Empire of the Worm

by Conner, Jack

  Instead, he said, “We still have a chance. We have both the Jewel and the Books. Also, the Worm and his agents don’t know where we are. However, there may be agents among us. That’s why, from this moment forward, I’m sealing the tunnels. No one gets in. No one gets out.” There was some muttering at this, but Davril nodded to Jeselri, who stood next to him, and the Patriarch returned the nod wanly. “It’s the only way,” Davril said. “If we can keep our location secret, we may still get the chance to strike. I need you to be brave. Strong. The others look to you for guidance, and I need you to give them that. Do not waver. Do not show fear. The war continues, and it will not be lost—as long as we oppose the Worm.” He lifted his fist over his head. “Death to the Worm!”

  His men lifted their fists and repeated the words, but he could hear the hollowness in their voices, see the fear in their eyes.

  As the group broke up, he sighed and turned to Jeselri. “Thank you,” he said. “I did not mean to usurp your authority.”

  “Our fates are tied to yours, Lord Husan. You must succeed, or—well. ”

  Davril clapped him on the shoulder. “See to sealing the tunnels.”

  “No one will enter or leave, my lord.” Jeselri, head bowed, moved away.

  Alyssa approached and drew Davril to the side. “Is it so bad as all this?” she said. She stared into his eyes, begging for a lie, and he gave it to her.

  “It will be fine,” he said. “Uulos may have destroyed the Tower, but we still have the Jewel. Even if Uulos were to steal it back, He’s not strong enough yet to swallow it.”

  She nodded, and a tear spilled from her blue-green eyes and coursed over her perfect cheek. He tucked a strand of her curly blond hair back behind an ear and kissed her forehead.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said again.

  She just nodded silently, her mouth tightly closed. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with water. She broke away and returned to her escorts, followed by her guards.

  Grim days passed, and Davril’s spies and scouts reported that Uulos had established himself in Sraltar Square and that storm clouds shaded him constantly. Just as constantly, a line of sacrifices was marched from the various prisons to him, and he consumed them one after another, never ceasing. With each one, he grew stronger, and the darkness that radiated from him grew darker, too.

  The insane asylums of Sedremere, and indeed of all Qazradan, overflowed with new inmates, as many were driven mad by the presence of the Worm. Some who didn’t go mad reported strange, nightmarish dreams, and others claimed to have these dreams during the waking hours.

  The air shimmered, blurred, and reality twisted violently. Davril felt it, too.

  Meanwhile, more reports detailed how General Hastus’s persecution of Sedremerans had intensified. He was rounding men and women up at random and torturing them to death in the city squares, sometimes not even bothering to ask them questions. Whether any revealed the location of the Avestines’ tunnels, or whether any knew it, Davril didn’t know. He could only bide his time until the moment to strike.

  One day a runner came up to Davril and said, “Father Trisdan wishes to see you.”

  Davril found the priest in an abandoned chamber that had been converted into a chapel to the Light, or Flame, call it what one would—all four sects, each with its own corner. There were idols of the Phoenix, bas-reliefs of the stars and moon, and tapestries of the sky. In their separate corners, the priests knelt, surrounded by their followers, all praying softly, heads bowed to their altars, begging aid from Asqrit, Behara, Illyria and Tiat-sumat. Around each of the altars stood spears and bows and arrows, swords and daggers and lances, all the weapons the priests had used the Jewel to bless. The weapons seemed to glow faintly, and they gave off a feeling of wholesomeness. It was no wonder the followers grouped around them and prayed.

  As for the Jewel itself, it was in an adjoining room, sealed off from the public by a thick stone door. Only Davril and a few others had copies of the key that opened that door; the Jewel must be kept safe and secure. It was the only hope they had.

  Reassured by the soft sounds of prayer, Davril waited, feeling the warmth and peace of the place wash across him, driving away the lingering taint of the Worm. He felt lighter, clearer here, and though he didn’t know if it was real or not, he welcomed it.

