Trollslayer

by William King

  An old man sat cross-legged on a rush mat near the door of a blockhouse, smoking a long curved pipe. He and a young boy were playing draughts with pebbles on a board scratched in the earth. He looked up from his game and eyed Felix with the finely honed suspicion of the woodsman for the stranger, before blowing out several lines of smoke rings into the air. Messner waved to him, a kind of curt salute, and the old man returned it with a convoluted gesture of his left hand. Was he warding off the evil eye, Felix wondered, or communicating in some sign language?

  He studied the little town with interest, paying special attention to the burly men carrying large two-handed axes. Their faces were covered with multicoloured scar-tattoos. Their eyes were narrow and watchful. They stomped through the muddy streets in high fur-trimmed boots with all the arrogant assurance of a Middenheim Templar. Sometimes they paused to exchange gossip with the fat fur-hatted traders or to leer at a pretty nut-brown girl carrying pails from the river to the drinking water barrels.

  A pot-bellied man shouted Messner over to inspect a pile of furs spread out on wicker mats in front of him. They were obviously the pick of some trapper’s haul. Messner shook his head in a friendly manner and strolled on. He stopped only to let laughing barefoot children chase a pig in front of him.

  They passed a smokehouse in front of which hung great hams and half carcasses of boar. The smoky smell of the meat made Felix’s mouth water. Chickens hung by their necks from thongs attached to the eaves. Felix was reminded uncomfortably of the men hanging from the gibbet outside Kleindorf and he looked away again.

  Messner wandered over to the house of a scribe and after a brief consultation took a brush and ink and inscribed something on a tiny piece of paper. Then they marched over to a coop outside one of the blockhouses in which were six fat grey pigeons. Messner rolled the paper up and put it in a steel ring. Then he reached into the coop and took out one of the birds. He ringed it, released it and watched with some satisfaction as it fluttered skyward.

  ‘Well, duty done an’ the old Duke warned,’ he said. ‘Maybe Flensburg will be safe yet.’

  Felix thought it might be; it was certainly defensible enough and there must be nearly seven hundred people here. Flensburg lay near the bend of the river, and resembled a great logging camp more than a village or town. It was walled on two sides with a ditch and a wooden palisade. The curve of the river protected the other two sides. From jetties, rafts and great piles of lumber were poled out into the stream to drift to the-gods-knew-what market – probably Nuln eventually, Felix thought.

  As they approached, they had seen dozens of the square wooden blockhouses within the thick wooden walls, each built like a miniature fort, with their stout log walls and their flat turf ceilings. The place spoke of the functional; he imagined some of the buildings were storehouses and trading posts. One had a crude hammer shape made from two logs stuck onto the roof – a temple to Sigmar.

  Once through the heavy fortified gate, he had seen that the people of Flensburg were like their town: dour, spare, functional. Most of the men were garbed in fur; they were sullen, hard-faced and hard-eyed. They looked at the strangers warily. Their watchfulness seemed inbred. Most carried heavy woodsman’s axes. Some, the ones garbed in functional ranger’s clothing, carried bows. The women wore gayer colours, thick multi-layered skirts, padded jerkins; their hair was wrapped in red spotted scarves. Matrons marched down the muddy streets carrying baskets of produce, trailed by processions of children like mother ducks leading a line of young.

  The people here near the southern border of the woods were shorter than the citizens of the Empire’s cities. Their hair was predominantly sandy-brown and their complexions darker and more tanned. Felix knew that they had a reputation as a gloomy, god-fearing folk, superstitious, poor and ill-educated. Looking at these people he could believe it, but he knew that his city-bred prejudices told only half the story.

  He had not been prepared for their pride and fearlessness. He had expected something like the downtrodden serfs of a noble’s estate. He had found people who looked him fearlessly in the eye and stood tall and straight in the frightening shadows of the great forest. He had thought Messner exceptional but he could see he was typical of his folk. Felix had expected serfs and found freemen, and for some reason that pleased him.

