by J. Langland
Hilda stretched her neck. Teresa was very good at this. Certainly she was more thorough in her follow-up questions than Hilda was. Of course, Hilda did most of her questioning using alcohol; that would probably not be appropriate here. She suppressed a grin.
Rede’s story seemed consistent with what he had briefly told them yesterday. If this was a rehearsed story, then it was an extremely detailed story—right down to the symptoms of his mother’s illness, as well as on the nature of raising chickens. There were numerous very domestic details that she would not have expected a normal dhampyr to know.
Dhampyrs were generally groomed by very senior vampires to be their primary assistant. It would seem that they had managed to capture Rede before he’d had significant training. He claimed, apparently truthfully, to have not even met the vampire who had sired him. She found that unusual, or at least, it was not her expectation. To be honest, most of her knowledge of dhampyrs was from the books. This was the most significant interaction she had ever had with one.
“So, Rede,” Teresa continued the conversation she was having. “You’ve stated that you have never met your father.” Rede nodded. “But you do know his name, yes?”
“My mother told me his name. He had given her money to support our family,” Rede said.
“And what is his name?” Teresa asked.
“Czernobog von Smerti,” Rede said softly. He was still very reserved, but he had clearly become more comfortable over the last hour.
“Czernobog von Smerti?” Teresa repeated, startled. It was almost like she could not believe the name she’d heard.
“Do you know of him?” Hilda asked Teresa, who simply nodded.
“I’m told he has some seniority within the Storm Lords’ army,” Rede told them.
“Yes. We have heard of him, so he does have some seniority,” Teresa smiled, lying through her teeth, Hilda noted. Teresa knew exactly who this vampire was and was clearly suppressing her excitement, trying to remain calm. Hilda was fairly certain Rede could not sense her reaction, but as far as Hilda was concerned, the priestess might as well have been jumping up and down.
~
Hilda and Teresa left the dungeon about a half-hour later. Teresa had previously told Hilda that she had hard limits on how long she would interview a prisoner to get the optimal amount of information per session. By Hilda’s estimate, Teresa had pushed her own limit.
Once they were out of the dungeon region, Hilda immediately turned to the priestess.
“Okay, clearly you knew who his sire was,” Hilda said. “Could you perhaps enlighten me? I know nothing of politics.”
Teresa shook her head quickly—not in negation, but more as someone who had a big secret to reveal. “Everyone in the Citadel knows who he is. I find it amazing that Rede doesn’t know. Of course, being from a rural village, he probably wouldn’t.” She shook her head again. “But if you study the Storm Lords, you obviously know who he is,” she said very excitedly.
Hilda nodded and smiled patiently at the priestess’s excitement. “Yes, but I do not. Who is he?”
“He’s the most politically powerful vampire in the world!” Teresa gushed. “His power base is such that he is more an ally of the Storm Lords than a subject. Actually, I suppose you could argue, he is a Storm Lord—except those are all liches. But whatever, he is a very powerful agent of the Unlife! Almost, potentially, a rival power of darkness!”
“Interesting,” Hilda said.
“Amazing, actually. This is a huge prize!” Teresa said. “He is definitely the sort of hostage that we might be able to leverage! Having him wander right into you? Talk about miracles!”
The Inferno: Fourth Period
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Melissance said as she came down the ladder from the main hatch of the Inferno. Samwell was certain that her behind was swaying as it was to tempt the males below her. Although, to be fair, climbing down a rung ladder in high heels could not have been that easy.
“I really cannot stress how much I think this is a bad idea,” Sir Samwell said to Captain Cranshall.
“I have my own misgivings,” the captain replied. “However, Chancellor Alighieri and the ship’s lawyers have spent the last three, nearly four, days, around the clock, hammering out contracts and legal agreements to protect both sides in this endeavor.”
“We are letting a damned soul, who happens to be married to an archdemon, along with her ‘fallen angel’ valet, live in very close quarters with us,” Samwell said. “While I can understand and appreciate a good contract as much as the next Oorstemothian, I really do not see how the Rod and priests are okay with this. It boggles the mind.”
