Chapter 71
This city wanted our blood. Poisonous whispers carried rumors, drawing everyone's attention toward us. Each passing hour would be more dangerous than the last. Even in the immediate aftermath of the arena events, they were already hunting us.
"Quiet," Liandra breathed, her lips barely moving as we sat on a narrow ledge squeezed between the towering walls of somber houses.
Below, a small detachment of Dark Elves could be seen marching along the street. A few swordsmen and crossbowmen led by an elf dressed in black and crimson, a ritual chalice hanging from his belt. This was a disciple or acolyte of Khaine—a member of the sect of warrior-priests dedicated to the Bloody-Handed God. Unlike the Death Hag, their organization wasn't spread across all Druchii cities; they were specifically based here in Clar Karond.
Once the pursuers vanished, Liandra turned to me with an insistent whisper.
"Gil, you should have warned me about the red shimmer."
"If I had known it would happen like that, I would have. My power is growing and changing."
"That's all well and good, but we have big problems now. The Khainites suspect you are linked to him."
"A human linked to your supreme god?" I asked, surprised. "Don't they consider such a thought heresy?"
"Do not judge us by the people of the Empire," the elf replied. "For the Druchii, there are no unshakeable boundaries. Especially when it comes to power. They might view you as a chosen beast. A gift and a trial from Khaine."
Great.
In my past life, popularity had never been an issue, but now there was a full-blown frenzy surrounding my persona.
"Will we leave the city as soon as possible?" I asked.
"Searching for a ship now is risky, and we aren't ready for a journey by land."
"We need to convert this gold into combat effectiveness," I suggested. "If we have to fight off Khainites, it's better to do it with a couple of loyal bodyguards."
Liandra smirked at me, but concern lingered in her eyes.
"Druchii loyalty isn't easily won. Gold is a fine resource, but not when facing the Brides of Khaine."
"I'm not talking about Druchii. There's another option."
A flash of surprise crossed the elf's face.
"I've told you before that I owe my presence in this world to the so-called Old Ones. The Lizardmen of Lustria worship them as gods. I think if I can speak with one of them, I can sway them to our side."
"Lizardmen are rare catch, but in Clar Karond, you can find any kind of slave," she replied. "But... is it worth pinning our hopes on primitive beasts?"
"What does this foolish creature think of herself!" Loom-Pia erupted in indignation. "Her kind is merely an experimental prototype, while we, the Children of the Gods, have always been the pillars of the Great Plan."
He went on for quite a while, but I tried to tune out his grumbling and focus on the dialogue with Liandra.
"Lizardmen are very devoted to their gods," I told her. "Fanatically devoted, and that can help us reach our goal."
"Fine," she nodded. "I will trust your judgment, and I'll try to find allies of my own. Few in Clar Karond are willing to challenge the followers of Khaine, but a few madmen can always be found."
That sounded optimistic enough. I had no desire to fall into the hands of the Death Hag; they might sacrifice me out of pure lack of imagination.
"We'll stay in the same place tonight," Liandra decided. "It will take Khaine's hunters time to find us, so it's relatively safe for now. Tomorrow we pack. We can occupy an empty house or find another inconspicuous hideout."
Time for stealth mode.
"And what about Kehmor? Is there any point in contacting him further, or is it too dangerous?"
"I have to think," Liandra replied with doubt in her voice. "He wants something from us. That gives us a chance for cooperation. But once Kehmor gets what he wants..."
"We'd better stay far away from him or finish him off as quickly as possible," I finished for her.
"Yes. You performed well in the arena, but you moved too linearly. We need to dedicate time to training."
"Let's do it. Do you think my reactions are fast enough yet to deflect arrows or bullets?"
"It should be enough. It's a simple technique. I'll teach you. Correct movement in combat is far more important. The Orcs and that monster were slower than you, but if you have to fight the Witch Elves, a single hesitation could cost your life."
"Maybe I should reclassify from a Norscan berserker to a Chaos Warrior? You know, get some proper armor."
Liandra looked me over and replied, "Gil, in Clar Karond, it will be hard to find anything ready-made for your size. Orcish scrap doesn't count."
"Fine. We'll rethink that problem later."
Concealing our tracks and winding through narrow alleys, we headed back to the inn where we had stayed before. The one-eyed owner didn't react specially to us. Likely, the news of my arena prime hadn't yet reached the dregs of Dark Elf society dwelling here.
Only the one-armed woman, busy preparing alcoholic drinks in tall, cracked glasses, paid us any attention. She watched me with a long, lingering stare.
When Liandra and I reached my room, she opened our prize chest and handed me half the treasure, but I immediately gave part of it back.
