Demon of Destruction

by M. R. Mathias

  When Dendle pointed behind Davvy, he had no choice but to turn and look. What he saw caused the injured young man to stagger.

  About three hundred of the enemy gothicans were down on one knee with their weapons held out in a respectful bow. Around them, the remaining wood trolls lay dead.

  "What the hell?" Davvy mumbled.

  It was Writhick who answered. "It is a sign of respect, respect of the highest order," the big gothican said in a voice that showed he, too, had great respect for Davvy. "They are saying they will fight for you now. It is clear Goth is on your side."

  "Why?" Davvy asked, clearly confused.

  "Because you just killed Krookin Bloodthorn, the king of the wood trolls, all by yourself."

  No one tried to stop the rock trolls that fled back toward Camberly. They were too worn down and, besides, Captain Murdle told them it would be better for Lord Ulrich and his demon god to know exactly what had happened this day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lord Ulrich was enjoying a private feast of freshly prepared fish. It was just one of the many food stuffs taken from the kingdom's port by his raiding party. So much fish had been taken that it had been carried to Camberly by the wagon load and buried in the snow so that it would keep. Ulrich was pleased with the situation, very pleased. They could last the winter now, without worry, being served by human slaves taken from Antole and Sonly. They could keep warm in the buildings built between Camberly's small outer wall and the huge, more protective one. They had shops, homes, inns, and had found enough material that those who couldn't be packed under the roofs had well-insulated tents and lean-tos built against the outside of the outer wall. As long as they didn't wander too close to the primary walls where there were Narvozian archers posted, they were fine. King Barden had men watching night and day, and they were itching for a chance to put an arrow through one of the gothicans.

  The message for the people of Camberly to hand over their king was scribed and sent over the wall by way of a well-thrown spear, and then punctuated by Lord Ulrich himself, slowly and brutally dismembering several humans as the kingdom's archers watched on helplessly. To make it worse, the body parts were left lying in the fresh white snow, preserved for those looking down to see at all times.

  After a few days passed without response, Lord Ulrich had other bodies hacked apart and displayed so that those on the walls couldn't help but see them and ponder if that would be their fate as well.

  It hadn't yet snowed again, but Lord Ulrich had gone so far as to order that, when it did, his men were to go out and stake blankets over the bodies so that after the new snow fell the blankets could be removed and his gruesome display wouldn't be covered over.

  He was just thinking about the group he'd sent to Uppervale when a commotion broke outside the smaller wall where some of his gothicans and almost all of the trolls had chosen to stay. A few moments later, a messenger appeared at the door of the large chapel room he'd taken over and turned into his headquarters.

  "Lord Ulrich," the young gothican said flatly. "King Craggon requests your presence. It seems that he has dire news from Uppervale."

  "Can't that stupid troll come to me?" He growled angrily. He knew, though, that the troll king wouldn't step foot in the city unless it was to do battle or negotiate a surrender.

  "As you know—" the messenger started.

  "Yes, yes I know," Ulrich yelled at him.

  "There is something you should see as well," added the gothican sheepishly.

  Lord Ulrich grabbed a wool cloak from the wall where it hung. It was large by human standards, but it fit him more like a waist cape than a cloak. He'd had to tear the sleeves out of it just to get his huge arms through the holes. As he trudged through the snow, he decided he would order one of the slaves to make him a fitted cloak once this business with the rock trolls was done.

  Outside, he and the messenger made their way out of the east gate into the encampment, where Craggon stood among a dozen rock trolls who were steaming in the cool air as they heaved in breath after breath.

  "What is it?" he yelled angrily before he was even upon them.

  "These trolls say our people were defeated in Uppervale by dwarves, humans, and—" the gothican captain conveying the message stopped and looked away for the moment.

  "And what?" Ulrich yelled, only louder this time. He was upon them before the captain could find words. "And—?"

  "And other gothicans, my lord." The captain was clearly nervous. "These trolls say some of our goths bowed their allegiance to a human boy after he killed King Bloodthorn single-handedly."

