“I know that when the faithful die in this fallen realm our souls escape through the western gate and are ushered into the throne of heaven. Her soul is gone.”
Absinthium put a hand on Kelsa’s shoulder and she gasped for breath. “Tell me, my dear, where are you?”
“It is so dark. I cannot see!” She groped about the air again.
“Yes, but where are you?”
She blindly turned towards the voice and choked on the air. “Tartarus,” she finally managed to whisper.
Absinthium withdrew his hand and she began choking again. “She died long before you were taken into Yahweh’s fold. So where, then, does her soul go?” His intense eyes challenged Rashnir.
The warrior grimaced and stared at the ground.
“Can she gain admittance through the western gate? Surely not! She does not meet the requirements you so clearly laid out. Her soul remains in bondage—she wanders the abyss, awaiting the great emptying of the Black where after she will be forever damned. Is that not what you believe?”
Rashnir took a deep breath and glared at the Luciferian. “We all make our choices. Life… reality is not fair; I don’t expect it to be so, and I don’t have to like it for it to be right.”
Absinthium cackled. “How noble.” He waved away the argument. He knew he’d already won his case. “Regardless, I have her living body. Were it united again with her soul, she could be whole again.” The wizard slinked around Rashnir who glowered apprehensively.
“That is impossible.”
“Not for me,” he smiled with phony, diplomatic warmness. “It may be impossible to accomplish from Earth where the way is barred, but not from this side. It’s merely difficult; it’s never been done, but only because Tartarus remains hidden and few know the way.”
Rashnir paused in consternation. “What do you want? What’s your angle?”
“Simple. Forget this mad expedition. It will only claim your life. Instead, seek Tartarus and find a way to restore your lost love. Rescue her soul. I will freely give you her body, only turn aside and forsake this quest.”
The warrior looked at Kelsa’s blind and groping form. His heart cried out for her, but he could not bow to the wicked one. He could not abandon Kevin and his friends—not even for the hope of saving Kelsa.
Rashnir closed his eyes. He stated emphatically, “No.” He refused to open them until the vision burned away, finally dissipating and removing his life’s greatest temptation. Rashnir finally opened his eyes. It was morning. The sun barely crested the horizon and the stars still shone in the remnants of dusk.
He exhaled, trying to expel the tension in his chest, but he could not. A stroke of insight hit Rashnir: the enemy feared their approach so much that he’d resorted to bargaining.
***
Gans scrambled up the rocky hill, panting for breath. His heart pounded in his ears. The Christians who’d followed him screamed one by one as the enemy picked them off. He continued onward as fast as he could, not stopping for anything since the order had gone out to scatter the group.
One hundred and ten of his fellow refugees from Grinden had passed beyond the Quey and Tribben Forests. They’d gone north towards the hill country surrounding Brohd, where Lake Ruet drained through the mountains. There, things took a disastrous turn.
As Gans climbed higher in the cliffs, his hands grew slippery with mud and sweat. Gans chanced a look over his shoulder and spotted a combined group of barbarians, both men and orcs. They fell upon the last of the men who had split off to follow him; he watched an orc use a battle-axe to hack off his prey’s forearm. Hand over hand, Gans kept moving, hauling himself further up the stony face.
From the added elevation he saw the random lines of his peers fleeing, scattering like confused insects—they hadn’t planned for this! Occasional blue blades flared up as some turned to fight. They flashed brilliantly against the trained blades of the bounty hunters who had polished their weapons with ‘ãbêdâh oils. Some found success and continued to flee; others fell under the blades of their pursuit.
Gans kept running. His breath caught in his tightened lungs. They burned and refused to cooperate as Gans demanded that his body continue climbing.
He ignored the crouching blackness in his vision and poured on even more energy. He had to escape—he was this flock’s guide and they’d relied on his leadership ever since his group broke with Ersha, Thim, and Drowdan. Surely some of them would survive the well-planned assault against them. They had to survive and regroup.
