03- The Apostles of Doom Read online

  Arch-Diocate Iskerus exited the tent. He knew his face was pale and gray. His stomach was queasy. This was disturbing on so many levels that he was at a loss as to what to think.

  “My lord?” Hewitt asked.

  Iskerus realized everyone was looking at him. He shrugged. “It has indeed vanished from within its box. There is no sign of tampering with the box or the wards.” He glanced to the guards. “Search the entire camp. I doubt you will find anything, but we have to try.”

  Iskerus started moving slowly back towards his tent.

  “My lord? What next?” Hewitt asked.

  “I need to pray,” the Arch-Diocate replied, shuffling along.

  Tierhallon: DOA + 4, Early Second Period

  Hilda entered their meeting room to find Beragamos already there and setting out wine, cheeses and sausages, along with some pickled vegetables. “What a treat!” she exclaimed happily. Beragamos had left a message for her saying that he would be bringing the wine tonight; he had not mentioned the snacks.

  Moradel and Stevos entered the room behind her. “Indeed!” Moradel exclaimed.

  “Well, since today was a special day for Hilda, I thought it unfair to expect Hilda to provide refreshment for her own celebration,” Beragamos told them.

  “How was the audience?” Stevos asked Hilda.

  “Oh, it was wondrous! I had been so nervous, but our Lord quickly put me at ease and we…” she paused, unable to find the right words. She shook her head and tried again. “We tal…” she stopped and blinked in surprise. “I mean the session last…” At this point Hilda frowned. She did not seem to be able to come up with the correct words to describe her audience.

  Moradel and Beragamos both chuckled with amused smiles.

  “What?” Stevos asked, puzzled.

  Moradel grinned broadly at him and said, “When Tiernon grants a ‘private audience’ he means that quite literally.”

  Beragamos nodded, smiling, and looked at Hilda. “Don’t concern yourself. Think of a private audience as being something like an enforced confessional. What happens in a private audience with Tiernon stays private.”

  Moradel nodded. “If he describes it as a private audience, then the other party is unable to talk about it, or describe it to others.”

  “Sort of like a memory block? Or a dream vision that we use to communicate with our illuminaries?” Stevos asked.

  “Not at all.” Beragamos shook his head. “Hilda, or whoever has the interview, can perfectly recall the interview; this is important in the event Tiernon wants to continue the conversation later. No, you just cannot reveal the nature or details of the audience to anyone else.”

  Moradel was nodding. “And believe me, over the years more than a few archons and saints have tried very hard, yet none has found a means to reveal the conversation.”

  “Well, that is interesting,” Hilda said, shaking her head. “It is a very disconcerting situation.”

  Beragamos looked around. “Where is Sentir Fallon?”

  Moradel shrugged. “I have not heard from him; he may have been caught up on some detail. I am sure he will be here shortly.”

  “Well, in that case, it will be his loss if he misses the first bottle!” Beragamos said, gesturing for the others to take their seats as he picked up the first of several bottles of wine. “This is an interesting bottle of sparkling wine; on its native world, it is referred to as an 1893 Veuve Clicquot, where 1893 is its year of vintage,” he told them before popping the cork.

  “Which world?” Stevos asked.

  Beragamos frowned. “It is one that we very seldom get to; it is in a very low-mana region of the multiverse. It is one of several worlds that are very pedestrianly called ‘Earth.’ ”

  “Earth? Like the element?” Hilda asked.

  “Indeed.” Beragamos smiled.

  “Might as well call it dirt!” Stevos laughed as Beragamos poured them each a glass in a refleca-flute.

  “The low-mana worlds tend to be quite unimaginative,” Beragamos said.

  “I’ve heard rumors that most of them are not even dimensionally aware,” Moradel said.

  “Limited. It is very hard to get to these worlds using mana. One needs to use technology, which can be more cumbersome.”

  “I am not that familiar with technology as you use the term. You mean like crossbows, winches, mechanical devices?” Stevos asked.

