“Care for one?” the man said.
“Hardly,” Long managed in response.
“You don’t enjoy fresh meat?”
“Seems overly theatrical, if you ask me,” Long replied, his heart hammering in his chest. There was only so much fear a man could take. Maybe his heart would fail him before this damned wizard could touch him.
The other man stopped chewing abruptly, swallowed and set his bowl aside. He wiped his hands on a napkin draped across his lap and leaned towards Long.
“You have no idea of the horrors I can visit upon you. You think you’re brave? I could have you wallowing in a mire of your own filth in seconds if it pleased me.”
Long said nothing.
“Fast learner,” the End-of-All-Things said. “Good. Maybe you’ll outlive this day after all.” Anders rose from his seat and walked to within inches of Long’s face. “You are an officer of some sort, and as you're not one of mine, I must assume you work for the rancid Queen."
Long remained silent.
"Now, there is any number of ways I can extract what I need from you -- you know that, I can see -- and I'd just as soon have you dispense with all the posturing and tell me straight out what you know of the Queen's plans, the disposition of her troops, etc."
Long remained silent.
"I'm disappointed to find the officers of my enemy so lacking in logic and...foresight. You believe you can withstand whatever tortures I can devise. You cannot. You would not last five minutes. But as I don't want to break you unnecessarily...a little test of your loyalties, then. I am going to torture one of your friends to death. It will be slow, humiliating and of course agonizing. Whom should I choose? The young man?"
Long remained silent, though he found he was sweating profusely and his legs were trembling uncontrollably.
"The broken down Shaper?"
The sergeant struggled mightily to keep a calm veneer, though inside was all chaos.
"The giantess? Ah! Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. You would not have her hurt, so of course she will be. The only question is, how many fingers and toes will she lose before you submit to the inevitable? How much pain might you have spared her if you had only relented sooner?"
That was it, that was all it took – no magic, no torture, just the threat of hurting Mardine in any way made him crumble like a sandcastle in the surf. “You win,” Long blurted, on the verge of weeping.
His inquisitor broke into a large, feral grin. “Ah, you poor people with morals, honor and integrity.” He spat these words out as if they’d somehow soiled his tongue, an odd choice for a man who’d just dined on live rodents. “You’re really hamstrung from the start, aren’t you? You could stand all the flaming hot tongs in the world, but let someone mention those same tongs in conjunction with a loved-one’s name? You’re not fun at all, really.” Anders spun and returned to his seat. “However, since I have more interesting ways in which to amuse myself, why don’t we just get down to business?”
Again, Long remained silent.
“What is the Queen planning? And be specific. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“She’s assembled a large force to block any advance you might make on her kingdom.”
“And?”
“This force is meant to be led by a man they call ‘the Reaper.”
Anders sat back in his chair, apparently delighted. “Ah, yes. Tell me of this Reaper.”
Long felt defiance surging within his bosom. “You don’t want to meet him in combat; I can assure you of that.”
His captor actually giggled. “Oooh, he’s big and bad, is he?”
“You have no idea.”
The End-of-All-Things suddenly grew impatient. “Then give me an idea, or I bring your giant wench in here right now and start slicing.”
“It’s said he once destroyed a whole city, by himself.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that – defeated five hundred men by himself, killed an army with a toothpick. What else? Why the fascination with this fellow? Surely he’s more than a gifted swordsman.”
The man wanted theatrics? Long decided to deliver them. “He is oblivion with a sword. No man, no army, no nation can withstand his onslaught. He is the Reaper, and there’s no soul in the wide world he will not or cannot take. Including yours.”
The End-of-All-Things grew still, dangerously still. Without warning, he cackled loudly and broke into vigorous applause. “I like it! I cannot wait to meet and annihilate him!” He paused to drink from a nearby goblet. In response to some expression on Long’s face, he explained, “Oh, it’s nothing untoward, I assure you. Water, in fact. I find it goes well with fresh vermin.” He took another gulp. “Now, soldier, your name and rank?”
“Sergeant Long, sir.”
“Sir?’ No, no, no. You must call me ‘lord,’ or ‘master.”
Not much of a choice, there, Long thought. “Yes, lord.”
“Now, I tell you what, Sergeant Long: you are going to come to work for me. You’ll join my army, work with my troops. Meantime, I will keep your paramour safe from harm. If at any time you think to betray me in any way, however, well, let’s just say it will go poorly for the giant. Are we understood?”
The End-of-All-Things had him by the balls. “Yes, lord,” he responded.
