The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2)

by J. Langland

  “So how long ago was this?” Tom asked.

  Delg Narmoloth grimaced. “Millennia, as I said. It’s hard to tell time here. It was a few lifetimes before”—the D’Orc suddenly seemed uncomfortable —“the incident.”

  “The incident?” Tom asked, puzzled.

  “Your death,” Tizzy suggested helpfully.

  Delg Narmoloth looked relieved that Tizzy had said it rather than him. Tom sighed internally; a dark overlord probably would not want minions mentioning his defeat.

  Tom nodded. “Understood.” He nodded at Delg Narmoloth, who quickly stepped back after having almost stepped in it. So to speak.

  The next D’Orc to step forward was extremely burly with pointed tusks and very shiny, pointy teeth. Clearly he brushed, which seemed a bit odd. His pectorals were huge under his armor.

  “I am Helga Dourtooth of the Dourtooth Clan of Nysegard,” the D’Orc said in a slightly higher-pitched voice than the others. This was a woman! Tom nodded and smiled grimly. That was a surprise.

  Another female D’Orc stepped forward. “I am Ayega DeathTusk. I am daughter of Fenwith DeathTusk of the DeathTusk Horde of Romdan.” She bowed and then stepped back. Given that she gave her father’s name, was she born here? Tom wondered.

  A third female warrior stepped forward, this one much more obviously female than Helga. “I am Frigda Normaghast, daughter of Blargh Normaghast of the Houofa Horde of Ithgar.”

  As she stepped back a rather wiry, but still very muscular D’Orc stepped forward and bowed. “Zog Darthelm, son of Neth Darthelm of the Elm Clan of Gormegaest, Antilles star cluster.”

  “Antilles star cluster?” Tom asked curiously.

  “My Lord, as my father related to me, the Plane of Orcnaes is called Gormegaest, and on that plane the Elm Clan roamed between the stars and planets of the Antilles star cluster in great metal ships,” the commander told him.

  “Ah,” Tom said. Had 40K got it right? He had always preferred the original, but if it turned out to be based on a real place—wait, he was already stuck in one crazy fantasy world. No need to think about gaming in another. He shook his head. “Such metal ships might prove interesting.”

  Zog nodded and stepped back.

  The next commander stepped forward stiffly and bowed. “Fester Dourtooth, son of Helga Dourtooth of the Dourtooth Clan of Nysegard.”

  “Helga”—Tom gestured to the burly female—“is your mother?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “And you have risen to commander, as well. Your prowess honors her,” Tom said. He really had no idea what to say to show appreciation, but he figured that anything you might say to praise a Klingon should work for D’Orcs.

  Fester made a very slight grin—hard to detect, but noticeable. Helga seemed pleased as well as she stared at her son. Mother and son fighting side by side in battle. Tom mentally shook his head. He had not even been here an hour and already he was starting to think like a D’Orc—or a Klingon, at least.

  Another female D’Orc stepped forward. She was, as they all were, quite muscular, but this one was noticeably a bit smaller, perhaps younger, than the last few commanders. “My Lord, am Velma Snargspitter, daughter of Heathgol Snargspitter, son of Hera Snargspitter of the Snargspitter Clan of Verasai.”

  Tom was right; she was from a newer generation. He nodded in solemn greeting at the younger D’Orc.

  “I am Morok Deathstealer, son of Arshog, son of Arog, son of Pharog and Vesog, daughter of Ysog, daughter of Ithog Deathstealer of the Deathstealer Clan of Attanoobe Five on the Plane of Orcneas, Visteroth,” said the next D’Orc, who was very unusual. He was very tall, quite thin and pale as a ghost, but he did have the other orc-like attributes.

  Tom blinked. That was a very different genealogy than the others; was it incestuous? No time for that. He needed to get through this, but he was curious. “From the name of the plane and the planet name, can I take it that the Deathstealer Clan are space travelers?”

  “Yes, My Lord. We plied our star system as traders and explorers,” Morok said.

  “Fascinating,” Tom said. Morok stepped back and a very craggy-looking D’Orc stepped forward. He was very bulky, but still seemed rather young.

  “M’Lord. I be Ferrus RockSmasher, son of Aeris RockSmasher, daughter of Plumbum RockSmasher. “We are from the RockSmasher Clan of Nysegard.”

