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 – 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.

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But one rat remained – 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 – a cobweb filled house. Judging by the lack of décor 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 – a feminine voice

“Leave him where he sits,” another replied – 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 – 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 – 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 – 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 – 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?

###

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