The pain in his chest suddenly intensified, shooting jolts through his back. He tried to cry out, but there hadn’t the oxygen in his lungs to do so. An arrow protruded from his back and bright pink lung-blood leaked out of the wound. He looked down from the steep rise as he kept clawing his way up.
More barbarians level their bows at him again and released. Two more shafts found their mark. Pain shot up his spine, briefly, and then his arms went numb.
Gans looked skyward as the pain suddenly fled. He felt a sense of regret for not having accomplished more: his burden of leadership ended in a massacre by the enemy. A serene peace fell over him and then his fingers slipped away as his grip released. He tumbled backward, sending a prayer up and surrendering his soul to its fate.
His body plummeted to the ground, and Gans saw no more.
***
Jorge and his team skirted the southern border of Lol and made good speed. One horse bore the angel and the other carried Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’. The wide open, albeit stony, plains availed themselves to expedient travel. Briganik was not too far off.
In the distance, the trio of travelers continued stalking them. They sometimes slipped into the visible range but they intentionally shadowed them at enough distance to stay beyond concern. Luckily, they left them alone each night as they made camp.
Jorge pointed to the skyline. His keen eyes picked out something not yet visible to the humans. “One of Dri’bu’s falcons, coming in from the east.”
They watched for a few minutes as their horses continued plodding westward. Finally, the bird began its descent, angling its trajectory.
It suddenly faltered and plunged from the sky.
Rashnir looked behind and spotted the trio of women as they returned their bows and retrieved the bird. It would likely be lunch for them.
The ranger sighed with discouragement. They wouldn’t get whatever message had been meant for them. “Focus on the mission,” he said aloud, mostly for himself. “The others must take care of themselves for the time being.”
***
Absinthium rushed from the central chamber of the Babel Keep. He had received orders from beh’-tsah. Lilth commissioned ten thousand ghouls as conscripts for his lord and he had to make arrangements to receive the army. beh’-tsah’s demonic forces had already mustered at strategic positions; the added forces would help them push the attackers into submission if used wisely.
beh’-tsah’s defenses had been erected sufficiently, but war was a risky game, especially given the subterfuge of the players. The demon grudgingly accepted tribute from his opponent on the far-away front.
Absinthium had already sent a message to Mesler, one of his counterparts in The Order’s Council of Four; Mesler was a student of the Combat discipline. He would not typically delegate tasks to his arch-mage peers, but his schedule necessitated it. Mesler would ensure that the ghoul conscripts knew their roles in the Master of the Gathering’s battle plan. Hopefully, the Order could keep enough eyes on the vampiric units to prevent more than the expected token subterfuge—but all of the units were due in Paradise and wouldn't cross paths with the living.
Ghoul conscripts would begin filtering through the gates and tramp across the Fields of Splendor within the next full day. He’d given orders to keep the army as obfuscated as possible; if anything, Lilth’s ilk were good at stealth.
Mesler had been given explicit instructions from Absinthium. If he failed at any
point in them, Babel could fall to the rebel demons and all his work might be rendered moot. Spells were specific; troop deployments and mission orders had been highly detailed.
The mage did not believe that Mesler was incompetent. But neither did Absinthium trust any person beyond himself.
He glanced back hesitantly and exited the Gathering’s primary fortress. Absinthium scrambled up the side of his gryphon; the beast squawked and climbed above the sky of the upper firmament.
From high above, the mage circled the petrified trees jutting high above the stagnant, dead pools. He zeroed in on one tree in particular: the agreed upon meeting place. peh’-shah shimmered slightly as he phased between corporeal and incorporeal forms from his perch in the vacant, skeletal branches.
Absinthium slid off his flying animal and into a tangle of limbs. peh’-shah solidified; he held the letter the arch-mage had sent previously crumpled in his fist.
“Am I to believe you would betray your master, and for what… some misguided ideal?”
