Chapter 12
— Esteemed Gotri…
The Grey Seer twitched his whiskers but did not wake up. I lightly touched his shoulder. No reaction. Then I carefully touched the tip of the Ratman's nose with my finger. He let out a piercing squeak and leaped up as if scalded, wailing:
— No-no! It was not me! Truth-truth! I took-stole nothing!
— Esteemed Gotri… — I said with a smile.
The Grey Seer fell silent, staring at me. The Skaven was trembling, his tail tucked beneath him. He was clearly afraid of me. There was practically no one around now, and muffled human voices and the increasingly rare squeals of finished-off Ratmen drifted from the mine caves. Gotri tried to force a fawning smile onto his snout.
— Jurgen-thing, — he said. — You looted-stripped the mine, yes-yes? I completed everything. Deal-deal. Now I go-scurry away?
— Wait, — I replied, noticing the rat dropping his ears and gripping the tip of his tail with a paw. — Come over here.
I pointed to a small bend in the cave. We were currently in one of the side tunnels that led away from the mine.
— Maybe not need-necessary? — the rat stammered.
— Necessary, Gotri, necessary, — I replied, letting my right hand rest on the hilt of my sword.
The Skaven minced quickly to where I pointed. A small, three-wheeled cart stood there. Crooked and rickety, like everything the Skaven build. However, its contents immediately caught Gotri's attention. A small amount of rags, a dirty waterskin, and… lots and lots of Warpstone.
Gotri trembled even faster, but now not from fear, but from the desire to possess the Chaos mineral. For Skaven, Warpstone served simultaneously as gold, super-fuel, and magical cocaine.
— We humans don't need these green things. They're even dangerous, — I said. — I thought, why not give them to the good friend of all man-things, Gotri?
— Give-give?! — the rat was astonished. — Good-nice. Mine? All mine?!
— Yes-yes. Take it.
— Warp-pebbles! Excellent-fuck-yes! Aaaah! Now-now!
Gotri grabbed the cart, beginning to push it away from the mine. Along the way, he either thanked me in crude human tongue, or in **Queekish**, the Skaven language, he snickered about how stupid-foolish man-things were for not understanding the value of Warpstone. Then he mumbled something about the Horned Rat and terrible, swift revenge on all his enemies.
— You don't seriously think he'll remember your kindness, do you? — Erik walked out of the mine.
— Of course not, — I replied. — I had a thought to finish him off, but… — I chuckled. — He killed the most Skaven today. Some of the mine personnel fled. They'll tell their masters that Gotri attacked them. The wizard, meanwhile, has gained enormous capital and is ready for revenge. By releasing this one rat, we provoke hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths among his kin.
— By the Maw, let it be so, — the Halfling nodded. — Let's go, Jurgen. We need to gather the people and get out of this filthy hole as quickly as possible. That girl said that a whole pack of rats might descend upon this place soon.
I nodded, rubbing one of the purses on my belt. Inside, wrapped in thick cloth, lay a piece of Warpstone the size of a cherry. Perhaps I'll sell this thing to some alchemist or throw it away for good measure before entering the Imperial territories. The stuff is definitely incriminating. The main thing is not to carry it too close to my body. I'll put it on the cart later, far away from the food.
We returned to the mine premises, now captured by the revolted slaves. Dozens of dirty, thin people, looking like animated shadows, scurried back and forth with captured Skaven weapons at the ready. The condition of many of the slaves was simply horrifying. Scars from whips, festering eyes that had been gouged out, missing teeth and fingers. It was scary to think what they had endured.
— Our prayers have been heard, — a one-eyed old man rasped, his gray beard sticking out in dirty tufts. — Sigmar sent his messenger to us. An unsullied youth whose heart… And here he is! Our savior!
Fucking hell…
The fanatical zealot pointed at my modest self. Five tormented men and women surrounding him fixed their semi-mad gazes on me.
— Come to us, — the old man beckoned. — We beg you! Pray with us!
