[Gotrek & Felix 03] - Daemonslayer Page 15

  Felix was still amazed at how swiftly they had made the trip. A journey that would have taken months overland looked like it was going to take them only a few days at most, and much of that time had been spent searching for the Boyar’s mansion in this sea of grass. Truly this engineering of the dwarfs was a most potent form of magic.

  There!” he heard Ulrika shout and turned to see her pointing to something in the distance. It lay in the shadows of a distant range of dark and threatening mountains. Felix realised her eyes must be keen. All he could see was a vague smudge of smoke.

  Makaisson’s hands shifted on the wheel, and the nose of the airship swung around in the direction the woman had indicated. He pushed the altitude lever and they swung down lower and faster, sending flocks of startled birds flapping out of the long grass. As the mountains approached, Felix kept his eyes pinned to the direction Ulrika had indicated. Slowly he saw a large, long hall come into view. To his surprise, beside the mansion house, within the compound’s massive walls, was a tall tower, a smaller wooden version of the steel monstrosity which had loomed over the Lonely Tower.

  This, then, was the place where they were going to land. This might well be the last human habitation he would ever see.

  Ulrika’s father was huge, a head taller than Felix and burly as a bear. His beard was long and white, but his head was shaved except for a single topknot. His eyes were the same startling blue as his daughter’s; his teeth were yellow. A thick leather tunic encased his torso. Coarse cloth trousers covered his lower body, except where high riding boots covered his legs. A longsword and a shortsword hung from his thick leather belt. A dozen amulets jingled on the iron chains around his neck.

  He strode out to where the dwarfs waited at the foot of the tower. Behind him a row of warriors presented their weapons with ritual formality. He loomed over Ulrika and clasped her to his mighty chest then swept her off her feet and whirled her round and round as if she were a child.

  “Welcome home, daughter of my heart!” he bellowed.

  “It is good to be here, father. Now put me down and greet your guests.”

  The old man’s gusty laughter boomed out and he stomped over to where the crew of the airship stood waiting. He stopped short of embracing the dwarfs. Instead he bowed low in the dwarfish fashion, showing surprising flexibility for a man of his age and enormous girth.

  “Borek Forkbeard! It is good to see you. I trust you will find all as you requested it.”

  “I trust I will,” the old dwarf said, bowing just as low.

  “Gotrek Gurnisson, I bid you welcome also. It has been a long time since you honoured my hall with your presence. I am pleased to see you still carry that axe.”

  “I am pleased to return, Ivan Petrovitch Straghov,” Gotrek said in his least surly manner. Felix guessed that the Slayer was almost pleased to see the Kislevite.

  “And who is this? Snorri Nosebiter? I must see that a bucket of vodka is left at your table. Welcome!”

  “Snorri thinks that would be a good idea.” One by one all the dwarfs were greeted or introduced and then Ulrika led her father over to where Felix and the wizard stood waiting.

  “And, father, this is Felix Jaeger of Altdorf.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Felix said, extending his hand. Straghov ignored it as he loomed over Felix, hugged him in welcome and then kissed him once on each cheek. “Welcome! Welcome!” he bellowed in Felix’s ear, loud enough to threaten deafness. Before Felix could respond, he had been dropped and the old man was doing the same to Schreiber.

  “I thank you for the enthusiasm of your welcome, sir,” the wizard said when he had regained his breath.

  Felix exchanged glances with Ulrika, then looked in wonder over at the row of warriors who lined their way to the hall. Ivan Straghov might look and behave like a barbarian but there could be no doubt that he was a mighty warlord in his own land. A hundred riders stood by as an honour guard. All had hard faces and cold eyes, and all looked like they could use the well-honed weapons they presented to the dwarfs. According to Ulrika there were nine hundred more of these fierce riders who had sworn allegiance to her father. Being March Boyar was obviously an important post. Since it commanded the first line of defence against the hordes of Chaos, Felix guessed that it ought to be.

