Foreword
Ratgirls, ratmen,
After several years of silence, I finally decided to work seriously and upload the sequel of the Enfant Terrible of the Horned Rat. Psody grew up, and his adventure continues! What were simple notes and ideas of scenes finally gave birth to a new story which, I sincerely hope, will please you as much as the "first narrative arc" staging the emancipation of an idealist refusing a system that he finds unjust and concludes with the foundation of a new kingdom.
It took me about a year to write The Enfant Terrible, my schooling as a librarian, not too overloading, allowed me to write at a steady pace. After the obtaining of my degree, in September 2014, after years of precarious contracts and unemployment, I finally started a sustainable career, which led me from the University of Paris East Marne-la-Vallée (next to Disneyland Paris, where I also part-time worked for twelve years) to the Bibliothèque nationale de France, the largest library in the country.
I have not forgotten Psody and his friends for all these years, and I always kept my notes. But time has passed, I had a lot to settle, new projects to build. Time has unfortunately also brought tragedies, and my family had to overcome a particularly painful ordeal. The years will smooth the pain, thankfully.
In July 2017, curiously, I started to have new ideas. Colourful characters came to my mind, but I couldn't see how to integrate them into the story that was under construction, that I will call "second narrative arc", where the consolidation of the kingdom founded by Ludwig Steiner is witnessed by the reader. Thus I had the idea of a third "narrative arc" that would complete the story definitively. Here again, scenes came to me, I wrote them, and I got them for two hundred pages. At the same time, I realised that you continued to read The Enfant Terrible. Finally, on the day of my birthday, I was hit by two readers who added me to their list of favourite authors. For me, it was a sign. I wanted to share my stories with you again. No matter if it takes time that will not yield money, the pleasure of telling stories is greater. When I would have said everything I have to say about the world of Warhammer, I will seriously resume my project to write fantastic news that I hope to sell to a publisher, but in the meantime, I want to finish what I started, for myself and for you.
So here is the second part of what I will now call "Rat Kingdom Cycle", the most ambitious fanfiction of my life. I sincerely hope that you will enjoy reading this story, that your reunion with the old characters will not disappoint you, and that the new protagonists will be endearing enough to you. As usual, do not hesitate to comment as you read, to give your opinion, positive or negative, as long as it is constructive.
I don't know yet at what pace I'll write, I prefer to be honest. I'll try to publish a chapter per month, we'll see where it leads us. Please accept my apologies in advance if the frequency of publication doesn't suit you, or if I can't hold it.
If some of you have the desire and kindness for that, all the drawings, fanarts of the characters or scenes will be welcomed with open arms. You'll just have to tell me by PM, I'll give an email address where to send your work, and I will publish the drawings on DeviantArt on an account that I created for that.
You'll find the pictures of the fan readers here:
https_:_/_/_childrenofpsody_._deviantart_._com/
Glory to the Horned Rat!
(Wednesday, March 21, 2012)
(I would like to dedicate this story to three artists: Robert C. O'Brien, author of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of N.I.M.H., who imagined a beautiful story where Rats become humans, with their qualities and defaults, Don Bluth, who sublimated this work in a monumental fresco, and Marcus Lindemann, allowing the characters to grow with me as they deserved with his fanfic N.I.M.H. – the Final Experiment.)
(I would also like to thank the actor Gérard Depardieu for his entire career. Although he has a special personality and sometimes controversial actions, he's above all a prodigious artist who would have brilliantly encamped the Prince of the Rat Kingdom.)
Prologue
The flames crackled loudly, the black and thick smoke rose to the night sky. Three yards of glowing tree trunks were glowing and kindled the atmosphere. A strong wind fanned the fire more. The cries of hundreds of large mouths rang, clenched fists rose, others brandished weapons.
A huge figure stood before the pyre, and raised with both hands above its head an enormous double-bladed axe. It was bristled with iron heavy armour – actually a collection of bits and pieces of metal parts recovered on multiple battlefields. Its bellicose howling covered those of others.
Targhân Sreefingerz was an Orc. An eight feet tall giant, green-skinned and with a mountain-framed body. Nerved legs and stoned muscles arms confirmed his quality of the strongest Orc of the whole tribe. For the Greenskin people, the strongest was the one who gave orders, and anyone who disagreed with the chief was quickly dismissed or eliminated unless he was even stronger and more aggressive, in which case he took his place at the end of a duel to the death.
Sreefingerz leaded his troops with fool proof authority for four seasons now, and had never lost a battle. His facies was cracked with a long vertical scar. Two brown canines streamed from under his protruding lower lip. His eyebrows almost hid his eyes, but the two red eyeballs shone strong enough to scare anyone crossed the bloody stare of the big Orc.
Yes, Targhân was truly worthy of his status. Even for an Orc, he was exceptionally tall and strong, and brutal, too. His top lieutenants were chiefs of other rival tribes submitted after violent fights. There were even among these two Black Orcs. Black Orcs were even bigger and stronger for a reason that few knew – the most common rumour about this claimed that the first Black Orcs were magically created by the people of Chaos Dwarfs. An ordinary Orc with Black Orcs under his command had the right to boast being a fighter among the most skilled, and having a strength of mind well above average, if not particularly intelligent.
All around him, hundreds of Greenskins chanted two names, "Gork" and "Mork". The first was the Orc god of war, who incarnated all their warrior values. The other passed his magic to the shamans who listened to his messages and returned them to the warriors. Orcs were very superstitious and never lacked respect for their deities. These gave them back well: the more the Orcs were enthusiastic, the more the energy of the Waaagh circulated into them and made them strong and aggressive.
Targhân hit the ground with the butt of his weapon, and raised his right hand to command silence. A minute was required, Orcs were not known to be disciplined.
When he heard nothing but the crackling of the wood fire, the orc leader spoke in a loud voice, in the rough and simple Goblinoid language:
- Boyz! Today, Gork and Mork are proud of you!
Thunderous cheers rang above the field. The great Orc awaited the return of silence before continuing:
- It's time to show to men what we are made of! We are tough, we hit hard, we are the best all over the world, and beyond! Even Chaos goons are afraid of us when we fight because we have Gork and Mork with us!
He gestured, and another Orc went join him. This one seemed older, less mad than any other. He was dressed with a loincloth, wore copper bracelets on his wrists and ankles. A necklace made of vertebrae attached together rattled around his neck. He wore an animal skin cape on his shoulders, and a skull of the same animal served as his helmet. He brandished a staff tipped with a freshly cut head of a wyvern.
The whole assembly stood silent. There was not a single Orc who dared to speak louder than the shaman Wozza the Farsiher. Among Orcs, shamans were the bearers of the voice of the gods, and disrespect them was the worst thing to do for the Greenskins. Even the Black Orcs, even the great Targhân, all the members of the tribe bowed their heads before Wozza.
The old Orc cleared his throat, coughed several times and spat huge phlegm in the crowd. Hit Orcs muttered thanks. Wozza threw his head back and yelled in a voice hoarse by years and mushroom alcohol:
- Boyz, gods are glad of you! You are faithful! You are strong! You are the bests! Gork and Mork watched you this last days and decided it was the right moment to attack!
The cry was repeated: "Attack! Attack!" and Wozza continued:
- Yesterday, I, Wozza the Farsiher, had a vision. I saw Big Rats. Lots of Big Rats. They died all open mouth, crushed under our boots!
- Death to Big Rats! Targhân bellowed while brandishing his axe.
- Death to Big Rats! Death to Big Rats!
- Big Rats weren't dying alone. Men were there, too! Weak Men and Big Rats were fighting together, but no one could take the advantage against us, brave Boyz! In my dream, Orcs slaughtered Men!
- Death to Men! Targhân yet resumed.
- Death to Men! Death to Men!
