Mahar and I spoke late into the…night, I suppose it was. Outside I could hear occasional chiming music (Fomorians apparently are as in “tune” with music as other Fae, they simply have a bit of a strange taste in it) outside. The wine was as good as it was when I bought it, and Mahar seemed thrilled to have a chance to get it. I suppose after six hundred years, it was one of those things he didn’t remember missing, but when reminded it becomes a treasured moment.
I told him the short story of what had happened to me, and he explained a high-level history of what had occurred with him over the centuries. Apparently Miranda had followed him into Balenor’s service, and both had overseen the fall of Bael Turath and the termination of Balenor’s contract with the Empire. It took several decades, but the fall of the Charspire turned out to have weakened internal relationships among the houses greatly enough that even after having been victorious in our war against the Arkhosians, as soon as that war was done the houses fell upon one another – and tore the Empire asunder. Few of the houses had any direct descendants remaining, and what little there was that remained after the civil war quickly was overturned in a slave uprising by the halfwise, orcs and gnolls.
He also gave me details on how he had his falling-out with Balenor. Balenor’s position at the time was extremely strong, and his Legions seemed destined for a seat among the Nine. After his own ascension from Shadrim to fiend took place, Mahar served Balenor faithfully for nineteen decades. Being a fiend, of course, he had ambitions of his own, and with Miranda and several other high-placed members of Balenor’s retinue moved to overthrow him and take his place. This cadre teamed up with Raamoth, an arch-devil ally of Balenor’s who at the time (and currently) had no domain of its own.
They lost. Balenor met and defeated them, and this of course has generated a rift between them of appropriately epic proportion. Since then, Raamoth had established his Shal Rava, the “Devil’s Due” mercenary company, and positioned Mahar high in its heirarchy. The unit we’d encountered was apparently only one of many units of various sizes in the employ of Shal Rava, albeit one of the more elite assemblies. That we’d encountered Mahar here was a fortunate circumstance, as he was here supervising the deployment of the force in the service of Lady Flay. Had we come in two weeks later, he would have returned to his fortress.
He and Miranda had stayed together, allied (and personally involved, which gave me a few pangs of loss – she had been my own lover before my departure from service), and Balenor had gone on to be elevated to a seat among the Dark Eight, advisors to Bel on the military and strategic handling of the plains of Avernus. Balenor’s other close allies, Baraddal and Alloces, had at least come to his aid or stayed neutral in the uprising. Although Balenor threw down Raamoth and Mahar, and their friendship was lost in the process, Balenor did not destroy them utterly – he merely used their defeat to further his position and solidify his domination over them. In the vastness of time available to an immortal fiend, even such betrayals might one day be forgiven – and in the mean-time, the individuals responsible were still useful resources.
We discussed Fellbane’s reasons for being in Ihnbharan, as well. He’d mentioned when we first were reacquainted that his orders had been to simply prevent us reaching Veyd – not killing us. He also pointed out that his contract was with Lady Flay, not Veyd himself. I – and others – pointed out that our quarrel was neither with Flay nor with himself, but with Veyd. Still, his hands were tied. If we were to attempt to assassinate Veyd here, he would be obligated to stop us, even to the point of killing me.
Not being a fan of that particular choice, I began to probe around to other options. Mahar made an interesting suggestion, which was to enlist Fellbane as a provincial member of Shal Rava. He offered that if we were to sign on for a period of five years for occasional special-purpose missions, we would then be under the Shal Rava banner – and under that arrangement, through an exception in his contract, units of Shal Rava are prohibited from being sent into conflict against one another. Ergo, we would be free to attack Veyd, and Mahar would be able to stand aside rather than be forced to send one unit into conflict with another.
Sered would have none of that, and the others voiced similar, if less virulent objections. I understand that, and I myself probably would not wish to return to obligation so relatively soon in my own life.
So, we had to come up with something else. Our conversation continued to wander back and forth, and Mahar ordered rooms prepared for us. Most of the others went to bed, while Mahar and I continued our discussion.
We went through another bottle of wine, and he renewed his offer. Although I had to politely decline, the temptation was certainly there. Which, I suppose, was always his aim. Devils, like the Fae, have an enormous span of time in which to scheme and plan. Someday, my need will outweigh my caution, and Mahar will likely be waiting.
