Chapter 44
Consume, I commanded mentally, feeling the contents of the Blood Vessel dissolve into my body, fortifying it.
I felt excellent. My mood was even better. The stench around me, however, was absolute filth. I stood in the woods over the dead body of a Skaven Plague Priest. With a movement of my foot as careful as I could manage, I tried to hook a large warp-thing out from under his robes. The very artifact we had fought for today.
The warp-thing was a hideous statuette of a horned daemon. A heavy, pot-bellied idol made of green Chaos mineral, its base etched with sorcerous sigils. I brought my hand close to it, feeling heat and a tingling sensation in my fingers. Scores of tiny flies, having crawled out of the Plague Priest's corpse, began to swarm around the artifact. They formed a ring but did not touch it, resembling pilgrims offering prayers at the statue of a deity.
Should I give this thing to Gottri? Deciding whether I could hand a magical toy to a magic rat, I chose to consult the magic toad.
— How dangerous is this artifact? What is it actually capable of?
— Show it to me from different angles, but it would be wise not to let your flesh touch it.
Once again, I had to use the toe of my boot, flipping the daemon statuette over and scattering the ring of flies around it.
— This rune appears to be an analogue of the symbol of Dual Concentration... deviation three degrees. Such crude craftsmanship. The artifact is undoubtedly dangerous, especially for weak-willed warm-bloods. The runes amplify the mutagenic properties of the warpstone, forcing it to affect microscopic organisms effectively. You warm-bloods are likely unaware of the origin of diseases from extremely small, invisible to the eye...
— I am well aware of that, — I interrupted the arrogant toad. — Microbes, viruses, fungi. They taught me the basics back in school. In short, this thing is a portable plague generator.
Indeed. Better not to give this to Gottri. He might start an epidemic in the city, intentionally or otherwise. On the other hand, if I kept it, I could expect another visit from Eshin assassins, and they would be unlikely to help me next time. I reflected for a few seconds before a compromise occurred to me. But first, I needed to consult Lhom-Pya.
— Listen, can this thing be broken? Can we strip it of its additional magical effect and turn it into just a plain chunk of warpstone?
— Naturally. Though our capacity to influence the Winds of Magic is limited, destruction is always simpler than creation. Draw your enchanted dagger and mar the runes.
I spent the next few minutes chipping away fragments of the warpstone. It seemed to work. I no longer felt heat radiating from the statuette. It even seemed the glow had lost its intensity.
Cutting a piece of cloth from my fraying shirt, I wrapped the artifact and trudged back toward the hill. The battle there had already concluded. Men covered in their own and others' blood walked among the fallen Chaos beasts. Magg was arguing with one of the knights over the fate of the Fimir carcasses.
— Take everything else, but we need the heads as proof of victory! — the knight protested hoarsely.
— Heads must be eaten too, — Gutrum insisted. — Brains! Mmm... delicious. And look at those big eyes!
I noticed one of the mercenaries starting to decapitate the dead Skaven as well. This was a bad idea. We could end up with trouble from Witch Hunters and Clan Eshin simultaneously.
— Wait! — I shouted loudly, drawing the attention of those gathered. — You planning on bringing that filth into the city?
— So what? — the Tilean shrugged. — Might be a bounty for them.
— Not a bounty, a beating, — I countered. — Look at their sores! Look at the pus! These creatures carry the plague!
Some of the men were spooked by my claims, but von Bickenstad's mercenaries looked at me with open skepticism.
— And are you an expert on contagion, lad? A doctor, perhaps?
— Do as he says, — Rudolf ordered, but the mercenaries even questioned his authority.
Then Jeremiah von Bickenstad himself addressed them.
— Do not risk your lives or ours, gentlemen. There is no reward for these creatures. They are merely spawn of Chaos. Soon a whole horde of various freaks and mutants will be upon us.
— Ignacio, Blas, and Ricardo are dead. Four more are wounded. Compensation is required, Senor Jeremiah.
— It shall be provided! — the playwright assured them fervently. — Every drop of brave blood shall be paid for in gold.