Once again, Wozza the Farsiher let a few moments, the time to the clamour of weak. Once income silence, the shaman replied calmly:
- Usually, Big Rats and Men fight each other. But those were not. Was something not natural. Gork told me they lived together. Nonsense! But…
Orcs got ready to giggle once more, as Targhân raised his fist.
- Shut up, morons! It's important!
Nobody wanted to have his jaw broken by a punch of the chieftain, so the silence came quickly on the meeting. Wozza growled louder, showing his fangs.
- Big Rats are vicious, coward and traitors! Men are strong. Less than us, but they are strong anyway. Today, the gods Gork and Mork order us to confront both at the same time, United against us! Traitors Big Rats and less strong than us Men... alone, they are easy to defeat, but together is different...
There was some worried grumbling in the ranks. No Orc refused to take part in a good fight. But now, two different armies at the same time, two armies made of opponents who could be dreadful... was there a chance? The shaman stood silent for a few long seconds. His silence worried warriors. Suddenly he burst out:
- Who cares! They come, if they dare! We will demolish their skulls! In my dream, I saw Gork and Mork who smashed our enemies to the ground!
This invective redoubled the ardour of Orcs. Overjoyed, they bawled, sang and cheered. The shaman raised his stick and waved it furiously.
- Continue to believe and pray Gork and Mork, they'll give back to you! Gods will lend us strength to exterminate all people who are not green as we are!
A new clamour answered this curse. Targhân raised his left hand, the reason for his nickname; indeed, there were only three fingers, the annular and little finger missed. It was not a war wound or any mutilation. He was born with this defect, but it had never bothered him. His grip was strong enough to hold the handle of a weapon without letting it slip.
- Boyz, we go to war! cried the leader. Gods want us to fill them with pride, so we'll do it!
- Hooray! the warriors replied. Hooray!
- Men are pink, and soon they will be red! With their own blood!
- Death to Humans! Hooray for Orcs!
- Rodents have to watch out! We will pulp all of them to death!
- Death to Big Rats! Hooray for Orcs!
- Nobody plays with the Waaagh, boyz! We'll turn everyone into powder, because Gork and Mork want to!
- Gork! Mork! Gork! Mork!
Targhân swung his axe above his head, made reels, and a terrible "Waaagh!" came from his throat, immediately accompanied by his warriors. As and when they cried, all felt the energy of the Waaagh invade them, and that caused them to scream even louder. Only the green skin kindred could experience such a feeling. Orcs, Goblins, Hobgoblins, and anything else with green blood in its veins, shared something unique, a violent instinct buried deep into their being, which expected a small excuse to ignite. Also, when the heart of a Goblinoid beat faster under the influence of rage, it was so animated with new energy, running through its body, and prepared it in a nod to battle: its strength were increased tenfold, all fatigue fainted on the spot, it didn't feel any pain, nor any fear. This energy transmitted to other surrounding greenskins, who passed it in turn, and the more numerous the boyz were, the more the Waagh powerful and destructive was.
Targhân Sreefingerz snickered and even once uttered the battle cry of Waaagh. Their gods would be pleased, carnage promised to be terrible!
The corroded bronze bell rang for the thirteenth time. Everyone was silent. The bass sound still sounded above the heads during a long half-minute. Hundreds of eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness of the nave. Round ears pricked, whiskers quivered. A rumour went, some timid whispers were quickly rebuked by indignant yelps.
A foreign eye accustomed to the darkness of the huge low room would undoubtedly have been petrified with fear at this sight. People were standing there, dozens and dozens of individuals, all squatting, sitting on the ground, compressed against each other. All wore filthy rags, stolen clothes, clumsily patched rags, capes with holes. An abominable smell of carrion and excrement hovered over this disgusting pile of flesh, fur and fabrics. All were eagerly awaiting the start of the weekly mass. Eyes were turned toward the back of the room. A large platform made of wooden planks assembled convoluted way, but securely nailed, could be seen. In the middle of the building, there was a cauldron perched on a brass tripod. Finally, while on the back, an impressive statue in the likeness of a fearsome creature with long incisors under its muzzle, and two great pairs of horns stood on its skull and two large pairs of horns on the skull; two horns were straight like those of a goat, the other two twisted themselves such the adornment of a ram.
Finally, two figures tiptoed on the platform, stopped side by side before the altar, facing the great idol. Their face remained hidden, covered with a stylized mask, but other features were visible to the assembly. Visible hair from their coat was white, and horns emerged from behind the masks. These particular signs were revealing: they were blessed by their god, and the community recognized them as chosen ones.
The two masked persons knelt, clasped their hands and bowed their head. They stayed a long time, and the whole room silently prayed with them. Then a heavy step made crack the wood of the platform. Someone was coming, someone was going in front of the community, someone was about to give orders.
The newcomer was a humanoid creature, as big as a huge, stooped-backed Human. An ordinary man, facing this being, would have shuddered with horror and disgust. Indeed, it had specific traits to animals that Humans considered like the last vermin – rats. It wore a studded leather armour boiled with stains. Its sandy coloured coat was peeled in spots, as it had swallowed several severe injuries. A large spear was tied between its shoulders. Some of the rings of its long pink flesh tail were wrapped in fabric cloths soaked in dried blood.
Skaven... the dregs of intelligent species inhabiting the Old World. Accustomed to live in underground tunnels, haunting the deepest sewers of large cities, they fed with garbage left by the inhabitants of the surface. Their society was a reflection of their personality: impulsive, violent, deceitful opportunist. No one knew exactly what their origin was. Some thought they were a people of Beastmen of the same species that had gathered in a unique people. But the few scholars who had discussed at length the subject and knew a little better these beings had theories that were all more or less in the same direction: Skaven were ordinary rats, thousands of years ago, but contact with a substance fallen from the sky had gradually transformed them to become disgusting parodies of smart people. Over the millennia, they had made their way of life more complex, organized in Clans, and even had created a religion, the cult of the Horned Rat. Warpstone, this material consisting of crystallized magic, was the backbone of their society. It was their main source of power, and they used it as money, as fuel, as a component for practicing magic, as hallucinogen drug during the mystical communion sessions, and as a weapon in multiple and formidable variations.
The Skaven who stood on the stage was the Clanlord of this terrier. It had grown and evolved within Clan Moulder. Members of this clan were specialized in the manufacture of monstrous, mindless, but formidable in combat creatures. Warpstone was their main tool. Hence, numerous modifications appeared on its body: metal claws grafted after its phalanges, integrated cutting blades around its tail and an enlarged muzzle that could spot smells with accuracy twice better than an ordinary nose. It threw its head back and let out a shrill chirping. Then it yelped:
- All of you, honourable citizens of the Colony of Ysibos, listen to your Warlord!
- Hooray for Blokfiste! someone squeaked.
A slap noise followed by a groan of pain echoed in the vault. Without noticing it, Warlord Blokfiste of Clan Moulder rose to his full height, to look more impressive as he was already
- I, Blokfiste, announce you great days-victories! The Upper-Empire will shiver in fear before the omnipotence-omnipotence of the Sons of the Horned Rat!
Blokfiste had spoken in queekish, the Skaven language, which made double the important words of a sentence. He reached out to the two masked Skaven.
- I have the great honour-honour to introduce two chosen-ones of the Horned Rat, who will attract good luck and prosperity to our terrier!
The two horned Skaven advanced. Slowly, ceremoniously, they removed their mask. The younger Clanrats pushed admiring squeaks. They had never seen a White Skaven, so seeing two of them at once was a real blessing. Those two seemed relatively young for Grey Seers. They were not older than half a dozen seasons, and didn't wear dross or old injuries yet.
- I am Karhi, solemnly announced the first, the smaller of the two.
- I am Iapoch, chained the second.
