The Sword of Shadows

by Adrian Cole

  This visit was shortly undertaken, but Orgoom, who had used Mindsulk regularly when in the service of the Weaver of Wars, did not trouble himself by wrapping up and shielding his face. Elfloq, on the other hand, padded himself under a thick cloak and pulled tight its heavy cowl, walking bent double, which made him even more squat than he already was. He kept strictly to the darkest shadows of the dingy streets as they sought a large inn well known to Orgoom.

  “Perhaps,” suggested the familiar, above the thundering of his heart, “it would be sensible for me to await you outside, where I can watch out for any enemies that might be drawing near.”

  “Enemies already inside,” growled Orgoom and pushed open the wooden door. Elfloq reluctantly shuffled in behind him. The familiar had been in some of the most notorious dives in the omniverse, but few of them came close to this stifling melting pot of virulence. For certain, no individual in here was doing the work of anyone but the vilest of masters, bent on the destruction and damnation of sanity in the many dimensions. The place was barely lit by a few, thick candles, themselves almost intrusive, black-hung and austere, though filled with mutterings and harsh laughs, sneers and growls. There was a veritable host in here, jammed together, each individual leaning close to another in order to stifle what they were saying: secrets were dark, their consequences terrible.

  Orgoom looked around him fairly brazenly, while Elfloq cringed behind, not unlike a cat in a yard full of rabid dogs. Shortly Orgoom had the scent of two other Blue Gelders who were hunched over a low table with a very tall being whose shaven head dipped between pinched shoulders on a peculiarly long neck. His head was the more obtrusive as its dome had been dyed a savage shade of red.

  “News there,” Orgoom grunted to Elfloq and squeezed through the packed company to the table. Its occupants stared up at him angrily, but Orgoom, who was accustomed to the uncivilised ways of his blue brethren, merely pulled up a stool and sat. Elfloq stood miserably behind him like his diminutive shadow and was, mercifully, more or less ignored. His terrors of this place had been barely lessened earlier when Orgoom had explained that Gelders were all very much alike and often did not recognise each other.

  “Greetings, fellow Blue,” said one of the Gelders. He was a fat fellow with a face like murder. “Going outwards, or back to our master with word?”

  Orgoom helped himself to the acidic Mindsulk wine with a theatrical hawk. “Out. No specific task. Nosing.”

  The tall being, who was loftier than any normal man, though seemingly human, towered over Orgoom. His long nose dipped down as if it would jab into the Gelder’s mind, spear information and draw it out. “Learned anything?” His voice had the effect on Elfloq of claws being dragged down the surface of a mirror.

  “About what?”

  The tall one scowled, ugly enough to petrify demons. “About what! How long have you been away from Ubeggi? Only one thing occupies the Weaver now.”

  Orgoom remained calm, though inwardly he was juggling possibilities. No one had recognised him as the Gelder who had lately escaped the services of Ubeggi in highly suspect circumstances. The Weaver, it now seemed, had relented his decision to take no action in the matter.

  “Been far off. Remote dimensions. But no news. You?”

  The fat Gelder snatched back the wine jug and guzzled. “It’s no use, Snare. None of us knows enough to satisfy Ubeggi. May as well be hunting mist.”

  Snare made an animal sound in his throat. “We’ll see. I have arranged to meet someone here. He may know more than all of us. I fancy he will lead us to this thrice damned dark man.”

  Elfloq was mentally gnawing over the bone of the name Snare. It had summoned up disturbing connotations. Could this be the shunned mystic who was reputed to command servants of the pits that few others dared summon?

  “If only we could get our claws into that ugly little brat Orgoom,” chirped the other Gelder, flexing his sickle fingernails. “He’d know where to start the hunt.”

  Snare leaned even closer to Orgoom. “What about you? Have you come across that traitorous pig-swill on your distant travels?”

  Orgoom belched and looked away. “Word reached me. He went very far. Serving a new god — very powerful. More powerful than Ubeggi.”

  Snare laughed and many heads turned at the frightful sound. “More so! How absurd. Where was this?”

  “Beyond the Lostways.”

  “As remote as that, eh? Still, I doubt if that little bag of droppings could tell us anything. Waste of time looking for him.”

