Resist

by Derek Belfield

  At least, that’s what he had thought before Bludtyr and Grievum had ravaged his castle, slain and transformed every member of his family, and conscripted his house guards into their army. He presumed that, right now, their army was ravaging the rest of Ithicus and folding citizens and warriors alike under their banner. Sure, Luvyth heard the rumors. There was supposed to be some type of insurrection brewing in the east. Some said that the rebels were taking the name of the legendary Scourge to foment fear in the Collective. To Luvyth, it sounded like that high lord had some explaining to do. Whoever was in charge over there had clearly allowed events to outstrip their ability to control them. That didn’t sound like Ithicus’ problem. Color him surprised when the two generals of the Collective disagreed. Now, he was only focused on preserving his own life. Standur, Bastion, even Soulreach could be damned as far as he was concerned.

  “You’re right, General; I was wrong.” He went on, pitifully, “I humbly beg that you grant me mercy so that I can better serve you.”

  Without replying, Bludtyr swung herself out of the plush bed. She looked down at her naked, lithe form and saw the dried blood that coated her body. It flaked and cracked as she moved. She frowned. “My blood bath has started to grow stale.”

  The high lord’s eyes widened. “No, please, General.” He stammered, “I c-can’t go through that one more time.”

  Bludtyr still didn’t reply as she padded over to the dresser on her bare feet. She picked up her favorite knife that was lying on its surface and studied the blood present there. She idly picked at the dried blood with a long fingernail until the wavy pattern in the metal showed through once more. She slowly and meticulously cleaned the knife while the high lord watched.

  “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty,” Bludtyr mused. “I had planned on leaving the city today, but the road wears on me so.”

  The high lord remained silent. He knew that he had made his plea, and the General would either accept it or ignore it. There was nothing he could do now. He sighed, and the chains rattled as he felt the energy to resist leave his body all at once.

  “Oh no,” Bludtyr said with fake alarm. “Has the high lord given up on getting out of this.” She carefully observed the man. There wasn’t a single response from her teasing.

  “A pity,” she said somewhat sadly. “I had hoped you would last longer than this. Breaking you pompous fools gives me great pleasure. This, though,” she gestured with the knife. “This is just pathetic. High lords truly aren’t what they used to be back in Gould’s day. No wonder this Collective is going to shit.”

  She paused, seeing if her prick to his pride was going to elicit a response. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” she said gently. “I don’t need a willing participant to have my fun still.”

  At the last word, uncontrolled shivers broke out upon the high lord. He remembered vividly what the General considered fun. His Vallyr constitution had healed him from the worst of her ministrations, but that had merely kept him alive. He had been a prisoner in his own skull as he watched himself carve paths down his veins. He never gouged them deeply enough to worry about killing himself. His natural regeneration kept him ticking along as the General bathed in the blood he appeared to give willingly. He clenched his eyes shut at just the memory. If it had only been the bloodletting, he could have survived the experience relatively unscathed. Of course, that wasn’t enough for the General.

  Any idea that crossed her mind, she would have him enact for her like some sick actor on a stage. He had violated, mutilated, and tortured himself in ways that he never imagined. Even now, his mind shied away from the pain that had been inflicted upon it. The General’s dark fantasies were as cruel as they were poetic. He would rather die than be subjected to another session. The high lord lifted his wrists, and the chains rattled piteously as reminders that he couldn’t escape. The general would release him, but only when she had firmly regained control of his mind.

  Bludtyr walked over to him slowly and took a deep breath. “Exquisite,” she breathed. “Your pain and horror have aged like fine wine. It will be exciting to see what flavors I can bring out this morning.” She caressed her knife and held it in front of the high lord’s eyes. His gaze was helplessly drawn to the blade. He saw his reflection in the patterned steel and saw the defeat written in it.

  Bludtyr moved the knife slowly and placed it in the high lord’s hand. Her eyes glowed purple and David dar Luvyth could already feel the inescapable coil of her magic around his mind. He desperately wanted to take the knife and plunge it into her throat, but her insidious magic wouldn’t allow him.