  “Exactly, only it can get far more advanced. You can do many of the same things with technology that we do natively by force of will; it’s just quite complicated. However, it works exceedingly well in areas where one could never acquire enough mana to do proper rituals,” Beragamos said.

  Moradel chuckled. “Technology is somewhat analogous to wizardry with all its very complicated spells and contraptions. In fact, there is one cruel barb against wizards that basically says ‘Any sufficiently advanced wizardry will appear as technology to less magically adept viewers.’ ”

  “Well then, we should drink to that!” Beragamos said, raising his glass, “As well as to Hilda for her first private audience with our lord, Tiernon!” He held up his glass as the others joined in the toast with shouts of congratulations to Hilda, who blushed at the honor.

  “Mmm. That is something else!” Moradel said softly after taking a sip of his sparkling wine.

  “Perhaps we should consider getting wine from mana-depleted worlds more often!” Stevos agreed after tasting his own.

  Hilda’s eyes opened wider at the exquisite taste. There was a slight tinge of aging—clearly this was a very old bottle—but the taste was still incredible. She might have said indescribable, but after not being able to describe her meeting with Tiernon, the word seemed no longer so accurate.

  The door opened and Sentir Fallon came in, looking rather flustered.

  “Sentir?” Beragamos asked in concern. “What is the matter?”

  He shook his head in frustration. “Just a few minutes before the meeting I received word from illuminaries with the Church and Rod outside of Freehold. It appears that Excrathadorus Mortis has suddenly and very mysteriously vanished from the camp, where it had been warded and locked in a box that only the Arch-Diocate had a key to.”

  “For Tiernon’s sake, how many Holy Artifacts are they going to let just get up and walk away from them?” Moradel asked in exasperation.

  Chapter 124

  The Inferno: DOA + 4, Late Second Period

  “I am not sure I like this,” Gaius said to Gadius as they surveyed their quarters aboard the Inferno.

  “It is rather claustrophobic,” Gadius admitted, having similar reservations.

  Their shared quarters were a narrow metal-walled chamber approximately eight feet deep. The wall at the far end of the room was slanted from about two feet from the floor, up to the rather low eight-foot-high ceiling. Along the right-hand wall from the doorway was a set of bunks, actually hammocks on rectangular metal frames, bounded above and below by narrow drawers. One ran set along the ceiling, the other along the floor. At the near end of the beds, leading back towards the small door through which they had entered, was a very small built-in wardrobe for hanging garments, and another set of drawers. A narrow padded bench, on hinges to be raised or lowered, ran most of the wall opposite the bunks, leaving perhaps a foot between the bunks and bench when down, perhaps two and a half feet when up.

  “Getting around could be tricky,” Gaius observed. “One could never don plate armor in such a space.”

  “Which is why they like to store all armor in their armory area, I suppose. There appeared to be room there to equip oneself,” Gadius said.

  “Fortunately, that is not something we have to deal with.” Gaius smiled, allowing his obsidian-like chainmail to fade from sight, leaving him clad only in a tunic and pants.

  “Indeed,” Gadius agreed, allowing his own pearlescent chainmail to similarly vanish. Officially, their armor and principal weapons were kept in Bags of Safekeeping; unofficially, they had other means of storing thei
r armament.

  “I am not sure what we are going to say if it turns out as Sera suggests and Bags of Safekeeping do not work in the Abyss,” Gaius said.

  Gadius shrugged. “Well, we can always say that our mounts brought spare equipment.”

  Gaius frowned. “Yes. While there is no question that our ‘mounts’ will be able to locate us as needed in the Abyss, or anywhere for that matter, this entire business and the close proximity of others is going to strain the limits of credulity in our stories.”

  Gadius grinned. “We faced this before in training, remember?” He patted Gaius on the shoulder. “Our rank and independence as Knights Rampant has led to complacency. We are in need of sharpening our skills on this front.”

  Gaius grimaced. “I agree; however, that does not assuage my anxiety.”

  “Nor should it.” Gadius grinned broadly.

