Gotrek & Felix- the Third Omnibus - William King & Nathan Long Read online

  Discover more about Warhammer Chronicles from Black Library

  • THE LEGEND OF SIGMAR •

  Graham McNeill

  BOOK ONE: Heldenhammer

  BOOK TWO: Empire

  BOOK THREE: God King

  • THE RISE OF NAGASH •

  Mike Lee

  BOOK ONE: Nagash the Sorcerer

  BOOK TWO: Nagash the Unbroken

  BOOK THREE: Nagash Immortal

  • VAMPIRE WARS: THE VON CARSTEIN TRILOGY •

  Steven Savile

  BOOK ONE: Inheritance

  BOOK TWO: Dominion

  BOOK THREE: Retribution

  • THE SUNDERING •

  Gav Thorpe

  BOOK ONE: Malekith

  BOOK TWO: Shadow King

  BOOK THREE: Caledor

  • CHAMPIONS OF CHAOS •

  Darius Hinks, S P Cawkwell & Ben Counter

  BOOK ONE: Sigvald

  BOOK TWO: Valkia the Bloody

  BOOK THREE: Van Horstmann

  • THE WAR OF VENGEANCE •

  Nick Kyme, Chris Wraight & C L Werner

  BOOK ONE: The Great Betrayal

  BOOK TWO: Master of Dragons

  BOOK THREE: The Curse of the Phoenix Crown

  • MATHIAS THULMANN: WITCH HUNTER •

  C L Werner

  BOOK ONE: Witch Hunter

  BOOK TWO: Witch Finder

  BOOK THREE: Witch Killer

  • ULRIKA THE VAMPIRE •

  Nathan Long

  BOOK ONE: Bloodborn

  BOOK TWO: Bloodforged

  BOOK THREE: Bloodsworn

  • MASTERS OF STONE AND STEEL •

  Gav Thorpe and Nick Kyme

  BOOK ONE: The Doom of Dragonback

  BOOK TWO: Grudge Bearer

  BOOK THREE: Oathbreaker

  BOOK FOUR: Honourkeeper

  • KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE •

  Various authors

  BOOK ONE: Hammers of Ulric

  BOOK TWO: Reiksguard

  BOOK THREE: Knight of the Blazing Sun

  • WARLORDS OF KARAK EIGHT PEAKS •

  Guy Haley & David Guymer

  BOOK ONE: Skarsnik

  BOOK TWO: Headtaker

  BOOK THREE: Thorgrim

  • SKAVEN WARS: THE BLACK PLAGUE TRILOGY •

  C L Werner

  BOOK ONE: Dead Winter

  BOOK TWO: Blighted Empire

  BOOK THREE: Wolf of Sigmar

  Discover more stories set in the Age of Sigmar from Black Library

  ~ THE AGE OF SIGMAR ~

  THE REALMGATE WARS: VOLUME 1

  An omnibus by various authors

  THE REALMGATE WARS: VOLUME 2

  An omnibus by various authors

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Backlist

  Title Page

  Warhammer

  Map

  GIANTSLAYER

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  REDHAND’S DAUGHTER

  The Storm

  Wild Orcish Reavers

  The Prisoner

  The Island of Fear

  Into the Jungle

  Treasure, Traps and Guardians

  ORCSLAYER

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  MANSLAYER

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  THE OBERWALD RIPPER

  RED SNOW

  LAST ORDERS

  A Gotrek & Felix Gazetteer

  About the Authors

  An Extract from ‘Rulers of the Dead’

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the world’s ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

  At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl Franz, sacred descendant of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.

  But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war. In the towering Worlds Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods. As the time of battle draws ever near, the Empire needs heroes like never before.

  GIANTSLAYER

  William King

  ‘Sylvania had proven to be a haunt of horror. The dire events at Drakenhof Castle left us filled us with sadness and fear. We had prevented the rising of a great terror but paid an awful price. And there was to be no respite from battle and dread. No sooner had we overcome our undead foe than we found ourselves thrown headlong into another even more desperate adventure, one that was to involve the titanic legacy of a long dead race and an encounter with the greatest living sorcerer of this age of the worl
d, as well as battles with foes more horrible and deadly than almost anything we had faced before. During the course of these adventures I was to learn far more about the secret history of our world than I ever wanted to learn, and found my life and soul in the greatest of peril. Even now, looking back on these terrible events I am amazed that I survived. Many of my companions were not to prove so lucky…’

  – From My Travels With Gotrek, Vol IV, by Herr Felix Jaeger

  (Altdorf Press, 2505)

  PROLOGUE

  The earth shook. All around him people screamed. Huge buildings shuddered. The statues of the gods toppled from their alcoves in the shrines of ancient temples, shattering into a thousand pieces as the earth writhed like a dying serpent. He ran through the streets of the ancient city, seeing the looks of horror on the faces of his people. He passed decaying mansions where the desiccated ghosts of previous owners gibbered thinly in their fear. Ahead of him the mighty column of the Seafarer teetered and then collapsed. The Phoenix King flew from his high perch, his outstretched hand seeming to wave in terror as he tumbled earthward.

