Demonworld Book Five
Lords of the Black Valley
By Kyle B. Stiff
For news and info about Kyle B. Stiff’s writing projects, including Demonworld and Heavy Metal Thunder, visit his web site at www.kylebstiff.wordpress.com. To contact Kyle B. Stiff, try [email protected] and @KyleBStiff on twitter.
This book is copyrighted and belongs to the author.
All mass movements, as one might expect, slip with the greatest ease down an inclined plane represented by large numbers. Where the many are, there is security… In the clamor of the many there lies the power to snatch wish-fulfillments by force; sweetest of all, however, is that gentle and painless slipping back into the kingdom of childhood, into the paradise of parental care, into happy-go-luckiness and irresponsibility. All the thinking and looking after are done from the top; to all questions there is an answer; and for all needs the necessary provision is made. The infantile dream state of the mass man is so unrealistic that he never thinks to ask who is paying for this paradise. The balancing of accounts is left to a higher political or social authority, which welcomes the task, for its power is thereby increased; and the more power it has, the weaker and more helpless the individual becomes.
- Carl Jung, The Undiscovered Self
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Home
Chapter 2: The Mule in Her Image
Chapter 3: The Tribe of Carpe Diem
Chapter 4: Demiurge Theory
Chapter 5: Jagged Mountains
Chapter 6: A Light in the Valley
Chapter 7: The Room Without Rabbits
Chapter 8: Impossible to Control
Chapter 9: Battle of the Beasts
Chapter 10: Freyja’s Choice
Chapter 11: The Night They Killed the Khan
Chapter 12: A Garden Bordered by Four Walls
Chapter 13: Sword of the Magog
Chapter 14: Hunt
Chapter 15: Tales of Pale Number 27
Chapter 16: Arrows
Chapter 17: The Marriage
Chapter 18: With the Lord of the Forest
Chapter 19: The Scapegoat
Chapter 20: Control
Chapter 21: Ancient Power
Chapter 22: Burial Ground
Chapter 23: The Usurper War
Chapter One
Home
The wolves that ran howling from the far reaches of the wasteland to destroy Pontius now lay about in the sand, picking fleas and fighting amongst one another or crouching in the shade of lean-tos whenever dust eddies blew through. The walls of Pontius stood over them. Pontius had been conquered, but was now untouchable. Food came out, but no dogmen could go in. That was the order.
Naarwulf watched the new Khan standing in the distance. The former Khan had also been a man; a strange man, but this one was stranger still. He was mostly uncommunicative. Naarwulf watched him staring into the east with the wind shaking his long brown hair and gray wolfskin cloak. Naarwulf felt eyes on his back, then saw that one of the new human recruits was watching him: Yarek Clash, the commander of the black-armored fighters called Reavers. He had come from a distant land with powerful weapons, but Naarwulf could not understand his purpose. He seemed content to remain near the new Khan and clean his weapons and armor and send his fighters here or there. Naarwulf turned away from him.
Naarwulf was a giant black dogman, a hunter and a fighter. He was loyal to the ways of his people, and it was a fact that the new Khan had beaten the old Khan in the rite of the duel. He was their rightful leader. Still, he could not help but think that the tribes were simply under “new management” – not deciders of their own destiny since being freed from the leash of Hargis, but resources who had exchanged one leash for another. Naarwulf stifled the thought. He was not some pup full of complaints. He was better than that.
The Khan finally stirred. He signaled to a small human, who approached and spoke with him – Zachariah Hargis, former king, now commander of a small gang of haggard, bearded ex-soldiers from Hargis. It was a wonder to Naarwulf that Hargis could have seemed so powerful and tyrannical only a short time ago. Naarwulf and his people and their ancestors had fought against Hargis for as long as anyone knew. Now, Hargis was no more. The demons had wiped them off the face of the world. The former king was only a small man now, little more than a boy, but the Khan seemed to value him.
The Khan most likely did not know how good a dogman’s hearing could be, so Naarwulf approached and set about pretending to take a tally of their supplies while listening in on the conversation.
