Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series)

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “All that time you spent together in the desert?” said Wodan. “The only thing you two had was each other, and yet you never bonded? You didn’t even catch up on old times?”

  “She didn’t need me,” said Freyja. “She had Vito. I think, in her own sick way, she was in love with him.”

  * * *

  A large pile of handguns and revolvers lay on the floor before Yarek and Nilem. All of Yarek’s secret pockets were laid open, and he said, “That’s pretty much all of them. You sure none of those are interesting to you?”

  Nilem shook her head in frustration. “You’re just not... understanding me!”

  “Woman, all of those guns are either state-of-the-art advanced tech available only to special forces operatives or handcrafted pieces made to individual specifications. It’s not bragging for me to say that they’re all very, very impressive. What I don’t understand is how you’ve failed to be turned on by any of them.” His lips pulled back strangely, then he added, “And here I thought that we were kindred spirits.”

  “Kindred spirits?”

  “Yes, of course! We’re both frustrated. Frustrated by… weakness.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Nilem leaned forward before she could adopt a more reserved manner. “We’re frustrated by the fact that too much power is in the hands of… someone… who doesn’t have the guts to use it.” She ran her eyes over him once more, then leaned over suddenly and unzipped his pants. His member swung out immediately, and was so massive that she had to jerk away lest the thing break her jaw.

  “Gods!” she said.

  “That old thing?” he laughed. “Standard issue Clash assault rifle. But listen: I don’t want kids, and I don’t go down, not for anyone. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

  Nilem’s mind ran through a series of high-speed calculations. Not only was Yarek terribly handsome, but he was also powerful, frustrated, and close to the Khan. He seemed a bit too self-assured to be completely manipulated, which meant that Jago would always make for a good backup pawn, but with a little coaxing Yarek might become exactly what she needed.

  She feigned a look of lustful abandon and placed one hand around Yarek’s shaft, then another, then scooted her hands up and down, like giving a baby a bath.

  “Makin’ it with the Khan’s woman,” said Yarek, putting a hand on Nilem’s ass as she bent over.

  * * *

  “In love with Vito?” said Wodan.

  “Not love, really, not the way you’re thinking of it. But it’s as close as she could get. With her, it’s more like a devotion to something powerful enough, and cruel enough, to put her will in check. Nilem’s not… not human like we are. She doesn’t have dreams, aspirations, values, feelings. She’s empty, Wodan. Utterly empty inside. And it drives her mad to see others who aren’t empty inside. She hates people, hates to see them try…”

  “Try what?”

  “Try anything. To be better, to build something, to strive toward a goal. She likes to see others hurt. Not physically, not necessarily. She feels as if the world has wronged her. She wants revenge.”

  “Because the demons took her home from her? Destroyed her old life?”

  “No, Wodan – even when she was born into wealth, she was angry. She was born with that hate. Back then, she liked to gossip and make trouble for others. She was terribly cruel to her servants. There were some rumors going around that she may have had something to do with her first husband's death. I never knew anything about him – but then again, I never heard anything specifically bad about him, despite all the gossip that was common in noble gatherings.”

  “She has no dreams of her own,” Wodan said slowly, “so she’s driven to destroy the dreams of others?”

  “Don’t underestimate her, Wodan. Don’t underestimate her.”

  * * *

  “Semper fi!” Yarek shouted as he shot an incredible load into Nilem’s mouth. She jerked away, gagging, mucus spraying from her nostrils. Yarek cleaned and holstered his piece with military efficiency while Nilem puked off the side of the bed. “That was real nice, baby,” he said.

  She cleaned up her face as best she could, then quickly laid down on the bed. She kept her slight garment hitched up above her breasts, and laid on her side so that he could see her wide hips. She tried to sit as still as possible, like a living trophy, an unmoving landscape.

  “There’s just something about you, Yarek,” she said, praying that there was nothing on her face that would make her look ridiculous. “You’re not afraid of power. Most people can’t appreciate that. I can.”

  “That’s right,” he said, smiling by pulling his lips from his teeth. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Then let’s stay friends,” said Nilem. “And just remember - we’re both in the same boat.”

  “Same boat. Got it.”

  “And when we swim together, love, better to be sharks rather than minnows pretending to have teeth.”

  “Sharks, swimming, okay,” he said, gathering up his guns and winking at her.

  He was out the window before she had the chance to really flesh out the analogy. But it didn’t matter – she had planted the seed of doubt. She could feel the strings of puppets in her hand. And if she pulled the strings in just the right way at just the right moment, she wondered if she might have an entire nation of fools at her command.

  * * *

  Freyja sat in silence while Wodan considered her words. There was a quick rap on the partially constructed hallway, and Wodan turned his head slightly.

  Yarek moved out of the shadows. “It’s done, Khan,” said Yarek.

  “Good job,” said Wodan. “And?”

  “You were right about Nilem. She’s definitely trouble.”

  “Thank you, Yarek. You want some tea?”

  “Not really.”

  “Fine.” Wodan nodded. “Send Chris Kenny in to see me. That’ll be all.”

  “Khan,” said Yarek, disappearing again.