Karhi and Iapoch were physically quite dissimilar: Karhi was smaller, rounder, with horns bent backwards, whose points slipped behind the pavilion of each ear. His muzzle was wide and flattened under his red eyes. Iapoch was tall and very thin, with a triangular head, a long, slender nose, a thin vibrant moustache and small black and vicious eyes. He had two long straight horns. He curled his lips into a smile, showing off decayed, but formidable teeth. Indeed, the teeth of a well-fed Skaven could pierce a metal foil such as those used to manufacture armours.
- We had a vision, Sons of the Horned Rat. Karhi and I have seen-seen the same thing!
- This is a sign that the Horned Rat wants us to do it! Karhi exclaimed. We will explain everything to you!
Blokfiste bowed obsequiously, and went down from the platform backwards. He remained behind the scenes to attend the rest of the discourse of the both chosen ones.
Iapoch reached out to his right, and gave a little wave with his hand. There were mocking chuckles as a misshapen figure trudged with difficulty to the two White Skaven. It was a slave, with its left ear cut – every adult Skaven wore a scarifying, proper to its own burrow of birth, on its left ear, and an earless Skaven was considered as a pariah. It was not possible to distinguish anything else because its carcass was completely covered with strips of soiled fabrics, worn patches, leaving appear just its toes, fingers and tail. Its head was wrapped in the same way, with two holes for its eyes, one for the right ear, and an opening for its mouth. It wore a large, rough canvas grains bag, in which it had drilled an opening for the head, and holes in the sides for its arms.
The slave was carrying at arm's length a corroded copper tray on which was laid a long brass pipe and a bowl of green powder. Warpstone powder favoured divination trances. The servant knelt before Iapoch and handed the set before, lowing its head. The White Skaven gently grabbed the pipe, stuffed it with powder, and lit it by holding above the brazier. Karhi flanked a pat on the neck of the slave to intimate it the order to rid the floor.
Iapoch drew a deep breath of toxic smoke. He loudly exhaled a greenish cloud, and handed the pipe to Karhi. The stumpy White Skaven inhaled in turn. A few brief moments were enough for them to reach the trance state.
Karhi raised his muzzle and roared:
- The Horned Rat loves his children, but all the rest must disappear!
- Disappear ... Iapoch repeated softly.
- There are too many men-things on the surface. But we found a place to fight them and crush them.
- Decimate... annihilate... muttered the huge, still dazed White Skaven White.
- In South of the mountains inhabited by dwarf-things, there is a country where men-things are disorganized. It's not like the Empire, where all men-thing cities are governed by the same laws.
- Disorganized... Fight between themselves... weak.
- This is where we begin the great invasion!
Skaven cried in joy, eager for bloodshed. Iapoch lifted a trembling hand.
- The Horned Rat... wants something else.
Everyone was silent.
- He said-told us... in this country... lives... the Blasphemous One.
A concert of indignant grunting sounded. Everyone knew the story of the Blasphemous One. A legend for some, the worst shame of the Horned Rat to others, it left no one indifferent. Iapoch snapped out of his daze, and became mad.
- The Blasphemous One betrayed the word of the Horned Rat! He even… treated men-things as our equals!
The indignation of the crowd was palpable. How could a Skaven fall so down?
- The worst-worst, you know it! Karhi thundered. The Blasphemous One is a... a... White Skaven!
- Filthy traitor! Unworthy son of the Horned Rat! Iapoch stormed.
- The Council of Thirteen, our great masters, are ready to reward the one who will bring them the Blasphemous One. We will! Glory to the Horned Rat!
- Glory to the Horned Rat! the crowd repeated.
- That's why the Horned Rat ordered us to go south! That's why he wants us to attack that country!
- Glory to the Horned Rat!
- Men-things, green-things and all other things will be sacrificed for the glory of the Horned Rat! And above all... traitors-traitors will pay for their cowardice and permanent-constant blasphemy!
- Glory to the Horned Rat!
- When we are ready, we will go up to the surface!
- Glory to the Horned Rat!
- When we go up to the surface, the world will be ours.
- Glory to the Horned Rat!
Karhi's mouth creased into a grin translating incredible cruelty, and he concluded with an invective he wanted more refined. He articulated slowly:
- When the world is ours, the Blasphemous One will die!
- Glory to the Horned Rat! Glory to the Horned Rat!
The refrain was repeated endlessly by the whole congregation for a long minute. Both Grey Seers knelt again before the idol, and embarked in a feverish prayer.
Behind the scenes, the servant completely covered with strips watched the show, its head tilted to the side, while scratching either the different parts of its anatomy. A barking made him start.
- Hey, you, the rotten one!
The servant saw Blokfiste, threatening. Anger musk irritated its nostrils through gossamer and mucus. The Clanlord stepped forward and raised his clawed paws.
- What are you doing here?
- G ... Gozib looks, O mighty-beautiful Lord Blokfiste.
- Who told you that you had the right to look? Only Clanrats and their superiors may assist this ceremony! You think you're at our level? You're a slave without Clan and without rights!
- Gozib knows, O Supreme intellectual and physical superiority! But Gozib loves his master so-so... Wanted just admire him! Pity-pity, show yourself magnanimous.
The miserable creature emitted terrified sobs. This sad spectacle filled the Blokfiste's dry heart with satisfaction.
- You're lucky that I'm generous, otherwise I would have carve you up with my teeth! Now, go away! Your only sight makes me ill-nauseated!
- Many thanks, many thanks! the slave groaned, strongly nodding several times before disappearing.
Blokfiste spat a final insult to properly assert his status. In truth, if he had not executed his threat, it was because the poor thing was Iapoch's favourite toy. Molest him without the direct order of the Grey Seer could put him in a very embarrassing situation. But all he had to do was show a little patience.
The Grey Seers will eventually dissolve their brain with all the warpstone they smoke... I'll so remind them who the boss is! And I'll throw myself this pathetic wretch into a hole!
- Are you sure to be the right person?
The man who had asked the question was tall and richly dressed. A short beard framed his thin face, and his receding hairline skull gleamed in the light of the fireplace. Although aged sixty springs, he had retained much of his force, and some lingering muscles could be seen under the fine fabrics that adorned him. His eagle eyes sparkled with a severe, inquisitive glow. He had the general attitude of a member of the nobility, and the banner with the image of a white horse on the wall behind his chair confirmed that status in the eyes of his interlocutor.
The latter had a well-shaped mouth and white and well-groomed teeth over a thin and beardless chin. It was not possible to distinguish anything of his face, as the hood of his coat was folded over his head. This didn't indispose the man of noble bearing, because he was used to deal with all kinds of partners.
The hooded individual replied without hesitation, in a clear and confident voice:
- Not only I am sure of it, but I can even prove that there is no one but me to do this job.
- Really? In this case, I'm curious to hear your explanation.
The Elf – indeed it was an Elf – smirked and spoke in a clear voice.
"Once upon a time, long ago, in the Kingdom of Bretonnia, a noble lord. He reigned as a unique master in a province of the Duchy of Montfort, where life was not easy every day. Sure, between Greenskins attacks, difficult harvests due to the capricious nature of the land, misery, life wasn't rosy. But the brave peasants made the best of a bad hand, because they knew they could count on their suzerain."
"The lord was not deemed to be good and magnanimous. On the contrary, he was rather severe, and deficiencies in the law were harshly repressed. Fortunately, this severity was tinted with justice. The lord was austere, lived in sobriety, and tried to do his best to set a good example to his vassals. He didn't use his power for selfish goals, and his subjects didn't criticize his way of rule the province. Everyone knew that without this iron fist in a velvet glove, anarchy and chaos would be permanent."
"Only one person, however, used to pay little attention to this austerity. A young hedonist, which allowed to himself many excesses. His life was a permanent debauchery, every time he could he obviously flaunted his wealth, his male and female conquests, and he liked feasting. Worse, he didn't hesitate to mock people of social rank lower to his, even humiliate them. No one dared to say anything, no one dared to defend, for a simple reason: this young man was none other than the son of the lord."