“… because we’re going to carve our own niche out of the world,” said the Khan. “That’s why.”
“Fine, then,” said Zach. “So what do you need from me?”
“We’ll be leaving in one week. During that time, I need you to make a complete circuit of the farms around Pontius. We’ve got fighters, but where we’re going, we’ll need farmers. We need their expertise and their seed stock. If I left for any length of time, this horde would tear itself apart, so I need you to talk to the farmers, tell them what we’re doing, and tell them they’re more than welcome to join us.”
“I was getting tired of watching Yarek do push-ups anyway,” said Zach. “Besides, I know the type. They’re likely dirt poor and have it worse than the lowest junkie in the city, but once I manage to get in the door they’ll likely raid their own pantries to make me feel welcome. I’m sure I can find at least a few of them who are tired of being treated like second-class citizens by the people who wouldn’t eat if it wasn’t for them.”
The Khan nodded, then said, “Stress the fact that they’re landless kings, just like you. If they doubt that and point out their land to you, ask them if they feel like they own the land when they sacrifice to devils in order to survive. But don’t lie to them. We’ve got a fight ahead of us.”
“No lying,” said Zach. “Got it.”
Zach left to gather a few men. Without turning, the Khan spoke to Yarek who sat behind him. Naarwulf realized that his own eyes were glued to the Khan. He stood bent over the supplies as he pretended to work, but he could not look away.
“Yarek,” said the Khan. “The sun’s about to set, and I need to go into Pontius one last time. The Law knows what I’m about to do, and they’re expecting trouble. Would you mind going with me?”
“Sure,” said Yarek. He signaled to a few men, who began lacing up their armor as if for battle. “We’ve already got food supplies, though. What do we need out of that place?”
“The last of the pioneers,” said the Khan. “There might be a few left in Pontius.”
A young pup crouched near Naarwulf, and said quietly, “Pioneers? What’s that, Naarwulf?”
“I don’t know,” said Naarwulf, still watching the Khan.
“Where does he mean to take us?” The young pup waited in silence for a long time, then said, “Where will he take us, Naarwulf?”
Naarwulf watched the Khan stare into the east. Far away there stood a line of dim, black mountains, like a wall dividing one world from the next.
“I don’t know,” Naarwulf repeated. “How should I know?”
The Khan turned to him, smiling slightly. Naarwulf saw pale skin and eyes of clear diamond staring back at him. Somehow the Khan knew he had been listening.
“Naarwulf,” said the Khan. “Can you keep these wolves from killing each other until I get back later tonight?”
Naarwulf nodded, then said, “Yes, Khan Wodan!”
* * *
A circle of Lawmen in heavy riot gear held back the crowd. The peop
le grumbled and shouted, and a few of them stood ready with pocketfuls of rocks and rotten fruit. They wouldn’t soon forget what the dogmen had done to them, and they weren’t about to let the leader of that pack come into their city and lord anything over them.
A large group of Lawmen forced their way through the crowd. In their center walked Yarek Clash, his black-armored Reavers, and Khan Wodan. They entered the center of the wide avenue, then Wodan climbed atop a stack of crates while his Reavers formed a circle around him.
Wodan ignored the hateful jeering of the crowd and looked about, then saw Lieutenant Virgil watching him. The old detective looked away. Virgil had said nothing to him since his transformation and assumption of the role of Khan. Wodan wanted Virgil to join him, more than any other man in Pontius. Wodan knew what Virgil was thinking: You can’t live in reality by chasing after a fantasy. Wodan disagreed, and so their friendship was no more.
Finally the angry shouting subsided slightly. “Citizens of Pontius!” Wodan shouted. “You might not know me, but I used to live here. I helped you fight against the Ugly and the Coil. Together, we destroyed them. When evacuees from Hargis came and warned us about an army of dogmen, I went with a few others to slow them down. I killed their leader. Now, I lead them. I’ve come here tonight to give you a proposition.”
