Contents

Preface: Dates, Time and Previously

Time of Day

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Chapter 145

Chapter 146

Chapter 147

The First Lacuna

The Second Lacuna

Appendix I: The Localverse

Appendix II: Introduction and Overview of Time, Space and the Multiverse

Appendix III: Introduction to Animus and Mana Polarization

Appendix IV: Orc Social Structure

Appendix V: Hilda’s Saint School Notes on the Undead and the Unlife

Demons of Astlan

Volume III:

Apostles of Doom

By

J.L. Langland

Copyright 2016

Special Thanks and Dedication to:

Michael Begel, Jay Haesly, Sean Jones, Bob Bingham, Jeff Hodapp, Rick Szekeres, Don Meyer

Edited By: http://www.5starediting.com

Cover Art By: Jacob Atienza (http://jacobarts.weebly.com)

Visit http://www.Astlan.Net for Maps, History, Details and Artwork.

Thanks to all the tireless Beta Demons who labored in the Salt Mines of the Abyss to improve this book!

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Preface: Dates, Time and Previously

Reminder from Volume I: The planet of Astlan has two moons. Uropia, the closer moon, orbits Astlan around the axis of rotation from East to West (like Earth’s moon) and Anuropia, further out, orbits Astlan over the poles of rotation from north to south and then south to north.

http://www.astlan.net/Home/AstrometryAstrology/TheMoonsandTheirCycles.aspx

Uropia, the moon with a feminine aspect, has ten months per Astlanian year. Anuropia has five months per year. Thus, for every one Anuropian month, there are two Uropian months. The five months of Anuropia conveniently correspond to the five seasons: Hearth, Winter, Spring, Summer, Harvest.

Anuropian months are not specifically named, given that they also correspond to the seasons which are reversed in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres. Anuropian quarter months, however, are named. Each named quarter month has two ten-day weeks that correspond to the relative positions of the two moons.

While timekeeping does vary across Astlan, the dates are fairly standardized for trade purposes. Typically, dates are given as Anuropian Quarter Month/Day of Quarter Month/Year. In texts, the quarter month is denoted by either a number 1 to 20 or the name of the month.

http://www.astlan.net/Home/AstrometryAstrology/AstlanianCalendar.aspx

There are multiple calendars that designate the current year depending on specific events. Over the last few centuries, calendars that do not start and stop at the same time have fallen out of favor so that currently, the major calendars in use have years that are only offsets of each other.

http://www.astlan.net/Home/History/Timeline.aspx

The Council States, where many of the humans in Demons of Astlan live, officially use the Post-Vargosian Calendar, which dates from the fall of the Vargosite Empire, 424 years before the arrival of the Dark Lord Tommus. Mount Doom is obviously in the Abyss, which does not have real days, nights or seasons. However, its denizens do use a rough calendar system in which the years seem to roughly correspond to Astlanian years, although this is a completely arbitrary choice made by various demon lords.

As a quick summary of historical milestones:

- Mount Doom was founded 54,760 years before the Dark Lord Tommus ascended to the Throne of Orcus.

- 4,467 years ago, in the final battle of Ragnarök, Asbrú—the bridge connecting Ásgarðr,' Jötunheimr and Midgard—was destroyed by Loki, thus sealing both the Æsir and the Lords of Jötnar from access to other planes of existence.

- 4,027 Astlanian years ago, Sentir Fallon, an avatar of Tiernon, slew the Demon Prince Orcus on the world of Etterdam. Most of Orcus’s D’Orc army was slain permanently by unknown means.

- Oorstemoth was founded by the Anilord Ponchas 1,620 years before the Dark Lord Tommus appears.

- The last of the Anilords were slain 1,071 years before the beginning of the current events.

- One year later, 1,070 years ago, the first Etonians (a.k.a. the Five Siblings) arrived in Natoor, where they spent approximately the next 200 years eliminating the followers of the Nyjyr Ennead.

- The last temple of the Nyjyr Ennead fell 820 years before Lord Tommus’s ascension.

- The Vargosite Empire, founded 1,052 years ago after the fall of the Anilords, collapsed 440 years ago.

- Three years later, 437 years ago, the Magedom of Turelane was formed by Archimage Turelane Al-Addin.

- In 5 PV, 435 years ago, the Kingdom of Abancia was founded; it would last for 300 years until the Abancian War of Dominance, in which Exador laid waste to Abancia when they refused his demands.

Recent milestones:

- Approximately 150 years ago, the Archdemon Bess arrived in the Courts of Chaos, having previously been living in the outer realms due to a feud with Orcus. She claims no one bothered to tell her that Orcus had perished several millennia previously. Her principal fortress near the Courts of Chaos is called “the Outpost.”

- Approximately 100 years ago, Bess aligned with the archdemons Ramses and Exador; they began researching legends of a book containing information that would enable them to depose Lilith and Sammael, the Cofactors of the Abyss.

- Approximately ten years ago, Lenamare the Great learned of this same book and its contents.

- A few years ago, Lenamare ascertained a very likely location for the book and hired a band of interdimensional rogues and bounty hunters to retrieve the book from ruins inside of Oorstemoth.

- Lenamare’s agents acquired the book but were captured; Lenamare, however, had planted magic items on his agents that caused them to blame Exador for the robbery.

- Exador spent nearly a year clearing himself of the charges, and determined that Lenamare had the book that he and his allies wanted.

- Exador and his allies plotted to seize Lenamare’s Academy of Wizardry and more specifically, the book. Lenamare discovered the plot by Exador and began planning his defense.

- On Cyclos 7th 440 PV, during a training session with students, Lenamare and his partner Jehenna discovered what they thought was an unbound lesser demon. Upon trying to summon the demon for the first time, they realized it was actually a Greater Demon. With great risk to themselves and the students, Lenamare succeeded in binding the demon to his will.

- Cyclos 7, 440 PV is Day Zero for the events detailed here. It is the day that the Demon Tom is first summoned.

- Fourteen days later (DZ +14), Lenamare blew up his own school, taking out the majority of Exador’s forces.

- The following evening (DZ +15), Verigas, the High Priest of Tiernon in Gizzor Del, had his own demon summoning hijacked by a Demon Lord in possession of a party of humans. This began the Rod’s involvement.

- A few days later, an Oorstemothian ship attempted to apprehend a smuggler and was illegally destroyed by one Lord Edwyrd, a powerful animage that also controlled demons. This began Oorstemoth’s involvement.

- Within a week, both the Rod of Tiernon and Oorstemothian forces surrounded the city of Freehold, home of the Council of Wizardry and capitol of the Council States. They both demanded independently that the Council turn over the individuals they were pursuing.

- The Council reacted by raising the city’s incredibly powerful wards of protection, shielding the city from both magical and physical intrusion.

- Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon, while patrolling the city from above, discovered that the city was infested with at least a thousand demons, as well as several Archdemons.

- Thirty days after Day Zero, on Electh 17th 440 PV, the Council managed to expel the demon infestation along with the Arch Demons and Lenamare’s Greater Demon. The demon Tom battled Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon, and Tom defeated Talarius by subverting the mana links between Tiernon and his priests, using the mana to take control of the Rod of Tiernon, the holy army. Further, he reversed the blade used to kill Orcus and tossed Talarius “Into the Abyss.”

- DZ + 30: Electh 17th 440 PV is known as the “Day of Fight” or DOF.

- One day later, Saint Hilda of Rivenrock arrived as part of a scouting party for the Host of Tiernon’s arrival; she quickly determined that things were very odd, and the Archons of Tiernon decided to abort the Hosts' appearance and proceed more surreptitiously.

- In the Abyss, the members of the Courts of Chaos celebrate Tom’s victory and try to figure out who and where he is.

- The incubus Reggie is summoned by Merit-Ptah as part of a plot to secretly repopulate Astlan with followers of the Nyjyr Ennead.

- An expedition to investigate a vision of an orc uprising and the nature of the demon Bess was launched by the Council of Wizardry and the Grove, led by Trevin D’Vils, Enchantress of the Grove.

