ekerithia sidestepped the majordomo and approached the queen who lounged upon a comfortable chaise lounge. Her throne sat upon a raised dais at the center of the room, but the remainder of the chamber had been filled with more plush appurtenances.
The polished stone was both decorative and functional for the vampire leader; no matter how many moppings the floor received, the grout lines could not surrender the bloodstains they’d absorbed over the millennia.
Lilth greeted him with a smile that revealed her sharp incisors. “Greetings, EKERITHIA,” she acknowledged the creature’s final transformation. “It has been far too long.”
He'd nearly forgotten how beautiful she was. Her pale skin shone alabaster in the light of the decorative candelabras stationed around the room; raven-hued highlights framed and shot through her platinum hair. She wore only the finest clothing; the vampire aristocracy had their own style—all of it summed up as seductive. Her intense eyes and manicured appearance would prove siren-like to any being, but ekerithia was not bound by the trappings of other creatures.
“Greetings, Queen Lilth. You appear as well as ever.”
She smiled. “But you certainly have changed, Watcher.” She leaned forward and smirked playfully. “Ever have I found you intriguing. You certainly seem to have come into your own. And the only thing I find more appealing than an interesting story is a man with power.”
Lilth leaned back and made a show of caressing the buttons which barely held her clothing upon her lithe frame. She gave him a flirtatious look, inviting him to unfasten the hooks of her corset and ravage her.
ekerithia stared at her, stone-faced. This was not what he had come here for and she knew it. The invitation had been a long-standing one and he'd shown no interest in taking advantage of it.
Lilth smiled lasciviously and took a more proper sitting posture regarding him with mock surprise. She only pouted for a second, knowing this was not a game she could engage him with.
“What pressing business finds you in Nod?”
“Long have I watched over the realm. But you have existed in this sphere for even longer than I. While I possess vast knowledge, I am short of omniscience.”
“You have come for information, then? Advice?” The demon had surprised her, yet again.
“I have few equals on this field, and I’m sure you know things hidden even from me.”
“What, or who, are you looking for?”
“I want to rapidly age a creature.”
“Human or ekthro?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m quite intrigued,” she grinned, resting her chin on her fists. “I know a way,” she stated, rising to her feet. The vampires reached up to touch his tall shoulder and she walked a circle around him as she examined his new form. “But it may require something of you.”
ekerithia glared at her.
“What is this price?”
“Just that you keep an open mind towards a future… alliance. Nothing concrete, even.”
The demonic visitor nodded to accept her terms.
“Before you cloistered yourself away within that tower there lived a race of humanoids that lived in Domn.”
“The atelίs?”
“You know of them?”
“Only by name. They were gone prior to my arrival, as you pointed out.”
She fixed him with her brilliant, amethyst eyes. “The atelίs were hyper-intelligent, but they were incomplete and they could not procreate. They had already split into several factions when I was still creating the first line of wendigo.
“One faction devoted itself to technological advancement; they harnessed the power of lightning and crafted ghosts who lived within the machines: a consciousness of its own.
“Another devoted itself to self-improvement and perfection. They grafted biological and technological components into their own bodies, hoping to both surpass all others and to live forever.
“The other bloc sought the means to replicate themselves: the core material of their flesh. They developed methods cloning and even transferring and copying memories and knowledge.”
“And what happened to them?”
“War. For all their intelligence, their polarized philosophical positions led them to destroy each other. They are not quite extinct, but very nearly so. The atelίs live on in a variety of manners, but Domn will never again rise. Her children often harvest humans for spare parts in their vain attempts to live forever.”
“Then what good are they to me?”
“Them? None. But one of their creations might be exactly what you desire: a machine which emits an energy that ages the flesh and replicates mental images, memories, personalities. It is how that third faction readied their next generation of bodies and inserted their minds into them.” She pursed her lips lustily. “Would you like me to draw you a map?”
ekerithia smiled.
“I will also require the service of a loyal ghoul.”
***
Kevin awoke. His throat burned and felt as if it had been stuffed with briars. He gasped for air and looked around. Only a thin shaft of light leaked into the stony well-like chamber. The only entrance to his prison was high overhead.
He crawled around the floor, searching for the first source of available water. He felt that at any given moment he might die, consumed by the burning in his throat.
“You are awake?” a smooth voice asked him.
Kevin looked around the cisternesque prison and realized that he was not alone. “Yes.” It hurt to use his ragged voice. “Water?”
“I’ve saved you some,” the other prisoner said. “You’ve been unconscious since they threw you in here several days ago.”
Greedily chugging half of the clay cup’s contents, he tried to conserve the other half, taking only tiny sips to wet his throat. He raised the cup and nodded his thanks. Only now did he pause to examine his cellmate. The massive being was clearly blind. “Thank you,” he forced the words to come from his aching esophagus.
The angelic being wore scars and permanent marks from the many beatings he had received. He was absent two lower digits of his right hand and wore a ragged strip of cloth across his eyes. Bloody marks had seeped through it long ago staining the blindfold-like bandage where the sockets were. Kevin guessed that his eyes had been plucked out in as a form of torture. The creature’s wings hung limp and hadn’t been stretched in ages. Many of the feathers had ratted and snarled.
