Warhammer - Wolf Riders Page 5

  He moved over to beside Gotrek. They stared out over the ditch that surrounded the outer wall and which was sided with sharpened stakes. The only easy way over it was the bridge of earth that this gatetower overlooked.

  "Gotrek..."

  "Yes, manling?"

  "You've built well," he said.

  Gotrek looked up and smiled grimly. "We'll soon find out," he said. Felix looked to where the Trollslayer pointed. The fields were dark with wolf-riders. Gotrek raised the alarm horn to his lips and sounded a blast.

  Felix ducked as an arrow splintered into the wood of the parapet in front of him. He reached down and took a crossbow from the fingers of the dead guard. The man lay with an arrow through his throat. Felix fumbled for a quarrel and strained to cock the weapon. He eventually slipped a bolt into place.

  He leapt up. Fire arrows flashed overhead like falling stars. From behind him came the stench of burning.

  Felix looked down. Wolf-riders circled the camp as a wolf-pack circles a herd of cattle. He could see the green skin of the riders glisten oilily in the light of their burning arrows. The flames highlighted their jaundiced eyes and yellowish tusks.

  There must be hundreds of them, thought Felix. He thanked Sigmar for the ditch and the spikes and the wooden walls that Gotrek had made them build. At the time it had seemed needless labour and the dwarf had been roundly cursed. Now it seemed barely adequate provision.

  Felix aimed at a wolf-rider who was drawing a bead on the tower with one pitch-soaked arrow. He pulled the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt blurred across the night and took the goblin in the chest. It fell backwards in the saddle. Its blazing arrow was launched directly into the sky, as if aimed at the moons.

  Felix ducked and reloaded. With his back to the parapet he could see down into the courtyard. A human chain of women and children carried buckets from the rain-barrels to the flaming hovels, struggling vainly to extinguish the fires. He saw one old woman go down and others flinch as arrows fell around them like dark rain.

  Felix turned and fired again, missing. The night was filled with a cacophony of sound. The screams of the dying, the howling of wolves, the deadly cutting whisper of arrows and crossbow bolts. He heard Gotrek singing happily in Dwarvish and somewhere far-off the Duke's dry, rasping voice giving calm collected orders. Dogs barked, horses whinnied in terror, children cried. Felix wished he were deaf.

  He heard the scratching of claws on wood nearby and lurched to his feet. He looked over the parapet and almost lost his face. The jaws of a wolf snapped shut below him. The creature had leapt the ditch, ignoring the stakes which were covered by the bodies of its fallen comrades.

  He smelled the stench of its breath as it fell, saw its rider hanging on grimly as it gathered itself for another spring. Felix let fly with a crossbow bolt. It thunked into the creature's chest, and the wolf fell. Its rider rolled clear and scuttled off into the night.

  Felix saw Frau Winter climb up into the watchtower, to stand at Gotrek's shoulder. He hoped she would do something. In the howling chaos of the night it was impossible to tell, but Felix felt that things were not going well for the defenders. The ditch seemed to be filling with the bodies of their attackers, and the guards were falling like flies to the incessant barrages of arrows in spite of the protection of the parapet.

  When Felix looked again he saw a group of heavily armoured orcs, bearing a sharpened tree runk, racing towards the gate. A few crossbow bolts landed among them but others were deflected by the shields of those who ran alongside the rammers. He heard the juddering sound of the tree's impact on the gate.

  Felix fumbled for his sword, preparing to leap from the walls into the courtyard and hold the gate. If it fell all he could do was sell his life dearly; they were too badly outnumbered to delay the besiegers long. He felt fear twist in his gut. He hoped Kirsten was safe.

  Frau Winter's calm clear voice rang out. She chanted like a priest at prayer. Then the lightning came.

  Searing blue light leapt through the night. The air stank of ozone. The hair on the back of Felix's neck prickled. He tried to watch as the lightning flashed among the ram-carriers. He heard them scream. Some danced back, capering like clowns, dropping the tree trunk. They fell to earth, bodies smouldering. The disgusting burned-meat smell of scorched flesh filled the air.

