The Serpent Queen Page 5

  But his time with Gotrek had also taught him caution. The Slayer might have gone charging in, but Felix was far less durable. He cast about him quickly, and then, with a grimace, he slid slowly from the boardwalk of roots into the water. The current was strong, even here, and it clutched at him. He forced himself down into the muck and mud, and pulled the filth-encrusted hood of his cloak up over his head. He’d learned the trick from a forester in the Drakwald, who covered himself in dirt, leaves and dung to obscure his scent and shape from the beastmen he hunted for bounty. Felix hadn’t believed that such a tactic would work, until he’d seen the man slither across the forest floor like an ambulatory patch of night soil and cut the legs right out from under a goat-headed sentry.

  Covered in his damp, muddy cloak, and up to his armpits in the water, he began to pull himself hand over hand through the network of roots, careful to make no more noise than necessary. Luckily, the current was loud enough to hide the sound of his passage.

  The water was dark and shadows obscured the tangled roots, and though he could see weak sunlight filtering through the cracks between branches above, beneath the trees it was as dark as dusk.

  His fingers tightened about Karaghul’s hilt as he caught sight of a shattered section of the hull of the Orfeo. It had slid through the trees, uprooting several, and had come to rest on its side on a hummock of semi-solid earth, with most of it extended out over the water. Several bodies had accompanied it, carried in its wake, most likely. Debris lay scattered about, floating in the shallow water or hanging from the trees, and a section of mast had fallen athwart a large mangrove, creating an improvised gibbet, from which a single, bloodied form dangled. He had been caught beneath his armpits by the coils of rope, and his feet dangled limply as he twisted slowly. His face, blackened by bruises and slow, ongoing asphyxiation, hung slack on a head that lolled loosely. Every so often, a wheezing whimper escaped his slack lips. With a chill, Felix realised that it had been the cries of this poor soul that he’d heard. And, below him, gathered like jackals, were the entities responsible for those other, more horrible noises.

  Felix had faced the gaunt, grey shapes that leapt and clawed for the dying man’s feet before, and more than once. Ghouls, though somewhat different from those he’d faced before, were covered in barbaric tattoos, and their swollen flesh was punctured in places by bone needles and animal claws. Felix felt a rush of bile as he caught a whiff of their pungent stink. They smelt of sour milk and rotten meat, and they provoked disgust in him greater even than did the skaven. Ghouls were a cracked reflection of men, debased and brought low by the taste of human flesh and necromancy, not necessarily willingly. Though they were no longer men, they had once been so, and he hated them, even as he pitied them.

  Some of the ghouls yelped and barked and hissed as they fought and shoved and leapt to swipe at the soles of the dangling man’s feet. Others squatted silently, watching him with the patience of scavengers everywhere. There were a dozen of the cannibals, far more than Felix was comfortable dealing with alone. He hesitated. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He could simply slip back into the mangroves, and retreat to safety.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something long and darkly colourful sliding towards him across the surface of the water. Felix froze as the snake drew across his line of sight, within easy striking distance of his eyes. He didn’t recognise the species, but it hardly mattered. Its bite was likely lethal, unless it was one of the ones that killed by spraying poison. Either way, he was as good as dead if he riled it up. The snake turned slowly towards him, its bright, flat gaze examining him with all the curiosity of a kitten.

  Slowly, slowly, it began to wriggle towards him across the water, its tongue flickering. Felix’s heart began to hammer so loudly that he feared the ghouls might hear him. The snake inched closer, studying him intently. Desperate, mouth dry, blood pulsing in his ears and his heart twitching in his chest, Felix raised his hand to just below the waterline, palm first, so that the snake slid over it. Then, before it could escape, he snapped his fingers closed, pinning its head. With a convulsive jerk, he sent the snake sailing through the air and as far away from him as he could manage. It hit the water with a short, sharp splash.

  One of the ghouls, closer to him than the others, crouched on a chunk of mast that extended at an angle from the water and gnawing on an arm wrenched from the corpse of one of the bodies scattered about nearby, whirled like a startled cat, its yellow gaze alert. Its jaw worked unconsciously as it eyed the trees warily, chewing a stringy lump of muscle and fat. The ghoul swallowed its morsel and relaxed, turning back to watch its pack-mates caper and quarrel. Felix realised that he’d half-drawn Karaghul, and slowly eased the blade back into its sheath.

