2k words***
The threat was only a half-truth, but she took a note out of Pinkface’s example, knowing that slaves responded well to violence. The slave bowed in deference, then skittered away, but either to do her bidding or to flee, it was all in the paws of the Horned Rat now.
Screams and shouts were carrying on the howling wind, and she turned to see two pairs of dwarfs rushing the far side of the camp. Just as Daurik, they wielded pickaxes, but no torches, spilling out from the darkness like spirits. Wilfred had noticed them, rallying some of the men who’d been using the overhand for cover, brandishing his staff in both hands. He swiped it through the air, quicker than seemed possible for one so elderly and feeble, knocking the jaw of a dwarf and sending him sprawling. The rest of his men rushed to support, six against four, as they attempted to surround the shorter foe.
She was distracted from the fight as something came rushing towards her from the flank, but it was no dwarf. Kretch dived the last few feet towards her, landing in a mangy sprawl and sending snow spraying.
“Skyseeker! Kretch has come to lend a paw - completely of his own volition, of course-course.”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” she snapped. There was no time to deal with his antics right now. “Did you fetch me a gun?”
Kretch flashed his crooked buckteeth in a grin, then twisted away so he could access what was strapped to his back. It was one of the dwarven brass rifles, with a leather sling connected to its barrel and stock, and across this strap were several little pockets with the tops of bullets poking out of them.
She snatched the weapon from him, sliding her paw into the trigger guard and hefting the barrel. Roderick had given her a couple lessons in wielding firearms, if only he was here to see how quickly she’d become a master at it.
“What are you scheming?” Kretch asked, flinching as a whistling bullet screamed overhead.
“I’m going to save the lot of these man-things and slaves, and you’re going to help.”
“Me?” Kretch asked, pointing at his chest as though anyone else could mistake his mangy mug.
“Who else, ice-brain? Skaven can’t held this thing up, so you do the bracing, and I do the shooting. On your knees.”
Kretch got a strange look on his face, and she could see his cheeks blush as he did as she commanded. Skyseeker rolled her eyes, no doubt Kretch’s mind was filling sordid thoughts.
She gestured for him to turn around, and she used all her strength to heft the gun and place it on his right shoulder. She hunkered down so that the stock was level with the barrel, the sling flapping in the wind as she peered down the scope. The glass reflected some of her goggles’ light filter, making it brighter than was comfortable, but she was able to make out details through the magnified view.
There were angled mounts and roiling pockets of granite where the snow had not collected, angling up and to the right as it collected to the foot of one of the largest of the Grey Mountains. It wasn’t very long before there was a flash of light out there, and she twisted on the spot, Kretch getting the message and moving his shoulder to where she was aiming.
She drew the crosshairs over where she’d seen the muzzle-flash, squinting to make out the shapes of the rocks. She spotted the curve of a drawn hood, and even the braids of a dark beard poking from beneath it. With Kretch as her brace, there was very little sway, and when she was ready she compressed the brass trigger.
There was a thunderous report, and a spark from their own muzzle as the rifle combusted, sending a shell downrange. She could just make out the spray of blood as her shot found its target, the dwarf slumping to one side.
“You get the tiny beard-face?” Kretch demanded.
“Yes-Yes!” Skyseeker replied, pumping a paw in victory. Their celebration was cut short as something approached from the darkness. The profile of a dwarf faded into the light of the fire, his fiery beard whipping against his chest as he charged toward them. He lifted his arms, her eyes bulging as he raised two handaxes into the air, the dwarf shouting in challenge.
“Left!” she screamed. “Left left left left left!”
Her living brace pivoted in that direction, her heart thumping as the dwarf bounded across the snow, faster than what oen of his stature should bee capable of. She lined up the scope and pulled the trigger, but instead of a boom there was a click, and she yelped in shock having realised she had not reloaded.
She hit the release mechanism, fumbling for the ammo pouch that dangled below the weapon. She dropped the first shell, reaching for a second rather than stooping to collect it and risk toppling Kretch over. She couldn’t help but glance at the dwarf, who was steadily closing in, like a tiny hairy ball of hate.
“Skyseeker…!” Kretch muttered in worry.
“I’m going quick-fast as can be!” she snarled. He was less than thirty feet when she popped in the shell, twenty when she snapped back the latch back into place. Their meagre camp supplies were laying discarded between them and the charging dwarf, and the halfling raised one boot onto a straw sack, boosting himself off it in a leap and taking to the air.
Skyseeker crouched down a little, so the gun barrel rested more on Kretch’s back. There was no time ot aim, so she fired from the hip, and this time there was no click. The dwarf landed in front of Kretch short an arm, her mark finding itself in his muscled shoulder. She felt the tremor as he hit the ground even from where she stood.
“Good kill-slay, breeder!” Kretch chuckled. “Ha, we little like warplock jezail team, aren’t we?”
“Shut up and help me load.”
