The massive human gruffed as he walked a large item. Mankra’s warlord chief stood nearly the size of a bear and would have dwarfed even Rutheir had he been there. He looked around with his hardened, crazy eyes and took the whole thing in as he toured the circuit.
The acolyte stood in his spot and watched the beast of a man try to comprehend what he was looking at. Wynn kept his eyes off of the massive muscles and tribal tattoos. He knew he could kill this pretender—though not likely in open combat. To have risen so meteorically over the ranks of other Mankran Warlords and assumed the position as Chief was no small feat. Wynn preferred cunning over brute strength and that was an altogether different sort of violence.
“What is it?” Khadron finally asked as he returned and glanced at the rows and rows of casks. They’d been painted different colors to avoid confusion on the setup team.
“I thought you said you knew.”
Khadron glared down at the pastry-skinned acolyte. “I said I knew what the arch-mage wanted. When Absinthium calls, even Khadron answers—so long as we are agreed and this satisfies The Order’s tax and they stay clear of Mankra for another year.”
Wynn nodded as he unfurled a sheaf of papers and diagrams. He did not try to hide his disdain for outsourcing such an intricate task to psychotic brutes from the north. “It is an ark,” Wynn explained as he brandished the diagram and pointed to the map. “It carries death and destruction for our enemies so long as you hold up your end of the bargain with the proper sacrifice.”
Khadron turned to stare at the massive box. The size of three buildings, the immense wooden rectangle rested upon row after row of wheels in the shade of the mountainside shelf it had been built underneath.
The warlord scoffed. “I don’t see how you plan to get the thing to its destination,” he jabbed a finger into the map. “You should’ve built the thing closer to the Gathering.”
Wynn pointed to the clearing beyond the edge of the hangar where Luciferian craftsmen had built the machine under the Caisson-Master’s direction. He’d drawn a massive magic circle which waited for the ark.
“Shall I call for a crew of conscripts to push it for you?”
Khadron glared down at the acolyte and curled his lip in challenge. He turned and sprinted towards the clearing. The barbarian snatched up the massive cable affixed to the box as he passed and clambered up the rear of his wooly mammoth mount.
The warrior chief clipped the lines to the beast’s harness and urged it forward. Groaning under the stress, the animal doubled down and crept ahead. A few minutes later, the ark, Khadron, and his mammoth occupied the circle.
“Don’t forget the barrels and the rest of the reagents on this list! Do not let your berserkers fail—they must draw the sigils exactly and in the proper order.”
Khadron only glared in response. The Mankran resented being thought of as simple and Wynn could feel the ire rolling off of Khadron. Wynn met his glare unflinchingly. Once this plan was released into the wild it could not be altered or called back and Wynn did not like entrusting it to others.
“Mankra knows what is required,” he said balefully. Suddenly, in a wink of light flashed and they were gone. Nothing remained but a thin layer of ash, as if the ark, mount, and rider evaporated into a burst of molecules; the whole thing disappeared—cast through the ether by the eldritch force of Wynn’s spell.
Chapter 6
The Christians left in Driscul gathered near the main road and awaited the return of Kevin, Kyrius, and Werthen. They’d brought their food with and enjoyed the day together, making an event of it along with the friends they’d made in the town.
The number of the Christians in Driscul had grown since their stay; the Message spread like a wildfire after the destruction of exaporeh’-omahee’s shrine and deaths of his despairing under-demons; a stronghold broken in that city and people suddenly shook free from the pall of suicidal thoughts which held sway over them. In the colorful days that followed, people smiled more and took joy in little things they’d previously grown blind to. The men and women of Driscul were inexplicably drawn to the innate joy of those outsiders who had visited.
The Grinden team had invited a number of their new peers to wait with them and meet Kevin who’d gained a sort of celebrity in his absence. Katerna sat with them, her parents Thaadim and Erki stayed with her; they had opened a small house church in the Full Flagon Inn.
Kadoz was there as well, with his wife Napthta and their two little girls, Ezer and Rhabba. Kadoz would barely move from Rashnir’s side after the warrior set him free from the devourers at the Luciferian altar. Napthta’s parents were there as well. Kadoz had long been a fisherman who worked the waters with his father-in-law; the very next morning, the unexpected joy overtook the city with its stark and welcome contrast. He told his father-in-law what happened to him: how he’d been saved.
That small group of zealous converts couldn’t contain their enthusiasm and at least one new family joined their ranks each day. The Christian population quickly grew past fifty in Driscul, and the number continued growing. Something in these people craved hope all the more earnestly after suffering in so much despondency for so long.
The sun meandered through the sky as the day passed and the group spent most of their time sharing personal stories. Rashnir kept an eye on Jibbin who played with Ezer and Rhabba. Kadoz’s little girls were only a little older than he was and they, too, enjoyed playing with Werthen’s ferrets as the critters romped playfully around the children’s’ legs. Jibbin still refused to speak but he opened up a little more each and every day, allowing bits of happiness to crack through. Rashnir understood his pain and did not pressure him to speak.
As afternoon drew on, the Christians could see a trio of riders coming on the road from Gleend. Their friends, returning from Xorst, waved in the distance.