"He was not content to contradict directly the lifestyle of his father, he was abusing his position; he held regular feasts paid with the money of the people, he threw in prison peasants who tried to protest when he came torment them. Of course, the noble lord was ashamed, and regularly threatened to get his child back on the right path, with violence if necessary. But the young man was his only child, his beloved son, his only heir. Weakness? Love? Whatever it was, the suzerain forgave each mistake. And finally, the inevitable happened."
"One day, the young dissolute met the wrong people. Needing any substances prohibited by the laws of many countries, including Bretonnia, he contacted a network of notorious criminals. Thugs, brutes, murderers, some of them were bandits on the run from the Empire. They provided the young man the goods he needed to "spice up" a party with close friends, in exchange for a down payment. The evening was unforgettable; I will pass on the sordid details that are not necessary to develop. But a few days later, when the emissary of the bandits came to claim the rest of the previously agreed amount of money, the young man dismissed him with contempt, arguing that the effect of medications had not been up to his hopes. Of course it was a lie he had already used more than once for not paying a due."
"Unfortunately for the young man, the band wasn't composed with simple lesser bandits, but real ruffians, not at all the type to be daunted by a noble son. Once their messenger had returned without the money, the pundits reacted immediately. They captured the son of the lord, and led him away into one of their secret hideouts. Then began a long and painful ordeal for the young noble, who was abundantly tortured for days by one of the criminals. This criminal in particular was really terrible. Although it was only a few years older than his prisoner, he had already mastered the art of inflicting pain."
"The lord heard of the kidnapping, of course. He sent his militia search his son, but the hiding bandits remained out of his reach. Mercenaries refused to go to his research, not wanting to take the risk of running afoul of the criminal organization, even if the reward offered by the lord was very stimulating. Finally, the lord contacted himself the outlaws, to pay them a ransom. But the leaders didn't want to accept his offer. Their reputation of "ruthless bandits" was not to be blunt. Finally, by order of, the torturer of the young man was designed to return the body of his unfortunate victim to the lord."
"The criminal had come masked, but at the last moment, the suzerain managed to pull off his mask. He failed however to prevent his escape, but the image of his face etched in his mind. Bad luck for the bandit, the lord had a gift for drawing. He hastened to draw a picture including the smallest details of the face of the criminal, picture he hung right in front of his office, to never forget the traits of the man who had taken the life of his child."
The Elf paused. Throughout his explanation, the lord had not said a word, but his skin complexion had become increasingly crimson, his breath most wheezing, and his eyes sparkled now with hate. With a small smirk, the hidden-traits individual resumed his story.
"Time passed. The wife of the lord, too affected by this tragedy, finally died in grief. Gradually, the lord had not any idea in his mind but this one: to find the man that had extinguished the flame of the existence of his son. A few weeks later, the group of bandits was overtaken within the frontiers of the Empire by a detachment of the Reikland Guard. The Bretonnian nobleman moved in person, hoping his son's murderer would remain among the survivors. It was not so. His body was never found. It must be said that the capture of the band had been rough, and explosives had shaken the hideout, crushing some of the goons into pieces. But the lord knew, he felt in the depths of himself, the soul of his son was not in peace. And so the owner of that face, that hated face, was still alive. And the anger of the lord subsided even after twenty years of cursing this day."
"I heard about this story, your lordship. Last year, I was among the guests of one of your hunting parties, without your knowledge – I master the art of disguise. When I asked your cellarer to show me the picture, with your permission, I immediately recognised the face. It turns out that I had the opportunity to meet this individual during my wanderings. Twenty years have passed, but I can assure you he has not changed so much. I spent the following months to track down my target and I finally found it. Without a doubt. I saw the man there. That's your rascal. Immediately, I came back here as quickly as possible to bring you an opportunity to take your revenge."
The lord coughed and leaned over the table. He whispered icily:
- Young man, I'd like to remind you something.
- "Young man"? It is surprising from you, my lord. Appearances say otherwise, but I'm much older than you.
- Whatever! the noble snapped, reluctant to play mind games. Elves are known to mature more slowly than Humans. The proof is here: that remark was childish. That's what I was about to explain to you: I engage dedicated professionals only, not oddballs who behave as spoiled children! Do not make me regret having used your services, or our collaboration could stop on the spot.
The masked man stood silent, then muttered a few seconds later.
- You're right, and I owe you apologies.
- I don't care about your apologies, grumbled the Human, who was not fooled as he detected the lack of sincerity in the apology of the Elf. I have already paid for your testimony, it costed me money enough, for a testimony without proof.
- I do not have so much merit, my lord. The story of your family is not a mystery, it's been twenty years since you're looking for this bandit.
- Don't test my patience! You know the extent of your talent, otherwise you wouldn't be so cheeky! If you had only repeated the official version that I transmit, I would have kicked you away. Solely, you revealed to me a lot of details that you did not need to know.
The Elf was still smiling. Indeed, publicly, the young Ignace de Vaucanson had been captured by a gang of bandits during a walk. No mention of the lethal transaction was included in any official document. Vaucanson continued:
- The fact that you have learned as much about my personal story gives me a rather positive picture of your abilities, but the stakes are too high to be reduced to nothing at the last minute because of your blustering! Twenty years I expect this moment, twenty years! I don't know what it means for an Elf, but for me, it is the third of my existence!
The Elf stopped smiling.
- You don't only want to see this individual die. You want to make him suffer as much as you. He must pay for his crime!
- I say! He must pay, not just for his crime! I've spent twenty years of suffering and regret due to this man. I am indebted to him for the loss of my son and my wife, so the destruction of my family. I want to destroy what is most dear for him! I want his name to be permanently soiled, and associated with the worst disaster! I want everything he has built with his hands, with his sweat and blood, to crumble before him. And mainly, I want him to be perfectly aware of being the only one in charge for everything that will happen to him and his family!
- And that's why you were right to call me, mon sieur. I won't need to multiply disguises. I will be unchanged. He won't be suspicious of me. At worst, he knows me well enough to know that I can have some unusual behaviour from time to time. That's why I am exactly the person for you. I can infiltrate the place without arousing suspicion, and prepare the plan that suits you. You are the employer, so I'll proceed according to your will.
These words calmed the suzerain a little. The masked man took the opportunity to continue:
- The location of your target is outside the Empire and allied countries. Do you realize what it means?
- No matter the distance, I would go to the end of Naggaroth to find this man.
- I don't have any doubt on it, but I was thinking about something else: so much to do, as much you also repay on the material level. He settled in a place where life is good, you could become the local suzerain.
The Human felt his brow crinkle.
- Are you talking about a complete annexation?
- You don't have to exterminate everybody, mon sieur! If you note that your forces are sufficient to overthrow the government, do it. Nothing will change for the inhabitants, anyway, in the province we are talking about, this kind of "handover" is commonplace.
- Yes ... that deserves to be seriously considered. I will be able to do it, and those who have hidden this bandit from the justice of the Lady of the Lake can only blame themselves! They can't be virtuous people anyway!
Vaucanson was now scarlet, and his eyes shone with a disturbing light. His interlocutor raised his hand.
- I wouldn't push you into a conflict that you would not win.
- No, really, this idea is interesting, after all.
- There remains another problem! What if this country declares war to Bretonnia?
- Our army can resist any invader. I shall be the one who will increase the influence of His Majesty Louen Lionheart!
The masked individual didn't know whether he should take the suzerain in admiration or in pity. Did he really think what he was saying? Did he wish to convince himself of those fine words intended to conceal his hunger for revenge? He almost jumped when the grave voice of the Human pulled him from his thoughts.
- Will you tell me where his hiding place is now?
- Of course, my lord.
And the Elf took out from his knapsack a cylindrical case of leather, unpacked a map and unrolled it on the table. The lord creased his forehead.
- Hum... the Renegade Crowns... I thought so. It's a good place to flee, indeed. It's huge.
- Not enough huge for me.
