Warhammer [Ignorant Armies] Read online

  Table of Contents

  THE OLD WORLD TIMELINE

  GEHEIMNISNACHT

  THE REAVERS AND THE DEAD

  THE OTHER

  APPRENTICE LUCK

  A GARDENER IN PARRAVON

  THE STAR BOAT

  THE IGNORANT ARMIES

  THE LAUGHTER OF DARK GODS

  THE OLD WORLD TIMELINE

  A brief guide to the history of the Warhammer World

  Contents

  Geheimnisnachtby William King

  The Reavers and the Deadby Charles Davidson

  The Other by Nicola Griffith

  Apprentice Luckby Sean Flynn

  A Gardener in Parravonby Brian Craig

  The Star Boatby Steve Baxter

  The Ignorant Armiesby Jack Yeovil

  The Laughter of the Dark Godsby William King

  GEHEIMNISNACHT

  by William King

  "Curse all manling coach drivers and all manling women," muttered Gotrek Gurnisson, adding a curse in Dwarvish.

  "You did have to insult the lady Isolde, didn't you?" said Felix Jaeger peevishly. "As things are, we're lucky they didn't just shoot us. If you can call it lucky to be dumped in the Reikwald on Geheimnisnacht Eve."

  "We paid for our passage. We were just as entitled to sit inside as her. The drivers were unmanly cowards," said Gotrek. "They refused to meet me hand to hand. I would not have minded being spitted on steel, but being blasted with buckshot is no death for a Trollslayer."

  Felix shook his head. He could see that one of his companion's black moods was coming on. There would be no arguing with him. Felix had other things to worry about. The sun was setting, giving the mist-covered forest a ruddy hue. Long shadows danced eerily and brought to mind too many frightening tales of the horrors to be found under the canopy of trees.

  He wiped his nose with the edge of his cloak then pulled the Sudenland wool tight about him. He sniffed and looked at the sky where Morrslieb and Mannslieb, the lesser and greater moons, were already visible. Morrslieb seemed to be giving off a feint greenish glow. It wasn't a good sign.

  "I think I have a fever coming on," said Felix. The Trollslayer looked up at him and chuckled contemptuously. In the last rays of the dying sun his nose-chain was a bloody arc running from nostril to earlobe.

  "Yours is a weak race," said Gotrek. "The only fever I feel this eve is the battle-fever. It sings in my head."

  He turned and glared out into the darkness of the woods. "Come out, little beastmen," he bellowed. "I have a gift for you."

  He laughed loudly and ran his thumb along the edge of the blade of his great two-handed axe. Felix saw that it drew blood. Gotrek began to suck his thumb.

  "Sigmar preserve us, be quiet! Who knows what lurks out there on a night like this?"

  Gotrek glared at him. Felix could see the glint of insane violence appear in his eyes. Instinctively Felix's hand strayed nearer to the pommel of his sword.

  "Give me no orders, manling. I am of the Elder Race and am beholden only to the Kings Under Mountain, exile though I be."

  Felix bowed formally. He was well schooled in the use of the sword. The scars on his face showed that he had fought several duels in his student days. He had once killed a man and so ended a promising academic career. Still he did not relish the thought of fighting the Trollslayer. The tip of Gotrek's crested hair came only to the level of Felix's chest but the dwarf outweighed him and his bulk was all muscle. Felix had seen Gotrek use the axe.

  The dwarf took the bow as an apology and turned once more to the darkness. "Come out," he shouted. "I care not if all the powers of evil walk the woods this night. I will face any challenger."

  The dwarf was working himself up to a pitch of fury. During the time of their acquaintance Felix had noticed that the Trollslayer's long periods of brooding were often followed by brief explosions of rage. It was one of the things about his companion that fascinated Felix.

  He knew that Gotrek had become a Trollslayer to atone for some crime. He was sworn to seek death in unequal combat with fearsome monsters. He seemed bitter to the point of madness and yet he kept to his oath.

  Perhaps, thought Felix, I too would go mad if I had been driven into exile among strangers not even of my own race. He felt some sympathy for the crazed dwarf. Felix knew what it was like to be driven from home under a cloud. The duel with Wolfgang Krassner had caused quite a scandal.