The unit had taken losses, but those close to me—or rather, the non-humans—were unharmed. Magg, Erik, and Liandra were perfectly fine. As for the fallen men, their sacrifice would save many lives. Even attacking a loose formation with magic, the Fimir sorcerer had managed to inflict serious casualties. A single precise hit of a spectral blade on a dense infantry block could have finished dozens and crippled hundreds in a matter of seconds.
It had not been in vain.
In the end, the Skaven corpses were piled with wood and set ablaze, while the Fimirs were decapitated. Magg took two heads for himself. The rest would serve as proof of our martial feat.
Closer to morning, we began our trek back to the city. A mounted patrol spotted us along the way, and we had to spend another twenty minutes recounting our adventures to them. Jeremiah von Bickenstad was particularly eloquent. His anxieties had vanished, replaced by the thrill of new impressions.
He approached me regularly, splashing out his emotions once more.
— Incredible! Simply incredible! A true feat, if I may say so. Soon you and I must sit down, uncork a bottle of fine Bretonnian wine, and commit to paper at least a portion of all the incredible adventures that have befallen you.
I responded sluggishly to his fountains of eloquence. I wanted to wash, change my clothes, and eat. The magical vigor was slowly fading, along with my night vision.
After parting ways with the playwright, we reached the camp without trouble. Liandra seemed to be acting as usual. She was not throwing angry glances my way. No negative consequences of the kiss were observed. Well and good, but I should wait for a better moment before tempting fate again.
I slept soundly despite the squelching and crunching sounds of Magg savoring the headless Fimirs. According to the Ogre, the one-eyed marsh-creatures were "not bad, but the spine is a bit tough." Considering Magg could chew through wood better than a beaver, a human shouldn't even attempt to put a tooth to Fimir bones.
Erik initially refused to cook the Chaos-spawn, but eventually roasted a few carcasses in the coals of a large fire to the Ogre's delight and the men's horror. We were advised not to eat Chaos meat. It was GMO in its worst incarnation. Fimir meat had passed no safety tests for side effects.
In the morning, while I was praying with Marcus Schlossberg and other devout Sigmarites, the rat agents visited our camp. That same red-bearded drifter with the milky eye, accompanied by a couple of other suspicious individuals.
— Do you have the artifact? — the white-eyed one asked once I had stepped away from the main body of my Reiksguard.
— Yes.
— Then hand it over. I will deliver it to our master this very day.
— No, — I smirked. — That wasn't the deal. I will hand it over to much more... tailed comrades, and only when I receive my reward.
The rat-spy bared his teeth in a nasty grin. I think if it weren't for an entire unit of mercenaries at my back, these three might have tried to take the artifact by force. After all, they were imitating Skaven. The act would have been perfectly in character for the tailed denizens of the Under-Empire.
— Fine. Then meet in the sewers. Come alone.
— Fat chance! — I chuckled. — If necessary, I'll bring the whole unit. You found a fool. My people won't see anything they shouldn't if everything goes as planned.
— You don't lack for arrogance, — the man replied with a hint of respect.
— That's the only reason I'm still alive.
I didn't take the whole unit to the meeting, of course. I only brought Liandra, Magg, and Erik. The latter wasn't thrilled by the idea, but he chose to trust my gut.
I was partially concerned that the Skaven might have orders to kill me or snatch me for transport to Skavenblight. So we went into the potential fight armed to the teeth. I had two pistols, and so did Erik. However, weapons weren't needed. Either the impossible happened and the rats decided to keep their word, or they planned to screw me over later.
In the sewers, I met a small detachment of Skaven led by my acquaintance, Lark. In exchange for the artifact, he handed over a message from Gottri and a reward. The text of the letter in broken Reikspiel read:
Your effort-striving good service big plan Horned Rat. Take reward-prize. Valuable things for man-thing. Expensive gift buy-sell. Wait new orders you.
Your master Gottri.
The letter strongly resembled a product description from AliExpress.
Unrolling the sack of reward, I nearly burst out laughing. Inside was a mad jumble of shiny trinkets. Imperial coins, colored beads, rings, chains, a broken silver spoon, a tin soldier, several gold teeth, and even a glass eye.
It seemed that on Gottri's orders, I had been handed a collection of loot the Skaven had stripped from slaves and raid victims.
