The island tended not to show up much on maps. Maps are traditionally drawn by merchants and no merchants ever came to this bleak speck of rock. Whenever it did show up on maps it was always too close to Ulthuan. This geographical fact made the human merchants reluctant, an elven merchant would spend days haggling over turnips if they thought it was fun, the dwarvern merchants hesitant, because they know exactly what capricious bastards the elves are, and the elves tentative because they know full well those aren't acutely elves on that miserable island.
The ship slid carefully up the beach, the shingle almost seeming to whisper a welcome as it did so. The ship was very old now, as humans reckoned old to be, but it was well cared for and would live to be considerably older still. Calling it a ship was probably a bit on the optimistic side when compared to the ships built by the other peoples. There were the graceful ships of the Asur and Nagarythe that sailed across the waters like a breeze, and there were the terrifying ships of the Druchii that sliced the waves like knives, the sturdy iron clad leviathans of the Dwarves and the mighty galleons of the Empire. And then there was this ship that was basically a long boat that would not have been out of place in a Krislev port. But when all is said and done it was still considerably better than the rafts that the Lizard People of the far south sailed on.
It had been a reasonable raid. The Druchii would hate them for a long, long time for this one. It had cost the lives of four of their own, soon to be five looking at the arterial nature of the blood pooling about Adrigons feet. But it had been worth it. Nearly three-dozen slaanesh-worshiping elves had been cut down, a huge stockpile of war gear, food and former slaves had been brought back and the Druchii had given up perusing them in less than half the time they usually did.
The slaves they had stolen looked even sorrier than the last bunch they had stolen. Kadrak reckoned he could probably count all the ribs of them. Kadraks people jumped happily out of the boat, glad to be home, but the slaves did not. They were beaten and broken and scared. There were ten in this boat and ten in the other two boats that were even now beaching themselves. The last one to slide its self up the beach was probably a major contributing factor in the Dark Elves giving up the chase. It contained Shelda, and what looked very much like a carefully aimed bolt of lightning had sprouted from her fingers and sliced the pointy end of one of the perusing ships.
Realizing that Adrigon was going to need help getting out of the boat Kadrak put one arm under his sholder.
'Thanks' rasped Adrigon with small flecks of blood smattering his teeth.
'No worries Adrigon, No worries.' Said Kadrak forcing a smile. They could both tell the wound was mortal.
Adrigon was not worried; in a great deal of pain, but not worried. He was dying and he knew it. He had always known that this is how he was going to die. After damn near four hundred years of raiding the shores of Naggeroth he would have been very surprised if he had died any other way. He was out of the boat now. He was home. It was safe to die here. And with the minimum amount of fuss he folded upon himself and lay still in the welcoming shingle.
The council had decided to meet in the foundry today. It was not what was normally done but no one wanted to go up to the council room in mid winter and risk getting hypothermia.
'What was the tally for this raid?' asked "Beardy" Hardent. Hardent was one of those men that look like they are entirely made out of elbows, knees and deckchairs and the bitter cold of winter tended to seep into his sparse form worse than most. Possibly that was why he had grown a beard that would put many a dwarven lord to shame. On one occasion he had been left at sea for a week and had survived by sieving green stuff through it for nourishment as he clung to a lump of driftwood.
'Twenty-eight survivors, fourteen barrels of salt pickled pork and beef, a couple of sacks of marching bread' here there was a collective groan. Nobody liked that stuff. 'Two barrels of what we have found to be lamp oil, one barrel of some sort of whiskey' here everyone seemed to brighten up a bit. 'Quite a lot of Drucii armour and swords and one jar of pickled onions.' Said "Ironhands" Rufid.
'Casualties?' Asked Idriel. It was quite an achievement to get her to use more words than was absolutely necessary and today looked like it was not going to be an exception.
'Of the former slaves? Two. One died on the way back and the other a couple of hours ago. Of our brave people? Five in total: Adrigon, Krenky, Jodella, Kedlissa and Gedfet.'
There were a few moments silence, with nothing but the wind whistling a lament, before Hardent asked what was occupying everyone's minds 'Anyone left behind?'
'No. From what I can gather Krenky got an arrow through his eye, Joddella got run through the chest with a sword, Kedlissa lost her head, Gedfret got bitten to death by a lizard and Adrigon bled to death within half an hour of getting back. You know what Adrigon was like for not asking for help.' Everyone nodded. Adrigon always had taken self-reliance to the extreme.