- Within a few days, as the expedition left the Grove in the cloudship Nimbus, it was attacked by a contingent of Storm Lords of Nysegard, undead liches on ice dragons.

- Shortly thereafter, the wizard Exador was exposed as an archdemon. In anger he attacked those that witnessed his unmasking. He was driven from Astlan by Randolf, Exador, Gandros, Lenamare, Jehenna, Tureledor and Davron. In the process, Exador launched an unprovoked attack on the djinn, Crispin, thus unleashing the wrath of the djinn upon himself.

- Ten days after absconding with the knight Talarius, the D’Orcs of Mount Doom swore allegiance to the Dark Lord Tommus. This day is known as the Day of Allegiance or DOA: Demoni 7th, 54,760 MDT (Mount Doom Time) (DZ + 40).

- The following day, the D’Orcs, Lord Tommus and Sekhmekt, the Nyjyr Ennead Goddess of War, defeated two thousand-plus demons sent by Lilith and more spectacularly, destroyed twenty-three Knights of Chaos that arrived at Mount Doom in a Chaos Maelstrom.

Time of Day

Timekeeping in the Abyss, and most of the locations in the localverse, is imprecise. Aside from the cost of accurate timekeeping devices, there are few official authorities. Typically, the ruler of each region dictates the hours of the day in their region. For Astlan, in most cases local scholars base the time of day on observations of Fierd and the moons. These scholars are then charged with synchronizing the sometimes-faulty timekeeping devices.

The most obvious effect of this is that there is essentially no synchronization of time between kingdoms. Most mana users who have an interest in interregional trade typically have a table of offsets so that they can coordinate communication via mirrors or other long-distance communication devices. The same is true for interdimensional traders, where time can be even trickier since different worlds may not only have a different breakdown of time, but often have different periods of rotation, and thus different day lengths.

The Abyss is even stranger since it doesn’t have days. As far as anyone has been able to determine, the Abyss is flat and probably infinite, or at least very large. No known entity has found and reported an edge, nor has anyone managed to circumscribe a spherical Abyss, despite journeys by intrepid explorers lasting centuries to millennia.

Further evidence of the Abyss’s flatness, or extremely large spherical nature, was provided during the construction of the Boom Tunnels. Throughout the breadth and scope of the Boom Tunnel network, Altrusian engineers were unable to detect any sign of systemic curvature to the Abyss. While there were numerous differences in elevation over the vast distances, there was no evidence of actual curvature.

Most demons that visit the localverse use Court time, based on the artificial days of the Courts of Chaos. While there are other cities or regions in the Abyss that have their own time, most copy the conventions of the Courts.

Court Periods

Court Deminutes

Astlan Time (Freehold)

Earth Time

Period 1

000:111

0:00 to 3:33

0:00 to 4:00

Period 2

112:222

3:34 to 6:66

4:01 to 8:00

Period 3

223:333

6:67 to 9:99

8:01 to 12:00

Period 4

334:444

10:00 to 13:33

12:01 to 16:00

Period 5

445:555

13:34 to 16:66

16:01 to 20:00

Period 6

556:666

16:67 to 19:99

20:01 to 24:00

Chapter 116

Slopes of Mount Doom: DOA + 1, Late Fifth Period

Sammael, the Cofactor of the Abyss, Emperor of Demons and Supreme Adversary, stood on an icy boulder overlooking a snow-covered mountain slope. Sammael was in his preferred human form and bundled tightly in his high-altitude furs. This slope, at a relatively low altitude, was far colder than the highest peak he had ever scaled in the Abyss. It was, in short, quite remarkable. The current temperature on the side of this active volcano was far below anything he had seen in the Abyss during his extremely long reign. The ambient temperature should have been near the boiling point of water; instead, a few minutes ago he had seen his breath start to liquefy as it left his body and cooled. Clearly, it was the carbon dioxide, but as it had gotten colder, he began to wonder about the oxygen, nitrogen and argon. This form liked to breathe and it would be terribly inconvenient if the air suddenly became liquid. His furs would also get soggy.

CRUNCH! came a loud noise from the battlefield he was surveying. He shook his head in admiration; a giant stone sphinx had just squashed another frozen Knight of Chaos. Tom had certainly outdone himself here. He had never expected the two thousand-plus assorted lower ranked demons to do much against the D’Orcs—and they had not. The D’Orcs had always been a true force to be reckoned with, and with an active Mount Doom… well, the idiots should have expected to get buried under volcanic ash and lava. That fight had been almost comical.

The Knights of Chaos, on the other hand? That was quite unexpected. The fact that Tom and his best warriors had been able to kill a few of them under normal circumstances was impressive, but then this freezing business—clearly masterful. Extreme cold was a weakness he would never have expected from the knights. He would have to remember this; one never knew when the tables might be reversed.

Of course, the fact that Tom had been able to freeze such a large region of the Abyss was rather intimidating. Sam had no idea how the demon had managed it. The amount of mana required to do this would be insane. He shook his head as the last of the knights shattered without an explosion. It was the dying chaos stream that usually took out the rare “victors” battling a Knight of Chaos.

Lilith would be shitting frozen bricks when word got back to her of this battle. Sam chuckled. If anyone deserved such a dose of raw anxiety, it was his “beloved” spouse. He supposed that technically, he understood her thinking in doing a first strike; but it had, rather predictably, backfired on her. What he was not sure of was why she felt such an overwhelming need to strike first.

True, Lilith had never had good relations with Orcus, but Tom was not Orcus. Having known Orcus and having met Tom, he was sure of that. Yes, there might be some similarities, including physical appearance; however, Tom was way too relaxed, too casual, too completely insufficiently paranoid to be Orcus. Actually, way too un-paranoid to even be a demon prince, Sam reflected.

However, this little freezing trick clearly demonstrated that Tom was a peer. The most burning question being, where had he come from? Had he been hiding out in the hinterlands? There were numerous rogue demon princes and their followers out there; but he was fairly certain he knew of most of them.

Tom, on the other hand, had suddenly appeared no more than two Court months ago, and started really shaking things up in the last few weeks. Sammael rotated to look at the smoking volcano cone. Unless Tom had been hiding here at Doom, preparing the D’Orcs and the volcano until he was ready to reveal himself. From what he gathered, Doom had only restarted a few days ago. How it had restarted was a mystery, but Sammael certainly recognized the mace that Tom was wielding. That would be key, he was sure.

No one knew what had happened to the Wand of Orcus after the avatar of Tiernon had slain the demon prince. The general assumption was that it had been taken to Tierhallon. However, the probability of a rogue demon prince from the hinterlands being able to sneak into Tierhallon and retrieve the Wand of Orcus seemed a bit too far-fetched.

Sammael’s eyes narrowed in thought. It was interesting how Lilith had managed to learn about Mount Doom restarting and get two thousand-plus demons and a Chaos Maelstrom together so quickly. He’d had no clue that the volcano had restarted until he’d talked to Lilith’s toady at Hellsprings Eternal.

Of course, he had not been giving his full attention to things in the Abyss; his never-ending battle with the Demiurge continued to occupy way too much of his time. One had to wonder if it was worth the battle for such a mana-depleted set of worlds. It was however, enjoyable, a pleasing way to pass the millennia. The low-mana environment meant he and his agents had to use human proxies and had to rely on subterfuge and misdirection a great deal more than usual.

He shook his head. That was neither here nor there; the problem at hand was that Mount Doom was awake and the balance of power in the Abyss was preparing to shift. He looked back to the battlefield. The D’Orcs had pulled back from Lilith’s embattled demons. They were now surrounding the very battered demons, rather than being mixed among them. Sammael shook his head. The demons did not seem to be regenerating very well. It appeared that Tom was somehow draining excess mana out of the region, which would impede regeneration.

