Gotrek & Felix- the Third Omnibus - William King & Nathan Long

by Warhammer

  He could just see the figure of an old man, gnarled as an oak branch and just as tough-looking. He was wearing trews and a pleated cloak of a tartan pattern that blended into the undergrowth. A long sword was slung across his back. He leaned on a long spear as if it were a staff. His nose was small and snub, his smile wide, his teeth yellow and feral-looking. There was a malicious glint in his bright blue eyes as he returned Felix’s inspection. Strange angular tattoos blotched his cheek and brow. ‘The Empire,’ said Felix. The old man laughed.

  ‘No one from the Empire has made it through the mists in a long time, not since my grandfather’s time, when those hell-spawned greenskins arrived.’

  ‘You mean orcs – they are not from the Empire,’ said Felix.

  ‘They occupy the same clanlands,’ said the old man.

  ‘And men from the Empire arrived at the same time?’ asked Teclis. The old man gave him a look of studied contempt.

  ‘Only your folk come and go as they please, spawn of Naggaroth,’ said the old man. ‘And by the time this night is out, there will be one less of those unless you surrender your weapons.’

  Gotrek simply gave him an incredulous look. The stranger raised his hand and gave a piercing whistle.

  From out of the long grass a score of archers appeared. Most astonishingly of all for Felix, from out of the mere more spearmen appeared, their long harpoons like spears drawn back to cast.

  ‘There’s no need for violence,’ said Teclis.

  ‘I’m afraid there is,’ said the old man. ‘Unless you surrender your weapons now.’

  ‘You will take this axe from my cold dead hand,’ said Gotrek. ‘Though it pains me to have to defend an elf.’

  Felix flinched, expecting at any moment to feel an arrow bury itself in his back or his eye. Things were certainly not looking good, he thought. Just then the rain started again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The old man gestured again, and suddenly arrows flashed through the air. Felix threw himself flat, aiming for the oldster, but with surprising agility for a man his age, he had already rolled behind the rock, out of sight. Felix cursed and glanced back to see if Gotrek or the elf had been hit. He was astounded by what he saw.

  The arrows bounced away from the area around them, repelled by a glowing sphere centred on the elf mage. Teclis gestured again and the men of Albion all stood frozen. A few gave gasps of fear, but they stood still as stone. Felix looked at the ones who had seemingly emerged from the water like mermen. He could see that each of them held a cut reed in his mouth, most likely as a tube to breathe through. It was a trick he had heard of, but it spoke of enormous patience, not to mention courage, to actually be able to use it.

  Felix looked behind the rock and saw that the old man stood there. Frozen. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, as he tried to resist the spell. Felix considered very briefly running him through with his sword, but resisted the impulse. He was tired and scared but there was no need for killing just on that account. Yet.

  ‘Your magic is strong, servant of Malekith, but the Light will overcome.’

  Felix glanced at the elf, expecting him to look angry. Instead he looked amused. ‘It seems that we have another who shares your opinion of elves, Gotrek Gurnisson.’

  ‘A sensible man,’ said Gotrek. ‘It would pain me to have to slay him. And there’s no honour in taking an axe to men who stand like sheep for the slaughter.’

  ‘Your familiar speaks truth,’ said the old man. ‘Free us and let us settle this like warriors.’

  Wrath clouded Gotrek’s face. He looked as if he was going to take his axe to the old man there and then. ‘I have never been familiar with an elf,’ he said.

  Felix shook his head. Diplomacy was obviously not the strong suit of anybody around here. He looked closer at the old man. His face was tattooed in odd geometric patterns that reminded Felix of something. Of course, he thought, the runes on the standing stones. ‘Are you really so tired of living, old man?’ he said. ‘Not content with ordering an attack on a powerful wizard, you must insult a dwarf Slayer. There is a fine line between courage and stupidity, and you have crossed it.’

  ‘And you are obviously enthralled by elvish magic. I have seen it often. Good men often return as slaves in the service of the Dark Ones.’

