Gotrek and Felix

Marriage of Moment

Josh Reynolds

Felix Jaeger blinked blearily as the grey light drizzled through the rips in the canvas roof of the wagon. He closed one eye and opened another, trying to stop his immediate surroundings from shuddering. When that failed to achieve the desired equilibrium, he slowly rotated his head, painfully conscious of the alcohol-induced hammers that were ringing down on the inside of his skull.

He was sprawled in the back of a wagon and his lanky frame was crammed amongst bags of corn meal, oats and stoppered casks of beer. His back ached abominably, and he realised that he was lying across his sword. Dried sausages dangled from the ribs of wood that held the canvas up, and a leg of salted pork bumped against his aching skull none too gently when he attempted to sit up. He sank back down, cursing virulently, and Karaghul’s ornate hilt stabbed him between the shoulder blades, eliciting further curses.

‘Are you awake then, manling?’ Gotrek Gurnisson inquired in a raspy growl. Felix rolled carefully onto his belly and tried to push himself upright, after sitting up proved to be too unpleasant a task. He looked around for the Slayer, and was rewarded by the sight of Gotrek’s scarred features peering back at him from the front of the wagon. The dwarf shoved the canvas flap aside, allowing a coil of frosty mountain air into the back of the wagon, along with the thick animal odour of the mules that were pulling it. His tattooed pate was scraped free of hair, save for a massive crest that had been dyed orange and stiffened with pig grease. His thick, braided beard had been dyed the same colour, and more tattoos covered his heavily muscled frame. Compared to his imposing companion, Felix resembled an overlarge youth, being slim-muscled and lanky, with the build of a trained swordsman.

Felix glared at the Slayer and then fell onto his stomach, hands over his eyes. ‘Yes, though I wish I weren’t,’ he moaned. ‘Where are we?’ He could recall the previous night only dimly. They had been in Solberg, a one-horse town in the Border Princes, far too close to the Badlands for Felix’s liking. Solberg wasn’t big, as far as towns went, even towns in the Princes, but it had had a tavern, which had been enough for Gotrek.

‘A wagon,’ Gotrek said. The Slayer gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘That should be obvious, even to you, manling.’ Felix recalled that the Slayer had put away a vat of the vile brew that the tavern-keeper had claimed was a local vintage, but, as usual, he seemed none the worse for wear. Felix, on the other hand, felt as if his guts were being eaten away from the inside out.

‘Yes, thank you. Where is the wagon going?’ Felix grunted. The wagon bounced as its wheels went over a rut, and Felix’s stomach lurched. He clapped a hand over his mouth and made a sound like a clogged pipe. Gotrek chuckled nastily.

‘We’re in the mountains,’ he said, knuckling his eyepatch absently. ‘There’s a wedding to attend, after all.’

‘A wedding,’ Felix said dully. Something about the word tugged at his thoughts. He gripped his stomach as the wagon gave another jouncing lurch. ‘Who’s getting married?’

‘You, manling,’ Gotrek said.

‘What?’ Felix yelped and shoved himself upright. ‘What in Sigmar’s name are you talking about?’ He flung out a hand towards the Slayer. Gotrek grunted in annoyance and one huge, meaty paw clamped shut over his wrist and Felix was dragged out onto the buckboard of the wagon. He winced. He’d once seen Gotrek kill a goblin with an open-handed slap, and he’d lost count of the skulls and necks that the Slayer had broken in their time together. As he fell face-forward across the buckboard, the Slayer released him. The Slayer’s great rune-axe was sitting by his feet on the buckboard, within easy grip, and Felix’s nose almost bumped against its wicked edge. Felix hastily pulled himself up and looked around. They were on a mountain trail, though just which mountains he couldn’t say. ‘Where are we?’

Gotrek gave him a look. ‘We’re in the Worlds Edge Mountains, manling, near Iron Rock, or thereabouts. Isn’t it obvious?’

Felix looked around, taking in the stunted trees and mossy deposits that decorated the dark rocks that thrust up around them. He’d explored more mountains than he could remember since becoming Gotrek’s companion, and they all looked more or less the same to him. A thrill of alarm coursed through him, as he processed Gotrek’s words. ‘Iron Rock, as in territory of the Iron Claw orcs,’ he said slowly. ‘Why are we heading into the territory of the Iron Claw orcs, Gotrek?’

‘Calm yourself, manling, we’re not, more’s the pity,’ Gotrek said. He smiled. ‘We’re after gold, not green, today.’

‘Fine, but whose wagon is this?’

‘His,’ Gotrek said, hiking a thumb at the man at the reins. The latter turned and gave Felix a wide, yellow smile. Felix recalled that smile, though not the name that went with it. He was a wiry man, dressed like a drover, in trail-stained leathers and a heavy wool cowl and travel-cape that resembled Felix’s own bright red Sudenland cloak. Felix pulled the latter tight around him as the mountain air planted chilly kisses on his exposed flesh.

‘Who’s he, exactly?’ he hissed, looking at Gotrek.

The ugly slash of the Slayer’s grin widened amidst the orange thicket of his beard. ‘An envoy from a very old, very important manling clan, isn’t that right?’ he growled, casting a meaningful look at the drover. The yellow smile faltered, but only for a moment.

‘Aye, Metternich, if it please you,’ he said, nodding to Felix. ‘You were a bit the worse for drink last night, so I’ll not hold it against you, Herr Jaeger.’

Felix examined Metternich more closely. The man wore a pair of bone-hilted daggers on his hip, and had a face like chipped rock. He was an Ostlander by his accent, though that wasn’t surprising. There were men from every principality and nation in the Border Princes. The mountainous, heavily forested no-man’s land was claimed by a dozen or more feuding independent princedoms, as well as twice that number of would-be warlords, war-chiefs and petty landed aristocracy, all striving to control their fiefdoms.

‘How obliging,’ Felix said. ‘Maybe you’ll oblige me further and tell me what my companion is talking about?’

‘Why – the wedding contract you signed,’ Metternich said, looking askance at him.

‘What wedding contract?’ Felix asked through gritted teeth.

‘Your friend there said you were looking for a wife,’ Metternich said.

‘Did he?’ Felix turned a gimlet gaze on the Slayer, but Gotrek met it with his single eye, unperturbed.

‘I did,’ he said. ‘What of it?’

‘Why did you do that?’ Felix nearly howled. He shot to his feet, gesticulating wildly. The wagon hit a bump and his arms windmilled as he fought to keep his balance. Gotrek’s hand shot out, grabbing a handful of Felix’s jerkin. The Slayer yanked him back down into a sitting position.

‘Because it’s the only way to get the gold, manling,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes, it all makes perfect bloody sense now. Of course – the gold! How could I be so stupid?’ Felix said sarcastically. ‘What are you talking about? Where are we going? Never mind, I’m getting off here. Stop the wagon!’

‘Don’t stop the wagon,’ Gotrek rumbled.

‘Stop the wagon, Metternich,’ Felix said, rising to his feet.

‘Do it, and it’ll be the last thing you do,’ Gotrek growled.

Metternich looked from one to the other and then nodded apologetically to Felix. ‘You did sign a contract,’ he said.

‘I don’t recall doing any such thing,’ Felix snapped.

‘Well, I helped,’ Gotrek said.

Felix looked at him incredulously. Gotrek shrugged. ‘You were having trouble holding the quill. Being as you were drunk.’

‘And why, pray tell, were you so helpful in this matter?’ Felix said. He rubbed his aching head. ‘I can’t see how condemning me helps you find your doom…’ There was a bitter tang to the situation that Felix found naggingly familiar. He had been drunk when he’d first sworn an oath to accompany Gotrek on his quest to find a mighty doom to expunge whatever crime had set the Slayer on his suicidal path. It had made a tremendous amount of sense at the time.

‘This isn’t about doom, manling, mine or otherwise,’ Gotrek said, tapping the side of his bulbous nose. ‘Like I said, it’s about treasure: gold, manling, a thane’s ransom.’

‘Gold,’ Felix repeated, leaning back against the buckboard. There were only three things that could jostle the Slayer from his normal taciturnity – the prospect of a mighty doom, a sufficient quantity of ale, or the gold-greed that seemed to afflict the dwarfen race as a whole.

‘Gold,’ Gotrek emphasised, rubbing his big hands together in apparent glee.

‘A dowry, technically,’ Metternich interjected.

‘Of course,’ Felix said, burying his face in his hands. After a moment, he looked at Metternich. ‘Who am I marrying?’

‘Esme Shandeux,’ the man said, reaching into his cloak for something. ‘Ah, she’s a lovely girl. She’s the oldest daughter of the Shandeux clan, and judged quite a prize in these lands. I was hired to find a proper gentleman for Lady Esme to marry.’ He swept out a hand and said, ‘The Shandeux are an old family, and powerful as folk judge things.’

‘Rich – he means rich,’ Gotrek added. His single eye glittered.

‘That they are, and in the market for a husband for Esme. It doesn’t happen often, mind,’ Metternich said slyly. ‘Very insular, the Shandeux, very private.’

‘The family tree has few branches, I take it,’ Felix said bitterly.

