Daughters and Sons of the Horned Rat,
I admit, I dragged a little. The work has been pretty tough these recent weeks. But I know you'll understand.
This doesn't mean I have not written anything. I just wrote other things in other later chapters.
Soon on vacation, I'll see if I can publish chapter 15 a little sooner.
Thank you for your patience, and glory to the Horned Rat!
Koursh, the slave Skaven, reached out in a precise direction. Sigmund saw in the distance the undulating flames of a campfire. The night wouldn't delay to make way for the dawn, and in an hour, the Feral Skaven would go to sleep.
- Finally! Camp of Pawleader Qroshay of Clan Moulder!
The Black Skaven winced. The characteristic smell of Feral Skaven, carried by the wind, infected his nostrils. He felt himself approaching a particularly difficult ordeal. In the past, he had already infiltrated a group of Feral Skaven. It was something that was not easy or pleasant for him. The hardest thing was to silence all the education his parents had transmitted him, without letting the most primitive instincts that lay dormant in him. But he was resigned. Lives were on the balance.
As they approached, heads were raised, eyes narrowed with suspicion and malice. Sigmund groaned inwardly. They were about twenty, in the middle of three large skin and branches-crafted tents, all more filthy and naughty each other. Ten of them were sitting in a circle around a group of a dozen terrified Humans, mostly women and children.
One of the Feral Skaven in particular caught the attention of the young Steiner. It was a very skinny Clan Warrior, with a rather thick brown coat, who was in charge of a jezzail, the infamous harquebus with warp ammunition designed by Clan Skryre. It was easy to guess its role or its membership in the Mutator Clan: its two eyes had been replaced by two enormous eyeballs, as big as oranges, torn off from some huge creature.
Damn Moulders and their habit of playing with their own meat!
His father had explained to him the methods of Clan Moulder: their Clanrats were modified with great reinforcements of surgery tainted with warpstone. The most deserving became true weapons of war. Those who failed in their duties were usually transformed into Rats-Ogres.
A loud voice shouting made Sigmund's ear turn.
- Koursh! You dirty little spit! You appear in front of me! How dare you?
The tanned skin that covered the opening of one of the tents was kicked aside by a stout arm. The young Steiner didn't need to think to understand that he was dealing with the leader of the group. It was a tall, light-furred Feral Skaven, six feet high for more than one hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Its fur was peeled in places, which revealed the presence of sharp metal pieces embedded in its flesh, like the Moulder used to.
Koursh threw himself at the feet of the chief.
- Finally-finally I find you, O powerful-wonderful Qroshay, our Pawleader!
The leader of the Feral Skavens marauders kicked the shoulder of the slave which rolled on the ground squealing as a response. Then he looked up at Sigmund.
- A Stormvermin... I don't recognize-recognize you, you were not with us!
- Indeed. I came with my own group-regiment. I am Clawleader Treb.
- Where's your company, Treb?
Sigmund knew exactly what to do: he had to make it clear that as Black Skaven, his strength and authority prevailed over those of Qroshay. Also, he barked:
- Do I mind your business, Moulder?
- Uh… no.
He didn't give the Pawleader time to be indignant, and continued:
- You Clanrats are all the same! All cowards-incapable, like those who abandoned me when men-things began to defend themselves. They make me think of those lousy rats who make up your battalion. How could you ravaged the men-things village further with such a bunch of good-for-nothings?
- Uh... we fought-fought, Treb.
- And you call me "Clawleader Treb", you miserable worm-worm! I can't believe how you can be such a jack-ass!
Qroshay didn't completely lose his means, he remembered who the leader was.
- Well, do not get angry. Are you hungry, maybe?
- Perhaps.
- Right!
The Moulder approached the prisoners. Sigmund realized what was happening. He tried to keep his face impassive, but he knew exactly what was going to happen.
Don't do anything, don't spoil your cover!
Qroshay was now evolving between the Humans. He looked at one, brushed a second.
