To one side, General Malevolyn noticed a shadow move. Xazax no doubt grew impatient, not understanding the need for the short speech. These men would be the first; therefore, from them would spread word of why their leader now demanded this new proof from them.
"Tomorrow begins a day of glory, a day of destiny, and each of you shall play an integral part! I ask now, my friends, that you verify my faith in you, my hopes in you, with this one last oath!" He held up the dagger for all of them to see. A couple of the guards blinked, but no one otherwise reacted. "Zako! I give you the honor of being the first! Show me your bravery!"
Without hesitation, the mustached officer stepped up and thrust out his ungloved hand. This had not been the first time he had sworn a blood oath to his commander and, of the five, only he no doubt thought that he understood why Malevolyn desired to reemphasize to the men the loyalty they owed the general.
"Palm up." After Zako had obeyed, Malevolyn held the dagger points-down over the fleshiest part-then jabbed his officer's palm.
Zako stifled a gasp, the man keeping his eyes straight ahead, as had been expected of him. Because of that, he did not notice something strange about both the knife and where it had punctured his skin. The two gems in the hilt briefly flashed the moment the points pierced his hand. More curious, although blood flowed from the tiny wounds, little of it actually spread over the palm, most of it seeming drawn toward the black blade-where it then disappeared.
"Have yourself a sip of wine, Zako," Malevolyn offered, pulling back the dagger. As his aide steppedaway, the general signaled to the next man, upon whom he repeated the same process.
After all five had been bled, Augustus Malevolyn saluted them. "You have given me your lives. I promise to treat them as the valuable gifts they are. You are dismissed." As the soldiers departed, he called to Zako, "Before you deal with the witch, have Captain Lyconius bring every man under his command to my tent, will you?"
"Aye, general!"
When the others had gone, the voice of Xazax drifted from the shadows. "This goes too slow, warlord. It will take days at this rate."
"No, now it will go much faster. These five have been given an honor, so they see it. Zako will tell Lyconius and he, in turn, will tell his men and so on. I will order the officers to give a ration of drink to each soldier who shows them he has once more sworn his life to my cause. The pace will quicken incredibly, I promise you."
A few seconds later, Lyconius, a thin, fair-haired man older than the general, asked to be admitted. Outside, every soldier under his command awaited. Malevolyn bled the captain first, then had him line the men up. The mention of a ration of drink afterward made each fighter all the more eager to be there.
However, only a few of Lyconius's men had been dealt with when Zako, looking much perturbed, burst into the tent. He knelt on one knee before the commander, head down in shame.
Somewhat irritated at this costly interruption, General Malevolyn barked, "Speak! What is it?"
"General! The witch-she is nowhere to be found!"
Malevolyn tried to conceal his annoyance. "Her belongings; are they still in the tent?"
"Aye, general, but her horse is missing."
Even Galeona would not ride out into the vast desert at night. Taking a casual glance over his shoulder, Malevolyn noticed the shadow of the demon shift. No doubt Xazax did not find this news pleasant either, but at the moment neither man nor demon could afford to waste time on her. If the sorceress had somehow learned of their intention and had chosen to flee, it truly mattered little in the long run to her former lover. What harm could she do? Perhaps, once he wore the armor, he would hunt her down, but now Malevolyn had more important concerns.
"Never mind her, Zako. Return to your normal duties."
Relief in his voice, the aide thanked him, then hurried from the tent. General Malevolyn turned back to his task, bleeding the next man, then commending him for his bravery.
The pace did indeed quicken, just as he had told the mantis it would. The combination of honor and drink caused a line to spread throughout the entire encampment, each man anxious to prove his worth to his master and his fellows. Tomorrow, they felt, the general would lead them to a glorious victory and riches beyond their wildest dreams. That they might be too few to take a stronghold such as Lut Gholein did not occur to them; General Malevolyn would not have made the sudden decision-so they assumed-if he did not already have some battle plan ensuring success.
