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

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Shocked, wounded, violated. She whirled on the Reavers by the door and saw that none of them would look at her. “You sneaky bastards,” she hissed. “You’re nothing but craven spies!”

  “Maybe, Freyja, maybe. But leading people, in the real world, means that sometimes you’ve got to make the hard choices. You can’t always ride the moral high-horse. Wodan’s going to find that out, if he’s not dead already. It takes more than brute strength to lead. You’ve got to be cunning and you’ve got to be ruthless. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

  Jarl saw that Freyja was crushed. Every eye in the room was on her, cataloguing every minute movement. Jarl was just as angry at Yarek and his accusations as she was, but he also knew that it was going to take more than his own silly storytelling and “sing-along” sessions to bring the humans and the dogmen back together.

  “Lady Freyja,” said Jarl, “I’m sure Yarek doesn’t mean any of this as a personal attack. I still feel loyal to Wodan, and I trust that he’s out there doing something useful. But, for now, we’ve got to… well…”

  “It’s fine,” said Freyja. “I didn’t come here because I thought we were going to be talking about something pleasant. Go on then, Reaver. What’s your plan?”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple,” said Yarek, glancing at Naarwulf. “We need unity. We need a head over all the tribes. I can’t do it, I’m a human, and besides, I work better from behind the scenes. That’s why I figured you could be Khan, Naarwulf.”

  Naarwulf had not stirred the entire time, but only stared at the same spot. Finally he said, “Yarek, I... I cannot lead.”

  “You wouldn’t have to do it alone,” said Jarl. “We’d be your counselors. We could have these little get-togethers every night. You decide what you want done, and we could put our heads together and make it happen!”

  “No. No, Yarek, Jarl, no. I cannot lead.”

  “Hell, man,” said Chris Kenny. “If anyone gives you trouble, just tell me. I’ll get up in a hooch somewhere and blow their brains out. Nobody’d be none the wiser. You could-”

  “I will not!” Naarwulf shouted violently, glaring at everyone. Freyja and Jarl exchanged a quick look. “You think me a coward? The Khan... the title of Khan is not like anything that you humans would understand. It is not a position of management that one man fills, then another, like an everyday necessity. The title of Khan is legendary. Any who fills it must do something great for his people. Something new. Something only understood as necessary one hundred years in the future, and long after the Khan is dead. Not only that, but the Khan is liable to the rite of challenge from anyone of any tribe. Do you realize the power one individual must possess to be able to fight to prove his worth - to fight against the greatest fighters in the world, at any time, and without warning? Even to be the head of a large clan, a chief must have a pool of strong and trusted champions in order to last long. But to be Khan... even if only considered on the physical level, even with my strength, I would eventually be beaten to a pulp. To be a chief, for all its difficulties, is thousands of times easier.” Naarwulf stared at them all with hard eyes, then said, “No. I can not be Khan.”

  “But if you won’t be Khan,” said Yarek, slowly, “then none can be Khan. And unity is lost.”

  There was silence for a long time, then Chris Kenny leaned forward and said, “I got an idea. That whole unity thing, man - listen, that’s all bullshit. Even when Wodan was around, it’s not like there was any real unity, anyway. Now settle down, hear me out. Something you all haven’t mentioned is fear. Everyone liked Wodan, sure, but they feared him, too. And that’s something I can understand. So, why don’t we do things the old-fashioned way?”

  “What do you mean?” said Freyja.

  “Well, Naarwulf here, he’s definitely got some issues with leadership. Maybe he can’t hack that stuff, for whatever reason, but I bet he’d be willin’ to lead from behind. You know, he could become an “advisor” to the head of his own tribe. What tribe you from, man? Qemel, right?”

  “Gods below!” said Naarwulf. “I am of Nook. Those dogs of Qemel, they are no better than-”

  “Alright man, whatever. So you go up to Big Chief Nook, and you tell him the deal. You tell him you’re in charge, you’re calling the shots. Only it looks like he’s callin’ the shots. Except you’re the one telling him what to do, you know? And we’ll establish in these little sessions what’s going to happen. That way, at least we’d have one tribe under control, doing what we want, keeping order or whatever.”