  ~

  Arch-Vicar General Barabus stood silently beside Wing Arms Master Heron of Treage on the bridge of the Inferno, listening to the incredibly long-winded speech of Oorstemothian Chancellor of Law Dante Alighieri extolling the virtues of the Inferno and their mission to bring the Law (and hence “justice”) to the far realms of the multiverse; in particular, in this instance, the Abyss and the greater demon who had captured Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon.

  All Oorstemothians were long-winded, but Chancellor Alighieri seemed worse than most. Barabus was now certain of that after the last few days. It was actually possible to have an intelligent conversation with Wing Arms Master Heron. True, the conversations were quite formal compared to what he was used to, but still fairly efficient.

  Barabus was very well aware of the Oorstemothians’ military prowess, but after the last several days of direct and intimate interaction with them, he was not sure how a commander would be able to issue an order before the enemy overran them.

  The launch of the Inferno was one such example. This speech was now entering its second hour; the senior members of the expedition were all standing in the cramped bridge compartment, listening to the Chancellor ramble on ad nauseam.

  “…and thus, my compatriots, with our carefully crafted concordance to create a completely cooperative campaign complete, we are ready to commence!” the chancellor finally finished.

  A round of applause arose from those assembled. Barabus gave a grateful sigh of relief as he clapped.

  “And thus forthwith, as I officially offer command of our versatile vessel to her new commanding officer, let me introduce our illustrious commander by providing a brief curriculum vitae of his qualifications before his inaugural address,” the chancellor continued. “Commander Cranshall was born in…”

  Barabus groaned internally. What had he done to be trapped on this thing with these people?

  Doom Control Center

  Tom entered the Doom Command Center, where multiple D’Orcs were monitoring the various systems, and oddly enough, Tizzy was munching on what appeared to be a bagel with butter on top. Arg-nargoloth was the commander on duty.

  “Is that a bagel?” Tom asked Tizzy.

  Tizzy swallowed, moved the bagel up to eye level, and looked at it closely before replying, “Looks like it.”

  “Where did you get a bagel?” Tom asked, more than a little curious.

  “I had some extra ingredients left over from the cookies and I’d bought a few other things on the side as well,” Tizzy said with a shrug, “so I made some early this morning.”

  Tom closed his eyes briefly in frustration. “If you made the bagel yourself, why did you have to examine it to know it was a bagel?”

  Tizzy shrugged again. “I’m not that good of a cook, so you never know. I only know how to make bagels, pizza and cookies.” He paused for a moment. “Well, I can make brownies too, but I prefer cookies.”

  Tom shook his head at this. “So you made bagels, and aren’t sharing?” He grinned at the demon, hoping Tizzy would take a hint and offer him a bagel.

  “Well, I can’t make that many, don’t have enough ingredients.” Tizzy replied. “Plus they aren’t kosher, so you know…”

  Tom frowned. “How do you know about kosher?”

  Tizzy pulled his shoulders back and made a shocked expression. “What? You think there aren’t any Jewish demons? The kabbalah is full of them, or so I’m told. There are lots of Jewish demon conjurors, and demons, of course.” He took another bite.

  Tom had to admit his point. There must be Christian demons and Muslim demons as well. He was just used to thinking in mythological terms when it came to gods and such. But considering that most demons came from regions around Earth, those demons would have to have been of religions on Earth.

  Tom was suddenly struck by a rather chilling thought. He had met people that literally had been gods on Earth. He had met people who had been at Ragnarök. If all those mythological deities were real, was he going to run into Jesus? Or Moses as an avatar? He shook his head. Clearly he would not, since his god, or at least the one he had grown up with, was not so much a physical person, but an all-powerful entity. The mythological gods like the ones he’d met had always been known and seen as actual people who, while powerful, were not all-powerful and omniscient.

  He shook his head; he didn’t have time to think about this now. He had some questions before they all headed down to the Oubliette for more training. “Arg-nargoloth?” he asked.

  “Yes, Lord Tommus?” The D’Orc commander responded.

