- Here we are, O Supreme-immense Grey Seer!
The Skaven who had spoken knelt down and touched the floor with its filthy snout. In truth, even if it didn't show it, it feared the wrath of its master. There was so much reason for a Son of the Horned Rat to complain and unleash its wrath on another lower-ranked Son of the Horned Rat...
Exactly, a reason dawned when the leader of the Skaven murmured in a sweet voice:
- Where are the men-things?
Fikki, the guide of the expedition, raised his head. The look of his interlocutor pressed his stomach violently. The latter was a chosen one of the Horned Rat, a white-furred Skaven, with a pair of horns on its forehead. It was rather small for an inhabitant of the Underground Empire, but in compensation, was quite potent. Its two horns were like those of a ram, and curled behind its ears. It had a rather broad, flat muzzle, and incisors nibbling nervously its lower lip. Its red eyes blinked several times, reflecting anxiety and impatience.
- I... I do not understand, brightest light of the lights!
- This village of men-things does not contain any men-thing! Why-why?
- Uh... probably because they were afraid of you, your Greatness?
The White Skaven didn't seem completely convinced. It turned its head, and called:
- Blokfiste!
The masters of the Under-Empire moved away nervously to let a remarkable Skaven pass. It was much taller than the others, of a size comparable to the Stormvermin's, but without their black coat. On the contrary, it was rather clear of fur. On the other hand, you could guess that it was a formidable warrior with his armour made up of steel plates fixed on its torso and its arms, and with the heavy lance which it carried tied behind its back. But what attracted more attention were the different modifications of its body, the infamous craft of the Masters Mutators of Clan Moulder. The most obvious were the grafted blades on its fingertips, over its claws, as well as the pieces of cutting metal implanted along the entire length of its tail. What to silence those who would have dared to laugh at it seeing its truffle as big as a melon. A truffle capable of detecting odours three times more effectively than an ordinary Skaven muzzle.
Blokfiste dropped to his knees and lowered his head. He murmured without the slightest fear or deference:
- What can I do for you, O divine master of intrigue and conquest?
- Blokfiste, have you ever seen men-things abandon their village?
- I have seen men-things flee before the magnificence and invincibility of our armies-legions. But never an empty-abandoned village. First time.
- So, it's not normal-normal for you?
- It is not, o incarnate Word of the Horned Rat.
- What do you propose-suggest?
The tall warlord tried to remain impassive. In reality, he was surprised and delighted. How could the Grey Seer, under whose orders he had been placed, ask for his opinion? This Grey Seer who was always full of pretentious certainties, this Grey Seer who spit happily on everyone because there was no older White Skaven to reframe him, needed advice from him! Inwardly, Blokfiste chuckled.
Maybe this little warp bat dung will soon lose ground?
The voice of his religious leader made him start.
- So, what can you tell me?
- Uh... I can try to smell a danger.
- Well, go on, you silly-moron!
Blokfiste clenched his teeth, irritated by the insult. A brief thought of him tearing the little creature's head kept him calm. He closed his eyes, raised his enormous muzzle towards the stars, and sniffed several times at length.
There was no noise. All the Skaven stared at their warlord, hanging on the smallest of his gestures. In the distance, crows were heard croaking between two winds, and the rustle of the river a few miles away. The huge Skaven chief stayed so for a long minute, pointing his nose in all directions, then raised his eyes.
- Something is strange, o Grey Seer... I can smell something.
The White Skaven got impatient.
- And what, perfect ass? Speak!
Blokfiste grunted in annoyance before explaining:
- Clay. A lot of clay.
- Of course you can smell clay, you idiot! We are in the middle of the cultures of men-things! A lot of soil, a lot of manure to grow their grain grasses faster! You're trying to make me doubt, you fool, but it won't work!
The Moulder War chief didn't answer. He couldn't determine precisely whether he wanted to maintain his position, or whether he would agree and submit to the explanation of his superior. The White Skaven lost interest in the warlord and waved his arms.
- Come on, Sons of the Horned Rat! Let's prepare the ritual!
Everyone started to move under the orders of the Grey Seer. That didn't realize that Blokfiste's gaze could have lit a bonfire.