And deep into the night, the last man proved his loyalty, hand out, the dagger already pricking his palm.
The final soldier and the officer who had guided him in both departed after saluting their trusted leader. From without, Augustus Malevolyn could already hear the sounds of celebration, as each of his men savored their ration of drink and toasted their future good fortunes.
"It is done," rasped Xazax, emerging from the shadowy corners. "Each and every one has tasted the dagger's bite and of each and every one the dagger has sipped…"
Turning the ceremonial weapon over and over in his hands, the general commented, "Not a single drop, not the tiniest stain. Where did all the blood go?"
"Each to its own, warlord. Each to the one it must go. This one promised you an army against whom even Lut Gholein could not defend long, remember?"
"I recall…" He touched the helmet, which he had not taken off once since camp had been made. It seemed so much a part of him now that he swore it would never leave his side, that he would only remove it for necessity's sake. "And I say again, I accept the consequences of our deal."
The mantis's body dipped in what might have been an acknowledging bow. "Then, there is no reason not to proceed immediately…"
"Tell me what must be done."
"In the sand at your feet, you must draw this symbol." Using one of the skeletal hands, Xazax traced the mark in the air. The general's eyes widened slightly as the demon's gaunt finger left a fiery, orange trail behind, highlighting the symbol.
"Why don't you just do it?"
"It must be done by he who will command. Would you prefer it to be this humble one, warlord?"
Seeing Xazax's point, Malevolyn bent down and drew the mark as it had appeared in the air. To his surprise, as he completed it, strange words suddenly burst from his lips.
"Do not hesitate!" urged the mantis eagerly. "The words were known to him; they will be known to you!"
His words… Bartuc's words. Augustus Malevolyn let them flow, savoring the power he felt from their use.
"Hold the dagger over the center." When the general had done that, the demon added, "Now… speak the name of my infernal lord! Speak the name of Belial!"
Belial? "Who is Belial? I know of Baal and Mephisto and Diablo, but not of this Belial. Do you mean Baa—"
"Speak not that name again!" Xazax nervously chittered. The mantis twisted his horrific head left and right as if he feared discovery by someone. Evidently finding nothing upon which to base that fear, the demon finally responded in calmer tones, "There is no master in Hell save Belial. It is he who offers you this wondrous gift! Recall this always!"
More familiar with the magic arts than the mantis might think him, Malevolyn knew that Hell had once been described as being ruled by the Three Prime Evils. Yet, he also knew of legends which had told of the three brothers cast up onto the mortal plane, their rule over Hell a thing of the past. In fact… one of the more obscure legends mentioned Lut Gholein as the possible location of Baal's tomb, although even the general doubted the veracity of such a fantastic tale. Who would build a city on top of a demon lord's tomb?
"As you say, Xazax. Belial, it is. I simply wanted to get the name correct."
"Begin again!" the monstrous insect snapped.
Once more the words spilled from Malevolyn's tongue. Once more he held the vampiric dagger high above the center of the symbol-Belial's symbol, the general now realized. At the end of the incantation, the eager commander called out the demon lord's name…
"Pl
unge the dagger into the center-exactly!"
General Malevolyn drove the twin-tipped blade deep into the sand, catching the center of the image perfectly.
Nothing happened. He looked up at the looming horror.
"Step back," Xazax suggested.
And as the would-be conqueror did, a grim, black haze arose around the dagger. While the two watched, the haze rapidly grew, first expanding above the weapon, then finally spreading toward the tent flap. As it drifted outside with what seemed definite purpose to Malevolyn's trained eye, the foreboding haze took on the shape of what looked to be a huge, clawed hand.
"It will not be long now, warlord."
Unconcerned, Malevolyn sought out a goblet of his finest wine. For this night, he chose a new bottle, one that had been packed carefully for countless journeys over desperate landscapes. The general opened it, sniffed the contents, and, with much approval, poured himself a full cup.
