The sewers provided access underneath to any important building in the city. An enemy adapted to darkness could move groups of assassins or stormtroopers through them. They made a royal road, perfect for a ratfolk invasion. The great walls of Bergheim would not be a barrier to them. The guards on the battlements would not notice a thing.
And the danger to the city was even greater if the high magistrate himself was in cahoots with the wererats! The pieces fell into place. He already knew how Fritz Helstaff's enemies disappeared: they were dragged into the depths by ratfolks. He would bet that there was a network of tunnels that allowed access to the palaces and fortified houses on high. At worst, a small enough assassin could gain access through the sewer channels, crazy as the idea was.
The question was: why? Why was Helstaff doing that? What benefit did he expect to get for himself? The death of his opponents? Maybe he was a mutant in cahoots with the powers of darkness. Maybe he was crazy. Elysia wondered if she could leave now, given what she knew.
He was infuriating, since he could do nothing. No one would believe him if he accused the supreme magistrate. The word of a virtually unknown platinum rank adventurer against the most influential man in town? And if she revealed who she was, she would only get herself into much worse trouble, for she was a runaway slave and worse, she wasn't human. No one would be too upset if she disappeared.
Perhaps it would be best to leave things as they were. It was only then, as she came to that decision, that she realized the rats had disappeared, at the same time that she could hear the sound of stealthy footsteps behind her.
"They're following us," Frey said in a calm, nonchalant voice. "There are several groups: one behind, two follow tunnels parallel to ours, and there are more ahead."
"Following us? What is following us?" Elysia had to make an effort to get those words out. Her throat felt tight and her voice was barely higher than a whisper. "The Ratfolks?"
"Yes. They're going to ambush us. Our little friends should be quieter if they want to try to attack me by surprise."
Elysia was surprised, she had barely managed to sense that one of the groups was following them, while Frey was able to detect all of them.
"What can we do?"
"Fight bravely and, if necessary, die heroically."
"That's great for you… You're a hero. The rest of us aren't as eager to get killed."
Frey gave her a scornful glare, and Elysia felt the need to find an excuse for her fear.
"What if it was an invasion? Someone should warn the city. It is our duty. Remember the oath we took in accepting this job."
She realized that this impressed the dark hero. Frey was always moved when they heard about duty and oaths.
"You're right, cat girl. At least one of us should escape and warn the city. It will be better to talk to the others and come up with a plan."
♦ ♦ ♦
Tzarkal saw that his prey had stopped. They had gathered in the tunnel and were talking in low voices. He knew they were afraid, for at last their dulled human brains had understood that they were being followed. He knew the just fear true ratfolk warriors held in most humans. He had seen the look of cowardly horror in many human eyes, for the awesome majesty and dignity of the ratfolks filled human-things with awe.
He drew himself up to his full height and smoothed his fur with his tongue. Sometimes when he looked at himself on the polished surface of the shield, he almost understood those feelings. He couldn't deny that he made an impressive figure, even among the regal silhouettes of his high-ranking companions. It was only fitting that human-things should be justly impressed by a superior race.
He gestured for the warriors to stop. He would give his victims a minute's grace to fully savor their fear. He wanted them to understand the hopelessness of their situation. Perhaps he would even allow them to beg for their lives, as some victims did. He knew that it was a tribute to the impressive bearing he possessed.
"Host Leader, shouldn't we attack now? Finish off the human-things while they're confused?" asked the group leader, Gazat.
Tzarkal shook his head. Gazat had just shown his lack of understanding of the finer details of the strategy. He thought it was better to just attack rather than wait for the right moment, when the enemies were paralyzed with fear.
The hostmaster wagged his tail indulgently.
"Nerd. Let them know fear. When they secrete musk and know despair, then we will charge-charge."
Tzarkal realized that Gazat had doubts. Well, there he. He would soon see for himself the superiority of his boss's tactical knowledge.
"Host leader! They back towards us."
"No doubt they are fleeing in terror and panic. Prepare to receive them with firm arms." The ledge was wide enough here for two ratfolks to enter deep. The warriors took up positions with their spears ready to receive the charge of the enemies. Tzarkal waited expectantly.
Triumph filled his heart as the terrifying human-things clashed with his elite warriors. So filled with fear were they that they did not even stop in their headlong rush. Blind fear impelled them to throw themselves against the sharp blades of the weapons.
Surely luck alone had allowed the big man's sword strike to split both swords in the vanguard. Yes, then he could see it more clearly. The big man was so frightened that he flashed red from his eyes like a rat stricken with rage, howling terrified prayers to whatever gods he worshipped. He knew that he was doomed.
Yet in his terror he was causing terrible damage, as brutes often did when they were in a panic. A blind blow split the head of a warrior. A frantic swing of the sword felled two trusted warriors, who fell into the sewer channel.
If Tzarkal hadn't known them well, he would have sworn that the ratfolks jumped into the filth in order to avoid being hit by the weapon. It certainly hadn't been like that!
A non-human-thing with black hair that smelled like a female had met the big man. He was fighting with some precision, and a thrust from his short sword caught the throat of another ratfolk.
Nope! This was not happening. Four of his best warriors had fallen, and the human-things had suffered not even one casualty. Those hairless beings had been lucky. He swelled with pride as more brave warriors leapt into the fray.
Then he was certain that victory would be his, though the human-things did not know it. They kept advancing, and more useless warriors fell under his weapons.
Tzarkal knew that he had been betrayed! Instead of elite warriors, he had been sent useless rats in the form of reliable, veteran ratfolk warriors. Some cunning enemy of his had arranged this to discredit him.
It was the only thing that could explain why two puny surface dwellers had killed half a dozen of the ratfolk called warriors without taking a single cut. Tzarkal prepared to meet the enemy. He, at least, wasn't afraid of facing the big man's sword or the nearby female's sword. He was a host leader and a true warrior; he did not know fear.
It was only his excitement that caused her to flick his tail and activate his musk-secreting glands as the big man painted the wall of the sewer with blood as he swung his little sword.
Tzarkal knew that he could take down anything-human, but he decided to stay behind while other ratfolks clashed with the big man. He wanted to study the fighting style of his enemy, in order to gain an advantage.
It was certainly impressive the way the big man caught a ratfolk lunging at him by the neck. He knocked her brains out against the stone ledge.
It was decidedly not terror that sent Tzarkal into the gutter as he found himself faced with that frenzy that released an evil glint from his eyes. It was just that he knew this was not the right time to fight. It would be more elegant to catch enemies off guard; For example, when they were asleep. And fewer ratfolk lives would be lost, too. She would tell Dhalthar so as soon as he finished swimming.
He did not order the retreat, because he was not retreating, only a coward without honor would retreat, Tzarkal was only regrouping, hiding and avoiding detection was a brilliant ploy that only a great tactician and a master of battle like him could. to understand.
Tzarkal was a true warrior, the elite of the elite, a champion among the ratfolk, an undefeated commander. From the beginning everything was coldly calculated, with the information collected, he had no need to continue on the battlefield.
Tzarkal was not panicking. What does that strange word mean? Surely it was some human-things invention, a ratfolk warrior like him didn't know that word.