Oblivion Hand

by Adrian Cole

  “You mean—it is here?”

  Murtegg pointed to a black box beside the fire hearth. “There. I dare not leave it, for I have not the courage to quit Cloudway and be dissipated. I fear that it will never be taken from here, for the gods have cursed it.”

  Elfloq was trying to picture the vast scenes described by Murtegg. Had the Voidal been a part of that chaos? He must find out. “Your story is so enormous, I could not hope to equal it. My own life is exceptionally dull by comparison,” he said.

  “Oh, but I would be glad to hear it—”

  “I think, unhappy Murtegg, I may otherwise please you.”

  The giant lifted his huge goblet and guzzled noisily, putting it down and looking with interest at the familiar. “If that is so, speak out!”

  “Once, no doubt, you had goddesses on your arm. Once they must have swooned to your touch, vied for your caresses. Long ago, how you must have loved them!”

  Murtegg banged his fist down on the table and swore vehemently so that Elfloq had to take to the air to save himself a bruising. “Of course, damn you!” growled the giant. “I had a dozen such goddesses! Why torture me by speaking of them? I have not had one share my bed for a hundred lifetimes, nor any woman!”

  “Then I can indeed offer you something,” went on Elfloq. “You shall again be a god, or at least you shall feel like one.”

  “Do not mock me, little familiar—”

  “No, I do not. I have what you desire. They shall be yours, to keep and to sport with for as long as you wish. Not far from here.”

  Murtegg was nodding thoughtfully. “You would exchange them for a simple story, one which any of the Fallen would tell you? Or is there more that you desire?”

  Elfloq tried to appear nonchalant. “Well—there was something else. Just a smattering of knowledge.”

  Murtegg laughed so that the hidden rafters rang. “You have done me some good already! Your impudence tickles my ribs. What do you wish of me, cunning one?”

  “I seek a new master. Once I was owned by a great sorcerer, whom I took to be the greatest of all, a man who sought to usurp colossal powers and become a veritable god himself. But he was destroyed—him and his world, together with a great dynasty of conquerors. I watched as all this went down to damnation at the hands of one man, a man said to be the pawn of certain gods. It is this man that I would serve, for he has access to undreamed of power.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He has no identity, no name, save that of—Voidal. Who is he, giant? Where may I find him? How can I bind myself to him?” said Elfloq breathlessly.

  Murtegg grunted. “Stars, so you are not without ambition, too! But I do not know the name. What gods does he serve?”

  “I know them only as the Dark Gods. Once he did them a grievous wrong, and so they—”

  Murtegg held up a hand for silence, his face pale. “Him. Yes, I know of him.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “You foolish, misbegotten cur! Do you think the Dark Gods would permit you such forbidden knowledge? No man may aid the one you speak of. No creature may call him friend and escape the wrath of the Dark Gods. Greater by far than any other was his crime! I will tell you nothing. It shames me to say so, but I fear the reprisals.”

  “But our bargain—”

  “Bargain! To take what you offer in exchange for eternal agony!”

  “But, can you not even tell me how I may please this Voidal?”

  Murtegg stiffened, thinking. “I will say this. Give me what you promised and I will give you something in return. A fragment, no more.”

  “I accept,” said Elfloq eagerly.

  “There are many things the man you speak of desires. You must give him one of them. Hah! but you know that, which is why you interrogate me, cunning one. Well, you shall not have the information from me. I will tell you to whom you must go. But first I will tell you what to seek of them, if you dare. Ask them where the woman may be found: his woman. He would gladly give up the search for his purloined soul to find her again. Find out where she is and tell this Voidal. If the Dark Gods permit it, you will be his ally ever after.”

  “Whom must I seek?”

  “Where are your gifts?”

  As though in answer to that, there came a loud rapping at another unseen door. Elfloq tried to grin as he flitted from the table and across the hall, calling to Murtegg to follow. Grumpily the Broken God rose and did so, cursing as he stood at the walls. “Well?”

  “They are without.”

  “Who?” sniffed Murtegg, listening to the shrill sounds beyond the rattling door that were not made by the wind.

