WOLF RIDERS 
by William King
	
	"Honestly, gentlemen, I don't want any trouble," said Felix Jaegar sincerely. He spread his empty hands wide. "Just leave the girl alone. That's all I ask."
	The drunken trappers laughed evilly.
	"Just leave the girl alone," one of them mimicked in a high-pitched lisping voice. Felix looked around the trading post for support. A few men in the heavy furs of mountain men looked at him with drink-fuddled eyes. The store owner, a tall thin man with lank hair, turned and began stacking bottles of preserves on the rough wooden shelving. There were no other customers.
	One of the trappers, a huge man, loomed over him. Felix could see the particles of grease stuck in his beard. When he opened his mouth to speak the smell of cheap brandy overwhelmed even the odour of rancid bear fat that the trappers covered themselves with against the cold. Felix winced.
	"Hey, Hef, I think we got a city boy here," said the trapper. "He speaks right nice."
	The one called Hef looked up from the table against which he had pinned the struggling girl.
	"Aye, Lars, right pretty he talks, and all that nice golden hair, like cornstalks. Could almost take him for a girl himself."
	"When I come off the mountains anything looks good. I tell you what - you take the girl. I'll have this pretty boy."
	Felix felt his face flush. He was getting angry. He hid his anger with a smile. He wanted to avoid trouble if he could. "Come on gentlemen, there's no need for this. Let me buy you all a drink."
	Lars turned to Hef. The third mountain man guffawed. "He has money too. My luck's in tonight."
	Hef smirked. Felix looked around desperately as the big man advanced on him. Damn, where was Gotrek? Why was the dwarf never around when you needed him? He turned to face Lars. "All right, I'm sorry I interfered. I'll just leave you gentlemen to it."
	He saw Lars relax, letting down his guard as he advanced. Felix let him come closer. He watched the trapper spread his arms as if he were about to hug him. Felix suddenly jabbed his knee into Lars' groin. With a whoosh like a blacksmith's bellows, all the air ran out of the big man. He doubled over. Felix grabbed his beard and pulled the man's head down to meet his knee.
	He heard teeth break, and the trapper's head snapped backwards. Lars fell on the floor gasping for breath and clutching at his groin.
	"What in the name of Taal?" said Hef. The other big trapper lashed out at Felix and the force of the blow sent him reeling across the room into a table. He tipped over a tankard of ale.
	"Sorry," said Felix to the drink's owner. Felix struggled to lift the table and hurl at his assailant. He strained till he thought the muscles in his back would crack.
	The drunk looked at him and smiled. "You can't lift it. It's nailed to the floor. In case of fights."
	"Thanks for telling me," said Felix, feeling someone grab him by the hair and slam his head into the table. Pain smashed through his skull. Black spots danced before his eyes. His face felt wet. I'm bleeding, he thought then realized it was the spilled beer. His head was smashed into the table a second time. As if from very far away he heard footsteps approaching.
	"Hold him, Kell. We're gonna have us some fun for what he did to Lars." He recognized the voice as belonging to Hef.
	Desperately Felix jabbed backward with his elbow, ramming it into the hard muscle of Kell's stomach. The grip on his hair loosened. Felix tore free as he turned to face his assailants. With his right hand he frantically fumbled for the beer stein. Through a haze he saw the two gigantic trappers close in. The girl was gone. Felix saw the door close behind her. He could hear her shouting for help. Hef was loosening a knife in his belt. Felix's fingers closed over the handle of the stein. He lashed out and hit Kell in the face with it. The trapper's head snapped around, then he spat blood and turned back to Felix, smiling moronically.
	Fingers, muscled like steel bands, grabbed Felix's wrist. The pressure forced him to let go the stein. Despite frantic resistance Felix's arm was inexorably forced up his back by Kell's superior strength. The smell of bear fat and body odour was almost overpowering. Felix snarled and tried to writhe free but his struggles were fruitless.
	Something sharp jabbed into his throat. Felix looked down. Hef held a long-bladed knife at his throat. Felix smelled its well-oiled steel. He saw his own red blood trickle down its central channel. Felix froze. All Hef had to do was lean forward and Felix would be walking in the kingdom of Morr.
	"That was downright unfriendly, boy," said Hef. "Old Lars was only bein' affectionate and you had to go and bust his teeth. Now what you reckon we should do about that, we bein' his friends and all?"
	"Kill the thnotling fondler," gasped Lars. Felix felt Kell push his arm further up his back till he thought it would break. He moaned in pain.
	"Reckon we'll just do that," said Hef.
	"You can't," said the trader behind the bar. "That'd be murder."
	"Shut-up, Pike," said Hef. "Who asked you?"
	Felix could see they meant to do it. They were full of drunken violence and ready to kill. Felix had just given them the excuse they needed.
	"Been a long time since I killed me a pretty boy," said Hef, pushing his knife forward just a fraction. Felix grimaced with pain. "Gonna beg, pretty boy? Gonna beg for your life?"
	"Go to hell," said Felix. He would have liked to spit but his mouth felt dry and his knees were weak. He was shaking. He closed his eyes.
	"Not so polite now, city boy?" Felix felt thick laughter rumble in Kell's throat. What a place to die, he thought incongruously, some hell-spawned outpost in the Grey Mountains. There was a blast of chill air and the sound of a door opening.
	"The first one to hurt the manling dies instantly," said a deep voice that grated like stone crushed against stone. "The second one I take my time over."
	Felix opened his eyes. Over Hef's shoulders he could see Gotrek Gurnisson, the Trollslayer. The dwarf stood silhouetted in the doorway, his squat form filling it lengthwise. He was only the height of a boy of nine years but he was muscled like two strong men. Torch light illuminated the strange tattoos that covered his half-naked body and turned his eye-sockets into shadowy caves from which mad eyes glittered.
	Hef laughed, then spoke without turning round. "Get lost, stranger, or we'll deal with you after we've finished your friend."
	Felix felt the grip on his arm relax. Over his shoulder Kell's hand pointed to the doorway.
	"That so?" said Gotrek, stomping into the room, shaking his head to clear the snow from his huge crest of orange-dyed hair. The chain that ran from his nose to his right ear jingled. "By the time I've finished with you you'll sing as high as a gurly elf."
	Hef laughed again and turned to face Gotrek. His laughter died into a sputtering cough. Colour drained from his face till it was corpse white. Gotrek grinned nastily at him, revealing missing teeth, then he ran his thumb across the blade of the great two-handed axe that he carried in one ham-sized fist. Blood dripped from the cut. The knife in Hefs hand clattered to the floor.
	"We don't want no trouble," said Hef. "Leastwise, not with a Trollslayer."
	Felix didn't blame him. No sane man would cross a member of that doomed and death-seeking berserker cult. Gotrek just glared at them then lightly tapped the hilt of his axe against the floor. While Kell was distracted, Felix seized the opportunity to put some ground between himself and the mountain man.
	Hef was starting to panic. "Look, we don't want no trouble. We was just funnin'."
	Gotrek laughed evilly. "I like your idea of fun. I think I'll have some myself."
	The Trollslayer advanced towards Hef. Felix saw Lars pick himself up and start crawling towards the door. Gotrek brought his boot down on Lars' hand with a crunch that made Felix wince. It was not Lars' night, he decided.
	"Where do you think you're going? Better stay with your friends. Two against one is hardly fair odds."
	Hef had broken down completely. "Don't kill us," he pleaded. Kell had moved away, bringing him close to Felix again. Gotrek had moved right in front of Hef. The blade of his axe lay against Hefs throat. Felix could see the runes on the blade glint redly in the torchlight.
	Slowly Gotrek shook his head. "What's the matter? There's three of you. You thought they were good enough odds against the manling. Stomach gone out of you?"
	Hef nodded numbly; he looked as if he was about to cry. In his eyes Felix could see superstitous terror of the dwarf. He seemed ready to faint.
	Gotrek pointed to the door. "Get out," he roared. "I'll not soil my blade on cowards like you."
	The trappers scurried for the door, Lars limping badly. Felix saw the girl step aside to let them by. She closed the door behind them.
	Gotrek glared at Felix. "Can't I even stop to answer a call of nature without you getting yourself into trouble?"
	"Perhaps I should escort you back," said Felix, inspecting the girl closely. She was small and thin; her face would have been plain except for the large dark eyes. She tugged her cloak of coarse Sudenland wool about her and hugged the package she had purchased in the trading post to her chest. She smiled shyly up at him. The smile transformed that pale hungry face, Felix thought, gave it beauty.
	"Perhaps you could, if it's not too much trouble."
	"No trouble whatsoever," he said. "Maybe those ruffians are still lurking about out there."
	"I doubt that. They seemed too afraid of your friend."
	"Let me help you with those herbs, then."
	"The mistress told me to get them specifically. They are for the relief of the frostbitten. I would feel better if I carried them."
	Felix shrugged. They stepped out into the chill air, breath coming out in clouds. In the night sky the Grey Mountains loomed like giants. The light of both moons caught on their snow-capped peaks so that they looked like islands in the sky, floating above a sea of shadow.
