Legion Of Thunder

by Stan Nicholls

  'And if you don't?'

  Lekmann shrugged.

  'Well, stories are my currency. Why not?'

  'Suppose you'll give us something meant to frighten idiots,' Aulay grumbled. 'Like some tale sung by fairies about trolls eating babies, or the doings of the fearsome Sluagh. You word weavers are all the same.'

  'No, that's not what I had in mind.'

  'What then?'

  'You mentioned the Unis earlier. Thought I might give you one of their little fables.'

  'Oh, no, not some religious trash.'

  'Yes and no. Want to hear it or not?'

  'Go ahead,' Lekmann sighed. 'I hope you're not too thirsty, though.'

  'Like most people you probably think of the Unis as narrow-minded, unbending fanatics.'

  'Sure as hell we do.'

  'And you'd be right about most of them. They do have a woeful number of zealots in their ranks. But not every one of them is like that. A few can bend a bit. Even see the funny side of their creed.'

  'That I find hard to believe.'

  'It's true. They're just plain folk, like you and me, apart from the hold their faith has on them. And it comes out in stories they sometimes tell. Stories they're careful to tell in secret, mind. These stories pass around and some of them come to me.'

  'You gonna get on with it?'

  'Do you know what the Unis believe? Roughly, I mean?'

  'Some.'

  'Then maybe you know that their holy books say their lone God started the human race by creating one man, Ademnius, and one woman, Evelaine.'

  Aulay sneered suggestively. 'One wouldn't be enough for me.'

  'We know this stuff,' said Lekmann impatiently. 'We ain't ignorant.'

  Serapheim ignored them. 'The Unis believe that in those first days God spoke directly to Ademnius, to explain what He was doing and what His hopes were for the life He'd made. So one day God came to Ademnius and said, "I have two pieces of good news and one piece of bad news for you. Which would you like to hear first?"

  ' "I'll have the good news first, please, Lord," Ademnius replied.

  ' "Well," God told him, "the first piece of good news is that I've created a wonderful organ for you called the brain. It will enable you to learn and reason and do all sorts of clever things."

  ' "Thank you, Lord," said Ademnius.

  ' "The second piece of good news," God told him, "is that I've created another organ for you called the penis." '

  The bounty hunters smirked. Aulay nudged Blaan's well-padded ribs with his elbow.

  ' "This will give you pleasure, and give Evelaine pleasure," ' Serapheim continued, ' "and it will let you make children to live in this glorious world I've fashioned for you."

  ' "That sounds wonderful," Ademnius said. "And what's the bad news?"

  ' "You can't use them both at the same time," God replied.'

  There was a moment's silence while the payoff soaked in, then the bounty hunters roared with crude laughter. Though Coilla thought it quite possible that Blaan didn't get it.

  'Not so much a story as a short jest, I grant you,' Serapheim said. 'But I'm glad it met with your approval.'

  'It was all right,' Lekmann agreed. 'And kind of true, I guess.'

  'Of course, as I said, it is customary to offer a coin or some other small token of appreciation.'

  The trio sobered instantly.

  Lekmann's face contorted with anger. 'Now you've gone and spoilt it.'

  'We was thinking more in terms of you paying us,' Aulay said.

  'As I told you, I have nothing.'

  Blaan grinned nastily. 'You'll have less than that when we've done with you.'

  Aulay did some stocktaking. 'You got a horse, a fine pair of boots, that fancy cloak. Maybe a purse, despite what you say.'

  ' 'Sides, you know too much about our business,' Lekmann finished.

  Notwithstanding the menacing atmosphere, Coilla was convinced that the storyteller wasn't fazed. Though it must have been as obvious to him as it was to her that these men were capable of murder just for the hell of it.

  Her attention was drawn by something moving on the plain. For a moment, hope kindled. But then she identified what she was looking at and realised it wasn't deliverance. Far from it.

  Serapheim hadn't noticed. Neither had the bounty hunters. They were set on enacting a violent scene. Lekmann had his sword raised and was moving in on the storyteller. The other two were following his lead.

