Fiction Spawning of Bob - The Great War Against Chaos - Book 1 Finished

Preface to the now completed first draft:

6 months later the draft is all complete. I hope you enjoy the story AND see potential areas for improvement. There will be a final version one day, and your comments and suggestions will make it a lot stronger.

I am still writing books 2 and 3 of the trilogy, so keep an eye out for those as well.

Bon Apetit.






The long awaited book that comes after the prequel is finally here! (sort of)

Its been 10 months since I sort of finished "the False Moon War", and I have been writing fairly continuously since then. Unlike last time, where I was just making stuff up week to week, I am actually following a plan this time. I like to call it, "The Great Plan."

So here begins the serialized draft version of:

The Fourth Emperor

Which will be book one of a trilogy about <SPOILER ALERT> how Spawning of Bob won the Great War Against Chaos.


Look out for:

My ambition is to write stuff that people would pay a buck ninety-nine for at Amazon. Don't worry, I won't forget those whom I have ruthlessly trampled along the road to success. I'll sign the copies you guys buy (but they will still cost a buck ninety-nine).

Enjoy.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Prologues 3/11

Oops. After 3 weeks, 46 views and no replies, I've just discovered that I forgot to post the first section of the story.



The Fourth Emperor

Prologue 1

It had been several hours since Skink Priest Caneghem had stirred from his position beside the glowing brazier making it a surprise when he finally stood with a grin on his face. . In daylight, his smile would startle most sensible folk on account of his long muzzle being full of needle sharp teeth. At night and lit from below by the volcanic light of the coals he looked positively diabolical.

"What? What have you discovered?” Rychek had been giving the astromancer silent companionship and enjoying the occasional juicy moth.

“I have checked every projection and alignment!” Caneghem crowed. “It is finally complete!”

Rychek carefully picked his way over the priest’s improvised observatory which festooned the flat rooftop look like a colossal spider web. At its centre it had a tall wooden rod which was notched at precise intervals. From its base were strands of yarn which radiated in every direction. Lustrian glyphs labelled each one with the name of a planet or significant star. The lines showed the precise points on the roof’s edge where each rose and set.

Larger markers indicated where the sun and moons touched the horizon at solstice and equinox. The Chaos Moon, Morrslieb had double the allocation of markers to signify its path before and after the False Moon War.

As Caneghem stretched, Rychek peered at the finished astronomical chart. Whichever way he tilted his head, he could make nothing of the tracery of arcs and symbols.

"What do the stars show?" he demanded.

Caneghem gave a smug little laugh. "The stars show everything, but only to those who can understand their paths.” He carefully rolled up the chart with long, dextrous claws pointed it heavenward.

"I have over a year of observations from the Mountains of Mourn. With these I can project the star paths indefinitely into the past or the future."

"Then what does the future hold?” Rychek persisted with his line of enquiry.

Ordinarily, an exalted priest such as Caneghem would have no dealings with lower servitors such as his beast caste companion, but events had thrust this pair and their spawn kin together, far from their jungle home on the continent of Lustria.

The priest indicated the southern half of the sky with a sweep of his rolled chart. "The equatorial constellations are familiar to me, but these," he pointed north, "were previously uncharted. If I can project their trajectories back and relate their paths to happenings in local history, then I will be able to use them to precisely predict future events."

"Our hosts have an oral history...."

Caneghem interrupted with a snort, "The ogres' oral histories relate mostly to the food that goes into their mouths. I need detailed history which stretches back for millennia, not gastronomic appraisal. No such records exist here in the ogre lands."

Rychek's crest drooped in disappointment. "So you cannot predict anything?"

"I did not say that!" snapped Caneghem, "From what is written in familiar constellations I make can make a grim foretelling. A conjunction approaches which has not been seen since the coming of Sotek."

Rychek hissed through his sharp teeth. The advent of the Sotek, the Serpent God came over two millennia ago at the most turbulent and bloody period in the war between the lizardmen and skaven.

"Do you say that the rat-men will rise again?"

"We need not fear the rat-men this time. There are others far worse than they. In the north, the Aurora Chaotica grows in brightness and expanse. It seems that the four vile gods of Chaos have ceased their infighting. They turn their full attention upon this world.”

Caneghem took one last look at his observatory and began to ascend. “In the great war that approaches, each should look to the welfare of his fellows. We must return to Lustria."

Rychek scurried after him, "But Tyrant Welhung forbade us to leave-"

"We are not prisoners. He bade us stay in his palace so that we would not be eaten by some ogre with better appetite than eyesight and that danger has considerably reduced. We must take the risk and leave before the time that I have foreseen arrives.”


Prologue 2

0 What went Before

Five lizardmen of Lustria and their war beast had gone from being enemies, to prisoners, to allies and ultimately friends of the ogres of the East Pass Valley. The event that had precipitated that progression was the descent of the Chaos moon over a year ago.

Morrslieb had dropped lower and lower, and ultimately would have collided with the earth had not the Slann Mage Priests of Lustria intervened. As had ever had happened in the past, when the Slann extended their prodigious full power there came repercussions as inevitably as ripples form on the surface of a pond.

No doubt the ogres were grateful regardless of any consequence. They, of all peoples had been worst affected by the waxing moon. Its proximity had caused them to lose their prodigious appetites and they began to waste away. Whether they would have first perished by malnutrition or by the Chaos moon finally crashing to earth was a moot point.

Before either could occur, the Slann contrived to blast the satellite into a more distant orbit with a torrent of warpstone and magical energy from the Great Maw. In the aftermath, three significant events occurred.

First, the shattered moon showered the globe with warp-matter meteorites and dust. The vile green substance had a maddening and warping effect on natural life, and it stirs the corrupted passions of creatures of evil nature.

The warp dust in the air, water and soil drove beasts mad, made the woods more fearsome to tread and inflamed the weaknesses and base lusts of man, dwarf and elf. Green skins increased in their animosity and rat men doubled their duplicity. The dead slumbered more lightly than ever and many of them awoke to feast on the living. It took many months before the contamination lost its potency.

The second consequence occurred in the shadow dimension, the Realm of Chaos. The four principle Gods of Chaos, Slaanesh, Khorne, Tzeentch and Nurgle, were stung by the defeat of Morrslieb, for the fall of the moon was of the daemonic design and to their advantage. They paused from their infighting for the first time in millennia and cast about for a mortal champion to lead their varied forces to achieve the subjugation or destruction of the world.

At their threshold in the Northern Chaos Wastes they found a candidate whose hatred of the gods of order rivalled their own. He was Asavar Kul, the Kurgan. They anointed him Everchosen, the avatar of the ruinous powers in the material realm. With their blessings and empowerment he crushed all mortal rivals and commanded great daemons. Before long he was the undisputed overlord of all warriors, beastmen and daemons who prowled under the glow of the Aurora Chaotica. As his endless hordes spilled south, they drew the dancing daemon lights with them like a smothering blanket.

The third repercussion of the sundering of Morrslieb was the restoration of the appetite of the entire ogre race. No longer nauseated, and now half-starved, the ogres launched the largest campaign of culinary conquest that had been seen since their migration at the coming of the Great Maw. For a full year they rampaged from their homelands in the Mountains of Mourn on an appalling crusade to restore their corpulent waistlines.

Although they forayed in all directions, the Northern Wastes were near, and the congregation of flesh represented by the chaos horde was awfully tempting.

The Everhosen’s plan was to swoop out of the north and subdue all orderly lands simultaneously. Indeed the invasion of Naggaroth went off very smoothly with the unexpected cooperation of the native Druchii themselves. In the Old World it was a different matter. The ravenous ogres scattered lesser armies and disrupted supply lines to the larger ones. The chaos invasion was delayed to the extent that winter closed in and blocked the high passes into the lands of men.

Rather than wait idly for the passes to open, the Everchosen spent his time plotting a scheme which would see the divided Empire of Sigmar brought to its knees before he ever set foot on its soil.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Prologues 3/11

I like how it's a retelling of The End Times, I'm doing something similar with my own fluff-work. Hopefully it'll end with the LM carpet bombing the planet with their Pyramids

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Prologues 3/11

I wasn't aiming towards the End Times, but unfortunately knowing that much future is causing a bit of influence. I had written a fair bit about Teclis and about a wolf priest of Ulric. Knowing that Teclis is going to kill Ulric later suddenly makes some of their dialogue potentially rich with foreshadowing - the final version will end up different as a result.

For the record, I am very carefully writing into the rich vein of general ignorance of approx year 2302. Karl Franz is elected 200 years later.

At this time the Empire Civil war will end with Magnus the Pious taking the throne, the Imperial colleges of magic are set up, the Great War on Chaos will drag on a bit and other interesting historic events which need to happen before Karl Franz will conveniently fall into the same general period - near enough that I can tell you all the REAL story behind the major players in those events even if i don't portray the events themselves. (eg. What would prompt Vlad von Carstein to abandon centuries of peaceful parasitic leaching of the empire and march on Altdorf with his army of the dead? Could it have something to do with hand weapons? or spears? or hand weapons?)

I consider any vaguely odd circumstance in the "just before End Times" period to be mine for the foreshadowing. (Steam tanks, anyone? Did you wonder where that idea came from? How do you get a grand alliance of elves, dwarfs and men when the dwarfs and elves haven't spoken since 3800 years earlier where their war of the beard ended not with a treaty, but with the withdrawal of the high elves for Dark Elf reasons? The elves would not have forgotten their "defeat" and the dwarfs not have forgotten the original humiliation. Don't worry, Bob will fix it.)

And as for this opinion: "Legend claims that [Everchosen Asavar] Kul himself was slain by Magnus, though this seems unlikely - Magnus was far more a leader than a warrior and would have been little match for the near-immortal servant of Chaos." obviously the writer didn't know that the emperor-elect had lizards assisting him.

I hereby take up this challenge - I will explain everything stupid or confusing in WHFB through the rigorous application of retroactive Bob logic or die in the attempt.

