tyr-aPt grinned. The Luciferians had helped the under-kingdom further their own agenda far more than they could ever know. It was access to their archives and training which gave them the knowledge that grr'Shaalg needed to solidify his control over the entire race. The hidden secrets in their tomes had also revealed snippets of lore that led him to discover the second vial, the one with the mysterious glowing substance.
[Yes, brother, sit back and relax. I have everything under control and well ahead of schedule. Very soon all goblins of the underworld will be united under a common banner—the standard of our own house, and I will be in control and you just behind me. Yes…very soon.]
***
Rashnir walked into the camp area. Zeh-Ahbe’ followed behind his friend, handing off his stack of firewood for another person to put away.
They caged the falcon just as Jibbin jumped up onto Rashnir’s lap.
“What’s that?” the little boy asked.
“It’s a letter from Kevin,” Rashnir explained to his ward. It made him happy to hear the boy finally speaking.
Jibbin had, for a long while, refused to speak at all. His silent phase began right after his parents and siblings were murdered in front of him. That was at the beginning of the Luciferian persecution at Grinden. Rashnir stumbled upon the gang as they assaulted his family and killed them all; only Jibbin had survived. Rashnir promised Jibbin’s dying father that he would look after the boy and raise him properly. It wasn’t until he faced off against the Dragon Impervious that Rashnir had ever heard Jibbin speak.
Zeh-Ahbe' and Rashnir read the letter together. It was a letter of encouragement. Kevin was optimistic about their plans in Ninda; he really liked their idea about presenting the gospel message as a drama.
The letter also briefly outlined the plans that some of the other ministry teams had made. They all had different paths to travel, but for the meanwhile, many of those roads still ran parallel.
Zeh-Ahbe’ and his friend passed the letter around to others for encouragement from their friend and mentor. Every person in the camp had some sort of connection to the preacher who helped open their eyes to the Truth. It comforted and reassured them to read his confident words.
***
Absinthium clung tightly to the back of the griffin that bore him at top speed. Streaking across the sky toward the capital of Jand, he did not notice the lone traveler walking across the harsh Briganik soil. This solitary observer also came from the Temple of Light and had his own agenda—one that would very soon cross the path of the arch-mage and even of the Gathering itself.
Chapter Two
Kevin led his company eastward into Gleend. The opposing Nindan and Jandish armies did not disperse. They would make certain that the infidel cultists had indeed departed their lands before they dared turn back for their capitals.
Looking westward, the preacher could barely see as his friends slipped across the distant horizon, traveling into Lol. On the northern side Kevin could still barely make out Rah’-be’s team walking along the border, also heading east on a more distant voyage.
Their goodbyes had been long and officious while they waited between borders, but Kevin understood how hard it would be for many of them in the times to come. He was not usually one for drawn-out goodbyes, but he was patient and could understand how many people needed the formality—he did not have years of ties or the bonds of blood with his flock. Those who were parting knew that they might not see their friends and kinsmen again for many years; it might not be until after death.
Kevin’s group, along with a group led by Rondhale, traveled to the town of Sprazik. On his previous journey to Xorst, the capital city of Gleend, Kevin had stayed one night in an inn at Sprazik.
He had originally gone to meet with Gleend’s monarch, King Lo-sonom. A man regarded as having a gift of great wisdom and a skilled, but blunt mediator. The king, his two wives, and his brother Havara had all become Christians. Since that trip, Kevin had come to love much about the country and held great expectations. Havara had talked about steering it to become a Christian state that might contend with the Luciferian powers that grew to consume Jand.
Kevin talked with Rondhale as they walked amidst the traveling crowd at a gentle amble. He was excited to return to the same little hostel where he had slept on his last time through Sprazik.
“The Dry Bunk is its name. I came through the area with Havara on my first visit,” Kevin explained.
“The food is decent, so were the lodgings, not that we require them, but the staff seemed very receptive to our mission. There was this boy who worked there, a slave actually, who I keep thinking of. He was a Cyclops from the land of Nod.”
