by Unknown
And now they were about to go face to face with one of them. He trusted Aebos, of course. He knew his sagacious companion would let him do the talking, and wouldn’t say anything to unduly arouse the demon’s ire. And if things did go to shit, he knew Aebos could back him up in the ensuing battle. Creeg, on the other hand, was a risk on both counts. Given his ego, he seemed almost pathologically destined to say something upsetting, and the man had thus far proven dangerous to absolutely nothing beyond lobsters and unborn aubekan chicks. A look at the slight form of the alchemist sleeping below him confirmed that Creeg offered no physical advantages to their chance of success. Korm chuckled at the enormous rucksack next to Creeg. He’d have to pull something awfully impressive out of that bag of his to prove his worth, Korm thought.
But why wait to find out what it would be? Korm eased himself off the rock and stepped softly to the bag. With the precision of a master tomb robber disabling a trap, the swordsman gently lifted the bulky satchel, flinching at every tiny clink from the glass bottles and containers within. Creeg didn’t seem to notice, and slept on.
Korm returned to the boulder and began rummaging through the rucksack. He withdrew a slim leather case hinged at one end and fastened at the other with a simple clasp. This he opened, revealing a medical kit with three crude metal syringes and a length of leather cord. Small loops of material built into the case’s interior held several ampoules filled with colored liquid. The kit and its contents looked shabby and well used.
Korm next removed a small, cylindrical glass jar from the bag, raising his eyebrows as he recognized Creeg’s ubiquitous golden spice within. Although he could not deny that the flakes added to the flavor of the meals they seasoned, they also brought a monotony to each dish that was starting to tire him. That said, Aebos loved the stuff, and would surely suffer from a scheme that deprived him of it forever. The perfect solution seemed obvious.
Korm placed the jar of golden flakes into his beltpouch. This way he could use it to get back into Aebos’s good graces a month from now after Korm inevitably got them into trouble again.
It was an investment.
Aside from cooking supplies, some dried meats, and numerous tubes of alchemical liquids Korm couldn’t hope to identify, Creeg’s bag contained several samples of narcotic drugs that shed troubling light upon the needle kit Korm had found earlier. These items included a folded rectangle of butcher paper smeared with pesh paste and a pouch of qat leaves, as well as more than a dozen hallucinogenic yellowcap mushrooms.
His search complete, Korm decided nothing in Creeg’s bag suggested a coming betrayal or unknown danger—just a lot of drugs that cast further doubt upon the alchemist’s character.
Korm pocketed four of the mushroom caps for himself, put the rest of Creeg’s possessions back in the bag, and waited for the dark skies to turn a lighter shade of gray.
∗ ∗ ∗
Korm finally reached the foot of the mountain to find Aebos and Epostian Creeg stopped short before him, marveling at a huge body stretched out upon the dusty ground. The stark white of its immense bones contrasted with the red dirt of the valley floor, reminding Korm of a sun-bleached skeleton of an ancient warrior revealed by the shifting sands of a desert. Clumps of flesh still clinging to the frame here and there and the jumble of indistinct organic matter within its chest suggested this warrior was more recent than ancient, however, and an army made up of creatures this tall could easily crush nations under its heels. The behemoth’s skull looked in many ways human, but was larger than that of an elephant. From the top of its head to the soles of its feet must have been twenty-five feet or more.
“What in the Hell is that supposed to be?” Korm asked.
“Could it have fallen?” asked Epostian Creeg.
“Creeg hardly inspires confidence.”
Aebos approached the skeleton for a closer observation, his posture displaying little of the caution that ran up and down Korm’s spine. “The bones would have been crushed,” Aebos said. “And they would have been jumbled and chaotic. This creature looks as though it fell straight on its back, as if it laid down willingly and died. The arms are out straight at the shoulder. No one lands like that and stays that way.”
Korm turned from the creature to survey the route from which they had come. The last hour had been a careful hand-over-hand descent down a jagged cleft in the mountain wall. The cliffs stretched for miles on either side. No doubt the route they had chosen was the only viable path from the portal above down to the valley. That meant the giant’s corpse had been staged for all who trod the path from the Relentless’s portal. It was meant as a message, and its author must have been Juval.
