Chapter 40
— Captain Jurgen, — the Witch Hunter said in a venomous, mocking tone while his henchmen searched me and confiscated my weapons. — The young hero, miraculously escaping the most incredible scrapes time and again. Olger Hoch, Sergeant Max, Priestess Adenauer, Gunther Feuerbach — they all trusted you and now they are dead, while you haven't received so much as a scratch!
Son of a bitch!
I truly tried not to stand out too much, to keep a low profile and avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Alas, it didn't work. One overly observant Templar had been found after all.
— Herr Waldemar, I was very seriously injured in the last battle, but I was healed by a Magister of the Jade Order.
— Of course, Jurgen! — Waldemar sneered. — You always have excuses and explanations. You play the part of a naive, even dim-witted youth, but behind that screen hides a sophisticated mind that cannot belong to a simple boy. I have watched you, Jurgen. I noted every peculiarity and waited, and now the time for reckoning has come.
Son of a bi-i-itch!
I felt the restraints tighten around my wrists. Try to resist now? I was alone against five well-armed fighters with a Witch Hunter at their head. Waldemar might be ill, but that perhaps made him only more dangerous. The feverish glint in his right eye radiated fury. The Witch Hunter felt death approaching and wanted to take someone with him.
My entire trip to the city hall had been a trap organized by Waldemar. His agents had shadowed me, separated me from Liandra, and directed me to the right room. I hadn't taken the Dawi-Zharr dagger with me. The item was far too suspicious. As a result, right now I was just an ordinary, albeit physically fit human, without any magical buffs.
Hope that Liandra would come to the rescue? She had incredible hearing, certainly, but I was inside a building where some rooms were occupied by noisy queues.
— To the cellar with him? — one of Waldemar's henchmen asked.
— No. We must move him out of the building. His Elven accomplice is waiting outside, — Waldemar replied. — Who is she, Jurgen? A Drukhari witch? What kind of deal did you strike with her? No matter. You will tell me everything. We have plenty of time. Lead him out to the street through the inner courtyard.
They bound my hands and led me somewhere through the corridors of the hall. People we encountered averted their eyes. No one wanted to stand in the way of a Templar. If a Witch Hunter had seized someone, it was better to forget that person ever existed.
— How irrationally your society is organized, warm-blood, — Loom-Pia grumbled. — Allies cause no less trouble than enemies.
I was led outside through a different door. Liandra was nowhere to be seen. Dusk had already deepened around us. Walking forward a bit, I noticed the familiar beggar with the cataract peeking out from an alley. A thin red beard framed a sinister grin. The beggar smirked loathsomely, watching as I was dragged along. Perhaps he was one of Waldemar's spotters.
I had to act. Now or never. I filled my lungs with Nuln air, thick with the soot of the armory workshops.
— Lian...
My shout was cut short by a flash of pain. A heavy blow landed right on the back of my head. Red sparks flared before my eyes, long obscuring all existence. I didn't lose consciousness, but it took me a while to recover after the hit. A sack was thrown over my head. I don't know how long I was roughly dragged somewhere. This was bad. I needed to find a way out of this situation, but no solution came to mind yet. I had been snatched by a very aggressive and serious-minded Witch Hunter. For most locals, this ended at the stake — provided they survived the torture, of course.
Fine. For now, I had to wait. Look for an opportune moment to escape. Plus, Liandra might find me. The main thing was to stall for time and not catch a bullet in the head too quickly.
The sounds of the city were replaced by the barking of dogs. It seemed we had left Nuln. Underfoot was no longer pavement. A dirt road or even the roadside, where I constantly stumbled over ruts.
Eventually, I was sat down on some chair, tied to it, and the sack was ripped from my head. I found myself in a spacious room... a tavern? No. Likely this building was once built as an inn or a coaching house, but it hadn't been used for its purpose in a long time. Instead of normal tables, various torture implements were visible here. Whips, hooks, and metal-shod clubs lay on what used to be the bar counter.
— Herr Waldemar... — I said, struggling with the headache. — If you think I am a heretic or a sorcerer, then call a Priest of Sigmar.
In response, the Templar seared me with the hateful gaze of his single eye.
— Call a priest? No. You have learned well how to deceive people who are sincerely faithful but inexperienced, — the hunter replied. — Gunther believed you. He was a man of the people, but before my service, I received a university education. Too many miraculous coincidences have gathered around you, Jurgen.
Broadly speaking, Waldemar was right, but he was fighting on the wrong side. The Witch Hunter had dug his heels in against literally the most non-magical person in the vicinity, one with maximum protection against the taint of Chaos.
— Escaped a ruined village, gathered an entire unit including an Elf and an Ogre, killed a werewolf, defeated a Chaos Dwarf sorcerer, — Waldemar listed my exploits with a venomous smile. — Survived a grueling battle without losing almost anyone from your unit. Whose achievements are these? A Grand Master of some knightly order or a Templar of Sigmar? No! A simple boy from the backwoods! Do you think I'll believe that?! You miscalculated!