‘More like one very large branch,’ Metternich said. ‘A bit crooked, but very sturdy.’ He found what he was looking for, and stretched an arm across Gotrek, to hand something to Felix. ‘Here she is,’ he said.

The object in question was a tarnished locket. Felix took it and flipped it open to reveal a miniature portrait, painted with great skill and care. The young woman was lovely, there was no denying it, though she was as far from the thin, waif-like Imperial noblewomen of Felix’s experience as it was possible to get. There were more curves, for one thing, and generous ones at that, from what he could tell from the head and shoulders that made up the image. ‘She’s quite striking,’ he said carefully.

‘That she is. She’s a wee thing, but she once beat a wolf to death with a half-brick in a stocking, so you can tell she has spirit.’ Metternich nodded happily.

Felix blinked, not quite knowing how to reply. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘quite. What sort of stocking was it?’

‘Forget the stocking,’ Gotrek growled. ‘Get to the gold.’

‘The Shandeux got gold all right,’ Metternich said. ‘Enough to keep them in supplies and retainers, at least. I’ve only been working for them for a few months, but they’re as wealthy as an Altdorf aristocrat.’

‘Speaking of aristocrats, I’m not one,’ Felix said. ‘You did mention that to him, didn’t you, Gotrek? Somehow, I don’t think these people are going to be happy with what you’re bringing them.’

‘We came to an arrangement,’ Gotrek said.

‘Aye,’ Metternich said. ‘An arrangement and a fine, fair one at that.’

‘Please, illuminate me,’ Felix said sourly.

Gotrek held up a gold piece. It resembled the dwarf coins Felix had seen, but there was no image stamped on it. Instead, an odd shape had been cut into it. Age and handling had worn the shape into an indistinct lump. ‘Look at it, manling,’ Gotrek grunted.

‘What am I looking at?’ Felix asked. ‘It’s just a gold piece. An old one, if I’m any judge.’

Metternich snickered and Gotrek grinned.

‘I’ve seen gold like this before, in the Badlands and the high passes of the Worlds Edge Mountains, in the ruins of ancient outposts and old fortifications, from a kingdom long dead… and good riddance to it.’ He spat a glob of spittle over the edge of the buckboard. ‘Mourkain, it was called. Or Morgheim,’ he said. ‘The orcs wiped it out long ago. Shattered their empire and destroyed their great city.’ He paused. ‘They say the orcs never breached the great vaults of that city, though. That the wealth of Mourkain still sits undisturbed in some black cavern.’ He tossed the gold piece up and caught it. ‘This gold was theirs, I’m certain of it. It bears the mark of that damned folk, or I’m a filthy grobi.’

‘And you think – what – that they’ll tell you where they got it?’

Gotrek grinned again. ‘No, but I think they’ll tell you.’

Felix stared at him. ‘This is unworthy of you, Gotrek,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I have never known you to be so – so dishonourable, before.’

‘What did you say?’ Gotrek rumbled, anger sparking in his eye. The Slayer tensed, his good humour evaporating like water on a heated stone. Accusing a dwarf of acting dishonourably was the equivalent of poking a badger with a pointy stick, but Felix hadn’t chosen the word lightly.

‘Greedy? Yes. Violent? Obviously. Foolish? Perhaps. But this…’ Felix shook his head.

‘Careful, manling,’ Gotrek growled, leaning towards him pugnaciously, his face clouding over.

Felix felt a momentary thrill of unease, but pressed on regardless.

‘But this,’ he went on, ‘this is simply beyond the pale. I wouldn’t have expected you to stoop to swindling strangers out of their coin.’

‘I’m not swindling anyone,’ Gotrek snapped. ‘It’s a marriage of moment, nothing more.’

‘A what?’ Felix said, peering at the Slayer. He looked at Metternich, who shook his head in obvious confusion.

‘A marriage of moment,’ Gotrek said. He looked at Felix as if he were an idiot. ‘It’s just a temporary contract.’ He looked at Metternich. ‘Tell him,’ he demanded. Metternich looked at him helplessly. Gotrek’s brow furrowed. His gaze swung back to Felix. ‘My people do it all the time,’ he said. ‘When two clans want to quickly seal a trading agreement or need to sift their ore a bit, they each put forth a youngling, and a marriage is made. Dowries are exchanged, the marriage is consummated, and then annulled, and both younglings return to their respective clans. Honour is satisfied and blood is shared, and the full value of the respective younglings for a future oath of marriage with a more important clan is retained, as is proper. These folk of Metternich’s need their ore sifted, and they’re offering gold. It’s the same thing, whatever manlings call it.’

‘That’s… not how human marriages work, Gotrek,’ Felix said slowly.

‘I told you, it’s not a real marriage,’ Gotrek snapped. ‘It’s completely honourable!’ Felix opened his mouth, and then closed it. Gotrek’s eye narrowed. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Stop gaping like a fish and say something.’

Felix ignored the fuming dwarf. He looked at Metternich. ‘How binding is that contract?’

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of backing out on me, now, would you? I made an arrangement in good faith with your friend here, and I’m not a man to be tested,’ Metternich said. His hand drooped towards his daggers. Gotrek lanced him with a sulphurous stare. Metternich swallowed and his hand jerked away from his blades as if they’d grown red hot. ‘Not that I’m the one you have to worry about, of course, but I already passed the papers along with a rider this morning, and the Shandeux, they’re not ones to let a contract be broken willy-nilly,’ he said hastily. ‘They’ve sent hired blades after more than one reluctant bridegroom, and they’ll not hesitate to do so again. They’re a very touchy family.’ He gave Felix a weak grin. ‘I assumed the plan was that you’d do a runner after the nuptials, I swear to Ranald. It didn’t make sense, otherwise.’

‘You haven’t dealt with many dwarfs, have you?’ Felix said acidly.

‘What is this fool saying, manling?’ Gotrek said.

‘He’s saying that it’s anything but a temporary contract,’ Felix snapped.

Gotrek grabbed a handful of Felix’s jerkin and jerked him forward, until they were eye to eye. ‘Watch your tone, manling,’ he said. ‘It appears I was misinformed.’ He glanced at Metternich, who blanched.

Felix grabbed uselessly at Gotrek’s brawny fist. ‘Really, or were you too busy counting all that gold?’

‘I don’t recall you objecting.’

‘I was drunk!’ Felix shouted.

‘So was I,’ Gotrek said stubbornly. ‘That’s no excuse.’ He released Felix and sat back with a grunt. ‘Well, you can’t very well go about getting married when you’re still oath-bound to record my doom,’ he said, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest.

‘This is what I’m saying,’ Felix said. ‘Metternich, stop the wagon.’

‘Quiet, manling,’ Gotrek barked. ‘You signed the contract. You are sworn to this woman, whoever she is. I’ll not travel with an oath-breaker.’

‘You– I– but–’ Felix began, trying to find the words. The dwarf’s logic was as impeccable as it was circuitous. He owed Gotrek a debt, but the Slayer had forced him into another, and the dwarf’s own sense of honour wouldn’t allow Felix to get out of either obligation. That Gotrek himself was solely responsible for the situation seemed to have escaped the dwarf entirely.

‘So what are we going to do then?’ Felix said, unable to keep a sullen note out of his voice.

‘I’ll think of something,’ Gotrek muttered.

‘Well, you’d better do it quickly because we’re here,’ Metternich said.

Felix looked up and frowned. The fortress wasn’t as impressive as he had expected. In fact, it was more like an encrustation than a fortification. It was a barnacle of crudely piled stone mingled with long marches of wooden stockade, clinging tight to the side of a mountain crag.

‘That – ha!’ Gotrek gave an explosive bark of laughter. ‘That’s what they call a citadel?’

‘It’s served them well enough since they first came to these lands,’ Metternich said. ‘They say more than one band of raiders looking for Shandeux gold found out just how strong those walls are, back then.’ He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins, urging the mules into motion. The winding mountain path slithered up and around towards the gatehouse for the fortress.

The gatehouse was, like the greater part of the walls, made of heavy wooden logs, piled one atop the next and the gaps had been filled with clay, mud and what Felix thought was likely animal dung to hold it all together. Wooden stakes lined the outside of the stockade, rising from a shallow ditch in the stony ground, and more than one of them had dark stains marking their lengths.

As they drew close, Felix realised with a start that the fortress had seemingly been built up against the mouth of a vast gouge in the side of the crag, and was, as such, much larger than he’d first thought. When he said as much, Metternich nodded. ‘The interior of the keep extends a fair bit into the mountain, though not so deep as you’d think. From what I can tell, they found a cave and built their fortress inside it. Over time, it got too big, and spilled out onto the slope. They’ve been working at it for a fair few centuries, so the damn thing’s a maze, as you’d expect.’

‘I’ve seen bigger,’ Gotrek said. The wood and stone barbican looked as if it had been grown rather than built, so encrusted with mould and moss that it looked less like a structure than a piece of the mountain and the portcullis, which was more rust than metal, rose with a screech that caused his teeth to shiver in his gums. The only part of the barbican that wasn’t crusted over with moss or rust was the gargoyle-like stone carving which marked the top. It was a horrid face, with all the vilest aspects of a variety of animals mingled into something that was uniquely hideous. As the wagon passed beneath it, Felix shuddered. Gotrek grunted. ‘Not dwarfish work, this,’ he said.