I like the man, but in this, well, he is a devil, after all. Trust does not enter the equation until I see what is written on the contract.
Before I retired for the evening, he handed me a small ebony box. Cool to the touch, I could not tell what his intent was.
“Voedle brought that to me some months ago.”
“Voedle! I hadn’t even considered he would still be around – how is the old bastard?”
“After Ille Macreane fell, he returned to Balenor’s ranks – I’ll let him know you’re around, he’ll doubtless be overjoyed to find that one of his line is still breathing. That,” he pointed to the box, “is from Balenor. I was under orders to give it to someone, but they did not tell me who. Voedle only said I’d know when I saw the person. I know now.”
“But how did he know…?”
Mahar just threw his hands up in the air. “That you are even here is more of a puzzle to me. That they knew you would be here, might be a little too specific. I suspect they saw something, Balenor always kept good diviners on staff.”
I opened the box – inside, couched in velvet, was a small ring. It was made of some blackened metal, spun round upon itself like string within rope. Looking closely at it made my head ache a little, as it seemed the metal flowed slowly within its bounds. “What is this?”
“It homes in on death, is the best way I can describe it. When flesh, even my own, enters a state where the spirit in it crosses dimensions, a rent is torn in the World for a short while as the spirit makes that crossing. This ring gives you perception of that rent, and over short distances you can use it to snatch your bodily to it. Balenor’s crafters call it a ‘Death Spiral.'”
“Why give this to me?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps Balenor is still on about your omen. He never believed you had lived through it – and actually, for several decades, he had spies out looking for you, after your disappearance. Kept going on about your involvement with death.”
“Well, you have my thanks. My companions and I certainly see enough of it, this might come in handy.”
He nodded. “Don’t thank me, at least not yet. If you’re after Veyd, I may yet have to take that back.”
I knew that he was referring to stripping my corpse, and that sent a little shiver down my tail. “I’d like to think that my meeting with the Black Queen is some distance out yet.”
“Then you and your friends have some planning to do. I can think of no way other than by entering my service that you can avoid taking on Natha and her team again. From what she mentioned briefly earlier, that was not a pleasant fight for you and yours. I will reiterate my offer – the door is still open on that, and I would find it rediculously humorous to see Flay’s face on discovering you were able to simply walk in and lay him low while we were forced to stand aside.”
“No, it wasn’t easy. My compliments to her on her team’s skill. They deadlocked us in a treacherous position. Well done. I agree, it would probably be terribly funny in hindsight, but I think the gang of them are pretty set to avoid such entanglements.”
“That is their job, after all, making others’ lives difficult. My apologies for the loss of your companion, by the way.”
“Thank you. He was a good man, even if we had an occasional difference. He will be missed.”
“You should get some rest. You look somewhat rough.”
“I shall. Thank you for your help, by the way – finding a familiar face was unexpected, and very welcome.” We grasped arms and slapped a palm to each others’ shoulder. “I still have another bottle in my pack, and three more back in our keep in Al’Veydra. You’re welcome to this one here, and I’ll keep the others safe – for your visit. Wherever I may reside, you are always welcome in my home as a guest.”
Mahar nodded, understanding both the mundane offer that it was, as well as the formal nature of “guest” as it applied to his kind. He smiled at the dual nature of the sentence. “Always quick on the implications, that hasn’t changed.”
“Three months for me, remember. Time for some sleep.”
He nodded, released my arm.
- * *
We arose the next morning to the smell of bacon and fresh bread, my dreams filled with scents of flower and the warmth of sunlight on my cheek. As my eyes slowly opened, I realized the sunlight was indeed false – it was the light of one of the diseased, disembodied eyes atop a tower nearby, its vision slowly panning across the inn. The smell of bacon was real, however, was quite real.
I descended the stairs to the common room of the Coil, to find the rest of the group already present and working their way through a large board of food and drink laid out for our breakfast. Breads, meats, some form of milk, teas, coffee, and light wines were scattered around the tables, and the team was caught up in conversation.
