One of Sigmund's fondest memories was the one of his birthday, a couple of years earlier. Prince Ludwig had decided to offer a mount to each of his two twin grandchildren. He had taken them, him and his sister, to the best horse supplier in Steinerburg.
Sigmund had spotted her immediately, away in the stable. The animal was massive, robust, her raven-black mane contrasted with her cream coat. She snorted loudly at anyone who came a little too close. The trainer had warned the Steiner family; he didn't know what to do with this beast. Had the withdrawal had any lingering consequences? Or had she simply bad temper? Anyway, no one had gotten anything good out of her. Bianka had settled for a docile bay horse.
Sigmund didn't.
Right away, he had the crush with this mare. Deep inside of himself, he knew that no other mount could please him so much than she was. This isolation, this asocial character, this black mane... So many little things that obviously reminded him of his own person.
Despite the prince's observations and the sarcasm from the grooms, the young ratman had stayed all day near the beast's enclosure. His grandfather and sister had left him there. He had patiently waited for a sign from the mare, sat just behind the barrier, motionless, convinced that he was the only one who could fully understand her, and therefore be accepted by her.
Finally, by sunset, the animal had raised her eyes at him. They had looked at each other for a long minute. The mare slowly approached the Black Skaven. Sigmund understood that he had earned her trust. She let him stroke her muzzle, then pet her neck and her side, under the stunned gaze of the stable employees. It was then that he gave it his name: Okapia. He had never known where he had come up with such a name, but the mare had always answered his call.
Since then, an indissoluble bond linked the Black Skaven to his faithful mount. They shared at least one character trait: obstinacy. Okapia could be at least as stubborn as her master, and wasn't the kind to run away at the first difficulty. She was exceptionally strong and enduring, and had proven her superiority on several occasions over other apparently larger and beefy horses. And as Sigmund had explained to Clarin, she wouldn't let any adult other than himself and his little sister ride on her back.
Sigmund was in the midst of the uproar. All around him was screaming, moaning, squirting of blood, corrupting to the last degree cough. But he wasn't worried. He had complete confidence in his mare. Okapia was his best friend, whom he trusted blindly. And so, he knew she would lead him to his goal. Suddenly, she leaped aside, and dodged the warpstone drill of a warp-grinder. The Black Skaven shouted:
- Well done, my beauty! Come on, let's go for them!
By "them" he meant two Feral Skaven with their back to him, manoeuvring a doomflayer a few paces away. One was perched on the top of the Norscan-sized wheel, rotating it in the desired direction with levers, the other, beefier, pushed the machine to move it. The articulated blades attached to the front of the machine chopped loudly a Vereinbarung Human. The two sons of the Horned Rat sneered and insulted their victim. The Black Skaven took no notice. Only one small detail interested him: the Feral Skaven installed on the upper part of the doomflayer was exactly at the right height. A single movement of Heart of Unicorn was enough to separate its head from its neck.
The burly Feral Skaven realized something was wrong when it saw its comrade's headless corpse tip over onto its side. It spotted Sigmund then, and yelped aggressively. Okapia spun around, and sent her hind legs in a terrible kick that hit the Feral Skaven in its chest. The hapless Skryre vanished into the dust, its ribs shattered. Sigmund brought his mare closer to the doomflayer. He jumped to the ground, grabbed the handle, and tried to lift the machine. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the weight of the Skryre engine, and couldn't carry it on his shoulder.
- I don't believe it!
Sigmund saw further Kristofferson approaching their target. He felt panic rise in him. He wouldn't be able to lead his improvised plan!
Suddenly, something surprising to say the least happened: two clods of earth rose up on either side of the doomflayer, stuck to the hubs that supported the central wheel, then solidified to form two giant chicken feet.
This is one of Father's tricks!
The paws straightened, and raised the doomflayer a couple of feet from the ground, which allowed Sigmund to push it while running, followed by Okapia.
