As night drew close, the Christian coterie camped in the shadow of the forest, unafraid of the imagined dangers that might spill from the path, but they were mindful of the potential dangers of the nearby mountains. Kyrius stood watch all night; his angelic body did not require the same length of sleep as his human wards. He required very little sleep so long as he ate something nutritious enough to sustain his body.
During the late hours, Rashnir awoke from a fitful sleep and stood sentry with Kyrius for a while. The angel strummed softly on a stringed instrument; a type of lyre he’d purchased in one of Grinden’s shops.
Rashnir beckoned for the instrument and began to play—he’d picked up the skill in his efforts to impress Kelsa before she’d agreed to marry him so many years ago… before Harmarty. The angel sang softly in a tongue unknown to the warrior. Kyrius’ clear, angelic voice shamed the buzzing quality of the instrument’s notes.
Eventually, Rashnir grew tired enough for him to sleep; he left Kyrius to play solo. The guardian played softly and sang in hushed tones all through the night while he vigilantly kept watch.
***
The demon-lord was alerted to his minion’s call by the flames that sprang from the stone floor. A circle of supernatural flame licked at the air below his throne of bloodstained ivory. beh’-tsah allowed the spell to complete and the ring of fire caved in on itself, erupting into an inferno. The flames took on the form of Absinthium, molding themselves into his likeness as they flickered.
“What have you to report, Absinthium,” the demon inquired.
“My Lord, BEH’-TSAH,” the arch-mage mage bowed himself low, “I have made an alarming discovery. You know that I would not have contacted you had I not thought this a pressing concern.” Absinthium talked around the issue of strife and rebellion within the Babel Heavens. Worse than the typical display of the demons that sat on the council of the Gathering who often showed indications of insubordination and rebellion, circumstances had grown increasingly dire in recent months.
Absinthium continued as the massive demon leaned forward attentively. “The Holy Spirit is strengthening. His influence grows amongst the indwelt. On several occasions now it has been witnessed that Christians are able to draw upon supernatural powers similar to the magics weaved through this realm. Even some of the weakest in their numbers have the ability to summon a holy weapon. I know that there is an intermediate Luciferian spell to accomplish something of a similar nature, but their swords are exceedingly powerful.”
“How so? What kind of powers do they wield? Does it manifest as a sword?” The booming voice of the Gathering’s leader reverberated low and wicked, like the growling of lions. Disgust permeated his voice; the demon loathed dealing with these representatives of Christ and had far more pressing concerns.
“Swords, yes, and they are wreathed in blue flames. The wielders claim the blades are inscribed with words, our intelligence reports, and that they claim it is the Logos—though none of our contacts can actually see those words. These blades have cleaved through the weapons and armor of any who oppose them. We’ve seen that they seem suddenly willing to put up physical resistance.” Absinthium picked up a broken sword hilt; the blade was severed cleanly, as if it had been forged that way.
“I am uncertain of how we should proceed. If we send an army against them and they choose to fight, our losses could be catastrophic. Their weapons would easily destroy our own.”
The demon pondered the data for a moment, and then walked through the flaming apparition that he communicated with as it sputtered and flared in the main chamber of the beast’s throne room; flames bounced off of his thick hide. “It would appear that the very lines of supernatural magic which run through this realm, the very source of power for our spells, have reacted with the Logos. The Word has actually become a weapon of protection to its followers. It has become reality where it might have been only figurative in the confines of the Earth realm. The Logos has manifested as this dangerously sharp sword.
“This can only mean that the Holy Spirit is increasing in power. I will not abide this rival power in my realm, and yet I cannot act against them just yet. It is a constant game in motion and the pieces continue to set up… the war is now on two fronts. Our army was not prepared for this and now we must wait a little while longer in order to move against them. We would have been prepared had that foolish King of Jand not gotten himself murdered. These weapons of our enemies are too terrible; both the blades and their words. I will devise a solution for these weapons. You must not let these krist-chins continue to evangelize: maintain a stranglehold on your public.
“I can devise a plan to overcome their weapons. Send me the wyvern rider. Make sure that you send with him one of these destroyed blades for examination. I can concoct an alchemical solution that will counter their power.”
“I will dispatch an acolyte immediately with what you require as soon as he returns. I have sent the rider on a different errand for the moment.”
The demon gruffed with a nodding, snort-like shrug.
“While your Acolyte is with me devising a protection serum, you will be busy in Grinden. Control those people.” The demon commanded his vassal.
Chapter 4
Jaker walked around the hallway, paying little attention to the clacking of his heels on the polished stone of the castle where Jand’s ruler resided. He rounded a corner and rocked back on those heels as he spotted Grirrg and Pinchôt approaching via the opposite hall at the King’s antechamber.
The two parties eyed each other suspiciously. Each carried an identical summons. Jaker and Pinchôt bit their lips in dismay when they realized they would reach the tall, double doors at about the same time. The leaders of rival mercenary guilds had no great love for one another—even if they were occasionally forced to work with each other, but gold was thicker than the bad blood that separated their factions.
