The Altar of Hate
Page 7
“You hear something?” the guard asked.
“No. Did you?” The second guard's eyelids were drooping, on the verge of shutting completely. He yawned, exposing yellowed and rotting teeth. “You heard something?”
“Thought so…” A puzzled look crossed the man's sparsely-bearded face. “It sounded like… humming!”
The other guard laughed, and pointed at the night sky.
“Full moon. Spirits walk the steppe tonight!”
The campaign had been a bitter one. The toumans had swept virtually unopposed through the lands of the Rus, Kiev's proud princes, crossing the Volga in the dead of winter to burn first Moscow and then Kiev itself. Following the destruction of the Rus, the columns rode into Poland, quickly vanquishing all opposition there. But the Mongol generals were prepared to expect stiffer resistance in Hungary and Silesia. The fierce Teutonic knights rode alongside the crusading orders of the Templars and the Hospitallers under the banner of Prince Henry of Silesia, while Bohemia's King Wenceslas commanded a large troop of trained and well-armed Hungarian, French, and German horsemen.
However, before the two European forces had come together, Prince Henry found himself blundering into a large body of Mongol cavalry near the small Silesian town of Wahlstadt. His scouts rode in to report a sizable troop of light horse only six miles ahead.
“Dare we engage them alone, your Highness?” Duke Adolph of Thuringia asked the Prince as he reined in his armored mount beside him. Prince Henry, a thin balding man whose dark skin hinted at his Turkish ancestry, sniffed and rubbed gingerly at his runny nose with a steel gauntlet.
“I don't see that we have a choice, Adolph. We're not scheduled to meet up with Wenceslas until day after tomorrow, after all.”
“It's not like they're leagues away either!” another voice added. “Even if your Highness decides to avoid engaging them now, the cursed yellow-skins may not give us a choice and force us to close on ground of their choosing.”
The Prince craned his head around and smiled to see the Swedish baron with the scarred face joining them. The Swede was more than a decade younger than Henry's own thirty-five years, and his build was surprisingly slight, but the battle-hardened Silesian knew the young man could fight like a demon. He had seen the Swede perform deeds with a sword that were unheard of since the time of Roland.
“I'm glad you could join us, Dag. You agree that we should engage them here?”
“Yes,” the baron replied with certainty. “If we ride hard, we can get to Liegnitz before them, and array our men to the north side. That will keep the sun out of our eyes, and we can position the Venetians with their crossbows in the trees behind us.”
The Prince nodded his head and smiled, pleased with the young Swede.
“A good plan, I think. Duke Adolph?” He turned to the burly German nobleman, whose hard-won knowledge of tactics he had learned to value.
“It sounds reasonable to me. I'll take the Teutonic knights over to the right wing, along with the Templars. Keep the levies to the left, and mind the center yourself with the Hospitallers and your own men. If you can hold your own, we'll break through their left and ride along the river to crush their main body between the pikes of the footmen and our lances, God willing!”
“Let us pray God wills it indeed,” the pious prince agreed. The German turned to the young Swede.
“Care to ride on the right with us, Baron Hoerskald?” An ironic grin twisted the parallel scars on the blonde-haired man's face. “I'd be most honored, my Lord!”
At first the battle had gone according to plan. The curved sabres and boiled leather jerkins of the Mongols were no match for the plate armor and heavy wooden lances of the Teutonic knights. The lightly armored Asiatic horsmen crumpled before the awesome power of the Germanic assault, their small pony-like steeds literally crushed under the iron-shod hooves of the mighty European warhorses. Only moments after contact, the Mongol's left wing collapsed and began a disorderly retreat, galloping madly back across the frozen river. The shattered horse-archers were too panicked to even fire back across their mounts.
It was with some difficulty that the Thuringian duke managed to dissuade his blood-maddened knights from pursuing their prey across the ice. The old noble knew from past experience fighting the Rus that for a heavily-armored knight, a ride across frozen water could be a very short excursion. He directed his men towards the middle of the field, where Prince Henry and the Knights of the Hospital were battling what appeared to be the Mongol's main body of heavy cavalry to a standstill.