The Stormfiend was wreaking havoc. It tirelessly swayed torrents of warpstone fire in all directions, without any consideration for the Feral Skaven of its own burrow. In fact, this living machine was indeed one of the most recent deadly inventions of Clan Moulder. It was a Rat-Ogre modified by the Skryre Warlock Engineers to spread death with sophisticated weapons. Some received ratling machine guns, others giant warp-grinders. The authors of these creations had taken as a model the famous Boneripper, Grey Seer Thanquol's personal Rat-Ogre. Thanquol had "consumed" several Rats-Ogres in the past, the most recent had been a special model with Skryre weapons included. Several Under-Empire Warlords had wanted to have their own specimen.
Ordinary Rats-Ogres were mindless brutes, incapable of thinking. Their instincts prompted them to feed or defend themselves, but nothing more could be expected from them without the presence of a Packmaster to give them orders. Even Boneripper needed to hear its master's voice to unleash its fighting spirit. Common Rats-Ogres weren't always easy to manoeuvre, and it was much worse for Stormfiends. The solution had come from Hellpit. Master Mutator Throt the Unclean of Clan Moulder, a genius with creativity comparable to Ikit Claw of Clan Skryre's, had come up with a particularly filthy idea to remedy this problem.
Each Stormfiend was equipped with a "pilot", specifically a Skaven treated with a particular combination of warpstone and very painful surgery. By the time the treatment was over, the unfortunate "volunteer" was stunted, its limbs becoming tiny and too weak to support its body, especially its head, whose brain had tripled in size. The pilot was grafted into the Stormfiend, and its brain was directly connected to what was left in the big creature's skull. So it could make the Stormfiend move, and make it attack anything it saw through its small eyes. The battle allowed it to forget a little while the eternal pain that was its daily life until the end of this happily short life.
And it was precisely on this pitiful breed Kristofferson focused his gaze.
If I spike this ugly thing, Sigmund might not even need any diversion!
The brown Skaven galloped his horse towards the monster. His rapier held in his left hand, he hoped to plunge it into the little creature's eye. He was getting closer, savouring every yard short of his target. But with it just seconds from the fateful moment, the pilot widened its small black eyes and squealed so loudly that the young ratman ached in his eardrums. Immediately, the Stormfiend turned, and aimed its two flamethrowers at Kristofferson. The young ratman only had time to throw himself to the ground to avoid the whirlwind of green crossfires. He flattened himself as much as he could, and noticed the flame torrent ricocheted off on some sort of invisible hemisphere that hovered just above him. Probably a protection spell cast by the Master Mage. The fire ceased to green.
Thanks, Father!
The brown Skaven's horse was not so lucky. The poor animal rolled around in the dust with heart-rending neighs. Its mane was burning, its charred skin was already falling in patches. Kristofferson wanted to approach to finish him off, but the horse stirred the air with its four hooves with such force that the young ratman didn't dare risk being hit. Either way, it wasn't necessary. The Stormfiend rushed forward, arms outstretched, grabbed the horse by its neck, and pulled, tugged, until it ripped off its head, then enjoyed breaking the carcass apart.
Kristofferson wanted to seize the opportunity. He rushed towards the Stormfiend, and wanted to walk around it. But no sooner was he in front of the pilot when the wiry little creature cried out again, and forced the Stormfiend to stand up and face the brown Skaven. Kristofferson leaped forward, gripped the monster's shoulder with his left hand, climbed onto its back, and grabbed its shoulders as tightly as he could. The pilot was not mindless enough to risk setting its sewn flesh vehicle on fire. The Stormfiend growled louder, shook itself, and tried to dislodge young Steiner with one of its huge paws. Fortunately, Kristofferson was very nimble, and even with an arm handicap, he was still mobile enough to avoid being hit. Unfortunately, he could not take the opportunity to try to plant his weapon in the little horror. Between two dodges, he had time to think:
Siggy, what the heck are you doing?
The Black Skaven was rushing towards the immense form of the Moulder vile invention. He knew his trusty battle mate was going to be afraid of the Stormfiend. She was not used to the presence of such an aberration. But he didn't need to make her take any more risks. Still holding the noisily spinning doomflayer at arm's length, he clenched his teeth. The enormous modified Rat-Ogre was struggling with Kristofferson. This one, still clinging to the monster, flew from side to side, on its back, on its chest, like a snake grappling with its prey.
