2k words
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“I’ll take no chances,” Roderick said. “Chaos bands have been spotted in the area. Light defences won’t stop a full assault, but better a flimsy shield than nothing.”
Roderick had someone fetch him a torch, one of the man-things handing him one a few moments later. She recalled him telling her he’d been a warlord before their meeting in Tilea, and it seemed he’d slipped back into the role comfortably. The tumult of the camp gradually receded as they rode deeper into the wilderness, Skyseeker flipping her goggles down to use their night-vision filters to examine their surroundings. IT was a short ride down the slope to the bank of the grand river, the sounds of gravel crunching beneath the horse’s hooves as Roderick pulled up beside the water.
“Good view-scene,” she marvelled, watching the moon create dappled ribbons of light across the rivers surface. “Scurried down here once or twice already, but it’s nicer with man-thing for company.”
“Indeed. Been a long time since I’ve taken a comely lass on a stroll along the river,” Roderick said, Skyseeker feeling her snout warm.
“Out of all things, Skaven has missed your serenades the most-most,” she giggled. “Well, that and how we tilled our fields together, if you know what Skaven’s talking about.”
“Where did you learn that one?” Roderick laughed.
“Otter and his man-things,” she said. “Picked up a few thing-things from their talks while Fred-wil had us wait.”
“Perhaps the sailors are a bad influence on you,” Roderick said. “Next thing you’ll be cussing like one of them.”
It was nice to be away from all the clamour of the camp and the other man-things, the quiet lapping of the river as it licked the bank giving a soothing backdrop.
“Think the big council went well-well,” Skyseeker said. “Kessel-man’s not so pensive about our grand assault on the ‘Burg. I thought you said he wanted to retreat-flee?”
“He’s certainly changed his tune,” Roderick said. “His respect for the Conclave runs deep, perhaps he even fears their reprisal, and who could blame him? Imperial wizards are some of the most powerful fighters in the Empire, even if they proclaim themselves scholars foremost.”
“He’s more like a Skaven than I am,” she replied. “always switching sides, like a skavenslave who picks a new master every other weekend. Seems irony can be pretty ironic, can’t it? Why’s he so resistant anyway?” she added. “None of the man-things I’ve chittered with think we should stop.”
“He’s convinced himself the Marienburgers aren’t true citizens,” Roderick said. “Many decades ago, the city council declared its independence from the Empire. We still trade goods and services with them, but this was after hundreds and hundreds of years of alliance, and many saw their leaving as nothing less than betrayal.
“But not you?”
“Yes and no. The Empire as a whole was weakened because of their decision to govern themselves, but is that reason enough to abandon them? Brettonians, Marienburgers, Imperials… are we not all men who share a common foe? Chaos does not care who we call our gods or who rules our cities, it will destroy every one of us just the same. Fighting Chaos is a duty we all share.”
“I’m excluded from Chaos, yes-yes?” she asked, raising an inquisitive brow.
“Of course,” he said. “You’ve saved Otto and his companions from capture, and you even kept Wilfred save as well. If that didn’t prove your loyalty, then I fear Von Kessel will never accept you.”
“Once we gloriously save all those man-things in the ‘Burg, we cut Captain Bigot loose,” she said. “Unless he dies-dies during the battle, but a rat can dream.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions just yet,” Roderick said. “Von Kessel may be a cynic, but being cautious isn’t cowardly. Until we get a sure estimate on their numbers and the state of the city, saving Marienburg isn’t assured.”
“Sure it is. You’ve got the power of Skaven on your side-side,” she said. “With our tenaciousness, and you man-things tacking along, we’ll win-win no worries.”
“I wish I could share your confidence,” Roderick muttered. “It will be no easy battle, we will have to throw everything we have at them, if Wilfred’s estimates are accurate. Even the relic.”
He was carrying it on his belt, its sight making her fear-musk spray erratically. Even now, Skyseeker could feel a strange, pulling sensation towards it whenever she glanced its way or it came up in conversation, her mind flashing back to when it was all she could think of to get her paws on it. She’d renounced her mission to retrieve it for the perspicacious Lord Gnawdwell, yet all the same there was a certain allure for it that she could not quell.
“Not sound like easy thing to carry,” she mused. “How are you doing with it?”
“I promised Wilfred I would never try to use it,” he replied. “But during our travels, I was left with no choice. Bending the will of others should disgust me, and it did at first, yet now… Now it feels natural. Powerful. I am not sure what to make of that.”
Personally she thought that reading and controlling minds would be a handy ability to have, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate her saying that. The relic made her uneasy just to look at, so perhaps his worries were not entirely wrong.
“You made it all the way to Empire-place in one piece,” she said. “If any man-thing could carry relic-thing a little further, it’d be Rick-Rod. Plus you have Skaven watching your rear-back now. That’s not euphemism by the way, except the part where it kinda is.”
“I appreciate it all the same, lass,” he chuckled. “I suppose we should be getting back soon,” he added, turning his head over his shoulder. They’d ridden far enough from the camp that she could barely see the light pollution of all its torches, radiating above the treetops to their north. “These lands are not safe.”