The demon’s yellow eyes glowed balefully from behind his goat-like face. The letter erupted in pale, yellow fire, like an ill-omened moon. Burned to cinder, the dust of the incriminating note drifted away on the breeze.
Absinthium held the mighty demon’s gaze unflinchingly and licked his lips. “If beh’-tsah was not the Lord of the Gathering, then I would not be caught in betrayal. I am a servant of The Order and to the one who sits upon the throne of the Babel Keep.”
peh’-shah sneered.
“Do you think I can be tricked so easily into surrendering sensitive information to my enemy’s lapdog? If you seek to join the side of might and enter into our coup, then you must first prove yourself.”
“I expected no less,” Absinthium said.
“Then tell me what information you have for me?”
The arch-mage sighed and his heart sank. Crossing the threshold and committing treason could not lightly be undone. “Lilth has sent forces from Nod to aid beh’-tsah. Even now, thousands of conscripted ghouls have begun ascending the stairs to Paradise. In a couple days’ time they will be outside the Babel Keep, which you so greatly covet… performing maneuvers and combat exercises.”
“How is this beneficial to me?”
“Ghouls are loyal to Lilth, not to the Gathering. Certainly not to beh’-tsah. I have already bought a large number of them. During these maneuvers, if you attack, the ghouls will turn on your enemy.”
“And he will retreat within the fortress until his allies arrive.”
Absinthium nodded measuredly. “The fortress will be locked. He will find himself trapped beyond his refuge, far from the power of his throne with his entire force caught up in the betrayal. They are just ghouls, anyway, easy enough to forfeit. Even many thousand ghouls could not take him alone—not so close to his home. But if you showed up in force… there would be no tide to turn. You would overrun him.”
A devious grin spread across peh’-shah’s face as he entertained the idea.
“What is the strength of his armies?”
“The bulk of his army is currently committed to the muster near kah’-as’s fortress, but I’m sure you were aware of that. After the ghouls arrive most defenders from beh’-tsah’s castle will bolster the offensive campaigns. As you know, the Babel Keep requires very few defenders to staff its impenetrable walls… so long as its master is capable of calling back her troops and making them a hammer and her the anvil. It will be a minimal crew, such is beh’-tsah’s hubris.”
peh’-shah sneered again. His stained teeth gleamed.
“And what do you require, arch-mage, in order to secure your cooperation?”
“I am loyal to him who sits on the throne. I require only that you prevail. You must make sure to kill beh’-tsah. If he survives, we shall both pay with more than our lives.”
The demon turned to depart. He looked over his shoulder.
“You had better deliver on your promise, human. Or I will drown you in these very marshes.”
peh’-shah shifted beyond the visible spectrum and departed, shaking the branches as he leapt into the sky. Absinthium swallowed the lump in his throat. His desperate plan had been set in motion and he couldn’t turn back now.
***
Rondhale sat with his lycanthrope friend Raz-aphf. They shared stories over a hot drink in the morning. Stress had crept in on them after taking in the Vignan refugees.
Reports of race wars and rioting all through Gleend had certainly set them on edge. A few moments peace had been absolutely necessary to keep them centered.
Workers from the Christian community had already begun folding the Vignan humans into their ranks. Some had joined their cause, others merely existed within their number in order to continue living, but the believers were happy to share life with them, conversion or no. They certainly needed protection and the secular humans would not find it with elves or dwarves.
The former blacksmith leaned back. Rondhale shielded his eyes from the sun and stared at the sky. “A bird. Finally, a message from Kevin! It's been too many days and I've been getting nervous.”
Spiraling downward, the falcon came to a halt between Rondhale and Raz-aphf. Rondhale picked up the letter and scanned it quickly. All positivity on his face quickly slid away into a worried grimace.
Getting to his feet, Rondhale stroked the stubble at his chin. “It’s bad news. Our brothers in Lol have come under attack. They never made it past Granik. Werthen has been taken prisoner by a nest of vampires. The dark dwellers are up to something big—but, as of yet, undetermined.”
