by Allan Cole
He indicated his burned clothing. “The result thou canst all see, noble sires. I daresay— this means a greater war than even that between the Amers and Rooskies!
“A fiendish uprising, to tell the truth.”
Simionte clenched his huge fists. “Fools!” he roared. “Damned fools! How much blood and death— and no donations of mortal souls to the Council’s storehouses! And with such a great lack of souls, we would be threatened with starvation and the loss of our powers.”
Pilyardock nodded. “Well reasoned, noble sir.”
Auerkhan broke in. “But for what reason?” he demanded. “These wild fiends cannot win.”
“Maybe they believe they can,” said Apollion, removing his spectacles to polish them. “Or maybe they were assured by someone that they can.”
“Treason!” Infeligo hissed.
Then, glaring at Mamri all the while, he said, “I daresay, noble ones— there is treason and there is a traitor sitting here among us!”
Mamri turned pale. “Art thou blaming anyone in particular, noble Infeligo?” he demanded.
“Easy, gentleman, easy,” Apollion, cautioned. “Noble sir Infeligo, I beg thee— there’s no need for harsh words. Noble Mamri has passed through real peril, even to a person of his stature, might and chivalry. Look at the signs on his face. It was combat, wasn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” Mamri replied with a grim smile. “Of course, they did not recognize me. I was disguised as a human warrior-mage. They attacked immediately and without hesitation. I cast down several of the most outraged. And then delineated as if I’d fled in panic.
“I remained in the region as long as possible— the Green Hordes have a rather good flair for real Power. All Boiling Planes art moving, gentleman. And it seems to me that they art all crazy with lust for revenge.
“Let’s agree, gentlemen, that if anyone really was standing behind all this tumult, he has chosen a damned good moment. Isn’t it strange, noble colleagues? And who in the whole Universe could create such a plot?”
Mamri stopped for a moment, then gave a long sigh. “Alas, but I must agree with noble sir Infeligo,” he said reluctantly. “There is treason inside our council. But I cannot understand the aim of such a conspiracy.”
“All of us thank thee for thy bravery in bringing us this news, noble Mamri,” Apollion said.
Then he scanned the faces of the others, letting a long silence build.
Finally he said, “Gentlemen, I suggest we do not discuss this possibility of treason just now. More things must be learned before we can hurl such accusations.
“Now, let us listen closely to the noble Infeligo. Thy main conclusion, colleague, please!”
“My main conclusion…” Infeligo grumbled. “Yes, yes, my main conclusion.”
His eyes were flickering red, but he mastered himself with an effort.
“I’ve met some Force or Power hiding a large part of Major Lawson’s information. I played several roles, but all ways were blocked.
“Also, I’ve seen great war preparations in both the Amer and Rooskie sectors, noble sirs. I had considered proposing a mass simultaneous strike on all their war installations … but the result would destroy our reign over the softskins as well.
“Meanwhile, as you all know, a full scale war may soon break out that would accomplish the same thing— and, as you said, my noble friend, that would leave us starving for lack of donations from the softskins.
“Moreover, I’ve noticed dangerous signs of irreversible mass hyper-hysteria. For our own purposes, we have kept the Amers and Rooskies on the very edge of war for a thousand years. From the time when we cast the Great Spell, with the assistance of the Planetar Demon, curse his soul!
“How else can we rule these softskins or our cousin fiends? How else can we feed? However, now that a real war threatens between the softskin empires, there seems to be little we can do to stop them.
“Unless … unless …”
“Unless what, noble one?” Apollion urged. “Tell us thy thinking.”
“To say more, I fear I must return to the subject of the traitor,” Infeligo said. “If such a bastard exists among us, we must find him and make him eat his own shit!
“Either that, or we must go to the arsenal and cast another Great Spell. To do so would likely reveal our presence to the human wizards. If that happens we would find ourselves contending with a revolt from both the mortal and the fiendish worlds!”
Infeligo wiped his brow. “Sorry, noble sirs,” he said, “but what other options do we have? I daresay, none, gentlemen.”
“Easy to say, noble sir Infeligo, but hard to do,” Syrr replied. “How can we reveal that mysterious plot, assuming it even exists? We are short of time. In fact, we have no time.”
He took a breath and then said, “But, gentlemen, what if we create not a war-smashing Spell, but one aimed at mass information? At brainwashing? What if we make both sides think this incident with the HolidayOne was an unfortunate accident, no matter if it was or not?”
“That would be a grave error!” Auerkhan protested. “Believe me, noble Syrr, I am a master of information-bending chants. Brainwashing spells are my specialty. But thou must keep such spells small so the softskin mages aren’t alerted. A Great Brainwashing Spell is simply too dangerous for us to attempt. Why, we would have to blanket the whole galaxy!”
“Noble Sir Infeligo is right,” Apollion said, polishing his glasses. “The risk is too high.”
“But what else can we do?” Syrr demanded. “Either we risk exposure by using one of the Great Spells from our Armory, or sit and watch the self-destruction of our dominion!”
