The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (49 page)

Boggy nodded. “So if you were to speak to an orc in Universal, he or she would hear orcish and reply in orcish, but you would hear Universal. They would sound just as normal as the D’Orcs do here.”

“Cool!” Rupert said.

Antefalken shook his head as if in dismay. “Elitist cultures often mock foreign tongues and the way foreigners speak the tongue of the elitists. In fact, the word barbarian comes from the
baa-ing
noises that sheep make. The elitists who invented the word joked that the foreigners’ home tongue sounded like the bleating of sheep. Hence baa-baa-rian.” He grinned. “And of course, when the barbarians tried to speak the tongues of the elitists, they did so poorly, so the elitist generally assumed the speakers were primitive, ignorant and of lower culture.”

“But if the elitists tried to learn the tongue of the barbarians, wouldn’t they sound equally stupid?” Rupert asked.

“Precisely.” Antefalken said. “However, it is the side with the better historians that ends up dictating who the elitists were and who the barbarians were.”

Tom closed his eyes. Was it possible, he wondered, to change his mind at this moment and decide this was all a dream? He shook his head. “So anyway, I’ll see what I can do about contacting an orc shaman.”

“You know, if we do that, they might be able to help us get glargh already in barrels,” Antefalken said.

“Then we just add the X and mix it up!” Tizzy clapped his lower hands. “Excellent idea! As soon as Tom purchases his warlock, it can get us the X ingredients in that wizard city of his, no problem.”

Tom wandered over to Rupert, who had gone over to the very large fireplace. There was very large spit in it. Had his predecessor cooked his own dinner here? Or his victims? Tom wondered. “Where’s Talarius?” he asked Rupert.

Rupert pointed to the third door leading off the room; there were a total of five, including the one to the hall. “He’s in there; it’s another smaller bedroom.”

“How are you doing with this craziness?” Tom asked.

“Great! Isn’t it amazing how the prophecy knew that you would come here with me, just like we did?” Rupert asked with a big grin.

“Yeah, except I don’t think I’m the reincarnation of some orc god. As I was saying, I have never even met an orc before. Have you?”

Rupert thought for a moment. “No, not met. I saw some in Exador’s army though, from the walls.”

“I don’t know how accurate this prophecy is, or how we could be fulfilling it.”

“But the fact that you were prophesied to come, restart the volcano and have an identical-looking son?” Rupert tilted his head while looking up at Tom and smiled. “How do you explain that?”

Tom sighed. “I don’t. I don’t know anything about prophecies. Or how one could have prophesies or fate when you’ve got gods and demons princes messing around with stuff.” He shook his head. “I’m definitely going to ask about this prophecy. Find out exactly what it is they think I am going to do. I hope I don’t have to conquer a world or something.” Tom thought back over the discussions with the commanders. He turned towards Tizzy back at the table.

“Tizzy?” Tom called. The demon looked over to Tom.

“Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth both recognized you, and said you used to hang out here with their old master. Yes?”

Tizzy got a slightly awkward look. “Yes…” he said out of one side of his mouth.

“The same dark master that was the dark god who turned orcs into D’Orcs?”

“Yes,” Tizzy said.

“And these guys seem to think I’m the reincarnated version of this dark god?”

“Apparently.” Tizzy shrugged.

“Did this dark god have a name by any chance?” Tom asked as Antefalken started paying attention to the conversation as well.

“Yes,” Tizzy said.

“And that was…?”

Tizzy grimaced. “Uhm, Orcus?”

Boggy and Estrebrius went silent at that. All eyes were suddenly on Tizzy.

“Orcus? Like the demon prince Antefalken was telling us about? The one who was killed by Sentir Fallon in Etterdam?” Tom looked down at his mace, if this Orcus was the same as the fantasy Orcus from his world. “And they think I am him reborn because…?”

Tizzy grimaced and shrugged. “Because you reclaimed that.” He pointed to the Rod of Tommus.

“And that means my Rod of Tommus is really…”

“The Wand of Orcus?” Tizzy said hesitantly, apparently knowing full well that he had been hiding information.

~

Lilith was relaxing in her spa; a small imp was giving her a pedicure. The imp had just placed her feet in the pleasantly hot blood bath below her spa chair when a knock came at the door. That should not have happened. Lilith carefully raised her hands to remove the Denubian Space Cucumbers from her eyes, being careful not to disturb the moisturizing mask on her face. “Come in,” she commanded warningly.

