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

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “We’re not hunting for food!” shouted one dogman. “We are going to destroy the devils in the east!”

  “Two dozen of you idiots are going to do what a thousand couldn’t? Get back in that fort and wait for the Khan’s orders.”

  “Says who? You?” The lead dog strutted out from the pack and spun with his arms outstretched so that everyone could see that he was a magnificent warrior. “So dogmen are taking orders from humans now? Is that it?”

  Yarek summoned up his will and bore his eyes into the upstart for a long time. No one could withstand the terrible gaze of a Clash for very long, but the dogman endured it by simply not looking at him. Instead he strutted back and forth with his arms outstretched while his pack-brothers shouted encouragement. Finally Yarek drew Teufelmorder, pointed it at the dog, and said, “Get back in the goddamn fort. Now.”

  “Says who! Says you! You’re not the boss of me! You and what army! Make me!”

  “Go back to the fort or I’m going to blow your brains out.”

  The pack continued to cheer their leader, but their shouts were forced and muted. The pack leader looked at Yarek, then tried to speak but his mouth was bone-dry.

  “Forget this fool,” said another hunter in the pack. “Let’s go plan for our attack, and do it later when we’ve got more fighters on our side.”

  “Fine, fine, whatever,” the lead dog growled. “But you watch your back and sleep with one eye open, human bitch.”

  The dogs turned and left. Yarek holstered his piece, heart racing. He saw Chris Kenny on top of the wall lower his rifle, sighing. “Had yer back, man,” he said, pale-faced and shaking.

  Yarek nodded and followed the dogmen back inside.

  On the sixth day, many dog hunters were attacked by several groups of ghouls. Some hunting teams simply disappeared. Others returned bleeding and howling on about desperate battles with thousands of demons. Large packs of dogmen went out, hungry for vengeance, but never encountered any resistance. Dogmen traveled in and out of the gate all day long and all night long, and in their rumors of wars Yarek and Naarwulf could glean not one useful bit of information. But the rotation of hunters was interrupted and, for the first time since they’d arrived, food was no longer plentiful.

  * * *

  One day a pack of bloody dogmen from the tribe of Magog stumbled in from the north, carrying with them a few wounded human miners and metal-smiths. They said nothing, and were escorted through the gate and led to the fort by many hunters. The wounded were tended to in the fort, and a warrior from Magog followed Yarek and Naarwulf into a closed room on the third floor. Many dogmen and laborers ceased working and hung about the fort, gossiping and waiting for news. Many dogmen from the tribe of Qemel laughed at the wounded Magog warriors, for they had hated them for a long time and knew that justice had finally found them. But the dogs of Asher hung about the fort, sad and silent, for they had many friends among Magog.

  Yarek and Naarwulf threw down some straw. The lone dogman was covered in bruises and wounds, and the blond hair on his body was matted with dried blood. He sat down heavily on the straw and laid his massive sword before him.

  “I’ve brought bad news,” said the dogman.

  “What is your name?” said Naarwulf. “Who is your father?”

  The dog thought for a long time, then shook his head. “I was a guard for one of the clan chiefs of Magog. My name reflected that. But now my father is dead, my people are no more, my name is wiped out. No more weapons will come out of the mines. Only death.”

  “What!” said Naarwulf.

  “All of it... wiped out,” said the lone dog.

  They sat for a long time, silent. A wounded dogman cried out from below.

  “Many ghouls came,” said the dogman. “There were demons with them, green lizards that walked like men but fought like monsters. We fought them, but we were overwhelmed. They broke through our ranks, tore down the tents of our people, killed our women, and picked up our pups and dashed their brains out against the stones. We heard the screams of the men inside the mines. The ghouls plundered our weapons.