Was that envy I heard in the Templar's tone? Waldemar seemed to be from the nobility. He had an education. Perhaps the hunter was gnawed by the fact that the aforementioned feats had not fallen to his lot. Though, truth be told, my biography could indeed be considered suspiciously impressive.
— I didn't seek these feats. I was just trying to survive. You judge me by suspicions, but why not judge me by my deeds? I am many things, but not an enemy of the Empire.
— Not an enemy? — Waldemar smirked maliciously. — The fact that you haven't committed crimes yet does not justify you. I know perfectly well that strife boils endlessly in the camp of heretics. The Great Game of the Dark Gods. I wouldn't be surprised if you truly consider yourself an entirely innocent warrior of the Empire or even a saint. Tell me, Jurgen, how did it all begin? Did you see a strange dream or hear a voice?
I died on a sofa in another world. However, voices and strange dreams did indeed dog me later. And Waldemar continued his accusatory speech.
— Then you began to notice that you surpassed ordinary people in talent. You were instilled with a certain mission, weren't you? To save everyone from Chaos, for example?
Damn, the persistence and insight of this Templar were undeniable. He managed to guess a lot.
— Judging by your look, I've pulled the right thread, — Waldemar nodded. — Consider yourself a savior of the Empire? I think you are but a pawn of a Dark God, used to spoil the situation on the board for his competitor. The Changer of Ways. Ever heard of him?
Chills ran down my spine. What if Waldemar was right and I wasn't thrown here by some benevolent force acting against Chaos? And Loom-Pia himself could actually be...
— This ignorant warm-blood is spouting nonsense, — the Slann bristled. — His knowledge of magic is too insignificant to draw such far-reaching conclusions.
— I do not consider myself an enemy of the Empire, — I repeated.
What the hell should I do? Tell him everything? No. He's a damn fanatic and he's got a grudge against me. I just need to keep him talking until...
— I will pull the truth out of you with fire and tongs, — Waldemar promised ominously. — Paul, light the hearth. The coals must ripen.
Son of a bi-i-itch!
I was no stranger to pain, of course, but suffering because of this fanatic's stupidity didn't appeal to me at all. However, just as the hunter's henchman approached the hearth and started throwing logs into it, a fierce barking of dogs erupted from outside. It seemed the dog chained near our building was straining its throat. The barking lasted about five seconds and then abruptly cut off.
— Kurz, check it, — Waldemar ordered, pulling a pistol from his belt.
A grim-looking, overgrown man in a hat nodded and took a broad cleaver from the bar. I could see a silver strip on the blade. Specifically against the undead. Besides the cleaver, Kurz grabbed a short, wide-barreled pistol. Armed, the hunter's henchman first cracked open the shutters of one window, peered into the deepening evening gloom, and shook his head.
— No one.
— Go out and check, — Waldemar repeated, laying another pistol out before him on the bar.
Could it be Liandra?
Trying not to draw attention, I carefully checked how tightly my hands were bound. They had tightened the knots well. Waldemar's henchmen clearly had experience. If they ended up in our world, they could have found work as bondage masters. Though I fear the safeword mechanic wouldn't please them.
My hands were tied securely, but the chair beneath me was old and quite flimsy. I had to keep that in mind.
Meanwhile, the Templar's henchman stepped outside. He left the door open behind him. Through the night gloom, I could see his back moving forward.
— Seems like no one's here, — came from outside. — And the dog...
The man's words were cut off by a wheeze. He jerked several times and fell flat on his back before he could use his weapon. Likely, he was killed by a throwing dagger. Definitely Liandra!
— Bolt the door! — Waldemar ordered. — Close the shutters!
The remaining three henchmen rushed to fulfill the hunter's orders.
— Your pointed-eared girlfriend?! — Waldemar hissed, leveling his pistol at me. — Order her to stop or I'll blow your brains out!
Creaks and thuds rang out. Someone was testing the strength of the shutters on several windows at once. As if... scratching at them?
— That's not Liandra! — I answered the hunter. — Maybe they've come for you?
Waldemar whispered either a curse or a prayer, looking around frantically. Rustles and creaks came from all sides.
— If they're here for you, then free me. I'll fight too.
The Templar wasn't interested in my offer. He dashed from window to window, trying to target the enemy through the opening gaps. The shutters rattled under blows. Some were pried open, but only darkness was visible outside.
— Paul, Viktor, Hans... — Waldemar started to warn his underlings, but he was too late.
One of the men was too close to the partially opened shutters. Something flew at him from the darkness. Not an arrow and not a crossbow bolt. The man clutched his neck, pulled something small out of it, and threw it on the floor.
— It's alive... — the wounded man wheezed with a smile, clutching his bleeding neck and ducking to avoid catching another. — The bastards missed a bit. Now I'll...
He didn't get to finish. The man was twisted by convulsions. He slumped to the floor, writhing and agonizing. The enemy had poisoned the weapon.
Taking advantage of the fact that Waldemar was no longer focused on me, I rocked the chair and crashed to the floor with it. I had to strain every muscle. The old wood groaned, and the chair broke.
