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

by Warhammer

  If a fight broke out here in this enclosed space there would be carnage, thought Felix. If the wizard joined in, the village would most likely be levelled and these people so far had done them no harm. They seemed more scared by their own troubles than anything else, and Felix could understand their mistrust of outsiders. It had to be said that after the rigours of the past few days, he was not keen on fighting himself at the moment.

  ‘You think you’re strong, wee man,’ said the stranger, grinning. He interlinked his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

  ‘I am a dwarf, but can see you are too thick-skulled to remember that.’

  The whole place had fallen silent. ‘Now, Culum,’ said Murdo. ‘These folk are our guests and we be wanting no trouble.’

  ‘I was thinking more of some sport,’ said the bruiser.

  ‘And what sort of sport would that be?’ said Gotrek.

  ‘Can ye arm-wrestle?’

  Gotrek laughed. ‘Can you ask stupid questions?’ he retorted. Felix was pleased to see that the whisky had apparently mellowed the Slayer enough so that he did not reach for the axe. He stood and flexed his fingers. Both of them leaned forward over the table and grasped hands. The tribesmen had begun to chant Culum’s name. ‘He has never lost a bout,’ said Murdo proudly. Felix could see that there was some family resemblance between the two.

  Huge muscles flexed. Felix studied the pair. Culum was even more massive than Gotrek and his shoulders were huge but his arms were not as thick, and there was something about dwarfs, Felix knew, that made them stronger than humans of comparable mass. He had never worked out quite what it was. And Gotrek was strong, even for a dwarf.

  Watching them Felix was aware that enormous power was at war here. Culum looked capable of uprooting treestumps with his bare hands. His muscles bulged, sweat beaded his brow. Slowly but surely, the Slayer’s arm was forced backward. The tribesmen cheered louder. The smile on the human’s face widened. Gotrek took a slug of whisky with his free hand, and grinned, showing his rotten teeth. The movement of his arm towards the table slowed and stopped. Felix was amazed that he could hold it at that angle. Culum grinned back and pushed harder. Great cables of sinew writhed in his arm and neck.

  And yet, Gotrek’s arm did not move. Culum’s grin became sicklier as he pushed harder and harder. Veins bulged in his forehead and he looked as pop-eyed as a fish. Gotrek began to exert his strength. The human’s arm quivered and then was pushed back. The tribesmen’s cheering stopped. A hairsbreadth at a time, his arm was pushed back to the upright position, then slowly, inexorably, the human’s arm was forced back to the tabletop. It hit the wood with a slamming sound, and there was for a moment total silence. Then the tribesmen began to cheer and applaud. Gotrek glared at them, but it did not stop them from beating their goblets on the table or praising his strength.

  ‘That’s a feat of which the harpers will sing for many a moon,’ said Murdo. ‘I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself.’

  After the initial shock even Culum seemed to be taking it well. He grinned ruefully and offered Gotrek his hand. The Slayer grasped it briefly and then returned to his drinking.

  Food was brought, soup and coarse bread and cheese and cooked ham. The folk seemed friendlier now, but that might just have been the whisky. Felix noticed that the elf sipped his, and his goblet did not seem to empty by much after each sip. Felix decided that he had better emulate the elf. While the people were friendly enough now, he did not want to wake with his throat cut.

  As these dark thoughts raced through his mind, he noticed that the elf and the old man had been talking and seemed to have reached some sort of agreement. He glanced over at the Slayer, who helped himself to the food with melancholy relish. He noticed that Gotrek’s axe was within easy reach. Drunk or not, the dwarf was taking no chances. Felix wondered what was going on in the minds of their putative hosts.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Felix woke the next day to the sound of water washing against the walls of the village and the patter of rain on the roof. He felt quite warm and threw off his cloak, noticing that his sword lay within easy reach where he had left it. He glanced around the hall, and noticed that most of the men were still asleep, snoring loudly. Teclis sat on a wooden chair, his eyes open and fixed on the middle distance. He appeared to be in a trance. The Slayer was nowhere to be seen.