With a precise gesture, the Elf took a little dagger out of his sleeve and stuck it in the map. The Human didn't flinch. He had seen worse. On the other hand, he could not restrain his eyebrow to raise when he saw where the blade had hit.
- What? Here? Are you sure?
- Absolutely sure, milord. I pretended to be a traveller passing through to my little tracking. I have not touched the target, I stayed well away every time, but anyway, thanks to my attire, he would not recognize me if he saw me.
The lord got up and took a few steps into the office. The floor creaked under his boots.
- I heard vaguely about this realm. It's a strange place... The people who live there are unusual.
The masked man smiled again with malice.
- I saw it by myself. And the challenge will be even more interesting.
The noble had the intuition that there was something else. He knew enough psychology of so-called "civilized" peoples of the Empire to detect the smallest details that betrayed emotion. It was obvious that the character he was about to hire didn't do this just for money. He seemed too interested, too accommodating, too ready to accept too many conditions... the mission appeared to be a pretext, a good opportunity to get to the targeted place with a precise justification.
This spy doesn't play all his cards on the table. He's motivated by something in particular. What? Oh, never mind. The most important is the job to be done...
He looked at the dagger. The tip was planted in the "K" of the second word that made up the name of their destination. The map indicated on this spot: "Rat Kingdom".
PART ONE: PATHS OF COHABITATIONChapter 1: End of an adventure
The wind was blowing on the moor, slightly shaking the tree leaves in a soft rustle.
The rain fell the previous night had turned the path muddy, and the convoy was progressing hardly. The horses pulled with all their might, and the riders did their best to prevent their mountings from slipping on loose soil. They were a dozen, men and women, accompanying three carts, one large and two smaller. The largest was in fact a large cage on wheels, and a Halfling held the reins. The second carriage, guided by a Human soldier was simply sheeted. Finally, at the back, another cage, just large enough for a single prisoner, closed the convoy.
Anyone who would have crossed these travellers from away would probably have passed his way with a shrug; these riders were heavily armed bounty hunters mercenaries, apparently, and the large cage contained their prey. But those who saw the prisoners had quickly turned away and had gone their way without daring to look back.
The first chariot contained fifteen ratmen, representatives of the Skaven people. As tall as below-average-sized Humans, some stood on their hind legs, others were sitting in the middle of the cage or pressed against the bars. They all had the attributes of rats: large protruding incisors, vibrant long moustaches, long tail made of flesh rings and claws at the end of each finger and each toe. All were naked, and each had a fur with unique colours and patterns. They remained silent, motionless, and none orientated its gaze to the outside of the cage. The sun, high in the spring sky, warmed their coat, which was not unpleasant.
One of the riders, who rode in the lead, was a woman. She was tall, measuring over six feet, and was also strong and muscular. Her blue eyes and blond very short cut hair presaged northern origins. She wore a simple but practical and comfortable armour. She ran a gloved hand through her hair and sighed in annoyance. Treble squeaks drilled her eardrums for almost an hour. Thinking back to the direction of their journey, her heart sank.
- Why didn't we already stop?
- Because we have to leave this country first. Cheer up, sis', almost there!
The man who spoke was even bigger, and broad-shouldered. We looked very athletic, agile and tough. His strong chin was covered with a thick beard and the same blue eyes that the woman's sparkled under his brown hair. A great strength emanated from him, through this apparent tranquillity. He accelerated his horse, so to trot next to the tall woman who snarled:
- It's becoming so tiring for my ears.
- They're hungry, they're afraid, you can't blame them for that, they're just babies.
- It is against me that I'm upset. I don't like to inflict it to them.
- Don't worry, in a few minutes, we'll be able to feed them and they'll calm down.
- Yeah, Jochen. Sure, Jochen.
- Here, look! We're arriving.
The carts came around a hillside. A little further flowed a river over which a bridge stretched. A wooden tunnel was constructed over the entire length of the bridge, and half-dozen guards were posted at the entrance of the tunnel. Just a few steps to the left stood a barrack. The bridge was the last frontier in this region of the empire, Wissenland. Beyond that arose the Black Mountains, then further to the south, extended the border principalities, also known as the "Renegade Crowns". In this fragmented into numerous kingdoms country, Human laws changed to suit the mood of monarchs.
For now, conveyors had to face for the last time the law of Emperor Karl Franz. The young man who was leading turned to his comrades.
- Well, no reason anything goes not as well as usual, right?
- Above all, don't make the sly devils, added the woman. This is our ultimate output, I don't want the conclusion of this story to be written in red ink.
They were now a few steps of the bridge. One of the guards raised his arm and stepped forward, approaching the convoy.
- Halt!
The carriages stopped in unison. The one who had spoken, probably the highest ranked, according to his ornate breastplate, gestured to the Halfling.
- Who's in charge of this convoy? You are?
- I am! snapped the woman.
She dismounted, imitated by his brother, and told the guard:
- We leave the land of Emperor Karl Franz, and we'll pay the right of way as required.
The high-ranked soldier frowned.
- First time in my life that I see you, yet I have the feeling I know you?
- We pass regularly here. You have already seen us.
· I was assigned to this position two weeks ago. If I had seen a convoy like this, I would have remembered.
The woman felt the guard sinking deeper into his reflection. Finally, he shook his head.
- Wouldn't you have previously lived near Carroburg?
- No, the woman grumbled.
- "No, sergeant", I beg you, corrected one of the soldiers. Sergeant Melk.
- Right, Sergeant Melk. Nedland, would you please give his money to Sergeant Melk?
- With pleasure, Captain! the Halfling replied with a naughty smile.
He rose, lifted the plank on which he was sitting, and took out a purse and threw it to the sergeant. The latter caught it, counted the coins, then looked up.
- You really are a captain? A woman?
- You should get out of your backwater, Sergeant. There are more and more countries where women career in the army, or in a private militia, and that's the way it works for me. Now let us pass, we are in a hurry.
- Sergeant, you saw that? one of the soldiers exclaimed.
Melk walked to the large cage, the one that contained the Skaven. They became more nervous as the Human approached. One of them whistled aggressively through its long incisors. The sergeant's brow wrinkled in perplexed folds.
- What do you do on the road with these creatures?
- Hey, we're paid to bring them back, we do it.
- They are Beastmen. Not immediately eliminate these things can be considered as heresy.
- Beyond this boundary are the Renegade Crowns, where your gods damn emperor has no power, right? retorted the Halfling.
One of the armed men approached his turn to one of the cages with caution. Immediately a Skaven rushed towards him with a shrill roar and stretched its arm between the bars. The man jumped back. Two of his comrades were already brandishing their spears.
- Enough!
The woman grabbed the ratman by its wrist in a net movement, and pulled, which pressed its face on the steel bars. The Skaven moaned in pain.
- Calm down now, you rubbish rat, or I'll rip your fur off hair by hair!
The ratman glared a furious stare, then closed its eyes, stopped fussing and tried to lower its head. The captain released his grip, walked away from the cage, and returned to the sergeant. The Skaven backed in a leap, squatted on the dirty straw of the cage, and stroked its bruised arm with little grieved squeaks.
- Call back your men, Sergeant Melk, and keep them away from these animals. If you do not bother them, they won't bother you. And in answer to your question, we keep them alive because our employer pays more expensive if we bring him back living specimens. Three of them already died during our cross, I'd rather limit the damage.
Melk gazed the young woman askance.
- You're lucky that this is the last frontier of the Empire here, because otherwise I would have executed all of them, bounty or not. And what is that noise? It's definitively unbearable!
The soldier who was attacked by the Skaven was next to the covered wagon. He stuck his head under the cloth and had a little surprised start.
- In the name of Ulric, what the Hell is that?
- Hands off! The young man barked. This is the article with the highest value!
- What? These small horrors?