  “I was with my chief and his other guards at the front of the battle. This sword belonged to my cousin, a great dog warrior and the champion of my chief.” The lone dog unsheathed the massive sword. It was a wicked thing wider at its tip than at its base, with an organically curving edge and two-handed handle. “This sword is called the Sword of the Magog. It was made by the master weapon-smith who taught the human king of Hargis to make weapons. Many ghouls died under this blade. But there were so many ghouls that we were pushed to the side. I saw my cousin the champion killed by a green lizard warrior. I took up the sword and avenged my cousin’s death. I saw my chief’s head cleaved in half. I swore then that I would fight until I was killed, but… but when I saw some humans and dogmen flee from the mines, I decided that the battle was lost. So I… I fled as well.

  “I swear that I only ran because I believed that we would regroup and attack from the rear. But there was no time to regroup. There were too many of them, they hounded us on all sides and we had to kill even as we fled. We only had enough strength to drag our wounded into the woods with us.

  “That night, we followed the fire of the watch tower that lies between this camp and the mines. Without it, we would have been lost. We meant to warn those people, but we never had to, for by the time we got there the cries of the ghouls were already behind us again, hungry for our deaths. So the men abandoned the tower and came with us.

  “But there was something else about the battle. There was a demon, a beautiful woman with black hair. She was naked, and as strong as ten dogs. But all who fought her, they... I do not know how to say it. The dogs who fought her lost themselves. They were overcome with lust. Some even attacked one another just to be near her. And these dogs were not enemies, some of these were dogs that I know were brothers. Something about this devil drove men to madness. None could stand against her.”

  “What of the king of Hargis?” said Yarek. “Is he dead?”

  “Most likely he is,” said the blond dogman. “But I saw him and a few dogmen and humans running further up into the mountains, fighting all the while. Fighting and dying.” The dog thought for a while, then said, “But that young king, he did make a fine sword, the Usurper sword. I saw it myself. It was very beautiful and very deadly. He said that whoever had that sword could rule this land, and I think that he was right. But that sword was lost... I saw a ghoul pick it up.”

  “No,” Yarek said loudly. “It takes a lot more than some silly magic sword to rule a nation. It takes a...” and then he stopped himself.

  “What of our Khan?” said the dogman. “Where is he?”

  “Gone,” Naarwulf said quietly.

  “Ah,” said the dog, lowering his head. “I see.”

  They sat in silence again for a while, then Naarwulf said, “You must not be ashamed for running. I say that you have fought bravely. It is good that you brought us news of what happened. Otherwise, not only would we be without weapons, we would not even know of the fate of your people. I say that you have done good, and any who speak against you will answer to me.” He paused, then said, “Yes, you are good. And you deserve a name.”

  The lone dog thought for a long time, then said, “I have no one to name me. My father is dead, my chief is dead, my older brother is dead. My people are gone, and will have to join another tribe for protection. I am alone.”

  “You will never be alone,” said Naarwulf. “Not while another dogman lives that can call you brother. Since you are the last of the Magog, then we will call you Magog. You will live to remember your people, and to have your revenge on the monsters who took your people from you. Keep your cousin’s sword. It’s yours now. I think it’s still thirsty for demon blood. Stay close to me, Magog, and someday we will feed that hungry weapon and help our people. All of our people.”

  “Very well,” said Magog, bowing. “I thank you, Naarwulf, brother.”

  �
�You’ve been through some rough shit,” said Yarek, “but being alone isn’t so bad. You’ll get used to it.”

  “How can you say that?” said Magog.

  Yarek stared at him for a moment, then said, “It’s a part of the human condition.”

  * * *

  There came a theft of trinkets. A dog of the tribe of Grimweld wailed loudly, and was inconsolable. Most agreed that a demon had snuck into the fort in the middle of the night and made off with the valuables, until a dog from the tribe of Paun was seen dividing the trinkets among his brothers, bragging to anyone who passed by. Naarwulf, busy with the distribution of the meager food brought in by the disorganized hunters, ordered that the trinkets be returned to their original owner.

  “Naarwulf is of the tribe of Nook,” said one shaman. “Is he going to give orders to the Paun? What sort of tribe willingly submits to the orders of another tribe?”