Trying to spy the other out, each caught the other giving furtive glances and trying to ascertain the reason for the other’s visit. Together they walked through King Rutheir’s hall as the majordomo announced their presence.
Rutheir, a mountain of highly trained and deadly muscle in his own right looked bored on the throne. He seemed to brighten at the approach of the summoned men. He stood and stretched, letting his muscles ripple beneath the fine clothes.
The royal tailor had obviously been busy. As emaciated and weasely as the murdered King Harmarty was, Rutheir was the opposite.
“It was wise of you to answer my call.”
Grirrg merely crossed his arms and nodded. Pinchôt, a former ranger under Jaker’s command kept stealing annoyed looks at his former boss.
Jaker flapped his arms incredulous as to the reason for the summons. “What’s going on here?”
Pinchôt exhaled dubiously. “You haven’t figured it out yet? No wonder Rogis’ Rangers have lost all relevance in Grinden and abroad.”
Rutheir eyed the two parties. “You’ve got it figured out?”
Pinchôt nodded and Jaker rolled his eyes.
“You are looking for pledges of allegiance. You’ve got something big in the works and you need crews of specialists ready at your command.”
Rutheir grinned wickedly.
The clever Pinchôt took a sort of half-bow.
“We’re always ready, you dolt,” Jaker spat. “It’s what we do. You don’t call on a baker and tell them to get ready to bake bread someday soon! It’s already a part of who they are.”
The king shrugged and nodded. Jaker had a point, but he enjoyed the spectacle of the rivals throwing barbs.
“Maybe just ask him?” Grirrg pointed out. All his life he’d been paid to hit things rather than make difficult decisions.
Rutheir looked down on them all, upon the raised dais where his throne sat the warrior king gave the illusion of being even larger than the massive barbarian. “The answer is both,” he said with a low, gravelly voice. “You both have a connection to th
e murderer Rashnir and his heretical, treasonous cult.” He glowered down at the three men.
King Rutheir was not stupid—he may have been physically on par with Grirrg, but he was far from simple. He’d hid a beguiling cleverness, much like Jaker’s, since arriving in Jand many years back. His ambition and skill had gotten him excommunicated from his native Mankra and the long game had finally put him on the throne. Rutheir had been clever enough to employ spies and pay for vital information.
He looked down his nose at the representatives from the two guilds. “You have all worked with him in some shape or another—Rashnir forever marked the guilds as their star pupil. You once spared his life during his humble beginnings in Ninda.”
Grirrg shifted on his feet. He wasn’t aware anyone had known that fact.
“You used to practically worship the man,” Rutheir leveled his gaze at Pinchôt.
He locked eyes with Jaker. “And you were practically a big brother to his betrothed. Odd that you have not exacted some sort of revenge now that the once destroyed man has rebuilt his life—even if he murdered Kelsa and her true love, my predecessor Harmarty.”
The leader of the Rangers remained tightlipped, unwilling to give anything away with his face or posture. Rutheir knew he’d touched a nerve, however. He knew the crazed depths of Harmarty’s insanity; he’d even seen her perfectly preserved corpse locked away in Harmarty’s secret vault in the castle, though the new King didn’t know how to access the hidden room—but he didn’t care. He wasn’t prone to necrophilia as he suspected Harmarty might have been.
King Rutheir grinned through the mounting tension. He’d suspected Jaker had returned his allegiance back to his old friend and he desperately wished the ranger would draw steel on him. The king’s sword hand itched.
“I’m here to ask for your guarantee that you will come when called. I do indeed have great projects in the works and the royal armies are still a mess. Harmarty was not strong. He had a mind for the arts and did not have the stomach for war—our numbers are bolstered but the recruits are still too green. I am asking you directly, will you answer when I call?” He locked eyes with the three, in turn.
“Absolutely,” Pinchôt pledged with no hesitation.
“Even if it might mean taking up arms against these krist-chin zealots?”
Grirrg nodded resolutely. Pinchôt interjected, “You can count on every member of the Narsh Barbarians.”
Rutheir stared down Jaker. “And Rogis’ Rangers?”
Jaker held the man’s gaze intently. “We are the best at what we do and we are always ready to work any job we find agreeable to us.” His guts ate at him; Jaker hated diplomacy.
A wild spark flashed in the king’s eyes as recognized the ranger’s hedging on the topic. “See to it that you are ready when I call. If the Rogis’ Rangers intend to continue existing, they had best understand the power this crown wields.” He flexed a muscle as he nonchalantly made a tight fist.
Jaker nodded, and even Pinchôt winced at his peer’s sudden vulnerability.
***
In the morning, the Christians rose early and climbed aboard their mounts. They traveled unmolested along the well-worn path and rode without any remaining fear of their identities being discovered. The nearest trails remained deserted and they’d gone a lengthy distance with plenty of miles now separating them from Grinden.
Jibbin had been prompted to rise far too early for his liking; he quickly fell back asleep against the saddle horn. Rashnir hugged the boy to himself with one arm and held the reigns with his other.
