Daughters and Sons of the Horned Rat,
The Pestilens have struck again, and my country is in lockdown for the second time, and so has yours.
It's been a really tough year in a lot of ways, but I just have one thing to say: they won't put us down. We have the ability to get away from it all, whether through books, movies, role-playing games, video games, and the Internet allows us to stay in touch despite the forced distances. Thank you for always following me. Don't hesitate to write, I'll answer any of your messages, I swear.
I take this opportunity to say that the poll results are in, I will close it. So we have a winner among the Steiner children. Soon I will ask Ziegelzeig for the drawing.
All of you stay healthy, and Long live Prince Steiner!
The Feral Skaven shooter had no time to rejoice any further. Its head suddenly exploded like an overripe fruit.
Nedland reloaded his harquebus.
- Go ahead, little white rat, the way is clear!
Romulus suggested:
- We should go too, I can take care of the first wounded.
- I'm covering you!
The two men raced towards the spot the Stormfiend had done the most damage. For his part, Psody started to run as fast as he could in the direction Kristofferson was gone. Within minutes, he was approaching the limestone cage, one of the stalagmites of which was shattered. He concentrated, and spotted a few traces of Skaven magic mist still hanging in the air. He just had to follow the trail. Another few hundred yards of running, and at the bend of a stony path, between two rocks, he saw him.
He knew only too well the effect on him of seeing this kind of individual. Loathing, shame at thinking he had been one of them, and determination to put him out of harm's way. Iapoch was lying on his back, trying to step back by leaning on his elbows. He looked up as Psody approached, and allowed himself to smile cruelly.
- Ah, there you are, O Blasphemous One!
The Master Mage approached cautiously. Now was not the time to let go of his attention.
- So you're the troll drop that messes up my head!
- You only get what you deserve, Psody.
- You against me, I don't mind. But my wife? My children? Why?
- You deserve to lose your family, damn traitor! It's because of you I couldn't know mine!
- What do you mean?
- Vellux was my father, Psody! You deprived me of his presence-wisdom! And everything he could have taught me!
The White Skaven then remembered the last words of his former master: "Kill-kill your enemy, Son of the Horned Rat... but it won't protect you from our anger-vengeance!" Vellux had cursed. The Grey Seer of Brissuc was already counting on this heir to have his revenge beyond death.
Without doubt one more lie-lie! Though…
The White Skaven had just sensed something unpleasant. A familiar feeling. He looked a little better at the Grey Seer who was still dragging himself along the ground, and distinguished in his twisted with pain and frustration face features that were not unknown to him.
What if it was true? There was a family resemblance. The shape of the head, the eyes… What about the smell? He smelled particularly bad, as if he had spent a fortnight in a pile of mouldy meat. Really, he stank more than any other Feral Skaven in the area. But under the scent of carrion, Psody detected a very small subtlety which indeed reminded him of the characteristic Vellux's smell.
So many things he was slowly becoming aware of, and made him believe the words of the Grey Seer. After all, it made sense! Psody could boast to be the person in the whole world to have known Vellux better than anyone. This White Skaven in particular could be his offspring as well.
It was then that the Master Mage heard a strangled moan behind him. He turned his head, and noticed Kristofferson, on the ground, sitting behind a rock, holding his ribs. His heart stopped dead.
- KIT!
Psody rushed over to his son and knelt beside him. The young brown Skaven's eyes were clouding, and his breathing slowed.
- My little boy!
- Tell me... tell me he's lying!
- What... what did he tell you?
A tear of pain and sorrow slipped down the young ratman's fluffy cheek.
- Vellux… is my father. And you know it.
At these words, Psody's face lengthened nearly two feet in the combined actions of panic and rage.
- What? Never-never, do you hear?! You are my son, Kit! And I will save you! Hold on! Nedland and Romulus are coming!
- They have to hurry then...
He closed his eyes, and lost consciousness. The White Skaven hugged him on his chest, making a terrible effort not to lose his temper. He then turned to the other White Skaven, still on the ground. The latter chuckled.
