Gotrek and Felix: The Anthology (19 page)

‘Barely a mouthful,’ Snorri replied, charging towards the loading pulleys and ropes that hung over the wharf. Stuffing his axe through his belt and clutching his hammer in his teeth, Snorri grabbed a rope and swung out over the river.

As the dwarf made his move, Staahl found himself on the pointy end of a number of spears. The goblins crept out from between the kegs and crates. They were paler than the others, and clad in mouldy black robes, their beady red eyes shining in the faint light. As one, they charged towards the knight, uttering falsetto screeches.

‘Ho Averheim!’ Staahl roared, his voice echoing throughout the cellar. He charged forwards, meeting the spears with his sword. Meanwhile, Snorri had reached the apex of his swing and he let go of the one rope and threw himself towards the next. In that fashion he swung across the gap and crashed belly-first into the closest platform.

Wheezing, he pulled himself up even as an arrow skimmed across his shoulder. Ignoring the burning sensation it imparted, he charged towards the archers, scattering them with a series of wild blows. The goblins screamed as they fell towards the river below. Snorri watched them tumble into the water in frustration. ‘Get back here! Snorri wasn’t done killing you yet!’ he bellowed.

Down below, Staahl’s shout had summoned the others. Grudi crashed into the goblins with a wild yell, killing three in a flurry of savage eagerness. The others tried to flee, going in every direction as the Knights of the Black Bear set to with a vengeance.

After a few moments, the last of the goblins had fallen. Angmar kicked it contemptuously and looked around. ‘It’s as if they were trying to delay us.’

‘Funny, I thought they were trying to kill us,’ Staahl said, wiping dark blood off his blade.

His aide looked at him. ‘That too, but what would this ambush have accomplished?’

‘Beyond killing us?’

‘Yes,’ Angmar said.

‘Snorri thinks it was a distraction,’ Snorri said. ‘Snorri thinks they took the beer somewhere.’

‘How?’ Angmar said, looking around. ‘I see no way they could–’

‘The boats,’ Grudi said, wiping blood off his battered face. The two knights looked at him. ‘The boats!’ Grudi said, gesturing. ‘They’re gone!’

‘Boats?’

‘Paddleboats. Steam engines. We used them to make deliveries to Zhufbar, Karak Hirn and the Everpeak via this river. It runs all through the Black Mountains and even into the Worlds Edge Mountains,’ he said, stumping towards the wharf. He peered at the river, his face contorting in fury and sudden realisation. ‘Trolls. They’re using trolls to pull them! First they take our lives, then they take our ale, and now they’ve taken our boats. And they’re not even using them properly! What next?’

‘Not all the boats,’ Snorri said, dropping to the wharf. He nodded at a bobbing shape covered in a heavy tarp. ‘Unless Snorri is mistaken. Which is possible.’

‘That’s not a boat,’ Grudi said darkly. ‘It’s a menace. Even the grobi were smart enough to realise that.’

‘Looks like a boat to Snorri,’ Snorri said, whipping the canvas off and revealing what sat below. It was shaped like a skiff – flat bottomed with a narrow prow – but on its rear was an odd contraption that looked like equal parts cannon and propeller.

‘What is it?’ Drahl murmured.

‘A debt owed,’ Grudi said. He glared at the skiff. ‘An engineer of my father’s acquaintance offered to design a better distillation device for him. Unfortunately, it distilled liquor into explosives and blew itself, and part of the brewery, up. In recompense, Makaisson–’

‘Malakai Makaisson?’ Snorri said, his eyes widening.

‘Yes,’ Grudi grated. ‘Yes, Malakai Makaisson, the maniac!’ He shook himself. ‘He gave that...that monstrosity to my father in payment of his debt. Said it would help us make deliveries in record time.’

‘And did it?’ Staahl said.

‘Oh yes. Record time, as he promised. Too bad it moved too fast for us to keep the cargo from flying off!’ Grudi gesticulated. ‘And not just cargo. We lost three couriers the last time we used it!’

‘Sounds like just what we need, Snorri thinks,’ Snorri said, climbing aboard. ‘Unless Grudi Halfhand didn’t intend to catch the grobi?’

