Black Magician Dhalthar sniffed another pinch of powdered manastone and stroked his whiskers. Things were going well. He surveyed the mass of documents before him and reveled in the messages they contained. Nearly ten thousand ratfolk soldiers would soon be in position within the Underroads that ran around the city of Bergheim.
Such a large horde had not been assembled since the time of the Great Raid of the dark lords. It was the largest army the Council had dispatched since all the ratfolk clans had joined the grand alliance. And it was he who would command it. When he gave the order, that army would attack and, with its frenzy of overwhelming ferocity, crush the despicable humans.
For a brief moment, the manastone conjured delicious visions of destruction and death before Dhalthar's red eyes. He could envision buildings burning, humans hacked to pieces or herded in huge lines of slaves. He saw himself stalking triumphantly through the ruins. The mere thought of him made her tail stiffen.
Things were going really well. Even Dhalthar's enemies were helping to bring his plans to fruition.
The vile duo of Frey and Elysia, guided by Dhalthar's brilliant insight, had discovered Felbrood's lair and thwarted his plans before they were put into effect.
The pontiff had returned alone from the surface, and no trace of the Cauldron of a Thousand Plagues could be found. Feldbrood had spent the last few days limping up and down the Underways, muttering about traitors.
Dhalthar gave a high-pitched laugh. There was a certain poetic justice to it all: it had been the pontiff's intent to betray the cause of Dhalthar and, of course, the entire ratfolk nation that had caused his own downfall.
It even looked as if the pontiff might have done the invasion army a favor, since Dhalthar's agents on the surface had reported that a calamitous disease was killing humans like flies. Of course that potentially meant that there would be fewer slaves once the conquest of Bergheim had been effected, so perhaps then it would be time to punish the pontiff. He could fabricate the charges that he would present to the council, and leave them to deal with Caldovil.
Yes, it is true, Dhalthar thought. "Every cesspool has a drop of manastone in it if one knows how to look for it."
He studied the plans of the city before him. The various invasion routes were marked in bright red, blue, and green ink. They flashed before his eyes in a great tangle of lines, and here and there were circles marking the exits through which the soldiers would burst onto the surface.
The sheer labyrinthine complexity of it all filled Dhalthar's brain with satisfaction, but the greatest pleasure came from contemplating what was to come next.
The city would be garrisoned against human attempts to retake it. He would set up labor camps to make the human slaves dig a large moat around the city. Then they could dam the river with a great waterwheel that would provide power for the ratfolk machines and workshops.
At some point, they would build a huge statue of their conquerors, a hundred tails long, and it seemed only fair to Dhalthar that he should serve as the model, for he would truly embody the spirit of ratfolk conquest for them. It would be a glorious moment, and the first of many victories that would bring all human lands under Ratfolk rule completely and permanently.
He heard a not very discreet dry cough from the other side of the curtain that closed his sanctuary.
"I am Tell Tongue, oh greatest of generals!" said a hoarse voice. "I bring very urgent news."
Having been removed from his reveries, Dhalthar was inclined to snap at him, but Telltongue had proved an invaluable lackey of late, and his sources of information were excellent. At the moment he seemed to be a little ill, but Dhalthar was sure it would be a passing thing.
"Enters! Enters! hurry up Hurry!"
"Yes, yes! oh, the swiftest of thinkers!"
"What is that urgent news?"
Telltale Tongue jerked its tail suddenly. It seemed obvious to Dhalthar that the little ratfolk had some really interesting information, and he was determined to enjoy his moment of triumph.
"I once tore into pieces a footman who made me wait a moment longer than necessary. I ripped the meat from his bones."
"A moment, oh, most patient of gentlemen!, while I collect my thoughts. An explanation is needed."
"Explain, then!"
"My birth relative named Ruzlik serves the Shaper Clan."
"Oh. And you think that information is worthy of a Black Magician's consideration?"
"No, no! oh, most perceptive of potentates! It's just that he has a tendency to gossip when he's consumed mushroom wine."