Rondhale shuddered at the thought, “I have heard of their kind. Wretched folk, the land of Nod is filled with the most frightening types of men. I think that it is chiefly because of fear that civilized men have never prevailed in settling that continent—nobody has tried in hundreds of years.”
“You’re right, to a degree,” Kevin said. “This poor slave cannot even speak; some kind of tongue paralysis has made him mute and it led to the expulsion from his community. That’s how he came to be a slave. His family sold him and he was traded around until he wound up in Sprazik.”
Kevin continued, “The cyclopeans are apparently born completely normal, but a child’s parents will gouge out one eye and fit them with a brace that they crank every day as they grow, pulling the remaining eye towards the center of the head. I imagine that it is extremely painful.”
“So I have heard,” Rondhale said, “Few people venture to trade with them, if they have the courage, so, we have only a little bit of knowledge of their ways. I’ve heard that the eye gouging is done in some kind of ceremony to devote the child to some kind of demonic deity, something forbidden even by the Order.”
Kevin held up a Luciferian tome that he had acquired before meeting Rashnir. “I have used this book to research a great deal of Luciferian lore. Most of the information is deplorable. It is so skewed and incorrect, but at least it gives me a glimpse of what commoners believe… what their perception of history is. In the very early days of this realm, the cyclopeans were the first high-ranking priests of the Luciferian Order; apparently, there was some sort of major shift in the system when the Gathering was formed.”
“The stories say that the cyclopses are cannibals and have their own dark arts, their own kinds of witchcrafts,” Rondhale said. “Even the Luciferian Order opposes their cultus. Blood magic is frowned upon—it has too much in common with the vampires. With no civilized influences in the land of Nod, the cyclopeans have been left largely alone in the hopes that they would devour each other.
“A horrible existence. I cannot imagine growing up in such a home.” Rondhale wrung his hands, squeezing them as his thoughts turned to the dead. “I couldn’t imagine eating anyone, let alone a brother.”
“Yes, I have heard those same stories, too. I assume that there is so much more to these people than that, though. For my part, I found the mute boy to be quite pleasant.”
***
Krimko shimmied with glee at his new assignment. After identifying and containing a krist-chin outbreak in the local prison near his station at the monastic college outside of Grinden, he’d earned the favor of the highest mage of his own order: Absinthium. The arch-mage and prophet was ecstatic over Krimko’s fervor and actions; the weasel-faced man set fire to the prison, incinerating any vestiges of the dreaded cult. He would not let the potential spread of the faith ripple through the prisoners and he took great pride in his role as the cleanser of Grinden.
The army had uprooted the cancerous sect from their encampment at the quarry. He was ready to do his part to subdue the remainder of these dangerous cultists.
Krimko glanced around as his caravan entered the Nindan parliamentary grounds and smiled. Absinthium had personally commissioned him for this role, sending him as his personal emissary to the Nindan government. His
traveling company included the Grinden combat master Jandul, the mercenary Pinchôt, and a few of his chosen men from the mercenary clans, plus a few choice Luciferian monks.
Pinchôt looked both relieved and irked by his inclusion in the cavalcade. He had made it no secret that he loathed his post at Dyule's side; an appointment as the regent's personal bodyguard felt beneath the warrior. This trip was a relief from those duties, at least, but Krimko and the Steward of Grinden had much in common: on the few occasions that they had met, they had gotten along quite well. Perhaps the similarity was what vexed the warrior.
The leader, and only surviving member of the Narsh Barbarians guild, only recently recovered enough to leave the infirmary. Red, raised patches of skin mottled any exposed body parts and painful jagged lines crisscrossed his flesh. Much of his face suffered wounds given to him by the werewolf, Zeh-Ahbe’, and he would certainly bear scars all his life. Treatments by Luciferian monks had saved his life.