  Gotrek looked at the walls and the blockhouses, and turned to Messner. ‘Best call your people and tell them what to expect. It won’t be good.’

  Felix stared out from the watchtower across the cleared area surrounding the village towards the woods beyond. Now that he was out of their shadow, the trees seemed threatening again: giant, alien, alive, their gloom giving shelter to something inimical. He watched the last stragglers of the day filter in through the gates. Beside him, Messner kept watch with his cold grey eyes.

  ‘Things look bad an’ that’s for sure,’ he said.

  ‘I would have thought you often had to deal with the beasts, living in these woods.’

  ‘Right enough we fight them and the outcasts and other things every now and again. But it’s always been skirmishes. They steal a child, we kill a few. They raid for pigs, we hunt them down. Sometimes we have to send to the old Duke for troops an’ mount an expedition when the raids get too fierce. Ain’t seen nothin’ like this before though. Somethin’s got them stirred up bad an’ that’s for sure.’

  ‘Could it be this woman, this champion?’

  ‘Seems more than likely. You hear about them in the old stories – the Dark Ones, the champions of Chaos – but you never expect to come across them.’

  ‘There have been times when I’ve thought that those old stories contain much truth,’ Felix said. ‘I’ve seen a few strange things in my travels. I’m not so quick to doubt these days.’

  ‘That’s right true, Herr Jaeger. An’ I’m glad to hear an educated man like yourself admit as such. I’ve seen a few strange things myself in these woods. An’ there’s many an old tale of me da’s I don’t doubt either. They say there’s a Black Altar in those woods somewhere. A thing dedicated to the Dark Ones where humans are sacrificed. They say beastmen and other… things… worship there.’

  They lapsed into uneasy silence. Felix felt gloom settle over him. All this talk of the Dark Ones had unsettled him and left him deeply uneasy. He glanced out once more into the clearing.

  The women and children had stopped working in the fields and were returning to the safety of the walls, their baskets full of potatoes and turnips. Felix knew that they would take them to the storehouses. The village was preparing itself for a siege. The other women, who had been gathering nuts and herbs in the wood, had returned hours ago when the great warning horn was blown.

  The foresters and woodsmen were within, checking the water barrels were full, whittling stakes and attaching the metal heads to spears. From behind him he could hear the continuous whizz and thunk of arrows impacting on targets as the archery practice continued.

  Felix wondered whether it made more sense for him to stay or slip off into the woods. Maybe he could take a raft and drift away downriver. He did not know which was worse – the thought of being alone in the forest or of being trapped here with the forces of Chaos closing in. He tried to dismiss these thoughts as unworthy, to remember Gotrek’s words about mastering fear, but the terror of being trapped in the maze of trees nagged constantly at the back of his mind.

  As he looked out, a group of rangers hurried across the fields; Felix could see that they were carrying someone wounded. One kept glancing back over his shoulder as if expecting pursuit. Two of the remaining women moved to help him.

  ‘That’s Mikal and Dani,’ Messner said. ‘Looks like there’s been trouble. Better go and find out what’s happened. Stay here, keep your eyes peeled; if anything happens, blow the horn.’

  He thrust the great instrument into Felix’s hand, and before he could raise any objections Messner had swung himself down thr
ough the trapdoor and was halfway down the ladder. Felix shrugged and stroked the smooth metal of the horn with his fingers. The cool weight was reassuring even if he was uncertain as to his ability to sound it. He glanced down at the top of the hunter’s head, noticing for the first time the bald spot on the top of his skull. He gave his attention back to the fields.

  The men reeled forward bearing their companion. The gates creaked open and villagers rushed forward to help them, Messner in the lead. Felix saw the way they all jumped to obey the duke’s man’s orders. That Messner was something of a leader in the community had become obvious at the great public meeting held in the village square that afternoon. Burly lumberjacks and old men, stout housewives and slim girls alike had listened to his soft jovial voice as he outlined the danger approaching.