	They walked through the squalid shanty-town which surrounded the trading post. In the distance Felix saw lights, heard the lowing of cattle and the muffled hoofbeats of horses. They were heading towards a campsite where more people were arriving.
	Gaunt hollow-cheeked soldiers, clad in tattered tunics on which could be seen the sign of a grinning wolf escorted carts drawn by thin oxen. Tired looking drivers in the garb of peasants gazed at him. Women sat beside the drivers with shawls drawn tight, headscarves all but obscuring their features. Sometimes children peeked out over the back of the carts to stare at them.
	"What's going on?" asked Felix. "It looks like a whole village on the move." The girl looked at the carts and then back at him.
	"We are the people of Gottfried von Diehl. We follow him into exile, to the land of the Border Princes."
	Felix paused to look north up the trail. More carts were coming down, and behind them were stragglers, limping on foot, clutching at thin sacks as if they contained all the gold of Araby. Felix shook his head, puzzled.
	"You must have come through Blackfire Pass," he said. He and Gotrek had come by the old dwarf routes under the mountain. "And it's late in the season for that. The first blizzards must already be coming in up there. The pass is only open in the summer."
	"Our liege was given till year's end to leave the Empire." She turned and began walking into the ring of wagons that had been set up to give some protection from the wind. "We set out in good time but there was a string of accidents that slowed us down. In the pass itself we were caught by an avalanche. We lost a lot of people."
	She paused, as if remembering some personal grief.
	"Some say it was the von Diehl curse. That the Baron can never outrun it."
	Felix followed her. On the fires sat a few cooking pots. There was one huge cauldron from which steam emerged. The girl pointed to it.
	"The mistress' cauldron. She will be expecting the herbs."
	"Is your mistress a witch?" asked Felix. She looked at him seriously.
	"No, sir. She is a sorceress with good credentials, trained in Middenheim itself. She is the Baron's adviser in matters magical."
	The girl moved towards the steps of a large caravan, covered in mystical signs. She began to climb the stairs. She halted, hand poised on the handle of the door, then she turned to face Felix.
	"Thank you for your help," she said.
	She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek then turned to open the door. Felix laid his hand on her shoulder, restraining her gently.
	"A moment," he said. "What is your name?"
	"Kirsten," she said. "And yours?"
	"Felix. Felix Jaegar."
	She smiled at him again before she vanished inside the caravan. Felix stood looking at the closed door, slightly bemused. Then, feeling as if he was walking on air, he strolled back to the trading post.
	"Are you mad?" hissed Gotrek Gurnisson. "You want us to travel with some renegade duke and his rag-tag entourage. Have you forgotten why we've come here?"
	Felix looked around to see that no-one was looking at them. Not much chance of that, he decided. He and the Trollslayer nursed their beer in the darkest recess of the trading post. A few drunks lay snoring on the trestle tables and the sullen glowers of the dwarf kept the casually curious at bay.
	Felix leaned forward conspiratorially. "But look, it makes perfect sense. We are heading through the Border Princes and so are they. It will be safer if we ride with them."
	Gotrek looked at Felix dangerously. "Are you implying I fear some peril on this road?"
	Felix shook his head. "No. All I'm saying is that it would make our journey easier and we might get paid for our efforts if the Baron can be persuaded to take us on as mercenaries."
	Gotrek brightened at the mention of money. All dwarfs are misers at heart, thought Felix. Gotrek appeared to consider for a second then shook his head.
	"No. If this Duke has been exiled he's a criminal and he's not getting his hands on my gold."
	He ducked his head and looked around with paranoiac shiftiness. "That treasure is ours, yours and mine. Mostly mine, of course, since I'll do the bulk of the fighting."
	Felix felt like laughing. There was nothing worse than a dwarf in the throes of gold-lust.
	"Gotrek, we don't even know if there is any treasure. All we've got to go on are the ramblings of some senile old prospector who claims to have seen the lost horde of Karag Eight Peaks. Faragrim couldn't remember his own name half the time."
	"Faragrim was a dwarf, manling. A dwarf never forgets the sight of gold.You know the problem with your people? You have no respect for your elders. Among my people Faragrim is treated with respect."
	"No wonder your people are in such dire straits then," muttered Felix.
	"What was that?"
	"Nothing. Just answer me this. Why didn't Faragrim return for the treasure himself? He's had eighteen years."
	"Because he showed proper fiscal caution.,."
	"Meanness, you mean."
	"Have it your way, manling. He was crippled by the guardian. And he could never find anybody he could trust."
	"Why suddenly tell you then?"
	"Are you implying I am not trustworthy, manling?"
	"No. I think he wanted rid of you, he wanted you out of his tavern. I think he invented the cock-and-bull story about the world's largest treasure guarded by the world's largest troll because he knew you would fall for it. He knew it would put a hundred leagues between you and his ale cellar."
	Gotrek's beard bristled and he growled angrily. "I am not such a fool, manling. Faragrim swore to the truth on the beards of all his ancestors."
	Felix groaned. "And no dwarf has ever broken an oath, I suppose?"
	"Well - very rarely," admitted Gotrek. "But I believe this one."
	Felix saw that it was no use. Gotrek wanted the story to be true, so for him it was true. He's like a man in love, thought Felix, unable to see his beloved's frailties for the wall of illusions he has built around her. Gotrek stroked his beard and stared into space, lost in contemplation of the troll-guarded horde. Felix decided to play his trump card.
	"It would mean we wouldn't have to walk," he said.
	"What?" grunted Gotrek.
	"If we sign on with the Baron. We could hitch a ride on a cart. You're always complaining that your feet hurt. This is your chance to give them a rest."
	"Just think," he added enticingly. "We get paid and you don't get sore feet."
	Gotrek appeared to contemplate this once more. "I can see I'll get no peace unless I agree to your scheme. I'll go along with it on one condition."
	"What's that?"
	"No mention of our quest. Not to anybody."
	Felix agreed. Gotrek raised one bushy eye-brow and looked at him cunningly.
	"Don't think I don't know why you're so keen to travel with this Duke, manling."
	"What do you mean?"
	"You're enamoured of that chit of a girl you left here with earlier, aren't you?"
	"No," Felix sputtered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
	Gotrek laughed uproariously, waking several slumbering drunks.
	"Then why has you're face gone all red, manling?" he shouted triumphantly.
	Felix knocked on the door of the caravan within which he had been told he would find the Baron's master-of-arms.
	"Come in," said a voice. Felix opened the door and his nostrils were assailed with the smell of bear fat. Felix reached for the hilt of his sword.
	Inside the caravan five men were crowded. Three Felix recognized as the trappers he had met the previous evening. One was young, richly dressed and fine featured, hair cut short in the fashion of the warrior nobility. The other was a tall powerfully built man clad in buckskins. He was tanned and appeared to be in his late twenties although his hair was silver grey. He had a quiver of black-fletched arrows over his back and a powerful longbow lay near his hand. There seemed to be a family resemblance between the two men.
	"Thatsh the bashtard," said Lars through his missing teeth. The two strangers exchanged looks.
	Felix stared at them warily. The grey-haired man inspected him, casually assessing him.
	"So you're the young man who broke the teeth of one of my guides," he said.
	"One of your guides?"
	"Yes, Manfred and I hired them last season to steer us across the lowlands, along Thunder River."
	"They're mountain men," said Felix, stalling for time, wondering how much trouble he was in.
	"They're trappers," said the well-dressed youth, in a cultured aristocratic accent. "They cross the lowlands in search of game too."
	Felix spread his hands. "I didn't know."
	"What do you want here?" asked Greyhair.
	"I'm looking for work, as a hired blade. I was looking for the Baron's master-of-arms."
	"That's me," said Greyhair. "Dieter. Also the Baron's Chief Forester, Master Of Hounds and Falconer,"
	"My uncle's estate has fallen on rather hard times," said the young man.
	"This is Manfred, nephew and heir to Gottfried von Diehl, Baron of The Vennland Marches."
	"Former Baron," corrected Manfred. "Since Countess Emmanuelle saw fit to banish my uncle and confiscate our lands rather than punish the real malefactors."
	He noted Felix's quizzical look. "Religious differences, you know? My family come from the North and follow Ulric. All our Southron neighbours are devout Sigmarians. In these intolerant times it was all the excuse they needed to seize the lands they coveted. Since they were Countess Emmanuelle's cousins we get exiled for starting a war."
	He shook his head disgustedly. "Imperial politics, eh?"
	Dieter shrugged. He turned to the mountain men. "Wait outside," he said. "We have business to conduct with Herr...?"
	"Jaegar. Felix Jaegar."
	The trappers filed past. Lars gave Felix a hate-filled look as he came abreast. Felix looked straight into his blood-shot eyes. Their gazes locked for a second, then the trappers were gone, leaving only the whiff of bear fat hanging in the air.
	"I fear you have made an enemy there," said Manfred.
