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 –"

"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 – 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 – 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 – 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."

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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 – 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 – that didn't seem like something the rats did to seal a deal – 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.

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