“Sorry, mistress, but this demon was carrying a high-priority token and said it was imperative to see you,” the extremely nervous guard explained.

“Come around where I can see the two of you better.” Lilith was not going to rotate her chair and disturb the blood bath, nor twist her head and disturb the mask. She recognized the guard. The smaller demon, a fiend, stood nervously beside the guard, wringing its hands.

She stared at the fiend, trying to remember who he was. She saw the token he was clutching nervously in his claws, noted the gulp of fear at her stare. She just could not remember who he was. “Your name?” Lilith demanded.

“Lesteroth Garflog, Your Dark Majesty,” the fiend yammered hesitantly.

Lesteroth Garflog. Lilith pondered the name. She had heard it before, a very long time ago. She raised an eyebrow. “Your commander is?”

“Darflow Skragnarth, Dark Majesty.”

Lilith shot straight up in her chair, spilling the bubbling pot of coagulating blood at her feet. “Everyone out and away from the doorway, now! Not you, Lesteroth Garflog,” she added as the small fiend started to retreat. The imp and the guard quickly fled through the door, shutting it behind them. “If you can still hear me, you will be worse than dead if you don’t get out of my voice’s range, now!” Lilith called.

She waited a few moments, Liliththen looked back to Lesteroth. “What word do you bring? It had better be important.”

Lesteroth gulped and nodded. “My commander bade me tell you ‘Mount Doom awakes.’ ”

Lilith, who had been leaning forward in her chair, now sat straight up. “That is not possible,” she said with an icy coldness.

“There have been multiple tremors, lava has been spotted flowing and storm clouds gather.” Lesteroth gulped again. “I swear, Dark Majesty; I have seen it with my own eyes, as have all the demons of Doom’s Redoubt.”

“This cannot be possible! There is only one way to wake that volcano, and HE assured me it could not be done!” Lilith stood, spilling the remaining blood from the foot bath, and began to pace, tracking coagulated blood over the white fur rug. Her face was taut and frowning with concentration. “I must see this. Prepare to return with me,” she ordered Lesteroth. “But first call all my attendants and get this mess cleaned up and me ready to travel!”

~

The Wand of Orcus? He had stolen and activated the Wand of Orcus? Tom sat down on the nearby sofa. This was turning into one very bad campaign! First the Monty Haul dungeon of gems, now the Wand of Orcus? Any serious dungeon master putting this in an adventure would be run out of a convention! The only way you could have a Wand of Orcus sitting around was if it was at the culmination of, say, a five- or six-year-long campaign in which everyone played religiously. But even then, the Wand of Orcus? It was such an incredibly overused trope that… that… seriously? The Wand of Orcus?

He had only been a demon for a bit over a month at most! Now he had the Wand of Orcus and a horde of D’Orcs who thought he was Orcus reincarnated! Could this day get any worse?

Estrebrius suddenly leaped off his stool. “Tom! It’s Vaselle—he’s summoning me. We need to go collect your warlock!”

Tom just stared in shock at the little demon. His mind was starting to numb over again.

~

“Well, there some of them go,” Lenamare said to the others. He was standing atop a tower on the city wall in the early morning light, peering through the semi-translucent wards as a good number of Oorstemothian ships rose into the air and began their turning arcs to return home. Some distance away, one could see the light of the runic gateway where a long string of Rod members, two by two, were leaving for Hoggensforth and their ships.

“It would be nice if they were all going,” Hortwell said.

“I suppose,” Trisfelt replied. “However, I am not that opposed to their presence if it provides a deterrent to another demonic invasion.”

“Is the sword going with them?” Lenamare asked.

“That’s a good question,” Damien replied. “I am sort of doubting it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Gandros asked.

“Talarius’s sword,” Damien answered.

“It’s running around interrogating everyone involved with the greater demon.” Lenamare shook his head from side to side. “It’s a most unsettling magic item.”

Gandros blinked. “How is a ‘sword’ running around asking questions? You do realize that sounds nonsensical, yes?”

Damien nodded and then shrugged. “On the surface, yes. However, the sword transformed itself into one very impressive metal golem that can speak.”

“I have never heard of such a thing.” Gandros frowned in consternation. “I’m also wondering why no guards have tried to stop it from running around the palace, or even so much as reported it to me.”

Lenamare gave a somewhat dismissive expression and replied, “It seems to appear and disappear in random locations. It can either become invisible or it teleports. I wasn’t looking with wizard sight when it accosted me.”

