“Perhaps I am both,” he replied and bowed. “My name is EKERITHIA, and I have watched from the shadows since before the countries, both above and below ground even existed. I know what it is that you seek, grr’Shaalg.”
“And what do you think it is that I desire?” The creature’s wealth of knowledge unnerved the goblin.
“You are searching for a way to mature your growing, larval brood which you are grooming for the greatest military campaign this realm has ever seen.”
grr’Shaalg neither flinched nor blinked.
The demon took a step forward.
“I can meet your need. I know of a device which requires neither magic nor potion. It can both age your force and also educate their minds within mere minutes.” ekerithia toyed with the goblin, dangled his hopes in front of him. “But if this artifact does not interest you then I will take my leave.”
He feigned a step away as if he meant to depart.
“Yes.” grr’Shaalg stated. “Such a device would be valuable to me.” He snorted with mild disgust, sure that the price would be higher than he’d hoped to pay. “What are your terms?”
“I will give you this information freely,” ekerithia promised. “But you must pledge to answer my call when it is given. Our purposes align, grr’Shaalg—we seek the same end game.”
“And what is that?” grr’Shaalg chuffed.
“Seeing the Gathering shattered so that new powers can rise beyond them.”
The goblin tapped his chin thoughtfully. “When will this call come?” It was of no value to him to breed an army for someone else’s sole advantage.
“Not for some time,” ekerithia promised. “Not until after Paradise is ripped from the sky. And I mean this in a literal sense.”
grr’Shaalg bobbed his head. Perhaps their goals really did coincide, although he sincerely doubted a physical collapse of Babel was possible. “Secrecy will be paramount,” he intoned, glancing at Dyule.
“Absolutely,” ekerithia agreed.
He whispered a few words of an old spell and Dyule’s nose bled as his eyes jittered and rolled back in his head, erasing anything he may have learned. The king collapsed to the floor in an induced fugue.
“Tell me everything about this device.”
***
Werthen, Shimza, and Fixxer stood within the tiny cell that held them. A couple days had passed; they couldn’t tell exactly how long they’d languished under the blasting midday heat and the frigid nights from within the sturdy, iron prison. Their captors had been certain to keep them drugged to enough of a degree that Werthen couldn’t slice their cage open.
The trio could see outside where a nearby window remained open. Little traffic came and went inside the quarry office where the cage had been assembled specially for them. Vampires had taken Fayge’s warning seriously; even deliveries of food and water had come few and far between.
In the last twenty-four hours, the activity at the quarry only intensified. The occasional rumbling underfoot had increased. Over the last several hours they had become a constant, grinding sound—a vibrating, droning noise
With nothing else to do but survey the window, they watched and tried to figure out what caused the constant tremors. Finally, the massive stone head rolled slowly into view dragged over hewn rollers and pulled by teams of mules. The ancient monument was larger than even the building that confined their cage.
The three men traded wide-eyed glances, speculating as to its purpose. The monolithic effigy crawled so close that it completely obscured the window, filling it completely and shading out the light. It moved so slowly that it crawled on for hours, scraping against the building at points, nearly crumpling the walls inwards.
Werthen wondered aloud, “What can we possibly do?” They had already tried any escape plans that came to mind.
“Nothing,” Shimza said as stony-faced as the giant head that passed them by. “As a believer in the empirical and in my own ability to affect the world under my own power, I am out of options. But perhaps you can pray to your god on our behalf?”
Werthen considered using his sword to cut his way free, except that he couldn’t seem to draw it—his concentration still swam from the toxins in his system. They would also lose any element of surprise and almost certainly be captured again.
As if in response to his thoughts, the rear door of the structure opened and Fayge arrived. He brought water but no food and offered the cup to Werthen first.
The Christian looked at it skeptically. He sniffed it and turned up his nose. It smelled stagnant and vile.
Fayge cocked his head. “You do not wish to drink?”
Werthen stared at him, and then looked back into the cup.