Mount Doom

Lesteroth arched his aching back; he had finally been able to get Bellyachus’s head removed from the demon’s rear end. It had been rather disgusting, truth be told, but poor Bellyachus was in such pain—his horns going in and out had been rather damaging. The worst part was that regeneration didn’t seem to be working too well, so they were all just standing there dripping blood and demon goo, vainly trying to reattach their limbs as the D’Orcs disengaged and moved to surround them.

He had no idea what was about to happen, but the fact that they were not regenerating was not a good sign. Lesteroth’s stomach twisted with anxiety. At least Bellyachus was so focused on his excruciating pain that he did not have time to worry about his likely nonexistent future.

From the front of the demons, behind the heavily armored and armed D’Orcs now surrounding them, a large figure rose. Lesteroth was not quite sure if the demon was standing up from a kneeling position or growing. He recognized him as the demon that had frozen the Abyss; he was very much your classical-style demon. Insanely huge human muscles on the upper torso and arms; spiky, scaly goat legs; nasty spade tail; giant bat wings. Monstrous black horns and wickedly long claws. Pretty much your classic demon pretty boy. Some demons have all the luck! Lesteroth cursed to himself. The guy was like demonic perfection.

“Servants of the Jilted Bride!” the demon shouted. Half the army—or half of those still capable—hissed at that statement, not so much from anger as from fear. The Jilted Bride was the NEVER-spoken name of Lilith. Well, not actually a name; more of a title, in fact, or an epithet. There was no better way to guarantee one’s own horrible, terrible, unpleasant death than to use that title.

“I am Lord Tommus, Master of Doom,” the demon thundered. “You are in my domain!”

Yeah, the ice and snow have made that rather obvious, Lesteroth thought to himself. Being snarky in his last few moments of life was the only comfort he had left.

“Therefore, your lives and souls are forfeit to me!”

The demons moaned at this. Several soldiers tried to rail against the demon lord, but by and large they did not have the energy. They were too exhausted, too wounded. They all knew they were dead.

“As far as I am concerned at this moment, you are all dead!” the demon thundered.

Lesteroth felt his stomach curl as he braced himself for the D’Orc charge that was about to come.

“And I, Tommus, am Lord of the Dead in the Abyss! Thus my word is law!” the demon thundered again.

This guy was rambling a lot for a general. Obviously, he had been to Dark Overlord School. If only there was a hero around who could slay him while he pontificated. Lesteroth shook his head. He was scared, dark lord snark or not. This stupid diatribe did serve to prolong his final anxiety before his eternal demise.

“Since I control all, by my grace I shall give you each four choices!” the Dark Lord Tommus shouted.

Four choices? What, die fighting, die lying down, or die standing up? Hmm, what’s the fourth? Lesteroth wondered.

“My warriors will open a corridor behind you. You have my word that if you enter that corridor, you may return to Lilith and report your failure,” the demon lord stated. That caused quite a few murmurs. Of course, no one was going to take that option, but it would prolong one’s life so that one could be horribly tortured.

“Alternatively, you do not have to return to Lilith; you can simply make your way in the Abyss. You may not return to Doom’s Redoubt, however. I own that now.”

He would let them just go? Let them wander off into the Abyss? Lesteroth shrugged. That was an option, at least until Lilith’s people tracked them down and took them in for torture. Could take several years, maybe a century.

“Third,” the demon lord proclaimed, “you may stay where you are and my warriors will chop you up into smaller pieces. As you can see, you are not regenerating at the moment. We will spend considerable time chopping your corpses into bite-sized pieces, let you rot for a small eternity, and then the storms will return to send your bits to the far ends of the Abyss. This is the option you came in with. Death at our hands. Death at the hands of those you have harassed for four thousand years!”

“Finally...” The demon lord paused for a moment. “You may lay down your weapons and swear eternal allegiance to me and accept my binding.” Lesteroth shook his head. He could not have heard that right. “You will swear allegiance to me, you will put aside all past grievances with my people. You will join my army. In return, you can regenerate and you will be protected from Lilith and given a place to live that’s better than a cave or Lilith’s dungeon.”

That really shook things up.

“How can we trust you?” Darflow asked loud enough for all his demons to hear.

The demon lord shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter; the default is that we finish killing you all here and now. So how would taking any of my options be worse?” He gestured to the D’Orcs in the rear.

Lesteroth could not see, but from the murmurs, he assumed they were opening the corridor.

“Any of you want to leave? Go now. The rest will see that I allow their comrades to leave,” the dark lord said.

No one moved for some time, and then slowly one or two demons began moving towards the exit. One demon—Forwith, Lesteroth thought—began marching down the tunnel the D’Orcs had opened. He got to the end  and looked back, rather incredulous that no one had stopped him. He turned back and launched himself into the air.

“Now is when the lightning bolt comes down and blasts him out of the sky,” Bellyachus whispered, apparently now paying attention. Lesteroth nodded and Talgorf chuckled nervously. However, nothing happened. The demon simply flew off.

After a few moments of continued silence, a few more began to depart. They left, one after the other, walking to the end of the tunnel and launching themselves into the sky. None was struck from the sky. None was pursued. It was very odd. This Dark Lord Tommus was actually allowing demons to escape!

At this point, demons began leaving in twos and threes. All departed successfully. Finally, no more were left. Lesteroth had counted over three hundred demons leaving, the majority being the reinforcements that had arrived right before battle.

Lesteroth wasn’t about to leave. He was not going to risk Lilith. He was not going to volunteer to die either. It was pretty much a no-brainer. It was doubtful this dark lord could be worse than his own current dark queen.

When it appeared that no more were leaving, the dark lord nodded. “Very well. Those willing to swear to me, kneel. Those who wish to die, please remain standing so we can shoot you.”

Demons quickly began to kneel. They all kneeled. That was not a big surprise. Lesteroth was sure many were just playing a game, although why you would do that when you could just walk away did not make much sense. He suddenly realized that Darflow was still standing.

“Darflow, kneel!” Lesteroth hissed at his commander.

The dark lord turned his gaze on Darflow, sizing him up. “You are the commander of these men?”

“I am.”

“And you will not kneel?”

“My lord, I may not.”

“Why? Are your knees broken?” the dark lord asked.

Not an unreasonable question, Lesteroth reflected, looking around at his comrades. He wondered how many demons missing wings or legs might have been forced to stay due to immobility.

“No, my lord.” Darflow smiled grimly. “But as a commander who has failed his queen, I must accept the consequences, as much as I might not wish to. Honor demands it.”

Several D’Orcs were nodding at this. It was a technical point of honor. Not something most demons were familiar with.

“What is your name?” the demon lord asked.

“Darflow Skragnarth, milord.” The greater demon sighed.

The dark lord nodded and seemed lost in thought. “You are a commander, a leader, yes?”

“I am, my lord.”

The dark lord nodded. “Have you sworn an oath with your demons to lead them and to protect them, even as they protect you? Do you have any responsibility to or for your soldiers?”

Darflow looked puzzled by the question. “Of course. They swear their loyalty to me, and in return I lead and guide them, and protect them as I can.”

“Which you have done today.”

“Well, I have led them, but perhaps not wisely.”

“But you do have such an obligation, yes?”

“I do, my lord.” Darflow nodded.

“This oath you cannot break to your queen? Was it a similar oath of loyalty to that which your demons swore to you?” the dark lord asked.

“It was.”

“And she ordered you here today to fight us?”

“She did.”

“Did she lead you here?”

“Clearly not, my lord.” Darflow gestured around him.

“Did she have any idea what you faced here today?”

“I cannot say, my lord. However, she is quite wise. I would think she did.”

The dark lord nodded. “So she sent you to die, hoping that you could take out as many of us as possible.”

Darflow shrugged at the obvious. “I suspect that she thought the Knights of Chaos might tip the balance.” He gestured to the region where the knights had been.

The demon lord grinned. “Were you protecting her, here today, by attacking us?”  he asked.

“I suppose one could argue that,” Darflow said.

“So you believe we are an imminent threat to her, or she does.”