	"I'm not worried."
	"You should be, Herr Jaegar. Such men hold grudges," said Dieter. "You say you are seeking employment?"
	Felix nodded. "My companion and I..."
	"The Trollslayer?"
	"Gotrek Gurnisson, yes."
	"If you want a job, you've got one. The Border Princes are a violent place and we could do with two such warriors. Unfortunately we cannot afford to pay much."
	"My uncle's estates are now poor."
	"We do not require much more than bed, board and carriage."
	Dieter laughed. "Just as well really. You can travel with us if you wish. If we are attacked you'll have to fight."
	"We are employed?"
	Dieter handed him two cold coins. "You have taken the Baron's crown. You are with us." The grey-haired man opened the door. "Now, if you excuse us, I have a journey to plan."
	Felix bowed to each of them and exited.
	"Just a second," said an aristocratic voice. He turned and saw Manfred jump down from the caravan and walk towards him. The young noble smiled.
	"Dieter is a brusque man but you will get used to him."
	"I'm sure I will, milord."
	"Call me Manfred. We are on the frontier, not at the Court of the Countess of Nuln. Rank has less meaning here."
	"Very well, milord... Manfred."
	"I just wanted to tell you that you did the right thing last night. Standing up for the girl, even if she is the servant of that witch. I appreciate it."
	"Thank you. May I ask a question?"
	Manfred nodded. Felix cleared his throat. "The name of Manfred von Diehl is not unknown among the scholars of Altdorf, my home city. As a playwright."
	Manfred beamed broadly. "I am he. By Ulric, an educated man, who would have thought to find one here? I can tell you and I are going to get along, Herr Jaegar. Have you seenStrange Flower?Did you like it?"
	Felix considered his answer carefully. He had not liked the play, which dealt with the degeneration of a noblewoman into madness when she found out that she was a mutant, devolving to beasthood. Strange Flower was lacking that open-hearted humanity to be found in the works of the Empire's greatest playwright, Detlef Sierck. However, it had been very topical in these dark days when the number of mutations was apparently increasing. It had been banned by Countess Emmanuelle, Felix remembered.
	"It was very powerful, Manfred. Very haunting."
	"Haunting, very good! Very good indeed! I must go now, visit my ailing uncle. I hope to talk to you again before the journey is complete."
	They bowed and the nobleman turned and walked away. Felix stared after him, unable to reconcile this amiable eccentric young nobleman and the brooding, Chaos-haunted images of his work. Among the cognoscenti of Altdorf, Manfred von Diehl was known as a brilliant playwright and a blasphemous one.
	By mid-morning the exiles were ready to leave. At the front of the long straggling line Felix could see a tired-looking white-haired old man, clad in a cloak of sable skin, mounted on a black charger. He rode under the unfurled wolf banner that was held by Dieter. Beside him Manfred leaned over to say something to the old man. The Baron gestured and the whole caravan of his people began to roll forward.
	Felix felt a thrill pass through him at the sight of it all. He drank in the spectacle of the line of wagons and carts with their armed escort of mounted and armoured warriors. He clambered up aboard the supply wagon that he and Gotrek had commandeered from a crabbed old servant in Baronial livery.
	Around them the mountains jutted skyward like grey titans. Trees dotted their sides and streams ran like quicksilver down their flanks towards the source of Thunder River. Rain, mingled with snow, softened the harsh outline of the landscape and lent it a wild loveliness.
	"Time to go again," moaned Gotrek, clutching his head, eyes bleary and hungover. They rumbled forward, taking their place in the line. Behind them men-at-arms shouldered their crossbows, drew their cloaks tight and began to march. Their oaths mingled with the curses and the whipcracks of the drivers and the lowing of the oxen. A baby cried.
	Somewhere behind them a woman began to sing in a low musical voice. The child's squalling quietened. Felix leaned forward hoping to catch sight of Kirsten among the people trudging through the sleet towards the rolling hills that unfolded below them like a map.
	He felt almost at peace, drawn in to all that human motion, as if he were being borne by a river towards his goal. He already felt part of this small itinerant community, a sensation he had not enjoyed for a long time. He smiled, but was drawn from his reverie by Gotrek's elbow in his ribs.
	"Keep your eyes peeled, manling. Orcs and goblins haunt these mountains and the lands below."
	Felix glared at him, but when he gazed once more at his surroundings it was not to appreciate their wild beauty. He was keeping watch for possible ambush sites.
	Felix looked back at the mountains. He was not sorry to be leaving those bleak highlands. Several times they had been assaulted by green-skinned goblins whose shields bore the sign of a crimson claw. The wolf-riders had been beaten back, but with casualties. Felix was red-eyed from lack of sleep. Like all the warriors he had taken double stints on watch, for the raiders attacked at night. Only Gotrek seemed to be disappointed by the lack of pursuit.
	"By Grungni," he said. "We won't see them again, not since Dieter shot their leader. They're all cowards without the big bully-boys to put fire in their bellies. Pity! Nothing beats the slaughter of a few gobbos for working up an appetite. Healthy exercise is good for the digestion."
	Felix gave him a jaundiced look. He jerked a thumb towards a covered wagon from which Kirsten and a tall middle-aged woman descended. "I'm sure the wounded in that cart would disagree with your idea of healthy exercise, Gotrek."
	The dwarf shrugged. "In this life, manling, people get hurt. Just be glad it wasn't your turn."
	Felix had had enough. He clambered down from the seat of the wagon and dropped off onto the muddy ground.
	"Don't worry, Gotrek. I intend to be around to complete your saga. I wouldn't want to break a sworn oath, would I?"
	Gotrek stared at him, as if suspecting a hint of sarcasm. Felix made his expression carefully bland. The dwarf took the idea of Felix's composition seriously; he wanted to be the hero of a saga after his death, and he kept the educated Felix around to make sure of it. Shaking his head, Felix walked over to where Kirsten and her mistress stood.
	"Good day, Frau Winter. Kirsten." The two women surveyed him wearily. A frown crossed the sorceress's long face, although no expression seemed to flicker in her hooded reptilian eyes. She adjusted one of the raven's feathers pinned in her hair.
	"What's good about it, Herr Jaegar? Two more men dead from wounds. Those arrows were poisoned. By Taal, I hate those wolf-riders."
	"Where's Doctor Stockhausen? I thought he would be helping you."
	The older woman smiled, a little cynically, Felix thought. "He's seeing to the Baron's heir. Young Manfred got his arm nicked. Stockhausen would rather let good men die than have little Manfred injured."
	She turned and walked away. Her hair and cloak fluttered in the breeze.
	"Pay no attention to the mistress," said Kirsten. "Master Manfred lampooned her in one of his plays. She's always resented it. She's a good woman really."
	Felix looked at her, wondering why his heartbeat seemed so loud and his palms so sweaty. He remembered Gotrek's words back in the tavern, and felt his face flush. All right, he admitted, he found Kirsten attractive. What was wrong with that? Maybe the fact that she might not be attracted to him. He looked around, feeling tongue-tied, trying to think of something to say. Nearby, children were playing soldiers.
	"How are you?" he asked eventually.
	She looked a little shaky. "Fine. I was afraid last night, with the howling of the wolves and the arrows coming down, but now... Well, during the day it all seems so unreal."
	Behind them, from the wagon, came the groans of a man in agony. She turned momentarily to look, then hardness passed across her face and settled like a mask.
	"It's not nice working with the wounded," Felix said.
	She shrugged. "You get used to it."
	Felix was chilled to see that expression on the face of a woman her age. It was an expression he had seen on the faces of mercenaries, men whose profession was death. Looking around, he could see children playing near the cart of the wounded. One was firing an imaginary crossbow, another gurgled, clutched his chest and fell over. Felix felt isolated and very far from home. The safe life of poet and scholar he had let back in the Empire seemed to have happened to someone else a long time ago. The laws and their enforcers he had taken for granted had been left behind at the Grey Mountains.
	"Life is cheap here, isn't it?" he said. Kirsten looked at him and her face softened. She linked her arm with his.
	"Come, let's go where the air is cleaner," she said.
	Behind them the shrieks of the playing children mingled with the groans of the dying men.
	Felix saw the town as they emerged from the hills. It was late afternoon. To the left, the east, he could see the curve of fast-flowing Thunder River and beyond that the mighty peaks of the World's Edge Mountains. South he could see another range of hills marching bleakly into the distance. They were bare and foreboding and something about them made Felix shudder.
	In a valley between the two ranges nestled a small walled town. White shapes that could have been sheep were being herded through the gates. Felix thought he saw some figures moving on the walls. At this distance he could not be sure.
	Dieter beckoned for him to approach. "You are fair-spoken," he said. "Ride down and make parlay. Tell the people there that we mean them no harm."
	Felix just looked at the tall, gaunt man. What he means, thought Felix, is that I am expendable, just in case the people aren't friendly. Felix considered telling him to go to hell. Dieter must have guessed his thoughts.