In the mill on the edge of the village, there were three persons: Eusebio Clarin, Sigmund Steiner and Nedland Barnrooster. The latter had followed the whole conversation thanks to the scope on his rifle. He had found a good angle to watch the scene without the risk of being betrayed by a ray of sunshine – a precaution that he didn't need to worry about once after dark, of course, but he remained professional. The Halfling, among his many talents, had acquired that of being able to read on the lips. Thanks to Psody, the common Queekish had no more secrets for him, either, so he had understood all the dialogue, and what he deduced from it made him squint in concern.
- Shit! I hope we won't get burned!
- How could they?
- You see the biggest? He's a warlord, the other one called him Blokfiste.
- Blokfiste! The Skaven Qroshay told you about, Master Steiner! Clarin reminded.
- Right, so what? He's a soothsayer?
- No, but there is something else. From here, you cannot see it, gentlemen, but this Skaven has an Esmeralda damn long sniffer! The last time I saw one like this was on the tip of the skull of an oliphant on the Black Continent!
- Another Moulder, Sigmund growled.
- Which explains the blades added on his fingers and in his tail.
- Like Qroshay, Clarin murmured.
- I guess they had to pass through the paws of the same Master Mutator. And so... ah, wait! Good. They're about to prepare their ritual. This Blokfiste guy does not seem to insist.
- It was a great idea, Master Barnrooster!
- Of course it was a great idea, Master Clarin! I got it! Well, I admit, it scratches a little.
The Feral Skaven had not noticed it, but in reality, the village was not empty of any Human presence. The houses remained silent, with their doors closed, and the shutters hiding the windows, but they were not uninhabited. A whole battalion of Humans and Skaven was there. They were hidden in the houses, in the stable, inside the mill... Jochen Gottlieb was even waited in the well. But the Feral Skaven, too confident in their ability to naturally scare the peasants, had not taken the time to thoroughly search the place. In reality, their tunnel-devourers instinct had not been alarmed by the characteristic smell of Humans. This was perfectly understandable, as all the Vereinbarung fighters and their Sueño allies were covered with mud.
Nedland's trick had succeeded. The Skaven, too preoccupied with their preparation, had not made the difference with the aroma that floated over the surrounding fields. But the Halfling remained worried. They were numerous, perhaps a hundred of them, and were well equipped. In the sky, Morrslieb, the warpstone moon, was at its highest. Its greenish glow gave a very disturbing aspect to the picture. Four Black Skaven bent under the weight of an enormous cauldron almost as big as a Feral Skaven slave. The container had been melted in a black iron, and nuggets of warpstone were encrusted on its surface. On a sign of the White Skaven, they dropped the cauldron in the middle of the village square, the clearest spot around. The sound of hollow scrap metal ricocheted on the walls of the houses.
Clarin was pleased to see them settle here, in this village soberly called "Oropesa". Had they chosen to exercise their dark magic in Patrizio Nichetti's own domain, the plan would probably have been more difficult to execute. The wealthy owner had his mansion and park on the outskirts of the village of Oropesa, a village that his personal fortune had gradually allowed him to buy. Its inhabitants were not particularly oppressed by this "unofficial privatization", and the whole area was rather prosperous. The inhabitants were hidden in a large barracks, a day's walk away, defended by Captain Antoninus who remained in this place. The burgomaster, Nichetti himself, had however insisted again and again. He wanted the least damage possible on his domain. The diplomat had promised to do the best for the principle. In truth, both of them knew very well the uselessness of this kind of promise.
On the Oropesa main square, the Feral Skaven didn't ask themselves such questions at all. On the other hand, the White Skaven was still not convinced.
- I wonder again why the men-things have abandoned their village, Blokfiste?
- I do not know, o great and beautiful Grey Seer.
- Maybe someone warned them? Maybe there is a traitor in our ranks?
The White Skaven darted a furious look at Blokfiste.
- Wouldn't be you, by chance?
The warlord reflexively lowered his muzzle.
- I assure you not, powerful-awesome Messenger of the Horned Rat! I never-never will betray you!
- Well. Come on, it's enough! Let the ritual begin!