  “Open it.”

  Murtegg threw the door open and in the night stood three black-cloaked women, their white faces framed in their hoods, their blood-red eyes blazing like angry fires. “By the powers, what beauties are these!” cried the giant.

  “They are yours,” said Elfloq, who had flown up to alight on Murtegg’s shoulder. “Are you not going to invite them in? If you do so, they are bound to remain with you for as long as you stay in Cloudway. You need not be alone.”

  Murtegg looked again at the strange women, who were keenly scanning the tables and dark corners of Cloudway. Elfloq had already seen Delirion dart for a hidden alcove by another door, out of sight of his nemesis. Murtegg grinned hugely. “Welcome, beautiful travellers!” he cried, bowing and stepping aside. “Please come this way. Step in from the chill night and let Murtegg fill you with warmth!”

  The three lamias of Vandi-Nuessa smiled evilly and walked haughtily into Cloudway. Somewhere a door banged shut as Delirion fled once more. Elfloq was well pleased that Murtegg had done the inviting, for he was more than a little glad not to have to deal with the lamias himself, nor need he do so again. He breathed into Murtegg’s ear. “Well? Are you pleased? To whom must I go?”

  “Go to the Divine Askers. They serve the Dark Gods as their questioners and they are the ones who extract all knowledge that the Dark Gods seek. Nothing is hidden from them. But be warned, little familiar. I doubt that they will grant anything you ask. Likely they will torture you—indefinitely.”

  “How do I find them?”

  “Go to Eye Patch of the Smile. Below this hall there are many cellars, with stairs that lead to places most travellers would never guess at. Walk with care, small one, if you find the path to cruel Hedrazee, lair of the Askers. Remember, the Dark Gods hear even the dust that falls at the far end of the omniverse.”

  At the counter, Eye Patch smiled one of his knowing smiles, as though all the secrets of the omniverse were his. “What do you wish to know?”

  “A way to—the Divine Askers.”

  Eye Patch chuckled. “The Askers? Strange that you should seek them, for they are usually the ones who seek out their, if you’ll excuse me, victims. However, that is none of my business. I am your host and am here to assist as I can. Follow.” Saying this, he took up a firebrand and beckoned Elfloq to him as he passed through a door.

  Elfloq hopped behind, surprised to find beyond a stairway of wood that led not down but up. “Is this the correct way, host?” he said dubiously. “I was told that your exits to other realms are below in your cellars.”

  Eye Patch grinned back at him. “Indeed they are, and they certainly open on to many dimensions. However, as you perhaps know, Cloudway has magical qualities—for example, the fingers of coincidence are rarely idle here and weave the most contingent of fates for its visitors, regardless of status.”

  Elfloq digested these words as he climbed the creaking stairs in the wake of the sputtering brand. The tiny embers seemed curiously not to affect the wood. Eye Patch stood in a narrow corridor before a low door. “Here you may find what you seek.”

  “A gateway to the Askers?”

  “To their clandestine retreat, Hedrazee? No. But herein are two of them, travelling like yourself and resting here in Cloudway for a while.”

  Elfloq grimaced, but he was resolute about his course. He must
find the Voidal. He dare not exist without a master much longer. “Very well.”

  As he made to knock, Eye Patch bowed and set the brand in the wall, retreating into the darkness without another word. Elfloq knocked and it seemed that there was a distant echo. After a moment the door opened inward. Strange incense drifted to Elfloq’s nostrils as he walked into the low room. There were bizarre hangings and black candles dripping tallow. Two figures stood beside a divan, dressed in resplendent scarlet robes. Their jet-black hair tumbled down over their shoulders to their waists, their swarthy faces caught by the glow of the candles.

  “Who dares to disturb us?” said one, drawing in a deep breath as though drugged.

  “A fellow traveller,” said Elfloq. “Our host told me you might help.”

  “Do you know who we are?” said the other man tersely, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

  “Yes,” said Elfloq, but the first man indicated his companion.