“Well, she was formerly one of them, and they seem to feel some responsibility for her plight,” Cranshall said. “And most importantly, she can help us locate Talarius and the greater demon.”
“Okay, so rescue her, let her help us,” Samwell countered, “even at the risk of angering an archdemon. But why invite an actual demon onboard?”
“Fallen angel,” Chancellor Alighieri said, coming up the hallway behind them and inserting himself into their conversation.
Samwell turned to stare at the chancellor. “You do know that the only difference between an angel and a demon is which side they play for?” Samwell asked rather incredulously. “He’s admitted he plays for Hesseforthalus, the lady’s husband. That makes him a demon.”
“Well, yes, but as the servant of an archdemon, he must be only a greater demon. I should point out that Talarius nearly beat a greater demon by himself; you single-handedly chased an archdemon into the Abyss and survived. We not only have you, but three Knights Rampant, and a ship full of priests and Rod members, all sorts of magical protections built into the ship, and a signed contract.” The Chancellor raised his shoulders in a shrug. “What more could one want?”
“To not knowingly invite a demon onboard a magically sealed vessel?” Samwell replied.
Isle of Doom, Agnothnon: Mid Sixth Period
“You seem very down this evening, Sir Talarius,” Thrinarv noted as he set his mug down.
“Indeed, you seem quite dour,” Stainsberry agreed.
“I fear my sword and I”—Talarius patted Ruiden resting against his chair—“are having a bit of a crisis of conscience.”
“I’m sorry, but did you say your sword is having a crisis of conscience?” Thrinarv asked, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. He glanced sideways at Stainsberry, who simply smiled.
“Ruiden, my sword, is intelligent, and at times autonomous, and we talk mind to mind,” Talarius said.
“Really?” Thrinarv asked somewhat skeptically.
Talarius frowned. “Yes. He was forged as a demon-slaying sword by Völund the Smith. He can also transform into a sword golem. He actually came searching for me in the Abyss.”
Thrinarv raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Völund, you say? In that case, I shall accede to the assertion.” The priest raised his mug and gave Talarius a bright smile before taking a swig.
“So what are you having a crisis about?” Stainsberry asked.
“It is this D’Orcing business, and the demon-summoning business,” Talarius said.
“Still in shock about demons originating as mortals, bound against their will?” Stainsberry asked.
“Yes, but not as before. I have confirmed it with multiple demons, including Lord Tommus,” Talarius said. “I am concerned about how I could have been so wrong for so long.”
“Well, you have the consolation that, unlike most people outside of the Isle of Doom, you long ago accepted that demons were not intrinsically evil,” Stainsberry noted.
“Well…” Talarius said slowly.
“Indeed. Traveling to the Abyss to fight alongside a demon prince?” Thrinarv asked rhetorically. “Not many would do that. Very few actually could, in fact.” Thrinarv furrowed his brow in thought. “Hmmm.”
“What?” Talarius asked.
“Given that as a mortal, you were able
to stand side by side with a demon prince and a goddess to slay Knights of Chaos, you would probably be a worthy candidate someday for D’Orcing yourself,” Thrinarv said.
Stainsberry nodded. “I would drink to that!” He raised his glass to toast with Thrinarv, but paused when Talarius did not join in. He turned to look at the knight. “Talarius?” he asked in concern.
“I think he’s about to throw up!” Thrinarv yelled. “Someone find us a bucket!”
The Abyss, Ramses’ Estate: Late Sixth Period
“A toast!” Ramses said, raising a glass of blood wine towards Exador.
“A toast to finally finishing up a marathon session!” Exador agreed, clinking his glass to Ramses’.
“I don’t think I have put in that much continuous effort without a break in a millennium,” Ramses said, shaking his head.
“Agreed. That was a lot of work, but worth it to secure their assistance against Lenamare and the Council,” Exador said.
“Yes, about that. Are you not the least bit anxious about providing our allies with this magineering?” Ramses asked. “No fear of them using it against us someday?”