Sigmund ordered his mount:
- Go away! I'll meet you later!
The mare galloped off. The Black Skaven raised the war weapon, helped by the clay chicken feet. Kristofferson saw him arrive, and understood his idea. Quickly, he hastened to position himself right on the Stormfiend's chest, then he drew his pistol with his tail, and shot under the big helmeted head, down the throat. This was not enough to kill the Stormfiend, but the pilot found himself destabilized by the shock. Kristofferson coughed in pain when he felt the creature's arms close around him, but he knew his ruse had succeeded. The little Skaven clinging to the Stormfiend's back, still shaken, then saw the swirling sparkling blades approaching, and was so surprised it couldn't even squeal.
Sigmund pressed the doomflayer against the Stormfiend's back, and pushed with all his might. There was a dreadful sound of flesh and bones reduced to lint, then the machine struggled to spin its blades again as it attacked the Rat-Ogre's thick muscles. Luckily for Kristofferson, the enormous monster found himself paralyzed, arms outstretched, electrified by the pain the pilot was feeling. The eldest Steiner broke free from the beast's embrace, leaped a few feet away, and ducked just in time to avoid a burst of flames. The Stormfiend sent forth its warpstone fires without stopping.
Sigmund then noticed the fuel tank located below the pilot, connected to the flamethrowers. He forced to lower the doomflayer to slice the pipes and cut off the fuel supply. He so silenced the deadly green fountains.
The Stormfiend seemed to be in tremendous pain. Its mechanics twitched, its gears spun so fast they jumped out, its springs dislocated, its heavy tail twitched nervously, and its motors emitted a whole battery of sounds that sounded more like groans of pain than malfunctions. After long and unbearable seconds, the monster toppled forward and collapsed with a loud crash.
Sigmund dropped the doomflayer. This one had stopped, made useless, it was obviously not intended to slash game of this size. The chicken feet crumbled to dust in seconds. Kristofferson strode back to his side. The Black Skaven looked at the Skryre weapon again.
- Not bad, this machine! Maybe we should bring it back to Gabriel? What if he could craft another one?
- I don't know if he would like it... Unless we use it to harvest wheat? In any case, well done, Siggy! You were great!
- So, you can see that I'm good for something when I'm perfectly sober!
- I never doubted it, brother.
- That's not what you said a while ago...
Kristofferson held up his hand to cut short the looming argument.
- Hold on!
- What?
- Can't you hear anything?
- In the middle of a battlefield? Do you really believe that...
- Shut up, I'm telling you! Listen!
Sigmund grumbled, but strained his ears. Sweat flooded his black coat when he heard voices. They whispered in the odious language of the Under-Empire words full of contempt and hatred. "Nasty traitors!" "Weak-wimps!" "Die-die now-now!" And as the clouds of smoke emitted by the Stormfiend cleared, the Feral Skaven appeared in great numbers. They surrounded the two brothers in a circle of rusty blades, dirty smelly fur, claws ready to lacerate, teeth eager to bite, and eyes that blinked with the same greed to kill.
Kristofferson looked around quickly. There was no way out. But he had an idea. He raised his rapier, got into position, and said in a clear voice:
- The wind was blowing hard that day.
But contrary to the brown Skaven's hopes, Sigmund didn't react, didn't get behind him as the manoeuvre demanded. Kristofferson repeated more nervously:
- The wind was blowing hard that day!
- But… I can't! the Black Skaven moaned. I don't know how to do Siggy's Mill on the left side! Change your hand!
- I remind you it is impossible! the older brother yelped, angrily presenting the arm he still had in a sling.
- Then the mill won't turn!
There were now about thirty Feral Skaven around Kristofferson and Sigmund. The brown Skaven reproached, his teeth clenched:
- I told you to practice with your left hand!
- I will, I promise.
- I'm afraid it's quite a little too late for that!
