[Gotrek & Felix 12] - Zombieslayer Read online

  Gotrek shrugged as she began to mix ingredients in a bowl. “As long as I live long enough to face Krell again, I don’t care.”

  “Don’t think I’ll back off because of this, Gurnisson,” said Rodi. “You’ll still have to beat me to him if you want him.”

  “Don’t worry, Balkisson,” said Gotrek. “I will.”

  Thick smoke was rising into the pink sky of pre-dawn as Felix and Kat stepped wearily out of the underkeep with the slayers. A great pyre of headless bodies burned in the middle of the courtyard, and the air was filled with the queasy smell of sweet pork. Father Ulfram and his acolyte stood in front of the pyre, chanting, the blind priest holding his warhammer unwaveringly above his head and clutching the holy book to his chest unopened. In a circle around the pyre, their heads bowed in silent prayer, the survivors of the battle stood—the household troops, the knights, von Volgen’s men, the servants and refugee farmers who had thought the castle would protect them.

  In the front row, their faces carved into stark, flickering relief by the glow of the fire, were the various commanders and captains—von Volgen, with new bandages to add to the one around his chest, von Geldrecht leaning on his cane, Bosendorfer glaring at the fire as if it were the enemy, Zeismann chewing his lip and shuffling his feet, Yaekel, the river warden, asleep on his feet, and Draeger with his thumbs hooked in his belt, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  Many of the farmers and servants wept. Many more just stared dully, shocked by the suddenness and savagery of the attack. The knights and household troops, veterans of the war in the north, only looked tired and resigned. Felix knew the look. He had seen it many times before, in the faces of those he had fought beside over all his long years with Gotrek. The loss of comrades in battle was never easy, but for the professional soldier, it was a familiar pain, and caused neither shock nor anger, just a weary sadness they locked away where it would not interfere with their work. The pain would be let out later, when all was safe, and would escape as drinking and fighting and whoring and the singing of raucous songs. But it was hidden now, and would not show itself while the threat of further battle remained.

  Felix and Kat started across the courtyard towards the pyre, but the slayers were talking amongst themselves and didn’t follow. Felix paused, wondering if they were still arguing about Krell, but it was something else entirely.

  “Pay your respects, manling,” said Gotrek. “We want to have a look at these so-called ward-woven walls.”

  “‘Enduring’,” sneered Rodi. “Aye. As enduring as an elf’s honour.”

  Felix nodded and he and Kat joined the mourners as the dwarfs stumped off in the opposite direction. After seeing the squabbling between Bosendorfer, Tauber and von Geldrecht, Felix was a bit envious of the slayers’ ability to put aside their animosities and work for the common good. He knew that Gotrek and Rodi were still angry with each other, but they wouldn’t let it get in the way of what was important. If only humans could learn that skill.

  When Father Ulfram’s chanting ended and everyone had murmured a last “Sigmar preserve us”, the crowd broke up—the surviving refugees returning to clear away their blackened tents, the household troops to begin repairing the defences, but the officers gathered around von Geldrecht and Father Ulfram, who were talking together in low tones. Von Volgen joined them too.

  Felix edged closer with Kat, wanting to hear whether Graf Reiklander had told von Geldrecht to hold or retreat, but it was Father Ulfram who was speaking.

  “No, I can’t be certain,” he quavered. “But I fear it must be. In the histories, they are always mentioned in the same breath. If the dwarf spoke true, and it was Krell he fought on the walls, then the necromancer is who I feared he was from the first—Heinrich Kemmler, who raised Krell from a thousand-year slumber to serve as his champion.” The name seemed to mean little to most of the officers, and it stirred only vague memories from university lectures in Felix, but von Volgen knew it.

  “It can’t be Kemmler,” he said. “He was slain over twenty years ago, in Bretonnia.”

  “It might be,” said the priest, nodding. “It might be, but the deaths of necromancers are often greatly exaggerated. And if it is he, we face a terrible threat. Terrible. Kemmler was said to be one of the greatest necromancers since Nagash, defeating the most powerful magisters and priests of his age. If he is returned, then dark days have befallen the Empire. Dark days.”

  Zeismann snorted. “And that’s a change, is it?”

