Children of the Horned Rat,
This chapter is a crucial step in my activity as a fanfiction writer.
Indeed, until now, my longest fanfiction was the Trilogy of Expansion, a story in the Star Wars universe – sorry for the English-speakers, I don't think I will translate it one day, the work would be too enormous to be done as an amateur. In Word format, it counted 1122 pages.
Today – let's say rather, since the previous chapter, I have officially exceeded 1122 pages in Word format (in French version, I specify, in English, I reach 1083 pages). I am already well beyond the 626 pages (594 pages in English) that The Enfant Terrible of the Horned Rat occupied, knowing that I have not yet finished half of what I planned to write for the Rat Kingdom. On the other hand, I won't hide it from you, The Heirs of the Horned Rat, if it is also planned in four parts, will probably be less ambitious.
All this to tell you that I beat a personal record, but that it is my desire to tell you this story that motivates me the most and that allowed me to do it. Thank you all, loyal followers of the world of Warhammer, continue to express yourselves without hesitation, and glory to the Horned Rat!
Sigmund and his infantrymen were still assailed by the mutated flies, but their relentless torch waves had gradually gotten the better of this aberrant vermin. There were only a few dozen left, which became less aggressive in the face of the flamboyant resistance. Soon the last flies were consumed by the flames. An irritating smell of burned insect made the most sensitive noses sneeze.
Captain Steiner looked around him, saw the soldiers on the ground getting up, and was delighted to see that there were only two losses to deplore. The infantrymen had demonstrated formidable efficiency in the face of danger.
- Well done! These nasty things will no longer pose a problem for us.
- Hoping they don't have any more to throw at us, Captain! Himmelstoss grumbled.
- Look, Captain! another soldier suddenly shouted. The Commander!
Blokfiste triumphantly brandished at arm's length the Tilean woman impaled on the claws of his left hand. Blood gushed in torrents from her torn throat, and smeared the Moulder's muzzle, whose sneer increased in savagery. He made a big movement with his arm, and threw the still warm corpse of the courageous commander into the middle of the Plague Monks, who quickly reduced her to shreds.
Such a spectacle disgusted and revolted Sigmund's infantrymen.
- Son of a bitch! Himmelstoss spat. What are we waiting for? Let's go after them!
- No, Himmelstoss, not yet! There are many of them, it is better to let them come!
In reality, Sigmund didn't really know what to do. The situation was not yet desperate, but it remained very serious. He also realized he was now the highest ranking officer on the battlefield, therefore the responsibility for the entire rest of the army now rested on his shoulders.
Blokfiste pointed energetically toward the ranks of Vereinbarung's inhabitants and barked something Sigmund couldn't make out. Frightened and hysterical squeals then rang out. The Black Skaven's heart sank at the sight of the cohort of miserable creatures running in their direction. All skinny, mostly dressed in loincloths, brandishing weapons of poor quality, terror plastered on their features, they were painful to see.
- Who are these… guys? asked a soldier who wasn't used to fight the Under-Empire.
- This bastard sends us their slaves, Sigmund explained. The most expendable troops. He hopes to weaken us before coming into contact. I know it's hard to beat such pitiful Skaven, but remember the only thing that motivates them is the fear of blows from their masters if they don't kill us! Try to keep your strength for the Plague Monks! Don't waste your energy on these minions, and get rid of them quickly!
The two armies collided once again. No one in the ranks felt strong or heroic on either side. The slaves struggled with the energy of despair to satisfy their tormentors and be able to live another day, their adversaries had to double-lock their heart to avoid perceiving their distress.
Sigmund, in particular, concentrated, and to avoid weakening, repeated tirelessly in his mind:
The Under-Empire never grants mercy or compassion! As soon as they are old enough to fight, they no longer have any innocence!
Suddenly, in the middle of the ranks of slaves, he recognized a familiar face.
Koursh?
He had not forgotten the slave who had led him to Qroshay, one of Blokfiste's goons. He had killed him without the slightest scruple, in order to carry out his own plan. And every time his thoughts had stopped on that poor little thing, he had asked himself:
Aren't the slaves of the Under-Empire above all victims, too? Was I right to cut his life short so coldly?
A second Feral Skaven lunged at him. This slave also had Koursh's head. With horror, Sigmund understood all the slaves presented the same face, that of his own guilt.
What if I had given him a tiny chance to escape?
He felt his bare toes step on something hairy and tender. He looked down, and saw he was trampling on a Feral Skaven that was a little less sickly than the others.
