Demonworld Book 4: Shepherd of Wolves

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “Yessir!”

  “Edwar Bruner has given his permission to include the design for his zeppelin airship in the negotiation. However, only play that card if you absolutely must.”

  Zach handed the radio over to Edwar, then walked to the edge of the deck, leaned over, and watched his men going about their duties on the other airships.

  Miss Oliver and Judge Rosebudd looked at him. Horrified, they wondered if the survival of their homes depended not on their schemes, but on the sacrifices made by a younger generation that had not yet developed a deep well of cunning survival strategies, but had only their own blood to give.

  “We’ll reach Sunport soon,” said Zach. “I don’t know these lands as well as the rest of you. Tell me, who is the official ruler of that city?”

  Zach waited in silence. No one knew the name of Sunport’s ruler. There followed a lengthy argument on how such ignorance could be possible.

  * * *

  The sky was slate gray over Sunport. Hard-edged storm clouds hung over the banners perched on the rooftop where the representatives of Sunport and Pontius sat on stools and faced one another. On one side, King Zachariah sat at the fore, with his counselors from Pontius on either side and a line of Hargis soldiers directly behind. On the other side sat Governor Termidi, white-haired and puffy-eyed, with thick lips that hung low on either side of his weak chin and a fine cape of blue and purple velvet. Four uniformed guards, beefy men with shotguns, stood behind him, but the majority of his guard wore motley armor and carried a wide range of weapons. They acted as escorts for the diverse merchant-lords who sat on either side of the governor, constantly hissing in one another’s ears.

  They sat in silence for nearly one quarter of an hour, then Governor Termidi cleared his throat. “I have many questions, but also a grievance. I would like to air the grievance first.”

  Zach nodded slightly.

  “We have run the Ugly out of our city,” said Termidi, “and I have heard mixed reports of their doings in Pontius. I have heard that they are destroyed, and that they are resurrected. I do not rightly know what to believe, though I suspect many things. What say you, Pontius?”

  Zach turned to Judge Rosebudd, who said, “The Law and the Smith and the Coil allied against them, Governor, and they are indeed destroyed. Some surviving elements fought back, which is probably why you heard of a resurrection. But they are gone, and the Coil was also dissolved shortly thereafter.”

  “So Pontius has done some house cleaning, I see!” While the governor laughed, many of the merchant-lords conferred among themselves. “But there is the matter of reparations.”

  “Reparations?” said Judge Rosebudd.

  “The Ugly were a blight on our city, a blight of Pontius’s making. They were not easily gotten rid of.”

  “They were a blight for us as well,” said Miss Oliver, “but the dead cannot very well be asked for reparations.”

  “Pontius yet lives,” said Termidi. “For now.”

  Zach spoke up. “The survival of Pontius is linked with the survival of Sunport, Governor Termidi. Let me be direct: I would like to leave all matters of reparations left to a future date…” At that, one merchant jostled against the governor as he hissed into his ear. “… so that we might make haste in our discussion of a common defense against an invading army.”

  “Matters of reparations are often left to tomorrow,” said Termidi, “and are even more often never settled at all.”

  “Sir, there will be no tomorrow, for either of us, if we do not settle this matter of defense against an invasion.”

  Another merchant bumped into the governor but this time the governor pushed the merchant away forcibly, then furrowed his brow in annoyance. Termidi stared into Zach for a long time, then said, “Invasion,” very slowly, as if half-asleep.

  Zach told the story of the demonic invasion, the destruction of Hargis, the end of the royal line, and the sighting of a unified force of dogmen, human rebels, and even former soldiers.

  The merchant-lords were silent after the tale. Termidi spoke up finally. “And how do you know... that they are traveling to Pontius?”

  “We saw them traveling north,” said Zach. “They are not a band of refugees, as we thought at first. They are armed for war.”

  “But it is a long way to Pontius from Hargis. The wasteland will most likely destroy them, don’t you think?”

