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

by Warhammer

  Most of the dwarfs had gone back below to their battle stations. The marines prepared their crossbows or stood by the large gymbal-mounted handcannons. Gotrek watched from the prow. Even from this height, Felix could see the tension in him.

  He gave his attention back to the freebooter. As they closed more details became clear, and the more he saw, the less he liked their situation. Even though the Storm Hammer was built of metal, and their foe of wood, they seemed grossly outmatched to him. The orc craft was much larger and the crew far more numerous. Worse still, there seemed to be some sort of shaman on the forecastle of the ship, dancing around the catapult and shouting spells.

  Teams of goblins, naked save for loincloths, glistened with sweat as they turned the winches that drew the catapult’s arm into the firing position, or provided the motive power to rotate its mounting platform. Lordly orcs stood by, bellowing instructions. Obviously it was too much for the warriors to sully their claws with manual work. The orcs were huge creatures, twice as tall and many times the weight of the lean stringy goblins. Most were wearing britches and headscarves tied around their bald pates. Many were armed with cutlasses, a few carried bows. All were festooned lavishly with jewellery.

  Felix shifted his point of view to the sterncastle, where the orc captain stood surrounded by his cronies. He was a massive creature, his head adorned with a Bretonnian admiral’s tricorn hat. His tusks gleamed gold in the sunlight and he bore a cutlass in each hand.

  Felix shouted the description into the speaking tube.

  ‘Better and better,’ replied Ahabsson. ‘Uragh Goldtusk is the most feared pirate on the Gulf. The sultans have posted a reward of its own weight in gems for his head.’

  The name made Felix shiver. In the bazaars and hostelries of Quadira, the boldest sailors muttered Goldtusk’s name with fear. The tales of his ferocity and cruelty were dark legends within themselves! When the orc captain moved, Felix’s eyes came to rest on a figure his bulk had previously hidden.

  She was a human woman, tall, lithe and well formed, and very beautiful despite being garbed in what looked like the garments of a Bretonnian sailor. Her hair, which fell to her shoulders, was raven black and curly. Her hands were bound in chains, but she held her head high and showed no fear. Felix was too dumbstruck to inform the captain of what he saw.

  The sea around the Storm Hammer churned white as she picked up speed. Clouds of sparks and black smoke emerged from her funnels. The gulls squawked and shrieked. The ship heeled and turned to take a better line towards its foe.

  Felix saw the distant catapult arm swing forward. A blazing fireball rose from it and arced towards the Storm Hammer. The huge sphere left a fiery comet trail behind it that glowed unnaturally, with just the faintest hint of green. It flew further and faster than any natural stone could have and landed in the water just in front of the Storm Hammer’s prow, sending up an enormous column of steam and boiling water, before sinking into the depths. When he looked down, Felix could see it still glowing as it plunged towards the sea bottom.

  The islands were closer now, a smudge of black peaks smeared on the horizon, one much larger and more prominent than the others. Felix knew that they were much too far away to swim to it, even if sharks didn’t get them. Ahabsson had set them on a course that could easily lead to their deaths, for Felix doubted the orcs would let them escape in the ship’s boats. The best they could hope for would be capture, in which case they would be enslaved or eaten. His glance rested for a moment on Gotrek. The Slayer brandished his axe and bellowed challenges at the enemy. There was one who would suffer neither. Only death or victory lay ahead for him.

  The goblins worked the winches again, and once more the catapult arm bent back into position. The shaman continued his relentless dance, and Felix could see a faint nimbus of greenish light playing around his head. It was still too far for a crossbow shot. He was sure that the greenskin sorcerer would work more deviltry before this day was through.

  The Storm Hammer continued to cleave through the waves, moving inexorably closer to the orc ship. The barrel of the cannon in the turret had elevated now. There was an enormous boom, and a cloud of sparks and smoke billowed out, momentarily obscuring his view of the enemy ship. Felix heard the whistle of the cannonball, and seconds later saw it impact on the side of the orc hulk, smashing through the timber and leaving a gaping hole.