The Feral Skaven slowly approached, concentrated on moving at the same pace, like some unhealthy choreography, and the circle inexorably closed on the two brothers.
- We'll have to deal with in another way, I guess.
- Sorry, Kit...
- Now is not the time to be sorry, but creative! We need to break through their...
Kristofferson didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. A low rumbling sounded at their feet, and suddenly the earth split open. Clods of earth were brutally catapulted by the pressure of water. Water from a geyser that escaped through the slit. The Feral Skaven on the path of the jet were knocked aside. The geyser broke the circle and created a breach that the two brothers didn't fail to exploit.
They ran as fast as they could in the direction of the ascending torrent. Psody released his concentration, the water stopped flowing, leaving the way open for his children. By the way, Sigmund couldn't help but bawl:
- Go take a bath, you filthy bastards!
Save your breath, you fool! Kristofferson thought, annoyed. Already the Skaven on the ground were getting up, while the others were in pursuit. The two Steiner went up the basin. The Black Skaven almost felt the breath of pursuers on his back.
The sound of a bugle was heard. But it was not the one that usually resonated during assaults by the regular army of Vereinbarung. Kristofferson wondered where the ban could come from. He didn't have to look for the answer for long.
An entire battalion of cavalry rushed from the top of the quarry, and raced towards the Feral Skaven. The ratmen's pursuers immediately turned around, and scattered all over the place. They were quickly caught and slayed by the Humans on horseback.
Sigmund laughed when he recognized Sueño's banner. A horseman approached the young ratmen. It was Eusebio Clarin.
- What a pleasure to see you, Sir Clarin! You have arrived at the right time!
- We charged when we saw the illusion in the sky.
- You took your time! Kristofferson reproached, much less enthusiastically.
- We absolutely had to stay away enough that they couldn't see us! These were your father's instructions!
- Speaking of, I'll see what that one becomes!
Kristofferson gripped his sword tighter, and ran to where he had left the Master Mage behind. The Estalian smiled.
- Master Sigmund, will you please me to agree to fight by my side?
- All the pleasure will be mine, Master Clarin! Just give me a moment, time for Okapia to come...
- Ah, your faithful friend is here?
- I never go into battle without her!
The large Black Skaven put two fingers in his mouth, and loudly whistled.
- While waiting, I better stay up to you!
Clarin dismounted, and approached Sigmund. A group of routed Feral Skaven was heading towards them.
- Watch out!
Sigmund threw his arm forward, towards the Estalian. The dagger he was holding swooshed straight at him, but didn't hit him. Clarin turned in a reflex, the time to see the bladed weapon sink into the heart of a Feral Skaven who was about to pounce on him.
Clarin pivoted back to the Black Skaven with a small smile.
- One for you, young man. And now…
He drew his pistol, pulled the trigger, and shot a Gutter Runner perched on the corpse of the Stormfiend just above Sigmund. The assassin fell at the feet of the Black ratman. The latter looked up at the Estalian, caught off guard. Clarin commented:
- One for me!
Sigmund shook his head, and came to his senses. And the two companions stayed close to each other, and multiplied the passes of arms. Each of them scrambled in his own way, the Feral Skaven scampered more than they fought. In less than half a minute, they had slashed all the inhabitants of the Under-Empire who had passed within their perimeter.
Sigmund pouted a little.
- Not bad, your style, Master Clarin! Your blade flutters and bites cruelly in small lacerations, or else it dives directly into the most sensitive parts of the body, cleanly and without burrs. Refined, elegant, and formidable at the same time!
- This is how Estalian weapon masters teach noble children to fight. It's faster than imperial fencing. However, this requires some precision, and it does not say that this way of fighting is effective against large and strong opponents, or heavily protected ones.
- Unless you aim for the eyes?
- Hence the need to be precise. However, I don't know if I could have challenged this horror.
Sueño's ambassador pointed his sword at the Stormfiend carcass.
- Indeed... Notice, even I had to use the great resources! replied the Black Skaven, pointing to the still smoking doomflayer.