“What do we do?”
“Vil-yay has requested reinforcements,” he said as Robear walked near their fire-pit, attempting to join their morning meeting with his journal of handwritten notes. “Robear, come here,” he waved him over. “I desperately need you!”
The young man hopped forward. Rondhale had been mentoring him and he’d made a studious habit of recording as much data as he could in the hopes that someday he could lead another group as their numbers continued growing. “Yes? Is everything alright?”
Rondhale paced the fireside for a bit. “No, in fact. Our friends are in grave danger and have asked for help.” He fixed Robear’s eyes with his. “I’m going to ask you for something big. Do you feel capable of leading—of protecting our family here at Vigna and carrying the mantle?”
“Yes… but no.”
“No?” Rondhale looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”
Robear held his gaze. “You’re going to ask me if I will lead so that you can go on a fool’s errand and rescue our brothers. I feel capable, but I refuse the call.”
Rondhale cocked his head quizzically.
“You are too important to risk losing,” Robear insisted.
Rondhale turned to Raz-aphf who nodded in reluctant agreement with the younger warrior.
“Then what do you suggest? Should I leave my friends in their hour of need… even when they have requested my help?”
Robear shook his head. “No. I will go.”
Raz-aphf looked at him for a long moment. Then, he nodded.
“I have my own crew of men,” Robear promised. I can go in your stead. Please, you are too important to Vigna to risk your life.”
Rondhale stared long and hard at his young friend. Finally, he nodded and gave his blessing to Robear. “Please gather them quickly; our brothers at Granik need help as soon as we can send it. When you get there, send my blessings on to Rashnir and whoever Kevin's team has sent.” He hurriedly scribbled some warm thoughts and notes down on a piece of paper and rolled it up. “It seems likely that it would be Jorge. We are one of three this letter was copied to and I can only assume they are the other recipients.”
He thrust the letter into his hand. “Now quickly. Make haste!”
Chapter Thirteen
grr’Shaalg sprinted up and through his secret entry into Jand’s Capitol Castle. Dyule had contacted
him via linked qâsam, but something about his demeanor was off-putting. There was something very wrong happening and he could not spare more than a few second’s effort to right a toppling Jand.
Post-Rutheir, it had been set up as a well-oiled machine with Dyule at the levers: a job necessitating very little actual input. If that engine faltered, action would have to be swift and decisive. Besides, as far as the Jandish overland was concerned, it had outlived its usefulness. They had been a stepping stone to integrating goblin kind into the Order. If Dyule didn’t present new ways to retain his value to the Shadow King, grr’Shaalg wasn’t beyond having the man killed outright.
The goblin slipped into the hidden sub-basement and stiffened at an unexpected sight. Dyule was there, slack-jawed and motionless; an accompanying human in a cloak stood adjacent to him.
grr’Shaalg paused to regard him coyly. [So you are pulling Dyule’s strings?] He asked in his native tongue, testing the massive intruder who stood at least two full heads taller than the diplomat.
“You might say that,” he said as he pulled back the cowl to reveal a fair, almost angelic face. “I apologize for my deception,” he said, “though I assume your kind could appreciate such a thing on a nuanced level. It seemed the best way to get a private audience with the true king of all goblins.”
Unflinching as stone, grr’Shaalg refused to react with any sort of tell that might verify such a statement. “Many people believe many things about me… some by observation, others by knowledge more intimate.”
grr’Shaalg relaxed and struck a genial posture. “I know nothing about you, but observation tells me much. You are something similar to these krist-chins’ angels… but you are not one: the eyes are wrong. Your aura is broken.”
Removing his cloak’s cape, he let the goblin see his angelic form. It was tainted by a pair of leathery wings draped at his back.
“You knew how to find me and you know, or think you know, about certain affairs below ground. You are either highly intelligent or keenly observant.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 83
