Bent low, Krimko dragged out a heavy war-hammer. His pair of prized hammers had been Grirrg’s favorite weapons. He had wielded one up until the day he died in the quarry battle. The Luciferian had somehow acquired the spare.
Pinchôt took it by the handle; further amazed by the gift Krimko had given him. “Truly, you are the friend I’ve lost since Grinden.” He rummaged through the crate filled with various weapons and personal effects from the Narsh Barbarian armory that would help make Grirrg battle ready.
“There is more,” Krimko stated, producing a small bottle from his pocket. It was filled with a glittering, metallic looking unction that emanated a peculiar power. It radiated energy like the air near a lightning strike. “This is a spare vial of nawchash. Quickly, take it. Hide it on your person. It is too valuable to see daylight where any random spirit or demon might glimpse it or any seer might discern what it is and seek to steal it.”
Pinchôt promptly pocketed the potion. The warning was so grave that it overwhelmed his curiosity.
“Let me show you this marvelous device, invented long ago in a foreign land. This, my friend, is called the Khay-hee.” Krimko walked around Grirrg, who stood tall and motionless, a passive weapon waiting to be activated.
Light glinted off the device’s encasement as Pinchôt examined it. The artifact appeared to have been fused into the barbarian’s body. A steel medallion poked through his sternum where a glassine, shimmering jewel was mounted; metallic tubes sprouted off of the artifact like segmented legs attached to an arachnid body. Pinchôt laid his finger on the tubes; they pulsed with the gentle hum of internal movement.
“They are filled with ‘ãbêdâh serum,” Krimko grinned ear to ear with a devious smirk. “It courses through Grirrg’s veins!”
A slow, knowing smile pulled at the corner of Pinchôt’s lips. “I have made him a literal juggernaut.” Pinchôt placed the war hammer into Grirrg’s massive hand.
The barbarian turned and looked at Pinchôt. His hollow, vacant eyes burned cold and empty, yet as fully ready for battle as he’d ever been.
“How soon before we are ready to start tracking down rebels?”
“We’ve just got to pick a few additional men and gather supplies,” Krimko stated. “I’ve already had some provisions and weapons prepared with an executive order from Dyule.”
Pinchôt smiled deviously. “Then let’s go hunting.”
***
The day drew late and, despite Rashnir’s premonitions, no ill fate had befallen them. He and Zeh-Ahbe’ monitored the camp for hazards all day. Despite her threats, Ly’Orra and her companions remained out of sight; they appeared to have left, possibly gathering information and formulating a strategy for future strikes.
In the distance, the other danger lingered. The watcher remained on the crest of the hilltop. Building a fire, the pseudo-angelic figure waited.
Rashnir watched the cloaked creature with an unsettled heart. Something about him was not right, and the warrior’s soul buzzed with a warning that burned deep inside his chest. A spiritual heaviness fell on him whenever Rashnir checked on him from afar.
“What have you decided,” Zeh-Ahbe’ asked him.
Rashnir sighed, wishing he knew something, anything, about the thing lurking on the horizon. “We should go out and confront this entity.”
Zeh-Ahbe’ nodded. “It’s better to face him in the daylight than in the dark, should things go ill.”
“Exactly. Let me make arrangements for Jibbin with others… just in case.” His silence spoke enough. Whatever the creature on the hill was, they agreed that it was not human, and assumed it might be some kind of demon, though it did not carry itself like the minor fiends that they’d faced so far.
“I will have Sim-khaw’ watch us from the distance. His senses will be the best; he can, perhaps, give the group an advanced warning if this turns out hostile or launches an attack on our people.”
Rashnir nodded his approval. Minutes later, he and Zeh-Ahbe’ strode up the hill’s approach. The hooded figure stood to greet them. In fact, it appeared as if he’d been waiting for them to do exactly this.
“My name is EKERITHIA,” he stated cordially. “I didn’t want to alarm you and your group, so I thought it best to wait in the distance.”