“You probably think that it is poison. You would be right.”
Werthen looked back up and Fayge blew a handful of powder into the man’s face. Werthen reeled, spitting and sputtering, but the dust already found root in his membranes and absorbed into his system. The Christian slowly collapsed and fell asleep.
“We cannot risk any intervention by meddlers,” Fayge stated.
The wendigo smiled wickedly. Shimza and Fixxer stared at the spilled, black water which seeped into the floorboards as they licked their lips.
Not knowing if his other two enemies earned the same abilities as the unconscious Werthen, Fayge threw another handful of enchanted dust into the cage and knocked out the other two men. He turned and departed the way he had come
***
Pinchôt and his companions sat upon the stony overlook. They each pressed a telescopic monocular to an eye and greedily watched the distant riders as their chargers kicked up a trail of dust in the gulch below. “I recognize that one from Grinden,” Pinchôt said. “He was an orphaned farm-boy before Kevin brought his plague to the community. I believe his name was Robear.”
“But Rashnir is not among them,” Krimko hissed. They’d been tasked by the Temple with taking him down. Current intelligence suggested that he was somewhere between the north side of Ninda or the bottom of Gleend just a few days ago. They’d made a strategic guess that the operation near Vigna might have hosted the renowned warrior. The plan had been to lie in wait for him and set a trap where they could isolate and then slay him.
“It’s not Rashnir,” Pinchôt said, “But it’s a bounty that we can take. There are only ten of them; maybe they have some clue as to our Rashnir’s movements.”
Jandul nodded silently and pointed to the elevating trail on the western side of the gorge. “There is a choke point over there. We can rig it with traps and take them.”
Krimko nodded vigorously. He often dabbled with alchemy. “I have just the thing!” He procured several flasks and a paper envelope. He dumped its contents into them and added water then swirled the contents until they turned a ruddy hue.
They took strategic positions and waited for their prey to enter the killing box. As the line of riders bunched up near the mouth of the canyon trail, the massive Grirrg stepped onto the trail, slowing their approach and focusing all attention on him. He shouted wildly as the signal to his peers.
Flaming arrows shot from behind stony outcroppings. The ambushers’ arrows struck the hidden flagons triggering massive eruptions. Flame and stone burst at the detonation points; a sickly yellow smog fouled the air with a noxious cloud.
Horses shrieked and toppled, kicking up thick clods as they panicked or died from the choking vapor. Men howled; blue blades flared to life, indicating where the survivors of the blast were. They choked and coughed on the ochre mist.
Wearing scarves pulled over their mouths and noses, Pinchôt and Jandul leapt into the fray. Krimko leveled a crossbow and launched shot after shot from the rear while Grirrg charged forward with his massive battle-hammer.
Jandul’s ‘ãbêdâh slicked claws found home after home as he blocked and slashed, whirling between two zealous krist-chin youth. He chiseled away their defenses and whittled them down until noth
ing remained but killing blows.
Pinchôt and Grirrg took on the other three. They hacked and slashed wildly at the barbarian, stupefied as to why their blades did nothing but burn the scarred hide of the abomination. His eyes flashed red with each strike as the ‘ãbêdâh flared within his body.
As Grirrg kept them occupied, Pinchôt stepped around his teammate and delivered the killing blows. The final, remaining krist-chin realized Pinchôt's fatal tactic: the smaller man dispatched his brothers while they ducked beneath the mighty pendulum swing of the barbarian. Robear leaped backward and just beyond Pinchôt's reach instead of ducking under the swing.
Grirrg twisted his wrist as he swung the hammer through the air and stepped forward again, spinning his torso and swinging the second arc with even greater distance—well within the reach of his surprised quarry.
Robear’s startled eyes dilated with sudden understanding just as the blood-stained mallet end of the hammer smashed through his skull. The krist-chin’s body flipped a full spin, flinging gore across the roadside.
