The Reavers bent and solemnly stripped the man of his weapons, his armor, even his socks, until only his pale body remained. They tucked his gear away with their own. Then one man laid a few spent shells alongside the dead man, and another man, who was only in his twenties but had gray in his beard, placed a gauntleted hand on the dead man’s forehead and said, “On you go, man.” Then they rose and rejoined the others, leaving the man unburied, cold food for vultures and ghouls.
* * *
The main hall on the first floor of the skeletal fort was packed full of dogmen and humans. In the middle of the council sat Yarek Clash, his six remaining Reavers behind him, Naarwulf the great black dogman, and beside him sat Khan Wodan, shirtless and without his wolfskin cloak. The dogmen saw that while the Khan’s health had returned, his arms and chest seemed skinny to them - the arms of a man, only a man. Jarl the Entertainer was perched over his notes, but the pen shook in his hand. Chiefs of tribes and clans and their shamans and guards made up the rest of the inner circle. Managers of human work teams stood behind them, having been pushed out from the center.
“Great Khan,” said one chieftain, nearly choking on the words, “you left here and took all of our best warriors, warriors from every tribe, and only returned with a handful of wounded and shamed dogs.”
“Yes, I did,” Khan Wodan said loudly. “The attack was a complete failure. There is no other way to say it.”
“That’s not so!” said Yarek. “Listen, everyone. We hurt them just as badly as they hurt us. Any true flesh demon that we faced, we killed or wounded. Those ghouls outnumber us, but individually they’re weak and stupid. To admit defeat now would be to-”
“But,” shouted another chieftain, “what of the story that one demon among them can cast spells? They say he cannot be touched, that he is the same as a wizard of Srila.”
“Listen,” said Yarek. “It’s true that he seems to have some ability to shield himself. But we confused him with our explosives, and I swear on my title of Commander of Reavers that I shot and wounded that very devil. He is mortal. He can be killed!”
“But all of the explosives are gone,” said a dog warrior, “and there are not many more bullets to throw at such a devil.”
Khan Wodan cleared his throat. “He’s powerful, it’s true. I suspect he’s the same devil that got into my head. He was able to communicate with me, and I learned a few things from him. He’s something of an exile among his people. Couple that with the fact that he was trying to force me to call off the attack, and I think we can assume that he won’t be getting any reinforcements. Not anytime soon, at least, since we blew up the hole at the bottom of the mines. We may have failed in our first attack, but I think that the demons have played all of their tricks.”
Yarek nodded. “It would be a shame to give them time to regroup, I say.”
“The demon got into his mind!” hissed one dogman, in the back of the hall. “He admits that he was touched by a devil. He could be possessed!”
“Who said that?” shouted Naarwulf. “Which coward is back there whispering?!”
Others spoke up, and Wodan shouted, “Silence! Silence! We could talk and talk about this setback all night long and accomplish nothing. I want to move on to practical matters.” While many dogmen glanced at one another, Wodan looked down at the array of swords, axes, and spears in the very center of the circle. He took up a sword and tested its weight in the air. “Naarwulf. You’ve tested these weapons?”
Naarwulf nodded. “These are from the first shipment from our mines. The pack who brought them reported that the young lord Zachariah has the colony beating iron all day long and all night long. We now have many, many weapons, Khan. Good weapons, I think.”
Wodan did not appear especially pleased by the news. “Was there a special sword sent for me? One called Usurper?”
“Ah, no, Khan.”
Wodan placed the sword back into the pile. “Then begin distributing the first shipment to any warriors who can fight.”
Another dog in the back muttered loudly, “... does not even bother to take a weapon for himself.”
Ignoring him, Wodan said, “And the farming. Have seeds been sown, Naarwulf?”
“Yes, Khan. But now the farmers, they, ah...”
“Are afraid of the ghouls. I understand. We will have to step up our patrols. Especially since the failure of our attack.”
Gloom spread throughout the council. Whispering in the back grew unchecked, and the air felt heavy and oppressive.
Suddenly a guard dog stood up, a giant beastly warrior. “Khan,” he shouted, “I believe that you are unfit to lead us! You have shown cowardice in battle, and you alone were affected by the magic words of a demon! Khan, I call you out in the rite of the duel!”
A torrent of barking broke out. Naarwulf stood as well, and shouted, “You cannot do that while in council! Down, all of you!”
“Fireheart!” many dogmen shouted. “Fireheart! Fireheart the Mighty!”
“Shut up! Down, I said!”
“No!” said Wodan. “It’s fine. Let’s do this. But we do it outside.” Silence fell as Wodan rose, his face as still as a mask. The dogman Fireheart and his entourage made for the door, poking out their chests and elbowing those who stood in their way. Wodan turned to go, then stopped. “Naarwulf.”
“Khan?”
“Did anyone find a cave yet? A peculiar cave?”
“No, Khan.”
“What about those bears?”
“Nothing, Khan.”
Wodan nodded sadly, then walked through the crowded room. Dogmen streamed through the hallway, hovered about the door, and clogged up the front of the hall. Naarwulf strained to push ahead. He saw his Khan leave by the rear entrance, then felt great dread as the darkness outside swallowed him.