  At that moment however the dwarf seemed bent on getting them both killed, and he wanted no part of it. Felix continued to plod along the road, casting an occasional worried glance at the bright full moons. Behind him the ranting continued.

  "Are there no warriors among you? Come feel my axe. She thirsts!" Only a madman would so tempt fate and the dark powers on Geheimnisnacht, Night of Mystery, in the dark reaches of the forest, Felix decided.

  He could make out chanting in the flinty, guttural tongue of the Mountain Dwarves, then once more in Reikspiel, he heard: "send me a champion!"

  For a second there was silence. Condensation from the clammy mist ran down his brow. Far, far off the sound of galloping horses rang out in the quiet night. What has that maniac done, Felix thought, has he offended one of the Old Powers? Have they sent their daemon riders to carry us off?

  Felix stepped off the road. He shuddered as wet leaves fondled his face. They felt like dead men's fingers. The thunder of hooves came closer, moving with hellish speed along the forest road. Surely only a supernatural being could keep such breakneck pace on the winding forest road? He felt his hand shake as he unsheathed his sword.

  I was foolish to follow Gotrek, he thought. Now I'll never get the poem finished. He could hear the loud neighing of horses, the cracking of a whip and mighty wheels turning.

  "Good!" Gotrek roared. His voice drifted from the trail behind. "Good!"

  There was a loud bellowing and four huge black horses drawing a black coach hurtled past. Felix saw the wheels bounce as they hit a rut in the road. He could just make out a black-cloaked driver. He shrank back into the bushes.

  He heard the sound of feet coming closer. The bushes were pulled aside. Before him stood Gotrek, looking madder and wilder than ever. His crest was matted, brown mud was smeared over his tattooed body and his studded leather jerkin was ripped and torn.

  "The snotling-fondlers tried to run me over," he yelled. "Let's get after them!"

  He turned and headed up the muddy road at a fast trot. Felix noted that Gotrek was singing happily in Khazalid.

  Further down the Bogenhafen road they found the Standing Stones Inn. The windows were shuttered and no lights showed. They could hear a neighing from the stables but when they checked there was no coach, black or otherwise, only some skittish ponies and a pedlar's cart.

  "We've lost the coach. Might as well get a bed for the night," said Felix. He looked warily at the small moon, Morrslieb. The sickly green glow was stronger. "I do not like being abroad under this evil light."

  "You are feeble, manling. Cowardly too."

  "They'll have ale."

  "On the other hand, some of your suggestions are not without merit. Watery though human beer is, of course."

  "Of course," said Felix. Gotrek failed to spot the note of irony in his voice.

  The inn was not fortified but the walls were thick, and when they tried the door they found it was barred. Gotrek began to bang it with the butt of his axe-shaft. There was no response.

  "I can smell humans within," said Gotrek. Felix wondered how he could smell anything over his own stench. Gotrek never washed and his hair was matted with animal fat to keep his red-dyed crest in place.

  "They'll have locked themselves in. Nobody goes abroad on Gehe
imnisnacht. Unless they're witches or daemon-lovers."

  "The black coach was abroad," said Gotrek.

  "Its occupants were up to no good. The windows were curtained and the coach bore no crest of arms."

  "My throat is too dry to discuss such details. Come on, open up in there or I'll take my axe to the door!"

  Felix thought he heard movement within. He pressed an ear to the door. He could make out the mutter of voices and what sounded like weeping.

  "Unless you want me to chop through your head, manling, I suggest you stand aside," said Gotrek.

  "Just a moment. I say, you inside! Open up! My friend has a very large axe and a very short temper. I suggest you do as he says or lose your door."

  "What was that about short?" said Gotrek touchily.

  From behind the door came a thin, quavery cry. "In the name of Sigmar, begone, you daemons of the pit!"

  "Right, that's it," said Gotrek. "I've had enough."

  He drew his axe back in a huge arc. Felix saw the runes of its blade gleam in the Morrslieb light. He leapt aside.

  "In the name of Sigmar," shouted Felix. "You cannot exorcize us. We are simple, weary travellers."