He lifted the corner of the tarp, revealing the inside of the truck. It contained large metal cylinders, and wicker baskets in which were crammed small naked and blind Skaven. Their small teeth were already sharp, and some had gnawed the wicker. All emitted squeaks and shrill screeching. Melk came and moved back, covering his nose.
- Yuck! What a stink!
Indeed, small Skavens exhaled a strong odour of excrement and gamy meat. The sergeant saw that their pink skin was slimy and stained with dark matter, and preferred not to imagine what it was.
- What you want to do with these vermin?
- We'll raise them so they'll become good little citizens! the Halfling sneered. What do you think we'll do?
- Our employer needs quality food for his kennel, said the young man named Jochen. In fact, the meat of these creatures is a piece of choice for greyhounds. This meat looks a bit tough, with a first glance, but I can guarantee that once boiled, spicy and prepared in the right way, our bloodhounds love it. Of course, we must keep them alive by then, because their flesh is tenderer when we throw them into the pot of boiling water while they are screaming. And it excites dogs.
Jochen stopped talking, but his stare full of sadism was going to petrify Sergeant Melk. The latter noticed out of the corner of his eye something that made him vaguely regain his senses.
- What about that one?
He pointed with his index to the third carriage, the little one with a single cage. One prisoner was sitting inside on a wooden chair. It was tied with shackles on its wrists and ankles. The coat over its naked body was completely white. Its head was locked in a small skull cage. Its face couldn't be seen, masked by a piece of black fabric. However, the sergeant noticed two long straight horns, like those of a goat, the tips slightly bent forward, that exceeded the top of the head of the individual.
The Halfling of the company spat in contempt.
- This one is the most dangerous of the herd. Do not be fooled by appearances. It doesn't look brawny, but it's a real terror. It toasted six guys of mine in a snap.
- You mean it's a wizard?
- Yep, not least!
- Why not kill it immediately if it's dangerous?
- Because it can serve...
The little one did not continue his sentence. Her mouth pursed in a sceptical pout.
- Well, on reflection, it would be better for everyone I tell you nothing.
- Your silence has been bought on this?
- In part, but it is also a precaution.
- Our employer might consider you as embarrassing witnesses, the tall blonde woman intervened. He could pay us to come back and eliminate all of you.
The woman stared at the sergeant with insistence. Melk felt increasingly uncomfortable. He thought quickly. His men were not very numerous, and the mercenary group was well equipped. Would he take the risk of letting potential heretics run away and let them do their schemes before returning to create real problems? Or could his men they stop them and defeat them? Did they have only any chance against them?
The voice of the young man with brown hair pulled him from his thoughts.
- Come on, Sergeant Melk. All we want is to leave the Empire. We won't never come back. No need we spoil more of your time? Or maybe I can help you choose the right decision?
And he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket a purse he threw in his direction. The sergeant caught it up, shook it, and heard a very characteristic tinkle. The purse contained a good amount of gold crowns, much more than the price of passage normally applicable which they had already paid.
Finally, Melk let greed stifle his respect for the law, and considered that beyond the border, things were no more within his jurisdiction.
- All right, go ahead. But if I see you again here, I'll have to deny you access.
- No problem, Sergeant, the woman replied coldly. We'll never return.
She remounted her horse. The Halfling cracked his whip, and the entire convoy advanced again. The three cages crossed the covered bridge and then walked away. Sergeant Melk looked at these strange people disappear beyond a hillock, and sighed with relief. Convinced he did what he had to do, he felt a weight off of his stomach.
- Sergeant... you okay?
- Yes, soldier.
He wanted to show his leadership:
- All of you, listen to me: next time we see this kind of people with this kind of prisoners, bounty or not, we prevent the headquarters. If they want to go out, we retain them. And if they want to go in... we annihilate them. Understood?
The guards approved together, some were still shivering. To ensure the silence of his men, Sergeant Melk concluded:
- We'll share this gold, but the first one who opens his loud mouth on this subject, I eviscerate him myself. Clear?
No one dared say a word. The message was passed.
The improbable caravan continued on its way for two miles. The woman in head cast a glance over his shoulder. As she could not see the bridge, nor the guards, she breathed a sigh of relief. Jochen trotted his horse in order to be at her side.
- Hey, is everything right?
- It was a narrow escape!
- What? Nothing more compared to usual, though?
- Jochen, didn't you recognize the sergeant? He was part of our father's guard!
- No kidding! You sure?
The young woman gave a lightly wry smile.
- I used to watch trainings sometimes in secret, I was curious. I already had vocation. And Melk was the one I liked the most. When I was a child, I considered him a handsome knight worthy of me.
- Your handsome knight would have been able to recognize you, understood the Halfling. You look like much to your mother! And you, Jochen, I haven't known your father, but from what I hear, you start to look like him, too!
- He joined our ancestors six years ago, and considering how the domain ended, I think all the survivors of that night preferred to forget, Nedland.
- Yeah. Whatever...
One of the tail riders trotted had his mount to the level of Halfling.
- Hey, Ned! We're completely out of their sight, and they don't follow us.
- They're too stupid to ask more questions and abandon their posts, said the Halfling with a shrug.
Marjan Gottlieb raised her hand and gestured to her right.
- Let's install the bivouac fifty yards away of the trail.
The carriages left the dirt road to sink into the plain. A few long minutes went by. The young woman stopped the convoy with a wave. She asked the Halfling named Nedland:
- You see someone?
Nedland grabbed out of a holster attached to the wooden seat a telescope. He climbed nimbly on the cage, and looked around for a moment.
- No one anywhere. Way's clear!
Marjan dismounted, and stood before the large cage.
- Come on. Relax, boys.
In an instant, all the faces lightened up. Some Skaven laughed, particularly the smallest, a young anthracite-coated Skaven.
- How foolish Imperials!
- You said it!
- Still you didn't were so proud before them!
- Come on, Fritz has done very well, said the brown Skaven who assaulted the soldier. It was his first mission, don't forget it.
While speaking, he cleared with his foot the straw in a corner of the large cage, and discovered a trap door, which he opened with a snap. Skaven emerged from their prison, one after the other, sliding smoothly. Once outside, they twitched and deeply inspired.
- I'm a bit cold, Fritz moaned to the attention of brown Skaven, his arms crossed over his chest.
- Wait a second. Guys?
Jochen and Nedland lifted down the second carriage a large chest. The Halfling opened it, and pulled out clothes. He distributed them to the ratmen, which got dressed, not without relieved satisfaction.
Skaven living in the depths of the Under-Empire used to care of their clothes, often their only possession, and the element representing their status. The Skaven of the convoy had learned the habit of stay dressed in public, but for different reasons. While their fur covered their bodies in order to hide their intimacy while protecting them from cold, only they had adopted the Human decency. As they also liked to wear nice clothes, everyone was satisfied.
Marjan Gottlieb approached the brown Skaven who was adjusting his jacket and patted his arm amicably.
- Not too ached, Kit?
- No, I'm fine. At the same time, I looked for it.
"Kit" was the diminutive for "Kristofferson". Kristofferson was a Skaven entered walk-in adulthood. He came to the world six years ago, for the Children of the Horned Rat who grew old about three times faster than Humans, so this represented eighteen springs. Firmly on his two feet, he was about the size of an ordinary Human. His stature was average, but two years of training in the barracks had sculpted his body; strong muscles rolled under his brown coat, and he walked with a certain grace. Copper highlights gleamed here and there on his fur and a long black line sprang on his neck and followed his spine to his lower back, at the base of his long, made of flesh pink rings tail.
He had the face of a rat, but clean and harmonious, without being disgusting. His eyes were bright green, his muzzle fine, and thick tufts of hair on his cheeks made him side whiskers that made his look friendlier. His incisors were spotless and well-maintained.
