"All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty"

-George S Patton

"Be silent, ratguard!" Skeever murmured in a whisper still loud enough to carry through the ranks of his men. "Movement is being ahead."

Marcus watched the rats hunker down and train their eyes on the approaching shadows that had begun to run up the sides of the tunnel. Deekius' Glow Glob dimmed behind him, and the ratman priest stuttered an apology as the light faded away, leaving Marcus practically blinded.

Then he saw them approach like dark stalkers in the night: a set of eight symmetrical eyes glowing with an evil green fire, attached to long, lithe arachnid bodies, each of their four legs ending in serrated pincers that gleamed against the inky black of the tunnel.

"Skeever," Marcus murmured. "What are they?"

"Rothkazuul," the Talon-Commander replied. "Gutmulchers. Perhaps you are being able to know why they have this name, Sire?"

"I can take a few guesses."

Marcus watched the creatures make their slow, methodical creep towards their new prey. Three of them – judging by the numbers of eyes blinking in the dark. Marcus would've ordered the rats into a defensive formation, but he doubted how effective it would be given the circumstances. These creatures looked like they'd crawled out of a nightmare. He had no reference point for their speed or ferocity. But from the thin threads of spittle that dripped from their maws, he could hazard a guess.

"Ratguard," Skeever said. "Hold firm."

Marcus could feel the ranks collapsing in the face of the beasts. The ability to demoralize an enemy could be the greatest force multiplier in a commander's arsenal. Under the gaze of the arachnids, it seemed it was Deekius who held the group together, uttering prayers of loathsome diseases and maggots that would infest the brave soldiers who stood against the enemies of He-Who-Festers. And, incredibly, these chants seemed to be working.

Well, working on everyone except Marcus, who was too busy trying to pick out the key features of the crawling night stalkers so he could sketch them later. If they surviv-

The leader at the head of the brood leapt.

"Brace!" Skeever called out. "Protect the Shai-Alud!"

Marcus felt it slam into the ground before them and tear a crater deep into the earth, throwing the lines instantly into disarray. Like an artillery bombardment it then let out a shrill scream that laid the rats low, forcing them to hurl their spears at its thrashing form. Marcus looked up, seeing the wreaths of spittle and blood flying from the things mouth and noticed with horror that it had snatched up two of the front guard already, crunching them within its elongated jaw.

"Strike the legs, warriors of Red-Eye!" Skeever yelled over the paralyzing screech of the monster. "Bring it down!"

His voice carried. The soldiers surged forward, breaking ranks and stabbing at the Gutmulcher's pincer-legs before it jumped with incredible height and attached itself to the tunnel ceiling, sending a hail of bloody rat limbs down on the whole force.

"Don't let it get away!" Skeever yelled. "Be aiming your spears well!"

No…Marcus thought. The thing could have killed at least three more and run back off to its lair. The reason it's sitting up there…

His suspicions were confirmed with sudden another rush of energy to his right.

…is because it's a distraction.

He caught the flashing crimson eyes of another Gutmulcher just as it pierced the earth beneath his feet, and he collapsed beneath its weight. With his bare hands he clamped down on the things gnashing mouth and felt the being's acid spittle tear at his robe as it drizzled down upon his flailing body.

All around him he could hear the disarming screeches of the beasts as the other two converged on the ratmen guard, and even Skeever's voice became lost amid the cacophony of infernal shrieks.

Marcus looked into the symmetrical eyes of the evil beast and knew his arms were giving up. The thing's teeth edged ever closer to his chest, where his unseated heart knocked with frenzied rhythm against his ribs…

SCREEE!

An impact. A feeling of force beating against the Gutmulcher's side, and the sight of its eight eyes going wide as a green puff of smoke enveloped the left of the thing's face.

It's cousins quickly followed – each one being shot with a series of small pellets that exploded on impact, creating a greenish haze that seemed to strike terror into the nightmare stalkers.

"A miracle of the Great Unclean One!" Deekius roared as the troops began to rally. "Into them!"

Marcus saw the beasts sway and stammer around like drunkards, their eyes glazed over and hazy from whatever weapon had just been employed against them. It took barely any effort at all for the ratguard's spears to slice clean through their legs and cut them apart once their bulbous torsos fell to the floor of the cave.

But Marcus wasn't interested in the sight of the plumb-purple viscera that spewed from the beasts, or their cries of pain as the ratmen impaled them. Instead, he walked over to the dying form of the Gutmulcher that had pinned him, and picked up a broken object that had smashed into the creature's side.

It was none other than a simple grey pellet, probably launched, Marcus guessed, from a slingshot belonging to the Kobolds they had dealt with earlier.

And as he made the realization, his eyes slowly turned towards the back of the ratman ranks to see their six remaining Kobold prisoners bowing in reverence, slingshots still in their impish hands.

Marcus dropped the pellet suddenly and staggered over to the creatures as the last of the arachnid menace rattled off their death throes behind him.

"You – you helped me?"

"DOWN, BEASTIE! BE GETTING DOWN!"

Before any of the Kobolds could respond, the bloody Claw-Leader known as Redwhiskers cracked one of them in his jaw with the butt of his spear. "You dare to address the Shai-Alud!? You are being no better than dirt!"