Duke Adolph smashed his heavy mace down across the leather-helmeted head of one unlucky Mongol, and grunted with grim pleasure as he watched the little man fall from the saddle. He paused to shake a spray of blood and grey matter from his weapon over the blood-soaked snow before looking around to find another hapless victim. There was a clang of steel as a curved blade bounced harmlessly off his steel-encased shoulder, and he turned quickly and buried the mace into the skull of the offending warrior's shaggy-haired mount. The little horse bleated as it collapsed, throwing its rider, who soon perished under the heavy hooves of a Templar's armored steed.
“My Lord, the west!” he heard a familiar voice calling to the left of him. He yanked on the reins and turning his horse around to see the young Swedish baron shouting at him. “Look to the west, milord!”
The puzzled duke twisted his neck around and lifted his helm, peering towards the scraggy pine forest at the perimeter of the battlefield. What he saw there chilled his blood. Scores of mounted warriors were emerging from between the trees, most of them heavily armored shock troops. Their curved blades and scaled armor told him at once that they were not Europeans. Almost fearing to turn around, he slowly urged his horse around to face south, towards the river. Sure enough, the wild Mongol retreat had halted, and the horse-archers were returning to the battlefield, darkening the skies with their black-feathered shafts. The Mongols were not trapped between him and the Prince, instead, they were the ones who faced being surrounded on three sides.
But the duke was undaunted, despite their worsening odds. He quickly came to a decision, and gestured to the Swede.
“Baron Hoerskald, we must keep that heavy cavalry from reaching us before we smash through the Mongol center!” He stared intently at the younger man, knowing he was probably sending this brave lad to an untimely death. “Take the Templars, and keep them off our backs as long as you can.”
He was pleased to see the doughty young baron grinning back at him, clearly unafraid.
“You got it, Duke baby! See ya in Valhalla!” The scarred young man spurred his steed towards the approaching Mongols, long blonde hair flowing free in the wind. “Templars, to me, to me!”
“What kind of creature is that man?” the Mongol general, Kaidu, asked his superior with unfeigned amazement. “He slays like one possessed, and our men cannot touch him!”
He watched, astonished, as the golden-haired berserker struck aside a lance with his sword, then beheaded two warriors in a single stroke. A mounted archer launched a shaft at the helmetless man, but though it flew straight and true, the arrow flashed bright green and disintegrated even as it neared its target.
Kaidu shook his head. “It is a Sky demon, surely!”
The Mongol advance faltered and then stopped entirely as the outnumbered Templars, inspired to new heights of fury by their young leader, threatened to break their lines.
But the supreme commander only laughed and patted the shorter man on the shoulder. “No, he's human, sure enough, Kaidu.”
“But I've seen him kill more than twenty men! He's a wolf in human form! It's unnatural!”
A smile crossed Subutai's face as he dug amongst the saddlebags piled in his oxcart for a vial of blue liquid. “I have to admit, you are correct there,” the mountainous general chuckled.
“What?”
“Never mind. Here, you, give me that arrow,” he addressed a nearby horse-archer.
The archer complied, a
nd watched with curiousity as Tetradates dipped the arrow tip into the vial and muttered a few words under his breath.
“Do you see that man?” he pointed to the heroic young berserker. The Mongol nodded, and nocked the arrow to the gut-string, sighting carefully. His well-muscled arm quivered a little as he drew back the powerful horn bow, and let the shaft fly.
As before, the arrow disappeared just as it approached the man, but this time the flash was tinged yellow instead of green, and there was a dull booming sound, like a distant clap of thunder. At first glance nothing appeared to have happened, but the Mongol warriors surrounding the yellow-haired man noticed his apparent dismay and redoubled their efforts. There was a silvery flash of a curved blade, the meaty sound of metal striking flesh, and the yellow-haired one suddenly disappeared from view.
