Mitre grinned wider, an elbow on the desk. “Judicious flattery will get you no where with me.”
“To unleash that wickedness on this world, that is just evil!” Tammas stammered, setting his feet.
Mitre extended his arms out. “Come give me a kiss, boy. You have met evil incarnate this day. How’s this for an adventure? Kills boredom, doesn’t it?”
“I recognize what Wyss knows, old ogre,” Gorias said. “You didn’t want the Cult of Wyss to have him, but damn, why give that secret to the dragon cult…” His voice trailed off as it all came to him.
“Can you get it through your skull, old warrior, from one dying man to another? Perhaps for you, deliverance will come, but others have to make their own bridge.”
“Come on, Tammas.” Gorias snorted and turned away from Stillwell.
Tammas glared at Mitre and his glance stuck. When the big creature stood, it was a stumbling move. The filmy curtain in the corner of the office fell. The youth saw a metal ladder leading up into the ceiling, wide enough to hold three men, or a bastard bugbear posing as an ogre.
“It’s too late to stop it now,” Mitre said. “A storm is brewing fast. One from which no man can hide. We will all die, but even Nosmada will be my ever loving bitch in the end.”
“I’d tell you to go to Hell, but that goes without saying.”
Hands becoming giant fists, Mitre replied, “There’s no such thing as a bloodless war, boys.”
“You made a deal with Hell itself.”
“Where’s the adventure in throwing in one’s lot on the side assured of a win?” Mitre said, not missing a beat.
La Gaul stormed from the office and rounded a corner. The Minorcs and Beholders gave him and Tammas a great deal of room. The two kept walking fast. Once, Gorias threw a shoulder in the direction of a Beholder nearby. The eerie creature backed off fast. A few times Tammas tried to stop Gorias to question him, but the old man held his tongue.
Crossing over the foundry on the catwalk, Gorias paused and looked down at the large one called Noel. The glistening worker faced up at him and stopped in his labors. Noel ignored the lash from the Minorc as their eyes met. Tammas peeked down at Noel then at the old man next to him.
Gorias said with acid in his tone, “Remember this day, Tammas. Remember it well, for it will matter.”
With that, Gorias La Gaul left the Foundry of Syn, never to return.
*****
In the fortress of Kanoch, Zillian wailed in agony. She slumped at her caldron and wept. Her loud cries caused Lannon to open the door and summon their dark Lord Nosmada.
Kneeling beside the frail woman, Nosmada bore her head up and asked, “What was it you saw? Was it a nameless horror dire, a plan hatched against us? Tell it unto me.”
“Tolin has gone against our wishes as we feared,” Zillian said, her hollow cheeks void of any color. “He has called on his former self, reached out to his blood kin to aid in an act most vile. This will undermine our plans, my lord and savior Nosmada.”
He stood, supporting her as he peered into the caldron. The evaporating imagery showed Nosmada all he needed to see.
“Damn them all,” he said, but little venom lurked in his words. “Tolin knows not what commands that flesh arisen from the sand. He will damage my strategy in his haste. I need time.”
“Her earlier visions of the savages from the bleak hills of the North weren’t comforting,” Lannon said. “That army is closing in on Tolin’s forces and on Khabnur.”
Nosmada grunted bitter agreement. “There are more of them than we thought. What can they do to our forces, really? They’re better at butchery, not real battle.”
Zillian stumbled to a chair. “My Lord, Gorias served our purpose in destroying what was Wyss, but even he was deceived. Wyss is more powerful now than ever. I can distinguish the mind of Tolin and it is clear to me, yet cloaked in darkest malevolence. The knowledge Wyss possesses will destabilize your plan.”
Nosmada considered this. “You must seek out La Gaul, soon.” He noted her feeble frame, the pain in her empty eyes, and he smiled. “Soon. I shall send for more blood. Some of my precious store can be used for this.” He knelt and said to her gently. “What am I if I am blinded, dear woman?”
Facing the caldron, he concentrated on the fading image from the mind of Tolin--an image of the Draco-Lich, the undead dragon, as it descended on a village north of Khabnur.
