Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  “Welcome to our world,” Reuben spat. He was feeling distinctly self-righteous. Maybe the gods would finally understand what everyone else had been going through for years. Maybe they would be able to do something useful for a change.

  Ibdal shook his head, as if reading Reuben’s mind. “Do not mistake complacency for acceptance.”

  Aigid seemed angry, looking out over the land, “So, he strikes out at us now, impudence.”

  “I’m sure Reuben here didn’t mean…” Lucius started, trying to be diplomatic.

  “Not him,” said Zuetal, “Why would Kormog and Arneph show their hand so?”

  There was a moment of silence, then horrible screeches polluted the wonderful garden as imps emerged from the dimensional rifts. They frenzied about, milling and leaderless, but they still had enough sense to not approach the deities. Whether they sensed the power themselves, or something else, the travelers did not know.

  Aigid threw her hands up in the air, puzzled and frustrated, “Mayhap you three nettled them more than you know.” Her lips turned up at the corners slightly, “Perhaps your visit wasn’t a complete waste of my time after all.”

  “Either way,” said Ibdal, “We’ve some new visitors to attend to.”

  Zuetal, by far the tallest and broadest of the three, said, “Allow me the honor. This is my home, after all.”

  “You’ll need our help,” said Ibdal.

  Zuetal seemed to consider it for a moment, then bowed graciously. “Very well, to each our natures.”

  Lucius piped up, “What about us?”

  “You three, come with me,” said Ibdal, “I will keep you safe from harm.”

  “We can fight,” said Reuben, angry at being treated like precious furniture.

  “We know,” said Zuetal, “But learn, headstrong Torald, learn the patience of gardeners that your forebears knew. You are my guests, and I will not be gainsaid in my own house.” With that he stomped off, not allowing further argument.

  In the shocked silence after, “Come, quickly now,” Ibdal said, motioning away, back toward the still pond.

  Having no other readily available option, the three travelers went with Ibdal, who guided them toward the tree line. From their vantage point they would be able to survey the happenings. Aigid and Zuetal were advancing slowly. The imps were milling around their portals, not yet moving to attack. They seemed afraid, even, for some of them backed away as the deities advanced.

  “What will they do?” asked Pim.

  “Aigid will close the portals,” explained Ibdal, “No one can master the magic of travel more than she. Zuetal will make quick work of the imps. I almost feel sorry for them, he is a peaceful sort, but not when his charges are mishandled or misused. Then he can be as vengeful as the sudden storm.”

  As Ibdal spoke, Zuetal charged into the first group of imps. They were no match for his wrath, falling at a single strike apiece from the god. Several tried grabbing his legs, to topple him over, but Zuetal could not be stopped, mighty arms swinging back and forth as his anger was loosed upon the usurpers. He had no weapon but the antlers on his head and the strength of his fists and legs. These he used with efficiency and precision. So swift was his work that the first group of imps scattered, running to the next portal opening with screeches of dismay. Aigid went to Zuetal’s side. From the distance, Reuben could vaguely hear an incantation as she was moving around the portal, hands moving in an intricate pattern. The fruit of her labor appeared when the portal was girdled with a blue light like a cord. It drew around the sphere, then diffused across its surface and pulsed slowly. The red open sore was swiftly closed, contracting until there was only a point of blue light that faded with a final burst of soft radiance.

  “Seems a rather paltry task for them,” said Lucius. He was impressed, very impressed. Even his secret works could not hope to begin to register as near the same level as what he was witnessing.

  Reuben was about to agree but he saw that several armored knights had exited one of the portals furthest from the deities, who were already at the second of the line, unopposed by the retreating imps. “Uh oh,” he said.

