“Skeever…you crazy son of a bitch. Literally.”
Marcus looked down at the destruction being wrought on the battlefield of Razork’s field for the second time. This time, however, the devastation of Skegga’s forces would be decisive.
This is your Ardennes Offensive, old toad, Marcus had thought as he watched the army approach. You might think this looks like a show of power. But it’s nothing more than a desperate, last-ditch attempt to both subdue your enemies and galvanize your followers’ faith in you at the same time.
When Dwarves had struck true, Marcus had heaved a sigh of hope for his own desperate strategy. Then, when he saw Skeever’s spear pierce the old toad’s stomach, sending a geyser of ooze spewing out into his honor guard, Marcus knew the pivotal moment in their plan had come.
“RETREAT!” Boss Skegga wailed – a bleeding God crying out for a savior.
“It transpires as you say, Shai-Alud,” Deekius said beside him on the battlements of Spearclaw fort. “For there is only being one true God that rules this Underkingdom. And you are being his Champion.”
Marcus grimaced at his High Priest’s increasing confidence. He was probably the only one who’d always believed in him no matter what. Ironically, it's that same belief that Marcus had weaponized and used as a tool of control. But he didn’t have to control Deekius. Deekius had been his from the moment the little rat had summoned him into this world.
Both man and rat watched as the Kobold flanks completely folded against the pressure from their sides and the desperate order of their commander. The Spinerippers turned into them as Marcus had instructed them to, and Marcus gave the signal for the last of their Glitterpak fleet to be released from Spearclaw’s depths.
Just as they floated high above the fort’s battlements, becoming lost in the haze of their own gaseous smog, a familiar face arrived at the gates of the fort. A small, red, hoofed Kobold who commanded his Spineripper with the expertise of a practiced rider.
“Ix!” Marcus shouted down at the new arrival. “You are, as usual, exactly where you need to be at exactly the right time.”
“Praise be-be to Shai-Alud,” the Kobold shouted back. “And to He-He who Festers.”
Deekius cringed at the double pronunciation. His action provoked, even amidst the chaos of the field before them, a restrained chuckle from Marcus.
“Are you ready to show the Underkingdom who its true God is, Archpriest?”
Deekius looked up at his Lord through his ragged hood and twitched his mouth into a smile.
“I was being born for this, Sire,” he said. “Are you being ready to show this soon-to-be dying God that the Shai-Alud is being alive and well?”
Marcus laughed again as he and the priest hopped aboard Ix’s trained Spineripper, and the little beast started to lead them toward the dark edges of the battlefield.
“I’d like to say I was born for this too, Deekius. But the truth is, just like Ix here, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
…
Commander Corvaughn of House Darragut surveyed the retreating Kobold army from his vantage pointed near the entrance of the Eastern Tunnels, a grim grin of satisfaction stretched across his bearded face.
“Heh!” he huffed, commanding his gunners to reposition themselves and hold fire until their latest smoke-charges had cleared. “You gotta admit the furry sons-of-bitches got some fire in ‘em. Never knew they had much of a mind fer strategy.”
The Dwarves manning their arquebus looked behind them at their Lord and commander, furry eyebrows raised in question.
“Don’t be worrying lads,” Corvaughn added. “We’re still gonnae shoot them in their furry red arseholes. But you’ve gotta appreciate a good opponent when ye see one, men. That’s a lesson House Darragut was built upon!”
He held up his gauntleted fist and indicated the exposed flank of the ratman calvalry units as they slowly but surely pushed the retreating Kobolds into the canyons beyond the battlefield.
“Looks like we came here at the right time ta strike a blow at the scum of our Kingdom!” he roared, his Thunderers raising their warhammers high and punctuating his cry with beats of their fists against their iron-armored chests. “The rats thought they were clever little shits, using us ta take a dig at their enemy. Little do they know we don’t forget. We men of the stone don’t ever let a single campaign against our people slide. Mess with a man of the stone, and don’t be surprised when the whole ceiling of yer home crumbled down upon ye!”
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His men roared their assent as the ratman cavalry continued their bloody push, edging the diminishing horde of Kobolds into the chokepoint between the two great canyons that were once lined with Dwarven insignia – statues and checkpoints that would have indicated to any man of Stone that the city of Grindelfecht was nearby, and would offer shelter to even the smallest man. Thinking of these little beasties fighting within its bowels turned Corvaughn’s stomach until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Close ranks, bring those guns up!” he shouted. “I see rats over there. AND I DON’T WANT TO!”