Once I put away a glass of wine and some coffee and began tearing my way through a roasted joint of some animal I didn’t recognize, I settled down and asked the question that everyone seemed to be dancing around.
“How do we proceed here? I recognize that Mahar’s suggestion of our becoming a detached unit of Shal Rava is not an option. What do we do?”
Sered spoke up first. “Well, we have an interesting infiltration option,” he pointed to a package wrapped in canvas on the end of the sideboard. “That is a set of troll-hide armor, and with it is a parchment that contains the ritual Donning Trollflesh. Mahar left it for us with a note.” He handed it to me.
Good morning – help yourselves to the food, you are all my guests here and may remain so for as long as you wish. I shall be around, but for now I am out to supervise a fortification. While doing so, I did discover something that might come in handy for you all in the coming days. I have no use for it, and I would find it amusing to consider one of you taking advantage of it.
I thought about this for a while. While getting an individual into Veyd’s camp was a useful option, “Who would wear it?”
Arn chipped in. “That’s what we were discussing while you were still upstairs. It’s a hide base, and there isn’t anyone who could really take advantage of it.”
“I take it that ritual does what it says, makes the wearer of that hide look like a troll?”
Arn nodded around a mouth-full of bacon.
“Okay, so from the perspective of infiltration, we could get someone into his compound, but that someone is probably going to be recognized as not a regular part of his community. They might look alike to all of us, but I’d bet as I can distinguish Mahar from my reflection, trolls can tell each other apart.”
Althea leaned forward. “Who speaks giantish? Anyone?”
Zenith raised his hand. “But I’m not a big fan of going in there, please.”
Sered nodded. “Even if we got someone in, what do we do? We’d get some valuable recon, sure, but unless we can really, truly infiltrate their membership, we’re not going to get any really helpful information.”
I downed a coffee. “All right. So, let’s set that aside for now. Can anyone gain a benefit from that armor at all, regardless of whether the ritual works?”
Rhogar nodded, and looked over to the package. “Me. Anybody want my old stuff?” I think I saw a few crinkled noses at the thought, but I was pretty sure he’d have a few conversations after breakfast.
I grabbed a roasted pear and rubbed its juice over the meat-crusted bone I’d been working on. “All right. That’s settled, but we still know practically nothing about Ihnbharan, the little war going on, or how we’d get to Veyd at all. That about sum it up?” I bit through the bone and started working the marrow out with the long end of a fork.
The rest all nodded around the circle. Zenith sat up straighter than he was, and said, “Well, then we really don’t have much choice but to gather more information, do we?”
Most of us universally shrugged at that.
“Then why don’t we go talk to Zur Nav, take up his invitation and find out what resources he can lend us, and what he knows that can help us?”
It really was the only option that made sense.
“Where are we going again?” Arn asked casually.
“The Skin Well.” I answered.
- * *
The Skin Well was nominally a tavern, but more like a dungeon. The exterior was entirely grey stone, with something I really had no intention of speculating on smeared around the outside of it.
Inside things just got uglier. Tables were set around, and a long bar at the back of the room with a Spriggan barkeep took up most of our attention. That is, until we saw the walls.
Hung from various places on the walls were humanoid corpses – we had no way to really see what they were, as they had all been skinned and variously dissected. Some had limbs and heads, some didn’t. They didn’t smell, so some form of preservation was in effect here. Assuming they were real.
In the center of the room, a great pit whose bottom was not visible opened without railing in the floor, and the domed ceiling appeared made of giant ribs.
Only a few other patrons were in the place, and our presence tripled the occupancy without trouble. Three dark elves sat at a table far to our left, and we settled on a couple tables to the right. Once everyone had begun to sit, I walked to the Spriggan at the bar to order up.
The small creature eyed me with a measuring stare. “Help you?” he croaked. I realized now he had, much as the spiders we’d seen attacking us back in Al’Veydra, troll-flesh grafted to him. His right eye was vastly oversized for his small head, the orb bulging painfully from its socket. The arm on the same side was that of a troll – and easily as long as the creature was tall. It humped along with the big limb trailing behind it. I found particularly disturbing that the thing didn’t drag – it crawled on its fingers, like a leashed spider, making soft, splatty tap-tap-tap sounds as the red-cap walked down the length of the bar toward me.