  Five knights had come through and were roaring orders to their cowardly troops. Whipped up into obedience, the imps rallied around them, emboldened by the fiery warriors, bullied into ranks by the harsh and grating voices. One knight had broken away and was already with the imps at the third portal, while the others were shouting, forming up the imps into squads. The deities were not about to allow the invaders the luxury of time, however; Aigid closed the second gate as Zuetal charged forward. This time the imps did not scatter, but tried to hold their ground. Zuetal was angry, furious, stamping about, extinguishing the lives of the imps. The armored knight watched without pity as his troops fell, then himself strode forward, battle spear at the ready. Zuetal was prepared, however, and as the foe charged him he raised his hands in a powerful rush, unleashing his magic. He had his fingers spread wide then clenched together into a single fist at the apex of his swift motion. In response, the earth erupted around the knight in a wave of brown soil, groaning and heaving, mimicking the movement of the god. Up close, the imps only knew the ground had erupted. From a distance, Lucius whistled slowly. He had actually discerned what looked like fingers made of soil burst from the ground, grip the knight, and pull it down. There was a momentary stillness about the plain. Zuetal dropped his arms downward and a huge wave of dirt flew high as the earth churned downward. As chunks of dirt rained down in mournful patter and the cloud of particles cleared, only a flat spot on the ground marked the burial spot of the foe. When the rest of the forces saw that they screamed in terror.

  Aigid was quickly at Zuetal’s side, feverishly working to close out the influence of their rivals. Zuetal moved to the next gate. Three knights charged Zuetal this time, two with large, double handed swords and one with a net and cruel sickle. Zuetal grinned in anticipation, hands at the ready again. He was in his element, his domain that his own hands had made and he would be the unchallenged master here. The onlookers were cheering him on, but their joy turned to dismay as the combatants closed. Zuetal had raised his hands again, but nothing had happened. Instead, a shimmering outline of red and black flame outlined the knights perfectly, an armor of fell magic that fit their forms without variance. They met in a rush of flailing limbs and stabbing weapons.

  “Remain here, I am needed,” Ibdal commanded.

  The three travelers had no choice, for Ibdal was already gone, moving with haste to the fray. His divine wrath poured out around him in an onrush, like a suddenly breached dike with the god at the epicenter, out from which poured a golden fire, not harming the grass, but spreading in a wave until it encountered one of the invaders. Then it stuck like a magnet, contracting and pulling the eddying power around the foe, burning and penetrating flesh. Ibdal’s onrush pushed back the other two knights, who retreated momentarily. Ibdal helped Zuetal on his feet. The antlered deity was bleeding from several gashes. Where his blood hit the ground fresh sprouts of grain, green in the midst of the ash strewn fields, started growing rapidly.

  Zuetal nodded his thanksgiving and readied himself for his next charge. He left Ibdal behind, carrying headlong into the nearest group of imps, his large size easily allowing him to scatter the foes. The wind shrieked, whistling through the points of his antlers, stained with blood. The imps attempted to swarm over him. Perhaps, if this had not been his own realm, their tactic might have worked. Instead, their stratagem failed miserably. Zuetal bellowed rage, his anger the wrath of all nature personified. His feet trampled the fallen imps with scorn. Ibdal was nearby, lending power and strength to Zuetal via rays of golden light that burst from his outstretched hand. Ibdal himself was surrounded by a globe of golden fire that the imps dared not approach, for they could feel the drain upon their own power in the presence of his holy light.

  While they battled, Aigid went about her part, closing the five portals through which the invaders had breached Zuetal’s realm.
The first two had been closed without trouble, and she was working on the third now. It was becoming more difficult, however, for the will that governed them was not diffuse across five points now, only three. The first two had been relatively easy, all things considered, but the last three were going to be more difficult. While Zuetal and Ibdal were busy with the next group, another had detached from the furthest portal, circling around the fray and heading towards Aigid. The three travelers noticed, Reuben looked towards his companions. Lucius looked ready, determined, hands already grasping Karthild stones that he had fished from his pouch at his side. Pim, he was thankful to see, also looked ready for action. She did not have that light of fiery retribution in her eyes that he was used to seeing, but both hands held daggers in a steady grip. “Let’s go,” Reuben said.