The angel was dirty and obviously in ill health. “You’re most welcome,” he said. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. My name is Karoz.”
Chapter Eleven
Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’s horses crested a hill. The grade slopped down on the northern side and the mounts uttered ragged grunts and groans. They’d been pushed to the physical brink and could not last much longer before collapsing. From atop their animals, Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ could see the destruction that spread for miles.
Smoke still crawled upward in languishing tendrils as the ruins of Sprazik smoldered. The city had somehow been completely wiped off the map; not a single structure stood upon the charred earth. Stone foundations had crumbled and wooden pallet walls had turned to cinder and charcoal.
Its level of destruction took even Rashnir by surprise: a blanket of annihilation so utter and complete. Holes pocked the distant surface; large swaths of soil were absent, carved into black chasms. Corpses of men, goblins, elves, and dwarves littered the vale. Dwarven war carts lay tipped and busted and feathered arrow shafts stuck into every surface, looking like a caricature of pygmy darts at this distance.
Rashnir clicked his tongue and urged his horse onward with a heavy heart. He angled the beast towards the only area with movement. His horse would no longer run and so he trotted forward more slowly than Rashnir wished. The pace forced his heart to take in the macabre view of the devastation. So many friends lay motionless upon the killing field.
Finally, the horses
reluctantly arrived to dump their riders at their destination.
Only a few steps away, three of the four resting around the campfire waved them forward. Dri’bu appeared the only one capable of making the stew which they had gathered around the campfire to eat. Kyrius lay upon a pile of bedding, breathing shallowly. Havara wobbled in place; with his leg bound tightly between splint boards he defied the pain and stood to lean upon a crude crutch in order to welcome his friends.
Barely recognizable outside of his assassin’s garb, the pale prisoner sat stripped to the waist. His head hung and the long, unkempt white hair hid his face. Prock’s unpigmented, white skin nearly shimmered under the midday light, only broken by the dark mark between the man’s hunched shoulder blades.
“Curious,” Rashnir remarked momentarily, before returning his attention to the urgent matter at hand.
Dri’bu took the horses by the reigns as the riders dismounted. “These animals are on the verge of death,” the elf lamented, wasting no time to guide them towards food and water.
“We’ll get new ones,” Rashnir said. His sense of urgency overrode his compassion. He turned to his remaining friends. Rashnir briefly embraced Havara and then sank next to Kyrius. Zeh-Ahbe’ followed close behind. “Will he be alright?” Rashnir asked of the wounded angel.
Havara winced as he pivoted to them. “Dri’bu is certain he will recover.”
“Where is Jorge?” Zeh-Ahbe’ asked.
“Where do you think?” The acolyte spat from below the thick mop of hair. Prock had somehow worked his gag free. He tipped his head enough to deliver a baleful glare with his reddened eyes. “Your foolish angel is charging headlong into the mouth of the beast.”
Zeh-Ahbe’ looked to Havara who nodded and confirmed it.
“The Order didn’t want this one back?” Rashnir asked.
Nobody responded to the comment. They let it linger for the indictment that it was: the Order left their own to die.
“When did Jorge leave?” Rashnir finally asked as the elf returned.
The horses ate voraciously in the distance. “He left yesterday,” Dri’bu replied. “He was on foot. You can overtake him tomorrow.”
“We should be able to get to him tonight,” Rashnir insisted.
“Your horses will die without rest,” he insisted firmly. “And that’s if they’ll even let you into the saddle.”
“We’ll find new ones, then.”
Dri’bu crossed his thin arms and looked at Rashnir skeptically. “Be my guest and help yourself to any of the remaining livestock.” He spread his arms wide for emphasis.
Rashnir looked around at the war-torn battlescape. The only visible creature among the blackened remains of the city was a guinea hen that clucked and pecked the ground for insects. He sighed. “The horses can be ready by morning?”
“Unless we can find a small enough saddle for the poultry it’s the only option. But yes, I believe they will be rested enough by then. I have a way with animals; I’ll do my best to prepare them.”
Havara interjected, “Maybe those three will loan you theirs?” He pointed up towards the hilltop from where his friends had come. “Did they come with you?”
Rashnir and Dri’bu shielded their eyes from the sun and looked. Three women on horseback perched in the distance. They turned their animals and walked out of sight behind the ridge to shield their movements from the Christians.
“Friends of yours?” Havara asked.
Rashnir clenched his jaw. He had hoped that they couldn’t follow them through such a hard ride. These horses had not been overly fast, despite pushing them to their limits. They’d been the first mounts available in their moment of need.
“No,” he simply said.
***
Zilke sat at the table with grr’Shaalg. His insides roiled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Raised in a mostly human environment, the anomalous goblin still felt uncomfortable when immersed entirely amongst his own kind.
[You have secured your appointment within the Temple of Light?] grr’Shaalg asked. Eyeing him up and down, the Shadow King knew that Zilke felt he had something to prove to his species—it was an attitude he felt certain he could manipulate.
Nodding, Zilke replied, [Yes. I’ve notified my superiors and subordinates in Grinden of my short sabbatical in order to study in the great libraries there. The King is currently searching for a qualified individual to take my post, but I should be cleared to leave shortly.]