*****
Spirk and D’Kem, the End’s Camp
The throng was moving, slowly rotating towards the entrance, where the villain, as Spirk thought of him, was feeding something to the captors one by one. Spirk was frightened witless on a number of counts: first, he was so afraid of meeting this End-of-the-World fellow, he feared he might shit himself, which very well might be worse than death; second, he thought they might sense and steal his magic stone; finally, he hadn’t seen Long in some time and was pretty sure they’d killed him. Spirk could do nothing about the first and third issues, but for the second, the matter of his magic stone, he had formulated a plan. Taking it out of the inside pocket of his ragged leather vest, Spirk held the stone in his hand a moment. “Don’t let ‘em kill me,” he whispered to the stone, before putting it into his mouth and swallowing. And swallowing again. And again. It wasn’t going down as well as he’d hoped, and his eyes began to bulge out as he staggered around the pen, bumping into other prisoners and feeling a rising panic. One of the guards outside the pen reached over and bashed Spirk on the back of the head, knocking him to his knees. He shook his head violently in attempt to clear the cobwebs and discovered he’d successfully swallowed his stone at last. “If I’m still alive on the morrow, I hope to see you again,” he breathed.
Spirk watched as D’Kem was herded in front of the villain. If his imagination hadn’t gotten the best of him, it appeared the man was spending more time with the old Shaper than he had with anyone else. He even seemed to be staring into D’Kem’s eyes, as if searching for something. Apparently satisfied, he held out a small nut or some such and D’Kem ate it. For a moment, nothing happened, and then a nearby guard ushered the Shaper aside so that next prisoner could be fed. To Spirk’s eyes, D’Kem looked like he was in the same stupor as any and everyone else who ate the nut. Spirk wondered how the nut would get along with the magic stone, already in his gut.
As he approached his turn to meet the villain, Spirk felt an odd, tingly sensation throughout his body. Then, in his mind, he heard a voice – D’Kem’s voice: “Stay calm.” He looked over at the Shaper, but the man still seemed out of it. Surely, this was the work of his magic stone!
Magic stone? Spirk asked.
He thought he heard an irritated sigh and then, Yes, fine. It’s me, your magic stone.
What…what do you want?
What I just said: stay calm. When the End-of-All-Things feeds you, nothing will happen. Only, you must pretend that it has. I don’t know that these pellets take effect immediately, but you’d best pretend anyway.
Pretend?
Yes, pretend. Pretend you’ve become as witless and lifeless as the rest of these prisoners
. That first part shouldn’t be hard for you, the stone concluded.
If Spirk didn’t know better, he might have thought the stone had just insulted him in some way. But that didn’t make sense.
A guard prodded Spirk into position.
And then what happens? He thought.
And then, you’re still free to think and move as you like. But don’t. You must wait until D’Kem gives you further instructions.
Spirk looked into the eyes of the villain. If the stone said anything else, he didn’t hear it. The pale blue eyes transfixed him, so cold and without feeling were they. Spirk felt fingers on his jaw and then a small, cold lump landed on his tongue. Instinctively, he swallowed, feeling a slight spasm of pain as the nut followed the stone’s rough passage down his gullet.
Now move, boy, move! The stone commanded rather harshly.
Spirk felt somewhat put out, but he complied nonetheless. Gradually, he found his way over to D’Kem’s side.
That’s right. Now, stay put until you hear different from me.
The young man sighed. He loved his magic stone, of course, but he didn’t enjoy being pushed around by it.
D’Kem stole a glance at the boy. Magic stone, indeed. Well, whatever worked. The two had only each other anymore, since the sergeant and then Mardine had been led away. Spirk wasn’t much to work with, but he was easily fooled into compliance. Perhaps, just perhaps, D’Kem could find a way to free them both without tipping his hand to the enemy. On the other hand, working from inside the End-of-All-Things’ host provided opportunities, as well. The old Shaper would have to think on it.
*****
Aoife and Toomt’-La, On the Road
Toomt’-La was the strangest satyr Aoife could have imagined; only, he was real. As he matured, his coloring became more and more fantastical, suggesting he was not merely “of the forest,” but actually made of the forest. At any point where bone might have jutted against the skin – at elbows, knees, shoulder and the like – fringes and tufts of moss grew in abundance. Parts of his skin took on a bark-like appearance, while other areas assumed the waxy gloss of various leaves in summer. Without effort, Toomt’-La was able to blend into any wooded surroundings and become effectively invisible. When Aoife remarked upon this, the satyr reacted with surprise.
“But we are all like this, we children of the forest. In this way, we remain invisible in plain sight.”
“But I’ve never seen your like before.”
“Just so; we have been there, notwithstanding.”
The satyr had become Aoife’s closest companion and greatest teacher in a matter of weeks. His was the experience and knowledge of the ages, tapped in or connected, as he was, to the world’s ancient forests, reaching back to the beginning of time. Yet, there were many seemingly obvious things about which he knew nothing. His knowledge of city life, for example, was outdated at best and completely inaccurate at worst. Aoife took some satisfaction in correcting these little misconceptions whenever she could; she knew they were poor compensation for the vast store of wisdom Toomt’-La had imparted to her.