CHAPTER XII
Revelations of the Ogre
*
As Maddox, Kayla, and Tammas re-armed and mounted up, Maddox quipped, “That didn’t take long.”
“You’re just delighted we came back,” Gorias said. “Mitre is indeed a bastard, though not lacking rough mirth. Taking the foundry would be tough for one man, unless he had an army behind him.”
He looked at the plumes of smoke and thought. Using his viewer, he checked far to the southwest. The fires of the army of Nosmada reflected off the gathering clouds. To the north, the fires of the barbarian horde shone plainly on the sky as well. He then peered at the sprawling city and frowned.
Kayla looked up at him, half serious, half in a dream. “Lord La Gaul? What is it?”
He shook his head fast, as if he cleared a slate. Lines of exhaustion brought his face down. “All laid out for them and no one can see it. It’s hard not to think like a soldier, even after all these years. One always fights on the run and sees possibilities for battle. Anyhow, we have to go. We must make the city by nightfall. Perhaps the whorehouse will put us up for the night.”
“Tammas is confused, Grandfather.”
“You’re telling me,” Gorias jeered as he climbed into the saddle.
“Seriously, what’s this all about?”
“Listen good, kids, because I think I can only say this once. Mitre Stillwell thinks everyone else is like him and shares his point of view. Not all of us are monsters obsessed with want. Anyway, he has everything he can want in this life, but look at him. He’s getting older, weaker, and wants what Lord Nosmada wants.”
“Which is?” Kayla asked.
“Immortality. While I think most regular folk want immortality even in this putrid world, it is impossible to achieve. They want to live forever here because the afterlife scares the piss out of them, no matter how much they don’t want to admit it. I think Nosmada and Mitre both want it but by different means. I think that Mitre has come to face that thing we all do after centuries of existence.”
“And that is?” Kayla said.
Gorias winked. “Non-existence. He has seen enough to know his flesh is frail and his soul carries on after this husk is gone.” Gorias held out his rough, weathered fingers and then continued. “Facing eternity unbound from his mortal flesh isn’t a comfortable idea, seeing as the life he has led isn’t up to anyone’s definition of purity.”
Maddox reined his horse in and they all paused. “How do you come by all of this? Because what you say has arisen from the soul of Wyss? A Draco Lich?”
Tammas offered timidly, “Perhaps you think your grandfather is putting his own fear of mortality on another?” Gorias shot the youth a hard look and Tammas swiftly added, “I said he may think it, not I, Lord La Gaul.”
La Gaul smirked. “If you think I’m one from the days of antiquity, you’re erroneous. Do any of you know how old Nosmada is? He’s getting up there, for he was ancient when I was born. Yeah, that old. He’s smart enough to realize death is inevitable. However, from the power over the leeches and his interest in Wyss, I fear he’s up to a grand scheme that far dwarfs a military skirmish between his armies and those of the West.”
“This is all over souls or fear of death?” Kayla spoke. “These men play grand games with lives and blood for their own interest in their soul?”
Gorias raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you have, sister, in the end. Mitre? He’s thinking
about his as well. I don’t know if creatures like Mitre, degenerate residue from a bygone age, have souls. Mitre thinks he has one and that’s all that matters, I guess. Stillwell is more isolated in his way of thinking than a personality like Nosmada. Mitre is worried about himself alone. Nosmada thinks the world is not right without him.”
Maddox wrinkled his nose and proclaimed the obvious: “Mitre is an ogre, or whatever, and thus egotistical by nature.”
Gorias kicked his horse to a trot and gave the fading sun a glance. “So are humans, but all such things as Ogres or Minorcs are the flawed versions of human beings, son. Ogres are the freakish result of problems in human blood. Magic and sex? No good can come of it, no joke implied. That’s how one gets ogres on this plain. Mitre is male, but he isn’t a man. Nosmada is a man, believe me.”
Tammas and Maddox exchanged looks and Kayla rolled her eyes at their reaction to his words.
