“I guess asking where we are really doesn’t matter then?” Lucius asked.
Aigid nodded approval, “Uncommonly quick of you, given your current state. I am pleased.”
“That makes one of us at least.” Lucius sighed, “Okay, okay. Let’s see what happens,” he bowed stiffly, cold as he was, and stepped through the portal.
* * *
The cool stiffness of stone beneath him drew some of the fiery rage away. Reuben coughed and sputtered, sitting up from his prone position. He surveyed this new place. To him, it looked like a throne room of a mighty conqueror. It was an enormous chamber with floors that were made of polished red and black marble, set in a dizzying pattern. Pillars held up an immense roof, painted with scenes of war. Tapestries showing scenes of battle and victory lined the walls. They were difficult to look at, full of the realities of war, both heroics and the bloody carnage. Between the hanging grotesqueries were weapons: greatsword, halberd, spear, axe, war hammer and others. Reuben immediately knew them, these were the same type of oversized and brutal weapons that he had seen the knights use. A row of iron braziers on intricately carved golden pedestals formed a path. At the end there was large black seat like a throne. It was a simple affair, blocky and tall with broad arms.
The braziers burned bright as Reuben stood up, flaring violently with a roar and smoke belching like an exploding volcano. Reuben backed away, alarmed, and then even more so as he watched the smoke plumes coalesce into the same black knights he’d contended with before. The fires quieted, each now accompanied by an enemy. He was outnumbered, woefully ill equipped and trapped, there did not appear to be anywhere to flee. Before he could decide what his last words might be, the knights drew their weapons. Reuben thought this was his end but they did not charge. In fact, they turned their backs to him and faced the black throne. The solid thud of each armored knee hitting the ground and laying their weapons in from of them sounded loud in the hall, bounding and rebounding in Reuben’s ears a choir of dread. Again the braziers flared into hungry life, spitting sparks in their urgency. This time all the smoke streams rushed on unnatural winds to the throne. A groaning sound, deep and low made his ribcage rattle in sympathetic rhythm that as it dropped in a descending wail. When at last the flames died down and the smoke dissipated, the throne was not empty. There, dressed in a similar fashion to the knights, but many times their size, a crown of fire like a halo upon his head, Kormog sat upon his onyx throne.
Reuben stood speechless in the face of the deity at the far end of the room. One gauntleted hand of the god raised from the stone arm of his seat with a motion upward. Immediately, the knights executed the command, gathering their armament and rising in swift movement, then turning to face their counterparts on the other side of the aisle. They raised their weapons in a deadly arch of death.
“Come. I would see the face of the gnat that buzzes ever just out of reach,” boomed the heavy voice from its stone seat.
Reuben dusted himself off. If he was going to die, it would be on his own time. He approached the tunnel of steel, confident that at least he would make it to the end. Each footfall hit with steadfast resolution, a weighty purpose. As he passed each knight they remained still, weapons aloft. He could hear their grating breath, sense the tension within them to strike at him, held only at bay by their master’s will. It was the longest walk of his life, his senses strained to the fullest. At last, he halted, just past the last knight and before the onyx throne.
“Hmm. You do not lack courage, I will grant you that,” said Kormog, seated impassively on his throne. He raised the visor on his helmet, revealing a hard face, stone jawed and scarred. A powerful gaze inspected Reuben as the god made his evaluation. Reuben stood still. He had thought, perhaps, the god would share a form similar to the smoke knights, but it was not so. The face, although on a scale several times that of mortal humanity, still looked familiar enough. All of the expected features were there in their normal places, a large beard of black hair sticking at odd angles in a few places, somewhat marred by the patchwork of scars that criss crossed the cheeks. Kormog finished his inspection, “So, angry one. One that would dare mock me. What do you say now?”
“I used to follow you, after a fashion,” said Reuben quietly. “Every soldier does, at least a little. You are supposed to be about honor and justice, the great bringer of order.”
“I know who I am,” interrupted Kormog, dismissively.