  “The demon is the wasteland,” Zach said forcefully, “and the demon spared them when they could have easily destroyed them along with the rest of Hargis. I know that the demons spared them for a reason. That reason can only be for the destruction of human settlements. A force like that will roll right over Pontius - and the city closest to Pontius, Governor Termidi, is Sunport.”

  The governor cast his eyes about, then said, “What do you propose?”

  “That we stop them at Pontius. We come for reinforcements. If you help us fend off the horde, if you help us break them and scatter them back into the wasteland, then your city will be spared the destruction that Hargis was not.”

  “This!” cried a high-pitched voice full of arrogance. All those gathered turned to a small merchant dressed in ornate purple robes lined with jewels, with a face like a dried prune and with gold spirals cast into the scabby wrinkles on top of his head. The dwarf had been invisible only moments before, but now his voice demanded complete attention. “This!” he cried out again, “is a problem of Pontius. So let us wish Pontius good luck in its endeavors!”

  “Good merchant-”

  “The! Filius! Bilch!” screamed the merchant.

  “Mister... Bilch. You must see that such an army, made up almost entirely of beasts with no concept of long-term self-sustainment, will not stop after pillaging Pontius.”

  “You must forgive me,” said Filius, with mock apprehension, “for I am but a simpleton. I came to be the most powerful merchant on the entire coast quite by accident, rather than by great force of intellect and wisdom. Perhaps you will be so kind as to explain exactly why this imagined “horde” will not stop at Pontius? Do speak slowly, good sir; I’m quite dim-witted.”

  Zach was taken aback, and the outland entourage glanced at one another uneasily. Zach leaned forward slightly, then said, “The humans among the horde have anti-establishment sentiments, and the dogmen have never been a friend to mankind. Some force has unified them... and it must be for the only purpose that their kind understand.”

  “A bunch of idealists and brutes, then?” said Bilch. “Most likely they will wear themselves out fighting their own mirror image in Pontius. Yes? No? Ah - most likely, then, they will not even survive their trek through the wasteland.”

  “All the better,” said Zach, staring into the dwarf. “We can still make an alliance, in either case. Then, if we find out that the invaders have worn themselves out and are no problem at all, we can set up trade routes, pacts of mutual protection and such, between our cities - with the strength and speed of the airship to back the alliance. We know, now, that the flesh demons are-”

  “Pfffft!” said Bilch. “Proud Pontius, exporters of drugs and human trash. How I wish that our current trade routes could be widened, so that more garbage could be funneled into our streets.”

  “The gangs of Pontius are either dead or are being conscripted into a fighting force that can stand against invasion. With the power of the airship, all cities could be united by a binding force safe from the wasteland and safe from the demon. Mister Bilch, have you not lost a great many convoys in the land between Pontius and other cities?”

  The dwarf looked about, then said, “A great many convoys lost between here and Pontius? Somebody, please fetch my accountant. Oh, wait! Don’t bother. Yes, I remember now! I clearly recall the half dozen pathetic convoys that crawl between Sunport and Pontius every year, half of which are lost to demon raids, and half of which are run by pathetic salesmen desperate to pay their bills because they can’t afford one of the many, many ships which come in and out of our port all
day long and turn a great profit in trade along the relatively safe coastal waters, which the demons have never shown any interest in, and which is populated by a great number of incredibly wealthy coastal cities.”

  Miss Oliver, who had been about to speak, immediately clamped her mouth shut. Desperate, Judge Rosebudd said, “Perhaps, sir, you could help defend the wealth of the coastal cities by, ah, manning Pontius as a sort of fort, a first-line of defense against, well, inland invasion…?”

  Filius Bilch sat in silence for a long time, then said, “By the gods, I’ve suddenly been stricken deaf! I have lost the ability to hear the utterances of buffoons and beggars! How will I continue on in this state?”

  Zach burned with anger, and he said, “Sir, surely you must see-”

  “Yes, I do indeed see the irony of Pontius requiring representation by a landless king who lives so far from the city in question that he’s never had to smell the stench of the river of piss that churns between her gaping legs.”

  “You speak to a king of Hargis!” shouted a soldier. Zach raised his hand as he saw the guards behind the merchant-lords stiffen suddenly.