Kevin raised his impressed eyebrows on arrival in Driscul. He embraced his friends at the first available opportunity and introductions were made all around. In high spirits they returned to the Full Flagon Inn for the evening. They would make their departure the next day, but for now, the people of Driscul enjoyed the privilege of hearing from Kevin, whom they had heard so much about during the last few days.
The Grinden group stayed awake late and recounted everything that had happened. With great excitement, Zeh-Ahbe’ showed Kevin his new scald mark and explained to him how it had transformed. Rashnir told him about the destruction of the altar and the fall of the demonic stronghold. Shinna spoke about how Katerna came to faith, and then her whole family after her. Nipanka and the others each shared stories of open doors and opportunity.
Kevin, in turn, enthusiastically told his friends about his trip to Gleend where he’d met King Lo-sonom. He grinned and reported that the king finally found the Truth he was seeking; all the answers to the questions he’d pondered were answered with faith in Christ. The entire royal family joined the King in his faith. They planned to officially oppose the Luciferian church in Gleend, a course that could potentially jeopardize their safety—even the stability of the country. They accepted the consequences even if it might eventually cost them their lives.
For the time being, the royal family chose to live a quiet Christian life and to wait for the strength and best opportunity to spread this light in their country. They remained uncertain of exactly how to proceed for the time being. They wanted to share the message, but also felt obligated to lead and guide the people of this country; Lo-sonom felt torn between the duty of his crown and the desire to evangelize and head west with the rest.
Kevin intended to send him help as soon as the Grinden Christians relocated. King Lo-sonom had an incredible opportunity to spread the Word, but it would likely cost him everything. The king was prepared to give that and more.
After much discussion, they finally retired for the evening. A long journey home waited for them on the next morning and they would need their rest. At the end of the next leg of this journey was yet
another.
***
After breakfast in the morning, Nipanka pulled Kevin aside for a quick word. He wanted to stay behind in Driscul and help guide the work of the new Christians there. They could receive another group after the teams left from Grinden. Once that group came to Driscul, they could join them and move on, working together to reach other communities; the delay would give them enough advance notice to pack and prepare.
Nipanka recommended that Ersha take his spot on the leadership council.
“She is a very capable woman,” Nipanka said, speaking of one of their traveling companions. “I believe that the people you put me in charge of in Grinden would be very receptive to her leadership.”
Kevin nodded his head. “I will discuss it with her and the rest of the leaders. You will be missed, but I am sure that you know God’s will in this matter. The people of Driscul need mature guidance until we return, and this must be a God thing. Had you not volunteered, I would have asked you to pray about considering this.”
When the rest of the Christians readied their horses for the journey, Nipanka walked among them and said his goodbyes. His friends prayed over him and commissioned him for the work he’d volunteered for. The remainder climbed into their saddles and began the return.
Their journey went much in the same manner as the previous; they left closer to mid-day so that their entry back into Grinden could happen under a veil of darkness. Although, with The Order welcoming ekthro such as the dark-sighted goblins, even that might not conceal them from Luciferian eyes as much as hoped for. They kept a similar pace as before, taking the same roads.
They rode the second day in full view of the highest mountain peak and its dormant dragon perched at the summit. It cast a shadow before them like a giant sundial; the shade seemed to cast a palsy over the group’s spirit until the sun climbed high enough to throw its adumbration into a different direction.
Finally, they camped for the last night alongside the forests that had banked them against the mountain footings that entire day. Kevin eagerly anticipated their return so he could continue with his plans for one final evangelism push before their exodus which would eventually lead them to the western gate and the exit of this realm.
Kyrius again stood sentry against the possible dangers of night. Ten days had passed since they left the settlement near Grinden. Ten of them were returning. Those men and women slept hard under Kyrius’ protection and something in Kyrius’s spirit told him they would need their energy over the next few days, more than they could even realize.
***
A shadow flew through the night, flitting silently past the face of the low-hanging moon. The acolyte guided his beast through the air. He’d sat for days with his dread demon master and knew exactly how critical this mission was to him.
The winged dragon-kin swooped downward, angling itself so that it achieved speeds greater than its terminal velocity. The beast flapped massive wings and drew near its target, counter-thrusting with powerful beats to slow the descent. Banking hard, the wyvern curved around the highest tower of Grinden’s temple and crouched into a nimble landing just in front of the main doors.
Rolling out of the custom saddle, the wyvern rider dropped to the ground. Prock secretly enjoyed the looks of dread plastered on the faces of people as they scattered before his scaly beast. He untied several bundled saddlebags and set them gently on the ground before removing a small flute from his satchel and playing a shrill melody.
Propelled by its powerful legs, the black, reptilian monster leapt back into the sky. It spread its wings, found a warm air current, and ascended back into the night. The wyvern would ride the thermals around Grinden and await another hypersonic tune to call it back.
Prock hefted his packages and went inside the temple. The final bell tolled even as he passed the threshold, calling the loyal members of the church to another service. A service slated for this evening was special; Absinthium himself planned to preach to the congregation. The arch-Mage promised to reveal a solution to the destructive weapons of the krist-chins.
