"Rabbits are not just valuable fur, but also three or four kilograms of dietary, easily digestible meat."
That's how a certain Soviet humorous skit went.
Squigs are not just one enormous maw, full of sharp teeth, but also… No, they are actually just one enormous maw.
— Loose 'em! — the leader roared in an especially loud voice. — The 'oomie'll become Squig shit!
I bolted away from the captured village. A number of Greenskin arrows shot after me flew wide. Goblins aren't known for their good aim at long distances, and drunk Goblins even less so. The real danger was posed precisely by the Squigs.
Soon, I heard the sounds of some squeaky pipes and hunting horns behind me. The Goblin herders were probably setting their pets on my trail. I ran toward the forest. After three hundred meters of open space around the village, the tree crowns closed over my head.
I had absolutely no desire to fight the Squigs. I didn't even know how many of those creatures the enemy would release. So all that was left was to run, feeling the forest floor and especially large branches beneath my thin soles. My head under the strange coif was soaked with sweat. The weight of the helmet was incredibly bothersome, but there was no time to take it off.
I transitioned from a fast sprint to a jog, feeling that my lungs couldn't take it anymore. If only I could find a river or a stream to throw them off the scent.
The bushes and undergrowth became thicker and thicker. In the darkness, I constantly risked tripping over a log or impaling myself on a branch, Final Destination style. Branches whipped my hips and stomach. How far had I run? Who the hell knows.
However, the pursuers were closing the distance. Behind me, I heard strange yapping and gurgling sounds. There was only one way to salvation, even if only temporary. I climbed the nearest suitable tree. In a couple of minutes, I had scrambled about four meters up. Then, a crunch of breaking branches sounded below. Five angry, toothy balls flew up to my tree, leaping like giant toads or, rather, animated rubber balls. Their skin was greasy and slightly gleaming in the moonlight.
The Squigs began to hop around the tree, but I was already too high. They tried to climb the tree, but the clumsy creatures couldn't get a proper grip. Still, my position was frankly shitty. As soon as the masters of the toothy balls arrived, I would have to either fight or play the role of a living target.
I tried to regain my breath. Sitting in the tree was uncomfortable, but I had to try to rest a little.
— Close your eyes, — the Slann offered, or rather commanded me, again.
I decided to follow his instruction. Gradually, I managed to relax, despite the awkward posture. The muscles not engaged in holding me to the tree filled with a blessed warmth. The pain from the multitude of small wounds subsided.
— Is this magic? — I asked.
— The simplest control of the body's and spirit's resources. However, I am completely unable to influence the external Winds of Magic. The problem lies in your essence, which came from a distant and alien place.
— Do you know who I am? Where I came from?
— From another inhabited celestial sphere. There, perhaps, the Great Plan of the Old Ones was fulfilled, Chaos was defeated, and humans received the necessary improvements to resist the forces of destruction.
The Old Ones? I barely suppressed a laugh. Now that the danger had retreated, everything happening around me seemed insane. I had a dead magical toad in my head who thought that my homeworld was protected from Chaos by the Old Ones. Amazing. However, there was no point in arguing with him. He thinks I'm from a world where the Old Ones won? Excellent. Perhaps he'll start treating me a little better that way. And the Slann continued to speak:
— Your essence is inert to the Winds. Like damp wood refuses to burn, it repels magic. That is why I cannot use power, and the spell of that parasite did not destroy us.
I slightly opened my eyes. The Squigs below got tired of assaulting the tree. They started chasing each other, trying to bite one of their kin in the rear. To the accompaniment of this scuffle, the Slann continued to reason:
— However, something has placed powerful enchantments upon us. It connected us together and gave you the ability to understand all languages. This has slightly weakened your natural defense. There is a small breach or crack in it. I feel how crumbs of the Winds of Magic flow through it. Small drops that I am trying to use to strengthen your weak body. Give me more time to reflect. Perhaps I will find a way to help us, and most importantly, understand what role we must play in the Plan of the Old Ones.
I wonder if the little toad can read my thoughts if I don't want him to? I hope not.
— So, thanks to my origin from another world, I am very well protected from magic?