  “This is Zobbarkh, lately First Oligarch of the Torturers’ Guild of Azadris, the Bloodworld. He is being elevated from his already esteemed position to that of Divine Asker. I am Darquementi of the Askers, Questioners of the Dark Gods and I am taking Zobbarkh to my colleagues. Cloudway’s laws demand that we share such facts with fellow guests, but now that you know who we are, rude familiar, perhaps you will quit us in favour of more amicable company.”

  Elfloq flinched as the eyes of the two men looked balefully down at him. “I know who you are, great masters. Indeed, it is why I sought you.”

  Darquementi was taken aback. “Do you not understand! We are Divine Askers! We do the exclusive work of the Dark Gods. Before us are brought all those who must answer to them. It is given to us to draw from them their knowledge and their confessions. It is also given to us to punish and to scourge.”

  “I wish only to honour and serve the Dark Gods,” insisted Elfloq as obsequiously as he could.

  “That is well. They have many enemies. Have you come to confess some crime? Or do you possess knowledge we should share?”

  “I would gladly confess freely to you everything that I know, omnipotent masters, but such facts as are in my head would surely serve only to bore you.”

  “Then why in all the hells are you here!” growled Zobbarkh.

  “I am on a mission, a personal mission it is true. My last master, Quarramagus of Moonwater, was destroyed, along with the Csarducts. The Dark Gods quite rightly brought them to their doom.”

  “And you escaped the cataclysm?” said Darquementi.

  “The Dark Gods were merciful, lords. I aided in my master’s downfall—actually I was instrumental in it.”

  “Indeed?” The Askers seemed amused by the bravado of the diminutive figure.

  “Your masters sent the Fatecaster to wreak havoc—I aided him when the Seven sorcerers chained him with spells. I freed him!”

  Darquementi snorted with scepticism. “Hah! You? You aided the Voidal? Do you think he would have been powerless? I think you exaggerate your own powers somewhat. However, come to the point.”

  “I had disowned Quarramagus, who worked evil, and now I have sworn fealty to the Dark Gods. As I have avowed, I wish to serve only them.”

  “Ah—and you wish to do so in a particular fashion. You wish us to intercede for you? Your words are garbled but your thoughts are clearer. Remember who we are.”

  “I will be honest, lords. I wish to serve the—Voidal. I need a new master, lest I perish.” Elfloq felt a stab of freezing panic, for he knew that his words cast his fate into the very teeth of these grim lords of pain. If they were displeased, he would suffer exceptional torture to appease the Dark Gods.

  Darquementi nodded. “You are honest, but impertinent beyond words! Do you not understand that the Voidal has been marked by our masters? None may befriend him and he must undertake his punishment alone. That is our masters’ decree. We cannot intercede for you without bringing our masters’ wrath down upon our own heads.”

  Elfloq was nodding, his blood still icy in his veins. Yet his ambition burned on brightly. “I have—one small gift to offer your masters, to demonstrate my faith.”

  The Askers exchanged a brief glance, then stared at the familiar. “I trust that you do not seek to bargain with us?” said Darquementi, his voice suddenly cold.

  Elfloq looked horrified. “Never, lords! I bring you a gift, and ask nothing for it—”

  “What is this gift?” said Zobbarkh, intrigued.

  “Once,” said Elfloq, swallowing hard, “there was a great sundering of gods, after the piecemeal theft of the Burning Beach. Many of the gems from that Beach have never been recovered. Doubtless the Dark Gods would be well pleased to recover such fragments—”

  “And you have one?” said Darquementi, incredulous.

  “Below, in the hall, the giant watches over one, waiting until it is claimed. He would be glad if you relieved him of his duty.”

  Darquementi studied the familiar, then nodded. “I see. You are clever, little one. It is indeed a worthy gift. One that may, after all, warrant a reward.” He turned to Zobbarkh. “What do you say?”

  “Noble Darquementi,” replied the latter sleepily, “I have been idly sifting through some of the twisted thoughts in our visitor’s head, and coupling them with certain other knowledge that I have, may have a solution (quite plausibly divinely inspired). The familiar seeks knowledge, though is far too terrified to ask it of us. He seeks to be a servant of the Voidal, but knows that for the Voidal to accept him, he would have to impart to him something the Voidal badly wants—something, for instance, denied to him by our masters. For example, the knowledge that the Voidal’s great love has not been destroyed, but lives. The familiar would doubtless wish to impart to the Voidal news of the actual movements of the woman, her troubled course. To do so, he reasons, would surely bind him to the Voidal.”

