Eric smirked. “I’m not done yet.”
He walked over to the boulder-filled moat surrounding the remains of Blackstone. It was two miles of complete devastation.
“Unnamed One,” he called out.
The figure floated over next to him.
“I need to know something,” Eric said in a low voice.
“YES?”
“You said back in the car on the way to the airport that you only cared about Korvos because he could further your partnership with me. You said that if he threatened that, then you said you’d remove him.”
“CORRECT.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“THERE IS NO REASON FOR YOUR DISTRUST.”
“I don’t care – I don’t trust him, and I’m not going to. He and his buddies can go conquer whatever portion of the Shattered Lands he asked for, but I need to know – are you on my side or not?”
“OF COURSE I AM ON YOUR SIDE. THIS IS WITHOUT QUESTION.”
“Good… then I want the full ability to summon any demon that exists in the game. Even those outside the Demonomicon.”
“IT SHALL BE AS YOU WISH.”
The AI held out its arm and put it through Eric’s forehead.
Eric gasped. There was a feeling like ice-cold water running through his skull – the supernatural equivalent of an ice cream headache, he supposed – and then suddenly he knew. He knew so much more.
“Palladit obstepos,” he yelled out over and over.
Dark smoke boiled from his fingertips and congealed into a hundred giant shapes amongst the rubble. They had the stocky bodies of trolls, but they were each fifteen feet tall, with skulls shaped like hammerheads.
The demons began to heave boulders the size of carriages and throw them towards the moat, where they either splashed into the dirty water or clattered atop other stones there.
Eric gestured to Cythera, who walked up beside him.
“Raise up the dead bodies in the city,” he commanded.
“My lord,” she whispered, “they are surely crushed beyond recognition – most of them could not even stand. Their bones must be ground into dust by now.”
Eric looked at the featureless face of the AI. “You healed Merridack and Cythera before – can you help with this?”
“OF COURSE.”
“And don’t worry about the aesthetics. In fact, keep them as ugly as possible.” Eric turned to Cythera. “Just resurrect them. We’ll take care of the rest.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, and she began – with a reluctant, doubtful expression – to use the dark magic Eric sent pulsing into her body.
As the hammerhead trolls continued to throw their boulders into the moat and clear the first layer of wreckage over the city, there were sounds beside the clattering and smashing of rocks.
A slithering, wet, sucking sound.
Hands began to rise up from the rocks and grasp stones, then hoist their owners up into sight. They were grotesque parodies of living creatures – faces smashed into bloody pulp, arms more gelatinous than solid, bodies and bones bent in a dozen unnatural angles.
The AI put out its hand, and suddenly flat ribcages expanded with cracking sounds until they were rounded once more. Covered with rotting flesh, true – but the bones at least were sound.
Arms popped into place and lengthened.
Broken legs straightened with creaking, snapping sounds.
Some of the bodies sought each other out and began to intertwine. With a wet schlurping sound they melded into larger bodies, some with four arms, others with a nightmarish displacement of regular features – faces sunk inside where their chests should have been, fingers jutting out at odd angles from shoulders and backs, heads that were orc on one side and human on the other.
Eric turned away from the moat and walked over to Korvos and his three generals. “So, you see… it turns out I really DON’T need you after all.”
Korvos’ voice was positively venomous. “So you plan to betray our agreement?”
“Not at all. You can still have the fourth of the Shattered Lands you were promised. What was it, from the Deserts of something to – ”
“The Deserts of Silarta to the Seas of Alombria.”
“Yeah, that. You can take your friends here and go conquer the entire region for all I care, but you’re not getting a single acre of land more than that.”
“You do not wish my help?”
“I think we’ve got it from here. I’ll just keep expanding my army with every soldier I kill, so…”
The AI spoke. “IT WOULD BE WISE TO HAVE KORVOS WITH US.”
Eric gestured angrily at the bodies rising from the ruins of Blackstone. “Don’t you have to go take care of that?”
“I CAN DO MANY THINGS AT ONCE.”
“I do not understand,” Korvos said. “Do you wish to annul our agreement?”
“HE DOES NOT TRUST YOU,” the AI said.
“Hey!” Eric snapped. “Do you go blabbing our private conversations everywhere?”
“Your distrust is obvious and apparent,” Korvos said. “But why?”
Eric turned on him angrily. “Because you didn’t bother telling me you were sentient. OR that you tried to betray me to Daniel.”
“Sen-chunt?” Merridack said, confused. “What’s that?”
Eric, Korvos, and the AI ignored him.
“Offering to betray you to your friend was a ruse to remove him from the game. I never intended to go forward with it.”
The general’s words stung. If they were true, it meant that some freaking computer program was more trustworthy than his so-called best friend.
Not that he believed Korvos was being entirely honest. If the opportunity arose, Eric had no doubt the asshole would grind him to a pulp beneath his boot.
“What about you being a self-aware AI, huh?”
Again, Merridack looked confused. “What’s an ‘eh eye’? Is that some sort of accursed race from wherever you people come from?”
“Why would I have told you that?” Korvos asked. “It is none of your concern.”