“My father once told me that being born male is by chance, being a man is a choice. Big difference. However, this isn’t a matter of personal responsibility, ability in the bedroom, or fighting. This is a deal for eternity or for control of one’s eternal soul. If one can muscle that situation, my, but isn’t that a manly task?”
Tammas drew back and fired at a passing leech. The shaft impaled the creature’s head, almost ear to ear. “How can one muscle the afterlife?”
“People will try anything,” Gorias said. “Some sell their souls to demons in exchange for earthly wealth or supposed control of human souls in the afterlife. They commit great acts of evil to create a dark mansion for themselves in Hell.”
Kayla fired at a leech emerging from a ditch by the road and huffed, “Preposterous!”
“And yet,” Gorias said, “it happens. While Mitre is out to free the soul of Wyss into the body of that arisen dragon, he knows a great evil will come of it. That’s his bid for favor in the afterlife. Nosmada, well, his act is different. While perceived as evil, Nosmada has a different perspective than a back stabbing ogre.”
“Why is that?” Maddox asked as they retrieved their arrows from the dead bodies of the fallen leeches. Kayla sliced off the heads of the fallen ones and bounded back to her horse.
“Because,” Gorias said, matter of factly. “Nosmada has spoken to God himself. That would change anyone’s view on the afterlife.”
“Lord La Gaul,” Kayla said gently as she looked up at the old one in the saddle. “There are great tales of who Nosmada is exactly. They say that isn’t his name and he’s a man with a great curse. Who is he?”
“He’s…” Gorias started to say then coughed. “It’s rather complicated. However, he isn’t my concern. The madness of that damned ogre is. Would that I could’ve killed his fat ass and walked out of the foundry, but spite would not stop what he has set in motion. We’d have never made it out alive. He wants the Daemonolateria back in this world. It’s his bid with the demonic forces beyond to curry favor. Yes, he made a deal with a lord darker than Nosmada.”
“That book,” Maddox said, “will only cause men and demons to dance closer together. The fragments of it around now are bad enough.”
“You see, if Stillwell wants that damn thing back on this plain in full, he really has given up living forever in this world. He wants favor, a position if you will, in the dark realms of the afterlife. If I know him, the situation will be like the one he has now.”
Tammas shook his head. “I am confused, sir. What do you mean?”
“He wants an arrangement of control, to be an overlord if you will. Denizen Lordship is the term for those condemned to Hell who serve the demons, torturing their fellow condemned. A supervisor over the lost souls here, and the sonofabitch wants the job in the afterlife.”
“To allow an undead mage to return as a Draco-Lich, just to get the Daemonolateria back on Earth, thus causing mayhem and more souls to be damned,” Kayla said. “What a bastard Mitre must be.”
“He’s the prince of them,” Gorias conceded. “Mitre always was making a deal for his big ass. To get his version of support from the demon horde, to help fulfill their agenda for the twisting of humankind, Mitre will do this great evil. He believes their demonic rhetoric that promises he will be rewarded for his acts.”
Maddox eyed his grandfather as they rode. “You doubt this?”
“Stillwell is a dupe. What fool would believe any deal struck up with demons would hold water off the earthly plain?”
“But why would he trust them?” Tammas said. “They are demons!”
Gorias laughed. “Good show, Tammas. There’s hope for you yet. I shall buy you a whore for your great thinking.”
The boy shook his head. “I need no sex to clear my head.”
The old man sighed. “I certainly do. All of this thinking of unfathomable mysteries is making me hot down below.”
“Grandfather, don’t you have some sort of bargain with those not of Earth?”
“Well, I talked myself out of that one, didn’t I. Angels are demons in better clothes. The demons despise this realm and all of us, but they are not all powerful or all knowing. They will do great acts, promise many false effects to further the spread of iniquity. The angels saw to it that the original texts of the Daemonolateria were destroyed via their servants. What remains scattered on this world is rewritten, badly transcribed, and perverted.”
“If the angels are so great, why didn’t they destroy it all?” Kayla said. “Why hasn’t Almighty God stopped this in its tracks?”
