03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  “Orcus?” Trevin sighed.

  “Lord of the Underworld, the Damned Prince, as I recall you saying,” Maelen said with a smile.

  “Hard as it is to believe, he died before I joined the Grove,” Trevin said.

  “But with a name liked the Damned Prince, how trustworthy can he be?” Jenn asked.

  “That is a matter of perspective. I used the term ‘Damned Prince’ because that is the title given to him by the alvar.” Trevin said. “However, in some stories, the title would be better phrased as ‘Prince of the Damned.’ ”

  “Why is that better?” Gastropé asked, frowning.

  “Are you familiar with the ancient phrase, ‘Thrice damned be he who breaketh his oath?’” Trevin asked.

  Gastropé shrugged, glancing at the others. “Of course.”

  “Well in certain circles, Orcus is the Punisher of Oath Breakers, and Lord of the Underworld to which they are cast down,” Trevin said.

  “So he took oaths very seriously?” Jenn said.

  “Yes. He is in charge of punishing those who break their word,” Trevin said.

  “You mean like Talarius, who broke his oath and allowed the Rod to assist him in single combat?” Gastropé asked. “Who he then dragged down to the actual underworld, the Abyss?”

  Trevin stared at him in shock, as did the others. No one said anything for a moment.

  “How did I miss that?” Trevin shook her head slowly from side to side. “I have been so blind.”

  “That certainly makes the most sense of anything we’ve heard,” Elrose said.

  Gastropé turned to stare out the window, trying to piece all of this together. Tom swore up and down that everything was coincidental. As far as Gastropé could see, everything had been coincidental—very crazy coincidental. It could not have been planned. There were too many parts to be arranged.

  “This would imply that Orcus planned all of this, but there are simply too many moving parts needed for all of this to just happen,” Gastropé said, sharing his thoughts out loud.

  “Coincidence, providence, prophecy, fate?” Maelen said. “There is something happening on a much larger scale than we can see at this time. We’ve known that since this trip started, but only now is the game board being revealed to us.”

  Gastropé glanced to his side to see Jenn staring at him. Clearly she was going to want to talk to him in private.

  Citadel of Light, Early Fourth Period

  “So, what have you learned, Vicar General?” Hilda asked Grob Darkness Slayer as he sat down in his chair in the conference room the saints had taken over a few days before. Grob and Aeris had joined the three saints and two apostles to fill them in on the first results from interrogating the prisoners.

  “Not as much as we might hope.” Grob shook his head.

  “I personally oversaw the initial interviews with the former vampires,” Aeris told them.

  Hilda nodded. That would make sense; you wanted a priest who was a skilled Truth Seer. Aeris, as a half-alvaran priestess, would most likely be very good.

  “The two that you re-turned later were very low-level; one had only been a vampire for three months, the other two years,” Aeris said. “As a consequence, they had very little information to provide, other than personal observations. Such observations will take longer, more detailed interviews. At their low rank, it’s doubtful they understood much of what they might have observed.”

  “The others?” Timbly asked.

  “Vladimir is refusing to answer any questions, and in fact, seems to be in shock. He simply sits on the floor hugging his knees, staring at his feet with locked teeth and a tense stare,” Aeris said.

  “That is not unheard of.” Hilda nodded. “Vampires that have spent more of their existence as Unlife than living, often have a terrible time adjusting back to mortality. I would expect the younger ones to be more resilient, depending on the nature of their turning.”

  “The other two, Vladimir’s right and left hands, so to speak, are in less shock, but are being very recalcitrant. We are getting some information—we know their names, mission and a few other facts—but we will need several more interrogation sessions,” Aeris said.

  “What about the dhampyr?” Teragdor asked.

  “We have not talked to him yet,” Grob said.

  “Why not?” Rasmeth inquired.

  “I wanted to test out my Truth Sight on the others first; I am not sure how well it works on dhampyrs. I confess I’ve never interviewed one before,” Aeris replied.

