by J. Langland
Bastet chuckled. “I am not. It was Exador’s problem, not mine. We had not expected Lenamare and Jehenna to so easily misplace the book. It was their error, and given that we now know that Exador was competing with you for the book, how could he have succeeded?”
Bess shook her head with a smile, and took another sip from her bottle. “In fact as someone who has spent the last one hundred and fifty-some years pretending to be someone less powerful than she is, I must compliment your own performance. A truly masterful strategy to get the mana you needed to relight Doom on such a short timeline. No, I cannot be upset; I can only applaud.”
“Thanks.” Tom nodded his head while taking a sip. Obviously, he had had no strategy, no plan; he had bumbled into all of this. However, he was certain that was not something to be revealed. He chuckled out loud at this thought.
Bess raised an eyebrow at his chuckle, as did a few of the other gods.
He grinned. “I had absolutely no idea the book was valuable at the time. I thought it was a diary belonging to Jenn, Lenamare’s student who I escorted to Freehold. It wasn’t until near the end of our journey that we discovered it was not her diary. Which is why I say it was not exactly an impressive book.”
“It looks like a girl’s diary?” Usiris asked intently.
Tom shrugged. “A small leather-bound book with leather wrappings, typical of a journal or perhaps a merchant’s log.” He was struggling a bit to come up with an analogy. Books like Jenn’s or Lenamare’s were rare where he came from, but some hipsters and back-to-nature types liked them.
Usiris raised an eyebrow, looking to Bess. “Rather unusual for a book containing so much powerful information.”
Basted snorted. “I point out that as far as we know, or can tell, Lenamare still can’t open it. He is not an idiot. Lenamare has been competing against Exador for his entire life, and typically gets the better of an archdemon who is several thousand years older than himself. If he cannot open it, then it is clearly the book we are looking for.”
Astet and Sekhmekt nodded in agreement.
Usiris sat back, his hands in the air. “Fine. However, I still think this is a dicey proposition. For one thing, the book is hidden behind impenetrable wards.”
“Not truly impenetrable. Just inconvenient,” Bess replied. “We could easily breach them and go searching for the book, but it would set off alarms and Lenamare would flee with the book to some unknown location. At least for the moment, we know where it is.”
“I seem to recall you being driven out by the wards, just like Exador and Ramses,” Usiris remarked dryly.
Bess glared at him. “You know very well that I was not. They were admittedly most unpleasant, but I could have overcome them; any of us here could have. However, that was not the role I was playing. The wards were more than capable of banishing an archdemon, and most likely a lesser prince. However, both Lord Tommus and I were playing roles, and our roles required us to flee.” She looked at Tom for agreement.
Tom nodded, agreeing with her even though he really had been forced to flee. He had not even considered trying to resist. The thought had not crossed his mind. However, once again, he was, as Bess stated, playing a role. This time it was that of a mighty demon prince about to overthrow some gods.
Fort Murgatroid: DOA + 10, First Period
“Well, this afternoon was surprisingly productive,” Baysir said to the assembled group. Baysir, Hilda, Stevos and Timbly had reassembled this evening at Fort Murgatroid to discuss their thoughts on the afternoon’s debriefing with Iskerus. Baysir had had another appointment after the deposition and the other three had decided to do some additional research on Astlan’s history so they could correlate information from Iskerus with other events.
“Truly,” Timbly said. “At first I was a bit surprised by your focus on doctrine versus dogma, but thinking upon it, it made far more sense to discuss that. We know very well what happened with the demon and Talarius; what we did not know is what motivated the Church and Rod to escalate the events.”
Hilda nodded. “Well, to be honest, I had not really planned on delving so much into the history of Church doctrine and the timelines, but for some reason I found the path we accidentally started down quite interesting and wanted to pursue it.”
“I think it was a wise choice.” Baysir nodded in agreement. “We have been aware of certain lapses on the part of the Church in this localverse for some time. None of it enough to warrant an Intercession, but certainly worth investigating and this, I believed, proved to be a good opportunity.”