“I think the demon killed it,” Korm said. “But what was it, and what was it doing here?”
Creeg scoffed. “The ship is ancient, and any number of creatures may have found their way into Juval’s realm, only to be killed. It’s possible this fellow has been here for centuries. It is also possible that the giant is simply a figment conjured by Juval to scare us back up the mountain. We should pay it no mind and carry on.”
And so they did.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later, the trio came upon the first of the violet pools that spread across the valley like angry, bubbling sores. The alchemist marveled at the pool’s viscid liquid, which melted a wooden testing prod like a candle but did no damage to his bare hand. When Creeg knelt to gather some of the material for his own collection, Korm even thought he saw the alchemist take a sip from his slime-soaked sample jar.
They saw little sign of life as they traversed the plain toward the burning building at the heart of Juval’s realm. Three times they heard a loud splash from one of the pools they had just passed, but upon turning discovered only ripples widening from the water’s edge. After a few hours of marching, the pools thinned out and finally disappeared at the verge of a sickly forest of diseased trees glistening with gangrene and pus.
Korm and Aebos kept their distance from the hideous growths, but Epostian Creeg stepped right up to their trunks, cutting away sections of their scabrous flesh with a thin knife to collect samples for later study. The trail of his blade seeped with greasy black sap that smelled worse than it looked. Here and there in the forest, Korm thought he could hear footsteps in the undergrowth keeping pace with their march, but he never managed to catch sight of his observer.
On one such occasion, looking off the rough trail into the woods, Korm found himself staring into the eyes of a massive bull.
The vacant stare, twisted mouth, and extended yellow tongue told Korm the creature was dead even before his mind registered what he was seeing. It almost came as an afterthought that the bovine head sat detached from its body, balanced in a clump of viscera upon a gore-soaked tree stump at eye level, facing the path through the woods. A tree just beyond the grisly stump was the scene of an even greater atrocity. There the body of a muscular human man hung upside down from a long nail driven through both ankles. The splattered red stain smearing the tree from the man’s jagged, headless neck gave the appearance of a can of paint tipped over end, with the thickest sludge still slowly oozing to the ground.
The head and the body had once been a matched pair.
“So I guess this guy is another of Juval’s figments?” Korm asked.
“It is possible,” Creeg said without enthusiasm.
∗ ∗ ∗
Finally the three reached the low stone walls ringing the garden at the center of the valley. Here the dusty ground and clumps of scrub grass gave way to wide, broken paving stones partially claimed by creeping vines. Raised platforms, dry and weed-choked fountains, and the remnants of mosaic paths hinted at the garden this once had been, an impression strengthened by the many statues arrayed around the area.
From a low rise at the center of the garden, the burning manor cast a flickering glow on the sculpted figures. Most of them looked in the house’s direction as if transfixed by the awe of the sight. Korm could hardly blame them.
The entire frame of the stately three-story structure remained visible through the furious flames, but only the first was more than a vague outline. The front door stood as yet unmarred by fire, as if beckoning potential rescuers to burst through in search of survivors. Had they been in a city, even this far away, Korm might have attempted it. But here, in the demon’s realm, he doubted very seriously that whatever lurked within would welcome him as its hero.
Their answers, and Juval itself, probably awaited them inside. But there was no sense in rushing into things. If Juval had known the moment they had arrived, as Creeg had suggested last night, the element of surprise had long since been lost.
And besides. They had not come to fight, but to negotiate.
The trio cautiously advanced into the garden, passing several of its statues on their way to Juval’s lair. Some of the figures wore primitive, tribal garb. Others were attired as pirates, and others dressed in outdated military uniforms. Most had been sculpted in a moment of terror, their hands splayed out before them as if fending off danger, each face a rictus of fear. Closer to the garden’s center, a trio of humanoid statues seemed to slink up a low stair toward the house. Time had worn away their crude features, but what remained gave Korm the impression of sharks. While inspecting the extremely realistic trident clutched by one of the creatures, Korm’s peripheral vision caught a ceremonial altar at the top of the low stairs.
