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FG: Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2024-03-27 14:45:37 +0000 UTCKill with a borrowed knife”
-The Thirty-Six Strategems
As the wrought iron door to the scape tunnel opened, Marcus braced himself for what had to happen next.
The door shuddered open, revealing pained, animalistic cries of death punctuated by the cracking of bones and squelching of teeth tearing through pliable flesh.
But he focused. He raised a hand to signal to the shield wall positioned right behind the door to ready themselves for combat.
“Sounds of Kobold death,” Deekius grinned beside it. “It is warming the heart, is it not, Shai-Alud?”
Marcus ignored the bloodthirsty comment of the priest with a gulp. He could already smell the ranks of torn flesh and exposed bone marrow that coated the courtyard as the fortress’ insides came back into view.
Then, he saw what remained of them.
He saw the Kobolds drenched in Gutmulcher blood mixed with the ichorus remains of their own people, and their spherical, reptile-like mounts shrieking in agony as the image of the ratman shield wall came into view.
Then Marcus locked eyes with the Kobold at the head of the riders, and he saw – as someone who was no stranger to fear – that the Kobold’s hope of escape had just vanished.
“Spears!” he called.
The shield wall obliged, bringing their weapons to bear with an affirmative “HAH!”
His hand rose above their heads, holding the Kobold captain’s desperate, pleading eyes just before he brought his fist down and issued his command:
“FORWARD!”
And with one swift, unburdened motion, the wall of thorns struck out at the raiders.
The first spears pierced the foreheads of the snarling Skogs with ease, ripping through their scales and coming away with pieces of blackened brain-matter oozing from their tips.
Then the next rank simply stepped forward without a second thought.
The Kobolds’ screams filled the black void behind the rats where Marcus stood, watching the chaos he’d orchestrated unfold. The Skogs sent their thorny tongues covered in acidic mucas at the rats, their riders desperately trying to push against the wall. But it held firm. The furry monsters shoved back, striking out with spear and shield in equal measure, knocking Kobolds from their mounts which began flailing about lamely before they too were speared through their eye sockets.
The Kobold commander threw his voice against the slow, methodical advance of the ratwall, bellowing for his men to withdraw even as he watched what remained of his force die inf ront of him.
Then the Gutmulchers came.
They broke through the ruins of the fortress’ walls and descended like a pack of hungry vultures on the rear of the Kobold cavalry, instantly decimating any who tried falling back into their hungry maws. Those raiders that survived could do nothing but watch as their brethren were slaughtered, then consumed, their lifeless eyes watching their comrades from within the serrated maws of the arachnids.
To their front, a wall of thorny death impaling them one by one. Behind, a sea of gnashing teeth coated in the blood of their comrades. Marcus had to admit, whether he liked it or not, he had managed to manufacture a living death-machine. The slow, methodical death of the Kobolds was like watching two hydraulic presses slowly but surely flatten an object at both ends until, in a matter of seconds, it collapsed in on itself and splintered into pieces.
Such pieces filled Marcus’ view wherever he looked – chunks of Kobold limb, claw, and face flying back to hit his awestruck eyes.
He barely even remembered to order that the gates be closed shut.
“Fall back!” he called out to Skeever ,who nodded with a face smeared in Kobold stomach fluid. They couldn’t afford to let their Gutmulcher ‘allies’ gain a single inch in the escape tunnel. The plan had always been to lure them to the fort, have them decimate their enemies, and then quickly cut off their ability to pursue them. With the Kobold forces stripped down to only about ten men, Marcus reckoned this was the time to withdraw.
Behind him, issuing his remaining archers the order to fire into the mess of dying and dead, Gatskeek laughed maniacally like a senile old rodent.
“I must be admitting, Marcus,” he shouted as the iron gate came down again. “I was not expecting this plan to succeed!”
“That makes two of us,” Marcus whispered, watching the gate slowly fall like a closing curtain on an act full of madness and depravity.
Yet, once again, he was struck by the mad eyes of the Kobold leader in the middle of his decimated horde.
His men cried out in hapless, animal agony all around him, but he did not have eyes for their suffering. It could be their pain simply did not matter to him. Or, it could be that the sight of Marcus simply meant more.
By the way he licked his mucus coated lips and fingered his rusted blade, Marcus tentatively assumed it was the latter.
