Gotrek and Felix: The Anthology (18 page)

Below them, a sturdy, three-storey building rose out from the rock of the mountain-side. It crouched over a softly rushing mountain stream, and the stink of goblins hung heavy on the air. ‘The secret of a good brew is in the water, my father said,’ Grudi murmured, his face stiff with anguish. ‘One of many secrets that will be lost tonight.’

‘You sound certain of your doom,’ Angmar said, shuffling up to join them. ‘Maybe you’ll survive, like Snorri here.’

Snorri glanced at Angmar, a stricken expression on his face. ‘What has Snorri ever done to you, manling?’

‘I just meant–’

‘You lack politesse, Angmar. This is why I’m Grandmaster, by the by,’ Staahl rumbled. He patted Snorri awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’ll get your brains dashed out, my stumpy companion.’

‘Truly?’ Snorri said, brightening.

‘Of course! We’re all likely to die, after all,’ Staahl said. ‘But at least we won’t die sober. Break out the Bear’s Milk!’ he continued, turning to his men. The other knights began to rummage in their packs or at their belts, and one by one they extracted wineskins and miniature casks.

Angmar sighed and did the same, unstoppering a clay bottle. ‘Must we?’

‘Tradition,’ Staahl said. ‘I brought plenty,’ he went on, tossing two more skins to Snorri. ‘One for each of our stunted brothers.’

Grudi bristled at the comment on his height, but Snorri slapped the skin into his arms before he could comment. The dwarf looked down at the skin curiously. ‘What is it?’

‘Tradition!’ Staahl said again.

‘Fermented bear’s milk and vodka,’ Angmar said, upending his bottle.

‘Tradition,’ the other knights said in unison, swigging from their various containers.

‘Pah!’ Staahl said, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Now, let us see what there is to see.’ He leaned over the dwarfs and peered at the darkened brewery. It had been, for lack of a better term, corrupted. Orcish graffiti was splashed across the walls in substances too foul to name, and crude wooden sigils were nailed to the shutters and doors. Huts made of mud and stone had been built up against the brewery as the orcs’ numbers swelled. In the darkness, a number of cooking fires gleamed and heavy shapes moved through and around the building.

‘Orcs,’ Snorri said. ‘Good.’

‘There are more of them than I thought there’d be. Why are they all still here?’ Drahl said.

‘Who can say?’ Hogan said. ‘Maybe they’ve taken up brewing.’ Grudi stared at him in horror.

‘Orcs know a good thing when they see it,’ Staahl said. He frowned and took another swig of Bear’s Milk. ‘I’d wager your father had a century’s worth of beer and ale stored in there, wouldn’t you say?’

‘More. We had the largest stores this side of Barak Varr,’ Grudi said proudly. ‘That stream runs underneath the brewery and into the guts of the mountains. We sank hundreds of kegs and casks into the silt to stay cool. They’re all still there.’

‘If the orcs haven’t gotten to them,’ Angmar said. He burped and shook his head. ‘No. There’s something going on down there. Listen.’

They did so, and were rewarded with the sound of squabbling. It echoed from the rocks and soon enough there came the sound of weapons clashing. A wolf yelped piteously somewhere as something heavy crashed to the ground. Then there was a roar that shook them all down to the soles of their boots.

‘What is it?’ Grudi said, trying to make out what was happening. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s been almost a year since they took the brewery. Like as not the brutes are having a falling out. Let’s get down there before they kill each other,’ Staahl said.

‘Surely you mean “after”,’ Angmar said.

‘Definitely the other one,’ Snorri said, hopping to his feet. He threw himself down the slope, his weapons in his hands. The knights gave a drunken cheer and, at Staahl’s bellowed command, followed the Slayer.

The orcs had no sentries as such: a few goblins roamed the outskirts of the camp, but they turned and fled, squealing the alarm as Snorri thundered towards them. The first orc to exit its hut got a clout with the Slayer’s hammer that crushed its skull. The second, more swift than its predecessor, locked axes with Snorri and the two strained against one another as battle was joined.