  Another male commander of about the same age as Ferrus stepped forward. “M’Lord, I am Hewith Bilespitter, son of Hegron, son of Haeron Bilespitter of the Bilespitter Clan of Verasai.”

  The next commander was a bit smaller and younger yet. She seemed a bit more hesitant. “My Lord, I am Ruthus Tarpit, daughter of Rufus Tarpit, son of Teeg Tarpit, daughter of Reeg Tarpit of the Labraen Horde of Romdan.” Tom nodded at her. Yes, same generation as Zelda.

  The last of the male commanders stepped forward; he appeared to be fourth generation, if Tom was getting the hang of this. “I am Kraukus Skullspitter, son of Kraig, son of Kaela, daughter of Raig of the Skullspitter Clan of Verasai.”

  The last three commanders were women and of what Tom took to be the fourth generation. The first of the final three stepped forward. “I am Flora Lifender, daughter of Lucreza, daughter of Amethyst, daughter of Fauna Lifender of the Lifender Matrimony of Targella.”

  The next one stepped up holding a rather odd-looking battle axe. It was very long along the hilt and narrow compared to what the others typically had. “I am Serah Sidesplitter.” She stressed the L in Sidesplitter, apparently to differentiate it from the various “spitter” clans. “My father was Trog Sidesplitter, whose father was Seroh Sidesplitter, whose father was Dagog Sidesplitter of the Splitter Horde of Excelsion.” She nodded and stepped back as the last of the commanders came forward.

  “I am Vespa Crooked Stick, daughter of Selma Crooked Stick, daughter of Hazel, daughter of Vera of the Crooked Stick Tribe of Astlan.”

  Tom nodded at her with a tight grin, as he had tried to do for all the others. “Well met. I shall rely on your strength and courage even as Zelda does. I am confident I shall be well served,” Tom said, once again making it all up as he went along. He had really never planned on being a general or a leader, and certainly not a dark overlord of a demon army. His nerves were really starting to fray. He just wanted to curl up into a fetal ball and make the world go away. Intellectually he knew he should be enjoying this—it was straight out of every teenager’s power trip fantasy—but all he could think of was how this was all going to blow up horribly once the D’Orcs figured out he was faking it.

  ~

  Hilda made her way back towards the inn. She had sent Danyel ahead about an hour ago to prepare her a bubble bath and collect some strawberries, chocolate and sparkling wine from the inn’s tavern before the kitchen closed. It had been a rather lengthy and trying day. What with the ball viewing in Tierhallon, brunch with Trisfelt and strategizing, a round with her various patients in the palace and then a long dinner with Trisfelt, Gandros, Damien, Lenamare and Jehenna, she was feeling a tad worn. Dinner with the two schoolmasters was not a trivial task; however, the presence of the head of the Council and the Chief Inquisitor had them on slightly better behavior.

  She was pleased to be making connections with other members of the Council. Such inroads were critical for maintaining her vantage point and access to critical information. Hilda smiled to herself. If she really were an animage healer, these would be invaluable business connections. She grinned more widely, suddenly realizing that technically, they could be considered invaluable business connections for a spy—her current profession.

  Amusement or not, it was taxing and she just wanted to get home and relax as soon as possible. Which was why, when she spotted an upturned cart and all sorts of commotion on the city street between her and the inn, she chose to take a series of side streets, more like alleys. She had explored them briefly in the daytime; rather dank and dark even in broad daylight. Certainly not a great route for a woman alone in the middle of the night. Howeve
r, being previously deceased, she really did not have much to fear. It was rather hard to kill someone who had been dead for centuries and who could heal any wounds within moments. She chuckled to herself at that.

  Naturally, because she had bothered to entertain such thoughts, it was not at all unexpected when a dark shadow rose in front of her within no more than a minute. She supposed it was almost de rigueur. By the sounds, another three people had also materialized behind her. Not in the way she could materialize when coming down from Tierhallon; these individuals had simply stepped out of the deep shadows of a large doorway on her left and another doorway on her right. The man in front of her had simply stepped out from behind a large canister of refuse.