The Clanrats moved aside to let three decrepit, completely malformed Skaven, dressed in robes darkened with stains of all sorts. Clan Pestilens had sent three of its representatives. Each of the three Plague Monks was carrying a musette containing ingredients; organs, dead animals, tokens made with warpstone refined to various degrees, every element more sickening than the previous one. The four Stormvermins came back, with four barrels between their paws. They began to pour into the cauldron the contents of the casks.
The White Skaven stood in front of the cauldron, looked up at Morrslieb, brandished his fists at the heavens, and shouted:
- O Horned Rat, guide of the People of the Under-Empire! Listen-listen to my prayer, and accept our offering! Three times, we have shed the blood of men-things, o Horned Rat. Three times, we have left your mark on the upper world, this world waiting only for you to shape it according to your heart, and to rule it as it deserves! We adore you, o Horned Rat! We will kill-destroy traitors to your cause-will! We will blow your breath on this earth, and very soon there will be nothing but the Sons of the Horned Rat!
Nedland groaned in annoyance.
- Their nice party begins. If we have to do something to stop them, it's right now!
- Can you shoot that Grey Seer?
- I have his head in my viewfinder. You have only one word to say, and it will stop forever to output these bullshit.
- So, prepare your strike.
The Halfling still adjusted the scope of his harquebus, and gently slid his finger on the trigger. He thought for a moment.
- Maybe we should take the opportunity to take it alive?
- And how would you do, Nedland?
- A bullet in its belly.
- A bullet in its belly? repeated Clarin. Won't it be killed?
- Not if I hit exactly the right place. It probably won't have much luck surviving for more than a couple of hours, but that will be enough to capture it and make it speak.
- What do you think about it, Master Clarin? Sigmund asked.
- Hum... Are you sure of yourself, Master Barnrooster?
- On the hair of the left ear of my third cousin by marriage.
The Estalien and the Black Skaven exchanged a look of approval.
- What's your plan, Nedland?
- Sigmund, I want you to go down the mill, and you rush on it at full gallop. Let me know when you're ready. As soon as you hear my shot, the others attack, according to what was agreed, and you take advantage of the panic to abduct the Grey Seer, and you bring it back.
The young Black Skaven had hidden his faithful mare in the mill, having camouflaged it like the soldiers. He hurried back down, quietly took his mount out of the cylindrical building, mounted it, and raised his thumb toward the Halfling.
Nedland stared at the White Skaven, and when he was ready, opened fire. The harquebus barked, and the bullet went straight to its target. The White Skaven received the slug in its belly. It fell on its knees with a startled yelp.
This was the signal for the beginning of the battle. Sigmund hounded his horse and galloped towards the square, his eyes focused on the Grey Seer. And at the same moment, all the soldiers of the Human Princes burst out of their hiding place with war cries and brandished weapons. They were more than sixty. Fewer than the Sons of the Horned Rat, but much more determined. The advantage of the surprise allowed them to eliminate a dozen Feral Skaven in an instant.
Fikki yelped in fright, turned on his heels to the edge of the village, and scurried away. His only mistake was to pass near the well. He was brutally stopped by Jochen, who jumped right in front of him and smashed his head with a hammer blow.
The Grey Seer rose laboriously with a grimace of pain. It was then that it saw a Stormvermin on one of the four-legged beasts used by men-things to move quickly. The Black Skaven was rushing towards him. Quickly, it fumbled in the pocket of its gray dress, took out a little token of warpstone, and hastened to swallow it. The warp energy crackled in its stomach. It clenched his teeth, and muttered nervously a magic formula.
Sigmund stretched his legs, and slid his feet on the saddle so he could jump on his target which was approaching at full speed. Another couple of seconds, and would be able to capture the rascal. Finally, when his mare passed near the White Skaven, he jumped forward, arms outstretched. But as he closed his arms, he was brutally blinded by a cloud of green smoke. He rolled in the mud, and coughed loudly. He tried to catch his breath, swallowing loud gulps of air, and exhaled just as awkwardly. After long seconds, he finally regained full possession of his means, and got up. He glared furiously around him, searching for the White Skaven, but couldn't see it. He remembered something his father had taught him about the Warp magic of the Feral Skaven.