Exador chuckled. “Of course I am.”
Ramses tilted his head questioningly.
“A good part of my effort was in creating what I would call an escape hatch.” Exador pulled two amulets from his robe’s deep pocket, setting them on the table. “One for you, one for me, and I am going to have my people create some more for our other allies.”
“What exactly does it do?” Ramses asked, picking one up.
“The trick was to find something that was not an obvious defect in the system. This is not a defect, but rather the exploitation of a loophole. Without a deeper understanding of the spellcraft than any of their people possess, it is an undetectable loophole,” Exador said.
“So one wearing the amulet is not subject to the warding?” Ramses asked.
“Indeed; a get-out-of-jail-free card.” Exador chuckled.
“This will certainly work in Nysegard, should it be needed, but what if they should use this system against us in Freehold? We will have our demon armies; I am not enthused by the thought of losing all of mine permanently,” Ramses said.
“I know. We cannot give every demon an amulet, for one thing; that would be rather blatant. However, I am working on a spell version, a pentacle-based one. That should be ready before we move on Freehold. Actually, it will be ready before we give the go-ahead,” Exador said.
Ramses gave him a questioning look. “What, our demons simply walk into the pentacle?”
Exador grinned at him. “Exactly. Think of it as an exit pentacle.”
“Excellent.” Ramses raised his glass for another toast.
Exador responded with a smile.
Outside the Citadel of Light: DOA + 19, Pre-Dawn
Hilda watched the last wagon cross the east drawbridge into the citadel. They had been working all night to get the last of the stragglers in. It was a tremendous task, making sure they had everyone. The Rangers, Shield and Sky Wardens were relentlessly making multiple passes of the nearby regions, going from building to building and making sure everyone had gotten out.
They had actually been doing this around the clock since the horns had first sounded. This was all new to her. The scale of this operation was breathtaking—or would have been if she actually needed to breathe.
Rassnon, the Holy Lord Ranger of Torean upon Nysegard, came up to where she, Grob, Rasmeth and Timbly were watching the final preparations outside the walls.
“We believe we have everyone,” Rassnon informed them. “Elden’s wardens are reporting that the main forces are stopping for the day about a league away in all three land directions. This is consistent with what my Rangers are seeing. We are having periodic skirmishes with some of the advance parties; however, most of those have now retreated to join the main army.”
Grob nodded. “And from the sea? They run no lights on their ships, so my watchers have not been able to spot any of them. That should change as Atun rises…”
“Elden reports that there is a considerable flotilla approaching, both by sea and by air. However, exact location and numbers are difficult to estimate as we head into a new moon,” Rassnon said.
Hilda looked at them quizzically. “What is a new moon?”
The Nysegardians looked at her in surprise.
“How do you not know what a new moon is?” Grob asked.
“I’m from Astlan, remember? Your single moon system is a mystery to us. It seems extremely unstable,” Hilda replied.
“What do you mean, unstable? And how many moons does Astlan have?” Rassnon asked.
“In Astlan we have two moons, Uropia and Anuropia. Uropia traverses east to west and Anuropia circles the poles,” Hilda explained. “Uropia represents the female aspect, Anuropia the male aspect. Without balancing these two aspects, I can’t see how your single moon’s orbit would be stable.”
Rassnon shook his head. “Tarth, the moon, is female and Atun is male. The cool feminine moonlight of Tarth is balanced by the fiery maleness of Atun. It is very stable.”
“Yes, your system seems like a recipe for tidal instability,” Grob said.
Rasmeth shook his head. “No it’s highly stable. But in any event, what is a new moon? What makes it new?”
“A new moon is when Atun, Nysegard and Tarth are all aligned at the same latitude and the shadow of Nysegard covers Tarth and it is invisible in the night sky,” Rassnon told them. “It is a particularly inauspicious time, which is why the Unlife like to time things by it.”
“That makes sense. Your male and female aspects are in opposition, with Nysegard in the middle.” Hilda, Rasmeth and Timbly all nodded.
