Iron Lung writes
patreon
FG: Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2024-03-29 15:42:27 +0000 UTC-Grindlefecht, Boss-Skegga’s compound-
“BRING ME ANOTHER PRISONER!”
The bellow from Boss Skegga’s swollen larynx sent sonic shockwaves rippling through the ancient Dwarven architecture that comprised his stronghold. He swiveled on his floating throne, the sputtering blue flames licking at the skulls of Dwarf, Ratman, and Kobold alike that had been crushed under the claws heel of his armies.
His minions rushed to grab another one of his torture victims from the Desecrated Pit behind his throne room. It was the place where the bearded freaks that owned this place had once conducted strange ceremonies in ‘Praise of the Stone’ or some such guff that served as their religion. While he waited for his next victim that he would see flayed alive, he spared a look at the piles of skeletal corpses lined up on the far end of his temple.
The great horned toad scratched his slimy legs and stretched out his pudgy, greased flippers, staring at the blood that coated them in the aftermath of the last prisoner he’d strangled after supping on his innards. His mind raced to keep up with the thrumming of his unseated heart. Ever since his scouts had reported that, not only had Klegga failed to capture Fort Knifegut – and lost 70 good Skogriders in the process – but that the fort was now a nest for the Warren border Gutmulchers, he had been consumed by a red mist of rage that nothing would abate.
And making matters worse was the knowledge that this ‘Shai-Alud’ was still out there, mocking him with every breath he drew in his realm.
“SILAS!”
His voice thundered with such animalistic intensity that the Kobold guards near him shook. But not Silas. No. Never Silas. Sneaky, tricky, traitorous Silas.
The young Rat slipped stealthily out of the shadows behind his throne and coughed to make his presence felt.
“Yes, Sire?”
“Tell me,” Skegga began, his arm-flippers gripping the golden armrests of his throne as it slowly spun to show him the corpses that decorated his temple walls. “Tell me how a mere human can resist me.”
Silas cleared his throat again. “You are speaking of the Shai-Alu-“
“OF COURSE I AM!”
Now some of the Kobolds actually tried to flee, being tripped and mocked by their comrades before they made it to the golden door.
“My knowledge of the prophecies are being dim, Sire,” Silas replied, unfazed. “But it would seem that this human is no ordinary peasant. He seems to have knowledge of military strategy that lies beyond the ken of the Clan Red-Eye Rats. Perhaps He-Who-Festers has finally blessed my former comrades with a true champion for their-“
“HE-WHO-FESTERS IS A LIE! I AM THE ONLY GOD THAT RULES THESE TUNNELS!” Skegga roared, throwing spittle in the slim Ratman’s face. He simply took a handkerchief from his shaggy coat pocket and wiped himself clean.
“Of course, Sire.”
Skegga huffed as he threw his body back, closing his eyes in consternation. First Gith’s unit, now Klega’s…and the fact they had allowed the fort to be taken…how did that make sense?
“You must admit, Sire, that the strategy of the Shai-Alud is an unorthodox one,” Silas continued, as though the impish little creature could read his thoughts. “Yet it makes perfect sense if we are thinking about things from the Red-Eye’s point of view. They have retreated, yes, but in so doing are leaving a set of guards that shall never tire, and shall be proving quite formidable to remove. Knifegut is now being virtually unassailable.”
Skegga grumbled, gripping his armrests with such intensity that for a moment Silas thought he might well tear them off and toss them at his head.
“We will bring our cannons to bear!” he said. “Cannons, big guns, a thousand raiders if need be! They’ll see the power Skegga wields then and they’ll know – oh yes! THEY’LL KNOW I AM RISEN!”
“I would urge caution, Sire,” Silas replied with a short bow of grace. “Such troop movements would be leaving our headquarters unmanned and undefended. Our forward outposts would be found sorely lacking in the face of a directed Ratman counterattack. If we are keeping the majority of our forces garrisoned here, we are ensuring we have the capacity to reinforce our border forts with as much haste as necessary.”
Skegga’s eyes narrowed at the Ratman. Inside, he wished to tear him apart for his tenacity. But he could not doubt the frustrating logic in the little imp’s words.