This gentleman was naturally prepossessing, and applied to follow the code of honour of the knights of the legends that had enchanted his childhood. He knew how the Old World was corrupt from all sides, and wanted to do everything to maintain the few sparks of hope of the most optimistic people. Humble, respectful, courteous, he nevertheless knew how to be ruthless against a dangerous opponent, and was able to wield any weapon, with preference for rapier – he particularly liked the fight combining agility, speed, accuracy and elegance, and rarely encumbered with heavy armour. Finally, another special sign characterized him: he was left-handed.
Jochen and Marjan Gottlieb had seen him grow up. Now he was about the same age, considering the physiological and psychological point of view, all three had become the best friends for life. Marjan, who was not one to let anyone show any familiarity vis-à-vis of her, didn't push him away when he came between her and her brother, and put an arm around the shoulder of each of them, clenching against him.
- Ah, the thrill of adventure! Apprehension facing the danger! Action, fighting for a just cause! I feel I'll miss all of this!
- I don't, retorted Marjan. And your mother either, I bet. It lasts for two years and you don't have enough yet?
- If I could, I would go back again, and again!
- Really, it's time to find you a wife, Jochen mocked.
- And say goodbye to my freedom? Come on, brother, you're not thinking!
- Love can be a very pleasant prison, Fritz intervened.
Kristofferson loosened his grip, and approached the small anthracite Skaven.
- So this is it? You'll pronounce your proposal?
- Yes. As I participated in at least one expedition, it will prove to him that I am a man, a real one!
- You didn't need that to seduce her, you know.
- It was important to me, Nedland. And now that there is no more risk not coming back for me, it's good! I'll kneel in front of Martha, and tell her:
The young Skaven put one knee, to strengthen the weight of words, and declared emphatically, hand on heart, the other stretched forward:
- "Martha Spiegel, I love you! Will you marry me?"
The whole company applauded. Jochen laughed.
- Sure, there are less pleasant ways to be trapped in a cage!
- Speaking of cage... Jochen, can you pass me the keys?
- Nedland has, sis'.
The Halfling, who had heard the conversation, took a few steps towards the third cart, the one with a small cage.
- Don't move, I take care of the looniest of our birds!
And he jumped on the carriage and hastened to open the cage. He unlocked the bracelets that bounded the hands and feet of the prisoner. Once freed of these hindering, the one got up and removed the tissue that hid his view. Nedland helped the white ratman to set his feet on solid ground.
- Wait, said the little man, still manipulating the locks of the box.
A few clicks later, the small cage opened. Nedland withdrew it, and revealed the face of the real head of the convoy. He quipped with exaggerated solemnity:
- You are now in the open, Monsignor Prospero Steiner.
Prospero Steiner was a citizen of the Principality of Vereinbarung. He was the intellectual, the head of all the cases that involved magic. For six years he was implicated with all his soul in the regency of this principality located in the Renegade Crowns, with his friends and his girlfriend's father.
"Prospero", however, was not his birth name. He had adopted it to definitively conform himself with Human customs. No one would have been fooled, seeing him, because he was not Human. It was not possible to confuse him with a citizen of the Old World Empire.
Prospero Steiner was a White Skaven, and his closest friends and family members used to call him Psody.
For Skaven society, Psody was at the top of the pyramid. His all white fur and horns represented the greatest blessing, the mark of the chosen ones of the Horned Rat, the god of ratmen. He was born with this privilege, and magic flew in his veins as naturally as his blood.
Psody measured four and a half feet tall, not counting his horns, straight like those of a goat, long about twenty inches. He was the oldest of all ratmen of the group, and had celebrated his eleventh anniversary some time before. Smaller than the average Skaven, he was nonetheless in good health. Some silver tufts of his white coat gleamed in the sun, his pink eyes above his wide and flat nose sparkled with life. The outdoor life, impeccable hygiene and special care in his appearance made him a remarkable White Skaven. He was smart, charismatic, and did his best to be in harmony with those he loved.
But it had not always been so.
Psody was once a Grey Seer, one of the recognized priests of the Horned Rat. And ratmen who preached this religion in the Under-Empire where Skaven holed were generally deceitful, manipulative, arrogant and violent individuals. He spent the first four years of his life in the burrow of Brissuc, a Skaven settlement located somewhere in the Reikland, the province of the Empire where the capital of Humans was located, Altdorf. Youngest of a sibling of six brothers, he had done everything to satisfy his master, mentor and adoptive father, Grey Seer Vellux.
Everything had flipped as he had started receiving messages from the Horned Rat. He had developed an insatiable curiosity and had asked more and more questions about the teachings of the tutelary deity of the Skaven that Vellux had transmitted him. Anxious to see his young disciple risk of escaping his control, Vellux ordered his discreet execution. Thus Psody had been left for dead in a swamp. His life would probably have done so without the right care of a witch living in places that had saved his life.
It was for the young White Skaven the beginning of a long quest full of pitfalls, in which he sought a sense to the visions of the Horned Rat, and a place somewhere in the world to do his life. He met many people and made such friends as unlikely as himself, including the prior Romulus, priest of the goddess of compassion Shallya, and especially the merchant Ludwig Steiner, Human passionate by Skaven to the point of having adopted one of them, he had baptized Heike, and raised her as his own daughter.
This meeting upset completely Psody's life. He understood what true happiness looked like. An expedition organized by the trader deep into the jungle of Lustria allowed him to discover the meaning of the visions that haunted him, and on his return, he faced his former master and defeated him, after a long and bloody battle.
The Battle of Gottliebschloss was a tragedy in which many valuable people lost their lives. Once over, the survivors decided to leave the Empire, become too dangerous for them, to settle in a province purchased by Steiner years earlier. This province, located in the Renegade Crowns, southeast of the Empire, thus became Psody's new home.
When he arrived with his girlfriend and Human companions, the little ratman had found a desolate territory, with a mansion in ruins. Everyone worked hard to make it the capital of this brand new kingdom. It had taken nearly a year to build a decent city, with solid fortifications and comfortable homes. While the labourers had worked so, a mercenary company led by Captain Hallbjörn Ludviksson of Norsca had chased the Orc tribes settled here and there, and had trained able citizens to fight, before returning North. Meanwhile, other Humans had heard of this new kingdom, and saw an opportunity to lead a good life. Many left when they learned the true purpose of the Kingdom of Vereinbarung.
This official name, meaning "concord" in ancient Reikspiel, was the ultimate goal of its leaders: to create a kingdom where Humans and Skaven could live in harmony, and thus elevate ratmen as the fifth race qualified "civilized" after Humans, Elves, Dwarves and Halflings.
This project was a crazy, insane, moonstruck bet. Any institution in charge of laws in one or other of the countries of the Empire, or the Dwarf strongholds, any king of the distant island of Ulthuan, home of the Elves, would have considered this plan as a vile heresy, something that had to be quickly suffocated. The vast majority of people from all nations regarded Skaven as vulgar Beastman, good for nothing but to be slaughtered. The few scholars who know their manners knew they were more advanced, and therefore more dangerous. The Sons of the Horned Rat constituted a particularly unhealthy society based on violence, fear, betrayal and ongoing aggression.
But Ludwig Steiner had realized a Skaven might behave as well as a Human, if raised as such. And his contact with Psody allowed him to understand that even Skaven destined to become the leaders, I addition the vilest, could change. This is why he had decided to create a kingdom where Skaven could live and prosper in harmony. And once the first cities built, the capital well protected and laws clearly defined (on the model of the laws of the Karl Franz Empire), the inhabitants had begun the second step: populating.
At first there was only one pair of Skaven. Of course, it was hardly conceivable for them to populate a whole kingdom. Also, Psody, Romulus and Prince Steiner had organized expeditions across the Old World. First, the scouts spotted small Skaven colonies; they were less populated and less protected than large under-cities such as Sub-Altdorf or Hellpit. Second, Harvesters, men of arms specially trained in discreet undercover operations, made a breakthrough after sabotaged strategic points, and rushed to the incubators, dens where young Skaven were stored. The Sons of the Horned Rat put their young in nurseries before fully integrating them into their society. The Harvesters priority took the youngest babies away, and tried to recover as many females as males. With Skaven, the girls were a minority and therefore more valuable. Prior Romulus had estimated there had to be a good balance for gender equality, and demographics; a too small proportion of girls to boys could be detrimental.