	"You took the Baron's crown," he said.
	It was true, Felix admitted. He also considered taking a hot bath and drinking in a real tavern, sleeping with a roof over his head; all the luxuries that even the most primitive frontier town could offer. The prospect was very tempting.
	"Get me a horse," he said. "And a truce banner."
	As he clambered up on the skittish war-horse he tried not to think about what suspicious people armed with bows might do to the messenger of a potential enemy.
	A crossbow bolt hissed through the air and stuck quivering in the earth in front of the hooves of his steed. Felix struggled to control the animal, as it reared. At times like these he was glad his father had insisted that riding be part of the education of a wealthy young gentleman of means.
	"Come no closer, stranger, or, white banner or no, I'll have you filled full of bolts." The voice was coarse but powerful. Its owner was obviously used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Felix wrestled his steed back under control.
	"I am the herald of Gottfried von Diehl, Baron of the Vennland Marches. We mean no harm. We seek only shelter from the elements and to renew our supplies."
	"Well you can't do that here! Tell your Baron Gottfried that if he's so peaceful he can march on. This is the freistadt of Akendorf and we want no truck with nobles."
	Felix studied the man who shouted at him from the gatetower. Beneath a peaked metal cap his face was keen and intelligent. He was flanked by two men whose crossbows were pointed unwaveringly at Felix. Felix felt his mouth go dry and sweat run clammily down his back. He was wearing his mail shirt but he doubted it would be much good against quarrels at such close range.
	"Sir, in the name of Sigmar, we seek only common hospitality..."
	"Begone, boy, you'll get no hospitality in Akendorf nor in any other town in these lands. Not travelling with twenty armed knights and fifty men-at-arms."
	Felix wondered at the quality of scouts the freistadt must have, to know the numbers of their force so exactly. He saw the pattern of things in this land. The Baron's force was too powerful for any local warlord to open his town gates to them. It would be a threat to any ruler's position in these isolated towns. Yet Felix doubted whether the Baron's force was strong enough to take a walled fort against determined resistance.
	"We have wounded," he shouted. "Will you at least take them?"
	For the first time the man in the tower looked apologetic. "No. You brought those extra mouths here. You can feed them."
	"In the name of Shallya, mistress of mercy, you must help them."
	"I must do nothing, herald. I rule here, not your Baron. Tell him to follow Thunder River south. Taal knows, there is enough unclaimed land there. Let him clear his own estate or claim one of the abandoned forts."
	Felix dispiritedly brought his horse around. He was keenly aware of the weapons pointed at his back.
	"Herald!" the lord of Akendorf cried. Felix turned in the saddle to look at him. In the fading light the man's face held a look of concern.
	"What?"
	"Tell the Baron on no account to enter the hills to the south. Tell him to stay by Thunder River, I would not have it on my conscience that he ventured into the Geistenmund hills unwarned."
	Something in the man's tone made the hairs on the back of Felix's neck prickle.
	"Those hills are haunted, herald, and no man should dare them, on peril of his immortal soul."
	"They will not let us past their gates. It's that simple," Felix concluded, looking round the faces that circled the fire. The Baron gestured for him to sit down with a faint movement of his left hand, then turned his rheumy gaze to Dieter.
	"We cannot take Akendorf, at least not without great loss of life. I am no expert on sieges but even I can see that," said the grey-haired man. He leaned forward and put another branch on the fire. Sparks drifted upwards into the cold night air.
	"You are saying we must continue on," said the Baron. His voice was weak and reminded Felix of the crackle of dry leaves. Dieter nodded.
	"Perhaps we should go west," said Manfred. "Seek out land there. That way we could miss the hills, assuming there is anything there to fear."
	"There is," said Hef. Even in the cheery glow of the fire his features looked pale and strained.
	"Going west is a foolish idea anyway," said Frau Winter. Felix saw that she was glaring right at Manfred.
	"Oh, how so?" he asked.
	"Use your brain, boy. The mountains to the east are the haunt of goblins, now that the dwarf realm is sundered. So the best land will be that furthest away from Thunder River, safest from raids. It will be held by the strongest of the local rulers. Any place to the west will be better defended than Akendorf."
	"I know my geography," sneered Manfred. He looked around the fire, meeting the gaze of every watcher. "If we continue south we will come to Blood River, where the wolf-riders are thicker than worms in a corpse."
	"In every direction lies peril," wheezed the old Baron. He looked straight at Felix and his blue eyes were very piercing. "Do you think that the Lord of Akendorf warned us to keep to the river simply to make us a tempting target for any raiding greenskins?"
	Felix considered for a moment, weighing his judgement. How could he be expected to tell whether the man had been lying or not on the basis of a few minutes' conversation? Felix was acutely conscious that he would influence the destiny of everyone in the caravan by what he said. For the first time in his life he felt a vague glimmer of the responsibilities of leadership. He took a deep breath.
	"The man seemed sincere, Herr Baron."
	"He was tellin' the truth," said Hef, tamping some smokeweed into the bowl of his pipe. Felix noted the way the man's fingers played nervously with its stem. Hef leaned forward and pulled a twig from the fire, using it to light his pipe before continuing.
	"The Geistenmund hills are an evil place. Folk say that centuries agone sorcerers came out of Bretonnia, necromancers exiled by the Sun King. They found the barrows of the folk who passed here in Elder days and used their spells to raise an army. Came very near to conquering the whole of the Border Princes afore the local lords made alliance with the dwarfs of the mountains and threw them back."
	Felix felt a shiver pass up his spine. He fought an urge to look back over his shoulder into the shadows.
	"Folk say that the sorcerers and their allies retreated into the barrows. These were sealed with dwarven stonework and powerful runes by the victors."
	"But that was centuries ago," said Frau Winter. "Strong though their sorceries were, can they endure?"
	"I don't know, mistress. But tomb robbers never return from the Geistenmunds. Some nights unnatural lights can be seen in the hills and when both moons are full the dead lie unquiet in their tombs. They come to take the living so that their blood can renew the life of their dark lords."
	"Surely that is nonsense," said Dr Stockhausen. Felix himself was not so sure. The previous year on Geheimnisnacht he had seen terrible things. He pushed the memory back from his mind.
	"If we go west we face certain peril and no surety of finding haven," said the Baron, his face made gaunt and angular by the underlight of the fire. "South it is claimed we will find clear land, guarded though it may be by a sorcerous foe. I think we should brave the southward way. It may be clear. We will follow Thunder River."
	His voice held no great hope. He sounded like a man who had resigned himself to his fate. Does the Baron court death, wondered Felix? In the atmosphere created by the trapper's dark tale Felix could almost believe it. He made a mental note to find out more about the von Diehl curse. Then he noticed the face of Manfred. The young noble was staring raptly into the fire, a look almost of pleasure on his face.
	"I believe I have found the inspiration for a new play," said Manfred von Diehl enthusiastically. "That delightful story the trapper told last night will be its core."
	Felix looked at him dubiously. They were walking along the west side of the caravan, keeping between the wagons and the ominous, barren hills.
	"It may be more than a simple trapper's tale, Manfred. There is some truth to many old legends."
	"Quite so! Quite so! Who should know that better than I? I think I shall call this playWhere the Dead Men Walk. Think of it: silver rings clinking on bony fingers, the parchment skins of the restless dead glistening in the witchlight. Imagine a king who lies in state untouched by the worms and who rises every year to seek blood to prolong his shadowy reign."
	Looking at those brooding, blasted heights, Felix found it only too easy to imagine such things. Among the four hundred who followed Baron von Diehl only three people dared enter the hills. During the day Dr Stockhausen and Frau Winter would search among the mossy boulders on the rubble-strewn slopes for herbs. Sometimes they would encounter Gotrek Gurnisson if they returned late. The Trollslayer prowled the hillside by night as if daring the powers of darkness to touch him.
	"Think," said Manfred in a conspiratorial whisper. "Think of lying sleeping in your bed and hearing the soft pad of approaching feet and no breathing whatsoever except your own... You could lie there listening to your heart pound and know that no heartbeat tolled within the chest of the approaching..."
	"Yes," said Felix. "I'm sure it will be an excellent work. You must let me read it when it is complete."
	He decided to change the subject, tried to think of one that would appeal to this strange young man. "I was thinking perhaps of writing a poem myself. Could you tell me more of the von Diehl curse?"
	Manfred's face froze. His glittering look made Felix shiver, then Manfred shook his head and smiled and became his old affable self.
	"There is really little to tell." He giggled slightly. "My grandfather was a very devout man. Always burning witches and mutants to prove it. One Hexensnacht he roasted a pretty maid called Irina Trask. All his subjects came to watch, for she was a beauty. As the flames rose about her she called on the powers of hell to avenge her, to bring death to my grandfather and the wrath of Chaos to his heirs and followers and all their children. The darkness and its children will take you all, she said."
	He fell silent and stared gloomily towards the hills. Felix prompted him. "What happened?"
