The Black Magician Dhalthar sat on the three-legged bone stool before the far-squeaker, biting his tail. He was angry, more angry than he had ever been, for as long as he could remember. He doubted he'd even been that angry on the day he'd carried out his first murder, and that day he'd been very, very angry indeed.
Word recently reached Dhalthar that the Rat King Gritch was dead, he died before he could make his assault on the human settlement. The news made Dhalthar's mood worse, for the great plan had suffered another great mishap.
He sank his canines into his tail until the sensation brought tears to his pink eyes, and then he released her. He was sick of inflicting pain on himself. He wanted him to suffer some other being.
"Quick-quick! Run-race or I'll blow the meat off your most undignified bones" he yelled, cracking the whip he carried for just such occasions.
The skaven slaves squealed in dejection and ran faster up the step wheel attached to the farsqueaker's massive mechanism. As he did so, the electric globes began to glow softly, their flickering light illuminating the long musty chamber. The shadows of the warlock engineers danced across the walls as they made adjustments to the delicate machinery with light tappings from scoops. A faint aroma of mana stone and ozone became perceptible in the air.
"Fast! Fast! Or I will throw them to the rat-orcs to eat you."
That would be a good possibility, Dhalthar thought. "If I had a pet to feed these slaves." What a disappointment he had been in Bonebreaker, who had been killed by that damned big male as easily as he would kill a blind rat! The mere thought of this large upstart male made Dhalthar want to secrete the musk of fear. At the same time, the hatred began to gnaw at Dhalthar's insides and he settled in, nibbling as ferociously as a newborn would chew a bone.
By the fetid breath of the Great Rat God! He wanted revenge on the Big Male and his repulsive female non-human-thing! They had not only killed Bonebreaker, but had also killed Fritz Helstaff, thereby thwarting the grand plan to plunge Bergheim and the Kingdom of Lothal into anarchy.
It was true that Dhalthar had other agents on the surface, but none were as high-ranking or malleable as the former head of the secret police. Dhalthar was not eager to report the failure of his part of his plan to the council members. In fact, he had put off the report for as long as possible, but he now had no choice but to talk to the Council and report on how things stood. He cast a wary glance at the mirror above the far-screamer, waiting for the image of his contact with the council to surface.
The slaves were running faster at that time. The light from the mana conductors brightened, and Dhalthar's hair stood on end as a shiver ran up his spine to the tip of his tail as sparks flew from the globes at either end of the stair wheel. they ascended towards the enormous mirror situated at the top of the apparatus. One of the warlock engineers ran to the control panel and flipped down two large copper switches. A trident-shaped beam jumped between the globes, and a greenish light began to glow in the view mirror. Little flywheels began to whir, and huge pistons rose and fell impressively.
Dhalthar felt a brief sense of pride at this astounding triumph of ratfolk engineering, a device that made communications across the long distances that separated Bergheim from the great nest in the swamp not only possible, but instantaneous.
The truth was that no other race could match the inventive genius of the ratfolks. This machine was further proof, if proof was needed, of Ratfolk superiority to all other so-called thinking races. The ratfolks deserved to rule the world, which was no doubt why the Great Rat God had given them the knowledge of the machinery for safekeeping.
An image formed in the mirror, a huge figure that glared at her. Dhalthar shuddered again, this time from uncontrollable fear. He knew he was looking at Vault's face; the one who currently, with the death of the Rat King, held the position of provisional leader of the council, which was located in the distant lair of the swamp. Actually, Dhalthar wasn't sure if it was really the Vault because the image was somewhat blurry. He maybe he wasn't the Grand Champion and Hero of the ratfolks. Swirls and streaks of interference danced across the shimmering surface of the mirror. Perhaps I should suggest that the warlock engineers make some adjustments to the device. So, anyway, it wasn't the most appropriate time.
"What do you… have to… report… Black Magician… Dhalthar…" The majestic voice of the Vault emanated from the shrieking trumpet like a high-pitched whine. Dhalthar had to strain to get the words out. With one outstretched paw he picked up the receiver carved from a human femur and connected to the machine by a wire of the purest copper. He fought with all his might to splutter.
"Big wins, and some minor setbacks." Dhalthar screeched. He felt his musk-secreting glands tense, and he fought nervously to keep his teeth from baring.
"Speak… loud… I can hardly hear you… and…"
Dhalthar decided that this communication machine was definitely having some problems. Many of Vault's words were lost, and no doubt his superior received only a few of his own in turn. "Perhaps." Dhalthar thought. "I can take advantage of this circumstance for my own benefit." He had to consider the alternatives.
