Читать онлайн «Daemonslayer»
Автор Уильям Кинг
William King Daemonslayer
William King
"After the dire events in Nuln we travelled northwards, for the most part following back roads, lest the Emperor's roadwardens come upon us. The arrival of the dwarf-borne letter had filled my companion with a strange anticipation. He seemed almost happy as we made our weary way to our goal. Neither all the long weeks of journeying, nor the threat of bandits or mutants or beastmen ever served to daunt him. He would barely stop for meat or. more unusually, drink, and would answer my questions only with muttered references to destiny, doom and old debts.
"For myself. I was filled with anxiety and recrimination. I wondered what had happened to Elissa and I was saddened by my parting with my brother. Little did I guess how long it would be before I would meet him again, and under what strange circumstances. And little, too. did I guess how far the journey which began in Nuln was to take us, and how dreadful our eventual destination was to be. "
—From
ONE
THE MESSAGE
"You spilled my beer," Gotrek Gurnisson said.
If the man who had just knocked over the flagon possessed any sense, Felix Jaeger thought, the menacing tone of the dwarfs flat gravelly voice would have caused him to back off immediately. But the mercenary was drunk, he had half a dozen rough-looking mates back at his table and a giggling tavern girl to impress. He was not going to back down from anybody who only came up to his shoulders, even if that person was nearly twice as broad as he.
"So? What are you going to do about it, stuntie?" the mercenary replied with a sneer.
The dwarf eyed the spreading puddle of ale on the table for a moment with a mixture of regret and annoyance. Then he turned in his seat to look at the mercenary and ran his hand through the huge crest of red-dyed hair which towered over his shaven and tattooed head. The gold chain that ran from his nose to his ear jingled. With the elaborate care of one very drunk, Gotrek rubbed the patch covering his left eye socket, interlocked his fingers, cracked his knuckles—then suddenly lashed out with his right hand.
It wasn't the best punch Felix had ever seen Gotrek throw. In truth, it was clumsy and unscientific. Still, the Trollslayer's fist was as large as a ham, and the arm that fist was attached to was as thick as a tree-trunk. Whatever it hit was going to suffer. There was a sickening crack as the man's nose broke. The mercenary went flying back towards his own table. He sprawled unconscious on the sawdust covered floor. Red blood gushed from his nostrils.
On considered reflection, Felix decided through his own drunken haze, as punches went it had certainly served its purpose. Given the amount of ale the Slayer had consumed it had been pretty good, in fact.
"Anybody else want a taste of fist?" Gotrek inquired, giving the mercenary's half-dozen comrades an evil glare. "Or are you all as soft as you look?"