‘Dwarfs aren’t the only stonemasons in the world,’ Felix said.

‘They’re the only ones who count,’ Gotrek said. He made a face. ‘This is shoddy stonework. The whole structure was sloppily built. I can hear the mortar powdering from here. And the weight is distributed all wrong. A stiff northern breeze would knock this thing over.’

‘Lucky we’re not in the north then, eh?’ Felix said.

Gotrek squinted at him, before nodding. ‘Aye,’ he grunted.

The wagon rolled through the gatehouse and into the outer courtyard. A squawking flock of chickens scattered in front of the plodding mules and several fat hogs wallowed in the lee of the walls, grunting and filling the air with unwelcome flatulence. There were men in the courtyard, all armed. Felix knew mercenaries when he saw them: they were a motley lot – one wore the hauberk and pot helm of a Bretonnian man-at-arms, while another had quite clearly served in the Empire militia. They wore thick woollen cloaks, much like Metternich, that appeared to be as close as they came to a proper uniform. All of them eyed Gotrek with a healthy amount of caution. Even hardened sell-swords knew better than to provoke a Slayer. One, a dark-complexioned Estalian, raised a hand in a gesture of recognition. ‘Metternich, late as usual,’ he called out, in heavily accented Reikspiel.

‘Rodrigo, as ever your mastery of the obvious is impressive,’ Metternich shot back.

‘Have you found one, then?’ Rodrigo said, ignoring Metternich’s jibe.

‘Right here,’ Metternich said, flapping a hand.

‘The dwarf,’ Rodrigo said, his eyes widening.

‘No! Are you mad? The other one.’

Rodrigo’s dark eyes flickered over Felix like a man examining a horse. ‘Sort of… tall, isn’t he?’

‘Is there a height requirement to get married?’ Felix said blandly. As the guard shook his head, Felix jabbed Gotrek with an elbow and pointed. ‘Gotrek, look,’ he said. Gotrek followed his gesture and his good eye widened as he saw the other wagons and the small group of loudly conversing individuals standing near them, under the watchful eyes of the closest guards. To a man, they were halflings – eleven halflings, in fact. Eleven halflings, dressed in a variety of fashions and styles, from Marienburg to the Moot. All of the stubby, chubby figures were armed and were arguing loudly, save one, who was seemingly occupied filching foodstuffs from a wagon while it was being unloaded.

‘Why are all of those hairy-toed egg-sucking Moot-rats here?’ Gotrek growled, reaching for his axe, and casting a fiery glare at Metternich, who cringed back.

‘Did I not mention that?’ he said.

‘No,’ Gotrek rasped.

‘I’m certain I did.’

‘Are you?’ Gotrek said, lifting his axe so that the keen edge just barely scraped a patch of bristles off the man’s unshaven chin.

‘Maybe not,’ Metternich said. ‘I shall rectify that at once.’ His eyes darted to Felix. ‘You’re possibly not the only suitor to come a-courting the Lady Esme?’

‘Why are they all halflings?’ Felix said. He’d seen the stout folk of the Moot often enough in Altdorf, and more than once since, though Gotrek despised them. Most dwarfs did, though for no clear reason that Felix could discern. True, they had the tendency to pilfer, and were greedy, bawdy and obnoxious, but aside from the pilfering, so were dwarfs.

‘Are they? I hadn’t noticed,’ Metternich said.

‘If you’re playing us false,’ Gotrek growled, grabbing a handful of Metternich’s cloak, ‘I’ll have your skull for a drinking cup and your lungs for mittens.’

‘I’m not, I swear!’ Metternich yelped. More than a few pairs of eyes turned towards the altercation and Felix grabbed Gotrek’s arm.

‘Put him down, Gotrek. Let’s not make this more of an ordeal than it already is,’ he hissed.

Gotrek gave a wordless growl and released Metternich. He swept the courtyard with his gaze and snorted. ‘I’ve seen prettier privies.’

The courtyard was larger than Felix had first thought, and full of more halflings than just the suitors. Halflings were laughing and talking on the parapets and in doorways, halflings were overseeing humans who were taking the supplies out of the back of the wagons, and halflings were looking at him curiously. A chill scraped across his neck. ‘They’re all halflings,’ he said. ‘The only men here are hired swords or servants, aren’t they?’

Gotrek blinked. Then, surprisingly, the Slayer guffawed. Wheezing with laughter, he hunched forward and slapped his knee. Felix looked at him in astonishment until the reason for Gotrek’s humour became apparent. ‘Oh,’ he said. He looked at the locket. ‘Oh, Sigmar damn me.’

‘You’re going to marry a halfling!’ Gotrek bellowed, laughing.

‘Courting, not married, not yet,’ Metternich said. He climbed down off the wagon. ‘But he will, if you want to see that gold.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Felix protested as he climbed down as well.

‘There’s no law against it,’ Metternich said.

Felix glared at Gotrek, who swatted him on the back hard enough to nearly propel him from his seat. ‘Cheer up, manling,’ Gotrek said. ‘Think of the gold.’

‘The gold – really, Gotrek,’ Felix said, ‘is that all you can think about? I don’t suppose you’ve come up with a brilliant plan to get me out of this yet?’ Gotrek didn’t reply. Felix snorted. ‘I thought not,’ he said, and climbed down.

He looked around. The courtyard didn’t look any better from the ground. It was a sty, and its inhabitants were equally unpleasant looking. Halflings had a reputation for bucolic slovenliness, but these had taken it to extremes, seemingly leaving anything that required effort to their human servants.

‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it?’ a voice said, at his elbow.

He turned and then looked down. The face he’d so recently admired in miniature looked up at him with the air of a horse-dealer examining a new acquisition. ‘Hunh,’ Esme Shandeux said. ‘He’s a bit tall, Metternich. But pretty,’ she added.

‘Thank you?’ Felix said, not certain how to reply. She was imposing, for a woman less than half his height. She was dressed in an archaic dress, long out of fashion and altered to fit halfling proportions, with a wimple covering her head. She wore a profusion of golden jewellery carelessly which she fiddled with constantly.

‘I endeavour to serve, Lady Esme,’ Metternich said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wagon. ‘And he’s exactly what you need. Him and his friend here,’ he added, indicating Gotrek, who dropped off the wagon like a boulder rolling downhill.

‘He’s not quite so pretty,’ Esme said.

‘The feeling is mutual,’ Gotrek rumbled, showing his square, yellow teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Esme’s eyes narrowed and Felix stepped between them, bowing obsequiously. He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,’ he said. ‘Am I correct in assuming that you concocted this scheme, then?’

‘Very gentlemanly, highboots,’ Esme said, reaching up to pat his cheek. ‘And I wouldn’t call it a scheme, really, so much as a desperate gamble.’

‘Best kind, I’m given to understand,’ Felix said, straightening. ‘My name is Felix Jaeger. My companion is–’

‘Rude?’ Esme interjected.

‘Gotrek Gurnisson,’ Felix said smoothly. ‘We’re at your service.’

‘I bet you are,’ Esme said. ‘And I’ll bet the gold has nothing to do with it, eh?’

‘What do you know about it?’ Gotrek said. He cast a glare at Metternich, who shrugged.

‘We have an arrangement, Metternich and I,’ Esme said pugnaciously.

‘It seems Herr Metternich has made quite a few arrangements,’ Felix said. Gotrek’s glare could have cut stone.

Metternich raised his hands.

‘I make deals, Jaeger, that’s how a man survives in the Border Princes. Esme wants out of here, preferably well-funded. Gurnisson wants the gold. We can all help each other,’ he said soothingly.

‘And you, Metternich – what are you getting out of this?’ Felix demanded.

‘None of your business,’ Metternich said. His hand dropped to the polished pommels of his daggers. But before he could draw one, Gotrek’s big hand clamped down on his, and Felix pulled his own poniard from its sheath. He pressed the tip to Metternich’s codpiece, while Gotrek held his pinned hand.

‘Last chance,’ Felix said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’d like to know that myself,’ a new voice cut in. The noise level in the courtyard dropped suddenly and as Felix turned he saw a strange sight – two brawny men had stepped out of the keep, a heavy shield of strange design balanced on their shoulders, and atop the shield, a stumpy, cloak-clad figure glared at him and Gotrek. ‘Who are these fools, Metternich, and why have you brought them here?’

‘I was simply following your orders, Lord Shandeux,’ Metternich said, sweeping out his arms and bowing low. ‘I found a suitor, to complete the dozen required for the contest. He’s a bit tall, but keen nonetheless.’ Metternich gestured to Felix, who hesitated for a moment, wondering what Metternich meant by ‘contest’, but then stepped forward after hastily sheathing his dagger. Esme had slipped away. There was more going on here than either he or Gotrek had realised. He had the unpleasant feeling that they were bit characters in someone else’s play, and he didn’t like it.

‘He’s human. I sent you out for a halfling, Metternich,’ Shandeux said. He was broad, but not fat, as many halflings became when they reached a certain age, and somehow crooked, as if his limbs weren’t correctly proportioned. There was an ugly cast to his pinched, petulant features that Felix found disconcerting.