The two Christians returned the demonic creature’s look with a skeptical glance. They still kept their distance, remembering their Grinden battle with beh’-tsah.
“I would answer any questions that you have, but there is too little time. Your friend is grave danger.”
Careful not to touch it, he reached inside his cloak and procured a thick tome, bound in heavy burlap cloths, Kevin’s Bible. It hung from the ropes ekerithia had tied around it as a handle.
“I hope that this is sufficient evidence to prove my words.”
“What?” Rashnir’s face fell aghast with dread. The doom seated in the pit of his stomach roared back to life, amplified a thousand times. “How did you get this?”
“I found it in the goblin tunnels under Sprazik, or what is left of Sprazik. The entire town has been annihilated by the Luciferian Order. They captured your friend …my friend.”
“Kevin would never befriend a demon,” Rashnir snapped, snatching the book away from the demon.
“Life is more than our mere alliances,” ekerithia replied. “Life is made up of our choices, and I chose to put my friendship in his hands. He must live. He has made a promise to me, one that he must survive if he is to accomplish it.”
“But you’re a demon,” Zeh-Ahbe' stated as if some reminder was needed.
“And I often wish it were not so; and to his credit, Kevin made this promise to me before I became as I am now.”
The fair-skinned demon shifted gears, controlling the conversation and not wanting to have to explain how that change came to pass.
“There is something that you should all know, the world of demons, and their precious Babel, is not as unified as you believe. I say this in strictest confidence, assuming that you, Kevin's most trusted friends, are as trustworthy as he. The strongholds of the Gathering will soon come falling down. The destruction will come sooner rather than later.”
Rashnir bit his lip and nodded. Something in his spirit confirmed the truth of the entity’s story. “Tell us what happened.”
Briefly, ekerithia summarized the events of the Sprazik attack and his assumptions that they would transport Kevin to beh’-tsah, the chief of the Gathering. They would bring Kevin to Babel.
“First, they will take him through the underground labyrinth, a vast network of tunnels crafted before the first men set foot in this realm. They will ascend the tower at the Temple of Light and carry your friend to their central stronghold. Likely, they will take him to the demon’s feasting table.”
Rashnir bit his lower lip in consternation. He couldn’t imagine trusting a demon, but the longer he held onto his friend’s Bible, the heavier it seemed to weigh. Everything within urged him to fly at once and rescue his friend and mentor. Rashnir knew that his mind would debate his heart over and over, even win the argument and insist that he remain with the people he’d been commissioned to lead. But he also knew that his heart had already decided on a course of action.
Everything within him urged the ranger to rescue his lost friend.
Chapter Nine
Absinthium’s nostrils burned as the acrid smoke bit at the tissue walls. Tears ran down his cheeks and the wizard’s eyelids fluttered but he did not pull his head away from the bowl of smoldering embers. Pushing through the white-hot pain in his senses, he found the silver cord that he searched for.
Grasping the power he sought, he mixed it with the dark fuel of his demon-master and plunged into a hazy vision, discerning the future. His spell would not show him exactly what he wanted to see as much as it would reveal what he needed to see to achieve victory.
Sweat poured from his physical body, but Absinthium paid it no mind. The mor
e he recognized it, the more it translated through the smoke he scryed, giving everyone a liquid-like appearance.
The arch-mage stood with arms crossed, powerful. A liquefied version of the dark lord towered nearby, cowing Rashnir, that once-cursed warrior. The environment surprised him; they were in Babel, at the spire’s gate. With that realization, everything else suddenly became more real and the vision seized the mage’s full consciousness.
“Get out of here!” the werewolf coughed and spluttered, spitting through the bloody drool that gurgled up from within.
Rashnir stared at his friend, panicked. Kevin lay on the ground just behind the two warriors. Freshly cut manacles still clung to the preacher’s limp wrists. “Run, Zeh-Ahbe’, I’ll hold them off!”