  There was a rape. Several dogmen from the tribe of Asher spoke sweet words to a young dogwoman of Grimweld, brought her outside the walls, and then forced themselves on her. After her Grimweld brothers gave the girl a proper execution in order to avoid any appearance of wrongdoing, and also to cleanse the girl’s name, they swore vengeance on Asher. Several shamans of Asher and Grimweld, eager to avoid conflict, went before Naarwulf.

  “Give us justice,” they said. “The Khan would have stopped any conflict among his people.”

  Naarwulf remembered the Khan’s belief that the punishment should fit the crime. But he also remembered the old ways, and had no desire to place a great burden of shame on any dogmen in such a way that they would become useless in battle. He tried to find the middle path between the new ways and the old.

  “Very well,” said Naarwulf. “Let the punishment fit the crime. Because a girl of Grimweld was taken by Asher, a girl of Asher must be taken by Grimweld. Grimweld must choose the bride, and Asher must choose the groom. And by this marriage let there be peace between your people.”

  The shamans of the two people were satisfied because no dogmen were shamed, and the marriage would act as a token of peace. Still, for some reason that few could understand, one brother of the chosen bride swore vengeance. Though the friends of his family counseled him on the nature of justice, he swore that he would not lie down until his blade was wet with Grimweld blood.

  One day, a dog of Asher killed a dog from the tribe of Qemel and left his body outside the walls of the fort. The people of Asher celebrated smugly; it was a fitting end for an old feud, the last blood to be drawn concerning a theft of cattle between two families long ago. One chief among the Asher said, “Now all enmity will end between our people, because Qemel will know what it means to take what belongs to the warriors of Asher.”

  The widow of the slain dog came to Naarwulf and, on her knees, said, “I have no one. My brothers are all dead, and now my husband is dead. Please, Naarwulf, I will die if you do not give my family some justice!”

  Naarwulf sighed, looked to see that no one was watching, then said, “What can I do for you, woman? Why is it my burden to avenge something that’s between Asher and Qemel?”

  “Because the Khan would have done something!”

  “I am not the Khan, woman,” he said harshly. Then, calming himself, he said, “Just be patient. The Khan will return and he will settle the matter.”

  Then came a day when the worst crime of all happened: A dog of the tribe of Nook swore against the gods. None agreed on what he said, but it was well known that this dogman was a hunter who had had a terrible string of bad luck. An old chieftain was woken in the middle of the night, who then went to his shaman and woke him and demanded that their people be cleansed of this blasphemy. “Naarwulf will know what to do,” said the shaman. “He is the voice of the Khan.”

  They went to Naarwulf, who was lying awake on his bed of straw. He thought about the matter, then said, “I’m supposed to act in the Khan’s stead in this matter, but you all know very well that the Khan was lax in his punishment of blasphemy.”

  “That is not true!” said the chief. “I heard that he once cut a dog’s tongue out because he blamed the gods for his misfortune.”

  “That never happened,” said Naarwulf. “I’m going to sleep. Your tribe, your problem. Figure this thing out for yourselves.”

  When he woke the next day he saw the dead body of the blasphemer hanging over the gate as an offering of apology to the gods. The family wailed on the ground and covered themselves with dust, for they were ashamed that one of their sons had done this to them.

  * * *

  Yarek called a secret council one night. Naarwulf sat with him in the fort, with Magog and his great sword nearby. Freyja completed their circle with Jarl the Entertainer sitting just behind her. Chris Kenny sat with his back and head against the wall, looking on, while the four remaining Reavers guarded the door.

  “It’s been well over a week since Wodan left,” said Yarek. “We’ve been pretending for a long time that he’s going to come back and straighten everything out. Meanwhile, we’ve got problems that need to be addressed. Ghouls are attacking our hunting parties. How they know exactly when and where to attack, and how to avoid us when we try to find them, I have no idea. We’ve got dogmen abusing the humans, we’ve got dogmen going in and out the gate for reasons all their own that don’t work with our agenda at all, and we’ve got the problem of disunity between the tribes. There’s no longer any sense of fairness between the tribes, and it’s going to degrade to the point that dogmen are going to be fighting one another in packs any day now.”