  “Sweet lord,” the General purred. “Do you love me?”

  “Yes, mistress,” Luvyth said. The words came out roughly as if pulled from his clenched teeth.

  “Aw,” Bludtyr tutted. “That didn’t sound believable at all. How will you show me your love?” There was a pause.

  “I will do anything, mistress,” he ground out.

  “That’s good, lover,” Bludtyr said enticingly. “Why don’t you give me a gift?” She tapped a finger to her chin. “I would like an eye. Do you love me enough to give me an eye?” Her tone was demure with a hint of wicked flirtation. It was the kind of voice to drive a man wild.

  “Of course, I will,” Luvyth answered. “I love you.” Silent tears streamed down his face as he leaned down to allow his restrained hand access to his skull. He tried to resist the compulsion with all of his might, but his hand raised inexorably toward his face. The edge of the blade floated closer and closer to his eye as it began to take up his whole world. He couldn’t look away from its edge as the point touched the sensitive flesh of his sclera. It hadn’t penetrated yet when resounding booms came from the chamber door.

  “Bludtyr! You whore! Stop playing with your toy; we have work to do!”

  Bludtyr hissed at the interruption and released the compulsion on her victim. The high lord sobbed as he threw the dagger away, and it clattered against the stone floor. Bludtyr snarled at the insult but stalked to the door of the room like a wet cat. She pulled the door open.

  “What?!” She hissed. “I am busy, you ogre whore’s son!”

  General Grievum looked slightly surprised at the anger in her voice. He had been summoning her good-naturedly. At least, he thought it was good-natured. He immediately pivoted from surprise to anger. The man didn’t like feeling anything but pleasure or anger. Anything in between seemed useless.

  “Fuck you, Bludtyr. We have shit to do. The Cult has sent a representative and they want to meet with us. Apparently, Nocturnus hasn’t been pleased with our actions as of late.”

  Bludtyr frowned as her mind ran through the implications. She had virtually razed and robbed two collective cities and was in the process of flattening the third. She could see why Nocturnus would be displeased at her methods, but he wouldn’t be angry after she defeated the Scourge. The Cult wasn’t a force to be taken lightly. Squabbles amongst high lords were nothing compared to the infighting between the Cult and the Patriarch of the Collective. The Cult had their tentacles in every aspect of life in the Collective. If she ignored them now, it would be at her peril. Grievum had done the right thing by coming to collect her.

  Fuck, she thought in annoyance. She hated when the other general, fool that he was had done something intelligent. That was usually her role to play. He was there to provide the muscle that intimidated foes into capitulating. Despite their rivalry, they had worked well together throughout their history. It wasn’t a friendly relationship by any means, but it was at least productive. That was more than could be said about most Vallyr relationships

  “You’re right. I’m sorry for my unprofessionalism, General Grievum.” An icy mask of stoicism covered up any thoughts percolating below the surface.

  Grievum gave her a long look before nodding. “Apology accepted,” he muttered. “The Cult is waiting in the high lord’s throne room. He gave her naked body an appraising look. Over their long lives, they had seen each ot
her in the nude plenty of times. On campaign, they had even slept together on a number of occasions. They both had their perversions when it came to blood and sex. However, even Grievum became uncomfortable with the lengths to which Bludtyr would go with her playthings. Grievum liked to break his victims’ bodies, especially the young ones. He found that more merciful than Bludtyr’s methods. She liked to shatter their minds.

  “I won’t be long, Grievum,” Bludtyr told him firmly.

  Grievum didn’t move from his spot; he merely opened the door and walked past the chained high lord after landing a kick on his ribs. He found a chair to sit on and perched there with his arms crossed.

  “All the same, Bludtyr,” he began. “I know how you like to play with your food. I’d rather not be with the Cult by myself. They came in force, and I’d rather not end up as fuel for one of their spells.”