  The fat Gelder spoke up. “Did you hear what Orgoom did in the place of the Tree God, Verdanniel? He allied himself to some grim being and aided him — aided him — to upset the war that our master had instigated.”

  “I heard a little.”

  “And where did this dark man, this Voidal, go?” said Snare. “The entire Gelder company is searching for him, to say nothing of all Ubeggi’s other agents and hirelings. Come, speak. Say what you know!”

  Orgoom had a mind to turn upon Elfloq and spit in his one peeping eye. They had come here for news of the Voidal only to find that everyone was looking for him, including Ubeggi! And Orgoom had only consented to go back to Tyrandire in order to find out the Voidal’s whereabouts.

  “Into the air,” he said to Snare. “Like a dream. Strong power.”

  Snare gave a gusty snort of disgust. “You’re no use to us. You know nothing. Teeth of the Dark Gods, does no one have word? Ah, who’s this? A breathless young Gelder comes to us. Hey! What news, offal?”

  Another Blue Gelder was indeed struggling to reach them. He was slight and short of breath, full of live nerve ends and eyes like small moons. “I do have word. But it is not good. I am afraid to send it to Ubeggi.”

  Snare shot out an arm like the tongue of a lizard and dragged the young Gelder across the table. “I’ll pin you to the rafters! Give the word to me and I’ll pass it on. Well?”

  “I was lately at a Council of Gossipers,” began the young one.

  Snare let him go. “Really! A useful place to glean news. I was not aware that one had been convened, although several of the mages who send their slaves to those gabbling markets have set up means by which to keep me away. Well?”

  “Great events are unfolding in the omniverse. Terrible powers are struggling to subjugate all of it. Darkness blends with darkness. Light gutters like a candle near to its last glow.” This all came out in a rush, garbled and frenetic.

  Snare growled. “Slower, slower! And speak plainly. You are a Gelder, not a wretched poet! What has all this to do with the Voidal?”

  “At the Council I heard a small familiar speak. A strange creature, who said that this Voidal had, according to rumours, often foiled the workings of gods like our master, Ubeggi. This familiar said that he thought the Voidal was a servant of the Dark Gods and that they oppose all evil and seek to overthrow the creeping shadow that is threatening the entire omniverse. I am afraid to tell Ubeggi that his powers are threatened.”

  Snare pushed him away derisively. “You’ve said enough. The Dark Gods, eh? It’s true that they are considered powerful. Their names are ineffable. But what is this about darkness blending with darkness?”

  “All darkness will be one,” said the Gelder, nodding frantically. “And light cannot be one. The gods never agree and never share power.”

  “Indeed,” nodded Snare, with an even more unpleasant laugh. “But why should we be dismayed by your news? If there is to be colossal strife, Ubeggi is allied to the dark. Perhaps these gibbering rumours you have heard refer to his own coalescing powers. Even the Dark Gods have their limits. I doubt that Ubeggi fears them.”

  “Take care,” hissed a voice behind him. “Take very great care, Cruel One.”

  Snare swivelled, hands ready to rend, like some primordial beast. But as he caught sight of the man who stood there, face deep in shadow, his expression changed, smugness seeping into it. “Ah, you are here. Come and sit. Take wine with us.”

 
The other shook his invisible head. “No. I am impatient.”

  “Come! Sit. I insist. Listen to how the Dark Gods are to fall.”

  “You underestimate them, as I once did. For that impudence they stole my face, the most beautiful face in the omniverse, and replaced it with vileness. I know their powers. I will say nothing against them.”

  “Come, come, Shatterface. We all seek the same goal for now. This man they call Voidal. And I know how desperately you seek him. Destroy him and you win back your true face, eh?”

  Shatterface remained motionless. “Destroy? Again you underestimate. You do not destroy the Voidal, any more than you put an end to eternity.”

  “Then what?”

  “It is his mind, his knowledge. What he knows of himself. I must destroy that. The Dark Gods will reward me. Once I tried to win the prize, but in Nyctath, forgotten dimension, I failed to plunge the Sword of Oblivion into the Voidal’s heart. I am permitted to try for him only twice more. After that, if I fail, I shall be as I am until the omniverse rots.”

