by Warhammer
‘No, brothers!’ shouted Lichtmann, trying to stand on the metal slope. ‘Do not damage the ship! We must make it to Middenheim!’
The horror didn’t appear to hear. It swung again. A fourth cable snapped and Gotrek slammed to the deck, blood spraying from his forehead. The nose of the gondola sank further, tilting the roof alarmingly. More cables creaked and stretched.
Felix heard things shifting and thudding below him, deep inside the airship. He pushed himself to his feet and ran to the Slayer. His feet slipped on the slope and he fell again.
The Slayer pushed up, his burned and blistered face a mask of blood, which poured from a gash like a white smile across his forehead. Felix gagged as he realised he was seeing Gotrek’s skull.
The horror howled and raised its two iron arms to smash the Slayer to a pulp, but it lost its balance and slid back towards the edge.
With a roar of fury, the Slayer threw himself down the slanting roof at it. It flailed wildly at him with its two cannon. Gotrek ducked them and swung his axe up from below. He chopped through the left arm at the root, severing it in a flash of green fire. The huge cannon dropped, and crashed down right on Gotrek’s head and upraised right arm, mashing him flat to the deck, then it rolled off him and bounced down the slanted roof to tumble off into space. Gotrek slid down the slope on his face after it, unmoving.
Lichtmann and Felix stared at Gotrek’s body as it bumped to a stop against the rail at the prow end of the gondola and lay there motionless. Felix was frozen in shock. By Sigmar, had he just seen the Slayer’s death?
Lichtmann laughed triumphantly and grinned at Felix. ‘A good trade, wouldn’t you say, Herr Jaeger?’ he asked. ‘An arm for an enemy’s life?’ He turned to the horror, who stood beside him. ‘Throw him over the side.’
The thing swayed down the incline, tentacles reaching out for the Slayer.
Felix’s heart slammed against his ribs. He had to do something. He had to stop it! What could he do?
‘At least the Slayer won’t have died in vain!’ he cried, then turned and scrabbled up the slanting roof towards the ladder. His feet slipped and skidded with every step. ‘Prepare to burn, sorcerer!’
‘Stop!’ shouted Lichtmann, and then, ‘Stop him!’
Felix heard the thudding steps of the horror coming after him and looked back, not daring to hope, then groaned with relief. Gotrek still lay at the rail. Lichtmann and the horror had left the Slayer behind to chase him.
Now if only Gotrek would wake up and finish them off, thought Felix, all would be well. He wouldn’t have to go through with his threat. He wouldn’t have to blow up the airship. He wouldn’t have to die. He… he wouldn’t have to face the fact that the Slayer was dead.
He looked back again. The horror was gaining, driving its remaining cannon down into the metal of the roof for purchase as if it was a cane, leaving a trail of ring-like dents. Lichtmann was right behind it, lit from below by his sword of flame.
Felix reached the hatch and snatched the fuel canister and the lantern from the grenade box, then ran to the ladder. He started up it one-handed, as fast as he could, which, in his current condition, wasn’t terribly fast. The canister clanged off the bars of the safety cage with every step, slowing him.
‘Are you certain you want to make this sacrifice, Herr Jaeger?’ called Lichtmann. ‘You are no Slayer.’
Felix cursed and tried to climb faster, but his battered body didn’t respond. The fiends were going to reach the ladder before he reached the top. He was still a dozen rungs away. He felt like weeping. ‘I can still die doing the right thing.’
Ten more rungs. Nine.
‘Very noble, Herr Jaeger,’ called Lichtmann, pacing the horror. ‘A sacrifice worthy of Sigmar.’
Eight. Seven.
‘A grand gesture to be sung about for all eternity.’
Six. Five.
Lichtmann and the horror reached the base of the ladder. Lichtmann sneered. ‘If only you had succeeded.’
The daemon’s iron arm swatted the ladder with a horrendous crunch, mangling the safety cage and pinching it shut at the base. Felix lost his grip and slipped several rungs, dropping the fuel and lantern. They rattled through the bars to the deck and clattered away down the slant.
Felix climbed frantically on. Six again. Five again. Oh gods!