As soon as Wodan was outside and out of sight, Naarwulf heard a terrible clamor, barking, rushing feet - then a terrific crunching sound. Naarwulf shouted, pushed warriors away on either side of him, and saw that Yarek was right beside him, his face pale. They reached the doorway and ran outside with weapons drawn.
A crowd of dogmen hung about, eyes wide and jaws hanging open. Wodan stood just outside the door, hunched over. The dogman Fireheart lay under him, head twisted about, one eyeball laid delicately on his cheek. Wodan breathed heavily, mist rolling from his mouth and nostrils, his arms wrapped with corded, heaving muscles.
“That’s one less wolf who could have made a stand against demonkind,” said Wodan, glaring at the others. “You dogs are only making this more difficult.”
* * *
Freyja walked through the skeletal halls of the fort. The moon shone through the wooden ribs, and she clutched her dark jacket to herself. She saw dogmen gathering in the courtyard below, saw more coming in through the gates, mourners who had just buried brothers along with the fallen upstart. They whispered to one another. Naarwulf strode by, stared them down, and many dogs scattered from him.
Freyja entered a darkened, bare room and stared in alarm. Wodan sat so quietly that he did not even seem to be there. He was staring at a blank wall, his face unreadable.
“Wodan?” she said, tentative. “What are you doing?”
He stirred only very slowly, then said, “Thinking, Freyja.”
She went and sat beside him on the cold floor. “Whatever happened out there... with the flesh demons... it affected you deeply, didn’t it?”
“Oh?” he said.
“I’ve heard you and others speaking about this power that you have. You were expecting to use it against the demons, weren’t you?”
“Ah. It’s not that, Freyja. I’m no stranger to setbacks. I know what it is to fail. But I always overcome, Freyja. That’s the thing about me. I always keep coming back. I always wear out my enemies.”
“So... you think you can kill this monster? They say he can’t be touched.”
Wodan laughed quietly, though there was little humor in it. “Of course I’ll kill him, Freyja.”
&n
bsp; “Oh. How?”
“No idea.”
Freyja studied him for a while. His confidence didn’t seem to be idle boasting, but something still seemed wrong. It seemed as if something had been wrenched away from him. She waited, then said, “Then what is-”
“It’s the people,” he said. “I made a mistake, Freyja. I never should have brought any humans here. I thought that if I gathered the strongest humans available, then it would help me… help me create a new world. But they can’t help. We have too much baggage. These dogmen… if I lose the title of Khan, then every good human that I tricked into coming here will be consumed by their brutality.”
“You did not trick us into coming here! Everyone who’s here is here because they chose to be. I was going to escape, remember, that first night we met. But I chose to stay. That was my choice!”
“That’s a very human way of looking at things, Freyja. But the dogmen… they know nothing of free will. They pretend to look down on humans, and they do that because of their sense of racial inferiority. Each one of them is fractured inside. That’s why they form into packs, Freyja. They want to become whole, and they can’t do it alone. Each dogman knows that they need someone else to tell them what to do, how to think. They can’t do it on their own. They live under the illusion that life should be a constant string of victories. And when it’s not…” Wodan paused. “When you make a mistake, Freyja, you take a look at yourself and try to find the bad habit that led to your mistake. But a dogman is too fractured for that. When a mistake is made, they assume that a weak link in the pack – anyone but themselves – must be responsible. When life becomes difficult, they look for a scapegoat.”
“Then tell them what to do, Wodan! Tell them how to think! Teach them!”
“When they get rid of me, things will be very difficult for the humans here. For you, especially.”
“When they get rid of you? Where is this pessimism coming from, Wodan? I thought you were the kind of person who... who was capable of anything!”
“I am,” he said quietly, turning his eyes to her. “I’m good at pushing myself. I’m a survivor. But I also have the bad habit of dragging other people into situations that get them killed.”
“That’s a cop-out,” she said, putting her face close to his in a quiet, tense stand-off. She locked her eyes onto his, then drew so close that her breath was on his face. “The people you brought are more than just deadweight. You brought the best. But Wodan, we… we need you if we’re going to survive.”
“How much do you know about what I’ve been thinking?” he said quietly.
“I know you were thinking about leaving. I know you were thinking about going out alone and bringing back the head of that demon.”
Wodan smiled lightly, his eyes still cold. “Why shouldn’t I?” He leaned towards her as well, so close that his nose brushed against the down on her cheek.
Freyja’s face shifted warmly against his. “Because,” she said. “Just because.” With that, she placed her lips against his. Her lips were closed, but he still felt warmth, human warmth, flowing into him as she leaned against him. He was overwhelmed, then realized that it was the first time he had ever truly kissed anyone.
She pulled away from him. “Are you bribing me to stay?” he whispered.
“A Khan is one thing,” she said, “but a leader is another. When you’ve decided to be what we need… then you can have the rest, too.”