  Ahabsson barked more instructions to the gunners in dwarfish, and the turret continued to swivel as the Storm Hammer maintained its course. Felix began to see method in the captain’s madness. The orc ship was tacking towards them, but on their present course the Storm Hammer would emerge upwind and behind the freebooter. Hopefully they could smash its paddles and destroy its catapult and pick off the crew at will.

  Felix heard the grinding of gears around the left wheel, and hoped that whatever damage the dwarf ship had taken in the storm would not fatally weaken her now.

  The catapult opened fire once more. The shaman danced and capered, and as he did so, the huge fireball altered its course in mid-flight, veering towards the Storm Hammer. Felix watched gape-mouthed. He had seen a great deal of sorcery in his life but this was something new. If Ahabsson was surprised, he gave no sign. He merely swivelled his head to track the fireball as it came towards them. Felix felt his mouth go dry as the blazing sphere seemed almost to creep closer. It occurred to him that the fireball could actually hit him, and that he may die here. Indeed, it would not need to hit him. It could simply strike the steel mast to which the crow’s-nest was attached and send him crashing into the sea. He had never felt more acutely vulnerable in his entire life. Looking at the blazing sphere, he could see that it had a core of molten stone surrounded by a nimbus of magical fire.

  As the fireball came near the end of its downward arc, Ahabsson swung the wheel and pulled violently on one of the levers beside him. There was a grinding of gears as one of the great paddle wheels went into reverse. The Storm Hammer yawed wildly, and took a new course. The fireball struck the ship only a glancing blow, but it was enough. There was a blinding flash and a searing wave of heat swept over the steamship. She shuddered with the impact. Felix heard a hail of shrapnel patter on the metal hull. A few of the dwarfs shouted or screeched in pain. Felix ducked as small blazing stones pinged off the metal cupola around him. A moment later he heard a couple of secondary bangs.

  When he looked up he could see part of the Storm Hammer’s hull was scorched black, some metal plates appeared to have buckled and two of the rail-mounted handcannons had exploded in the heat of the impact. Several dwarfs lay in crumpled heaps on the deck. The ship’s chirurgeon and his assistants raced towards them. Another fear smote Felix. There was no sorcerer present to magically heal his wounds. Looking at the hacksaw the surgeon carried, it became obvious why so many of the dwarfs had peg-legs and hooks instead of hands. Shattered limbs were hacked off. Stumps were plunged into hot tar. It was a testimony to the ruggedness of the dwarf sailors that none of them screamed, although even from here, Felix could see their faces were masks of sweating agony.

  That might happen to him, he thought. He might lose a limb or an eye. The realisation made his stomach churn. Looking down, he could see that the marines had broken out the casks of ale again, and something stronger. Urli and Mobi were distributing tots of some foul black liquid from a leather flask, and the dwarfen marines consumed it with relish before washing it down with more ale.

  Only Gotrek stood apart, his whole attention focused on the orcish ship, like a hound straining at the leash. He radiated frustration, and looked as if he was considering throwing himself over the side and swimming towards the freebooter. Felix thought he understood. This was a battle where the Slayer had no control over his destiny. He could not close with his foe until Ahabsson decided to. And who could tell when that would be?

  The cannon spoke again, and either by luck or design, struck the forecastle of the oncoming hulk. The ensuing explosion smashed the catapult to splinters. When the smoke c
leared, fire raged and the shaman was nowhere to be seen. Relief filled Felix. With the sorcerer out of action there was a chance they would survive this.

  A cheer went up from the marines and they bellowed catcalls and challenges at their foe. Goblins scurried across the ship, encouraged by cuffs and kicks from the orcs, hastily throwing bucket after bucket of water onto the blazing weapon. One catapult down, one to go, Felix thought.

  Ahabsson held his line, and the Storm Hammer sped past the stern of the hulk so close that Felix could see the faces of the orcs without needing to use the spyglass. The dwarf ship began to come round in a great figure of eight turn that would position them directly to the rear of the orcs, with the turret in direct line to fire. As they did so, Felix could see that the second, smaller, catapult on the sterncastle was being wheeled to bear on them. At least, he told himself, there was no shaman present now to guide its stones with spells, only the bellowing Goldtusk and his lieutenants and their prisoner.