‘So you did,’ Metternich said hurriedly. ‘What about the dwarf? We could split the difference?’

‘Dwarf,’ Shandeux said, seemingly noticing Gotrek for the first time. His lip curled as he looked down at the Slayer. ‘I thought I smelled something. Can’t abide dwarfs, me. Greedy buggers, always scrounging in the dirt, so they are,’ he said. ‘Have you come to steal my gold, dwarf? Come to pinch some Shandy gold? What about you, eh, tall fellow?’ The halfling squatted on his shield and peered down at Felix with bloodshot eyes. Up close, he was unpleasant to look at: he had a wonky eye, an off-centre nose, blotchy skin and his crooked fingers played ceaselessly with an amulet. It was an ugly thing, with a fierce face carved into its flat surface. Felix felt a thrill of disgust as he got a better look at it. He hoped never to meet anything with a face like that in the flesh. ‘Come to wed a Shandy beauty? Come to try your luck in the god’s bowels?’

‘I should hope not,’ a halfling – one of the other potential suitors – barked, as Felix tried to figure out what Shandeux had meant by his last statement. They had drawn quite a crowd. The speaker was dressed like a dandy, with a huge, wide-brimmed hat perched at a rakish angle on his head, an immense feather sprouting from its hat-band and a halfling-sized pistol with an ivory grip holstered on one round hip.

Another halfling, this one dressed like a country elder of means, pulled a pipe out of his mouth and said, ‘It isn’t proper, not at all. Look at those arms and legs, like stretched giblets.’ The other nine would-be suitors joined in, displaying their distaste for Felix’s presence. Shandeux didn’t look at them. Instead, his eyes never left Felix’s face.

Gotrek’s elbow nudged Felix. ‘I have,’ Felix said, with a sigh.

‘Good. Dwarf, man or halfling, it’s all the same to me.’ Shandeux straightened and raised his amulet. ‘Jabas has blessed this day. Twelve is an auspicious number. Come, my fine, fat, gentles… a welcoming feast has been laid out, and while we eat I shall speak of Shandy tradition and what awaits you in the god’s bowels.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Felix said, as Gotrek joined him. He looked around for Metternich, but the man had joined Rodrigo and the other sell-swords. Gotrek didn’t reply. They filed into the keep with the others. He noticed that the Shandeux halflings seemed subdued, and the human guards fell in around the newcomers as if to prevent any of them from having second thoughts, though they kept their distance from Gotrek.

The inner keep was as badly laid out as the outer, but the deeper they moved into the keep, the more things had changed. Sloppiness had given way to a more sturdy, albeit cruder design. There was another structure here, buried beneath the slapdash construction that comprised the Shandy citadel. When he mentioned it to Gotrek, the Slayer said, ‘This keep has been built atop another, older keep, from a time before your Empire was even a glimmer in dwarfish eyes.’

As he listened, Felix noticed Metternich’s eyes on them. The mercenary had a speculative look on his face, and Felix wondered what he was thinking. Gotrek wasn’t exactly whispering, so there was every chance that Metternich had overheard him.

There were more mercenary guards, here and there, as well as more halflings, many of them clad in robes. Felix knew that many strange religions could be found in the Border Princes; strange practices and rites from across the Old World flourished on the fertile, if blood-drenched, soil of these lands. Perhaps the halflings had taken to one of these, rather than their own, native gods.

When they reached the feast-hall, Felix saw that it had, so far as he could tell, been decorated to resemble the communal feast-halls of the Moot. Though he’d spent little time there, the rustic style was easily recognisable. Despite the decoration, however, he noticed tiny signs that it had once been something quite different. Long benches – the right size for halflings and dwarfs, but most assuredly not for humans, he noted with some chagrin – lined the hall in two rows and soon enough, after everyone had filed in and taken a seat, human servants moved up and down the rows, filling the cups of laughing halflings. The air was already thick with pipe smoke and the smell of roasting meat, but beneath it all was another smell, like damp stone. Remembering how he’d gotten into this situation in the first place, Felix drank sparingly, and ate little.

Shandy appeared to be sparing no expense in feeding his guests. Given how much the average halfling appeared to be able to put away, Felix wondered just how much of the fabled Shandeux hoard was still around. The tables were groaning with the weight of it all – bowls of fruits from Tilea and Bretonnia, trays wet with grease from the portions of cooked duck and ham, rashers of bacon heaped on plates, portions of stag and boar and goose mounted still smoking on skewers, small mountains of pies vied for space with unsteady pyramids of freshly baked bread and, interspersed through it all, cakes of all sizes and shapes. The halflings ate, stuffing their faces with so much meat and pastry that Felix felt slightly ill on their behalf.

Despite the apparent jocularity of the gathering, Felix felt that there was a definite undercurrent of tension to the proceedings that only grew more oppressive as course after course slid across the table. The suitors ate with gusto, and Shandeux sat in his overlarge chair like a monarch-in-miniature, his expression as that of a farmer choosing a beast for slaughter as he watched them. Esme, on the other hand, looked alternately worried and impatient. She was turning this way and that, as if looking for someone. Yes, there was definitely something going on that he didn’t like the feel of. Gotrek seemed to be of the same mind, for as he held out his mug for a refill, he said, ‘We’re being played for fools, manling.’

‘You’re just now realising that?’ Felix said, trying to get comfortable. He was bent almost double on his bench and his knees were entirely too close to his chin for his liking.

Gotrek drained his mug again and held it up for another refill. ‘Where did these Moot-rats get such a treasure?’ Before Felix could reply Shandeux stood on the table, his hands held up. The celebrants began to fall quiet.

‘We Shandy have a storied history,’ he said, his voice slithering about the hall. ‘Like all of our folk, we once tilled the fields and stoked the hearths of the Moot. We were happy then and ignorant in that happiness.’ His lips wrenched back from his teeth in a leer. ‘And then the Beast came. Konrad Von Carstein, who butchered six in ten of our folk, and set the rest into flight, after glutting himself on their blood. Five hundred years ago, the first Shandy, elder of his village, led his people away from the ravages of the beast and into these lands, in search of safety. He led his folk away from the easy life they had known and into these rocky lands, where they grew strong. They found new gods, since the soft gods of the Moot had failed to protect them…’

He stroked his amulet as he spoke. Felix felt a chill course down his spine at the word, though he couldn’t say why. ‘Jabas,’ Shandeux said, his voice growing more strident. ‘Yes, Jabas, the god of these hills, who first supped upon and then saved our folk and showed them this place, from which they could face the world. Jabas, who led them into wealth. Jabas, whom we honour, even today. For it was Jabas who showed the first Shandy the wealth from which all of this has sprung, and it is Jabas who demands that any who wish to join the Shandy must first pass the test of the god’s bowels.’

‘Sounds inviting,’ one of the suitors piped up, causing the others to laugh.

‘Oh, it is,’ Shandeux responded, chuckling. ‘Very inviting, but many enter, and few leave. Jabas is a harsh god, and holds fast to what is his, as he taught his followers to do.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Come, your bellies are full, and that is when a halfling is at his best. Let us waste no more time. We begin the test. Soonest done, the sooner my niece is married and we may commence the wedding feast!’ He hopped off the table and swept out of the hall, to the cheers of his folk. Rodrigo and the other guards chivvied the suitors to their feet. More than one seemed reluctant to leave the table. Esme stayed behind. The last Felix saw of her, she was speaking hurriedly and with much agitation to Metternich who looked grim.

They were led deeper into the fortress, where it stopped being a free-standing structure and instead became part of the crag upon which it perched. They were ushered into a chamber that was more cavern than hall, lit by torches and echoing dimly with the sound of dripping water. Here and there, Felix could see the marks left by tools where the first rulers of this place had shaped it. Set into the thick stone walls was a massive portcullis. Unlike its surroundings, it was only a few centuries old, at best.

‘I expected rather more ceremony,’ Felix murmured to Gotrek. ‘I was hoping for a bit more time to come up with a plan.’

‘If they were dwarfs, you would have gotten it,’ Gotrek grunted. ‘But halflings hate ceremony almost as much as honest labour. The little rats can barely stand a moment’s recitation before they’re sniffing out food and drink.’

‘You don’t like them much, do you?’

Gotrek looked at him, as if trying to judge whether Felix were serious. Then, he grunted, ‘No.’

Felix snorted. He wasn’t likely to get more than that from the Slayer, if past conversations were anything to go by. Whatever grudge Gotrek bore the people of the Moot, he wasn’t planning on sharing it.

‘Let’s not deceive ourselves,’ Shandeux said, as the suitors fell silent. ‘You’re all here more for Shandy gold than for Shandy women. We know this, and there is no shame in it. Many have come before you, and many will come after. ’ He gestured to the heavy portcullis. ‘Behind this gate lies our vault. It sits, hidden, within the ancient keep that our ancestors used as their home until they built this mighty edifice. Beyond the gate, there are many passages. Only one leads to our wealth. Only a true Shandy, only one judged fit by Jabas, can find it.’ He gestured, and several of his guards set themselves to raising the portcullis. Shandy smiled as a musty, foul wind escaped from the now-open gate and washed across the gathered men and halflings.