  “To be honest, we normally don’t interview Unlife that often, other than some ghouls and an occasional ghast. Vampires are tricky to capture, extremely hard to contain and generally resistant to Truth Sight,” Grob said.

  Hilda nodded in understanding. “If the dhampyr is young, Truth Sight should work fine. He appeared to be quite young, but that can be misleading. Dhampyrs can live for a very long time, at least by their non-vampiric racial norms.”

  “So something like half-alfar?” Aeris, the half-alfar, asked.

  “Analogous, but in a much less pleasant manner,” Hilda agreed.

  Teragdor looked at Hilda curiously.

  “They have to feed,” Hilda said, seeing his look. “If they feed well, they can live a long time; if they feed not-so-well for long enough, they will not live any longer, and often have shorter lives than their non-Unlife counterparts.”

  “Would you like to be in on the questioning of the dhampyr?” Aeris asked. “Technically, they are your prisoners. You can be involved with any of them that you want.”

  Hilda shrugged. “I can take a look at the dhampyr, be there for the questioning. Give you my thoughts on how accurately the Truth Sight is working.”

  Aeris nodded. “Very well; my thought is to resume after the midday meal. Shall I come for you here?”

  “I will be here.” Hilda smiled. Aeris, Grob and the other locals had been so much more cooperative this morning, after she had actually gone into the field and accomplished something that would have been very difficult for their own people to do.

  It confirmed one of Hilda’s long-standing beliefs: when you are willing to get down to work and get your hands dirty alongside others, they take your advice much more to heart. That was the problem that saints and avatars often faced. Familiarity without shared sacrifice could often generate resentment over time. It was one thing to be distant and use the shock value of an unexpected manifestation; the more mystery, the better. But it was another to be present and seeming to only give orders or make demands without contributing.

  Library of Doom: Early Fourth Period

  “There you are, bard!” Talarius’s voice boomed, echoing in the vast room.

  “So much for the silence of the library.” Antefalken shook his head in exasperation. Was he ever going to get this ballad written? He looked up from the scroll he was reading at the rapidly approaching visored knight. “The temperature in this room is quite modest; you can take your helmet off,” he told the knight.

  The knight came and stood across the table from Antefalken. He removed his helmet and set it on the table. He was looking rather haggard for some reason. Apparently he was not getting enough sleep. “The D’Orcing ceremony has raised some questions for us,” he said.

  “Us?” Antefalken asked.

  Talarius gestured at the sword on his back.

  Antefalken nodded in understanding. “And what might those questions be?”

  “You are a scholar, yes?” Talarius asked.

  “Somewhat. I’m a bard and student of history,” Antefalken replied.

  “You are also a demon.”

  “Obviously,” the bard replied calmly.

  “So you know where demons come from?” the knight asked.

  Antefalken raised one eyebrow in a questioning glance. “Are you asking me about the birds and the bees for demons? Seems to me I just had this conversation not that long ago with Damien.”

  “I think you know what I mean. The new D’O
rc—he was created from an orc.”

  “Yes, we were all there,” Antefalken said. He now knew where this was going. Not surprising, he supposed.

  “So, in your mind, what is the difference between a demon and a D’Orc?” Talarius asked.

  “The initial race,” Antefalken said calmly. “And, of course, consent.”

  Talarius blinked. “So you admit it?”

  Antefalken shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Particularly since you obviously knew the answer before you asked the question.”

  “So, this wizard you work with—you are conspiring with him to create more demons?” Talarius asked.

  Antefalken blinked in surprise and shock. He had not seen that one coming. He started laughing.

  “Why are you laughing?” Talarius demanded.

  “It’s just that it’s rather ludicrous.” Antefalken shook his head. “Damien has no idea, at least as far as I know, where demons come from. None of the wizards do. If they knew, and kept doing it, they would have to admit to being evil.”

  “So you admit they are evil?” Talarius asked.

  “Every demon in the Abyss will tell you that they think wizards are evil. You have to understand—they summon and bind us against our will, ripping us from our homes and families, and then enslave us. They torture us when we do not do what they want. We are at the mercy of their every whim,” Antefalken said.