It surely teleported!
The Black Skaven couldn't repress a cry of frustration. He had to let off steam on somebody. It was then that he spotted a large figure, a Skaven more massive than the others, who knocked down two of Sueño's soldiers. Nothing more was needed to inflame his nervous system.
- Blokfiste!
He ran to the Feral Skaven, determined to unleash his fury on this one.
Jochen Gottlieb was very big and strong for a Human. He had inherited this might from his father, Lord Wilhelm Gottlieb, himself a native of the north of the Empire. The tall, cold Franzseska, his mother, had Kislevite blood in her veins. She had given him a little of his tenacity and coldness. At first glance, Jochen might have been thought of as a simple-minded brute who banged with all his strength without thinking, but he was not at all. During his childhood, his father had accustomed him to the violence of the battlefield by bringing him regularly to observe the shape of the soldiers of his castle after a fight, the living as the dead. In addition, he and his sister had benefited from the training of a renowned fencing master from Middenland, a mercenary of the Ulrican temple specialized in the handling of heavy weapons. Once settled in Vereinbarung, Lady Franzseska had convinced this mercenary to resume lessons for his two children. He had remained two years before hitting the road again. He had taught Jochen and Marjan the invisible but well-known subtleties of fighting with weapons like the two-handed sword or the war-mace.
And so, the young man dexterously handled his enormous crafted hammer. He hit hardly, smashed skulls, crushed bones, but he never stroke a single blow randomly. Each attack was aimed at a very precise location, with a calculated force in a heartbeat. He was even able to play with the weight of his weapon between his hands for a greater fluidity of his strikes. His determination and his familiarity with the violence of the fighting made him unperturbed. And the corpses piled up around him. The Feral Skaven rushed forward, eager to kill him, but they were quickly repulsed by his hammer. Even when two or three Clanrats wanted to attack him simultaneously, he always found a way to smash them in a hurry.
- Guys, all of this is really, really funny! laughed the young man.
He spotted three of the four Stormvermins from the battalion, who neatly slaughtered the two Skaven soldiers who had just slayed their fourth black-furred comrade.
- Ah, here's something more interesting!
He grasped his hammer firmly, and went to meet the three Black Skaven. These were stronger than ordinary Clanrats, and more disciplined, too. This didn't worry the young Human fighter. He waved his hammer with both hands with a cry of defiance. The three Black Skaven stung their halberds at the same time. Jochen jumped to one side and deviated the three rusty iron heads with a single sweep. Without interrupting his impulse, he made a turn on himself and swept the air a second time horizontally, throwing his hammer towards the head of the first Black Skaven. The Stormvermin had its head shattered, and fell on the second. The third Mighty One of the Horned Rat slammed its halberd towards the Human. Jochen presented in a flash the handle of his war hammer, which he held firmly in both hands. The blade of the halberd bounced on its metallic reinforcement. The Black Skaven didn't have time to regain its senses that the hammer of the man-thing grinded its belly.
The second Feral Black Skaven, still standing, realized that he was dealing with an even tougher opponent. Without saying a word, it raised his spear, bowed its head, and slowly turned around the man-thing, ready to leap. Jochen chuckled softly and smiled at the Stormvermin. He knew he couldn't afford any clumsy move. They stayed so for a few seconds. Finally, the Stormvermin mowed the air with its halberd. Jochen lifted the handle of his weapon vertically to parry the blow, but at the last moment, the Feral Black Skaven whirled its halberd and immediately attacked a second time by the other side. Another less experienced warrior wouldn't have had time to anticipate and would have received the iron head in the ribs. Jochen wasn't. He made a small jump to the side, turned to the other way, stopped the blow, and sent the head of his hammer directly into the chest of the Stormvermin. Its bumpy plastron didn't protect it enough. The Mighty One stumbled and fell on its bottom, its breath cleanly cut. One last blow on its muzzle definitely ended the fight.
Jochen didn't want to make wait for other Feral Skaven by savouring his victory. He searched for another opponent to put down.