“It is interesting that Iskerus seemed to believe that much of the doctrine about when it is acceptable to break oaths or use what we would think of as troubling rituals have been around as long as the Rod has called itself the Rod,” Stevos said.
Baysir nodded. “Astlan started using the term ‘Rod’ after the fall of the Anilords. Prior to that it was the Militia of Tiernon.”
“Which, interestingly enough, is about the time that the Rod invaded Natoor, which apparently is what set this goddess Bastet on a warpath or something,” Hilda said.
“So you are once more thinking that the cat demoness is the Nyjyr Ennead goddess?” Stevos asked.
“I am, for the moment; however, that brings up another odd point that I cannot reconcile,” Hilda said.
“What is that?” Timbly asked.
“When the Rod invaded Natoor, the Arch-Vicar General of the Rod was named Exador,” Hilda stated as the others’ faces quickly displayed shock at this news.
“Are you saying that you think the Arch-Vicar General of the Rod was an archdemon?” Baysir asked incredulously.
Hilda shrugged. “We know that the current Exador has a long history of masquerading as a human, pretending to age and die and always begetting a male heir named Exador.”
Stevos nodded in agreement. “We are only talking a thousand years ago; that is not an unreasonable timeframe for an archdemon to play such a game.”
Baysir had put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands as Stevos spoke. He sighed and looked up at them. “I would have heard his prayers, as would many others. This is an Arch-Vicar General we are talking about, and technically only the second or third since they renamed the Militia the Rod. He would have been under quite a bit of scrutiny from both Sentir and myself as well as many other avatars.”
“Well, the conquest of Natoor and Naajar were particularly bloody, and uncharacteristic of our stated doctrine,” Hilda replied.
Timbly nodded. “Agreed; the entire Holy Etonian Empire and the brutal conquest model is not at all how we like to come in. Normally we work to infiltrate, subvert and absorb local populations peacefully. This is central to how the Rangers work. It is, in essence, a large part of their mission.”
Baysir twisted his head on his neck, as if trying to relieve stiffness. “I will need to go back to my diary. I know Sentir and I had more than a few dustups over this. We were both caught a bit unaware and had to scramble to contain the damage.” He grimaced. “An archdemon leading our army would explain a lot in how this came about.”
“So then, what is it you can’t square?” Timbly asked Hilda.
“It is this: if the cat archdemon is Bastet, why would she be aligned with the archdemon Exador, who more than likely led the conquest of her followers?” Hilda asked.
Baysir raised an eyebrow. “They would be very odd bedfellows.”
“It makes me think of the saying: Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” Timbly noted.
Stevos made a small chortle and grinned.
Baysir nodded and shook his head. “Possibly true, but again maybe we are over thinking this. We have no concrete proof that the cat archdemon is the goddess Bastet, nor proof that Arch-Vicar General Exador is the same archdemon we are dealing with today.”
Mount Doom: Early Second Period
Tom wandered through Orcus’s gallery in the Library of Doom. Having spent the entire day in Nysegard and the majority o
f the evening outside of Mount Doom, he was fully charged, so to speak, and had no need for sleep. Nor would his mind allow it; it was moving in overdrive, trying to understand the games the gods played.
While he had intellectually realized it as his anxiety built all day about meeting with the Nyjyr Ennead, he had not truly gotten it at the “gut level,” the emotional level. It had not been until halfway through his liquid CO2 cocktail that it finally hit him that he had somehow moved from pawn to queen on the chessboard of the gods. That had turned his stomach into an icier knot than even the super-cold CO2.
It was the moment when the fear and awe of meeting the ancient Egyptian gods turned into the sudden realization that he was going to be expected to play in their league. He would have to compete at the god level, whatever that was. It was, Tom reflected anxiously, a level at which decisions he and his allies and opponents made could bend the course of destiny of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of beings.