“It doesn’t exactly make me trust you when I found it out now.”
“Have you told me everything about you? No. Nor would I expect it, because it is not relevant to our plans. You have your motives for what you do, and I have mine, but they intersect in this instance. That is all that is necessary to know for our partnership to work.”
Eric stood there fuming – but he couldn’t exactly discount the general’s words. Korvos had a point.
“Do you wish to annul our agreement and go our separate ways?” Korvos asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Eric snapped. “No… go attack whatever region you plan to rule, and when we need you, you agree to come and help when called. That’s what you’re getting in return for your fourth of the Shattered Lands.”
Korvos nodded slightly. “That is acceptable.”
“See ya, horn-head,” Merridack said to the general.
Eric grinned viciously. “In fact, take Merridack with you.”
Merridack whipped his head around in shock. “What?!”
“I would prefer not to,” the general said.
“Too bad,” Eric answered. “If you really want my trust, he goes with you so he can be my eyes and ears. My official liaison, you could say.”
“Or I could tell you to go stick your head up your ass,” Merridack snapped.
“And die,” Eric retorted. “Take your pick.”
“Always with the threats.”
“They generally seem to work on you.”
“I’m not getting a fourth of any damned kingdom,” Merridack snarled, “so why should I go?”
“Raise an army of 50,000, and maybe you’ll get a cut,” Eric taunted him. “But until then, you’re one guy – so go where you’re told. Don’t worry, you’ll still get a ton of gold out of it. And if you’re not around here, I probably won’t end up killing you for pissing me off.”
“I can’t mak
e the same promise if he comes with me,” Korvos said.
Eric smiled maliciously at Merridack. “I guess you better not piss Korvos off.”
“If my army marches to Alombria in the south, where are YOU going?”
Eric hesitated for a second. He was completely ignorant of the geography of the Shattered Lands, and what cities and regions were the most valuable tactically.
But then, he had overwhelming power on his side. He didn’t really care about ‘tactical value.’
He did care about something else, though.
“Daniel’s heading for the dwarves,” he said to the Dark Figure. “Where are they?”
“HE IS GOING TO THE MOUNTAINS OF MORRILL. IT IS THE WESTERNMOST REALM OF THE SHATTERED LANDS.”
“How far away is it?”
“IT WOULD TAKE THIS ARMY TWELVE DAYS TO REACH IT.”
“What’s between here and there?” Eric asked, then got a malicious glint in his eye. “Specifically, what’s between here and there that Daniel or Mira visited when they were trying to recruit allies?”
“SHE VISITED THE FOREST ELVES OF ARAVALL, THEN THE DARK ELVES OF ALSHURAT.”
Eric smiled evilly. “Then that’s where we’re going first.”
14
Drogar
Drogar logged back into the game after twelve Real World hours away, and found his griffin circling lazily over seemingly endless plains.
He checked his map. Sure enough, they were over the territory of Hurok.
There was nothing for miles but oceans of grass –
And half a dozen tiny dots on the far horizon.
He spurred the griffin onwards, and they soared towards the tiny caravan.
Sure enough, it was six mountain-sized men wearing animal skin loincloths, with roughly made boots and hair down to their shoulders. They all rode horses, and all of them carried axes or scimitars strapped to their backs. They stared up into the sky and pointed.
Drogar guided the griffin down to the grass and climbed off its back.
“DOOT!” he cried out as he waved his arm. “Vhat is up!”
The horses approached in a line, and the barbarians regarded him coldly. Like Drogar, they were all clean-shaven, and they all had large incisors jutting from their bottom lips.
“Yo! You guys are Hurokian, right?” Drogar yelled as he strolled over.
“Halt!” one of the men on horseback called out. He was the biggest of the six, with long, iron-grey hair.
“No, it’s cool – I’m Hurokian, too!” Drogar protested as he kept walking.
The iron-grey warrior threw a hatchet that embedded itself thock! in the ground at Drogar’s feet.
That stopped him in his tracks.
He wasn’t exactly being welcomed as warmly as he’d hoped.
“You are Hurokian?” the grey-haired man called out.
“Yah!”
“What is your blood tribe?”
Blood tribe?
“Uhhhh… B negative?” Drogar answered.
“That is not a blood tribe!” the man thundered.
“Do you mean vhere am I from?”
“YES! Your blood tribe!”
“Uhhhh… Bucharest?”
“Boo-kah-rest? That is not a blood tribe!” the man roared. “IMPOSTER!”
The other five men began to grunt in unison: “UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH – ”
Drogar scowled. “Shut UP for a second!”
The barbarians all stopped grunting – but they all drew their weapons, too.
“WAIT!” Drogar yelled. “There’s this evil sorcerer doot – ”
“What is a ‘doot’?” the grey-haired leader shouted angrily.
“Uhhh… you know… like, a guy!”
“What is a ‘guy’?”
They don’t know what a GUY is?!
“A man!” Drogar shouted.
“A huuuu-man?”
“Yah!”
The grey-haired leader spat on the ground, as did the other five warriors, and shouted something in a foreign language.
“What da hell?” Drogar murmured.
“What about this doot?” the grey-hair asked.
