor. It is ordained that she must die. Our master demands it.’

  ‘Should find other man-places. Kill more,’ Hagal said, glancing round with his golden eyes. ‘Why worrying about one survivor?’

  Grind tapped his wand of carved human thighbone on the flagstones. ‘Let them live. Spread word to others. With word comes fear. Fear is our friend.’

  Always this constant testing, she thought. Always this constant circling and searching for a weakness. Even simple matters became minor skirmishes as the beasts sought to enhance their status at the cost of others. Their society was based on a hierarchy of strength; showing weakness, any weakness, diminished prestige.

  ‘Because our lord demands it. Because red Kazakital, Chosen of Khorne, says we must.’

  Malor turned his grey gaze on Grind and Hagal. ‘And because our leader, Justine, demands it!’

  ‘Who are you to question what our leader demands?’ Tryell asked directly of Hagal. So the rumours of bad blood between them were true. Good. It strengthened her position.

  ‘I do not question our leader. I question need to find single human when could find dozens more. Are you so anxious to find girl because you spared her last night?’

  ‘Who told that?’ Tryell said, too quickly. ‘Do you seek challenge?’

  Justine sensed that Tryell was trying to cover this up, not that she cared. She, too, had spared the girl. Or was this what Hagal was getting at? Was this a subtle criticism of her? It did not suit her to allow the fight to continue. If Tryell killed Hagal, fine; but if it went the other way she would have one less true ally among the beasts’ leaders and she doubted if she could find a replacement.

  ‘There will be no challenge,’ she said softly, but loud enough to be heard by all present. ‘Unless it is with me!’

  The gathering fell silent, waiting to see if anyone would call her to the clashing of horns. She saw Grind lick his lips in anticipation. She locked glances with Hagal. For a moment he was tempted, she could tell. For a moment he met her gaze full on and the killing lust came into his eyes. His hand reached to rest on the pommel of his weapon. She smiled, hoping to goad him into making the call, but at the last he seemed to think the better of it and lowered his head.

  ‘Good,’ she said with finality. ‘Tryell, take your warriors and find me the girl with hair like mine. Take trackers, search the area, find her and bring her to me. I will offer her to Kazakital myself. The rest of you assemble your forces. We will march on to the next human town and find merit by slaughtering more men.’

  They nodded agreement and approval and rose to depart. Justine was left alone in the chill hall with her thoughts, wondering just what she would do when they brought the girl to her.

  ‘Wake up, manling! Something’s coming!’

  Felix roused himself from sleep. Wisps of eerie dreams still shrouded his mind. He shook his head to clear it, and felt the ache in his neck and back from lying on the cold forest floor. Chill had eaten through the insulation of the leaves and leeched strength from his body. He rose slowly to his feet and rubbed the sleep from his sticky eyes. As quietly as he could, he unsheathed his sword and glanced around.

  Gotrek stood nearby; a squat, massive statue frozen in the dim light of the fading fire. The red glow of the embers reflected from his axe blade. The dwarf carried a weapon of blood.

  Felix looked at the sky. The moons were almost down. Good. Dawn was not far off.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. His words caught in his throat and came out as a rasping whisper. He did not need the dwarf’s posture of alertness to tell him something was wrong. There was an air of quiet menace about the wood that even he could feel.

  ‘Listen!’

  Felix listened. He strained his ears to pick up any unusual sounds. At first all he heard was the thumping of his heart.

  He could hear nothing unusual, only the chirping of the night insects and the quiet rustle of leaves. Then, somewhere far off, so quiet he might only have imagined it, he heard the low muttering of voices. He looked over at the Slayer. Gotrek nodded.

  Felix glanced around to see what had become of Kat. She was awake as well, sitting hunched up by the fire. Her eyes looked huge and scared in the firelight. Felix prayed for the sun to rise quickly. He turned from the fire and peered out into the shadows, resolving not to look back and spoil his night sight again.

  ‘Kat, put more wood on the fire,’ he said quietly. There was an almost overwhelming temptation to turn and see if she was obeying. He fought it and was relieved when he heard movement behind him and the crackling of wood catching light. Shadows raced away from the fire and the island of light in which they stood expanded to encompass the near forest. The trees looked like monochrome titans in the dim illumination.

  Felix stood absolutely still. In spite of the chill, sweat ran down his spine and made his clothing clammy. His palms were slippery and it felt like strength was draining from his limbs. He felt an urge to flee from whatever approached.

  It was definitely coming closer, making no attempt at stealth. He could hear heavy footsteps in the distance and once a short yelping bark of what sounded like pain. There was a tautening of the muscles in his stomach and a fluttering, excited feeling in his belly. The incautious approach of their foes spoke of overwhelming self-confidence. Was he about to meet the destroyers of Kleindorf?

  Strangely he began to feel the urge to move in the direction of the noise, to investigate, to not simply stand here by the fire like a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. To calm himself he made a few experimental swipes with his sword. It hissed as it cut the air. The runes on its blade grew brighter as if in anticipation of the coming conflict. The loosening of his muscles and the readiness of his enchanted dragon-hilted blade relaxed Felix a little. A smile grafted itself to his lips. If he died here he would not die alone.