  Von Geldrecht smiled and clapped Zeismann on the shoulder. “Thank you, captain,” he said, with forced cheer. “That is the true Empire spirit. Knowing the name of our enemy changes nothing. We have faced worse before, and spat in their eye. We will do the same now.” He turned to the others. “Now, gentlemen, your reports. Bosendorfer?”

  The men all looked at each other, clearly not fully confident in their new commander, despite how hard he was trying—or perhaps because of it.

  “Ten men dead, sir,” said the greatsword at last. “Four from Tauber’s poisons.”

  The steward coughed. “Enough about Tauber. How many can fight?”

  “Thirteen,” said Bosendorfer, sullen. “Only thirteen.”

  “Zeismann?” asked von Geldrecht.

  “Thirty-three dead or wounded,” said the spear captain. “Thirty-nine fighting fit.”

  “Thirty-seven knights dead,” said von Volgen. “Fifty-five well enough to fight. Forty more are wounded or sick from the tainted water. I do not include the knights who died or were injured in yesterday’s engagement.”

  “Eight dead,” said Artillery Captain Volk. “We’ll have to drop to two-man crews if y’want all the cannon firing, my lord.”

  “Eleven men dead, sir,” said Yaekel, “And my barracks and the canvas on my sloops burned. My lord, I—”

  Von Geldrecht held up a hand. “Yes, Yaekel. You wish to retreat. So noted.” He turned to the handgunner captain. “Hultz?”

  “Twenty-eight dead, my lord,” said the man. “Only—only eighteen left alive. Them bats, sir. They done for us something terrible.”

  “I know, Hultz,” said von Geldrecht sadly. “I know.” He nodded towards the slovenly free-company captain. “And you, Captain… what is your name again?”

  “Draeger, yer worship,” said the captain. “Er, three dead and twenty-seven alive.”

  Everyone’s head turned.

  Von Geldrecht glared. “You didn’t fight.”

  Draeger squared his jaw. “We guarded the stables, yer worship. Barred the door and watched them horses like they were our own.”

  “The stables were never under attack!” roared Bosendorfer.

  “Aye,” said Draeger, smug. “Thanks to us.”

  The other officers all started barking at once, but von Geldrecht held up his hands. “Enough! Never mind! We will deal with this later.” He turned to the young knight sergeant who had wept at Nordling’s death. “Classen?”

  Classen pulled his eyes away from Draeger and saluted. “Thirty-two dead, sir,” he said, then swallowed. “In—including General Nordling. Fifty still living and able.”

  “And at least a hundred of the servants and farm folk dead,” said Father Ulfram. “With more wounded and sick.”

  Von Geldrecht sighed and stared into the fire. “So,” he said. “More than a third dead or incapacitated after one attack, and any reinforcements at least six days away—once they actually start their march. It… will be difficult.”

  “It will be impossible!” cried Yaekel. “Forgive me, my lord, but we have no chance here! We must take to the river and escape! There is no other way!”

  “Be silent, Yaekel!” barked von Geldrecht. “I have told you—”

  Zeismann cut in before he could continue. “Much as I hate to admit it,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve to side with Yaekel. We’re too reduced now t’do any good. Let’s fall back to Nadjagard where we can make a proper defence.”

  “I agree,” said von Volgen. H
e bowed as von Geldrecht rounded on him. “Forgive me, lord steward. I am your guest, and will follow your orders, but this attack was only a quick jab to test our mettle, and it killed a third of the garrison. When the necromancer brings his full strength to bear, what will be the cost then?” He shook his head. “I fear the castle is a lost cause. We can do more good in Nadjagard.”

  “Thank you for your opinion, my lord,” said von Geldrecht, very stiff. “But though I see the wisdom of it, Graf Reiklander is adamant that Castle Reikguard be held to the last man, and I will not disobey him.” He turned to his captains. “You will second men from each of your watches to help with the construction of hoardings and other defences, and—”

  “But, my lord!” wailed Yaekel, interrupting. “What will we eat? What will we drink? Even if the zombies don’t get us, we’ll die of thirst!”