All I needed was a schizoid fan club. I certainly don't claim the role of an unsullied youth. I quite like certain vices in moderation.
— I apologize, good people, — I replied. — But your rescue is also thanks to my companions, Erik and Magg, — as well as one crazy Ratman who blasted everywhere after a dose of Warp-coke. — I'd gladly pray with you, but my help is currently needed by others.
— Oh, how modest he is! — the old man wheezed, breaking into a cough. — He… kgh-khaa… He is surely chosen by our God-Held-in-His-Hammer.
— Greetings to you, friends and brothers,
— Do not worship at my feet!
— You must quickly understand,
— That I am no God to you,
— No God! — I mentally hummed, feeling a certain affinity with the character of that song.
And the Sigmarite group wasn't even aware yet of my ability to tell hostile spells to go to hell. Oh, what would happen if they found out…
They attributed me being the Chosen of Sigmar to just two facts: I saved them, and unlike my companions, I am human. The Hammer-Wielder couldn't possibly choose a Halfling!
I retreated with Erik to another room where, at our suggestion, the former slaves had piled a whole mountain of dirty rags onto the floor. These were things that belonged to the Skaven. If we wanted the crowd of barely-alive people not to freeze to death on the road, they needed clothes and blankets. Even such disgusting fabric would suffice. The smell of rat urine could be washed out in the nearest river, if that was even possible.
Next to the mountain of rags lay spare captured weapons and other potentially useful items. Less fanatical slave leaders were also waiting for us there. The same blonde girl I had seen among the Skaven, and with her, a dark-skinned, short man, who was quite sturdy by slave standards.
— I am glad to meet you in a calmer setting, — the man announced with a certain formal gravity. — My name is Javier Esteban de Souza. May I know the name of the man to whom I owe so much?
— Jurgen, — I replied, feeling a bit uncouth due to the lack of a surname.
Maybe the guy had one, but it didn't stick in my memory. Erik introduced himself as well.
— Very pleased, — the man bowed slightly, then shook my hand. — This lovely lady is called Adora. We were companions in misfortune for some time. Are you mercenary warriors?
More like gastronomic tourists.
— We hired ourselves out to caravans, — Erik nodded. — But now we're on a free search for adventure. We're planning to return to the territory of the Empire. Good people, can anyone tell me where the kitchen was in this hole?
— I fear you won't much like it there, mein Herr Halfling, — the girl gave a cold smirk.
— No matter, no matter, — Erik smiled good-naturedly. — I am used to cooking in… unpleasant conditions. However, we should hurry. I don't want the rescued captives to get food poisoning from eating raw rat meat.
— Wait… — Javier frowned. — You intend to…
— It's just meat, — the girl interrupted him. — It's a long journey ahead, and many can barely stand.
— I understand your indignation, mein Herr, — Erik bowed courteously. — I myself am absolutely not thrilled about the necessity of cooking creatures of Chaos. However, I doubt there's a flock of sheep grazing in the next cave. Your friend is entirely correct. The people need food. And not the garbage your overseers fed you. You need nutritious food, mein Herr. Don't worry, we won't cook the most mutated creatures. Magg will eat them raw, if he hasn't already.
The girl nodded silently. Her light-blue eyes radiated coldness and unusual self-assurance. She studied Erik and me carefully. The Halfling asked a couple more questions regarding the kitchen, and then the former slave said:
— A caravan from Clan Moulder came here. They stopped near the mine.
— We killed them, didn't we? — I asked.
— The guards, yes. The cargo remains. It's cages with monsters.
— Let's go take a look at this menagerie, Jurgen, — the Halfling suggested. — Perhaps we'll find something more edible there than Ratmen.
— Follow me, — Adora said.
The four of us set off through the labyrinth of tunnels that the Skaven and their slaves had carved into the rock over hundreds of years. A cheerful crunching sound came from one side room. Magg was probably snacking on still-warm rat meat.
The damp ceiling was getting lower and lower. I had to stoop when we entered a corridor that looked more like a burrow. An indescribable mixture of various stenches suffocated even my sense of smell, which was already accustomed to the grimdark aroma. Scraps, Skaven excrement, rot, and mold spores growing on some particularly damp walls. Exquisite!
