The gold-hilted blade he wielded in his right hand spoke of considerable wealth. Felix thought he recognised him from his brief audience with the duke. It was the ruler’s brother Villem.

“Not many men would have left the safety of the city to face a charge from the accursed ones,” he said, stroking the long pale moustache that drooped down past his chin. It was a fashion among young Kislevite nobles. “It seems we owe you for more than bringing a warning from our fair ruler, the tzarina.”

“I am not a man,” said Gotrek. “As any fool can plainly see, I am a dwarf.” The warriors around the noblemen flinched and brought their weapons to the ready position. Good, thought Felix, it’s not enough that we have enemies outside the city. Let’s have some inside too. To his surprise, the newcomer merely laughed. Felix had heard that the duke’s brother, like most of the ruling family, was mad. Apparently the madness went as far as tolerating behaviour that others might have taken as grievous insults. Whatever the reason, Felix was grateful for it. “I had heard that the elder race were proud and touchy, and Slayers most of all,” he said.

“No Slayer has anything to be proud of,” said Gotrek.

“As you say,” said the stranger, although his jocular tone implied that he did not quite believe it. “Let all here bear witness that, I, Villem, of the House of Kozinski, am grateful to you for your bravery, and would see it rewarded.”

“The only reward I require is a place in the forefront of the coming battle.”

“That should be easy enough to arrange, my friend.”

Felix prayed that the Slayer would not make some sort of sarcastic remark. After all, this was no mere noble; Gotrek was halfway to picking a fight with the brother of the ruling duke.

“I shall make sure my brother and liege hears of your brave deeds.”

“Thank you, milord,” Felix said.

“No, it is I who should thank you. You are an Empire man. Not many would come all this way to fight and perhaps die in defence of our lands. Such bravery should be rewarded.”

Felix looked up at him. Villem seemed a fair-spoken and pleasant-looking young man, but Felix had learned to mistrust noblemen, no matter how polite they were. Now did not seem like a good time to say this, however. Rumour had it that Villem could be a particularly unpleasant enemy.

“All we wanted was a good fight,” Gotrek said, disgruntled. “And one thing’s certain. We didn’t get it here.”

“Wait a few more days, my friend,” said Villem. “Then the fighting will be as hot and hard as any could wish, even a Slayer.” The noble’s entourage nodded their agreement. Felix saw no reason to doubt his words either. Gotrek merely spat on the ground and glared into the distance, looking at the plumes of smoke rising on the horizon.

“Bring them on,” he said.

Villem laughed easily. “It is good that at least one warrior in the city is keen to face the foe,” he said. “You are an inspiration to us all, Gotrek, son of Gurni.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Gotrek said sourly. If he noticed the barbed glances of the nobleman’s lackeys, he gave no sign. The Slayer barely showed any respect for the rulers of his own people; he showed none whatsoever for humans.

Felix wondered whether this was a trait that was going to get them both killed one day.