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The group moved on, and although they knew to check the rocks for any hidden reptiles, they saw no more dragons on their way. Soon they reached the eastern edge of the raised peninsula, and although Skyseeker knew Wilfred’s group was somewhere down to their right, even her goggles could not pierce the gloom. His suspicions had been right, this was a clear vantage point down on the trail, but there was more ground yet to cover.
They were soon forced into a climb as a wall of ice barred the way, Skyseeker’s leading the way as the Skaven followed her up its slippery face. Her grip was strong and precise, she was becoming quite proficient after days of navigating the ice. So was Kretch and the slaves, he’d chosen the best climbers well. She could feel the empty air below her as they scrambled higher and higher, each gust of wind threatening to pull her off into a deadly fall, her goggles covered in fleck of snow that she had to wipe manually lesty she go blind.
For most of the climb it was so quiet, only the gasps and groans of the tiring Skaven and the storm, but then came the voices. They were coming from above, too distorted to make sense of, but the four of them stopped in their tracks when they heard it echo down.
She pressed a finger to her lips. No sound, that said, and the Skaven continued up the wall, making as little noise as possible. With each meter gained the voices became clearer, and she could make out three or four speakers. Their accents were deep and gravelly, and could only belong to dwarfs.
She was the first to reach the top, she found herself on a small, flat stretch of more rock and ice. She held down a paw for Kretch to follow her up. When the slaves were safe from the climb, she slunk to her belly, turning to crawl between the ice growths, drawing closer towards the voices.
The ice ended in a sudden drop, the opposite way in relation to the wall they’d climbed, but this drop was only a few short meters. Below was a small clearing between the rocks, so high up the peninsula and yet shieled on three sides by tall rocks. The fourth lay open to the air, where another drop yielded to a commanding view of the surrounding tundra.
The dwarf camp consisted of a few small lean-to’s and a cooking pit, where a silver pot was placed over the burning embers. There was the barest hint of smoke, virtually undetectable against all the snow that plagued the air. Two dwarves were sitting beside it, muttering to one another, while two others sat across on a flat piece of stone, one sharpening his axe on a whetstone while the other appeared to sleep. She could not understand what the first two were saying, they were no longer speaking in a language she could understand, but it was clear they had been camping here for a while and were starting to relax, thinking they were safe nestled up here out of sight.
Skyseeker counted four, but could have sworn she had heard more than that. She watched for a little longer, only her eyes and top of her head exposed over the lip of rock, keeping her breaths small and shallow. The dwarves were closer than she’d first realised, and she dared not make a single sound.
There was a flick of a shawl caught in breeze, and she noted a pile of clothes dumped towards the side of the camp that lead to the edge. It was another of the snipers, and although she could only see the back of him which was covered in leather, she would be a token that he was holding a gun and was training it down on the trail below.
She did a double-take when the one with the whetstone stood up and stretched his little arms, and she recognised him as Daurik. No wonder these dwarves did not give up, their leader was as tenacious as a Skaven. He said something to his snoring companion, kicking him awake with a boot.
She’d seen enough, Skyseeker slinking back a short ways, staying on her belly just to be sure she would not be spotted. Her Skaven were lingering a little ways behind her, and she had them hunker with her all the way back at the edge of the wall so they wouldn’t be overheard, and even then she spoke in a hush.
“Skaven counted six beard-things,” she said. “They think they’re being sneaky, but thanks to my sole brilliance we will out-sneak them. You.” She pointed at the skavenslave with less meat on his bones. “Go back-back, and tell Fred-Wil to move down trail. Tell him about the dwarves, but don’t make it obvious! They’ll see the man-things as easy prey, but it is they who are being hunted, yes-yes!”
“A-Anything for the glorious breeder,” the slave replied, then he scampered off back down from whence they’d climbed, vanishing into the mist. Kretch gave her a quizzical look.
“What’s your plan-plan?” he asked. “You going beard-hunting?”
“We will be putting end to their beardy tyranny,” she replied, passing one of her spare knives to the slave. He was stronger than his counterpart, and she’d noted he’d been a lot quieter during their climb. “We’re putting down a little Skaven trap - the man-things are our bait, and the dwarves – our victims.”
“Good-Good!” Kretch snarled. “Kretch not had chance to put paws on one yet.”
“Do as I do, scurry as I scurry,” Skyseeker said, reaching down to slide her gilded rapier from her belt. “follow quiet-silent, don’t attack till Skaven does.”
“What’s the signal?” Kretch asked, falling in behind her.
“The signal, is when Skaven starts cutting down the dwarves and the shooters start shooting. Forward!”
They fell silent as they returned to the camp, her cloak whipping behind her as she dropped, crawling the last quarter way with her snout to the ground. The dwarves had rotated positions in her absence, and two of the snipers had repositioned across the open edge, but all were accounted for. All they had to do now was wait, and Skyseeker used her vivid imagination to formulate a plan of attack, picturing herself sneaking down into the camp, picking off the accursed dwarves one by one, assassin-style.