No, not you!
- Please-mercy, oh magnificent-astounding Sigmund Steiner, grandson of Prince! Larn of Clan Eshin cried. Spare my life!
The captain felt anger explode deep in his guts.
- That's enough!
And to reinforce his exclamation, he slapped himself vigorously. He shook his head. The hallucinations had stopped. Around him, fortunately, his soldiers had not lost their means. Sigmund whirled Heart of Unicorn, determined to resist the slave wave. He stabbed, sliced, cut into pieces the teeming mass of naked flesh and sickly bodies.
One minute later, there were no slaves left. But this assault had tired the Vereinbarung fighters. Blokfiste quickly understood this.
- Plague Censers, stay close to me! Plague Monks, attack-assault!
The great ochre Feral Skaven was a war chief, but he did not forget the most basic rules to stay alive as long as possible. Also, sheltered with the elite troops of Clan Pestilens, he was counting on this first rank of Plague Monks to seriously harm the men-things and the traitors to the Horned Rat, before exterminating them himself.
Sigmund's chest hurt, his heart was beating so fast and hard. He tried as best he could to catch his breath. A sharp pain lacerated his eardrums as his ears heard the furious squeals of the Plague Monks. The Feral Skaven, overexcited by the incense of their elders who had remained behind, were nothing but murderous madness. This assault promised to be particularly deadly. The Black Skaven felt every muscle in his body tense to break. He tried to visualize the faces of his mother, his brothers and his sisters, to hold on to a pleasant thought before the carnage, when suddenly the sound of a bugle sounded behind the battalion.
What? We do still have a reserve regiment?
Neighing and war cries echoed through the tunnels. Then the sounds of hooves hammered the rocky earth.
- Captain, behind! Himmelstoss shouted.
The bugle sounded again, and an imperious voice ordered:
- Charge!
Sigmund glanced over his shoulder and widened his eyes.
- Step aside! Quickly!
Vereinbarung's contingent of soldiers split in two, just in time to allow twenty or so horsemen in full armour to pass through. The Plague Monks, surprised by the sight of this steel barrier suddenly rising and galloping in their direction, stopped, and jostled each other. The riders collided head-on with the plague-ridden Feral Skaven. The ratmen who were not catapulted by the impact found themselves crushed under the hooves of the steeds or perished by the weapons of the newcomers.
Completely incredulous, Sigmund narrowed his eyes and tried to understand who these unexpected reinforcements were.
These armours... The Bretonnians?!
He fixed his gaze on the banner carried by a knight with a helmet surmounted by a hippogriff-shaped crest, and recognized without believing the coat of arms which represented a white horse on a red background.
The Bretonnians' counterattack worked wonderfully: the remaining Plague Monks fled in all directions as quickly as they could. The horsemen turned around as one, and lined up in front of the soldiers of Vereinbarung. Then they turned their attention once again to the Skaven of the Under-Empire, ready to return to battle.
- Congratulations! They didn't see anything coming! exclaimed a voice which startled Sigmund.
The one who had spoken was a Bretonnian who had stayed behind. He stopped his horse at the height of the Black Skaven, and raised the visor of his helm.
- You?
- Yes, young man!
It was indeed Horace de Vaucanson, who laughed joyfully at the captain's astonishment. The lord seemed to have recovered from their previous confrontation. Sure, he still had a purple mark on his cheek, but otherwise he seemed fine.
- But… how?
- When you left Pourseille, I sent a scout to follow you discreetly. I wanted to know precisely where these barbarians were hiding. I preferred to stay behind, so as not to attract your attention, but now that the fight is underway, I am bringing my contribution.
The Black Skaven had to try twice to inhale enough air, and painfully let out a single word:
- Why?
- Since you have given me freedom, Captain Steiner, my duty is to help you!
- Are you sure?
- I am sure of one single thing: if we let these ruffians bring down your kingdom, the next one might be mine, and I will never allow that! I broke my promise to leave Vereinbarung as quickly as possible, I hope you'll forgive me for this perjury.
Sigmund shook his head, and found himself once again in full possession of his means.
- Given the circumstances, I'll close my eyes this time, Lord de Vaucanson.
Two horsemen left the line to join the lord. Captain Steiner recognized Villefort, the aide-de-camp, and Lombard, the standard-bearer.
- Greetings, Captain.
- We charge at your command, my Liege.
The screams of other Feral Skaven ricocheted under the vault. Blokfiste had finally sent the Plague Censers, the worst elements of Clan Pestilens. No doubt, this assault was going to be the last.