As he pierced the chest of a traitor to the Horned Rat, Blokfiste heard a voice calling him angrily. He turned on his bare heels. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw a Mighty One just a few steps away from him. Its armour, its sword were designed and maintained in the manner of men-things like the other traitors to the Horned Rat, but this one looked more combative. Blokfiste had already trained on Black Skaven, and knew how formidable they could be. He twirled his heavy spear and hissed:
- I'm going to skin-skin you, false Son of the Horned Rat!
- You're the one to die, you Moulder freak!
Young Steiner rushed to his opponent with a fierce bellow. The ochre Skaven swept the air with his spear. Sigmund parried the rusty metal head with a firm sword blow. Blokfiste twisted his wrists to accompany the movement, and hit the Black Skaven with a thrust of the spear-stick. Sigmund groaned as he felt the weapon bruise his shoulder. He grabbed Heart of Unicorn with his both hands, brandished it above his head, and jumped to Blokfiste, slamming the sword up and down. The warlord held out his spear with both hands. The gromril blade cut the wooden staff in half, in front of the surprised eyes of the ochre Skaven.
This one didn't remain dazed very long. In a flash, he swung forward his long tail with metal blades incrusted in. The appendix lashed Sigmund's ribs. He recoiled with a brief shout of pain. His armour had cushioned the impact, but blood soaked the torn sleeves of his jacket. The pain lacerated his left arm. Furious, the Black Skaven twirled his sword, then swept the air again to hit Blokfiste's head. The warlord dropped the two pieces of his spear, and seized the blade of Heart of Unicorn just between his steel claws. Thanks to the infamous science of Clan Moulder, the tendons of his fingers and the muscles of his wrists could deploy a strength far superior to that of an ordinary hand, with which he snatched the sword from young Steiner's hands. He threw it on the ground with one hand, and sent the other towards the face of his adversary.
Sigmund drew back again with a louder cry of pain. He stumbled, and rolled on the ground. Blokfiste stooped proudly, fists on his hips, and burst out laughing. He quietly picked up the end of his broken spear with the iron head on its tip, twirled it, and threw it to the Black Skaven still on the ground. Sigmund spun backward, narrowly avoided the fatal trait. He jumped up. Blokfiste stopped laughing. He stretched his two paws forward, and ran towards Sigmund with a yelp of rage. Sigmund rushed in his turn, but at the last moment, stopped, leaned on his tail, and sent his two legs forward. He hit the ochre Skaven in the stomach.
It was Blokfiste's turn to roll to the ground. Overexcited, Sigmund picked up the spear of the war chief who was dragging near him, and hurled it at Blokfiste. The spear planted between two rings of flesh from the tail of the Feral Skaven. The warlord found himself nailed to the ground, lying on his back. Sigmund did not waste time bragging. He rushed towards his sword, seized him without ceasing to run, and returned to Blokfiste to inflict him the deadly strike. The Feral Skaven grabbed the handle of his spear and yanked it away. He pushed on his hips and narrowly escaped the sinusoidal blade... which cut his tail cleanly.
Without taking the time to feel the pain of this new wound, Blokfiste leaped on Sigmund and punched his muzzle. The Black Skaven immediately saw stars. He fell to his knees. The world was circling around him, blood was beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear anything, and a black veil covered his eyes. The taste of blood fulfilled his mouth. He raised his nose painfully, and felt his heart quicken as he spotted in the middle of the whirlwind of colours that fluttered around him the bright form of Blokfiste. The hoarse voice of the ochre Skaven echoed in his skull.
- You can fight well, Stormvermin. But not enough-enough.
Blokfiste took a few steps to get a good distance from the young Black Skaven, and raised his arm firmly, ready to spike him with his broken.
- May the Horned Rat devour-digest you!
He threw his weapon. Sigmund felt a violent blow of adrenaline whipping his nervous system. He stopped thinking and let his instinct guide his actions. His arm went forward, and his gloved hand grabbed the lance shaft just as it was about to reach him. Without giving Blokfiste time to understand, he turned the spear over his head and hurled it again with all his might. The rusty iron head sank into the shoulder of the ochre Skaven in a sheaf of flesh and blood. Blokfiste squeaked in pain and flickered on his legs.
- Hold on, Siggy!