  With haste, the travelers cut across the distance, angling to cut off the imps before they reached Aigid. Feet pounding and eyes narrowed, they closed with the foe, clashing into their flank with their surprise reinforcement. Reuben’s sword cut down the first imp with ease, and from his throat issued his war cry, bounding and rebounding in his furious heart as his blade went about its work. Lucius hung back from melee range, breaking his first Karthild stone, granite lined with copper, he directed the eldritch blast at the front of the squad of imps, setting a wall of blue and purple edged flames in a liquid fire pool directly in their path. Three imps were too far forward, and plunged headlong into the flames, shrieking as the fire caught and held, rolling about on the ground in the agony of their death throes. Pim dodged and weaved about, former timidity gone in the face of kill or be killed. Her blades found marks quickly, without finesse, only brutal accuracy. In short order they had defeated the contingent sent at Aigid, the two remaining imps waving their hands above their heads in panic as they scurried to rejoin their masters.

  Aigid was sweating as the blue light of her power covered the breach and the portal shrank slowly, the red and black sphere trailing into nothingness as she gained the mastery. She motioned for the three to follow to the next gate, which lay strewn about with dead bodies, mostly imps but with two armored frames as well. As they neared the second to last gate, Aigid’s power already preventing access, reinforcements arrived at the last portal in the form of another wave of imps, thickly bunched by the last remaining portal. Worse, some of the smarter of their number realized what was going on and did not move to attack Zuetal, instead surrounding their master’s doorway. Reuben, Pim, and Lucius guarded Aigid as she focused her power.

  One of the knights was still standing. It was enormous, larger even that Zuetal’s tall frame, bellowing hatred and spite. The imps swarmed in their seething masses around their captain, preventing Zuetal’s rush to confront and destroy the last remaining foes. The smoke knight held its large blade aloft, and a sullen red glow engulfed the blade. Zuetal charged forward, but there were too many imps to reach the knight before it plunged the blade downward, into the ground. Sudden ash and sparks blinded the eyes of the three companions. Frantically, Reuben cleared his eyes. All around, as far as he could see, the land was drained of color. The remaining crops were withering in heat. The grove of trees burning and groaning, white steam rising from what must surely have been the rapidly evaporating pond. At the spot where the smoke knight had stood, a large pit had opened. The knight was gone, but the pit was already full of magma, threatening to spill the borders and pour out. A continuous stream of imps was issuing forth from the portal. All of the invaders were encased in the same, red-black, warding magic that had prevented Zuetal’s attempt at using his realm against them. Ibdal and Zuetal were slowly retreating back towards the three companions and Aigid.

  Aigid closed the second to last portal. She looked weary, hair drenched and chin dripping.

  “Where to now, good lady,” said Lucius, his face as colorless as the ground.

  “Time for your exit,” Aigid said firmly.

  “But you all,” Lucius began.

  “You can do no good here, don’t worry about us.” Ibdal had come close, shouting his words.

  Aigid spoke quickly, waving her hands, and a new portal opened next to the travelers.

  “Go,” said Ibdal, “And then we must go also.”

  Zuetal was back with them, covered in dozens of slashes and gashes. The blood that hit the ground still brought up new shoots, but they withered and died as quickly as they took root. “Go, brave ones,” he gasped.

  “We will shelter in the space between worlds, what even Fate knows not, where even War cannot reach, for might cannot hit the space between the raindrops,” said Aigid.

  Reluctantly, the travelers moved to step through, “Look!” Pim shouted.

  All looked toward where Pim had indicated; they saw another smoke knight that had come through the enemy portal. It was holding up a large disc, bigger around than his head. He was holding it high, hands above his head. Even at their distance, they could hear fell words in sibilant hisses being uttered. The very ground seemed to become unsteady, shaking and trembling.

