Felix hit the trees a few moments after he lost his grip on the gyrocopter. Branches cracked and burst beneath his weight. Karaghul went spinning from his grip and he was blind. Felix’s arms acted of their own volition, grabbing for any support they could find. His breath wheezed out of his lungs as his fingers lost their hold and he was falling again. Branches connected with his rear and legs and then he was spinning, grabbing, halting and falling again. He hit a branch and held on.
They weren’t very high up, for which he was thankful. Burdened as it had been by their weight, the gyrocopter had only been skimming the tree-line. He could see the ground. The branch he clung to gave a crack and he fell again. His fingers throbbed as he grabbed another branch and swung
awkwardly, feet dangling. ‘Sigmar, please–’ he groaned.
Sigmar apparently had a sense of humour. Bark came away in his hands and he fell again, cursing all the while. This time, when he hit, it was the ground, and he fell amidst broken branches, all of the air whooping out of his lungs and all of his limbs going numb at once. He lay for a moment, vision whirling nauseatingly. Then something bright fell towards him and he cursed, rolling aside as Karaghul sank into the ground, point first, at the exact spot where his head had been only moments earlier.
Puffing, lying on his belly, Felix contemplated the sword where it quivered. Every limb felt like a lead weight and his chest hurt. He pushed himself up with a wheeze and grabbed Karaghul, jerking it out of the hard-packed soil. Then, he looked up.
A moment later, he was diving aside for a second time as the remains of the gyrocopter crashed through the branches and slammed into the ground. Felix scrambled for cover as the shattered rotor tore loose and pin-wheeled towards him, the hard wood and steel frame embedding itself in the trunk of the tree he had darted behind.
‘We should have stayed in Karak Kadrin,’ he grunted, stepping out from behind the tree.
The griffon crashed down atop the ruined gyrocopter, further flattening it and sending more broken pieces flying towards Felix. Felix swatted aside a chunk of the rotor mechanism and froze as the griffon rolled onto its feet with an ear-splitting screech. The beast looked the worse for wear, its wings shattered and dragging, its body and head bloody. Nonetheless, as it caught sight of him, it tore itself free of the wreckage and limped towards him, hissing.
‘Fine then,’ Felix said. ‘Fine! Come on!’ He was tired and aching and his mind was fogged with exhaustion and stress and he wanted nothing more than to hack the creature down and rest, just for a moment. He extended his sword and trembled, adrenaline pumping. ‘Come on, you cursed beast. Let’s finish this, shall we?’
The griffon squalled and galumphed forwards, claws digging trenches in the ground. Felix jerked aside as its beak snapped at him. Its feathered chest thumped against him with bone-jarring force, nearly taking him from his feet. He used the momentum to fall backwards and swing his sword. It crashed against the creature’s neck, cutting deeply into its flesh. Talons caught him on the shoulder and then he was skidding through the dirt. He slammed against a tree, hard, and black lights burst before his eyes. The griffon staggered, head dipping, blood spurting from the wound in its neck. Why wasn’t it dead? What was it going to take? It gurgled and stumbled towards him, eyes glazing even as its beak snapped blindly.
Something hissed. The griffon jerked and screamed in agony. Its back legs slid out from under it and it fell, only inches from Felix. He looked up and saw Gotrek, bloody, but unbowed, crouching on the broken gyrocopter, the steam-gun in his hands. The Slayer had apparently wrenched the weapon from its housing and he hefted it in two hands. He grinned and fired again, sending a whistling stream of steam-powered steel spheres punching into the writhing griffon.
The creature slumped with one final whimper. Gotrek hopped off the wreckage, tossing the steam- gun aside. He picked up his axe where it lay and strode towards the griffon. ‘Gotrek,’ Felix began.
Gotrek ignored him. He lifted his axe and brought down a bone-shattering two-handed blow on the griffon’s neck, severing its head. Its feline legs kicked once and then flopped down, still. Gotrek picked up the avian head and hurled it away. ‘Well, that was fun, eh, manling?’ he said, looking at Felix.
‘Not in the least,’ Felix gasped as Gotrek grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘It... Why did it attack us? Why wouldn’t it die?’
‘Beasts like this need little reason to attack. We might have entered its territory, or maybe…’ Gotrek extended his axe and used the curve to hook the collar that had been around the beast’s neck. He pulled it up, looking at the skulls that clung to it. Felix’s skin crawled at the sight of them.
Something, a weak red light, seemed to issue from the eye-sockets of one of the skulls. Gotrek threw the skulls aside with an oath. They hit a tree and shattered.
‘Daemon-work,’ Gotrek spat.
Felix looked at the griffon in horror. ‘The beast must have been in torment.’ ‘Aye, and now it’s ended,’ Gotrek said.
‘Gotrek, you’re bleeding,’ Felix said, gesturing to the wounds that criss-crossed Gotrek’s arms and chest. The Slayer grunted and dipped a finger in one of the larger cuts. He sucked on the finger and spat.
‘So are you, manling,’ he said, pointing at Felix with the wet finger. Felix looked down at himself, at the tears in his shirt and trousers and the bruises and cuts beneath. Suddenly he felt very tired. Nothing would please him more than settling down to sleep for a week. Sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from Gotrek’s mind. ‘And what of it?’ he said. ‘I still live.’
And I’d like to continue living, thank you, Felix thought, but said, ‘Where are we, do you think?’
‘Not where we need to be,’ Gotrek said curtly. He licked a finger and held it up. Then he pointed. ‘That way,’ he growled.
‘How can you–’ Felix began. Then he heard them – horns, in the distance, though whether they belonged to dwarfs or men, he couldn’t say. ‘Oh,’ he finished, lamely.
Gotrek stumped towards the shattered gyrocopter and began to rummage through it. A moment later he tossed a small pack to Felix. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘There‘ll be supplies in there, dwarf bread and dried meat. Always good to have supplies, just in case you crash somewhere inhospitable.’
Felix shuddered at the mention of dwarf bread. It tasted like rock and had a similar texture. The meat was likely more edible. Gotrek stepped away from the gyrocopter with two water-skins slung over his shoulder. ‘If I were Ungrim, I’d be aiming to catch them in the Peak Pass,’ he said. ‘Best place for a battle, and the rangers know the secret ways that’ll circle around the enemy to cut them off.’
‘But they’re not only pursuing an enemy, Gotrek, they’re marching to meet one. One that is ready for them, remember?’ Felix said, hurrying after the Slayer, despite the ache in his legs. ‘What happens if the enemy is already in the pass?’
Gotrek didn’t slow. ‘Then we’ll avenge Ungrim and the rest as best we can, before I meet my doom,’ he said.