Chapter 64
Mist shrouded everything. I felt as if I were floating above a boundless sea of white vapor. The silhouette of the mysterious knight seemed close and yet infinitely far away. His voice, alongside the haze, flowed through me, penetrating to my very core.
— Time is slipping away. The greatest achievement of the Old Ones will soon become an engine for the forces of destruction. An island full of mists and enigmas awaits you. Albion. That is what men call it. Go to Albion.
I'd be happy to go there, you prick, but circumstances have brought me to a place that isn't exactly easy to leave. Especially if you're human.
Unfortunately, I couldn't speak with the misty knight. This vision was merely a pre-recorded image. Someone had implanted it within me when they transferred my soul here.
The mist of the vision broke apart and melted. I was waking up, much as I didn't want to. Beyond the veil of sleep, nothing good awaited me in the near future, yet the dream slipped away relentlessly.
I awoke fully, feeling a soft featherbed beneath my back. The softest of all those I'd had to sleep on in this god-forsaken world. I stretched, my joints popping. The most pleasant part of the morning was over. Ahead lay only long hours of misery until nightfall.
With a heavy sigh, I threw off the grey blanket made of rather pleasantly treated soft wool and stood up abruptly. Around me "stretched" a small room, roughly four by three of my paces. However, my pace was a serious unit of measurement now. I had shot up after the victory over Tamurkhan. Absorbing a mountain of energy, the influx of the Winds of Magic, and a long recovery had boosted my growth. Now, from crown to heel, I was somewhere around two meters plus twenty centimeters on top. A literal mountain of muscle and bone. I could have cosplayed the Mountain from Game of Thrones.
During the voyage on the corsair ship, the hair on my head and my beard had grown out slightly. So, I was slowly transitioning from the "Saitama" look into something more akin to a Viking.
The journey on the Druchii corsair vessel had been predictably agonizing. But I hadn't expected the agony to come from... boredom. I wasn't thrown in chains or bound hand and foot. Together with Liandra, we had descended into the spacious holds of the ship. There, for a few brief moments, I witnessed iron cages with faceted and strangely elegant bars, behind which crowded a mass of terrified, exhausted people. They were practically sitting on each other's heads. There were Bretonnian peasants in rags, inhabitants of some southern lands, simple fishermen, even a few formerly wealthy city-dwellers whose filthy clothes still bore the imprint of fading luxury.
The captives wailed, sighed, muttered quietly, and reached their hands toward us. It was simultaneously pathetic and the most interesting sight of my entire journey.
Afterward, Liandra led me to a tiny room where a hammock was the only piece of furniture. The elf stated that for my own safety, I should not leave this place during the voyage. She delivered food to me regularly, and a shaven-headed slave who avoided my gaze brought and carried away the slop bucket. Aside from sleep and internal dialogues with the Hypnotoad, my only entertainment was the rare conversation with Liandra. I greedily caught her every word, trying to understand my future prospects.
One fact became clear immediately—none of the other Dark Elves knew my real value. Liandra had said nothing to anyone. She had presented me to the ship's crew as a duped mercenary she intended to sell as a gladiator for the arena. The other Druchii didn't bother me and didn't even try to take my weapons.
Every conversation with Liandra felt like a sophisticated card game where both participants try to guess how many trumps the opponent holds and which bet is more profitable. However, these barbs couldn't be called quarrels. On the contrary, the elf tried in every way to let me know that our relationship hadn't changed and we were still on the same side.
During one of these early conversations, Liandra declared:
— If your goal is to fight Chaos, then you are heading to the right place. What can those weaklings from Ulthuan know of battles against the Forces of Destruction? While they hide on their island, Naggarond has already repelled hundreds of invasions from the north.
Heh. Should I say thank you, darling? I've long dreamed of being in the company of hardcore killers who adore torture. Fine. At least I have a unique chance to observe how the courts work under ancap.
