《Reborn as a Fantasy General (Army-Building Isekai)》


 Chapter 1

    ¡°We must love one another or die¡±


    -W.H Auden


    ¡°All wars are unnecessary. Human unity has only ever been accomplished through peace.¡±


    Marcus listened, trying his best not to grind his teeth into a fine paste.


    ¡°My opponent today is under the impression that all of us in this room who hold this belief do so due to naivety. But if love of my fellow human being makes me na?ve, then I''m guilty as charged. May the brave warriors who venerate humanity''s barbaric past like Mr Graham here string me up before you."


    A series of chuckles came from the student body. Marcus was about ready to split his pen in half. He¡¯d promised himself he¡¯d take notes ¨C that he¡¯d focus on fact-based debate.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let yourself get baited!¡± Maria had told him when he groggily rose from bed at 2am this morning to look over his speech for the seventeenth time. ¡°If Steven starts off with ad-hominem attacks, don¡¯t rise to it. You hear me? You can be such a bloody hothead and that¡¯s not the look you want.¡±


    Now here he sat in the lecture hall, his hands practically shaking with rage, which of course the student photographers at the debate event would take a snapshot of and label as fear in tomorrow¡¯s campus paper.


    Above the door to the lecture theatre hung an ¡®Exit¡¯ sign in blazing neon letters that proved to be distractingly tantalizing. And below this sign, hanging limply from the door, was plastered the name of the event he¡¯d, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be a good idea to speak at:


    ¡®The Morality of Warfare¡¯


    Recent tensions in the contested nation-state of Kosava had prompted heated discussion on the subject on campus, and the Head of the Centre for Military History had called on him to make a case that their faculty was still a legitimate one. Marcus had risen to the challenge like a rooster with the rising sun, and only afterwards had he realized exactly who is opponent would be.


    ¡°Of course, I don¡¯t mean to assert that my opponent today is nothing but a mouthpiece of ideologically-charged talking points. I think his track record speaks for itself.¡±


    Steven Barenz. Chairman of the Unification Office ¨C as dystopian as that title sounded. He was a self-proclaimed crusader for justice, who had taken it upon himself to see that Marcus¡¯s faculty ¨C indeed his entire subject itself ¨C was deemed too dangerous to be taught to the bright young minds of this generation.


    The Unification Office...Marcus was someone who strongly believed in the separation of church and state, but he generally turned a blind eye to new faiths popping up on Campus. After all, people were free to follow whatever moral code made sense to them. This one though - the church of Unification...they seemed to breed evangelical robots more than they molded people.


    Unity was what they wanted, even if it meant erasing the past. And men like Marcus - military historians - were on the wrong side of the new history they were writing.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Steven was saying, hands flying around like a preacher. ¡°Marcus Graham has been a spokesperson for a department in this college that is quickly becoming a thing of the Dark Ages. Like the wars he so desperately clings to - hugging the image of its old, gung-ho heroes to his breast like a glorified John Wayne production - he is a relic. A fossil. But he cannot be fully blamed for his ignorance. Our nation, after all, was built on the very same ignorance he demonstrates today.¡±


    Don''t get baited, don''t get baited....don''t let yourself lose control, Marcus. He had known Barenz to be an opponent who could whip up a crowd with controversial statements. He was a showman. And, Marcus hated to admit, he was good at it.


    And here Marcus sat beneath him, crumpled notepad in hand, black-rimmed spectacles framing his freckled nose. Somehow, the disparity between them pissed him off more.


    Suddenly Steven came to the crux of a real argument, and Marcus entered the room once more:


    ¡°War has accomplished nothing but suffering,¡± he was saying, hands gripping the podium like it might fall away from him. ¡°And it brings out the worst in human nature. Witness the Rape of Nanjing by the Imperial Japanese Kwomangting, the atrocities committed in the name of God during the Crusades, and the complete failure that was Vietnam. These incidents speak for themselves. They were invasions, pure and simple, of a foreign power against a sovereign nation. The idea of ¡®Might makes Right¡¯ was fully on display ¨C and legitimized all atrocities the invading forces committed. The children of Nanjing, Ho Chi Ming, and Akris were slaughtered like cattle, all for the sake of some ideological victory over a perceived ¡®enemy¡¯.


    Furthermore, the concept of ¡®good wars¡¯ and ¡®bad wars¡¯ that Marcus has written so much about has no basis in reality. Even in the Second World War, the allied forces cannot claim the moral high ground in the wake of the firebombing of Dresden, an event which killed approximately 25000 innocent German lives. I wonder what the Founding Fathers of Hiroshima and Nagasaki would say if they heard Mr Graham speak today on the ¡®necessity¡¯ of the atomic bomb that vaporized their people? Could he look them in the eye ¨C the melting bodies of the Japanese who died in nuclear fire ¨C and tell them they were just the necessary casualties needed to end the war?¡±


    The crowd had grown silent. Almost reverent, and a chorus of rapturous applause echoed from every seat as Steven bowed lightly and finished up his opening statement.


    Marcus, meanwhile, was just surprised that Steven had actually read something he¡¯d written, even if he¡¯d done nothing more than give it a cursory glance.


    The Speaker then invited Marcus to the podium. He rose steadily, his notes crumpled in his hand.


    ¡°Just breathe¡±, he muttered under his breath. ¡°Face your fear, and do it anyway.¡±


    Some boos and jeers greeted him instantly, and Steven¡¯s proud, smug face beamed at him from the front of the crowd.


    As the spotlight above hit his eyes, Marcus was suddenly transported back to Maria fixing his tie before he stepped out of his apartment this morning.


    ¡°He¡¯ll try everything to distract you,¡± she had said. ¡°They crowd will be on his side. You know that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± he¡¯d told her with a smile. ¡°But I have to do this.¡±


    ¡°Why? It¡¯s not like you have anything to prove. You¡¯re gonna be a published author soon. You don¡¯t have to answer a callout from some pompous twat like that.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t use labels like that,¡± he said with a chuckle. ¡°They do nothing but keep us all divided.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she giggled back. "Twat'' or ''pompous''? I call them like I see them, hun. That''s what you signed up for when you started dating me."


    He looked at her pale face framed by locks of amber hair and inset with gleaming chestnut eyes. When he¡¯d started seeing her, most people remarked how she looked more like a ghost than a woman.


    How ironic, then, that she was the only woman he¡¯d ever met who saw him for who he was ¨C who had been able to see that within this bookish military history nerd there beat a heart filled to the brim with passion for everything he threw himself into.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± she said again as she pressed a wet kiss onto his pallid lips.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°I know,¡± he whispered. ¡°But in order to be able to think, we all need opposition every now and then. I don¡¯t want to live in a world where we all believe the same things.¡±


    ¡°The way things are going¡­¡± she replied tentatively. ¡°With people like him around¡­¡±


    He took her hands in his and smiled through his tiredness. ¡°Maria, that¡¯s exactly why we have to fight!¡±


    It was her face that he saw through the bright spotlights of the lecture hall, and then, as the light dimmed and dipped beneath his eyes, he looked out onto a sea of hatred.


    He muttered an apology to Maria. He wasn¡¯t about to take this sitting down.


    ¡°My opponent seems to know everything about me,¡± he began, looking directly into the sea of anger as it slowly began to swell with his every word. ¡°But I believe it is more useful to judge a man by the content of his speech rather than by blanket statements about what he represents.¡±


    The seething had already begun. He didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Mr Barenz would have me answer for the sins of a generation that came before me. He would parade me before you like a witch on trial. And yet, I wonder if he has truly spared a thought to the piles of corpses he wants to stand on. Would Mr Barenz care to listen to the 6 million Jews massacred in the Holocaust, and tell them that Dresden was the worst calamity of that barbarous conflict? Would he care to listen to the thousands of Americans butchered in Japanese internment camps, or perhaps the 7.5 million Chinese civilians who, as he puts it himself, fell to the Japanese Imperial Army from as early as 1936 and who, for the record, make up the highest percentage of civilian casualties experienced across the entire wartime period? Could he look at that sea of dead and tell them the atomic bomb was a mistake?¡±


    The crowd was starting to rise up in arms. He went on, unperturbed.


    ¡°I am not here to shock you,¡± Marcus said, trying to check his flaring temper. ¡°I am here to point out that if Mr Barenz¡¯ argument is that atrocity exists, then I agree with him. It happens to be a part of human nature and ¨C¡°


    ¡°WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE THAT!?¡±


    The question was belted from a young man in the crowd that Marcus could barely even see.


    ¡°I don¡¯t decide a thing. None of us do. Human history follows identifiable trajectories,¡± he explained. ¡°War has been part of every developed culture on the face of this earth. To look at only atrocities committed in warfare and judge all armed disputes based on them is to deny the necessity of fighting a just conflict.¡±


    ¡°JUST?!¡± someone yelled back at him. ¡°Is there justice in sending thousands of young people to die for politicians who don''t care a jot about them?¡±


    By this point, Marcus¡¯ teeth were practically sharpened. But he breathed. He stayed calm.


    ¡°I''m not arguing for conscription,¡± Marcus replied, his grip tightening on the podium¡¯s edges. ¡°I''m arguing that there are such things as righteous causes for which people must take up arms. Would you tell Cochise that, even though the odds were against him, he should have simply given up and submitted to the USA¡¯s genocidal campaigns against his people? Evil is evil ¨C plain and simple.¡±*


    ¡°Who is this kid?¡± one of the professors suddenly barked up at him.


    ¡°But I ¨C¡° Marcus stammered, seeing fists begin to flare and tempers rise. ¡°I ¨C I am not here to defend the concept of warfare! I am here to defend the study and analysis of military conflict as a legitimate branch of history.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re doing a shitty job of it!¡±


    ¡°History is-often-written by the victors!¡± Marcus shouted, fumbling with his notes, trying to be heard over the increasing might of the crowd. ¡°But this is only partially correct ¨C in truth, it is written by historians. Historians who have the objectivity to look at the past and learn from the mistakes we, as humans, have made. And I tell you that war is not a blanket evil. We must catalogue and emphasize the horrors of war. But we must also catalogue the simple fact that, sometimes, one person ¨C or one people ¨C must stand up and fight.¡±


    ¡°You Jingoist bastard!¡± another voice cried.


    ¡°No!¡± Marcus shouted right back, his voice becoming increasingly hoarse. ¡°I do not condone conquest, or the enslavement and domination of others through military force. Force cannot change the minds of a people. But education can-¡°


    He stopped, feeling something heavy and sharp impact the side of his head, and his hand flew to feel the trickle of blood that had started to run down the side of his face.


    The object that had been thrown at him ¨C a rock wrapped in notebook paper ¨C fell heavily to the ground.


    And with it, all hell broke loose in the hall.


    Some students had started charging the stage, barreling over their classmates while they flew a peace sign from a great banner that trailed after them. The campus guards surged forwards, bearing down on the protestors while the doors were opened from the outside and the call went out that the lecture was finished. As the students started to be funneled away by the overburdened security guards, some started crying out bloody murder, while others tried to maze the campus guards before they were shoved away, taking selfies of their brutalized faces and telling their online followers that they had just been assaulted at Mr Graham¡¯s lecture. No mention of Steven Berenz was made.


    Marcus watched in stunned horror as the remaining students fighting in the hall clambered over themselves, trying to reach him, while the beleaguered Campus guards did what they could to extract him as soon as possible.


    ¡°Come on, son,¡± one of them told Marcus, grabbing him by his limp arm and dragging him away by force. ¡°Time to go.¡±


    Marcus looked through the haze of red that clouded his vision at the baying, hateful crowd. Like a pack of jackals yipping to see him shredded apart. They hadn¡¯t come here to listen or to learn.


    And as he let the security detail lead him outside, he suddenly realized his mistake: he had taken the bait long before the lecture had even started.


    ¡­


    The incessant ticking of Marcus¡¯ antique clock dominated his meagre student apartment.


    Above, his ceiling fan spun with little alternative as he lay on his threadbare couch like a potato stewing in the warm California sun. Maria looked down at him, her lithe fingers stroking his thinning, disheveled hair.


    ¡°You know,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe if you¡¯d at least showered before the show, they¡¯d have listened to you.¡±


    He struggled to form a wry smile, taking her hand in his.


    ¡°I¡¯m a fool, Mari.¡±


    She shook her pale face. ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re just someone who actually believes in the things he says. That¡¯s never gonna make you a popular guy on a college campus.¡±


    He sighed, long and deep, as he reached for his phone.


    Maria, however, was faster. She snatched it up and threw it away.


    ¡°Nope,¡± she told his incredulous face. ¡°You¡¯re not looking at that. You¡¯re gonna look at me instead.¡±


    She took his face in both her hands and squeezed his cheeks together, rubbing them like he was a little boy being reprimanded for bad behavior.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m a sensitive man, you know.¡±


    She planted a kiss on his forehead. ¡°Don¡¯t I know it. That¡¯s why I¡¯m not having you look at your phone. You¡¯ve lost all your internet privileges today.¡±


    He sighed again as his eyes traced her defined features, losing himself momentarily in the chestnut sea of her eyes. He¡¯d made the mistake of checking his socials in the wake of the debate, seeing ¨C well ¨C exactly what he expected. The Unification brigade had taken to saying he incited violence, and all they needed to prove this claim was some pictures of bruised faces and copies of his student transcript which, of course, someone had managed to procure. Now they were organizing a petition to have him removed from his faculty, labelling him a Stochastic Terrorist.


    The worst part? He understood. He got it. He could see why they needed to believe what they did - these students who had never bore witness to horror. The Warlords gathering power on the far side of the world weren''t their concern. They thought belligerence could be fought with pacifism.


    It wasn''t even their fault. The Office had whipped them up into a frenzy before the lecture had even begun. He should have known that. He should have seen how the ''debate'' would go.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Maria interrupted his thoughts. ¡°I can see it in your eyes. You¡¯re thinking about those Twitter freaks again. What have I told you about letting them get to your head?¡±


    He closed his eyes. He knew she was right. As a student of Communications and Psychology, she knew much more about how the modern world of propaganda and how it worked than he ever had. He¡¯d been too stuck in the past before he met her. She¡¯d led him into the present.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he said. ¡°What am I going to do?¡±


    She blinked. ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll never publish the book now.¡±


    He looked towards the manuscript on his desk ¨C screeds and screeds of painstaking research compiled over at least 6 years of constant study as part of his Doctoral Thesis. An overview of military tactics from the medieval-early-modern-contemporary era, and an assessment of observed patterns. Effectiveness of campaigns, relative strengths of military commanders, technological developments and how these strategies from the past could still have practical application.


    It was his life¡¯s work, staring him in the face every morning, begging him to finalize it and send it out into the world.


    But now? Now he could barely even look at it. It was as though he ¨C the author ¨C had failed the work. He wasn¡¯t worthy enough to carry it through.


    ¡°You always doubt yourself,¡± Maria said gently, her fingers playing with his tufts of frizzled hair. ¡°But ¨C look ¨C it¡¯s you that¡¯s the most important thing here. You haven¡¯t taken a break in days. Look at you.¡±


    She sat up and forced him to look in a small glass mirror. The reflection that looked back at him barely resembled what he knew to be himself ¨C his dark rimmed glasses were steamed up and cracked at the ends, the sharp jade eyes behind them looked at him with judgement, and his beard was just as matted and unkept as his hair.


    ¡°To tell you the truth,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m worried about you, Marc. You¡¯re not looking after yourself. You¡¯re throwing everything away on this. Life¡¯s more than just study, you know. It¡¯s more than just recognition. Who the hell cares if they don¡¯t like the book? You don¡¯t have anything to prove to them.¡±


    He shifted his eyes and looked back at the manuscript, seeing ¨C as only an author could ¨C all the blood, sweat, and tears he¡¯d poured into it over the years.


    ¡°I am that book,¡± he said.


    When then he curled up to sleep, he felt Maria¡¯s hand touch his back like she was trying to dress an open wound before he escaped into the world of his dreams.

 Chapter 2

    "Who''s for the game, the biggest that''s played,


    The red crashing game of a fight?


    Who''ll grip and tackle the job unafraid


    And who thinks he''d rather sit tight?"


    -Jessie Pope


    Marcus tossed and turned in his sleep, his dreams wracked by demons and tormentors.


    He saw the baying crowd crying out for his blood, jabbing him with imaginary pitchforks like he really was a witch. At their head stood Steven Barenz, the head of the horned demons, shrieking out slogan after slogan about how much of a monster Marcus was ¨C how he''d rot in obscurity. How he was a failure.


    But above all the vicious taunts, there was one the dream-Marcus simply couldn''t shake off.


    "Could you look at them?" the mocking voice of Barenz wailed in his ears. "Could you look at all the faces of those who suffered under the yolk of Generals and Tyrants, and tell them that the road to progress would be paved with their blood and broken bones?"


    His dream-self had no answer, and just before he was thrown into the fiery depths of the abyss, and the whole college of screaming demons finally had their victory, he woke up to the sound of his alarm clock going crazy.


    "Sh¡­.Lud!"


    Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead, feeling like a prized moron for having passed out on the couch. He checked the screaming clock and saw that it was around 1am. His hand fumbled in the dark for his glasses, finding that Maria had placed them on the table beside him as he slumbered.


    "Mari," he murmured. "You deserve so much better than this fool you shacked up with."


    He resolved that he might as well pluck himself up, pour himself some scotch, and work through the rest of the early morning. When it hit 5am he''d order something for Mari and serve her breakfast in bed. That would put her mind at rest. That would-


    "..ai¡­alud!"


    He turned his head towards his screaming alarm clock, wondering at the sound that was shrieking from its face. Was it broken? Again? Honestly, Mari had been right to suggest he get rid of it. But he couldn''t. Even though it was a busted, dust-caked relic, he had always had a soft spot for old, broken things.


    "Sha¡­ud!"


    Then again, that noise was just a little too annoying.


    He pushed off from the couch and groggily approached the cackling clock, feeling more and more like the sound coming from the thing was not the regular sounds of a clock at all.


    "Sh¡­alud!"


    Now that he got closer, it sounded almost like a voice.


    "¡­hai-alu¡­"


    No, not one voice, but many.


    Maybe he''d put that drink on hold¡­


    "Shai-Alu-!"


    It sounded almost like¡­a chant? A song?


    Or¡­


    "SHAI-ALUD!"


    A summons.


    As soon as the two syllables were howled in full, Marcus felt his whole body shift.


    "What..?"


    No, he realized. It wasn''t just his body. The room was spinning. The clock face was melting into the ground, each roman numeral on its face slowly slipping down the mantel piece like melting egg-yolks.


    Around him, he saw the couch sink into the floor, his apartment table disintegrate entirely, and his floor begin to shake like an earthquake was about to tear through the whole college.


    "I¡­I better wake Mari," he told himself, trying to still his beating heart.


    But the increasing volume of the chant started to gnaw away at his ears, and soon the words sung by a guttural chorus was all he could hear:


    "SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!"


    He gripped his ears as the sound tore through him. The door to his bedroom simply shook like a leaf in the wind and then broke apart, sending splinters flying across his walls.


    But the shock of all this was nothing compared to what he saw next.


    His eyes flew to where his manuscript was sitting and saw that every single page was floating in the air. He watched in disbelief as his ink-filled notes began to slip away, sliding off each tatty page like a child had spilled paint over them.


    "No!" he wailed, lunging at the flying scraps as they fizzled away with the rest of his room. "NO!"


    He fell to his knees.


    He had just looked at his hands.


    His fingers twisted before him like elongated talons, slowly melting into the maelstrom of spinning furniture that his apartment had become.


    And it was in this state that Mari finally entered the room.


    "M¡­Marc¡­"


    Her leg had been pierced by splinters from the broken bed. Her face was covered in blood. She limped towards him, falling to the ground and reaching out towards his terrified form.


    "Mari¡­"


    "MARI!"


    Marc lunged for his girl just as the floor finally gave way, and the last thing he saw before he plummeted into darkness was the sight of Mari''s blood-streaked face.


    ¡­


    "SHAI-ALUD!"


    "SHAI-ALUD!"


    "SHAI¡­ALUD!"


    Skeever-Steelclaw of the Crimson-Eye Clan was running out of options.


    The Kobolds had cornered his men in a cave off of the Black Gulch caverns, cutting off his supply lines and thinning his numbers by the second.


    "Sire!" his second-in-command, Redwhiskers, screamed. "They come upon us again!"


    "Be holding fast!" Skeever snapped back at the Claw-Leader. "Are you a worm or a rat?!"


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "Be telling this to the others!" Redwhiskers wailed in protest. He only came up to Skeever''s chest. Even for a Ratman he was short. Still, he certainly possessed a voice that would carry.


    "Be silencing yourself," Skeever warned. "Or I will be gutting you before the Kobolds do!"


    The Claw-Leader scurried off to muck in with what remained of Skeever''s meagre force. 30 Ratguard with ¨C at best ¨C decent training, whose spears had at this point been abandoned in favor of their shields. They pushed together to hold the entrance of the cavern where Skeever and the head-priest conducted their desperate ritual, the arrows and bullets of their enemies flying over their heads.


    Skeever looked at the beleaguered ratguard as they weathered the storm of the Kobold''s hail of projectiles from the other side of the gulch. Damned cowardly little demons! Even when they outnumbered his forces ten to one they still would rather hurt them from afar rather than kill them quickly.


    The stalactites of the cave began to yield as more bullets and arrows slammed into them, pushing the ratman shield wall back inch by inch.


    Even the most putrid, dung-eating ratcub would know that they were dead - that this pitiful holdout was nothing more than buying them what little time they had in the service of the He-Who-Festers.


    And so, with little other option, Skeever had turned to his Head-Priest.


    Deekius.


    The Talon-Commander looked upon the priest with the same derision one would save for an albino-rat. He hated to even look in the aging priest''s direction.


    But the orders of his King were paramount: every army, every squad ¨C no matter how big or small ¨C had to contain at least one priest so that He-Who-Festers would look upon their exploits with favor.


    But looking at the ragged-clothed as he shook his staff like a child and spoke a name Skeever did not know to the uncaring walls of their cave, Skeever could not exactly be blamed for thinking that their God had abandoned them.


    "How much longer will this be taking, priest," he spat. His distrust in those who claimed to speak to the Gods was no secret.


    Deekius barely paid him any attention. He simply continued dancing around the bloody Golb they had sacrificed on his makeshift altar (which, for the record, had required four of Skeever''s men to construct). Those same men, the priest insisted, had to join him in his ridiculous chant.


    "SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-"


    "Enough with your ''Shai-Alud!''" Skeever exploded, grabbing the priest''s staff with his gauntleted claw. "We have tried your silly ritual. Now, we will be doing it my way."


    Deekius'' beady old eyes gazed at Skeever under his hood. "Your way will see us all dead, Talon-Commander."


    The red storm of Skeever''s rage could be seen even through his fur. He grappled with the priest as his men looked on, feeling more hopeless with each passing second.


    "When ¨C will ¨C you ¨C be ¨C understanding!" Skeever cried. "He-Who-Festers does not listen!"


    "Your ¨C lack ¨C of -faith ¨C is ¨C being ¨C your ¨C weakness!"


    "WEAKNESS!?" Skeever shrieked in response. "I ¨C I will be showing you weakness, you water-bather! I will -!"


    A stab of light blazed in the cavern, interrupting the heated conflict between priest and commander and searing into the thin retinas of every surviving Ratling. Every tail curled up in fear, and apprehension, and those forming the shield wall had to resist the urge to turn around and see what had just befallen their compatriots. Was it an attack from the rear? Had they unearthed a secret stash of dwarven explosives? Those runts did always love to leave booby-traps in these tunnels¡­


    But Skeever and Deekius could not resist the urge to drop to their knees before the sight they now saw before them. The light struck the corpse of the Golb, exploding the bulbous body of the creature into a dozen bloodied chunks, and then began to take on form. First ¨C a body shimmering and bright, then two arms and legs stretched out from within the otherworldly light that told the Ratlings exactly what they had just summoned.


    A human.


    As the piercing, blazing light finally died, the form of a man stood naked before them ¨C hair disheveled and smelly, eyes rimmed with oddly shaped spectacles, and with eyes that spoke of his experience ¨C eyes that bore into the soul of every Ratling so that those who met his gaze simply had to look away.


    Even Skeever felt himself awed by the sight. He relinquished his grip on Deekius and dropped to his knees with the rest of the congregation, momentarily forgetting that there was still a battle raging outside.


    "Praise be He-Who-Festers!" Deekius wailed to the stony sky above them all. "Our savior has come! Let his name be sung from the depths of the Underkingdom: SHAI-ALUD IS COMETH!"


    Skeever gulped as he locked eyes with the human man and saw him open his mouth. What words he would say would go down in history. Right now, in this moment, Skeever was part of something so far beyond himself that he wished to commit it to his short memory.


    Shai-Alud closed his mouth, blinked twice, and then opened it again:


    "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?"

 Chapter 3

    "He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight"


    -Sun Tzu


    Marcus looked down upon the swathe of hunched, humanoid rats that surrounded him, staring at his naked body like it was the body of a God.


    And once more he shouted the only words his mind could conjure:


    "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"


    Around him was a dark basalt cave that looked like it was on the verge of collapse ¨C pieces of the conal stalactites above were shaking as projectiles hammered off them ¨C arrows and makeshift bullets that Marcus had to duck to avoid.


    His voice shook the creatures before him to their core, and only one of them ¨C the filthy looking one with a staff topped by the horned skull of one of its own ¨C dared to step towards him.


    "We are being sorry, Shai-Alud, for calling upon you without warning. But our lives are being in danger, and we must be returning to Fleapit tonight to deliver vital information to King Shrykul."


    "We ¨C we were being desperate, Sire," another filthy rat chimed in as it saw Marcus'' disgusted face. This one was clad in grime-soaked steel and held himself above the others. He was at least twice the size of the tiny rodent with the staff who called him ''Shai-Alud.''


    "We know you must be confused," he continued. "But we cannot afford to wait here. Answers will be given after the battle is won!"


    "Confused!?" Marcus railed. "That''s an understatement! You''re a talking rat!"


    The ratlings all shared a confused look at eachother.


    "We thought the human kingdoms of the surface are all having heard of us."


    "You! You¡­" Marcus trailed off. He suddenly remembered the last sight he saw before he was transported here ¨C that of Mari''s blood-soaked face trembling in the dark.


    "Let me out of here," he demanded. "Now."


    The robed rat moved forward. "Shai-Alud, we cannot be-"


    Marcus pushed past him, ignoring his excuses, and eventually collided with the ratling sheild wall.


    "Let me pass!"


    One of the rats ¨C a skittish-looking fellow with red-tipped whiskers - turned his head and squeaked, "We cannot be doing this, Sire! The Kobolds will swarm us!"


    Kobolds¡­


    "Get out of my way!"


    Marcus shoved himself into the shield wall ¨C four rats deep, each man holding against what he now saw was a hail of arrows and bolts that hammered the shields of those at the front. He observed the ratlings shift and move back, the row behind then replacing the front row, giving the latter line time to recover.


    They were like living shock absorbers, Marcus mused. But as he pushed passed another ratguard and saw who their enemy was, he realized that they had no chance of holding out.


    They were positioned at the mouth of a cave that overlooked a streaming gulch, filled to the brim with oozing green water (or at least, Marcus assumed it was water). On the other side of the gulch lay a horde of yipping red demons firing arrow after arrow at the ratling''s position, harrying them with impunity and crying out a flurry of taunts Marcus didn''t understand.


    He stepped back, slowly, and the ranks closed up behind him, before he finally bumped into the big rat-man again.


    "You see, Shai-Alud," the creature said. "We are needing your help. We cannot survive like this."


    Marcus''s eyes were starting to adjust to the grim situation he saw around him. Slowly he came to see the dying and dead rats that lay littered across the cave floor, their bodies riddled with arrow shafts, their eyes filled with festering maggots.


    "This¡­this is a dream," Marcus said, rubbing his eyes forcefully. "This ¨C yeah ¨C I''m dreaming, right? I have to be."


    His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the big rat lunging towards him.


    "Shai-Alud!"


    He felt something graze the top of his head before he hit the ground, the huge rat bearing down on top of him.


    The arrow that had just missed the back of his skull embedded itself in the far wall of the cave.


    And Marcus was forced to concede that the sting of the projectile as it flew by the tips of his split end hairs was all too real.


    "The barking demons dare to attack Shai-Alud!" The robed rat howled. "They shall taste of his vengeance! Sire, be giving us your direction. Be telling us your plan!"


    Marcus blinked as the massive rat hauled him to his feet. "Plan?"


    "Indeed, great Shail-Alud! It is said that He-Who-Festers will summon to us a champion who''s power shall be knowledge. A champion that shall be plucked from the realm of Gods and take the shape of a human man. A champion who shall be guiding us out of the long night of our suffering and usher in a new era for the Under-Kingdom! A champion with the same scent as our kind!"


    Marcus bristled at that last bit. But, well, he had to admit that he did stink.


    If not showering this morning was what contributed to him being summoned to another world, he was beginning to understand why most protagonists of those Isekai works he''d heard about were often children whose IQ approached that of a refrigerator''s.


    "You¡­selfish, arrogant little creatures!" Marcus yelled. "You have no idea what you''ve done to me! My ¨C I had a life back there! I had a girl¡­I had my¡­my work!"


    He collapsed into himself like a bundle of falling cards, covering his face in his hands.


    "My book.." he murmured. "My manuscript ¨C all my notes ¨C gone¡­"


    The Rat-men looked to each other, unsure of how to proceed.


    "Deekius," the big one mumbled. "Are you being sure that this one is¡­"


    The robed rat looked at his companion long and hard before returning his dark gaze to Marcus. His eyes were small, with slitted pupils that more resembled those of a snake than those of a rat''s.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    As more cries of torment were heard from the shield wall, Deekius eventually produced a cup from beneath his robes and filled it with water from the surrounding cave floor. He then placed his claw over it and intoned a word that was lost to Marcus'' ears.


    What wasn''t lost, however, was the hot cloud of steam that started to rise from the cup, and he suddenly became aware that he was indeed in a world where magic could course through the veins of even a creature as lowly as this.


    Deekius handed the cup to Marcus and then placed a putrid hand on his shoulder.


    "Shai-Alud," he said. "If it is my life you are wishing to take for my impertinent summons, I will be giving you it once this battle is won."


    Marcus looked up at the ratman''s dim eyes and saw the blind belief in him that shimmered behind them.


    "I was not wishing to destroy your place in your realm," he went on. "I am being but a groveling priest of He-Who-Festers. I cannot be imagining how worshipped you are among your fellow spirits."


    Marcus scoffed in spite of everything, taking a timid sip of the drink that had been offered to him. If only this dung-eating rat knew what his life back home was really like¡­


    "But we are needing you, Shai-Alud. We are not needing books. Scrawls on pages are meaning nothing to us. What we need is the knowledge of one versed in war. Shai-Alud, that person is you."


    Marcus sat back, seeing the same desperate desire reflected in the large armored rat that stood at attention behind the priestly one. Meanwhile, his stomach cried out at him to never accept a drink from ratmen again.


    He might have said something, but Marcus was too preoccupied with something else. Something Mari had said just before all this madness:


    Look ¨C it''s you that''s the most important thing here.


    He sighed deeply, looking down at his shaking hands.


    "Mari¡­"


    His hand then flew to touch the lice-ridden paw of the rat.


    "If I help you," he said. "Could you send me back?"


    The priestly Deekius hesitated. But it was the armored brute that spoke for him.


    "Deekius will do as the Shai-Alud commands," he barked. "If there is being a way to send you home ¨C he shall work until his back is broken to find it!"


    The ratman stared angrily at his companion, but Marcus wasn''t satisfied.


    "I want your word, rat," he said. "If promises mean anything to your kind."


    "SIRE!" the commander of the shield wall screeched. "We cannot be holding much longer!"


    "HOLD, REDWHISKERS!" The brute shouted with an intensity and bassoon that surprised Marcus. "Retreat, and I will be killing you myself!"


    He and the priest then looked back at him.


    "Your word, Deekius," Marcus stated.


    "I ¨C yes," he murmured. Then, with more feeling: "I give my word I shall give my life to find a way for you to return home if you shall be helping us keep ours!"


    Marcus smirked. "I can probably help you win this battle," he said. "But your soldiers will have to listen to me."


    The armored brute beat his fist against his chest, taking up his spear and shield with renewed tenacity. "We await your command, Shai-Alud! Tell us where we must strike the enemy!"


    "We won''t be striking anyone," Marcus replied, matter-of-fact. "Not in this position. Not when you''re hemmed in with no ballistics capacity whatsoever."


    The rats blinked their confusion at their prophesized savior as more arrows began to sing over their heads.


    "Do you have a map?" Marcus asked. In the face of their confused faces, he elaborated, "A drawing of the area. Major paths, any roads, narrow passes, or maybe a larger body of water than what''s out there?"


    The ratmen looked embarrassingly at one another.


    "We are not being artists, Sire."


    Marcus tutted. "Well, you must at least have a camp nearby, right? You said something about getting a message to your king. Where''s your destination?"


    The armored one understood this time. "Fleapit is being a week''s journey away," he explained. "I was leading our Clawpack to Knifegrot fortress when we were attacked by these idiot Kobolds. The fort has many supplies, much food, and many more rats, and is a day''s journey away on claw."


    Marcus pondered that. A day''s journey? With this beleaguered force? It was unlikely they''d make it, even if they made a successful breakout.


    But they were dead if they sat here. At least if they kept moving, they''d have a chance.


    Staring at the slowly dissolving shield wall, a thought suddenly occurred to him.


    "Is there any way to cross the gulch?" Marcus asked. "On either our right or left flank?"


    Skeever replied without hesitation, "I know these tunnels like the back of my claw, Sire. There are being two bridges at either end of Black Gulch. They''re being rickety and old, but they can hold troops."


    Marcus considered this. But he scrounged for more info:


    "Do these Kobolds have any units specialized in CQC?"*


    Again, the rats merely blinked up at him.


    "Do¡­do they have swords for stabbing," he said slowly. "Or big spears like you?"


    "Hah!" the big guy scoffed. "Kobolds are cowards, Sire. They strike from afar, always picking away at us as we move. They are not strong like us!" he beat a fist against his chest again.


    Marcus nodded. A homogenous force composition was their weakness, then. They relied on a single tactic, probably betraying the simplistic nature of warfare in this underground waste.


    Slowly, a plan began to form in Marcus'' head.


    "Shai-Alud?" Deekius asked. "If we are not to attack now, then what are we to do?"


    "The only smart thing we can do," Marcus told the rat-priest. "We''re going to run away."

 Chapter 4

    "You can''t win a war lying down"


    - George S. Patton


    Marcus looked up at the faces of the two ratlings in the aftermath of his revelation.


    They looked like he''d just slapped them both with a wet fish.


    "Don''t mistake me for ordering a withdrawal," he said. "This is more of a feigned retreat than anything else."


    "Shai-Alud?" the hulking rat commander asked. "How are we to run when their arrows don''t stop flying?"


    "Call me Marcus," Marcus replied. "If we''re going to fight together, we might as well know each other''s names."


    The great rat stiffened, clamping his chest again in what might be some kind of salute. "I am Skeever-Steelclaw, fourth Talon-Commander of the Crimson-Eye Clan."


    Marcus nodded. He had some pride about him, for a creature that smelled of fly-covered faeces.


    Then again, that might be Marcus'' own scent.


    "You know my name, Sire," Deekius said. "But to the question of our running, this is not how we ratlings under the watchful eyes of He-Who-Festers make war."


    "You wanted the wisdom of your great summoned hero," Marcus said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "There it is. We''re going to run."


    As both creatures seemed to sink further into despair, Marcus explained further.


    "But like I say, ''feigned retreat'' would be a better way of putting it. We break through the enemy''s hold and reposition ourselves so that we can make one decisive strike at the enemy. Right now, we''re trapped, but we have something the enemy doesn''t."


    Both ratling''s ears perked up.


    "You said it yourself, Skeever," Marcus went on. "Your soldiers are tough, and they''re armored. They''ve clearly got some discipline about them, probably owing to your bassy voice. I''d reckon you could tell them to jump into that evil looking gulch and they''d probably do it."


    Skeever coughed. "He-Who-Festers would not be looking favorably on that, Sire."


    "I''m sure," Marcus chuckled. "But I''m also sure your God wants his followers to live, right? So, here''s what we''re going to do."


    Marcus sat down and began drawing in the wet, mud-caked ground of the cave, aware that the shield wall could buckle at any moment, and that lives were on the line. But he had to go through his plan. In cases like these, total understanding was needed by all military leaders, and he got the impression these two were often at eachothers throats even though they clearly served the historically synergistic roles of battlefield commander and priest. If he could get them both to understand what their troops had to do, and back him up completely, then these rats would have both martial prowess and the fanatical fervor religious zealots were often able to inspire in their troops. You didn''t have to be a man of faith to see that. Such unity of purpose was one of the best force multipliers an army could maintain ¨C it could double the worth of every man in a single unit.


    "Alright," he said. "By my count we have 30 spearmen to work with. That''s good enough for us to split them into two units of 15 and form each into a Testudo Formation.*"


    "Testudo?" Skeever inquired.


    "A tight, mobile, and defensive column," Marcus explained, drawing a crude diagram in the sand of stick-figure soldiers with their shields held high over each others'' heads. "At the vanguard, the shields are kept at arm level, and every other rank within the formation keeps their shield raised over their heads to grant protection to the group from aerial attacks. Used correctly, this will minimize our casualties as each unit moves down the gulch."


    Skeever rubbed his hairy chin. "By He-Who-Festers¡­" he said. "I am never having heard of this."


    "As to our plan of attack ¨C we''re facing a force made up entirely of archers that far outnumbers ours. The best way to strike at them would be with a pincer move, after we''ve disrupted their visibility."


    Marcus reconfigured his crude diagram, pointing out the stages of the plan that was slowly forming in his head.


    "We each lead one force towards both bridges, cross them, and then attack the enemy force from their flanks."


    "Such is the knowledge of the Shai-Alud," Deekius said excitedly as he followed Marcus'' sketching fingers. "The teachings of Greyrax himself could not even compare. But it is remaining to be said: what is this you say about disrupting their visibility?"


    Marcus looked up at the wondering priest.


    "A bowman that can''t see can''t fire reliably. And, luckily for us, we''ve got a nice body of water between us and them."


    Both rats blinked at the human again.


    "So?" they chimed.


    "So?" Marcus said with a smirk. "You''ve already got the answer, Deekius. You showed me it when you boiled me my drink."


    Both rats watched as he raised his putrid water cup and took a hearty swill of the vile liquid again. It went down with a vile aftertaste, but then what did he expect of dung eating rats? Magic milkshakes?


    Eventually, both talking vermin realized what he meant.


    "By Greyrax," Skeever whispered. "It ¨C it just might be working!"


    Deekius raised his staff and bowed his head.


    "Such is the knowledge of the Shai-Alud. He knows us better than we are knowing ourselves¡­"


    The ratmen stared in wonder at their pondering God, until the cries of Redwhiskers could no longer be ignored.


    "TALON-COMMANDER!" he bellowed. "WHAT IS YOUR ORDER!?"


    Skeever stood to attention. "We will be executing the first part of your plan, Shai-Alud. I will lead the left flank, Deekius, you go with Marcus to lead the right."


    Putting me under the protection of your priest, huh? Marcus moaned within his mind as Skeever turned and belted out a shrill order to his troops.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "ALRIGHT, YOU SOAP-SWALLOWING SWINE! Be hearing the voice of the Shai-Alud! From now on, we are following his lead. Testudo formation ¨C now!"


    When his men cast bemused looks back at him, he railed against them as though he hadn''t just literally heard of this himself mere seconds ago.


    "ARE YOUR EARS STUCK WITH THE RAGGED BEARDS OF DWARVES!?" he bellowed. "Front rank and back ranks, be maintaining position. Rest of you, shields up! We are MOVING!"


    Deekius shoved something into Marcus'' arms before the latter could even complain about it.


    "Be taking these, Sire Marcus," the priest said. "Robes from my fallen apprentice and a spare shield from one of our brothers shot down. If you are to be coming with us, you will be having the protection of both our steel and our faith."


    "Gee, thanks," Marcus groaned, slipping into the tight-fitting robe, still sticky with blood. The shield, meanwhile, was tiny compared to him ¨C maneuverable, sure, but barely larger than a buckler.


    Skeever split up the force and got them into formation quickly as more and more projectiles pelted their position.


    "Do not be afraid, Sire," Deekius said as they rushed to join the troops. "We are being the chosen ones ¨C the vanguard of a new era for the Under-kingdom! We have the protection of He-Who-Festers with us on this day!"


    "Great," Marcus replied as he slotted himself in the Testudo on the right flank and hunkered down. "Because we''re going to need it."


    ¡­


    Gith loved the smell of dying ratman.


    Ever since he was a child sucking on his mother''s sixth teat, he had listened to stories of how his fourteenth daddy had shoved his stabbing knife in old Grayrax himself back in¡­uh¡­a big fight that went down¡­somewhere. He''d smiled as the black ooze of his mother''s milk had run down his mouth and thought about chasing daddy''s tail one day and cutting up a whole bunch of ratmen till their bellies spilled out.


    He had no idea it would feel this good.


    "We kill-kill!" he said for the fourteenth time since their attack had begun. "We kill-kill big rats slow-slow! We make ''em bleed! Yes! Bleeeeeeeed!"


    Gith had never been respected much by his peers, or the new Big Boss that these bad rats had stolen from. So, when the Big Boss had ordered all the hunting yips to close those ratmen''s bad eyes forever and bring him the head of the big one ¨C Skeevin, or something - Gith had ventured out with excitement. But he''d never expected to find them, broken and beaten, on the edge of big dark Black Gulch, where it is said the yippers can never jump, and where the waters themselves can eat you up and turn you inside out.


    No, he thought to himself. No water. No jumping. No fuss. We sit here and shoot at rats till they dead. If they surrender, we shoot them in their eyes! Yes-yes! We kill ''em all, we ki-"


    "Gith-Gith!" one of the bow-yippers squeeked. "Bad rats come out-out!"


    Gith''s toothy smile stretched his face beyond healthy proportions.


    "They go mad-mad!" he cried, performing the war-jump of battle victory. "Now they die-die! Now they-"


    He looked closer at something that shone in the distance. There were two different clumps of rats now, and they sparked like a big box of shiny steel. Gith''s men looked on in confusion as they aimed their arrows at where the ratmen''s heads should be and saw them instead knock harmlessly off their shields.


    "Gith-Gith!" one yipper cried. "What we do? The silly rat men wear shields like hats!"


    "Fool!" Gith roared, his toes slamming into the ground as he performed the rebuke-jump of idiocy. "We hit them in their toes, we hit them in their arms, we aim for smelly rat-flesh! We keep hitting them!"


    One of the dumb rats scurried out ahead of the two columns of shining steel tipped with spears, and he was nothing but an old bag of wrinkles and bones.


    "Him!" Gith squealed. "Hit him! Hit him! Kill-Ki-!"


    Gith''s voice was cut off as the ugly rat pounded the ground of the opposite gulch ridge with his wooden staff, and shouted one single word that send a chill running up Gith''s bones.


    "ARVOK PATURZ!"


    A surge of energy pulsed from the dirty rodent''s staff, and Gith instinctly felt his knees begin to shake.


    His men stopped their firing and looked down at their naked hides, checking for any sign of injury.


    And Gith, to show them he had no fear, called out to the doomed little ratling.


    "Stupid rat! Was that supposed ta hu-"


    The waters of the gulch suddenly began to bubble beneath their feet, a sound like air being sucked through a million teeth pierced the ears of every kobold, and in the next second the waters belched out a cloud that covered the entire ridge.


    "EEK!" the frontlines of Gith''s hunting pack screamed. "Head-Yip! We can''t see! We ¨C where have the rats gone?!"


    The cloud enveloped the entire hunting squad, searing into their eyes and making them well up with tears.


    Rat man trickery! Gith bellowed in his tiny brain. He would have their furry heads for this!


    "QUIET!" Gith yelped, jumping around like a madman and tearing one slingshot away from a shaking yipper beside him. He tried to keep himself from showing the fear that was welling up in his heart. He tried to listen for the rats if he could not see them, but his dumb yips wouldn''t stop their shouting!


    "SHUT UP!" he squealed to the obscured heavens. "AND KEEP FIRING!"


    "¡­at what, Head-yi-"


    "JUST FIRE!" Gith screamed, smashing his fist into the insolent yip who dared to question him. "FIRE FIRE FIRRRRRREEEE!"


    And without another word, that''s exactly what the steam-covered Kobolds did.

 Chapter 5

    The only good Kobold is a dead Kobold


    - Greyrax Redpaw


    Shit.


    It was the only word that came to Marcus'' mind as he crouch-ran within his Testudo-column, desperately hoping against all hopes that his flimsy shield would be enough to protect him against the storm of arrows coming their way.


    The ridge had all but vanished ¨C replaced by a hazy steam-cloud that Deekius'' spell of heating had managed to produce. It provided the perfect cover, but Marcus knew there would be casualties even with its protection.


    "Priest!" he called out to the shambling robed rat that was bringing up the rear of the formation. "You stay close to me."


    He wasn''t about to have his only ticket out of here kick the bucket so early.


    "I am with you, Sire!" Deekius roared above the din of the cackling troops as they approached the bridge over the Gulch that would take them to the Kobold army''s left flank.


    Marcus felt the reverb of arrows and pellets bounce of his shield and forced his arms to hold steady. He''d only ever been involved in reenactments ¨C mostly of US Civil War engagements ¨C and aside from the occasional trip to the Renfaire when it came through town, he wasn''t exactly accustomed to using a shield as a shock absorber.


    Even if this one was little more than a toy by human standards.


    The ratlings kept up the Testudo with a surprising level of discipline, even managing to maintain their ranks as they turned and made the crossing over the steam-caked bridge, and Marcus felt it quiver under their weight.


    "Forward!" Deekius cried. "In the name of He-Who-Festers! For King Shrykul, and for the Shai-Alud!"


    "THE SHAI-ALUD!" the column cried. "SHAI-ALUD!"


    Marcus closed his eyes and willed his legs to continue forward as the hail of arrows grew denser by the second. He could tell they were unfocused ¨C that the enemy had utterly lost its line of sight and probably their morale judging by the wild trajectories of their projectiles. Yet still, the logical part of his brain balked at what was happening, right now ¨C of him running like a madman in a column of spear-wielding giant rats that were worshipping him like he was some kind of deity ¨C a hero sent to them by their malodorous God to guide them into battle.


    As Marcus through the steam cloud and saw tiny, knife-eared shadows appear in front of the column, he realized that if he wanted to make sense of any of this ¨C if he wanted a way back home ¨C he''d have to throw himself into the part.


    Think ¨C what would Hannibal have said at the Battle of Canne when his pincers slammed into the Roman defense? How would he have inspired his troops?


    As the running became even more fervent, and the ratmen at the front more agitated than ever, Marcus threw off his shield and bellowed his command:


    "Close ranks!" he called. "Front-Guard, shields up! Second row, spears down!"


    The ratlings did as they were bid, even though Marcus could sense the desire to charge forward.


    The first kobolds to see them screamed, their arrows flying wide or dinging pathetically off the shields of the front guard.


    "Advance!" Marcus shouted. "Maintain speed!"


    "This is being a moment that shall be written in history!" Deekius chuckled manically, his beady eyes and tatty tail twitching in anticipation.


    By this point, the mouths of the ratlings in the column were practically salivating. They crept towards the kobolds flank, while the latter fought the overwhelming desire to scarper and flee.


    Then they turned, hearing the death knells of their friends on the right flank, signaling to Marcus that Skeever had already smashed into their formation.


    He looked into the tiny, wavering eyes of the kobold archers, breathed deep, and delivered his last command:


    "CHARGE!"


    The force with which the ratling''s spears thrust out almost knocked Marcus off his feet. He heard the first Kobold''s scream before his eyes caught up to the carnage. The Testudo column balked, stalled, and then the rat''s heaved to, dragging their impaled victims away and shaking them off the tips of their bloodied weapons. Their tiny bodies dripped away in eviscerated chunks, leaving twitching corpses under their feet.


    "Ratguard of Shrykul!" Deekius roared above the din of the Kobold archers'' screams. "HEAVE!"


    "HO-RAH-HAH!"


    On the last syllable of their chant the column thrust in again, tearing through the Kobold army''s left flank which by this point had all but collapsed. Many of the little critters simply threw their arrows and bows to the ground and started running as the column of living thorns pushed towards them.


    Marcus watched the chaos unfold with awestruck eyes. He saw the Kobolds bodies buckle and crumble as the ratling''s spears pierced their bloated bellies, spilling blood and ichor across the basalt ground so that Marcus had to watch his footing. A river of dark crimson now flowed beneath his feet.


    "Gom-Yip save us!" came the terrified cries of the Kobolds from deeper within the beleaguered army''s ranks as they tried running in the opposite direction only to be impaled on the spears of Skeever and his detachment. Slowly but surely, both rat-filled Testudos pushed forward, hemming in the enemy''s dwindling forces.


    Marcus saw some stragglers jump into the gulch below, taking their chances with the dark waters that still bubbled beneath their feet. A few managed to break out from their haphazard formation and sprint passed the column, and Marcus saw the bloodthirsty red of the front-line''s eyes light up.


    "HOLD!" he yelled. "L-let them go!"


    Marcus could feel his bowels start to lurch at the sights and ¨C and the smells.


    The smells were the worst part.


    "Obey the Shai-Alud!" Deekius shouted, frantically waving his staff beside Marcus. "Let the weaklings flee! Our kinsmen back home are being hungry!"


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Amidst the laughter of the ratpack, they thrust their spears in again.


    "HO-RAH-HAH!"


    Marcus watched as Kobold after Kobold fell before the spears, which were by this point coming away from their foes chunked with intestine and torn limbs. He grimaced as his foot slipped into something slimy and he realized, with mute horror, that he''d just stepped into what remained of a Kobold''s innards.


    The little red creature flailed beneath him and then lay still, its razor teeth finally closing and its tiny limbs falling to the ground, all life squeezed from them.


    And Marcus was forced to make the realization that he had just taken his first life.


    As the shock of the moment, compounded by the scents and screams of the dying and the dead filled his entire being, his attention was drawn to one Kobold at the center of the ruined army. One who was still barking orders, knocking heads, standing back-to-back with what remained of his meagre troops as they brandished their tiny, rusted daggers at the advancing columns.


    "STOP!"


    The command was Marcus'', and though it drew a look of agitation from the ratguard and their gore-strewn implements, they obeyed just as they encircled the last of the Kobolds who had not quit the field.


    "Sire?" Deekius chittered. "Why do we halt? The battle is almost won!"


    Marcus looked at the timid, trembling creatures that remained. They were a pack of ten ¨C three of them already limping where a spear tip had wrenched through their knee-joints. They stood shuddering together, their dull knives practically shaking in their hands.


    "The battle is won, Deekius," he said wearily. "You''ve no need dull your blades any further."


    At seeing the lull in their attack, one of them ¨C the one at their center ¨C climbed atop the shoulders of two of them and wailed through a spittle-filled mouth:


    "NASTY, EVIL RATS! YOU CHEAT! YOU CHEAT! YOU BRING HUMIE TO UNDER-FIGHT! YOU NO HONOR! NO HONOR!"


    The creature jumped around like he was possessed by a spirit of madness, and Marcus found himself reeling back with disgust.


    "GITH FIX! YES-YES! GITH FIX YOU ALL GOOD! YOU FIGHT GITH NOW! YIP TO MAN!"


    "He is being a crazy one, Sire," Deekius whispered. "Crazier than usual for Kobold. He is being their leader."


    Marcus looked from the insane little red man to the¡­slightly¡­less insane¡­furry man.


    "He''s their leader?"


    Marcus swallowed his wounded pride. He had no right to feel any source of triumph over defeating the army of this child.


    "GITH IS MIGHTIEST OF ALL YIPS! GITH''s YIP SHALL ECHO THROUGH THE UNDER-KINGDOM! SPAWN AN ARMY OF YOUNGLINGS AND CRUSH-CRUSH ALL SMELL RAT MEN! GITH WILL KILL-KILL THEM ALL! HE WILL KILL! HE WILL KILL! HE WILL¡­"


    Marcus caught the flashes of fear that were hidden behind the faces of this ''Gith''s'' remaining soldiers ¨C if the little naked demons could even be called that.


    His gut told him that putting the beasts to the knife would satisfy some tiny part of him that saw them as the horde of hate back home, in that college theatre, with the evangelical Steven Barenz whipping them up into a storm at their heads.


    But these little beasts¡­now that the tides had turned, there was no malice in them. There was fear, and fear alone.


    "GITH WILL FEAST ON YOUR EYEBALLS! HE WILL BRING YOU TO BIG BOSS AND BE REWARDED!"


    "Sire," Deekius said, his tongue practically slavering. "Your orders?"


    Marcus ignored his bloodlust and instead looked towards the back of the yipping demon. The fog of steam had begun to clear, and Skeevin''s bloody form was visible on the other side of the encirclement, his eyes watching Gith''s every move, observing every little twitch of his hoofed feet as they jumped in fury.


    In his hand gleamed his spear, slowly bending down.


    All it took was for their eyes to meet, and Marcus to incline his head but a fraction of an inch.


    "GITH SHALL RULE THE UNDER-KINGDOM! GITH WILL TAKE TEETH OF RAT-KING AND WEAR THEM AS TROPHY! GITH WILL ¨C"


    Nobody ever found out what Gith''s last claim to fame would be. Skeever''s spear had found the back of the little demon''s throat and pierced it right through, sending the tiny creature flying against the far wall of the gulch and impaling him there.


    He gargled, twitched his tiny legs, and then lay still.


    And Marcus watched as what remained of his tiny force threw their weapons to the ground and wept at the ratmen''s feet, the latter of whom watched the spectacle with utter disbelief. With a mere force of 30-odd men, they had decimated a horde double their size.


    He stumbled, overcome by the sudden urge to vomit. His dulled senses began to perceive all that surrounded him ¨C the putrid stench of corpse and unwashed rat merged together, along with that of the Kobold''s blood which ran in little rivers down his feet. He would have collapsed without Deekius holding him upright, taking his shaking hand in his claw and throwing it into the air.


    "VICTORY!" the rat-priest cried. "PRAISE BE TO HE-WHO-FESTERS! PRAISE BE TO SHAI ALUD!"


    "SHAI-ALUD!" the frantic force of rats called out, waving their bloodied spears in the air. "SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!"


    Skeever added his booming bass to their cries too, and Marcus was left stricken with confusion. He looked on every blood-smeared face and saw nothing but savages that he''d led into battle, cementing himself as this prophesized hero they had wanted so badly.


    His revulsion, however, would have to wait. He couldn''t afford to show weakness now, not in front of creatures like these. So, he let them have his cheers. He let them parade themselves round him. He let them call him whatever name his bloodthirsty little troops liked.


    If it brought him one step closer to leaving this hell, then he''d grin and bear it like the best Generals did.

 Chapter 6

    "Worry, doubt, fear and despair are the enemies which slowly bring us down to the ground and turn us to dust before we die"


    - Douglas MacArthur


    Marcus stared into the crackling bonfire before him, trying to block out the sounds of celebrating rat-men pushing their Kobold prisoners around.


    The ratguards had made camp at the end of the so-called Black Gulch just before they entered another tunnel that would take them to Knifegut fort ¨C where Skeever said they could resupply and have safe passage to their capital city of Fleapit, seat of his Clan''s power.


    Marcus admitted that he was a little curious. An entire colony of humanoid rats lived down here, capable of military discipline and quick learning. They''d taken to the Testudo naturally, and though Deekius insisted their prowess in the battle had been due to his leadership alone, Marcus knew better. Being an effective General meant nothing if his troops weren''t flexible, well-equipped, and maintained just the right amount of bloodlust.


    Staring sidelong at the ratguard as they chewed on what remained of their kobold captives, Marcus realized that wouldn''t be an issue for these creatures.


    Skeever suddenly appeared beside him, offering him some vile-looking liquid swirling in an earthen glass.


    He took it. When in Rome¡­


    "You are being quiet, Sire Marcus," the rat said with a twitch of his still bloody whiskers. "You are not wishing to celebrate your victory?"


    "It was *hic!* your victory more than mine."


    Whatever the swill was Skeever had given him, it certainly had a kick to it. He decided he didn''t want to ask. To quench the thirst in his gut was all he wanted.


    "We would be dying without you!" Skeever railed, slapping a great claw on his back. "You are being too humble. This is not the warrior''s way. When the king sees you, he shall be giving you all honors. You shall become war leader to rival Greyrax himself."


    Marcus tentatively wondered if these ''honors'' were what he wanted at all.


    "Where''s Deekius?" he asked.


    Skeever grimaced. "Bah! The priest is conducting after-battle ritual to praise He-Who-Festers. He is big reason we stop here."


    Marcus followed Skeever''s eyes till they found the sagging form of the old, robed rat, shaking his staff above one of the captured Kobolds, cutting his own flesh and smearing his crimson blood across the crying creature''s forehead.


    "You were very clever to spare the last of the Kobolds, Sire," Skeever said. "Now we have captives and can be making good sacrifices to the Lord."


    Marcus sighed. He had inadvertently made these beasts believe he was just as debased as they were.


    His eyes flitted to them chewing on the innards of the Kobolds corpses they had dragged or carried with them out here, the bonfire throwing their savage shadows across the basalt cave walls.


    "Skeever," he suddenly whispered. "I cannot stay here. I must go home."


    The Talon-Commander huffed and took a shot of his viscous liquid. "I am understanding, Marcus. If you are simply one of many where you are coming from, then we have underestimated the humans of the Realm Beyond."


    "Realm Beyond?" Marcus parroted.


    "The place we are summoning you from. A place of spirits where it was said a hero would come."


    Spirits, Marcus scoffed. From a plane of spirits. Well, it wouldn''t be a stretch to call urban California a realm where spirits frolicked in the sun¡­


    As he observed Skeever''s reverent staring into the fire, he saw that maybe the rat himself didn''t even buy it.


    "Is your¡­faith important to you, Skeever?" Marcus asked suddenly, surprising himself with the question.


    The rat bristled. "There are being some of us who have forsaken the Old Ways. It is said Clan Marrow has burned all their temples."


    "Temples?" Marcus couldn''t help but choke. "You have places of worship?"


    The rat mistook this surprise for admiration.


    "They are being sacred places to those who commune with He-Who-Festers," Skeever explained. "But with the war many have turned their backs. Some of my Clan''s temples are being empty places lately. But that will change when they are seeing you."


    He spat a globule of puss into the fire, enjoying his men chuckling to see the flames lick around it.


    "You are being hope," he said. "That is the name we give you ¨C Shai-Alud, Final-Chance, the one who will be destroying our enemies and making these tunnels ours."


    Marcus finished his drink and set it down. He didn''t like where this was going.


    "I am not here to prosecute your war," he said. "I''m here until I can leave, and that''s it."


    He stood up and walked away, towards the still-praying Deekius. His sudden rage was something even he didn''t understand, something that Maria had always warned him about. He dared not look back at the rat commander but knew he wasn''t being followed as he cut through the jumping rodents who tried to lay their filthy claws on him, their salivating mouths screaming ''Shai-Alud!'' at him as he passed.


    "Deekius," he said when he approached the busy priest. "We need to talk."


    The Ratling turned, revealing a spattering of kobold intestine draped across his long snout. His prisoner had long since expired, his stomach being torn open and emptied of its constituent parts. Beside him sat a long parchment, upon which the priest was scratching out signs and runic symbols utterly incomprehensible to Marcus.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He can read and write, Marcus mused. That''s something.


    "Sire," he said. "The rituals of He-Who-Festers are delicate. They cannot be interrupt-"


    "Spare me," Marcus broke in. "You told me you''d send me back if I helped you win the last battle."


    The robed rat was immediately subservient. "Sire, I am trying. I am trying to commune with He-Who-Festers. But his signs are being¡­distorted."


    "Not good enough," Marcus replied.


    "I will be continuing my efforts, Sire! I am needing time to-"


    "I don''t have time!"


    Marcus shout was interpreted by the surrounding rats as a warcry, and they took up the chant like a horde of baying jackals.


    "DON''T HAVE TIME! DON''T HAVE TIME!"


    "I¡­Damnit!" he raged, planting himself on the hard ground and covering his face in his hands, before realizing that his hands were still slathered in the blood of the little yipping demons.


    He looked up at the sad face of the priest, who prostrated himself before Marcus'' feet.


    "May my back be flayed, and my skin soaked in soap!" he wailed. "I offend the Shai-Alud with my obstinacy! Sire, I am imploring you, be helping us reach Fleapit and I will enlist the aid of the Prime Putrefact. He and his acolytes shall enhance my power. There we can send you home to the Realm Beyond!"


    Marcus wiped a bloody hand down his face. The smell of the liquid was sickening, but he just didn''t care anymore.


    "I''m stuck here¡­" he murmured. "I''m stuck¡­"


    You are being hope¡­the one who will be destroying our enemies and making these tunnels ours.


    That''s what they really wanted, wasn''t it? A destroyer ¨C someone to help them win their little war. Wouldn''t anyone? Could he really blame them for wanting to defeat their enemies? Even if Marcus still didn''t know anything about the grand conflict that was going on here at all?


    As a thought suddenly began to form in his mind, Skeever shambled up and kicked Deekius in his side.


    "Be rising, priest. Show Sire Marcus you are worth his respect, at least."


    "I am but a lowly servant," Deekius murmured. "I am not fit to be trod upon!"


    "No¡­" Marcus whispered, clapping his hands together as though he had just come to a pivotal decision. "No. You whipped up a steam cloud that practically ensured our victory. Without you, we''d have sustained massive casualties. If anyone''s behaving like a useless idiot here, it''s me."


    The rats regarded him with their unblinking stares.


    He looked on them with different eyes, then. They had an organized religion in the throes of secular doubt, enemies from all sides that kept them constantly fighting, and innate instincts that made them unwilling to just back down and die.


    And, well, Marcus understood doubt. He knew how it felt to be hemmed in by enemies, and, as Mari was often fond of telling him, he had a particularly stubborn streak in him that refused to let him back off in the face of seemingly impossible odds.


    But unlike his great, vaulted ''Realm-Beyond'', here were a bunch of sentient beings who were actually willing to listen to him.


    He smirked at the heresy of the idea. Was it possible that these rats were more capable of unbiased understanding than his college opponents?


    "Alright," he said with a shake of his dirty locks. "You need me, and I need you. We''ll push through to Fleapit, and then you''ll show me to this ''Putrefact.'' But if he can''t help me, Deekius¡­"


    The priest bowed graciously, practically groveling at his feet. "Sire, SIRE! You are kind, you are most kind to your humble servant!"


    Marcus would''ve laughed if the stench of the rat didn''t overwhelm him.


    "But you must be punishing me, Sire," he stammered. "Any who offend a vassal of He-Who-Festers must lose a piece of themselves!"


    Marcus looked to Skeever who simply shrugged, licking his bloody lips.


    "I can be performing this task for you, Marcus," he said with an impish grin. "I would be considering it a pleasure."


    Marcus looked down at the groveling rat-priest and sighed again. The more he learned of these beings, the less he understood.


    But he could change that.


    "You said you must lose a piece of yourself?" he asked the ratling. "Very well. But I won''t take your body, Deekius. We need you in the fight. It''s your tools I want."


    Deekius'' eyes flew to watch as Marcus pointed at his parchment binder and ink-quill. At least, Marcus hoped it contained ink...


    "That," he said. "Give me a few of those parchments and some ink and we''ll call it fair and square."


    "HAH!" Skeever grunted, elbowing the priest as he rose to his knees. "The Shai-Alud is right, Deekius. You waste your time scrawling down signs which mean nothing to our war. Be giving it up, and let the chosen of He-Who-Festers do the writing!"


    A few of the other members of the troop stifled their laughter, which told Marcus all he needed to know about the Ratmen''s attitude towards the written word.


    But, no matter, he thought as Deekius ripped off a screed of parchment and hesitantly handed him a dirty quill. Marcus didn''t need them to be literary geniuses.


    Fighters is what they are, and that''s all they have to be.

 Chapter 7

    "He who wishes to be obeyed must know how to command."


    Nicolo Machiavelli


    -Grindlefecht, Boss Skegga''s stronghold-


    He watched the Kobolds groveling beneath his feet, slathered in the blood of their fallen comrades.


    Slowly, he began to understand the words they were yammering at him. These little beasties were even dumber than tadpoles, always bumping and jumping and shouting about something.


    He leaned forward, allowing the rolls of his fat, slathered in slime and mucus, to loll over the throne of crushed rats and dwarf they had built for him.


    "You are telling me you let those rats beat you?"


    The Kobold survivors looked at eachother, fear overcoming their tiny frames.


    "Where is Gith?" he asked.


    "He ¨C he died-died, Boss," one of them barely squeaks.


    He sat back and wiped his greasy, webbed fingers over his moist face.


    He nodded at the guards around his throne.


    "Take them to the pit of stilled-jumps," he said. "May they


    "N-no Skegga! No, please, I-"


    "What is our name?" he asked.


    The timid Kobold who had spoken out nods frantically.


    "Sk-Sk-Skeg-"


    "MY FIRST NAME!" he bellows, his jowls shaking with the force of his voice.


    "Boss!" the little creatures yip in unison. "B-Boss Skegga!"


    "Hmpf!" he snorted. "Your commander died because he did not teach you proper respect. Let the pit be your teacher!"


    "N-no!" they yelped as his honor-guard started to drag them away by force. "It was not our fault!"


    "Take them from me," he said with a weary wave of his flipper.


    "We have information, Boss!" a desparate Kobold pleaded as he was dragged away by both his flailing arms.


    "You cannot tell us anything that we do not already know," Skegga replied, rubbing his slimy forehead. Honestly! These cretins could tire even the oldest bullfrog.


    "They ¨C they had a humie with them!"


    Hold on¡­


    "Stop," he called out to his subordinate guards. "Let this wretched one speak."


    The Kobold was thrown down at the foot of his throne while his compatriots were trundled off to die. He didn''t spare a look back at them.


    "I ¨C we ¨C we saw him, Boss Skegga! He show them how to become big metal column! How to wear shields like hats! He ¨C he reason they lives!"


    Skegga rubbed his feathered chin. A human¡­


    "Make yourself useful, wretch," he snarled. "Tell us where the rats of Skeever-Steelclaw were going."


    The little demon jumped at the chance. "K-Knifegut!" he squeaked, remembering Boss Gith''s speculations. "They ¨C they must be going to Knifegut, Boss! It is small fort behind Gulch. Small, weak-weak. Will crumble if we hits it good, yes-yes!"


    "Hmpf," Skegga replied, moderately amused by the little thing''s audacity. "What is your name, mongrel?"


    The wretch pelted it out like he was singing for the surface Gods, "Klega, my Boss! I is Klega!"


    "Well, little slime," he said. "You have indeed brought us some most interesting tidbits. You will lead a detachment of our forces to Knifegut and secure this human. He is pivotal to our ascension."


    "Y¡­yes-yes holy one!" Klega chirped like a songbird. "It will be done! Rat-rats die-die! Human die-die!"


    "NO!" Skegga roared, puffing out his great larynx and shaking the very foundations of the ancient stone stronghold. "Bring this human to me ¨C ALIVE."


    "Y-yes¡­"


    "Yes ¨C WHAT?"


    "Yes, Boss Skegga! Yes-yes most holy of holies Boss, yes ¨C"


    "Give him a detachment of three Skags and remove him from our sight. He shall ride out immediately."


    The command was given to a thinly veiled figure that stood to attention beside Boss Skegga. A figure who could have blended into any shadow, even that cast by the great horned toad as he lorded over his kobold subjects.


    "It will be done, Sire."


    Skegga slammed a slime-coated fist down on his armrest. "How many times have we told you to refer to our glorious form as ''Boss''?"


    The creature bathed in shadow bowed his hooded head, the dark crimson of his eyes gleaming in the dark.


    "Apologies, Boss Skegga," he said. "Old habits are being hard to kill."


    Skegga wiped spittle from his mouth and commanded his throne to rise, displaying his rolls of lumpy fat and gut to all the kobolds around him.


    "What a thing it is to control," he said to his confidant as his throne levitated above them all. "How gratifying it is to be a God. Silas, do you not know what this means? The appearance of a human amongst your former brethern?"


    From the darkness of his throne room, Skegga heard the twitching of whiskers and a silent acknowledgement.


    "You are thinking it is the Shai-Alud, Boss Skegga?"


    "WHO ELSE!?" the great toad thundered, laughter spilling out of his bulging throat. "If the time of prophecy has come, then it can only mean that our cause is a righteous one!"


    "If you are saying so, Boss Skegga."


    He ignored the chittering of his advisor and let his great arms fly out to encompass all of his realm ¨C a world of ancient stone plundered from the dwarves, where their arsenal of cannons and powdered weapons would prove sufficient to finish his extermination campaign ¨C wiping the Under-Kingdom clean of filth and ushering in the era of the Horned One ¨C of Boss Skegga.


    But first, he would make this human kneel before him. If he truly was the Shai Alud, then Skegga would have his secrets. He would hoard them like a dragon''s golden lair. They would be his ticket to dominating the surface, once all this was over.


    Then his ''benefactors'' would know his vengeance. Those damned snake-fiends who thought they could control the world! His world!


    The Great horny toad spun back to face his guards, and opened his massive maw ¨C showing them the jaws that would swallow the entire world, in time.


    "Ready our forces!" he called out from his flying throne. "The time of the Kleansing has come!"


    ***


    Even as he trudged through a grim, dank tunnel with a squad of fetid rats, Marcus was in his element.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He wasn''t a hard man to please by any means. Give him a pen and paper and he''d commit himself to it with more gumption than a moth to a naked flame. It is true what they say of humans ¨C they can and will make the best of any situation if they put their minds to it.


    Marcus was currently scribbling away his observations under the dim light of Deekius'' Glow-Glob, a low-level spell he had conjured up as they passed through the tunnel sections leading from the Black Gulch to Knifegut fortress. Although, as Marcus had soon realized, the word ''spell'' didn''t quite sit right with the priest. He had taken offense when Marcus had applied the label to a miracle of the Ratman''s God. The more appropriate term was something Deekius referred to as ''Gloomraav''. Loosely translated, the word was more akin to ''Incantation'' or ''chant'' than spell. It also denoted the Ratman''s priest-caste ¨C the Gloomraava - who were led by this ''Prime Putrefact'' ¨C a rat who served as a kind of Bishop for each different clan.


    Marcus had scribbled down all these details as they made their way towards their destination, stopping only at a few points to feast on their captives or collect more secretions from the tunnel walls. His parchments had become his coping mechanism for the things around him which could have easily got even the bravest of stomachs churning.


    Marcus was no stranger to horror. His profession demanded that he come to terms with the great slaughters and barbaric sacrifices of the past ¨C from those committed in the golden halls of Tenochtitlan to the occult inner workings of the Ancient Rome''s Haruspex ¨C his mind was lined with examples of wanton, obscene destruction that resulted from both warfare and religious necessity. However, to see them firsthand would have given him pause if he did not have Deekius'' papers ¨C those notes had become his real shield.


    The journey through the tunnels had been quiet ¨C mostly. The chitterings of the rats might have been considered speech, but Marcus had no chance in understanding the finer nuances of their language. Come to think of it, he was surprised that he was able to understand them at all, let alone the cryings of their Kobold enemies.


    "The Shai-Alud is said to speak with a voice that commands respect," Deekius had told him when he asked about it. He assumed that meant that he was simply able to parse their speech and communicate automatically ¨C like his words were being instantly translated.


    But if that were true, was he simply hearing their speech in English or, from their perspective, could they hear him speaking Rat?


    He decided such a trivial detail didn''t matter in the long-term, and decided instead to devote himself to questions. This was a whole new world, and he was now convinced that it was his duty to document its denizens ¨C no point being a part of history if you''re too ignorant to make sense of it.


    So he prodded Deekius and Skeever with queries throughout their tunnel journey, questions about what the world of the Under-Kingdom looked like, politically, culturally, and socially. Some of these questions took some rephrasing, and some of their answers required parsing, but overall, he was surprised to find a degree of sophistication in the structures that dominated their lives.


    Aside from He-Who-Festers, who''s faith dominated Ratman religious worship, the Four great kings of each Clan ruled in their section of the underground ¨C known colloquially as the ''Warrens''. Each Clan occupied a different, and often contested, territory: Clan Glumrot held the South, Clan Nightstalker had the East, Clan Marrow the West and Clan Red-Eye the North. It was the Northern tunnels that they were currently trudging through, and these same tunnels, Skeever explained, that were currently receiving the brunt of the Kobold''s hostilities.


    "They are being tiny," Skeever told him. "But they breed in thousands. One male to every female."


    The rats shuddered at that thought.


    "I¡­um¡­isn''t that normal?" Marcus asked, quill in hand.


    "''Normal''?" Skeever scoffed. "Perhaps it is being so where you come from, Marcus, but not for we rats."


    With some trepidation, and more than a few challenging looks from Deekius that Marcus couldn''t help but notice, Skeever then went on to explain the beginnings of the ratman life cycle: from the swollen bellies of their Queens a litter of at least one hundred rats would be born from every conception. Approximately 20% would be lost to disease ¨C the so-called ''weak ones'' whom He-Who-Festers had not blessed with immunity ¨C and another 35% were killed by their brethren, so that only the strongest rats survived in a litter. Their breeding problem was exacerbated by the fact that the birth of a female was something so rare that it was barely considered a possibility: in five centuries, there had only ever been five females in the entire Ratman kingdom.


    Four female Queens, servicing four Clans.


    A new female meant not only the birth of a new life, but the birth of a whole new nation itself ¨C one which would be sired by the King of each clan and him alone.


    Of course, this posed an obvious question: why not expand the list of acceptable partners for each queen? The way Skeever put it, a Queen enjoyed a strictly monogamous relationship with the King of her Clan, and no others were permitted entry to her chambers. If lack of manpower in this war was an issue (and from the looks of this tiny, beleaguered force, Marcus assumed it was) then wouldn''t a polyamorous compromise not make more sense to prolong the bloodline of each clan, not to mention sustain their war effort?


    Just as he was about to pose such a question to Skeever, the armored Rat stopped him with a single raised fist.


    The whole force immediately stood to attention, those at the rearguard quickly silencing their Kobold prisoners.


    Marcus crouched low with them and saw a series of long, lithe shadows play across the tunnel intersection that lay ahead of them.


    "Movement," Skeever whispered.


    Marcus kicked himself as he felt his heart lurch. His questions would have to wait. He''d just been thrust back into the real world for what it was.

 Chapter 8

    "All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty"


    -George S Patton


    "Be silent, ratguard!" Skeever murmured in a whisper still loud enough to carry through the ranks of his men. "Movement is being ahead."


    Marcus watched the rats hunker down and train their eyes on the approaching shadows that had begun to run up the sides of the tunnel. Deekius'' Glow Glob dimmed behind him, and the ratman priest stuttered an apology as the light faded away, leaving Marcus practically blinded.


    Then he saw them approach like dark stalkers in the night: a set of eight symmetrical eyes glowing with an evil green fire, attached to long, lithe arachnid bodies, each of their four legs ending in serrated pincers that gleamed against the inky black of the tunnel.


    "Skeever," Marcus murmured. "What are they?"


    "Rothkazuul," the Talon-Commander replied. "Gutmulchers. Perhaps you are being able to know why they have this name, Sire?"


    "I can take a few guesses."


    Marcus watched the creatures make their slow, methodical creep towards their new prey. Three of them ¨C judging by the numbers of eyes blinking in the dark. Marcus would''ve ordered the rats into a defensive formation, but he doubted how effective it would be given the circumstances. These creatures looked like they''d crawled out of a nightmare. He had no reference point for their speed or ferocity. But from the thin threads of spittle that dripped from their maws, he could hazard a guess.


    "Ratguard," Skeever said. "Hold firm."


    Marcus could feel the ranks collapsing in the face of the beasts. The ability to demoralize an enemy could be the greatest force multiplier in a commander''s arsenal. Under the gaze of the arachnids, it seemed it was Deekius who held the group together, uttering prayers of loathsome diseases and maggots that would infest the brave soldiers who stood against the enemies of He-Who-Festers. And, incredibly, these chants seemed to be working.


    Well, working on everyone except Marcus, who was too busy trying to pick out the key features of the crawling night stalkers so he could sketch them later. If they surviv-


    The leader at the head of the brood leapt.


    "Brace!" Skeever called out. "Protect the Shai-Alud!"


    Marcus felt it slam into the ground before them and tear a crater deep into the earth, throwing the lines instantly into disarray. Like an artillery bombardment it then let out a shrill scream that laid the rats low, forcing them to hurl their spears at its thrashing form. Marcus looked up, seeing the wreaths of spittle and blood flying from the things mouth and noticed with horror that it had snatched up two of the front guard already, crunching them within its elongated jaw.


    "Strike the legs, warriors of Red-Eye!" Skeever yelled over the paralyzing screech of the monster. "Bring it down!"


    His voice carried. The soldiers surged forward, breaking ranks and stabbing at the Gutmulcher''s pincer-legs before it jumped with incredible height and attached itself to the tunnel ceiling, sending a hail of bloody rat limbs down on the whole force.


    "Don''t let it get away!" Skeever yelled. "Be aiming your spears well!"


    No¡­Marcus thought. The thing could have killed at least three more and run back off to its lair. The reason it''s sitting up there¡­


    His suspicions were confirmed with sudden another rush of energy to his right.


    ¡­is because it''s a distraction.


    He caught the flashing crimson eyes of another Gutmulcher just as it pierced the earth beneath his feet, and he collapsed beneath its weight. With his bare hands he clamped down on the things gnashing mouth and felt the being''s acid spittle tear at his robe as it drizzled down upon his flailing body.


    All around him he could hear the disarming screeches of the beasts as the other two converged on the ratmen guard, and even Skeever''s voice became lost amid the cacophony of infernal shrieks.


    Marcus looked into the symmetrical eyes of the evil beast and knew his arms were giving up. The thing''s teeth edged ever closer to his chest, where his unseated heart knocked with frenzied rhythm against his ribs¡­


    SCREEE!


    An impact. A feeling of force beating against the Gutmulcher''s side, and the sight of its eight eyes going wide as a green puff of smoke enveloped the left of the thing''s face.


    It''s cousins quickly followed ¨C each one being shot with a series of small pellets that exploded on impact, creating a greenish haze that seemed to strike terror into the nightmare stalkers.


    "A miracle of the Great Unclean One!" Deekius roared as the troops began to rally. "Into them!"


    Marcus saw the beasts sway and stammer around like drunkards, their eyes glazed over and hazy from whatever weapon had just been employed against them. It took barely any effort at all for the ratguard''s spears to slice clean through their legs and cut them apart once their bulbous torsos fell to the floor of the cave.


    But Marcus wasn''t interested in the sight of the plumb-purple viscera that spewed from the beasts, or their cries of pain as the ratmen impaled them. Instead, he walked over to the dying form of the Gutmulcher that had pinned him, and picked up a broken object that had smashed into the creature''s side.


    It was none other than a simple grey pellet, probably launched, Marcus guessed, from a slingshot belonging to the Kobolds they had dealt with earlier.


    And as he made the realization, his eyes slowly turned towards the back of the ratman ranks to see their six remaining Kobold prisoners bowing in reverence, slingshots still in their impish hands.


    Marcus dropped the pellet suddenly and staggered over to the creatures as the last of the arachnid menace rattled off their death throes behind him.


    "You ¨C you helped me?"


    "DOWN, BEASTIE! BE GETTING DOWN!"


    Before any of the Kobolds could respond, the bloody Claw-Leader known as Redwhiskers cracked one of them in his jaw with the butt of his spear. "You dare to address the Shai-Alud!? You are being no better than dirt!"


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Marcus pressed forward. "Actually, I was addressing them."


    The rat balked, aiming the tip of his crimson-soaked speartip at one of the shaking prisoners now groveling at his feet.


    "These are being less than animals, Sire! No better than dung beneath paw! Not even being useful like dung!"


    "And yet," Marcus interrupted massively. "It seems that they just saved my life."


    Redwhiskers sputtered slamming his spear into the ground in fury.


    "They meant to attack you, Sire! They are stealing the weapons we conf-con- confiscated from them! We should be putting them to death! We should ¨C"


    "Is that how you speak to your Shai-Alud?" Marcus asked, standing above the ratman with authority, thinking that it was about time he project some discipline into this bloodthirsty little creature.


    "I ¨C I ¨C You do not understand, Sire! You are not being one of us. No good Kobold. None! Only meat. Only good for meat on their bones!"


    By this point the argument had drawn a crowd, and the ratguard who had finished mopping up the remains of the Gutmulchers turned their attention towards Redwhiskers, who began to crumble under their gazes.


    He feels his men begin to doubt him, Marcus thought. Good. That shows they don''t think me an outsider. But it also shows there may be more like this one. This situation will have to be handled delicately.


    Even a single weak soldier could spell disaster for even the strongest fighting force. When it came to leadership of a military cohort, no matter how small, doubt was a disease that if left unchecked could spread and corrupt the entire fighting force.


    "Redwhiskers!" Skeever yelped from behind. "You dare defy Sire Marcis?"


    If the little brute had seemed like he was on the brink of cracking before, the voice of his unwavering commander, coupled with the sight of him slathered in Gutmulcher blood and ichor, made him crumble.


    "I ¨C forgive me!" the insolent rat said. "It is having been long, long campaign."


    "Much longer campaigns are to be coming, pustule!" Skeever raged.


    Marcus, however, did not show annoyance. Instead, he stepped past the shaking Redwhiskers and stood before the bowed Kobold prisoners.


    The rats around them drew their hip-blades, but the creatures made didn''t move a single muscle.


    "You saved my life," Marcus said to the one at their head, presumably their leader. "And took a chance in re-equipping yourself with your weapons to do so. Why?"


    At a nod from their leader, the prisoners all threw down their slings and pellets.


    "We is useful, Boss, yes-yes?" the head prisoner said. "Our balls have stinky poison that kill-kill the Gut-Munch."


    Marcus raised his eyebrows, looking down at the pilfered pellets. So each of them really did contain a substance that was toxic to the creatures. Possibly a liquid that diffused on impact, rendering the creatures confused and utterly immobile.


    "Bah!" Redwhiskers screeched. "Kobold trickery!"


    "Perhaps so," Marcus replied cooly. "But trickery that has allowed them to survive in these tunnels. Trickery that has clearly allowed them to pass through your kingdom in greater numbers than it seems you can. Trickery," Marcus said with a smirk. "That has saved your furry behind."


    Redwhiskers clenched his jaw, but a single look from Skeever stopped any more words from spilling out.


    "This is being fascinating," Deekius said, coming to examine the pellets. "A weapon against the Gutmulchers¡­we have always searched for a secret like this."


    Marcus rolled one ball between his thumb and forefinger.


    "Tell me your name, Kobold," he said.


    The leader of the prisoners jumped at his command. "Ix, Sire. I am Ix."


    "Well, Ix, you have served us well today. For that, I will make you an offer as the leader of this detachment. Join us and provide ranged support with your men, and we will spare your lives."


    Skeever nudged Marcus'' arm. "Sire," he whispered. "I am being all for recruiting more men, but can we really trust-"


    "I''ll trust those that put their lives on the line for me," Marcus broke in, getting sick of these petty, impractical squabbles. "Well, Ix?"


    The little guy double blinked, surprised, it seemed, to be given a choice in the matter.


    He looked to his friends, and then to the torn limbs of the rest of his squad that remained in the ratmen''s supply carriage behind. The answer, to him, was so obvious that he didn''t understand why Marcus simply conscripted him forcefully.


    "Yes-yes, Shai-Alud!" he cried, bowing low and kissing the ground beneath Marcus'' feet. "We Bullet-Yips of Grindlefecht are yours. Yours-yours! Thank you! Thank -!"


    "Don''t thank me too much," Marcus chuckled, making sure those wary ratmen around him heard this part of his recruitment clearly. "You will have the dangerous jobs of both opening our assaults covering our retreats. Failure," he said with a touch of humor. "Is not an option."


    He smiled thinly to himself as the rats murmured some impressed whispers to each other. He''d always wanted to use that line.


    "You will be in charge of them," he told the disbelieving Redwhiskers, who stuttered like a lunatic but, again, said nothing. "See that they are given their fair share of our rations. Guard them as they have guarded me. Do this and you will win my favor."


    Marcus tried to read the thoughts implicit in the young rat''s stare, but he quickly bowed his head and started skittering away.


    "It will be done, Sire."


    With that, the column moved on ¨C with Skeever barking orders to move swiftly as the stench of Gutmulcher blood attracted more of their kind. Marcus lingered only for a moment, catching the sight of barely suppressed fury in Redwhiskers'' eyes before the Claw-Leader urged his men to follow their Commander.


    Fury, he thought. With a touch of ambition behind it¡­I''ll need to watch that one.

 Chapter 9

    "Success is not final, failure is not fatal: It is the courage to continue that counts"


    -Winston Churchill


    It took only another three hours before Marcus registered flaring lights at the end of the ratmen''s tunnel path.


    And when they finally emerged into Knifegut fortress, Marcus was forced to admit that he shouldn''t have been surprised.


    "By the Unclean¡­" Deekius whispered.


    A general shout went up in the ranks of the rats that remained.


    The fortress was a crumbling ruin.


    The fort was built into the far wall of a great cavernous expanse that should have provided an ample defensive position. Marcus spied at least three other tunnels that led out of the cavern in full view of the fort, giving it a Panopticon-like command of the local area. Yet, Its stone walls were pocketed with holes the size of an elephant''s foot, and its simple moat was filled with the floating bodies of ratmen and kobolds that stared up at the new arrivals with blank, soulless eyes. The once stout Martello towers that rose on either side of the gatehouse were at this point openly exposed ¨C their insides having been decimated by what looked like siege weaponry. In their skeletal state, even a simple force of ten could enter them from the outside. The banners of the red-eye that hung loose from the tops of the walls were tattered and rotten from exposure to what Marcus assumed must have been constant assaults.


    Piled up around the fortress perimeter were more bodies ¨C perhaps one rat for every fifteen kobolds ¨C being trundled away in wheelbarrows by downtrodden ratmen. Again, the stench of death hit Marcus first ¨C the thing the textbooks couldn''t have ever prepared him for.


    They had given the kobolds a fair battering, but anyone could see that this place wouldn''t hold out much longer.


    "You there, kinsman!" Skeever called out to one of the dejected rats trundling his barrow of dead. "Be taking us to Talon-Commander Gatskeek!"


    The rat looked up with red-rimmed eyes under his filth-ridden hood and barely squeaked in acknowledgement.


    "Be following."


    Through the cavern the column of Skeever-Steelclaw''s forces marched, their Shai-Alud at their head. Most of the rats on corpse-collection duty barely paid them any heed, and Marcus found himself seeking solace in his notebook scribblings to keep from looking into their sad eyes.


    "How do you treat your dead?" he asked Deekius.


    "We are not being wasteful," the rat-priest replied. "Most are being taken back to the towns to be fed to the Queens. The remains are being given to soldiers first, then scraps thrown into street. Even defeat in battle can bring happy bellies."


    Marcus nodded slowly, imagining the chaos of the ratmen''s city streets. He imagined dirt-caked children scampering around with flies in their eyes, waiting for a morsel of their own kind. But he could not help but see a certain logic to the practice which might have its root in the creatures'' strange anatomy. Cannibalism had died out as a practice in human history because of its dangers ¨C disease, primarily - particularly that which is caused by improperly folded Prion proteins. This exact problem was what devastated the native tribes of New Guinea. From what Marcus gathered of the ratmen, however, it seemed that they had a far higher toleration of the effects of disease than the average human. It made sense, in this context, for their religious faith to be one that praised an almighty pox-bringer.


    Marcus'' contention had always been that religion served an acute social function, first and foremest ¨C and was even formed in response to the evolutionary traits of a people. It was a point he had wanted to make in his book¡­a book which he''d all but forgotten about.


    After all, he was writing a new book now. A book that would be far more interesting to the scholar and layman alike.


    "Be opening the gate!"


    The shout of the archer-rats manning the ruined Martello towers snapped Marcus back to reality, and he watched the ratmen''s drawbridge open to afford him a vision of Knifegut proper. It was a basic fort with only a few communal stone huts that served the usual functions Marcus would expect: there was a troops barracks, an armory containing mounds of various rusted weaponry practically sprawling across the floor, a stout chapel built into the cavern wall adorned with two rotten, maggot-encrusted Kobold skulls and the walls of the fort themselves which stretched out from the cavern''s far wall. Littering the fort''s grounds were also copious crates and barrels from which foul-smelling odors wafted. Marcus suspected that they could only be the ratmen''s supply crates.


    By far the most impressive structure was the massive wrought-iron gate that sealed the exit to the fort. It was currently manned by a line of six bored-looking ratguard.


    As Skeever''s men inspected their surroundings, seeing nothing but decrepit soldiers greet them with sniffs of their great, wriggling snouts, the commander of the fortress shambled down the steps of the gatehouse to meet them.


    He was an old rat. Grey of fur and short of tail, with a festering, puss-filled wound adorning his left leg. Though he limped towards them, Marcus could tell there was strength still in his old bones, and that the scimitar that was sheathed just under his black cloak was probably still sharp enough to pierce Kobold skin.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "Skeever," he said, grabbing his comrade and giving him a hearty pat. "Be welcome in Knifegut."


    Skeever nodded but wasted no time on pleasantries. "The fort is being broken, Gatskeek! What is happening here?"


    Old Gatskeek nodded gravely and nodded to Deekius. His eyes then lighted on Marcus for the first time.


    "So this¡­" he began. "This is the Shai-Alud."


    As he spoke the word a whisper of disbelief rippled through the ratmen assemblage. Marcus felt their stares on his back, some of them looking at him with hungry eyes.


    "Are you being sure?" he asked Deekius. "He is not looking like much."


    Before Marcus could utter a word in protest, the rat-priest was already up in arms to defend him: "Sire Marcus'' abilities are not in question. Under his leadership he saw us slaughter a pack of fifty Kobolds to the man!"


    "Almost to the man," Marcus corrected, glancing back at the Kobold prisoners who were uncomfortably shifting against the stares of the fort-rats.


    "Hm," Gatskeek grunted. "A human. And one that is barely having a hair on his chest."


    Marcus unconsciously tightened his robe around him.


    "Skeever," he grunted again. "Is this one the reason you are bringing those things into our fort?"


    His eyes darted towards the Kobold slingers, who dropped to their knees, each one pulling down the other by their elbow to show their supplication.


    "We are serving Shai-Shai now, good rat-Sire, yes. We are loyal only to-"


    "I didn''t ask your opinion, filth," the old rat spat. "I am talking to my kinsman."


    Skeever looked from Gatskeek to Marcus before he replied.


    "It is being the command of the Shai-Alud," he said without further hesitation. "These ones are saving us as we journey back through the North tunnels. They are having weapons that tame the Gutmulchers."


    Gatskeek spat a globule of grimy saliva at his feet. "And what if they are simply tricking you, hm? You know Kobold are good for nothing but schemes and backstabbing. Their brains are being as fiendish as their devil hands."


    "Are you questioning the will of the Shai-Alud, kinsman?" Deekius interrupted, raising his staff menacingly so that even the fort rats cowered back in fear. "Know that in doing this, you are questioning He-Who-Festers himself."


    The old rat stepped up to look into the dark eyes of the priest, holding his gaze and keeping one paw on his scimitar''s hilt.


    "You will not be frightening me, Gloomraava," he said with revulsion. "We are praying to the Unclean One for weeks, after we are burying our dead, after we are licking our wounds, after we are fighting night after night. He does not listen."


    Marcus sensed the tension in the air. It seemed old Deekius'' reliance on religion as a tool of fear wasn''t quite up to scratch when it came to those who had suffered under the yolk of real warfare. Yet, Marcus could observe the reticence in the ratmen that surrounded them. He could see there were a few who looked upon him as their messianic figure, and a few who''s minds weren''t quite as made up yet. How they dealt with this old skeptic ¨C the commander of a set of obviously demoralized troops ¨C this would be crucial. If he was ever going to reach the capital of this forsaken underground pit and finally be in with a chance of getting home, then he would wield belief like a weapon and cleave through all these petty squabbles.


    So, as much as it pained him to play along with this little game of Gods and prophets, he sucked up his Agnosticism and faced down the commander.


    "You are¡­being¡­right, Talon-Commander Gatskeek," Marcus said, taking care to match the intonation of the ratmen he had managed to pick up so far. "Your fights so far are being a test from He-Who-Festers. He has sat in silence so that you might show your dedication to him even when he turns his furry ears away from you. Now, your deliverance has come."


    He indicated the troops surrounding them. Well-armored, still disciplined rats who stood to attention as he swept his hand over their column.


    "We," Marcus said. "Are here to show you that the Unclean One still listens. He has sent¡­is sending us¡­to help you go home."


    After this little speech the grey rat said nothing for a time. He looked Marcus up and down, and then returned his gaze to Skeever with a licking of his ragged snout.


    "You vouch for this man?" he asked.


    Skeever nodded without any hesitation this time. "On my life, kinsman. I, too, thought that we had been forgotten. But it is not being so. We will be going down in history."


    Gatskeek merely chuckled at this, then eventually threw his head back and belched out a laugh that seemed to infect the troops that were still here with him ¨C those watching from their doomed positions on the walls and those nosing the floor of the barracks for scraps before the new bodies came in.


    "Skeever-Steelclaw is finding the Shai-Alud ¨C hah!" Gatskeek shouted. "King Shrykul always did say our clan would be favored one day."


    The old rat now looked to Marcus with a glint of humor in his withered, aged eyes. Eyes that had seen, perhaps, too much horror to care anymore.


    "Well, Shai-Alud," he said. "Your words are being good. But we are not going anywhere."


    He nodded at Marcus, Skeever, and Deekius to follow him.


    "Why is that?" Marcus asked.


    "Because, Shai-Alud," the old rat replied. "We are being fucked."

 Chapter 10

    Be giving me death before giving me shame!


    - Vikk Bad-Eye


    The old rat led Skeever, Deekius, and Marcus towards his command post at the foot of the barracks. Skeever commanded the rest of his forces to stay behind and recuperate, taking advantage of the fort''s supplies before they moved on.


    "Supplies?" Gatskeek huffed. "You would be lucky to be finding a morsel of good tail flesh in this dump."


    "What has happened here?" Skeever demanded, keeping his voice as low as possible so his men would not overhear his anxiety. "When last we departed, the fort was holding strong. Why now are you being so laid low?"


    Marcus was too busy contemplating the rat''s denial to retreat to even pay attention to his reply.


    "Raids from the yipping ones are becoming constant," Gatskeek explained as the retinue passed by ranks of wounded Ratlings simply staring at the barrack walls. "Ever since they be having new Boss, they attack in large number with more and more anger. No matter how many we are killing, more come to climb over corpses and take fort. They all cry out victory for new Boss Skegga."


    Marcus noticed how uneasy even the name itself made Ix and the other Kobold prisoners. He made a mental note.


    "Be telling me you are completing your mission, Skeever," he asked with some faint hope.


    The hulking Skeever responded in nary a whisper, perhaps so the Kobolds that now journeyed with them would not hear.


    "We are," he said, producing a small, crumpled map in his hands. "Though it is costing me half of my men to do it."


    Gatskeek returned his morose statement with a solemn nod. "We all are learning the cost of this war, kinsman. I am fearing that it has already spent us. There are being rumors from the capital that the North tunnels will soon fall against the might of Skegga''s united army."


    "We have seen him," Skeever said with revulsion. "He is no God. He is nothing but surface slime. If only the dumb demons could know this!"


    "How are they breaking Knifegut?" Deekius interrupted suddenly. "This fort is being one of the strongest in the North Warrens."


    "They are having advantages they never had before," Gatskeek replied. "Skogs, big guns, and numbers we have never seen. This Boss Skegga has given the yipping demons some new religion and has brought the Kobold tribes together under it. He is telling them that Great Kleansing will come, and they will wipe out all life in these tunnels until only Kobold remains."


    The venerable rat looked back at the Ix and his compatriots and spat into the ground of the fort. His hatred could not be concealed.


    Marcus couldn''t blame him. In war ¨C especially one in which peace talks were not on the table - it didn''t behoove a commander to feel any compassion for his enemy. It would make the job of killing them that much harder.


    He also understood the situation better now. These Kobolds, though individually insignificant, possessing basic intelligence, had been formed into a coherent military force through the galvanizing power of a new faith and a new God ¨C this Boss Skegga. Whoever he was, he understood the power that faith wielded over those without minds of their own ¨C those who desperately wanted to believe in something greater. The notion of disparate tribes being unified under such faith was not a novel one to Marcus ¨C the Jihads under the Rashidun Caliphate of the 7th century and the Cathar Crusades of the 13th provided just two examples of how powerful an army with a common, spiritual purpose could truly be.


    Eventually, Gatskeek led the detachment of leaders to what served as his war room at the end of the fortress barracks. It was a tiny chamber lit by two torch sconces on either side of a desk riddled with termites. Upon the desk lay a map of the surrounding area, with several points viciously crossed off like someone had taken a blade to the paper.


    Marcus was surprised to see that it was a rather more detailed map of the stronghold than he had expected ¨C clearly identifying the three tunnel entryways and the escape route through the great steel door, as well as diagrams of defensive positions that could be taken up on the twin Martello towers.


    "We are being boxed in," Gatskeek said with another indignant spit of phlegm. "Every day Kobold raiders are hacking at us from the West and East tunnels. We try plugging them, but Gutmulcher attacks too frequent. Walls have held for past month but now," the Talon-Commander sighed. "You are seeing situation."


    "Indeed," Marcus said, stepping forward to get a closer look at the fortifications and the wall foundations. "You''ve done well to hold out this long with what you''ve had to work with."


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Gatskeek didn''t bow in deference as the others did. Instead, he accepted the praise with a way, curt nod.


    "We can be holding for another day at best," he continued. "Then Kobolds will take Knifegut. Will have clear path to assault Capital."


    "Why haven''t reinforcements come from Fleapit?" Skeever asked in disbelief. Marcus could tell the state of this place was having an effect on him. In the short time he''d known the creature, he could tell this hulking rat despised the idea of seeming weak in the face of his foes.


    "King Shrykul is decreeing that no more help will come," Gatskeek replied. "He is needing to reinforce city walls against dwarven raiders to the South. Kobold threat is not seen as biggest problem."


    "We will change that," Deekius promised. "Our mission is bringing word not only of great threat, but of way to be stopping them."


    "We can be allowing you to pass through today," Gatskeek huffed. "Tell the King we are fighting and dying well."


    "''Dying''?" Marcus asked. "Why are you so content to die?"


    The rats all looked at him, their eyes streaked with confusion.


    "There is much you have not told the Shai-Alud then," Gatskeek reprimanded his kinsmen. "When we are being ordered to make sure Knifegut has a standing army, we are standing no matter what."


    "This is being our way," Skeever said. "What the King commands, we are doing."


    Marcus, however, wasn''t accepting that.


    "This fort will fall tonight," he told Gatskeek, sensing Skeever and Deekius'' hesitation. "With or without your rats here to man it. You said so yourself. I counted at least sixty good men out there who could fight another day. Can you really look them in the eye and tell them they are dead rats walking?"


    "They are being loyal servants of our King, human," Gatskeek growled. "If the king commands it, then we are to follow!"


    Marcus looked at his companions for any support, and found instead that they nodded with the old grey veteran. He felt fury rise in his throat but stop at his gullet. He remembered Mari''s words. Then, he remembered what his purpose here was.


    There could be more dangers on the way to Fleapit, and Skeever''s men numbered only around approximately 24 beleaguered spearmen by this point. Extra manpower was exactly what they needed if they were going to survive the journey through another one of these decrepit tunnel systems. Marcus, having just seen the horrors of Gutmulcher jaws, was surer of that now than ever.


    Gutmulchers¡­


    He flew forward suddenly, analyzing the map.


    "The orders of your King," he said. "What, exactly, were his words?"


    Gatskeek''s furrowed brows betrayed his confusion, but he answered without hesitation: "To be ensuring the fort is manned and protected from threats to the North."


    Marcus nodded.


    "What if there was another army that could protect it?" he said slowly, his eyes darting from each leader in the tiny chamber, knowing that they looked into his eyes and saw the flickering of the dim torch embers that threw themselves across the room.


    "Well, Talon-Commander?" Marcus pushed. "King Shrykul didn''t say that you, specifically, had to guard this place from your Kobold enemies, did he?"


    The old veteran licked his scarred lips. "No," he said. "But if you are thinking that the Ratmen you bring with you will be enough to hold this place when sixty of my soldiers cannot, then you are more insane than you are looking."


    "Who said anything about Ratmen?" Marcus said with an impish grin that couldn''t help forming at the corners of his mouth. "We have a better ally that we can use in this fight."


    Amidst the stares of the twitching rats Marcus'' smile only widened. A plan was forming in his mind that he wouldn''t exactly call ''sane''. But it was practical. And it was better than letting 60 able-bodied rats die here when they could be helping him reach his goal.


    "Gatskeek," he said aloud. "If I told you I could save your men and keep this fort manned, would you trust me?"


    The old rat scoffed. "Trust you?" he said. "No, human. I am not trusting anyone without the tail of my kinsmen. But if Skeever-Steelclaw vouches for you, then I will hear your plan. Then we shall be seeing if I will risk my men for you."


    "I wouldn''t worry about that," Marcus said. "If you follow my instructions, not a hair on their tails will be touched."


    Skeever and Deekius exchanged looks that told Marcus even they doubted him in this moment. Yet when they turned back to him, they saw only confidence in their prophet''s eyes.


    "First things first," he told Skeever. "Gather your troops. We''re going spider hunting."

 Chapter 11

    ''Nearly all men can stand adversity. But if you want to test a man''s character, give him power''


    -Abraham Lincoln


    Klega tried to still his ferocious heart as it knocked against his ribs.


    Ratties die-die, his mind told him. Kill. Kill-kill them all for Boss Skegga!


    Behind him rumbled the yips and cries of his army ¨C 70 of the big Boss''s finest Skog riders, with complete control over their hopping mounts. Klega had always mocked the Skogs of the North tunnels as a child. He had spat at their spherical bodies and played the game of Skogchase with his companions in his youth ¨C where they would taunt the Skog captives in their pens and jump over their spiny backs and tails as the creatures charged them, their venomous tongues lolling out lamely when they missed their targets. Klega had never imagined that he would ever have such control over one of those beasts ¨C that the harness he held in his hands kept such a stupid looking beastie under his total control. It was right what Boss Skegga said ¨C having control over the creatures of their dark world felt like being a God.


    Klega smiled at that, raising his chipped shortsword and shouting over his shoulder at the other riders. His riders.


    "Towards Knifegut!" he yelped to his fellow Kobolds. "We kill all rat-rats and then ¨C then we take their Shai-Alud and crush-crush Fleapit! For the Big Yip! For Boss Skegga!"


    The sound of his men whooping and bashing their mounts with their sharp claws and clubs reverberated through the tunnel they sped down. They sung songs of triumph, songs that praised the Boss and how they would be his tools that would set the Under-Kingdom on fire.


    And Klega joined them, jabbing his Skog in its stupid, dumb, empty belly and laughing as it squeaked in pain.


    Perhaps one day soon, he thought, they would be singing his name instead of the Boss''s.


    ¡­


    Marcus stood atop the crumbling wreck that was Knifegut''s walls. Beside him stood Ix, practically shaking.


    They watched Skeever and his men return with their plunder ¨C the results of about two hours worth of sustained combat with the spiderlings of the tunnels. They had hesitated at Marcus'' refusal to come with them, but understood that time was of the essence and he had to inspect the walls. If this plan was to work¡­


    He looked down at the tiny form of the Kobold prisoner beside him.


    ¡­then all its constituent parts would have to operate in unison.


    "Are you scared?" he asked the creature as Skeever waved his bloody spear up at them.


    "I ¨C I¡­" the little creature stammered. He had the involuntary habit of hopping in place like an eager child, and Marcus had to stop himself before such comparisons went any further. These little demons were not children. What they lacked in brain power, they evidently made up for in two areas: numbers and cunning.


    "Speak freely, Ix," he commanded. "And don''t lie. The Shai-Alud will know."


    He chuckled to himself at this little bit of theatre. If only Mari could see him now. She''d always said he was a bad actor. But then again, you didn''t need acting chops to keep infants entertained.


    "Ix fear-fears wrath of God," the Kobold said. "Boss Skegga is supposed to be new God-God of Underground."


    "And do you believe that?"


    Ix gulped out his answer. "We of the Far North tunnels do not have choice. We not ask-ask question. We loyal."


    "Until your commander is defeated, it seems," Marcus challenged.


    It was unclear whether Ix recognized the threat in his voice, for all he did was pull on his long ears and wiggle his toes.


    "Ix is having new thoughts," he said. "Commander Gith not win-win fight. This mean he not strong enough. This means Skegga not choose good leader. So this mean Skegga cannot be God-God. God not-not make mistake."


    Marcus chuckled to himself. A stout deduction! Even if it was phrased a little awkwardly. Their people clearly valued strength. He imagined, from the things he''d heard, that this Boss Skegga probably commanded through sheer determination alone. Probably, he was at least ten feet larger than his subjects. And probably, Marcus thought, he believed that large numbers and a common cause were enough to win a war."


    But even as he listened to Ix''s words, Marcus kept his distance. He was not stupid enough to show disdain like the rats did towards their new comrades. The petty racial squabbles between these creatures did not concern him. But equally, he was not going to go the way of Xerxes, shanked in the back by those soldiers closest to him.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Are you prepared?" he asked.


    The Kobold answered with certainty. "Yes-yes, Shai-Alud. We are ready. You have told us of our role in plan-plan. Plan will work. We will win."


    "That''s not what I mean," Marcus continued, measured. "Are you prepared to kill your own kind?"


    Ix looked up at him again and blinked his beady little eyes as he considered the question. They held each other''s gazes for a time, until finally the Kobold had plucked up enough courage to bear his rotted fangs and squeak out his answer:


    "This skin," he said, pulling at his soft belly. "This mean nothing to Yip-Yip. Kobold stand where there is power. Only want strong-strong. If ratmen strong, we follow ratmen. If Boss Skegga strong, we follow Boss Skegga. Ratmen have not been strong-strong. But now Ix has seen ratmen fight with Shai-Alud. Now maybe ratmen become strong-strong. They become worth following."


    You go where there is power, Marcus thought, taken aback at the little creature''s candor. Irrespective of race or creed. I can respect that. Even admire it. Of course, you could be lying to me. But then, you can''t be, can you? Because you''ve just told me something that you probably don''t think you did.


    "Well then," Marcus said with a slight smile as he turned away to finish up the preparations. "I suppose I better win this next fight."


    A sudden streak of mischief suddenly took him. He''d heard a long time ago that a man shouldn''t ask questions he doesn''t want the answer to. But still, he couldn''t help himself. Maybe the performance of the Shai-Alud General really had taken him over.


    "If I become weak-weak, Ix," he said. "Will you kill me?"


    The Kobold looked at him vacantly, and merely shrugged his tiny shoulders.


    "Ix no need," he said simply. "Weak-weak not live long in Under-Kingdom."


    ¡­


    When Klegga and his raiders finally reached the end of the tunnel that their prior Yips had cleared to Knifegut, he looked upon the fort as a conqueror looks upon a golden city ready to fall.


    He forced his men to a halt with a single raised claw, his fingers twitching on the grip of his blade.


    Quiet-Quiet, he thought, scanning the big towers that were barely still standing after their constant raids.


    "Head Yip Klegga!" one of his men whispered beside him. "Why-why we stop?"


    "Klegga is using brain-brain," Klegga replied. "Fort look abandoned."


    "Then we take-take easy!"


    Klegga shook his head. "Too easy," he said. "Could be ratman trap."


    "Trap?" another of his men giggled maniacally. "Stinky rats no clever enough for trap-traps! Not like clever Boss Skegga and clever Head-Yip Klegga."


    "Head-Yip Klegga!" his men roared.


    They want fight-fight, Klegga thought. Klegga understands. But rat-rats have Shai-Alud, now. They have leader now. Maybe they ha-


    A general shout suddenly went up from the back row of his riders.


    "Head-Yip! Look!"


    Klegga strained his eyes to watch the movement that was taking place atop the fort''s ruined walls. Kobold eyes were sharp as eagles, and even across the field of battle, Klegga could see the ratmen waving at them with their bows.


    Then he saw the defenders turn round, lift their tails, and defecate off the side of the walls, jumping around in mockery of the Kobolds'' war dance.


    "The devils!" the Skog-riders wailed. "They make fun-fun of us!"


    "How dare they mock-mock the sacred dance of war!"


    "Enough waiting! We go! We go now-now!"


    "NOW-NOW!"


    "W-wait!" Klegga screeched. But his voice was lost in the hail of frenzied whoops and battle cries that sailed from the throats of his warriors. He watched them urge their Skogs on with crazed kicks and saw the hatred burning in their eyes as they charged the walls with their meagre defenders who, Klegga saw, barely took aim at them.


    He looked at the chaos of the ordered rows breaking up all around him and felt a deep gulch open up beneath his raging heart. Boss Skegga had chosen him to lead. Why weren''t the Yips listening to him?


    He looked back up at the fort and tightened his grip round his shortsword.


    It does not matter, he told himself as he threw his entire being into the battle. When Knifegut fall-falls, it will be my name they remember. No one else.

 Chapter 12

    Jump-Jump! Little Yip


    Catch the sun-sun in your hands


    Jump-Jump! Little Yip


    We will be here when you trip!


    - Popular Kobold rhyme


    The sounds of the Kobold raider''s war cries pierced the air of Knifegut''s cavern.


    The defenders of the walls took aim and fired as they had been instructed. Their arrows had barely flown before the cavalry was upon them, digging their claws into the remnants of their walls and charging toward the Martello towers.


    The vicious teeth of the starving Skogs gleamed in the darkness of the cavern and found the hands of the ratman archers within mere minutes. They tore through skin and muscle like carving through butter, relishing every morsel of rat-flesh they swallowed, while the defender''s bodies crumbled beneath them.


    For a short, two-minute duration of pure agony for the defenders, the towers held. The archers relinquished their bows and drew daggers to pierce the soft underbelly of the rampaging Skogs. A few of them found the vile beasts'' hearts before the rats were forced back in the face of a wall of gnashing fangs.


    "Be retreating!" came the general shout from the walls.


    Klegga heard their desperate cries and pushed forward, getting in amongst his units where the fighting was thickest. By this point, the walls and towers were filled with rampaging riders struggling to edge their way into the fortress past each other. The raiding party had become nothing but a wave of living, undulating death.


    The defenders were pushed back into the courtyard of the fort, with Klegga''s screams becoming the manic shouts of a warlord seeing his enemy crumble beneath his might. The Yips surged forward, urging their Skogs to leap over the battlements and crush the fleeing rat defenders under their bipedal feet. Some of them let the rats die a slow death ¨C poking at them with their rusted machetes while their Skogs licked and chewed away at their flesh, stripping them of their putrid hair and swallowing them whole.


    "Skogs are hungry, yes-yes?" Klegga shouted over the chaos of his whooping warband and the squeals of pain from the rats they trampled. "Give them food-food! Let them munch, crunch, chew-chew all night!"


    By now the courtyard of Knifegut had become little more than a bloody feasting ground. Like carrion birds the Kobolds descended upon the meagre force of ratmen archers and guards that remained, dispatching them with little care even for their own unit formation. It became difficult for Klegga, in the confines of the walled-in courtyard, to even recognize his line commanders in the mass of writhing flesh and ichor. But no matter, he thought to himself. Even if his 70-odd Yips were packed in here like cattle, all he had to do was watch them munch.


    Klegga took his time to inspect the remains the rats had left in the courtyard ¨C nothing but torn boxes and empty crates that reeked of ratmen filth. They had obviously been in a hurry to leave.


    The chaos of the one-sided battle spilled into the barracks where the Kobolds found nothing but deserted straw bedding and filthy piles of dung stewing in the heat of the claustrophobic cavern. The armor ¨C a similar situation. Klegga was becoming convinced the coward rats had run, leaving only a token defense to face his onslaught. It was funny. Klegga had never known ratmen to be brave, or capable of thinking. Perhaps their Shai-Alud had convinced them to stay and die so that his forces might leave?


    The Shai-Alud¡­


    Come to think of it, Klegga had not spotted a human anywhere within these walls. In a sudden panic, he ordered his men to search the place top to bottom, but those finishing off the defenders reported nothing outside but the dingy, smelly boxes the ratmen had left behind.


    "They stink-stink!" one of his Yips shouted. "Like everything rat!"


    "Head-Yip Klegga, we should push on!" another raider declared, filled with the fervor of bloodlust and battle victory. "We go-go to Fleapit and crush King Shrykul!"


    The raiders whooped and cheered him on, and Klegga''s sword arm began to twitch of its own accord. Covered from head to toe in ratman blood, he felt fearless. Brutal. He was ready to knock some sense into that screaming Yip when he heard the distinct sound of something flying through the air just above his sharp ears.


    Something had just happened¡­


    "Quiet-quiet!" he called out to his still rampaging horde licking at their fallen prey. "Quiet!"


    It was useless. His voice was lost in their vindictive celebrations.


    And then he heard it again: a sudden rush of air. A flurry of swift cuts being made through the dark cavern skies.


    He looked up, scanned the stalactites that glistened above. His eyes strained to pick out movement, anything that could tell him what was ¨C


    SNAP.


    The sounds of a dozen impacts nearby. The sound of wood splintering into pieces. Sounds that were unheard by his men enjoying their victory.


    But their effects were felt. The dozen or so boxes and barrels that lined the courtyard were suddenly split open, revealing their viscous, dark-green contents.


    A cry went up from his men as the explosions wracked their minds. The contents of the crates burst out and covered them, coating the Skogs'' salivating mouths and sticking to the limbs of the raiders like glue. Even Klegga had to reel back, struggling to keep his mount under control as he shook the thick, sticky mucus from his eyes.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "Filthy-filthy rat-rats!" he heard his men scream. "They think to mock us while they run-run!"


    But Klega was barely listening to them, now. Instead, he was preoccupied with staring at the mucus that dripped from every pore of his skinny claw, and looking up to see it covering all of his men like a cloak of vile poison.


    His eyes shot wide open when it finally dawned on him what it was.


    And by that point, it was too late.


    "Head-Yip?" a rider said beside him, spitting out clumps of the disgusting fluid. "Why you look so pale-pale?"


    Klegga wasn''t listening to his men now. Now, he was feeling the thunderous vibrations beneath his feet.


    He looked around him at the puzzled-looking Kobolds and Skogs, who had now stopped their feasting.


    "H-Head-Yip? Wha-"


    Cracks appeared across the fortress courtyard, tearing through the boxes which still lay unopened and spilling more of their vile payload across the ground, so that the chicken-claw feet of the Skogs started slipping around uncontrollably.


    The courtyard had become little more than a bloody skating rink now. A skating rink composed solely¡­of Gutmulcher blood.


    "Y¡­Yip-Yips!" Klegga called out as the sounds of the vibrations reached fever pitch. "Fall back! FALL BACK-BACK NO-"


    The Head-Yip''s command was cut off by the storm of pincers and serrated teeth that launched themselves over the wall battlements and landed in the middle of the raiders. Before the first victims were able to scream they were torn from their Skogs and chewed clean through, leaving their mounts to flail about helplessly in the viscous fluid that kept them stuck in place. Klegga looked up to see a legion of the screeching, eight-legged horrors of the tunnels descend on them from above, tearing through the already disrupted ranks of his horde with even more ease than they had employed against the ratman defenders.


    "Group-group!" Klegga called out in vain. "Pack-leaders, fall back-back!"


    It was useless. His eyes saw nothing but Kobolds squealing in despair as they were lifted from their mounts and ripped to shreds, their blood raining down on their comrades who turned tail and tried fleeing, abandoning their slipping Skogs altogether. Some of them made it to the walls and scrabbled up the sides to see nothing but a sea of waiting Gutmulchers on the other side ¨C an ocean of crimson eyes that stared back at them before enveloping them within their flesh-ripping teeth.


    Klegga watched his men die not with a heavy heart, but with a mind wracked by fury.


    This¡­he raged. "This is not how it is supposed to be-be!"


    The men around him looked up at their rage-filled leader spitting such anger at the chaos that unfolded around them. It was the first time they''d looked to him as a leader since they''d set out from Grindlefecht.


    He looked towards the metal gate that the ratmen had defended with their last, putrid breaths. The gate, Klegga knew, that led to Fleapit.


    "Yips!" he yelped above the din of the dying and the paralyzing screeches of the infernal arachnids. "Move towards big door-door! We push to Fleapit! Spiders cannot outrun us! Let cowardly ratmen face them!"


    Slowly, Klegga saw his own insane resolve build in the small contingent that could hear him ¨C those boxed in at the edge of the fortress.


    "How we get to big door, Head-yip?"


    Klegga kicked at the side of his Skog and raised his short sword high.


    "How we get everywhere!" he squeaked. "We fight-fight!"


    The little creature surprised himself with the ferocity of his candor, leading a breakout charge of the 30 or so Yips that weren''t ground to pulp and intestine in the Gutmulcher''s toothy maws. With him at their head his cavalry charged forwards, slashing back at the beasts in their way, aiming for the legs and managing to wound the arachnids that broke off from their feast.


    "Keep push-push!" the fervent Klega called out. "We still win-win!"


    They would come back, he told himself as he slashed through the talons of a snarling Gutmulcher and then forced his Skog to barrel right past it. They would come back later and take the place properly. They would bring poisons with them. Boss Skegga would understand. Klega would bring him this vital information that the fort was now home of Gutmulchers only. The rats had tried to trick them into being spider lunch. But they had failed. They had failed because Klega was strong leader ¨C strongest leader in all Under-Kingdom!


    And with such thoughts raging in his skull, he and his dwindling force finally reached the wrought iron gate at the back of the fortress.


    "Open-open!" he cried to one of the raiders beside him, who forced his cog to jump up to the ratmen''s primitive winch on the wooden platform that teetered beside the gate.


    The ''mulchers from behind now surged towards them, having finished supping on the rest of his men.


    "We are next-next!" a shaking Yip called behind Klegga. "We ¨C we run-run! We go ¨C"


    A slap from the Head-Yip brought him back to his senses.


    "Coward Yips never make big jumps!" he roared as loud as his puny larynx would allow him. "We will make biggest jump in Kobold history! We lead Mulchies to Fleapit! We strike blow-blow against rats!"


    The iron gate finally came down, and when Klega turned towards the dark expanse that opened before them, he did so with certainty in his eyes and glory in his heart.


    Until he saw what was waiting for them.

 Chapter 13

    Kill with a borrowed knife"


    -The Thirty-Six Strategems


    As the wrought iron door to the escape tunnel opened, Marcus braced himself for what had to happen next.


    The door shuddered open, revealing pained, animalistic cries of death punctuated by the cracking of bones and squelching of teeth tearing through pliable flesh.


    But he focused. He raised a hand to signal to the shield wall positioned right behind the door to ready themselves for combat.


    "Sounds of Kobold death," Deekius grinned beside it. "It is warming the heart, is it not, Shai-Alud?"


    Marcus ignored the bloodthirsty comment of the priest with a gulp. He could already smell the ranks of torn flesh and exposed bone marrow that coated the courtyard as the fortress'' insides came back into view.


    Then, he saw what remained of them.


    He saw the Kobolds drenched in Gutmulcher blood mixed with the ichorus remains of their own people, and their spherical, reptile-like mounts shrieking in agony as the image of the ratman shield wall came into view.


    Then Marcus locked eyes with the Kobold at the head of the riders, and he saw ¨C as someone who was no stranger to fear ¨C that the Kobold''s hope of escape had just vanished.


    "Spears!" he called.


    The shield wall obliged, bringing their weapons to bear with an affirmative "HAH!"


    His hand rose above their heads, holding the Kobold captain''s desperate, pleading eyes just before he brought his fist down and issued his command:


    "FORWARD!"


    And with one swift, unburdened motion, the wall of thorns struck out at the raiders.


    The first spears pierced the foreheads of the snarling Skogs with ease, ripping through their scales and coming away with pieces of blackened brain-matter oozing from their tips.


    Then the next rank simply stepped forward without a second thought.


    The Kobolds'' screams filled the black void behind the rats where Marcus stood, watching the chaos he''d orchestrated unfold. The Skogs sent their thorny tongues covered in acidic mucus at the rats, their riders desperately trying to push against the wall. But it held firm. The furry monsters shoved back, striking out with spear and shield in equal measure, knocking Kobolds from their mounts which began flailing about lamely before they too were speared through their eye sockets.


    The Kobold commander threw his voice against the slow, methodical advance of the ratwall, bellowing for his men to withdraw even as he watched what remained of his force die in front of him.


    Then the Gutmulchers came.


    They broke through the ruins of the fortress'' walls and descended like a pack of hungry vultures on the rear of the Kobold cavalry, instantly decimating any who tried falling back into their hungry maws. Those raiders that survived could do nothing but watch as their brethren were slaughtered, then consumed, their lifeless eyes watching their comrades from within the serrated maws of the arachnids.


    To their front, a wall of thorny death impaling them one by one. Behind, a sea of gnashing teeth coated in the blood of their comrades. Marcus had to admit, whether he liked it or not, he had managed to manufacture a living death-machine. The slow, methodical death of the Kobolds was like watching two hydraulic presses slowly but surely flatten an object at both ends until, in a matter of seconds, it collapsed in on itself and splintered into pieces.


    Such pieces filled Marcus'' view wherever he looked ¨C chunks of Kobold limb, claw, and face flying back to hit his awestruck eyes.


    He barely even remembered to order that the gates be closed shut.


    "Fall back!" he called out to Skeever, who nodded with a face smeared in Kobold stomach fluid. They couldn''t afford to let their Gutmulcher ''allies'' gain a single inch in the escape tunnel. The plan had always been to lure them to the fort, have them decimate their enemies, and then quickly cut off their ability to pursue them. With the Kobold forces stripped down to only about ten men, Marcus reckoned this was the time to withdraw.


    Behind him, issuing his remaining archers the order to fire into the mess of dying and dead, Gatskeek laughed maniacally like a senile old rodent.


    "I must be admitting, Marcus," he shouted as the iron gate came down again. "I was not expecting this plan to succeed!"


    "That makes two of us," Marcus whispered, watching the gate slowly fall like a closing curtain on an act full of madness and depravity.


    Yet, once again, he was struck by the mad eyes of the Kobold leader in the middle of his decimated horde.


    His men cried out in hapless, animal agony all around him, but he did not have eyes for their suffering. It could be their pain simply did not matter to him. Or, it could be that the sight of Marcus simply meant more.


    By the way he licked his mucus-coated lips and fingered his rusted blade, Marcus tentatively assumed it was the latter.


    His suspicions were confirmed: before the gate finally crashed down the little critter let out a howl that chilled the bones of every creature still living. He kicked at his Skog and it sent him flying through the air, sending bloodied viscera spilling over the shield wall. The spears were not quick enough to turn and strike up as he sailed above the rats, and came straight at Marcus'' head with his blade poised to strike.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Marcus reacted as quickly as he could, collapsing into a roll that barely avoided the swipe at his throat. The little one turned tail, spun again, and charged right for him, Marcus only barely managing to grab hold of his blade with his bare hands to stop it tearing through his chest.


    "Shai-Alud!" Deekius called out.


    The next moments played out over a matter of mere seconds ¨C seconds of fleeting pain, confusion, and the exhilaration of combat. Marcus was forced down to the ground by the sheer power of the little creature''s conviction. The thing forced his shortsword down, slicing little bloody rivers into Marcus'' fingers and making him cry out in pain. More than that, however, it was the face of the Kobold that struck terror into Marcus during these agonizing moments that seemed to signal death. The eyes ¨C like to burning coals ready to pop out and singe his flesh.


    "Shai-Alud!" the creature spat as he twisted the blade and cut into the soft flesh of Marcus'' hands. "You¡­die! Die die! Klegga¡­will¡­not be¡­kill-kill¡­like this!"


    Marcus watched those mad eyes draw ever closer to him, and for a single millisecond the thought flashed through his mind that he could simply let the Kobold have his victory. Everything about the little creature ¨C his fury, his righteous drive to kill ¨C it was spurned on, Marcus thought, by his grief. Grief he could only articulate through anger. Grief, in the final analysis, for his fallen brothers¡­


    Grief that ended as those dark eyes went wide, and both he and Marcus looked up to see the pellet that had shot clean through the back of his head.


    Like a twisted marionette the little creature turned its twitching head behind to see its murderer and there, both Klegga and Marcus beheld the sight of a Kobold loading another sparkling pellet into his slingshot.


    "Klegga weak-weak," Ix said as he lined up his next attack. "Cannot even kill fleshy humie. Klegga no deserve be Head-Yip. Klegga choose wrong side."


    And before the latter had any chance to open his blood-filled mouth to argue, Ix''s next projectile found Klegga''s heart and sent him crumpling down next to Marcus, his eyes lolling back in his head.


    For a moment no one said anything, and Marcus was forced to stare into the eyes of the Kobold as his bloody corpse spasmed in its death-throes.


    "Shai-Alud!" Skeever and Deekius both called as they finally reached him. "S-Sire Marcus! Damned be that Redwhiskers! Your slow turning of the winch is maiming our lor-"


    Marcus shook himself off and rose gently, ignoring the blood rivers flowing down his palms. He knew he''d be losing too much blood unless he acted soon to bandage the wound. The dark world of the escape tunnel was beginning to blur. But, still, he staggered forwards until he stood before the little Kobold and his pack of archers ¨C those who had popped every crate out there with pure precision and then managed to retreat back here with enough time to come to his rescue.


    "I believe," Marcus wheezed. "I believe I owe you my thanks, once again."


    Ix shrugged. "Ix is speaking true-true. Klegga is weak. Marcus is strong."


    As the screams of the outside world died down, Marcus was seized by a sudden burst of energy. He stepped forward, grabbed the Kobolds claw in his bloody hand, and raised the little creature''s fist in the air, smiling to see Redwhiskers grimace amongst the soldiers.


    "Witness the real hero of this battle," Marcus shouted triumphantly. "The enemy of your enemy is your friend, ratmen! Remember that, and they might just save your life."


    At this the ratmen roared with cheers, their voices probably echoing all the way down to their capital city that lay further down the tunnel. Marcus let them cheer for victory. He let them call out his name, and that of the Kobold beside him. He even caught old Gatskeek chuckling with hidden glee. They had wont he day, and he was now another step closer to freedom.


    "S-sire?" Deekius'' voice asked beside him.


    He unclenched the Kobold''s claw and stumbled forward, letting the putrid rat catch him.


    "I¡­I''m tired, Deekius¡­" he said.


    Reality blurred. The now concerned faces of his warriors coalesced together into a colorless sea of fur.


    His hands fell to the ground.


    "Shai-Alud!"


    "Shh," he whispered, finding, of all things, the dead face of the Kobold, Klegga, being trampled beneath the ratmen''s feet. "I¡­I''m heading¡­home¡­"


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.

 Chapter 14

    -Grindlefecht, Boss-Skegga''s stronghold-


    "BRING ME ANOTHER PRISONER!"


    The bellow from Boss Skegga''s swollen larynx sent sonic shockwaves rippling through the ancient Dwarven architecture that comprised his stronghold. He swiveled on his floating throne, the sputtering blue flames licking at the skulls of Dwarf, Ratman, and Kobold alike that had been crushed under the claws heel of his armies.


    His minions rushed to grab another one of his torture victims from the Desecrated Pit behind his throne room. It was the place where the bearded freaks that owned this place had once conducted strange ceremonies in ''Praise of the Stone'' or some such guff that served as their religion. While he waited for his next victim that he would see flayed alive, he spared a look at the piles of skeletal corpses lined up on the far end of his temple.


    The great horned toad scratched his slimy legs and stretched out his pudgy, greased flippers, staring at the blood that coated them in the aftermath of the last prisoner he''d strangled after supping on his innards. His mind raced to keep up with the thrumming of his unseated heart. Ever since his scouts had reported that, not only had Klegga failed to capture Fort Knifegut ¨C and lost 70 good Skogriders in the process ¨C but that the fort was now a nest for the Warren border Gutmulchers, he had been consumed by a red mist of rage that nothing would abate.


    And making matters worse was the knowledge that this ''Shai-Alud'' was still out there, mocking him with every breath he drew in his realm.


    "SILAS!"


    His voice thundered with such animalistic intensity that the Kobold guards near him shook. But not Silas. No. Never Silas. Sneaky, tricky, traitorous Silas.


    The young Rat slipped stealthily out of the shadows behind his throne and coughed to make his presence felt.


    "Yes, Sire?"


    "Tell me," Skegga began, his arm-flippers gripping the golden armrests of his throne as it slowly spun to show him the corpses that decorated his temple walls. "Tell me how a mere human can resist me."


    Silas cleared his throat again. "You are speaking of the Shai-Alu-"


    "OF COURSE I AM!"


    Now some of the Kobolds actually tried to flee, being tripped and mocked by their comrades before they made it to the golden door.


    "My knowledge of the prophecies are being dim, Sire," Silas replied, unfazed. "But it would seem that this human is no ordinary peasant. He seems to have knowledge of military strategy that lies beyond the ken of the Clan Red-Eye Rats. Perhaps He-Who-Festers has finally blessed my former comrades with a true champion for their-"


    "HE-WHO-FESTERS IS A LIE! I AM THE ONLY GOD THAT RULES THESE TUNNELS!" Skegga roared, throwing spittle in the slim Ratman''s face. He simply took a handkerchief from his shaggy coat pocket and wiped himself clean.


    "Of course, Sire."


    Skegga huffed as he threw his body back, closing his eyes in consternation. First Gith''s unit, now Klega''s¡­and the fact they had allowed the fort to be taken¡­how did that make sense?


    "You must admit, Sire, that the strategy of the Shai-Alud is an unorthodox one," Silas continued, as though the impish little creature could read his thoughts. "Yet it makes perfect sense if we are thinking about things from the Red-Eye''s point of view. They have retreated, yes, but in so doing are leaving a set of guards that shall never tire, and shall be proving quite formidable to remove. Knifegut is now being virtually unassailable."


    Skegga grumbled, gripping his armrests with such intensity that for a moment Silas thought he might well tear them off and toss them at his head.


    "We will bring our cannons to bear!" he said. "Cannons, big guns, a thousand raiders if need be! They''ll see the power Skegga wields then and they''ll know ¨C oh yes! THEY''LL KNOW I AM RISEN!"


    "I would urge caution, Sire," Silas replied with a short bow of grace. "Such troop movements would be leaving our headquarters unmanned and undefended. Our forward outposts would be found sorely lacking in the face of a directed Ratman counterattack. If we are keeping the majority of our forces garrisoned here, we are ensuring we have the capacity to reinforce our border forts with as much haste as necessary."


    Skegga''s eyes narrowed at the Ratman. Inside, he wished to tear him apart for his tenacity. But he could not doubt the frustrating logic in the little imp''s words.


    "You have proven good with your tongue, Silas," he said. "We admit that you have had some good ideas that have been of some assistance to us. But now you would council me in cowardice? You would have us wait here till our glorious palace is attacked by Ratman filth and their false prophet? If this is your ''plan'', Ratman, then you had better give me a damn good reason why I shouldn''t rend you limb from limb right here and now."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Skegga was more than used to striking fear into his subjects. Fear was an effective enough tool when dealing with animals. It had worked to whip up these Kobolds just as his benefactors on the surface said it would. It had worked to throw them like a flurry of boulders into the walls of Grindlefecht and take the dwarves by surprise. It had worked to beat down the little fat-nosed men who defended these forges and it had worked to get him the guns that would facilitate his conquest of the rest of the underworld.


    But, it had not been enough to ever phase Silas. Sneaky, tricky Silas. Silas, who had been useful so far in showing Skegga the ways into his former home, but the Ratman was beginning to get on his nerves.


    How can a rat carry himself with such pride in the presence of a God?


    Skegga licked his mucus-caked lips.


    "Well?" he asked.


    Silas bowed low and indicated the two Kobolds Skegga had sent away to bring him another torture victim.


    "Quite the contrary, Sire. I am not believing nothing should be done about this troublesome man. He is being far too dangerous to be left alive. However, instead of committing a sizeable force to seek out and destroy him, I suggest that we are taking a different approach."


    The Kobolds threw down the Dwarven prisoner ¨C a stout man with ragged tufts of ginger hair spilling down a morose face covered in dust and grime. Skegga was surprised to see that one of his Yips was holding the little man''s weapon: a long, ornate, silver-plated arquebus.


    "S-S-Silas tell us to bring this prisoner before you, Boss Skegga!" the Kobold holding the pristine weapon said. "This fat-beard have big gun-gun. Too big! Can''t shoot-shoot with this!"


    "Maybe you can''t, ya muth-sniffin'' vlech," the prisoner spat. "But I can."


    The Kobolds looked up at Skegga with bloodlust in their eyes, but the gargantuan toad only roared with laughter.


    "You have quite the mouth on you, little man!" he shouted. "I think I shall eat it, first."


    "Sire," Silas broke in. "This man is far more useful to us alive than dead."


    Skegga rounded on the tiny rat. "He looks like another fat little dwarf to me. Explain."


    Silas nodded to the man as he stood up proud in his chains.


    "Fingel Darragut," the Dwarf said. "Trained sniper in the service of Lord Grendle of House Darragut."


    "Sniper?" Skegga asked.


    "A long-range weapon expert, Sire," Silas explained.


    Boss Skegga sat back and stroked his bulging throat.


    "An assassin," he said.


    "In a manner a'' speakin''," the Dwarf said. "Point me at a target, and I''ll take it doon. You got a man that needs killin''? I can dae it."


    Skegga saw determination in the little man''s eyes, and he leaned over to whisper in the ear of his sneaky little advisor.


    "Silas, why is this man offering his services to us? Is this some kind of Dwarf trick?"


    "Hardly, Sire," Silas said with a smug grin. "From what I am knowing of Dwarves and their strict adherence to honor-culture, they are incapable of lying, even to their enemies."


    Remembering the masses of fat-men that had refused to surrender during their assault here, Skegga could understand that.


    "Then why does this scum-sucker wish to help us?"


    "For the same reason his people are doing anything," Silas said. "For his family."


    At the raised slime-brows of Skegga, Silas went on: "We are having both his wife and first-born son in chains. Your divine leadership is giving us a perfect bargaining chip over this man, who just so happens to be more than capable of tracking a target through even Ratman infested tunnels ¨C and one who is being capable of avoiding Gutmulcher eyes. He is, after all," Silas chuckled drily. "A rather short man."


    Skegga''s own smile shone in the grim, red lights of his temple.


    "So you wish to prove yourself to us, little man?" the giant toad sneered. "As it so happens, I have just the right job for a man such as you."


    Fingel stared through eyes that had long ago given up on his own life. In those eyes was nothing but the vision of death. It overcame all sense of morality he had ever maintained, all sense of loyalty he maintained to anything but his family that were being kept somewhere below, in the bowels of Skegga''s lair.


    Despite everything, Silas had done well this time.


    The great toad smirked as the Dwarf bowed low.


    A broken man kissing his feet. Eyes that were absent of hope.


    He loved to see it.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.

 Chapter 15

    When Marcus came to, he realized with no small degree of despair that he was still in the underground empire of the rats.


    "Sire," a voice said nearby. "You are being awake."


    Marcus rose steadily, groaning with weariness beyond his years to see the twitchy Deekius sitting next to a bonfire that warmed them. They seemed to be at the edge of a huge chasm overlooking a set of small, desolate buildings that looked like towers to Marcus'' untrained eyes.


    He ran a hand through his hair and found, to his surprise, that his wounds had been bandaged.


    "Your work, Deekius?" he asked the rat-priest, who nodded with a reverent bow.


    "I am being no expert in healing magic," he explained. "But the eyes of He-Who-Festers is with us, Sire Marcus. His hands have touched yours and ¨C"


    "That''s plenty," Marcus interrupted, standing to stretch out his back and take in the sight of the rest of their army. He found, again to his surprise, that both forces had splintered off into distinct groups swaddled around their own bonfires on the edge of the rocky chasm overhang. It looked like they were separated by profession ¨C there were the spearmen of Skeever, the honor guards of Gatskeek, and lastly the small assortment of archers who, incredibly, were joined by Ix and his tiny band of quick-footed Kobolds.


    Marcus couldn''t help but grin. A picture of unity amidst scuttling vermin. All accomplished through war.


    How''s that for you, Barenz? He asked the invisible ghost of his eternal campus tormentor.


    His mind then returned, as it often did, to the gravity of the situation at hand, and his eyes found at least two rats down there who did not sup on the fresh liquor of recent triumph ¨C Redwhiskers, sitting as far from the Kobolds as possible, and Gatskeek, morosely staring into the crisping flames of his unit''s bonfire.


    One of those creatures he was sure he couldn''t reason with. Force would be his best bet.


    The other one was Gatskeek. And in casting his eyes over him, Marcus was forced back into this new reality.


    "How long was I out?" he asked Deekius.


    "Only five hours, Sire," the priest replied, shuffling next to him. "In that time, we are forging the path to Fleapit, where our mission shall finally end."


    "Any casualties?"


    Deekius shook his boil-coated head. "Few, Sire. With the aid of the Kobolds under Ix, are managing to repel the larval Gutmulchers who live in these parts of the Warrens. Most of the creatures are retreating after small bout of combat."


    Marcus nodded at that, looking over the units below with no small degree of satisfaction.


    Satisfaction, he scoffed internally. What do I have to be pleased about?


    He must have at least voiced some of this statement out loud, for Deekius snapped his staff on the ground and answered him,


    "Sire, under your command we have routed two whole armies of the Kobolds. Together, there is so much more we can do. King Shrykul will make you a legend among us."


    "For what it''s worth," Marcus murmured, finding the silent form of Gatskeek amidst the crowd.


    "I''m heading down alone," he told Deekius. "Thanks for the assistance."


    The rat-priest nodded solemnly, but watched his new Sire go with curious eyes, as though he could read the thoughts of Marcus as the latter formed them.


    "Sire, we are creatures made for war. We are destined to rule these tunnels. All those we lose are simply part of He-Who-Fester''s great pla-"


    "Easy for you to say," Marcus shouted back over his shoulder. "You aren''t the one sacrificing your life for your God''s cause."


    He ignored any response from the priest and instead walked towards Gatskeek''s bonfire, the latter''s troops all rising to beat their hands against their chests as he arrived.


    All of them, except the old rat himself.


    "I would be telling them to stand down," he said. "But I am thinking I no longer command them."


    Marcus crouched down beside the old veteran with a slight groan of pain in his joints, much to Gatskeek''s amusement.


    "I see even the joints of a Shai-Alud are aching over time."


    "More than you know," Marcus replied. "But I didn''t come here to complain about my knees."


    "Then what are you coming to do?"


    The sudden tension between them was sensed by the honor guard nearby, and one of them hesitated for a brief instant ¨C wondering if he should bring Skeever to mediate whatever discussion was about to take place.


    Marcus couldn''t help but be drawn to the bulging muscles of the old rodent that peeked out under his steel pauldrons. In his prime, he was probably even bigger than Skeever.


    "I''ve come to tell you that I''m sorry."


