"No, that's probably fine," said Freetrick. "As long as everyone on the list I gave you is coming?"
"These humble supplicants before the might of his Supreme Wickedness could no more disobey an order from the Maw of Lies than they could express kindness toward a small animal, Malevolence."
"Excellent." Freetrick rubbed his hands together. It looked like the cover story was holding. He would get a chance to at the same time speak to the real movers and shakers of Castle Clouds-Gather and enhance his reputation as a bloodthirsty maniac. "It looks like things are developing nicely."
"Indeed, my lord," said Bloodbyrn, "I confess to being somewhat surprised that my lord would be so…thoughtful."
"Thank you, Bloodbyrn."
The First Concubine inclined her head. The wardrobe goblins in Freetrick's study had hastily wrapped her torso in a black leather sheath with an floor-length skirt of shear black silk. The effect was of a marble statue being drawn slowly up out of a tar pit. "A private Slaughter-Viewing is perhaps a bit conventional, but I must confess to some pleasure at its prospect. It has been some time since a man has taken me on a romantic interlude of such old-fashioned simplicity."
"Rrright," said Freetrick. "I hope you won't mind casting one of those blood anti-noise shields around us?"
"Oh, I see, my lord." Bloodbyrn raised a pierced eyebrow and curled a ruby lip, "quite conventional indeed, but not unwanted, for all that. It would be my pleasure to do so."
Freetrick glared at the ogres, who grinned with six-inch fangs.
"I confess to some cautious optimism," Bloodbyrn continued. "when I state that I believe we have…what was the expression, 'turned a corner.'"
"And found something truly unspeakable behind that corner, I have no doubt," said the Kaimeera, winking at Freetrick was one huge, yellow eye.
"Well," said Bloodbyrn casting a narrow glance at her consort, "I hope at least that my lord will exercise greater propriety than he did at the Villainous Council meeting, or this morning's debacle in the Vile Halls," she paused, as if thinking, "or indeed any time he has been out in public."
"Actually," said Freetrick, "I've been giving some thought to your father's advice about adopting a persona."
"Oh?"
"Well I've been thinking that people are going to respect you more when you act like someone worthy of respect. I knew that back in The RU—it's just that the symbols of respect are different here."
"Really?" said Bloodbyrn, "do tell."
"Yes," said Freetrick, "and" he looked around for looming shadows, "as psychotic as the majority of your dad's advice is, it looks like he's right about the people appreciating melodrama."
"I do notice that my lord has not balked at wearing fashionable clothes today," said Bloodbyrn.
Freetrick looked down at his black-and-red enameled armor with its decorative motif of skulls and spikes. Its cape had apparently been cut from the wing of a giant bat. "Exactly," said Freetrick. "I need to look the part of a King of Evil. I am meeting with a bunch of monsters after all."
***
It was the last monster that saved them. Istain never though he would be glad to see talons punch through the flight surface above them. They jerked and wobbled, and then the ground slowed its terrifying upward rush.
The conglomeration of Istain+Madene+wrecked glider+dead monster+other monster slowed, banked, circled around, and settled toward the ground.
Istain watched the sand and dust moving under them. "So I'm thinking I'll jump out of this thing, then shoot the monster once it lands us. Sound good to you?"
His head nodded. Istain let his gun dangle and started working on the straps around his torso. The ground was much closer now. Close enough to jump? The giant wings above them flapped and the monster squalled.
Lightning flashed somewhere above them.
"Oh…stink it out," his mouth said.
The ground was coming up faster now. Overhead, the monster screamed deafeningly. "What is it?" Istain demanded.
"There's something else," Madene gasped, "something up there---"
He was suddenly sideways. Below him, the ground reached up. Above him, the bird monster shrieked louder, and in front of him—
"Gibbering burning libraries!"
The…this thing dangling from the glider's nose lashed out at his face with a flabby tentacle. Istain dropped from his harness.
But the glider was tipped backward, and its caught his body against the ground like a locomotive's snow-plow. What would have been a painful landing turned into an even more painful rolling.
