03- The Apostles of Doom Page 23

  “Indeed, Lord Tommus.” Darg-Krallnom glanced to Targh.

  His grandfather nodded. “The Isle of Doom is currently secure. We face periodic incursions, but we have been able to hold for the last several thousand years.” He gestured to the ruins of the old city. “As you can see, our major cities were all destroyed in the wars that followed the disconnection, but we have been rebuilding.”

  “Good,” the demon lord said, turning more fully to Targh.

  “Lord Tommus, may I present Targh Bowelsplitter, the Oracle of Orcus upon Nysegard,” Darg-Krallnom said as Valg’s grandfather bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  “You have kept the people and the island secure,” the demon lord told his grandfather. “We are all grateful for your loyalty and service, and I look forward to rebuilding the Isle of Doom to its previous glory.” He paused. “And, when we are ready, those who have so wronged us will pay for their actions.”

  Loud cheers came from around the village. Valg looked down at it, about twenty feet below them. Everyone was staring at the demon lord, Darg-Krallnom and his grandfather.

  The demon lord smiled and nodded. “Now, Targh Bowelsplitter, how about introducing me to your people?” It gestured toward the village as well as Valg and his mother who were in the air nearby.

  The Inferno

  “So, what are you industrious spiritual fellows up to?” Sir Samwell asked, walking up to Barabus in the assembly chamber where his priests were working hand in hand with several Oorstemothian wizards. “Seems rather odd for wizards and priests to be working together...”

  “Indeed,” Barabus agreed. “While there are wizards employed by the Holy Etonian Emperor, they do not typically work with priests.”

  “So what are they all up to then?” Sir Samwell asked.

  “We are searching for a knight who was kidnapped by a greater demon, with the hope of also, of course, locating the greater demon, who is violation of many Oorstemothian laws and court orders,” Barabus said.

  “Well, you rather amazingly found me, and extremely quickly after fourteen hundred years. I should not think it to be that hard,” Sir Samwell said.

  “Yes. Well, to be honest, I was not privy to the techniques your fellow Oorstemothians used to locate you,” Barabus lied. He knew full well that the Oorstemothians had not even been aware of Sir Samwell. However, that was not a conversation that Barabus wanted to deal with. “We believe that we should be able to locate our Knight Rampant due to the fact that as an adherent of Tiernon, and a recent arrival, he should stand out.”

  Sir Samwell raised an eyebrow. “Well, I am not completely sure he would be the only one, and the Abyss is rather large…” He shrugged. “So what is with all the cross-collaboration?”

  “We need additional mana resources. We were cut off from Tierhallon when we entered the Abyss; this dramatically reduced the mana we had available for searching. We are thus working on a way to harness ambient mana levels to charge mana pools attuned to our priests, which we can then use to power our searching rituals.”

  “Interesting.” Sir Samwell twisted his mouth in appreciation. “I hope it works. How long will it take to get sufficient mana?”

  “We are hoping to try a first pass later tomorrow,” Barabus said.

  “So obviously, you will rescue your knight. What exactly do you propose to do with this greater demon? As I’ve mentioned, it’s very difficult to kill someone here. Are you simply going to arrest him?”

  Barabus grimaced. “We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Tierhallon

  “Your Dream Sending was quite useful, Hilda, and with the names and information you were able to get, we have been able to confirm what Verigas told you,” Baysir told Hilda and the rest of the group at their working lunch meeting.

  Sentir Fallon shook his head sadly. “This is incredibly not good.”

  “Does their action break the Balance?” Hilda asked.

  Beragamos shook his head. “No, mortals cannot break the Balance. However, if one of us were to go after them—were to enter the Abyss—that would break the Balance, even as a demon traveling to Tierhallon would break it.

  “I am sorry, I know I studied the Balance, but could you refresh me on its implications?” Stevos asked.

  Beragamos smiled gently. “The Balance is quite complicated, and often misunderstood; however, at its core, it is simply a treaty between those of us in the Outer Planes and those below in the Abyss.”