Having made the exchange, we left the sewers. According to Liandra, some Skaven followed us for a while but took no aggressive action. We'll consider it a success. However, I should no longer consider the city a safe place. I always needed loyal comrades and plenty of weapons close at hand. This second point occupied our minds after the meeting with the Skaven.
Personally, I intended to buy armor to replace what was lost. Magg was interested in acquiring a hand cannon. Erik and Liandra also had ideas for increasing their combat effectiveness.
Near the city gates closest to our camp, we met Adora, who was also heading out to shop accompanied by a couple of other Reiksguard.
— The younger Hoch got us the paperwork, — the girl reported. — This morning he met with almost the Countess herself and some witch. They were interviewing commanders who survived the battle near Pfieidorf. Hoch took the opportunity to present them with the severed monster heads. It seems Her Highborn was impressed. Here.
Adora unrolled a small cloth pouch containing a pair of Gold Crowns and a dozen Silver Shillings. Likely our share of the bounty.
And by the way, I think I know exactly which witch Hoch met with. Elspeth von Draken.
— Excellent. Well then, let's dedicate this day to shopping!
We went off to spend money earned through sweat and blood. Mostly blood, of course.
Naturally, equipment prices in Nuln had spiked in recent days. However, the initial frenzy was starting to die down. The boldest traders still demanded astronomical prices, but mercenaries and militiamen were in no hurry to open their purses. In the end, with enough effort, discounts could be haggled. For us, meaning Adora and Erik. In our group, they were the ones acting as negotiators. Without coordinating, they played the good and bad buyer roles perfectly.
Adora, putting on a mournful face, began berating the traders for not wanting to help the brave defenders of the Empire save their own city. She was told to go to hell repeatedly, but she didn't react to the insults or fall for provocations. She bragged about our acquaintance with Rudolf Hoch and our status as heroes who survived the Battle of Pfeildorf.
Erik, by contrast, was the embodiment of friendliness. He apologized for Adora, complimented the wares, empathized with the traders squeezed by taxes, and so on. Simultaneously, he tugged at their heartstrings, telling them how hard our march had been.
If a merchant grew tired of the performance and was about to call the guards to throw us out, Erik would casually invite Magg to peek into the shop. Usually, one look at a scarred Ogre's face was enough to avoid direct conflict. Only one particularly stubborn Dwarf was ready to use his fists or call the watch. That's when I had to step in.
— How about a small wager, Master? — I asked. — An arm-wrestling match?
Honestly, the idea came to me from my experience playing The Witcher 2.
— Ha! With you or with him? — the city Dwarf asked, nodding toward Magg. Gray hair had already appeared in his black beard.
— With me, — I answered boldly. — If I win, you give a fifty-percent discount on any five items. If you win, I pay you five shillings for nothing.
— You're either a fool or a trickster, Umgi, — the trader smirked. — However, no trickery or even sorcery will help you. I accept your challenge, but first, we shall document our wager. We children of Grungni honor contracts and demand the same from other races.
— No trickery, — I replied. — I'll honestly admit that I will rely on divine intervention. Before the match, I will go to pray to Sigmar and have a good meal.
The Dwarf looked at me, squinting suspiciously, but agreed to the contract. For nearly an hour and a half, we detailed all the nuances, while Erik prepared "doping" for me at my request.
I can't say I was entirely confident in victory. Dwarfs are significantly stronger than humans and take pride in it. I hadn't had to fight the Mountain Folk before. It was hard to compare my current form with their capabilities. Still, I hoped the trader wasn't exactly the strongest of Dwarfs and had been living peacefully in the Empire for many years.
When we finished documenting the contract, I went to "pray." Indeed, reaching the nearest chapel, I stood there for a bit, then headed to the slaughterhouse. Not in the sense of another scrap with Chaosites, but an actual, ordinary slaughterhouse. Erik and Magg were already waiting for me there.
— You, Jurg, going to do the killing? — the Ogre inquired.
— Yes. I'll take that job today. It'll be a good warm-up before the wrestling match.
— Being a butcher is important business, — Magg declared knowingly. — And a slaughterer even more so. The Great Mouth favors them. Smiles...
And Magg himself smiled in a way that made the townspeople walking by cross themselves with the sign of the hammer, and one particularly sensitive woman even fainted.
