Chapter 41
We ventured deeper and deeper into the tunnels sprawling beneath Nuln. They were almost more impressive than the city itself—twisting subterranean passages where both relatively clean waters and foul-smelling sludge flowed. Frequently, I had to move hunched over, barely keeping pace with the four assassins.
The human henchman of the ratmen soon departed, leaving me alone with the scurrying, jostling Skaven who argued amongst themselves in barely audible whispers. As a parting gift, the surface spy of the Under-Empire handed me a lantern with cracked and heavily smeared glass. Its dim light allowed me to navigate the gloom of the sewer tunnels.
The lead assassin would occasionally freeze, stretching upward on his hind legs as far as he could. Then the others would fall silent and cease all movement as well. For several seconds, the squad leader would sniff the sewer stench before pointing toward one of the tunnels.
— Over there! Quick-quick!
And once again, we would hurry into the stinking dark. Honestly, after the aromas of Tamurkhan's horde, the local bouquet didn't impress me much.
On the whole, the journey through the sewers passed uneventfully. Only once did we have to engage in a fight, though it was more of a slaughter.
The head rat stopped at a fork and, grabbing my sleeve, began to whisper rapidly.
— Greenskins ahead. Going around is long-tiresome. Go to them, man-thing. They will attack-attack, and then we will spring out. Cunning-clever plan.
I didn't mind slicing up a few Goblins at all. Shifting the lantern to my left hand, I drew my sword with my right.
I moved forward, entering the mouth of a narrow, dilapidated tunnel that reeked of rot and dampness. The Greenskins were already there. Through the oppressive silence of the underground, I could make out faint whispering and the sound of shifting feet.
They were lying in wait for me around the bend. Trying to set an ambush, the stupid runts. It wasn't that I didn't respect Goblins. I respected them quite a bit, especially with a good side dish. It was just that during my stay in this wondrous world, I had managed to knock heads with the Greenskin elite—Night Goblins and wolf-riding packs of Hobgoblins. Those could be difficult. However, I doubted the sewer-dwellers of Nuln would be able to surprise me.
I reached the turn and took a single step around it. The lantern scattered the darkness, revealing a pathetic gang of small Goblins. More brown than green, they were smeared in excrement from their feet to the tips of their long ears. Instead of robes, they wore nothing but rags. Instead of proper weapons, they carried short spears with stone tips, cobblestones, and rusty shivs.
Stepping around the corner, I immediately recoiled, letting the Goblins rush past.
— Forwards, Dung-stirrers! — a squeaky battle cry rang out.
A fitting name for a clan or gang. Self-aware, even.
Failing to pounce on me from ambush, the Goblins exposed their flank, and I took advantage, slashing the nearest one across the neck. A screech erupted. The Goblins were momentarily dazed, stumbling into one another. I managed to land another blow and began to retreat.
The squealing, howling gang followed at my heels. About a dozen Greenskins desperately wanted to feast on my flesh, yet were simultaneously terrified of getting hurt. They pushed forward slowly, bumping into each other and trying to shove the smallest ones toward me.
I fell back successfully, landing strikes. I think I could have exterminated these dung-stirrers alone, especially since the narrowness of the tunnel prevented them from attacking all at once. However, there was no need for heroics. As soon as I reached a wider section of the tunnel, stones and throwing knives flew into the Goblins from the darkness. The Skaven didn't use their poisoned shurikens against the Greenskins, saving them for more dangerous foes.
The projectiles sowed panic among the Greenskins, and then the Skaven themselves leapt out. Wielding long, curved knives in both paws, the ratmen descended upon the refuse-goblins. It was all over in about three seconds. The Skaven immediately began to gnaw on the freshly killed or still dying Goblins, but the head rat soon interrupted his comrades' feast.
— No time to gnaw-devour. We go. Quick-quick!
Destroying the Goblins allowed me to accumulate one segment of the blood chalice. I consumed it, noticeably improving my well-being and finally clearing the lingering effects of the blow to the head Waldemar's henchmen had gifted me.
We encountered no more dangers on our path, or perhaps the assassins bypassed them. We descended lower and lower. Eventually, we left the actual Nuln sewers—built long ago by Dwarfs—and moved into natural caverns carved by underground waters, and then into Skaven burrows. Narrow, filthy, and reeking of rat-scent.