I then noticed in more detail the elves in the far corner – they were all adorned similarly, patches of flesh and limbs of trolls decorated their visages like some grotesque child had used them for sewing practice.
“What brings you to the Order?” He croaked at me again. I realized now part of the inside of his throat was the same green and warted flesh as his arm and his eye.
“To order, specifically, and in a more general sense, to find Rust. First things first. What’s on the menu?”
The little creature squinted, and for a moment I thought the pressure of his eyelids would pop that foreign eye right out and onto my chest. “Bloodbeer.”
“Eight, then, one for each of my companions…and come to think of it, set them up with a round as well.” I dropped a few silver coins on the bar, hopefully enough to cover the charges. He swiped them off the bar and started drawing cups.
I picked up motion to my left and looked over, to see one of the elves had stood and was approaching me. He had a troll arm on his left side, apparently attached to his shoulder at what would have been just a hair above the elbow on the troll. The proximity and strange nature of the joints made the dissonance of symmetry remarkably jolting on an elf. Even among the deep elves, I was accustomed to expecting beauty. Seeing it mixed with this detritus made for an exceedingly unpleasant contrast.
“Traveler, what brings you to the Fane of the Order?” His mail slithered on his shoulders, and a mace whose flanges were structured to look like the eight legs of a spider swung placidly at his hip.
“Drinks, and seeking a friend.” I took three of the cups the little Spriggan had already laid down on the bar and slid them towards him, keeping my hands well away from the rims. In this environment, I wanted to give no impression that I was potentially offering them poison.
“Did your friend go down the well?”
I looked at the pit in the floor. “No, not to my knowledge. What is the well, anyway? We are new here, and haven’t had a chance to truly learn our way around.”
“This is the Skin Well – it is the Fane of the most holy Torog, He Who Crawls. Down there,” and he inclined his head to indicate the hole, “is one of his pleasure palaces.”
I’d heard of Torog before. And his palaces, enormous chambers of horror and torture, from which few things emerged alive and unchanged from their previous being.
“Is that where you acquired these beautiful gifts?” I pointed to his arm, and that of the Spriggan.
“No, we were adorned elsewhere. The well is altogether a more holy site, for the true sacrifices to be made. We have some other travelers whom we have scheduled for a visit later today, if you’d like to come and watch.” As he spoke I realized there was a hook and winch mounted to the ceiling above the pit, stylized to appear as a collection of finger-bones, which would extrude the rope down into the pit.
“We may take you up on that invitation, should we conclude our business early. At what time will the event occur?”
“Sometime this evening,” he said, looking at me expectantly. “Are you also followers of He Who Crawls?” He glanced over at the rest of us.
I passed drinks back to the gang as I continued. “No, although we recognize and respect his dominion, we are servants of a variety of others. I myself walk in the path of the Black Queen.”
“Ah, yes, to her Torog cedes those unable to withstand the glory of his gifts.”
“Indeed, and you have my thanks for your understanding.” I looked quickly into my cup. Not sure why I expected something other than beer mixed with blood, but I shrugged and slugged it back. I could see Arn looking skeptically at his cup on the table, while Bingo tried his, made a face, and set the cup down. Sered just scowled into his while Dei held his face away.
“I am Azrael, of Ille Macreane.” I held up my hand in a salute I hoped was still in use by the drow these days.
The fellow seemed a little surprised at the gesture. “Evithex, scion of He Who Crawls, and high priest of the Order of Amalgamation.” He returned my salute with a slight bow.
“May I ask, where did you get these magnificent gifts?” Again gesturing to the strangely attached limbs.
“They were made available by the Lady Flay herself, who offered them for sale to the worthy. Are you considering adopting the Gift of Flesh yourself?”
I thought for a second. “No, I don’t feel my spirit is of quality to accept such a change. I am afraid I can only admire the strength of others.”
“You would be surprised at what a body and soul can take up. I guarantee you would be an excellent host, your kind are remarkably malleable to His whims.” This time it was the elf sizing me up.
“I am flattered by the compliment, but unfortunately find I must decline your gracious suggestion. Perhaps at another time when I am not so hurried we could discuss the possibility in greater depth.” I did my best to include as many subtle compliments in both my speech and body language as possible. It seemed to work, as he smiled and took up the drinks I’d offered.