The two men at arms exchanged a brief burst of laughter. It was at this point that Okapia arrived alongside her master.
Sigmund leaped into the mare's saddle. Clarin mounted his horse again.
- Come with me, Master Sigmund!
- I'm behind you!
The two horsemen joined a large group of steed riders. The Black Skaven recognized Captain Felipe Antoninus at their head.
- Ah, young man, we were just waiting for you to end this! Are you with us?
- Rather twice than once, Captain!
With the Black Skaven and the Ambassador at his side, Captain Antoninus raised his sabre.
- ¡Carga!
Sueño's troop charged once again towards the Feral Skaven. The Vereinbarung fighters, for their part, regained courage when they saw the Estalian soldiers come to their aid, and their assaults redoubled of energy. Three pairs of warp-grinders carriers wanted to defend themselves anyway, and the huge warpstone wicks twirled threateningly. The Estalians' horses were too fast for them, rounded them easily, and the riders, well trained in this kind of tactic, had no trouble cutting the Skryre to pieces.
Everyone had been surprised to see these unexpected reinforcements arrive... except for Nedland and Psody. Still at the top of the quarry, the two friends applauded the arrival of the Estalians.
- Ah, looks like Manann wants to help us!
- Go-go! For Prince Steiner, and for Prince Calderon!
Carried away by the heat of the action, Nedland rushed forward to find a vantage point, and shoot down a few fugitives. A shrill cry suddenly caught the attention of the White Skaven left alone. He turned his head, and his heart leaped again in his chest. There, on the pebbles, his daughter Bianka was lying, completely naked, desperately trying to extricate herself from the embrace of a Clanrat lying on her. Just a few feet away, Kristofferson and Sigmund were arguing violently without even looking at her.
- Look, you thirsty mutt, you can't protect your twin sister!
- Fuck you, moron! I piss on the birth right you never had!
The argument immediately degenerated into a tussle. Something then fell on the Master Mage's head: a small fragment of raw warpstone. Then a second green pebble fell, followed by half a dozen. Sigmund swept the air with his sword, and Kristofferson's head rolled in the dust. Thunder burst, and hail of warpstone struck the battlefield. The Clanrat who was assaulting the young ratgirl didn't care. It was finishing strangling the unfortunate woman, its coat burning because of the hot stone.
The whirlwind of violence and cruelty made Psody's head spin, he narrowed his eyes as he saw his own hands being consumed.
Calm down-down, it's that Iapoch scoundrel starting to shake my brain again. If it's getting so apocalyptic, it's because he's doing all he can do. Because he's panicking!
It was an opportunity to retaliate. Psody closed his eyes, locked his mind, took a deep breath. Ignoring the agonizing cries of the illusion, he focused his thoughts on his daughter Bianka, looking for a positive image, a pleasant thought to cling onto. He found one.
She was there, so proud to show him the parchment signed and sealed by the head of the temple of Verena in Steinerburg, a document that had made her an official assistant to the archives. She never had been so radiant. She never had seemed so happy to him.
Finally, the screams ceased, the burning sensation subsided, the smell of toasted flesh dissipated. Above all, he felt more and more clearly the origin of the warp wind that had tormented him.
This time, I know what kind of being you are...
Suddenly his mustache twitched.
AND YOU ARE THERE!
With a loud cry, Psody raised his hands, stretched out his fingers to the sky. And his plan worked. Somewhere, on the other side of the quarry, the earth itself rose up, a swarm of stalagmites spontaneously erupted from the ground and formed a circle around a precise point. The point where he had felt the spiritual strength of the Grey Seer. The effort was such that it brought tears to his eyes. He fell back, and rolled in the dust.
- By Verena's scales! No! Father!
Psody smiled despite the pain that crushed his skull like an incandescent lead vice. He had just recognized the very real voice of his son. Kristofferson slapped his cheek feverishly.
- Father, please! Open your eyes!
- Ouch! I'm alright, Kit, stop!
The White Skaven lifted his eyelids. Above him, the young brown ratman wavered between worry and relief. He grabbed his shoulders.