The gunners fingered the triggers of their weapons, aiming down their sights with the trained eyes of Darragut’s famed snipers, and readied themselves for another earth-shattering volley that would win them this day.
“Commander!” a gunner shouted back before the first shots ever wrung out. “We’ve got incoming creatures above!”
Corvaughn glanced up at the cloud of black smoke that was slowly, with deliberation, moving towards their position at the tunnels. Here and there between the wisps of the cloud, Corvaughn could see the telltale signs of beings that looked like pufferfish sailing down towards them.
He narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the spiky pores that lined their circular bodies and wondering at where he’d seen such creatures before. He couldn’t help but shake the feeling of utmost familiarity permeating his mind – of trips he’d once taken to Gulchnavel where his Uncle had pointed out very similar creatures and told him a joke he had found very funny at the time.
What was the joke?
“They come, Commander!” another gunner shouted. “Permission to engage?”
The arquebus were raised. The men were ready. The bloodlust that ran their Dwarven blood was bubbling in the wake of victory and spurned on by their commander’s flawless track record. They would deal with this incursion, take back Gulchnavel, and then head East again to slaughter the rats of Marrow.
Their commander, however, was so preoccupied with his memory that he merely grunted in blaze affirmation.
And that single mistake – just that tiny vocalization that would have meant nothing in any other circumstance – was what would earn him the title of House Darrugut’s greatest disgrace.
For when the bulbous beings came so close that he could have touched their hideous, twisted face, he remembered what his Uncle had told him about the strange orb-creatures of the North.
“No!” he managed to shout just as the first shot rang out in the dark. “WAIT!”
His voice was swallowed by the hellstorm that erupted in the second the gunpowder discharge from the Dwarves guns made contact with the volatile chemical concoction belched by the Glitterpaks. As the battle before them raged on, the dwarven gunline disappeared in fire and rubble from the stalactites hanging above their position.
For Commander Corvaughn, the chance for glory disappeared along with them.
…
“REREAT! RETREAT!”
“B-but Boss-Boss, what about the cannon-“
“LEAVE THEM! Out of my way, vermin!”
Skegga inched his throne into the great canyons the heretics dubbed ‘Razor Ridge’, his army fighting back against the advancing ratman cavalry as they inched back to the safety of their walls.
“Boss-Boss!” one of his Yip honor guards yelped. “Let us help help yo-“
“DO NOT DARE TO TOUCH ME!” the toad bellowed, picking up the Yip with his bloody claw and dashing his brains against the canyon wall. “KEEP MOVING!”
He removed the spear from his body with a groan of pain and stared at his own purple blood spewing out of his belly. He stared at it even as his army was pushed into the canyons, squeezing what remained of their forces into the narrow stretch that would take them home.
Skegga no longer looked at the front of his horde – at the Kobolds dying line after line in the face of the monstrous beasts the ratmen had tamed. Instead, he focused on what lay behind, on his twin forts and the gleaming golden towers of Grindlefecht in the far distance. If he could make it back to those walls he could set up a defence. The rats had been smart – but they were still nothing but pests. The Dwarves had just been slain by the last of their miserable little bomb-bugs. They wouldn’t be able to use them again.
“THROW YOURSELVES BEFORE ME, MY CHILDREN!” Skegga howled, his croaking voice echoing down the length of the red canyon. “YOU SHALL BE YOUR LORD’S SHIELD!”
The rats surged forward. The rat who had maimed him came at their head, leading them further and further into the ranks of the Yips, smearing the canyon with their innards.
They still have nothing! Skegga told himself. They are nothing. They…they had luck on their side. They have only little tricks that cannot be repeated. I’ll…I’ll get more Kobolds. I’ll ask Silas what is to be done. Yes. Yes – clever Silas shall know. Without their Shai-Alud, these creatures are nothing. Without their precious savior, they have no chance against us! They…they have…
They have…
“B…Boss-boss!”
His Yip honor guard had made the same discovery he had in that moment. As the army edged towards the end of the canyon, the eyes of both armies flew skyward to see two figures that had just appeared on the lip of the East canyon wall.
Two shapes – one rat, covered in a filthy, flowing robe, holding aloft a fly-covered staff.
The one that stood beside him…
It can’t be…
…it bore the form of a human who was about to give his final command.
###
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