Dwellers of the Deep (Harbinger of Doom Volume 4)

by Thater, Glenn

  He had no right to do this, not to her or anyone. That’s how he survived, it had to be. He was nothing but an inhuman fiend that sucked the life force from others, others of power, like her. He fed on them, stole their strength, and added their energies to his own, preserving his life and his youth down through the ages. That must be it, but she would never know for certain unless he came back. But he wouldn’t come back. He’d rejected her, cast her aside. He could have taken her with him, made her his woman, or his slave, but he’d left her, discarded her all broken and withered as if she were trash, or some petty commoner, not the greatest Archseer in all Midgaard, not a woman of beauty, terrible beauty, desired by most, envied by all. Beauty now lost and never to be again. How could he do that? How could he think himself above her? But he was, she knew that, and he knew it too. He was above everyone and she hated him for it, for everything. He’d gotten what he was after. She told him The White Rose was off to some accursed island called Jutenheim. She was too afraid to lie. That’s what he wanted from her and she prayed he would never want anything more. And yet she prayed he would come back and claim her. He had too. He could give back what he’d taken if he wanted to. She would make him want to. She had her ways. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to get those years back. Nothing.

  More commotion interrupted her thoughts, this time closer. Now she knew it was real, not some dream. The unmistakable sound of steel weapons clashing in anger — a desperate melee within her very tower, her home. The nerve of some people. An irate customer, no doubt, that blamed her for their sad fortunes instead of themselves. Probably that skinny wine merchant with the cheating wife down Meadow Way come back with some bullyboys to get his pound of flesh. It’s not my fault if your life sucks. Blame fate if you will, or the gods if you must, but not me, I’m just a witness to fate’s hand, nothing more. I don’t guide it; I can’t steer it. I can’t even give it a nudge.

  Would they kill the town crier for shouting bad news? Of course not, but prophesy misfortune and its nooses and knives all around. The fools. Most of the time it was empty threats or spat curses, nothing more, so who cares? Sometimes Seers suffered a reckless slap or punch, maybe even a full-on beating if they got cornered alone by some malcontents. But now and again it went serious and one got murdered in misguided revenge. One old hag was chopped in pieces a couple of years back, her head hung on display from a pike in Freedom Square, and she was a fraud. Who could do that to someone?

  Azura plied her trade openly as she always had — no one would deter her, not even the Thothians, not even after what happened today. She was an upstanding citizen — a lady of high society, such as there was in that backward city, with powerful friends, and coin, and influence. She would risk none of the craziness. She took prudent precautions. She had too. She bought the best protection Tragoss Mor had to offer. Not faceless guards, but named men — Freeswords feared and respected across the city.

  Gorb and Rimel would deal with the malcontents; she had no doubt. She would waste no more thought on the matter. Unless . . . this time it was the Thothians. When they came into power they purged every last mage from the city. There was nowhere for them to hide. The monks rooted them out from castle to keep, tower to manor, hovel to home, and sewer to cistern. Not one was left as far as she knew, save the occasional disguised visitor like Par Sinch, that lying bastard. The monks even killed the card tricksters on the corners, and they were no more than beggars or showmen, of no harm to any save those who couldn’t spare the coin they lost at their petty games.

  But Seers were not wizards, even the Thothians acknowledged that and held Seers in high regard. But some of the shaved heads were so dense they couldn’t tell a dog from a cat. And more than one Seer suffered for it and died wailing during the purge. Seeress Jel’s house was raided not three months before, long after the culling, by a handful of young monks too blind or stupid to know she wasn’t a wizard. They burned her and her household with her before their betters showed up and stopped them. Too late for Jel and her people though. Maybe now they’ve come for me. I dropped enough coin and kisses in the right places to ensure that would never happen, but you never know.

  Let them have my coin or my life if they want them. Why should she care? After what she’d seen, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on living anyways. If it was the Thothians, what could she do? There were thousands of them. Not even Gorb, dear Gorb, could hold them back for long. He’d been with her six years, Gorb had. At first, just as a bodyguard but later, as more. He was huge and strong, didn’t speak much, and did as he was told, which made him nearly perfect. What more could a woman ask for? Riches and title? Fine, so she made do, for despite her haughtiness, Azura was a realist. Gorb brimmed with strength, but not with power like Thetan. Thetan had to come back for her, and she would hate him until he did.

  Gorb would protect her, just as he always had. Tears streamed from Azura’s eyes, though she held them tightly closed and gripped a tangled mane of silver in her hand. Her auburn locks had been her identity as much as anything. Now they were gone forever, save if she smeared her hair with pigment in vain attempt to recapture what was lost. She could always tell when a woman’s color wasn’t natural. Not everyone could, but she could. Not everyone even cared, the fools. She always scoffed at those women. The uglies. The faded beauties. And those who just wanted to change themselves, searching desperately for happiness in a bottle of dye. Now she would be one of them. Faded. Beyond recognition. She was ruined. There was no fixing it. Best she should lie there and die. Get it over with. It wasn't worth going on.

  Someone pulled back the chamber’s curtains. Gorb had sorted things out. He’d come to check on her. Not now. Now she just needed to sleep — to forget the ordeal.

