Dhalthar leaned back on the throne he had had set up in his makeshift command cave, scratched his back against the wood of the throne's back, then rested his head on one paw. That lazy sycophant from Tell-Tongue had given him something to really think about. So, as he had suspected, the farscreamer's explosion had been no accident. When he thought about how close he had come to death that day, anger and fear burned in his stomach. If Heskit had been before him at that moment, Dhalthar would have shattered him into a thousand fragments.
This news of Heskit's betrayal gnawed at her guts. He fought to regain control, knowing that such thinking was dangerous, that giving in to anger would lead him to certain destruction. He hadn't achieved his high position in ratfolk society by indulging in such impulses. He told himself that he would find other, more suitable ways to quench his legitimate thirst for revenge. He would find other ways to make the treacherous scum pay for the attempt on Dhalthar's life.
And this new plan of Heskit's… It was just what you'd expect from these machine-obsessed traitors of Clan Marchin, always ready to betray the ratfolk cause for their own gain, always looking for a way to fool their rightful boss and take away your well-deserved credit.
But wait! Was it possible that Tell-Tongue had made all this up simply to curry favor with him? The Black Magician immediately ruled out such a possibility. Telltale Tongue was too stupid and unimaginative to come up with a story like that. Besides, he fit in with the reports Dhalthar had been given by his other spies; they were about a gathering of elite troops of the Marchin Clan, and about secret goings-on between the lairs Heskit had expropriated for his soldiers.
Dhalthar considered the possible consequences. The witch engineers were planning to attack the new Faculty of alchemists; that was obvious. They wanted to acquire the prototypes of the low-quality mech vehicles and cannons that were being developed in this building for themselves.
The Black Magician Dhalthar did not doubt that Heskit would fulfill his promise to improve those human weapons a million times. He knew that no other race could match the genius of ratfolk when it came to building machines, and unfortunately the Clan Marchin were the most brilliant mechanics of a brilliant race.
These new weapons would increase the power of Clan Marchin, and with it would come greater influence over the council. The mere news that Heskit had obtained the human weapons would boost the prestige of Clan Marchin, and perhaps even remove Dhalthar from his position and give Heskit supreme command of that army. Such consequences were unthinkable. A yokel like Heskit would only lead those mighty forces to disaster. Dhalthar's titanic intellect was needed to ensure a crushing victory over the human scum. Dhalthar had, for the sake of his people, an obligation to ensure his continued command.
But what options did he have? He had already decided that Heskit was too powerful and too useful to destroy immediately, so what was he to do? He could confront Heskit and tell him that he knew of his betrayal. It was not enough. The warlock engineer could simply deny it, and it would be the telltale Tongue's word against his own. And he would surely find another way to carry out his plans to take over the human machines when Dhalthar turned his back and his mind was occupied with more pressing matters.
Dhalthar cursed Heskit and all his treacherous progeny. Why did that have to happen then? He should be using his outstanding intelligence to deal with more pressing issues than the betrayals of his underlings. He should be planning the inevitable conquest of the human city, Bergheim, and the destruction of Frey and Elysia.
But wait! Maybe that was the key. Perhaps the Great Rat God had sent him the means to kill two babies with a single club. A brilliant idea began to take shape in Dhalthar's mind. What if he used his two enemies as a weapon against Heskit? What if he simply informed them where and when the warlock engineers' attack would take place? No doubt they would take steps to thwart the attack.
Yes! Yes! The big male's stupid pursuit of glory and the fact that they were both already in disrepute would cause them not to inform the stupid human authorities. Surely they could be made to act in their usual clumsy fashion and try to prevent the execution of Heskit's plan. They were too stupid to suspect they were Dhalthar's pawns, and even if they did suspect a trap, it wouldn't matter. The big male's pride would secure his interest, even though he faced overwhelmingly contrary odds for success. Nope! Nope! He would be especially interested if the odds were overwhelmingly against success.
And so, if things went wrong, Dhalthar would have clean hands. No one would ever figure out that the big male's intervention was due to him; of that, he could be sure. The idea of using both of them to thwart the plans of his other enemies was too good to resist.
He turned the plan over to look at it from every angle, examined every possible outcome, and found it contingency-proof. Either the large male and his accompanying female would thwart the conspiracy in his usual brutal and inept fashion, or they would die trying.
Either alternative was favorable to Dhalthar. If they thwarted Heskit's plans, the warlock engineer would be discredited; if they died, Dhalthar would be rid of two powerful enemies and could still stage some nasty surprise for the Clan Marchin engineers on their way back. In the best of all possible cases, the two sides would eliminate each other. Dhalthar picked up some powdered manastone and snorted it with glee. What plan! So intricate! So cunning! So authentically ratfolk! There he once again had proof of his incredible genius.
Now all he had to do was figure out a way to bring Heskit's plan to the attention of the big male and his female henchman. It would have to be complex, subtle and ingenious. Those two fools would never suspect that they were helping their most powerful enemy.
♦ ♦ ♦
"A message for you, miss," said a grimy-faced little boy as he held out his hand to receive the payment from him. In his other hand he clutched a crumpled piece of parchment.
Elysia cast her eyes on him as she wondered if it was some kind of trick. Bergheim's beggars were particularly known for the ingenuity with which they managed to part fools with their money. However, he could afford to pay attention to her. The lanterns had just been turned on. It was still early and The Stinky Pig didn't even look like it was going to get crowded that night.
"What is this? You don't look like a messenger."
"I don't know, miss. A strange-looking gentleman gave me this scroll and a piece of copper, and told me that I would get another just like it if he gave it to the girl with the ears and tail of a cat with black fur, from The Stinky Pig."
"Black fur?" The use of the word 'Fur' intrigued Elysia, since humans did not usually use that word to refer to the horse.
"He spoke a little funny, miss. And it also looked weird. The truth is that it also smelled funny, and all that."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, his voice wasn't quite normal. She was like very sharp and squeaky. And she was wearing a monk's habit with a hood that covered her face. I thought it had been a long time since he washed his habit. He smelled like a dog or some other furry animal had been sleeping on it, you know, because my dog, Uffie, slept…"
"Put that aside. Is there anything else you noticed?"
"Well, miss, he was walking weird, all hunched over..."
"Like an old man?"
"No, miss, he moved too fast for an old man. He was more like one of those crippled beggars who hang around Cheap Street, but he was moving fast for a cripple anyway and… well, there's something else but I was afraid to tell you in case you thought he had something weird".
"And what is it about?"
"Well, when he was leaving I thought he had a snake under his habit, because I could see something long moving."
"Could it have been a tail? Was it like my tail or like a rat's tail?"
"It could be, miss, it could be. Do you think maybe it was a mutant, miss? One of the changed? Or could he be a beast person like you?" A note of shock and horror had entered the boy's voice. It was obvious that he thought that he might have narrowly escaped.
"Can be. Now tell me, where did you see that beggar?
"In the blind alley. I ran here thinking that with the piece of copper you would give me I could buy myself a good piece of bread."
Elysia tossed the boy a piece of copper and took the piece of parchment she held out. She looked across the room to see if Frey was around. The dark hero was sitting by a table, his massive shoulders sloping; in one of his vigorous fists she clutched a beer, while with the other hand she held his monstrous sword. Elysia beckoned to him.
"What's wrong, Elysia?"
"I'll tell you on the way."