by Warhammer
He considered what he knew. It seemed no part of the world was immune from its troubles. The great continent of the Old World was being ravaged by Chaos. Ulthuan shook with earthquakes. Albion was plagued by orcs and terrible storms. He would not have been surprised to learn that even in far Cathay, cataclysm had struck. Perhaps all the seers prophesying the end of the world had the truth of it.
He gave his attention back to Murdo. A picture of Albion emerged. It was less advanced than the Old World. The secret of making gunpowder was unknown and armour heavier than leather rare, manufactured by the tribes of the coast who seemed to be the main builders of large towns and cities. Great stone rings, focuses of magical force and energy, and other legacies of the ancients were everywhere. Ruined cities, haunted towers, odd labyrinths open to the sky, whose walls were scribed with mystical runes. Some of these were guarded by monstrous mutated giants, others by strange creatures such as hippogryphs and manticores and other daemonic mutants. Most of the gods of the Old World were known here, but seemed to be regarded more as great spirits than the deities with which he was familiar. Ulric was a wolf spirit of war and winter. Taal, the nature god, was regarded as supreme. In the Empire, there were some primitives who still worshipped the Old Faith, and what Murdo said reminded Felix of what he had read of them. Sigmar was unheard of here, which did not surprise Felix.
Dwarfs were things of legends and old tales. If ever there had been dwarfish cities here, they existed no more. Felix was hardly surprised – Albion was an island and dwarfs were not fond of ships. From what he had gathered from Gotrek, their steamboats were relatively recent developments in a history that stretched back millennia. Elves were known as Dark Ones here and had a reputation for deceit and treachery. Chaos was feared and the four powers of darkness were known but never to be named, whispered Murdo, lest you draw their attention to you. The old man had no idea of the geography of the world beyond his island, had never heard of Araby or Cathay. Bretonnia was a legend of which tales had been brought by shipwrecked sailors. Kislev was an icy island at the north of the world. The Empire was another island, larger and ruled by three emperors who fought constantly. Felix smiled at this distorted notion of history until he realised that his own ideas about Albion would have seemed just as strange to Murdo before he came here. And, he was forced to remind himself, perhaps what the old man was telling him was no more than stories. Certainly he believed them to be true, but he was an uneducated tribesman from a tiny isolated village in a huge swamp in the back end of beyond. It was possible, conceded Felix, that his tale held errors.
Still, on the details of what lay near his home, he seemed sound enough. Felix resolved to keep an open mind until he saw something that contradicted what Murdo said. He pulled his cloak tighter and studied his surroundings. They had emerged onto a wide flat ledge mostly filled with a lake of bubbling water, fed by a huge waterfall that leapt down from overhead to boil and bubble on the rocks below. Massive boulders covered in damp green moss ringed the lake, save where the water poured out over the stone edge to continue to journey to lands below. Spray was everywhere. The roaring was like that of a great wounded beast.
It took him a few moments to realise that there were dead bodies ringing the edge of the lake. It took him a few more seconds to realise that they belonged to women. He rushed over to the nearest one. She had been young and lithe and she had died from a spear in the back. Judging from the bloody foam on her lips, it looked like she had drowned in her own blood. A spear lay near her cold, clutching fingers. Felix noticed the green hand protruding from the water, and the swirl of greenish blood that told him an orc lay dead there.
‘Taal’s breath,’ murmured Murdo. ‘That is Laera, who was a chieftain of the Oracle’s maiden-guard. There are others nearby – it looks like they were wiped out by orcs.’
Felix looked around. He saw now that some of what he had thought were moss-covered boulders were in fact orcish corpses. The mist and spray and fading light had tricked his eyes.
‘Where are the orcs now?’ Felix asked.
Stone crunched as Gotrek strode up to the lakeside. He spat on the submerged orcish body casually. ‘If they are here, we will find them,’ he said.
‘Wonderful,’ said Felix. ‘Can’t wait.’