“I will look forward to our next meeting. Perhaps one of your companions shall prove more…adventurous.”
I nodded agreeably. “I will make sure to pass on the offer, just in case.”
As I returned to our table, the Spriggan hobbled over to us, his troll-fingers padding along beside him. “You seek Rust. I am asked who sends you?”
“Sir Mad Jack.” I replied coolly.
The little fey nodded. “I am Rust. You must go out the door, turn left, and go past the next three buildings. You will see another waiting for you there, who will take you to the one you seek.”
I almost missed what he said, as I was watching Evithex return to his table. What I had at first taken to be a warped section of the wall beside him, I now realized, was the enormous bulk of a huge insect, its head covered with a leather cap, down to the wickedly sharp and twitching mandibles. A silvery chain led from its neck to the wrist of one of Evithex’ companions, who accepted the cup from his leader’s hand and glanced over to me. I raised my own in salute to him and returned my gaze to the group. I had never seen an umber hulk before, but from all the descriptions I’ve studied, that had to be one.
I was exceedingly glad we had not come to blows. I made a point not to mention the upcoming event of the sacrifice of prisoners to the pit this evening. Sered leaned over to me. “How is it that he has connections this deep in here? This is obviously a stronghold of Lady Flay
Everyone stood, and we left quickly, following Rust’s instructions precisely. Another ‘unmodified’ Spriggan was waiting for us at the corner mentioned, and he led us further out into the city. As we walked, I marveled at the eye-towers, and wondered at the stonework beneath our feet. Around the base of most of the towers and occasionally in the middle of anywhere, large metal grates sat, flush with the ground surface. They didn’t lead anywhere, and in fact the gaps beneath them were so shallow that they wouldn’t even be functional drainage. As we walked, I asked the little fey about them.
“Blood grates. Feed power to the city, to the towers. Don’t die on one. No more talking. Walk.”
I connected the dots in my mind. The grates must channel the spiritual energy of a bleeding creature into the defenses of the city. Quite a fortification. The siege would power the very defenses it sought to bring down, were one to assault the city. I made a point to try to follow the Spriggan’s advice.
He led us to a side tunnel, similar to the one Zur Nav had initially disappeared down, dark and narrow enough for one of us to walk, but not two.
“In here.”
“You were going to lead us to him.”
“Lead you to his place. This leads to his place. I am not necessary for you to walk from this end to that.” With that, the Spriggan left. I saw a tower and a small stand of buildings ahead of us, about where the tunnel would lead, but there was no activity around it other than the slow, methodical motion of the eye of that tower.
I thought about arguing the point, and looking over to Sered and Zenith, I could see the same thought cross their minds. Ultimately, Sererd just shrugged and led the way in.
We traveled down what must have once been a sewer, or perhaps a servant’s passage, but was now serving as a bolt-hole for Zur Nav’s fortress. It didn’t take long before we could make out a bit of light ahead, and the ducking form of a giant’s head coming and going from the opening there. “Is it you??” The whispered voice carried down the tunnel like a bass drum.
We emerged to find a palatial room – stripped bare of anything that might have once been remotely valuable. The tapestries – if one could indeed call them that – were all of scenes with Fomorians in battle with other fey creatures, but each instance of a Fomorian lord had had its face chopped inelegantly from the scenery and replaced with what was obviously a poorly-woven image of Zur’s grinning visage.
“Come, come, can I fetch you anything to drink? Food?” He led the way down through the halls with a great lantern of almost the same size as Bingo.
“Umm, no, we’re still quite full from breakfast.” Sered offered with a conciliatory tone.
“That’s good, because the kitchen here is empty, and I don’t know where I’d find anything right now.” Zur said as he smiled back over his shoulder. A new bandage had been applied to his face, but we could see the eye must have been seeping wound drainage, as his cheek was still slick with juice.
“I cannot tell you how much it means to me to see you all here. Did you finish your business with your other friends?”
“We did, yes.”
“And did you get what you came for?”