I went into the slaughterhouse. There, pooling our money with Erik and Magg, we bought seven pigs, twenty chickens, and a couple of young lambs. Part would go to Gutrum's table, the rest to the whole unit. We'll have a feast! Moreover, we ordered all the animals unslaughtered. The butcher was a bit surprised by this approach. Suspicion was evident in his gaze and words—wondering if we wanted to buy live livestock in the middle of the city for some ungodly ritual. I calmed the man as best I could. By "as best I could," I mean I lied through my teeth.
— You saw the Ogre at the entrance, Mein Herr. In their tribe, it is custom that the livestock for a victory celebration must be slaughtered by a direct participant in the battle. So here I am. Humor us, and we won't be stingy. You work as usual, and I'll just help you. I'll be nearby, drain the blood. Tell me where to cut, and I'll do it. My hand is steady.
— Fine then, — the butcher shrugged. — It's a sin to turn down free labor.
So I began my new duties. I slaughtered the livestock or helped the butcher with it. He showed me the best way to finish the animals, and I executed it. Before this, I'd only participated in slaughtering Goblins. Unlike Goblins, I felt a little sorry for the animals, but what can you do? Such is life. I'm no vegan. So I worked hard and earned three notches on the Blood Vessel.
The intoxicating, heavy smell of raw meat in the slaughterhouse was even thicker than on the battlefield. Fountains of blood from under my knife gifted my body with charges of foreign energy.
Pumped up with power, I hurried back to the Dwarf. To keep the blood from the Vessel from draining, I brought a half-dead rooster with me. The bird was slowly dying in my bag from a couple of knife wounds. Disgusting? Yes. But the life ebbing from the carcass kept my Blood Vessel from emptying too soon.
Then, just before entering the workshop, I carefully nicked the skin of my left arm with the magical Dawi-zharr dagger, absorbing the Wind of Aqshy from it. I buffed myself thoroughly.
In this state, I entered the armorer's shop. A table had already been set up in the middle of the room. Several other Dwarfs and human traders were present as arbiters.
My opponent, dressed in a doublet decorated with gold thread, sat at the table, putting his arm in position.
— Unlucky for you, human whelp, — he rumbled, stretching his shoulders. — I was working in the mines and crushing stone back when your grandfather was suckling at your great-grandmother's breast.
— That was quite a while ago, — I smiled, sitting opposite him. — Let's see how much strength you have left from those times.
Our hands locked. it was almost painful, but the blood rage and magical surge overrode the negative sensations. I felt excitement, the tension of the struggle, the desire to win. I pushed with all my might, but the Dwarf's arm felt as if it were made of stone. However, he also lacked the power to overcome me.
A second, two, three, five.
— By Grimnir, he's actually trying to fight him! — one of the attending Dwarfs marveled.
Everyone watched the struggle with bated breath.
Twenty seconds. Thirty.
I began to sweat. The Dwarf's face turned crimson. Several times he tried to slam my hand onto the table with a jerk, but thanks to my enhanced reflexes, I managed to anticipate my opponent's intent. I increased the pressure or pulled the arm toward me, not letting him beat me that easily.
However, I feared time was on the Dwarf's side. The Mountain Folk are not only strong but incredibly resilient. I thought the Dwarf could struggle like this for hours. I was already mentally saying goodbye to the shillings and preparing to listen to the bearded man's boasting when the energy in the sacrificial Vessel began to slowly rise. Only a tiny bit, but it was enough. The final straw that broke the camel's back.
I pushed harder, and the Dwarf began to lose ground. First, I bent his arm back a little, then it dropped lower and lower and... A final surge!
The Dwarf let out a spiteful growl, hitting the table with his free hand. Exclamations of surprise erupted around us.
I stood up, trying to catch my breath, and met Liandra's gaze. During the match, she had been standing almost directly behind me. I noticed traces of blood on the elf's left wrist. So that's what happened... She decided to wound herself to give me the advantage.
I've heard that old Dwarfs blame many of their people's problems on the cunning schemes of their ancient enemies, the Elves. In this case, however, the suspicions were justified. The point-ear's trick worked. As for me, it was time to celebrate the victory.