- I've found him, Kit! gurgled the Master Mage between two pants. See the rocky formation over there?
- It wasn't there when we arrived! Did you made it grow?
- That little shithead is stuck in there. Don't let him get away-away, I'll join you as soon as I catch my breath back.
Psody hadn't finished his sentence Kristofferson had already run to his target.
His throat ached so much he couldn't breathe anymore. He had only one idea in mind: to flee as far as possible. What just happened? The whole plan had unfolded as the Horned Rat had intended. The men-things had come in significant numbers, but the Warriors of the Under-Empire were so much stronger, more numerous, more ferocious... And then suddenly, unexpected reinforcements had arrived from the other side.
Iapoch was mad with anger. How could these men-things come about? Vereinbarung's man-thing had assured him victory would be for the Under-Empire. Had it lied to him? Or, all the Skaven under his command had decided to betray him at the same time. Yes, that was probably it. He was far too smart, too dangerous, and inevitably there were envious people who wanted his downfall, and who had called other men-things to overthrow him.
He had resisted. No question of losing to the Blasphemous One. He had then sent everything he could to drive him mad for good. And the unthinkable had happened: just as he was about to blow the brains of his enemy, something suddenly distracted the Grey Seer. The earth itself had plotted against him, forming around him a kind of limestone bars cage.
And for the first time since he had decided to take the Blasphemous One's head, Iapoch was afraid. The situation was slipping away from him this time, for sure. Everything was against him, and without direct intervention from the Horned Rat, there was nothing left to hope for today.
The best thing to do was to get out of the area as soon as possible, go back to where he came from, build up some substantial strength, and come again. Using magic, he had succeeded in dissolving a stalagmite, at the cost of a long and exhausting effort. He had managed to slip out of that natural cage, and now he was running as fast as he could on the opposite direction of the melee. He heard the drums and the bugles, and the groans of his troops massacred by men-things. His forehead was boiling with anger.
He would take revenge. And he would rip out the heart of the Blasphemous One and eat it. And he would enslave all the men-things that got involved in a battle that didn't concern them. And he would make the three females of the Blasphemous One his personal breeders up to their death. And…
A violent pain lacerated the inside of his thigh, causing him to fall. The stones bruised his hands and his muzzle. Tears of pain heated his eyes. He twisted his neck to look at his leg, and winced when he saw a hole puncturing his grey dress, and blood slowly soaking the fabric.
An authoritative voice spoke in his native language.
- Don't move, Grey Seer Iapoch!
Iapoch turned around and found himself on his back. One of the traitors to the Horned Rat was advancing towards him, reloading its pistol. It was a young brown Clanrat. He immediately recognized the face he had seen many times in Psody's mind.
- You… you are the son of my enemy!
- And you are the enemy of my father.
- The Blasphemous One… Psody the traitor! Psody the vermin!
- Do you think you're better-better?
- I'm a Horned Rat messenger! One of his favourites-favourites!
- Right now, you're looking more like a large, horned crawling slug.
For the first time in his life, Kristofferson was seeing a Grey Seer up close. Until now, he had dealt with the spiritual rulers of the Under-Empire only in a very episodic way, and never so directly. Each time he had taken part in a Harvest, it had taken place in a burrow too modest to welcome a chosen one of the Horned Rat, or on the contrary, in a very large city, where nurseries were generally away from districts where the White Skaven used to live. And the days he had to fight against pursuers, the local Grey Seers never had the courage to track them up to the surface, and preferred to delegate this dirty work to the underlings.
Iapoch rightly fitted the image Kristofferson had of Grey Seers: a miserable, smelly individual, trembling with fear and anger in front of his own failure. The White Skaven was quite tall, and his thinness made him look taller than he was. His grey dress had many stains of dirt, in addition to the blood spot visible under his crotch. But above all, there emanated from his whole self a strange, abnormal feeling. Young Steiner couldn't determinate whether he felt anger towards the Grey Seer, or just pity.
The White Skaven gritted his teeth and glared at Kristofferson with his small black eyes.
