by Warhammer
What other things might there be out there, Felix wondered, doing the same? Old powerful magic and Chaos had tainted this land. Surely they had not seen the last of monsters.
They beached the boat, dragged it ashore and into the long grass and rushes where it might be at least partially concealed. Half the men were detailed to watch it. The others would accompany them to the Oracle’s cave. Felix was not thrilled to note that Culum would be one of their escorts. Still, at least he seemed to have his hands full carrying the unconscious Dugal.
‘We follow the stream to its source,’ Murdo said. ‘If you get separated from us, find it and follow it. Downhill, it will bring you back to the lake and the boat. Uphill, it will lead eventually to the Oracle’s home. Doubtless she will find you, if she wants to.’
The others laughed nervously, making Felix wonder about the role that this Oracle played in the society of Albion. The men’s attitude seemed equal parts reverence and fear. He supposed it was hardly surprising if she was a witch. An image of the old hags in the fairy tales of his youth sprang to mind, of bubbling cauldrons and feasts on unhallowed flesh. Try as he might, he could not force it from his mind.
‘Keep your eyes peeled for orcs,’ said Murdo.
‘Orcs?’ Felix asked.
‘Aye, many have been the sightings of greenskins in these hills in the past few months. Something has stirred them up. And stirred them up badly.’
As ever he looked as if he knew more than he was saying. What secrets are you hiding, Murdo, Felix wondered?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Felix breathed hard as he walked, and cursed the constant rain. The land sloped upwards steeply. The path was slippery with scree. They followed the curve of the river, and all they saw for many long hours were wild long-horned sheep and some goats. The men of Crannog Mere marched stolidly along, wary now as only men out of their element could be. Gotrek seemed almost happy to be back amid barren hills and distant mountains. The chill breeze did not daunt him, and not even the return of the constant rain dampened his spirits. Teclis seemed preoccupied, concentrating on something far removed from their surroundings. As Felix approached him, he shivered as he noticed that the rain did not touch the elf’s garments. Instead, repelled by some invisible shield, it halted a finger’s breadth away. Close up it lent the elf a shimmering aura that added to his unearthly appearance.
‘What is it?’ Felix asked him, wondering if it was wise to interrupt the sorcerer while he concentrated.
‘There are currents of magic passing through these hills, deep and old and tainted. Chaos has touched this land deeply, not just on the surface.’
‘I have seen much worse,’ said Felix, thinking of the lands through which he and Gotrek had once ventured in their search for the lost city of Karag Dum. The elf looked at him and cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly. ‘The northern Chaos Wastes,’ he added.
‘You’ve been there? And you returned untainted. That is an impressive feat, Felix Jaeger.’
‘Not one I would care to repeat,’ Felix said. He was sure the dwarf would not thank him for sharing the tale of the voyage of the airship Spirit of Grungni with an elf, so he resisted the urge to tell it. Instead he said, ‘You say these lands are tainted – in what way? What can we expect to encounter?’
‘I think the contamination here runs deep. For some reason Albion has attracted a great deal of dark magical energy. I have heard tales that the Ogham Rings, the great stone circles, attract it and somehow render it harmless. Perhaps that was once true, but I suspect that now they are malfunctioning. All spells eventually wear out, all devices eventually reach the end of their usefulness. Perhaps they still attract the dark magic, but their capacity to store it or purify it has been reduced or lost. Perhaps it has something to do with the opening of the Paths of the Old Ones. Perhaps it is all part of the same great pattern. I do not know. I do know that there is a stone ring nearby and it is bending the flow of magic here, and altering the weather. Perhaps that accounts for the rains. The rains certainly account for why so much of these hills are barren.’
‘How so? Everybody knows that rain is needed to make crops grow.’
Teclis shrugged. ‘In most cases that is true. But flooding does not help corn grow.’
‘It’s difficult to flood a hill,’ said Felix. ‘At least in the way you mean. The water runs downslope. It does not lie.’
‘Aye, and if it’s heavy enough, it carries the topsoil with it, leaving only exposed rock on which only moss and lichen can grow.’
Looking around them, Felix could see that what the elf had said was true. Near the fast-flowing river there was only stone and rock, nothing grew save for a few hardy plants rooted in patches of soil trapped between boulders. Only away from the river did the green return. Felix considered this.
Some of his natural history professors maintained that the world was shaped by elemental forces – wind and rain and volcanoes and ice – that the lands were as they were because of the way they interacted. Others, and the priests, claimed the world was as it was because the gods had made it that way. What Teclis had said about the Old Ones sculpting continents tended to support that theory. What he said about the topsoil supported the first. Was it possible both were true? Or perhaps the elements were merely the tools the gods had used.
No, that could not be right. It would take centuries, if not millennia, for a river to wear away the bones of mountains. But perhaps the Old Ones’ perception of time was different from ours, perhaps for them centuries were but an eyeblink.
‘You look confused, Felix Jaeger. What are you thinking about?’
Felix told the elf.
‘Perhaps the Old Ones used the elements as you think, but our legends tell us otherwise. They had no need to wait for millennia for erosion and geological forces to do their work. They could cut through tectonic plates with blades of cosmic fire, and level mountains with their spells. And this they did. They sculpted continents the way I might sculpt a statue.’