  As he crested the high hills overlooking the mighty harbour, a glance at the peaks rimming the city told him the worst. The mountains blazed with light as wild magic ran out of control. He could sense its unbridled power even at this distance, and knew without having to cast any divinations that something was deeply, deeply amiss with the old spells that protected his land and his people.

  Somehow, he was not sure how, he was atop the mighty wall that had guarded the harbour for a dozen ages. Looking out to sea, he saw the thing he had feared most of all. A towering wave, twice as high as the wall, driven by a force that would shatter the city, raced ever closer. Within it mighty leviathans, raised up from the deeps that surrounded the island continent, roared and bellowed and sought to break free. Strength that could shatter the largest ship in seconds was useless in the grip of that terrible tsunami.

  Knowing that it was futile, that there was no way he could endure this, he prepared himself to resist, drawing on all his power, readying his mightiest warding magics, but somehow, as he had known it must be, nothing came. Power trickled into him where once it would have flooded.

  A hundred times the height of the tallest man, the wave towered over his head, cresting, ready to break. For an instant he gazed into the eyes of a trapped sea monster, feeling a certain kinship with it; then its huge pink maw gaped, teeth the size of swords glinted in the shadows, and the mighty wave tumbled forward to break against the wall with awesome irresistible power.

  It swept over him, crushing him, drowning him, smashing him down into the depths, and it rushed forward to sweep the last and greatest city of the elves from the face of the planet.

  Suddenly he was elsewhere, in a place that was not a place, in a time that was outside time. There were presences there, not dead, not living, mighty mages all. Their faces were etched with aeons of pain, scarred from fighting a battle that no mortal should have been asked to fight. Even he, who was accounted mighty among the wizards of the world, was daunted by the power of the spells around him. More than that, he was frightened by where he knew himself to be, and when.

  The shadowy presences danced around him, constantly performing a ritual that they must never stop, lest they bring disaster upon the world. They were wraith-like, and their movements were slow and pained, like the clockwork figures of the dwarfs whose mechanisms were slowly winding down. Once, he knew, they had been elves, the greatest wizards of their age, and they had sacrificed themselves to save their land and their people.

  ‘Greetings, blood of Aenarion,’ said an ancient voice, dry, dusty, but with the faint lilting accent of the mountains of Caledor still.

  ‘Greetings, Lord of Dragons,’ he replied, knowing who he faced, wondering if this was a dream, knowing it was not.

  ‘We are remembered still among the living then?’ said the voice.

  ‘Remembered and honoured.’

  ‘That is good. That is some repayment for our sacrifice.’ There was more than a hint of self-pity in the voice. Understandable, he supposed. He would probably have felt sorry for himself if he had been trapped at the centre of the great vortex for five millennia, struggling to hold together the web of spells that kept the island continent afloat.

  The scene shimmered, like a reflection on the surface of disturbed water. The ghastly, ghostly figures seemed to recede, and he was glad. He ought to let them go, but he knew he had been brought here for a purpose.

  ‘Why am I here?’ he shouted, and his words seemed to echo through infinite caverns, and resound into distant ages.

  ‘The old barriers are falling. The Paths of the Old Ones are opened. We cannot hold the Weave against it.’

  ‘What am I to do?’

  ‘Seek the source of disorder. Find the Oracle of the Truthsayers. She will tell you what you need to know. Close the ancient pathways. Go swiftly and go alone. You will find the allies you need along the way and in the most unexpected forms. Go. There is little time left. Even this sending is weakening us and we must conserve the little strength we have left.’

  Even as the words echoed up from the bottom of infinity, the voice was fading. A great fear came over him.

  The Archmage Teclis sat bolt upright, pulling the silken sheets from the naked forms of his companions. Cold sweat covered him; he could smell it even through the musky scents worn by the two courtesans.

  ‘What is it, my lord?’ asked Shienara. Concern showed in her beautiful narrow face. ‘What ails you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he lied, rising from the bed and limping across the room. He reached for a goblet and a crystal decanter of wine cut in the shape of a dragon.