- Men-things... so stupid-weak, so delicious.
The brown Skaven stopped in front of a dark-haired little girl. He looked at her from head to toe. The little one curled up, terrified. A dark spot spread over her peasant skirt. She opened her mouth, but she didn't have time to scream. In a heartbeat, Qroshay planted his claws in her cheeks, lifted her and bit her throat. The blood spurted instantly. A woman screamed in despair. One of the Feral Skaven knocked her out with a punch in her face. Qroshay applied his mouth to the gaping wound and drank with large gulps. Then he threw the little body on the ground.
- Yum, yum! I love men-things blood! Especially from little things-men! It's so fresher! Do not you think, Treb?
But the Pawleader was not aware of the tumult in which Sigmund's brain was wading. The tall Black Skaven had to draw from the deepest of his convictions the resources what were necessary to keep his calm and avoid crushing the head of the Feral Skaven leader before being slaughtered by the other Clanrats. He clenched his fists so hard that he hurt his own fingers, and cut the skin of his palms with his long pointed nails.
- So, Treb? Which one do you want to eat?
Think, Siggy! A good idea, now!
- I'll choose, but before...
It was necessary to go to the bottom. Fortunately, he had already had a general idea of his plan before arriving at the camp.
- I need to pee. Nobody moves!
- Yes-yes, Clawleader Treb.
Sigmund hid behind a tree, made sure he was not in anyone's vision field, and then he discreetly picked out of his pocket a small piece of paper folded in four, a feather and a vial in which he had put ink. He quickly scribbled on the paper:
- 10 Clanrats
- 6 slaves
- 1 leader
- 1 harquebusier
- 12 villagers prisoners
Attack them by daylight!
He blew on the paper to dry the ink, then he hid it. Then he returned to the camp.
- Well, now, I'm going to fulfil my stomach.
Sigmund licked his chops. He slowly scanned the prisoners sitting on the floor who trembled like so many dead leaves. He saw an old man, a little boy, an exhausted woman with her eyes bulging in terror... and stopped on a young, but sturdy man, with a bandage tied around his fair hair, which almost defied him with his blue eyes. He reached for the villager.
- That one! Looks very meaty-meaty.
- It's yours, Clawleader Treb! Qroshay chuckled.
Sigmund grabbed the Human by his collar, and dragged him towards Rabanera. Which surprised Qroshay.
- Hey, where are you going?
- I move away further!
- And why?
The Black Skaven turned around, and growled:
- Because I want to be all alone for eating-eating! Your smell is going to make me puke! Is it a problem for you?
- Uh… it isn't.
- Good! The first one who follows me, I kill him.
Sigmund violently pushed the Human with a slap on his back. They took a few steps when he heard someone running and panting behind him. It was Koursh.
- Wait-wait, Treb! My master-master, I want to serve you!
The Black Skaven swivelled in a flash, and threw his little knife in the same second. The weapon went straight into the heart of the sickly slave who fell on its back and died in an instant. In front of the surprised looks of the Feral Skaven and those horrified by the Humans, Sigmund withdrew his knife from Koursh's chest, and barked:
- I said "the first who follows me, I kill him"! Are you deaf, or are you dumb?
Then he returned to the Human who had not dared to move, and dragged him back to the forest.
While walking, he had a thought for Koursh. This frightened little slave had trusted him, led him to his camp, had wanted to become his zealous servant, and in return he had coldly killed him. He did not feel the slightest regret.
Koursh was not an innocent victim. In the society of Feral Skaven, as soon as you leave the nursery, there is no longer any innocence. Even among slaves.
When Sigmund was certain that he was no longer visible to anyone in the Moulder camp, he stopped his march, without letting go of the Human. The other didn't move anymore. The Black Skaven sliced the links with his knife, and pushed the Estalian with a push on his shoulder.
Immediately, the Human turned to the rat-man, his fists ready to punch. Sigmund raised his both hands above his head.
- No! Hold on!
