When the porter walked in, the children stopped playing. They had unmistakable faces, both pale-skinned like their mother, and one brown-haired and the other blond. They turned around at the same time to welcome the new arrivals.
“Lombardo! Hey! What a surprise!” Leandro cried at the sight of his former comrade.
The porter stayed by the door, watching the old friends greet one another and caring little that one of those guests was the legendary General Deathslayer. For the Baron’s men, no government servant was indispensable. He shrugged and went back to keep watch at the door.
Lombardo embraced the general. “When they tried to kill you,” he said, “the news ran like a hare, and the rumors reached us. We were pretty worried, but then the rumor suggested that you were fine. Others said that you were already marching south and that the call to arms included every able-bodied man in the Empire. Is this true? I never expected to see you here! Least of all dressed like a peasant!”
“It’s a very, very long story, my friend,” said Leandro. “You’ll have it in due course.”
“Well, if you’re really marching south then you… How? How can you be in two places at the same time?”
“By the Gods!” the general said. “I’ll explain. It’s complicated, alright?”
Lombardo nodded and did not mention the matter again.
“Ajedrea, my dear!” Karolina said as she kissed the Princess of Mandrake on both cheeks. “Oh, my dear! How have you been? My heart was always with you, hoping you’d be all right. Haven’t you brought your ladies and an imperial escort?”
Lombardo explained the details of the letter and the urgent need to flee north as soon as possible and to travel without an escort or retinue.
“That makes sense,” Leandro said. “Look at me. I’m the general of this empire and I’m wearing the clothes of a peasant. It’s a fact that there are spies everywhere and we can’t rely on anybody. We need to fend for ourselves in these precarious times.”
“Spies?” Lombardo asked.
“My friend, there’s so much I have to tell you. To make it short, the spies of evil are everywhere and something tells me that the Baron feared that both Ajedrea’s ladies and her escort had been infiltrated by them—or at least weren’t people to be trusted. These days you can only deal with people you truly know,” the general added sadly.
“How many moons now?” Karolina asked.
Ajedrea rubbed her belly. “Five and counting.” Her pregnancy was going well, although she still had four moons more to go before her time. Nevertheless, her belly was bulging and it was obvious that it was because she was carrying a new life.
That evening, Lombardo and Leandro stayed awake drinking beer. A candle illuminated the room they were in, its constant twinkling scratching the wooden walls with its long peach-colored fingers. The story had been so fantastic that Lombardo had to repeat what he had been told to make sure he understood.
“In other words, those bastards have taken control of the palace and whoever it was used your blood and a spell to turn himself into your impostor. Now, the fake Leandro’s leading the armed forces to the South to surround the Portal of the Worlds where we believe Mórgomiel’s setting a trap to reduce our army to shreds. By the Gods.” He took a swig of the intoxicating brew. “Wow, it’s too much. But if I’m to be honest with myself, Leandro, I can believe anything when it’s an adversary like Mórgomiel. He’s a god! The God of Chaos! The son of a bitch who, according to the mages, has murdered all the other Gods! Would you look for any less from an enemy like that?”
“I hadn’t stopped to look at it that way but you’re right. We’re dealing with the God of Chaos and he’s shown us that he’s capable of anything to achieve his aim, no doubt about that. That’s a pretty low blow he’s delivered us!” The general was beginning to raise his voice now that the beer had gone to his head. They were still in the cellar so they were the only ones in the hall. Both their families were peacefully asleep by now.
“And what’s become of Gáramond?” Lombardo asked.
“He’s gone to Maggrath where you’ll be going with Karolina and my children. The philosopher’s dedicating himself to what he loves most: thinking and talking. His passion to become a linguist is on pause after the assault on Háztatlon. But believe me, Sendar will find plenty of tasks for the gluttonous philosopher. He’s delighted to have any activity that invites him to think.”
“I’m glad to know our families will be going to Maggrath,” Lombardo said. “But I’m not going to let you go to battle without me, no sir.” The soldier clenched his fists and his gaze turned harder.
Leandro heaved a long sigh. “This time, your job will be to protect our people, Lombardo. I know you fought in San San-Tera, Kathanas, and Háztatlon. You’re a good soldier. But I can’t let you come with me. Listen, Maggrath has very powerful mages, it’s true. But when the magic fails, we have to defend ourselves with sticks and stones, and that’s what you’re going to do. We need a capable and trustworthy soldier to protect our people.”
“Are you calling my sword a stick?”
They both doubled up with laughter, clearly drunk.
“You’ll go to Maggrath and that’s an order from your general,” Leandro said, turning serious. “You’ll have the privilege of witnessing the growth and development of a school of magic that is already producing great results. I wish we could include more families in Maggrath, I’d like to protect everyone, but for the moment, the public servants like you and the king are the ones who have this privilege. That’s the way it is. If our families aren’t safe, we can’t serve the Empire as it should be served. I know, I know. It’s not fair.” He shrugged.
“All right. I’ll do as you say, General. I’ll protect our families with all I have. Yuldo will stay with me. He’s an employee I’d trust my life with. When do you plan on marching south?”