“I thought I knew too,” said Reuben, then raising his voice to a shout, “But now I hear you’re after a different sort of justice. Not for humanity but for yourself. Because of Karthild, because of petty jealousy about what people believe or give thanks to? Are you no better than a child?!”
Now Kormog stood, his rise like a new mountain born in the cataclysm of an earthquake. His nostrils flared smoke and he roared, “You dare judge me? Me!? I am Kormog! I am the fire that purges. I am the flame that cleanses. When my work is complete all shall know of my power. None shall withhold the tribute that is due. And if they will not relent, if they do not, then shall I make wrought upon them the unending wrath of their destruction.” He took one step forward, the stone cracking under the pent up energy of the god, “Theirs shall be the torment unquenchable, without end, without relent. For all time. And at the last, when time itself has run out, at the end of everything, then they shall have had their understanding mete out to them in terms I would be satisfied with. Not until then. From this day to that I will burn them, I will consume them, I will make them acknowledge me whom they have forgotten and scorned.” Kormog took another step toward Reuben, who stood firm, “Unthinkable. Unimaginable. And yet they did so. They, in their pride, have forged their destruction. I am forever and they are not. I am immortal, outside of the cares of disease and death. They are fragile, broken easily beyond repair. And I will make them remember that. I will have them know their weakness before my power.”
“So punish them, but not everyone! Why should the whole world be destroyed when not everyone cast aside the old ways? Not everyone abandoned tradition or forgot their gods,” Reuben yelled. His voice could never hope to match that of the deity before him, but the contempt that was poured into those words echoed around the room in mockery of the god’s own voice. “And you call yourself justice,” Reuben shook his head, “Then strike me down, I don’t want to live in the world you’d have.”
“A request easily granted,” and Kormog said and struck out at Reuben, mailed fist clenched. Reuben would not have had time to duck, had he been inclined, but the blow did not land. Golden light englobed Reuben, and the fist smashed into it releasing such a shower of sparks and heat that Reuben crouched instinctively.
When he opened his eyes, Reuben saw Kormog still standing there, fuming. Nearer, he saw the tassels of Ibdal’s long robe beside him.
“Insolence! What trickery accosts me in my own hall? You, Mercy, are not welcome here,” screamed the infuriated god. He rained down another blow, and another, the shimmering globe of light flared bright at each strike, but held firm.
At last Kormog relented, disgust on his face, and he returned to his throne, “Damn you, Ibdal, you are too like your brother. It’s always at the last moment or not at all with you and Arneph.”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, this one is under my care,” Ibdal said calmly. At the far end of the room, a portal opened, and out stepped Pim and Lucius. They took one look at the scene and were about to run forward in aid, but the knights quickly encircled them, forcing them to remain still at weapon point. The distraction was noted by the three at the throne. Kormog looked even more furious, but a gesture towards the knights caused them to lower their weapons and back away.
“Come forward, little maggots, and join this other intruder,” spat Kormog.
Pim and Lucius walked forward, wondering just what they had walked into. Pim looked poised but scared. Lucius, cold and dripping, took in the details. The braziers burned bright along the steps and corridor of the grand hall before
the throne. The petitioners waited to be called upon. From the mighty seat their judge glared at them with eyes that would burn them if they could. His mantle was black iron, his gaze, solid steel. The giant form could crush them utterly with but a flick of its wrist but for Ibdal’s presence. Along the walls stood the varied weapons of its manufacture. Simple and efficient, without ornament. Their design sublime, their purpose deadly. Each crafted with secrets that were beyond the greatest minds of mortal kind to begin to fathom. Spears, axes, swords both great and small. Each instrument of death was held in place by some unknown art, suspended in mid air and awaiting the joy of being selected by the war god to be put to their intended use. The very pillars of the hall aspired to be brutal and harsh. No fancy designs adorned them, no careful engraving. Yet they were not unmarked. Art of a savage nature graced their polished sides exposing the raw stone underneath. To judge by the size of the rents, only weapons the size of those in the hall could have left the marks. And only the figure on the throne could have such strength. It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time. Maybe more than the weapons in their cruel form. For the art spoke of a controlled and precise measure. But the power needed was immense to make the marks. Here, on the throne, must be the creator of the handiwork. The glaring eyes, the formidable arms, could they have been the pistons of such stark and bold marks? Surely they were.