Does anyone know a good necromancer?

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Prologues 3/11

Huh, that sure is a useful website you've linked to there.

When does the next part come out? Not to sound impatient or anything... (my own writing is snail-paced). I've never considered the previous Great War - the fluff of the Empire excapes me, generally being more concerned with the LM, Daemons, and Elves. I wish you all the best in your endeavor to tidy GW's subtle and transcendent literature ;p

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Prologues 3/11

Re "good necromancer", well not "good" but Van Hel started out "a net positive" in terms of stopping the skaven onslaught over Sylvania etc. I liked how he was portrayed in the first of the Black Death series of novels, Dead Winter. That was essentially completely ditched, character development nerfed and any real story of him skipped over in the later novels.

per the reader review here: http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Winter-Time-Legends-Werner/dp/1849701512

"The tale of Frederick Van Hal, the lone surviving priest of Morr in the distant Sylvanian town of Bylerhof, was for me the most emotional of the four that Herr Werner tells in the novel. He is portrayed as a man struggling against some great odds, odds that serve to impress on the reader that Warhammer Fantasy Battles is not a setting where there are happy endings. Its all about the grimdarkness of the Old World. By the end of this narrative, I was really invested in Van Hal's character and his circumstances and Herr Werner has really set his story up to be a powerhouse in the sequel when it comes out next year."

Agree with all that but then the disappointment came with next book.

PS - love your stuff but please don't make it "all lizard folk doing everything"!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob-Great War Against Chaos (Ch 1 18/11/15)

Sorry have left you all so long without adding a chapter.

Real life has been Chaos. It is like the End Times at my place at the moment! (Doing my bosses job, DYI kitchen renovations, walking dead, daemonic incursions. That sort of thing.)

And I just discovered that I put the wrong book title above my prologues. This story is really resisting being told.

Let me get my whip and chair in order to present:

The Fourth Emperor

Chapter 1. The Caravan

The predawn peace was shattered by a throng of bawling animals, creaking wains and swearing merchants which milled across the broad concourse. The tower and wall which barred the westernmost choke point of the Pass to the East loomed disapprovingly over the whole disorganized mess.

The two skinks industriously loaded weapons and supplies onto the platform atop their bastiladon, Bessie. The saurus warriors, Bob and Joe had adopted their accustomed role of lounging to one side. This morning they were accompanied by a grizzled ogre and the trio watched the haphazard assembly of a trade caravan.

Rodekhil Offaleater was Tyrant Welhung's lieutenant and another veteran of the False Moon War, amongst many other campaigns. He was on hand to farewell the lizardmen and to negotiate their safe passage across the Dark Lands in his master's absence

Joe shook his scaly head at the pandemonium before him. "Mahrlect!" he swore, using the universal curse word. "How will this rabble survive the journey west? We'd be safer on our own."

Rodekhil shrugged. "Do you see the caravan guards? They know what they are about."

Bob and Joe scrutinized the warriors as they secured their tackle and prepared their horses. They were a mixed bunch. Most had lighter complexions but generously scattered among them were others with different tones of skin. The weapons they carried varied widely from light bows and lances to the great zweihander swords favoured by the mercenaries of Flanders. Each piece of armour and weaponry gleamed, showing the care with which it was maintained.

The colour of their costume was predominantly black but every one of the caravan guards was dressed richly, and in some cases flamboyantly.

"They look like dandies. All show and no fight," observed Joe.

Rodekhil laughed. "Never employ a poor looking caravan guard. They are paid a tithe of the value of the goods which safely reach their destination, and they rely on their reputations. The best mercenary captains are as rich as princes because they can command a larger tithe."

"Still, they look ridiculous. Dressed up like they are going to a masquerade."

The ogre guffawed and knocked Joe sprawling with an amused pat on the back.

"I hope you oiled your scales this morning, friend, for you will be joining them at the ball! Let us find your new employer, the caravan captain."

Rodekhil knew that stealth, speed or strength in numbers could see one traverse the Dark Lands with relative safety. The caravan, although patently inconsistent with the first and second conditions, represented a prime opportunity for the latter. The lizardmen had no cargo, nor wealth to pay for an escort, but the ogre had seen at first hand their skill at arms and ingenuity in combat. The five also had the attribute which had seen more battles in history won than any other: an uncommon measure of luck.

The mercenary captain would not be bound to pay new caravan guards a share of profit on their first voyage, therefore he would be unlikely to reject the free addition of extra spears and hand weapons. If he was reluctant to take the Lustrians on, the addition of a warrior mage and a colossal war beast constituted a considerable sweetener to the whole arrangement.

The trio pushed through the press of ill tempered animals and drivers in an effort to locate the captain. Ultimately they found him on the far side of the courtyard at the centre of a knot of haggling merchants. He stood a little under six feet tall and had an athletic build but by no means was he over muscled. His torso was protected by a plain steel cuirass, the standard armour of mercenaries the world over. His black cap was purely functional, which he demonstrated by pulling it off and using it to shoo away the pests who surrounded him.

"I am not interested in negotiating!" he called with obvious frustration before cramming the cap back onto his closely cropped black hair.

The merchants sadly turned away as they realized that the escort price was not ambit. With the negotiations complete, the captain broke his fast. He withdrew a slim dagger from the top of one black boot and used it to cut slices from an apple, which he deposited into his mouth one by one.

As he munched he surveyed the nascent caravan, sparing barely a glance for the towering bastiladon in the background. In a world of marvels and monsters, one more unfamiliar beast held little interest for him, particularly because it was not on the manifests he had just inspected.

With his survey completed, he held the last piece of apple in his teeth and stooped to tighten his saddle girth.

"Mahrlecht....” Rodekhil was only halfway across the concourse when he rumbled the word in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. He began thrusting his way urgently, pushing man and beast out of his way with his tree like arms.

"I've never heard Rodekhil swear before.” Bob remarked. "Whoever that fellow is, he is in a lot of trouble."

The lizardmen followed in the ogre's wake. The man had not seen Rodekhil's approach and had no warning about what was to befall him.

"Mahrlecht!” the ogre roared as he slammed his massive palm across the man's back. The poor fellow was then twirled by his shoulders and pinioned, facing the lizardmen.

"Bob, Joe! Meet Captain Mahrlecht! He and I fought side by side in paid service to the Border Princes!"

The man had a red flushed face and his grey eyes bulged unsettlingly from their sockets.

Rodekhil pressed him for a response, "Will you not greet Bob and Joe? I am sure they and their three kin will make fine additions to your company."

The captain made an inarticulate sound and stared at the lizards in desperate appeal.

"Captain Mahrlecht?"

The mercenary’s face was now turning purple. He gestured desperately at his throat. Finally one of his troopers noticed his plight.

"Priest Heimlich!” the trooper called. “It has happened again!"

Another of the caravan guard, this one a dark bearded hulk of a man wearing a black wolf skin, completed his negotiations with a Tilean purveyor of fine silks and unhurriedly trundled over, tucking his newly acquired white under-hose inside his jerkin as he did so.

"Excuse me," he said to the ogre as he looped his brawny arms around the captain, with one fist below the sternum. He then squeezed with a rib cracking jerk, and the stricken man expelled the piece of apple that he had inhaled when Rodekhil had affectionately assaulted him.

The captain seemed to recover quickly. He shook himself loose from the wolf man landed a powerful punch on the grinning ogre's flabby gut.

"You...you devil! Must you always sneak up like that?" the captain scowled. The frown lasted for only a few moments before it split into a grin and he embraced his old comrade. The hug Rodekhil returned was scarcely less forceful than the one that had been administered by the wolf man seconds earlier. Fortunately the ogre released him before the captain could asphyxiate for a second time.

The ogre repeated the introductions and the captain appraised the saurus warriors.

"So... you recommend these to join my escort?"

The two lizardmen would have stood somewhat taller than the man if they straightened, but their normal position was with their gnarled legs splayed to each side in a battle ready crouch. Their powerful bodies carried only sinew and muscle from their heads to the tips of their spined tails. Being among friends they held no weapons, but that detail was scarcely relevant. Their fingers and toes ended in sharp talons, and their broad mouths were filled with a double row of serrated teeth. Either tooth or claw would suffice to maim any unarmoured foe.

Aside from what appeared to be an eggshell atop Bob's bone crested head, they were devoid of clothing or armour. The latter was rendered unnecessary by the horny blue scales which looked as tough as boiled leather. The former would take some getting used to, but it did indicate that the lizardmen were likely to be inured to the effects of the elements.

Mahrlecht considered. "I would prefer your falchions at my beck and call, friend Rodekhil, but these may be adequate. You say there are more of them?"

"Atop yonder beast" Rodekhil indicated Bessie.

Caneghem and Rychek were scurrying over the bastiladon’s back, securing casks of water, bales of fodder and bundles of javelins. The skinks were agile, but clearly would not be a match for the robust saurus in combat.

"What use to me are midgets?"

"I could ask the same about you and your thinling comrades, Mahrlecht. I only ever stayed with you in battle in case I needed a toothpick. The darker one is a beast master and peerless scout. He could spit you with a poisoned javelin before you ever detected him. The other is a battle mage, adept with the Lore of Heavens. He also cooks an excellent kraken gumbo."

"A wizard? I suppose he will be of some use in the Dark Lands, but he will need to hide his power in the Empire beyond, else some ignorant peasant burn him at the stake. What of the fifth? I can't see him. Is he even smaller than the others?"

At that moment Mahrlecht found himself in shadow.

"Bessie is loaded. Are you done?"

Mahrlecht gaped up at the silhouette of a kroxigor. The monster was barely taller than an ogre, and weighed considerably less, but his entire mass was muscle, gristle and scale.

Rodekhil laughed and playfully backhanded the newcomer across the chest. The kroxigor was not knocked back any more than if he were carved of granite. He looked curiously at the place where he had been struck.