The world turned into a whirling cloud of rocks and sand, a miniature Maelstrom that seemed to batter Istain on all sides at once. Then the hang-glider collapsed on top of them.
There was a sound like raccoons dying horribly in a metal pipe, and a heavy weight smashed down on the tumbling Istain.
Both his and Madene's survival instinct's kicked in, but unfortunately the instincts told them to do different things, and his limbs could do nothing but twitch spastically. Finally, Istain managed to get control of his mouth long enough to yell, "Gibbering calm down, Madene!"
Something moved above them.
Istain felt his muscles stop jerking as Madene released her hold on them. He opened his eyes, and could see nothing but folds of canvas. "We're under the glider," he said quietly, "and I think…the thing that killed the last bird monster is still alive."
There was no verbal answer, but his head jerked up and down in agreement.
"We will not die!" said Istain. Then, to Madene, "So what I'm going to do," He fumbled at the strap around his wrist, "is wait until it tries to get at us down here. Then I'll kill it, and then we'll figure out what to do next, okay?"
She nodded his head again.
The fabric of the glider shuddered over them, and something crunched.
"What was that thing?" Istain asked.
"Another monster," Madene whispered back, "something more…more perverted than the bird monsters. They were just scaled-up condors with a few oddities, but the thing that just attacked us…Istain I can't understand how something like that can exist, let alone fly."
A section of canvas suddenly bulged downward as if a large, amorphous mass had settled onto it. As they stared, the bulge became shallower and wider, and then slid downward. Istain thought of slugs, octopuses, sentient amoebas, and shuddered.
"Oh!" Madene gasped through his mouth, "I saw shadows on the ground as we were coming down. Istain, there's more than one of them."
The monster moved in on them as if it had been waiting for its cue. The broken mass of the glider above them rocked, and then tipped up, and one whole side of their hiding place rose like a curtain to expose the…things that waited for them.
One of the things scuttled forward like a monstrous crab, far too fast for Istain to shoot. Limbs like leather-wrapped industrial equipment jackknifed up, then seized him the creature bore him to the ground. Its head, now less than a handbreadth from Istain's own, hinged open along too many joints, and it rattled at him.
"Whoa, there!" The barbed mandibles quivered and a piping little voice cried out at them. "Whoa, I said!" The head jerked in annoyance. "Whoa, by all that's wicked, or so help me, I shall slice your brainless head right off!"
Istain blinked, trying to decide whether he was more terrified or confused. Was the giant bug talking to him?
"And drip none of your digestive enzymes on him, either," the voice continued, high pitched, piping, and not at all appropriate for a monster as threatening as this one.
"Thank you for stopping it," said Madene through his mouth. Oh, obviously, there was someone controlling the monster, a person of some kind. Of course, not everything in Skrea was a monster. Istain relaxed slightly.
"'Thank you?'" said the voice. And Istain saw something pale hump up behind the head of the monster on top of him. "I believe that is the first time I have ever been thanked," said the huge-eyed, grub-like creature riding on the back of the giant bug, "L
ife is full of new experiences."
There were three flying monsters, four if you counted the grubby bug-rider, who seemed to be their spokesman.
"A maggot-man," Madene identified it.
"You are correct, Do-Gooder," it said. "Get up slowly, now. Make no sudden movements, or I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my steed."
Istain swallowed and moved slowly to his hands and knees, then his feet. As he stood, the other two monsters came into view. Istain might have fallen again, except Madene seized control of his legs.
"Quite impressed," repeated the maggot-man. "To think that something dead could fly and carry people with it. And now," serrated forelimbs snicked up into ready position. "You will tell us, scum, why you were shouting the name of our Ultimate Fiend as the torns attacked you."
"You're welcome," Madene muttered, presumably for Istain's benefit.
The killing limbs twitched. "What was that?"
"Ahum," Istain cleared his throat, and then swallowed again, his eyes focused on the points of those poised appendages. There was no way he could grasp his gun and shoot this thing before it trepanned him. "We were…I was calling out his name, because I know him. Freetrick. I mean, Feerborg. I mean, your king."