  Aigid shoved the travelers through, closing off the portal with frantic gestures, just as the knight on the field broke the disc, smashing it with its armored fist. Searing light and heat burst forth in a cataclysmic explosion. The three could only watch on as the blast washed over everything in a curtain of red and yellow flame, the searing heat chasing them away from Zuetal’s realm.

  Shocked silence reigned over the companions as Aigid’s power carried them back to Entigria. Reuben was reminded of his last moments at Braldoan; he had left there with fire and red light chasing him away then, too. Ahead, moving with treacle slowness, an image of the governmental palace holdings was getting closer. Reuben was surprised that they were not being transported back to the portal stone from which they had entered the realm of the gods, but he realized if Aigid wanted to put them down outside then she ought to have the power and prerogative to do so. There was a circle of light on the ground, on the top of the steps before the great doors. He could see guards below, scrambling to surround the open gateway. He hoped they would not be attacked when they exited. It would certainly take some explaining, though, at this point, Reuben felt that this would be the smallest detail of their bizarre excursion. Lucius was looking back, trying to see what was happening. He hoped the gods had exited before the blast hit. He had no idea of their resistances to withstand what was surely Karthild. That same small part of him that always took notes over his shoulder was curious, but he stuffed it down, too ashamed at the thought. Pim was grim, not looking back or forward. She looked at the daggers in her hands, still stained from battle. Carefully, she took a small pouch from her pocket, and wiped away the smears.

  They reached their destination in a rush. Through the hubbub of commanding voices and shaky senses from being catapulted back into the realm of mortals, the travelers were surrounded and disarmed. Normally, they might have protested slightly at the rude and rough manner they were experiencing; however they stood dumbfounded. The three travelers surveyed the city. It was different from when they had left. Some things were the same, but one thing in particular was different, much different. Only Reuben was familiar with the opalescent, translucent dome that hung over the city. His heart sank at the meaning; it was a barrier. Entigria lay in siege.

  13 WAITING GAME

  It seems there are some relationships between the common properties and subsequent abilities with Karthild. This might show why stones formed from molten earth have special affinity for fire. The notion was first extolled by the late Hesden Antorp, whose work in binding and barriers via lodestone sparked the intuitive understanding.

  Research notes from the personal archive of Lucius Orramar, Master of Karthild

  It was a weird light that filtered into Stentor Folson’s study. It reminded Reuben of the time he’d gone to make tea and forgotten it all afternoon; when he’d found it again, it had gone a cloudy brown. Entigria was painted sepia as light passed through the strong barrier that surrounded the cit
y. Reuben had been staying in Folson’s suite for the past few days. After their report, jointly given by the three travelers, there had been little else to do. Pim had bid her farewell and Lucius had been whisked away with work for the defense of the city. Reuben felt useless, and tired. It was little reward to stay in the luxurious suite with his old friend, puzzling out the many problems that Entigria faced.

  Folson had just finished catching Reuben up on events while they had been gone. An entire month had passed for the citizens of the fair city while the travelers had been away. The days had turned anxious as smoke appeared on the horizon, a foul smelling reek that grew thicker with each new morning. The city had fortified itself, setting up defenses under the direction of the counsel, the many Karthild practitioners combining their hoarded knowledge to set up their barrier. Most citizens were wary and cautious, still going about their daily work. Perhaps they looked sad, or scared, but they had kept up courage when the counsel told them that a special team had been sent to the realm of the gods themselves to request aid. Not everyone on the counsel had been in approval of telling the common folk, but it had been a way to give them hope. No doubt the few riots that had taken place would have been on a much larger scale if more of the populace had not been so readily wanting to cling to an escape from impending destruction. Now that the travelers had returned, there was no announcement for the people, no news of hope. Folson had fretted the most, as befitted the chairman of the counsel, but also because Reuben was his friend. He looked at the world with dark rings under his eyes, a mask of tiredness, and Reuben swore there was more grey in the man’s hair than when he’d left. He did not understand how what felt like a day, or maybe two at most, could have been a month; but knew better than to bother wondering about it now; there were more important things to consider.