His suspicions were confirmed: before the gate finally crashed down the little critter let out a howl that chilled the bones of every creature still living. He kicked at his Skog and it sent him flying through the air, sending bloodied viscera spilling over the shield wall. The spears were not quick enough to turn and strike up as he sailed above the rats, and came straight at Marcus’ head with his blade poised to strike.
Marcus reacted as quick as he could, collapsing into a roll that barely avoided the swipe at his throat. The little one turned tail, spun again, and charged right for him, Marcus only barely managing to grab hold of his blade with his bare hands to stop it tearing through his chest.
“Shai-Alud!” Deekius called out.
The next moments played out over a matter of mere seconds – seconds of fleeting pain, confusion, and the exhilaration of combat. Marcus was forced down to the ground by the sheer power of the little creature’s conviction. The thing forced his shortsword down, slicing little bloody rivers into Marcus’ fingers and making him cry out in pain. More than that, however, it was the face of the Kobold which struck terror into Marcus during these agonizing moments that seemed to signal death. The eyes – like to burning coals ready to pop out and singe his flesh.
“Shai-Alud!” the creature spat as he twisted the blade and cut into the soft flesh of Marcus’ hands. “You…die! Die die! Klegga…will…not be…kill-kill…like this!”
Marcus watched those mad eyes draw ever closer to him, and for a single millisecond the thought flashed through his mind that he could simply let the Kobold have his victory. Everything about the little creature – his fury, his righteous drive to kill – it was spurned on, Marcus thought, by his grief. Grief he could only articulate through anger. Grief, in the final analysis, for his fallen brothers…
Grief that ended as those dark eyes went wide, and both he and Marcus looked up to see the pellet that had shot clean through the back of his head.
Like a twisted marionette the little creature turned its twitching head behind to see its murderer and there, both Klegga and Marcus beheld the sight of a Kobold loading another sparkling pellet into his slingshot.
“Klegga weak-weak,” Ix said as he lined up his next attack. “Cannot even kill fleshy humie. Klegga no deserve be Head-Yip. Klegga choose wrong side.”
And before the latter had any chance to open his blood-filled mouth to argue, Ix’s next projectile found Klegga’s heart and sent him crumpling down next to Marcus, his eyes lolling back in his head.
For a moment no one said anything, and Marcus was forced to stare into the eyes of the Kobold as his bloody corpses spasmed in its death-throes.
“Shai-Alud!” Skeever and Deekius both called as they final reached him. “S-Sire Marcus! Damned be that Redwhiskers! Your slow turning of the winch is maiming our lor-“
Marcus shook himself off and rose gently, ignoring the blood rivers flowing down his palms. He knew he’d be losing too much blood unless he acted soon to bandage the wound. The dark world of the escape tunnel was beginning to blur. But, still, he staggered forwards until he stood before the little Kobold and his pack of archers – those who had popped every crate out there with pure precision and then managed to retreat back here with enough time to come to his rescue.
“I believe,” Marcus wheezed. “I believe I owe you my thanks, once again.”
Ix shrugged. “Ix is speaking true-true. Klegga is weak. Marcus is strong.”
As the screams of the outside world died down, Marcus was seized by a sudden burst of energy. He stepped forward, grabbed the Kobolds claw in his bloody hand, and raised the little creature’s fist in the air, smiling to see Redwhiskers grimace amongst the soldiers.
“Witness the real hero of this battle,” Marcus shouted triumphantly. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend, ratmen! Remember that, and they might just save your life.”
At this the ratmen roared with cheers, their voices probably echoing down all the way to their capital city that lay further down the tunnel. Marcus let them cheer for victory. He let them call out his name, and that of the Kobold beside him. He even caught old Gatskeek chuckling with hidden glee. They had wont he day, and he was now another step closer to freedom.
“S-sire?” Deekius’ voice asked beside him.
He unclenched the Kobold’s claw and stumbled forward, letting the putrid rat catch him.
“I…I’m tired, Deekius…” he said.
Reality blurred. The now concerned faces of his warriors coealsced together into a colorless sea of fur.
His hands fell to the ground.
“Shai-Alud!”
“Shh,” he whispered, finding, of all things, the dead face of the Kobold, Klegga, being trampled beneath the ratmen’s feet. “I…I’m heading…home…”
NEXT: FG: Chapter 14
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