	"Shortly thereafter my grandfather was killed, while out hunting, by a pack of beastmen. There was a quarrel amongst his sons. The eldest, Kurt, was heir. My father and his brother rebelled and ousted him. Some folk say that Kurt became a bandit and was killed by a warrior of Chaos. Others claim that he headed north and met a much darker fate.
	"My father inherited the Barony and married my mother, Katerina von Wittgenstein." Felix stared at him. The Wittgensteins were a family with a dark reputation, shunned by normal society. Manfred ignored his stare.
	"Uncle Gottfried became their warleader. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father disappeared. Gottfried seized power. Since then we have been dogged by ill-luck."
	Felix could see a figure approaching downslope. It was Frau Winter. She seemed to be in a great hurry.
	"Disappeared?" said Felix distractedly.
	"Aye, vanished. It wasn't until much later I found out what had happened to him."
	Frau Winter approached. She and Manfred exchanged glares. "Bad news," she said. "I've discovered an opening on the hillside up there. It is barred by runes, but I sense terrible danger lies beyond it."
	Something in her tone compelled belief. She swirled on down into the camp. Manfred glared daggers at her back.
	Felix looked over at him. "There is no love lost between you two, is there?"
	"She hates me, has done ever since Uncle named me heir. She thinks her son should be the next Baron."
	Felix raised an eyebrow.
	"Oh yes, didn't you know? Dieter is her son. He's my father's bastard offspring."
	Moonslight dappled the waters of Thunder River. It gleamed like liquid silver. Old gnarled trees hung over the banks at this point, reminding Felix of waiting trolls. Nervously, he looked about. There was something in the air tonight, he decided; a tension, a feeling that something was not right.
	He had to fight to control the sensation that somewhere something evil stirred, hungry for his life, for the lives of all the people of Baron Gottfried's entourage.
	"Is there something wrong, Felix? You seem very distracted tonight," said Kirsten.
	He looked over to her and smiled, finding pleasure in her presence. Normally he enjoyed their nightly walks by the river but tonight foreboding came between them.
	"No. Just tired." He couldn't restrain a glance in the direction of the nearby hills. By the light of the moons the opening looked very like a gaping maw.
	"It's this place, isn't it? There's something unnatural about it. I can feel it. It's like when Frau Winter does one of her dangerous spells. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Only this is much worse."
	Felix saw terror surface in her face then disappear again. She looked out over the water. "Something old and evil dwells below those hills, Felix. Something hungry. We could die here."
	Felix took her hand. "We're quite safe. We're still by the river."
	His voice quivered and his words did not come across reassuringly. He sounded like a scared boy. They were both shaking.
	"Everyone in the camp is afraid, except your friend Gotrek. Why is he so fearless?"
	Felix laughed quietly. "Gotrek is a Trollslayer, sworn to seek death to atone for some crime. He's an exile from his home, family and friends. He has no place in this world. He is brave because he has nothing to lose. He can only regain his honour by dying honourably."
	"Why do you follow him? You seem like a sensible man."
	Felix considered his reply carefully. He had never really questioned his motives that closely. Under the gaze of Kirsten's dark eyes it suddenly became important for him to know.
	"He saved my life. We pledged blood-loyalty after that. At the time I did not know what the ritual meant but I've stuck to it."
	He had given the barest facts, the truth in a sense, but not an explanation. He paused and stroked the old scar on his right cheek. He wanted to be honest.
	"I killed a man in a duel. It caused a scandal. I had to give up my life as a student, my father disinherited me. I was full of anger, got into trouble with the law. At the time I met Gotrek I had no goals, I was just drifting. Gotrek's purpose was so strong I just got sucked along behind him. It was easier to follow him than to start a new life. Something about his self-destructive madness appealed to me."
	She looked at him questioningly. "It doesn't any more?"
	He shook his head. "What about you? What brings you along Thunder River?"
	They approached a tumbled tree. Felix gave Kirsten a hand up onto the bole, then jumped up beside her himself. She smoothed the folds of her long peasant skirt, tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear. Felix thought she looked very lovely in the moonslight, with the mist beginning to rise.
	"My parents were vassals of Baron Gottfried's, serfs back in Diehlendorf. They indentured me to Frau Winter. They died back in the avalanche, along with my sisters."
	"I'm sorry," said Felix. "I didn't know."
	She shrugged fatalistically. "There has been so much death along the way. I'm just grateful to be here."
	She was quiet for a long moment and when she spoke again her voice was soft. "I miss them."
	Felix could think of nothing to say, so he kept quiet.
	"You know, my grandmother never travelled more than a mile from Diehlendorf in her life. She never even saw the inside of that bleak old castle. All she knew was her hut and the strips of fields where she laboured. Already I've seen mountains and towns and this river. I've travelled further than she ever dreamed. In a way I'm glad."
	Felix looked at her. Along the shadowy planes of her cheeks he could see a teardrop glisten. Their faces were very close. Behind her, tendrils of mist drifted from the surface of the river. It had thickened quickly. He could barely see the water. Kirsten moved closer.
	"If I hadn't come I wouldn't have met you."
	They kissed, unskilfully, tentatively. Lips barely brushed lips. Felix leaned forward and took her long hair in his hands. They leaned into each other, holding one another hungrily as the kiss deepened. Passionately their hands began to wander, exploring each others bodies through the thick layers of clothing.
	They leaned over too far. Kirsten screamed slightly as they fell off the tree trunk onto the soft wet earth.
	"My cloak's all muddy," said Felix.
	"Perhaps you'd better take it off. We can lie on it. The ground's all wet."
	Under the shadow of the deathly hills they made love in the mist and moonslight.
	"Where have you been, manling, and why are you looking so pleased with yourself?" asked Gotrek surlily.
	"Down by the river," replied Felix innocently. "Just walking."
	Gotrek raised one bushy eyebrow. "You picked a bad night just to go walking. See the way this mist thickens. I smell sorcery."
	Felix looked at him, feeling fear creep though his bones. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. He remembered the mist that had covered the moors around the Darkstone Ring a year before, and what it had hidden. He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness.
	"If that's true we should tell Dieter and the Baron."
	"I've already informed the duke's henchman. The guard has been doubled. That's all they would do."
	"What are we going to do?"
	"Get some sleep, manling. It will be your watch soon."
	Felix lay down in the back of the wagon on top of some sacks of grain. He pulled his cloak tight about him. Try as he might, sleep was a long time coming. He kept thinking of Kirsten. When he stared at Morrsleib, the lesser moon, it seemed he could see the outline of her face. The mist grew thicker, muffling all sound except Gotrek's quiet breathing.
	When sleep finally came he dreamed dark dreams in which dead men walked.
	In the distance a horse whinnied uneasily. A huge hand was clamped over Felix's mouth. He struggled furiously, wondering whether Lars had come back for revenge.
	"Hist, manling! Something comes. Be very quiet."
	Felix came groggily to full wakefulness. His eyes felt dry and tired; his muscles ached from the mattress of sacks; he felt weary and lacking in energy.
	"What is it, Gotrek?" he asked softly. The Trollslayer gestured for him to be quiet and sniffed at the air.
	"Whatever it is, it's been dead a long time."
	Felix shivered and drew his cloak tight. He felt fear begin to churn in the pit of his stomach. As the meaning of the dwarfs words sank in, he had to fight to restrain terror.
	Felix peered out into the mist. It cloaked the land, obscuring vision at more than a spear's length. If Felix strained every sense he could just make out the wagon opposite. He cast a glance back over his shoulder, fearful that some frightful denizen of the dark might be creeping up behind him.
	His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears and he remembered Manfred's words. He pictured bony hands reaching out to grab him and carry him off to a deep dark tomb. His muscles felt as if they had frozen in place. He had to struggle to get them to move, to reach for the hilt of his sword.
	"I'm going to take a look around," whispered Gotrek. Before Felix could argue or follow, the dwarf noiselessly dropped off the cart and vanished into the mist.
	Now Felix felt totally alone. It was like waking from a nightmare to find himself in a worse one. He was isolated in the dark and clammy mist. He knew that just outside the range of his perception hungry, uncanny creatures lurked. Some primitive sense told him so. He knew that to stir from the cart meant death.
	Yet Kirsten was out there, sleeping in Frau Winter's carriage. He pictured her lying in bed as terrible pressure was exerted on the caravan's door and slowly the timber buckled inwards to reveal...
	He drew his blade then leapt from the cart. The soft thud of his landing rang as loud as the tolling of a bell to his fear-honed senses. He strained to pick out details in the mist as he moved through the outer ring of wagons to where he knew Kirsten was.
	Every step seemed to take eternity. He cast wary glances about him, fearful that something was creeping up stealthily behind. He skirted pockets of deep shadow. He wanted to cry out loud to alert the camp, but something instinctively stopped him. To do so would be to attract the attention of the terrible watchers - and that would mean death.
	A figure loomed out of the shadows, and Felix brought his sword up. His heart was in his mouth till he noticed the figure was wearing leather armour and a metal cap. A guard, he thought, relaxing. Thank Sigmar. But when the figure turned, Felix almost screamed.