Looming above them, the demon laughed at the impotent courage of his captured mortals. Nothing could save them and Absinthium could nearly taste the victory.
“Go!” Zeh-Ahbe’ charged at the monster even as blood sputtered from the gaping wound in his midsection.
The werewolf staggered and lurched as he closed the gap. Snarling, beh’-tsah sliced Zeh-Ahbe’s feet from under him and stomped the lycan into the ground, breaking him open with a sickly, cracking and squishing sound.
Bellowing with victory, the Dark Lord of the Gathering charged towards the remaining humans. Spitting fire and flaring his wings wide, beh’-tsah slammed into the ranger, bringing his blade crashing to the ground with enough force to split a mountain. Flames erupted with volcanic fury and the ground shook, but it was the point of an azure blade piercing through his master’s spine that lodged in Absinthium’s terror-stricken eyes.
Wounded and bloodied, Rashnir stumbled from under the lurching fiend. Absinthium screamed as beh’-tsah slumped to his side while the ranger triumphantly severed the demon’s head. That dreaded blue flame melted beh’-tsah’s skull to slag, evaporating it like mist—no spell existed that could revive him from such a condition!
The vision began to fade and Absinthium shook with hatred. Fear burned through his veins. Even as the supernatural sight darkened he watched the ranger and preacher descend the spire and escape the clutches of the Gathering. Soon, he saw only smoke, then the inside of his closed eyelids.
Absinthium vomited the last remaining fluids from his stomach and discarded his sweat-soaked robes before smashing the incense to the floor. He chugged from a jar of water to replenish his body before dehydration set in.
Terror lodged deep in his chest. He had to stop this vision from coming to pass. The Arch-Mage saw not victory but defeat in his vision. Rashnir would kill his master unless he intervened.
The ranger had to be stopped by any means possible. Existence’s most dangerous warrior was scheduled by fate to destroy the mighty beh’-tsah. A trap had to be laid, and the perfect bait already languished in his master’s dungeon.
***
Trailed by four of her advisors, Elo’misce ducked below a damp, rotting beam. Darkness enveloped the elves and the fetid smell of decomposing wood filled their nostrils. This mining shaft had obviously been abandoned for a long time and for good reasons.
Pressing through the blackness and towards the sound of trickling water, they finally arrived at their appointment. A faint glow lit the center of a large, rough-hewn chamber. Someone had cobbled together a makeshift chair at the center by the light. A single goblin sat alone in the middle of the luminous halo.
Elo’misce and her men walked into the light. A cracking rumble briefly trembled from within the shadows as the ground shifted minutely. “Is this location safe?”
“It is less safe than usual,” a new goblin voice spoke from the darkness.
“Who are you?” Elo’misce demanded.
The quick sounds of bowstrings snapping sprung up all around and the goblin on the chair fell over dead, pierced from every side. The elves recoiled in surprise. Without harming any of the elves, the under-dwellers' display made it abundantly clear: the goblins could kill them on a whim.
“I am the reason you have come to power, Elo’misce. It was I who decided Mar’zal was unworthy. I am the true king and engineer behind everything happening in Gleend.” grr’Shaalg stepped into the light and seated himself on the chair. He kicked his feet up on the dead creature’s body, nonchalantly using him as a footstool. “He was disposable, and a demonstration was needed for you to know the gravity of your situation. I present you with a choice. This same bargain was struck with Bwar after Mar’zal refused.”
Elo’misce glanced at her men. She couldn’t read any of their stony expressions… not in this low light. “I’m listening,” she flatly stated.
“My forces are already on the move,” grr’Shaalg said.
She gave him a cold, inquisitive stare.
“I know what it is that you want: a nation without human influence. I am poised to give that to you, to tip the scales of this civil war in your favor.”
“What I want is the total supremacy of the Elven Empire,” Elo’misce clarified.
“Of course,” grr’Shaalg leaned back upon the simple throne. “And eradicating the humans is the first stage of that grand plan. I envision a new Gleend emerging from the ashes of this war that I’ve engineered.”