All around the men of Crannog Mere made ready for battle.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The men of Crannog Mere stood with weapons ready. Culum had gently placed Dugal on the ground and unslung his stone-headed hammer. Teclis scanned their surroundings warily, as if expecting a horde of ravening greenskins to race down from the surrounding slopes at any minute. Gotrek cackled gleefully and swung his axe a few times, like a woodsman limbering up before chopping down a tree.
‘Perhaps they drove the orcs off,’ said Felix.
‘Nae, laddie. If they had we would be challenged by the maiden-guard. It is the way.’
‘Maybe the orcs have left.’
‘These corpses are barely stiff, manling,’ said Gotrek. ‘This fight happened within the hour.’
‘Why does this always happen to us?’ Felix wondered aloud, and then wished he hadn’t. The glances of the tribesmen showed that they were more than willing to suspect that the three companions were somehow responsible for all this. No matter what Murdo said, it appeared that the majority of the men did not trust them. Or perhaps it was just Teclis, he thought, noticing that most of the murderous looks were aimed at the elf.
‘Why indeed?’ Teclis asked. ‘It cannot be purely chance that the orcs struck here mere hours ahead of us, can it?’ He gave the impression of one who talked to himself and did not expect any answers from others.
‘What now?’ Felix asked.
‘The Oracle is below, unless the orcs have her. Perhaps her maiden-guard are with her waiting for succour even now,’ said Murdo.
‘If there’s greenskins to be killed, let’s get to it,’ said Gotrek with more enthusiasm than Felix liked.
‘Below?’ said Felix pointedly. ‘Where exactly is that? I can see no caves.’
In answer, Murdo walked to the edge of the lake, to the cliffs where the waterfall dropped. He seemed to vanish into the water itself, and one by one the men of Albion trooped after him, leaving Dugal in the shelter of the rocks.
Impelled by curiosity, Felix moved forward to where the men had vanished. He could see that there was a clear space wide enough for two people abreast behind where the waterfall fell. A ledge of rock ran there, but there were no men to be seen. Gotrek strode past onto the ledge, ignoring the tons of furious water passing so close, and he too seemed to vanish into the wall. Felix followed and within ten strides found a cave mouth opening to the left. The men were within, along with the Slayer, looking at more dead bodies of women and orcs. Felix found the sight very disturbing. He was not used to looking at so many dead girls. Most of them had been beautiful, too, he noted in passing.
Teclis came behind him and studied the scene. He pushed past Felix and the man felt the spray hit him, repelled by the mage’s spells. It seemed a little impolite but Felix was not about to say anything, particularly not since he was already soaked. Teclis gestured and light filled the cave. Felix could see that it vanished deeper into the darkness beneath the mountains.
‘Tunnels full of orcs,’ he said. ‘How can it get any worse?’
‘How can it get any better?’ said Gotrek. In the strange witch-light cast by the elf, his shadow danced menacingly along the walls.
Murdo fumbled amid the nooks and crannies of the walls until he found torches. Teclis lit them with a word. At first, Felix wondered why they were bothering, since the elf was capable of illuminating their passage, then the thought occurred to him that something might happen to him. It was not a reassuring one.
Gotrek moved to the fore, Murdo looming over him with a lit torch in one hand, spear in the other. It seemed logical in this dark underground space that the dwarf should lead; he was far more at home here than any human or elf could ever be. Feli
x stood beside Teclis, weapon bared. The tribesmen followed behind them.
Gotrek strode confidently into the gloom. Felix took a deep breath.
‘Here we go,’ he said.
There were signs of combat everywhere. Armed warrior women had fought a desperate rearguard action into the depths of the cavern complex. They lay where they had been hacked down, surrounded by the bodies of orcs and goblins. Once, not so long ago, Felix had found something pathetic in the sight of the child-sized corpses of goblins. Not any more. Whatever sympathy he might have had was long gone. Now they just looked like any other small malevolent monster, with their bulging eyes and rows of razor-edged serrated teeth. In some ways they were just as terrifying as their larger orcish kin. They usually attacked in packs. The massive orcs did not need to.