[Perfect,] grr’Shaalg said. [I have need of you once again as one of my most trusted friends.] The goblin handed his Luciferian kinsman a rolled up note and grinned while imagining Dyule throw a tantrum at the loss of his newest advisor so soon.
He turned the paper over in his paws. [What is this?]
[I need you to find something like this and secure it for me.]
[I understand my duty to my race,] Zilke said. [Do you fear that continued thievery within the Order will shed suspicion upon us?]
grr’Shaalg shook his head. [Do not worry about that, but don’t make any rash choices either. Our race needs this thing, even if it seems like such an irrelevant piece of my grand plan. This list could secure the continued advancement of our people.]
Noticing his reluctance, grr’Shaalg continued. [It is not needed immediately. Take the note with you. If such a thing even exists or can be made, let me know. We cannot tip our hand or our enemies will guess our plot. They must not see us marshaling any forces without direct orders. I want this, but not at the expense of my inside man.] grr’Shaalg was an exceptional liar.
[So long as I’m able to perform my actual studies while I am there, too,] Zilke insisted.
grr’Shaalg nodded. So he is a true believer—Zilke wants to protect his own interests and opportunity to avail himself of the Temple’s resources. [Of course! I need you to be as learned as possible.] He embraced the Luciferian kinsman who had lingered so long in the shadow of his mentor, Frinnig. grr’Shaalg poured on his diplomatic charm. [When our kind rises to dominance over this land, who do you think I would choose to install as ruling arch-mage of The Order except for one of our own?]
Zilke looked up with surprised flattery and desire. He nodded. [I will search for this thing,] he promised and then departed.
***
By late afternoon Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ spotted the distant traveler as he slogged forward at a brisk pace. The tall jogger headed straight towards the western tower. Minutes later, they overtook him, even on the legs of such weary horses.
As they caught up, they dismounted and kept pace on foot with the cloaked pilgrim who refused to slow. “Do you have a plan?” Rashnir asked.
“Go back,” Jorge insisted from below his disguise as a member of house Horpah. “This mission is suicide.”
“So you do have a plan, but it’s terrible?” Zeh-Ahbe’ offered.
Jorge answered with grim silence and the determined gait he’d set a day previous. Finally, he repeated, “Go back. The others will need you—especially if I fail again.”
Rashnir almost chuckled at the order. “No.”
Jorge turned to look at him.
“We’re not going anywhere but to the tower. This mission is bigger than you,” Rashnir insisted.
The angel sighed and relented. He knew that there was no convincing either of them.
Rashnir made his case. “You’re going to need help. You’d have just flown to Briganik if it was possible, so you’re obviously injured.”
Jorge shot him a glance that confirmed his suspicions. “It will heal… in time.”
For several minutes they traveled in silence. The horses perked up at the slower pace.
“We’re being followed,” Jorge said without breaking stride. “They’re a long ways off.”
“Yeah,” Zeh-Ahbe’ said. “Three women. One wants to kill him. One wants to marry him to her ward. The other one doesn’t really care either way.”
Jorge glance
d at Rashnir. “That sounds about right,” he said dryly.
Rashnir rolled his eyes. “Do you know how long of a journey it is?” he tried to change the subject. “As early as possible, we should get you a horse, or at least ride doubled up. Even overladen, a slow horse is quicker than on foot.”
Jorge nodded slowly. “Very well. If you two insist on accompanying me, then we should make all due haste.”
***
Absinthium stared into the spicy smoke. His bleary, wide eyes stung with the acrid bite of the curling wisps. He clenched his teeth and pushed through the pain, grabbing at the tangle of ethereal, silver cords nestled within the astral plane. They made up the potential realities of the futures he scried.
His bloodshot eyes blinked against the painful sweat that welled at their corners. He pushed his consciousness into an eldritch strand and looked into the future again.
As before, Zeh-Ahbe’s innards hung partly outside his belly, shredded open by the demon lord who bore down upon him. The arch-mage asserted his will upon the cord and manipulated it. Exerting his will into the image, an army of demonic minions burst through the door, but the end result was the same: Rashnir's blade severed the head of his beloved beh'-tsah.
Absinthium pushed his mind back down the cord to Zeh-Ahbe’s evisceration. This time he launched a furiously immolating beam into the ranger’s chest but the werewolf leaped upon beh'-tsah and tore his surprised throat out as the spell-caster killed the ranger. With a mighty heave and twist, Zeh-Ahbe’ ripped the demon’s head clear, even at the expense of the krist-chins’ lives.
The sorcerer went back. Over and over again he manipulated the vision, but none of the possible fates resulted in beh’-tsah’s survival. Only if he went further back along the cord could he reach a satisfactory conclusion: one in which beh’-tsah never encountered the krist-chins.
Absinthium released the silvery cords and pulled out of the potentialities. Wearied by all of his astral searchings he grabbed a dried handful of shialekorik mushrooms and dipped them in a tincture to activate them. Moments later his center refocused and turned back to his work. Absinthium shifted his gaze back into the smoke and looked for what happened now.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 81