  No one had argued with him or doubted him. With Messner to vouch for them, there had been no questioning of Gotrek or Felix’s story. They had even listened respectfully to Kat, though she was just a child. He could remember all that had been said and done even now, after they had stopped speaking. The silence, the grim fatalistic expressions on the folk’s faces, the warm afternoon sun on the back of his neck. He remembered the way the women with babies had turned and taken them to the central blockhouse, the Temple of Sigmar. The crowd had parted wordlessly to let them pass.

  Equally wordlessly, the men had divided into squads of archers and axe-men. It was obvious to Felix that he was watching a well-practiced routine devised for just this eventuality. Messner had given orders in his usual calm voice. There was no shouting here, nor any need for it. These people had the discipline of those for whom discipline represented the only means of survival in a harsh land.

  In a way, he had envied them their sense of community; they relied on each other implicitly. As far as he could tell, no one doubted the ability or loyalty of anyone else. It must be the flip side of the coin of living in an isolated community, he realised. Everyone here had known each other for most of their lives. The bonds of trust must be hard and strong.

  For a time it had seemed to Felix that he was the only one out of place here, but then he noticed Kat. She too stood slightly apart from the crowd, marked among the children present as much by her strange hair as by her grubby clothing. He had felt a strong sense of sympathy for her then and wondered what would become of her. From what she and Messner had discussed en route, he had gathered she was an orphan. Felix’s own mother had died when he was still a child and this had strengthened his feeling of sympathy for her.

  Was she important to the Dark Warrior, he wondered? Had the beastmen he had fought been simple scouts or had they been seeking Kat? Not for the first time in his life he found himself wishing he knew more of the ways of Darkness. Knowing that to be a sinful thought, he pushed it aside.

  He heard the wounded man groaning below as they brought him through the gate.

  Kat hurried to the base of the watchtower, feeling a need for solitude. She had grown tired of sitting near the big central fire. Even the presence of Gotrek did not reassure her. She felt very lonely here amidst all the busy adults. There was no one, really, to talk to and for the first time it was coming home to her that she knew no one in this world now and had no place in it. The flames reminded her too much of the burning of Kleindorf. The ladder creaked slightly under her bare feet. She ascended, nimble as a monkey, to the watchpost.

  Felix was sitting alone, staring out into the darkness. The sun had long ago set, like a bloody smear on the horizon. The greater moon had drifted skyward. Silver light washed down. A slight breeze chilled Kat’s cheeks and made the forest whisper and rustle menacingly. Felix watched it as if hypnotised, lost in his own dark thoughts. She scuttled swiftly over and sat cross-legged beside him.

  ‘Felix, I’m scared,’ she said. He looked down at her and smiled.

  ‘Me too, little one.’

  ‘Stop doing that!’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Calling me “little one”. The same as Gotrek does. He never calls anyone by their proper names, does he? My name is Kat. You should call me that.’

  Felix smiled at her. ‘All right, Kat. Could you do something for me? It might be important for us all.’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Tell me about your parents.’

  ‘I don’t have any.’

  ‘Everyone has a mother and father, Kat.’

  ‘Not me. I was found by Heide, Karl’s wife, in a basket where she always picked berries.’

  Felix laughed. ‘You were found under a berry bush?’

  ‘It’s not funny, Felix. They say there was a she-monster nearby. The villagers killed it. They wanted to kill me too but Heide wouldn’t let them.’ Felix struggled to keep his face straight. His mirth vanished when he saw how serious her expression was.

  ‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t funny.’

  ‘They took me in and looked after me. Now they’re dead.’

  ‘Did Karl and Heide have any idea who your parents were? Any idea at all?’

  ‘Why are you asking this, Felix? Is it really important?’

  ‘It could be.’

  Kat thought back, to that night when old Karl had got drunk. He and Heide had thought she was asleep. She had slipped down to the kitchen to get a drink of water and overheard them talking. When she had realised that they were talking about her, she had frozen in place on the other side of the door. The memory of that evening came flooding back. She had wanted to ask them more, ask them what they had meant but she had been too scared to. Now she realised she would never get the chance.

