She thirsts!”

Only a madman would so tempt fate and the dark powers on Geheimnisnacht, Night of Mystery, in the darkest reaches of the forest, Felix decided.

He could make out chanting in the flinty, guttural tongue of the Mountain Dwarfs, then once more in Reikspiel, he heard: “Send me a champion!”

For a second there was silence. Condensation from the clammy mist ran down his brow. Then — from far, far off — the sound of galloping horses rang out in the quiet night.

What has that maniac done, Felix thought, has he offended one of the Old Powers? Have they sent their daemon riders to carry us off?

Felix stepped off the road. He shuddered as wet leaves fondled his face. They felt like dead men’s fingers. The thunder of hooves came closer, moving with hellish speed along the forest road. Surely only a supernatural being could keep such breakneck pace on the winding forest road? He felt his hand shake as he unsheathed his sword.

I was foolish to follow Gotrek, he thought. Now I’ll never get the poem finished. He could hear the loud neighing of horses, the cracking of a whip and mighty wheels turning.

“Good!” Gotrek roared. His voice drifted from the trail behind. “Good!”

There was a loud bellowing and four immense jet black horses drawing an equally black coach hurtled past. Felix saw the wheels bounce as they hit a rut in the road. He could just make out a black-cloaked driver. He shrank back into the bushes.

He heard the sound of feet coming closer. The bushes were pulled aside. Before him stood Gotrek, looking madder and wilder than ever. His crest was matted, brown mud was smeared over his tattooed body and his studded leather jerkin was ripped and torn.

“The snotling-fondlers tried to run me over!” he yelled. “Let’s get after them!”

He turned and headed up the muddy road at a fast trot. Felix noted that Gotrek was singing happily in Khazalid.


Further down the Bogenhafen road the pair found the Standing Stones Inn. The windows were shuttered and no lights showed. They could hear a neighing from the stables but when they checked there was no coach, black or otherwise, only some skittish ponies and a peddler’s cart.

“We’ve lost the coach. Might as well get a bed for the night,” Felix suggested. He looked warily at the smaller moon, Morrslieb. The sickly green glow was stronger. “I do not like being abroad under this evil light.”

“You are feeble, manling. Cowardly too.”

“They’ll have ale.”

“On the other hand, some of your suggestions are not without merit. Watery though human beer is, of course.”

“Of course,” Felix said. Gotrek failed to spot the note of irony in his voice.

The inn was not fortified but the walls were thick, and when they tried the door they found it was barred. Gotrek began to bang it with the butt of his axe-shaft. There was no response.

“I can smell humans within,” Gotrek said.