    The creature couldn''t help but laugh in his face.


    "This is not a word we ratmen are even knowing! You are apologizing for victory, human?"


    "I''m apologizing because you had to leave the position entrusted to you by your king. I''m apologizing because, in order to strike a blow against your enemy, you had to lose seven of your men."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The old one glared at him with eyes framed by two great, furrowed brows.


    "''My men''," he scoffed. "You are meaning Bentpaw, Calmsqueak, Longjaw, Snappingtoe, Glumrak, Mortsmek, and Rockscratch?"


    Marcus gulped, feeling the tension only increase. "Yes."


    "If this is being your concern," the old rodent said. "Then you are misplacing your sympathy. These rats knew their fate was to be dying some day, as we all do when we are birthed into the Warrens."


    "It might mean nothing to you," Marcus said. "But I would have you know that this was the only way we could repel the raid that was coming. These seven gave their lives to ensure the security of your capital city. But that means nothing to a commander who has known his men for years, and then been forced to send them to die."


    The rat held Marcus'' gaze for an uncomfortable length of time that could have been seconds, could have been minutes. All Marcus knew was that, when the grey rat finally did look away, he breathed a small sigh of relief.


    "You are not being like the Shai-Alud we have heard tales of," Gatskeek said, focusing on the flaring flames of his fire. "Shai-Alud is a war leader who must be followed without question. Who will be guiding us to new day. Making our Kingdom into an Empire."


    An Empire¡­


    A ratman Empire¡­


    Marcus looked back at Deekius for a second before turning back to Gatskeek.


    "Gatskeek," Marcus said. "Do you believe all that? You think I''m a prophesized savior destined to lead you all?"


    When the old rat looked up at him and said nothing, Marcus decided he''d answer the question himself.


    "Because I''m not," he said. "That legend? It''s all bullshit. I''m just a guy with some rudimentary knowledge of military history snatched from my world and forced to fight with you all. I want this even less than you do."


    The old rat cast him a sideways stare of disbelief, until a wide smiled showed his still vicious fangs.


    "You should be showing care," he said. "Your Gloomrava may be hearing your heresy."


    "And what?" Marcus smiled back. "You think he will slay his precious hero?"


    Gatskeek chuckled in the odd way he did ¨C like an old man filled with phlegm he could barely keep concealed.


    "Why are you telling me these things?" he asked as both man and rat shared the meagre heat of the bonfire.


    "Because I need someone to tell me the truth," Marcus replied without a hint of irony. "I need someone who doesn''t blindly owe me loyalty to tell me when I make a wrong call, or when I start down a path that leads to nothing but destruction, no matter what ''gains'' might be made."


    The old rat considered this for a few silent minutes, licking his hungry lips in reflection. It seemed to Marcus that his message had sunk in, but by the shrugging of the old rat''s shoulders, he realized that he might never be sure if his words stuck with these beings or not.


    "Meh," Gatskeek finally spat. "I don''t care if you are believing in the prophesy or not. But I am not being a fool. Our species do not live long if we are not being smart. Gatskeek has lived longer than most because he knows when to be making the right friends."


    He fixed Marcus once again with the red-rimmed eyes.


    "I will be giving you my advice if you ask for it," he said. "But know that I will tell you things you do not wish to be hearing, and that my loyalty will always be with my people."


    Marcus fought the urge to chuckle. "I would have it no other way," he said.


    They didn''t shake on the agreement ¨C that didn''t seem like something the rats did to seal a deal ¨C but Marcus saw the old rat aim a globule of spit at the flickering embers of his fire and decided that he would follow suit.


    He had no idea if that was the right thing to do or not, but he did see Gatskeek smile again as he rose and shook himself off.


    ''We are to be leaving soon," he said. "Fleapit is being only a day''s journey North. Then we will be seeing what King Shrykul thinks of you."


    He threw something small and sharp at Marcus'' feet with such intensity that the latter almost thought he was trying to kill him.


    Instead, Gatskeek''s dagger glimmered between Marcus'' legs.


    "Be using that next time enemy comes upon you," the old rat said with a smirk.


    Marcus then watched him walk off to offer congratulations to his archer team nearby. He huddled closer to the fire, stretching out his bandaged hands and enjoying, even for a moment, the simple pleasure of heat on his skin.


    My list of allies grows, he told himself as he picked up the old rat''s gift by its handle. Mari, you would be proud of me.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.

 Chapter 16

    The march of the Ratmen echoed through the chasms of the North Warrens uninterrupted.


    To the onlooker, nothing about such a force would have looked strange in the tunnels at this end of the Underkingdom.


    Nothing except, of course, the human scribbling away with a quill and notebook at the center of the horde.


    Evidence of sophisticated architecture used as defensive measures, Marcus was writing, barely paying attention to the chittering of the rats around him ¨C or, at least, the ones he wasn¡¯t bombarding with questions.


    Skeever tells me that these intricate ruins are Dwarven in origin ¨C they are apparently masters of craftwork. I¡¯m inclined to agree ¨C dotted throughout the chasms we cross now are several examples of barricades, shrines, and other ornate buildings that are irregular in their design, far more solid, defensible, and visually appealing than what I saw in fort Knifegut. Skeever tells me the Dwarven forces have a sizeable presence in the Northwest, maintaining trade routes with the human nations above. This would imply friendly relations¡­though the Ratmen seem to hate their Dwarven neighbors just as much as their Kobold foes.


    ¡°Scruffy, fat, bearded goats!¡± Skeever remarked to Marcus absent-mindedly. ¡°It is being great honor for Rat to kill Dwarf, taking lock of hair as trophy. Gatskeek! Be showing Sire Marcus your prize!¡±


    The old venerable Rat marching ahead of their column looked back over his shoulder with a proud smile, bearing a dirt-caked lock of braided grey hair.


    ¡°Gutting this one was costing me fifteen good ratguards,¡± he croaked. ¡°He was apparently champion.¡±


    ¡°And now he is resting in dirt,¡± Skeever spat. ¡°As he should be.¡±


    Marcus bristled slightly, looking down at the hate-filled eyes of the Talon-Commander.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°From what you¡¯ve told me, I have more in common with these Dwarves than I have with you.¡±


    The Rat barely heeded the statement, waving Marcus¡¯ tense face away.


    ¡°No, Sire,¡± he said. ¡°You are looking like a human, but you are having the soul of a Rat within you.¡±


    Marcus couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°It is what He-Who-Festers has proclaimed,¡± Deekius cut in from behind them. ¡°The Unclean One never lies.¡±


    Marcus caught Gatskeek rolling his eyes up ahead and decided to just laugh the comment away.


    ¡°You know, many people have accused me of having just that kind of soul in me,¡± he said.


    ¡°Begging your pardon, Sire?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Marcus told Skeever, continuing instead with his notes.


    We have about six hours to go until we reach Fleapit, according to Skeever¡¯s intuition. Me? I can barely tell whether it¡¯s day or night under here, and I can feel my body groan as it tries to adjust itself to this Under-Kingdom time.


    With us being so close to the Capital of the Red-Eye Clan¡¯s domain, I decided to probe into their military structure. Skeever acts as a Talon-Commander (the general name for a warband leader) and has in his tenure employed several different Lieutenants (Or Paw-Leaders) to supervise smaller units ¨C of which the terse Redwhiskers is the last surviving member. Every fighting force in the field also must be followed by a Rat-Priest of He-Who-Festers, almost like a kind of battle-cleric. This implies at least some degree of military hierarchy of a magnitude higher than I assumed.


    The thing that interests me more is the Clan system itself ¨C which is no more complicated than that seen in similar societies in the real (cross that last, ¡®our¡¯) world. It puts me in mind of the old Celtic system of social organization seen in the Early-Medieval British Isles ¨C each Clan maintains its own army, traditions, cultural aspects, and rituals which give them a level of individuality. At the same time, any one King can call for a general muster (called a ¡®Skittering¡¯) which compels each Clan to send a detachment of military aid to the other, in return for promises of similar aid should they find themselves in a spot of trouble. This system, though primitive, is and has been effective in ensuring the Clans remain committed to the general defense of their borders. Gatskeek, however, tells me that the exact interpretation of ¡®military support¡¯ is taken in a deliberately subjective way by some of the Clans if they are particularly hard-up or, in some cases, just lazy. In one interesting example, King Nailgrip of Clan Marrow was reprimanded for delivering a detachment of ¡®living battering rams¡¯ to King Scargut of Clan Glumrot. This turned out to be nothing more than a box of five Dwarves tied to a stake ¨C with Nailgrip vehemently arguing that ¡®these fat little men are being good for nothing but bashing doors¡¯.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The purpose of Skeever and Deekius¡¯ mission is something they¡¯re keeping close to their chests. They won¡¯t even breathe a word of it to me ¨C they won¡¯t give me a shred of information about whatever they ¡®stole¡¯ from this Boss Skegga, but they have revealed that the information they have will ¡®finally¡¯ lead to King Shrykul calling for a Skittering in the coming weeks. I can see the excitement in their eyes as they talk about this in hushed whispers, turning to me with bloody, visceral joy. It¡¯s obvious what they want ¨C they want me to lead the muster when it comes.


    Gatskeek¡¯s been keeping quiet about the whole thing. Part of me thinks that the old rats simply wishes to see his home again. At a few points on our journey, he has only pointed out sightings of creatures native to these chasms ¨C small, balloon like birds which move around the highest stalactites above us. He looks upon them with a level of nostalgia, informing me that they are ¡®Gitterplaks¡¯, or ¡®Gas balloons¡¯ ¨C completely harmless beings that seem to enjoy just existing in the caverns, living on the algae that grows amidst the ceiling stalactites.


    Watching them pass by like lifeless orbs overhead, I can see that they secrete a black fume that looks almost familiar. It bears a striking resemblance to CO2 emissions.


    If that¡¯s the case, perhaps I finally have a concrete rationale for how addled the brains of these critters seem to be.


    ¡­


    The Ratpack stopped in the shade of an old abandoned Dwarven fortress ¨C steel walls flanked by old, disused cannons littered the floor of the chasm as the army hunkered down for the night.


    The final road to Fleapit ran through this way ¨C the fortifications were often used as a point of reference. It was said that it Ratmen could smell the shit of Dwarven ghosts nearby, then they knew their home was just around the corner. It had, after all, been built on their graves.


    Marcus sat around yet another campfire watching the Rats chew into the supplies Gatskeek had scrounged up. Skeever at one point noticed him staring and tossed something small, wriggly, and moist towards him.


    ¡°I¡­I will pass,¡± he said.


    He didn¡¯t want to seem rude, but the churning in his stomach was something that wouldn¡¯t be abated by simply food alone.


    He watched them laugh and spar with oneanother just like a General would watch his men engage in such recreational activities and had to remind himself that this was a one-way trip for him ¨C that his duty in Fleapit was to get himself home through an audience with those closest to the great, almighty He-Who-Festers. With any luck, he could then put this whole nightmare behind him.


    But I have to admit, he scribbled in his notes. It¡¯s had its moments¡­


    Currently one of the Ratmen of Gatskeek¡¯s group ¨C a jolly, rather plump fellow aptly named Squealer ¨C was serenading the army with tales of Marcus¡¯ exploits. How the Rat knew anything about him was anybody¡¯s guess ¨C though the other Ratmen cheering him on and throwing scraps of food at him certainly didn¡¯t seem to care if he lied.


    They even have a bard singing my praises, he wrote as an addendum to his notes above. Mari, I wish you could see it ¨C what I¡¯m looking at right now. Sure, they¡¯re a little rough around the edges, but they actually believe in the strategies I outline. They listen. They learn. They adapt ¨C and what better qualities are there in a military force than those?


    He caught himself suddenly, looking down to see his leg shaking with excitement.


    Excitement, he chuckled. I have to remind myself that this isn¡¯t some silly game¡­


    "You are being preoccupied, Marcus,¡± Skeever said as he planked his giant form next to him. ¡°Why are you being so interested in writing?¡±


    Marcus smiled up at him, wiping excess dirt and grime from his brow. ¡°Someday, someone will read these,¡± he told the incredulous rat. ¡°People come and go on this earth, but stories ¨C legends ¨C they stay as long as people have eyes to read and ears to hear about them.¡±


    Skeever shrugged, returning to the revelry of the fat-Rat Squealer. ¡°We are not having place in history,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe in Underkingdom, yes. Many great Rat-man warrior and war-thinker. But on surface, on world called Thea, there are no Rats that can live.¡±


    Thea¡­


    Inadvertently, Skeever had just given him something more valuable than what he held in his hands. The name of their world.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°Why do your people live in these tunnels? What is up there that keeps you down here?¡±


    As the morose soldier turned to answer, something glinted out the corner of Marcus¡¯ eye. The Rat reacted before he did ¨C seeing the flash of a muzzle reflected in the lenses of Marcus¡¯ glasses and turning with the human just in time to see Squealer¡¯s jovial head explode in a hail of bloody brain-matter.


    ¡°DOWN!¡± he cried so the whole chasm could hear him. ¡°GET DOWN, NO-¡°


    Another flash, and Marcus felt something slice through the air before him, embedding itself in Skeever¡¯s sword arm.


    Then, all hell broke loose.

 Chapter 17

    The dark world of the underground ruins shook before Marcus¡¯ sight. His ears adjusted to the ringing sound that reverberated off the walls of his brain and he felt his legs being pulled back into the safety of a building¡¯s shadowed interior.


    Just before he was lifted inside, he saw the face of a Ratman that was following him disappear in a cloud of red before its body slumped to the ground, and the dull ache of the bullet¡¯s sound caught up with him.


    He thrashed, kicking out and turning round to see Deekius, Skeever, and Ix surrounding him like a personal honor-guard while more Rat screams peppered the cavernous skies above.


    Something bloody and swollen hung loose from Skeever¡¯s right arm¡¯s socket, and Marcus¡¯ eyes bulged as he recognized it was the remains of the hulking Rat¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he stuttered. ¡°You-¡°


    ¡°Be not minding it!¡± the Talon-Commander screeched so all his men nearby could hear it. ¡°We are having bigger problem!¡±


    Marcus looked at the sweating faces of the others and nodded briskly, steadying himself without another hesitation even as he realized, with a tight knot of dread, that the shooter had clearly aimed for his head.


    ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡± he asked, coming to sit with the gathering as Skeever and Ix both chanced a look out the broken window of their ruin hideout.


    ¡°We are being scattered by shooter,¡± Deekius replied.


    ¡°Shooty dwarf!¡± Ix spat. ¡°Shooty dwarf, crazy dwarf ¨C mad like all men of the stone-stone!¡±


    Marcus frowned, cautiously peering over the lip of the windowsill and seeing an assortment of the scattered Ratguard. Rat corpses littered the streets ¨C each one with a single hole that had punctured its cranium. Beyond, at least five meters away, Marcus caught sight of Gatkseek¡¯s furry, white form guiding panicky troops towards his location next to a blown-out chapel. As the Rats moved, the stragglers were being picked off one by one. Any who attempted to flee from the cover of the ruins were popped like hairy watermelons as they skittered away in fright from the flash of light that gleamed from the other side of the chasm.


    A sniper, Marcus thought. One that¡¯s got us pinned here. Putting the fear of death into these Rats so that I bet they don¡¯t even hear Gatskeek¡¯s commands anymore.


    He crouched low as a pinpoint shot broke the panes of rusted glass on the window beside him.


    ¡°How do you know it¡¯s a dwarf?¡± he asked.


    The crowd looked to Ix, who shrugged grimly.


    ¡°Dwarf-dwarf only one shoot long gun-gun,¡± he said. ¡°When Boss Skegga take Grindlefecht, we lose many Yip-Yips to shootie-Dwarves. Some he take prisoner. But their gun-guns too big for us.¡±


    Marcus nodded as he turned back to the Rats. ¡°Have you ever seen one of these Dwarves so near your Capital?¡±


    Both shook their withered heads, Deekius kneeling to resume his healing incantation on Skeever¡¯s busted arm. ¡°We are not having seen Dwarf for ages,¡± he said. ¡°That there is one amongst the ruins just beyond Fleapit is bad. Could be scout. Could be sent by stout men of the stone to scope out Fleapit defenses.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Marcus offered with grim realization. ¡°He could be an assassin.¡±


    The others fixed their eyes on him as he stroked his scraggly beard which, by now, had ceased to be itchy.


    ¡°He aimed the shot that maimed Skeever at me,¡± Marcus said. ¡°If Skeever had not seen it, I could be dead right now.¡±


    He looked with serious eyes upon the wounded Ratman.


    ¡°Once again, I owe one of your kind in this Underkingdom my life.¡±


    ¡°We can be giving thanks after battle is over,¡± Skeever said. ¡°For now, we must be defeating this Dwarf.¡±


    ¡°Quite right,¡± Marcus agreed, hearing Gatskeek roar as another bullet chipped away at the skull of one of his men out in the open. ¡°Right now, we need to focus on linking up with Gatskeek.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Should we be forming Testudo, Sire?¡±


    Marcus shook his head. ¡°Not good enough. Whatever weapon he has it¡¯s not only got tremendous range but tremendous firepower. If that¡¯s a simple Dwarven weapon¡­to be honest I want to know how your Boss Skegga managed to defeat a fort full of them.¡±


    Ix licked his serrated teeth. ¡°A single Kobold life is meaning nothing, Sire. A thousand are meaning victory.¡±


    ¡°This Skegga sounds like a regular Ulysses S Grant,¡± Marcus scoffed. ¡°But at any rate, we can¡¯t afford to make slow progress. The narrow streets of this ruin also don¡¯t suit such a wide formation. In fact, they don¡¯t suit any formation at all.¡±


    ¡°So we run, then?¡± Deekius asked expectantly. ¡°Fleapit is only being a few hours away.¡±


    ¡°We will never be making it,¡± Skeever said through a pained grimace as the priest ceased his healing. ¡°The dwarf will be picking us off one by one, starting with the Shai-Alud.¡±


    Marcus nodded gravely, hearing more shouts of rats in their death-throes in what had now become an abandoned death-maze out there. Winding streets held nothing but running Ratmen who were little more than sitting ducks for the shooter above.


    A maze¡­


    Marcus looked up at the commanders and their men they had managed to save. A force sizeable enough to take on armies, and yet here they were cowering before one single foe far more technologically advanced than they were.


    But technology only took an enemy so far, and Marcus knew at least one weakness that could confound even a seasoned sniper.


    ¡°Ix,¡± he said. ¡°Hand me one of those panes of broken glass.¡±


    The Kobold did as he was bid.


    ¡°Skeever, I need your weapon.¡±


    ¡°Be taking it,¡± the Ratman said as he looked with fury at his busted arm. ¡°It is being useless to me now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll also need an adhesive,¡± Marcus said then, remembering who he was talking to, added: ¡°Something sticky.¡±


    The Rats looked at each other with slight, bloody grins, and each one coughed up a piece of twitching puss from a section of their addled bodies.


    ¡°Uh, thanks,¡± Marcus said as he wrapped the sleeve of his robe round a mangy, hair-filled piece from Deekius, attaching it to the tip of Skeever¡¯s rusted blade and then affixing the glass shard to the thing.


    ¡°Bingo,¡± Marcus murmured as he positioned himself next to the doorway entrance to their position. ¡°Now, we¡¯ve got a makeshift mirror.¡±


    ¡°Sire?¡± Deekius whispered. ¡°What is being your purpose?¡±


    ¡°First step in dealing with snipers,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Is figuring out where he is.¡±


    He gingerly set the blade-mirror out on the ground, slowly turning it so that it showed him the surrounding region ¨C the tips of the ruined towers, the high chapel spire where Gatskeek was hunkering down, and the jagged ridges of the canyon.


    The city had suddenly become devoid of Ratman screams. Those who had tried running down the decayed streets were already dead.


    Marcus waited. He watched.


    And Marcus knew that out there, somewhere, their foe was doing the same.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he murmured. ¡°Come on¡­¡±


    A flash in the dark.


    He blinked, and his arm shook with the reverberation of the mirror being splintered into a thousand pieces and the sword skidded away from him.


    Marcus leaned his back against the wall as the rest of the pinned congregation came to see what he¡¯d just learned.


    ¡°Our man¡¯s up in the spire at the Northwest edge of the town,¡± he explained. ¡°We should move quickly. If he¡¯s got any brains he¡¯ll know we¡¯re on to him and try to reposition himself. But he¡¯s greedy. He won¡¯t move if we present him with targets.¡±


    The Rat-leaders and the Kobold commander looked at the men beside them, then back at Marcus.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± their Shai-Alud said through a wry smile. ¡°I must ask too much of you all, yet again.¡±


    He explained what they¡¯d have to do to reach Gatskeek ¨C a plan which would take a combination of proper technique, timing, and, worst of all when it came to warfare, no small degree of luck.


    When he¡¯d finished, they Rats stood in darkness and silence, staring at him like he¡¯d just told them they¡¯d basically already lost.


    Skeever was the first to eventually give a simple nod of acceptance.


    ¡°And once we are getting there?¡± he asked. ¡°What is being the plan?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s going to have to be the same process, just with more numbers.¡±


    The wounded ogre-rat nodded again, holding his head up high as he barked the order to his men without another question.


    Skeever, Marcus thought. You might look like a filthy rat, but you¡¯ve got the soul of a Spartan in you. Pretty much my polar opposite¡­


    As Ix and the others readied themselves to execute their breakout towards Gatskeek¡¯s chapel position, Deekius knelt down beside Marcus and began his creepy, chittering whispering.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he said. ¡°I am not meaning to be changing your plan, but there is a way I am seeing to defeat the shooter Dwarf that will be sparing the lives of the Clansmen we have left.¡±


    Marcus¡¯ eyebrows twitched at the Rat¡¯s candor. It seemed almost like he was proud of his little idea and, when he told Marcus exactly what he had up his sleeve, even the Shai-Alud was forced to admit that it was a variable he hadn¡¯t even considered.


    ¡°You¡­you can do that?¡± he asked.


    Deekius nodded with no small degree of pride. ¡°He-Who-Festers has bestowed me with many gifts, Sire. And this is not all I can do. I am being more than just simple priest, as you know. After all, it is these hands that summoned you.¡±


    Marcus, for probably the first time since he had met the bag of filth and hair standing before him, actually smiled with the Rat.


    ¡°You know something, Deekius?¡± he said. ¡°You might just see us through this yet.¡±


    ###


    (If you enjoy Fantasy General and would like to read more, consider supporting the story on Patreon)</a>

 Chapter 18

    "Dinnae try tae run, ye''ll only die tired!"


    - Mantra of House Darragut Sniper''s Guild


    ¡°GO!¡±


    Marcus¡¯ command was barely needed. At his word, Deekius raised his staff to the broken roof of their position and channeled a Glow-Glob directly at the sniper¡¯s position. The globe flew towards his tower and exploded in a dazzling display of blinding light, and then the running began.


    The rats poured from their position and started zig-zagging across the streets, stepping over the corpses of their brethren. They ran in groups of five, as instructed, with Marcus having smeared his face with dirt and shavings of hair from some troops that had willingly donated their matted fur. If he didn¡¯t already have at least one virulent disease from this place, then he reckoned he¡¯d probably get one now¡­


    Nonetheless, the strategy worked¡­for a time. As the rats moved, they obeyed his orders ¨C keep running, stop abruptly and turn, criss-cross each other and move to the next piece of ruined building or rock that afforded some cover. Snipers shoot where you¡¯re going to be, not where you are. If this one was worth his salt, as Marcus suspected, then he¡¯d be predicting. He¡¯d be watching and waiting for the right shot.


    As the improvised flashbang died away above them, his squad began to fall. Their movements were effective for a time, allowing them to traverse the squalid streets and avoid most of the sniper¡¯s strikes. Still, whenever they saw the puff of smoke and felt the vibration of his bullets against the ground so close to their feet, they shook with panic, and Marcus had to bark at them to keep on moving.


    He would have continued to do so if the ratman next to him hadn¡¯t then fallen, crumpled and twitching, as the sniper¡¯s next shot found its mark.


    And that meant he had found him¡­


    Marcus dove for cover behind a ruined wall just as the next shot rang out and brought the statue of a bearded Dwarf crumbling to pieces behind him.


    He covered his ears ¨C at this close range the ringing of the shot was so intense that it felt like an artillery barrage. Whatever bullets the Dwarf was employing, they were potent. Potent enough to slice through steel and stone.


    ¡°Sire Marcus!¡± Skeever shouted as he himself dove for the nearest ruined building in the next intersection. ¡°Are you seeing the chapel?¡±


    Marcus looked up and tentatively and scanned the corpse-laden street before him. There it was. Probably only ten meters away. Salvation.


    At the church doors stood Gatskeek and his men, waiting, calling out for their comrades.


    No! Marcus roared in his brain. Don¡¯t let him know where we ¨C


    As one Ratling broke free from their position and sprinted at the church, his head was promptly clipped from his shoulders.


    Damn it!


    The world once again fell into silence.


    Deekius came up the rear, his old bones aching after all the exertion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you have another Glob in you, Deekius?¡±


    The Rat-Priest shook his sweating head. ¡°My power is waning, Sire. I have enough energy for one final spell, as we discussed.¡±


    Marcus nodded. It was now or never, then.


    He took one look at Skeever. His eyes communicated all that he needed to.


    Ix¡¯s shrill barks could be heard behind them. The little guy was still scurrying along. Probably, his puny size gave him the edge over a sniper. His small head was probably that Dwarf¡¯s worst nightmare.


    Marcus stood and, bracing himself, gave his command.


    ¡°RUN!¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The Rats broke free from their positions with a collective cry of fear mixed with rage, each one still living sprinting for the chapel where old Gatskeek waited, cheering them on with a ¡°Be coming! Be coming!¡±


    Marcus heard the distinctive sounds of skulls being perforated. He felt his own legs begin to quake with the stress of the exertion, and yet the sight of the chapel door, coupled with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, was enough to keep him running even when he could no longer feel his legs as they hit the dark, bloody ground beneath him.


    His zigzagging became more cumbersome as he neared his final destination. Deekius, Skeever, and the other rats had by this point tossed their weapons away and ran on all fours, totally abiding by their squalid animal instincts. Seeing the speed with which they passed him by, for once, Marcus wished he could be more like them.


    Then, out of the corner of his eye, a flash rang out in the dark.


    You¡¯ve found me, haven¡¯t you¡­


    ¡°MARCUS!¡±


    Deekius pushed him just out of the bullet¡¯s trajectory. It slammed into the glass windows of the building behind them and sent its shards flying across the ground, leaving both Shai-Alud and Rat-Priest to look up from their prone positions into the flashing eye that was looking down at them from the tower above. An angel of death, about to deliver divine judgement.


    Deekius dragged him to his feet, but he knew that, now, it was hopeless.


    The eye flashed with dazzling white¡­


    Mari, he thought. Wherever you are, I¡¯m coming.


    ¡­and the rusted blade of a scimitar caught the bullet mere inches from his face before embedding itself in the far wall of another decrepit building.


    Marcus double blinked, unsure if he was really still standing there, in the dark city of the underworld.


    Then Deekius¡¯ pulling yanked him right back to reality.


    ¡°Be going!¡± the rat-priest yelped. ¡°Quick!¡±


    Marcus let the little creature lead him the rest of the way, with Gatskeek grabbing his arm and yanking him inside the abandoned chapel with as much force as an ogre grabbing its prey.


    Only then did Marcus notice that his scimitar was missing from its scabbard at his side.


    He looked from the scabbard to the rat that stared at him with heavy-set eyes, seeing the impish grin that spread across his furry lips.


    ¡°Gatskeek,¡± he said as Skeever and what remained of his forces made it through the chapel entrance. ¡°You¡­¡±


    ¡°Be not mentioning it,¡± the old rat huffed. ¡°Now, we are being even. You are giving my troops their lives. I am giving you yours.¡±


    Marcus staggered, barely able to comprehend what just happened. The sheer luck of it¡­


    ¡°But,¡± he stammered. ¡°How did you..?¡±


    ¡°I am watching,¡± Gatskeek said, indicating the top of the spire from where the sniper was still taking shots at the stragglers who couldn¡¯t make it to their safe haven. ¡°Just like he is. The dwarf is taking six seconds to reload between every shot. I am aiming my scimitar in time.¡±


    Marcus could barely believe what the Ratman was telling him.


    ¡°You are putting the Shai-Alud¡¯s life in danger!¡± Deekius railed, stepping forward and flashing his staff threateningly in the unfazed veteran¡¯s face.


    ¡°And yet he didn¡¯t,¡± Marcus said as he stepped between them. ¡°Instead, he performed a miracle that He-Who-Festers would be proud of.¡±


    Deekius retched, looked down at the ground, and bowed with silent admission.


    ¡°It seems your God might smile upon you more than you think, Gatskeek,¡± Marcus said.


    ¡°Peh,¡± the old Rat squeaked. ¡°It is just being luck, that is all.¡±


    The irony was not lost on Marcus. Here they were in previously held enemy territory, holed up and shivering in the ruins of what was clearly a central place of worship for the Dwarves. It was odd, however: although Marcus was assuming that the strange symbols of precious gems and metals surrounded by fire, water, lightning, or other elemental forces that dotted the walls meant this was clearly a place of religious significance, there were no examples of personalized religious iconography typical to most churches. No depictions of Gods, no images of saintly Dwarves wielding golden weapons in their hands. He had been wondering what one looked like all this time. It seemed his first encounter with one would be the sniper, and yet he also knew there was only one way that encounter would go ¨C with one of them ending up dead.


    I wonder¡­Marcus thought as he edged towards the nearest shattered windowpane, looking up from its sill at the tip of the sniper¡¯s post upon the ancient Dwarven spire.


    ¡°You are being even uglier than usual, kinsman,¡± he heard Gatskeek say to Skeever as the latter dropped, panting, to his knees.


    ¡°Who would be thinking a Dwarf would lay me low,¡± Skeever replied, in a tone that was barely audible even as the unnatural quiet of the empty streets descended on them all again.


    Marcus couldn¡¯t quite place it, but there was something behind the bulky Ratman¡¯s words. Almost as though he was close to death itself¡­


    ¡°We will be making the fat-beard pay dearly for the insult,¡± Gatskeek said.


    Then, as he had become accustomed to, Marcus felt all the remaining rats eyes glue themselves to his back.


    He turned to see what was left of them ¨C a force of 45 men, including Ix¡¯s Kobolds, that were squashed together like a heap of living, breathing pestilence between the four walls of this drab place of worship.


    Filthy creatures, yes. Savage, beyond question. But at least four of them had saved his life on numerous occasions in the past few days. For that, at least, he owed them something. He owed them the chance to strike fear in the enemy that had wounded them. He owed them vengeance.


    ¡°I assume you are having a plan?¡± Gatskeek asked him.


    Marcus wiped dried blood from his forehead and stretched a smile across his face that would¡¯ve made the most devious Ratman proud.


    ¡°Don¡¯t I always?¡±


    ###


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.


    </article>

 Chapter 19

    Pieces of rubble fell from the cavern ceiling and danced along the barrel of his gun.


    He barely even blinked. After his last shot, he hardly moved a single muscle. Now, he was pure focus. The only sound he heard was his own short, raspy breaths.


    ¡°Come on. Come on¡­¡±


    The long, unbroken silence stretched out and lay across the city like a ghostly veil. But it did nothing to cover the litter of Ratman corpses he¡¯d left strewn across the streets.


    Vermin, he thought. Just like that bastard toad.


    Whatever a human saw in them, he had no idea. When he¡¯d first spotted the strange-looking man in the dank robe of the rat-priests, he¡¯d hesitated for a split second before pulling the trigger. That had been his fatal weakness. In his profession, a split second was literally the difference between life and death.


    He supposed it was hypocritical of him to fault the human hunkering down there with the scared little beasts. After all, he was guilty of the exact same crime ¨C of being a traitor to his people.


    ¡°Fingel Darragut,¡± he murmured into the stock of his rifle. ¡°The traitor of his House. Last of his line¡­¡±


    No. That wasn¡¯t how his story was going to end. He would be marked as a traitor in the Annals of Stone, yes, but it would not take long for his son to clear their family name. The boy was a natural Golemsmith. Before long, he¡¯d revolutionize the whole industry. Then nobody would care what his talentless father did ¨C a man who could do nothing but bring death from afar, sneering down at this war-torn world through the scope of his gun.


    ¡°Arnel,¡± he said. ¡°Mariah ¨C wait jus¡¯ a bit longer,¡± he said as his eyes picked out movement behind the chapel¡¯s broken windows. ¡°I¡¯m coming.¡±


    Like a sudden swarm whipped up into a frenzy, the Rats spilled out from their hiding space, zig-zagging through the narrow streets towards his position, using the burned-out houses for cover.


    ¡°Finally lost yer minds?,¡± he said, pulling back his chamber and checking how many powder-shots he had left. ¡°Alright. Let me send ye to yer filthy God.¡±


    He popped a few heads left and right as they dived for cover, reloading with quiet intensity, imagining the head of that bloated frog Skegga with every skull his bullets dashed against the walls of his people¡¯s former city. The recoil, by this point, barely even shook him. His shoulder was tight. His cloak was moist with sweat. His eyes were moving faster than the little beasts could. One by one, they fell before the marksman of Darragut.


    ¡°Where are you..?¡± he murmured through each new hit, scanning the church for the tallest one among them. Searching for the priest with the staff that had blinded him with his little magic trick.


    And then, like a creature born of the stones themselves, he appeared.


    He came striding out of a building a few meters south of the chapel, walking calmly as though he were an angel of the caverns come to pick up the dead and carry them down to the center of the earth to be with their fellows.


    He strode right to the top of the narrow road running red with the blood of the Ratmen, and stopped.


    Just¡­stopped.


    He stared right up at Fingal, and the latter couldn¡¯t help but stare back through the scope of his gun.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± he mumbled, hearing the screams of Rats as they cried out below for their comrades.


    He¡¯s a bloody nutcase, his mind told him as the black dot of his makeshift reticule danced between the eyeballs of the human¡¯s face. He¡¯s¡­he¡¯s lost it.


    Fingel¡¯s fingers shook as he fought against the urge to pull the trigger. To cut the head from the snake. To end all this¡­


    The world, once again, was wreathed in silence.


    ¡°You got some kinda death-wish?¡± he asked the form of the human staring up at him. Unblinking. Unafraid. Totally calm and collected in his filthy, flea-ridden robe.


    Fingal reloaded. Checked his aim. Felt the trigger thrumb behind his forefinger.


    One shot. That¡¯s all it would take.


    One shot to buy him freedom.


    One head to carry home.


    One path to secure his family¡¯s future.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He ignored the sweat pooling upon his hairy brow and grimaced beneath his cloak.


    ¡°Stone take you,¡± he spat. ¡°You wanna go, boy?¡±


    He licked his lips and steeled his resolve.


    ¡°Fine!¡±


    He pulled the trigger.


    The bullet whizzed through the air, knocking the stock against him, sending his death projectile towards his once chance in this life.


    It phased right through the skull and embedded itself in the back of the chapel behind.


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    Fingel¡¯s eyes beheld the form of the human slowly turning translucent in the wake of his shot. The ghostly form of the boy wavering like a silent specter being returned to the earth. And where the Shai-Alud once stood, now, there was nothing but air.


    A deco-


    His training kicked in before his head even finished forming the thought. He spun around, hearing the trapdoor open behind and three shadows surge towards him.


    One he popped below the chest with a single round, fired point-blank. The others collapsed, prone, as they felt the shock of the bullet shred their friend¡¯s body, and he desperately worked his fingers to reload, using all the time their momentary paralysis gave him. His chamber slammed shut. His stock came back up and then ¨C


    Pain.


    He looked down to see the spear of the armless Rat embedded in his gut. He staggered, spat up blood, and looked to see the priest¡¯s grizzly maw snapping at his face.


    And with the gut-rending crunch of his bones, the world of Fingal Darragut ended in a haze of crimson-coated fangs.


    ¡­


    ¡°GATSKEEK!¡±


    Marcus heard the scream before he registered that they¡¯d manage to kill the Dwarf. He saw the pudgy being¡¯s body fall from the tower, pieces of his face trailing in bloody chunks after him, before he hit the ground and became nothing but a pile of goo.


    His weapon landed beside him, smashing upon impact.


    But he had no time to lament the loss of such a technologically advanced piece of equipment.


    He pushed through the cheering Ratmen and those who corralled around the Dwarf¡¯s body to spit or defecate in his mangled remains and saw Skeever and Deekius carrying the shaking form of their comrade from the doorway of the spire.


    ¡°Be moving!¡± Skeever shrieked at his men.


    Redwhiskers (he apparently survived) understood his master¡¯s command. He corralled the other Ratlings together with a general shout and brought them back to the chapel, commanding them to take the Dwarf¡¯s remains with them.


    Marcus paid them or their bloody desire no heed. He followed after the three limping commanders as they threw themselves into an adjacent building with a long bar table covered in cobwebs and threw Gatskeek on the table.


    Marcus watched from the doorway. He said nothing.


    ¡°Where is your healing magic?¡± Skeever shouted at Deekius¡¯ snout.


    ¡°It is being spent with the apparition spell,¡± the priest explained. ¡°Sire Marcus needed it to ensure us victory. I have follo-¡°


    ¡°I DON¡¯T CARE!¡± Skeever cried, gripping the priest by his robes and pulling him to the floor. ¡°Be fixing him, now!¡±


    Marcus slowly entered through the commotion, ignoring both Rats as they scrambled on the ground, and his eyes found Gatskeek¡¯s shuddering form.


    ¡°Gatskeek¡­¡±


    A bullet had torn clean through the side of his abdomen. His ribcage, muscle, and bone, was fully exposed on his left side.


    ¡°Be fixing him!¡± Skeever wailed. ¡°Fix him!¡±


    ¡°I cannot be doing the impossible!¡± Deekius spat back at his comrade. ¡°He-Who-Festers¡¯ will has been spent.¡±


    ¡°Then we take him to Fleapit, now!¡± Skeever replied, throwing spittle and phlegm across the floorboards. He rose to move the old, wounded warrior who groaned in pain and shoved him away.


    ¡°You¡­are being¡­ngh¡­fool, kinsman.¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± Skeever roared. ¡°You will be fixed. The capital is being two hours away. Be hanging on!¡±


    ¡°Skeever,¡± Deekius said, laying a hand on the hulking rat¡¯s heaving shoulder. ¡°Be looking at him. He is gone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say another word to me, priest!¡±


    ¡°It is the way of such things!¡± Deekius continued in the face of his commander¡¯s ire. ¡°Talon-Commander Gatskeek is never being a believer in the Unclean One! His faith is not being strong enough to make it home. You know this is how things must be, Kin-¡°


    Deekius¡¯ final remark was cut off by the claws of Skeever scratching at his eyes. Both rats fell back against the wall, their teeth and nails slashing at the other, their bodies locked in animal combat.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Marcus shouted.


    His voice ¨C full of authority, yet clearly shaken ¨C was enough to bring them back. Even if it was just for a moment.


    Then his tired eyes looked down at Gatskeek¡¯s pallid form. His chest, once rapidly rising, now started to slow.


    ¡°Do not¡­be wasting¡­effort¡­¡± he told his brothers. ¡°Kinsmen¡­I am going¡­where¡­I¡­must¡­¡±


    Both Rats looked away, Skeever gritting his teeth in consternation, Deekius bowing his head.


    But Marcus didn¡¯t. Marcus looked straight into the red-rimmed eyes of the dying rat.


    And without even thinking about it, his body started moving towards him.


    ¡°Shai¡­Alud¡­¡± the old Rat croaked, coughing up blood and bile as his fading body rocked with sudden laughter.


    ¡°Gatskeek, I¡­I didn¡¯t think¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gatskeek replied. ¡°You¡­you¡­are¡­thinker,¡± he said through raspy breath.


    Marcus wanted nothing more than to look away from the image of death he was staring at. He wanted to cross to the other room and shield himself from the reality of those pitiable eyes staring back at him unblinkingly while the blood of this warrior soaked his feet.


    ¡°Be¡­making¡­me¡­promise,¡± Gatskeek wheezed.


    Marcus, not knowing what else to say, simply nodded.


    The old rat raised a shaking claw. Marcus caught it, and steadied it in his grip.


    Even in death, the old commander of Knifegut had strength running through his arm.


    ¡°Shai-Alud¡­¡± he coughed. ¡°M¡­Marcus¡­be winning. Be¡­freeing us. Be freeing¡­ngh¡­them.¡±


    The light began to die behind his pupils.


    ¡°Take¡­us¡­home¡­¡±


    Marcus gripped the claw tighter as he felt Gatskeek¡¯s strength begin to wane.


    But the eye wavered. It was waiting.


    ¡°I will,¡± he said, without really knowing why he said the words. ¡°I am promising.¡±


    Almost as soon as the last syllable left his lips, Gatskeek¡¯s soul left the world behind. His eyes glazed over, Marcus let his arm fall, and he gave one long, drawn out gasp that settled into the dead air of the city, and then was gone.


    ***


    <div>


    <div>


    Patreon</a> to read extra chapters. Recently I met my goal of 10 Patrons, and so I have increased the number of advanced chapters to 5. Thank you all for your support.


    </article>

 Chapter 20

    In the aftermath of the sniper¡¯s gauntlet, the forces of Talon-Commander Skeever numbered approximately fifty men, including the six Kobold auxiliaries commanded by Ix.


    Marcus counted them, having nothing else to say, as they resumed their slow, solemn march towards Fleapit, leaving the city of Dwarven ruins behind.


    The atmosphere was more solemn than it ever had been. Even looking into the eyes of the rats, Marcus could tell that their spirits had taken more punishment than they¡¯d ever endured beneath their black, cavernous skies. Normally, the dead would be consumed by the survivors of a battle. This time, however, Marcus issued a different command.


    ¡°Throw them in the back of the supply carts,¡± he ordered. ¡°Take them back to their home.¡±


    The rats had balked at this. Redwhiskers in particular had stepped forward to throw spittle in the face of the command, shouting that they would honor the dead by imbibing their warrior souls within their bellies ¨C that this was the way of the ratmen. He was stilled, however, by the words of his kin-commander.


    ¡°Be doing as the Sha-Alud says,¡± Skeever warned him, his red eyes flashing with barely restrained anger while he dragged Gatskeek¡¯s inert body behind him with his only remaining arm. ¡°If I am seeing you take a single bite of the dead, I will be bloodying my spear with your insides. I am not needing two arms to kill you.¡±


    Grateful as he was for Skeever¡¯s support, Marcus could not watch him as he trundled Gatskeek¡¯s body behind his feet and threw him into the cart bound for the capital. Something about those eyes ¨C the still-open eyes the old rat flashed at him as he died, was just far too human.


    But he was doing what the old rat said. He was taking them home ¨C all of them.


    Before they left for the final stretch of their journey, Marcus spared a look at the bloody pulp that was the dwarf at the foot of the ancient city spire.


    He barely heard Deekius shuffle up beside him as the other rats completed their corpse collection.


    ¡°Why,¡± was all he said, looking down at the Dwarf¡¯s eviscerated face, unsure he even wanted a reply. ¡°Why did he do it?¡±


    The rat-priest sniffed the stagnant air. Then he looked nonchalantly at the corpse.


    ¡°The mind of a dwarf is being like stone,¡± he said. ¡°It can not be understood by us, Sire. Be not thinking of the dead. Especially not fat dwarf dead.¡±


    Deekius shuffled away again almost as soon as he had come ¨C administering some strange crunched-up herbs to each loaded corpse in their death-cart. Marcus watched him go, wondering at his words, and then took a final look at the dead Dwarf.


    Are they really so hard to understand, Deekius? You hate them, don¡¯t you? Could it not be safely assumed that they hate you, too?


    He walked away as the thought entered his mind. The rat had said one true thing: he didn¡¯t have to care about the internal strife and mad desire to kill each other that plagued the residents of this underground kingdom.


    So, why was he starting to?


    ¡­


    At the very edge of the cavern, Skeever gave the command to make camp one final time. Here, they were as safe as they could be. Only a few Gutmulcher attacks had come their way, and the Kobolds had helped them make short work of the beasts.


    A narrow bridge stretched from the edge of their position down into an abyssal expanse below, but if he strained his eyes, Marcus could make out the tips of brown spires and domes poking out from the dark below. The rats joined him in looking over the lip of the chasm and beat the rusted steel of their chests in victory.


    It could only be Fleapit. Which meant one thing: their journey was finally coming to an end.


    And that meant Marcus¡¯s time in this world was coming to an end.


    He sat alone from the rest of the army, feeding on some putrid, half-cooked salamander Deekius told him had some nutritional value, and avoided the stares of most of the resting rats.


    They seemed to be sleeping soundlessly next to their bonfires, their minds unperturbed by what had transpired. Though their noses must have been picking up the scents of the desiccated corpses they¡¯d trundled all the way here with far more intensity than Marcus, their faces betrayed no horror or sorrow.


    We have come to the lip of Fleapit, Marcus wrote in his parchment pages ¨C pages which were slowly turning into more of a personal diary than historian¡¯s book draft. Deekius has encouraged us to stop so he might perform the proper rituals and prepare the group to re-enter the city. The rats don¡¯t seem to complain. All of them seem more secure than they¡¯ve ever been with the tips of their capital city beneath them. They sleep soundly, while I can¡¯t close a single eyelid.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Gatskeek¡¯s death was my fault. The deaths of all those rats back there were my fault. This is not the admission of a wartime hero worthy of his exploits being recorded through film or the written word ¨C this is, pure and simple, an idiot admitting where his failings are. Though the historian in me is calmly explaining that these casualties are just the reality of war, to see the corpses that littered those streets, to remember the faces of the Kobolds we¡¯ve slain, and to see the broken, battered body of Gatskeek on that table ¨C its more than simply just facing reality. It might be showing me a part of myself that I never even knew existed.


    Even as I continue on, with nothing but the thought of home as my guide, you cannot blame me for being somewhat reflective ¨C sentimental even ¨C about those I¡¯ve stood beside while they shed their blood in my name. ¡®Shai-Alud¡¯ they call me. Savior. Deliverance from suffering. An empire builder. Could I be those things? Maybe. I could rise to the heights of Ghengis Khan himself leading these rats in a slaughter across this sunken realm. I could stand above mountains of corpses while they worshipped me. It is what Deekius wants. It would be more than I ever could be back on earth.


    The heresy of that final sentence struck Marcus with the intensity of a hot iron searing the soft flesh of his brain. Had he really just penned that thought? Had he really just expressed something so heinous, so unnatural -  admitting that his exploits here might earn him a mark on this world?


    To be a part of history, rather than simply its scribe¡­


    Don¡¯t you owe that to the people you¡¯ve killed?


    He was about to angrily scrub that final line from his notes when Skeever plopped down beside him, his lame arm hanging limply from its socket.


    ¡°Sire Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°You are being deep in thought.¡±


    His tone was so low, barely a hushed whisper, so that Marcus completely abandoned his notes and met his cold eyes ¨C eyes that looked out at the abyss that stretched beneath them. Eyes that were trained on nothing but the Ratman¡¯s home.


    ¡°I am thinking you will like Fleapit,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe you will be hating the smell at first, but it will be something you could get used to.¡±


    Marcus shifted awkwardly beside the battle-scarred warrior. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve certainly been learning to live with a lot of things, recently.¡±


    A moment of strained silence passed between them both, as each one understood the meaning behind the others¡¯ statement.


    ¡°You are not meaning to stay with us,¡± Skeever said quietly.


    Marcus suppressed the gulp in his throat, eyeing the scimitar in Skeever¡¯s hip. Gatskeek¡¯s weapon.


    ¡°No, Skeever,¡± he replied. ¡°I am not.¡±


    The rat merely sniffed by way of response, his eyes falling to his wound.


    ¡°I am understanding,¡± he finally said. ¡°A warrior¡¯s first thoughts are always being home.¡±


    ¡°I am no warrior.¡±


    Skeever scoffed at this, seemingly amused by the notion. ¡°You are thinking you do not fight with us, and so this is not making you a warrior. But you are making sure we all get here, Sire Marcus. You are helping us get home. It is only fair we are doing the same for you.¡±


    Marcus sighed into his arms. ¡°You don¡¯t owe me anything, Skeever. If anything, I owe all your people an apo-¡°


    ¡°Do not be saying ¡®sorry¡¯,¡± Skeever interrupted, seizing Marcus with his sudden determination. ¡°This word is meaning nothing to us. You are thinking you have killed Gatskeek. You are thinking you have killed my men. But you are not understanding that all of my kin are signing away their lives before we began our mission. We are knowing it is suicide. The fact any of us are remaining is miracle.¡±


    ¡°And Gatskeek?¡± Marcus questioned, unsatisfied. ¡°Did he sign away his life, too?¡±


    Skeever wasn¡¯t to be put off. If anything, all his rage at his old kinsman¡¯s face seemed to have abated in the last few hours.


    ¡°I tell you of Gatskeek,¡± he said, hunkering down with an uncharacteristic, almost jovial smile. ¡°Gatskeek is taking post at Knifegut not because King Shrykul wishes it of him, but because he is volunteering. He is doing this because he reaches his twenty-fifth year. Soon, he will no longer be able to fight.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s curiosity took over. ¡°Why?¡±


    Skeever shrugged. ¡°Strength is what Ratkin value. Old can not fight well. We are not living long lives, Marcus. We are hoping one of two things: to be dying in battle or from disease given by He-Who-Festers. I am preferring battle. Gatskeek is thinking the same.¡±


    Marcus was struck by the idea, as well as the candor in the Ratman¡¯s voice. He was explaining something that was so simple that Marcus had overlooked it entirely. Here was a whole society practically geared towards war. A society completely accustomed to death. It had become merely second nature to them ¨C so much so that an old warrior like Gatskeek had died with a smile on his face, even knowing he would not see his home again.


    It was this notion, and this alone, that prompted Macus to ask his next question ¨C something that, if he thought about it, meant nothing if he was leaving this place tomorrow:


    ¡°Do your people believe in an afterlife? A place where you go after you die?¡±


    Skeever looked at him. ¡°The Dwarves are believing in this. They are believing in things like souls returning to stone they were born from. We are not like them. We know there is only darkness here. Our short lives are having meaning in making clan stronger. That is all.¡±


    Marcus caught himself smirking. The irony of him landing on the laps of these rats ¨C of all people ¨C and them having the most realistic perception of death he¡¯d ever known, was suddenly all too evident to him.


    ¡°You¡¯re like Vikings,¡± Marcus said. ¡°The Norsemen of the Middle Ages. Only slightly more rational, and slightly more smelly.¡±


    Skeever shook his furry head. ¡°I am not understanding you.¡±


    And Marcus, shifting to lay down and finally rest, chuckled back at him.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± he said. ¡°Most people never do. But, for what it¡¯s worth, thank you.¡±


    He looked over his shoulder after the rat said nothing more.


    ¡°Is that another phrase your people frown upon?¡±


    The Ratman had similarly laid down to rest for the night - Marcus didn¡¯t expect him to reply anytime soon. So, when he did, Marcus admitted he still had more to learn about these rats than he thought.


    ¡°You are being welcome, Marcus.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.

 Chapter 21

    The next morning, Skeever packed up the camp and led his men down the long, craggy ridge towards Fleapit, Marcus following in the rearguard beside Deekius, eyes taking in the sights of the city that slowly revealed themselves to his haggard mind.


    The first thing that assailed his senses was (of course) the smell. Putrid would be a euphemism.


    The second thing was the coiling spires and domed huts that lined the city streets. Marcus couldn¡¯t tell from above what comprised these strange, angular structures, but their color was a dun, greying hue, reminiscent of an infected limb ready to be amputated. From the bird¡¯s eye view he had, Marcus could see that the city was surrounded by a stout stone wall packed with dirt behind its face to act as a shock absorber in the case of bombardment ¨C a smart move, he had to admit, especially considering the occupants.


    Within the city, a series of lower-quality interior walls stretched out and walled off various districts. The section nearest the city gatehouse - the South district ¨C caught his eye first. Streets were lined with rows upon rows of ramshackle housing and ratmen jostling together, some hawking their wares in a central market bazaar ¨C hawking items that Marcus could scarcely imagine. Rising high at the end of the market was a grand building with three high spires ¨C by far the tallest building in the whole city. From its position in what looked like the residential district, Marcus assumed it to be the grand church of the Ratman faith ¨C the place where this ¡®Prime Putrefact¡¯ dwelled and, thus, the place where he would get his ticket out of here.


    On the city¡¯s west bank, penned in by another interior wall, was a pool of tar that swelled and undulated as though alive, throwing about the ratmen swimming within, their eyes glazed over in ecstasy. Dominating the city¡¯s east block was a series of industrial buildings belching clouds of black fumes into the air, which, Marcus realized, must have been the reason it had been shrouded from their sight as they descended.


    At the very center of the city was a rather stately, angular structure with jagged, black geometric shapes grafted on to its domed roof, giving it the appearance of a jagged crown. Marcus assumed this to be where their monarchs must dwell.


    Skeever stopped upon the lip of the ridge and breathed deep, his chest swelling with corrupted air.


    ¡°Home,¡± he said. ¡°There is being nothing like it.¡±


    Marcus couldn¡¯t fathom why he said this with such deep sorrow in his voice, but he put such concerns to one side. The other men seemed to do the same, practically throwing themselves forward and wanting nothing more than to drop their weapons and run for the gates.


    Marcus, meanwhile, had to admit that he¡¯d been taken in by the sight ¨C his first city in the world of Thea.


    Solid walls, he wrote in his journal parchments. Defended on the four cardinal points by twin Martello towers, providing an overview of both the city districts and the exterior chasm. From above, each district seems to stretch inexorably towards the palace at the center like an old Italian Star Fort. Deekius informs me the palace is referred to as ¡®Castle Carfaxx¡¯ ¨C so named after the first King of their Clan who built the place, apparently, from the hollowed-out corpse of a Gutmulcher queen. From the looks of it, I doubt the veracity of this story. Then again, I¡¯m still new here.


    The defense systems of the city seem remarkably sophisticated ¨C all things considered. Aside from the tightly packed districts that give the wall-mounted archers overview over the entire city, the black fumes of their industrial base obscures the town from the ridges above. I see no other tunnels or entrances from which they could be attacked ¨C we seem to be at the base of the cavern. Aerial assault would be possible, but unwise, considering the lack of visibility. Whether this location and these defensive measures are intentional or not I can¡¯t say, but I can say for certain that these rats display some surprising levels of intelligence matched only by their ferocity in battle. If only their reproductive capacity was higher¡­This species might indeed have a chance at becoming an Empire worth contending with.


    Noticing the population density of the city though, I can see the issues that higher birth rates could lead to. These streets would have to be widened considerably, the walls would have to be expanded, and I¡¯ve seen no evidence of arable farmland in this underground realm that could support a growing civilization. The creatures¡¯ propensity towards cannibalism makes sense, if you consider this. Again, however, this only leads to loss of vital war assets. The main issue, as I see it, seems to be that they lack a proper source of food and nutrition, along with (obviously) proper measures for childcare and child-rearing. I should probably reserve judgement on those particular issues until I meet the Queen, but based on my observations so far¡­I doubt she¡¯s a loving mother to her offspring.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Marcus snapped himself out of his writer¡¯s reverie as the army came to a halt before the grey walls of Fleapit and formed up into ordered columns. The ratman guards in the Martellos flanking the gate brightened with recognition, and it seemed to Marcus that Skeever did not have to announce himself at all in the bombastic fashion that he did.


    ¡°I am Talon-Commander Skeever of Clan Red-Eye!¡± he roared, his voice carrying long and wide so that Marcus could swear the city itself came to a complete standstill. ¡°My Pack is returning victorious, and we are coming with information for King Shrykul!¡±


    The rats on the towers ran for the gatehouse drawbridge and then stiffened abruptly. Five of them armed their vicious-looking crossbows and aimed them directly at Ix and his Kobold slingers.


    ¡°You are calling yourself Skeever!¡± one of the archers shouted down. ¡°Yet Skeever of Red-Eye would not be making friends of Kobold soap-eaters! By whose command are these creatures following you?¡±


    Deekius made to step forward, but Skeever held him back, strong, and firm, even with one arm left.


    ¡°By my command!¡± he shouted right back. ¡°And the words of the Shai-Alud!¡±


    The guards stiffened, slowly lowering their crossbows as their eyes found Marcus in the midst of Skeever¡¯s forces. The human among them.


    And they renewed their opening of the gate with gusto.


    ¡°Be opening!¡± the archer who had questioned them screamed. ¡°Praise be He-Who-Festers! The Shai-Alud is coming!¡±


    Before the wooden gates of the Capital was opened to them, Marcus could already hear the awestruck screams of the rats who heard the proclamation. He heard the cacophonous bells of the church spires ringing above, drowning out the battlecry of victory that the remaining rats of Skeever¡¯s squad bellowed to see the gate of their homeland part before them once more.


    Then, when the doors were fully open, Marcus looked upon a sea of crimson eyes.


    ¡°Be giving glory to Skeever!¡±


    ¡°Glory to Clan Red-Eye!¡±


    Deekius shuffled to the front of the army to stand beside the Talon-Commander, who, for now, hid his wounded limb.


    ¡°Brother,¡± he asked. ¡°Are you being ready to return home?¡±


    Skeever nodded with a small, almost imperceptible grin.


    They walked towards the crowd of cheering ratlings, and Marcus fought against the urge to shield his ears from the sound ¨C the wailing, banshee-like, that was assailing him. Coupled with the stench of peasant rat¡¯s rotted clothes, wrapped in what looked like threads of torn bandages and cloth, it was a true assault on his senses that would probably have repelled even the hardiest army. That, Marcus thought as he looked into their puss-dripping eyes, was the Ratmen¡¯s true defense: revulsion.


    And yet as he walked through the streets, Skeever urged him forward, Deekius summoning little globes of light to circle him like a halo, completing the image of the savior walking the streets of the common-rat.


    ¡°Deekius,¡± Marcus murmured out the corner of his mouth, while he batted at a light-glob that flew into his eyeball. ¡°Isn¡¯t this a little much?¡±


    ¡°Sire,¡± the rat-priest replied. ¡°This is being my specialty. We of the Gloomraava are knowing the people. In this time of war, the common rat is needing hope. You, Marucs, are being that hope. They are looking at you and knowing it. Look for yourself.¡±


    Marcus sighed at the rat-priest¡¯s showmanship ¨C with every ratling he passed by he was staring them down till they bowed their heads, and when Marcus passed by after him, the furry citizens of Fleapit dropped to their knees.


    ¡°They have been expecting you,¡± Skeever said by way of explanation while he waved to the crying crowds in the narrow streets. ¡°They are not knowing the hour of your coming, or which Clan would be blessed with your presence. But they are knowing you would come as you are, and they are knowing this war will be won.¡±


    Marcus looked out at the undulating sea of festering rodents crowding round him, stretching out their lice-ridden claws to touch but a scrap of his robe, kneeling in supplication as his eyes passed over them. The devotion of Skeever¡¯s warriors he understood. The devotion of the priest ¨C that made sense. He was, after all, a convenient example of the prophesy their God spoke of. But to see the ordinary people of this town ¨C actual members of this underground civilization ¨C appraise him as some kind of Lord and savior¡­it brought home a reality that he had not yet been willing to admit.


    They needed him.


    Their faces were haunting ¨C gaunt and haggard. They were like the destitute members of a poor city under siege, cells of an organism in the last throes of its life, clinging to a final, desperate hope.


    Such faces stuck with him until they finally arrived at the gates of the great grey palace, and the crowd stood back, each dropping to kiss the filth-ridden ground of their city.


    ¡°Ratlings of Red-Eye!¡± Deekius yelled at them, his arms raised and staff flailing wildly with his words. ¡°The Shai-Alud is come! He goes to meet now with King Shrykul! He goes to meet his destiny!¡±


    The commoners howled their glee into the corrupted air above their city ¨C rats of every shape and size, of all colorations and discolorations, their poxes practically bursting with delight.


    The Ratguards at the palace gates saluted them with pride, and the jagged gates of the palace opened up to swallow Marcus whole.


    For a moment he looked back into the eyes of the ratlings, taking in the sight of their worship once again.


    ¡°It is being something, is it not?¡± Deekius said beside him. ¡°Having the love of the people.¡±


    Marcus¡¯ reply was so quiet, so subdued, that he couldn¡¯t even be sure the words were his.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­something,¡± he said as the guards ushered them inside. ¡°Something¡­new.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read extra chapters.

 Chapter 22

    The grand palace of Clan Red-Eye was both more, and less, than Marcus had expected.


    The domed ceiling dripped with loose spume and had caused wet puddles to lie upon the tiled flooring. Loose pieces of once pristine stonework were corrupted and ravished by fungal growths and other bulbs of pink, polyp-like bulbs that ran up every column and stairway that led to the throne room of King Shrykul of the Red-Eyes.


    And yet, there was a certain charm to parts of the abode. As Marcus stepped towards the infected-looking plants that lined the walls, they opened to reveal petals brimming with fiery red life, puffing sweet-smelling scents into the air that Marcus breathed in with wonder. It smelled distinctly of¡­strawberries?


    Looking around him at his Ratman delegation, he saw that they cringed and tried staying as far away from the plants as possible.


    ¡°I am forgetting how potent the defense mechanisms are being. Sire Marcus, please be forgiving the King his precautions!¡±


    Marcus stifled a smile even as he came to understand the significance of Deekius¡¯ statement: the sweet scents were defenses, yes, but probably only against civil unrest. He did not get the impression that Kobolds like Ix inherently despised cleanliness as the ratmen of the Under-Kingdom did.


    Thinking about them reminded him of their presence outside. Skeever commanded the army to wait in the castle courtyard ¨C a drab square acre of salted earth where nary a plant lived anymore ¨C and explained to Marcus that they¡¯d eventually retire to the city barracks behind the eastern Industrial sector (The Workyard). Marcus had given strict orders to the reticent Redwhiskers that he continue his duties as overseer of Ix and his Kobolds, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as of late. This of course made sense ¨C here they were in the capital city of their enemies. It only made sense for them to feel out of place and afraid for their safety. The eyes of the rats they passed by on the way here met their downtrodden faces with nothing but seething hatred. It would be a while before they would truly win the trust of the people to whom they now owed their service.


    But as Marcus had nodded to them and made to allow them rest, Ix had tugged on his arm like an impatient child.


    ¡°Ix want come to see King. Tell him he and his Yip-Yips will be useful.¡±


    Marcus looked to Skeever and Deekius¡¯ untrusting faces. After all the blood they¡¯d shed side-by-side, still they could not see eye-to-eye with the creature.


    ¡°It¡­is not being a good idea, sire Marc-¡°


    ¡°Ix will accompany us,¡± Marcus said with finality, breaking through Deekius¡¯ complaints. ¡°If your king doesn¡¯t like it, he can take it up with me.¡±


    That seemed to have settled that, for the rats immediately bowed and fell back in line.


    ¡°You wish to pledge yourself to the king of your mortal enemies, Ix?¡± Marcus asked while they were out of earshot of the rest of the group.


    ¡°Ix already pledged to boss Marcus,¡± the little crimson demon squeaked. ¡°Will be loyal only to him-him.¡±


    ¡°Do me a favor,¡± Marcus told him as they entered the palace together. ¡°Keep that fact to yourself.¡±


    For this reason, Ix now walked beside them as one of the army lieutenants, and Marcus had to admit that he savored the little man¡¯s unwavering, unquestioning support. It was exactly that kind of support that he would need in a world as harsh as this.


    When finally they reached a set of gilded doors crawling with woodlouse, Deekius turned to address Marcus directly.


    ¡°Behind this door is sitting King Shrykul,¡± he said. ¡°He is expecting us, but I fear he may be restless. The war is greatly disturbing our king. Be wary, Sire Marcus, for though you are being the Shai-Alud, the King¡¯s word is still being law in Fleapit. Be letting Skeever take the lead, and be following his example.¡±


    Marcus understood the tacit warning in Deekius¡¯ terse tone: Don¡¯t piss him off. Please, for the love of the Unclean One.


    Marcus nodded and faced the doors.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he told the rats. ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing my best curtsy.¡±


    With a nod to the halberd-wielding guards stationed beside the doors they were thrown open, revealing an opulent throne room decorated with a dun, chewed carpet and a tattered but regal set of Red-Eye Clan banners lining the room walls, each one displaying the Clan¡¯s distinctive sigil ¨C a jagged black eye with a blood red pupil set against a vermillion backdrop.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    And at the very end of the room sat a thin, rather ungainly rat atop a stone throne, clad in a slim red robe and wearing a jagged crown composed of corrugated iron. To Marcus¡¯s untrained eyes, it looked more like a child¡¯s shop class project than the marker of a monarch. But the glowing ruby set in its center certainly did not look basic, nor did the two jet-black, six limbed creatures that growled at the new arrivals beside their master¡¯s throne.


    ¡°Busho, Revik, be sitting at peace!¡±


    The command was barked by the king at his two ¡®pets¡¯ which looked like gangly, mutated rats stretched and deformed beyond belief, each one chained to one of the throne¡¯s armrests. As Marcus and his delegation came to stand before the throne, Marcus couldn¡¯t help but recoil a little at their gnashing, rabid fangs and shorn, emaciated bodies. He could swear he could see pieces of their ribcages fully exposed through the thin film of their onyx skin.


    Presently Skeever stepped forward and knelt before his King, unafraid. With a curt nod to the rest of the delegation, they all followed suit.


    Then, for what felt like an eternity, nothing happened at all. Marcus heard the king groan as he rose, take a whiff of the air around Skeever, and then, without warning, plant both his gnarled hands on the Talon-Commander¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Skeever Steelclaw!¡± he roared. ¡°My subject chosen by He-Who-Festers himself! Rise, rise and greet your King!¡±


    Skeever was plucked from his feet without even being given the chance to rise, as the King clapped his arms around him in an almost brotherly embrace.


    ¡°It is good to be seeing you again, Highness.¡±


    ¡°Skeever, Skeever,¡± the regal ratman replied, his jagged crown jostling about with every movement of his angular face. ¡°Am I not telling you before that you are a Kinsman within these walls? Come, be not bowing down before me. Rise and let me see the faces of those who are conquering the North tunnels, and giving old boss Skegga a large kicking in his fat Froggie balls!¡±


    Skeever and Deekius, seemingly quite shocked by the King¡¯s demeanor, rose steadily and shakily, with Marcus and Ix following suit as the king turned his eyes upon them, settling upon Ix staying there.


    ¡°The ¨C uh ¨C yes, the Kobold,¡± Skeever muttered. ¡°I can be explaining this. You see, King Shrykul, he is being ¨C¡°


    ¡°A fighter,¡± Shrykul said, his mouth opening to reveal rows of sharp, tar-ridden teeth. ¡°You think I am not knowing this? Your King is having eyes on all his domain. I have heard of how you are having fought with my people, Kobold. I am having heard that you have forsaken your Boss.¡±


    Ix stuttered his reply. ¡°Y-yes-yes, good King!¡± he shrieked. ¡°Ix is meeting Sire Marcus. He is showing us that ratmen are strong-strong, now. Ix-Ix work with ratmen. Help ratmen. Help ratmen win.¡±


    The King considered this with a nod. ¡°I am sure your knowledge of Boss Skegga¡¯s lair will be proving useful,¡± he said, turning back to Skeever with a satisfied nod. ¡°We are needing all the man we can get. These Kobolds will be serving us well in the war to come. Your judgement is being good as always, Skeever.¡±


    The Talon-Commander turned away the compliment with a stout shake of his head. ¡°It is being the idea of the Shai-Alud, Highness. Marcus is knowing tha-¡°


    ¡°Yes,¡± Shrykul interrupted, slowly passing by Skeever and meandering over to the next subject of his scrutiny. ¡°The Shai-Alud.¡±


    When he stepped close, Marcus was surprised to find that he did not smell quite so putrid as the company he was used to keeping down here. His nose twitched as it similarly appraised Marcus, taking in the scent of a human for perhaps the first time ever.


    ¡°They are telling me your name is Marcus,¡± he said.


    Marcus, almost forgetting himself entirely, eventually nodded.


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Deekius,¡± Shrykul barked at the rat-priest. ¡°Is he truly the one?¡±


    ¡°He is, most-esteemed Highness. He is coming to us through dung and darkness, regaling us with tales of the Realm Beyond, delivering death unto our-¡°


    ¡°Be leaving us,¡± Shrykul said as he turned tail and ascended his throne once again. ¡°Be retiring to the private chambers. Rest there. Be eating well.¡±


    The Rats looked at each other with unblinking confusion.


    ¡°But, Sire,¡± Deekius said. ¡°Our report-¡°


    ¡°Your report can be waiting,¡± the King replied curtly, never once taking his eyes off Marcus.


    ¡°B-but Sire we must be acting with ha-¡°


    ¡°Did you not hear your King, Gloomraava?¡± Skeever spat. ¡°Look you ¨C even the Kobold knows to obey. Do not be embarrassing us.¡±


    The rat delegation left with bows, Ix following suit as best as his tiny, hoofed legs would allow him to. Deekius was the last to leave, his suddenly nervous eyes finding Marcus and pleading with him immutably with a look that said: do all that the king asks!


    When they left, the great double doors slammed shut behind them.


    Leaving Marcus alone with the rat-King and his two very hungry-looking mutant pets.


    ¡°Well, Marcus,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°I am hearing reports of your exploits. I am understanding your leadership is why Skeever and his pack survive. Now, you are arriving before me. And now, I am asking only one question of you.¡±


    Marcus was suddenly very aware of how alone he was in this room, compounded by the distinct click! of the doors behind being locked.


    ¡°Do not be lying,¡± he said. ¡°My dogs are being good at knowing truth.¡±


    Of that, Marcus had no doubt. Their hungry, salivating maws told him what his destiny would be if he attempted any kind of deceit. He knew what the rat-King wanted to know before he even asked it. Even if he did seem a tad more reasonable than any Ratman he¡¯d seen so far, the fact remained that there was one thing on his mind:


    ¡°Will you lead my armies in our war? Will you be helping us win against the Kobolds and their new God?¡±


    Marcus gulped, felt sweat pool beneath his messy blonde fringe, and took two cursory glances at the mad eyes of the growling rat-mutants before he answered as directly and clearly as he could:


    ¡°No.¡±


    With an air of regal authority, King Shrykul of Clan Red-Eye leaned back in his high throne and breathed a heavy sigh that spoke of weariness beyond years.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Then we are having a problem.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider subscribing to the Patreon </a>to read advance chapters

 Chapter 23

    ¡°We are having a problem, Shai-Alud Marcus.¡±


    If he was being honest, Marcus heard these words with a complete lack of surprise. In the pit of his stomach, he had known escape wouldn¡¯t be so easy. Not with all those rats out there singing his name in the streets.


    He summoned all the knowledge on monarchical etiquette he had, and then remembered that it was probably useless in the face of the King of spume and slime.


    ¡°I was given assurances,¡± Marcus nevertheless replied, trying to avoid further eye-contact with the King¡¯s mutant hounds. ¡°Assurances that, if I guided Skeever¡¯s forces back to Fleapit successfully, I would be granted an audience with the Prime Putrefact and be given a way to return to my home.¡±


    Shrykul considered this unblinkingly, his sharp claws drilling into his throne¡¯s solid armrests.


    ¡°I know what you are wishing, Shai-Alud,¡± he said.


    He leaned forward slightly, raising a single finger to command his dogs to heel. Like real pets they mewled and spun around, laying down at his feet with their spiny tails tucked between their legs.


    ¡°I am believing in honesty,¡± Shrykul then said. ¡°So I will tell you what you are thinking of us, and you will tell me if this is being correct: you are thinking we are filth, stupid, and uncivilized. You are thinking we are cruel and unusual compared to humankind. You are thinking we make war only because we are vicious.¡±


    Marcus straightened up and met the King¡¯s rigid stare. ¡°Not entirely, King Shrykul. In my journey to this place, I have seen Ratmen show both bravery and cunning that befits the title of warrior. I have seen Skeever care deeply for his duty to you. I have seen Deekius demonstrate powers that go beyond anything we mortals could employ on the battlefield. But, more than all of this, I have seen a commander among you who genuinely cares for his men. It is that very fact that killed him.¡±


    ¡°Gatskeek,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°He will be honored.¡±


    Marcus nodded solemnly. ¡°But I will admit you are correct in some of your assessment. I do find your kind filthy and uncivilized. But perhaps this is because your people have not been given the chance to grow.¡±


    Shrykul stroked the long, thin piece of hair under his chin.


    ¡°You speak well, Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°You are reminding me of someone else. Someone who was here and is now not.¡±


    The King grew somewhat pensive. Then, after a moment, he resumed his stately air.


    ¡°Now I am telling you what I think of humans,¡± he said with a grin. ¡°I am thinking they are brash, pushy, and expansionist. I am thinking they look down on other races and think they alone can guide the world and think of their desires before anything else. I am thinking they are children who are told they are strong but who would fall before even the smallest of my Ratman warriors. Am I wrong to think these things?¡±


    Marcus gulped again. ¡°Where I come from, King Shrykul, there are many who think the same way you do about humankind.¡±


    ¡°Is this so?¡± the King asked. ¡°And what happens to such people in the place beyond?¡±


    Marcus shrugged. ¡°They are forgotten in the annals of time. Our species progresses without them, and they are left behind. Mostly, this is because they are skilled only in the art of complaining and not in acting.¡±


    The stately King leaned back in his throne again. ¡°Do your Kings also execute those that are insulting them in their own palace?¡±


    Marcus smiled. ¡°Yes. But our Kings do not value honesty.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    From the flash in Shrykul¡¯s beady eyes, Marcus thought we was ready to unleash his hounds on him right then and there.


    But it was laughter that gripped the thin King then, not fury.


    ¡°You speak well,¡± he told Marcus again. ¡°It is a talent humans of the surface are having, too. It is what is making them so tricky in negotiation.¡±


    So, there are humans on Thea, Marcus noted.


    ¡°Very well,¡± the King said as though something important had just been decided. ¡°We are understanding each other. You are knowing what I want. I am knowing what you want. This is why we are having problem. Because even if I am wishing to grant you the boon you deserve, it is not being within my power to do so.¡±


    Marcus stiffened.


    Deekius, if you have tricked me¡­


    ¡°But, surely as the King of your Clan¡­¡±


    ¡°Not all offices of state are being mine, Marcus.¡±


    ¡°Well, who then?¡± Marcus asked, acutely aware that his tone approached that of a disgruntled 30-something wishing to speak to a bargain clothes store manager.


    Shrykul sighed, scratched his chin again, and rose steadily from his throne.


    ¡°Be following. I will take you to her.¡±


    A bleak crest of weariness seemed to overtake the Ratman¡¯s features. Marcus began to follow him through another set of gilded doors hidden beneath a shabby curtain behind his throne. It was only now that he noticed the King walked with a slight limp on his right side.


    ¡°You are wounded, King Shrykul?¡±


    The Rat replied without looking back. ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± he said, tapping his right leg. ¡°This is being occupational hazard.¡±


    Occupational hazard¡­Marcus mused. What¡­


    The sudden change in environment in this section of the palace struck Marcus. The King led him down a narrow, damp tunnel only dimly lit by torch sconces that threw the shadows of crawling insects along the stone walls.


    Here and there Marcus could see dents and cracks within the brickwork which revealed a thick, greasy, jelly-like substance oozing through the walls like a creeping infection.


    He quickened his pace. The King seemed to do the same.


    The further down the passage they went, the more Marcus felt his entire body quake. The guards stationed in this section of the castle seemed shaken and unnerved as they allowed the King and his Shai-Alud passage, and Marcus could probably ascertain the reason for their hesitancy:


    The screams.


    They came from the end of the tunnel ¨C from a corrugated steel gate bolted with six individual sets of locks. They were not the screams of one person. No, they were much too savage to come from a single throat. Instead, Marcus heard the chorus of a hundred living, breathing agonies emanate from behind the gate.


    And when the King halted and looked up at his terror-stricken face, he sighed again.


    ¡°I must be warning you,¡± he said. ¡°What you are about to see may be¡­distasteful to your human eyes.¡±


    Marcus kept a stiff upper lip. ¡°I¡¯ve seen plenty of horrors on the outskirts of your Kingdom, King Shrykul. But why are you bringing me here?¡±


    ¡°To meet the one who will tell you why you cannot leave,¡± he replied, nodding to the guards stationed beside the gate to unlock its bolts.


    Before the darkness beyond the gate was even visible, Marcus already knew who awaited him on the other side.


    ¡°May I be presenting my Queen, Shai-Alud Marcus,¡± Shrykul said as the screaming suddenly abated. ¡°Darling, you are having a visitor.¡±


    Beyond the depths of the dark chamber that stretched out before Marcus, a wild, flaring snout appeared and wormed its way into the light cast by the door.


    ¡°Hail, your Highness,¡± Marcus said, giving his best impression of a stiff bow. ¡°I have come to ask ¨C¡°


    Marcus stopped, feeling something wet squish underneath his feet. He looked down to see the shredded corpse of a Ratling child ¨C a pink, hairless, mutilated thing ¨C breaking apart beneath his heel.


    Then he saw the rest of the ground was similarly littered with long dead bodies ¨C bodies that had been left to rot for so long that many had simply become a grey paste of blood and bone, ground down by something¡­big. And angry.


    He stumbled forward, lost his footing slightly, and then fumbled to rise and ¨C


    ¡°Ask?¡± a deep voice boomed above him. ¡°A hairless male is coming to ask something of us. How¡­heretical.¡±


    Marcus looked up to see the body of the queen emerge behind her snout, the ground literally quaking beneath her gargantuan form. He watched as the thick knots and folds of fat tissue that comprised her belly stretched up as she rose to her full height ¨C and he made the nauseus realization that such rolls of fat comprised her entire body. She was like a bulging, writhing sandworm from the science-fiction novels he had read as a child. But unlike them, her oozing, bloody body demanded no reverence. Indeed, Marcus was doing his level best to not vomit across the chamber as she leaned down to sniff him.


    ¡°A fresh human sample,¡± she said, her pale eyes blinking rapidly as the hairs from her snout ¨C like a legion of twisted feelers ¨C fell over his head and smeared their snot across his face.


    Her mouth opened to reveal a brown maw dripping with bile, and a lithe tongue wriggled its way out.


    ¡°Darling,¡± she moaned. ¡°Such a lovely gift you are bringing me.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting via the Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters. Discord server coming soon.

 Chapter 24

    In my life, I am knowing only one thing for certain: I am loving my Queen¡±


    - King Bekblast of Clan Marrow, five minutes before his consumption by Queen Eradeka


    While the Queen sniffed Marcus like a voluptuous snake seasoning its meal, Shrykul, who measured up to about one eighth of his Queen¡¯s size, shuffled noiselessly into the room.


    ¡°This ¨C this is being the Shai-Alud, dear,¡± he said. ¡°The one who is bringing us ¨C¡°


    ¡°I KNOW WHO HE IS!¡± she screamed at him, throwing a torrent of spittle across his entire body. ¡°I CAN SMELL THE SCENT OF THE UNCLEAN ONE UPON HIM! ARE YOU DOUBTING THE STRENGTH OF MY NOSE?¡±


    ¡°N-no, dear,¡± Shrykul said with another shiver.


    Marcus looked up then, much as it pained him, to see the eyes of the Queen for himself. Glazed over, pale as moonlight.


    ¡°You¡¯re blind¡­¡±


    The words had left his lips before he¡¯d even pondered if he should voice them. Behind, Shrykul stirred, but the Queen let a greasy smile smear itself across her face.


    ¡°I am not needing eyes to tell talent when it is being in front of me!¡± she howled. ¡°Now, tasty-smelling human. Get on with it.¡±


    Marcus blinked up at her.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Must I be repeating my every thought! Are you males all deaf and dumb? Tell us how we will win this war!¡±


    Shrykul tensed up as Marcus stood slowly, calmly, keeping his eyes on those of the heavily breathing Queen.


    Once again, he sucked up his disgust.


    ¡°My¡­lady,¡± he said. ¡°I am bound for my home. Not for your war. Surely you can understand that.¡±


    The only female Ratman in Fleapit twitched for a moment, and then stretched around the form of the human like a cobra.


    ¡°Are you having children where you come from, Shai-Alud?¡±


    Marcus did not try and escape. He got the sense that fear would kill him more than it would serve him right now.


    ¡°I do not. I have ne-¡°


    ¡°WELL, I DO!¡± she screamed in his face, returning to meet his gaze with such speed that Marcus was off-footed. ¡°All you are seeing around you, every Rat ¨C from smallest to biggest warrior ¨C all of them are coming from this body!¡±


    She indicated her stomach, as though it wasn¡¯t obvious.


    ¡°And a mother ¨C a good mother ¨C she loves her children. She is giving them life. She is watching them grow. She is nursing them on her own teats. Oh, oh how they bite and scratch. How they gnaw and pummel. How they test us so! Isn¡¯t that right, dear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sweetheart. You are being ri-¡°


    ¡°How they make our kingdom run black with filth!¡± she continued, practically spitting in Marcus¡¯ face. ¡°How they make this underground ours. Ours! It is all ours!¡±


    She rose to her full height again, laughing at the ceiling.


    ¡°But ¨C but now!¡± she screamed after her joy subsided. ¡°How they DIE!¡±


    She raked her claws against the wall, throwing torn pieces of stone and puss across the room while Marcus and Shrykul watched in silence. Marcus ¨C because he was stunned. Shrykul ¨C because this was just another day.


    ¡°Slimy, soapsucking toad!¡± She wailed to the black heavens above her. ¡°SKEGGA! He kills our children. He tears their limbs. He sends his armies in their Kleansing. He is meaning to kill me, then my sisters. Yes! The hubris of a toad ¨C an evil, dumb, postulating toad! He dares to be harming my children. My pretty little things¡­¡±


    She finally turned back to Marcus.


    ¡°You are supposed to be the hero!¡± she squealed. ¡°The leader of our armies! You are supposed to be winning war. Prophecy says so, oh ¨C oh yes! I do not need eyes to know this. I can hear it. I am hearing whispers of you on the winds of the underworld. Now you are here ¨C you are being ours! And you ¨C yes ¨C you shall be our sword.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°I ¨C understand your position,¡± Marcus said after quickly looking to Shrykul for some help and realizing, almost instantly, that such help was not forthcoming. ¡°But one of your priests pledged to me that I would be brought home if I aided the forces of Skeever in coming here. I am not a human that can help you regardless, your Majesty. Even getting this far, my victories were based largely on luck. You have your enemies on the backfoot now, that should be enough to-¡°


    ¡°PRIESTS!¡± the Queen shrieked like a banshee. ¡°Priests! Oh, how they are boring me so. How I am detesting their stories and scheming behind my husband¡¯s back. Oh, yes ¨C he is so, so busy ruling his kingdom while it falls to pieces. The kingdom that is being sustained by nothing but my life!¡±


    ¡°Now, dear,¡± Shrykul began. ¡°Marcus does not need to know ¨C¡°


    ¡°HE SHALL KNOW WHAT I PLEASE HIM TO!¡± the worm-wife roared back. ¡°This place is being mine ¨C mine! You are making your fancy speeches while I fester in here. You are wearing the crown, but I am holding the power. The power of life. LIFE! The only power you can never be having.¡±


    Shrykul shrunk back, humbled, while Marcus¡¯s temper began to flare.


    ¡°I did not come here to be privy to a marriage dispute,¡± he said tetchily. ¡°I must go to your Prime Putrefect. If you deliver him to me I make you assurances that I will guide the strategy of your armies before I leave.¡±


    The Queen glowered down at him with her vestigial blind eyes and laughed after she understood what he had said.


    ¡°HAH!¡± she wailed to no one in particular. ¡°He is making the same demand of me that I make of him! Oh, dear, sweet-smelling, na?ve little human ¨C we are both wanting the Putrefect delivered to us!¡±


    ¡­What?


    Movement from Shrykul behind. He was signaling to the doormen to open the gate again. It seemed, finally, that they had arrived at the point.


    ¡°My dear, sweet Putrefact,¡± the Queen was wailing like a child, puss-filled tears streaming from her bulbous eyes. ¡°Loving, caring Putrefact¡­the only one of those detestable little men of the faith that is deserving to bask in my flatulence! A pox most foul upon Skegga ¨C bastard, fat-toad Skegga and his scum-sucking minions! He is taking my precious Putrefact from me! ME! He steals our favorite child and sends his armies after us? I will be having his head on a pike! I will be seeing his entrails coat my lair! I will be plucking out his eyes and serving them to his prisoner ¨C my beautiful, loving Putrefact. My ¨C my SILAS!¡±


    By this point, Marcus was allowing Shrykul to guide him out of the chamber while the Queen thrashed about in the bodies of her dead children.


    ¡°SILAS! SILAS! SIIIILLLLLLAAAAAAAAS!¡±


    The doors slammed shut and the bolts were quickly re-done.


    And Marcus stood beside Shrykul saying nothing, simply staring at the bars of the gate while they rattled against the Queen¡¯s exhortations.


    ¡°You,¡± Shrykul finally said. ¡°You are understanding our problem.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s voice was barely a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s a big one.¡±


    He turned to the rat suddenly, looking passed the jagged-iron crown to see the weary eyes of the rat beneath.


    Suddenly his ¡®occupational hazard¡¯ had been made eminently clear to Marcus.


    ¡°Is she¡­always like that?¡±


    Shrykul shook his head solemnly. ¡°She is suffering for the good of all of us. You must understand ¨C she sees so many of her younglings die in the wake of our copulation. She has birthed generations, and the price of those lives is being many, many deaths and stillbirths. My priests are telling me that such things are affecting the mind in¡­bad ways.¡±


    Marcus shivered as he recalled the image of the bulbous, worm-body that dwelled within the doors before him. Literally nothing more than a wailing, angry baby factory.


    And beside Marcus stood her devoted little gigolo. The only rat that was permitted to mate with her in the entire kingdom. Probably, Marcus reflected, this was because such mating attempts posed dangers in themselves. He doubted the Queen was always a willing participant in such unions¡­


    ¡°You are thinking we are a disgusting people once again,¡± Shrykul said as he began walking back up the tunnel to his throne room. ¡°But world is being cruel. Underworld ¨C even more so. It is not caring for sentimentality. What matters is generations and survival of kingdom.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I can almost understand. But had I been summoned on the other side of your Black Gulch, and I was shown what you just revealed to me, I believe your Fleapit would not stand to see another day.¡±


    Shrykul stopped and looked back, both his guards bearing their spears at the heresy spoke by the human.


    Slowly, the rat-king raised his hand and coaxed them to lower their weapons.


    ¡°An honest human?¡± Shrykul said. ¡°It is being a rare thing, indeed. You are of course implying that the only reason you remain with us is because we are having a way for you to return home.¡±


    Marcus nodded. ¡°No matter how noble your intentions seem, King Shrykul, this is a truth I won¡¯t keep from you.¡±


    The King of the Red-Eyes smiled thinly in the darkness of the Queen¡¯s tunnel.


    ¡°Then you know my terms,¡± he said. ¡°Win this war and you will be finding our Putrefact. Only he has the power to send you back to the realm beyond.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s fists tightened behind his back.


    ¡°Be taking the night to think on this,¡± Shrykul said as he turned his back. ¡°Be taking the stairway outside my throne and find your room beside your comrades. Be resting. Be deciding in the morning. I am hoping, for all our sakes, that you will be making the right choice.¡±


    Marcus watched him go with barely restrained fury building up in his throat. He wanted to scream. He wanted to beat his bare fists upon the door frame of the vile creature he had just seen and issue a roar to match her own. Instead, he began following the King¡¯s path, fists still clenched, as his mind focused on the image of a single person.


    Deekius¡­


    His hand inadvertently clenched on the hilt of his dagger.


    He was going to pay that rat a little visit.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting via the Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters.

 Chapter 25

    ¡°You knew, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Marcus¡¯s accusation brought a deathly silence over the Ratman he¡¯d called to his chambers within the palace.


    ¡°Sire, I was not lying,¡± Deekius replied slowly. ¡°The Prime Putrefact is your only way of making it back to realm beyond.¡±


    ¡°But you knew he was gone, and you kept that little piece of information from me, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Skeever, who had answered Marcus¡¯s summons knowing there would be trouble, looked from the rat-priest to his Shai-Alud.


    ¡°We are only suspecting, Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°The Kobolds having knowledge of our tunnels is not making sense. We are knowing they must have one of us. But we could not know ¨C¡°


    ¡°He did,¡± Marcus interrupted, standing and marching over to Deekius¡¯ silent snout. ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡±


    A change had come over the rat-priest since they¡¯d returned to the Capital. Once, Marcus had thought him a sniveling wretch with some admittedly useful tricks up his sleeve that had contributed greatly to their victories. Now, however, he seemed cool, aloof, and possessed of an uncharacteristic confidence.


    Somehow, that served to piss Marcus off even more.


    ¡°I could not be knowing for certain,¡± Deekius replied. ¡°Our forces are being away from home for a long time. Scout reports do not come to us. We are finding Boss Skegga¡¯s defences and inspecting them only. We are not going to see prisoners he has taken. But¡­I am feeling the will of He-Who-Festers waning in me. I could have been guessing the Putrefact was gone.¡±


    Marcus drew the dagger Gatskeek had given him. Skeever tensed, moved forward, but Deekius held up a firm paw to hold him back.


    ¡°I could kill you now, priest,¡± Marcus told the rat as he aimed the tip of the weapon at his furry little throat. ¡°Your King would pardon his Shai-Alud.¡±


    Skeever didn¡¯t move an inch. Deekius, to his credit, held Marcus¡¯s death-like stare. Then, without any indication of damaged pride, he laid his staff on the floor, got on his knees, and bent his neck.


    ¡°I am giving you promise, Shai-Alud,¡± he said. ¡°Are you remembering? Before we are leaving Black Gulch I am saying to you that my life is yours if you wish it. I, Deekius of Clan Red-Eye, have done the job bestowed on me by He-Who-Festers. I am bringing the Shai-Alud to this world, and I am guiding him to the Capital. If you are wishing it, I would gladly now be dying by your hand.¡±


    Marcus looked unblinkingly at the supplicant rat. There was no fear he could detect in his small, robed body. Not even the flies that surrounded his snout buzzed with greater intensity than usual. His breathing was cool. Calm. Totally at peace. If anything, it was Skeever that was more fidgety right now.


    Marcus groaned as he sheathed the knife.


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem with religious fanatics,¡± he said as he turned away from the sight of the rat. ¡°You¡¯re always so ready to die. So certain that your life has meaning.¡±


    Marcus looked out at his small balcony that lay beyond his room. A space that, coincidentally, gave him an overview of the entire residential district that lay beyond the palace.


    He could hear the rats below that had not dispersed at the palace gates. A crowd cheering his name. Cheering for him.


    ¡°Be listening to them,¡± Deekius said from his back. ¡°They are adoring you, Sire. They are already being your loyal subjects. You are coming to our home as a human, and are already having the absolute loyalty of the people. You are being second only to the King in their eyes. You are-¡°


    ¡°Get out,¡± Marcus said, abruptly cutting off the priest before he began an entire sermon. ¡°Be thankful you still have your head.¡±


    Deekius made to say more, but at a firm grunt from his comrade, thought better of it. Both rats bowed and made to leave.


    ¡°Not you,¡± Marcus said, speaking over his shoulder to Skeever.


    He did not wait to see if his command had been obeyed. He sat down on the stone bed that had been prepared for him, rubbing his face in his hands and praying to whatever disease ridden God they worshipped down here that he would sell his soul for fresh linen.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He heard the patter of Skeever¡¯s feet as the soldier bowed at the end of his bed.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he said. ¡°Deekius is strongest of Red-Eye priests. He is being chosen for our mission because of his faith. You show good judgement in keeping him alive.¡±


    ¡°Skeever,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I am stuck here.¡±


    He said it again, paying no heed to how this could affect Skeever¡¯s morale. Right now, he had to be a person. Not a prophet. Not a General. Not a historian. He was human, and he was tired.


    ¡°Like your squad in that Gulch tunnel,¡± he continued, wringing his hands together like a madman.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Skeever replied. ¡°When we are finding Prime Putrefect, he will be able to ¨C¡°


    ¡°And what if we don¡¯t!¡± Marcus yelled, rising and marching over to the balcony door. ¡°All of you are putting a war on me that I know nothing about. Kobolds, Dwarves, Ratmen ¨C what¡¯s the difference to me? We beat the Kobolds on the way here with luck ¨C luck, and some basic environmental awareness. Now, you¡¯re asking me to dismantle and entire civilization on the chance that one prisoner they¡¯ve taken might still be alive.¡±


    ¡°He is alive,¡± Skeever said. ¡°Boss Skegga not stupid enough to kill clever Silas.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s rage was not to be stilled. ¡°Your king is basically subservient to a crazy she-demon that holds the future of your entire clan on her whims. Your priest-caste seems like they¡¯re running their own show. Meanwhile, your people want an empire spanning this entire underground network that stretches on for God knows how far. When will it stop, Skeever? When will the goal posts be shifted next? First, you¡¯ll ask me to win this war for you. Next, you¡¯ll ask me to conquer your Dwarven neighbors. Then, you¡¯ll ask me to win the entire world.¡±


    Marcus smashed his fist into the side of the door frame.


    ¡°And I wish they¡¯d shut up out there!¡±


    He was about to throw the door open when Skeever¡¯s heavy gauntlet stopped him, pushing the door back.


    ¡°This is not being like you, Sire Marcus.¡±


    He was about to spit his fury right back at Skeever¡¯s face when the latter slammed his gauntlet on his chest.


    ¡°We of Clan-Red eye are not making promises we do not keep,¡± he said. ¡°I am devoting myself to guiding you to Prime Putrefact and getting you home. Are you doubting me, Sire?¡±


    Marcus looked at him with furious eyes, but he said nothing.


    ¡°Our King could be torturing you to force you to lead,¡± Skeever said. ¡°Why is he not doing this? Because he believes in the Shai-Alud. The Prophecy is that you are chosen by He-Who-Festers to defend our race. Are you not seeing that we are on brink of doom? Are you not seeing the mad Queen for yourself who cries over her children?¡±


    Marcus stepped away from the balcony and returned to sit by the bed, sighing deeply, staring at the grey stone of the floor.


    ¡°If you are commanding me,¡± Skeever said, unsheathing Gatskeek¡¯s scimitar and planting it in the ground before him. ¡°I can be taking you away from here. I can be taking you to the surface and you can never be looking back. If you hate us so, this is being your choice. But, if you are hearing the devotion of those outside and thinking you want to be something more, then you should be joining King Shrykul tomorrow morning in his meeting with the other Clans.¡±


    Marcus stirred. ¡°Meeting?¡±


    ¡°The Skittering has been called,¡± Skeever said. ¡°Clans Marrow and Glumrot are answering. They are bringing envoys to discuss strategy to secure the North tunnels. Our counterattack will be coming. And it will be bloody, Sire.¡±


    The rat-warrior¡¯s head rose to meet the eyes of his Shai-Alud.


    ¡°But with you on our side, many can be saved. The clan can grow strong again, and I can be leaving this world in peace to meet my Brother Gatskeek.¡±


    ¡°Leaving?¡± Marcus asked.


    Skeever nodded solemnly at his lame arm. ¡°I am maimed, Sire. I am no longer of use in field. King Shrykul will be giving me choice tomorrow of living rest of days in Capital tar-pit or of self-execution. I will choose execution.¡±


    Marcus rose abruptly. ¡°Skeever, you¡¯ll do no such ¨C¡°


    ¡°It is being my choice, Sire,¡± the rat said. ¡°I am seeing too many of my Brothers die already. On my watch, Gatskeek is falling. I am not fit to command.¡±


    Marcus said nothing to the downtrodden rat at first. Instead, his eyes fixed on Skeever¡¯s arm ¨C the arm that had shot out to shield him from the sniper¡¯s fire, and in that broken mess of a limb was embedded not just the dwarf¡¯s bullet but all the burdens of Marcus¡¯s command. The rat blamed himself for Gatskeek. He clearly hadn¡¯t learned that the responsibility for death ¨C every death on the battlefield - should be placed squarely at the feet of one person alone. And that person was not a soldier.


    He rose steadily and walked over to the balcony, opening the doors and being hit with waves of adoring cheers. The rats corralled together beneath, their snouts edging as far as they could through the rusted metal of the palace gates, just so they could get a proper look at him.


    On their lips was but one name: Shai-Alud. Shai-Alud. That¡¯s what they wanted him to be.


    No, he thought. That¡¯s what I already am to them. Question is, is that what I want to be?


    He looked down at his dirt-caked hands and thought of home ¨C of Mari, and her blood covered face that had evaded him just before he¡¯d slipped away. He thought of the crowds who hated him for who he was. He even thought of Steven Barenz ¨C and the question that the fiend had posed to him the day before his world had changed forever:


    Could you look at them? Could you stand atop a mountain of corpses and tell them their sacrifice had been worth it?


    And he clenched his fists and steeled his soul. When he turned back to Skeever, the rat thought he was possessed by an entirely new human.


    ¡°What is it you want, Skeever?¡± he asked.


    The ratman stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment ¨C as though the question were entirely self-explanatory.


    ¡°What any warrior of Red-Eye wishes,¡± he replied. ¡°To serve.¡±


    ¡°I thought as much,¡± Marcus said with a chuckle, before turning back to the drab outside world.


    ¡°We will attend King Shrykul¡¯s meeting,¡± he said. ¡°However, I have a few conditions of my own¡­¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters.

 Chapter 26

    King Shrykul watched the columns of troops press through his Castle gates and squeeze themselves into his courtyard. The banners they flew bore the tattered symbols of the Clans he had called for ¨C the bleeding fangs of Clan Marrow and the forked green tail of Clan Glumrot. Both armies numbered probably around 300 rats in total. More than he should have expected. Less than he had hoped for.


    He turned back to the round table his servants had dusted off in his war-room and took his seat at its head.


    ¡°Thank you for coming today, Brothers.¡±


    Across the table from him sat three rats who couldn¡¯t have been more oppositional in nature. To his left was Talon-Commander Festicus Rekk ¨C Clan Marrow¡¯s consummate warrior sent by King Skylock to command the meagre force he¡¯d responded to the Skittering with. The rat glared at Shrykul with one bulging red eye and one vestigial wound where his other eye should have been. He towered over both the King and the other envoy, even larger in scale than Skeever, and his blood-dipped steel plate reflected the dim light of the torches that glimmered on the walls of the chamber. To look upon him was to look at a spirit of war itself ¨C bold, brazen, barely contained rage ¨C all wrapped up in a big ball of bloody fur. His Clan¡¯s Capital ¨C Steelclaw Bay - lay in the West tunnels, where it was said the greatest density of Dwarven strongholds still held out against them. For this reason, Clan Marrow was seen as the vanguard of the ratman kingdom ¨C even their lowliest citizen was sharpened by constant war in a hostile landscape. Their shock troops and cavalry were second to none.


    ¡°When the call goes out, Clan Marrow is answering!¡± Festicus yelped, punctuating his statement with a bang of his great mailed fist on the table. ¡°We are being the first to arrive. We will be the last to leave.¡±


    ¡°Admirable attitude you are having, Brother,¡± the rat sitting across from him hissed. ¡°If only you are tempering your sssssuicidal wissshes with faitttth.¡±


    Shrykul looked cautiously at the speaker ¨C Talon-Commander and priest Verulex Moulder from Clan Glumrot. The rat was small, hunchbacked, and kept his eyes hidden from sight behind his hooded, fleabitten robe, revealing only his long, polyp-laden snout. The stench that exuded from his form spoke of pestilence beyond that which the other Clans knew of. King Sceptix¡¯s Clan was best known for its predilection for brewing toxins and its chemical warfare capabilities. Their capital ¨C Pestelpans ¨C was secluded in the South tunnels where the air one breathed was riddled with poisons. They were a most secretive Clan, most protective of their instruments of infection, and most closely aligned with the church of He-Who-Festers. It was said by some that the rule of King Sceptix was essentially a theocracy with him as its puppet ruler and nothing more. For this reason, Shrykul had always been hesitant to trust the priest-caste of Glumrot. But still, when the Skittering was called, they at least had answered. That was more than he could say for Clan Nightstalker.


    Nightstalker¡­the most elusive Clan of all. Why had they not come?


    ¡°I am not needing faith to stick ugly Kobolds with pointy end of my spear!¡± Festicus roared.


    Shrykul interrupted any reply Verulex could have made before he even started. The last thing he needed right now was a sermon ¨C especially one delivered with that irritating lisp his Clansmen maintained.


    ¡°What news of our Brothers in the East?¡±


    Both rats bowed their heads and said nothing.


    Shrykul nodded. ¡°I see.¡±


    He at once turned to the third rat ¨C an albino, red-eyed fellow practically shaking in his chair ¨C and nodded to him.


    ¡°You are being welcome here, Sire Gekul,¡± he said, noting how the little rat jumped at King mentioning his name.


    Against the paralyzing stares of both the Talon-Commanders that flanked him at the table, Gekul gulped and bowed as low as he could without banging his head.


    ¡°M-m-many thanking you, good King Shrykul,¡± he said. ¡°You are always being good to our village.¡±


    The tiny rat squirmed in his seat, and Shrykul had to keep from chuckling to himself. He was a mayor amongst giants, merely a representative of the frontier town of Razork on the border between Red-Eye lands in the North and those now owned by the Kobolds of Skegga. But his presence here was necessary. Shrykul had heard of the constant raids the Kobolds had been launching against the village, and the uselessness of Fort Spearclaw in repelling their attacks. Though Silas, when he was still here, had cautioned him to leave the village unmanned and commit his forces elsewhere, Shrykul was not about to leave the rats there without hope. Especially not when the village provided a key staging area for their assault into Skegga¡¯s lands.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    The King nodded again and sighed deeply before beginning in earnest. He had played for enough time.


    ¡°Sssssire,¡± Verulex hissed. ¡°Be pardoning my interjection, but will the Shhhhhai-Alud be joining usssss?¡±


    Shrykul fixed the priest¡¯s eager snout with his sharp eyes.


    ¡°I ¨C am fearing he shall not be,¡± he said.


    He watched their initial reactions to this news with some interest. Interestingly, it seemed it was Verulex who was most put out. Festicus just seemed peeved he wouldn¡¯t get the chance to meet a great commander.


    ¡°I am not thinking this man a coward!¡± Festicus growled. ¡°We of Marrow are hearing of his leadership prowess! That is big reason why we are coming with legion of best horned Spinerippers!¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Verulex concurred. ¡°We of Glumrot are mosssst interesssted in thisss man ¨C summoned by a priessssst of He-Who-Festersssss. Thisss isss meaning great thingggssss for ratman Clanssss.¡±


    For all the Clans? Shrykul wondered. Or just for yours?


    ¡°Be that as it may,¡± he said, dropping his suspicions. ¡°We are having war to fight. If Kobolds are breaking Clan Red-Eye lands then they will be moving West and South next. They will be coming for you.¡±


    Both rats inclined their heads.


    ¡°So let us be making plans,¡± Festicus said. ¡°What is being the current situation?¡±


    Shrykul nodded to one of his attendants who spread a map of the North Warrens across the round table. As he spread out the folds in its edges, Shrykul began to give the briefing he had been deliberating over all night, when his wife¡¯s calls had not been haunting his brain.


    ¡°Skegga has reinforced the old Dwarven stronghold of Grindlefecht,¡± he began. ¡°It is being important fortress for trade with the surface. It holds nearest entrance to Jungles of Barakh and thus good position for slave-trading with Yokun.¡±


    The rats stiffened at the mention of the humanoid snake-people that lived in the jungles above the North warrens. Their ferocity in battle was matched only by their cunning.


    ¡°Grindlefecht is being well defended,¡± Shrykul continued. ¡°High walls packed with stone and clay, solid steel forged by Dwarven craftsmen. Our scouts are reporting that Skegga is finding Dwarven powder-cannon deposits within. Walls will be filled with dwarven death-guns.


    In addition, Grindlefecht is being protected by line of three fortresses that form defensive perimeter along North side of Black Gulch ¨C Gromelin, Tarakht, Festigraf. These forts are being of lesser quality. It is seeming that Dwarves knew of Kobolds coming and destroyed most of their more clever defenses. But their proximity to each other is still making them dangerous.¡±


    Verulex nodded as the King let the information sink in. ¡°An attack on one will be met with reinforcementssss from the otherssss.¡±


    ¡°Along with reserve troops from Grindlefecht,¡± Festicus agreed.


    Shrykul nodded. ¡°Kobolds were repelled by Skeever Steelclaw¡¯s Pack recently, and a force of 70 Skogsriders were sent to pursue. They were broken at Knifegut Fortress.¡±


    ¡°But the Fort is lost,¡± Festicus said. ¡°We are hearing of the tale. Fort is being manned by Gatskeek. Good rat. Solid fighter. It is great tragedy the Shai-Alud could not preserve his life, or that of his Fort.¡±


    ¡°But the fort isssss sssstill being of usssssse,¡± Verulex hissed. ¡°Gutmulchersssss now make nessssst there, yessss?"


    My, my, how word is traveling, Shrykul mused.


    ¡°You are being correct, Brother,¡± he said aloud. ¡°The Fort is still presenting best line of defense from North-East attacks. We can safely be considering Black Gulch virtually impassible. For us, and for them.¡±


    ¡°What of Gulchnavel village?¡± Festicus asked, pointing at the image of the ratman town closest to the edge of the Gulch.


    At this, King Shrykul simply shook his head.


    ¡°Bastard Kobolds!¡± Festicus stormed. ¡°Soap-eating water-washers! How are they suddenly being so clever? Kobolds are stupid. Kobolds are warring with each other. Never being united like this. Never caring about common goal. How does this fat toad command them?¡±


    ¡°Crudely asssssked,¡± Verulex smirked. ¡°But, for oncccce, I am being in agreement with my Brother. How doessss thisssss frog give orderrrssssss that Koboldssss lissssten to?¡±


    King Shrykul sat back and shifted his eyes towards the door of the war-room chamber, nodding once to a shadow that now moved to sit with the others.


    ¡°By the Unclean One!¡± Festicus shouted. ¡°Skeever Steelclaw!¡±


    Skeever dismissed his brother¡¯s bow with a curt wave of his good hand, and took a seat beside the king.


    ¡°Brother,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°Be telling us of what you learned on your mission to Grindlefecht.¡±


    All three rats sat forward to listen, all of them having heard only snippets of Skeever¡¯s great mission that almost wiped out his entire Pack. Of his surveillance of the enemy capital, flight in the face of certain death, summoning of the Shai-Alud and, finally, triumphant return to Fleapit to see this war to its end. It had trickled through the armies of both clans who answered the Skittering like a children¡¯s whisper-game, each version of the events becoming more bizarre with every telling.


    The rat who had wormed his way into legend now sat down beside them. His eyes passed over each one of them individually and then, with a face set as hard as stone, laid both his arms on the table.


    ¡°Brothers,¡± he began. ¡°The situation is being worse than we think. But there is one person that will be helping us win this war.¡±


    The entire assembly then shifted abruptly as the doors of the war-council chamber were flung open, and a tall, slim figure strutted into the room without King Shrykul¡¯s instruction.


    If any rat present were facing the monarch of Clan Red-Eye in this moment, they would see he was just as surprised as he was.


    ¡°By He-Who-Festerssssss,¡± Verulex whispered.


    Calmly, Marcus took a seat beside Skeever and leaned against its hard stone back.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°You have your General. Now, shall we get down to business?¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters.

 Chapter 27

    Marcus had to admit that he had never been one for theatre or pomp ¨C those domains were Mari¡¯s specialties. But he was enjoying the charge his entrance had sent flying through the rats in the war room.


    ¡°Shai-Alud Marcus,¡± King Shrykul began, trying his best, Marcus knew, to conceal his surprise. ¡°Thank you for joining us.¡±


    Marcus could sense the eased tension in the ratman-monarch¡¯s voice. But there was also an element of anxiety still present, as though the surprise of his entrance had changed the entire proceeding.


    Good, Marcus thought. Perhaps its best that I keep you guessing.


    ¡°It issss being honor to meet the hero of the Gulch,¡± the most hideous rat at the table hissed like a serpent.


    ¡°Hmpf,¡± the other, much larger one huffed. ¡°I am thinking the Shai-Alud would be taller.¡±


    Marcus nodded to each of them and got their names. He committed them to memory. These were the Talon-Commanders he¡¯d be shedding blood with, after all.


    The time to get a good handle on them would have to come later, however, as the King nodded to Skeever to continue with his briefing.


    ¡°Commander Steelclaw was about to be informing this council of the results of his recon mission,¡± he said.


    Marcus nodded at that and then gestured for Skeever to go on. King Shrykul noticed.


    ¡°We are seeing Grindlefecht defenses firsthand,¡± Skeever explained, pointing to the dark walls of the fortress¡¯ exterior on the table-map. ¡°Walls are strong. Cannons are deadly ¨C but there are not being many of them. Skegga is not having good knowledge yet of Dwarven technology.¡±


    ¡°That is being good,¡± the humongous Festicus grunted. ¡°Their guns are claiming the lives of many Clan Marrow warriors.¡±


    Skeever went on, ¡°We are capturing Kobold prisoners as we move North, Brothers. They are telling us many things ¨C some nonsense, some truth. But more than one of them is telling us that Skegga is holding Prime Putrefact hostage.¡±


    ¡°Sssssilas,¡± the cloaked rat called Verulex hissed. ¡°A beacon of He-Who-Festerssss himssselffff. How are they taking him?¡±


    ¡°He was on mission to give blessing to Fort Spearclaw,¡± Skeever explained, pointing out the Westernmost fort on the edge of the map. ¡°Kobold raiders are attacking and taking him. They are torturing him for information on tunnels and armies.¡±


    ¡°Ssssilas would not give up information sssssso eassssily,¡± Verulex broke in. ¡°He is being clever rat. Knowledge of the Unclean One isssss great within him.¡±


    ¡°Is it possible the Prime Putrefact is betraying us?¡± Festicus asked.


    ¡°Out of the question,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°Silas has always being nothing but a loyal servant of the Queen. It is being more likely he is knowing his importance in staying alive. Both as great member of our faith, and¡­¡± The King cast a sidelong glance at Marcus.


    And for being my only motivation for helping you, Marcus said.


    ¡°Bah!¡± Festicus roared. ¡°How are we even knowing he is still being alive?¡±


    ¡°Thossssse of Clan Glumrot would be ssssensssing the Putrefact¡¯s passssing,¡± Verulex replied. ¡°He livvvessss, Brother.¡±


    ¡°Then our war is ending in rescue mission,¡± Festicus said with another bestial grunt. ¡°But if they are knowing we come for them in force, it is likely they will be slaying Silas before we reach their doorstep.¡±


    ¡°This is not being likely, Brother,¡± Skeever said. ¡°We are knowing more ¨C Skegga is toad that is totally believing in victory. Right till the end, he will believe he shall be winning, and so shall not be slaying such a valuable tool. He is believing he is new God of Underkingdom. That his Kleansing will lead to his rise to heavens.¡±


    ¡°A toad leading a Theocracy,¡± Marcus scoffed openly. ¡°A marriage of form and function.¡±


    The rats chuckled with him, but in truth it was the next part of the briefing that truly interested Marcus the most.


    ¡°Heresssssy,¡± Verulex whispered. ¡°Thisss, I can be believvvving. But from a horned toad of the ssssurfffacccce? They are not being known for faittttthh, or leadersssship.¡±


    ¡°This is being right,¡± Skeever nodded. ¡°Skegga is believing these things because someone is telling him they are true.¡±


    All the assembly leaned forward. The question ¡®who?¡¯ didn¡¯t even have to be asked.


    Skeever cleared his throat.


    ¡°The Yokun,¡± he said. ¡°They are keeping Skegga as a slave, and then setting him up as God of all Kobolds. They are giving him orders to slay us, and he is obeying.¡±


    A general murmur of alarm went up from all ratman gathering. Marcus, listening intently, tried to gauge the individual reactions of each.


    ¡°Those fiendish heretics!¡± Festicus raged, banging his great mailed fists upon the table that was now beginning to crack on his side.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°You are knowing thisssss for cccertain?¡±


    Skeever nodded gravely. ¡°We are seeing it with our own eyes. At the entrance to the surface jungles, Skegga is meeting with Yokun slavers who are giving him his orders. These orders I am risking my men to gain. These orders are why Skegga is hunting us all the way to Knifegut. Without the Shai-Alud, we would not be handing them to you now.¡±


    The rats¡¯ eyes all fell upon Marcus for a moment before lighting on the small, dirty parchment Skeever produced from under the table.


    Just a little piece of paper. Something so insignificant that had cost the lives of ¨C how many already? Hundreds? Thousands?


    Marcus put the thought from his mind. He couldn¡¯t afford distractions of conscience.


    ¡°For speed,¡± Skeever said. ¡°We shall have Shai-Alud Marcus read this for us.¡±


    Marcus nodded at once and took the document, having already seen its contents beforehand. He had insisted that Skeever give it to him and allow him to be the one to deliver to them the news of the grand plot against them all. The plot that they¡¯d need him to break apart piece by piece.


    Marcus cleared his throat before beginning.


    ¡°¡¯Skegga. Your orders still stand: unify the Kobolds under your Kleansing and harry the ratman Clans. We shall install you in the fortress of Grindlefecht beneath the Southern jungle ¨C use the stronghold as a staging area and as the locus for your worship. Welcome all Kobolds who travel there in holy pilgrimage as warriors that shall enter the heavens with you. Await them, and in the meantime, bolster the Dwarves¡¯ defenses. Learn from and exploit their technological prowess. Then, when your numbers swell, launch your holy campaign.


    Destroy Clan Red-Eye first through sheer force of arms, then swiftly move West. You shall push back Clan Marrow alongside their Dwarven enemies and then let the little men have their pickings of what is left. In the meantime, fortify the North Warrens and prepare for a direct assault on Clan Glumrot in the East tunnels. We shall supply you with thirty Hellfire Throwers when the time comes. The toxins of the rats shall be consumed in holy fire, and their cities will crumble ¨C for their warriors are weak. In the aftermath, continue fortifying the tunnels against possible counterattacks from Clan Nightstalker, though we doubt they will offer much resistance when the time of your Ascension comes. Like all creatures of the Underkingdom, they shall bow to you in time.


    Do these things, as the Patriarchs command.


    -T¡±


    Marcus stopped reading and handed the parchment to King Shrykul, who took it with a shaking claw.


    The faces of all the rats were now blanched with fear. They had just listened to how their species was to be systematically divided and destroyed over the course of a few months, each of their weaknesses being perfectly exploited to bring their civilizations crumbling down, one by one.


    When Marcus had convinced Skeever to let him see the orders ahead of time even he had been impressed. These Yokun seemed well suited to wars by proxy. They had provided Skegga with troops, supplies, a base of operations and a purpose. The general strategy struck Marcus as being remarkably similar to that employed by the USSR during the Angolan Civil War. The only marked difference being that Skegga¡¯s prime directive was one of genocide, pure and simple.


    But, just like that particular proxy war, this one spoke of tensions far beyond the current theatre. It spoke of a greater war yet to come.


    ¡°Why?¡± Festicus murmured, quietened by the harrowing news. ¡°Why would the Yokun be seeking our extermination? For our raids against their cities?¡±


    Verulex shook his hooded head. ¡°They are already sssstriking back againsssst usssss,¡± he said. ¡°Multiple timessss. They are ssssseing ussss assss a mere nuisssscence. They are thinking we fight amongsssst ourssssselvessss before posssing threat to them on sssssurfacccce.¡±


    ¡°But when your back is turned to your enemy, that¡¯s when you have to start caring about them,¡± Marcus said, eyeing Shrykul.


    The King sighed and leveled his gaze at the rat assembly. ¡°You are knowing that we are being so hampered by Kobold war that we are not raiding the surface in months. Yokun are being free to pursue their true goal without worry.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± Festicus asked.


    Shrykul sat upright as he delivered his answer. ¡°War, Brothers. War.¡±


    The King let his words sink in, eyes sweeping the table as the gravity of the situation only now began to sink into each warrior before him. Marcus could tell the King bore this heavy load well ¨C better than he would have expected him to. He also knew that Shrykul could fill in the gaps in Marcus¡¯s knowledge. He had also assumed these snake-people were making war on the surface. But against who, he couldn¡¯t be sure.


    ¡°For the past year,¡± Shrykul continued. ¡°The Yokun are making war against human Empire of Marxon II. Their conflict is boiling over all of Southern Thea, and the snakes forces are stretching thin. They are thinking to keep us in check so they can be fully committing their armies to war effort. This is why they are installing Skegga to lead Kobolds against us.¡±


    ¡°So we are being just toys,¡± Festicus seethed. ¡°Nothing more than distraction!¡±


    ¡°The sssssnakes are clever,¡± Verulex said. ¡°They are knowing we would ssssseize opportunity to raid sssssurfaccce and be taking advantage of war. They are sssstriking at usssss becausssse they expect worsssst of usssss.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worse than that,¡± Marcus chimed in, leaning forward now, becoming more interested by the second as he let his military mind race towards what he saw as inevitable conclusions. ¡°The minute they know your people have been destroyed, they¡¯ll call upon Skegga to join them in their conquest on the surface.¡±


    ¡°How can you be sure?¡± Festicus asked. ¡°You must be forgiving me, Shai-Alud, but you are not being of Yokun blood. You can not be knowing what they wish.¡±


    At this, Marcus simply smiled. ¡°It¡¯s the job of a General to think ahead ¨C to put himself in the enemy commander¡¯s frame of mind. Besides, it¡¯s what I would do.¡±


    He looked down at the map and swept his hand across it.


    ¡°The way I see it,¡± he said. ¡°You are fighting a war here not only for the survival of your own species, but that of every other species in this world.¡±


    He let that sink in. Several inconvenient realities had dawned on these rats in the last hour or so, and with every new revelation their small brains swelled with the agony of knowing how close they were, right now, to total annihilation.¡±


    ¡°If the Nightstalkerssss are knowing,¡± Verulex hissed. ¡°If we are sending message to King Naxus¡­¡±


    ¡°You are not knowing my Brother King well,¡± Shrykul scoffed. ¡°We¡¯d be spending a week at best just trying to find his lair in those Blackfog-infested tunnels down South. No ¨C we must be dealing with this threat here and now. There can be no idleness. There can be no turning back.¡±


    ¡°But how are we to beat them?¡± Festicus hummed. ¡°You are saying so yourself ¨C Knifegut fort is being fallen. It was being best staging area for attacks on North.¡±


    ¡°I am agreeing,¡± King Shrykul said. ¡°That is why we will be needing another plan.¡±


    And, without even returning their gazes, Marcus knew all those beady little eyes had suddenly fallen on him.


    He cracked his neck and smiled thinly in the dark.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s where I come in.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters. $4 for +5 chapters (+10 when I get to 50 Patrons!)

 Chapter 28

    ¡°Okay,¡± Marcus began. ¡°Skeever has run me through the basics of your Northern tunnel geography. Here¡¯s how I see things.¡±


    Marcus stood up and began pointing out various locations on the dark paper map as he mentioned them, making a few extra doodles with his quill pen as necessary to illustrate the finer points of his battle plan.


    ¡°Your main advantage is this chasm itself. Skegga would lose far more men than he would gain in a long, protracted assault on this place¡¯s reinforced position. Without any kind of aerial support, he would have a tough time taking Fleapit itself.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying we¡¯re safe?¡± Feticus asked.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°I think Skegga¡¯s strategy lies more in bleeding you out. It would make sense ¨C the destruction of this village here, Gulchnavel¡­I¡¯m assuming it served some kind of economic purpose?¡±


    Shrykul nodded. ¡°It is being main source of Gulch fish for Clan.¡±


    Marcus had expected as much. ¡°If I was him, I¡¯d be pushing against this village here,¡± he said, circling the small form of Razork on the West corridor of the Warrens. ¡°Skegga has the advantage of being able to quickly reinforce his men from his defensive line of forts on the other side of the Black Gulch border. This allows him to launch quick raids that could probably hamper this village, which would lead to your eventual encirclement.¡±


    ¡°T-that¡¯s it!¡± a new voice squeaked. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what is ¨C what is being¡­¡±


    The timid albino rat sank back in his chair almost as soon as he raised his voice. The other rats had practically forgot he was there.


    ¡°Brothers,¡± King Shrykul said. ¡°Be allowing me to introduce Ricket. He is being Mayor of Razork village.¡±


    Marcus nodded to the timid little creature, smirking a little at his shaking body. This was evidently not a rat bred for combat.


    ¡°Speak freely, Ricket,¡± Shrykul told the little guy.


    ¡°I ¨C y-yes, Sire,¡± he squeaked. ¡°I am being in agreement with Sire Marcus. We are having suffered for weeks. Kobolds are ¨C how does the Shai-Alud say it? Bleeding us dry.¡±


    ¡°Which is exactly why you are being here,¡± Shrykul said with a smile. ¡°We will not be letting your village fall. You are having our greatest farmlands and Glitterpak wranglers.¡±


    Marcus thought about what nutritional value these rats extracted from those bloated beasts that dominated the skies above their home. If his intuition was correct, the floating gas bulbs had a very different application.


    Verulex, however, urged him on.


    ¡°What isssss thisssss about enccccirclement, Ssssshai-Alud?¡±


    ¡°Skegga means to back you into a corner,¡± he replied. ¡°He is cutting off your supply chains one by one and starving you out. He doesn¡¯t need to attack Fleapit directly ¨C and Knifegut¡¯s current state means he now won¡¯t even try.¡±


    ¡°But then wh ¨C why does he not simply destroy our village, Sire Marcus? He is only stealing some of our meat, and picking off some of our rats.¡±


    Marcus pointed out the village of Razork and circled it neatly. ¡°Skegga probably knows our only recourse is to move troops through Razork. He wants to provoke us into massing our forces there so he can funnel us into this area between the forts of Gromelin and Tarakht. King Shrykul, this looks like a mountainous region.¡±


    The King nodded slowly. ¡°Razor Ridge. It is being called throat of the fat-beards. Two stone cliffs on either side look into the ridge below. It is being only pass into Dwarf lands.¡±


    ¡°In other words,¡± Marcus continued. ¡°A chokepoint. He wants us to commit our forces there ¨C bait us into a frontal assault and then, with reinforcements from his line of fortresses, finish us while we have no room to maneuver.¡±


    ¡°He is thinking we are fools!¡± Festicus screeched.


    ¡°He is being right,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°We should have been pushing back against the Dwarves years ago. Now, we are paying the price.¡±


    ¡°But Ssshai Alud,¡± Verulex asked. ¡°Sssssssurely you are having alternative plan?¡±


    The rats listened intently, leaning forward as much as their stiff chairs allowed them to.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Marcus said simply. ¡°I intend to do exactly as Boss Skegga wishes.¡±


    The Rats glared at him, and slowly the assembly¡¯s eyes turned to the King.


    ¡°I am thinking the Shai-Alud was being a hero, Sire Shrykul. Not a butcher.¡±


    Marcus ignored the quip from Festicus, and began scribbling on the map again.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Broadly speaking,¡± he said. ¡°There are two conditions that, once met, signal the inevitable end to any war. One: the enemy no longer has the capacity to move. This is a condition Skegga hopes to achieve. If we give him any more time, he will achieve it.¡±


    The Ratmen waited. Marcus let them.


    ¡°And the sssssecond condition?¡± Verulex hissed.


    Marcus smirked. ¡°One combatant establishes aerial superiority over the other.¡±


    Amidst the sea of their blinking eyes, Marcus then began another series of doodles which were focused on the village of Razork, the ruins of Gulchnavel village and the twin forts of Taracht and Gromelin that lay on the opposite side of the Black Gulch.


    He explained his plan in broad strokes, going through the rationale behind his hypothesis, and the practical application his theory held if it was correct. Then, he explained exactly how they could turn the tide of this war, ending with the stipulation that they¡¯d have to act quickly.


    When he finished crossing out both depictions of the twin forts, he put his quill down and sat back. Waiting. Observing the incredulous faces of all the ratmen assembled.


    Slowly, he began to see the lights of bloodlust and conquest glaring in their eyes, spilling from their flaring nostrils.


    ¡°Thissssss isssss a mosssst devioussss plan,¡± Verulex said. ¡°I am not believing the Sssssshai-Alud would truly have had a Rat¡¯sssss sssssoul within him¡­¡±


    ¡°How¡­¡± Festicus stumbled, looking from Rat to snarling Rat. ¡°H-how do we know this is possible?¡±


    The Rats looked towards the small form of Ricket who, now, had ceased shaking entirely. Now he sat rigid, his eyes glued to Marcus¡¯s markings on the map.


    ¡°I ¨C I suppose¡­¡± he fumbled. ¡°That is ¨C we ¨C we have never tried¡­we have only ever needed¡­¡±


    ¡°We would still be having the problem of Skegga¡¯s army,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°Any engagement at Razor Ride would be costing us much, even if we were able to be cutting off Skegga¡¯s reinforcements so¡­completely.¡±


    On this, Marcus decided to address everyone.


    ¡°You will all have noticed the Kobold auxiliaries outside,¡± Marcus said, meeting their disgusted stares head on. ¡°Their leader ¨C Ix ¨C has told me much of how your enemy thinks. You think them simple-minded, and utterly without the concept of loyalty. But, in truth, they are loyal to one thing and one thing alone: power. As soon as they doubt the strength of their God, they will turn tail and flee the field. The battle will become little more than a cleanup operation. And there¡¯s nothing better than death from above to call into question the Divinity of a loving God.¡±


    Festicus, for the first time since they had met, actually smiled at Marcus, showing all his jagged teeth in the process. The notion of slaughtering the Kobolds was tantalizing enough for him. Slaughtering them once they¡¯d abandoned all hope? That really got his Clan Marrow heart racing.


    Verulex, as befitted his nature, stayed quiet. The Mayor seemed totally out of it, and King Shrykul stood with his hands cupped over his nose, considering the possibility that all the things Marcus said might actually be true.


    It was now or never, then. He held their entire future in his hands. He wasn¡¯t going to waste his words this time.


    ¡°King Shrykul,¡± he said. ¡°I request permission to travel to the village of Razork with a small detachment as soon as possible to verify my theory. If this works, you could be sitting on the greatest strategic advantage your species has ever known.¡±


    The King was sitting silently, eyes closed, head far back in his seat.


    Skeever shifted beside him. He had hated the idea when Marcus had revealed his hunch to him. Good, honorable Skeever didn¡¯t believing in deception, it seemed.


    But honesty and honor weren¡¯t how you won wars. The Rat would either learn that, or perish. He¡¯d have to make the choice.


    The King turned to face him, looking at the Shai-Alud of legend with his dark, weary eyes.


    ¡°But you want something in return, Sire Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t hesitate, even as the other rats had perked up their furry ears with interest.


    ¡°I have two conditions for my helping you,¡± he said.


    Shrykul narrowed his eyes but never let his smile drop once.


    ¡°This is ridiculous!¡± Festicus stammered. ¡°No human can be making demands of a King of our ¨C¡°


    ¡°Be holding your tongue, sssssoldier of Marrow,¡± Verulex broke in. ¡°Thisssss isssss being no ordinary human.¡±


    Shrykul barely seemed to hear any of their verbal sparring.


    ¡°Name them,¡± he said.


    ¡°First, when we retrieve the Prime Putrefact, you will command him to send me home immediately, releasing me from your service and any further commitment to your cause.¡±


    Shrykul didn¡¯t move a muscle. He didn¡¯t even blink. And Marcus, feeling the eyes of the rest of the audience on him, fought against the notion that he¡¯d just made a huge mistake.


    But then the narrow beads of the Ratman king settled, and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.


    ¡°I am supposing it cannot be helped,¡± he said. ¡°The Shai-Alud is valuing his past more than his present or his future. He could be a prophet among us, but does not care.¡±


    Marcus ignored the little part of his brain that agreed.


    ¡°You wished for honesty, King Shrykul,¡± he said. ¡°I am giving it to you.¡±


    The Ratman monarch huffed. ¡°Before I am agreeing, in front of my council, I would hear your second condition.¡±


    At this, Marcus smiled, casting a sidelong eye at Skeever.


    ¡°Skeever-Steelclaw shall take command of the vanguard force that rides out with me,¡± he said. ¡°Furthermore, he shall act as my personal bodyguard.¡±


    Skeever¡¯s eyes flared with flame as he started to comprehend what Marcus had just said.


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    Marcus watched Shrykul¡¯s lips curl into a macabre smile.


    ¡°S-sire,¡± Skeever railed. ¡°My King ¨C surely you cannot be considering this?¡±


    ¡°You once promised to be serving me and my realm, Skeever-Steelclaw,¡± Shrykul replied, still with his eyes glued to Marcus¡¯s. ¡°Are you forgetting this?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C n ¨C no, Sire, of course, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then your realm is calling, my soldier. Will you deny it?¡±


    Skeever cast a fierce look at Marcus that said, You kept this from me.


    And, Marcus, with the tiniest shrug of his shoulder, cast a look back that replied, Of course I did.


    Meanwhile, the rest of the room waited on the King of Clan Red-Eye¡¯s determination. Every rat present knew Shrykul. They knew of his valor in battle as a young rat. They knew of the valiant sacrifice he made in laying with the Queen of his Clan, and they knew that, with a mere twist of his whiskers, he could flay this human¡¯s skin from his bones and see what a Shai-Alud was really made of.


    But what they didn¡¯t know ¨C or had never tried to see ¨C was the almost childish joy that erupted from him as he laughed before he gave his answer.


    ¡°Done,¡± he said. ¡°Festicus ¨C be getting this man 70 of your finest cavalry. He is riding out tonight.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read advanced chapters.

 Chapter 29

    The journey to Razork was mercifully uneventful.


    Well, uneventful with the exception of Skeever staring daggers at him for just about the entire duration. But then, Marcus had bigger issues to worry about.


    He nudged his Spinegrinder with his foot lightly to try and slow the creature down and was met with nothing but a snap of its long, alligator-like jaws in response. He felt like he was going to vomit for the last half-hour since they¡¯d left Fleapit.


    ¡°Now, to ride Spinegrinder is not being so hard,¡± Festicus had told him in the palace courtyard in the wake of the strategy meeting. ¡°Are you ever riding horse before?¡±


    ¡°My girlfriend-eh-queen, she used to ride. I picked up a few pointers from her.¡±


    Festicus had looked at him with stark shock. ¡°Your queen is riding horse where you come from?¡± he asked. ¡°The horses of your fellow spirits must be strong to be carrying such heavy load.¡±


    Don¡¯t let her hear you saying that, Marcus thought. Warrior-rat or no, she¡¯d take you on.


    The creature the Clan Marrow commander presented to Marcus was one that was like a horse only in theory. The thing appeared to be a cross between a spined velociraptor from prehistory and an Austrian Alligator. It¡¯s eyes were diamond-slits of crimson framed by the wrinkled skin that hung from its armored hide. The long, thin strands that fell from the back of its angular head lurched forward and smeared across Marcus¡¯s face, the thing¡¯s fanged mouth salivating as Marcus¡¯s coughed and moved away.


    ¡°He is liking you,¡± Festicus said with an approving grunt. ¡°Principle of riding the Spinegrinder is similar to horse. Hold reigns, kick when it goes too slow.¡±


    ¡°Is that really that much of a ¨C¡°


    Before Marcus was finished Festicus had already picked him up and placed him on the shabby saddle affixed to the creature¡¯s back.


    The thing screeched with fury, its powerful legs kicking against the ground and tearing at the cobbled courtyard.


    ¡°Woah!¡± Festicus roared. ¡°Be calm, beast!¡±


    The hulking rat administered a jab at the thing¡¯s ribs. It shook its body violently in response, straightening up and eyeing the ratman with hate.


    Meanwhile, Marcus clung onto its spiny neck for dear life.


    ¡°He is understanding,¡± the great rat told him. ¡°Now you are being true rider, and the legends will be speaking of how the Shai-Alud rode into battle on a Spineripper of Clan Marrow!¡±


    When Marcus and the rest of his entourage had then shot off out the palace gates and thundered their way down the city streets, Marcus was forced to acknowledge two things:


    The ratmen cavalry was clearly superior to the Kobold¡¯s bulbous-ball Skogs. He could only imagine how effective a direct cavalry charge from a squad of them could be.


    His gag reflexes were still very much intact in this new world of Thea.


    Presently, he had managed to suppress his vomit-instincts enough to survey the surrounding cavern as they passed through the ruined watchtowers of dwarven architecture and ratman outposts. The Western reaches of Clan Red-Eye¡¯s Warrens were much wider, open spaces than he had experienced in the wake of his flight from Black Gulch. Down here he could barely even see the roof of the cave system ¨C the twinkling of the stalactites above were more like stars amidst an onyx sky.


    Behind him trudged his men ¨C seventy strong warriors of Clan Marrow plus Skeever, Deekius (of course) and Ix, the latter of which had pleaded to allow Marcus and his men the chance to join him on this expedition.


    ¡°Where Marcus goes, we go,¡± the little red demon had told him before they left. ¡°We are not fit to stay in ratman city.¡±


    Marcus had cocked an eyebrow at the little guy. ¡°You don¡¯t fear being on the frontlines of this conflict?¡±


    Ix shook his tiny skull. ¡°We are being safer out there than we would be here.¡±


    Marcus had understood. The distrusting stares of the ratmen could be abated only with Marcus present to dissuade them to acting on their old hatred. As much as he hated to admit it, the little guy was probably right, and he hadn¡¯t shown himself to be a dishonest little critter so far. In any case, Ix assured him that he and his men were experienced in mounted combat using their slings in raids ¨C and there was no more effective unit for harrying and baiting large columns of enemies in an open field than mounted archers. Marcus needed all the allies he could get if he was going to make a proper fighting force of these rats.


    On that note¡­


    Marcus kicked his Spineripper lightly to coerce it over to Skeever¡¯s position at the head of their cavalry column. The creature buckled, slapped its sinuous, armored tail against his leg, but ultimately obeyed the command.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Skeever barely looked at him as he approached.


    ¡°Shai-Alud,¡± he said. ¡°We are arriving at Razork in 15 minutes.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve made good time,¡± Marcus replied.


    Silence.


    More silence.


    ¡°Skeever.¡±


    No reply.


    ¡°I know you are angry with me.¡±


    The ratman¡¯s single useable arm trembled slightly on the reigns on his mount.


    ¡°You would wish me to be speaking plainly?¡±


    ¡°Always,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°If there¡¯s anyone I know I can count on, its ¨C¡°


    ¡°You have debased me!¡±


    Marcus almost fell from his Spineripper¡¯s saddle, such was the force of Skeever¡¯s outburst.


    ¡°Why,¡± he said. ¡°Why are you making me Talon-Commander? I am useless on battlefield, now. I am being a cripple. A dumb, idiot cripple.¡±


    Marcus balked at the statement. ¡°I never expected such a display of self-pity from you, Skeever. Are you not still the warrior I met in the North tunnels.¡±


    The rat said nothing, but his sharp eyes met Marcus¡¯s in that moment. He was waiting for a rationale.


    Alright Marcus, you sonofabitch. You weren¡¯t any good at this in life ¨C you bowed before people who wanted nothing more than for you to shut up. Now, here¡¯s someone who wants you to talk. Don¡¯t fuck it up.


    ¡°You remember what you told me before the meeting?¡± he asked. ¡°About the one thing you want in life?¡±


    Skeever nodded slowly as the craggy rocks of the underground disappeared beneath the feet of their mounts.


    ¡°You told me you wanted to serve,¡± Marcus said. ¡°But who, Skeever? Your king, your God, or your people?¡±


    ¡°There is being no difference,¡± he replied. ¡°Shrykul and Red-Eye are being one and the same.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°Because it seems to me that you were certain Shrykul was going to have you stripped of your duties and you hated it. It also seems to me that you couldn¡¯t give a shit about He-Who-Festers or his priests.¡±


    ¡°Be careful, Sire Marcus,¡± Skeever murmured. ¡°You are speaking heresy.¡±


    ¡°What will you do, Skeever? Kill me?¡±


    When no reply was forthcoming, Marcus seized his advantage.


    ¡°But there¡¯s something else I see in you, Skeever, and that¡¯s that you do genuinely care for the men under your command. I saw how you wept for Gatskeek, in your own way, and I saw how you looked at the rats of your homeland when you returned. You care about your people, Skeever, and that is what makes a great commander. Not loyalty to the state, or some ethereal deity, but loyalty to your Brothers.¡±


    Skeever sagged, rubbing his lame arm against his cheek to scratch away some fleas, and seemed to settle into his riding. Marcus couldn¡¯t tell from this angle, but he felt there was a distinct shine in the ratman¡¯s eyes ¨C the glint of pride that had possibly never been recognized by anyone else.


    So, now was the time to go for broke.


    ¡°I need someone I can trust, Skeever,¡± Marcus said.


    He let the question implicit in that statement hang for a while, filling the dead air between them with silent expectation.


    ¡°If you are putting my warriors first above all else,¡± the ratman finally replied. ¡°Then you can be having my trust, Sire Marcus. But if you are ever seeking to betray us, I can not be standing with you.¡±


    Marcus smirked at the little rat as the rooftops of Razork finally came into view.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t ask for a fairer deal,¡± he said.


    ¡­


    Razork was a tiny settlement built at the very edge of the Red-Eye Warrens. A collection of stick and mud huts, small shrine covered in rotting bone-marrow, and a stout keep at the town¡¯s far edge filled Marcus¡¯s sight as he and his riders dismounted. As he focused his vision he could pick out the pock marks of arrow and claws on the walls of each house ¨C signs of the heavy raiding activity the ratmen had been experiencing here.


    The villagers emerged from their ramshackle houses and whispered in hushed tones of the Shai-Alud and his men ¨C sharing the stories of victory they¡¯d no doubt heard echo through the tunnels of their homeland. Yet Marcus beheld many who simply ignored him and went about their business. Mostly, this business was preparing the dead for consumption.


    But what interested Marcus the most was the farmlands that spread out from the town¡¯s western perimeter. Not a traditional pasture by any means ¨C these fields contained several bloated, spiky creatures shackled to the ground with chains, being force-fed fungal spores collected from the stalactites above to artificially increase their weight.


    Glitterpaks.


    The albino mayor, practically puking up his guts beside his chuckling Spineripper, was the first person to address the downtrodden people of his town.


    ¡°Residents of Razork!¡± he squeaked as he came to stand in front of Marcus, coming up only to the human¡¯s shinbone. ¡°I am knowing how we suffer ¨C your mayor Gekul is hearing your cries in the night! He is bringing the Shai-Alud here to save you and the rest of our people!¡±


    Marcus caught Skeever¡¯s bored eyeroll from out the corner of his vision. He couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    The villagers weren¡¯t exactly inspired. They barely even paid their venerable leader any mind. Their ears perked up and then simply dropped down again as they continued with the drudgery of their lives.


    ¡°I ¨C I am apologizing, Shai-Alud,¡± Gekul murmured as he turned sheepishly around. ¡°We are being attacked much these last months. We are suffering. Their spirits are being low.¡±


    Marcus stood tall, hands clasped behind his back as he looked over the beleaguered hamlet and then turned back to his men behind him.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s give them something to hope for. Marrow rats!¡± he called. ¡°Make camp here. Deekius!¡±


    The rat priest shambled up to him, his maggot-ridden staff glowing with restored energy.


    ¡°I need you to take a team to fort Spearclaw nearby,¡± Marcus said. ¡°We need an assessment of how many able-bodied rats remain up there.¡±


    The rat-priest seemed put-out in not being able to accompany the prophet of his faith, but he knew better than to quibble at this point.