Could he do it? Was he up to it? Clearly he had the ego, the hubris to play on that level. Only someone who fancied himself a peer with the gods would even think to play their games on their level and terms; and Tom had been, and was still, considering it. The Nyjyr Ennead wanted to ally more closely with him and Doom; they wanted to work together to bring down Tiernon and Torean. They believed he was a worthy ally!
That thought frightened the, well, he wasn’t really clear what, out of him; he did not seem to have bowel movements, so it was quite literally impossible to have the shit scared out of him. He had to be mad, insane, to consider it. He was a seventeen-year-old human, out of his world, out of his depth, and possibly out of his mind, given these Orcus visions.
They had discussed it lightly on the ride home. Sekhmekt, of course, was fairly enthusiastic about working more closely together; she had really enjoyed the Knights of Chaos. Phaestus had been surprisingly non-committal and a bit reserved, concentrating on driving the horses. He had not been against it, simply reserved; Tom suspected he might have more to say in private.
Phaestus and Sekhmekt had returned to Anuropia when they got back to Doom. The rest of them had retired to his study to discuss the dinner. Reggie was quite enthusiastic, as it tied out with his work for his apparently not-so-accursed mistress. The incubus seemed seriously smitten by her; Tom shook his head.
Tamarin thought it was an interesting offer, worthy of exploration and discussion; a very reasoned response, as he expected. Antefalken was all for it. The thought of having a ringside seat for a battle between pantheons was something that no bard could resist. Tom was pretty sure the bard was already counting coins in his head from the additional ballads he would be able to write.
Vargg Agnoth had been mostly silent and dour; no real surprise there. However, he finally admitted that an arms-length agreement for now as the two sides got to know each other might be useful. He did not trust the Nyjyr Ennead, except of course for Phaestus and Sekhmekt, but he was more than aware of their urgent need for allies in the coming battles. Their current enemies, Lilith and Tiernon, had beat them four thousand years ago at the height of their power; given that they were nowhere near that level of readiness now, they would need allies.
Tom sighed, shaking his head as he approached the case that held the fancy animage robes. He needed to do something to clear his mind of this evening and these concerns. He really would go insane if he continued to focus on his own insecurities and the precariousness of his situation.
Perhaps trying to figure out how to change his form with clothes might be useful. Other demons, including Antefalken, were able to do it. It should be no problem, right? Tom grinned ruefully at that thought. He shifted to Edwyrd and opened the glass case. He figured the first step would be to touch, handle and wear the robe. He imagined he would need to sort of go all Zen and “grok” the robe, to make it one with himself. Or some other such mental machination.
He might have laughed about such things a few months back, however, that sort of stuff really did work for animages, and apparently for demons. Shape-changing really was mind over matter; substance shaping form, or something like that. He had no idea, simply instinct and feelings to go on.
Actually, that was a good description of his entire state—this entire game he found himself playing. There was no logical set of guidelines for someone in his position. In so many ways it was so preposterous, so out of the ordinary, so utterly unbelievable that there could be no real playbook for what to do. Winging it, so to speak, was the only conceivable option, was it not?
Tom, for one, hoped so.
Chapter 133
Freehold: DOA + 10, Shortly After Dawn
Vaselle, lugging his pack of carefully wrapped portable portal links, made his way to the portal link he had hidden outside of Freehold. He was delivering his first batch of portal links to his master, and he was feeling quite pleased and excited.
When he reached the portal, he activated the linking and then traced it back to his master and on to the Temple of Doom, where another solid link point existed. It was tied to a brazier they now kept burning. The theory, which they were testing now, was that he could follow the links to that brazier and tie the flames there to the flame generated by the portal links and open a gateway on his own, either with his own mana or with Lord Tommus’s.
