Josh Reynolds - Neferata

Razek was silent. He tugged on his beard, his shrewd eyes on hers. ‘Aye,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Aye, Neferata, we will at that.’ Razek grunted and sat. ‘Somebody bring me a map.’

Neferata sat for a moment, stunned slightly by the abruptness of Razek’s decision. Instead of asking the obvious question, she merely inclined her head. Where dwarfs were concerned, silence was always the safest option. Razek had agreed, but not due to her words, that much she was sure of. But the why of it wasn’t as important as the fact that he had.

Two dwarfs brought the map and unrolled it on the table. It was a beautiful thing, drawn with an eye for detail that escaped even the most dedicated of Ushoran’s cartographers. Strange marks that she had never seen in relation to a map before littered the depicted terrain. She made an assumption and said, ‘These are your cities.’

Razek frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, as if uncertain whether or not he should be answering. Neferata noted that there were far more dwarf holds in the near mountains than she had thought.

‘Your people seem to have better claim to these mountains than the Strigoi,’ she said.

‘We have better claim to the world,’ Razek said grimly.

‘If your people are so numerous, perhaps I was over-eager offering our aid,’ Neferata said.

Razek closed his eyes, as if in pain. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

Neferata’s eyes narrowed. She looked at the map again, considering. She had learned little of the dwarfs beyond some smattering of their customs to go with their tongue, but what she did know implied that the map was, if not wrong, perhaps old, older even than herself, or Mourkain or even Nehekhara. There had been a war, she knew, a war to shake the world, between the dawi and some race from across the sea. The druchii, perhaps, though she couldn’t be sure.

It struck her then, that her kind were not the only ones for whom nostalgia was a burden. The dwarfs clung to their past as fiercely as Ushoran clung to the tattered memories of the Great Land. It poisoned them just as surely, and crippled them. She looked up from the map and saw Razek looking at her.

‘We cherish our past, too much perhaps. We hold tight to ancient claims and grudges, nursing them,’ he said. ‘More, we seek them out, to add to our burden of miseries.’ There was poignancy to his words that struck her to the core. The desire to turn back the world was strong, even in her. She could only imagine how strong it must be in this creature before her who was immeasurably older. Then, the implication of his last words struck her and all at once, Neferata knew that she must tread carefully, even more carefully than before. Razek was no longer speaking in the general. He had a specific misery in mind, and she knew what it was. ‘Honour is a two-edged blade,’ she said delicately.

‘Pah, what would a people as young as yours know about honour?’ Razek said dismissively. ‘No, it is not about honour, but about debts and accounts, as I have told you before, Neferata.’ He splayed a hand on the map over the symbol she knew marked the sprawl of Mourkain. ‘Debts must be paid and accounts balanced.’

‘Regardless of the cost to both parties,’ she said. It wasn’t a question, and Razek didn’t take it as such.

‘Yes. But some debts must be paid sooner than others.’ He slammed his stein of beer on the table, producing a ringing sound that echoed through the outpost. ‘Gather round! Gather round,’ he bellowed. ‘We’ve got a grobkul to plan!’

‘Grobkul?’ Rasha murmured questioningly.

‘The hunting of greenskins,’ Neferata said. ‘An apt description, if I do say so myself.’

The dwarfs in the outpost gathered around. They were a motley lot, insofar as Neferata could tell them apart. Younger, she judged, than those dwarfs in charge of the throng waiting to meet Wazzakaz’s forces; eager thanes looking to win glory.

‘Why were you stationed here, if I might be so bold?’ Neferata said.

‘The grobkul can be conducted many ways, but the most traditional is the hammer and the anvil.’ Razek dropped his hands onto the table and slowly slid one palm towards the other. ‘Block off the exits and give the grobi only one way to go. Then crush them from that end. Only way to be sure you get them all.’ The other dwarfs nodded and muttered in satisfaction.

‘And you’re certain that the force you’ve got is capable of playing hammer?’ Neferata said, examining the map. She traced a line. ‘What about the river defiles here and here? How will you block those?’

‘We have our ways,’ Ratcatcher said defensively. ‘We see everything. No grobi will slip past us!’

Rasha snorted. ‘Then how did we get up here without you seeing us?’

‘Who says we didn’t?’ the ranger snapped.

Rasha made to reply, but Neferata raised a hand, stopping her. ‘Peace, master dwarf. I assume then, that you are aware of the movements of Wazzakaz’s rivals to the north and the east,’ she said. ‘Krumpaz and Murk, I believe, though it’s possible Murk was killed in that skirmish last month between his tribe and that of Olgutz.’

Ratcatcher blinked and looked at Razek, who shrugged. ‘You’re the scout, cousin. You tell me,’ he said.

‘They’re moving with Wazzakaz,’ Ratcatcher said, eyes narrowing as he peered at the map.

‘No, they’re moving in the same direction , and not even that,’ Neferata said. ‘The Waaagh! is on the verge of splitting into conflicting factions again, if they don’t get a fight soon.

‘That would explain the sudden surge,’ Ratcatcher said grudgingly. ‘ Bugrit , we’re giving them just what they want.’

‘And so what?’ one of the thanes said as he pounded hard knuckles into his open palm. ‘Just because grobi want something doesn’t mean it’s good for them!’

‘Yes, but in this case, the bastards won’t be as likely to break as we’d hoped,’ Ratcatcher said. Neferata reappraised the ranger. He had missed something, but he was already compensating, adapting his line of thought to encompass the new facts. She hadn’t thought a dawi could be so quick of thought. Perhaps that was why Razek had chosen these particular dwarfs as his companions. ‘They might just splinter and run early,’ Ratcatcher continued. ‘Or scatter entirely.’

‘Or shatter your lines and push through,’ Neferata said mildly. Silence fell. She ignored the angry glares the others were giving her and looked at the map. ‘Sheer momentum will overwhelm even the stoutest defence.’

Razek’s face was stiff and scowling. ‘You’re saying we miscalculated their numbers.’

‘Not at all,’ Neferata said. ‘But numbers mean little if you do not understand the meaning behind them.’ She stood and leaned over the table. ‘For close to two centuries, these tribes have waged war, smashing themselves and reforming,’ she said. Thanks to me, in part, she thought. ‘The impurities have been beaten from them. Wazzakaz is one of the most cunning shamans to ever fondle a fetish pendant, and his rivals are not much behind.’

‘They’ll be looking to get their boots in first,’ a thane muttered. Razek nodded and his broad fingers traced a line.

‘They’ll overrun our positions in their haste to come to grips,’ he said, leaning back and taking a sip of beer. Wiping foam from his beard, he tapped the map. ‘It’d be like trying to fight an ocean, unless…’ He looked at Neferata. ‘You mentioned something about aid.’

She restrained a smile. ‘Yes.’

He grunted. ‘It’s like chopping a tree: you take it down with a number of blows, rather than just one. We’ll pull the throng back to… here.’ He put a finger down. ‘The Strigoi can catch them in the passes and bloody them a bit,’ he said, glancing at her. She nodded. He continued. ‘And then, the throng of Karaz Bryn will shatter what remains.’