He let his knife fall on the ground, and remained motionless.
The man was ready to jump, his arms outstretched and his legs bent, but the expression on his face reflected a certain perplexity. Sigmund concentrated. He had to give back the few words in Estalian that Clarin had taught him. He slowly lowered his hands, placed them on his chest, and pronounced in the sweetest voice he could:
- Amigo.
The Human widened his eyes, and his face relaxed slightly. Still with infinite caution, Sigmund fumbled in his pocket, and took out the list he dropped to the ground. He took a few steps back and showed the paper. Without losing a degree of circumspection, the prisoner advanced slowly, and picked up the sheet. He unfolded it, and frowned. The ratman had written in Reikspiel, a language unknown to him, but he understood that it was data on the encampment of the invaders. He lifted his head, displaying a jaded expression towards his interlocutor. The latter pointed to the direction of his village, and said again:
- Señor Eusebio Clarin. Rabanera.
The man nodded, took a few steps back, then turned and ran as fast as he could. Sigmund watched him go away, then picked up his knife and thought for a moment. He had to do something to be credible. Fortunately, the forest did not lack quarries. He spotted a rabbit. With a gesture, he threw his knife and reached the critter at its throat. He munched on the raw meat a few times, and rubbed the bloody carcass on his chin. Then he returned to the camp of the Feral Skaven.
Qroshay greeted him with a sneer.
- So, Tasty-tasty?
- No! Nasty taste of sick rabbit! I let him rot on the ground, feed the worms!
- Ah? Good.
Sigmund sat down on a log, and still looked at the prisoners. Pawleader Qroshay mumbled.
- The evil sun will soon rise.
- Indeed. But what are you doing here? You have ravaged the hutches of men-things! So why are you hanging around here?
- Because we're waiting for someone, Clawleader Treb. These are the orders of the War Chief Blokfiste.
Blokfiste... I have to retain that name.
- I heard he was a grand War Chief.
At these words, Qroshay's eyes sparkled with excitement.
- Oh, he is-is! Very grand war chief! Very powerful-powerful army! Gone seeking his main troops. Soon, all men-things knee before us!
- Is he so strong?
- Very powerful-malignant! He has a plan! The "Blokfiste Plan". He will soon join us, and we will trample-devour men-things!
- What's this plan?
- I don't know. Only Blokfiste knows. But we all know it's the best of plans! And we are the best! But before that, we will sleep-sleep.
- Good idea, for once.
Sigmund was going to propose to stay near the fire to stand guard, and help Clarin's men as soon as they arrived, but he didn't do anything about it. As a Clawleader, he had to delegate the dirty work to the lower-ranking Feral Skaven to remain credible. He decided to act.
- Where can I sleep?
- You can take a nice rest in the big tent, with the others.
The Black Skaven glanced sideways. He spotted the tent from which Qroshay had emerged, the smallest, and pointed at it.
- No. I take this one.
- Uh, this one is mine...
- Exactly.
- We... we'll have a hard time keeping two in this tent.
- Who said you would sleep with me? I take this tent, or I take your head! Choose!
Qroshay grumbled, but went to take refuge in one of the big tents. Satisfied, Sigmund settled in the little tent, under the fearful and respectful eyes of the Feral Skaven. When he pulled the skin that covered the entrance opening behind him, he winced. The smell was really dreadful.
At least I'm not going to fall asleep like the others.
At the end of an indefinable time, he heard the galloping horses. Clarin's men would be as subtle as a sledgehammer. He jumped up and went out of his tent. The Feral Skaven camp was in turmoil. The Pawleader bellowed orders in a completely messy way. The fifteen Estalian warriors were led with much more discipline by Captain Antoninus. Beside him stood Clarin, riding a steed, and the peasant who had decided to come back and fight on one of the horses of Clarin's carriage.
