Chapter 77
Even despite a lifespan that was nearly infinite from a human perspective, the dark ones nevertheless valued their time. This was likely because their infinite lifespan was exclusively theoretical. In practice, most Druchii find themselves on Slaanesh's dinner table much earlier than their allotted term. This instills in the pointed-eared sadists the idea of the value of time.
In any case, they didn't keep us waiting long. First, we were led from the great hall into some utility rooms, and about an hour and a half later, I was summoned before the dread eyes of the ruler of Clar Karond—Venil Coldblade.
He held the title of Drachau, which was not hereditary. It was more of a position than an aristocratic privilege. Drachau was the name given to the rulers of the largest dark cities, to whom powers were delegated personally by Malekith. They were like overseers of local affairs, answering to the main boss. I consider the analogy with a criminal hierarchy appropriate.
Accompanied by knights, I entered a spacious throne room that vaguely resembled an arena. The entire chamber looked like a huge stone bowl filled with guests. Perhaps they really did conduct bouts here when an especially fundamental dispute needed resolving.
At the highest point, as expected, sat the throne of Venil himself, whom it was difficult for me to see in detail from afar. Especially since the elf was dressed in heavy, intricate armor. One could note a very tall helmet with spikes sticking out on both sides. It seemed the dark elves shared the Chaos Dwarfs' love for big, cool hats. I do not know how comfortable the armor was, but it looked impressive. All the more striking by contrast was the nearby... harem? Well, what else to call them? A guard of honor of whores?
Half-dressed elves and, it seemed... humans? You couldn't tell from a distance. It was only clear that of the whores present, no more than half were women. Damn. I hope I don't appeal too much to this vampire in the big hat.
Besides the Drachau himself and his harem, there were a ton of other pointed-ears in the hall.
A bit further from the throne stood the sorceress I already knew, dressed in red. Several more hags could be spotted in the retinues of other big shots. The Druchii did not stand as a single crowd but clustered together.
The gathering of Witch Elves caught my eye immediately, many of whom were dressed—or rather, undressed—to the level of the Drachau's harem. I wonder if among Khaine's commandments there is a specific clause regarding wearing a bikini into battle?
The acolytes, who took a place as far as possible from the witches, were dressed much more modestly. They were distinguished by ceremonial chalices at their belts or in their hands.
Several powerful groups were formed by beastmasters, accompanied by the servants of Anath Raema. Among them was Kehmor Spiked-Whip. However, I very much doubt he will help us now.
The other Druchii gatherings were more or less similar to each other. Warriors in armor, noble ladies in dresses of somber colors or in armor. Especially standing out was a company of cutthroats in impenetrable black armor, over which they wore skin flayed from victims. The deliberately crudely processed trophies repeated the contours of faces screaming in terror. On some skins, one could notice tattoos, scalps, or genitals. Brrr...
Liandra stood relatively close to the Drachau's throne, while the knights led me straight to the very center of the arena. Interestingly, no one took our weapons. However, there were crowds of armed pointed-ears around. Under the ceiling, I noticed about seven bronze circular cages on hinges, in which repeater bolt throwers were mounted and shooters sat. Clever.
If the Drachau wishes, these ceiling turrets will unleash a steel rain upon the hall below.
"And further, Venil Coldblade shall wisely judge the feud that has arisen between the cults of Khaine!" the sorceress announced in a voice amplified by magic. "This human, after his performance in the arena, has become a coveted trophy for two cults of Khaine."
"Let us cut him in half!" shouted one of the cutthroats dressed in flayed skin. "Divide him equally!"
The court sorceress ignored this outburst and continued speaking, making her voice even louder:
"Our terror-and-awe-inspiring Drachau will listen to the sides of the conflict before making his decision. Now we have three main respondents: the cults of Khaine and the current mistress of the human. We shall give the floor to her first. Present yourself, child!"
"Call me Mordrim," Liandra introduced herself with her Druchii name. "I am a blade in the ranks of the Witch King's Black Guard, and I carry out his will. Anyone who stands in my way is a traitor worthy only of a fierce death."
"A weighty statement," the sorceress nodded.
"A lie!" a loud female voice rang out. "She is a fugitive who failed her mission. If anyone should be put to a fierce death—it is her!"
This was spoken by one of the witches.
"We will take your words into account, Mistress Evil-Lyn," the sorceress reacted. "However, I ask that you do not interrupt anyone. We will give everyone their turn to speak. But how does Mordrim answer the accusations?"
"My mission has been delayed," Liandra admitted. "Many have died or gone missing. However, I am still moving toward my goal! I will fulfill the will of the Witch King or perish! That is why the Black Guard exists!"
"Self-satisfied, naive girl!" the witch's voice rang out again.
"Order of statements, Mistress Evil-Lyn," the sorceress reminded her patiently. "However, Mordrim's point of view is clear to us. Now let us listen to the Death Hags."