  "A human boy killed King Bloodthorn? Ha!" Ulrich's mirth was sarcastic. The tale was preposterous. These rock trolls were probably deserters who had made the story up.

  "There's more, Lord Ulrich," the captain said.

  "More?" His expression might have melted the snow around them it held so much heat in it. "Come on then. Out with it. All of it."

  "They were aided by a dragon and a magic wielder."

  Ulrich reached out and snatched one of the rock trolls by his throat and lifted him up to his tipped toes. "You lie!" He yelled into the startled creature's purpling face.

  Several of the other trolls who had returned began barking and grunting to Craggon in their crude language. After a moment, the king of the rock trolls silenced them with a growl and a glare from his jaundiced eyes.

  "Ulrich," Craggon yelled. "No lies. Your people turn enemy," Craggon said before snatching the captain who had been speaking to Lord Ulrich by the throat and taking a savage bite out of his face. Craggon pulled away, tearing the gurgling gothican's lips and most of his nose off and spat them into the snow at Lord Ulrich's feet.

  He threw the shrieking captain to the side and stalked away, leaving the rock troll in Ulrich's grasp to whatever fate the gothican battle lord decided.

  A few gothicans appeared, swords drawn, but Ulrich shook his head. Still, he was not one to let the chance to kill a rock troll pass him by so he snapped the wide-eyed creature's neck like a branch, and then twisted its head until it faced backwards. He then ordered one of the gothicans with his sword out to relieve their captain of his misery.

  Lord Ulrich waited until the sickened but excited gothican finished wiping the captain's blood from his sword. "You said there was something else to see?" This was directed to the messenger who had come to fetch him.

  "Yes, Lord Ulrich," the messenger said, "over by the river."

  Down at the river’s edge, by the crossing barge that had finally been completed, several gothicans and a few trolls were looking down at an empty barrel keg that had a rope tied around it. As the gothican soldiers hauled it to shore, they found that this barrel, like a few others they'd pulled out of the river already, were full of the heads of gothicans and rock trolls alike.

  "That's the fourth one today, Lord Ulrich," the messenger said. "One of them contained a huge wood troll missing an arm, and a foot, and I think it is Krookin Bloodthorn’s corpse." He took a step back before adding, "The first barrel contained the heads of those of your gothicans who held rank."

  "Look, there's a message, just like the other one," one of the gothicans called up from the river's edge. He rolled the barrel around so that Lord Ulrich could see what had been burned into the side of it.

  Goth is with us.

  The words were branded crudely into the side of the barrel.

  Lord Ulrich looked at them all for a long time. "Let the rest of the barrels float past," he ordered. "Never forget,” he then yelled loud enough for all of them plucking corpses from the river to hear. “Goth left us in the mountains with nothing. If Goth is with them, then I'm sure they will meet a similar fate."

  The next morning, a spiked log with four gothicans and a rock troll impaled on it floated by, and later that afternoon, a small raft piled high with the severed limbs of rock trolls rode the current.

  And so it went, at least once a day, a body or two drifted by, be it on a barrel, staked to a log
, or just on its own. It was a constant reminder they were not invincible and there were more battles to fight than the one waiting inside Camberly's walls.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In Pharark’s otherworldly chamber, Lord Ulrich told him of the dragon and the magic wielder, and the army of dwarves. The demon immediately growled something about a Warrior of the Void who'd led the group of elves and dwarves that destroyed the sapphire he'd been seeking. When he heard that a human boy had single-handedly killed Krookin Bloodthorn, he thought he knew for sure who it was.

  Sitting on his pile of skulls, he reached out and thumped the cage that was dangling at his eye level on a large iron chain. It went spinning and swinging around slowly.

  "You worry about Camberly and leave the valley to me, Ulrich," the demon bellowed from atop his pile of bones. He and the battle lord both watched the pale, timid, black-haired girl rise up and peer out through the bars of the slowly swinging cage. "I have something this human boy wants, and now I know where he is, I think it's time to use my bait to trap him."