The Black Skaven quickly analyzed the situation. His pupils stared at the large-eyed Skaven. The latter waved its jezzail towards the diplomat. Sigmund reacted in a heartbeat. He leaped right next to the shooter, grabbed the barrel of its gun and forcibly turned it away, shouting:
- Watch out, Clarin!
The shot banged in a thunderous snap. The warpstone bullet went straight, and planted into the back of one of Antoninus' soldiers, who was crossing swords with a Clanrat. The man collapsed. Sigmund didn't take the time to worry about it. He faced the gunman, which looked completely haggard. The Black Skaven didn't give him the opportunity to think. He pulled the short sword of the Feral Skaven out from its scabbard and plunged it in its belly. The shooter collapsed like a rag doll with a gurgling, its huge eyes widened and rolled in all directions.
- Treb!
Sigmund had the reflex to let go the short sword and leap to the side. He dodged a halberd blow from the Pawleader. The rusty metal head hit the ground with a loud noise.
- So, that was true!
Qroshay swept with his weapon, elegantly ducked by the Black Skaven.
- Blokfiste was right!
The Moulder attempted a thrust, once more in the void.
- Some Skaven betray the Horned Rat!
Another thrust that grazed Sigmund's other flank, who had turned on his heels without ceasing to face his opponent.
- You are with men-things!
The leader took a run-up, and again performed a sweep with his halberd, twice stronger than the first one, to plant the blade in the ribs of his target. Sigmund decided to finish it. He seized the weapon with his both hands, and squeezed it so hard that he broke the movement of the Feral Skaven. Surprised by the maneuver, Qroshay almost fell upon Sigmund. The Pawleader screamed painfully:
- Naughty traitor-liar!
Then he raised his nose to face the traitor, and suddenly, his blood froze. The glowing eyes of the Black Skaven were throwing daggers. Qroshay felt his facies break down in fear when Sigmund roared in a terrible voice:
- You fucking CHILD KILLER!
Sigmund let go of the halberd, and in a flash his powerful hands were wrapped around his opponent's head. And then the Black Skaven exploded in anger. With a frightening scream, he stuck his thumbs into the eyes of the Pawleader, which squeaked with pain and dropped his weapon. Sigmund pushed the Feral Skaven's head towards the ground and slammed it on his raised knee. The muzzle exploded in a sickening crackle and a sheaf of blood, and the rascal found himself thrown back and fell full length on his back. Overexcited by the sight of the Feral Skaven on the ground suffering the martyrdom, Sigmund picked up the halberd and chopped it into Qroshay's ribcage with a full force, once, twice, three times, so that the weapon broke in his hand before he could strike a fourth blow.
The Black Skaven looked at the handle in his hand, and looked around for another weapon.
- Señor Steiner!
He turned and spotted Clarin, galloping in his direction. The emissary was brandishing Heart of Unicorn. He threw it in his direction as he passed near, and the young ratman grabbed with a firm grip his trusty weapon. He saw three Feral Skaven pursuing the prisoners that Antoninus' soldiers were evacuating. He ran after the three Moulders. He mowed the legs of the first one, decapitated the second, and thrust his sword between the shoulder blades of the third, up to the pommel.
Finally, the pressure fell. The cries ceased, the clanging of the weapons went silent, the blood stopped to flow. Eusebio Clarin joined the young ratman. He was holding Sigmund's mare by her reins.
- I allowed myself to bring your mount, I didn't want to leave her alone in the village. No one was able to ride her, she was too nervous, we had to tie her to one of our horses left back.
Still angered by the adrenaline, Sigmund snatched the reins from his hands.
- Okapia can be very gentle with little ones, but there's no point for an adult trying to ride her if this adult isn't Bianka or myself. We two are the only ones she grants permission to ride. She even refuses to let my parents or my brother approach her.
As he spoke, he gently stroked the muzzle of the mare, and whispered:
- I had to leave you behind to pretend to be one of them, but I'm glad to see you again, honey.