“Actually, no.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” We’d entered the room, and a large table in the center, with a set of chairs (most of which had not been used in a while) scattered around. He set his lantern on the table. “Perhaps if you were to tell me about what you were looking for I can help you.”
I looked around, I admit somewhat skeptically. “It’s hard for me to see how, though I suppose it does not harm in finding out.” This room was as thoroughly bare as the others we’d walked through. Zur Nav seemed the only one present in the entire complex, there were no other sounds, no other lights, just darkness and dust. The others nodded half-heartedly at me, and I continued.
“We want Veyd, Flay’s ally. He is an old enemy of ours, and he has struck at us before. We intend to return to our home with his head. It had been our hope that we could find mutual purpose together and benefit one anothers’ causes.” I looked around again. “But as I said, I don’t really see how we’ll arrive at that.”
He looked at me. “What I have is what you see.” He waved his hand around the room, displaying the dusty, windowless walls full of shelves, the tapestries hanging in the dark. The desolation of this fortress was profound, its emptiness, loneliness palpable in the air.
His hand, as he waved around the room, drew to a pointing finger, with which he tapped the side of his head – the one with the sane and undamaged eye.
“When we saw each other last, you spoke of a game…I absolutely ADORE games! Did I mention that to you?” We now saw that the table, shoulder-height for most of us, had a leather map laid out on it, marked with a grid of squares, each a foot across. “Did I tell you I play games a lot?”
As he spoke to us, he walked to a wall where large bookshelves and many drawers loomed in the darknes. He began to remove figurines, each perhaps a foot or two tall, standing on circular bases, and placed them around the table. The map had had markings drawn on it with some kind of wax, delineating walls, rocks, and a few smaller figures of chairs and tables rested upon it.
“I play games quite often. In fact, this one in particular I have often found of great solace when I have nothing else to do.” We saw the figures begin to move as he placed them on the table. Many were of skeletons, one of an ooze of some sort, bloody in color. Others included a misshapen dwarf, a mildly humanoid insect, an elf-like woman covered with tattoos. When they touched the table, they seemed to loosen up, and I realized they were some kind of simulacra, they looked and behaved like real people. “These are some of my favorites. They were made from captured travelers, from the far, far East.”
That, or they were real people, simply shrunk and held in stasis while stored.
“I let them all fight. Pit them against each other to see which is the stronger, the smarter, the quicker. Survival is what counts, not what they take from each other.” He looked up around at the walls of his empty keep. “They came looking for something, and perhaps they find it, perhaps they don’t. Much like yourselves. Perhaps the way you find your path is different from what you thought.”
“How do you mean?” As I glanced down, the blood ooze swarmed over one of the skeletons. Bones snapped with twiggy dryness.
“The combats I play on this map, they are similar to the ones seen in the stadium of Ihnbharan.” He organized his skeletons in an even rank, and they held their weapons ready, seeming to prepare to charge the ‘travelers,’ who were now checking their weapons and glancing at each other. He seemed not to have noticed the ooze had gone rogue on him and was consuming a second skeleton from his neat formation.
“We are brothers and sisters, and in this time of ascension, there are rules we play by. Much like any game. One of those rules is called Galol. A sibling may challenge any other for advancement.”
“I see, please go on.”
Another skeleton was slowly crunched down by the ooze. I distinctly saw a femur and a skull floating upon the thing’s surface from the last one.
“Any sibling who challenges another risks all, to gain all. The winner takes all possessions, all rights, all things from the loser, no matter the disparity between them.”
I began to see where he was going.
“I have nothing. I have nothing to lose. To be stripped naked in the center of the city would be only a few strips of cloth, where I stand to gain every last thing in the possession of my defeated sibling. If I challenge Flay Gaz to the Galol, and you stand as my champions, then I stand to win her. I’m certain that with a little verbal sparring, you can convince Veyd to become a part of that fight. Or, failing that, you then cohabit a household with him, as my chosen champions. And I can think of many ways that this would play into your favor.”
The miniature travelers seemed to be growing a bit more nervous as the supply of skeletons began to thin.
Sered spoke this time. “What do we gain out of this? You gain our services and the risk of our lives, and possibly a massive stroke of good fortune.”