"Listen to me and listen carefully," the white-haired elf declared haughtily. "For my words are the will of Khaine. This beast is marked by the gods. I have no doubts here. His fate and blood must belong to us. We, the brides of furious Khaine, will be able to understand why the gods sent us a marked beast. Give the human to us, wise Drachau. We are ready to pay a good price for him. You will not regret it!"
"We serve Khaine no less devotedly," the leader of the acolytes took the floor. "Our powers are proof of that. The Witch King himself has recognized our right to perform rituals and work miracles in the name of Kaela Mensha Khaine! We demand the right to participate in the ransom of the marked beast! Let there be an auction!"
"Then I will participate too!" rang out the creaky voice of a Druchii who looked murderous even against the background of the other dark ones.
It was the leader of those very cutthroats dressed in flayed skin.
"Do not interfere in matters of our faith, Mengil!" the head of the acolytes was outraged.
"And why not?!" Mengil replied in an extremely unpleasant voice. "Do you think Khaine does not love me, priest?! Then I would already be dead. But no! I live, I kill, I skin! I had a vision last night, yes, yes. A prophetic dream! The sent beast must be killed on a hunt, and then we shall feast upon his flesh together! Khaine will surely be pleased with us then."
I had an urge to give this Mengil a good crack with an axe, and also to ask: had he ever talked to Skaven? His manner of speech somewhat resembled the rat-men's.
"Well then, I also claim the beast."
This was declared by a subject quite remarkable even against the background of the others. Never before this moment had I seen fat elves. You couldn't exactly call him obese, but among all the pointed-ears, he was as close to such a state as possible. A wide, plump face with soft features glistened from a high-calorie diet. This Druchii seemed sleepy and phlegmatic. Standing surrounded by corsairs, he took piece after piece of baklava from a gilded tray and ate, licking his pale pink fingers. The tray was held by a slightly hunched old slave of Arabyan appearance.
"And by what right do you claim him, Admiral Ramon?" the Acolyte of Khaine asked sternly.
"By what right?" the fattening Druchii chuckled. "Because I want to, obviously. That is by what right. Or is Ramon the Leech worse than you? I am a captain of a Black Ark. I too am favored by the gods without a doubt. If there is to be an auction, I want to participate as well."
The Druchii began to clamor. Several noble rich men at once tried to speak. Their voices merged into a single noise. Not a word could be distinguished anymore.
"The tragedy of these primitive creatures is that they do not even realize their own wretchedness," Loom-Pia declared. "They have erected fortresses, saturated their walls with dubious charms, and bristled with weapons, yet Chaos is already defeating them. Not by the hands of barbarians, but through foolish egoism."
"Quiet!" finally, the Drachau of Clar Karond spoke himself.
The sorceress amplified his voice more than anyone else's. At his single word, the walls almost trembled. For a few more seconds, a hollow echo wandered through the spacious hall. The other Druchii fell silent.
"How tired I am of your petty squabbles," the Drachau said in an icy tone, in which one could feel a weight of lived years not quite typical for dark elves. "The markets are bursting with slaves, but you have locked horns over a single human. I should have taken him for myself or killed him, if only to teach you a lesson. There will be no auctions. No one except the Khainites can claim the prize, and let the gods confirm their claims. Death Hag Evil-Lyn, Acolyte Polkesha, I allow you to each put forth one trial for Mordrim. If she or her human pass—you will leave them in peace and pay me compensation for the disturbances caused in the city. If one of you succeeds—he will take the trophy for himself and pay me compensation for the disturbances caused in the city. The fairness of the proposed trials will be determined by my trusted sorceress Alissa. Such is my decision. Obey."
Trials? Well, that's already better than an auction. And there will be an arbitrator in the form of the sorceress. She is loyal first and foremost to the Drachau. She is unlikely to play along with the Khainites. So the Druchii won't be able to assign Liandra an impossible trial in the style of: bring us the Sword of Khaine, the Nemesis Crown, and the favorite thongs of Countess Emmanuelle von Liebwitz.
The leader of the acolytes, meanwhile, approached the sorceress Alissa and whispered something to her. She listened to him, nodded, and then announced:
"The first trial will take place right now. I agree to the conditions put forth by Master Polkesha."
The acolyte, beaming with pride, headed in my direction. He imperiously and theatrically raised his left hand, declaring in a well-practiced voice:
"Now I shall demonstrate to you the power with which Khaine himself has endowed me. He gave me the power to kill, gifted me the right to save the lives of his faithful followers. Also, I can break the will of lesser beings with merely a look and a gesture. Look! Look closely and admire!"
The acolyte stood before me, making a certain magical pass with his left hand. Oh, here we go...
However, unlike me, the dark one did not know that the result of the trial was already predetermined. He was confident in himself and tried very hard. With sharp nails, the acolyte sliced the skin of his palm. Letting blood, he began to draw some sacred signs. A crimson glow appeared around his left hand. All this lasted about ten seconds. I tried very hard not to laugh or even smile.