"Better if you keep it. We'll be making the large purchases together anyway."
Actually, so far, Liandra was treating me surprisingly well. She split the money evenly and didn't try to nag me or cause suffering. Her behavior didn't quite match the majority of other Dark Elves.
I wasn't sure of the reason for the difference yet. Either she was so focused on the mission that she was doing everything to maintain my loyalty, or Liandra truly wasn't the darkest of the Dark and treated me with a measure of respect.
I hoped for the second option, but I'd keep my eyes peeled and my axe close. Liandra had already managed to surprise me once by luring me onto a Corsair ship. I still remember how shocked I was. Overall, it ended tolerably, but I might not survive another surprise like that.
"Here," Liandra handed me a metal spike. "You can use this to jam the keyhole when you go to sleep. We leave here tomorrow."
The night passed quietly. No one tried to break into my room—or if they did, the spike stopped them.
I slept like a log. Only a coma could be deeper. Even the visions of the misty knight were blurred. The previous day had been extremely intense. I had filled and consumed the Blood Chalice twice. Usually, that only happened during major battles. It's a good thing I talked my way into the arena.
The only pity was that now I'd have to hide and wait. If only I had unlimited access to the arena... I would gladly empty the local goblin stocks.
Waking up in the morning, I practiced a bit with some chains. These simple training tools were brought to me by Liandra along with some throwing knives and a wooden board. Special handles were attached to the ends. Holding both, I had to try and stretch the chain. Such training was primarily designed for tendons, or so the girl explained.
Despite not having the impressive muscle mass of Orcs, Dwarfs, or Ogres, Elves managed to develop enough strength to wear heavy armor and easily sever enemy limbs in battle. Liandra had demonstrated such tricks to me repeatedly.
I could build muscle by absorbing segments of the Blood Chalice. The question arose: why train at all? I discussed this with Loom-Pia, and he advised me not to neglect physical activity.
"We can strengthen your tissues, but it is important to know how to use them, warm-blooded creature. For that, you must move. Learn complex combat movements to make them our instrument."
Fair enough. With this physique, moving felt good. Plus, in battles, there's the chance to recharge using someone else's life force.
Liandra knocked on my door toward noon.
"We eat and then we leave," she informed me. "I found someone. Mercenaries."
"Are they reliable?"
"There's a chance."
When we went down to the common room, Liandra pointed to a table where three Dark Elves of non-standard appearance sat. Hairstyles similar to Corsairs, facial tattoos, and specific attire. Two men and a woman.
I had an idea of who they were. Shades. Outcasts of Dark Elf society living in clans in the mountains.
The mercenaries already had a spread on the table. There were places for us too.
"It's been so long since I've eaten my fill, mistress," one of the outcasts said as we sat down. "For this, killing wouldn't be a shame."
"And you will kill, if necessary," Liandra replied.
I sat across from a deep bowl filled with meat stew and potatoes. The dish emitted a pleasant, spicy aroma. The grim one-armed woman came up behind us and placed a small tray with glasses on the table.
"Norscan?" another outcast growled through clenched teeth, eyeing me. "Is he your beast?"
"Do you have a problem with that?" Liandra inquired.
"My whole life is problems with Norscans, mistress. Do you know how we got here? Crone Hellebron hired our clan and led us North with her army of Executioners. It started well. We ambushed and riddled detachments of Norscans with bolts. Then the great slaughter happened. Thousands of warriors. We held a hill on the flank while the main force from Har Ganeth broke through the center of the barbarian horde. It seemed over. And then we saw a single dot in the sky, approaching like a diving hawk. It was a daemon. Valkia the Bloody. An invisible shield stopped our bolts and arrows. Then the monster descended. A real butchery began. Only the three of us survived from the whole unit, but we can't return to Har Ganeth. Hellebron doesn't care why we ran. She sends all mercenary deserters to the Cauldron. I've seen enough of Norscans, mistress. He might lick your feet and be most submissive, but he's only truly loyal to his gods. If they whisper to him, a Norscan will betray anyone. A normal human is a beast, but a Norscan is a rabid beast."
Rabid? Don't make me angry then.
"Jurg is the last thing you need to worry about," Liandra stated. "Just fulfill the terms of our deal. When we get to Naggarond, I will help you settle there."
"Your business, mistress," the outcast replied. "But I'll keep my distance from this big one."
I enjoyed breakfast. They cook well in Dark Elf establishments. The main thing is not to think about the origin of the meat. However, I could be at ease about this meal. The taste was the familiar flavor of Orc meat. We respect that kind of culinary choice.