- I'd like to know... how does it feel to learn your dear-dear Kit is the descendant of the one you betrayed-murdered?
Psody shook his head vigorously with an angry grimace.
- Shut up, you little shit! Kristofferson is my child, not Vellux's!
- Pray he doesn't survive this wound-wound, because otherwise… one day… my half-brother, whom you believe attached to you… will avenge-honour our father!
In response, Psody reached out and barked a few incomprehensible syllables for those who did not master the language of the College of Jade. Immediately the earth stirred all around Iapoch. The Grey Seer looked around nervously, bewildered, when suddenly green, thick and flexible roots emerged from all sides, and wrapped in seconds around his wrists, ankles and kidneys. Then they stretched out, and fell back into the earth. Iapoch found himself with his arms and legs painfully spread. He yelped several times. Between two squeals, he wanted to provoke the Master Mage again.
- Your Kit will betray you at the worst time! Family instinct... is stronger... than anything!
Psody raised his arm, and clenched his fist firmly. Another root trapped Iapoch's neck, and squeezed his throat. The Master Mage gazed at his enemy for a few moments, on the ground, wriggling with all the weak strength he had left.
What if he was right?
No sooner had that thought time to germinate in his mind he took his decision.
Arms and legs spread, Iapoch was utterly helpless. He didn't make any more supplications, he was too busy whimpering. He stared his eyes dripping with frightened tears at the Master Mage, and moaned louder when he saw the gaze of his elder White Skaven.
Psody's pink eyes were completely red, and burned in the midst of the eruption of anger that frightfully stretched his face.
- You tried to direct me against my family-family. No, you did worse than that! You entered my mind to sow your lies-manipulations! And because of you, I scared them, I hurt them, and I could have killed them!
A small thought flashed through the White Skaven's mind: a thank to the Horned Rat for not being able to see his own face at this moment. He was aware of it, such an experience would no doubt have scared him to death. He barely recognized his own voice when he heard a low scrape emerge from his throat:
- You raped-profaned me, Iapoch! Let me return the favour to you!
He raised his two hands, stretched out his fingers, and made a few quick gestures. A root bigger than the others emerged between the feet of the White Skaven on the ground. It grew slowly but inexorably towards the prisoner, and slipped under his robe. In his position, Iapoch couldn't see anything, but he gave a shrill cry when he experienced a particularly unpleasant sensation. The root penetrated between his buttocks, and continued to grow mercilessly under Ghyran's action. The Grey Seer's cries no doubt reflected particularly intense pain, but they were stifled as the root rose to his oesophagus. The plant forcibly straightened the Feral White Skaven, not releasing its grip on his hands and feet. The joints in his arms and legs dislocated, his neck stretched under the pressure. Finally, in an obnoxious gurgling, Iapoch found himself torn to pieces, his limbs parted from the trunk, his head swaying, hanging from the end of the root, which had made the chest explode from within like a giant blood flower.
Still shaking with anger, Psody approached the cluster of guts and blood that had been Grey Seer Iapoch, and gazed into the eyes wide with pain.
- May the Horned Rat devour-defecate your soul, as he did for your progenitor's!
He then noticed something that had escaped him. Iapoch's ear featured the ritual scars that every adult Feral Skaven wore, but he did not recognize them.
They are not those of Brissuc.
Psody looked down and felt furrows cracking his forehead when he perceived a very disturbing detail he hadn't taken the time to spot before.
His legs, his feet… Everything is rotten-mouldy! This is where the stench comes from.
Indeed, now that he could see them clearly, he noticed that Iapoch's lower limbs were eaten away by a rot which made the flesh appear withered under a blackish fur, invaded by a kind of particularly smelly mould. It was then that he realized what he had just done when he saw the grotesque puppet as a whole.
The Magic of Jade… the Magic of Life… how could I have perverted-defiled it so much?
There was, however, a good reason that came back to his mind like a hammer blow. He rushed over to his son, lifted him by the shoulders, and hugged him to his chest, crying.