  Felix got up and rubbed his back. There was an ache there that lying on a straw pallet had done nothing to improve. He shrugged and reached down and fastened his sword belt to his waist. Somewhere in the distance he could smell fish cooking. He stepped outside into the mist and the rain. The chill bit him immediately and began to clear his head. He stretched and shrugged and did his best to loosen up.

  Strange dreams had troubled him the night before – dreams of daemons and the things he had seen within the Paths of the Old Ones. He touched the elvish amulet for reassurance and wondered what would happen if he slept without it. Was it really possible that he might become a victim of daemonic possession, or had the elf only said that to frighten him? It was one of those things that he was in no position to judge. Teclis was a wizard and he was not. More than that, he was an elf, and Felix had no way of guessing his motives. He had no idea what went on behind those cold slanted eyes. The thoughts might be as alien as those of a spider or a skaven for all he knew.

  ‘Good morning, bonnie lad,’ said a clear voice behind him.

  ‘Good morning, Klara,’ said Felix, turning to look at the wench who had greeted them at the gates yester eve.

  ‘You remembered my name,’ she said. ‘That be good.’

  ‘I am Felix Jaeger,’ he said, bowing and feeling stupid when she laughed.

  ‘An unusual name.’

  ‘Not where I come from,’ he said.

  ‘Och, and that would be the Empire.’

  ‘It seems word spreads fast around here.’

  ‘Fast as a dugout in a stream,’ she said. ‘This is a small village, and we are a small clan and to tell the truth, the men were bellowing so loudly about all manner of things that the womenfolk find them out whether they will it or no.’

  Felix laughed, amused more by her expression than her words. She seemed good-humoured and she was pretty. Her complexion was fair and freckled, her hair a deep reddish brown. Her lips were wide and her eyes clear blue. ‘And you’ll be going to see the Oracle,’ she said. ‘And she’ll decide what’s to be done with your elvish friend and his wee familiar.’

  ‘I would not let Gotrek hear you say that if I were you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s not a familiar, he’s a dwarf, and they have no liking to be associated with elves in any way, shape or form.’

  ‘And yet you are all travelling together…’

  ‘Circumstances are unusual,’ he said.

  ‘Must be. Must be. It’s been a strange year and your appearance no the least strange thing.’

  Felix felt his curiosity being piqued. ‘Is that so?’ he said, letting the words hang in the air.

  ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘That is so. There have been great storms and strange portents. Lightning dancing on the hilltops and horned men walking the marshes and the greenskins everywhere – a pox upon them all.’

  ‘Orcs, you mean?’

  ‘Yrki, orcs, greenskins, whatever word you wish to use. They be as bad as the Dark Ones – only ‘tis said they herd folk for eating instead of for slaves.’

  ‘I have heard that is so, though I have never seen it.’

  ‘And how would you know, pretty boy? You look more like a candidate for the Bardic college and you have not a scar upon ye, save for that wee scratch on your face.’

  Felix was not offended. He realised that he did not look or sound like most people’s idea of a warrior and he did not think of himself as one. ‘Nonetheless I have killed my share of greenskins,’ he said. ‘And maybe a few more.’

  ‘Och, away wi’ ye.’

  ‘It’s true, though if truth be t
old, Gotrek did most of the killing.’

  ‘The familiar? He has the look of a fell-handed one right enough, and that axe looks like it could dae some damage.’

  ‘It has,’ said Felix, and resisted the temptation to tell her a few stories. He realised that he was being pumped for information in exactly the same way as he was hoping to obtain knowledge from her. ‘But you were telling me of the strangeness of the year.’

  ‘Aye. ‘T’as been a bad one. The fishing has no been good, and the barley barely sprouted in the hills. They say the clans in the mountains be starving and the swamp beasts be on the prowl once more.’

  ‘Swamp beasts?’

  ‘Big bad things all covered in moss-like stuff and strong enough tae uproot trees if they have the mind.’