A small organic form lay motionless upon the altar. Korm, Aebos, and Epostian Creeg approached closer to discover the body of a goat-horned satyr prostrate upon the pedestal. A jagged line marred its bearded neck, and the flaked pool of blood that had gathered under it suggested that the body had been here a week or more.
The three of them stood with their backs to the garden, considering the slain satyr, when the clip-clop of hooves tapped from the flagstones at the foot of the low stair behind them. They turned just in time to see the form of a powerful centaur step from behind a massive stone plinth. Unlike the ashen statues that surrounded it, the creature’s healthy tone and muscular physique exuded life and spirit, as did its bushy red beard and shock of wild hair.
The centaur’s eyes burned with a bright crimson fire, and Korm knew that he looked upon Juval itself.
“Epostian Creeg,” it said in a hollow voice accompanied by a disembodied chorus. “I expected you months ago. The decade has long since passed, and a fitting tribute is long overdue. Tell me, what treasure have you brought in the name of Iranez of the Orb?”
The alchemist stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. “A cyclops, regal Juval!” he shouted. “I bring you the form of the cyclops Aebos, to do with as you wish!”.
Chapter Five: Home Fires Burn
Aebos’s fist crashed into Creeg’s jaw with the force of a battering ram. The alchemist made a meek little sound, spun once, and collapsed upon the garden floor. Korm had seen lesser blows from the cyclops’s fists snap the necks of men much hardier than Epostian Creeg. Perhaps the punch had killed him. A fitting end for a traitor.
At the foot of the low stair, cloaked in the form of a centaur, Juval cackled loudly. “That was unexpected! How very exciting. I had not known there would be entertainment prior to my collection of the fee.”
Korm stepped toward the demon, his hands held palms forward in a submissive gesture. “I am Korm Calladan, and this is my friend, Aebos. We have no quarrel with you, and have come only to negotiate the return of winds to the seas surrounding the Relentless and the kingdom of Nex.”
The creature turned its piercing eyes to Korm. Crimson flames smoldered under thick red eyebrows. “The almighty Nex created his demon ships for battle, did he not? This is a war vessel, designed for conquest. What harm does the lack of wind do to the Relentless? I can power the ship through storm and calm alike. If lesser ships are rendered useless, it is to our tactical advantage.”
Korm frowned. He had not expected reason from a creature born of multiversal chaos. Convincing Juval to abandon its gambit without giving up the bag of treasure was bound to be more difficult than simply asking nicely, but Korm wasn’t ready to give up yet. If they were to dissuade the demon, he would have to find an angle. And to do that, he had to keep it talking. He decided to start with the obvious.
“So those statues, they’re former hosts? Old shells you keep around to remind you of past victories?”
“Oh, no,” Juval said, its face masked with scorn. “By the time these wretches invaded my domain I’d long had my fill of human frailties. They were mere invaders. Victims. Three hundred years ago the Relentless ran aground near Lirgen, and over the centuries natives of those rain-cursed lands found their way onto the deck and explored the ship’s lower quarters, seeking treasures. Instead they found the lens and their way into my domain. Among the earliest was a snake-haired medusa, whom I inhabited to great effect. Her eyes saw the world more vividly than any I had used before. Better, her form granted me the ability to cast any who beheld it into stone. Here, let me show you.”
Juval’s centaur form twisted upon itself, the rear legs pushing up into its torso even as the fiery red beard withdrew into a sharpening, increasingly feminine jaw. Korm’s mouth fell slack as Juval’s mop of ropey hair writhed and undulated, transforming before his eyes into a profusion of squirming green snakes. Juval’s arms extended into lanky, gnarled emerald branches tipped with jagged claws.
“No!” cried Epostian Creeg, throwing his hands in front of his face. Korm met Juval’s eyes just as the demon’s pupils took on an ophidian cast. A dull power seemed to emanate from those hateful eyes, anchoring Korm to the ground and forbidding him from looking away.