He smiled when he saw the spark of complicity shining in Okapia's eye. He snatched his cloak from Qroshay's corpse, and used it to wipe his flamberge. He looked at the blade of Heart of Unicorn from all angles, gave a satisfied pout, and sheathed it. The Estalian observed:
- It's quite a beautiful sword, Señor Steiner. Where did you get it?
- When we had the aqueduct built, the construction site was supervised by Master Gotrek Gurnisson, the famous Dwarf Slayer. He had some of his kindred with him, including a blacksmith, who settled in Steinerburg. I asked this blacksmith to craft me a special sword.
- This blade looks particularly strong.
- It is, Master Clarin. It's made with gromril.
The Human opened wide with surprise eyes.
- You mean a Dwarf agreed to craft a gromril sword for someone who didn't belong to his kind? A Skaven, moreover?
- This blacksmith is an expatriate, and he's greedy to the point of obsession. If you want, I'll introduce him to you.
- And he got gromril under the nose of the Dwarves of a whole Karak? He must have half of the Dwarf people on his tail!
The Black Skaven smiled wryly.
- Do not think all Dwarves are firmly and nobly attached to their honor. Exceptions are rare, but there are some. And everything can be bought, among the Dwarves. Including gromril and silence. The whole thing is to have the money. I have.
Clarin approached the corpse with the only loss his regiment had to deplore. Up close, the sight was even more shocking.
- You will excuse me for telling you only now, but thank you, sincerely. You saved my life, Sir Steiner.
The Black Skaven joined the Estalian, and squatted close to the body to examine it.
- I regret not having deviated its rifle enough. You lost a man.
- You had the intention. Here is the fate of all the men of the army. But such a disgusting way…
In fact, the poor soldier's face was tense with indescribable suffering. This was hardly surprising, because with the dirty influence of warpstone, his spine had frightfully mutated. No less than five long arrows of vertebrae and bones had sprung from his back, tore his flesh, crushed his organs, and had literally planted him above the ground like a macabre scarecrow. Fortunately for him, he hadn't to bear the pain very long.
- Manann be merciful, it's terrible! murmured the Estalian.
- It's warpstone.
- You were right, it's a real crap!
- There appears something else I don't like: generally, warpstone which the Feral Skaven use to craft their bullets just causes very serious burns. It looks like special ammunition with more concentrated warpstone inside, enough to cause mutations. It's bothering…
- Do you think it can cause mutations on someone like you?
- I hope I never have to learn it, Master Clarin.
- Your father explained to me a little about the effects of warpstone. Can you tell me how much the Skaven fear changes?
- The only way to have a mutation for a Skaven is to swallow a very large amount of warpstone or inject it into its body, as those ones did. If I seize a raw buckle, it will burn my fingers. On the other hand, if I take a fine warpstone token, like the ones Feral Skaven use as money, it won't do anything to me.
- So, it's without effect on Skaven?
- That's not what I said. Even if there is no mutation, if I eat this kind of warpstone, it will cause a whirlwind of Warp energy in my stomach. Skaven wizards use it to shape their magic, which I don't know how to do. Not only it will squeeze my bowels, but in addition I may develop an addiction, simply with a fragment walnut-sized.
- Is this dependence tenacious?
- Worse than the worst of drugs, Master Clarin, remember? When it eats at you, it is impossible to get rid of it. There is no cure for this addiction to date. And if you do not soothe this warpstone hunger every day, you will die in unimaginable suffering.
Clarin detected a spark of sadness in the look of his interlocutor.
- You've seen that already, haven't you?
- One day, we freed a girl who was mature enough to be able to give birth. She had been treated with warpstone. Too discreetly so we could see it right away, but the damage was already done. Once back home, she suddenly fell ill. She was quickly isolated. Our best Shallya priestess tried everything, but even pain-relieving medications were ineffective. The poor girl didn't live more than a week, and considering the pain she endured, for her, it must have been triple.
Sigmund had finished his sentence painfully, as if the memory had exhausted him.
- Sorry to hear it, young man.
