Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Unsure of his own safety, he saw the huge form of Nosmada, splayed half in and half out of the place prohibited by most eyes. Lannon had indeed been to the Chamber of Redemption before, but it was at the request and by the lead of Nosmada and Zillian themselves. To screw down his courage, Lannon swallowed hard and then ran forward.

  “My Lord, what ails you?” he said, kneeling and helping Nosmada to sit up. Being a large man himself, Lannon still struggled to pull the heavy weight of Nosmada level.

  Hand to his scarred forehead, Nosmada blinked his eyes and then glanced back into the circular chamber. For a second, he realized Lannon was away from his assigned post and in a forbidden sector. In that instance, Nosmada also smiled and shrugged off the obvious offense to protocol.

  “Help me up, Lannon,” he said in a low voice. “I was reading old bones. That makes me ponder on the past too much. I’m glad you are here.”

  With great effort, he pulled Nosmada to his feet. The heavy boots of the dark Lord shifted as he stood, but in a few moments, Nosmada gained his composure. Lannon peeked into the chamber of Redemption and swiftly looked down. He noted that there was a small rocky disk in the middle of the chamber raised up.

  With a half smile, Nosmada reached out and pulled a small lever on the wall. Rapidly, a stone circle, not unlike a mill-stone, rolled to cover the entrance.

  “Assist me back to my quarters so I may lie down,” Nosmada said, more as a friendly request than an order. It was so he could lean on his guard with his full force and Lannon obliged.

  “It’s not far, Lord,” Lannon lied, knowing their trek back to the sleeping room, just off Zillian’s conjure chamber, was indeed a long walk.

  “You are a good servant, uh, soldier, Lannon,” Nosmada said. He seemed intent on not degrading the guard who served him in his darkest quarters.

  Lannon replied, “You have always been a just Lord, sir.”

  “No matter what they warned you of before you entered my service?”

  With a half grin, Lannon said, “Working for you is a joy in the world, not a curse. Men at arms fear me, women give me a second glance. I comprehend my place in it all, sir, never fear.”

  “A lesser man may falter at such a time or become sloppy. Do not give in to foolish pride, Lannon.”

  “I will try to stay on the narrow path, sir.”

  “Not just any man can witness what Zillian conjures in her caldron plus look into the well of my chamber of Redemption and remain sane.”

  “I try, Lord,” Lannon responded, trying to banish the slithering, chittering terrors he glimpsed moments before. “I’d like to think I were made of strong timber.”

  “Being relation to Zillian helped you get this position,” Nosmada reminded him without rancor in his voice.

  “I’m here to serve, Lord,” Lannon affirmed, his gait never slackening.

  “So you are,” Nosmada groaned, gratitude in his voice.

  After several minutes, he deposited his Lord on a plush bed. Though the chamber was stone and stark, barely lit by lanterns, the plush bed ran quite sophisticated and the mattresses looked comfortable.

  Just as Lannon drew away from his master toward the door, Nosmada muttered, “Take wine and food to Zillian. The poor lady is so weak.”

  With a bow, the tall soldier departed and did as his Lord asked.

  Zillian already reclined on a couch, nothing fancy like Nosmada used. Then again, being so small and frail, she practically became lost on the small, elevated mat. Lannon went to a knee, raised her head and said her name. Her eyes flickered open and he offered her the wine flask. The old woman drank of if greedily and let her lay back down.

  “It is nearly over, young man,” she murmured, slipping out of lucidity.

  Lannon stood. He took a swig of the wine and said with a certain stiffness, “Nearly.”

  *****

  Though Michael Galenson’s pyre made a rather large pinprick of light in the night, Gorias and those with him never worried about discovery. They moved on fast, skirting the northern edges of the bogs. They searched for the lights seen by Maddox on an earlier night patrol. Soon, more torchlight shone through the barren trees that hemmed in the bogs. So many of the skeletal trees shared roots there was a jungle density to that side of the territory.