  “Are you Azura?” boomed a voice.

  Azura bolted upright at the unfamiliar voice and sharp tone, a tone that held menace. Her dagger was in her hand and as she raised her eyes at the intruder, he swatted her arm aside and the dagger tumbled away. The intruder clamped a powerful hand about her throat. He pushed her against the wall and pressed his arm tightly against her. She could barely breathe. There were others with him.

  “Gorb!”

  “Are you Azura?” repeated Blain Alder, his face battered, his breathing, heavy. Blood streamed from a cut on his cheek and from his nose.

  “It’s not her,” said Edwin. She’s too old, must be a servant.”

  “It’s her,” said DeBoors.

  “How would you know?” said Edwin. “You said you had never seen her afore.”

  “It’s her.”

  “Where went the Eotrus?” said Blain. “Where did your mumblings send them?”

  Azura tried to look past him through her shock and confusion. The scene surreal. How could this happen? “Gorb,” she said, though not as strongly as she intended.

  “What did she say?” said Edwin.

  “She calls for her guards,” said Blain. “He cannot help you, Seer. But you can help yourself. Tell us where went the Eotrus and we’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Peace?” muttered Azura. “I’ll never be at peace again. Not after what I saw. Not now that I know.”

  “What do you know?” said Blain.

  “Where is Gorb?” she said, still dazed, not fully there.

  Blain studied her for a moment, her expression vacant. She looked through him. “Gorb will be back soon. You were telling us where went the Eotrus.”

  “Where?” said Azura. “Who?”

  Blain turned toward the others. His hands gripped Azura’s arms against any threatening moves. “Her mind is broken.”

  “Did you bang her head into the wall?” said Edwin.

  “I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. Barely touched her. The damage was done before we got here, for certain.”

  “What’s happened here, Seer?” said Blain.

  “He was here.”

  “Who?”

  “Right here in my tower,” she said. “He was in my head. I saw things, terrible thin
gs.” She shook from head to toe. Drool slid from her mouth.

  “What did you see?”

  “Never ask that! Never! I could never say. I could never think it; not ever.”

  “Who hurt you?”

  “Him.”

  “Who? Name him.”

  “The devil, Thetan.”

  Blain looked back at the others, concern on his face. “Where did Thetan go?”

  “Are you going to kill him?” said Azura. “Do you hate him too?”

  “We’re going to bring him to justice,” said Blain.

  Azura smiled. “Good, someone must. He’s evil. No one has ever been that evil. He’s gone, thank the gods. My words sent him far away, across the sea. A land called Jutenheim.”

  “Why does he go there?”

  “Why does he go anywhere? To destroy. That’s what he does. It’s all he does. He’s going to kill everyone, everywhere. He’s going to bring back the monsters. He’s done it afore. He’ll do it again. That’s what he does, the evil.” Her eyes closed and her chin dropped to her chest.

  “She’s bonkers,” said Edwin. “How could some mercenary destroy the world? It's stupidity. There’s probably no such place as Jutenheim, except in her wacky fantasies.”

  “It’s a journey,” said DeBoors. “But it's a real place.”

  “If there is truth to what she says,” said Blain, “perhaps Theta has the Eotrus fooled. For all their faults, I doubt they’ve any interest in seeing Midgaard destroyed. That would be utter madness — a disease I don’t know them to be afflicted with. Perhaps they do his bidding unknowingly.”

  “Perhaps,” said DeBoors.

  “Do we follow?” said Edwin.

  “We may have to,” said Blain. “Barusa tasked us with bringing Eotrus and Theta to justice. Do you want to stand before him, and before Mother Alder, the job only half done?”

  “I’m not in charge of this mission,” said Edwin. “You and Uncle Bartol are.”

  “That’s helpful, son,” said Blain shaking his head. “As soon as we get the rigging repaired, we’ll set off,” said Blain. “We should have stopped him on the docks. We could have ended it there.” He gently set Azura down on the bed. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” said DeBoors. “Rumor and story claim she has a Seer Stone — a real one by all accounts. It will be here, somewhere.”

  “Unlikely,” said Blain. “Real Seer Stones are very rare. I doubt there’s a score of them in all of Midgaard. If there’s a stone here, it’ll be common glass or cheap crystal. Not the real thing, just a toy for show. Even if she had a real one, I’m no thief.”

  “Last I heard,” said DeBoors, “House Alder had a Seer Stone. A real one.”

  “Bunk and bother, what of it?” said Edwin. “We’re wasting time. Mother Alder is an Archseer — the best in all Lomion, so of course she has a Seer Stone. What does it matter?”

  “If we had use of a Seer Stone, we could contact her, and through her, Barusa. Unless you geniuses see no need.”

  “They can do that?” said Edwin. “The stones?”

  “If one knows how to use them,” said DeBoors.

  “Perhaps we can convince Uncle Barusa to give us leave to go home,” said Edwin.