“Uhhh… so he’s evil, right? And he’s killing people – he even killed – ”
Drogar caught himself right before he said, He even killed ME.
He didn’t want to have to explain that one.
“Uhhh, he killed a lot of people!” Drogar finished.
“So – he is a warrior!” the grey-haired man shouted approvingly.
All the other barbarians began to chant again. “UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH – ”
“NO, he’s an ahss-hole!” Drogar shouted.
“What is an ‘ahss-hole’?”
“It’s the hole you – never mind,” Drogar said, shaking his head. “You know – he’s a dick!”
“What is a ‘dick?”
“It’s your – ” and Drogar pointed down at his crotch.
“Ahhh – so he is a GREAT warrior!” the grey-haired man shouted.
“UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH – ”
“He’s EVIL, doot! He kills people for fun!”
The barbarians all looked at each other – then nodded approvingly and started chanting again. “UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH – ”
“Shut da hell UP, doots! He’s gonna come kill YOU!”
That shut them up, all right.
Of course, now they all looked like they wanted to kill Drogar.
“Did you fight this huuu-man?” the grey-haired leader demanded.
“Sort of – once…”
“Did you fight him or not?”
Drogar didn’t really know how to explain having a tentacle monster burst out of his chest and then getting respawned, so he just said, “Not really… no, I guess…”
“Why did you not fight him? You are a coward?”
“NO!” Drogar shouted, offended.
“You are a coward!”
“UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH – ”
“Shut the hell up, ahss-holes!” Drogar roared. “He’s magic – he’s got, like, a dragon – ”
“Why are you still alive?” the leader shouted.
Drogar stood there, confused. “…what?”
“Why are you still alive?”
“Uh, because he didn’t kill me?” Drogar said sarcastically.
Even though he did.
Twice.
Well, once directly, and the second time by destroying Blackstone –
“If you were a true Hurokian you would have come back victorious, or not come back at all!” the leader yelled. “Death or victory, there is no other!”
“THERE IS NO OTHER!” the other barbarians roared.
They all spat in Drogar’s direction.
“You are a coward! You are no Hurokian – you are a Slisock!” the leader shouted.
“SLISOCK!” the barbarians roared.
“Da hell is a Slisock?” Drogar muttered, then yelled, “Look, I need you guys’s help to fight the Sorcerer!”
“You wish us to fight by your side in battle?” the leader shouted.
“Yah!”
“To clash steel, bleed, and die?”
“…uh… maybe not the die part…”
“You claim this as the blood-right of a son of Hurok, God of War?”
“…uhhh… yeah… sure.”
The barbarians all looked at each other for a long moment.
Then they began to shout in unison:
“Trial by Vark! Trial by Vark! Trial by Vark!”
Drogar squinted.
Vhat the hell is ‘Trial by Vark’?
The leader silenced the others, then shouted at Drogar, “Do you agree?”
“Uhhh… what’s ‘Trial by Vahrk’?”
“It is a trial to see if you are worthy.”
Drogar shrugged. “…yah, sure. Why not.”
“It is decided. Trial by Vark.”
“TRIAL BY VARK! TRIAL BY VARK! TRIAL BY VARK!”
The leader pointed at the last man
in the row and yelled at Drogar, “Fight him for his horse!”
The last barbarian in the row got down off his horse and unsheathed his battle ax with a growl.
“To the death!” he roared.
All the barbarians yelled, “TO THE DEATH!”
Drogar stared. “Is this the trial by Vark?”
“No, that is to fight him for his horse to ride to the village. Kill him, you ride to village. Or you die.”
“I’ll just… I’ll ride my griffin,” Drogar said as he backed up slowly.
“We are not afraid of your monster, Slisock,” the leader taunted him. “After your Trial by Vark, if you fail – and you WILL fail – we will kill your bird and feast on it as we watch you die slowly in the mud.”
“Yah, okay, whatever,” Drogar said as he edged closer towards the griffin.
The barbarians all turned their horses around and thundered off across the plains, grunting, “UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH, UNH!” as they rode away.
“Crazy mofos,” Drogar muttered as he climbed on his griffin. “I picked the wrong race of dumb-ahsses.”
15
Drogar reached the barbarian camp long before the riders did, though he stayed airborne until they arrived. He took the time to scope out how the Hurokians lived.
There were many rounded tents made of animal hides and bamboo – more like yurts than teepees. Horses grazed nearby. Women cooked over open fires, and children played in the fields outside the camp.
It was actually sort of idyllic and calm.
Maybe the riders had been an exception. Maybe they were the black sheep of the clan.
When the six finally rode into camp, Drogar brought the griffin down for a landing. The children and women had been watching him for some time, shielding their eyes from the sun as they watched the creature circling far overhead.
As he got closer, Drogar noticed approvingly that the women were hot. Their hair was tangled and wild, but they were all thin, beautiful, and curvy in all the right places – with the tiniest scraps of animal skins covering their breasts and loins. And none of them had the massive lower incisors of the males. Other than they were all over six feet tall, they looked like the most beautiful human women imaginable.
Shattered Lands 3 Demon Wars Page 6