It wasn’t long before the wheels of her scheme were in motion. The rightmost sniper called out something, the rest of the dwarf party turning their heads. The one she knew as Daurik sauntered over, crouching beside the sniper. They spoke, too far and hushed for her to hear them – not that she’d understand their language – the one with the rifle gesturing at something down and out of sight. Daurik patted the other dwarf on the shoulder, then turned to voice what must have been a call to arms.
The rest of the dwarves began to collect their weapons, handing out rifles and bullet casings, just as she hoped. Like a firing squad, they began to take up positions by the cliff, adjusting their grips as they scoped down on what had to be Wilfred and her other companions.
When she made certain all six had their backs turned, Skyseeker made her move. Quiet as a Skaven, she slunk down the rocks like a shadow, landing softly on her paws without a sound. She crept forward, circling the campfire, its spitting coals going some lengths to fill the air with some source of sound. She skulked by bags of food and camping supplies, even a bundle of axes and other heavy weapons that could arm a small troupe. These dwarves seemed to be prepared to stay here for the long haul, perhaps expecting her friends to come this way.
Daurik had centred himself in the firing line, three dwarves to one side, two the other. Each carried their rifle, bearing the barrel down and right, the way they slightly tilted towards the left suggesting Wilfred was passing close to beneath them. She had to be quick, they could fire at any second, and her trap would be for naught.
She moved for the one furthest to the left, circling to get behind him. She inched closer, her heart beating harder the closer she drew, her blade turned upside down, ready. Perhaps she made a sound, or maybe the dwarf sensed her presence, for he turned round on her when she was two steps away. He rushed to turn his gun on her, but he was much too late.
She plunged her weapon into his shoulder from above, spearing into his chest. He crumpled, and she tried to take his weight, but he was far too heavy and he plunged into the snow with a thump. She glanced at the next dwarf along, btu his senses were duller, and he did not react. Praise be to the Horned Rat, she thought, yanking her blade free with a flick of blood.
Two quick paces and she was on the next, thrusting her weapon through his leathers and then his chest. This time she took care to turn his body away, so it did not fall off the precipice and alert the others. As she wrenched her weapon free a second time, she glanced beyond her next target, seeing Kretch and the slave mirroring her movements. They’d flanked right, the soft pads of their paws allowing them to sneak up on the dwarves, Kretch slicing the throat of the dwarf at the far end in a surprising show of dexterity.
Daurik called something in his native language, and when only the remaining to snipers answered, he must have gotten suspicious, and he turned towards Kretch and the slave who were sneaking up his flank. His next yell was one of alarm, Kretch freezing in place as they turned their guns in his direction. He launched himself aside, gracelessly landing behind a protruding piece of rock as the dwarves fired a volley, the triple cracks making her ears ring.
The slave gave the worst battle cry she’d heard, but threw himself towards the dwarves in an act of brave desperation. Skyseeker spurred on as well, sneaking up behind the dwarf closest to her, and taking her third kill this day. In the middle of his reload, he did not put up too much of a fight, his throat welling with blood as he gurgled.
The noise drew the attention of Daurik, and he snapped back the breech-load of his rifle, shouldering it and aiming her way. She cowered behind the body of the dwarf, the only thing she could hide behind. She used him like a shield, the report of the gunshot echoing, the body convulsing as the shot dug into his back. The dying dwarf made no sound after that.
She shrugged aside the body, raising her rapier to prepare a charge, but Daurik beat her too it. He slung hi rifle over a shoulder, drawing his famous pickaxe from the other, and was on her. She barely had enough time to duck a swing, her blade flashing in the light of the snowy sun as she intercepted a follow-up, her weapon clinched against his own.
“You!” the dwarf rasped, his stubby face close enough that she could smell his breath. She detected the scent of smoked meat and beer.
“Me-Me!” she agreed. “I’ve outsnuck your sneak, short-thing.”
“You’re dead, filthy rat! Dead!”
He pushed her weapon left, hooking her with a jab from his elbow, the attack throwing her off-balance. She blocked a swing of his pick, countering with a slice, Daurik stepping outside her reach. The two went at it, exchanging attacks and counters, taking advantage of openings but neither drawing blood. She may have had the speed, but Daurik was no slouch despite appearances, and he had more than twice her bodyweight to throw around.
She ducked and parried, duelling the dwarf as the precipice hung dangerously close to one side. The wind was in neither of their favour, blowing in from the side. She was rapidly tiring, she as not built for this environment, and neither was she skilled at facing an opponent so directly, where as the dwarf had made these mounts his home. The urge to turn and flee was hard to supress, but if she followed through the dwarf would put her down with his rifle.