- Enough talking, gentlemen! Let's fight the Under-Empire together!
- Take care, Monsignor! These Feral Skaven are under the influence of drugs, they feel nothing else than heightened combative rage! When they are in contact, they'll only stop fighting with death!
- In this case, we will give them the rest they deserve! Where is their leader?
- It's the one with the cannonball on its arm. It has already slayed our commander!
- I see it. I'm going to show it what a Vaucanson can do! Go!
Sigmund's heart skipped a beat. He wouldn't allow to be deprived of his fight against Blokfiste a second time, and from the hand of a stranger!
- No, Lord of V…
Waste of time, the lord had already galloped away, accompanied by his two lieutenants. The three horsemen placed themselves in the centre of the Bretonnian regiment, and all the knights charged with warlike cries, calling to the Lady of the Lake and King Louen Leoncoeur.
Sigmund yelped in frustration. Impatient to get it over with, he ordered:
- We follow them now! Come on!
The Vereinbarung fighters charged as one in turn.
Horace de Vaucanson had never faced the inhabitants of the Under-Empire. The concept of Clans was unfamiliar to him, and he knew nothing of their arsenal. Mutant flies, plague censers, ratling machine guns were all tools that were completely foreign to him.
For him as for his men, however, the difference was not insurmountable.
He had to admit, these Feral Skaven showed themselves to be more resistant. The young Black Skaven had warned him well, they didn't seem affected by fear or pain as much as the other opponents he had faced in the past. It was a little disturbing to see these plague-ridden ratmen enduring the blows and continuing to fight so furiously. Fortunately, a lethal injury is a lethal injury, even if the drug suppresses pain or fatigue. Also, Horace de Vaucanson, at the head of the regiment, decapitated the Feral Skaven relentlessly, and those who fell did not get up.
He hadn't taken his eyes off his main target, the ochre-furred war chief. This one, much larger and surlier than the others, well deserved his position. It twirled both arms, ready to crush on one side and tear into pieces on the other.
Without hesitation, Lord Horace de Vaucanson pushed his steed to gallop, straight towards this creature. In the process, he cut off a head, broke a shoulder, and knocked down one of the Plague Censers. The acrid, sickening smell of smoke threatened to unsettle him, but he held on. Finally he reached Blokfiste. He pulled on the reins of his horse and shouted:
- Hooves!
The steed reared up with a neigh, and fell with all its weight on the ochre Feral Skaven. Blokfiste received one of the hooves on his chest, the other on his enormous muzzle. He collapsed under the horse with a great cry of rage. Under the injunction of its master, the animal trampled the Feral Skaven methodically for long seconds.
When he no longer felt anything moving beneath it, the steed stopped. Vaucanson paternally patted its side.
- Good, my boy. Very g…
Suddenly the horse raised its head so promptly that it almost hit the Bretonnian's helmet. It uttered a shrill, heart-breaking neigh, which conveyed abominable suffering. Vaucanson clung to the saddle.
- What the…
A torrent of blood gushed on the right side of the Bretonnian lord. In horror, he saw the enormous iron claws of the Feral Skaven cutting out of the horse's belly, tearing muscles, organs and skin in the process. Vaucanson did not have time to swear that the head of his unfortunate mount was ejected from its body with abominable force, under the impulse of Blokfiste's cannonball. The steed collapsed abruptly, and the Bretonnian was thrown to the ground. He heard a distinctive clicking sound, like a chain mechanism rewinding.
Vaucanson was covered in blood. When he saw the terrible state in which his faithful mount was now, his face turned red with anger.
- No! Bucephalus! I assure you justice will be done, by the Lady of the Lake!
The carcass tipped onto its side, and Blokfiste was finally able to get back on his feet. The Feral Skaven war chief slowly raised his arms. His coat, made red, sticky and shiny by all the horse's blood, bristled. He opened his jaws, and yellowish saliva spread at his feet. Horace de Vaucanson felt his nose pinch in disgust.
- Now I understand the difference between the citizens of Vereinbarung and wild beasts like you!
In response, Blokfiste spat and hissed. Vaucanson quickly turned his head, looking for Villefort and Lombard. Both were still dealing with the Plague Censers. The lord tried to remain dignified. In this fight, he could only count on himself.
Vaucanson raised his sword, and took a few steps aside, slowly, to take the time to size up his opponent. The latter accompanied him in his movement. The Bretonnian was careful not to let himself be distracted by a sound, a gesture, anything other than the war chief. He had that feeling, facing Blokfiste, he had no right to make a mistake.
