Somewhere near Middenheim

The scent of battle still hung heavily over the ruins. The place that had been a dwarf settlement long ago had once again become the scene of a battle. Not that it was an uncommon site in these times where armies rose and fell faster than a farmer could reap what he had sown. Not that there were many farmers left anymore or fields to be harvested. The farmers had either been forced into arms or slain by bandits, their families abused and murdered with them. The fields had harboured battles instead of grain, the soil soaked with blood instead of rain. What was left had been burned to the ground, covering entire areas with heavy clouds of smoke.
The same smoke hung over the ruins of the former dwarf settlement. But this time it wasn't from burning crops, but burning corpses. They had been piled onto huge pyres and small creatures were busy completing their dirty work. The battle had only finished a few hours ago, and some of the corpses thrown into the flames were still alive, turning the pyres into stakes. Here and there one of the slaves greedily took a bite from one of the corpses, only to feel the whip of a packmaster soon after. But the hunger was stronger than the pain and the disgust to eat the dead.
Only a few hundred metres away from the pyres another horde of slaves was busy raising the remains of the settlement to the ground. They did not know why they had to raise a long since abandoned settlement, but it was not theirs to ask. Their task was to bristle with activity and labour until they faltered.

Metz-Metz had seen it all. Not up close of course. He had never been into battle; in fact he had not even been close to a battle before. His talents lay elsewhere, and after what he had witnessed today he was glad this was so. Metz-Metz had watched the events from afar and taken in every detail with the greedy thirst of a scholar and enjoyed a creeping sensation while doing so. Of course he was most certain the sensation would by no means have been as thrilling had he stood in the thick of battle, but from his vintage point it was quite a pleasant experience.
Now Metz-Metz stood on one of the larger columns from which he could oversee the whole are. They were making good progress, but soon dusk would fall. The battle against he Inferno Lords had taken longer than Britzelik had promised, but that would not stop him. And if it did, this would offer a welcome guilty rat to present to Slit Skythe. Metz-Metz did not intend to become the subject of the warlord's wrath should things not go as planned, and it was well known that Britzelik was not well liked by the warlord, even though Slit Skythe had put the warlock in command for this assault.
Underneath him slaves were pulling large blocks of granite and marble toward the gaping hole in the ground. Soon they would be on their way through the tunnels towards Haunch Pass. "Good-good," Metz-Metz thought to himself. Slit Skythe would be pleased. But why was it he could not shake of a growing sense of foreboding? And he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

Eight hundred metres further south

Dusk was just about to fall over the ruins as a small shadow made its way toward the edge of the valley. There they were. Unsuspecting and occupied too much with themselves to notice him. He would make sure they did not make the same mistake again.

At the same time under Haunch Pass

"Tell-tell me, Ratsitek. Are you making good progress?"
Ratsitek did not like the way Slit Skythe put his questions. You always had to be very careful with your answers. A quick and simple yes could hint uncertainty or even mistakes you were trying to cover up, but a lengthy explanation could mean just the same.
"I'm told your armies have beaten-beaten the Inferno Lords. I have sent my best-best apprentice, Metz-Metz, to oversee the work and the Inferno Lords will be too busy-busy running for their lives to notice."
Slit Skythe did not seem to be fully pleased with this answer even though he nodded in thought. "Metz-Metz you say, yes-yes? Will he know-know what to do?"
So that was what the warlord was getting at. Sure he could not expect him to go to such a dangerous location, could he? After all Slit Skythe had sent one of his underlings himself to fight of the Inferno Lords.
"Yes-yes! Very skilled he is, and knows all things-things necessary. A very talented plan-planner he is, never wasting any slaves. You will be very pleased-pleased with his work I assure you."

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The shadow had watched the settlement for hours. From here it looked like a thriving anthill with thousands of slaves and ratmen running to and throw. For a human the brown mass would have made no sense and looked like total chaos, but he could see the genius behind it. And not only in a figurative sense: It was standing on a tall column in the middle of the settlement. He had watched this rat for several hours now with growing fascination. It stood on the column seeing it all, giving orders in a swift, efficient manner that was almost unskavenlike. He had only come across such a rat twice in his life: The first had been in Skavenblight, the capital of the Skaven Underempire, and the second time had been in Cathay during his days as a lowly apprentice.
How such a rare species had ventured here he could only guess, but the purpose of its doings was perfectly clear to him. Yet again no rat that was in his right mind would send such a one onto the battlefields - or would they?
A muffled sound, twentyfour feet away to his right and nine feet below, signalled to him that it was time. The one he had waited for had arrived. A quick sniff assured him that it was indeed the one his senses had already detected three hours earlier. No sound emitted as he rose from the ground and glided through the air. Even the reflection of his dagger was concealed by his cloak and it was all over within less than a heartbeat.

It was time to retreat.

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Slit Skythe smiled. He had just received the two letters he had been waiting for. They had approved his proposal and were awaiting him at the arranged place and time. At last his secret dealings were paying of.
"M-my lord-lord?" stuttered Trittmik. He was always afraid when disturbing Slit Skythe, even when it was such an important message as now. You never knew when he would kill a slave just for disrupting his thoughts.
"What's it!" snarled the warlord. He was in an almost friendly mood right now, but there was absolutely no reason to let Trittmik profit from it, no matter how usefull this slave had proved in the past.
"A messenger with a message-message."
"Of course-course with a message!"
"Yes-yes, my all knowing lord-lord. He's waiting outside-side."
"Let him enter."
Glad to escape the warlord Trittmik hurried to the door to let the messenger in. When he opened the door he made sure to keep the wood between him and cloaked figure. It was always prudent to have something solid between ones tail and a gutter runner after all.
The adept bowed his head in a courtly manner he had learned in Cathay. Obviously the warlord knew this gesture, as he returned, even though in a much shorter way as befitted his status.
"Greetings-greetings, warlord Slit Skythe. I precede your reinforcements from clan Ratsnik. The clan's leaders are very pleased-pleased with your accomplishements. The troops-troops will arrive here shortly."
"Who is leading them," enquired the warlord."
"Kaysa Sossai. He is sending you this-this as a present. He found-found him on our way-way, when he watch-watched old dwarf settlement." And with that the gutter runner pulled a head from underneath his cloak and placed it on the floor in front of the warlord. Even beyond death the skull clearly bore the scent of the Inferno Lords. So they had sent out their spies, too. At least this one would not return.
"Kaysa Sossai," Slit Skythe mused. "Good-good…"