— Yes, but it is much more complex, warm-blood. I need time to consider all the prospects and potential consequences. Perhaps you are an extraneous element in the intertwining destinies of the cosmos. A new thread, insignificant for now, but capable of changing a part of the pattern.
If I'm not eaten by Squigs or their masters.
However, time passed, and the Goblins did not come. I even managed to doze off, leaning my back against the curve of the tree, while the Slann was tinkering with something in our new body. Thanks to his efforts, the night cold was practically unnoticeable, despite the fact that I had sweated heavily while running and was now cooling down.
Minutes passed, turning into hours. Of the five Squigs below, two remained. The other three had darted off somewhere, possibly chasing a deer or a rabbit. The Goblins did not come. They probably chose the village full of booze over chasing one "oomie" through the forest. God bless their sloppiness.
I wonder, do I need to specify which particular god I'm invoking? Sigmar, Ulric, Ursun… Who else helps non-Chaos oomies here?
— Slann, are you here? — I asked.
— Of course, warm-blood. Your imperfect body has become the prison of my mind.
I wanted to argue that his adored Old Ones hadn't bothered to change human bodies to more perfect ones, but I held back. There were much more interesting topics to discuss.
— Some legends about this world exist in my home world too, but we perceive them as fictional stories for entertainment.
— Fictional stories? — I sensed a kind of surprise in the Slann's voice.
— Yes. A non-existent world, you see? Authors created it from their imagination to entertain other people.
— Are the representatives of your species capable of creating and developing such a complex concept in their fantasies?
Oh, my dear toad, you have no idea what humans are capable of when they have food, a warm apartment, and a lot of free time. The volume of Star Wars fanfics in all languages wouldn't fit into any local great library.
— What if the Winds of power beyond the inhabited spheres carry echoes of the mythologies of different worlds? — the Slann posed a rhetorical question. — I should reflect on this while observing the heavens in a suitable observatory.
A rustle and a discontented yapping sounded from below. The Squigs reluctantly walked away. The sky gradually began to lighten. Soon I could climb down from the tree, but what to do next?
Returning to the village was too dangerous. On the contrary, I needed to get as far away from it as possible so the Goblins wouldn't catch me at night. I would have to leave, despite the strong desire to slaughter all those nasty creatures.
What if I reached the village and… burned everything down? Of course, the captives would die in the fire, but that was a much better fate than becoming food for the Greenskins. I remembered the guy in the cauldron and the beaten women on the street. They were probably already dead. Eaten by the cackling, drunken horde. To them…
— Calm yourself. Your pulse quickens, and your body's resources are wasted, — my built-in Yoda instructed me. — Follow the road to find a safer place.
He was right.
Climbing down from the tree, I stumbled away to reach the road. Thirst, hunger, and lack of sleep were gradually building up in my body, despite the Slann's efforts. I needed to find other people or just a stream as quickly as possible.
The morning chill was slowly giving way to the warmth of a summer day. I think my transference to this new reality happened during this time of year. Lucky in one respect, at least.
The sun in the blue sky shone brightly, inspiring hope. Looking at it, I wanted to forget all the nightmares I had endured last night as quickly as possible. However, the wounds, the torn clothes soaked in dried blood, and the trophy weapon were too material evidence of what had happened to declare it just a bad dream.
After about half an hour of pushing through the forest, I returned to the road, trying to listen to my déjà vu. To turn to those images of the deceased young man's life that were shown to me before the transference. I also tried to strain my logic. This settlement received caravans, but it was at a dead end of the road. That meant the main tract was further away. That's where we needed to go.
Moving my legs, aching from the exertion, and feeling a fierce dryness in my mouth, I walked along the packed road, surrounded by thick bushes turning into forest. Occasionally, traces of old clearings could be seen. The population of the fortified tavern had cleared the path to make it harder for potential enemies to set up an ambush.
The main tract wasn't far. It was a wide, dry road, trodden down over hundreds or even thousands of years of use. In places, ancient cobblestones could be seen through the dust.
On the one hand, I was glad to get here. On the other hand, what next? Right or left? The young man's memories were almost inaccessible to me, and he himself hadn't been to other lands.
As if sensing my confusion, the Slann decided to take the initiative.