‘Catch–’ Grudi blinked. Then his face hardened. ‘Of course I intend to catch them! I will fulfil my oath or find my doom in the process!’ He stomped towards the skiff. ‘One side, Nosebiter… I’m the only one here who knows how to pilot this craft!’

‘Wait for us,’ Staahl said, hurrying forwards. The other knights hesitated and the Grandmaster whirled on them, his face flushing. ‘Are you cowards coming or not? We have a Grandmaster to reclaim! Not to mention the beer he’s floating in!’

The knights climbed aboard sheepishly. Staahl glared at them for a moment and then transferred the look to Grudi. ‘Well? What are we waiting for?’

Grudi looked at Snorri. ‘Nosebiter… Start the engine.’

Snorri stumped to the back of the skiff and glared at the strange propeller contraption. Then, with a grunt, he whacked the central plate of the construct. It depressed with a hiss of long-dormant hydraulics and there was a growl worthy of a dragon. The skiff shifted in the water, and then it was moving.

The sudden thrust caused Snorri to fall, and the knights hastily grabbed the rails as Grudi battled the steering mechanism, his lips peeled back from his teeth and pressed tight. Such was their speed that his nascent crest was flattened against his skull and one of the knights lost his helm.

The boat jerked from side to side as Grudi fought the controls. True to his claim, the vessel wasn’t the gentlest of its kind. In fact, it was positively murderous. It moved too fast, and jerked too wildly to be anything other than a last resort. With the Bear’s Milk sloshing in their bellies, the knights began to look as green as the orcs they were hunting. Snorri, however, was enjoying himself. Crouched in the prow, he beat the flat of his axe against the side of the boat and howled out an overly cheerful dirge.

They rounded a bend only minutes after setting out, and suddenly a large shape sprang into view. It was a paddleboat, moving so slowly that the skiff and its passengers shot past it, leaving the irregularly spaced torches lining its sides doused in their wake.

The vessel was large and square-shaped, with a boat-house at its aft-section, and a towering pyramid of kegs at its bow. The kegs had been haphazardly tied down with lengths of leather, chain and cloth. Goblins crawled over the pyramid like red-eyed ants, and orcs with whips and axes supervised their efforts to keep the pyramid shipshape.

Grudi howled a war-song and twisted the wheel, spinning the skiff around for a second pass. Snorri clambered up onto the rail as they shot forwards. As they closed in on the front of the paddleboat, Snorri could see that his suspicions had indeed been correct: the boat was being pulled by teams of river trolls. Two of the brutes strained at the prow, pulling against thick harnesses and hauling the boat bodily through the water.

As the skiff shot back towards the boat, Snorri leapt onto the team of trolls, using the head of one to springboard onto the other. He brought his hammer down between his feet as he landed. The troll immediately sank below the water, nearly taking Snorri with it. Using his axe like a grapple, he scurried up the prow onto the paddleboat.

Heaving himself over the rail, he came face-to-face with a shield-wall of black-clad goblins. Several orcs loomed behind them, and one of the brutes cracked a whip over the goblins’ heads, sending them rushing forwards. Snorri swept his axe out and beheaded the spears that darted for his flesh. Then, with a roar, he bulled into the goblins, his weapons leaving a mangled trail of greenskins in his wake.

Meanwhile, Grudi had spun the skiff again and was charging towards the aft section of the paddleboat, which, thanks to Snorri’s impetuous assault, had slowed to a crawl. ‘Hold on, manlings!’ he roared, not looking back at his passengers. He wrenched the wheel and the skiff bounced up and smashed full-tilt into the boathouse, splintering wood and glass and sending green bodies flying.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Staahl kicked his way free of the wreckage, his sword in one hand and his skin of Bear’s Milk in the other. Pulling the stopper with his teeth, he poured the skin haphazardly into his mouth and roared out a daring approximation of a bear’s snarl as he charged towards the nearest orc. Uttering their own cries, his knights followed suit, hacking and slashing at the bewildered goblinoids.