We first encountered several patrols of Clanrats in red-and-black gear, with whom the assassins noisily traded insults. The sight was, frankly, hilarious.
— Who goes-crawls here?! — one of the local warriors asked as menacingly as possible. — Clan Scab is here, yes-yes!
— Go-crawl away yourself! Clan Eshin does-works what the Council needs!
Following these declarations, the assassins started jumping around and showing off, demonstrating specialized combat maneuvers. One pulled out miniature spiked nunchaku, another a kusarigama. The show impressed the Clanrats. Despite their numerical advantage, they huddled together, while the assassins conversely operated while maintaining distance from one another.
The Clanrats retreated, and we continued our journey. Further on, in increasingly filthy tunnels, we came across lines of Skaven slaves. Thin, pathetic creatures with festering eyes. The assassins unceremoniously shoved them aside, lashed them with tails, and frightened them with piercing, agonizing shrieks.
The deeper into the woods, the more the trees—or in this case, the deeper into the tunnels, the more the rats.
The caverns grew wider, resembling streets rather than mere tunnels. A twitchy, scurrying stream of Skaven bustled back and forth through them. Mostly slaves, but also larger, sturdier taskmasters, Clanrats, and even Engineers. I constantly felt the gaze of dozens, sometimes hundreds of rat-eyes upon me—curious, malicious, hungry, frightened, or all these simple emotions at once.
— Man-thing... man-thing... — they whispered around me, unaware that I understood their tongue.
From some side corridors, the sound of metal striking stone could be heard. Likely, slaves were expanding the Under-Empire. From others, the roar of certain beasts and monsters. From a third set, thick steam from exquisite Skaven cuisine wafted out. They were probably boiling or stewing something for the Stormvermin; those needed to be well-fed.
From cavern to cavern, tunnel to tunnel. I tried to memorize the way, but the Skaven subterranean city was vast. Eventually, we emerged into a massive cavern serving as a marketplace.
Stalls, cages, pens with slaves and beasts. Rat-life was bustling here. Thousands of relatively well-equipped Skaven crowded, jostled, haggled, and, of course, squeaked in a multitude of voices. The square was bisected by an underground river clogged with rafts made of poor-quality wood. Trade was being conducted on those as well.
As we made our way into the heart of the square, I observed one of the rafts becoming overloaded with tailed customers and capsizing. A literal explosion of squeaking accompanied the event. The ratmen in the water shrieked, while those watching from the banks squeaked maliciously. Some of the Skaven trying to swim to safety were quietly shanked underwater by others trying to save themselves.
The assassins led me through the squealing crowd, where someone was constantly trying to lift my dagger or purse.
— Fresh man-thing? For sale? How much-much? — inquired a fat merchant as we squeezed past his stall.
He reached toward me with a paw unusually long for a Skaven, trying either to pinch my arm or assess the state of my musculature.
— Not for trade! — an assassin barked at him. — Paws off! Seer Gottri's beast-pet!
The merchant retreated with a grumble.
We reached a certain—Lord help me—building, if one could call this mountain of junk built into a cavern niche a building. Rotten wood, rusty metal, various ropes, and slave-driven wheels powering primitive lifts. The structure was impressive for two reasons: its imposing size and the fact that it somehow hadn't collapsed yet given that level of construction technology.
We entered, passing a guard of Stormvermin.
Holy hell, a lightbulb! — I thought, spotting a green lamp clearly powered by warpstone.
This thing actually vaguely resembled a normal chandelier from my home world, albeit green and looking like it had spent several years in a landfill.
We stopped at heavy doors guarded by four Stormvermin with halberds.
— Seer Gottri? — the lead assassin asked.
— Inside, — the Stormvermin replied. — Only man-thing enters. Give-surrender all weapons.
I didn't like that very much, but now was not the time to start trouble. If Gottri had decided to take me to Skavenblight for experiments, it would be better to escape on the way there. Right now, there was too much vermin around.
I surrendered my sword, dagger, and even the pair of trophy pistols I had taken from Waldemar's henchmen.
The Stormvermin let me in and immediately closed the doors behind me. Ahead was a crooked, short corridor, and beyond it, a spacious hall.