Kormog turned his attention to Ibdal, “I called no council. Why do you interfere? You cannot hope to change my position. You do not have the strength to stop me. It is fruitless. You may take these scavengers away, save them for now. It will not matter in the end.”
“That’s not fair!” Pim yelled.
Swiftly her oncoming rebuke was drowned out by Kormog, “Fair? I am not fair.” The very room quaked in the pronouncement, the particles of stone trembling at the booming voice. “I am just. Your mewling will not sway me. I have slain the valiant, bloodied after long days and nights, victorious even as they fell in defeat. I slew them and gave them their due honor. I begrudge not that they stood against me, folly though it was; for they fought and fought well. Yet I destroyed them. But you, what have you fought? Have you faced the ages of reason and despair? Where were you at the formation of the world, the uttermost depths of time? Did you see the grand design broken? Was your very purpose forgotten? No. You only think to make things happy again. Peace in your time you come to request. You come here to ask and I grant it not.”
Lucius stepped forward, “If everyone is dead, who will be here to worship you as you wanted?”
Kormog sneered, his nose wrinkling in distaste, “I smell it on you, stone user. Blasphemy. I need you not, I have made arrangements for myself.” He pointed a massive digit towards the knights, still waiting attentively for their next orders, “These are my true servants, those that saw the inevitable end that my power would bring. I spared them, if they would serve me now as they ought to have before. The price was to shed their physical form, altered to better suit my needs. They are my angels now, if you will. My wrath extends to the whole world because of you and your kind’s insolence, the way you wantonly waste the gifts you’ve been given.” Kormog pounded the arm of his black throne, “Try logic on me, will you? I can out-think a mere mortal if I were but one tenth my might. Truly, Ibdal,” he said, switching his focus, “How do you stand their audacity?”
All the time Ibdal had waited, listening intently to all that was said. Now, he spoke, “You are right, of course.” Kormog smiled in satisfaction, but only for a moment.
Ibdal continued, “Your are right in your judgment, right in your perception. Yet for all of this you have lost yourself. In your quest to restore order you have caused chaos. With your campaign to bring new life you have brought only death. The more justice you have sought the more lawlessness you have been a part of.”
Kormog looked ready to rise again, but Ibdal held up a hand. He said softly, “Bring him.”
Another portal opened, just long enough for another person to enter, Vern.
“More intruders?” spat Kormog, “Really, Ibdal, I would have hoped better than this from you.”
Ibdal smiled and shook his head, “Not an intruder, Kormog. Use your eyes.”
Kormog frowned, but tilted his head at Vern and peered at him. A look of surprise mixed with anger crossed his face, “You. Who are you? You bear my marks, I see them. You were of my order but I do not know you, how did you get them?”
Vern walked past the smoke knights, who did not bar his passage, instead they nearly recoiled from him. Vern squared his shoulders, his own eyes fuming in miniature to reflect those of the seated figure. “I don’t know much, not that smart, not that brave. But I know who is true to me. And I know who is false. I been around both sides of right and wrong. Done what others called bad. Once or twice I tried to make up for it, do something right for a change.”
“And?” roared Kormog, impatient, “That gives you the gall to speak to me does it? Make you feel like you’re doing something worthwhile for a change?”
Reuben looked from one to the other, for whatever reason his companion did not back down, was not quelled by those eyes. Vern stopped when he reached the rest, “Yeah. It does. Cause I’ve seen what the likes of you do. What I did was bad, but it was nothing compared to what your kind has done to me.” Tears coursed their way from the eyes of the former bandit, former apprentice, former smoke knight, “Look at me and tell me what was done to me was honor repaid, was just in your manner of thinking. If you can say that with meaning it, then I’d say you’ve no understanding of the term.”