Grudi was the last to free himself. Spitting blood and splinters, he crawled out of the wreckage and shook himself. Then, freeing his axe, he charged towards the pyramid of barrels.

Snorri reached it at the same time, albeit on the opposite side. At the apex, a massive orc squatted, overseeing the battle and occasionally uttering incomprehensible orders to his underlings. Clad in patchwork gromril armour that had quite obviously been stripped from dead dwarfs and strung together to make something that would fit, the orc was an imposing sight. Knotted beards had been tied to its belt and it gestured with a dwarfish axe.

Berserk, Grudi began to climb the pyramid. Foaming and cursing, he chopped at goblins and barrels alike. Snorri began to climb the other side, and shouted up taunts at the orc, who looked back and forth between them with what appeared to be indecisive eagerness.

‘He’s mine, Nosebiter!’ Grudi howled, lopping off a goblin’s head and booting the body at Snorri. ‘That’s the one who took my hand and the life of my kin! He’s mine! My doom!’

‘Only if Snorri doesn’t get there first, Grudi Halfhand!’ Snorri said, selfish desire propelling him to climb faster.

‘Back off!’ Snarling, Grudi lashed out at the makeshift straps that held the pyramid to its shape. The straps parted with a shriek and the barrels began to shift. Snorri nearly lost his footing and lashed out with his axe, hoping to anchor himself. Instead, the axe sank into an already rolling barrel and the Slayer was yanked off the pyramid as the barrel bounced down towards the deck. Snorri screamed in frustration as the orc boss receded into the distance.

The barrel struck the deck and shattered. Snorri bounced once and slammed into the hideous face of a troll as it began to pull itself up out of the water. Instinctively Snorri struck out, burying his axe in the monster’s shoulder. It reared back, hauling him over the rail.

A strong hand fastened on his ankle as Staahl rushed to his aid. ‘Hold on, stunty!’ the big man said.

‘Let Snorri go, fatty!’ Snorri said, kicking at his would-be rescuer. ‘Snorri is going to his doom!’ The troll, in pain, buried its talons in the Slayer’s shoulders. Staahl lost his grip as dwarf and troll toppled into the water.

‘’Ware!’ someone shouted. Staahl whirled and saw the barrel pyramid beginning to wobble and dissolve into a crashing mess of wood and alcohol. At the tip of the disintegrating pyramid, the orc boss and Grudi Halfhand fought a savage duel atop an ever-rotating cask. Axe crashed against axe for several moments, until, inevitably, their duelling ground dropped out from under them. Orc and dwarf disappeared beneath the avalanche of barrels. The knights scrambled for cover even as the barrels crashed to the deck in a chaotic cacophony. The paddleboat dipped with the force of the collapse, and several knights were almost thrown overboard, including Staahl.

As silence returned, the last surviving cask bounced down the pile of shattered barrels and rolled towards the rail. As it struck it, the top popped off, spilling out a familiar shape. Staahl, pulling himself back on board, looked down at it and grinned. ‘Hello, Rodor, you old lush! Have a nice time?’

The ex-Grandmaster didn’t answer, but Staahl took the rictus grin for assent. Stepping over the body, he joined the other knights in staring at the pile. Angmar shook his head.

‘What a waste,’ he said softly. Staahl put an arm around his shoulders.

‘I know. That’s an awful lot of good beer gone.’

‘I meant Grudi!’ Angmar snapped. He crouched and hauled aside a chunk of wood, revealing an arm ending in a hook extending from within the pile. The knights watched silently as Angmar and Staahl pulled the limp body of the Slayer from out of the debris.

‘He died as he lived,’ Angmar said softly.

‘Aye. Covered in blood and liquor,’ Staahl said piously. ‘Sigmar bless the stunted little madman. And Snorri as well, wherever he–’

A troll’s head slid across the deck and bounced over Grudi’s body. The knights turned as Snorri hauled himself over the rail, dripping wet and covered in black blood. He looked at them, then at the body at their feet. And then at the now-empty cask of Wynters.

‘Is that the Wynters?’

‘Unfortunately,’ Staahl said.

‘Is he dead?’ Snorri said, pointing at Grudi.