Shots thundered above me. The surviving henchmen of the Templar tried to fight off the invisible enemy. They were failing miserably. All the shutters were thrown wide open, gaping with impenetrable darkness. New lethal projectiles flew in regularly from there. I hadn't examined them properly yet. Some kind of daggers, maybe?
Finally finishing off the chair, I crawled to the side, scanning for any weapon or blade. I needed to cut the bonds quickly. I didn't have to look for long. There were plenty of piercing and cutting implements in this room.
Using the knife of the man dying from poison, I began to saw at the ropes.
— You! — Waldemar's voice boomed above me.
The Witch Hunter stood at his full height, aiming his pistol at me. The Templar's single eye burned with a mad fire.
— Herr Waldemar, it's not me you should be worried about! — I appealed to his reason.
— Did you lead them here!? Your accomplices!?
— I swear, I don't know...
Waldemar hissed. Something pierced his hand. A shot rang out. I lunged to the side with all the agility I could muster. The bullet kicked up splinters from the wooden floor ten centimeters from my head.
Despite the cloud of gunpowder smoke, I finally saw what kind of weapon the unknowns were using. A three-bladed shuriken was stuck in Waldemar's wrist. The edges of the throwing star glimmered dimly with flecks of warpstone. Skaven!
And not just ordinary ratmen, but Gutter Runners of Clan Eshin. Now it made sense that the beggar with the cataract wasn't working for Waldemar. He was spying for the Skaven.
Clutching the knife in my bound hands, I made several rolls to the side.
Another of Waldemar's henchmen slumped to the floor with a poisoned shuriken in his throat. I tried to stay close to the dying man. The first drops of blood fell into the bottom of the sacrificial chalice. I began to absorb the energy, enhancing my physical stats.
And the Skaven had already begun their assault. Black shadows jumped through the windows one by one. Three tailed assassins were in the room.
Waldemar grabbed his second pistol, aiming ahead of the nearest Skaven. However, at the last moment, the ratman froze and did a backflip. The bullet only splintered one of the floorboards. Bad.
More Skaven kept arriving. Now there were five. I finally cut the bonds. By that time, the fight was practically over. The last henchman of the Templar caught a poisoned shuriken. Waldemar himself, drawing his sword, rushed away, pursued by Skaven. Two tailed killers were closing in on me, sniffing noisily.
— I smell-scent, it is him! — one of the Skaven squeaked. — The needed-necessary man-thing!
— Yes-yes! — another echoed him. — Found-discovered!
So, they had come for me after all. I carefully stood up, holding the hand with the knife behind my back. Clan Eshin is known for removing witnesses to the existence of ratmen. Likely, that was why they were looking for me. The fight promised to be extremely difficult. Even a single hit from a poisoned shuriken could be fatal.
The two assassins were joined by three more. They formed a semi-circle around me.
— Other man-thing? Killed-killed?
— Fled, but will die-perish anyway. Poison is reliable.
— Fool-idiot! — the senior one, presumably, lashed out at the erring assassin. — Leave no witnesses!
Leave no witnesses? Understood. I was ready to accept my perhaps final battle.
The largest Skaven sniffed, pointing his nose toward me.
— It is him! — the ratman nodded, pointing a curved knife at me. — You! Jurgen-thing?
— Yes, — I didn't bother denying it.
— Good-good! You come with us. Your master-lord Gottri calls.
W-what?!
They didn't come to kill me?!
Master-lord Gottri?!
I was surprised, or more accurately, stunned. And the head rat continued to command:
— Skrukk, Maimun, find-track and kill reliably-surely the fled man-thing. Remove evidence! Quick-quick!
While he spoke, two Skaven from the squad slipped into the darkness to pursue Waldemar, while two others gathered the shurikens. I also decided not to waste time. I found my sword and also appropriated a couple of unloaded pistols. At first, the Skaven didn't interfere with my looting, but the head rat didn't let me loot everything in peace.
— Come-come, Jurgen-thing! — the tailed assassin tugged at my sleeve.
Four assassins plus the leader remained with me. Follow them or try to fight back? They hadn't stopped me from taking my weapons. That was already a good sign. Fine. Let's see where this Splinter squad leads me.
Using the night darkness, the Skaven made their way to the river flowing through the city. A boat awaited us at the shore, with the same beggar with the cataract at the oars. Instead of rags, he now wore dirty but quite high-quality gear. Knives, ropes, some thieving tools. The fibula of his cloak was made in the shape of a specific triangle — a Skaven symbol.
— Must leave-slip away, — he whispered, mimicking the ratmen's manner of speech.
The Skaven henchman directed the boat toward the city. Soon we were near one of the grates leading into the underground communications. The beggar moored to it and, lighting his way with a dim lantern, began to carefully unscrew some clamps camouflaged under dirt. A part of the seemingly monolithic grate turned out to be easy to remove. Thus we found ourselves in a tunnel beneath the city, moving against the current. The water overboard "fragranced" not very appetizingly. The sewers. Then again, what else did I expect from Skaven?
Well, let's see what master-lord Gottri wants from me. Hopefully, I won't have to take him hostage again.