After breakfast, we left the inn. The Shade mercenaries headed somewhere down the street to prepare a hideout in an abandoned house.
"That trio doesn't seem reliable to me," I stated.
"It's hard to find anyone better right now. The loyalty of Knights and Corsairs is forged over years. It can't be bought for ten gold coins. You need oaths, connections, influence in the city. So there's sense in relying on outcasts. They don't trust the Death Hags. They see them as Hellebron's servants. To survive, we need a strong squad. A few good marksmen will definitely come in handy."
Perhaps Liandra was right, and we simply didn't have more reliable mercenaries at hand. As they say, when there's no fish, a crawfish is a fish. Or the more colorful version: for lack of a maid, one sleeps with the butler.
Fine. Let the Shades prepare the secret hideout; it was time for us to visit the slave market and the market of exotic beasts. In Druchii perception, the line between these two products is very thin.
To make ourselves a bit harder to recognize, we concealed ourselves under cloaks. I wrapped the very conspicuous Axe of Khargan in cloth, though I didn't want to put it far away.
We made it to the slave market without incident. Only once did street thugs try to harass us, but Liandra put them in their place with a couple of sentences and a single icy stare. The bastards preferred not to risk it.
Soon we reached a spacious rectangular square where the bodies and souls of unfortunate captives were traded. There was a clamor here uncharacteristic for a Dark Elf city. Slaves not yet broken were crying, groaning, shouting insults, and howling in pain under the lashes of whips.
The market was divided among dozens of major traders, each of whom had their own platform for demonstrating their wares.
"Fresh catch from the mighty Lokhir!" a barker on one such platform was announcing. "Cathayan eunuch youths. They won't stand heavy labor, but listen to how sweetly they scream!"
The Dark Elf cracked a spiked whip in front of a group of frightened, slight youths of Asian appearance. Wow! Cathayans. Again, I'd love to talk to representatives of the different peoples of this world, but we came here for muscle and combat power. Castrated youths definitely weren't that. They didn't look like Unsullied at all.
"Home-grown Goblins!" they announced from another side. "For sacrifices, rituals, and meat!"
Besides the large traders with platforms, one could see small sellers near whom stood literally two or three cages. One such subject, whom we were passing, bowed before Liandra, showing off his best merchandise.
"A dwarf of forty years. Born and raised in chains. No problems with obedience, mistress."
I glanced sideways at the enslaved Dawi. A very strange sight. A dwarf without a beard and with a nearly bald-shaven head. His face resembled that of an ugly child. A blank, haunted gaze wandered aimlessly across the slave market. The enslaved Dawi was dressed decently, and I saw no visible injuries. Among other slaves, the Dark Elves treated Dwarfs the best. This, of course, was logical. Dwarf slaves were a rarity and often possessed valuable skills.
"Northern barbarians. Fresh catch!" another Corsair advertised.
I looked at the captured Norscans. They were only distantly similar to the fierce warriors I had to kill near Nuln. No marks of Chaos, no mutations. Just bearded, sturdy, but clearly underfed men plus a few women with dull blue eyes. Fishermen, hunters, maybe even farmers. Not all Norscans are warriors of the Chaos hordes.
Though, perhaps if some warlord came to their village, these bearded men would set off on a campaign into Empire territories.
And even if they refused, they'd still go on a campaign, but as skulls decorating warrior altars.
There were many Northerners here. Far more than representatives of other human nations. It makes sense; the cold wastes are right nearby.
Crack! Crack!
I heard the whip strikes constantly here. This time, the long-eared sadists were tormenting a genuine Chaosite. He was a massive Northerner, nearly my height. On a face distorted by mutations and a grimace of pain, three eyes spun frantically. The Chaosite's head remained untouched, but everything below the neck had been turned into a bloody mess with protruding bones.
Likely, this mutant was considered too problematic even for sale to the arena, so they decided to finish him right here, turning the execution into a prolonged torture, of course.
Not far from the site of the execution, the mangled carcass of a medium-sized Orc hung on a pole. It had been flayed alive by spiked whips.
It might sound sacrilegious, but it's already hard for me to answer the question: does the existence of the Druchii hinder normal people or rather help them?
Of course, the unfortunate peasants captured by Corsairs would be shocked by such a framing. However, it cannot be denied that the Druchii exterminate a lot of nastiness. If one imagines that Naggaroth falls and its lands are seized by Chaosites or Orcs, it would potentially be much worse for the survival of humanity.
While I was thinking these heretical thoughts, my gaze passed over a large cage with protruding spikes, and there inside...
"We're going there," I whispered in Norscan to Liandra, pointing at the cage where a Kroxigor sat.