"How do you know the name of the Ultimate Fiend?" Rasped one of the other monsters—the one that looked like a skinned monkey with bat wings. "Except by foul treachery?"
"Or by striking growing up with him," Istain said. His presence of mind could return, he noticed, as long as he didn't focus on the giant, hideous bug bearing down on him. "What did you think he'd been doing for the past twenty years? Hanging upside-down in a cave?"
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" The monster flapped its enormous ears at him and bared its six-inch fangs.
"What I meant to say," Madene said with Istain's voice, "is that he's my friend. We go to college together."
"And we grew up together," Istain added. "So if you kill me, he'll be royally pissed."
The monkey-bat snarled at them and took a step forward. Powerful talons on its splayed toes gouged the Bleaklands' dust.
"Be still, Jabber" said the Maggot-man, "Now, the important question is, does the Ultimate Fiend expect your visit?"
"Yes?"
Both the monkey-thing and the grub-thing grinned. The third monster did not, because it didn't have a face.
"I thought not," the Maggot-man went on. "In that case, it is most lucky for you we found you before you perished in these Bleaklands." He removed one sucker from the reins of his insectile mount and gestured at the miles of flat and barren waste around them.
"Lucky?" Growled Jabber, the monkey-thing, "you are not thinking of letting them live, Chrittle?"
Istain's fists clenched.
"Indeed," the spokes-thing blinked large, liquid, black eyes, "his Fiendishness is certain to entertain an interest in this intruder."
"His dark lordship knows nothing about this outsider scum. What he does not know, he cannot punish us for. Plus, I have heard that the flesh of men is a dish to be savored." Jabber looked at him with an expression that set Istain's skin crawling.
"Then perhaps his dark lordship will allow you to eat him after he is done," said Chrittle.
"He will not!" Istain blurted.
"Do stay out of this," Chrittle twitched his reins and his mount's gigantic chelae flexed at him threateningly. Istain's mouth shut.
"Oh yes," Jabber sneered, "because that is what is most important, is it not? To make his dark lordship happy?"
"I find that strategy more conducive to survival than making him angry, yes."
"Istain."
"Lickspittle."
"Idiot."
"Istain!" Istain jerked as Madene moved his lips. "Can you understand me?" Her words made no noise—she was barely even moving his mouth—but Istain could feel his tongue and throat working as she subvocalized at him. Cool.
"Yes," he replied the same way.
"I provide service in return for favors, not being executed chief among them." Chrittle had turned around in his little saddle and was facing Jabber as they argued. Only the giant bug was still paying attention to them.
"I think you should shoot Jabber," Madene subvocalized.
"I can't," said Istain, "if the bug sees me grab my gun, it'll kill me—us."
"Reciprocity is a simple game, Jabber," Chrittle was saying, "though obviously too complex for you to play."
"I don't think so," said Madene, "The giant insect doesn't appear to be intelligent, and even if it was, the Skreans shouldn't know what guns are."
"Yeah, but will the other guy, Chrittle, be happy that we killed his partner?"
"Do they seem all that close, Istain?"
Istain focused on Jabber, who had spread 15-foot membranous wings and now flapped up a cloud of gray dust at his partner. "Nonsense!" He screeched. "You pretend to be motivated by Evil, Chrittle, but I know you secretly enjoy being the dark lord's toady… and a good and loyal servant."
The insectile mount under Chrittle twitched as his suckers jerked on the reins. Istain wasn't good at reading expressions on the monster, but he was sure he could interpret the distinctly un-grub-like fangs exposed by its snarl. "You take that back, Jabber."
"Why do you not make me, maggot!" spat Jabber. "You think you are so mighty, but without your steed, what are you but a snack?"
"And yet, here my steed is."
The enormous wings stopped flapping. They hung cocked, like sardonic eyebrows. "Not if I remove it from the playing field."
