03- The Apostles of Doom Page 46

  Additionally, one of Orcag’s most trusted generals, Farsbargodden, and seventeen other Deathfinger warriors were accompanying them. It had been a bit of a rough take-off, given that they were all so heavily armored. After a few false starts that caused everyone to look away to avoid shaming any warriors, Hespith decided that, given their proximity to Orcopolis and that they would be in secured territory for several days, they would get everyone skilled in D’Warg riding wearing light armor. Fortunately, they had requested additional D’Wargs to carry gear. In total there were five D’Orcs, thirty orcs, including Beya, Rupert and Fer-Rog, and forty D’Wargs.

  Beya had soothed potentially wounded egos by admitting that everyone in their party had started in hunting leathers rather than full armor. That helped to alleviate an otherwise potentially awkward situation with their new allies.

  Even so, their new allies were also having a good time mocking Aggfred and Snoggard’s reeling and periodic retching. Their altitude and the D’Warg’s motions were clearly not agreeing with the two.

  This should be an interesting trip. He had never been to a desert, unless you counted the Abyss, which he supposed was technically far worse than any normal desert. Perhaps it would remind him of home.

  Nysegard, Krallnomton: Early Fourth Period

  Valg Death Cheater, wandering down into Krallnomton, noted his mother rapidly toting a bucket of water towards his parent’s home. She seemed more rushed than usual. Valg headed over to the house, knocking briefly on his way in. Even before entering, he could smell the incense burning and the teas brewing. His stomach lurched as he saw his father sweating feverishly in his bed. Valg shook his head; his mother noted his motion and nodded.

  “Your father here is now paying for his strength and energy spells. Not only did he use them when we thought we were under attack, but he continued to use them to be active and observe all the ceremonies.” She sounded quite angry.

  His father issued a raspy chuckle. “There is no way I would miss this great occurrence! It is the fulfillment of everything I have worked for my entire life!”

  “He assured me he was not using the rituals for the ceremonies, that it was only natural exuberance. He told me a lie, and now I must worry that he is about to die!” Valg’s mother scolded his father.

  “Do not worry, my dear. There is no need to worry, for it is a surety. I am dying, and am not much longer for this world. All I ask is that you heed my instructions for medicine to ease my passing,” Valg’s father told her.

  “Father!” Valg slid over and carefully grasped his father’s hand.

  Mount Doom: Mid Fourth Period

  “Lord Tommus!” Targh Bowelsplitter hailed Tom as he entered the DCC from the passageway to the Oubliette. He was just returning from an excruciatingly long training session.

  “Oracle?” Tom was concerned by the commander’s concern.

  “You remember our discussion of reviving the ascension ceremonies?” Targh asked.

  “I do,” Tom replied.

  “Well, you wanted another D’Orc shaman, right?” Targh asked and Tom nodded. “Karth Death Cheater overextended himself over the last several days, propping himself up with borrowed energy so he could be involved in the ceremonies, and now his family are reporting that he is paying the price, that he is near death’s door.”

  “Then we must move quickly,” Tom said, excited at the thought of his first D’Orcing. “Valg told me of his concerns about his father.”

  Tamarin? Tom mentally called to his djinni.

  Yes, master? Tamarin replied.

  How have things gone on the ascension research? Tom asked.

  It’s quite interesting, and I’ve made good progress. Yesterday Vaselle started helping me, and his knowledge of conjury has been extremely useful. The weird thing is that Vaselle says that creating a D’Orc is oddly reminiscent of the spells for conjuring and binding a brand-new demon, Tamarin thought at Tom, causing that cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach to return.

  I have to admit that I am not surprised; I’ve had a number of suspicions along that line, he replied. He had been trying very hard not to follow those suspicions because he was rapidly starting to suspect he wouldn’t like the answers. Do you think we could figure something out soon? he asked. We have a great candidate that is nearing death.

  Uhm, I am not sure... there is so much to put together, so much reconstruction, I have tons of questions. How close is he? The candidate cannot be healed? Tamarin asked.