  Naarwulf shook his head and began to explain to Chris that his immoral plan undermined the very foundations of dogman society, but Yarek cut him off . “Wait a minute, Naarwulf. That plan’s not half bad. You were just saying earlier today that none of the dogs respect your word because you’re like a right-hand-man to a man that no longer exists. But if you take over one of the tribes from behind, then we’ll have some power, and you’ll have complete immunity.”

  “It’s immoral and sneaky,” said Naarwulf, shoulders slouching.

  “It’s one of those hard choices,” said Yarek. “And if we don’t make it, we’ll end up becoming pawns of someone else who will.”

  “But if I did this,” said Naarwulf, “then it would show that I’ve completely abandoned the Khan, and then even the illusion of unity would evaporate. The tribes could fragment even quicker than they already are.”

  Yarek thought for a moment, then said, “Then we should test the waters first. I could become chief of a tribe.”

  Everyone rocked back on their heels, except for the other Reavers in the room. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Naarwulf. “It would be a... complicated... endeavor.”

  “You sure? From what I heard, all I have to do is call out some chief, call him a real piece of shit or whatever, then beat the shit out of his right-hand-man, then I’d get to inherit his wives and the rest of his stuff. And even if they try to stop me by saying I’m a human, well, I’ll just say they’re scared. Their hand will be forced. Is there something I’m missing?”

  “No, that’s pretty much it,” said Naarwulf. “But... ah, I do not mean to insult you, Yarek. You’re one of the strongest humans I’ve ever seen. But do you really think that you can take on a dog warrior in hand-to-hand combat? Not just any dog, mind you, but the champion of a tribal chief?”

  “Sure,” said Yarek. “Why not? Vito did it all the time, and he wasn’t even a Reaver.”

  “Vito was special.”

  “In some ways, maybe, but I bet in most ways he wasn’t. Leaders are full of tricks, Naarwulf. They seem like they do the impossible only because they do a good job of staying calm while they cut deals to get other people to do the impossible. But good leaders, they’re ready to die for what they want. That’s what divides them from the sheep.”

  “Is that so?” said Freyja, smiling knowingly. She could not help but think of Wodan.

  “Damn right it is. So, Naarwulf, if there was any tribe we’d want on our side, which would it be? Grimweld is the biggest tribe. How about them?”

  “Ha! Ha ha-a-a-a!” said Naarwulf. He paused, then forced out even more laughter to stress his point. “Grimweld! They spent all their time in Hargis shining shoes for human masters while the real dogs lived in the hills, training to beat ass. Grimweld will follow the lead of the other tribes. That is their way.”

  “Well, which tribe do you think we’d need on our side?”

  “Ah, let’s see. The dogs of Paun respect the wisdom of the shamans... that means you’d be drawn into constant debates in matters about which you have no knowledge. Qemel... those dogs, they’re no good for reasons I won’t even get into. It’s common knowledge that they’re animals. That leaves Asher. A good tribe, Asher. Good fighters and brave hunters, they are!”

  Magog nodded at Naarwulf’s word and tapped his sword-point on the floor.

  “If we had Asher with us,” said Naarwulf, “then we would have a good ally indeed. Many dogs fear them. But that a
lso means... it also means that if you challenged them, they would send a great champion against you. I do not envy you that, Yarek.”

  “And I could do the same,” said Yarek, “if I was their chief.”

  Naarwulf nodded sideways. “True, to some extent. Remember, you don’t want your own champions turning against you, if you seemed weak. And whoever you dethroned would always be trying to stir up trouble against you.”

  Yarek closed his eyes and went into himself. The plan was suicidal. Vito was the only man in the world who could kill a dogman in hand-to-hand combat without relying on luck. Dogmen were stronger, faster, and far more savage than their genetic cousins. And if Yarek died, then the humans, the women especially, would have one less ally in the valley. If he died, Naarwulf would never follow through with his part of the plan. Eventually war would break out within the fort; only one tribe would be able to fit within the walls. The ghouls somehow knew a lot about their condition, about what they were doing, and so the demons would most likely attack during such civil strife and wipe them all out.