  'We've got company,' she said.

  They stopped, looked at her, followed her gaze.

  A large group of riders had come into sight, well ahead of them. They were moving slowly from east to south-west, on a course that would bring them close, if not actually to the stream.

  Aulay cupped a hand to his forehead. 'What are they, Micah?'

  'Humans. Dressed in black, far as I can see. Know what I reckon? They're those Hobrow's men. Them . . . whatever they call themselves.'

  'Custodians.'

  'Right, right. Fuck this, we're out of here. Get the orc, Greever. Jabeez, the horses.'

  Blaan didn't move. He stood open-mouthed, staring at the riders. 'You reckon they ain't got no sense of humour, Micah?'

  'No, I don't! Get the horses!'

  'Hey! The stranger.'

  Serapheim was riding away, due west.

  'Forget him. We got more pressing business.'

  'Good thing we didn't do for him, Micah,' Blaan opined. 'It's bad luck to kill crazy people.'

  'Superstitious dolt! Move your fucking self!'

  They bundled Coilla on to her horse and took off at speed.

  9

  'Look at it!' Jennesta shrieked. 'Look at the scale of your failure!'

  Mersadion stared at the parchment wall map and trembled. It was littered with markers: red for the queen's forces, blue for the Uni opposition. They were roughly equal in number. That wasn't good enough.

  'We've suffered no losses as such,' he offered timorously.

  'If we had I would have fed you your own liver by now! Where are the gains?'

  'The war is complex, ma'am. We're fighting on so many fronts—'

  'I need no lectures on our situation, General! What I want is results!'

  'I can assure—'

  'This is bad enough,' she sailed on, 'but it's as nothing compared to the lack of progress in finding that wretched warband! Do you have news of them?'

  'Well, I—'

  'You do not. Have we heard from Lekmann's bounty hunters?'

  'They—'

  'No, you haven't.'

  Mersadion didn't dare remind her that bringing in the human bounty hunters had been her idea. He had quickly learned that Jennesta took credit for victories but saddled others with the blame for defeats.

  'I had hopes of you doing better than Kysthan, your late predecessor,' she added pointedly. 'I trust you're not going to disappoint me.'

  'Majesty—'

  'Be warned that as of now your performance is under even closer scrutiny.'

  'I—'

  This time he was interrupted by a light rap at the door.

  'Enter!' Jennesta commanded.

  One of her elf servants came in and bowed. The androgynous creature had a build so delicate its limbs looked fit to snap. Its complexion was almost translucent, and the fragility of its face was emphasised by golden hair and lashes. The eyes were fairest blue, the nose winsome.

  The elf pouted and lisped, 'Your Mistress of Dragons, my lady.'

  'Another incompetent,' Jennesta seethed. 'Send her in.'

  As a brownie, the hybrid progeny of a goblin and elf union, the dragon dam bore some resemblance to the servant. But she was more robust, and tall even by the norm of her lanky race. In keeping with tradition, she was dressed entirely in the reddish-brown colours of an autumnal woodland. Her only concessions to adornment were narrow gold bands at her wrists and neck.

  She acknowledged Jennesta's superior station with the tiniest bow of her head.

  As usual
in her dealings with underlings, the queen squandered no breath on niceties. 'I confess to being less than happy with your efforts of late, Glozellan,' she informed her.

  'Ma'am?' There was a piping quality to the brownie's voice, and a calm remoteness characteristic of her kind. Jennesta had been known to find it irritating.

  'In the matter of the Wolverines,' she emphasised with menacing deliberateness.

  'My handlers have followed your orders to the letter, Majesty,' Glozellan replied, an expression of self-esteem on her face that many would have equated with haughtiness. It was another trait of her proud race, and even more infuriating to the queen.

  'But you have not found them,' she said.

  'Your pardon, ma'am, but we did engage with the band on the battlefield near Weaver's Lea,' the dragon mistress reminded her.

  'And let them escape! Hardly an engagement! Unless you think merely spotting the renegades counts as such.'

  'No, Majesty. In fact they were pursued and narrowly avoided our attack.'

