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FG: Chapter 26
🕑 Added 2024-04-11 14:30:02 +0000 UTC*Note: the next few chapters make extensive mention of the map of the North Warrens. For proper immersion, please see: FG: Region Map #1: The North Warrens
King Shrykul watched the columns of troops press through his Castle gates and squeeze themselves into his courtyard. The banners they flew bore the tattered symbols of the Clans he had called for – the bleeding fangs of Clan Marrow and the forked green tail of Clan Glumrot. Both armies numbered probably around 100 rats in total. More than he should have expected. Less than he had hoped for.
He turned back to the round table his servants had dusted off in his war-room and took his seat at its head.
“Thank you for coming today, Brothers.”
Across the table from him sat three rats who couldn’t have been more oppositional in nature. To his left was Talon-Commander Festicus Rekk – Clan Marrow’s consummate warrior sent by King Skylock to command the meagre force he’d responded to the Skittering with. The rat glared at Shrykul with one bulging red eye and one vestigial wound where his other eye should have been. He towered over both the King and the other envoy, even larger in scale than Skeever, and his blood-dipped steel plate reflected the dim light of the torches that glimmered on the walls of the chamber. To look upon him was to look at a spirit of war itself – bold, brazen, barely contained rage – all wrapped up in a big ball of bloody fur. His Clan’s Capital – Steelclaw Bay - lay in the West tunnels, where it was said the greatest density of Dwarven strongholds still held out against them. For this reason, Clan Marrow was seen as the vanguard of the ratman kingdom – even their lowliest citizen was sharpened by constant war in a hostile landscape. Their shock troops and cavalry were second to none.
“When the call goes out, Clan Marrow is answering!” Festicus yelped, punctuating his statement with a bang of his great mailed fist on the table. “We are being the first to arrive. We will be the last to leave.”
“Admirable attitude you are having, Brother,” the rat sitting across from him hissed. “If only you are tempering your sssssuicidal wissshes with faitttth.”
Shrykul looked cautiously at the speaker – Talon-Commander and priest Verulex Moulder from Clan Glumrot. The rat was small, hunchbacked, and kept his eyes hidden from sight behind his hooded, fleabitten robe, revealing only his long, polyp-laden snout. The stench that exuded from his form spoke of pestilence beyond that which the other Clans knew of. King Sceptix’s Clan was best known for its predilection for brewing toxins and its chemical warfare capabilities. Their capital – Pestelpans – was secluded in the South tunnels where the air one breathed was riddled with poisons. They were a most secretive Clan, most protective of their instruments of infection, and most closely aligned with the church of He-Who-Festers. It was said by some that the rule of King Sceptix was essentially a theocracy with him as its puppet ruler and nothing more. For this reason, Shrykul had always been hesitant to trust the priest-caste of Glumrot. But still, when the Skittering was called, they at least had answered. That was more than he could say for Clan Nightstalker.
Nightstalker…the most elusive Clan of all. Why had they not come?
“I am not needing faith to stick ugly Kobolds with pointy end of my spear!” Festicus roared.
Shrykul interrupted any reply Verulex could have made before he even started. The last thing he needed right now was a sermon – especially one delivered with that irritating lisp his Clansmen maintained.
“What news of our Brothers in the East?”
Both rats bowed their heads and said nothing.
Shrykul nodded. “I see.”
He at once turned to the third rat – an albino, red-eyed fellow practically shaking in his chair – and nodded to him.
“You are being welcome here, Sire Gekul,” he said, noting how the little rat jumped at King mentioning his name.
Against the paralyzing stares of both the Talon-Commanders that flanked him at the table, Gekul gulped and bowed as low as he could without banging his head.
“M-m-many thanking you, good King Shrykul,” he said. “You are always being good to our village.”
The tiny rat squirmed in his seat, and Shrykul had to keep from chuckling to himself. He was a mayor amongst giants, merely a representative of the frontier town of Razork on the border between Red-Eye lands in the North and those now owned by the Kobolds of Skegga. But his presence here was necessary. Shrykul had heard of the constant raids the Kobolds had been launching against the village, and the uselessness of Fort Spearclaw in repelling their attacks. Though Silas, when he was still here, had cautioned him to leave the village unmanned and commit his forces elsewhere, Shrykul was not about to leave the rats there without hope. Especially not when the village provided a key staging area for their assault into Skegga’s lands.
The King nodded again and sighed deeply before beginning in earnest. He had played for enough time.
“Sssssire,” Verulex hissed. “Be pardoning my interjection, but will the Shhhhhai-Alud be joining usssss?”
Shrykul fixed the priest’s eager snout with his sharp eyes.
“I – am fearing he shall not be,” he said.
He watched their initial reactions to this news with some interest. Interestingly, it seemed it was Verulex who was most put out. Festicus just seemed peeved he wouldn’t get the chance to meet a great commander.
“I am not thinking this man a coward!” Festicus growled. “We of Marrow are hearing of his leadership prowess! That is big reason why we are coming with legion of best horned Spinerippers!”