Istain didn't say anything. He simply reached out, slowly, and grabbed his pistol. Then, again, slowly he aimed it at Jabber. The giant bug did not react.
"Oh, you have some secret way to disable my mount?" Chrittle squeaked, "Some clever, strategy? Only consider what would happen if you used it, and forced me to enact the contingency plans I have formed against you, Jabber."
"You might be bluffing."
"So might you be."
"So what shall we do, then?"
"Well," said Istain, "I propose that you—yeeargh!" Istain jerked backward as something like a rope made of acidic snot wrapped itself around his neck. His arm spasmed and his bullet whizzed over Jabber's head.
The third monster burbled something incomprehensible as it tightened a nest of squirming tentacles around Istain's throat.
Chrittle sighed, "You are right as always, Clump. Once again our Skrean impulses toward chaos and discord have put us at a tactical disadvantage. Jabber, as much as I treasure our mutual animosity, you surely concede that we must work together to defeat a greater foe."
"You are a chattering fool, Chrittle," said Jabber, relaxing from his fighting stance and glaring over Istain's shoulder. "Well, Clump?"
"Yes. Well, Clump?" said Chrittle, swinging around in its saddle, "You have the prisoner. What shall we do with him?"
Clump burbled, and the rope of snot around Istain's throat tightened.
***
Istain closed his eyes as the ground dropped away under him. His shoulders burned with pain, either because of some secretion from the gelatinous Clump or the iron-strong grip of Jabber's feet, or both. The monkey-bat creature's enormous wings pumped above him like industrial bellows as he strained to carry their combined weight.
"Istain, you are a terrible warrior," Madene subvocalized at him.
"Well, I'm sorry," he mouthed back at her, "So I forgot one of the monsters was there. I've never done this before. And I didn't hear you warning me I was about to be enveloped by the flying striking spaghetti monster."
"Your eyes were pointed the wrong way."
"Well," Istain winced as a particularly hard down-stroke yanked up on his shoulders. "Next time you control my body while I lie back and heckle you."
"If only," his mouth muttered back at him.
"Look, I'm just glad we're riding under this monster, and not inside the other one."
"We couldn't be. Clump and that giant insect aren't efficient enough flier
s to carry us. I don't think it's a coincidence that Jabber is the best flier and most…uh…"
Istain glanced up "…not weird looking?"
"Yes. But even this one is not as good at flight as the giant birds." She moved his eyes up, past the flexing chest muscles of Jabber, to the other two monsters silhouetted against the clouds above them. "The bird monsters were like…real animals. Products of natural selection, at least partly. But these things are more like…art projects."
"Technology, not biology." Istain whispered. "I suppose it makes sense."
Istain squinted at the two monsters above them. They seemed to be flying more or less straight up, Chrittle crouched low between the blurred wings of his mount, and Clump inflated into a buoyant tear-drop shape. Something was bothering him. Something about the monsters? No, animals were Madene's thing. Istain's thing was…what?
"Madene," he subvocalized.
"Yes?"
"Who did these monsters say they were taking us to?"
"Freetrick, thank goodness."
"No they didn't." Istain flipped through his memory, "they said, 'his Fiendishness.' Freetrick they call 'the Ultimate Fiend.'"
"So? Maybe the Ultimate Fiend is also a Fiendishness. That would make sense."
"Or," said Istain, "They're taking us to someone else. Hey!" He called up at Jabber, flapping over their head, "Jabber? Where are we going?"
"Shut up!" Jabber's claws twisted agonizingly into Istain's shoulders.
"Good job." Madene let Istain experience the jagged pain while she peered up at the roiling clouds above them. "Why did you even bother? We're clearly headed for that thing."
"What thing?"
"Look. Look where I'm pointing your eyes. See that thing like a black cigar?"
Istain blinked away the tears of pain, "it's not a cloud?"
"No, it's something floating, like Clump. In the air. What could do that?"
"I don't striking know, Madene," Istain closed his eyes, "my shoulders hurt like gibberish."
The Kingdoms of Evil Page 44