    ¡°It will be done, Sire,¡± he replied.


    The Shai-Alud then turned to his Kobold auxiliary commander who could barely been seen over the head of his Spineripper.


    ¡°Ix, I need you to scout ahead and report on any incoming hostiles,¡± he said. ¡°As I understand it, a raid could be coming at any moment.¡±


    ¡°Ix hears. Ix goes.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± Marcus said as he turned to Gekul. ¡°Let¡¯s see your armory, Mr Mayor.¡±


    As Skeever smirked beside him, Gekul stammered, ¡°A-a-armory, Sire? We are but a simple village. We are having no weapons. We ¨C¡°


    ¡°Relax, Gekul,¡± Marcus said. ¡°You have more weapons here than you think.¡±


    Marcus turned his face to the lines of Glitterpak farms that dominated the outskirts of the town. The Kobolds had barely struck them ¨C every fence post and bloated, puffing creature was still there, at least 40 of them rolling around.


    ¡°A-are you sure about this, Sire?¡± Gekul asked.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Marcus replied as he followed the mayor down to the first of the farmsteads. ¡°But at the very least, I¡¯ll give your villagers a show they won¡¯t forget.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 30

    -Grindlefecht, Boss Skegga¡¯s Stronghold-


    Silas sat in the dark, illuminated by only the single, dim light of a gleaming candle.


    Beneath the window of his chambers in the high tower of Grindlefecht, he watched the Kobolds go about their daily routines. Snapping at each other, jumping off the walls, trying to repair the dwarf cannons and losing their feeble limbs in the process. With the help of a few prisoners he¡¯d managed to ¡®persuade¡¯, they had managed to get at least four of the great cannons back in service. Still, that amounted to only 45% of the fortress¡¯ effective strength. And they would be needing those cannons, soon.


    The dwarf had not returned. The Shai-Alud had made it to Fleapit. Of that, Silas was certain. And that meant he was no ordinary human. He had not only won every engagement thus far, but he had won the trust of the ratmen of Red-Eye. It would not be long before the Skittering was called.


    ¡°And he shall lead them,¡± Silas said aloud, slipping out of his Ratman accent. ¡°Because he is strong in the ways of the battlefield. But he does not know the politics of this world. In time, Shrykul will betray him. They will use him as a slave to push against the surface.¡±


    The old Prime Putrefact leaned back, staring at the dank ceiling of this stone dwarven room.


    ¡°Shrykul¡­you are not wise in the ways of this world. You do not know how best to use the talents of a human like this one. You do not know what it means to be patient.¡±


    Silas heard the door creak open behind him, and the sounds of wet slapping against the floor.


    But I have learned, he thought as he turned. Patience is the best weapon our kind has. Patience¡­and pressure.


    Two Kobolds stood before him with a wriggling, bloody human in their arms. A male ¨C naked, his face wet with tears and snot. They threw the pathetic thing before Silas and saluted him graciously.


    ¡°We bring this one for you, good Silas!¡± one of the Kobolds shrieked. ¡°Just as you said! We are finding him hiding on surface from Yokun slavers, yes-yes! He is crying like baby.¡±


    Silas looked down at the crumpled creature and cringed to see his malnourished, dirt-caked body writhe on the ground. Even for a ratman, it was a pitiable sight.


    ¡°Oh, oh please!¡± the human cried. ¡°You ¨C you must help me!¡±


    Silas scratched his chin, reminding himself to slip back into his ratman dialect. ¡°What is being your name, human man?¡±


    The frail creature coughed out his answer, ¡°S-S-Steven! Steven Barenz!¡±


    Silas sat back, his mind racing.


    ¡°I-please! You seem to have a good grasp of the English language. Please, I ¨C oh ¨C I ¨C I have suffered such indignities! It¡¯s too much. It¡¯s too ¨C it¡¯s too much! It¡¯s not fair!¡±


    ¡°Life is often being so, human man,¡± Silas said as the twin Kobolds chuckled beside him. ¡°Tell me, where are you coming from?¡±


    Steven tried to still his bony, shaking hands. ¡°E-earth!¡± he shouted. ¡°I ¨C first I was at a rally, and then ¨C then ¨C Oh, oh God! Please ¨C¡°


    Silas raised a single, gnarled finger up to silence the human, and his command was punctuated by a swift scratch from the Kobold standing beside the feeble being. As he fell to the ground again, Silas pondered.


    So, there are more of them, he thought. I suspected as much. The reports of the Yokun to Skegga are more revealing than those cunning serpents think, and the old toad¡¯s lack of literacy doesn¡¯t aid his understanding of anything they write. A ¡®special human¡¯ prisoner was certainly higher praise than they would bestow upon a vassal of Emperor Marxon. Did that then mean that the Emperor himself might have captured one of these ¡®Shai-Alud¡¯s¡¯ for himself?


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Was that why his Empire had embarked upon its devastating war against the Yokun above?


    ¡°Be telling me, human man,¡± Silas asked. ¡°What was being your profession in your life?¡±


    Steven¡¯s baby-blue, bloodshot eyes lit up.


    ¡°I ¨C I was a man of faith,¡± he said. ¡°An envoy of the Church of Unification. I preached truth to all who would hear me. I ¨C we ¨C we worked towards an era of peace. I am a man of peace,¡± he said with a stuttered mixture of pain and joy. ¡°That¡¯s all! That¡¯s all I ever wanted to be. That¡¯s all I ¨C¡°


    The man silenced himself this time as he picked out the sly, devious smile that was emerging on the ratman¡¯s thin lips.


    ¡°A man of faith?¡± Silas said. ¡°This is being quaint. I am knowing what men of faith are good for. I am knowing exactly how one of your kind shall be serving us.¡±


    ***


    -Razork Village, Clan Red-Eye Territory-


    The fields of Razork village stretched out before Marcus ¨C row upon row of flatland surrounded by craggy stones and populated with puffing Glitterpaks being reared for meat.


    ¡°You actually eat these things?¡± Marcus asked Gekul, as they stopped by the wooden fence of one such enclosure and he inspected the stone-skin of the gas-exuding creature.


    ¡°I-indeed, Sire Marcus. Muscle and tendon of Glitterpak is being good delicacy. Hide is also being used to make armor.¡±


    Marcus sniffed the air. ¡°You aren¡¯t afraid of these noxious gasses?¡±


    ¡°We are not fearing gas,¡± Skeever chimed in beside him. ¡°Our stomachs are being strong. Stronger than any in Thea.¡±


    Of course, Marcus thought with another sniff of the black clouds that seeped out of every pore in the Glitterpaks¡¯ bodies. Their innate resistance to disease would probably lead them to believe these gases were nothing more than flavoring. But if I¡¯m right¡­


    Marcus¡¯s nose twitched as he took in the scent.


    He knew now he was wrong. He¡¯d assumed the black clouds to be Carbon Dioxide, but the scent¡­no. If his nose could still be trusted in this dark new realm, this was something else entirely.


    Gekul called over one of the raggedy-clothed rats poking at the Glitterpak¡¯s skin.


    ¡°This is being Tekri, Sire Marcus,¡± the mayor said. ¡°He is chief Glitterpack wrangler.¡±


    The tough-looking rat spat at his feet by way of greeting.


    ¡°Are you truly being Shai-Alud?¡± he asked Marcus.


    The latter nodded slowly. ¡°That¡¯s what they tell me.¡±


    ¡°Hmpf,¡± the rat-farmer replied. ¡°You are being welcome on farm, but I am not treating you different from others. Here, Tekri is King, and I am supposing mayor has brought you here to take young Glitterpaks away to be delivered to Fleapit early. I am telling you the same thing I told him: these are still but infants. Their meat-yield will be too low.¡±


    ¡°When the next raid is coming through¡­¡± Gekul murmured.


    ¡°We will be fighting,¡± Tekri replied, a few of his fellow wranglers nodding along with him. ¡°We will be defending home and doing our jobs. Be telling King Shrykul this.¡±


    Skeever tensed up, his hand flying to the hilt of his scimitar. But Marcus stepped in front of him, passing by Gekul massively to stand before the head-wrangler.


    ¡°What if I told you that it is not meat we have come for,¡± Marcus said. ¡°But essential war assets.¡±


    Tekri blinked up at him, and before he could even respond Marcus continued:


    ¡°I believe all villages of Clan Red-Eye are obligated to provide military aid when a representative of the King requests it. Or am I wrong, Mayor Gekul?¡±


    Gekul twitched his white nose and nodded sheepishly, trying to avoid Tekri¡¯s fiery stare.


    ¡°N-no, Sire Marcus. You are being ri-¡°


    ¡°This is being ridiculous!¡± Tekri said. ¡°Our village is dying. If you are taking us, we are losing everything.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend on taking you or the people here anywhere,¡± Marcus said.


    Tekris was taken aback. ¡°Then¡­¡±


    The eyes of both rat and man trailed towards the chained Glitterpaks.


    ¡°Shai-Alud,¡± Tekris growled. ¡°Maybe you are not being in our lands long, but Glitterpak is dumb, useless creature, good only to be consumed.¡±


    ¡°I disagree,¡± Marcus said as he jumped the fence and walked towards the first subject of his experiment that, he admitted to himself, was a little insane. ¡°In fact, you might just have been growing the greatest weapon against Boss Skegga and his Kobolds in the entire Ratman kingdom.¡±


    Tekris balked at the statement, turning to see if his brothers were appropriately dismayed by this brash human. To his surprise, both mayor Gekul and Talon-Commander Skeever stood almost transfixed by this Shai-Alud¡¯s every word.


    ¡°Wrangler Tekris,¡± he suddenly said. ¡°You have done more to help your nation than you might think. In fact, when this is all over, it will be your name that I give to the Queen personally.¡±


    ¡°M¡­my name?¡± the old farmer whispered.


    ¡°But first,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to ask your forgiveness. Because many of these beasts you have reared will have to die soon.¡±


    Tekris bristled and then spat again. ¡°I am not caring about this!¡± he cried. ¡°Glitterpaks die anyway. They are mindless, dumb beasts.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so harsh on them,¡± Marcus said as he rubbed the stone-skin of one of the creatures. ¡°This little guy¡¯s sacrifice might just save your entire race.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters.

 Chapter 31

    Ix wished these ratman mounts wouldn¡¯t sway around so much.


    He missed the cool, flat backs of the Skogs that he rode into battle on the dangerous raids against the fat dwarves in their stone houses before this war started. But even the tiniest Yip knows that things change. One day you think you have leaped your highest leap. The next day you find that there is another mountain to overcome.


    Such thoughts buzzed in his mind as he kicked the Spineripper gently and brought it to a halt before the narrow pass that led from the edge of Ratman territory to Boss Skegga¡¯s dominion.


    ¡°Head Yip Ix?¡± one of his men asked him. ¡°What be problem?¡±


    Ix scanned the slowly moving objects he saw in the distance, his eyes picking out rolling stones clustered together between the two great canyons dubbed Razor-Tooth pass.


    ¡°Be holding,¡± he said to his men. ¡°There be big-big trouble ahead.¡±


    He led his meagre unit of six over to a rocky crater and ordered them to fall prone. Looking over the lip of their position, they could pick out the size of the force that was surely coming for them.


    But the sound ¨C that was what hit their ears first.


    Ix would be lying if the joyous cries of his once-brothers did not inspire some small sense of longing in him. He looked upon the force of Skogriders and slingers as they emerged from between the pass like a red haze of bloody death, the faces of every kobold smeared with the purple blood of dwarves or ratmen prisoners, some of whom they carried with them on wooden poles. They had spread their limbs and strung them up like grisly artistic projects. For what purpose, Ix could only guess at.


    As the little Kobold tried counting each head that emerged from the pass ¨C counting at least 300 troops before he realized this was no mere raiding party. For, at the center of the horde, a lumbering steel giant trundled forward on two spoked wheels ¨C its shiny skin glistening in the darkness of the cavern, every inch it moved causing the ground to quake beneath it.


    ¡°By Kalyip!¡± one of Ix¡¯s men cried. ¡°It is dwarven gun-gun!¡±


    ¡°Big dwarven gun-gun,¡± Ix corrected.


    He sat back down and looked into the eyes of his men as they shook with terror. Even the ratman Spinerippers seemed to shake to behold the great, beastly cannon ¨C they knew that its roar brought one thing alone: death.


    ¡°What we do-do?¡± Ix¡¯s men asked. ¡°Sire Marcus cannot win-win against dwarf gun!¡±


    ¡°We should run-run, quick-quick!¡± another Kobold spat, practically twitching in terror. ¡°We should be joining the troops! Skegga will not know-know we are traitors. He will let us come back-back, yes?¡±


    The sound of Ix¡¯s hoofed-foot stamping on the hard stone ground brought the men suddenly and abruptly back to their senses.


    ¡°If I am knowing anything,¡± he said. ¡°It is to never be under-estimating Sire Marcus. We run-run to him. We tell him what come-comes. And we will win.¡±


    ¡­


    Deekius couldn¡¯t have asked for a more undisciplined bunch of soldiers.


    Fort Spearclaw was a mess. No ¨C a pile of filth would have at least had some use as a font of worship for He-Who-Festers. This fort was nothing but a glorified hovel. A place for rats to die in.


    He and his entourage of Marrow rat soldiers were met at the gates by an unimpressed guard wielding a shortsword that looked like it hadn¡¯t been used in years. Not a single bloodstain coated the blade.


    ¡°We are not needing a priest,¡± the gatehouse captain had said, before ordering the gate to be shut.


    Deekius stood firm. He slammed his staff into the ground and amplified his voice with the gift of the Gloomraav. ¡°You will not be turning away the Gloomraava that summoned Shai-Alud into this world!¡± he bellowed. ¡°We are coming to liberate this village. And we are calling upon you to aid us.¡±


    The soldiers lining the fort walls chuckled ¨C though the action was a paltry imitation of laughter at best.


    ¡°Be going home, soap-munching priest!¡± one of the crossbow-wielding archers on the dingy fort battlements spat back down at him. ¡°We are independent fort now! We no more take orders from He-Who-Festers, or King Shrykul! If he is being offended, he can be coming here to take the fort back himself!¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The rats of the battlements then proceeded to lift up their leathers and display their furry buttocks for Deekius and his men to see, before they subsequently defecated down the side of their own walls.


    ¡°Be letting us at them, Gloomraava,¡± one of the tough Marrow-rats said beside Deekius. ¡°We of Clan Marrow are knowing how to deal with disrespect.¡±


    But Deekius was cool. He simply turned his attention back to the rat who was still standing at the gate before them, staring at the priest and his armored entourage.


    ¡°What is being your name?¡± Deekius asked.


    The lazy rat spat out a clod of Glitterpak meat and said, ¡°Regurg.¡±


    Deekius straightened up, ignoring the laughter of the men who still wiggled their butts at him from above.


    ¡°Who is being your commander, here?¡±


    Regurg shrugged and flashed a sly smile at the priest. ¡°You are talking to him.¡±


    Deekius flashed his ignorant smile right back at him, making sure the rats on the battlefield were watching. ¡°I am invoking Right of Greyfang.¡±


    Regurg stiffened and twitched his whiskers in consternation and Deekius¡¯s smirk widened. It looked like the rat still knew what the ancient decree of the old Warlard Greyfang meant when a ratman invoked it: a duel to the death.


    ¡°The words of the Warlord are meaning nothing here,¡± he said. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°You are refusing, then?¡± Deekius asked.


    He had him ¨C the priest knew how prideful these Talon-Commanders could be. Even one such as this ¨C who had long since given up his loyalty to his King ¨C could not survive a single month without the unbridled trust of his men, and rejecting the Right of Greyfang would mark him as a coward in their eyes. Even now, Deekius could see that they had ceased their childish pranks, and were now absorbed in the discussion that was taking place, looking to their once-Lord for his answer.


    Our kind are born to serve, Deekius thought as he looked at the gradually building tension behind the commander of Spearclaw¡¯s eyes. To give up position of power is being worse than death.


    ¡°You think I am being afraid of Gloomraava such as you?¡± he asked, gesticulating wildly more, Deekius knew, as a show for his men than anything else. ¡°Fine. We shall be meeting in the center of this fort, and you shall be falling under my blade!¡±


    Without any further fanfare the furious rat stormed into his fort and drew his virgin shortsword, taking a few drunken practice swings through the air as his crossbowmen came down from the battlements to get the best seats in the house for what was about to transpire.


    Deekius calmly walked through the puddles of mud and shit and bloated corpses that littered the ground of this place. Already he could see why these rats had become indolent ¨C their mounds of dead numbered in the dozens. They had both a wealth of food, and a reminder that their opponents were far stronger than they.


    ¡°They are holing up in here like water-bathing wretches!¡± one of Deekius¡¯ Marrow guards spat. ¡°Is this truly how pathetic the warriors of Clan Red-Eye are being? Be letting me fight as your champion, Gloomraava. I shall be slaying this heretic in seconds.¡±


    ¡°Be still,¡± Deekius warned the soldier as he craned his neck, staring down the hopping form of Regurg currently engaged in psyching himself up. ¡°And do not be intervening. No matter what.¡±


    Both ratmen squared off in the middle of the cragged peak Spearclaw was built upon, their toes grinding grey pebble between them. The rats of the fort slung their weapons and respected the tradition with dignity, telling Deekius that there might still be some hope for these lazy wretches.


    At least, he thought with a sly grin. We will be punishing them after the war is won.


    A single bead of sweat dropped from Regurg¡¯s frayed brows as he circled the priest¡¯s tiny, hunchbacked form, and as soon as it hit the dry earth, he charged.


    ¡°Har-YAH!¡±


    His swipe came down upon Deekius¡¯ staff and knocked the Gloomraava back against a haybale beside the fortress¡¯ North wall. Deekius rose, winded, and only narrowly managed to avoid the high slash of Regurg¡¯s next attack that shore through the hair on his forehead.


    As the Gloomraava rolled to the side of the now cocky warrior, he saw the beast hold up his blade and display the specks of green blood that oozed across its edge.


    ¡°Be bearing witness!¡± he roared to the crowd. ¡°Tonight, we are dining on Gloomraava blood!¡±


    As his horde cheered him on from the battlements, Deekius¡¯ entourage began to surge forward.


    But the ratman held up his gnarled claw, tasting the blood that dripped from his skull.


    ¡°I am telling you,¡± he said. ¡°Do not be intervening.¡±


    The rats of Clan Marrow then beheld the Gloomraava stand, lapping at the small rivers of blood that cascaded down his own face and snarling a devious, bone-chilling smile.


    ¡°The noble servant of weakling Shrykul is going mad!¡± Regurg shouted to his cheering men. ¡°Well, should I be putting him out of his misery?¡±


    ¡°Be taking the head from his bastard shoulders!¡± his men yelled back at him.


    Deekius, meanwhile, breathed deep the air of the Underkingdom. He stared forwards, eyes probing the body of his ratman opponent.


    He placed his hands, palm up, on the ground.


    He whispered words that the rats of Clan Marrow had never heard another rat utter.


    ¡°You are seeing your death, Gloomraava?¡± Regurg spat in the face of his apparent prostration. ¡°Then, be allowing me to finish you!¡±


    Regurg surged towards his opponent with a mad bellow of animal rage spilling from his lips. His bulging arm came swinging down in a mercy-strike that would have taken any rat¡¯s head clean from his shoulders.


    Any rat, that is, except his opponent.


    For when Deekius opened his eyes and looked upon the blade of the unworthy commander, he saw nothing more than a child paralyzed with fear.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters.

 Chapter 32

    Deekius gazed up at Regurg as the latter¡¯s blade came crashing down to cleave his skull.


    And then, without warning, the Talon-Commander¡¯s arm stopped ¨C seemingly on a whim.


    To the onlookers, it seemed that Regurg had suddenly been paralyzed for, though his sword arm twitched and wavered, his eyes moved around frantically, and a low, pained howl began to emanate from his lips.


    His body shook with perspiration and bulging muscles ¨C muscles that were contracting and spasming as they followed commands independent of their owner. Slowly, with what looked like great effort, Regurg lowered himself into a kneel before the Gloomraava and his head jerked up to look at Deekius¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°C-commander?¡± one of the fort rats called.


    No response came from their leader. Instead, the same low, animal mewl escaped from his throat, through his teeth clenched and chittering, close almost to shattering as they ground against each other.


    ¡°By the Unclean¡­¡± the Marrow-rats of Deekius murmured, their claws involuntarily flying to grab at their throats as they watched the neck of the squirming ratman bulge, seeing dark veins throb against his flesh.


    Then, in a fluid movement that lasted only for five seconds, Regurg plunged his shortsword straight through his throat, twisting the blade as it emerged on the other side.


    He fell to the ground, coughed up a torrent of his blood, and after twitching wildly for a few moments, lay still as a rock.


    In the minutes that passed between the ratman¡¯s death and the Gloomraava¡¯s piercing victory cry, the seventy rats of Spearclaw fortress¡¯ garrison were silent as a crypt, eyes glued to the inert form of their once valiant leader who had dared to defy their King that had abandoned them.


    When Deekius¡¯ staff slammed into the ground, every pair of eyes then settled on his hooded form.


    ¡°Be seeing the power of He-Who-Festers!¡± he yelled, throwing his arms wide and wading into the pool of Regurg¡¯s still spilling blood. ¡°He has bestowed I, his servant, with the power to hold life and death in my claws! He is giving me this because I am calling the Shai-Alud to this place, and I am following him to the ends of this earth. Imagine what he is giving you, if you are joining with him!¡±


    The rats started murmuring amongst themselves, and those of Clan Marrow were forced, for once, to admit that the old religion did indeed have more power over the minds of their kind than they and their King had thought.


    ¡°Down in Razork the Shai-Alud is waiting for you,¡± Deekius cried, throwing mucus-caked spittle from his gnashing jaws. ¡°He is coming to free us all! He is coming to kill the Kobolds and Boss Skegga. He is coming to take us against the surface and win this world! Be joining us in the Skittering to end all Skitterings ¨C the Skittering that will be bringing the End!


    Be joining us,¡± Deekius added as he still saw some apprehensive faces in the crowd. ¡°Or be following this heretic to your grave.¡±


    Now, the rats¡¯ choice had been made for them. Those who had once smeared the walls of their fort with their fecal matter to mock the rat that stood before them now bent the knee and kissed the ground he walked on. Not a single soldier still stood when Deekius¡¯ dark eyes swept over them.


    Seventy new men for Sire Marcus, he thought. They are not being good men. But they are being ours, now.


    He handed his staff to one of the Clan Marrow rats and kicked at the dead-eyed form of Regurg beneath him.


    ¡°Be preparing this one,¡± he said. ¡°I will be eating his stomach first ¨C¡°


    Deekius¡¯ wishful thinking was interrupted by the cacophonous drone of something flying through the air beneath the fort¡¯s hill ¨C something discharged with such force that it shook the very ground of the Underkingdom, reverberating off the stone walls and causing the stalactites of the ceiling to crumble and break. Before the sound caught up to them, the ratmen of the fort then saw one of the huts of Razork disappear in a fiery explosion that tore it from its very foundations, leaving a trail of smoke a debris in its way.


    ¡°By the Unclean One!¡± they screamed as the sound of the earth-shattering cannon rebounded in their ears.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Deekius spat as he came to stand among them on the battlements, looking down at the carnage with crazed glee.


    ¡°So now you are invoking the name of the Unclean? Well, let his name become your battle cry, because we are going down there to kill his enemies!¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡­


    The explosion tore through the air and ripped into the first hovel of Razork with such intensity that Marcus had to fall prone and cover his ears. Even then, the ringing he felt was deafening.


    He looked up to see Skeever shouting something in his face. At least, he assumed he was shouting. His ears could still not be commanded to catch up with reality.


    ¡°Form up!¡± he cried, leaving his latest ¡®experiment¡¯ where it lay in the farm. ¡°Get the Spinerippers into a wedge formation.¡±


    His final command had barely left his lips before Skeever obeyed without question.


    ¡°AH!¡± Rekul was screaming beside him, Marcus¡¯s ears finally transmitting the pathetic pitch of his voice. ¡°Th-they are bringing dwarven big gun to us! We are being doomed, Sire! We ¨C we are bei-¡°


    ¡°Get a hold of yourself, ratman!¡± Marcus roared at the little beast, almost ready to slap some sense into him if need be. ¡°They can¡¯t have more than one cannon, or they¡¯d have fired again already. Besides, have you forgotten what we have on our side?¡±


    Marcus looked with the mayor over the farmlands that had become entirely cleared ¨C the Glitterpaks coerced away by ratman spears into a single pen that lay at the very end of the village.


    ¡°Sire¡­¡± Rekul gulped. ¡°Against a Dwarven gun¡­¡±


    The rat suddenly felt his soul stiffen, for he looked up to see the face of the Shai-Alud brimming with a smile.


    ¡°I know,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re certainly making things interesting for us.¡±


    Another boom from the dwarven gun struck Fort Spearclaw above them all ¨C ripping apart its Northern battlements and surely killing every last crossbowman that was lazily dozing on the walls.


    ¡°By the Unclean¡­¡± Rekul murmured.


    So shaken was the little rat that Marcus¡¯s reassuring but firm hand on his shoulder startled him almost as much as the din of the great cannon.


    ¡°Go to your people,¡± he said. ¡°Evacuate them. Force them out with some of the Marrow rats if you have to. But tell every single one of them that the time has finally come to push their enemies back to the abyss they crawled from. The time has come for them to defend their home.¡±


    The white rat sniffled, eyes glazed with tears.


    ¡°S¡­sire!¡±


    ¡°Be drying your eyes before you go, mayor,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°It won¡¯t do for your people to see you like this.¡±


    ¡°Be listening to the Shai-Alud!¡± Tekris bawled from behind as he grabbed the mayor and started dragging him up the burning hill of their home with the rest of his wranglers. ¡°There are still being rats we can save if we are moving quickly!¡±


    The old wrangler turned and spat at Marcus¡¯s feet one final time before sprinting off with his esteemed leader practically swinging from his waist.


    ¡°I am hoping you know what you are doing,¡± he said. ¡°We are raising those Glitterpaks since they are being babies. We would not be wanting them to die in vain.¡±


    ¡°You have my word they will be put to good use,¡± Marcus said. ¡°More than that ¨C they will light the way forward for your entire Clan.¡±


    ¡°I am holding you to that, human man,¡± the farmer smirked, before finally dashing off.


    It¡¯s funny, Marcus thought. They often say that Scorched Earth campaigns of burning farms, infrastructure, and enemy resources are a key component of victory in a state of Total War. Yet, here we are, not only destroying these resources ourselves, but actively weaponizing them against the enemy.


    In spite of the roaring of the great dwarven cannon, Marcus managed a thin smile in the darkness of the deserted farms.


    ¡°Sire Marcus!¡±


    It was at this moment that Ix and his Kobolds came charging through the farmyard fences, practically swinging from the sides of their panting Spinerippers.


    ¡°Ix,¡± Marcus nodded as he made his way towards the burning village, watching the Marrow-rat cavalry take up their positions on the left and right flanks of the place. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you bring me some good news.¡±


    The little Kobold drew stuttered breaths as he ran beside him. ¡°Judge by big-big cannon, sire. Do you think Ix¡¯s news is good-good?¡±


    ¡°I suppose I don¡¯t need scouts to tell me when my forces are being shelled by artillery,¡± Marcus said, another cannonball smashing into the farm they¡¯d just left behind, forcing both man and Kobold into a low crawl across the dirt. ¡°Enemy composition?¡±


    ¡°At least 500,¡± Ix said, drawing a mirthless chuckle from Marcus. ¡°Bigger than ordinary raiding force. Big-big, and mean. Skogs and slingers march-march together.¡±


    They mean to take us down in one swift, decisive attack, Marcus thought. It¡¯s just like I predicted, Boss Skegga is making a push to secure a new border which will enable him to encircle and starve out Fleapit. But what¡¯s making him act now? Why commit such a horde at this specific moment¡­?


    Marcus¡¯s thoughts were interrupted by a horde of rats waving shortswords, bucklers, and rickety crossbows through the burning village streets towards him.


    He rose, hailed them cautiously, and then realized with a start who the leader of this new pack was.


    ¡°Sire!¡± Deekius roared above the flames that licked the hovels all around them. ¡°We are evacuating from Spearclaw. Thirty rat-swordsmen and forty crossbow are awaiting your command.¡±


    ¡°In the name of the Unclean One!¡± a particularly amped-up crossbowman wailed. ¡°Be pointing us at our targets and watching them die, Shai-Alud!¡±


    Marcus glanced at Deekius¡¯s proud face, wondering what kind of ¡®inspiration¡¯ the rat priest had drilled into these guards.


    But that was a question for another time. For now, they had an army with a very loud demon at its head to beat back.


    ¡°You will all have your parts to play in paving the way for Clan Red-Eye, no, the ratman Empire¡¯s counterattack against the Kobold menace!¡± Marcus shouted over the roar of another cannonball flying high and overshooting the village. ¡°Boss Skegga will learn to fear the name ¡®Spearclaw!¡¯¡±


    Amidst the cheers of these new warriors, Skeever stumbled his way out of a fiery alley, having been aiding in the evacuation of the villagers that still lived.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± Marcus asked. ¡°Are the Marrow cavalry in place?¡±


    The Talon-Commander nodded. ¡°All is being ready, Marcus.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± the General replied. ¡°Here¡¯s the plan.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters.

 Chapter 33

    ¡®Offense is the essence of air power¡¯


    Henry H. Arnold


    The roar of the dwarf powder cannon tore through the air of Razork village like an ancient demon awakened from a long slumber.


    It¡¯s every shot rebounded with an echo that traveled through the tiny beating hearts of every Kobold that stood around it, each one waiting for the command to move out and slay what was left of the pathetic ratlings who still lived in their tiny little border village.


    When the cannon was recalibrated and smashed clean through fort Spearclaw, a general call went up, and two hundred mounted Skogsriders raised their scimitars into the air and charged forward in a single organic mass ¨C a living wall of biting, slashing claws and bloody teeth bared for their furry enemies. They needed no war drums, for the claws of their bouncing, starving mounts beat against the hard rock of the ground and sent an earthquake radiating up its grey veins.


    The line of one hundred slingers followed them behind, each Kobold lamenting to his comrade Yips that they would barely have any good killing to do here. Their spirits were raised, however, by the suggestion from one of their lieutenants that, perhaps, they would be given the glorious job of ¡®rounding up¡¯ the wounded or lame that Boss Skegga was so found of taking as prisoners. Each little demon whooped and clapped his hoofed heels as he imagined it ¨C taking a ratman, strapping him to their wooden beams, setting them ablaze and then delivering them to Skegga just before they took their last breath. With any luck, perhaps they could get the Queen herself. Perhaps Skegga would even allow them to have their way with her. As ugly as the ratling matriarchs were¡­females were females. Besides, one slightly more muscled Yip joked, none of Kobold kind had ever broken in a royal arsehole before.


    Such philosophical musings were, however, rudely interrupted by one Kobold pointing up at the stalactite-laden sky and shouting something above the din of the cannon¡¯s roaring.


    ¡°Shut that Yip-Yip up!¡± came the shout of one of the Slinger Head-Yips, readying his claws to rebuke the screaming subordinate.


    Yet, the perceptive amongst the Kobolds followed the eyes of their comrade and saw what he beheld: a cloud of puffing Glitterpak sailing above them, belching out their vile black gas.


    ¡°Glitterpak!¡± a Head-Yip squealed. ¡°The smelly ratman-farmers are mad-mad! They have let their meals go-go!¡±


    As powerful as the Yips voice was, his scream was lost to the thundering of the Scogs¡¯ scrabbling feet on the Underkingdom floor. They only noticed the puffing bulbs of dumb, grey life when the creatures started falling slowly towards them.


    ¡°EEEK!¡± one Skog rider yipped. ¡°These ugly ball-balls are getting in the way!¡±


    The riders at the vanguard of the formation quickly realized this Yip was right ¨C the Glitterpaks had plummeted towards the ground with a speed that the Kobolds had not seen before, and had come to rest just above the horde of red waves.


    ¡°Pop these dumb-dumbs!¡± Came the collective shout from the head Yips ¨C a shout that was, again, partially lost in the echoing of another cannon shot.


    The scimitars of the cavalry sliced up at the stupid creatures, knocking them away like the gassy balloons they were. However, they could not penetrate the armed grey hides of the things.


    ¡°ARGH! Kill-kill! These dumb things get in our way-way!¡±


    The cavalry charge ¨C once confident and resolute ¨C suddenly came to an abrupt halt.


    Now, those looking on from the village of Razork saw the Kobold army come about and turn back on itself, Skogs bumping against Skog and Kobolds being thrown from their saddles as they tried to pierce the skin of the Glitterpaks to no avail, growing more and more irate with each useless poke and stab.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    And all the while, their little Kobold lungs were filling with the black gas of the useless creatures, prompting coughs and sputters that did nothing more than spur on the fury of the yipping beasts.


    Not a single one of them decided to scan the hill where the burning fort spearclaw still stood overlooking the entire flatlands of the North Warrens.


    If they had, they would have seen the sight of one of their own, holding their doom within his tiny claws.


    ¡­


    ¡°Hold,¡± Marcus told Ix. ¡°Hold¡­¡±


    The Kobold cavalry was, by this point, engulfed in a sea of gaseous onyx. The smell was rancid. Even from this distance, it was beginning to numb Marcus¡¯s senses.


    It had had the same effect on him the first time he had taken a whiff of the gas and pondered where he¡¯d smelled something similar before. It was only when he arrived in Razork that he¡¯d realized, with quiet certainty, just how right he¡¯d been.


    Beside him stood the straight-backed form of the Kobold, Ix, his arms faltering every so slightly as he drew back the sinew on the string of his longbow and waited.


    One single, flaming arrow flickered before him.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he croaked. ¡°I am never using big-big bow like this. I cannot promise I can hit-hit Skogs.¡±


    Marcus kept his hand raised, nodding to Skeever who waved to him from the left embankment of Razork village, he and his riders hidden from sight by the smoke left in the wake of the dwarf-cannon¡¯s onslaught.


    ¡°Who said anything about hitting them?¡± Marcus said, sweat pooling on his forehead as he watched the Kobold forces become more and more enveloped by the Glitterpak¡¯s gassy belches with each passing second.


    They were scrabbling. Their formation was already broken. In the next few minutes, their morale and bodies would be broken, too.


    ¡°There is a famous quote from an old warlord of my world,¡± Marcus said with a slight smirk. ¡°¡¯Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.¡¯¡±


    He looked at his Kobold archer that held the death of hundreds in his hands.


    ¡°Are you ready to become a destroyer, Ix?¡±


    The little Kobold returned his Sire¡¯s dry smile.


    ¡°Ix only kill a few hundred Yip-yips,¡± he said. ¡°Not world.¡±


    Marcus had to laugh. Maybe these Kobolds had more intellectual wit than everyone thought.


    But that idea wouldn¡¯t serve him here. Right now, he had to give the order to have an entire army of them burn.


    Only when he could barely even see their furious forms from within the black haze did he finally give the command:


    ¡°LOOSE!¡±


    Ix¡¯s tired arm released its projectile. The ratmen of Razork, the guards of Spearclaw, and the cavalry of Clan Marrow all watched it fly through the dark skies of the Underkingdom ¨C a tiny, insignificant thing that trailed smoothly through the air until, finally, it plummeted towards the black-cloud that had enveloped the Kobold army.


    And the skies of the Underkingdom were bathed in red.


    ¡­


    All the Kobolds saw was black become a kaleidoscope of red-orange light.


    Light that seared their eyes and threw them from their mounts.


    No one saw which Glitterpak¡¯s spume began the chain reaction. In the years after the battle of Razork field, there would be no historians to extol the brave sacrifice of the first creature to die as its own plumes of expelled gas were ignited to become a blooming flower of carmine destruction that, in a matter of seconds, seared the flesh from the bones of every Kobold stuck within the cloud.


    What future generations would all agree on, however, was the simple fact that the confidence of the army was snuffed out like the briefest of candles as the bonfire of the Sha-Alud swept over them.


    The earth-shattering wail of the explosion came after the sight of the fiery sphere erupt amongst the horde. The ratmen hiding in the dark corners of Razork watched transfixed as the pillar of flame roared and flared up to touch the ceiling of the cavern, stretching out and silencing even the dwarven cannon behind it.


    Then the screams came.


    From within the bulb of fire, the Kobolds and their Skogs were cooked alive. Their skin was stripped from their bones and replaced with a bright sheen of living flame that jumped and followed them in smoky trails as those who were not immediately killed in the blast fell to the ground and rolled frantically without once looking to see what was coming for them, thundering up from the burning ratman village.


    Two forces of Spineripper cavalry emerged like gnashing specters from the left and right ends of Razork, barreling down the open field towards what remained of the immolated Kobold line while their scorched bodies tried to wail for help from their God that had forsaken them.


    The two wedge formations of Spinerippers bore the largest rats the Kobolds had ever seen ¨C each one an armored knight of filth ready to rend their pray apart.


    The Kobold slingers watched their cavalry fall away with shaking legs that simply would not function. And it was their firing line that saw exactly what fate awaited them. It was they, the historians of the Underkingdom would later say, who first heard the chilling call of the Shai-Alud as he stood on the hill above the scorched field and gave his second, and last, command to his forces that day:


    ¡°CHAAAAAAAARGE!¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting on Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters.

 Chapter 34

    ¡°Without cavalry, battles are without result¡±


    -Napoleon Bonaparte


    In the aftermath of the Glitterpak bombing, there was a lull of perhaps forty seconds where nothing happened at all. Dazzled Kobolds ¨C the ones still living ¨C wandered aimlessly or crawled to return to their Skogs, only to find their mounts had become crisped-up polyps stuck to the still burning ground.


    The ringing in their ears deafened them to the sounds of the Slinger-line behind them screaming for them to turn and face what was coming. As their senses returned to them, however, those of the Kobold cavalry horde began to feel the distinct ringing sensation running up their feet, setting their teeth on edge and sending shivers up their spines.


    And when they turned to see the cause, it was already too late.


    The first Marrow-rats smashed into the left and right flanks of the enemy simultaneously, their Spinerippers leaping into the fray to rip and tear the jugulars of two Kobolds at once, while the spears of their riders found the spasming bodies of the burning Skogs. The cavalry wedges sliced through the red-mist of the once-confident horde and pushed the survivors into a defensive circle ¨C slowly chipping away at the edges of the formation until it gave way and the riders simply threw themselves from their Skogs and tried making a break for home. None of them could make it passed the watchful eyes of the salivating Spinerippers.


    Bodies began to fly through the air, shedding bloodied limbs and decapitated heads that had been crunched by the Ratman mounts and simply tossed away. The Marrow soldiers lunged and thrust through the Skogsriders with such ease that the battle fervor that had overtaken them in their initial charge changed to the grim, macabre satisfaction of butchers slaughtering defensive lambs.


    ¡°This is not being battle!¡± one of the Marrows was heard to say over the blood-curdling sounds of the Spinerippers feasting. ¡°This is being sport!¡±


    The Kobold¡¯s squeals ripped through the dark skies as they died. One by one, two-hundred soldiers fell before the spears of seventy, their glorious victory cut short in a matter of minutes.


    ¡­


    Up above, on the ridge occupied by the now-abandoned fort Spearclaw, Marcus watched the chaos unfold with cold, quiet detachment. He watched the red-mist that had once represented the enemy army to his naked eyes slowly wipe away as the tar-black armor of the Marrows overtook the field. Meeting cavalry on an open field was practically suicide in military terms, and the only thing that could effectively put up any resistance would have been a Schiltron formation (which he doubted the Kobolds had the ware withal to be aware of), a counter-cavalry charge (which was now impossible for them) or a sustained artillery barrage ¨C and that dwarven cannon was now practically useless, thanks to the cloud of smoke that now hung over the sight of the massacre. Once again, disrupting the enemy¡¯s line of sight had been vital, but Marcus had had to acknowledge that even he didn¡¯t know how devastating the bombing run would have been.


    Methane gas, he wrote in his notes as he observed the results. All this time¡­these rats had a source of power that they were using as a mere food supply. In fairness, I had my own doubts. The smells match, but methane on earth is colorless. Though I suppose that¡¯s my mistake ¨C believing this world of fantasy creatures behaves the exact same as my world did. Sure, there¡¯s some similarities, but I have to account for the differences when I see them, too. This does open up some more possibilities, though ¨C we share chemical compounds and structures. I wonder what else I can find here¡­could there be an equivalent to cyanide gas? Doubtful that this world has discovered the necessity for general warfare conventions or ethical guides to conflict¡­that, in itself, is a notion that I must remove from my brain if I want to win here¡­


    His scribbles were interrupted by the sound of another bombardment tearing a chunk out of Spearclaw¡¯s walls behind him and Ix, whose eyes remained transfixed on the wholesale slaughter of his once-people.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°That¡¯s our cue, Ix,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Time to move.¡±


    The little creature nodded and followed the Shai-Alud down to the village.


    ¡­


    The Slinger line watched their comrades die in silence.


    Only when one of their number decided that something like victory could still be achieved did they take up their arms and begin their counterattack.


    ¡°We still have dwarf gun-gun!¡± many heard some Yips shout. ¡°We can still win-win! Strike for eyes of soldier rats! Shoot them ¨C quick-quick!¡±


    The Slingers obeyed. They obeyed, having no recourse for their comrades that were still alive, trying desperately to flee for safety. Their clay-iron bullets bounced harmlessly off the reinforced armor of the Marrow soldiers, whose visors rose to prospect the tiny critters nipping at their hides. The Kobolds scrabbling on the blasted ground were killed in droves by spear and bullet alike. Only when the cloud of hazy smoke began to clear did the Slingers realize that their efforts had been in vain.


    ¡°Klegga save us!¡± they screamed. ¡°Canon! Canon shoot-shoot!¡±


    The Head Yips buckled as the Spinerippers finished off the cavalry in a cluster of grey and crimson. The commanders ran back to help load the canon, bellowing against all hope that the death-machine that had lit up the ratman village could strike a killing, demoralizing blow against the clustered cavalry who were now stuck wading amongst the bloated corpses of the dead Kobolds. Another charge was not forthcoming. They had sealed their own defeat.


    ¡°FIRE!¡± the Head-Yips screamed at the tiny troops loading the cannon with another explosive round. ¡°FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!¡±


    The Slingers on the frontline meanwhile made a stark realization that stopped their pointless assault ¨C the cloud of blackened smoke had began to move. It began to creep towards them, filling their lungs only momentarily before it snaked its way towards the snout of the great cannon.


    And those that understood what was happening understood it far too late.


    ¡°STOP-STOP THE CANNON!¡± the Sligners shouted, turning back and running towards the great hulking machine as it aimed directly at the slogging Spineripper cavalry. ¡°STOP! STOP-STOP! STO-!¡±


    The final exclamation of the Kobold raiders was cut short prematurely as the cannon belched its final fiery round right into the black maw of the smoke cloud that had just engulfed it.


    Once more, light shone in the Underkingdom. The dwarf cannon¡¯s shot erupted in a hailstorm of flame and broken shards of metal that instantly impaled the throats of its engineers, and the great hulking beast disappeared under the strength of its own firepower.


    Back in Razork, the evacuated ratman citizens gathered on the hill atop their village, seeing the broken Spearclaw fort shattered and broken behind them, but, in truth, not caring a jot about the fate of that useless building. Instead, they watched the light show the Shai-Alud had promised them: they watched the garrison of Spearclaw emerge from the darkened shaodws of their fields left flank and mow down the Kobold Slingers who still remained. The little demons¡¯ screams filled the tunnels, and it was said that on that day every ratman ¨C even those secluded in the gooey-pits of Clan Glumrot ¨C heard the wails of their enemies as they fell under the might of the Shai-Alud¡¯s army.


    Mayor Rekul stood beside the Glitterpak Wrangler Tekris, both watching the sights of victory for their kind unfold before them in utter disbelief.


    Finally, it was Tekris who opened his mouth to stutter a few words:


    ¡°Poor beasts,¡± he said. ¡°That there¡¯s being a waste of good meat.¡±


    But someone standing behind the ratmen disagreed ¨C the rat holding a great wooden staff that had directed the black cloud towards the now wrecked dwarf cannon.


    ¡°No,¡± Deekius said. ¡°That is being victory.¡±


    The villagers watched the rest of the Kobolds be promptly mopped up like children ¨C children falling under the men of spearclaw. These were warriors who had once sworn they would never again fight for King Shrykul. They were debased and disgraced, warriors without the wish for glory in their hearts.


    And yet there they were, hacking away at the Kobold army until, in a matter of minutes, they cheered a vindictive roar for the man riding towards them ¨C the man who commanded his Spineripper to hop atop the wreckage of the dwarven cannon and turn to meet his victorious soldiers as they rose their bloodied blades to chant his name.


    ¡°SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!¡±


    The man who had set the sky of the Underkingdom ablaze.


    ¡°He really is the one¡­¡± Rekul whispered. ¡°He¡­he has risen.¡±


    The villagers around him, for once, all nodded in revered agreement.


    ¡°Well?¡± Deekius asked them all, like a father reprimanding his children for bad behavior. ¡°Show him the respect he is deserving.¡±


    The villagers, with no exception, got on their knees so fast that it was said you could hear their joints snap from submission.


    The rat-priest swept his hands over Marcus¡¯s triumphant form in the burning fields below.


    ¡°It is being a new dawn,¡± Deekius told the rats of Razork. ¡°He-Who-Festers is giving us His champion. Soon, the Underkingdom shall be ours. Then,¡± he added, smiling under his hood. ¡°The whole world.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, give me $$$ on the crowdfunding platform Patreon</a>. I need it to buy more Total War expansions continue my creative pursuits.

 Chapter 35

    -One Month Later-


    -Fort Festigraf, edge of Boss Skegga¡¯s Territory-


    Head-Yip Mivvy watched the deep green pools of the Black Gulch swirl with no alternative, stifling the yawn that was traveling up his tiny red throat.


    He spared little thought for the chitter-chatter of his men as they boasted of the ratmen they would hang or strangle on the battlefield. In the wake of the Massacre of Razork Field, Big Boss had been mobilizing his forces and getting ready for ratman attack. For the first time ¨C ever ¨C the Big Boss told them it was time to defend against their enemies.


    The furry little bastards would be coming for them.


    Mivvy decided to join the rest of his Slingers on the western battlements of his fortress, who were currently engaged in the task of spitting as far as they could into the undulating waves of the great Gulch below them.


    ¡°Meh-meh!¡± Mivvy grunted as he came to stand beside them. ¡°You call that spit-spit! This is spit-spit!¡±


    He reeled back, retched, and spat a globule of puss that flew further than the rest ¨C disappearing like a bubble in the dark emerald broth they were guarding.


    ¡°See?¡± Mivvy grunted as he elbowed the Yip beside him.


    The Yip nodded somewhat hesitantly, and Mivvy took note. Lately, the excitement of his men had been low. Normally this wouldn¡¯t be an issue ¨C Boss Skegga had enough Yips to replace each one tenfold. Lately, however, their fort on the edge of the Boss¡¯s stronghold had been getting less and less supply trains. The Yips were tired, and they were afraid ¨C he could see that in their sleepless eyes.


    ¡°Boss-boss,¡± one Yip murmured. ¡°When we kill-kill the ratmen? My sword waits for them. It waits ¨C but we don¡¯t go.¡±


    Mivvy watched his men nod furiously in agreement with this notion.


    ¡°Boss Skegga say ¡®wait and defend while I build up great army!¡¯ but we wait for two weeks now. Our bellies rumble-rumble! Why we not go, cross Gulch, and kill-kill all rats now-now!¡±


    Mivvy listened to these complaints with an indignant sniff, and then closed his eyes as he allowed them to pass in one spiky ear and out the other.


    Then, without warning, he kicked the first Yip that had dared voice opposition to Boss Skegga straight into the Gulch below.


    And while the others yelped and pleaded for mercy, watching their friend sputter and die until a series of frothy bubbles were all that remained of his meek existence, Mivvy decided to raise his voice to a thundering falsetto:


    ¡°You bring dishonor to our fort-fort!¡± he screeched. ¡°We are first defense against stupid rat-rats. Do you doubt Boss Skegga¡¯s plan? Do you forget that we have five-five dwarf big guns now? We wait for his word, we take the cannons south, and then we watch rat-rats burn. Patience is what you must learn-learn, my Yips! You must know this thing!¡±


    He watched the forms of his men shudder at his very shadow, and tried his best to keep from smiling.


    ¡°Do not worry! I will be leading you into fight-fight. We of Festigraf will be famous in Kobold tale-tales!¡±


    The Yips knees buckled, their fingers rose to point at him ¨C at Mivvy, their glorious leader.


    ¡°Do not fear Mivvy!¡± Mivvy shouted, puffing out his chest and planting his spear in the ground. ¡°He is brave, yes-yes, but you can be too! You can be-¡°


    ¡°H-head Yip?¡±


    Mivvy rounded on the impenitent Kobold that had just interrupted him.


    ¡°WHAT-WHAT?! Do you want to join your friend-friend in the waters below? Are you so stupid that you wo-¡°


    ¡°LOOK TO THE SKY-SKY!¡±


    Mivvy heard the words. He saw now that the Yips had never looked upon him with fear. Instead, they looked upon the balloon-beasts that were now floating towards the fort battlements, each one of them being ridden by a ratman carrying halberds and spears that could cut through the hardest leathers Skegga had provided them.


    And the beasts they rode upon ¨C it¡­it had to be them. The scourge of Razork. The Glitterpa-


    ¡°SLINGERS, FIRE!¡± Mivvy screamed. ¡°FIRE ¨C FIRE AT WI-¡°


    Mivvy found that he was unable to finish his exclamation. Instead, he felt blood spurt from his throat and block the words, and his claws flew to grab the spearshaft that had just been launched by the one-armed rat that was staring down at him, jumping from his mount as he and his comrades kicked the Glitterpaks towards their walls.


    Then the walls of Festigraf bloomed with hellish fire, and the fate of the recently drowned Yip no longer seemed so bad.


    ¡­


    -Grindlefecht, Boss Skegga¡¯s Stronghold-


    ¡°SILAAAAAAS!¡±


    The dark-skinned ratman carefully stepped over the beheaded Kobold Head-Yip lying at the foot of Skegga¡¯s temple entrance. He then narrowly avoided the mangled body of a dwarven prisoner ¨C or, at least, what was left of him ¨C as it was hurled in his general direction.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Silas said as he ambled before the throne of the thundering Toad-God. ¡°You are seeming upset.¡±


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Upset?¡± Skegga roared, crunching down on five Kobolds that fit into the palm of his pudgy right hand. ¡°UPSET!? You sneaking, sniveling, dirty rodent! Look at all these infidels that line our glorious golden hall! You think I shall stop at them, Silas? Should your Lord lose another single fort this day, it shall be your guts that coat the insides of my temple!¡±


    Silas looked around him, feigning fear and appropriate levels of apprehension at the grisly tapestries of Kobold intestines and entrails that decorated the interior of the temple. With each passing day, and with each passing loss, it seemed the place of worship was becoming more crimson than gold.


    These days, Skegga barely maintained a retinue of Honor-Guards. The last Yip that had suggested they forge a path towards Razork again had been tied to a stake and put to the torch. Yet another had been fired from the now operational cannons the sat atop the high walls of the fortress¡¯ gatehouse.


    ¡°I am hearing the reports of Festigraf¡¯s falling,¡± Silas said carefully. ¡°Most grave news.¡±


    Skegga¡¯s slimy hands practically crushed what remained of his floating throne¡¯s armrests.


    ¡°It was the beastly, bloated bugs!¡± he shrieked. ¡°The dumb balls of meat and gas that burn brighter than even our dwarf guns when put to the flame! How were the Masters not telling us! How were we not knowing of the power of these little beasts?¡±


    A sound question, Silas pondered. But then, none of us are knowing. None of us are ever being bold enough to assault our own source of nutrition in this cesspit. None, of course, except an outsider like this Shai-Alud. The one they call ¡®Marcus¡¯.


    Silas had learned much of this man over the course of the last month. And what he had learned filled him with a mixture of tepid excitement and existential dread.


    But, more than anything, what he had learned was a simple fact that he had suspected when this war began but never truly known to a certainty. The reality of this fact had become so clear to him when he learned of the Kobolds catastrophic defeat on the field of Razork village. That had been it ¨C their last main counteroffensive. Now, with Skegga practically shaking in his flying chair, they were simply hunkering down and waiting for the end.


    And that ¨C Silas knew ¨C could take a very long time indeed¡­


    ¡°Silas,¡± the odious Toad-God spat, his bloodied tongue flecking out to throw spittle and brain-matter at the straight-backed ratman. ¡°You always stand so silent. Thinking you are oh so clever ¨C don¡¯t you? DON¡¯T YOU?!¡±


    To this, the ratman said nothing. He simply waited for the tantrum to subside.


    ¡°Your precious dwarf-man assassin was a failure. Your raid against Razork was a failure. Since this Shai-Alud has risen, he has made nothing but a fool of you. How do you like that, ratman? You are a fool before a human!


    And when he comes here,¡± Skegga added, rising and taking his massive, infected gut with him. ¡°It will be your head they shall take first. Your comrades will flay the skin from your bones when they discover your treachery! Mark you, you putrid little beast ¨C if you value your life, you will show me results! You will tell me that your Lord is right to place his trust in a scheming little man like y-¡°


    At that moment, the doors of Skegga¡¯s grand temple were thrown open and a pair of excitable Kobolds came charging through, each one carrying the end of a brown burlap bag.


    ¡°W-What is the meaning of this!¡± Skegga roared. ¡°HOW DARE YOU DISTURB THE GREAT SKEGGA!¡±


    ¡°I am apologizing,¡± Silas said, trying to keep from smirking. ¡°These Yips are coming to you under my orders.¡±


    ¡°YOUR ORDERS!?¡± the toad-pretender wailed. ¡°What now, Silas? Have you chosen your tomb already? Shall we inter you in that little bag, and throw you back to your spume-covered Queen? Shall we take you now? Is that what you want? Is ¨C is ¨C is that¡­¡±


    The interruption to Skegga¡¯s rant this time came from no one at all. His voice simply trailed off when the Kobolds, at a nod from Silas, emptied the contents of their bag onto the floor of the temple.


    And a fly-ridden human head tumbled out with little fanfare.


    Streaks of bloody blonde hair framed the young, but not distasteful, face. His sapphire eyes glared up at Skegga with dull intensity ¨C just as they had in life. His open mouth betrayed lines of broken teeth and a tongueless maw that gaped up at the God as though in complete awe.


    ¡°Wh-what is¡­¡±


    ¡°May I be presenting to you the Shai-Alud,¡± Silas said with appropriate pomp, giving a little flourish of his tail around the head. ¡°He is being captured on the outskirts of Festigraf battle, his ratling friends fleeing as we are taking back the fort earlier today. As you can be seeing, he shall no longer be causing us difficulty. Human head is being easily removed from shoulders.¡±


    At first Skegga stayed stiff-backed and shaken, unwilling to even float forward and prod a single flipper at the fleshy skull.


    ¡°Is¡­is he¡­really dead?¡±


    Silas stifled a laugh. ¡°I am not knowing human that can live without skull, Sire.¡±


    And all at once, the rage that had boiled in Skegga¡¯s great stomach for the past two weeks suddenly subsided. He looked upon the vacant face of his hideous human, and took it up in his hands.


    ¡°You,¡± he said, speaking directly to the still wet head. ¡°You caused us quite a bit of trouble, didn¡¯t you? Little ugly man. Well, no matter. Look at you now ¨C eh? Not so strong, not so inspiring. You¡¯re dead. Dead and gone, just like the rest of your precious ratling helpers!¡±


    With a gargantuan spurt of sudden energy Skegga lobbed the head at the ground. It bounced, broke and splintered, spilling the contents of its skull across the temple floor.


    ¡°Put him atop our greatest spike!¡± Skegga roared. ¡°Place him at the front of the stronghold. Let all the rats see what has befallen their savior! Silas ¨C Silas my dear little servant ¨C you have finally come through for your Lord! Perhaps you shall have a place by my side after all as I journey to the heavens unimpeded!¡±


    Silas brushed off loose pieces of stray brain-matter from his jacket.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he ventured. ¡°With the Shai-Alud dead, the armies of Shrykul are being leaderless and shaken. They are being sure to be in their most vulnerable state. It would be wise, now, to be launching counterattack.¡±


    Skegga considered this, watching his Kobolds take the ugly head away gleefully, hopping about, slipping on the dried blood of their slain comrades.


    ¡°What did you have in mind, Silas?¡± the great toad grunted through his smiling jaw.


    ¡°A mass commitment,¡± the rat replied. ¡°We should be commencing two-pronged attack across both fronts. One to be wiping out Razork and its Glitterpak production capacity, another to be attacking from Black Gulch to be striking ratmen as they try to rebuild Gulchnavel village for food. Be sending all Yips from surviving forts and towns. Be letting them know the hour of your ascension is being ¨C¡°


    ¡°We shall do better than that,¡± Skegga murmured, chuckling ruthlessly as he rose to his full height to make his proclamation to all who would hear him within his walls: ¡°Be sending a message to all who man the walls ¨C Skegga himself shall lead this grand charge! All Yips are to ready for battle! Call up the engineers! Call up the palace guards ¨C have them fitted with the armor of the fat-beards! Call every male and female Yip and be giving them a weapon! I shall put the skull of the rats¡¯ precious Shai-Alud on my tallest spear and ride my chariot into battle with him! Our time of victory is at hand, my children ¨C and it shall be glorious. Oh, yes ¨C glorious! Skegga shall lead you into our ascension - just as he promised!¡±


    Silas endured the cheers of the Kobolds still living in the temple and then watched them go off to deliver the great proclamation of their God. A final Mustering ¨C the creation of an army to end all armies. The fists of Skegga would come down hard, crushing what remained of the ratman Empire.


    As Silas cleared the temple compound, he allowed himself a fleeting smile.


    ¡°Yes, Skegga,¡± he murmured as he returned to his chambers to prepare for what was to come. ¡°It shall be a glorious day for us all.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support on the Patreon</a> to read +10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 36

    -Fleapit, Castle Carfaxx -


    Marcus sat by the light of a single flickering candle, secluded in his private chambers.


    Even within these stout stone walls, however, he could still hear the sounds of praise and worship echo throughout the city streets below. He could them calling his name ¨C or, at least, the name they had placed upon his shoulders ¨C over and over again until he felt it echo in his own skull.


    ¡°Shai-Alud, Shai-Alud¡­¡±


    A name that is supposedly going to live in legend, he wrote in his parchment. A name that means so little to me yet everything to them. If the last month has taught me anything, it is that devotion is a powerful tool. I almost understand why those of the Unification Church back on earth used it ¨C encouraging blind belief in something greater than yourself seems to be one of the easiest ways to move the souls of mortals.


    He caught himself as he finished writing that last sentence.


    ¡°I¡¯m even starting to sound like them,¡± he said. ¡°The rats of the Church of the Unclean.¡±


    His eyes turned to his newly embroidered trench-coat hanging beside his stone bed. The priests of Glumrot had come to him yesterday and Head-Gloomrav Verulex had personally bestowed the new threads upon him, telling him the high-collared attire was much more form fitting for a human than the dingy robe of their priestly order. Their priests, he said, had modeled the design after the Generals of Marxon II¡¯s army, but couldn¡¯t resist stitching an image of a ratman soldier wearing a pair of glasses on the sleeve. Marcus had stifled a laugh as he beheld the curious little emblem, but he thanked them all the same.


    Afterwards, of course, they gave me their usual spiel, he wrote in his journal/makeshift history book. Asking me to at least join them in the Fleapit cathedral for the afternoon sermons. Recently, their ranks have begun to swell. Virtually all the ratmen from the outlying villages that still stood, even those far down South from places not even Skeever or Shrykul have heard of, have come to visit the church here and ask for the chosen one¡¯s blessing. They¡¯ve come to see me, and I¡¯ve refused them, and even that seems to play into the hands of rats like Deekius and that slow-talking Verulex. They tell their flock that I am testing them ¨C that I shall appear when the time is right and they are found worthy. He-Who-Festers does not simply deliver his champion into the hands of any old rat. So, join up arms, Brothers, join the war effort as we eliminate the Kobold menace and you shall stand shoulder to shoulder with the Shai-Alud on his next campaign. You shall bask in his glory. You shall see his might for yourself¡­


    Marcus stopped writing, slamming down his quill in sudden disgust.


    The echoes of the outside world had started to dim, and he suspected that the Nocturnal hours had fallen upon the rats of the city. They had the uncanny ability to know when it was time for slumber ¨C their body clocks had simply adjusted well to their environment. As all creatures did. All creatures, that is, except him.


    He took up his pen again after running a weary hand across his grimy face.


    I know what they want. They want to use me as their poster boy. They want me to be some kind of Messiah figure for their people. I would be lying if the sense of power hadn¡¯t seemed tempting but the more time I spend on the frontlines, the more death we bring to the Kobolds on the other side, the more I wonder: is leading this army of furry filth-lickers really what¡¯s best for this world? Can I really sacrifice the safety of Thea to reclaim my place back on earth?


    His thoughts suddenly turned back to home, as they often did these days. He thought of Mari ¨C her skin still chalk-white and sparkling during their visits to Santa Monica pier. She¡¯d never tried to use him for her own personal gain. She¡¯d never tried to warp him to become something he wasn¡¯t. To her, he was just a dweeb who thought too much about old men gunning each other down across time.


    He had even caught himself thinking of Steven Barenz with a sense of camaraderie in the past week ¨C as he¡¯d heard report after report of the Kobold armies burn in the face of the Clans righteous fury. Though he and old Barenz couldn¡¯t have been more oppositional in nature, there was a certain satisfaction in having a rival on campus. He realized now just how much he¡¯d actually enjoyed their little verbal spars ¨C even though at the time it had seemed to strike fury in his heart. Everyone needed opposition ¨C everyone needed their faith to be tested every once and a while. For every thesis, an antithesis.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    And now I¡¯m quoting Hegel, Marcus wrote. Strike me down for my insanity ¨C I¡¯ve become a popcorn Twitter philosopher. I can only imagine what these ratmen would do if they ever discovered something akin to social media in their realm! A way for them to transmit their propaganda instantaneously? That would get every Clan hot-and-bothered for He-Who-Festers in no time. That would prove to be an amenable solution to their species¡¯ crisis of faith.


    But if I am honest, the rats are not the only ones in crisis here. I had planned the assault on Festigraf fort with the express purpose of forcing a surrender. I had hoped ¨C in my naivety, perhaps ¨C that this Skegga would either be forced to consider terms of negotiation, or his Kobolds would be provoked into open rebellion by this point. They know our greatest weapon and have no counter against it. They¡¯ve been backed into a corner and the tunnels of the North run red with the blood of their tiny raiding parties. Our border patrol posts have made short work of any trying to enter the Capital¡¯s vicinity. We¡¯ve even begun rebuilding Gulchnavel village so that food supplies no longer being provided by Glitterpak meat can be rejuvenated using the fish of the Gulch. Not the most delectable source of nutrition, but then again my human gut isn¡¯t exactly cut out for this place.


    Marcus spared a look at the half-chewed black fish that lay beside his desk, its eyeball casting an accusatory stare at him.


    The point is: there hasn¡¯t been a single successful Kobold incursion since the Battle of Razork Field. By now, tensions should be high in the enemy¡¯s Capital.


    So why isn¡¯t this Boss Skegga simply giving up the goat?


    I have a few ideas on that front. One: his grip on Kobold civilization is so strong by this point that they simply can¡¯t organize an effective resistance against him. Two: the Kobolds don¡¯t feel that we would ever accept deserters into our ranks ¨C probably because they themselves have heard the rhetoric of the Church of the Unclean. All this talk of ¡®eradication¡¯ doesn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence in racial unity. Third: they have Silas. They have this so-called ¡®Prime Putrefact¡¯. Perhaps Skegga simply believes that with such a sacred prisoner in his clutches, the ratmen will eventually be forced to sue for peace. He obviously doesn¡¯t know what it¡¯s like out there. These days, it¡¯s my praises they¡¯re singing.


    The situation is remarkably similar to that of Imperial Japan circa March 1945, after the capture of Iwo Jima and Douglass¡¯ MacArthur¡¯s establishment of total air superiority over the Home Islands: how do you convince an enemy that they¡¯re beaten? With the prospect of launching a full-scale invasion that will cost hundreds of thousands of lives, how do you make an enemy see that they have no chance at victory?


    The worst part is I know the answer. It¡¯s the same answer Truman gave Tojo the day he launched the Atom Bombs: a single, decisive strike.


    But can I do it? I know what Shrykul wants. I know what Skeever would say. I know what Deekius has been saying for the past month, preaching about the prophesized ¡®complete and utter annihilation¡¯ of the enemy forces. But in truth, they¡¯re asking me to commit to genocide of an entire species purely because they¡¯ve been manipulated into thinking a deity walks among them. Could I look Ix in the eyes and sign the death-warrant of his people? The little guy was on their side now ¨C and, in fact, even the Talon-Commanders on the frontlines had to admit that he and his ¡®Yips¡¯ were the best damn marksmen they¡¯d ever seen ¨C but how long would that last if he realized his entire race was now doomed to extinction?


    This, coupled with the messiness that will result from a full-scale invasion of Grindlefecht, has been driving me insane these last few days¡­but maybe, just maybe, I¡¯m going about the problem all wrong¡­there has to be another wa-


    ¡°SIRE!¡±


    Marcus jolted upright at the intrusion. A ratman had practically just barged through his door, falling to his knees only as an afterthought. When Marcus realized it was Skeever, however, resplendent in his newly fashioned suit of crimson Clan Marrow plated steel (a recent gift from Marrow-King Skylock himself for the Shai-Alud¡¯s most vaulted commander) he waved away his subordinate¡¯s supplication and bid him rise.


    ¡°We ¨C we are having big problem,¡± the ratman shrieked.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we always?¡± Marcus replied, donning his coat and wiping away the fog on his glasses. ¡°Tell me as we walk the halls, Skeever ¨C I need a walk.¡±


    For now, he would have to leave his journal and his human worries behind.


    Because he was about to re-enter the world of ratman politics. And in that world, he needed all his wits about him.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to support my war against mosquitos. Seriously, it''s a bad season right now and I''m considering gas attacks read +10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 37

    ¡®No fighting in the War-room!¡¯


    -Dr Strangelove


    When Marcus opened the doors to Shrykul¡¯s war room, he found it to be a hotbed of battle already.


    ¡°Thissss can not be tolerated,¡± Verulex was hissing. ¡°You are sssshowing disssssloyalty to your Brother clanssss, Fesssssticusssss.¡±


    ¡°Oh , be silencing your long-winded mouth, Glumrot priest, or I will be shutting it for you!¡±


    ¡°I am not thinking the Queen of Marrow issss breeding cowardssss,¡± the Arch-Priest replied. ¡°Perhapssss my intelligenccce issss wro-¡°


    ¡°Be calling me coward again,¡± the Marrow-rat growled as he rose to his full height, practically knocking the round table away. ¡°And those unwise words will be your last.¡±


    ¡°Peace!¡± King Shrykul yelled to them both, interposing his arms between them like a father reprimanding children. ¡°Let us not be seen as savages when the Shai-Alud is joining us!¡±


    Marcus waited a moment before he seated himself next to Skeever, who had taken to only sitting after Marcus selected a spot at the table, nowadays. Both the rats of the other Clans bowed low to show the proper respect for their General.


    Not as low as usual, though, Marcus thought as he nodded back at them. You¡¯ve been doing some thinking too, recently, haven¡¯t you?


    Before them all was spread the map of the Northern Warrens, with a few new sites stenciled hastily over the last few weeks. Most notable was the sketching of Gulchnavel, cementing its fully operational status as a food supply, as well as the newly rebuilt fortress of Greenwatch ¨C named thus because Marcus felt these rats needed some new, cleaner labels for their defensive sites.


    His next order of business? The full introduction of soap to their Kingdom. Though that, he wagered, would be a tougher war to fight than the one they were currently embroiled in.


    ¡°What ails the leaders of our war effort?¡± Marcus asked, eyeing up both the commanders as they resumed their seating positions.


    Shrykul cleared his throat. ¡°Brother Festicus is having problem,¡± he said. ¡°His King requests that he return to man his old fortress in the East Warrens.¡±


    ¡°It is being out of my hands,¡± Festicus explained, casting a hateful look at Verulex. ¡°The dwarves are growing bolder with each passing day. They are knowing we make war against the Kobolds who stole their homes. They are also knowing King Skylock is sending more men here to secure victory for his Brother, King Shrykul. Because of this, they are striking our borders with greater force than usual.¡±


    Marcus leaned forward to consider this. It made sense, of course. When your enemy is distracted by a war on another front, it would be in your best interests to strike fast and with force. Marcus had assumed, based on the information he¡¯d been fed by both the Church of the Unclean and the warriors of Red-Eye, that the Dwarven kingdom was in disarray, barely holding on to its fiefs in the East.


    ¡°We have been fighting this war ¨C the great war ¨C for ages,¡± Festicus continued. ¡°It is our Clan that is calling the last Skittering to push Dwarves back.¡±


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t finish them,¡± Marcus stated.


    Festicus puffed out his chest. ¡°The stunted fat-beards are having cannons that could rip through ten legions of Marrow Spinerippers! Not even the combined armies of ratmen could crush them fully.¡±


    ¡°We left them to die,¡± Shrykul explained. ¡°We are leaving Marrow to pick away at them as they starved themselves in their little corner of the Underkingdom. When Kobolds are taking Grindlefecht, we are thinking the Dwarves are being finished.¡±


    ¡°Well, you thought wrong,¡± Marcus said, leaning back. ¡°Turns out they were just waiting for the right moment to pick away at you.¡±


    He turned to Festicus and fixed him with hard, serious eyes.


    ¡°Have you responded to your King¡¯s order?¡±


    The Marrow rat grunted. ¡°Not yet, Sire Marcus. But there is no response but to be complying.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Marcus said. ¡°We make a counter-offer the King of Clan Marrow cannot refuse.¡±


    ¡°You are not knowing my Brother well,¡± Shrykul sighed. ¡°He is not one for negotiation, especially with a human. Meaning no offence, of course.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Marcus kept his eyes on Festicus. ¡°It won¡¯t be a negotiation,¡± he explained. ¡°I¡¯m offering your King an edge over his Dwarven enemies. I¡¯m told that Grindlefecht maintains an arsenal of six fully-functioning Dwarven powder-cannons. This is what I offer him.¡±


    Verulex and Shrykul practically almost fell out of their seats. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus could see Skeever barely suppress a chuckle.


    ¡°This¡­this is being too uncertain,¡± Festicus said, though his shifty eyes told Marcus he was intrigued by the proposal. It wasn¡¯t hard to read the face of a warrior ¨C even if the warrior was a filthy rat. ¡°How can we be sure we can be taking the cannons before Skegga is dismantling them?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need soldiers strong enough and quick enough to get under their noses before their engineers have the chance,¡± Marcus replied with a smile. ¡°I can think of no soldiers better than the brave rats of Clan Marrow.¡±


    While the warrior began to return a sly smile, Verulex seethed at the other side of the table.


    ¡°Thisssss isssss being mosssst unorthodoxxxx,¡± he hissed beneath his hood. ¡°Ssssssixxxxxx Dwarven cannonsssss to one ssssssingle Clan? It isssss favoritissssssm, issssss it not, King Ssssshrykul? Isssss thissss the policcccy of Red-Eye now? To value one Clan over the contributionssssss of another?¡±


    ¡°I believe Clan Glumrot has received adequate compensation for their generous contributions to the war effort thus far,¡± Marcus said, whirring on the little hooded priest before Shrykul could even say a word. ¡°Skeever? How many temples to He-Who-Festers have been constructed recently in our new villages?¡±


    ¡°Two, Sire Marcus,¡± the soldier replied steadily. ¡°One for each village.¡±


    ¡°And remind us to which Clan their Head-Priests belong to?¡±


    ¡°Clan Glumrot.¡±


    Marcus then turned his attention to King Shrykul. ¡°Sire Shrykul, how many Clan Glumrot priests now perform sermons in the Grand Cathedral of the Unclean One?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-five,¡± the King said, somewhat unwillingly.


    ¡°Twenty-five,¡± Marcus nodded. ¡°A full five priests more than those of Clan Red-Eye. Considering the growing numbers of the flock from across the North and South Warrens recently, I should think the Archpriest of Glumrot would be more than proud to see that the King of Red-Eye himself values his priests more than his own.¡±


    ¡°We are forever grateful, Sire,¡± Verulex murmured as he shifted in his seat, his teeth chittering as he licked at the poxes and boils that lined his snout. ¡°But there are material issssuessss to be ¨C¡°


    ¡°Furthermore,¡± Marcus interrupted. ¡°I believe my own personal Priest and Summoner, Deekius, has promised to give instruction to your own Gloomraava on the nature of his Incantations. Perhaps the priests of your Clan have forgotten that I have offered no similar benefit to Clan Marrow?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C No, Ssssire, we ¨C¡°


    ¡°They doubt our generosity, then? If that is the case, perhaps there should be a reshuffling of the robes of the Unclean,¡± Marcus continued. ¡°For, as He-Who-Festers says: ¡®the greatest of all poxes is a lack of faith.¡¯¡±


    The entire room waited for Verulex¡¯s response. They waited for some sly, poisonous words to drip from his bile-soaked tongue.


    But, to everyone¡¯s surprised, he bit his lips, curled away into his seat, and stuttered out only a few more words with total clarity:


    ¡°¡­no, Sire. We are thanking you.¡±


    Marcus straightened up, refocusing his attention on the King.


    ¡°If this is amenable to you, King Shrykul, then a messenger should be sent to King Skylock in Steelclaw Bay tonight, if possible. Let them know that we take care of our own.¡±


    The King looked from Veulex to Skeever, and from Festicus to Marcus again, before he made any response.


    ¡°This can be arranged,¡± he said. ¡°Though I am having doubts that my Brother will be so agreeable to such a generous deal stamped with my name. He may be thinking I seek to betray him.¡±


    ¡°Stamp it with mine, then,¡± Marcus said with a wave of his hand. ¡°If he doubts the generosity of the Shai-Alud, his own Gloomraava would turn against him.¡±


    Marcus paused after he said this, and for the first time began to take in the new tone that had settled like a gaseous cloud in the room. He caught himself, and straightened instantly, realizing that he¡¯d probably just insulted the King of Clan Red-Eye by insinuating that his words meant more than the ratman¡¯s.


    ¡°I am sorry, Sire Shrykul,¡± Marcus said with a bow. ¡°I spoke out of turn. I merely wish to see this war ended soon, before the grip of insanity takes us all.¡±


    King Shrykul met his eyes and then laughed away his words with good cheer. ¡°Be not thinking upon this, Marcus. You are being first among equals here. Remember that.¡±


    Marcus almost heaved a sigh of relief. He¡¯d been lucky, he knew, to have been summoned on this side of this King.


    ¡°Now,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°Let us be getting to our next order of business.¡±


    The rats leaned forward as Skeever pointed to the now ruined fort of Festigraf on the opposite side of the Black Gulch


    ¡°Festigraf is being destroyed,¡± he said. ¡°As per Sire Marcus¡¯s suggestion. ¡°However, our scouts did not report immediate signs of Kobolds being willing to surrender in the wake of the bombing run.¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡± Festicus roared cheerfully. ¡°They are being mindless beasts.¡±


    Marcus held his tongue.


    ¡°Yesterday, however,¡± Skeever said. ¡°Clan Glumrot scouting party of pox-throwers are meeting Kobold raiding party on border of Gulchnavel village. They are saying they come to surrender to fort Greenwatch rats.¡±


    Marcus jerked up. ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Two-hundred,¡± Skeever replied. ¡°Two hundred ¡®Yips¡¯ who say that they swam the Gulch to fight for Shai-Alud Marcus and are rejecting God Skegga. They say his recent failures are showing he is not true God at all.¡±


    Marcus practically exploded with excitement. ¡°And?¡± he burst. ¡°Where are they? We could use their help. We could even have Ix and his Slingers train them in the proper ways to ride Spinerippers. Hell, we could even have them pilot the new batch of Glitterpaks from Razork. Why wasn¡¯t I told of this sooner?¡±


    The rats in the room all shrank before Marcus¡¯s eyes. And slowly, the excitement in his soul faded away to yet another stark realization of the reality he was living in. The reality of the side he was helping to win this war.


    ¡°Because we are slaying them,¡± Verulex finally said. ¡°To the man.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy general, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to increase the likelihood of Marcus buying soap read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 38

    ¡®Hate is too great a burden to bear. It injures the hater more than it injures the hated.¡¯


    -Coretta Scott King


    ¡°You¡­you what?¡±


    Marcus gripped the underside of the war-council table as he rounded on Verulex.


    ¡°The Koboldssss are being treacheroussss and ssssscheming,¡± the robed rat said. ¡°They are being thrown back into the gulch and left to rot there.¡±


    ¡°I am betting it was a good sight to see,¡± Festicus chuckled. ¡°How I long to have been there to-¡°


    ¡°ARE YOU A FOOL!?¡±


    Marcus¡¯s raised voice caught the rat-assembly off-guard.


    ¡°Two HUNDRED soldiers!¡± he practically screamed. ¡°Two hundred! Do you have any idea how much of a difference they could have made to this war?¡±


    Even Shrykul seemed to bite his tongue at this outburst, but Verulex, this time, was not to be cowed.


    ¡°You are wisssshing ussss to trussst in thossse little hereticsssss?¡± he spat. ¡°They are an affront to He-Who-Festersssss.¡±


    ¡°Has your God not eyes to see when fortune favors him?¡± Marcus retorted. ¡°Think of how much Ix and his Yips have aided us ¨C even now they train our marksmen to become better after mastering the longbow ¨C and you not only turn them away but gut them like fish!¡±


    ¡°It isssss the will of the Unclean-One, Sssssire. You are not being one of usssss. You are not knowing what an affront it isssss to be harboring the enemy. He-Who-Festersss is leaving no room for doubtsssss ¨C thissss Underkingdom isssss belonging to ratmen, and to us alone.¡±


    ¡°Then he is a fool deity, just as Skegga is!¡±


    ¡°Marcus!¡± Shrykul shouted, banging his fist on the table with such uncharacteristic force that everyone jumped in their seats. ¡°That is being enough! The name of He-Who-Festers shall not be mocked in my War-Council.¡±


    ¡°You mock his own name with stupidity like this!¡± Marcus retaliated. ¡°Why was I not informed of this, when I have explicitly explained to you all the importance of parley with your enemies? Your nation wishes to become an Empire ¨C you can¡¯t accomplish this by simply eradicating all your foes, especially when they come to you on their knees! Those Yips could have had vital information on Skegga¡¯s defenses. They could have had weapons we could use! Tell me what madness possessed you to do th-¡°


    ¡°It issss the will of the Unclean!¡± Verulex howled, throwing a torrent of green bile across the table as his temper finally flared out of control. ¡°The unbelieving are not being worthy to walk our Kingdom. Those who have thrown in with thissss heretic bosss Sssskega are desssserving of only death. Ssssshal we really be permitting thesssse cretinssss to join our Empire ¨C thosssse who would be sssssooner planting a knife in our backsssss as ssssson assss we are turning away from them?¡±


    ¡°Sire, Marcus,¡± Festicus said. ¡°I am meaning no disrespect, but are you forgetting the sights we are seeing in Battle of Razork Field? These Kobolds are stringing up rats of Clan Red-Eye ¨C rats tortured almost to point of death ¨C and are parading them before us on the field of battle. They are being savages, Sire, they are not being capable of anything more.¡±


    Marcus turned to the broad-shouldered rat. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you agree with this insanity?¡±


    Festicus did not bow before the accusatory stare of the human. ¡°You are not fighting this filth for as long as we are, Marcus. Us, or them, this is the only way.¡±


    ¡°And we are being on the right ssssside of hisssstory,¡± Verulex sneered. ¡°We have preached already to the villagessss of how the Koboldsss came before usssss on their kneesss, only to be lossssing their headsssss. Such gloriousssss ssssscreamsssss they are making. Ssssssuch lovel-¡°


    ¡°Oh, shut up ¨C shut up, for once!¡± Marcus roared, standing abruptly, and making to grab the dagger at his hip. Only Skeever¡¯s sudden, firm grip stopped him from attacking the priest then and there.


    ¡°Sssssire Marcusss issss ssssshowing ssssskepticccccism about the Unclean One,¡± Verulex said. ¡°It issss ssssomething many of our priestsssss are noticccccing. Thisssss issss mosssst troubling.¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    While Marcus fought to break free of Skeever¡¯s hold, the latter calmly stood to address the ratmen.


    ¡°Where Sire Marcus is coming from,¡± he explained. ¡°There is being questioning of Gods all the time. These things are being natural. The Shai-Alud is knowing how important our faith is, otherwise, he would not be allowing Verulex to build churches to the Unclean in the new villages and Fleapit, remember?¡±


    Marcus spared a look at his one-armed commander and saw the strict look in his eye. It was a look that he had never seen from a ratman subordinate before. It was a look that said, ¡®Let this go. Or you¡¯ll be in trouble¡¯.


    And so he put a stopper in his rage, grit his teeth, and sat back down, head bowed in his hands.


    ¡°Can none of you see the value in at least a little mercy?¡± he asked them. ¡°Skeever, you know how much Ix has helped us.¡±


    ¡°They have been most useful,¡± Skeever agreed. ¡°It was after all Ix who is cementing victory at Razork.¡±


    ¡°But a few good Kobolds do not speak for a whole mad race,¡± Festicus replied. ¡°Brother Skeever, are we not both believing this? Or are you forgetting the bloodshed your men have suffered?¡±


    Skeever cast one sidelong look at Marcus before bowing his long snout.


    ¡°No, Brother,¡± he said. ¡°I am not.¡±


    ¡°Sire Marcus,¡± King Shrykul then broke in. ¡°We are appreciating your leadership, and your meticulous planning. But in matters of state and policy, you must be leaving things to us. If we are starting to treat our enemies with kindness, we will be destroyed from within. My Brother Kings can be overlooking a few Kobold auxiliaries, but they shall not be permitting large swathes of the enemy to live among us. I will not be having my Kingdom destroyed by Civil War because our Shai-Alud wishes us all to make peace.¡±


    ¡°Such peacccce,¡± Verulex added. ¡°Wassss never an option. The yipping demonsssss chosssse their God. They chosssssse their death.¡±


    ¡°And you have chosen yours,¡± Marcus said, rising and ignoring Skeever¡¯s tugging at his wrist. Ignoring, too, the voice of Mari who pleaded in his mind to cool off his temper.


    ¡°A homogenous race has never once created a global society that could stand the test of time. An expansionist civilization needs to innovate. It needs to incorporate. It needs to welcome those who would serve a common cause ¨C and it needs to give them a banner worth standing beneath. Anything less, and you don¡¯t get an Empire. You get a world-spanning ruin.¡±


    He bowed and then turned without listening to anything else. Someone might have shouted something back at him. Someone might have called him na?ve, or ignorant of the ways of the society he was currently existing in, but he didn¡¯t care to hear. He¡¯d heard enough. And he¡¯d realized only now what kind of war they¡¯d had him fighting here from the start.


    ¡°You might achieve victory for your people today,¡± he said before he slammed the door in their faces. ¡°But all you shall have won is a slow, protracted demise.¡±


    ¡­


    Idiots.


    Back in his private quarters in the palace, Marcus¡¯s¡¯ quill was taking the words out of his arm more than he was telling it what to write.


    Idiots! All of them!


    His scrawlings were intense enough that he felt the parchment break beneath his fingertips.


    Why should I have expected anything more? Of course, I shouldn¡¯t have. These rats are little more than the European Great Powers carving up China in the wake of the Opium Wars. They have an entire species arrayed against them ¨C one which they know values strength over any kind of ideological devotion ¨C and all they want to do is put them to the torch even as their spirits begin to waver in the face of weakening strength. I give them evidence of Kobold worldviews, showing them that they can contribute to the war effort, and they throw it right back in my face. I have handed the keys of victory to these creatures in order to watch nothing more than a genocide of their own making take place.


    He threw down his quill and wiped a sweaty palm over his face.


    Why do you care? A little voice in his head then asked him as he swung back in his chair. You weren¡¯t planning on sticking around here, were you? You didn¡¯t really aspire to make this kingdom a better place or some horse piss like that, did you? If you did, you¡¯re just as na?ve as they think you are.


    Marcus closed his eyes and rubbed his tired temples. No matter how many meetings they all had, he kept coming back to the same problem: they wanted him to give the command to make a final charge ¨C to wipe the Kobolds from the face of the under-earth.


    Not even Skeever could stop that from happening. Faced with the will of his King, and the representatives from two other Clans, the Talon-Commander had had to back down. Not that Marcus blamed him.


    It¡¯s time to stop mulling over what you think should be done and start focusing on what is practicable. You want to go home, don¡¯t you?


    Marcus listened to the little voice¡¯s question and held his quill between his fingers as he was about to write down his response.


    Don¡¯t you?


    Just then ¨C a knock at the door.


    ¡°Sire Marcus?¡±


    The voice was unfamiliar to him, so he merely gave it a curt response.


    ¡°I¡¯m not receiving visitors,¡± he said.


    Normally, that would have prompted the guards at his door to spring into action and remove the adoring servant from his door. This time, however, he heard the hinge bolts clang as they hit the ground, and his door effortlessly creaked open.


    ¡°I said I¡¯m not receiving any visitors!¡± Marcus repeated. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are or what Clan you hail from. Go and see a priest if you want to hear about m-¡°


    When Marcus spun round, his voice caught in his throat.


    What he was looking at was no rat. Its cloak was far too long, its skin far too scaly, its eyes far too slitted and colored with the dark amber of a predator.


    And the blade it held in its hand was far, far too long. And sharp.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to insist, Shai-Alud.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy general, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 39

    ''War is the assassin¡¯s trade¡¯


    -Percy Bysshe Shelley


    Marcus stared at the thin, slightly curved arm of steel that protruded out from the snake-humanoid¡¯s cloaked form.


    His eyes then traced its lithe torso, seeing the thin dark wrappings that clung to its skin, clearly well suited for a night raid like this. The body suit was patched with form-fitting leathers around the chest and kneecaps for protection of only the vitals, and the long shawl that hung from the creature¡¯s face gave away nothing to Marcus except the amber eye-slits that blinked horizontally at him from within their visor.


    From the black scales he saw between those eyes, and the long, thin tail that trailed from the creature¡¯s back, Marcus was certain of his assassin¡¯s species.


    A Yokun¡­he thought. One of the beasts behind this whole proxy war.


    He gulped, watching the serpent close the door to his chamber, noticing the bloodied snout of one of his guards lying just beyond the doorway.


    Those guards were of Clan Marrow. Armed and armored. That means one thing: this guy¡¯s good.


    Marcus licked his lips, thinking of any way he could alert the palace servants.


    ¡°I presume you didn¡¯t come here to talk,¡± he said, moving slightly to his left, hand reaching into his pocket to precure Gatskeek¡¯s dagger.


    He got his hand round the hilt. He blinked once, and then he was looking at the tip of the Yokun¡¯s blade, its edge glistening with ratman blood.


    ¡°Drop it, human,¡± the creature hissed.


    Marcus dared not even gulp ¨C the sword (a Wakizashi, by the looks of it) was close enough to his throat that even a single twitch out of line would be instant death.


    He let the dagger fall to the ground.


    And he waited.


    He watched the eyes of his enemy in silence, head rushing as he tried to think of a way out of this.


    ¡°I suppose negotiations are out of the picture?¡± he asked, raising his hands and keeping his body as rigid as possible. ¡°If it¡¯s any compensation, I believe we could come to some form of mutually beneficial arrangeme-¡°


    The Yokun had stepped behind him and tied a muzzle round his mouth before he could finish whatever ¡®plan¡¯ he was spinning on the spot to stall for time.


    ¡°Be a good monkey and keep quiet,¡± the creature told him. ¡°And you might just keep your head.¡±


    Marcus felt the arm of the snake coil round his neck, the other one jabbing into his back to propel him forward.


    A woman¡­he realized, noting the inflection in her voice. And one who, it seems, wants me alive¡­


    And without any other alternative, he allowed himself to be guided outside, stepping over the gradually pooling blood from the two guardsmen lying prone at his doorway.


    Clean cuts ¨C across the throat. Absolute precision, no waste, no struggle.


    His eyes shot back to try and get a glimpse of his captor.


    ¡°Keep moving,¡± she whispered.


    You¡¯re good, aren¡¯t you?


    The end of the hallway turned into a crossroads, and Marcus heard a general shout go up from deeper within the palace chambers.


    Ahead, two guards ran in tandem with torches burning in their hands. As they turned they saw the pair moving down the dimly lit hallway and were about to call out for aid were it not for the two shuriken that stopped their tongues ¨C embedding themselves deep beneath the chin of each paralyzed rat.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    As they fell to the floor together in a spasming, twitching heap, Marcus¡¯s assailant finished them off with two masterful mercy strokes of her Wakisashi. It all happened so fast that Marcus couldn¡¯t be sure it had happened at all.


    His assailant scanned the bottom floors as they entered into a long, spiral stairway that would lead out into the servants¡¯ quarters and then the front door of the palace. From the confidence with which this snake moved, avoiding contact with any guards by keeping to the pillars and shadows of the castle¡¯s environs, Marcus made two more assumptions:


    One: she knew the layout of the castle and


    Two: she¡¯d already taken care of the guards at the front door.


    So thorough must this girl¡¯s preparations have been, that when a general shout went up from the palace courtyard outside ¨C just beside where the quarters of the Glumrat representatives slept ¨C he was actually struck with surprise:


    ¡°H-help! Bloody murder¡­isssss¡­being¡­done! Asssssasssssinssss have invaded palaccccce!¡±


    Marcus heard his captor hiss behind him.


    You didn¡¯t realize it takes more than just precision to kill a Gloomraava, did you? Especially one of Clan Glumrot. You left old Verulex alive, and now you¡¯re going to pay the price.


    As the snake-fiend practically threw Marcus down the right corridor that led towards the servants¡¯ quarters, he began to piece together what must be happening right now ¨C a precision strike at the throats of the war-council¡­probably based on reports that a meeting had been held on this night, when we would all be gathered together.


    And that meant someone gave her the intel¡­


    The Yokun dashed through the servant rats who screamed as they awoke to Marcus¡¯s gagged form being bulldozed through the door to their quarters. The Yokun¡¯s blade flew to slice at their jugulars like it were a homing eagle, and she simply continued on her way into the long, vine-coated corridor that led down into the palace foyer. Into freedom.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Marcus heard her say as she launched both her and him down onto the carpeted floor of the palace and scanned her surroundings.


    Marcus could see nothing out of the ordinary ¨C the lilac and strawberries of the foyer were just as bright as they ever had been.


    ¡­but, come to think of it, maybe they were just a little too bright to be believed.


    As a hail of arrows came flying from the palace doorway Marcus felt himself thrown into the air and spun like a ragdoll as the Yokun¡¯s tail whipped about to slash at the storm of projectiles. When he landed, he did so in the snake-woman¡¯s arms, and she immediately took up her blade and placed the tip directly under Marcus¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± she told the air before her. ¡°Make one more move, and he dies.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s eyes flew to see what she evidently could see, and noticed the tell-tale signs of silhouettes glittering against the corrugated steel of the palace door.


    Slowly, the spell of indivisibility was lifted, and Marcus looked upon a retinue of familiar, yet bloody face: Deekius, Skeever, and a detachment of Shrykul¡¯s halberd-wielding honor-guards.


    The king himself stood at the center of their formation, clutching a strip of gauze to his bleeding neck.


    ¡°Tsk¡¯alia!¡± Marcus heard his assailant scoff. ¡°The rodent king yet lives¡­¡±


    How had she hit them all at once? Marcus¡¯s mind railed with nothing else better to do. How could this single woman¡­without being detected¡­unless¡­


    The realization pierced him with an intensity that matched the kiss of the Yokun¡¯s cold steel under his chin.


    There¡¯s more than one of them¡­


    That at least told him something: if there was indeed a team of assassins working together here, they had clearly spent themselves too thin, and one of them had been exceedingly sloppy.


    She straightened up and pressed the Wakizashi''s bloody tip deeper into Marcus¡¯s neck, so he could feel the thin trickle of his blood run in a little red river down his throat.


    ¡°Make one more move and he dies,¡± she told the ratmen. ¡°You understand, vermin? Your Shai-Alud dies here and now.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s eyes flew to each of the panting, breathless rats, settling finally on Skeever. He tried to communicate with his eyes flaring eyes and nostrils alone that the snake she-devil was bluffing ¨C that she clearly wanted him alive. But judging from the sagging shoulders and sorrow-filled face of the Talon-Commander, he could tell he wasn¡¯t getting through.


    ¡°Be¡­letting¡­her¡­pass,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°There is¡­being¡­enough¡­bloodshed on this night.¡±


    The guards parted unsteadily, eyeing up the Yokun as she kicked at Marcus¡¯s legs to move him forward passed the crowd of his allies. As he looked upon Skeever¡¯s face ¨C wracked with pain and fury in equal measure ¨C he felt the ratman give his sleeve a reassuring tug.


    ¡°Hands off!¡± his captor hissed. ¡°Or he dies!¡±


    The rats gave them an even wider bearth, and Marcus had no choice but to stagger towards the exit, looking round only once to see the bloody form of Verulex appear at the top of the castle stairway and be cowed into silence by King Shrykul¡¯s shaking head. A sharp sting of pain beneath his ear jerked him back to face the slowly approaching palace gates.


    ¡°Eyes forward,¡± the Yokun corrected him.


    This time he let out a gulp. He knew that as soon as he left the safety of these gates, the chances of him returning were probably slim. And whatever the snake-fiend had in store for him, it hardly bode well.


    The gates to the castle opened and Marcus was thrust into the streets with the Yokun¡¯s dark blade glancing his throat as she grimaced, looking about her fervently as though she was waiting for something.


    Then, looking to the skies, she saw what she needed to see.


    And Marcus¡¯s eyes went wide as he realized the situation was far worse than he¡¯d imagined.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy general, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 40

    Marcus felt his throat bulge with an intake of Fleapit¡¯s dank air as he watched all his efforts over the last few weeks vanish, literally, into the air.


    The ratmen he and his captor had left behind saw them, too, and he realized that this operation was more sophisticated than even he had given the Yokun credit for.


    In the distance, floating up harmlessly to the black abyss above Fleapit, were all the Glitterpaks that had been corralled from the outlying farms in preparation for their final, simultaneous strikes on Skegga¡¯s last remaining forts in the North. A fleet of two-hundred, simply floating away, deaf, dumb, and ignorant of the promise of victory they represented. It was like watching the ratmen¡¯s chances of winning literally fly away from their grasp.


    And he heard the snake-woman¡¯s biting laughter echo in his ear as she led him on, watching as the ratmen¡¯s secret weapon vanished before their eyes.


    Chaos erupted next. The castle alarms were rung, and warriors jumped to the tallest towers they could to try and grasp at the disappearing Glitterpaks. Meanwhile, the citizens of Fleapit were crying out in fear lest someone strike even the smallest torch. Such an act would send the entire Capital up in flames in an instant.


    With this chaos it would be a piece of cake for the serpent to sequester herself amidst the packs of rampaging rats that crowded the dark streets and exit the city with ease. Marcus would¡¯ve once again remarked on the prowess of his sneaky captor, were it not for the fact that he had no intention of letting himself become the sacrificial lamb of some snake-cult. These rats might be barbarians, yes, but they were barbarians that at least saw him as a hero. Who knows why these sly serpents wanted him.


    So, as the snake forced him down a dingy back-alley amongst the bustling, panicked crowd, he inclined his head an inch to the little creature that was standing atop Castle Carfaxx¡¯s tallest battlement, holding a longbow in his tiny hands.


    Marcus didn¡¯t have to worry about the archer¡¯s line of sight. He saw, alright. Those little eyes would be able to spot a pin drop from a distance of ten-thousand feet. He¡¯d relied on those sharp eyes before, and he¡¯d do so again, now.


    ¡°On your knees, monkey,¡± the Yokun snarled at him. ¡°We¡¯re leave-¡°


    Marcus¡¯s sudden headbutt stopped her words.


    The pain reverberating across the back of his head told him that his impacting her scaled skull had done more damage to him than it did to her, but the intention was not to subdue her. Instead, Marcus felt her reel back and threw his neck to the left, creating an opening for the arrow that had been launched from the castle battlements to find its mark in the Yokun¡¯s shoulder.


    Her shrill scream of pain was enough to almost paralyze Marcus¡¯s limbs, but as she stretched out her scaly hand to reach for the sleeve of his coat he stumbled forwards, fell into a mud-bath in the middle of the street, and began scrabbling through the dirt towards the safety of the castle walls.


    ¡°The Shai-Alud!¡± he heard the ratling civilians scream from their hovels around him.


    ¡°Protect him! Be kicking the tail of the snake-snake!¡±


    ¡°Idiots!¡± he heard the Yokun scream behind him as she tore at the throats of every raggedy ratman that threw himself at her to stop her way. Marcus looked back only momentarily to see her drowning in a sea of vermin, her blade skittering away as the swam took her.


    You got cocky, he heard himself say in his mind. You underestimated your opponents¡¯ devotion for their precious Shai-Alud. And now, I don¡¯t even want to think about what the little ankle-biters will do to you.


    He saw the iron gates come back into view before him and quickened his steps, spurned on by the calls of the people ¨C many of whom had scaled the castle walls and were pouring into the courtyard, ordering their King and his warriors to get the get opened.


    But, to Marcus¡¯s surprise, the iron bars remained firmly shut.


    He stopped before them and grabbed two of them with both hands, wringing them like a madman and finally tearing the gag from his mouth to scream.


    ¡°SHRYKUL!¡± he called ¡°OPEN THE GATES! OPEN -!¡±


    His voice dimmed when he realized that the rats had abandoned their posts long ago at the foyer, instead chasing after the still departing Glitterpak fleet high above, obsessed with their perfect weapon sailing away on the still winds and being lost forever in the abyss of the Underkingdom¡¯s skies.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    But one rat remained ¨C the gate-guard himself. And it was those crimson eyes that stared down at Marcus from his post, and the General of the ratmen now knew, too late, who it was that had led the Yokun right to him.


    The familiar face of Redwhiskers, Skeever¡¯s right hand lieutenant, glowered down at Marcus.


    ¡°T-traitor,¡± Marcus spat.


    The snarling maw of the rat grinned right back at him before the world went black, and his senses filled with a cloud of poison smoke.


    ¡°Is that how you are addressing your captor, Shai-Alud?¡±


    Marcus heard shouts from the courtyard as the King¡¯s retinue finally caught on to the distraction that had just been sprung on them.


    But his world was now bathed in nothing but the inky darkness of something that was seeping into his nose, into the tear ducts beneath his eyes, and sending him off to oblivion.


    ¡°You will be speaking to me with more respect,¡± the fading voice of Redwhiskers told him between the bars of the gate. ¡°Or that word will be your last.¡±


    ¡­


    Marcus woke to the sound of raised voices and hissing that pierced his skull.


    He groggily rose, eyes adjusting to the dark interior that stretched before him ¨C a cobweb filled house. Judging by the lack of d¨¦cor and cracks in the wooden floorboards, he guessed he was in the residential district of Fleapit, probably sequestered in some hidden hole the Yokun had prepared in the case of failure.


    He felt the unpleasant, squelching feeling of ratman blood pooling between his toes, and looked down to see the dead bodies of two ratmen covered in rags, their stomachs opened and eyes glazed with the specter of recent death. Only now did he try to move, feeling his arms struggle against the thick ropes that bound him to the wall.


    ¡°He is up!¡± someone whispered before him ¨C a feminine voice


    ¡°Leave him where he sits,¡± another replied ¨C another woman. ¡°He is harmless, now.¡±


    ¡°How do we know he does not possess incantations of his own?¡±


    Marcus strained his eyes as two lithe shadows walked forward and knelt before him, staring at him with the eyes of hungry serpents.


    ¡°I am telling you!¡± a third voice cried. ¡°He is just base human. He is being nothing without my Brothers, as all human are!¡±


    Marcus saw both snake-women distinctly roll their eyes in annoyance at the third voice, ignoring it completely as they inspected Marcus for wounds.


    ¡°Sister?¡± one of them ¨C the one to his left that Marcus assumed, by her greying scales, to be the oldest of the Yokun. ¡°How do you fare?¡±


    A third Yokun came into view from behind, leaning against the doorway of the house and peeking out every now and then to observe the streets outside. By the distant sounds of panic he could hear, Marcus knew the outside must still be in the grip of chaos.


    The Yokun guard¡¯s hand flew to wipe at her shoulder, coming away with a spattering of her plumb-purple blood.


    ¡°It will take more than a rat¡¯s poisoned arrow to fell me,¡± she replied to her ¡®Sister¡¯. ¡°These rodents do not yet seem to understand our blood¡¯s innate resistance to their poxes and poisons. Though I admit, the little beast made a good shot.¡±


    Marcus struggled against his binds, trying to shout that it was a Kobold that shot her ¨C a talented little Yip by the name of Ix.


    ¡°He stirs,¡± the old snake said. ¡°Should we send him back to dreamland?¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± the snake beside her said. ¡°Let him see what awaits him with his own eyes. The Pale Matriarch¡¯s orders were to be gentle with him, after all.¡±


    Marcus felt the barely restrained desire to slit his throat radiating from the two younger snakes, especially the one hanging by the door.


    But more even than they, he could feel the fury bubbling in Redwhisker¡¯s seething little form.


    ¡°You are failing!¡± he said with a stamp of his feet, coming to talk directly to the elder Yokun. ¡°I am being forced to reveal myself to stop him escaping. Why are you not killing him now?¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the deal, little rat,¡± the grey elder said from her dark veil, not even deigning to make eye-contact with the seething creature. ¡°We take him alive, tonight.¡±


    ¡°And what about me?¡± Redswhiskers stamped again like a rabbity old crone. ¡°Where is being my reward? I am being promised riches of Yokun. I will be needing help to escape to new Clan. You will be taking me!¡±


    ¡°Out of the question,¡± the wounded Sister by the door replied coolly, calmly. ¡°The situation has changed. This Underkingdom is grown too hot for our blood, little rodent. We make for the surface tonight. You can come with us, or you can stay. But go we shall.¡±


    Both the other Yokun nodded and got Marcus to his feet.


    ¡°Possible exits?¡± the elder asked.


    ¡°Industrial sector,¡± the snake door-guard replied. ¡°Cover of smog shall be our advantage. The integrity of the walls on that side are structurally weak, and security detail is focused on the Palace district.¡±


    The snake women nodded sagely. ¡°Then let us wait for a lull in the sentries.¡±


    Marcus was forced to marvel at the professionalism on display from the snakes. Their plan had backfired ¨C they had wanted to get him out without a struggle, that must have been the point of enlisting Redwhiskers for help as the castle gate watchman for the night. How they knew that rat in particular harbored hatred towards him was anyone¡¯s guess. Perhaps they had more spies in the Underkingdom than even Shrykul thought.


    One thing was certain though: they had clearly taken steps to ensure they had a backup plan in place and were now executing an entirely new escape plan on the fly. And they were good at it ¨C Marcus had to admit.


    These were trained agents. Focused and ever-present.


    So, of course, as they moved him towards the door of the ramshackle hut and made ready to slip back out into the streets, Marcus had one question burning in his mind:


    Just who the hell had sent them?


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy general, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 41

    Marcus resisted the urge to administer another headbutt to the assassin-hit squad as the second youngest of the team ¨C the one that seemed more attached to the elder Yokun than Marcus''s captor - pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and heaved him over to the doorway.


    "Any openings?"


    "None yet, Sister," the wounded snake-fiend replied, her coiled tongue flicking out viciously as she watched with unblinking eyes the corridor of stone hovels that filled the residential district. They''d have to cut through another four blocks at least before they made it to the cover of Fleapit''s Iron forges. But, Marcus had to concur with the wisdom of the eldest among them ¨C if they managed to get there, they''d be home free.


    And he''d be meat for this ''Pale ¨C Matriarch'' these serpentine ladies served was.


    "There is no order to these blasted rats," the assassin watching the door hissed. "But¡­I can see a way forward. Beyond the two huts that flank us is a tunnel that descends down into the earth and seems to emerge five Kilometers East just before the entrance to the foundry. It seems entirely unguarded ¨C mostly infants play around its lip."


    Marcus''s eyes bulged as he realized what they were talking about ¨C one of Fleapit''s aptly named ''Festering Fountains'' which served the purely decorative function one would expect any simple water-fountain in a city would serve.


    The only difference here was, of course, it was filled with rat-shit.


    "Easy pickings, then," the grey-scaled elder murmured.


    He strained against his bounds and tried to scream at them that ¨C though he''d endured much in these Warrens ¨C he was not about to trudge through five kilometers of shit and piss with them.


    "It seems the Shai-Alud does not find our course of action to his liking," the Yokun holding him hissed in his ear. "Matron, is there no way I can take but a bite of this one before we move on? It has been some time since I have tasted human ¨C and definitely not one from that allegedly comes to us from beyond the bounds of our world."


    Marcus recoiled as he felt the lithe tongue of the she-demon slather itself across his cheek, licking the sweat that was falling from his brow.


    "Patience," the elderly one ¨C ''Matron'' ¨C hissed back. "The Shai-Alud belongs to the Pale Matriarch. Remember that."


    Marcus was glad for the old one''s wisdom, and intervention. The hungry snakeling backed off, pouted, and then joined the other two by the side of the door.


    "We must fly, Sisters" the door-watcher said. "This most recent guard patrol barks that each house will be searched beginning with the first row of each block."


    "Then we take our chances," the Matron said. "We are already behind schedule as it is. The toad''s army moves out in five hours. We must be gone by then."


    Toad''s¡­army¡­


    ¡­Skegga¡­they are coming¡­


    "Hey!" came the shout of Redwhiskers as he threw aside a wooden crate and stomped over to the doorway to confront the three Yokun. "You are not being good listeners, are you, snake-wenches! I am telling you you must escort me to Clan Marrow headquarters and be giving me my fair share of your Yokun gold!"


    The Matron whirred on him, cupping her scaly hand over his mouth before he even had a chance to draw his weapon.


    "Be silent!" she hissed in his face. "Does your kind not understand when circumstances must change? You brought us false intel. You told us the Gloomraav would die as any ratman would. You did not tell us of their protective incantations that almost cost us our lives."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The rat raged under the Yokun''s claws, tearing them away and spitting in the serpent''s face.


    "I am not knowing your kind are so unskilled!" he roared. "Or that you are being so dishonorable in the face of one who is giving you what your precious servants could not!"


    The Matron leaned back, straightened up.


    "Is that so?" she whispered.


    Marcus saw it then ¨C the almost imperceptible nod she made to the hungry sister who began stepping, with unhindered grace, around to the back of the room.


    Redwhiskers, meanwhile, saw nothing but his own crimson-rage.


    "It will be taking one shout from me," he snarled. "Just one to make your little plan fall to pieces! Do not be crossing me! At least be giving me a piece of this filthy human."


    The ratman''s mad eyes flew to Marcus, and the latter saw the hungering snake-woman drew her wakizashi slowly from the scabbard at her hip.


    "Sisters!" the doorguard hissed. "They are coming."


    "Out of the question," the Matron told Redwhiskers, slowly drawing out the syllables of each word. "You know our offer, vermin. We offer you free passage to the surface with us. It will not be an easy life for you, but it will be better than bearing the mark of a traitor among your kind. Take it or leave it."


    The rat''s snarl of hatred was so profound that it genuinely shocked Marcus. He could only dimly recall their dispute in the tunnel leading to Knifegut back when he''d first appeared in this dismal realm. He''d done little more than corrected the ratman''s hatred of the kobold prisoners.


    But he was starting to realize just how much pride these creatures attached to their prejudice.


    "Soap-sucking, surface slithering snake-bitches¡­" the rat murmured, staring down his two opponents and entirely forgetting about the third one creeping around at his back


    Then, hearing the guards approach from the outside, he opened his mouth to botch the whole operation¡­


    ¡­and the blade of the Yokun who had crept up behind him pierced right through the back of his throat and was twisted before he could utter a single word.


    Marcus staggered back against the wall of the hovel as he watched the rat lieutenant simply fall limp and bleed out on the ground, his little limbs twitching with the death throes of a slain animal.


    His eyes were still brimming with pure, raw, passionate hatred. Hatred directly up at the last sight he saw in this world: the human who had come to be his ''savior''.


    You really hated me, didn''t you? Marcus found himself asking those bulging, bloody eyes as he slumped to the floor. Then again, you aren''t the only one nowadays. Not by a long shot¡­


    He didn''t even notice the snake-assassin withdraw the blade almost as quickly as she had whipped it out and, without even bothering to clean the dirty blood of the rat from its edge, took Marcus by the shoulder and pushed him forward to the door.


    "Don''t weigh us down, human," she told his unblinking eyes. "Make no mistake, if you try any tricks again, we might have to tell the Matriarch that you suffered an unfortunate ''accident'' on the road¡­"


    Marcus gave her a silent nod in response, even as his mind raced with questions he needed answers to: Were these women really allied with Skegga? If so, why had they only come now? How long had they been plotting this? And why did they need him alive?


    "How many smoke-bombs have you got, Sister?" the Yokun then asked the wounded door-guard.


    The snake who had first abducted Marcus turned and licked her slitted lips, showing that the smiles of these creatures were just as terrifying as their blank, cold battle-stares.


    "Enough, Matriarch willing."


    A nod from the other two. "Alright," the grey Matron said. "We move out. Keep him close and keep him awake ¨C don''t let them think he''s dead. He''s our best ticket out if the Will of the Matriarch is not with us."


    "Matron," the doorguard said, clawing at her open shoulder wound. "If we should fail ¨C"


    "We are Yokun," the Matron replied, cutting off the younger snake and laying an affirmative claw on her neck. "We are Sisters of the House of Whispers. We are the women who walk in the night. The claw that grips the knife that stabs. We do not fail."


    If Marcus''s soul wasn''t already filled with abject terror, it certainly was now.


    ¡­but he also had to admit that another part of his brain was filled with wonder at these three, taking on the entire city by themselves, skulking through shadows to accomplish their goal, and clearly honor-bound to deliver him to their leader.


    It was just a shame that he''d have to see them all dead before this night was over.


    And, with utterly no idea of the thoughts running through their prisoner''s head, the Sisters each gave a single nod before smashing the smoke-bomb just outside the entrance and flying from the hovel, taking Marcus with them into the dark.


    They raced past the squad of confused ratguards, licking at their elbow joints with their swords as they went, disabling them all in one fell swoop of death that carried Marcus inexorably towards the shit-tunnel that gave them free passage to the industrial sector, leaving a trail of screaming civilians in their wake.


    Soap, Marcus begged. My kingdom¡­for soap.


    He held his breath as they all dove in.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 42

    Marcus closed his eyes to the heap of shit and piss that assailed his senses, traveling up his nose and smearing itself across his pale face as the Yokun hit-squad dragged him through the Festering Fountain supply pipe.


    He only opened his eyes and drew deep the dank air of Fleapit when the emerged on the other side, smashing through the fountain in the residential quarter square and sending up a shockwave of terror that swept through the ratmen civilians enjoying their putrid shower.


    The Yokun women did not spare a single moment. As a unit they surged towards the jagged iron towers of the Industrial Sector forges, Marcus still being held by the second youngest of their order. On the way, only a few guards were roused from their sprints down the alleys of Fleapit by the team, having only enough time to raise their spears or halberds in defense before they Yokun¡¯s Wakisashis slit their throats and left them gagging for breath in the dark.


    To Marcus, the entire world was nothing but flashes of deep onyx and the puffs of smoke billowing from the great forces of Fleapit¡¯s East District, mixed with flashes of grey, blue, and swamp green that he caught from within the Yokun¡¯s visors. Occasionally such sights were bathed in corrupted crimson as some unfortunate peasant rat stumbled out onto the streets and was soundly silenced by the blades of the assassins as they bore their charge relentlessly towards the forges and foundries.


    ¡°Matron!¡± the youngest, wounded one shouted as they neared their destination. ¡°Up top!¡±


    The Elder¡¯s eyes flared as she looked to the skies and saw javelins flying at them from the puffing chimneys of the foundry towers, clearly workmen who had taken up arms and decided to try their hand at defending their trade.


    ¡°Tsk,¡± the Matron hissed. ¡°Ignore them. Into the shadows between the towers. Let them strike at nothing but air!¡±


    The Yokun nodded as they advanced, Marcus at this point being carried on the back of the sister that held him captive. They snaked their way between the skeletal frames of the foundry pits, slashing away the life of any who dared to stand in their way, and Marcus spared a thought for all the innocent ratmen who had died by their scaly hands this day. If he knew his comrades like he did, they would seek to pay such deaths back tenfold¡­


    ¡°There!¡± the wounded sister shouted. ¡°The wall comes into view!¡±


    She was right. The thick, dark outline of Fleapit¡¯s East guard tower loomed above them, and the three assassins wasted no time in scaling the bricks with their bare hands and dispatching the crossbow-wielding guards atop the battlements with as much ease as a child cutting through a cake.


    And when then they looked beyond the walls, they saw nothing but an expanse of darkness waiting for them.


    ¡°Let us fly!¡± the youngling spat.


    But as she made to leap and finally be free of the putrid waste of a city, the Matron held her back.


    ¡°Sister,¡± he said. ¡°Look below.¡±


    The youngling¡¯s face was flushed with frenzy. Clearly her wound had caused her no small amount of trepidation ¨C certainly more than she¡¯d let on. But as Marcus watched the three of them step to the edge of the battlements and look over the side, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a swelling of pride within his chest.


    An army of eighty Spineripper-mounted Marrow rats waited below, gazing up at them while their mounts leaped to claw their way up to maul the assassins.


    And at their head was someone all too familiar to Marcus.


    ¡°FORWARD!¡± The great hulking image of Festicus roared above the din of his baying horde. ¡°FOR THE SHAI-ALUD!¡±


    The Shai-Alud couldn¡¯t be prouder. Not that he had any time to dwell on this.


    The Yokun that held him put the edge of her blade to his throat.


    ¡°Do not come closer, filth of the underworld!¡± she hissed. ¡°Or the human dies!¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°HAH!¡± Festicus roared up at them. ¡°Be going ahead! We are coming to avenge our Brothers¡¯ deaths! By the Unclean, your heads shall be resting upon my spike by the end of this day!¡±


    ¡°Skittering rodent!¡± the young snake spat, but the Matron held both her charges back.


    ¡°We go higher,¡± she said, nodding up at the smog-producing towers of the foundries they had just cleared. ¡°Let their bestial mounts try and follow us there.¡±


    The three Yokun followed their Elder¡¯s plan without flaw, managing to clear the walls just as the first of Festicus¡¯s legion leaped to claw at their legs. The mounts had speed on their side, but the snake-women had stealth, and Marcus doubted they gave off any particular scents the Spineripper¡¯s could sense that he could not.


    They had effectively blinded the army that had been lying in wait for them.


    The Yokun leaped through the foundry pits and latched onto the towers with their claws, sheathing their Wakishashi¡¯s and scaling to the top of the highest tower, Marcus being dragged up after them wrapped in the tail of his captor.


    He watched the legion of Festicus bark up at the women as they made their ascent, seeing the floor of Fleapit disappear entirely as they cleared the first of the smog-clouds above.


    ¡°Sister!¡± the youngest then shouted. ¡°Where are we bound?¡±


    ¡°To them!¡± the grey Matron shouted back, pointing up at the last of the Glitterpaks that were floating by above. ¡°We ride them out. Take out chances on the dead winds of this accursed place!¡±


    Marcus was shocked by the level of dedication on display here, even as he tried wriggling against his captor¡¯s surprisingly strong tail.


    The Yokun finally made it to the top of the foundry platform, seeing the Glittperpaks float by with almost lifeless abandon above the city.


    ¡°Finally!¡± Marcus¡¯s captor roared. ¡°Let us fly!¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± the Matron ordered. ¡°I don¡¯t like this. I will take-¡°


    ¡°We go!¡± the impatient snake that held Marcus roared. ¡°I will not spend another second in this cesspit!¡±


    She launched herself without waiting for her Sisters command towards the first Glitterpak she saw, trailing through the air with the dexterity of an Olympic gymnast, all while holding Marcus coiled in her tail who already knew, by the flickering color patterns that shone across the Glitterpak¡¯s body, what was about to happen.


    ¡°Sister!¡±


    The youngling¡¯s call was not heard as the snake-woman made to grab the spiky folds of the Glitterpak¡¯s body and watched her hand simply cleave through thin air. Her eyes bulging, tail finally uncoiling, she let out a shrill scream as she plummeted towards the fifty-foot drop to her death with Marcus falling behind her.


    He looked into her eyes as he fell, seeing the desperation that smeared across her face in the end. That¡¯s when he saw that, for him, there was actually no hatred there. There was instead merely a sense of duty. A duty that, the Yokun knew, had now been brought to an abrupt end.


    Marcus would have assumed he¡¯d meet the same fate as the bearer of those desparate eyes, but suddenly felt another lithe tail wrap itself around his waist from above, knocking him against the corrugated metal of the foundry silo and suspending him just below the lip of the platform. He watched as the snake-woman hit the ground ¨C becoming nothing more than a wet puddle of burst flesh.


    The other two cursed as the youngling pulled him up, pinning him to the floor and bringing up her Wakisahsi to slit his throat then and there.


    ¡°Sister,¡± came the warning voice of the Matron.


    ¡°Tsk¡¯althoka!¡± the young snake cried. ¡°We would be better to end his life here and now, Matron! We would be doing this entire world a favor!¡±


    ¡°It is not the Matriarch¡¯s will, Sister.¡±


    ¡°My brood Sister is dead!¡¯ the youngling screamed. ¡°I ¨C I will have vengea-¡°


    ¡°Yeeva,¡± the Matron said quietly, placing an affirming hand on the young snake woman¡¯s shoulder. ¡°She knew the risk. We all did.¡±


    The hard eyes of the young snake met Marcus¡¯s in that moment, and the latter was surprised to find what looked like tears welling up in the assassin¡¯s predator eyes. Such tears were abruptly wiped away, however, as her hand flew to grab at Marcus¡¯s arm.


    ¡°What¡­what is this?¡±


    Marcus followed her eyes to see the small, almost imperceptible almond-shaped eyeball iris that was strapped to his sleeve, almost like it had been sown in there intentionally. Unless one had the perception of a hawk, there was no way anyone could have noticed it. Hell, he hadn¡¯t even noticed it himself.


    So when the Matron snake shook her old head in disbelief, he was just as surprised as she was.


    ¡°A marker,¡± she said. ¡°The result of a basic incantation that allows the owner of the device to track the one implanted with it. Who knew these little beasts were capable of employing such rudimentary magic in such a clever way?¡±


    ¡°Devious, sneaky little wretches!¡± The young Yeeva spat. ¡°You knew about this, didn¡¯t you, piss-blood?¡±


    Marcus shook his head desperately ¨C an entirely honest answer delivered at the same time as he made the realization: Skeever had briefly brushed his arm as the snake women had led him out of the palace, hadn¡¯t he? So he must have¡­


    Skeever, Marcus thought. You really are a cut above your kind. If I get out of this, I swear I will raise you to the ranks of legend among your kind.


    A sudden clanging of claws against iron drew the attention of the Yokun then, and both snakes turned to see the challenger that had finally come to face them on the platform.


    ¡°Be thinking you can outrun me?¡± Festicus said as he regained his breath from his ascent. ¡°I am Festicus of Clan Marrow! Be meeting my eyes, for in them will you be seeing your death.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters

 Chapter 43

    Upon the tallest silo of Fleapit¡¯s foundries, a duel was about to break out that would determine the fate of the entire Underkingdom.


    Marcus often recalled tales of such duels in the books he loved to peruse as a child ¨C fanciful stories of men and women going off to conquer fantastical realms and slaying dragons or witch covens after proclaiming the inherent purity of the human spirit.


    Such tales rouse the hearts of young men. They become the same young men who run off to wars thinking that mass combat will afford them the same kind of moral superiority.


    For Marcus - a man trapped in an ugly rendition of one such world - such superiority was a luxury he would never have. Heroes are supposed to bandy words with demons. They are supposed to show their valor in righteous battle.


    But the battle that unfolded atop Fleapit¡¯s highest point was not honorable. It was not righteous.


    Instead, one armored rat brought his vicious halberd to bear against two humanoid snake-hybrids, and the strikes they made were to kill, not to entertain their spectator.


    First, the youngling threw Marcus aside and leaped directly for Festicus. The ratman anticipated the attack, shifting his weight to his right to sidestep and cleave the snake-woman from belly to breast. The attack was one of pure, raw strength, but it was one burdened by the heaviness of the creature¡¯s weapon. In the moment of impact the young Yokun twirled and slashed at the ratman¡¯s exposed neck, her blade coming away with his crimson blood gleaming along its edge.


    He staggered, dropping to his knees just in time for the Matron to came at him with her mercy strike.


    A strike that he met with his bare teeth.


    His head jerked up. His mouth opened in a snarl, and Marcus saw his fangs clamp down on the blade as it entered its throat. The Matron¡¯s eyes narrowed as she tried to free the blade, watching the ratman¡¯s gums fill with gushing blood as the Wakizashi''s edge nicked his tongue. Then, in her moment of pure confusion, his halberd swept the Yokun elder¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Sister!¡±


    Festicus smirked as he felt movement behind him ¨C the youngling spinning in a deadly pirouette that struck for his armored spine. The blessings of He-Who-Festers was with the ratman on this day, for the Yokun¡¯s blade merely pierced the outer layer of his armored hide and ripped the metal pieces away, letting them fall in a hail of iron that rained down on the spectators watching the small snippets of the battle they could see below.


    The ratman thrust the pole of his weapon back to knock against the ribs of the youngling and push her almost straight off the silo¡¯s precarious platform to join the bloody mess that was her sister below.


    ¡°MMMHMMM!¡± Marcus wheezed from his position, still gagged. He couldn¡¯t help it. This fight was showing him just how skilled the Marrow rat truly was. And it was telling him that his spirit was still loyal to his Shai-Alud after all.


    As Festicus turned to hack away at the thin leathers of young Yeeva¡¯s chest, the Matron regained her footing. She sent a flurry of blows angled down at the ratman¡¯s armpit joints that struck faster than Marcus¡¯s eyes could follow. All he saw, when he blinked, was that Festicus was reeling back, his mouth, elbows, and arms all bleeding profusely, coating the dark metal of the silo in his life fluids.


    The Matron brought her youngblood back up to her knees, and both of them angled their blades at the mauled rat before them.


    ¡°Sire..Marcus,¡± Festicus groaned, drawing his eyes towards the human huddled at the edge of the bloody platform.


    With a single twist of his claws he ripped through Marcus¡¯s gag and the human heaved a wail of release.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Festicus,¡± he said, trying to maintain his commanding tone. ¡°Stand. Down.¡±


    ¡°I would listen to your monkey friend,¡± the Matron spat through her smiling lips. ¡°You face two Sisters of the House of Whispers, little cretin. We have slain more of your kind than you can count.¡±


    Festicus rose steadily, using his halberd to push up from the floor of the platform as the two Yokun circled, both picking their target that would end the miserable ratman¡¯s life.


    ¡°Clan Marrow¡­¡± he wheezed. ¡°Never¡­back¡­down.¡±


    He turned to Marcus abruptly after coughing a torrent of dark crimson.


    ¡°I will be living¡­to see¡­those cannons,¡± he sputtered as he brought his halberd back up, holding it across his chest straight backed and regal, like some Arabian prince¡¯s honor guard. ¡°In the name of Clan and King¡­I will be living¡­to see¡­our victory!¡±


    Both women¡¯s blades flashed through the air, trailing arcs of brilliant light as they curved to bring death upon the beleaguered ratman.


    And the eyes of the rat flew to Marcus¡¯s as he swept up his halberd to meet the Matron¡¯s strike at his right flank.


    The Wakizashi of the youngling flew to cleave through his ribcage to the left, and it would have done so if she had merely followed through.


    Instead, Marcus watched as her arm writhed like it had a will of its own. She dropped her weapon and it slid across the platform while she screamed in agony ¨C an animal scream that pierced not only the air, but the ears of her Sister who was taken off balance by the sudden change in her companion¡¯s demeanor.


    And that opening was all Festicus needed cut right into her waist.


    She opened her mouth in a gasp, arms flying to dislodge the blade while the ratman that held it grit his teeth and pushed through her scaled skin with all the force left in his hulking frame.


    ¡°SHAAAAAA-HAH!¡±


    Marcus watched awestruck as the Matron¡¯s torso was cleaved clean through. Her legs flopped beneath the purple-soaked blade of Festicus¡¯s halberd while the rest of her body spun in the air, crumbled, and fell back to the platform in a heap of twitching limbs.


    ¡°SISTER!¡± Yeeva screamed, her arms still gyrating with a life of their own as Festicus collapsed to one knee, seeing the ghostly form of someone familiar appear just over the lip of the platform¡¯s north face.


    ¡°By¡­the Unclean¡­¡± he wheezed. ¡°Could you not be coming¡­a little¡­more early?¡±


    The hooded rat man that had his eyes trained on the twitching Yokun before him twisted his face into a smile.


    ¡°A Gloomrava of Glumrot isssss coming exxxxxactly when he issssss needing to.¡±


    ¡°Look out!¡±


    The shout came from Marcus as his eyes flew to the still spasming Yokun Matron¡¯s body. In a macabre display of pure, uncanny willpower, her fingers wrapped round her blade and sent it spinning towards the tiny legs of the newly arrived priest, drawing a cry of agony from him that sounded more like the shrill wailing of the undead than the pained voice of a rat.


    Festicus watched his Brother go down and made to rise again to finish off the last female, but this time the Yokun youngling was faster ¨C spurned on by the death of her senior.


    She met Festicus¡¯ sweeping strike with such fury that the ratman was sent staggering back, and, holding the blade of her Matron in her hand, got the other around the ratman¡¯s throat and held him down, her nails penetrating deep into his neck and drawing tiny trickles of blood that traveled through her scaled veins.


    ¡°Miserable, scaleless swine!¡± she railed, pushing her Wakizashi closer and closer to the ratman¡¯s face, watching the life in his eyes and strength in his arms gradually fade away to nothing. ¡°Vlitark take the Matriarch! You all die here and now!¡±


    Festicus¡¯s arms began to give way. The power to even bite back at the vengeance-filled face of the snake was going ¨C it was draining away like the rest of his blood. It seemed he would have to be satisfied with slaying one of them. An honor most of his Clan would still respect him for, even if it had to be in death¡­


    But before he closed his eyes he saw the Yokra¡¯s go wide. He saw the passionate fires of fury die away on her scaled features and then felt the wet spew of her blood that had just spurted from beneath her chest. Both ratman and Yokun looked down to see where her discarded Wakizashi had just penetrated her lower abdomen and, as the blade was twisted, Yeeva finally fell to the side.


    And revealed the human standing above her who had just stabbed her in the back.


    Festicus wanted to laugh then more than any other time in his life. But, try as he might, all he could manage was a slight smile.


    ¡°You truly¡­are¡­having the soul¡­of a rat,¡± he wheezed.


    And as Marcus bent down to check the vitals of the ratman, discovering, too late, that there was nothing more to be done, Festicus of Clan Marrow closed his eyes and left the world of the Underkingdom behind.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, consider supporting the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memory of our furry comrade by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 44

    "Festicus¡­"


    Marcus stared down at the felled rat, watching as his great furrowed head lulled and fell to the side.


    "Festicus!"


    "He issss being gone, Ssssire," Verulex said behind him.


    Marcus bent low and tried to rouse the great brute that had saved his life, denying that he was about to let another rat man die for him like Gatskeek had.


    "Wake up, Marrow soldier!" he yelped in the creature''s vacant eyes. "There''s cavalry charges still to be led!"


    No response. Sullen and vengeful, Marcus let the head drop.


    I hesitated, he thought. I didn''t act quick enough. If I had the damn foresight to grab that blade sooner¡­


    "Be letting him be. He isss doing hisss duty to Clan and ¨C"


    "Oh, shut up, priest," Marcus spat, turning with fury to look upon the hooded cretin who was still managing to coax his anger even now. "Your Order might consider a single rat''s life to be meaningless ¨C something to just throw away in the service of your God, but this warrior deserved more than this."


    The High Priest of Glumrot fixed Marcus with his puss-filled eyes. Those eyes spoke of toxic thoughts ruminating beneath them.


    "Be turning your thoughtssss to vengeancccce, Sssssire," Verulex wheezed as he shambled over to the Matron''s eviscerated body and prodded at it with the staff of his office, making sure the creature''s life had finally expired. He then nodded down at the still breathing form of the unconscious Yeeva below Marcus, the soft skin of her belly weeping purple blood from the perforation Marcus had made as she took Festicus''s life.


    He scoffed at the priest and picked up the Wakisashi that had fallen at his feet, bending low and directing his hatred at the fallen Yokra who was mumbling as though in a dream-state.


    Perhaps it was a meditation practice of their kind, Marcus thought. It didn''t make any biological sense for a creature to immediately collapse into unconsciousness as she just had in receiving such a near fatal wound.


    He leaned closer to her as Verulex amplified his voice and called down to the army still waiting below, telling them to send a detachment and a priest to sanctify the body of one of their dead. The enemy Yokun had fallen, and they would receive some special treatment of their own.


    Marcus heard general cheers resound as this proclamation echoed all through the dim streets of the putrid city. But he ignored them. Instead, he craned his neck to hear what the felled serpent was saying. There was a word on her lips that he could swear had the ring of familiarity to it.


    "Matriarch¡­Pale¡­Pale Lady¡­"


    Loyal to a fault, Marcus thought. Even in death, you sing your leader''s praises. If you are a representative of one of her soldiers, I''m sure she''s a force to be reckoned with among your people. That''s just another reason why you have to die.


    He brought the edge of the Yokun''s Wakizashi to her scaled, bloody throat, tensing up as he knew that he had to do this. He had to. He wouldn''t hesitate anymore.


    And just as he held her head in his hand and made to bring the blade across her neck, that''s when he heard it:


    "¡­Mari¡­"


    His hand stopped.


    His brain froze.


    The Wakisashi wavered as though willing him to follow-through with his desire.


    But a very different desire now burned in his heart as that word traveled through his entire system and sent shivers running down his spine.


    "Matriarch¡­Lady¡­Maria¡­"


    The blade clattered against the silo platform.


    "What isss happening?" Verulex asked. "Ssssire, isss thissss beasssst resssisssting?"


    Marcus shook his head.


    "No."


    "Then be sssslaying her and let ussss go. I sssshal be honored to be ssssshowing you Clan Glumrot''sssss wayssss of debassssing the dead."


    Marcus could barely even hear the words of the priest. He could register nothing in this moment except the croaking of that name ¨C Mari''s name ¨C emanating from the slitted lips of the downed serpent.


    "Bah!" Verulex howled. "Be giving me the blade. I sssshal do i-"


    "No," Marcus said, then turning to the priest as though he had just been transported back to reality. "No. We take her alive."


    The priest cocked his vile, hooded head at Marcus.


    "Your pity for thesssse foreign hereticssss isssss doing you no favorssss, Sssshai-Alud," he said. "The Koboldssss are bad enough. Now you are even ssssshowing merccccy to the killer of your commander?"


    "We¡­we need to question her," Marcus explained, straightening up and trying to compose himself as best he could. "We have the opportunity here to find out what she knows, where she came from, even Skegga''s force composition potentially. We can''t afford to lose this opportunity."


    He looked into the face of the ratman and saw what he had not quite been able to see in the war-chamber earlier that night. He saw the wrinkled eyes of the holy rat narrow, and the teeth flare in anger.


    "Sssssire," the priest began, slowly. "You are not undersssstanding. I am being head priesssst of Glumrot. I am favored voicccce of He-Who-Fessssterssss. The bussssinesss of dealing with dead in battle isssss up to me."


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Marcus faced the rat, feeling anger take him once again.


    "And I am your Shai-Alud," he said. "You should be speaking to me with more re-"


    Now, he saw something else that he hadn''t seen before.


    He saw the Wakisashi that glimmered in the ratman''s right claw.


    As the little priest spoke, he watched as the tip of the blade slowly rose to touch Marcus''s reverberating heart.


    "You are not ssssspeaker for the Unclean," the priest told him in a cold whisper. "You ssssshal never be. A human isssss a human, jusssst assss a Kobold isssss a Kobold and a sssssnake-bitch isssss a sssssnake-bitch. Hereticsssss, all of you. And one day, sssssooon, there ssssshall come a day when you are purged from our gloriousssss empire. And on that day, Ssssshai-Alud, you may sssssee which ratssss in thisssss realm are truly holding the power."


    Marcus licked his lips. His eyes now swam to watch the edges of the podium. And he became acutely conscious of just how isolated they were up here, surrounded by the dying and the dead. Like the vicious little creature said, it was his domain.


    He maintained his composure. He stalled for time.


    "Are you threatening me, Verulex?"


    The sly smile that crossed the priest''s lips then was more chilling than anything Marcus had seen thus far in the Kingdom of the rats.


    "I am but a humble sssservant, Sssshai-Alud," he replied. "We all have our placcce in ratman sssssociety. Even you, Ssssshai-Alud. It issss a beautiful thing, issss it not? He-Who-Festerssss issss a mossst generoussss God. He is even giving sssscum like you a placccce among Hisssss chosen people."


    Marcus stepped back as the tip of the knife inched closer to his abdomen. He could swear, still smirking, that the ratman moved with him.


    And so when there finally came the rattling of chains from the lip of the silo platform''s edge, Marcus was more relieved than ever. And the knife that Verulex once dangled before him simply evaporated into ash.


    Magic, it seemed, could hide even the greatest crime.


    "Shai-Alud!" the voice of Deekius yelped from the edge of the platform, panting as he and a retinue of soldiers threw themselves over the lip and caught their breath. "You¡­are you being hurt, Lor-"


    "Gloomraava Deekius," Verulex interrupted. "You are coming in good time. I am taking charge of thisssss Yokun bitch. We will be exxxxecuting her publicly tomorrow, after I take sssssome time to ¨C time to ¨C"


    The priest collapsed suddenly, coughing up a miasma of his blood in the process.


    "Gloomraava Verulex," Deekius said. "You are being maimed. Be coming down, we shall be administering to you."


    "Be dealing with Brother Fesssssticusss firsssst, Brother," the old priest coughed as he allowed himself to be helped away. "He issss needing your care more than I."


    Marcus watched as the small retinue of rats then took stock of their surroundings, seeing the chaos and carnage that unfolded in such a tiny area over such a short space of time.


    "He was being a credit to his Clan," Deekius said. "This is great loss for our people."


    Verulex, meanwhile, said nothing at all.


    Marcus watched as the Yokun woman was spat on and then trundled off down the silo with the others, thankful that the old priest''s wounds at least stopped him from having her slain then and there. Perhaps even he knew he couldn''t go against the Shai-Alud''s wishes publically.


    But he''d just confirmed something that Marcus had already begun to fear ¨C something that became far too obvious to him now after seeing the hatred burning in the eyes of Redwhiskers and Verulex both.


    And, more than that, he needed to speak to that snake. He needed that more than anything. He needed to know¡­was it chance? Or¡­was Mari really..?


    "Marcus," he heard Deekius say outside himself. "It is being alright now. Yokun are not being known to send more than single assassin team. If they are failing, it is because they are not blessed by their heretic Gods. Defeating them here is great victory for us all, and now, you are having nothing to fear."


    The ratman lifted his arm to try and guide Marcus away but the latter rejected the help entirely. He crossed to the edge of the platform and looked down upon the city, seeing the crowds cheer to see him alive, wondering which of them truly did have any real love for him at all.


    Then his eyes lighted on the descending form of Verulex, and he felt a very different idea take root within his mind.


    "No, Deekius," he said. "I have plenty still to fear. But now I know what to do about it."


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memory of our furry comrade by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 45

    Note: Alright troops, it''s my birthday tomorrow so I''m taking some shore leave. No new chapters tomorrow. Fantasy General will be back on Friday with a chapter that you won''t want to miss...


    Marcus sat silently in his chambers, his fingers drumming into the stone armrests of his chair that faced the balcony window.


    Outside, there were chants being spurned on in his name. There were ratmen down there who were ready to throw their lives away just to get a look at him and to know, for certain, that he was still alive.


    "They''ve pinned their whole hopes on me," he whispered."And yet, I''d sell them all out just to see Mari again."


    He leaned back at stared at the empty ceiling above, tracing the cracks in the stones where the rats had probably done battle before.


    "What kind of person does that make me?" he asked the vacant ceiling. "Someone worth believing in? Or something who lets his own selfish desires run his mind?"


    The door to his room creaked open, and a small, robed rat shuffled in.


    "I guess I''ll find out soon enough," Marcus said as he turned to meet the visitor he had called to his room alone.


    Deekius.


    The rat-priest looked up at him with both awe and ¨C Marcus thought ¨C a small sliver of fear. Perhaps the rat himself now believed all the sermons he had delivered about Marcus the Shai-Alud. Perhaps he didn''t, and the display of terror-stricken reverence was merely an act.


    He bowed his head so low that his snout practically kissed the stones of Marcus''s floor.


    "Shai-Alud," he said. "It is being my honor to stand before you once again. How are your wounds healing?"


    Marcus waved his trivial concerns away. "My bruises are psychological, at best," he said. "More importantly, tell me straight, can your Gloomraava do anything for Festicus?"


    The rat-priest closed his eyes. His silence said enough.


    "Then he truly is gone," Marcus stated, turning back to the balcony and the legions of baying fans waiting down there.


    "We will be giving him a proper ceremony in the Grand Cathedral of the Unclean," Deekius stated. "Then, he will be afforded the highest honor ¨C his body shall be returned to King Skylock of Marrow and consumed by their Clan''s Queen. King Shrykul is making necessary preparations."


    Marcus hesitated before he spoke his next words, his mind racing.


    "Tell him to wait," he said.


    Deekius blinked. "Sire? The King is giving order to ¨C"


    "Do the soldiers of Clan Marrow know their commander is gone?" Marcus asked. "Do they know how, and where, he died?"


    "They¡­they are knowing the assassins struck here tonight. They are knowing their commander is pursuing them, but all his forces do not yet know he is perishing on top of the Foundry."


    "Good," Marcus said. "We will be keeping it that way."


    Now he turned back to the little rat-priest. The one who brought him here when it seemed his purpose in life had departed him. When he was at his most hopeless¡­


    "The prisoner," he said. "Where is she being kept?"


    "She is being taken to the dungeons on Gloomraava Verulex''s authority," Deekius said. "Her execution is being scheduled for 6 hours from now. I am being sorry, Sire Marcus, but the priest of Glumrot is having final say in this matter."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "But not," Marcus added. "The sole domain of priest Verulex."


    Deekius cocked his eyebrows at him, his fur furrowing beneath his hood.


    "No," he said slowly. "But he is being senior priest here. Authority of Glumrot priests are second only to Prime Putrefact''s."


    "Yes, of course," Marcus replied. "And where is Gloomraava Verulex currently?"