  “Sister Willentrude is purifying water to be used for the washing of wounds,” said von Geldrecht. “And the kitchen staff are preparing fires to boil water for drinking and cooking. We will have water and a hearty meal of… of flat cakes very soon.”

  “If I might make a suggestion, yer worship?” said Draeger.

  “If it involves you running away, you can forget it,” growled Bosendorfer.

  “Not at all,” said Draeger. “Only, we’re not completely cut off here, are we? Why don’t we send out Warden Yaekel’s boats on a foraging mission? Go downriver to some village where the zombies ain’t, and bring back some food.”

  Everyone looked around, taken off guard by the sensibleness of the idea. Von Geldrecht nodded.

  “That is an excellent suggestion, Draeger,” he said. “We will do just that.”

  “Thank you, yer worship,” said Draeger. “And if I might—”

  “You will have no part in it,” said von Geldrecht, cutting him off, “as I fear that you might somehow get lost while ashore.”

  “Oh no, my lord,” said Draeger, his eyes wide. “I assure you—”

  “Enough!” said von Geldrecht. “Zeismann, you will take fifteen of your men and escort Captain Yaekel and his crew downriver to requisition food and supplies from the villages there.” He paused as Yaekel’s eyes lit up, then continued. “And you will make sure that Captain Yaekel and his crew do not get lost either.”

  Yaekel’s face fell as Zeismann grinned.

  “Yes, sir,” said the spear captain. “There’ll be no men overboard on this trip.”

  Kat clutched Felix’s arm as the conversation continued. “Felix!” she whispered. “This is our chance to get Snorri away!”

  “Aye,” said Felix. “Let’s find Gotrek.”

  * * *

  They found the three slayers at last in the narrow tunnel that ran under the castle’s outer walls and connected its towers. They stood together, holding a lantern close to a square stone set in the wall, and staring at the angular dwarf rune that had been chiselled into it.

  “Gotrek,” called Felix, as they approached. “Von Geldrecht is sending out a foraging party by boat. We’ll be able to get Snorri…”

  He trailed off as he saw that the slayers weren’t listening. They just continued to stare at the rune.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Felix.

  Gotrek pulled his attention from the rune and looked at Felix. His one eye blazed with fury. “It is broken.”

  Felix and Kat stepped in and peered closer. A hairline crack split the stone from side to side, and cut through every arm of the rune.

  “This is why the dead could cross the walls,” Gotrek rumbled. “With this crack, the power forged into the rune has escaped.”

  “And every rune we’ve found is the same,” said Rodi.

  “But how did it happen?” asked Kat. “An earthquake? Settling?”

  Rodi shook his head. “Since the Time of Woes, the dwarfs have made such runes impervious to natural wear. And this happened only days ago. A week at the most.”

  “Snorri thinks it stinks of magic,” said Snorri.

  “Aye,” said Gotrek. “A hammer couldn’t touch such a rune. A chisel couldn’t make a mark. This was the work of sorcery.”

  “So it was Kemmler’s doing?” asked Kat.

  “Kemmler?” asked Rodi. “Who’s Kemmler?”

  “Father Ulfram says that if the wight is Krell,” said Felix, “then the necromancer must be Heinrich Kemmler, who raised him from his tomb.”

  “Never heard of him,” said Gotrek.

  “Whoever he is,” said Rodi, “if he broke the runes, he must have slipped into the castle himself.” He pointed to the floor of the tunnel, then to the stone again. “You see where someone tried to brush away their footprints? You see the imprint of a hand there?”

  Felix and Kat looked at the stone again. At the very centre, overlapping the broken rune, were a few smooth patches where it looked like the rough stone had been glazed. It reminded Felix of the shiny scars left on flesh by a branding iron, but the patches formed the shape of the palm and fingers of a hand.

  Kat shivered. “A touch that can crack stone?”

  Rodi nodded. “And the same marks are on every one we’ve found.”

  Felix swallowed as a thought came to him. “Kemmler wouldn’t bother to wipe away his footprints. He wouldn’t care. But someone who was afraid of being caught…”

  Gotrek nodded. “Aye, manling. The saboteur is in the castle.”

  EIGHT

  Felix groaned. On top of everything else, there might be a saboteur among them, and a powerful one—powerful enough to destroy centuries-old dwarf runes.