  “So is it Five Sibling specific? That is my understanding. Other pantheons are not bound by it, correct?” Stevos asked.

  Moradel shook his head. “No, it applies to almost all pantheons, or at least those of the Concord of Conciliation.”

  “I think I may have missed that chapter in saint school,” Hilda said.

  Beragamos chuckled. “It rarely comes up. The Concord of Conciliation is basically the agreement that governs the interaction of various pantheons throughout most of the multiverse. And the Balance is a treaty between the Quintenal Cabal and the Concord of Conciliation.”

  “In short,” Moradel said, “the Balance comes down to an agreement that no gods nor their avatars will enter the Abyss, and no demons will enter the Outer Planes.”

  “And the demons obey this?” Stevos asked skeptically.

  “In general, yes, and vice versa,” Beragamos said. “There have been infractions, which have been dealt with.”

  “Who enforces it?” Hilda asked.

  “Ultimately, in the Abyss, it is Lilith and Sammael. In the Outer Planes, the Concord of Conciliation maintains a tribunal, or council, made up by a rotating membership of the most senior members of each pantheon,” Beragamos answered.

  “So then,” Hilda said, bringing the issue back, “the Balance is fine as long as none of us pursues this Inferno into the Abyss to rescue them.”

  Sentir Fallon nodded in agreement. “Correct.”

  “So what happens to them?” Stevos asked.

  Sentir Fallon snorted. “Well, unless they wise up and leave, they will probably be destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” Stevos asked, alarmed. “That’s a lot of our people!”

  “Indeed,” Beragamos said sadly. “However, the Balance is quite clear. Any mortals of ours who venture into the Abyss are completely on their own. We are not allowed to aid them in any way; nor are we allowed to take retribution on anyone who harms them. Basically, the demons have a right to stand their ground.”

  “But if they are captured by someone, we might be able to negotiate,” Sentir Fallon said and Moradel nodded. “Depending on who captures them.”

  Tierhallon: DOA + 5, Late Fourth Period

  Tiernon was sitting in the chair behind his desk, staring at his recent acquisition in his right hand, when he felt the presence of his brother, Torean, requesting entrance. He granted permission and his brother materialized in the left chair in front of his desk. Tiernon nodded to his brother with a tight grin of acknowledgement.

  “So, brother, what have you learned about the blade?” Torean asked.

  Tiernon sighed. “Well, for one thing, it is currently very positively polarized.”

  Torean blinked. “As in, it is a Blade of Unlife Slaying?”

  The god of justice nodded. “Indeed, an extremely well crafted, very powerfully imbued Blade of Unlife Slaying. Perhaps one of the most powerful I have ever seen, at least in this size of a blade.”

  Torean grimaced in disbelief. “Truly.”

  “Indeed. Although the wielder would also be an important factor.”

  Torean frowned. “Then it was, as we suspected, a Blade of Life Slaying. A proverbial soul-sucking blade.”

  “Exactly.” Tiernon rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  “Yet, the blade is dedicated to you? It has your aura?” Torean asked.

  “It does now, after whatever the demon did.” Tiernon nodded.

  Torean squinted. “Every report we had of it said it was dedicated to you before the de
mon as well.”

  Tiernon nodded sourly. “Priests who had seen it or touched it have reported it to be dedicated to me, and Sentir Fallon has said the same, as did the other archons who examined it.”

  “So that would mean that Sentir Fallon had acquired and consecrated…” Torean trailed off.

  “…an abomination in my name?” Tiernon finished for his brother, nodding at the same time.

  “That is absolutely forbidden,” Torean said. “He would have had to know this.”

  “Indeed, one would think so after using it,” Tiernon agreed. “However, given that the other archons who examined the blade saw nothing either, there were likely very powerful masking spells on it. Something that would have hid its true nature from Sentir Fallon.”

  “Whether or not there were masking spells on it to begin with, once an Attendant Archon consecrated it to you, at that strength, it is doubtful any mortal would have been able to detect the abomination. Your presence would likely have overwhelmed it,” Torean noted.

