Felix put the blade down against the side of Dieter’s head. “One more step and I’ll take his ear off. Then I’ll make the rest of you eat it.”

“He means it,” one of the students muttered. Suddenly they did not look so very threatening any more, just a scared and drunken bunch of young idiots who had bought into much more trouble than they had bargained for. Felix twisted the blade so that it bit into Dieter’s ear, drawing blood. The young man groaned and squirmed under Felix’s boot.

Rupert whimpered and clutched his nose with one meaty hand. A river of red streamed over his fingers. “You broke my node,” he said in a tone of piteous accusation. He sounded like he couldn’t believe anyone would do anything so horribly cruel.

“One more word out of you and I’ll break your fingers too,” Felix said. He hoped nobody tried to work out how he was going to do that. He wasn’t quite sure himself, but he needn’t have worried. Everybody took him absolutely seriously. “The rest of you pick your friends up and get out of here, before I really lose my temper.”

He stepped away from Dieter’s recumbent form, keeping his blade between himself and the students. They hurried forward, helped their injured friends to their feet, and hurried towards the door. A few kept terrified eyes on Felix as they went.

He walked over to Elissa and helped her to her feet.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Fine enough. Thanks,” she said. She looked up at him gratefully. Not for the first time, Felix noticed how pretty she was. She smiled up at him. Her tight black ringlets framed her round face. Her lips pouted. He reached down and tucked one of her jet-black curls behind her ear.

“Best go and have a word with Heinz. Tell him what happened.”

The girl hurried off.

“You’re learning, manling,” the Trollslayer’s voice said from behind him.

Felix looked around and was surprised to see Gotrek grinning malevolently up at him. “I suppose so,” he said, although right at this moment he felt a little shaky. It was time for a drink.


Grey Seer Thanquol perched on the three-legged bone stool in front of the farsqueaker and bit his tail. He was angry, as angry as he could ever remember being. He doubted he had been so angry even on the day he had made his first kill, and then he had been very, very angry indeed. He dug his canines into his tail until the sensation made his pink eyes water. Then he let go. He was sick of inflicting pain on himself.