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

by Warhammer

  Hamnir coloured a bit and looked at his hands. ‘Well, as you know, I’m not so much my father’s son – not the way my older brother is. Perhaps it’s because he is crown prince, and I am only a second son, but I am not so hidebound when it comes to tradition. I was only a boy then. I liked the gyrocopters, and all of Birrisson’s contraptions. One night I caught him sneaking through the secret door. He begged me not to tell my father. I agreed, as long as he agreed to teach me how to fly the gyrocopter, and to give me use of the secret workshop.’

  ‘But, lad, the danger,’ said Lodrim, ‘to you, and to the hold.’

  Hamnir spread his hands. ‘I make no excuses. I know I was wrong in this, as was Birri, but I… well, I liked having a secret from my father. I liked having a place to go that no one else knew of. I took Ferga there a few times.’ He smiled wistfully, his eyes far away, and then roused himself. ‘The point is, no matter how the grobi learned our hold’s secrets, this is one secret that only I and old Birri and a few of his apprentices know, and no one can make an engineer talk. They are the keepers of the secrets of a hold’s defence. Grimnir would deny them a place in the halls of our ancestors.’ Hamnir tapped the map again. ‘The grobi won’t be defending this door. If a small force can enter there, and then sneak through the hold and open the front door for the main force, they will not stand against us.’

  Gorril nodded. ‘Aye. It is our own defences that defeat us, not the grobi. If we can breach our walls, they are finished.’

  The dwarfs stared at the map, thinking.

  ‘It’ll be certain death for those that open the door,’ said Ruen.

  ‘Aye,’ said Hamnir. ‘Likely.’

  Gotrek looked up. Felix thought he had been asleep. ‘Certain death? I’m in.’

  Felix groaned. Wonderful. Gotrek never seemed to consider how his rememberer was going to live to tell his tale when he made these decisions.

  ‘You are willing to die to aid me?’ asked Hamnir.

  ‘Are you insulting me again, oathbreaker?’ snarled Gotrek. ‘I’m a Slayer. I’d be fulfilling two vows with one deed.’ He sighed and lowered his chin to his chest again. ‘Not that I’ll die, of course, Grimnir curse it. Not at the hands of grobi. But at least I won’t have to endure your presence.’

  The dwarfs in the room glared and grumbled to hear their prince so abused, but Hamnir just sighed. ‘And I won’t have to endure yours,’ he said, ‘so it’s all for the best. Good.’

  ‘It’ll take more than one dwarf to do the deed,’ said Gorril, ‘no matter how strong. Two levers in two separate rooms must be pulled simultaneously to open the Horn Gate, and others will need to hold off the orcs while they’re pulled.’

  Hamnir nodded. ‘We’ll ask for volunteers at the council tomorrow. That is if we are agreed here?’

  The other dwarfs still seemed uncertain.

  At last, old Ruen shrugged. ‘It’s a plan, which is more than we had before. I suppose it’ll have to do.’

  ‘I don’t care to put the fate of the hold in the hands of a dwarf who seems to care so little for its survival,’ said the thunderer, Lodrim, glaring at Gotrek, ‘but I haven’t a better idea, so I’ll second it.’

  The others nodded, but with little enthusiasm.

  Hamnir sat back, weary. ‘It’s settled, then. We’ll work out the details before council. Now… now I’m to bed.’ He rubbed his face with a hand and smoothed his beard. ‘I’ve a dozen grudges to try to sort out tomorrow, Valaya save me.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gotrek’s jaw clenched and unclenched over and over. His leg bounced restlessly as he tipped back in his sawn-off chair. Felix had his journal open, and was reading through his Araby entries. Rodenheim’s dining hall was again full of dwarfs, but not for a meal. The representatives of the dwarf companies sent from the various holds sat before the head table where Hamnir, Gorril and other leaders of Karak Hirn’s refugees presided. All were waiting to hear the plan of battle for the retaking of the hold, but before they could proceed to strategy, there were grudges to be resolved that determined who would fight alongside whom, and if some warriors would return home before the battle started.

  So far, Hamnir had proved an admirable negotiator, and each of the nine grudges he had heard had been resolved, or at least postponed until after Karak Hirn had been retaken or the battle lost. It was a long process, however. They had been at it since just after breakfast, and lunch was a distant memory. The heat of the hall’s enormous fireplace was making Felix drowsy. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

  ‘You say the ale delivered was not of the quality you were led to believe?’ asked Hamnir. He rested his cheek on his fist, looking bored and frustrated.