“Aww…”
There were other dwarves coming out of the snow, making a desperate charge while the snipers covered them. Skyseeker was considering pulling back, to where she did not know, but she didn’t fancy engaging crazed dwarfs who duel-wielded axes. Yet after a moment her companions took to her defence, not the humans, but her skavenslaves. She could not take an accurate count, but at least fifteen of them took to either side of her, forming a disorganised but humble line.
“M-Master breeder, we ready-ready!” one of the diminutive slaves chittered.
“Yes-Yes!” Kretch hissed, emboldened by their support. “Protect your breeder and her companion, servants! Charge-attack!”
“No, bone head, stay and hold ground,” Skyseeker said. “We die-die if we go out there, are you dumb?”
“Yes-Yes, guard-stay! That’s what Kretch mean to say-squeak!”
The dwarves were outnumbered three to one, and the skavenslaves met their charge with looted scrap weapons brandished. They would not hold for long, but they were the perfect buffer for Skyseeker to reload and take another shot.
She aimed for the remaining snipers first, knowing they were the greater threat at the moment, and she fired over the tops of the Skaven in slow, precise shots, tilting the weapon so the stock rested in the groove of her shoulder comfortably. There was something satisfying about picking off a foe in a single shot, and she was taking to marksmanship like a Skaven to a burrow. Perhaps she should reconsider her disinterest in guns.
She took down two more dwarf gunners before the cover fire abated, and the only ones who were shooting were her human companions behind her, and herself. She turned her sights to the melee, but it seemed the dwarves knew they were routed, and those who were still battling were doing so in retreat. One broke off to turn his back and flee, the skavenslaves pursuing him for a moment before Kretch yelled for them to stay in line.
Dakrness claimed the dwarves from view, , Skyseeker able to see them retreat into the snow thanks to the aid of her goggles. She turned back to the humans’ side of the fight, and was pleased to see they were faring much the same, the dwarf assault now in full retreat, and she knew the fight was over.”
“Ha! Our clever tactics brought Skaven victory!” she cheered. She couldn’t help but reach over and give Kretch a high-five, stealing the human custom of celebration for herself. The silly ratman cowed as though she intended to strike her, and she had to explain to him she meant no harm, and eventually their paws met in a slap. She finally brought the barrel off his shoulder, though it took most her effort to do so, and discarded it in the snow.
The party reconvened at the campfire to tend to the wounded, and all Skyseeker wanted was to collapse into exhaustion. Never mind the ceaseless cold driving her to shivers, she had barely gotten a few hours of a nap before the attack, yet her duties called. Some of her skavenslaves were wounded, and she helped Kretch and the more abled pass out cloth and bandages.
Through the muttered voices, Wilfred called for a gathering, waving his staff to gain their attention.
“Miss Seeker? Where are you? Come hither, if you would.”
“… She’s dead!”
“What? Impossible, I only spied her a moment ago, I… oh.” He turned towards the speaker and frowned when she herself was the culprit. She had been in the middle of taking a nap when he called. “How many of your counterparts fell?”
She reluctantly agreed to take an accurate count, though picking through the surrounding dead filled her with a strange sadness. It was not just dwarven bodies out there, but Skaven and humans as well, not enough that she couldn’t count them all on her fingers, but she was still disheartened. The humans had come so far from their beached ship, and the Skaven had helped her break free of their imprisonment, dying out in the cold was no fitting end for either of them.
She did not find the ringleader Daurik among the dead. He could have been one of the sniper’s she’d shot, but she didn’t want to go out into the dark to check. Besides, Daurik was a grudgeful creature, and if her taunts had insulted him so, he would have come down to fight in person rather than with a gun.
“They will be back in force soon enough,” Wilfred was saying, gazing out into the grey darkness. “We must break camp and move at once. Leave the dead, there is naught we can do for them any longer.”
Nobody was eager to stay, but they weren’t glad to be moving either, and despite their victory, there was a strained disappointment in the air as the group collected their supplies, venturing into the unyielding cold.
Skyseeker made sure that Kretch kept her new favourite rifle on hand, as he was big enough to carry it without aid. She felt like they would need it once more, before they escaped this bitter place. The humans also looted all that they could from the dwarves – cloaks, weapons, even their boots were not spared. The prudish men were picky about taking their belongings, but her slaves had no such qualms. It wasn’t like they’d be needing them.
The trek beyond was made harsher by her shear exhaustion, fatigue sneaking up on her like a bad thought. Her legs felt like they’d been filled with molten lead, yet the freezing conditions left her shivering despite. During the fighting the cold had seemed utterly forgettable, but as the adrenaline bled away, the cold was quick to step in and take its place, leaving her lethargic. She almost wished for the dwarves to come back, if it meant some reprieve from the climes.
She pleaded that they wouldn’t march until daybreak, but Wilfred never so much as paused, and as the hours began to stack she feared it would come true.