  ‘Like treemen?’ Felix asked, trying to relate them to something within his knowledge. Although, if truth be told, all he knew of treemen was what he had read in books. They were supposed to be allies of the elves, living beings half man, half tree and stronger than trolls, capable of crushing boulders within their gnarly fists.

  ‘I hae never seen a treeman, so I couldnae tell ye.’

  Felix shrugged and told her what he knew. ‘And you’ll be telling me you have fought these as well, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘No. Not yet anyway, although the way my life has been going it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘What do ye mean by that?’

  ‘It sometimes seems like I have fought just about half the monsters out of the old tales,’ he said.

  ‘Och, you’re just saying that tae impress me.’

  Felix laughed. ‘No, it’s true. Although to be honest, Gotrek did most of the fighting. I was really just there to watch.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I swore an oath to follow him and record his doom. He swore an oath to seek death in battle against the mightiest and most monstrous of foes.’

  ‘He disnae seem to have kept his oath very well then.’

  ‘It’s not for lack of trying.’

  ‘Aye, he has that driven look. I’ve seen it before on the faces of those who think they’ve heard their death spirits a-wailin’ although he has a face that would frighten even one of the Deaths.’

  ‘That he does.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll be wanting to seek out one of the swamp beasts then, to try his luck against them.’

  ‘Don’t say that too loud, he might hear you.’

  ‘I take it you’re no too keen on seeing his doom then.’

  ‘I’ve always thought that anything tough enough to bring Gotrek’s doom about would bring mine about very soon afterwards.’

  ‘You’re saying you’re a-feared o’ death then.’

  ‘Isn’t any sensible person?’

  ‘You will not hear too many o’ the menfolk around here admit such a thing. And I would not say it too loudly if I were you, lest they think you less than a man.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘A man here is proud of courage and of his deeds. He tells them at every opportunity. A boastful bunch they are, but they have much to boast about.’

  Felix was suddenly reminded of Teclis. Perhaps the elf would fit in here better than they. She misread his smile.

  ‘Don’t misjudge them,’ she said. ‘They are a fell-handed bunch of men.’

  ‘I better hope they don’t misjudge me then.’

  ‘I would not worry if I were you, Felix Jaeger. There are few around here who would make that mistake.’

  ‘I worry that there will be a misunderstanding. We did not come here looking for trouble. We came here on a quest of our own.’

  ‘This is Albion, bonnie laddie, trouble always finds you soon enough. And speaking of which, here is my husband…’

  Felix looked up to see Culum striding towards them. There was a scowl on his face when he looked at them. Felix suddenly regretted his easy manner. It had never occurred to him that anybody as free-spoken and flirtatious as Klara would be anything other than unmarried. The look on Culum’s face told him that it might be a fatal mistake if he made it again. Felix strode off quickly. Gotrek was the one who was seeking his doom here, not him.

  The Slayer looked out from the wooden ramparts into the gathering mists. He seemed unbothered by the rain and untroubled by the cold. Felix wished him a good morning.

  ‘What’s good about it, manling?’

  ‘We’re still alive,’ Felix was about to say, and then realised it was the wrong thing. ‘What’s so bad about it?’ he countered.

  ‘I have sworn an oath to aid a pox-ridden elf,’ he said.

  ‘And why would you do that?’ Felix asked. Gotrek merely glared at him. Of course, Felix thought, he did it to help me. Gotrek’s no sorcerer. There was no chance he could have found me without the elf’s help, was there? Felix was actually quite astonished and more than a little grateful. ‘I am sure it will not reflect to your discredit,’ he said eventually.

  ‘I am aiding one of the beard-clippers,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘The locks of a dwarf were once shorn like those of a sheep by those elves.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘There is no greater insult to a dwarf.’ Felix considered this. He knew nothing of the religious taboos of the dwarfs, but he was quite prepared to believe that there were many connected with facial hair.

  ‘Even so, is that really reason enough for the long feud between the Elder Races?’