“An invisible or teleporting, shapeshifting sword? Where would such a thing ever come from?” Gandros asked.

“One would think such a powerful sword would be well known, along with other famous magical weapons,” Jehenna said.

“Talarius is from Eton, maybe it was well known over there,” Damien said.

“Is it aggressive? Did it seem to be threatening?” Gandros asked.

Damien shrugged and looked at Lenamare, who also shrugged. “Other than its natural appearance, which is rather intimidating, it seemed quite professional to me,” Damien said. Lenamare nodded.

Trisfelt shook his head. “I am starting to think Elrose’s scryings were only scraping the surface of whatever is going on. It’s like every oddity one can imagine is popping out of the woodwork.”

“It is starting to seem that way,” Hilda said, sipping on her hot chocolate. Jehenna took a sip of hers. It was a bit chilly in the early morning air. Hilda had brought a picnic basket with several insulated bottles of hot chocolate for their morning launch party.

“Back to the original topic, though. I find it is interesting that they have both the Oorstemothians and the Rod have timed their leave takings so closely. It’s almost like they are going to the same place, yet by different routes.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “An interesting thought. Both said they were going to pursue the demons elsewhere. I wonder if they have information we do not?”

“I am not sure what that would be, nor am I sure where else they would pursue these demons,” Gandros said. “The only lead we have is Trevin’s, and I am sure they don’t have that.”

“I received no indication from them that they had even noticed the flying carpet,” Damien said.

“Although the sword did know of the carpet and the individuals on it. It did not, however, mention the woman being a goddess.”

“Thus, they probably did not make the connection Trevin did,” Gandros said.

Lenamare nodded in agreement. “I think it is but a face-saving statement. What are they going to do? Pursue the demons into the Abyss?” The seven of them all laughed at that ridiculous thought.

DOF +5

Morning 16-02-440

Vaselle had not slept all night; he was nearly a nervous wreck. He had put the finishing touches on his spell, done some dry runs, packed up his supplies and tried to get some sleep. It did not work; sleep would not come. He was so excited and scared. Really scared. Selling your soul to a demon was clearly a risky, crazy, insane thing —but he could not let himself think of that. Or what hellish tortures might await him. However, if he was faithful and obedient, maybe his master wouldn’t torture him too much.

Yes, he had not seriously thought through that torture bit. Gods—at least, Etonian gods—did not torture their priests, at least not in life. They could, of course, be consigned to a horrible fate upon death if they were evil, but that was to be expected.

All through the night, his mind had played through every possible horror he had heard of about demon masters. Which, admittedly, was none. However, he knew the sort of things demons did to victims of misworded commands and such. In theory, though, if Vaselle was a good and valued servant, surely he wouldn’t get dismembered or slowly eaten alive. Vaselle was not that good with pain. He really should have considered that before extending his offer to his future dark master.

Vaselle made his way to the clearing. It took a bit longer than usual; some sort of big hubbub with the Oorstemothians and the Rod. Who cared, as long they did not get in his way. Once at the clearing, he had made the preparations for summoning Estrebrius; really not that complicated. He had then set up a small portable table and mirror and begun the preparations. He had a special paste made from his own blood that he used to draw runes on his forehead and chest. Around his neck, wrists and arms were bands with a single linking rune each.

Once done with this part, he summoned Estrebrius. Estrebrius appeared within the flame. “Greetings, master! You still want to go through with this?”

Vaselle was so nervous he could only nod.

Estrebrius could apparently see Vaselle’s nervousness because he said, “Don’t worry, master. Tom, or I guess Tommus, is a really good guy. You could not ask for a better demon to own your soul. Once you are all signed up, I’ll be working for him too… but then, I pretty much already am and it’s the best job I’ve ever had!” Estrebrius paused. “After working for you that is…” He grinned.

Oddly, that incredibly bizarre speech did make Vaselle feel a lot better. Estrebrius made a gesturing motion behind him and suddenly the flames leaped higher and higher, and then a hole opened up in the clearing. It was actually a hole in the middle of the fire, but instead of the other side of the clearing, he was peering into some rather fancy, if dusty, room bathed in odd red light. The room had several other demons in it, including a smaller version of the dark master, and a demon dressed like some sort of Sidhe—maybe a brownie? Then there was that weird demon with all the arms and legs, puffing on a pipe and sort of leering at him. That was disturbing.