He clasped his hands together piously. ‘Find the gold, and you shall win the hand of my niece, Esme. Fail and, well, you won’t be seeing any gold, I can tell you that.’

His words were greeted by a nervous twitter.

‘What if more than one of us finds it?’ a halfling asked.

‘That has never been a problem, in the past,’ Shandy said, grinning in a way that made Felix uneasy. He wanted nothing more than to grab Gotrek and leave, but the dwarf had that look in his eye. The one that said he’d set his course, and was damned if anyone would sway him from it. Guards passed out torches. Weapons were seemingly allowed, which only made Felix more nervous. What was waiting for them in there?

‘I take it that you’ll be accompanying your friend, master dwarf?’ Shandy said.

‘And if I am?’ Gotrek said.

Shandy shrugged. ‘It makes no difference. Twelve or thirteen, Jabas will judge you all as he sees fit.’

‘Then he’d best do it quickly. I’m the impatient sort,’ Gotrek said, stomping towards the raised portcullis. Felix trailed after him.

As a group, they and the halflings entered the god’s bowels. The portcullis began to drop back down after they were all through, and the clang of it falling into place echoed through the forecourt they found themselves in. True to Shandy’s claim, there were a number of tunnels beyond. There were more than a dozen, in fact. Some had the look of constructed corridors, while others appeared to have been crudely carved out of the rock of the mountain. He met Gotrek’s gaze. The Slayer eyed the tunnels carefully. The halflings were already splitting up, picking their paths at random, with much jocularity, laughter and vulgarity. Gotrek spat and stuck his finger into his mouth. Pulling it free, he held the wet digit up. ‘That one.’

‘Are you certain?’ Gotrek glowered at him and Felix shrugged. ‘I was just asking.’ Gotrek stumped off and Felix hurried after him. They hadn’t gone far when they saw the first of the bones. They weren’t human, though Felix thought at first that they might have belonged to children. ‘Halfling,’ he whispered to Gotrek.

‘Like as not,’ Gotrek said. He didn’t seem concerned.

‘I think those are teeth marks,’ Felix said, shivering slightly.

‘So?’ Gotrek said.

‘So, that means there’s something in here with us!’

‘Good,’ Gotrek said, tapping his cheek with the flat of his axe. They continued on, the number and variety of bones increasing. And the strange odour grew worse. Felix felt as if he’d inhaled swamp gas. There were strange marks on the corridor walls, as if something had scraped itself on the sides or, in other places, as if something had burnt the stone black. The sensation of danger increased, and Felix grew more and more nervous.

Then, at a crooked junction, Gotrek paused. ‘Hsst.’ The dwarf held up a hand. ‘I hear something.’

Felix’s hand fell to his sword-hilt, wondering if one of the other suitors had followed them, hoping to take advantage of the dwarf’s natural inclination for tunnels. If so, the halfling was in for a nasty surprise. Gotrek waved him back, and the Slayer crept forward. Then, with surprising speed, he leapt into an alcove that Felix had missed, and grabbed hold of a tall figure, flinging it to the ground while simultaneously shoving his axe against the throat of a second, smaller figure. ‘Ha! Now I’ve got you!’ the Slayer crowed.

‘Gotrek, wait!’ Felix said, raising his torch high to reveal Metternich on the ground and Esme cowering back from Gotrek’s axe.

‘What trickery is this?’ Gotrek asked, not lowering his axe.

‘No trickery, master dwarf,’ Metternich groaned as he sat up. ‘We came to help. Not that you need it, it seems,’ he added.

‘How did you get ahead of us?’ Gotrek snarled.

‘And why are you here? This has got to be against the rules,’ Felix said.

‘We’re changing the rules,’ Metternich said. ‘And there’s more than one way down here.’

‘Stefano is gone,’ Esme said, bluntly.

‘Who’s Stefano?’ Felix asked.

‘And why should we care?’ Gotrek growled, hefting his axe meaningfully.

‘My husband,’ Esme snapped, matching Gotrek’s glare. ‘Or, he will be, if he’s not already dead.’

‘I thought you wanted the manling to be your husband,’ Gotrek said.

‘Yes,’ Felix said, feeling faintly insulted, if not surprised.

Esme frowned at Felix. ‘Metternich told me he could get me a man who could win through the god’s bowels,’ she said. ‘It’s never happened. No one has ever made it through. They have either all disappeared or been driven insane. No Shandeux has married an outsider in over ten generations. That’s why we always wind up marrying our cousins. But if someone did make it through, a human, say…’

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You’d be free to marry who you wanted. Because no human would want to marry a halfling,’ he said. ‘Of course.’ He looked at Metternich, who shrugged.

‘I only want old Shandy’s map, and whoever won through would split the dowry with Esme. She leaves with Stefano, I get my map, and we all go home happy.’

‘Map, what map?’ Felix said.

‘That’s my business,’ Metternich snapped, his hand dropping to his knives.

‘And I’m making it mine,’ Gotrek said, hefting his axe meaningfully. ‘What map, manling?’

Metternich licked his lips. ‘Morgheim,’ he said finally. ‘Old Shandy got that gold from somewhere. I don’t buy that bollocks about him finding it in this cave. Rodrigo and the others ride out once a month with Shandeux and come back sometimes with saddlebags full of gold.’ He looked at Esme. ‘Ask her.’

Felix laughed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I was wondering how a treasure hoard could last five centuries. It didn’t, did it? You’ve been adding to it.’

Esme made a face. ‘Maybe,’ she said sullenly.

‘What do you mean “maybe”?’ Metternich said. ‘You said there was a map. We had an arrangement!’

‘Arrangements change,’ Esme bit back. ‘They aren’t set in stone.’

‘Only halflings think like that,’ Gotrek said. ‘They’re liars and thieves, manling. My people say that if you shake hands with a halfling, you’d best make sure it doesn’t come back full of turnip.’

‘What?’ Felix said.

‘It doesn’t translate into the human tongue,’ Gotrek snapped.

‘What about Stefano?’ Esme said.

‘I don’t care. I want that map,’ Gotrek barked. ‘You can track down your hairy-footed lover yourself.’

‘You signed a contract,’ Esme protested.

‘And that map is mine,’ Metternich said.

‘You deceived us,’ Gotrek said, poking Metternich hard in the chest with a square finger. He grinned nastily. ‘Whatever contract the manling signed is broken. The map or we leave. There’s no doom here, and no treasure worth the trouble.’

Metternich hesitated. Esme looked at Felix helplessly, but for once he agreed with Gotrek. Whatever problem these folk had, it was none of their affair. He wanted nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible, preferably before anyone realised they were missing. Metternich slumped. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll split the map. I could use two strong blades at my back, and better the bravos I know, than ones I don’t, eh?’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘There’s likely enough gold in the Badlands to see us all very rich men, and dwarfs, of course.’

Felix thought Gotrek was going to argue further, but before the dwarf could get a word out, a harsh, serpentine rattle filled the musty air. Felix’s hand fell to his sword and he looked about, trying to locate the source of the noise, but to no avail. ‘What is that?’

Esme, pale and shaking, whispered, ‘Jabas.’

‘So there is something down here,’ Gotrek said. ‘What?’

‘Jabas is… Jabas,’ Esme said softly.

Metternich cast nervous looks about. ‘I thought it was just a story the Shandy kept up to keep his folk in line.’

‘Jabas is real,’ Esme hissed. ‘It’s real and it’s deadly. That’s why I wanted Metternich to find a warrior! While Jabas lives, my uncle holds us all in thrall. Only the priests know how to get past it, to get to the gold.’ She hesitated, and added, ‘And Stefano, too.’

‘Or so he claimed,’ Metternich said sourly. ‘He probably thought he could cut out the middle man, the sneaky little fool.’

‘But now he’s missing.’ She grabbed Felix’s arm. ‘I need your help, highboots. I’ll give you anything if you help me get my Stefano back.’

Before Felix could reply, a scream rang out, echoing through the labyrinth. Metternich cursed and drew one of his blades, and Gotrek raised his axe eagerly. The scream rose in pitch and then, abruptly, ended. Moments later, they heard the thump of feet on stone. Given the strange formation of the stones, the sound carried as clearly as if they were right beside the runner. Another scream came – and this one lasted longer than the others – spiralling up and up, into shuddering heights before it dissolved into a whining cackle that was finally silenced.

There was a sound like rock being torn from the earth, and scales clattering. At the mouth of the corridor, a small shape darted past, panting with exertion. Their torches flickered and the shape vanished, leaving only a despairing wail to mark its presence. ‘That’s three,’ Felix said hollowly. Small sounds, like the skittering of rats, or the rustling of cloth, suddenly filled the darkness. Metternich spun, shoving his torch all about him, illuminating the corridor.

‘What is that? Does anyone see anything?’

‘It’s coming from within the wall,’ Gotrek said, pressing his palm to the wall.

‘What is it?’ Felix said.

‘Rats, maybe,’ Gotrek said. He looked at Esme. ‘Well, lass? What does this Jabas look like?’