“My lord, I am not privy to her thinking. I know that your people were once considered a threat, or at least a rival to her. I know she fears similar in the future,” the demon commander replied.

“Given that she sent you here, essentially on a death march, throwing your lives away in the hopes of doing some minimal damage to me and mine, do you think she upheld her side of her oath to you?”

Darflow was silent thinking on that. “Perhaps not, but I am not in a position to judge her on this.”

“Why not? It was the oath the two of you swore; who else but you should judge whether or not she was true to you?”

Lesteroth nodded to himself. This guy was a true demon lord. This was true demonizing logic if he had ever heard it. He was nearly as twisty as Asmodeus.

Darflow shook his head. “I know where you are going, my lord.”

“Do you? I am more interested in the oath you swore to your soldiers. You say you are a demon of honor. If so, then you are required to hold your oath to your soldiers as much as your oath to your queen.” The demon lord shifted his stance to stare slightly more intimidatingly at Darflow, or so it seemed to Lesteroth.

“Your men are kneeling, prepared to accept my offer. However, if they come to me, they will have no senior commander. Yes, they may have cohort leaders or division leaders. However, they will not have their senior sworn officer, their overall leader to whom they have sworn. Is it not your duty to join them to ensure that I keep my side of the deal? Is it not your duty, on behalf of your soldiers, to ensure that I treat them fairly? That I do not simply feed them to the D’Wargs?”

The D’Wargs started yipping in excitement at this point, causing more than a few worried glances in their direction.

Darflow gritted his teeth. “I suppose it is, but I have my duty to my queen.”

“The queen who betrayed her oath to you? Who sent you and your soldiers to certain death? Death that even she knew was certain. And all simply to annoy a rival?” The dark lord shook his head sadly.

“It seems to me, Darflow, that you would be better honoring your oath to these soldiers, than your oath to your oath-breaking queen.” The demon tilted his head and simply stared at Darflow.

Darflow shook his head in frustration, and then stared directly back into the demon lord’s eyes.

“Come, Darflow. Hold me to my word. Force me to treat your soldiers the way you would have them treated, not the way Lilith would treat them. Hold me to the oaths I swear to them.” The demon lord shook his head. “These brave demons followed you to certain death today. You ordered them, and they followed you. They upheld their oath to you. How can you do less for them?” He went silent.

The two armies were both silent for several minutes. Darflow had closed his eyes. He opened them at last, shook his head. “You will honor your word, D’Orc Lord.” Their commander knelt before the Dark Lord Tommus.

Chapter 117

Murgatroy: Several hours earlier, DOA + 1, Shortly After Lunch

Jenn and Hilda stared after the running metal man that had just left them abruptly shouting something about a portal and finding someone.

Jenn turned back to Hilda. “Who was that?” she asked the healer.

“His name is Ruiden. He’s a metal golem that belongs—I guess that’s the word—to the knight Talarius,” Hilda replied, frowning in thought as she looked off after the sword.

“A knight of Tiernon owns a metal golem?” Jenn asked, puzzled.

A young man dressed something like a ranger said, “Well, technically, Ruiden is Talarius’s sword. He simply turned himself into a golem so that he could hunt for his owner.”

Jenn shook her head; that explanation made absolutely no sense. Neither, however, did Hilda’s presence here, thousands of leagues from Freehold. How had she gotten here so quickly? The Nimbus was the fastest ship Jenn knew of. Teleportation could not transport people these distances; even a runic gateway would be hard-pressed to span this sort of distance.

“How are you here? Why are you here?” Jenn asked, turning back to Hilda.

Hilda turned to look at Jenn and after a brief moment, smiled brightly. “Ah, my dear, quite simple really.” She did not say anything more for a moment, and Jenn wondered if the healer was trying to think up an excuse. Jenn simply stared questioningly at her.

Hilda nodded. “Yes, quite simple, really. This”—she gestured to an older man beside her—“is my grandfather, Gamos. He is a Voyager and wanted some assistance, so he brought me here.”

“A Voyager?” Jenn asked. She had no idea what that was.

“Yes, my child,” Gamos said, extending his hand to Jenn in greeting. Jenn shook it, looking at him and waiting for an explanation. “A Voyager is an animage that specializes in travel, both within and between planes of existence. As such, with sufficient training and practice, we can traverse vast distances within moments.”

Jenn shook her head slightly. “Okay, never heard of those, but then I’d never met an animage until a few weeks ago, and now I know four of them. I guess it makes sense that the talent runs in the family.”

Gamos smiled and nodded in agreement.

“So why then are you all here?” Jenn asked.

Gamos glanced to Hilda and then back to Jenn. “Stevos and Teragdor here”—he gestured to the young man and the half-orc—“alerted me to the arrival of D’Orcs here in Murgatroy. Concerned that maleficence might be afoot, specifically a raid or invasion, I thought it best to pick up a healer en route. Thus I stopped in Freehold and asked Hilda to accompany me.”

Jenn nodded but said nothing for a moment, digesting this. In essence, they were here for the same reason Jenn and the Grove people were; both had had the same concerns about a raid and dead people. “Well, that makes sense,” she finally said.

“And what about you, dear? I thought you were to be hunting down a defunct goddess ensconced inside a pyramid or something?” Hilda asked.

Jenn grinned at Hilda’s description of their expedition. “We were heading to Noajar first and had stopped by Murgandor to get the lay of the land from some agents the Grove had there. While there, rangers came alerting us to the D’Orcs so we came to investigate, having the same concern as you about a raid and casualties.”

Hilda grinned. “What happy fortune-stance! We shall all have to have dinner together!”

“You are with the Grove?” the half-orc asked Jenn rather cautiously.

“Well, I am traveling with Trevin D’Vils, Enchantress of the Grove, aboard a Grove cloudship, but technically I am with the Council of Wizardry, I guess.” Jenn frowned slightly, not exactly sure who to say she was with. Technically, that would be Lenamare, and thus she supposed the Council, but it was a bit weird.

“So you are with the alvar?” the half-orc asked hesitantly.

Jenn looked at the half-orc more closely; he was wearing a robe and had a pendant with the symbol of Tiernon on it. “I’m sorry, but is that the symbol of Tiernon?” she asked, changing the subject away from the alvar.

The half-orc reached out a hand in greeting. “Ahh, yes. As Hilda mentioned, I am Teragdor, itinerant priest of Tiernon.”

Jenn blinked as she shook the half-orc priest’s hand. “A half-orc priest of Tiernon?” She had never heard of such a thing. Like most people, she just sort of assumed that Tiernon would hate orcs; what with them generally being considered a Force of Evil, or at the least a Force of Darkness. The alvar were pretty clear on that point, particularly when drunk.

“Yes, indeed. I get that reaction a lot.” The half-orc grinned rather frighteningly. “However, I was raised by a priest and followed in his learned footsteps. My, uhm, background allows me to take the Light of Tiernon to people and regions that are otherwise hard for us to spread the message to.”

“Interesting. Astounding, really,” Jenn said. She turned to Stevos. “So are you a priest as well?”

“Ahh, not precisely. I am a servant of Tiernon as well, but not a priest,” Stevos said.

Jenn nodded, not sure what he meant but at this point not sure she could handle the answer. Too much weirdness was going on.

“So, do you need to pursue the sword or do you want to come over to our investigation site?” Jenn gestured over to the area where Grove researchers were examining the ground near where the D’Orcs had staged their activities. “Maelen and Elrose are there, and Gastropé will be shortly.”

Gamos and Hilda glanced at each other. “I think it might be worthwhile to collaborate with your team,” Gamos said while looking at Hilda, who nodded slowly.

Jenn frowned slightly; they seemed a bit unusually hesitant. However, Jenn had to admit, even though it felt like she had known Hilda forever, they had only met the one time for a few hours. So technically, she supposed they were simply acquaintances; in which case their hesitation made a bit more sense. It was just so odd how she felt such friendship with Hilda; it was not her normal response to meeting new people.

Hilda gestured to the exploration site. “It’s your site, why don’t you lead the way and make the introductions?”