- Do you think you're a great warrior? You're threatening a wounded-disarmed Grey Seer, and you're proud of yourself? Stupid idiot! You're not a hero! You and all those who have been brought up by men-things are insults-affronts to our race!
- No. We have the same goal, Iapoch. I want the Skaven to flourish-prosper too. The difference is the means. You have kept the violence and the fear they transmitted to you. It just destroys, over and over again. My father learned to see with love. It was with this love he created the Rat Kingdom with his friends. This Kingdom you seek to destroy is our future-future. A future where you could have had your place, if you had chosen to come to us as a friend. Instead, you and your accomplices declared war on us. We defended ourselves. You would have done the same thing.
The brown Skaven calmly held out the pistol at the White Skaven. A torrent of confusion flooded Iapoch's warpstone-poisoned mind. The Grey Seer had the fear of his life when he saw among all this erroneous and absurd data a hint of logic. He internally begged the Horned Rat to save him. For that, he had to gain time. It was then that he saw something in the distance that made him smile nervously. He looked up at the brown Skaven, and asked:
- What are you going to do with me, now-now?
- I won't do anything. Besides, we'll capture-imprison you. Then you'll be judged. Then we'll see if there is anything we can do with you or if we punish you for good. Either way, I'm sure you have plenty of things to tell us.
- Yes, I have! Like the name of your real flesh-blood father!
At these words, Kristofferson couldn't suppress a start of surprise.
- What did you just say?
- You heard me right. You know what I did. I read into the Blasphemous One Psody's mind.
- I know. Anyway, do not expect any mercy from him!
- I don't expect anything. However, I've learned some... very interesting-fun things. He cares a lot about you. Normal, you are his firstborn. At least, that's what he believes-thinks.
- What are you talking about, face of mucus?
- Haven't you understood-understood yet? The breeder who laid you...
The brown Skaven walked over to the White Skaven, grabbed him by his neck, pulled him up, then knocked him over with the grip of his pistol on his chin.
- Never talk this way about my mother!
Iapoch rolled in the dust. He landed on his hindquarters, looked up at Kristofferson, and massaged his jaw.
- Think about it for a second, fool! The… well, this Skaven female spent a few days near Grey Seer Vellux, was unable to escape him, and it had to do whatever he told it to do. He had twenty times the occasion to impregnate it! That means you have Vellux's blood flowing through your veins!
The young brown Skaven felt himself tremble with anger.
- Your lies are ridiculous, Grey Seer of my buttocks!
- Lies? That's what the Blasphemous One fears the most, indeed! Deep down himself, he knows! At least he doubts!
- And, of course, you know what he's thinking better than he does?
- You don't think so well say-say! I've read his mind, I'm telling you! Every time he thinks of you he thinks to himself "maybe it's not my face-face that I see when I look at him, but my master's". You don't look that much like him after all!
It was too much for the young ratman. He sheathed his pistol, picked up a mace lying on the ground, weighed it, and declared firmly:
- All in all, I won't allow you to be taken alive.
- You're scared the truth to be known-known, eh? So what's the use of your "love", right now?
- To keep my arm firm-assured enough to kill you in a single hit.
- Why not with your powder gun?
Kristofferson didn't answer. At the last moment, a spark lit up Iapoch's mind.
- Because you don't want anyone to know you are the one who killed-killed me with! You refuse to take responsibility for your murder, you coward!
- Oh, I'm going to...
Young Steiner brandished the mace with his left hand above his head. But as he was about to strike it down on the White Skaven's skull, he was brutally thrown back. He rolled over the stones with a small, high-pitched squeal.
A tingle electrified his ribs, then his entire right flank liquefied in a terrifying wave of pain. He looked down, and screamed in panic when he saw in his reinforced leather tunic the characteristic hole made by a bullet. A faint plume of green smoke billowed from the wound. He heard behind his own howl a voice in the distance cry out to his attention:
- Die, damn traitor-pitiful!
From the top of its rock, a Skryre brandished its jezzail with a triumphant sneer.
- Thank you, Horned Rat, thank you! Iapoch yelled before laughing too.