	Its face had no flesh. Greenish light flickered in its empty sockets. Age-rotten teeth smirked from the fleshless, lipless mouth. He saw that the helm which he had originally taken for a guard's was verdigrised bronze and inscribed with runes that hurt the eye. The smell of mould and rotten leather rose from the thing's tunic and tattered cloak.
	It lashed out at him with its rusty blade. Felix stood frozen for a moment and then, acting on reflex, flung himself to one side. The thing's sword nicked his ribs. Pain seared his side. He noticed the movement of ancient tendons under the paper-thin skin of the hand that held the weapon. He countered with a high blow to the neck, his body responding with trained discipline even as his mind reeled in horror.
	His blade crashed through the thing's neck with a cracking of severed vertebrae. His return blow chopped through its chest like a butcher's cleaver through a bone. The skeletal warrior fell like a marionette with its strings cut.
	As if Felix's blows were a signal, the night came alive with shadowy figures. He heard wood splinter and animals scream in terror as if whatever spell had held them mute was broken. Somewhere off in the night Gotrek bellowed his war chant.
	Felix rushed through the mist, almost colliding with Dieter as he tumbled out of a wagon. The big man was fully dressed and clutched a hand-axe.
	"What's going on?" he shouted, through the cacophony of screams.
	"Attackers, dead things from under the hills," Felix said. The words came out in jerky gasps.
	"Foes!" shouted Dieter. "To me, men. Rally to me!" He gave out a wolf-like war-cry. From about came a few weak answering howls. Felix charged on, seeking Kirsten's home. From the shadowy gap between two wagons, figures leapt out, striking at him with long wickedly curved blades.
	He writhed aside from one and parried the other. Two more skeletal creatures leered at him. He chopped at one's leg. It fell over as his blade broke through the knee. Mind numbed with horror, he fought almost mechanically, leaping over the blow of the one on the ground then bringing his heel down to break its spine. Blows flickered between him and the other till he chopped it to pieces.
	He saw two battering through the door of Frau Winter's wagon just as he had feared. From inside came the sound of chanting, which he assumed was a prayer. He prepared himself to charge but his eyes were dazzled by a sudden blueish flash. Chain lightning flickered, and a smell of ozone filled the air, overcoming even the stench of rot. When Felix's sight cleared he saw the charred remains of two skeletons lying near the caravan's steps.
	In the doorway Frau Winter stood calm and unafraid, a nimbus of light emerging from her left hand. She looked over at Felix and gave him an encouraging nod.
	Behind her was Kirsten, who pointed over his shoulder. He whirled and saw a dozen undead warriors rushing towards him. He heard Dieter and his men ran up to meet them. Then he joined the rush.
	For Felix the night became howling chaos as he hacked his way round the camp in search of Gotrek.
	At one point the mist cleared and he pushed some quivering children under a wagon away from the bodies of their dead parents. The man lay in a night shirt, the woman was close by, a brush handle clutched in one hand like a spear. Felix heard a sound and turned to face a skeletal giant bearing down at him. Somehow he survived.
	Felix fought back to back with Dieter till they stood among a pile of mouldering bones. The battle surged away from him as the mist closed in and for a long moment he stood alone, listening to the screams of the dying.
	A passing figure lashed out at him and they exchanged blows. Felix saw that it was Lars, a grin frozen on his face revealing missing teeth, terror froth foaming from his mouth. Berserkly he hacked at Felix. The man was mad with fear.
	"Bathtard!" he hissed, chopping at Felix with a blow that would have felled a tree. Felix ducked underneath the blow and lunged forward, taking him through the heart. Lars sobbed as he died. Felix wondered how crazed Lars really had been. If the trapper had killed Felix it could have been blamed on the attackers. He returned to the fray.
	He rounded a corner to find a score of undead warriors being driven back by the furious onslaught of Gotrek's axe. Blue chain lightning flickered and the area about him was suddenly clear. He looked about for Frau Winter to thank her but she was gone, vanished into the mists. He turned to see Gotrek standing astonished, his jaw hanging open.
	Sometime before dawn their assailants retreated back towards the hills, leaving Baron von Diehl's warriors to contemplate their ruined wagons and the bodies of their dead.
	In the early morning light Felix watched warily as Gotrek inspected the rubble of the old stone arch. The stench of dank air and mouldering bones that came from within made him want to gag. He turned to stare downslope, to where the surviving exiles were building funeral pyres for the dead out of the remains of broken wagons. Nobody wanted to bury them so close to the hills.
	Felix heard Gotrek grunt with grim satisfaction, and turned to look at him. The dwarf was running his hand expertly along the broken stones with their faint webwork of old runes. Gotrek looked up and grinned savagely.
	"No doubt about it, manling, the runes guarding the entrance were broken from the outside." Felix looked at him. Suspicion blossomed. He was very afraid.
	"It looks as though someone has been giving the von Diehl curse a helping hand," whispered Felix.
	Rain lashed down from the grey sky. The cart rumbled southward. Beside the caravan the waters of Thunder River tumbled headlong towards their goal. The rain-swollen river constantly threatened to burst its banks. Felix jerked the reins, the oxen lowed and redoubled their efforts to move on the muddy ground.
	Beside him Kirsten sneezed. Like almost everyone else she was pale and ill-looking. The strain of the long journey and the worsening weather had made them all prey to disease.
	No town would take them in. Armed warriors had threatened battle unless they moved on to untenanted land. The trail had become interminable. It seemed as if they had been riding forever and would never come to rest. Even the knowledge that someone in the train had freed the undead beneath the hills has ceased to be alarming, fading into cold suspicion when no culprit could be found.
	Felix looked at Gotrek guiltily, expecting Kirsten's sneeze to produce his usual crass comments about human frailty, but the Trollslayer was silent, staring towards the World's Edge Mountains with a fixity of purpose unusual even for him.
	Felix wondered when he would pluck up the courage to tell Gotrek that he wasn't continuing onwards with him, that he was settling down with Kirsten. He was worried about what the dwarfs reaction would be. Would Gotrek simply dismiss it as another example of human faithlessness or would he turn violent?
	Felix felt miserable about it. He was fond of the Trollslayer, for all his black moods and bitter comments. The thought of Gotrek wandering off to meet a lonely doom disturbed him. But he loved Kirsten, the thought of being parted from her was painful to him. Perhaps Gotrek sensed this and it was the reason for his withdrawn mood. Felix reached over and squeezed the girl's hand.
	"What are you looking for, Herr Gurnisson?" asked Kirsten. Gotrek did not turn to look at her but continued to stare longingly at the mountains. At first it seemed as if the Trollslayer would not reply but eventually he pointed to the outline of one cloud-girt mountain.
	"Caraz-a-Carak, the Everpeak. My home," he said. His voice was softer than Felix had ever heard it and it held a depth of longing that was heart-breaking. Gotrek turned to look at them and his face held such a look of dumb, brute misery that Felix had to look away. The dwarfs crest of hair was flattened by the rain and his face was bleak and weary. Kirsten reached past to adjust Gotrek's cloak about his shoulders, as she would have done for a lost child.
	Gotrek tried to give her his ferocious, insular scowl but he could not hold it and he just smiled sadly, revealing his missing teeth. Felix wondered whether the dwarf had come all this way just for that fleeting glimpse of the mountain. He noticed a drop of water hanging from the end of the Trollslayer's nose. It might have been a teardrop or it might have been just rain.
	They continued southward.
	"We can't leave them just yet," said Felix cursing himself for being such a coward. Gotrek turned and looked towards the tumbled-down fortified mansion which they had found. He could see smoke rising in plumes from the chimneys of the recently cleared building.
	"Why not, manling? They've found clear ground, cultivatable land and the ruins of that old fort. With a little work it should prove quite defensible."
	Felix strove desperately to find a reason. He was suprised that he was trying so hard to delay the moment when he had to tell Gotrek of their parting. The way Gotrek looked at him disapprovingly reminded him of his father at his sternest. He felt once more the need to make excuses, and he hated himself for it.
	"Gotrek, we're only a hundred miles north of where Thunder River flows into Blood River. Beyond that is the Badlands and a horde of wolf-riders."
	"I know that, manling. We'll have to cross there on our way to Karag Eight Peaks."
	Tell him, thought Felix. But couldn't.
	"I can't go just yet. You've seen the bodies we found in the mansion. Bones cracked for the marrow. The walls have been burned. Dieter has found the spoor of wolf-riders nearby. The place is not defensible. With your help, with the help of a dwarf, it could be made so."
	Gotrek laughed. "I don't know why you think that."
	"Because dwarfs are good with stone and fortifications. Everyone knows that."
	Gotrek glanced back at the mansion thoughtfully. He seemed to be remembering a former life. A frown creased his brow and he rested his forehead against the shaft of his axe.
	"I don't know," he said eventually, "that even a dwarf could make this place defensible. Typical human workmanship, manling. Shoddy, very shoddy."