What did Gottri want with me? Revenge? I doubted it. Our acquaintance had certainly started off poorly for the Seer, but it had ended in his favor. I was sure he had a mountain of more pressing vendettas against other Skaven. He had sent an entire squad of Eshin for me; that must be very expensive by Skaven standards. Fine. Why speculate? I'd find out everything myself now.
I entered the hall, immediately spotting Gottri seated upon a semblance of a throne. The Skaven Seer had changed since our last meeting. He had grown fat. Moreover, this weight gain had occurred quite unevenly. Gottri's limbs and snout remained as scrawny as ever, but his belly had rounded out noticeably.
The rat sat on the throne, surrounded by filthy cushions of various colors, likely stolen from wealthy homes in Nuln. The tip of his tail rested on its own little cushion. Beside the throne stood a pedestal with a tray holding a massive bowl filled with the wonders of Skaven cuisine. A total Ratatouille.
There were blackened eggs, pig ears, chicken feet, and Sigmar only knows what other filth. Everything was generously drizzled with a foul sauce that smelled strongly of sour milk. Mmm, delicious. Gottri lazily dipped a paw in, grabbed something, and scoffed it down.
— Come-approach, Jurgen-thing, — the Seer invited with a commanding gesture.
Hmph. He was alone in the hall. Perhaps guards were hiding somewhere, but even so, I could take him hostage if necessary. A good setup. I approached and bowed slightly.
— Last time you adequately performed my clever-genius plan. Managed to punish-chastise traitors. Take-seize valuable warpstone from their paws. Now you must-shall do no worse.
For a few seconds, I legitimately froze. My mind tried to reconcile Gottri's words with what was in my memory. Nothing matched. In reality, Magg, Erik, and I had literally forced Gottri to help us after killing his guards. Then I let the rat go, purely so he would start infighting with his own kind. Now it turned out we had been acting according to Gottri's clever-genius plan...
What the hell?
However, I soon realized what was happening. Memory replacement. A Skaven's ego is so bloated that Gottri had reimagined those events for himself. Creatures from the surface couldn't possibly have cornered a great Grey Seer! Of course, it had been his own plan—or at the very least, the favor of the Horned Rat.
Well, wonderful. So the rat viewed me not as an enemy, but as his agent from the surface.
— What is it that the greatest of Grey Seers wants-desires? — I asked in an oily tone.
— You, Jurgen-thing, will perform a task-errand for me, — the rat pointed at me with a food-stained paw. — Come closer.
This was truly amusing. Did he really not remember how he failed to kill me with magic? Quite possibly. That memory simply didn't fit into his worldview. Therefore, Gottri had no issue letting an extremely dangerous human get close. I could easily snap his neck right now. Even the warpstone-encrusted dagger the Seer kept on him wouldn't help a bit.
— Closer still... — Gottri beckoned, dropping to a half-whisper. — A big problem-calamity, my faithful man-thing. A pack of northern beasts has hobbled in from somewhere.
Hmph. Are the Skaven planning to fight the northern invaders too? It seemed logical. They live under Nuln, feed on its waste, and kidnap its residents. If Tamurkhan turned Nuln into scorched ruins, the Skaven would lose their food source.
It sounded logical, but everything turned out to be far more... rat-like.
— And these foul-nasty northern beasts... — Gottri whispered and simultaneously hissed with indignation. — These stupid-pathetic savages... they... — the Grey Seer was clearly overflowing with resentment. — They dared to conspire-whisper with Pestilens! With the stinky Pestilens! Do you know who that is, Jurgen-thing? Of course you don't.
— Oh, tell me then, wisest of Grey Seers...
— Wisest? Yes-yes. So... — Gottri clearly lost his train of thought, sniffing his nose. — Clan Pestilens! They do not revere the Horned Rat! — Gottri declared, raising a clawed finger as if I gave a damn about rat religious squabbles. — They interpret the covenants wrongly-incorrectly! And now they have conspired with Chaos beasts. Those promised them a magic-wonderful warp-thing! It is I who should get the big warp-thing! The Horned Rat granted us warpstone. I, Gottri, am her chosen! Warp-things must be given to me!
The Grey Seer was working himself into a real frenzy. Green lightning flickered from his eyes, and his fur stood on end.
Hmph...