Finally, Adora pointed to one of the corridor branches. There we found a wide room from which several high-ceilinged tunnels departed. This is where the now-deceased rats from **Clan Moulder** had left their cargo. Seven cubic wooden cages on wheels. Boxes made of strong planks, reinforced with plates of rusty metal. The cages were almost completely closed. Only small grated windows allowed us to peek inside.
Erik raised a Skaven lantern, burning murky oil. The Halfling shone a little light inside the first wooden cage and immediately recoiled. Something twitched inside, hitting the wall. The cage shook on its platform. Javier raised a captured Skaven curved sword.
— Calm down, mein Herr, — the Halfling smiled. — There's just some huge lizard in there. It won't break out.
— Look inside yourself, warmblood, — the Slann addressed me.
Perhaps he hoped that we could free some captive Lizardmen. However, inside was only a wild, mindless reptile. Dark hide, red eyes, and huge teeth. It was difficult for me to see the details in the gloom.
— That creature is not from Lustria, — Loom-Pia stated, losing interest in the cage's contents. — It dwells underground.
The next cage contained a similar creature. The third box held a large Squig. Erik was smiling, probably anticipating what dishes he could prepare from the exotic beasts. In the fourth box, a huge boar with curved tusks snorted fiercely.
— Yes-yes, my good boy, — the Halfling responded affectionately to it. — I'm happy to meet you too. And my friend Magg will like you very much.
— It looks like we'll have better food than rat tails, — Javier supported his delight.
But the fifth box was very quiet. Erik and I couldn't see almost anything, peering through the tiny window.
— Hmm… — the Halfling walked around the box, kicking it a couple of times.
Nothing. Zero reaction.
Adora, probably more accustomed to the darkness and the dim light of Skaven lanterns, peered into the box and said:
— There seems to be a person in there.
— A person? — Javier was surprised. — Then why hasn't he asked us to free him yet? We would gladly render him that service.
— Let's open the cage and see, — Erik suggested, and then, winking, added. — But first, I'll load my pistol.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, the Skaven firearm had been too damaged by Gotri's magic for us to trophy it. We only managed to secure one Warp-Jezzail. A long, large-caliber rifle with a sniper scope.
When Erik loaded the pistol, Javier and I began to pull out the bolts one by one, holding the wall of the box that served as a door. Finally, the wooden panel dropped to the floor, clanging with iron plates. Inside, there was indeed a human figure, covered in a coarse black cloak. The stranger sat exactly in the middle of the box, cross-legged in the lotus position.
— Show your face! — Javier demanded. — We want to know you're not a mutant.
— Quiet-quiet, — Erik gently calmed him, holding the loaded pistol behind his back. — We don't want to scare him.
Maybe we do. We'll figure that out now. I don't know how long the stranger had been sitting in the lotus pose, but such a posture suggests very good physical condition. I took the dagger from my belt and took the lantern from Erik to enter the box.
Carefully, slowly, step by step…
The lantern light fell on a pale chin, slightly peeking out from under the hood. It seemed the stranger was in some kind of suspended animation. I moved closer, examining the figure from all sides.
The stranger's hands were behind their back. Moreover, they were secured with manacles. I relaxed completely. Even if this was someone dangerous, it wouldn't be easy for them to attack me. Although…
Pale skin, suspended animation, hands manacled even in a cage…
Did **Clan Moulder**'s hunters capture a vampire? I set the lantern on the floor and, holding the dagger, cautiously pushed back the hood, immediately stepping back. The stranger didn't move. More accurately, it was a stranger-female.
— An Elf, — I said without turning around. — Looks like she's asleep or in some kind of magical trance.
Stepping a little closer, I crouched down to the Elf and carefully parted her pale lips. No vampire fangs, apparently. Although I don't know if the local vampires can hide them.