‘No one has ever seen it, not even the priests. They just know how to avoid it.’

Gotrek grunted. ‘Could be anything, then,’ he muttered, looking up. He began to tap the wall with the back of his axe, and pressed his ear against the stone as he did so. He stepped back a moment later and said, ‘This way.’

‘How can you tell?’ Metternich said suspiciously. Gotrek looked at him. Metternich raised his hands in surrender. ‘Forget I asked. Lead on, master dwarf. I trust your judgement.’

Gotrek grunted and led the way. They passed through narrow, curving corridors, which seemed to twist and bend with the mountain, and Felix thought that the name Shandy had given these corridors was, while vulgar, appropriate. The torches flickered and dimmed as musty breezes zipped through the corridors, carrying the sound of more skittering and, once or twice, distant screams. The other suitors weren’t faring so well. Jabas, whatever it was, was eating well this night.

‘So, this Stefano… he’s your cousin?’ Felix said, more to break the stifling silence than from any burning desire to know.

Esme shrugged. ‘Probably,’ she said.

‘But not the cousin your uncle wants you to marry?’

‘No,’ she said. Then, proudly, ‘Stefano has the right number of fingers and toes, you know. That’s why uncle hates him.’

‘Really,’ Felix said, bemused.

‘Oh yes, twelve of each,’ Esme continued happily. ‘We plan on going home, to the Moot. Stefano will become an elder, and we’ll start our own village.’

‘Just – ah – just the two of you,’ Felix said.

‘Oh no,’ Esme said. ‘There are a few others. No one’s really happy here, but this is where the gold is.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll take the gold, or as much of it as we can carry, and the others will follow us.’

‘And your uncle,’ Felix said. ‘What about him?’

Her round face darkened. ‘He can sit here and rot for all I care, him and Jabas both.’

‘Quiet,’ Gotrek said. The corridor had widened out into a circular room, and the entrances to several more tunnels sat across from them. Above him, the flickering light of the torch revealed a curved ceiling with heavy columns that marked the walls. There was a large cistern in the centre of the chamber. ‘What is this place?’ he whispered. He could hear the soft sound of water emanating from the cistern, and the air was damp and slimy feeling.

Gotrek made a face. ‘This isn’t a fortress, manling. It was just an outpost, a barracks, and this was the water supply. The folk of Mourkain stole the secrets of the und – the hidden outpost – from us, and they built their fortresses around these water chambers. These crags are soft stone, and there’s water below that can be coaxed up, if you have the wit, and once there were likely rain collectors somewhere above that funnelled rain and snow into the reservoir as well.’ He gestured to the other tunnels. ‘Those will lead back to the forecourt, where we entered, if I’m any judge.’

‘So, this is it?’ Felix said, with dawning comprehension.

‘Aye,’ Gotrek said distractedly, examining the walls.

‘Then where’s the gold?’ Metternich said, stepping past Gotrek. He held his torch high. ‘Where’s the bloody gold? Where’s that fool Stefano? He said he knew how to get to the treasure room.’

‘It’s here,’ Gotrek said. ‘I can smell it.’ He tapped a wall with his axe.

‘Yes, well, I want to see it,’ Metternich snapped. Then, ‘What was that?’ He spun about, thrusting his torch forward. Felix had heard it as well – a stifled whimper. In the light of Metternich’s torch, he saw a crumpled figure on the other side of the cistern. Esme gave a gasp – ‘Stefano!’ – and hurried forward before Felix could stop her. But she stopped short as Felix and Metternich caught up with her.

‘That’s not Stefano,’ Metternich said. Felix recognised the dandified halfling who’d first spoken out against his inclusion. The fancy hat, with its feather, lay stomped into shapelessness nearby, and its owner was curled into a whimpering ball, arms over his head and his sword still in its sheath. More startling, however, was the fact that his hair had turned a greasy shade of white. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Jabas,’ Esme hissed, drawing a wicked-looking dagger from her belt. ‘He has seen the face of the god.’

Metternich cursed and Felix’s attention was drawn upwards in the moment before something long and pale shot down out of the darkness, slapping against Metternich’s face like a wet rag. The mercenary dropped his torch and reached up to claw at the fleshy tendril. Even as the first muffled scream issued from his mouth, he was yanked bodily into the darkness above, his legs kicking futilely. A moment later, there was a crunch and then a deluge of blood that struck the floor like a hard rain. Still chewing on the luckless mercenary a monstrous shape scuttled along the curve of the ceiling, marking its path with a trail of blood. Felix peered into the darkness above, raising his torch to try and see what it was that they faced. At his feet, the maddened halfling was whining like a whipped dog.

‘Gotrek,’ Felix shouted.

‘I saw, manling,’ Gotrek said, hurrying towards them.

‘Don’t look at it, highboots,’ Esme whispered harshly, grabbing Felix’s hand and pulling his torch down. ‘The sight of Jabas drives folk mad.’ She nodded to the whimpering halfling.

‘Aye, turn around, manling,’ Gotrek flipped his hand absently, his eye locked on the shape on the ceiling, ‘No need to watch this, it won’t be a minute. I’ll just chop its heart out and we can get back to finding the Moot-rat. With Metternich gone, that map’s all ours.’ His face was set in a tight grin, and his one eye was narrowed in anticipation. He ran a calloused thumb across the edge of his axe and stuck the crimson digit into his mouth.

‘Gotrek–’ Felix began, but Esme forced him to turn away.

‘One side, manling, there’s a god that needs killing. I’ll need the elbow room,’ Gotrek said, stomping past him. ‘Ho, beast, come and get me! I’m not planning to spend all day searching for you in this oversized rock garden!’

And then Jabas came.

Felix only caught a glimpse of the thing, but that was enough for him – there was something of the bat about it, and the insect and the frog, amongst other more abominable things. It was malevolence made into flesh, and its cry pierced his skull like a blade. Felix dropped to his knees, his hands clapped to his ears. It fell upon the Slayer like a bolt from the blue, a sudden strike of scales, talons and teeth. A serpentine tail, dotted with bony boils, slithered swiftly about the Slayer, seeking to ensnare him in its slimy coils. Gotrek’s roar was muffled by the bulk of the creature as it crouched over him, its scales glittering in the torchlight.

Felix, on his knees, heard the wet thunk of Gotrek’s axe and the scrape of scales on stone as he pulled his hands from his ears. He heard the Slayer bellow hoarsely, and the thing responded in kind with a sort of gibbering shriek that made Felix’s flesh itch. He felt wrong somehow, as if the thing had infected the air about it with madness. Felix could feel that madness clawing at the edges of his mind. He had seen many horrific sights in his time with Gotrek – sights that would have blasted the mind of any other man – but he knew, with an atavistic instinct, that to see the thing that the Shandy worshipped would be to go stark, raving mad. He felt the vibration of the battle through the stone floor. He caught the guttural snarl of Gotrek’s laughter cut short, and heard flesh part beneath cruel talons. Fear gripped him. If Gotrek fell, how long would he and Esme last?

Desperate, Felix drew Karaghul and saw movement reflected in the unnatural sheen of the blade. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. He’d heard stories of creatures that could kill with a glance, and of men who’d slain them while looking at a reflection, rather than the thing itself. He whispered a quiet prayer to Sigmar and hurled his torch across the room, over the combatants.

Fortunately, even with the light, all he could see in Karaghul’s length was a black smudge. The thing’s tail suddenly lashed out, carving a lengthy gouge in the wall of the room. Felix ducked and twisted, barely avoiding being pulped. He sent Karaghul humming upwards to chop into the snaky length of muscle and alien meat. Bile-like blood spattered across him, burning his flesh and charring his jerkin and cloak. The thing gave an abominable screech that set blisters of black to pop across Felix’s vision. Momentarily blinded, he lashed out again, cursing as more acidic blood struck him, leaving red marks on his hands and face. A flailing talon struck him, scratching down his jerkin and nearly snagging his mail. He staggered back.

Gotrek bellowed and cursed, and the flash of his axe filled Felix with hope. The Slayer didn’t seem to be suffering from any beast-induced insanity. Then, perhaps he was already mad. He caught a glimpse of a curling horn and saw that Gotrek had gripped it and hauled himself onto the thing’s back. It rolled over, trying to crush the Slayer. Its bulk struck the wall of the chamber with a dull crunch, but the Slayer was more nimble than his shape implied.

As the creature’s malformed skull swung away, Felix risked a look and saw that Gotrek was clinging to the front of the beast’s skull with limpet-like tenacity, gripping its horns, his brow pressed to a point between its eyes. His axe was buried – apparently stuck – in the wattles of scaly flab that ringed the thing’s neck. Before Felix’s horrified gaze, Gotrek reared back and brought his forehead down with a sound like a stone smashing an egg. The creature’s rear limbs skidded out from under it as it gave a piercing whine. Gotrek struck it again, his forehead slamming down like a smith’s hammer. Its tail snapped out spasmodically, striking the walls and filling the air with debris.