Jochen and another Human who was following him ran in the direction of the two fighters. The warlord immediately realized that he wouldn't have the upper hand. He had to flee. He looked quickly around him, and spotted something that made him react quickly, in defiance of the pain that burned his side.
Not far from him was the warpstone cauldron. The Plague Monks were gathered around, so drugged that they were barely aware of all the confusion around them. They were throwing the different ingredients inside, sneering. Blokfiste ran at full speed, skirted the cauldron, and knocked down one of the Pestilens with a shove. Then he put his valid hand on the edge of the cauldron, and pushed with all his might. The Plague Monks glared with surprise at the interruption of their ritual, but the warlord didn't pay attention. The wrought iron cauldron encrusted with warpstone flickered slowly, then fell forward in a loud clang.
Sigmund had regained control of his senses. He was following Jochen and his partner as best he could. The hairs of his fur bristled when he heard his friend exclaim:
- Step aside!
He saw a wave of bubbling, greenish liquid flowing straight in their direction. He had only time to jump on his side. He felt a heat wave sting his feet, but fortunately he had managed to get out of reach of the mixture. Jochen too. Unfortunately, the other soldier slipped, and sprawled all the way into the puddle. The result was not long in coming. He screamed, louder and louder, as he rolled in pain on the dust, and a flurry of aberrational mutations swept over his whole body: a third leg pushed him in the back, the fingers of his left hand merged in a pearly pincer, his neck lengthened to aberration, his legs melted into a bundle of vermicelli.
From the top of his post, Nedland Barnrooster spotted the unfortunate soldier. Without the slightest hesitation, he made his head explode with a bullet.
Sigmund got up, and ran to Jochen, who was still on the ground. He grabbed his wrist and helped him to stand up again. He was furious.
- Where is he? Where is this motherfucker?
- He ran away!
And it was true. Blokfiste had taken advantage of the confusion to escape. The two friends wanted to find him. They went back to the spilled cauldron, spotted the traces of the blood of the ochre Skaven, but with the mud and the bodies strewing the ground, it was not possible to determine exactly where he had gone.
- With one arm less, he won't go far.
- The field is clear, if we can't see him, I'm afraid he was able to distance us!
The battle was over. The last Feral Skaven were desperately trying to escape the warriors of Sueño. Master Clarin joined the two friends.
- Caballeros! Are you hurt?
- We're not, Master Clarin, Jochen answered.
- Captain Gottlieb, your fighting skills are impressive!
- Oh, three times nothing, excellence, these ugly worms were only small fry!
- Not all of them, Sigmund muttered.
The Estalian lowered his eyes to the ground, and shivered with disgust.
- Manann have mercy…
The fight had stopped, the Feral Skaven still alive had quickly fled as they had seen their leader abandon them. Alas, nobody had the heart to rejoice. In fact, the concoction contained in the cauldron was completely spread on the ground, and the earth had already begun to absorb it. Which was causing a real decay of the soil itself. The earth had cracked, and had become blackish and ashen. Some very disturbing green lights and plumes of smoke emanated from the cracks.
The Estalien looked at the Black Skaven.
- Have you seen that before?
- No. Not even in their burrows. But I guess it's the kind of thing that happens often, at their home.
There was suddenly a succession of squeaks, and a swarm of rodents escaped the molehills. Rabbits, rats, field mice, all had begun to mutate into disgusting little creatures.
- Back all! Do not let them bite you! Jochen ordered.
Humans and Skaven immediately obeyed, those who could hasten to climb improvised shelters. The abominable horde of vermin scattered.
When the silence returned, everyone was still trembling.
- Gosh, how horrible... Clarin murmured again.
- Don't worry, these rats won't live long, assured Nedland.
- I believe you, Master Barnrooster, but I didn't think that mutation could have such effects.
The diplomat extended his arms. For the first time since he had introduced himself to Prince Steiner, his handsome, delicate face was heavy with annoyance.
- Look at this! The whole area is corrupted! What am I going to say to Master Nichetti?
- You say Master Nichetti this is the kind of complication to expect when you face a Grey Seer! retorted Nedland. In addition, he can consider himself happy.
- Oh, really? The central square of his domain, completely impracticable, and we don't know how far it goes, and he can consider himself happy?