  At last Father Trisdan noticed him and left his flock in care of another priest, hobbling over to Davril. Trisdan looked eager, his eyes bright, his withered cheeks flushed. “I have good news, my lad. Good news indeed.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  He removed a key from his robes and accompanied Davril over to the thick stone door that sealed the chamber where the Jewel was kept. He unlocked the door, had his attendants shove it open—the door was monstrously heavy—and led the way inside. Wonderingly, Davril followed.

  The Jewel stood in the center of the room: a great ovoid stone, ancient and crusted, wreathed in fire. Smoke billowed off it in great waves, disappearing through the ventilation shaft above.

  But the flames . . . the flames were higher. And the burning core of the egg unmistakably brighter.

  At Davril’s expression, Father Trisdan laughed. “Yes, my boy! we’ve done it! Well, the Books did most of the work. At any rate, we’ve quickened the egg. Using the lost rites, we’ve managed to reinvigorate the Jewel.”

  “It will pose a threat to the Worm?”

  “Oh yes.”

  Davril held his hands out, feeling the warmth the egg gave off. “But the Light-House is destroyed. How can we use it?”

  Trisdan frowned. “That I can’t rightly say. If nothing else, the Worm will no longer be able to devour it.”

  “That’s something.”

  For a long moment, the priest said nothing, just gazed lovingly at the Jewel. At last he said, “I suppose Uulos could still swallow it. But he could only swallow it whole. If it were punctured while inside him, its power would fill him. Kill him. Perhaps that could be a strategy of last resort—to allow the Worm to swallow it, then to use of our blessed spears to stab him and puncture it.” A dark look crossed his face, and his stooped shoulders sagged. “It would mean the death of the Jewel, though. And the Life inside it.” A moment passed. “Now that it’s stronger, we will be able to bless more and greater weapons. That in itself should aid our side.”

  “And should Uulos swallow the Jewel and it’s not punctured?”

  “When Uulos is strong enough, and that will be soon, I think, and after He has the Jewel—for we cannot keep it from Him indefinitely—He will swallow it and absorb its strength. He must swallow it whole, as I said, and digest it slowly, and when it’s gone, when Tiat-sumat or His Son is dead—” (his swallowed) “—and Uulos is grown fat and mighty on His essence, the Worm’s influence will spread unchecked, and the Light will fade from the universe. The Sun will dim, the stars will gray, and Uulos and his darkness will rule all, and there will be no place for men, save as morsels, sport and slaves for the lowest of Uulos’s servants—for He will raise them. When He puts forth His new, stolen power, His most wicked allies will wriggle forth from their holes. He will have no more need of man. He will begin his empire anew, in a black, lightless, unholy world populated by monstrous things with no sane form.” The priest’s bony fists trembled, and his hawkish eyes blazed with fury; he could not go on.

  “So you believe the Jewel truly is Tiat-sumat.”

  Trisdan pursed his ancient lips. “In truth, I think the egg is beyond human comprehension, just as Uulos is. They existed before mankind rose from the slime and are beyond our ken. But I still revere the egg, for it is the enemy of Uulos.”

  “When will He be strong enough to swallow it?”

  Air blew out raggedly from Trisdan’s sharp, craggy nose. “I cannot give you a day, my lord, but by the taint in the air I would judge it to be very soon now. Very soon indeed.”

  Davril frowned as he stared down at the vast assembly. Tens of thousa
nds of Avestines, rebels and refugees had gathered in the great hall where the Priests of the Serpent had preached to their flock. Now the Order of the Serpent was gone, and the people of Ave had no gods to believe in, to comfort them in this dark time. Davril had received reports that numerous Avestines had in secret reverted to the worship of the Serpent, and that in solemn ceremonies in dark, forgotten caverns they would sacrifice one of their number upon a small altar in the shape of a serpent. He had strictly forbidden this, and even now his men sought to stamp the practice out, but for the moment it continued.

  The majority of the Avestines had set aside the darkness, but until recently they had nothing to replace it with. Over the past few weeks, since the burning of the Light-House and the return of Uulos, Fathers Trisdan, Elimhas and the Lady of Behara had gone among them and preached the gospel of the Light, and many had converted. The Age of Darkness had come at last, the time when the Worm would rule, and many turned to the Light to drive back that darkness, to provide some semblance of hope.