  “Indeed. Unless you were struck by it and found your soul being drained, it is doubtful you would have noticed. Although I would have thought the other archons would have noticed,” Tiernon said. “And now that things are reversed?” He stared at the dagger, rotating it. “That gives me an idea to pursue. If it’s truly a full reversal, then perhaps if we can detect other good properties it has, we might infer other nefarious properties it may have had.”

  “Do you have the skill?” Torean asked.

  “No.” Tiernon shook his head. “I can think of two people that I know, off the top of my head, that could do it. Unfortunately, Sentir Fallon severely pissed both of them off by killing Orcus; and neither has spoken to me since then.”

  “Well, when you permanently slay the leader of the pantheon, it does tend to annoy the other members,” Torean said.

  “Pantheon?” Tiernon chuckled. “You remember how much Orcus hated people referring to the Tartarvardenennead as a pantheon.”

  Torean grinned back at his brother. “Remember how he nearly punched you in the face at the wedding reception?” They both laughed.

  “Over forty thousand years ago, and I still remember.” Tiernon shook his head.

  “That reception should have been our first clue as to how bad an idea the marriage was,” Torean reminded his brother.

  “Things certainly went downhill from there, for both families.” Tiernon nodded in agreement, his face becoming much more somber thinking about his father and step-mother.

  Torean shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Enough—we need to get back to the problem at hand. Where did Sentir Fallon acquire it?”

  Tiernon shrugged. “Sentir Fallon told me that one the Knights Rampant in Etterdam had discovered it on a quest several centuries prior, and that it had been in a storage room in a temple when he located it.”

  “Hmm,” Torean said.

  “Indeed.” Tiernon grimaced.

  “The presence of such a negatively charged device close to the heart of the Church, in Etterdam, Astlan and other places might explain some of the other issues we’ve observed,” Torean said.

  Tiernon chuckled softly and bitterly. “You mean like the corruption of Holy Dogma?”

  Torean nodded silently. It would explain much of what they had been concerned about the last few millennia. “We searched and searched, but the masking of the consecration would likely have thwarted our agents.”

  The two sat there silently contemplating this before Torean spoke up again.

  “So how would a so-called greater demon manage all of this?” Torean asked. “He apparently came out of nowhere, pretending to be summoned by Lenamare, provokes the Rod, sets up a fight with Talarius, then manages to break your ciphers and steal your mana, reverse the blade and relight Doom. It all seems too impossibly coincidental.”

  Tiernon shook his head. “My thoughts have been obsessed with this puzzle since we last spoke. The only thing I can come up with is that these recent events were a setup by Orcus and his people. The Lord of Doom was only wounded; he’s been hiding, biding his time and plotting his revenge. We have now seen his opening gambit.”

  “On the bright side, if this is Orcus, rather than a new warden, he would have no more interest in releasing our prisoners than we do; possibly less,” Torean said.

  “One would think, but we broke our bonds with him. That is sort of his thing—punishing oath-breakers and such,” Tiernon noted.

  Torean got a sour look upon his face. “I hope you are not seriously saying that he is coming to lock us up?”

  Tiernon shrugged, but remained silent.

  “So, where does he go from here?” Torean finally asked.

  Tiernon shook his head. “I have thoughts, but no clear intuition. What is clear, though, is that Orcus, one of the most skilled players in the multiverse, has been plotting this for four thousand years while lulling everyone else into believing he was dead.”

  Torean sighed. “Are we checkmated before we begin?”

  “I hope not,” Tiernon replied.

  Astlan, Crooked Stick Camp: DOA + 5, Early Sixth Period

  Tal Gor sat in his tent after dinner. Schwarzenfürze’s body was about one-third of the way into the tent, facing outward. This meant that her most-feared weapon, which was not her ferocious jaws nor razor-sharp claws, was staring him in the face, directly under her tail. He was not sure what the wargs had eaten tonight, but he was hoping it had been something safe for Schwarzenfürze’s stomach.