  “So you own the coast,” said Zach, quietly, “and you have all that you need. What say you, other merchants of Sunport? Perhaps you would be interested in the money we have to offer, or the design of the airship we have to offer, in exchange for help against mutual destruction?”

  Zach looked at the merchant-lords, each in turn, and saw that they were downcast and sullen. A few glanced at the dwarf, but never for more than a moment. Even the governor only stared down at his feet.

  “They want for nothing,” said Bilch.

  “I see,” said Zach. “I congratulate you, dwarf. Your stranglehold on these people is complete. And their castration will be complete, too, once the horde has devoured us and comes calling on you for desert.”

  Zach rose, gave a signal, and rope ladders dropped down from the zeppelins overhead.

  “Surely you mustn’t leave so soon!” said the dwarf, waving. “Goodbye, then! Happy trails! Fuck ya later!”

  * * *

  They flew over the sea and the night sky was cold and clear. Bruner sat on the deck and watched the stars while Virgil and Zach leaned against the prow, huddled in blankets.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” said Virgil. “I’d heard a few rumors about you, but I… well, you surprised me back there. You kept your cool, which is more than I could have done at your age.”

  “Thanks,” said Zach. “But you know as well as I do that “almost” doesn’t count in this kind of work.”

  “I guess not. But I was impressed, all the same. I mean, I’d met Wodan’s other friends. They were shiftless, depressed… a lot of them were half crazy. I guess I thought you might be the same. Why didn’t you stay any longer in Pontius with Wodan?”

  Zach laughed suddenly, then said, “I was kicked out of Pontius for being a drunk and causing a lot of property damage.”

  Virgil looked away, swallowed a lump, then laughed as well.

  They heard the clink of boots and saw the lights of cigarettes as cloaked soldiers came up from belowdecks to relieve the current watchmen.

  “Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” said Zach. “I’ve been thinking that this is the same sea that Wodan crossed to come to us.”

  Virgil thought for a moment. “I’m interested to see what kind of land produced him. Just imagine, if they...”

  “And the land that kicked him out,” said Zach. “Don’t forget.”

  “Oh, I won’t. But that will of his, that determination. It had to come from somewhere.”

  “And also, that isolation. That untouchable distance. That... that willingness to die.”

  “You think they won’t help us, either?”

  “What are we to them?” said Zach. “They can cite the Ugly as a grievance, just as Sunport did. And we certainly can’t promise them much of an alliance. Dogmen are pigheaded enough to make a trek across the wasteland, but there’s no way they could ever cross the sea. They’re too violent and too shortsighted. I don’t think we have anything to offer the people of Haven.”

  “Tell them,” said Edwar, loudly, “that the boy Wodan has already rid the world of the Ugly, and that we thank Haven most kindly for his services. We’ll ask them if we can have another just like him, and praise them for raising him as they did, and be done with it. Now stop feeling sorry for yourselves, gentlemen. It’s distracting.”

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” said Virgil.

  “You’ve been kicking yourself for not going out there with Wodan,” said Edwar, not bothering to look at Virgil hiding his face as he passed by. “But you didn’t, so let the matter go and focus on what you can do here and now. Wodan has his own mission. His own personal destiny. You said it yourself, Zach, that he is quite untouchable. Your worrying helps him even less than you imagine.”

  Virgil watched in silence while Edwar flipped through his star charts. Just then a woman came up from below, huddled in a long fur jacket. She sat in a chair near Edwar, who put an arm around her as he kept his eyes on the stars.

  Virgil leaned in close to Zach, then said, “Edwar Bruner, his airship, his ambition… you know, he kind of reminds me of Wodan, except he never laughs. The thing is, both of them are exiles from their homeland. It’s kind of strange, when you-”

  “God’s death, you’re right,” said Zach, frowning. “Maybe civilization isn’t worth saving.”

  Zach turned to Virgil. Instead of a cynical smile in appreciation of the irony, Virgil’s face bore only a look of sadness and horror.