The elf gave him a wry look.
“Yes, it was my plan all along. I used the Luciferians to stoke the fire of malcontent, arranged for the assassination of the royal line, and organized the ekthroic cleansing teams who now patrol the lands, eliminating humans. You see, in the new Gleend, the Elven race will control the dirt above ground, and the dwarves will return below ground to the halls they once prized before we cast them out into the sun.”
“And the goblins? Surely you cannot dictate to the other under-kingdoms such terms: force them to surrender the subterranean territory below Gleend.”
Squinting at her, grr’Shaalg replied, “I AM, the goblin empire. My every word is law and my plans become reality. I am the Shadow King and I rule all in the firmament below your feet.”
“I’m sorry,” Elo’misce offered a terse, political apology. “I didn’t mean that you lacked the authority. I wondered where you would send your own kind. Where will the goblins relocate to; why would they surrender the area?”
“I have loftier goals than the dirt above or below Gleend,” grr’Shaalg retorted. “This is merely one phase in a larger plot against higher kingdoms.”
Elo’misce nodded, seeming to accept his vague answer for what it was. “How will you ensure that we will retain this land? Dwarves have become accustomed to life under the skies; many of them may want to occupy both realms.”
The goblin snapped his claws and two smaller whelps pranced into the flame light. They carried a long parchment that they quickly unrolled and held perpendicular to the ground, displaying a detailed cartography of Gleend’s borders and landmarks.
“You see your beloved country, yes? The lands crawl with the bearded oafs,” grr’Shaalg taunted. “What if there was a way to eradicate nearly all of them in one swift maneuver?”
“Wipe them out. Genocide. Yes,” she cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, “our people would rejoice if someone did such an act, but that kind of campaign could never be waged in the short-term. It could never happen; they are as vigilant as the elves are suspicious.”
“You’re not thinking deviously enough,” grr’Shaalg clacked his talons against the arm of his chair.
“Our alchemists have tried poisons and diseases. The dwarven constitution is too hardy.”
The goblin lifted off his throne and stepped in front of the map. “Do you not know the history of the Drindak Canyons? I thought the longevity of the elves would surely lead to a longer memory of their lands and historical deeds.”
Elo’misce gave him a severe look to hide her confusion.
“Surely the sheer, vertical cliffs of the canyon walls should be a clue. Most of Gleend rests upon the edge of a knife. The crust of the land at these marked points is suspended upon gi
ant support pillars. I have seen them myself. These circled points on the map are the substructures that were altered millennia ago when the canyon was formed—part of an argument between powers far older and greater than yours or mine.
“With the proper leverage and power, large tracts of land can be dropped vertically, collapsing upon everything inside the crust, entombing all within.”
A malicious spark lit behind Elo’misce’s eyes. “Yes,” she planned aloud. Return the dwarves to their home realm; honor them at a gathering in their native tract. Collect them in one central location to pay tribute and then crush them all with minimal surface displacement.”
The insatiable elf turned to her peers. They all nodded in agreement, just as eager for such a plan as she.
“Do we have an agreement, Elo’misce?”
“Yes,” she nodded vigorously. “If you can deliver on such a plan, then we will ally with you.”
“Excellent,” grr'Shaalg clapped his scaly hands together. Blades glinted in the dark as goblin assassins seized all of Elo'misce's peers. The elven consort stood rigidly, not provoking their captors.
“My lady?” one asked, pleading for intervention.
Elo’misce looked from his eyes to grr’Shaalg’s. “What is this, Shadow King?”
“Surely you understand the need for security and secrecy,” grr’Shaalg cooed. “We cannot have any potential loose ends.”
The elven diplomat looked back at her men and understood. grr’Shaalg was right, the need for secrecy was too great. She trusted her four men—but she her appointment had been relatively new… she did not know these men.
“We will treat them as we treat all of our prisoners,” grr’Shaalg promised her, giving her a glimmer of hope for her comrades.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 77