  I don’t think so. He is a very old orc shaman who used strength and energy rituals to boost himself upon our arrival and through the ceremonies. I am now being told those rituals have a price that has to be paid later, and that price is killing him, Tom said.

  Okay, let me think for a minute. In this case, I may be able to use some djinn magic to prolong his life a bit longer. Normally I would not do it, again because of the price that must eventually be paid. It would like borrowing against already borrowed time. However, given that we intend to ascend him, perhaps we can postpone the payment until after he is ascended.

  Excellent! See what you can come up with, Tom thought back to her. He thought of something. Would it help if Targh brought you D’Orc shamans who have been through the process?

  Definitely; an excellent idea! Tamarin replied.

  I will have him round them up and we will move the process into high gear!

  Ah, master? Tamarin asked. One more small problem.

  What is that?

  We need demon weed, Tamarin replied.

  Tom sighed, physically and mentally. Of course. I will see what I can do.

  Tom had shut his eyes, imagining Tamarin in his mind as they spoke. He opened them and turned his attention back to Targh.

  “You sighed. Are things not good?” Targh asked. Darg-Krallnom had come up beside Targh as Tom had been communing with Tamarin.

  “They are making progress,” Tom told them, “but they are not sure how quickly they can put something together. If you can have any first-generation D’Orc shamans come and assist her, that will speed things up. Tamarin will also look into using djinn magic to borrow Karth more time. The idea is to boost him enough to keep him alive until the ceremony, and then pay the additional price after he is a D’Orc and much stronger.”

  Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “That sounds like good news. Why the sigh?”

  “She reminded me that we need demon weed, and that means…” Tom trailed off.

  “You need a favor from Tizzy,” Darg-Krallnom said.

  “Exactly. Do you know where he is?” Tom asked, looking around. “I have not seen him in quite some time.” As he said it, he suddenly realized it was true. Tizzy had not been hanging around being annoying lately.

  Darg-Krallnom shook his head, looking puzzled. “Now that you mention it, I do not think I have seen him since the day Sammael and his ship full of Astlanians showed up to get their thumping. No wonder I have been so happy the last few days! The pest is gone.” Darg-Krallnom grinned widely with pleasure.

  Tom snorted. “Well, now we have to find him. I don’t suppose anyone has an idea of how to summon him?”

  Darg-Krallnom shook his head quickly from side to side and said, “I believe this is the first time I have ever heard someone say that. Typically, no one seeks to summon Tizzy; they are almost always far more interested in banishing him.”

  Vargg Agnoth had walked up and joined them. “I would seriously have to wonder about any wizard thinking to conjure Tizzy. One would be in for a lot of frustration if he were bound to you.”

  “I pity the wizard,” Vargg said.

  Darg-Krallnom said, “Yes. This master of his—I think he said his name is Gastropé—must seriously regret binding the octopod.”

  “Gastropé, yes,” Tom said. “He has a binding on Tizzy. He summoned Tizzy when we were at Hellsprings Eternal and then Tizzy was able to contact Gastropé to pull the shamans back to Midgard.” Tom frowned; he had not really thought to ask how that bi
nding had come about. How would Gastropé have managed that? Sure, Tizzy wasn’t a particularly powerful demon, but Tom had trouble believing that Gastropé would ever want to even try binding Tizzy. “Actually, the more I think about that link, the weirder it is. Gastropé’s a friend of mine. How would he have gotten Tizzy’s true name?” Tom asked out loud.

  Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “If Tizzy was willing to accept the binding, knowing his true name would not be required.”

  Tom frowned again. “Okay, then this is making even less sense. I knew there was a reason I had refused to think about this.” He rubbed his forehead. “Why would those two have entered a mutual binding? It makes very little sense.”

  “It makes sense if Tizzy needed a way to get to Midgard, and he trusted this Gastropé fellow,” Vargg Agnoth countered.

  Tom sighed. “Well, one way or the other, it is a moot point for now. I have no way of contacting Gastropé to have him summon Tizzy.” Tom shook his head. “Perhaps Boggy will know a way of contacting him.”