  "Yes, Master," Lord Ulrich said with an evil smile. Then after a long awkward pause he added, "I've brought you a gift."

  Pharark's eyes flew open with curiosity, and he turned his gray head to look down at the gothican with an almost child-like expectant expression.

  Lord Ulrich reached into the burlap sack that had been at his feet throughout the conversation and pulled out Krookin Bloodthorn's severed head.

  "For your pile," Ulrich gave a slight bow.

  Pharark reached out and greedily snatched it from Ulrich's hands. "The skull of a troll king," he said, nodding appreciatively. He then held it up in front of the cage. The girl gagged at the sight of it, and then crumpled into a fetal ball on the filthy floor of her tiny prison.

  The demon and the gothican both laughed aloud at her discomfort.

  "Stupid human breader." Pharark laughed. "You will be glad to know that you and your mate will be together again soon." Pharark thumped the cage again, this time sending it twirling and swinging more violently. "For all of eternity, you will be together, surrounded by royalty and the most unique creatures found in all the realms of all the worlds. Right here on my shit pile. Soon, even King Barden will join you, isn't that right, battle lord?"

  "Yes, Master," Ulrich answered with another slight bow of his head. He wondered if King Barden was already dead, and the thought brought a smile to his face.

  "Go now, Lord Ulrich," Pharark said menacingly. "Leave us."

  Ulrich Gruel wasted no time leaving the demon's lair, and though he was happy the demon was pleased, he was relieved to step through the strange magical portal that led from Pharark's chamber into the snowy Gothful Forest outside of Camberly. He hadn’t realized those bones he sat on were a shit pile, the remains of what the demon ate, but now the stench and the source of the fluid that drained into the flaming pools on either side of his dais was no longer a mystery.

  Later, long after her cage had settled, Suclair took the raw meat the demon offered her and ate it quickly before she had a chance to think about what it was or where it had come from. The demon rarely left his pile, but when he did, he was gone for quite some time and usually returned with meat for her. She was so hungry, she probably would have eaten troll meat, or worse. Luckily, the roof of Pharark's cavern dripped water continuously, and all she had to do was reach out with her hand cupped, and in only a few moments, it would fill. She also used the water to try and stay clean. During the demon's long spells of sitting slumber, she sometimes took off Nixy's studded leather armor and bathed herself. She was glad beyond measure that the demon seemed to have no sexual interest in her. She took off the black-haired wig as well, but only for short periods of time. She knew if Pharark found out she wasn't Nixy, he would just kill her or eat her alive like she'd seen him eat several of the people from Nepram brought to him by some strange scaled creature called Ocher Slithery. One of them was King Rayden, though she thought his end served him right for making a deal with a demon to invade Narvoza.

  After she finished her meat, she drank a palm full of water to wash it down and watched as the demon spoke into the stinking slime pool at his feet in a language she didn't understand.

  Pharark jerked up and roared in what was clearly anger. He was forced to flap his little wings to keep from toppling off his pile. After a time of huffing and fuming, the demon calmed, and then meticulously restacked the bones he'd scattered during his fit of rage. He grunted and cursed under his breath until he was satisfied and comfortably reseated on his throne of bones.

  "It seems your void warrior is no longer in the valley Lord Ulrich spoke of. If he was, I would have sensed his magic." Pharark stifled a yawn. "Very soon, we will go to this valley, you and I, and see if we can't lure him to us, but for now, I will rest."

  Moments later, the demon's long, low rumbling snores echoed through the strange, magical chamber.

  The first two of the smaller tunnels around Camberly were opened up less than two days after the battle in Uppervale. Though news of the great victory and the great loss of life hadn't reached them through the tunnel system yet, they knew the main details of what had happened because Chureal had met with Braxton in the void and told him about it.