    "He is in his chambers resting," Deekius replied. "He is still recovering from his wounds ¨C the poison of the Yokun Matron is working on him. But he shall be surviving yet. He is just needing rest after all his exertions."


    "Yes," Marcus said. "He was gravely wounded. Wasn''t he?"


    Silence weaved its way between both rat and man as the hidden meaning in Marcus''s words spilled out into the air around them.


    "Deekius," the human finally said. "I know you have ambition in you."


    Are you really going to do this? he asked himself. Once you take a step like this¡­there is no going back. This is the abyss.


    Even as his mind fumbled, he recalled the image of Verulex''s hateful eyes staring at him beneath his ragged hood. He recalled the feeling of the Yokun''s blade against his flesh as the rat held it before him. And he recalled the ratman''s statements in the war-chamber. He had realized, as he was brought back to this castle, why that little priest showed no fear in making such open threats.


    Because he thinks I''m weak, Marcus told himself. He thinks my displays of mercy to be the whims of a coward. He thinks I am a tool to be exploited, and nothing more.


    But I have tools of my own. I''m not just a history professor, anymore. Words no longer have to be my only weapons¡­


    "Sire?" the ratman mumbled.


    "I have heard the sermons you sing about me," Marcus said, stepping closer and bending low to look the ratman right in his sharp eyes. "About the power you wield now that He-Who-Festers has looked upon you as His chosen priest. After all, it was you who summoned the Shai-Alud. And it was you who called those illusions ¨C at the palace doors and atop the Foundry tower ¨C that led to the defeat of the Yokun assassins, wasn''t it?"


    "You are knowing my skills too well, Sire," Deekius replied with a humble bow.


    Now''s the time, Marcus. Do it. Show him who you are. Who you can be. Show them all.


    "A rat like you," he began cooly. "A rat with such power flowing through him ¨C a Gloomraava chosen by the Unclean ¨C shouldn''t a rat like that be the priest who commands the highest office of respect in this place? Shouldn''t it be a priest of Fleapit ¨C the priest of Fleapit ¨C who speaks for the Shai-Alud and for his people?"


    The light of an epiphany slowly began to creep into the rat-priest''s dark eyeballs. His mind was catching up to the desire that lay at the core of his Shai-Alud''s words.


    "I could give you it all, Deekius," Marcus continued as he saw the light of the priest''s own desires flare in his face. "You will be installed as the new Prime Putrefact. Your old leader ¨C he was too weak. He was captured and rots with the enemy. This happened because He Who Festers did not see him as worthy. Not like you."


    The eyes of the ratman widened now. Anticipation, excitement, and even a little bit of bloodlust had just taken root within his small mind.


    "Sire," he smirked. "You really are having the soul of a rat."


    This is it, Marcus. If you go forward now, there is no return.


    One path led towards return to his home ¨C the honorable path where he did his job and then shipped out. That was the path he had expected he''d follow. The path that had been causing him all his headaches recently. Now, with the Glitterpak gone, it would simply be even harder to force a surrender from the Kobolds.


    But another path had just been opened ¨C a path where Mari lay at the end. If it was true that she really was here, among the warriors of the Yokun, then that meant he''d be going home without her if he found Silas alive. It meant returning to his mundane life without the one thing that made it matter at all.


    The right path was so obvious to him. So clear that it was almost comical.


    But that''s exactly the path he could no longer tread.


    "I am knowing what you want to say," Deekius whispered. "If I may speak plainly, Shai-Alud, it is something your human honor will not allow you to voice. But you wish it of me, don''t you, Sire?"


    Marcus licked his pale lips, feeling the trembling that had set in them earlier fade away.


    "Yes, Deekius," he replied. "I do."


    A curt nod from the rat and ¨C just like that ¨C a conspiracy was born.


    "How?" the priest asked.


    "First, a promise," Marcus replied. "I want your word that you shall swear your fealty to no one but me, your Shai-Alud, from this night until the end of all nights. Do this, and I will give you all the honors within my power. King Shrykul will not deny me ¨C I am the only hope of his ailing wife. The warriors of Marrow and Glumrot will fall into line ¨C your sermons will see to that. And from this night forward, this empire will know the name of one priest only."


    That was it. That was the final stoking of the fire that sent the rat into an almost trembling frenzy. And the future of the ratman race was decided by his last whispered words:


    "Sire," he said. "This is a promise. Together, we shall be making history."


    <div>


    <div>


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memory of our furry comrade by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 46

    In a cold chamber where only the dimmest light of a flickering flame burned for warmth, Verulex of Clan Glumrot lay sweating, his body doing what it could to rid its host of the toxins that had addled his veins.


    "By¡­the Unclean," he muttered in his sleep. "May that Yokun¡­drown¡­in her¡­poisssssson."


    He gripped his pillow and screamed into its soft surface, cursing the day he decided to volunteer for his expedition. He had begged his King to see the Shai-Alud for himself. And now that he had, he found his spirit¡­wanting.


    "Unclean One," he groaned, the world of his chamber swimming around him as he clutched his pillow tightly to his bosom. "Why do you sssssend usssss ssssssuch a weak¡­mortal..?"


    He knew his wounds would heal. He knew, by the grace of He-Who-Festers, that his magic would be enough to stem the flood of toxic energy flowing through him. Perhaps such chemicals would destroy a lesser rat. But not those of Clan Glumrot ¨C born in spume, breathing corrupted air - bred for resisting even the most harmful of environments.


    "My faittttth," he whispered, as though the words would not quite come out even in his hallucinogenic state. "¡­issssss being tesssssted¡­"


    So fixated was he on carrying on his one-sided prayer to his Lord that he did not hear the guards outside his chamber slump to the ground.


    "Unclean¡­" he muttered, drooping to take up his notched staff and hold it aloft with both his bandaged claws. "Lord¡­why have you forssssaken your people with a weak sssservant? Do you ssssseek to tesssst me, Lord? Do you really wissssssh me to follow him?"


    The door to Verulex''s chamber opened steadily. The pitter-patter of tiny paws resounded from the dark entrance only for a moment before the door was once again shut, and the only sound in the room came from the wheezing form of the Gloomraava of Glumrot.


    "I am sssseing now," Verulex told the shrine in the dark corner of his chamber ¨C one full of his own dung piles and sprinkled with spume, lovingly cared for. "You¡­are tessssting me."


    "And you have failed."


    As the voice of the interloper hit Verulex''s ears the priest spun to try and catch the dagger that shot out of the air. But his assailant was faster, cleaving through the ratman''s grotesque fingers and piercing his already wounded neck.


    Verulex fell against his bed, the last vestiges of life within him summoning the most potent magicks of his kind ¨C magic that reached out with invisible fingers to curl around the heart of his attacker and stop his blood flow before it was too late.


    But Verluex then felt an altogether new sensation. He felt a force push back against him. He felt a power that mirrored his own. He felt¡­resistance.


    And then his eyes finally opened. The horrid reality of his last minutes in this world exploded in a vibrant mix of sweating fur, ruby eyes, and snarling, salivating teeth.


    "You are being strong, Brother," Deekius told him. "But there is more to living in our world than strength. Only the truly faithful are knowing this."


    Verulex''s mouth lolled open, his face twitching as he felt his Brother priest''s dagger penetrate deeper into his neck, carving through muscle and tendon and stopping any breath he still had to breathe.


    "He-Who-Festers is choosing me," Deekius told his slowly dying face. "There is being only one Gloomraava that speaks for one Clan. Soon, I shall be the Gloomraava that speaks for them all."


    The dying priest''s claws struck out, flailing, desperate ¨C demonstrating little more than Verulex''s final spasms before his throat was finally severed entirely.


    "B¡­Brother¡­" he managed to gargle.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Be looking carefully, Verulex," Deekius replied. "I am wanting you to know it was me."


    The final cut was then made. The eyes of the old, flailing ratman suddenly became nothing but two oval voids of nothingness, and the tongue that had slaved over every word of the Unclean for decades lolled to the side like a listless snake. Deekius withdrew the Yokun Wakizashi, watching its long surface sheen with his Brother''s blood, and let Verulex''s old body fell from his hands.


    Then, smiling silently to himself, the Gloomraava of Fleapit took his leave.


    ¡­


    It didn''t take long for the alarms of the castle to ring out, and for the guards to rush to Shrykuul''s chambers to tell him they needed to evacuate, right now.


    "Be silent, churls!" the King roared, angered at having been woken from one of his few moments of respite from satisfying his Queen''s nightly needs.


    When the guards explained to him that not one, but two Talon Commanders now lay slain under his roof, his face went a shade of white that would have shamed even a blind albino.


    "By the Unclean¡­sound the alarms! Search the castle grounds!"


    "It will not be necessary," came the call of a rat that entered behind the guardsmen. "It is seeming that head-priest Verulex is succumbing to his wounds atop the Foundry tower. He is giving his life, as is noble Festicus, for the good of our Clan."


    Shrykul balked at this information, distrustful of the priest merely by dint of his caste. He was getting sick of constant preaching, and, even upon being told that it was in fact Deekius who found the body, was about to fly into a lecture that would end with more heads rolling.


    "The Gloomraava speaks the truth," another voice said, appearing from the shadows behind the sorrowful priest. "Verulex died a noble death this night. I saw the wounds that the Yokun made against him. They were wounds that could only have been made with a weapon sharper than any blade forged by you Ratmen."


    "This is being true, Sire!" one of the guards then shrieked. "We inspected the body ¨C the killing stroke was made across the throat, with a strike far thinner and far deeper than any of our weapons could cut."


    "Indeed," Marcus stated. "Perhaps you underestimated the professionalism of your Yokun foes."


    Shrykul''s face dropped to stare at his hands, trying to keep them from shaking before his subjects. Here, under his watch, the loyal servants of his Brothers had been slain¡­by Yokun of all things. It meant too much for his mind to calculate right now. It meant the other Clans would call for nothing short of total war against the surface when they found out¡­it meant retribution from his Brother Kings, perhaps even punishment¡­how he would avoid this he didn''t know. But he knew what his Kingly duty now required of him. That was where he would focus his mind.


    "We shall be making preparations," he said quietly. "We shall be sanctifying the bodies in the Grand Cathedral of the Unclean immediately. We shall be readying them for return to their Clans. That much we owe our Brothers. Guards!" he suddenly cried. "Leave us."


    Shrykul did not wait to see them go, but he did feel something that surprised him.


    The hand of the Shai-Alud hovered on his shoulder, the human''s smiling eyes brimming at him with something he never expected to see in this moment: hope.


    "They came for me, King Shrykul," Marcus said. "The responsibility for these noble rats'' deaths is mine."


    Shrykul flew to deny this, but the will of the human seemed even more resolute than it was before. A change had come over him.


    "I will make you a promise, my King," he said. "That from this day your war will be prosecuted to the utmost of my abilities. I will lead your people against the threat to your tunnels and crush your enemy ¨C Skegga ¨C and all who swear fealty to him. I will start by questioning the Yokun prisoner in the dungeons below. We must understand our enemies if we are going to be able to soundly defeat them."


    The King nodded slowly, his head swirling with the necessity of the funerary arrangements and the need to inform his Brothers of their commanders'' passing.


    "Yes," he said. "That would¡­be best."


    "Rest assured," Marcus continued. "This insult to your Clan will not go unpunished. I believe I owe it to the memory of both Festicus and Verulex to guide their forces against the threat that is coming for us. And believe me when I say that it may be coming sooner than we think."


    Shrykul looked up at this human ¨C this being who bore the face of Sire Marcus ¨C and saw the new determination that lay behind his eyes. Perhaps it was an effect of the Place Beyond where he hailed from, perhaps it was righteous anger at the deaths of his fellow commanders. But there was something there that the King could not quite place¡­


    "Wait," he said. "Guide their forces?"


    Marcus smiled again. It was not a smile that invited disagreement. Shrykul knew then that this was a real commander standing before him now.


    From the looks of the reverent priest standing behind him, he wasn''t the only one.


    "King Shrykul," Marcus said. "I think we should have a talk."


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor our insane/furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 47

    In the dreary depths of Fleapit¡¯s dungeons, a single Yokun waited for death.


    The rusted pinnacles that dug into her wrists and legs cut her flesh with every move she made to free herself. She¡¯d learned, moments upon being interred within the sandstone walls of this tomb packed with dirt, that attempting escape through conventional means would be useless to her here. These vermin were thorough in the indignities they visited upon the other races. She had known that since she was a hatchling.


    Her eyes flickered up during regular intervals at the guards during their shift changes, noting every small movement of each rodent that came to keep her caged. She committed the minute gyrations of their tiny limbs to her mind ¨C gaining knowledge that would normally take a human of Marxon¡¯s breed months of training and observation to pin down.


    Such was the gift of her kind: memory, and longevity. They had whole centuries to measure the successes of their plots and campaigns, lifetimes to hone their skills with their blades.


    And it had only taking Yeeva of the House of Whispers a few dull hours to plot her revenge.


    Her kind were not as dull as the greybearded dwarves whose petty tribalistic squabbles reigned for longer than any of their Kings did. For a Yokun like her, blessed by the Silent Matriarchs, whose blood ran colder than even the most sinister predators of Thea¡¯s jungles, revenge was a matter of swiftly executed cause and effect.


    The rat that killed her sisters, and the human that was to be their new God ¨C she would have their heads. Damned be the orders of the Pale One! None of them would leave this nocturnal realm alive.


    Yeeva was roused from her comforting thoughts of bloody murder by a door opening at the end of the dungeon stairwell. Light ¨C candlelight ¨C beamed its dim luminescence into the normally pitch-black prison ward and threw itself across the bars of her cell.


    She strained her eyes to see the new arrivals to this den of debasement. One of them seemed rather tall for a rat.


    ¡°Give us the room.¡±


    Some hesitation from the guards meets this command. But then the second figure twitches slightly, perhaps in threat, and the ratmen assigned to watch over her prison march away, twisted tails between their legs.


    She was alone with these two new figures, and as the candlelight held by the little one drew closer, she finally saw the face of the man who pulled up a dingy stool and sat across from her.


    The Shai-Alud. The one the Lady called ¡®Marcus.¡¯


    ¡°I hope they aren¡¯t treating you too poorly,¡± he said.


    She bared her teeth, but she said nothing. The other rat with him she didn¡¯t recognize. But she could smell the musky scent of his kind¡¯s vile magic on him. It made her stomach crawl. The pathetic tricks of ones like this had felled her sisters. It seemed ratman incantations were far more potent than her kind gave them credit for.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Marcus continued after a time. ¡°You know, our King ¨C Shrykul ¨C was planning your execution mere moments ago on the advice of one of our most esteemed commanders. I believe he said something about scooping out your entrails and tying them round your neck, forcing you to march around the city as your life slowly expired. I¡¯m no expert on magic, but my Gloomraava Deekius here tells me such a method of execution is quite popular round these parts.¡±


    Yeeva watched the furrowed lips of the little hooded ratman upturn into a vicious smile. But she did not show fear. The first code of the House of Whispers was inked into her soul: never let the enemy see you bleed.


    ¡°Your execution means nothing.¡±


    ¡°Indeed?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°Then what I am about to tell you may mean less than nothing to you, but I have halted the proceedings. You won¡¯t die today, Yokun.¡±


    She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, momentarily forgetting herself. Was the human¡¯s statement true? It had to be. She could detect no fluctuations in his bloodflow, no twitches or twinges in his facial features that might reveal this to be a deception.


    But she sat deathly still. She said nothing.


    ¡°The problem though,¡± Marcus continued in the face of her silence. ¡°Is that you and your team killed a lot of rats down here. Not to mention a high-born commander of one of our armies. That means there¡¯s plenty of rats out there baying for your blood, and I don¡¯t think I can keep them away from you forever.¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Yeeva sat back and let herself smile. The human had no idea what he was dealing with. In spite of her teachings, she decided to satisfy her own desires and tell him exactly what it was he was speaking to.


    ¡°You know nothing, do you, monkey?¡± she snarled. ¡°I am a blade of the House of Whispers ¨C a Yokun honor-bound since birth to serve a single purpose. My entire life is lived in service to my Matriarchs, and to them is my body and soul are committed entirely. You think I fear death? You think your threats of rodent retribution mean anything to me? We of the Whispers learned how to die a long time ago. When our Calling comes we are always ready. So let them take me, human slave to the dark, and spare me the incessant yapping of your toothless gums.¡±


    The rat beside the human grew antsy, knocking his staff against the cage as though he were about to fly into a rage. But the human held up his hand, chuckling to himself.


    ¡°Eloquent for an assassin,¡± he said. ¡°You remind me so much of her.¡±


    The way he said those final words struck something in Yeeva¡¯s cold breast. He said them with fondness. Almost with¡­love?


    ¡°Leave us,¡± he suddenly told his companion.


    He sat forward, sighed, and fixed Yeeva with what she now saw were a pair of tired, bruised eyes. Only when his priest had closed shut the door behind him did he deign to say another word.


    ¡°I understand how someone in your line of work thinks better than you might believe,¡± he said. ¡°You probably see me as nothing more than a marked man who¡¯s living on borrowed time down here. Further, you don¡¯t care if you live or die. I¡¯d wager, in fact, that because you and your ¡®Sisters¡¯ failed to extract me you consider yourself already dead. Your people probably think the same. So, I doubt they will send any help for you.¡±


    Yeeva did not give him the satisfaction of bowing her head in acknowledgement of these facts.


    ¡°But I¡¯d also wager that you care about your Matriarchs,¡± he continued after wiping his glasses on his sleeve. ¡°Especially your ¡®Pale Lady¡¯. Maria.¡±


    She stiffened. He saw it, and she cursed herself.


    ¡°Do not say her name, monkey. Your lips are undeserving.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree with you!¡± the human replied, finding this statement funny. ¡°But your lady happens to quite like these lips.¡±


    ¡°You now blaspheme before me?¡± Yeeva suddenly shrieked. ¡°Do not speak to me of the Lady. What she desires from you is of no concern of mine. I had a duty. I failed. And now I am to rot or die. Get it over with before I break these chains and strangle you.¡±


    Between the pair of them, a drop of water somewhere nearby was the only sound that reigned for a few unbroken moments. But the stare of the human never dropped from Yeeva¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Yeeva,¡± he said. ¡°Your Lady ¨C Maria ¨C I must know if she is like me. Is she human? Did she come from this ¡®Place Beyond¡¯? Are her eyes the color of lily-pads? And¡­is she ok?¡±


    The snake reeled back, sighing deeply into her wall of her cage.


    ¡°¡­what she sees in you,¡± she said. ¡°I shall never know.¡±


    ¡°So it is her!¡± the human practically jumped. ¡°She¡¯s here, isn¡¯t she? She¡¯s alive, and she¡¯s been working with you. That¡¯s why she sent you to me, isn¡¯t it? I just wonder¡­how does she know I¡¯m here? And what does she want? Why send a pack of assassins at all ¨C if she had just sent me a letter, just asked me to come up to join her¡­¡±


    ¡°Because your ratmen need to die,¡± Yeeva spat. ¡°This whole ¡®Underkingdom¡¯ shall die. And tonight was only the beginning.¡±


    She was breaking her oaths ¨C she knew it. But she also knew that watching the boyish smile fade from the human¡¯s face was giving her more pleasure than she¡¯d had in weeks.


    ¡°Yeeva,¡± he said. ¡°I need you to tell me everything. I need to know what¡¯s happening to Maria up there. If you cooperate, I have the authority to orchestrate your safe return to your people. I need you to take a message to your Lady. I need you to tell her that I have found a way home. Tell her that-¡°


    Yeeva spat a chunk of green slime at the Marcus¡¯s face, cutting him off entirely.


    ¡°¡¯Home?!¡¯¡± she cackled. ¡°Lady Maria does not want your ¡®home¡¯. She came to us when we needed her, and here she has chosen to stay.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    The human trailed off, and Yeeva decided she was done with this trivial conversation.


    ¡°Enough,¡± she snarled. ¡°Put me to the sword or parade me before your filth-ridden ¡®city¡¯. But I will give you nothing, human. I came here to do the bidding of my Lady and to get the measure of you as I did so. Now that I have seen who you are, I am unimpressed. The Pale Matriarch was wrong. You are nothing.¡±


    The human held her gaze for a time before slowly rising with a weary sigh. He crossed his hands behind his back, and then turned away as he delivered his final proclamation to the prisoner who was now, ultimately his.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to die today,¡± he said again. ¡°Because your life now belongs to me. See, I went through a lot of trouble to keep you alive and learn your secrets. And I¡¯m afraid that, if you won¡¯t tell me what you know, you¡¯ll be dying for a very very long time.¡±


    Yeeva watched as the candlelight faded away. The door opened, and the Shai-Alud addressed the ratman who had been waiting there, patiently, for the human to return.


    But he had brought something with him.


    And Yeeva, for the first time in her life, felt her cold heart shrink at the words they shared:


    ¡°I must ask too much of you once again, Deekius.¡±


    Yeeva heard the snapping of pliers. The ratting of more chains. And at least a dozen other objects that clattered against the floor. Sharp objects.


    ¡°Believe me,¡± the little rat replied. ¡°This is being a pleasure, Sire.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s></s> theories.

 Chapter 48

    The grand cathedral of the Unclean One stood tall and bright amidst the dark depths of Fleapit''s underbelly. Its clangorous chimes, otherworldly glow, and stained glass windows depicting ratman heroes throughout time stood as a testament to the empire of filth and decay that now sought to stretch across the entire North Warrens.


    Two bodies wrapped in ceremonial threads belonging to their respective clans lay upon the main altar to He-Who-Festers, a great statue of their horned, many-eyed God staring down at them as like a giant guardian watching His children finally sleep.


    Before the grand altar, the Clansmen of the dead rats knelt, heads bowed, and fists clenched in reverence. They listened with total respect to the words being sung from the new Archpriest of Fleapit ¨C the one who it was rumored would now be taking over completely from the old Prime Putrefact.


    "Be letting the gaze of He-Who-Festers linger on these brave souls!" Deekius roared ¨C his voice traveling through the bowels of the great church and causing every ratman assembled beneath him to tremble with fear and bloodlust alike. "They, your Clansmen, are giving their lives for the Shai-Alud! For a rat of the Underkingdom, there is being no greater glory! They are dying in righteous battle, filled with pox and drenched in the vile blood of our enemies! They are dying as true warriors of ratman Kingdom should!"


    The soldiers and civilians huddled beneath the rat gave their thunderous thunderous assent, mailed claws knocking against their ribs and clanging on the plate of their armor. The Marrow warriors'' fists beat the hardest, and the Gloomraava-touched rats of Glumrot screeched the loudest. Together, they looked the very picture of a unified people. One collective whole banded together by a shared purpose ¨C vengeance.


    Marcus watched the proceedings from the side, behind Deekius, his eyes passing over the warriors that lay supplicant before him. Whenever his stare passed over one of them, the soldier in question immediately dipped his head.


    If they didn''t believe in me before, Marcus thought. They do now.


    Skeever stood to attention beside him, rubbing the phantom pains running up his dead arm.


    "It is being a grim day for ratman Kingdom," the old warrior said.


    Marcus spared him a fleeting look. "Indeed," he replied. "But rest assured, Skeever. Your comrades will be avenged."


    The ratman didn''t seem altogether reassured. But he held his tongue.


    "You were asking me for report, Sire," he said, cringing as Deekius'' raised his voice again to let his exhortations travel through the length of the cathedral. It was said that many of the civilians and warriors were actually assembled outside, unable to fit into the church''s rows. The blinking crimson embers of their eyes could be seen if one focused enough on the windows.


    "It is being as you said," Skeever continued. "Skegga is making push. A great mass of Kobolds are storming through to attack as we are speaking. Two forces are moving ¨C one to assault Razork, and one to destroy Gulchnavel village. Skegga is seeking to throw everything he is having at us, abandoning forts he has left. Ix and Kobold scouts are reporting Tarakht and Gromelin are having only token defense left."


    Marcus gave a curt nod. It is just as the Yokun had said. The last few nights of torture had borne some fruit, it seemed. Even if she still hadn''t given him the exact answers he''d personally wanted.


    "There are being two other things," Skeever continued.


    "Do tell."


    The old rat gulped, trying to ignore Deekius'' continued screeching and the cheers of the ratmen who were listening. "The dwarf army Brother Festicus spoke of is on the move. They are destroying Clan Marrow fort Rekalspit on Eastern Border. Soldiers of Fort Spearclaw are saying that they have seen smoke from Dwarven encampments in the East. They are suggesting that Dwarf splinter assault force may be coming for us, but I am not being sure if we can trust this report."


    "The guards of Spearclaw are among some of our most devout," Marcus replied. "If they think there''s an attack imminent on our Eastern border, then we have to take the threat seriously."


    Skeever nodded gravely. Marcus could tell the little rat was agitated. But a couple of Dwarves looking to pick apart the beleaguered ratman of the North weren''t a concern. In fact, this situation might even present them with an advantage.


    "And the second thing?" Marcus asked. "Tell me it''s some good news, Skeever."


    "It is¡­surprising, Sire," the rat said, watching as Deekius began to finish up his speech to rapturous applause and howls of glory. "Boss Skegga is leading one of his armies."


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Now, Marcus''s ears perked up.


    "He is being seen heading South towards Razork," Skeever continued. "He is passing Razor Ridge within the next day according to scouts. I am thinking, this time, he means to push until we are obliterated."


    Marcus wavered. "Force composition?"


    Skeever shook his head. "His own army is numbering at least three thousand Kobolds," the ratman said gravely. "His detachment sent towards Gulchnavel ¨C at least two thousand strong. They are having Skogsriders, slingers, and crossbows, Sire. Their vanguard is wearing armor plundered from dwarf supplies. Skegga must be having dwarven prisoners fit armor for his army. I¡­we are thinking this is being his Great Kleansing."


    Marcus scoffed, a thin smile playing across his lips. "That arrogant toad¡­he''s somehow gotten the idea that we''re crippled, what? Because we lost the main Glitterpak swarm? Does he think me so basic as to base my entire campaign on the use of a single weapon alone?"


    Skeever screwed up his face and twitched his scarred nose, "Sire?"


    "Head to the War-council chambers, Skeever," Marcus said. "I shall meet you and King Shrykul there soon, after I''ve explained the situation to our soldiers."


    Skeever hesitated. "''Our soldiers'', Sire? I am thinking that the Clans are surely more divided now than ever. With both Talon commanders gone, the Kings of Marrow and Glumrot will be requesting that their soldiers be returned to them. They will be assuming we shall fall. I am thinking the situation is more grave than it has ever been before."


    But Marcus, the veteran rodent noticed, never once dropped his smile even as he heard such concerns.


    "Skeever," he said. "Have you so little faith in your Shai-Alud?"


    "Ratmen of Clans Marrow and Glumrot!" Deekius howled. "To be closing our ceremony, let me be presenting you your General. Your savior that is coming to lead us in this darkest hour. Let us be welcoming SHAI-ALUD MARCUS!"


    Later, Skeever would reflect on what he was about to see as Marcus then stepped forward and allowed Deekius to take his hand in his paw, absorbing the chants of reverence that issued from the throat of each and every ratman in the cathedral that night and, probably, each and every ratman in Fleapit who heard the Shai-Alud''s name. Lately, it was a name spoken with the same degree of respect afforded even to the Unclean One.


    And Skeever watched as the man they revered gave a single wave of his hand.


    The crowd instantly went silent.


    "Ratmen of Fleapit!" he shouted. "Your Shai-Alud has come to address you on this most gravest of days. On this day two heroes to our glorious cause have fallen, cut down by the dark blades of our enemies sent by Boss Skegga. And that fat toad even now gloats in premature victory. He is coming for us, warriors of the Unclean. Make no mistake of that."


    Murmurs of fury permeated the crowd. Skeever noted how their ears twitched to hear Marcus''s every word, their eyes hanging on his every subtle movement. When he mentioned Skegga coming for them, the crowd grew vicious. Skeever could sense the building tension even from as far back as he stood.


    "Yes," Marcus continued. "He believes he has already won. He believes that crippling our leadership has struck a blow against our nation that we cannot recover from. He believes you will each lay down and offer your putrid bellies to him as he climbs over these walls and takes everything you care about. I ask you, men of Marrow, men of Glumrot, are you going to submit to him thus?"


    The answer was so obvious that Skeever didn''t have to hear it. Yet, still, when it came, it came with a fury the Talon-Commander had not heard in an age, not since the last Skittering was called.


    "NO!"


    They took up Marcus''s name in a battle chant again, most of them already gripping their weapons before he even made his next announcement.


    "Then the time has come for you to show this fat toad and his underlings who exactly you are," he said, pointing a gloved finger at the crowd that seemed to be directed at every ratman down there. "A time comes in all our lives when we must stand up ¨C we must stand together, shoulder to shoulder with our brothers, and take up arms against a common threat. That common threat is here, Brothers. It is moving, and soon it will be upon our doorstep. We need an army united in a singular purpose, with a leader that can direct us towards the target of our righteous vengeance. I ask you, now, who do you wish to lead you in this time?"


    "THE SHAI-ALUD!" the ratlings screamed ¨C till the scream became an echo that weaved like a ghost through the streets of Fleapit so even the youngest rat could hear. "THE SHAI-ALUD! THE SHAI-ALUD!"


    "Then let your will be done!" Marcus then shouted into the crowd. "King Shrykul has bestowed upon me the rank of First Talon! I will stand with you in the midst of the battle to come, and we shall defeat this menace once and for all. We shall push him back until he falls off the edge of this world. And we shall do so not as one Clan or another, but as a single entity. Ratmen ¨C look at the Brother beside you. He is not just your brother in arms, now. He is not just your cousin from another Warren. Now, he is an extension of your very self. He is a weapon that shall come down upon the head of Skegga just as you are. He ¨C and all of us here ¨C tonight bear witness to history being made. Your time is now, ratmen! The time of your Empire has come!"


    Skeever staggered back, absorbing the words of his Sire even as his ears failed to truly understand them.


    First-Talon¡­


    A name that granted power second only to that of a King of the Clans¡­a name reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.


    Skeever looked at the pair of dead commanders beneath him, and then caught Deekius''s smiling snarl as he watched Marcus raise his fists high amidst the screaming chorus of the crowd.


    "It is being glorious, Brother, is it not?" the rat-priest said. "Be marking this moment, Brother commander, for history is being made."


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 49

    "It will be a two-pronged assault", Marcus was saying to his new war-council, standing at the very top-end of King Shrykul''s table. "He''ll move through Razork, cut off our Glitterpak farms, and then head South until he hits Fleapit. Meanwhile, his secondary force will cut off a potential retreat in the East by taking Gulchnavel and holding fort Greenwatch. It''s possible they might move to re-take Knifegut if Skegga''s scouts report success on the Western front. Casualties don''t seem to be a concern for them now."


    Shrykul, Skeever and Deekius each nodded along as Marcus pointed out the tactically crucial forts on their ever-changing map of the Warrens.


    "Skeever reports Skegga''s main assault force numbers 2000 Yips and his secondary force about half that number."


    "How can we be succeeding now?" King Shrykul asked, his fur looking a little more whitened than usual. The last few hours of his reign had not exactly been kind to him. "Those numbers far outweigh our reserves."


    "Do not be thinking the Shai-Alud is not having plan," Deekius said. "He is always having plan. Be showing your faith, my King."


    Both Skeever and Shrykul rounded on the priest, seemingly about to rebuke him for his brazen speech. Marcus, however, was done with such interruptions.


    "In the East," he said. "Our best approach would be a swift evacuation of the garrison and the village rats. Have them move towards the Eastern Warrens and hold with Glumrot''s border forts there."


    "The priests of Gloomraava of Glumrot are already sending whispers on the winds to Fort Greenwatch," Deekius confirmed. "Our magic is giving us advantage of communication. They are already making preparations to go."


    "Tell them to expediate their progress," Marcus demanded curtly. "Time is not a resource we have."


    "At this point," Skeever broke in. "There are being few resources we have left at all. Marrow cavalry are numbering 300 strong. Glumrot spearmen and Fleapit soldiers are numbering around 500. Glumrot Gloomraava detachment are only eight priests. We could be using the rats stationed at Greenwatch."


    "There is being no clear path through Knifegut," Deekius replied. "We would be sending those soldiers to die if we asked them to clear the fort out."


    "Something I''m not willing to do," Marcus said with another curt nod. "Skeever, how many Glitterpak did we manage to catch."


    "Fifty, Sire," the Talon-Commander replied. "The rest¡­we are not finding them and committing men to look would be wasting time."


    "Fifty¡­" Marcus wondered. "Is it enough? Time will tell. Maybe He-Who-Festers has blessed us with fifty of the largest."


    "Any more explosions like those of Festigraf and Razork," Shrykul sighed. "And you will be bringing the entire roof down upon our heads."


    Marcus smiled at the King''s joke ¨C the kind of smile that told the joker that what he''d said wasn''t at all as outlandish as it seemed.


    "Shai-Alud¡­" the King murmured. "You don''t mean to¡­"


    "You didn''t think I''d leave Greenwatch and its fort without a welcome gift for their new occupants, did I?"


    Deekius sniggered. The other two rats looked the very picture of discomfort.


    "Evacuate Razork, too," Marcus continued. "I won''t risk the lives of hard-working rats in a futile effort to raise more Glitterpaks. We have fifty. It will have to be enough."


    "New mayor Trellok will not be liking this¡­" Skeever mumrued.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "He''ll bend," Marcus replied with a smile. "Tell him the order comes directly from his favorite experimentor."


    Marcus then redirected their attention to Razork and the ''Razor Ridge'' mountain pass that split it from Skegga''s controlled lands in the far North.


    "Few modern wars in my time are won through a single, decisive encounter," Marcus said. "But this war ¨C our war ¨C will hinge on our success in the battle against Skegga''s main force here. We have one main objective: take Skegga''s head from his shoulders. And, fortunately, the old toad is helping us out with that by appearing on the battlefield himself."


    "What I cannot be understanding is why?" Shrykul asked. "Why would Skegga be showing himself on the field now?"


    "Our High priest has some insights into that," Marcus said, nodding to Deekius to give the floor to him. The little rat priest took the chance to display his superior knowledge like a child being given candy.


    "Boss Skegga is believing Shai-Alud is dead," he said with a smirk. "He is being mistaken."


    "Obviously," Skeever replied. "But where is he getting this idea?"


    "They are killing another human and believing it to be Sire Marcus. Their fool minds show themselves once again. Perhaps Skegga is finally being fooled by Kobold stupidity."


    "He has fooled himself," Marcus interjected. "And we will take full advantage."


    He pointed at Razork and Razor Ridge beyond it.


    "Our best strategy would be to hem his army in at Razor Ridge. It provides the best chokepoint in the North. If we can funnel his forces in there we can effectively cut his numerical advantage in half. Our Glitterpaks can deal with those in the rear. Skegga ¨C being as bold as he is ¨C will probably be leading within the middle. He''s stupid, but still has every reason to fear us. To him, right now, we''re cornered rats."


    "And a cornered rat is being most dangerous," Skeever replied with a smile.


    "Precisely."


    "The problem as I am seeing it," Skeever said. "Is how to force an army that size back into the Ridge. Not since the days of Greyfang himself is there being such a force to contend with in the Northern Tunnels. Every single Kobold must be rallying against us."


    "After that little stunt Talon-Commander Verulex pulled, can you blame them?"


    The rats each shared knowing looks with each other.


    "I have issued a general commandment as First-Talon and Shai-Alud," Marcus told King Shrykul. "If Kobold forces, squads, or individuals surrender to our soldiers, they are to be captured and interred at Fort Spearclaw for the time being. In time, they will be integrated into our regiments."


    He could see the fear this prompted in the King''s face. And he could also see Deekius look down upon Shrykul as if from on high, the King biting his tongue as he caught the priest''s eyes.


    You want to tell me I can''t do this, Marcus thought. But you know, equally, that this is beyond you now, Shrykul. You are looking at your people''s new God ¨C the Gloomraava of your capital and beyond are already seeing to that. Your Empire is slowly becoming a Theocracy. One that is out of your hands.


    The question is, what will happen to it when it''s out of mine? Think of that, Shrykul. Think only of the future. Right now, the present belongs to me.


    "I shall¡­be reinforcing your proclamation, Shai-Alud," the King said.


    Marcus feigned humility. "I would never presume to order you to do such a thing, Sire Shrykul. Your First-Talon is merely giving his general counsel."


    "Sire," Skeever interjected, suddenly twitchy. "There is being another problem that must be addressed."


    Marcus raised an eyebrow at the commander.


    "The Dwarves of the East," Skeever continued, his gnarled fingers pointing out the tunnels that dotted the Eastern front beyond Razork and Fort Spearclaw. "We are knowing they have an army that is pushing against Clan Marrow. We must be considering possibility that they will be pushing against us."


    "I''m not only considering the possibility, Skeever Steelclaw. I''m counting on it."


    Once again, the ratmen assembly collectively flew to Marcus''s eyes.


    "You think that Ix''s recent absence from his frontline scouting duties is a coincidence?"


    "I had been having thoughts about that," Skeever admitted. "But¡­what is the Kobold having to do with the Dwarves, Sire?"


    "There''s plenty of resources that can be exploited in war," Marcus continued. "Weapons, raw materials, manpower, even the environment itself. But from what I know of the Dwarves, there''s another resource we can exploit. There''s a resource that''s potentially more powerful than all these material things that we expect will win wars. And I''ve come to understand that this is a resource in such massive supply that practically every race that exists in this black underworld maintains its own personal stash."


    The rats leaned forward, hanging on every word.


    "Well?" Shrykul asked. "What is this ultimate resource you are speaking of?"


    And Marcus, with an ironic smirk, gave them their answer:


    "Hatred."


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 50

    -East Warrens, Clan Marrow territory-


    Ix scrabbled to the top of the rock ledges that afforded him a view of his primary objective.


    These Eastern tunnels were far less hospitable than those of the North Warrens. The jagged rocks cut into his feet and he and his men had required great strength of both will and sharpness of eyes to see which crevices in the dark ground opened out into nothing but black abyss that stretched into the depths of the earth. It had taken them about a day''s worth of traversal, and Ix had carefully had his men map the path back. Because when they returned through the tunnels back to the North, they would be running.


    The reason for their speed was below the rock-ridge, ambling about a series of hastily constructed tents and fortifications.


    A Dwarven camp.


    Quite a sizeable one, Ix noticed as he and his men went prone, scanning over the lip of the ridge that would lead them into the East Warrens and Clan Marrow territory. Ix knew this to be true, because the corpses of the ratmen that he could see littering the ground between the Dwarven tents and little bonfires were many.


    "There has been fight-fight recently," one of Ix''s Yips observed.


    "And Marrow rat-rats lost."


    "It is as Shai-Alud Marcus is tell-telling," Ix whispered. "The Marrow rats die-die to Dwarves."


    "Rats of Marrow are supposed to be tough-tough," another Yip yelped.


    "They are," Ix replied. "But tough-tough is not enough against Dwarven guns."


    He directed his squad''s sight towards the chain-link fence perimeter of the Dwarves'' camp. Beyond, a series of trenches had been dug, from which the long barreled rifles of the Dwarves gleamed in the dark of the Underkingdom. Ix could see the killing field that they had carved out of the dust and crags that spread out in front of them. Mountains of Clan Marrow dead littered the fields. It seemed that some of the rats had tried using their fallen comrades as meat shields. It also seemed that this strategy had done little but buy them a few more seconds before the Dwarven firing line had chewed their armor to pieces.


    None of them had even made it to the trenches.


    Ix shook his head. The Dwarves were few in number, even fewer than the ratmen ¨C every Yip of the Underkingdom knew that. But what they lacked in numerical superiority they more than made up for in terms of their sheer firepower. Ix remembered what just one of their functional cannons under Boss Skegga had managed to do ¨C and how it sounded. His little Kobold brain could scarcely imagine what an entire array of them would be capable of.


    "Come," Ix said. "We will be taking closer look."


    The Kobold squad slowly, with great care, began descending the ledge and getting as close as they could to the Dwarven ranks. As they moved like silent specters, well accustomed to the dark, they began to see the details that were important for their mission: it looked like the Dwarves were getting ready to make a push against the North Warrens. They were tidying up their camp, making ready to scale the great rock wall that hemmed in the Marrow tunnels. Looked like a force of about 500 men. Nothing compared to Boss Skegga''s legions on their way South. But Ix reasoned that a single Dwarf probably counted for at least four Yips in strength. Double that if he held one of those big shooters in his hands.


    Ix hoped his assessment was correct. The Shai-Alud''s plan was counting on it.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    As Ix stopped his men behind a narrow overpass just above the army''s position, he listened in to the speech that one of the little men was giving to a line of heavily armored, mean-looking troops. By the looks of the Dwarf ¨C clad in silver-plated armor gilded and bearing the marks of several different blade strikes ¨C Ix assumed this stuntie to be the commander.


    "Ye know why yer here, ye bulging, mean, fur-bashin'' bastards!" the muscly Dwarf was saying, his braided red beard flying around him with every shake of his head. "Yer here because we''re the men who are chosen. We''re the men who know that the war ¨C the great war ¨C doesn''t stop here. It doesn''t stop with the bloody weaklings of Marrow ¨C Dulgaven spit on their furry assholes! It began with them, aye, but it will end with the death of Red-Eye. The wee bastards think we''re distracted with our wee campaign in the East. Little do they know we''re gonna march right into their doorstep while the Kobolds pick away at them. They fear the little yipping demons. I ask ye, men of Dulgaven, do you fear them?"


    "NO!" the Dwarven troops howled.


    "Do you fear the rats of Red-Eye?"


    "NO!"


    "Men of Dulgaven ¨C what. Do. You. Fear?"


    "NOTHING!"


    "AYE!" the Dwarven commander shouted back, throwing spittle into his vanguard''s eyes. "Fear is fer the hearts of children and cattle! Fear is nothing ta men made of stone. Men of Dulgaven ¨C MEN OF THE EAST!"


    "SEMPER-ROK! SEMPER-ROK!"


    Ix listened with scholarly curiosity. He bet Shai-Alud Marcus would understand all these funny words better than he could. His mind was not a mind attuned to words and concepts. What he knew was power. And thus, he could understand that the leader''s exhortations were powerful indeed ¨C powerful enough to have a galvanizing effect on his men. It was what the Shai-Alud referred to as ''morale''. Even from up here, Ix could see their gauntleted fingers curl round their axes and broadswords. Meanwhile, the gun emplacements were almost fully detached from the trenches. The army would be moving out soon.


    "Ok," Ix told his men. "Our times come-comes. And now we are knowing who to hit."


    The other Yips gulped as one, looking at their leader with eyes filled with trepidation.


    "A¡­are you sure-sure, Head-Yip Ix?" one asked as he produced his shortbow from behind his back. "What if Dwarves are not as dumb-dumb as the Shai-Alud is thinking?"


    "He is not thinking they are dumb-dumb," Ix whispered back, nocking an arrow and aiming just below the Dwarf leader''s furry helmet. "He is knowing they are hate-hating us. This is what makes them weak-weak."


    Ix''s arrow danced over the head of his target.


    "Small, fat, and still-still," the Kobold smiled. "Nice-nice and easy."


    "I, Corvaughn of House Darragut, shall be your beacon in the dark, lads!" the Dwarf Lord was saying. "Follow the light of me Warhammer, and watch the furry bastards of the North fall! Let them watch us climb their corpses to make Grindlefecht our home again! Let them tremble at the sounds of our guns! Semper-rok! SEMPER-RO-"


    Ix''s arrow found its mark in the Dwarf-Lord''s shoulder before he could finish his fancy speech. The other Yips followed suit, each one bringing a hail of arrows down upon the dwarves who took cover behind their shields.


    Not enough, Ix thought. They need to know-know it was us¡­


    "AIIIIIE!" he squealed, encouraging his men to jump erratically in the pattern of the dance of Joy. "Dwarf-dwarfs are stinky! Stink-stink worse than ratmen of North! Now, Yips, back there we go-go to tell friends how stinky dumb-dumb dwarves are!"


    And the Kobolds did not wait on their captain''s command long. As soon as he finished his screeching the back of the rock ledge behind them was practically split open by the Dwarves long guns. The soldiers let up a collective cry of fury, and the weapons of every dwarf in the crags below were out in the next second.


    "BLOODY YIPPING DEMONS!" Ix heard the Dwarf Lord bellow as he and his men made for the tunnels back home. "I''M GONNAE TEAR OOT YER INNARDS AND WEAR THEM AS A NECKLACE! I''M GONNAE DECORATE MY WALLS WITH YER BASTARD BLASPHEMOUS TONGUES! AFTER THEM! AFTER THEM!"


    He has taken his wound rather badly, it seems, Ix thought. Sire Marcus, the dwarf-dwarf is angry like you thought. His army come-comes¡­


    Ix led his men through the now crumbling tunnels, avoiding the shots fired by the remnants of House Darragut in hot pursuit.


    Sire Marcus¡­IX thought as he and his men made their mad dash to Razork. I am hoping you know-know what you are doing¡­


    ?


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 51

    "Are you prepared, Sire?"


    Marcus stood atop Fort Spearclaw''s battlements, watching the last of the Spineripper squads move into their allotted places on the battlefield that was soon to be made of the village''s plains once again. The Glumrot spearmen and Pox-Throwers had already signaled that they were ready and willing, and Skeever''s own band of swordsmen were sequestered here in the fort. Marcus had insisted that the ratman let him be ¨C that having him and Deekius here with him would be more than enough protection. But the ratman was not to be convinced.


    "The day the Shai-Alud is falling is the day the war is being over for us," he said.


    Now, Marcus looked across the evacuated village and turned his thoughts to the question Deekius had just asked of him. Was he prepared? How could anyone be for what they were about to attempt?


    700 Spinerippers split up into three ''V'' formations of 225 each, 500 Glumrot spearmen supported at their flanks by a detachment of 100 Pox-Throwers. Skeever''s personal band of 200, reinforced by an extra 100 recruits from Razork who had chosen to fight rather than flee.


    Surprisingly, one of them was Mayor Tekal ¨C formerly Head Glitterpak Wrangler, Tekal ¨C and the incumbent mayor, Gekul ¨C still pale, but a little less shaky.


    Marcus had heard that the change in command had benefitted everyone involved.


    He looked down at them ¨C all good, strong rats, each with a certain sense of nobility, even. But the two he focused his attention on were those standing closest to him ¨C his now personal Archpriest, Deekius, and Supreme Talon Commander Skeever Steelclaw.


    "You two have been with me since the beginning," Marcus told them. "Since the first day I drew breath in your blighted realm. You ask me if I''m ready? I ask you ¨C how many times have you both saved me from death''s door since I came to this place?"


    "It was with the will of He-Who-Festers that we succeeded," Deekius said, and the men waiting behind him sent up a cheer of devotion.


    "Were that your belief in yourselves were as strong as your belief in your God," Marcus quietly lamented. "I dare say you wouldn''t need him any more¡­"


    A rumbling issued in the far distance. Across the fields, thundering towards Razork in a great mass of soot and dust, came Skegga''s army.


    "I suppose I should be flattered," Marcus mused aloud. "The great God Skegga comes to witness my ''resurrection'' personally. I have to say I''m excited to meet him. I''ve never talked with a God before."


    Deekius sniggered, as did some of the crossbow-rats on the walls.


    "Our scouts are reporting two Dwarven Great Cannon," Skeever said beside him.


    "Good," Marcus replied. "That''s two more for us when the battle is over. This time, we won''t be letting them go."


    Skeever hesitated beside him as Deekius turned to whip up the fervor of the troops. Both man and rat watched as the first volley was fired ¨C a great torrent of flame being spit towards Razork''s reconstructed buildings, instantly smashing them to pieces.


    Meanwhile, the Eastern tunnels sounded with a very similar thundering.


    "You doubt me, Skeever, don''t you?" Marcus said suddenly, knowing that this might be the last chance they had to speak with any pretense of civility before hostilities commenced.


    The ratman swallowed his fear, and possibly his pride.


    "I would never be ¨C could never be ¨C doubting the Shai-Alud," he replied. "But I am doubting the man who wears his mask."


    Marcus smiled at that. When he wanted to, the little warrior did have some flair with words.


    "You remember what I told you when we first came to this village, Skeever?''


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "You are telling me to only tell you the truth."


    "Correct. The fact you can still do so even through all this Messiah bullshit tells me I made the right decision in placing so much responsibility on your shoulders."


    The ratman stiffened, perhaps from pride, or perhaps from fear ¨C fear born from the fact the Shai-Alud had just disputed his own divinity. But he did not push that subject further.


    "So when you tell me you doubt me," Marcus said as Skegga''s cannons roared again. "I know that means we''re walking a fine line between victory and total annihilation."


    "Then be telling me which you are thinking it will be," Skeever asked his Sire. "Will the dwarves be taking the bait?"


    Marcus''s shoulders heaved the way they always did when he was forced to say things that would have been considered taboo or heinous back on earth.


    That was becoming a theme, recently. And each time, Marcus noted, his trepidation over his words seemed to lessen.


    "From what the rats of Marrow have told me of the Dwarves, they are a civilization totally dominated by an ancient honor-culture. To them, the notion of vengeance has no negative connotation. Entire Houses'' offspring are trained from birth to eliminate a single Clan or individual due to some perceived slight made against their great-great grandfather. This is what they refer to as the ''Mandate of Stone.''"


    Skeever nodded slowly, watching the cannons rip and tear at Razork, coming up just short of Spearclaw''s foundations due to its elevated position.


    "This makes its leaders men of honor," Marcus said. "And that''s exactly what their weakness is."


    Skeever ¨C ever the consummate soldier ¨C glanced up at his Lord in confusion.


    "Sire," he asked. "How does honor make them weak?"


    And Marcus, heaving a little less this time, replied,


    "Because, Skeever, that''s the sad reality of warfare: honorable men are often the first to die."


    ¡­


    Boss Skegga was in his element.


    He beat his great claws on his bulbous belly as his throne inched forward, feeling the thrum of the fully operational cannons he''d brought along with him, hearing nothing but the collective wails of 2000 Kobolds that were singing his name in victory.


    He watched as the cannons belched their payloads at Razork and the town''s pitiful buildings fell one by one. The ratmen were not even brave enough to sally forth from their hill fort nearby. They wouldn''t face him.


    "Because they can''t!" Skegga yelled aloud, confusing any of the Yips who were listening to him. His honor guard''s armor glistened in the dust of Razor Ridge, the gilded Dwarven craftsmenship impressive even to him. He reckoned they''d even give the Masters a run for their money.


    As the army spilled out of the uncomfortable narrowness of the ridge and formed up around the great steel cannons, Skegga threw up his arms and addressed his flock.


    "KOBOLDS!" he yelled, in a voice that traveled through the entire Eastern cavern, so that he was sure all of the ratmen hiding in their pathetic little tunnels could hear. "You have followed me as I slew the fat-bearded stunties in their homes, you have followed me as I told you of the Great Kleansing ¨C and watched as I sweeped away the ratmen of the North! Now, you follow me on the final act. You follow me on the path towards my ascension! We shall raze the hovels of the disgusting rats and put their heads upon our pikes beside the head of their precious Shai-Alud!"


    He held aloft his great winged spear that bore the head of the human Silas had delivered to him. Around, the Kobolds yelped with righteous fervor, every one of them bowing down to get as close as they could to their God''s floating throne ¨C even reaching out their hands to get singed by the flickering blue flames that gave it power.


    "First ¨C Razork!" Skegga roared. "Then Fleapit itself! Even now our Yips are pillaging to the West, tearing down the walls of the rats'' forts and blocking off their retreat! Their feeble forces shall fall this day. All of them shall be trodden by the clawed feet of Skegga''s chosen people! And once we have slain their king, and wiped our behinds with his entrails, we shall take the queen and put her to the torch!"


    More cheers of affirmation. More roars of pure glee. The Kobolds were filled with battle-fervor, and Skegga, smearing a slime-covered smile across his face, decided he didn''t need to follow Silas'' plan.


    Allow the cannons to soften up the village and make a few dents in the Spearclaw fort, he had said. Pah! What did a God have to fear of these infidels? His time had come. And he was not about to sit here and wait for the machines of the Dwarves to claim glory that belonged to him.


    "HEAD YIPS!" he called, throwing spittle and mucus across his army''s center. "READY YOUR SQUADS!"


    The frontlines obeyed without question. The Skogs surged, even the ones with newly mounted slingers. The swordsmen beat their iron shields and called out a battlecry that shook the entire cavern. The crossbow-Yips followed and at the rear came Skegga with his hardened Kobold honor-guard, clad in the body armor of the dwarves.


    And as the cannons made a final roar of power, Skegga threw up his arms and sent his only command flying into the dead air filled with the dust of his conquest.


    "CHARGE, MY KOBOLDS! LET THE FINAL ACT OF THE KLEANSING BEGIN!"


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 52

    Skegga¡¯s army was a wave of bloodlust. Each kobold coalesced into a single, writhing organic mass, issuing a battle cry that echoed through the entire North Warrens.


    ¡°RUN, MY CHILDREN!¡± the slime-clad God sang above them, flashing his spear bearing the decapitated head of the ¡®Shai-Alud.¡¯ Surely the ratmen would simply grovel at his feet when they saw it.


    Skegga looked above his thundering throng of Yips and saw Razork village disappear in clouds of black smoke ¨C the effects of his two Dwarven cannons smashing the place to pieces. Finally, he¡¯d show these rats exactly who the real leader of this Kingdom was.


    Then, he¡¯d come above to deal with the Masters¡­


    ¡°SWEEP THROUGH THEIR TUNNELS IN A SWARM OF DEATH, MY CHILDREN! COVER THESE WARRENS IN RED! PAINT THE WALLS OF THEIR HOME WITH THEIR BLOOD! BLOOD, FOR YOUR NEW GO-!¡±


    Skegga¡¯s voice became lost in another howl that pierced through the air, instantly cutting off his army¡¯s collective squeal of preemptive victory. He felt a distinct ringing in his ears, plunged a slippery thumb into them and then double-blinked to try and resolve the reality that was now unfolding before him.


    The first line of his Yips had just been decimated.


    At least 100 good little slaves¡­


    And in the distance, far to the East of the ratman¡¯s pitiful little village, he saw the flash of an array of muzzles against the hard stone of the Eastern tunnels.


    Then a voice reached his ears that could rival even his own Godly proclamations.


    ¡°MEN OF STONE!¡± the new voice bellowed. ¡°CUT THESE BASTARDS DOWN! SEMPER-ROK! SEMPER ROOOOOK!¡±


    Then the Kobold frontlines disappeared in a hailstorm of bullets.


    ¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s begun,¡±


    Marcus nodded towards the newly emerged army that had set up a veritable firing range to the Eastern edge of Razork. He counted at least 500 men ¨C small men to be sure ¨C but men nonetheless.


    More impressive than their stature were the long-barreled rifles they¡¯d brought to bear in a matter of minutes, emerging from the contested tunnels of Clan Marrow and identifying their enemy within a matter of seconds.


    ¡°It is¡­as you are saying,¡± Skeever said with a hoarse chuckle. ¡°Dwarves are not taking insults lightly.¡±


    ¡°The men of stone are being perhaps even dumber than the Kobolds who are still trusting in Skegga,¡± Deekius tutted as the three commanders watched the Kobold lines falter and retreat under the sustained fire of the Dwarven gun emplacement. What helped the stunted men more was the fact that their guns were clearly lever-action weapons packed with gunpowder ¨C which meant, of course, trails of expelled smoke with every shot that soon created a dense cloud around them. It gave the dwarven gunners a distinctly ghostlike impression ¨C like these men were literally the specters of their dead come to seek retribution for the Kobolds grievances against them.


    Macus had anticipated as much. Though, he had hoped their killing field to be slightly more effective ¨C the Dwarven sniper who had assaulted him on the way to Fleapit had fired twice as fast as these men. But, still, the effect on the Kobold army was decisive. Already, their confidence was beginning to shake.


    And that was exactly the right time to strike.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Marcus said. ¡°The toad is going to pivot and commit his force to assaulting our new friends. That means¡­¡±


    ¡°I am understanding, Shai-Alud,¡± Skeever said, immediately turning to face the soldiers stationed behind him. ¡°Rats of Spearclaw - we are riding! Let our names be those the legends are speaking of when they tell of the glory of the second battle of Razork!¡±


    Amidst the rats'' cry of joy, Marcus suppressed the sizable gulp that was rising in his throat.


    He knew that some crucial engagements ¨C even entire campaigns themselves ¨C hinged upon luck. And Lady Luck had never been too fond of Marcus in his life as a student.


    Especially when it came to understanding his enemies.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Still, he had committed himself now ¨C and the loyalty of his followers depended on victory. A victory that would finally buy him a one-way ticket out of here.


    So, as he watched their hidden forces begin to assemble, stalking forth from the dark corners of the blasted Razork fields, he decided, for once, to trust in luck.


    ¡­


    ¡°WHAT ARE YOU DOING!¡± Skegga was wailing as he watched his lines of Kobolds become nothing more than puffs of crimson smoke in the wake of the stunties¡¯ assault. ¡°TURN! RIGHT FLANK ¨C CHARGE! BREAK FORMATION! KILL THE STUNTIES!¡±


    He watched his Head Yips relay his commands with frustration difficulty ¨C difficulty that was compounded by both the roar of his cannons and the screams of confusion that was assailing his ranks.


    ¡°CANNONS!¡± he bellowed. ¡°FIRE-FIRE!¡±


    ¡°B-Boss!¡± one Yip from behind him stuttered, his voice all but a whisper in the midst of the yelps issued by another line of slain Kobolds. ¡°We¡­we are not having clear shot-sho-¡°


    Skegga swung his spear to pierce the ribcage of the complaining Yip and toss him aside.


    ¡°ARM THE GUNS!¡± he roared with pure hatred surging in his gut. ¡°FIRE! FIRE! JUST FIRE!¡±


    The guns instantly groaned as they began to turn on their axles, their wheels grinding against the ground as they made their slow turn towards the smoke-ridden Eastern tunnels that the bastard stunties had emerged from.


    ¡°How?!¡± Skegga asked allowed. Then, remembering himself, tore the heads of two of his guardian Kobolds who looked up at him with confusion clean from their shoulders.


    How did the dwarven men know¡­why¡­why do they come now? his mind raced, panic beginning to overtake his battle fervor. How did Silas not know a Dwarven army was coming? Were there no signs? Are the little stunties smarter than they look?


    No, he told himself. He had taken enough of them apart to know that they weren¡¯t as tough as they looked. Their brains were jelly and goo even if they said their souls were clad with stone and iron. They would break. He had numbers on his side. They could tear through as many Kobolds as they wanted with their silly guns. Eventually, he would break through their lines. All he had to do was throw everything he had at them.


    His vile smirk, dripping with ooze and blood from blackened gums, suddenly came back as he watched his Kobolds charge blindly at the smoke crowd, the cannons finally ready to support them from behind.


    He watched whole columns of his forces disappear in hazed of ichor and torn limbs, eviscerated heads and bloody, bullet-riddled organs. But it didn¡¯t matter. None of them stopped running. None of them stopped screaming his name with all the strength in their little lungs. They loved him. They worshipped him. And that was one thing the bastard Dwarves never had.


    So, he turned with them and added his voice to the renewed echoes of victory, raising his human-tipped weapon high.


    ¡°B¡­boss¡­¡±


    ¡°WHAT!¡± he whirred, staring with bloodshot eyes at one of his Yips scouts that had come to tug at the folds in his back.


    ¡°B¡­b¡­boss¡­¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t spill your guts in the next second, I WILL TASTE THEM MYSELF!¡± he yelled in the little creature¡¯s face. WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?!¡±


    ¡°The¡­the West!¡± the little Yip cried, pointing at what was once the army¡¯s western wing which, after their complete pivot, had now become their flank. ¡°They¡­they¡­they are¡­¡±


    Skegga¡¯s massive claw came down to silence the Kobold as his mind caught up with the creature¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I¡­it¡¯s not possible¡­¡±


    From out of the darkness of the Western tunnels, wedged at the side of Razork¡¯s trodden fields, a legion of ratmen charged, each one carried by a monster of teeth and claws.


    ¡°T¡­TURN ABOUT! TURN!¡±


    But by the time Skegga had issued his command, it was already too late.


    Two-thousand men could not hear one leader.


    But they could feel the futility in fighting a cause that was now lost.


    And for the Yips in the rearguard to turned to see death approaching them from their backs, such a reality was becoming all too clear.


    ¡­


    ¡°CHAAAAARGE!¡±


    Skeever Steelclaw led the three formations of Marrow cavalry into the flank of Skegga¡¯s legion, his good arm raised, voice carrying through the chaos of Razork field, and as his Spineripper leaped to bite off the head of the first Kobold casualty of the battle, he gave his men a command that would stay with them for the whole duration of the battle to come.


    ¡°COME ON, YOU SONS OF MARROW!¡± he roared. ¡°YOU ARE WANTING THE STUNTIES TO TAKE ALL THE GLORY?!¡±


    He smiled to himself as his rats replied with total unity of mind ¨C their spears smashing against the shields of the Kobold rearguard and sending the little beasties flying back spoke louder than any words they could form.


    The rats tore through the Yips even as they attempted to turn and meet their charge, seeing their comrades up front get cut down by the dwarves and not feeling the blood of the men behind them start to run in rivers beneath their feet. The Spinerippers jumped gleefully into the horde, weathering blows that would have killed a lesser creature. The bloated Skogs of the Kobolds stood no chance against the real, toughened cavalry of the rats ¨C cavalry honed through centuries of pain and strife on countless battlefields. Now, finally, they were getting a proper meal for their troubles.


    And Skeever looked up, coated in the ichor of their prey, as he effortlessly speared through the guts of two other Kobolds, the three legions of cavalry pushing the enemy back into the Dwarven killing zone inch by bloody inch.


    All the while, the Talon-Commander kept his sharp eyes trained on the increasingly panicked form of Boss Skegga.


    Be staying right there for me, filth, Skeever told himself. For Gatskeek, Verulex, Festicus¡­and for Sire Marcus¡­I will see your gut impaled by my spear alone!


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 53

    From his vantage point at the front of his makeshift gun-emplacement before the entrance to the East Warren tunnels, Corvaughn of House Darragut watched his enemies burn with righteous indignation.


    ¡°Take a good look, lads,¡± he said, sniffing the intoxicating aroma of gunpowder ¨C the greatest gift of Stone to man ¨C ¡°This is what a slaughter looks like.¡±


    His Handgunners heaved a collective ¡°HAR!¡± in response, reloading their arqeubus after the next volley and patting their helmets to indicate that the gun chambers were loaded and ready to belch their payload at the enemy once again.


    The cannons had given him pause, and yet he¡¯d also looked upon them with almost childish wonder. He¡¯d never even seen a fully functional 6-powder cannon in his time as a commander. And now, shining bright in the dead air of these putrid tunnels, there were two staring right at him.


    But the queerest thing was that the Kobold horde never fired on their position.


    It struck him as odd. Looking at his disciplined gun-line, entrenched and operating with machine-like efficiency, he admitted that an artillery strike would have proved utterly devastating. He¡¯d kept his Thunderers in reserve in case of any enemy charge ¨C and the power of their warhammers was enough to crack at least five Kobold skulls at once when the army did eventually come upon them ¨C but their weakness was in their lack of mobility. Corvaughn¡¯s people were tough as stone, and unmovable. But just like their venerated mineral, their battle lines tended to be inflexible. It was a weakness he had always yearned to correct as a commander through the employment of cavalry. But, as of yet, no single creature in the Underkingdom could accommodate the sheer bulk of a strong dwarven lad.


    So the cannons lack of discharge proved unusual ¨C but not unwelcome. As his gunners continued their devastating volley, and the species that had mocked him openly back in his Eastern camp were utterly decimated, he scanned the battlefield and saw that his Dwarves were not the only species at odds with the Kobold menace.


    ¡°Commander!¡± one of his gunners shouted over his shoulder. ¡°Ah can see ratmen in the rear! Furry bastards have just sent cavalry charges against the wee yipping shits. Their lines are breakin¡¯ something awful!¡±


    Corvaughn looked upon the blasted battleground before the primitive ratman village and saw that his man spoke true. It almost looked like the furry shits were helping them out.


    ¡°Commander?¡± his man asked. ¡°Do we fire on ¡®em?¡±


    ¡°Ye wouldn¡¯t have a chance of a clear shot at this distance,¡± he grunted. ¡°Keep pushing the red bastards back.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna let the shit-eating rock-muncher¡¯s live, sir?¡±


    A devious smile then coated Corvaughn¡¯s face. One that even served to strike fear into his questioning troops.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a better idea, lad,¡± he grunted, a devious smile coating his face. ¡°We¡¯re gonna kill two birds with one stone. Keep up the volley fire. Let the ratmen take the brunt of their infantry. Then, when the Kobolds fold and begin their retreat, take those furry mongos down.¡±


    ¡­


    In the very heart of the chaos unfolding before Razork, Skeever Steelclaw practically flew through the battlefield.


    His Spineripper clawed and chewed through every Kobold Skog and Yip that dared raise a weapon against him, and his spear struck true against the shriveling bellies of Yips that hadn¡¯t even been able to turn to meet the coordinated cavalry charges head on. When the third legion of Spinerippers sliced through the Kobolds¡¯ rearguard, all hell began to break loose.


    The Yips were sandwiched between two equally bloody fates: a bullet-ridden death or a tooth mangled one, and now, even with their great God waving his pointy stick above him, they were succumbing to panic. Skeever saw it in the eyes of every Yip who turned to try and repel the ratman riders. He saw that the army was mere moments away from breaking entirely.


    And as Sire Marcus had taught him, there were ways he could speed that process up.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°RATS OF RED-EYE!¡± he roared. ¡°RATS OF MARROW! THESE TUNNELS ARE BEING OUR HOMES ¨C THESE BEASTS ARE WALKING ON OUR SOIL! SHALL WE BE GIVING THEM A SINGLE INCH MORE?¡±


    The unified cry that was returned to the Talon-Commander shook the very walls of the Underkingdom itself:


    ¡°NO!¡±


    A resounding surge trickled up through the ratmen as the Kobolds attempted to push them back with their shields. The riders propelled their Spinerippers forward with vicious kicks that would normally have caused the beasts to shake off their masters. But in the maelstrom of bloody chaos that unfolded before them, all the beasts could care about was satiating their appetite.


    And so the Kobold lines began to shrink, slowly but surely, into bloody puddles of torn flesh and bones.


    Yet Skeever grit his sharp teeth, feeling the crimson ichor of his enemies coat his furry chops as the order for the army to retreat had still not been sounded.


    Idiot toad, he thought, looking up again at the practically shaking form of Boss Skegga ¨C his great rolls of fat slipping over his floating stone throne as his honor guard charged the enemy. Such Kobolds were the only ones who were able to put up any hint of resistance ¨C their halberds had reach, and the reinforced plating of their armor gave them an edge even against the serrated teeth of the ¡®rippers. Skeever saw them gradually began to form up and thrust their blades against the advancing cavalry, who were by this point becoming impeded by the sheer amount of bodies that were piling up before their onslaught.


    Skeever dueled with one of the honor guard himself, feeling a rush of pain as a halberd nicked his shin and forced him and his Spineripper back. Their strike had been devastating, but it meant nothing if they couldn¡¯t entirely break the morale of the enemy. They had given them too much time to regroup, and now the little bastards had formulated a strategy that could nullify the cavalry entirely.


    The Kobold honor guard sat behind their lesser men, thrusting over their shoulders. Meanwhile, the smaller yips raised their shields in a wall to block the onrush of cavalry, throwing their collective weight against the Spinerippers. It was a strategy that, if the Ratmen had time on their hands, could have been easily countered. But time was not a resource that Skeever¡¯s warriors had to hand, and he saw rows upon rows of Spinerippers begin to fall before the halberds and spears of the Kobold shield-wall.


    It was a strategy they couldn¡¯t have developed themselves ¨C the little Yips weren¡¯t smart enough. Yet, perhaps they had been smart enough to observe what had brought their enemies success.


    Were they finally learning from their mistakes?


    Skeever shook the thought from his mind. Now was not the time for admiring his foes. Instead, he rallied his men with a call to action that brought them charging right into the wall of thorns in a desperate attempt to break through.


    But it was in vain. There were too many.


    Hoping against all hope, Skeever looked above the wall of jagged iron and saw Skegga still pivoting in confusion. Whoever had taken the lead to formulate the anti-cavalry strategy, it certainly hadn¡¯t been him.


    And that¡¯s when the ratman realized something.


    The big sack of shit was terrified, even as his force was beginning to hold their own at least on their flank.


    Skeever knew terror. He¡¯d felt it even since he was a mere pup. He¡¯d known what fear was since first he looked up at the Queen that birthed him and seen her desire to crush him within her eyes. He¡¯d had to fight his brothers, tooth and claw, for the right to suckle on her teats ¨C for the right to survive. Ratmen were small, they were few, but they knew what fear felt like from the day they were born. Those that lived to fight did so because that¡¯s simply what life was in the Underkingdom.


    But this toad ¨C this bloated jelly-thing screaming in the center of the Kobold horde ¨C he¡¯d never learned how to push through fear. Skeever wagered he¡¯d never had to fight for anything in his life.


    So when the great toad turned suddenly towards his army¡¯s rear, and met the eyes of the Talon-Commander, Skeever knew how he could salvage this fight.


    In one single motion he forced his Spineripper to leap up at the shield wall, taking him far above the halberds that pierced his beast¡¯s stomach. He looked Skegga in his impish little eyes, raised his spear in his good arm, and hurled it directly at the toad-God¡¯s shaking form.


    ¡°FOR SIRE MARCUS!¡± he screamed into the incredulous face of the beast. ¡°FOR THE SHAI-ALUD!¡±


    Time seemed to stop in the moment his weapon left his hand.


    All three armies collectively watched the bloody projectile, wrapped with Kobold innards, sail seamlessly towards the great fat toad as he floundered like a fish upon his runic throne. And the throat of every rat, kobold, and Dwarf gasped to see the tip of the spear find its mark ¨C embedding itself in the great flabby mass of Boss Skegga¡¯s stomach.


    The Kobolds around him lowered their weapons. They looked with new eyes upon their illustrious leader as both the ratmen and the Dwarves renewed their assault.


    Because for the first time in their lives, they were seeing the impossible: they were watching a God bleed.


    Skeever¡¯s rats rallied behind him as he plowed through the confused horde, carried forward by sheer battle frenzy as the word he had been waiting to hear sailed forth from the bloodied Skegga¡¯s now frothing lips:


    ¡°RETREAT!¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of our furry comrades by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 54

    ¡°Skeever¡­you crazy son of a bitch. Literally.¡±


    Marcus looked down at the destruction being wrought on the battlefield of Razork¡¯s field for the second time. This time, however, the devastation of Skegga¡¯s forces would be decisive.


    This is your Ardennes Offensive, old toad, Marcus had thought as he watched the army approach. You might think this looks like a show of power. But it¡¯s nothing more than a desperate, last-ditch attempt to both subdue your enemies and galvanize your followers¡¯ faith in you at the same time.


    When Dwarves had struck true, Marcus had heaved a sigh of hope for his own desperate strategy. Then, when he saw Skeever¡¯s spear pierce the old toad¡¯s stomach, sending a geyser of ooze spewing out into his honor guard, Marcus knew the pivotal moment in their plan had come.


    ¡°RETREAT!¡± Boss Skegga wailed ¨C a bleeding God crying out for a savior.


    ¡°It transpires as you say, Shai-Alud,¡± Deekius said beside him on the battlements of Spearclaw fort. ¡°For there is only being one true God that rules this Underkingdom. And you are being his Champion.¡±


    Marcus grimaced at his High Priest¡¯s increasing confidence. He was probably the only one who¡¯d always believed in him no matter what. Ironically, it''s that same belief that Marcus had weaponized and used as a tool of control. But he didn¡¯t have to control Deekius. Deekius had been his from the moment the little rat had summoned him into this world.


    Both man and rat watched as the Kobold flanks completely folded against the pressure from their sides and the desperate order of their commander. The Spinerippers turned into them as Marcus had instructed them to, and Marcus gave the signal for the last of their Glitterpak fleet to be released from Spearclaw¡¯s depths.


    Just as they floated high above the fort¡¯s battlements, becoming lost in the haze of their own gaseous smog, a familiar face arrived at the gates of the fort. A small, red, hoofed Kobold who commanded his Spineripper with the expertise of a practiced rider.


    ¡°Ix!¡± Marcus shouted down at the new arrival. ¡°You are, as usual, exactly where you need to be at exactly the right time.¡±


    ¡°Praise be-be to Shai-Alud,¡± the Kobold shouted back. ¡°And to He-He who Festers.¡±


    Deekius cringed at the double pronunciation. His action provoked, even amidst the chaos of the field before them, a restrained chuckle from Marcus.


    ¡°Are you ready to show the Underkingdom who its true God is, Archpriest?¡±


    Deekius looked up at his Lord through his ragged hood and twitched his mouth into a smile.


    ¡°I was being born for this, Sire,¡± he said. ¡°Are you being ready to show this soon-to-be dying God that the Shai-Alud is being alive and well?¡±


    Marcus laughed again as he and the priest hopped aboard Ix¡¯s trained Spineripper, and the little beast started to lead them toward the dark edges of the battlefield.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to say I was born for this too, Deekius. But the truth is, just like Ix here, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.¡±


    ¡­


    Commander Corvaughn of House Darragut surveyed the retreating Kobold army from his vantage pointed near the entrance of the Eastern Tunnels, a grim grin of satisfaction stretched across his bearded face.


    ¡°Heh!¡± he huffed, commanding his gunners to reposition themselves and hold fire until their latest smoke-charges had cleared. ¡°You gotta admit the furry sons-of-bitches got some fire in ¡®em. Never knew they had much of a mind fer strategy.¡±


    The Dwarves manning their arquebus looked behind them at their Lord and commander, furry eyebrows raised in question.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be worrying lads,¡± Corvaughn added. ¡°We¡¯re still gonnae shoot them in their furry red arseholes. But you¡¯ve gotta appreciate a good opponent when ye see one, men. That¡¯s a lesson House Darragut was built upon!¡±


    He held up his gauntleted fist and indicated the exposed flank of the ratman calvalry units as they slowly but surely pushed the retreating Kobolds into the canyons beyond the battlefield.


    ¡°Looks like we came here at the right time ta strike a blow at the scum of our Kingdom!¡± he roared, his Thunderers raising their warhammers high and punctuating his cry with beats of their fists against their iron-armored chests. ¡°The rats thought they were clever little shits, using us ta take a dig at their enemy. Little do they know we don¡¯t forget. We men of the stone don¡¯t ever let a single campaign against our people slide. Mess with a man of the stone, and don¡¯t be surprised when the whole ceiling of yer home crumbled down upon ye!¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    His men roared their assent as the ratman cavalry continued their bloody push, edging the diminishing horde of Kobolds into the chokepoint between the two great canyons that were once lined with Dwarven insignia ¨C statues and checkpoints that would have indicated to any man of Stone that the city of Grindelfecht was nearby, and would offer shelter to even the smallest man. Thinking of these little beasties fighting within its bowels turned Corvaughn¡¯s stomach until he couldn¡¯t take it anymore.


    ¡°Close ranks, bring those guns up!¡± he shouted. ¡°I see rats over there. AND I DON¡¯T WANT TO!¡±


    The gunners fingered the triggers of their weapons, aiming down their sights with the trained eyes of Darragut¡¯s famed snipers, and readied themselves for another earth-shattering volley that would win them this day.


    ¡°Commander!¡± a gunner shouted back before the first shots ever wrung out. ¡°We¡¯ve got incoming creatures above!¡±


    Corvaughn glanced up at the cloud of black smoke that was slowly, with deliberation, moving towards their position at the tunnels. Here and there between the wisps of the cloud, Corvaughn could see the telltale signs of beings that looked like pufferfish sailing down towards them.


    He narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the spiky pores that lined their circular bodies and wondering at where he¡¯d seen such creatures before. He couldn¡¯t help but shake the feeling of utmost familiarity permeating his mind ¨C of trips he¡¯d once taken to Gulchnavel where his Uncle had pointed out very similar creatures and told him a joke he had found very funny at the time.


    What was the joke?


    ¡°They come, Commander!¡± another gunner shouted. ¡°Permission to engage?¡±


    The arquebus were raised. The men were ready. The bloodlust that ran their Dwarven blood was bubbling in the wake of victory and spurned on by their commander¡¯s flawless track record. They would deal with this incursion, take back Gulchnavel, and then head East again to slaughter the rats of Marrow.


    Their commander, however, was so preoccupied with his memory that he merely grunted in blaze affirmation.


    And that single mistake ¨C just that tiny vocalization that would have meant nothing in any other circumstance ¨C was what would earn him the title of House Darrugut¡¯s greatest disgrace.


    For when the bulbous beings came so close that he could have touched their hideous, twisted face, he remembered what his Uncle had told him about the strange orb-creatures of the North.


    ¡°No!¡± he managed to shout just as the first shot rang out in the dark. ¡°WAIT!¡±


    His voice was swallowed by the hellstorm that erupted in the second the gunpowder discharge from the Dwarves guns made contact with the volatile chemical concoction belched by the Glitterpaks. As the battle before them raged on, the dwarven gunline disappeared in fire and rubble from the stalactites hanging above their position.


    For Commander Corvaughn, the chance for glory disappeared along with them.


    ¡­


    ¡°REREAT! RETREAT!¡±


    ¡°B-but Boss-Boss, what about the cannon-¡°


    ¡°LEAVE THEM! Out of my way, vermin!¡±


    Skegga inched his throne into the great canyons the heretics dubbed ¡®Razor Ridge¡¯, his army fighting back against the advancing ratman cavalry as they inched back to the safety of their walls.


    ¡°Boss-Boss!¡± one of his Yip honor guards yelped. ¡°Let us help help yo-¡°


    ¡°DO NOT DARE TO TOUCH ME!¡± the toad bellowed, picking up the Yip with his bloody claw and dashing his brains against the canyon wall. ¡°KEEP MOVING!¡±


    He removed the spear from his body with a groan of pain and stared at his own purple blood spewing out of his belly. He stared at it even as his army was pushed into the canyons, squeezing what remained of their forces into the narrow stretch that would take them home.


    Skegga no longer looked at the front of his horde ¨C at the Kobolds dying line after line in the face of the monstrous beasts the ratmen had tamed. Instead, he focused on what lay behind, on his twin forts and the gleaming golden towers of Grindlefecht in the far distance. If he could make it back to those walls he could set up a defence. The rats had been smart ¨C but they were still nothing but pests. The Dwarves had just been slain by the last of their miserable little bomb-bugs. They wouldn¡¯t be able to use them again.


    ¡°THROW YOURSELVES BEFORE ME, MY CHILDREN!¡± Skegga howled, his croaking voice echoing down the length of the red canyon. ¡°YOU SHALL BE YOUR LORD¡¯S SHIELD!¡±


    The rats surged forward. The rat who had maimed him came at their head, leading them further and further into the ranks of the Yips, smearing the canyon with their innards.


    They still have nothing! Skegga told himself. They are nothing. They¡­they had luck on their side. They have only little tricks that cannot be repeated. I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll get more Kobolds. I¡¯ll ask Silas what is to be done. Yes. Yes ¨C clever Silas shall know. Without their Shai-Alud, these creatures are nothing. Without their precious savior, they have no chance against us! They¡­they have¡­


    They have¡­


    ¡°B¡­Boss-boss!¡±


    His Yip honor guard had made the same discovery he had in that moment. As the army edged towards the end of the canyon, the eyes of both armies flew skyward to see two figures that had just appeared on the lip of the East canyon wall.


    Two shapes ¨C one rat, covered in a filthy, flowing robe, holding aloft a fly-covered staff.


    The one that stood beside him¡­


    It can¡¯t be¡­


    ¡­it bore the form of a human who was about to give his final command.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of the fallen by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 55

    <div>


    -North Warrens, Black Gulch-


    For the races of Thea, magic is a curious phenomenon.


    Some say magic is derived from the Gods. It is a Gift bequeathed to only a chosen few who show devotion to a specific deity. For such weavers of magic, their powers are a product of divine ordainment ¨C a sign that their deity looks down with favor upon them.


    Another, alternate theory asserts that such magic comes not from Gods, but from belief itself. Magic, some scholars say, is derived not from otherworldly celestial beings, but through passionate emotions given form by sheer willpower and devotion to ideals that form the foundation of one¡¯s being.


    For the ratpriests of the Underkingdom, there is no debate.


    Twenty Gloomraava of Clan Glumrot stood at the edge of the Black Gulch, appearing out of the shadows of their tunnels to witness the marauding second army of Skegga. The yipping red demons crossed the narrow bridges of the Gulch with murderous intent, unaware of the destruction currently being visited upon their God. To them, they had been given the easy job ¨C they had been selected to bleed the ratman in the West and cut off any potential for escape. Yet, as they marched the Gloomraav of Glumrot saw that the viciousness of these creatures was tempered, somewhat. Their limbs were either hewn too short, their legs stubby and uneven, or their backs hunched and distorted. They looked primitive - mutated beings that seemed pathetic even amongst the ranks of the screeching demons, but the Gloomraav soon nodded to each other as these sights confirmed the Shai-Alud¡¯s prediction.


    ¡°They are being the weak,¡± one of their hooded number said.


    ¡°And the invalid,¡± another agreed. ¡°Skegga is leaving them to do dirty work. He is not wanting weaklings with him on his victory.¡±


    ¡°If that is being so, then he is a fool God. He is not understanding that the body may be weak, but the faith can still be strong.¡±


    The other Gloomraav bowed their heads to the one that had just spoke ¨C the head of their faction now that Talon-Leader Verulex had passed to the pox-garden of the Unclean One. Resplendent in his maggot-infested robes hiding pallid skin that seemed to endlessly shed his hair, this Gloomraav held back his choir before they delivered their chorus that would shake these Warrens asunder.


    ¡°These Kobolds shall soon be seeing that there is only one God to be following,¡± he said. ¡°He-Who-Festers does not require strength. All he requires is endurance.¡±


    ¡°So shall it be, Head-Priest Koresh,¡± the Gloomraava intoned. ¡°By the fog and filthy air.¡±


    Koresh nodded at the prayer and signaled for his men to move out, slowly creeping their way towards the position Sire Marcus had marked for them ¨C a high, craggy ledge high above the Gulch, one that oversaw the Gulchnavel village and its recently evacuated Fort Greenwatch on the edge of the fungal sea.


    From atop that vantage point they knelt and watched, uttering prayers to the Unclean as the Kobolds spilled over the village and ransacked its houses with wild abandon, taking out their anger at having been left behind by their Lord. They were left with only confusion, however, as they came to realize with each break and stab and crash that there were no rats here. They were long gone.


    And they grew so enraged that Koresh swore he could smell their anger.


    They abandoned the village and bore down on the fort like a swelling red sea, teeth awash with spittle and spume, throwing themselves at the walls. One thousand Kobolds crashed through the ramparts of Fort Greenwatch, collapsing its buildings and gnawing on its very towers until they too came crashing down.


    ¡°Are you feeling it, Brothers?¡± Koresh asked. ¡°The fury. The rage. Directionless and lacking. These Kobolds are being more like us than we are admitting, Brothers. It is as the Shai-Alud says ¨C all creatures under the dark skies of the Unclean should be given the chance to bathe in his putrid light. Only then can we be carrying such light to the surface.¡±


    The Gloomraav coven nodded, each one beating his staff or flimsy, fly-covered fetish against the black stones of the Underkingdom, each one adding his own voice to the chant that was picking up all around them.


    ¡°Be feeling it, Brothers,¡± Koresh continued, breathing in the stale air and feeling ¨C yes ¨C feeling the power of He-Who-Festers boil his blood, rush through his veins, pool at the ends of his fingertips.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He threw his arms wide, shaking in uncontrollable spasm as he took in the sight of the marauding Kobolds looting and pillaging, slashing at nothing and coming away empty-handed. Coming away with nothing but disappointment.


    ¡°Soon they shall be receiving a gift on this day more valuable than any bauble or trinket!¡± Koresh croaked, spittle flying from his gnarled lips like a rabid beast.


    The chanting of his men continued, rising slowly as the destruction and disappointment continued below, and the swirling energy that the rats knew as nothing more than the essence of their God ¨C the collective font of all the diseases and ugly things in the entire world ¨C continued to enter them and make them its own, traveling through their every pore until their screams became a chorus of ecstasy.


    ¡°BE ILLUMINATING THEM, BROTHERS OF GLUMROT!¡± Koresh roared. The voice that echoed from his lungs was not his own.


    The chants grew louder, till they reached a fever pitch that even the rampaging Kobolds could hear below. When they looked up, they saw nothing but hooded rats screaming a name they did not know. A name that meant nothing to them.


    But a name that they would soon devote their entire lives to.


    The first Yips to notice that something very bad was about to happen tried running, even knowing it was futile. They tried squirming away and, when they looked back over their shoulders, saw nothing but a green tide cascading towards them.


    The Black Gulch had risen.


    Geysers of the pool spurted and flared as though they were the limbs of an angered beast living beneath the cavern, and then slowly began to form into one gelatinous mass ¨C a tsunami that roared with a sound that drowned out the collective cry of a thousand Kobolds as they dropped their weapons and sprinted for dear life.


    But the others ¨C those who knew their lives were now forfeit ¨C dropped to their knees and begged for mercy.


    Koresh saw. Not with his own eyes ¨C but he saw. It was those Kobolds that the wave passed by as it came crashing down upon the army, swallowing them as well as the remains of the village and fort in its wake. The great deluge flushed away the evil of the North and cascaded through the tunnels in a great flood that flowed all the way to Knifegut fortress ¨C where the spiderlings that had made that fort its home were swallowed, too ¨C taking a few meals with them before their lives finally expired.


    When it was over Koresh raised a single paw to silence his Gloomraav, and the evangelical rats began the slow, melodious chanting that brought the waters back to the Gulch, re-laying the foundations of their festering Lord¡¯s lands back with proper respect and appropriate humility.


    As Koresh looked on, even he was surprised by the power that came from the unity of the three Clans under Sire Marcus. Even on such a small scale¡­the powers of belief in the true God of their realm was intoxicating.


    Many Gloomraav had perished in the wake of the miracle. At least seven had succumbed to the whims of the Power of their Lord and sat with their eyes rolled back, brains crushed and sizzled to mush. They would be laid to rest when the time came.


    For his part, Head-Priest Koresh came out of his possession and amplified his voice with the remainder of his power. He was addressing those who had collapsed before the might of their Lord. Those who were currently on their hobbled knees, merely soaked unlike their dead cousins. There were at least four hundred who had prostrated themselves as the disaster hit them.


    They would do.


    ¡°Kobolds of the Underkingdom!¡± Koresh screeched. ¡°We of Glumrot are coming to you as emissaries of the Shai-Alud! We are showing you the power of the God he serves ¨C the one true God of this dark realm we share. You have been led astray by the greed of the toad called Skegga. You have been left to die while he is coveting glory. He is thinking you are weak, and dumb. But we watched as you withstood the great tempest of our Lord and came out unscathed! We have found you worthy!¡±


    He could sense the devotion building in them already. It would take time. It would take energy. But time was what they would have once this war was won. For priests like them, time is the most precious, useful resource.


    ¡°So we are calling upon you as our Unclean One does!¡± he screamed into the ever-night of the Underkingdom. ¡°Rise and be standing with us! Be avenging yourselves by siding with the victors of this conflict! Be walking in the light of He-Who-Festers ¨C for He and only He is loving you. He welcomes you. You shall be his children. You shall be his WARRIORS!¡±


    The drenched demons didn¡¯t even hesitate. They didn¡¯t even share a single loyalist stare at the Yip who bent his head to the priests who had summoned such power with their bare hands. They simply bent low and kissed the ground. They said the name of the one who they would follow now. They said it out of fear, out of pain, and out of sorrow. But they still said it. And that was enough.


    Koresh smiled beneath his hood, feeling his hands shake as his body gave out.


    ¡°Be sending word to the Shai-Alud,¡± he told one of his men. ¡°We are succeeding. Now, it is being up to Deekius.¡±


    And he turned to face the Eastern tunnels, staring into darkness as unconsciousness finally overtook him. He fought it. He told himself he had to ¨C even just for a few minutes.


    Because on the other side of the North Warrens, a very different miracle was about to take place.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of the fallen by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories.

 Chapter 56

    -North Warrens, Razor Ridge-


    The jagged slopes of Razor Ridge shook with cries of conquest.


    Within its narrow innards, the battle for the North Warrens was quickly reaching its climax. Inch by bloody inch, the Kobold army of Skegga was pushed back by the sheer mass of teeth and steel that the riders of Marrow and Red-Eye threw at them ¨C their screams being lost as they choked on their own blood, or that of their comrades.


    A wash of crimson stained the normally onyx walls of the ridges. It would be the last thing the Yips of Skegga saw before they expired ¨C speared clean through by the coordinated advance of the rats or eviscerated by the fangs of their mounts.


    "RUN-RUN!" their God bellowed in the wake of the chaos, adopting the fearful, timid screams and speech patterns of those who his webbed feet had always trod upon. "MAKE FOR THE FORT-FORTS! HIGH WALLS WILL STOP THESE VERMIN!"


    Above the madness of battle, the general of the rats heard this cry all too clearly. He knew, then, that the army of the toad-man would have heard it, too. He knew they were doing nothing more than fighting for their own survival, now. Devotion was fading with every drop of Kobold blood spilled upon the blasted ground that was soon to become their graves.


    "Not so Godly now," Marcus said to the rat-priest beside him.


    He had seen the abject terror flash in Skegga''s eyes when the toad saw that he, the prophesized Shai-Alud, was looking down upon him now. The architect of all the fat toad''s pain.


    Marcus had looked back, frowning slightly to see the impish, childlike figure that squelched upon a floating stone throne. Such a throne, barely holding the screaming tantrum that was its occupant, seemed more like a baby''s highchair than the seat of a respectful monarch.


    "He is still believing the End is not coming for him," Deekius said, closing his eyes to the world beyond his swirling thoughts and breathing deep the untapped power of his Lord. "He is having no idea what faith in a real God can be doing."


    Marcus did not look at the priest. He kept his eyes on the form of Skeever-Steelclaw, his First Talon, as the ratman speared through another triad of Kobolds, kicking their Skogs away as they tried to push him off. He had led the charge spectacularly. More proficiently, in fact, than Marcus had expected. He had not even given the ratman the command to launch his daring attack upon Skegga''s bloated form.


    "Maybe Lady Luck is finally with me," Marcus mumbled, before glancing at his priest and noting his changed demeanor. The rat''s veins bulged on his forehead. His fingers twitched, and his staff shook with an intensity that seemed impossible considering the rodent''s size.


    But then, Marcus thought. You''ve always been able to pull off the impossible, haven''t you, Deekius?


    "High-Priest," he said aloud, becoming alarmed by the froth appearing at his companion''s furrowed lips. "Are you sure you can do this?"


    The ratman shook with contained pressure, his body swaying with the unchecked energies of his Lord. He felt the power that many living upon Thea''s surface feel, learn to control, and harness to create both beauty and devastation. But he felt also the overwhelming sense of triumph emanating from the other side of the Warrens. He breathed in the scent of death that lay like a stagnant blanket upon the air of the North. His Lord was with him.


    "No," he answered his Shai-Alud. "The Will of He-Who-Festers cannot be commanded. I cannot be knowing if he shall find me worthy enough to guide His hand. But He is with me, Shai-Alud. As He is with you."


    I certainly hope not, the Shai-Alud thought.


    Both of them ¨C man from beyond and rat of the realms ¨C looked down on the bloody battlefield below them, knowing that without their final intervention, victory would be pyrrhic at best.


    And Marcus wasn''t about rest his laurels as a Fantasy General on a battle that wasn''t decisive. Not after how far he''d come. How much he''d had to do to get here¡­


    He bristled as Deekius'' breathing grew more haggard. The ratman, though he wouldn''t admit it, was struggling against the flow of energy within his being. Right now, the gap between him and the raw power swelling in his veins was getting thinner and thinner. Marcus didn''t see Deekius in those dark eyes anymore. He saw a vessel for a thirsting God, snarling with pride to see his chosen species spill blood in his name.


    "We''ve had to endure much, you and I," he said, knowing that he had to guide his soldier. "And yet I still seem to just ask you to do more. I''ve asked you to betray your own. I''ve asked you to rally three Clans to my side. I''ve asked you to place your trust in me ¨C one who isn''t even part of your kind. Now, I must ask one more thing of you."


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He placed a firm hand on the ratman''s shoulder, trying his best to channel all his strength into his arm so the rat couldn''t feel that he was shaking at this final, pivotal moment.


    "Fulfil your destiny as your God''s chosen priest, Deekius of Clan Red-Eye," he said. "Crush the enemy."


    Deekius'' eyes bulged then with recognition and with pride. His pupils dilated, his shaking fingers curled round his staff and gripped the wood so tightly that cracks appeared across its surface.


    And then, in one fluid motion, he walked to the edge of the ridgeline, raised his staff high, and made a proclamation to the entire Underkingdom:


    "I AM DEEKIUS OF CLAN RED-EYE! BORN OF FLEAPIT, BLESSED BY THE HAND OF HE-WHO-FESTERS! I AM THE INSTRUMENT OF HIS WILL. I AM THE UNCLEAN HAND THAT SHALL LEAD YOU TO THE RIGHTEOUS PATH!"


    The rats below felt the onrush of power surge through their veins, and Skeever bellowed the command for them to pull back. The time had come for the final curtain to draw upon this blood-drenched day.


    Boss Skegga followed the thundering roar that sent shockwaves into the battlefield within the ridge, confusion and terror merging in his face as he watched the rat priest raise his staff high and slam it into the ridgeline.


    "BY THE UNCLEAN!" Deekius roared with a voice that rang with the timbre of a thousand other voices. "LET THE GREEN LIGHT OF HIS VENEGANCE SHINE UPON YOU!"


    As soon as the hilt of the rat-priest''s staff hit the ridge it cracked into pieces, shattering and spilling wood shaving across the ridgeline like a flurry of shaven stars. He dropped to his knees and let out a cry that pierced the ceiling, and beneath the Kobold''s feet, the earth began to quake.


    "W-What is¡­" Skegga stuttered.


    His Yips, meanwhile, had already figured out the problem. They were more than used to the vibrations of the earth, and they knew when those vibrations were thrown off by an exterior force. They knew when such a fact indicated that something was about to go very very wrong.


    They saw the ratman cavalry fall back and pushed with them, seeing the slow inching away as a slow retreat.


    They had been wrong.


    "God Skegga!" a Yip honor-guard screamed as the walls of the ridge started to stutter like a pair of wheezing, cancerous lungs. "We must run-run! Go now!"


    Skegga blinked, rose to slap at the Yip who had dared to command him, and then was thrown from his throne in the very next instant. The earthquake ripping through the ground under them had become more than even his floating throne could bear. He gripped on to the sides and tried to throw his gelatinous, bloated body back onto his chair.


    "YIPS!" he cried. "PROTECT YOUR GOD! SAFEGUARD ME! CARRY ME HOME TO MY PROMISED LAND! YOUR GOD COMMANDS YOU! YOUR GOD ¨C"


    The explosion that then rocketed up the walls from the spot where the rat-priest was kneeling cut off any other salient statements from the great toad or his men. The ridge folded at the top, boulders splintering off from the walls and tumbling down to crush the Kobold army below. The Kobolds, already trapped and funneled into a wall of spears, now looked up to see a rain of rock from the sky. The hail crushed the army by the hundreds, spattering brains and limbs and pancaking entire pockets of the Kobold horde until finally their ranks broke completely. The Yips began issuing their own retreats and turned tail, sprinting for the safety of their forts and dwarven stronghold. Whether or not their God followed them was not their concern ¨C he was left to those who were closest to him. His honor guard that carried him only under the pain of his wrath. Yet even they could not help but quiver in the face of the rat-God''s power.


    As the army fell line by line, their bodies baked into the very soil of the collapsed ridge, the ratmen of Skeever-Steelclaw watched a new wall of stone rise up before them ¨C a new construction that would forever prevent any further incursions into their lands from their mortal enemies and their now-beaten God.


    The Kobolds left numbered nothing more than a measly token force, and Marcus watched them carry off their screaming God with a smile.


    Let him go, Marcus thought. We''ve done what we needed to today. If our forces in the West have met with similar success, we won''t even need to fight another battle.


    He placed a hand on the shuddering form of Deekius as the rat man swayed, like a great weight had just been placed upon his flea-bitten shoulders.


    And he looked down upon the unbelieving rat-man below as an unnatural silence settled upon the world.


    A silence broken only by the voice of the one who had brought glory to the true rulers of the Underkingdom. Now was the time that might have called for a fancy speech that said as much.


    But Marcus preferred a simpler approach:


    "Ratmen of the chosen Clans!" he called. "This battle is over. The false God has been vanquished. WE HAVE WON!"


    In the near future, when the ratman Empire would value its history in very different ways, the scribes of Fleapit would write of this moment. They would write that the Shai-Alud shone like a green beacon with his hallowed priest, symbolizing the union between man and rat. They would say that the soldiers of Skeever Steelclaw fell to their knees and wept before their Lord, that the boulders had in fact killed Skegga, and that even the Spinerippers bowed in respect to the champion of the whole Underkingdom.


    But the truth was more base, and yet more significant.


    Because for the first time in their history, the rats of three clans raised their fists to the air of their realm, and their lips spoke only one name into the corrupted air that was now theirs, forevermore:


    "HAIL, SIRE MARCUS! HAIL, THE SHAI-ALUD!"


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Discord</a> server to keep up with Fantasy General and my other works. Honor the memories of the fallen by forging memes or telling me your <s>conspiracy</s> theories. Seriously. What are you waiting for? We''re all a bunch of crazies barely contained by our server size. Don''t you want to join the cult of the Unclean?

 Chapter 57

    -Fort Spearclaw, Clan Red-Eye territory-


    Commander Corvaughn of House Darragut groggily woke to the reality of tight chains binding his pudgy feet and hands.


    Blinking through the dirt and soot clogging his eyes, he slowly began to perceive the cracked wooden walls that encased him. He was in a small room with barely enough space to swing a rat. Before him was a simple crag of stone that looked like it had been hewed to resemble a table. He was attached to a wooden stake in the ground, the only light surrounding him being that of one flickering torch sconce. The light threw his muscular shadow across the wall beside him, but his pathetic stance made him groan with ruined pride. He was wearing a threadbare vest that was at least two sizes too large for him ¨C the ultimate insult for a noble-born Dwarf.


    ¡°So, this is how it ends,¡± he said to himself with a deep, throaty sigh. ¡°Not with a bang, but with a whimper. At least ye won¡¯t have ta see yer old dad come home a failure, Malcolm. Ye¡¯ll grow up and avenge me one day. I already know you¡¯ll be strong enough.¡±


    He suddenly recalled the sneaky tactic that had led to his detachment¡¯s sound defeat without a single drop of blood being spilled or a single clang of blades. Memories of the aftermath were hazy and unreal. They had to be ¨C because he had the distinct impression that the ratman swordsmen that ran down any survivors of the initial Glitterpak explosion simply disarmed his men and bound them up in chains.


    That had to be a dream. A trick of the mind brought on by the noxious fumes of those fucking bloated gasbags. Ratmen didn¡¯t take prisoners, right?


    A sudden drawing of a wood block on the other side of his cell door startled him, and he stiffened up, ready to spit in the face of the furry bastard that had probably come to gloat in the face of the defeated Dwarf. He wasn¡¯t about to take this insult to his pride sitting down.


    But when a human (albeit a scruffy and foul-smelling one) entered his cell and closed the door quickly behind him, he swallowed the phlegm in his throat and channeled it into a gasp instead.


    ¡°Fuck me sideways¡­¡± he murmured aloud. ¡°A Lank, walking among rats. I never thought I¡¯d see the day.¡±


    Far from being insulted by his sleight, the human chuckled.


    ¡°Eloquent,¡± he said, wiping his black-rimmed glasses with a dirty handkerchief. ¡°I think I¡¯ve learned at least five wholly new slurs since coming to this land. Some things never change. Lank is a pretty good one, though.¡±


    Corvaughn scoffed in the face of this human¡¯s laughter, shooting him a stare of confusion as the Lank sat opposite him and produced a bowl of water from behind his back.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t attest to its purity,¡± the human said. ¡°But it¡¯s at least drinkable.¡±


    The Dwarf¡¯s eyebrows raised.


    ¡°If ye think this little chummy act is gonna get you anywhere, yer wrong, Lank. The fuck are you doing down here, anyway? Your Emperor don¡¯t make friends of the dirty furs.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t represent any outside authority,¡± the human said. ¡°My name is Marcus, and I came here from another world. The rats of this Kingdom call it ¡®The Place Beyond.¡¯¡±


    Corvaughn huffed. ¡°So yer a fantastical traveler, are ye? A traveler from another magical world?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they tell me.¡±


    ¡°Well then let me tell you something, Marcus of the Place Beyond.¡±


    Corvaughn leaned forward, teeth flaring with spite and hatred.


    ¡°Fuck you. And fuck where you came from. Fuck your rats, and fuck your ¡®kindness¡¯. If ye think ye¡¯ll interrogate me and get me secrets, think again. Ye¡¯d have an easier time drawing blood from a stone. So, say whatever bullshit you have to say, slay me like I know your rats want to, and then fuck right off back home.¡±


    The Dwarf sat back, infinitely satisfied with himself. On the other hand, Marcus accepted his statement with a shrug and a little tut.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± he said with another shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to talk. The hatred between your peoples is far too great for you to ever see eye-to-eye. You Dwarves aren¡¯t like the Kobolds. You can¡¯t be cowed by sheer force of arms or displays of superior religious faith. My understanding is that your numbers are even fewer than the ratmen in this realm. You¡¯re backed into a corner, not open to negotiation, and hoarding technology that only just barely gives you an edge. It¡¯s a path that leads only to one place: stagnation and death. Your only chance to regain a foothold in this place would have been to ally with one of the powers at each others¡¯ throats. The fact you chose not to do that tells me your people have chosen to die. You¡¯re probably prepared to die better than anyone in this entire underground realm.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk like you know us,¡± Corvaughn spat.


    ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong then.¡±


    ¡°Yer wrong!¡± the Dwarf roared, kicking at the water bowl to send it crashing against the left wall of the cell. ¡°We¡¯ve got hearts and skins of stone that have helped us endure longer than any of the freaks that put their mangy claws on our Kingdom. This place was ours, once. It will be ours again.¡±


    ¡°History,¡± Marcus sighed. ¡°A sense of pride in a national identity that has since faded with time and conflict. Your entire war effort hinges on the belief you can go back to the way things were ¨C that you can make this Underground yours again. I¡¯ve seen it in my world. Most of the conflicts of our twentieth century could be boiled down to such desires. Problem with them? They all fail. Dreams of the past won¡¯t take you into the future.¡±


    ¡°You think I expect a traitor to his own kind to understand?¡± Corvaughn snarled right back. ¡°You have no nation, Lank. You got no stake in this. By the Stone, what the hell are you fighting for?¡±


    ¡°For the only thing that matters,¡± he said. ¡°For my home, and for the woman I love.¡±


    ¡°Fuck me,¡± the Dwarf groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t make me fucking cringe.¡±


    ¡°You did ask me, Sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me sir,¡± Corvaughn snarled. ¡°You don¡¯t respect me any more than I do you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong on that,¡± Marcus corrected, leaning over the table and resting his hands in its center.


    He knows he¡¯s within striking distance, the Dwarf thought. He¡¯s doing this to show he isn¡¯t scared of me. Fucking snarky Lank.


    ¡°I find much to admire in you and what I¡¯ve seen of your people,¡± he continued. ¡°I¡¯d like nothing more than to talk the hours away with you, learning of your history, your tactics, your beliefs and your culture. Not for the purposes of exploiting you ¨C though I know you won¡¯t believe that ¨C but because I¡¯d like to just go back to being a historian again.¡±


    He suddenly knit his brows and looked at his gloved hands ¨C hands that had formed into fists of their own accord.


    In his eyes now, Corvaughn saw someone different than the man that had first walked through that door. He saw the fires of war burn in those eyes, sights of horrors this Lank had seen and decided to wade through to get what he wanted. Such as it was.


    ¡°But I can¡¯t go back to that,¡± Marcus said slowly, like he was having an epiphany right then and there before the dwarf commander. ¡°I chose to fight. Or, more accurately, I chose to direct an entire species to fight for me. In my name. I wonder if that name¡¯s what¡¯s taken over now. I wonder if I can really go home with that name still hanging over me.¡±


    The Dwarf was listening to the ramblings of this man and suddenly came to the shocking conclusion that this wasn¡¯t just any traitor to his species. This wasn¡¯t just some rat auxiliary or sub-commander. The way he talked¡­


    ¡°By the fucking Stone,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re the one¡­you¡¯re the one behind the Glitterpaks. You¡¯re the one behind those cavalry charges. Pushing the screaming Yips back. You¡¯re calling the shots, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Marcus met his stare head on, looking as the hate in the dwarf¡¯s eyes began to melt away into fiery frustration.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a fucking clue what you¡¯ve done here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought for what I care about,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°Just as you have.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought alongside my Brothers. I¡¯ve fought to cleanse the filth of this world, while you¡¯ve been out here spreading it this whole time. A Lank like you. And I thought I couldn¡¯t be more insulted.¡±


    The Dwarf spat into the empty bowl before him.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s funny,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Had I been summoned on your side, I might have been a commander that could have salvaged your people from their impending doom. I might have even come to empathize with you. There¡¯s something to that, you know. Turns out building mutual understanding isn¡¯t as hard as we think. All it takes, it turns out, is proximity.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you care about these fucking gutter-running rats.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Care¡¯ would be a strong word. But I understand them. I know what they want. I know how to lead them towards my goals.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re a bigger fool than I am,¡± Corvaughn scoffed. ¡°You really think these beasties give a damn about what you want? The second you start failing them, they¡¯ll find a way to kick you out and send you to the dirt. By the Stone, I never thought I¡¯d see the day when a Lanky would trust a filthy rat.¡±


    Marcus shook his head, but he never broke eye contact with the Dwarf.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come here to offer you my terms,¡± he said.


    ¡°¡¯Terms¡¯, he says!¡± the Dwarf shouted. ¡°Boy, I gave you my fucking terms. Like you said, they aren¡¯t open to negotiation.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not for you,¡± Marcus replied, coolly. ¡°But I think there¡¯s something an honor-bound Dwarf like you might care about more than your own sorry life.¡±


    The Dwarf grit his teeth. ¡°Oh? And what might that be?¡±


    Marcus leaned back and drew a deep intake of the Underkingdom¡¯s stagnant air before he finally came to the point:


    ¡°Your men.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 58

    Commander Corvaughn sat back, fury seeping from every pore of his pudgy features.


    "In my world," Marcus continued. "There are many men such as you. Men of honor. Most of them fight to the last man, their hands stained with the blood of their loyal soldiers who will leave grieving widows and sons behind when they die. Such men, however, do not think of these things. Death and glory ¨C that''s their mantra. But some men exist who understand that there can be honor even in defeat ¨C in giving his people the chance to fight another day. A chance to go home to their loved ones. I am willing to offer you and your people this."


    "You mean," the Dwarf said. "You''ll kill my men if I refuse your ''terms''."


    Marcus shrugged. "The decision is yours, Sir. I know your men are probably as ready to die as you are. The question is, are you ready to let them? Or will you put your pride aside and allow them to go home to their families?"


    The Dwarf snarled like a cornered panther, every fiber of his bulging muscles willing him to throw himself at the human and rip him to shreds.


    "You speak of ''honor''," he spat. "Something you pretend to understand. But your words ring hollow, human. Ye don''t fight with honor."


    "No," Marcus agreed. "You did. And now, here we are."


    Marcus let silence hang in the stank air of the ramshackle Spearclaw prison. His rats outside were ready in case the Dwarf tried to rampage through the door. He could do it. Marcus knew the strength in those bulging arms was probably great enough to break his binds and rend at least him and five rats limb for limb before the fort''s ratguard put him down.


    But he didn''t. Instead, Marcus watched him sigh with the weariness of a man who realized, finally, that he''d been beaten.


    "¡­what do ye want?" he eventually asked.


    "Your weapons," Marcus said, keeping composed in spite of the fact he was finally coming to the crux of his argument. "Tell your soldiers to relinquish their firearms, tell them to drop their hammers, and tell them to leave every bullet behind. Their armor they can keep. I can''t give you back your hurt pride, but I can promise your men a safe journey home."


    Corvaughn''s eyes buzzed with activity. His brain was a blur of possibilities, possible eventualities¡­each one warped by his anger in the face of utter capitulation.


    "Ye want our guns," he said, slowly. "Ye want their power fer yer own."


    He met Marcus''s eyes again with pure spite.


    "Ye could just kill us all and take them," he said. "Why are ye even offering me any deal?"


    "Because," Marcus said. "I''m not here to commit genocide. I''m not here to extinguish the light that so clearly still burns in the chest of you and all your people. You''ve been at war down here for ¨C what? Decades? Centuries? Perhaps, like these ratmen, war is part of your nature. Perhaps not. Perhaps there''s something, or someone, who can give you something else to believe in."


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Marcus stood, patting down his dirtied trench coat and smiling with a strange hint of nostalgia at the glasses-wearing ratman symbol on his coat-sleeve.


    "Either way, I think you should be given the chance to make a different choice one day. You can''t do that if you''re all dead. And from what I''ve seen of your people, you don''t deserve annihilation. Only one creature in this Underkingdom has to die, now. And his day is coming."


    Commander Corvaughn scoffed in the face of the human''s determination, keeping his posture straight as he looked up and addressed Marcus without hesitation.


    "Ye''ve got some nerve for a Lank," he said. "I''ll give ye that much. But don''t spin me this shit about ''respect'' for our kind. Your people above have only ever made war. It''s the one thing you know how ta do ¨C take the lands of others and leave nothing but scraps behind. Either that, or burn it all like a wee child playing with dangerous toys. Yer just like the rats. And now yer giving ''em even more dangerous toys ta play with. You mark me, boy, one day they''ll turn those toys on you. And then ye''ll have no one ta blame but yerself. Then, ye''ll wish ye''d chosen a more honorable path."


    Marcus crossed his arms behind his back. He was done with the conversation.


    "Your decision, Sir?" he asked the panting dwarf. "Will you march your men home or watch them bleed out on our lands?"


    "''Our lands!'' Corvaughn spat. "''Our lands'', he says!"


    "I won''t ask again, Commander."


    "Fuck it," the Dwarf said ¨C his voice guttural and cold. "Take the guns. Take the bullets. Let my people go in peace. But I''ve got one condition."


    Marcus tried to keep from scoffing.


    "Condition?" he asked. "You''re in no position to-"


    "Take me," the Dwarf said, eyeing Marcus with no fury now ¨C only total conviction in his words. "Kill me here and now."


    As Marcus opened his mouth to interject, Corvaughn continued, the utterly serious, morose tone of his voice stopping Marcus from speaking over what were the Dwarf''s last words:


    "Yer wrong about somethin''," he said. "Yeah, my men can go home. They can return to their families and fight another day. Yer giving us that much ¨C whether it''s out of a na?ve sense of ''good faith'' or just because yer time in this realm has left ye insane ¨C that''s somethin''. But fer those of us who abide by the Stone, who lead men into the meat grinder of battle, there is no surrender. There is no quarter. We don''t go home. There''s a line we cross one day ¨C and when it''s crossed, there''s no turnin'' back. I''m not going home as a failed commander. I''m not going home ta look my wife and son in their eyes and tell them I turned tail and fled from a buncha thieving rats and their Lank commander from the arse end of some other world. I am Corvaughn Knox of House Darragut ¨C Dwarf of the Underkingdom and vassal of King Lokir Garrison, First of His Name. By my King, by the Stone, and for the honor of my House, I lay my body and soul to rest. Kill me however ye please, human. Feed me ta yer soldiers'' putrid Queen or have yer barbaric priests put me ta the flame. I''m done with this life. I''m already dead."


    If Marcus was the same man he was when first he''d set foot in this accursed underground, he''d probably have argued back when the Dwarf finished his death-speech and then sat back, staring off into a distance that didn''t even exist.


    Instead, he bowed, saluted the fallen soldier, and promptly exited the room.


    To the guards waiting outside he directed only one simple command before shrugging again and proceeding to the fort battlements.


    "He''s a brave man," he told them. "Let him die like one."


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 59

    Marcus stood beside Deekius on the battlements of Spearclaw, watching the dwarven militia¡¯s mass exodus back to their homestead.


    They had gone, surprisingly, without incident. Perhaps it was due to Marcus¡¯s allowing them to watch their Commander¡¯s execution. Perhaps it was because he had given them the dignity of looking their leader in the eye as he died. He had even allowed them to take his body home with them to ¡®Give it back to the Stone¡¯. Marcus assumed this meant they would bury him and erect a stout grave for the stout man.


    The execution had been a simple one ¨C death by hanging ¨C and Marcus had commissioned the construction of a simple gallows for the occasion. Skeever had scoffed, saying that enemy commanders were often given up to the Queen of the Clan that conquered them, but Marcus had managed to dissuade the grizzled Talon-Commander. After all, he told him, did Skeever really want his beloved Queen to taste of the rock-solid flesh of a dwarfling? Her teeth would chip and shatter on impact.


    Begrudgingly, the ratman had agreed.


    He was not the only rat with reservations. Marcus had known that the ratmen would have jumped with pure joy to see the Dwarf commander¡¯s end, but he had kept the death of Commander Corvaughn of House Darragut as a quiet, somber affair ¨C attended by only his Dwarves and a detachment of ratguards to ensure no man attempted to play at being a hero or a martyr. The Commander had obviously trained his men well. As he was slain, his eyes popping out of his thickset skull, fists clenched and feet barely kicking, his men had bowed their heads and intoned a slow, solemn prayer. They spoke of the watchful nature of the Stone. They spoke of how Corvaughn¡¯s body would soon sit within the hallowed walls of the Underkingdom, where the Stone does not forget. Where it does not forgive.


    Marcus had looked him in his grey, dull eyes as he died, flailing like a fish on a line. It had given him no pleasure to see the Dwarf expire. Of all the beings he¡¯d met in this desolate realm where only might made right, the Dwarves were too much like human beings. They were too much like him¡­


    ¡°They shall be remembering this day,¡± Deekius told him as they both watched the unarmed Dwarves leave the fort in shame. ¡°Those that are surviving the journey back home shall be telling their people of us.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Marcus replied stiffly. ¡°Let them tell of the hospitality they received here. Let them tell of how they were soundly defeated and then offered a fair deal by their enemies who they once thought nothing more than mindless rodents skittering in the dark. Let them tell of the Battle of Razor Ridge and let all listeners know that the ratman Kingdom is now a force to be reckoned with. But not one that can be accused of barbarism.¡±


    ¡°You are caring too much about these things, Sire,¡± Deekius murmured. ¡°Our kind are not having historians as yours do. Rats of legend are being known for slaughter only. Great destruction, we are remembering. That, or the spreading of disease to the surface. I have many stories of great, wise Greyfax of Clan Red-Eye. He was being a rat who knew how to please the Unclean.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he was,¡± Marcus said, leaning on the hard, chipped stone of the fort battlements like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. ¡°But I¡¯m not looking to go down in history as a butcher, Deekius. If you do want to change this world and have a real place on its stage, you¡¯ll have to change how people perceive your kind. That takes more than just winning a few battles or spreading a few poxes.¡±


    The rat-priest considered this with a twitch of his snout. ¡°So, this is how humans are thinking,¡± he said. ¡°It is being intriguing. I have not thought much on what the future shall bring for our people. It is being odd that, only now, I am considering what our next steps shall be bringing us.¡±


    Marcus was suddenly taken by the hollowness of the rat-priest¡¯s voice. It felt like the little beast had aged considerably in the last few hours. Even his shoulders looked like they were slumping a little more than usual.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°Deekius¡­¡±


    A gruff cough from behind both rat and man caused them to turn and see Skeever at the top of the North battlement steps.


    ¡°The last of the Stunties are being evacuated,¡± he said, clearly unimpressed by the line of Dwarven soldiers carrying their fallen hero below. ¡°Though I am still thinking we could have been making use of their armor.¡±


    ¡°Their guns will be enough,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°I¡¯m not about to add insult to injury by having these proud warriors march home naked.¡±


    ¡°It would be a sight to see though,¡± Skeever sneered, nudging Deekius as he came to stand beside him. ¡°What are you thinking, Gloomraava? Are Dwarven balls being as pudgy as their faces?¡±


    ¡°I am trying not to think upon this,¡± Deekius replied with a tight smile. ¡°But no doubt their genitalia will be¡­in proportion.¡±


    Marcus shook his head at them both, feeling like a disappointed father about to reprimand his children. Yet he also saw the steady camaraderie that seemed to have formed between the two of them.


    ¡°We¡¯ve come a long way since we first met,¡± Marcus said, looking out across the blighted battlefield where the Spinerippers of Clan Marrow were still feasting on the dead and the dying. ¡°And with any luck,¡± he whispered to himself. ¡°We have only a short time left¡­¡±


    ¡°The Gloomraava of Glumrot are reporting success,¡± Skeever said. ¡°A Spineripper rider is coming through two hours ago. Head-Priest Koresh is saying they have at least 900 Kobolds under their watch, now. He is conducting sermons and holding them at Fort Greenwall. He wishes to know when you will be joining them.¡±


    So the little bastards pulled it off, Marcus thought, surprised that the priests of Glumrot had come through on their promise to produce a miracle for him. It had meant their clearance of Fort Spearclaw had been worthwhile after all.


    Then again, recalling the feat that Deekius had just performed upon the Razor-Ridge, he had no right to be surprised at all by the priests¡¯ success.


    Though he did have to admit that the rat-priest was looking a shade paler than usual¡­


    ¡°Send a rider immediately,¡± he said. ¡°We shall return to Fleapit to resupply and rendezvous with King Shrykul before linking up with Koresh and our new Kobold reserves. On the way, our newest regiment can fine-tune their aim.¡±


    Skeever rubbed his forehead as all of them heard a flurry of gun-shots go off and watched as a ratman holding a smoking arquebus smashed into the wall beneath them.


    ¡°E-Eek!¡± he screamed. ¡°I - I am being sorry, Sires!¡±


    ¡°They will be needing much practice,¡± Skeever groaned. ¡°These Dwarven boom-sticks are being as dangerous as they are loud.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry, Talon-Commander,¡± Marcus said as he placed a reassuring hand on Skeever¡¯s shoulder. ¡°After all, they have quite the teacher.¡±


    He watched with no small degree of pride as Ix instructed both his Kobold team and the rats in the proper operation of the Dwarven rifles. The little Kobold had taken to the weapon like the trained marksman he was. He already seemed well-versed in its operation. It helped that Ix was himself passionate about learning new things generally, and looked upon his new students as a minor deity would bask in the glow of his first worshippers.


    They would become an entirely new regiment. They would give the rats the technological advantage they had always lacked in the Underkingdom. And Ix would be at the head of their sharpshooters ¨C a Kobold hero that would inspire the new recruits. He would give them the impression they could rise through the ranks as he had.


    Of all the decisions I made, Marcus thought. Saving him was undoubtably one of the best.


    But as it often did these days when he thought of his successes, his mind suddenly turned to darker thoughts. Bloody Skegga and the Kobolds in Grindlefecht that would be waiting for them¡­the Yokun prisoner in the dungeon of Fleapit¡­


    ¡°I am going to retire for a while,¡± Marcus told his men. ¡°Ready the army to move through the Southern Tunnels towards Fleapit. We should make good time if we leave in around two hours. Let the soldiers rest, let the hungry eat. But we will not sit here and rest on our laurels. Besides,¡± he added. ¡°We have some new toys to show good King Shrykul.¡±


    He cast his eyes over the wrought-iron giants of the abandoned cannons. A legion of Spinerippers were being shackled to them as Marcus spoke.


    ¡°If anyone needs me,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I will be in my quarters.¡±


    Both Skeever and Deekius bowed as they watched him go.


    ¡°Sire?¡± Skeever asked. ¡°Once we are linking up with our Brothers at the Gulch¡­what comes next?¡±


    Marcus smiled thinly as he limped down the battlement steps toward his quarters in the fort.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± he shouted back. ¡°The end.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 60

    ¡°You once asked me a question,¡± Marcus said, the flickering embers of his candlelights throwing his hunched shadow across the walls of his cramped chambers at the edge of Fort Spearclaw. ¡°At the time, I don¡¯t think it was something I¡¯d ever really thought about.¡±


    It was strange. He felt nervous addressing his guest, like the very first time they¡¯d met on the battlefield of ideas. Then, he¡¯d fought alone, against an armada. It seemed right that he should face his once-foe here and now, alone.


    In life, that would have probably been a good thing. Away from the prying eyes and the chittering of the crowds, maybe they could have spoken more amicably. Or, at the very least, disagreed with each other without coming to blows.


    ¡°You asked if I could look upon a sea of soldiers¡¯ corpses and tell them their sacrifice was worth it. I¡¯ll answer you plainly: no. The dead don¡¯t write history.¡±


    The irony of this situation was not lost on Marcus. As he leaned back in his wooden chair, rocking like a man well beyond his years, he pondered how fickle fate could be. The ratguards of Skeever had waddled up to him after the battle, during their ¡®cleanup¡¯ of the wounded on the field. They had seemed agitated and then, as they drew closer, Marcus saw that excitement permeated every pore of their filthy bodies. They practically shook, giddy as schoolgirls, as they opened the sack they carried in their claws and spilled its contents at Marcus¡¯s feet.


    When Marcus saw what they had just given him, he had simply stood motionless for perhaps a full minute.


    They chittered amongst themselves, explaining that the stupid toad must have thought to wound the Shai-Alud by decapitating one of his own kind and waving it around during the battle.


    But Marcus knew the truth. Skegga¡¯s cocky determinism and mass-committal now made sense in the context: the oafish toad had thought this human head was Marcus¡¯s.


    And now here that head sat, in a bloody heap, almost unrecognizable were it not for its baby blue eyes that Marcus would know a hundred miles away. He had met such eyes with burning hate enough times to have a clear mental picture of the man who bore them.


    ¡°Somehow,¡± he said, looking into the rotted skull of Stephen Barenz. ¡°The fact they couldn¡¯t tell the difference between you and me is perfect. Just perfect ¨C as elegant an encapsulation of their knowledge of variance within races as you or I could ever hope to see.¡±


    Before him, sloping ever so slightly on a dusty chair, Barenz¡¯s head sat and stared unblinkingly by way of response.


    Marcus had very little notion of what wicked compulsion had compelled him to take the bloody thing and prop it up in front of him, and even less of an idea what had prompted him to pace the room as though he was about to engage the inanimate chunk of flesh in yet another one of their ¡®debates¡¯.


    ¡°How long ago was that?¡± he asked the head, shaking his own. ¡°Seems like a lifetime. Maybe it was ¨C maybe time dilation works differently here. Who am I to know how this world operates? I¡¯m just a General, eh?¡±


    The head of his rival stared back, unimpressed.


    Marcus leaned back in his seat, sagging and wheezing like a deflated balloon ¨C all energy seeping out from every weary pore of his sweating body.


    ¡°You would love this,¡± he said. ¡°Seeing me doing exactly what you said ¡®my kind¡¯ do ¨C making war and leading people astray. You know, when that Dwarf spoke to me, he reminded me of you, somewhat. So certain that your enemies are wrong. So ready to whip an entire nation into a frenzy because you think that, out of every scholar and philosopher in the history of the known world, you¡¯re the one who has the right of it. You¡¯ve figured out the universe, and you¡¯re gonna make damn sure everybody knows it.¡±


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Again ¨C no response. Marcus felt himself insulted. It was as though he actually believed the voice of Barenz ¨C mocking and dripping with sarcasm ¨C would emit from the drooping mouth of the head and rebuke him in death.


    ¡°But I can¡¯t hate you,¡± Marcus said, closing his eyes to the sight of his dead opponent. ¡°I never did, you know. To hate you would mean I would box you off, label you deviant, and then just be done listening to you. But I don¡¯t think ideas should exist in a vacuum. I don¡¯t think Echo Chambers are healthy for an intellectually curious society or for the promotion of critical thinking. And yet,¡± he laughed, almost maniacally, ¡°Here I am, leading a movement with myself as figurehead, even as I know the only result will be chaos.¡±


    He stood up and began pacing the four-walled chamber again, intent on delivering his thoughts to Barenz. On a few occasions as he spoke, he contemplated whether madness had finally overtaken him. Maybe some disease had finally gnawed away at his rational thoughts and was killing him slowly. He thought at one point that he might even be having a stroke.


    But that would have been a far too easy way for him to go.


    ¡°I wonder how they did you in?¡± he mused, glancing sidelong at the unassuming head. ¡°Treachery? Torture? Or just a quick and easy slash across the neck? The worst part is you died as a martyr, probably still believing everything you always believed. Never once questioning your place in this world or the place of others¡­¡±


    Marcus sat down again, looking around him to make sure no skittering stalker was poking his snout where it didn¡¯t belong.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you something I think you¡¯ll like,¡± he said. ¡°The truth is: I wish I could be like you. I wish I could believe something so concretely ¨C have it become such an inexorable part of myself that separating me from the idea would be like eviscerating an arm or a leg ¨C and never once be forced to consider the flaws in my worldview. You and your Unifiers had it so easy, you just didn¡¯t know it. Just like these rat-priests. Just like the Kobolds who crawl beneath Skegga¡¯s feet. Or at least, who once crawled beneath them. Now, I have to give them something else to believe in.¡±


    He watched the skull carefully, as though probing for any minute movement of its charred lashes. But all he saw were the maggots moving underneath its eyeballs.


    ¡°It would be so easy to say that it¡¯s all guff,¡± he whispered into his clasped hands. ¡°I wish I could say ¡®to hell with it all!¡¯ and decry every churchgoer and pulpit-preacher and alleyway End-Times screamer who are so fixed on their ideologies that they can¡¯t see the suffering in front of them. But I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t make a monolith out of you no matter how much you¡¯d do the same to me ¨C to men like me who you saw as nothing more than stuck in the past. Maybe you had the right of it, there. After all, that¡¯s now exactly what I am, even if it is what¡¯s keeping me alive down here. Equally, we could see the irony in our current situation and say that I ¡®won¡¯ in the end. I have an army of rats that worship me, and you¡¯ll soon be dead in the dirt. I honestly don¡¯t know which one of us is the luckier man.¡±


    Marcus was suddenly jolted by the sounds of the ratman war-horns blowing outside, signaling the movement of their combined forces. It would be a long march back to Fleapit, and then to the Black Gulch where the end of this horror would finally come.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m growing sentimental,¡± Marcus said when the horns stopped their dolorous humming. ¡°Maybe I just crave conversation with one of my own kind so much that I¡¯m allowing you more concessions than I ever would were you alive. I wonder, would you do the same to me if our situations were reversed?¡±


    Again, no answer from the head.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± Marcus finished. ¡°But a man can dream that people change. We¡¯re shaped by our experiences, after all. And I¡¯m not the man I was when I stepped on that stage after you.¡±


    He rose and made for the door, looking back over his shoulder at the vacant skull that he was about to leave behind. In truth, his heart felt heavy. The action of conversing with his old rival was purely symbolic ¨C he knew that. Yet, equally, he felt that something of Steven was still there. Something that was demanding an answer.


    ¡°I will say that you were wrong about one thing,¡± he said, looking at the door like it would lead him towards a whole new plane of existence once he passed through its threshold. ¡°Unity can be accomplished through war. I¡¯m seeing the results of this every day. The real question is: is this the kind of unity we want?¡±


    He decided to let the question hang. Somehow, no response was the most appropriate way to end his one-sided conversation with the last vestige of his past. For, this time, it was a question that neither man had the answer to.


    Without another word, Marcus bowed and bid farewell to Steven Barenz, leaving the rotted skull of his foe shrouded in darkness forevermore.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 61

    As Marcus and his army marched wearily through the winding tunnels back to Fleapit, the echoes of their footsteps reverberated off the damp stone walls, creating an eerie symphony that seemed to celebrate their hard-fought victory. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the faces of the weary soldiers, highlighting the exhaustion and determination etched into their furry features.


    Yet the weariest among them was their General himself. Try as he might, he couldn¡¯t forget the faces of those who had been lost to carry him this far. Once again, he was forced to confront the fact that he was stepping over the corpses of these creatures to grasp at the fleeting hope that he could find Mari and get home.


    As his Spineripper jostled forward at the head of the throng, he turned his face to the men beside him ¨C Skeever, ever confident and filled with pride to have his new command (already the rats were fabricating the legend of the rat that had pierced the skin of a fat God by himself) and Deekius, who seemed paler by the second. Since they had begun their trek home, the venerable Gloomraava had not said another word.


    His troubles have to be put aside, for now, Marcus scribbled in his (by now very tattered) journal. Preparations need to get underway quickly if we are to make good time to link up with our new recruits at Gulchnavel. I doubt Skegga can call reinforcements from his Kobolds, now. But there is the possibility of his Yokun benefactors sending him some form of aid if we give him the chance to call upon them¡­and considering how three of their assassins managed to throw this entire city into chaos, I don¡¯t like our chances if they enter this war for real.


    Priority number one is finding this Silas and then Mari. If he has the power to send me home, he must have the strength to send me to her. It¡¯s possible ¨C of course ¨C that Skegga could simply succumb to madness and start executing his prisoners. But for some reason I don¡¯t see it happening. I don¡¯t think the toad is the type. He¡¯s too concerned with his reputation for that. And right now he needs all the numbers he can muster, even if he must know by this point that his best chance for his own self-preservation is unconditional surrender.


    But then, that¡¯s also something his pride won¡¯t ever let him admit. He¡¯s like a chubbier, more overconfident Hideki Tojo. And just like him, Skegga¡¯s not the one who holds the real power here.


    As they approached the gates of Fleapit, the air was filled with the sound of cheering and jubilation. The ratmen poured out of their homes and tunnels, waving makeshift banners and flags in celebration of their returning heroes. The streets were lined with cheering crowds, their voices blending together in a cacophony of joy and relief.


    Marcus rode at the head of his army, his eyes struggling to keep up with the sights of all his adoring fans cobbled together in the bustling city. The foundry workers stopped their labors, those elderly rats in the black cauldron of their retirement crept out to kiss the feet of his mount, and Shrykul himself had assembled an entire array of Gloomraava to send up a chant of welcome and victory for the great army of the First Talon. The ratmen hailed him as a savior, a leader who had delivered them from the tyranny of Boss Skegga. The streets were adorned with colorful tapestries and lanterns, flags flying with the face of rats with glasses upon their brows, creating a festive atmosphere that seemed to banish the shadows of war and uncertainty that had plagued Fleapit for so long.


    As they made their way through the bustling streets, Marcus could see the gratitude and admiration in the eyes of the people. Children ran alongside the procession, reaching out to touch the hem of his cloak or simply to catch a glimpse of the hero who had brought them victory. Elders nodded their approval from the doorways of their homes, their faces creased with age but shining with pride.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Finally, the procession reached the central square of Fleapit, where a makeshift stage had been erected for Marcus to address his people. As he dismounted his weary steed and climbed the steps to the platform, the crowd fell silent, hanging on his every word.


    He looked to Skeever and Deekius, then returned to the crowd and almost felt his voice catch in his mouth.


    After having just thought about it with Steven, this situation seemed so like that of his University back home. Except this time, the crowd was on his side.


    He had to admit the adulation was infectious.


    ¡°Ratmen of Fleapit!¡± Marcus began, his voice strong and steady despite the weariness that weighed on his shoulders. ¡°Today, we stand united in victory. Together, we have faced our enemies and emerged triumphant. But let us not forget the sacrifices that were made, the lives that were lost in the name of freedom and unity.¡±


    The crowd murmured their agreement, a somber reminder of the cost of their hard-won victory. Marcus paused, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces before him, his heart heavy with the weight of their collective losses. He had to make sure the rats knew he wasn¡¯t simply waving their fallen Lords aside.


    ¡°What we have done today is this,¡± he continued. ¡°We have sent Skegga a message he shall not soon forget: he is no God. He has hopped back home, tail between his legs, in the face of those he sought an easy victory over. Let this day stand in your memory ¨C rats of Fleapit ¨C this is the day your fallen Brothers have been avenged. Festicus and Verulex both look down upon us with pride, sitting beside the true God of this realm ¨C He-Who-Festers!¡±


    The crowd roared with the army, the cacophony of their wails mixing together so it became difficult to distinguish civilian from armed combatant who had only just cleaned the blood of their yipping enemies from their blades.


    The exhilaration of the parade was such that Marcus almost forgot the point he had to make here ¨C something he¡¯d resolved to say ever since his little ¡®chat¡¯ with Steven. Something that, like it or not, these rats needed to hear:


    ¡°But let us also remember that it is in times of darkness that the light of unity shines brightest,¡± Marcus continued, his voice rising with conviction. ¡°We have proven that we are stronger together, that we can overcome any obstacle when we stand as one. Today, we celebrate not just a victory in battle, but a victory of the spirit, a triumph of unity over division. Three Clans! One victory!¡±


    The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices raised in a chorus of gratitude and admiration for their beloved First Talon. Marcus raised his arms in salute, and then pointed out both Deekius and Skeever in the crowd, urging them to join him and accept their share in the glory


    But though the rats of Fleapit joined in celebrating their kin, there was another chant that they had started to take up, spurred on by the hooded Gloomraava that walked among the crowd.


    ¡°Three Clans. One Leader!¡± they screamed at the top of their tiny lungs. ¡°Three Clans! One Leader! One Destiny!¡±


    The chant became a mantra. It became a living voice that breathed even more fervent life into the crowds. The triumphant cry that echoed through the tunnels of Fleapit and beyond, a testament to the power of unity and the resilience of the ratmen who called it home.


    And though he tried to ignore it, the statement was not one so easily brushed aside.


    One leader¡­


    With the thought lying heavy in his heart, Marcus looked down at his hands before he left the stage for an audience with King Shrykul.


    On impulse, he saw that they had both balled into fists.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 62

    *Important note: this week will be the final week of chapters before I start summer vacation. I will be heading home to see my family from June 16th to July 8th. There will be no new chapters during this time. Patreon billing will be paused. Book 1 of Fantasy General will be pretty much wrapped up on Patreon by this week''s end.


    Thanks for all your support on this story. This is my longest vacation in the year, I promise. I''ll be using this time also to polish up all of book one and plan for the rest of the series - because this is a story I love to write, and I want it to go the distance.


    Now, on with the chapter:


    <hr>


    Marcus sat pensively in the war-council chamber of Castel Carfaxx, his quill tapping incessantly on his notebook as he waited for King Shrykul to attend the meeting.


    It struck him as odd that the King would be late, but considering the multiple duties his position required (and those extra ones demanded by his voluptuous Queen) Marcus wasn¡¯t in the mood to complain. Beside him sat Skeever and Deekius in similarly quiet contemplation. This, too, struck him as odd. Here they were on the verge of victory, and a grim specter hung over the assembly.


    The only one who¡¯d said anything at all was the sickly Deekius, who had whispered to Marcus conspirationally when he took his seat beside him.


    ¡°Our friend¡¯s toughness is finally peeling away,¡± he said. ¡°After this, there is something she shall be telling you.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s eyes widened at the admission. If Yeeva finally had the information he needed¡­maybe his way out of here would come sooner than he thought. The time couldn¡¯t be more perfect. The war was close to being over ¨C was all but won, in fact. This meeting would be just a formality. The resignation of the rats beside him, and those of the palace soldiers, was testament to the fact that things were finally going to calm down around here.


    Perhaps, he wrote in his diary/historical documentation. They too are becoming weary of constant war. Movement, battle, movement, planning ¨C it must tire out even a seasoned veteran like Skeever.


    Deekius, however is another story.


    Marcus looked with growing concern at the sniveling rat-priest, noticing how his furred lips were flecked with crimson.


    Something¡¯s happening to him ever since he performed his Incantation at Razor-Ridge, erecting the Wall of the Unclean as the rats are calling it. From now on, the only way to Grindlefecht will be through Black Gulch, all thanks to the tiny creature sitting beside me.


    I can¡¯t lose him ¨C not when he¡¯s got such power in his hands. After this meeting, I¡¯ll have to figure out what the problem is. And why he¡¯s keeping it from me.


    Marcus then decided to take the time to note down a few of the newest developments in Fleapit since his triumphant return.


    The biggest changes being made around here concern the newest additions to the Fleapit standing forces. Now these rats have two entirely new pieces of technology they¡¯ve never even employed before: the arquebus, and the 12-pound cannon.


    I took some time to inspect them once we were back here and confirmed that the designs are eerily similar to those of the early-modern period of human history, with a few notable exceptions. Dwarf craftmanship is clearly beyond anything else down here, as evidenced by the internal workings of their firing mechanisms. For example, they¡¯ve figured out the concept of spin-stabilization and factored this in to the rifling of their arquebus gun barrels. The result is a firearm with much-improved accuracy to what was seen in the early Ottoman matchlocks of 1465. The standardized bore of the gun furthermore allows the bullets to be loaded much faster ¨C in a similar fashion to the 16th century caliver musket. An elegant weapon, to be sure, but one which is far beyond the ratman foundry¡¯s capacity to replicate, at least not without years of study and experimentation.


    It is not, however, impossible for them to learn how to cast the ammunition. Both the arquebus and the 12-pounders use standard iron projectiles. It¡¯s a simple process to reproduce such metallic projectiles through casting, and down in the Fleapit foundries the directors and blacksmiths seemed to understand the basics of how to cast a rough sphere (after I spent an inordinate amount of time detailing the process). I estimate that within the next week or so a production line will be set up and these bullets will soon be rolled out en masse. This isn¡¯t to say it will be easy, mind ¨C we¡¯re still talking about producing metal alloys capable of maintaining the grooves of the arquebus¡¯ rifled barrels. It will take them far longer to perfect this art. But if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve seen in these rats ¨C it¡¯s that they¡¯re quick learners.


    The advantages are, of course, innumerable. We¡¯re talking about an entirely new perspective on ranged combat ¨C something that the rats of Marrow certainly seem to scoff at. But even they can¡¯t deny the effectiveness of cannon shot against the fortifications of the Underkingdom. Down here, the most advanced defensive walls seem to be of timbre, stone, and at best earthwork ¨C easy pickings for our dense metal projectiles. In the future, they might even consider casting grapeshot or shrapnel for the cannons. I can just imagine their joy in seeing the carnage wrought by an army charging them in an open field.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Of course, Ix is out there training the new ranged units right now. They¡¯re getting there ¨C but the accuracy concerns are a problem. Perhaps a fork rest could be employed at least initially, till the men get to grips with how to handle the elongated barrel of their newest weapons. I¡¯ve imparted to our versatile little Yip that there are plenty of advanced strategies one can use to make rifle-bearing soldiers more effective. He was at first skeptical, but I saw his little eyes light up when I explained to him the concept of Volley Fire ¨C something the Dwarves of Corvaughn had already seemed familiar with judging by their disciplined firring lines. Setting up something similar will of course take time and allowances will have to be made for the ratmen to understand more advanced line-formations, but I¡¯m certain they can pick it up, especially if its explained to them that it will compensate for the slow reload time of their rifles (we¡¯re talking about at the very least a 15 second delay in firing time after a successful volley. I have no idea how the dwarves were able to do it faster, and only now do I regret not being able to inspect that old sniper¡¯s crushed rifle¡­)


    But such reflections will have to wait, Marcus finished writing. I have a King to see.