  The confidence vanished as a chorus of howls echoed through the woods, erupting triumphantly from half a dozen bestial throats. In the pre-dawn gloom they were echoes from his nightmares. Things were out there – things he did not wish to face. Their pursuers knew they were close and were prepared to close in for the kill. Felix wanted to drop his blade and run. Strength ran from him like wine from a spilled goblet. Behind him Kat whimpered and he heard the sound of stealthy movement, as if she crept for cover.

  ‘Steady, manling. They do that to frighten their foes. Weaken them for the kill. Don’t let your fear master you.’

  Gotrek’s calm, rumbling voice was almost reassuring but Felix could not help but think that whatever happened would be an acceptable outcome for the Slayer. Either he would vanquish his foes or, more likely, he would find his heroic death. Felix wondered if perhaps now was the time to point out that if he himself did not survive there would be no one left to record it. His humour made him laugh a little. He heard the Slayer move closer.

  Their pursuers were nearly on top of them. Felix could hear the sandy rasping of their tread upon the trail. They could not be more than a hundred paces away. He glanced around looking for cover. There was a patch of bushes under the largest of the trees. He wondered about the advisability of hiding among them and then leaping out from ambush. Or perhaps not leaping out at all and simply hoping that the Chaos spawn did not find him. He realised that f
or him it was a slender hope.

  He pointed to the briar patch with the tip of his sword and whispered, ‘Kat, hide yourself there. If anything happens to Gotrek and me, stay hidden!’

  He was gratified to see the small figure rush over, throw herself flat on her belly and wriggle into the undergrowth. She might have some chance if the two of them fell.

  How had they been found, he wondered? Was it simply ill luck – was this just a party of scouts which had stumbled upon them? Or was there some malevolent sorcery at work? Where Chaos was concerned you could never tell. For a moment he allowed himself the fantasy that it was all a mistake – that this was a party of merchants who would shelter them. But he knew that only the dead or their killers would take the night road from Kleindorf, and that thought made him shudder.

  The sound of footsteps was so close now that he felt their pursuers must soon come into view. He wished that the dying moons would break free from cloud and grant him some more light. As if Sigmar had answered his prayer, there came a break in the cloud cover. He wished that it had not.

  The eerie silver light of Mannslieb mingled with the blood-tinged glow from the witch-moon, Morrslieb. It washed down through the rents in the treetops and fell on the faces of their pursuers; aberrations from the wildest reaches of his nightmares.

  To the fore was a leashed mutant. It crouched close to the ground, sniffing the trail. It was the maker of the snuffling sound Felix had heard. It had a hairless, dog-like face and a huge nose. A spiked collar around its neck was joined to a heavy steel chain, the other end of which was held by a mighty, goat-headed beast. It was enormously muscular and it had a leather cloak over its shoulders. There was a necklace of what appeared to be dried eyes around its neck. It had no eyes of its own, only a blank expanse of flesh where the sockets should have been. Yet it walked as if it could see perfectly. Felix wondered what trick of Chaos sorcery permitted that. In one hand it held an enormous spike-headed club around whose tip were smeared congealed substances the nature of which Felix preferred not to think about.

  Behind came its lackeys: smaller versions cut from the same monstrous template; hunched muscular giants carrying spears and rusty swords. Bestial eyes glared from goat-heads and stag-heads, turned red by the firelight. Aside from their leader none bore any obvious stigmata of further mutation. The sight of them made Felix’s flesh crawl. The thought of what they had done in the village the night before filled him with both fear and rage.

  The eyeless leader halted and gestured to his followers with one immense knuckled hand. They filtered into the clearing and formed a large half-circle facing the man and dwarf. Felix moved into his fighting stance, willing his muscles to relax as his fencing masters had taught him. He tried to clear his mind, to be calm, but facing these massive monsters it was impossible.

  For long moments man and beast glared at each other across the shadowy clearing. Felix willed himself to meet the gaze of the nearest goat-head. I am going to kill you, he thought, hoping that he could intimidate the creature. Its animal mouth opened and its tongue lolled out. Faint flecks of foam appeared on its lips. It looked as if it were mocking him. Well, perhaps I won’t then, thought Felix and smiled.

  He wanted to look at Gotrek, to see what the Slayer was going to do, but dared not take his eyes off his opponents. He feared that they might attack with supernatural speed if he looked away. This was the worst of facing foes of unknown quality; who knew what they might be capable of?

  The beasts held their position, as if uncertain what to do in the face of two undaunted opponents. They looked at each other as if amused or uncertain. Perhaps they were deciding who would have the first choice of their prey’s flesh, Felix decided. It struck him as odd that things with such dire reputations as eaters of man-flesh should have the heads of herbivorous animals. Perhaps it was a joke of the Ruinous Powers.

  ‘Ready, manling?’ Gotrek sounded remarkably lucid for a berserk on the verge of battle, Felix thought. His deep voice was calm, even and held no hint of any emotion.