"I see. And often you share a bottle or two with him."
"Yes Yes! This very morning, in fact. And he has told me that his lord, Izak Grottle, is hatching a grand plan, one that will bring the human city to its knees, and I hesitate to mention the following, oh most understanding of ratfolks!"
"Don't hesitate anymore. hurry up Hurry!"
"He claims that Grottle's scheme will bring him great glory, that he will make him more famous even, and it was his words, sir, not mine, that The Black Magician Dhalthar."
The news of that treacherous claim did not come as a surprise to Dhalthar. The fate of the great ratfolks was always to be undermined by jealous lackeys. No doubt Grottle was seeking to gain the Council's esteem at Dhalthar's expense. Well, the Black Magician knew methods to deal with that.
"And what is that plan? Speech! Speech!"
"Oh, the very stupid one doesn't know. He has only heard the Shaper Clan talking about it among themselves. He knows that he has something to do with a great boat, since he himself led the raid to steal it from the humans. He does not know any other data of importance."
"In that case, he goes out looking for them. Already!"
"He may need to spend rations, oh most generous of lords!"
"You will be provided with whatever you need…within reason."
"I'm on my way, sir."
Telltale Tongue curtsied and scratched the floor with her nails as she walked backwards through the curtains. Dhalthar plopped down on his throne. Some things were starting to make sense. Reports had reached him of the theft of a human grain barge. He had attributed it to some pack leaders who exceeded their orders and engaged in private looting. At the time, however, he had the impression that there was another, more sinister, ulterior motive. Dhalthar knew that his cargo would not be safe until he found out what it was.
♦ ♦ ♦
"I don't like you," declared the man who slumped into the chair. "I really don't like you."
"You're drunk," Elysia said. "Go home!"
"This is a tavern! My copper coins are as good as anyone's. I'll go home when I feel like it. I don't take orders from a bitch like you."
"That seems fine to me!" Felix replied. "Stay, then. By the way, I'm a cat."
"And don't try to tame me with little words. I'll leave if I feel like it."
Elysia was starting to get tired of the situation. She had seen other drunks like this one before: belligerent, full of self-pity and looking for a fight. Unfortunately, she Elysia was usually the candidate they chose for the latter. They always chose her as an easy target.
The cat girl guessed that they were too afraid of Frey and the rest of the guards. However, the one now in front of him looked familiar. Frey's muscular body clad in legendary armor had a familiar appearance even in the thick gloom of that corner of the tavern. He had gone there several times in the last few days, after Frey returned from the interview with Osval yerónimo and told Elysia what had happened.
"Elissa is my girl," declared the drunk. "Leave her alone."
Oh right, it was the country boy Elissa had gone out with. He had returned.
"Elissa can decide who she wants to see herself with."
"No, she can't. She's too sweet, too easy to handle. Any smooth-talking city bitch with a nice cape can make me lose my mind."
Elysia saw the role the other assigned her. She was the heartless manipulator who was leading the girl astray.
"You've seen too many plays," she said. "By the way, I'm a cat"
"What? What did you call me?
"I haven't called you anything!"
"Yes you have. I have heard you."
Elysia saw the punch coming from a league away, since the man was drunk and his movements were slow, so she raised a hand to block it. She felt pain in her forearm from the impact. The boy was strong.
"Bitch!" Hans yelled. "I will show you…"
He launched a kick that caught Elysia's shin, causing a sharp pain.
The catgirl, by reflex and instinct, unleashed a right hand, using her claws as weapons, which impacted under Hans's jaw, causing a deep gash. It was quite possibly the best claw attack he had ever landed on a man who was in no shape to do anything about it, and Hans went down like a broken ox. The crowd around them began to applaud, and turning to curtsy mockingly, she saw Elissa staring at her, a look of horror in her eyes.
"Elysia, you are a savage!" the girl said as she passed, then sat down on the ground and rested Hans's head on her lap.
"Oh, Hans! What has that beast done to you?"
Looking at her, Elysia realized that any explanation of what had happened would be useless.