Chapter 72
The crocodile-headed Lizardman was massive, though much of its height was hidden by its hunched posture. It clearly lacked space in its cage, and the cramped conditions were not the only sign of the Dark Elves' cruelty. Fresh scars marked its blue-tinged scaly hide. Yet, the lizard did not look defeated. Its murky green eyes remained calm, radiating a kind of primal emptiness.
"Is the mistress interested in purchasing an exotic beast?" asked a Corsair standing by the Kroxigor's cage, his voice slightly raspy. "A fine specimen. It could earn you a mountain of gold in the arena."
Different worlds, but basic marketing tricks remain the same.
"If it is so valuable, why are you selling it?" Liandra noted reasonably.
"And true enough!" the Corsair laughed hoarsely. "You've convinced me, mistress. I'll take it and go home. I'll earn a mountain of gold myself. Oh, wait... I don't have a home! But perhaps I will, if you buy this creature from me for a bit more."
The Corsair selling the Kroxigor was accompanied by two other extremely ragged-looking elves. Fresh stitches, marks from venomous insect bites, and sickly bags under their eyes suggested the expedition to catch the "little crocodile" had been no easy feat. Serves them right. Rather than tormenting endangered reptiles, they should have been picking on greenskins or chaosites.
"Ask this wretched, pointed-eared barbarian, who by some misfortune escaped the darts and spears of the Great Plan's defenders, what happened to the Skinks his raiding party should have captured alongside the Kroxigor," Loom-Pia addressed me. "Skinks and Kroxigors get along well according to the design of the Old Ones. If we want this individual to help us, it would be wise to first secure the support of a few lesser servants of the Great Plan."
"Can't we just talk to him in your language? Explain the situation."
"Kroxigors were not created by the Old Ones to grasp complex situations, warm-blood. They are warriors and workers. Were I here in my own flesh or spirit form, this individual would obey me without question. However, my capabilities are limited by the imperfection of your body. Therefore, it is unlikely this individual will listen to you, even if you speak my words."
"Liandra, ask him about the Skinks," I whispered to the elf in Norscan. "We need the Skinks."
I noticed the Corsair's expression shift as he casually turned sideways, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"Besides this large beast, are there any smaller lizards for sale?" the girl asked.
"There were a couple, but they've all been bought. And why do you need small fry? If you need servant-slaves, you're better off taking humans. They're picky eaters, but they can endure the cold without trouble and are much more trainable than this scaly filth."
"Outrageous words from a crude barbarian..." Loom-Pia slipped back into total hatred of the pointed-ears.
I tried to treat his grumbling as background noise, but I listened just enough not to miss anything important.
"I need an answer, not advice," Liandra interrupted the Corsair in a cold tone. "You want to sell me this giant lizard? Then have your friends find me other smaller cold-bloods on the slave market."
The Corsair gave us a poisonous smile before looking over his companions. He glanced briefly at one and paused on the other.
"Why me?!" a shorter elf asked with indignation and despair. "My knee still hurts."
"Then go. Stretch your legs. Or should I cut your share again, Kuenovall?"
"I'm going..."
Grimacing with pain and malice, the short elf limped away along the trade rows. We continued to negotiate the price. Liandra haggled almost as focused and ruthlessly as she wielded a sword. The Corsair went pale, then flushed, tried to joke, then nearly resorted to insults, but restrained himself with his last bit of strength. He knew he was dealing with a member of the nobility. Moreover, he likely sensed the lethal mastery hidden in my companion's movements.
By the time we had finished haggling, the elf with the bad knee returned, accompanied by another female Dark Elf leading a short, reptilian humanoid on a rope. One severely beaten Skink—single unit.
"These little creatures aren't very obedient," the female Dark Elf purred sweetly. "We were already planning to feed it to the Cold Ones like the others. But, if you want to buy it, we'll let it go cheap."
And so began another round of bargaining in the middle of the slave market. Against the backdrop of the price negotiations, the screams of tortured victims rang out. I studied the Skink for now. I hoped it wouldn't die anytime soon. Its blue skin was covered in lash marks and likely bruises from a club. The Druchii had not been kind to their catch. It was too early to speak with it. There was no need to demonstrate knowledge of specific languages in plain sight.
In the end, buying the two cold-bloods had little impact on our budget. The Skink was sold for barely more than the price of its meat, and the Kroxigor cost a few gold coins, a small ingot, and one of the trophy pieces of jewelry we had stripped from the dead thugs.
"Here," Liandra tossed the Corsairs another gold coin. "Deliver the lizards outside the city. We are coming with you."
"Ah... So you want to hunt," the Corsair nodded with understanding.