“You get your chance to take down Veyd. And my friendship for a very long time to come. Or no time at all, if another of my brothers kills me.” He shrugged. “This is the only way I know that I can help you get to your Veyd.”
He looked down at the table. One skeleton remained, and the dwarf-like figure had drawn a pair of wicked-sharp picks, bracing for the ooze’s approach.
“May we take these?” Sered asked, pointing at the traveler’s figures. The tattooed woman looked up at him quizzically.
Zur Nav looked down at the figures. He seemed almost sad. “I suppose so. I have so little time left to play.”
“Can you please give us a few moments to consult with one another, Zur?” I held up a hand in query.
“Of course. I’ll come back in a few minutes.” He hefted the lantern and walked out of the room. Sered drew his blade and set it to light, then picked up the figures. Each of them froze as he lifted it from the table.
“Well, all, it’s not exactly what we wanted, as he said. But it is a way to him.”
We talked for a few minutes more. There was surprisingly little controversy regarding our choice. By the time Zur returned, we’d reached a consensus.
“Okay, Zur, you have a deal. We’ll be your champions for this Golal.”
His eyes brightened immediately, “Oh, goodness GRACIOUS! This is wonderful!” His hands clapped together rapidly again, like meat tympani. He calmed almost immediately, “Indeed, this is good. You will need capes! Wait here!”
He quickly walked out of the room. “Capes?” Bingo asked. I could only shrug.
Shortly after, Zur returned bearing a large bundle of fabric. He handed pieces out to everyone – they turned out to be crudely fashioned capes with ropes to fasten them around our necks. Each one had crudely written “Zur Nav” across their backs in red wax. “Put these on. I’ve already asked my spies to send word that an announcement of great importance will be made in the city center in an hour! For the first time in more than five hundred years, Galol will be invoked!”
- * *
As we walked through the dark streets, heat of the gaze of the various towers cascading over us, I had to gaze around in wonder. Only months ago, I was a soldier moving through the jungles of Arkhosia, and we were closing in on the defeat of the rival empire. Now, the war was long dusty history, my home gone, and I was walking through a city of magic and sinister intent to rival even my own home.
As we approached the city center, a square usually reserved for executions, Zur Nav led the way. It was difficult to keep up with his stride, with his long legs, but we managed. The nearer we got, the more crowded it became, though a path opened almost mystically before our Fomorian patron.
Zur had adorned himself in the best raiments he had – his battle armor was actually rather threatening. A piecemeal plate and chain combination, with a helm that mounted great wings like an eagle’s. Come to think of it, they probably were an eagle’s.
We saw Hak Azuth first, standing at the fore of a platoon of fifty Fomorian soldiers, with an absolutely enormous double-bladed axe that he fingered with contemplation. “None of them can act against me, now that I have called Galol,” Zur whispered back to us. “They can’t risk a break in ritual now, with the others to witness. They also don’t really know who I am going to challenge, so they don’t want to risk taking me down now if I’m going to actually weaken one of the others. But be careful anyway, just in case.” He winked that huge eye back at us.
Come to think of it, we didn’t know who he was going to challenge, either. My instinct for self-preservation was sending a lot of messages to me, most of which consisting of the basic truth that I had no overwhelming desire to fight the axe-wielding warrior prince over there.
A flicker of motion caught my eye up above, and I caught sight of the other brother, Gazul Kill, held aloft by seven chained angels. At his hip, a weapon made from the wing of an angel, apparently dipped in mithril, swung lazily in a circular arc.
Droil Slint stood alone in the crowd, his puppet turning its head to watch us. Zur Nav gave him a rude finger gesture as we passed. I wondered if others had noticed, but Droil was quite dead. His skinny form was obviously rotting out from the inside, his features sunken and hollow. I guessed that people might consider him just ill, and not be really willing to question him deeply. He didn’t smell, so I suppose it would be possible for him to pass as living – barely. As I realized this, the glitter of the puppet’s eyes on his hand told me everything I needed to know – it was the living thing there. Possessing a scion of Ihnbharan, whatever that thing was had probably decided to shoot the brass ring and make its play with Droil. From the look of the body, it had better move fast, before that arm rotted off. Giants don’t have enough surface area to dry out a body before internal wet-rot kicks in. That corpse was going to look like a soft apple in the next week or so, unless someone threw some serious necromancy at it.