  Davril listened as the priests and the priestess took turns on the highest tier on that mountain of daises at the head of the room, each preaching his or her own gospel, one at a time. Each worked to make their preaching serve all faiths, so they would not confuse the Avestines or cause doubt among them. Just the same, there were many non-Avestines among those gathered, people who had already accepted one faith or another, and so the priests and the priestesses had to make sure not to alienate their own flock. It was tricky going, and Davril almost enjoyed listening to the priests navigate that tight line, except that it meant that the end of the world had come, or at least the end of man.

  Watching the tens of thousands kneel and pray, Davril said, “I’ve had enough of the Apocalypse for the moment.”

  Jeselri, who sat beside him, nodded but didn’t stand to leave. His eyes were distant and faraway, though they too gazed down at the worshippers. “It’s a bitter thing, my friend, to see your people change.”

  Davril paused. “It bothers you, seeing the Avestines worship the Flame?”

  Jeselri frowned. Nodded. They sat in a gallery overlooking the vast hall, where doubtless the Avestine aristocrats had sat in days gone by, before they had been slaughtered in the uprising that had slain the priests. “I never liked the Order,” he said. “I always shuddered to see my people bow to the Serpent—to dress in scales, to file their teeth, to murder the innocent. Still, it seemed natural. I and thousands of generations before did the same in our time. It’s the way I was raised, though I broke from it at last. But it’s the way things were supposed to be, if you see what I mean, or at least it seemed so, before you came. We never would have changed on our own, my friend. You forced it on us. And it will never seem natural to me to see my people bow to the bird, or the moon, or the stars above, or some burning egg, but . . .” He sighed. “I like it little better than the worship of the Serpent. I suppose my children’s children’s children will think it natural enough, even destined to be, and they will think back in disgrace on the dark times and the dark people that bowed to a monster, who slaughtered their own people to slake Its hunger . . .”

  That’s optimistic, Davril wanted to say. There probably won’t be any future generations.

  He only patted Jeselri on the knee and said, “We have people to meet.”

  The two stood and turned their backs to the prayers that washed against the walls so softly, yet with great power. Davril remembered the singing of Algorad. My true home, he thought. My true people. But would he be able to go there if the Worm won out? Would not Uulos’s shadow block his access to Algorad, just as it prevented his father and brothers from going there? There would be no afterlife for him, or for any of the worshippers of the Light, not if Uulos endured.

  There was still one hope, however, and Davril clutched to it fervently as he and Jeselri walked through the dark, silent halls, their guards escorting them in grim silence.

  Jeselri was not silent. Something was on his mind. “Of course, you know that not all my people have turned to the Light,” he said. “We have found idols, altars—and some of our number have gone missing.”

  Davril glanced at him sideways. “Idols of Uulos, you mean.”

  “Some are turning to Him, and worshipping Him in secret.”

  “Your people aren’t the only ones. We’ve experienced the same problem, although not all of our people are so secretive. Some openly support the Worm and encourage the rest of us to go to Him. They say that if we renounce the Light Uulos will take us in and make war on us no longer.”

  “I’ve heard the same promises. All empty, you know.”

  “I know. If nothing else, their brazenness alerted us as to who the Uulons were, and we have most behind bars right now. The others are on the run—we think.”

  Jeselri’s voice became throaty, and his eyes flinty. “Then you were kinder to your traitors than I was to mine.”

  Davril found his military commanders and spymasters in the small chapel of the Light, studying the weapons that had been blessed by the Jewel of the Sun. Two braziers in the shapes of serpent heads had been left to heat and light the chamber, but the coals were mere burning embers, making the serpent eyes and gaping maws glow just faintly. Even in the dim light, the weapons about the altars of the so-called Light shone. The military men were testing them, bending them, passing them amongst each other. Even in their hardened faces, though, Davril could see the reverence with which they held the sacred spears and bows.