“You have proven good with your tongue, Silas,” he said. “We admit that you have had some good ideas that have been of some assistance to us. But now you would council me in cowardice? You would have us wait here till our glorious palace is attacked by Ratman filth and their false prophet? If this is your ‘plan’, Ratman, then you had better give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t rend you limb from limb right here and now.”
Skegga was more than used to striking fear into his subjects. Fear was an effective enough tool when dealing with animals. It had worked to whip up these Kobolds just as his benefactors on the surface said it would. It had worked to throw them like a flurry of boulders into the walls of Grindlefecht and take the dwarves by surprise. It had worked to beat down the little fat-nosed men who defended these forges and it had worked to get him the guns that would facilitate his conquest of the rest of the underworld.
But, it had not been enough to ever phase Silas. Sneaky, tricky Silas. Silas, who had been useful so far in showing Skegga the ways into his former home, but the Ratman was beginning to get on his nerves.
How can a rat carry himself with such pride in the presence of a God?
Skegga licked his mucus-caked lips.
“Well?” he asked.
Silas bowed low and indicated the two Kobolds Skegga had sent away to bring him another torture victim.
“Quite the contrary, Sire. I am not believing nothing should be done about this troublesome man. He is being far too dangerous to be left alive. However, instead of committing a sizeable force to seek out and destroy him, I suggest that we are taking a different approach.”
The Kobolds threw down the Dwarven prisoner – a stout man with ragged tufts of ginger hair spilling down a morose face covered in dust and grime. Skegga was surprised to see that one of his Yips was holding the little man’s weapon: a long, ornate, silver-plated arquebus.
“S-S-Silas tell us to bring this prisoner before you, Boss Skegga!” the Kobold holding the pristine weapon said. “This fat-beard have big gun-gun. Too big! Can’t shoot-shoot with this!”
“Maybe you can’t, ya muth-sniffin’ vlech,” the prisoner spat. “But I can.”
The Kobolds looked up at Skegga with bloodlust in their eyes, but the gargantuan toad only roared with laughter.
“You have quite the mouth on you, little man!” he shouted. “I think I shall eat it, first.”
“Sire,” Silas broke in. “This man is far more useful to us alive than dead.”
Skegga rounded on the tiny rat. “He looks like another fat little dwarf to me. Explain.”
Silas nodded to the man as he stood up proud in his chains.
“Fingel Darragut,” the Dwarf said. “Trained sniper in the service of Lord Grendle of House Darragut.”
“Sniper?” Skegga asked.
“A long-range weapons expert, Sire,” Silas explained.
Boss Skegga sat back and stroked his bulging throat.
“An assassin,” he said.
“In a manner a’ speakin’,” the Dwarf said. “Point me at a target, and I’ll take it doon. You got a man that needs killin’? I can dae it.”
Skegga saw determination in the little man’s eyes, and he leaned over to whisper in the ear of his sneaky little advisor.
“Silas, why is this man offering his services to us? Is this some kind of Dwarf trick?”
“Hardly, Sire,” Silas said with a smug grin. “From what I am knowing of Dwarves and their strict adherence to honor-culture, they are incapable of lying, even to their enemies.”
Remembering the masses of fat-men that had refused to surrender during their assault here, Skegga could understand that.
“Then why does this scum-sucker wish to help us?”
“For the same reason his people are doing anything,” Silas said. “For his family.”
At the raised slime-brows of Skegga, Silas went on: “We are having both his wife and first-born son in chains. Your divine leadership is giving us a perfect bargaining chip over this man, who just so happens to be more than capable of tracking a target through even Ratman infested tunnels – and one who is being capable of avoiding Gutmulcher eyes. He is, after all,” Silas chuckled drily. “A rather short man.”
Skegga’s own smile shone in the grim, red lights of his temple.
“So you wish to prove yourself to us, little man?” the giant toad sneered. “As it so happens, I have just the right job for a man such as you.”
Fingel stared through eyes that had long ago given up on his own life. In those eyes was nothing but the vision of death. It overcame all sense of morality he had ever maintained, all sense of loyalty he maintained to anything but his family that were being kept somewhere below, in the bowels of Skegga’s lair.
Despite everything, Silas had done well this time.
The great toad smirked as the Dwarf bowed low.
A broken man kissing his feet. Eyes that were absent of hope.
He loved to see it.
NEXT: FG: Chapter 16
![NovelAI_FUN[AI] from patreon](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/56472.jpg)