~

Gastropé watched the gateway to the Abyss close behind Tom, cutting off the horrible screeching noise. The wizard named Vaselle was staring at the fire where the gateway had been, looking very concerned. Damien was also looking more than a bit concerned.

“I really should be there with him,” Vaselle said.

Gastropé looked at the wizard askance. “Are you nuts? It sounds pretty bad, and trust me, he can more than handle himself.”

“I know, or I am sure, but still, my place is by his side,” Vaselle said.

Gastropé noticed the orcs looking at them very oddly all of a sudden, except for the young one with the monster behind him. “Can I ask why you think you should be beside him?” he asked.

“Because I’m his warlock!” Vaselle said.

Gastropé blinked. “His what? Did you say warlock?” Gastropé had never met a warlock. Naturally, having studied conjury, he knew what they were.

“Yes.” Vaselle grinned proudly.

Gastropé squinted at him and then looked to Damien, who shook his head slightly from side to side and nodded. “He never mentioned to me that he had a warlock!” Gastropé would have to rethink his relationship with Tom.

“That’s because I just signed up a few days ago. I got in contact with him after the battle with Talarius and he gave me a project to prove my worthiness and true desire to be his servant. Once I did that, he accepted me into his service and took over my body and soul!” Vaselle made a sort of fist-pumping gesture.

Gastropé just stared at the crazy wizard with his eyes wide. “Are you nuts?” he finally asked.

Vaselle frowned at him. “No,” he replied stiffly. “What greater glory can there be than to be the trusted servant of one of the most powerful demon princes in the multiverse?”

“Demon prince?” Gastropé felt the blood leaving his face.

The young orc, Tal Gor, snorted. “Yes, demon prince. Orcus demon prince. Tommus be demon prince too.”

The humans looked at Tal Gor, puzzled. “Why are you talking like that?” Gastropé asked.

“Talk like what?” Tal Gor asked.

“Well, before you were speaking fluent Trade; now you are talking like, well, like an orc!” Gastropé said.

Tal Gor scrunched up his face. “I is orc. In past you spake good Orcish, now speak Trade, so I answer with Trade.”

“I wasn’t speaking Orcish!” Gastropé said, “You were speaking Trade.”

“No, we were all speaking Universal,” Damien said, shaking his head.

“What?” Vaselle asked.

“Vogh doath nor calldren sek Zetla, feist?” Ragala-nargoloth suddenly asked Tal Gor in what Gastropé assumed was Orcish.

“Tommus va ast, calldren sek tran veight zeigfreidnocht,” Tal Gor replied in the same language. Apparently, Orcish was the same across the planes.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a translation stone with me,” Damien said. “I doubt we can buy one in Murgatroy, unless it’s more sophisticated than I expect.”

“It is not,” Gastropé told him, shaking his head. “It makes Gizzor Del look like Freehold.”

Damien grimaced.

The orcs continued talking to Tal Gor, but Gastropé had no idea what they were saying.

Finally, Tal Gor said, “Vaselle, shamans say summon you demon.”

“Summon Estrebrius?” Vaselle asked, puzzled.

“That’s a thought,” Damien said. “When Tom was here, he was projecting an aura that allowed us to all communicate; maybe Estrebrius can do the same, or at the least he can be a reliable translator.”

“So demons project an aura that lets everyone around them speak the same language?” Gastropé asked.

Damien nodded. “It is not widely known, nor advertised, but they can if they want to. Wizards occasionally use lower-level demons as translators. The lower-level ones can project the aura, but do not have the power to intervene and cause mistranslations; which, one presumes, more powerful demons can do.”

“That’s a demon warg, right?” Gastropé pointed at Schwarzenfürze, who glared balefully back at him.

Damien nodded.

“Why doesn’t it project an aura?” Schwarzenfürze growled in Gastropé’s direction, causing him to drop his finger and swallow.

Damien shrugged. “Perhaps because wargs do not speak? Or perhaps because you referred to her as an it and she does not want to?”

Gastropé looked nervously at the D’Warg, who was still glaring at him. “Sorry?” Gastropé told Schwarzenfürze.

Vaselle shook his head. “Very well; assuming he isn’t busy fighting off those Chaos guys...” The warlock walked over to the fire and began chanting a summoning spell. Within moments, a small, ugly demon materialized in the flames and stepped out.

“What’s up?” the little demon asked rather loudly. He seemed to realize this and rubbed his ears; he had just come from a very loud environment.

“We need a translator,” Farsooth Gore Tusk said.

“I understood you!” Gastropé exclaimed.

“Excellent, that helps a lot!” Damien smiled in satisfaction.

“What are you talking about?” Estrebrius asked.

“When Tom and Antefalken returned to the Abyss, we were left with no one to translate our conversations to Universal, so we had communication issues,” Vaselle told his demon. “Trade Tongue is apparently different from plane to plane. Oddly, Orcish seems to be the same.”

“Orcus demanded that we standardize the language across the localverse,” Beya said. “Although given that all versions of Orcish are descended from Jötnmál, the language of the jötnar, it is not impossible to understand non-localverse dialects. If I had to, I could, for example, get by in the Four Lands.”

“The where?” Vaselle asked.

“A region of a non-localverse plane that does occasional commerce with people in our localverse,” Ragala-nargoloth responded. “It’s an example of a place where Orcish was not standardized.”

“Okay, we need to figure out what to do next,” Damien said. “I have no idea how long before Tom can get back, so we need to find a way to get these three back to their worlds, and get Vaselle and me back to Freehold.”

Gastropé grimaced. “Well, that should be simple. Not.”

“Yeah,” Vaselle said. “Aside from the issue of knowing a dimension-hopping spell, there’s the problem of knowing which plane to go to and then where to go on the plane. Unless you’re adventurous, it’s basically a roll of the dice as to where you end up.”

Damien nodded. “The Council has spells with very specific targeting language for known crossing points to the localverse. But it’s not my specialty and even if it was, I wouldn’t be carrying around spells that would get us somewhere reasonable.”

“Actually, if Lord Tommus was here, I could dream walk to another shaman I know well, and Tommus could follow me and open a gateway to him,” Beya said.

“Good idea,” Farsooth said. “I don’t have anyone strong enough in my immediate band, but we do have a couple in my horde.”

“Exactly,” Ragala-nargoloth stated. “The problem is opening a gateway without a lot of preparation and power on this side, and no target to lock onto on the other side.” She shook her head. “It’s actually pretty amazing how well powerful demons like Lord Tommus do this.”

“Well, when you have a lot of mana at your disposal, everything is easier,” Farsooth noted.

Gastropé shook his head. “I guess we just need to wait for Edwyrd to come back.”

“We are near some town—Murgatroy, was it?” Vaselle asked. “Maybe we should think about getting some rooms at an inn?”

Gastropé started to nod. Keeping these guys out of sight would be a good idea. His eyes drifted over to the cranky D’Warg behind Tal Gor, and his stomach started moving south. “Argh. That won’t work,” he said.

“Why not?” Damien asked.

Gastropé pointed to Schwarzenfürze. “Her.” He quickly dropped his finger as Schwarzenfürze’s eyes narrowed. She did not seem to like it when he pointed at her.

“She would need to be stabled in the wargtown,” Gastropé said.

Tal Gor shrugged, “That is what wargtowns are for. She’s been there before, just a few days ago.”

Gastropé nodded emphatically. “And that’s the problem.”

“What do you mean, wizard?” Beya asked.

“Your last visit here set off all sorts of alarm bells, and now there’s a large group of investigators combing the city and the wargtown in particular, trying to understand what you were up to.”

“Why?” Tal Gor asked, shaking his head. “We went shopping, like we said.”

“Yes, but the alvar freaked out when they saw D’Orcs and D’Wargs.” Gastropé gestured to Schwarzenfürze.

“How do you know all of this?” Ragala-nargoloth queried.

Gastropé grimaced. “Because I’m with them. I was having dinner in Murgandy when the alvaran rangers arrived, having ridden around the clock to bring the news.”