“Even the most terrible war between Rooskies and Amers will leave something left,” Simionte pointed out. “For example, we have my far dominions…”
“Thank thee, noble Simionte,” Apollion said a little coldly, dismissing this idea. “If the situation requires it, we’ll be forced to fall back on other resources.
“However, the Head of this council has not forgotten the bitter fighting in past over those same resources. We must look forward, not back.
“Unfortunately, this means we now must examine the idea of finding the true villain behind these incidents. The HolidayOne incident and the rising of the Green Hordes at the same time could not be a coincidence. And so, gentlemen, I ask you what we should do to end this crisis?”
“Good rhetorical question,” Simionte boomed angrily. “May Hell save us, our noble sire Apollion is once again on his favorite steed. Go on, chairman, tell us more! What art we to do, at last?”
“First,” said Apollion calmly and coldly, “we must stop the Green Demons. Second, we must advance our most powerful pawns to soften the sound of the war drums. This will give us some time to seek out the villain.
“Moreover, to do this we must grant the request of our Odysseus Corp and Church Of The Sword pawns to forge a temporary truce and join forces with Major Lawson.”
He glared at the two Keepers of the Americans and Russians, saying, “Is that clear, noble sirs Auerkhan and Pilyardock?
“And I warn you both, if you do not agree, I fear the Council surely will vote to excommunicate he who refuses. I will call upon the ancient Runes to do so. Even if this Chant shakes the Human Universe and the whole Continuum.”
As the two fiends quaked at these words, he turned to the others.
“I have spoken, gentlemen,” he said. “Now it is your turn to choose. You can even vote to excommunicate me, if you decide my actions to be extremely irritating.”
Suddenly, he grinned, letting his power radiate over them all.
A great silence crept into the hall. Even Auerkhan and Pilyardock stopped exchanging looks of hatred.
Apollion nodded. “Good,” he said. “We progress. Now, to the Green Hordes. We must send scouts to their domain. Do you remember, gentlemen, the magical artifact that was stolen by the runaway demon? Thy man, noble sir Auerkhan, recovered part of it.
“Now I’
m sure there must be a connection with this artifact and what is happening among the Green Hordes. To find this connection our scouts must search the very edge of the Continuum.
“It is time for strong action, gentlemen! Time to let our Force flow!”
He looked about the hall. “Does anyone object?”
Silence.
“Excellent!”
“Now, my last proposal. We must send someone to talk with Old Scratch. The Engine Devil, according to Vlad Projogin’s report, noticed something strange during the HolidayOne incident. We must understand the nature of this ‘strangeness.’ It may lead us to the villain— the traitor among us— who is causing all these things.
“Now, who among us should go to the Borodino? The candidates for this mission, alas, must exclude two of us. I dislike this solution, for it tastes of unfairness.
“However, the noble sires Auerkhan and Pilyardock must logically agree that it would be unseemly for them to participate— for reasons elementary enough not to be presented here.”
“I will go,” Infeligo growled.
“I am also willing,” Mamri said.
Syrr and Simionte also demanded that one of them be chosen to interrogate Old Scratch.
Auerkhan grinned. “Thou art presented with The Dilemma of Choice, noble sire Apollion,” he said.
“What? Oh yes, dear colleague,” Apollion replied sarcastically.
“Thank thee for pointing that out to me. The Dilemma of Choice in the unwieldy number we have been blessed with in this Council Of Eight. Not a good choice, I’d say … but better than nothing.”
He turned to Auerkhan and Pilyardock, saying, “The Dilemma Of Choice means only the three of us together can determine who shall be chosen. So let us test Fate, gentleman. And see who shall go.”
Apollion drew his magical knife— a long silver dagger— and the other two did the same.
“Time to earn our pay, noble ones,” Apollion said.
And immediately the three knives glowed hotly, piercing the gloom.
Three spurs of flaming red rushed over the table, crossing, seething, sparkling.
The three streams of fire met in the very middle and a burning fountain rushed into the air, then shattered into red snow drifting downward.
“The fate is mine,” Infeligo boomed.
A red crystal burned on his forehead.
“I will not say thou art lucky, my friend,” Mamri murmured.
And for a change he was not making a sarcastic jest at Infeligo’s expense.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The light was dying. Caught in a net of heavy gravitation, it was doomed to circle the dark center before being completely swallowed by an immense Naught. It was shapeless, sizeless, colorless. There was only pure power.
And— hatred.
A tiny spirit, riding on the head of a lightwave, looked in fear and despair at the impending doom. Born in the overheated depths of a star, he had flown billions of miles, had passed countless stars and planets, had seen the domains of both the softskins and their fiendish slaves.
And now he was in a trap. Where this trap was, he could not say. Everywhere— and nowhere. It looked like a black hole, yet it was not the grim corpse of a dying star. It was far, far more fearful.
The spirit knew that even in the grips of a collapsar there should have been hope for him. The vacuum of a collapsar was a great sleeping beast, pregnant with countless Beings.
Heavy grav made the collapsar produce particles and over much time these particles might have escaped.
The spirit, who was essentially immortal, would have had an infinite amount of time to wait his chance to escape aboard one of those particles
But this great Naught he approached would never allow such an escape. For here was the Lair of The Final Death that could not even be overpowered by the Horns of Judgment Day.