  The dangling crewman moaned and the ghouls beneath him set up a raucous howl, as if encouraging the former to die swiftly. Felix closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer to Sigmar. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t leave – not if there was any chance he could save the crewman. He released Karaghul’s hilt and instead drew his dagger. It was a long, thin, pointed blade of Tilean design, elegant and lethal. It was not a cutting blade, but a stabbing one, meant for sliding into the sides of throats or between ribs, and Felix had, much to his shame, used it so more than once. His mind shied away from the thought. He had never killed, save in necessity, but that didn’t make the red in his ledger any easier to contemplate.

  Slowly, Felix eased forward, sinking down so that only his nose and eyes remained above water, and those were hidden by the dip of his hood. He pushed himself towards the closest ghoul. He would have to be quick, and merciless, otherwise he’d join the unfortunate crewman on the feast-table. As he drew close to the ghoul he made sure that the beast was between him and its fellows. When the other ghouls set up another loud caterwauling, Felix struck, rising swiftly and snaking one gloved palm across the creature’s mouth even as he drove his dagger up into its back. The blade was sharp, and he knew where to put it. The ghoul spasmed as Felix drew it backwards into the water as swiftly and as silently as possible.

  It kicked once, as he shoved it down beneath the wreckage. After sawing his knife about inside it to ensure its death, he withdrew the blade and swung himself around the wreckage it had been crouching on. The others had not yet noticed their comrade’s absence from its perch. That gave him the advantage, if his luck held. Grimly, Felix began to swim towards the shattered section of hull, where several more ghouls crouched and gnawed on the pasty remnants of dead sailors. His plan, such as it was, wasn’t the best, but it was all he could come up with. Too intent on their meals or the entertainment provided by the dying man, none of the brutes noticed Felix as he slithered into the wreckage beneath them. He peered up through the web of shattered timber and stretched rigging at the closest of the cannibals, and used the hilt of his dagger to rap on a dangling pulley.

  At the sudden, sharp clatter, the ghoul peered down with a puzzled grunt. Still clutching the lump of gnawed gristle in its malformed jaws, it began to descend through the web of debris towards the water, its head angled down and its body contorted like that of a lizard climbing down a wall. Felix, hidden by his cloak and the wreckage, waited with his dagger ready. As the ghoul passed through the shadows of the hull, its eyes glowed with a feral phosphorescence that put Felix in mind of an alley cat hunting for mice.

  The ghoul paused in its descent and sniffed the air. It was less than an arm’s length above Felix, and it looked everywhere save straight down. Felix tensed and then uncoiled like a spring, the point of his dagger piercing the soft flesh beneath the creature’s jaw and plunging upwards into its brain. Felix caught the body as it fell and dragged it beneath the water even as he had the first, though with a great deal more noise.

  It couldn’t be helped, but he knew the element of surprise was gone. He shoved the twitching ghoul down, lodging it beneath the wreckage, and crawled away, keeping his head below water. By the t
ime he surfaced a few feet away, from under a layer of rope, his lungs were burning and he greedily sucked in a lungful of air. Ghouls clustered on the top of the wreckage, peering down and making soft questioning sounds. Four of them, Felix saw. That left half a dozen outside the wreckage. Slowly, the beasts began to descend, calling out in barbarous grunts for their missing companion.

  Felix knew that he would only have a moment to deal with them before the others came to investigate. He would have to be quick. Quietly, moving no more than necessary, he pushed himself up out of the water and waited. The ghouls began to squirm through the wreckage, sniffing and growling to one another. Perhaps they thought their pack-mate had found a hidden treat, or maybe their capacity for concern was not lessened by their bestial nature. Felix doubted the latter; in other encounters, he’d seen the creatures turn on their weaker pack-mates readily enough when they were peckish. As they turned away from him, he began to climb. Not far, and not fast, but just enough to get above the four ghouls who now prowled through the water like ambulatory crocodiles.