- A Taal damn shit, Sir Clarin.
Teresa's case came back into the young Skaven's mind.
- I know another one who has also been poisoned with warpstone. Fortunately, she wasn't touched by addiction. However, there were other consequences on her brain.
- You mean her faculties are damaged?
- Yes. In her head, she will never be more than eight or nine years old.
Clarin noticed that Sigmund's face had become darker. He wanted to comfort him:
- Master Steiner... if it can help you keep your spirits high, remember that you allowed us to save these villagers with nearly no loss.
- Fine.
- I'll talk to Prince Calderon about you've done.
Captain Felipe Antoninus approached the Black Skaven. Beside him walked the man Sigmund had freed. Antoninus put a hand on the peasant's shoulder.
- He's Enrique. He told me you didn't hesitate to be as credible as possible. You even killed one of your brothers, as doubtlessly a real Skaven would have done!
These words lashed the young ratman like a whiplash. He planted himself in front of the soldier and barked:
- Do not compare me to these animals, Antoninus! These creatures will never be my brothers! Got it?
- Therefore, you are a Skaven. Skaven use to kill other Skaven, right?
Sigmund clenched his fists and hissed between his teeth:
- Say Humans never fight each other. Say it!
The captain put his hand on the guard of his sword, and supported the stare of the Black Skaven. Clarin intervened.
- Antoninus, Master Steiner has just experienced a few very trying hours, and thanks to him, the worst has been avoided. Let's not...
But Sigmund didn't hear the rest. He had distinguished something out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and saw again the little corpse of the girl killed before his eyes by Qroshay. No one else had touched it except the vermin that had already invaded it. He dropped to his knees in front of the body, his face twitched in a grimace of pain and sorrow, and under the more than surprised eyes of the villagers, he burst into tears, and remained a long time crying loudly.
Nobody dared move or say a word. Then the tall Black Skaven felt a hand resting on his shoulder.
- ¿Hermano?
He raised his head, and saw Enrique, the man who had transmitted his message. The latter whispered a few words to him. He did not understand the meaning, but he could hear respect and compassion in the Estalian's voice.
- He just said: "You did everything you could. You are a real man", Clarin interjected. And I agree.
The villager patted the arm of the Skaven, and added:
- ¡Va con Taal y Rhya, hermano!
This time, Sigmund gave a sad little smile.
The Estalians gathered the corpses of the Feral Skaven in a single pile, to which they set fire. With infinite caution, Sigmund and Antoninus dragged the mutated soldier and threw him into the fire. Then the villagers took the time to bury Qroshay's poor little victim. Clarin, the most literate of all the company, pronounced a prayer to Taal and Rhya, and everyone gathered in silence. The diplomat could not help to notice that the saddest was the only Skaven of the whole audience.
After that, they returned to Rabanera. Along the way, some of the villagers dared to approach Sigmund, who was walking alongside Okapia. One of them patted his shoulder with a smile, an old woman thanked him in a voice still clutched by emotion, and a little boy took his hand, and didn't let him go until they reached the town. These small signs of affection, very simple, but warm, comforted a while the Black Skaven who felt his heart lighten a little.
Once back in the ravaged village, Clarin gave some instructions, and the villagers bustled. Grief still sealed their guts, but they set to work with resignation.
- I told them to start the repairs as soon as possible, so they don't let themselves go to despair.
- Good idea, approved the Black Skaven.
- We should discuss strategy, suggested Captain Antoninus. Let's go to the burgomaster's house.
The three men settled in the office of the largest house of Rabanera. The captain unfolded a map of the crown on the working table, and indicated three points.
- Here. They first attacked Chiringuito. Then they ravaged Salograr. And now it is Rabanera who has suffered their violence.
- I asked these poor people if anyone saw a White Skaven, but none of them answered in the affirmative, explained Clarin. Rabanera is a smaller place than the other two, they had to send fewer troops.