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Marcus pressed forward. "Actually, I was addressing them."

The rat balked, aiming the tip of his crimson-soaked speartip at one of the shaking prisoners now groveling at his feet.

"These are being less than animals, Sire! No better than dung beneath paw! Not even being useful like dung!"

"And yet," Marcus interrupted massively. "It seems that they just saved my life."

Redwhiskers sputtered slamming his spear into the ground in fury.

"They meant to attack you, Sire! They are stealing the weapons we conf-con- confiscated from them! We should be putting them to death! We should –"

"Is that how you speak to your Shai-Alud?" Marcus asked, standing above the ratman with authority, thinking that it was about time he project some discipline into this bloodthirsty little creature.

"I – I – You do not understand, Sire! You are not being one of us. No good Kobold. None! Only meat. Only good for meat on their bones!"

By this point the argument had drawn a crowd, and the ratguard who had finished mopping up the remains of the Gutmulchers turned their attention towards Redwhiskers, who began to crumble under their gazes.

He feels his men begin to doubt him, Marcus thought. Good. That shows they don't think me an outsider. But it also shows there may be more like this one. This situation will have to be handled delicately.

Even a single weak soldier could spell disaster for even the strongest fighting force. When it came to leadership of a military cohort, no matter how small, doubt was a disease that if left unchecked could spread and corrupt the entire fighting force.

"Redwhiskers!" Skeever yelped from behind. "You dare defy Sire Marcis?"

If the little brute had seemed like he was on the brink of cracking before, the voice of his unwavering commander, coupled with the sight of him slathered in Gutmulcher blood and ichor, made him crumble.

"I – forgive me!" the insolent rat said. "It is having been long, long campaign."

"Much longer campaigns are to be coming, pustule!" Skeever raged.

Marcus, however, did not show annoyance. Instead, he stepped past the shaking Redwhiskers and stood before the bowed Kobold prisoners.

The rats around them drew their hip-blades, but the creatures made didn't move a single muscle.

"You saved my life," Marcus said to the one at their head, presumably their leader. "And took a chance in re-equipping yourself with your weapons to do so. Why?"

At a nod from their leader, the prisoners all threw down their slings and pellets.

"We is useful, Boss, yes-yes?" the head prisoner said. "Our balls have stinky poison that kill-kill the Gut-Munch."

Marcus raised his eyebrows, looking down at the pilfered pellets. So each of them really did contain a substance that was toxic to the creatures. Possibly a liquid that diffused on impact, rendering the creatures confused and utterly immobile.

"Bah!" Redwhiskers screeched. "Kobold trickery!"

"Perhaps so," Marcus replied cooly. "But trickery that has allowed them to survive in these tunnels. Trickery that has clearly allowed them to pass through your kingdom in greater numbers than it seems you can. Trickery," Marcus said with a smirk. "That has saved your furry behind."

Redwhiskers clenched his jaw, but a single look from Skeever stopped any more words from spilling out.

"This is being fascinating," Deekius said, coming to examine the pellets. "A weapon against the Gutmulchers…we have always searched for a secret like this."

Marcus rolled one ball between his thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me your name, Kobold," he said.

The leader of the prisoners jumped at his command. "Ix, Sire. I am Ix."

"Well, Ix, you have served us well today. For that, I will make you an offer as the leader of this detachment. Join us and provide ranged support with your men, and we will spare your lives."

Skeever nudged Marcus' arm. "Sire," he whispered. "I am being all for recruiting more men, but can we really trust-"

"I'll trust those that put their lives on the line for me," Marcus broke in, getting sick of these petty, impractical squabbles. "Well, Ix?"

The little guy double blinked, surprised, it seemed, to be given a choice in the matter.

He looked to his friends, and then to the torn limbs of the rest of his squad that remained in the ratmen's supply carriage behind. The answer, to him, was so obvious that he didn't understand why Marcus simply conscripted him forcefully.

"Yes-yes, Shai-Alud!" he cried, bowing low and kissing the ground beneath Marcus' feet. "We Bullet-Yips of Grindlefecht are yours. Yours-yours! Thank you! Thank -!"

"Don't thank me too much," Marcus chuckled, making sure those wary ratmen around him heard this part of his recruitment clearly. "You will have the dangerous jobs of both opening our assaults covering our retreats. Failure," he said with a touch of humor. "Is not an option."

He smiled thinly to himself as the rats murmured some impressed whispers to each other. He'd always wanted to use that line.

"You will be in charge of them," he told the disbelieving Redwhiskers, who stuttered like a lunatic but, again, said nothing. "See that they are given their fair share of our rations. Guard them as they have guarded me. Do this and you will win my favor."

Marcus tried to read the thoughts implicit in the young rat's stare, but he quickly bowed his head and started skittering away.

"It will be done, Sire."

With that, the column moved on – with Skeever barking orders to move swiftly as the stench of Gutmulcher blood attracted more of their kind. Marcus lingered only for a moment, catching the sight of barely suppressed fury in Redwhiskers' eyes before the Claw-Leader urged his men to follow their Commander.

Fury, he thought. With a touch of ambition behind it…I'll need to watch that one.