At that point, the first of the screams began.
Augustus Malevolyn's hand shook at the sound, but not because of any fear or regret. It was just that he had never heard such a soul-tearing cry, not even from those he had tortured, and the suddenness of it had simply startled the hardened veteran. When the second, the third, and fourth arose, Malevolyn found them not at all disconcerting. He even raised his goblet toward the halfburied dagger and Xazax's unseen lord.
And as he did, the shrieks outside became a chorus of the damned, scores of men crying out at the same time, pleading for some escape. From all around the camp the agonized screams assaulted the general, but he took each in stride. The men- his men-had each sworn more than one oath that they would serve him in all things in all ways. Tonight, he had taken that oath to heart, accepting their sacrifices-quite literally-for the better of his quest.
He turned toward the tent flap again. Mistaking the human's reaction, the mantis warned, "It is too late to save them. The pact has been accepted by this one's infernal lord."
"Save them? I merely wished to toast them for what they have given in order to garner me my destiny!"
"Aaah…" responded the demon, clearly seeing the true General Malevolyn for the first time. "This one is mistaken…"
And on went the screams. A few sounded quite distant, as if some of the men had tried to flee, but they could not flee from something eating away at them from within their very souls. Some, obviously very loyal, called out to their commander, pleading for help. Malevolyn poured himself another goblet, then sat down to wait for the finish.
Gradually, the last of the screams died down, leaving only the nervous whinnying of the horses, who could not understand what had happened. That, too, though, ceased as the heavy silence of the camp affected them as well.
The sudden clank of metal against metal made him look at the demon again, but Xazax said nothing. Outside, the clanking increased, growing both in intensity and nearness. General Malevolyn finished the last of his wine and stood up.
The noise outside abruptly stopped.
"They await you… warlord."
Adjusting his armor, especially his helmet, General Augustus Malevolyn stepped outside.
They did indeed wait for him, their ranks perfect. Several held torches, so he could see their faces, the faces he had come to know so well over their years of service to him. They all stood there, Zako, Lyconius, and the rest of the officers, each with their men behind them.
As he stepped into their sight, a cry of salute rose up among the throng, a cry monstrous, brutal, in its tone. It made Malevolyn smile, just as a somewhat closer glance at the foremost visages further enthused the commander. No matter how dark or light their skins had been before,they now had a pale, pasty look to them. As for their mouths, their battle cry had revealed teeth now fanged and tongues long and forked. The eyes-
The eyes were completely red-blood red-and burned with such evil desire that they could be seen even without the aid of a torch. They were not human eyes, but rather eyes that, at least in malignance, more resembled those of the mantis.
Garbed in the very husks of his loyal soldiers, these horrific warriors would be his new legion, his path to glory.
Xazax joined him outside the tent, the hellish mantis no longer needing to be concerned about secrecy. After all, here he stood among his own.
"All hail Malevolyn of Westmarch!" Xazax called out. "All hail, the Warlord of Blood!"
And once again, the demonic horde cheered Augustus Malevolyn.
So far from the encampment, Galeona heard nothing, but the witch did sense the striking of the sinister spell. Long associated with the darker aspects of her art, she knew that such incredible emanations of hellish sorcery could only mean that her fears had come to fruition. She had been right to depart when she had or else the enchantress would have certainly joined the fates of Augustus's unsuspecting warriors.
Xazax had underestimated her for the last time. The mantis would have used others to deal with her in order to break the blood pact that they had made some years back. He had chosen the general for his new ally, the demon having always hinted that a new warlord would be of more interest than simply gaining empty armor. Galeona should have realized months ago that he had never intended to continue with their own alliance any longer than necessary.
Yet, what had made him so suddenly choose Augustus over her? Could it really have been fear? Ever since that night when the monstrous insect had nearly done the unthinkable-slain her outright despite the repercussions of directly breaking their pact-the witch had tried to think of what could so disturb a creature of Hell. What fear had sent him scurrying straight to Malevolyn?