  Freyja looked back and forth, then laughed. “Did I just underestimate you?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, laughing as well. “People usually do!”

  “Well, why in the world did you ask my opinion of her if you already knew?”

  “I didn’t know anything about her. It was just a hunch. And I wanted to see how much you knew. I guess I wanted to see how much control she has of you. Fortunately, it looks like you’re completely off her radar.”

  “But, Wodan… if you know she’s trouble, then why not… ah, you know…”

  “What? Kill her?”

  Freyja looked away.

  “I can’t kill her,” said Wodan. “She hasn’t done anything to warrant that. Besides, if living here doesn’t change her, make her better, then I want to see what kind of people she can bring over to her side.”

  Before Freyja could ask for clarification, a voice called up from below.

  “Chris!” said Wodan, leaning over the balcony.

  “Yessir,” said Chris. Freyja leaned away from the balcony. Not only did she dislike Chris, but even the tone of his voice grated on her nerves.

  “Chris, the flesh demons aren’t coming as fast as I’d like them to. The day after tomorrow, we move against those crystal towers. As far as I can tell, that might be their home here in the valley. I could use you and your rifle. Are you in?”

  “Hell yeah,” called Chris. “Shit, I been ready. Why don’t we just go tomorrow?”

  “Because I’m going to give the Reavers time to set up behind those towers. That way we can attack from two sides.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Wodan nodded and Chris strode off.

  “You think you can keep things in order while we’re gone?” said Wodan.

  “Try my best,” she said.

  Wodan gazed deep into the black forest. Leaves shivered in the night wind.

  I’m coming for you, he thought. You learned to fear me before, when I was just a boy, alone and running scared. This time, you won’t survive th
e encounter!

  Chapter Nine

  Battle of the Beasts

  For days Khan Wodan and a host of dog warriors trudged through the valley’s green midsection. They met no ghouls along the way, only abandoned lean-tos and carcasses left over from their raw and despicable feasts. The fighters lit no fires during the march to destroy the crystal towers, but Wodan held few illusions concerning their stealth. They were a large force, and if the towers were some kind of reflex-point for the flesh demons, then it was likely that they had eyes and ears lurking in the forest and watching their progress.

  They know we’re coming, thought Wodan. And I’m counting on it. I want all of those monsters gathered in one place. I want to end this in one blow… using a few monsters of my own.

  Wodan’s army was composed of the hardest warriors from the roughest clans, each handpicked by Naarwulf from among all the tribes. The dogs were thrilled at the honor they would gain in this frontal assault, whooping and shouting as they tore through the woods. As for Wodan, he was glad that the very dogs who would most likely be the first to rebel against him would be the very ones thrown at a real enemy.

  They carried nearly all the guns they had, except for the heavy machineguns and jury-rigged cannons that lined the walls of the fort. Wodan carried no weapons. He had decided to wait for the completion of the Usurper sword or Freyja’s red bow. More importantly, his body told him that he would not need weapons for this battle. He felt that when the flesh demons and their ghoul army were in sight, he would turn on, more so than ever before, and become a whirlwind of destruction. He planned to draw ahead of the pack as soon as the battle was joined; otherwise, anyone coming close to him ran the risk of being sucked into the maelstrom and churned out a lifeless bag of bones.

  Chris Kenny marched beside Wodan. He carried one of the few radios; most of the other radios were with the Reavers who were hopefully on the other side of the towers, and could supply information once the main assault force drew near.

  One morning they woke with the forest blanketed in mist. Dogman scouts returned to camp, found pack leaders, and whispered rather than shouted. The news spread. They set out with jaws clenched and heads held low, guns gripped tightly, axes and knives unsheathed and re-sheathed in feral, nervous gestures. Finally they reached a point where scouts pointed through a break in the trees, and Wodan saw it – a sparkling tower of crystal, slender and poking out from the mist, silent and surreal.

  “We’ve found them,” said Wodan, slapping a dogman on the shoulder. “This is where the battle begins… and ends. Valhalla waits on the other side!”

  * * *

  For many, many hours Yarek Clash laid on the wet, leaf-choked embankment deep in the woods. His Reavers checked in again, tapping out their codes on the radios, but now one of them tapped out a new code: “Main force here, prepare attack.”

  Yarek’s mind instantly sharpened. He became aware that his limbs were in agony after many hours of immobility. He quickly lowered the visor of his black helm, for his nervous tick was taking over – opening and cracking his jawbone, over and over, making a sound that could be heard unless the padding of his helmet suppressed it.

  As he parted his bed of grass and leaves and slithered forward on his belly, a white-hot fire surged in the back of his mind. He had fought devils on his own turf, and won. Now he would face them on theirs. He would soon find out what the monsters who ruled the world were truly made of.

  * * *

  The dogmen stopped suddenly. They smelled it, waiting just behind a wall of mist. As one they hung over the edge, the long, drawn-out moment before the world shattered and violence rushed forth. They crouched, teeth bared, peering ahead. They saw the pinprick lights of yellow, filmy eyes, the glint of teeth, and pale, empty faces staring back at them. The fog rolled back and they saw bald ghoul heads covered in coils of veins, lips peeled back from rotting gums, and wide shoulders shaking with hateful breaths.