— Sit by the roadside. Close your eyes and allow the light of Chotek to cleanse you of your night fears. We must restore our strength and find water.
That was reasonable, though what else could one expect from a Slann? He was literally the Old Ones' bio-machine brain.
I sat cross-legged on the soft grass by the roadside. I placed my weapons in front of me and finally took off the helmet. Closing my eyes, I felt the soft rays of the morning sun gently caress my body, tormented by the night's horrors, with warmth. I genuinely felt calm. Even the thirst receded a little, and I fell into a short sleep while the Slann tried to correctly distribute the meager resources of strength we had.
A cavalcade of vivid visions washed over me, stirring my imagination. I dreamed of temples and pyramids of ancient epochs, where thousands of Skaven were destroyed in ritual sacrifices. Flights of reptiles, resembling pterodactyls. Flashes of sunlight around magical devices on the backs of giant dinosaurs.
Then I saw something much more important. Waves of whitish mist that accompanied my rebirth. Through them, a tall figure in shining plate armor was barely discernible. The Knight reached out his hand to me. It seemed he was about to speak to me, but the dream was cut short by the Slann's warning:
— We are not alone here.
I immediately lifted my eyelids, peering at the procession approaching down the road. My heart instantly beat faster, and I wanted to jump to my feet to run toward them.
People!
A whole armed detachment, escorting fortified wagons. A Caravan coming from distant lands. The riders were dressed in green and yellow colors. I saw them carrying pistols, sabers, and short spears. On the wagons were Arquebusiers, Crossbowmen, and warriors with Halberds.
I got up, rushing toward the people. However, my joy was met with a rather cold reception. Three riders separated from the main procession and rode out to meet me, leveling their spears. The reasons for such a greeting were not hard to guess. I currently looked like something dirty, creepy, and bloodied. So, as quickly as possible, I threw my weapon to the ground, raising my hands.
The riders approached. I could make out severe, middle-aged faces with black mustaches. The guards' eyes looked at me suspiciously. Well, it was time to display a miracle of diplomacy. I hoped I wouldn't roll a one on charisma.
— I'm human! Not a mutant, not a monster! — I led with my trump card. — Goblins attacked our tavern last night. It's just around the bend! — I gestured to where I had come from.
The riders didn't rush to lower their weapons, but they didn't attack either. One of them, in a husky bass voice, ordered:
— Stay where you are! — and galloped back to the caravan.
He probably wanted to report to the chief. That was good.
After a couple of minutes, a man in a metal cuirass engraved with a twin-tailed comet arrived, accompanied by two more riders. He cast a heavy, even angry glance at me and commanded:
— Take off those rags.
Again, I perfectly understood what was happening, but it was still extremely unpleasant. I wanted help from other people, not a demand to strip. Breathing heavily, I first pulled off my torn shirt. One of the riders, dismounting from his horse, began to examine my back. He was looking for Chaos marks or signs of mutations.
— Seems clean, — he said. — And a bunch of scratches. Did you fight the Greenskins, lad?
— Yes… — I exhaled, invoking the names of the Imperial gods. — And for the mercy of Shallya, give me a sip of water.
No one was eager to comply. Perhaps they still suspected I was a mutant or infected. The man in the cuirass looked at his men and said:
— Hans!
One of the riders grumbled something but did hand me a small leather flask. The water inside had an unpleasant aftertaste, but it still brought me real bliss. Quenching my thirst, I felt gratitude for everything that existed, even these unfriendly people.
— And now tell me, what kind of Goblins, how many of them, and…
Before the man in the cuirass finished speaking, more riders approached us. Among them was a richly dressed elderly man in funny glasses.
— What is happening here, Karl? — he asked, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief with green trimming.
— Goblins attacked the roadside tavern, Herr Klaarsfeld. This young man claims so.
— Goblins? — the merchant winced, probably. — Dreadful. Will this be a problem?
— I'm trying to find out now, Herr Klaarsfeld.