  “Ah, but this time you have allied yourself to far greater forces. My promise of aid from Ubeggi was not an idle one.”

  “This Gelder here spoke of a familiar. Did the familiar have a name?”

  The young Gelder thought for a moment, then nodded. “It was Elfloq.”

  Shatterface emitted another hiss.

  “You know him?” said Snare.

  “Yes! The dark man may not be so vulnerable, but that infernal familiar is. Elfloq is the servant of the Voidal. Some demonic alliance has come about between them. If we can find Elfloq, then we can weaken the dark man, I am certain.”

  Snare chuckled. “Well, well. Then it will be simplicity itself to comb even the omniverse for a paltry familiar. His powers will be minute.”

  Elfloq had listened to this with the greatest of palpitations. He felt himself seated on the very brink of madness and terror, as though the Oblivion Hand, which he once been forced to bear upon his back, had clamped down over his heart, squeezing it. He had met Shatterface once before, and it had been a dreadful encounter that yet haunted the familiar’s dreams.

  “When I find this Elfloq,” avowed Shatterface, “I will spend every day teaching him the billion paths of agony.”

  At this, Elfloq surreptitiously nudged Orgoom, his elbow clearly stating that it was time to be moving on and away, far away. Orgoom now understood for the first time the true magnitude of the loathing Elfloq’s enemies had for him. He cursed the familiar secretly for having dragged him into what must surely be the most unbalanced of conflicts.

  “I go,” he said, getting up quickly. “Much to learn.” No one moved to stop him. Clearly he had nothing valuable to add to the conversation.

  As he struggled away from the table, though, he found his path deliberately blocked by yet another presence. It was man dressed in a grey cloak, the hood partially thrown back to reveal a narrow face and steely eyes that were disturbingly cold. He carried a long dirk and with this he tapped Orgoom on the arm, easing him aside so that the smaller form of Elfloq was revealed.

  Snare saw the face of the stranger and their eyes met in recognition. “Ipsol! This is a pleasant turn up. Word had it that you had been imprisoned.”

  “On Murderers’ Mountain, no less.” His weapon stretched forward and caught at the cowl that hid Elfloq’s features. “I have walked a varied path since my fortunate escape. Later we can discuss it. For now, I am curious to see what this pile of rags will reveal, for I have developed a keen sense of smell in relation to familiars.” So saying, he deftly flicked aside the cowl, to leave the hapless Elfloq exposed for all to see. In such a crowded space and smothered in his cloak, it was impossible for the familiar to spread his wings and flit up to the low rafters.

  “As I thought,” said Ipsol. “Your pardon, Snare, old comrade, I had not intended to intrude on your discussions. But I overheard certain comments and for a moment thought you were about to lose the very object of your desire.”

  Shatterface had recognised Elfloq instantly. He reached forward, bringing the mask that covered his own face into the candlelight. “Some god or other has indeed smiled upon us. This is the very same familiar of which we spoke!”

  “This is Elfloq?” said Snare, and when Ipsol nodded, Snare’s vulpine features screwed themselves into a ghastly semblance of a smile.

  “My dear sirs!” protested the familiar at once, watching the tip of Ipsol’s blade as if it were the head of a particularly poisonous snake. “I assure you that you are letting your imaginations have their head. I, Elfloq? To the furnaces with such a notion. Why, I know him, of course, vile rogue, never to be trusted. I admit, too, that there are certain superficial resemblances between us. Facially, it is arguable, I am not unlike him, and have indeed been mistaken for him on numerous occasions —”

  Snare yanked him across the table and leaned over him like an avalanche about to smother him. “Shut up,” he breathed. “The Skulk of Illhallows is no fool.”

  Shatterface stiffened. “Neither am I to be misled, familiar. I have good cause to remember you. Where is your master?”

  “I — I have none. He died in an alchemical fire —”

  While Elfloq’s totally unconvincing tirade was in progress, the young Gelder was staring for the first time at Orgoom. A flicker of recognition abruptly ignited his bizarre face. “Oh, excuse me, fellow, but did we not once converse together in our master’s service? I would not have known you, but you are famed among Gelders for your favour with the Weaver. You are Orgoom, are you not? I saw you at the Council. It is an honour to meet you again.” He had not spoken loudly, but it was enough to divert the attention of both Snare and Shatterface.