Sigmund had lost sight of the Bretonnian lord. Once the horsemen had passed through the Plague Censers regiment, the crazy Pestilens still standing had surrounded the Bretonnians, cornering their horses, and delivered great blows with their censers.
Captain Steiner gritted his teeth. All this was getting to be a bit much, even for him. He felt his breath short, cramps compressed his arms and legs, and his armour seemed heavier. But he didn't want to give in to fatigue as the final assault began. He remembered his father's lessons. Usually, Plague Censers were full of energy and ignored pain, which made them particularly formidable opponents. They could thus defeat any opponent through attrition. But their drugs did not protect them from death in the event of a blow in a decisive place, and since they were generally dressed only in thick, dirty fabrics, the heart and the head remained targets to be privileged
The most unreal thing was the strength that these sickly, demolished by disease creatures could display. The warpstone incense unleashed them. Worse, the Humans of the Vereinbarung regiment were even more irritated by the plumes of stinging smoke. The Skaven who fought for the colours of Prince Steiner were at an advantage, because their constitution allowed them to better resist the effects of warpstone. A couple of generation, no more, separated the surface fighters and the Clanrats of the Under-Empire, and the blood of the youngest had not lost its natural resistance to the odious matter.
Sigmund barely paid attention to the Plague Censers jostling in front of him. He had only one idea in mind: to join Vaucanson as quickly as possible to face the abominable Blokfiste at his side. Cutting here, hitting the pommel there, he had only a vague idea of the direction to take, which in no way diminished his ardour.
Blokfiste was the first to attack.
He leapt forward, and his clawed paw cut through the air, straight towards Vaucanson's helmeted head. The Bretonnian ducked to the left, and slid the blades across his sword. The Feral Skaven jumped back, Vaucanson's sword brushed against him, and cut a few hairs from his flank in the process. Blokfiste moved forward again, and this time he made a wide sweeping motion from left to right. Vaucanson dodged harder. As he had shown Sigmund, the years had not altered his physical form too much. He was master of his movements, and his confidence had the effect of annoying his opponent.
Blokfiste struck more and more furiously, his blows became less precise, and more tiring. Vaucanson made a feint and even managed to inflict a cut on his chest with the point of his sword. Which made the ochre Feral Skaven burst into anger.
Blokfiste jumped back, and twirled his right arm up and down. Understanding the manoeuvre, the Human remained with his legs bent, ready to react. When he felt himself almost carried away by the momentum of the heavy mass of steel at the end of his forearm, the war chief released the retaining catch of his weapon. The chain deployed, and the cannonball smashed into the ground right where, half a second earlier, Vaucanson had been standing. He was not hit, but he wavered under the impact of the shock wave which shook the surrounding earth.
Blokfiste was out of breath. Bent forward, he was breathing so heavily the Human could hear him panting over all the sounds of battle. Vaucanson would take advantage of the opportunity to hit him in the head. But as he rushed towards the feral Skaven, a low rumble rang out. Suddenly, the earth literally split under their feet. The ball had shaken the rock so hard that the whole side of the cliff collapsed in a landslide.
Sigmund had finally crossed the last row of Plague Censers. He saw Horace de Vaucanson and Blokfiste fighting a few dozen yards apart. He did not question the fact of interrupting a duel in which a Bretonnian noble was engaged. On the contrary, only one thing mattered to him:
Blokfiste is mine!
The war chief looked exhausted, his cannonball buried in the ground. It was now or never!
You're dead, scum!
As if in mocking response to this thought, the ground cracked and collapsed under the weight of the two fighters who disappeared together into the chasm, under the hallucinated gaze of the Black Skaven. He stammered:
- It can't be…
And yet, it had indeed happened.
The moment of daze, however, didn't last much longer. Sigmund spotted his most trusted warrior finishing piercing the sternum of a Plague Censer with his spear.
- Himmelstoss!
The Black Skaven approached as best he could.
- Yes, Captain?
- Continue to help the Bretonnians, I entrust the regiment to you, while I go fetch Vaucanson!
- At your service!
Sigmund rushed towards the edge of the cliff, slowed as he approached the void, and crouched down. He carefully stretched his nose over the hole, and gritted his teeth in rage.