Felix ducked under the tail, but, in the process, tripped over the mad halfling. The latter shot to his feet, shrieking madly, and flung himself at Felix, pudgy fingers hooked like claws. Felix rolled across the floor, trying to dislodge the biting, spitting, wailing halfling. As the crazed creature bit at him, Esme suddenly appeared behind him and wrapped one arm around her would-be suitor’s throat and jerked him off. With a grunt, she slung the other halfling into the side of the cistern. The crazed halfling struck the stone and bounced forward, right into Esme’s fist. He fell. Felix rolled to his feet and flung himself at Esme, scooping up the halfling and carrying them both away from the flailing tail. Its bony protrusions snagged his cloak, tearing it. As he bobbed to his feet, Esme in his arms, he saw that Gotrek’s face was red with blood, and thin plumes of yellow bile-smoke rose from his brawny frame where the thing’s blood had spattered him.

The Slayer had torn a horn from the beast’s skull and was using it as an improvised club, battering the thing senseless. It slumped against the wall, shrieking. The shriek rose in decibel as Gotrek tossed the horn aside and lunged to grab the haft of his axe. Muscles bulging, Gotrek ripped the axe loose and brought it down hard enough to split flesh and bone and crack the stone floor beneath. The ugly head bounded loose from the stubby neck and pinwheeled across the floor, jaws still snapping. The bloated body seemed to deflate, and hissing, churning yellowish blood spewed from the stump, striking the wall and floor and sending up a thick cloud of smoke.

‘Ha,’ Gotrek said, stepping back. He swept the blood from his face and grinned. ‘I told you. It didn’t take long at all.’ He spat and peered at the wall, which now had a decided hole in it. ‘Ha! I knew it!’ He pointed. ‘Look, manling! A secret tunnel,’ Gotrek said. ‘That’s how they did it, the little sneak-thieves. I should have known. I’ve never met a halfling who didn’t cheat.’

Before Felix could stop him, Gotrek had clambered over the creature’s body and through the hole its stinking blood had melted through the stone wall. Felix looked down at Esme, who was staring at the beast’s body in shock, and perhaps a bit of fear. He patted her shoulder helplessly. ‘I’m… sorry?’ he tried.

‘Jabas is dead?’ she said softly.

‘Unless he’s one of those gods who comes back to life, almost certainly,’ Felix said, picking his torch up.

‘Come on, manling! There’s gold to be claimed!’ Gotrek bellowed, from the other side of the hole. Felix moved towards the carcass and gingerly climbed up it, helping Esme do the same. The body was settling in stages, slumping and falling inward, as if whatever passed for its blood was devouring it from inside out. Even dead, it was no less nausea inducing than before. Climbing up its haunch, he noticed what looked like blisters pushing through its scales. Curious, he stabbed one with Karaghul. Something horrible latched onto his blade, and a thin whistling cry stabbed his ears. Something moved in the fluid discharge, and he caught the glint of wet scales. Cursing, Felix twisted his blade and bisected the tiny monstrosity. He looked at the other blisters – there were dozens now, and more seemed to be forming. ‘What in Sigmar’s name is this thing?’

‘My folk call them zakikdum – “the madness that walks”,’ Gotrek supplied cheerfully, blood still running down his face into his matted beard. ‘I’ve heard your folk call them jabberslythes. They usually haunt marshes. Not hard to kill, but hard to get rid of. Leave those blisters be, manling. Otherwise we’ll have a pack of the things nipping at our heels. They don’t breed so much as moult.’

Feeling distinctly queasy, Felix joined Esme and Gotrek in the tunnel. Gotrek was already moving. ‘I can smell gold. Come on,’ the Slayer said.

The tunnel was on a downward slope, and Felix wondered whether they could use it to get out. He didn’t think Shandeux was going to look kindly on them for killing his god. He looked down at Esme padding beside him and wondered what she was thinking. Was she worried that the creature had done for Stefano? He made to comfort her, when suddenly they were stepping out of the darkness and into bright torchlight.

‘Stefano,’ Esme shouted.

A heavy-set halfling was on the floor, lying amidst a slick of gold spilled from several chests. It wasn’t much by Felix’s reckoning. Barely a baron’s ransom, let alone a king’s. The halfling – Stefano – was pinned to the floor by Rodrigo’s boot, and the Estalian gazed at Gotrek with wariness. Esme tried to run to her lover’s side, but Felix held her back. Felix realised, with a sinking sensation, that Rodrigo wasn’t the only guard in the room. There were a dozen of them. The trapped halfling twisted around and said, ‘Esme! I told you I could find the treasure!’

‘What’s this, then?’ Gotrek rumbled, hefting his axe for emphasis.

‘Just a bit of a miscommunication,’ Stefano said, grabbing at Rodrigo’s boot.

‘Miscommunication nothing, you little sneak-thief,’ Rodrigo said. ‘You tried to cheat us. We don’t take kindly to that.’

Gotrek stepped forward, and the guards tensed, readying their weapons. Rodrigo took his foot off Stefano, who scrambled towards Esme, babbling explanations. Felix didn’t bother to listen. He could see what had happened easily enough. Stefano had obviously known about the passage and had led Rodrigo and the others to the gold. ‘Esme and Metternich weren’t the only ones with a plan, were they?’ he said.

Rodrigo grunted. ‘Stefano was worried that Metternich would betray them. Wisely, I’ll admit, given that he’d already made a deal with us to take all of the treasure for ourselves. All we had to do was find the map.’ His eyes turned hard. ‘But there was no map. The little thief was trying to cheat us.’

Gotrek growled wordlessly. ‘No map, is it?’ He glared first at the halflings, and then at Rodrigo and his men. ‘Then I’ll take the gold, until I find it.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Rodrigo snapped. ‘I want something for my trouble.’ His men were already scooping what little gold there was into sacks. ‘Even if it’s not the hoard I was promised.’ His eyes flickered past Gotrek. ‘Where is Metternich anyway?’

‘Dead,’ Gotrek said and grinned. ‘Care to join him?’

‘Watch your mouth, dwarf,’ Rodrigo said. ‘There’s more than enough of us to handle you, Slayer or not. We’ve fought our share of berserkers in these mountains.’ His men stopped scooping up gold and drew their own swords. Gotrek laughed.

‘Aye, maybe so,’ he said. ‘But you’ve never fought me.’ Then the Slayer was hurtling forward, as if propelled from a cannon. His axe spun in his hands, stirring a whirlwind of destruction amongst the startled guards. Men died screaming as the dwarf rampaged among them, bellowing happily as he lopped off limbs or bisected bodies.

Rodrigo, who was no fool, had dodged the dwarf’s charge. He scrambled towards Felix and the halflings, his sword extended. ‘I’ll settle you little rats at least,’ he snarled and lunged. Felix drew Karaghul and blocked Rodrigo’s blow in the same motion. They sprang apart instantly and faced each other warily. Rodrigo yanked a dagger from his belt. His eyes narrowed. ‘Altdorf school, eh? Liechtenaur, single-sword style, isn’t it?’ he said, commenting on the way Felix held his blade.

Felix grunted in surprise. ‘Yes, and you – that was a textbook de Carranza estocada, if I’m not mistaken,’ he said. ‘A powerful thrust, but easily countered by the Adler versetzen.’

‘As you demonstrated, and from the sheath, no less. Very impressive,’ Rodrigo said, smiling slightly. ‘A swordsman, then. There are few of us in these lands. Mostly hack-and-hew amateurs.’

‘The way certain people use blades is quiet distressing, I will admit,’ Felix said. ‘It’s all power and no finesse.’ He raised Karaghul in both hands to the side of his head, the point aimed at Rodrigo.

‘Says the man employing Blum’s Ochs guard,’ Rodrigo said, ‘and at close range to boot!’

‘I may have gotten a bit sloppy, but I’m not the one using a Carrancistas technique with a Pachequistas extension,’ Felix said haughtily.

Rodrigo grunted, and Felix smirked, knowing he’d scored a point. The man looked at the dagger in his hand and frowned.

‘You wound me, and rightly,’ Rodrigo grated. He smiled ruefully. ‘It will be nice to ply my trade against a true master of the subtle art for once. Ready yourself, for now we–ack!’ Rodrigo’s eyes rolled up and he sank down, clutching at his back. Esme stood behind him, a dagger in her hand.

She looked at Felix in apparent disgust and shook her head. ‘Do all humans talk so much before they fight, or just you?’ she said.

‘Ha! I’ve yet to get an answer to that particular question,’ Gotrek said, ripping his gory axe free of the last guard. The dwarf had butchered twelve men in as many minutes, and was obviously feeling cheerful. He snatched up a bulging bag of gold and slammed it into Stefano’s arms, nearly knocking the halfling over. ‘Come, manling, let’s grab what we can and leave this midden-heap before the stink of the dead gets all over my gold.’

Felix sheathed his sword sourly and did as Gotrek bade. Between the four of them, they managed to gather all of what remained, though Felix was sure that the two halflings had secreted some of it about their persons while Gotrek was otherwise occupied. Felix said nothing. There was more gold here than he and the Slayer could comfortably carry, and it served Gotrek right, given the trouble he’d put Felix to in this ill-advised venture.