“Kaidu, make sure someone brings me his head, will you?” Subutai requested amiably. The Mongol general only turned and stared, his mouth agape, as the imposing figure of his enigmatic commander walked indifferently away from the battlefield.
“So what did you do when the Darkmage sent you Dag's head?” Aeris asked anxiously.
The master closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. We waited in eager silence for the conclusion of his remarkable story.
“It seemed obvious to me that all of the Assembly's resources had been exhausted. All of them, that is, except myself. The Book of Changes had, as usual, been correct in all matters, so I decided to consult it and allow it to be my guide. The hexagram was Hsu, in the fourth six. Can you tell me the commentary?”
“I can,” said Ganelos confidently. “He is waiting in a place of blood. He must escape from the pit.”
Aeris looked confused. “But you hadn't memorized everything, had you? Then how did you find the commentaries?”
Our master laughed with the rest of us, wheezing out his good humor with some difficulty.
“Come, little one, you forget that the Book of Changes and the commentaries of Duke Chu were written thousands of years before the Mongols came to Kin. The very first thing I acquired in my position as the Khan's advisor was the Book.”
He chuckled again, then wiped his rheumy eyes and continued.
“But the commentary clearly indicated that there was still some blood yet to be shed, and that it would be on my hands. Also, there was only one way I could see to force Tetradates to halt his sacrificial killings and return to Karakorum.”
“How could you possibly do that?” I asked.
“By causing a battle for the succession. I poisoned the Khan, and Tetradates was forced to return in order to ensure the election of his protege, Ogodai. Once I had cast my scruples to the wind, it was relatively easy to orchestrate his elimination. In the months it took the toumans to return from Europe, I was whispering incessantly in Ogodai's ear, shamelessly making use of every mind-influencing spell at my disposal. By the time Tetradates returned, Ogodai was convinced that his hero had been taken over by a shape-changing sky demon.
“Which, of course, was practically the truth. The beauty of the accusation was that Tetradates couldn't use his powers to prove otherwise without validating it. He rode back unsuspecting, and I had him bound in silver before he realized what was happening. And as for me, well, I was a Dream Rider, after all, so I was rather expected to dabble in the forbidden arts from time to time.”
The ancient one laughed again, and his black robes shook. “He died screaming. Ogodai insisted on pouring molten gold down his throat!”
“How did you manage to return to our time?”
The humor disappeared from the master's wrinkled face as he turned to address Ganelos.
“The Assembly finally managed to get its act together and sent another party to Karakorum. They brought me back with them, and Alexi, Gorean's successor as Order Master, banished me from the Assembly for breaking my vows!” The master shook his bald head angrily, and there was bitterness in his voice when he spoke again. “As a reward for preventing Tetradates from consummating his pact with Baal-Ravana, they let me live. Which, of course, they later came to regret.”
He rose carefully to his feet and spread his arms wide, like an evil messiah embracing the lost souls of his damned flock.
“But that is another story, for another day. So, I will leave you with this word, my children. Know that your choices will not always come in pure shades of black and white. And sometimes, choosing the lesser evil sentences one to tread the darker path.”
Gravely, the Darkmage nodded, and after turning his back on us, returned to his inner sanctum.
Demons in the Disk Drive
“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the Fall Codex show, back again in Las Vegas, the desert city of silicon sorcery and sin!”
The smiling speaker beamed at the masses of people crowding his forty-by-forty trade show booth. Like them, he appeared to be wholly caught up in the furious techno-glitz of the giant annual industry gathering. His teeth gleamed white, his dark Italian suit was expensively impeccable, and his coiffed hair fairly screamed out his total ignorance of his subject matter. He had Sales-and-Marketing Guy written all over him.
“Xaos Computer is proud to participate in the thirteenth annual Computer Demonology Exposition!” the Salesman announced, winking at a pretty young technical analyst who was examining one of the colorful product specification guides. Her eyes lit up eagerly as he gestured broadly and raised his voice.