  Felix considered telling Ahabsson about the girl, but realised that by now the captain could see her for himself. It was unlikely he was going to change his plan simply because there was one human woman present either. His duty was to his own ship and people, and his goldlust was focused on his prize.

  The Storm Hammer had almost completed her turn now and was in a position right behind Goldtusk’s vessel. So swiftly had they executed the manoeuvre that their own white wake was visible before them, crossing that left by the orc craft. Goldtusk raised one huge arm then lowered it: the second catapult spoke. A huge boulder spun through the air and impacted on the turret of the steamer. The whole ship shuddered. The turret rang like a bell. At first Felix thought there was no damage, save for a massive dent in the armoured plate, but then he noticed that the turret had stopped tracking and smoke was emerging from below. It seemed that the mechanism had been damaged, and perhaps the gun crew stunned. The shortbeard who had been oiling the machine lay in a pool of blood half covered by a boulder as big as a man’s body. Nothing the chirurgeon could do there, Felix thought.

  Ahabsson bellowed something into another of the speaking tubes. He appeared to be demanding to know why the gunners were asleep on the job. His shouts got no response. The dwarfen crossbows opened up now, a hail of somewhat inaccurate fire raking the orcish sterncastle. Felix saw Goldtusk push the woman away behind him. A couple of orcs and goblins went down, but the captain himself was unharmed.

  As Felix watched, more and more greenskins flooded onto the sterncastle, bellowing and grunting, seemingly oblivious of the black smoke rising up behind them. They appeared more concerned with getting into the fight than with the fact that their own craft might soon become a floating funeral pyre.

  What was Ahabsson going to do, Felix wondered? Now that the Storm Hammer’s main offensive weapon was out of action, his plan had been negated. The best Felix could think of was that they should pull back out of range and wait for the fire to spread through the enemy vessel. Of course that would mean foregoing the treasure and leaving the woman to her doom, but it would certainly spare their own lives. Even if the orcs succeeded in getting the blaze under control, it would take some of their lives, and damage their ship still further.

  The captain seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for the great paddlewheels ground into reverse, allowing them to hold their position. Evidently Ahabsson was still hoping that his gun crew could eventually fire their weapon, for he held the prow in line with the hulk. Even if the turret could not track, they could still shoot at the enemy.

  Arrows began to descend on the decks of the dwarfen ship, but the crew merely ducked behind the turret and the guardrails and the shafts merely fell onto the deck. Felix was glad none of the greenskins had thought to take a shot at him, but realised it was only a matter of time. He debated whether to risk climbing down or waiting for the smoke from the fire to cover him. The decision was taken from his hands when disaster struck.

  A grinding crunching sound came from below, and the wheels ceased their spinning. A smell of burning rose from beneath him. It seemed that the storm damage had been worse than Felix thought, or perhaps it had been the impact of the sorcerous fireball, or some combination of them both, but now the Storm Hammer was slowing. Soon she would be wallowing dead in the water.

  Worse still, the orcs had reefed their sails and begun to slow themselves. They had reversed their own paddle wheels. Even as Felix watched, the hulk slowed to a stop and then backed up towards the dwarfen ship. The orc’s paddles were not nearly so swift and efficient as the Storm Hammer’s, but they were doing the job.

  From below Felix could hear the sound of hammering as dwarfen engineers worked to get the ship moving again, but even he could see that there was no chance of it happening before they were attacked. Arrows sleeted down on the deck now, pinning down the marines. Even Gotrek had taken cover, standing ready behind the huge moulded figurehead at the prow. They had gone from predator to prey in the space of a heartbeat.

  The hulk came ever closer, and as it did so, it loomed ever larger. To Felix’s fevered imagination it took on the massiveness of a mountain, looming over the steamer like one of the icebergs of the frozen northern seas. The top of the sterncastle was almost level with Felix’s crow’s-nest. He ducked down so that only his eyes were above the level of the cupola.