Liandra, whose name was actually something else, was a recruit of the Black Guard of Naggarond—an elite military unit. She and her peers swore fealty personally to Malekith, the Witch King of all Dark Elves. The service scheme, according to the girl, resembled a contract. If one survived two centuries in the Black Guard, they could retire with a vast fortune. Liandra was at the very beginning of this path. Moreover, her career, to put it mildly, hadn't gone well.
— Back in the forest, I told you the truth. I carry the stigma of a failed mission. I, my mentor, my brother, and many others set out in search of an artifact of great power. An expedition to the Underworld Sea that stretches beneath the entire continent. Our march ended in bitter defeat. We were not ready. Many died, and I became lost in the labyrinth of tunnels and my own nightmares.
Could her words be trusted now? I think she's bluffing about some things, but she isn't lying about the failed expedition. It was this defeat that Liandra wanted to turn into a victory with my help.
— My comrades could not withstand the dark forces hidden in the depths of the caves, but you are protected from sorcery. With you, we shall take what belongs to Malekith and arrive at the Black Court in triumph.
Magnificent plan, Liandra. Simply bloody brilliant, if I understand correctly. Reliable as a Swiss watch.
At least it sounded plausible. Deceiving me about her origin was beneficial to the elf for obvious reasons. The Druchii's reputation in this world is roughly like that of Mexican cartels in my own. As for everything else, she might have been telling the truth or at least a half-truth.
When Liandra left and I grew tired of listening to the Hypnotoad's stories, I trained. I took up the Axe of Khargan and held that heavy thing at arm's length. I tried to swing it despite the rolling of the ship. Without the enhancement of the Blood Chalice, it was damnably difficult, even considering my massive frame.
Sometimes, heart-wrenching screams from the prisoners began to drift in from adjacent compartments. In reality, it happened less often than I expected. Likely, despite their cruelty, the corsairs wanted to deliver the living cargo in relatively one piece.
Thus we reached Clar Karond. It was a true Druchii megalopolis. According to Liandra, this was where most of the corsair ships were built, including the massive Black Arks.
In the evening twilight, I saw the tall, predatory spires of towers rising above the city. The most grandiose were in the center, but even on the periphery, there were plenty of large structures. This city was undeniably larger than Nuln. A citadel of evil bristling in all directions.
We arrived in the city late in the evening. Liandra returned for me, and together we stepped out onto the deck. For the first time in weeks in a locked room, I felt the fresh wind. It felt like something truly magical.
— I hope the journey on our modest vessel was comfortable for you, — said the captain with a poisonous smile, the one who had previously played the role of a High Elf.
— I am satisfied. Everything was acceptable, — Liandra replied dryly and coldly.
I felt her tension. She moved along the deck as if casually, trying to keep the captain, his mate, and several other corsairs in her line of sight. I didn't like it, yet it inspired some hope. Now it was clear why Liandra hadn't tried to take my weapons. Likely, she trusted me far more than her own kin.
That time, there was no bloodshed. Perhaps the corsairs knew what Liandra was being trained for and didn't want to take unnecessary risks. The world has plenty of easier victims than Black Guard recruits.
Leaving the ship late at night, we hurriedly traversed several crooked, narrow streets, ending up at an inn. Likely, by local standards, it was an extremely cheap establishment. A flophouse for the poor. Behind the counter in the lower hall stood an extremely ragged-looking elf, his entire face crossed by hideous scars. Looking closer, I noticed that instead of a right eye, he had a prosthesis made of colored glass. It seemed his corsair career had ended prematurely due to health reasons.
Besides this elf, there were several other suspicious characters in the lower hall of varying degrees of shabbiness. All of them kept their distance from us.
However, despite the atmosphere of a cheap flophouse, it was quite clean and tidy. I didn't even smell the stench inherent in such places. Though, perhaps after my close encounter with the Maggot Lord, my standards for stench had changed significantly.
Liandra gave the elf behind the counter our last money, paying for lodging and meals. That was how I ended up in the four-by-three room. Better than that cubbyhole in the hold, but still a bit cramped. The next few days were unbearably boring. Liandra was out wandering somewhere, but I wasn't supposed to step out onto the streets of this city without her. A lone human would immediately attract unhealthy attention from the locals.