- Yeah, because the ritual has not been accomplished! Psody already told me what the Pestilens could do. The Morrslieb rays should have charged their poison with energy. The rot would have been much more violent. The whole village, the houses, and even us, all could have been touched. For the moment, it is in this state, and it doesn't seem to grow.
- Anyway, that's not a reason to hang out! replied Jochen. We'll first count ourselves, then gather the corpses to burn them. Then we'll return to report.
- What? You're going to leave the place like this? exclaimed Clarin.
The tall Human approached, and had a smile that mingled irony, sympathy, and condescension.
- You might want to shovel all that shit by yourself, excellence?
- Don't be ridiculous, Captain Gottlieb! I don't want to finish like that poor man!
- Me neither, and no one here wishes it. This is a pollution of magical origin. The only way to fight it is to call a magician. Luckily, the father of the Black Skaven is, and in addition he can manipulate the Magic of Life. The best thing to do is to find him as soon as possible so that he finds a way to purge all that.
The Estalian relaxed a little, and nodded affirmatively. Jochen turned to the troops.
- We lost enough time, guys! Come on!
The men and Skaven went to work. Sigmund felt the pain of his wounds. He sat down, and tore off the sleeve of his tunic. He winced as he saw the irregular cuts that tore the fur and skin of his arm. He clenched his teeth even harder when he saw small pieces of metal planted in his flesh.
Clarin noticed it, and leaned toward him.
- We shall pass by the nearest temple of Shallya. It is absolutely necessary to make you examine!
- Indeed, you're right, Sigmund gasped.
Jochen had finished the counting the men.
- We have twelve dead and a few wounded. It could have been worse. But I heard your idea of going through a temple, and I think it's good, Master Clarin.
- Serious wounds?
- Some, but especially, with the vapours we breathe, it is better that the doves do us some fumigations, in case of.
It took nearly half an hour to gather the corpses of the Feral Skaven in a large pile and find enough oil to set it on fire. Once more, and this seemed to him even more painful than in Rabanera, Clarin prayed for the victims of the Feral Skaven, especially the unfortunate man who had been completely dissolved by the Pestilens potion.
The Estalian talked to Jochen.
- Sorry to have overreacted, but all of this is starting to seriously worry me.
- No worries, excellence. Me too, I'm getting tired of this. We will have to take more appropriate measures, I believe.
Clarin cleared his throat.
- I have to go to Patrizio Nichetti to summarize him the situation. After that, I'll come back to your Prince. I want to be in the front row for the next events.
- You don't have to, Master Clarin.
- I really do, Master Barnrooster. This case has become a personal one. Shall we meet at Steinerburg?
- I propose something else: you take the seriously wounded ones to the first temple of Shallya between here and the barracks where Nichetti is. Some valid warriors will accompany you for the form. Nedland goes to Steinerburg with the others. I go my side with Sigmund, and we'll be waiting for you in the village of Sondernach.
- Sondernach, right. A reason for that?
- Nothing very important, excellence. It's just a perfect place to have a little break.
Sigmund hadn't participated in the collection of the corpses. Nedland had stayed close to him to help him treat his wounds. After the prayer time, the Halfling moved closer to the Black Skaven.
- How are you, son?
- I've been better, Sigmund grumbled.
- Not too disappointed?
- I'll get worse.
Sigmund had replied without any conviction. Nedland, meanwhile, was furious. He spat on the ground.
- I was sure to have shot that fat slime ball in his belly! Besides, I got him! I saw him fall to the ground!
- Maybe he was wearing an armour?
- Under a Grey Seer robe?
- Made with padded fabric?
- I don't know, but anyway, it would not let the magical energies pass! I'm not a magician like your father, but I've had enough sided magicians to know that! No, there is something else. Normally, he couldn't have got up and run away like that! Not with a bullet of a calibre sufficient to tear off an arm burrowed into the meat!
He sighed.
- Sorry, big boy. If I had known, I wouldn't have made you take such a risk.
- Don't worry, we'll find him, whispered the tall Black Skaven.
He squeezed his fist, thinking of Blokfiste.
And you, you're in a lot of trouble later!