There was another mass pyre nearby that the surviving Kislevites had hastily constructed for their own fallen. A second one contained the remains of the vampire’s followers. Here in the cursed land of Sylvania these men were not about to leave any corpses un-burned to face a possible dark resurrection at the hands of a necromancer.

Max Schreiber strode forward, leaning on his staff, looking every inch the imposing wizard in his golden robes. Not even the bloodstains and sword rips in the clothes detracted from the man’s dignity, but there was something dead in his eyes and a bleakness to his features that matched Gotrek’s. Max had loved Ulrika, probably more than Felix ever had, and now he too had lost her forever. Felix hoped that in his grief the wizard would not do something stupid.
Max waited until the last of the Kislevites had filed past the boyar’s body, then he looked at Wulfgar, the ranking leader. The horse soldier nodded. Max spoke a word and banged the butt of his staff on the ground three times. With each strike, one of the pyres burst into flames. The sorcery was strong and obvious. Golden flames flickered into being around the damp wood and then settled on them. The nails driven into Snorri’s skull reflected the light, making it look like he had a small blaze atop his shaven head.
Slowly smoke rose, the wood blackened and then burst into more natural flame. Felix was glad of the wizard’s magic. There was no way under these conditions that even the dwarfs would have been able to light a fire. Swiftly the fires spread and soon the sickly sweet smell of roasting flesh filled the air. Felix was not prepared to stay and watch Ivan be consumed. The man was a friend. He turned and strode out from the ruined hall into the cold air. The horses were waiting, and the wagons of the wounded. Snow covered the land. Somewhere out there was Ulrika and her new mentor, the Countess Gabriella, but they were out of his reach now.
War waited in the north. Chaos was coming, and it was there the Slayers expected to find their destiny.

The old woman looked weary. The children marching along beside her looked starved. They wore the usual rags common to Sylvanian peasantry. Their eyes were studies in hopeless misery. Beside them a few men in blood-spattered tunics grasped pitchforks in frozen fingers. Felix saw tiredness war with fear in their faces and slowly win out. They were scared of the riders and the dwarfs but they were too tired and too hungry to run.
“What happened to you?” asked Gotrek in a manner that was anything but reassuring. The massive axe he held in one fist made him even more threatening. “Why do you wander these roads in winter?”
It was a good question.