Krimko cackled gleefully as they set about the grisly work of taking trophies to verify kills at the Temple. Pinchôt kicked Robear’s broken body over and rummaged through his pockets.
Retrieving a journal, Pinchôt leafed through it and smiled, calling the others over to share in his discovery. Unfolding the letter he pointed to the crudely drawn map sketched in his journal. “Young Robear was sent to help his friends up in Granik.” He pointed at the map to indicate the probable travel path.
“The letter states that Kevin and Rashnir were also requested to help—but Kevin’s entire group was massacred outside of Sprazik,” Krimko interrupted, giddy. “I heard it from one of the intelligence officers.
“Right,” Pinchôt stated. “I also heard that, but thought it was only a rumor… except that these guys charged through here without Rashnir—if Kevin is being held in Paradise, then where will we find Rashnir at?”
“Paradise—attempting a rescue,” Krimko exclaimed.
They all nodded in agreement with the logic. “The Granik cult will be quite dismayed when they learn that Sprazik is gone, Rashnir is absent, and Robear is dead. Help is not coming,” Krimko said with sarcastic disappointment.
“If Rashnir is going to Paradise, then he must travel through the spire,” Jandul observed.
“Right,” Pinchôt agreed. “We’ve got to get back to Briganik as fast as we can if we’re going to cut him off…he’s probably alone or in a tiny group so he doesn’t draw suspicion.”
Krimko nodded and then commanded the other soldiers that accompanied the hunters to gather the forearms as trophies. “Hurry up! We’ve got bigger prey to hunt!”
***
Griq’nnr reclined at the king’s table. tlaFFr scratched absentmindedly at the thick scrofula hanging from his neck and tore another limb from the sizzling beast at the table. The scirrhous tumors had begun forming at his armpits as well and they flapped as he struggled with the oversized helping.
[The tlaFFr kingdom must give up the tunnels under Drindak,] Griq’nnr insisted, eyeing the tooled, smooth bore of the stonework in the great hall.
[I should have you executed for suggesting it!] tlaFFr spat the mouthful with disgust. [Do you know the lengths our ancestors went to drive the dwarves out from the mountains?]
Griq’nnr shrugged.
[What’s to stop those dirty kreeches from moving back in if we leave?] the king cursed.
[That is kind of the point,] Griq’nnr said. [There are many grottos below Gleend that are perfectly suited to home the royal city of the tlaFFr Kingdom.]
[And only one that was taken from the dwarves!]
Griq’nnr nodded. [True, but is it worth the lives of your subjects to…]
[I’d kill every dwarf with my own claws if I could,] tlaFFr howled. [I don’t think you understand how much I hate those dirty…] the King rambled on a tirade of subterranean profanity, spitting and flinging his engorged jowls with vigor.
[As a race, this is an important move for us,] Griq’nnr insisted. [I’d hate to see your obstinance result in possible slowness in delivering the katadoolu.]
tlaFFr fixed Griq’nnr with a murderous glare. [You would risk open war with the tlaFFr?]
[No! No,] he held up his hands to calm the king. [I simply know that you are due another shipment tomorrow and our convoy is at a crossroads—there is a schedule conflict and other of our kin also need a dose.]
[I would rather die than see this hall back in the hands of the dwarves!] tlaFFr stood as he screamed the edict, stabbing his utensils into the singed cadaver to punctuate his point.
Griq’nnr sized up the belligerent king and tossed him a scrap of cloth to wipe away the spittle that oozed down his thick neck. [Think about our request,] he said, rising to his feet. [Perhaps we can revisit this discussion in a few days.] The Shadow King’s envoy turned his back on tlaFFr and left, letting the king glare at his backside, tight-lipped and grim.
Grinning, he turned the corner beyond the door and heard a whisper that caught his attention.
[Psst… Griq’nnr?] gLarmng leaned out of a nearby gallery where he kept out of sight.
Griq’nnr grinned and tiptoed over to the current king’s majordomo.
[Yes? gLarmng, is it?]