  * * *

  In the sharp, cold daylight, everyone hung over the sides of the zeppelins and stared in numb, slack-jawed amazement at the steel airships with their spinning wings of blades. A soldier of Hargis shrieked at the radio: “Luh-lord! Uh! R-r-radio!”

  Zach nodded dumbly as he stumbled up to the radio set. It chirped loudly, then a voice said, “You are in Haven airspace! Identify yourselves immediately!”

  Zach swallowed in a dry throat. One ship circled so near that he could see massive guns protruding from its sides. “People of Haven,” said Zach, delaying in order to collect his thoughts. “People of Haven, I am King Zachariah Hargis of the ruined land of Hargis, representative of the city of Pontius, and... and friend of Wodan, a former citizen of your land! We come in peace! Repeat, we come in pea-”

  “DO NOT SAY THAT NAME,” the voice on the radio replied. There was a long pause and Zach exchanged a look with Miss Oliver. “We will escort you to a landing. Follow us.” Several of the airships flew ahead, impossibly fast, and Zach lowered the radio set.

  They flew on in silence, then Virgil said, “Maybe Wodan was some kind of serial killer. You know? I mean… he is kind of weird, and… and they don’t seem too fond of him…”

  “Gods,” said Zach shaking his head. “Gods.”

  They flew past a range of snow-capped mountains, then over a wide turf of swaying green. When the soldiers realized that they were looking at trees, wild and as far as the eye could see, they shrieked aloud. “Gods above!” said Miss Oliver. “It’s just like the Black Valley. Wealth... incalculable wealth!”

  They touched down on an airstrip. They were surrounded by jeeps and men in gleaming white and blue-tinged armor, armed with massive rifles and heavy sidearms. Zach descended, arms upraised, and spoke to a Guardian with authority. He heard the faint trace of an accent, nearly the same as Wodan’s.

  After some confused dialogue, the crowd of Guardians parted suddenly. Zach looked and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, dreaded red hair and a dark face. He wore a simple black cloak and a black uniform decorated only with a single red patch. The man’s gaze was unbearably hard, like a stab into the soul, and Zach nodded to him but could say nothing.

  The man stopped before Zach, towering over him. “I am Yarek Dragon-Slayer, Commander of the Reavers,” he said. “In the name of the Great Exile, welcome to Haven.”

&nbs
p; Chapter Nine

  The Half Breed

  “Vito,” said Globulus. “There is a God.”

  Khan Vito woke from the dream. As soon as he stirred, he felt Naarwulf rise as well. Loyal Naarwulf, who woke when his master woke. Light filtered in through the large tent and Vito rose into a sitting position, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Naarwulf snapped his fingers and one of the women moved quickly to prepare a meal. Another woman sleeping nearby remained unresponsive; Naarwulf slapped her in the gut, and she coughed and rose, still half-asleep but moving about their meal. Vito rose and one of the women bent over, then raised his pants up to him, then slid his boots nearer his feet. Vito looked into a small mirror. His face was haggard and bestial. Every day it seemed he was becoming more and more a dogman. He and his leashman dressed, then left the tent.

  The sun was near to setting and the heat was still close and unbearable. Dogmen and men moved about, dreary and sluggish. Vito knew that the cold would soon wake them. They were now fully acclimated to nighttime travel.

  They sat in the sand and Vito said, “I had another dream.” Naarwulf craned his head and Vito said, “Globulus spoke of God.”

  “A holy dream,” said Naarwulf.

  “I had the distinct impression that God lived on a mountain in Srila. In a holy place. And to look upon the Face of God meant certain death.”

  “That is true,” said Naarwulf, nodding.

  “Is that the god you pray to?”

  Naarwulf nodded.

  “Why do no dogmen pray to the lion of the south?”

  “That god is not a benevolent god. He does not care for his people. He has no people. Our god is a god of peace. Men... most men, do not understand.” Naarwulf thought for a moment, then said, “In our stories, the wise men say that the lion and our people were born in the same place. We were meant to be friends and comrades and to stand against the evil queen. But the lion was cruel to his friends. He was arrogant, and tore free from the garden, alone. Our people loved one another, we were a community. When the garden fell to rot, we left together.”