Even looking out the single window was a bit risky. And the view there left much to be desired. The window overlooked a crooked, narrow street paved with black stone. Clearly not the city's most elite quarter. Below, groups of slaves moved back and forth. Sometimes accompanied by Druchii, sometimes on their own. They were mostly humans. Poorly dressed men and women with hunched backs. They walked silently about their business, trying not to look around. A couple of times I happened to see Orcs. Hefty greenskins were led in chains, sometimes intimidated by the cracks of whips. Their backs and arms were crisscrossed with scars. A few had likely had their eyes put out.
The Orcs were used as beasts of burden. They dragged carts with blocks of black stone and some bags through the narrow streets.
I would have happily watched the city life longer, but in the other windows on the far side of the street, the shaven heads of corsairs began to loom more frequently. I didn't like their attention. It's not that I'm against a fight, but right now I have neither shield nor armor, and a lot of the locals love to carry crossbows.
After waking up, I killed time for about two hours. I practiced holding the axe at arm's length, did push-ups in sets of a hundred, and drank water from the jug they'd left me. Then the door creaked open.
— How much longer do I have to rot in here? — I asked the elf instead of a greeting.
— Everything is almost ready, — she replied coldly.
She had a leather bag or backpack with her. Heavy, judging by the sound it made hitting the floor. Liandra opened it and began taking out a bunch of various items. Throwing stilettos in a case, iron chains of different lengths, a wooden board, some pile of leather scraps, a necklace of sharp teeth.
— And what is this for?
— We need to prepare ourselves for going out into the city, — Liandra answered.
She stepped closer, casting an appraising glance at my face. Now she was looking up at me. Liandra was taller than most other elves, but I had grown even more.
— It'll do, — she finally uttered.
— What will do?
— The beard. We had to wait for it to grow at least a little.
— Is that the fashion here now? — I smirked. — No way for humans to enter Malekith's court without a well-groomed beard?
— Try to be serious, Gil, — she said, almost in the tone of a plea. — We are in a dangerous place right now.
— Yeah. A dangerous place you brought me to yourself.
— I know you are different. An entity of a higher order. But the other Druchii will see only a human specimen before them. Lower beings here are either slaves or monsters. The former are only despised, while the latter can be feared and even respected. This means we need to make a monster out of you. The axe and dagger will serve perfectly. If we also select clothes and tattoos, you can be passed off as a Norscan berserker or even a Chaos Champion. Sometimes we... use such people temporarily.
Well, talk about irony of fate, Jurgen. Fighting Chaos for months only to end up impersonating one of them. However, I definitely liked Liandra's train of thought. Better to play a terrifying berserker-turned-mercenary—and effectively a pet of a Black Guard warrior—than to put on a collar and pretend to be a slave.
— Got it. For that, we need the tooth necklace? Like part of the costume?
— Yes. These are wolf and orc fangs. Norscan barbarians love such trinkets.
— Right. Excellent. And why do we need chains, stilettos, and the board?
— For training. I'll explain later.
— Fine. Now explain to me what we're actually planning to do. Are we going to look for the tunnel to the Underworld Sea right away?
The girl shook her head.
— I would like to, but no. The two of us cannot manage this expedition even despite your strength. Down there are plenty of monsters besides daemons. We'll need to assemble a squad, and for that, we'll need money.
— So that's how it is, — I smiled.
My suspicions were confirmed. Liandra hadn't told anyone about me and didn't plan to in the near future. She had no connection with the rest of the Black Guard either. Liandra had no way to request help or money from the capital. She was acting at her own peril and risk right now, and she could only rely on me.
Likely, if she showed up at Malekith's court now, a severe punishment for a failed quest would await her. That's why the elf intended to first obtain an artifact sought by her superiors.
— Now I understand your plan. You want to regain your standing at court. I don't judge. The question is different: what do I get by helping you?