  “The Khan,” said Naarwulf, “both Vito and Wodan, imposed a unique situation on our people. Wodan especially. They were both strong enough to fight any challenger. A chief of a small clan can appoint a champion to enforce his rule; a chieftain of a tribe can, too, to some extent. But a Khan is a great symbol of power. He sets himself up as a great individual, which is a constant challenge to young war-dogs willing to listen to those who like to scheme and make trouble. The most obvious solution to the problem is to set up a new Khan... but... we cannot do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Yarek?”

  “I mean it! Why not just make a new Khan?”

  Jarl fidgeted uncomfortably, then said, “But what if Wodan does come back?”

  “Wodan has no idea how to hunt for food out in the wild,” said Yarek. “He’s strong, and I wouldn’t debate that. He killed twenty dogs on the night they tried to assassinate him. But let’s be honest. He’s used to eating lots of meat brought in by hunters who know what they’re doing. On top of that, he probably has this idea in his head that he’s going to go up against a demon that I’ve seen shrug off bullets. We have to assume he’s dead, Jarl. Which brings me back to my point. Naarwulf, you’re the strongest dogman I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen you push around other dog-warriors like they were kids. And they go along with it because you’re imposing, and you’re one of them.”

  Naarwulf stared at the ground for a long time. Freyja noticed that his huge hands were shaking. Despite his powerful presence, she could feel a deep pool of fear threatening to spill over. Partly to save him, and partly out of respect for Wodan, she said, “Yarek, why don’t you and your Reavers go out and search for him? You’re trackers, and you could-”

  “Could what? Could leave the fort and let it fall into chaos and ruin even faster? And who would protect you and the other women if we left? Naarwulf’s tough, but he only has one throat. And Chris doesn’t have that many bullets left. And even if we found him, Freyja, what then?” Yarek spoke loudly, releasing an anger he’d pent up for a long time. “Do we drag Wodan back here and force him to impose order? Do we force him to grow up and be a man?”

  “Grow up and...? Yarek, you’ve no right to assume-”

  “Face it, Freyja! Things got tough, so Wodan threw a fit and ran away. And that’s not out of character for him at all. Do you know what Wodan was back in his homeland, Freyja? Do you know what Wodan was before he was the almig
hty Khan with unstoppable strength?”

  Freyja glared at him, then said, “No.”

  “He was nothing, Freyja. Wodan locked himself in his room and never did one single goddamn thing. He was born with above-average intelligence. You know what he did with it, what he applied it to? Nothing. Not a thing. You know what Wodan did to earn that great strength of his? Nothing, Freyja. Some crazy old men in Haven tinkered with his body - they chose him at random - and then one day he became a freak with unnatural strength. You feel indebted to Wodan because he saved you from Vito? Well, Vito was just a man, Freyja, just a man, but he used the brains he had to become the Khan, and he used his strength to defend his position from all comers. He dragged these ungrateful dogs through thousands of miles of arid, deadly wasteland, despite the fact that they continually plotted against him. Wodan brought us to a land of plenty where everyone feared him, and he still couldn’t keep it all together.

  “And do you think Wodan refused to touch you because he was holding true to some ideal about your dignity as a human being and your right to choose your own lover? That’s bullshit, Freyja. Wodan was scared. Plain and simple. All those brains, all that brawn, and now he’s tramping around in the woods, starving, and even if he does manage to find that demon... hell, he probably will take him on! I’ll even grant you that! Because that’s what a well-meaning but otherwise incompetent boy would do. Throwing your life away is easy. Learning what it takes to lead others, and then doing difficult things in order to survive – that’s hard. He couldn’t hack it, and now he feels guilty about not being able to lead us properly despite having every advantage imaginable.”

  “None of that’s true,” said Freyja, her voice as quiet and cold as winter.

  “Oh? Isn’t it? You think I don’t know that you know it’s the truth?”

  Freyja froze as dread stabbed into her.

  “Freyja, I know you told Wodan that you’d fuck him if he stayed.”