Farsooth shook his head. “Damn elves, they blow everything out of proportion. Everything is a war to them! Seriously unpleasant people.”

“They keep talking about going across some imaginary sea to some sort of Promised Land, I wish they would just hurry up and go already!” Beya said angrily.

“Well, why don’t we just go explain things to them?” Vaselle asked. The orcs all turned to stare at him as if he was crazy. Gastropé had to agree with them that the warlock was nuts.

“You haven’t met that many elves, have you?” Farsooth asked.

“They are a bunch of know-it-alls who prefer to lecture the ‘lesser races’ that they so ‘nobly shepherd.’ They do not take advice from the sheep,” Beya said angrily.

Gastropé shook his head. “I’m not sure they are that bad, but they definitely seem to have gotten bees in their plate armor when they learned of the D’Orcs.”

Ragala-nargoloth nodded. “That sounds like them. They don’t like things they can’t easily control.”

“Well,” Gastropé interrupted, “according to the alvar, the D’Orcs are supposed to be the most fearsome warriors in the multiverse, Knights of Chaos excepted, apparently.”

Farsooth chuckled. “Well, they do have a point on that. They are the best of the best of orc warriors, and they are even more immortal than the elves. You skewer an elf and it croaks; skewer a D’Orc and it returns to the Abyss for a rest and then comes back to hunt you down.”

Ragala-nargoloth and Beya chuckled at this as well. Gastropé was not sure, but he thought maybe the new and absolutely horrifying expression on Tal Gor’s monster might also be a grin. She seemed to be understanding them. Which was all the more reason to wonder why she did not project one of those translation auras.

“So what are we going to do then?” Vaselle asked. “Even once Lord Tommus comes back, we are going to need to go into town and get supplies. We are going to need someplace we can rest or camp, a secure location for dream walking…” he gestured to the shamans.

Tal Gor shook his head. “Yes. Unfortunately, it’s a day’s flight to my clan, where we would be safe and secure, and we only have one D’Warg.”

“Gastropé, you’ve been to this city,” Damien stated, looking at Gastropé. “Do they have any place that might sell us a flying carpet?”

Gastropé twisted his head slowly from right to left, thinking, hedging. “I would seriously doubt it; the city’s something of a backwater.”

“Schwarzenfürze and I can wait here while the rest of you go into town to look for a carpet,” Tal Gor said. “Maybe bring me back some water. Or if there is no carpet, get us some camping gear.”

Damien shrugged in agreement. “That may be our best bet.”

Murgatroy

“Ugh,” Beragamos moaned, easing down onto one of the two small beds in Teragdor’s room at the inn. Stevos sat down on the bed across from him as Teragdor positioned himself to sit next to Stevos while holding two bottles of wine that Hilda had purchased in a local shop.

Hilda pulled out the small table and set upon it the tray of meat and cheese she had gotten from the inn’s kitchen master. “The sausage options were miserable; some passable venison sausage, a pot of too-fatty goose liver paste. I refuse to call it pâté! There are also some slices of beef and a very hard cheddar cheese, plus their standard bread loaf, which appears to be made of stone…” she clanked the loaf of bread against the side of the table to make her point.

“At this point, my dear, I just want a glass of wine,” Beragamos said.

Hilda snorted, shaking her head. “We shall see if that is what we have purchased.”

“This was an unusually long day,” Stevos remarked.

“Seriously bad luck running into those Grove people,” Beragamos agreed.

“I don’t think they were able to sense anything,” Hilda said, arranging the clay wine goblets.

“That Trevin D’Vils is very perceptive,” Beragamos said. “She’s clearly a skilled enchantress and I have no idea what race she is.”

“She’s not human?” Teragdor asked.

Beragamos shrugged. “I don’t believe so. We were not the only ones shielding ourselves today. I am not sure what she is, though. Possibly fae, or half-fae.”

“That would explain the association with the alvar,” Stevos said.

“But not the dwarves,” Teragdor said. “Dwarves and elves get along only slightly better than orcs and elves.”

“The Grove is a rather odd place, and I know very little of it,” Stevos stated.

Beragamos nodded. “We have zero visibility into that place. It is quite odd and extremely opaque to magical prying.”

“It is also in the heart of Norelon and we have never been strong in that region,” Hilda added, handing Beragamos a goblet of wine.

“On the plus side, you managed to attract a new fan with that animage.” Stevos chuckled at Beragamos.

Beragamos shook his head weakly from side to side. “Talk about the wrong cover! I walked up to a member of the Society and told him I was a Voyager.”

Hilda laughed. “I am sure you will be getting an invitation to join the Society before long.”

“I had no idea that there have been no known Voyagers in Astlan for the last nine hundred or so years!” Beragamos groaned.

“I wasn’t sure he was going to let you go.” Stevos grinned.

“I am sure he would have preferred to strap me to a chair and pry the secrets of Voyagery from me!” Beragamos took a sip of his wine and grimaced. “I have been spoiled by you, Hilda. This atrocious grape I might previously have thought barely passable, but no more.” He shook his head. “At least it soothes the nerves, if not the palate.”

“Actually, it’s pretty decent compared to most of the wine around here,” Teragdor noted, setting his goblet down after taking a few sips.

“You should try something from Hilda’s wine cellar. You would think you were in heaven!” Beragamos grinned at Hilda.

Teragdor looked at him, puzzled. “If I were tasting wine from her cellar, I think I would be in heaven—Tierhallon—by definition.”

Stevos laughed and clapped the priest’s knee. Beragamos raised his goblet in a toast, chuckling. “You have a point, my friend. You have a point!”

“The real problem,” Beragamos continued, “is that this undercover work, while effective, requires a very large web of lies.”

Hilda nodded in agreement while tearing off a chunk of bread. “It does, and in fact I should probably work out a corresponding story for Trisfelt about us being here today. At some point, Jenn will be in contact with him again.”

“So my fame for practicing a defunct animage discipline will grow!” Beragamos shook his head and took another drink, emptying his goblet.

~

“What happened to you today?” Jenn asked Gastropé as they sat down for dinner. They were back on the Nimbus for the evening. Gastropé had taken a later carpet than Jenn had. “You promised to be right out to the research site. You missed a great surprise.”

Gastropé looked at her and gave a wry grin. “Probably not as big a surprise as I had.”

“Hilda is here!” Jenn exclaimed.

“Hilda?” Gastropé asked, puzzled. “You mean Trisfelt’s friend?”

Jenn nodded. “The same. She’s with her grandfather and two people in the service of Tiernon, one of whom is a half-orc priest!”

Gastropé’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well… I am not sure which part of what you just said makes less sense. Is it that Hilda is suddenly here, as fast as we got here? Or that you just told me she’s with a half-orc priest of Tiernon? Or that there is actually such a thing as a half-orc priest of Tiernon? I had no idea Tiernon or any of the Etonians had any non-human followers.”

“Neither did I, but that’s what he is. He does outreach here in Murgatroy and the surrounding region,” Jenn told him.

“That is a lot more progressive than I would expect from the helmet heads.” Gastropé shook his head. “So how did Hilda get here, and why is she here?”

Jenn shrugged. “Same reason we are: to investigate the D’Orcs.” Gastropé seemed to grow a bit paler, but Jenn was not sure. “Her grandfather, Gamos, is a Voyager and came to investigate; fearing a raid as we did, he brought her along.”

“What is a Voyager?” Gastropé asked.

“It’s apparently a very rare form of animage. Maelen nearly went insane when he met Gamos. I have never seen him so excited. You’d think he was a priest meeting an avatar or something.” Jenn shook her head, grinning.

“Another animage? What is up with all these animages just popping out of the woodwork?” Gastropé asked, puzzled.

“I know. But they are related, so it makes some sense,” Jenn said. “We had to pry Maelen off Gamos so we could all exchange information on the D’Orcs.”

“Oh, really. Did you learn anything new?” Gastropé asked with a very odd tone of voice.