  Bludtyr nodded. That was an acceptable reason to hurry her along. No one wanted to associate with the Cult, no matter how much influence they had. Communion with Nocturnus seemed to warp the mortal mind. Bludtyr couldn’t decide if it was the followers that distorted the god, and then the god changed the mortals in some kind of sick feedback loop or if Nocturnus had always been such an unforgiving master. No one had dared ask the Cult. Any such talk would result in being branded a heretic and being saved for the most painful of the Lord of Consuming Darkness’ rituals.

  She padded her way into the bathroom, where a basin of oiled water waited. She quickly used a cloth to bathe herself. The water stripped the dried blood from her skin, and it soon sluiced off of her in dark streams. The water was scented with jasmine, and Bludtyr found herself enjoying the aroma. She usually preferred something more carnal, but the jasmine made her feel refreshed. She needed any advantage she could gain before she spoke to the Cult. After a few minutes, she had bathed and pinned up her long hair. She had needed to wet it as well because of the blood in its tresses, but she didn’t have the time to let it dry properly. It was a fact that annoyed her. She liked to keep her appearance pristine when in public. She had healthy hair for one of the Vallyr and she took every step she could to minimize the damage done to it by poor maintenance. She firmly believed that bathing it in the blood of her victims is what kept it so vibrant. It wasn’t a practice that she planned to stop anytime soon.

  After she donned the padded light armor that she wore underneath her plate armor, she was ready to depart. Seeing that she was finished, Grievum rose from his seat.

  “It looks like you already broke him,” he said, gesturing to the shivering high lord.

  She snorted. “Not yet, he stills needs a little bit of tenderizing. I expect that he’ll taste delicious sometime this evening.” She paused. “Well, that’s if the Cult doesn’t interrupt my play.”

  “There is that,” Grievum agreed. “It’s strange that they’re getting involved now. I figured that if they were going to do something, it would have been after realizing that Standur had fallen. It seems that would have been the more important thing to be involved with.”

  The generals walked next to each other as they went downstairs to the throne room. The castle was fairly silent. Grievum and Bludtyr had cleared the structure of the living the day prior. Now, soul-forged constructs guarded the halls.

  “Pineforge did have a chapter of the Cult,” Bludtyr noted. “They seem to have a significant presence in the area.”

  Grievum shrugged. “That’s true, I suppose. Did any of the Cultists come with your army?”

  “Some,” Bludtyr admitted. “At least, the ones I know about. Who knows how many have snuck in under the guise of a normal soldier. I haven’t had the time to discover how many of them are present in my army.”

  Grievum sighed heavily. “That will make things more difficult.”

  “Indeed,” Bludtyr replied as they reached the entrance of the throne room. Waiting for them inside the dark and dank hall was a group of ten Cultists. They wore their typical black robes trimmed in purple thread. There was no other ornamentation; the Cult eschewed such trappings of mortal wealth. They were focused entirely on the spiritual and what they could do to further the goals of the Lord of Consuming Darkness.

  As the two generals entered, the members of the Cult turned to face them. One man in the lead spoke first. “Ah, Generals, it’s so good that you have finally decided to join us.” The man’s voice was buttery smooth as it slid across the intervening space. Both Bludtyr and Grievum were on high alert. They were both intimately aware that the most attractive things in nature tended to be the deadliest. The Cultist’s voice was like a brightly colored sea serpent. It was pretty to look at, but no one would invite the snake into their bed.

  The two generals shared a look before closing the distance between them and the Cultist. Grievum offered his hand, but the Cultist declined the invitation, merely inclining his head. Grievum put away his hand awkwardly while the man introduced himself.

  “My name is Magister Carrarn. I lead the local chapter of Cultists,” he said smoothly.

  Bludtyr let Grievum take the lead. It was a practice they were both used to. He blundered in and made a mess of things while Bludtyr inserted herself into the conversation and tried to pry loose any benefits for them. After long practice, it was a familiar routine. If Grievum had ever felt offended by the performance, he never said anything. He had an animal cunning to him that knew when to take opportunities as they presented themselves.