Snorri smashed his head into the orc’s own and the brute staggered. Then, with a growl, it reciprocated. Snorri shook his head to clear it and grabbed the orc by its filthy hauberk and gave it another headbutt. Tusks flew and the brute slumped in Snorri’s hands. Dropping it, he wiped blood off his brow and turned. A third orc brought a heavy maul down and Snorri was forced to hurl himself aside as it pulverised the orc he’d knocked out. Dragging the weapon up for another blow, the orc turned to follow Snorri and ran right into his axe. Grinning, Snorri jammed it in further and then extricated it, covering himself in green blood in the process.

Snatching the maul before it could hit the ground, he spun in a circle and let it fly. It caught an orc on the run and sent it flying into the stream. Snorri picked up his own hammer and looked around for more opponents.

Nearby, Grudi was methodically driving his hook into what had been the throat of the orc he straddled. Staahl and his knights had crashed into the few orcs that had tried to make an organised stand, and as Snorri watched, the big man swept his sword through his opponent’s belly. Surprised, and without the advantage of numbers, the orcs were proving little match for the men.

‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Drahl said, kicking a twitching orc off his blade. ‘Where are the others? This camp should have three times this number of the monsters.’ He looked around. ‘Where are the alarms? What’s going on?’

‘Maybe they heard us coming and fled,’ Staahl said.

As the last of the creatures fell, Grudi bounded towards the great doors of the brewery. They had been smashed off their hinges and then repaired in the primitive fashion common to orc buildings. Without pausing, he snatched up an orc and crashed into the doors, using the body as a battering ram.

‘Father! I have returned!’ he cried.

‘Snorri thinks that was perhaps a bad idea,’ Snorri said.

‘Oh?’ said Staahl.

There was another roar, louder than the one they’d heard earlier, and then the young Slayer came hurtling back out of the doors, his limp body bouncing off a pine and tumbling to the ground. Snorri nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes.’

‘Troll!’ Angmar cried, gesturing with his sword. And it was. Something big and foul that stank of stagnant water and mouldy stone shouldered its way out of the doors, a ragged harness dangling from its bloated body.

‘Big troll,’ Hogan said, gripping his mace tightly.

‘River troll,’ Snorri said, grinning eagerly. He trotted towards the beast, rotating his wrists as if warming up for the fight to come. He leapt forwards, embedding his axe deep into the meat of the creature’s side. It shrieked and clawed at him with webbed talons. Using his axe as a makeshift piton, Snorri swung himself onto the troll’s back and grabbed a handful of the harness it wore.

‘Snorri would like to play you a melody,’ he said, cocking his hammer back. He brought it down between the troll’s flared ears with every ounce of strength he could muster. The beast stumbled and shook its head. Snorri hit it again and again. Each blow gave the creature pause, but none put it down. Grunting in frustration, Snorri reached down and ripped his axe free and chopped down on the troll’s thick neck. Talons tore at him as he whipped the hammer back and struck the head of the axe, driving it deeper into the troll’s flesh. The monster gargled as it wobbled in a circle, trying to pull Snorri off.

The others had shaken off their shock at the sight of the troll and were moving to help. Soon enough a ring of swords encircled the beast. But Staahl stopped them from doing anything more. ‘Hold! Let the Slayer find his doom, if he’s able,’ the big man said.

‘Thanks, fatty,’ Snorri said, grabbing one of the troll’s ears. He turned until he was squatting on its skull and whacked the axe again. The troll reached up and grabbed him, yanking him off and slamming him to the ground. Gasping, Snorri fought to pry its fingers off as it opened its mouth and the smell of bile washed over him.

Then, the troll made a comical sound, halfway between a burp and a whimper, and its head popped off its axe-weakened neck, propelled on a stream of boiling vomit. Snorri scrambled aside as the head crashed down where he’d lain only moments earlier.