Wodan had not asked the Smiths for any voice amplification technology, but his voice echoed over the crowd and to the far end of the street. The moment he stopped, the crowd shouted anew and pushed harder against the Lawmen. The crowd had heard a lot of stories about the Khan and his wasteland savages, and none of the stories went into any great detail about how Wodan had journeyed through miles of arid wasteland, lost friends, confronted the former Khan, and finally forced the dogmen to stop attacking Pontius once its defenders were either dead or barricaded in their homes. The only thing the citizens knew was that they had been oppressed for a long, long time by many, many different men. This time was no different.
Wodan waited patiently for the shouting to settle to a dull roar, which it eventually did. No stones or rotten fruit were thrown just yet; the citizens of Pontius were used to listening to politicians they hated, and the general consensus was that one should wait until the windbag said something truly unbelievable and worthy of gossip before the show was ended with a hail of stones and garbage. When the Lawmen carrying shields were able to get a breather as they leaned against the crowd, Wodan continued.
“I know you have no love for the dogmen sitting outside your walls. You’ve no reason to. I’ll be taking them away from you, and when we leave we will never return. I’m taking them to a land east of here. If you follow the river, there’s a horseshoe ring of mountains. The place between those mountains is sometimes called the Black Valley. But here’s the thing: That land holds untold wealth in trees, iron, coal, and possibly rich farmland. There are demons there, but many of you have seen the dogmen in battle. I’ve been there myself, over a year ago. I had no weapons and few friends, and I made it out alive. Just imagine what could be done with a horde of some of the world’s best fighters.
“People of Pontius, I want you to go with me.
“I know what you’re thinking. Many of you have heard about what happened to Hargis. Flesh demons came in force, overwhelmed the walls, and killed and ate the inhabitants. You’re probably thinking that it sounds like madness to leave the safety of home and fight against the very devils who rule this world just when it seems that they are stronger than ever before. Hunkering down behind the walls of Pontius would seem the wisest thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
Wodan paused, then said, “Ask the people of Hargis how wise it was to hide behind their walls. They had an army of their own. They had soldiers and walls and guns – but the demons had already planned for all that. Do you think they haven’t noticed the walls of Pontius? Do you think they haven’t noticed that Pontius is ruled by gangs and politicians so intent on fighting one another that they haven’t realized that the demons are leaving their individual territories and forming into at least one army? Pontius is not safe. It never was.
“Our only hope, I believe, is in catching the demons by surprise. When I traveled south to face the wolves gathering to destroy Pontius, I found, over and over again, evidence that the flesh demons were leaving their solitary abodes in order to gather. During that entire journey I encountered not one single flesh demon. Not one. They are moving as armies and they are destroying the old cities, and Pontius will be no different. They’ve been planning their assault on our species for a long time… and most of our leaders have been helping them by keeping their brightest and strongest citizens in check, rather than helping us flourish and become strong. Those days are over. Our survival demands it.
“Our leaders aren’t going to change. They are dead-set in their ways – but so are the demons. That’s why I think that now is the time to uproot and create a new world in a land most likely abandoned by devils, a land full of such wealth that we can build a nation strong enough to fight off an army of devils by the time they notice us. They have already written the script for their war; by the time they realize we have edited the script, we will be too strong for them to destroy.
“That’s why I want you to come with me, Pontius. Not all of you, of course, but those of you who secretly hate your lives and hate the world you were born into. I don’t want to create another Pontius. I don’t want to lead an army of slaves into a land of opportunity just so a few people can get rich off the labor of the majority. No, I want those of you who know that the world can be a better place. I want the discontent. I want those of you who suffer because you dream. I want those of you who are dissatisfied with short-term gain and predatory survival tactics. I want those of you who dream of living free. If you understand the notion of freedom, even if it just means something to you, and you think it’s a goal worth fighting for, then I want you to help me create this new and better world.
“I understand that many of you have families, jobs, friends, obligations. They wouldn’t appreciate your daydreaming about running off on some fool’s errand, would they? What can you say to them?” Wodan paused for a moment, then said, “Leave them. If the possibility of a better tomorrow means nothing to them, if your happiness means nothing to them – then leave them. I offer you a better world… no, I offer you nothing but a gamble, risk, nights full of worry and days full of terror. But what I offer you is better than what they have to offer.