So, someone from Tamurkhan's army was trying to strike a deal with a Clan Pestilens cell beneath Nuln. This boded nothing good for the city. Pestilens were adepts of Plague magic. They glorified the Horned Rat as a patron deity of diseases. Perhaps the Nurgle-worshippers wanted their help to start an epidemic in the city or some other foul sabotage.
— Of course, all warp-things should belong to you, O mighty Seer.
— Yes-yes. I would go and punish-chastise those stinkers, but the Council forbids fighting for now. You will find man-things on the surface and lure-lead them to the meeting place. There, kill-slay the Pestilens stinkers. Bring the warp-thing to me! Then you will receive a generous-useful reward.
— It shall be done, O cleverest of the Horned Rat's children. Just tell me where to find the stinkers and their accomplices.
— Yes-yes. Now... — Gottri snapped his clawed fingers, and a rusty bell clanged on one of the hall walls.
The sound immediately drew about six various Skaven: Stormvermin, Engineers, ordinary servants. Seeing how many had run in, Gottri rose slightly on his cushions and shrieked.
— Everyone out! You, Lark, stay. Lark, — Gottri introduced, pointing at a mid-sized rat warrior. — Tell-narrate everything that Lark overheard.
— Of course, O most powerful of Grey Seers, — Lark said, groveling in a bow.
I had perfectly guessed and replicated the Skaven manner of communicating with superiors. It wasn't hard, and Lark continued.
— In the woods north of the man-thing city. By the old stones. There they will meet-sniff tomorrow night. Pestilens and Chaos beasts. Lark heard-learned it all himself.
— Good, Lark. Do you know anything about those the Pestilens stinkers are supposed to meet? — I inquired.
The Skaven looked questioningly at the Seer, who said:
— Answer him. Quick-quick.
— I do not know those Chaos beasts, — Lark stated. — Not man-things. Not as ugly. They wear iron-bits. They are tailed and strong. They have one eye, and the head-boss among them is a mighty sorcerer.
Hmph... that sounded like a description of Fimir. An ancient race of Chaos servants, squads of which Tamurkhan had brought from the North. I remembered the battle for Pfeildorf. The blade made of mist that struck the griffon under Olger Hoch. Could it be them?!
— How many one-eyed beasts will come?
— Lark does not know, — the Skaven squeaked. — There will be a sorcerer. He will certainly come-crawl.
So that was it. Splendid. If Gottri had ordered me to leave a pile on Karl-Franz's doorstep, I would have agreed to that too, naturally. I had to get out of here somehow. I just wouldn't have actually done it. But here, the rat, quite unintentionally, was revealing a planned Chaos operation to me. Excellent.
— Ready to perform the will of the mighty-great Gottri, — I reported. — Let the Stormvermin return my weapons, and I can depart for the surface.
— Good-good, — the ratman nodded. — Go-hurry, Jurgen-thing.
Surprisingly, my weapons were indeed returned to me intact. Perhaps they just weren't very impressive by Skaven standards, or maybe fear of the Grey Seer played its part.
Soon, a small squad of Stormvermin led me to the sewers and handed me over to the cataract-eyed spy, who was waiting accompanied by two other suspicious individuals.
— May the blessing of the Horned One shadow you, brother, — the spy greeted.
You're no brother of mine, you parasite, — I smirked mentally, while speaking quite amiably with the cultists aloud.
On the way to the surface, I learned they called themselves the Cult of the Yellow Claw. Skaven agents recruited from among beggars, thieves, and other dregs of society. They imagined themselves chosen carriers of secret knowledge. The cultists expected that one day their tailed masters would burst from the earth and sweep away the human society they so hated. And the former dregs would become the police under the new rulers. Idiots. The Skaven have plenty of their own dregs. If the rats seized the surface, they wouldn't need any agents. At best, the cultists faced the fate of slaves who got beaten slightly less than the rest.
However, the cultists proved useful to me personally. With their help, I emerged from the sewers near the city hall. Literally ten seconds later, Liandra appeared before us. The Elf's eyes gleamed wildly. She likely already thought she had lost me and her chance at redemption before her people.
— Gil, you... — she began, her hand on her sword.
— It's fine. Come. We need to talk.
Parting ways with the Yellow Claw cultists without issue, I addressed the Elf in her tongue.
— Soon we shall deal the enemy a crushing blow even before the battle for the city begins. We're going to Rudolf Hoch immediately. I know how to avenge his uncle.