"Did I have another sabre-wing on me?" he rumbled. The pigeon sized parasites usually fed on softer prey, like wyvern or stone troll.

"No, Mahtis, but remember to check your armpits. Meet Captain Mahrlecht. He will be your chief for this journey."

Mahtis's rocky brow crinkled. "Mahrlecht? That sounds a bit like that rude word the saurus use."

"I am not interested in discussing my name!” The captain turned on his heel and stalked away.

"Congratulations, you've been hired,” pronounced Rodekhil cheerfully. “Just follow quietly and don't cause any upset. He will warm to you, if you survive long enough."




The caravan was comprised of merchants of many nations. There were Tileans and Estalians returning to their lands bordering the Middle Sea. Bretonnians and men of Albion mingled with citizens of the Empire. There was even a dwarf trader from the Grey Mountains.

The disparate members of the caravan were united only by their common desire to cross the Dark Lands. During preceding year of ogre conquest, land routes between the Old World and Orient had been impassable. Sea routes were barely safer, as every ogre hulk which could hoist sail had prowled the Sea of Dread and Great Ocean in the hope of plunder. The Tilean trade fleet had been decimated within months and intercontinental commerce ground to a near halt.

Some of these caravan traders were keen to return to families they had left behind so long before. Some less scrupulous dealers desired to put many leagues between themselves and the Cathayan authorities as quickly as possible. All of them carried cargo which had vastly increased in value since they had last visited the Old World.

Their camels, donkeys and oxen were burdened with silks, porcelain and spices from Grand Cathay; perfumes, dyes, precious stones and ivory from Ind; and salt from the slave mines of Sibernia.

They had come this point on the Path to the East with the intent of following the northern trade route, which was nominally more dangerous than the alternative southern caravan route from Pigbarter to the Mad Dog Pass through the World's Edge Mountains. The southern route was a little safer but tolls were demanded at the crossings of the River Ruin, and at the Sentinels. Mad Dog Pass led to the lawless lands of the Border Princes which could also be costly to traverse and, after that, traders would enter the deep south of the Empire via Black Fire Pass, with a long journey still ahead of them to the richer provinces.

Along the more direct northern route, the Chaos Dwarfs of Zharr Naggrund demanded no tribute, and when local weather and greenskin conditions permitted, Peak Pass provided a toll free route across the World's Edge Mountains and into the Empire. The chance of a larger return and a shorter journey tempted many to brave the not inconsiderable hazards that might be faced in the wilderness of the Dark Lands.




The iron toothed portcullis finally creaked upwards to release those who had negotiated passage with Captain Mahrlecht. One by one the wains and carts creaked through the shadow of the arch.

The last to pass under the teeth of the gate were Bessie and her riders because they had been delayed by a heartfelt farewell from Rodekhil and Argsplat Nottaggen, Sergeant of the Gate Watch. The sergeant was another ogre who had left a trail of glory and body parts across three continents in his inimitable prosecution of the False Moon War.

As the caravan snaked toward the grey haze of the Dark Lands Argsplat scratched at the scar below his empty eye socket. "Do you think the lizards will make it back to their jungle?"

Rodekhil shrugged. "I wouldn't wager against them. Their gods bless them."

The sergeant pondered this. "There are other gods who curse them in a thousand tongues. Which ones are the stronger?"

Rodekhil had no answer.

 

The Fourth Emperor

Chapter 2. The Dark Lands


The River Ruin marked the border between the Ogre Kingdoms and the Dark Lands. As it slid greasily past it steamed and bubbled, releasing foul gases and odours into the air. The poisons and effluent which polluted the water came from the flesh forges and slave pits of the Iron Citadel of Zharr Naggrund which squatted over the river far upstream.

The traders crossed the river at the Ford of Bones and lingered briefly on the western bank to wash down the legs of their mounts and pack beasts before reforming their line. The caravan turned away from the sullen Plains of Zharr to the north and began to wind upwards into the windswept desolation of the Blasted Wastes.

The lizardmen found the Dark Lands to be no more inviting than when the lizards had traversed them more than a year before. The central massif was folded like a rumpled blanket. Lank grey grass drooped on the ridge tops, and thorny grey briars choked the dry gullies and arroyos which separated them. The dull grey land blended with the dull grey sky at some indeterminate point in the middle distance. There was no horizon, no sun and it seemed no passage of time. There was only the incessant moan of the wind.

Given that all of his more normal troops seemed to know precisely what was required of them, Captain Mahrlecht had little esle to do than appraise his new caravan guards. He dropped back on his horse to assess the lizardmen's capabilities and to give their orders.

His introduction was blunt and clear. “Rodekhil recommended you, but he is not captain. I am. If you present a risk to my investment,” his gesture compassed the entire caravan. “I will leave you behind. With or without your throats cut. You two saurus warriors I have met. You will present yourselves for picket duty each night. During the days you will rest and stay away from anything valuable. You," he stabbed a finger at Rychek, "tell me about your beast. Is it swift? Is it fierce?”

The captain rapped the bastiladon's shoulder plate. As far as he could see, he had somehow acquired a boulder with legs. Bastiladons of Lustria are as heavily armoured as rocks. They are usually as stubborn as a rocks. They look like a cross between a tortoise, a lizard and a rock. On this one's back was a low sided platform which held the lizardmen and their supplies.

The little beast master stroked one of the monster's scutes affectionately. "She is a little faster than a man on foot, but she takes some stopping," explained Rychek. "Her nature is calm. She can even be affectionate if you feed her fermented apples. I recommend you don’t.”

Mahrlecht grunted. “She has no fangs or horns. What use is she in battle?”

“Her scales are as hard as stone. It would take a mighty blow to wound her and she will not easily take flight. Also observe her tail.”

Bessie was swinging a knob of bone, scales and spikes the size of a pony in time her ponderous strides. "She can defend herself from attack from any angle, and no armour will withstand a blow from her club."

“I hear you have passing skill with a javelin.”

The words were barely out of the captain’s mouth before one of Rychek’s projectiles flashed in front of his face. The lizardman beamed down innocently.

Mahrlecht scarcely blinked. He turned his attention to the skink priest.

“You. Wizard. What can you do for me?”

Caneghem pompously cleared his throat and patted the oiled leather roll which protected his astronomical charts. “With these I shall be able to reveal the shape of the future.”

“Really?” Mahrlecht sneered sceptically. “What does my future hold?”

The skink priest’s scaly crest fell. He was crestfallen (perhaps the origin of the word?). “I need to correlate my observations with other data.” He brightened again, “but this much I know: the stars and planets are coming into alignment to herald great and terrible events. There will be death and glory, triumph and defeat, the beginning of a new age and the rise of ruler of renown!”

“I am not interested in portents. What can you do in combat?”

“Oh, that. I can manipulate the stars and weather to some extent. I can befuddle the foe with showers of ice shards and I can call lightning from a clear sky. On a good day, I can summon a comet to strike the earth in more or less the area I want it to, and sometimes in a timely fashion. On a bad day you might be kept waiting for a while.”

"And what about you?"

Mahtis rose to his full height and brandished his massive dwarfish rune hammer.

"Never mind. I can guess." The captain frowned. The Lustrians seemed ill disciplined, probably mad and definitely dangerous.

"It seems fitting," he declared, "that you should form the lizards tail. Travel behind Signor Marcio, the last trader in line. If I have further orders for you, I will send a rider."

He spurred his horse forward along the caravan.

“italics Bongiorno, mio Capitano!!”

Signor Marcio, the very same Tilean silk underwear trader that Bob and Joe had observed earlier, swept off his feathered cap and bowed to the captain from the seat atop his cart. “How goes your civil war?” he called.

“I am not interested in politics!” Mahrlecht called over his shoulder as he trotted to the van.



Captain Mahrlecht clearly ran a disciplined and well organised operation. His fancy troops fell into their roles with mechanical efficiency as soon as the first scout left the shadow of the ogre gate. Ungol light cavalry, the finest horsemen south of the Chaos Wastes, formed a double screen of scouts in front of and to the sides of the caravan. They roamed in groups of three, the inner cordon always in view of the caravan, and the outer one in view of the inner.

These riders could spit a scorpion with their light lances at full gallop, but the ability which made them legend was their skill with the compound bow. They could ride into range of a foe, release a volley of vulture-fletched arrows and turn to flee before the enemy could respond. As they withdrew, they would release another volley at any who broke formation to pursue. These nomads would surely have overrun all of the Old World if not for the inconvenient presence of forests and mountains in the lands they might wish to conquer.

The Ungol scouts examined every outcrop and depression well before the caravan came near. At regular intervals or if there was any cause for concern, the third rider would hasten back to the caravan captain with a report.

Light infantry marched in rank and file, level with the van of the train. These wereTileans armed with crossbows. Although slower to fire, they boasted greater range and penetration than the short bows of the Ungols. The crossbowmen marched with rectangular shields slung across their backs, reminiscent of those used by the Tileans of yore. If the situation demanded, they could abandon their bows, deploy their shields and draw their short swords. The italics testudo or 'tortoise' formation was a relic of the ancient Tilean Empire. As an offensive formation it had been long superseded by phalanxes of pikemen or halberdiers, but their purpose was not to attack. They would engage and delay an attacking force until the arrival of the heavy infantry.

The Flanderian Doppelsoldners, with their massive two handed swords, marched gaily in the centre of the train. These men had few cares in life. When you wield a weapon that can cleave a foe from crown to navel, and the men to your right and left are similarly armed, one tends to feel relaxed. When such an enemy has already been pierced by arrow, quarrel and short sword one feels nigh invincible. The main disadvantage to employing Flanderian mercenaries was that their manner of speech causes intense irritation to their neighbours.

Heavy cavalry rode in a tight knot towards the rear of the caravan. These were not the nobles of Bretonnia, nor the knightly orders of the Empire, but their barded steeds were every bit as proud, and their lances every bit as long. From their position they could crunch into the flanks of any formations which harassed the caravan's flanks. If a show of force was required they would gallop to the head of the column and ride over any who dared to bar their way.