	"It could be made safe. You know it could, Gotrek."
	"Perhaps. It has been a long time since I worked with stone, manling."
	"A dwarf never forgets such things. And I'm sure the Baron will pay handsomely for your services."
	Gotrek sniffed suspiciously. "It had better be more than he pays his mercenaries."
	Felix grinned. "Come on. Let's find out."
	Unable to sleep, Felix got up quietly. He dressed quickly, not wanting to wake Kirsten. He gently rearranged the cloaks that they used as blankets about her so that she would not get cold, then kissed her lightly on the forehead. She stirred but did not awake. He lifted his sword from where it lay by the entrance of their hut and stepped out into the cold night air. Winter was coming, Felix thought, watching his breath cloud.
	By moonslight he picked his way through the cluster of hovels which lay in the lee of the new wooden walls surrounding the mansion. He felt at peace for the first time in a long while. Even the night-time noise of the camp was reassuring. The fort had been completed before the first snows; it looked as if the settlers would have enough grain to last the winter and seed a new crop in the spring.
	He listened to the cattle lowing and the measured tread of the sentry on the walls. He looked up and saw that a light still gleamed in the window of Manfred's room. Felix thought about his convoluted destiny. Not a place I would ever have imagined myself settling down, a fortified village on the edge of nowhere. I wonder what my father would think if he could see me now, about to become a farmer. He'd probably die of mortification. Felix smiled.
	It was exciting to be here. There was a sense of something about to begin, a community still taking shape. And I will have a place in shaping that community, he thought. This is the perfect place to start a new life.
	He walked on towards the guardtower where he knew he would find Gotrek. The dwarf was unable to sleep, restless and ready to move on. He liked to while away the night watches in the tower he had designed.
	Felix clambered up the ladder and through the trapdoor in the floor of the guardroom. He found Gotrek staring out into the night. The sight of the dwarf made Felix nervous but he steeled himself, determined to tell the dwarf the truth.
	"Can't sleep, eh manling?"
	Felix managed a nod. When he had rehearsed his speech to himself it all had seemed simple. He would explain the situation rationally, tell Gotrek he was staying with Kirsten and await the dwarfs response. Now it was more difficult, his tongue felt thick and it was as if the words had stuck in his throat.
	He found himself flinching inwardly at all the accusations Gotrek might make; that he was a coward and an oathbreaker; that this was the thanks a dwarf got for saving a man's life. Felix had to admit that he had sworn an oath to follow Gotrek and record his doom. Certainly he had sworn it while drunk and full of gratitude to a dwarf who had just pulled him from under the hooves of the Emperor's cavalry, but an oath was still an oath, as Gotrek was wont to point out.
	He moved over to beside Gotrek. They stared out over the ditch that surrounded the outer wall and which was sided with sharpened stakes. The only easy way over it was the bridge of earth that this gatetower overlooked.
	"Gotrek..."
	"Yes, manling?"
	"You've built well," he said.
	Gotrek looked up and smiled grimly. "We'll soon find out," he said. Felix looked to where the Trollslayer pointed. The fields were dark with wolf-riders. Gotrek raised the alarm horn to his lips and sounded a blast.
	Felix ducked as an arrow splintered into the wood of the parapet in front of him. He reached down and took a crossbow from the fingers of the dead guard. The man lay with an arrow through his throat. Felix fumbled for a quarrel and strained to cock the weapon. He eventually slipped a bolt into place.
	He leapt up. Fire arrows flashed overhead like falling stars. From behind him came the stench of burning.
	Felix looked down. Wolf-riders circled the camp as a wolf-pack circles a herd of cattle. He could see the green skin of the riders glisten oilily in the light of their burning arrows. The flames highlighted their jaundiced eyes and yellowish tusks.
	There must be hundreds of them, thought Felix. He thanked Sigmar for the ditch and the spikes and the wooden walls that Gotrek had made them build. At the time it had seemed needless labour and the dwarf had been roundly cursed. Now it seemed barely adequate provision.
	Felix aimed at a wolf-rider who was drawing a bead on the tower with one pitch-soaked arrow. He pulled the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt blurred across the night and took the goblin in the chest. It fell backwards in the saddle. Its blazing arrow was launched directly into the sky, as if aimed at the moons.
	Felix ducked and reloaded. With his back to the parapet he could see down into the courtyard. A human chain of women and children carried buckets from the rain-barrels to the flaming hovels, struggling vainly to extinguish the fires. He saw one old woman go down and others flinch as arrows fell around them like dark rain.
	Felix turned and fired again, missing. The night was filled with a cacophony of sound. The screams of the dying, the howling of wolves, the deadly cutting whisper of arrows and crossbow bolts. He heard Gotrek singing happily in Dwarvish and somewhere far-off the Duke's dry, rasping voice giving calm collected orders. Dogs barked, horses whinnied in terror, children cried. Felix wished he were deaf.
	He heard the scratching of claws on wood nearby and lurched to his feet. He looked over the parapet and almost lost his face. The jaws of a wolf snapped shut below him. The creature had leapt the ditch, ignoring the stakes which were covered by the bodies of its fallen comrades.
	He smelled the stench of its breath as it fell, saw its rider hanging on grimly as it gathered itself for another spring. Felix let fly with a crossbow bolt. It thunked into the creature's chest, and the wolf fell. Its rider rolled clear and scuttled off into the night.
	Felix saw Frau Winter climb up into the watchtower, to stand at Gotrek's shoulder. He hoped she would do something. In the howling chaos of the night it was impossible to tell, but Felix felt that things were not going well for the defenders. The ditch seemed to be filling with the bodies of their attackers, and the guards were falling like flies to the incessant barrages of arrows in spite of the protection of the parapet.
	When Felix looked again he saw a group of heavily armoured orcs, bearing a sharpened tree runk, racing towards the gate. A few crossbow bolts landed among them but others were deflected by the shields of those who ran alongside the rammers. He heard the juddering sound of the tree's impact on the gate.
	Felix fumbled for his sword, preparing to leap from the walls into the courtyard and hold the gate. If it fell all he could do was sell his life dearly; they were too badly outnumbered to delay the besiegers long. He felt fear twist in his gut. He hoped Kirsten was safe.
	Frau Winter's calm clear voice rang out. She chanted like a priest at prayer. Then the lightning came.
	Searing blue light leapt through the night. The air stank of ozone. The hair on the back of Felix's neck prickled. He tried to watch as the lightning flashed among the ram-carriers. He heard them scream. Some danced back, capering like clowns, dropping the tree trunk. They fell to earth, bodies smouldering. The disgusting burned-meat smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
	Again and again the lightning lashed out. Wolves howled fearfully, the hail of arrows slackened, the sickening smell increased. Felix looked at Frau Winter. Her face was drawn and pale, her hair stood upright. As her face alternated black and blue in the flashes, she looked daemonic. He had not suspected any human being could wield such power.
	The wolf-riders and the orc infantry retreated, howling in terror, to beyond the reach of those appalling thunderbolts. Felix felt relieved, then he noticed, off in the distance, a glow of light.
	He peered into the darkness, making out an old greenskin shaman. A red nimbus played around his skull, illuminating the wolfskin head-dress and the bone-staff he held in one gnarled claw. A beam of blood-coloured light flickered from his head and lashed out at Frau Winter.
	Felix saw her moan and totter back. Gotrek reached out to support her. He watched her grimace in pain, her face becoming a pale mask. She gritted her teeth, and sweat beaded her brow. She seemed to be engaged in a contest of wills with the old shaman.
	The wolf-riders rallied around their braver leaders. Cautiously they began to return, although their renewed attacks lacked the wild ferocity of their initial onslaught. All through the night the struggle continued.
	In the morning Felix approached Gotrek where he stood with Manfred, Dieter and Frau Winter. The woman looked weary beyond endurance. People crowded around her, gazing at her in awe.
	"How are we doing?" Felix asked Gotrek.
	"As long as she holds out, we can. If she can call the lightning." Manfred looked at Gotrek and nodded agreement.
	There was a commotion from the other side of the courtyard.
	"Frau Winter, come quickly, the Duke has been gravely wounded. An arrow, maybe poisoned," said Dr Stockhausen. Wearily, the sorceress walked into the mansion. From the crowd Felix saw Kirsten move to support her. He smiled at her, glad they were both alive.
	With a sound like thunder, the gate rocked back on its hinges. Another blow like that and it will fall, thought Felix. He looked over at Gotrek who was testing the edge of his axe experimentally with his thumb. On this second night of the siege the Trollslayer was looking forward to hand-to-hand combat. Felix felt a tug on his shoulder. He turned to see Hef. The big man looked deathly afraid.
	"Where is Frau Winter?" he asked. He nodded at the gate. "That's no battering ram. That's the staff of that old devil. He'll have all our heads for his lodge afore the night's out unless the witch can stop him!"