“Can we go just a little further-far?” she asked, taking his paw into her own. “There is thing about the river that makes Skaven feel relaxation. Remember the good old days, when it was just man-thing and Skaven against the world?”
“I never figured you for one who likes the quiet moments,” he said.
“I crave chaos – not the other type of Chaos of course – but the bustle and hustle of the Keg is not Skaven’s style.”
“We can ride for a while longer,” he conceded. “Maybe up to that little outcrop over there. I’m sure nobody will miss us for a good hour or two.”
“You always know how to please a Skaven,” she said, leaning back in the saddle against him. She moved his arm so it wrapped around her chest, the combination of her cloak and his warm body making her feel snug even as the cold wind rippled against her side. “Speaking of pleasing Skaven… what’s it take to get a good breeding round here?”
“Never one to beat around the bush, are you?” he chuckled.
“I haven’t had you in like a million years,” she said. “And we were so rudely interrupted last time. No chance of anyone perving on our dirty deeds out here, is there?” she giggled.
“You want to… right now?” he stammered, his cheeks flushing, and not because of the torch in his hand.
“It’s like that man-thing saying. No timing like the presence, or was it presents? Whatever! More breed, less talk!”
She lifted one long leg after the other, reversing her position in the saddle, one of her feet getting caught in the reigns he was holding. Pulling free only seemed to tangle her further, the leather band slipping past her ankle and over her shin. The horse was no fan of the change in direction, and its sudden movement caused Skyseeker to slip to one side, her caught leg remaining upright as she began to tilt. She snatched out with her tail, coiling it around Roderick’s arm to keep her balance.
“Skaven down, Skaven down!” she squeaked. “Save me man-thing!”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink again,” he chuckled, her plight amusing him. She used the end of her tail to bat him in the face. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Just hold still and let me…”
He was forced to toss the torch aside, freeing up both hands to untie the knot around her ankle. She let out a yelp as he suddenly hauled her from her precarious position, depositing her back in the saddle.
“Heh, all part of my mysterious plans,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she actually was. “Now where was I?”
She pressed herself into his lap, planting her thighs on top of his. His bulky torso was tantalisingly close, Skyseeker forced to tilt her neck to peer up at him, his expression softening as she put her paws on his shoulders. She strained to deliver a quick peck on his snout, nuzzling her face against his cheek. His musk filled her nose, warm and familiar, her blood boiling as it sparked memories of their numerous breeding sessions back on the wolfship.
Her whiskers brushed against his flat face, Roderick laughing as they tickled him, his paws coming to rest on her sides. She had not neglected to wash herself since their arrival at the Keg, and so her fur was as soft and fluffy as a towel, and she could tell he appreciated its texture as he combed it through his fingers.
Her thighs trembled as his questing paws lowered to her belly, Roderick mapping out the firm contours of her abs, the subtle fat deposits on her hips and upper legs. Her life of trials and tribulations had hardened her body, even though deep down she was still a Skaven breeder, which left many parts of her pliant, touchable, as a breeder should. She’d been worried such a clash of hard and soft parts would put Roderick off, she had not seen many human breeders, but of those she had, they’d looked dainty, physically smaller, not a hint of fur on them, but Roderick had done nothing to suggest he didn’t like her Skavenistic beauty.
“Let Skaven show you how much I’ve missed you,” she whispered, lowering her paws to his belt. She had become so accustomed to his armour that she knew what parts came off and in which order, Skyseeker beginning to fumble with the clamps and hooks. She tossed his belts and pouches to the gravel, then the plates on his thighs. Removing the entire suit would require him to stand, but when he tried to leave the saddle she gripped his arm firmly with her tail, which was the strongest limb in her possession.
“No time for all that,” she said. “Skaven wants to breed, Rick-Rod, here and now.”
“Talk about knowing how to ride in a saddle,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to the horse. It was staying remarkably still, even with the reigns discarded. It must be a well-trained mount, as Roderick had posited.
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he replied.
His loins were protected in a metal codpiece, Skyseeker slipping her fingers into the protective clamps that secured it. She popped it open, exposing the hem of the dark hose he wore beneath the plate. There was just enough room to pull down the cloth, her eyes widening as his erection bounced free.
“I knew I felt something poking into my back-back,” she chittered. “You’ve been thinking about breeding more than I have, it seemeth!”
She reached down to grip his organ in her paw, so girthy that she could barely wrap her fingers the whole way round, Roderick sucking in a gasp. His reactions always amused her, this man-thing was twice her size, and could hack apart a Skaven with a clean swipe of his greatsword, and yet he was just as sensitive as she was. It was a total flip of what she’d come to expect for breeding, and she craved every moment of it.
She applied a little more pressure, her soft palm gliding against his muscular organ as she slowly began to stroke him. He gripped her black fur tightly, as though afraid he might tilt from the saddle, the hypnotic movements of her paw making him dance to her tune.