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“That explains their poor skill and technique,” Edouart said, looking over at the slaves with a sneer. “Rescuing them was chivalrous, but to send this lot into battle is foolhardy. The world of war is no place for peasants and labourers, but for knights and heroes.”
“So what are you doing here then?” Skyseeker asked. “You think because Skaven don’t fight on any fancy-pants pony, or wear suits of iron like you-you, that we can’t murder-kill our enemies? While you man-things club and smack yourselves with your great swords, plodding along in your plate mail, your tiny minds don’t realise you haven’t protect-covered the way you never suspect. Below!”
“I have heard from the Imperials of your kind’s evasive choice of combat,” Edouart scoffed. “The pre-emptive strikes, the callousness of expending your numbers like chaff. It is without honour.”
“Honour won’t do you much good with a dagger poking out of your spleen,” she said. “How many things you killed? How many fight-fights have you partook?”
“I’ve seen my share of battle all across Brettonia,” Edouart said.
“That’s pretty vague answer, so Skaven will NOT give you benefit of doubt. And I thought I was sheltered,” she chuckled. “And I’ve only been on surface-world for a few months! I’m practically a war veteran compared to Edward!”
“We shall see how you fare at the walls of Marienburg,” Edouart muttered. “Perhaps when the deamon machines of Chaos come bearing down on you, you would wish you had a horse of your own to help you flee. But I think we’ve lingered here long enough.” He turned to walk away, gesturing for his entourage to follow. “It was… nice, meeting you, Skyseeker.”
She watched him leave, still stood on the post with her tail held out for balance. “Did you see that, Horned Rat?” she asked, tilting her head to the sky. “A strange man-thing being racist when Skaven hasn’t done anything? Don’t know about you, but I am anti-shocked!”
“Who you talking to?”
Her heart leapt out of her throat, Skyseeker flinching and falling to the grass in a flailing heap. She dared not look, had the Horned Rat himself really communicated her?
But when she built up the courage to open her eyes, she found only Kretch peering down at her, and her dreams of speaking to the filthiest of Gods were crushed. “Kretch you imbecile!” she snarled, scrambling off the grass. “What are you doing here?”
“Lollygagging,” he replied.
“I appreciate the truth-truth, but you gotta get back there and train-drill the slaves! An idle rat is a useless rat.”
“You weren’t doing things,” he countered, Skyseeker glaring at him.
“That’s because I’m the supreme paw leader, I get to dilly and dally while everyone else does my brilliant biddings. That is most important rule of ruling. And you see, Kretch,” she added, looping a paw over his shoulders, his mangy fur pressing into her arm as she walked him forward. “One day, you may get to become a paw leader yourself, experience all these perks yourself, have many little minions of your own.”
“You think so, miss breeder?” Kretch asked. It didn’t take a genius like herself to know Kretch and Wilfred had been conversing as of late.
“Yes-Yes, under my tutelage and guidance, I will uplift you, just as the incomprehensible Lord Gnawdwell uplifted me-me. But until then, you do as I say, got that? Now get these slaves into ship-shape, is very important our little rat clan knows how to fight-fight.”
“Because we want to survive, yes-yes?”
“Because of vindication! All these stupid man-things and green-things, they think Skaven aren’t much of threat! We’ll see how their stupid flat faces will look when they see that ratkind is bestest fighters in all of camp!”
-xXx-
The path they chose cleaved a southron path through the thick woodlands, the leafy canopies curling over head to let spots of sunlight filter onto the paved road. The province was very bumpy in this part of Marienburg, full of jutting rocks and steep rises where trees couldn’t thrive but colourless clumps of grass and moss could. The humans referred to the area surrounding Marienburg as the Wastelands, and Skyseeker was starting to see why. The frigid cold winds that rolled in from the Grey Mountains made the days chilly, even when the sun was out and the clouds were clear. The land was poor in nutrients, what few farmsteads in the area were small, pitiful, and Roderick told her it was a place reliant on importing trade goods to survive. With the ‘Burg under siege, she doubted things would get much better.
They had departed from the Keg tavern when the sun was at its zenith, the order carried on by messengers and the rumbling notes of warhorns. She had suspected the packing would take all day, considering their combined numbers, but it was obvious the camp had done this many times before. Tents and pavilions were rolled and folded onto mules by only a small group of men each, and the orc huts were designed to be as modular as possible, able to be broken down into smaller bits that could be hand carried – at least by the giants.
Albert and his slaves came to give them their well wishes, all the servants of the Keg gathering out by the porch. Some of the human breeders were giving pecks on the cheeks to some of their more favoured man-things, and some were even giving away gifts. She could see Edouart being handed some sort of cloth from one of the breeders, and the way he accepted it, one would think it was some sort of precious, magical artifact.
“What’s she giving Eddy over there?” she asked Roderick. “A tissue or something?”
“Looks like a kerchief,” he replied. “When knights prepare to go to battle, some ask for boons from maidens they are fond of. There’s an old tradition that bringing a token of favour from one you care for brings you good fortune. It’s an old custom in the Empire, but the Brettonians see it as a rite of passage. When we were in Lyonesse, the parade went on for hours.”
“A token, eh?” she asked. She fished in her pouches, rummaging through a few of them before her paws found what she was looking for. “Here, take gift-present,” she said, opening his paw and dropping a coin into his palm.