The mercenary company had three large wains, at the head, middle and near the tail of the caravan. These contained supplies of water, fodder, food and weaponry. Spare mounts were tethered behind the wagons. Throughout the day men of all units would cycle back to replenish their water skins and those of their fellows or to relieve their horses

Captain Mahrlecht, the wolf cloaked Heimlich and three message riders formed a mobile command post. They drifted up and back along the caravan ensuring all was well with their charges, calling regular halts and receiving reports from the scouts.

The company formation changed according to the terrain. If the caravan was abreast of a steep hill or rough terrain not suited to horses, the light infantry would fan out to assume the role of scouts. The Ungols would pull back to the van, ready to be first responders in the event of an attack.

It did not escape the attention of the proud lizards of the tail that every other one of the caravan guards seemed to be doing something useful, and they were not. Eventually Bob cracked.

"Hoi! Excuse me!" Bob hailed a passing scout rider. "We have been given command of the Lizard's Tail. What do we do?"

The Ungol's swarthy face crinkled into a cheerful grin but he didn't speak. Instead he spurred his mount over to the nearest pair of his kin. Bob saw him point back towards Bessie and yammer something in his own tongue. The other two laughed so hard that they nearly fell out of their saddles. Considering that the only practical way to remove an Ungol from his saddle is to kill him, this indicated the depth of their mirth.

"Amico! Do you know much about lizards? No!" Signor Marcio the Tilean silk underwear trader reined in his pony allowing Bessie to come alongside.

Bob cocked a scaly brow at him, "I know a thing or two-"
Marcio continued gaily. "So the lizard, when he is chased by the hawk. Does he drop his tail? Si! Does the tail wriggle and look juicy? Si! The hawk, he eats the tail and the rest of the lizard gets away. So what are we doing today, amico? Do we wriggle and look juicy? Si!”

"So why do you choose to be at the tail"

"Do I choose the tail? Ha ha!" Marcio waved his hand at a the next conveyance in line which happened to be a mule cart which had axles bending under the weight of a number of large barrels. "Signor Dwarf, he likes his gold. Does he choose to pay extra to the Capitano for a place in the front? No! Does he choose the tail? Si! Did I choose the tail? No! I have only a little silver from selling some silks to the wolf priest. Can I buy position?"

"Er, No?" ventured Bob.

"Si!" confirmed the trader, thereby providing no clarity whatsoever.

"If it is so dangerous, why are you so cheerful?"

"Amico, should I not be cheerful? No! If I die here at the tail, will I have clean underwear? Si!"

In fact, the safest positions in the caravan were around the forward and middle supply wains. The van and equidistant between wains was less secure but still vastly preferable to the expendable tail. Determining caravan order was a complex and nuanced process. One could purchase favour from the caravan captain, but he would also take into consideration the speed and mobility of the merchandise in question. One could also fall out of favour very quickly by not following directions or obstructing the movement of the caravan guards. The merchants themselves had their own social hierarchy and they also traded position among themselves for coin, goods and favour.

It was no personal fault of Marcio that his poverty and low social standing had relegated him to the tail. The dwarf next in line, Inebric of Karak Norn alternated between muttering into a perpetual tankard of ale and swearing at his over-burdened mules. He was another story. His natural dwarfish generosity and gregariousness had contributed greatly to his failure to find a place nearer the front.



The caravan route was marked at intervals by stone cairns on the hilltops. Once the Mountains of Mourn faded from view there were no other landmarks. To stray from the path was to invite a slow death from thirst or madness, or a somewhat faster one from the indigenous perils of the Dark Lands.

During that day the happy Tilean told harrowing tales about greenskin tribes roaming the Blasted Wastes looking for mischief, and about fierce packs of wolves which preyed on anything that they could run down. When he mentioned the lone necromancers who had migrated from Imperial lands during the inquisitions and religious purges of the preceding centuries, the lizardmen shuddered at the memory of their own close shave with the undead.

Of much greater interest to the lizardmen were rumours of a new danger which had come to the ears of the caravaneers in only the past year. Freshly made tracks, like those of large flightless birds were sometimes found only yards away from watchful travellers. The track makers were never seen. In addition, perennial adventurers who sought plunder in the monuments of the ancient land would often be swallowed up without trace, and those that did return bore strange tidings of being turned back by regiments of silent grey dragons.

 

Very nice, well-thought-out, loved the use of "lizard's tail analogy", that was priceless. The multi-cultural caravan is a good narrative choice as well. Overall, the story so far is a "well put together machine with parts humming as they mesh".

 

That sounds like dwarf mischief!

 

The Fourth Emperor
Chapter 3. The Moon of Spring

During the first day the caravan traveled roughly twenty of the five hundred miles to the World’s Edge Mountains. As the grey sky became dimmer it became impossible to travel further. The captain had his men direct the merchants to pull their wagons into a ring and tether their beasts on the inside. Soon appetizing smells wafted from cook fires which magically appeared.

The saurus warriors dutifully attempted to find the captain, but he had ridden off with his scouts. Instead the wolf priest, Heimlich gave them their orders.

“From the middle watch of the night you are to patrol the encampment, fifty yards beyond the light of the watch fires.”

Bob squinted into the grey murk. “What evils can we expect?”

“This close to the Ogre Kingdoms there are very few evil creatures to be feared.”

The stillness was pierced by a chorus of howls. After they had abated, Heimlich lowered Bob to the ground. The startled lizard had leapt into the big man’s arms.

“Very few evil creatures? It sounds like an army of them!”

“Wolves need to eat. That doesn't make them evil. Keep your backs to the fire. Sometimes it is possible to see the light reflected in their eyes before it is too late. For now you should get some sleep. You will be roused at midnight.”

For some reason, Bob and Joe did not find that sleep came easily.



Bessie was staked next to the wagon of the Signor Marcio. The silk trader continued to be a fountain of rhetorical information. The lizards heard about the high demand for silk underwear among the priests of the god of war and the marriage prospects of Marcio's many daughters and they told him of the orderly lizardman society of Lustria. During a lull, Bob ventured a question about a matter that had been troubling him.

“You asked Captain Mahrlecht about his civil war. Are we riding into a conflict?”

Marcus chuckled as he explained. “The Glorious Empire! Eleven provinces, each with an Elector Count. They select the greatest among them to rule as Emperor. Is it a good system?"

“Yes. The best human for the job-”

“No! And there is the issue. Humans are flawed; One time they are selfless and noble, and the next they seek to abuse their power and exploit others. I envy your cold blood, il mio amico. Lusts and passions increase with power. The only ones worthy of rule do not seek it.”

“So the current emperor must be weak or cruel.”

Marcus took a moment to wipe away his tears of laughter before continuing.

“There are three who claim to be emperor, and the allies who support them change allegiance as often as a righteous person changes underwear. The buffoons war among themselves instead of leading their people. Is it an Empire in name only? Si! It has been so for centuries.”

“Perhaps we should travel through an orderly nation like Tilea instead-”

Even with the help of his wineskin, it took quite some time for Marcus to recover his composure. Bob was concerned that he had had a fit.

“Amico! Please stop! The Tilean people choose their leader. It is the opposite of order! If hard and cruel decisions must be made, will the current Doge will remain most popular? No! If you try to please everyone, do you achieve nothing? Si!"

The trader put an arm around Bob's scaly shoulders. In a low voice he said, “Do not come to Tilea. Travel through the Empire. At least there, if you are robbed, it will be by an honest thief.”

After the call of the middle watch, Bob and Joe reported for sentry duty. The night passed uneventfully, although the saurus warrior's patrol area was somewhat less than the prescribed fifty yards from the watch fires. They practically scorched their tails.



A routine was thus set. Dim days and dimmer nights passed as the caravan moved from water source to water source. There was no break to the routine until the fifth day on the plateau: one of the regular halts to water the pack beasts was called abruptly short.

As the caravan groaned back into motion, the word filtered down the line. "The cisterns of Barr Beilon are dry."

The cisterns were ancient, possibly of Sky Titan origin. The gathered the scant precipitation of the wastes and usually provided welcome refreshment to travelers.

Despite the cisterns' failure, the traders had no immediate cause for concern. They carried a few days ration of water and the well at Rarr Speuttin was near.

The following morning yielded another surprise. The Dawi Zharr trading post at Marr Bhakerr was abandoned.

As the proud lizard tail passed the ugly squat building with its rows of iron slave cages, Signor Marcio spat on the earth. "It is good not to have commerce with the little diavoli. If they covet none of your wares, they begin to measure your body parts with their eyes - and they have no appreciation of fine silken undergarments."

At the middle watch of the afternoon the caravan diverted unexpectedly south and an early halt was called. A rider cantered back and summoned the lizards. Rychek and Mahtis secured Bessie for the night while Caneghem and the saurus followed the rider on foot.

They continued past the vanguard of Tilean crossbowmen who were nervously fingering their weapons. They crossed the next ridge.

In the depression beyond, they saw the captain and a half dozen of his Ungol scouts. There were some large, chestnut brown lumps and smaller black ones scattered about. Even from a distance, the smell of the rot helped to identify the lumps as swollen horse carcasses

As the lizardmen joined him, the captain declared, "The well has been poisoned."

"Mahrlect! Oh, sorry. I mean...Phooey!” Joe quailed at his employer's withering gaze.

Captain Mahrlecht peered down a rough hole ringed by cracked masonry. A stone trough and bucket beside the well still had some residue of tainted water in it, and the captain had to struggle with the reins to prevent his horse from drinking.

Caneghem sniffed the water. "I smell nothing."

"What you do not smell could be iocaine powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the deadlier poisons known to man."

"Hmm. Is it not conceivable that they died from some other cause."

Mahrlecht shook his head. He pulled his horse away from the trough and kicked one of the black lumps. It was a dead raven. Its feast of horse flesh had been its last.

"Were the horses from a wild herd?” asked Bob.