  ‘It was undrinkable!’ said a sandy-bearded dwarf with a belly that suggested he knew quite a bit about ale. ‘The double-dealing Hardstone clan promised us we would be paid in Bugman’s Best. They sent us Bugman’s worst, if it was Bugman’s at all.’

  ‘If the ale was undrinkable,’ said a fierce-looking, black-haired dwarf in a yellow doublet, ‘then it was damaged in transit, for it was in prime condition when we sampled a barrel before sending it off. The Widebelt clan should take up this dispute with the traders that we commissioned to transport it.’

  ‘This is fools’ work,’ growled Gotrek under his breath. ‘We should be marching, not talking. If Ranulfsson were the leader his father was, these hair-splitters wouldn’t remember their grudges. They’d be rallying around his banner and howling for orc blood.’

  It took another ten minutes for Hamnir to resolve the dispute, and required all his cunning and diplomacy to shame the two dwarfs into setting aside the matter of the ruined ale. Gotrek growled under his breath the whole time, shooting dangerous looks at all the participants.

  When at last an accord had been reached, Hamnir sighed and looked around the hall. ‘Now, are there any other clans who are at issue, or may we proceed with the order of battle?’

  ‘Have you forgotten us, prince?’ said a white-haired dwarf with blue eyes, jumping up. His beard was a magnificent snow-white field.

  Another dwarf with his hair in long grey braids that hung before his ears was on his feet only a second later, glaring at the first. ‘Aye, prince. You have not yet taken up the issue of the Shield of Drutti.’

  Hamnir groaned, as did the entire room. Gotrek growled, but although the assembled dwarfs were impatient, they had too much respect for the institution of the grudge, and for the sacred duty of every dwarf to resolve every grudge recorded in his clan’s book, to complain, so they did nothing but grumble and fold their arms and settle back in their seats.

  ‘I crave your pardon, Kirgi Narinsson,’ said Hamnir to the white-bearded dwarf, ‘and yours, Ufgart Haginskarl,’ he said to the other. ‘Remind me of the grudge. It has been a long day.’

  The dwarf with the grey braids bowed. ‘Thank you, prince. We of the Stonemonger clan bear grudge against the Ironskin clan for stealing from us the Shield of Drutti, which had been a gift from Gadrid Ironskin, the father of their clan, to Hulgir Stonemonger, the father of ours, two thousand years ago, as a token of thanks when Hulgir rescued Gadrid’s daughter from trolls.’

  ‘It was not a gift!’ barked Kirgi. ‘There were no trolls! It was an affair of business, pure and simple. Our clanfather traded the shield to the treacherous Hulgir for mining rights in the Rufgrung deeps. Rights which were never given.’

  Gotrek’s leg was bouncing like a steam hammer. Felix could hear the Slayer’s teeth grinding.

  ‘Is that the shield in question?’ asked Hamnir, pointing behind Kirgi to an Ironskin dwarf who held a massive, rune-carved shield at his side.

  ‘Aye!’ cried Ulfgart, angrily. ‘They dare to flaunt their stolen goods before us and expect us to–’

  ‘We did not steal it! We merely took back what was rightfully ours. When you pay us what is owed, we will gladly return it to you. It was our clanfather’s honest, trusting nature that–’

  ‘Right! That’s it!
’ said Gotrek, standing suddenly and taking up his axe. He crossed to the Ironskin table and snatched the Shield of Drutti from its surprised keeper as if it weighed as much as a pot lid.

  ‘I’ll solve this grudge!’ he said, and threw the shield on the floor and chopped it in half with his axe, hewing wood and iron with equal ease. He then split the halves, hacking madly as splinters flew.

  There was a collective gasp from the assembled dwarfs, but they all seemed too stunned to move.

  Gotrek scooped up the mangled fragments of the shield, crossed to the great hearth and threw them in. The fire roared. He turned, grinning savagely at the Ironskin and Stonemonger leaders. ‘There. Now you have nothing to fight over. Let’s march!’