  The men quit fondling the weapons when they saw Davril.

  “They are impressive, my lord,” said Nias Trihem, who had been a colonel under Emperor Davril Husan.

  “Indeed,” said Gael Marcunis, who had been a low general, one of General Hastus’s officers. “But will they be enough to slay the Worm?”

  “We know Uulos fears the Light,” Davril said. “If we can pierce Him with these arrows and lances, if we can penetrate Him to the core, then yes, I believe we can destroy Him.”

  They studied him, trying to measure whether he sent them on a suicide mission or not, as he had sent the men that had guarded the Light-House from General Hastus. Davril stood firm under their scrutiny. Turning to his spymasters, he said, “Our military arm is not strong enough to defeat his forces in open combat. That’s why I will need your agents most desperately.”

  The spymasters nodded. “Our people honeycomb the ranks of the Lerumites’ recruits,” said Rafeal Esryl, a dark-haired, pot-bellied man who had been a gatherer of intelligence under Davril and his father before him. Many men had undergone tortures unspeakable under his hands, but his eyes held no remorse. “There is no way to know how many of them have been turned, if any, but at my signal those still loyal to us will turn on their fellows and incite chaos among the Lerumites and their converts.”

  “Good.” Davril turned to Desmon Avini. “We’ll need General Hastus’s military encumbered.”

  Desmon nodded, jowls warbling. “It shall be, my lord. My own agents have infiltrated the army to its highest levels. Some of the General’s right-hand men report to me, or sleep with women who report to me, or boys, or . . . well, I have ears everywhere.”

  “I need ears, but I also need muscle.”

  “At my signal, the army will be thrown into chaos. Uulos’s return has caused great doubt among the populace, and many now oppose Him that had previously remained silent, even among the soldiery.”

  “But it’s also caused up-swellings of devotion,” Rafeal pointed out. “Those who were inclined to worship Him before now have added reason, and added justification, and then there is the sapping of individual will.”

  Desmon did not argue. “My men are sound,” was all he would say.

  Davril considered his next words carefully. He stared each of his men in the eye, then said, “It will have to be enough. This will be our last chance to destroy Him. Our last chance of saving everything we hold dear. I want you to make ready immediately. We strike tomorrow.”

  Jese
lri approached the altar of Tiat-sumat and ran a finger along one of the blessed spear-shafts. “I know what you told the others, but you truly think these things will slay the Worm?”

  “I don’t know,” Davril said. “But I believe they can. If we can pierce Him with enough of them, if we can penetrate His darkness with enough Light, then yes, I believe we can hurt Him, maybe even kill Him—at least drive Him from our world once more.”

  They stared at each other, and dust motes drifted through the room between them, catching the soft light that emanated from the blessed swords and spears and arrows.

  “If this fails, we are all dead, and are souls condemned,” Jeselri said.

  “It will not fail.” If he does not believe me, he’ll have his people rise against us in the night, just as the High Priest tried to do, and deliver us to the Lerumites. Davril had to force himself to breathe normally.

  “This will be a tricky battle,” Jeselri went on. “Uulos holds every advantage.”

  “We have surprise.”

  “He has spies.”

  “So do we.”

  Silence. “I do not think the blessed swords and spears and such will be enough, Davril. There are too few of them.”

  Davril tried not to grind his teeth. “You know my plan, Jeselri. Our agents will cause chaos in our enemies’ ranks, then the vast portion of our army will strike, along with many of your own people. We will overwhelm the General’s forces, while our priests use their books to quicken the egg and weaken Uulos so that He cannot fight back. Then, when the way is clear and there are none to oppose them, our men, the ones that have been training, will use the blessed weapons to attack the Worm directly. And He will die.” Davril stared at Jeselri. “It’s a good plan.”

  Jeselri returned his stare. “And after he is dead, the Avestines will be equals with you Niardans?”

  “I’ve already made it law among my generals and officers. Even if I die, your people will be raised up.”

  Davril waited.

  At last the Patriarch nodded. “I am with you.”