"They are shod. Ungols rode these horses."

"How do you know the riders were Ungols?"

The captain smiled sadly. "Who else but Ungols would water their horses before quenching their own thirst?”

"Then who poisoned the well? Greenskins?” Bob gripped his weapon all the tighter and scanned the indistinct horizon.

The man examined the ground. "This cursed wind erases all signs. Where is your vaunted scout? I would know what he makes of this puzzle."

The rider was dispatched again. To everyone's surprise, when he reappeared with Rychek, the skink was riding one of the spare mounts as if he was born on horseback. Mahtis loped along beside, easily keeping pace with the cantering horses.

Rychek handed the reins to the messenger and sprang easily from the saddle. After whispering his thanks to his mount, he too sniffed the water, then scoured the hollow for signs.

"Greenskins?” Bob repeated his question.

"That's inconceivable. There are no human remains. Even if goblins and orcs had eaten some and scattered the rest, they would have been consumed on the spot. There would be signs. And poison is a little too subtle for greenskins."

He poked one of the horse carcasses with his javelin. "Skaven could have done this, and taken captives for their own reasons, but if that were so, we would see nothing here but gnawed bones. The rat-men are usually immune to their own pestilence, and they wouldn't leave a feast such as this behind."

Rychek addressed the captain. "The inhabitants of the plains to the north have an ill reputation among the traders. What can you tell me of them?"

"Chaos Dwarfs. The Dawi Zharr in their own tongue. Have you had dealings with mountain dwarfs before?"

"The encounter was not... a happy one. I may have caused some offence.” Rychek looked anxiously behind him.

Mahrlecht grunted. "If you were fool enough to provoke the ire of a dwarf, imagine this: a dwarf who has been rejected by his race and bears a grudge so deep that it burns him. Imagine that he is so tortured by the burning in his flesh that he would scar his own face to disfigure his dwarfish good looks. Imagine also that his god demands an endless stream of sacrifices to be burnt alive. Imagine all these things, then consider that Chaos Dwarfs drink no alcohol."

Rychek blanched visibly.

"I see you understand the perilous nature of our beastly neighbours. Thank you for confirming my suspicions. I fear that the riders and whomever they escorted are now guests of the dwarfs of the plain. Sigmar have pity on them."

The captain had a longstanding disdain for the Dawi Zharr because he refused to be part of the traffic of slaves, particularly with the flesh-smiths of Zharr Naggrund.

Despite their greed for living bodies, the Dwai Zharr usually maintained a pretence of civility and the small trading station on the southern rim of their realm to secure items unavailable through conquest or plunder. However, it was no secret that their alignment and the bulk of their trade was with the inhabitants of the Chaos Wastes of the far north.

The abandonment of the outpost was an indication of a new dilemma which faced the Dawi Zharr. The Chaos Dwarfs had a sudden extra need of fodder for their flesh forges in the aftermath of the False Moon War.

The flesh-smiths of Zharr were the creators of abominable machines and weapons. These were made from living tissue carved from slaves and beasts united with iron. Trapped daemonic spirits were woven into each vile contrivance to sustain its tortured vitality.

The dramatic invasion of daemons which came with the Battle of the False Moon War had filled all of the dwarfs' daemon traps and soul jars. This presented a mixed blessing for the Dawi Zharr because surplus spirits in their unstable lodgings could not simply be destroyed nor released.

A liberated daemon would immediately slay its captors and lay waste to its surroundings before being dragged howling back into the warp. For the safety of the Zharr Naggrund, each spirit would need to be bound quickly into a prison of metal, meat and fire. Hence the sudden and urgent need for more slaves.



The beasts of burden at the impromptu encampment bawled to be watered, but there was little to be spared. There need was dire, and Rychek did what he could to comfort them.

Captain Mahrlecht approached Skink Priest Caneghem with a request.

"Wizard. Can you make it rain?"

Joe chuckled, "Caneghem can make it rain frogs!"

"That would be less than helpful. We just need untainted water. Enough to replenish our stores."

Caneghem was a mage of the Heavens, adept with the Wind of Azyr. He lowered his head and raised his scaly arms to test the air. For a moment a faint nimbus surrounded him, reminiscent of the shimmer of heat over sun baked stone.

He lowered his arms. "These clouds contain some moisture. There is a ritual I can perform which will wring what water there is out of them. It is best if it is done at night, else the water evaporate before it falls to the ground."

The captain nodded. "Tonight then. Make ready."



Caneghem prepared himself a little away from the encampment, scratching arcane symbols in the dust and placing exotic powders in strategic places. The rest of the lizard band stood watch over him.

At dusk he had a visitor. The wolf priest Heimlich approached and bowed. "Mighty Priest of Heavens. Will your ritual clear the cloud from the sky?"

Caneghem nodded, "The cloud will be changed to water. It will fall upon those who thirst."

"Then I would ask a boon. Perform your ritual at the middle watch of the night."

Caneghem bowed. "The middle watch is blessed by the Old Ones, Tepok and Huanchi. It shall be so."

"It is not their blessing that I seek.” Heimlich's face was lost in the shadow of his wolf cowl, but his eyes glittered as he withdrew into the gathering gloom.

In the meantime, the caravaneers placed out every utensil that could hold water, and canvas was stretched to funnel precious drops into casks and earthenware vessels.

As night fell, Caneghem stood in the midst of his arcana and began a low chant. Once again he was surrounded by the shimmering nimbus. For the first time since the train had ascended the Blasted Wastes, the wind stilled. The air seemed to thicken and grow heavy.

The four remaining lizardmen stood nearby, ready to defend the vulnerable wizard from the ever present wolves or anything else that might come out of the dark.

At midnight, Caneghem ceased his chant and slowly raised his hands heavenwards. The air which he had collected together and compressed rose in a column and pushed the leaden clouds upwards. The higher the clouds were driven, the cooler they became. When they reached the dewpoint, they could no longer hold the vapour which composed them. Droplets coalesced until they were too heavy for the rising air to hold.

Rain fell lightly on the camp and the clouds dissolved entirely, revealing the silver orb of the full moon.

At that moment it seemed that every wolf east of the World's Edge raised its voice in a mournful howl. The stark silver light revealed them, in their hundreds, with their muzzles lifted toward the moon.

"Mahrlect!” Bob gasped. "Quickly...get fire! Flaming brands! Keep them away from Caneghem!"

The protectors grabbed branches from the watch fire and rushed to Caneghem's side. The wizard was spent and he would be unable to stand for some time, let alone defend himself. Mahtis stood over him as the others attempted to dispel the pack.

"Shoo! Shoo! Bad doggies!” shouted Joe.

The wolves finished their hymn and gazed at the approaching lizards with unafraid yellow eyes. The largest of them, a great black beast, stood up on its hind legs, as tall as a man. It threw its head back and howled once more. The other wolves dipped their heads and silently withdrew. The monster stepped forward and held its empty paws to each side.

It spoke in the common tongue. "Peace friends. You need fear no wolf tonight"

Bob was nearest. He thrust a burning branch toward the apparition. The light of the flames revealed Heimlich's black bearded face and glittering eyes.

"Stay, dog-man!" Bob levelled his blade with the priest's throat, "Rychek, quickly find the captain! We have a monster in our midst!"

Captain Mahrlecht was still rubbing his eyes when he appeared with Rychek. With him were the Flanderian mercenaries.

"What is this commotion?” the captain grumbled, "Heimlich, explain yourself."

The big man pointed to the heavens. "The first moon of Spring. It is long since this pack have been able to mark the occasion in a fit manner.” He bowed to the skink priest who was now standing unassisted. "I thank you, Wizard Caneghem, for making it possible."

"Next time give some warning of what you are about.” The captain turned to leave. "Everyone back to their bedrolls, except for our excitable sentries, of course.”

"But... he is a werewolf!” Bob was confused by Mahrlecht's leniency. His blade wavered.

"A werewolf?” The captain and his swordsmen erupted in laughter. "No, my friends, he is but a man. He is chaplain for my company, and a priest of Ulrik. Now to bed. Tomorrow we must take stock of our water and plan our route."

 

@Scalenex, I can't edit the title anymore to reflect added chapters, changed dates etc. Can you please use your Mod Powers to permanently change the title to:
Spawning of Bob - The Great War Against Chaos - Book 1

 

I have it on good authority that Scalenex acquiesced to your request. It turns out that even new members such as myself who are not handsome moderators have the ability to change the title on their own posts. Check out this link written by an all around awesome guy that I am aspiring to be like.

 

The Fourth Emperor
Chapter 4. Bait

For all of Caneghem's effort, the rain water collected overnight was a pittance, barely enough to sustain an extra day of travel. Captain Mahrlecht and leaders of his various troops held council pored over a map as the caravan organised itself for another thirsty slog.

The captain, chaplain and the leaders of each of his squads pored over a map with Rychek and Caneghem. Bob and Joe stood near the wolf priest with their hands close to their weapons.

"I thank you, Priest Caneghem for your toil," said Mahrlecht, "but even if you performed your ritual nightly, it would not suffice. Save your strength for praying to your gods for deliverance."

"The pack-mother informs me that there is untainted water in a small lake here.” Heimlich prodded at a point on the map with a hairy finger.

"That is on the Plain of Zharr, how can it be un-diddlytainted?" asked Neder, the sergeant of the Flanderian swordsmen.

"See here," Caneghem traced a line with his claw. "Rain water collects on the plateau and runs down this canyon. The water that fills the lake does not come from the plain."

"If the caravan were caught down there in ambush..." Mahrlecht shook his head, "I would not lead us down there unless at greatest need."

"How far is the nearest well?” Rychek asked.

The captain pointed. "Three days travel, and just as far back to the last clean spring."

"If that is so we are already at greatest need. I have checked the pack beasts. Aside from Bessie and the camels, they will start to perish after tomorrow.”

None doubted the little beastmaster's words.

"We're done-diddly-done for," observed Neder of Flanders sombrely.