    Shrykul burst through the double doors of the council chamber looking considerably older than he did the last time Marcus set eyes on him.


    The three soldiers rose, even though the King rat didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in their display of fealty.


    ¡°Be at ease,¡± he told them as he took his appointed seat at the opposite end of the table and began rubbing his tired temples. ¡°We are having much business. Many changes are happening to the Kingdom. Such changes must be occurring with care.¡±


    I almost feel sorry for him, Marcus thought.


    ¡°Which is exactly why I don¡¯t wish to take up too much of your time, Sire,¡± he said aloud. ¡°The final stage of our plan is already progressing without our direct intervention. With your permission¡­¡±


    The King simply waved him to continue. Marcus nodded to Skeever.


    ¡°We are hearing reports that Skegga¡¯s Kobolds are rebelling,¡± the rat said, pointing a curled finger at their North Warrens map spread out on the table. ¡°His perimeter villages are seeing him weak and are taking the chance to flee to our camp beyond Black Gulch. They are resisting his soldiers when they come to collect food for his palace. They are stockpiling supplies and rejecting him as God. They are joining their Brothers we are converting.¡±


    ¡°Kovesh is doing good job,¡± King Shrykul said. ¡°But we should be cautious. Not all Kobolds should be allowed into army. Some may still be spies for Boss Skegga. We should be imprisoning them in Fort Greenwatch.¡±


    ¡°Sire,¡± Marcus interjected. ¡°I thought we discussed this? More Kobold conscripts means more manpower to send against the walls of Grindlefecht when the time comes. With our new ranged support units, ratman causalities should be minimal in the final assault.¡±


    ¡°And then what is happening after?¡± Kign Shrykul pressed. ¡°Kobolds will want their own cities in our kingdom. Kobolds will want their own forts in our lands. Day may come when they rebel against us. No matter how much you are telling us, Shai-Alud, they are not being like us.¡±


    Marcus grit his teeth. Where was this coming from, all of a sudden?


    ¡°This is why we will install leaders whose loyalty to us is unquestionable,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Ix and his men have proven themselves through and through. They will ensure the Kobolds in your Kingdom stay in line.¡±


    The King was not to be dissuaded. ¡°Marcus, we are already seeing what Kobolds do when they are thinking their rulers are not effective. When they are being presented with other options that are offering them more strength. One day, this Ix may be having delusions of grandeur on a scale similar to the fat toad he is once following ¨C and would still be following, if you had not spared his life.¡±


    The King¡¯s outburst seemed to strike at the two other rats, who looked from him to Marcus as though watching a duel unfold before their beady eyes.


    Marcus felt his hand scribbling away of its own accord, taking notes to assay his growing frustration.


    This is becoming a theme. Every war-council seems to be more about ratman supremacy than about really establishing a true empire. This kind of rhetoric though¡­is this really the King speaking? The same feeble King that normally just smiled and waved, when he wasn¡¯t serving his Queen?


    ¡°I cannot turn our operations in the North into a plan to create Kobold-internment camps,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I will not reward their service to our cause with captivity. Then,¡± Marcus added gravely. ¡°You really will have a rebellion on your hands.¡±


    ¡°My King,¡± Skeever broke in cooly. ¡°Perhaps we should be proceeding with the Shai-Alud¡¯s plan. His duty is to be ending war. What happens after is being another concern.¡±


    ¡°A concern that is becoming more and more pressing,¡± Shrykul replied, eyeing all three of them with gravitas, as though a hidden sword was poised at his neck. ¡°If we cannot be showing that we are strong enough to hold the North, then there will be others who shall be taking it from us. Dark eyes watch Grindelfecht, my children. We are being on the eve of the greatest triumph in our history. I will not let our glory be taken away.¡±


    Taken away¡­


    What the hell are you talking about?


    ¡°Sire Shrykul,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Once this war is over, you shall have more power than any of your Brother Kings. Once the North is won you will be as a God to your people, second only to He-Who-Festers. None would dare oppose you.¡±


    The King flashed his tongue at his First-Talon, his face twisting into a macabre smile while he shook his head slowly, like a father listening to his errant son.


    ¡°Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°You are still not having eyes to see what even the smallest infant can...¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 63

    Marcus stared at Shrykul¡¯s weary face, totally lost against the rat-monarch¡¯s candor.


    ¡°I am making decision on this,¡± he said with a heavy wave of his hand. ¡°Any Kobolds conscripted into army are to be no more than 500 Yips strong. The rest are to be kept behind, without weapons.¡±


    Marcus pushed. ¡°Sire, you are depriving us of a war asset that we could use to crush your enemy faste-¡°


    ¡°There is being more at stake here than crushing our enemy,¡± the King interrupted. ¡°From reports you are making, it is seeming that our enemy is already beaten. We will not be letting his old followers get any ideas. Our equipment will be staying with our people, not his.¡±


    The King knew he was stepping on his First-Talon¡¯s toes. But he didn¡¯t care. Something had happened between their last victory and now that had him rattled. What that was, Marcus could only guess at¡­


    ¡°Sire,¡± Skeever broke in. ¡°Perhaps a good compromise would be putting the remaining Kobolds to work? There are many repairs our forts are needing. There are many more tunnels that can be fixed in the wake of Gutmulcher threats and Skegga¡¯s incursions.¡±


    Both Marcus and Shrykul looked at the rat with surprise.


    Skeever¡­out of all of us¡­that¡¯s actually the best idea that¡¯s ever been brought up at this table.


    The King stroked his chin, considering the notion.


    ¡°This is being a fair notion,¡± he said. ¡°We could be using Kobold labor force to rebuild what they themselves destroyed. It would be punishment and make them useful at the same time, and could be done without giving them access to our weapons.¡±


    The King glanced at Marcus, visibly impressed.


    With one of your own, Marcus noted. Not with me.


    He could read the temperature of the room. There was nothing more for him to say except,


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°If they cannot fight, they can work for the Empire. But this will require a surplus of rats to act as enforcers. It¡¯s hard for a force of deserters to think they¡¯ve been saved if they¡¯re immediately put to work by the side they joined. They¡¯re more likely to see themselves as slaves.¡±


    The King laughed drily. ¡°Sire Marcus, that is what the Gloomraava of He-Who-Festers are for. The Kobolds are seeing what our God can do. They should be honored to be tilling our soil in His name. If we can count on the Gloomraava of Deekius to continue their appointed duties, then that shall be enough to keep this labor force in line.¡±


    Marcus was about to respond ¨C to say something more about the tangible threat of revolt that even a zealous workforce might present ¨C when Deekius suddenly rose from the table and began to speak.


    ¡°You are speaking for the Unclean as though he has made you His anointed one,¡± he screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. ¡°But he has not.¡±


    The King narrowed his eyes. Skeever and Marcus, meanwhile, flew to try and calm the rat¡¯s sudden heretical words.


    ¡°Do not be touching me!¡± he railed at them, throwing up his staff and almost cracking their hands. ¡°I am sitting and listening to you being insulted, Shai-Alud, by a rat that is thinking he is above our God. But none are greater than the Unclean One. None may speak for Him but his champion, King Shrykul. And that champion sits here before us!¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Marcus¡¯ eyes found the King¡¯s on the other side of the dimly lit table and saw the flaring of fury engulf them ¨C his pupils dilating with every exhortation the rat-priest threw his way.


    ¡°Deekius!¡± Marcus shouted. ¡°Stop this!¡±


    But the ratman was not to be deterred. Like a rabid beast, he cracked his neck and cast an accusatory finger at the King of Fleapit.


    ¡°You are not the one, Shrykul!¡± he cried. ¡°No matter how much you are wishing to be! The exploits of the Shai-Alud are what brought us here, not you! Not ¨C n ¨C not y ¨C EUGH!¡±


    The entire table shook as Deekius hunched over and belched a torrent of blood on its surface.


    ¡°Deekius!¡±


    The ratman lurched, eyes bulging as though he were about to go into shock.


    ¡°I¡­I¡­I see¡­I see¡­you¡­at¡­the end¡­¡±


    He collapsed in a heap below the table as both Skeever and Marcus jumped from their seats to catch him.


    ¡°Be bringing the guards!¡± Shrykul yelled. ¡°We are having a wounded soldier among us!¡±


    Marcus heard him speak those words ¨C words garbed in the guise of concern ¨C but his eyes beheld something very different. As he bent low to pick up the twitching form of the fallen priest, he saw something else that had been approaching him from underneath the table. Something that had been waiting, slowly crawling towards them for maybe the entire meeting.


    Something with teeth as sharp as silver thickets, with an emaciated frame that showed it was starving.


    ¡°Hugin!¡± Shrykul shouted. ¡°Be heeling, now.¡±


    The King¡¯s dog huffed and moved away, coming to rest under the palm of its owner, leaving Marcus to stare on in total befuddlement.


    ¡°I am being sorry, Shai-Alud,¡± Shrykul said. ¡°With the recent deaths of my cousins, I am taking precautions against assassination. My hounds are being well trained and best bodyguards in all of Fleapit. Unlike mortal men,¡± he added. ¡°Their loyalty is being unquestionable.¡±


    Marcus stood with Deekius in his arms, staring blankly ahead as two guards came to take the priest off to his chambers.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sure it is.¡±


    He did not know exactly what kind of face he was making as he stared down the once-pliant King. In truth, only Skeever knew how both rat and man looked in the room at that moment, and the tension that surged through his bones was greater than even they felt in the heat of the hour.


    ¡°Should we be continuing, Sires?¡± he asked, keeping his voice steady.


    King Shrykul replied with a flash of his glittering teeth. ¡°No, Brother. It is time for us all to be getting some rest. I am understanding that the army is moving out tomorrow, Sire Marcus? If so, you will be needing plenty of rest before you lead us in our final victory.¡±


    Marcus said nothing more. He bowed and left the room with Skeever in toe, hands crossed behind his back, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.


    ¡°The Queen is looking favorably upon your efforts,¡± Shrykul added as he pet his demon-hound¡¯s onyx forehead. ¡°When you are returning to Fleapit, she shall be thanking you personally.¡±


    Marcus accepted the compliment with another gracious bow, turning away and not even bidding Skeever a proper goodbye before he made for his chamber and packed his things for the trip to Gulchnavel.


    He threw his notes down on his bedside table and began scribbling frantically while he packed, looking over his shoulder every now and then to ensure no surveillance was upon him.


    His mind started working overtime, producing scrawlings that were barely comprehensible even to himself.


    He needs me to win this war, he told himself. While I¡¯m here, he can¡¯t touch me. Deekius is the High Priest ¨C he can¡¯t touch him, either. Solutions? An assassination of a Clan leader is one thing, but a King? No, I couldn¡¯t do it. I couldn¡¯t trust anyone to do it, either. Not Skeever ¨C he¡¯s a loyal rat. Not even Ix ¨C it could be traced back to me too easily. Deekius? Same issue, plus he¡¯s practically on death¡¯s door by the looks of things.


    What¡¯s happening here? What¡¯s going on? We¡¯re an inch from victory and Shrykul eyes me as though he¡¯s desperate to take the head from my shoulders¡­he¡¯s angling for an end to the power I¡¯ve gained. I know it. But why now? What¡­


    He stopped writing, his quill leaving his fingers and clattering against the ground. It had been so obvious, and yet he hadn¡¯t seen it. So simple, and yet he hadn¡¯t thought of it. Maybe it had been the plan from the start¡­


    At the time, his frantic, almost erratic speed was not born of any logical thought. It was not indicative of any thought at all, save for the persistent knocking against his head of a notion that had suddenly become all too clear to him:


    When this war was won, they would be done with him. He would never make it back to Fleapit alive.


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 64

    Deekius¡¯ pale form shifted as the door to his chamber opened, and the two guards watching over him turned their spears on the intruder.


    The groggy eyes of the ratman opened to nothing but the dank ceiling of the castle, and his ears perked up as they heard someone cut through the guttural cries of the guards:


    ¡°Leave us.¡±


    The guards hesitated, lowering their weapons but looking at each other in bewilderment.


    ¡°Did I stutter?¡± the intruder said. ¡°No. Your Shai-Alud just gave you a command.¡±


    One brave guardsman piped up.


    ¡°B-but King Shryk-¡°


    ¡°Is your King, true. But he is not your God¡¯s champion, setting fire to His enemies. Do you wish to see what happens when you anger the Unclean One?¡±


    Evidently the guards did not, for in the next second, they bowed and lumbered from the room, trailing their spears behind them.


    Deekius smirked as he rose and looked into the glasses of his newest visitor.


    ¡°Finally,¡± he said. ¡°You are making good use of your title, Sire.¡±


    Marcus, though he forced a smile, was clearly troubled. The rat-priest didn¡¯t need the power of the Gloomraav to see that. The human¡¯s face was practically dripping with sweat.


    ¡°How are you?¡± he asked.


    Deekius stiffened. ¡°Sire, I have strength enough in me to be serving you. You must not allow yourself to worry over a lowly servant like me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your usefulness that concerns me,¡± he replied. ¡°It¡¯s your candor.¡±


    Deekius blinked.


    ¡°What you said to the King,¡± Marcus said. ¡°It bordered on heresy. Something which I don¡¯t think your people take lightly.¡±


    Deekius craned his neck and looked down at his twisted limbs, flexing his claws that were still speckled with his blood.


    ¡°I am devoting my life to He Who Festers,¡± he replied, smiling through teeth that were still stained by his last episode. ¡°I am finding you. I am performing feats beyond any Gloomraava. I am doing these things as a single rat. If I do am doing these things, can I really be called a heretic?"


    Marcus smirked. ¡°That depends entirely on whose side you truly stand on.¡±


    ¡°The only side that is mattering,¡± Deekius said. ¡°I am serving the Unclean before any other Lord or Master.¡±


    Yes, Marcus thought. And that¡¯s exactly where your problem lies. There would be a time when I might have lectured you. I might have taken you by the scuff of your thin neck and told you how your beliefs mean nothing ¨C how the voices you hear are nothing more than whispers in the wind. Who is to say that the miracles you work with your hands ¨C miracles that have saved my skin on more than one occasion ¨C are the results of a God working through you? As far as I¡¯m concerned, I only see you before me, Deekius. No one else. No one behind or above you. Among rats, you are on a whole different level.


    But you¡¯ll never believe that. Because that¡¯s not in your nature, is it? Again, there would have been a time when I would argue the night away with you in spite of that, even knowing I couldn¡¯t change your mind. But now¡­what¡¯s the point? What good would it do you or me? Right now, I need your strength ¨C and I don¡¯t care where you think it comes from. Does that make me a hypocrite?


    Well, there are worse crimes to commit than hypocrisy.


    ¡°I am not thinking that you come here simply because you worry for my health,¡± the ratpriest coughed.


    Marcus held his head high. ¡°You said you had something for me. From our mutual friend.¡±


    Deekius smiled, licking his crimson-smeared lips.


    ¡°Perhaps it is being fate,¡± he said. ¡°But our little snake is finally squealing. Come, and let me show you how a rat can break a serpent.¡±


    ¡­


    If walls could speak, the dungeons of Fleapit would have such macabre stories to tell that it would turn the stomach of even the most seasoned Green Beret.


    Marcus was therefore mildly surprised to see the Yokun assassin¡¯s form barely changed from how he remembered it. There she was, shaken, sticking to a shadowed corner of her cell, but still outwardly recognizable as a snake-humanoid.


    ¡°You are being surprised, Sire?¡± Deekius asked.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°I admit it,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I expected to see this creature thoroughly debased.¡±


    The ratpriest smiled. ¡°Do not be thinking that everything surface-level is revealing what lies underneath.¡±


    At Marcus¡¯ confusion the ratman raised his palm, closed his eyes, and clenched his fist.


    The Yokun stirred, spittle flying from her mouth.


    ¡°Be telling the human what he wants to know,¡± he said, in a voice that wrang out with such power than Marcus felt his heart knock against his shaking ribs.


    Yeeva writhed and the bones in her neck cracked. She fell to the floor, eyes bulging like two bulbs ready to burst, tail slapping against the wall as though in death-spasm.


    ¡°I¡­I¡­am¡­Yeeva¡­of¡­House¡­of¡­Whis-¡°


    ¡°SILENCE!¡± the rat screeched, throwing the serpent against the bars of her cage, her every limb shuddering and slapping against the iron painfully, giving Marcus a vision now of the places where her scales had broken apart, revealing the soft, scarred flesh beneath that was moving with every twitch of the ratman¡¯s claws.


    ¡°Be ceasing your wails. Be dropping your walls. Be looking at him and telling him the answer to his question!¡±


    The face slammed against the bars, sending Marcus staggering back.


    ¡°Be asking now!¡± the ratman commanded, his scaly marionette dancing before them. ¡°Quick!¡±


    ¡°W-¡° Marcus stuttered, steadying himself in the face of the blood-magic performance. ¡°Your Lady ¨C the Pala Matriarch. Maria. Where is she?¡±


    The Yokun¡¯s mouth opened in a snarl, displaying nothing but a toothless mouth, gums covered in sores where her blood was currently boiling.


    ¡°Be. Answering,¡± Deekius roared. ¡°NOW!¡±


    And with a scream that rivaled even Hannibal¡¯s battlecry, the puppeted Yokun answered.


    ¡°P¡­Piper¡¯s¡­Hill¡­¡± she choked through a throat filling with her own ichor, speaking through lungs consumed by pools of phlegm. ¡°There¡­battle¡­Temple..!¡±


    ¡°More,¡± Marcus said, edging forward, ignoring Deekius as he started to sway, nose bleeding profusely again. ¡°Tell me where this place is. What¡¯s she doing. Where ¨C¡°


    ¡°Sire!¡± Deekius suddenly shouted. ¡°Seek to know no more!¡±


    ¡°I¡­I must,¡± he said, grabbing the bars of the cage and looking into the Yokun¡¯s bleeding eyes. ¡°Tell me that she¡¯s ok. Tell me what you meant when you said she didn¡¯t want to go home. Tell me what your people did to her!¡±


    All at once, the Yokun¡¯s scales were peeled away, purple liquid spilling out from behind her snout.


    ¡°May she¡­be¡­your end,¡± she whispered. ¡°Let this face¡­be an omen of¡­the death¡­that awaits¡­you!¡±


    Before his eyes, Marcus then saw the Yokun¡¯s neck snap with a sickening crack, sending her scales splintering to the ground in a hail, evoking a cry of pain from Deekius that seemed to snap Marcus back to the real world beyond his own desires.


    ¡°Deekius!¡±


    The ratman waved his reaching hand away, staggering to his feet and wheezing as he wiped his newest wound from his face.


    ¡°I¡­I am doing what I can, Sire,¡± he said. ¡°I am being sorry, but she is strong in mind. It is taking much time to break her.¡±


    Marcus wasn¡¯t sure whether to back away or give the ratman a hearty pat on his hunched back. Looking back at the crumpled Yokun¡¯s body beneath them, he decided on neither. Instead he faced away from the rat and coughed.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I¡­I have asked too much of you once again,¡± he said. ¡°You gave me what I needed, Deekius. It was I who selfishly asked for more. As I always do.¡±


    ¡°Sire,¡± the Gloomraava croaked. ¡°Do not be cursing yourself.¡±


    ¡°I must,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°No one else around here will. Not openly, anyway.¡±


    He looked on as the blood of the Yokun pooled under her crumpled corpse.


    Did I really order this? Will this world really be nothing more than a means to an end for me? This world¡­and it¡¯s people?


    He then turned back to Deekius, seeing the rat snivel and wipe away clotted blood from his nasal cavities, and told him what he¡¯d suspected since Razork itself.


    ¡°You¡¯re dying,¡± he said simply.


    The Gloomraava stared right back at him, saying nothing.


    ¡°You¡¯re dying,¡± Marcus said again. ¡°I¡¯ve known it since Razork, though I wouldn¡¯t let myself believe it. But it¡¯s true. The power of your Incantations has overcome you. Because I¡¯ve forced more from you than a Gloomraava can take.¡±


    ¡°Sire,¡± Deekius replied glumly. ¡°Are you thinking I fear death?¡±


    ¡°I think you fear nothing, Deekius. That doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m simply going to let you leave this world because of me. Whatever you might think, the man you see before you isn''t worth giving up your life for.¡±


    The ratman flashed him a smile that displayed a kind of brotherly admiration ¨C the kind of smile that told Marcus this rat had known what his fate would be for a long time.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he said. ¡°He-Who-Festers is always choosing His servants wisely. He is working throughout time, always looking ahead to place His faithful where they must be, when they must be. Once, when I was but a suckling child that could not see the world, the Unclean One is granting me a vision. I am seeing myself, fully grown and hunched over in service to the Lord, standing beside a creature at least a foot taller than me. The creature is a light in the Underkingdom, standing above us all and ushering us towards the surface ¨C where our Empire is becoming so brilliant that it is the envy of the stars themselves. Before the march towards the light of the surface is made, however, I am seeing my form curl and expire, returning to the ooze of the Unclean from whence it came. I am seeing this and weeping, Sire Marcus, not because I am being sad to see my demise, but because I am overcome by the beauty of the moment. The smells, the sounds, the sights and the feeling of the skies above as the clouds are turning grey, and the cities of Thea as they are consumed by our chittering¡­it is a gift that is worth dying for, Sire. What is the life of a single rat compared to the glory of a God?¡±


    Marcus said nothing as the rat then shuffled away, nodding only briefly to the guards as he left the dungeon with his last limping ounce of life.


    What happens to a man when he has servants like this? he pondered. When other living souls tell him they are not only willing to die to help that man realize his dreams, but actually happy to do so?


    Then he looked at the crumpled remains of the Yokun and realized that he already knew the answer.


    ¡°Maybe you were right all along, Steven,¡± he whispered in a voice that struck him with its harshness. ¡°But I¡¯m the one that¡¯s still standing. And I¡¯m not about to lay down and die just yet. If a rat with that much power at his fingertips wants to lay his life on the line for me¡­then so be it.¡±


    He noticed the guards blinding nervously in his direction and barked a final order at them before he left the dungeon for good. He wouldn¡¯t be coming back.


    ¡°Clean up this mess,¡± he told them. ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough corpses in this pit to last me a lifetime.¡±


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 65

    -North Warrens, Grindlefecht Perimeter-


    ¡°SIIIILLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAS!¡±


    He was going to slaughter that conniving little rat.


    His fat folds, crimson curtains flailing with his every gyration, wept blood and puss onto his Kobolds that had helped carry him home ¨C those who had not wandered off in the aftermath of the Razor-Ridge collapse. Skegga, in manner which flew in the face of his apparent omnipotence, had not noticed their departure.


    ¡°I WILL KILL HIM!¡± he screamed, ichor and tooth-scraps flying from his rabid mouth. ¡°I WILL EAT HIS GUTS WHILE HE STILL LIVES! I WILL PAINT MY THRONE WITH HIS MARROW!¡±


    The Kobolds of the outlying villages that surrounded Gulchnavel Keep saw their broken Lord as he glided by their huts. Many young Yips had emerged, already dancing the Jump of Jubilation with their mothers or invalid fathers that had not been conscripted into their God¡¯s crusading force.


    What they saw was not the triumphant return of a war-hero and his band of merry men. Instead, they saw a gargantuan mass of wriggling flesh shouting into the dead winds that blew through the Northernmost caverns of the Warrens. They watched as their would-be deity smashed through fences and blundered through fields, still ranting about how he would kill his ratman advisor in the most sadistic ways possible.


    The Yips of the North found themselves perplexed.


    ¡°Surely Boss Skegga does not mean good-good Silas?¡± an aging Yip asked his wife as they quit their dancing to watch their Lord pass.


    ¡°No-no,¡± his wife replied. ¡°Silas has always done right-right by us. Even for ratman, he is care-caring for Yip farms and children. He is a good-good rat.¡±


    The wife spoke true ¨C Silas had quite the reputation among the Kobolds of the Northern villages. On the days when great Skegga had first come among them, parading Silas as a slave that deserved nothing but their scorn, the Yips had jeered and thrown their dung at him as all his heretic kind deserved. But their spirits had softened to the ratman with time, and as Boss Skegga had allowed him more free will to travel among their homes, solving disputes among farmers and giving them advice on how to till the land in this dark realm. He spoke well ¨C with a manner unbecoming for one of this kind. He had shown the Yips how to don the armor of the Stunties, shown them how to fight properly as a unit, and helped oversee the village militias as they trained in the service of their Lord. Many Yips murmured how Silas was the one that wrote Skegga¡¯s great speeches he delivered to them on days of the harvest ¨C speeches with big words that often perplexed even the God¡¯s great lolling tongue. Yes ¨C they saw good Silas as one of them, now.


    Certainly one who would never betray the trust of a God. No ¨C something was wrong here, the Yips of the outlying villages decided. Boss Skegga could not have lost his battle because of good Silas.


    Those that cheered to see their God return were promptly shut up by either Skegga¡¯s roars or his commands to his troops to cut out their tongues. Eventually, word had spread to all those villages surrounding the great toad¡¯s fort that the battle had not only been lost, but their God had been wounded.


    And that was something not even the most devout Yip could doubt.


    As the Kobold villagers of the North whispered, words that were once thought heretical began to take on new life ¨C it was said that the magic-rats under the command of their Shai-Alud had managed to enact miracles the likes of which God Skegga had never performed. It was said that an entire army of Yips were flushed away at Gulchnavel, and now bowed down to welcome a new God into their hearts. Word also traveled of the destruction wrought at Razor-Ridge, and how their gracious deity had indeed taken a spear in his belly after attempting to retreat.


    As Skegga¡¯s fledgling army continued their laborious march home, confusion only continued to run rampant through the ranks of the civilian Yips in this manner. Normally, Silas would walk amongst them whenever there was a setback such as this. He had done so when the army of their Lord had fallen at the last battle of Razork village. He had done so whenever there was a bad harvest, or whenever their Lord was in a particularly stormy mood such as today. Such storms came and went for one of such boundless intelligence and emotional range as Boss Skegga.


    But today, Silas was strangely absent.


    In the twin Forts of the North that remained things were becoming more chaotic. At the sight of their God, the captain Yips of the garrisons readied their troops to move out to speed up the great toad¡¯s advance. However, scouts riding upon half-eaten Skogs rode out from Skegga¡¯s forces to meet with the commanders of both forts, explaining the situation in detail and telling the garrison that, yes, the army was lost.


    ¡°So, what do we do-do?¡± the Yip commander of Fort Charnel asked his messenger.


    ¡°Fort Commander can do-do as he likes,¡± the Skogsrider told him. ¡°Me? I am going home-home. Me is having enough of war.¡±


    Normally such sentiments would be followed by a righteous smacking from a Yip commander. But, strangely, the atmosphere of the North was beginning to change. The commander of watched the rider go, taking several of his men with him, wondering why, exactly, he was not performing his duty as a Kobold loyal to Boss Skegga.


    Perhaps, he reasoned, the answer lay in the fact that the creature he was loyal to looked nothing like the wet bag of blood and broken limbs that screamed in the villages below the fort¡¯s battlements. As he looked to his Slingers who manned those walls, he realized his misgivings were more than mutual.


    ¡°SIIIIIIILLLLLLAAAAAAS!¡±


    Skegga¡¯s final squeal announced his arrival at the golden gates of Gulchnavel, his Kobold carriers finally taking a much-needed rest from their duty of shepherding their God¡¯s behind up to his home.


    Unfortunately, their ears would not get to enjoy such leisure.


    ¡°DO YOU HEAR ME, VERMIN!¡± Skegga screamed up at the spiked walls of his stronghold. ¡°SHOW YOURSELF!¡±


    After a few seconds where it seemed like the God¡¯s increasingly desperate command would go unanswered, a tiny ratman popped his furry head up from between two spokes of the stronghold¡¯s battlements.


    ¡°Sire Skegga,¡± Silas shouted. ¡°You are returning. How are we faring in the bat-¡°


    ¡°DO NOT DARE ASK ANYTHING OF ME!¡± the toad bellowed. ¡°YOU WILL SAY NOTHING MORE, LYING, WRETCHED SCUM-SUCKING MONGREL!¡±


    ¡°Good Sire, I must be saying ¨C¡°


    ¡°OPEN THE GATES!¡± Skegga demanded. ¡°NOW!¡±


    Several Kobolds manning the shining gatehouse of the great Dwarven stronghold appeared over the lip of the walls, seeing their wounded God yelling up at them.


    ¡°YOU!¡± Skegga screeched, every pulse of his throat filling him with pain. ¡°OPEN. THE. GATES!¡±


    Skegga was not a toad with a penchant for narcotics. When he was a slave of the Masters ¨C the hideous humanoid snakes that ruled the jungles above ¨C he saw them usually using various forms of chemical enhancements in their daily lives. When they beat him and shoved him around, or burned his belly with their smoking sticks, Skegga saw their pleasure through the pink haze of his pain. He had seen the power of their warriors firsthand when they murdered his brood and took him as one of their own ¨C warriors who, it was said, fought with such ferocity in battle because of the drugs that made them fearless in the face of even a thirsting demon.


    Skegga had rejected such substances even when they had freed him. He was a toad that would live and burn bright through his own will alone.


    But when he looked up now at those Kobolds on the battlements of his stronghold, he thought that he must have ingested something toxic during the battle below.


    Because they did not obey his command. Instead, they looked directly at Silas, who tapped his claws upon the golden walls.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    And after a few seconds during which Skegga¡¯s scarred stomach lurched in sudden panic, the ratman gave a curt nod of his head.


    The gates opened and the Kobolds ushered their fallen God inside, getting their strongest Yips within the castle keep to attend to him and his wounds.


    ¡°Be¡­be careful!¡± he spat at them. ¡°Your God has taken the blades of your foes so that you might live!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Silas said as the Kobolds lay the great toad on a large slab of stone. ¡°You are being brave, brave fighter, Sire Skegga.¡±


    The toad lurched, ready to grab the rat and tear him apart.


    Then something happened that once again sent his mind reeling.


    He could swear, in the moment that he reached out to crush the skull of the rat, that the Kobold assembly in the Keep courtyard flew to draw their swords.


    Skegga did not cry out. He did not scream. This time, as he lowered his pudgy arm, he said nothing at all.


    ¡°Ah, I am understanding your anger, Sire,¡± the whispering voice of Silas told him as the world began to blur before his eyes. ¡°Defeat is being a hard thing to swallow, yes? But, be resting assured. The time of your ascension comes soon.¡±


    Skegga blinked through his pain as his wounds began to gnaw at his consciousness.


    ¡°A¡­ascension?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Sire. For the four remaining great cannons of your palace are now being operational. When the ratmen are coming, they shall not be knowing what hit them.¡±


    Skegga felt something crawl on his arm and would have recoiled if he had any strength left in him. But he could do nothing. He could say nothing ¨C and so Silas¡¯ arm gripped his with more strength than he knew the little rat had in him.


    ¡°You shall be a true God of this Underkingdom soon, Sire Skegga,¡± the ratman smiled, dark eyes gleaming against the fading world. ¡°You shall be burning like the brightest star in the night.¡±


    ¡°Y¡­yes,¡± Skegga said, laying his massive frame down on the stone slab and feeling himself being taken away. ¡°I shall be¡­a God¡­¡±


    His last thoughts were swirls of anger tinged with fear, because he had only now realized that he had come home to a very different palace.


    -Two Weeks Later-


    Another clap of thunder sounded in the deep. The Boomtail engineers'' cries of ¡°Be bracing!¡± were barely audible against the bellows of the twelve-pounders belching their retort against the walls of Mudklip below.


    The tiny Kobold village had been the first they had come across in their trek across the Black Gulch, forging on down its narrow bridges with care and control, each Ratman sub-commander maintaining good marching order within their regiments. To look upon them now was to look upon a fighting force worthy of being called an army: they walked in disciplined rows, the new Handgunners (which the ratmen had taken to calling ¡®Sharpshoots¡¯) in tow, shouldering their weapons and keeping pace, the twelve pounder guns rolling behind them. There was enough weight on those things to collapse the bridges, Marcus had thought, but by the will of He-Who-Festers (Deekius¡¯ words, not his) they had endured and had been allowed to cross into Kobold lands.


    That was when discipline was needed most. Marcus had addressed the army firmly when they reached the other side, noting the need to maintain formation and set up their ranks with proper adherence to the battle strategy he was employing. Seven hundred spearmen of the Clans provided the brunt of their infantry at the core of the army, with Kobold auxiliaries standing beside them. As Shrykul had commanded, these Kobolds numbered no more than five hundred, and their capacity in battle was relatively limited by their disabilities. But their mere presence would achieve the desired effect Marcus was going for: the morale of their former comrades would be shaken when they saw their brothers marching against them.


    The unit of Sharpshoots ¨C two hundred strong ¨C were stationed in the frontlines. Their practice drills were, by this point, almost up to par with those of an average human. Their orders were to fire upon the enemy, step back, get off another volley, and then retreat behind the lines of infantry that would swarm what was left of their battered foes.


    In the wings of the formation were, of course, the Spinerippers of Marrow ¨C bloodied and battle-willing. Marcus had the most trouble instilling the idea of patience in them, but those veterans of the battles of Razork were helpful in that regard. They explained how victory was achieved through the cavalry charges that came in the middle of those battles ¨C not by the opening bouts of the armies. Listening to such tales by the flickering bonfires outside their camp, the Spinerippers seemed just as entranced as their riders. It was odd, Marcus had to admit, seeing such pensive looks on the faces of such outwardly loathsome raptors. Odder still was the fact that these beasts seemed to act in absolute harmony with their furry (but tough) riders. To look upon them was to look upon a vision of eternal contradiction: harmonious slaughter. Organized chaos. Two disparate beasts unified by their desire to kill.


    The twelve pounders were the most cumbersome element of Marcus¡¯ invasion force ¨C getting those lumbering machines through the tunnels of Knifegut was a challenge even with the fort now being cleansed of Gutmuncher infestation. Pockets of resisting arachnids remained ¨C those who heard the thundering of a thousand footsteps in what they still believed were their hunting grounds. Such pockets of insectoid fury were swiftly put down, and acted as solid training for the Sharpshoots especially, whose arquebus made short work of the insidious arachnids. Still, it had cost them time. Time the enemy had to reinforce and make ready to meet their advance.


    But once they had linked up with Koresh and his newly supplicant Kobolds, Marcus¡¯s faith in their victory was reaffirmed. The conscripts were gathered, the rest were put to work by Skeever. Koresh seemed to understand the assignment ¨C he waxed lyrical about the boons of hard labor and graft, telling his new flock that toiling in the name of He-Who-Festers would be the first step on the paths of their new filth-ridden faith. The Kobolds, such as they were, obeyed unquestionably. They had seen this mangy rat command an entire sea. What could they say against his injunctions?


    Koresh would not be joining them in the battle to come as a result. His Gloomraava force had suffered considerably in the wake of the miracle of Black Gulch ¨C what the rats who walked on the blessed ground where the Kobolds had drowned were calling the ¡®Awakening of the Rot.¡¯


    ¡°You do not wish to bear witness to the most glorious hour of your people?¡± Marcus had asked the priest as the army resupplied and rested in Gulchnavel fortress.


    ¡°Nay, Sire,¡± the hooded Gloomraava replied. ¡°My place is not being on the battlefield. The workings of the Unclean are needed to keep these new converts in check. I shall be leading them to our tunnels, where they shall be toiling under no whip, but the eyes of the Unclean Himself. They shall be doing so out of fear, Sire.¡±


    ¡°You are sure you do not have another miracle in you?¡± Marcus asked half-jokingly.


    The ratpriest smiled.


    ¡°Not in me, Sire. The miracle is being you. You, and these forces you are bringing with you. I am being a man of God, and He is already filling my plate with plenty. Who am I so base as to ask Him for more?¡±


    Deekius seemed to understand, and so Marcus let the issue drop.


    ¡°Then it seems there truly is no substitute for good old-fashioned boots on the ground,¡± he said.


    The ratpriests had exchanged timid glances, not wishing to offend the Shai-Alud by explaining that ¡®boots¡¯ were an aversion to the Unclean ¨C worn by only those who wished to shield themselves from touching the rocks of His world with their bare flesh.


    ¡°Just a figure of speech, Koresh,¡± Marcus explained. ¡°Farewell, and may the blessings of the Unclean go with you.¡±


    The blessings of the Unclean¡­Marcus had scoffed to himself as he bid the priest and his Kobold workers goodbye. You really sound like a believer now, Marcus. When exactly did you make the decision that pretending to venerate this God was a good idea? And why, if He really was so high and mighty, is such a God allowing you to succeed?


    As Marcus looked presently upon the field of chaos spreading before the Kobold village of Mudklip, he came to realize what the answer to this query might be.


    The cannons had softened up the walls enough to create a breach from which the miniscule town guard had sallied forth, carrying little more than slings and pitchforks. They had charged their ratman foes with not even a battlecry on their lips ¨C for how could they call for Boss Skegga when he had so clearly left them to die on their own blades?


    As the Kobold defenders came charging up the hill, that¡¯s when Marcus gave the signal. His Sharpshoots, cloaked in the smokescreens discharged by the now silent cannons, revealed their arequebus and leveled their barrels at the advancing horde.


    ¡°Being ready-ready!¡± Ix cried at their head.


    The gunners smiled, thinking how pleasurable it was to see a Kobold adapting to their way of speaking. But Marcus swelled with pride to know that Ix still kept his own vernacular too. He really was a testament to the unity they were building through this campaign.


    ¡°Be FIRING!¡±


    At his order the ratmen opened fire, their volley splitting apart a solid chunk of the charging town¡¯s militia and practically throwing back the entire force as it scrambled up the village hill to try and get a single scratch at the attacking force.


    By the time they¡¯d met it within striking distance of the ratman army, however, they were met by a force of very different units.


    ¡°Be crushing them!¡± Skeever yelped in the face of his opponents, his spearmen thrusting into the barely armored Kobolds and throwing them back, pushing away the opposing force like water spilling through cracks in a flimsy dam. The Kobold battle line faltered, and by that point the Spinerippers of Clan Marrow had already flanked the tiny force, whittling away at its rearguard and throwing chunks of the Kobold ranged units into the smoke-filled air of the village perimeter.


    In all, the Skirmish of Mudklip Hill would be remembered not for its strategic merits or valor of its combatants. The battle was far too short for any such embellishments. No ¨C instead it would serve as a punctuation in the final paragraphs of Boss Skegga¡¯s failed empire. It would serve as a reminder that, when the hordes of He-Who-Festers came, the Kobolds of the North never really stood a chance in hell.


    When the smoke settled, and the militia was soundly crushed, Marcus led his forces into the village proper, seeing the terrified faces of the Kobold civilians who knew that the pale specter of death they had heard about had finally come amongst them to add their bodies to the corpse pile he had strewn across the North Warrens.


    The Shai-Alud regarded them with stern eyes, ordering his soldiers to bring all those women and children before him in the village square.


    And there, with Skeever and Deekius both beside him, he delivered a proclamation that would become legendary amongst the Kobolds of the Underkingdom¡­


    ###


    If you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 66

    Deep within the fortress he had earned through the sacrifice of a thousand lives, Boss Skegga was roused from his slumber by a thunderclap.


    His eyes shot open to the ceiling of a chamber that was certainly not his ¨C its drab grey brickwork was nothing like his golden temple appropriated to praise his glory.


    As the world shook around him his bloated hand reached towards his stomach where he now remembered that he had suffered a grievous wound. He looked down, eyes expecting to see his guts hanging out his side, and instead saw that his stomach had been stitched up with a surprising degree of precision.


    But his brows furrowed as he felt something else ¨C something small and spherical¡­no¡­not just something¡­but¡­many¡­many things.


    There were bumps on his gelatinous torso. There was something inside him.


    He opened his mouth to scream and yet, in his moment of panic, found that that had been sewn shut, too.


    Each new second brought confirmations of new terror: his legs could not move. His body ¨C once the pride and joy of his brood ¨C would not obey his commands. Even his arms felt heavy and useless. All they could do was slowly float before him, stretching out and trying to dislodge their master from the stone tablet he was lying on.


    It was a feeling he had felt before ¨C a feeling of begging himself to move, of pleading every bone in his body to fly from its socket and at least show him his limbs still had a will of their own. He had felt this before ¨C back when the Masters first caged him.


    As with back them, his every attempt to release himself was in vain ¨C he was stuck. He was stuck, desperate in the moment to do nothing more than squeal with unbridled rage for his savants to come and remove whatever invisible shackles bound him.


    And that''s when he realized that one of them was already here.


    "Quite a thing, isn''t it?" a voice said, calm and collected, yet utterly viscous in its piercing cadence. "Quite a thing to live in terror."


    His eyes flew to the shadowed corner of the room where the speaker was sitting on an old rickety chair, his frail body straight-backed and utterly stoic, while his conal face cocked in contemplation.


    His dark eyes looked right into Skegga''s, and the great toad stretched out a fat arm to claw those beady little things right out of the ratman''s skull.


    "Oh, please," the rat said. "Do not struggle. You are fighting against nature, good Skegga. Or, more specifically, this."


    The ratman produced a thin vial from under his cloak, shaking it before the toad like a child''s rattle.


    "Tathlatka serum," Silas said. "Taken I believe from the venom of a beast native of the Jungles of Arasaka, distilled by the finest Yokun alchemists. A gift from your former Masters in exchange for ¨C well ¨C now that would be telling, wouldn''t it? The point is this: a single drop produces temporary paralysis in the victim. I dare say you''ve felt it before, good Skegga. It is, after all, what makes the Yokun of the Southern Jungles so adept in their slave trade. Unmoving cargo is far easier to transport and auction off, you understand. "


    If eyes could kill, Skegga''s bulging sockets would have slain the ratman nine times over, so great was the fury that was bubbling from every fiber of the great toad''s being.


    "Fury," Silas said with a patronizing sigh. "Is that all you have for me? I admit, I would quite enjoy hearing the curses you hurl at me, especially now that you hear me speak without that dismal droll associated with my kin. But, alas, I''m afraid our fun is coming to an end, Skegga. Your Masters have decided that you are no longer a worthwhile investment on their part. There is a human phrase that summarizes such an attitude quite nicely. I believe it runs along the lines of: ''They are cashing you out.''"


    Skegga''s sweat glands were working overtime, not helped by the fact that the honeyed words of the ratman were punctuated by explosion after thunderous explosion against the walls of Grindlefecht.


    "Hear that?" Silas asked, coming to stand beside Skegga''s pitiful form, staying just out of reach of his grasping claws. "It is the sound of death knocking at your doors, good Skegga. I would say that I am sorry for deceiving you. But I believe that dead men are owed a certain degree of honesty, in the end."


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The rat leaned in close, seeing what little ounces of strength the toad had left in him begin to dissipate entirely as the toxin running through his veins took total control of his faculties.


    Only the toad''s rage-filled eyes showed any signs of flickering autonomy. And it was into these eyes that Silas spoke.


    "The truth is that you have always been nothing more than a pawn in a game far bigger than the one you thought you were playing," the ratman said. "My servitude served its purpose, for a time. I admit that I truly thought you would bring the pitiful reign of my cousins to an end in the service of greater powers. But it seems that I backed the wrong toad."


    The ratman''s teeth shone in the dark, a sickening smile smearing itself across his features that chilled the paralyzed toad to his bulbous bones.


    "How could I have known that a Shai-Alud would come? Of all things!" he laughed. "It is almost enough to restore my faith in the false God of my people. Almost enough," he added, a glimmer of hate overcoming his dark features. "For I saw the truth of this world long ago, Skegga. There is no strength, no power, beyond that which we take for ourselves. Every night I sang songs to that disgusting pustule of corrupted flesh I called my Queen¡­every day I drooled on about a God I knew was nothing but a child''s fabrication ¨C a shadow on the wall¡­well, such reflections are not for you, my sorry toad. I do apologize ¨C no doubt you have rather less eloquent reflections of your own to express. But time grows short. My only regret is that I shall not hear your pitiful scream when your demise does come. But I have learned that, sometimes, one must forsake one''s ego for the greater good."


    The wriggling fingers of the ratman found Skegga''s belly, and the toad felt himself lurch, his brain begging his body to turn and tumble off the stone slab he was stuck to.


    "It helps if you realize your place in this world," Silas whispered. "You were not meant for great things, dear Skegga. True leaders are not made. They are born."


    At that moment, the door of the chamber was thrown open, and a spear wielding Kobold bearing dwarven armor marched in.


    "S-Sire Silas," he said. "Yip-Yips of Mudkrip see Ratmen march-march. They are taking slaves, accepting surrender as you say-say."


    "Of course they are doing this," Silas barked at the soldier, slipping effortlessly back into his ratman cadence with such slippery simplicity that Skegga would have gasped had he the capacity to do so.


    "It is being the Shai-Alud''s weakness," Silas continued. "Our plan is working perfectly."


    The soldier nodded fervently, completely ignoring Skegga until he acknowledged him with nothing but a point of his little pinky-claw: "Is the pot-pot ready?"


    ¡­Pot-pot? Skegga''s mind mumbled.


    "He will be ready soon," Silas smirked. "Be bringing your Yips for transport."


    The Yip bowed and left the room, a devious smile smeared across his face just like the rat it had deigned to call ''Sire''.


    "It is remarkable, is it not?" Silas said when he was sure the Kobold was gone. "Remarkable what can happen with a few fancy words and patience. I dare say there is nary a Kobold in the entire Underkingdom that is believing in your divinity anymore, good Skegga. But do not fear ¨C they will remember you in death far more than they would in life. They even call you ''pot-pot'' now with some affection. I hope you like it. It is the only legacy you are going to be leaving."


    Once again, the ratman stroked Skegga''s bulging belly, fingers trailing over the globules that showed themselves beneath his skin.


    Skegga watched in mute horror as the ratman then produced something else from beneath his cloak. Something round. Something black. Something that smelled¡­like fire.


    "An ingenious little device," Silas said. "Something scavenged from our dwarven prisoners you didn''t smear across your puerile little place of worship. So elegant in form, so potent in content¡­the dwarves really are the master craftsmen of these depths. I must admit, one of my many misgivings with my kind is our unfortunate distaste for technological advancement. It seems the Shai-Alud has gone some lengths to change this. Although his particular moral¡­misgivings¡­hold him back from using such tools to their full advantage."


    Something about the way the rat spoke chilled Skegga''s already frozen flesh. Looking at him, and the way he looked at the iron orb he held in his hand, Skegga felt his own belly start to rumble.


    His last revelation that day before he lost consciousness again came in the form of his eyes now looking upon the bumps in his stomach with newfound terror.


    "Something so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, will allow me to suddenly attain all that I desire and more. In the end, you proved to be a useful little accessory after all, my good Skegga."


    The toad''s eyes slowly began to close, his tongue lolling out as he went back into a coma that stilled all the fury rising in his heart.


    "I did tell you, did I not?" Silas told the toad''s closing eyes. "You will burn like the brightest star."


    ###


    I know I''m leaving you on an absolute cliff...but if you are enjoying Fantasy General, support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters INCLUDING the full siege of Grindlefecht


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>


    I will be back with more chapters on July 7th. Wishing all you troopers a good couple of weeks and get ready for the conclusion of this rat-based insanity when I return! You will NOT want to miss the end

 Chapter 67

    "Those of you who still value your lives," Marcus said, in a voice that would reverberate through the ears of every Kobold child from that day forward. "Pledge yourself to my service. Open your minds to He-Who-Festers, and I will promise you fair treatment. You will have a place in our ranks where your contributions will be valued and your lives will have true meaning. You will serve as part of the empire that will write the history of this Underkingdom. Join us, and you shall have a place in the pages of that history. Resist, and you will be a footnote in its epilogue."


    The Yips listened. They heard. They looked at the human riding upon a great snarling Spineripper and knew that the Shai-Alud had come among them to save them from their tyrant. Most did not understand his words about history. Most merely wished to live ¨C to serve one that would not see them as food or as decorations for the walls of a macabre temple.


    Those Kobolds in the village of Mudklip bowed so low that it was said the cracking of their knee joints could be heard across the Warrens, down to Fleapit where the King of the new empire sat, and waited.


    Yet still there were those Yips who resisted ¨C those who the survivors would say could not see the light of the Unclean. Those who Deekius preached over as they tried, in vain, to fight off the advance of the First-Talon''s army.


    Over a period of merely two days, three more Kobold villages fell to the ratman forces ¨C the volley fire of Ix''s Sharpshoots providing the main thrust of each offense. There was simply little the little beasts could do to defend against such firepower. In the wake of their hazy deaths, the spearmen of Skeever advanced and slew any Kobold forces that remained to the man, with the Spinerippers doing little more than feasting on the leftovers.


    The Gloomraava under Deekius, meanwhile, went door to door, claiming new members of the faithful by the hour. Those they dragged into the center of the Kobold ramshackle towns they fwere forced to listen to the Shai-Alud''s message of peace ¨C something the Gloomraava were quick to explain showed great patience and mercy on the part of their Messiah. The Kobolds were lucky that it was the Shai-Alud prosecuting the invasion, for the rats of Fleapit were begging for the blood of the red demons and their toad-God.


    When Kobold families heard such statements, what else could they do but throw themselves at Marcus''s feet, crying out for the human with the soul of a rat to save them from themselves ¨C to lead them out of the darkness of their ignorance.


    On the third day of Marcus''s crusade across the North reaches of the Warrens, he had brought his forces within a few miles of Gulchnavel, and commanded that a single Glitterpak be sent up with an offer of surrender. From their camp just out of range of the fierce-looking dwarven guns, the ratman army watched as the balloon-beast floated over the walls and then returned within the hour with a new note affixed to its spiny hide.


    Marcus took the note and read it with utter disdain, crumpling the thing up as his eyes poured over each new word. So simple, and yet so effective in telling him exactly what he needed to know:


    ''BOSS SKEGGA KILL-KILL ALL RATMEN. BOSS SKEGGA WILL BE GOD OF THIS WORLD, NOT STINKY MAN-MAN!''


    "An offence to everything sacred!" Deekius spat through his lips frothing with blood and bile. "We should be storming their flimsy walls now, Sire!"


    "I don''t know, Deekius," Marcus scoffed sarcastically. "He has a point. I do smell like shit. I suppose I just got used to it after a while."


    "You have the stench of¡­of a champion¡­Sire."


    Deekius coughed and sputtered as he usually did these days. He wasn''t long from this world. They all knew it by this point. But Marcus got the feeling that the old rat had resolved himself to his end coming with the conclusion of this campaign.


    If he had compunctions about the future of the ratmen, Marcus would have wondered what the Gloomraava''s death would mean for the faith. Without their Archpriest, would the previous Prime Putrefact simply take over again? Was he even alive in that hell-hole the great toad called home?


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Something is being wrong," Skeever said, interrupting Marcus as he scanned the golden walls. "The cannons are not firing."


    "They are being afraid to fight us," Deekius replied. "They are knowing they are dead. They are simply prolonging the¡­inevitable¡­"


    "He is right," Marcus admitted. "The fact they haven''t fired a single shot is¡­strange."


    "Perhaps the cannons are not being functional, after all?" Skeever asked.


    "That is not-not likely, Sire," Ix said as he hobbled over to join his fellow commanders on the eve of their final battle. "Boss Skegga is making Yips work-work all day and night to fix cannons. With army coming so close, he is probably forcing them to work to death-death to at least make defense good-good."


    "A sound assessment," Marcus nodded. "But then the question remains, why isn''t the old toad striking back? By the looks of those wall-mounted monsters, he could tear through our formations with ease."


    The three commanders shared their General''s trepidation. They were, after all, getting ready to rest for the end of the day in full view of those cannons. Though their scouts had predicted the armaments'' effective ranges, there was still a chance that they would suddenly wake and bring the thunders of hell upon the ratmen while they slumbered."


    "Set up the twelve-pounders," Marcus ordered. "They need sleep more than we do. While we rest, we''ll batter the walls of Gulchnavel with the roundshot we have left. When the smoke clears tomorrow, we''ll see just how defiant Skegga is."


    The General of the rats saluted his men and took his leave, retiring to his makeshift tent where he could try stop pretending that any of this mattered to him.


    ¡­


    Is this ''Silas'' isn''t alive¡­I can''t stay here. Maybe I''ll take up Skeever''s offer and just escape to the surface¡­take my chances on the open road. Maybe the Yokun would take me as a slave and present me to their ''Matriarchs''. Maybe Mari would be there to release me.


    But there''s a hell of a lot more ''maybe''s'' in there than I''m comfortable with¡­


    Marcus was committing what he was sure would be his final thoughts to his journal, turning over all the madness he''d seen in the last months in his mind, trying to find a sliver of hope that made it all worth it.


    Home. Mari¡­the prospect of seeing either of them seemed so far, even though he''d never been closer to attaining both.


    Piper''s Hill, he wrote. I must secure the Putrefact and contract his services as soon as possible ¨C perhaps even before the battle is truly concluded. Let these rats slay their arch-demon toadman. I will leave them behind without shedding a tear. I''ll leave this whole place behind and think of it as nothing but a nightmare I finally woke up from.


    He paused, looking up from his termite-ridden table his soldiers had set up for him within his field-chambers and listening to the chitters he heard outside the tent. Bonfires stretched for miles behind him into the once-dark of the Underkingdom that was now awash with hope and light in equal measure. The Kobolds worked to rebuild their homes, and erect shrines to the Unclean One already with the support of their new allies. In time, they would become assimilated into the ratman war-machine.


    Probably, Marcus wrote. As a slave-caste. King Shrykul''s distrust can''t be torn from him ¨C it seems to be an inexorable part of his psyche, just like it was Verulex''s. That''s exactly why that senile old rat had to die. That''s why¡­


    His thoughts began to stray to his own future, now. A future where he never wanted to see another fur-covered tail in his life.


    Yet, did he really hate them all that much? There had been rats within the ranks of this civilization that he had grown to respect. Skeever ¨C the honorable commander who put his men first, Deekius ¨C the faith-possessed cleric-warrior who knew how to whip up the ratmen into a religious frenzy. Gatskeek, Koresh, Festicus¡­some rats that were still with them and some who had perished, trodden under the march of progress that kept moving forward like a demonic engine bearing his name.


    They were brave. They were dedicated. They have a faith that they believe in with every inch of their beings. All these things a General wants to see in his men. Yet, I know exactly what will happen when this war is won. Shrykul made that all too clear in our last meeting. They don''t want me here. But¡­think about it, Marcus. You have an army out there. Who are they really loyal to?


    As though on cue, the flap of his tent suddenly flew open, and a ratman warrior saluted him with his one good arm.


    "Sire," Skeever said. "I am apologizing for interrupting your thoughts."


    "You never have to apologize to me, Skeever Steelclaw," Marcus replied as he closed his notes and fixed his attention on the commander. "You''re almost as legendary as me, nowadays."


    The ratman smiled, but Marcus could tell there was something hiding behind his pride.


    "You have something for me?" he asked.


    Skeever walked forward slowly, with the deliberation of a man who was about to spill a secret that he''d hidden close to his heart for far too long.


    "Sire," the ratman said. "I am coming to tell you the truth."


    <hr>


    Support Fantasy General on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged from the date they join, never at the start of each month, so it''s as good a time as any to join the ratguard and get caught up with the story!


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 68

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    Skeever approached him cautiously, like a sick cow approaching its driver.


    ¡°You once told me to trust you, Sire,¡± he said, weapon suspiciously absent from his hip.


    A sign of trust? Marcus thought. He¡¯s never been seen dead without Gatskeek¡¯s cleaver¡­


    ¡°I did,¡± Marcus nodded, rising to meet his favored champion. ¡°And in that capacity, you have served me well these past months. I wager I wouldn¡¯t have had half as much success as I have in our campaigns without you. It¡¯s almost strange to think they are coming to an end, here and now.¡±


    Skeever eyed him warily, responding to his clever praise with trepidation rather than excitement or appreciation. Indeed, he turned away, staring at the thin flaps of Marcus¡¯s tent as he spoke the words he had to tonight. It was almost as though they were words meant for those outside, each and every rat who was currently dreaming of victory that was soon to come.


    ¡°Grindlefecht will fall,¡± Skeever finally said. ¡°Is that what you want, Sire?¡±


    Marcus narrowed his inquisitive brows. ¡°I¡¯d certainly hope so. Otherwise, this would all be a real waste of our time.¡±


    ¡°I will be blunt then, Sire,¡± Skeever said, turning only now to face the Shai-Alud after checking no one nearby was listening in to their conversation. ¡°I do not think we should return to Fleapit after this battle.¡±


    Marcus said nothing at first. He tried to look past what the ratman had just told him. He tried to see what cogs were spinning in that battle-hardened, scarred head.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°You know that this is the end of the road for me. Once I find the Prime Putrefact ¨C¡°


    ¡°You will leave us,¡± Skeever finished.


    Marcus blinked at the ratman in response, relatively surprised by the creature¡¯s interruption.


    He had just become used, he supposed, to complete deference after all this time.


    ¡°I have always been honest with you, Sire,¡± Skeever continued. ¡°Are you being honest with me?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I am,¡± Marcus said, keeping his tone measured for the moment. ¡°I¡¯ve been honest with you all this time, have I not? Ever since the very day you found me, I told you how I want nothing more than to return to where I belong. I am no rat, Skeever. I should think that much should be obvious to you, especially after all this time.¡±


    Skeever bristled, his eyes flying to the flickering candle that provided the only illumination in the tent.


    ¡°I am thinking that¡­perhaps¡­¡±


    ¡°I would stay?¡± Marcus broke in. ¡°That I would continue to be your Shai-Alud even after this damnable, pointless conflict is concluded? You know me better than that, Skeever. You are no na?ve pup still suckling at his Queen¡¯s teat.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the ratman replied. ¡°I am a hero to my people, all because of you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± Marcus scoffed. ¡°I didn¡¯t do any of the feats you performed. That was all you, Skeever Steelclaw. You always had greatness in you, you just didn¡¯t know it.¡±


    ¡°As long as I am speaking honestly, Sire,¡± Skeever said, becoming brazen enough to plant his claws on the desk right before Marcus¡¯s eyes. ¡°It is you who does not know what he could be. What he is, and what he means to my people!¡±


    Marcus was surprised to find he didn¡¯t have a comeback. Instead, he let the ratman continue, not really knowing why.


    Maybe it was his eyes. Maybe it was because he saw something in those rough-cut crimson diamonds that he barely ever saw.


    Belief.


    ¡°You are leading us to greater glory than we have ever had before,¡± Skeever continued. ¡°You are building an army that could rival even those of the surface-world of Thea. You are bringing three clans together under one banner ¨C your banner ¨C and you are leading us to our greatest victory the Underkingdom has ever seen. From dirt, you are raising us, and now¡­now you wish to leave.¡±


    At the sorrow-drenched anger Skeever was exhibiting, Marcus found himself disarmed.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°Your world is not mine. It is not where I belong.¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Is the Place Beyond where you belong?¡± Skeever retorted. ¡°I have heard how you speak of it. I know you hate it, Sire Marcus. I know that there you have nothing like you have here among us. Here you have power that is second only to He-Who-Festers himself. You could make real change. Real progress. Yet for all your talents, you are not able to see what could be.¡±


    ¡°This is not a future I can build,¡± Marcus said, sitting to meet the ratman¡¯s intense stare. ¡°Skeever¡­your people will never truly accept me. They venerate me now, but the second I fail them¡­I will be tossed away like a broken tool. Once again, I will become a ¡®human wearing the skin of a rat¡¯. The priests will turn against me and a usurper will rise. I have no interest in playing petty politics with you and your ratman kind.¡±


    Skeever moved away but did not break eye contact with him.


    ¡°You are enjoying it, Sire,¡± he said. ¡°Perhaps you do not wish to admit it. But you are enjoying it. I have seen it in your eyes during battle or during outmaneuvering your enemies. You enjoyed it when you had Verulex killed in his sleep.¡±


    Marcus froze.


    What¡­


    ¡°How did you¡­¡±


    ¡°It does not matter how,¡± Skeever said. ¡°Sire, I bear you no ill will for this. You are doing what you must to secure power. You are eliminating opposition in a way that is appropriate for rat-kind. I thought then that you meant to keep this power. You are doing so much ¨C what? Just for a woman? Sire, you are selling yourself short!¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Marcus thundered, rising and pacing away from the rat. ¡°You forget yourself, Skeever Steelclaw. Even if I stayed, what would you have me do? Become a servant of your vestigial God? You do not even believe in His divinity, Skeever. Do you?¡±


    Marcus watched as the ratman¡¯s stare took on a look of desperation. He thought that he had gone too far the second those heretical words left his mouth. But he did not see insult in the rat-warrior¡¯s face. He saw a loyal servant that didn¡¯t want his Master to leave his side.


    And it was in such a capacity that the rat knelt before him, head bowed in total supplication.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he said. ¡°Hear my words. Take Grindlefecht from the Kobolds. Welcome them into your army, but do not send them to toil for King Shrykul. Hold this great fortress as your base of operations and establish your own fiefdom here. Take the Kobold farmlands, fortify the walls, and use the cannons to force the other Clans into a treaty with you. Make them accept you as a legitimate head of a new Clan ¨C a Clan that shall lead us into a new, glorious future.¡±


    Marcus took a step back. This¡­what he was hearing¡­it didn¡¯t just border on the unthinkable. It was, well, it was exactly as heretical as it sounded.


    ¡°Skeever¡­¡± he said. ¡°What you are suggesting would be to spit in the face of your own king. What you are suggesting is treason.¡±


    ¡°Treason?¡± the ratman spat. ¡°Is it treason to know that your people are suffering because our Kings bow to Queens that do not care a jot about their spawnlings? Is it treason to want what is best for your species? I told you before, Sire Marcus, the only thing I am loyal to is my people. And my people need change. They need you.¡±


    The rat¡¯s head rose to regard Marcus again, and this time he was fighting to keep himself from shaking.


    ¡°I never believed,¡± Skeever said in all but a whisper. ¡°I never thought life could be anything but killing in the dark, huddled with my Brothers as we all suffered. I did not believe life could be better. Until you appeared in a flash of light before me.¡±


    ¡°This¡­¡± Marcus said. ¡°All this time, this is what it¡¯s all been about for you, isn¡¯t it? This is why you never cared a jot about me being human. All you cared about was success for your people. No matter who gave it to you.¡±


    The rat dropped into a bow again, one so deep that he practically kissed the ground beneath Marcus¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Sire,¡± he squeaked. ¡°Do not leave us. I told you before: I shall follow you into the abyss if you ask. All those men out there, they believe in you, now. Give us the word, and we shall take this entire world in your name.¡±


    Marcus listened with bated breath, his hands clenched and twitching with desires long locked away within his being. To be a part of history rather than just a recorder¡­to be a man of significance...to be more than just another student who would rot in the obscurity of a world that wanted to forget him.


    ¡°Yes, Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°I could leave it all behind, if I wanted. But that would be the easy thing to do. It would be to reject personal suffering and force those beneath me to toil in my name. And Skeever, if you want the truth, I¡¯ve had quite enough of that.¡±


    The ratman¡¯s eyes bulged as the Shai-Alud bent down and bid him rise so that they both knelt on the same level as the other.


    ¡°You look at me,¡± he said. ¡°And you see someone you wish to follow. You see someone you wish to pin your hopes and dreams to. It¡¯s a very human desire. Believe me. But you know who really deserves your worship? You know the only person in your life who deserves your veneration?¡±


    Marcus placed a firm hand on his warrior¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°You, Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no force in this entire universe stronger than the individual¡¯s will. Men have made war based on their own desires ¨C to follow their own dreams. The greatest men ¨C the ones who stand the test of collective memory ¨C they are those who saw the future of their people with such clarity that they led armies with those very dreams that you describe to me as the foundation of their forces. Their resolve drove them, and it built great things. So no, Skeever. I am not the man you need to take you into the future you want. It is not my future. It is not mine to claim. It is yours.¡±


    The ratman listened to him unblinkingly, his hands shaking still. And Marcus thought that, even though he understood his words, that ratman looked altogether more sorrowful than he had when he had first entered the tent that night.


    ¡°Then there is nothing more to be said,¡± he whispered.


    Marcus nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve made my decision.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­¡± Skeever murmured. ¡°Then¡­you must know¡­¡±


    ¡°SIRE MARCUS!¡±


    The voice was coming from outside, punctuated by another roar from the twelve-pounders that had been doing God¡¯s work all night.


    ¡°Sounds like we¡¯re needed,¡± Marcus said with a wink. ¡°Are you with me, Brother?¡±


    Skeever¡¯s eyes did not waver. His arm flew to grab his Sire¡¯s and yet¡­there was no strength in his grip. Marcus would later think that he could have understood what that meant. But with how close he was to victory, he dismissed what could easily have been attributed to perfectly normal hesitation.


    Instead, he heard what the ratman said. He heard him say exactly what he wanted him to.


    ¡°To the death, Sire,¡± Skeever murmured. ¡°To the death¡­¡±

 Chapter 69

    When Marcus opened his tent flap and breathed in the smog of the Underkingdom, he wasted no time in getting right back into where the fighting would be thickest.


    It would be better than trying to justify all this, and it would take his mind off of Skeever¡¯s words which, like it or not, were ruminating in the melting pot of his consciousness.


    It seemed his primary commanders had assembled to meet him. There was Ix, resplendent in his newly pilfered dwarven armor and arquebus, eyes trained on the still shimmering walls of Grindlefecht in the far distance. Deekius stood beside him, mumbling of tremors he could feel in the earth, fluctuations of the Gloomraav that bode ill for what was to come.


    What else is new? Marcus thought.


    ¡°What¡¯s our status?¡± he barked over the din of yet another dual blast from their twelve pounders.


    Skeever slowly ambled behind him to meet his fellows, seeing the looks of concern plastered across their faces.


    ¡°No-no effect on big walls, Sire,¡± Ix said. ¡°Cannons cannot be break-breaking dwarven fortifications. Golden towers not tumble down so easy. Our loaders are tire-tired.¡±


    ¡°Of course they are,¡± Marcus nodded. ¡°They¡¯ve been at it all night. Send word that they are to cease their bombardment swiftly. If we haven¡¯t put a dent in the walls yet, we¡¯re not going to by conventional means. This siege will require boots on the ground. Or, to be more exact, claws.¡±


    Ix sniggered while Deekius shuffled to his Shai-Alud¡¯s side.


    ¡°There is being something else,¡± he said.


    Marcus followed his shaking finger as he pointed across the stretch of decimated Kobold houses and farmlands that lay beyond their position. In the far distance, thin strips of crimson moved like bloody snakes towards the open gates of Grindlefecht. It took Marcus a few moments before he realized what he was looking at.


    ¡°Kobolds¡­¡±


    ¡°Refugees, Sire,¡± Deekius agreed. ¡°They are starting to move in the last few hours. It is seeming that neighboring villages are being welcomed into Grindlefecht for a final mustering against us.¡±


    ¡°Idiots,¡± Skeever sniffed. ¡°Even now they are not knowing that they don¡¯t have a chance.¡±


    In the next instance, Marcus caught the angered look Ix shot towards the ratman commander. Such a look would normally have resulted in the little Yip¡¯s head being torn from his neck, but Skeever merely shrugged by way of apology.


    ¡°They are throwing their lot in with Skegga even till the end,¡± Deekius wheezed. ¡°It will be difficult now to be taking Grindlefecht without spilling the blood of those Kobolds who are still remaining loyal.¡±


    They watched the line of refugees disappear into the gleaming monument to excess and despair that the fat toad-servant of the Yokun had built, leaving their homes either burning or in ruins. It seemed there had been fighting among them, after all. But it was just as Deekius said, Marcus realized: at this point, the lines of loyalty had been drawn.


    All that remains, he thought as he looked towards Ix. Is to see where we stand, here¡­


    The Kobold could barely tear himself away from the sight of his people abandoning reason beyond them.


    ¡°Ix,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I cannot force you, or any of your species who walk among us, to slaughter your own kind.¡±


    As both ratmen made to protest, the Yip turned abruptly and stared up at his Shai-Alud.


    ¡°You¡¯ve always had a choice,¡± he continued. ¡°Whether to join us or to leave. I have not forced a single act upon you. When we walked the walls of Knifegut, all those months ago, we spoke of power, and of how pivotal it is to your culture. I ask you now, Head-Yip, will you follow me one final time?¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The Kobold blinked his bulbous eyes and scratched his armpits hastily, his face half-turned towards those from villages he once called brother and sister. Infant Yips that would never know the promise of the Great Leap, or learn the dances of victory and love on a night dimly lit by stuttering firelight.


    Then he looked down at the silver rifle in his claws, and without even thinking about it, his hands tightened round its barrel.


    ¡°I follow-follow you and only you, now,¡± he said, simply. ¡°Kobold is Kobold, ratman is ratman, but army of Shai-Alud Marcus is a family stronger than any of the dark-dark tunnels. Skegga says we must jump alone. You say we can jump together. Only together do we reach the high-high heights. Any Kobolds who can not see this are not worth-worth your mercy, Sire. Ix will show-show them how a real Yip leaps.¡±


    ¡°You are speaking well for one of your kind,¡± Deekius said affectionately.


    ¡°As are you-you, magic ratman,¡± Ix nodded.


    Marcus couldn¡¯t help it. To look upon the three of them was akin to looking at a series of once-furious pets that were no longer at each other¡¯s throats.


    ¡°The same goes for the rest of the Kobolds that follow us,¡± Marcus told Skeever. ¡°Gather the men, I will address them all.¡±


    Skeever¡¯s eyebrow raised. ¡°All of them, Sire?¡±


    ¡°All of them,¡± Marcus confirmed. ¡°This is the curtain call. We rush Grindlefecht, breach its walls, and take the stronghold by force.¡±


    ¡°Would it not be prudent to be waiting for Glitterpak reinforcements?¡± Skeever asked. ¡°I am hearing from mayor Tekal that there could be a pack of at least five dozen shipped here within a tenday. We could be prolonging our siege until they -¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Marcus interrupted, not even realizing he had done so until he saw Skeever¡¯s confused glare from out the corner of his eyes. ¡°I¡­no,¡± he repeated. ¡°We go in now. I¡¯ve wasted enough of these warriors¡¯ short lives on a march towards this den of shit. I¡¯m not going to wait till their blood runs cold. We proceed with the plan: the walls are battered enough that the claws of our Spinerippers will give our cavalry enough of a footing to make it to the battlements and let down the gatehouse for us. We¡¯ll swarm them. We¡¯ll take the place by force, sparing only those who surrender to us willingly. I¡¯ve given Skegga and those loyal to him enough chances. If they wish to make this golden monument their graves, then so be it.¡±


    Skeever bowed low, deferent and dutiful. ¡°Very well, Sire. I shall be gathering the men.¡±


    Marcus was left standing beside his two faithful lieutenants, each one looking at the place that could easily become their grave, seeing the end of a path they had been walking all their lives.


    ¡°It is as it began,¡± Ix said. ¡°When Boss Skegga is leading our army against the wall-walls, sending thousands of us to death-death¡­so many bodies we could climb-climb them over the walls in the end.¡±


    Marcus noticed the Yip clenching his claws again. Retribution was on his mind. An emotion shared by every ratman currently assembling for their final strike.


    ¡°A more glorious finale to our struggle¡­I could not be asking for,¡± Deekius said with a warm sniff. ¡°The histories shall be remembering this day. The day the Underkingdom is fighting as one against a common foe.¡±


    Marcus listened to them both, his head spinning with thoughts of home. Here he was, closer than he ever had been before, staring at the last obstacle in his way before he could see natural light again. It would not be the end of his journey, but it was an ending of sorts. A final punctuation in this chapter of his life that he hoped, to any Gods that were listening, would be over soon.


    He¡¯d been pushing. He¡¯d been driving those who walked behind him forward in the past week with more tenacity than care for their wellbeing. He¡¯d been pushing himself, too, losing sleep to dreams of explosions and stalactites and the teeth of munching, rotten Queens¡­one way or another, he was leaving this place. And he wasn¡¯t looking back.


    Sorry, Skeever, but I¡¯m just not the man to build your empire.


    He looked towards the golden walls of his final hurdle before turning away to address his waiting forces.


    Skegga, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder. What are you doing in there?


    ¡­


    -Grindlefecht, Good-Boss Silas¡¯ stronghold-


    To look upon them was to look upon a sea of the devout.


    He remembered faces that had looked back at him with eyes like these before ¨C back when he called himself Prime Putrefact. Back when he sang the praises of a false God like a mad prophet high on his own supply. He¡¯d guided thousands of his kind towards a path he knew led to nowhere but darkness. After a while, he¡¯d simply realized: it had gotten dull. It was all so¡­pointless.


    But he¡¯d forgotten how he missed seeing those faces. This would be his greatest sermon yet.


    He stared out at the swelling sea of his Kobolds ¨C for they were his Kobolds now. He looked into the eyes of the thousand that remained, all packed into Grindlefecht¡¯s grisly temple interior ¨C and raised his arms, extending every nail of his onyx claws.


    Almost instantly, the crowd fell into abrupt silence.


    He spared a look at the wretched form of ¡®Boss¡¯ Skegga that was strung up behind him like a patchwork doll, face strewn with blood, stomach bloated beyond recognition and oozing with purpled spume that made him even more abhorrent to observe than usual.


    He smiled, making sure the unfrozen eyes of the toad-fiend were upon him before he turned back to his flock and eyed those in the crowd who bore the same swollen bellies of their once-God.


    ¡°Brothers,¡± he said. ¡°Welcome to the hour of the Kleansing.¡±

 Chapter 70

    -Grindlefect perimeter, Sire Marcus Graham''s War Camp-


    Marcus looked upon the army assembled in his name ¨C a patchwork force compiled of creatures that could turn the stomach of a seasoned Green Baret.


    Spinerippers, spearmen, swordbearers and ratguards all bearing implements of war, flanked by Kobold skirmishers and slingers that were his. He could see their willingness to fight ¨C and die ¨C in their battle-stances.


    He''d settle for them fighting. He''d trod upon enough skulls to get to this point.


    "I know some of you know that you view those opposed to us with hatred," he said as he climbed atop a loose boulder and addressed the armada. "But look around you, ratmen of the North, there are Kobolds who stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the name of the same God you venerate. We have opened our arms to them, and they have come to us willingly."


    He let that statement sink in. There were still rats among them who doubted the loyalty of the Kobold recruits. But their murmurings were cut down in their throats when they saw Ix take up position beside the Shai-Alud, standing with the two rats that had fought with Marcus since the beginning of his campaign.


    "Look you, Kobolds of the North!" Marcus shouted. "You see one of your own raised to the status of champion, bearing the new weapons that shall secure you a place in the history of this Underkingdom. I ask you, creatures of the North, do you wish to have your names inscribed for future ages to remember? For your children''s children to revere with just as much pride as that which you put in your God?"


    "YES! YES! YES!"


    The crowd''s tenacity was overbearing. Even Marcus had to steady himself as the sheer volume of their united cry flew towards him.


    You''ve made something here, Marcus, he couldn''t help but think as he looked into the sea of faithful below him. It''s a hell of a lot more than you ever had back home¡­


    To watch them all beat their chests with his name on their lips¡­it was something he could have gotten used to. He was a man who stood on the wrong side of what his own dimension dubbed ''progress''. He''d be lying if he didn''t admit that what Skeever had hinted at in his tent mere minutes ago hadn''t already crossed his mind. Fortifying Grindlefecht, setting himself up as a new power in this realm ¨C it would be the smart thing to do.


    And it would be exactly what a tyrant would have done.


    Well, we all have our fantasies¡­ he thought with a smirk. If you were here with me, Mari¡­I wonder what you''d say?


    It was her face that dominated his thoughts as he threw an accusing finger towards the battered walls of Grindlefecht behind him.


    "Warrios of the North!" he roared, Deekius amplifying his voice with the essences of the Gloomraav he had left in his veins. "Before you stands the last, final barrier to your freedom! I ask you to commit yourselves, body and soul, to cracking the walls of Grindlefecht forever. I ask you to put your faith in me, and ride beside me into battle one final time. I ask you, warriors of the Underkingdom, what is your answer?"


    "SHAI-ALUD!" they cried in response. "SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!"


    It was a chant that soon became a battlecry as they charged as one, Marcus hopping on his own Spineripper to lead them in the final assault.


    Skeever and Deekius had tried to talk him out of partaking in the thick combat that was to come and, in truth, he could feel every bone in his body quake and his muscles atrophy against the prospect of fighting their enemy to the very last man. But he wasn''t about to dishonor the sacrifice of those who followed him by hiding on the sidelines. If he had really become a fantasy general, he would play that role to the very end.


    So with his commanders at their posts, propelling their respective units forward, he thrust his fist into the air of the Underkingdom and added his voice to the thousands who ran with him.


    ¡­


    -Grindlefecht, Good Boss Silas'' Stronghold-


    The rat who once stood as a prisoner in the hallowed halls of the Dwarven fortress now held his fur-covered head high as he spoke to his flock of Kobold refugees.


    Refugees carrying some very special packages for their guests.


    "Suffering!" he bellowed once he knew, by their silence, that he held them rapt in his grip. The cadence of the ratman was gone. Now he was himself. Silas. No Clan. No devotion. Nothing but what he, from his birth in this dark realm, had always known he was.


    "It is our suffering that brings us together!" he cried. "We, the small-folk of this earth, who must toil and trundle beneath the soil the ilk of the surface trod upon, know this reality better than any who breathe the air of Thea. This is the truth of our being, Brothers and Sisters of the Underkingdom. Its revelation to you was the true purpose of the Great Kleansing."


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The inert form of Skegga wriggled behind him. Perhaps the toad still had some fight left in him, in the end. Not that it mattered ¨C the Kobolds lining the temple and courtyard of Grindlefecht had only one hope, now. That hope was what had compelled those brave souls among them to consume the tools that would be their end. They had done so willingly.


    "The Ascension you were promised does not belong to a God!" Silas continued, his claws flying about like he was possessed by the jumping spirits of the Kobolds themselves. "It is not the right of Skegga the weak ¨C Skegga the mad ¨C who has done naught but bring your enemies to your doorstep. Look upon him now and tell me, Kobolds of the North, is this the God you worship?"


    The answer that came from the throats of every adult Yip ¨C women and children included ¨C filled Silas with more pleasure than he had felt in years.


    "NO-NO! NO-NO! NO GOD-GOD SKEGGA! SKEGGA LIES! SKEGGA LOSES! SKEGGA FAIL-FAILS!"


    "Who is your God, Kobolds of the North? Who shall ensure you the ascension that you deserve? Who shall take you into the light of the eternal, where the leaps are endless and limits of one''s jumps lie beyond the earth and the sky?"


    "WE ARE!" they screamed, those bearing their special payload beating their swollen bellies in assent.


    "You know the truth that has been kept from you," Silas furiously agreed. "The sorry thing you see before you thought to keep the ascension that you deserve from you for too long. Now, the infidels who would block you from the gates of heaven are here, and they seek nothing more than the annihilation of your souls. There may be those of you who know relatives that have joined the cause of these heretics. Know that they have done so by forsaking the truth of the Kleansing. They have betrayed you, and, worse, have betrayed their own spirits. Their feet shall waver on the path to the heavens."


    Sniffles and cries were heard reverberating up the crowd. Silas bowed his head, concealing his snarl of indignation. These beasts were as stupid as they were sentimental. If only he''d realized that sooner.


    "But those of you who have come here today," he bellowed. "You have come for one thing only: you wish to be saved. You have come here to celebrate one thing only: the culmination of your mortal lives. And you have come here to begin your journey to a plane beyond this one. You have come to finally achieve the freedom you have craved for your entire lives. Freedom from the cage of this ever-dark realm, freedom from the constraints of your bodies. Freedom from shame, and pain, and all it requires is one final push of will from each and every one of you. Are you prepared, Kobolds of the North? The Shai-Alud is at your doorstep. The God-killer has come here with his army of indoctrinated infidels. Kobolds of the North, how shall you greet him?"


    "WITH FLAME-FLAME!" the congregation chanted, spittle flying from their starving lips, Silas'' every word feeding the hallucinogenic frenzy of their minds. "FIRE-FIRE TO BURN AWAY SIN-SIN. WE SHALL RISE-RISE. WE SHALL RISE. WE SHALL RISE!"


    They sang like children drunk on faith. They sang like conquerors ready to move to the world beyond that they so desperately craved. Silas of Fleapit could paint a pretty picture, even if he did say so himself.


    He let them continue their chanting as he turned back to good old Skegga.


    "See how they bleat like cattle?" he whispered to the bloody toad. "They are a testament to the power of faith. It''s pure faith that shall light this Underkingdom ablaze, Skegga. Such belief was wasted on you."


    With one wave of his hands he bid the swarm go forth, rallying behind their martyr commanders.


    "Come, good Skegga," Silas snarled. "The Shai-Alud is coming. Let us give him a warm welcome."


    ***


    Support Fantasy General on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged from the date they join, never at the start of each month, so it''s as good a time as any to join the ratguard and get caught up with the story!


    Join the Cult of the Unclean on Discord</a>

 Chapter 71

    They often said that the moments of calm before battle was where fear struck most men¡¯s hearts.


    But personally, Marcus found that the sprinting towards the enemy was generally worse.


    He urged his Spineripper on, nestled amongst the inner ranks of Skeever¡¯s advancing ratguard, and looked up at the increasingly large walls of Grindlefecht looming higher and higher above them.


    The outlying villages were, by this point, nothing but rubble and dust ¨C the Kobold loyalists had seen to it that they left nothing for their enemies to use. It struck Marcus as strange ¨C this reversed Scorched-Earth approach to defense that Skegga had employed. Maybe he¡¯d commanded that the remaining villages burn as he stumbled home, wounded and debased.


    But that still didn¡¯t explain why they flocked to his walls, now.


    He rounded up the infantry and ushered them towards the fortress gatehouse, setting up Testudo formations that brought joyous nostalgia to both he and Skeever both. Even Ix had to smirk as he ran alongside his Sharpshots and noticed the strategy that his old pack leader had failed to account for. Back when the Underkingdom didn¡¯t have its Shai-Alud. The formation meant a slow, cumbersome advance, but he wasn¡¯t about to discount the possibility of ranged attacks from the battlements. Even if the walls still looked unusually quiet.


    He eyed the cannons as the army advanced. Still silent. Like demons waiting to be woken and belch their infernal innards at their foes. If those beasts started firing, he¡¯d have to rearrange the columns of ratguard and kobolds into a wide formation to compensate. Again, it would take time, it would expend energy, and it would lead to mass casualties¡­but it would work. These creatures of the dark had often proved more versatile to adaptive warfare than he had at first thought.


    As Marcus pulled his infantry to the left side of the fort, the Spineripper detachment surged forward in a V-shaped wave that smashed through any obstacles in their paths. They were to be the vanguard, this time, and their commanders had taken the opportunity to lead the charge with pride in their furry hearts. Marcus and Skeever both looked on in awe as they made it to the walls in little over fifteen minutes and began their ascent ¨C propelling their beasts to dig their claws into the beaten, broken ridges of the battlements and start climbing towards the dark heavens above.


    ¡°Phase one, complete,¡± Marcus told his Talon-Commander. ¡°Ratguard! Into position! We won¡¯t be caught with our breeches down when that gate falls!¡±


    ¡°HO! RAH!¡±


    The army was arranged exactly as Marcus had envisioned it. To the North, he saw the stout gatehouse of gilded metal that barred him entrance to his objective. To the East, round the side of the fort, his Spinerippers were already nearing the tops of the walls, their cries of fury begging for battle.


    But something was still bothering Marcus: the silence of their enemy.


    ¡°Sire-Sire!¡± Ix shouted from the firing-line he¡¯d set up on their Northwestern wing. ¡°Why do they not strike-strike?¡±


    He looked to Skeever who nodded once, watching the Spinerippers made more progress than they¡¯d envisioned. The ratguard waited, wondering when this great ¡®battle¡¯ was truly about to begin. Deekius walked among their front ranks, administering blessings with confidence. It seemed the ailing priest was the only one among them who could see their victory close at hand.


    For the rest, there was a growing sense that something ¨C somewhere ¨C was about to go very wrong.


    He looked about him for any signs of enemy activity, suddenly scanning the ruined twigs of the villages that had once stood as proud markers of Kobold civilization. Ix ¨C he knew ¨C was scanning them too, and seeing nothing. Hearing nothing. This deathly silence was not normal.


    ¡°Tell your men to assume a defensive position,¡± Marcus informed Skeever. ¡°I have a feeling we¡¯re about to see some-¡°


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The earth shook like an undulating sea. Marcus saw nothing but his Spineripper throw him from his saddle and then felt the rocky earth beneath his hands. He saw the ratmen around him fall one by one like dominos, each one tripping over the reverberations that had just torn through the entire North Warrens. Then, Marcus felt head radiate up his back ¨C gentle at first and then, gradually, rising to a fever crawling up his neck.


    ¡°THE ¨C LEAN ¨C¡°


    He looked up, cupping his hands round his ringing ears as his blurred vision began to pick of Skeever¡¯s face before his own, spittle flying from his teeth.


    ¡°W-wha-¡°


    He couldn¡¯t even hear himself form proper sentences. He watched the ratman¡¯s lips moved, felt the ground continue to shake beneath his boots, and tried to keep from turning towards the source of the sudden fiery deluge at his back.


    He saw a brilliant flaming flower burn into life in the ratman¡¯s beady black eyes ¨C like an atomic bomb shredding through a starless sky.


    And only then did the sound of the explosions that had rocked Grindlefecht¡¯s walls catch up to him.


    He turned around just in time to see something the four dwarven cannons disappear in a plume of radiant light that seared the retinas of the ratguard¡¯s sensitive eyes. They dropped their spears and shielded themselves, the entire army losing its cohesion just as quickly as he¡¯d had them form up at the stronghold gates.


    The Spinerippers who had reached the top had gotten the explosions full blast ¨C they were sent flying from the walls trailing smoke after them, the charred bodies of rats and ¡®rippers alike flying like fireworks across the now light-filled cavern skies.


    Marcus staggered, taking in the sight of the chaos, and tried barking new orders to his units. He practically held on to Skeever for dear life, keeping the ratman close as a kind of crutch for his still shaking limbs.


    ¡°TURN AWAY!¡± he shouted. ¡°RETREAT TO THE NEAREST VILLAGE AND TAKE UP A DEFENSIVE PERIMETER IN THE RUINS! THIS PLACE IS COMING DOWN!¡±


    ¡°WHAT-WHAT!?¡± Ix screamed from the western perimeter of the quickly crumbling force.


    ¡°I SAID THIS PLACE IS COMING DO-¡°


    Once again, Marcus¡¯s voice was lost in the chaos of yet another explosion ¨C this time one not simply concentrated to the Eastern battlements. The cannons of Grindlefecht had crumbled, and the walls now went with them ¨C before Marcus¡¯s eyes a series of concentrated detonations occurred one after another along the foundations of the fortress¡¯ which broke whatever structural integrity remained. The Spineripper units that had managed to continue their climb now fell with the wall sections as they crumbled into pieces, disappearing in the plumes of smoke that shot forth from the stronghold like a grey ring of death.


    Marcus watched the cavalry fall with eyes that couldn¡¯t conceive of the reality they presented to him. It took him all of his courage to not simply drop to one knee, then and there, and simply order a general retreat.


    Only Skeever¡¯s strong arm and dolorous barking at his men to stand firm and follow his orders kept him sane. It kept him standing even as the curtain of ash expelled by the fallen towers of the castle crept towards them all.


    ¡°HOLD YOUR BREATH!¡± Marcus ordered to the men still standing around him. ¡°ASSUME A DEFENSIVE RING! MOVE BACK! MOVE BACK!¡±


    He begged them to hear his shrill cry as the ashen clouds descended on them, burying the infantry units in their midst. The ratmen¡¯s eyes were sharp ¨C so too were those of the Kobold auxiliaries ¨C but they were not immune to blindness. The power of the initial explosion¡¯s searing light had brought them low, and now the ash infected their already blurred senses. Their forms became nothing but flickering shadows in the dark. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if some had already abandoned their posts.


    ¡°Sire!¡± he heard Skeever shout. ¡°We ¨C I cannot find ¨C¡°


    Marcus¡¯s arm shot out to assure the rat that he was still here, even as his lungs filled with soot and he resisted the desire to vomit.


    ¡°Tell the men to keep retreating!¡± Marcus wailed. ¡°Get them out of the radius of the smoke-screen. Find Deekius and have him clear this mess! Any minute now they¡¯ll be upon us!¡±


    ¡°¡¯They¡¯, Sire?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see, Skeever!¡± Marcus roared as both men began sprinting for the edges of the ash storm. ¡°This cough this was always their plan! They never intended to give up Grindlefecht. Boss Skegga is taking his palace down with him!¡±


    ¡°That cough fiend!¡± Skeever sputtered. ¡°He shall be feeling the brunt of my blade before this day is done! Be damned! EVERYONE, BE GETTING OUT! BE BRINGING ME GLOOMRAAVA DEEKIUS, NOW!¡±


    The shrill screams of ratmen filled the filthy air. Combat had begun. The clashing of swords and evisceration of limbs came from all directions. Marcus and Skeever yelled into the world of grey, seeing nothing but shadows fall one-by-one, followed by the sounds of more explosions in the distance.


    And the only voice that pierced the plume of death-fog that this battlefield had become, was a collective voice belched from the throats of a thousand fanatical demons:


    ¡°KLEANSING! KLEANSING! KLEANSING!¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Come cultivate at the Discord</a>

 Chapter 72

    ¡°D-Dekius!¡±


    Marcus stumbled his way through the thick ash cloud that had enveloped the ratman forces, hearing the sounds of sporadic combat echo and weave through the battlefield.


    ¡°C-cough complete madness!¡± Skeever shrieked beside him. ¡°MEN! IF YOU ARE HAVING EARS TO HEAR ME, BE FORMING DEFENSIVE RINGS AT YOUR POSITIONS NOW!¡±


    His command was punctuated by the chilling shriek of two kobolds that came running at him from out of the mist, daggers glinting in their already bloody hands. With a single twist he turned and cut them both down with Gatskeek¡¯s machete, wasting no time as he stepped over their corpses and guided Marcus out of this chaos.


    ¡°Deekius!¡± Marcus kept coughing. ¡°Deek-¡°


    ¡°BE FEELING THE MIGHT OF THE UNCLEAN!¡± both men then heard ¨C a statement that could only belong to the rat they sought in the death-fog that had engulfed them. ¡°BURN, HERETICS!¡±


    They watched as a gout of green flame snaked its way through the fog before them, seeing five Kobold warriors fall to the ground in fiery heaps.


    Skeever swiftly ran to slit their throats and finish them off as Marcus finally set eyes upon his Gloomraava.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Deekius spat. ¡°The situation is being dire, I ¨C I am feeling the claw of the Unclean upon me.¡±


    Marcus blinked through the death-haze and saw Deekius¡¯ bleeding limbs as the rat shuffled up to him, slamming his staff into the ground to clear more of the fog and unveil where their enemies had begun gnawing away at their once-disciplined lines.


    ¡°We¡¯re not done yet, my Gloomraava,¡± Marcus said, spitting the phlegm that was rising in his throat. ¡°With you beside us, we stand a chance.¡±


    Deekius barely croaked out his answer. ¡°Be¡­be giving me your orders¡­Shai-Alud.¡±


    ¡°CONTACT!¡± Skeever screamed as another unit of six Kobolds appeared like wraiths through the grey world of the battlefield. He managed to slice through the leather armor of two of them before the other three leaped at Deekius, scimitar¡¯s spinning wildly in their hands. The old rat only just managed to meet their assault with his staff and push them back into the waiting maw of Skeever.


    But one of the Yips had resisted the strength of the Gloomraava. One of them managed to pin him down as his comrades flew to distract his brutish cousin with their feeble lives. The Kobold stared into the eyes of the Gloomraava and grimaced as he brought his blade up to finish him.


    Then the little creature went flying from the body of the priest. His dagger left his hand, and he felt the weight of a very, very filthy human pinning him down.


    Deekius watched with no small surprise as he saw Marcus bear down on the Kobold and start pummeling the little creature¡¯s face with his bare fists.


    ¡°By the Unclean¡­¡± the priest whispered. ¡°By ¨C SKEEVER! Protect the Shai-Alud! Protec-¡°


    His final wish was fulfilled almost at once ¨C Marcus took up the fallen dagger of the little Yip and plunged it through the creature¡¯s throat, watching its eyes bulge and its tiny limbs spasm and finally give up under him.


    When he rose, he did so as a bloodied warrior, now.


    ¡°I ¨C I told you, Deekius,¡± he said with a stammer. ¡°You won¡¯t be dying until I¡¯m good¡­and done with you. That¡¯s an order.¡±


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Deekius met the stare of his General with new eyes then ¨C eyes renewed by the determination he saw in the man he had summoned so long ago to lead them against their enemies. Such a man would never simply give in. And neither would he.


    So as Skeever slit the throat of their last assailant, the Gloomraava plunged his staff into the solid earth that still existed under them and chanted a prayer that he knew could be his last.


    ¡°ARK¡¯RAHSALUUR!¡±


    The fog and filthy air around them was pulled away like a curtain being opened to reveal the grim night beyond their ken. As the blanket of fog died, they looked out onto where the army had once stood and saw now a sea of corpses littering the grounds before Grindlefecht¡¯s gatehouse, with pockets of ratmen fighting against increasingly desperate Kobolds.


    It was almost impossible to tell which Kobolds belonged to Marcus¡¯s side anymore ¨C the mass of red death that had surged forth from the smoking remains of Grindlefecht had smashed into his army from all sides. It looked like they had massacred the Kobold auxiliaries first ¨C Marcus could make out the forms of Yips screaming as they rubbed their blinded eyes and fled from the battlefield.


    So much for choosing a new path in life, he thought. But, considering the madness this battle had devolved into, he couldn¡¯t really blame them.


    Grindlefect was now just a pillar of smoke and burnt rubble. Whatever explosives had been employed, they were of a kind far more sophisticated than Marcus had ever seen in the Underkingdom. Those detonations had not been random, had not been haphazard ¨C they had been the result of a conscious effort to bring down the walls and cause this eruption of ash as a strategic move. Such strategy was not something he had forseen. How could he? Skegga had heretofar demonstrated nothing but the propensity for throwing larger and larger numbers of men at a problem and hoping they would make it go away. How could the wounded toad have come up with something like this?


    Marcus continued to scan what he could of the environment and saw that the Spineripper units were missing. For all he knew, the detonation of the walls had taken them all. Three hundred good, strong men. What were to be the vanguard of their victory¡­


    Damn it. Damn it all!


    Skeever looked about him with nothing but unrestrained fury.


    Don¡¯t let them see you bleed, Marcus, Marcus told himself. Remember, this battle is far from over¡­


    ¡°I will be slaying them all myself!¡± he roared. ¡°They will not be taking our day of glory from us!¡±


    Marcus looked into the broken battlefield with an altogether different attitude, however. He looked at the tight clusters of Kobolds that swam before the spears of the ratguard infantry and saw the chance they presented.


    ¡°Patience, Skeever,¡± he said, still coughing through the residue of the ash blanket. ¡°There¡¯s not need to throw your life away. We aren¡¯t done yet.¡±


    The ratman turned to his commander with abject confusion.


    ¡°Sire!¡± he shouted over the din of clashing blades. ¡°The army is being decimated! I must be joining the fight to ¨C¡°


    ¡°You will order the troops to fall back towards the nearest outlying village,¡± he said. ¡°Tell them to maintain as wide a formation as possible.¡±


    Skeever¡¯s eyes went wide as he realized his General¡¯s contingency ¨C something even he had forgotten about.


    ¡°What?¡± Marcus asked with a bloody grin. ¡°You didn¡¯t think I would bank everything on pure strength of manpower alone, did you? You know me better than that, Skeever Steelclaw.¡±


    As his Talon-Commander smirked back at him, wiping the bloody chunks of his fallen foes from his chops, Marcus turned to Deekius and commanded him to amplify the voices of both himself and Skeever. Communication would be vital if they were going to turn this shitshow around.


    ¡°RATGUARD OF FLEAPIT!¡± Skeever bellowed, his voice cutting through the confusion as he charged towards the East flank of their dwindling spear column. ¡°FALL BACK! WIDE-FORMATION! BE MOVING!¡±


    The ratguard gave a jilted ¡®HO-RAH!¡¯ as they saw their commander sprint towards them. Then their spirits soared as they heard the Shai-Alud deliver his own command to their metal monsters that had been waiting in the shadows of their camp for their moment.


    Deekius sent small burr of light into the air, a shimmering star that acted like a flare, signalling the twelve-pounder handlers that they were to ready their weapons.


    And Marcus, looking into the screaming faces of the Kobold red-mass leaping after their retreating enemies, bellowed one simple command:


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 73

    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    The cannons roars ripped through the dank, dust-filled air, tearing into the Kobold¡¯s uncoordinated mass with the ease of an eagle in a dovecot. The cannonballs struck true, splintering pieces of Kobold skulls and torsos and then rolling along a deadly path that cut right into the horde.


    In the meantime, the ratguard seized the opportunity to seek out defensive positions at the nearest rotted farmstead ¨C leaping the tiny walls and using them as makeshift shields from which they could ready their spears.


    ¡°SHILTRON!¡± Marcus bellowed from the sidelines of the spear-columns, Deekius and Skeever running alongside him to escape the rabble that had been spewed from Grindlefecht¡¯s rotten, smoking guts.


    The ratguard obeyed without question. Their spears came down, they readied their arms, each man braced by the rat behind him, and thrust their weapons into the oncoming hordes with as much power as their bodies could muster. Their eyes still stung with the debilitating mix of light and ashen-dark. But they didn¡¯t need eyes to poke dents in the oncoming mass of flesh that threw itself at them, chanting ¡°KLEANSING, KLEANSING!¡± with frenetic breaths.


    ¡°They are going insane!¡± Skeever yelled among the cries of suffering each speared Kobold suffered. ¡°They are coming at us in droves, Sire, not caring for their safety!¡±


    ¡°It¡­it is not like them,¡± Deekius told Marcus as they spat commands into their newly-formed battle lines, trying to make sense of the devastation they were seeing play out before them. ¡°Kobolds are being stupid creatures in packs, but not suicidal.¡±


    ¡°Unless,¡± Marcus said with a dust-filled gulp. ¡°They have something new to believe in¡­¡±


    His thought, barely formed, did not have time to expand ¨C the Kobold lines had faltered and they began to pull back, seeing that they could not penetrate the ratman formation.


    ¡°HAH!¡± Skeever cheered with his men, punching the stale air with his bloodied cleaver. ¡°Finally, some sense is being shown by the enemy. Now, CHARGE THEM!¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Marcus shouted, watching the Kobolds as they moved. Their retreat was slow, deliberate, and possessed of a kind of coherency. They moved as one towards the Eastern ridge of the North, just beyond Grindlefecht¡¯s perimeter. Such movement, and the complete lack of fear denoted by their focused eyes and movements thus far, did not imply a collapse of morale.


    Instead, it implied quite the opposite. This was a planned retreat.


    Towards¡­what?


    The cannons continued their clangoring assault on the Kobold battle-lines, sending the loyalist Yips flying in hazes of blood and broken bones, but still they steered towards an objective that lay back at their base.


    And only then, hearing the richochet of gunshots in the darkness up ahead, did Marcus realize their intent.


    Ix¡­


    ¡°Sire?¡± Skeever asked. ¡°What is your-¡°


    He stopped as he saw Marcus bite his lip, his fists clenching in consternation.


    ¡°CEASE FIRING!¡± he bellowed at Deekius, forgetting entirely that the rat-priest could not read his thoughts in that moment. ¡°Send up another flare ¨C tell the cannons to stop firing.¡±


    Deekius did as he was bid, while Marcus rounded up the rats into five small columns of two-hundred men, ordering them towards the Eastern ridge after the Kobolds.


    They want us to follow them, he told himself. They want us to take the bait. They¡­they know how much stock I put in Ix.


    ¡°You are hearing your Shai-Alud!¡± Skeever yelped into the crowd. ¡°FORWARD! MARCH!¡±


    The smart thing would be to maintain a defensive perimeter now, Marcus¡¯s mind said, begging its bearer to listen to logic. The best chance you have is waiting for reinforcement. Grindlefecht has fallen. Its destruction is complete. You¡¯ve failed ¨C but only partially. Don¡¯t make a pyrrhic victory into an utter defeat just because you¡¯ve grown sentimental for some tiny red demon.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    But equally, another part of his mind spoke to him in moving pictures, not words. This other part of his brain showed him the bravery of a Kobold that had done more for Marcus¡¯s cause than he had any right to. A soldier that had come to Marcus as nothing more than a slave, and proven not only his usefulness, but the usefulness of his entire species to the ratman cause. Hell, their usefulness to unifying the Underkingdom under a single banner itself.


    Who cares, Marcus? This is just a fantasy. You¡¯re a General in a fantastical world of little creatures all biting at each other¡¯s throats. This isn¡¯t your world. These aren¡¯t your people. They never have been.


    ¡°Sire?¡± Skeever asked. ¡°Do we move?¡±


    And Marcus, gritting his teeth in what Skeever assumed to be fury, did nothing more than give a curt nod of his head and nod, sprinting with the remaining ratguard up the blasted hill towards the ruined stronghold¡¯s perimeter.


    Damn it, Ix, he cursed. If you¡¯re dead¡­yours is not a ghost I want hanging over me. Not another one. Not you¡­


    ¡­


    When the walls had fallen, he had looked beyond the ashen cloud and seen what remained of his people.


    They swarmed like wraths through the mist, knives flashing as they threw them at Ix¡¯s squad of Sharpshots, and he was forced to re-live the pain of the Battle of Black Gulch ¨C where the Shai-Alud had first used the exact same tactic against Head Yip Gith and his forces.


    But that was back when he was nothing more than a simple Yip. Now, he was a leader. He wasn¡¯t about to see his men perish even if he was blinded.


    ¡°Stand fast-fast!¡± he told them. ¡°Wave is coming!¡±


    Those that listened were able to bring their firearms to bear against the shadows that sprinted at them, though the discharge of their arquebus did little now that the forces of Skegga had closed the distance between them and the bulk of the ratman ranged forces on the Eastern bank of the stronghold. Already Ix could see Kobold daggers finding the hearts of his squad. One-by-one, his newly formed battalion was dwindling.


    ¡°Commander Ix!¡± one of his ratman subordinates shouted over the din of battle. ¡°What are we doing?¡±


    Ix wasted no time, answering the rat as he brought up his gun and bashed the brains out of a sprinting Kobold with its steel stock.


    ¡°Move back-back!¡± he ordered. ¡°Dust cloud cannot cover whole tunnel!¡±


    His men obeyed his commandment without question, and if young Ix had notions of historical legitimacy about him, he would have remarked about how this moment may have been the first time in recorded history that a ratman had taken orders from a Kobold as his superior.


    But such thoughts were those meant for later. They were more the domain of the Shai-Alud than creeping creatures like Ix and his kind.


    The Shai-Alud¡­Ix thought.


    No word had been sent to them. The last thing they had seen from their firing position had been the Spinerippers falling with the walls. As far as Ix knew, the ratman columns were already decimated. They could be all that was left¡­


    But he put such thoughts from his mind as soon as they started to form. This was Sire Marcus, after all. He was no fool. He was strong. If this battle could be won, he would win it.


    And so he kept his men close, demonstrating just how to deal with setbacks like this. He¡¯d seen enough, and been in enough, to know exactly how to keep calm under pressure.


    ¡°Keep line-lines straight!¡± he squeaked over his shoulder, letting fly another shot that struck a leaping Yip right in his shoulder and sent him tumbling back the way he had come. ¡°They will be striking at us from North-north! Keep up volley, and bash-bash any that come too close!¡±


    The men obeyed, but the lack visibility didn¡¯t do them any favors. It seemed that every inch they moved back simply brought more Kobolds sprinting at them, some not even bearing weapons ¨C simply running at them hoping to take a chunk out of the opposing force with their infected teeth. Ix watched them go down one by one as his men moved back ¨C and with every five kobolds they felled, the beastly loyalists slew at least one Sharpshooter for good measure.


    The squad was wavering ¨C Ix knew it. He could feel the vibrations of their tentative paws on the ground. He knew they wanted nothing more than to turn tail and flee.


    ¡°Talon-Leader Ix-Ix!¡± one of his Kobolds screamed. ¡°The tide do not stop! Should we be retreating? Should we be falling ba-¡°


    ¡°No run-run!¡± Ix cried back into his faltering ranks. ¡°Shai-Alud Marcus will have plan-plan! He will not want us to run. He never run-runs!¡±


    Ix¡¯s form became almost feral as he kicked out at an advancing Kobold with his bare feet before bringing up his arquebus and popping a cap in the flailing creature to make sure he was dead. He looked down at his fallen once-brother and was overtaken in the moment by something strange. Something that become so, so much stranger once the fog was finally lifted and the Sharpshots of Ix saw their Brothers staring back at them across a field littered with Kobold and Ratman corpses.


    ¡°Be readying shooters!¡± one of his ratman units shouted. ¡°There they are!¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Join the Iron Guild Discord</a>

 Chapter 74

    The once sprinting Kobolds of Grindlefecht had dropped their weapons before Talon-Commander Ix. They threw themselves to the ground, faces twisted, doubled-over with fear. As soon as the ashen cover had dropped, it seemed they had finally succumbed to rationality. They had realized just how insane all this resistance was.


    ¡°Talon-Commander?¡± the ratman shouted over the crying forms of the now supplicant Kobolds. ¡°Shall we be taking them down?¡±


    Ix calmly stepped forward, his small hands lowering the guns of his squadron.


    ¡°Talon-Commander?¡±


    Something had possessed the Kobold in this moment. Looking out at a sea of dead brethren ¨C it wasn¡¯t as though he hadn¡¯t done so before. But to be this close¡­to be staring into the dead eyes of those who still served Skegga, and to be looking at those still living who now wept before him¡­something snapped in the normally cool-headed Yip that he couldn¡¯t explain. He had not the words. The only thing he was able to say was simply, ¡°Why?¡±


    He had known his Brothers to always love the spirit of community. Families danced round the totems of their old heroes - the greatest Yips who had made the greatest jumps in history. To see them reduced to unthinking, unblinking slaves like this...it didn''t make sense. Skegga was strong, he had come to them with a great story of leaping to the heavens themselves under him, but the Yips Ix knew would never have chosen death over the chance for glory. It didn''t make sense. They had always respected and revered bravery, not foolishness. They believed in power, yes, but knew the difference between naked bravado and true strength. Ix had followed Skegga in the past because he truly believed that the bloated fool presented the greatest hope for his people. Of course, he wasn''t going to keep following him when he saw that his judgement had been wrong. Stubborness was not a Kobold trait. Pride came from realizing one''s mistakes and altering one''s perspective to reflect them. No matter what the shadow-rat used to walk among their villages and tell them all, that was something Ix could not forget.


    No. No matter how much he wracked his brain trying to understand these foolish cretins that he once counted himself among, he couldn''t understand them now. Not their aggression, nor their surrender. It just didn''t make sense...


    ¡°We should be slaying them here and now, commander!¡± his ratman underling shouted, bringing him from the realm of reflection back into the cold reality of the present. ¡°Shai-Alud Marcus is taking enough prisoners. These ones are deserving to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Why?¡± Ix whispered again to the supplicant Kobolds he looked at down the barrel of his gun. Then, voice raising to a shriek of total, unbridled frustration. ¡°Why do you fight-fight when you know you cannot win?¡±


    In response, his misguided brethren simply wailed and beat their heads against the ground. Some of them seemed to be in the grip of a particularly nasty disease ¨C their bellies were bloated and festering beyond all recognition ¨C a fact that only served to irritate the Kobold more.


    History would remember them as cowards. As worse than trash. All because of these...these idiots!


    ¡°Why do you do this?¡± he asked the surrendering loyalists. ¡°Look at me! You could have been part of strong-strong side. You could have been making something of your selves! Instead, you are following dumb-dumb Skegga to grave!¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Talon-Commander¡­¡±


    The firm, furry hand of his comrade gripped his shoulder, trying to impart some wisdom back into his small bones.


    ¡°Why are you so dumb-dumb!¡± he railed at the kneeing forces, walking up to restrain them as Sire Marcus had ordered them to do for any surrendering Kobolds. ¡°You do nothing but make our race look bad-bad. Do you not see-see that we must work with our once-enemies to stay strong-strong? Can you not understand that¡­¡°


    By the time he finished uttering his final word the first of the bowing Kobolds had looked up at him with the smile of one who was possessed. And by the time Talon-Commander Ix had realized what the creatures really bore in their stomachs, it was already too late.


    ¡­


    Marcus felt the searing heat of the explosions at the top of the hill before he saw the billowing dome of flame that surged through the ranks of Ix¡¯s men, accompanied by the shrill cries of the Kobold forces that cheered to see them burn.


    ¡°IX!¡±


    ¡°INTO THEM!¡± Skeever yelped, practically throwing his men forwards and ordering them to bring their spears to bear against the Kobold army that now turned back to its foes that had followed them, their faces smeared with macabre smiles that spoke of the desire, pure and simple, for bloodshed.


    Theirs, and their enemies ¨C they didn¡¯t care now.


    The rearguard of the red wave braces as they saw the ratguard charge uphill, Skeever and Deekius taking full command and making sure the Schiltron formation was well maintained and making good speed. Marcus would have been proud to see them work their magic were it not for the fear that had taken grip of his heart the second he saw Ix¡¯s position go up in flames.


    The logical part of his brain was trying to work now as best it could, trying to understand the smiles and screams of glee that dripped from the dwindling Kobold forces mouths.


    These Yips had no weapons besides their feeble claws and teeth. They were more like rabid animals now than a species that had once called the North their civilization.


    But where had their explosives comes from? Marcus wondered, scrambling up with the ratguard to watch the final throes of this battle take place ¨C to see those bloodied scum pay for every ratman and Kobold they had slain this day.


    Those¡­those cannons fell, Marcus told himself as he watched the Kobold rearguard ready itself to meet the steel-thorns of the ratguard. I saw it with my own eyes. They have no ballistics capacity. There¡¯s no way they could have brought any kind of explosive devices to bear against us.


    Unless they have a Gloomraava of their own¡­but no, he would have surely revealed himself by now, or succumbed to the power of the strange magic that dominates this world. Even Deekius couldn¡¯t summon a pillar of flame like that which he¡¯d just seen.


    The only other possibility was¡­


    Marcus stopped running. The next few moments of confused screaming happened as a series of flickering images locked in slow-motion: the ratguard charged, spears down and ready for the final strike, while the Kobolds took up their own people in their arms ¨C those who had joined them from the remains of Ix¡¯s now charred position at the top of the hill ¨C and threw them into the ranks of the ratmen like they were living, sentient projectiles.


    Kobolds with swollen bellies, trailing through the air with their knees bent, arms hugging their legs, before opening up and exposing their bare bellies to the ratmen spear-columns.


    ¡°To the skies, Brothers!¡± Marcus heard Skeever yelp. ¡°Be bringing them down!¡±


    ¡°W¡­wait¡­¡± Marcus murmured, seeing the mad delight in the Kobold jumper¡¯s eyes and knowing, only then, just how blind he had been this whole time.


    ¡°WAIT!¡±


    Only Deekius heard the cry of his General and leaped to cover him from what came next: the Kobold jumpers exploded in a brilliant gout of searing fire that burned through the ratguard ranks, singing them in their armor and sending them flying back into the ruined village below. Marcus saw them burn through Deekius¡¯ arms, watching the hope finally leave their beady eyes as the darkness of the Underkingdom once again gave way to utter chaos, and the loyalty of his rats was repaid in fire and blood and anguish.

 Chapter 75

    ¡°-ire! Sire!¡±


    The world was a blur of sound and fury.


    Marcus¡¯s eyes opened to reveal the bloody form of Deekius above him, his hood long since singed and discarded, revealing a face scarred by the remnants of the explosion.


    Around him was a field of burning ratman corpses ¨C the ratguard. Those who had not been caught in the immediate radius of the Kobold¡¯s suicidal explosions had suffered the most. They lay, screeching in infinite pain, as their fur burned down to their bones and their skin peeled away. They would have been easy pickings for the Kobolds who had charged them in the aftermath of the detonations if Skeever had not led the small forces that still held firm against them.


    ¡°INTO THEM!¡¯ Marcus could hear the ratman scream in the eternal night of the North Warrens. ¡°BE GIVING NO QUARTER!¡±


    Marcus rose without taking Deekius¡¯ waiting paw. He swayed, slowly taking his eyes away from the dying rats around him in the craters that would now serve as their graves. He watched Skeever cleave clean through the lines of Kobolds that had tried to break through his vanguard force ¨C the ratman was practically holding the entire army together. Beyond even them, the Kobolds on their side were right at the frontlines. It seemed Skeever had even managed to wrangle up enough of them to strike back against the loyalists in the time Marcus was out. No matter what anyone said, that rat was a commander worthy of the title of First-Talon.


    Worthier than I am, anyway¡­


    ¡°Sire,¡± Deekius said. ¡°Skeever is taking command. We ¨C we are thinking that you are ¨C¡°


    The look Marcus gave Deekius stopped the ratman¡¯s voice in his throat.


    ¡°Ix¡­¡± Marcus said in an almost dream-like daze. ¡°Ix ¨C where is he?¡±


    Deekius avoided his gaze. He dropped his snout to the ground and clenched his staff with a firmness that might have indicated that he was about to produce another one of his Unclean-blessed miracles.


    ¡°Deekius,¡± Marcus said firmly. ¡°Tell me where he is.¡±


    It was a command, this time, and the rat-priest obeyed.


    ¡°Be following,¡± he said.


    Both of them climbed the last stretch of the blackened, blasted hill, stepping over the bodies that littered the floor of the cavern until there was no free ground left to step on. In the distance, Skeever and the remaining ratguard and Kobold units were pushing the meagre forces of Kobold loyalists back. It looked like they had expended their suicide troops in the last attack ¨C banking everything on a last-ditch effort to achieve victory.


    No, Marcus caught himself thinking. No ¨C not victory. There is no victory here. For anyone.


    A kamikaze run¡­an assault so debased, so desperate¡­how could he have predicted it? He had never been able to understand the fanatical faith that compelled soldiers and civilians to strap explosives to their chests and run into the field of battle knowing, to a certainty, that death would follow them. Knowing that they would walk a pathway to heaven¡­be reborn from the ashes of their demise.


    Is that what this butcher Skegga¡¯s ¡®Kleansing¡¯ really is? He thought, walking like a limping zombie up the hill, his eyes hazy, focusing on only the shambling form of Deekius before him. Is that what I failed to see? To understand? Were these Kobolds really so indoctrinated as to believe that, in death, they would finally have the power they dreamed of?


    He didn¡¯t know. He couldn¡¯t know. Not for sure¡­


    That, he knew, was the tragedy of this whole sorry affair. Not that he had failed ¨C but why. His failure had not been one of strategy. It had not been one of hot-headed egoism or impractical decision making born from inexperience. In the end, whatever ¡®victory¡¯ he could claim here was tainted by a failure greater than any wartime blunder: a failure to understand just how far his enemy was willing to go. A failure of hypothesizing that, even with the fair terms he brought to the table, there were still at least a thousand Kobolds who would never see life his way. And there was a toad who would never surrender, even if there was no way he could truly ever win the war he had started.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    In the end, Marcus¡¯s failure had been born from a lack of imagination.


    Deekius finally paused at the apex of the hill overlooking Grindlefecht¡¯s eastern perimeter. Here and there on the ridge, the remainder of the Sharpshots were discharging what meagre ammunition they still had into the enemy below, their eyes possessed with animalistic focus ¨C birds of prey sending their sweeping claws at their foes.


    It took Deekius a few strained attempts to actually get the ratman that was issuing orders to them men to listen to him. Only when Marcus stepped forwards, grabbed the rat¡¯s arquebus out of his hand, and threatened to snap the thing upon his head did he finally relent in his firing and address the Shai-Alud.


    ¡°Your commander,¡± Marcus said wearily, through eyes burning with rage. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    The ratman¡¯s voice caught in his throat. He looked from Marcus to Deekius, who bowed his head again, before nodding once as though in understanding and bidding Marcus to follow him.


    Amidst the death-throes of the Kobolds of Grindlefecht, Marcus stopped at a small collection of rocks that had been piled up at the end of the blackened hilltop, behind the Sharpshot¡¯s firing line.


    The rocks were piled just above the head of a Kobold that lay in a dark crater formed in the earth, his arquebus just out of reach of his still flexing fingers.


    The Kobold¡¯s body had been sliced clean in half, his tiny intestines still weeping blood under his waist.


    Marcus staggered forward, tripping and falling over himself as he stumbled down the crater and didn¡¯t even hear when Deekius shouted for him to stay away.


    He didn¡¯t care. His eyes were glued to the Kobold at the center of the crater, the Kobold who¡¯s heavy breathing consumed his attention. In this moment, the world narrowed to the tunnel-vision of death that struck at the heart of his being, and when the twitching eyes of Ix finally found his in the dark, Marcus did everything he could to not allow the creature to see the despair that possessed his features.


    ¡°S-Sire-Sire,¡± Ix coughed.


    ¡°¡­don¡¯t, Ix,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Don¡¯t say anything.¡±


    He dropped to his knees before the fallen warrior and took his tiny claw in his hand, feeling the Kobold¡¯s sharp fingers grip him tightly, drawing blood without really trying to.


    ¡°You were always strong¡­¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Even now¡­¡±


    ¡°Y-you,¡± Ix sniffed, blood and snot spewing down his snout that Marcus wiped away with his handkerchief. ¡°You are¡­strong-strong, Sire¡­strongest man-man¡­in the Under¡­¡±


    ¡°Not without you, Ix,¡± Marcus replied, ignoring the screams that echoed overhead. ¡°You ¨C you were the backbone. The ranger specialist. You learned everything you had to faster than anyone else. And your commander is ordering you to hold on. You understand?¡±


    ¡°I-ngh,¡± the tiny creature bleated. ¡°I¡­I am done-done¡­Si-¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s an order, you understand?¡± Marcus practically shouted in the fading eyes of the Kobold. ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere without my say-so. Deekius!¡±


    The rat-priest was already at Marcus¡¯s back. He hadn¡¯t even heard him approach, so gentle was the rat¡¯s shuffling.


    ¡°Fix him, now,¡± he said.


    ¡°Sire, he is being ¨C¡°


    ¡°I SAID FIX HIM!¡± Marcus spat, turning and leveling the arquebus in his hand at his Gloomraava¡¯s snout. ¡°You¡¯ve worked miracles before in the name of your damned God. WORK ANOTHER ONE, NOW!¡±


    He watched Deekius stare blankly up at him down the barrel of his gun, the ratman¡¯s eyes unblinking and unphased as he gave his answer.


    ¡°Sire¡­.he is being gone.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit!¡± Marcus spat right back. ¡°BULLSHIT! Your Shai-Alud just gave you a command. If you value your life, you¡¯ll ¨C¡°


    ¡°I should have¡­kill-killed¡­them.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s rage was abated by the feeling of Ix¡¯s firm claw on his leg.


    ¡°I¡­was¡­weak-weak¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Marcus said, dropping to one knee again and clasping a firm arm around his fallen lieutenant. ¡°Never, Ix. Never you.¡±


    He expected this moment to be like in the war-films he¡¯d seen as a kid. Either that, or dry and detached like his textbooks presented battlefield deaths. Somehow, neither of them could relate the truth. The truth of the matter wasn¡¯t even somewhere in the middle. Because he¡¯d been here already, he realized with a sickening, tiring heart. Gatskeek, Festicus, more Kobolds and ratmen than he could count¡­


    Because of me¡­


    So, when he looked through the grief he was trying his hardest to swallow, what surprised him most in this moment was the bloody smile that stretched across Ix¡¯s face.


    ¡°Sire Marcus,¡± he said, hand gripping his General¡¯s mud-drenched coat ever tighter. ¡°Be¡­strong!..strong¡­¡±


    Then, like a light being snuffed from a flickering candle, he was gone.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 76

    As he let Ix¡¯s limp arm fall from his hand, Marcus felt only a dull numbness take over him.


    He ignored Deekius¡¯ words meant to console his fading spirit, and instead stumbled away from the Kobold¡¯s fallen form in silence, lumbering back up the crater to see the seven or so still-living Sharpshots complaining about a lack of ammunition.


    His glazed eyes hovered over the environment, seeing clouds of smoke drifting across the battlefield to reveal an ocean of blood. Where the walls of Grindlefecht once stood tall, Skeever was making his final push, his ratguard wavering in the wake of the Kobold¡¯s suicide-bomb runs. Though they were pushing the ailing defenders back, every rat tried to keep his distance, prodding at their bellies from afar with his spear. Such care rendered the Schiltron formation¡¯s key strength practically nullified ¨C they weren¡¯t making enough progress.


    He watched them, seeing the rats at the vanguard move back from every desperate strike a Kobold made against him, and then being pushed right back into the thick of battle by the exhortations of Skeever ¨C the black, one-armed ratman who walked into the thick of the horde with no hesitation at all. To their credit, the Kobolds Marcus had picked up on his way here were still fighting back ¨C ironically it was they who looked as though they did so without fear, following Skeever¡¯s lead.


    He looked at their demon eyes ¨C little crimson slits that held scheming brains ¨C and thought of how willing they were to kill their own kind. Power ¨C that was it, wasn¡¯t it? That was all their existence truly was.


    Then, Marcus felt something in his hand. He looked down and saw the silver stalk of the loaded arquebus that had never left him.


    The barrel of the weapon was coated in Ix¡¯s blood ¨C the last blood the Kobold would ever shed. And in that moment, it was as though Marcus could see the eyes of his faithful servant reflected in the still shining barrel, the words of the Kobold echoing down its stalk: ¡°I should have killed them¡­I should have killed them¡­¡±


    ¡°Deekius,¡± Marcus said, not even recognizing his own voice.


    ¡°Sire?¡±


    ¡°Fire a flare. Let the cannons fire on them.¡±


    The Gloomraava hesitated.


    ¡°But Sire,¡± he said. ¡°We may be hitting some of our own Kobold auxiliary-¡°


    ¡°Deekius,¡± Marcus spat, and the dark fury in his barely reserved tone stopped the rat-priest before he even formed another thought never mind voiced one. ¡°I want to hear nothing more except the roar of our guns. Understood?¡±


    The rat-priest bowed his head, licked his lips, and acquiesced to his Shai-Alud¡¯s command.


    ¡°As you are saying, Sire.¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t look as the flare went up. He found Skeever¡¯s bloodied eyes in the midst of the crowd and a moment of psychic understanding seemed to pass between them, for just as the first bellows of the twelve-pounders thundered again in the deeps, the ratman ordered his men back as far as they could make it.


    The Kobolds, however, did not have time to unshackle themselves from their once-brethren.


    Marcus¡¯s unblinking eyes beheld the devastation that came next: the cannons made short work of Grindlefecht¡¯s final defenders ¨C crashing through the vestiges of their battle-lines and detonating the final suicide troops in a series of red flashes that singed Marcus¡¯s retinas. The Kobold auxiliaries looked behind and around them at the carnage, seeing the ratmen flee in time to mostly avoid the explosive teeth of the iron cannon-shot. They probably died with nothing but hate in their hearts, cries of betrayal flying from their charred lips that turned to ash on the blasted field of battle. But Marcus did not spare more than a cursory look at them.


    Instead, he held his arquebus firm and started walking towards the fray, his rats cheering as they watched him limp towards the carnage without fear, or hesitation. To them, they were looking at an unfazed commander storming towards his destiny. It was something Skeever noticed, and it was something he exploited immediately.


    ¡°Be following the Shai-Alud!¡± he wailed, a sound barely audible in Marcus¡¯s ringing ears. ¡°Be slaying the dying where they lay! Be leaving none alive!¡±


    Thus commenced the act of slaughter that would live in infamy ¨C the final punctuation in the tale of Marcus Graham¡¯s underground campaigns as the Shai-Alud: the ratmen began storming through the dark grounds of Grindlefecht and slaying any Kobold that still drew breath. No chance for surrender was no given. Marcus meandered by the screaming Yips as they tried crawling towards him, leaving them to be speared by a ratguard looking for vengeance. For that was the only thing that was now on anyone¡¯s mind. The cannons worked until their ammunition finally ran dry, and though Deekius tried to tug on the rim of Marcus¡¯s trench coat to tell him that he was proceeding towards a still dangerous area of the battle, the Shai-Alud did not turn once to acknowledge his priest.


    It was said by those rats that survived the bloody Siege of Grindlefecht that the Shai-Alud entered a state of battle-trance in the end-stages of the ordeal ¨C walking wounded, trailing blood down his shoulder that dripped onto the arquebus he carried with him. On a few occasions, the ratguard gasped as they watched him bring up said arquebus and unload into the face of a Kobold straggler who had run at him, eager to defeat the enemy of Boss Skegga. The Shai-Alud did not stop to watch his enemies fall before him. Instead, he lumbered on, through the smoke and haze and the ruin caused by his plundered cannons, and even those rats who were engaged in torturing or gutting the fallen Kobolds on the field knelt in supplication as the human General passed them by.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The truth, of course, was far from heroic. Far from exceptional. Marcus¡¯s mind had simply ceased to care about the carnage he saw unfolding in front of him. For him, reality had become naught but a kaleidoscope of blood and viscera ¨C a moving mosaic of charred bones and severed limbs passing by his vision like macabre travelers in the dust of this world. He kept walking, his favored commander and Gloomraava shielding him from any who would attempt to overpower him, and it was his feet that crossed the threshold of Grindlefecht¡¯s interior keep before any of his troops.


    The Keep was of solid material, gilded and still standing strong even amidst the wreckage of its walled exterior. The intricate markings left by the Dwarves were lost on Marcus entirely. He only looked forward into the darkness of the keep interior, ignoring the calls Skeever made for his men, now distracted and reveling in their applications of torture, to form up and secure the perimeter in case of reinforcements. For some reason, however, Marcus simply couldn¡¯t feel fear in this moment. He crept forwards, into the long expanse of the dark, with nothing but his firm grip on the gun that shook in his hands telling him that he was still alive.


    Eventually, the pitch dark of the keep receded, and Marcus arrived with his two ever-companions at the temple of Skegga himself.


    The doorway was framed by grisly displays of hanged Kobolds and Dwarves, each one¡¯s stomach opened to drape their innards down from the roof, their blood long since dried up on the ground the invaders now walked on. Marcus ascended the crimson-gold steps to the temple without much fanfare, hearing the ratguard forces finally scurry their way up behind him.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± he ordered quietly, stopping only momentarily to address those new arrivals. It was an order that Skeever and Deekius immediately relayed with gumption, hearing only their Shai-Alud¡¯s next quiet words: ¡°Enough of you have died today¡­¡±


    The Shai-Alud stepped over the threshold of the golden palace doors, smelling the raw stench of dry meat and stale blood from the grisly tableau decorating the temple¡¯s walls. Dwarven meat and Kobold bones, stretched beyond recognition, bound and sewn up together like the grisly biological experiments performed the angel of death Mengele himself, greeted Marcus as he trudged through broken bodies and discarded weapons, seeing the stone operating tables where the Kobolds must have been stitched up to carry their deadly payloads.


    And there, at the very end of the hallway of horrors, sat the mad God behind it all.


    You¡­


    Marcus considered the limp, tiny limbs of the beast who sat upon his floating throne, his eyes blinking as he recognized the Shai-Alud who had finally come to stand before him.


    An assortment of five Kobold honor guards stood, rusted scimitars ready, before the bloated toad, their legs shaking as the enemy commander of legend stumbled towards them, his two elite lieutenants keeping in step beside.


    He saw the dwindling desire to fight within their eyes. He saw that, if he had offered them the chance, then and there, they would have thrown down their arms and begged for mercy.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said instead. ¡°Send them to the paradise they long for.¡±


    His Talon Commander¡¯s blade was a blur of blood and steel, his swift and sure strikes making short work of the guards while Deekius looked on, chanting a prayer to He-Who-Festers as though it would drown out the blood-curdling screams of Grindlefecht¡¯s last defenders.


    And when the final Kobold hit the ground, all that remained was a one-armed ratman slathered in their blood.


    He unsheathed his blade from the broken torso of a Kobold and shook it free of the little imp¡¯s blood ¨C the same blade Gatskeek had held proud as the commander of Knifegut.


    Another one who died¡­because of me¡­because of me¡­


    No¡­no, his mind barked, vehemently refuting what was so plainly obvious. No¡­not me¡­not¡­


    Marcus¡¯s eyes lighted on the great bulbous toad again.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Skeever barked, snarling up at the inert toad shriveling in his throne. ¡°The honor should be yours.¡±


    You.


    Skegga was both more and less than he¡¯d imagined. He did not know, really, what his imagination had cooked up when he thought of his enemy. Seeing him from above on Razor Ridge had not truly allowed him to look into the eyes of the beast that had caused all the pain and torment of untold thousands in this underground realm. He had expected a grand welcome. He had expected one final trick that the bloated thing would give him to deal with ¨C a final, bitter curse or recremation that he would throw at the Shai-Alud who was his enemy. He at least expected to see hatred in the fat beast¡¯s eyes.


    Instead, he was surprised to look through the veil of his own grief and fury and see only a set of glazed grey eyes staring back at him. He had heard tale that this amphibian was the architect of all the horrors he had seen, and yet, all he saw as he looked upon him now was nothing but a giant frog, slathered in pus, practically stewing in his own juices.


    Somehow, that only served to heighten his rage.


    ¡°You.¡±


    He said it aloud as he approached the creature¡¯s throne, Skeever and Deekius urging caution from his back. He didn¡¯t care. He had eyes for nothing but the freakish oaf he saw sitting in that chair ¨C little more than a barely breathing corpse.


    ¡°You ¨C you did all this.¡±


    He threw the accusation at Skegga with slurred speech, like he was talking in a dream, moving through a sea of treacle. He knew he should say something glorious ¨C something history would remember in this point. For wasn¡¯t that what all the great commanders of legend said when they finally came to the end of their toils?


    Looking into the chortling snout of Skegga, Marcus now felt nothing but weary resignation to the anger that had been rising in his gullet since he¡¯d first set foot in this damned world.


    Maybe even Alexander the Great had felt the same way¡­


    Marcus thought he saw the toad start to mumble ¨C his slimy lips tried to mouth something.


    But the Shai-Alud was done listening. He brought the rifle up, aiming directly at the toad¡¯s chest, and grit his teeth in animal fury.


    ¡°This,¡± he said. ¡°Is for Gatskeek. For Festicus. For Ix¡­for the countless souls of this place you¡¯ve wasted¡­and the countless more you¡¯ve corrupted.¡±


    Something at the back of his mind shook him ¨C something that told him the toad¡¯s silence might have more meaning¡­


    Even Skeever and Deekius were starting to get antsy at his back¡­


    ¡°Sire,¡± Deekius warned. ¡°Wait¡­¡±


    But Marcus¡¯s body had its own will, now. After letting so many kill in his name, he decided it was time for someone to die by his own hand.


    ¡°Your reign of terror ends¡­now.¡±


    A pull. A click. A moment ¨C that¡¯s all it took.


    In the flash of his weapon¡¯s muzzle Marcus finally saw what the expression was on the great toad¡¯s face: terror.


    When the bullet traveled through his gut, Skegga¡¯s body vanished in a budding flower of flame, and the walls of his temple finally came crashing down.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 77

    ¡°How do you do it?¡±


    He asked her the question in what felt like a vacuum, the stars above serving as the only reminders that he was still on earth.


    ¡°Do what?¡± Mari replied, turning over on the grassy knoll to face him. ¡°If this is about my looks, I wake up in the morning like this. And ¨C yes ¨C you are punching way above your weight.¡±


    He rolled away from the stars to look at her, seeing the twinkling lilies that were her eyes gazing adoringly down at him in the midnight gloom.


    ¡°How do you make people believe in you?¡±


    It was a question she would have scoffed at ¨C he saw the beginnings of her nose twitching the way it normally did when he said something na?ve or schoolboy-ish in her presence. She always did a great job of keeping him grounded with little more than a look.


    But tonight, amidst their quiet stargazing, she didn¡¯t bash away his complaint. Instead, she leaned across the grass and stroked his grizzled chin.


    ¡°It¡¯s super easy,¡± she said. ¡°I tell myself that doubt is for wimps.¡±


    ¡°Come on ¨C¡° he began.


    ¡°See?¡± she replied, cutting him off by rolling on top of him and giggling like a schoolgirl when he tried to resist. ¡°Already you¡¯ve failed, Marcus Graham. You¡¯ve doubted that your impeccably intelligent girlfriend has the answer you want to hear.¡±


    It was his turn to scoff, now, staring up at her as the blanket of constellations hidden above framed her face.


    ¡°It just comes so easy to you, doesn¡¯t it?¡± he laughed, stroking her hair. ¡°A Psychologist equally at home in the digital world as the physical one. Everyone loves you. Everyone listens to you.¡±


    ¡°Everyone listens to you, too, you know. They just don¡¯t like what they hear.¡±


    He chuckled at what he assumed was a joke, but when he looked through the mist that covered his groggy, sleepless eyes, he saw she was completely serious.


    ¡°You wanna know the deep, dark truth?¡± she smiled down at him. ¡°People are simpler than you think. Think about how folk occupy their time ¨C their lives are filled with all these big, horrible happenings. Parents dying. Lovers¡¯ quarrels. War. Famine. Disease. Sure, we could talk about those things ¨C the mainstream media outlets certainly do ¨C but they ain¡¯t the ones pulling in the big numbers, honey. Why is that?¡±


    He sighed. Already he didn¡¯t like where this conversation was going.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to say that they don¡¯t want to hear about the harshness of reality.¡±


    ¡°Correctamundo, baby,¡± she giggled, leaning so close that her voice dropped to a whisper. He was immediately taken in by the aroma of her perfume, the thin nape of her neck, the paleness of her skin as it caressed his own coarse, rough body.


    ¡°People want validation,¡± she whispered. ¡°They want excitement. They want an escape. You think Vtubers catching fire during the Pandemic was a coincidence? Big anime tiddies sell, my young apprentice.¡±


    ¡°And yet you prefer to stay aw-naturale,¡± Marcus murmured with a cursory glance down her blouse.


    ¡°Because there¡¯s something more to that desire,¡± she said, with such passion behind her words that he thought she might have gotten far more blasted than he¡¯d initially thought when they downed the whiskey he¡¯d brought with them on this little trip. She always was a lightweight.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°At the end of the day,¡± she said. ¡°People don¡¯t want to feel alone. That¡¯s it. That¡¯s the big secret. That¡¯s what every online bigshot has been able to monetize: loneliness. That¡¯s why my clients listen to me, babe. Because I listen to them. But you,¡± she said, bending down to plant a wet kiss on his dry lips. ¡°You¡¯re the other piece of the puzzle. You actually have something to say. You have something worth listening to. A message.¡±


    ¡°Not as sexy as a buxom cartoon girl,¡± Marcus murmured into her ear.


    ¡°Anime,¡± she corrected with an air of faux defiance. ¡°A sacred Japanese art, don¡¯tcha know. Besides, passionate men are always more attractive. I might be a cooky Psychotherapist, but I love a man who¡¯s crazy about a lost cause.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± he all but screeched as she bent down to kiss him again, pulling away only when he held her tight, and the stars seemed to melt into her like she was a titan pulling them into her warm embrace.


    ¡°Imagine what we could build together,¡± she said. ¡°Imagine what we could do¡­¡±


    He stared up at her, stroking the stray folds of her hair away from her pale face.


    ¡°If only you¡¯d stop doubting,¡± she whispered. ¡°If only you¡¯d seize the power that¡¯s always dangling in front of you, waiting for you to take it.¡±


    He saw her eyes shift then ¨C maybe it was just his own imagination. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Probably more likely it was the alcohol running through his bloodstream ¨C but he saw a change come over her. The lilly-pads of her eyes were gone ¨C replaced by a set of four glowing amber bulbs with black slits drawn across them. Her pale skin grew thin hairs that ran down her body, and her thin hands now felt like elongated claws digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks, holding his mouth shut, keeping him from screaming out in pain. A set of six horns burst from the back of her skull and twisted into the night, each one a corrupted pike dripping with rot and bile.


    ¡°Come to me, Marcus Graham,¡± the thing that was once Mari told him. ¡°Accept the Gift that my servants give you.¡±


    It spoke with the voices of all those who had died to protect him. In its mad eyes he saw Gatskeek, Festicus, and Ix all adding their voices to its whisper-roar that boomed throughout his conscience.


    ¡°You are mine¡­¡± the creature said, its vicious horns bending down to rake his forehead, scraping away the flesh there and inscribing something in his own blood. ¡°My General. My Shai-Alud. My progeny from the Place Beyond. Whatever comes next, remember: you shall always be mine.¡±


    The last thing he remembered was the creature¡¯s great yellow tongue that shot from its mouth towards his opened forehead, licking at the pulsing muscle of his brain and inscribing something there before its amber eyes burst open, and the dream-world of Marcus¡¯s slumber gave way to a harsher reality.


    ¡­


    He woke to pain surging up his every limb.


    His eyes adjusted to the cloud of dust that blanketed his vision, and any movement he tried to make was hindered by the stacks of gold rubble that encased his body. He was buried. And he was dying.


    Not even a carefree dream to¡­send me off¡­


    He could feel his life running red down his arms and his legs, wherever they were beneath him. No muscle responded to his mind¡¯s dull calls for motion, and no impulse but that which compelled him to scream in agony could be felt.


    This¡­this is how it ends?


    He tried blinking through the filthy dust that lay thick in the air, his ears starting to pick up sounds of furious combat nearby. Of swords slicing through flesh, ratmen screeching as Kobolds died.


    He looked up at what was once Skegga¡¯s great floating throne and found that it, too, had been reduced to rubble and cinders. Around its seat and hand-rests sat the remains of its once-host: the flabby, bloody scraps of Skegga that had barely survived the explosion.


    He¡­He¡¯s dead¡­


    The thought was enough to bring tears to Marcus¡¯s ashen cheeks.


    He¡¯s finally¡­dead¡­


    So engrossed was he in this realization that he did not even hear the shouts that had started up nearby, nor even pay attention to the bricks and wreckage that were currently being removed from his position.


    It¡¯s over¡­


    ¡°Sire Marcus! Be waiting!¡±


    There¡¯s little else I can do¡­


    He couldn¡¯t recognize the voice as it drew closer, and the weight on his limbs began to lessen. He knew the bones in his arms were broken. He knew his legs were a mangled mess. How he was even able to stay conscious might have had something to do with the strange blessing he¡¯d received when first he was spawned into this dark realm of war and filth.


    Or maybe that dream was more real than he¡¯d thought.


    He felt himself being dragged from his position ¨C his legs unlocking from their crushing prison beneath the crumbled remains of Grindlefecht¡¯s main keep ¨C what Skegga had appropriated as his temple. Now it was nothing more than a desolate, smoking gravestone. The final chapter in the great toad¡¯s history had just been written.


    And so has mine¡­


    Marcus¡¯s thoughts trailed off as he saw the dark ceiling of the Underkingdom above him. Only dust and smoke surrounded the crumbling wreckage of the temple.


    Then ¨C a feeling of weightlessness overcame him. What he assumed was death finally taking him after all this time.