Leandro swallowed and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Doolm-Ondor’s army will be on the ground tomorrow, Moragald’Burg’s will be at the shore in two days, As soon as they’re assembled, the armies will start their march south by way of the Devonic Range of Simrar. When they get near Kathanas, they’ll stop and wait. The Baron’s men will guide them.”
“They’ll wait?”
“Remember, we’re setting a trap for the trap. The Baron’s playing an important part in coordinating all the armies.”
Lombardo looked thoughtful. “The Baron… He must be a man of great resources, wouldn’t you say?”
“You have no idea how great!” the general cried.
***
The journey to Némaldon was an uneventful one for Meromérila. For Mérdmerén, it involved remembering the dark days the humans had suffered when the demons of that domain had made life impossible for Mandrake.
For the Queen of Gardak, recent events had made her doubt the possibility of coming out alive. This was the second time Mórgomiel had assailed her people. She stared out at the horizon as she rode on the back of the dragon, seated behind the King of Mandrake who, in turn, was a legendary warrior who had lived during the first Times of Chaos. She was held to the dragon by magic that was clearly displayed in the splendid beast. She could not stop admiring the texture, sight, and color of the Dragon of the Metal Scales. Each scale was easily the size of her hand.
She also could not stop feeling guilty about the death of more than half her people. So many of them! Some had been her friends for a long time and had migrated hand in hand from Degoflórefor to the Meridian to find a better life and put a stop to the advance of evil. But they were failing. That was why they were here now, landing in front of the entrance to Árath, the underground castle that currently belonged to the Dakatak.
Nordost landed gently on the rough, volcanic terrain. Árath might have been purged of its demons, but that did not mean there were not still spirits and wraiths of evil intent in the wastelands. Némaldon was a vast land, much of it both unexplored and inhospitable. The planet had been conquered to create a wo
rld of portals, not to shelter life. But life had flourished, proving that nature has a way of overcoming any challenge.
The Metallic Knight and Meromérila descended from the dragon’s back, the Knight floating gracefully and the queen stepping lightly down the great span of the dragon’s wing as if it were a ramp.
The plain which led to the great gates of the underground castle had been cleared of the pile of corpses that had lain there since the sacking of Árath months before.
Meromérila was not surprised. In her mind, there was no other race more diligent than that of the insects, who, once they took on a task, were stubborn until they completed it or else died in the attempt.
The outer edges were watched over by insects wearing grey uniforms. These were of new material and new color. Previously, the colors permitted had been green, red, and yellow, chosen by the Mílikin who had kept the insects enslaved. But now, the Dakatak were free to choose and plain grey seemed to appeal to them more. Their armor was made of the resins they used to build their monuments, nests, and weapons.
Meromérila spoke in the language of the Dakatak, using the guttural sounds appropriate for introducing herself. The queen would never be forgotten for her gentleness and kindness and the insects soon transmitted the message through their antennae that a highly-esteemed visitor was at the gate of the new and independent empire of the Dakatak.
The great gates opened, pulled by several insects moving in careful synchrony. From them came a group of insects, several of them wearing the grey armor she had noticed, others wearing soft tunics of pale greenish-brown. The Queen of Gardak had never seen the insects attired like that. She felt, with her ability to perceive the past and future, that this meant a whole new hierarchy in their world. She thought this was a real development, as it meant that this species was using their freedom well and they were certainly organizing themselves to maximize their efficiency.
“Queen Gochuka Inquik-cha Macha-chak-na-ma sends her most cordial greetings and all the respect due to the bearer of freedom to the Dakatak, now free people. Our prophet Gach-milukta-chochin-chimbam-loki has been chosen for his great visions as a spiritual leader by our Queen Gochuka Inquik-cha Macha-chak-na-ma. He said that the bearer of freedom would come asking for help. That help has been prepared. Meromérila will never be forgotten. Enter. Queen Gochuka Inquik-cha Macha-chak-na-ma wishes to see you, your ladyship.”
Meromérila turned to the Metallic Knight. Both of them were impressed to hear the insects speaking the common language of the Empire. Apparently, not all of them spoke it, but being able to communicate with them represented a great advantage.
The queen embraced a number of them, greeting old friends as she made new ones.
“The metal warrior had not appeared in the visions of the prophet Gach-milukta-chochin-chimbam-loki, but if he is a friend of Meromérila’s, then he is a friend of the Dakatak. Queen Gochuka Inquik-cha Macha-chak-na-ma, mother of all the Dakatak, will be happy to meet you.”
***
In just a few months, the underground castle had changed radically. It had been Mórgomiel who had built it thousands of years earlier during the Times of Chaos and his conquest of the Meridian. Árath was to the Meridian what other castles were to other planets: the dwelling place of those who served Mórgomiel and protected his domain.
Árath’s dry, volcanic rock was hostile to most. For the Dakatak, it was a treasure on account of the minerals in its walls. The eternal darkness of its halls was a blessing that kept the atmosphere humid and hence favorable for the growth of their food.