These words didn't catch the girl off guard, but they seemed to make her a little nervous.
— You want to become stronger, don't you? I will help you. Training and more. Naggarond provides many opportunities to those who are strong and firm of spirit.
— I have my own mission, on the success of which the existence of the entire world depends. Naggarond included.
Truth be told, heaven knows what will happen if I don't head for Albion, but a lack of information wouldn't stop me from raising the stakes in the negotiation process.
— It is very possible you speak the truth, — the Dark Elf admitted reluctantly. — But before we discuss our expeditions further, tell me—those meteorites and the mental link... was that your power? How often can you use such a thing?
I'm sure she'd love to hear the answer: every day, several times. Alas and alack.
— That was an emergency measure, — I replied. — I managed to overcome Tamurkhan with my own strength, but then the Chaos Dwarf sorcerer intervened.
— I see. Let me ask another way: can you use such power again?
— Hard to say. Even if I succeed, I will likely perish myself, along with everyone around. Allies included. My existence here is sustained by a powerful spell. If it detonates, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Here I gave Liandra a half-truth. Indeed, I don't know for sure if Pepe can pull off a solo performance with mass celestial body impacts again. I specifically emphasized the catastrophic consequences and the death of allies. I didn't want the Dark Elf to be tempted to intentionally put me in danger to activate the power hidden within me.
— Then we shall have to win without such a risk, — she nodded.
— But back to the question of my expedition.
— When we reach the Black Court, I am absolutely certain that the Witch King will listen to our requests and provide aid in the struggle against the forces of Chaos. If the threat from Albion is real, then it is dangerous for our people as well.
Goddammit...
I actually think she's being sincere with me right now, because it sounds too stupid for a lie.
Counting on the help of... Malekith? A semi-insane tyrant of a race of sadists, who for millennia has been burning with magical flame inside his own armor and burning with an even hotter flame of his own ass due to the unfulfilled desire to conquer Ulthuan. That is, of course, a great idea. Who else shall we invite to the world-saving team?
How about the Orc warlord Grimgor Ironhide or the ancient vampire Mannfred von Carstein? Theoretically, a Chaos victory isn't in their interest either.
Hmm... If their strength proves insufficient, what other famous humanitarians and heroes of the sentient races could come to our aid? Grom the Paunch? Helman Ghorst? Skarsnik? Maybe even the Council of Thirteen? Skaven aren't particularly loyal to the ideas of Chaos as a whole. In short, we could put together a world-saving team that would make the Avengers look like amateurs.
The main thing is not to laugh, Jurgen. The main thing is not to laugh out loud.
Since Liandra finally dropped the mask, I'd been trying to understand who I was dealing with. To sift truth from lies. It seems conclusions can finally be drawn. On one hand, fate had brought me together with a calculating, ruthless killer who is ready for practically anything to achieve her goals. On the other hand, it seems Liandra is not at all a cold-blooded schemer capable of thinking ten moves ahead. A couple at most. She is young by her race's standards. From childhood, she was raised in fanatical devotion to the Witch King. Service in the Black Guard was her entire life. Hence a certain degree of naivety, if such a concept can even be applied to Dark Elves.
— Alright then... — I said. — Your goals are clear to me now. You know mine as well. Let's try to help each other. We'll consider this a mutually beneficial deal. And it must remain mutually beneficial, do you understand?
The girl nodded.
— Good, — I extended my hand to her. — We have already changed each other's fates for the better in the past. Let's continue that practice.
She squeezed my palm. Not hard enough to issue a wordless challenge, but very firmly indeed.
Life is a strange thing. Not long ago, I was part of the Imperial army trying to stop Tamurkhan's invasion. Leading a whole squad. And now? Alone with a not-so-reliable ally in the heart of the Druchii's dark realm. And yet... I couldn't call this hand a bad one. The battle at Nuln had changed me externally and internally. My new powers craved a test.
Liandra wants me to play the monster for her kin? Fine. I'll show them a monster the Dark Elves won't soon forget.