that the skaven tracks crossed to a bigger hole knocked through the far wall. The doors of the vault were ajar, but the dust there was undisturbed. Felix could hear faint noises coming through it, however – the distant howling of orcs, the throb of their drums, and somewhat closer, a grunting and snorting that sounded like angry boars.
Gotrek started to the hole in the far wall, but before he got halfway there, orc shouting erupted in the near distance, and running boot steps thudded beyond the vault’s partially open door. Gotrek and Agnar went instantly on guard, and Henrik and Felix drew their swords a second later, lining up behind them. The boot steps boomed closer, but ahead of them came a skittering clicking, then something scrawny and hunched scrambled through the vault doors and bolted for the ladder.
Gotrek and Agnar slashed at it as it went by, but it dodged past in a streak of brown fur, then ducked Felix’s thrust and shot up the ladder to the ledge – the skaven gunner, hiding no more.
It grabbed the ladder in its disturbingly human hands and began to pull it up behind it, beady black eyes glittering malevolently. Felix lunged for the ladder, but just then the doors of vault slammed open and a crowd of orcs shoved in, shouting and holding up torches as they looked around. They pulled up short as they saw the s layers in front of them, and raised their weapons, roaring. Felix let go of the ladder to face them as Henrik glared up at the skaven.
‘Won’t do your own dirty work, will you? Clever bastard.’
Its chittering sounded like laughter as it wormed through the hole, dragging the ladder after it.
Henrik turned back to the orcs and readied his sword. ‘Well, we’ve killed this many before, haven’t we, Agnar? We’ve killed ten times as many.’
Even as he spoke, the room shook with a heavy tread, and the orcs guffawed, grinning at the slayers as if they had a secret. Felix looked uneasily to the door in time to see an ugly head the size of a beer keg duck under the lintel and look around, ears flapping like drooping flags.
‘Sigmar’s balls,’ said Henrik. ‘A troll.’
9
Agnar seemed considerably happier than his companion. ‘I knew I would find a doom here.’ He shot a hard look at Gotrek. ‘Unless you rob me of this one too.’
‘I robbed you of nothing,’ growled Gotrek.
The troll stood to its full height as it came into the room, a looming, lumpy horror with skin the texture of lichen-blotched stone, muscles like ship’s cables, and a reek that smelled like low-tide in high summer. It held no weapon. The massive, bone-knuckled hands at the end of its ape-like arms were weapons enough. Its lugubrious long-nosed face stared stupidly as the orcs prodded it forward, pointing at the s layers.
‘Prepare fire, rememberer,’ said Agnar.
‘Aye, Agnar,’ said Henrik, unhooking his lantern from his belt and looking around.
Felix did the same, hunting for something to burn. He and Gotrek had fought a troll once before, in the crypts below Karak Eight Peaks, and had only defeated it by setting it aflame. Without fire, its flesh regenerated almost instantly. Even severed limbs grew back in time. But what to burn? The sundered treasure chests would provide some wood, but not enough for a big blaze. He supposed they could gather all the furniture and smashed chests, but– He stopped as he saw the solution. Hidden under a broken table was a pile of rolled up carpets, covered in dust.
‘Henrik, here!’
They ran to the table and heaved it up as Agnar charged the troll, roaring a Khazalid battle cry. Gotrek, to Felix’s surprise, charged the orcs. Was he letting Agnar have the glory? Was he avoiding the troll? Neither seemed likely, but what then?
The orcs seemed surprised as well, and stumbled back, wrong-footed, in the face of his fury. Gotrek opened up the first with a slash across its belly, then smashed the cleaver from the hands of the second and buried his axe in its
Gotrek started to the hole in the far wall, but before he got halfway there, orc shouting erupted in the near distance, and running boot steps thudded beyond the vault’s partially open door. Gotrek and Agnar went instantly on guard, and Henrik and Felix drew their swords a second later, lining up behind them. The boot steps boomed closer, but ahead of them came a skittering clicking, then something scrawny and hunched scrambled through the vault doors and bolted for the ladder.
Gotrek and Agnar slashed at it as it went by, but it dodged past in a streak of brown fur, then ducked Felix’s thrust and shot up the ladder to the ledge – the skaven gunner, hiding no more.
It grabbed the ladder in its disturbingly human hands and began to pull it up behind it, beady black eyes glittering malevolently. Felix lunged for the ladder, but just then the doors of vault slammed open and a crowd of orcs shoved in, shouting and holding up torches as they looked around. They pulled up short as they saw the s layers in front of them, and raised their weapons, roaring. Felix let go of the ladder to face them as Henrik glared up at the skaven.
‘Won’t do your own dirty work, will you? Clever bastard.’
Its chittering sounded like laughter as it wormed through the hole, dragging the ladder after it.
Henrik turned back to the orcs and readied his sword. ‘Well, we’ve killed this many before, haven’t we, Agnar? We’ve killed ten times as many.’
Even as he spoke, the room shook with a heavy tread, and the orcs guffawed, grinning at the slayers as if they had a secret. Felix looked uneasily to the door in time to see an ugly head the size of a beer keg duck under the lintel and look around, ears flapping like drooping flags.
‘Sigmar’s balls,’ said Henrik. ‘A troll.’
9
Agnar seemed considerably happier than his companion. ‘I knew I would find a doom here.’ He shot a hard look at Gotrek. ‘Unless you rob me of this one too.’
‘I robbed you of nothing,’ growled Gotrek.
The troll stood to its full height as it came into the room, a looming, lumpy horror with skin the texture of lichen-blotched stone, muscles like ship’s cables, and a reek that smelled like low-tide in high summer. It held no weapon. The massive, bone-knuckled hands at the end of its ape-like arms were weapons enough. Its lugubrious long-nosed face stared stupidly as the orcs prodded it forward, pointing at the s layers.
‘Prepare fire, rememberer,’ said Agnar.
‘Aye, Agnar,’ said Henrik, unhooking his lantern from his belt and looking around.
Felix did the same, hunting for something to burn. He and Gotrek had fought a troll once before, in the crypts below Karak Eight Peaks, and had only defeated it by setting it aflame. Without fire, its flesh regenerated almost instantly. Even severed limbs grew back in time. But what to burn? The sundered treasure chests would provide some wood, but not enough for a big blaze. He supposed they could gather all the furniture and smashed chests, but– He stopped as he saw the solution. Hidden under a broken table was a pile of rolled up carpets, covered in dust.
‘Henrik, here!’
They ran to the table and heaved it up as Agnar charged the troll, roaring a Khazalid battle cry. Gotrek, to Felix’s surprise, charged the orcs. Was he letting Agnar have the glory? Was he avoiding the troll? Neither seemed likely, but what then?
The orcs seemed surprised as well, and stumbled back, wrong-footed, in the face of his fury. Gotrek opened up the first with a slash across its belly, then smashed the cleaver from the hands of the second and buried his axe in its
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