  “Worth a try,” said Blain. “With Eotrus dead, I’m not certain there’s a good reason to keep chasing his minions, unless Theta is truly what Barusa fears he is. Even then, Jutenheim is too far from home to worry about.” Blain gently lifted Azura’s chin. She opened teary eyes and met his gaze. “We require your services, Seer.”

  “You fools know nothing about Seers,” said Azura, disgust on her face, her eyes more focused than before, her manner more lucid. “It’s true, we can communicate through the stones, but distance and familiarity make a difference. I’ve never met the Alder Seer and Lomion is hundreds of leagues away. That is much too far. It can’t be done.”

  “Then we’re wasting our time,” said Edwin, “and the Eotrus get farther away by the minute. Let’s leave her be and be off.”

  “We would be on their heels already,” said DeBoors, “if you hadn’t let a saboteur slip on board to cut our rigging. And no one saw him? Were you all asleep or drowning in your cups?”

  “How did you know we would pick up their trail by coming here?” said Edwin.

  “Deductive reasoning,” said DeBoors. “And a knowledge of the city.”

  “What kind of reasoning?” said Edwin. “What does that mean?”

  DeBoors turned back to Azura. “So you don’t have the skill to contact the Alder Seer,” he said.

  Azura’s eyes narrowed and filled with hate. “I’m as skilled as any Seer you will ever meet, mercenary, but even on my best day, over that distance, all I could do is project a feeling or an emotion, not words, not a discussion. Even then, the contact must be with another Seer that knows me well, or it won’t take. You fools expect me to strike up a conversation across the continent and have you join in.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “If she was in Tragoss, I could do it, easily. No matter that we’ve never met, I would reach her, I have the skills, the power, but across hundreds of leagues, it’s impossible. I can’t help you even if I wanted to, and I don’t. Look what you’ve done here, you scum. Look at the blood on my floor. The blood on you. Look at me. Look at what he did to me,” she said screeching. “You killed them all, didn’t you? You killed my Gorb. Get away from me and get out of my home. Begone and let me die in peace. Just let me die in peace.”

  “We’re done here,” said Blain. He turned to leave, his face red with shame.

  “No, we’re not,” said DeBoors. Blain stopped in his tracks. “You will try to make contact, Seer. Put your hands on the stone and try.”

  “No.”

  DeBoors’ palm impacted Azura’s cheek, a wicked slap that sent her reeling. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into a chair that faced the Seer Stone. He had a dagger in his hand. He placed it against Azura’s ear. Edwin smirked, but Blain looked stricken, as if he wanted to intercede, but he didn’t, and he said nothing. “Make contact, Seer, or I’ll take your ear,” he said, his voice soft and icy cold, “then I’ll move on to other parts. Some you’ll miss more.”

  Azura’s hands shook. She reached out to the stone. Different from Mother Alder’s — this one was brown in hue with jagged cracks that crisscrossed its pitted surface. Its texture was rougher, more weathered. The mists within, so thick and dark, the stone nearly opaque. When her fingers touched it, her body jerked and shook as if shocked. Her fingers stuck to the stone’s surface and Azura moaned in pain. The room grew warm, then cold, then warm again, in rapid waves, the source of the temperature changes wasn’t clear, though they didn't emanate directly from the stone itself. A cloying, putrid smell filled the air. Edwin and Blain both stepped back, their faces going green. They looked as if they were about the retch.

  “I should smell the flowers. It's always flowers when I touch the stone,” said Azura as she pulled her hands back. “Dried flowers, fresh and sweet and beautiful. Now it smells of death. Death. Just like me.”

  “Focus, Seer,” said DeBoors. “Reach out with your art and make contact with Mother Alder. You can do it. You still have the power.”

  “He even ruined my stone. He took my flowers. He's left me nothing,” said Azura as tears streamed down her face. “Please help me,” she said.

  “Dead gods, stop your whining, woman,” said Edwin as he moved farther into the room's corner, his back pressed against the wall.

  “Concentrate, Seer,” said DeBoors. He stood beside her, seemingly unaffected by the nausea generated by the stone. “Reach out and contact Mother Alder. Do it.”

  Azura reached for the stone. When her fingers were still an inch or two away, she jerked forward, as if the stone pulled her, and her fingers clamped to its surface. The room buzzed, a high-pitched keening sound and Azura shook. Her eyes rolled back showing the whites. Edwin puked in the corner.

  “Something's wrong,” said Azura. “I can’t contro
l it. It's not supposed to work like this.”

  “Concentrate,” said DeBoors.

  Vapors swirled within the Seer Stone. After a goodly time where nothing more happened, at last the dark mist coalesced and formed images, black and white, and a scene took shape in the stone’s depths, clear enough for DeBoors to see as well.

  VIII

  THE POINTMEN

  Lord Gallis Korrgonn, the son of Azathoth, the one true god, stood beside the ship's wheel on the bridge deck of The White Rose. His right hand gripped his battered ankh, that ancient relic of mystical power that once belonged to Sir Gabriel Garn, late weapons master of House Eotrus. At Korrgonn’s side was Father Ginalli, high priest of Azathoth and Arkon of the League of Shadows. The hulking warrior Frem Sorlons and his lanky comrade Par Sevare observed the two from across the deck.