And shortly after we broke into the square, up came Flay – carried in a litter by a squad of trolls, with a full army of some sixty of the greenish-grey abominations behind her. One particularly large one – Veyd, I presumed, as I had never seen him – stood behind and to the side of the litter. He had a massive fomorian eye in his left socket, and a fine set of Fomorian armor on him.
The trolls around him didn’t look so good, though. Many were missing limbs, eyes, and other parts. I’d thought it impossible to permanently mutilate a troll, but perhaps Flay had found a way through her devotion to Torog or something. Even for trolls, these looked bedraggled, unruly. They were at the end of their ropes.
“You thought I was DEAD!!” Zur began. “Sneaky, random little brother mine, you thought I was DEAD!! You think I might be here to challenge you, don’t you?!?” The puppet watched impassively, and Droil’s reaction was muted. “Or maybe you? Hak? Won’t look so pretty when you’re all alone in the arena, will you??”
The big Fomorian froze on his axe. When I say big, I want to be understood. Fomorians are large by nature. Hak when compared to Droil was about like comparing an ogre to me. That bastard was HUGE. I could see the emotions warring in him, one probably wanting to just behead Zur and be done with it, the other wanting to see how this turned out. I could also see fear – in spite of his advantages, being called out on an all-or-nothing bet against someone who had nothing was a useless risk.
“Or maybe my other mamby-pamby brother? Flying around with all his little angely wangels? Hmm? What’s the matter? Do you have an angel to give you ****s on your toes while you empty your bowels, Gazul? Hmm????” The floating Fomorian simply smiled at Zur Nav and picked at his left nostril. Zur fought for control for a few moments, various slurs escaping him. Eventually he calmed enough to contiunue.
“No, I am not here for you all. I am here to call Galol upon…” He seemed to intentionally pause, relishing the silence in the square. “My weasely, traitorous, troll-whore BITCH OF A SISTER, Flay!” As he recited this, he smiled – apparently he’d rehearsed the phrase for quite some time mentally, and felt a sense of true accomplishment at getting it out whole – his finger went to point at the fat Fomorian woman sitting on the litter. All color drained from her face as the finger fell upon her.
“These here are my champions, you dripping troll-slut. They will mince yours to sausage, which I will eat and then **** between your stripped tits in this very square! HEAR ME, IHNBHARAN, I AM ZUR NAV!!” His face had gone rather pink at this point, and I was genuinely afraid he was about to suffer a stroke before our very eyes.
Trying to add insult to…well, insult, I eyed Veyd and said aloud, “This is the creature you were telling me about? This one looks barely able to wipe his own ass, much less fight.” Not the best of taunts. Veyd apparently didn’t think so either.
Sered, on the other hand, hit the nail on the head. “Here’s your chance, bastard. No more hiding behind a woman, fat as she might be. No more proxies, no more cowardly using others to swipe at us. Look at what you’ve done to your people. How many did you sell out to get your safe, comfy little place here? King of the trolls, your people are looking awfully woe-begotten. Where’s your vaunted royalty?” As he spoke, many of the trolls looked at each other, and I could almost feel Veyd bristle.
He turned to Flay, that big green nose almost poking her in her swarming belly, and we heard some sharp hissing argument going on between them. Between them, something was definitely breaking. At least, it seemed so.
Veyd reached up to his shoulder and unstrapped his armor. It fell at his feet, Flay’s furious glare at him conveying a scorn and venom that made even me uncomfortable. He turned and walked to us, and pulled up a few yards away. He raised his voice and addressed the crowd: “I revoke any claim to the throne of Ihnbharan that I might have ever had or will ever have, Donnel’s naming of me I repudiate. I am Veyd, no more of Ihnbharan!”
He then turned to us and took one step closer.
“I will meet you as a champion of the Lady Flay Gaz. I will wear your intestines as trophies, and I will feast on your livers. Then, and only then, will I kill you.” As he said this, he reached up and with three sharp tugs ripped the Fomorian eye from the socket in his head, dropping it to the ground to be stepped upon.
What in the holy living fuck have I signed up for?