  “Seriously did not think I would live to see the day when we would have to go to this much trouble to find Tizzy,” Darg-Krallnom said, shaking his head.

  Astlan, Northeast of Mount Orc: Early Fifth Period

  Tal Gor was enjoying the contrast of the warm afternoon sun on his back and the cool breeze in his face as they flew through the air en route to the Doom of Astlan. Once they had arrived at Mount Orc, Zargvarst had been able to get his bearings and update their maps as to the location of the Doomalogue.

  Today, the Doomalogue and its rather unique surroundings were called Jötunnhenj. It was often mistakenly confused as being the original home of all jötunnkind in Astlan. Zargvarst said that wasn’t actually the case, however; there had naturally been a large number of jötunnkind around it, and under Loki’s guidance, they had helped construct the Doomalogue.

  The “henj” part was due to the fact that the entire region was set up like a natural henge. A river ring completely surrounded the region, inside of which were fourteen enormously high and relatively thin peaks that formed the henge. Inside of those peaks were a number of other very large mountains that were not as tall, but of broader base. At the very heart was the volcano that was the Doomalogue. A long road wrapped its way up the side of the volcano, leading up to the mouth.

  Zargvarst had told them that the tall, thin peaks were designed to mimic the tall, thin pillars seen only in the Abyss. Obviously, the laws of nature being what they were, the peaks were not as thin, certainly not at the base. It was, Zargvarst assured them, a breathtaking sight.

  Click-Click. Click-Click.

  Tal Gor glanced over his back to where the clicking noise had suddenly resumed. He shook his head in amusement. Part of Schwarzenfürze’s armor included a tailpiece with what appeared to be a spiky metal ball at the very end, and a bit further up the tail, a stone ring. The ball, he assumed, was a weapon she could hit people with, although it wasn’t particularly big. He did not know, however, what the stone ring was for; the only observable piece of information was that the D’Warg liked to click the ball against the stone ring every now and then.

  It seemed like a nervous tic, or perhaps a habit. There would be periods when she would click repeatedly, and then other periods when she wouldn’t, so it was clearly intentional. If only D’Wargs spoke common, or any normal language. They clearly understood what people said, but like wargs, they could not actually speak. They did somehow communicate with each other, but it was not clear how they were doing it, as no one Tal Gor knew of had ever been able to decipher their grunts, growls and other throaty noises.

  In any event, he and the rest were all looking forward to camp this evening. While at Mount Orc they had secured additional provisions, including glargh and the materials the D’Orcs needed to make x-glargh. The D’Orcs had prepared a batch last night and were letting it age overnight and today. They planned to stop a bit early, do some hunting, have a small feast and drink this evening. It was very nice to have money, or at least, gems and gold from Mount Doom.

  This band had to be the richest Crooked Sticks in a century! Tal Gor grinned at the thought. Here they were on a mission as from the days of legend. They were out for the three Gs: Gore, Gold and Glory! And not necessarily in that order! Tal Gor chuckled at that. He himself would be fine with just the gold and the glory, although he knew his siblings wanted all three. That wyvern had made him a bit more cautious than the others.

  To be honest, with his access to Doom’s resources, he had gold, so maybe just glory? Or adventure? Or what? If he were honest, what he really wanted was not so much glory as respect. An old, wounded or weakened orc would be respected for their service to the band and the tribe, but a young one? One who had been crippled not in battle but on his very first hunting trip? That was not an enviable position. He did not want to be looked down upon, or thought of as the slightly inept apprentice of a perpetually drunk shaman.

  Lord Tommus had given him a new chance to prove himself. For the moment, he had earned new respect by bringing Lord Tommus and the D’Orcs back to Astlan and the Crooked Sticks, thus bringing great honor and pride to his tribe. Now, however, in order to keep this newfound respect, he needed to succeed in bringing about Lord Tommus’s vision.