The group rode fairly at ease amongst the forest; for the first time since leaving they were able to freely ride and converse openly with one another without fear of discovery. The few travelers they did pass looked frightened enough of the nearby forest’s reputation that they kept to the overgrown, rocky parts of the trails which laced the foothills of the mountains. None came close enough to the Christians to pay them heed beyond a cursory nod.
As they traveled, Kevin explained to them that he planned to leave many of them behind in the town of Driscul. It was his intention to start a missionary work there. At the very least, he hoped to get a good reading on the dispositions of the people and gauge the intensity of local Luciferian activities. Perhaps some of their camp would travel that way after they broke with Grinden and it might pay to have established some local contacts.
The journey north through the forest would take about a half-day and lead them to Driscul. The trip was significantly shorter than the long road around the forest and passing through the town of Alad, Alad remained a little too close to Grinden to begin building secondary efforts within. Kevin hoped that his team would succeed in their assignment in Driscul. He’d hoped to end his third day’s travel in Sprazik, a town just inside Gleend’s border and only a few hours ride from Havara’s home in Xorst.
Kevin spent much of his time charging Rashnir, Zeh-Ahbe’, Shinna, and Nipanka with their tasks. He explained the types of things that they were to look for in the people of Driscul as they gathered intelligence.
“If you find that someone is especially receptive to the gospel and you feel that the Spirit is leading you to witness to them, by all means do what God calls you to do. But try not to draw attention to yourselves or do anything majorly revolutionary which would draw the attention of Rutheir or the arch-mage. We are in the planning and preparation stages and sharing your beliefs has now become a criminal activity. If someone becomes a Christian there, though, immediately start discipling them; teach them the things of the word and pray with them, encouraging them to be baptized in the Holy Spirit: that is the source of a great comfort and power for them to live a worthy life in the face of the evils pressing in from every side.
“They will have to depart with us for the west in the end, but say nothing of the Christian settlement in Grinden unless they desire to travel with us after I return. I have every intention of sending a group of Christians to the Driscul area to evangelize after we have left Grinden.”
The morning stretched on and Jibbin’s young energy had finally welled up, making the boy squirm with frustration. Werthen brought his horse alongside of Rashnir’s.
“Hey, Jibbin.”
The boy’s big, brown eyes turned to Werthen.
“If you sit still and be very careful, I will let you hold these,” he patted one of the two canvas sacks that were fastened about his neck with a long sling.
The little boy nodded vigorously. He reached out his arms to take a sack from his friend.
Werthen unslinged his bag and patted it gently. “Remember, you must be very careful. You cannot drop them, and don’t take them out. You can play with them if you keep them in the bag. This outside pocket has some toys in it.” The ferreter opened a clasp on the pocket and pulled out a few of the nick-knacks that his ferrets enjoyed playing with.
He gently handed the boy the bag. Jibbin cradled the bag against his stomach and peeked inside at the fuzzy pile of sleeping ferrets. He affectionately rubbed them as they slept against his belly.
Thanks, Werthen, Rashnir indicated with a nod. The young man nodded back.
“I used to have a brother about his age,” Werthen stated a while later, still riding abreast. “He died when he was still young. He succumbed to the fever.” The ferreter blinked back a tear at the memory.
Rashnir bobbed his head sympathetically and Werthen chose not to speak of it further. Sharing pain was a privilege among men and by the telling and the listening they’d both become a part of a bigger narrative.
The group traveled on throughout the day. Jibbin was content for the journey. He took it as his personal responsibility to keep those ferrets occupied, and he did as well of a job as anyone could.
***
Jorge kept busy in Kevin’s absence, despite the unease in his gut. He kept up the normal morning meetings with the remaining leaders. Rah’-be and Sil-tarn turned out to be people who Jorge felt he coul
d trust. If he gave them an assignment, they would immediately find the means and manpower to see it done quickly and efficiently.
He had set Miklaw and Drowdan up together to organize the invitations and home visits to farms and family settlements on the outskirts. Together, they were familiar with most of those families because of their professions. Drowdan knew many of them from his former business as an animal farrier, and Miklaw had a natural way of communicating with them, previously a farmer himself.
Rondhale and Jhonnic volunteered to set up the grounds for Kevin’s last message. Former blacksmiths, they were proficient at working with their hands and had begun construction of a simple, raised platform from which Kevin could preach. They selected a slightly raised hillock to build upon. The mound rose due west of the settlement, on the edge of the Quey forest. A natural wall seemed to form around the position and rounded to cradle the preacher’s stage with a bowl-like shape. The seating area, on a downward slope, looked upward slightly; the natural amphitheater was a perfect place for any sort of audience. As long as the preacher stayed toward the front, Kevin would remain easily seen and heard.
With Kevin’s hand-picked leaders assuming duties and directing people, Jorge found he could focus a great deal of time on training the groups in self-defense. He kept mental note of which students showed the most promise; Kevin’s previous vision of battle weighed heavily in his mind.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 36