Sometimes, though, the information she desired was much simpler.
“How far until our next birthing site?” she asked her companion.
“I have already inquired of the moon,” he replied. “Four days, I think. We must be settled in three, then.”
Aoife was nervous. She had come through the first experience with ease and now knew what to expect, but she had still not gotten quite used to the idea of birthing the old gods, their forests and their servants. She was not entirely sure of her role, beyond that of vessel or perhaps portal. While her first “children” had seemed to revere her, what would become of her when she had completed her task? And what would her fellow A’Shea make of her actions? Lastly, she wondered almost without cessation about what her final confrontation with her brother would be like and whether she and the rest of the world had any chance.
As was often the case, the satyr appeared to be reading her mind. “You worry about your brother, again.”
“Yes, my friend.”
“He caught us unawares before, as I’ve told you. He will not be so lucky, this time.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Mmmm. And there are many others arrayed against him, do not forget, from the fearsome Tarmun Vykers to the long-lost Sorcerer, Pellas.”
“What? You haven’t mentioned Pellas before, I would have remembered that.”
“Did I not? So, so. He has reemerged, reappeared, from the shadows and fog of history. We sense his presence, but cannot tell his precise location.”
Pellas. And Tarmun Vykers. Legends, mythical figures, and they had come forth to fight her brother. If the coming conflict did not result in cataclysm, there might be hope for the world yet.
“What can you teach me of Pellas?” Aoife asked the satyr.
“Ah,” Toomt’-La sighed, contentedly, “a worthy human, most worthy. He spent a mortal lifetime healing in our forest after the death of his beloved.”
“A lifetime?”
“Pellas has plumbed the depths of mysteries most mortals do not guess at.”
“And after this lifetime, he left the forest?”
“He did.”
“And what became of him?”
“Alas, I do not know. I hear only that he tried, briefly, to rejoin his community, found it too much changed, and disappeared.”
Aoife ruminated on this for a moment. “He is one I’d love to talk to.”
“I feel the same. What a fascinating creature he must be.”
Coming from a fascinating creature in his own right, this made Aoife laugh with delight.
“This amuses you?” Toomt’-La queried.
“It is a funny old world,” Aoife responded.
The satyr inclined his head, quizzically, and added, “And a dangerous.”
*****
The End, In Camp
The war map was almost disturbingly realistic, augmented with details from the End-of-All-Things’ Questing Eye and rendered with sorceries none of his generals could even pretend to comprehend.
Shere surveyed the map and his fellow generals, who had gathered around it for their lord’s latest briefing. His gut told him some kind of action was imminent.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Anders stalked into the tent and right up to the map. He passed his dead eyes over each of his generals. Unlike some tyrants of legend, the End-of-All-Things demanded eye contact. He wanted to be able to stare into each man’s soul and –what? – judge its worthiness for consumption? Shere really had no idea, but he obeyed just the same, despite the fear he always felt in doing so.
“The Rancid Queen is sending a portion of her host forth to forestall or prevent our advance on her kingdom.” Anders pointed to a particular spot on the map. “Meantime, she holds the larger portion in reserve, to be commanded by some fairy tale named ‘the Reaper.”
There was muted mumbling all around the table.
“Fear me and none other. That is your duty here.” The End continued. “We will crush him in the fullness of time. First, however, we will test him, play with him. I cannot find him at the moment, but when I do, we shall send forth a small force of our own to challenge him, see what he’s made of.” He looked around the table. “Thus, we shall have one force to counter the Queen’s, one in reserve for this Reaper fellow, and our main force behind this range of hills,” he indicated a spot on the map. “If needed, the three can reunite or surround a foe at any time. And, of course, we shall continue to press the locals into our service whenever and wherever we find them.” Anders paused for questions, but there were none. “Good, then. Shere, I’m putting the entire Fourth Army in your hands. You’ll be the first to wrangle with this Reaper, if ever he shows his head.”
Shere just about bit his tongue off when he heard that. The End-of-All-Things was sending him against a legend? And if he failed, which was likely, his master would do something unspeak
able to Shere’s son.
The other man smiled at him, as if reading his thoughts. “Think of your son as insurance against failure or treachery,” he said, all but confirming Shere’s darkest fears. His master then turned to another of the generals, “Chuala,” he began, “to you go the Sixth Army and the task of testing the Queen’s resolve. I may well drop in on you from time-to-time to see the action for myself.” Again, Anders paused and again, his generals were quiet. “The rest of you shall remain with me, continuing to build and train our forces in preparation for the outcome of these other engagements. That is all.”
With that, the End-of-All-Things turned on his heel and disappeared into the darker recesses of the command tent. His generals knew better than to say anything to each other as they departed.
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 25