This time it was Deldelie who spoke. 'How many Dark Elves' here she spat into the forge that hissed in protest. 'Slain?'
'About three dozen, give or take a few.'
'And what are we going to do with our new guests? I do not think we have the provisions to keep them all through the winter. Not unless we want to impose harsh rationing.' Said Fedrog. Fedrog was always good at judging such things. It was why he was the quartermaster.
'How harsh?' Asked Deldelie who knew that Fedrog would not exaggerate one way or the other.
'Unless we go on another raid we start eating our own dead before the weather starts to turn good. Don't look at me like that I'm not being pessimistic. Its simple figures. The seaweed harvest was crap the fishing was average and the Druchii' here was another spit in the direction of the forge. 'Have started to anticipate our raids. We could make it before just tightening our belts a couple of notches but now we have another twenty-eight mouths to feed there is not a Sotek-loving chance.'
'Anyone got any non cannibalistic ideas?' asked Hardent
There was a moment of busy silence before Idriel suggested 'Ulthuan?'
Everyone considered this for some time. 'Some of those prisoners were humans and dwarves and I think there might have been a halfling. You know what the elves are like with dwarves.' Pointed out Hardent.
'Yes' said Rufid 'they charge the Dwarven Lords a lot of money for their return. I say they will welcome the chance to make a bit of money'
Everyone considered this for a moment. It wasn't exactly hostage taking. The dwarves did it as much as the elves. It was more of a finder's fee. It was all part of the complicated arrangements of debts and bills that made it too awkward for those people to go to war with each other.
'Anyone volunteering?' there was another busy silence as everyone tried to think who, besides them selves, they could send to parley with the elves.
'Jebbels?' suggested Idriel.
'So' said Kadrak 'they are sending you to barter with the Asur?'
'Quit your grinning. It could just have easily been you.' Lied Jebbles. It was obvious why they had chosen him. His elven ancestry was very plain to see. He was about five foot ten, had straight golden hair, light grey eyes and pointed ears. In a poor light he might actually have passed for a pure blooded elf to another elf. If they were drunk. The rest of his crew had also been picked for their elven features.
In contrast there was no way that Kadrak could ever have passed for an elf. Kadrak was about six foot three and had muscles that could have outfitted a heard of oxen. His hair was curly and the same earthy brown as his eyes. His mother was a former Dwarven slave of the foul Druchii and his father had been more or less a pure human from the Bleak Rock. He seemed to have gained the best traits from both of them.
'Well, you have to look on the bright side. All those elven ladies oh so lonely as their men-folk are off fighting the hordes of chaos on the Old World. I dare say that many a fair elven maiden would crave some attention from a rugged warrior.' Said Kadrak with the appropriate arm gestures.
'Knock it off you overgrown Dwarven idiot. We will not have time for that sort of thing. Drop the slaves off, sell the stolen war-gear and buy some provisions with the coins and come back before the storms really start to get up. No time for fun with fair elven maidens.'
'Pity.' Said Kiddlee, one of the crew, as he heaved a bag of assorted helmets onto the boat.
Seeing the hard time the lightly built elven-kin were having with the loading of the boat Kadrak decided to help by picking up a sack of long-swords in each hand and carefully putting them on the long boat.
'What is this?' he said pointing to a large wooden box.
'What's what?'
'This!' he took a look under the canvas covering the crate. 'It's the marching bread! Your going to try and sell the marching bread to the Asur. I honestly do not think that even they are thick enough to buy it. And besides we need it. You can't live off just salted meat all winter. You get scurvy.'
'We are not living off salt pickled animal flesh all winter. I'm taking this crap and I am going to sell it and buy some jars of jam with the cash.'
'And if you can't sell it?'
'Then we disown it at the dock and buy as much jam as possible using this stuff.' He said giving the sack of assorted helmets a sharp kick. 'If we can't sell it to the armoury we sell it to the smiths for the iron it's made of.'
It was about this time that the former Druchii slaves rounded the corner. They were looking much better for a decent meal, mostly salted pork and a bit of dried fruit, and an uninterrupted sleep somewhere warm. They had had to sleep in the great hall. There was nowhere else to sleep. But it was soft and many people had given them their bedding to sleep on out of pity for the poor beaten people.
It was then that Kadrak noticed her for the first time.