  They crept close to the ground and used the brush for cover. Maddox touched his grandfather’s shoulder and whispered, “Who are the dozen skinny guys with bows around them? Security?”

  “Or what passes for it,” Gorias said, watching Tammas run back up the hill. “Easy pickings, but what would you say their number is inside that guard detail?”

  Maddox frowned, throwing out his right hand in a gesture of disgust. “More than I thought. There a great deal more members down there than when I was near them. Then again, I never was privy to every associate list.”

  Gorias looked at Tammas and said, “Nimble as a goat you are, kid.”

  Tammas said nothing, while Kayla said, “Weren’t you in with them in the first place, Maddox? Isn’t that how they got the jewel they thought contained Wyss?”

  Maddox scowled daggers at her then faced back into the utter blackness around the bog. Clouds drifted in, blotting out the stars, but one beam of light came from the main fires of the cult. Maddox said, “They claimed a jewel. I never saw that many people at any one meeting. I thought they were a dozen kooks. There must be another thirty people inside the guard ring acting as cult members.”

  Gorias showed no signs of anxiety for this number. “Most are cowards. They’ll run at the first sign of terror.” He then turned back to Tammas who clung tight to his bow, notching an arrow.

  “What?” Tammas gritted his teeth, genuinely surprised by the look. “Never doubt it sir, I am with you.”

  Gorias thought, Yeah, that’s what worries me. “I think they may be more attuned to fright than I first thought.” He squinted at the ring of torches then raised his spyglass. A beam of green light lanced the night, emerging from the ground. “Damn.”

  Maddox had a tinge of panic in his voice when he asked, “What is it?”

  Gorias handed him the viewer. Pensive for a moment, he then revealed, “Well, we are too late for the arising of Wyss, such as he is. Take a good look.”

  Up from a partially thawed bog stood a humanoid shape illuminated by the torches, bonfire, and a green light bleeding from the figure itself. Glistening from the wet, sparkling from the errant ice crystals, the thing from the bogs stood and looked side to side.

  “By the elder gods,” Tammas said, the confusion in his voice bordering on anguish as his arrow rattled in his bow. “What is it?”

  Kayla’s eyes narrowed at the image, and she asked Gorias, “Is it Wyss?”

  As he somberly studied the seething mass of muck and weeds, Gorias said, “Hard to say. They must have known where to drop the jewel, do the spell, or how to call him up. The fragments of the Daemonolateria say some can use that document to order up a husk of flesh. Only, though, if a soul is ready to occupy the body.”

  Maddox nodded, watching the green glow pulsing. “And it doesn’t have to be the original soul.”

  Tammas’ hand shot to his chest as if it constricted in sudden fear. “I thought our souls left the planet when we died.”

  Gorias nodded, wondering what chaotic visions filled the head of the bard. “Normally, they do. If some prick of a wizard is nearby, or swimming in the ether-world, they can grab a soul and keep it hostage. Or if you’re a real jackass of a cult leader, you can arrange for a jewel to be set up for the moment of your death. That way when you do check out, you escape the noose…or bog as it were. I doubt this is what Wyss, or whoever is in that mass of muck, had planned for resurrection day.”

  Clad in a long, formal gown, the figure moved only an inch to one side before stopping. All about the character oozed mud and clods of dirt, glitteri
ng wet mosaics of dead grass, bone and blood. Amid the ever-shifting face of soggy peat, a profile took shape. With monotonous regularity, the green radiance endured.

  “If the body is inadequate,” Maddox said, certain of his knowledge of the ceremony, “the form recalled will gather unto itself a structure familiar, that of a human, from other human bodies. In this case, a golem of mud is being created from so little real tissue mass.”

  Gorias gestured at the feet of the creature. The frosty bogs, smattered with fresh blood, gave off a gentle steam. “I would guess something died to add unto that mess, huh? I wonder how many followers took a dive for their leader.”

  Maddox’s face flushed, showing shame. Be it his participation in this arising, or knowledge of the mass murder it would have taken to make it happen, his emotions showed as his confidence waned.