  The axe bit into the door with a chunking sound. Splinters of wood flew from it. Gotrek turned to Felix and grinned evilly up at him. Felix noted the missing teeth.

  "Shoddily made, these manling doors," said Gotrek.

  "I suggest you open up while you still have a door," called Felix.

  "Wait," said the quavering voice. "That door cost me five crowns from Jurgen the Carpenter."

  The door was unlatched. It opened. A tall, thin man with a sad face framed by white hair stood there. He had a stout club in one hand. Behind him stood an old woman who held a saucer that contained a guttering candle.

  "You will not need your weapon, sir. We require only a bed for the night," said Felix.

  "And ale," grunted the dwarf.

  "And ale," agreed Felix.

  "Lots of ale," said Gotrek. Felix looked at the old man and shrugged helplessly.

  Inside, the inn had a low common room. The bar was made of planks stretched across two barrels. From the corner three armed men who looked like travelling pedlars watched them warily. They had daggers drawn. The shadows hid their faces but they seemed worried.

  The innkeeper hustled them inside and slid the bars back into place. "Can you pay, Herr Doktor?" he asked nervously. Felix could see the man's adam's apple moving.

  "I am not a professor, I'm a poet," he said, producing his thin pouch and counting out his few remaining gold coins. "But I can pay."

  "Food," said Gotrek. "And ale."

  At this the old woman burst into tears. Felix stared at her.

  "The hag is discomfited," said Gotrek.

  The old man nodded. "Our Gunter is missing on this of all nights."

  "Get me some ale," said Gotrek. The innkeeper backed off. Gotrek got up and stumped over to where the pedlars were sitting. They regarded him warily.

  "Do any of you know about a black coach drawn by four black horses?" Gotrek asked.

  "You have seen the black coach?" asked one of the pedlars. The fear was evident in his voice.

  "Seen it? The bloody thing nearly ran me over." A man gasped. Felix heard the sound of a ladle being dropped. He saw the innkeeper stoop to pick it up and begin refilling the tankard.

  "You are lucky then," said the fattest and most prosperous-looking pedlar. "Some say the coach is driven by daemons. I have heard it passes here on Geheimnisnacht every year. Some say it carries wee children from Altdorf who are sacrificed at the Darkstone Ring."

  Gotrek looked at him interestedly. Felix did not like the way this was developing.

  "Surely this is only legend," he said.

  "No sir," the innkeeper shouted. "Every year we hear the thunder of its passing. Two years ago Gunter looked out and saw it, a black coach just as you describe."

  At the mention of Gunter's name the old woman began to cry again. The innkeeper brought stew and two great steins of ale.

  "Bring beer for my companion too," said Gotrek. The landlord went off for another stein.

  "Who is Gunter?" asked Felix when he returned. There was a wail from the old woman.

  "More ale," said Gotrek. The landlord looked astonished at the empty flagons.

  "Take mine," said Felix. "Now, mein host, who is Gunter?"

  "And why does the hag howl at the very mention of his name?" asked Gotrek, wiping his mouth on his mud-encrusted arm.

  "Gunter is our son. He went out to chop wood this afternoon. He has not returned."

  "Gunter is a good boy," said the old woman. "How will we survive without him?"

  "Perhaps he is simply lost in the woods?"

  "Impossible," said the innkeeper. "Gunter knows the woods round here like the back of my hand. He should have been home hours ago. I fear the coven has taken him, as a sacrifice."

  "It's just like Lotte Hauptmann's daughter, Ingrid," said the fat pedlar. The innkeeper shot him a dirty look.

  "I want no tales told of our son's betrothed," he said.

  "Let the man speak," said Gotrek. The pedlar looked at him gratefully.

  "The same thing happened last year, in Blutroch, just down the road. Goodwife Hauptmann looked in on her teenage daughter Ingrid just after sunset. She thought she heard banging coming from her daughter's room. The girl was gone, snatched by who knows what sorcerous power from her bed in a locked house. The next day the hue and cry went up. We found Ingrid. She was covered in bruises and in a terrible state."

  He looked at them to make sure he had their attention. "You asked her what happened?" said Felix.