In the end, it did not matter. Both Xazax and Augustus could have one another for all she cared. After what she had discovered during her brief spellwork earlier, Galeona had decided that she, in turn, needed neither of the two treacherous creatures. Why settle for always looking over her shoulder when she could be the one who truly commanded?
The sorceress glanced down at her hand as she rode, not the first time she had done so. In her left palm, Galeona held a small crystal which through spells she had tied to her intended destination. So long as the crystal glowed, the enchantress knew that she remained on the right track.
So long as it glowed, she knew that she could find the fool she intended to make her puppet.
In betraying her, Xazax had made one terrible error in judgment. For some reason that she could not yet fathom, the demon could not by himself detect the ancient warlord's armor. He needed human assistance, which had been one of the foremost reasons the two of them had first joined together. That had been why, when he had believed that he knew where the prize lay, the cursed mantis had abandoned her for General Malevolyn. It should not have been at all surprising to her since Galeona had considered doing much the same, but for Xazax, the error would prove a costly one.
The demon no doubt believed that the armor could be found now in nearby Lut Gholein, the location they hadlast determined it would head toward. Even she had assumed that much until her last spell. Where else could it be but within the coastal kingdom? A lone traveler either needed to find a caravan there willing to take him on or wait instead for a ship heading on from Lut Gholein to one of the more western lands. Either way, Norrec should have still been within the city walls.
But he was not. At some point, he had left, choosing to forego sanity and apparently ride out into the desert at a pace that surely had killed his mount. When Galeona had discovered his new location, it had stunned her; the veteran fighter practically stood under Augustus's very nose. If the general had agreed to letting her cast a search spell when she had originally offered, the armor might very well even now be his. He could have already been approaching Lut Gholein clad in the crimson garb of Bartuc, his loyal witch at his side.
Instead, Galeona now hoped to convince this other fool that he should use it… under her masterful guidance, of course. He looked to be a manageable sort of oaf, one she should readily be able to wrap around her finger.
He also had a not unreasonable countenance, one in some ways the witch preferred to her former lover. That would make the task of maintaining control of her new puppet not so great a chore.
Of course, if Galeona found some better method by which to harness the astonishing power of the enchantments, it would also not bother her much if she had to do away with this Norrec. There were always other men, other fools.
On and on she rode, her only concern that Xazax might choose to interrupt his activities with Augustus to pursue his former partner. Of course, that would go against their pact, too, which would endanger the demon as well as her. More likely the hellish mantis would forget her for now, satisfied that he had his grand prize. Later he wouldno doubt find the means by which to sever their ties-not to mention her head and limbs.
He would be too late, though. Once she had her pawn ensnared, Galeona would see to it that Xazax, not she, would soon lay scattered over the landscape. Perhaps she would even have Norrec bring the insect's head to her, a pretty trophy with which to begin to rebuild the collection that the sorceress had been forced to leave abandoned tonight.
She peered around, looking for some sign of her prey. In order to lessen the risk of riding around nearly blind because of the darkness, the witch had cast a spell enhancing both the visions of her horse and herself. It enabled the animal to pick a path that would avoid accidents and predators while giving Galeona the ability to better hunt for the soldier.
There! Reining her mount to a halt, the sorceress stared at the distant, shadowed form of a rocky hill. The crystal indicated that her path continued directly that way. Galeona rose in the saddle for a moment, searching for any other likely spot and finding none. As a seasoned warrior, the fool certainly had enough sense to look for reasonable shelter and the small hill before her looked to be the only such choice for many miles around. He had to be there.
Eager now, Galeona urged the horse on. As they neared, she thought she saw a figure just to the left of the hill. Yes… most definitely a man seated under an outcropping, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms resting atop the knees.
Legacy of Blood d-1 Page 23