"Obey!" the acolyte shouted sharply, splashing me with his blood.
It contained magic. I felt it. It seemed the acolyte had saturated the blood with his life force. Mmm. Delicious. Immediately plus half a segment of the blood chalice.
"Obey!" the Khainite repeated. "Bow before my will!"
I, of course, was in no hurry to bow. I stood straight and proud, trying with my last strength not to smile.
The dark elf looked at me with some suspicion and even incomprehension, but decided not to give up. He repeated all his manipulations with blood. A few more drops flew at me. Oh, thank you. The first segment of the blood chalice filled up. My mood and well-being improved.
"Obey!" the acolyte screamed louder than before, baring his teeth and bugging his eyes.
However, the pantomime did not help his magic bypass my defense. I still didn't give a crystalline damn about the acolyte's efforts.
He was already beginning to guess that the situation was not developing according to plan. However, he did not wish to back down in the presence of so many big shots. He made a third attempt to activate his Ericksonian hypnosis. Naturally, it was to no avail, if you don't count the addition of energy to my internal reservoir and the raising of everyone's spirits. Some of the Druchii had already started allowing themselves snickers.
But the acolyte was in no mood for laughter. The priest's face turned deathly pale. It was twisted by a grimace of rage and overexertion. It seemed that another moment and the elf would explode from within, scattering bloody shreds across the entire hall.
"You..." the acolyte hissed through his teeth. "How can you just look down on me..."
I tensed up slightly. Prepared to fight. What if the elf snaps and reaches for his sword? Then the buffs from the blood chalice will come in handy.
"Have you finished your trial, Master Polkesha?" the sorceress inquired.
"Do it again," I said in Norscan with the most benevolent smile. "Don't give up! I like everything! More! More! More!"
Many of the Druchii understood the language of the Norses. A wave of poisonous mockery rolled through the hall. The Khainite priest turned even paler. I didn't think that was possible. He ground his teeth, bored into me with his gaze, and then...
"Cursed... Be you cursed through the ages, barbarian!" he spat out and, turning around, rushed away in a black-and-red whirlwind.
Negative energy swirled around him like a dark cloud. The very same kind whose tentacles his late colleague had used to attack Liandra. Life drain.
The acolyte dashed past the laughing Druchii and, as he passed the retinue of Admiral Leech, touched the head of the Arabyan slave. The unfortunate old man, dropping the tray of baklava, instantly shriveled up. In a few seconds, he dried out, turning almost into a mummy. The acolyte drained the life from him.
"Hey, that was actually my slave!" Admiral Ramon the Leech shouted after him indignantly. "I'll send you the bill!"
The mockery and discussion of the disgrace that had occurred continued for nearly another minute. The entire delegation of acolytes and their mercenaries left the hall. The first trial turned out to be easier than I could have imagined.
Soon the sorceress struck her staff, demanding silence from those gathered. Death Hag Evil-Lyn already stood beside her.
"You have all just seen the truth of Khaine," she said. "The acolytes boast of their magic. Yes. They have a gift. As a master gives a slave a tool, Khaine has endowed them with the power to do his will, but they do not understand the essence of his teaching. The acolytes are but negligent students, whereas we are the brides of the god with the bloody hands."
The delegation of witches supported their leader with joyful exclamations and fierce war cries, while Evil-Lyn continued:
"It is not the beast that should be questioned, but his mistress. Mordrim, I will test you!"
"Always ready," Liandra replied. "Choose the place, the time, and the weapon, witch."
"Here and now," the Khainite replied. "But we will not need weapons. It will be a duel of will. A trial through pain!"
Approving shouts filled the hall.
"Let's do it here!" some Druchii chanted. "Do it!"
However, Venil Coldblade dashed the audience's hopes.
"Alissa, settle this matter," he waved his hand to his sorceress. "As for us, we shall deal with the parsing of other lawsuits."
"As my lord wishes," the sorceress said and, giving signs to several guards, headed toward me.
Evil-Lyn also went along with her. The sorceress spoke to me in Norscan, and in her words, there was a semblance of, if not respect, then interest:
"Come, warrior. Now, according to the custom of our people, we shall decide who is more worthy to accompany you on your path."
Oh ho. Look at her sing! In Elvish they call me a beast and choose a mistress, but here, it seems, "warrior," "accompany you on your path." Hypocrisy, of course, but partly even pleasant.
"How will it happen?" I asked. "Will they fight?"
I already knew they wouldn't, but I decided to pretend. It's better to keep my language skills a secret for now.
"It will be a battle of a special kind," the sorceress smiled at me slyly. "Our people pay special attention to pain. The abilities to inflict it and to endure it. Both of these qualities are highly valued. It is in these that the women will compete."
"Are they going to torture each other in turns?" I asked.
"Yes."