  ‘That makes all three of us now,’ said Felix. He looked at the elf for a lead. Max Schreiber had told him how draining magic could be, but the elf showed no sign of any strain at holding a score of warriors immobile. What were they to do, Felix wondered? We can’t just slit these men’s throats, can we?

  ‘I am not what you think I am,’ said Teclis. ‘I am no servant of the Witch King. Indeed I have been his enemy for many years.’

  ‘So you say,’ said the old man. ‘But I have only your word for that.’

  ‘Tell me, does it mean nothing to you that I hold you in my power, and yet have spared your lives, despite your insults to myself and my companions?’

  ‘This could just be some elvish trick. You may wish to enthral us or bring doom on us in some dark and terrible way…’

  Fire entered the wizard’s eyes and when he spoke his words were full of menace. He became a figure of immense power, suddenly cloaked in a strange majesty. His face looked carved from stone.

  ‘I am Teclis, of the line of Aenarion, of the firstborn of Ulthuan. If I wished to destroy you or enthral you or bring doom down upon your pitiful barbarian village, it would already be done and there is nothing that you or your followers or your childish magic could do to stop me, old man.’

  Felix believed him. At that moment, he was as menacing as anything Felix had ever seen, and he had looked upon powerful daemons in his time. At that moment there was something almost daemonic about the elf himself. Then Teclis shrugged and the spell was broken. Suddenly the old man and his followers were free to move. They slumped to the ground, weapons slipping from nerveless fingers.

  ‘Fortunately for you, I do not,’ said Teclis. ‘We require food and shelter and a place to sleep for the night. You will give it to us, and in the morning we will be on our way. You will be recompensed for your trouble.’

  Almost as if the words were torn from his throat unwillingly, the old man said, ‘Aye, as you wish. For this night and this night only you will be guests in Crannog Mere.’

  Felix had heard heartier welcomes. He wondered if the elf knew what he was doing. Maybe they would wake up in the night to find knives buried in their throats. He looked at the elf and then at Gotrek and decided no, that was not going to happen. Whatever doom might lie in wait for this pair, it would not be a knife in the dark from some barbarian tribesman.

  They followed the barbarians down to the edge of the water. Felix never took his eyes off them, for he feared that at any moment, despite their leader’s words, they might turn and attack. If that happened, he knew there would be carnage.

  At the water’s edge the men walked straight in. Felix gasped, for they seemed to be walking on water. Their feet barely sank below the surface even though the water had been deep enough to conceal spearmen. Was this some new form of magic, he wondered?

  Teclis followed them and so did Gotrek with barely a shrug and a sniff. Knowing that the others were waiting for him, Felix put his feet in the water and the answer to the mystery became clear. Just below the surface was a narrow causeway, cunningly concealed so that it could only be seen from close at hand. The men of Crannog Mere obviously knew the way by heart for they did not need to look down. Nor did Gotrek, who always seemed sure-footed in these situations. Close inspection revealed that the elf really was floating just slightly above the surface of the water, effortlessly and doubtless by the use of magic. Felix had to keep his eyes down as he moved for the causeway wound about like a snake, to confuse attackers. It was a simple and effective system, as simple as using this fen as a moat.

  As they approached the gate, women armed with bows and spears hailed them. They were mounted on the low wooden parapet that surrounded the ma
in island, certainly the central fortification for the community. It was obvious they had been hiding while their menfolk waited. It was equally obvious that at least some of the women here were prepared to fight alongside their men.

  ‘They are guests, Klara,’ said the old man. ‘They are not enemies for this night at least.’

  ‘But one of them is a Dark One…’

  Gotrek cackled.

  ‘And the other appears to be some form of squat daemon.’ The dwarf’s laughter stopped abruptly and he stroked his axe-blade meaningfully.

  ‘I am a dwarf of the Worlds Edge Mountains,’ he said.

  ‘Och, and what might they be?’ the woman enquired. Gotrek did not deign to reply, although he looked like he was considering taking an axe to the gate. Felix wondered at the isolation of this place. He had grown up in a city where elves and dwarfs could oft times be seen walking the streets. He supposed that a tiny village in the middle of a bog was slightly less cosmopolitan.

