Gotrek and Felix: The Anthology Read Free

twinkle.
    ‘I am Louis Lanquin of Quenelles, at your service,’ he said, bowing with a flourish of his hand.
    Felix inclined his head politely. ‘Felix Jaeger and Gotrek Gurnisson, at yours,’ he said. ‘And my compliments to your cellar. We were surprised to find Bugman’s here.’
    Lanquin quirked a smile. ‘Another enticement to woo men – and dwarfs – to my cause. Those who sign with me will drink free in my establishment for the rest of their lives.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Gotrek again.
    Lanquin put his hand to his breast. ‘Thane Thorgrin is not the only one to have a stake in the survival of this town. The dwarfs may rob the treasure seekers coming and going with their tolls for entry and their taxes on what is taken from the hold, but there is still enough left in their pockets afterwards for a poor innkeeper to make a living. I do well here, and I would like to continue to do well, and I do not have the confidence that Thorgrin’s few recruits will guarantee that. Thus–’ He produced a stack of four gold coins between his fingers as if by magic, then set it on the table. ‘I am willing to make a substantial outlay now, in order to assure continued return in the years to come.’
    He divided the stack in two and slid two gold coins towards Gotrek, and two towards Felix. ‘Monsieurs Agnar and Henrik have signed on. What say you join them? With warriors of your calibre in our ranks, we are sure to win.’
    Felix looked to Gotrek. This was his to answer.
    The Slayer stared at the gold with a dwarf’s usual reverence, but at last he shook his head. ‘A Slayer who finds his doom needs neither gold nor ale afterwards. Your reward is meaningless.’
    Agnar blinked at this statement, as if he hadn’t considered it that way before, and Lanquin looked as if he were going to make another argument, but finally he shrugged and took back his gold.
    ‘As you will, friend dwarf,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you will change your mind. Until then, drink your fill. It is on the house.’
    Felix groaned. Giving free beer to a Slayer was sure to lead to fighting and property damage, and the prospect of paying more gold to Lanquin than he had offered in order to repair tables, chairs and broken windows loomed large before him, but to his surprise, Gotrek was practically abstemious for the rest of the night. He only drank ten mugs of Bugman’s, and did little more than exchange war stories with Agnar. Felix did the same with Henrik, enjoying himself despite the mocking tone the man put into every tale he told. Henrik might be a blowhard, but he knew Felix’s every concern and complaint. He laughed at jokes and stories that only another rememberer would understand. He had known the loneliness and the homesickness and the cold nights in the middle of nowhere. He had suffered through the rages and black moods of his companion. He had made the hair’s breadth escapes and survived the wounds and fevers that were an inescapable part of following a Slayer. Henrik might not be Felix’s friend, but he was his brother. That could not be denied.
    3
     
    After sleeping the night at the Grail, Gotrek and Felix woke to a light but steady rain that soaked them to the skin as they trudged up the muddy zigzag path to Skalf’s Hold, the dwarfs’ above-ground settlement built upon the ruins of Karak Azgal.
    Walking with Gotrek through the dragon-mouthed gate in the thick stone walls at the top of the broad plateau, Felix was struck with wonder. There could not have been a greater contrast between the town on the hill and the town in the valley. Within the hold’s walls was a tidy grid of neatly paved, rain-washed streets, all lined with squat stone houses and commercial buildings of dwarfish design, and all immaculately cared for. There was no trash in the gutters, and the only smell was that of someone baking bread. Felix had seen dwarf riches before – vast, gilded chambers deep underground – but this modest holdfast in the middle of