  So it all rested on one long-shot gamble, one ridiculously imbalanced hand-to-hand head-butting contest between him and some giant, stupid beast who only knew how to beat raw ass and would enjoy doing it.

  Yarek knew that the smart thing would be to run and hide, to leave all these problems behind. Then again, if he was the kind of person who was concerned with safety, then he never would have become a Reaver, and he certainly never would have escaped from Haven. How easy it would have been to stay there, to become little more than a hired goon for his father or the Prime Minister. When Yarek thought of Haven in relation to his own troubles, his blood boiled. Yarek knew that the men who had joined him to leave Haven were the strongest, bravest souls that he had ever met. They could have lived easy lives, but they chose not to. But back home they would be remembered as traitors, turncoats, cowards who abandoned their posts and went seeking thrills in the lawless wasteland rather than help yet another spineless, egotistical, whining, posturing politician retain his power against men who were cut from the same mold as any other politician. Yarek imagined all of those people right now, watching their vids, debating the same old debates, accessorizing their wardrobes, living in complete comfort and totally unaware of the battle that a few of their own kind were facing out here in the real world.

  Just then, Yarek was overcome with a vision. He was on the beach with his father. He saw a small boy getting into a boat. The only things he owned were what he could fit into a few small bags, the clothes on his back, and a single cloak. The boy was being erased, thrown away, forgotten. He should have screamed and cursed the people who had done this to him. He should have spit on the two men who took him to the beach, and who loved him, but were still willing to obey the society that would erase one of its own kind just to return to its life of comfort. Instead, the boy only threw his things into the boat and waved goodbye to them. Yarek saw the boy smiling, and then he was gone.

  Damn it, Wodan, he thought. You were just a boy, and you jumped into hell feet-first. If you could do it, then I can, too.

  “It sounds good to me,” said Yarek. “Tomorrow I’m gonna get bloody. One way or another.”

  * * *

  The next day Yarek strode through the courtyard. Seeing the encampment of the dogmen of Asher, he spied the great chief, stopped suddenly, then screamed in mock surprise, “Gods below, it cannot be! The chief of Asher is a total sissy!”

  Immediately a dozen packs of dogmen leaped up, beating their chests and shouting one after the other such that no words could be made out.

  “Well, look at him!” said Yarek, staring them down. “I saw the very same dogman locked in a passionate embrace with his boy-love just the other day! This was only minutes after I saw him haggling over the price of a dress he’d just tried on! Why would the warriors of Asher allow a limp-wristed degenerate to lead them? I thought they were dogs of honor!”

  The great chief howled, overcome with shock and horror. The truth of the matter was that in the dark recesses of his past he had engaged in sexual practices with others who were not now in his harem, and could not ever be a part of his harem due to cultural taboos, and he often prayed that they suppressed the memory as well as he did. Now that he was facing a bold-faced and completely fabricated accusation that bordered on true events best left buried, he was stabbed by the terrible feeling that he’d somehow been found out. The great chief howled once more, then shrieked, “Kill him! Kill this man now!”

  The dog warriors surrounded Yarek and produced a terrifying array of axes and blades. “If you are honorable dogs,” said Yarek, drawing himself up, “then meet me in the rite of the duel. We will let the gods settle this matter, not flawed men and dogs.”

  “Piss and damnation!” cried the chief. “You are just a man. You cannot duel with dogmen. You have gotten yourself killed, you hairless pup!”

  “Then by my dying words, let it be known that the tribe of Asher is a haven for sexual degenerates!” A dog grabbed his hair and lifted to an axe high overhead, so Yarek added, “Let my blood stand as testament to the truth of my words!”

  “Stop!” said the chief. Knowing that he was in a bind, he said, “Very well, human. You have brought grievous charges against me. This matter must be settled. Let my champion meet you in battle!”