The man in the cuirass began to ask me many questions about the Goblins. How many there were, what they looked like, how they were armed, whether I had noticed any Trolls or other monsters with them. While we spoke, more and more people gathered around. Not just people either…
Between the silhouettes of the riders, I noticed the enormous bulk of an Ogre. It was very strange to see such a creature in reality. At first glance, my otherworldly mind was stunned. It expected a person in a costume or an animatronic. However, the Ogre moved as if alive, prompting my astonishment. He looked at me with a pair of lazy, bored eyes. A heavy, spiked metal helmet adorned his massive head. The Ogre wore a long beard, in which crumbs of some food could be seen.
Trying not to be distracted by this exotic sight, I continued to speak.
— There are still living people left there. They can be helped. These Goblins… I think they don't like sunlight. There are many of them, but if you attack now during the day…
— Very regrettable, but we must move on, — the merchant interrupted me. — You can come with us to the Black Fire Pass. Imperial troops are stationed there. Report to them, boy.
I felt bitter disappointment. Even a kind of powerlessness. However, I had a few more compelling arguments in reserve that could change the merchant's mind.
— Shortly before the attack, a caravan stopped there. The guard was slaughtered, and the cargo and valuables are still there. Are we just going to hand all of that over to the Greenskin savages?
I failed to appeal to mercy, so I'd try poking at greed. The merchant's eyes clearly lit up. I saw a shadow of interest in them, but it was immediately obscured by a wet sheen of fear.
— No, no, absolutely not. They destroyed an entire caravan? Unthinkable. We must leave as quickly as possible, — the merchant worried.
Another one of the escorts addressed him. He didn't look like the soldiers in yellow and green. This man wore an old quilted jacket made of brown leather, and a saber hung on his belt.
— My lord, — he began hoarsely. — These Cave Goblins are blind as moles during the day. Give me a dozen lads and we…
— Out of the question, Herr Pieck. You are our guide, so show us the way.
With difficulty, another strange character pushed his way through the crowd. At first, I took him for a Dwarf, but quickly realized my mistake. A dwarf? The small man looked both comical and creepy. His broad, smiling face lacked a nose. It was replaced by a red hole with two nostrils. A scar from the severed nose ran down, bisecting his lips.
— My apologies, Herr Klaarsfeld, — he addressed the merchant. — Cave Goblins are nasty creatures. If we leave them now, we can expect uninvited guests tonight. I would advise engaging them in battle.
Snickers erupted from the soldiers.
— The great Halfling General wants a fight, — one of the guards laughed.
So that's what he was. A Halfling.
— Then we travel without stopping today, — the merchant, resolute in his cowardice, answered the Halfling's proposal. — I am not leading a military detachment, but a caravan. Everyone has their own job. Ours is to deliver the goods safely and soundly. Am I making myself clear? The Empire stands on discipline and the proper fulfillment of its duties. Enough arguments. We continue the journey.
Everyone gathered was clearly disappointed. Many were tempted by the opportunity to slaughter the Goblins, rescue the hostages, and most importantly, appropriate the riches of the fallen caravan. However, no one was going to argue with the merchant anymore. The assembled people also forgot about me. Only the noseless Halfling walked up to me and, extending his hand, said:
— Erik Greenleaf. You can just call me Eri.
Damn. A name… It would probably not be acceptable to introduce myself as Maxim Maltsev. I mentally cycled through the images from the deceased young man's life again.
— Jurgen.
Honestly, I wasn't sure if that was his name, but it would do for a start.
— Come on, Jurgen. Little Ponki is bringing up the rear of the caravan.
I didn't ask for any clarification, but just trudged after the Halfling, glancing with some surprise at his bare feet, covered in a thick layer of road dust.
— Are you a mercenary? — I asked.
— Mercenary? — the Halfling was surprised. — Well, something like that. Actually, I'm a cook. A full-cycle cook. I hunt myself, I butcher myself, then I cook.
Little Ponki turned out to be a donkey, which was sadly pulling a small cart packed with sacks, crates, and other odds and ends. A massive club, clearly belonging to an Ogre, also lay on it. The big guy himself soon stomped up.
— Eri, old man… — he boomed, moving his jaw as if chewing something. — Are we going to catch the greenies?
— The merchant won't allow it, — the Halfling answered apologetically. — He's scared of them.
The Ogre frowned and provided his argument.