The horror smashed the ladder again, and this time ripped it free of the bolts that held it to the belly of the balloon. With a scream of tortured metal, the cage and ladder toppled sideways towards the nose of the gondola, Felix trapped inside. The air exploded from his lungs and pain blasted the wits from his head as his prison slammed to the roof, then rolled towards the side and hit the railing. For a moment it seemed that it might stop there, but then inertia pushed it up and over. Felix clawed up the ladder towards the open end of the cage as he felt the twisted bottom half dip earthward and start scraping down the side of the gondola.
With a last desperate surge Felix pushed his head and shoulders free of the cage and threw out a hand. The gondola’s railing smashed against his palm as he slid past it. He clutched at it, caught it, then lost it, and was dragged with the cage down the side of the gondola. He screamed and scrabbled with his hands at the smooth surface. There was nothing to hold on to.
A sharp ridge cracked him under the chin. He grabbed at it – a porthole – brass, and studded with rivets. His fingers clung to it with hysterical strength and he stopped his slide as the ladder and cage fell away, dropping down through wispy, sunset-pink clouds towards the ground far below.
Felix’s legs swayed and banged against the side of the gondola as he held on to the porthole. The wind whipped at him, and his fingers were slick with panic sweat. He wouldn’t be able keep his grip very long. Already his fingers were cramping. He didn’t dare look down again, or the view would paralyse him, so he looked up.
That was no better.
Lichtmann and the horror loomed above him. Lichtmann shook his head admiringly. ‘Such tenacity, Herr Jaeger,’ he said. ‘I do believe if I just left you to die, you would somehow find a way to climb back up and attack me again. I’m afraid I can’t leave that to chance.’ He looked to the horror. ‘Brothers, Herr Jaeger and his uncouth companion have tossed three of our dear colleagues to the winds. I think it only fitting that you do the same for him.’
The horror howled from its melting mouths. The hateful whispers in Felix’s head joined the chorus. The mortar and the cannon that were all that were left of the thing’s armaments crackled with haloes of scintillating green energy. The mortar sank down into the churning mass that was its chest, and a cannonball floated up to meet it.
Felix swallowed, eyes wide. By Sigmar, it was going to shoot him point blank! He looked down and to either side. There was nowhere to go. The skin of the gondola was smooth until the next porthole, more than a body’s length away.
The mortar rose again from between the horror’s shoulders, breaking through the pulsing red flesh, then swivelled down towards Felix like a dead black eye. Green fire flared at its breach.
Lichtmann smiled. ‘Goodbye, Herr–’
There was a blur of movement behind the daemon, and then a bright flash of steel appeared under the mortar, slashing through its fibrous crimson neck. The mortar toppled from the horror’s shoulders, turning as it fell.
It fired.
The deafening report almost shook Felix’s fingers from the porthole. He cringed. Was he hit? No. He looked up, and ducked. The mortar clanged off the deck just above his head and bounced down and away.
The smoke from the explosion cleared, revealing the scene on the roof. Lichtmann was staring down at himself, an expression of disbelief on his chinless face. His blackened arm was gone, blasted away by the cannonball. Blood gouted from the stump in a torrent. With a weak whimper the sorcerer tottered and fell to the deck.
Beside him, the headless horror was turning and swinging its sole remaining cannon at something behind it, its multitudinous mouths roaring in fury
.
Another bright flash of steel and the last cannon separated from the daemon’s arm in a burst of green fire, then sailed out far beyond the edge of the gondola before plummeting out of sight.
The thing shrieked. Its tentacles lashed forward to snatch something up and raise it high. It was Gotrek, axe raised and drenched in blood, roaring with wordless rage. He swung down one handed, and buried the axe deep in the daemon’s chest.
It exploded.
Crimson gore spattered everywhere, then evaporated into a sulphurous pink cloud that whipped away on the wind. Out of the dissipating cloud fell the mangled wet bodies of the two crewmen it had ingested. Gotrek fell with them, hitting the deck in a loose jumble of limbs. His axe flew from his fingers and slid a little way down the slanting deck. Felix craned his neck. Was the Slayer dead? Had defeating the daemon taken the last of his strength?
No.
Gotrek was moving. He could just see him over the curve of the gondola, struggling to rise.
‘Gotrek?’ called Felix weakly. ‘Gotrek. Down here.’
The Slayer didn’t seem to hear him. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, wincing and pressing his ribs with his left hand. His right arm hung useless at his side. He swayed unsteadily on the angled deck.