He assumed we intended to release the lizards and then track and kill them. Such amusements were quite common among the Dark Elves. They even hunted human slaves.
With the help of the Corsairs and the black horses they rented, we managed to haul the caged crocodile out of the city. The Skink on a rope was entrusted to me. The miserable creature walked slowly, appearing sluggish. It was likely suffering from the unfamiliar climate or simply starving.
As we left the city gates under the watchful eyes of the guards, a vast plain opened up before us, with a river flowing through it. In the distance, the dark green crowns of mighty trees were visible. There were plenty of forests around Clar Karond. For this very reason, the city was the shipbuilding center of Malekith's cruel empire.
However, it was a fair distance from the walls of Clar Karond to the forest. The Dark Elves had long since cut down the trees around the city. Almost to the horizon, one could only see young groves or fields plowed for agricultural needs. It was a rural idyll, so to speak. Except the fields were worked by slaves watched over by overseers with long whips. Occasionally, the crack of lashes and screams of pain reached us.
Actually, the local nature reminded me very much of... central Russia. The northern part of it, where the proximity of the Taiga was already felt. Remove the pointed-eared sadists, giant spiders, hydras, and other filth, and you couldn't tell it apart from the outskirts of Penza or Saratov.
"We could have killed them to get the money back," Liandra said after the Corsairs had departed. "But the guards on the walls would have started extorting bribes. It might have ended up even more expensive. Do whatever you wanted with these reptiles. I hope they are worth the money and time spent."
I hoped so too. Now it was time to talk to some cold-bloods more alive than my built-in Hypnotoad.
"What should I say to him to initiate contact?" I asked Loom-Pia, looking down at the still-bound Skink.
And so began a vocal-logopedic torture. Loom-Pia gave me a set of absolutely infernal sounds that a human's vocal cords could barely handle.
I tried to reproduce them, but I only received looks of utter incomprehension from the Skink and Liandra. The Kroxigor, paying us no attention, melancholically scratched its snout against the bars of its cage.
"Give me something simpler," I addressed the Hypnotoad.
"This is already a very simple phonetic construction, warm-blooded creature."
"Then let's find an extremely simple phonetic construction. You'll have to excuse me, but those last three words nearly made me vomit."
"Physiological primitivity..."
"Pepe, dammit! We're losing time that could be spent advancing the Great Plan. Give me some maximally simple phrase in your dialect. As soon as I hear an answer from the Skink, the built-in spell will read the new language and there won't be any problems after that."
"There is a certain grain of truth in your arguments. We will try something from the primitive dialects now."
"Tok-tooook..." I began to repeat slowly. "Cheerst-tooook... Sho-sa-khana..."
"You need to say it all faster."
"Tok-took. Cheerst-took. Chamr... bitch! Tik-tok, for fuck's sake! Skype, Discord, Chat GPT! Verstehen, reptiloid?"
"I do not understand what it is saying," the Skink finally spoke, and the spell built into me translated it.
"Nothing. You'll understand everything now," I assured him, already in the automatic translation mode into the Saurian tongue.
The battered Skink jumped in surprise despite the ropes and his overall pitiful state.
"It speaks! It understands the language and answers!" the reptiloid spoke very quickly. "Does it possess intelligence? How can this be? What should I do?"
"Stick a dick on an ant," I replied succinctly, but this only caused the cold-blood even more questions.
"It knows words, but does not understand their meaning? What do ants and seed-organs have to do with this? How should I be? How does one act in such situations?"
There was a temptation to reply with some other rhyming profanity, but it would only lead us deeper into a communicative dead end. Patience was required.
"Not it, but he," I replied. "Your help is required. It is your duty to provide it to me. A duty to the Old Ones and the Great Plan."
"He knows the sacred terms," the Skink squinted. "From where did he receive such knowledge?"
"From where? From a Slann. You know of them? Of course, you do. Now, try to listen carefully. I need to explain a rather complex situation to you."
Strangely enough, explaining the complex situation to the Skink turned out to be quite easy. Cultural differences likely played a role. For a normal local human, magic is some murky crap best left alone. If you understand it too well, neighbors or witch hunters might have questions for you. The kind of questions usually asked during torture.
But in Lizardman society, magic was perfectly normal. Therefore, the Skink had no problem with the idea that a deceased Slann could maintain a spiritual connection with me. He only needed proof that I was not a liar and a spy of the Great Enemy.
For several minutes, with Pepe's help, I answered various questions regarding Lizardman lore. I am certain some of them would have stumped even the masters of reading Warhammer-Wikipedia over slowly drifting images on my home world's YouTube. The conversation involved many names of temple-cities, names of gods, and some extremely specific terminology.
I stopped the talk when I realized the Skink was no longer trying to test me but was listening with interest to the wise teachings of the Hypnotoad, who only needed an excuse to talk.