  “We must tell von Geldrecht,” he said. “We must find who did this.”

  “Aye,” said Gotrek. “And kill them.”

  The Slayer walked towards the exit, then looked back as Felix, Kat and the other slayers followed.

  “You said something about a boat, manling?”

  “Uh, yes,” said Felix. The revelation of the broken runes had momentarily knocked everything else out of his head. Von Geldrecht is sending a boat downriver to forage for food. “It seems a perfect opportunity to get Snorri out and on his way to Karak Kadrin.”

  “Why would Snorri want to go to Karak Kadrin when there are zombies to fight?” asked Snorri.

  “You’ve forgotten again, Father Rustskull,” said Rodi.

  “You’re going to the Shrine of Grimnir to get your memory back.”

  “Oh, right,” said Snorri. “Snorri forgot he forgot.”

  Gotrek shook his head. “It won’t work.”

  Felix blinked. “What do you mean? There are no zombies blocking the river gate. What would stop us?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gotrek. “But the broken runes are proof the necromancer has planned this well. He would not forget the boats.”

  The courtyard was a hive of activity as Felix, Kat and the slayers stepped into it. Behind the pyre of the dead, still burning near the stables, carpenters and defenders were laying out lengths of wood and putting together the wooden roofs of hoardings, while more were winching pallets of blackpowder barrels and cannon shot up to the walls. Even the knights were bending their backs, von Volgen’s Talabeclanders working side by side with the household knights. At quayside, Zeismann and his picked men were lining up as the river wardens made the largest of their sloops ready to sail. Von Geldrecht was giving Zeismann and Yaekel, the boat’s captain, last-minute instructions as Bosendorfer and von Volgen waited to speak to him.

  “As important as food is shot,” von Geldrecht was saying as Felix, Kat and the slayers neared them. “We must keep the guns firing. Take all you can.”

  “My lord von Geldrecht,” called Felix. “We have grave news.”

  The steward broke off and turned, mouth pursed in annoyance. “Everyone has grave news, mein herr,” he said. “It will have to wait.”

  “It can’t wait, my lord,” said Felix. “It affects this foraging trip.”

  Von Volgen and the three captains turned to listen.

  Von Geldrecht’s bearded jowls worked an
grily. “Very well,” he snapped. “What is this desperately important news?”

  “You have a traitor in the castle,” said Gotrek. “Someone has destroyed your warding runes.”

  “With magic,” said Snorri.

  “Your walls wouldn’t keep out an undead flea,” said Rodi.

  Von Geldrecht, von Volgen and the officers stared, then looked around at their men nervously But it seemed only they had heard.

  The steward limped closer and lowered his voice. “You are certain of this, dwarfs?”

  “Certain as steel,” said Gotrek.

  “But can they be repaired?” asked von Volgen. “Can you fix them?” Gotrek and Rodi snorted.

  Snorri laughed. “Snorri thinks you don’t know much about runes.”

  “A rune cannot be repaired,” said Gotrek. “It must be replaced.”

  “It takes a master runesmith years to make a single rune,” said Rodi. “And we are not master runesmiths.”

  “Someone in the castle?” von Geldrecht asked as he looked around at the soldiers and officers who were hard at work cleaning up the wreckage of the previous night’s battle. “Are you certain?”

  “The footprints of he who did it were deliberately wiped away,” said Felix. “Whoever did it had reason to hide.”

  “Tauber!” cried Bosendorfer, triumphant. “It was Tauber. He poisoned the water and destroyed the runes!”

  Von Geldrecht blanched, but Zeismann just rolled his eyes.

  “You’ve got Tauber on the brain, greatsword.”

  “You think it’s somebody else?” sneered Bosendorfer. “Who, then?”

  Von Geldrecht shushed them frantically as the men in the courtyard started to turn towards their raised voices. “None of that! None of that! Let us have no unfounded speculation. We mustn’t alarm the men.” He turned to Felix. “I thank you, sir, and you, friend dwarfs, for your information. But please be quiet about this. I will take the necessary steps.” He turned away. “Now, forgive me, I must see off Captain Zeismann and—”