‘Gotrek!’
Gotrek stepped out of Felix’s line of vision, then returned, dragging his axe behind him to stand over Lichtmann, who lay huddled by the low railing at the edge of the roof. Gotrek raised the axe with his left hand.
Felix couldn’t see the sorcerer’s face, but he saw his remaining hand rise in supplication.
‘Mercy,’ whispered Lichtmann. ‘Mercy, I beg you. I don’t want to die.’
‘Ask your master for mercy, sorcerer,’ rasped Gotrek, spitting blood.
He let the axe fall. Felix heard it chunk into meat, and there was a spray of blood. Lichtmann twitched once and lay still. Gotrek stared down at him, his face blank, blood from his horrible scalp wound dripping from his nose and matting his orange beard.
‘Gotrek,’ called Felix. ‘Gotrek, get a rope.’
The Slayer swayed and took a step, then toppled backwards out of sight, his one eye rolling up in his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Felix groaned and his head drooped forward to press against the glass of the porthole. His fingers screamed with agony. They were slipping slowly but inexorably down the curve of the rim. Of all the cruel jokes. Gotrek had killed the sorcerer. The airship, though wounded, was still air-worthy, and had not been blown to flinders, and Felix had miraculously survived it all, but now that it was all over and the day was saved, he was going to die, with no one to see or care.
For all he knew, Gotrek might be dead above him. He might have met his doom at last, and as heroically as he could have wished, saving the city of Middenheim from the most devious, destructive sabotage imaginable. And, wonder of wonders, Felix was alive to record the doom… for perhaps another minute. He giggled hysterically at the ridiculousness of it all, and almost lost his grip. Perhaps he could compose Gotrek’s epic on the way down, crafting the final rhyming couplet just before he slammed into the ground. Bizarrely, the verses began to flood into his mind. He knew exactly how it would go. He could see it all transcribed on the page before him. A tear trickled down his cheek. It was all so sad. His greatest work, lost before it was written. No one would know his true genius.
Voices rang out above him.
‘Hurry! Hurry! Out! Out!’
‘I’m hurrying, curse you! Come on, hand them out.’
‘Look! The Slayer!’
‘And the sorcerer!’
‘Sigmar’s hammer! He did it! He killed the dirty traitor!’
‘I think he killed himself as well. Tears of the Lady, look at the state of him.’
‘And where’s the swordsman? Jaeger.’
‘Professor! Come up! They’re up here! Look!’
‘Help,’ whispered Felix. And then, ‘Help!’ as he caught his breath. His fingers slipped another inch. His arms trembled with fatigue.
‘Grimnir and Grungni,’ came a familiar voice. ‘They snapped the cables. That’s the cause of it. Here noo, see to the Slayer, and gie him a…’
‘Help!’ cried Felix again. ‘Malakai! Makaisson!’
‘Hsst!’ said Malakai. ‘Dae ye hear something? Wis tha’ my name?’
The voices stopped.
‘Help!’ bellowed Felix.
‘Over the side,’ said someone.
Malakai’s round, bewhiskered face appeared over the curve of the gondola. He had a lump on his forehead as big and purple as a plum, and another over his ear. His eyes grew wide. ‘Why, Herr Jaeger, what are ye doin’ doon there?’
He turned away before Felix could say anything, and was back an instant later with a weird leather bag that looked something like a backpack, but with long, looped straps that would have the thing banging around your calves if you tried to wear it. Makaisson held onto one loop and flipped the other down towards Felix. It slapped against the side of the gondola just above his head.
‘Catch ahold of tha’, young Felix,’ he said. ‘And haud on tight.’
Felix was almost too terrified to let go, but there was nothing for it. He threw a desperate arm up and hooked his hand through the loop. He couldn’t grasp it as he normally would. His fingers were too cramped to close. He inched his hand forward until the loop was firmly in the crook of his arm.
‘Pull,’ he gasped.
Malakai pulled, two of his crew holding onto his shoulders to steady him. Felix began to slide slowly up the curve of the gondola, groaning with both relief and pain. His fingers felt like they were on fire. At last strong hands reached out and pulled him over the railing and he collapsed gratefully on the roof, panting like a dog.
He lifted his head and looked around for Gotrek. The Slayer was standing, barely, supported by several of Makaisson’s crew. What were they doing to him?