  He needed to earn the great trust that Lord Tommus had imbued in him. That worried him. This was, by any measure, a greater burden than he ever expected to bear. Given his previous successes, or relative lack of them, he did not really have the self-confidence to feel easy about this immediate undertaking, let alone the greater undertaking to restore the glory of the entire orc people upon Astlan and in the multiverse. It was this worry that sat aching in his gut, particularly at night as he lay on his bedroll.

  The funny thing was, this feeling, in many ways, felt like fear, except it was not at all like the fear he had felt of the wyvern. That had been sharp, immediate. This was a slow-building, unrelenting type of fear. It was greater than a fear for simply his own life; it was a fear of disappointing and, yes, bringing shame upon his family name, upon his entire tribe. This was a new fear for him. When he had been a child, dreaming of being a great warrior, he’d had no thoughts of failure, no thoughts of potential shame.

  Today, however, he was older; he had experienced defeat and shame once before. After that first shaming, he had never again expected to rise to a level of respect that would allow him to shame his family, let alone his tribe, or his people on any greater scale. He shook his head as a frown weighed his face down; his enthusiasm of but moments before lost before the gnawing uncertainty in his belly.

  Mount Doom: Early Sixth Period

  “Good evening!” Tom said as he entered his sitting lounge, where Boggy, Estrebrius, Phaestus and Reggie were playing what appeared to be mahjong; real mahjong with real tiles. Antefalken was working on his ballad.

  “Where did you find the mahjong tiles?” Tom asked.

  “In the Library of Doom!” Reggie replied. “Turns out there are a large number of puzzles and games stored there.”

  Boggy nodded. “Some of them appear rather dangerous—at least for mortals.”

  “Indeed; I recognized one as being a Lemarchand Counterpoint,” Phaestus said.

  “A what?” Tom asked.

  “It is the second half of an intricate puzzle designed to work on low-mana worlds,” Phaestus explained.

  “And what makes it dangerous?” Tom asked.

  “Well...” Phaestus paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are a couple different configurations of the box, each of which has a couple of different possible solutions. Different boxes, different solutions open up dimensional portals to other realms—the Abyss, Purgatory and Limbo all being popular options. The Counterpoints are the other side of the portals that are opened up.”

  “I’m thinking Pinhead must have one of these,” Reggie said excitedly.

  “Pinhead?” Estrebrius asked.

  “A cenobite,” Reggie said.

  “Ah, y
es, that would make sense.” Estrebrius nodded, obviously knowing what Reggie was talking about. Phaestus nodded in agreement with Estrebrius.

  Tom slowly blinked. Once again, his friends’ random speculations were distracting him from his actual purpose. He did not have time to think about the fact that Estrebrius’s understanding implied that cenobites were real beings. At this point, he could probably safely assume that anything he’d ever heard about in terms of science fiction and fantasy were real, somewhere, sometime. It would be far simpler to enquire what was not real.

  However, there was that other line. “You just mentioned Purgatory and Limbo? Are those planes?” Tom asked.

  Estrebrius, Boggy, Phaestus and even Antefalken all looked at him in surprise. They seemed shock that he did not know this.

  “Of course they are!” Phaestus said.

  “Then why have I never heard of them?” Tom asked.

  “Well, lad, apparently you have, because you seem to know about them,” Boggy said.

  “Obviously, I have heard of them, but no one has mentioned they are real planes. Are they part of the Planes of Orc?” Tom asked.

  “No, they are buffer realms between the Planes of Orc and the Abyss, and the Outer Planes and the Planes of Orc,” Phaestus replied.

  “Remember, when you asked Tizzy and me where the Abyss was, and he told you that you were basically two planes below Astlan?” Boggy asked.

  “Yes—I assumed that was Tizzy being Tizzy,” Tom said.

  “Well, it was, because he was playing with words,” Boggy said. “Astlan is a material plane, of which there are infinite. The Outer Planes are also semi-infinite. However, the Abyss, Limbo and Purgatory are all singular planes. The terminology really stinks, but people often use the word “Plane” to mean both a single plane of existence and an infinite set of planes.”

  Tom shook his head, trying to follow the logic.