“Why did you say it that way?” Jenn looked at him suspiciously, and Gastropé blanched a bit.

“No reason. Just not sure what they could tell us that Trevin’s crack team would not have discovered on their own.”

“Well, that’s where you are wrong. Hilda was the person who drank the orcs in the wargtown under the table!” Jenn grinned.

Gastropé shook his head. “Well, then, from what you have told me about Trisfelt, the two must make a perfect couple.”

Jenn grinned ruefully. “We will just need to be careful at their dinner table.”

“I remember my headache on the trip to the Grove,” Gastropé said, nodding.

“So what was your news?” Jenn asked.

Gastropé paused and twisted his mouth rather sourly. “You were right; it was nothing to compare with your news. Fill me in on what Hilda’s team learned.”

Jenn nodded and began bringing Gastropé up to speed.

Appendix I: The Localverse

Chapter 118

Mount Doom/Natoor: DOA + 1, Mid Sixth Period

Reggie groaned as the dining hall disappeared around him. He was right in the middle of hearing Sekhmekt and Talarius regale them with their stories of battling the Knights of Chaos. He sighed as his mistress appeared before him along with her associate, Astor-Thoth.

His mistress, dressed as always in an extremely cleavage-enhancing dress, looked at him in puzzlement. “My slave, why do you seem so disappointed to see me? Do we not always have great pleasure together?”

Reggie bowed. “We do. I am sorry, mistress. It is simply that things where I live in the Abyss have been quite exciting and I was listening to Sekhmekt recount the day’s battle with the Knights of Chaos.”

Merit-Ptah blinked and got a blank expression on her face.

Astor-Thoth gasped, and Reggie looked curiously at the man. He seemed to have gone into something resembling shock. “Sekhmekt?” he asked.

“Yes, incredible warrior; she’s the wife of my buddy, Phaestus. We went and got her from their palace when we detected the Knights of Chaos approaching. Phaestus said she’d be really annoyed if she didn’t get to slay any.” Reggie shook his head in amazement. “And let me tell you, she killed a lot of them. It was glorious!”

Astor-Thoth sat down heavily in the chair behind him as Merit-Ptah continued to simply stare at Reggie. Reggie was not sure why they seemed so surprised. He looked around at the new lab; they were clearly still unpacking. It was interesting that the walls of their new place seemed to be made of white-painted adobe.

Merit-Ptah blinked slowly and sat down herself.

“This ‘buddy’ of yours, Phaestus? Does he have any other names?” Astor-Thoth asked.

Reggie shrugged. “Yeah, a whole pile, but he told me to call him Phaestus. Let’s see, Sekhmekt calls him Peter, or more like Peta, really. The djinn call him Vulcan, or something like a volcano. Which is interesting because he and his friend Völund actually built the volcano fortress we are living in.” Reggie’s eyes had gone back to his mistress’s cleavage. It really isn’t that bad being here, he reflected, staring at the large chocolate globes barely concealed by the dress.

“I probably should have asked this sooner, Merit-Ptah said slowly, “but where exactly do you live in the Abyss?”

“Oh, well, I just moved in a few days back myself. It’s this volcano called Mount Doom. My best friend, someone I knew before you summoned me, just restarted it. That’s where I’ve been. He had this big swearing-in ceremony where all the D’Orcs swore allegiance to him, and then we had this big party.”

Reggie tilted his head, thinking. “And then, surprise, surprise, while we were all hung over, Lilith sends an army of demons and a Chaos Maelstrom to try and take Mount Doom.” He shook his head from side to side, not noticing the expression on the two humans’ faces. “That’s when Phaestus, Boggy and I headed up to the moon to get Sekhmekt.”

There was a thud as Astor-Thoth slid off his chair, passed out cold.

That was rather odd of him, Reggie thought. He’s always seemed so calm and in control.

Merit-Ptah was just staring at him as if in shock. Reggie was not sure what was up with her. “Mistress?” he asked. “Are you okay? Shall we hit the bed?”

It took a moment but his mistress shook her head suddenly. “No, no thank you, Reggie.” She paused for a moment. “You’ve had a very big day. I think we can postpone tonight’s session so you don’t have to miss the after-battle tales.”

Merit-Ptah stood and gestured. “Return to the Abyss, my servant.”

Reggie felt himself fade out, back to the dining hall. How very odd, the incubus thought.

Mount Doom

“Back so soon?” Phaestus asked as Reggie faded back in. Unsurprisingly, Phaestus, Sekhmekt, Völund, Talarius, Morok Deathstealer, Roth Tar Gorefest, along with a number of D’Orcs and a few demons that Reggie didn’t know, were all still where he’d left them a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, my accursed mistress asked why I didn’t seem as happy to see her as usual—”

“You do know it is extremely odd for a demon to want to see their mistress or master, yes?” Boggy interrupted, shaking his head.

“You have not seen my mistress!” Reggie chuckled and gave Boggy a suggestive leer. Boggy laughed as Reggie made a motion with his lower arms describing his mistress’s voluptuous shape. “Anyway, I explained that we were telling our tales of battle and when I mentioned you guys”—he gestured to Sekhmekt and Phaestus—“they got really weird. Astor-Thoth even passed out!”

Sekhmekt blinked and looked at Reggie more closely. “Astor-Thoth... that’s not a common name. Who is he? You said you are bound to a mistress?” Both she and Phaestus were looking at him curiously.

“My mistress is Merit-Ptah; Astor-Thoth is her associate,” Reggie said. “Hey, I just realized her last name is very similar to that other name of yours, pêTah.” He gestured to Phaestus.

Phaestus and Sekhmekt both started laughing loudly, and slapping their knees. The others all stared at the two.

“I am sure they did look at you oddly.” Phaestus wiped a tear of laughter from his cheek.

“You probably gave them a bigger shock than they’ve had in a long time,” Sekhmekt said with a grin.

“Do you know them?” Boggy asked.

“You could say that. They are both long-time loyal worshippers of the Nyjyr Ennead, who have been through many reincarnations with us.”

“In fact, her name means ‘beloved of pêTah,’—me!” Phaestus grinned.

Sekhmekt gave her husband a mock stern stare. “A very platonic love, yes?”

“Of course, dear.” Phaestus gave his wife a grin and then stood to give her a kiss. He had to stretch to reach her cheek, even though she was seated. She was still in a rather tall form.

“Actually, she is favored by us both,” Sekhmekt said. “She is, or often is, a great healer, which is one of my patronages.”

Phaestus struck his forehead with his palm. “How stupid of me!” He shook his head. “It all makes sense now. Usiris told me that he was working with Merit-Ptah on a reincarnation project using an incubus she had summoned. There aren’t that many recent incubus arrivals—I should have realized it was you!”

“So you know about her plans to pimp me out to lonely friends of hers who want to have dream sex?” Reggie asked.

Sekhmekt burst out laughing.

“Is that what she said?” Phaestus laughed, shaking his head.

“No, no. She wants to load you up with souls from the Wheel of Life and have you impregnate half of Natoor so we can sneak our reincarnated followers back into Astlan!” Sekhmekt grinned.

Reggie stared at the goddess in shock.

There was a clunk as Talarius, who had been tipping back drunkenly on his chair’s rear legs, leaned forward, setting the chair firmly on four legs. The knight shook his head, trying to be sure he had heard correctly. “Wait—are you telling me that you two are heathen deities?”

Phaestus turned to the knight and chuckled with amusement.

Djinnistan

“I believe this to be unprecedented,” Tamarin expressed to Le Senara al Vistra. “I have been unable to locate memories of a similar occurrence.”

Le Senara al Vistra flashed an emotion of amazed agreement. “Certainly, within my shared experiences and those of my mentor, I am unware of this information.”

Ser Sayat Tel Bastios expressed agreement. “This is incredibly valuable information. That the Knights of Chaos should be vulnerable in this manner is quite unexpected.”

“Yet, completely logical, if not obvious, if one considers thermodynamics,” Te Narthos al Biyam expressed.