Vaselle stopped looking at the room as the dark master came into view and stepped through the opening, crouching a bit in order to do so. Again he was struck by the magnificence of his soon-to-be master. So muscled, so powerful, and his… was he wearing a loincloth? That was new, and oddly disappointing; he was not sure why though. Also new was the giant rod he held in one hand, and a good-sized sack in the other. Vaselle scurried back as the demon stepped into the clearing.

“So, Vaselle,” the demon lord thundered. “You are still committed to this?”

“Ughk...” Vaselle coughed and cleared his throat. “I am, oh mighty one!”

“Uh, huh. Okay, then. First things first. When you discuss me with others, you will refer to me as Tommus; that is what I’ve decided to go by. You can choose the titles, as I have not settled on one. However, when addressing me directly, you will address me as Tom.” He stared at Vaselle.

“Tom?” Vaselle said worriedly. “That seems a bit personal.”

The dark master—er, Tom—chuckled. “I’m going to possess you at times, Vaselle, inhabit your body, like I did the priests and the Rod members. That’s what you wanted, right?” Vaselle nodded. “Well, it does not get much more personal than that.”

“Yes, master… I mean, Tom,” Vaselle said.

His master—Tom grinned, or at least Vaselle hoped that was a grin; it was really very frightening. “I will have some errands for you to run; you will need money for them.” He held up the sack in his hand. “Here are some rough stones; hopefully you can sell them or trade them for what we need.” He set the sack down a short distance away. Vaselle just nodded.

“Very well, let us begin,” Tom ordered.

“Assuredly.” Vaselle quickly went to his table and grabbed a scroll lying on it. It was a good-sized scroll with somewhat large letters; he had tried to make something proportional for his master—er, Tom.

“This is… basically a script,” Vaselle explained. “I have words I say, you have words you say. I start by doing a basic incantation to empower these runes.” He gestured to the ones on his body. He was wearing only his pants, which were rolled up to expose his ankles with the circles. “Then I create a link which I hand to you. As I do, I will start the words of the script and then we alternate… and then it should be done, at least as far as you commanded me.”

“Very well. If you are still willing, proceed,” Tom said.

Vaselle nodded and began the incantation as he had practiced without the runes or the few other material components. He established the linking of the runes on his body, empowering them, and then took the magical leash link, as it were, and began reciting from the script. He finished his part and handed the link both mentally and with his real hands to his master.

His master began reciting the words and suddenly Vaselle could feel his master pouring over the link like a tidal wave! It was far beyond what he had expected or been prepared for. It was overwhelming… it was….

~

Vaselle woke lying on the ground. All around him, leaves were charred to a crisp. His pants were also severely charred and quite damaged, but at least wearable. He had one heck of a headache, he suddenly realized as he sat up. He looked around the clearing. Other than a lot of charred leaves and the remains of the summoning spell, now completely dispersed, nothing much had changed. Well, there was that large sack and a note pinned to it.

He grabbed the note.

Excellent! You are now mine. Congratulations!

Well, that was a bit anticlimactic, Vaselle thought.

Please acquire the following goods in the following quantities. When you have done so, exit the city wards and then think of me and call my name.

Tom

Vaselle looked at the list and blinked. It was in his own handwriting! How totally bizarre! “But not as bizarre as this list,” he muttered. And the quantities? He shook his head. Freehold was one of the few places all of these things were available, but in these quantities, this would be expensive! He tugged on the sack string to open it and see what the rough stones were; hopefully some marble or malachite something worthwhile. The sack opened and rough-cut rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds and other gemstones spilled out. “Holy saints in their graves!” Vaselle exclaimed at the wealth spilling out of the sack. Who said selling one’s soul did not pay!

~

Tom headed immediately back to bed. He needed to curl up again. It was too much —way too much! He shut the door behind him, to the surprise of the others, saying only, “I need to rest some more.” He really did not need to rest; he just needed to curl up and freak out!

How had he kept himself together while possessing Vaselle? He was amazed he had been able to do some simple tests of flame in the man’s body and then write out the list in Vaselle’s hand. He had then released the wizard, sent everyone back to the parlor and closed the link while making a beeline to bed.

When he had possessed the soldiers, he had been in a hurry, with a burning anger and a crapload of mana. He had basically flattened the minds of the people he’d possessed. Here, he had come in and Vaselle had opened himself up to Tom completely and utterly. The wizard had exposed everything about himself—his fears, his frustrations, his loneliness, his despair, his longing, his love, his self-loathing, his pettiness, all his foibles and just said “take me.”