	Felix looked from Hef to the rest of the pitifully depleted band of defenders. He saw tired warriors; wounded men who could barely carry a sword, teenage boys and girls armed with pitchforks and other improvised weapons. From outside the howling of wolves was deafening. Only Gotrek looked calm.
	"I don't know where she is. Dieter went to get her ten minutes ago."
	"Well, he's takin' his time 'bout it."
	"All right," said Felix. "I'll go get her."
	"I'll come with you," said Hef.
	"Oh no you won't," said Gotrek. "I trust the manling to return. You'll stay here. The gobbos will pass this gate over our dead bodies."
	Felix made for the mansion. He knew that Kirsten was with the sorceress. If things went as badly as he feared he would at least see her before the end.
	He had barely reached the door when he heard a splintering sound from behind him and the crash of the gate falling in. He heard Gotrek bellow his war-cry, and the screams of terror from some of the warriors. He turned and saw a terrible sight.
	In the gateway, mounted on a great white wolf, was the shaman. Around his head was a halo of ruddy light. It played from the tip of his bone staff, staining the faces of all around like blood. From the wall a quarrel flashed but it was turned aside by some force before it could hit the sorcerer.
	Flanking the shaman were six mighty orcs, mail-clad, axe-armed and fierce. Beyond them was a sea of green faces and wolves. Gotrek laughed aloud and charged. The last thing Felix saw before he stepped inside was the Trollslayer running forward, axe held high, beard bristling, towards the source of that terrible light.
	Inside, the mansion was strangely quiet, the roar of sound outside muffled by the stone-walls. Felix ran through the corridor, shouting for Frau Winter, his voice ringing eerily in the quiet halls.
	He found the bodies in the main hall. Frau Winter had been stabbed through the chest several times. Her clean grey dress was red. She had a look of suprise on her face, as if death had taken her unawares. How had the goblins got inside, thought Felix crazily. But he knew no goblin had done this.
	Another body lay near the door, stabbed through the back as she had struggled to open it. Not wanting to believe it, Felix advanced, heart in his mouth. Gently he turned Kirsten's body over. He felt a brief flicker of hope as her eyes opened, then noticed the trickle of blood from her mouth.
	"Felix," she said. "Is that you? I knew you'd come."
	Her voice was weak and blood frothed from her lips as she spoke. He wondered how long she had lain there.
	"Don't talk," he said. "Rest."
	"Can't. I have to talk. I want tell you I'm glad I came down Thunder River. Glad I met you. I love you."
	"I love you too," he said, for the first time, then he noticed her eyes were closed. "Don't die," he said rocking her gently in his arms, but she was already dead. He felt her body go limp and his heart turned to ash. He laid her down gently, tears in his eyes, then he looked towards the door she had tried to open and cold fury filled him. He raced down the corridor.
	Dieter's body lay in the doorway to the baron's room. The side of the big man's head had been caved in. Felix pictured him rushing through the doorway in anger and being hit from the side by his prepared enemy.
	Felix sprang over the body like a tiger, rolling as he hit the ground and leaping to his feet. He surveyed the room. The old duke lay in bed, a knife through his heart, blood soaking the bandages on his chest and the sheets of the bed.
	Felix glared over at the chair in which Manfred sat, his red sword across his lap.
	"The curse is fulfilled at last," the playwright said in a controlled voice that held the shrill edge of hysteria. He looked up and Felix shuddered. It was as if Manfred's face were a mask through which something else stared, something alien.
	"I knew it was my destiny to fulfil the curse," Manfred said conversationally. "Knew it from the moment I killed my father. Gottfried had him imprisoned when he started to change. Locked him up in the old tower, took him all his food himself. No-one else was allowed into that tower except Gottfried and Frau Winter. Nobody else went there till the day I did. Ulric knows, I wish I hadn't."
	He rose to his feet gripping the hilt of his sword. Felix watched him, hypnotized by his own hatred.
	"I found my father there. There was still a family resemblance in spite of the way he had... changed. He still recognized me, called me son in a horrid rasping voice. He begged me to kill him. He was too cowardly to do it himself. So was Gottfried. He thought he was doing my father a kindness, by keeping him alive. Keeping alive amutant."
	Manfred began to edge closer. Felix noticed the blood dripping from his blade, speckling the floor. He felt dizzy and tired. The mad young aristocrat became the centre of his world.
	"As I felt the old man's blood flow over my knife, everything changed. I saw things clearly for the first time. I saw the way Chaos taints all things, twisting and corrupting them as it had done to my father's body. I knew that I was his son and that within me, carried in my blood, was the mark of daemons. I was the agent of Chaos, spawn of its loins. I was a child of darkness. It was my destiny to destroy the von Diehl line. As I have done."
	He laughed. "The exile was the perfect opportunity, hell-sent. The avalanche was mine, a good start. I thought I had failed when I released the undead and they didn't succeed in destroying my uncle and his followers. But now nothing can save you. Darkness will take you all. The curse is complete."
	"Not yet," said Felix, his voice choked with hatred. "You're a von Diehl and you're still alive. I haven't killed you yet."
	Insane laughter rang out. Once more Felix felt as if he was staring at some devil in human flesh.
	"Herr Jaegar, you do have a sense of humour. Very good! I knew you would be amusing. But how can you slay the spawn of Chaos?"
	"Let us find out," said Felix, springing forward to the attack. Viperishly swift, Manfred's blade rose to parry then began the counter. Swordstrokes flickered like lightning between them. Steel rang on steel. Felix's swordarm was numb from the force of Manfred's blows. The nobleman had the strength of a maniac.
	Felix gave ground. Normally, cold fear of Manfred's insanity would have paralyzed him but now he was so filled with rage and hate that there was no room for terror. His world was empty. He lived only to kill Kirsten's murderer. It was his one remaining desire. Two madmen fought in the Baron's chamber.
	Manfred advanced with cat-like grace, smiling confidently, as if amused by some mild witticism. His blade wove a web of steel that was slowly tightening around Felix. His eyes glittered, cold and unhuman.
	Felix felt the stone of the wall at his back. He lunged forward, striking at Manfred's face. Manfred parried with lazy ease. They stood vis-a-vis, blades locked, faces inches from each other. They pushed with all their strengths, each searching for advantage. Muscles stood out in Felix's neck, his arm burned with fatigue as slowly, inexorably Manfred pushed back his arm, bringing his razor-sharp blade into contact with Felix's face.
	"Goodbye, Herr Jaegar," said Manfred casually.
	Felix brought the heel of his boot down on Manfred's instep, crunching into the foot with all his strength and weight. He felt bone splinter, saw the nobleman's face twist in agony, felt the pressure ease. He brought his blade forward, slicing across Manfred's throat. The playwright tottered back and Felix's thrust took him through the heart.
	Manfred fell to his knees and stared up at Felix with blank uncomprehending eyes. Felix pushed him over with his boot and spat on his face.
	"Now the curse is fulfilled," he said.
	Mind clear and unafraid, Felix stepped out into the cold night air, expecting to find the wolf-riders and death. He no longer cared. He welcomed it. He had come to understand Gotrek thoroughly. He had nothing worth living for. He was beyond all fear. Kirsten, I will soon be with you, he thought.
	In the gateway he saw Gotrek, standing amid a pile of bodies.
	Blood flowed from the dwarfs appalling wounds. He was slumped forward, supporting himself on his axe, barely able to keep upright. Nearby Felix saw the bodies of Hef and the other defenders.
	Gotrek turned to look at him and Felix could see that one eye was missing, torn from its socket. The dwarf staggered dizzily, fell forward and slowly and painfully tried to pull himself upright.
	"What kept you, manling? You missed a good fight."
	Felix moved towards him. "So it seems."
	"Damn gobbos are all yellow-eyed cowards. Kill their leaders and the rest turn tail and run."
	He laughed painfully. "Of course I had to kill a score or so of them before they agreed."
	"Of course," said Felix, looking towards the pile of dead wolves and orcs. He could make out the wolf-head-dress of the shaman.
	"Damnedest thing," said Gotrek. "I can't seem to stand up."
	He closed his eye and lay very still. Felix watched the small line of stragglers begin to trek northwards under the watchful eyes of the few remaining soldiers. Felix thought that they might be taken in by one of the settlements now that they were no longer being escorted by the Baron's full force. For the sake of the children he hoped so.
	He turned to the mass grave, the barrow in which they had buried the bodies. He thought about the future he had buried with them. He was landless and homeless again. He settled the weight of the pack on his shoulders and turned to look at the distant mountains.
	"Goodbye," he said. "I'll miss you."
	Gotrek rubbed at his new eye-patch irritably, then blew his nose. He hefted his axe. Felix noticed that his wounds were pink and barely healed.
	"There's trolls in those mountains, manling. I can smell them!"
	When Felix spoke his voice was flat and devoid of all emotion. "Let us go and get them."
	He and Gotrek exchanged a look full of mutual understanding. "We'll make a Trollslayer out of you yet, manling."
	Wearily they set out towards the dark promise of the mountains, following the bright thread of Thunder River.