‘No time for a kip, young Felix,’ said Malakai. ‘We hiv tae abandon ship. Now!’
Felix squinted up at him, confused. ‘Abandon ship?’ He didn’t understand. And why were all the young men who stared down at him wearing the strange sagging packs?
Malakai pulled him roughly to his feet and handed him the pack he had pulled him up with. ‘Aye. Put this on. Some burning crates slid into the black powder barrels when the gondola tipped. We cannae put it out.’
Felix gaped as he mechanically put on the pack. The powder would blow the ship to pieces and the fire would set the gas cells alight. ‘Then we’re all dead.’
‘Nae, nae. Not at a’,’ said Makaisson. ‘My newest invention will get us all safe tae the ground. But we have to go, noo.’
New invention? Felix looked around the roof, expecting to see some weird contraption – a ten-man gyrocopter perhaps. There was nothing. What was Makaisson talking about?
The engineer turned to Gotrek, who leaned wearily against the railing, trying to get his limp right arm through the strap of one of the packs. ‘Are ye ready, Gurnisson?’
One of Makaisson’s crew took the Slayer’s arm, trying to help.
Gotrek winced and shoved him away. ‘Leave off,’ he growled, then forced the arm through the strap, gritting his teeth. ‘Ready,’ he said. Something white glinted halfway up his forearm. It was the jagged end of a bone, sticking out from the Slayer’s skin.
Felix blanched at the sight. He had never seen Gotrek so hurt. Then again, Gotrek had never fought a daemon with arms of iron before. Could even the Slayer recover from such grievous wounds?
Malakai stepped to the Slayer and shook a brass ring that dangled from the pack’s left strap. ‘Once ye jump, ye count tae five, then pull the ring. Aye?’
Gotrek nodded. He picked up his axe. ‘Aye.’
Malakai looked back at Felix. ‘Ye have it, young Felix? Count to five and pull?’
‘Count to five and pull,’ repeated Felix, not understanding in the slightest. The pack? The pack was the invention? ‘But what
is it? What does it do? What does it carry?’
Malakai put a foot up on the rail. ‘It’s a wearable air-catcher. Ah call it a “reliable”.’ He took a last look around at the battered gondola of the Spirit of Grungni, and the balloon that rose above it. ‘Ach weel,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Ah always did want tae build a bigger one.’ He lowered his flying goggles and waved a hand over his head. ‘Awa, lads. Awa!’
And with that, Makaisson jumped off the gondola and dropped out of sight. His few remaining crewmen gave each other wild-eyed looks, then shrugged and leapt after him, screaming ‘Awaaaaay!’ at the top of their voices.
Felix swallowed as he watched them plummet towards the earth. He turned to Gotrek. The Slayer was lifting a stiff leg over the railing. ‘Come on, manling. It’s a long walk to Middenheim.’
Felix put a foot up on the rail, then hesitated. A muffled explosion rocked the gondola, jolting him sideways. Another followed right on the heels of the first.
Gotrek leapt into the air, bellowing a dwarfish war cry. Felix jumped after him, a prayer to Sigmar on his lips that, whatever it was supposed to do, the ‘reliable’ he had strapped to his back was more of a success than Makaisson’s ‘Unsinkable,’ or his ‘Unstoppable.’
He dropped towards the ground at an alarming rate. The landscape rushed up at him like something out of a dream – rivers and fields and trees growing larger and more clear with every passing second. It was mesmerising. Sigmar! He had forgotten to count! Had it been five yet? Had he waited too long?
With a loud whump, a huge white shape blossomed beside him, then whipped up out of sight as he shot below it. That was Gotrek! The Slayer would not have forgotten to count. With panicky fingers, Felix fumbled at the ring and pulled.
Another whump, and something grabbed him roughly under the arms and jerked him to a stop in mid-air. It was agony on his wounds, and he nearly blacked out. The pressure lessened quickly and he looked up. A giant white mushroom cap as big as a tent floated over his head. Felix blinked. He was dangling from it by a score of thin silk cords. An aircatcher. Astounding. He looked down. More mushroom caps were floating lazily down towards the trees below him in the golden, late-afternoon light. There was no sound. The beauty of it all took his breath away. How strange to feel so peaceful so high up, with nothing under his feet but air.