- You're going to be fine, Kit. Hang on… reinforcements are coming!
Kristofferson said nothing, still unconscious. Psody then surprised himself whispering in his native language:
- The Horned Rat is wise-clement, he hates cowards, but knows how to preserve the life of valiant ones...
He barely heard Nedland's voice behind him.
- What the fuck is this mess?
The Halfling was one of the few people who allowed themselves to express their opinion to Psody without convolutions.
- Psody! What have you done, you numbskull? You had to...
Suddenly, the scout choked.
- By my great-uncle Saltpetre's ass hair! Kit!
He knelt in front of the White Skaven. His blood froze when he saw something stirring under the young ratman's tunic.
- Take off his shirt, Psody! Now!
Without waiting for a response from the Master Mage, Nedland pulled off the garment to reveal the wound. The two friends cried out in horror. A pink growth was growing where the bullet had penetrated the flesh of the brown Skaven.
- By the Horned Rat, what is that?
- Esmeralda have mercy... It's a mutation!
The word erupted in the White Skaven's brain like a thunderclap. Even though he knew what it was, even though he had seen before, he refused to face reality until the end. And yet the facts were there. Sigmund had told him about the concentrated warpstone bullets used in Rabanera, it was now obvious Skaven were not immune to their terrible effects.
Fortunately, he kept a cool head.
- Go get Romulus, I'll contain it!
The little man ran to the dispensary. Psody put his hand on the flesh swelling, and whispered a magic formula intended to purify the plants. Probably a way to curb this abscess, if not eliminate it. A few sparks of jade crackled between his four fingers, and materialized a sort of green, transparent gangue around the bullet impact.
Romulus arrived quickly, accompanied by the Halfling and two stretcher bearers. The two bearers took the young ratman on. Romulus wanted to examine him for a few moments before letting them go.
- You had a good reflex. I don't know much about mutations, but it looks like stabilized for now.
- This spell won't be able to remain stable forever-perpetually, Romulus! And you can be sure this filth will grow inside!
- All the more reason to accelerate. We'll take him back to Steinerburg with the first convoy.
- How long?
The prior of Shallya looked around.
- Two hours at most. This should give you time to go and see if you can't find something in the burrow.
- Is the way clear-clear?
- It is, little white rat, Nedland replied. Lieutenant Renata confirmed to me.
- Go together, Romulus proposed. I'm taking care of your son.
The prior hastened to return to the wounded.
The two men stayed where they were, standing side by side, not daring to speak or look at each other. Finally, after a long minute, Nedland whispered:
- I'm sorry my friend. Excuse me.
- Forget it-it.
- Well… Did he have time to tell you the name of the traitor?
- He didn't. But we'll find another way. I don't know how for now, but we'll find.
Nedland took a few steps towards the corpse of the Grey Seer.
- Don't come any closer! This White Skaven is badly infected!
- Sure.
The scout pulled his cloak up to hide his nose, crouched down, cocked his head to the side, and examined the remains of Iapoch as best he could. He growled in annoyance, and returned to the Master Mage.
- I have bad news, my friend.
- "Bad news"? Worse than my son getting shot with a warpstone bullet?
Psody didn't even have the strength to be irritated anymore. He had spoken without looking at his interlocutor. Nedland tried to stay calm.
- I'm sorry about Kristofferson. Therefore, you have to stay focused; we shouldn't have done all of this for nothing. I have to tell you that you were right.
This time, Psody turned his head, his forehead cracked again with perplexity.
- What are you talking about, my friend-friend?
- I confirm what you feared when we established the battle plan: this White Skaven is not the same we fought at Nichetti Estate!
- What?
- The one that escaped me was smaller, and fatter. If I glue the pieces of that one back together, it makes a tall skinny White Skaven. Besides, he doesn't have the same noggin.
- By the Horned Rat! So there are two of them!
- Well, just one left, now.
Nedland's face grew harder.