  Many of the cultists went to their knees, enthralled at the rising. Although a quantity of them wore flaxen robes of brownish hue, most were clad in regular pants and tunics. Ten of them worshiped gleefully while at least that many drew back, unsure of their devotion.

  “Reality will get the best of them,” Gorias said, watching the crowd near the shape of a fiend incarnate. “The hard-cores will stay, but we shall soon see who the real religious folks are.”

  The being from the bog moved forward a step. What passed for a mouth opened. A flood of slime and dead bugs flowed out. There was no sound, save for a distant, liquid gurgle. The leader of the cult raised his arms in evident relief he was alive.

  Tammas features turned a shade closer to green as he touched his stomach. His eyes, round with horror, never blinked. Kayla elbowed him in the ribs and Gorias thought the youth would vomit.

  “Steady on, kid,” Gorias whispered and managed a half smile amidst some exhaustion. “The thing doesn’t have vocal cords yet. Look close now, it’ll get some.”

  Stretching long limbs of mud and bloody bone, the creature clasped the shoulders of two of the willing worshipers. They stood close, mesmerized by the spectacle. Like a plant grabbing a fly, the arms of the entity folded in and held the two people close to its bosom. As one of the cultists read from a parchment in the torchlight, probably the Daemonolateria fragment, a lighter emerald glow bubbled around the two men. They screamed in agony as they folded into the arisen thing, their robes rippling around the other muck of the being as their tissues broke down.

  Maddox swallowed hard. “Like melting candles. Good God, that’s horrid. It sounds like woven baskets full of meat breaking down.”

  Gorias quipped, “And you want to be a necromancer? Take a good look, son. It sounds so great in theory, such an act, but it isn’t so much fun in practice, eh? See how matter can reform from more matter? Quite the deal, for one cannot get something, or someone, from nothing.”

  “Their leader, the guy near by the arisen one, is named Zeren,” Maddox said, pointing at the man to avoid any confusion. “He looks set in all his glory.”

  Zeren cried out in joy, worshiping his new master.

  While the two bodies disappeared, waves colored an aqua-green flowed over the form from the bog. This color surged into a hue of scarlet then back to emerald. The legs quivered and the outline shook as its body mass increased. It drew in, growing tighter, shedding soil almost like fecal matter. While still a monstrosity, the personage gradually took on a more human contour.

  A few of those kneeling fell on their behinds and soon scrambled to their feet. When these people ran, the guards turned and shot them in the buttocks with arrows. Kicking and screaming, they were taken back to the spot of the arising.

  Zeren, holding a fragment of withered parchment, called out, “Thus be any who would flee their destiny.”

  The guards threw these three people to the arisen figure, who caught them up and lifted their bodies like rag dolls.

  Gorias thought the thing rickety, and that it may have broken from the bodies’ impact, but the new individual proved made of sterner stuff. In a moment, these sorry people too deliquesced into it. Again, blood, muscle, and now skin began to spread over the form. The worshipers that joined into the shape conformed and were no more.

  Brow puckering, Maddox whispered, “Zeren always was a hardcore bastard.”

  “Wyss needs guys like him, and so do all gods or they cease to be. Zeren returned his obsession and idol to the planet. He doesn’t look old enough to have known Wyss. Possessed and obsessed, he is the dark prophet of his god. Ain’t he lucky?”

  “Come to us,” Zeren said. “Lead us, Lord Carlato! We will be your servants in this new, terrible world. Show us the means of righteousness.”

  The figure of mud took another step and looked at the speaker.

  Frowning in concentration, Gorias muttered, “You see how brave the leader of the cult is, son? He stands pretty far back from the action, by God.”

  Kayla offered, “Someone must be in charge.”

  Tammas asked, “If he is in charge, why do they need Carlato?” His voice was nearly caught in his throat.

  Maddox glowered and never spoke. However, Kayla asked Gorias, “What do they need him for really? Is it just stupid hero worship of a leader? What?”

