"You did have to insult the lady Isolde, didn't you?" said Felix Jaeger peevishly. "As things are, we're lucky they didn't just shoot us. If you can call it lucky to be dumped in the Reikwald on Geheimnisnacht Eve."

"We paid for our passage. We were just as entitled to sit inside as her. The drivers were unmanly cowards," said Gotrek. "They refused to meet me hand to hand. I would not have minded being spitted on steel, but being blasted with buckshot is no death for a Trollslayer."

Felix shook his head. He could see that one of his companion's black moods was coming on. There would be no arguing with him. Felix had other things to worry about. The sun was setting, giving the mist-covered forest a ruddy hue. Long shadows danced eerily and brought to mind too many frightening tales of the horrors to be found under the canopy of trees.

He wiped his nose with the edge of his cloak then pulled the Sudenland wool tight about him. He sniffed and looked at the sky where Morrslieb and Mannslieb, the lesser and greater moons, were already visible. Morrslieb seemed to be giving off a feint greenish glow. It wasn't a good sign.

"I think I have a fever coming on," said Felix. The Trollslayer looked up at him and chuckled contemptuously. In the last rays of the dying sun his nose-chain was a bloody arc running from nostril to earlobe.

"Yours is a weak race," said Gotrek. "The only fever I feel this eve is the battle-fever. It sings in my head."

He turned and glared out into the darkness of the woods. "Come out, little beastmen," he bellowed. "I have a gift for you."

He laughed loudly and ran his thumb along the edge of the blade of his great two-handed axe. Felix saw that it drew blood. Gotrek began to suck his thumb.

"Sigmar preserve us, be quiet! Who knows what lurks out there on a night like this?"

Gotrek glared at him. Felix could see the glint of insane violence appear in his eyes. Instinctively Felix's hand strayed nearer to the pommel of his sword.

"Give me no orders, manling. I am of the Elder Race and am beholden only to the Kings Under Mountain, exile though I be."

Felix bowed formally. He was well schooled in the use of the sword. The scars on his face showed that he had fought several duels in his student days. He had once killed a man and so ended a promising academic career. Still he did not relish the thought of fighting the Trollslayer. The tip of Gotrek's crested hair came only to the level of Felix's chest but the dwarf outweighed him and his bulk was all muscle. Felix had seen Gotrek use the axe.

The dwarf took the bow as an apology and turned once more to the darkness. "Come out," he shouted. "I care not if all the powers of evil walk the woods this night. I will face any challenger."

The dwarf was working himself up to a pitch of fury. During the time of their acquaintance Felix had noticed that the Trollslayer's long periods of brooding were often followed by brief explosions of rage. It was one of the things about his companion that fascinated Felix.

He knew that Gotrek had become a Trollslayer to atone for some crime. He was sworn to seek death in unequal combat with fearsome monsters. He seemed bitter to the point of madness and yet he kept to his oath.

Perhaps, thought Felix, I too would go mad if I had been driven into exile among strangers not even of my own race. He felt some sympathy for the crazed dwarf. Felix knew what it was like to be driven from home under a cloud. The duel with Wolfgang Krassner had caused quite a scandal.

At that moment however the dwarf seemed bent on getting them both killed, and he wanted no part of it. Felix continued to plod along the road, casting an occasional worried glance at the bright full moons. Behind him the ranting continued.

"Are there no warriors among you? Come feel my axe. She thirsts!" Only a madman would so tempt fate and the dark powers on Geheimnisnacht, Night of Mystery, in the dark reaches of the forest, Felix decided.

He could make out chanting in the flinty, guttural tongue of the Mountain Dwarves, 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. 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 huge black horses drawing a 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 they 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 pedlar's cart.

"We've lost the coach. Might as well get a bed for the night," said Felix. He looked warily at the small 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," said Felix. 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," said Gotrek. Felix wondered how he could smell anything over his own stench. Gotrek never washed and his hair was matted with animal fat to keep his red-dyed crest in place.

"They'll have locked themselves in. Nobody goes abroad on Geheimnisnacht. Unless they're witches or daemon-lovers."

"The black coach was abroad," said Gotrek.

"Its occupants were up to no good. The windows were curtained and the coach bore no crest of arms."

"My throat is too dry to discuss such details. Come on, open up in there or I'll take my axe to the door!"

Felix thought he heard movement within. He pressed an ear to the door. He could make out the mutter of voices and what sounded like weeping.

"Unless you want me to chop through your head, manling, I suggest you stand aside," said Gotrek.

"Just a moment. I say, you inside! Open up! My friend has a very large axe and a very short temper. I suggest you do as he says or lose your door."

"What was that about short?" said Gotrek touchily.

From behind the door came a thin, quavery cry. "In the name of Sigmar, begone, you daemons of the pit!"

"Right, that's it," said Gotrek. "I've had enough."

He drew his axe back in a huge arc. Felix saw the runes of its blade gleam in the Morrslieb light. He leapt aside.

"In the name of Sigmar," shouted Felix. "You cannot exorcize us. We are simple, weary travellers."

The axe bit into the door with a chunking sound. Splinters of wood flew from it. Gotrek turned to Felix and grinned evilly up at him. Felix noted the missing teeth.

"Shoddily made, these manling doors," said Gotrek.

"I suggest you open up while you still have a door," called Felix.

"Wait," said the quavering voice. "That door cost me five crowns from Jurgen the Carpenter."

The door was unlatched. It opened. A tall, thin man with a sad face framed by white hair stood there. He had a stout club in one hand. Behind him stood an old woman who held a saucer that contained a guttering candle.

"You will not need your weapon, sir. We require only a bed for the night," said Felix.

"And ale," grunted the dwarf.

"And ale," agreed Felix.

"Lots of ale," said Gotrek. Felix looked at the old man and shrugged helplessly.

Inside, the inn had a low common room. The bar was made of planks stretched across two barrels. From the corner three armed men who looked like travelling pedlars watched them warily. They had daggers drawn. The shadows hid their faces but they seemed worried.

The innkeeper hustled them inside and slid the bars back into place. "Can you pay, Herr Doktor?" he asked nervously. Felix could see the man's adam's apple moving.

"I am not a professor, I'm a poet," he said, producing his thin pouch and counting out his few remaining gold coins. "But I can pay."

"Food," said Gotrek. "And ale."

At this the old woman burst into tears. Felix stared at her.

"The hag is discomfited," said Gotrek.

The old man nodded. "Our Gunter is missing on this of all nights."

"Get me some ale," said Gotrek. The innkeeper backed off. Gotrek got up and stumped over to where the pedlars were sitting. They regarded him warily.

"Do any of you know about a black coach drawn by four black horses?" Gotrek asked.

"You have seen the black coach?" asked one of the pedlars. The fear was evident in his voice.

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