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’ Felix tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade until it was almost painful. The muscles of his forearm went as rigid as steel bands. When he heard the Slayer’s wild laughter he, too, charged forward to face the foe.

  Kat wriggled under the bushes. She did not want to, but fascinated horror forced her to look out again. She knew the beasts were closing in. She could feel it. There was the same sense of presence in the air that there had been the previous night. She looked out at her two benefactors and felt sorry for them. They were going to die. They may have been frightening, but they had tried to help her and they did not deserve the death the beasts would give them.

  She looked at Felix. His handsome features wavered between an expression of hopeless fear and one of wild exultation. She understood how that could happen. She had often felt the same way when Karl had driven too fast along the rutted road in his cart. A sort of tingly feeling, of being excited and scared and happy all at once. Felix didn’t look very happy, though, which was the difference.

  The dwarf did. His brutal features were twisted into a grim smile that revealed his missing teeth. Kat was sure that he noticed her looking at him, because he turned and winked in her direction. Either he was not afraid or he was a very good actor, she decided.

  They both looked brave in their own way. And looking at their well-used weapons, she knew they must both be great warriors. The runes on Felix’s sword glowed with an inner fire like some enchanted blade in a story. Gotrek’s axe looked as if it could knock down a tree with one sweep. But in the end she knew it would not matter; they were doomed. The beasts would see to that.

  Despite herself she gasped when they entered the clearing. The leader, the one who held the snuffling mutant on the end of his chain, was the same one who had spared her in the inn the previous evening. She knew he had come looking for her, just for her, to rectify his error. His followers were some of those she had seen rampaging through the village. They were all massive; taller than Felix, heavier than Gotrek. Seeing the two warriors standing by the fire she realised what an unequal contest it was. Man against monster; outnumbered and outmatched, they would have no chance.

  For a second they stood frozen, facing each other. Caught up in the drama of the situation Kat forgot her own fears. She held her breath. Gotrek crouched like a great gargoyle, his axe held lightly in one hand. Felix stood in the classic pose of the fencer that she had once seen the noble Hugo use at practice. Massed against them were the misshapen beasts, slouching confidently, weapons at ease.

  She heard Gotrek’s rumbled ‘Ready, manling?’, and Felix’s answering ‘As I’ll ever be.’ She saw the Slayer run his thumb over the blade of his axe until a bead of blood glistened on its tip. She heard his mad laughter and saw him charge. Felix followed in his footsteps. Unable to watch them get cut down, she closed her eyes.

  She heard a great crunch and a howl of pain. That was the dwarf, she knew. He was the first to die. She heard the ring of steel on steel and the hoarse grunts of exertion followed by more cries of pain. Felix had gone too. But still the sound of fighting went on, longer than she would have thought possible. But eventually the sound of battle faded, as she had known it would. Burned hollow with terror, she opened her eyes to face her fate.

  Felix charged. Ahead of him he saw the Slayer leap to one side as a spear lashed out at him. Gotrek caught the shaft with his left hand and moved forward, sliding his grip along the spear’s length, holding it immobile as he closed. Once within striking distance he lashed out with his axe, splitting the astonished beastman’s skull like a melon. There was a crunch and a strangled howl of pain. Good, thought Felix; one less to worry about.

  He engaged blade to blade with a scimitar-wielding monstrosity. His sword rang against it, notching the rusted steel of his opponent’s weapon. The thing was strong but unskilled. With a life of its own, Felix’s enchanted blade
found its way through the creature’s guard. Within a matter of seconds he had it bleeding from several small cuts. It let out an angry bellow and hewed at him with a stroke that could have cut Felix in half. He leapt back, parrying wildly. Sparks flew as the blades made contact. His arm felt numb from the impact.

  He looked up into the beastman’s face. Foam flecked its lips and madness danced in its eyes. It lashed out again, its blade a blurring arc. Reflexively Felix ducked beneath it and stepped forward, his blade skewering up. The beast’s warm entrails poured out over his hands. It reeled back trying to hold in its intestines with one hand, whimpering like a stuck pig. The other beastman had recovered from the surprise of being attacked and leapt into the fray.

  It charged forward, head down, spear aimed at a point six inches behind Felix’s back. The beastman slipped on his companion’s guts and fell at Felix’s feet. The young warrior offered up a prayer of gratitude to Sigmar and beheaded it with one easy stroke. He turned, sword sweeping, and put the other one out of its misery.

  Gotrek had disposed of his two lesser foes and was engaged in a duel with the beastman leader. The mutant-tracker was nowhere to be seen. It had fled. Looking at the scene of carnage Felix reconstructed what must have happened. The Slayer’s sudden charge, two great rending strokes, the first of which had split a skull, the second of which had staved in rib cages. The eyeless beast was made of sterner stuff.

  Axe and club flickered back and forth with sight-blurring speed. Sparks flew as starmetal bit into the steel studs covering the bludgeon’s head. The beast was larger but slower. The impact of the Slayer’s axe drove him back with every stroke. Felix wondered whether he should help Gotrek but decided against it. Gotrek wouldn’t thank him and the possibility of being accidentally caught by a stroke of his axe was too frightening to contemplate.