  Ulfgart of the Stonemongers was the first to regain the capacity for speech. He turned solemnly to Hamnir, whose face was buried in his hands. ‘Prince Hamnir, the Stonemonger clan formally renounces our grudge against the Ironskin clan, and records instead one against the Slayer Gotrek Gurnisson, and let it be known that this grudge can only be resolved in blood.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Kirgi Narinsson, his blue eyes blazing. ‘The Ironskin clan also declares its grudge against the Stonemonger clan cancelled, and claims a new grudge against Gotrek Gurnisson.’ He drew his hammer from his back and stepped towards Gotrek, ‘And I ask the prince’s permission to resolve this grudge here and now.’

  Hamnir raised his head and glared at Gotrek. ‘Curse you, Gurnisson! Now we’ve two grudges where there was only one!’

  Gotrek spat on the floor. ‘Fah! I thought they were honourable dwarfs, so concerned with the right of things that they would let a karak fall to the grobi over a shield. Will such dwarfs have me break a vow in order to fight them?’

  ‘What vow is this?’ sneered Kirgi. ‘A vow of cowardice?’

  ‘My vow to Hamnir,’ said Gotrek, staring down the old dwarf, ‘to aid and protect him until Karak Hirn is recovered. Killing you won’t aid him, will it? You’ll have to wait to die.’

  Kirgi gripped his hammer and glared death at Gotrek, but at last stepped back. ‘Let none say that a warrior of the Ironskin clan ever caused a dwarf to break an oath. We will settle this in the feast hall of Karak Hirn, after we have drunk to its liberation.’

  ‘It’ll be your last drink,’ said Gotrek.

  Ulfgart turned to Hamnir. ‘Neither will the Stonemongers endanger this enterprise by killing a proven Slayer.’ Gotrek barked a laugh at this. Ulfgart scowled and continued. ‘We too will wait until Karak Hirn is won.’

  Hamnir gave a sigh of relief. ‘I thank you both for your forbearance.’ He looked around the assembly. ‘Are there any other grudges to be brought forward?’ When no one spoke, he continued. ‘Very well, then listen.’ He stood. ‘This is the plan we have decided upon. As you know, our own defences protect the grobi, and since they are good dwarf work, they are almost impossible to breach. We are less than fifteen hundred strong. We would lose more than half that before we were inside, were we to attack head on. Fortunately, there is a way into the hold that the greenskins will not have discovered. A small company, led by the Slayer Gurnisson, will enter through this door and make their way through the hold to the main gate. When they have opened it, the throng will enter and split up. The bulk of the force will hold the main concourse, while smaller forces sweep through the rest of the hold, pushing the grobi before them. We will work from top to bottom, and force them out through the mine-head doors.’

  ‘What?’ asked a young dwarf. ‘Will we leave them the mines?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Hamnir, ‘but we must secure the hold before we can retake the mines, or we are in danger of becoming over-extended.’ When there were no other complaints, he continued. ‘What is yet to be determined, is what companies will do what, and who will volunteer to open the doors. I hope,’ he said, his face hardening as a growing murmur rose from the dwarfs, ‘that we can reach an agreement on an order of march and a division of duty quickly, without argument or recrimination, for time is of the essence.’

  Dwarfs all over the hall began standing and raising their voices, demanding this or that position.

  Gotrek grunted and turned to Felix. ‘Come, manling, they’ll be at it all night.’

  ‘You don’t care to learn who you will be leading?’ asked Felix.

  ‘Not as much as I care to find a drink.’ Gotrek walked out of the room, chuckling darkly as he passed the great hearth, where the Shield of Drutti was burning merrily.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Early the next morning, while the sounds of the clans forming up in the courtyard came through the open door, Gotrek and Felix looked blearily around the stables of Rodenheim Castle at the dwarfs who sat waiting for them in the dim interior, their packs and weapons, armour and coils of rope at their feet. Hamnir stood in the entrance, dressed in gleaming battle armour, and looking ill at ease. He held an ancient brass horn, filigreed with silver.

  ‘These are your volunteers, Gurnisson,’ he said, ‘all sworn to follow you unto death, if need be, and to obey your commands.’ He gestured to a befuddled looking old whitebeard with rheumy eyes and a wooden leg. ‘Old Matrak here helped Birrisson wall up the hangar passage and build his secret doors. He will get you through the locks and traps.’

  The engineer broke off chewing his long, white moustache and nodded blankly at Gotrek. Felix noticed that his hands trembled. All that and a wooden leg, he thought. Going to be interesting getting the old fellow up a cliff face.