  ‘I once heard them talk about a young girl at the castle who had hair like mine,’ she said quietly, struggling to remember it all. ‘Her name was Justine. She was a distant cousin of Lord Klein or something, a poor relation who had come to live with the family. She vanished the year before I was born. No one ever found out what happened to her.’

  ‘I think I know,’ Felix said softly.

  Footsteps approached the bottom of the tower. The ladder trembled and Messner’s head poked through the trapdoor.

  ‘There you are, Herr Jaeger. I’ve come to relieve you. Go below and get something to eat. You too, child. No sign of Rolf? He’s still missing.’

  ‘I haven’t seen anything,’ Felix said.

  ‘I wonder what could have happened to him.’

  ‘What is your name?’ Justine asked. The bearded man whom her scouts had captured spat at her. She nodded to Malor. The beastman brought his fist forward. There was a crack as ribs broke. The man slumped. If it had not been for the two beasts supporting him he would have fallen.

  ‘What is your name?’

  The man opened his mouth. Blood trickled down his chin and onto his leather jerkin. Justine reached out and took some on her fingertip. When she tasted it, it felt warm and salty and strength flowed through her.

  ‘Rolf,’ he said eventually. Justine knew then that he would tell her whatever she asked. She knew that it had not been the foresters who had killed Tryell’s band. The tracker who had survived the assault on the camp had told her about the girl’s guardians.

  ‘There is a dwarf and a blond-haired man travelling with a young girl. Tell me about them.’

  ‘Go to the hell that spawned you.’

  ‘That I will… eventually,’ Justine said. ‘But you will be there to greet me.’

  He shrieked as one of the beastmen dislocated his shoulder. His entire body stiffened with pain. The muscles in his neck stood out like taut wires. Eventually the tale of how he had met with the dwarf, the man and the girl in the forest came tumbling from his cracked lips. At last the man stopped speaking and stood before her, drained by his own confession.

  ‘Take him to the altar!’ Justine commanded.

  The man tried to struggle as they carried him towards Kazakital’s cairn. His efforts to escape were futile. The b
easts were too strong and too many. He wept with terror when he saw what awaited him. He was more daunted by the sight of that great cairn and the black altar atop it than he had been when he was taken captive by the beasts. He must know what’s coming, Justine thought. The sight of the heads of Lord Klein and Hugo seemed to scare him most of all.

  ‘No! Not that!’ he shrieked.

  She saw to his binding herself and carried him to the altar easily. The army gathered in anticipation of what was coming. As the moon broke through the clouds she gestured for the drummers to begin. Soon the great drum sounded rhythmic and slow as a heartbeat.

  She stood atop the cairn and sensed the slow gathering of forces. She looked out and down at a sea of animal faces. They were upturned, eyes bright with anticipation. She drew her sword and brandished it above her head.

  ‘Blood for the Blood God!’ she shouted.

  ‘Skulls for the skull throne!’ The answering cry was torn from a hundred throats.

  ‘Blood for the Blood God!’

  ‘Skulls for the skull throne!’ The response was even louder this time. It rumbled like thunder in the woods.

  ‘Blood for the Blood God!’

  ‘Skulls for the skull throne!’

  The blade came down and parted Rolf’s ribs. She reached forward and stuck her gauntleted hand into the sticky mass of the man’s innards. There was a hideous sucking noise as she tore the heart free and held it high over her head.

  Somewhere, in a space beyond space, in a time beyond time, something stirred and came in answer to her call. It flowed inwards, spiralling from beyond. In the space over the altar a red pulsing darkness gathered. It flowed into the heart she held above her and it began to beat once again. She reached out and placed the heart back within the sacrifice’s chest.

  For a moment, nothing happened and all was silence, then a great scream emerged from the throat of the thing that had once been Rolf. The flesh of the corpse’s chest flowed together and began to smoke. The corpse sat upright on the altar. Its eyes opened and Justine recognised the intelligence which peered out from within. The body was temporarily possessed by the mind of her daemonic patron, Kazakital.