Lighter Days, Darker Nights (Rune Breaker)

by Porter, Landon

  He finally extracted a worked brass pocket watch from one of his many pockets. A click of a button caused the case to open on a spring, revealing the watch's black painted hands above the gleaming brass and iron of the clockwork.

  “Ash me.” He muttered and closed the watch before stowing it anew. “It's time for me to get back to the caravan and prepare Grandmother to meet with Solgrum.” Pivoting on a heel, he slammed a fist to his shoulder and bowed to Issacor. “It was good to meet you, Disciple Issacor.” Issacor returned the gesture and Kaiel turned to the others. “Don't wait up. Solgrum was fond of pomp and extravagance when he was merely wealthy. King Solgrum will likely entertain well into the night.”

  All but Ru bid him farewell. As he started off, the dark mage turned his attention to Issacor. “Disciple, Miss Taylin has expressed great interest in the tenets of your faith. Perhaps you should still join us for dinner that she might learn more.”

  Kaiel didn't have to turn around to know that Ru was smirking at his retreating back.

  ***

  A dust storm concealed Immurai's arrival at the Taunaunian town of Mertha's Creed. For that he was intensely grateful to his companion, who he presently only saw in silhouette through the dust as she herded the desert wind.

  Normally, he would slip into a new skin and lurk about incognito, listening to existent rumors and sowing more favorable ones. This day, however, he was in a hurry. Not only that, but he loathed mixing with the dragon cults, like those who occupied Mertha's Creed. Even now, he could smell the stench of dragonsired, taunting him with their gross imperfections.

  Bearing with that was a necessary inconvenience, for unbeknownst to them, the people of Mertha's Creed had founded their town at the bottom of a huge hill that was actually a lava dome. And that lava dome...

  He had arrived at the very base of the hill. A mortal would see nothing remarkable about that place, just a slight rift in the rocks; a place where lizards might hide, or moss might grow. None of them, not even the dragon descended dragonsired, had the senses to see where space was twisted by titanic forces beyond most mortal magic: the power of a god.

  The winds changed and without looking, Immurai knew his companion was behind him. Even over the howling storm, he heard the flutter of a fine, regal robe like his own; smelled the exotic oils and the omnipresent scent of wet clay and stressed metal.

  “Stay here.” He said. “I need the storm to conceal my departure as well.”

  “Of course, my love.” The voice was strange. Immurai's was made more hollow by his mask, but her voice was no voice at all. It was words that hammered themselves into the mind like a mental assault. That was by design. As with all demons of the Threefold Moon, there was a method to her form and function.

  Immurai was neither bothered, nor harmed by her voice. “Very good. But I know that you are anxious. Be patient, and you will be rewarded in kind.” He stepped forward, into the perversion of space-time.

  He took another step and was standing atop a rough-hewn platform beneath the lava dome. The air was stagnant, though not entirely stale, thanks to meager circulation from the god-wrought entrance. It didn't matter; only demons and priests visited the Citadel of Gahm Keth-al and no demon or priest of rank needed to breathe.

  A stone bridge, only a few feet wide with no rails, extended from the platform and over one hundred yards to the yawning iron gates of the Citadel. The way was lit by irregularly shaped candles that gave weak light and smelled of rancid fat. A concession to those who couldn't see in the dark or tasked with keeping records, and one made grudgingly.

  The citadel itself was a gray stone structure that soared almost one hundred feet to the roof of the dome. True to the Threefold Moon's symbolism, it was made up of three circular towers that overlapped, forming a central tower that rose higher than the three it was made from; much like only a very rare type of eclipse positioned Ere's three moons in such a way that they revealed the presence of a fourth.

  Gargoyle golems perched atop every arch and buttress. Live gargoyles would die in the atmosphere beneath the dome. After the fall of the Citadel of Blackest Pitch, also called Cale Firse, the Lord of Demons took no chances with his high temples. The golems watched Immurai's approach with what looked like eager anticipation for a fight.