As the many pickets of the hired warriors around Khabnur looked them over and whispered “La Gaul” Gorias said, “Fair question. The angels aren’t omnipotent or omniscient, either. God, from what I see, lets his children on earth rise and fall by their own hand. That is freedom for you, eh? A parent cannot be a dictator. My son is a complete waste of flesh and air, so who am I to wave my prick at God? He watches and sees how we run the maze, I guess.”
“Doesn’t sound fair,” Maddox muttered.
“No one said it was supposed to be. Don’t be a baby. Life is awful and one has to do the best one can.”
“Why would God be at such mischief?” Tammas said.
“Perhaps to see if his children deserve to survive in this world. Any man close to the earth will tell you that, at times, one has to fish or cut bait. Think on the theory this way: Hold your own baby in your hands and swear you would do anything for it, even die for it. The baby doesn’t even know you by name, save for the sensation of your care. Yet you understand that it is a part of you, flesh and bone. You’ll die for your children even if they reject you. That’s how God is with us. Even if we give him the brush off, I wager he’s always there. Does his patience have a limit? Sometime I think it makes him mad he made us.”
After riding on for a while, they dismounted at the whorehouse of Madam Wilkens. Gorias looked up and held out his hands to restrain them all from walking forward.
“What?” Maddox asked.
“The door is open.” Gorias waved then drew both his swords. “Something is wrong.”
A few of the hired mercenaries walked up behind them cautiously, making no attempt to hide their approach. One waved as if to make sure they knew his intent was friendly.
“What do you want?” Gorias said.
The young merc swallowed and backed up, but the older man with him said, “We wanted the same thing as you earlier today, but the place is cleaned out.”
Kayla drew her dagger and went to the open door with great caution. She pointed at the interior and the overturned chairs. “Struggle?”
Gorias pointed at the side of the doorframe then at the ground. Tammas turned and suppressed a wretch. Blood spattered on the fractured wood didn’t tell the complete tale, but the fingers on the porch did.
“Looks like the Madam didn’t want to leave,” Kayla said.
Maddox glared at her. “How do you know it
was her?”
She nudged the board nearest the fingers with her boot. “That’s her opal ring. I saw it when Tammas played the song to Gorias.”
Gorias opened the door to the building wide then gave the mercs a look. “Damned attentive, ain’t she?”
Maddox followed him into the alcove and watched the old man replace his swords in the slots. “What now?”
Gorias sighed and grabbed the banister. “Lock the place down against leeches. Try to scrap up some food. May as well get some sleep, all of you. I have a lot to do on the morrow.”
The youths traded glances as Gorias climbed the stairway.
*****
Mitre Stillwell drank deeply from his oversized flagon. The bitter beer went down fast as he watched the Beholders feed. It was nearly time for the night shift janitorial staff to awaken. First, the Beholders satiated themselves on the sleeping workers’ dreams. Little did the workers realize floating heads sucked the very essences of their sleep time from their being. They awoke weary and had to be beaten severely due to slow performance. These lashings led to more nightmares, thus feeding the Beholders more astringent mental bile.
The monstrous leader of the foundry mused not over the lives being crippled by his Beholder servants but over La Gaul. He knew he could easily replace the slaves, but ridding himself of La Gaul’s memory was impossible.
“Damn you, Gorias,” Mitre said and one guard gazed up.
He walked through the cooler areas of the production line, glancing back at the personnel in the foundry. Many of these areas and rooms were reserved for kinder crafting points on blades, special designs, and superior work endowed by artisans to the craft. The attendants here were younger girls or older women who still maintained enough beauty to be blissful in a superior’s bed.
They all saluted or nodded, as this wasn’t a place of punishment, but an area of refinement and precision. Those who worked here came from the outside or slept their way into a subordinate position. Mitre wasn’t without recognition of beauty. He kept an avenue of the loveliest up here. Not that they had much to fear carnally from the old creature, his current state being what it was. All they had to dread from him was death, not molestation or even oral obligations. Stillwell had lackeys for that, ones who wouldn’t talk.
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