* * *
Nilem dreamed. She saw the valley from a great height, as if she were standing on top of a mountain. She blinked and her eyes changed. They were no longer her own. Her head was covered in eyes, the eyes of another. She saw the trees like wet stalks of light, with nectar traveling up and down, from roots to branches. She saw the great river, its streams, flowing from sky to earth and feeding the land, then traveling out into the world and back into sky. She saw grass, the wild fields, all alive, sparkling and pure, connected. But greatest of all, she saw the lights of divine beings. Gods once dwelled in the valley. She saw them moving about, singing, dancing, their play radiating wisdom itself. The beings of light lived separate from one another, but they were never alone. She saw the tendrils of their thoughts brushing across one another, wrapping one another in warmth. She ached in her heart, so beautiful and loving they seemed. And they did love one another, for they were one, always together.
This is the way it once was, she heard in her mind, and ached even more at the softness of the voice.
The vision progressed. Time passed uncounted, unchecked like the flowing river. Nightmare came. She saw horrid little creatures sneaking through the clouds and then down into the valley. She saw the divine beings of light pause, watch - and then move away from the little creatures. Other animals, also full of the light of that land, grew silent and hid, or fled - or their light was snuffed out by the invaders. The invaders were covered in dull, pale armor, their faces like skulls, their eyes like little furnaces that they stabbed into one another. Hatred, greed, fear - that was all they knew, and they churned it up in little cauldrons that they boiled in their hideout. Nilem’s heart raced, terrified that the beings of light would be choked to death by the armored creatures.
“Make them go away!” she shouted. “Make them go away and leave us alone!”
The beings of light took action. They watched the armored creatures, sniffed out their weaknesses, then moved as one, fighting to defend their land. Many fell on both sides. But the invaders, the weaker, divided species, made a fire to distract the divine defenders and then took to the skies once more. They scurried away within the clouds. Nilem’s heart soared as the balance was restored once more.
We will never give in to their kind, said the warm voice. Never.
The divided creatures came again. This time they crawled over land, from the west, from wicked Pontius. They came and drilled into the earth, plunderers; they hacked down the trees, murderers. Again the divine beings hid, touched one another in their holy councils, and attacked as one. Only a few invaders escaped this time.
“Wonderful!” shouted Nilem. “Oh, it’s wonderful!”
But the valley did not remain perfect forever. A war raged in Heaven down below. Many of the divine beings went into the earth. Eventually all of the divine beings left the valley to take part in the terrible conflict. To make matters worse, some seed of ruin had already been planted in the valley. Strange beings grew out of the soil, twisted little creatures in the shape of the old invaders. The new creatures were small, wicked, stupid, and hateful towards one another.
Ghouls, said the voice. Your kind call them ghouls.
The war down below ended. A few divine beings returned to the valley. They were few in number, and one of them was marked by sin, his light tainted by an open, festering sore. This divine being was connected to the others, but was still an outsider.
“Is that you?” said Nilem, her heart reaching out to him.
The voice within hummed a lonely note.
A third invasion came. They came from the sky again, like the first, but they were even more pathetic than before. They moved about slowly, beady eyes full of fear. They chased the ghouls around and catalogued them in their record of things to fear. The few divine beings that were left attacked a small number of the invaders, who ran about halfheartedly before returning to the sky.
Years passed. The divine being marked by sin did what he could to return the valley to its former state of perfection. He watched its borders, he culled the outsiders who lived on the bounty at its fringes, and he shaped the ghouls into more proper beings worthy of their home in the valley. Nilem reached out her ghostly hands and tried to touch the lonely king, to tell him that she understood, for her life was much the same.
But there was a fourth and final invasion, over land, and Nilem realized in horror that she was a part of it. Again the mountains, the forests, and the river were raped and clogged by evil itself. Even the divine beings were attacked outright. The gods themselves were wounded.
>
Just when we were close to perfection, the voice whispered in agony. Just when we were so close to turning this cold world into a beautiful home!
“I’m so sorry,” Nilem cried softly. “I’m so, so sorry...”
Help me! Please! We’re in so much pain!
“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry!” Nilem watched the vision fade, then said, “You poor thing... how did you find me?”
Nilem saw herself in the woods with Jago. He sat cross-legged, his chest puffed out, his face grim and determined. He no longer carried himself with the dogged expression of fear and want; he was emboldened by the failed attack on the gods. Nilem was naked to the waist, leaning against him and stroking the hair on his chest.
“The Khan displayed utter cowardice,” said Jago. She remembered the scene, but was surprised to see it from another angle. “He was useless. It was just as you said, Nil, just as you said.” Nilem nodded, then licked Jago’s neck and ear, smiling.
My eyes see all, Nilem. I know all. And I know that you could be a good friend.
Nilem ran her hands through Jago’s hairy chest, then said, “If only you were in charge, Jago, my love. If only we could be together in the open. You are powerful enough to possess me, Jago... you and none other.” She caressed her hand about Jago’s belly and thighs, and whispered, “But how far are you willing to go, my love? How far are you willing to go?”
Nilem began to wake just as Jago replied. She could not remember his reply, but could see him thrust his chest out still further. His words were proud, boyishly confident and utterly drowned out by the small voice in her mind repeating How far are you willing to go, my love? How far are you willing to go?
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 15