Felix was not quite willing to give up on his idea yet. ‘You speak as if they were artists seeking to create a finished work of art. What if they were more like gardeners? Perhaps they pruned a branch here, irrigated an area there. Planted seeds that would not reach their final form for ages. Perhaps they did not shape the continents exactly to their design. Perhaps they merely put certain forces in motion, knowing that they would eventually one day lead to a certain end.’
Felix expected mockery, but instead the elf looked thoughtful. ‘That is an original thought, Felix Jaeger, and one I had not considered. Nor has any elf that I know of. What you say may be correct or not, but you have given me something to think about.’
‘I am glad to have been of some service to one of the Elder Race,’ said Felix sardonically. ‘Let me know when you have finished your deliberations.’
‘You may not be alive then, Felix Jaeger. I may not reach any conclusions for a hundred years, if then.’
Felix was a little shocked by the sudden yawning gulf that had opened in the conversation and the glimpse it gave him of his own mortality. In the Empire few men reached the age of sixty. A man of fifty was considered old. Felix might be long in his grave while this youthful-seeming creature still thought upon his words. It sparked a certain resentment in him.
‘If you are still alive then. We might all be dead within days.’
The slope steepened. The going got tougher. They were on a mountain trail now and the rain-slicked gradient was becoming dangerous. Felix breathed in gasps and sweat started to mingle with the rain soaking his clothing.
He looked around. The peaks loomed larger now, and the clouds seemed thicker. Behind them the swamp was a low grim mass of trees and water. He thought he could see the huge stone structure of the Haunted Citadel emerging from the gloom, but it might just have been his imagination.
The land around them now looked gloomier, the rain had leeched even its drab colours. The waters of the river rushed by louder now, boiling white i
n places where they clashed against rocks and passed through narrow channels. In these last few dying hours of daylight, they had passed a succession of rushing falls whose spray had wet their faces, noticeable even in the rain. Here and there massive rocks far higher than a man flanked the path like sentinels. Sometimes Felix thought they bore some resemblance to ancient statues, their outlines blurred by time, and he was reluctant to put this down entirely to his imaginings.
The men of Crannog Mere all huffed and puffed worse than he. They were not mountain men, and this constant uphill walking was tiring them. Felix knew what a strain it could be to the calves and thighs when you were not used to it. He had walked in the Worlds Edge Mountains often enough to be familiar with it.
It was getting colder and wetter by the minute, and Felix felt like the chill that had settled in his bones was so deep that no fire would ever entirely remove it. It was like the cold of the grave. Only the dwarf and the elf showed no signs of strain. Gotrek strode along tirelessly like a man out for a summer stroll through an Altdorf park. Teclis was even more annoying – for all his feeble appearance, and his limping walk, he showed not the slightest signs of fatigue. Felix supposed that it must help that the wizard’s spells protected him from the wet and cold, but that did not make it any easier to watch him. At least he might throw his shield over the rest of us, Felix thought; the selfish, elvish bastard.
His fingers found the amulet the elf had given him, the one Teclis claimed would shield him from daemons. He was not that selfish, at least not if what he had told Felix was true. Felix had not been troubled by the evil ones, but it had only been a few days so he had no basis for deciding about that. On the other hand, there was no doubt Teclis had rescued them from the Paths of the Old Ones. Even Gotrek had to admit that, albeit through gritted teeth. It was not a subject Felix ever expected to bring up again with the dwarf, at least if he could help it. The dwarf was touchy enough at the best of times.
Footsteps crunched on the scree beside him. He looked up, and was surprised to see Murdo had fallen into step beside him. ‘I have been watching you,’ said the old man.
‘And what have you seen?’
‘You do not seem to be under any enchantment that I can tell of, and you fought bravely enough against the spider daemons. I think you are what you say you are, and your companions are what they claim too.’
‘Thank you, I think.’
‘The problem is that if I accept that I have to accept much o’ what else they claim, and that is frightening, laddie.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. We live in frightening times.’
‘Aye, the weather has worsened, and the orcs and beastmen have come out of their fastnesses and war stirs across the land. There are rumours of other things, of evil mages abroad in the land.’
‘They are abroad in every land,’ said Felix sourly. ‘Why should yours be different?’
‘For in our land, every man and woman who shows a trace of the talent is inducted into a brotherhood, sworn to preserve our ancient ways, watched over by their fellows. I have the talent myself, enough tae ken that yon Teclis there is more powerful than any mage now living in Albion, maybe than any who ever lived here. And he is scared, although he hides it well. That scares me.’
‘I think you are wise.’
Murdo nodded his head.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot, and that we are all in the same boat and it has a hole in it. And I want you to know that whatever comes, you may rely on the men of Crannog Mere.’
‘That is always good to know, but why tell me? Why not tell Teclis or Gotrek?’
‘Because you are a man, and it is easier to say to you. And those two are not exactly the sort you can open your heart to.’