  “It’s good to meet you, Carrarn. My name is Grievum and this is my companion, Bludtyr. We’ve always been adherents of the faith,” Grievum said confidently. His deep gravelly voice projected strength and fearlessness. In short, it was entirely at odds with how he felt.

  Carrarn smiled, and Bludtyr noticed that the man’s teeth had all been filed into points. It made his smile sinister. Bludtyr idly considered shaving down hers as well but ultimately rejected it. Her teeth were perfect. She didn’t need overt physical augmentations to make her scarier than she was. She immediately labelled Carrarn as an amateur. Pointed teeth were the least of her victims’ worries.

  “That’s not exactly true, is it Generals?” Carrarn sounded amused. “After all, you didn’t consult with the Cult before you decided to convert two settlements into soul-forged soldiers. Even now, your army is collecting the citizenry of Ithicus and attempting to forge them into weapons for your conquest.”

  Neither Grievum nor Bludtyr allowed any expression to cross their faces. “They were traitors,” Grievum said flatly. “They forgot their oath when they refused to follow the orders of the Patriarch. The Collective faces enemies from within and without. We don’t have time to play high lord games.”

  Carrarn nodded. “Ah, you’re wise as ever, General Grievum,” he said with a smile and a sideways glance at Bludtyr.

  She didn’t like his expression. It said, ‘I know what you’re doing, and you haven’t fooled me in the slightest.’ Bludtyr watched the man carefully. The Cult wasn’t known for playing intricate games; they had all of the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Grievum and the Cult were alike in that regard.

  Bludtyr decided it was time for her to join in the conversation. “What can we do to help the Cult?”

  At her words, Carrarn smiled. “It’s a small thing, really Generals. The Cult will bless your actions in Crosstyr and Pineforge. We’ll even help you gather up the rest of the citizenry within Ithicus. We understand the dire need of Nocturnus.” Carrarn’s voice trailed off, and both of the generals could sense a ‘but’ in the air. Bludtyr thought it was telling that the Cultist didn’t talk about the Collective’s or the Patriarch’s needs. His loyalty was clearly reserved for Nocturnus alone. That’s what made the Cult less than predictable. Sometimes what was suitable for the Collective wasn’t good for Nocturnus.

  Grievum couldn’t take the grave manner in which the cultist was speaking. His patience was worn. “What do you want, Carrarn? You didn’t summon us here just to say you approved of our actions.” He shot a helpless look at Bludtyr, “
Even I know that and I’m not privy to all the games that the Cult plays.”

  For the first time, Carrarn looked annoyed. Derision and anger crossed his face as he looked at Grievum. “You’re right, General,” he spat. “That fool, Mors, allowed an anchor of Nocturnus’ power get destroyed in Standur, and our Lord has grown angry. All of the Vallyr are in peril. When the Lord of Darkness gets angry, he gets hungry, and our lives are tied to his.”

  Carrarn’s expression softened. His outburst of emotion revealed much to Bludtyr. The priest was just as frightened as they were. The situation was looking grim for the Collective. It seemed that the Cult had something that they needed done for their Lord.

  Bludtyr put as much emotion into her voice as she was willing to allow. She figured it would make the priest believe that she was ready to follow the Cult’s lead in this matter. “How can we help the Lord of Darkness then?”

  Carrarn gave her a relieved look without meaning to. “We have in our possession a seed of the Lord’s power. We need an escort to help us take it east. It will grow into a new tower between Ithicus and Bastion. The Cult is going to set up fortifications so that we can directly help counter the advance of the Scourge.

  Both Bludtyr and Grievum were surprised at the revelation. This was no small request. Growing another tower was a significant endeavor. It required monumental quantities of soul power to mature. If the Cult was trying to produce another one, it meant that they intended to harvest all of the requisite souls as well. The realization hit Bludtyr like an oncoming horse.