“What’s this?” he asked, the token glinting as he held it up. “Is this warpstone?”
“I just said it was a gift-present. Man-thing take Skyseeker’s token, wayyy better than Edward’s tissue.”
“I thought you said you were out of warpstone?” he said, trying to hand it back to her. “I can’t accept this, lass, don’t you need it more than I do?”
He would never know how badly she wanted to say yes to that, but in the end she summoned the courage to turn her head away.
“Insistance!” she iterated. “You keep it, take Skaven’s filthy blessing, and use it to strike so much fear-fear into your enemies, that their gonads shrink to size of walnuts!”
She encouraged him to close his fingers around the token, Roderick giving her a gracious smile. “Very well, I will cherish your favour always, lass. Or at least, from the safety of my pocket. Wilfred warned me direct skin contact with warpstone is dangerous for my health.”
Albert and Wilfred exchanged their long goodbyes, the two elderly humans sharing a handshake. “I can’t’ decide whether your men emptying my cellars was a good thing or not for my business,” the innkeep said. “But if it helps feed your men for the fight ahead, it’s a price I’ll gladly accept. Free our city, Will, make every one of those Chaos bastards pay.”
“We will do all we can within our power,” Wilfred replied.
To her surprise, Albert approached her next, extending his paw. “Miss Skyseeker? I know I wasn’t a gracious host to you at first, but having your lot about was an interesting change of pace. Keep the old man safe for me, will you?”
“Skaven will kill all who stand in our way-way,” she said. The gesture was a little unnatural, and physical contact with anyone aside from Roderick made her skin crawl, but she took his paw into her own, letting him shake it.
“And if you’re ever back this way, bring that Kretch one with you,” Albert added. “He’s a decent chef, and a good cook is hard to come by.”
The camp soon dissolved from the Keg’s immediate area, until all that was left was the divots left by tent pegs, and the scuffed markings of a thousand feet and hooves. The column took to the adjacent road, Albert’s servants waving as the army began to distance, until the Keg was gone behind the trees.
Roderick let her mount up with him, Skyseeker to short to climb in under her own power, to had had to lift her by the arms. It was a good thing her fur was black, making it hard to see her flushed face as she remembered their last sordid encounter on this very horse. She had sprayed the entire saddle with her musk, but it seemed human noses were too dull to detect it, so for the moment all was secret.
Officers and outriders helped to keep the army in an orderly column, their pace brisk and sure. The band’s rear was composed of all the baggage and supplies that helped feed and maintain their force, composing maybe a quarter of their overall size, while the rest were infantry and mounted riders. She tried to count their number but lost her train of thought after a hundred so she just asked Roderick and he gave her an accurate number.
“With your Skaven and Wilfred’s men, we’re a little over five hundred strong,” he said.
“Fred-Wil said there’s like a million Chaos-things at the ‘Burg,” she said. “Rick-Rod, be honest with Skaven. You think we have enough things for attack-charge?”
“In my experience, lass, it is the small and quick who win against the big and slow,” Roderick replied.
“Like me!” she said. “I’m the quickest and smallest of all Skavendom, and I’ve lived for this long despite everything’s efforts.”
“Indeed,” he replied. “I would of course prefer a whole company at our backs, but we must work with what we have. If your Skaven are up to the task, perhaps their unique traits can be utilised in the siege, but we will come to that in time. Once we’ve surveyed the situation at Marienburg, we will see where we stand.”
“I’ve turned them into top fighters,” she said, only half-lying. Otto and the other instructors hadn’t said the most pleasing things about her slaves abilities, but they agreed to continue to find time to train them up during their march. It was refreshing to find a few humans who were willing to cooperate with her kind.
She spent that evening riding side-saddle on Roderick’s horse, idly watching the procession of tress gently slide by. Occasionally an odd rock formation would provide a modicum of change, and sometimes the canopy would break and she could see the looming Grey Mountains to the western horizon, walling off that part of the world. There had been no sight of dwarfs or dragons since they’d left the snows behind them. Daurik would surely have returned to the tops by this point, and she spared a modicum of her mental capacity wondering what fate would have in store for him.
It was hard to see all of their warband from any one place, as the lengths of forests and rocks to either side of the road broke up the sightlines when the path wended out of view, but she could see pretty far with the aid of her goggles. The orcs were taking the lead, most of them mounted on their giant pigs they so resembled. The Brettonian knights were behind them, every one in five of the riders holding aloft a banner or standard, her nose screwing at the sight. They were like impotent Skavenslaves waving their members in the wind, announcing themselves to anyone that may be watching, as though that would help anything but draw attention.
“Being at the back is lame,” Skyseeker complained. “Rick-Rod, take me to the front, want to see if I can use masterful Skaven technology to see the Burg.”
“As the lady wishes,” he replied, kicking the horse into a trot. They passed by her waddling group of Skaven, who looked very out of place among the taller species. They were waddling along in a line, with Kretch at the front leading the way, their snouts darting about in nervous twitches. Skyseeker pitied them. She had reacted much the same, when she’d first left the under-empire of Skavenblight and saw sunlight for the very first time, the vastness of the skies, and the dangers lurking beyond the underground. Of course, she was an adaptable Skaven, but she’d always prefer to have a few tonnes of dirt over her head compared to having open sky.