- I don't know why, but something tells me it's better to keep this information for ourselves. In any case, for the moment, I think it's wiser not to say anything.
- Me too-too. Especially because he was Vellux's son!
The brave Halfling didn't hide his supreme surprise.
- By gum! That white rat... a pup of your master?
- Yes, he looks and smells like him.
- How did he get here? I thought the Brissuc burrow had been completely cleaned up shortly after our arrival in Vereinbarung?
- I don't know, but I already have a clue: the scars on his left ear are not Brissuc's. He was taken away by someone else before.
- Yeah... Maybe a Feral Skaven from your burrow felt change was coming before everyone else and walked away with him?
- It's possible. But that's not what surprises me the most.
- So what, my friend?
It was Psody's turn to show a concentrated expression.
- As far as I know, I am the only Skaven in the whole Under-Empire to have had a good relationship with Skaven related to me by blood. Vellux was not like that. No Feral Skaven is. Still, Iapoch looked really pissed off at me for killing his blood father, when he couldn't know-know him. That is not normal.
- Maybe he's really Vellux's child?
- Yes, but normally he shouldn't care. Whoever picked him up must have filled his head with nonsense to make him vengeful to the point of blaming me for having shot my master and wanting to avenge him.
- You mean in the Under-Empire... "family vendettas" don't exist?
- In the Under-Empire, the very notion of "family" doesn't exist. Only the Clan and the Horned Rat count. And personal revenge. No normal Skaven in the Under-Empire would take so many risks for someone else.
- Hmm... Maybe your story has been emulated? You are known in the Under-Empire, if it is, your life inspired other Skaven who decided to try new methods of education?
- If that's it, I don't know if I should see it as good or bad.
Psody then heard a slight mooing. He turned around, and saw a sight that took him aback.
A figure was bent over the still warm bunch of meat and bone that had been Iapoch. It was a particularly decrepit Skaven slave, arguably the most pitiful being the White Skaven had seen so far. It was impossible to make out its features, or anything more specific, because of the bandages and other burnished material that covered its entire body, under a heavy canvas bag. The pathetic creature was crying softly, all the sadness in the world weighting on its stubby shoulders. It hugged the head of the dead Grey Seer against its rickety chest, and stroked it lovingly.
- What do we do with that one? asked the Halfling.
Psody had once again a blow to the heart. Even though Iapoch had been his enemy, there was at least one person to mourn him. In truth, the creature seemed far too miserable for him to want to do it any harm. He raised his hand.
- Leave it alone, there have been deaths enough for today.
- Let's go search their lair!
The two friends made their way to the entrance, leaving behind the slave mourning for its dead owner.
Approaching the main entrance to the Feral Skaven den, Psody heard someone call him. It was Sigmund, who has holding his mare by her reins.
- Father? Ned? Kit isn't with you?
The White Skaven felt his stomach squirm like a cloth wrung out by a washerwoman. The Halfling pretended he hadn't heard the question.
- Well, I'm going ahead to scout. Hey, scouting is my job, right?
Then he sped towards the opening. The Black Skaven was not fooled. He insisted:
- Father, where is Kit?
Psody felt the nervousness in his son's voice. No doubt Sigmund was losing his temper. He pointed to the tent where Romulus was.
- Sigmund… go quickly to your brother.
- What happened?
- He has been shot.
Immediately, the Black Skaven's face was contorted with panic.
- What?! By the sword of Ve...
- Calm down, Siggy! ordered the Master Mage, raising an authoritative hand.
- Calm down ? My brother is about to die and you ask me to calm down? You don't care, is that it?
- Enough!
Even though he was much shorter than him, and much less physically strong, the White Skaven knew how to use the tone and gaze necessary to guarantee instant obedience from his son, even when he threatened to get carried away by his emotions. Sigmund stopped dead, and remained silent, paralyzed by Psody's display of authority. He spoke more slowly and softly.