  'There's a difference?'

  'The uncertain nature of dragons means they are always unpredictable to some extent, ma'am.'

  'A bad artisan always blames her tools.'

  'I accept responsibility for my actions and those of my subordinates.'

  'That's as well. For in my service a responsibility shirked leads directly to consequences. And they aren't of an especially pleasant nature.'

  'I only make the point that dragons can be an erratic weapon, Majesty. They have notoriously obstinate wills.'

  'Then perhaps I should find a dam more capable of bending them.'

  Glozellan said nothing.

  'I thought I'd made my wishes clear,' Jennesta went on, 'but it seems I need to repeat myself. This is for your ears too, General.' Mersadion stiffened. 'Do not delude yourselves that there is any cause more vital than locating and returning to me the artifact stolen by the Wolverines.'

  'It might help, Majesty,' Glozellan said, 'if we knew what this artifact was, and why—'

  The sound of a weighty slap echoed off the stone walls. Glozellan's head whipped to one side under the impact. She staggered and raised a hand to her reddening cheek. A thin dribble of blood snaked from the corner of her mouth.

  'Mark that on account,' Jennesta told her, eyes blazing. 'You've asked before about the item I seek, and I repeat what I said then: it is none of your concern. There'll be more and worse if you persist with insubordination.'

  Glozellan returned her gaze with a silent, lofty stare.

  'All available resources will be devoted to the search,' the queen declared. 'And if you two don't give me what I want, I'll be looking for a new General and a new Mistress of Dragons. You might dwell on the form your . . . retirement would take. Now get out.'

  When they'd gone, Jennesta vowed to herself that she would be having a much more direct hand in things from now on. But she put that aside for the time being. There was something else on her mind. Something that greatly displeased her.

  Using another, less obvious door, she left the strategy room and descended a narrow, winding staircase. Footfalls reverberating, she trod subterranean passages to her private quarters in the bowels of the palace. Orc guards came to attention by the door as she swept in.

  Others were busy inside the spacious chamber, lugging buckets to a large, shallow wooden tub reinforced with metal hasps. They finished the chore while she stood impatiently watching. Once they were dismissed she settled by the tub and rippled her fingers through its tepid contents.

  The blood seemed adequate for her needs, but she was vexed to discover that a few small pieces of flesh had been left in it. When advocating this particular fluid as a medium, the ancients had been quite clear on it being as pure as possible. She made a mental note to remind the guards about the need for filtering, and to have a thrashing administered to underline the point.

  As the blood's surface was already thickening, she undertook the necessary incantations and entreaties. The glutinous ruby broth hardened further and took on a burnished look. At length a small area palpitated, swirled sluggishly and formed the semblance of a face.

  'You choose the damnedest moments, Jennesta,' the likeness complained. 'This is not a good time.'

  'You lied to me, Adpar.'

  'About what?'

  'About that which was taken from me.'

  'Oh, no, not that doleful subject again.'

  'Did you or did you not tell me that you knew nothing about the artifact I've been seeking?'

  'What you've been looking for I have no knowledge of. End of conversation.'

  'No, hold. I have ways, Adpar. Ways, and eyes looking out for me. And what I now know fits only with my artifact.' She grew thoughtful. 'Either that or . . .'

  'I feel one of your bizarre fancies coming on, dear.'

  'It's another, isn't it? You have another!'

  'I'm sure I don't know what—'

  'You deceitful bitch! You've been hoarding one in secret!'

  'I'm not saying I did or I didn't.'

  'That's as good as an admission coming from you.'

  'Look, Jennesta, it is possible that I had something not dissimilar to what you're looking for, but that's history now. It was stolen.'

  'Just like mine. How convenient. You don't expect me to believe that?'

  'I don't give a damn whether you believe it or not! Instead of persecuting me about your obsessions you should be concentrating on finding the thieves. If anybody's playing with fire, they are!'

  'Then you do know the object's significance! The significance of all of them!'

  'I just know it has to be something extreme for you to get so worked up about it.'