Psody had participated in each expedition, and had developed a bold scheme to the smallest colonies where his name had remained unknown and unheard. As he was a White Skaven very familiar with the customs of this people, he could easily impersonate a Grey Seer on the move. All he had to do was pretend to have a mandate from the Council of Thirteen and enter, identify the place, and go. The Harvesters team intervened the next day. To make the task easier, Psody sometimes managed to weaken the Skaven by pushing them to a party in honour of the Horned Rat. He brought a liquor barrel so-called "stolen from the men-things" whose content was drugged. The strongest and most dangerous Skaven were the first to drink. The Harvesters therefore only had to deal with the sickliest that had been left out of the banquet, before getting their hands on the new-borns.
Each expedition asked a learned preparation, upstream and downstream, so there were only four or five each year, some focused on a medium-sized terrier, others divided between two or three isolated colonies. One shipment was made in a larger colony, the Harvesters took advantage of a moment of weakness among residents for a more daring operation.
Over the years, Psody and his friends had gathered several hundred babies. Each had been adopted by a couple of Human volunteers who had taken in charge their education. The first months were the most difficult because Skaven babies didn't behave in the same way that Human children. All the priestesses of Shallya, under the responsibility of Romulus, were solicited from all sides. Fortunately, patience and love overcame the instinctive fear. Soon, the first small adopted Skaven became more sociable, and they managed to speak Reikspiel, the language of Humans. Small special schools we improvised to accustom young Skaven to life in common. This first generation was called "Generation of Freed ones". Each group of small Skaven removed from a burrow was formally incorporated, including the company was trying to bring back to the fold.
The people of Vereinbarung didn't make the distinction between Humans and Skaven. The usual term was "citizen" or title of the person. However, the Prince's advisers had suggested finding a way to distinguish them from the remained "traditionalists" Skaven. Thus it was in the habit of calling the inhabitants of the Under-Empire "Feral Skaven". The place itself was now known as the "Rat Kingdom".
During those years, however, Psody had wanted to spend time with his companion-girl Heike. Both Skaven adopted by the prince loved dearly, and were a happy couple. And things had not dragged. Four months after their installation in Vereinbarung, their first child arrived. They had called him Kristofferson, in memory of Prince Ludwig's missing son. Twins, a brother and a sister, came the next year, and then a third boy, and finally the youngest daughter.
Psody adored his five children with all his strength, and was ready to do anything for any of them. He had not been able to educate them as much as he liked, but had done his best. He never had been negligent. His long absences had not always been easy, because the distance with his family weighed upon him. But now it was over. There wouldn't be another expedition. He was therefore fully able to take care of his family, while managing the affairs related to magic. No more risk-taking, nor painful moments when he had to bear the grief of Heike who feared not to see him back.
Indeed, he had travelled so far, on long way, since his departure from the Brissuc terrier. Psody Steiner was a great hero for some, the worst sacrilege to others.
He turned to the young Human, and gave him a wink.
- I congratulate you, Jochen! Your composure facing the Imperial is admirable-admirable!
Although he learned to speak the language of Humans, Psody had always kept the little repeat tic own to Queekish language. He didn't want to minimize the efforts of others.
- Otherwise, I really want to thank you all for what you have done for us. Especially you, Fritz. It was your first outing, you were afraid, and yet you didn't waver.
- Master Mage, I... thank you, but how you... how could you know I was scared? You couldn't see me?
- I couldn't, but I could smell you. I learned to sharpen my senses with Warp energy-magic, and I could distinguish your scent over others. And it is that smell that oozes-sweat yet from your musk glands.
Fritz looked down. Psody amicably patted his back.
- Don't let embarrassment overwhelm this fear. Frankly, you don't have to be ashamed, you were fine. Your future wife will be flattered to have a husband like you.
Another Skaven approached. He handed the White Skaven clothes of soft and comfortable fabrics.
- Here, Father.
- Thank you, Siggy.
The Human captain gave a little tender smile on hearing this exchange. It was fun to see two diametrically opposed Skaven yet be related by blood. Indeed, Siggy – his real name was Sigmund Steiner – also had a particular sign Skaven. An exceptional heritage flowed in the blood of some of the representatives of this people: the gift of the Mighty of the Horned Rat.
Each Skaven generation had its share of Black Skaven. They were easily recognizable: sturdy and much larger than average, all had fur as black as night. The more muscular of them could deploy an incredible strength, much powerful than that of a Human. All were also stronger, and could endure otherwise fatal injuries. In some of them, however, that power was accompanied by a readiness to overreact and put themselves in a state of rage difficult to control. The Sons of the Horned Rat frantically called this "Black Hunger". Black Hunger was both a strength and a weakness for Black Skaven.
Sigmund was one of them. Five years old, his height upped to six feet and two inches for one hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and nerves. He was very tall, but he was slim, his limbs seemed thinner, but still able to deploy an often impressive strength. He knew that Black Hunger was curved in the deepest corner of his body, and only allowed it to let loose in case of emergency. Black Hunger made no difference between friend and foe. In addition, once the destructive fever subsided, the Black Skaven suffered a violent backlash that reduced him to helplessness for the next few hours. Psody had even heard that some Mighty Ones had died like that, their heart literally exploded.
The most surprising thing about Sigmund was his voice: it was very soft, and when he spoke normally, it was hard to believe that such a reassuring tone could come out of that oak-tree-robust chest. Conversely, when he led his men into battle, his voice became more frightening and stronger than a troll roar. As with some Skaven, his face was not entirely covered with hair; his chin and muzzle, broad and flat like his father's, were naturally glabrous. Usually, he was careful never to loosen his jaws, because his Black Skaven teeth was more disturbing to the eye than those of an ordinary Skaven. His two long, razor-sharp incisors protruded from his upper lips by a few inches.
Under this appearance of formidable fighter, Sigmund was nevertheless a very sensible person. He was well aware of his strengths and weaknesses, and sometimes it undermined his morale. Fortunately, his parents and his friends knew how to comfort him. He participated in "harvests" for two years, and still had trouble getting used to the plight of Skaven babies.
All Skaven were now dressed again. Jochen fumbled in the second carriage, and came out a collection of swords, axes and war hammers. Soon, each retrieved his personal weapon. Fritz Hafner, the smallest Skaven of the expedition, asked:
- Was all that necessary? On the coming, we crossed the border in secret, without going through the guardhouse. Why not have done the same in the other direction?
- Because the pups trolley wouldn't have crossed the river by another mean than the bridge. And the waters are too deep and too turbulent for us to dare to cross to swim with babies on our back.
- And... one truck wouldn't have be sufficient? Adult Skaven could have crossed the river on their side?
Sigmund wrinkled his nose.
- To let our Human friends between the spears and the guns of the guards?
- They might have been less nervous without our presence.
- Not sure, Psody replied. And with "prisoners", it was more credible. The bigger it is, the better it passes.
- What if they had become aggressive?
- We could have defended ourselves.
- Even you, locked up and tied in your cage?
- I wasn't gagged. As long as I can talk, I can use magic. I could have used it against them.
- There were still great risks.
- You're right, but remember this well, Fritz Hafner: I refuse-refuse to let my children take those risks without me, and that is the same for you, too.
Fritz nodded. This was exactly why each inhabitant of the Rat Kingdom regarded Psody as a true hero.
- Come on, little ones have waited long enough. Gunther, Marjan, Hans, Kit, Siggy, Michael, Kerstin and Ingrid, feed them. Nedland, light a fire for milk. The other ones, up the tents. The night will soon-soon fall.