    I¡¯ve cheated it enough, he thought. I¡¯ve sent enough ratmen to their deaths to deserve this. And yet¡­I can¡¯t leave Mari here. She¡¯s up there.


    This thought ¨C and this thought alone ¨C was what compelled him to grit his teeth and fight through the pain that was still coursing through him, begging his heart to finally give up.


    ¡°Be holding on, Sire! Be holding¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m here¡­¡± he said, coughing through blood and spittle, feeling his bones begin to crack back into place and his muscles contract as they began to function once more.


    His vision was still clouded, his eyes were still glazed over, and his head felt like a weight was bearing down on him.


    But he was alive.


    ¡°Sire,¡± the rat who had just saved him murmured. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    He turned to see Deekius panting beside him.


    ¡°Like shit,¡± he said.


    The rat-priest smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 78

    Marcus stared through his groggy eyes at his servant, watching the high priest work his magic, weaving threads of restorative energy through his gnarled fingertips. Energy that he sorely needed himself, by the looks of his pallid features.


    ¡°We are born¡­in rot,¡± he said with an almost serene air. ¡°We¡­die¡­in rot.¡±


    His statement was punctuated by a series of bloody coughs and sputters. Every movement of his lips, every word he formed, seemed like a lingering agony. Marcus watched him double over in pain. He was practically holding himself together with any strength he had left in his tiny body.


    ¡°Once again¡­¡± Marcus groaned. ¡°You do too much for me, Deekius.¡±


    He looked towards Skegga¡¯s old throne.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead?¡±


    It seemed so odd a question that even Deekius couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, his yellowed tongue flicking between his fangs as he did so.


    ¡°More dead¡­than one can be. We are¡­victorious¡­Shai-Alud¡­¡±


    ¡°Then why,¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Do you look so¡­so¡­¡±


    He suddenly felt something lurch within his stomach ¨C at the very spot where Deekius had laid his healing claws and directed the green light of the Gloomraav to his body. He tried to move, and yet he felt his every vein surge in the instant he tried to command his limbs. His eyes darted around, seeing the smile stretched across Deekius¡¯ face, feeling something travel through his body. Something¡­foreign. Something new.


    This something was traveling through his body with speed hitherto unknown ¨C like a new chemical sending every synapse sparking off into explosive life, a drug that was changing the very anatomical structure of his being.


    He tensed, veins popping on his forehead as he snarled and foamed at his mouth, before fixing his attention on Deekius again.


    And with any dark Gods that did exist in this world as his witness, he saw the light in the ratman¡¯s eyes fade away to nothing before him.


    ¡°Deekius¡­¡± he murmured. ¡°What have you¡­¡±


    ¡°I am¡­telling you¡­¡± the rat-priest whispered, his voice little more than a hoarse choking. ¡°I saw¡­where my path ends¡­long ago. I am doing¡­what must be¡­done¡­before the end.¡±


    Somewhere nearby, a set of wet paw steps clattered on the bloody stones of the palace floor.


    A blade glinted in the shadows.


    ¡°And yet still,¡± Deekius said. ¡°This path is taking¡­strange turns.¡±


    The shadow crept closer, a set of snarling teeth shining through the dark.


    ¡°I knew my life would¡­be ending here,¡± Deekius told the shadowed figure appearing through the dust of Grindlefecht. ¡°But still¡­I never expected¡­you¡­would be¡­bearing the knife.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Marcus peered through the dust that still enveloped the ruins of Grindlefecht.


    And slowly, a figure in the shape of a hulking rat phased through its gaseous curtain.


    ¡°You were not wishing to stab me¡­in the back, then?¡± Deekius asked the approaching shadow. ¡°No¡­it was never¡­your way¡­¡±


    As the gnarled paws of the warrior-rat came into focus, Marcus breathed an intake of acidic air that was still tainted by the fat toad¡¯s final discharge of ordnance in death.


    ¡°You knew it would come to this, Gloomraava.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s addled brain flew to catch up with the reality unfolding before him, seeing the hobbled form of Skeever march into full view to stand before him and Deekius.


    ¡°Skeever¡­¡± Marcus snarled. ¡°G-gather the troops. We have to find¡­Silas.¡±


    The rat merely looked down at the shuddering form of his Shai-Alud and did nothing.


    ¡°Skeever?¡±


    The ratman warrior met his confused stare with barely checked rage, his dark eyes flitting towards Deekius.


    ¡°If you wish to fight, Brother, you shall be losing.¡±


    The rat-priest gave a throaty chuckle. ¡°I have done¡­what was asked of me,¡± he replied. ¡°My feet are treading the path¡­meant for me. As have yours, dear Brother.¡±


    ¡°You do not know the reason for your end?¡±


    Deekius spat a globule of corrupted blood at the dull stones of the temple floor. ¡°Your¡­reasons do not matter,¡± he replied. ¡°None of them¡­do. All that is transpiring¡­is according to the Unclean¡­¡±


    Marcus spat through the pain he could still feel gnawing at his ribs. He couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of this nonsense.


    But a sinking feeling was beginning to gnaw at him.


    ¡°Skeever,¡± he said. ¡°Obey your Shai-Alud¡¯s command. Return to¡­the foot of the temple. Gather the men that¡­remain.¡±


    Once again, the Talon-Commander of Clan Red-Eye simply looked blankly at his General, his eyes looking right through Marcus as though the human was not even there.


    Then his eyes flew again to Deekius¡¯ shuddering form, and Marcus saw the glint of fury that overcame his features.


    ¡°Skeever¡­¡± he breathed. ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°So be it,¡± Skeever Steelclaw whispered as he marched towards his Brother rat and raised his cleaver. ¡°You always wished to stand beside He-Who-Festers, did you not?¡±


    ¡°Skeever,¡± Marcus growled, forcing his body to move through the strange pain that practically left him helpless. ¡°Don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then let me send you to him.¡±


    His machete flashed through the filth-ridden air with such speed that Marcus couldn¡¯t have intercepted him even at his full strength. Through his foggy vision, he saw the ratman slice through Deekius¡¯s quarterstaff and then twist his blade to deliver a mercy stroke to the rat priest¡¯s jugular.


    ¡°No!¡±


    He stumbled forward, body still shuddering as though the dark energies that had once swelled within him clung to life. But when his head hit the ground, his body tumbled down with it, and Marcus was left to stare into those tired old eyes as the priest that had summoned him finally left his grim world behind, still wearing a strangely serene smile.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± Marcus yelped, throwing himself at the snarling rat, knowing that a single stroke of Skeever¡¯s blade could end him just as quickly as he¡¯d just felled his brother.


    The eyes of the betrayer met those of his General, and in the split second of unrelenting fury Marcus displayed, the rat made up his mind and struck him in the gut with the butt of his blade, winding him and sending him slumping to the ground, consciousness fading away once again.


    He looked up at Skeever from the bloody, dust-laden temple floor, heart too heavy for anything but hate, head too addled to think of anything more to do than spit one word at his hateful face.


    ¡°Traitor¡­¡±


    Skeever fixed him with his cold crimson eyes before Marcus once again tumbled away into the blackness of sleep.


    ¡°To you, Marcus,¡± the ratman said. ¡°Never to my realm.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 79

    A single torch sconce burned bright against the darkness of Grindlefecht¡¯s fourth dungeon.


    Most of its underground chambers had survived the initial assault and the subsequent collapse. The etched carvings on the cold iron walls were untouched by the chaos that had erupted above. Through two great battles it had stood strong, and stable ¨C a testament to the endurance of those who had built it. Many of them now occupied its main cells, their skin long since wasted away as they succumbed to the tortures Boss Skegga had visited upon them.


    One truth of Thean existence, known to those of the Underkingdom in particular, was that Dwarven crafts were made to last. Dwarven walls could only be brought down by their own weapons. Or, at the very least, through the deaths of thousands of their foes.


    Such walls had even withstood the screams of their old masters ¨C screams that had echoed through the twisting, labyrinthine chambers of the stronghold¡¯s five interconnected dungeons with just as much power as the cannons which had roared above them. And just like those cannons, the dungeons now lay silent. Only the intermittent trickles of blood from the torture racks or the bodies of dwarves and kobolds still hanging from the rafters could be heard in the eternal night of this dreary sanctum.


    And it was here, amidst the bones of the dwarves, that Marcus Graham sat and waited for death.


    The silence of this place that was soon to be his tomb was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he could finally be alone with his thoughts. He could finally hear himself think, unhindered by the din of cannonfire or the screams of the dying above ground.


    It was a curse, for the exact same reason.


    ¡°So, this is how it ends for me, huh?¡± Marcus said to his audience of dusty skeletons. ¡°Not with a bang, but with a patter. Betrayal, backstabbing, and imprisonment in the very lair of my enemy.¡±


    He leaned his head against the far wall of his chamber, his repaired muscles groaning with every movement. Skeever didn¡¯t harm him, and he needed to know why.


    The only thing still keeping him even close to what one could call ¡®sane¡¯ down here was his journal ¨C for it had now truly become a journal ¨C that he still scribbled with. They hadn¡¯t stripped him of his possessions when he was thrown down here. Possibly because they reasoned that his simple words would broke no threat to them. He entertained the thought that perhaps he should leave it behind as his final words even if there would be precious few rats who would ever read them. He was vain enough, it seemed, that he¡¯d like his life to be remembered in his own words. What man didn¡¯t, when his time came?


    What¡¯s it going to be, then? He jotted down noiselessly in the dank darkness of his prison. Will they hang me here, like a did that Dwarf back in Spearclaw when he refused to surrender? Or maybe they¡¯ll feed me to their queen, and see what monster she spits out next? Or, maybe they¡¯ll trade me to the Yokun above as a slave ¨C as a way to broker some kind of fragile alliance with their once-enemies. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me. Nothing would, anymore.


    He paused as he inked that thought, his tattered quill leaving a messy ink-blotch on the crumpled pages of his notebook.


    That was my real failure, he then noted. Pride, and a lack of imagination. Thinking that I knew what motivated these bipedal rodents better than they knew themselves. You were waiting for your chance this whole time, weren¡¯t you, Skeever? You always hated Deekius. And every word of ¡®honor¡¯ and ¡®loyalty¡¯ you ever whispered in my ear was a lie.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    But maybe lying¡¯s what I failed to learn. And now, here I sit. An honest General with nothing but the ragged shirt on his back, standing on the bones of thousands who I¡¯ve led to dusty deaths. What do all my successes even matter if they led me here? I¡¯m like the Marquis of Montrose ¨Cwinner of a dozen tactically adept victories and loser of one battle that cost me everything.


    ¡°Except,¡± Marcus sighed aloud. ¡°Montrose had something tangible he was fighting for. If my dreams have any measure of truth about them, my reason to fight might not even be alive up there, anymore¡­¡±


    He remembered his death-vision of Mari morphing into the rat-abomination so vividly that it could have happened right here in this cell. His body reacted every time he closed his eyes and saw that face snarling back at him, its hard horns and lithe tongue drooling over his forehead and etching words into his brain ¨C words that chilled his bones.


    The thought had murdered sleep for him. He dared not try and doze off, now. He must have been awake for at least three days straight. And he wasn¡¯t planning on napping anytime soon. The next time he closed his eyes would be the last, he knew it.


    But something else was occupying his hazy thoughts besides those of his inevitable demise. It could be his lack of sleep, or it could be something else entirely, but he could swear that something thin and wiry played across the fingers on his right hand when he flexed them ¨C something that glowed with a sickening green hue and arced its way around his palm like a ghostly light made manifest by nothing more than thought. He looked at his palm and saw that light glowing even now, and he stared open-mouthed as he realized insanity must finally be taking him.


    Either that, or¡­


    The door to the dungeon flew open, its clanging ringing out in his ears as it echoed through the whole rotten labyrinth. Footsteps pitter pattered in the pools of urine and fecal matter that lined the narrow corridor separating him from freedom until. Those same footsteps brought the light of a flickering candle close to Marcus¡¯s cell and then stopped abruptly before him. Without even looking up, he knew who had come to visit.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Come to revel in your victory, Talon-Commander?¡±


    Skeever laid the candle down at the bottom of his cell-door, and sat opposite him.


    ¡°There is being no victory here, Marcus Graham,¡± he said. ¡°There is being only sad end of a long, long night.¡±


    The eyes of the First-Talon met those of his commander through the bars of his cell.


    ¡°Why?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°Was it about power, Skeever, all this time? Were you simply waiting for your chance? Or do you simply despise a human more than you love your own people?¡±


    The hairs on the ratman¡¯s neck stood to attention. ¡°Know this, Marcus: I am loving my people more than anything. It is for them that I am doing this. Not myself.¡±


    ¡°You lock away the one who saved your people from oblivion.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Saved¡¯?¡± Skeever spat. ¡°Is that what you are calling this? The army is being battered. The ratguard is being in lower spirits than when we are beginning our march. I am telling you to wait for reinforcements. I am telling you to use Glitterpaks. But you are committing us to the charge that killed us all.¡±


    Marcus hid his face from the light. ¡°I did not know what awaited us in this place,¡± he said. ¡°No one did. I thought we could save them before they killed themselves. I thought you belieived the same thing.¡±


    Skeever shook his snout. ¡°Are you not learning? Your wish to save the creatures of Underkingdom is what is making you a butcher, Marcus.¡±


    ¡°And yet it has won you the North, in all its glory,¡± Marcus scoffed. ¡°I thought we agreed never to lie to each other, Skeever? If your loyalties were dependent on a sense of altruism, you would have slit my throat long ago. I¡¯ve sacrificed plenty of your people to defeat Skegga and his minions. And through it all, you flapped not a single gum in complaint.¡±


    He crawled forward, bringing his face as close to the bars of his cage as he could. He looked right into the eyes of the traitor and saw the candlelight¡¯s stalk reflected in those crimson eyes.


    ¡°So, tell me what this is really about, Skeever. You owe me that much, even if you are a traitor.¡±


    The ratman leaned forward too after a moment. He bared his teeth and practically spat the word that was as much a blow to Marcus as any battlefield wound:


    ¡°Honor,¡± he said.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 80

    ¡°¡®Honor¡¯?¡± Marcus spat back at Skeever. ¡°You have a funny way of showing it, Skeever Steelclaw."


    The Talon-Commander shook his proud snout. Whatever his aspirations were, he clearly didn¡¯t imagine that the man sitting across from him had the moral high ground here.


    ¡°You think I am a traitor, Marcus,¡± he began, stoically facing his now-foe. ¡°But I am being loyal to my people. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°By imprisoning me? The General chosen by your people?¡±


    ¡°By imprisoning one who would use us to fulfill his own ends.¡±


    Both man and rat stared with determined eyes at the other.


    ¡°You have wished to leave us all this time,¡± Skeever said quietly. ¡°You do not care for our plight. Like all humans, you think only of your own ambition.¡±


    ¡°If you believe that,¡± Marcus said with an indignant scoff, ¡°then you¡¯re more deluded than I am.¡±


    Skeever shook his snout again. ¡°I saw it clearly when you refused to take and hold Grindlefecht,¡± he whispered as though sentries of his King might have eyes and ears amidst the dead of the underground tomb. ¡°I should have known it before. I did not even believe the King at first. But¡­ that was doubt eating at my mind. It will not happen again.¡±


    Marcus blinked. ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°now it comes out.¡±


    Skeever locked eyes with him again and gripped the bars of his metal cage.


    ¡°Did you think the King would not find out that you murdered Sire Verulex?¡± he railed. ¡°Did you think he could not see how powerful you were becoming in the eyes of the priesthood? He assumed you would make a move against him eventually.¡±


    ¡°Which you yourself suggested, Skeever.¡±


    ¡°I suggested your only means of survival!¡± the rat roared. ¡°How can you not see? If you had taken this place, you could have brought us into a new age of wonder. But you only wished to leave and return to your own kind. You never thought of our future.¡±


    ¡°And you, Skeever?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°Is it the future of your species that you have in mind here?¡±


    ¡°It is the only thing I ever think about,¡± he replied with a cursory look at his misshapen stump of an arm. ¡°I gave my body and soul for my people. Not for commanders. Not for Kings. Not even for He-Who-Festers. Ratkin must endure. We must be strong. It is how life is for us.¡±


    ¡°If that is so, then you have doomed your people,¡± Marcus sighed, gripping the bars of his cell just as Skeever did, paying no mind to how the rat¡¯s razor-claws pierced the rusted iron of the bars beside him.


    ¡°The King gave me an ultimatum,¡± Skeever sighed right back at him. ¡°He forced me to make a choice¡­¡±


    Marcus could finish the sorry story before the ratman could even begin: ¡°Kill the disobedient Gloomraava ¨C the head of the Sha-Alud¡¯s new cult ¨C and then end the reign of the Prophet himself before he gains a power base here.¡±


    He didn¡¯t need the rat to confirm his suspicions. He could see the truth of the matter written plainly on his face.


    ¡°Skeever¡­¡± he wheezed. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you acted out of a sense of loyalty here. It was to save your own skin that you murdered your Brother in cold blood. It was to save yourself that you cast me down here to wait for your weak King¡¯s execution.¡±


    ¡°N-No¡­¡± the rat stammered. Then, growing more bestial as he looked into the unchanging eyes of his foe. ¡°No! Marcus ¨C how could you know what it is to hold the entire hopes of your race upon your shoulders? You ¨C a human ¨C can only care for yourself. Perhaps you think all other races must be the same. But we who are born in the dark, born of the dark, know what true kinship is! We know sacrifices must be made for the sake of building something that will last forever.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Even if it means sacrificing your own comrades you fought back-to-back with to build it,¡± Marcus said, his face a bloody mosaic of pained disdain in the dim illumination of Skeever¡¯s candle.


    Skeever lingered on the bars for a minute, snout twitching, fangs bared, and claws digging so deeply into the bars of Marcus¡¯s cell that the latter thought he might pull them clean off and tear the human limb from limb right then and there.


    Instead, the ratman merely sighed again and moved away, taking up his candle before he turned his back on the man he once called General.


    ¡°The King¡¯s army will come in the next three days,¡± he said. ¡°King Shrykul will find you and deliver you to his cousins as retribution payment for the slaying of their Talon-Commanders during The Skittering. Once they have you, you will be theirs for eternity, or until they are done with you. I suggest you take the food my men and I will give you during this time. They could be the last meals you have in your life.¡±


    Before the ratman finally departed, Marcus stood and rattled the bars of his cage for a final time to halt his steps.


    ¡°SkeeverSteelclaw,¡± he said, his dirt-caked face pressed between the bars where the ratman¡¯s claws had made their marks. ¡°You say that I, like a human, sought to do nothing more than sacrifice your people¡¯s own hopes and dreams to claim my own. But shall I tell you what it is that I dream? Shall I tell you what I see as I close my eyes every night in this realm of darkness?¡±


    The Talon-Commander did not turn. He barely stirred at all. But he did halt.


    Marcus licked his lips as he said what he knew was probably pointless to say but which, he knew, he had to say. Again, it could be his own vanity that compelled him to have the final word of their conversation. But he liked to think, even long after this pivotal moment in his life, that it was a commitment to the truth that guided his tongue.


    ¡°I see the faces of all those who have fallen under my command,¡± he said, fighting to control his wrists ¨C forcing them not to shake as the memories swept over him. ¡°I see them raise their blades in my name. I see them fight tooth and claw for something they believed in. And I see the places where they died ¨C the fires of that same belief still strong and pure in their eyes. I close my eyes and see their faces, and I remember all their names. I¡¯ll remember them long after their faces vanish, and even though it causes me nothing but pain, I¡¯ll cling to the memory of the memory when even that fades from my mind. Because I carry them with me, SkeeverSteelclaw. I¡¯ll carry them and their belief with me till the day that I finally fall. And then I¡¯ll join them wherever they are now ¨C in the dirt or with your God.¡±


    He saw the shoulders of the ratman slump slightly. His massive gait gave way to something which was hidden by his hulking back.


    ¡°So, tell me, Skeever,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Do you really think that, after all this time, I never once stopped to care for you or your people?¡±


    Whatever expression might have weaved its way through Skeever¡¯s face was lost to time and the dust of Grindlefecht¡¯s forgotten dungeon. When he spoke again, his voice was nary a murmur:


    ¡°Goodbye, Marcus Graham,¡± he said.


    Marcus watched him go, seeing the light of his single candle gutter and vanish as the steel-clad dwarven vault-door closed behind him. Once again, the First-Talon was left to stew in the juices of the fallen.


    ¡°The funny thing is,¡± he told himself as he slumped against his cell door. ¡°I can barely blame him. The mortality of a ratman like him is probably measured in months, not years. He¡¯s survived this long on cunning and strength. He¡¯ll probably survive much longer than even that docile King of his.¡±


    As these words left Marcus¡¯s mouth, a thin gleam of green sparked into life on his hand again, and this time he fell to the bone-cluttered floor, overcome by whatever was now flowing through his veins.


    He clutched his hand and watched the veins on his palm bulge with alien life, seeing the thin arcs of emerald light zap between his fingers. The light of the lightning flashed sporadically as he tried to still his shaking hand.


    ¡°What¡­¡± he breathed, thinking of the horror that had appeared to him before he had woken above ground. ¡°What¡¯s happening to me¡­¡±


    As though answering for the priest from beyond the grave, a voice suddenly emanated from the depths of the cell across from him.


    A dark voice, yet one tinged with the tenor of sophistication.


    ¡°Quite a thing, isn¡¯t it?¡± the voice said. ¡°Quite a thing to live in terror.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 81

    ¡°Quite a thing, isn¡¯t it? To live in terror.¡±


    Marcus looked into the dark beyond his cell, trying to make out the creature that spoke in clearer tones than anyone he¡¯d ever heard down here.


    The cracking green light from his throbbing hand afforded him just enough luminosity to bathe the face of the speaker in lambent green hues, and he saw a sniveling snout twitching across from him, with a face scarred by scratches and wrinkles of age. The ratman was possibly the smallest he¡¯d ever laid eyes on, dressed in dingy leathers and with the shuffling gait often possessed by servants.


    As he neared the bars of his own cage, the creature flashed Marcus a sickly grin.


    ¡°Did the brash commander speak true?¡± it said. ¡°Are you truly Marcus Graham? The one they call ¡®Shai-Alud¡¯?¡±


    So surprised was he by the clarity of the ratman¡¯s speech that Marcus momentarily forgot about the pain surging up from his fingertips through his entire arm.


    ¡°In the flesh,¡± he replied tetchily. ¡°You have me at a disadvantage, Sir.¡±


    ¡°¡®In more ways than one!¡¯¡± the creature cackled. ¡°How quaint. It has been some time since this lowly thing has conversed with one well-versed in the human tongue. What I would give to talk the night away with you, such as it is¡­¡±


    Marcus found himself smiling warily. He flashed the resigned smirk of the condemned awaiting their inevitable demise.


    ¡°I have three days, as you probably heard,¡± he said. ¡°Is that enough time for you?¡±


    The ratman shook his mangled mane. ¡°Oh, no,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t imagine you¡¯ll be staying here for long, Sire.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no ¡®Sire¡¯. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°But you are, Marcus Graham, and so much more than just that. As one of the Unclean¡¯s most favored servants, I owe you more than you might think.¡±


    Marcus narrowed his eyes at the excitement he sensed in the ratman¡¯s voice. He saw the elongation of his pupils ¨C like the creature was looking upon an Avatar of his God bound and imprisoned right beside him.


    And Marcus dropped his hand as a realization overcame his entire being, surging through his brain with as much intensity as the grim light flaring in his hand.


    ¡°Silas¡­¡± he said breathlessly. ¡°You¡¯re Silas, aren¡¯t you? You¡¯re the Prime Putrefact.¡±


    The ratman took a sarcastic bow in the human manner. ¡°In the flesh,¡± he said with a wink. ¡°Though it has been some time since I have been called by that title.¡±


    Marcus couldn¡¯t help but just stare at him, looking upon his lowly form with new eyes now. Here, after all this time, was his goal. Sitting right beside him. A prisoner just like he was.


    And yet he had sat in silence all this time.


    Before Marcus could even open his mouth and question him, he replied coolly, as though he had anticipated this very query.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± he said. ¡°I have languished in this prison for some time. The days in this place bleed into one after a time. I presumed that I would have gone mad quite some time ago. Perhaps you shall be the judge of that, Shai-Alud.¡±


    Marcus cocked his eyes at him. ¡°You seem surprisingly lucid for a prisoner of the old toad. Tell me, why did he leave you here? Why capture you at all?¡±


    Silas shrugged with a weary sigh. ¡°Who can know the mind of a beast?¡± he replied. ¡°Perhaps he sought to deal a morale blow to our people through my capture. Perhaps he thought having the font for the Unclean beneath his feet would afford him some form of protection. He clearly did not understand what it means to have true faith. Tell me, Marcus, is he dead?¡±


    Marcus narrowed his eyes. The ratman saw him do it.


    It was not that there was anything particularly wrong with his answer. But there was a certain fluidity to his speech that spoke of a desire to control the flow of the conversation. Recalling his frequent debate classes and observations in college, Marcus knew that such speedy responses and swift movement to new topics often signaled a lack of confidence in dealing with the topic at hand.


    Lack of confidence, or outright obfuscation.


    ¡°You must have heard the rumbles above,¡± he finally answered. ¡°The bloated toad is quite dead, I¡¯m sure of it. And he brought down this fortress with him.¡±


    ¡°Sad tidings indeed,¡± Silas shook his head. ¡°And now the forces that remain are at each others¡¯ throats. The ambitions of my kind are unquenchable, it seems. Do you know that your errant commander even deigned it fit to keep me imprisoned here? He took one look at me and decided I was not fit enough to be returned to my King¡¯s service. Though, from what I understand, Skeever Steelclaw has never had much respect for the servants of He-Who-Festers. Even now my Brothers cannot see that we require unity if we are to defeat those who threaten our existence.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°¡®Unity¡¯,¡± Marcus parroted, staring into the now dimming light in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful dream. It¡¯s one I once thought could have been possible for your kind. I fought ¨C I killed ¨C so the Kobolds could enjoy freedom just as the Ratmen do. Even as I sought out my own goals, as Skeever said, you must believe me when I say that I wanted to leave this place on good terms. I even imagined petitioning for Skeever to become the new First-Talon. Such lapse in judgment no doubt contributed to my own demise.¡±


    ¡°You must forgive Skeever Steelclaw his transgression,¡± Silas sighed. ¡°He acts as one of his station must, always at the beck and call of the Pack Leader who holds the most power ¨C whether political or martial. You must understand that such power now lies with King Shrykul. And that in itself,¡± Silas added. ¡°Will be a grave problem for our kind.¡±


    Marcus cocked an eyebrow as the ratman elaborated, rolling each syllable with his tongue as though he were reciting lines of poetry:


    ¡°There will be civil war,¡± he continued. ¡°The other Kings will look with envious eyes on Shrykul now that he has the tactics and technological advancements you have given him. Even within this prison, I have heard tales of your prowess, Shai-Alud. I have heard how you have changed things. And a law of the Underkingdom is that change does not come without slaughter.¡±


    Marcus bristled. ¡°You are implying that this coming civil war you predict will present certain opportunities?¡±


    Silas shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t they always? Nature abhors power vacuums.¡±


    Marcus looked back at the rat with more than a small degree of trepidation. But he looked, too, with a higher degree of desperation. He could already tell what this particular rat was angling for.


    ¡°You speak well for one of your kind, Silas,¡± he said. ¡°You are the first ratman I have encountered who doesn¡¯t talk with the present-tense cadence common to members of your species.¡±


    Again, the ratman gave a curious little shrug. It was a gesture that was mechanical, Marcus thought. It was supposed to betray humility.


    ¡°I have always lamented much about my Brethren,¡± Silas said, looking with great interest at Marcus¡¯s faintly glowing hand. ¡°One of our many foibles is our inability to learn the languages of others. Our penchant for isolation. Our lack of cooperation with other species ¨C all these things are, I think, connected. It is why I have enjoyed hearing about your exploits, Shai-Alud Marcus Graham. You have done much to elevate our species. It is a shame you will not be able to do more.¡±


    Marcus detected a hint of something in those words. Frustration? Admiration? Or was it envy¡­could it be this creature had more ambition in his tiny frame than Marcus thought?


    ¡°I have had little power on my side throughout my life,¡± Silas continued, speaking into the dank air that was growing ever more stagnant by the second. ¡°It is not strength, companionship, or resilience that have served me. Instead, it has been my curiosity. My patience. And my words.¡±


    ¡°Tools just as powerful as the sharpest sword,¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Perhaps even stronger, in the right hands.¡±


    Silas nodded humbly again ¨C and Marcus found himself thinking just how much of this little rat was real and how much was an act.


    ¡°Power is a curious thing, is it not?¡± the rat said. ¡°It only exists where people believe it resides. I have heard that, among the races of this world we call Thea, this notion is the only thing that connects us. Ironic then, that it is also the one thing that keeps us divided.¡±


    Marcus nodded. ¡°It is not too dissimilar from the conflicts in my own world.¡±


    Silas seemed unusually pleased by this admission, and not at all as shocked as Marcus expected him to be. He would have pressed the Ratman further were it not for the agonizing pain that suddenly ripped through him again, centered on his pulsing arm and the emerald-green lightning sparks coursing over his shaking hand.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Silas said, looking with fascinated eyes at the glowing hand. ¡°Sometimes belief truly is all it takes.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Marcus grunted. ¡°What is¡­this?¡±


    His hand looked as though it were about to erupt ¨C his veins seemed almost ready to burst and spew their corrupted contents across his cell.


    ¡°It is power,¡± Silas whispered. ¡°The power to make and unmake. Power that is known only to those closest to He-Who-Festers.¡±


    ¡°But I - ngh!¡± Marcus groaned as he tried to control his twitching fingers. ¡°I¡¯m not a Gloomraava!¡±


    ¡°I had heard as much,¡± Silas nodded sagely. ¡°But I have also learned never to distrust what my eyes can plainly see. And I see the untapped potential of the Gloomraav within you. Mostly, such power is attained only by those born to the will of the Unclean and bound in His service. But sometimes,¡± he added with a smirk of satisfaction, ¡°such power can be transferred. Though the process is¡­unfavorable to the Gloomraava who chooses to shed the light of the Unclean.¡±


    Deekius¡­ Marcus¡¯s mind rumbled, remembering how the very light of the High Priest¡¯s eyes had all but vanished as he healed him.


    Was that it? Was that the ¡®Gift¡¯ the horned beast offered me? Was that a dream, or a commandment to his servant? If that¡¯s true, then I owe Deekius a life debt once again. A debt I fear I can never truly repay¡­


    Marcus¡¯s eyes rose to meet those of the Prime Putrefact once more, and he saw the swirling light of his new power burning within those deep, black eyes.


    ¡°You still wish to go home, do you not?¡± Silas asked. ¡°I also have a wish I would see fulfilled. I think we can come to a suitable arrangement.¡±


    As Marcus struggled with his corrupted hand, he also heard the ratman¡¯s words, unsure what filled him with more abject terror. On the one hand, he had a Gift he knew he could make use of. He had a way to finally leave this black abyss.


    On the other hand, he had just met possibly the most dangerous little rat he¡¯d ever seen down here.


    Death or a deal with a devil, he mused. A Faustian bargain if ever I heard one. But at this point, what do I have to lose? Like the little rat says, I can still go home¡­


    That¡¯s more than most disgraced Generals get.


    ¡°Alright, Silas,¡± he said, seeing the eyes of the Ratman sparkle like a magpie¡¯s. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 82

    Silas licked his lips in the face of Marcus¡¯s pain and the urgency of his question.


    His answer was no less urgent: ¡°In exchange for your transportation, I will require some small payment.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s raised brows asked his next question for him.


    ¡°That,¡± Silas said, nodding hungrily at the tatty notebook lying at his feet.


    ¡°My journal?¡± Marcus queried, fighting through the increasing pain throbbing up his arm, wracking his whole body with shudders as though he were experiencing a death-spasm. ¡°Why ¨C ¡°


    His words were swallowed by the next surge of lightning, and he doubled over in agony, seeing the ratman watch his every move with sharper eyes than any he¡¯d seen before.


    Just give it to him, Marcus! his inner voice yelped. It¡¯s your life or your damned book. What would Mari say? Let the little beast satisfy his curiosity.


    ¡°I ¨C alright!¡± Marcus yelped. ¡°Once I¡¯m out of here, you can have it. Take it and the shirt off my back too if you want.¡±


    The ratman¡¯s eyes pulsed with delight ¨C even though the little creature tried his best to hide it.


    ¡°The journal shall suffice, Shai-Alud.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Marcus barked back. ¡°But you¡¯re not going to be sending me back to the ¡®Place Beyond¡¯. Instead, I want you to ¨C ngh! ¨C take¡­take me to Piper¡¯s¡­Hill¡­Piper¡¯s Hill!¡±


    He said the words as though he were a real wizard intoning a spell that would vaporize an entire continent. Maybe he was at this point ¨C the pain that sent whole tremors through his veins right now certainly made his body feel like a ticking time-bomb. But even through his agony he could remember the name of that place ¨C where the Yokun assassin had told him he would find Maria.


    He¡¯d come this far. He wasn¡¯t going home without her.


    ¡°Piper¡¯s Hill¡­¡± the ratman mused. ¡°Yes¡­yes, I believe I can do that.¡±


    Marcus saw the smile that stretched across Silas¡¯ face. He wasn¡¯t making any attempt to hide his emotions, now.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said again with a lick of his rotted fangs. ¡°That should be eminently agreeable.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I have a condition of my own,¡± Marcus then grimaced, clamping his hand down on the metal bars of his cell.


    Silas eyed him curiously. It seemed he was quite entertained by the question.


    ¡°Name it, Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°Though I must urge haste. The energies of the Gloomraav do not often wait upon the commands of their host. Especially not one so unused to it.¡±


    ¡°If belief is all it takes¡­to bring it under control¡­then it¡¯ll have to listen to me. I¡¯m it¡¯s master now.¡±


    As he said those words he looked with newfound determination on his pulsing hand, and watched the sparks travel towards his fingertips as they dug into the iron bars.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Silas whispered. ¡°Perhaps you are at that.¡±


    Marcus all but whirled on the rat. ¡°I have¡­someone,¡± he said through a snarl. ¡°Someone that I have to find up there. Someone I can¡¯t go back without. Silas¡­as Prime Putrefact of Clan Red-Eye, when I find her and return here, you¡¯ll send us both home.¡±


    He watched the Ratman grimace, his beady eyes flitting between Marcus¡¯s face and his closed fist.


    ¡°A journey to the surface,¡± Silas mused. ¡°And then a return. It is a pilgrimage legends are made of. But¡­are you sure you shall survive the trip? The surface of our world is unforgiving to even a seasoned General.¡±


    ¡°Except, as you so eloquently put it yourself, I¡¯m not a regular General anymore.¡±


    Both Rat and man watched the cell bar Marcus was gripping begin to melt away at his touch ¨C the sparks of green lightning traveling from his fingers up its surface and causing the very foundations of his cell door to bubble like a corrupted broth.


    ¡°Miraculous¡­¡± the Ratman murmured. ¡°To think a human could command the Power so quickly¡­But you are asking for my trust, Sire? This is surprising, considering your¡­track record.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Marcus said, a grim smile breaking under his duress. ¡°I¡¯m through trusting rats. You will do this for me, Silas, or I when I return here, I will destroy you.¡±


    Marcus watched the ratman¡¯s smile drop for only a fraction of a second. A snarl had formed there ¨C a snarl betraying something that ran far deeper than his surface-level eloquence.


    Then, just as quickly, the moment passed, and he was back to his rather jovial self.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, Sire,¡± he said quietly. ¡°That¡¯s the way. If there is a lesson you have learned here, it is how the races of this world can be coerced. Sometimes the carrot must be used, yes? And sometimes¡­the stick is preferable.¡±


    Marcus said nothing as he stared back at the devious little Ratman. For his part, Silas understood the urgency in his demand. It seemed the well-spoken rat now needed no more persuading. The time for pretty speech was evidently over.


    ¡°I give you my word, on my honor as Prime Putrefact,¡± he said. ¡°Upon your return to the Underkingdom, you shall have your final wish granted.¡±


    With their compact thus formed, Marcus closed his eyes and grit his teeth, focusing on the energy slowly building up through his whole body. His thoughts, once tinged only with the devastation of his impending demise, were now filled with thoughts of freedom. He still had a chance to save at least one soul trapped in this world. He wasn¡¯t beaten yet.


    Maybe it was infernal luck that was on his side ¨C the same luck that had put him in the same dungeon as the very rat he had quested for since first he¡¯d heard his name. Or maybe the machinations of the sinister intelligence these beasts called ¡®The Unclean¡¯ had set him on this path. It has called him its ¡®champion¡¯, had it not?


    Regardless, he refused to be a puppet to anyone else in this blasted realm. Right now, his own will was his guide. And his thoughts finally fixed on one primal desire at the very core of the maelstrom of agony that was dominating the root of his being:


    Freedom.


    Almost as quickly as the thought formed in his mind, the bars of his cell collapsed, and Marcus Graham walked free.


    ¡­


    ¡°Are you smelling that?¡±


    ¡°I am smelling nothing but your eggy breath.¡±


    FimianScabpaw stood watch over the Southern exit of Grindlefecht dungeon, taking in the strange, yet distinct scents that he could sense emanating from behind the wrought iron door that led to the cells.


    ¡°It is smelling like¡­burning,¡± he told his compatriot ¨C the grey-brown form belonging to ratguard SkevusSkampper, who was just getting ready for his shift change.


    ¡°Of course it is smelling like burning, idiot,¡± Skevus told his junior as he straightened up his chainmail and corrected his guard-stance. ¡°Are you forgetting what we are all going through to take this place?¡±


    Fimian nodded once, dumbly, and with embarrassment. This was to be the greatest triumph of his short career ¨C not only surviving the great battle that had won the ratguard of Red-Eye Grindlefect, but being here to meet with King Shrykul and hand him the Shai-Alud himself! His name would pass into the annals of legend with great Greyfax and Talon-Commander SkeeverSteelclaw for sure.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Skevus told him. ¡°Be waiting here until I am returning. Be standing just like that ¨C like a good ratguard ¨C and do not be whispering any more of strange smells!¡±


    Even at his superior¡¯s ire, Fimian bristled.


    ¡°But ¨C what if the Shai-Alud¡­¡±


    A stout clap round his ears silenced Fimian before he could say more.


    ¡°Bah!¡± Skevus growled. ¡°The Shai-Alud is gone. He is forgotten, now. You are seeing him when they are draggin him down here. There is no way he can be escaping ¨C not even a miracle of the Unclean could be saving him now! And even then ¨C are you knowing He-Who-Festers to be granting miracles to soap-sniffing humans?¡±


    Fimian shook his head sadly, ashamed of his own stupidity. He didn¡¯t even look up to see his Brother march up the long, angular stairs up to the tower that still stood above ¨C perhaps one of the only structures that still remained of Grindlefecht in the wake of the great, and terrible, battle.


    But fortune often came out of terror, Fimian reminded himself. From the ashes of war, the greatest champions rose. Hadn¡¯t the Shai-Alud himself once been nothing more than just a naked man summoned in a war-locked cave? If even a human could rise in their ranks, then Fimian would have his chance. He would have his day, no matter what strange sounds he was hearing approach him from behind, or the increasing smell of burning flesh assailing his nostrils, or the growing pressure being applied round his ne-


    ¡­


    Marcus tightened his grip round the ratguard¡¯s neck and grunted as he felt the green lightning of the Gloomraav travel down his arm and leap into the creature¡¯s every pore before the little critter even had a chance to scream. The beast kicked out, tried to grab his assailant¡¯s arms, and his blooddhot eyeballs twisted as they lighted on the man who was quietly electrocuting him ¨C sending volts of searing, killing light into the ratman¡¯s organs until each one blackened and failed, ending finally in the rupturing and burning of his heart¡¯s valves and the blackening of those same eyes that would dream of glory no more.


    Marcus let the charred body drop and turned his attention to the thin strips of light emanating from the staircase before him.


    ¡°Where¡­¡± he panted, his hand still buzzing with the evil light that was now his weapon. ¡°Where did you say we needed to go?¡±


    Silas came creeping out of the melted dungeon door and inspected the corpse with his toe, prodding at it like a child would a legless spider.


    ¡°The Summoning Chamber,¡± he said. ¡°Or, at least, what remains of it. Boss Skegga constructed it as a means to force me to summon a Shai-Alud to our cause. He did not expect my Brothers would accomplish it before me. But then,¡± the ratman added with a mischievous grin. ¡°The Path of the Unclean often takes strange turns.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s something I¡¯ve been hearing a lot, lately,¡± he said as he looked down at the inert piece of char-grilled rat lying at his feet. ¡°Come on.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 83

    The unlit staircase of the Grindlefecht West Tower seemed to stretch on forever as he stumbled up its dank, dust-strewn steps.


    ¡°How much farther?¡± he asked his companion.


    ¡°To the top of the tower, Marcus!¡± Silas shouted up at him as they peered around the bend in the staircase column. ¡°We must make it through the guard barracks to the adjoining spire. Let us move with haste¡ªI fear our unfortunate dungeon guard will have been discover¡ª¡±


    His voice was stopped by the sudden appearance of two ratguards that had just thrown open a door beside them, eyeballs bulging with the shock of what they¡¯d just found.


    ¡°Sh-Shai-Alud! The Shai-Alud has¡ª¡±


    Marcus¡¯s hand flared with green fire that leaped from his fingertips to silence the ratguard. His friend brought his halberd to bear with cries of ¡°By the Unclean!¡± on his lips as Marcus threw himself at him and jammed his fingers in the ratman¡¯s eyes, searing them clean from their sockets and leaving his face a hollowed-out skull while he kept the creature¡¯s body pressed down under his own.


    He¡¯d already taken enough lives down here¡­what did two more matter?


    The rats had come from the guard barracks that were still in a relatively stable state. Evidently, the Western Wing of the keep had managed to weather the explosions.


    If the adrenaline of the escape was not overcoming Marcus¡¯s senses at this moment, he might have paused to reflect on how curious it was that this tower in particular, and its adjoining buildings, had been left untouched by the explosions.


    Presently, he heard a general shout go up from the bottom of the West Tower, and he stood shakily and began following Silas as the latter scurried to the end of the barracks.


    ¡°Hurry, Marcus!¡± he shouted. ¡°They will be coming for us!¡±


    Marcus wasted no time in staring at his broken foes beneath him. He forced himself to sprint past the barracks tables, flipping them over as he barged through the hall, still grabbing his wrist to still the raging energy coursing through him.


    ¡°STOP!¡±


    A voice¡ªa chorus from behind. He knew they had found them.


    ¡°ARCHERS! BE FIRING!¡±


    Silas was at the far door as the first volley of crossbow bolts sailed past Marcus¡¯s neck and he fell into a roll, taking up one of the long barrack tables and pressing his back against it.


    ¡°Silas!¡± he barked as he heard the crossbow-rats reload. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    The Putrefact was fumbling with the door-lock, trying to pick at it with his fumbling claws.


    ¡°Silas!¡±


    ¡°They are changing the locks on my spire¡¯s door, Sire!¡± he shouted back at him. ¡°I must pick the lock with¡ª¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time!¡± Marcus screamed as the next volley of bolts slammed into his table shield and almost pierced his neck. ¡°Let me burn it.¡±


    ¡°No, Sire!¡± Silas called over his shoulder. ¡°Focus on our enemies¡ªdo not let them gain on us!¡±


    Chancing a look over the lip of his meager defensive position, Marcus saw a squad of ratguards advancing on his position, shields bared, nostrils flaring with murderous intent.


    Damn it, he thought, looking past them to the small unit of crossbowmen that had him pinned, readying their weapons to splinter the table apart with the next volley. This time¡­they¡¯re shooting to kill.


    He dragged his hand up over the lip of the table and let fly an arc of scintillating green lightning that instantly sent the ratguard squad flying back into their compatriots, their backs taking the brunt of the crossbow bolts that had just been fired.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    It seemed that there were more uses to this little trick of light in his hand than he¡¯d at first thought. Though, with every new use of the power, he felt his every muscle become weaker and weaker...


    ¡°Silas!¡± he shouted as the ratguard threw the wounded forms of their comrades from them and readied their weapons again.


    ¡°Just¡­a second¡­longer!¡± the Putrefact groaned, his fingers working like thin silver picks as they turned each tumbler of the rusted door locks.


    ¡°A second¡¯s about all we have!¡± Marcus shouted back, looking up at the grand chandelier that dominated this room¡¯s ceiling¡ªa testament to dwarven craftsmanship that, like the rest of this place, was about to become just another pile of decorative rubble.


    Before the next flurry of bolts struck his table, he sent a spear of lightning towards the chandelier¡¯s anchor and watched it tear free from the ceiling to crash in between both him and the slowly advancing squad at the door.


    ¡°Ready, Sire!¡± Silas squeaked from behind.


    Marcus didn¡¯t wait for the dust to settle. He¡¯d seen enough in the rage-filled eyes of the ratguard that had once been his to command as they sent their projectiles flying towards him to know that they had completely turned against him at this point. His friends¡ªhis real comrades¡ªthey were dead and forgotten. So much for the constancy of rats...


    He and Silas slipped through the door without slamming it shut behind them.


    ¡°There is no time!¡± Silas roared as Marcus turned and sent two more arcs of light cascading towards the advancing rats. ¡°Come, Marcus!¡±


    Up the spiral staircase of the West tower spire they lumbered, Silas taking the lead, being careful to check around the narrow column of the staircase lest they have assailants already charging them from above. But it was from below that the threats were coming. Even from within this grim passage of stone, Marcus could hear the shrill cries of the ratguard as they thundered up from below, chainmail and weapons clattering in their hands, paws scampering to capture the human that would bring them glory in the eyes of their King.


    When they finally reached the top of the tower, Silas pushed open the ornate metal door and ushered his charge inside, with Marcus sending three more bolts traveling down the staircase to slow their assailants. He watched as the green tendrils shot forth from his hand, ricocheting off the pristine masonry of the Dwarven walls and traveling down the length of the staircase. The anguished wails of the rats below, coupled by the sounds of clattering shields and burning bodies falling like dominoes back down the stairs, told him his aim had been true.


    And yet still, he had to stop and collapse as the pain of his new power overcame him yet again. He looked about at the low-ceiling chamber they had just blundered into, filled with meager tables and chairs and a star-shaped imprint etched into the center of the room. At various raised grooves along the six-pointed star were set a series of gray-waxen candles which Silas was presently lighting with haste.


    ¡°Silas¡­¡± he breathed as he moved to barricade the door with the simple furniture he found in the room. ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°Time, Marcus,¡± the Putrefact replied. ¡°The summoning ritual is delicate. Not so violent as that which would result from one¡¯s transportation from the Place Beyond, of course. But the experience will be no less jarring for you.¡±


    Marcus grimaced as he rose, beating his twitching right hand against his door-barricade that Silas momentarily paused to regard him as he slumped down beside it.


    ¡°Silas,¡± he wheezed. ¡°Can you do it?¡±


    The ratman smirked down at him. ¡°If the Unclean is willing.¡±


    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll find out soon enough,¡± Marcus snorted as he felt the barricade shudder behind him, knowing the ratguard had made it to the door with murder in their hearts.


    And they weren¡¯t alone.


    ¡°Stand in the center,¡± Silas told him hastily. ¡°Breathe deeply. Keep your body as steady as possible. A single limb outside the radius of the summoning sigil is unlikely to remain attached to its bearer.¡±


    *Just another horror before I leave this place. Typical.*


    From outside the glass windows, Marcus could hear the scarpering of paws on stone, digging into the grooves in the spire¡¯s brickwork and bearing relentlessly towards their destination.


    ¡°Do it, Silas,¡± Marcus ordered, readying his shaking hand and aiming it, open-palmed, at the window nearest the door. ¡°You have until they take this hand from me.¡±


    The ratman nodded relentlessly. ¡°You are as brave as they say, Marcus Graham.¡±


    The next few seconds passed by in a series of snapshots punctuated by the roaring of Marcus¡¯s lightning. Two ratmen smashed through the windows, teeth flaring and weapons shining in the light that arced towards them.


    He got one in the jugular, the lightning coiling around his neck and burning the life out of him almost instantly. The other rat was faster, dropping into a roll to avoid the next attack and managing to enter the circle proper. Marcus threw himself to the ground to avoid the vicious swipe that his assailant aimed at his kneecap and felt his calf open as the blade nicked it.


    He crouched low, his hand raised to strike back, still thrumming with the energies that he felt would kill him any minute if he didn¡¯t direct them at another target.


    And then he looked into the eyes of the ratman who had maimed him¡ªthe ratman who was presently staring right back at him from the other side of the summoning circle, and whose blade was now dripping with Marcus¡¯s fresh blood.


    He was looking into the eyes of Skeever Steelclaw.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 84

    The First-Talon watched the eyes of the Talon-Commander of Clan Red-Eye in the split second he had before the latter lunged with his machete, killing instincts well and truly taking over now.


    Marcus¡¯s hand flew of its own accord to protect him, firing an arc of chained green lightning at Skeever¡¯s body, which the ratman only narrowly managed to meet with the edge of his weapon. He was pushed back, slowly being dragged from the circle by the power of Marcus¡¯s new ability.


    ¡°Deekius, I am being sure!¡± Skeever roared. ¡°He is being a thorn in my side even in death!¡±


    Marcus grimaced, one eye flying towards Silas as he made his final inkings on the edge of the star-platform. Behind him, his basic barricade was slowly being torn apart by the claws of the ratguard, who had managed to rip through pieces of the doorway.


    ¡°Is this the ending you wanted, Skeever?¡± Marcus asked as he pressed forward, focusing all his remaining strength and willpower into his flaring fingers. ¡°For the sake of the camaraderie we once shared, I¡¯ll offer you this: drop your weapon, and I shall go in peace. Tell your King you did your duty.¡±


    ¡°Tsk!¡± Skeever grimaced. ¡°You are thinking I will ever trust the word of a human?¡±


    ¡°You dare talk to me of trust?¡± Marcus screamed back, sounding more rat-like by the second.


    Slowly the ratman began to press forward, his blade deflecting the energies of Marcus¡¯s lightning right back at him, so that its thin, deathly tendrils ripped past his shoulders and impacted the furniture and walls behind.


    ¡°Sire!¡± Silas wailed. ¡°I am ready!¡±


    Marcus saw the crimson eyes of Skeever fly towards those of Silas for only the briefest of moments before he turned his attention back to Marcus, taking another beleaguered step towards him.


    ¡°You are being a fool, Marcus,¡± he growled against the cacophony of Marcus¡¯s cackling light. ¡°You are thinking this creature will truly help you escape?¡±


    Marcus saw the intent in the rat¡¯s eyes. He saw him eye Silas again as the Putrefact knelt to intone the words of Summoning ¨C words that Marcus could barely even hear over the chaos that was to be his final moments in the Underkingdom.


    ¡°Try it,¡± he said. ¡°And I will kill you.¡±


    Skeever Steelclaw licked his lips, clenched his fingers tighter around the handle of his Brother¡¯s blade, and grinned.


    ¡°You. Will. Try.¡±


    Before the final syllable even left his mouth, he had tossed his weapon at Marcus¡¯s throat, and the killing light of the Gloomraav traveled with the blade ¨C turning the weapon into a vicious boomerang of magical energy that flew for Marcus¡¯s head.


    Had the luck of his God been with him, the attack would have severed Marcus¡¯s forehead and sent nothing more than a blathering numbskull into the surface-world. Instead, it tore clean through the Red-Eye insignia Marcus wore upon his helmet and continued on its path of destruction around the room, breaking everything in its path and even slicing through the ratguard who had just managed to get the door open.


    But Skeever did not wait to see the results of his desperate attack. As he had launched the blade, he had leaped for the crouched form of Silas, and only Marcus¡¯s lean, lanky body allowed him to intercept the rat and hold him down, pinning him to the chamber floor.


    ¡°SILAS!¡± Marcus wailed as Skeever bit down on his arm with raw, animal strength. ¡°NOW!¡±


    But the Putrefact needed no further instruction. Before Marcus¡¯s eyes, he saw the room begin to spin, then felt a distinct feeling of weightlessness accompany the sudden change in motion. The Summoning Chamber of Grindlefect melted away ¨C a kaleidoscopic vision of browns and greys mixed in with the vibrant crimson of Marcus¡¯s blood rising like a levitating stream above his arm, where Skeever¡¯s teeth had made their mark. The ratman himself had cried out in fury in the very moment when the spinning room finally disappeared entirely, the last sights being those of the ratguard blundering their way into the room and seeing nothing but Silas¡¯s doubled-over form bowed before them.


    The world vanished as all light receded. Nothing remained except pure, unfiltered color ¨C a spectrum of light that Marcus could barely comprehend. The entire floor had opened up and swallowed him. The ceiling had broken and given way to the deluge of otherworldly light. It was like the most lucid dream or a hallucinogenic trip brought to vivid, full, and blooming life around him. All sound was gone. All pain ¨C a memory. Nothing but he, his body, and the feeling of motion as he traveled through means unknown towards a destination he could no longer even remember.


    Skeever tumbled beside him, his voice lost in the unknown passage between lands. His weapon was gone. His claws, teeth, eyes, and mouth all dribbled and frothed, alight with agony. Perhaps such teleportation magics were inherently dangerous for Ratkin. Perhaps their brains simply could not cope with the sudden onrush of stimuli. Even Marcus was having trouble focusing as he floated towards the twitching rat.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Skeever seemed to acknowledge his presence. For, as he swam towards him in the psychedelic void, the Ratman¡¯s beady eyes lighted on his face. His face ¨C and the pale hand outstretched towards him. The one that did not bear the marks of the Gloomraav.


    ¡°Take my hand!¡± Marcus shouted, his voice practically a child¡¯s whimper.


    Even in this moment of lucidity, Marcus was struck by just how powerful unchecked hatred could be. He saw the shuddering eyes of Skeever see his hand, watching as his fingers stretched towards him. He saw the Ratman look up at him with quiet, seething disdain ¨C disdain born from the fact he had let this human command him all this time. Marcus saw, as clear as the deluge of colors that cascaded down all around them, just how palpable Skeever¡¯s anger was ¨C and how resolute was his belief that Marcus had betrayed him and his people.


    Love for his race, and hatred for another. That was the dichotomy that ruled Skeever Steelclaw.


    And it was that same dichotomy that made him relinquish his one good arm and kick away from Marcus, floating silently into the psychedelic ocean until he finally disappeared from view.


    ¡°Skeever¡­¡± Marcus murmured as the lightshow finally began to recede. ¡°Damn you¡­¡±


    ¡­


    He awoke to a sight that he never thought he¡¯d ever see again and had to blink through the hazy blur before his face to assure himself that he was really looking at what he thought he was:


    A clear, crisp, pale blue sky.


    He took it in. He focused his vision, seeing the sun of mid-afternoon peek through a small wisp of cloud before vanishing again like a celestial deity playing a children¡¯s game.


    He breathed. Air. Pure. Unfiltered. A little humid, perhaps, but anything was a blessing compared to the corrupted stank he¡¯d had to put up with in the cavernous realm that now lay below his feet.


    As he lay, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his grime-soaked skin, he suddenly began to make out thin trails of black streaking their way through the air ¨C like small blankets being draped across the day. Like little columns of smoke being belched by a cheerful bird gracing the heavens with its flight. Or¡­or like¡­


    ¡°MOVE!¡±


    Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him up, throwing both of them into the rain-beaten mud of the jungle that had suddenly burst into view before Marcus¡¯s unblinking eyes. Just as quickly as he had picked out the sight of the smoking column streaking towards them, the thing exploded and threw up a blanket of dirt and vegetation across their backs.


    ¡°Alright, up, son!¡± the voice of Marcus¡¯s savior grunted. ¡°The next Hakka volley¡¯s comin¡¯ in three. That¡¯s plenty o¡¯ time ta hog tail it outta dodge!¡±


    Marcus found himself unable to even protest. Without another word, the owner of this voice lifted him up and slung him over his shoulders, sprinting through the thick jungle overgrowth towards a destination that must have been deeply ingrained in his mind ¨C so singular was the path he tore towards it.


    Marcus then looked down at the hasty feet of his savior and noticed something even more shocking to his system than the blue sky and clean air of the surface:


    This man was a human.


    A great, burly mountain of a human, true enough. But ¨C everything ¨C down to his physique, his relative lack of skin-hair, his tailless behind¡­everything about him just screamed ¡®human.¡¯ Everything, that is, except the iron collar affixed to his neck. And the disconcerting, laser-focused imprinting of ¡®#621¡¯ along its dull length¡­


    But his voice, gruff and tinged with what sounded like a blend between a country accent and that of an old English peasant farmer, only cemented Marcus¡¯s suspicions.


    ¡°By the blazin¡¯ balls of Anathemus!¡± he laughed, panting with every frenzied step. ¡°I knew that damn light was the work o¡¯ magic. Thought maybe we had a new shaman to help out Jun-Ei, but hot-DAMN did we strike it lucky! Woulda helped you out regardless o¡¯ your station, good sir. But ho-ho! When I saw it was you lying there, smiling up at these skies like you¡¯d never laid eyes on ¡¯em before, well! I knew I¡¯d done the right thing taking the chance during the daily barrage. Name¡¯s Marvin, by the way. Marvin Trellosk. Farmer ¨C well, ex-farmer, technically, owing to the whole slavery thing. But ¨C hey! Now that you¡¯re here, I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ we don¡¯t got nothing to worry about no more! No, sir! Not when we got ¨C¡±


    ¡°Y¡­you,¡± Marcus stammered.


    Marvin glanced around to see Marcus hanging off his shoulder, bloodshot eyes glaring at him like a hungry gremlin.


    ¡°You¡­you¡¯re human¡­¡±


    The sprinting ex-farmer smiled a toothy smile. ¡°Sure am, bucko,¡± he said. ¡°Same as you. Am I your first? Hope I make a good impression. The way I hear it, you¡¯ve been hanging with rats for way too long.¡±


    ¡°Rats¡­¡± Marcus mumbled, taking in the sights of increasingly dead or burning trees and foliage around him. ¡°Where¡­where are we?¡±


    ¡°Questions for Jun-Ei, son,¡± Marvin rumbled as he quickened his pace. ¡°Brace yourself ¨C next barrage incoming!¡±


    Before Marcus could ask any follow-up questions, the piercing, shrill din of another arcing projectile screamed through the sky towards them, hitting a tree to their left and engulfing it and the small primates that called it home in white-hot fire.


    White-hot¡­Marcus thought. Come to think of it¡­this increasingly ruined jungle environment does remind me of something¡­


    Another rocket screeched through the air to batter a small river running alongside them, throwing Marvin momentarily off course and sending him careening towards a nearby cave.


    ¡°Almost there!¡± he roared above the din of the next rocket flying right towards them. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you really do have the luck of the Gods on your side, son!¡±


    ¡°W-wait!¡± Marcus shouted as he looked up to see the dark pillar of screaming death homing in on them as though it were watching them with a killer¡¯s own eyes. The feet of this former farmer weren¡¯t going to outrun it. Not even with all his tenacity and almost childlike confidence. Not this time¡­


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 85

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make it, son!¡± Marvin screamed above the death-rattle of the rocket that was currently on course to turn them both into mincemeat.


    No, Marcus thought again as he looked into the black column homing in on their position. Not this time¡­


    Marcus¡¯s hand flared up of its own accord and he sent a spark of cackling green energy straight up at the projectile, shielding his eyes as it then exploded directly above them, and Marvin finally lunged towards the stone cave mouth.


    When the back of his head hit the grey stone of the cave floor he grimaced in pain and turned back to see the devastation the explosion had unleashed on the landscape. Clearly, these barrages had been a common occurrence ¨C beyond the mouth of this little sanctuary the density of the jungle was carved away like a thin layer of skin peeled from a rotten body. Only the charred, dead earth remained where nothing new grew, and pockets of still flaming vegetation were creeping up the trees that remained to snuff out their colors ¨C sticking to the leaves on their boughs and dripping down to burn clean through their roots.


    As his eyes adjusted to the smoky haze that hung over this dying place, Marcus finally recalled what this particular fiery discharge reminded him of.


    Napalm¡­


    His companion, meanwhile, seemed much more preoccupied with Marcus¡¯s glowing hand.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be a Tuthlatch¡¯ka¡¯s flopping teat,¡± Marvin wheezed. ¡°They didn¡¯t tell me you were a bleedin¡¯ wizard, too!¡±


    ¡°Recently¡­anointed,¡± Marcus groaned, the pain radiating up his arm becoming more pronounced again, and he was forced to remember exactly how these new powers had come to him. ¡°But¡­wait¡­how is it you know who I am?¡±


    Marvin smiled, wiping the residue of soot and dirt from his face, creeping to the end of their small cave and beating his meaty hands on the back wall.


    ¡°Buddy,¡± he said as he stood back, apparently satisfied. ¡°You don¡¯t know how famous you are round these parts.¡±


    At Marcus¡¯s questioning glare his savior merely nodded as a small rectangular slab was removed from the wall he¡¯d just knocked on.


    Two amber eyes stared out from the gap.


    ¡°What is the song of the Pipers?¡±


    ¡°The song that lives in every slave¡¯s mind,¡± Marvin said with a full-lipped smile. ¡°The song that breaks the chains that bind.¡±


    The eyes blinked once, the slab closed over, and Marcus heard a series of indiscriminate clicks and bumps of activity on the other side of the wall.


    Then he saw that it was no wall at all, but a door. One that opened to afford the entrance into a dimly lit hallway that was certainly not part of this natural cave formation.


    ¡°Best to let me take the lead, son,¡± Marvin said as he stepped forward abruptly. ¡°The Piper¡¯s are a little overly-cautious. Can¡¯t blame ¡®em, really.¡±


    Marcus cocked an eyebrow as he followed Marvin into the metal bowels of the hallways and heard the ¡®door¡¯ of the fake cave wall bolt shut behind them.


    ¡°Pipers?¡± he asked, suddenly remembering everything that had been locked behind the wall of color he¡¯d traveled through ¨C the flight from the Grindlefecht dungeons, the confrontation with Skeever, and the name of the place the Yokun assassin had told him to run to if he wanted to find Mari¡­


    ¡°You got it,¡± Marvin smiled, pointing to the number on his neck. ¡°See this? Used to be my ¡®number¡¯ the bastardYokun slapped on me before the Pipers came and torched their slave market. Shoulda seen it, son. They killed the bastards good and shackled the overseers themselves. Jun-El ¨C she¡¯s our head-shaman - calls it ¡®poetic justice¡¯. A Yokun herself, though I don¡¯t hate her for what her people do. After all, she¡¯s out here fighting the good fight, right?¡¯


    Marcus shook his head as he tried to take in all the strange new details this ¡®ex-farmer¡¯ (who was really as it turned out a slave on the run) was imparting to him.


    ¡°The Pipers¡­¡± Marcus mouthed, almost not even noticing the metal door towards which Marvin was reaching. ¡°You mean to tell me that this is¡­¡±


    ¡°You got it, son,¡± Marvin smiled, opening the door to reveal an entirely new kind of underground world to Marcus. ¡°Welcome to Piper¡¯s Hill.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    An entire cavern dug deep into the earth filled his vision, filled with metal-sheath structures that resembled small slum-housing. Coal fires were currently burning within these huts without a care, and Marcus noticed how they stretched on seemingly for miles into the cave system ¨C an entire shanty town built beneath the burning jungle above.


    Not quite the ¡®hill¡¯ I had in mind, was Marcus¡¯s first thought. I escape one underground society and am immediately harried into another. Though as far as I can tell, this place looks like a temporary place of accommodation at most.


    The air was far cooler than that of the Underkingdom, and as Marcus and Marvin stepped onto the creaky metal platform that opened out into what looked like a kind of makeshift town square, Marcus realized there must have been an internal ventilation system that was running down here. Either that, or some wizardly magic was at play ¨C perhaps both, judging by what he knew about Thean physics. Orjust how much he still didn¡¯t know.


    In the middle of the town square there was a ramshackle statue constructed out of pieces of metal shards and discarded weapons. The statue resembled that of a female Yokun in rags with both her hands crushing a pair of broken chains.Children of various races were engaged in hanging from its outstretched arms and playing around its booted feet ¨C children that all shared the same defining trait: the branded number cut into the skinfolds of their necks¡­


    They stopped playing when the saw the new arrival. And they were not alone ¨C all around him Marcus could hear murmurs and whisperings coming from every slum-house that now surrounded him, seeing the eyes of at least two dozen creatures appraise him as though they were looking at a walking God. Some things never change.


    THUMP.


    His thought was cut off, along with his windpipe, as something fell from the sky and pinned him to the ground.


    The crowd breathed a collective gasp and hung back, mothers and fathers appearing from their houses to guide their children away from the sight.


    Above him, Marcus heard a distinct sound ¨C something so familiar that it struck him even more than the pain as this creature¡¯s thigh dug into his neck.


    The sounds of a hissing cat.


    ¡°Well, well, well,¡± it said ¨C in a voice that was distinctly feminine. ¡°Whatever do we have here? New prey for this hungry little kitten, Marv?¡±


    Marcus thought discretion the better part of valor. He resisted the urge to let fly his bolts of lightning. This time, if he had to redo his summoning process, he¡¯d have to leave a better first impression¡­


    Marvin, however, barely seemed troubled at all by this assault.


    ¡°Kara¡­¡± he wheezed. ¡°Why you gotta always spook the new guys like that?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t spooked, are you, little one?¡± the creature on top of Marcus asked as it brought its mouth closer and closer to its prey¡¯s pinned face. ¡°Mmmm. You do have a rather pleasant scent. The type I¡¯m quite fond of¡­¡±


    ¡°I can vouch for him,¡± Marvin said. ¡°He ain¡¯t no plant. In fact, he¡¯s exactly who we¡¯ve been looking for!¡±


    Marcus¡¯s assailant give him a hearty sniff.


    ¡°He smells human,¡± she said. ¡°He feels¡­human. But¡­yes¡­something is off. He¡¯s no Thean, that¡¯s for sure. But is he our man, really?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that, Kana,¡± another female voice then called out from above.


    Marcus barely even felt his attacker¡¯s foot leave his neck. He barely even marveled at her thin, furry tail that poked out of her backside or the twirling of her whiskers as she slipped stealthily away from him. Not because the sight of a catwoman didn¡¯t excite the imagination, but because the voice he had just heard compelled him to stand and stare at its owner as though it were a siren¡¯s song.


    His eyes strained to look at the woman who stepped out of one of the shacks to stand before him. He could see her, alright ¨C he could see the thin leather armor that clung to her body and could trace the pale limbs that poked out from beneath her tunic. He could follow the heavy rise and fall of her chest and could trace every curve of her pink-hued lips as she opened them to stare just as dumfounded at the sight of him as he was at her. He dared not even allow his mind to speak her name, for fear that the apparition he saw before him, parting the crowd of runaway slaves like a living, breathing Boudicca, was nothing but a cruel trick of his mind. A holdover from the hallucinogenic properties of Silas¡¯ teleportation method.


    Only when she spoke again could his mind truly commit to the insane notion that she was standing here, in front of him.


    ¡°Marvin,¡± she breathed. ¡°I asked you to find me scraps out there. Instead, you¡¯ve brought me gold.¡±


    There are times in a man¡¯s life when he must remind himself to stand even though he knows that every fibre of his being wants nothing more than to break down and weep. This feeling of responsibility surged through Marcus in this moment with more caustic intensity than it ever had before. He walked ¨C at least, he thought he was walking ¨C towards the lucid vision that swam before his eyes. A dream bearing the form of a woman.


    And when he finally stood mere inches from her face, and looked into the lilly-pads of her eyes, the thoughts of oblivion that had so haunted him mere hours ago suddenly faded away into the nape of her neck, the light twitching of her nose as she sniffled, and the short gasp of breath that escaped from her mouth when he finally had enough belief to say her name.


    ¡°Maria.¡±


    She took his head in her hands and giggled like a schoolgirl as she blinked through the tears forming at the edges of her eyes. The expression was something so innocent, so pure, and so utterly incongruous in this new world that it made Marcus think what she said next was nothing more than the final lines of a nightmare he thought he¡¯d never wake up from:


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°Welcome home, Marcus.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Book 1 Epilogue

    Silas stared through the cracked windows of his Summoning Chamber, watching the meager force of ratguard bustle about as they tried to spruce up the place in preparation for the King¡¯s arrival.


    He smiled to see it. Ants, toiling under his vision.


    Only a week ago, they had looked on him as an enemy when they burst through the Shai-Alud¡¯s barricade and found only the bruised and crumpled body of Silas lying before the Summoning Circle. They had probed him with startled questions¡ªassuming that he was the one who had helped the condemned Shai-Alud escape¡ªbut their complaints were soon put to rest by the voice of the Prime Putrefact. As soon as they heard him speak, they knew they had been in the wrong.


    With appropriate humility, he had explained the situation: their crippled leader, Skeever, had taken pity on his old friend. He had been talked out of handing him over to the King by the honeyed words that dripped from the traitor¡¯s human tongue. Together they had beaten Silas and forced him to send them to the vile Yokun above. There, they would plot together to overthrow the very empire they had once helped to build.


    Silas licked his frayed lips, savoring the supplication the rats who now danced below him were showing. They had accepted his story almost as quickly as he had spun it¡ªhadn¡¯t it been known to everyone that Talon-Commander Skeever had always been the dogged right-hand of the Shai-Alud during their campaigns? Hadn¡¯t it also been known that Skeever had gone down to speak with the Shai-Alud on the eve of his escape? It made complete sense, even if it evoked more ire in the ratguards than they had ever had to contain within their tiny breasts. Two betrayals right under their noses¡­a few of them were beginning to blame themselves.


    But Silas¡ªgood, honorable, Silas¡ªwas there to dissuade them from such notions. They were the bravest rats in all the North Warrens. They were truly loyal to their King and would await his arrival with hope in their hearts. The Kobolds were no more¡ªdead or enslaved¡ªand the technology of the dwarves was still theirs. They would present the King with a greater prize even than this: they would offer up the Prime Putrefact himself¡ªthe ratman who had endured torture upon torture in the name of his faith. Truly, none of the ratguard were even worthy of standing before him.


    In truth, it was a pity to be heading home. Silas sighed as he thought of his time within these dark walls. It had been toiling, at times, and it had been a grueling process to win the fat toad and his forces to his side, but he had to admit he had a certain fondness for their base natures. He admired the purity of their minds¡ªuntouched by notions of self-preservation and sustained by anger. He would miss their childishness as he entered the realm of petty politics that characterized his own race.


    But, he told himself. At least I won¡¯t be going home empty-handed¡­


    He groped around in his robe and produced the tattered journal he had managed to secure from the Shai-Alud. Already he had flicked through its dense pages, his curiosity growing with every flick of each new page. Secrets were contained within this tome that went far beyond his own understanding¡ªfar beyond the ken of anyone who had been born in the grim darkness of this dismal underground they called home.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The mind of this man¡ªthis Marcus¡ªhad changed things down here. And these words would change yet more. As the man had said himself, they were tools. Tools that simply had to be placed in the right hands.


    He wondered where the man and his right-hand rat were now. If they had truly made it to Piper¡¯s Hill, he would be surprised, but it would not be unpleasant to think they had survived the impromptu transport. Silas wasn¡¯t about to believe that a commander as skilled as this Marcus would have truly been felled by an improper teleport. It was why the Putrefact had kept up his word. He¡¯d sent him exactly where he¡¯d wanted to go. After all, this world would be distinctly more interesting with this human in it. Who else would ensure that the war raging above continued? Who else would ensure that the conflict would keep all the surfacers preoccupied while he consolidated his position beneath their feet, biding his time for the Skittering that would end all Skitterings?


    It would take time. It would take patience, and it would take a lot more than just honeyed words. But Silas was a very patient rat.


    As the first troops of Red-Eye appeared on the horizon, Silas licked his frayed lips in anticipation. His mind then drifted back to his time in the Summoning Chamber. The chamber was a place of ancient power, a relic from a time when the world was young and the lines between realms were thin. The walls were inscribed with runes of binding and protection, and the air hummed with the energy of countless summoning rituals that had been performed there. Silas had spent countless hours in that chamber, learning its secrets and mastering its power.


    He had come a long way from the humble ratling he had once been, scurrying through the tunnels and dreaming of greatness. He had fought and clawed his way to the top, navigating the treacherous politics of both sides of this pathetic little conflict and earning the respect and fear of his peers. And now, he stood on the precipice of a new era, an era that would be shaped by his will and his vision.


    And this war would one day be seen as nothing more but a petty skirmish in the annals of his race. Shrykrul would arrive soon, and with him would come a new chapter in the history of all Ratkind. For too long had they languished under the yolk of lesser races, and their insignificant, personal conflicts. No, the Kingdom was far passed due for a change in leadership.


    Once, Marcus Graham, that leader could have been you, the Ratman grimaced. But you were not born for this. You may have the soul of a rat, but you lack...the stomach.


    Silas recalled then the words of the man as he had given his last command. Crouched within the infinite darkness of the dungeons, the statement had seemed less like a threat and more like an implied challenge:


    ¡°You will follow my order, Silas, or I will destroy you.¡±


    The Prime Putrefact smiled grimly as he finally saw the crimson flag of Clan Red-Eye appear on the horizon.


    ¡°We shall see, Marcus Graham,¡± he said as he closed the book in his hands. ¡°We shall see.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 86

    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know what to say¡­¡±


    For the first time since he¡¯d been summoned to the world of Thea, Marcus Graham was looking at something he actually wanted.


    ¡°That makes a change,¡± Mari said, her voice hoarse as she held back tears.


    To look at her was to look upon a lucid dream. He could barely even feel the intensity of the creatures¡¯ stares all around him as they watched these two humans gaze into the eyes of the other like they were looking at a ghost. The reality of her pale skin, threads of auburn hair, emerald irises, and thin neckline just wouldn¡¯t resolve themselves as true for him. There she was, standing there wearing a set of patchy leather armor, and there he was standing before her like a dumbstruck schoolboy looking upon his crush.


    ¡°Mari¡­¡± he breathed. ¡°After all this time¡­¡±


    He bent forward, lolling slightly, and collapsed into her open arms. Feeling her skin against his gave him more relief than he¡¯d felt in ages. Only now did he realize just how weary his body and mind were¡­


    ¡°Karliah,¡± Mari said. ¡°Did you really have to be so harsh with him?¡±


    She was addressing the dark cat-woman who shrugged nonchalantly behind them. Garbed in leather wrappings as black as the Underkingdom itself, she then gave an utterly unimpressed yawn.


    ¡°I would have thought the mighty ¡®Shar-Azrok¡¯ would have put up more of a fight,¡± she said.


    *Shar-Azrok*¡­Marcus¡¯s mind echoed. *Yeah¡­that¡¯s what they called me. That¡¯s what I¡­was¡­*


    Just as the thought entered his mind, he looked down at the pulsing green energy still flowing down the veins of his right hand.


    *No¡­that¡¯s what I¡¯m still supposed to be¡­*


    ¡°Believe me, Karla!¡± Marvin, the ex-farmer, then shouted so that all the gathering children and their parents could hear. ¡°He coulda wiped the floor with ya if he wanted to! He¡¯s a wizard now, don¡¯tcha know!¡±


    Karliah rolled her eyes. ¡°I noticed, Marvin. You¡¯d have to be a blind kitten not to see the gangly mess of green that he calls a hand. And, for the final time, my name is KARLIAH.¡±


    Another reverberation then rang out from above, sending small smatterings of dust down into the metal streets of the Piper¡¯s compound. Though he finally had a small semblance of respite, Marcus was still aware of just how much danger this world always seemed to offer to him.


    But another look in his love¡¯s eyes almost dispelled even those woes.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he said. ¡°Mari, what¡¯s happening? Who are these people and ¨C well ¨C what are you do-¡°


    A skinny finger graced his lips. Even though he could¡¯ve kept talking, he decided to obey.


    ¡°First things first,¡± Mari whispered into his unbelieving eyes. ¡°You need a bath. Karliah?¡±


    The cat straightened up at being called by her superior. Marcus noted it even in his state of blissful abandon. Mari was clearly the superior around here.


    And that¡¯s when he remembered what the Yokun ¨C Yeeva ¨C had told him about her ¨C she was no ordinary human in these parts. She was something else, just like he was: the Pale Matriarch.


    And it was as this leader that she issued her command:


    ¡°Take the Shar-Azrok to the bath chambers, and see that he gets a proper bathing. Scrub him well, for he has work to do.¡±


    ¡°Very well, my La-wait, what?¡±


    ¡°You heard me, kitten,¡± Mari said with a giggle that Marcus had almost forgotten he¡¯d missed the sound of. She could be a real tease when she wanted to be.


    ¡°I can think of no one more suited to the job of handling my consort. Now, if you would..?¡±


    Marcus had to admit that he liked the sound of bathing. After all this time, he¡¯d practically become accustomed to smelling like shit.


    ¡°Might I¡­remind you that we are on a tight time schedule, my Lady?¡± Karliah choked through bared teeth as she grabbed Marcus by his arm and pulled him towards one of the metal shanty-hovels. ¡°Is it really wise to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Marvin,¡± Mari interrupted. ¡°How¡¯s it looking out there?¡±


    The ex-farmer stood to attention. ¡°They''re cleaning up, my Lady,¡± he said. ¡°But none of the Prince¡¯s forces have advanced. Probably because they¡¯re scared shitless of what¡¯s coming for ¡®em!¡±


    ¡°If I know Nagoya,¡± Mari murmured. ¡°Fear is the last thing he¡¯ll be feeling. But his overcautiousness is exactly what I¡¯m counting on.¡±


    Marcus could barely even comprehend that this woman ¨C with a voice that commanded such respect ¨C was the Mari from his memory. He had to admit, there was something¡­sensual to seeing her barking orders and having them obeyed.


    She turned to see Marcus¡¯s bemused face then and winked.


    ¡°Be gentle with him, Karliah,¡± she told her catwoman servant before Marcus was whisked off into a sparse bathing room. ¡°And when you¡¯re done, escort him to my chambers.¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡­


    Being bathed by a cat had never been on Marcus Graham¡¯s list of priorities.


    Indeed, the experience was made more awkward by the fact that this particular catwoman clearly looked on him as something of a plaything for her Mistress, and as her claws scratched his back and fur rubbed against him, he did all he could to think about other, less¡­awkward things.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think this means anything, human,¡± Karliah told him. ¡°This is a job I do for my Lady, nothing more, nothing less.¡±


    ¡°The feeling is more than mutual,¡± he assured his feline scrubber. ¡°I¡¯m not much for pet-play.¡±


    As she dried him off, Marcus noted that she did not bear the mark of slavery upon her own neck ¨C no number glistened there against her fur. Curious, but just one of the many questions he had to have answered. Indeed, he was so filled with his desire to understand what this whole place ¨C this whole organization ¨C was, that he barely took in the details of the tiny wash-tub or the fact that they somehow had heated water in this place that clearly had no indoor plumbing. The purity of the air was also more curious still, and yet secondary to the burning question that was flaring in his mind: just what was Mari doing here?


    Karliah finished drying him and handed him a simple thatched robe, explaining that she¡¯d wring out his trench coat and return it to him when his business with the Lady was concluded.


    ¡°Thank you, Karliah,¡± he told her. He did so with grace ¨C he wasn¡¯t trying to make more enemies, though the cat was more preoccupied with scowling at the rat-symbol stitched into his jacket.


    ¡°So, it¡¯s true,¡± she said. ¡°You really did help out those furballs down there¡­¡±


    He was about to launch into a detailed explanation when the catwoman¡¯s tail shot out and ushered him away.


    ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out exactly what you did soon enough,¡± she said, a sly smile appearing on her face just below her twitching whiskers. ¡°¡¯Shar-Azrok.¡¯¡±


    She said the word with such teasing, dripping sarcasm, that Marcus almost felt the need to defend himself. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and followed her to Mira¡¯s room at the far end of the shantytown.


    As he went, he inspected the windows and doorways of the metal hovels and saw the faces that stared back at him. Children ¨C eyes full and brimming with curiosity that matched his own ¨C stared at him like he was some figure from legend. Their parents seemed just as fascinated by him, and as he weaved around the small corridors that formed Piper¡¯s Hill, he felt like a hero coming home.


    *Is that really what I am to these people?* he thought. *A hero?*


    ¡°Don¡¯t get too big for your boots,¡± his guide told him as they approached Mari¡¯s own shanty-home. ¡°Yeah, we know who you are, but that doesn¡¯t mean shit if you can¡¯t serve Maria well. In your state,¡± she added with a nod at his twitching hand. ¡°I very much doubt it.¡±


    ¡°What do you know about me?¡± Marcus asked, desperate to glean any information he could. ¡°What does the name Shar-Azrok mean to your people? Until I met one of your own, I had never even heard of this place. I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re here for.¡±


    The catwoman smiled then, her fangs glinting against the faint lantern lights that framed Mari¡¯s doors.


    ¡°Oh, we know about you, alright,¡± she told him. ¡°Whether you knew it or not, you¡¯ve been helping us out this whole time.¡±


    When his feline guide then opened the door to Mari¡¯s chambers, Marcus was surprised at just how cozy the place looked. The four-walled room was dimly lit by lanterns similar to those that afforded light outside, and the room, similar to the bathing chamber, was sparsely populated by a set of carved wooden chairs and bamboo drawers that looked as though they might have been created out of the trees in the jungle above them ¨C back when it was still a living, breathing part of this world¡¯s ecosystem. What caught Marcus¡¯s attention most was the cabinet chock-full of maps ¨C a cartographer and military historian¡¯s dream, especially considering the detail that was inscribed on them, which was visible even to Marcus¡¯s hazy eyes.


    ¡°Karliah,¡± a voice called out from the end of the room. ¡°Good work.¡±


    Marcus looked towards the door that had just opened, seeing the girl he¡¯d killed for wander out in a very different dress now. This one was silken, lime-green, and threaded with twine, complemented by a necklace sporting a set of what looked like raw rubies glowing around her pale neck. Her low-cut decolletage afforded Marcus a vision of her thin neck bones that sent shivers down Marcus¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Ahem,¡± Karliah coughed, nudging him with her foot. ¡°The Mistress¡¯s eyes are up there.¡±


    Looking back up at her, Marcus then noticed just how much she was blushing.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asked. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Marcus wasted no time in answering. He didn¡¯t even hear the cat-girl sigh audibly beside him.


    ¡°As beautiful as the day you first took pity on this dumb boy,¡± he said.


    She fixed a stray hair that had fallen over her ear. ¡°You¡¯re such a fucking cheeseball.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s all, my Lady?¡±


    It seemed Mari barely noticed the cat-girl¡¯s presence in this moment, either.


    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± she said, surprising Marcus with just how girly she was acting right now. ¡°You¡­may return to your duties, Karliah.¡±


    ¡°Such as they are,¡± the cat girl sighed, bowing low and whispering to Marcus as she left, ¡°If you so much as harm a hair on the Mistress, my claws will find your throat tonight, little man.¡±


    With that, she left just as quietly as she had entered.


    ¡°Quite the charming lieutenant you have there,¡± he said, not knowing quite what else he could say.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Mari replied quietly, slowly stepping towards him. ¡°She is a cat, after all. They¡¯re fiercely individual¡­don¡¯t you know.¡±


    When she¡¯d closed the gap between them, Marcus found that he had entirely forgotten all the questions he¡¯d been wanting to ask her. Her eyes, her neck, and the curvature of her lips ¨C that was his whole world now.


    She brought a shaking hand to his cheek and brushed it gently, and before she could take it away, he held it there, firm.


    ¡°It¡­it really is you,¡± she said.


    He leaned into her. ¡°I thought I¡¯d lost you,¡± he said. ¡°There was a moment, even though I couldn¡¯t accept it, that I thought I¡¯d never set eyes on you again. Even when I heard you were still ali-¡°


    Her lips quieted him. The scent of her and the feeling of her hair falling in little threads over his cheek as they kissed consumed him.


    ¡°I never let it win,¡± he said as they pulled away and held onto each other for dear life. ¡°I never let the notion that you weren¡¯t there anymore win. That was the hardest battle I fought, Mari, despite everything.¡±


    She rubbed his cheek again with her index finger, letting her nail play across his shaven skin.


    ¡°Such a cheeseball,¡± she said again. ¡°You never let this place take that from you, did you? You¡¯re still you¡­¡±


    Before he could say another word, she took his hand and guided him towards her bedroom, where a single linen bed waited, surrounded by six burning ruby candles.


    She drew him towards the edge of the bed and lay down beside him, taking his face in her hands and examining every facet of his features as she spoke.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be time for talking after,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯ll be time for explanations, for apologies, for¡­for a lot of things. But right now, all I want is to feel you again. You¡­I waited for you, Marc. And,¡± she added with a giggle as she began to undo his robe. ¡°This girl¡¯s thirsty.¡±


    Marcus Graham, once General of the Underkingdom, held up his hands in his first act of surrender.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 87

    Prince Nagoya Hitogi looked upon the leveled plain of desolation he¡¯d carved into the earth.


    What had once been a dense patch of the jungle had been reduced to smoking cinders, the trees whittled away to dark skeletons of their former selves, not even a hint of vegetation remaining on their broken boughs. His snake-eyes picked out no movement within the remains of the jungle. Not even a worm could have survived their last barrage.


    The smell of expended Hakka filled the air¡ªa scent that Nagoya inhaled with as much pleasure as a Chameleous taking a hit off its Oshu pipe.


    ¡°Cease bombardment and commence first sweep at 0600,¡± he told his gunners. ¡°Retire now, and tell your brothers they are to receive double rations tonight. Tomorrow shall herald the end of this little chase.¡±


    The gunners bowed fervently in the Yokun style¡ªone fist clenched behind their backs, the other hand straight, palm-up, affixed to the chest. To look upon them was to look upon a disciplined set of men who had been hatched for war, their cold blood warmed in the hearth of conflict.


    The Prince took this time of respite to survey the camp fortifications. Even in the midst of their numerous engagements, his banners still stood proud atop the walls. He looked upon the sigil of his Clan¡ªthe scaled fist coated in flame¡ªand felt his chest puff with pride. The needle-like spines of hastily constructed wooden battlements these banners were fixed to still held firm, and the palisades had not balked even under the weight of the Hakka carts. The weapons themselves were still in pristine condition¡ªeach cart carrying approximately sixty ¡®rockets¡¯, the odd cylindrical tubes propelled at their rear-ends by the Holy flames of Akira¡ªthat could deliver a deluge of unspeakable agony unto the enemy in an open field. Against fortifications, of course, they were less than useless. But in dealing with a ramshackle band of rebels, they had proven aptly useful.


    Even if they were led by the Pale Matriarch and her Elder conspirator.


    The Prince ceased his nightly checks and was ready to retire when he suddenly heard a general shout come from the barracks at the rear camp gate. It seemed that more crates of Hakka powder had been delivered just in time.


    ¡°Courtesy of Prince Yaresh,¡± the officer in charge of the delivery told Nagoya.


    ¡°Indeed?¡± the Prince replied, noting the White-Lotus symbol carved into the officer¡¯s iron hauberk¡ªthe sigil of his Brother¡¯s Clan. ¡°How fares my Brother?¡±


    ¡°His campaign in the Northern Plateau does great honor to the House of Blades,¡± the Officer replied. ¡°Marxon¡¯s navy will fall, and their weak men shall not even be worthy enough to enslave!¡±


    ¡°Marxon¡¯s men may be weak, but they are numerous and relentless,¡± Nagoya pointed out. ¡°See to it that my Brother does not allow his overconfidence to be his downfall. You may quote me.¡±


    The Officer saluted the Prince before barking at his slaves to roll the barrels of powder over to the Hakku carriages stationed at the Eastern Palisade.


    ¡°Safe journey home, cousin,¡± Nagoya told the Officer.


    But as the Prince made to turn away and finally retire to his command tent, he noted how the young Yokun stiffened slightly before he left. It was as though something was keeping the Officer rooted to the spot in that moment. Nagoya tried smiling¡ªhe had been through this before. The peasantry were often chilled by the sight of one of their Princes, and this Officer was clearly not of noble blood. Indeed, even in the deep darkness of the Arasaka forest, Nagoya could pick out the imprint of a number on the lizardman¡¯s neck. There could be no clearer indication of his previous status in the Yokun hierarchy.


    ¡°I¡­ I would just like to say that Prince Yaresh is fortunate to have you securing our Clan¡¯s Southern flank, sire. These rebels and their precious Matriarchs do not stand a chance against you. No living Prince of the House of Blades commands more respect on the battlefield.¡±


    Prince Nagoya simply nodded once at these words, sighing inwardly as he turned away to get some much-needed sleep.


    ¡°That will be all, Officer.¡±


    ¡­


    Marcus woke up feeling more refreshed than he¡¯d felt in his entire life.


    The candles had long since burnt out, and he was surprised to find that the relentless vibrations that had thundered through the night had ceased. In a way, however, they¡¯d shaken things up quite nicely for him and Mari as they ¡®reminisced¡¯ down here. He¡¯d have to thank the enemy General when he got the chance¡­


    ¡°Well, well, look who¡¯s up¡­¡±


    He rolled over to see Mari looking down at him, her hair a wild mess in the wake of their nocturnal activities. Still sweating, she bent down and planted a sopping kiss on his lips. He was loath to have her pull away.


    ¡°Okay, so,¡± she said. ¡°Last night¡ªamazing. Better than I remember, if I¡¯m being quite honest. So I gotta ask: my man didn¡¯t have a cheeky ratgirl consort on the go down there, did he?¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Marcus threw his head back in a laugh so genuine it actually surprised him. He¡¯d almost forgotten he could laugh at all.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he said. ¡°No matter what Twitter threads you¡¯ve read about us, no man is that desperate.¡±


    ¡°Some ratmen then?¡± she teased, tickling his chin. ¡°Considering how you couldn¡¯t keep away from my ass last night, maybe they¡¯re the real source of your newfound talents. Some¡­ experimentation, eh?¡±


    He grabbed her playfully by her cheeks and forced her into a kiss that was interrupted by bouts of her girlish giggles. In the next second, she had her arms around him, locked so tightly he thought she meant to stay that way.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she said. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve got¡­ things taken care of, it¡¯s business time, don¡¯t¡¯cha think?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t kidding,¡± Marcus replied, leaning across the bed to fetch his glasses from the bamboo table beside them.


    ¡°Ok, ok,¡± she stammered as she sat up. ¡°You wanna know: what in the ever-loving-fuck is your girl doing up here with a bunch of freed slaves, on the run from an army of lizardmen?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Marcus said. ¡°Yeah that¡­ that¡¯s pretty much just the first basic question.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she said with a nod, wrapping him up in the linen cover and donning his glasses before he could complain. ¡°Let me give you some psychology buzzwords, young man, and then you can tell me if they sound familiar. Word number one: Summoned. Word number two: Chosen one.¡±


    Marcus nodded grimly in the face of her playfulness. ¡°That¡ªyeah¡ªthat¡¯s familiar, alright.¡±


    She drew away from him then, leaving the bedsheet where it lay, her naked body stark against the darkness of the room. It was true¡ªshe was thinner than he¡¯d remembered. Much thinner.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°How much do you know? How do you know I¡¯m the Pale-Matriarch?¡±


    He told her exactly how little he knew¡ªand he told her, too, where he¡¯d gotten the information from.


    ¡°Yeeva,¡± Mari nodded after he was done. ¡°So, she¡¯s dead?¡±


    Marcus nodded solemnly, and before he could even explain she looked away and silenced him with a chilling statement:


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    He blinked up at her.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter?¡± he asked. ¡°Mari, I¡­ I killed one of your own people. One of those you¡¯d sent to find me.¡±


    She came to sit at the edge of the bed, her back to him.


    ¡°Those of the House of Whispers aren¡¯t my people,¡± she said. ¡°None of those Yokun are. Yeeva was nothing but a hatchling born to kill and to obey orders. She couldn¡¯t even understand what it means to think for herself, Marc. She didn¡¯t have the capacity. None of them did. Because that¡¯s exactly what those butcher Patriarchs and Matriarchs want. Unthinking machines bound up in scaled flesh and cold blood.¡±


    Marcus tried to follow her words, remembering the raw, almost mechanical determination that had been burned into Yeeva¡¯s eyes even before she died. Getting her to give up just the two words she did had taken everything out of old Deekius.


    And at the thought of the deceased ratman¡¯s name, Marcus felt his hand blaze with power again.


    ¡°Ngh!¡±


    Mari turned to see him grappling with the green discharge pulsing in his palm.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she whispered. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ this is new for me,¡± he explained. ¡°It was given to me by someone before he could tell me how to¡­ use it. I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t control it.¡±


    Mari cupped her hand over his before he could stop her, and slowly his twitching fingers closed around hers, the green flame dying away.


    ¡°Ratman magic,¡± she said. ¡°If I remember they call it¡ªGloomraav? A dirty kind of spellcasting, that one, meant for a dirty people.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s eyes met hers. ¡°There were¡­ some good ones,¡± he murmured. ¡°But enough about me¡ªwhat about you? How do you know all this about magic?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not hard when you¡¯re summoned to be the newest member of a religious sect,¡± she said with an ironic smirk. ¡°Pale Matriarch. They really knew how to make a girl feel welcome.¡±


    Marcus listened intently, all the while feeling the energy in his hand begin to pulse with greater ferocity every time he heard a detail that infuriated him.


    ¡°They told me I had the soul of a snake within me,¡± Mari continued. ¡°Said I was sent from the ¡®Place Beyond¡¯ to Shepard them towards victory in this war they¡¯ve been waging for decades against the human Empire of this world. Thea. Their world. They told me to forget about my past life. Gods didn¡¯t need memories of what had come before their ¡®ascension.¡¯¡±


    He could hear the utter disgust in her voice at the mission statement she¡¯d been given. Although they clearly shared similarities in being ¡®chosen¡¯ to lead a specific species to victory on this world, their focus had evidently been different. Mari, she went on, was to be the human- face of the religious branch of the Yokun hierarchy ¨C what was termed the ¡®House of Souls¡¯ ¨C and expected to become the Prophet-militant of their military industrial complex.


    ¡°They told me I¡¯d have everything I ever wanted, Marc,¡± she said. ¡°The acolytes would serve my every physical whim. The people would dance to the tune of my words. The soldiers would protect me and bring me the heads of my foes. But I knew their game. They knew that having a human Matriarch would sow confusion in Emperor Marxon¡¯s ranks. For a time, we even saw an upsurge in human converts. Of course, they weren¡¯t allowed entry into the conscripted forces of each Prince-commander. They served the Triumverate as slaves. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°The Triumverate?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the power structure they live under,¡± Mari explained, pointing at a thin sheet of paper on her wall with three distinct symbols etched into its surface ¨C one sword, one mouth, and one heart. ¡°The House of Blades, House of Whispers, and House of Souls. Three Houses, One People. The Triumverate. God, did I get sick of saying that. Each House has a Patriarch and a Matriarch that rule it. Beneath them are the Princes who each control a fief in the name of their sovereigns. And beneath them¡­well¡­that¡¯s everyone else.¡±


    Marcus watched as her back began to sag, and he noted the hatred that flared in her eyes as she spoke of the Triumverate and its adherent branches. He¡¯d seen that kind of hate before. It seemed like this world bred it¡­


    ¡°Mari¡­¡± he said. ¡°If you¡¯d rather not talk about this¡­¡±


    She met his eyes then, hate burning away to determination.


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you everything. But first, we have to take care of that hand. Because whether you know it or not, Marc, that glow in your hand is the key to the one thing I ¨C we ¨C everyone here is looking for.¡±


    Marcus met her stare blankly, nodding, but still not understanding.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked her. ¡°What are all these people here looking for?¡±


    The answer should have been so plainly obvious. Yet, when he heard her say it, it felt no less powerful:


    ¡°Freedom.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 88

    Mari led him by the hand back through the shanty town that was Piper¡¯s Hill. The place had become a hub of activity since last night ¨C the former slaves were swiftly packing their things and making ready to move. Marcus saw Yokun and humans both swaddling their younglings and carrying as much as they could from their ramshackle houses as they converged in the town center.


    Those that passed Mari on their way looked up at her as though staring at their living salvation. Some of them dropped to their knees and offered her prayers. She took the time to draw a palm across their cheeks as a sign of acknowledgement.


    They really do look upon her as a Goddess, Marcus thought. That¡¯s¡­familiar.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he asked as they passed another cluster of beleaguered townsfolk, ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°To someone who can help,¡± she called back to him without turning her head. ¡°We need to get your busy little hand under control. Then, well, you can see what¡¯s happening here, can¡¯t you, Marc?¡±


    Marcus gulped as he replied. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can, though I can¡¯t quite believe it.¡±


    His train of thought was confirmed as they came upon a small enclave of armored townsfolk further in the depths of the lair ¨C each one of them clad in a leather hauberk that looked as though it could stop the tip of a spear but probably do less than nothing against gunfire. There were probably around 200 of them all standing shoulder to shoulder in the room, and as Mari entered with Marcus they threw their fists into the air and heaped praises upon the woman they had clearly followed through fire and worse.


    Marcus saw humans, Yokun, even some more of the odd catfolk down here together, each of them bearing a jagged broadsword at their hip, though the Yokun also bore intricate yew longbows on their backs. The cat-people each held a shortsword at their hip ¨C a versatile weapon that probably suited their flexible forms.


    Marcus felt their eyes shift from Mari towards him as their leader led him through the crowd and out into another narrow passageway with barely enough light to see a thing. Though, as they left the great enclave, Marcus spotted Marvin the ex-farmer addressing the crowd. He held up a green bottle within which a viscous black ooze slopped around. In his other hand was a taper soaked in oil.


    Marcus noticed then that there was an entire table of these bottles behind him ¨C each one ready for, well, the obvious.


    Even as Marcus struggled to accept what he was looking at, Marvin¡¯s bombastic voice confirmed his suspicions:


    ¡°Now, remember!¡± he called out to the crowd. ¡°Light the Hakkatov swiftly and then toss it away from friendly forces! It don¡¯t matter how good your depth perception is, folks, when this little beauty goes off, there¡¯s gonna be a boom that¡¯ll burn up anything within a two-mile radius! So toss these lil¡¯ bastards before an infantry charge or during the mop up op!¡±


    ¡°Molotov cocktails¡­¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Unbelievable¡­¡±


    ¡°If the history of revolutions has taught us anything,¡± Mari chuckled as she led him down the darkest corridor of their lair. ¡°It¡¯s that there can¡¯t be a real revolution without ¡®em, right?¡±


    ¡°And I can guess who gave them the idea.¡±


    Mari stopped for a moment as a distinct rumbling could be heard echoing from the surface world.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°Everybody out there wants nothing more than to break their shackles. You can understand why they don¡¯t exactly have misgivings about burning their former slavemasters alive, hm?¡±


    ¡°Mari¡­¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Why¡­how did you end up here?¡±


    She faced him directly, then, staring into his face with a determination that was just so her.


    ¡°You remember what that bastard Barenz said to you back home?¡± she asked. ¡°If you could look at generations of people suffering and say that their sacrifices were worth it? Well, I learned just how tough that was, Marc. I was supposed to watch entire families toil in my name, in service to a faith I couldn¡¯t give less of a shit about, and I was expected to not only put up with it, but endorse it? Fuck that.¡±


    She stepped close to him and gulped, thinking that she ran the risk of turning him from her. Even though he could have told her that he¡¯d never let her go again.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The tops of the ceiling began to shake. Something was happening above.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had to learn the same lesson, Mari,¡± Marcus told her. ¡°But all this¡­Mari, all those people out there were prepped for war. I know the look in their eyes. They¡¯re willing to fight and die against their old Masters, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Mari bit her lip. She nodded.


    ¡°And so am I.¡±


    Another dolorous clang shook the entire corridor.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time,¡± she said. ¡°Come on.¡±


    ¡°Mari-¡° Marcus begged. ¡°You need to tell me what this is all about.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not me that knows the story best. You¡¯ll want to hear it from the horse¡¯s mouth.¡±


    In the face of Marcus¡¯s confusion they final came to the end of the corridor and passed through a warded metal door that seemed to respond to Mari¡¯s touch instinctively, taking them into a small, dimly lit chamber.


    And Marcus almost fell back against the metal ground as he beheld the hulking behemoth that stood before them.


    ¡°Hello, Hialjia,¡± Mari said. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±


    The creature Mari was addressing was a six-foot tall minotaur, its every breath a molten gust of dank air that clung to Marcus like a sheet of dust. A greataxe that looked as though it could split clean through five men at once hang at her back. When she addressed Mari, she did so with the all the fanfare of an animal prospecting an offering of a meal from its mate.


    ¡°Hmpf. Lady bring small man. He good?¡±


    ¡°Very much so,¡± Mari smiled.


    The great creature brought her bronze-encrusted greataxe down to rest by her side and snarled at Marcus. Globules of blue saliva dribbled down her chin and pooled on the ground under them ¨C a particularly luminescent saliva, Marcus noted, though he wasn¡¯t sure why that was the detail he was focusing on in this moment¡­


    ¡°You go,¡± Hialjia said. ¡°Hialjia make ready for rumble. Help small man Marvin and furball Karliah.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯d prefer it if you didn¡¯t call her furball for once,¡± Mari said, giving Hialjia a slight petting on her massive pierced nose.


    The muscle-bound minotaur huffed as she sidled by them, only just barely fitting into the corridor they¡¯d come through.


    ¡°Hialjia do her best,¡± the beast said. ¡°Good luck with Oracle.¡±


    ¡°That¡­that is one¡­large¡­woman,¡± Marcus whispered as they creature turned its great back to him. At his questioning glare, Mari simply shrugged ¨C again, an action so schoolgirl-like in its innocence that it could conjure nothing but laughter from him.


    ¡°After all while on Thea, you get used to seeing some crazy sights,¡± Mari said as she beckoned him into the chamber proper. ¡°I¡¯ll bet you¡¯ve seen things even weirder than her.¡±


    ¡°Nothing quite so big,¡± Marcus murmured. ¡°Could¡¯ve used her in a couple of engagements¡­¡±


    In the chamber itself was nothing but pitch black, and as Mari and he entered Marcus felt her tense up slightly. Someone else was in here. She knew it, and Marcus could feel it as soon as the metal door closed behind them.


    And it took no time for the presence to then announce itself.


    ¡°Pale Matriarch, is this the male?¡±


    The voice was both singular and collective ¨C like a sea of chanting children intoning some ancient mass beside the flailing waves of a serene ocean. Marcus felt a strange sense of tranquility wash over him instantly. It was as though, as soon as the broadly female voice started talking, every problem Marcus had ever had simply fizzled away like a dying candle.


    ¡°He is the one, Oracle¡± Mari whispered, bowing her head in respect. ¡°But he comes to us with the burden of magic. It is not a burden he chose to bear.¡±


    ¡°But one which he shoulders nonetheless,¡± the ageless voice intoned. ¡°As we each carry our own burdens.¡±


    A pair of reptilian eyes then flashed in the depths of the dark. Green ¨C fiery green, like unnatural embers stoked up by a chemical reaction that should never have been performed. As soon as these eyes met his, Marcus¡¯s hand went out of control. He flopped to the ground, clutching at it and trying to still the onset of another flash of lightning. Mari bent down to help him only for the creature sitting before them both to stick out a scaled arm and stop her.


    ¡°There is power in that light,¡± the reptile said. ¡°Though it is not, I think, as powerful as the military mind that wields it.¡±


    Marcus looked up through his pain to see that two burning braziers now lit up the dark. The reptile crouched in front of him was clad in an embroidered cloak that looked older than time itself, surrounded by cushions and oddly shaped pipes that puffed sweet-smelling scents into the air. She ¨C for it was a she ¨C looked the very image of an ancient mystic. Either that, or a charlatan fortune teller¡­


    ¡°He doubts me,¡± the creature said with a lick of her dry, grey lips. ¡°As any sane man should.¡±


    Mari managed to bring him to his feet as he looked at her in shock. But not even she would meet the eyes of the ancient reptile that addressed them.


    Then, Marcus saw the mark just below the reptile¡¯s neck ¨C the number sheared into the soft flesh between her scales.


    ¡°A¡­another slave,¡± he groaned.


    At Mari¡¯s exasperated look, the creature merely gave a hoarse chuckle.


    ¡°Once,¡± she said. ¡°Just as you were once a slave to the rats who trundle beneath our feet. Always a pawn in someone else¡¯s game.¡±


    Marcus narrowed his eyes at her, feeling his hand become more and more charged with every step towards the old Yokun that he took.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    The Yokun smiled.


    ¡°It is my business to know,¡± the old lizard said. ¡°I am the last Matriarch of Whispers, Marcus Graham. And you have come here exactly when you were supposed to.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 89

    ¡°Matriarch¡­¡±


    Marcus traced the curvature of the Yokun¡¯s robes and ended on her sharp reptilian eyes.


    ¡°That makes you the female leader of Mari¡¯s House, right?¡±


    ¡°The former leader,¡± the Matriarch whispered. ¡°I vowed to train the Pale Lady in the way of Whispers in preparation for her taking my place. Little did my Brothers and Sisters know how far resentment of the Old Ways went.¡±


    Before Mari had crept forward to explain further, Marcus was already putting two and two together. Suddenly it was all making sense: the escaped slaves, the diversity of the people, the improvised molotovs¡ªthis wasn¡¯t just a slave revolt. It was a full-blown rebellion.


    ¡°We escaped together,¡± Mari explained. ¡°The Matriarch taught me everything about the Yokun¡ªtheir culture, their military strength, and the ways in which they see this world. They think Thea, and everything and everyone in it, belongs to them by right. They¡¯ll go so far as to enslave and indoctrinate their own people if it keeps them in line.¡±


    ¡°Kumaris,¡± the Matriarch breathed, her voice a raspy breath that spoke of ageless wisdom and boundless hate. ¡°In your tongue, the word translates to something like ¡®Unity.¡¯¡±


    ¡°We both know who that sounds like,¡± Mari murmured.


    Marcus, however, shook his head in disbelief. He gathered himself and steeled his senses as more clouds of dust were scattered from impacts high above them. Something was happening on the surface that was coming here. And quick.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he began. ¡°Look, I know where this is going¡­¡±


    ¡°It is going the only way it can go, Marcus Graham¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Marcus roared as Mari flew to try and restrain him, forcing him to look into her eyes as his temper flared. ¡°I¡¯ve had it with people telling me what my destiny is in this place. The reason¡ªthe whole reason¡ªthat I came here was to tell you that there¡¯s a way out for both of us, Mari.¡±


    She blinked at the suggestion as the senior Matriarch merely looked on, utterly unimpressed. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I have a contact underground,¡± Marcus explained. ¡°Someone who can send us both home. That¡¯s why I came here. To take us back!¡±


    He¡¯d expected¡ªwell¡ªhe didn¡¯t really know what he¡¯d expected. But it certainly wasn¡¯t what he saw.


    Mari held his eyes for a second, the pupils surrounded by lily pads that he loved so much beginning to shake as they realized his intention. Then she slowly shook her head and stood aside.


    ¡°Your man believes he can trust in the Ratmen of the Underkingdom,¡± the Matriarch whispered. ¡°Still, he clings to a belief he should know is false.¡±


    Marcus ignored her entirely. He meant what he said. He was sick of the grim blade of ¡®Destiny¡¯ and ¡®Fate¡¯¡ªthe twin envoys of bullshit¡ªhanging over his head, ready to strike down any autonomy he had.


    But in Mari¡¯s eyes, and her shaking shoulders, he saw something else.


    ¡°Marc¡­¡± she began. ¡°You saw all those people out there. Can you imagine what they¡¯ve¡ªwhat I¡¯ve¡ªbeen through? The Yokun Masters are merciless. Think about the most brutal type of slave owner you can imagine from ancient Greece, multiply it threefold, and then slap a God-complex on it. For the past two years, we¡¯ve tried dismantling it from within. We used subterfuge, we used propaganda, and then we finally came to the point where force was necessary.¡±


    The Matriarch caught Mari¡¯s eyes for a moment, then shifted her narrowed slits to Marcus.


    ¡°Your woman was to be married to a Prince of the House of Blades,¡± she explained with a scowl. ¡°She refused and suffered indignities as a result. The Patriarch of the House of Whispers then decreed she was to be forced into the arrangement.¡±


    ¡°Enough, Jin¡¯an,¡± Mari said in all but a hushed murmur. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about me.¡±


    ¡°But it is you that your man cares about,¡± the Matriarch replied. ¡°All you need is eyes to see that he would climb a mountain of bodies to reach you. And that is exactly what he has done.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Marcus grimaced at the accusation and couldn¡¯t even face Mari as she looked at him to see that the Matriarch¡¯s words were true.


    ¡°Our hands were forced,¡± the Matriarch went on. ¡°I and the Pale Lady thus conspired to slay the Patriarch of Whispers. In so doing, we started a revolt that had been years in motion.¡±


    ¡°And let me guess,¡± Marcus scoffed. ¡°It was you that had planned it all along.¡±


    The Matriarch did not cower from the accusation. Even as more hammerings were heard above, and general shouts of alarm chased their way down the corridor outside the cushioned chamber, she looked upon Marcus with absolute control and unbroken serenity.


    ¡°You are a man of history, are you not, Marcus Graham? Surely you understand that revolution begins with a single thought of discontent. Such thoughts, given the proper circumstances, grow until they engulf entire populations. They become fuses that require only a single spark. Then, well, the results follow.¡±


    Marcus saw Mari nodding solemnly out of the corner of his eye.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he said, trying to take her in his arms and talk some sense into her. ¡°You know how slave revolts go. How many were successful across our own history? How many led to the complete and total subjugation of the revolting populace and did nothing more than make life miserable for those who remained in captivity?¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± the reptilian Matriarch countered, ¡°how many provided hope to generations who came after? The promise that no bearer of the whip could truly break the spirit of the indentured? Freedom, Marcus Graham, is a prize worth dying for.¡±


    ¡°Spoken like a true ideologue,¡± Marcus spat back. ¡°Let me tell you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Mari shouted, her trembling finally giving way to hot-blooded frustration. ¡°Enough¡­¡±


    ¡°Mari, I can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who can!¡± she shouted back at him. ¡°We all heard the tales of the Shar-Azrok of the underworld¡ªthe human who led the Ratmen to victory after victory against their enemies. The one who shook up the entire Yokun military-industrial complex by showing that their little proxy war wasn¡¯t going to last nearly as long as they hoped. They became so distracted by your gains that we finally managed to make progress against them. Now, look at what we¡¯ve got outside. We¡¯ve got an army, ready to take the fight to those bastards.¡±


    She came close to him, turning his face toward her so that he couldn¡¯t avoid her now.


    ¡°All they need,¡± she said, ¡°is a proper General.¡±


    Marcus gulped down his rage and felt his bones rattle in his trench coat as he choked back the reply he wanted to make. Now he understood what Yeeva had meant when she¡¯d told him her Pale Lady didn¡¯t want to go home. It wasn¡¯t metaphor, and it wasn¡¯t an attempt to demoralize him¡ªit was 100% true. She was genuine. Truth be told, he¡¯d never seen her look this passionate about anything in his life¡­


    ¡°Mari,¡± he whispered, ¡°We could just go home.¡±


    ¡°And do what, Marc?¡± she asked. ¡°Gather around our laptops and tweet about public policy? Speak at conventions for privileged students and hope that our messages get through? Go up for pointless mud-slinging debates against morons like Barenz and the Unification Church? We¡¯ve finally got a chance to matter here, Marc. These people waited for us to be reunited so we could lead them towards a better future. We¡¯ve finally got a chance to do something for the betterment of a world that actually wants our help. How can you turn away from it?¡±


    Before Marcus could respond, pain seized him once again. He dropped to his knees, looking at the flaring eruption of poisonous energy leaping from his palm. Once again, it seemed the Gloomraav was reacting to his anguish.


    Mari¡­what have you done here¡­


    ¡°He¡­he needs your help, Jin¡¯an,¡± Mari said as she turned away.


    ¡°You would ask me to aid this man who scoffs at our mission?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking anything.¡±


    The tension that pierced the room with that statement was palpable. Marcus could feel the chain of command loosening between these two. One¡ªan elder Yokun, almost rotten with age. Two¡ªa healthy human woman with a mind to match that of her senior. Both had clearly worked together to bring about this revolt. The question was, who truly held the reins now?


    The Matriarch of Whispers breathed heavily as she nodded toward Marcus¡¯s twitching hand. ¡°Leave him with me, then,¡± she said. ¡°And I will see to him.¡±


    Mari stiffened at the response, her hands folding into fists as Marcus looked up at her with despairing eyes. When she turned to glance back at him, now it was she who couldn¡¯t meet his eyes.


    And all the while the rumbling above shook the entire base with more intensity¡ªeach drum becoming more than just the shaking of the pummeled patch of surface jungle they dwelled within. Now, Marcus could plainly hear more than just the sounds of rocks being cleaved in twain from above. Now, he could hear the distinct chorus of war drums beating in the night of Thea.


    ¡°They need me out there, Marc,¡± Mari said. ¡°If you¡¯re with us, then you¡¯ll join us in the defense. If not¡­¡±


    Marcus stared open-mouthed as she let the statement hang. She marched toward the door and threw it aside to see a group of warriors already waiting for her¡ªthe great minotaur Hilja first among them. It seemed they dared not disturb the serenity of their Matriarchs even when their very base was under duress.


    ¡°They come, Pale Lady,¡± Hilja said. ¡°What do we do? Where do we go?¡±


    And with a last glance at Marcus, Mari replied in a voice colder than her man had ever heard emanate from her throat:


    ¡°To war.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 90: Bonus!

    Sounds of combat reverberated throughout the underground vaults of Piper¡¯s Hill. Marcus heard them as a veteran who never believed he¡¯d have to hear them ever again did¡ªwith a crippling, knowing trepidation.


    ¡°Marcus Graham,¡± Jin¡¯an said. ¡°I thought you a man of greater ambition.¡±


    He looked up at the Yokun with hate-filled eyes as her scaled hands traced his palm and clenched around his crackling fingers. He felt the energy of the Gloomraav swirl and pulse within him, ready to reach out and flay this woman if he so wished.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got them all wrapped around your fingers, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The Yokun smiled, showing chipped fangs and a half-severed tongue.


    ¡°You are always believing in ulterior motives. But I tell you a simple truth: my fight is, and always has been, the fight of my Brothers and Sisters in binds.¡±


    ¡°Who serve you while you sit back here, ruling over them like a Queen.¡±


    ¡°You are more of a fool than I thought if you think me the Queen of these people.¡±


    Pain wracked up Marcus¡¯s entire arm. He watched his veins glow with the lambent green energy that he¡¯d hurled at ratmen once under his command as he made his escape from Grindlefecht.


    ¡°You think you see me, Marcus Graham,¡± the Yokun Elder whispered with her legion of voices. ¡°But it is I who have eyes through which you must look. You must see what it is that you truly fear. That which keeps you from action.¡±


    Before his pained face, Marcus then felt a thrum of power surround the Yokun who held his rampaging hand within hers, even as her scales began to crumble away as she tried to restrain his strength. From out of her hands dripped dark purple blood patches that swam down Marcus¡¯s arm and pooled on the floor.


    And as he fought to keep his breathing under control, Marcus saw shapes appear out of those pools of blood¡ªshapes that began to morph into creatures who now only remained in the depths of his memory.


    ¡°Face your fear, Marcus Graham,¡± Jin¡¯an commanded. ¡°See what it is that keeps you from being what you must be.¡±


    The first blood-statue grew a pair of sharp eyes and hunched its back, and Marcus could almost smell the distinctive scent of ratman ichor seeping from the open wound in the creature¡¯s stomach.


    Gatskeek was staring down at him.


    ¡°You are thinking me the first of your sacrifices,¡± the old, venerable rat said. ¡°But who was it who was laying down his life to get you back to Fleapit? Me. It is being my choice to believe in you.¡±


    Marcus scowled at the Yokun out of the corner of his eyes. He had to admit, it was a convincing illusion.


    ¡°If you think to make me lay down and cry, you¡¯ve clearly never met me.¡±


    ¡°Hardly,¡± the Yokun whispered, gripping his hand still tighter. ¡°If you are so certain of yourself, look again at the blood at your feet.¡±


    Marcus did so despite his better judgment, mainly because he felt the piercing eyes of the next blood-ghoul gazing into his soul and knew who it was without even needing to look.


    ¡°Ix-ix is not thinking Marcus Graham would sit by while those who need him die-die,¡± Ix said, his characteristic and confident smile all too real, even as it dripped with the purple blood of his summoner. ¡°Ix is not even one-one of the ratmen, and yet he joins them because he believes in Marcus.¡±


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°And yet I destroyed you!¡± Marcus howled, temporarily forgetting the Yokun was even in the room. ¡°And all your people¡­I won¡¯t let it all happen again. I¡­I won¡¯t¡­¡±


    This time it was the third shadow who spoke to Marcus without any input from the Yokun Matriarch. The bloodied paw of the ghost tipped Marcus¡¯s head up to look into its eyes¡ªtwo fiery bulbs filled with devotion.


    ¡°You are being what you must be when you must be,¡± Deekius told him. ¡°You are feeling the pull of this world even when you are in its belly with us. You are knowing that you can be changing this world for the better.¡±


    ¡°I got you all killed,¡± Marcus murmured into the ratman¡¯s face. ¡°You didn¡¯t deserve¡ª¡±


    ¡°We followed you,¡± all the ghostly visages said in unison. ¡°We fought with your name as our battle cry. We died with your name on our lips. If you have pity, mourn those of the Underkingdom who betrayed you, Marcus Graham. And those who shall betray you further still.¡±


    The bloodied forms of the ghostly triad began to spittle and spill away, coming apart as Marcus tried to reach for them.


    ¡°¡­Those who shall betray me further?¡± Marcus parroted. ¡°What do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°A great war is coming,¡± the ghosts howled as one¡ªthe Yokun adding her own voice to theirs now, until the whole room rang with the cries of the dead. ¡°A war to end all wars. It will engulf the surface, it will engulf the underworld, it will spread until it engulfs the very stars themselves, and then it shall seek out your own world. Only the Summoned Ones can prevent this. Only they can bring true peace to Thea!¡±


    The blood visages then finally dribbled away, and Marcus heard the bone-crunching scream of Jin¡¯an as she grappled with his hand.


    He could barely even see it now¡ªthere was nothing but a haze of wicked green energy that joined them, arcs of lightning spearing around it.


    ¡°Your companions were¡­good warriors,¡± the Yokun stammered. ¡°Even now I can feel them in this room. I can hear them call out for you to rise¡­rise as you did in the depths of the earth¡­¡±


    Marcus grimaced against the deluge of pain seeping down his forearm.


    ¡°I can¡­still the Gloomraav within you,¡± she snarled. ¡°But only if you are¡­willing.¡±


    Willing to fight, you mean.


    ¡°¡­Another war,¡± he murmured. ¡°Another fight that¡¯s not mine¡­¡±


    The amber slits of the Yokun met his then, and they held each other¡¯s gazes across the lambent spectacle of death that engulfed their respective arms.


    ¡°Will you not believe in the cause of the woman you love?¡± Jin¡¯an whispered. ¡°Will you truly leave without her, just because you are scared of making another mistake?¡±


    You know I won¡¯t, you sly snake, Marcus thought with a wry grin. You knew I wouldn¡¯t the second you brought me here.


    ¡°No one else will die because of me,¡± Marcus answered, rising up and staring down at the Elder with fierce determination.


    ¡°People will die¡­anyway,¡± the Yokun replied. ¡°But you could limit the cost. You¡­you could save so¡­so many¡­you could cure a disease eating at the heart of this realm! You could make sure that¡­your men¡­all your loyal soldiers¡­did not die¡­in vain. You¡­you could¡­¡±


    He knew what she was going to say next without her even saying it. Still, when the words left her dried-up lips, he was shocked by just how much they cut to the core of his being:


    ¡°You could matter, Marcus Graham.¡±


    He snarled down at her, thinking to send the flaring energies of his arm flying right at her neck then and there, ending the miserable life of this Doomsayer and simply running away with Mari back home, even if he had to drag her there.


    ¡­Back to a life of petty squabbles, dumb politics, and a culture that had already made it clear it hated his guts.


    ¡­Shit.


    ¡°If I do this,¡± he shouted down at her, ¡°I¡¯m gonna need some real power. Those people out there won¡¯t listen to me just because I tell them I¡¯m your special little ¡®Chosen One.¡¯¡±


    There is something I can give you, the Yokun said, never once moving her lips. The voice that Marcus heard had come from within his own mind. It was stronger than even the highest-pitched battle cry he¡¯d heard sound off in the deep. It was a voice that rang with authority.


    As you are no doubt aware, Marcus Graham, those born with the Art may bestow the Art of magic to another. Such transference kills the spirit. It is done in Yokun culture only when an Elder Magus is set to depart from this world.


    Marcus¡¯s eyes went wide as he realized what she was saying. He felt the energies of the Yokun quelling his own, nullifying the power of Deekius, and then merging with it. Now, something else was creeping up his shuddering arm.


    Power.


    As the thundering of combat raged through the narrow tunnels of Piper¡¯s Hill, the ailing Yokun then laughed as she took her final breath:


    I have done what I was born to do, Jin¡¯an of the House of Whispers told him. I have brought the Snake and the Rat together. I have done this thing¡­as only I could. Now, tell me, Marcus Graham: what will you do?

 Chapter 91

    The entrance to Piper¡¯s Hill was engulfed in chaos.


    Mari was stationed at the residential quarters just past the first corridor, relying on the ragtag troops she had left to keep the invaders occupied.


    ¡°Move, move!¡± she was shouting over the din of combat, watching the former slaves toss their Hakkatovs at any warrior of Nagoya that dared to breach their perimeter.


    She saw them from the center of the square, each man edging cautiously towards the fire-throwers led by Marvin, who had set themselves up as the invaders¡¯ welcoming committee. Each Yokun wore the distinctive armor of the Yokun Zhurkin or ¡®Frontline Infantry'': a series of metal plates bound together by mail and worn over hardened leather cuirasses and greaves. Each one of their scaled heads was protected by a full-plate helmet adorned with Rakhasha horns. The Rakhasha were the elephantine predators of the Arasaka jungle¡ªno living creature could pose a threat to them without a mechanical advantage. There was no greater indicator of Yokun supremacy than their hunting of the Rakhasha virtually to extinction.


    Slathered across their breastplates was the sigil Mari had learned to revile: the mailed fist bathed in hellfire that told her exactly which clan had come knocking at her doors this time:


    Clan Hitogi, led by their butchering Prince himself, no doubt.


    The children were quickly evacuated out the southern tunnels where they¡¯d planned to run in case of an emergency like this, and yet Mari scowled in the face of yet another retreat. It felt like that had been her whole damn life since she¡¯d first taken up the mantle of emancipator.


    Maybe Marcus had been right. Did they stand a chance at all?


    She helped guide a family of three Yokun from their crumbling house to the edge of the beleaguered metal platform that kept the civilians'' quarters suspended above the chasm that descended far below them.


    ¡°Lady Mari!¡±


    Hialja¡¯s hulking mass of muscles managed to block a spear that had been sent flying straight at Mari¡¯s head, groaning under the pain of the blow.


    ¡°Hialja! Hialja, get back! Your job is to defend the civilians, not me!¡±


    ¡°My¡­job,¡± the Tauron scowled. ¡°Hialja¡¯s job¡­is¡­to kill. Kill anyone who dares hurt Pale Lady!¡±


    Mari watched the great Minotaur swing her axe above her head as she charged at the Yokun warriors breaking through the North tunnel, taking the full discharge of the Hakka bombs and yet still pushing through.


    She watched as Hialja roared into them, ready to charge and give her life to put them down. She¡¯d maybe get five or ten¡­maybe¡­but she was already bleeding from her good arm. Mari knew Hialja and knew more than anyone that the power of that beast had limits.


    She spotted Marvin amidst the crowd of Hakka-tossers taking cover at the front of the civilian bridge. ¡°Marvin, fall back!¡±


    The human looked back at her with pure frustration in his eyes. She¡¯d only ever seen him as angry as that once before¡­back when he still toiled under the weight of his Master¡¯s scaled heels.


    ¡°If I¡¯m gonna die, lass,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll die knowin¡¯ that me life meant something. Go with the civvies. Lead them out of here. We¡¯ll do the rest.¡±


    ¡°The dumbass farmer has a point, you know,¡± a sly voice then whispered in Mari¡¯s ear from behind¡ªthe voice of the Tigran Karliah. Clad in her polished velvet battledress, she looked the very image of an assassin sent from the deserts of Chun themselves¡ªa true envoy of her people.


    ¡°The last of the families is out,¡± Karliah told her, grabbing her arm and yanking her away as she looked at her people dying before her. ¡°Matriarch, you know it is you that I¡ªthat they¡ªneed. Come, we can get a proper head start.¡±


    Mari could say nothing in response. She simply bit her lip and cursed herself for her own indecision. She was thankful Marcus wasn¡¯t here to see her. With him, she always knew what to say. That was the image of herself she¡¯d planted in his mind¡ªit was the way he saw her. She liked it that way. She liked it that he¡¯d always believed in her, even when she could be just as obstinate as he was¡­


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Hialja is sick of waiting!¡± the great black Tauron roared. ¡°If the Masters want her, they can come and get her!¡±


    Marcus, Mari thought. Marc¡­please¡­


    At that moment, a spear of psychic energy pierced through the minds of the combatants of Piper¡¯s Hill. Even the Yokun stood confused for a moment, looking around them as though a secret weapon of the rebellious slaves had just been employed against them. In a way, it had. Just not a weapon they were capable of truly discerning.


    Soldiers of Piper¡¯s Hill, a voice rang out in the consciousness of every former slave. If you wish to run, then run. But if you wish to save your shelter, and deal a blow against your former Masters that they will not soon forget, then listen to my words.


    Hialja groaned, shaking her great locks in disbelief. She wasn¡¯t the only one.


    ¡°That¡ªthat¡¯s the power of Jin¡¯an!¡± Karliah cried out. ¡°But¡­it¡¯s not her voice¡­¡±


    ¡°Who cares whose bloody voice it is!¡± Marvin screamed as he lit another Hakkatov from his dwindling supplies and began edging back from the spears of the Zhurkin. ¡°If there¡¯s a way to fuck these bastards up, I¡¯m game!¡±


    ¡°What the hell happened to making a heroic sacrifice?!¡± Karliah screamed down at him as she effortlessly dodged a spear launched at her lithe form.


    ¡°I¡¯m past that!¡± Marvin shouted back. ¡°Men! Listen up. Sounds like someone¡¯s got a plan.¡±


    ¡°Hialja¡­will listen,¡± the bloodied Tauron growled, throwing off five Zhukrin and staggering back into the center of the plaza with the rest of the harried forces. By now, the Zhukrin had poured out of the entrance corridor en-masse. The Pipers were about to be surrounded.


    But in a sea of panic, Mari couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Marc¡­¡±, she whispered. ¡°I¡¯d know that voice anywhere.¡±


    Form a defensive knot and make a beeline for the southern shaft! The voice thundered in the heads of all the assembled slaves. Make use of your Hakkatovs to cover your retreat. If any melee combatants come within reach of your vanguard, well¡­I believe one of you has quite a penchant for smashing?


    Hialja smiled under her fury. Her bloodlust had only just begun.


    As the voice explained the rest of the plan, the slave warriors watched their foes edge ever closer and felt the reverberations of the metal platform underneath their feet begin to wobble under the weight of the Yokun armor.


    Mari¡¯s eyes flew to the ceiling where the platform¡¯s suspension chains were beginning to give way¡­


    ¡°Are we really going to potentially put our lives on the line for a man who isn¡¯t even brave enough to fight beside us?¡± Karliah spat.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s with us, all right,¡± Mari replied in the center of their defensive knot. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Marc?¡±


    Mari could feel his presence even though she couldn¡¯t see him. He was there. He was exactly where they needed him to be.


    Hakka-throwers! Marcus telepathed. Stick to the center¡ªsend your grenades flying high. Tigran, position yourselves around the perimeter of the circle¡ªuse your small frames to dance between the cumbersome strikes of the invading army¡¯s spears. Yokun! Keep to the rear; let your arrows fly towards the far edges of the enemy formation. Let them know that they aren¡¯t safe even if they cower behind their officers! Hialja¡­you know what to do.


    The Pipers obeyed with some difficulty¡ªtrying to sort themselves as their enemies kept pressing forward. Losses were inevitable. Slaves fell before they could truly witness the miracle of their ascension¡ªbefore they could even realize the finest moment of their revolt against their former Masters. Getting the formation right was tough, especially for such a ragtag force, but with Marcus¡¯s telepathic instruction to guide each and every one of them every step of the way, they soon got a handle on his command, and the Yokun of Nagoya began to fight tooth and claw for every inch they got in the den of their prey.


    With every inch, the metal platform only continued to give way until the rusted chain links started to audibly break apart.


    ¡°Marc!?¡± Mari shouted over the din of the ensuing battle. ¡°We¡¯re approaching the South tunnel!¡±


    Hialja¡¯s axe soared to cleave clean through a swathe of Yokun at the front of the knot. Marvin kept exhorting his Hakka-throwers with ever-more-colorful profanities, and even Karliah was leading her sisters in the deadly dances they were performing at the outside of their circle, some of the Tigran managing to disarm their opponents completely before they even made it to the rest of their troops.


    Mari, Marcus telegraphed. Do you trust me?


    ¡°That a joke?¡± she asked him right back. ¡°You¡¯re the only man I ever have.¡±


    Then that¡¯s all I need to hear. Pipers! Hold position at the southern tunnel entrance. Begin filing through the exit from the back. Hialjia, keep up your pressure! Tigrans, continue your harassment!


    ¡°Does this man of yours always bark orders like this?!¡± Karliah spat as she split a Yokun warrior¡¯s spear and followed up with a horizontal slice of her dagger across his exposed throat.


    ¡°This is new, actually,¡± Mari smiled back at her. ¡°Though if I¡¯m being honest, can¡¯t say it¡¯s a turnoff¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­I will never understand you humans.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 92

    The civilian plaza of the Piper¡¯s Hill commune was awash with shades of purple-crimson splashed on onyx¡ªthe armor of the Hitogi Zhurkin buckling under the pressure of the coordinated slaves. Their flanks began to push their frontline spearmen forward, desperately attempting to avoid the hail of arrows fired from the center of the Piper¡¯s defensive knot.


    But the equilibrium of the battle was brief. The warriors of Hitogi were known for their relentless pursuit of rebels. Their prince was hailed throughout the Arasaka for putting down revolt after revolt in the name of the House of Blades, and with every one of his men that died, another simply stepped up to take a stab at the Tigran at the edges of the enemy formation.


    For their part, the Pipers were slowly managing to filter out into the Southern exit one by one. Mari was busy directing them as best she could, with Marcus¡¯s voice giving each soldier assurances that this feigned retreat was nothing more than a ploy to get the enemy forces completely on the single metal platform that was giving way under their weight.


    At least 1,000 Yokun Zhurkin were pushing against the collective effort of 300 former slaves. And such an affront to the honor of the Yokun was all that served to push the soldiers of Hitogi on, thrusting or throwing their spears into the furry forms dancing at the perimeter of the Piper¡¯s knot.


    And Mari saw her people fall. First the Tigrans, their fur punctured and matted with blood, then the humans tossing their Hakkatovs into the swelling crowd of thorns that was the enemy.


    ¡°Into them!¡± Marvin was screaming as he lit another grenade and watched it explode into brilliant life, the sticky orange flames chewing away at the scales of the small cluster of soldiers it hit.


    ¡°Nice plan, farmer,¡± the nimble Tigran Karliah scoffed as she punctured the elbow joints of two advancing Yokun with her shortswords. ¡°What do you think we¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°I swear, kitten, if we get outta this alive, we¡¯re gonna have to just cut all the sexual tension between us and get right to the dirty stuff!¡±


    You will get out of this alive, Marcus¡¯s voice thundered over whatever furious retort the Tigran captain was about to make. Tigran rearguard, sling your weapons! Make room for your Brothers and Sisters. Yokun archers, keep your arrows fly¡ª


    A sudden crack of power whistled through the air, quicker than light, and stronger than steel. Without warning, one of the human Hakkatov throwers fell, a bloody hole punched clean through his forehead.


    ¡°Look to the roofs!¡± Hialja bellowed from the frontlines.


    The eyes of the Pipers flew to the rusted roofing of the civilian shanty town¡ªseeing that squads of Zhurkin had ascended them and dug in their claws, leveling the thin matchlock rifles that were the staple of the Yokun marksmen units. Their gunfire was beginning to tear clear holes in the center of the enemy¡¯s formation.


    The enemy of the defensive knot or Schiltron, Marcus telepathed. Ranged firepower. And there¡¯s only one way we can counteract that.


    Without even issuing the order, the Yokun bowmen in the center of the Piper¡¯s formation began aiming high, their arrows trailing through the air to find the gaps in the enemy¡¯s armor plating. There were only fifty of them in total. But the sharpness of Yokun eyes coupled with their lack of equipment weighing them down made the Yokun bowmen worth at least four ratmen shooters. There was a reason the Yokun archers of old were feared throughout all of Thean history.


    All this, Mari knew, and yet she also knew that they were the only unit within the slowly dwindling knot that was not evacuating with the rest.


    ¡°Archers!¡± she cried out as she stood on the lip of the exit and watched the frontlines begin to fall back, Hilja¡¯s massive axe keeping the surging enemy waves at bay. ¡°It¡¯s time!¡±


    They fell back with almost mechanical precision, loosing a new bamboo-covered arrow with every step they took. Mari had to marvel once more at their utter skill with the bow and at the fact that their armored cousins above were being so outclassed by inferior technology.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Then she realized what was holding them back.


    The Hakka... she scoffed in her mind, watching the marksmen on the roofs take aim, lower their guns, and then attempt to find a new target at least three times before they actually took a shot. Of course. It¡¯s the ¡®Holy Flame of Akira made manifest,¡¯ after all. They don¡¯t want to risk destroying the Hakkatovs. Their Prince had probably ordered them to recover as much of the reserves she had escaped with as they could. And Yokun, Mari knew, followed the orders of their superiors to a T.


    She smiled as she nodded to Karliah, who backflipped back into the Southern tunnel and offered a hand to her.


    For once, Mari thought. Religious superstition is working in my favor. And I¡¯m sure that¡¯s a notion we can both appreciate, right, Marc?


    ¡°More than you know, Mari.¡±


    She turned when she heard his voice¡ªnot a telepathic transmission whispered in her head¡ªbut the real voice of the man she loved, tinged with the grit she¡¯d always known he had in him.


    He always needed nothing more than the right chance to show it¡ªthe right stage to perform on.


    And that¡¯s exactly what he had.


    She looked into Marcus¡¯s face as he ordered the troops down the South hallway toward the great meeting chamber where this entire defense had been planned only an hour ago.


    ¡°I¡¯m only sorry I didn¡¯t come sooner,¡± Marcus told her as he helped her into the tunnel.


    She held on to him only momentarily. She knew she couldn¡¯t look too helpless in front of her still retreating troops.


    Still, though...if it was only for a moment.


    She planted a kiss on his cheek.


    ¡°Better late than never,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m gonna cough up a furball...¡± Karliah spat. ¡°Need I remind you two that we are still fighting here?¡±


    As though punctuating her statement, Hialja beat down another advancing wave of Yokun and crushed their plated heads under her hooves.


    ¡°Hialja smash snake-fiends!¡± she bellowed. ¡°Hialja kill!¡±


    ¡°Hialja will get over here if she wants to live!¡± Marcus yelped.


    Still, the Tauron would not budge. She lowered her head to spear clean through two Zhurkin chests with her horns, then rose to her full height as she roared, wearing both of the fallen soldiers as a grisly headdress.


    ¡°...damn!¡± Marvin shouted as he lit another Hakkatov. ¡°She¡¯s finally went and gone berserk!¡±


    The tiny opening to the Southern tunnel was beginning to shudder under the weight of those clambering down its length. The Piper¡¯s forces had all but vacated the civilian square. All except the great brutish minotaur who was becoming bogged down in speartips and gunfire, shrugging them off like the greatest legendary warriors of her people.


    ¡°Hialja kill! Rest of you¡ªgo!¡±


    ¡°Heroic last stands are not what we need right now!¡± Marcus shouted, eyeing the shuddering chain links that were barely keeping the metal platform of the main square suspended.


    He was about to bark another command when Mari stilled his hand.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°A lady like this demands a more tender approach.¡±


    At Mari¡¯s calm demeanor, Marcus nodded once, allowing her to poke her head out of the doorframe of the tunnel and shout to her noble warrioress.


    ¡°Hialja! What happens to the rest of us if you die here? What happens to your people if the savior of the enslaved Tauron dies like this? You have a legacy, my brave warrior-princess. A legacy that will be written in the stars of the Thean skies themselves!¡±


    Marcus couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow.


    ...Princess?


    He watched as the bloodied Tauron began to waver, her axe now coming up to defend her from a blast of bullets as she grimaced in pain and conflict.


    ¡°Who do you belong to, Hialja?¡± Mari cried out.


    ¡°...No one.¡±


    ¡°Then come with us and tell the bastard Prince that collared you that! Come take his head with us!¡±


    Marcus smirked as he watched his girl work. She really did have a way with words that never failed to impress him. She had a way of knowing people. Only a true empath could soothe the spirit of a beast as savage as the one who was currently turning back from the raging tide of serpents that sought her skull.


    ¡°Hialja is coming!¡± she bellowed. ¡°Hialja live to see Masters die!¡±


    ¡°Karliah, Marvin¡ªgive her some support!¡±


    Mari¡¯s two right hands were already launching Hakkatovs into the tide of spearmen, managing to give their friend enough time to reach the edge of the platform.


    ¡°She won¡¯t make it through!¡± Marvin yelped.


    The farmer then turned to see what had silenced everyone in the cavern¡ªeven the Zhurkin spearmen and the marksmen upon the roofs of the conquered square. From the very lip of the Southern tunnel entrance, Marcus unclenched his fist and showed everyone a light so blinding that even the Tigran assassin had to whistle with surprise.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have to,¡± Marcus replied as he aimed his fingers at the chain links above. ¡°All she has to do is hang on tight.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 93

    ¡°Soul of Rakhash¡­¡± Hialjia murmured as she saw the brilliant green light spark in Marcus¡¯s palm. ¡°He is¡­truly Gloomraava.¡±


    ¡°Jump, Hialjia!¡± Mari shouted while everyone else was blindsided by the sight¡ªand the Yokun Zhurkin began to back off.


    As Hialjia jumped back onto the lip of the Civilian plaza¡¯s Southern Tunnel, Marcus barked one last telepathic command to the forces that were still covering the retreat of their comrades:


    Stand back! Close your eyes!


    He said it with supreme confidence that shook the vanguard of the Zhurkin, who themselves seemed to register the psychic impact of his very words before he aimed his sparking palm at the chain-links that held the metal platforms of the Civilian Plaza aloft.


    ¡°Shai-Alud!¡± some of the Zhurkin started shouting, exhorting their men to move back out of the way of the wild magic that surged in the glasses-wearing human¡¯s veins. Yet as they tried to maneuver away from the strike they knew was coming, they found that the spiked armor of their brothers in arms kept them shackled to their positions. They were a sea of green-black skittles jostling together in fear, now, as they looked upon the one thing that all Yokun were taught was nothing more than an underground bogeyman.