  “Orgoom!” they hissed in unison.

  The Gelder muttered an unpleasant curse. Needless to say, it was entirely ineffectual in this company.

  Elfloq saw the final wave of disaster about to crash down. “Again, sirs, you do this fellow an injustice,” he piped hopefully. “He is Ugrang. I am sure the Weaver himself would confirm it.”

  Snare smiled the smile of a reptile about to lock jaws on its meal. “Why not? An excellent suggestion, familiar. Let us all go before Ubeggi. I am certain that he will be delighted to discuss the future with you both. Ipsol, will you join us?”

  The assassin put away his blade with a shake of his head. “Thank you, but no. I owe this creature something for his attempt to swindle me recently in Cloudway. But you are welcome to him, Snare. I’m sure whatever you intend for him will more than redress the balance.” He inclined his head in a bow.

  “Another time, then,” said Snare.

  Orgoom was scowling his most repulsive scowl at Elfloq, but the latter had already closed his eyes. The inevitable was, well, unavoidable.

  * * * *

  It was the most extraordinary hall that Elfloq had ever visited and unquestionably the most disturbing. Its many marbled columns were pink hued, its carpets a deep crimson — indeed, everything in it that could be was a variation on the colour of blood. Elfloq noticed that Orgoom was not at all moved by this. He had been here before, of course, but even so, to pay no heed to the sanguineous surroundings suggested a coldness of heart that disturbed Elfloq even more. In fact, Orgoom did not seem particularly flustered by anything, which filled Elfloq with foreboding. Surely the Gelder should be quivering with fear at being here in the Palace of Pain, fortress of Ubeggi, from whom he had fled without repercussion.

  Behind and between the two small figures stood the bowed form of Snare: Elfloq could smell the fear on him. Ubeggi may be his master, but the Weaver was, after all, a god and one of grim power. Shatterface had not arrived, and Elfloq wondered how the quasi-human being would cross the astral realm to Tyrandire. Shatterface had said that he was moved primarily by the Dark Gods, which seemed something of a contradiction.

  In front of the three figures there was a placid pool, dark and scarlet, from which exuded a sickly, unpleasant smell. Beside it lounged several drea
my-eyed sylphs. They dipped silver cups into the pool and sipped at the liquid like tiny glass vampires. They smiled, Elfloq thought, at him, as if they waited only for a word to flit across to him and sample his flesh with those brilliant-white needle teeth. This thought did little to alleviate the wriggling of his bowels. Neither did the half-seen faces that he thought he saw rise and sink in the pool, contorted as though in torment.

  Beyond the pool was Ubeggi himself. He was contained within a huge globe that was fed by countless vein-like tubes and from the unique head of the Weaver of Wars reached out dozens of filaments that appeared to be feeding from the milky body of the globe. These filaments were transparent and the liquid that pulsed down them was the colour of the liquid in the pool. Elfloq decided that the globular head was a projection, for it seemed to have no visible body within the globe. Ubeggi opened a huge, lascivious mouth, like some enormous fish inside its tank, and spoke. The voice came clearly through the globe’s sides.

  “The prodigal returns.”

  Orgoom made no movement and said nothing. Elfloq, however, fidgeted as he had never fidgeted before. The result of all his quivering was a little torrent of words that gushed from him at almost unintelligible speed. “I have been abducted in error, ultimate expression of divinity.”

  Ubeggi’s head shook and the redness about him glowed like the embers of a fire that had been fanned. He was laughing, not angry. His eyes seemed to throb, but they were opaque and fathomless, just as his thoughts were.

  “Be quiet, Elfloq. I know about you and where you have been. You serve the Voidal, the man I am seeking, the only being in all the omniverse that has ever withstood me and walked away unharmed. I allowed him this freedom merely because I wanted to learn more of him. And perhaps to use his powers for my own ends. Through you, and your dealings in secret places, I have indeed learned something. Your master is the pawn of the Dark Gods and they are dark only because they shroud themselves in secrecy. They are not evil, as so many of the dwellers in the omniverse believe. They are themselves the slaves of Light.”