  “Now we eat!” boomed Straghov. “And drink!”

  Huge tables had been set up inside the mansion’s walls. Minor functionaries from all around had been invited to feast and marvel at the dwarfish airship. Caribou had been roasted on spits over great fire-pits. Plates were heaped with coarse black bread and cheese. Great flasks of fiery spirit which Snorri identified as vodka were put beside each plate. As promised, a bucket of the stuff was put beside Snorri.

  Felix followed the example of the locals and tossed back his tumbler in one swift gulp. It felt like he was swallowing molten metal. A cloud of something acidic seemed to burn the lining of his throat and make its way up to his nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes. He felt like he ought to be breathing fire and it was all he could do to keep himself from spluttering. He guessed that such behaviour would not be good form here however.

  He was glad that he had not done so when he noticed that all eyes watched him to see how he reacted to his first taste of the spirit.

  You drink like a true winged lancer!” Straghov bellowed and all the table banged their glasses on the table in agreement. Their host insisted that everyone fill their glasses, then shouted: To Felix Jaeger, who comes from the land of our allies, the Empire!”

  Of course, Felix could do nothing less than pledge a return toast to the ancient friendship between his folk and the folk of Kislev. Before long, the dwarfs were joining in too. Felix noticed that a pleasant warmth had settled in his stomach and that his fingers felt slightly numb. The vodka certainly got easier to drink the more glasses he tossed back, and soon he ceased to feel like it was burning his throat.

  Great mounds of food were devoured. Toast after toast was made. Great speeches of welcome and friendship were spoken until darkness fell. Somewhere during the course of the afternoon, Felix lost track of events. His head swimming from the vodka, he was only dimly aware of eating far too much, drinking far too much and joining in the singing of songs whose words he did not know. Some time during the evening he was sure he danced with Ulrika, before she whirled away to dance with Schreiber, and then sometime after that he wandered off to be sick beside the stables.

  After that his mind blanked completely and great chunks of memory were lost to the vodka and Kislevite hospitality. For the rest of his life he was not sure quite who he spoke to or what he said or how he got to the chamber that was allocated to him. Forever afterwards, however, he was grateful that he did.

  Felix awoke the next day feeling like a horse had kicked him in the head. Perhaps one had, he thought; he checked his face for bruises but could find none. He looked around the room and saw that the floor was of packed earth. The mattress was filled with straw and someone had thrown a thick quilt over him. During the night he had drooled on his pillow and a patch of wetness was evident where his head had been. At least, he hoped it was just drool.

  He pulled himself to his feet, and wondered whether at some point during the previous evening he really had challenged Snorri Nosebiter to a wrestling match. He seemed to have a vague recollection of some such thing, or maybe he had just dreamt it. His limbs certainly felt twisted enough for him to have engaged in such a foolish pursuit. Maybe he had.

  That was the worst thing about a really hard drinking session. You could never quite remember what you had said, who you had insulted and to whom you had issued foolish challenges. You simply engaged in insane behaviour. At that moment, he wondered if perhaps it was true that alcohol was a gift from the Dark Gods of Chaos intended to make men mad, as some of the temperance minded cults in the Empire claimed. Right now he didn’t care. He just knew that he never, ever intended to drink again.

  A knock sounded on the door. Felix th
rew it open and blinked out into the harsh daylight.

  “Amazing,” Ulrika said by way of a greeting. “You are on your feet. I would not have thought it possible after the amount of vodka you consumed last night.”

  “That impressive, eh?”

  “All were impressed. Particularly by the way you climbed the airship tower while reciting one of your poems.”

  “I did what?”

  “I am only joking. You only climbed the tower. Most people thought you would fall and break your neck, but no…”

  “I really climbed the tower?”