So far the torches and the magelight had proved unnecessary. There were oil lanterns set in niches in the walls, providing a faint flickering illumination. In places they had been tumbled and smashed but the damp floor of the tunnels must have extinguished any blaze. A faint perfume filled the air, from the lantern oil and from some incense that had been added.
He felt the weight of the mountain begin to press in on him, became acutely aware of the mass of stone and rock hanging just above him, ready to crush him. Barely conscious of what he was doing, he listened for the creak of the earth as the mountain settled. He heard nothing but that did not keep him from imagining things. He felt, for instance, that it was getting warmer with every step.
A glance at the elf told him that Teclis was faring little better than he. The elf looked deeply uneasy for the first time that Felix could ever remember. His shoulders were hunched and he stooped, though there was plenty of room even for someone of his height in the tunnel. His gaze flickered everywhere as if seeking threats. Felix knew without being told that the elf was feeling the strain of being underground even more than he was.
Only the Slayer seemed unconcerned. He stood taller and strode with even more confidence than usual. Felix could have sworn that he was even whistling some almost jaunty tune. Nonetheless, Gotrek held his axe ready. Even as Felix watched he paused, sniffed the air and said, ‘There are orcs nearby. Lots of orcs.’
The tunnels deepened. The floor became less damp. At first Felix had wondered why anyone would choose to dwell in such a chill, wet place, but now it was warm, and the perfume in the air was almost musky. He could see that all year around, even in the cold of winter, this could be comfortable.
‘How does this Oracle live?’ he asked Murdo. He was not surprised that his voice came out in a whisper and that the old man replied in kind. He was only talking to cover his nervousness. He knew it was foolish to make a noise when there might be orcs near, but he could not help himself. ‘Where do they find food?’
‘The tribes bring offerings, and the maiden-guard keep goats and sheep on the higher ground. Perhaps the orcs found those and followed them here, I am thinking.’
‘That would seem logical,’ said Felix. ‘But why would they dwell here anyway? Why not in some more accessible location?’
‘This place is sacred, Felix Jaeger. The light has blessed it. The first Oracle communed with the Great Spirits here after wandering lost through the mountains. The gods led her to shelter in these caves in a snowstorm while wolves hunted her. She found the altar of light in their depths and it granted her magical powers.’
For a moment, Teclis looked less queasy and showed a glimmer of professional interest. Felix supposed that any wizard would when matters magical came up. ‘It was an ancient artefact?’ he asked.
‘I do not know, Teclis of the elves. I am not an initiate of these mysteries. I know that in return for taking the sight of her eyes, it granted another sort of sight. And I know that from that first day to this, there has been an Oracle in this place. They come when they are summoned from whatever corner of Albion where they be living.’
‘Summoned?’ Felix asked. Murdo shrugged.
‘They know when it is their time to come here, just as the old Oracle knows when the hour of her dying will come on her. The light grants them this knowledge.’
Felix wondered how much of this was mere superstition and how much truth. He had seen so many strange things in his time that anything seemed possible. It might prove interesting meeting this Oracle, he thought. Under any other circumstances but these.
The tunnel widened out into an area of caves. Felix could see that these had once been occupied chambers. Sleeping pallets lay strewn about the ground. Rent and torn clothing lay everywhere, golden torcs and glittering jewellery caught the light. There were more bodies and from up ahead came the sound of combat. A horde of greenskins packed the entrance of a cave mouth. They seemed to be trying to force their way in against stiff resistance. A dark cloaked figure armed with a stone-tipped spear urged them on.
Gotrek needed no more encouragement, and with a bellowing roar, he raced ahead as fast as his short legs would carry him. The men of Albion followed, overtaking him easily with their long strides. Felix decided to stick close to the Slayer, and the elf had obviously decided to do the same. He barely seemed to lengthen his limping stride and he was beside Gotrek. As he walked, he spread his arms and chanted. A wall of flame erupted ahead of them, and the screams and bellows of dying orcs and goblins filled the air.