Dyule was on the political fast track. He was even now being installed as the Minister of Jand as the Luciferian Order restructured the entire kingdom, solidifying the total alliance of church and state. That was the reason that the arch-mage could not greet the parliament himself. Jandish political affairs required all of his attention.
Krimko, Jandul, and Pinchôt left the others to attend to the animals that had brought them. The spacious courtyard was perfectly suited to their needs. Krimko knew that he had little need of protection amongst the Nindans. He had cast a protection spell that would alert him to any danger, but he took the two warriors with him nonetheless.
The Luciferian expected that the meeting would be more of a formality anyway—the archmage had not cleared him to engage in any kind of political deal-making, anyhow. The foreign Parliament would assemble to officially pledge their support to the Luciferian cause, giving the Order a backdoor into their workings and allow for another union of religion and government in the bordering country—something that promised to bring a new flow of wealth to the country.
As the threesome entered the ceremonial building they were greeted officiously by different individuals. None of them had met previously. They were treated respectfully, nonetheless, as if they carried all the weight and authority of the great Absinthium.
Krimko twisted his devious smile into something that seemed more sincere, cloaking himself in an aura of charisma that his tiny frame did not deserve. Pinchôt stayed just close enough to feign interest in his own role as the Luciferian’s bodyguard. Jandul shadowed Krimko; the flowing robes of a combat master disguising the fact that, whether armed or not, he would be a dangerous adversary.
A trio of diplomats approached to greet Absinthium’s envoy in the antechamber that preceded the parliamentary hall. The foremost of the three wore the most regal vestments and seemed most likely to be a district Lord. Those two flanking him might be sectional rulers of high rank.
Sectional rulers often had important roles in Ninda’s parliamentary process. They were allowed to cast votes, although their vote only counted as half when compared to a district Lord. Each Lord was allowed two sectional rulers who might be recruited at the Lord’s discretion from any Nindan source except for the slave caste. They were often secretly courted and bribed for their half-vote by other politicians.
“Greetings, Magi-pedagogue. I am Fajill, son of Grist,” the Lord introduced himself, identifying his district. “These are my associates, Tat and Parnam.” The two sectional rulers bowed regally.
“A pleasure,” Krimko replied diplomatically. He merely returned their formality. The Grist district had little influence. If there was a ranking system for the districts of Ninda, the Grist lands would be among the lowest rungs.
“These are my attendants…”
Krimko backpedaled frantically as the men from Grist suddenly snapped. With twitching eyes, a wild-eyed rage overcame them. They lashed out violently at their Luciferian visitors.
In a heartbeat, Pinchôt and Jandul stepped in to defend their ward. As the mercenary drew steel, the combat master slipped his hands to the inner folds of his robes and pulled them out, sheathed in his weapon of choice for close combat.
The t'phar he wore, a ring-like metal band that his hand slipped into, glinted menacingly in the light. On the palm side of the band, small, curved claws that could aid in climbing or gouging deep wounds; from the top of the band protruded three sword-like claws for trapping blades or delivering killing blows. His claws gleamed a faint red, coated in the ‘ãbêdâh serum that made the Luciferian weapons able to resist the destructive blades wielded by their krist-chin enemies.
Jandul leapt forward and coated them a brighter red as he ripped open the attackers. Between the rending blows from the t’phar and the precise strikes of Pinchôt’s blades, the three Grist assassins didn’t have a remote chance of survival.
Several of the other Nindan diplomats ran to the scene as soon as it unfolded. Seconds after it began, the danger was over. Falling over themselves to apologize, the Lords gave their full assurances that they did not sanction any sort of attack. They had never in their history ratified an attack on the parliamentary grounds, and couldn’t according to their charter.
Pinchôt examined the bodies of the dead. The pockets of all three were stuffed with some kind of white flower petals. A servant leaned over his shoulder as he examined them.