The packages Prock bore were the reason beh’-tsah had sent him back to Grinden. He’d been called to the Babel heavens to learn from the demon how to reproduce the alchemical serum he’d ferried: the ‘ãbêdâh elixir. Absinthium was needed locally for political matters and Prock was his most talented acolyte. Given his monstrous mount, he was also the most suitable courier for the weapon enchantment serum devised by the cunning demon.
Absinthium was not difficult to locate. Loyal masses surrounded him; many wanted to merely touch him. He’d always been something of a celebrity, but the people of Grinden massed around him like an entourage. They stepped aside, though, for the acolyte. He exuded an angry spirit which made people step aside whenever he crossed their path: an aura of danger.
He bowed before his master and silently presented his packages.
Absinthium smiled a grin of zealous ambition. He directed his minion to the proper place deposit the packages and then allowed the acolyte to fade into the background. He’d completed his task and could wait to be called on at the ach-mage’s will.
Absinthium pulled one box of the ‘ãbêdâh serum from its casing. The small wooden chest, when opened, brandished several slots firmly holding stoppered vials in place.
He removed a vial and uncorked it. Absinthium held the flask up to the light and swished the fluid back and forth, observing its viscosity.
The liquid looked more like slime. Lightly tinted red, it had a transparent quality. When it was polished onto a weapon or object, it was supposed to become resistant, to a degree, to the attacks of the enemies’ flaming swords.
Taking a rag, Absinthium dabbed a large portion of ‘ãbêdâh solution onto the cloth and rubbed the solution all over his wizard’s staff; few things in the realm were as valuable to him as his personal toqeph. The concoction smelled spicy, like sweat and cloves. He put the cork back into the flask and slipped it into his pocket.
At the appointed time, he made his way onstage and took a seat of honor beside Frinnig. The priest would make an introduction for him, not that he needed one in this town or many others. The service went as expected. Frinnig’s subordinate Zilke had been sent on an important training mission at Absinthium’s behest, so Frinnig opened the service with the usual ceremony and chants. Then the temple leader called on his hero, the arch-mage.
Before he even spoke Absinthium had the crowd utterly beguiled. He opened by briefly reaffirming those things that Frinnig had told them about the krist-chin threat. He spoke of the dangers they posed and of how they were little more than bandits who preyed on the weak of heart, at best, and heretical terrorists plotting an overthrow of the government, at worst.
“The biggest problem that we have had with this dangerous sect,” the arch-mage said, “is that your friends and relatives keep listening to them. They could not exist if we were not susceptible to their lies and spells. Thankfully, many of you have recognized this and returned your loyalties to the true church: the Luciferian order. A lot of you have officially disowned and cast out those family members who have joined this cult; that is a good thing to do, I tell you that they would have done the same to you and would murder you in your sleep, should their leader command it.
“One sure solution: never suffer a krist-chin to speak. They can enslave the weak of mind with their words and shackle the will of the unsuspecting. Flee from any krist-chin who tries to proselytize you.
“I also have a solution to the other dilemma. Problem number two is how we will defend against their attacks. Their magical weapons are able to destroy all others. The demon I am devoted to, the dread lord beh’-tsah, has provided a solution to this problem. He has developed a protection serum for us. He is the archetype of benevolence as he labors for our cause. He provided us with the means to stop this threat here and now! This cult must not be allowed to spread. It is like a plague and many will fall if it is allowed to go unchecke
d.”
Absinthium produced the vial of heavy, viscous elixir and brandished it before the congregation. “I know I said, ‘Flee from any krist-chin who tries to proselytize you.’ It would be even better if you could kill them, instead.
“This is the protection serum that our dread lord concocted.” Absinthium snapped his fingers and Prock stepped out from the shadows where he’d stood. “This is one of my faithful bodyguards,” he informed the assemblage.
“Your weapons,” the mage commanded.
The Acolyte withdrew both of his kamas and handed them to Absinthium. The mage uncorked the bottle and withdrew the rag he had used earlier to apply the fluid to his toqeph. He made a show of buffing every part of the weapon.
“This oil, when polished onto your weapon, will protect you from the destructive powers of the krist-chin blades. You no longer need to fear them and their weapons of magic. Our defense against their lies will be a heavy offense.”
He shook the little vial of fluid and pointed to Jandul at the back of the temple. The master at arms had set up a table with jars ready for distribution.
“Jandul is staffing the table in the back. When we are concluded here, you may purchase some of this remarkable potion for yourselves. When we run out, and I am sure that we will, we will make more; it will be available at all times here in the temple.”
The mage went on to talk about current political issues and urged the people to sign up for the military or urge their children and relations to do so if they had passed the age of any useful service. Absinthium told of his grand plans to create a country where church and crown intertwined cohesively. The church’s leadership and direction would be flawless and everyone would benefit by it.
Absinthium grinned deviously. The people were pliable, as usual; like clay, their minds were easily molded and manipulated by a master potter such as Absinthium. Seeds of discontent were simple to plant, easily nurtured, and quickly grew into solid vines of bitterness and spite.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 40