Ibdal spoke again, “I have often warned you, Kormog, to not trust my brother. I never took offense to you ignoring me in favor of Arneph. Why ally with me, hope and mercy, instead of luck and fate? Here stands the reason, a knight of your order, but not your own. Made by Arneph, redeemed by his own will, with help,” Ibdal bowed to Vern.
“I have been betrayed!” The great bellow reverberated around the cavernous room. They all tried to cover their ears as they cast themselves to the ground in an attempt to hide from the thunderous cacophony. The onyx burst asunder under the blows of Kormog who was raging around and smashing it with his fists and screams. The breaking stone and the crashing rock deafened everyone in the room. The fires in the braziers leapt high threatening to overspill their bounds. Smoke filled the air. For what seemed like an eternity the violent war of sound pressed them to the ground. Reuben could feel his own chest vibrating as the great crashes pressed him to the floor, as the air hammered around him. Bits and pieces of shrapnel rained down in a rock cascade. Reuben risked looking up from his position on the floor. The huge figure in his wrath was destroying his seat. Corded arms, massive like tree trunks, hammered down again and again. Under the deceptively swift strokes the seat was being reduced into a fine grist. Around the throne Kormog wheeled in deadly circle, utilizing each strike to make sure that his target was completely and utterly destroyed. Finally he stopped. In the silence that followed, Reuben noticed that the fires did not abate in their braziers, they kept pouring forth black acrid smoke. Still as a statue Kormog stood, looking at Vern. Reuben looked over at Vern, who had his head down and was shaking. Reuben decided to risk it and crawl over to his former companion. He gently touched his shoulder. Vern flinched away but looked up at him. Reuben nodded. Vern closed his eyes and smiled.
Kormog spoke, “I read your tale, former knight. The fire of my rage towards humanity still burns. But to be betrayed by one of my own… I am the god of justice!” The room shook, causing the humans to flinch. In a calmer voice Kormog continued, “Perhaps I should have listened to Ibdal after all. I would that Arneph had never been involved. If so, my campaign would have continued. But now?” He stared at Reuben with something approaching grudging admiration, “How can I remain just? Damn Arneph, divided against himself, he brings his lunacy into my court and cause making them both as void as he is. I will relent.”
Everyone present, recognizing both the unfathomable dept
h and seriousness of the moment, bowed towards Kormog. The humans bowed instinctively, the knights bowed as ones hearing a command, Ibdal bowed as a friend acknowledging and congratulating another’s victory.
“That’s something, at least,” Kormog said.
“What, just like that?” Lucius said. Pim hit his arm, but the words were already out.
Kormog nodded, “Yes, puny intellectual, just like that. If humans do not keep their word, I destroy them. Maybe I even destroy the world,” and his eyes hardened, “If, however, a fellow god would betray me?” he left the rest of the sentence unspoken. Kormog changed subjects, “If you would ingratiate yourself to me, kill whomever Arneph is using to usurp my power.”
Lucius, Pim, Vern, and Reuben nodded their acquiescence dutifully.
Pim spoke up, “What of Arneph?”
“He is deity, like us,” Kormog replied, “Though we have ways of punishing him on our own without mortal aid.” A hint of contempt carried in his tone.
Ibdal intervened, “Quite right. Now,” he said to the four, “Come with me. Your city is in need.”
“Hmm?” Lucius asked.
“Kill the champion of Arneph,” said Kormog, “Then your world will know the peace it seeks. Until then, my work carries on despite my change of heart. That was its purpose and I cannot change it on my own. My servants shall withdraw but Arneph’s champion must be destroyed. You will never convince Arneph, if you could even find him, to change his own course. Instead, you must destroy the vessel of his will. No one can change fate. But,” he pointed at Ibdal, “You may find remittance in mercy. Now go.”
Litany of Wrath Page 31