  “Of course, don’t you remember? You bet Snorri Nosebiter a gold piece that you could. At one point you were going to do it blindfolded but Snorri thought that was an unfair advantage because you would not be able to see the ground and would not be quite so afraid. That was just after you’d lost a silver piece arm wrestling him.”

  Felix groaned. “What else did I do?”

  “When we were dancing, you told me I was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.”

  “What? I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be! You were very flattering.”

  Felix felt himself starting to blush. It was one thing flattering a pretty woman. It was another having no memory of having done so.

  “Anything else?”

  “Is that not enough for one night?” she smiled.

  “I suppose so.”

  “So you are ready to go riding then?”

  “Eh?”

  “You told me that you were a great horseman, and you agreed to go riding with me this morning. I was going to show you round the estate. You were very enthusiastic about it last night.”

  Felix pictured himself drunk and talking with this extremely pretty woman. He guessed that if she had offered to show him her father’s pig-sties in his inebriated condition he would have shown a creditable amount of enthusiasm for it.

  Actually, he was certain he would have managed to be enthusiastic about it in any condition except his present one. His hangover made even Ulrika Magdova look less ravishing than the prospect of going back to sleep.

  “I am looking forward to seeing you on horseback. It should be quite an impressive sight.”

  “I might have exaggerated about my horsemanship.”

  “You can ride?”

  “Er-yes.”

  “Last night you told me you could ride as well as any Kislevite.”

  Felix groaned again. Had some daemon taken over his tongue while he was under the influence of the vodka? What else had he said? And why had he drunk so much?

  “Ready to go then?”

  Felix nodded. “Just let me have a wash first.”

  He strode out into the courtyard. Snorri Nosebiter lay, still slumped over the table, his head encased in a bucket. Gotrek lay snoring by the smouldering remains of one of the fire-pits, his axe clutched comfortingly in his hands. Felix walked over to the water pump, put his head below it and began to work the lever. The cold stream sent a shock jarring along his spine. He puffed and blew and continued to pump, hoping to drive the hangover away by inflicting still greater pain on himself.

  Had he really said all those things or was Ulrika Magdova kidding him? He found it all too easy to believe that he had told her she was beautiful. He had thought it often enough over the past few days. He knew how much he had a tendency to run off at the mouth when he was really drunk. On the other hand, it scarcely seemed possible that he had climbed the airship tower while so drunk he could not remember it. It was an act of mad recklessness. No, he decided, it was simply not possible. She had to be joking.

  Snorri took his head from the bucket. He looked blearily over at Felix. “About that gold piece Snorri owes you?”

  “Yes,” said Felix uneasily.

  “Snorri will pay you when we get back from the Chaos Wastes.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Felix said and hurried off towards the stables.

  Felix leaned back in the saddle and rolled his head around to clear the stiffness out of his neck. He looked down from the top of the rise to where the small streams cut across the rolling plain. The land was somewhat marshy down there, and bright birds flickered in and out of the reeds. He thought he saw some frogs splashing into the water. Dragonflies flickered past his face, as did other larger insects which he did not recognise. Some of them had bright metallic coloured carapaces, far more striking than those of any insect he had ever seen before. Was this perhaps some evidence of the nearness of the Wastes, he wondered?

  He looked over at his companion and smiled, glad at long last to be here. At first the ride had seemed like a peculiarly refined form of torture, with the motion of the horse sending spasms of protest through Felix’s queasy stomach. He had cursed the woman, his mount, the fresh air and the bright sun, in roughly that order. But the exercise and the sunlight seemed to have at long last worked their spell on him, and sent his hangover back into the dim, dark recesses of his skull. He had found himself beginning to take an interest in the landscape, and even to enjoy the sensation of speed, of the wind on his face and the sun on his skin.

  Ulrika rode easily, as if born in the saddle. She was a Kislevite noble, so of course she had been riding virtually since she could walk. She had not said a word since they had set out, seemingly content to race along beneath the vast, empty sky until at last they had reached this small hillock and by wordless agreement come to a halt.