  There could be no control, nor even illusion of control, in the storm of chaos. Wodan stood tall among the dogmen, stretched out an arm and threw off the wolfskin cloak, and pointed ahead. For his sole act of command in the battle he shouted one word: “KILL!”

  The dogmen screamed out a blood-curdling cry as they leveled their guns and fired at the wall of ghouls. The ghouls surged ahead with a high-pitched shriek. Many were blasted to pieces and sprayed the trunks of trees with black blood, and the wounded were immediately trampled under calloused feet as still more ghouls poured from the mist.

  Guns were either dropped or swung like clubs as the ghouls and dogmen met. Dogmen produced axes and blades and fell on the ghouls, who carried either heavy clubs or spears or scab-covered fists. Some dogmen were so blood-crazed and impatient to join the fight that they leaped over the front lines and fell on a sea of white shoulders and rode on a biting, shrieking wave, swinging axes against spear-points and against heads until their fur was caked from head to foot in black blood. Other dogs lowered their heads, charged, and slammed into the enemy, stabbing into bellies and picking up legs and tossing ghouls into the air.

  But the ghouls were far stronger than ever before, and were controlled by a force that was sickeningly cruel and beyond their comprehension. The ghouls did not blink as buckets of blood slapped against their faces, nor did they pause when a limb was hacked off. They grabbed dogs by the scruffs of their neck and cast them to the ground to be trampled, hunkered down side by side and drove spears through their attackers, and some even used their own arms for shields. Many ghouls had calloused knuckles shod with bone-spurs, and long limbs full of scabs and visible muscle tissue, and they swung about shrieking to split the ears and smashed into their attackers, breaking jaws, tossing teeth from heads, and crushing eyeballs.

  The two great forces clamored to meet one another, slipping and falling in the steaming, soaking-wet, intestine-choked killing grounds. Heroes on both sides rose and stood on the dead, killing and glorifying in the battle for a few seconds before they, too, were hacked down and laid among the dead.

  And the great Khan Wodan - did nothing. He was frozen, arm extended, finger pointing to the shrieking massacre, tongue fixed to the roof of his mouth where his word had ended. His eyes were glazed over and fixed on some distant point. If he still breathed, none could tell.

  * * *

  “Who are you?” Wodan shouted.

  A figure in a high-collared black suit with a white mask watched him from the mist. “Zamael,” he said, his voice a cold whisper. “The Blind King.”

  Wodan turned back to the field of battle. The dogmen and ghouls on both sides glared at one another, frozen in space. When he concentrated on any one figure, the features became blurred and indistinct.

  “Why don’t they attack?” Wodan muttered.

  “I froze them,” said Zamael. He spread out his long arms. His hands were covered in fine white gloves. “They will wait while we negotiate terms of peace.”

  “Peace!” Wodan spat. “There can be no peace between us.”

  “But I have just as much a right to exist as you,” said Zamael. “I can see your mind. I can see your layers. I can see that you understand more than these beasts you bring. I can see that you understand the concept of… mercy.”

  “I do,” hissed Wodan. “I remember the mercy I was shown by your kind.”

  “But you are rational, are you not?” The masked figure tilted its head. “Surely you understand that a sentient being’s right to exist extends to its property. If you were ever attacked by my kind, then it must have been because you crossed lines of territory. Just as you have done, once again, on this day.”

  Though his legs seemed locked in place, Wodan felt his body burning with the desire to kill the strange demon that stood before him. “You’re wasting your breath, monster,” said Wodan. “Your kind do nothing but squat in caves and howl at night and guard these resources so that they can’t be used by anyone. You’ve held this land long enough. Go back into your hole. This land is ours now.�
�

  “Ah! You want to tame the land, is that it? But a land cannot be tamed. Only a mind can be tamed and controlled. These things that your kind call ghouls - they are my resources. And here you’ve come to take them from me. I know your kind, little one. I know you’ve come here with murder in your heart, and when you record the deed of how you murdered me and destroyed my property, you’ll conveniently forget to include the part where you started the fight.”

  “We’ll end this fight today,” said Wodan. He felt fire in his chest, burning with each gulp of air. “It started long, long before I first came here, before I was hunted by your kind like an animal.”

  “Oh! You think you know how any of this began?” Zamael pointed a white-gloved finger at Wodan. “Perhaps you’re no different from the slaves and beasts you lead. Are you even capable of hearing my story, I wonder? Capable of understanding my exile?”

  Wodan was alarmed to find that he truly could not move. His ankles felt as if they were a part of the ground, heavy and cold. He glanced at his dog warriors and saw that they were still frozen in place. To buy time, he said, “You want to make it difficult for me to kill you by making me understand you, is that it?”

  The masked figure strode forward. “You’ll find it difficult to kill me by any means. But yes, yes. I want to be understood.”

  * * *

  Yarek crept through the undergrowth until several thick spires of pink crystal towered over him. He heard wild shrieking, the sound of weapons clashing, and death-wails echoing like pale reflections around the smooth towers. He reached out and felt that the ground was smooth and hard. He parted the undergrowth, then saw that the ground was covered in the same glassy substance as the towers.