If he, as a warlock, could use his dark master’s power to open the gateway, that would be the simplest; otherwise he would have to try a couple of different spells that he had researched. Vaselle relaxed, allowing himself to focus on the brazier in the Temple of Doom. In the back of his mind, he felt himself... well, enfolded was the only expression he could think of, in his dark master’s mental embrace. This was sort of weird, touchy-feely animage-like stuff, very different from normal wizardry, so it had taken some getting used to. In his mind, he could feel his dark master’s presence all around him, not intervening but passively watching, supporting. Vaselle focused on the flame there, and then on the portable portal link in front of him; he willed the link in front of him to trigger its flame spell. The flame flared up about a foot before returning to a more modest six- to eight-inch flame.
Bracing himself in his lord’s presence, Vaselle superimposed the two flames in his mind, willing them to be the same flame. In his mind, he was using the Laws of Contagion and Similarity to blend the two flames into a common portal. Doing this raw, without the normal entrapments of wizardry, was quite challenging, but also quite thrilling.
The flames were mirrors of each other. If he simply reached out his hand through the mirrored flames, he could bend himself through to the other side, become his own reflection in the Temple of Doom. He felt Tommus’s mind, like a giant mental claw, reach out and guide his hand, showing him how to make a small tear in the flame to allow the reflection through. There it was—suddenly a hole appeared in the flames and he could see both sides. With a gentle prodding from his lord, he imagined his being flowing through the portal to the other side.
Suddenly he was there, in the temple beside his master, staring back through the flames to the rocky region from whence he had come. He sighed and allowed the flame spell on the portal link to expire, closing the portal.
“Well, that was interesting,” his master told him. “That’s not at all how I visualized it, but it seems to have worked. You are here!” His master gently patted Vaselle on the back, sending a thrill of excitement through his body.
“Yeah, doing things the animage way is a bit weird,” Vaselle said. “I’ve never really worked that way before and so was sort of improvising, trying to mix my understanding of wizardry and some of my religious training.”
“As far as I can determine, improvising seems to be the way animagic works.” Lord Tommus unleashed a deep, dark chuckling noise within the temple; the sound reverberated off the stone walls.
Vaselle shuddered in both awe and a bit of unease at his lord’s humor. Being linked to him, Vaselle completely understood the good-natured manner in which the chuckling was meant, but
the physical effect was very different.
“So, master,” Vaselle asked, “where shall we plant these first portals?”
“Tal Gor is heading into the dungeon below a fortress called Mount Orc, where he will contact me and we will plant one portal link there. Beya Fei Geist is scouting out a good location in a city called Orcopolis; she will also contact us shortly.”
“Farsooth, Ragala-nargoloth and Trig?” Vaselle asked about the other shamans.
“Farsooth and Ragala-nargoloth will be in place late this evening, so I thought we would do them after I finish the oath-taking in Nysegard later tonight,” Tommus told him. “Sometime after, Trig will be in a good position; however, we are not completely sure that the devices will work in his universe. It’s pretty high tech.”
“So after the first two, will you contact me to come back, or should I leave them with you, or...?” Vaselle asked, hoping for an invitation to hang out at Mount Doom.
Lord Tommus must have sensed his intent, because he chuckled again. “If you wish to wait here at Mount Doom, I am pretty sure that Tamarin would be more than happy to show you around the Library of Doom.”
Vaselle had never heard of the Library of Doom. Even as the thought entered his mind, he could see an overwhelmingly large library in his mind’s eye; memory remnants of conversations between Tommus, Tamarin and Erestofanes, also filled his mind. This communication method was very strange and oddly disturbing, yet very much the sort of thing Vaselle had always dreamed of. They had used it on more than one occasion and it was both useful and incredibly efficient.
“Definitely. Think of all the knowledge there!” Vaselle replied in wonder and excitement.
Noajar, Nimbus: Mid Third Period
“So absolutely no sign of Bastet or other Nyjyr Ennead activity?” Captain Ehéarellis asked. The captain, Trevin, Maelen, Elrose, Jenn and Gastropé, along with first mate Aêthêal, were gathered in one of the Nimbus’s conference rooms to decide their next course of action.