  Six women were brought forward, all in white robes, cowls, and hennins replete with thin veils across their faces. They were offered, two by two, to the arisen one. After the first two were absorbed, the others tried to run. They soon added to the figure and, in turn, added to the new man’s humanity.

  “Well, those looked like bridal robes. They probably thought they would be vessels for Wyss’ children. They gave him new life after all.” He disengaged his twin swords. “So I guess they cannot be totally disappointed.”

  Kayla paled, but wrestled her fear down. Still her manner was one of calm defiance, leaning back on a hip, teeth clenched and chest thrown forward. She touched Gorias’ shoulder, then drew back and persisted. “What do they want Wyss for?”

  He stared at the edge of his blade then back at the distant glow of the slow approaching army of Nosmada. “That isn’t Wyss.”

  Tammas stammered, nearly dropping his arrow, “You mean they have the wrong body from the bog?”

  Gorias shook his head. “No, that sort of looks how I remember him--skinny, lean and long faced--but the soul isn’t Wyss, like Maddox said. I just wonder who they got in return.”

  “The tales of his debauchery and sins in the bygone days are legion.” Tammas replied. “Who could be worse than Wyss?”

  “Lots of people,” Gorias said, his patience starting to crack. “Common folks aren’t seized by wizards, witches, or necromancers when they die. It’s usually a personality of power. Whoever it is in that body, they must die. I have let this go on far enough.”

  “But Gorias…” Kayla started to say.

  “You care for their lives? I fear the chaos if I don’t slay them all.”

  “No, of course not,” she said with a shrug, looking at the being solidify. “I still do not know why they want Wyss.”

  “The Daemonolateria.”

  “Wyss knows where the full translation is?” Maddox spoke up and laughed. “So what? To take a chance of raising him from the dead on the possibility that—”

  Gorias cut him off. “Carlato was the son of a worshiper of Lilith--daughters of the heather they are called. They never wrote anything down. Their history is oral tradition, boy. The fragments can still cause a bad way of magic to work or make a demon dance, yet how can one believe them? A demon can make one think they know where the real text is and lead you into your doom. They are lying bastards. It’s what they do.”

  “Lillith,” Kayla said, her mind turning the name over and over.

  “You see,” Gorias said. “Wyss used the Daemonolateria frequently and knew it by heart. Do you hear me? By heart. Wyss could dictate the book out to a scribe. He doesn’t need to find tablets or a fragment held hostage. The bast
ard has it all tied up in his brains.”

  Tammas said, “I have heard of that book. If they raised him from the dead with a piece of it…”

  Gorias shrewd eyes glinted in the dim light. “The full translation we had on this world was the trick of Asmodeous, kid. He did it to reveal too much and many avenues to Hades. It was done in hopes of a damnation of all the earth to satisfy Lillith. Yeah, she’s supposed to be the daughter of the Devil himself, but don’t get me distracted explaining that. Wyss was such a selfish prick, he never got around to destroying the world. I won’t take such a chance that he’ll be that slothful now.”

  Maddox grabbed his forearm as the old man tried to move forward into the clear. “Grandfather! Surely this isn’t worth our time. If this arisen man isn’t Wyss, then who cares? To hell with them!”

  He pulled his arm away from the younger man. The others were stunned at the violence of his act. “I’m a selfish man. One has to be that way in order to survive. But there are some things I cannot let pass.”

  “He’s just a damned crazy wizard…” Maddox started to say, but his voice fell, becoming lower.

  “Maybe,” Gorias said. “But he could be worse.”

  Confusion set on all their faces.

  Gorias motioned to the guards, fixated on the manifestation. “There’re gaps in the lines now. They look more worried about desertions. I’ll go in straight ahead. The direct approach usually screws them up. Tammas and Kayla, cover my flanks with your bows. Maddox, come in behind me if you so chose.” He turned and looked over his back. “I have the worst feeling tonight, almost as if…” He stomped ahead.

  Tammas fixed the arrow back firm and Kayla did likewise.