"Lots of wins and some minor hiccups!" Dhalthar howled as loudly as he could. His roars startled the slaves, and they stopped running. As the step wheel slowed, the image began to flicker and fade, the long tongues of rays dimming. "Faster up, stupid! Don't stop!"
Dhalthar roused the slaves with a crack of his whip, and the image slowly returned, until the dim silhouette of the gigantic ratfolklord came into view once more. A cloud of foul-smelling smoke began to rise from the machine, a smell that suggested something was burning inside. Two warlock engineers approached with buckets of dirty water drawn directly from the nearby sewers.
"… setbacks… Dhalthar?"
"If there is ever a time when slight mechanical irregularities can be useful, this is it." Dhalthar thought.
"Yes Master. Many wins! As we speak, our warriors are exploring below the human city. Soon we will have all the information we need for our inevitable triumph!"
"I said… setbacks… Dhalthar."
"I don't think we're working against time, sir. We need that time for our very capable warriors to draw a map of the city."
The counselor leaned down to turn a knob, and the image flickered and grew sharper. Dhalthar could see that the head of his speaker was covered by a large hood that hid her face. Council members did this often, as it gave them a more mysterious and menacing appearance. Dhalthar saw him turn to say something to someone out of line of sight, and guessed that his superior was scolding one of the warlock engineers.
"... and how are you... agent Helstaff..."
"Unwilling," Dhalthar replied, in a hurry a bit too much for his liking. Somehow, it seemed better than saying he was dead. He quickly decided to change the subject, as he knew it was better to do something to save the situation, and do it soon.
No matter how cunningly he tried to stall his lord through the far-squealer, he knew that the news of Fritz Helstaff's death would eventually reach his ears. All the Ratfolk forces were full of spies and snoops, and it was only a matter of time before news of the failure of his plans reached the council. By then Dhalthar was certain he had better have some concrete success to report.
"We have news… change of plans… we send army to Bergheim… when… ready… attack city…"
Vault's words made Dhalthar's ears prick up with pleasure. If they sent an army, he would command it. Taking the city would immeasurably improve his status within ratfolk society.
"Warlord Virmek will command… lend him… possible help…"
Dhalthar bared his teeth in disappointment. They replaced him in command of his army. He inhaled through his nose as if he were considering the matter. Maybe not; Virmek might have an accident, and then Dhalthar might rise up to claim his rightful share of glory!
Dhalthar's nose wrinkled as the cloud of smoke from the machine almost filled the chamber. He was sure it wasn't normal for the machine to be emitting great showers of sparks like he was. The fact that two of the engineers were running for the door wasn't a good sign either, and he considered following them.
"I know of the presence… ominous elements in your future. Dhalthar…I predict disaster for you unless…you do something about it."
Suddenly Dhalthar froze on the spot, torn between wanting to flee and wanting to continue listening. He was about to secrete the musk of fear. If Vault warned him of something, it was just as if it had already happened. Unless, of course, his superior was lying to him for some personal reason. That happened all too often, as Dhalthar knew very well.
"Disasters, sir?"
"Yes… a man in black armor and a non-human woman…"
There was a final detonation, and Dhalthar flung himself off the stool and cringed to the floor, acrid taste filling his mouth. As the smoke began to slowly dissipate, he saw the molten remains of the screecher in the distance. In the midst were several dead ratfolks, their fur singed and their whiskers burned. In one corner, one of the warlock engineers curled up in a ball, whimpering and writhing in shock. Dhalthar cared not what fate they had met. Vault's words had filled him with tremendous fear. He would have liked to have talked a little more, but alas, he hadn't had that chance. He picked up his little brass bell and rang it.
Members of his personal guard slowly entered the chamber. "Gazat Group Leader seems almost disappointed to see me alive." Dhalthar thought. The idea that the warrior could have sabotaged the device flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it. Gazat did not have enough imagination for that. In any case, the Black Magician had more important things to worry about.
"Summon the ninjas!" Dhalthar squealed in his most authoritative tone. "I have work for them."
For a moment, there was a deep silence in the chamber. An unpleasant odor made Dhalthar's whiskers quiver. The mere mention of expert assassins had made the Gazat gang leader secrete the musk of fear.
"Hurry! Hurry!" Dhalthar added.
"Instantly, sir," Gazat replied sadly, and scuttled off into the maze of sewers.
Dhalthar rubbed his paws in glee. The ninjas would not fail; he was sure of that.