Mahrlecht respectfully addressed the Ungol chief. "Khan Basaan, if it pleases you, scout the head of the canyon. The caravan will pass nearby at noon. Report to me and assure me there is no trap."



The command group rode near Bessie for a time. On his perch on the platform, Bob felt safe enough to level accusations at Wolf Priest Heimlich.

"You are a werewolf!"

Heimlich grunted. "I assure you I am not."

"We saw you transform!"

"You saw me stand up. I was seated on the ground amidst the pack."

"If you are not one of them, how is it you commune with wolves?"

"We are brethren in faith. I serve Ulrik, the god of wolves, war and winter."

"Did we not see you howling at the moon?"

Heimlich's patience finally wore thin. "Enough! I was not expecting the Imperial Inquisition!"

Captain Mahrlecht whirled around in his saddle. "Do not say that, you fool! Not even here!"

Heimlich rode in silence for a time. After he had regained his composure, he had a question for Caneghem. "You mentioned Teapot and Paunchy last night. What gods do the lizardmen have?"

Caneghem answered. "The Old Ones. Together they formed the world and created the chosen races. Lizardmen, elves, dwarves, men, halflings and ogres. The Old Ones... departed... with the coming of Chaos. We children of the first race strive to follow their Great Plan."

"I have heard rumour of sacrifices from Norscan sailors. They tell of jungle temples dripping with blood in the southern continent."

"The Snake God, Sotek accepts the sacrifice of vanquished foes, particularly rat men. Serpent and rat were ever enemies. The coming of Sotek was heralded by the appearance of a twin tailed comet two thousand, two hundred and two solar cycles ago."

Heimlich started. "A twin tailed comet? That is the sign of the Emperor God, Sigmar. The same comet was seen when he ascended the throne. What say you, friend Mahrlecht? You worship Sigmar, do you not?"

"I am not interested in religion," came the inevitable reply.



At noon, the caravan stopped. Bessie's plod took her to the head of the column at the same moment that the scouts returned with their report. Khan Basaan dismounted and scratched a map in the dust with his sabre.

"The canyon is narrow near its head, but broadens quickly. Its floor is smooth and sandy all the way to the water. The near wall is a sheer cliff. We scouted the top and saw no signs. There will be no ambush from this side. The plain below is empty as far as the eye can see.

"The western canyon wall is less sheer but it is surmounted by rocks. We could not see beyond them from the east side. I sent Kublai, Genghis and Hymie to scout the far side."

"Hymie?” enquired Bob.

"His father's name is Hymie. They should return shortly."

"This choke point is a concern," the captain indicated the canyon narrows on the dirt map. "The caravan could only file through. If we need to withdraw, it will be a slow process.” He looked up and around. "And where are the other three scouts?"

As Mahrlecht and his lieutenants waited another hour their horses became nervous. They began shying for no discernible reason.

Eventually the captain made a declaration. "I fear the scouts will not return. The canyon is a trap, therefore we must march on. What ails you horse?"

The captain's mount was stamping and snorting again, as if it had scented a predator.

"Do not allow them to leave. A trap needsss bait.” Rychek thought he had imagined the whisper, but there was an impossible shadow beside Bessie’s head. It was impossible because the leaden sky cast a diffuse light. There were no shadows in the Dark Lands. Bessie sniffed at the indistinct shape shoulder and whickered in recognition.

"You mussst lead them, Life-Ressstorer. A trap needsss bait.” The shadow silently glided away towards the rocky bastion to the west.

Rychek turned toward Mahtis. The kroxigor nodded slowly. He, too, had heard.

“Oh, Mahrlect.” Rychek muttered.

"Yes? What is it? Why haven’t you returned to the tail?" The captain was waiting for the caravan to reform.

"Oh, aah, sorry captain, but without that water we are doomed. I must lead the beasts down the canyon."

Captain Mahrlecht’s lip curled. "The lizard's tail does not lead the caravan. Remember your role, skink."

"I understand my role is to wriggle and look juicy. I will go down to the water."

"Fool. You will go alone."

"Perhaps."

Rychek directed the Bastiladon towards the narrow cleft. When she was beyond the range of the captain's crossbowmen, the beast master turned and emitted a warbling whistle.

The thirsty pack beasts lurched into motion and followed Bessie as if Rychek was the pied-piper of Hamelindorf. They would not respond to their drivers alarmed cries nor their whips. As the animals picked up the scent of water they gathered pace.

The caravan belonged to Rychek.



The captain and his troops could do nothing but watch aghast as their investment was stolen from them. They couldn't even ride flank to head off the crush of beasts because the canyon walls pressed too close.

"They will stampede when the first gets jammed in the choke,” predicted Khan Basaan.

"Haste! Haste to the cliffs!" cried the captain, "If, by some miracle, some make it through the narrows they may have need of crossbow bolts from the heights!"

The beasts did not stampede. Each waited its turn in an orderly fashion and filed through the gap and onto the sandy slope below. The beastmaster's hold on them was absolute. In the preceding days, Rychek had examined each of the pack beasts and tended their ailments as best he could, calming them with whispered words of a language that had no name. He had gazed into their eyes and they had acknowledged his authority. Except for the camels.

The weak willed herbivores were easy for Rychek to control with whistles and chirps and the traders were helpless to hold them back. The camels were untroubled by thirst, followed along out of curiosity just to see what was going to happen next.

The troopers, and perhaps the camels as well, were astonished to see the caravan reform into a tight knot after negotiating the narrows. Captain Mahrlecht only had eyes for the bastion of rocks on the far side.

"There!” he spied movement and pointed a finger. His fear of ambush was confirmed. Dawi Zharr warriors clambered atop the rampart, jabbering excitedly. Moments later the pulsing maws of two hell cannons pushed forwards.

Hell-cannons are the most well known examples of the flesh smith's art. The terrible weapons are an amalgam of iron, daemonic vigour and living tissue which still drips with blood. Gunners shovel offal into a hell cannon's toothy gullet where it is digested and rendered into acidic slurry in the furnace that passes for the abomination's stomach. When no more can be held, or when the gunners goad the daemon bound within, the cannon expels gouts of vomit which ignite on contact with air.

The two hell cannons among the rocks spat their payload of balefire in curving arcs across the canyon. One sheet of fire fell in front of and one fell behind the caravan beasts. They were hemmed in by inextinguishable flames.

"Praise Ulrik! They missed!" The Wolf priest had joined the captain at the cliffs edge.

"No, Heimlich, the dwarfs' intent will be to capture, not to kill. See, the caravan's flank is exposed. The real attack will come from the plain."

"Then let us ride to their aid!"

"How? The defile is barred by flame, and it would take too long for us to round the rocks and attack the cannons. Why did the fools not stay?"

The captain's prediction of the dwarf strategy was confirmed within seconds. Four chariots of Zharr clanked from a blind canyon in the lee of the rocky escarpment and rolled towards the caravan. Mahrlecht's eyes hardened as he contemplated the cruel fate that awaited the men below.

The chariots were not drawn by beasts or even propelled by steam as for some of the machineries of the mountain dwarfs. The pistons which turned the spiked wheels were driven by slabs of wet muscle. The chassis were constructed of fused bone and dripping flesh which pulsated with daemonic life. Each one was crewed by a trio of dwarves armed with nets, meat hooks and weapons made to clamp about the necks of fleeing captives. As the chariots drew around the rocks, they wheeled to face the caravan's flank and gathered pace.

When they were barely a furlong away, the observers on the cliff top were surprised by the sudden appearance of a lone warrior to one side of the chariots. He had reared up from under the sand with an unintelligible roar. As far as the men on the cliff could see, he was similar in form to Bob and Joe, but more heavily muscled and his scales were slaty grey. The saurian charged insanely towards the chariots brandishing a large, single edged axe.

The creature's sudden charge did not deter the charioteers. The merely changed course across the smooth sand and raced each other to be the first to crush him with their wheels.

A trap needs bait.

Scant yards separated the warrior from the chariots when they suddenly ploughed into a concealed trench and were brought to an abrupt halt. At the same moment, a row of grey reptilian giants leapt out of hiding from under the sand and began hewing chariot and charioteer alike with enormous axes and maces.

Mahrlecht and company did not have long to gape at that spectacle because the lone saurus was on the move again, yelling garbled war cries and waving his axe. This time he was sprinting for all he was worth past the broken chariots and up the steep slope to the rocky heights.

The Dawi Zharr on the rocks tried to bring their hell cannons to bear on him but were unable to fire because they themselves had come under attack by stinging shadows. Their mysterious assailants rained them with feathered darts which seared flesh on contact. The armoured dwarfs could shrug off such a shower. Not so their cannons.

Every dart which found its mark in the wet flesh of the hell cannons released a toxin which eroded the bond between daemonic spirit and unnatural construct.

As the cannons disintegrated around them, the bound daemons strained against their metal prisons. They soon broke free and found physical form, like incarnations of vengeful hate. The daemons ignored the stinging shadows and fell upon their dwarf tormentors with talon and fang, throwing up a crimson fountain of twisted armour, severed limbs and steaming blood.

Many of the dwarf cannoneers elected not to be slain by emancipated daemons or poisoned barbs. They abandoned the rocks and fled down the perilous slope, directly towards the caravan.

The two towering red daemons began pursuit, but, as they were so far from the nearest rift which connected this universe to the one of chaos, they could not sustain their manifestations. They shimmered and dissipated like smoke, returning to the Chaos realm to brood murderous thoughts until they found a new portal to the world.

The saurus champion, having finally dragged himself to the top of the escarpment found it to be bereft of prey. He howled in incoherent frustration and charged down again in pursuit of the fleeing Dawi Zharr.

The dawi themselves skidded and tumbled down to the sands, only to find themselves facing a triple row of spears. A company of grey saurus warriors had burst from concealment, right in their faces. Many dwarfs were impaled before they could react, but others broke over and around the phalanx of spears.