  ‘Aye, manling, it is. Not least because the beard belonged to the brother of a dwarfish king. No dwarf may rest until such an insult is avenged. And if the grudge is not settled in his lifetime, it passes to his descendants.’

  ‘Remind me never to get on a dwarf’s bad side,’ said Felix. Gotrek ignored him, lost in his own gloomy thoughts.

  ‘But it’s not the only reason. Ever the elves have betrayed us, slaughtered our people in sneak attacks, used their foul sorceries to ambush us. They betrayed our trusts and our ancient treaties. They took slaves and sacrifices to their dark gods.’

  ‘Teclis does not seem to want to sacrifice anybody to the Dark Gods.’

  ‘Who can tell what an elf thinks? Who can tell if they lie or are simply bending the truth the way a blacksmith works hot metal?’

  Felix studied his companion. ‘You are troubled because he may be telling the truth?’

  ‘Aye manling, I am. I care not whether the island of the elves sinks or floats. The world would best be rid of the primping, perfumed, pointed-eared…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But what if he is telling the truth about what may befall the Worlds Edge Mountains and the lands of men? My people swore an ancient oath of allegiance to yours and we do not forget our oaths…’

  Gotrek sounded almost embarrassed. Felix guessed it was because of the oath he had sworn to the elf, and which he had threatened to go back on.

  ‘Gotrek – if there is even a chance he is correct, we must help him. It is a risk we cannot take.’

  ‘Aye, manling, that is the conclusion that I have come to. Although when that matter is settled, there may yet be a reckoning.’

  ‘Great,’ murmured Felix so low that he hoped not even the Slayer could hear. ‘That will give us something to look forward to.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Gotrek. ‘It will.’

  Felix drew his cloak tighter about him, and studied the mist. It seemed to him that huge menacing shapes moved in it, but he hoped they were merely the outlines of the trees.

  When they had returned to the hall, Teclis greeted them. ‘I have talked with Murdo. He has agreed to take us to see the Wise One.’

  Felix stared at the old wizard. ‘You have changed your tune,’ he said. ‘Yesterday we were the spawn of the Dark Ones. Today you are prepared to help us.’

  ‘Let’s just say that there is nothing like drinking with a man – or an elf or a dwarf for that matter – to give you a better idea of their character.’

  Felix wondered
about that. He was not sure he trusted the old man. On the other hand, it did not look like he had much choice.

  ‘I hate boats almost as much as I hate elves,’ said Gotrek as they clambered aboard the barge.

  ‘I am glad you shared that with us,’ said Felix looking around to see how Teclis and the boat owners of Crannog Mere were taking the statement. He was pleased that they appeared to be diplomatically ignoring it. ‘I suppose you would prefer to walk to where we have to go?’

  ‘Aye, given a choice, manling.’

  ‘The water would be above your head if you tried,’ said Murdo, then seeing the Slayer’s black look added, ‘Mine too.’

  He was surprised to see Murdo and twenty warriors clamber aboard behind them. It looked like the men of Crannog Mere were giving them an honour guard. He was less pleased to see that Culum was one of them. He glared at Felix suspiciously as he passed. Surely the man could not be that jealous, he thought, but common sense told him otherwise.

  He studied the boat. The construction was strange. It was flat-bottomed with a very shallow draft, not at all like the ships that sailed the Reik, more like a barge in fact. Felix supposed that it was because the waters here were comparatively shallow. They were in a huge marsh after all, not the open sea or a mighty river. Some of the men had taken up long poles and begun to push the ship out into the water away from the island. On the walls, the women watched quietly, a few children waved goodbye. Somewhere in the distance a piper played what sounded like a lament. It was not a cheery farewell.

  ‘Why does everybody look so happy?’ Gotrek asked sarcastically.

  ‘No trip through the great swamp is ever taken lightly, Gotrek Gurnisson,’ said Murdo. ‘There are many strange perils – the swamp fiends, the marsh daemons, the walking dead, all manner of curses lie on this land. Who knows when or if we will see our homes again?’