  The orcs bellowed in triumph, crowding the railings. They were close enough for Felix to see that the guardrails had been salvaged or stolen from a Bretonnian ship. Goblins and orcs filled the rigging, clinging to the lines, obviously preparing themselves to swing down onto the Storm Hammer.

  As they did so, Felix noticed that the barrel of the turret had started to elevate and that Ahabsson was bellowing something about grapeshot. If the orcs noticed, most of them gave no indication of caring. Only Goldtusk shouted something to his closest followers and herded them back from the rails.

  A moment later smoke billowed from the turret once more and there was a sound like thunder. Grapeshot ripped across the front of the sterncastle and into sails, tearing canvas, peppering the wood with holes, ripping through the flesh of orc and goblin alike. Their shouts of triumph momentarily turned to screams. Goblins lost their foothold in the rigging and dropped into the sea. Sleek black-finned shapes told Felix that the sharks were waiting to feast.

  As the orcish arrow fire slackened off, the dwarf marines emerged from cover. Muskets, crossbows and handcannons raked the enemy decks. More greenskins fell. For a moment, it looked like panic would spread among the orcs, but Goldtusk re-emerged. He had been saved by stepping back out of the line of the upward-angled cannon shot. Now he shrieked instructions at his followers, cuffed and booted them into some semblance of order.

  At that moment the Storm Hammer’s hull rang like a bell as the two ships careered into each other. The first wave of orcs and goblins swung down from the rigging on their lines. Orcs hastily tossed boarding nets over the side, and tried to snag the Storm Hammer with grapnels.

  Doubtless, had not the grapeshot depleted their numbers, Goldtusk’s crew would have overwhelmed the dwarfen mariners in the initial assault. As it was, a few of the dwarfs let off a ragged volley of musketry and crossbow fire, before snatching up their sea-axes, hammers and cutlasses to make ready to repel boarders.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE PRISONER

  Orc and dwarf clashed. Hammer splintered bone. Cutlass clove through dwarfen flesh. Blood, green and red mingled on the metal decks. Felix felt useless, high above the fight. He snatched out his sword and considered his options. He could try to abseil down the mast using the line, but that would be difficult with a weapon in one hand. He could climb down slowly on the handholds but that would leave him vulnerable to arrow fire. Or he could stay where he was and do nothing.

  More and more orcs and goblins swarmed down the boarding nets. While they were engaged in a melee there was little the dwarfs could do to prevent them. Ahabsson had produced a set of pistols and blasted away at the greenskins,
picking up another with his good hand as soon as he had discharged the first.

  ‘Get off my ship!’ he bellowed. Then Gotrek emerged from the shadow of the prow. He raced among the orcs chopping left and right with the axe. Nothing could stop him. He reaped lives like a peasant scything corn, clove through the greenskin ranks like a runaway chariot, scattered his foes like a whirlwind scatters leaves. It was as if some ancient dwarfen god of war had emerged onto the blood-slick decks and strove to avenge his people on their ancient enemies. Goblins threw themselves over the guardrails into the shark-infested waters to escape him. Orcs held their ground and died. The dwarfen marines, moments before in disarray, suddenly took heart. Their line stiffened, they threw themselves forward in Gotrek’s wake, and tore into the ever-increasing number of orcs that still dropped onto their decks from the boarding nets.

  Felix was suddenly distracted as some freak of wind or wave rolled the ship. The mast tipped downwards towards the sterncastle of the orc vessel. Through the clouds of smoke, Felix caught a glimpse of the woman struggling in the grasp of her brutal green-skinned captors and, acting on instinct, grabbed a line and flung himself out into space.

  Seconds later his boots clattered down on the deck of the orc stern-castle. He raced through the smoke across the wooden deck towards where he had last seen the woman. She stood at bay, her back to a guard rail, trying to drive back an orc with bunched chains wrapped around her wrists.

  Felix rammed his sword into the orc’s back. It passed right through its stomach and out of the other side. When he withdrew it the orc tumbled forward, only to have its skull crushed by the woman’s flailing chains. Felix stood face to face with her. Even blood-spattered and smoke-smudged she was lovely. She smiled briefly, then gave him a haughty look, and said, ‘What are you waiting for? Free me!’