  However, given that she was on guard duty tonight while he went to his Dreaming this evening, he did actually feel physically safer. Not that being in the center of a heavily armed orc encampment and surrounded by his family, all of who were fierce warriors and who were now suddenly treating him as a source of pride, was dangerous; however, he was an orc, so a certain watchful paranoia was an inherited trait.

  Tonight’s trance would be something new. He was going to attempt astral projection to Ithgar, something he had never done before. He had managed to project himself to the Abyss, using a summoning stone, but this time he was going to another one of the Planes of Orc, and he had no summoning stone. Only a basic shaman link to Beya Fei Geist and the other shamans who would be attending.

  However, he did have something he had not had before. He had broken off a small portion of one of the cookies he had the others had stockpiled at the celebration in Mount Doom, and had ground it up into a potion to help him. This had been Beya’s suggestion. Tal Gor had never used demon weed before, but it was by all legends extremely powerful, particularly in edible form. According to Beya, if one took too much of it, one could find oneself astrally projected to the other side of the multiverse, where the laws of magic were so skewed, who knew what might happen.

  Tal Gor lit the two candles beside his scrying bowl, along with an incense cone. He then drank the small vial of cookie potion and closed his eyes, relaxing his body and mind. He began a soft Chant of Concentration and Serenity while focusing on his link to Beya Fei Geist.

  He had allotted plenty of time to allow himself to relax and let the potion assist him. The critical piece, in his mind, was not being afraid of failure. He had to allow himself to relax; to stop thinking about relaxing, to clear his mind and focus only on Beya Fei Geist and their link.

  Eventually, feeling calmer and more than a little happy, he began the chant that would assist him in freeing his spirit from his body. He allowed the words of his chant to permeate his being, directing them over the link he could feel to Beya Fei Geist.

  In his mind’s eye, the link he was tracing was suddenly surrounded by a swirling tunnel of colored lights. It felt as if he was falling down an infinitely deep well whose walls were billowy clouds, coruscating with flashing lights in an array of amazing colors. Before he could fully appreciate the dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and sensations, he found himself sitting in a large and luxurious tent.

  He was seated on a large pillow, one of several in a ring ar
ound a large bowl of slightly translucent, glowing white liquid. Several short candlesticks with lit candles provided a warm glow to the room. Beya Fei Geist was seated three pillows over. Two orcs, both younger than himself, were seated on each side of her. She was holding their hands with her eyes closed.

  “Welcome, Tal Gor!” Beya said without opening her eyes. “You are the first to arrive.”

  That was a relief; he had been anxious that he would be late. “Thank you,” he replied.

  “If you start to feel wobbly, concentrate on the bowl in the center of the circle. It will help you stabilize,” Beya told him.

  “Boys, can you see Tal Gor with your astral eyes?” Beya asked the two young orcs beside her. One of them looked oddly familiar to Tal Gor; however, having never been to Ithgar before, he was sure it was just a coincidence.

  They both scrunched their faces up, and after a moment the one he did not recognize said, “Yes, I see him!” This one’s voice sounded familiar. That was odd.

  “Hey, Tal Gor!” the young orc hailed him with a grin, keeping his eyes closed.

  “Greetings!” Tal Gor said. He had no idea who this orc was; presumably Beya’s apprentice, although the boy had greeted him as if they’d met before.

  “I can hear him!” the other boy said, also sounding familiar.

  “Relax your eyes; do not squeeze them so tight. Relax,” Beya advised.

  “Okay, I will try. It’s just tricky to relax and still keep my form,” the second boy said. They waited a few moments in silence.

  “Oh, there—I see you!” the second boy said, turning to face Tal Gor, his eyes shut. “Hey, Tal Gor! Good to see you again!”

  “Again? I do not believe we’ve ever met,” Tal Gor told the boy.

  Both boys broke into broad grins and started to laugh.

  Beya squeezed their hands. “Stay calm; you will lose your trance state if you don’t relax!” she cautioned them.

  “Sorry,” the first boy apologized to Beya. He grinned to Tal Gor. “It’s me, Rupert!”

  “And I’m Fer-Rog!” the second, oddly familiar-looking boy said.