A huge cloud of dust and stones prevented him from seeing clearly, but he guessed the section of cliff that had broken away had fallen about thirty feet below. He didn't distinguish Horace de Vaucanson, but he quickly spotted Blokfiste. The ochre Feral Skaven was firmly clinging to the rock wall with the iron claws of his left hand. The war chief even managed to slide down the natural wall. Sparks flew around his fingers as he descended in a controlled manner.
Sigmund let out a cry of frustration, and hurried to find a place stable and passable enough to be able to follow the ochre Feral Skaven.
- Come on, you bunch of mugs! Continue without slowing down!
The Chaos Marauders groaned in approval. Gabriel didn't dare say a word, still completely overwhelmed by the surrealism of the situation. While the entire Feral Skaven colony was upside down, he was getting closer to the exit, and therefore to his salvation, protected and guided by Chaos Warriors led by a champion of Khorne!
The worst thing was that he was beginning to believe escape this way was possible. The tunnels seemed less dark to him, better lit by the sunlight visible through the openings that pierced the roof of the cavern, here and there. The small troop passed a group of stone houses and entered a new tunnel.
And all the while, Emil hadn't stopped crying.
Gabriel felt dizzy. He could almost feel blood dripping out of his ears. His eyes burned from seeing such terrible things. His hands were clenched, his arms aching under the baby's weight. Even his feet seemed to have difficulty obeying him.
- We'll get out of there, guys! roared Lennart Fireblood. I promise you we will get out of this giant sewer!
They came to an intersection. One tunnel went to the left, the other to the right. Lennart raised his hand to give the order to stop.
- Hmm... With all this mess, I don't remember the way. Anyone does?
This question remained unanswered, but it was not their doing. Indeed, screeching, squealing and hissing echoed off the walls of the left tunnel.
- They chose for us! the champion of Khorne growled.
Barely had he said these words when a new wave of Feral Skaven appeared at the bottom of the tunnel, and approached at full speed.
- Again! How many are there? Gabriel moaned.
These didn't look particularly fearsome. They ran haphazardly, as if fleeing the fight behind them rather than rushing into the one in front of them. But there were still many of them, and the tunnel was narrow.
The man in red armour turned his head towards Gabriel, then pointed energetically at the corridor leading to the right.
- Go this way with the little one, we'll hold them back.
- But you'll get killed!
- Get out of here, or I kick your ass!
Gabriel suddenly remembered who he was talking to. Too happy to see the Feral Skaven and the forces of Chaos fighting among themselves without paying any more attention to him, he left as quickly as he could.
You could have at least thanked them for bringing you here! he reproached to himself. Thank Chaotese who kill everything they can kill, you're lunatic! his intellect retorted.
His instinct whispered that to him: he was no longer very far from the exit.
- Cheer up, Emil, we're almost there!
He didn't know if he had wanted to reassure the little baby boy, or if he had said that for himself. In the first case, it hadn't worked, Emil continued to scream and cry. He, on the other hand, felt a little flame of confidence warming his guts.
- Emil, I promise we'll be out soon!
He stopped at a corner, out of sight, sat down on the ground, and lifted Emil so that he was facing him. The poor little one was screaming until his vocal cords were torn apart, so much so that Gabriel became worried.
What if he was poisoned, or that pig Grey Seer had casted a spell on him, or a curse?
- Emil… You won't turn into a Mutant and bite my head off, will you?
He tried to say it in a joking tone, but Emil didn't seem to hear him. He didn't seem to be aware of anything other than the reason for this crisis.
If only I knew what this reason is!
He concentrated, and tried to visualize what his elders had done in this situation. What had her mother or her big sister done to console Isolde when, a couple of years earlier, she was the same age, and in the same condition?
Suddenly he had an illumination.
Gently, he held the White Skaven baby close to his heart, and slowly rocked back and forth, then left and right, all the while awkwardly muttering a lullaby. He tried to put all his intention into it. He closed his eyes, tried not to pay attention to Emil's squeals, and continued humming, like a litany.
After a long time, his ears seemed less bruised. He opened his eyes, and noticed that although the little rat boy was still hiccupping, his face sticky with tears, he was bawling a little less loudly, and his features were less tense with suffering.
- I'm so sorry, Emil, I wish I would be able to do more!
He then felt his leather suit getting wet and hot at the same time. He sighed. At this point, one more "accident" on his clothes wouldn't bother him more than that.
On the other hand, squeals that echoed in the tunnel reminded him of the emergency of the situation.
- Right, let's get back on our way.
Without waiting for the slightest reaction from the little White Skaven, Gabriel got up and started running again.