Tom tried his best to tolerate it, but it was too much. To see someone else exposed that way was painful in a way he could not explain. It made him ache; ache in his heart, his mind, his soul. It brought forth a very complex wellspring of emotions that he could not even begin to process. When someone did something like that, it was very hard not to reciprocate or resonate or something. Tom did not have the words for it.

He did not want to reject the wizard, but he did not want to meld with him at that level of intimacy. He was torn on so many levels that he could not even process them at the time. He had done his best somehow, mentally, spiritually or something, to “pat” the wizard and welcome him, give him some affirmation. But it was a bit too much. A lot too much. He had not been prepared for it. Therefore, he merely gave him a mental hug and tried to push him gently down and take control of his body to establish a solid link within the wizard. He certainly did not want to go as far as he had with the Rod of Tommus. Nope. Not going to happen; but that was what Vaselle had seemed to want.

Christ, that wizard was lucky he had done this with Tom. He had to imagine most demons on seeing that much vulnerability would be tempted to exploit it. To think of the damage one could do to someone so open and vulnerable. It made Tom shudder. It made him ache. He did not know if he felt embarrassment for Vaselle, pity, love, despair or what? All of the above?

Tom opened his eyes. Was this the sort of thing God saw when people prayed to Him/Her? In this case, he meant the god he had been raised with on Earth, but he supposed it was the same for the local gods. How could they take this, worshippers opening themselves up like this? It would be a living hell, it would take a level of… of he had no idea what to handle this day in and day out.

Fuck!
He just wanted to cry, or maybe scream. Or both.

~

DOF +5

Late Morning 16-02-440

Lilith stood beside Darflow Skragnarth looking Abyssal Southwest (ASW) from Doom’s Redoubt, her secret fortress built to keep an eye on Mount Doom and its occupants. She had originally had it built about ten or twelve thousand years ago as a base station for her spies to keep an eye on Orcus and his machinations. After his demise, she had repurposed it to be more of a garrison to ensure the D’Orcs did not get too out of control.

“How long has it been since you’ve performed a D’Orc culling?” Lilith asked her commander. A culling was what they called the periodic raids they performed on the D’Orcs to whittle down their numbers, test their defenses. It was expensive, in that she generally lost about as many soldiers as the D’Orcs; however, it would have been more expensive if not for her troop’s greater magical resources. Their arcane devices and mana-wielding demons were more than enough to neutralize the D’Orcs home field advantage.

The D’Orcs had no magical defenses left. In the old days, no demon prince in his right mind would have even thought of attacking Mount Doom, the most powerful fortress in the multiverse. Like any truly great fortress, it had only fallen through treachery. Of course, since its fall she could have wiped them all out permanently, but that would have required drawing on her regular resources enough to cause people to wonder where those resources were going.

Darflow’s mission was quite secret. No one at the Courts even knew of the D’Orcs’ continued existence or any of her history with Mount Doom, and she was determined to keep things that way.

“It’s been just over a decade since the last culling. We’re due for another one in about half a year; we’ve already begun the planning and training. As per your orders, we try to be irregular in the schedule so the troops cannot become complacent.”

Lilith nodded, thinking. “Continue your training, but I’m not so sure we will want to go ahead with that, given this.” She gestured to the now-smoking giant volcano ringed by both mountains and storm clouds. She shook her head. The return of the storm clouds meant the portal to Water had reopened. The Abyss obviously had Earth, Fire and Air. Add Water, combine with the raw Spirit of demons, and you had a recipe for a giant mana factory. Which is exactly what Mount Doom was. How Orcus had ever constructed such a place was beyond her ken. He had done so without her or Sammael’s knowledge, before the advent of the boom tunnels.

Altrusian technicians—highly evolved sleestaks that normally existed outside the primary time stream—installing the boom tunnels some twenty-five thousand years ago had discovered the mountain range. Of course, it was not until about fifteen thousand years ago that the Council of Princes had realized the full significance of the storm clouds; they had previously just assumed Mount Doom was Orcus’s overly theatrical secret fortress. Lilith chuckled, fondly remembering the bitter and heated arguments when the other princes had first confronted Orcus. Those had been the days! She had to admit, completely obliterating one’s enemy was not as satisfying as one might think. It rather left a void in one’s daily life. Her current enemies were so much less interesting.