  Again and again the lightning lashed out. Wolves howled fearfully, the hail of arrows slackened, the sickening smell increased. Felix looked at Frau Winter. Her face was drawn and pale, her hair stood upright. As her face alternated black and blue in the flashes, she looked daemonic. He had not suspected any human being could wield such power.

  The wolf-riders and the orc infantry retreated, howling in terror, to beyond the reach of those appalling thunderbolts. Felix felt relieved, then he noticed, off in the distance, a glow of light.

  He peered into the darkness, making out an old greenskin shaman. A red nimbus played around his skull, illuminating the wolfskin head-dress and the bone-staff he held in one gnarled claw. A beam of blood-coloured light flickered from his head and lashed out at Frau Winter.

  Felix saw her moan and totter back. Gotrek reached out to support her. He watched her grimace in pain, her face becoming a pale mask. She gritted her teeth, and sweat beaded her brow. She seemed to be engaged in a contest of wills with the old shaman.

  The wolf-riders rallied around their braver leaders. Cautiously they began to return, although their renewed attacks lacked the wild ferocity of their initial onslaught. All through the night the struggle continued.

  In the morning Felix approached Gotrek where he stood with Manfred, Dieter and Frau Winter. The woman looked weary beyond endurance. People crowded around her, gazing at her in awe.

  "How are we doing?" Felix asked Gotrek.

  "As long as she holds out, we can. If she can call the lightning." Manfred looked at Gotrek and nodded agreement.

  There was a commotion from the other side of the courtyard.

  "Frau Winter, come quickly, the Duke has been gravely wounded. An arrow, maybe poisoned," said Dr Stockhausen. Wearily, the sorceress walked into the mansion. From the crowd Felix saw Kirsten move to support her. He smiled at her, glad they were both alive.

  With a sound like thunder, the gate rocked back on its hinges. Another blow like that and it will fall, thought Felix. He looked over at Gotrek who was testing the edge of his axe experimentally with his thumb. On this second night of the siege the Trollslayer was looking forward to hand-to-hand combat. Felix felt a tug on his shoulder. He turned to see Hef. The big man looked deathly afraid.

  "Where is Frau Winter?" he asked. He nodded at the gate. "That's no battering ram. That's the staff of that old devil. He'll have all our heads for his lodge afore the night's out unless the witch can stop him!"

  Felix looked from Hef to the rest of the pitifully depleted band of defenders. He saw tired warriors; wounded men who could barely carry a sword, teenage boys and girls armed with pitchforks and other improvised weapons. From outside the howling of wolves was deafening. Only Gotrek looked calm.

  "I don't know where she is. Dieter went to get her ten minutes ago."

  "Well, he's takin' his time 'bout it."

  "All right," said Felix. "I'll go get her."

  "I'll come with you," said Hef.

  "Oh no you won't," said Gotrek. "I trust the manling to return. You'll stay here. The gobbos will pass this gate over our dead bodies."

  Felix made for the mansion. He knew that Kirsten was with the sorceress. If things went as badly as he feared he would at least see her before the end.

  He had barely reached the door when he heard a splintering sound from behind him and the crash of the gate falling in. He heard Gotrek bellow his war-cry, and the screams of terror from some of the warriors. He turned and saw a terrible sight.

  In the gateway, mounted on a great white wolf, was the shaman. Around his head was a halo of ruddy light. It played from the tip of his bone staff, staining the faces of all around like bl
ood. From the wall a quarrel flashed but it was turned aside by some force before it could hit the sorcerer.

  Flanking the shaman were six mighty orcs, mail-clad, axe-armed and fierce. Beyond them was a sea of green faces and wolves. Gotrek laughed aloud and charged. The last thing Felix saw before he stepped inside was the Trollslayer running forward, axe held high, beard bristling, towards the source of that terrible light.

  Inside, the mansion was strangely quiet, the roar of sound outside muffled by the stone-walls. Felix ran through the corridor, shouting for Frau Winter, his voice ringing eerily in the quiet halls.

  He found the bodies in the main hall. Frau Winter had been stabbed through the chest several times. Her clean grey dress was red. She had a look of suprise on her face, as if death had taken her unawares. How had the goblins got inside, thought Felix crazily. But he knew no goblin had done this.