  “Sir, I would never have asked such a thing!” protested Elfloq. “It was merely a vague, half-formed thought, rootless and idle!”

  Zobbarkh waved the words aside. “Darquementi has told me of the Voidal and his circumstances at length. It is one of the great secrets of our circle. However, there is a certain irony in what you seek to learn. Why not allow the familiar his fragment of knowledge, Darquementi? Let him take news of this woman to the Voidal. After all, such knowledge would likely evoke various emotions in the dark man’s breast.”

  Darquementi was thoughtful, but a slow smile crossed his features. “It may not please him, but torture him more. It could be done, but I would make one binding stipulation. This familiar must choose his own path. Once given the knowledge, he may bestow it or retain it as he sees fit. Well, familiar, does that suit your cause? The knowledge you want may not be what it seems. We are ever devious, but there may be little we can teach you about that particular art.”

  Elfloq could scarcely withhold his glee. “I am content.”

  “Of course, the Dark Gods may not wish you to impart the knowledge, in which case they will quickly destroy you,” Darquementi added.

  “Without a master, I will die anyway,” murmured Elfloq. “I must take my chances.” He could not back down now, for he may never again find himself so close to his goal.

  “Very well. It will be done. Come closer and look into my eyes. You will see what you must.”

  Elfloq obeyed and as he did so, Darquementi’s eyes appeared as two huge pools which merged into one; Elfloq found himself dropping down into that lake, but then, abruptly, he was looking out over a remarkable landscape. A twilight sky with grim mountains below it and a land that seemed never to have been blessed with true daylight. Elfloq recognised the weird constellations that faintly glowed like dead embers in the heavens. This was the dimension of Nyctath, the All-Night, where light had only a faint grip. Dark things were spawned here, with cold blood and colder hearts. Now he saw a crumbling ruin of a city and therein mausoleums, from which lethargic figures stumbled or crawled. Some stretched diaphanous wings and rose upward into the ble
ak night. The scene was familiar, at least in memory, for this was the very palace of Vandi-Nuessa, whom Delirion so dreaded. Here were the lamias of the empress, ruler of the night worlds.

  Elfloq seemed to float into a central chamber where all was dark and obscured. He saw a lamia rise from her black velvet couch and watched her. Her skin was milk white, her eyes filled with incalculable sorrow. Slowly, hesitantly, she bent down to bite into the flesh of something beside her, as if reluctant to feed. Her fingers touched the strings of an instrument beside her, a thing of beauty, an anachronism in this dreadful realm. It seemed to Elfloq to offer a hint of comfort to the lamia, who must be little better than a prisoner.

  Beside her, another lamia stirred from sleep, but before the familiar could study her better the blackness of the light shut down abruptly. Elfloq felt a spinning nausea threaten him but shook his head. Before him stood the two Askers.

  “You have seen? Like the Voidal, the lamias are cursed with immortality.”

  “A cruel fate.”

  “The Dark Gods are stern masters. Even so, familiar, you have what you came for. And in exchange we will have the giant’s charge before we leave.”

  Elfloq nodded. “You are kind. Now I must somehow find the Fatecaster.”

  “You have only to summon him by name,” said Darquementi.

  “And pay some dire penalty for doing so?” gasped Elfloq, knowing the laws that surrounded the Voidal.

  “You are in Cloudway. No harm will befall you here. Summon him and there will be no reckoning.”

  Elfloq did not look convinced. Since stepping in here, he had begun to feel progressively more like a pawn.

  “Well, you must leave us. Our own journey begins anew soon.”

  Greatly relieved, Elfloq bowed and departed, closing the door with a thump and scurrying down the wooden stairs. Below, Eye Patch awaited him with a leer. “Perhaps you would enjoy a further drink after your conversation?”