  Fortunately, she could see perfectly well in the dark and so realized instantly that it was beggars that were accosting her; although not, she suspected, in the manner typical of beggars. Hilda stopped before the man in front of her, noting a fifth man coming up behind him with one eye covered in a patch, pockmarked skin, poorly dressed and limping. The beggar in front of her had a hook for one hand and a crutch under his arm on the opposing side. One of the men behind her had a peg leg, by the sound it made on the stone cobbles. Another man behind her had some sort of condition that caused his breathing to sound mucus-filled and quite unpleasant. The third she could not tell.

  Sternly yet politely, she asked the man in front of her, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  “You can stop screwing with people’s livelihoods, bitch,” the man growled at her.

  Hilda blinked in the dark. “My, that seems to be poor manners for someone whom I suspect is about to make a request of me,” she said, shaking her head even as she began drawing in mana from both her illuminaries and from upstream in Tierhallon. She had a good idea where this was heading, so she needed to be prepared. “However, I am but a simple healer, so I have no idea what you are talking about. Now if you’d please excuse me, I’m tired and would like to get home.”

  “You know damn well what we are talking about!” the main beggar snarled.

  “You destroyed Rathbart’s career!” The man—no, woman—behind Hilda who was not rasping, nor peg-legged, said.

  “I’m not sure about this Master Rathbart of whom you speak,” Hilda said pleasantly, stalling for time and preparing herself for what was about to come.

  “One of our guildmates. You healed him! You took away his livelihood. No one is going to give money to a healthy, able-bodied beggar!” the peg-legged man behind her stated.

  “So the beggar meister wanted us to talk to you,” the lead beggar stated.

  “Hmm, I think I know this Master Rathbart of whom you speak. However, he came to me begging for aid, so I gave it to him in the manner I’m best suited to give. I am a professional healer, so I gave him his health,” Hilda said innocently. “Typically, I charge a fair amount for the services I provided him for free.”

  “You ain’t stupid, lady; we can tell that by your speech. You know’d damn well you’d be hosing his ability to beg!” the main beggar told her angrily.

  “I’m deeply sorry that you feel that my well-meaning help was inappropriate, but it is my job,” Hilda said as her hands inside her wide-sleeved robes began the necessary semantic gestures to raise defensive wards about herself. As the beggar continued, she subvocalized the verbal parts of the warding ritual. Not strictly necessary, but it would strengthen the wards.

  “The beggar meister has instructed us to bring you to Rathbert so you can undo your damage,” the main beggar told her.

  Hilda shook her head. “I’m sorry; I’m under oath to do no harm,” she lied to them. All followers of Tiernon were allowed to do harm if it served the purpose of justice. Saints in particular were quite capable of doing vast amounts of damage, if necessary. However, she was pretending to be a healer, and most healers had strong vows against using their knowledge and power to harm others.

  “The beggar meister thought that might be the case, so we’ve been instructed to teach you a lesson,” the principal beggar said menacingly.

  Hilda sighed, rather theatrically, she felt. “And by lesson, do you mean grievous bodily harm?” she asked.

  The main beggar smiled over Hilda’s shoulder to the woman behind her. “See, I told you she was smart.”

  Hilda shook her head sadly. “And how do you propose to grievously harm someone who can easily heal themselves?”

  Both men in front of her grinned evilly. “We’re betting you can’t heal without hands,” the second one said, brandishing a large dagger.

  It was Hilda’s turn to grin and chuckle evilly. “I personally would not place a bet on that.” Her face turned very serious suddenly. “Since you have been honest with me about your intentions towards me, let me now be honest about my intentions towards you.”

  The peg-legged beggar behind her snorted, and the raspy guy gurgled a laugh. The men in front of her smiled condescendingly. “Sure, you do that. It won’t matter much.” The first one chuckled.

  Hilda shrugged. “Nonetheless, I feel I must give you this opportunity to flee, for I intend to make a very serious lesson of you five for the rest of the guild. Leave this alley now and you will avoid your fate.”

  The beggars all chuckled.

  “She thinks she can kill all five of us?” The woman laughed and the others quickly joined in.

  Hilda let them cackle a moment as she locked her defensive wards into place. “Kill you? Oh my dears, I think you misunderstand!” She shook her head as if in disbelief. “Remember, I have a code against doing harm to others.”