The insects were very efficient beings and to be able to drink, they did not need to go to a river or stream or build a well since they extracted water from the moist atmosphere. With this moisture, they created a gelatinous paste they held in their mouths, similar to the resin they used for building. This paste was stuck to the walls with their skillful limbs, and soon a fungus grew from the saliva on the walls. It was this fungus they used as their main source of food.
“We insects do not need light to see,” the guide told them. “With our antennae, we can communicate and perceive our environment in the absence of light. But the prophet and the queen know that the Mílikin and their friends depend on the light to see and feel comfortable. That is why we have made preparations for you.”
From one of the corridors came three more insects. They all looked so much alike that it was hard to tell them apart. Meromérila was about to ask for their names, though she knew that in the Dakatak culture, names had little importance. She knew that the long names of the queen and the prophet were the phonetic representation of their descriptions, and not really their names. The long name “Gochuka Inquik-cha Macha-chak-na-ma” would be the same as saying in the common language of the Empire “queen of all the insects and bringer of fortune”.
The three insects came in, each carrying a torch in one of their six limbs. The resin they used for building fermented when mixed with water and left in the open air to generate alcohol and could be ignited, making it good fuel. Meromérila had seen the insects use this mixture to create prayer fires or even to prepare alcoholic drinks. Sadly, none of these uses were for the insects themselves but their old masters the Mílikin when they had still lived in Degoflórefor. But now, all had changed and the fire had been lit for the benefit of the guests and by their own free will.
“Follow us, dear Meromérila and Lord Knight,” the guide said.
They went deep into the corridors of Árath, going down and down great flights of stairs toward the depths of what had previously been a synonym for hell. Both for Meromérila and the Knight, this was very strange. For the human, who had grown up knowing this underground castle as the origin of misery, to be inside it was deeply strange. For the Metallic Knight, it was to visit the creation of his nemesis. They had never imagined that they would find themselves admiring its architecture as though Mórgomiel had had a certain sense of good taste.
Great columns rose throughout the interior, a precipice so vast that the bottom was invisible but could be guessed at by the echo which took several seconds to return. These columns were extremely thick, black, and solid, like everything else in Árath. The steps were built on the edge of the wall with no handrail so that anyone who was not careful could easily fall into the abyss and not see another tomorrow.
This place of demons did not distill the malice it had once oozed. Instead, almost all of its length was covered with the insects’ saliva where the fungus the Dakatak ate was thriving. In some parts, this fungus grew enthusiastically, generating large areas that looked like giant broccoli. The smell was particularly invasive; a human would have said it was a little stronger than the strongest-smelling blue cheese. At least it filled Árath with an aroma that would have made life impossible for any demon.
“This way, my friends,” the guide said once they had descended what seemed like a whole league. They arrived at what might have been the deepest point in the underground castle, where once there had been dungeons and torture chambers. For the insects, however, occupying these places had been easy.
The walls here were covered with the fungus. There were thousands upon thousands of workers all laboring in silence, loading rocks or painting the walls with the paste from their mouths. Here, more fungus would soon grow.
Meromérila was delighted to see rows—hundreds of them—of eggs. In a matter of weeks, these would give origin to new caterpillars that, in turn, would grow in as many weeks into male insects: workers and soldiers.
The Metallic Knight was no novice and had seen every kind of living creature in the universe in the course of his long millennia of existence before the Times of Chaos killed many forms of life. He had known a species of giant butterfly with telekinetic abilities and a terrestrial octopus that had been able to generate spells of great power. Nevertheless, he was impressed by the number of eggs in this cavern. He noticed that those that hatched produced juicy caterpillars and were tended by Dakatak with especially devoted
to the care of the newborn. They picked them up with their upper legs and took them elsewhere, where they were kept safe and fed until they matured and became insects able to work.
They came to a large cave where they could see the queen at the far end, spread out on the floor. She looked like a blob of dough, tapering at the ends and fat in the middle. She was the size of a whale and pale white, which underlined the resemblance to an uncooked dough. The surface of her balloon-like body was constantly tended by other insects, their saliva keeping her translucent, fragile skin moist. Her entrails moved constantly and every few seconds, an egg came out of one end. At the other end, a pair of small jaws constantly ate the special fungus created by her children. Every new egg was immediately tended to by a worker.
“Welcome to the new home of the Dakatak,” said that immense mass that looked like a colossal maggot. “We are learning your language, Queen Meromérila, and leaving behind the guttural language our former masters taught us when they enslaved us. Now we are free, thanks to you. So, we have chosen to adopt Mandrakian as the official language, never forgetting our efficient way of communication with our antennae.”
“Gochuka! How good to see you again!” cried a delighted Meromérila. In her excitement, she ran to that giant thing and hugged the tiny neck connected to the jaws. Then, she stroked the rest of her body, admiring her opulence and complimenting her on her physical appearance. The Queen of Gardak cared nothing about getting her hands smeared with insect saliva.
Meromérila spent some time telling the queen about the events that had brought her here. Of course, she passed on every detail of the latest events in Mandrake and the trap they were preparing for Leandro the Impostor.
“Thank you for sharing this with us,” the guide said. “The prophet Gach-milukta-chochin-chimbam-loki is grateful for this information. I thank you.”
“You are the prophet?” Meromérila asked.
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 41