— I want fresh meat. Lots of it. Not just a couple of birds or deer. I want greenies with onions and saffron, — he complained. — My belly's been half-empty for a week, Eri.
— It will all come, — the Halfling assured him. — It will all come, Magg. I promise you, you'll eat until you have a stitch in your gut. By the way, this lad… Can we put him on our cart? He's tired.
— This is a cart for my club and food, — the Ogre chuckled. — You can ride, but then you'll be food.
I absolutely did not like the way this behemoth was looking at me. Then the Halfling climbed onto the cart himself and, leaning close to the Ogre's ear, began to whisper something furiously. The big guy even lifted his helmet slightly to hear him better. Then Magg nodded contentedly and, with a gesture of his massive hand, invited me to climb onto the cart.
— You can ride, skinny. My name is Magg Gut-Gouger. You owe me a lot of meat, understand?
Eri winked at me, and I nodded, climbing onto the low cart. The sacks beneath me were soft and gave off a sharp smell of spices.
— Rest, buddy, rest, — the Halfling said with a smile. — And when you wake up, I'll treat you to something.
A crazy gleam was noticeable in his eyes, but I couldn't be choosy now. I tried to make myself comfortable to doze off as quickly as possible.
And again, dreams carried me away to the distant jungles of Lustria. I saw Skink priests offering golden plaques to the Slann. I saw cohorts of Saurus marching through the humid valleys. Colorful parrots accompanied the cold-blooded host with their cries.
Then everything was hidden by mist again. I saw the translucent figure of the Knight. I really wanted to talk to him.
— Who are you? Why am I here?
The Knight silently pointed at me. It seemed he was about to speak, but at that moment, someone shook my shoulder.
— Get up, lad. There's business, — a husky voice sounded almost right next to my ear.
It was the merchant's guide in the quilted jacket. He was on horseback, and with him were five more men with a bandit-like appearance. Clearly not soldiers. Local scouts?
— Let the boy rest, Herr Pieck, — Erik interceded for me, walking alongside the cart and smoking a pipe. — He's had a rough time.
— Herr Klaarsfeld assigned me to scouting. I need to estimate whether those savages are dangerous to us. The boy is coming with me.
Now this was interesting. Shaking off my sleepiness and trying to forget my hunger, I climbed off the slowly moving cart.
— Take your helmet and weapon, — Pieck said, and then extended his hand to me.
With his help, I sat on the horse as a second passenger. It turned out to be a hellishly uncomfortable way to travel. I clung to the saddle, constantly afraid that the horse would accidentally shake me off. The six riders moved further away from the caravan with every minute. I looked at them. Three of them actually looked like barbarians. Oil-haired, long-bearded hunter-pioneers dressed in furs. Dangerous men of the wild lands.
— You'll lead us to your village, lad, — Pieck said without turning around. — That jerk Klaarsfeld promised us mere pennies, and there's a whole caravan there. Even if I chew a hundred Goblins to death with my teeth, I swear by the iron balls of Sigmar, I'll make a name for myself.
— Are there still live women left there? — one of the bearded men shouted.
— Probably, — I replied.
A bloodthirsty joy fluttered in my heart. There would still be a chance to deal with the Goblins.
We rode almost all the way to the village. Then we dismounted, and Pieck began to question me about the layout of the fortified settlement. He was particularly interested in what the houses were made of.
— Good, — he nodded. — If we don't slaughter them, we'll burn them down.
— But the women will burn too! — one of the bearded men objected.
— The main thing that won't burn is the gold, Hef, — Pieck countered. — For money, you can buy as many women as you want.
A crunch of branches sounded behind us. The men turned around, drawing their weapons. Magg Gut-Gouger the Ogre and his companion the Halfling emerged from the forest thicket. Erik held a pistol in one hand and a weapon resembling a heavy meat tenderizing hammer in the other.
— Did Klaarsfeld send you to bring us back? — Pieck asked suspiciously, holding his sword ready.
— Klah… who? — the Ogre frowned.
— The merchant, — Erik prompted.
— Ah, the merchant… Nah. We sent him off ourselves. We're coming with you, — the Ogre grinned. — I want fresh greenies!