“Indeed,” Verulex concurred. “We of Glumrot are mosssst interesssted in thisss man – summoned by a priessssst of He-Who-Festersssss. Thisss isss meaning great thingggssss for ratman Clanssss.”
For all the Clans? Shrykul wondered. Or just for yours?
“Be that as it may,” he said, dropping his suspicions. “We are having war to fight. If Kobolds are breaking Clan Red-Eye lands then they will be moving West and South next. They will be coming for you.”
Both rats inclined their heads.
“So let us be making plans,” Festicus said. “What is being the current situation?”
Shrykul nodded to one of his attendants who spread a map of the North Warrens across the round table. As he spread out the folds in its edges, Shrykul began to give the briefing he had been deliberating over all night, when his wife’s calls had not been haunting his brain.
“Skegga is reinforcing the old Dwarven stronghold of Grindlefecht,” he began. “It is being important fortress for trade with the surface. It holds nearest entrance to Jungles of Barakh and thus good position for slave-trading with Yokun.”
The rats stiffened at the mention of the humanoid snake-people that lived in the jungles above the North warrens. Their ferocity in battle was matched only by their cunning.
“Grindlefecht is being well defended,” Shrykul continued. “High walls packed with stone and clay, solid steel forged by Dwarven craftsmen. Our scouts are reporting that Skegga is finding Dwarven powder-cannon deposits within. Walls will be filled with dwarven death-guns.
In addition, Grindlefecht is being protected by line of three fortresses that form defensive perimeter along North side of Black Gulch – Gromelin, Tarakht, Festigraf. These forts are being of lesser quality. It is seeming that Dwarves knew of Kobolds coming and destroyed most of their more clever defenses. But their proximity to each other is still making them dangerous.”
Verulex nodded as the King let the information sink in. “An attack on one will be met with reinforcementssss from the otherssss.”
“Along with reserve troops from Grindlefecht,” Festicus agreed.
Shrykul nodded. “Kobolds were repelled by Skeever Steelclaw’s Pack recently, and a force of 70 Skogsriders were sent to pursue. They were broken at Knifegut Fortress.”
“But the Fort is lost,” Festicus said. “We are hearing of the tale. Fort is being manned by Gatskeek. Good rat. Solid fighter. It is great tragedy the Shai-Alud could not preserve his life, or that of his Fort.”
“But the fort isssss sssstill being of usssssse,” Verulex hissed. “Gutmulchersssss now make nessssst there, yessss?"
My, my, how word is traveling, Shrykul mused.
“You are being correct, Brother,” he said aloud. “The Fort is still presenting best line of defense from North-East attacks. We can safely be considering Black Gulch virtually impassible. For us, and for them.”
“What of Gulchnavel village?” Festicus asked, pointing at the image of the ratman town closest to the edge of the Gulch.
At this, King Shrykul simply shook his head.
“Bastard Kobolds!” Festicus stormed. “Soap-eating water-washers! How are they suddenly being so clever? Kobolds are stupid. Kobolds are warring with each other. Never being united like this. Never caring about common goal. How does this fat toad command them?”
“Crudely asssssked,” Verulex smirked. “But, for oncccce, I am being in agreement with my Brother. How doessss thisssss frog give orderrrssssss that Koboldssss lissssten to?”
King Shrykul sat back and shifted his eyes towards the door of the war-room chamber, nodding once to a shadow that now moved to sit with the others.
“By the Unclean One!” Festicus shouted. “Skeever Steelclaw!”
Skeever dismissed his brother’s bow with a curt wave of his good hand, and took a seat beside the king.
“Brother,” Shrykul said. “Be telling us of what you learned on your mission to Grindlefecht.”
All three rats sat forward to listen, all of them having heard only snippets of Skeever’s great mission that almost wiped out his entire Pack. Of his surveillance of the enemy capital, flight in the face of certain death, summoning of the Shai-Alud and, finally, triumphant return to Fleapit to see this war to its end. It had trickled through the armies of both clans who answered the Skittering like a children’s whisper-game, each version of the events becoming more bizarre with every telling.
The rat who had wormed his way into legend now sat down beside them. His eyes passed over each one of them individually and then, with a face set as hard as stone, laid both his arms on the table.
“Brothers,” he began. “The situation is being worse than we think. But there is one person that will be helping us win this war.”
The entire assembly then shifted abruptly as the doors of the war-council chamber were flung open, and a tall, slim figure strutted into the room without King Shrykul’s instruction.
If any rat present were facing the monarch of Clan Red-Eye in this moment, they would see he was just as surprised as he was.
“By He-Who-Festerssssss,” Verulex whispered.
Calmly, Marcus took a seat beside Skeever and leaned against its hard stone back.
“Well,” he said. “You have your General. Now, shall we get down to business?”
NEXT: FG: Chapter 27
Comments
Namel909
Entrence flair 100 sss Timeing 100 actual story progression ? eeeeh nice enough sss to tease the snek people and doing some character building sss And oooh look look sss the army numbers are still in the houndrets not like mangas would have shoot them into the thousands or ten thousands by now sss one can still feel conected and not turn a possible loss into a statistic sss