“At last the moment you've all been waiting for has arrived, a first look at Xaos Computer's newest product line, the long-awaited, never-equated, Legion of Doom!”
The Salesman flung arms wide to scattered applause as the scarlet satin curtains on either side of him drew smoothly back to reveal four jet-black computer systems, each resting suggestively atop Grecian marble columns. The fevered applause grew louder as the four dark crystal screens flashed simultaneously to life, spelling out X-A-O-S in letters of brilliant red-and-gold flames that leaped and twisted as if they were possessed.
“First, the Xaos Doom Thirteen, perfect for the casual home and small-business user. It's powered by three minor demons bound by a guaranteed Intel Guild enchantment burning at twenty-five megahells! And every Doom Thirteen ships standard with MicroSpell's Word of Power, the most-popular spell-processing package for the last four years straight!
“And over here you can see the Xaos Doom Sixty-Nine, the ideal solution for Guilds and Merchant Houses requiring the ultimate in connectivity and trans-planar communications. The Doom Sixty-Nine is ensorcelled with the same three-demon hellpower as the model Thirteen, but burns at a faster thirty-three megahells, and is specially optimized for networking. Deadspeakers will be pleased to hear that included with every Doom Sixty-Nine is a pre-installed version of Oracle's latest necrommunications spellware.”
The Salesman grinned knowingly at three network consultants clad in tasteful navy-blue suits who were nodding their approval of the new Xaos machine. Their eyes were bright with lust at the thought of a Doom Sixty-Nine coupled to their main unit. The salesman smiled inside. He knew a sure sale when he saw it. He could smell it.
“And for spell engineers, alchemists, and other Power users Xaos is proud to announce the Doom One Sixty-Nine! Four minor demons are bound by puissant spells guaranteed unequivocally by the Intel Guild, and burn at sixty-six megahells, providing performance prophesied centuries ago by Nostradamus! The Doom One Sixty-Nine is specifically designed for use with AutoMage, leader in the spell-generation industry for almost a decade, and can even be used for some minor elemental summonings!”
The hoary white eyebrows of one aged sourceror rose as he noted the last comment and the Salesman of Xaos mentally notched another soon-to-be customer with satisfaction. Then the lights dimmed, the fiery letters dancing on the crystal screens disappeared, and hidden speakers emitted an ominous low-frequency hum as a darkling air filled the booth. The Salesman lowered his voice as he invited the audience to share his awe at the unveiling of the ultimate machine.
The crowd murmured and buzzed with excitement. The hidden loudspeakers growled, and moaned, diving deep into the most sinister ultrafrequencies as the Salesman's voice was electronically modulated to a dark, mystical pitch.
“You are witnessing the dawn of a new generation of technology! The DoomBeast Six Sixty-Six is powered by a brand-new, secret-until-now Chaos Processing Unit known as Pentagram, developed by the Intel Guild. This new CPU has the power to bind major demons, summoning them directly from the bowels of the Fifth Nether Plane and harnessing their energies within. The hellpower derived from only a single major demon is equivalent to that of five minor demons and burns at an incindiary one hundred megahells! And Xaos Computer is proud to be the first to announce a product designed for this awesome new technology.”
The Salesman raised a cautioning hand.
“Now as we begin the demonstration, please keep in mind that the DoomBeast 666 is a prototype model, so you must not be alarmed if there are some minor design inadequacies which happen to appear in the course of the demonstration….
“You will notice the chalked circles that are conveniently provided on the floor in front of you. Please make sure that you are standing completely within a circle at all times, and no matter what happens, do not leave it! Do not be distressed at any shrieking or howling noises you might hear.
“It is also possible that you may notice the sensation of a hand resting on your shoulder at some point during the demonstration. A very large, very clawed hand. Do not, under any circumstances, turn around, or attempt to remove the hand! Also, if you happen to hear a familiar voice crying for your help, we very strongly encourage you to ignore it. Even if it sounds like your mother. Especially if it sounds like your mother!”