Marcus resisted the urge to administer another headbutt to the assassin-hit squad as the second youngest of the team – the one that seemed more attached to the elder Yokun than Marcus's captor - pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and heaved him over to the doorway.

"Any openings?"

"None yet, Sister," the wounded snake-fiend replied, her coiled tongue flicking out viciously as she watched with unblinking eyes the corridor of stone hovels that filled the residential district. They'd have to cut through another four blocks at least before they made it to the cover of Fleapit's Iron forges. But, Marcus had to concur with the wisdom of the eldest among them – if they managed to get there, they'd be home free.

And he'd be meat for this 'Pale – Matriarch' these serpentine ladies served was.

"There is no order to these blasted rats," the assassin watching the door hissed. "But…I can see a way forward. Beyond the two huts that flank us is a tunnel that descends down into the earth and seems to emerge five Kilometers East just before the entrance to the foundry. It seems entirely unguarded – mostly infants play around its lip."

Marcus's eyes bulged as he realized what they were talking about – one of Fleapit's aptly named 'Festering Fountains' which served the purely decorative function one would expect any simple water-fountain in a city would serve.

The only difference here was, of course, it was filled with rat-shit.

"Easy pickings, then," the grey-scaled elder murmured.

He strained against his bounds and tried to scream at them that – though he'd endured much in these Warrens – he was not about to trudge through five kilometers of shit and piss with them.

"It seems the Shai-Alud does not find our course of action to his liking," the Yokun holding him hissed in his ear. "Matron, is there no way I can take but a bite of this one before we move on? It has been some time since I have tasted human – and definitely not one from that allegedly comes to us from beyond the bounds of our world."

Marcus recoiled as he felt the lithe tongue of the she-demon slather itself across his cheek, licking the sweat that was falling from his brow.

"Patience," the elderly one – 'Matron' – hissed back. "The Shai-Alud belongs to the Pale Matriarch. Remember that."

Marcus was glad for the old one's wisdom, and intervention. The hungry snakeling backed off, pouted, and then joined the other two by the side of the door.

"We must fly, Sisters" the door-watcher said. "This most recent guard patrol barks that each house will be searched beginning with the first row of each block."

"Then we take our chances," the Matron said. "We are already behind schedule as it is. The toad's army moves out in five hours. We must be gone by then."

Toad's…army…

…Skegga…they are coming…

"Hey!" came the shout of Redwhiskers as he threw aside a wooden crate and stomped over to the doorway to confront the three Yokun. "You are not being good listeners, are you, snake-wenches! I am telling you you must escort me to Clan Marrow headquarters and be giving me my fair share of your Yokun gold!"

The Matron whirred on him, cupping her scaly hand over his mouth before he even had a chance to draw his weapon.

"Be silent!" she hissed in his face. "Does your kind not understand when circumstances must change? You brought us false intel. You told us the Gloomraav would die as any ratman would. You did not tell us of their protective incantations that almost cost us our lives."

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The rat raged under the Yokun's claws, tearing them away and spitting in the serpent's face.

"I am not knowing your kind are so unskilled!" he roared. "Or that you are being so dishonorable in the face of one who is giving you what your precious servants could not!"

The Matron leaned back, straightened up.

"Is that so?" she whispered.

Marcus saw it then – the almost imperceptible nod she made to the hungry sister who began stepping, with unhindered grace, around to the back of the room.

Redwhiskers, meanwhile, saw nothing but his own crimson-rage.

"It will be taking one shout from me," he snarled. "Just one to make your little plan fall to pieces! Do not be crossing me! At least be giving me a piece of this filthy human."

The ratman's mad eyes flew to Marcus, and the latter saw the hungering snake-woman drew her wakizashi slowly from the scabbard at her hip.

"Sisters!" the doorguard hissed. "They are coming."

"Out of the question," the Matron told Redwhiskers, slowly drawing out the syllables of each word. "You know our offer, vermin. We offer you free passage to the surface with us. It will not be an easy life for you, but it will be better than bearing the mark of a traitor among your kind. Take it or leave it."

The rat's snarl of hatred was so profound that it genuinely shocked Marcus. He could only dimly recall their dispute in the tunnel leading to Knifegut back when he'd first appeared in this dismal realm. He'd done little more than corrected the ratman's hatred of the kobold prisoners.

But he was starting to realize just how much pride these creatures attached to their prejudice.

"Soap-sucking, surface slithering snake-bitches…" the rat murmured, staring down his two opponents and entirely forgetting about the third one creeping around at his back

Then, hearing the guards approach from the outside, he opened his mouth to botch the whole operation…

…and the blade of the Yokun who had crept up behind him pierced right through the back of his throat and was twisted before he could utter a single word.

Marcus staggered back against the wall of the hovel as he watched the rat lieutenant simply fall limp and bleed out on the ground, his little limbs twitching with the death throes of a slain animal.

His eyes were still brimming with pure, raw, passionate hatred. Hatred directly up at the last sight he saw in this world: the human who had come to be his 'savior'.

You really hated me, didn't you? Marcus found himself asking those bulging, bloody eyes as he slumped to the floor. Then again, you aren't the only one nowadays. Not by a long shot…

He didn't even notice the snake-assassin withdraw the blade almost as quickly as she had whipped it out and, without even bothering to clean the dirty blood of the rat from its edge, took Marcus by the shoulder and pushed him forward to the door.

"Don't weigh us down, human," she told his unblinking eyes. "Make no mistake, if you try any tricks again, we might have to tell the Matriarch that you suffered an unfortunate 'accident' on the road…"

Marcus gave her a silent nod in response, even as his mind raced with questions he needed answers to: Were these women really allied with Skegga? If so, why had they only come now? How long had they been plotting this? And why did they need him alive?

"How many smoke-bombs have you got, Sister?" the Yokun then asked the wounded door-guard.

The snake who had first abducted Marcus turned and licked her slitted lips, showing that the smiles of these creatures were just as terrifying as their blank, cold battle-stares.

"Enough, Matriarch willing."

A nod from the other two. "Alright," the grey Matron said. "We move out. Keep him close and keep him awake – don't let them think he's dead. He's our best ticket out if the Will of the Matriarch is not with us."

"Matron," the doorguard said, clawing at her open shoulder wound. "If we should fail –"

"We are Yokun," the Matron replied, cutting off the younger snake and laying an affirmative claw on her neck. "We are Sisters of the House of Whispers. We are the women who walk in the night. The claw that grips the knife that stabs. We do not fail."

If Marcus's soul wasn't already filled with abject terror, it certainly was now.

…but he also had to admit that another part of his brain was filled with wonder at these three, taking on the entire city by themselves, skulking through shadows to accomplish their goal, and clearly honor-bound to deliver him to their leader.

It was just a shame that he'd have to see them all dead before this night was over.

And, with utterly no idea of the thoughts running through their prisoner's head, the Sisters each gave a single nod before smashing the smoke-bomb just outside the entrance and flying from the hovel, taking Marcus with them into the dark.

They raced past the squad of confused ratguards, licking at their elbow joints with their swords as they went, disabling them all in one fell swoop of death that carried Marcus inexorably towards the shit-tunnel that gave them free passage to the industrial sector, leaving a trail of screaming civilians in their wake.

Soap, Marcus begged. My kingdom…for soap.

He held his breath as they all dove in.

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