The woman's face was extraordinarily beautiful. It wasn't marred by the small scar crossing her left eye, but the frozen mask of grim sorrow was a bit unsettling. Black locks fell onto her pale cheeks. Was she even alive? I tried to find a pulse on her neck. Her skin was cool, but not cold, and pleasant to the touch. Probably alive. No rigor mortis, no signs of decomposition. And at that moment, the girl slowly opened her eyes. Two cold, dark abysses stared at me.
Shit.
I took my hands away from her neck and said:
— Don't get any ideas. I was just trying to find a pulse.
I am, by the way, an unsullied youth of Sigmar.
The Elf didn't respond with a word, a gesture, or a facial expression. She opened her eyes, but seemed to still be in a deep trance.
— Let's pull her out of this dungeon, — Javier suggested.
The two of us led the girl out of the box with minimal resistance from her. However, the Elf was not in a hurry to help us either. She moved like a sleepwalker.
— So… There's a lock on the manacles… — Javier frowned. — I'll go and get some kind of crowbar or…
— Stand aside, — Adora pulled out a bunch of keys from somewhere. — I took them from a dead rat.
One of the keys, indeed, fit the manacles. The heavy steel shackles fell to the floor. The Elf straightened up to her full height. She was almost a head and a half taller than my new body. Dark, healed marks from the manacles stood out on her wrists.
— Maybe they gave her some kind of sleeping poison? — Javier suggested. — That's how they caught me. With poisoned wind.
— Then she needs warm water and fresh food, — reasoned Erik, who had clearly already chosen the Elf as the new object of his inexhaustible care. — Come on, pointy-ear. We'll bring you back to your senses quickly.
He took the girl's hand, and she did, indeed, follow him. The black cloak almost slipped from her shoulders, but Javier prevented it. Under the cloak, the girl was dressed in a gray, loose shirt. Black pants hung on her. Presumably, her captors had given her the clothes. They were slightly better than the slaves' rags from the mine, but also worn almost to holes.
The Halfling led the Elf away, and Javier, Adora, and I checked the remaining cages. They contained Squigs.
— Plenty of meat and one more liability, — the girl commented on the result of the Skaven box unboxing.
— She might still recover, — Javier countered her. — For such a young and beautiful lady, you have a very bleak outlook on things.
— I've seen those eyes many times. She's broken. She gave up. If you want to be truly merciful to her, then give me this dagger and…
— Quiet, — Javier interrupted her with a smile, pulling her close. — The darkness and cold of these caves have crept into your soul. You need to see the sun, my dear. You'll get better there.
— I'm fine as is, — the girl countered, pushing Javier away. — Let's go back. We still have a lot to do.
In this, the liberated slave was absolutely right.
On the way back, one of the former prisoners ran up to me and snapped to attention. Like a soldier reporting to his commander, he announced:
— Herr Gut-Gouger wishes to see you on urgent business.
I followed the messenger. He led me to a room where the Ogre sat, pleased with himself and life in general. An open chest lay next to him. Recently emptied by Dwarfs, it was now almost full of various valuable junk.
Alas, the main currency of the Skaven is not gold, but Warpstone. However, that doesn't mean the Ratmen don't understand the significance of precious metals for other races. As it turned out, the Chief Overseer had a whole collection of gold and silver items taken from prisoners.
Amulets, rings, earrings, dental crowns, statuettes, spoons, and pieces of broken-off jewelry. The sum wasn't fantastic, but I think it was decent. Magg held out a large silver candlestick, scratched with Skaven runes, and several small gold trinkets to me. One diamond ring looked extremely expensive.
— Woah! — the Ogre announced. — Good fight, Jurg. The rats didn't taste great, but there were plenty!
— I have good news, Magg. We found a massive-huge boar in a cage and several large Squigs.
Damn. Talking to the Skaven was making me start using those double words too.
— Massive!? — the Ogre cheered up. — Let's go! Our trip here wasn't in vain. We saved the skinny ones. We ate rats. Gold. And now a whole boar!
Indeed. Victory on all fronts. Now all that remained was to make a clean escape.