  Just then a massive dogman rose up behind the chief. He was the chief’s champion, a pituitary case with a misshapen head, arms like tree trunks, and furious, dull eyes that proved he was a raging simpleton even by the standards of dogmen. The hair on his barrel-chest and protruding stomach were covered in filth, and his loincloth was a stinking, fly-covered mess that had not been changed in years. The monster roared and the chief’s hair blew up and over his eyes. He strolled forward, ready to smash Yarek into a pile of goo even though he had absolutely no idea where he was, why he was there, or what anyone was talking about. One of the chief’s oxen happened to stroll by in front of the spectacle, a large bull that weighed half a ton; as the champion drew near, it grabbed one of the ox’s legs, jerked it about, and brought it crashing to the ground. The dogman would have pummeled the beast to death if half a dozen of his kinsmen hadn’t gathered around and pointed at Yarek, redirecting his attention only with great effort.

  The monstrous dogman towered over Yarek. Yarek felt himself stepping off the edge of a great abyss.

  * * *

  Yarek woke up lying down in Hell. He smelled the untreated wooden walls of the fort; they must have brought him inside. He felt people moving around him, and heard shouting and pounding on a door nearby. Every breath glided along raw nerves, every muscle was wracked and torn, and agony rested in his bones. His head was an anvil for the devil’s torture-smith, and his thick tongue laid against several gaps of exposed, bloody gums. He remembered nothing.

  He managed a groan and felt the fibers in his neck throb, sore and ground-up. Several forms turned to him, then he saw Naarwulf hover over his face.

  “Did I... win...” he croaked.

  “Of course you didn’t!” said Naarwulf. “You got in a few licks, but I got you out of there before that monster could stomp you to death. Gods below, man, I’ve never seen anyone beaten so savagely. How you’re still alive is beyond me, but it doesn’t matter now. Because I interrupted the rite of the duel, all of the tribes have turned against us. They’re beating down our door, and we’re going to be killed any minute now.”

  Yarek groaned, then said, “Tell them... to... hurry up...”

  * * *

  Yarek woke again. All was perfectly silent. Somehow his pain was even worse than before, as his addled nerves had gotten over their panic and now sent steady, coordinated signals of agony. He forced open one bruised eye and saw a ring of large dogmen crouched around him.

  “The hell... do you... want...”

  The dogmen bowed low. One crept forward on his knees, and said, “Your opponent is dead. While he seemed to win, the gods struck him down in the end.”
>
  Yarek dimly remembered the first few seconds of the fight. He had heard that the anatomy of dogmen was similar to humans, and had thrown at least one punch that should have caused massive internal bleeding to the lungs. When the giant dogman had continued on as if unhurt, Yarek spent the rest of the fight in the fetal position. Apparently the blow had killed the dogman, even though the battle had seemed hopeless at the time.

  “The gods have proven the truth of your accusations against our former chief,” said another dogman. “We trust that you will lead us better, Chief Yarek Asher.”

  * * *

  At night in the forest, Nilem led a long line of dogmen to the place of the new rite. Jago walked just behind her. He walked proudly, eyes burning fiercely and chest puffed out. He had fought a dog of a rival tribe, a smaller dog, and had killed him. This dog was without family and so no one could stop him. Better still, he no longer had to sneak when he went to meet with Nilem. Now that the Khan was gone, everyone knew that she was his woman, and anyone who wanted to meet with her had to go through him. Because of that, his chest and wrists were covered in jewels and metal bands, and he had many impressive daggers on his belt and a fine axe on his back. He had become important. Many dogman kept his name in their mouth.

  A short, skinny reptilian creature with glittering blue scales joined Nilem and walked beside her. The dogmen were shocked to see the thing, but they had been warned that they would be shown strange sights. The fact that the demon did not attack Nilem seemed proof enough that she was connected to a world beyond their understanding. They exchanged glances, then continued following her.

  Nilem was very satisfied with herself. This was not the first time that she had led discontented dogmen to the night ritual, but it was the first time that she had been able to include several influential chieftains and respected champions of chieftains. Jago had helped; all of the dogs were from the tribe of Qemel, his own tribe.