  Talarius was silent, staring at Antefalken in shock.

  “You know all those stories of demons using tricky words to get out of their contracts, hopefully to someday rip their accursed master to shreds?” Antefalken asked.

  Talarius simply nodded, saying nothing.

  “That is not because we are necessarily evil, it is simply revenge for that which they have done to us,” Antefalken said.

  “Necessarily evil?” Talarius got a small gleam in his eye.

  “Yes, if you believe in evil. There are good demons and bad demons, even as there are good people and bad people. No difference. I am simply saying that there is more than one possible motivation for a demon ripping its master to shreds. In most cases, it is simply revenge,” the bard told Talarius.

  Talarius was silent, thinking, or perhaps discussing this with Ruiden.

  “So were you once human?” Talarius asked.

  “Indeed I was,” Antefalken said. “I was a normal human bard. A long time ago.”

  “Lilith?” Talarius asked.

  “She is very old. One might think she was once human, but I am not so sure. She and Sammael have quite a mythology cooked up. In it, she was one of the first four humans ever created; yet they were also immortal and two of the four chose to give up immortality to live on the Planes of Man. Lilith and Sammael did not and stayed where they were, presumably here in the Abyss. I have no idea if this is true, but it is their most popular story, and in it, they were never truly human as we know the term.”

  Talarius shook his head, turning to leave.

  “Talarius,” Antefalken said, his tone cautioning.

  The knight looked back.

  “You are one of very few humans, mortals, who knows this. I can fairly safely say that I doubt any other mortal in Astlan knows it. The reason we do not enlighten people is not for lack of trying, but rather it is due to ingrained disbelief. People believe what they want to believe, and when they are set in their ways, by their culture, their religion and to some, what they observe, trying to change their view is very difficult.”

  “Meaning?” Talarius asked suspiciously.

  Antefalken shrugged. “Nothing. You are free to tell whoever you want. Trust me, however; people in Astlan and in your own church will think that not only are you blasphemous, but that you are also insane, or more likely, possessed by a demon. They will say you have been corrupted by the evil lies of the demons, and most likely try to cure you.”

  Talarius turned a ghostly shade of pale white as Antefalken’s words, and his own experience on the other side of the story, sank in.

  Citadel of Light, Dungeon: Late Fourth Period

  Hilda and Stevos followed Aeris and a Shield member down into the Citadel’s dungeons. They were, as dungeons went, quite clean and well lit. Hilda suspected that if you were locking up Unlife, good lighting would be important. In particular, Light of Day devices should be installed to flash hallways to keep them from escaping. She shook her head. This was idle speculation; whatever they were doing here, it had been working for centuries.

  “These first two rooms on each side contain the re-turned vampires; the third one on the right is Vladimir and the third on left is the dhampyr,” Aeris informed them.

  They walked up to the large iron door with a small barred window at head height and a food slot at the bottom. Aeris waved her hand over the lock, mouthing a small unlocking chant; the guard then inserted a key and pulled on the handle.

  “He is chained to his bench; the chain will only barely reach the door,” Aeris said.

  “I should be fine,” Hilda said, moving into the room. She brought forth a small ball of light to illuminate the room as Stevos and Hilda followed her in.

  The dhampyr lifted its head to look at his visitors, blinking at the sudden light in the room. It seemed to take a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but once he recognized Hilda he gave a small, rather pathetic cry and cowered back on the bench.

  Hilda frowned. Were those tear streaks running down the dhampyr’s face? His eyes were certainly red, as if he had been crying and rubbing them; not the blood you saw sometimes with vampires.

  “Go ahead!” the dhampyr sniffled. “Just kill me already. My life could not possibly get any worse than it has been these last few months!” He began to cry.

  Hilda blinked. This was not quite what she had been expecting. The dhampyr, who appeared to be an extremely thin young man of about sixteen or seventeen years, was a bit less imposing that she would have thought for a soldier of the Storm Lords.