  Beyond the stream, in the distance, the dark mountains marched threateningly towards the horizon, their huge bulk seemingly carved from the bleak bones of the earth. They looked more desolate than any place he had ever been. No snow marked those rugged peaks, but there was a hint of something else, of an oil-like film whose colours shifted and shimmered in the light of the sun. There was a sinister, threatening air about the mountains, hinting at the fact that beyond them lay the outriders of the Chaos Wastes.

  “What is that pass?” Felix said, pointing north to the enormous gap which looked as if it had been hacked out of the mountain barrier by some giant’s axe.

  “That’s Blackblood Pass,” Ulrika said quietly. “It’s one of the major routes down from the Wastes, and the reason why the Tzarina has placed this outpost here.”

  “Do the Dark Ones pass this way often?”

  “You can never tell when they will come or even what they will be. Sometimes they are huge riders in black plate mail. Sometimes they are beastmen, with the heads of animals and the weapons of men, but sometimes other twisted deformed things that are even worse. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it. It does not matter whether it’s high summer or the depth of winter; they can come at any time,”

  “I have never been able to fathom the way Chaos works. Perhaps you should talk to Herr Schreiber about it.”

  “Perhaps but I doubt that even Max’s theories could explain it. Best just to keep weapons sharp and the beacons manned, and be ready to fight at any time.”

  “Beacons?”

  “Aye, there is a system of beacons stretching back from the pass. When they’re lit all the villagers know to flee to their villages and lock the gates, and all the lancers know to muster at my father’s house.”

  “Smoke by day, fire by night,” Felix murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “You live in a frightening land, Ulrika.”

  “Aye, but it is also beautiful, is it not?”

  He looked at her and the land beyond and nodded his head. He noticed that her pupils were large in her eyes, and that her lips were slightly parted. She was leaning slightly towards him. Felix knew a cue when he heard one.

  “That it is. As are you.” He leaned towards her. Their hands met and fingers interlaced. Their lips touched. It was as if an electric shock had passed through Felix, and almost as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Ulrika broke away, and reined her horse about.

  “It’s getting late. I will race you back to the mansion,” she said and turned her mount suddenly and took flight. Feeling more than a
little frustrated, Felix set off in pursuit.

  Lurk scurried along the top of the gondola. He was happier than he had been in a long time. It was dark and the skeleton crew left on the airship were mostly asleep, except for the dwarf on the command deck. The others were down below, drinking and laughing and singing their foolish human songs. There was plenty of food in the hold, and so far no indication that his presence had been noticed. Now that he was starting to feel more relaxed he could indulge the curiosity which was another Skaven trait. He had slunk around the airship, exploring all the nooks and crannies and he had discovered some very interesting things.

  There was a flexible metal tunnel that ran up into the big balloon overhead. It passed right through the body of the gasbag and came out on a small observation deck on top. There was a hatch which led out onto the top of the gasbag. The whole thing was covered in webbing to which you could cling.

  At the very rear of the airship was a chamber containing one of the small flying machines which had helped rout the skaven force during the Battle of the Lonely Tower. There was a huge doorway and a ramp that looked like they were designed to let the flying machine out. If only he knew enough to fly the thing, he could have stolen it and made his way back to Skavenblight a hero. The urge to get behind the controls and start flicking switches and pulling levers had been almost irresistible. He had given the notion serious consideration—but the grey seer had been very specific during their last communication.

  Lurk was to do nothing and touch nothing without Thanquol’s express instructions. The grey seer’s words had been quite insulting, implying that Lurk was an idiot who would most likely do something disastrously wrong without Thanquol’s guidance. It was just as well for Thanquol that he was who he was, Lurk decided. Only a sorcerer of Thanquol’s ability could get away with talking to Lurk that way.

  No, he was just going to have to sit tight and do nothing until he got his orders. There was nothing more to do except wait.

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