- I care, Siggy. Let me remind you that your brother is also my son! Besides, getting excited-panicked is useless. In this kind of situation, the first thing to do is to stay calm. Kit is not about to die! We will do everything to save him. Romulus and I will hold him in trance on the trip home, and Sister Judy will take over in Steinerburg. She is the best Shallya healer in the whole kingdom. He will be fine.
The White Skaven didn't know if he wanted to reassure his son, or himself. He decided not to think about it anymore.
- Go and stay close to him. I'll take a look inside this place.
Without a word, the Black Skaven ran to the tent, followed by Okapia.
The White Skaven swallowed, and walked towards the cave. Nedland was waiting for him. The two friends crossed the landing together. They passed a small group of soldiers.
- We hunted the last ones, Master Mage.
- Some were hidden, but we Skaven could smell and flush them out! a ratman soldier proudly declared.
- Beware, there may be Eshin assassins left, Nedland said. They don't have that smell.
- There must not be much left. The Eshins are the first to flee in the event of an invasion, Psody precised.
The two friends spent the next hour exploring the main pit of the mine. As expected, there were many traces of the Feral Skaven's presence for some time. Trails of fresh blood, excrement, tissues soaked in blood or urine scattered here and there, broken or rusted weapons...
Nedland concluded without difficulty and with certainty these intruders had entered the Rat Kingdom for weeks, months, maybe half a year. Most telling was the condition of the nursery – the converted cave where the inhabitants of the Under-Empire had herded their females. The Steinerburg soldiers had counted three. They were relatively young, and were not monstrously fat yet. The Feral Skaven had made sure to choose among the easiest to transport, and the treatments took a few months to work fully.
Nedland was adamant:
- There must be another bigger colony farther away, maybe beyond the border. Three breeders for a burrow of this size are not enough. They put them there to allow their Clanrats to empty their balls between two attacks, but for the survival of the species, they would need more.
- I think so-too. All the more reason to remain vigilant, Psody added, lowering his voice. Did we find any pup?
- About twenty, but we can only take a few, they are pretty in bad condition. Like these ones.
The three females, like all prisoners of the Sons of the Horned Rat's reproductive madness, were lying naked on dirty straw, and all three appeared to be in a state of utter absence, stupefied by warpstone incense. The Master Mage was not at all optimistic. Sure, they weren't as fat as those he had seen during the Harvests, but the Feral Skaven medications had already started their terrible effect: their bellies were already puffy and their skin tight, they bore the obvious traces of violence and successive childbirths, and the worst was their lack of responsiveness. Lieutenant Renata crouched down next to one of them, slipped her sword through one of the rings in the chain that kept it tied to the ground, and snapped it off.
- There, you're free.
The poor creature lying on the ground painfully raised its head, blinked. No intelligence appeared in its eyes. It chuckled softly, let it head fall back on the straw, spread its legs, and didn't move, as if it was waiting for the next Skaven to come.
Psody negatively shook his head.
- We're too late for them, I'm afraid-afraid.
- What are we going to do with, Master Mage?
When the White Skaven swivelled towards Lieutenant Renata, his heart sank. She begged him with her eyes.
- Sorry, Lieutenant, there is nothing more to do. See, she's at the state her brain can just react to mating, or to the drug bliss. We won't be able to continue treating them with warpstone. This bliss will quickly be replaced-replaced by the pain of craving, a pain that will drive them mad to the point of dying of hysteria.
The dark-haired woman pouted in annoyance.
- You mean the only thing to do is finish them off?
- Until a cure for warpstone is developed, that's all we can do.
Seeing the lieutenant's crestfallen face, the Master Mage thought fit to add:
- Say it.
- What then, Master Mage?
- What you think about Feral Skaven. Say it in front of me, if it makes you feel better.
- You already know what I think about them, Master Mage. And you also know I don't count you among them. Insulting them in a vacuum would only hurt you. I don't want to. And if I had the asshole who shot your son between my hands, I'd rip its hands off before I slap it with!
- You'll have a hard time, Lieutenant, I blew its head off, Nedland replied evasively.