Or maybe you are planning treachery, Felix thought, and you think it easier to hoodwink me than them. But somehow he could not quite bring himself to believe that. The old tribesman seemed painfully sincere, and genuinely intimidated by the pair, which was something Felix could understand only too well. He had known Gotrek for years, and he still found him unapproachable, and the elf carried himself with a bearing that might intimidate the Emperor Karl Franz.
Having said his piece, Murdo moved back among his men, as if waiting to see what Felix would do. Felix shrugged. He would mention it to the others when and if the need arose.
Something had been nagging at the back of his mind for a while and it chose this moment to come forth. He had always intended to set down the tale of Gotrek someday, when it came to its inevitable end, but perhaps he should begin setting it down soon, in case something happened to him before it was over. He had seen things worth recounting in these journeys, and met people who would surely leave their names in the histories and legends. Perhaps, if ever he got back to the Empire, he should make a record of his travels with Gotrek and leave it somewhere safe. With his brother, perhaps, or Max Schreiber, assuming the wizard was even still alive. He squared his shoulders and came to a decision. He would do it, and do it soon if the opportunity presented itself.
Another worrying thought occurred to him. Often in the past he had been confronted with the reality of death, his own and other people’s. There had been times when he had thought he was going to die, but now, for some reason, in this far distant place, he was confronted by the certainty of it. Perhaps it was his time in the daemon’s dungeon, or perhaps it was meeting the ageless elf and talking about time, but something had brought the reality of his mortality home to him.
Even if he avoided all the sword blades, and evil spells and the teeth of monsters, if he did not fall foul to plague, pestilence or accident, some day he would not be here. Death was as certain as tomorrow, just a little further away perhaps, and he now felt as he never had before the urge to do something to be remembered himself, to write his name alongside those of Gotrek and Teclis and the others he had met.
At that moment, he felt he understood just a little of what the Slayer must have felt when Felix had sworn to record his doom. I will record it, he thought – yours and mine and all the others I have seen. There are some things that should be remembered. Assuming, he thought, I am still here to write them down once this is all over. It will not be an epic poem though, he thought. I cannot imagine contriving one of those now. It will be a book or a series of them, setting it all down as it had happened to the best of his recollection. My Travels with Gotrek, or The Trollslayer’s Doom. Something like that, he thought.
He considered this, and all the books he had read as a youth, and as a scholar at the university, and began to think of what he would need to know. Certainly, he would need to record something about Albion, for little was known of it back in the Empire. Here was a chance to add to the sum of that knowledge, and share it – assuming that any survived the coming Chaos invasion or what might happen if what Teclis claimed was true.
He shrugged. He had to assume that someone would. It was a commitment made to the future when times might be better and Chaos might be vanquished. However remote that possibility might seem now, he would proceed on the assumption that it might happen. It was a small, perhaps futile, gesture of faith in the face of events of cosmic malignity. And it was his gesture. Somehow just the thought made him feel a little better, although he was not entirely sure why. He strode back to join the old Truthsayer.
‘Tell me about your land,’ he said to Murdo.
‘What do you want to know?’
As they walked, the thunder of rushing water grew louder ahead of them. It echoed through the rocks like the booming voice of an angry giant. Felix was worried. Such a sound could cover the hubbub of an approaching army, and visibility was already low because of the clouds, mist and the wilderness of tortured rocks through which they proceeded.
The river was narrower now and moved faster, and several times they had passed gigantic waterfalls tumbling down from above, separated from them as the path wound away and rejoined them later, higher
upslope. It was getting dark now, and they were well up the mountainside. Felix tried not to think that mountains were the haunt of orcs, and concentrated on what old Murdo was telling him.
Under normal circumstances, Felix would have been fascinated, for the tattooed man was an interesting speaker, with a fund of knowledge and tales about his land. Felix learned that the men of Albion were divided into many tribes of the highlands and the low. The tribes were interrelated and once, not so long ago, there had been a golden age of peace, but that was before the orcs came, and the other raiders from over the seas. It seemed that the dark elves had found some way to penetrate the eternal mists that surrounded the enchanted island, and so had others. Felix immediately thought of the way he and Gotrek and Teclis had arrived but kept his peace about it. The outsiders had brought war with them. Felix struggled to get his head around the situation.
The orcs had arrived centuries back, few in number at first, as they must have been shipwrecked on the islands. They had bred quickly, swarming everywhere, and only the unification of the tribes under the hero Konark had let men triumph eventually and drive the orcs back into the mountains. The orcs had taken refuge amid ancient ruins in the remote valleys.
Occasional wars had been needed to pen them there. Now it seemed the orcs had multiplied again and something had driven them from the mountains onto the plains. They had even penetrated the great swamp that had kept the folk of Crannog Mere safe for ages. The orcs were bad, but the thought of something wicked and powerful enough to drive them from the mountains was worse. Now the tribes of men needed a leader to unite them once more, or they would be swept away. It was said that in these very mountains a hero by the name of Kron, who claimed to be a descendant of Konark, had done that for a few tribes. Felix gathered that Murdo was helping them because he thought Teclis was capable of discovering the mystery behind the orcs’ sudden onslaught, and perhaps even stopping it. Felix certainly hoped so.