The King’s chief servant nodded. [Yes… I’d like a word before you leave?]
***
Havara and Dri’bu argued polarized positions across the campfire. Kyrius faded in and out of consciousness, trying to rest his injuries as much as possible and speed his recovery.
Rest was something Havara had a difficult time doing given the circumstances. The deposed prince was eager to form the next step in his plan, to formulate something actionable.
“None of this speculation does you any good,” the elf insisted. “There are too many variables to consider. There’s no way that you can plan your triumphant reemergence to the kingdom from the rubble of Sprazik.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that my time would be better spent resting?”
“Yes! Again, yes!”
Havara rolled his eyes. “I just can’t do that! My mind won’t let me.” He disgustedly threw a hollow bone into the embers. He knew the elf’s council was wise, but his thoughts refused to let go the notion that he needed to act.
“I promise you, my friend, we can work on this problem together… as soon as you have regained your health and gathered some credible information.”
Havara finally lay on his back, stirring with agitation as he tried to relax. “I just can’t take this waiting.”
“For Rashnir and Kevin to return, or regarding the status of your country?”
“Either.”
They had traded barbed words since the day after Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ left to pursue Jorge. “Keep it down, would you?” Kyrius groaned from his bed. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Sorry. I just find it difficult to sit idly… even when injured,” Havara motioned to his splinted leg and crutch. It had improved significantly but was still far from fully functional.
“Perhaps this bird bears news that can take your mind off our current problem.” Dri’bu pointed skyward where one of the Red Tail falcons started a spiraling descent. The elf took the letter and looked around for a secure cage to hold the bird.
All their cages had been destroyed in the acolyte’s attack; their birds were destroyed in the onslaught. Dri’bu let the bird perch upon his shoulder while he scanned the letter and then set it aside.
“Well?” Havara asked from his fireside position.
“It is nothing,” the elf said.
“Seriously? It can’t be nothing! Oh no. It’s bad news,” Havara concluded. “If it were good news you would have told me to put my mind at ease.”
Dri’bu sighed. The ruse had been too transparent for the prince. He handed it over. While Havara read it, Kyrius sat up, wincing. The intrigue had gotten t
he better of him as well. He took it and read it in turn.
“This is bad.”
“Yes, very bad.”
“We’ll have to go right away.”
The three talked amongst themselves and over each other. Finally, the fourth man, their prisoner, shouted out—curiosity finally took hold of him, too. “Would somebody tell me what’s so bleeding terrible,” Prock yelled from the post he’d been bound to.
They had nearly forgotten about their prisoner. Each one stared at the other, dumbfounded for a moment.
Rising to their feet, the threesome began securing any supplies that would make the journey easier. Kyrius, weary and bleary-eyed, finally pulled his friends aside. “I will follow, truly, but may seem to be in a trance. Don't rouse me. I will be praying—deeply—shielding Jorge, Rashnir, and Zeh-Ahbe’ from prying eyes or divinations. The enemy probably expects them, but I believe I can at least confuse the seers from pinpointing an exact location. It is perhaps how I can help best in my current condition.”
Havara and Dri’bu nodded, clapping him into a firm, but gentle embrace. “We will defend you if need be and will keep your path straight.”
Kyrius returned Havara’s gesture as the elf tended to their prisoner.
“We have to go to Granik,” Dri’bu told him. “You’re a human and unless you want my people to burn you at that stake, then you will have to come with us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Far below the Babel Spire, the tower’s forgotten roots bubbled and churned in a dark and ethereal pool. ekerithia hastily stalked the narrows, the forgotten and restricted corridors one level below the tower’s surface level where a passage leading further below remained concealed.
His descent plunged him further than the upper tunnels where the goblins had made occasional forays since before the Order welcomed their ekthroic brothers. It spiraled deeper, down beyond the precise grid-work of the massive labyrinth which stretched the length of the continents, drawing perilously close to the oceans. He delved deeper yet, down, down, to the sub level of Tartarus.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 84