“Fajill was always chewing on those things,” he said. “Everyone always thought that he was on the edge, of his sanity I mean. But whenever he chewed on these, he seemed much worse. Illiac made him crazy, at times.”
Jandul sniffed their faint aroma as he crushed them underfoot. “Antigo Vale?” he wondered with a mutter.
Krimko scowled. “It’s faint, but it reminds me of the pleasant aroma I noticed the first time I met Absinthium.” He waved the silly notions away. “But the Vale has been abandoned for decades.”
The Parliament officially convened and heaped apologies upon the Luciferian Order for the unfortunate incident and pledged to give them whatever support the church demanded. Ninda recognized that their fallible political system was minuscule compared to the far-reaching arms of such a benevolent religion.
Krimko smiled. Another country slipped under Absinthium’s thrall as the servants cleared away the bodies of the drug-addled attackers.
***
Mar’zal and Bwar stood at the entrance to the great chasm. Walls towered overhead, seeming to stretch to the sky. The path underfoot descended sharply, and any further distance would plunge the two into darkness, hence their hesitation.
Standing tall, Mar'zal held his brow high and noble. The ranking elf on Gleend's advisory council peered warily at the dwarf next to him. Bwar, an Under Dwarf, was his counterpart on the council. They both knew that they would not be seeing any of the humans from the council today.
Together, they served on a group of politicians that advised King Lo-Sonom. The triumvirate of races had operated for generations in unison—but a unity of self-interest, only. The dwarves cared not for the elves, and vice-versa. Neither of the ekthroic races cared for the humans.
Glaring with milky, white eyes, Bwar grunted at the elf. “We might get on with it, anytime you’re ready to move.” He’d always been surlier than his counterparts, nursing a lifelong grudge.
He gruffed as he lit a lantern to light the way. As a child, he’d been sent to the surface world to serve, and eventually become, a diplomat. Bwar’s eyes did not reflect light in a cat-like manner that let him see in the low light of the subterranean realms. He was broken and not like rest of the Under Dwarves. His appointment to the surface world was because of faulty genetics, and everyone knew it.
Mar’zal glanced down at his stocky companion. Neither was happy about the other’s presence. They had both received the same invite with instructions that brought them to this place, at this time.
Bwar returned the elf’s scowl. Their affairs had crossed more often than they cared for
in recent days.
The elf feigned confidence and walked forward, into the darkness, scorning the depth-blind dwarf. Bwar following on his heels, grousing under his breath.
As their eyes adjusted to the lantern light they saw the cast-off debris and garbage that littered the floor of the great rift. The trail was relatively clear; a central path kept fairly uncluttered by various scavengers and by larval skolaxis. The revolting grubs chittered happily. The size of dogs, they would soon mature into the large worms often pressed into service by goblinoids. At this stage, a skolax was harmless, but they would soon metamorphose into a much larger, much more dangerous creature. The giant serpent-insect hybrids moved swiftly on their many jointed legs.
Mar’zal and Bwar continued to pace off a preset distance that they had been given. It took an effort to ignore the creatures that scavenged upon the excrement-coated walls so they kept their heads down.
So far behind them, the entrance to the abyss offered no light. Overhead, the open sky hung above them sandwiched between the canyon walls, but so far above that their path remained completely dark.
High above, the city of Xorst sat upon a rift that split the Gleendish capital with the seemingly infinite chasm. The two citizens of that above-ground world spotted an artificial light in the distance. The illumination shone in the murky dinge and grew stronger as they approached.
Bwar stubbed his foot on something in the dark; it skittered off into the distance, making loud noises as it clattered against the stony floor. The clatter seemed to continue long after it began. What they’d assumed was an echo ebbed into a distinguished sound of its own: a droning, scratching noise, as rhythmic as it was horrid.
The elf and dwarf finally reached the source of the light. Some kind of glowing crystal had been set upon a post. The noise grew louder and they could make out the source's shape as it emerged in the distance. A skolax mounted goblin halted at the shadow's edge.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 60