  Immurai knew they couldn't act against a demon unless directed by a higher ranking demon, and there were only a handful remaining who were old enough to issue that order against him. He passed under their gazes without a second look and stepped up to the gate.

  The gate was a series of circular, iron grates set into a complex gear-work. Above them, the gigantic eye of some sea-going beast was set into a socket of smooth stone. Through the power of the god, it yet lived, its new body the gate-machine itself; a nameless demon with complete loyalty to the Threefold Moon.

  Stone lids around the eye narrowed to peer at him. It couldn't speak, but it registered some sort of reaction by rattling the grates in their mountings before engaging its gears and causing them to roll, one by one from his path until all three were retracted into their housing. Immurai had no means of knowing what that meant; whether the gate liked, respected, or loathed him, but he cared not at all. Its loyalty would eventually become a liability, necessitating its destruction.

  Beyond the gates, a priest waited.

  The high priests who attended the Citadel were one step below the demons. If they survived long enough, displayed devotion to the Threefold Moon, and performed great work in its name, their flesh would be remade and they would become as immortal and powerful as Immurai.

  Sha Etremes, the priestess sent to receive Immurai was very highly valued indeed and her body was already heavy with the gifts of her god. Once she had been an elf maid of the deep forests of Vini Tresolm with dark hair and pale skin. The Threefold Moon had replaced pale and vulnerable flesh with iron teardrop shaped scales in irregular patches over half of her face, neck, legs and torso. One arm was completely given over, while the other had been touched not at all. Her eyes were like smooth, green stones the size of a child's fist, and her front teeth protruded like a rodent's.

  Beneath the skin, there were other transformations, Immurai knew. Poison glands, new specialized organs that granted new senses, and other nasty surprises for anyone that might threaten or annoy.

  Priests like Sha were brought to the Citadels in part because their mutations could no longer be hidden from the rank and file worshipers who had no idea what the Threefold Moon was actually about, and in part to teach them to become demons. Within a handful of years, Sha would be raised to full demon, and completely transformed. She would cease to be Sha Etremes and become something entirely new.

  That was the new way. Immurai was old, so old that he had never been a priest, or a man. He was a wholly new creation of the god.

  “Immurai the Masked has come in the full light of day to the Citadel of Ascended Flesh.” Sha declared as he stepped over the threshold. There was an insolent amount of familiarity in her tone, one that rankled the part of Immurai that recalled the simpering orphan left in the wake of his brother demon Aludda the Vanquisher, who was himself long since vanquished. Now his only legacy was the elf whose mind he shattered that day; on the cusp of demon-hood herself.

  Reluctantly, he let the comment pass. There was too much at stake to risk it in order to punish an obviously favored priest. At times like this, he was glad of his mask; having no expression helped him play it off as him ignoring her.

  “The tidings I bring to Our Lord are too great to languish under the formalities of waiting for moonrise.” He said dispassionately. “Obviously, I would like an audience.”

  Sha nodded before turning on a heel and walking deeper into the Citadel with Immurai following behind. Past the receiving chamber was a long, curved hallway, designed to be defensible. At regular intervals, there were wide alcoves, each occupied by a hunchbacked, bipedal beast with a wide-mouthed head resembling a frog's. They were another creation of the god: imoc-te vori
an, also known as Kaydan Fists after one of the god's many names and guises.

  Unlike creatures such as Immurai, these lesser demons were stupid; unable to function at all without orders from a priest or greater demon. They made up for it by being strong and numerous however. Having only been ordered to guard, the Fists were stationed in their alcoves and stared blankly as the demon and priest passed.

  Shortly, Sha turned off through an arch and into an upward sloping hall. It was lined with statues of honored demons that were sacrificed to further the purpose of the Threefold Moon. Immurai knew them all, and had been instrumental in many of their sacrifices. He spared them not a glance.

  They came to another gate-demon like the one out front. This one sealed itself not with grates, but six inch discs of solid steel. Only when Sha identified herself by name did it open. From the space beyond, heat and sulfurous funk blasted out to meet them. The Hall of Rebirth and Transcendence; where the priests were made, and where the demons were born.