He got to his feet and kicked the head aside. ‘That was fun. Snorri has worked up quite a thirst,’ he said, yanking his axe free of the troll’s bulk and walking towards the brewery. ‘Someone get Grudi Halfhand up. Snorri wants his Wynters!’

‘There is no Wynters!’ Grudi snarled as Angmar helped him to his feet. The younger Slayer’s face was consumed by a purple bruise, and he was missing several teeth. ‘There’s nothing left. They’ve taken it all!’

‘Taken it? How?’ Staahl said, his disbelief evident in his tone.

‘See for yourself!’ Grudi flailed his hook towards the shattered doors. ‘All gone,’ he groaned.

Snorri and the others stepped inside and saw that Grudi hadn’t been exaggerating. The brewery’s central hall was as bare as a pauper’s grave, unless you counted the foetid piles of orc and troll dung clinging to the corners.

Snorri ambled forwards, scanning the empty spots where, until recently, kegs and casks and barrels had rested, piled one atop the other. He stopped at a set of stone steps and crouched, resting his palm on the top step.

‘What is it?’ Staahl said, handing him a skin of Bear’s Milk. Snorri took the skin and rinsed his mouth out before answering.

‘Snorri feels water.’

‘Staahl hears water,’ Staahl said, flicking an earlobe. ‘Didn’t your friend say that the river runs beneath this building?’

‘Aye,’ Snorri said. He rubbed the head of his hammer across his crest carelessly. ‘There weren’t many of them out there, were there?’ he said slowly, his eyes crossing slightly with the effort of stringing his thoughts together. ‘Grobi like groups, the bigger the better.’

‘So where were all of them, eh?’ Staahl pulled on his lower lip. The two of them stared down into the darkness at the bottom of the steps, one tapping on the nails in his head, the other scratching his nose.

Snorri blinked. ‘Harness.’

‘What?’

‘Harness. The troll was wearing a harness. Snorri used to use harnesses like that, with mine ponies.’

‘The troll was a pony?’

‘Yes. No.’ Snorri shook his head. ‘Snorri is going downstairs. Are you coming, fatty?’

‘Try and stop me, stumpy.’

The two warriors descended the steps, Snorri in the lead. The orc-stink grew stronger, as did the troll-smell. Broken barrels and straps littered the steps and the floor at the bottom. The sound of the stream grew louder, becoming an almost thunderous roar.

‘Can’t see a blasted thing,’ Staahl said. In answer, Snorri stamped on a stone at the bottom of the steps. Instantly, a network of similar stones lit up with a soft glow. Staahl blinked in the sudden flush of light. ‘What…’

‘Light-runes. Very costly. Wynters was doing well, Snorri thinks.’ Snorri tapped a rune emblazoned on a floor stone with his foot.

‘He supplied most of the taverns in Averland.’ Staahl shrugged. ‘We drink a bit more than most.’

‘Snorri thinks perhaps a bit more than a bit.’

‘Was that a joke?’ Staahl said, a bit goggle-eyed.

‘Was what a joke?’ Snorri said blankly. ‘Snorri has found the river.’ He gestured with his hammer, and Staahl whistled in awe.

‘The little buggers built an entire wharf down here,’ he said.

And they had. Stone jetties and platforms filled the cavernous cellar. Bigger by far than the brewery above, with all manner of industrial achievement the likes of which the knight had never before seen. Snorri moved carefully across the wharf, his bald head swinging this way and that. He sniffed the damp air.

‘Goblins,’ he said.

‘Where goblins?’ Staahl said, drawing his sword.

The arrow skipped off the foremost nail in Snorri’s crest and clattered to the ground. He gestured with his hammer. ‘There goblins,’ he said. Small, black-robed shapes scuttled across the upper viewing platforms that extended over the wharf. More arrows peppered the ground around the duo. Staahl hopped back, his sword swiping an arrow out of the air.

‘How many, do you think?’ Staahl said.