- The White Skaven must be hiding somewhere to prepare an evil plot, Sigmund grumbled.
- Why did they attack these three villages, in your opinion?
- It's obvious, your Excellency. They want to gnaw us in order to weaken us before devouring us, suggested Antoninus.
- There is something else, Sigmund replied. Before you arrived, their chief told me about a "plan". These Skaven obeyed precise orders, instructions issued by a War Chief named Blokfiste. Given the way he talked about him, he's probably a famous warlord at home. I couldn't learn anything more.
- It doesn't matter, we already have good information thanks to you.
- Wait, I'm thinking about something else. I wonder if...
The Black Skaven reached for a feather in an inkwell.
- Can I?
- Yes, we have others.
The Black Skaven took the pen, and drew three lines on the map. Each line connected two of the villages, forming a triangle whose lines were slightly higher at each intersection.
- There! Now, we have a logic.
- Another triangle of the Horned Rat, Clarin observed.
- It's in their mentality, they associate the triangle to everything they do, even unconsciously.
He put his finger on the space in the middle of the three villages.
- Is there anything special here?
- Yes, sir, answered Antoninus. This is the domain of Patrizio Nichetti, one of the richest farmers in the Principality of Sueño. He owns a huge estate and has several dozens of servants at his service. In fact, most of the people who lived in the three razed villages worked for him, near and far.
Sigmund rose his nose and faced Antoninus.
- In this case, you must evacuate the area. As quickly as possible.
Then, addressing Clarin.
- Master Clarin, can you send a messenger to Vereinbarung?
- Tell me where the pigeon relay of your kingdom nearest the border is, and your message will be transmitted tomorrow at the latest.
- I shall ask a friend to bring some troops.
- You don't trust my men? retorted Antoninus with anger.
- I do.
- So, what? Don't I not have enough soldiers, as your wish? We cleared their camp almost without any loss!
- These Feral Skaven weren't very numerous, but we don't know their plan, nor how many will execute it. And I prefer to have behind me soldiers accustomed to fight them, who will obey me without arguing because they know my decisions are appropriate. On the other hand, if we really are responsible of their attack on your home to destroy ours, it would be nothing but justice our troops get involved more than yours to make them leave.
The Black Skaven glanced toward the river.
- Now, if you allow me, I want to wash myself.
He picked up the canvas bag in which he had gathered his clothes, and quickly left the village. As he walked away, the ambassador questioned the captain.
- What do you think about it?
- I hope they won't be much more numerous than today, we don't need that.
- I was talking about this young man.
- What do you want me to say about him, Master Clarin?
- This is the first time you approach a Skaven so closely without he considers you as his enemy. Would you please tell me your impression?
Antoninus groaned.
- "Without he considers me as his enemy", I'm not as sure as you, Excellency! Seeing how he easily gets the needle, I don't know if he is so trustworthy!
- Remember our people has been waging war on his for almost one thousand and five hundred years. Even with the education he has received, he must be titillated by this enmity.
- This is an extra reason to be wary, Excellency. In addition, I remind you the rat-men are those who attack first, systematically!
Clarin looked at the captain in the eye.
- Put yourself in his shoes, even if he has not, for a moment, Captain Antoninus. Think about how he sees us, and analyze his actions. It makes him rather fascinating, I think. Judge by yourself: he doesn't seem to like us very much, yet he didn't hesitate to put his life in danger to infiltrate their band, obtain information and release prisoners to whom he owed absolutely nothing.
- I guess he obeys orders well?
- No, Antoninus. His grandfather ordered him to accompany us to analyze the terrain, not risking death for our peasants. There is something else. A kind of passion that drives him.
Clarin pouted thoughtfully.
- Yes... something motivates him, and it's not friendship with Sueño. It's deeper, more visceral. As if he was trying to prove something. Anyway, I want to trust him.
- I hope you won't have to regret it, Excellency.
Focused on the black silhouette that was now at the edge of the water, the ambassador didn't answer.