  Every surface was metal: iron, steel, or copper. They formed the twisting catwalks on level with the entrance, the floor some thirty feet below, and the massive, two story vats of sludge that continuously boiled. The sludge constituted the remains of every enemy felled in the name of the Threefold Moon within the domain of that citadel. Their bodies nourished the next generation of demons.

  In the largest vats, embryonic imoc-te vorian, imoc-te jaa, and imoc-te saistes grew like cancerous tubers in defiled earth. There were smaller vats as well, large enough for a single demon, even those considerably larger than the humanoid Immurai. These were inscribed with permanent spell structures of ere-a, akua, and nekras: the means by which new demons were made from priests.

  One such vat was being attended by three priests, each nearly as far along as Sha. No doubt, one of their former colleagues slumbered within, feeding on the flesh and blood of the god's enemies and stealing skills and knowledge from their sundered brains. All the while, the priests chanted and worked spells, influencing the gestating demon's form according to the god's design.

  As they crossed the central catwalk, high above the vats, Sha deigned to speak out again. “He has other agents in the world, Immurai the Masked. He knows that the King of Flame and Steel is dead. He is not pleased with another failure when once you held such great promise for him.”

  Immurai looked down at the vats, watching some hook-clawed horror created to work the vats hauling a stillborn imoc-te jaa to the surface. It proceeded to rip the creature; a powerful looking mixture of big cat and bear, to shreds, carefully seeding it's pieces back into the pool of sludge to feed its stronger brethren.

  “Stay and listen, if you wish, priestess.” He said in a purposefully calm manner. “The great promise I once presented to Our Lord has come again. A power that will tip the balance between the gods is once more within reach. He will hear me, and He will grant my requests, for what I promised those centuries ago was worth any risk.”

  “It is not my place to judge your worth.” said Sha, making it clear that she did anyway and found him lacking. “It is His alone; He and His vessel.”

  As they drew closer to the end of the catwalk and the third gate-demon, a wash of power struck them. Even through the ten inch plates of the sorcerous metal, orihalcon that made up the gate, the power of the god's presence touching the plane was enough to steal their non-existent breath.

  In the Citadels, the Hall of Rebirth and Transcendence was always directly adjacent to the vessel's sanctum. It allowed the new demons and risen priests to be reborn in the direct presence of the power of the Threefold Moon, placing them in His will from the moment they came into being.

  Sha spoke to the gate demon, and it uttered an affirmative by grating its impossibly strong disks into a semblance of the harsh language of the Threefold Moon's disciples. This creature was new to Immurai, or at least its intelligence was. It likely had a name and title. He filed that away as he and Sha passed through the aperture and into the domain of Adruzan Kayda, the Threefold Moon.

  Chapter 8 – Audience

  It was cold in the presence of the god of the Threefold Moon. None of the heat or humidity from the previous chamber dared cross the threshold guarded by the gate-demon. Within the massive, irregular cavern, the air didn't move even for those that walked through it, and sound traveled poorly; as if afraid to venture too far from its source.

  From the gate, a ramp of white stone climbed to the throne of Kayda's vessel, its length dropping down to the cavern floor far below and forming a wall that divided it in two. Immurai looked down and found exactly what he expected: bodies.

  One thousand years worth of failed demons, priests and other agents of the god lay below, as well as particularly troublesome enemies. In that stinking pit lay all who were not worthy of feeding the next generation for fear of tainting them with the stink of their failure, disobedience or rebellion. They did not rot, or desiccate, and there were no vermin to feast on them. For all eternity, they would remain perfect trophies at the feet of the Threefold Moon.

  Among the bodies, there were flickers of movement: the ghosts of the fallen. They were tethered there by the crushing weight of the god's power, never to leave for greater reward or reincarnation. When the god was angry, they screamed in one voice. When He was pleased, they sighed.

  On occasion, Immurai had seen them fed into diabolic engines as a power source, and their bodies animated and transfigured for special purposes. They weren't merely trophies; they were also resources.