 

The Fourth Emperor
Chapter 5. The Trap

Rychek's powers of control were sorely tested as the bale-fire conflagrations startled beast and man alike. He too had seen the clanking chariots and understood the threat to the caravan's flank but could not respond personally.

"I need to guide the caravan to safety!" he shouted to the rest of the lizard band, "You protect the flank! Let nothing through!"

The two saurus warriors, one kroxigor and one skink priest vaulted onto the sands but found no immediate foes. The chariots of Zharr Naggrund were being rapidly reduced to component parts by the wall of kroxigor with their huge axes.

As the grey saurus champion began to mount the slopes, Mahtis strained to follow.

"Hold! Our mission is to protect the caravan!” Caneghem remonstrated.

They could not see anything beyond the crest of the ridge, but sounds travelled clearly. The shouts of the chaos dwarfs there took on a tenor of surprise, which changed to rage and then to fear. Overlayed on the last change of mood were twin bellows of rage which once heard could not be forgotten.

Bob cowered. "Bloodthirsters of Khorne? Here?"

"Even in the wilderness the daemon lords have come for revenge!” Joe took a step back.

"Listen." Mahtis remained calm.

Shrieks of terror and agony could be heard, punctuated by the reverberating crunch of metal on metal, flesh and stone.

"They seek vengeance, but not on us."

Dwarves began tumbling over the brink and they hurled themselves down the treacherous slope in full rout. A pair of crimson destroyers swooped after them on leathery wings.

"They look grumpy," observed Joe.

The daemons only had time for one more bellow of rage before they winked back into their own dimension. A new figure appeared on the heights and howled in incoherent frustration and flung himself after the tumbling dawi.

"Not as grumpy as him,” remarked Bob.

It was the grey saurus champion. He had barely begun his descent when the rabble of dwarfs reached the canyon floor and found themselves in the jaws of another trap. A phalanx of saurus warriors which had been concealed under the sand rose into view and grounded their spears. The dwarfs' momentum carried many of them onto the spear points, but a fair number spilled around and over the saurus lines.

Caneghem evaluated the multiple threats instantly. "Mahtis, run them down!” he gestured at a tight knot of heavily armoured dwarfs who had bypassed the spears and were careening towards the rear of the caravan. "Bob, Joe! We are needed there! We must protect our allies' rear!"

As the saurus raced to keep up with the fleet footed priest Bob shouted, "What of those?"

Another sizeable group had broken off to the right of the saurus block, headed towards the lake and the head of the column.

"Don't be greedy! Rychek must have his share!” Caneghem hooted savagely.

As he ran, the priest of heavens gathered the winds of the plain and blasted sand into escalating melee between the saurus warriors and the dawi. The lizardmen had their backs to him and were unaffected, but the eyes of the dwarfs were temporarily blinded. The warriors began to push forward through the faltering dwarfs. However, with each step the phalanx took forward, more space and time was available to the foes who had tumbled behind the sauri. A knot of stunned dawi started to gather themselves, ready to assail the phalanx's rear.

It was upon these that a pair of saurus and the indomitable skink priest fell like a thunderbolt.



It seemed to take an age, but finally the wall of daemon fire guttered out. The lake ahead offered a temporary refuge for the caravan, but the last group of Dawi was closing quickly.

"Bessie, you must lead them to the lake," Rychek barked as he readied himself to leap onto the sand, "don't turn back!"

The monster grumbled and tossed her head rebelliously at Rychek's command. Her instincts and her training were to protect her herd.

He tried another ploy. "Bessie! Bathtime!"

This time she pricked up her horns enthusiastically. The skink barely had time to grab a handful of poisoned javelins and jump clear before she began galumphing towards the waterline with every thirsty beast of the caravan trailing in her wake.

A scurrying Lustrian skink is very nearly as fast as a warhorse, but Rychek was aware of something keeping pace with him as he ran to intercept the unengaged chaos dwarfs. He managed a quick head bob and found enough breath to call out. "Well met, Scalenex. Your tactical knowledge reveals you. I see your claw behind this trap.”

The other skink, who ran stride for stride with him, flared his tattered head crest with pride. "You honour me, Rychek."

Scalenex's limbs and body bore the scars of countless wounds and burns. More than it seemed a living body could endure. Instead of javelins, he carried a blow pipe and a bandolier of feathered darts.

Behind them they heard a sound like rolling thunder and an enormous splash. Rychek turned to see a ring of huge waves that signalled that Bessie had leapt into the lake and hit the water like an twelve ton cannonball. He also saw eleven grey skinks running in perfect skirmish formation just behind the scarred chief.

Rychek beamed at Scalenex and accelerated slightly. "My javelins are quicker to loose than your darts, Scalenex. Be careful or I will finish all of the foe before you catch breath to use your pea-shooter!"




The kroxigor manner of battle was steeped in tradition. Square off with your foe and then crush him to pulp with a mace, tree trunk, decorative column or any other object which was large, heavy and close to hand.

Mahtis, however, had fought alongside ogres and had his mind opened to other, subtler strategies. He had seen at first hand what a wall of rapidly moving adipose tissue could do an enemy formation. Although he lacked an ogre's overall mass, he did have a bony head, a large dwarven-wrought hammer and an awful lot of momentum.

He lowered the rune hammer crosswise in front of him and crunched into the dawi who were closing on the rear of the caravan. His impact killed or disabled many. As he punched through to the far side of the black armoured group he added to their woe by stomping on one with a taloned foot and breaking another's spine with his lashing tail.

Such an impact should have been enough to scatter any enemy. He skidded to a halt and turned, ready to chase down the remaining ambushers one by one. To his surprise, three stood their ground.

The one in the centre wore a peaked helmet which boasted a pair of enormous brass bull horns. He grunted a command, and his two offsiders fanned out to worry Mahtis' flanks. The one to the kroxigor's right was armed with a flesh hook. Nasty, but not a big threat. The one sidling to the left bore a two handed axe. This would be no faster to swing than Mahtis's own hammer, but one accurate chop could disable even the mighty lizard.

Mahtis took the initiative, feinting to the right with a heavy step. The hook wielder naturally backed off. The axe dwarf saw what he thought was an opening and moved closer, raising his weapon. Even though the kroxigor had his full weight on the wrong foot, this assailant had been lured into the reach of the long hammer.

Mahtis wound up for a powerful swing, raising the hammer above his right shoulder like he was playing a primitive bat and ball game. No armour, charmed or not, would deflect this strike.

To the lizardman's surprise, the hook wielder had closed again with surprising speed, after realizing that the hammer blow was not for him. Before Mahtis could launch his attack, the flesh hook appeared and buried itself into the meat at the front of his right shoulder and the dwarf tugged on it with both hands.

Mahtis had all of his weight committed to his right leg, thus the hook pulled him off balance. The axe dwarf would now be outside his reach, and would be able to strike before Mahtis recovered his own weapon from its follow through.

A split second was all Mahtis needed to adapt his attack. As he swung, the kroxigor released his weapon, which continued on a tangential path through the position previously occupied by the axe dwarf. The dwarf folded around the head of the rune hammer and came to rest at the end of a furrow in the sand some five yards long.

Without the counterbalance provided by the heavy hammer, Mahtis knew that he would lose his footing. Rather than try to regain it, he threw himself towards the dwarf behind him. The hook lost its grip and the straining dwarf staggered back several paces, also off balance. Mahtis landed on four limbs, with his legs coiled beneath him.

The lizardman did not bother to stand. Instead he surged forward and up from his low crouch, as unexpectedly as a crocodile from a bowl of porridge. With no weapon at hand, he used what the Old Ones had given him and clamped his teeth around the dwarf's neck.

The dwarf's iron collar saved him from instant decapitation, but Mahtis adopted his crocodilian cousin's tactic and performed a death roll. After three revolutions Mahtis grounded himself again and swung his head, flinging the dawi rag doll several yards away.

The last dwarf was a Castellan of Zharr Naggrund and he held his ground. He was clad from head to toe in meteoric dark iron armour and his horned helmet made him appear all the more threatening. In his hands he bore a curious weapon. It was a long staff with a loop of spiked chain at the end.

As Mahtis took a moment to catch his breath the castellan spoke menacingly. "Your runed weapon shows me you have allies amongst the betrayers. You have thus earned the enmity of the faithful. I will shatter your bones and drag your broken body to Hashut, there to appease his hunger in the flames of annihilation."

The kroxigor flexed his right shoulder to ensure there was no disabling injury from the welling hook wound. He was not one for pretty speeches, but he nodded to acknowledge the other's claim. "It will be so, if the Old One's will it, but, just in case they do not-"

Mahtis launched himself again, lunging with his fore claws and teeth at the castellan's throat. Rather than shrink away, the dawi stepped closer and thrust his staff above the kroxigor's brow. The loop of chain slipped under his muzzle and settled around his neck. The kroxigor slashed with his claws but the castellan remained tantalizingly out of reach. Every time Mahtis lunged, the chain clanked as a link was pulled into the hollow shaft of the staff. Struggle as he might, Mahtis could not release himself from the suffocating grip.

As the chain ratcheted tighter, the lizard's vision narrowed until all he could see were hate filled eyes beneath the horned helmet. Then this last image split neatly down the middle to be replaced by a vision far more disturbing. A grinning, mad eyed reptile.

"Naeten always strikes first!" the vision declared.

The grey saurus champion's charge, after being redirected four times, probably totalled a half mile in distance. Despite his frenzied effort, his declaration of primacy was sadly inaccurate. He had actually struck the last blow of the battle, cleaving the castellan of Zharr Naggrund from helm to gorget with his purloined orc axe.




By the time Mahtis had recovered his breath and his rune hammer, Caneghem and Joe were administering battlefield mercy on the last twitching dwarfs and Bob was tending the wounded saurus in the centre of the field. As the kroxigor joined his comrades Rychek and Scalenex also arrived, having tallied the number of javelins and darts which had found their mark. The victorious grey lizardmen quickly reordered their formations and awaited orders.