Finally, the little spirit gave up his hopeless struggle. Hypnotized, he looked into a yawning blackness that contained no stars, planets or voids.
He wept. What else could he do?
For the great power lurking in the spacefolds was merciless. A myriad of LightSpirits had vanished in its ever-hungry maw. And once consumed, there was no way out.
The poor spirit raised his head. Above him the gates of gravitational collapse were closing in. Soon, he would learn what it meant to die. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
His only hope was that the end would be swift and painless.
* * *
Immense muscles moved slowly in the warm darkness. The Planetar Demon, which possessed wings, could move where it willed without them.
If the spirit had lived and had dared approach the Planetar Demon, he might have asked why he kept the wings if they were of so little use to him.
And the Demon, had he chosen to answer, would have said it was because he liked to have a mortal reminder that the things he loved to kill suffered pain— and death.
The Planetar Demon thought all was quite right as far as he could see— which was very far, indeed.
He’d set the trap for the Council Of Eight and they’d swallowed the ledger-bait. However, a final stroke was still required before his plan was complete. And then there would be a fierce howling, biting and tearing.
Easy work.
Thinking about it, he wondered: Why have I delayed it for so long?
Promises were made by the Council Of Eight, when he’d added his power to theirs to cast the Great Spell. Which had changed the course of softskin and fiendish history forever.
But those promises had never been kept. They’d fed well and fully. While he’d been tossed off to an empty place, a hungry place, at the very edge of the Galaxy.
A few million souls had been presented to him now and then to appease his hunger. Meanwhile, the Council Of Eight had grown fat on the souls of billions!
Patience, they’d always said. Be patient while we organize the realm. And soon offerings will be poured out to thee in such quantities that thou wilt be satisfied throughout eternity.
I have been patient long enough, the Planetar Demon thought. I have granted more than enough time to the miserable fiendish scum who compose the Council Of Eight.
I am hungry. I must eat, or soon I will have not have enough power to press my cause.
And then he thought it must be the Council Of Eight’s desire to reduce him to such a weakened state that he could not forcefully oppose them.
This conclusion, which he’d come to slowly, was quite correct.
They have played me like a cosmic fool, he thought.
His hate was deep. His hate was intense. And it had gradually broadened to include all softskin and fiendish kind.
But he’d come to hate the softskins most of all.
They’ve missed all my warnings, he thought. Drunk with their lives, they’d came under the rule of those pompous wretches who’ve named themselves The Council of the Eight.
They present the COE with plenty and deny me my rightful feeding.
Hah!
As I weave the doom of hate for all beingkind, I’ll deal with those greedy wretches on the COE as well.
Now to the plan. The most recent reports the Planetar Demon had monitored were filled with panic. Those fools— even the best of them— were weak, weak, weak, possessing only empty hearts.
However, there were signs of trouble from those three raindrops of organic slime with the softskin names of Davyd, Tanya and Vlad.
They had uncovered too much.
Even so, the Planetar Demon considered their efforts as pitiful as the plans currently being hatched by their secret masters— The Council of Eight.
This only made him angrier. How dare any of them think they could withstand him?!
But to be prudent— and the Planetar Demon was a master of prudence— it was time for him to proceed to the second stage.
The forces were already moving. Good! The humans were primed to destroy themselves. The Council Of Eight’s pet armies were in full readine
ss. Their toy magicians were hastily chanting the most dreadful spells.
That was also good.
The softskin and fiendish races were cowering beneath a great mountain of doom. A small final effort would bring down the avalanche upon them. Billions would be slain.
Well, that was the price that must be paid to remove the Council Of Eight and put himself in direct charge.
Then all the donations of spirit and flesh would flow to him and him alone.
To work, the Planetar Demon thought.
Far away— at the borders of common space where time floated lazily and the inhabited planets obediently rotated around their stars— unseen legions started moving at his command.
Despite all his power, ancient rules required that the Planetar Demon could not act alone. He had to operate through other creatures but this was no difficulty because his influence was vast.
Hiding in the deepest folds of space, a myriad of the great creature’s slaves rushed to a distant yellow star.
Their target, all green and blue in the common spectrums, was the planet in the third orbit about the yellow star.
Shapeless and invisible, like their terrible Master, the creatures approached the first guarding circle.
Frightened, the fiends in the warheads and the missile control consoles let them pass without dispute.
The fiends penetrated the upper surface of the atmosphere and the dwellers of the thin air layers spurted away, blinded by tremendous fear and panic.
Lower, lower was their course. They pierced the clouds and saw the ground not far below. But its beauty remained hidden from their empty eyes.
The fiends smelled their target and felt the evil glowing above it— the angry red glower of armies in wait.
And this was the end of their long road.
All those installations filled with softskins and their fiendish slaves. Along with their dull machinery and weak magic.
The watch dogs howled in fear when the legion from the sky reached the ground, but the Planetar Demon’s messengers silenced them with little difficulty.
The Earth’s stratums were also not a barrier to them. Deeper and deeper they were penetrated, approaching the planet’s hot core.