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Marvin yelled over the din of their breaking morale. ¡°Get ready for an ass whoopin¡¯ you scale-faces won¡¯t forget!¡±


    The next sound to cut through the air was that of the Yokun sergeants roaring at their men to make a general retreat. Those on the ramshackle roofs of the civilian quarters had already seen their demise coming when the blinding, killing light of the human shot into the ceiling and snapped the chain links apart like they were mere threadbare ropes.


    The entire edifice wobbled, houses began collapsing, and the Yokun men who could still stand looked up to see the snarling, grinning face of the ichor-covered minotaur standing on the lip of the Southern tunnel exit. The marksmen, meanwhile, were receiving orders to aim for the Shai-Alud.


    Hialjia, Marcus telepathed as he quickly hid behind the great beast¡¯s form. You know what to do.


    The Tauron¡¯s grin became a grisly, bloody snarl.


    ¡°Now the human is speaking Hialjia¡¯s language.¡±


    The Yokun closest to the Minotaur risked everything in a jumping strike to spear the chest of the beast before her hoof came down on the wobbling platform, but they did not expect the swiftness of a Tigran. While they lumbered forward to leap at the beast that was ready to annihilate their invasion, Karliah¡¯s twin blades found their necks as she tossed them at point-blank range. Both the soldiers made it to the Southern Tunnel¡ªas a gaggle of gargling grunts who were swiftly dispatched by the Pipers waiting for them.


    ¡°Now, Hialjia!¡± Mari screamed over the chaos.


    With a roar that could strike fear into the heart of the most seasoned Norse Berserker, Hialjia¡¯s hoof came down and sent a reverberation through the shaking, unsteady Civilian platform. The skittering lines of Yokun soldiers could do nothing but stare at the floor as it quickly gave way, and the entire edifice came toppling down into the chasm it was suspended above.


    The Piper archers finally stopped their firing. The Hakkatov throwers ceased their bombardment. The Piper assemblage who could see past the shoulder of their comrades in the narrow Southern Tunnel simply stood and watched, mouths agape, as their enemies crumpled and fell with their old residences. The Pipers¡ªTigran, Yokun, humans, and Tauron all¡ªstood and watched as the place they once called home folded in on itself and enveloped every screaming Yokun as they scrabbled to flee back the way they came¡ªdiscarding any excess weaponry and even stripping off their armor if it helped them flee faster.


    But it didn¡¯t. Those that made it to the end of the platform quickly realized that they had started to climb vertically, and in the next second went sliding down into the abyss below, probably ending up in some God-forsaken part of the Underkingdom for all Marcus knew.


    He looked upon the sight as something more than just a victory. Every Yokun soldier he watched fall to their untimely deaths, bestial screams issuing from their scaled throats, was a reminder that, once again, he was now doing exactly what he was best at.


    And, looking at his glowing hand as the last echoing Yokun wails finally died, he saw that the light of the Gloomraav simply faded and died away, sinking into the grooves of his palm until it was summoned again.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    This¡­he thought. This is what I am, now¡­


    ¡°A fantasy General,¡± Mari murmured in disbelief. ¡°And a magic one, at that.¡±


    She took his hand forcefully as he shied away from her praise, and, turning towards her warriors, she thrust it into the air.


    ¡°What you have witnessed here will be spoken of for generations to come!¡± she bellowed down the Southern tunnel at the bewildered Piper forces. ¡°This is the first great victory of our cause, accomplished through the strategic genius of the Shai-Alud himself! Look upon him and see what he brings¡ªyour freedom, my Pipers! Your freedom and your fire!¡±


    A few bemused seconds passed, during which each and every former slave exchanged nothing more than fleeting glances at the other.


    Then Marvin, the former slave-farmer, took Marcus¡¯s other hand in his:


    ¡°¡¯Mon the Marcus!¡± he roared. ¡°Let¡¯s fuck those Lizard Masters in their scaly arses!¡±


    ¡°HERE, HERE!¡± came the general cry. ¡°HERE, HERE!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­an eloquent one,¡± Marcus said, staring at Marvin¡¯s fervent eyes, and his face caked with soot and Yokun blood.


    ¡°Marvin is good at¡­translation,¡± Mari giggled. ¡°He¡¯s a man of the people, and he always knows just how to speak to them.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately¡­¡± Karliah scoffed. ¡°But, while we¡¯re on the subject, it seems our General has made some¡­interesting developments in that regard.¡±


    The feisty cat¡¯s already calling me her General, Marcus mused. That¡¯s a start¡­


    ¡°I have something you all need to see,¡± he told the assembled Piper leadership. ¡°But we¡¯ll have to be quick.¡±


    ¡°Way ahead of you,¡± Mari winked, before commanding her soldiers to follow the tunnels, pack everything they can, and help the families and the sick who had made it through the Southeast tunnels towards their escape point.


    ¡°H¡­human man not so bad,¡± Hialjia wheezed, shrugging off shrapnel from the bullets that had impaled her rigid muscles. ¡°But¡ªwhy he talk like old Matriarch?¡±


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s true enough,¡± Marvin added. ¡°How is old Jin¡¯an, huh?¡±


    Marcus hung his head, wiping the sweat that had gathered on his brow since he¡¯d sprinted here to take command.


    ¡°I¡­can show you,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s her that you owe this victory to, not me.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°¡­Damn¡­¡±


    The Piper leaders looked upon the faded form of their Old prophet¡ªthe Matriarch who had been the life and soul of their movement before any of them had even joined it.


    ¡°¡­you.¡±


    Marcus barely had time to turn before Karliah¡¯s claws were at his throat, her teeth throwing purple-blooded spittle in his face.


    ¡°Karliah!¡± Mari screamed.


    ¡°¡­you did this¡­¡± the Tigran snarled, clenching his claws around Marcus¡¯s neck. ¡°You¡­you let her¡­you let her¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡ªlet¡ªher¡ªfulfill¡­her promise!¡± Marcus snarled right back, and as soon as the Tigran noticed that his hand was starting to glow again at her abdomen, she withdrew her readied natural weapons.


    ¡°Promise?¡± Mari asked.


    ¡°She¡ªshe said that her job was done,¡± Marcus told her and the rest of them. ¡°She said she¡¯d brought the ¡®Snake¡¯ and the ¡®Rat¡¯ together. And she gave her life to bestow her power onto me.¡±


    ¡°So that you could lead us!¡± Marvin yelped like a kid who had just solved their first jigsaw puzzle. ¡°Damn¡­she was a real one. But¡­damn.¡±


    The Tauron lay at the feet of the Yokun Matriarch, her crimson eyes closed and her head bowed, axe clenched beside her as though she were a crusader intoning a holy prayer.


    ¡°Hialjia¡¯s job is finished,¡± she said. ¡°She swore long ago to protect the great Oracle who freed her from the Masters. She listened to the Old one because she and the Pale Lady are great warriors. Now, Hialjia is truly alone.¡±


    ¡°Never, princess,¡± Mari said, coming to rest her hand on the great bulging arms of the beast. ¡°You¡¯ll never be alone, Hialjia. None of us will be. Not now. Not ever.¡±


    ¡°Tskithekot!¡± Karliah spat, glaring with hatred at Marcus before turning away and leering at the farmer instead. ¡°What do we do without the old woman? She¡¯s the one who always kept us one step ahead of the bastard Princes they sent after us. If not her¡ªdon¡¯t tell me¡ªwe¡¯re supposed to follow this filthy human?¡±


    ¡°This filthy human just ended a whole regiment of Clan Hitogi Zhukrin, Kat,¡± Mari replied before Marcus could get a word in. ¡°Are you questioning his ability?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯m questioning his commitment to the cause, my Lady.¡±


    Mari chose to ignore the Tigran then, and turned simply to Marcus with her head held high. Strong and steady ¨C even though she too clearly felt the pain of losing a woman who, from what Marcus could gather, was essentially a surrogate mother to her in this realm.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°Are you with us?¡±


    Feeling the hopeful eyes of the leaders upon him, Marcus simply rubbed the back of his neck and fixed his eyes on the woman he loved. He knew the answer, and he also knew that, by now, he was in far too deep to back out. He could see it in her eyes ¨C as long as her people, these people, still had the threat of enslavement looming over their necks, Mari wasn¡¯t gonna budge an inch.


    So, like the old Yokun had said, it was up to him to see this campaign through. Even if it cost him what little humanity remained in his Gloomraav-charged being. Even if it meant following the trajectory of some ¡®prophecy¡¯ that was probably just a convenient narrative explanation for his appearance and triumphs on this world.


    He met the eyes of every grieving warrior, and spoke now without a single hesitation.


    ¡°You have your General,¡± he told them all. ¡°And I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 94

    The main assembly chamber of Piper¡¯s Hill was brimming with the wounded and the battle-ready. Tigrans, Yokun, and humans jostled about this way and that, attending to each other with the meager supplies they still had. Others were busy ensuring the last of the evacuations took place ¨C they had led the families through the Southern Tunnels and were ready to join them after they¡¯d licked their wounds.


    But all of them stopped when they saw the figure of their new General enter their midst, attended by the Pale Matriarch and her faithful commanders.


    ¡°Take it all in, boy!¡± Marvin shouted over the din of the cheering warriors ¨C those once-enslaved who had managed to repel their Masters¡¯ servants so completely. A mere force of 300 had stood against a tide of at least 1,000 ferocious lizards.


    ¡°Ye hear that?¡± Marvin said with a jab at Marcus¡¯s side. ¡°That¡¯s the battle-cry of freedom, so it is!¡±


    Marvin added his own voice to that of the crowd as Marcus looked on, raising a hand sheepishly to wave away their chorus of praises.


    ¡°It¡¯s a sound far more pleasing to my ears than the dins of the Underkingdom.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Karliah said ¨C the Tigran slipping from behind him and nodding to her blood-covered sisters in the mass of bonded-turned-warriors. ¡°I¡¯ll bet. We heard the stories of you leading those vermin to victory. If you weren¡¯t helping us out with your little war by distracting the Yokun¡¯s favorite little pet down there, I¡¯d have gutted you by now.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s be thankful he¡¯s here to help us,¡± Mari cautioned, eyes darting to her haughty assassin. ¡°Exactly when he was supposed to come.¡±


    Marcus drew his eyes away from the crowd to meet Mari¡¯s, sudden realization overtaking him as he heard the din of more explosions rocket above. The whole army crouched down, expecting the shaking ceiling of their underground lair to give way at that very moment ¨C so close had the volley of projectiles launched from above come to their base.


    ¡°Vindictive bastard,¡± Mari huffed. ¡°Even knowing that his men must be dead by now, the proud Prince still isn¡¯t giving up.¡±


    ¡°Must go to protect the young,¡± Hialjia the Tauron groaned as she pushed past her fellows toward the Southern tunnel ¨C the legion of Pipers turning to follow her.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Marcus shouted.


    Three hundred eyes turned to meet his. And before he knew it, he was the center of their attention again.


    Damn, he thought to himself. The more things change, the more they stay the same¡­


    He then felt Mari grab his arm firmly from his side.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, Marc: there¡¯s no way we¡¯re gonna get everyone out with those Hakka-carts spewing their fire above our heads. The losses would be too great, no matter how fast we could run.¡±


    She looked toward Marvin, who corroborated her belief with a bashful nod of his head. Marcus knew how good he was at avoiding those flames ¨C but he wasn¡¯t perfect. Not by a long shot.


    ¡°What else do we do then?¡± Hialjia asked, taking up the call from several of the Yokun archers who were agreeing with Mari¡¯s sentiment. ¡°Just sit and wait to die?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Princess,¡± Karliah scoffed. ¡°What a novel idea that would be. Fuck all the effort we¡¯ve put into fighting this impossible battle. Let¡¯s just give in now that we¡¯ve got a chance.¡±


    The Tauron was about to reach for her axe, but Mari stopped her with a simple raising of her pale, leather-clad hand.


    ¡°Karliah?¡±


    ¡°I mean ¨C we do have a chance here, don¡¯t we?¡± the Tigran said as another booming din sounded above them all, sprinkling dust and ash upon their skulls. ¡°Even if he is a filthy Under-dweller, the Elder Matriarch believed in him. She gave him the power to lead us for a reason.¡±


    She eyed Marcus with an odd mixture of hatred and admiration, her sister Tigran nodding along with her every word.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°We Tigrans put much stock in prophecy,¡± she said in the face of his surprise. ¡°We may be far from the dry dust of Dunehaven, but there are some things that cannot be taken from beneath the fur of the kitten.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Marvin shouted. ¡°You ¨C you just admitted it! After all this time, you really are a ki¨C¡±


    ¡°One more word,¡± Karliah said as she leveled a blade in Marvin¡¯s face without even looking in his direction.


    Amidst the oohs of the crowd, Marcus simply smiled and gave a reverent bow.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had warriors with far less noble intentions place their trust in me,¡± he said. ¡°I followed through with their schemes to find the woman who leads you all. And now that I¡¯m here, I have no intention of letting you ¨C or her ¨C down. Let¡¯s take the fight to this Prince himself.¡±


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d come around,¡± Mari smirked up at him. ¡°My girlish charms clearly still have their uses¡­¡±


    She turned to the warriors waiting before her ¨C those men and women who had fought to breathe free air since they had been taken from their families and told they had nothing but a life of servitude to enjoy. They looked at the woman who had broken this belief with just as much fervor as she had smashed their chains, and they looked too at the man who would finish their fight.


    ¡°Pipers!¡± Mari shouted. ¡°Are you ready to take the fight to our tormentor ¨C the Prince of Hitogi himself?¡±


    The resounding cry was one of unanimous assent, and Marcus had to smile to see it. Once again, he was reminded just how much trust and respect these people reserved for the woman he loved.


    ¡°This Prince ¨C what do you know about him?¡± Marcus asked.


    ¡°Heh, we know him better than his own ¡®loyal¡¯ subjects do,¡± Marvin explained as Mari directed the army out of the Southern tunnels. ¡°Nagoya Hitogi, the ¡®favored son of Akira¡¯ ¨C Yokun God of Cleansing, Holy Flame. Supposedly it was under his oversight that the first Hakka charges were developed way back when the Yokun were just a bunch of tribals whipping their arseholes with swampweed.¡±


    ¡°The Prince is a lizard of honor,¡± Karliah scoffed. ¡°He prefers to end wars swiftly and decisively, calling his brutal tactics a mercy in the long run. He and his Clan are known for their particular predilection for putting down internal revolts and silencing dissent in the court of the Triumvirate. As you can imagine, we¡¯ve been something of a thorn in Nagoya¡¯s side for a long time now.¡±


    Marcus pondered their assessment while another payload of Hakka pounded the ceiling above, drawing disconcerted looks from the slowly moving forces below.


    ¡°With that kind of artillery, a frontal assault would be pointless,¡± Marcus surmised. ¡°And I¡¯m willing to bet that, considering the favorable angle of elevation, he¡¯s probably holed up in a fortified position that gives him overwatch over this section of the jungle itself.¡±


    ¡°Quite right, son,¡± Marvin said as Mari rejoined the group, letting Hialjia take over and lead the army out. ¡°I¡¯ve seen his camp with my own eyes. The biggest advantage we have is that our Southern Tunnels actually fork at a certain point ¨C maybe three hundred meters in ¨C and take us right underneath the camp itself.¡±


    ¡°That is¡­ a remarkable advantage, all things considered,¡± Marcus admitted. ¡°How developed is this tunnel system?¡±


    Mari nodded. ¡°It¡¯s these tunnels that have kept us moving ¨C and kept us alive. They extend from the city of Tokeri to the North all the way to this little outpost. This place has been the sanctuary of the Pipers since before I even knew about them. Jin¡¯an¡­ she had kept this place a strict secret for so long. The dream of every bondsman slaving under the Arasaka sun was to travel these tunnels to freedom one day. Our own little underground railroad.¡±


    Sorrow tinged Mari¡¯s throat. She was still thinking about Jin¡¯an, and although Marcus reached out to comfort her, she refused to look weak in the moment.


    ¡°The Southern tunnels are our newest creation,¡± she continued. ¡°They take us out to the jungle, just a few miles from the human-controlled border. The plan was to make it to Marxon¡¯s men and seek refuge.¡±


    ¡°Slavery¡¯s long ago abolished in the Kingdom of men,¡± Marvin put in.


    ¡°Not for the purely altruistic reasons that you might think,¡± Mari reminded him. ¡°Every freed slave is a new soldier for Marxon, after all. By this point, he¡¯s amassed the greatest fighting force that this world has ever seen. We have to make it to him, Marcus. He¡¯s the only one who can finally grant these people the life they deserve.¡±


    ¡°But first,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°We¡¯ll have to deal with this troublesome Prince.¡±


    Another pang of power exploded above, and Marcus¡¯s eyes turned to the pieces of Yokun weapons and armor that had been scavenged from the dead who had died in the tunnels. Useful, certainly, and intricate in their make ¨C resembling the early-modern armor of Japanese samurai with such detail that Marcus could be forgiven for thinking that the Yokun had stolen the suits from Earth itself.


    As the thought entered his head, he slowly began to formulate a plan.


    ¡°He¡¯s a lizard of honor, you said, Karliah? Good. We can use that. There¡¯s one thing lizards ¨C and men ¨C who care about looking good on the battlefield never expect.¡±


    They colorful assemblage all stared at the smile that was breaking across Marcus¡¯s face.


    ¡°Which is¡­what?¡± Karliah asked.


    ¡°Subterfuge,¡± Marcus answered through a devious smile. ¡°We¡¯re going to trick our Prince into welcoming his own demise.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 95

    ¡°Lord Nagoya, the Zhurkin have failed to report.¡±


    The Yokun who delivered this message said nothing more to his Prince before bowing swiftly and returning to his post, dread hounding his every step.


    ¡°Like a den of wolves,¡± the Prince remarked to himself as he sipped from a flask of carefully brewed Gogi tea. ¡°They have devoured my men and made a mockery of our banner.¡±


    He allowed his fury to bubble over for just a second before steeling himself, looking up at the flags flying proudly above his fortified palisades. The camp was a hotbed of activity¡ªmen loading more and more Hakka charges with the zeal of Akira himself¡ªbut even the Prince knew that their morale was beginning to suffer in the wake of the Zhurkin regiment¡¯s failure to return with the dawn.


    He watched the sun glide over the smoking stalks of what was once a glimmering patch of jungle. He had planned to overwhelm them with sheer force of arms but had refused to commit his vanguard to the fighting. They¡ªhis Kherja warriors¡ªbelonged at his side, not in the flea-bitten lair of thieves and degenerates.


    He glanced over his shoulder to see his honor guard standing by his side, eyes narrowed and ready for him to give them the word. Right here and now, upon the wooden walls of their camp, he looked into the eyes of Yokun who wished nothing more than to give their lives for him.


    It was a heavy burden to bear. And he felt it¡ªas keenly as any commander who loved his men, he felt it.


    One Kherja, resplendent in the shimmering, flame-embroidered onyx armor that characterized his class, knelt before him now and offered him up his blade.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± the boy said¡ªfor he was a boy: honorable Canjung, once of House Naga, who had devoted himself to Nagoya after the boy had witnessed the Prince¡¯s courage on the battlefield.


    The boy dared to look up at his Prince with eyes watery with rage; his indigo scales, common amongst his Housekin, were hard and dark, as though he had been berating himself ever since his brethren had been presumed dead.


    ¡°My Lord¡ªI beg of you, give me the command and I shall bring you the head of the Pale One. In so doing, I shall avenge our fallen brethren and bring you great honor!¡±


    Prince Nagoya looked down at the supplicant boy and bid him rise, a hearty laugh diminishing the boy¡¯s resolve almost instantly.


    ¡°Kherja Canjung,¡± the Prince said, ¡°how many years do you have upon your scales?¡±


    The boy bristled at the question, but he dared not refuse to answer. ¡°Twenty-one, my Lord.¡±


    ¡°And you shall have many more yet. Let fool notions of vengeance slip from your mind. They shall not serve you.¡±


    ¡°B-but my Prince¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you mean to assume my station?¡± Nagoya interrupted the boy. ¡°The blood of my Zhurkin is on my claws, not yours.¡±


    ¡°Their... their blood is on the hands of those Kejai San Pipers, Sire! Do not blame yourself!¡±


    The Prince held up a firm, gauntleted claw. The word the boy had used was a term that every Yokun knew from their youth. Roughly translated, Kejai meant ¡®lesser¡¯ or ¡®corrupted.¡¯ When combined with the Yokun word for ¡®people¡¯ or ¡®kinsmen¡¯ (San), the phrase approached something like ¡®lesser race.¡¯


    ¡°You believe hatred alone shall serve to strike down our enemies?¡± the Prince challenged, speaking with such high authority that the boy had to drop his gaze abruptly. Four Hakka rockets then sailed over the Prince¡¯s slick head, making him into an avatar of Akira Himself before the boy.


    ¡°A warrior that strikes with only hate is no true warrior¡ªhe is a barbarian worthy of no more respect than the Tauron of the Ashfall Mountains. I did not enter you into my service because I wished to have a blunt instrument by my side, Canjung.¡±


    The Prince knelt there upon the palisade, in full view of his honor guard and the laboring men in his camp, and placed a firm but gentle hand upon the shoulder of his shaking servant.


    ¡°Good lizards are what I need,¡± he smiled. ¡°Yokun bound by honor and duty, with courage to match the barbarity of our foes. Let these virtues be the light that guides your sword.¡±


    Just then, a general cry was heard thundering from the advance scouts in the trench just outside the hill fort¡¯s vicinity.


    ¡°Prince Nagoya! The Zhurkin return!¡±


    The Hakka bombardment stopped abruptly, with every able-bodied lizard running to the palisades and watchtowers, intent on seeing their brothers returning through the ashen treeline beyond their position. When Nagoya called for the lookout¡¯s telescope and saw the sight of five of his men lumbering towards them, he felt even his cold blood run hot with the fires of triumph.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Because they were not alone.


    ¡°¡®Let honor and duty be the lights that guide our blades, so that we may cleave through even the darkest despairs...¡¯¡±


    He paused reflexively after quoting this verse from the Mandate of Akira, breathing in the smoke-filled air and then issuing a gruff commandment to his waiting warriors:


    ¡°Open the gates!¡±


    The guards at the gatehouse needed no further prompting. With a force that was a pure expression of their relief, they threw open the wooden gate and welcomed their beleaguered brothers home, their armor shredded and tattered¡ªriddled with scrapes and arrows from engagement with the barbarous rebels who dwelled in the dirt. But they were welcomed back as heroes¡ªfor the great hulking Tauron they had shackled in chains behind them was a prize worthy of respect.


    But more impressive still was the woman they carried with them, who was promptly thrown to the ground in the middle of Nagoya¡¯s war camp to the disbelief of the Yokun soldiers and laborers who remained by their Prince¡¯s side.


    For his part, Nagoya savored the looks of satisfaction on his men¡¯s faces. Finally, their year of toil seemed to come to a sudden end.


    But as he marched down to meet the five kneeling troops who had returned, a glimmer of sorrow clutched at his heart.


    ¡°Hail to you, Zhurkin of Hitogi,¡± he addressed the fully helmeted warrior who stood at their head, the clan banner fluttering from his shoulders. ¡°I see that you have not returned to us empty-handed.¡±


    The Prince¡¯s honor guard snickered at the statement, a few of them wishing nothing more than to break ranks and spit on the pathetic human¡¯s bone-white skull as she shriveled in the dirt. The Tauron, meanwhile, accepted all the abuse the men hurled at it with silent rage¡ªthe kind of rage the unruly slaves who needed some discipline all shared. They would break her again, soon.


    ¡°We come to you with the bitch-leader,¡± the banner-bearer told the Prince. ¡°Though the capture of her and her monster cost us dearly, my Lord.¡±


    The Prince¡¯s chest tightened. ¡°How many did you lose?¡±


    ¡°Sire, we are all that remain.¡±


    Murmurs. Murmurs that started to rise to low growls, and hurls of Kejai San and other insults at the base creatures who had cost the clan so much this day. But the reactions, when compared to those of other Clans, were still relatively muted. Many soldiers simply stared with unconcealed, raw hate at the human bound in ropes at the Prince¡¯s feet, and waited for their Lord¡¯s reaction.


    ¡°Their army?¡± the Prince asked.


    ¡°Decimated,¡± the leader replied.


    To the surprise of his men, the Prince did not strike the female, nor did he snarl abuse in her face. He simply bent down, grabbed her by her neck, and forced her to meet his steely, amber gaze.


    ¡°You have bled my clan this day,¡± he told her defiant eyes. ¡°You have bled your own people dry. How many perfectly good people did you see driven into the dirt before they died around you?¡±


    His voice was thick and hard as gravel, and a series of hisses from his legion followed the Pale Lady¡¯s reply:


    ¡°They died as free men and women.¡±


    The Prince shook his head sadly in the face of the Pale One¡¯s words, sighing as though he were speaking to a disgruntled child who had thrown a long-winded tantrum.


    ¡°An entire year of conflict,¡± he said. ¡°And for what? If you wished for death, I would have granted it to you as a gift to the Patriarch that you and your predecessor so callously slew. You speak of freedom, and yet all you have accomplished is the consignment of your flock into the earth¡ªnaught but inert, barren ash. The soil of the Arasaka shall flower and bloom upon the site of their graves, fertilized by their blood and bile. And they, and your little rebellion, shall fade away as a footnote in history. Tell me truthfully, human: is this truly the legacy you thought you would leave behind on our world?¡±


    To this, the Yokun watching the spectacle cheered with such fervor that many did not even hear the Pale Lady¡¯s retort:


    ¡°You and your kind will never understand.¡±


    ¡°No, Lady Maria,¡± Nagoya replied with a scoff. ¡°I understand a dreaming infant when I see one. You thought to make yourself a champion to the downtrodden, but now you lie before me in chains¡ªbefore me, and the Clan that shall deliver you to the Patriarch of the House of Blades himself: Clan Hitogi!¡±


    The Yokun followed their Prince¡¯s lead, pumping their mailed fists in the air as the banners of their Clan fluttered in the rising winds of midday. Only this time, their cheers were silenced by the sudden and terrific roar of the Tauron prisoner.


    ¡°Lady Maria is never a slave!¡± the creature howled. ¡°Just as Hialjia is not a slave¡ªnever will be a slave again!¡±


    Bouts of laughter echoed from the palisades¡ªa few warriors tossing scraps and rocks at the bound she-devil.


    ¡°My, my,¡± the Prince replied as he looked her up and down. ¡°How you have trained this one. It even thinks it has a name. How quaint.¡±


    The Tauron leveled its gaze at the smirking Prince of Hitogi, her bearers barely able to keep her in check despite the bloody wounds that littered her body.


    ¡°Face me, coward!¡± she roared so that all could hear her from the jungles of Arasaka to her home in the Ashfalls. ¡°Fight Hialjia here and now, and let us see who is slave and who is master! Let it be a duel! A duel to the death!¡±


    ¡°Hialjia!¡± Maria screamed. ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t throw your life awa¡ª¡±


    She was interrupted by a terse beating from the leader of the Zhurkin who held her. The warrior then bowed low as the Prince turned to him in anger. It did not do to rough up good produce.


    But it also did not do to let the Tauron¡¯s words just pass him by like the wind. In fact, to those incredulous warriors looking on at the whole spectacle, the Prince seemed rather entertained by the creature¡¯s challenge.


    ¡°Clever beast,¡± he said. ¡°You know that, by the Divine Mandate of Akira, any Prince who denies an honorable duel upon ground that belongs to him shall suffer disrespect and humiliation. And any Yokun who denies mortal combat on the battlefield as a way to avoid further losses is not a Yokun worthy of retaining his command.¡±


    More murmurs passed through the crowded center of the fort, with soldiers coming forward to volunteer themselves to take on the big bitch in their Prince¡¯s name.


    ¡°My Lord!¡± young Canjung snapped. ¡°Let me be your champion. I shall take the head of this demon and mount it upon the walls of your palace myself!¡±


    But the Prince did not pay such promises any heed. The older Yokun among the Clan knew the Prince of Hitogi better than that. So, when he smiled a dark, vicious smile back up at the growling Tauron, they were not shocked at all by his reply:


    ¡°Very well, beast who calls itself ¡®Hialjia.¡¯ You long to be free? Let my blade grant you your wish.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 96

    Marcus tried to stifle the spluttering, whooping coughs that racked his throat.


    Marvin, he telepathed. How close to the surface are we?


    The bulky human replied as his pickaxe bashed through clods of dirt and soil above them, while the rest of their troops waited behind. Two hundred of them ¨C for now. The others were helping with the ongoing evacuation.


    ¡°Just two ¨C more ¨C hits!¡±


    Marcus spared a look back at the hopeful hybrids as they clutched their weapons to their bosoms ¨C Tigran with twitchy noses, Yokun with eyes as focused as hunters, and even a couple of Marvin¡¯s humans shaking like leaves. They¡¯d felt the flames of Hakka before. They¡¯d probably heard the screams of their dying comrades as they ran from their former Masters far too often.


    If this fails¡­


    Marcus instantly threw the thought from his mind. Doubt had been what had failed him before. Doubt, and a lack of imagination. Now, he held more lives in his hands, and he wasn¡¯t about to fail them. Not now. Not again.


    Especially not when so many had already died to get him to this point.


    What¡¯s a few more deaths¡­ Marcus Graham?


    Marcus¡¯s eyes bulged as this thought ¨C intrusive and distinctively not his ¨C forced its way into his mind with power unlike anything he¡¯d felt before.


    And then Marvin¡¯s pickaxe finally struck true, and a hatch was opened above their position in the Southeastern tunnels. The dim light of evening dew streamed through the opening, covering Marvin in a deep, pale orange as he checked the surface and beamed a thumbs-up down to Marcus.


    Alright, Marcus commanded. Two at a time. Slow. Once topside, keep low and stay low. We¡¯ll approach as soon as the signal is given.


    He grimaced as he ascended, helped by Marvin, right back up to Thea¡¯s surface. A night operation had been out of the question in the Underkingdom ¨C where darkness always reigned. But now that he was back on real land, he had more considerations that could be tactically crucial to consider. For one thing, he could already see that the ¡®duel¡¯ was about to commence ¨C most of the Prince¡¯s army was appropriately distracted by Hialjia¡¯s boastful wails and retorts.


    Gotta admit, that ¡®Princess¡¯ really can act¡­


    As he helped the rest of the unit up, he couldn¡¯t help but feel pangs of sorrow at having to use Mari as bait. But, as was her way, as soon as it was even suggested that she could play a pivotal role in their retribution, she had agreed without question. She led by example and wasn¡¯t afraid to get her hands dirty ¨C traits that were the marks of all great leaders.


    And, if he was being honest, traits he¡¯d never really known she possessed.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got ¡¯em with their pants down, Marcus,¡± Marvin whispered as he crouched low beside him, scanning the Yokun palisades, watching the rear section of the camp where the smoke plumes were the thickest ¨C because that was exactly where they needed to go.


    Marvin seemed jumpy beside him. Pre-battle nerves? Or something else? Marcus¡¯s eyes asked those questions for him.


    ¡°Are¡­ that is¡­ are ye sure you can do your part?¡± he asked, licking his dirt-flecked lips. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not exactly a stranger to seeing magic, but I hear tell it ain¡¯t easy for a wizard to control his power. I mean, Jin¡¯an did alright, but she was an ancient gal.¡±


    Marcus brought up his twisted hand ¨C eyes trained on the pulsing green veins that had been gifted to him by a rat more loyal than any he¡¯d ever known, and then bolstered by a Yokun that he never knew at all but who, miraculously, had managed to link her power with that of Deekius to make Marcus what he was now.


    And what am I now, really? he thought, his mind suddenly recalling the dark voice he¡¯d heard in his mind ¨C the voice that had sounded eerily similar to that of the many-horned rat that had appeared to him in his dreams beneath Grindlefecht.


    Am I Gloomraava? Or something else entirely¡­


    Just then came a berserker roar that split the trees behind the assembled Pipers, many of whom had to hold back cries of triumph as they recognized the powerful sound of Hialjia the Tauron, ready to rip her enemy to shreds.


    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out what I can do soon enough,¡± Marcus replied to Marvin¡¯s question. ¡°That¡¯s our cue¡­¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Pipers! he then telepathed. Move out!


    ¡­


    Prince Nagoya was relatively amused by how quickly his camp had turned into a tournament arena.


    They¡¯d brought the hulking beast to a pen just outside the Northeast watchtower. The place was usually reserved for cattle, but the prospect of a duel between the Prince of Hitogi and a fully grown mountain Tauron proved to outweigh the pastoral concerns of the army. The cattle were promptly cleared. The watchtower guards were doubled ¨C each one training his musket on the horned head of the great beast as she fought against those who pulled and whipped her into position.


    The Prince, meanwhile, was followed closely by his cohorts ¨C his onyx-clad Kherja honor guard. Young Canjung was still insisting that he take his Prince¡¯s place, but Nagoya, eyeing the Pale Lady as she watched from her knees outside the pen, made it perfectly clear that this was his fight.


    He entered the pen to cheers from his men, cracking his scaled neck and unsheathing his katana from its scabbard. The blade cracked the air itself as he drew it out, sending ripples of excitement through the crowd.


    ¡°Where is Hialjia¡¯s weapon?!¡± the Tauron bellowed.


    ¡°¡¯Weapon?¡¯¡± Canjung spat. ¡°You are a beast of burden! A wretched Keji-Sai who is lucky to even look upon his Lordship¡¯s magnificence! You should fight with nothing but your dirty claws and hoofed, demon feet!¡±


    Amid ripples of agreement from his men, Prince Nagoya swiped his blade through the air again, as though cutting through their voices with a single, precise slash.


    ¡°This is a matter of honor,¡± he told the warriors ¨C Zhurkin and Kherja both. ¡°We Yokun are not base creatures who scuttle beneath the earth. Nor are we afraid of our enemies¡¯ tools of death-dealing. The Mandate of Akira teaches that all duels be conducted with fair play to both parties. Tauron ¨C if the weapon we took from you is your instrument of death, then you shall have it.¡±


    Murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd, but another swipe of the Prince¡¯s blade made his commandment most clear. Hialjia¡¯s axe was laid at her feet, and a bloody grin crept across her face.


    ¡°She¡¯ll kill you with that, you know,¡± Mari said from the periphery of the makeshift arena. ¡°Without it, you might have stood a chance.¡±


    The Yokun Prince shifted his sharp eyes to her bound form only for a moment before he smiled back up at his massive opponent.


    ¡°Watch closely, ¡®Pale Matriarch.¡¯ See what a true warrior of this world is made of.¡±


    The Tauron was released, her captors scurrying away almost instantly as they let their chains go. She shook them off, charged towards her axe, and scooped it up with one swift motion that seemed utterly incongruous with her size.


    As she charged towards the Prince, every Yokun¡¯s heart was in their mouth. The great beast lowered her head, ready to gore their grand leader¡¯s stomach¡­


    ¡°Fah-SHA!¡±


    With one swift, practiced, utterly fluid motion, the Prince stepped aside and brought his blade across the Tauron¡¯s cheek, gouging deep into her face before withdrawing and spinning away to her flank, his every move like that of a trained dancer.


    ¡°HAIL, PRINCE NAGOYA!¡±


    The crowd loved every moment. The Tauron spun her axe around, striking down the walls of the enclosure behind her and smashing the weapon¡¯s bladed side into the ground where her opponent once stood. As she lifted her blade, she then felt a stabbing pain sear up her left side and looked down to see that the Yokun Prince had embedded his sword in her ribcage.


    Her axe hand faltered. Her mind went blank, and she let out another roar that this time shook the very foundations of the wooden palisade. The Prince, however, was not to be cowed, and pushed off against her thick hide to remove his sword.


    But the hand of the great beast found his blade and kept it there, in her side.


    ¡°You think Hialjia does not know pain?¡± she growled. ¡°Hialjia has lived through worse.¡±


    The burly fist of the beast came reeling back. Then, with power that even the spectators could feel behind it, the beast slammed it into the Prince¡¯s face, sending him skidding towards the other end of the arena.


    ¡°Lord Nagoya!¡±


    The musketeers above leveled their weapons at the snarling creature, but the mailed hand of their Prince punched the air, halting their attack.


    ¡°Do nothing,¡± the Prince called out as he rose, purple blood frothing at his mouth. ¡°The beast is mine.¡±


    Hialjia tore the katana from her rib and threw it aside, turning to Mari with a ravenous grin.


    ¡°Hialjia thinks this will be easier than she thought!¡±


    ¡°Kick his ass, Princess.¡±


    Mari received a stout strike across her face for that quip, and the Tauron leveled her axe at the Yokun who delivered the blow.


    ¡°Hold, beast!¡± came the voice of the Prince. ¡°Your fight is with me!¡±


    The axe of the Tauron came crashing down in response, breaking apart the ground and sending the Prince into a roll that brought him within claw''s reach of his blade. He took it up and met her next swing, their weapons clashing in a spark of steel.


    To the dismay of the entire crowd, Prince Nagoya was not pushed back. He smiled up at the bemused beast and then threw her axe off in a flourish that would have impressed an air-elemental. The axe skidded away, the Prince twirled out of the Tauron¡¯s next punch, and his blade found its mark in the creature¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Hialjia!¡±


    Mari¡¯s voice was almost completely lost as the Prince twisted his blade and brought the creature to her knees. His men¡¯s cries of triumph were now louder than even her roars of pain.


    ¡°Your kind,¡± the Prince snarled in Hialjia¡¯s face, ¡°will never stand on our level. I hope now, at the end, you realize your mistake.¡±


    The Prince did not know what he was truly expecting ¨C he¡¯d never slain a Tauron before. But when the great beast¡¯s bloody lips curled in a sly smile, he couldn¡¯t hide his surprise ¨C and the sudden deluge of heat from an explosion he felt at his back did nothing to alleviate his sudden concern.


    ¡°Hialjia hopes you realize yours,¡± the smiling Tauron then replied.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 97

    Marcus wasn¡¯t sure exactly what would happen when his burning hand touched the Hakka carts at the back of the Prince¡¯s camp. Indeed, as the Tigran Pipers stalked forward and slit the throats of the half-asleep men who had been stationed to guard them, he gulped down a sense of palpable anxiety.


    Now was not the time for doubt. Mari and Hialjia¡¯s lives were both at stake.


    So, as the last guard fell, he and a detachment of the Pipers hurried across the Yokun camp¡¯s rear gate and took up positions around their tents, slaying any soldiers who had retired for the night. Their beastly gargles were drowned out by the furious combat their Prince, in his hubris, had agreed to.


    Alright, Marcus quickly telepathed when the coast was clear. Four of you to each cart. The rest of you, stand back! As soon as the first volley goes off, we charge and finish off any resistance that remains.


    Marcus approached the grim-looking Hakka carts with Marvin and his small detachment, each of them warily handling one of the four devices with extra caution. Marcus couldn¡¯t help but note the similarities between these wheeled boxes of death and the Korean Hwacha organ gun device used frequently in that nation¡¯s early modern era. The makeup of the propelled rockets was even of a similar design¡ªeach one a long cylindrical tube cast in what looked like brass, and inscribed with scrawlings Marcus couldn¡¯t quite make out. From the way the rockets had been handled with such reverence by their handlers, he assumed the script to be passages from some Yokun religious text.


    Each cart contained no more than fifteen rockets, and as he and his team hefted them and brought them to bear against the Northern palisade where the duel was being performed, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder why their enemies had not launched more than a few missiles during the bombardment stages of their siege.


    ¡°I guess we can count ourselves lucky,¡± Marcus murmured to Marvin as the rest of the teams got into their firing positions as silently as they could, heaving their carts with them. ¡°They could have done a lot more damage than they did.¡±


    ¡°Eh, the Yokun Masters love their God of Flame too much,¡± Marvin replied, wiping his sweaty brow. ¡°Wastin¡¯ his ¡®Holy Fire¡¯ is seen as a great crime to them¡ªeven on the battlefield.¡±


    Marcus couldn¡¯t help but smirk. ¡°Then I get to destroy a Prince¡¯s army and insult a God all in one evening.¡±


    And though his hand suddenly burned as he uttered these words, it didn¡¯t stop him from executing the last stage of their initial assault: he walked among each of the cart bearers and slowly lit each and every one of the rockets with flashes of his Gloomraav lightning.


    The Pipers watched in awe as the green light mingled with that of the rockets¡¯ fuses, and the carts began to buckle under the weight of such raging, deadly cargo about to burst forth in a wave of total devastation.


    Alright, Marcus said as he ran back to cover. Let them have it!


    The world then vanished in a haze of lambent green.


    ¡­


    Nagoya watched the grin of the Tauron spread across its bull-face with a sense that the creature might have simply succumbed to insanity. He would have simply finished her off if he hadn¡¯t felt the intense heat radiating from his camp and the ground itself beginning to rumble as though the ratmen of the Under were about to spring up at their feet.


    He turned, finding the eyes of young Canjung locked on his as the Karja came to the same realization he did in that moment.


    ¡°Canjung¡­¡±


    The Prince¡¯s next words were obliterated in the explosion that rocketed through the Northern palisade, sending the men on the walls flying as the holy flames of Hakka clung to them, tearing clean through their armor and biting at their skin and muscles. Those on the watchtowers tried warning the others below but didn¡¯t even manage a single screech before their positions were engulfed in the all-consuming inferno that vaporized the wooden wall and soldiers alike, so that the whole camp became a picture of sudden phosphoric death¡ªwith the explosion being of such intensity that even the Prince could not look upon its radiance.


    ¡°My Prince!¡±


    The voice was that of Canjung¡¯s, and Nagoya next felt himself thrown to the ground just out of the way of the Tauron¡¯s descending horns. He felt the soft soil of the Arasaka literally melt as his head bumped against it and looked to see the entire camp engulfed in nothing but smoke and screaming warriors.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He watched the men who had been beside him¡ªhis Kherja honor-guard¡ªnow reduced to shambling zombies of themselves¡ªtheir scales melting off with every agonizing step they took in the world of pain that had erupted at their backs. Those soldiers who had not been hit by the blast soon found themselves in the path of the charging Tauron, her axe swaying through the air in a deadly arc that trailed the liquid fire with it, searing clean through the flesh of three of his men at once.


    The screams were constant and sharp. All around him, he saw nothing but the men of his Clan suffering in the wake of their own weapon¡¯s discharge. Only then did he see the truth: that was it. The Hakka carts had been discharged entirely. It was the only weapon capable of such untold destruction.


    ¡°M-my lord¡­¡±


    The Prince jumped up as the initial shock of the attack ran through him, eyes lighting on the charred face of his Kherja that had just saved his life.


    ¡°Canjung!¡± he cried. ¡°Fool boy. The life of one old lizard is not worth that of the young, no matter his station. Can you stand?¡±


    The boy coughed out a chunk of his scales and snarled at the sight of the devastation that had so overcome their camp.


    ¡°I breathe, my Lord,¡± he said. ¡°That is enough.¡±


    A general battle cry then tore through the white blanket of smoke that covered the patch of burned ground where the camp once stood. Screams of Keji-Sai of all shapes: Tigrans, humans, and even a few traitors to their own race. They streamed like dark shadows through the smoke and finished off any of the Zhurkin who were left. The remnants of the Kherja, on the other hand, were nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Damn slaves!¡± Canjung roared like a bestial terror. ¡°They deceived us! They lay in wait, turning the Hakka against us as an honorable duel was prosecuted in the name of Holy Akira! Have they no shame or humility, even in the face of the Gods themselves!?¡±


    ¡°You cannot teach a beast to live as a man,¡± the Prince replied calmly. ¡°We are born in the shape of our souls. Some can never be tamed.¡±


    Both Yokun rose and unsheathed their weapons as a wave of slaves then came at them. They saw the numbers on their necks. They heard the screams of premature triumph that belted from their throats.


    ¡°It would be prudent to retreat, would it not, Sire?¡±


    Prince Nagoya grinned a grin more snake-like than Canjung had ever seen. In that moment, he knew this was the man who had defeated more foes to Yokun-kind than any who had gone before or would ever rise again.


    ¡°Do you recall the speech I gave to you about vengeance, young Canjung?¡±


    ¡°I do, my Lord.¡±


    ¡°Disregard it. Now is the time for righteous anger.¡±


    The blades of the two Yokun then flashed strong and clear against the white world of terror, hacking through fur and limbs with shouts and yelps of pure fury. Their katanas shone with at least three shades of blood as they cut through the groups of screaming Tigran and humans who ran at them, and those Keji-Sai ¡®Pipers¡¯ soon began to realize exactly who they were dealing with now.


    As they came to the very last slaves and were about to put them to their swords, the slaves suddenly retreated in good order¡ªstrangely swift and deliberate, as though they had received some order from the blank air itself.


    ¡°Cowards!¡± Canjung roared, stepping forward into the broken camp center, where there was nothing but splinters of wood and the bodies of the dead and dying left. ¡°Where are you!? Face your deaths with some honor!¡±


    The Prince had to admit his swelling pride in watching the young warrior then intercept the strike of a thrusting Tigran and quickly redirecting her blow to slit her furry throat. His blade carried pieces of the creature¡¯s tendons with it as he swiped it through the air and screamed for more of his enemies to come and find him.


    Instead, he and his Prince were met by other survivors of the madness: the five Zhurkin who had come to deliver the hulking beast and the Pale One with them.


    ¡°Idiots!¡± Canjung roared at them, stepping close to take a swipe at their shaking legs and burnt armor. ¡°You led those cretins to us!¡±


    ¡°Peace, Brother!¡± the helmeted leader begged, offering Canjung his sword in supplication. ¡°We did not know! We¡ªthey must have had an exit, somehow! We thought it best to bring the Pale Lady before you no matter wha¡ª¡±


    ¡°Fools!¡± Canjung roared. ¡°The bastard Keji-Sai wanted to be caught!¡±


    The Kherja raised his blade to strike down his kneeling brother. But his arm was stopped by the blade of his Prince.


    ¡°Canjung,¡± Nagoya said. ¡°Did you suddenly retire from the service of Kherja?¡±


    ¡°N-no, my Lor¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then save your fury for the true enemy. This battle may have caught us by surprise, but as long as we breathe, it is not over.¡±


    Another battle cry then came at the last Yokun of the Hitogi force from all angles, each lizardman turning to see the horde of slaves ready to descend on them from the dark shadows beyond their ashen camp.


    Canjung and Nagoya braced themselves. Surrounded though they might have been, the enemy was distinctly outclassed.


    ¡°I will serve you till my dying breath, Prince Nagoya!¡± Canjung roared as he bellowed a challenge to all the waiting slaves.


    ¡°I would be honored to have you beside me to the end, Canjung,¡± the Prince replied, his blade a haze of whirring black against the blanket of ash and soot. ¡°Zhurkin, are you with us?¡±


    The Prince felt movement at his back before he had time to turn and behold what happened next: Canjung fell beside him, his eyes wide and face splattered with his purple blood. At his neck, a dagger had been embedded and twisted cruelly, stopping the Kherja from even flailing out in pain before his life ended.


    Behind the boy stood his assassin¡ªthe Zhurkin who had once stood supplicant before them both.


    Only now, he looked upon them with a very different set of eyes.


    And with his helmet discarded, Nagoya saw the fur-coated face that had always been concealed beneath.


    ¡°Smart kid,¡± Karliah hissed. ¡°A shame he chose the wrong side.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 98

    Prince Nagoya was not a Yokun to allow surprise to overcome his battle-fervor.


    He struck out at the deceptive Tigran with force, his katana cutting into the thick carapace of Yokun armor she dared to desecrate with her flea-bitten flesh. She buckled beneath him as soon as the blade made impact, and the Prince brought his sword up in a mercy stroke that would end her miserable life.


    One life for a life¡­this wretched fiend for Canjung.


    It was a bad trade, to be sure. One that would only displease Holy Akira and his brethren. But it would appease the Prince¡¯s soul to know that this murderer who had sealed his fate was gone. He cared not for his own life at this point. He would turn the blade on himself rather than be slain by slaves.


    A spark of power knocked against his blade in the moment before he brought it down, and he watched with seething fury as his katana left his hand, the grim energies that had knocked it free now spiraling around his fingers, burning his emerald scales with green, evil fire.


    His eyes widened as he beheld the flame. The pain was nothing compared to the revelation that these Pipers were even more debased than he had thought.


    The Tigran¡¯s fiendish eyes smiled up at him while his attacker spoke with a voice coated in dust:


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be too upset. You aren¡¯t the first ¡®man of honor¡¯ I¡¯ve dealt with.¡±


    Nagoya¡¯s eyes jumped to the form that had just slipped through the haze of dust, while the screams of his dying, burning men still echoed all around him.


    A man.


    A human male. Wearing a tattered trench coat and a pair of cracked lenses.


    A human male with a hand covered in unholy green fire. The magicks of the Underkingdom.


    ¡°By Akira¡­¡± he spat. ¡°You ¨C you are the one who caused so much trouble below. The self-professed savior of the Ratmen of the Underkingdom.¡±


    The eyes of the General met those of the Prince across the broken battlefield that had once been the latter¡¯s camp.


    ¡°Shai-Alud.¡±


    The Prince said it with enough venom to fell a thousand mortal men. Only now did he truly understand the depths of his failings on this day.


    His chief failure had been one of imagination. Had he known that the conqueror of the vermin was here¡­


    ¡°Surprised?¡± another voice then broke out from the clouds to his right: the smug face of the Pale Matriarch, being carried on the shoulders of her Tauron brute.


    ¡°You see?¡± she said. ¡°Things may not be so easy for you, after all.¡±


    At this, her people cheered¡ªtheir rusted, ill-gotten blades cluttered with the broken scales and viscera of the Prince¡¯s men. He felt their seething hatred, and their uncaring eyes appraise him like he was nothing but a bondsman himself¡ªa clawless, defanged hatchling, good for nothing but soaking up swamp water.


    His eyes closed momentarily. He breathed in his last gulp of air.


    He knew what was coming next.


    ¡°If you think I shall surrender,¡± he said, ¡°you are gravely mistaken.¡±


    Without warning, he hacked at the nearest Zhurkin pretender with his bare claws, intercepting the next spear-wielder with a roundhouse kick that sent the imposter to the ground, buckled and trying to breathe through the pain. He grabbed the short dagger at the Tigran¡¯s side as she tried to restrain him and managed to bring the thing an inch away from his throat before the green light of the Shai-Alud slammed into him again, sending the dagger spinning away and knocking him to the ground with a face full of killing fire.


    As he groveled in the dirt, clawing at his burning scales, he felt the shadow of five creatures loom over him.


    ¡°Give me the word,¡± the Tigran said. ¡°And I¡¯ll finish him right here and now.¡±


    ¡°No¡ªlet Hilajia finish her duel! Hilajia want to see dancing snake scream as he dies!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s too dangerous to be kept alive. And listen to the crowd¡ªthis is justice, Maria. Let¡¯s just get it over with, lass. We gotta keep moving.¡±


    The Prince snarled in fury and sorrow¡ªsorrow for his men, and the still-bleeding face of Canjung who lay at his side. Fury at the fact these base creatures were now about to decide his fate.


    It would add insult to an already disgraceful death.


    His burning eyes flew to the sigil of his clan that was currently being slashed to pieces by the vengeful Pipers on the palisade walls that still held firm above them.


    ¡°Forgive me, Lord Akira. Forgive me, Hitogi. For I have failed you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please¡­¡±


    The voice that uttered these disdainful words was different from the others. There was a strange tone to it¡ªequal parts filled with conviction and overcome by weariness. In essence: the voice of a General who had seen too much bloodshed in his time.


    It could only be the mythical Shai-Alud. The greatest enemy to all Yokun of the surface.


    ¡°If I have to hear one more fanatic cry out to his Gods and Kings that he¡¯s been forsaken, I¡¯m going to be the one offing myself.¡±


    He chanced a look up at the man¡ªthe man who held the fire of the Unclean in his human hand.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°He¡¯s more useful to us alive¡ªwe talked about this,¡± he said. ¡°As a prisoner, he gives us protection as well as leverage. And if I¡¯ve heard correctly, Mari tells me we¡¯re bound for the territory of this Emperor Marxon. Well, we oughta bring him a gift, shouldn¡¯t we?¡±


    The sly cackling of the beasts above him did not threaten Nagoya of Hitogi. But what did give him pause was the grim expression on the human¡¯s face as he gave his last command:


    ¡°Put him to sleep,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡­


    Post-battle excess had become something of a drudgery for Marcus Graham.


    He watched the various species of Pipers toil about the decimated Yokun camp¡ªa few of them defacing the banners of their once-masters, while others worked to plunder as many goods as they could before they embarked on their journey to the human-controlled border of the southern Arasaka jungles. Many pilfered weapons, armor, and a few muskets that had been stored away in the tents of the Yokun ¡®Zhurkin¡¯¡ªwhich Marcus had come to understand denoted the rank-and-file infantry of the creatures¡¯ armies.


    The polished onyx overcoats of the elite squad that had taken more than a dozen Pipers to bring down (and even then they¡¯d needed to hammer them with arrows from afar) were more interesting to the historian in Marcus. They had fought to the last, not one of them accepting surrender to beings they considered little more than property. Marcus had learned already that trying to reason with such men was as useful as maintaining a plastic fireguard. These ¡®Kherja¡¯ were strong in body as well as spirit, and once again Marcus was put in mind of Japanese Bushido culture as he inspected the leather-bound platemail pieces that composed their armored hides.


    They were a tough people. Far tougher than the ratmen below¡ªalthough clearly less numerous. Probably the leather interwoven between their scales and their armor acted as a kind of shock absorber. Yokun scales were already tough to break¡ªa few of the archers had shown Marcus just how much punishment they could take from a blade, even though he hadn¡¯t asked them to demonstrate. They explained that Yokun slaves were often ¡®scraped¡¯ in such a way by their captors as punishment. Their scales would be used to make furniture and hung as grisly trophies while they toiled in their Masters¡¯ fields, stripped bare of that which made them lizards.


    ¡°It is a great dishonor to lose one¡¯s scales among our Clans,¡± one of the Yokun Pipers said when Marcus broached the subject as they cleared away the bodies of the dead. ¡°This, and one¡¯s tail, is what makes us who we are. This is why you see many of us are tailless. The Masters know just how to disgrace us. But they do not know what the Pale Matriarch knows: that when we have nothing, we are free to gain everything.¡±


    A general cheer went up from the Yokun archers as this line was mentioned, and Marcus had to admit just how much Mari had drilled some powerful notions into the minds of these people. She¡¯d managed to create a movement, alright. And it wasn¡¯t stopping anytime soon.


    ¡°You don¡¯t feel dishonor in killing your own people?¡± Marcus asked¡ªa forward question, but one which he felt he¡¯d rather air now rather than later. He was done with being stabbed in the back by those whose loyalties he couldn¡¯t place.


    Luckily, the Yokun archer looked him dead in the eyes and told him, unblinkingly, exactly how he felt about the situation:


    ¡°My species is nothing but this,¡± he said, pointing to his scaled skin and slitted, reptilian eyes. ¡°Those of my own species have degraded me and my brothers and sisters since we were children, even though we are all born Yokun under the gaze of Mingra and raised in the fires of Akira. If your own kind dragged you through the dirt and spat upon your children, and your children¡¯s children, would you still bear them any love simply because they are the same species?¡±


    ¡°Point taken,¡± Marcus said, offering the soldier his hand. ¡°From a human to a Yokun, then, let me thank you.¡±


    The archer blinked up at him. By now, a few of his men were watching.


    ¡°It is easy to kill those that hate you,¡± Marcus explained. ¡°But you still see something of yourself in the eyes of your own species. It takes guts to draw the blade, pull the trigger, or loose the arrow that will close those eyes shut forever.¡±


    The Yokun accepted Marcus¡¯s handshake with some trepidation, his scales thick and cold against the warmth of the human¡¯s peach skin.


    ¡°The Lady is right,¡± the warrior said as he went to join his band in their plundering. ¡°You are wise in the ways of war as she is in words. Perhaps now we shall finally have lives that we can call our own.¡±


    The lizardman then gave Marcus an odd, yet intricate salute¡ªone hand behind his back and one on his chest, palm up, with a slight bow of respect. Marcus was left feeling somewhat touched by the whole exchange, so much so that he almost didn¡¯t hear Mari coming up to rest her head on his shoulder in the next moment.


    ¡°Takeshi is right, you know,¡± she told him, laying her head gently on his shoulder for a moment, her thin fingers interlocking with his own at her side. ¡°Without you, we¡¯d still just be running. Today, for the first time, we¡¯ve struck a blow against the House of Blades that they won¡¯t soon forget.¡±


    ¡°Mari,¡± he whispered. ¡°Did¡ªdid he hurt y¡ª¡±


    Her kiss stopped his concerns before he could even voice them.


    ¡°Now, I¡¯m not saying that battle gets me all hot and bothered,¡± she chuckled. ¡°But I gotta admit, seeing you in action was¡­something.¡±


    ¡°Me?! What about you? You and your ¡®Princess¡¯ had that pompous Prince¡¯s entire army fooled. But it was still a stupid plan. Too many variables. Too much luck involved. Had he deigned it fit to actually look past the animal eyes of Karliah, he might have seen through the whole fa?ade the second she began her report.¡±


    Both their eyes wandered across the now-cleared battlefield, watching Karliah bark orders to her Tigran sisters, while Marvin regaled his fellow Pipers with stories of Marcus¡¯s bravery as they charged the camp in the dead of night. In the rear of the camp stood Hialjia, utterly triumphant, her axe held high as she tore apart the rest of the walls¡ªso that there would be no evidence left that the Prince and his Clan had ever set up here.


    Above the broken palisades of Prince Nagoya¡¯s war camp, the sun was beginning to show its face through the clouds.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s going to change now,¡± Mari told her General. ¡°This isn¡¯t just the dawn of a new day: it¡¯s the dawn of a new era. The history books¡¯ll talk about Maria the Pale One and her handsome General who put the armies of a great Yokun Prince to the sword. We¡¯ve been in the dark for so long, Marc. Now it¡¯s time for us to come into the light.¡±


    Marcus watched the Pipers scurry around them, each one practically falling off their feet to bow in respect. Part of him felt a pang of nausea to have former slaves treat him with such deference.


    ¡°You¡¯ve led all these people here yourself, Mari,¡± he said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done no more than you did below the surface.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. Everything I made was torn to pieces because of one single failure. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    Mari sighed beside him, squeezing his hand tightly.


    ¡°¡®It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life.¡¯¡±


    She eyed him slyly.


    ¡°Know who said that, Mr. Historian?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Marcus admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s because it¡¯s from Star Trek,¡± Mari replied with a mischievous wink. ¡°But it¡¯s a lesson I wish you¡¯d learn. Because you¡¯re not the only one who¡¯s failed up here. All of us¡ªthe Pipers¡ªwe all see ourselves as failures. We¡¯ve all been seen as failures in the eyes of the Yokun. But that was just our lives. Our old lives. And now, we¡¯re about to gain something totally new.¡±


    She stepped on to address her people, calling for them to begin their last-minute preparations before they departed for the border. Watching her talk to them like a humble but stern mother, Marcus couldn¡¯t help but feel there was a double meaning to her words¡ªthat the ¡®old life¡¯ she spoke of referred to something far different than her time spent as the Matriarch of the House of Whispers.


    Maybe Yeeva had been right. Maybe you really don¡¯t want to go back home now¡­


    He snapped back to reality when she offered him her hand.


    ¡°Well?¡± she said. ¡°Ready to make history?¡±


    He never had been. Maybe he never would be. But with her by his side, he could at least give it a try.


    Even if it was nothing but a fantasy.

 Chapter 99

    The rising of a new dawn over the South Arasaka jungles brought with it a new sense of purpose for the Pipers. There was business to be conducted before their great exodus to Marxon¡¯s Empire was to begin.


    Chief among them was the funeral of old Jin¡¯an, Mari¡¯s predecessor. Stern and fiercely rebellious, the woman was still a Yokun at heart and was to be buried according to the traditions of her people. A pyre was constructed from the broken branches of the trees nearby, and from the log supplies left by the Prince¡¯s war camp. It was in the center of this camp, long after the smoke and screams of war had cleared, that the body of the old Matriarch was placed on top of the pyre and set alight by the holy fumes of Hakka.


    A short sermon was provided by the Yokun archer Marcus had spoken to earlier¡ªTakeshi. He opened his throat in a guttural song that leaped like a weighty leopard from his mouth, his tonsils producing a chime not unlike that created by tubular bells. Interspersed between such throaty gyrations were solemn words imparted by Mari and the other Pipers in the native Yokun tongue. Mari spoke of how Jin¡¯an had been the first among them¡ªtaking the mantle of leadership upon herself and breaking the bonds of the enslaved in secret, right under the eyes of her Patriarch and the Gods she was defying. Others spoke of her bravery, wisdom, and counsel¡ªit was clear from the teary eyes of all the species collected together here that the Yokun woman was second only to Mari in importance. Jin¡¯an, they said, had lit the fires of hope in their hearts. Mari, they said, had taken such a fire and whipped it up into a blaze.


    After the speeches, Marcus found himself moved. He wasn¡¯t the only one. Mari stood beside him, hand interlinked with his, and allowed herself to shake only for him.


    ¡°What do the Yokun believe happens after death?¡± he decided to ask, not knowing how else to get her mind away from her grief.


    Her answer came interrupted by her frequent, heavy breaths.


    ¡°Yokun faith holds that every death is presided over by both Gods of the Yokun pantheon. First, the Hakka blessed by Akira consumes the body, taking its strength and adding it to future generations. Next, the smoke from the corpse (called Menta-Shin¡ª¡®Black-Stair¡¯) helps the spirit drift up to the arms of the Mother Goddess, Ming¡¯ra, and the spirit rests with the mother. There¡¯s a certain beauty to it, right? The Father helps the child on its way, the Mother opens her arms to receive them.¡±


    Marcus nodded solemnly as he watched the spiraling smoke of the dead Matriarch climb high into the morning sky. ¡°I can understand that. It¡¯s less fanatical than I imagined.¡±


    ¡°There are parts of the Yokun culture that are worth remembering,¡± Mari said as she began to sag, coming to rest on his shoulder. ¡°I was among their religious cult for over a year. I guess some of their beliefs rubbed off¡­after all¡­¡±


    ¡°Mari?¡±


    She would have fallen if Marcus had not managed to hold her up, and only a few of the Pipers turned their heads to see their leader struck with such grief.


    But, knowing her, Marcus could tell that there was more to it than that. She was overcome, that was all.


    ¡°I guess we¡¯re both more human than we think,¡± he smiled down at her.


    She looked at him with weary, drooping eyes.


    ¡°Take me to bed, Marc,¡± she said. ¡°Your girl needs some time alone.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°Who in the name of the Shifting Sands put you in charge?¡±


    Marcus met the unbridled fury of Karliah in the small confines of the Pipers'' command tent¡ªsomething set up quickly in the wake of their expedition that was shaping up to be a logistical nightmare.


    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting that this is the man who won us this battle, kitten,¡± Marvin said¡ªresplendent in his new suit of pilfered Yokun Kherja battle armor. ¡°And the man who saved your goddamn life.¡±


    ¡°Call me a kitten one more time,¡± the Tigran warned. ¡°And I¡¯ll smear that shiny new coat with your blood.¡±


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Hialjia roared, her wounds miraculously healed in the space of only around eight hours. ¡°Pale Matriarch Mari say her man is leader of expedition. Hialjia see him crush pathetic lizards. That good enough for her.¡±


    The others spared a single look at the determined face of their resident Tauron¡ªwho could barely even fit her bulky, hairy mass into the tent without tearing it to shreds.


    But Marcus nodded his thanks to her. Then, he began his briefing, pointing to the map Mari had given him before she retired to light her own candle for her fallen friend.


    ¡°Southern Thea,¡± he said, pointing at the bottom right-hand side of the map¡ªwhere a tattered representation of the Arasaka and its surrounding plateaus and islands stood. ¡°Mari tells me there are two paths to the human border. One, up North to the nearest coastline, dubbed ¡®Victory Bay¡¯ by the Yokun.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± Marvin shook his head. ¡°Too hot. Right now, Nagoya¡¯s Brother, the good Prince Yaresh, is having a naval scrap with Marxon¡¯s army.¡±


    ¡°Likelihood of Marxon¡¯s navy succeeding?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not gonna happen,¡± Karliah sighed from the side, pointing to the isles opposite the shoreline. ¡°The Yokun grip on the region is secured. Three of these isles function as naval bases and Keth-Tari staging zones.¡±


    ¡°Keth-Tari?¡±


    ¡°Screamer-Killers,¡± the Tigran explained. ¡°Yokun aerial support. Few survive a bombardment from their mounts.¡±


    Air power¡­I¡¯m not dealing with pre-modern barbarians now, Marcus thought. This nation of lizards clearly has a sophisticated military-industrial complex, complete with developed ordnance and equipment, backed up by years of fighting in their natural habitat.


    ¡°Our next option would be a trek through the Eastern jungles,¡± Marcus said, drawing his attention to the location on the map.


    ¡°Aye lad, with the Yokun armies of Yaresh distracted, it looks like the best option. But¡­we¡¯d still be open to attack.¡±


    ¡°The Southern jungles have bases of their own,¡± Karliah finished. ¡°Not to mention Oshu tribes that still haven¡¯t been conquered. Damn chameleons are slippery bastards.¡±


    ¡°But plantations are in south,¡± Hialjia grunted. ¡°Brothers and sisters still in chains.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t go saving everyone all at once, princess. The plan was to hook up with Marxon¡¯s men, give them info on Yokun bases, and help them launch an attack into the region proper. Besides, we¡¯ve got no tunnels down South.¡±


    ¡°Too long,¡± the Tauron moaned. ¡°Brothers and Sisters die. Tigran die, Kari.¡±


    Before the catwoman could shriek again, Marcus held up his Gloomravified hand.


    ¡°Maybe we don¡¯t have to save them all,¡± he said. ¡°But there¡¯s manpower in those camps that we can use. And with their help, we might just be able to carve a path through the jungles and give the human Empire some much-needed extra troops for their war effort.¡±


    Marvin cocked his eyebrows. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying we go through the Southern flank,¡± Marcus said, tracing a path with his finger. ¡°That way, we move towards our destination while putting pressure on the Yokun military. We use the jungles to our advantage, and execute a campaign of guerrilla warfare that will tear apart their plantations one by one on our way to the border. We burn them down to the Southern coast and then we head east, taking control of more as we go.¡±


    The three Piper sergeants considered this. They hadn¡¯t expected Mari¡¯s man to have some bloodthirst of his own in him¡ªespecially since he was new to their cause. But what he was saying made sense. They could cleave their way through their enemies and add numbers to their dwindling forces.


    ¡°The Yokun will send another detachment after us,¡± Karliah murmured. ¡°They¡¯ll seek retribution.¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯ll be sloppy,¡± Marcus put in. ¡°I doubt they¡¯ll employ their Hakka carts or Screamers against us, especially not with our royal hostage.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Marvin shouted, clapping his hands like an old, bearded prospector. ¡°The lad¡¯s right! Nagoya is Patriarch Jingbao¡¯s son, after all. Daddy won¡¯t let his precious boy be lost to a stray Hakka bomb.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll also not forgive those who have taken his son from him,¡± Karliah put in. ¡°The Patriarch of the Blades isn¡¯t gonna take this sitting down. If he catches us, it won¡¯t be a return to enslavement. It¡¯ll be torture and death¡ªonly when he¡¯s done with us.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯d better not fail,¡± Marcus smiled up at her. ¡°Unless you¡¯re scared of course, Karliah. You¡¯re free to leave with your Sisters if you wish.¡±


    Hialjia laughed as she watched the furry cheeks of her companion blush red.


    ¡°Hialjia likes Mari¡¯s human man. He knows how to handle kitten.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Karliah practically spat. ¡°But I won¡¯t let you waste the lives of my sisters, human. Let them die under your watch, and you¡¯ll pay with your life.¡±


    ¡°I would expect nothing less, Karliah. The second I fail you and your people, you have permission to kill me yourself.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your ¡®permission¡¯¡± the haughty Tigran growled, but it was little more than the desire to have the last word driving her. When Marcus bowed to them and left to grab Mari for the final preparations, she bowed back, low and respectful like the rest.


    ¡°¡­How come you let the Princess call you kitten and not me?¡±


    Marcus dimly heard the Tigran¡¯s response as he left the tent, a small smile of satisfaction on his face.


    ¡°Marvin, you try telling her not to.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 100!

    Mari stared at the Yokun tied up before her.


    She didn¡¯t really know why she¡¯d lied to Marc when she said she wanted to hit the hay. She was tired¡ªthat much was true. But a more¡­primitive compulsion had forced her to come here, into the tent they were using to hold their special little captive.


    She fingered the stiletto she kept concealed under her shirt. But when he began to rouse, murmuring nothing of import, she hesitated.


    No. I want to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Take your emotions out of it, Mari. He¡¯s worth more to you alive.


    When his slitted eyes opened and focused on her, he did not smile, and he did not sigh. For ten seconds that seemed to stretch on to eternity, they both just watched each other.


    ¡°Pale One,¡± he finally said.


    She replied to him in as measured a tone as she could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her spite.


    ¡°Nagoya.¡±


    ¡°So, this is how my life shall end,¡± the Prince said with a crack of his neck. ¡°I will admit that I did not expect death to come at your hands.¡±


    ¡°Death would be a blessing for you,¡± Mari replied coolly. ¡°We both know you won¡¯t get off that easy, Nagoya.¡±


    ¡°Ransom, then? How very human of you. Of course, you mean to haul me with you, alive, and take me to the Emperor of your people personally. It will mean nothing if I tell you that this notion is as suicidal as your entire little uprising is.¡±


    ¡°And yet we¡¯re the ones who have a Prince tied up in chains now,¡± Mari smirked. ¡°How does it feel to have the tables turned, Nagoya?¡±


    He groaned wearily up at her, casting his eyes around the dimly lit tent, hearing the whooping sounds of the infidels probably getting drunk on his own supplies of rice wine.


    ¡°This is exactly what I expected of you,¡± he told her. ¡°You, who have dragged the name of Yokun through the dirt ever since you arrived in our world, will now attain pleasure through torturing me¡ªsurrounding the son of a Patriarch with your pathetic Keji-Sai.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, I¡¯d take a lot more pleasure in just ending your life now,¡± she said, showing him the blade that she could plunge between his eyes in little more than a second. ¡°But you¡¯ll be more useful as a hostage.¡±


    ¡°If you think bargaining with me will bring my father to the table of negotiations, you don¡¯t know him very well.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know him,¡± Mari replied with a sinister smile. ¡°I know he¡¯s already lost a brother in this war. I know the pain of losing another son might just tip him over the edge. Such a shame¡ªlosing face in the middle of a war.¡±


    ¡°A war we would have won if you had simply done your job. My uncle¡¯s blood is on your hands.¡±


    ¡°Is that what made you come after me, dear Nagoya? The desire for vengeance?¡±


    ¡°I will have my vengeance, Pale One. In this life, or the next.¡±


    Mari leveled the tip of the blade at his scaled throat, watching his eyes waver for just a second¡ªjust long enough so that she knew he was afraid.


    ¡°Go on, Prince,¡± she said. ¡°Say something honorable again.¡±


    ¡°Mari.¡±


    The tent flap had just been opened, and Marcus came striding in. What he saw did not surprise him, but he wasn¡¯t going to wait around outside any longer.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he simply said. ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡±


    She didn¡¯t look at him at first, so focused were her eyes on those of the trembling Prince, and the compulsion to simply drive the blade home was compounded by the smug grin of satisfaction that smeared itself across the lizardman¡¯s face.


    ¡°Go on, woman,¡± he sneered. ¡°Your man has spoken.¡±


    Her teeth flared in the darkness of the tent. The blade inched closer, drawing blood from between the Yokun¡¯s scales.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Mari!¡±


    She withdrew as she felt Marcus¡¯s hand grab her shoulder, shielding her face from his.


    ¡°I¡¯ll assemble a team to keep hold of him,¡± she said. ¡°Are the others ready to move?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes,¡± was all Marcus said.


    ¡°Alright then. I¡¯ll see you out there.¡±


    She then left with little fanfare, walking more like a woman scorned than one who had just helped her people to a victory over a far more powerful foe. Marcus made to follow her but stopped as he lifted open the tent flap.


    ¡°I congratulate you on your victory, Shai-Alud,¡± the Prince said. ¡°Well planned, and well executed. For a human.¡±


    Marcus turned to see the smiling Prince, his eyes ever focused. Ever present.


    ¡°I am not na?ve enough to believe that anything I say here could rid me of my incarceration,¡± the Prince continued. ¡°But I am vain enough to admit that I take some solace in the fact that a man was the true architect of my defeat today. To be defeated by a human woman would add too much insult to my family name.¡±


    ¡°How about being defeated by your own hubris?¡± Marcus asked.


    ¡°A fair point. A chance to duel a fully grown Tauron specimen in its prime is one I have wished for since my youth. The irony of such a dream causing my defeat is not lost on me. But then, we are dreamers when we are young. Take the young lad your Tigran deceiver slew yesterday. He was just approaching his nineteenth year since hatching. He would have grown to be a fine warrior with time.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re trying to make me regret what I did, you don¡¯t know me very well,¡± Marcus replied, leaving the Prince to stew in his own spite.


    ¡°I would know your true name, Shai-Alud. From one commander to another, this is a basic courtesy, no?¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t give it to him. He was through indulging madmen and despots. Whatever fool notions of honor compelled this Prince to know who he was, they could just die with him when the time came.


    ¡­


    The jungles of the Arasaka were thick and musky once they passed by the burned-out trees and decimated grass. Mari and a few others had spent the morning gathering what supplies they could from the remains of the Piper¡¯s Hill base camp before setting off with their refugees behind them, the sun on their backs, and hope in their hearts.


    ¡°We probably have enough rations for a few weeks at best,¡± Karliah informed him.


    ¡°Our first priority should be raiding the nearest plantations for supplies and extra manpower then,¡± Mari said, with Marcus nodding in tow. She¡¯d been quite impressed by the plan, and Marcus could tell that the main reason for this was to satiate the need within her¡ªthe powerful need¡ªto liberate more slaves to her cause.


    The main force of little more than 300 encircled the refugees as they moved through the jungle. Yokun archers made up the rearguard, Tigran rounded the flanks, and Hialjia and the rest made up the vanguard¡ªthough the ¡®Princess¡¯ insisted Mari and Marcus remained behind her.


    I have to figure out what that nickname¡¯s all about.


    The surly form of Prince Nagoya staggered along on their left flank, with a whole team devoted to keeping his shackled limbs in check.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to keep him under wraps,¡± Marvin said as they forged a river running through the fertile land beyond the Piper¡¯s base.


    ¡°Hialjia watch him,¡± the Tauron huffed. ¡°Hialjia take great pleasure in finishing off fancy dancing lizard.¡±


    ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to see that,¡± Mari smirked. ¡°When the time does come, Princess, the honor can be yours.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s mind was preoccupied. He barked a few commands to keep their formation tight and compact, making sure they paused whenever a new creature came into sight. He watched Mari¡¯s eyes follow each new beast of these jungles and followed her lead. Some of them, she said, could be hunted safely¡ªspecifically the wolf-shaped creatures with reptilian heads and furrowed hides. She said these beasts were called ¡®Shakesitan¡¯¡ªor ¡®jungle-raptor.¡¯


    ¡°Appropriate, right?¡± she said as a team of Yokun hunters felled an entire pack and began the process of skinning them as evening approached. ¡°Nutritious and delicious.¡±


    Marcus eyed the chunk of skinned, purple meat she handed him as they began setting up their camps for the night. ¡°Eh, I¡¯ll pass¡­¡±


    His thoughts were conflicted¡ªwhat else was new? On the one hand, these new species he was working with had the benefit of varied backgrounds and skills and had come together under a shared banner¡ªthe kind of unity he¡¯d never managed to foster. Looking at them now, setting up tents and resting with their younglings, while their stalwart, seasoned cousins took turns keeping watch for nocturnal predators, he could understand why Mari had chosen to lead them.


    But another part of him watched her with a growing sense of trepidation. As they lay together, snug in their own tent, he could feel her shaking, quivering body through the night, and on occasion woke beside her as she started and gave a shout, only to see nothing but shadows dancing on the walls.


    ¡°S-sorry, Marc¡­¡± she said. It was all she could say.


    For his part, he just told her he understood. He shared more with her in the next few nights than he had with anyone else. He told her things he hadn¡¯t even admitted to himself¡ªthat, on occasion, he¡¯d felt a sense of pride to see the ratmen below triumph under his command. He said these things expecting some kind of horror from Mari, but instead, she gingerly touched his face, shone a smile on him, and told him that this was their world now. They didn¡¯t have to be afraid of who they were anymore.


    ¡°I know you, Marc,¡± she said. ¡°The man you are right now? The man you were so scared of ¡®becoming¡¯ down there? That¡¯s the real you, babe. You just never knew it.¡±


    He¡¯d thought about those words on several nights they lay together in the weeks that followed. He¡¯d thought about them when she told him elements of her own tale, especially the satisfaction she¡¯d felt when she¡¯d watched the old Yokun masters burn.


    He didn¡¯t know what scared him more: the fact that he was becoming numb to all this, or the fact that she seemed to have taken to it long before he ever had.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 101

    The next few mornings stretched on, the heat of Thea¡¯s crimson sun bearing down with more intensity than the claustrophobic darkness of the Underkingdom ever did. The lush plant life of the jungle more than made up for this issue, however. Marcus had never been much of an outdoorsman (it was always Mari who¡¯d spurred him on to take a Highland hike or camp in the wilderness back on Earth), but he had to admit the jungles of Arasaka had some charm to them.


    The flowers of the Fengui trees, for example, which only blossomed once a spindle-legged giant flea (Mian¡¯tat) pollinated them, struck Marcus with their beauty. Each petal opened to reveal row upon row of crimson specks dotted with earthy browns and whimsical cyans ¨C and he made short work of picking some for Mari whenever he happened upon them.


    She¡¯d look at him with a girlish scoff as he offered her the flowers, ignoring the openly belligerent scoffing of her Tigran commander behind her.


    ¡°I see someone¡¯s getting used to this world already,¡± she said. ¡°Looks like my soldier boy hasn¡¯t lost his gentlemanly side.¡±


    Marcus sometimes had to admit that this wasn¡¯t some romantic getaway. They were renegades ¨C and he was complicit now, too. He was reminded of this every time they formed up and forced the refugees down in the long blades of grass and moss to avoid some of the larger predators of the jungle, and some of its nocturnal residents ¨C namely the jet-black, one-eyed ravens that watched the youngest of the Yokun with hungry eyes.


    ¡°Tikasuan,¡± Karliah spat as she tossed a throwing knife, catching one in its wing one night. ¡°Rats of the sky.¡±


    She didn¡¯t stop to accept Marcus¡¯ thanks. Instead, she traipsed over to her own little tent she¡¯d set up for the night, sequestered beside her Tigran sisters.


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t worry about Karliah none, lad,¡± Marvin told him, gesturing to a log he was sitting on next to his makeshift bonfire. ¡°She¡¯s that way with everyone.¡±


    Marcus smirked as he pulled up a seat beside the human former-farmer. ¡°I¡¯ve not even suggested that she¡¯s a kitten yet. I wonder how she¡¯d take it.¡±


    ¡°Heh, the first time she met me, she all but scratched my eyes out. Trust me, lad: the fact she hasn¡¯t really tried to tear you to pieces yet tells me she trusts you enough.¡±


    Marcus watched the guy rubbing his hands by the fire, chewing on some Shakesitan rib.


    ¡°How did you get involved in all this, Marvin?¡± he asked ¨C his old curiosity taking hold of him.


    The human looked back at him and gave a half-hearted shrug. ¡°Ach. My story ain¡¯t a special one. Nothing as grand as leadin¡¯ rats into the fires of war or dueling with dwarves in the depths of the earth. Me maw always did used to say that those two were as bad as each other, y¡¯know¡­¡±


    He drifted off for a second, and Marcus drifted with him ¨C both men hearing nothing but the croaking of toads and the whistles of Arasaka¡¯s nocturnal life while the rest of their camp lay down to rest for the night.


    ¡°She was¡­ well, she was a good woman, me maw,¡± he sighed after some time, staring into the fire sullenly. ¡°Y¡¯know she was our town alderman, way back when.¡±


    ¡°Your society here has women in positions of authority, then,¡± Marcus stated with a smile. ¡°The words of the Yokun prince had me thinking that maybe the humans here are as stuck in the past as their lizardman counterparts.¡±


    ¡°Heh. If you¡¯d seen me maw, lad, you¡¯d question the definition of ¡®woman.¡¯ Gods, she was a tough ol¡¯ lass. Stronger than any man I knew, and with twice the appetite, hah!¡±


    He looked sheepishly around as though the spirit of his mother were watching him, timidly trying to show that he didn¡¯t mean any insult.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Marcus could already guess the rest of the story. But still, he let the guy go on, looking into the embers of the bonfire alongside him, visualizing the tale as it was told.


    ¡°Aye,¡± he said. ¡°My village was on the coast of Kadalka ¨C called the ¡®Jewel of the North¡¯ by the scholars and tourists. Used to be a popular destination for visitors. Sandy beaches as far as the eye could see. Good food, too ¨C freshest fish in all of Thea, me maw used to say.¡±


    He heaved a sigh from his powerful, heavyset chest. ¡°And then, well, you can probably guess the rest.¡±


    He tapped at the number burned into the soft flesh of his neck, recoiling slightly, as though he could still feel the heat of the brand.


    ¡°Yokun slave ships used to sail the oceans openly back when I was a lad,¡± he said. ¡°Back before the Emperor¡¯s trade restrictions on ¡®live goods.¡¯ Meaning me and my brothers and sisters, you understand.¡±


    Marcus watched him hunch his shoulders out of the corner of his eye.


    ¡°¡­They came, they broke the town guard ¨C nothing but a buncha boys, really. The rest of us ¨C women, children, anyone¡­ they took. They muzzled us like dogs and stuck us in the holds of their black ships, and I watched ¡¯em drown the sick and the elderly outside.¡±


    ¡°How old were you?¡± Marcus asked.


    ¡°Fuck¡­ six at the time. Old enough to know I was in for a world of shit. Old enough to know what was happening was wrong. But not old enough to understand why any of it was going on.¡±


    He threw the bones of his meager meal into the fire, watching it flare and flame for a second before it simmered down again.


    ¡°Truth is, I still don¡¯t understand,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I still don¡¯t understand why they can¡¯t just leave us alone.¡±


    ¡°Some people say difference breeds hatred,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Divisions between people are almost as natural as the air we breathe.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯ve managed to come together,¡± Marvin pointed out, gesturing to the sleeping force in their little private patch of the jungle. ¡°Yokun, Tigran, human¡­ hell, even Tauron.¡±


    ¡°You all share the same pain,¡± Marcus replied. ¡°It¡¯s what gives you a common purpose, and a common enemy.¡±


    ¡°A common enemy¡­¡± Marvin trailed off, whistling up at the blooming purple flowers that lined the tree branches above them. ¡°Y¡¯know¡­ you sound more like her than ya think, lad.¡±


    Marcus followed Marvin¡¯s eyes to Mari¡¯s tent, where her bug-lantern was still lit. Waiting for him.


    ¡°I suppose some things are just learned by osmosis,¡± Marcus chuckled. ¡°Mari and I have been together for¡­ since we were kids, really.¡±


    ¡°What was she like as a kid?¡± Marvin asked, evidently glad to be changing the subject.


    Marcus was more than happy to oblige. ¡°She was giving orders on the playground before I was. When we first met, it was because I¡¯d gotten into a scrap with a bully, and she came between us.¡±


    ¡°A mediator even as a young¡¯un.¡±


    Marcus smiled at the memory. ¡°She later told me she¡¯d booby-trapped the bully¡¯s schoolbag when he wasn¡¯t looking. Homework ¨C ruined. Boy spent the next few days in detention while we laughed at him from outside. She was always shrewder than me.¡±


    Marvin gave a hearty laugh at the thought. ¡°That sounds like Maria, so it does. But y¡¯know, son, she talked about you all the time, too.¡±


    Marcus cringed. ¡°My life wasn¡¯t anything to write home about.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary,¡± Marvin smiled. ¡°She told us all about your speeches and debates. Your battle reenactments and support. How you used to stay up till all hours listening to her go on about the people she tried to help back in your world. She told us she couldn¡¯t be what she is today without you, mate. And that¡¯s probably the best compliment.¡±


    Marvin¡¯s face grew serious then, in a way that gave Marcus pause.


    ¡°Cherish that, son, will you?¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t let love like that go. Some of us¡­ well¡­ some of us wish we could get another chance to see the people we loved again.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be here if I didn¡¯t cherish her,¡± Marcus replied quietly. ¡°And for the record, Marvin, I¡¯m sure your mother is proud of the man you¡¯ve become.¡±


    The old farmer stiffened but didn¡¯t immediately reply. He was so engrossed in the fire that, at first, it seemed he hadn¡¯t heard those words at all. Marcus reasoned that this was as good a time as any to hit the hay.


    ¡°Get some rest,¡± he told Marvin. ¡°We¡¯ll be approaching the Southern coast tomorrow. You can tell me how it compares to your home¡¯s beaches.¡±


    Without waiting for a reply, Marcus walked back to his and Mari¡¯s tent, not knowing how in that moment the bulky eyes of his fireside companion followed his every step, fixated on this man he¡¯d heard so much about, as though he couldn¡¯t even believe he was real at all.


    ¡°G¡¯night, Marcus,¡± he finally said, before laying back on his log to sleep.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 102

    The next morning, Marcus knew they weren¡¯t alone.


    He woke to the sounds of screaming as the sun split the trees, and both he and Mari ran outside to find the army surrounded on all flanks by a group of thin, almost skeletal beings hanging from the trees.


    ¡°Oshu¡­¡± Mari murmured.


    As Marcus was about to give the go-ahead to assume battle formations, she stayed his hand.


    ¡°Believe me, Marc,¡± she said, staring at the little lizards with statue-like stillness. ¡°If they wanted to kill us, they would have struck without us even knowing."


    Marcus blinked through the morning sun to where Mari was pointing and saw the shimmering silhouettes of other shapes moving against the leaves and boughs above. They too came into view only when they wanted to¡ªand Marcus got a good look at their lithe, curled tails and scaleless, thready skin. Their tongues flicked out like monitor lizards waiting to feed, and in their hands, they each carried a makeshift spear.


    Which none of them was hefting with intent to use.


    What¡¯s happening? Marcus telepathed to the force.


    ¡°They¡¯re sizing us up, lad,¡± Marvin replied, back-to-back with Hialjia and Karliah in the center of the circle, the latter keeping a close eye on the still-bound Prince. ¡°These boys are sly bastards. They ain¡¯t gonna strike if they think they can¡¯t win.¡±


    A rustling above brought Marcus¡¯s attention to the center of the clump of humanoid chameleons above. One of them, wearing a mantle of multicolored feathers and wielding a staff with a beehive affixed to its tip, was staring down at him, cocking his head at Mari.


    ¡°Matriarch,¡± it said.


    Mari stepped forward as Marcus stood to shield her.


    ¡°Skin like light,¡± this ¡®Oshu¡¯ commander said. ¡°Light of the slaves. Leading the bound.¡±


    ¡°Slaves no more,¡± Mari replied up to him, ordering her men to lower their weapons. ¡°Free.¡±


    The Oshu leader seemed to consider this with another strange cock of his head and frantic blinking of his giant, slitted eyes. He stroked the wispy beard that hung from the end of his chin with his webbed hand.


    ¡°Fight Masters. Many kill?¡±


    ¡°More than many,¡± Hialjia replied with a smile. ¡°Thousands. Hundreds of thousands!¡±


    The Oshu all blinked at this, and Marcus started appraising their numbers¡ªthere were at least 100 of them up there. Well, 100 that he could actually see. It seemed like more were sizzling into existence against the searing sun every second.


    Camouflage¡­ Marcus thought. No¡ªmore than that. This is downright invisibility I¡¯m seeing right now.


    The Oshu leader dropped to the ground and ambled up to Mari, looking over her shoulder at Marcus.


    Hail to you, Sir, Marcus decided to telepath¡ªjust to see what the reaction of this creature would be. To his surprise, the creature did not shriek or stir at all. It simply jerked its head up and swatted at a nearby fly with the tip of its swift tongue.


    ¡°Voice¡­¡± the leader trailed off. ¡°Much power Pale One has.¡±


    ¡°This power could be yours, too,¡± Mari told him¡ªeven as Marcus wanted to tell her that this might be a little premature.


    The Oshu leader stroked his wispy beard again. ¡°Masters have fire that kills jungle. You have fire that kills jungle.¡±


    Marcus noticed his men inspecting the Hakka carts at their rearguard. They clearly looked upon these technological beasts with some trepidation.


    ¡°We have turned fire against the Masters,¡± Mari told the leader without even breaking a sweat. ¡°We burn the Masters and leave none alive.¡±


    The Oshu nodded after a time of considering these words.


    ¡°Pale One has walked in our Dreams. We know she is coming.¡±


    In the face of Marcus¡¯s confusion, Mari nodded, and he couldn¡¯t help but note Karliah¡¯s smirk as she heard these words.


    Dreams? He thought. I¡¯m getting the feeling that there¡¯s more to that statement than just metaphor¡­


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°You help us?¡± the Oshu leader asked. ¡°We help you kill Masters who hate the forest.¡±


    Mari met the stare of the leader. ¡°What would you have us do?¡±


    The Oshu pointed to the depths of the village where they were bound.


    ¡°To coast,¡± he said. ¡°Brothers are bonded. Masters have evil fire that kills any who come near.¡±


    Mari nodded. ¡°Come with us,¡± she said. ¡°And you will watch the old Masters die.¡±


    The Oshu looked up at his people as they nodded one by one, each of them now coming into full view. Marcus now saw a few of them carrying blowpipes at their hips. They weren¡¯t armored¡ªno, their skin was far too flimsy to bear any platemail that could really help them without hindering their movement. But their stealthiness and agility were clearly second-to-none.


    Mari thrust out a hand to the Oshu leader, and before the gawking eyes of the Pipers, she shook the creature¡¯s webbed hand.


    ¡°Maria,¡± she said. ¡°By my name, I swear to you that you and your Brothers will be free by the end of this day.¡±


    Marcus watched, spellbound, as a smile broke across the old leader¡¯s wrinkled face.


    ¡°Sekri,¡± he said. ¡°Let us make the dream of freedom become real.¡±


    ¡­


    For most of the day that remained, Marcus kept a watchful eye on their new companions as they swung through the trees and yipped high above them.


    ¡°Did you know they were here?¡± he asked Mari.


    ¡°I¡¯d heard rumors,¡± she replied. ¡°Only the Oshu communities of the Arasaka would be brave enough to actually come out in the open in these times. There¡¯s a reason they¡¯ve survived as long as they have.¡±


    ¡°The Oshu were the first of Yokun¡¯s little slavery experiments,¡± Karliah explained. ¡°They¡¯ve been striking at the old Masters from the depths of these jungles long before we have.¡±


    ¡°True guerrilla tactics,¡± Marcus marveled. ¡°Supported by their natural camouflage in the environment. It¡¯s an advantage that makes each of them alone worth at least five men.¡±


    ¡°Hmpf,¡± Hialjia scoffed. ¡°Tauron could still take them down.¡±


    ¡°Not a fan of subtlety, Princess?¡± Marvin asked amidst the laughter of a few of the other humans with them. ¡°You remind me of me maw.¡±


    ¡°Is your mother a woman with a powerful battleaxe?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Princess, she was the battleaxe.¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t pay much heed to the rest of the Pipers¡¯ conversation, finding himself enraptured by the grace of the Oshu swingers above¡ªtheir forms agile and strong against the midday sun.


    ¡°Their tribes have been scattered and all but crushed,¡± Mari told him. ¡°Or so we thought.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re taking us to a plantation, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Marcus stiffened as the reality of this sunk in. His forces would have the element of surprise, sure, and a good range of combat experience complemented by his unique new strength in mass communication, but they still lacked the manpower that their enemy enjoyed. And they were now deep in Yokun-controlled territory¡­


    Mari¡¯s grip on his hand brought him out of his thoughts. He suddenly found that he could hear the sound of the sea nearby. They were getting close to the coastline.


    ¡°You¡¯re worrying again,¡± she said. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be much of a general if I didn¡¯t. After all, we don¡¯t exactly have the numbers for a proper siege if it comes to it.¡±


    He paused when he said those words. The experience of his devastating Pyrrhic victory in the siege of Grindlefecht below was still fresh in his mind.


    But Mari¡¯s smile never dropped. ¡°You¡¯ll see that we have more advantages than you might think,¡± she said. ¡°You think I survived this long on numbers alone? You know yourself that they aren¡¯t what win battles, Marc.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he replied as they finally stopped before the last section of jungle foliage. ¡°But they sure do help.¡±


    Sekri, the Oshu leader, gestured for the main commanders to come forward. Hialjia stayed behind to make sure the Prince was behaving himself.


    Slowly they peered through the crisp, leafy curtain that was the edge of the jungle.


    What Marcus saw shouldn¡¯t have surprised him. But even a historian, when confronted with the horrors of the past in a new light, has to check himself.


    The plantation was built on what looked like the ruins of an old temple¡ªspires and pillars with intricate Oshu etchings covering them dotting the precipice. A barbed wire gate surrounded a wooden palisade guarded by at least 500 men with muskets and shining, onyx armor. Within, Marcus could see the inmates chopping and processing the wood of the jungle surroundings, each of them toiling under the sun, skin pallid and flaky, many being dragged away by overseers with barbed whips drawn at their sides.


    Marcus cringed as he surveyed the scene¡ªinmates who had been left to rot in piles outside the palisade, who were currently being burned with Hakka charges set by officers barking commands at their young charges. Probably, these young ones thought they were just doing a job at the behest of their monarchs. If Prince Nagoya¡¯s attitude was anything to go by, the hatred of these Keji-Sai, as he called them, would grow quickly during their lives. They probably hated the slaves they beat without really knowing why. They also probably worshipped the chain-covered symbol of the eagle that flew above them with a similar ignorance.


    ¡°Clan Naga,¡± Mari said, pointing at the flag.


    ¡°The Clan of Prince Yaresh,¡± Karliah scoffed. ¡°Our little guest should be pleased. He¡¯ll get to watch his precious brothers'' people fall.¡±


    Marcus noted the almost tearful face of Sekri beside him¡ªthe Oshu was watching his brothers slave away under the yoke of violence, the barbs of the Yokun being used to make sure they never attempted to blend into the environment and try to escape.


    ¡°They break to control,¡± the Oshu whispered. ¡°They kill spirit before they kill the body of the people. We suffer. Many suffer. Many will suffer long before the death of the tribe.¡±


    ¡°No more,¡± Marcus said, drawing the eyes of the old warrior. ¡°Not after today.¡±


    He turned to Mari with renewed determination.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to get the Hakka-carts ready,¡± he said. ¡°And then I¡¯ll need some time to plan.¡±


    She nodded to them, issuing commands to her men who began the process of hiding the refugee noncombatants.


    ¡°Set up camp,¡± she ordered them. ¡°Today, we prep for liberation.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 103

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    Thinking of his failure and hopes of a new scout team under his control brought back memories he had tried to push aside¡ªever since the old Yokun Matriarch had brought the shadows of his past back to life with far more clarity than he¡¯d ever wanted.


    ¡°Ix¡­¡± he whispered to himself. ¡°I wish I could have told you how sorry I was. Make no mistake, no one could replace you.¡±


    His thoughts turned sullenly to the world that was now beneath his feet¡ªthe world he had left behind. He could only hope the Kobolds left alive in the Underkingdom weren¡¯t suffering retributions for what had happened at Grindlefecht. But judging by what Skeever had done to him¡­ and under the orders of King Shrykul¡­ the chances didn¡¯t look good.


    Then there was Silas, the one chaotic element in the whole damn mess. His biggest fan, apparently.


    Bullshit.


    Jin¡¯an¡ªwhat had she said again? That I¡¯d always be someone¡¯s pawn?


    He gripped the sides of the chopped tree stump that functioned as his personal war table in here. His right hand buzzed with the evil, green power at its core.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back,¡± he said aloud. ¡°And this time, it¡¯ll be with a real army. And you¡¯d better be ready for me, Shrykul. And Silas? You¡¯d better keep your promise.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s the man I fell in love with.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t even noticed Mari waltz into his tent. How that was possible, he¡¯d never know. That girl was always a stealthy kind¡­ she could be a damn scout leader herself if it weren¡¯t for her pale skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m just thinking.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s both your blessing and your curse,¡± she said, coming to grip his hands and smooth out the wrinkles of anger spread across their backs. ¡°Marc, you can do this.¡±


    He bit his lip. ¡°The scouts¡¯ info is good. They¡¯re our best advantage.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the Hakka carts.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Sure¡­ but I can¡¯t fire them on the plantation itself. Harming the slaves won¡¯t do any good, and the possibility of a general charge is just gonna tear us to shreds. They¡¯ve cut down most of the jungle around the perimeter walls. We don¡¯t have enough cover.¡±


    ¡°So we need to get people inside,¡± Mari said.


    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± Marcus laughed. ¡°But I¡¯m assuming you don¡¯t have tunnels this far south, right? We could use the Oshu, but even with their virtual invisibility, the illusion won¡¯t hold once they get to the walls proper. Besides, we only have 100 of them. Not exactly numbers to spare.¡±


    Marcus looked over the scrawling of the plantation with sudden and stark realization.


    ¡°Mari¡­ we only have 300 actual combatants. Some of them still wounded from the last assaults. We barely have enough men to spare as it is¡­¡±


    He found himself sinking under the weight of the situation. Logically, he wanted to say that it would be a far better option to simply abandon the whole notion of attack altogether. Even with the element of surprise, he doubted he had the manpower or resources to win anything but a Pyrrhic victory.


    And he wasn¡¯t about to sink to that low again. Not now. Not when he just got Mar ba¡ª


    ¡°Marc.¡±


    He felt the softness of her palms cover his cheeks. Even out here, under the blazing sun of Thea¡¯s surface, her skin had the tingle of coldness about it. She¡¯d always been referred to as an ice queen. And Marcus had been the only man who needed her to cool him down.


    She brought his face up to hers.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    He double-blinked like a child. He felt like he was looking at her across from the McDonald¡¯s table where they¡¯d had their shitty first date as debt-ridden students.


    ¡°You¡¯re not in this alone anymore,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve got each other¡¯s backs now, right? Just like old times.¡±


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    He knew that, in that moment, she was speaking for both of them.


    ¡°So, tell me what you¡¯re thinking,¡± she repeated. ¡°If we¡¯re really in this together, you¡¯re gonna have to leave your own head.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think we can do this with the men we¡¯ve got, Mari,¡± he admitted. ¡°We can¡¯t get inside with force.¡±


    To his surprise, she actually smiled back at him.


    And for a moment, he genuinely thought the smile looked like that of an adder hungrily licking its lips as it thought about a nest of rodents waiting to be consumed.


    ¡°Then we won¡¯t use force,¡± she said.


    Marcus watched her rise, walk to the edge of the camp, and take a quick peek outside as though she was afraid some enemy might be nearby.


    Either that, or she was making sure none of her own people were around to hear what she had to say next.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she whispered, kneeling close to him and staring into his eyes with a fierceness that gave him pause. ¡°You¡¯ve got Jin¡¯an¡¯s power now. I know your control over it might not be as sophisticated as hers was¡­ but that power was the reason both of us managed to get this far. But she was growing old and getting tired, Marc. She wasn¡¯t the same at the end. She knew you were the one we were all waiting for.¡±


    She found her hand suddenly gripping his again.


    ¡°Marc¡­ what if I told you there¡¯s a way to cause so much chaos in that plantation that those guards on the walls won¡¯t even be a problem for us?¡±


    His eyes widened, but he kept his cool. She was the most effective one-on-one communicator he¡¯d ever met in his life, and right now he could tell that she was desperate for him to concede and try out whatever she was suggesting.


    If he wanted to keep this army strong, did he really have a choice here?


    Sure, they could turn away. But the logical part of his brain was suddenly overturned by his military curiosity. If the gift the Yokun Matriarch had given him could be used to avoid casualties in the battle to come, he needed to know how.


    ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re thinking, then,¡± he smiled ironically. ¡°If not force, what do we use?¡±


    ¡°Soft power, Marc,¡± she replied without hesitation. ¡°Sometimes a strong voice is all a rebellion needs.¡±


    ¡­


    Within the Southern Kaita Plantation, something was happening.


    The Overseers began to receive reports from their underlings¡ªYokun who normally wouldn¡¯t ever have trouble wrangling up some unruly slaves. The Overseers prided themselves on discipline enforced through regular imprisonment and waterlogging¡ªthe Keji-Sai inability to withstand large quantities of water was always a good joke for the guards.


    But this afternoon, things were different.


    The Overseers received reports of slaves massing and charging workhouses en masse. They ran at the guards as one, breaking the barricades that kept the food stores intact and even climbing above the bodies of their beaten and slain comrades who got the lash. The situation was becoming so untenable that the Overseers sent a delegation to Warden Yakuma, interrupting his mid-afternoon nap by sounding a general alarm.


    ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this!?¡± the Warden croaked, about ready to bring his prized chain-whip (a gift from Prince Yaresh himself) down upon his unruly inferiors. Only when they brought him to his balcony outside and showed him the madness that had befallen the slaves did he see for himself something that he¡¯d only heard about in the addled dreams of his compatriots¡ªthe other Wardens who had suffered under the campaigns of that vicious Keji-Sai Pale Lady.


    But the Pale One was currently being hunted down by Prince Nagoya of Hitogi, was she not? Last Yakuma had heard, they had her on the run for her life¡­


    ¡°What do we do, Lord Yakuma?¡± one of the Overseers asked as a storehouse was suddenly blown apart by a discharge of Hakka set off from within¡ªthe only store of the sacred explosives they had in the open.


    Yakuma grunted and pushed past his men, opening the cabinet within his quarters and throwing a matchlock musket to each of them.


    ¡°We quell this little revolt one infidel at a time,¡± he said. ¡°The Sakriesh Plantation¡¯s never had a general alarm since the time of my grandfather. It will not fall on my watch.¡±


    Their spirits renewed, the Overseer delegation followed their Lord outside, loading their rifles and steadying them at the sea of slaves that were quickly converging on the main office.


    ¡°Ready!¡± Yakuma ordered, eyes locked on the waiting tide of Keji-Sai. ¡°Aim!¡±


    His men obeyed but did not hear Yakuma¡¯s next command.


    Instead, their vision blurred. Their eyes watered. The world before them dipped into and out of existence. Thoughts became intangible¡ªtheir consciousness started to slip away in an odd, weightless feeling that spread throughout their suddenly very weary bodies.


    Then, in an explosion of light and vibrant colors, they saw a vision that shook them to their cores.


    Prince Nagoya, his form beaten and bruised, stared up at them in chains, with a group of vile Keji-Sai of all descriptions smiling over him as they held his head back, mocking his princely form with their presence.


    Yakuma could barely breathe as he beheld the sight. He couldn¡¯t even be sure if he spoke the words that came out of his trembling mouth next:


    ¡°What¡­ what is this heresy¡­¡±


    And, like a quiescent monster watching him in the darkness of his own fading mind, a cold voice answered back:


    People of Thea! Witness the princely form of one of the Masters¡ªbound, shackled, and trod upon just as you are. Witness the end of his reign, and the end of an era. Your Pale Matriarch comes with the Shai-Alud of the depths, ready to strike down the false Masters and break the chains that bind your spirits. We are the dream of your children, and the nightmare of your overlords. Let them know our strength. Let them taste our blades. Let them know that none of them are safe! Let us kill them in their homes, kill them in their fields, and kill them on the very soil we have toiled over for generations!


    Slaves of Thea, your time is now. We ask you: will you rise with us?


    When the vision of the captured Prince faded away to nothing but a distant echo, Warden Yakuma felt the sting of his slaves'' answer.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 104

    Fury.


    The Overseers of the Naga Southern Plantation felt the air charge with this single emotion, sweeping through the slaves in a psychic wave that came crashing down on Lord Yakuma and then came for them.


    Those who dropped their weapons and fled had the right of it ¨C they were the ones who managed to make it to the palisades and alert the marksmen there of the coming storm.


    Those who stayed behind to stem the tide of fur and blood and anger were rendered helpless ¨C torn limb from limb just as their leader was. With the end of Lord Yakuma there had been only a momentary silence followed by a general war-cry from the mouths of those who the Yokun guards had once known were broken.


    Now, the reality of their mistaken assumption was made evident in every slash and claw they received against the maelstrom of rending, living flesh that tore through the Plantations four corners, converging on the central spire of the Overseer headquarters. The Hakka storeroom was already decimated ¨C even though it had cost the slaves at least 70 of their own. The great fire that swept up from its ruin like a hellish pillar stained the sky above a bright, foreboding crimson. To the Overseers and guards who now ran to the walls for high ground, it was as though a portal to Akira¡¯s fiery pit of agony had opened up under them.


    ¡°What¡¯s got them so riled up?¡± one running guard asked his comrade as they returned fire from the hip, running desperately to the North palisade.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear it?!¡± one of his compatriots shouted over the whooping dins of their war cries. ¡°The¡­the voice.¡±


    ¡°What voice!?¡±


    ¡°¡­the voice of the Pale One.¡±


    This rumor had spread through the ranks of the guards with as much haste as the inmates¡¯ revolt did. Those who had been there to see the commander of the plantation die kept their mouths shut ¨C lest they be accused of heresy.


    But the way things were going¡­who would be left to put them on trial?


    Amidst the storms of chaos, a few of the senior Overseers had managed to make a stand, however: at the Northern section of the Plantation, hidden behind the ruined sandstone gatehouse of the old Oshu temple that one stood here, they had taken up firing positions and scaled the walls. The one advantage they had over the Keji-Sai who were not of Yokun blood was their maneuverability. And after the initial shock of the impromptu attack, they were using this to its full advantage.


    ¡°Heft, second unit!¡± one particularly zealous Overseer roared above the din of combat below. He had managed to get his meagre force of twenty five men into a volley formation, switching up the frontline and replacing them with another row to keep the pressure on the slaves below. The muskets of the Yokun might have lacked the stopping power and speed of those employed by the master craftsmen Dwarves, but they made up for it with their sleek design and ease of use. Every YokunZhurkin of the newest generation had been trained to handle a firearm, and the five years of mandatory conscription implemented by Patriarch Jung had cemented their discipline and general combat prowess. That was why their Empire would stand the test of time whilst the stub-footed manlets below wasted away against rats and spume.


    The Overseers, bolstered by their new command structure, had managed to stem the tide of angered slaves enough that they no longer clambered over the bodies of their fallen brethern to reach them. Now, they cowered within the Warden¡¯s old tower, breaking the windows and returning fire as best they could.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got them!¡± the Overseer leader screamed. ¡°Aim for the windows and take them down! Leave none alive!¡±


    None of the Overseers and guards around needed any further encouragement. By this point, they knew the Plantation had fallen. But the story of their glorious victory over the unruly slaves here would echo across all of the Yokun Empire. It would serve as a warning to the rest of the Keji-Sai who dared to believe in the lies of the Pale One.


    These thoughts were little more than the fleeting imaginings of warriors who wanted glory above all else ¨C and they were lost as soon as the Yokun defenders heard one single word bellowed with power from the depths of the Arasaka behind them.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    The skies glowed with the intensity of a new sun being birthed above the earth, and the Yokun knew, without even turning to witness the sight, what it was that was currently rocketing towards them from the foliage at their backs.


    ¡°ABANDON POSTS!¡± the new captain of the Overseers screamed. ¡°FLEE!¡±


    His last word was swallowed by the first volley of Hakka charges slamming into the North palisade and breaking it apart, sending its blooming fiery discharge into the air to coat the scaled skin of the defenders. Those who bore the brunt of the first strike screamed their agony into the uncaring, de-oxygenized air, and those who still had any energy left in them had already thrown their weapons aside, sprinting for the nearest exit before the next volley smashed into the Oshu temple spires and brought them down upon the pitiful resistance that was left in the Plantation.


    Only one Yokun guard ¨C his skin already sheared away by the burning fires of Akira, regained consciousness in time to see an entire army of heretics then storm what was left of the North wall. His life was ended by the downward swing of a screaming cat who slit his throat with a single strike.


    ¡­


    Finish them, Marcus commanded from beside the roaring Hakka carts.


    His command was executed by the Pipers who had been watching with baited breath, totally in the grip of zealous excitement as they watched the slaves of the Plantation tear apart the bodies of their captors. They had waited, with extreme patience, and every few minutes had begged Marcus to let them storm the place.


    But he had kept his cool, looking at Mari¡¯s smile as she watched the Plantation burn. He wondered just how often she¡¯d done this with Jin¡¯an as her proxy. It was like instant propaganda ¨C the ability to broadcast not only thought, but visuals¡­it was a power that gave Marcus the greatest force multiplier he¡¯d ever held in his hands.


    When he¡¯d given the command to the slaves to barricade themselves in the Warden¡¯s tower to protect themselves from the Hakka volley, they had obeyed as best they could ¨C truly believing the voice they heard to be that of the fabled Shai-Alud who was the Pale Lady¡¯s grand champion. Marcus could feel it as he broadcast his mind to them ¨C he could hear the chorus of their own thoughts pulse back in his brain, each one of them acknowledging his presence and realizing that their Gods had not forsaken them after all. Many of them knew who he was ¨C well, the version of him that Mari had propagated among their ranks throughout her rebellion.


    He knew something then in the moment that he¡¯d thrust his arm out and compelled the Pipers and the slaves forward with a single word and action: they would follow him. Together, he and Mari had the power to re-shape this world in the palm of their hands¡­


    After the initial charge and the burst of Hakka to clear the walls, Marcus entered the broken Plantation and witnessed the carnage that had unfolded within through his own eyes. Burned, broken lizards lay beside the forms of eviscerated slaves. There had been casualties, true, but¡­the people who met him at the foot of the Warden¡¯s tower did not seem to mind. The slaves who remained were at least 500 men strong, and each and every one of them came out to see him pass into their realm ¨C the realm that had just been made his.


    The first to meet the slaves were the Oshu, who palmed their old brothers and sisters, some of them even being reunited with their parents who had been taken together when their villages had been raided and put to the torch. Their leader Sekri even turned to Marcus in front of his reunited people and lowered his head, offering him a single, jet¡ªblack feather from his brow.


    ¡°Shai-Alud and Pale One come,¡± he said. ¡°They come to speak for the people and slay the old Masters. They come¡­to save us all.¡±


    Amidst first quiet awe, Marcus took the leaf from the ailing hands of the old tribal leader, unsure how to even address him or the people who now looked at him, stepping over a gallery of broken Yokun to just get a glimpse of the one who they had already seen in their dreams.


    Then he felt Mari beside him, and she took his hand in his and launched both their fists into the air.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she whispered. ¡°This is all you. Tell them. Tell them who you are.¡±


    He met their eyes ¨C eyes glazed over with sleepy wonder ¨C and saw too that the others looked the same. Even Karliah watched with intent to see what he would say. He, who had risen and come to them from the deepest, darkest crevices of the earth, who had seen the worst of this world and had still clawed his way out, was now standing on the precipice of an entirely new destiny.


    A destiny that he might as well accept. He¡¯d denied it for long enough. He¡¯d denied himself for long enough¡­


    ¡°Bondsmen of Thea!¡± he shouted. ¡°Your chains are broken! Come with us to the Empire of Marxon. Come, and see the better life that awaits you. Come, and fight against the Masters across this world. Let us burn them in their homes, and let us set their very minds aflame. Let them hear the voices of a thousand free souls and let them know ¨C we are coming for them!¡±


    And in the wake of this speech, the jungles of Arasaka themselves seemed to bend. They bent to the wills of a thousand free men and women who had just chosen their new Lord to follow into the abyss itself.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 105

    ---Two weeks later---


    ---Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives---


    ---North Arasaka Prefecture---


    Patriarch Kanade Jung calmly placed another pale stone disc on his Moji board, sitting back with some small satisfaction as he waited for his opponent to make his move.


    ¡°Father, you are holding back on me.¡±


    Prince Yamrah reached into his own pot of discs and placed one on the square beside his father¡¯s. He then proceeded to take his farthest disc and use it to hop across at least two-thirds of the board, capturing the white discs that represented his enemy.


    The Patriarch of the House of Blades stifled a slight laugh under his breath, stroking the thin threads of his wispy beard and fixing his son with the eyes of a patient, venerable monk.


    ¡°You have improved, my son,¡± he said. ¡°Like the Makriesh flowers that bloom in this very springtime, you are coming into your brightest stage of life. Finally, you are putting the theory of Moji into practice.¡±


    Around the two players stretched out a flower garden in full bloom. It was known throughout the Yokun Empire that the gardens of Patriarch Jung¡¯s pagoda were a majesty rivaled only by the Kingdom of Heaven. A running stream brushed gently against a waterwheel to give it motion, and lily pads dotting the stream¡¯s liquid skin glistened in the naked spring sun. The Patriarch and his third son had been at this game for the past five hours this morning, each assessing the weaknesses of the other¡¯s strategy and re-implementing their own moves with brief reflections on the beauty that surrounded them.


    ¡°Conflict within a realm of peace,¡± the Patriarch said. ¡°Moves within countermoves. War is a contradiction, Prince Yamrah. The acts men commit in its name are barbaric beyond belief, and yet we find justification for such acts through the vision of peace they provide. The road to progress is paved with the blood of the fallen.¡±


    ¡°But heretics deserve no sympathy,¡± Yamrah said, nodding at what he assumed his father¡¯s next words would be. ¡°Such as the humans we tread upon.¡±


    Patriarch Jung furrowed his aged brow, collecting his discs and considering his next move.


    ¡°You are always thinking ahead of your opponent, my son. But take care that in anticipation of a predictable future, you do not blind yourself to the present.¡±


    The Patriarch did not show any outward satisfaction in jumping his son¡¯s discs as he made his move¡ªa simple Gomrarh maneuver that he had once learned from a former slave he had played, who had such impeccable knowledge of the game of Moji that he had earned his right to freedom. On that day, the Patriarch of the House of Blades had learned humility. He now took some small pleasure in teaching it to others.


    His son watched as all his discs were jumped and cleared off the board, leaving him with just two dark pawns left against his father¡¯s sixteen.


    ¡°By Akira!¡± his son exclaimed. ¡°How could I have missed something so simple?¡±


    ¡°It is the way of war, and of life itself,¡± his father replied. ¡°Remember: the ancient Yokun before us believed the Moji board to be a representation of the universe. One thousand squares. Perfectly etched into the wood block in absolute uniformity. Yet, the possibilities of play are near infinite. No two games of Moji have ever been the same. Thus, the Moji board represents an extremely chaotic stage. This is the truth of our world, and the art of war: order and chaos in equal measure, wrapped together in disharmonious union.¡±


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    His son scratched his sapphire scales as the sunlight glinted on his brow. Such pigmentation was a stark contrast to his father¡¯s dark emerald hue, yet there was no mistaking that the young one was his son. Yaresh had often teased him when he was younger. Nagoya had reprimanded any who dared speak ill of him. And Yamrah had taken such teasing in his stride. The boy knew who he was and what his bloodline meant to him. That, and that alone, proved to Jung that the boy was truly his.


    ¡°But as the game goes on,¡± Yamrah stated, ¡°the possibilities lessen. Eventually, the game does take on a semblance of order, and all remaining moves are predictable. Once one has studied every move and countermove, there is nothing left to victory but the will and intelligence of the individual player.¡±


    The Patriarch¡¯s wrinkled slit of a mouth curled up at his son from across the table.


    ¡°You are indeed learning, my boy,¡± he said. ¡°Shall we play again?¡±


    At that moment, a new presence made itself known in the garden. It was uncertain how long she had truly been lingering there, listening in to what might have seemed an innocuous conversation between a father and son engaged in recreation to the uninitiated.


    But a Matriarch of the Yokun Empire knew better: any conversation between a Patriarch and his Prince was anything but banal.


    ¡°Your Graces,¡± the comely voice of the new arrival said. ¡°It is time to sojourn to the Red-Room.¡±


    Patriarch Jung sighed as he heard the voice, knowing that his Matriarch had come to collect him for duty and, in so doing, demonstrate her authority in front of his youngest heir.


    With the way Yamrah nodded unquestionably, getting up without even looking at his father, it was more than clear to Jung that his son was in the full grip of the speaker¡¯s womanly charms. He cleared the board swiftly and bid his son sit right back down.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± the voice insisted. ¡°Your vassals have come a long way.¡±


    ¡°I will decide when it is time for my son to be bored by dismal economic discussions with stuffy old men, and when it is time for him to get his butt whooped in another game of Moji,¡± he said with a jovial wink at the Prince. ¡°Do relay my apologies, but the Patriarch of the House of Blades has decided to postpone this council meeting till lunchtime.¡±


    His son smiled down at him. But it was a smile as fleeting as the early morning sun that now slowly dipped below the roof of the pagoda balcony.


    ¡°I understand your prerogatives, Your Grace,¡± the female voice said calmly. ¡°A pity. Your Brother Patriarch and his wife have come a long way.¡±


    Jung stopped as he was about to place a new piece on the game board.


    ¡°And the news they bring from the South is hardly pleasing, especially that which concerns the status of your son, Prince Nagoya.¡±


    Now the Patriarch turned to meet the glare of the speaking woman. Tail coiled around her thin, leathered legs, and replete with a robe depicting the dagger against a black sun that symbolized their House¡¯s authority, Matriarch Harumi peered down at her Patriarch and caught the shock that her statement had registered in his son.


    ¡°What... what has befallen my brother?¡± Yamrah demanded. ¡°Well? Out with it, woman!¡±


    The boy stepped forward when the female said nothing further and was only restrained by his father¡¯s quick arm that stopped him from making a fool of himself.


    ¡°Peace, Yamrah,¡± he said. ¡°The Matriarch is not our enemy here. She is relaying the importance of this meeting to us, that is all.¡±


    Harumi bowed low, letting the feathered plumage that lined her shaven cranium fall over her hetero-chromatic eyes¡ªsomething that would usually have made her a target for Anraka. Her cold-blooded nature, however, had not only kept the knife of the State off her breast, but it had also been used to propel her to the position she now held¡ªsecond only in authority to that of the Patriarch of the House of Blades. She was the uncontested War-Queen of the Yokun Empire.


    ¡°If it pleases you, Your Graces,¡± she said as she turned to go. ¡°It does not do to keep one¡¯s equals waiting.¡±


    Yamrah followed her before his father, still barking questions to which he¡¯d get no answer. If Jung knew anything about his Matriarch, it was that her lips concealed more secrets than even her sister in the House of Whispers could hold. The boy¡¯s impatience would be his undoing if he did not tread carefully.


    But the Patriarch could be forgiven if, in that moment, his son closest to him was suddenly no longer his priority.


    ¡°Nagoya...¡± he murmured. ¡°You could not fail. Not you. If you have fallen, then Akira forgive me for the hell that shall follow.¡±


    He regarded the Moji board as he rose steadily to leave, seeing that two dark pieces flanking a single white disc were all that remained.


    ...


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 106

    --Southern Arasaka Coastline---


    ---Former Clan Naga ¡®Fujiwara¡¯ Plantation---


    Marcus stretched his hands across the weathered map that sat upon his bamboo command table, his eyes tracing the new etchings his scouts had given him before he looked up to acknowledge that his commanders had just filed into the room.


    It was time to get down to business.


    ¡°Numbers,¡± he said.


    ¡°430 Yokun ranged support units, including two units of 200 handgunners.¡±


    ¡°350 Tigran regulars, each one equipped with a Yokun Shoto blade for maximum speed and efficiency.¡±


    ¡°500 human frontline infantry, fully armored in Zhrukin battledress pilfered from the guards and overseers.¡±


    ¡°10 Tauron shock troops, unarmored but equipped with broadswords that weren¡¯t yet broken down and shipped off from the plantation¡¯s storage units.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the 400 Oshu scouts. Sakri might do things his own way, but he¡¯s reliable and good as his word. And he¡¯s beginning to see that our eyes extend beyond simply the South. Soon, his people will come around to the notion of a real war as retributive justice for their centuries of enslavement.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s training going?¡±


    ¡°Slow but steady. Even now, we¡¯re hearing reports of other revolts across the rest of the coastline.¡±


    ¡°The South is pretty much ours at this point, though the vision of Nagoya will soon reach eyes farther North. We have to be prepared for a counteroffensive.¡±


    ¡°Or we cut our losses and push now, before the Patriarch has time to mobilize his forces.¡±


    Marcus listened to the concerns of his commanders, pondering their successes and woes over the past weeks of almost constant conquest. Seven more plantations across the jungle realm had fallen in the time since their first assault, and many more would fall as they cut their way through the sparsely defended Yokun border.


    He looked up at the now proud, seasoned warriors assembled in what was once the old Warden¡¯s headquarters in this plantation ¨C the place they were using as their forward base as they planned their next move.


    Five hours ago, their forward scouts had returned from an advanced survey of the Eastern reaches of the jungle ¨C the regions where the trees had been felled to make way for Yokun construction projects, and where the city of Saku glistened like a jewel against the backdrop of the untamed wilds.


    It was a city belonging to the House of Blades ¨C flying the banner of Clan Hitogi. The city that had once belonged to the very Prince that was now under their captivity. In its stead, Mari explained, a Viceroy would be appointed who would be overseeing matters. But without explicit orders from his CO, he would not be permitted to muster the city¡¯s military personnel unless the walls themselves were threatened directly.


    ¡°That suits us!¡± Marvin exclaimed.


    ¡°But not those who are still in chains in the old Prince¡¯s ¡®crowning jewel,¡¯¡± Karliah pointed out. ¡°There will be more slaves there, and more of the bastard Masters to slay, than we¡¯ve found in any of these blasted plantations.¡±


    ¡°Hialjia wants to break the city,¡± the Tauron Princess growled in agreement. ¡°Hialjia will go with Tauron brothers and sisters and break the walls personally!¡±


    Mari calmed her great warrioress with a gentle brush against her horns. She had become so much more determined lately with the liberation of some of her own. Her exploits in battle were only getting bloodier.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    But we have to rein her in a little, Marcus thought.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong here,¡± Marvin scoffed. ¡°I¡¯d love to see the look on our bastard Prince¡¯s face when we put his city to the torch, but the place is locked up tighter than a Navali girl¡¯s blouse. And it¡¯s packing some heavy firepower to boot, as well as a whole garrison of Keth-Tari.¡±


    Marcus nodded. Everything he¡¯d heard of the Yokun ¡®Screamer-Killers¡¯ told him they were the supreme aerial unit that dominated the skies of the battlefield. Armored, wicked-fast, and dauntless in pursuit of their prey. He didn¡¯t like the prospect of fighting against something he had literally no counter for.


    ¡°We have to break through somehow,¡± Karliah pointed out, drawing her finger across the map and giving a gruff twitch of her film-thin whiskers. ¡°Why not chance it? Take the city and hole up. Even if it costs us a large percentage of our force, the insult to the Masters will be great enough that not even Marxon will be able to ignore it. He¡¯ll be coming to us to ask for support.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t if all we¡¯ve got to hold the city is a token force of ragtag former slaves,¡± Marvin rebutted. ¡°You really think the Emperor of all humankind would risk sending a delegation to a city that couldn¡¯t even defend itself if it came to it? Besides, the damage to the place would take time to clear up.¡±


    Marcus kept listening intently and then held up a single hand before Karliah had time to respond.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s possible Saku would capitulate if we negotiated with them for the freedom of their Prince, but then we¡¯ll have an entire army on our doorstep anyway. We don¡¯t have the manpower to take the city. Especially not in a long siege.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s the only way East, Marcus,¡± Karliah countered. ¡°Clan Hitogi prides itself on being the bastion against any possible human incursions against their Empire¡¯s Southern flank. The city¡¯s walls extend all the way across the Eastern border. Unless you¡¯ve got some magical ships you can conjure up with your ratman magic, we¡¯ll have to contend with it somehow.¡±


    Marcus looked to Mari, who confirmed the Tigran¡¯s assessment with a solemn nod.


    ¡°Karliah¡¯s right,¡± she said. ¡°Nagoya¡¯s castle has held as the greatest defensive measure against Marxon¡¯s Southern forces for decades.¡±


    Marcus digested the information quietly, drawing his finger to the West of the city.


    ¡°If we have to nullify it,¡± he said, ¡°then our best bet is drawing its forces out or starving them.¡±


    He pointed to the spot he had in mind ¨C a thin rectangle recently scratched along the map over the river Yangzhao where his finger was hovering.


    ¡°How does Sakri tell it? ¡®To the West of the Master City, a great bridge stands, built by armies of bonded. The bridge is to help get resources within the city walls from over the great river.¡¯¡±


    Marcus could already sense Mari¡¯s smile as he tapped on the etching.


    ¡°Of course¡­¡± she whispered. ¡°The Bridge over Yangzhao is the only connection between the Southern Arasaka borders and the rest of the Yokun Empire proper. Without it, the snakes are deprived of their convoys of military equipment and vital minerals from their mines in the region.¡±


    ¡°We assault and take this bridge,¡± Marcus explained. ¡°We cut off their supply line. A supply line they sorely need. That, I¡¯m sure, will constitute enough of a strategic issue for the Viceroy to be compelled to send his forces against us. We dig in, use the bridge as a chokepoint, and annihilate them outside their walls.¡±


    The Pipers considered the plan with stern eyes, focused on where Marcus was pointing as though they could see the bridge and their assault already.


    ¡°Destroying the Bridge over the Yangzhao¡­¡± Marvin murmured. ¡°I must admit, the Shai-Alud is ballsier than I anticipated.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s still the Keth-Tari unit to consider,¡± Karliah put in. ¡°A chokepoint will not stifle an airborne threat.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be combining our hard and soft power tactics in this battle,¡± Mari told them all. ¡°We¡¯ll broadcast the image of their precious Prince to every attacker¡¯s mind. The Screamers¡¯ potential for mass casualties is too great ¨C the Viceroy won¡¯t employ them if he genuinely believes their Prince¡¯s life is in danger.¡±


    ¡°As you say, Pale Lady. Yet there is still a chance-¡°


    ¡°Hialjia will crush the birdies if they come! Time for action, not for talk!¡±


    Marcus, for once, was inclined to agree with the girl.


    ¡°We¡¯ll commence the initial assault at 01:00. A night raid will be our best chance at nullifying the bridge¡¯s token force and waking up the Viceroy of Saku with a bang.¡±


    The Piper leaders nodded, each one tentatively awaiting their delivery of these orders to their troops. Such troops were currently gossiping about what plan the Shai-Alud and his Pale Matriarch would form next, and what part they would all play in the wars to come.


    Excitement and anxiety charged the air, and as Marcus adjourned their meeting, he was no stranger to either. The humidity that sweated his brow was nothing compared to the expectations of all those eyes on him, begging for a chance to get back at their enemy. If he were any other man, he''d have probably balked at all this. Luckily for him, he''d been here all before.


    But this time, he wasn''t about to fail.


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 107

    -Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives-


    Patriarch Kanade Jung stepped into the comely interior of his pagoda¡¯s top floor, dubbed the ¡®Red Room¡¯ for reasons that were immediately obvious to its inhabitants. More than its striking crimson d¨¦cor, replete with the Blacksun sigil of the House of Blades, gave the room its name. The chamber was a den of war ¨C a place of dim lights and dark thoughts, where the greatest strategic achievements of the Yokun Empire had been masterminded since before humans ever crawled out of the proverbial dirt of the Thean oceans.


    The Patriarch first acknowledged his brethren, bidding his son to do the same. They bowed to those who were already seated and received far lower bows in return.


    ¡°It is an honor to be here again, Brother,¡± Patriarch Yomra of the House of Souls stated. ¡°Though I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.¡±


    Jung saluted the old snake with rigor. Patriarch Hachijo Yomra was always known to be a patron of the Blades ¨C their Houses, it was said, were intertwined in purpose. The Blades sent the spirits of the worthy to the House of Souls, and in turn, those of the latter House administered to the spirits of the Yokun¡¯s finest warriors, distilling in them the sacred tenets of Lord Akira and offering the merciful embrace of Lady Ming''ra in equal measure.


    The Patriarch wore his long, flowing ceremonial robes today ¨C emblazoned with the snake-coiled heart sigil of his House and Clan. His eyes, like Jung¡¯s, were narrowed to slits, his withered scales just beginning to cover his lids and summon the blindness that was common to Yokun of advanced age. Still, the harsh, brilliant red scales of the Patriarch and his wife still shone in the room, showing everyone that beauty had not yet vacated them.


    ¡°Three blessings for your hospitality, Patriarch Jung,¡± Matriarch Emi Song said. ¡°And you, Lady Hakumi. My blood is made warmer by your presence.¡±


    Jung¡¯s Matriarch nodded gracefully at the compliment, then proceeded to take her seat before her husband did.


    ¡°Would that we could warm the blood of our lost Brother,¡± she said with a grim look at the third visitor. ¡°This war has not been kind to the House of Whispers.¡±


    The silent girl she was addressing was covered head to toe in an ashen veil, her head bowed as though in a grim prayer: Princess Ami. The new Matriarch-in-training.


    ¡°We mourn the loss of Patriarch Hiro,¡± she said slowly, in a voice that was barely more than the echo of a dying spirit. ¡°But we are rebuilding day by day. And the Sisters of the House of Whispers still await your command. Vengeance fuels their knives. Righteous fury burns in their breasts.¡±


    Jung nodded at this, while Hakumi merely gave a grunt of indignation. He was well aware of her particular disdain for her old Sister ¨C the traitorous Jin¡¯an. And the Pale Lady whom she had taken under her wing. Her bias clearly extended to this new Princess.


    ¡°We are forever grateful to your House for its continued efforts,¡± Jung said. ¡°And we can be counted on to do our part. Let the hearts and spirits of your warriors be administered to by our priests. You will always be welcome within our walls.¡±


    As the Princess bowed, all remaining members were seated. Prince Yamrah sat beside his father, a little sweaty and a little nervous, but still with the proud, straight-backed candor that characterized his father. Out of the corner of his mouth, Jung couldn¡¯t help but smile. He¡¯d need the strength of his son today.


    ¡°We are at a crossroads, it seems,¡± he said after a pause, looking at the map of Southern Thea spread out on the table before them.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Yomra nodded. ¡°Prince Yaresh must be congratulated for his exemplary victory against Marxon¡¯s navy in the straits of Magridesh. The port is tactically crucial for our northern trade routes, and this success means we have firmly solidified our hold over the northern Arasaka.¡±


    Jung nodded in satisfaction and breathed a small sigh of relief. Beside him, Yamrah¡¯s chest puffed with pride. His oldest brother was his idol.


    ¡°My son has once again performed admirably,¡± Jung said. ¡°Let a day of celebration be held in his name upon his return to the capital.¡±


    ¡°It is said that ten thousand human sailors now lie at the bottom of our ocean,¡± Emi added with pride. ¡°At least two thousand have been taken in binds and will be used to rebuild our bases on Sathu and Jongbao. The islands will provide good staging grounds for our continued advance onto the mainland.¡±


    ¡°What of the Keth-Tari squadrons stationed there?¡± Hakumi asked.


    Patriarch Yomra looked to Jung with surprise, unused to a female speaking before the Patriarch of a House. Jung, however, simply shrugged his shoulders. His Matriarch was very fond of those little beasts. Her enthusiasm was nothing to be concerned about.


    ¡°They already hunger for more Keji-Sai flesh, Sister,¡± Matriarch Emi replied. ¡°Five thousand strong, and counting.¡±


    ¡°The beasts do so love to copulate in the aftermath of a massacre,¡± Hakumi grinned. ¡°And we may just have a new target for them.¡±


    The assembly suddenly turned morose, all of them avoiding Jung¡¯s eyes as he glanced from one to the other.


    ¡°Yomra,¡± the Patriarch said, immediately bringing the gaze of his still-living Brother to his. ¡°What news do you bring of my other son?¡±


    Yomra looked at each assembled guest before continuing, making sure he held their strictest confidence.


    ¡°It is said that Prince Nagoya has fallen into enemy hands.¡±


    Silence followed this report. It was only broken by the battering of Prince Yamrah¡¯s fists against the round map table.


    ¡°Said by whom!?¡± the boy demanded.


    ¡°Peace, Prince Yamrah,¡± his father broke in. ¡°You speak to the Patriarch and Matriarch of the Triumvirate.¡±


    ¡°Father, I ¨C I won¡¯t believe it! Yaresh¡¯s skills in warfare are matched only by Nagoya¡¯s ability to bring those filthy slaves in line! There is simply no possibility that he could be captured, no matter who tells me thi¨C¡±


    ¡°YAMRAH!¡±


    The boy had risen from his chair in anger and only now seemed to realize the folly of his complaints. His father¡¯s voice, it seemed, had brought him from the haze of his sudden rage back into the room proper. The assembly looked at the blustering boy with stern eyes. Slowly, he dropped back down to his seat.


    ¡°I¡­ apologize, my Lords and Ladies.¡±


    ¡°No offense is taken, youngling,¡± Yomra said. ¡°Your fury is shared by us all. We would not have believed such reports if we had not seen them with our own eyes.¡±


    Yomra turned his attention back to Jung, whose eyes were fixed with pinpoint precision on his Brother¡¯s every word.


    ¡°A¡­vision,¡± he said, ¡°has passed into the mind of Yokra from the southern reaches of the jungle. A vision that shows your son at the mercy of the very Keji-Sai he hunted to the ends of the earth.¡±


    ¡°A vision?¡± Matriarch Hakumi chortled, leaning back as though this news was nothing but a triviality. ¡°Forgive me, my Patriarch, but this little trick is known to us. The traitress of Whispers often employed her powers of telepathy against us in the first days of her little uprising ¨C something her Keji-Sai confidant no doubt was given the power to exploit in the wake of her death.¡±


    Both Matriarchs nodded and sat back with no small satisfaction. It was known to all that the Matriarchs of a Triumvirate held a special bond forged in the Waters of Mingra. Their souls were inexorably bound when they were sworn into their offices by the Water Trial, and thus, when Jin¡¯an had finally passed on, they felt the death of their sister as a keen, psychic surge through their systems. Both women had woken in a state of ecstasy the morning after.


    ¡°That is what we believed to be the case,¡± Princess Ami answered, her dark tongue poking at the holes in her veil. ¡°But factors outside our control have now emerged. Pawns that were once moved by others have now crept out from the corners of our realm to make war against us.¡±


    The eyes of the two most powerful Yokun in the entire Empire fixed themselves on the inert form of the Princess.


    ¡°What factors?¡± Hakumi growled.


    ¡°A man,¡± the Princess of Whispers answered. ¡°A man we know all too well: The Shai-Alud, Marcus Graham.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 108

    Southern Arasaka Coastline


    Yangzhao River


    Marcus pushed through the thin sheen of foliage concealing him and his Oshu scouts. They were crouched prone on the jungle perimeter of the great Yangzhao bridge, the waters of the eponymous river streaming beneath it like a great blue artery spilling into the ocean. The bridge was composed of eleven steel spans on concrete pillars¡ªeach one solid and shimmering in the high sun of mid-afternoon. Yokun guards swarmed around the bridge¡¯s two entrance points, funneling cargo containing vital ores and minerals for the city of Saku in the far distance.


    ¡°Defenses look solid,¡± Marcus noted. ¡°Those foundations are strong. Not even our Hakka charges could take them out. We¡¯ll need another way of taking this monster down.¡±


    Sakri nodded beside his new commander, summoning back his scouts who brought more information every day¡ªnew guard postings, timings of certain mineral deposits. Apparently, the mines of Clan Hitogi had very regular schedules to keep up. Supply was strong during wartime, of course.


    But the carts themselves were always covered with tarpaulins, barely checked by the guards who let them through. These Yokun clearly weren¡¯t expecting any trouble and had become rather lax in their duties against the backdrop of the searing Thean sun.


    ¡°That could be our opportunity¡­¡±


    ¡°The Masters¡¯ weakness is the size of their tribe,¡± Sakri said, balloon-eyes blinking at the comings and goings of the troops above. ¡°So many walls they build, and so many people they control. But they cannot own all of this world. I am told you humans have a word for people who think like this: hubris, yes?¡±


    ¡°Quite right,¡± Marcus answered the shadow-scout. ¡°And we¡¯re in no short supply of it on this planet, it seems.¡±


    Something suddenly jostled Marcus¡¯s foot, and he twisted, expecting to see a Yokun trap sprung on them from behind. However, all he saw was a little spiked arthropod attempting to nibble at his shoes. The creature recoiled but did not relent in its assault, and only when Marcus kicked it away did it finally scarper off.


    ¡°This jungle can¡¯t be tamed by one species alone,¡± Marcus stated. ¡°How have you and your people survived out here for so long?¡±


    Sakri stroked his long, multicolored thread of hair that dangled beneath his wrinkled chin. He flexed his webbed hands and pointed at a hidden spot in the brush, where another small creature was currently hiding.


    ¡°The hunter must learn to work with what it is given, yes?¡± he said, bidding Marcus observe the waiting creature. ¡°We have learned from the beasts of the Arasaka that, in times of duress, nature often provides.¡±


    Marcus squinted his eyes at the strange beast Sakri was pointing at. Its eyes were two glowing, onyx orbs, set in a dark, mouthless face that was so still it could easily be mistaken for a rock by the unwary. The creature had no discernible limbs, but Marcus noted that several other centipede-like beings scuttled about beneath it, carrying it away from the beings who had found its hiding place.


    ¡°Juon,¡± Sakri said. ¡°The ¡®Jungle Queen.¡¯ This creature is rare, Marcus Graham. It honors us with its presence.¡±


    ¡°Jungle¡­Queen?¡±


    Marcus watched as the creature¡¯s eyes pulsed suddenly¡ªerupting in a shade of lambent blue that sent a pulse through the arthropod that had attempted to attack him. The creature scurried off toward a nearby spider and staked it with its spiky torso, killing the beast in a matter of seconds. It then rolled onto its back, scuttled to its queen and her entourage, and offered the ruined insect to her as though it were some sacred tribute.


    ¡°Astounding¡­¡± Marcus murmured as he watched the Queen consume her meal, the little arthropod that was her slave still pulsing with the blue light that had transmitted his Lady¡¯s commandment.


    ¡°The Juon is a clever hunter,¡± Sakri told him as they watched the beast absorb her prey through the folds of her dark, leathery skin. ¡°She finds that which is strong and issues her commands. She speaks to the brains of those beasts who have the tools she does not have to survive, and they serve her. In turn, they are given pleasure through their obedience.¡±


    ¡°Probably a synaptic response trigger,¡± Marcus stated. ¡°Though I¡¯m no biologist. I know students back home who would kill to get this thing in their labs.¡±


    They watched the little jungle Queen for some time before it finally moved on, commanding its organic palanquin to move off into the depths of the Arasaka. The sun was at its zenith now.


    ¡°Time to return to base,¡± Marcus said. ¡°I¡¯ve got all the intel I need.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Sakri nodded and commanded his men to re-assume their shadow-forms, skipping through the brushes like ghosts against the fading twilight of day. Marcus, however, stayed for a few moments, thinking about the Juon and her servants, wondering at the strange ability that allowed it¡ªsomething so insignificant in appearance¡ªto triumph even against the backdrop of this hellish place. He wondered, too, just why it had ordered its little slave to attack a creature that so obviously could not be contested by something of its size. But then, maybe the little nibble had not been an attack at all, Marcus thought as he made his way back to the Plantation.