A thunder of hooves announced the arrival of Captain Mahrlecht at the head of his squadron of heavy cavalry. His sword was drawn and he had thunder on his brow.

"What brigands are these?” he demanded of the band of Lustrians.

Rychek averted catastrophe by interposing himself between the cold blooded warriors and the nervous lances of the riders. "Peace, Captain! These are our fellows and kin from the lost Temple City of Dyslexia. We had not hoped to see them, because our path lay many leagues north of their city, yet here they are, Praise the Old Ones, to assist us in our hour of need. Naeten! No!"

The saurus champion had crept behind the cavaliers with his axe raised.

"Just in case?"

"No, Naeten. Thanks for your concern, but no."

The saurus sadly trudged back to his troop, dragging the axe behind him.

"At this moment your "fellows" lie between me and my caravan." The captain still had his sword raised. "Let them yield."

Scalenex moved to Rychek's side and bowed his head with exaggerated respect. "Accept the greetings of our people. I see that you have the favour of our brothers, a thing not easily earned.” The ragged skink chief hissed at the company of saurus warriors who immediately limbered their weapons. "Our spears are at your service. Let us be your escort in these Dark Lands."

The captain grunted. "And what payment will you extort, lizard?"

"You possess nothing we desire. Our mission is to eradicate Chaos, a task you have already made easier. A trap needs bait."

The captain's hard expression did not waver but he sheathed his sword and pulled his horse away. He and his cavaliers passed around the Dyslexians and moved to inspect the waterlogged caravan.

The pack beasts were wallowing happily in the water. Those merchants who could swim were content to join them. The others clung desperately to their drowned carts and prayed to their gods.

Rychek whistled the beasts of burden back out of the shallow lake and the caravan fell back into line. There was no sign of Bessie until a plume of spray burst from the middle of the lake. She wouldn't return to shore until Rychek enticed her with a carrot. Bath time is the best time for a bastiladon.

Joe had thought himself the last to leave the water's side until he saw that Inebric of Karak Norn was still struggling in the shallow water. Joe was not a strong swimmer but he was still able drag the dwarf trader ashore.

Once he was safe on dry land Inebric retched vigorously. "The water..." he gasped, "... you saved me, lass... I could have swallowed some."

"I'm not a -" Joe began but then wisely clamped his mouth shut. The thunderous look on the dwarfs face indicated that this was not a good time for any contradiction. Inebric's fearsome visage darkened further as he poured mud out of the battered tankard which he still had clenched in his fist. "'Tis a grim business when the fallen ones strike at us with water. I'll not forget their treachery, and nor will I forget your part in this neither, lass."

The dwarf staggered away after his cart in search of something restorative to put in his tankard, leaving Joe to ponder whether the apparent progress in relations between dwarfs and lizardmen was going in a direction he was entirely comfortable with.

 

Ha. I did enjoy n810s entry, and the alternative perspective on the events in the previous chapter.

Typo 22nd paragraph from the bottom (dropped a letter from the first word).

 

I could have sworn that was going to be some sort of cheese wind up. Thank you, It was a fundemmental error. It's grate that you goat ridder it.

 

Chapter 6. Around the Fire

Once the water butts had been refilled, Rychek whistled the beasts through the canyon and back onto the plateau. There they were met by the shadowy chameleon skinks who had scoured the rocky heights. With them were Kublai, Ghenghis and Hymie with their steppe ponies. The trio of Ungols were a little worse for wear, but grateful to their enigmatic rescuers, nonetheless.

The lizard band set a large fire and placed their bundles of wet supplies in a circle around it. In this way they unwittingly created the furnishings for an unusual council. As night fell, the Lustrians and Scalenex found themselves seated facing Captain Mahrlecht and his lieutenants. The hypothermic dwarf was also attracted by the fire and sat down and shivered on a bundle of fodder beside Joe.

Captain Mahrlecht got quickly to the point.

"General Scalenex, I would - what is so funny?" The last part was directed at Bob who was barely suppressing giggles.

"Oh, Scalenex isn't a general. He is a scribe."

Mahrlecht examined the tattered skink more closely. Scalenex was lit from below by firelight, and shadows filled his sunken eye sockets. He looked more like a reptilian cadaver than anything else.

"I pity any book that finds itself in the mercy of your claws, Scribe. Had you come to our aid today, I would thank you. But it was not so was it?"

Scalenex's eyes remained in shadow. He did not respond.

Mahrlecht persisted. "General or no, you set a trap for the dwarfs and you used my charges as bait. How am I to judge you, Scribe?"

Scalenex's reply was soft and chill. "Do you suppose you have the wit or the authority to judge me?"

Bob was not giggling anymore. "Friends. We are among friends. Please Scribe, tell us all how you came to our rescue."

Scalenex pried his gaze away the hard grey eyes of the captain and the tension dropped back to a more comfortable level of murderous hostility.

"This patrol set the trap for the dwarfs seven dawns ago. Any travellers would have enticed our mutual foes, but the Old Ones willed that it would be you."

Priest Caneghem piped up. "I understood that the lost temple city is many days travel to the south. How is it that your reach extends so far?"

"One and a half solar cycles ago, the newly restored city came under an attack by daemons which did not dissipate for several hours. Dyslexia was barely held. It was like the Great Catastrophe all over again."

Caneghem leaned forwards. "You witnessed the coming of Chaos?"

"I did. The daemons overran and destroyed Malodorex, the city of my spawning."

"How did you survive?"

Scalenex grimaced. "I didn't."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Don't mention it. Please. In any case, I did not wish for the Dyslexians to be caught with their backs to the spawning pool again if the daemons returned. For this reason, I ordered them to secure a belt of territory around the city and free it of the influence of Chaos."

"Your pretty tale does not explain how my caravan came to be driven to the plain by thirst," interrupted the captain. "Was it you who poisoned the well? Before you answer, know that I can read a lie in a man's face."

Scalenex turned his shadowed sockets back towards the captain. If this ape could read him, he would be very surprised.

"It is enough for you to know that I have no reason to lie. We were too late to prevent the horse riders' capture but the bodies of their beasts served the Great Plan's purpose in guiding you here. You may be glad to know that we cleansed the well before your arrival and that the water was fit to drink, had you been foolish enough to do so."

Wolf Priest Heimlich surged angrily to his feet. "You say we could have replenished our water and avoided this danger? Are we pawns in a game?"

"With respect, wolf man, we are all 'pawns' within the Great Plan." Scalenex had been alive during the time of the Old Ones and he had seen their power first hand. The anger of this savage did not remotely impress him. "You played a part today, and if your god wills it, perhaps you will have other parts to play.”

The ancient scribe sighed and shook his head. "If I could read the stars, I would know where the sport of gods will take us, but sadly I have only histories to reflect on."

This time it was Caneghem who leapt to his feet. "Histories? What histories?"

Scalenex waved a claw dismissively. "After the Great Catastrophe the city was cut off. The survivors believed that they were the "Last of the First", so to speak. Therefore the Dyslexic scribes diligently recorded everything." The ancient skink sighed. "I have spent the last year correcting spelling mistakes and indexing their records. There are endless catalogues of troop organisation, tactical treatises and histories of battles won and lost. Occasionally there are great scholarly works, such as one examining the vagaries of chance and its influence on victory. That one also has amusing illustrations."

Caneghem gesticulated excitedly with his oiled leather tube. "I have here a year of detailed astronomical and astrological observations of the northern sky which can be interpolated with recorded events. Together they will have great predictive power. If the knowledge you possess is returned to the Slann Mage Priests in the southern continent, it will double the accuracy of their divinations. I must return the star charts and the histories to them!"

The scribe snorted. "You are welcome to take the histories. They are graven on the inside of the basalt slabs which make up the Great Pyramid of Dyslexia. I suggest you would need a larger caravan to drag the first of them with you."

Caneghem's crest fell as he sat. "It would take an age to bring them to Tlaxtlan."

Mahtis' comforting pat on the back almost knocked him into the fire. "You'll think of something."

"I have heard enough." Mahrlecht declared. "You may have saved us from poison and thirst, but you did this for your own ends and without regard for the lives of my clients. You give me no reason to consider you a friend."

Bob whispered in Scalenex's ear, "Humans make friends by sharing things. Do you think you could...?"

Scalenex considered. He didn't need the man's friendship, but there was no benefit to making an foe. "What you say is fair, Human Captain, but I hope that it is within the design of the Great Plan that our peoples can become...friends. I offer the protection of Dyslexia until you reach the mountains, and although we have little to share you are welcome to what we have."

Scalenex hissed a command and one of his retinue appeared from the shadows and handed him a lidded basket and a stoppered flask. He then passed the basket to Neder of Flanders who was seated to his right.

"Thank you neighborino! You are too diddly - Eek!"

The basket contained all manner of live invertebrates. Some had no legs, some had dozens. Some had claws and some had fangs. All of them were looking for an opportunity to escape being eaten.

Sometime later, the last scorpion was removed from the Flanderian's underhose and Scalenex made another peace offering with only slightly better results.

"This will calm you, human." Scalenex pressed the stone flask into Neder's shaking hands. "It is prepared from cactus water by our revered spawn brother, T'quila."

The liquid from the flask looked like water.

The Flanderian took a large mouthful and immediately discovered that his throat felt like it was on fire. He leapt to his feet, spraying the liquid from his mouth, and then the cloud of droplets and vapour were ignited by a spark from the fire. A whooshing fire ball threw the hapless man backwards and blinded the assemblage.

Inebric the dwarf moved with unexpected speed and caught the falling Flanderian in the crook of one arm and the flask in the other hand. It wasn't clear if the swordsman was alive or dead.

"The poor wee lad. Such a pointless waste." declared the dwarf as he dumping the groaning Neder the rest of the way onto the ground and sniffed at the bottle "Do ye have any more?"

All further efforts at diplomacy were abandoned for the evening.