  ‘Nonetheless they are our guests,’ said the old man. ‘They had us in their power and they did not kill us. They say they are not our foes and until they prove differently we will take them at their word.’

  ‘I wondered why ye were standing there like big glaked nambies,’ said the woman. ‘Magicians, are they?’

  ‘One of them is, and very powerful too. More so even than the Wise One, unless I miss my guess.’

  ‘She’ll no thank ye tae be saying that,’ said the woman.

  ‘Are we going to stand here all night discussing this, woman, or shall you open the gate?’ The old man asked.

  ‘I suppose we shall be opening the gate then.’ It creaked open and they strode within, to be greeted by the smell of peatsmoke and middens and fish, and the barking of dogs and the crying of children. Teclis raised his hands to his nose and coughed delicately.

  ‘I’ve smelled worse,’ said Gotrek.

  ‘I doubt you ever bathe,’ said the elf. It took some time for Felix to realise that he was making a joke. He suspected that Gotrek ever would. He glanced around as they walked through the street. One small boy, cheeks stained with soot, looked at him and burst into tears. Other children were hustled away by their mothers. They moved to the huge turf-roofed hall that dominated the central mound. The eyes that watched them were hostile. If Felix had had to guess he would have said most of the hostility and fear were aimed at Gotrek and Teclis, but still the villagers managed to reserve a small portion for him too. It looked like it was going to be an uncomfortable night.

  The hall was long and low and dimly lit by torches soaked in pitch and lamps that contained some sort of scented oil. The place was obviously some sort of communal feasting and living chamber. A massive fireplace dominated one wall. Another was covered in what appeared to be small kegs of spirit. The men tossed off their cloaks and threw themselves down where they could, to sit cross-legged or squat as they saw fit. Their weapons never left them, though, and Felix noticed that there were still sentries at the gate.

  ‘I am Murdo Mac Baldoch, welcome to this hall,’ said the old man.

  ‘I am Teclis of Ulthuan, I thank you for your welcome.’

  ‘Gotrek, son of Gurni.’

  ‘Felix Jaeger of Altdorf. I thank you for your welcome.’

  Murdo went round the room and introduced each of the men in turn. From outside he could see the women peering in. They looked curious and frightened in equal measure. Felix guessed that they did not see too many strangers in these parts, and those that they did were most likely enemies. The fortifications gave that much away about this place. Men did not build such things without good need for them.

  The old man picked up a goblet from the stands and tapped one of the kegs. The smell of strong alcohol became obvious as some form of golden spirit emerged. He took the goblet, sampled it himself, and then handed it to Teclis. The elf looked at it, sniffed it, and said, ‘The fabled whisky of Albion. I thank you.’

  He drank a sip and held the goblet. Murdo repeated the process with Gotrek who gave the elf a contemptuous glance and then tossed it back in one. The feat drew gasps of what Felix took to be admiration from the tribesmen.

  ‘Och, you are a drinking man, Gotrek Gurnisson,’ said Murdo.

  ‘I am a dwarf,’ said Gotrek. ‘The whisky is good – for a human brew.’

  ‘You’ll be having another then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Murdo refilled Gotrek’s goblet and brought one to Felix. He sniffed it. The smell of the alcohol was very powerful. He took a sip and almost spluttered. It burned his tongue and sent powerful fumes racing up the back of his throat and into his nostrils. The taste was slightly smoky but not unpleasant if you were used to it. It was certainly no worse than Kislevite potato vodka.

  ‘Very good,’ he said, noting that Gotrek had drained the second goblet and looked no worse for wear. This time there was general applause from the tribesmen. Whatever else they might think of strangers, the men of Albion obviously appreciated a good drinker. As if this were a signal, each of the men took up a goblet and tapped a cask. It seemed like each had his own separate one, or perhaps it was that each family had one. He noticed that groups of men all drank from the same cask, but that was the only pattern he could put to it.

  All of them took up places by the walls, sitting with their backs to it, looking inwards into the circle. Someone produced a set of small windpipes and what appeared to be a fiddle, and music began to play. The scent of cooking food began to overcome the midden murk.

