Chapter 80 - Night Raid, Part 3

"Then maybe you should take your warriors to the human city on the surface and prove it, yeah."

"Indeed, great," the warchief replied, in a voice that seemed relieved. After all, he had a slim chance of surviving. "You may consider your enemies dead."

Somehow, Dhalthar doubted it, but he didn't say so, then cursed himself for his leniency. He had allowed Tell-Tongue to slip out from under his paw, instead of tearing him to a thousand pieces by way of example.

At that moment a runner entered, gasping for breath, carrying a message on the traditional cleft human femur. Seeing Dhalthar, he immediately humbled himself before the Black Magician and held out his femur towards him.

Dhalthar was tempted to tear him to pieces at his insolence. He had to uphold a beautiful old ratfolk tradition of killing messengers carrying bad news; but at the time Dhalthar didn't even know if the news was bad. Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the parchment from the bone. He noted that the corners were crinkled and that it was obvious that he had been well pawed at.

It wasn't surprising. No doubt all the spies in that place had bribed the messenger to get a chance to see what he was carrying. That, too, was a ratfolk custom. Dhalthar didn't mind. He had established his own codes cunningly hidden within innocuous-looking messages, in order to keep communications from him a secret.

He looked at the square runes, the work of a strong ratfolk paw. The message simply said: "The package has been delivered." A sense of triumph filled Dhalthar and made his earlier anger vanish. He fought to hide the exultation he felt and to keep the pleasure from showing on his face. He looked at the messenger with contempt, for he knew that above all else face-saving had to be done and an example had to be set.

"This message has been opened, traitor!" he growled and held up a paw.

A sphere of greenish light appeared around Dhalthar's clenched fist. The messenger cringed and tried to plead for mercy, but it was too late. Tentacles of monstrous black magical energy leaped from Dhalthar's paw to encircle the body of the doomed ratfolk. The tentacles parted from each other and flowed around the messenger, rippling through the air as eels rippling through water, sinuous, hideous motions. After a few moments, the tendrils of energy shot forward and pierced the ratfolk's body, splitting its flesh and emerging on the other side stained a darker color.

Over and over they struck at him, tearing at his skin, muscle, and sinew; again and again the messenger uttered shrill agonized cries. The musky scent of fear mingled with the scent of blood and the ozone stench of the spell. Within seconds, Dhalthar was left with only a bare skeleton, which, after a second, collapsed into a heap of bones. The ribbons of magical energy coalesced, consuming each other as they did so, until nothing was left of them. The entire assembled host of ratfolk heaved a great sigh of astonishment and disbelief to see the great Black Magician demonstrate his power in such satisfying fashion.

Dhalthar held up a paw for silence, and after a moment it was quiet, except for the few coughs that could be heard from the rows at the back.

"The news is tragic!" Dhalthar said, and then even the coughing stopped. "The mighty Warlord Virmek has been killed in a terrible accident involving a loaded crossbow and exploding donkey. We will observe the traditional ten heartbeats of silence to signal the return of his soul to the Great Rat God."

Immediately, all the ratfolk began talking among themselves, the squeals of conversation only quieting when Dhalthar raised one paw again, letting a warning glow appear around her. None of them wanted to be the next target for those billowing ribbons of terrible energy.

"We will now make preparations for the next phase of the grand plan," Dhalthar announced. "In the sad absence of Warlord Virmek, I must retake control of the conquering army."

"With the deepest respect, Black Magician Dhalthar, that is not the right thing to do. As the oldest ratfolk present, it is my duty to assume command." Izak Grottle's thunderous voice filled the chamber. "The Shaper Clan has contributed many resources to finance this expedition, and I must see that they are spent sensibly."

"What nonsense is this?" Invalid Felbroth inquired. The words gurgled, slimy, from his torn throat. "If anyone should take command here, it should be me. For the Morbus Clan it will be the honor to defeat the human city. We have great plans!"

"Great plans! It is our secret weapon that will destroy the human city!"

"Nerd! I disagree," screeched the high-pitched, reedy voice of One-Eyed Heskit. "Siege engines will make victory possible, so leadership must rest with Clan Skryre. As the highest representative of the Marchin Clan, I will now assume the duties of Supreme Commander."

"This is a vile encroachment on the privileges of the Shaper Clan." roared Izak Grottle. The rat-orcs, hearing the anger in his voice, bellowed in barely contained fury, and the sound of their anger echoed through the cavern. "Unruly behavior cannot be tolerated! Nope! For the sake of the army, I must warn you that one more word of such treachery, and my warriors will execute you instantly."

The groups armed with snipers surrounding Heskit quickly turned their guns on Izak Grottle.

"Your warriors? Your warriors? It's a crazy ratfolk speaking. By what right do you think your soldiers are the warriors under my command?"

"You two are testing my patience." gurgled Feldovil. "Watching my two senior lackeys squabble like puppies can only demoralize my army. Stop behaving so treasonously at once, or face the horrible, fatal, and inevitable consequences."

Felbroth flexed his paws menacingly, and suddenly a packet of repulsive substance appeared in his hands. None of those present could doubt that it was something dangerous, since the Morbus Clan's plagues were famously deadly.

Black Magician Dhalthar watched all this with bewildered anger and barely contained glee. He almost wanted the different bosses to come to blows, for violence to break out and for those higher up the social ladder to kill each other. Unfortunately, until circumstances proved otherwise, he had to assume that he would need the help of all of them to defeat the human city, so the time had come to put an end to this nonsense.

"Ratfolk brothers," he said in his most diplomatic tone of voice. "Consider this: Until Virmek's appointment, the Alliance Council placed me in command of this army. Since Virmek is unfortunately no longer with us, the post of rear-guard commander must remain in my hands by edict of the council. Of course, if any of you wish to discuss such decisions, I will notify you immediately."

That silenced them, as Dhalthar knew he would. No ratfolk in his right mind would even hint at the possibility of disobeying a direct edict of the council. The fearsome leaders of the ratfolk alliance had long arms, and their punishments were swift and accurate. By invoking the authority of the council, Dhalthar knew that he would ensure the obedience of all present until they could verify his statement. Dhalthar hoped that by then he would have brought the human city to its knees.

"Of course, you are right, Black Magician Dhalthar," Heskit stated. "It's just that, as second in command, I thought these others were overstepping the bounds of his authority."

"I don't know how Heskit can claim that he is your second in command, Black Magician, when everyone knows that my respect for you knows no bounds and my devotion to you is limitless," declared Izak Grottle.

"It pains me to see these high-handed oafs discuss your rightful authority, Black Magician." was what Caldovil said, after coughing enigmatically. "Surely, the power of my clan and my proven dedication to you have to mean that I am second in command."

"I still have to decide who will be the second boss. I have to retire to my lair to consider strategy." Saying this, he alighted from the bell carriage, and the teeming sea of ratfolk parted before him. For the moment, Dhalthar was satisfied that he had controlled the discussion of his leadership.

This is better, Dhalthar thought correctly. "Let them fight, argue or even kill each other over who will get the crumbs. The glory of victory will only belong to me and me alone."