    Maybe all the Queen was doing was acknowledging a kindred spirit.


    ¡­


    Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives


    North Arasaka Prefecture


    Matriarch Hakumi was the first one to lean forward in apparent excitement in the wake of Princess Ami¡¯s declaration.


    ¡°The Shai-Alud is here?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The reports are irrefutable,¡± Yomrah replied. ¡°A string of Plantations belonging to Clan Naga has been assaulted and overturned across the Southern Arasaka. Testimonies of Overseers who managed to flee all confirm the same thing: a man wearing glasses and wielding the power of the accursed Gloomraav stands beside the Pale Lady as a liberator and breaks the chains of the bonded.¡±


    ¡°We all know how adept Lady Maria was in the trade of propaganda,¡± Prince Yamrah said. ¡°This could be nothing more than an elaborate imposter supposed to scare us.¡±


    ¡°Skegga is dead, young Prince,¡± Emi said. ¡°This has been confirmed by our primary contact in the Underkingdom. The ratmen now have ownership over the entire Northern Warrens. The Kobold race is practically extinct. All thanks to the efforts of this fabled Keji-Sai from the Place Beyond.¡±


    ¡°The ratmen won¡¯t bother us,¡± Hakumi replied coolly. ¡°Their King in the North is too busy attempting to consolidate his position amongst his squabbling brothers. If our assets in Fleapit are to be believed, Civil War will engulf the ratmen and end with the Underkingdom in flames. They¡¯ve never managed to pose a unified threat to the surface yet.¡±


    Patriarch Jung turned to her suddenly, ¡°It is a mistake to underestimate those vermin. Your plan to install Skegga as our proxy was assumed to be foolproof. We will need more checks and balances on such schemes from now on.¡±


    ¡°Patriarch, those beasts are barely sentient. The fact that a human led them to victory over a rabble of Kobolds means nothing.¡±


    ¡°Or it may mean everything,¡± Jung replied tetchily. ¡°They¡¯re certainly intelligent enough to follow orders when they see such orders shall lead them to victory.¡±


    ¡°And yet stupid enough to evict their hero,¡± the Matriarch countered.


    Jung narrowed his eyes, turning his attention to the others.


    ¡°Tell me what they have done with my son.¡±


    Princess Ami responded calmly, carefully: ¡°They are using him as an example of their triumph over our Empire. This ¡®vision¡¯ of theirs is a powerful tool that has been driving up these suicidal slave revolts across the South.¡±


    ¡°Sowing chaos while we fight against Marxon in the North,¡± Hakumi said. ¡°A bold strategy. Do they think we are blind to their tricks?¡±


    ¡°They mean to bait us,¡± Jung nodded. ¡°By using my son.¡±


    The assembly grew quiet as the reality of the situation sank in. Jung had already lost a brother in this war. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his sons every waking moment. Everyone in the assembly knew that.


    ¡°Their purpose,¡± Jung finally said, ¡°is to join with Marxon at the Southern border. They mean to offer themselves to the Human Emperor as a mercenary force.¡±


    ¡°Such a force will not tip the scales in the old bastard¡¯s favor,¡± Yomrah said.


    ¡°It is not the numbers that should concern us,¡± Princess Ami replied. ¡°It is the sly intelligence of those two¡ªtheir leaders.¡±


    ¡°Quite so,¡± Hakumi agreed. ¡°That is why we should seek a permanent solution to this problem. A Keth-Tari regiment could be scrambled within the hour if we adjourn in good time. We could have the charred heads of our enemies on the walls of our Palace before dawn if¡ª¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    Jung¡¯s voice had rung out strong and hard against that of the Matriarch¡¯s, echoing off the crimson walls with ultimate authority.


    ¡°You well know how volatile those beasts can be,¡± he said. ¡°I will not sanction their use when my son¡¯s life is on the line.¡±


    ¡°My Lord,¡± Hakumi said¡ªin a low, sly whisper that was slowly becoming a growl. ¡°This is exactly what those two Keji-Sai expect of us. We should make a swift, and decisive strike against th¡ª¡±


    ¡°We will redirect our naval forces,¡± Jung said. ¡°Send word to Prince Yaresh immediately that his fleet is to sail to the southern coast and commence bombardment of the southern Naga Plantations. Let Nagoya¡¯s brother land a force of ten thousand there to destroy these upstart Pipers and capture both the Pale One and this fiendish Shai-Alud alive.¡±


    The other nobles balked at the thought. A force of that size, redirected to simply track down two people¡­


    ¡°Lord Jung,¡± Emi said. ¡°Yaresh¡¯s fleet will take some time to arrive on the southern coast. By that time¡­¡±


    ¡°The Pipers will be locked in a stalemate,¡± Jung finished. ¡°Their aim will be the city of Saku, probably through the Yangzhao Bridge. No matter what strategic prowess this ¡®Shai-Alud¡¯ might hold, he knows he does not have the numbers for a prolonged siege of a well-supplied city. They will attempt to starve out Saku¡¯s forces in a siege, probably by taking the bridge, and perhaps will even use my son as a bargaining chip. We will not fall for the cheap tricks of these humans. Instead, send a command to the Viceroy of Saku: he is not to sally forth under any circumstances. Aid relief will be with him within the week. Prince Yaresh shall see to the breaking of these Pipers. Our human upstarts will be encircled and crushed¡ªand this little rebellion will be no more.¡±


    The Yokun nobles heard these words as they would hear a commandment from Lord Akira himself. They nodded, the grim specter of their decades-long war with Marxon overcoming their features. They were weary, and the Pipers¡¯ revolt had been the greatest thorn¡ªand shame¡ªin the heart of their Empire for far too long.


    But what Jung was proposing was to pull back and stall their advance in the north. He proposed leaving the human Emperor to lick his wounds in the wake of his broken navy, and their eyes revealed their dissatisfaction with this plan to the Patriarch more than any other raised voices would.


    Beside him, Matriarch Hakumi was less subtle. She stared at her husband with barely concealed scorn, claws clenched under the table, while Prince Yamrah simply looked from one person to another as his father abruptly rose and left the room.


    ¡°This meeting is adjourned,¡± he said.

 Chapter 109

    Southern Arasaka Coastline


    Former Clan Hitogi ¡®Fujiwara¡¯ Plantation


    Marcus was overseeing the final preparations for the assault on Yangzhao, organizing the new Oshu units into orderly columns.


    I know this style of warfare will be new for you, he telepathed to them as they blinked up at him in confusion. But bear with us ¡ª an organized force will always fare better, especially when they¡¯re outnumbered.


    Sakri nodded to his men. ¡°The Shai-Alud speaks truth! Let us practice this forma-shun until the call for battle comes!¡±


    ¡°Make sure they get some rest, too,¡± Marcus told his newest commander. ¡°It¡¯ll be a long night.¡±


    He sent the Oshu away in high spirits. In the last 24 hours, they¡¯d welcomed a few more tribesmen from the jungles ¡ª curious shadow warriors who had come seeking their freed brethren, throwing their arms open as they were reunited with their once-enslaved brothers and sisters.


    Marcus walked the grounds of the plantation, inspecting the new fortifications they¡¯d carved from bamboo and resin. Such construction was not unknown to the Oshu of the Arasaka, and the Yokun archers under Takeshi had thrown themselves into helping the primitives. It seemed to Marcus that they bore no small degree of guilt for the evils their own kind had visited on the people of the world. Takeshi was always the first man to volunteer for a job in the sweltering sun of the day.


    The Tigrans were mingling with their peerless leader in the east block ¡ª the place with the most shade in the compound. Karliah was barking orders this way and that, but Marcus could tell there was an element of theatricality to her exhortations. He could see the smile that tugged at her lips every time she saw some of the younger Tigran at play like the cats of Earth. Marcus made sure not to let his eyes linger too long ¡ª no doubt the catgirl would chastise him to no end if she saw the little moments when her mask slipped.


    Hialjia, however, was another story. She and her vanguard could be heard roaring and smashing the target practice dummies they¡¯d set up using materials from the overseers¡¯ old metal storage closets and uniforms. Marcus had expected to see her doing the same thing tonight, but it looked like the ¡®Princess¡¯ was currently engaged in a little bit of storytelling: her bulky, horned brethren listening to her tales of battle ¡ª of how she single-handedly dueled a prince of the Yokun Empire and gave the ¡®dancing lizard¡¯ a few fresh scars for his pretty little face.


    The night drew on, and Marcus telepathed to more of the men that now was the time to get some rest. They had about four hours before the assault would take place, and though he appreciated that battle fervor was clearly still in the air, he wasn¡¯t about to have people waste their lives out of a frenzied desire to keep up the momentum of their most recent successes.


    Marcus headed to the main guard tower to finish up some planning before the battle proper. If he was being honest, he could have used some shut-eye. His head was still adjusting to the surface world and the humidity of the jungle coastline. He wanted nothing more than a chance to lay down, as he had done with Mari in the bowels of the Pipers'' now-abandoned base¡­


    Suddenly, a strange sound emanated from the balcony of the overseer¡¯s office. He looked up from his papers and cocked an eyebrow at the sight he saw when he made his way outside: a collection of the army, led by its charismatic leaders, huddled around a large campfire, each of them sharing stories of their time in captivity.


    ¡°Looks like your little storytelling session inspired some people, Hialjia,¡± Marcus muttered.


    The speakers below didn¡¯t hear Marcus¡¯s mumblings. Each one was too absorbed in the stories of their companions ¡ª the way their features twisted as they laid their stories bare, some coming from plantations where they were kept in lockers without air for days on end if they ¡®misbehaved.¡¯ Others spoke of their children being branded while they were made to watch. Yet even within the tales of horror being weaved between the embers of their little fire, there were moments when tranquility shone through ¡ª little sparks of hope that flared up in the faces of each storyteller and their fellows. No matter their species. No matter their experience. No matter what culture they had all but forgotten they belonged to, every one of them looked into the eyes of those around them and saw, in very different faces, a kindred spirit.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    If nothing else, it¡¯s our suffering that brings us together.


    Marcus turned to see Mari stepping out onto the balcony with him, hands clasped behind her back, hair tied back and smelling of Thea¡¯s sweet saltwater.


    ¡°You went for a swim and didn¡¯t invite me?¡± Marcus asked.


    ¡°Thought I wouldn¡¯t interrupt my busy boy,¡± she winked as she came to stand beside him. ¡°After all, we¡¯re about to make history.¡±


    ¡°Heard that one before,¡± Marcus laughed.


    They took in the night air together in silence, trying to catch the fleeting details of whatever story Marvin was spinning beneath them. Whatever he was saying, he was saying it well ¡ª he had all the former bondsmen in the palm of his hands, and even a few Tigran girls were blushing as he showed them his muscles.


    ¡°What were the Ratmen like?¡± Mari asked suddenly, absorbed, it seemed, in reflections of her own. ¡°I mean ¡ª you spent such a long time down there with them. There must have been a few you grew attached to.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it,¡± Marcus said sadly. ¡°And if it wasn¡¯t for me, some of them would still be here today.¡±


    ¡°There you go blaming yourself again. Do I need to get Hialjia to bonk you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing but the truth,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯m not bitter about it. And it doesn¡¯t¡­ consume me like it used to when I first got up here. But still, on the eve of another battle, I¡¯m not going to stand here and lie to myself. I¡¯m going to do better this time. I¡¯m going to make a difference now.¡±


    Mari glanced at him, her long lashes fluttering like they used to when they were first going out.


    ¡°Marc,¡± she said. ¡°Look down there. Do you think it¡¯s truth that keeps those people together?¡±


    He followed her gaze but said nothing.


    ¡°¡®Truth¡¯ would tell them that difference breeds conflict,¡± she said quietly, but with enough venom that Marcus could tell she was repeating the spiteful words of another. ¡°That¡¯s what dictates the thoughts of the Yokun hierarchy. That¡¯s what they¡¯re all used to hearing every day of their short lives while people die around them. The ¡®truth¡¯ the Yokun preach is that a racially homogenous society is one where division does not exist.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t the first ones to come up with that idea,¡± Marcus sighed. ¡°We all know where ideologies like that lead.¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t, Marc,¡± she said, and this time her voice was far more insistent. ¡°Those people down there only believe what they¡¯ve been told all their lives. It took a lot for Jin¡¯an and me to sow the seeds of a new idea in their minds ¡ª to give them something worth fighting for.¡±


    ¡°Something that¡¯s equally dangerous.¡±


    Mari looked at him then, her surprise flashing only briefly in her face as he held her gaze. Suddenly, for no reason he could intuit, Marcus was reminded of the jungle queen Juon he¡¯d met earlier.


    ¡°What happens when the fighting¡¯s over, Mari?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°What keeps these people together then? A common enemy might work in the short term, but as soon as an era of peace comes around, the differences between these groups might just flare up again.¡±


    Mari touched his arm gingerly, as though dressing a wounded soldier.


    ¡°Marc, this is Thea,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s been nothing but fighting for centuries of this world¡¯s history. It mirrors Earth so perfectly in being a stage for perpetual conflict. But the reason for that is one simple thing: they lack a unified purpose.¡±


    ¡°Unity,¡± Marcus grinned. ¡°You almost sound like Steven Barenz now.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t compare me to that dolt,¡± Mari scoffed. ¡°Look, he didn¡¯t deserve what happened to him, but he wasn¡¯t what this world needed. Stupid preaching about peace and love won¡¯t solve anything. What matters is that those who tread on the weak get what they deserve. And then we can build something new. Something that¡¯s ours, Marc. We don¡¯t need to repeat the mistakes of the past.¡±


    She held his arm tightly, and he stroked her blonde crown, gazing out into the coiling smoke of the free warriors¡¯ fire, wondering about what lay behind her words.


    ¡°The mistakes of the past¡­¡± he murmured. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful dream. But we¡¯re not perfect, Mari. We¡¯re human, and we¡¯re fallible.¡±


    She held him closer, sniffling in the night as a cold breeze wafted over the barricades wrapped in the dark.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she whispered. ¡°But we¡¯re the best hope this world has.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 110

    Saku, Clan Hitogi Capital


    Southern Arasaka


    A wave of pride hit Viceroy Jin as he stumbled into his bedchamber and opened his curtains, revealing the splendor of his Prince¡¯s home state under the sea of Thea¡¯s star-filled night. Streets lined with verdant greens and pale lilacs graced the avenues, and between them walked the merry citizens going about their business in the busy marketplace districts or laborers¡¯ ward. Each section of the city, like most traditional Yokun holdings, was strictly separated by profession, ensuring that no citizen mingled with his inferiors or his superiors. Hitogi prided itself on order and the swift execution of justice, and as Jin looked to the fluttering banners twisting in the winds above the town walls, he breathed in the air of the coastline with no small degree of relief.


    He needed a nightcap before this day was done.


    ¡°Viceroy?¡± one of the slave-servants ¡ª a Tigran boy by the name of Jobashu ¡ª suddenly called from his bedroom door.


    Jin turned to greet the creature with a nod.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± Jobashu said. ¡°Matriarch Hakumi requires your attention.¡±


    ¡°Hakumi?!¡± Jin almost exploded, then, remembering himself, straightened up, pulling at the tight cuffs of his royal attire to feign disinterest. ¡°I¡¯ll answer the summons. You may return to your evening duties, Jobashu.¡±


    The Tigran nodded fervently before retiring down the hall, skipping merrily as he went. It gave the Viceroy some small pleasure to watch him go ¡ª the lad had grown on him over the past few years of his service to the court. Indeed, even Prince Nagoya had remarked on Jobashu¡¯s fascinating capacity to learn their ways as though he had been born to them. It was gratifying to see such a dutiful servant to the empire ¡ª a creature dredged up from the sands of barbarism and trained in the proper ways of civilization. It reminded Jin what they were fighting to achieve.


    Of course, he would never share such pride with a being as base as Jobashu himself. Nature was, after all, never to be overstepped. Still, as he prepared to face the orders of the Matriarch of Blades herself, the image of the young slave provided him some courage.


    He quickly strode down the mosaic-filled hallways of the palace pagoda, offering proper greetings to the council members who administered the city¡¯s economic and military matters in the wake of their Prince¡¯s departure. He could see the concern etched on their faces ¡ª they had dreamed the dream too. Only yesterday, Councilman Letian had dared to bring up the horrid image of their wounded Prince, which had been burned into the mind of every slave, for sure. However, Jin had dismissed the power of this little vision. It simply didn¡¯t make any logical sense that Prince Nagoya could be captured by rabble such as them ¡ª and clearly wasn¡¯t inspiring even the slightest whiff of an uprising within these walls. Proud, God-fearing slaves were a staple of Hitogi lands. Those of Clan Naga¡¯s holdings simply weren¡¯t properly conditioned. Carrot and stick were needed in equal measure. Naga¡¯s Overseers were simply too draconian in their methods.


    No, Jin thought as he entered the summoning chamber and donned the ceremonial Cloak of Blades, taking a pinch of ashes from the veiled matron as he entered the pitch-black room. No. We of Hitogi know how to look after our own. Our bondsmen are as well conditioned as our people. Our Zhurkin inspire fear, and our stout walls inspire confidence. Besides, if they ever did decide to run, there would be no escape.


    He threw the ashes into the fire-pit at the very heart of the chamber and watched as a sheen of emerald flame spouted from the pit¡¯s center, billowing and flaring until it engulfed the entire ceiling.


    Jin covered his eyes as the fire then took on the shape of a face ¡ª a thick cast in the most dun of all palls.


    Matriarch Hakumi was staring down at him. He bowed low, saluting in the old way, but it seemed that the Matriarch was in a hurry.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°New orders from the mouth of your Patriarch,¡± she said. ¡°The Pipers, led by their Pale Lady and Shai-Alud, are on the move. They seek the bridge over the Yangzhao River.¡±


    Jin¡¯s eyes bulged open.


    ¡°That is our major supply route,¡± Jin said without thinking. ¡°Should they take it, they will deprive us of¡ª¡±


    The Matriarch held up a hand wreathed in wildfire. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of your situation, Viceroy Jin. That is why your orders are to scramble your Keth-Tari units.¡±


    Jin blinked. ¡°All of them, Matriarch?¡±


    ¡°Did you hear me utter anything to the contrary? You are to send your forces to reinforce the bridge immediately. The attack is likely to begin tonight.¡±


    Jin nodded hurriedly, his mind racing at the thought of rousing the Tari riders at this hour. Those Yokun were known to be just as aggressive and snappy as the creatures they pulled with them¡­


    Then, a sudden thought occurred to the Viceroy.


    ¡°My Matriarch,¡± he began tentatively. ¡°I do not question the judgment of Patriarch Jung, but if Prince Nagoya is among the forces of the Pipers¡­ that is¡­ a Keth-Tari attack is unpredictable and lacks precision. It is possible that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you question your Patriarch¡¯s strategic thought, male?¡± the Matriarch snapped. ¡°This ¡®vision¡¯ is nothing but a cheap tactic designed to break our morale. Your Prince is safe. The Pipers have simply created an adequate impostor.¡±


    Jin gulped away his apprehension. She was right ¡ª he, a simple Viceroy, had the gall to doubt the Patriarch of the House of Blades himself? What kind of treasonous thoughts were these that suddenly swirled in his mind?


    ¡°It will be done, my Matriarch,¡± he bowed. ¡°I will send our entire regiment of Keth-Tari along with a detachment of the finest Zhurkin warriors to crush this insurrection before it infects the rest of the population. Of that, you have my word.¡±


    The Matriarch¡¯s smile would have been infectious were it not for how damn creepy it looked.


    ¡°See to it that you do,¡± Hakumi finished. ¡°And Viceroy? When the battle is concluded, bring me the heads of those two human Keji-Sai. I am in need of some new trophies.¡±


    ...


    Hakumi leaned back in her cushioned throne as she watched the image of the little lizard squirm beneath her. She fanned away the flames of her summoning and turned her attention instead to the being who was strung up before her, arms and legs splayed apart, and furry skin flayed from his bones.


    ¡°Did you like that little performance?¡± she asked the creature ¡ª who managed only a stifled moan of pain in reply. ¡°That¡¯s called taking the initiative. Something my fool husband lacks an awareness of.¡±


    Hakumi reached over her armrest and plucked a handful of Luma grapes from the creeping purple vines beside her. She¡¯d had her entire apartment in the Pagoda filled with plants of all descriptions ¡ª but she had a particular penchant for those of the Luma tree.


    ¡°You know why the Luma is so much loved by the women of our Empire?¡± she asked her aching prisoner. ¡°Of course not. You¡¯ve only just got here, after all. It¡¯s because the juice of the Luma fruit is said to be blessed by Ming¡¯bao herself. It is the most powerful aphrodisiac in nature. A single drop could turn even a eunuch ravenous with lust. But only once one breaks through the spine-covered outer casing.¡±


    She bit into the thick, moist grape and let the juice run down her teeth and slowly enter her throat, staring at her prisoner with wet yet unblinking eyes the whole time.


    ¡°My, my, yes,¡± she breathed. ¡°Ultimate pleasure and perpetual pain mixed together in a delectable little concoction. That¡¯s what awaits your old Shai-Alud and his bitch out there, and it¡¯s what awaits the old man¡¯s precious little boy. For in just a few hours, they will all perish in fire, and blood, and anguish. But in here¡­ well, we¡¯ll be experiencing something very different. Won¡¯t we, my little pet?¡±


    She threaded her scaled fingers in between the claws of the creature who could do nothing but watch as she violated it. Her tongue slathered over the folds of its exposed muscle and pushed another Luma grape into the quivering hole that now served as its mouth.


    ¡°And the beauty is,¡± she whispered, ¡°that even if Saku falls, I gain. There are a little too many Princes around these days. A little too many holdings outside my reach. The loss of another son and his territory will drive the old man over the edge of any sanity he still possesses. And then? This Empire will finally be placed in the talons of someone who knows what she¡¯s doing.¡±


    The Luma grape burst inside the creature¡¯s throat, and the tongue of the Yokun snaked its way into its bleeding ears.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s enjoy this, my little ratman,¡± she told Skeever Steelclaw. ¡°And when the body of your old Shai-Alud lies at my feet, he can join us too.¡±


    ***


    Support the story on Patreon</a> to read + 10 advanced chapters for $9.50. Patrons are charged when they join, never by the month, so it''s as perfect a time as any to join up and get some sweet extra chaps.


    Discord</a>

 Chapter 111

    "Tauron vanguard?"


    In position!


    "Tigran flanks?"


    In position, human. And watch who you¡¯re barking at.


    "Human Hakka-throwers?"


    Ready and willing, lad. Point us at a filthy Hitogi Zhurkin, and we¡¯ll make ¡®em burn.


    "Yokun Marksmen?"


    We await your orders, Shai-Alud.


    "Lastly¡­ Sakri?"


    Yes, Shai-Alud. The Oshu tribes stand with you.


    "Have you made sure your advance units are in position?"


    "They are ready, Shai-Alud. Awaiting our arrival."


    "Everyone be ready," Marcus commanded. "We move out in an hour."


    It had taken time to get everyone up to speed on the importance of their formations, but the army was ready to move out. Even so, as he walked the halls of their Clan Naga plantation headquarters, he couldn¡¯t help but feel the distinct knocking against his ribs that had accompanied every battle he¡¯d been involved in since coming to this world. What the Generals of old said was true: it never got any easier.


    Though the creature behind him was possibly more anxious than he was, right now...


    "Why must Hialjia do this?" The hulking Tauron groaned as she followed him into the depths of the base. "Hialjia should be out on the frontlines!"


    "While we¡¯re gone, we need someone to guard him," Marcus replied¡ªhis tone soft yet firm. He didn¡¯t need disagreements at this crucial stage of the game. "And someone to knock the shit out of him if he tries to make a run for it. That, Princess Hialjia, is you."


    The Tauron huffed at him, picking at a stray caterpillar that had just dared to wriggle into her left nostril.


    "If fancy lizard tries to run, Hialjia will take his legs from him."


    "He¡¯s a better bartering chip if he¡¯s got all his pieces still attached," Marcus mumbled, though he knew the Tauron was probably too busy fantasizing about the slaughter she¡¯d be missing to really hear him. "Just¡­ do this for us, Hialjia. You¡¯re the only one I can trust to keep him locked up and secure in the event of a counterattack from the sea¡ªwhich I still can¡¯t rule out. Besides, we both know you could take him in a fight. You already beat him once. And you¡¯re the most fearless warrior we¡¯ve got."


    Marcus opened the steel lock on the doorway to the prison chamber¡ªthe ice-cold cells filled with dried animal carcasses and fetid meat, some of which looked humanoid in shape. This had been the place where the "bad" property had gone. The place where the slaves of old were "corrected." Even now, most of the men wouldn¡¯t dare come near this place.


    It was the perfect spot for their little guest of honor, who poked his head up from the ice-cold chair he was chained to, stripped of his clothes and panting for every breath.


    "Come to hear me whimper, Shai-Alud?" Prince Nagoya asked him. "Your mate comes to visit me often. I dare say she has a certain fondness for looking at the body of a naked Yokun noble."


    "You dare insult Lady Maria again!?"


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Marcus¡¯s arm stopped her before she could gore him and the chair both.


    "He isn¡¯t worth your effort, Hialjia. Not yet. He¡¯s just trying to mess with you."


    Nagoya¡¯s twitching eyes fixed on the beast. "Ah, serving two masters now, I see. What an obedient little pet."


    "I will take the head from your shoul-!"


    "Hialjia!"


    Marcus¡¯s command was heard. The shrillness of his Gloomraava-enhanced voice must have been a powerful psychic shout indeed. Hialjia almost tripped as she turned, obeying him.


    "Hialjia... will wait outside," she said.


    "Yes, go on, little mule," Nagoya taunted. "Show your leash handler what a good girl you are."


    This time, though her fists clenched and teeth seethed with rage, the Tauron departed without another word.


    "I could have let her kill you, you know," Marcus said.


    "Indeed. But you did not. Because you are still under the foolish notion that you can bargain with my life."


    "Can¡¯t I?" Marcus asked, taking another chair and sitting opposite the bound Yokun, looking into the creature¡¯s unblinking amber eyes¡ªeyes that had once appraised him and everyone in this place as nothing but prey to be exploited and used. "As I understand it, you¡¯re a rather important man, Prince Nagoya."


    Surprisingly, the Prince let out a deep sigh, releasing a cold cloud of breath that touched the tip of Marcus¡¯s nose.


    "You are like my little brother," the Prince replied. "He is fond of strategy, and the bold, sweeping moves which define the old tales of war. But he does not see the whole picture. He does not look ahead, at the long game."


    "Your father would let his own son die?" Marcus asked.


    "The life of a single Yokun means nothing against the well-being of the Clan, and the Empire. Even my father knows this. That is why your efforts are in vain. He will never come to the table of negotiations you have dreamed of. You may debase and torture me all you like, human. When my father comes for you, there will be nothing left of us."


    "As I understand it, he¡¯s rather preoccupied with the war he started against half the world," Marcus retorted. "I hear he¡¯s rather advanced in age. One tends to become more sentimental with time, especially old Emperors who have already lost members of their family to bloodshed."


    Prince Nagoya smiled. "You don¡¯t know him, human. And you don¡¯t know us. Your bitch mate never could understand our ways. And you won¡¯t even try. A man who has trafficked with ratmen of the Underkingdom could never understand us, or our culture, never mind the people who helped build it from nothing."


    "But your father is starting to understand us, I¡¯ll bet. He understands that now he¡¯s not just fighting against a ragtag group of resistance soldiers. Now, he¡¯s fighting a war on two fronts. And if your father doesn¡¯t want you back, I know his biggest opponent in this world would die to get his hands on a Yokun Prince."


    Nagoya stiffened as Marcus rose, telepathing his next thoughts directly to the naked Yokun so that the Prince saw everything he spoke of:


    Can you imagine it, Nagoya? Your princely form strung up for all of humanity to see. In the squares of Marxon¡¯s cities, being paraded through the slums and the nobles equally, being spat on by children and nibbled at by dogs, while the people you once called slaves watch and laugh. They might even make a sport of it¡ªdelivering you to the nations of all the Yokun¡¯s enemies, letting each and every one of the Keji-Sai come to visit you. ¡®Here stands the living failure,¡¯ they¡¯ll say. ¡®A prince wearing a crown of shit¡¯¡ª


    "Enough!"


    Marcus relented, sitting back and letting out his own breath of cold air. The vision-telepathy had started to take a lot out of him. He wiped his nose and concealed the specks of blood that came away in his hand.


    "No, Nagoya," he said. "I don¡¯t think your father will be able to ignore that."


    "Wh-whatever evil you will visit upon me," the Prince seethed. "Know that I... I shall not... break!"


    "I don¡¯t need you to break," Marcus said. "All I need is to get in your head."


    The Prince cocked his eyes at Marcus as the latter rose to leave. Unbeknownst to him, this had not been the first time Marcus had come to this chamber to visit him.


    For the last few nights he¡¯d been coming here, in fact. He¡¯d been spending at least an hour down here at a time, when the guards had confirmed that the Prince had fallen into a stuttering slumber. And, during those early hours of the night, Marcus had tested his hunch.


    And he¡¯d seen results.


    Right now, he looked towards Nagoya¡¯s finger, and focused.


    He saw it twitch.


    He saw it¡ªthough the movement was almost imperceptible. Not enough to write home about. But enough to tell him that his contingency plan was in place. And if everything else went well...


    Marc!


    The voice was Mari¡¯s¡ªa scream so loud that his mindscape almost collapsed, and in the next second he heard the stuttered gasps of the rest of the units stationed outside in a garbled chorus of chaos:


    ContactCONTACTcontactCONTACTcontact!


    He ran for the door, ignoring the laughter emanating from the Prince¡¯s hoarse throat.


    "I may be a living failure, Shai-Alud!" he shouted as he left. "But soon you shall be nothing but food for the worms!"

 Chapter 112

    Outside, the jungle air had grown thick and musky. And a sound was bleeding the eardrums of the waiting army.


    Marcus ran the length of the Plantation¡¯s grounds towards his waiting troops ¨C perfectly aligned in their formations ¨C only to find that they were beginning to scatter and hit the ground. Only Mari remained standing, ushering her General towards cover.


    ¡°Mari!¡± he shouted. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    Her face betrayed the answer. She looked to the skies ¨C to the dark cloud gathering in the North, slowly descending on their position.


    Then, as Marcus¡¯s eyes adjusted to the site, he saw that it was no cloud at all.


    It was a cabal of flying monsters.


    First their screams came ¨C belched from their torrid throats with enough bile to break the spirit of any infantry troop. Marcus was immediately put in mind of the German Stukkas and their Jericho Trumpets ¨C except these creature¡¯s piercing screams had the ring of biological fury behind them. In the darkness of Thea¡¯s moonlit sky, he could make out their conal skulls garbed in brass and the slitted, sulphuric eyes that gleamed from within. Their torsos were unarmored ¨C presumable to allow them enough speed to maneuver in their air with the grisly payload they carried in their claws: a copper-clad Hakka bomb. A bomb which each Yokun pilot strapped to the back of each pterodactyl-bomber was preparing his creature to drop¡­


    Scatter! Marcus commanded. Wide-formation! Don¡¯t cluster up! Find any cover you can!


    His voice was almost entirely drowned out by the shrill, animalistic screams of the storm of Keth-Tari as they broke formation and dove towards the base, letting their bombs fly from their claws.


    DOWN!


    ¡°Marc!¡±


    Mari pushed him into the barracks adjacent to the HQ tower as the first bombs fell. A wave of searing heat hit their backs and both of them were propelled down the stairs into the barracks proper, reeling from the impact of a bomb that had gone of just outside the doorway, surrounding it in gelatinous, all-consuming flame.


    ¡°M-Mari!¡± Marcus shouted as he coughed through the smoke and debris. ¡°Are you -?¡±


    Another payload being dropped on them silenced his throat, closing it up instantly as another deluge of fire snaked its way through the buildings interior. Marcus worked quickly ¨C aiming his sparking hand at the seeking flames and blasting through them, managing to nullify them enough to grab Mari and pull her up.


    ¡°Keth¡­Tari,¡± she spat. ¡°Nagoya¡¯s Viceroy¡¯s insane!¡±


    Marcus nodded as the grim reality of their situation kicked in, hearing the bestial squeals of their squadrons outside as they burned, no doubt seeking shelter just as they were inside the crumbling, melting buildings all around them.


    ¡°He¡¯s willing kill kill his own Prince¡­¡±


    Mari¡¯s words stuck with Marcus as he pulled her up and helped her to the door, noticing that a certain creature had decided to come and join them.


    ¡°Hialjia!¡± Mari shouted.


    The great Tauron cleaved through the flame-covered doorway of the barracks and nodded to them both, her voice the roar of a raging bull against the shrieks of the firebirds above.


    ¡°Hilajia told you you could use her on the frontlines,¡± she said as she helped them out, revealing the unconscious form of Prince Nagoya under her arm.


    ¡°Hialjia¡­¡±


    ¡°Hialjia not hurt fancy snake much,¡± she huffed. ¡°He is still alive, no thanks to his own people!¡±


    Marcus grimaced as he looked around outside, seeing nothing but smoke and the staggering forms of burned men and women ¨C their furred skin peeling from their bodies like hot wax.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    But the army was still there ¨C it looked like Karliah had managed to guide most of them under the reinforced North walls. They looked to Marcus and Mari and screamed something that was lost in the explosive discharge of yet another bomb.


    ¡°Crazy bastards¡­¡± Mari scoffed. ¡°This¡­we didn¡¯t plan for this.¡±


    Marcus looked to the skies, seeing the Keth-Tari units turn and begin to circle back for another pass now that their first payloads had been dropped. He saw their riders load another bomb into their waiting, willing claws.


    ¡°Air superiority¡­this isn¡¯t the first time my own tactics have been used against me.¡±


    He turned to Mari and let her see the determination that possessed him in this moment ¨C his face filled with soot and grime.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse setbacks, Mari,¡± he told her. ¡°Help me show these beasts that not even a rain of fire can keep us Shai-Aluds down.¡±


    Mari flashed him as smile as she nodded.


    ¡°Alright, Princess,¡± she told Hialjia. ¡°I think me and the General will be needing a ride.¡±


    ¡°Hmpf!¡± Hilajia said as she picked them both up, placed them on her powerful shoulders, and took off towards the waiting forces. ¡°Is Hialjia nothing more than a pack mule to you?¡±


    Behind, the Keth-Tair were re armed. Once again their shrieks of doom pierced the night air above the base.


    ¡°Trust me Hialjia,¡± Marcus said. ¡°You¡¯ll be swimming in the blood of these winges beasties soon.¡±


    His next words were telepathed to each individual commander and sub-commander of the waiting units, many of whom were still in shock from the initial blast that had wiped out about 10% of their total numbers already.


    Hear me, Pipers! We move into the jungle towards the bridge. Use the treeline as cover, and commence our assault as planned!


    There was hesitation ¨C he could sense it keenly. There was still those among them who doubted he could get them out of this. Those who had heard stories of the Masters¡¯ flying demons that ruled the Thean skies ¨C the greatest symbol of Yokun military supremacy over this realm.


    But then their eyes saw the image of their commander coming towards them, riding on the shoulders of a giant Tauron while the winged devils swooped down to try and catch him from behind.


    ¡°You gotta admit,¡± Marvin coughed through soot and blood. ¡°That lad¡¯s got some style.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Style¡¯¡± won¡¯t win us this battle,¡± Karliah spat. ¡°But¡­fuck it. Everyone! Into the trees!¡±


    The next wave of bombs impacted along the Eastern walls and blew them clean off the face of the earth. Behind, the HQ tower toppled over and collapsed into the sea, and Marcus felt Hialjia¡¯s hoofs lift off the ground as she leaped to avoid the flying debris and haze of smoke that crawled towards the army.


    Use it! Marcus telepathed as he joined his forces running through the jungle. Keep to the smoke and don¡¯t look up. Maintain cluster formation ¨C widespread. Keep up the pace and we¡¯ll make it ¨C all of us.


    Marcus wanted to cringe as he made this proclamation ¨C even he didn¡¯t believe they¡¯d manage this now without huge losses being incurred on their part. Meanwhile, the Keth-Tari sailed overhead and banked left above them, their riders loading yet another payload of liquid death to rain down upon their foes.


    Lack of visibility counters their advantage in lack of wind resistance, Marcus thought. A nighttime bombing run suffers the same loss of accuracy as it did in our world ¨C arguably moreso considering that those beasts need to toss their payload¡­


    But the power of those bombs, and their spread¡­Marcus didn¡¯t need to see another demonstration.


    So he pushed his forces towards the bridge, hoping to hell that Sakri¡¯s men were in place and hadn¡¯t broken in the face of the attack on home base¡­


    ¡°Shai-Alud!¡± Hialjia roared. ¡°Can¡¯t Hialjia toss fancy man?¡±


    ¡°Hialjia needs to listen to her commands,¡± Mari said. ¡°The Shai-Alud is busy. Keep that prisoner close to your armpit. And don¡¯t shy away from giving him a little squeeze every now and then¡­¡±


    The ridgeline that gave way to the bridge over the Yangzhao river loomed before them, and just as the just as the Keth-Tari were about to open up with another deluge of liquid flame, they stopped, continuing on their flight path with their bombs still intact.


    The Pipers breathed a collective gasp of relief.


    As I thought. They aren¡¯t willing to risk the destruction of their infrastructure. Apparently, it means more to them than their apparently precious Prince does, unless there¡¯s some nefarious political move being made here. Maybe the Viceroy wants him dead.


    That, or someone higher up does¡­


    The Pipers cleared the ridge, hopping over to finally face the weak guard contingency at the mouth of the bridge.


    Then they froze, weapons shaking in the hands of their Tauron vanguards.


    Because they weren¡¯t looking at a hodgepodge token looking after a glorified toll booth. Instead, they were looking at a line of at least two hundred disciplined Zhurkin marksmen, seven Hakka carts at their backs ready to fire on the exact spot where the Pipers had emerged from the jungle.


    ¡°They knew we were coming¡­¡± Mari whispered.


    Marcus watched along with the rest of the beleaguered army as the Zhurkin commander gave a wave of his hand, signaling his artillery barrage while the Keth-Tari turned in the sky to swoop down and feed on the remains¡­


    ¡°We charge now?¡± Hialjia asked.


    Marcus eyed Karliah and Marvin behind him, both focused on the strange sways of the trees above.


    And only when the Zhurkin¡¯s general command was shouted by their leader did Marcus turn to face the reality of their situation:


    ¡°KILL THEM ALL!¡±

 Chapter 113

    ¡°KILL THEM ALL!¡±


    Marcus saw the Tauron vanguards roar with Hialjia as the Zhurkin marksmen brought their muskets to bear. But he held them back.


    Pipers, Marcus telepathed. Look to the trees.


    Those who weren¡¯t frozen with fear saw what Marcus was ¨C the slight swaying of the boughs and branches, the flickers of leaves in the bushes beneath the bridge, and the patter of claws against the rushing water below.


    And in the next second, a storm of air rushed through the Zhurkin rearguard, slitting the throats of every Yokun who was ready to take his place in the row of volleys.


    The commander turned, seeing a sea of eyes emerge from the darkness of night itself, and then brought his longsword to bear as the horde of yipping Oshu fell from the skies and buckled his ordered line of soldiers. Attacked in the flank, with little time to affix bayonets, they faltered and fell like a row of dominos, toppled by the onrush of the shadow warriors led by Sakri, who roared high above them on the bridge¡¯s high apex.


    Shai-Alud ¨C the Oshu stand with you!


    That was the cue Marcus needed. He signaled the Piper forces to charge headfirst into their enemy with a blast of Gloomraav that sent three soldiers in their vanguard over the bridge beams and into the river below.


    ¡°Push through!¡± Hialjia cried out to her brethern ¨C who needed very little by way of encouragement. ¡°For the Pale Lady! FOR THE SHAI_ALUD!¡±


    The Tauron ¨C though few in number ¨C dominated the bridge instantly, tearing through the Zhurkin who did manage to fire into the mass of muscular flesh that stormed towards them. They gored through their armor, shredding it to paper before crushing their scaled limbs under their hooves. When the Tigran flanks entered the bridge center, all they found were the broken bodies and crimson covered armor of their foes.


    The human regiments, meanwhile, focused on their more pressing foes. Marcus directed them into the tree tops to hurl their Hakkatovs at the approaching Keth-Tari who, now focused entirely on nothing more than satiating their appetite, clipped a whole swathe of Marvin¡¯s regiment before they could even make it into the trees. Meanwhile, the Zhurkin ranks were caught between the ferocity of the Taurons, the bloody dances of the Tigrans, and the bestial sneak attacks of the Oshu who had flanked them.


    They would take the bridge, Marcus knew. But could they hold it against those monsters above?


    ¡°Marc!¡± Mari cried out. ¡°I¡¯ll get Takeshi and his archers into position. We¡¯ve got a chance if we can lure those monsters in.¡±


    Marcus nodded as he crouched beside Mari at the edge of the bridge, hearing nothing but the shrieking wails of the airborne predators and the screams of Marvin¡¯s grenadiers as they were torn from their treetop positions.


    ¡°Just ¨C don¡¯t go far,¡± he told Mari, squeezing her hand. ¡°I need you beside me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one with telepathy,¡± she smiled back before running towards their Yokun ranged support. ¡°Just call me when you need me.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The plan was prosecuted as they had first conceived it: Takeshi¡¯s archers would come up the rear and provide suppressing fire, while the Taurons led the charge. Marvin¡¯s forces provided their mid-ranged firepower, and the Tigrans would mop up any resistance not dealt with by their vanguard shock troops.


    But while the Taurons were cracking skulls, the Keth-Tari decided to switch their attention to them. Marcus saw a unit of at least one hundred break off from the pack and swoop down towards Hialjia and her crew, piercing the chests of a few of them as they tried to retaliate. They landed some sound blows, tearing the membrane of the pterodactyl-beast¡¯s wings and sending them crashing towards the rushing waters below, but not before sustaining wounds that slowed them down. The claws of the Keth-Tari were sharper than any Yokun blade.


    Seeing those mountains of bulk and muscle stagger and fall was enough to convince Marcus he¡¯d need his little contingency plan¡­


    Marvin! he called out. You know what to do.


    Already? he shouted back from the top of a flailing, burning tree. But the fun¡¯s just getting started, lad!


    You¡¯re the only man I can trust to slip by with speed. We¡¯re gonna need our ace in the hole.


    G-gotcha! the human shouted before throwing himself out of the way of a screeching Keth-Tari. I¡¯ll be back in a wink!


    Marcus then refocused his attention on making sure the Yokun archers were covered as they moved into the center of the bridge, keeping an eye on the fleeing Zhurkin who by this point represented no great threat.


    ¡°Push!¡± he heard Mari scream to Takeshi and his soldiers. ¡°Yokun of the Pipers - we need your arrows to fly!¡±


    The archers assented with a collective ¡°Sha-hah!¡± as they opened fire on the descending Keth-Tari above. They managed to puncture a few as they came in for another dive bomb assault, crashing into the rushing waves, a few barreling into the pillars of the bridge and causing the whole edifice to shudder.


    Karliah held the flanks of the bridge now ¨C her warriors leaping with extraordinary feline strength as the Keth-Tari screamers tore into their ranks ¨C a few of them slicing the heads of the riders clean off before slitting the unarmored throats of the beasts. Marcus watched with a certain admiration for their efforts. The Tigran, more than any species he¡¯d encountered on this planet, knew how to put on a show¡­


    ¡°Marc!¡±


    Mari¡¯s shout snapped Marcus to the Keth-Tari who had just dived towards him. On impulse he sent a spear of green lightning arcing towards the helmet of the beast and watched as it collapsed to the ground, eyeballs sizzling and brain electrified to goo. Its rider dismounted to a rabble of Taurons bringing their axes and clubs down on his head.


    A general cry went up from the ranks of the airborne predators, then. Not the cry of their mounts, but those on their backs.


    When next the tide of screaming death turned to make another pass on the bridge, all of them were fixated squarely on Marcus.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Mari shouted. ¡°Protect him!¡±


    Before Marcus could even think, Hialjia and her Taurons surrounded him like a living barricade of concrete, tanking the bites and piercing scratches of the Keth-Tari before they broke off and clipped the eyeballs of the Yokun archers who represented the only real threat to their dominance.


    Marcus looked up at Hialjia¡¯s bloody face.


    ¡°This is real combat, human!¡± she roared, pointing up at the beasts who ruled the skies and issuing a personal challenge. ¡°Hialjia¡¯s blood burns for this moment!¡±


    ¡°Just burn in moderation, Princess!¡± Karliah shouted from the bridge¡¯s eastern flank. ¡°Or you may find you¡¯ve got no blood left!¡±


    Their camaraderie might have been comforting, but Marcus and Mari could see the truth. As their eyes met over the next few passes of the vicious pterodactyl warriors, they shared a knowing look.


    We¡¯re losing ground, Marcus telepathed.


    And we¡¯re running out of time, Mari nodded.


    The Tigran soldiers were swept off their paws by the onslaught of the Keth-Tari¡¯s right flank while the Taurons surrounding Marcus gored a few before their wounds started gnawing at their resolve. Marcus saw them flail. He saw them falter. Above, he saw the Hakkatovs of Marvin¡¯s men fall and explode on the jungle floor. Even Sakri¡¯s Oshu couldn¡¯t keep up with the relentless assault of the brutal beasts of the skies.


    All the while, Marcus knew that this commotion would awaken the garrison of Sakri. By now, there must have been a relief force on the way¡­


    He took his chance. As Hialjia¡¯s roaring brood broke ranks and slashed at their tormentors with wild abandon, Marcus made his way to the highest point on the bridge, climbing atop the beams that would take him to its apex.


    ¡°Marc!¡± Mari shouted from beside the Yokun archers. ¡°What ¨C¡°


    Keep them focused, Mari, Marcus telepathed back. I meant what I said before: no one else dies because of me.


    The Keth-Tari turned in the air ¨C a force of at least 150 still filled with energy and the exhilaration of bloodlust. From above the bridge of Yanghzhao, Marcus could see the bodies of the Pipers they¡¯d taken being crunched, their ribcages broken open and their innards spilled over the crimson waters below.


    But he looked past them. He had to.


    Instead, he focused on the eyes of the units in the center of the flying horde. The ones who still hadn¡¯t dropped their bombs.


    He focused. He felt the night air fill him. And he breathed.


    ¡°What in the name of Sheav is that human doing!?¡±


    He ignored Karliah¡¯s cry and kept his focus. Right there. In the center. All he needed to do was reach just one of them. Their banshee-like screeches came closer and closer, and all the while he strained his unblinking eyes. He couldn¡¯t look away now.


    Come on¡­he murmured as his mind reached out. Come on¡­

 Chapter 114

    Come on¡­


    The shrieking cacophony of biting, gnashing teeth that was the Keth-Tari regiment rushed towards Marcus, a living wall of malevolent intent. The ground beneath him trembled as their serrated talons shredded the earth with each powerful stride. He stood firm, his boots digging into the slick stone of the rain-slicked bridge, eyes fixed on the twisted mass of flesh, feather, and fury approaching. He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, mingling with the rain as he reached out with his mind, summoning the focus that Mari had so carefully tried to teach him in the scant days before this madness had begun.


    Granted, it wasn¡¯t exactly the best time for practicing.


    The jungle surrounding the bridge was alive with tension. Massive trees loomed like ancient guardians, their canopies so thick they nearly blotted out the pale light of the dying sun, casting eerie shadows over the battlefield. A distant bird screeched, its cry lost in the growing storm. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth mixed with blood¡ªa heady cocktail of life and death. Thick vines twisted up around the trunks, and here and there, brilliant flashes of color betrayed the presence of poisonous flora, shimmering beneath the cover of thick leaves. It was a place that devoured the weak and tested the strong. And today, it would bear witness to war.


    Marcus ignored the cries of his comrades, who rushed to aid him, only to be clipped by the flanks of the horde as it descended like a singular, unified organic mass of pure, raw animal purpose. A few Pipers were sent flying as the winged beasts swooped low, tearing through ranks of soldiers with cruel precision. There was nothing natural about the Keth-Tari¡ªa testament to the twisted alchemy of their masters. Their wings were too large, their beaks too sharp, and their black eyes too empty of anything resembling animal instinct. They were bred to kill, driven by a singular hunger that could never be sated. Their wings beat against the rain, the droplets hissing against their flaming payloads.


    And then, as if a flare had ignited in his mind, a charge flashed in the air.


    The Pipers felt it as an onrush of energy beaming from their leader, who stood atop the rainswept bridge¡¯s apex and faced down the screaming demons of the skies. It was as if the very air around Marcus had changed¡ªbecome more charged, more alive, despite the oppressive weight of the storm that rumbled overhead. He felt the power coiling inside him, desperate to be released, to be channeled, to find a target for its destructive potential.


    One of the creatures¡ªone of the Keth-Tari screamers, right in the center of the horde¡ªbegan to twitch and turn erratically, as if caught in a sudden wind gust. Its wings faltered, and it began to drift to the side, disrupting the uniformity of the attack.


    Come¡­ on¡­


    The rider noticed the disobedience of his beast and gave it a stout kicking in its unarmored ribs, his movements frantic, aggressive. He shouted curses in a language Marcus did not know, but the tone was clear¡ªpure, panicked rage. The rider yanked at the reins, forcing the creature to dive toward Marcus, intent on turning it back toward the single, vulnerable target that had presented itself so willingly to the horde.


    But the beast did not obey. Its gaze, once fixated on Marcus, now glazed over with confusion, then fear. It had a new Master now.


    Go on¡­ Marcus whispered in its addled mind, the power flowing from him in waves. Let go¡­


    The beast¡¯s eyes bulged with sudden fury, its muscles trembling beneath its thick skin. It darted toward the forms of its fellow brood members with a sudden spike of anxiety. Its rider, still oblivious to the shift, practically beat its torso bloody and raw with his blade, desperate to regain control.


    Then, without warning, the creature veered sharply, crashing into the Tari on its right flank. The impact was catastrophic. With a terrifying screech, the creature¡¯s payload¡ªits deadly Hakka bombs¡ªdetonated on impact.


    ¡°Holy¡­ Get down!¡±


    The voice had been Mari¡¯s, slicing through the roar of the chaos, but Marcus was too far gone, too absorbed in the sight unfolding before him to move. The few seconds stretched into eternity as the right wing of the horde buckled, the entire column of screeching monsters detonating in a fiery storm. Each Tari¡¯s own bomb ignited in a cascade of explosions, and the chain reaction tore through their ranks with devastating precision. It was more than enough to throw Marcus from his precarious perch atop the bridge. He flailed in the air, arms reaching for something, anything, as he plummeted toward the river below.


    He watched in stunned awe as the burning birds smashed into the base of the bridge¡¯s structure. The stones cracked and groaned, and Marcus had just enough time to telegraph his final thought to his comrades.


    Everyone¡­ run.


    Mari¡¯s scream echoed across the battlefield, her voice raw with panic. ¡°Marc!¡±


    Her grasping hand missed him by a breath. Even Hialjia, the mighty Tauron Princess, reached for him as he fell, her broad frame straining under the weight of a hundred dying, flaming Tari that continued to crash into the bridge. His last vision before he hit the water was of the structure beginning to crumble, stone and metal giving way under the relentless assault. Hails of arrows pierced what was left of the Keth-Tari units, but it was too late for him.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    The cold crimson seas swallowed him whole.


    ¡­


    ¡°Back! Back!¡±


    Karliah¡¯s commands rang out above the general chaos that had erupted on the collapsing bridge. The wooden beams, slick with rain and splattered with blood, groaned and creaked as they began to come away from their sockets. The weight of the burning Keth-Tari was too much for the structure to bear. Hialjia grabbed Mari as she tried to rush after Marcus, the Tauron¡¯s muscular arm easily restraining the frantic woman. Her immense strength was put to better use, ferrying the Yokun archers off the bridge and tossing them to the safety of the jungle¡¯s edge with surprising tenderness.


    The jungle itself loomed around them like a predator, ancient and indifferent to the suffering unfolding in its shadow. The canopy above provided little shelter from the rain, and now the ground below was slick with mud, making every step treacherous. The dense underbrush was filled with the calls of unseen creatures, their voices sharp and ominous. Above, thick ropes of mist coiled like serpents, further obscuring the retreating forces.


    Karliah, meanwhile, kept her Tigran sisters and brothers moving with haste, her feline grace giving her an edge on the unsteady terrain. Her eyes flickered with both fear and anger as she pushed her soldiers onward, the hiss of igniting Hakka bombs and the shrieks of the dying mixing in the air around her. They were the first to forge the collapsing structure, darting between falling debris and fireballs.


    When the last load-bearing beam finally gave way, the entire bridge came crashing down into the churning river below. The remnants of the Keth-Tari were buried in a cloud of dust and splintered stone, their cries drowned by the sound of the river swallowing them whole. The surviving Pipers, led by Sakri and his invisible stalkers, scrambled for cover, avoiding the raining debris.


    Mari coughed, soot filling her lungs, as she struggled against Hialjia¡¯s grip. ¡°Let me go¡­ I¡ª I need to¡ª¡±


    The Tauron Princess glanced downriver, searching for any sign of survivors. All she saw were the broken corpses of the demon-birds and their riders, floating face-down in the blood-tinted water.


    ¡°So much for our prophesized savior¡­¡± Karliah spat, her tone sharp with bitterness. ¡°Mari, didn¡¯t I tell you that he¡ª"


    Her words were cut off by the sound of a slap, loud and sharp, echoing through the ranks. The Tigrans watched in stunned silence as their lieutenant raised a hand to her stinging face, her eyes widening in disbelief.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Mari hissed, towering over the smaller woman. Her face was flushed with anger, her eyes wild, on the verge of tears. ¡°We Pipers take care of our own. Or do you only care about your kind, Kari? Are you more like your old Masters than you think?¡±


    Karliah¡¯s lips parted, but no words came. She glared up at her leader, her body trembling with barely contained fury. For a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out, demand her warriors to rise in her defense. But when none of them moved, she swallowed her pride and lowered her gaze.


    Before any more could be said, a shout from the treetops caught their attention.


    ¡°Look to the North!¡± Sakri¡¯s voice rang out. ¡°The Masters bring reinforcements!¡±


    The jungle exploded into motion once again as everyone dropped prone or took cover behind the gnarled roots and towering ferns. From the dense foliage emerged a column of Zhurkin¡ªmerciless, armored soldiers of the Masters. They marched in perfect formation, their numbers swelling with each step, at least 500 strong. It was an overwhelming force. The Pipers, now pinned with their backs to the river, faced the grim reality of their situation.


    But something was wrong. Hialjia, ever-perceptive with her keen nose, sniffed the air. Something distinct cut through the jungle¡¯s thick, earthy scent.


    ¡°Hakka¡­¡± the great Tauron whispered. ¡°There is the smell of Hakka in the air¡­¡±


    ¡°No carts carrying the evil flame come with the Masters¡¯ soldiers!¡± Sakri shouted down from his treetop lookout, avoiding the arrows of the enemy as they flew towards the vague outline of his shape.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Mari murmured, a keen, bloodless smirk appearing on her face. ¡°Not from them.¡±


    ¡°TALLY-FUCKING HOOOO!¡±


    The scream ruptured the air with as much intensity as the Hakka-cart''s payload being unloaded into the unsuspecting enemy as they approached, instantly taking them off-guard and causing them to backpedal to avoid the clusters of burning hellfire that traced a smoking arc in the sky before coming down to singe them inside-out. Mari watched with no small satisfaction as the enemy burned, her Pipers¡¯ reticence turning quickly into a desire for bloodshed.


    ¡°SORRY!¡± Marvin screamed across the bridge from his men¡¯s position¡ªhis gunners reloading their charges for another volley directly into their bumbling foes. ¡°BUT BETTER LATE THAN NEVER, AYE? WAS BEGINNING TO WORRY I MISSED ALL THE FUN!¡±


    Never, Marvin¡­ Mari thought. Not you.


    She gave the order to charge in the next instant, sending thousands upon thousands of slaves bursting out of the dense Arasaka jungle and cutting through their enemy¡¯s faltering clusters of defense. They fought with the ferocity of a people unified in hate. They fought for a new world, not the preservation of the old. Mari was no wartime expert like Marcus¡ªbut she did know one uncontested fact: Conservative revolutions don¡¯t ever work.


    She bent to help Karliah rise, but the Tigran slapped her hand away. Yet it was not anger that burned in Karliah¡¯s eyes now. She wouldn¡¯t even look at her leader in this moment.


    ¡°By Razorg¡¯s Ballsack!¡± Hialjia roared. ¡°Where is the fancy man?¡±


    The three women looked to each other and then at the flowing river, carrying the bodies of the departed out to the Southern jungle sea. They searched for any indication of Nagoya and found nothing but rubble and broken corpses.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think¡­?¡±


    ¡°Marc¡­¡±


    Before Mari could sprint down the riverside, Karliah stopped her, grasping her arm and finally locking gazes with her mistress.


    ¡°You¡­ the people need you here,¡± the Tigran said. ¡°I¡¯ll find your man and bring him back to you.¡±


    It was Mari¡¯s turn now to stare blankly in confusion, but when she tried to protest, the Tigran wouldn¡¯t hear a word of it. The bruise from her leader¡¯s slap was still fresh on her face.


    ¡°Like you said, we don¡¯t leave our people behind, right?¡±


    Mari almost wanted to laugh. She didn¡¯t deserve the loyalty of this kitten. She didn¡¯t deserve a lot of things¡­


    ¡°Kari,¡± she said, pushing her own stiletto into the Tigran¡¯s waiting hand, ¡°Give him hell.¡±

 Chapter 115

    Marcus woke to the sound of rushing water, and the sight of fire-trails painting the morose skies of early morning.


    He was washed up on a beach at the very tip of the southern jungle, the river Yangzhao having deposited him at the ocean that spanned the edge of Thea. He rose with a groan, feeling his back heave under the pressure from his wounds ¨C the results of collisions with rocks and debris from the ruined bridge that had floated away with him. Even here he could see the broken beams and splintered columns that the Keth-Tari had finally brought down.


    He tried reaching out with his mind, but he could hear nothing except a garbled mass of screams and wails. Such sounds could be from the animals that sniffed curiously at his waterlogged jacket and busted glasses. Or, they could be from the Pipers ¨C whose victory or defeat was still uncertain.


    This was the thought that finally brought him to his feet. Then, staggering towards the jungle foliage, he fell again.


    Mari¡­wait¡­


    He started to crawl with herculean effort towards the dark stalks of the trees as more voices rang out in his mindscape. He focused, trying to will his concentration to pinpoint the distince tone and timbre of any individual shout he could put a name to. He grit his teeth ¨C his mind straining against the effort of trying to re-connect with the Pipers while his body burned under the weight of its desire to lay down and give in.


    But Marcus Graham didn¡¯t give in. Not in the dark underbelly of this war-torn world, nor on its flame-wracked surface.


    ¡°Mari¡­¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m coming. Hold on¡­Hold¡­¡±


    ¡­Marc?


    There it was. He¡¯d found her. He¡¯d finally found that which he sought after more than anything. The one piece of his former life he¡¯d hold onto as everything else fell apart.


    Mari! Mari, I¡¯m ¨C


    A stout bludgeon to the back of his head halted all thought.


    He felt his weary body being dragged back to the ocean, then being thrown against its tide as the clouds spat rain upon the battered earth. Before he could turn he then felt a claw grip his neck and force him down into the waters, holding him there while his body failed against his attacker.


    ¡°Shai-Alud,¡± a voice said behind him ¨C muffled in the bubbling sheath of water he was being submerged in. ¡°How disappointing it must be to leave this world alone.¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t have time to allow himself the luxury of fear. He struggled, kicking out against the scaled body of his attacker, trying desperately to avoid taking a gulp of the ocean that was swallowing him. In vain, he struck out and met resistance, his muscles heaving with the adrenaline of a dying man while his attacker simply held him under the waves with the calmness of an infant submerging a toy in its bath. As his eyes began to glaze over, and his mouth was forced to open and gulp down liquid death, Marcus¡¯s right hand shot out and released a burst of energy from the green scars etched upon its surface. Only then did his enemy stagger back, and he threw himself from the ocean with a heave of exhaustion.


    He crawled back, gulping down as much oxygen as he could, while Prince Nagoya clutched his burning shoulder.


    ¡°You have many tricks, don¡¯t you?¡± the naked Prince asked him as he clawed through his burning scale and discarded them in the sands. ¡°It is to be expected. The lesser races often require subterfuge and dark magic to give them a chance against their betters.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Marcus said nothing. His mind was too focused on calling for the Pipers ¨C for anyone nearby. His body, meanwhile, redirected its remaining strength to his right arm to launch another dart of corrupted energy at the Prince.


    Nagoya anticipated the strike, this time. He rolled to avoid it and picked up a handful of his own scales, tossing them at Marcus and watching them pierce his hand.


    As Marcus fell back, blood dripping from his twitching fingers, Nagoya raced towards him without another word. A quick kick sent Marcus flying back into the shallows, his back hitting against a loose rock submerged in seaweed. As the Prince rushed to finish him, another three rapid darts of energy sent him staggering back, and as he swerved to avoid the final projectile, Marcus brought a stone across the Yokun¡¯s face, smashing into the already charred scales there and watching the Prince fall back into the ocean.


    ¡°Well!¡± Nagoya said as he staggered to his feet. ¡°It seems the Shai-Alud has some fight in him, after all. Go on, human. Show me the strength of the Pale bitch¡¯s mate.¡±


    Marcus came at him with a scream of fury, treading the raging waters with another stone he channeled his Gloomraav through. When he smashed it into the Prince¡¯s grasping hand he saw the scales burn away ¨C the fingers of the Prince come apart in the face of his attack.


    But then he met the eyes of the Prince themselves, and in them he saw no registration of pain, or torment.


    Instead, he felt his lower body buckle as Nagoya kneed him in his chest and brought his own burning hand straight across his face. This time, the Yokun bore down on him from above, getting one arm round his throat while the other pierced his right hand and kept it under the water.


    Marcus cried out in agony, his neck straining against the Prince¡¯s grip.


    ¡°You understand, don¡¯t you?¡± Nagoya whispered to him. ¡°Your kind cannot hope to match us. None of you can.¡±


    Marcus felt his arm tighten its hold, and his legs flap against his will as his face entered the waters of Thea again. As he charged his hand with the fires of the Unclean One, the Prince laughed ¨C he laughed manically as his own hand crisped and broke within the waves, feeling the saltwater sting every burning groove and opened pore.


    ¡°My father always taught me and my brothers that hatred for Keji-Sai was pointless,¡± he laughed. ¡°That the energy from such thoughts would be wasted on you. But perhaps he did not truly understand the depths of your heresy. And perhaps he did not understand the reasons I have hated you since my eyes first beheld you standing over the bodies of my fallen men. And the reason your Pale whore has been a special project of mine for the past year.¡±


    Marcus tried to throw the Yokun off him. But now, every movement felt like resisting a pinnacle tied to his limbs. He felt the weight of his own body pull him down, spurred on by the Prince¡¯s tightening hold.


    ¡°I must thank you, Shai-Alud, for you have finally helped me to understand your hubris. All this ¨C your little campaign against our Empire ¨C I struggled to comprehend it since the days of the first uprisings. How could you possibly believe you had a chance? Why fight a war that you would be doomed, by your very natures, to fail in? Only now do I see that the reason is more sinister than any of your puerile calls for emancipation. No, your war has nothing to do with that at all.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s arms stopped resisting. Now, all he had left was his failing mind.


    ¡°It¡¯s about control,¡± the Prince snarled down at him. ¡°You enjoy it, don¡¯t you? You surround yourself with inferiors because it feels good, doesn¡¯t it? You like the feeling of having control over them, just like your bitch mate does.¡±


    His eyes flickered as the light of this world began to dim, and one final time he tried to kick against his opponent.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it?¡± Nagoya snarled coldly. ¡°It is about making sure your underlings know your place ¨C from the rats you led in the Underkingdom to the slaves you dominate with your vile magicks now. You and your mistress are more Yokun than even you know. I look in the eyes of your Pale Lady and see those of my own mother ¨C of a woman wishing nothing more than to swallow this entire world whole. But worse than this is the thought that burns in the back of my own brain, human. A secret I could not have realized without the aid of my hatred for you and your ¡®cause¡¯. Before you expire, I shall share this secret with you.¡±


    It was useless. Marcus knew it. Maybe the creature was right ¨C maybe in terms of pure martial strength he couldn¡¯t resist the Prince of a warlike empire. But his body had never been his greatest weapon¡­


    ¡°Your desires are what makes you and I the same, human,¡± Nagoya whispered.¡°Were you born as my brother, we would have stood together to conquer this world. But the will of Akira and of Ming¡¯bao has decreed that your soul inhabits the body of a creature of dirt. They have made you my enemy to test my resolve. And that is why I must kill you, now."

 Chapter 116

    ¡°You must die, Shai-Alud,¡± Prince Nagoya was saying as Marcus¡¯s consciousness began to fade under the waves of Thea. ¡°Your face simply causes me undo irritation.¡±


    Marcus felt the waters of the world flow into his throat and fill his lungs, till his heart decided it was time to give in.


    But his mind ¨C that was another story. It died in Marcus¡¯s skull just as his will reached out to touch Nagoya¡¯s wild nerves.


    ¡­remember the streets of the human Empire, Nagoya? Remember how they shall parade you through them like a whipped dog.


    A flinch ¨C not much, but enough. Marcus felt the Yokun¡¯s claw begin twitch. His grip didn¡¯t loosen, but something had happened, then. This was the first time Nagoya had felt the consequences of being the Shai-Alud¡¯s sleeping test subject for the past few weeks.


    The path you walk now¡­leads to those streets¡­and to your shame.


    A little more twitching. This time, Marcus¡¯s eyes closed, no longer feeling the stinging of the chlorine seas salting them. Instead, he peered into Nagoya¡¯s flailing brain, sensing the tension that was eating at his resolve.


    You will be their greatest spectacle¡­a living embodiment of your people¡¯s failure¡­


    More than a twitch, this time. Now it had become a spasm that ran up the Prince¡¯s scaled arm. He said something which Marcus didn¡¯t hear ¨C but he knew he said it in pain, and with more than a little hint of desperation.


    So he went for broke.


    Your father will die knowing his son was a failure, and a shamed leader. He will die regretting that he ever birthed you¡­


    And into those words Marcus poured everything ¨C all his own hate, his own anxieties, his own insecurities about the future in this world and those about the future he¡¯d once envisioned for himself before he¡¯d ever met Mari ¨C a blank, discordant miseryscape of disappointment and shame that finally forced Nagoya back, and Marcus rose to take some frantic gulps of Thean air just before his jaws closed up for good.


    When he turned, gasping on the sands of the beach, he saw Nagoya looking at him with abject horror, clawing at his own eyes as the picture of his imagined defeat swam in his mind.


    ¡°Get¡­Get out of my mind!¡± he screamed.


    Marcus leaped away from his reaching claws ¨C now, he was an animal going for the kill. Now, there was no Princely pretense.


    But as he swiped at the Shai-Alud¡¯s torso, tearing chunks out of his jacket, the Shai-Alud sent only more depraved thoughts into his head, injecting him with visions of his burning, whipped body, broken and bloody against the uncaring sun.


    And when Marcus shot another blast of energy at his chest, this time the Yokun was not able to block it. He fell, tumbled over in the muddy waters of the beach shallows, and rose with eyes that spoke of nothing but primal, killing intent.


    Yeild¡­Nagoya¡­Marcus whispered, his wheezing body barely able to keep up with his thoughts anymore. Run back to your city. Tell them the end is coming. Perhaps then you can still salvage a piece of your honor.


    The eyes of the lizardman twitched and then closed, the Prince clamping his claws down on his forehead as though he could still the evil thoughts of his tormentor with pure will alone.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I¡­I am not¡­your¡­slave!¡±


    Even as he roared this, Marcus saw the unbelievable truth: the feet of Nagoya had begun to move of their own accord ¨C away from him. Towards the jungle foliage¡­


    ¡°Shai-Alud ¨C get down.¡±


    Marcus saw the dagger that pierced through the air before he heard the weapon being thrown. He¡¯d already fallen ¨C he couldn¡¯t exactly help it. And when he looked back up at his opponent he saw Nagoya¡¯s abdomen had been impaled with a silver blade that glistened against the onset of early morning twilight.


    ¡°Your move, Prince,¡± Karliah said as she stepped into view, one dagger raised and ready to strike the Yokun down.


    Marcus looked up at her for the brief moments before he finally faded away, before returning his gaze to Nagoya¡¯s bulging eyes and bleeding gut. Their eyes met, and for a brief few seconds there was nothing but fear that passed between them.


    And only then did Nagoya obey Marcus¡¯s command. He ran.


    ¡°Coward!¡± the Tigran shrieked above Marcus, readying herself to leap and give chase ¨C and being stopped by Marcus.


    ¡°N¡­no¡­¡± he spat. ¡°He¡­he¡¯s worth more to us¡­alive¡­¡±


    Marcus was able to just catch the incredulous look of the Tigran as she turned to regard him just before he let himself fall into the sands.


    ¡°¡­whatever,¡± she said. ¡°But you owe me a new dagger, Shai-Alud.¡±


    ¡­


    ---Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives---


    ---Patriarch Kanade Jung¡¯s Pagoda---


    Patriarch Jung looked out into the blooming cherry-blossoms that lined his city¡¯s streets. Hokiyama¡¯s blossoms were in full bloom, this year, and though he was too old to spend his days meandering among the common Yokun these days, he still enjoyed taking in the sights of the new autumn festival from his Pagoda balcony.


    This year¡¯s was a double celebration, however. In the far distance, far beyond the Nobles quarter, the great Dreadnoughts commanded by his son were steaming into port. From here, Jung could almost see the entire fleet. Yokun of all stripes had gathered on the hills behind the city for the occasion ¨C the welcoming home of their valiant Prince who had beat then humans back to their dingy cities in the North. When the flagship finally hit their shores, the banners of the House of Blades were unfurled on the great seawalls of Hokiyama, and the Patriarch watched as his son disembarked, waving with a firm steelclad claw to his people.


    He allowed himself a smile ¨C the smile of a proud father watching his son return, and yet knowing that he must leave again.


    ¡°Yaresh¡­¡± he mumbled to himself. ¡°Only you can be trusted to subdue these infidels in the South. Not even a Shai-Alud born of the rats can resist you.¡±


    The Patriarch poured himself a small bowl of Zakry wine as he sat and sighed under the weight of his commandment.


    ¡°Here I am,¡± he said, ¡°A father sending another son off to a war on the eve of his greatest victory¡­but who else can be counted on if not you, Yaresh? Besides, when you learn of Nagoya¡¯s fate, you¡¯d have volunteered yourself. I know it. You are the hammer. Nagoya, the shield. And Yamrah¡­¡±


    He heard familiar footsteps as he uttered these words ¨C those of Prince Yamrah approaching him with firm intent.


    He is the mind.


    ¡°Father,¡± the Prince said. ¡°My Brother awaits you with the delegates from his Clan. Shall we greet him together in the Court?¡±


    The boy spoke these words as officially as he could, but his father was not to be deceived. He could tell when his son had an air of frustration to him. For the last few days he had sequestered himself in the training rooms beneath the palace, practicing against slaves and even slaying a few when his temper reached boiling point. Jung had heard reports that his son was blowing off steam ¨C such as boys his age tended to. Jung could guess at what had prompted this behavior.


    But, instead of directly addressing the cause of his son¡¯s ire, Jung simply allowed himself another small sigh. There was no need to provoke immediate confrontation on this day of all days, especially when he may be able to, as the humans said, kill two birds with one stone¡­


    ¡°Such pomp and celebration,¡± he said. ¡°As I have grown old, so has my patience for sycophants withered on the vine. If I could simply have Yaresh come to these chambers and ignore all these silly traditions, I would do so in a heartbeat.¡±


    ¡°You are the Emperor of the Blades,¡± Yamrah pointed out. ¡°If you so commanded it¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, am I?¡± Jung chuckled. ¡°Forgive me, my boy, sometimes I forget these days.¡±


    At Yamrah¡¯s surprise, Jung extended him a withered old hand.


    ¡°Please, my son,¡± he said. ¡°Do not feign surprise. If any of the Court ¨C or the other Houses for that matter ¨C ever felt that I was no longer fit to rule, they would take the head from my shoulders without a second thought. Loyalty to the Empire and loyalty to me seem not exactly synonymous these days.¡±


    ¡°Father¡­such actions would be treason!¡±


    ¡°To whom?¡± Jung countered, raising a quizzical eyebrow to his son. ¡°When a traitor rules, can there really still be those who shall live to contest their claim?¡±


    ¡°Father ¨C you ¨C you would know,¡± Yamrah protested. ¡°If anyone planned to usurp you, you would have seen it coming already.¡±


    ¡°You think too highly of me, my son,¡± Jung said. ¡°There are many within the Court who think to hide their true faces from me ¨C shedding their smiles for new sneers every few months or even weeks. You, my son, are no exception.¡±


    Yamrah bristled, but before he could say anything more his father cut through him.


    ¡°You are frustrated that I will not permit you to travel South with your Brother.¡±


    Yaresh looked as though he were about to make some impulsive retort. The fact that he stopped himself told his father that there was wisdom in his youngest son.


    Good, he thought. That¡¯s what I need from you.


    ¡°Go on, Yamrah,¡± Jung then said. ¡°Make your case. Why should I send my other son off to war?¡±


    Yamrah straightened up, fixed the crimson sash that crossed his pristine onyx armor, and answered his father without a single step out of line:


    ¡°Father, I am your loyal son now and always,¡± he said. ¡°But our family is the cornerstone of this Empire. I do not see why I should stand by and let one of us fall to the vile Keji-Sai of the Pale Lady and her infidel mate, Father.¡±


    Jung sat back, took another swig of wine, and smiled up at his son¡¯s barely tamed anger.


    ¡°My son,¡± he said. ¡°That is exactly why I need you by my side.¡±

 Chapter 117

    Marcus¡¯s dreams swam with visions of all the people who¡¯d tried to kill him since he¡¯d been summoned to this world.


    The Kobolds, Dwarves, Skegga, and even Skeever¡­the ratman¡¯s crimson eyes burned with hate just as strong as his other foes.


    And the last image¡­that of Nagoya. Disgraced and scarred ¨C his scales melting off his skin as Marcus stared him down.


    There was no fear gripping him. He was standing above the snake-man, eyes glowering with primal energy, forcing, willing the lizard to submit to his whims.


    And behind him danced the puppets of the slaves, freed, and yet shackled to the whims of another. The world burned around them as they raised their spears and hatchets and maces, each one ready to bathe in the blood of their former Masters.


    And he stood at their head with Mari ¨C her voice telling him this world was a better world now. The world they would make.


    The world he would make¡­


    ¡°Were you born as my brother,¡± the dark voice of Nagoya repeated in his brain,¡°we would have stood together to conquer this world. But the will of Akira and of Ming¡¯bao has decreed that your soul inhabits the body of a creature of dirt. They have made you my enemy to test my resolve¡­


    When then he woke up, he did so with a start, shivering as he felt his sodden limbs.


    ¡°Hey! Hey ¨C Marc. Marc, it¡¯s me.¡±


    He had to blink through the reality of the unreal dream before he even recognized the true face of his love. Mari was sitting beside him, her body warm and inviting, while he was swaddled in a thatched coverall.


    They were sitting in a tent pitched recently. Outside, Marcus could hear the whispers and murmurs of the Pipers who had managed to repel their force while Marcus floundered in the grip of Nagoya.


    ¡°The¡­the Pipers?¡± Marcus asked her.


    ¡°We did it, Marc,¡± she smiled, cradling his shivering body in her pale hands. ¡°The relief force from Saku didn¡¯t stand a chance. As soon as Marvin brought the Hakka carts to bear against them, they lit up like candles on a cake.¡±


    ¡°L-losses?¡±


    ¡°Not enough to shake our resolve,¡± she responded. ¡°Maybe in the region of 200 men.¡±


    ¡°Two hundred¡­too many.¡±


    ¡°Weigh it up in the face of the generations that¡¯ll be born free from the whip and the chain, babe, and you¡¯ll understand why the people out there don¡¯t blame you one bit for what happened.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    She pulled away as he started to tune into their chatter around the tent ¨C it was jovial. Weary, but high spirited.


    Mari leaned back, her own body soaked with his sweat.


    ¡°They worship you now, y¡¯know,¡± she chuckled, laying a foot on his leg. ¡°They watched you take down a fucking Keth-Tari regiment almost single-handedly. Then the way Karliah hears it, you went toe-to-toe with a Prince of the Yokun himself. Keep it up and you¡¯ll be about as famous as me, soon.¡±


    ¡°Nagoya!¡± Marcus shouted, rising before Mari pulled him right back down to earth and laid him down beside her.


    ¡°Ssh,¡± she said. ¡°Yeah, he escaped. I heard Karliah¡¯s report. No biggie. If anything, it just means we¡¯ll have to put our little contingency plan into place sooner than we expected, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°If I can do it,¡± Marcus sighed, running a finger down her cheek. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Mari.¡±


    ¡°You can do it, boy,¡± she whispered. ¡°You¡¯ve done way bigger things already.¡±


    Something strange was happening in his mind. He was looking at his girl, sure. But he was looking past the soft skin and glinting lilies of her eyes. He was looking past them and seeing another¡¯s eyes in there ¨C eyes that were all too familiar to him.


    ¡°Mari,¡± he murmured. ¡°What¡¯s it all about ¨C all this? Making a better world? Or bringing down the Yokun?¡±


    ¡°Bringing them down will make a better world,¡± she replied. ¡°You know that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Slavemasters don¡¯t take kindly to their products being taken from them. And Empires built on the practice don¡¯t exactly adjust well to a forced transition to a slaveless economy.¡±


    ¡°They do when they¡¯re forced at knifepoint,¡± Mari chuckled. ¡°And that¡¯s exactly what¡¯s gonna happen.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll fight you tooth and claw and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll wipe them out, and take what¡¯s ours.¡±


    Marcus pulled away from her suddenly, feeling his bones stiffen and his muscles contort.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking about genocide here, Mari,¡± he said. ¡°You understand that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She stared him down, clearly bristling at the accusation.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know half of what I ¨C what we¡¯ve been through here, Marc. If you did ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then I¡¯d share you desire for vengeance. True. But that wouldn¡¯t make me a good or fair leader. That wouldn¡¯t lead to a lasting peace in this world.¡±


    ¡°But it would lead to justice. Come on, Marc, you must know-¡°


    ¡°Justice!¡± he laughed maniacally. ¡°You know something? There were a few rats down in the Underkingdom who talked exactly like you. I¡¯m sick of self-righteous freedom fighters and Imperialists who both know they¡¯re in the right. I¡¯m sick of sides having to slay the other to the man and claim moral superiority while standing on the bones of the fallen. When will you all see that this ends in nothing but blood for everyone involved? When will you stop standing on the graves of-¡°


    The sound of her slapping him reverberated in his mind even though there were no walls to amplify it. He fell back, looking at her in anger before he realized she had tears pricking at the corner of my eyes.


    ¡°You know something?¡¯ she scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s the second bitch I¡¯ve had to slap tonight.¡±


    ¡°Mari, listen ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°No ¨C you listen. I know what you¡¯re saying. I know what you want. You want us to take Saku and spare the women and children, and the noncombatants. You want us to march their former slaves in there and pretend we don¡¯t want to take the heads from their shoulders for the generations of children they¡¯ve put in chains. There¡¯s people out there who¡¯ve sacrificed everything to get this far, Marc. There¡¯s people out there who¡¯ve watched their sons and daughters be scalped and flayed alive, their bodies bubbled and used for soap. I¡¯ve fought too hard to let a single Yokunbastard off the hook. I made a promise to Jun¡¯El. I made a promise to all of them that they¡¯d have the vengeance they deserve.¡±


    She grabbed his arm and put it up her shirt, forcing his fingers to trace the scars etched into her body.


    ¡°You¡¯ve felt them, Marc,¡± she whimpered, keeping her lip stiff even as she wanted to cry out in anguish. ¡°Tell me you didn¡¯t feel hate when you saw the scars on my body as we made love. Tell me you could just look away.¡±


    ¡°Mari¡­I have to take my personal feelings out of this. I have to-¡°


    ¡°Not be a human?¡± she whispered. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then it¡¯s you who¡¯s no better than them, Marc.¡±


    He bowed his head. Still, in her eyes, he could see the seething hate he¡¯d seen in Nagoya¡¯s ¨C eyes that were desperate to destroy the creature they perceived as ¡®other¡¯. As the enemy.


    He wanted to be able to tell her that he had an argument against the pain that was wracking her body. He wanted to tell her that objectivity was the aim of a good General. He wanted these things ¨C but he kept hearing Nagoya¡¯s voice in his head, and feeling the shaking of her ribs against him.


    So he said nothing. Instead, he just rose and opened the tent flap, leaving her staring after him after she¡¯d only just got her back.


    It was a fact he¡¯d have to face. He saw it now more than he ever had. This wasn¡¯t the girl he¡¯d been with back home.


    If this was some ratman down in the Underkingdom, he¡¯d have seen her bloodthirstiness as a boon ¨C something to be used. Hatred was, after all, the best resource a General had at his disposal.


    But it wasn¡¯t just some fledgling, crazy rat. It was Mari. It was the girl he¡¯d loved his whole life. The girl he¡¯d reunited with via committing thousands to the pointy end of a sword.


    ¡­and maybe he wasn¡¯t the same man now, either.

 Chapter 118

    The bridge over the river Yangzhao had crumbled, its solid edifice being now nothing more than rubble and scrap washed away into the Thean ocean.


    A few miles north of its position stood the Piper¡¯s encampment ¨C a series of bonfires flickering against the night. The army of freed slaves was finally beginning to feel that their trials might soon be over. Liquor pilfered from the offices of the Overseers was rolled out by Marvin and now sloshed within their parched throats, while others even now kept up their training, waiting for the inevitable command to take the city that loomed in the distance, across a clear field and unblocked road that ran from the old bridge to its venerable gates.


    Saku ¨C the seat of House Hitogi.


    Within those walls walked the envious Masters shitting themselves at the prospect of the liberators¡¯ army that was marching their way. Their reserve forces were shattered. Even with their sturdy walls, they wouldn¡¯t stand against the might of the Pale Lady and the Shai-Alud. Nothing, not even the screamer killer squads of Keth-Tari had managed to bring them down. And so, as they buried their loved ones ¨C their Brothers and Sisters in arms who had been lost in the battle of Yangzhuo ¨C they still retained hope in their hearts.


    The light of dawn would bring the greatest triumph the Pipers had ever seen ¨C the overthrowing of a Prince¡¯s city and the righteous slaughter of its people.


    So when Marcus Graham walked among them, they hailed him, young and old, as the hero who was about to lead them into another victory. But, oddly enough, he waved them away ¨C his mind seemingly elsewhere. He trekked through the camp like a man possessed by the spirit of Akira himself ¨C a man whose eyes were locked in a prison of war he couldn¡¯t break from. Most of the Pipers simply but this down to their General¡¯s stern demeanor. They couldn¡¯t imagine the pressures of leadership just as he probably couldn¡¯t imagine the stresses of bondage had had on them. They therefore let him pass without comment or questions as he made his way to the human section of the camp, towards another man who was currently drinking alone.


    At the edge of the forest, Marvin sat cross legged, looking out at the looming giant of Saku, his mind meandering around every crevice and turret of its towers. The strange star-shape the Prince had constructed as the wall perimeter always seemed odd to the human once-farmer.


    ¡°A star-fort,¡± the voice of his commander suddenly said from behind. ¡°An almost perfect replica at that.¡±


    Marvin turned to see Marcus standing before him, weary beyond his years.


    ¡°Aye?¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve seen this kinda defense before?¡±


    ¡°A few examples. Never one so authentic,¡± Marcus replied before nodding at the bottle Marvin was holding in his hand. ¡°Room for one more?¡±


    ¡°Always, lad. Pull up a patch of dirt and quench yer thirst on this.¡±


    He let Marcus take a liberal swig of his drink ¨C a heavy, vomit-inducing concoction whatever it was ¨C but one which provided a real punch to the gut once you¡¯d downed enough.


    ¡°H-holy¡­¡± Marcus coughed. ¡°That¡¯s ¨C that¡¯s quite a kick.¡±


    ¡°Har!¡± Marvin roared. ¡°Tell me you ain¡¯t a drinker without telling me you ain¡¯t a drinker.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m more of a scotch kinda guy.¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°A wha?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a blended ¨C you know what? Never mind. You¡¯d have to taste it to believe it. It¡¯s not really a ¡®hard drinker¡¯s¡¯ libation. You drink it in sips, savoring the taste.¡±


    ¡°Huh. There ain¡¯t never been a spirit I ain¡¯t tasted. But that don¡¯t sound like it could get you fucked up quick enough.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Marcus smiled.


    Both men then looked out at the city that was their destiny ¨C each man wondering, secretly, where the other¡¯s thoughts were going, here.


    ¡°I owe you my thanks,¡± Marcus said. ¡°The Hakka carts won the battle when I wasn¡¯t there to lead. We owe our victory at the bridge in large part to you.¡±


    ¡°Ach, don¡¯t be thanking me, lad,¡± Marvin said as he took another swig of booze. ¡°That ain¡¯t the way we Pipers think. All together or nothing at all ¨C that¡¯s the Piper way.¡±


    ¡°Mari¡¯s way, you mean.¡±


    ¡°Our way, lad,¡± Marvin laughed ¨C a little awkwardly this time. ¡°Sure, the Pale Lady and the Matriarch, Amygdalis rest her, might have started the movement. But we¡¯re the ones who broke the chains, then the chains of our Brothers. And now you¡¯re part of that, too.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, Marvin. I didn¡¯t mean to sound like I doubt your mission.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Marc. It¡¯s your mission too after all, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Marcus looked at the wrinkled face of the man. Every ridge and scar in his skin was probably carved there as a result of years of hardship working in fields, then Yokun camps, and now on the battlefield. But was there something in there that also spoke of compassion?


    ¡°You know why I came to this part of the camp tonight?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°It¡¯s because I wanted to be among my own kind for the first time since ever coming to this world. It sounds selfish. Probably even xenophobic. But I think there¡¯s some comfort in feeling part of a group, even if that group is full of people you¡¯ve never even met before. There¡¯s power in that, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°¡­aye, lad,¡± Marvin replied slowly. ¡°Aye¡­I, I suppose there is.¡±


    Marcus took the bottle from him and gulped down another mouthful of the rotten stuff. He then gestured to the waving humans huddled round their bonfires behind them.


    ¡°You¡¯ve all managed to build a community out of shared pain,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s our suffering that brings us together if nothing else. That¡¯s why you all exist under one banner ¨C that of the Pipers. That¡¯s why you¡¯re stronger than the Yokun Masters. Unity has made you powerful.¡±


    Marvin had seen intensity in a man¡¯s eyes before, but what he now saw in the face of the Shai-Alud was a fire the had been lit in the depths of the earth, among the ratmen, where the man sitting before him had committed thousands upon thousands to their deaths. Only now, sharing a drink with this man, could Marvin see that his own advanced age meant nothing in the wake of this ¡®lad¡¯s¡¯ wartime experience.


    ¡°But what happens when the Yokun start suffering because of us?¡± Marcus asked. ¡°What happens when their cause becomes survival as opposed to the preservation of their Empire? You think they¡¯ll take their impending extinction sitting down? No ¨C every man, woman, and child in their cities will fight against us with just as much ferocity as we¡¯ve fought to break the chains that bound you all. I¡¯ve seen it in my own world. I¡¯ve seen it here, too. I¡¯ve made mistakes, Marvin, that I don¡¯t intend to ever make again. And one mistake I¡¯ve made is believing that one hate is better than another¡¯s¡¯ hate.¡±


    Marvin leaned forward, caught up in the Shai-Alud¡¯s sudden rigor.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this, Marcus?¡±


    ¡°Because vindictive slaughter will win you nothing but slavery to your base, primal instincts. They won¡¯t help you when the time comes to finally negotiate a new, lasting peace. If you want a new world, Marvin. If you want to see your home village again, and still be the man you are now, I need you to promise me something: lead your men to victory in the battle to come, but do not allow them to assault the civilian populace of the city.¡±


    Marvin¡¯s eyes went wild as he heard the command, his face looking past Marcus to the jovial men behind.


    ¡°Look, I ain¡¯t one for vindictiveness, but¡­how can I stop them from taking matters into their own hands? They¡¯ve watched their parents suffer at the hands of Yokun.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve watched them suffer at the hands of slavers, Marvin. If they don¡¯t understand that distinction, then how is it they¡¯re able to work together with Takeshi and his unit?¡±


    Marvin licked his lips, chewing the thought in his mind.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking me to protect the enemy, son.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m asking you to consider what moral high ground you¡¯ll have to stand on if you stand back and allow the wholesale slaughter of innocents.¡±


    ¡°Heh. You should speak to Karliah on that front. For a lass like her, there ain¡¯t no innocent Yokun in a city of Hitogi.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking to her,¡± Marvin stated, grabbing the bottle from Marvin¡¯s pudgy hands and tossing it away. ¡°I¡¯m talking to you, Marvin. Because I can trust you. Human to human. There¡¯s good in you, and there¡¯s a spirit of compromise in you that¡¯s yet to be broken. You¡¯re the man who¡¯s the first to tell a campfire story and lead the units in song. You¡¯re the man they look to for a positive outlook on any situation. You¡¯re the man who mucks in with his men and won¡¯t balk at the prospect of sharing his booze with his commanding officer.¡±


    Marvin blinked. ¡°You¡¯d really trust a man like that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the only kind of man I can trust.¡±


    Marvin looked at him like he was being asked to rein in a bull before it was released to meet its Matador.


    ¡°Shit Marcus,¡± he said. ¡°You have a higher opinion of me than I do.¡±


    He stood up, wobbled, and then extended a hand to his General.


    ¡°But ¨C fine. I¡¯ll back you. If only because yer a man who can handle his drink and still string more than two sentences together. The Prince though¡­him and his men are another story.¡±


    Marcus was almost sure he wasn¡¯t. But he accepted the hand of his comrade anyway.


    ¡°Leave them to me,¡± Marcus told him, looking out at the imposing city as dawn began to creep over the hills. ¡°If we play this right, they won¡¯t even be a problem.¡±

 Chapter 119

    ---25 years ago---


    ¡°Aniki! Aniki!* Come back!¡±


    In the fading light of spring, a child was running down the banks of the river Yangzhao.


    His scales reflected the burning light of the dying sun, and beside him his elder Brother cast prideful looks every now and then.


    ¡°You¡¯re slower these days, Nago.¡±


    The child scoffed lightly, trying to save as much breath as he could. ¡°Still faster than you, Esh!¡±


    Behind them both, their sibling was struggling up the mounds of jungle overgrowth, tree boughs and vines slapping against him as his big brothers forged on ahead.


    ¡°Be careful! Father said ¨C¡°


    ¡°Father isn¡¯t here, Yam!¡± Nagoya shouted back, much to the amusement of Yaresh beside him.


    When they finally arrived at their destination the two older Brothers climbed a rock and looked out at the gleaming city in the distance. Its towers, carved from the remnants of a mountain that had once rose to the kingdom to heaven, loomed above them in the far distance, glimmering with brilliant and ancient power.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­big.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all you have to contribute, Esh? ¡®Big¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Alright, Mr Bookworm, you say something fancy about it, then. It¡¯s gonna be yours, after all.¡±


    Finally, little Yamrah approached them, panting as his lungs struggled to draw breath in the deep heat of the Arasaka.


    ¡°How about you, Yam?¡± Nagoya asked him as he extended a scaled hand to his little brother. ¡°You¡¯re the poet among us. How does my grand city look?¡±


    Yamrah was seized as he forged the rock, beating away his brother''s hand to climb it alone only to be shocked by the sheer scale of the place.


    ¡°It¡¯s like¡­a jewel,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Hah!¡± Yaresh roared, beating his gauntlet to his chest. ¡°And no matter how precious they are, all jewels can be broken!¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± Yamrah muttered cautiously, avoiding his Brother¡¯s rippling muscles. ¡°¡­diamonds can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Only because no one¡¯s tried hard enough. Betcha I could crunch I diamond between these teeth!¡±


    ¡°You could not,¡± Nagoya scoffed with folded arms. ¡°You can¡¯t even bite through a gogi fruit.¡±


    ¡°Wanna bet?¡± Yaresh asked, his teeth flaring with killing, mischievous intent.


    ¡°You know there¡¯s other ways to amuse yourself besides fighting, right?¡±


    ¡°You sound like mother ¨C a female!¡± Yaresh roared, beating his chest again.


    ¡°You might like to listen to women a little more, Esh,¡± Nagoya retorted. ¡°Then one day, the girls might actually start liking you.¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Brat,¡± the eldest Brother spat. ¡°Just for that, one day, I¡¯m gonna invade your precious city and show you just how tough I am.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Nagoya sneered, stepping close to his big brother with impish intent.


    Yamrah, as usual, had to intersperse himself between the two of them.


    ¡°Oh, please, could both of you not fight, for once?¡±


    The two Brothers shared a moment of silence before bursting out into childish laughter then, doubling over as the tiny Yamrah tried to mediate another one of their conflicts. For his part, the little guy took it in good stride. He even started laughing himself once his blush had died away.


    ¡°I missed this,¡± Yaresh finally said when he stopped himself. ¡°Feels like ages since we¡¯ve just talked like this.¡±


    ¡°And its going to be a long time before it happens again,¡± Yamrah agreed, his eyes focused on the city with sudden, deep intensity.


    ¡°How¡¯d you mean?¡± Nagoya asked.


    ¡°Father¡¯s sending you away,¡± the child replied quietly. ¡°Just like he¡¯s sent Esh away up North. This little holiday¡¯s just until the city is ready and then¡­then you¡¯ll go away too, Nago.¡±


    Both big brothers looked to their sibling, seeing his shoulders sag with sadness.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Yaresh said. ¡°We¡¯ll still see each other. You¡¯ll see ¨C I¡¯ll be slipping out past my own guards for the cherry blossom festival, and to tease you at your first dance. Think I¡¯d miss seeing you in a dress-robe, little brother?¡±


    Nagoya saw his brother smile, but he could also see that even behind Yaresh¡¯s eyes, there was doubt. All of them had heard about this new Empire of humans steadily rising in the West. They''d been nothing more than a joke for these last few years - except nowadays it seemed that fewer and fewer Yokun were laughing.


    They had heard the hushed whispers of their father and his council in the past few months, muttering about ¡®border conflicts¡¯ and ¡®boiling points¡¯. And, of course, those meddlesome Abolitionists that had started to rise up in the Northern territories. There was a change in the air of Hokiyama. The capital city was braced for something. Only by coming here to the Arasaka ¨C to the wild country of Plantations and good, obedient slaves ¨C did the Princes of Blades realize that there was a kind of electricity in the air of the big city. Something was going to change, and soon.


    And they¡¯d have to be ready to secure the defenses of their Empire when the time came. These last few days of play and frivolity would be their last. Of that, they were suddenly absolutely certain.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make a pact, then,¡± Nagoya suddenly proclaimed.


    Both his morose Brothers looked to him, surprised by the determination in his voice.


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°You know ¨C like a promise. An ¡®official¡¯ kind of promise.¡±


    ¡°An unbreakable one?¡± Yamrah asked.


    ¡°Yup. The best kind. And you know what the Elders say, Yam: breaking a vow invites the wrath of Lord Akira himself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not an infant¡­¡± Yamrah pouted.


    Nagoya ignored his little Brother¡¯s pride and thrust his hand before his two siblings.


    ¡°Let us promise,¡± he said. ¡°That one day we¡¯ll all meet here again and look out over the new world.¡±


    His brothers both looked at each other in utter bewilderment.


    ¡°Nago¡­¡± Yaresh sighed. ¡°You really are so dramatic¡­¡±


    But nonetheless, he thrust his hand out to meet his brother''s, turning to look on the youngest among them before he started to feel like an idiot.


    ¡°Well? All for one, Yam. If we¡¯re doing this, you gotta do it, too.¡±


    Yamrah looked at his brothers¡¯ hands and back up at them, trying his best to conceal the smile tugging at the sides of his mouth.


    ¡°¡­you really mean it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Yaresh laughed, dragging his brother¡¯s hand onto his own. ¡°You know we wouldn¡¯t last without our little guardian angel.¡±


    ¡°Then its settled,¡± Nagoya smiled at his brethren. ¡°One day, we¡¯ll find this place again. And on that day, lets drink rice wine like the adults under the sun. We¡¯ll do it, even if we have to fight a whole human army to get here. We¡¯ll make it back.¡±


    His brothers shared optimistic smiles, not laughing, but not truly believing this was much of a pact. After all, who could ever match their Empire?


    ¡°Whatever you say, Nago,¡± Yaresh muttered. ¡°Whatever you say¡­¡±


    <hr>


    ---Present Day---


    ---Southern Arasaka Jungle---


    A spear of lightning crashed through the clouds, smashing into a tree above Nagoya as he woke with a start, his scales stinging and his naked body shivering against the rainfall that dripped through the trees.


    He must have fallen, judging by the bruises to his torso. He¡¯d been running for ¨C he didn¡¯t know how long. His head thrummed, the vision of his brothers still moving before his eyes like a lucid dream. He didn¡¯t know what had caused the memory to resurface. Perhaps it was nostalgia, perhaps it was pain, or perhaps it was the scalpel-like touch of the Shai-Alud¡¯s fingers as they raked his brain.


    That insidious power was too strong for any mortal to bare. Only now did the Prince of Hitogi know his destiny ¨C he had met his foe within the jungles of the South, and the rest of his life would be committed to destroying him.


    So he tore himself from the mud and limped through the foliage of the jungle, kicking away any creature who dared to poke its hungry snout at his ankles. He threw himself past trees and wind-wracked vines, breaking into a run as best he could. He didn¡¯t know if the Pipers were following him, but judging by the eyes of that feral cat that had slain Canjung, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised.


    The slaves knew how his Clan had suppressed their kind. Mercy was not an attribute they would extend to his people. He¡¯d seen how they dealt with the Overseers as they overran the Nagi plantations¡­


    He fell face-first into the dirt when another lightning strike broke a treetop above him. Doing his best to suppress a roar of anguish, he rose and forged the fallen tree trunk, eyes adjusted to the damp world around him, now. He kept his arms tightly wrapped round his chest, his warm blood serving as his best defense against the cold of night.


    But still, the fatigue of combat and his escape was exhausting him, and when he fell again, throwing himself through another patch of overgrowth, the thought occurred to him that he could simply give in, now, and let the slaves have their precious victory.


    But another slash of lightning tore more than simply electricity across the sky. In the shadow of the heavenly light suddenly stood the towers of a great city, and Nagoya¡¯s claws felt the stalwart skin of a rock beneath him.


    He forced himself up with the last ounces of energy that hadn¡¯t yet departed him, and saw where he was standing: the Pact-rock that stood only a few meters from Saku.


    He couldn¡¯t even believe the sight. But he didn¡¯t care. The fact that his city still stood was all the hope he¡¯d ever need in the long night of his escape.


    ¡°I made it, Brothers,¡± he whispered with his dying breaths. ¡°Now¡­it¡¯s your turn.¡±

 Chapter 120

    Marc wondered back through the jungle overgrowths, checking the frontlines of the vanguard units, perusing the formations as they kept up their training.


    A rainstorm had forced most of the units into their tents ¨C which by this point were tattered and torn vestiges of their former selves. He could imagine the eyes of the Pipers as they slept before the towering might of the city across from the jungle ravines. They were looking at what would soon be theirs ¨C and yet knew that taking the place was simply a means to an end.


    It would be a proper siege, Marcus found himself admitting as he nodded to some of the still practicing Tauron in the field, Hialjia knocking a few of their heads together. And the memory of Grindlefecht was still strong in his memories. Maybe, if he was being truthful, that was what was keeping him from signalling the command to strike.


    By this time, Nagoya was sure to be back on his throne. Either that, or he¡¯d succumbed to the elements and died alone out in this jungle. Marcus had been spared most of the horrors of its inhabitants by the strength of his forces. The Prince would have no such backup.


    But that royal snake was strong. He was resilient. And he was a survivor ¨C Marcus knew such a man by his demeanor alone. They had that in common, alright.


    ¡°Hialjia,¡± he called as he walked the grounds of their camp. ¡°You can give it a rest for the night, you know. Your men may be mounds of muscle, but I¡¯m sure they tire just like any other.¡±


    Some of the massive minotaurs in her corner of the camp chuckled darkly at the suggestion. Hialjia shot them a single look and they quietened their mouths almost instantly.


    Respect, Marcus thought with surprise. Almost naturally shown.


    ¡°Hialjia is glad to see you back, small Shai-Alud,¡± the woman grunted at Marcus, pointing a massive finger at his chest. ¡°Now Hialjia can eat bones of the little Prince, right?¡±


    ¡°In time,¡± Marcus chuckled awkwardly. ¡°But you should cease your training for the night. When this storm abates, we¡¯ll need your strength to bring those walls down.¡±


    Hialjia grunted. ¡°Hialjia¡¯s unit has not been training tonight.¡±


    ¡°But I thought ¨C¡°


    A few chuckles from the minotaurs behind the great Princess started up again, and Hialjia took Marcus aside with a small, childish grin.


    ¡°Hilajia has been having Chukrat tonight.¡±


    ¡°Chukrat?¡±


    ¡°Human not have this word,¡± Hialjia mused as though remembering a prior conversation she¡¯d had with Mari. ¡°In human tongue it is like ¡®proposal¡¯. When two are matched together.¡±


    Marcus stared at her, wide eyed. ¡°You mean¡­all that head smashing and yelling over here was¡­a display of affection for you?¡±


    Hialjia rolled her eyes. ¡°Tauron male is fighter in all ways,¡± Hialjia said. ¡°When they find strong female, they are to best all opponents in combat to win her hand.¡±


    ¡°Sounds a little¡­problematic.¡±


    Hialjia shook her great horned skull.


    ¡°Female look for best male only,¡± she said, pointing at her wounded warriors who had gored eachother through the night. ¡°Why female settle with small, puny man? Female want big Tauron child to kill enemies and raise armies. Biggest male only match for biggest female.¡±


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Marcus shrugged. He¡¯d heard far more barbaric ceremonies since coming to this world.


    ¡°So?¡± he asked her. ¡°Have any of your prospective suitors won your heart?¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± Hialjia spat, sweeping an arm over the males by their campfire who shied away from her shaming. ¡°Hialjia is Princess of Gorebash tribe. We are famous for making big babies. Our children come out of womb with axe in hand! None of these cows know how to fight like Hialjia.¡±


    ¡°You know, that might be because they were enslaved all this time.¡±


    ¡°Hialjia was slave, too,¡± the great Tauron growled. ¡°Hialjia never stop fighting. Heart of warrior is never broken by chain or whip. Warrior is not something Tauron of Gorebash chooses to be. It is something Tauron is.¡±


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re quite the poet in your own way,¡± Marcus laughed as he looked with the Princess at her harem. ¡°You care about the future of your Clan in your own way, just as your males do. But I wonder, Hialjia, what does the lore of Gorebash say about killing unarmed civilians?¡±


    The Tauron furrowed her brow at the concept. ¡°Shai-Alud is meaning snakes? Bah. They could not hurt Hialjia. Hialjia does not care whether they live or die.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have the fires of vengeance in your heart?¡±


    ¡°Vengeance? You mean for slavery? Hialjia does not blame puny snakes. The win their battles and take slaves because their opponents are weak. But the people in their cities are puny and weak, too. Snake-people life is weak life. They are not deserving of good death.¡±


    That, at least, might be a point we can agree on¡­even if it¡¯s a crude one.


    ¡°I happen to agree with you, you know,¡± Marcus said as he rose and bid the great behemoth adieu. ¡°Let¡¯s crush the real enemy on the field of battle tomorrow, and then we can have your marriage service in a place free from rain.¡±


    ¡°Hialjia get married in mud if it is to right man,¡± the Tauron replied as he left. ¡°And as long as she can eat Fancy-Prince snake¡¯s bones. He is man who matches Hialjia in combat. He is deserving of Hialjia¡¯s teeth.¡±


    Marcus at first wasn¡¯t sure how to interpret that.


    ¡°¡­Hialjia,¡± he said as he walked off into the rain. ¡°When we¡¯re done with him, you can have any piece of him you like.¡±


    <hr>


    --Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives--


    Prince Yamrah and his father stood wrapped in conversation, both wishing the other to simply see their point of view.


    ¡°I will not risk another son in this war,¡± Patriarch Jung was saying.


    ¡°Is that why you are sending Yaresh?¡±


    ¡°Yaresh is a commander of a fleet, and has an army of ten-thousand at his back.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Then it will be safe enough to accompany him.¡±


    ¡°I said no.¡±


    ¡°Father ¨C¡° the young Prince began, desperately pacing up and down his gilded Patriarch¡¯s balcony. ¡°Why do you deny me the chance to protect our heritage? What good is it for me to sit around here and play games with you?¡±


    ¡°Is that what you think you have been doing all this time?¡± Jung countered, his cold eyes flashing the heat of barely concealed anger. ¡°Learning the ways of statecraft? Understanding the operations of the council ¨C even being allowed input in the wartime decisions of the nation? You think these things are playing?¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean, father. I am not a child no longe-¡°


    ¡°You are my child,¡± Jung replied. ¡°You shall always be my child.¡±


    Before Yamrah could plead again, the doors to the Patriarch¡¯s chambers were flung open. Into the room walked a lizard with gleaming battle armor and a cape flowing behind him. He strode into the room, straight-backed and regal, and flung his massive arms open to embrace his father without standing on ceremony.


    ¡°My father,¡± he said, amber eyes twitching with glee. ¡°Witness my return.¡±


    ¡°It would be hard not to, my son,¡± his father replied, throwing himself into his son¡¯s powerful embrace with laughter that told Yamrah he was done with their prior conversation. ¡°Your fleet¡¯s klaxons can be heard by the Kingdom of heaven itself.¡±


    Prince Yaresh released his father and drank in the sight of him. When he then turned to his Brother Prince, he did so with just as much gumption.


    ¡°And look at you!¡± he beamed. ¡°Look at you ¨C the garb of the statesman suits you, little Brother. Though I must admit you¡¯re packing on the pounds. Has father been over-feeding you?¡±


    ¡°No more so than usual,¡± Yamrah replied, smiling in spite of his Brother¡¯s candor. The almost childlike enthusiasm of Prince Yaresh had always been as infectious as it was obnoxious.


    ¡°We were on our way to greet you among the Council,¡± Jung said, guiding his son towards the Pagoda balcony. ¡°Which ¨C might I add ¨C is exactly where you should be right now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please,¡± Yaresh replied as his father called on a slave boy to pour them all a glass of wine. ¡°Father, I can¡¯t stand those stuffy ceremonies. You know that if I¡¯d spent all my youth obeying every one of our ancestors¡¯ commandments, I would have become a politician instead of a frontline fighter sending humans to their graves by the thousands! Hah!¡±


    Yaresh plopped down on a seat and took his glass without even looking at the serving boy ¨C a pallid Yokun with cracked scales. His father and brother, however, did not meet his statement with enthusiasm.


    Only now, looking between them, could he see that he¡¯d interrupted a heated conversation.


    ¡°So¡­come now,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me what I¡¯ve been missing back on the home front. You a married man yet, little brother?¡±


    Jung watched Yamrah squirm at the question with an impish grin.


    ¡°That ¨C well ¨C that is not a-¡°


    ¡°Because I have some very interested young girls I picked up in the North. And let me tell you, they¡¯re approaching their mating season¡­¡±


    ¡°I ¨C my duties here keep me preoccupied, Brother.¡±


    Both father and eldest son stifled a laugh. Not even Yamrah could make himself believe that.


    ¡°Alright, out with it, both of you,¡± Yaresh stated. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have recalled me home out of love alone, father. As happy as I am to land in Hokiyama¡¯s shores again, I know there¡¯s something up.¡±


    Jung eyed Yamrah as the latter tried to avoid his brother¡¯s cheerful smile.


    A smile that was beginning to die away with each passing second.


    ¡°My son,¡± the Patriarch said as he settled into his chair again. ¡°The situation in the South has changed.¡±


    ¡°The South?!¡± Yaresh practically spat. ¡°Father ¨C let Nago deal with it. That stuffy fancy-pants was head on the Pale Lady¡¯s heels last I heard.¡±


    Again, Jung and Yamrah shared a look.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the young Prince said. ¡°I thought so, too¡­¡±


    Yaresh put down his glass and observed their reactions. Slowly, his demeanor was beginning to change.


    ¡°Nago,¡± he stated. ¡°W-what¡¯s happened?¡±


    ¡°Something that concerns you, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Jung answered over the lip of his glass. ¡°I have a new assignment for your fleet.¡±

 Chapter 121

    --Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives--


    The sun of Thea stretched itself across the bay beneath her window.


    A golden dagger, aimed at the throat of the world.


    She rose from her bed, her naked scales glistening against the dew of morning, and watched as the fleet of Yaresh prepped for another voyage.


    The boy had acquiesced to his father¡¯s demand immediately. He was the strongest of her sons, with a tenacity that matched her own. But there was too much of his father¡¯s sentimentality in him. He was so weak when it came to his siblings.


    In any case, it was said his ships, carrying an army of 10,000 trained Zhurkin, bloodied and emboldened by their recent victory over Marxon¡¯s navy in the North, would be departing tonight, bound for Saku where the forces of the Shai-Alud and his pale bitch would finally be crushed.


    That gave her the whole day¡­to finalize her own preparations. Maybe she¡¯d even pay that adorable little Skeever a visit. To make sure he was ready for the part he¡¯d play.


    She leaned against the window, letting her velvet cover fall from her nethers. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the day settle on her skin.


    That sun had meant something very different to her when she was a child. She remembered the days of her youth, before she was Matriarch Hakumi. Back when she had another name. A name born from peace, not forged in the fires of war.


    The dry deserts of the East had been her home. There, the sun is omnipresent. It¡¯s power, inescapable. She knew this from the first day she felt its rays seem into her soft flesh and cradle her head as she drank from her mother¡¯s teats. She knew its power when she danced with her Sisters in the sands, and worshipped in the old temples to a God without a name. A God that was born from the very sun itself.


    Her mother had taught her about power. She was the Elder of their tribe ¨C back before there was an Empire, back before the Yokun were united under a single purpose. Two decades ago, there was only she and her Sisters. Their world was the temple and their purpose was veneration of their sun-deity and the patrons who came to worship there.


    Such ¡®worship¡¯ was not, she would later realize, conventional.


    Her tribe believed in the sanctity of the body. The movement of limbs, the sway of hips, and the twisting of the tail were acts of magic that could summon and contort the spirits of men. And many men came to them, out there in the desert. Tigrans, humans, other Yokun, even the proud Tauron. All of them came seeking that which they could not have. They left with more than they¡¯d bargained for.


    And at the same time, though Hakumi did not fully understand it, the wombs of her and her Sisters were blessed with their seed.


    ¡°Life is our most precious resource, children,¡± Hakumi¡¯s mother would say. ¡°The sun demands life. It gives life, and we must offer life to it.¡±


    The fruits of their labor grew to become warriors to protect the temple or females to serve as its Priestesses. As the decades passed, the temple grew, and became an entire village. All the while, Hakumi grew into adulthood, and on the day of her first bleeding, her mother was there to calm her.


    ¡°Do not be afraid, child,¡± she said, stroking her wet crotch. ¡°This is the source of your power. The time has come for you to serve.¡±


    She nodded, dutifully. She was a na?ve, obedient girl who trusted her mother more than she trusted herself. There was no conception of life beyond the temple¡¯s walls. No understanding of what she was beyond her mother¡¯s words.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    But she listened to those words. She remembered them as she danced in the temple chambers, and washed the backs of the men, and took them to the Birthing ponds, and let them make their marks. She was a favorite among them for her eyes ¨C her heterochromia was rare and, some said, a sign of divine blessing.


    ¡°The men-soldiers of this world fight with blade and bow,¡± her mother told her. ¡°But these,¡± she pointed at her breasts and crotch, ¡°these are our weapons. These are the tools by which we can make and unmake the world, if we so desire. Remember these things I say to you well, Hakumi."


    She remembered, alright. Even now, she couldn¡¯t forget.


    She remembered when He came, too.


    During the Unification Wars, the armies of the Patriarchs were nothing but rabble spread out throught the world. Warlords fought over land and territory throughout the South and the East. Yokun killed Yokun and enslaved any in their path. There was no concept of Brother or Sisterhood among the snake-peoples.


    Until he came.


    Rumors spread that one young Yokun had risen in the south, and had built a great city beside the ocean. His name was Jung, and he stood with an army in the tens of thousands ¨C built via the forceful assimilation of the disparate tribes throughout the Arasaka jungles. He made war upon his brothers, and then offered the survivors a place within his ranks. He showed them strength, and then gave them a piece of his power. He united them under one faith, in which two Gods were served ¨C a male and a female. And they followed him. Out of fear, admiration, or begrudging respect, Hakumi did not know. But they followed him.


    Alternative religious sects, however, were not tolerated. He did not believe the truly faithful could ever be converted. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps not. It did not truly matter.


    And so, when his armies came to the temple in the desert, they were horrified by what they found.


    ¡®Degeneracy¡¯ and ¡®heresy¡¯ were not words Hakumi understood, but they were the words chanted by his soldiers as they tore down the walls and slaughtered the sons and daughters of her Priesthood without parlay. Their blades and spears shone in the desert sun and the blood of Hakumi¡¯s sisters ran red down the temple halls, staining the desert sands a shade of crimson that shocked Hakumi in its familiarity. It was the same shade of red that came on the day of her Bleeding.


    Their warriors were not hardened soldiers, and they fell without much resistance. Hakumi ushered the youngest Sisters in the temple to run, to live, to survive, and saw them cut down by the slings and arrows of the Warlord¡¯s vicious men. That was when she learned that running was impossible. She had never seen the world outside the walls of her home. But it had come to her, and hiding was not an option.


    The Priestesses of the inner chambers were rounded up and thrown prostrate on the sands. The temple was sacked, and burned, and Hakumi watched her Sisters weep to see their home desecrated with such abandon. Her heart throbbed to see her mother kicked and beaten as she was dragged by her neck towards the rest of them, being dubbed the ¡®High Priestess¡¯ by one of the soldiers.


    It seemed, by all accounts, that she would die there under the sun with her family on that day.


    But then she saw him.


    He looked like any other Yokun soldier from afar. Tall, rugged, wearing plated armor that bore the many scars of his conflict ¨C apparently, he saw no need to have it repaired. He rode upon a Veskh ¨C a sand-beetle common to the desert wastes ¨C and dismounted to see the inner caste of his enemies before they were destroyed by his forces.


    ¡°So shall I deal with all deceivers and false prophets,¡± he said. Even then, his voice carried against the smoke and the flames of destruction all around him.


    He barked an order to his men. And they moved to drag the Priestesses into the fire.


    Then, his eyes lighted on her.


    She felt his gaze like she felt the hot glow of the sun upon her skin. She felt it as she¡¯d felt gazes like it countless times before. Her body knew how to hold such gazes with an almost mechanical precision. She knew exactly how to move her hips, even on the crimson sands underneath her, to make those eyes move down her body, to hidden places. She knew how to bite her lip, and lift her tail ever ¨C so ¨C slightly ¨C to make the mind of this Warlord go to places it hadn¡¯t gone before. He¡¯d traveled the world and seen death. War was his hobby. But his mind was¡­untrained in other disciplines.


    When his soldiers came to her, he privately ordered them to halt.


    He stood over her, eyes wavering, hand almost shaking.


    And she looked up at him, letting the tip of her tongue play across her lips. She knew that her mother was watching her.


    ¡°Take this one,¡± he said. Then, at his men¡¯s confusion, ¡°she will make an adequate slave.¡±


    No more was said that day. Words were not needed. She was taken as the rest of her family was torched, tied to the columns of the temple and committed to the flames. As they licked around their scales, Hakumi watched her Sisters spirits leave this world. She watched her mother turn to ash before her.


    But her mother did not scream. Instead, she smiled.


    ¡°These are your weapons, child,¡± her mother had told her on the day of her Bleeding. And on that day, Hakumi remembered those words.


    It was those weapons she drew when he summoned her to his chamber on the long, grim nights of his campaigns. It was those weapons she raked down the Patriarch¡¯s back after he¡¯d committed thousands to the flames of his ambition. It was those weapons she sharpened on the wriggling maggot between his legs every night he called for her, until she was the only concubine he called for. Once the snake lord had tasted honey, he wanted the whole beehive to himself.


    She gave him three sons. Three heirs. She gave him a legacy.


    And in return, he made her his Queen. His Matriarch ¨C even when some of his brothers called for her execution in accordance with the sacred laws of Anraka*.


    But Hakumi¡¯s weapons could break the sword of Law. Now, when such men saw her, they kept their heads down.


    On days like today, she thought back to the smell of her mother¡¯s charred flesh, and of her Sisters as they burned in the sun.


    And she imagined how Saku would burn. And how two Princes would burn with it.


    Or, if her plans came to fruition, three.

 Chapter 122

    Takeshi crept through the thick jungle overgrowth to get a better vantage point on his targets.


    The Shai Alud Marcus had sent him back to their old base at the Southern Coast of the Arasaka to gather what materials they could ¨C anything that had not been left behind by the fearless Keth-Tari raid. An easy enough job, and one which had so far been entirely unhindered.


    But as the Yokun and his archer detachment peeked out from the last of the jungle treeline, they saw why the General had dispatched a retinue of Oshu scouts with them.


    A detachment of Zhurkin, flying the mailed fist banner of Clan Naga, had visited their old headquarters before, and seemed to be using it as some kind of staging area.


    At the old Overseer¡¯s tower ¨C which was now nothing more than a crumbling fa?ade of rock and ruin, one of the largest Yokun Takeshi had ever seen was currently spitting out a speech to his troops below. And, from the sounds of it, and the way he swing his large halberd overhead to punctuate his every word, he was very proud of himself.


    ¡°And that is no coincidence,¡± Takeshi said aloud ¨C more to himself than anyone else. ¡°For that is¡­Lord Zakura, the Scalesplitter.¡±


    Beside him the trees rustled and parted. Takeshi felt breathing, and turned to bring his knife to bear, only to see the bulbous eyes of his fellow commander blinking beside him.


    Sakri ¨C the leader of the Oshu tribes.


    The chamelelon-like creature scratched the colorful hair beneath his chin, and considered Takeshi¡¯s words.


    ¡°This large Yokun of yours,¡± he said, pointing as the commander continued to throw spittle and charged words at his troops. ¡°He is known to you?¡±


    Takeshi bristled at the use of ¡®yours¡¯, but grunted his assent.


    ¡°It is said he was once a slave as we were,¡± he explained. ¡°Sentenced to fight for entertainment in Naga¡¯s fighting pits. Through bloody victory after victory, he earned his place as the right hand of Prince Takata, scion of Clan Naga.¡±


    Sakri considered this, quietly, as he did everything. ¡°Your people reward violence,¡± he said. ¡°Even the smallest lizard can rise, but only atop the crushed skulls of his brothers.¡±


    Takeshi was about to retort, but stopped himself. He did not know why some odd sense of national pride had suddenly risen in his green throat as this Oshu said these words. There was a time when even he would have called this tribal creature a savage, and a barabarian with no conception of how civilized races lived their lives.


    But the Shai-Alud had said many things since he came among them. And one of the things that made sense to Takeshi in recent months, more than anything else, was how similar he was to the other slaves in the army of the Pale Lady.


    ¡°I bear him or his kind no love,¡± Takeshi muttered.


    Sakri looked at him curiously.


    ¡°His kind? I thought that you ¨C¡°


    ¡°We may wear the same skin,¡± Takeshi interjected. ¡°But that does not make us brothers.¡±


    Sakri gave a short huff, pulling tighter on the tin hairs on his chin. ¡°And what are we to you, Yokun?¡±


    Takeshi smiled. ¡°Let us fight together and find out.¡±


    They were outnumbered ¨C that much was certain. Zakura had at least eighty Zhurkin with him, many of them enraged and desperate to put down the slave rebellion that had risen up in their lands and burned their plantations to the ground.


    Takeshi had a retinue of twenty archers and the Oshu detachment numbered possibly only fifteen. Positioning would be crucial, as would the use of cover.


    Fortunately for them all, a heavy rainstorm had just begun, and it didn¡¯t look like it was stopping anytime soon. The rain provided a blanket of cover for the Oshu to move through, slipping stealthily into the cracks and corners of the bombed-out plantation. They slunk round the base of the tower, the barracks, and hid within the crater that was where the armory had once stood. Each of them poised, ready, and with a spear tipped with the most virulent poisons known to their tribes.


    Takeshi licked his lips, tasting his own sweat as his fellow commander moved out.


    He signaled for his men to cloak themselves in the dirt and leaves from the foliage around them, and to climb to the highest heights of the trees. Once there, they would dig in with their claws, setting up the branches at the apex of the trees as a kind of makeshift tripod to stabilize their aiming.


    Yokun longbowmen had a name for such a maneuver ¨C Kimi-Taro or ¡®Branch-sniping¡¯. Performed under the right conditions, they could turn the jungle trees into a set of sniper towers. Usually, rainfall would have made their visibility far too poor to get in any effective shots. But Yokun eyes were not those of a human, or a dwarf, or a ratman¡¯s. They were the sharpest set of eyes in all of Thea, second only to the Aradeshian birdpeople of the mountains.


    But unlike them, Yokun were not aloof, floating high and mighty above the world. They were beings of the earth. And the earth itself was their greatest war asset.


    Takeshi nodded once to Sakri, seeing him getting into position just at the back of the Zhurkin crowd.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    He knocked an arrow, breathed deep, and said a silent prayer to Lord Akira that his aim might strike true.


    And when he let it loose, he saw it slam into Zakura¡¯s left eye and send the massive brute flying from his podium.


    What followed next was nothing more than a few minutes of panic that felt like an eternity to those watching from the treetops.


    Sakri moved like a wraith through the chaos, his chameleon-like form blending seamlessly with the rain-soaked ruins. His Oshu warriors, invisible against the backdrop of the storm, struck silently and swiftly. Zhurkin soldiers fell clutching their throats, their armor no match for the virulent poisons that tipped Oshu spears. Each strike was precise, lethal, and calculated to sow confusion among the enemy ranks.


    Above, Takeshi''s archers unleashed a torrent of arrows from their elevated positions. Each shaft found its mark, piercing through the mail of Zhurkin infantry and sending them crashing to the muddy ground. Takeshi himself worked with a calm efficiency, his sharp Yokun eyes compensating for the rain and dim light. He loosed arrow after arrow, targeting officers and marksmen who barked orders to rally their panicked troops.


    But the enemy was not without their own precision. A detachment of Zhurkin marksmen, crouched behind hastily constructed barricades, began firing back at the trees. Their bolts and arrows tore through the foliage, striking several of Takeshi''s archers. Cries of pain echoed through the jungle as warriors fell, their broken bodies plummeting from the heights.


    Takeshi gritted his teeth, his heart sinking with every fallen comrade. But there was no time for mourning. He adjusted his position, firing a volley to cover the retreat of his remaining archers. He shouted orders to reposition, urging them to find new perches deeper in the canopy where the enemy could not reach them as easily.


    Meanwhile, on the ground, the tide of battle shifted. Sakri and his Oshu warriors continued their deadly dance, taking down Zhurkin soldiers with ruthless efficiency. But their momentum faltered when a deafening roar cut through the storm.


    Lord Zakura, the Scalesplitter, had entered the fray.


    The massive Yokun commander, his left eye now a bleeding socket, swung his halberd with terrifying force. The weapon cleaved through Oshu warriors like a scythe through wheat, each swing accompanied by a bellow of rage. Sakri narrowly dodged a strike that split the ground where he had stood moments before.


    But Zakura was no fool. As Sakri darted to his left, invisible once more, the Yokun commander¡¯s sharp eyes followed the rain bouncing off the chameleon-like warrior¡¯s form. With a roar, Zakura lunged, his massive hand closing around Sakri¡¯s throat. The Oshu leader clawed at the iron grip, his skin flickering as he struggled to maintain his camouflage.


    Zakura flung Sakri aside with bone-crushing force, sending him crashing into a ruined wall. The Oshu warriors faltered, their morale shaken as their leader lay motionless in the mud. Zakura turned his wrath on the remaining warriors, his halberd carving a path of destruction through their ranks.


    Takeshi watched in horror, his bow trembling in his hands. He saw Sakri struggling to rise, blood trickling from his mouth as he grasped for his weapon. The battle was slipping away, and with it, their chance at victory.


    ¡°No,¡± Takeshi growled, steadying himself. He drew an arrow, aiming for the gap between Zakura¡¯s breastplate and helmet.


    He exhaled slowly, muttering a prayer to Lord Akira. Then, he released.


    The arrow flew true, embedding itself in Zakura¡¯s neck. The massive Yokun staggered, dropping his halberd as he clutched at the shaft. Takeshi didn¡¯t stop. He loosed another arrow, then another, each one driving deeper into Zakura¡¯s flesh. The fourth arrow sent the Scalesplitter crashing to his knees. With a final gasp, the Yokun commander toppled forward, his lifeless body sinking into the mud. Dead.


    The battlefield fell silent, save for the patter of rain. Takeshi slung his bow over his shoulder and leapt down from the tree, rushing to Sakri¡¯s side. The Oshu leader looked up at him, his bulbous eyes filled with pain and a flicker of grudging respect.


    ¡°Your aim¡­ is impressive, Yokun,¡± Sakri rasped.


    ¡°And your courage is unmatched, Oshu,¡± Takeshi replied, extending a hand.


    Sakri hesitated, then grasped Takeshi¡¯s forearm in a firm grip. ¡°We are not the same, you and I,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°But today¡­ we are brothers.¡±


    Takeshi nodded, pulling Sakri to his feet. ¡°Brothers in battle. Let us finish this fight together. For the Shai-Alud.¡±


    The Oshu smiled. ¡°The Shai-Alud.¡±


    The remaining Zhurkin soldiers, leaderless and demoralized, began to retreat. The combined forces of the Yokun and Oshu pressed their advantage, driving the enemy from the ruined plantation. And as the rain continued to fall, Takeshi and Sakri stood side by side, united by their shared victory and the bonds forged in the crucible of war.


    When it was over, and the last of the Zhurkin lay bleeding out before their men, they let themselves fall and kiss the ground beneath them.


    But they had barely even two seconds to recover before they had another, far stranger engagement.


    ¡°Lords,¡± one of the Yokun archers said, his voice uneasy and wary at approaching the two battle-scarred commanders. ¡°There is¡­something you must see.¡±


    Takeshi and Sakri rose, looking at eachother in stark confusion.


    ¡°Be at ease, Futashi,¡± Takeshi told his man. ¡°Tell us plainly what it is you have found.¡±


    The warrior stood still for a moment, his tail swishing this way and that in confusion.


    ¡°I¡­that is to say¡­we don¡¯t kn-¡°


    ¡°OUT OF MY WAY!¡±


    Futashi was brutally shoved aside by something that had suddenly barged its way onto the battlefield. Something that was shackled, bound up in harsh adamantine chains usually reserved for slaves of the highest order.


    And Takeshi noted the Clan naga symbol upon the bonds.


    But more suprising than that was the¡­thing itself.


    It ruffled its long, feathered neck, standing on all fours upon a set of viscious looking claws. Its wings were bound up on its back, chained in the same way its legs were ¨C as though it had taken an entire team of Zhurkin to capture and subdue it. What they had evidently not managed to do, however, was muzzle it. Its beak snapped and gawked at the two blood-covered commanders who stared, open mouthed, as the thing thrashed before them.


    ¡°Well?¡± it said, in a very high-strung, evangelical voice. ¡°Come on then, lets dispense with the surprise. It is ever so dreadfully boring.¡±


    Sakri was the first to speak, his webbed fingers reaching up to touch the fine feathers of the beast.


    ¡°What¡­are you-¡°


    ¡°Oh my, how respectful you people are down South,¡± the creature mewled like an offended cow. ¡°You know, I half expected my rescuers to be a tad more civil in their manner. I at the very least expected your Shai-Alud to have taught you a few things about proper decorum when addressing a Griffon. Especially one of my stature. Hmpf.¡±


    As the two commanders continued gawking, the winged beast trundled over to Zakura¡¯s corpse and snatched a thin sheet of parchment from his belt.


    ¡°Frightfully grisly fellow,¡± the bird-creature snorted. ¡°Such is the way of his kind.¡±


    Takeshi narrowed his eyes.


    ¡°Who do you think you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Spare me your dismal dismay,¡± the beast said. ¡°My name is Thaddeus Oxbridge of House Rottsburch, Third of my line, Vassal and Vaulted messenger of his Majesty and Emperor of the Known World, Gaius Marxon I.¡±


    ¡°Emperor¡­¡± Sakri whispered. Takeshi, meanwhile, was too awestruck for words.


    ¡°I thank you for your timely assistance,¡± Thaddeus continued, savoring their confusion. ¡°These beastly cretins dared to shackle me and impede the will of His Majesty. Now, if you would be so kind as to convey me to your commander? I have a most urgent¡­offer for his eyes only.¡±

 Chapter 123

    Saku loomed over him like a bulwark in the night, its firm towers silhouetted by the moon of Thea that rose above the jungle.


    He had to break those walls, and mollify its people. And, from down here, he had a good look at the pagoda that rose above the city, built into the wall of the craggy mountain at its rear.


    You¡¯re in there, Nagoya, he thought. You¡¯re probably watching me just as I¡¯m watching you, right now.


    He took another swig of the disgusting ale Marvin had given him before, grimacing as the hot liquid ran down his insides.


    He lifted his face to the stars, knowing that a few members of the army were probably watching him between the smoke of their respective bonfires in the camp, wondering when the word was coming to attack. Wondering when Mari would emerge from her tent. And wondering why the Shai-Alud, her mate, was not with her but out here in the cold of night.


    If he was being honest, he was wondering what the hell he was going to do, too, when a sudden bark echoed through the treeline to his rear.


    ¡°OUT OF MY WAY!¡±


    He rose steadily, wiping excess alcohol from his grizzled mouth, and saw a general alarm go up from the camp.


    ¡°I say! This ¨C this is most ludicrous! Have none of you bondsmen ever seen a Griffon? This treatment is quite ¨C unnecessary!¡±


    Marcus stumbled towards the commotion, hearing weapons being drawn in the dark.


    ¡°Peace, peace comrades!¡± Takeshi¡¯s voice cried. ¡°This¡­creature is with us!¡±


    ¡°Our brother speaks true,¡± Sakri added. ¡°He comes for the Shai-Alu-¡°


    ¡°MAKE ROOM!¡±


    A gust of wind suddenly blew a whole group of Tigran warriors away from their camp, and Marcus beheld a sight far stranger than anything he¡¯d expected to see tonight.


    A quadrupled being with the head of an eagle and great pair of wings sprouting from its back was charging at him, eyes filled with fiery determination.


    ¡°What¡­¡±


    ¡°Protect the Shai-Alud!¡±


    As soon as this call went up, Marcus found himself behind Hialjia, who had appeared as if from nowhere to protect him against this rampaging collection of feathers.


    ¡°Hialjia, I think that ¨C¡°


    ¡°Stand down, beast!¡± the Tauron wailed, raising her axe just as the creature came to a resounding and sudden stop before her.


    ¡°G-good gracious! By the Emperor!¡±


    HIALJIA!


    Before she brought her axe down, Marcus transmitted a command that pierced her brain and sundered her thoughts. She huffed, stopped her attack, and bowed swiftly, retreating to Marcus¡¯s side.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± he said aloud as whole cohorts of the army started to gather around him. ¡°I don¡¯t think this creature intends to do us harm.¡±


    ¡°Hmpf¡±, the Taruon growled. He stink like Yokun slavers.¡±


    The beast, still warily looking in Hialjia¡¯s direction, stood to attention and proudly ruffled his feathered breast.


    ¡°N-now look here,¡± he said, regaining composure. ¡°I have come a long way, and have experienced the drudgery of slavery just as you have I am sure. You ought to afford me a measure of respect befitting my station or ¨C ah!¡±


    As Hailjia snarled down at him, the creature backed down completely.


    ¡°He talk with fancy words, like fancy Yokun prince,¡± she said. ¡°You sure I can¡¯t eat him?¡±


    Marcus stifled a laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you¡¯ll enjoy the taste of those feathers.¡±


    Takeshi and Sakri had finally caught up. Panting, they explained everything.


    ¡°He ¨C he says he has a message for us,¡± Takeshi began. ¡°He says its from¡­Marxon.¡±


    At Marcus¡¯s interested expression, the beast rose to its full height again.


    ¡°Emperor Gaius Marxon, first of his name and ruler of the known realm. My directive was to convey His Majesty¡¯s missive to the Shai-Alud, conqueror of the Underkingdom and current consort of the Pale Lady. I assume you are he?¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The creature looked him up and down for a moment, looking as though he wanted to make some quippy remark about his appearance. A single glance in Hialjia¡¯s direction, however, stopped that quite quickly.


    ¡°Well¡­be welcome in our camp, then,¡± Marcus said. ¡°Mr..?¡±


    ¡°Thaddeus. Thaddeus Oxbridge of House Rottsburch, Third of my line and the Emperor¡¯s private correspondence deliverer.¡±


    ¡°Human Emperor is sending us delivery bird!¡± Hialjia roared so the gathering troops around her could hear.


    ¡°Now, now,¡± Marcus interjected. ¡°If our friend here really is who he says he is, he¡¯s an honored guest among us. I want to one to impede his duty. Takeshi, Sakri, you say you found him in the ruins of our lost base?¡±


    ¡°Captured and bound,¡± Takeshi nodded. ¡°He has a letter which bears a human sigil. It seemed Clan Naga intercepted him on his way he-¡°


    ¡°Frightfully gruesome creatures!¡± Thaddeus snarled. ¡°I do say that the old saying is true ¨C Yokun believe everything in this world belongs to them by right. Their ego astounds me.¡±


    At Takeshi¡¯s snarling, Marcus quickly changed the subject.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re here now,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m only sorry we couldn¡¯t have helped you sooner. Luckily, two of my best commanders came along when they did.¡±


    ¡°Two of your best!¡± Thaddeus chuckled. Then, reading the temperature of the crowd around him, he coughed. ¡°Ah ¨C yes. That is, they were most helpful in assisting my escape.¡±


    ¡°I do not know many words of the civilized world,¡± Sakri said with a shake of his spear. ¡°Does ¡®assistance¡¯ mean rescue?¡±


    ¡°I believe the bird was mistaken in using that particular word,¡± Takeshi growled. ¡°I think he meant to say that he¡¯s only alive right now because of us.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C well ¨C I!¡± Thaddeus snorted before turning back to Marcus. ¡°Suffice to say your men have brought me here, now. And thus, tonight I shall count my mission as completed.¡±


    Marcus bowed gracefully. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we can¡¯t offer you much by way of hospitality, Sir Thaddeus. You see, we¡¯re currently preparing for a siege. If you¡¯d like a drink though, I¡¯m sure our resident human brewer Marvin can ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, no,¡± the griffon replied. ¡°I¡¯d simply like to be over and done with this errand, thank you very much, Sir. The trauma I have sustained has been such that I shall require a full month of leave to recover from its effects. I trust that you will convey as much to His Majesty if all the terms of the agreement are convenient to you and your people?¡±


    Marcus blinked. ¡°Agreement?¡±


    Only then, savoring being the center of attention, did Thaddeus produce the letter strapped to his front left claw. It looked dingy, scarred, and partially opened. But it also looked like he¡¯d been able to conceal it from his Yokun captors who, at any rate, wouldn¡¯t be telling any tales where they were now.


    Marcus took the missive from the great beak of the Griffon and read it to himself, realizing, only after he¡¯d finished, just how pivotal a moment in history this event would be.


    To Sir Marcus Graham,


    Accept our congratulations on your recent victory over the forces of Clan Hitogi at the Yangzhao bridge. My sources in the region report that your earnest success was cheaply bought ¨C a notion that seems synonymous with your name.


    I would very much like to meet you in person. From various trusted estimations of your attitude, I expect we would share some interesting thoughts on the nature of warfare. Sadly, I find myself rather preoccupied with a stalemate at the moment. The Yokun of the Blades are as tenacious as their namesake, and have successfully rebuffed my forces in the straits of Jak¡¯al to the North of their capital city. I fear my Empire can no longer claim the Naval superiority we have enjoyed in the region.


    You will therefore imagine my surprise when the ships of General Yaresh were diverted from our shores with haste ¨C like steelclad snakes returning to lick their wounds. Such is not the Yokun way. A victory such as that one would normally lead to an immediate breakthrough operation on our shores. An amphibious assault on our Eastern territories has been expected for the past decade. Yet, when the opportune moment came, our enemies had eyes only for their Southern flank. For you, Marcus Graham, and the one they call the ¡®Pale Lady.¡¯


    I will be blunt, your operations in the region afford me an element of breathing room I very much required. Therefore, allow me to return the favor: my trusted sources tell me that General Yaresh sets sail for the Southern Arasaka Plantations as we speak, bound for a scorched earth campaign that will take them as far as the city of Saku. At his back ride a fleet of ten thousand trained Zhurkin.


    As I understand it, you are set to assault the city of Saku and break through its defenses to link up with my own regiments to the South. I implore you to forget this notion, Marcus Graham.


    Titles are not gained by the meek, nor the foolish. I would not be in the position I am in now if I did not grasp opportunity when it presented itself to me. I¡¯m sure as an esteemed General ¨C a victor of countless battles both beneath and upon the surface of our world ¨C you would agree. Allow me to be so bold, then, as to suggest an alternative course of action for you ¨C one that shall accomplish both our goals.


    Take the city, Marcus Graham. Take it and hold it against the wave of retribution that is coming. Await my reinforcements and together we shall stem the tide of the Yokun horde. We shall break the backs of an Empire that has made a fatal misstep in thinking they can crush the spirit of the free.


    Take Saku and I shall grant it to you and your wife as an official fiefdom. I shall raise you both to the status of vassals in my Empire. You shall have a standing army. Your Pipers will pass into the annals of legend. And vengeance for eons of slavery under the whip of the lizard Masters will be the reward of your people.


    I await your reply, Marcus Graham. Preparations for a general mustering are already underway. If you acquiesce to this joint operation, you shall have a fleet of my Royal Griffons by your side in a fortnight.


    Snake is a particular predilection of theirs.


    Emperor Gaius Marxon I


    Once he¡¯d finished reading in silence, his face growing at once excited, then terrified, then hopeful again, did he look up at the Griffon and his commanders with a very new set of eyes.


    ¡°Takeshi, Sakri,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve brought us more than just a letter this day. You¡¯ve brought us a chance.¡±


    The eyes of the leaders met his, while the Griffon hummed and hawed about not being appreciated enough.


    ¡°A chance at what?¡± Takeshi asked.


    Marcus was already moving towards Mari¡¯s tent as he gave his answer:


    ¡°Victory.¡±