  “Last night before going to bed, I noted that Doom’s mana pool reserves had fully recharged, thanks to the battle and all the mana it generated,” Tom began.

  “I bet those Knights of Chaos were good for a serious charge up!” Tizzy interrupted.

  “Uhm, yes, they were,” Tom agreed before continuing. “Anyway, I also noted that we had finally managed to reach breakeven on mana generation versus mana expense.” Which was pretty good, in Tom’s opinion.

  “However, this morning I noticed we seem to be draining mana again and I’m curious if you can pinpoint what the new draw is?” Tom asked.

  “Hmm.” Arg-nargoloth frowned. “Give me a minute.” The D’Orc walked over to the mana monitoring panels. He stared at them for a few moments, flipping switches to various displays before finally nodding and saying, “Found it.” He turned to Tom with a small grin and said, “Following our old powering policies, Doom began charging the first of the Doomalogues in the charging queue.”

  “Yeah, that would make sense. Was wondering if they’d come back online automatically,” Tizzy said before eating the last of his bagel.

  “What is a Doomalogue?” Tom asked cautiously. Here was another one of those things he probably really needed to know but did not.

  “They are Doom Analogues,” Arg-nargoloth replied, sounding quite pleased.

  “Doom Analogues?” Tom asked, not understanding.

  “They are like satellite Mount Dooms; our primary outposts in the Planes of Orc,” The D’Orc answered.

  “Little Temples of Doom scattered across the multiverse,” Tizzy added.

  “Outposts? You mean like fortresses?” Tom asked.

  “Exactly like fortresses, and temples,” The D’Orc commander agreed.

  “Temples?” Tom shook his head and Arg-nargoloth shrugged.

  “Temples to Orcus,” the D’Orc said matter-of-factly. “People would come to ask for assistance in battle, advice, dispute resolution and often bring tribute to celebrate victory or give thanks—”

  “So really like a god’s temple?” Tom asked.

  “Temple?” Völund asked, entering the DCC to join them on the way to the Oubliette.

  “The Doomalogues are starting to power up,” Arg-nargoloth told the smith, who nodded in understanding.

  “No, not like a temple to a god. Far more useful,” Völund told Tom.

  “How so?” Tom asked.

  “The temples were manned by senior D’Orcs who could provide both advice and assistance,” Völund said.

  “Exactly! Hard-ear
ned, tested battle experience and clear understanding of both tactics and strategy. And if warranted, they could even provide D’Orc or D’Warg assistance in battles,” Arg-nargoloth told Tom. “They would also arbitrate disputes among tribes and hordes, and most importantly from our point of view, coordinate orc activity on various planes. In particular, the temples were key in arranging and managing transport between the worlds.”

  “Those negotiations could take forever,” Darg-Krallnom said, entering the DCC before training. “Obviously there would have to be compensation arrangements for loss of warriors on other planes or even within the same plane when forces needed to unite.”

  “Interesting,” Tom said, intrigued. This answered a lot about how Orcus had maintained a multidimensional empire. “So the Doomalogues were basically embassies.”

  There was a sudden indrawing of breath from everyone in the room, and a few curses. Tom found everyone staring at him in shock. He looked questioningly to Arg-nargoloth. “What did I say?”

  “You said ‘embassy,’ my lord,” Arg-nargoloth said softly.

  “And what is wrong with an embassy?” Tom asked.

  Darg-Krallnom made the face of someone with something terribly unpleasant in his mouth. “Embassies are where diplomats live.” The D’Orc pronounced the word “diplomat” with a level of distaste beyond anything Tom had ever heard. “There are very few greater insults to an orc, or D’Orc, than calling them a diplomat.”

  “What about ‘lawyer’?” Tizzy asked.

  Arg-nargoloth’s fist suddenly shot out and punched Tizzy in the side of the head, sending the demon reeling. “You know I don’t like that word, pest.”

  After stumbling and trying to recover his balance, the octopod grinned wickedly at the D’Orc and said, “Of course I do, that’s why I said it!”