  Dagger in hand, he waited until one drew below him and then let himself fall onto its broad, bony back. His cloak flared about him and covered his prey, even as he used both hands to ram his dagger through the back of the ghoul’s neck. His weight drove it beneath the water, but his strike hadn’t been as true as his previous two blows. The ghoul was dying, but it was not dead. Gargling on its own blood, his dagger lodged in its neck, it writhed beneath him. A flailing backhand caught Felix and sent him crashing back into the water.

  The dying ghoul rose with a strangled shriek, and clawed at its neck. Felix, desperate, lashed out with his foot and caught it in its bloated belly. The ghoul made a choking sound and bent double. Felix threw himself forward, planted his palms against its back, and slid over the retching ghoul. As he splashed down behind it, he twisted swiftly about and snatched his dagger free. The ghoul reared up, and Felix drove the blade into its back again and again in a flurry of blows. The ghoul sagged with a sigh, and as it fell, Felix saw that its fellows were clambering towards him with simian agility.

  With a curse, he sent the dagger hurtling towards the closest of the creatures. Without waiting to see whether it had struck, he ripped Karaghul from its sheath and lunged to meet the beasts. He held the sword like a spear and thrust it forwards with both hands, catching one of the ghouls in the chest as it flung itself at him. The ancient templar blade pierced the ghoul’s rubbery flesh with ease, and it vomited blood. Its scabrous talons plucked at his wrists, and its jaws champed in mindless agony. Felix jerked back. He’d felt Karaghul bite bone, and the blade was lodged in the thing’s chest. He lost his grip on the sword as the third ghoul sprang onto him, bowling him over. He splashed back into the water, the ghoul’s taloned fingers scrabbling at his throat. Felix smashed his forearm into the brute’s twisted features, forcing it to pull back. He drove a punch into its jaw, and it rolled away from him with a snarl.

  Felix flailed, searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. His hand found a jagged strip of wood and as the ghoul threw itself on him again, jaws wide, Felix shoved the long splinter down its throat. It flopped off him, twitching and fumbling at its mouth. Felix pushed himself up, grabbed the creature by its scalp and forced its head beneath the water. It clawed at him, tearing gouges in his sleeves and its claws became tangled in his chainshirt, but he didn’t release it until it had stopped thrashing.

  When it had gone limp, he released it and rose, turning to look for the remaining ghoul. His heart rattled against his ribcage, and his breath came in harsh, rasping gasps. Adrenaline surged through him, and his limbs trembled with exertion. He swiped sweat and blood out of his face and saw the ghoul, dead, his dagger jutting from its eye. He swallowed and made his way towards it, to pluck his dagger free. Then he turned towards the one he’d pinned with Karaghul.

  It was still alive and it whined as it saw him start towards it. It fumbled at the blade with nerveless fingers and tried to squirm away as he approached. Felix hesitated. He felt slightly sick as he contemplated the raw fear in the ghoul’s eyes. Then he remembered the dangling crewman, and the screams he’d heard. There had been other survivors, before the ghouls had got to them. His expression hardened. He reached out and took the hilt of his sword and gave it a twist and a shove. The ghoul gave a rattling groan and died. Felix tore the sword free and hefted it.

  A noise from above caught his attention. He looked up. The remaining six ghouls stared down at him, their expressions unreadable. Felix met their gazes and said, ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

  The ghouls shrieked as one and began to spring down towards him. They clambered and swung and pounced, wailing and howling. Felix felt no fear, only resignation. It had only been the sheerest luck that he had survived fighting four of the beasts. Six was at least two too many, and he readied himself to meet them as best he could, hip-deep in brackish water, his limbs leaden with exhaustion. He tightened his grip on his sword and dagger.

  The first ghoul came at him in a wild lunge, with a bestial yell. Felix swept Karaghul up and across in a sloppy example of an Altdorf mittelhau. The ghoul, caught in midair, flipped head over heels, trailing brackish blood. Felix met the second, which dived under the tumbling body of its fellow, with his dagger. He drove the blade into the ghoul’s belly, even as its teeth slammed down on his shoulder, snagging in the sleeve of his chainshirt. Hauled off balance, Felix staggered. He was forced to release his dagger, and the ghoul clutched bonelessly at him, pulling him off balance.