He was starting to turn her towards the ledge, manipulating her as he circled, and a pang of fear choked her chest as she felt one of her paws test the edge.
“Kretch!” she called. She felt herself flush for having to call for aid, but she swallowed down her pride. “Move your tail! Assistance me!”
Kretch came skittering over, rasping like a little steam engine, tired after his fight with the other dwarfs – who must be dead if he was still alive. He had a knife clutched in both paws, holding it in a way meant to plunge down into Daurik’s spine. He was a scant second from doing so when the dwarf leader noticed him, switching from her to Kretch and catching the blade with his pick. He batted it aside, turning the wooden haft and jabbing Kretch in the gut with it, the ratman wheezing in pain. He followed up with a strike to the face, Skyseeker’s heart sinking when the sharp point caught Kretch savagely in the jaw. The Skaven twisted unnaturally, the blow knocking him to the ground as a mist of blood streaked sideward.
The Skavenslave took up Kretch’s place, and to his benefit he manged to draw blood as he swiped the flesh from Daurik’s thigh. The dwarf snarled like a beast, suing the very same injured leg to kick the slave in the chest, tossing him back into the snow.
Fear and anger swelled in her chest, and Skyseeker launched herself towards him, shouting a cry for the Horned Rat. She swiped from overhead, catching him in the shoulder, the sound of fabric tearing as her blow landed. She feinted left, and the dwarf was too busy turning her way to read it, and she crossed her rapier sideways and plunged.
The tip of the gilded weapon found the flesh of his wrist, sinking a few inches deep, meeting the stiff resistance of bone. The rapier was not bladed, it could only thrust at this leverage, so that was what she did. She put both paws on the pommel, putting her shoulder into it like she was trying to drive a peg into a hole, using all her weight. The blade sank further into his arm, the dwarf crying out as it pushed through the other side, until the guard that capped the grip kissed his glove. The dwarf dropped his pickaxe, using his other arm to strike her, but she pressed close and he didn’t have the leverage to throw his strength.
She pushed into him with her shoulder, and the dwarf hadn’t’ the strength to stand, and he fell with a puff of snow, Skyseeker crouched above him. She gave her blade a wrench, blood spurting from his mangled wrist as Daurik’s face twisted in pain.
“Submit!” Skyseeker said. “Submit, or I cut off your paw.”
His impaled wrist half-acted as a restraint, the dwarf’s resistance slowly crumbling. His eyes were full of vengeance, she could see he wanted nothing more than to twist her head off, but the fight was leaving him as much as his blood was, and he sunk into the snow, his pickaxe tossed too far away for him to reach.
“To submit to a raki,” Daurik scoffed. “I would curse my family name forevermore.”
Skyseeker tried to collect herself, her breathing coming heard and heavy. She glanced over at the sprawled Kretch nearby, wanting to go to him, but wanting to keep the dwarf secured as well.
“Kretch?” she called. “Answer Skaven. You better not be dead-dead. Speak to me.”
When her concern was starting to turn to real fear, the ratman twitched an eye open, looking first at her and then himself. He groaned, sitting upright, turning his head and spitting a chipped tooth from his mouth.
“Kretch will feel that in morning,” he mumbled, pawing at his face as though trying to rub the pain away. Skyseeker was elated, he was okay, if a little battered, but she was soon distracted as the dwarf caught her attention with a cough.
“Finish it, vermin. Do not leave me lying here, bleeding like a stuck pig.” A circle of red was blooming on the sand beneath her blade, but as messy as it was, the wound was far from grievous. “Send me to my ancestors, so I might plead their forgiveness.”
“Yes-Yes, do it breeder!” Kretch urged. “He took Kretch’s tooth, take his life-life.”
She really wanted to. This dwarf had been responsible for all the raids in the night, the lack of sleep, all this turmoil though these cursed mountains. He was a great threat, and yet he could also be an opportunity as well.
She lifted herself from him, circling around his back and using her jammed blade to guide his arm behind his back. She encouraged him to stand, the dwarf giving her a queer look.
“We take this one alive,” she said.
“What?” Kretch demanded. “He just tried to kill us? Why we spare him after all that?”
“It is hard to believe, but this dwarf is worth more alive than dead.”
“Kretch not understand. We going to eat him?” Kretch asked, tilting his head. Daurik’s eyes filled with fear.
“Only if he gets too irksome,” she replied, hoping to prolong the dwarf’s reaction- he’d more compliant that way. “But I have better idea. Secondary trap! We use him as bait for any other of his fellows sneaking around. They try anything, we use him as meat-shield.”
“Have him taste his own medicine, as the man-things say,” Kretch mused, nodding in approval. “Yes-Yes, breeder is so smart and intelligent.”
“Indeed I am. Go check on the slave, see if he can climb. We go back to Fred-Wil, and out little friend here is coming with us.”