The men of Albion stopped, unable to push their way through the roaring flames. Felix could feel their heat from where he stood. It was like being next to an open furnace. Nothing, it seemed, could live within that incandescent fury.
He was wrong. With a bestial roar, a massive orc burst out of the flames. His clothing smouldered. His greenish skin was seared a sooty black in places, but he came on undaunted. Moments later, another and then another burst through. All of them were huge, bigger than a man and far more muscular. Their yellowish tusks glistened with froth. Massive scimitars gleamed in their huge fists. Their eyes were filled with mad hatred and insensate fury. There were only half a dozen of them, but the sight of them, and the way they had burst through the flames, seemed to fill the folk of Crannog Mere with dismay. Felix understood their feelings only too well. The orcish leader, even more massive than the rest and wearing a helmet of bronze inlaid with bullhorns, grunted something to his fellows in their brutal tongue, and they laughed madly as they advanced.
Felix did not doubt that at that moment the men of Albion would have run had not Gotrek stood his ground. He was sorely tempted to do so himself. Instead, he moved to a position slightly to the left and slightly behind the Slayer, judging this the best place to ward his back. Teclis moved over to the right, a gleaming runeblade clutched in his left hand, the staff blazing with power in his right.
‘Steady, lads,’ said Murdo. ‘These greenskin devils owe us blood for what they did here.’
That was all it took. The men formed up into a fighting line on either side of the three companions. Culum lifted his hammer menacingly. Felix watched the green giants move closer. He was aware of the dryness in his mouth and the beating of his heart. He felt suddenly weak, and everything seemed to be happening much slower than usual. He ignored the sensations, having experienced them in battle many times before, and braced himself for the impact. It was not long in coming.
He saw one orc leap forward and impale itself on the barrier of spears. Undaunted, it drove itself forward, reaching out to snap one man’s neck and chop another down with its blade. More spears slammed home into its body. But it fought on, cackling madly, seemingly unkillable by normal weapons, such was its unnatural vitality. Another went for Culum. Sparks flashed as blade met hammer and the big man was driven back by a strength even more prodigious than his own.
Two of the orcs came for Gotrek. He did not wait for them to reach him, instead he strode forward, ducking the sweep of a scimitar and catching the back of an orc’s knee with his return blow. The beast fell forward headlong, unable to walk on the amputated stump of its leg. The Slayer’s second blow was met by a scimitar and partially
deflected. Gotrek snorted with contempt, and aimed another blow that sent the orc leaping backwards, desperately avoiding a stroke that would have caved in its ribs had it connected.
It was Teclis that surprised Felix. Showing no more restraint than Gotrek, he hurled himself forward to confront the orcish leader. The creature was even taller than the elf, and far more massive. Enormous cable-like sinews rippled under its glistening green skin. It snarled something in orcish and laughed when the elf’s reply was delivered in the same tongue. The guttural syllables sounded strange in the elf’s far higher voice.
‘Wait,’ shouted Felix, knowing that their situation might yet become desperate if the elf were killed. ‘Leave this one for me.’
He moved forward to meet the orc but by then it was far too late. The greenskin chieftain struck with the speed and fury of a summer storm. His blow fell like a thunderbolt, but the elf was simply not there. Moving with a swiftness that blurred sight, he moved around the orc’s strike, and his own blade bit home into the orc’s upper arm. The creature bellowed with fury and aimed a stroke that would have decapitated the slim elf had it connected. Teclis ducked to one side, executing what seemed almost a courtly bow, and the blade passed above his head. His return stroke was driven upwards with all the force of an uncoiling spring. It bit into the orc’s ribs, drawing greenish blood. Only the orc chief’s own lightning swiftness had kept the blade from burying itself in his bowels. Strokes passed between the two almost too fast for Felix’s eye to follow. The elf gave ground gracefully, moving backward like water flowing over stone. The orc pursued, grunting mightily, until he was almost past Felix. In his fury, his concentration was entirely on the mocking elf who danced away taunting him in his own language and who was slowly inflicting a dozen small cuts on him with his ripostes.