  ‘Is it the dreams again, the nightmares?’

  He shot her a cold glance. ‘What do you know of nightmares?’ he asked.

  ‘You talk in your sleep, my lord, and lash out, and I guessed.’

  He looked at her, long and hard. These were words his many enemies would pay much to hear.

  ‘There were no nightmares,’ he said, reaching out for the power. Unlike in the dream, it flowed strongly into him. ‘There were no dreams. You should forget these things.’

  A slight blankness came over her beautiful face as the spell took her. She looked at him and smiled quizzically. ‘Sleep,’ he told her, ‘and when you wake remember nothing.’

  Instantly she slumped next to the form of her twin. He shrugged, wishing that he could sleep so soundly, knowing that he never would again without the aid of magic, and that was something he could no longer afford. Momentary guilt afflicted him that he should treat a fellow elf so, but these were strange and evil times, and the need for security was paramount. Ancient enemies stirred. Old gods were awakening. Every oracle and soothsayer between here and far Cathay predicted doom. His own star charts spoke of as much. He took a sip of the bitter wine. It flowed down easily.

  He gestured and his robe fluttered across the room, wrapping itself around his naked form. He pulled on a pair of slippers made from the finest Cathayan silk. He reached out and his staff leapt to his hand. He limped from the chamber, and down the cold echoing hallways of his ancestral home. He made his way to the workroom, knowing that he would do as he always did, and seek comfort in knowledge. The few aged servants still awake scurried away, knowing from his frown that it would be best not to interrupt his reverie.

  Dark times were coming, he knew. The dreams were impossible to ignore now, and he had long ago learned the unwisdom of doing that anyway.

  In the deepest cellars beneath the mansion, his workroom provided him with a haven. As he entered, he spoke the words of command. Immediately wards sprang into place. The air shimmered with their bridled power. Not even the mightiest daemon could penetrate them.

  A trapped homunculus stirred slowly in a jar of preservative fluid. It gestured at him obscenely as he limped past. The creature was not best pleased with its home. Tiny gills pulsed in its neck. Its thin leathery wings stirred the liqu
id, turning it cloudy. He gave it a cold smile, and it froze in mid-gesticulation. Few things in this world or beyond had the courage to cross him when an evil mood was upon him.

  He moved through the chamber, past the ordered alcoves containing mystical paraphernalia and the elaborately indexed series of volumes in a hundred languages, living and dead. Eventually he found what he sought, the strange apparatus he had unearthed in the ruins of the ancient Cathayan city nearly two centuries ago. A massive sphere of verdigrised bronze, engraved with strange runes that reminded him of the work of the decadent denizens of Lustria.

  Teclis sat cross-legged before the Sphere of Destiny and contemplated his dream. It was the third time in less than a month it had come to him, each time more clear and vivid than the last. This was the first time the ancients had spoken to him, though. Had he really talked with ghosts of the ancestral wizards who protected his land? Had they reached out through the barriers that bound them and communicated with him? He smiled sourly. He knew that dreams could be sent to warn or to harm, but he knew equally that sometimes dreams were only his own deeper mind talking to him, giving shape to his fears and intuitions. Either some friendly power or his own deepest instincts were trying to warn him of something – it was irrelevant which. He needed to act.

  You did not have to be a high wizard to know that something was amiss in the world. Reports from Eagle captains brought tales of disaster from the furthest lands. In Cathay, the warlords had risen in rebellion against the Mandate of Heaven. In Araby a fanatic who called himself the Prophet of Law was stirring up the natives to cleanse their land of evil… and his definition of evil included anyone who was not human. In the cities of their under-empire, the skaven stirred. The forces of the Witch King once more strode the soil of Ulthuan. Elven armies mustered to head northwards and oppose them, and elven fleets patrolled the northern seas constantly. But a month ago, he had been summoned here to Lothern and the court of the Phoenix King to discuss these matters, and having done so was told to prepare for war.

  He passed his hands over the sphere. The casing of metal bands contracted in on themselves, revealing a milky white gem that pulsed with its own internal light. He spoke the words of the invocation he had found in a scroll from the reign of Bel Korhadris, near three thousand years old, and the lights danced over its surface. He snapped his fingers and the candles of hallucinogenic incense, concentrated from the leaves of the black lotus, sprang to life and began to burn. He breathed deeply of them, and opened his mage senses to the fullest, feeling his point of view being sucked into the depths of the crystal. For long moments, nothing happened. He saw only blackness, heard only the muted drumbeat of his heart. He continued the invocation, working effortlessly on a spell that it would have taken a lesser mage a lifetime to master.