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FG: Book 1 Epilogue
🕑 Added 2024-07-22 14:30:03 +0000 UTCSilas stared through the cracked windows of his Summoning Chamber, watching the meagre force of ratguard bustle about as they tried to spruce up the place in preparation for the King’s arrival.
He smiled to see it. Ants, toiling under his vision.
Only a week ago they had looked on him as an enemy when they burst through the Shai-Alud’s barricade and found only the bruised and crumpled body of Silas lying before the Summoning Circle. They had probed him with startled questions – assuming that he was the one who had helped the condemned Shai-Alud escape – but their complaints were soon put to rest by the voice of the Prime Putrefact. As soon as they heard him speak, they knew they had been in the wrong.
With appropriate humility he had explained the situation: their crippled leader, Skeever, had taken pity on his old friend. He had been talked out of handing him over to the King by the honeyed words that dripped from the traitor’s human tongue. Together they had beaten Silas and forced him to send them to the vile Yokun above. There, they would plot together to overthrow the very empire they had once helped to build.
Silas licked his frayed lips, savoring the supplication the rats who now danced below him were showing. They had accepted his story almost as quickly as he had spun it – hadn’t it been known to everyone that Talon-Commander Skeever had always been the dogged right-hand of the Shai-Alud during their campaigns? Hadn’t it also been known that Skeever had gone down to speak with the Shai-Alud on the eve of his escape? It made complete sense, even if it evoked more ire in the ratguards than they had ever had to contain within their tiny breasts. Two betrayals right under their noses…a few of them were beginning to blame themselves.
But Silas – good, honorable, Silas – was there to dissuade them from such notions. They were the bravest rats in all the North Warrens. They were truly loyal to their King, and would await his arrival with hope in their hearts. The Kobolds were no more – dead or enslaved – and the technology of the dwarves were still theirs. They would present the King with a greater prize even than this: they would offer up the Prime Putrefact himself – the ratman who had endured torture upon torture in the name of his faith. Truly, none of the ratguard were even worthy of standing before him…
In truth, it was a pity to be heading home. Silas sighed as he thought of his time within these dark walls. It had been toiling, at times, and it had been a grueling process to win the fat toad and his forces to his side, but he had to admit he had a certain fondness for their base natures. He admired the purity of their minds – untouched by notions of self-preservation and sustained by anger. He would miss their childishness as he entered the realm of petty politics that characterized his own race.
But, he told himself. At least I won’t be going home empty handed…
He groped around in his robe and produced the tattered journal he had managed to secure from the Shai-Alud. Already he had flicked through its dense pages, his curiosity growing with every flick of each new page. Secrets were contained within this tome that went far beyond his own understanding – far beyond the ken of anyone who had been born in the grim darkness of this dismal underground they called home.
The mind of this man – this Marcus – had changed things down here. And these words would change yet more. As the man had said himself, they were tools. Tools that simply had to be placed in the right hands.
He wondered where the man and his right-hand rat were now. If they had truly made it to Piper’s Hill he would be surprised, but it would not be unpleasant to think they had survived the impromptu transport. Silas wasn’t about to believe that a commander as skilled as this Marcus would have truly been felled by an improper teleport. It was why the Putrefact had kept up his word. He’d sent him exactly where he’d wanted to go.After all, this world would be distinctly more interesting with this human in it. Who else would ensure that the war raging above continued? Who else would ensure that the conflict would keep all the surfacers preoccupied while he consolidated his position beneath their feet, biding his time for the Skittering that would end all Skitterings.
It would take time. It would take patience, and it would take a lot more than just honeyed words. But Silas was a very patient rat.
Silas recalled then the words of the man as he had given his last command. Crouched within the infinite darkness of the dungeons, the statement had seemed less like a threat and more like an implied challenge.
You will follow my order, Silas, or I will destroy you.
The Prime Putrefact smiled grimly as he finally saw the crimson flag of Clan Red-Eye appear on the horizon.
“We shall see, Marcus Graham,” he said as he closed the book in his hands. “We shall see.”
***
See you this Wednesday where book 2 begins!