  Another body lay near the door, stabbed through the back as she had struggled to open it. Not wanting to believe it, Felix advanced, heart in his mouth. Gently he turned Kirsten's body over. He felt a brief flicker of hope as her eyes opened, then noticed the trickle of blood from her mouth.

  "Felix," she said. "Is that you? I knew you'd come."

  Her voice was weak and blood frothed from her lips as she spoke. He wondered how long she had lain there.

  "Don't talk," he said. "Rest."

  "Can't. I have to talk. I want tell you I'm glad I came down Thunder River. Glad I met you. I love you."

  "I love you too," he said, for the first time, then he noticed her eyes were closed. "Don't die," he said rocking her gently in his arms, but she was already dead. He felt her body go limp and his heart turned to ash. He laid her down gently, tears in his eyes, then he looked towards the door she had tried to open and cold fury filled him. He raced down the corridor.

  Dieter's body lay in the doorway to the baron's room. The side of the big man's head had been caved in. Felix pictured him rushing through the doorway in anger and being hit from the side by his prepared enemy.

  Felix sprang over the body like a tiger, rolling as he hit the ground and leaping to his feet. He surveyed the room. The old duke lay in bed, a knife through his heart, blood soaking the bandages on his chest and the sheets of the bed.

  Felix glared over at the chair in which Manfred sat, his red sword across his lap.

  "The curse is fulfilled at last," the playwright said in a controlled voice that held the shrill edge of hysteria. He looked up and Felix shuddered. It was as if Manfred's face were a mask through which something else stared, something alien.

  "I knew it was my destiny to fulfil the curse," Manfred said conversationally. "Knew it from the moment I killed my father. Gottfried had him imprisoned when he started to change. Locked him up in the old tower, took him all his food himself. No-one else was allowed into that tower except Gottfried and Frau Winter. Nobody else went there till the day I did. Ulric knows, I wish I hadn't."

  He rose to his feet gripping the hilt of his sword. Felix watched him, hypnotized by his own hatred.

  "I found my father there. There was still a family resemblance in spite of the way he had... changed. He still recognized me, called me son in a horrid rasping voice. He begged me to kill him. He was too cowardly to do it himself. So was Gottfried. He thought he was doing my father a kindness, by keeping him alive. Keeping alive a mutant."

  Manfred began to edge closer. Felix noticed the blood dripping from his blade, speckling the floor. He felt dizzy and tired. The mad young aristocrat became the centre of his world.

  "As I felt the old man's blood flow over my knife, everything changed. I saw things clearly for the first time. I saw the way Chaos taints all things, twisting and corrupting them as it had done to my father's body. I knew that I was his son and that within me, carried in my blood, was the mark of daemons. I was the agent of Chaos, spawn of its loins. I was a child of darkness. It was my destiny to destroy the von Diehl line. As I have done."

  He laughed. "The exile was the perfect opportunity, hell-sent. The avalanche was mine, a good start. I thought I had failed when I released the undead and they didn't succeed in destroying my uncle and his followers. But now nothing can save you. Darkness will take you all. The curse is complete."

  "Not yet," said Felix, his voice choked with hatred. "You're a von Diehl and you're still alive. I haven't killed you yet."

  Insane laughter rang out. Once more Felix felt as if he was staring at some devil in human flesh.

  "Herr Jaegar, you do have a sense of humour. Very good! I knew you would be amusing. But how can you slay the spawn of Chaos?"

  "Let us find out," said Felix, springing forward to the attack. Viperishly swift, Manfred's blade rose to parry then began the counter. Swordstrokes flickered like lightning between them. Steel rang on steel. Felix's swordarm was numb from the force of Manfred's blows. The nobleman had the strength of a maniac.

  Felix gave ground. Normally, cold fear of Manfred's insanity would have paralyzed him but now he was so filled with rage and hate that there was no room for terror. His world was empty. He lived only to kill Kirsten's murderer. It was his one remaining desire. Two madmen fought in the Baron's chamber.

  Manfred advanced with cat-like grace, smiling confidently, as if amused by some mild witticism. His blade wove a web of steel that was slowly tightening around Felix. His eyes glittered, cold and unhuman.