  “So then your lesson’s going to be pretty lame, isn’t it?” the second man in front of her said.

  “Not at all, I’m just going to heal all of you, as I did for Rathbart.” Hilda said, and then her eyes and voice hardened. “After that you will go back to the beggar meister and tell him that if he doesn’t back off and leave me and mine alone, I will hunt down every single beggar in this city, heal them and then place a Geis upon all of the beggars in this city, to never willingly allow themselves to be harmed or maimed. I will then place a second Geis upon them that forces them to compulsively bathe and clean themselves daily, and a third Geis that will make them feel anxious and restless if they aren’t doing back-breaking manual labor every day while Fierd is up.” Hilda grinned. “Is that clear?”

  The beggars had stopped laughing. “I think we may need to do more than hurt you,” the main beggar said.

  Hilda shrugged. “You have been warned.”

  The man in front of her whipped his crutch towards her legs, trying to knock them out from under her as he simultaneously lunged at her with his hook. Hilda adroitly leaped over the cane, easily seeing it coming in the dark and aided by her defensive wards, which redirected the crutches away from her. She grabbed the beggar’s forearm where the hook’s cup was strapped on. Hilda mouthed a quick prayer and healing mana surged into the man’s arm. The beggar leaped back as if struck by lightning, which in some ways he had been.

  “Fraggin rat’s tails!” The man began screaming and cursing and shaking his hook. He dropped his crutch and began trying to get the hook’s cup off his forearm. “Midas’s nuts, it itches! It stings like a thousand scorpions!”

  The gurgling, raspy man, formerly behind Hilda but now to her right, lunged towards her with a knife. Hilda batted the man’s knife arm away and palm-punched him in the chest, chanting loudly in Etonian at the same time, sending another shockwave of healing power into him. The man collapsed to his knees and began violently hacking his lungs out. All the pus, mucus and disease in his lungs were being violently expelled by his coughing and retching.

  The peg-legged man glanced at his compatriot and came lunging at Hilda with a sickle. Hilda shook her head, dove under his poorly wielded sickle and grabbed his peg, pulling it and his leg up and to the side while infusing the leg with healing power. The man tumbled to the ground as she let go and started thrashing and screaming in pain, trying to get the peg unstrapped from h
is rapidly healing leg.

  “Sorry about the pain, guys,” Hilda shouted. “This is healing combat, which is basically the opposite of combat healing.” She moved towards the woman who had unfurled a whip and had only been waiting for the peg-legged man to get out of her way so she could use it on Hilda.

  This woman had a terrible case of—leprosy! What the…? Hilda shook her head. How in Tiernon’s worst nightmare were they allowing a leper to run around the city? It was a figurative miracle that there had not been a huge outbreak. But clearly it was leprosy; she could see the craggy skin nodules, the missing fingers from the woman’s left hand. She was blind in one eye, her right foot twisted and club-like. This one was going to need a huge rush of antibiotic mana to eliminate the bacteria and then some widespread regeneration.

  This was going to hurt the beggar woman like crazy! Hilda dove and tackled the woman before she could bring her whip around. Hilda wrapped herself like a blanket around the leprous woman, essentially irradiating her whole being in healing mana while chanting multiple rituals of healing.

  The woman screamed like bloody murder. “Sorry!” Hilda said, standing up to face the man with the big dagger and one eye. He was picking up his dagger from the ground; Hilda suspected he had thrown it at her and it had been deflected by her wards.

  “Healing Combat,” Hilda told the man as they began to circle each other, “is like Combat Healing in that it has to be done in the middle of battle, but with Combat Healing I am rapidly healing one of my own, so while I have to work very fast and use a lot of excess mana, I can also suppress the patient’s nerve endings to numb the pain of healing too quickly.

  “In the case of Healing Combat, I am in combat and don’t have the necessary links to my patient, so all I can do is shove out an excessive amount of healing mana very quickly. This leads to extremely abrupt healing and regeneration, which typically itches, tingles and overwhelms the nerves. It also taxes the body’s systems to a huge level, weakening them as their natural regenerative systems are forced into a very unnatural overdrive,” Hilda explained as she warily faced down the man with the dagger. She was not completely sure why she felt the need to explain why their healing hurt so much. Perhaps it was guilt about inflicting pain.