  The top of the ramp left a hand's span of empty space between itself and the stone platform upon which the vessel's throne and the True Throne sat. It was a rough and ancient round of rock and it hung in the air without means of support. Its surface was gouged and chipped from centuries of claws and hooves and other things dragging along it.

  The vessel reclined atop his throne, a raised pillar of chalk, made concave at the top and cultivated with soft moss.

  The vessel was Govaa-Det the Tremor-Step; a demon of Immurai's generation, one of the first; one who was created, not born. He squatted on his six trunk-like legs, digging his flat, thick paws into the moss, and resting on his broad belly. Long, greasy, brown fur hung off him, concealing most of his well-muscled bulk while his thick tail lolled off the back of the pillar, swishing idly like a maid only pretending to be diligent at dusting.

  As the vessel, he had been further augmented with dull plates of the mystic metal orihalcon running along his spine and ribs. It also formed a full helm over his flat face, leaving only his white, catlike eyes visible. A subtle haze came through the ventilation holes.

  Behind him rose the True Throne; the place where the Threefold Moon touched Ere. Here, it appeared as a broken pillar, some twenty feet tall and made of black glass that seemed to twist in upon itself and flow outward all at once without moving. From it emerged the tethers that connected the god with His vessel. They came in a multitude of forms; some were hoses made of thick rubber, the type favored by alchemists, some were cables of woven steel, or thin wires of copper. Others were like the entrails of a living thing, slick with ichor. And still others were composed only of spectral energies. They all extended from some unknown point within the True Throne, questing into Govaa-Det's body through the orihalcon grafts.

  When Immurai and Sha reached the platform, Govaa-Det roused, pulling his legs beneath him so as to sit up. His great head swiveled in their direction and a low growl escaped him along with a haze around his helm's mask.

  “Immurai the Masked.” The vessel intoned. “Your failure precedes you. Time and power did the Lord of Shades devote to allowing you to raise up this promised puppet king of the desert. Much did you make of how he could raise an army and become a sword with which we could strike at the children of the dragons.

  “And then we are told that the puppet is dead, that what little band he raised is broken, and that the artifact cast in your own power—power that is blessed unto you directly from the Lord of Shades has be
en lost to us.” He inhaled deeply and below, the spirits began to shriek. Immurai heard some of them speak his name. “The forsaken wraiths cry out for you to join them. And the Threefold Moon is inclined to gift you to them as a boon. How many are there by your hand, Immurai? Mortals, priests and demons? Oh how they would torment your soul.”

  Immurai offered no defense. If he were going to be cast down now, it would have happened already. It was wasteful in the eyes of the god to use his time giving lessons to the condemned.

  Govaa-Det tilted his head, regarding the silent demon carefully. “How far did Immurai the Gaunt fall that now stands before me Immurai the Masked, come to beg forgiveness for failure.”

  “Oh, but I am not here to beg forgiveness, Tremor-Step.” Immurai purred. “I have come to report on a success.”

  This caused the vessel to falter. He straightened himself up on the throne and glared suspiciously. “What possible success can you report that would not have come into the god's knowledge before you arrived?”

  “One centuries in the making.” Immurai stood tall and still. “Consult our Lord: does he recall what I was seeking out during the War of Ascension? What I was certain that I had located when that meddlesome waif who calls herself a goddess interfered?”

  A minute of silence passed before Govaa-Det came back to himself. When he spoke, it was in monotone. “He recalls.”

  “Then He understands why it is a success that I have found it once more. I have sent one of my own agents to watch over it, but with the power it wields, I cannot do it alone. I have Matasume the Wind at my side as always, but she will not be enough.”

  “Our Lord does not approve of you and Matasume the Wind.” said Govaa-Det. “Demons should have no loyalties to each other, only to the Threefold Moon.”

  “I brought her into the unseen light of our Lord on His orders.” said Immurai calmly. “I raised her up into a demon by His command. She was one of the first to be reborn. She is grateful for the gift I bestowed upon her, nothing more.”