Then, with Stefano in the lead, they began to move up the hidden corridor, back towards the keep. Stefano kept up a steady stream of babble the entire way. ‘I found it entirely by accident, you know. But I was smart enough to keep the old man from finding out. I’ve been pilfering gold for a few months now, but we needed more than I could carry if Esme and I were to live comfortably,’ he said, as they approached the featureless slab of a door that marked the entrance to the secret tunnel from the keep. He reached out a stubby hand and touched a seemingly ordinary stone in the wall, and the door swung open on unseen hinges. Gotrek sniffed, unimpressed.

‘I’ve seen beardlings build better secret doors,’ he muttered as they stepped out. Felix saw that they were in the chamber outside the maze with its great portcullis. A thought occurred to him and he glanced at Esme.

‘How did you and Metternich get in there, anyway, if not through that door?’

‘A question I will most assuredly find the answer to in time,’ said an unpleasantly familiar voice. Stefano gave a yelp and dropped the bag of gold he’d been carrying, which split upon impact sending coins rolling in every direction. Felix’s hand froze on the hilt of his sword as he saw the semi-circle of guards waiting for them, crossbows at the ready.

Shandeux sat on a rock nearby, smoking a pipe. ‘That’s six you owe me, Emil,’ Shandeux cackled, slapping his knee and looking at one of the crossbowmen. ‘I told you the dwarf would do it. He’s a mean one, I said.’ Shandeux looked at Esme and clucked his tongue. ‘Such a lack of gratitude, girl,’ he said. ‘After all I’ve done for you.’ Esme glared at him. Shandeux’s gaze came to rest on Felix. ‘A cuckold before you’re even married, hey, big fellow?’

‘Quiet, crook-back,’ Gotrek rumbled. ‘We’ve passed your little test. I’ll be taking my reward, now.’ He made to pick up the bag Stefano had dropped, but the twitch of the crossbows in the guards’ hands caused him to hesitate. Gotrek wasn’t frightened, Felix knew, but getting punctured by a bunch of backwoods guards wasn’t exactly a fitting doom.

‘So this was what – a game? You knew what Esme and Metternich were trying to do, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t bat an eye when Gotrek and I showed up,’ Felix said, trying to distract them. Gotrek might survive – he’d done so against worse odds – but it wasn’t the Slayer that Felix was concerned about. ‘What was the point?’

Shandeux shrugged. ‘Not much to do in the mountains,’ he said, sucking on his pipe. ‘You’ve got to make your own fun.’

‘And what about the beast?’ Felix asked.

Shandeux grinned. ‘My guard-dog, you mean? It was here when old Shandy first arrived, lurking in these vaults. It had made this crag its lair. It was while he was running from it that my ancestor found the kernel of this trove of wealth,’ he said, swinging out an arm. ‘My ancestor tricked it into these corridors and sealed it off, hoping it would die. No such luck, though. Damn thing just kept living, year after year, century after century, scrabbling around these darkened corridors, eating anyone stupid enough to come in. That’s why they built the outer keep, to put as much distance between themselves and it.’

‘And over time, they came to believe that it was a god,’ Felix said. He could hear something, like the skittering of rats. Something was moving through the tunnel.

Shandeux cackled. ‘It does something to your head, even at a remove. Most of those who came with old Shandy went a bit barmy after a while. Those who weren’t eaten, I mean. And the barmy ones were easy to convince, and the others either got religion or got fed to the beastie. Send it a few meals a year, and it stays quiet, mostly. We’d run out of family members quick, if we fed it from our own ranks, so my old gran hit on the idea of sending out for – heh – suitors. It’s stood us in good stead since. Only some of us knew the truth. It kept us safe, y’see. Kept everyone here, where Shandy could keep an eye on them and keep them out of harm’s way. Besides, if they’d known what it really was, they might want to divvy up the gold and leave – and we couldn’t have that.’

‘What did I tell you, manling?’ Gotrek muttered. ‘Greedy.’

‘But it was worth it. Or it was at the time,’ Shandeux continued. One hairy toe prodded a coin from the spilled bag. ‘Not so much now. Gold has a way of slipping through your fingers, even out here. But you can have it, if you like. A deal’s a deal. Leave my treacherous niece and her lover to me and you can be about your way.’

It was a reasonable offer, and one that, in other circumstances, Felix might have encouraged Gotrek to take. But one look at the frightened faces of Esme and her lover was enough to prod Felix to open his mouth to refuse the offer. But Gotrek beat him to it.

‘It’s not gold I’m after,’ Gotrek said. His eye was on Shandeux. He seemed to have thought of something, Felix thought. There was a familiar gleam in his eye.

Shandeux’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then what do you want?’ he asked flatly. His hand went to his amulet.

‘The map,’ Gotrek said. ‘I’ll be having that.’ He pointed.

‘Map? What map?’ Shandeux asked.

‘The map you use to keep yourself wealthy, Shandy,’ Gotrek said. ‘The wealth of Mourkain – it’s scattered all through these hills, in ruins and barrows. And you know where it all is, don’t you, you hairy-footed crag-rat?’

Shandeux hunched forward, clutching his amulet so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Felix almost laughed as he realised what Gotrek had been pointing at. So that was why Stefano hadn’t been able to find the map. It made sense. You wouldn’t want to part with something that valuable. ‘You can’t have it. It belongs to me. Take your gold, and be glad I show you mercy.’

‘The map, runt, or you’ll be the one needing mercy,’ Gotrek growled. The haft of the Slayer’s axe creaked in his grip. The sound of skittering had grown louder. For a moment, Felix thought he was the only one to hear it and then he saw the guards’ eyes widen in sudden horror.

One cursed and ripped his sword from its sheath, even as a horde of miniature jabberslythes poured out from the tunnel, stunted wings flapping, tiny mouths open in a sibilant cacophony of mingled shrieks. Men screamed as the typhoon of biting, clawing, screaming monsters enveloped them. Felix cursed and swept his cloak out and around him, knocking the creatures from the air. He lashed out with his torch, setting several alight. Others landed on him, biting and snarling shrilly.

Gotrek was cursing and roaring, whirling his axe about with brutal abandon. Shandeux screamed as he was bowled over by a number of the creatures. The halfling kicked and howled and then fell silent as he disappeared beneath the creatures. Felix hesitated and saw Esme and Stefano striking out at the attacking beasts with their daggers. ‘Quick, under my cloak,’ he shouted. The two halflings did as he said, and Felix did the best he could to keep them all covered beneath the thick wool garment.

Gotrek had picked up a fallen torch and was whipping it about along with his axe. ‘Get the hair-foots out of here, manling!’

‘What about you?’ Felix shouted.

‘I’ll be along in a moment! Go!’

Hunching his shoulders against the battering cloud of monsters, Felix started moving towards the exit. Through a rip in the material, he saw a guard pitch forward, covered in a living blanket of struggling, frog-like bodies. From the sound of his screams, Felix thought the man was being eaten alive. He flailed about him with his torch as they ran through the corridors and back into the keep.

The jabberslythes seemed intent only on attacking everything that moved. Servants and guards and halflings alike were running through the keep, screaming and cursing as the plague of little creatures spread through the interior of the keep in an orgy of gnashing teeth and foul, frog-like bodies. Shaking the last few determined creatures off his cloak, he turned, hoping to see Gotrek following them. But there was no sign of the Slayer.

‘We have to get out of here, highboots,’ Esme said, grabbing his arm. ‘Those things will be on us in a few minutes. And your torch has set everything that’s not stone alight.’ She gestured and Felix felt a moment of embarrassment as he saw that the embers from his torch had caught the wood and bedraggled tapestries that marked their path. Servants were forced to choose between fighting jabberslythes and the growing fire.

‘It’s not just me,’ he said defensively. Men and halflings were using logs from the fireplaces and torches from the stanchions to fight the biting, screaming cloud that sought to envelop them. Burning jabberslythes spread through the keep like miniature comets, shrilling in agony and anger in equal measure.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Stefano said, grabbing at his arm.

‘Not without Gotrek,’ Felix said. Gripping his torch, he prepared to head back towards where he’d last seen the Slayer, but even as he started forward a heavy shape stomped into sight, covered in blood and gnawing, biting beasts. Gotrek tore the creatures from his body, cursing all the while. As he stamped on the last shrieking jabberslythe, he held up Shandeux’s amulet. Gotrek prised it open and revealed an etched interior. Even in the dim light, Felix could tell that the marks made a crude map.

‘Had to go back for the map, manling,’ the Slayer said, and laughed.

About the Author

Josh Reynolds is the author of the Warhammer 40,000 novellas Hunter’s Snare and Dante’s Canyon, along with the audio drama Master of the Hunt, all three featuring the White Scars, and the Blood Angels novel Deathstorm. In the Warhammer World, he has written The End Times: The Return of Nagash, the Gotrek & Felix tales Charnel Congress, Road of Skulls and The Serpent Queen, and the novels Neferata, Master of Death and Knight of the Blazing Sun. He lives and works in Sheffield.

From the undead-ridden marshes of Hel Fenn, to the court of a foul skaven lord, Warhammer’s original heroes battle the forces of evil across the Old World.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

Published in 2014 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Cover illustration by Winona Nelson.

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ISBN: 978-1-78251-878-5

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