“We leave in one week.”
Wodan stood in silence for a moment, then, as he turned to leave, he said, “And bring as much food as you can carry and any weapons you can gather. We don’t have a lot of supplies.”
With that, he stepped down from the platform and his Reavers walked on either side of him. The crowd was deathly still, and the heavily armored Lawmen stood with shields and batons hanging limp at their sides. The crowd parted silently for the Khan of the wasteland.
* * *
Later that night, a Reaver walked down the second floor hallway of a dilapidated whorehouse. He checked each doorway, then stopped at one that stood cracked open. Inside he saw an older woman staring back at him. Behind her, a family man hopped about on one leg as he wrestled with his pants. They both stared at his sleek armor and heavy handgun hanging at his side, then their eyes opened in alarm when they heard footsteps pounding up the stairs at the end of the hall.
“Stay inside,” said the Reaver. “Shut your door and don’t come outside.”
The woman immediately shut the door. The Reaver turned and shouted, “Secure!”
Wodan entered the hall with a group of Reavers trailing behind him. “What?” said Wodan.
“Hallway’s secure. It’s safe unless someone comes out looking for trouble, but we’ll have the jump on ’em.”
“Ah, good,” said Wodan, smiling. He was unused to having official backup.
They came to a door and stopped. Wodan pounded on the door. No response. Wodan blasted the thing with his fist until it shoo
k on its hinges. “Skinny! Skinny!” he shouted. He heard nothing. He sighed, slammed his shoulder into it, then his Reavers rushed inside.
Chris Kenny was laid out on a filthy bed, naked, limbs outspread, eyes open. Hundreds of bottles were spread out on the floor, the bed, and the uneven dresser.
Yarek felt for a pulse, nodded, and Wodan shouted, “Chris! Chris! Time to go. Time to go, man.”
Chris did not move, but a desperate sound gurgled up from the back of his throat.
“Come on, Chris. Time to get out of Pontius! Time to go, man. Time to leave.” Wodan stood over him and repeated himself as he slapped Chris’s arms and stomach.
Wodan nodded to Yarek, who knelt and shoved an arm under the king of snipers and hauled him up from his clinking bed of broken glass. Another Reaver retrieved Chris’s pants, shook them free of broken glass, then forced them onto his stiff legs.
“Oh, gods, stop,” Chris muttered. “I’m gonna… I’m dying… I’m dying!”
“Be still!” said Wodan. He heard arguing down the hall.
“Sir!” said a Reaver. “Don’t see his rifle anywhere.”
“I saw a pawn shop across the street,” said Yarek. He picked up an empty backpack, felt around, and pulled a few bills from the bottom. “You, you, and you, go and get his rifle back. I think they’re still open. If they are, hand them whatever this crap currency is and say they took advantage of a very important man. Tell them you aren’t leaving without that rifle. If the place is closed… just be quiet about getting in.”
Two Reavers stood on either side of Chris with his arms draped over their shoulders as they dragged him down the hall. On the stairs he began dry-heaving with long, hollow gasps, until a line of thick mucus hung from his face and bounced delicately with each step.
Wodan stepped outside and breathed fresh air, grateful that he’d found the king of snipers before his newfound wealth killed him. Behind him, Chris’s sickly bellows punctuated the shrill screaming of the whores and the harsh threats of the Reaver enforcers. A man suddenly strode up to Wodan, wild orange suit flashing with each aggressive step, ruby red slippers shimmering in the dirt, gold teeth blinking in Morse code translating unintelligible words that spilled out of his wobbling head, which was crowned with a giant feathered cap that threatened to fall over with each jerky step. The man held a cane tipped with a ten-pound statue of a pyramid topped with something like a dried prune. Wodan could not make out what the pimp was saying, but as soon as the pimp saw the crew of Reavers he pulled a slick turnabout and remembered an appointment he had behind the building; once he gained some distance, he glared from around the corner at the upstarts who were taking from him the man who had given him more cash than any client before.
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 1
