Gotrek & Felix: Slayer by David Guymer Read Free Book Online Page B

interpret them without succumbing to madness.
    ‘A servant. I observe and follow. History will not record my name.’
    Khamgiin struggled to meet her shifting gaze. With a spurt of panic he noticed that everything around her was darkening. He was still moving, but his men were gone, as was the forest. He blinked into the nothingness that surrounded him. It wasn’t just a void left by the retreat of the mortal world, it was a thing with a cruel will and a terrible purpose of its own. He saw the silver outline of the witch before she vanished. She was haloed by something horned and dark, something vast and incalculably ancient with a capacity for hate that left the Chaos warrior quailing and small.
    ‘A darkness closes on me,’ he hissed.
    The woman’s voice echoed from the shadow.
    ‘Not only on you.’

THREE
    Bad Tidings
    The punch hit the Hochland corporal like a swinging morningstar, and crunched knuckles into the man’s breastplate almost exactly like one. The man flew back, piling through the table that had been assembled from a plank and two barrels and scattering maps like feathers from a game bird brought down with a harquebus.
    ‘Liar!’ Gotrek roared, striding through the mess to drag the semi-lucid soldier back to his feet in a fist like an iron corbel. Despite being a foot shorter than anyone present, the Slayer filled the command tent with raw muscular presence and sheer bad attitude. His bulging arm glistened wetly, rainwater having rid him of enough blood and dirt that the spiralling tattoos looked vivid enough to be freshly drawn. He glared at the man, his one good eye bloodshot red. ‘You expect me to buy this tripe about gods and daemons and all the rest of it?’
    Another soldier, in a red and green surcoat with torn sleeves and a shirt of mail, broke one of the empty crates that had been deployed as seating across the Slayer’s back. Gotrek grunted, staggered, shrugged splinters off his shoulders and then cuffed the man unconscious. He shook the corporal in his grip.
    ‘I can’t hear you, manling.’
    ‘Put him down, Gotrek,’ Felix ordered, staggering in from the rain with cheeks red from running and sword drawn just as the Slayer drew back his fist for another punch. At the same time, a rattling series of clicks announced pistols and harquebuses being cocked and primed. A line of men in a mishmash of bastardised liveries and gear dropped to one knee, laying their firearms over the upturned seating and drawing a bead on the bristling Slayer.
    ‘Aim,’ said Gustav with incongruous levity, wearing a grim expression that was no less a smile for that. Like everyone else, he hadn’t yet had a chance to change following the recent battle. His ponytail was pasted to his face with rainwater and his white plate was dashed with wet smears of red. He looked like a highwayman, fresh from the stage of a Tarradasch play and an altercation with the evils of womanly virtue and corrupt Imperial justice. He reminded Felix rather too much of Ulrika.
    ‘You’d let him shoot me, manling?’ Gotrek growled flintily, still glaring at the Hochland corporal but clearly now addressing Felix.
    Don’t tempt me, Felix thought, but somehow managed to grind his teeth and not speak.
    Gotrek must have noticed the tightness in his jaw however, because he turned to fix Felix with a glare. Felix’s fingers didn’t stray from his sword. With a grunt, Gotrek let the man go. The Hochlander clattered bonelessly in amongst the scattered maps and for a moment Felix thought the Slayer intended to leave one last boot in the ribs, but then Gotrek turned and stomped to the corner of the tent without another word. There, he picked up a crate and planted himself on it, crossing his arms across his barrel chest.
    Felix allowed himself to relax. The line of harquebusiers and pistoliers visibly sagged with relief. Sheathing his sword, Felix waved in the gaggle of company sergeants that had decided a tactical withdrawal to the cover