“In any event, we shall use the daylight to do a final pass to make sure we have everyone and everything of value,” Grob said.
“I will alert Dashgar and Inethya, and Timbly will alert Fassbindr and Delilah. They shall gather the others,” Hilda told them.
“The others?” Rassnon asked.
Hilda and Timbly grinned.
“Well, once the Attendant Archons and Prophets of Torean and Tiernon announced they were going to be here, at that point it became a competition,” Timbly said, chuckling.
“A competition?” Grob asked.
“We are going to send the Storm Lords packing once and for all!” Hilda smiled.
“Ashena Brightfeather and Molona Tramen will be here to represent Krinna,” Timbly told them.
“Garion Hearthhand and Seliana for Hendel,” Hilda said.
“And, of course, Eileen Sealegs and Jacquesparrow for Namora,” Timbly concluded.
Grob shook his head in amazement, “Jacquesparrow even? I… I…”
“Are speechless?” Rassnon asked. He looked at the saints. “Your Saintlinesses, we cannot thank and praise you enough!”
Hilda blinked to see tears leaking from Grob Darkness Slayer’s eyes. She looked away to save him the embarrassment.
“This is perhaps the greatest moment in the long history of the Citadel. All five Attending Archons, all five prophets, three saints and two apostles?” Rassnon was shaking his head. “Thirteen avatars and two apostles? The Storm Lords do not stand a chance!” He looked to Grob. “We shall be victorious! I cannot tell you how my heart sings. Before you showed up, we were fearful of our very survival. Now? Now we have a chance to strike at the very heart of darkness!”
Grob looked to the sky, spreading his arms wide, and shouted. “All praise be to the glory of the Five Siblings!”
Isle of Doom, Krallnomton: Early Third Period
Talarius stood on an ancient stone platform overlooking the practice fields, watching the D’Orcs’ war games. He had to admit it was more than a little intimidating. He would not want to be the opposing army. The D’Orcs were wielding insanely massive weapons that no mortal could even lift, let alone swing. He would not want to be hit by one of those things; the concussion alone would knock him halfway across the
battlefield.
“Impressive, aren’t they?” someone asked beside him.
Talarius started. He’d been so engrossed in the war games, he had allowed a complete stranger to sneak up on him! His inner turmoil was clearly taking a toll on him, causing him to let his guard down. He looked over to the stranger.
It was a young man, perhaps twenty years of age, with slightly pale skin that was unusual on this island, and fairly long, very curly black hair. He was wearing a very fancy set of layered robes with all sorts of magical runes and symbols woven into the fabric.
Talarius nodded. “They are indeed; I would not want to face them in battle,” he said, looking at the young man. He seemed vaguely familiar.
“Nor would I,” the young man said with a chuckle. “Fortunately, that is not a problem I will have.”
“No,” Talarius agreed. “I’m sorry, have we met? You look vaguely familiar.”
The young man grinned broadly and then chuckled again. “It’s me, Tom—or rather Edwyrd, as I call this form.”
Talarius did a double take and blinked. “Tom? Lord Tommus?” the knight asked in shock.
“The same,” the young man said. “Also the mysterious Lord Edwyrd that the Oorstemothians pursued to Freehold.”
Talarius shook his head. “Ah, yes. I remember you mentioning him back in the cave. So this is the form that your human friends saw?”
“Indeed.” Tom—or Edwyrd—turned, smiling, to look out once more at the wargames.
“Yet this is not the form you used after my defeat?” Talarius said.
Edwyrd nodded. “I did not want anyone to recognize Edwyrd as being me, so I improvised.”
“So you were in Freehold in this form while we were camped outside?” Talarius asked.
“Yes, as you know. My demon form tends to freak people out,” Edwyrd said.
“I would agree,” Talarius said. “So which is the real you?”
“Now? Ever since I was summoned, the big demon form is my true, default form. This”—he gestured down at himself—“is close to what I looked like as a human in New Jersey. I just made the form a little older to get more respect from the people I was traveling with.”