  "Aye, sir. It seems she had been carried off by daemons, wild things of the wood, to Darkstone Ring. There the coven waited with evil creatures from the forests. They made to sacrifice her at the altar but she broke free from her captors and invoked the good name of Sigmar. While they reeled she fled. They pursued her but could not overtake her."

  "That was lucky," said Felix drily.

  "There is no need to mock, Herr Doktor. We made our way to the stones and we did find all sorts of tracks in the disturbed earth. Including those of humans and beasts and cloven-hooved daemons. And a yearling infant gutted like a pig upon the altar."

  "Cloven-hoofed daemons?" asked Gotrek. Felix didn't like the look of interest in his eye. The pedlar nodded.

  "I would not venture up to Darkstone tonight," said the pedlar. "Not for all the gold in Altdorf."

  "It would be a task fit for a hero," said Gotrek looking meaningfully at Felix. Felix was shocked.

  "Surely you cannot mean..."

  "What better task for a Trollslayer than to face these daemons on their sacred night? It would be a mighty death."

  "It would be a stupid death," muttered Felix.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing."

  "You are coming, aren't you?" said Gotrek menacingly. He was rubbing his thumb along the blade of his axe. Felix noticed it was bleeding again. He nodded.

  "An oath is an oath."

  The dwarf slapped him upon the back with such force that he thought his ribs would break. "Sometimes, manling, I think you must have dwarvish blood in you. Not that any of the Elder race would stoop to such a mixed marriage, of course."

  "Of course," said Felix, glaring at his back.

  Felix fumbled in his pack for his mail shirt. He noticed that the innkeeper and his wife and the pedlars were looking at him. Their eyes held something that looked close to awe. Gotrek sat near the fire drinking ale and grumbling in dwarvish.

  "You're not really going with him?" whispered the fat pedlar. Felix nodded.

  "Why?"

  "He saved my life. I owe him a debt." Felix thought it best not to mention the circumstances under which Gotrek had saved him.

  "I pulled the manling out from under the hooves of the Emperor's cavalry," shouted Gotrek.

  Felix cursed. The Trollslayer has the hearing of a wild beas
t as well as the brain of one, he thought, continuing to pull on the mail shirt.

  "Aye. The manling thought it clever to put his case to the Emperor with petitions and protest marches. Old Karl-Franz chose to respond, quite sensibly, with cavalry charges."

  The pedlars were starting to back away. "An insurrectionist," he heard one mutter.

  Felix felt his face flush. "It was yet another cruel and unjust tax. A silver piece for every window, indeed. To make it worse all the fat merchants bricked up their windows and the Altdorf militia went around knocking holes in the side of poor folk's hovels. We were right to speak out."

  "There's a reward for the capture of insurrectionists," said the pedlar. "A big reward."

  Felix stared at him. "Of course the Imperial cavalry were no match for my companion's axe," he said. "Such carnage. Heads, legs, arms everywhere. He stood on a pile of bodies."

  "They called for archers," said Gotrek. "We departed down a back alley. Being spitted from afar would have been an unseemly death."

  The fat pedlar looked at his companions then at Gotrek, then at Felix, then back at his companions. "A sensible man keeps out of politics," he said to the man who had talked of rewards. He looked at Felix. "No offence, sir." "None taken," said Felix. "You are absolutely correct."

  "Insurrectionist or no," said the old woman. "May Sigmar bless you if you bring my little Gunter back."

  "He is not little, Lise," said the innkeeper. "He is a strapping young man. Still I hope you bring my son back. I am old and I need him to chop the wood and shoe the horses and lift the kegs and..."

  "I am touched by your paternal concern, sir," said Felix. He pulled his leather cap down on his head.

  Gotrek got up and looked at him. He hit his chest with one meaty hand. "Armour is for women and girly elves," he said.

  "Perhaps I had best wear it, Gotrek. If I am to return alive with the tale of your deeds as I did, after all, swear to do."

  "You have a point, manling. Remember that is not all you swore to do."

  He turned to the innkeeper. "How will we find the Darkstone Ring?"

  Felix felt his mouth go dry. He fought to keep his hands from shaking.