  Felix felt the stone of the wall at his back. He lunged forward, striking at Manfred's face. Manfred parried with lazy ease. They stood vis-a-vis, blades locked, faces inches from each other. They pushed with all their strengths, each searching for advantage. Muscles stood out in Felix's neck, his arm burned with fatigue as slowly, inexorably Manfred pushed back his arm, bringing his razor-sharp blade into contact with Felix's face.

  "Goodbye, Herr Jaegar," said Manfred casually.

  Felix brought the heel of his boot down on Manfred's instep, crunching into the foot with all his strength and weight. He felt bone splinter, saw the nobleman's face twist in agony, felt the pressure ease. He brought his blade forward, slicing across Manfred's throat. The playwright tottered back and Felix's thrust took him through the heart.

  Manfred fell to his knees and stared up at Felix with blank uncomprehending eyes. Felix pushed him over with his boot and spat on his face.

  "Now the curse is fulfilled," he said.

  Mind clear and unafraid, Felix stepped out into the cold night air, expecting to find the wolf-riders and death. He no longer cared. He welcomed it. He had come to understand Gotrek thoroughly. He had nothing worth living for. He was beyond all fear. Kirsten, I will soon be with you, he thought.

  In the gateway he saw Gotrek, standing amid a pile of bodies.

  Blood flowed from the dwarfs appalling wounds. He was slumped forward, supporting himself on his axe, barely able to keep upright. Nearby Felix saw the bodies of Hef and the other defenders.

  Gotrek turned to look at him and Felix could see that one eye was missing, torn from its socket. The dwarf staggered dizzily, fell forward and slowly and painfully tried to pull himself upright.

  "What kept you, manling? You missed a good fight."

  Felix moved towards him. "So it seems."

  "Damn gobbos are all yellow-eyed cowards. Kill their leaders and the rest turn tail and run."

  He laughed painfully. "Of course I had to kill a score or so of them before they agreed."

  "Of course," said Felix, looking towards the pile of dead wolves and orcs. He could make out the wolf-head-dress of the shaman.

  "Damnedest thing," said Gotrek. "I can't seem to stand up."

  He closed his eye and lay very still. Felix watched the small line of stragglers begin to trek northwards under the watchful eyes of the few remaining soldiers. Felix thought that they might be taken in by one of the settlements now that they were no longer being escorted by the Baron's full force. For the sake of the children he hoped so.

  He turned to the mass grave, the barrow in which they had
buried the bodies. He thought about the future he had buried with them. He was landless and homeless again. He settled the weight of the pack on his shoulders and turned to look at the distant mountains.

  "Goodbye," he said. "I'll miss you."

  Gotrek rubbed at his new eye-patch irritably, then blew his nose. He hefted his axe. Felix noticed that his wounds were pink and barely healed.

  "There's trolls in those mountains, manling. I can smell them!"

  When Felix spoke his voice was flat and devoid of all emotion. "Let us go and get them."

  He and Gotrek exchanged a look full of mutual understanding. "We'll make a Trollslayer out of you yet, manling."

  Wearily they set out towards the dark promise of the mountains, following the bright thread of Thunder River.

  THE TILEAN RAT

  by Sandy Mitchell

  It was one of those Marienburg fogs, the kind you get when the year isn't sure if it's time to be winter yet, and alternates sunshine and drizzle with sharp, dagger frosts. Then at dusk, when the freeze comes, hardening the puddles till they crack underfoot, the mist starts rising from the waterways that flow through the city like blood through its veins.

  It always starts slowly, a smooth, even layer above the water, so the ships and the riverboats choking the channels look as if they're floating on clouds, and the hundreds of bridges stitching the isles of the Reikmouth together seem to rise unsupported between them. Then the breeze starts to form ripples in the vapour, sculpting strange shapes that slip away when you look at them. As it rises the turbulence grows, lapping around the pilings of the wharves, then higher still, until it begins to flow gently through the streets like the ghost of the river itself.

  Once that happens, the city changes. If you walk the streets then you move like a ghost yourself, wrapped in your own shroud. Torches flare, their light swallowed by the smothering grey, and the voices of the people around you become hushed, huddled close to their speakers for comfort.