The tips of his toes began to ache, and Korm imagined them hardening to gray stone within his boots, the transformation creeping rapidly, inexorably up his legs, over his groin, and into his trunk. He wondered when it would finally kill him. When his frantic heart stopped within a shell of rock? When the march of stone reached his eyes and he could no longer see? Or would the transformation preserve his consciousness so that he might live forever as a statue, feeling minute pain in every chip and scratch over the uncountable years he would spend trapped in this demon’s personal Abyss? And when erosion set in, and all that was once Korm Calladan had crumbled to dust, would he still maintain his sense of self?
But Korm’s toes did not turn to stone. His heart continued to race in his chest. Juval, now wholly a medusa, cackled with delight.
“You’ve nothing to fear from my gaze, child,” it said in a voice that dripped with newfound femininity yet remained unmistakably that of the demon. “That body died out long ago. I can assume its image now only because it remains in my memory. For I now inhabit a shapechanger, and can become any creature that once was mine. No more can I create statues, but with a thought I can make my own body a gallery of the forms I have worn before.
“No, swordsman. The statues are not reminders of my previous forms. They are something far more useful. They remind me that though I control all aspects of this realm, the keys to its front gate are not in my possession. I must remain ever vigilant against unwanted intruders.”
“But we are not unwanted,” replied Korm. “Epostian Creeg brought us here. You and he had some kind of deal, didn’t you?”
“I do not deal directly with wretches like that dandy on the ground,” Juval spat. “My accordance is with his mistress, the Lady Iranez. That she uses intermediaries to deliver my price is a sign of weakness and lack of trust. Most disappointing.”
“I also find Creeg most disappointing,” Korm said. “But I assure you his offer is not genuine. As far as I can tell, he is acting as his own agent in this. In fact, the Lady Iranez instructed us to deliver a portion of treasure culled from the finest of her personal collection. Aebos, show our host what we have been authorized to deliver.”
The cyclops reluctantly reached into the linen sack and withdrew a sturdy platinum tiara bejeweled with a rainbow of scintillating colors. A fine silver necklace chased with glittering rubies
looped around the apex of the delicate crown and curled over Aebos’s massive thumb to dangle invitingly.
Juval cackled, the snap of its derisive laughter sharper for the chorus of hissing snakes that accompanied it. When finally the demon’s pleasure subsided into a fit of rough chuckles, it spoke, shaking its head. “You are a fool. What good does a pretty bracelet or a handful of coins do me here? I am trapped forever in this Hell of my creation, never to visit a market or fancy ball. Wealth as you understand it means absolutely nothing to me.”
“I’m certain that we can come to some accommodation,” replied Korm.
“As am I,” Juval replied. “Creeg spoke true. My accordance with his mistress calls for the delivery of a new, interesting form once every decade. I inhabit that form until I tire of it, at which point I demand a new one.” Juval turned briefly toward the murdered satyr atop the garden’s central dais. “The last three deliveries Iranez has made have not been sufficiently interesting, and so I have stilled the waters of her beloved homeland until the quality of her offering equals the value of my service.”
Aebos began carefully returning his treasures to the linen bag. The corner of Korm’s mouth twitched. Things were about to go to hell, he thought, but at least if they managed to get out of here that bag of treasure would accompany them to Quantium.
Korm’s mind raced to concoct a way to defeat the demon. If he stalled the creature, perhaps Creeg could rouse himself and come to their aid. Even the thought of pinning their hopes on Epostian Creeg—who had already proven himself their enemy—made Korm’s stomach turn. He brought his left hand to rest on the grip of his saber, unsure what to do next. Juval seemed to read his thoughts.
“There is nothing you can do to win the day. The cyclops is already mine. I control every aspect of the world within the lens. I control every aspect of the Relentless itself, down to the finest detail. And now, thanks to eons of effort, I extend my control even to the waters surrounding the ship. And through those waters I control the fate of a nation. You should have known better than attempt to bargain with a demon, Korm Calladan. We are not limited by human frailties, weaknesses, or desires.”