  A small eruption disturbed the dark red, coagulated skin. Another face formed and a new voice was added. 'She's right, Jennesta.'

  Adpar and Jennesta groaned simultaneously.

  'Stay out of this, prodnose!' Adpar snapped.

  'Why can we never have a conversation without you butting in, Sanara?' Jennesta grumbled.

  'You know why, sister; the bond is too close.'

  'More's the pity,' muttered Adpar.

  'This is no time for the usual petty squabbling,' Sanara cautioned. 'The reality is that a group of orcs have at least one of the instrumentalities. How can they possibly understand their awesome power?'

  'What do you mean, at least one?' Jennesta said.

  'Do you know for certain they haven't? Events are moving apace. We are entering a period when all things are possible.'

  'I've got it under control.'

  'Really?' Sanara commented sceptically.

  'Don't mind me,' Adpar sniffed, 'I've only got my own war to fight. I've plenty of time to sit here listening to you two swapping riddles.'

  'Perhaps you don't know what I'm talking about, Adpar, but Jennesta does. What she needs to understand is that the power should be harnessed for good, not evil, lest complete destruction be brought down on all of us.'

  'Oh, please,' Jennesta hissed sarcastically, 'not Sanara the martyr again.'

  'Think of me what you will, I'm used to it. Just don't underestimate what's about to be unleashed now the game's afoot.'

  'To hell with the pair of you!' Jennesta exclaimed, petulantly slashing her hand through the layer of crusty blood. The images disintegrated.

  She sat there for some time going over everything in her mind, and it was indicative of her character that she gave no credence to Sanara having a valid point, or giving Adpar the benefit of the doubt. Rather she resolved that the time was near to do something about at least one of her troublesome siblings.

  Mostly she burned at the thought of all the trouble the Wolverines had brought down on her. And of the punishment she would exact for it.

  Haskeer was still not sure if he was travelling in the right direction. He wasn't even entirely aware of his surroundings, and he was indifferent to the worsening northern climate.

  All that was real to him was the singing in his head. It drove
him mercilessly, impelling him further and faster on a bearing which, if he thought about it at all, he trusted would take him to Cairnbarrow.

  The trail he followed dipped into a wooded valley. He galloped on without hesitation, gaze fixed straight ahead.

  About halfway through, at the valley's lowest point, water had settled and formed an expanse of mud. The path was narrower too, bringing the growth on either side nearer, which despite the wintry conditions was still quite dense. He had to slow to a canter, much to his irritation.

  As he picked his way through the bog, he heard a soughing noise on the right. Then a creaking swish. He turned and caught a glimpse of something speeding towards him. There was no time to react. The object struck him with a tremendous crack and he toppled from the horse.

  Lying dazed in the mud, he looked up and saw what had hit him. It was a length of tree trunk, still swinging, suspended by stout ropes to a strong overhead branch. Someone in cover had launched it at him like a ram.

  Aching, badly winded, he was only thinking of getting up when rough hands were laid on him. He had an impression of black garbed humans. They set to punching and kicking him. Unable to fight back, the best he could do was cover his face with his hands.

  They hauled him to his feet and took his weapons. The pouch was ripped from his belt. His hands were bound behind his back.

  Through the agony, Haskeer focused on a figure that had appeared in front of him.

  'Are you sure he's secure?' Kimball Hobrow asked.

  'He's secure,' a custodian confirmed.

  Another henchman passed Haskeer's pouch to the preacher. He looked inside and his face lit with joy. Or it might have been avarice.

  Thrusting in his hand he brought out the stars and gleefully held them aloft. 'The relic, and another to match! It was more than I dared hope. The Lord is with us this day.' He threw up his arms. 'Thank you, Lord, for returning what is ours! And for delivering this creature to us, the instruments of Your justice!'

  Hobrow scowled at the orc. 'You will be punished for your wrongs, savage, in the name of the Supreme Being.'

  Haskeer's head was clearing a little. The singing had faded and been replaced by this ranting human lunatic. He couldn't move or get his hands free. But there was one thing he could do.