  With a strangled yell, he shoved the dying cannibal away, but not quickly enough. A ghoul snaked its arm around his throat, hauling him back. Another latched on to his sword-arm, dragging it down. He pounded futilely at the arm around his throat with his free hand.

  The remaining two beasts charged towards him, eyes alight with a hideous hunger.

  Felix kicked out at them. He caught one in the face and felt its jaw crunch at the point of impact. The other crashed into him and its fingers snagged his hair. It yanked his head aside, and hissed in obvious delight.

  Felix continued to struggle, but he was pinned. The ghouls tittered in delight, and he could smell their foul breath as it washed over him. He closed his eyes, awaiting the fatal bite.

  And as crooked, yellowing fangs grazed his throat he gave vent to a final yell.

  Chapter 4

  The ghoul grunted. Felix cracked an eyelid. The ghoul that had been preparing to bite out his throat stepped back, a confused look on its face. It reached up with a trembling claw to gingerly touch the tip of the arrow that had suddenly sprouted from between its open jaws. It grunted again, and then toppled backwards into the water with a splash. The remaining ghouls released Felix and scuttled off, splashing away from the wreckage and their intended prey.

  Felix slumped, leaning on his sword. He looked up. A man stood perched on the curve of the ruptured hull, a second arrow notched and ready to let fly. ‘You don’t speak Reikspiel, by chance?’ the newcomer shouted down.

  ‘I’m from Altdorf,’ Felix coughed.

  ‘Small world, so am I,’ the archer laughed. He lowered his bow. ‘Can’t be too sure, though. We get all kinds on this coast – Estalians, Tileans, Norscans, and all of them rattling on in their own languages, rather than learning a proper tongue.’ He paused. ‘Another few moments, and you’d have been meat for the beast, neighbour.’ He was a lean man, almost cadaverous, and pale despite the climate. He wore a battered breastplate, its markings long since scoured off by the elements. A long sword was sheathed on his hip, and beneath his piecemeal armour he wore the grimy leathers of a seasoned traveller.

  ‘I thank you for your timely intervention,’ Felix said. He grabbed his dagger and jerked it from the dead ghoul’s belly. He wiped it clean on his trousers and sheathed it. He looked up at his saviour and said, ‘Out of curiosity, where in the name of Sigmar did you come from?’

 
The archer frowned. ‘Mangrove Port,’ he said, ‘Where else?’

  Felix almost sagged in relief. ‘Thank Sigmar.’ If his rescuer was from the port that meant that they hadn‘t been driven as far off course as he’d feared. For a moment, he was paralysed by the possibilities filling his head, now that he knew he wasn’t going to die out here. He could catch a ship for, well, anywhere. Relief warred with sadness. If Gotrek was dead, then he was free. He was free of his obligations, free to go where he wanted, without regard to a taciturn travelling companion. He could go home, or to Marienburg, or back to Tilea. Felix twitched, sending the thoughts fluttering away. It was best to stay in the here and now, until his feet were on familiar ground. He’d known Gotrek long enough to know that until he saw the body, there was every reason to believe the Slayer had survived, regardless of the odds. His thoughts of Tilea, and Altdorf, faded.

  ‘I’m happy to accept your gratitude, neighbour, but no need to deify me,’ the archer said as he slung his bow. ‘My name’s Sigmund, Sigmund Steyr, late of Altdorf and currently of this fine garden of rapturous delight. Come, let me give you a hand up, herr…?’

  ‘Jaeger,’ Felix said, climbing towards Steyr’s extended hand. ‘Felix Jaeger.’ He caught Steyr’s hand and found himself hauled up onto the hull. Steyr was strong, and surprisingly so, for being so thin. He looked up at the roof of branches and squinted.

  Felix saw that the shafts of sunlight had turned a dull grey, and guessed that the sun was hidden by clouds. From overhead came the rumble of thunder. It rattled down, causing the tree branches to clatter in sympathy.

  ‘Well, Felix, we ought to get under cover. It’s the rainy season, and the sky will soon be weeping fit to drown a man where he stands.’ Steyr raised his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘Ho! Greedy-guts! Patty-cake! I found one!’

  Felix blinked. ‘Greedy-guts?’ he asked.