  Braxton found it odd, but fitting, that Davvy had made himself into a hero by besting the king of the wood trolls. It was a good thing, too, for he needed Davvy and some of the other archers for his plan to get Pharark, and Davvy's status as a hero would only help things along. The dwarves were laboring mightily, excavating a massive chamber the way Braxton described it to them. It was directly underneath the rock troll encampment outside of the east gate. The dwarves had promised that it would be finished soon, as would the other constructions he'd asked to be built by their craftsmen.

  This night, a small party was about to sneak out into the encampment and poison the large pile of fish the gothicans had buried in the snow, and whatever else they could get to while remaining unseen. It was the first of many devious little tricks that were about to be carried out on the arrogant gothicans and rock trolls who were holding Camberly hostage.

  Braxton kept busy supervising the dwarves helping him with his plans, so it was Big H and Cryelos who were leading this night's raid. Soon, there would be seven or eight more tunnels opened, some inside Camberly, and some at various points throughout the area outside the city, most with staging chambers that would hold all of the dwarves who would mount the surprise attack in the spring, if not sooner.

  Braxton sat back and relaxed and sought the jewel in the void. Once he was there, he went through the plan he had conjured for the demon for the hundredth time.

  He was brought out of his reverie later by Cryelos, who sported a wide grin. Big H was behind him, shivering and grumbling while they told him that anyone unlucky enough to eat the fish or drink the ale they had poisoned would either die or wish themselves dead. They also told him a bitter ice storm had hit and the world above was feeling winter's full might. After congratulating them on their small, but deadly victory Braxton passed a jug of brandy he had finagled from one of the tunnelers and passed it around. The three friends enjoyed each other's company in the warmth and safety that only the underground could offer.

  Luckily for Lord Ulrich, he'd had his fill of fish and opted for roast pig the last few nights. Several hundred of his men, though, were now vomiting and squatting out in the ice. Several had died from the tainted stuff, and more were dying every day. Lord Ulrich and King Craggon were also stumped and angered by the murders occurring all over the outskirts of their encampments. Each night, two, three, or sometimes half a dozen gothicans or rock trolls were killed in their sleep. They knew it was dwarves because of the little footprints the murderers left around the bodies, but the trail was always wiped away or covered by snow before they could follow it to the hole that had to be close by.

  Each day still brought another flotilla of dead. The rock trolls, and especially the gothicans, were starting to l
ose their confidence. Some of them were even whispering about the messages that Goth was on the side of their enemies and not theirs. The latest epidemic of unexpected illness that had affected almost a third of the group only added fuel to that fire. Lord Ulrich knew that something would have to be done soon to restore the confidence and faith of his warriors, or what was left of them.

  Amazingly enough, something happened that did just that, only two days after nearly a thousand gothicans died from the tainted fish.

  The tower bell of the Camberly’s palace rang thirteen times. Then a man who called himself General Garcell appeared at the top of the primary wall over the eastern gate turret. When Lord Ulrich, King Craggon, and their escort appeared just out of arrow range, the general called out to them.

  "King Barden has ordered us to open the gates and attack," the general said with an almost embarrassed look on his face.

  Lord Ulrich laughed loudly, and once they understood what was said, the trolls of the escort barked their mirth at the thought of battling the humans right there in the snow.

  "Come on then," Ulrich called back. "Open up the gate."

  "My oath is to the people of this kingdom, not to King Barden," the general said, clearly embarrassed by their laughter. "We will not attack this day, nor will we surrender."

  The general's face and voice suddenly turned as hard and cold as the ice around them. "Here is what you've asked us for, but know this, what was once a race of mighty warriors has reduced itself to nothing more than murdering, raping filth. Gothicans are no more than another breed of troll."

  Lord Ulrich's blood boiled with rage at hearing that, but then King Barden's bound and gagged body was lowered down the wall to the ground by a rope.

  "His hate for you, and yours for him, have destroyed what you once were. And what you will never be again."

  Those words stung Lord Ulrich deeply, and he was glad that only a dozen or so of his gothicans heard them. Keeping his anger in check, and with what dignity he could pull from such an onslaught of truth, he spoke back, spouting nothing but truth himself.