  ‘And what brings you to Albion, wizard of Ulthuan?’ Murdo asked. His face was bland but keen interest showed in his eyes. Felix noticed that he only sipped at his whisky while others attempted to repeat Gotrek’s feat. Felix could tell the Slayer was listening even though he appeared to be doing nothing more than staring into the fire.

  ‘I am on a quest,’ said Teclis. ‘As are my companions.’

  ‘A quest is it? The work of wizards and wise ones, no doubt. I shall not pry.’

  ‘You are not prying, friend Murdo. Perhaps you can be of assistance. I seek the Oracle of the Truthsayers, or failing that, an ancient temple perhaps recently occupied by the forces of darkness.’

  Felix could have sworn that the glint in the old man’s eyes grew brighter. He nodded. ‘And what would you do if you found her?’

  ‘I would ask her help. I have great need of it.’

  ‘It is not often one of your kind would admit that.’

  ‘These are dark times.’

  ‘Aye, the world over, it seems. You spoke of a temple – what do you know of this?’

  ‘It is said to be the work of the Old Ones. Do you know ought of them?’

  This time the old man definitely flinched. Felix could see his fingers toy with an amulet on his breast. For the first time, Felix noticed there were runes on the stone tip of the old man’s spear. He was undoubtedly a wizard of some sort.

  ‘I know of them, although these are not the sort of things a wise man speaks of in public. There are sacred mysteries involved.’

  ‘It is a matter for the Truthsayers then?’ The old man looked a little shocked now.

  ‘You are very learned.’

  The elf smiled with what Felix took to be mock self-depreciation.

  ‘What would you do if you found a temple like the one you seek and it was occupied by dark powers?’

  ‘I would cast them out, or failing that make sure they could not use the power that lies within the temple for their own evil purposes.’

  ‘You and your two companions are going to do this? You have set yourself no easy task.’

  ‘You know of the things of which I speak then?’

  ‘I know of such things.’

  ‘Will you tell me of them? I cannot reveal all of my reasons but I believe that my quest will also help your people.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Has the earth recently shook? Has the weather gotten worse?’

  ‘The weather is always bad in Albion but recen
tly it has seemed particularly so. Great storms lash the lands. Rivers flood. Villages are swept away. A great curse has settled on our land, Teclis of Ulthuan. First the greenskins descended from the mountains in their hordes and then all of the things you have described have happened. Some say the Gods of Light have turned their faces from Albion and that the Seven watch over us no longer.’

  ‘All of these things are linked, I am sure,’ said the elf. ‘Old magics have been woken by evil men. These spells are centred on Albion. If there is a curse, it has a source, and that source can be cleansed.’

  ‘So the Oracle claims and I believe her. She says the old paths have been opened and daemons are creeping through them. Some claim she is senile and that the sight has left her, but I myself am not so sure.’

  ‘Your people are divided in this matter?’

  ‘The Truthsayers are.’

  ‘Again you speak of the order of wizards of Albion…’

  ‘Aye, how came you to be familiar with such things?’

  ‘There are texts in my library in… but you are the first I have met.’

  ‘First and least, Teclis of Ulthuan. I am not a great wizard, so do not judge the power of my brotherhood by my own.’

  ‘You are not the least of mortal wizards I have faced, Murdo, and there is no shame in being bested by me. In my time I have faced down the Witch King himself.’

  ‘That is a boast that few would ever dare make lest it bring the anger of the Dark One down on them.’

  ‘It is nothing short of the truth.’ Such was the elf’s manner that Felix could see the old man was swayed.

  ‘They say the elves have silver tongues,’ he said.

  ‘It was yellow livers I always heard,’ muttered Gotrek. A massive tattooed man was staring at him. Gotrek looked up and downed another goblet of whisky.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ the man asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gotrek, ‘but it’s looking back.’

  Felix studied the warrior. He was as broad as Gotrek and near as brutal-looking. His nose had been mashed several times by the look of things, and his ears were as cauliflowered as those of a prize fighter. His head was bald and he had a long ginger beard. He was muscled like a blacksmith. He was soon to be a dead man if he provoked the dwarf, Felix thought.