  “So, you are having a bad time of it?” Aeris asked. “Do not expect sympathy from us, dhampyr.”

  The dhampyr glanced at the Diocate. “I expect none. I know what your church preaches about my kind. Go ahead and kill me. I could care less; I have nothing left to live for. Everyone I love has been taken from me. I could barely manage to survive by chasing chickens around my yard, even before the Storm Lords came and destroyed the entire town and captured me.”

  “Everyone you love?” Aeris asked dispassionately. “What do dhampyrs know of love?”

  The dhampyr looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Don’t confuse a dhampyr for a vampire. I am as mortal as you—more so, in fact. I’m but a human with a condition I never asked for. I’ve been a pariah ever since I started showing signs of my condition several years back. My family was forced to move to a farm away from town for fear of my safety. I’ve lived on nothing but the blood drained from chickens ever since. Do you know how unsatisfying that is? But I have no other recourse,” the dhampyr complained angrily. “My brother gave his life defending our town from the Storm Lords! My mother then died a few months later of the wasting sickness because it wasn’t safe to bring a priest to our farm to treat her for fear of them finding me!” He shook his head. “My mother, my brother—they taught me more about love, personal sacrifice and pain than you will ever comprehend, you emotionless alfar!”

  Hilda frowned slightly. She had been watching the dhampyr throughout with her Truth Sight. There was no question that he was telling the truth as he saw it. She gestured to Aeris to let her do the questioning. “So how did you end up in Vladimir’s squad?” she asked the dhampyr.

  “The Storm Lords finally overran the village. The ghouls must have smelled my chickens. I had a fairly large number, since that’s all I ate. They came, scaled my walls, and ate all my chickens.” The dhampyr pressed his fists to his eyes to suppress tears at the memory. “Then a ghast came and was surprised to find a dhampyr hiding on a human farm. He took me to his vampire lord, who asked for the name of my father—who I have n
ever met, by the way. He then contacted my father, who sent Vladimir to enlist me against my will in the forces of the Storm Lords.” The dhampyr was half crying, half shouting in anger.

  “So, it seems like things turned out well for you,” Aeris said.

  The dhampyr looked at her once more like she was insane. “It worked out for me?” he asked sarcastically. “I had never killed a sentient creature for food, ever! As I said, mainly chickens. Occasionally I could get goat or cow blood if someone was butchering and my mother or brother could purchase it. I had never even drunk human or any other race’s blood before the vampire lord took me in! Do you know what it is like to have to drink blood that you know came from someone who was murdered?” the dhampyr demanded. “Then Vladimir, he would let me drain just a little bit of blood from the people we encountered. Everyone I spared, he killed. Eventually, I ended up killing my victims as painlessly as I could, lest Vladimir savage them far worse!” The dhampyr shook his head in what seemed to be great remorse.

  He turned his head to face Aeris angrily. “So go ahead, do your worst! I have been through hell and there is literally nothing you can do that is worse than the last four months of my life. Just put me out of my misery.” The dhampyr sobbed, placing his head on his arms, which were crossed upon his knees.

  They were all silent for a bit. Finally, Hilda spoke up.

  “When was the last time you fed?” she asked.

  The dhampyr shrugged, not lifting his head. “I don’t know... two days, perhaps.”

  Hilda looked to Aeris. “Find him some fresh animal blood. I suspect he would like it still as warm as possible.”

  “What is your name, boy?” Stevos asked.

  The dhampyr sighed in resignation. “Rede. Rede Yondin.”

  Hilda nodded and turned to the guard. “Make sure he has a chamber pot and fresh water as well.”

  “We shall speak more later, Rede Yondin,” she said, looking directly at him, but he did not lift his head.

  Hilda gestured and led them out. The guard and Aeris relocked the door and Hilda led them back out of the dungeon. Once they were out of the prisoner section, Hilda stopped and addressed the guard and Aeris. “This is very disturbing on several levels. See to his safety while I decide how to proceed. He is not to be harmed, nor interviewed by anyone without me present.”