"Enough. You've convinced yourself. Now, introduce yourself."
"My name is Tezal," the Skink identified himself. "I will follow the will of Lord Loom-Pia and ensure his designs are brought to life."
It was remarkable with what sense of dignity this bound, barely alive reptiloid, who had recently been beaten with a stick, managed to communicate.
"Good. We'll untie you now. And remember something else: I am no ordinary warm-blood. Do not treat me like the others. I am a living weapon of the Old Ones against Chaos. Taint does not take hold of me, and the winds of magic bypass me. Well, you'll see for yourself in time. Your first task is to convince this big guy that we are now his allies. Can you handle it?"
"Yes, yes. Of course. It is my duty. If it be the will of Lord Loom-Pia, then I must proceed immediately," the Skink rattled off. "I need to open the cage. How do I open the cage?"
"I'll open it now. How are you? You're not planning on dying, are you?"
"Dying? No. Tezal cannot die now. Tezal has obligations to Lord Loom-Pia."
Surprisingly, the Skink now looked more energetic and moved more briskly. It seemed that having an important mission had triggered some reserve power in the Lizardman's body. Humans have that happen sometimes, too. A sense of purpose gives strength.
"Are these beasts under your control?" Liandra asked warily, trying to keep her hand close to her sword.
"The little one and I have come to an agreement. As for the big one, everything will be clear in a moment."
The latches clattered and the cage door swung open. The Kroxigor looked at us with detached curiosity, taking a slow step outside.
Damn, he was larger and heavier even than Magg. The lizard's murky green eyes still looked as calm as a monk's in the middle of meditation. However, the reptile's measured movements suddenly became sharp. I jerked back, dodging a grab from a giant clawed hand. It seemed the Kroxigor felt no gratitude for its release, or perhaps it just wanted to hug me.
"No. No! Stop, Big Mouth. Not enemies! Not prey! You must not attack!" The Skink positioned himself between me and the crocodile-headed one. "Did they treat you badly? Treat you inappropriately? Put you in a cage, yes? Now Tezal will look at your wounds. There, there. Calm down, Big Mouth."
"Show Tezal on this doll where the pointed-ears touched you," I smirked mentally.
Loom-Pia's idea worked. Despite its fearsome appearance, the Kroxigor obeyed the little Skink. The crocodile-headed one now resembled a massive fighting-breed dog being taken for a walk by a small child.
"Will the Kroxigor avoid lunging at everyone in the city?" Liandra asked quite reasonably.
"We'll figure it out."
Tezal did not react to the girl's words at all, continuing to comfort the giant crocodile. This meant the Skink did not know the language of the elves, and they did not understand the specific speech of the reptiles. Perfect. It meant the Lizardmen would be my subordinates exclusively. If my alliance with Liandra cracked, I could rely on the strength of my cold-blooded companions. There was motivation to recruit a few more.
"Have him take his cage and drag it to the city," Liandra said. "Cages are always useful in Clar Karond."
I explained the task to the Skink, he passed it to the Kroxigor, and a few minutes later, the crocodile-thing began dragging the large cage on wheels behind him without any protest. Commendable obedience.
"Commander Jurg, voice of Lord Loom-Pia," Tezal addressed me. "I am forced to report that the condition of your servants requires the consumption of food. Will we be permitted to leave for a hunt or to search for edible larvae? However, if duty requires it, we can serve without break for several more days before death."
"No need to serve until death, but going on a hunt here is too dangerous. The pointed-ears might catch you again and throw you in cages. Don't worry. I'll get some meat for you. And here, it seems, it is..."
Our path to the city walls was blocked by a small, already familiar detachment led by an elf dressed in black and crimson, a ritual chalice hanging from his belt. He was a disciple or acolyte of Khaine. With him were seven other Dark Elves. Four shield-bearing spearmen, two marksmen, and a Black Ark Corsair with a pair of blades. They had tracked us down after all.
"In the name of Kaela Mensha Khaine, hand over the human, sister," the sectarian said, displaying the ritual chalice, from which a reddish mist began to rise toward the gray sky. "Submit, and I will let you go to spill the blood of our people's enemies. Resist, and you die on the spot."
The acolyte had white hair. As Liandra had explained to me, this was a sign of using blood magic. All the Witch Elves had white hair like that.
"I serve the Witch King Malekith," the girl stated proudly. "He is the living embodiment of Khaine on earth. Therefore, do not dare stand in my way, priest."
"Empty words," the acolyte smirked, drawing a curved blade from its sheath with his free hand. "If you do not wish to submit to the will of Khaine, then you shall become sacrificial blood for him. Bring me her head and her heart!"