Full of compassion that surprised herself, Lieutenant Renata gently held the hand of the breeder. The latter just chuckled.
- This is the first time I'm seeing what they do to their women, Master Mage.
- And I wish you to be also the last-last. This is what we fight for.
- What do you do when you find one in this state?
- I give her a very-too powerful sleeping potion. She falls asleep, and doesn't wake up anymore. Efficient and painless.
- If you don't mind, Master Mage... I would like to deal with. The three of them.
The White ratman's eyebrows rose.
- You don't have to feel like you must. Usually, I'm the one in charge.
- I was hoping to save their lives, Master Mage. If there is nothing I can do for it, I would at least like to relieve them.
- It's all to your credit. Nedland?
- Yeah, Psody?
- Will you go get the potion? Romulus brought a demijohn, just in case of.
- Right now!
Lieutenant Renata sighed.
- He had planned it, eh?
- When there were Harvests, the breeders were left alive. These are doomed, there is no one left to feed-feed them. So we avoid them useless suffering-suffering.
- What's the difference, Master Mage? then asked another voice.
The White Skaven turned to the one who had spoken. He was a tall, angular-faced, dark-haired man with a brush-cut hair and a cynical look.
- If you had poisoned the breeders of all the burrows and colonies you visited, that would have decrease their number at last? Lack of females, no more reproduction, and no more giant rats.
Three Skaven approached at these words.
- Hey, Kürbis, do you actually realize what you just said?
- What if one race killed all female Humans so that there would be no more children, what would you do?
- These are our girls you want to eliminate! Even sick like that, they remain with us!
The so-called Kürbis didn't answer, but looked the first Skaven who had spoken in the eye. The latter continued:
- If your parents had done that, we would never have been born! I came out of the belly of a woman like her!
Kürbis cracked his fingers, and asked the Master Mage again:
- Seriously, Master Mage, I know what I'm talking about. I've been in a couple of Harvests, these girls are doomed anyway. Those you left alive in the settlements continued to suffer until death. Perhaps the Feral Skaven even took revenge on them, and mistreated them twice meaner. So why didn't you finish the ones you saw?
Psody remained calm. He considered her words for a moment and replied:
- Technically, your reasoning is correct, soldier Kürbis: more pain-pain is spared to the prisoners, and the reproduction rate of Feral Skaven is decreased, which will weaken them. But there is a big difference-difference between technical and ethical. This is not the kind of practice the Prince approves-accepts. It would be exploiting the mechanisms of nature to kill a whole people. An intelligent people, not any pest species. It would be putting ourselves on the same level than Pestilens who consider us as vermin to exterminate-eliminate, and send us their diseases in order to.
This argument seemed to have touched Kürbis, who had lost his cynical air. Lieutenant Renata saw this, and took the opportunity to reinforce this argument.
- And then, if in small colonies like this one this idea could work, in places like Sub-Delberz or Skarogne, there are too many breeders, and they are too well protected for such an operation to be feasible. Or else we would lose too many men for it to be a benefit. Now, if the sight is offensive to you, go back and help your comrades outside, soldier Kürbis.
The soldier obeyed without saying a word. The Master Mage leaned towards Lieutenant Renata one last time.
- Talk to her if you want, but don't get too attached.
- Don't worry, Master Mage. I just want to reassure her, also she knows she can leave in peace.
The White Skaven smirked, and resumed his exploration.
He knew where to look for Iapoch's office. No Grey Seer worthy of the name could do without private apartments in which to brew his potions and prepare his plots. Always in the safest and most comfortable cave. Not necessarily the largest, on the contrary, a large room could contain more hiding places where an Eshin would wait.
The Feral Skaven hadn't bothered to dig any new galleries. Psody walked through a huge hall, and understood the Skryre had settled there to make their weapons of war. There was only to see all the copper cables connected to thick boilers inside which still blocks of burning warpstone were glistening, and the workbenches with weapons that the Warlock Engineers had not had time to complete on. There were a few cages in a corner. Undoubtedly the property of Clan Moulder, if you could trust the grunts that escaped from between the bars. Without slowing his pace, Psody continued on his way and sank further.