  Hamnir turned to Thorgig and Kagrin, who stood nearest him. ‘Thorgig will…’ He glared at the young dwarf. ‘Thorgig will carry the war-horn of Karak Hirn, and blow it from the Horn Gate watch tower once you are ready to open the doors. We will not advance until we hear it.’ He held out the horn to Thorgig, who stepped forwards to take it.

  Before he could, Hamnir drew it back, his brow furrowing. ‘Thorgig, are you certain of this? There is little hope of survival. There are others who might–’

  ‘Who?’ said Thorgig, his lips tight. ‘I served as a guard of the Horn Gate for ten years. Who among the survivors knows better than I the mechanism of the gate, the placement of the rooms? It must be me.’

  ‘Gotrek can read a map.’

  ‘Can he blow a horn? Does he know the calls?’

  Hamnir growled. Felix had the feeling that he and Thorgig had had this argument many times before.

  The prince turned to Kagrin. ‘You too, Kagrin? Your skill is in shaping axes, not swinging them. Will you throw your life away and rob us of your art?’

  Kagrin shrugged and looked at his feet. ‘Where Thorgig goes, I go,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I tried to tell him the same,’ said Thorgig, angry, ‘but he won’t listen.’

  ‘Try telling yourself,’ snapped Hamnir. ‘You have a long life ahead of you.’

  ‘My life is already forfeit,’ said Thorgig stiffly. ‘I left my clan and my family trapped in a hold full of grobi, and escaped to safety. Only freeing them will expunge my shame.’

  ‘You have no reason for shame. There was an army of orcs in the way,’ Hamnir said. ‘You would never have gotten through.’

  ‘Then I should have died trying.’

  Hamnir’s fist tightened around the horn until his knuckles were white. It looked as if he might crush it. Finally, he shoved it at Thorgig, punching him in the chest with it, and turned away.

  ‘You should start at once if you hope to enter the keep before we are in position,’ he said as he passed Gotrek. At the stable door, he paused and looked back, his face solemn. ‘Luck to you all. You are our success… or our failure.’

  He walked out.

  A chill settled on Felix’s heart. ‘Inspiring, isn’t he?’ he said to Gotrek out of the side of his mouth.

  Gotrek shrugged. ‘What do you want from an oathbreaker?’

  Felix had no idea what that had to do with anything.

  ‘Prince Hamnir is no oathbreaker!’ said Thorgig. ‘Take it back.’

  ‘What do you kno
w of it, shortbeard?’ asked Gotrek. ‘You weren’t born then.’ He turned away from Thorgig and scowled at the others. ‘A Stonemonger and an Ironskin,’ he said looking from a cold-visaged, black-bearded dwarf wearing the clan rune of the Stonemongers, to a blond-maned, blue-eyed Ironskin who was the spitting image of Kirgi Narinsson, save for being at least a century younger and having a scar that ran down the left side of his face. He had a sliver of charred wood knotted into his huge blond beard like a charm. ‘Ranulfsson has a mean streak in him,’ said Gotrek, shaking his head. ‘He hides it well, but it’s there.’

  ‘We are not here at the prince’s bidding,’ said the blond dwarf, smiling mischievously as he toyed with the blackened wood. ‘We volunteered, as he said.’

  The black-bearded dwarf nodded. ‘The Ironskins and Stonemongers both have an interest in keeping you alive in this venture.’ His voice was a soft and cold as snow. ‘We do not wish to be cheated of our opportunity to resolve our grudges with you.’

  You don’t have to worry about me,’ said Gotrek, sighing, ‘not against grobi.’

  ‘Do we bring the manling into the hold?’ asked a grizzled Ironbreaker with a broken nose and braided white hair and beard. He eyed Felix as if he expected him to grow fangs and horns. ‘He’ll spy out our secrets.’

  ‘He is a Dwarf Friend,’ said Gotrek. ‘I vouch for him.’

  ‘Dwarf Friend?’ snorted the old Ironbreaker. ‘The dwarfs have no friends but the dwarfs,’

  ‘No wonder our glory is behind us,’ said Gotrek dryly. ‘What’s your name, doomsayer?’

  ‘Sketti Hammerhand, I am,’ said the dwarf, puffing out his chest, ‘of the Hammerhand clan. Ironbreaker and Deep Warden of Karak Izor.’ And true to his name, the haft of a warhammer stuck up over his right shoulder.

  Gotrek turned away from him, unimpressed. ‘And you?’ he asked, looking at the black-bearded Stonemonger. ‘The one who means to protect me so he can fight me later.’