The White Skaven's ear swiveled when he heard high-pitched, very loud squeals.
- Get it!
In another tunnel on his right, he saw three soldiers grappling with two Clanrats… well, could they only be called "Clanrats"? The soldiers were trying to overpower two very young Feral Skaven barely out of the nursery. A Human held one of the ratchildren firmly to the ground, while the other chased the second that was scurrying.
The soldier had difficulty to maintain his hold; the puny little creature wasn't three feet tall, must have weighed no more than twenty pounds, and yet it struggled with bestial ferocity. It bit his gloved hand so hard that he cried out. Furious, he replied with a violent slap that stunned the ratchild.
The other small Feral Skaven was running breathlessly towards Psody. The latter had an idea. He raised his arms, looked at it sternly, and ordered in queekish:
- Kneel before your Grey Seer!
The young ratchild, moved by an automatism inserted in its skull with great reinforcements of threats and punishments, froze in place, threw itself on the ground, and bowed down. It was immediately caught by the two soldiers who embarked it in turn.
The Master Mage continued on his way. He felt a tear tickling his cheekbone.
So young, and already conditioned… It shall be tough-tough to get them back. Heike couldn't have been older when they found-brought her… but she was just a victim. These two little males have already been turned into executioners-executioners!
Once again, the most unpleasant thought he could have had crept into his mind.
And I was a cog in this whole hellish machine!
For a moment he couldn't think of anything else. The nightmares sent by Iapoch came back to him. What if he had behaved like a normal Grey Seer? What if he got out of that swamp to find another colony to settle in? He had the opportunity to do so, if he had followed Jourg of Clan Moulder years before, he would no doubt have been the master of Gottliebschloss. And he would never have suffered from that kind of torment.
Was-is it worth it?
The answer was obvious when he remembered each of his own children when they had the same age as the two young prisoners, and the moments of joy they had together. He didn't ask himself any more questions.
It was time to concentrate, anyway, because he had just seen a heavy door. The kind of door installed to store valuable tools. A door that could be locked. The Master Mage contented himself to break up the rock that held the hinges in place, being careful not to cut into a retaining wall. The door slammed to the ground with a loud bang, and the White Skaven walked through it.
The place was just as Psody had imagined it: a space redesigned according to the heart of a Grey Seer, with so many unmistakable signs. There were scraps of food lying on the floor, a desk on which he saw a few vials and a big notebook, a shelf lined with bound parchments, and in a corner a pile of straw that stank urine.
Psody applied himself to methodically search the place. He consulted the parchments… nothing but writings on the Horned Rat and his commandments, men-things, and other mundane things. He consulted the notebook on the desk. Iapoch had gathered information such as accounts, an inventory of the Kreidesglück mine resources, the list of Skryre and Moulder weapons. The last few pages were blackened with writing exercises. The Grey Seer had practiced writing in Reikspiel.
Alas, nothing that would allow us to reveal the traitor-traitor...
Nothing in the cabinet itself either, the drawers were all empty. The Master Mage still put the notebook in his bag. He looked around the desk one last time, then let out a disappointed sigh. He walked slowly towards the exit.
As he was about to walk through the door, he stopped dead.
Something had just caught his attention. One of his senses had reacted to a stimulus. For half a second he tried to discern which one. Did he just hear a noise? Perceived a draft? Saw something shine?
The smell!
Indeed, there was a smell. He sniffed nervously. This smell was too familiar to be mistaken. He closed his eyes, and focused all his attention on his olfaction. Instinctively, he followed the scent, he pictured it, swirling like a light cloud. Well, he was sure, he was right in front of the origin of the smell. He lifted his eyelids, and his eyes opened wide.
He had to think for half a dozen more seconds to figure it out, then almost burst out laughing.
How could I have missed-missed this?