Le Senara al Vistra emitted shame. “That we did not so much as think of such a thing should lead us to question our inference process.”

Ser Sayat Tel Bastios flashed a “harrumph” and expressed, “One thing that is not hard to infer is that the Lords of Chaos are not going to take this revelation of their weakness well.”

“Who will they move against first? He who revealed this information, or the individual who put them in a position where it could be revealed?” Tamarin questioned.

“Assuming that this information makes it back to Lilith, or that they believe it did, then both,” Te Narthos al Biyam expressed.

Er Tanaya Tel Barthos suddenly emoted concern, hir first expression in this exchange. “Tamarins DarNathos, is there any possibility that the Knights in the Maelstrom detected your observance of their weakness?”

“If they believed we knew of this weakness, Djinnistan could quickly become a target,” Ser Sayat Tel Bastios expressed, flashing alarm.

Mount Doom

Sekhmekt and Phaestus laughed again as Talarius stared at them tipsily. “Yes, you didn’t know?” Sekhmekt asked.

“I do not normally have to ask people that,” Talarius retorted.

Sekhmekt shook her head. “Given your great prowess, I assumed you fought alongside Tiernon.”

“I am a mortal.”

“Of course, but I often fight alongside my mortal warriors! At least, I do when it is a critical battle. Obviously, given that we have operations on multiple worlds, I cannot be in every battle,” Sekhmekt said.

“Omnipresence is much harder to achieve than omniscience,” Phaestus joked, grinning.

“Well, given that you fall disastrously short on the omniscient thing, you might want to stick to working on just one of them,” Völund snorted. Phaestus gave him a mock glare of outrage before taking another swig of beer. Phaestus had restocked their beer supplies from his brewery on Uropia.

“Well, there have been no major battles for Tiernon in my lifetime.” Talarius sounded rather defensive.

“Not since the Rod slaughtered our people.” Phaestus nodded.

Talarius glared at Phaestus. “The Rod does not slaughter people!”

Sekhmekt and Phaestus both snorted. “Apparently they don’t teach history in your schools! What do you think they did in Natoor, Najaar and Noajar? You think all of our people converted willingly? That Tiernon’s and Torean’s forces were welcomed as liberators?”

“Uhm, well...” Talarius said, trying to remember.

“There was bloodshed, murder, and yes, rape, on a truly epic scale,” Sekhmekt said. She gestured to the air above the table, and suddenly a vision of soldiers wearing centuries-old Rod uniforms appeared above the table. They were breaching the walls of a large city. And there was, as Sekhmekt had said, bloodshed and violence.

Within moments, the visions of battle spread from the table into the minds of those in the room. They were all suddenly there in Memphis, each person in the room sharing memories of someone who had been in the city when the Rod had attacked. Each viewer suddenly knew what the person whose memory they shared knew. They could remember the events of the last several days—the fear, the siege. They saw firsthand the soldiers of the Rod swarming through the city, slaying all those who stood against them. Time shifted and it was a few days later; tribunals, executions, conversions… all of the horror.

Suddenly the memories stopped and all in the dining room were left gasping. Sekhmekt, standing at her chair, shook her head, realizing that she had overshared. She sat down suddenly. “I am truly sorry; that was uncalled for.”

Phaestus rested his right hand on Sekhmekt’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I know it is hard.”

The goddess’s eyes were moist and it took her a moment to regain her composure.

“Again, my apologies. I have had too much beer. I had meant to simply display a two-dimensional image of the memories I have in my trust, but the memories spun out of control. They are still too fresh.”

Reggie shook his head, trying to recover and reorient himself to the present. “So that happened in Memphis?”

“Those memories were from people in Memphis,” Phaestus replied, “but similar battles took place all over our lands in Astlan, as well as the rest of the localverse and some other parts of the multiverse. It was a very coordinated attack on our land and people roughly a thousand years ago.”

“It started out innocently on most planes,” Sekhmekt said. “We have no problems with people of other faiths living around and about our lands; thus we were not prepared for the uprisings, the hidden armies that seemed to come from nowhere.”

“By the time we, the Nyjyr Ennead, were fully aware of what was happening and that it was happening on multiple planes at nearly the same time, our mortal forces were already nearly overwhelmed,” Phaestus added.

“But enough; I think it best if my husband and I retire for the evening. Again, my apologies. None of you deserved that.” Sekhmekt looked around at the others and nodded in particular at Talarius, who was sitting in stunned silence like many of the others.

Mount Doom: DOA + 2, Mid First Period

Tom trudged down the corridor towards his suite. He was exhausted. The battle, the second allegiance ceremony, and getting the newly sworn demons (and their detached body parts) safely inside Doom and quartered had made it a long day. The majority of Lilith’s old forces had all sworn to him and he had links to each, but trust still needed to be earned, so they were all on probation.

He had assigned Delg Narmoloth, his D’Orc commander from Earth, and his D’Orcs to keep an eye on their new recruits. He figured if Delg could lead orcs against the Æsir during Ragnarök, then keeping an eye on fewer than two thousand demons should not be a problem.

He had checked on Vaselle and the rest of his people in Astlan shortly before swearing in the new recruits and shown them the balling of the battle over their campfire. They were camping outside of Murgatroy to avoid having to stable Schwarzenfürze in the wargtown and cause further problems.

He had also shared memories with Vaselle so they could fully recap what the other had been up to. Tom had to admit that sharing his memories of the battle and Vaselle’s conversations with the others regarding what Gastropé had told them was extremely efficient. It was much faster and far richer than speaking; it would just take some learning not to accidentally overshare.

Tom entered his suite, noting that both Rupert’s and Talarius’s doors were closed. Well, in Talarius’s case, probably closed and blocked by a wardrobe, he thought to himself with a chuckle. He entered his own bedroom, closing the double doors behind him and fell face first on his bed, the Rod of Tommus still clutched in his hand.

He really needed to sleep and recharge. He had returned the DoomNet’s mana absorption levels to normal so that people could regenerate. He had also returned the portal to Fire to its normal active state, and temperatures were returning to normal across the DoomNet. The outer regions were still quite chilly for the Abyss, about forty degrees Fahrenheit; however, inside the temperature was back up to about 120. Rather comfortable for sleeping, Tom reflected.

Chapter 119

Courts of Chaos, Lilith’s Chambers: DOA + 2, Early Third Period

“So, I guess we know who you are having for lunch,” Asmodeus stated, taking a sip of his Baby’s Blood Tea as the door shut behind the first returning soldier from Mount Doom. Lilith said nothing; she simply sat staring at the door, seething in silence.

Asmodeus shrugged and said, “I imagine the Baron will not be pleased.” Again, Lilith said nothing. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow at her odd behavior. Restrained silence in the face of defeat was not an expected behavior for Lilith. In fact, he was not sure he could recall the last time she had behaved this way. Certainly, it would have to have been before Orcus’s passing.

Asmodeus took another sip of tea, and noticed a small twinge in his stomach. He was not sure what it was; perhaps pity for the returning demons? It would not be pleasant for them. Not in the least. He suspected they would all be eaten alive, leaving just enough vital organs so that they could be forcibly regenerated and consumed again and again. That is, if they were lucky.

“You are correct. The Baron will not be pleased,” Lilith finally said after several more minutes of raging silence.

It came as a bit of relief to Asmodeus, in particular the calm and objective tone. He had been worried that the silence had been but a buildup to an unspeakably violent outburst. Of course, he had no idea what her current calm demeanor indicated. It was so very out of character for her.

“So have you decided on punishment for those who failed you?” Asmodeus asked.

“The ones who have returned? The ones who have fled? Or the traitors?” Lilith asked, once more uncharacteristically calm.

“Exactly.”

Lilith pursed her lips. “Those who fled shall be hunted down, tortured for a few hundred years in the dungeon and then executed. Those who returned will face no punishment. Naturally, I will not tell them this—I will let them stew in fear of future punishment for failure, but I will not punish them. The traitors?” She gave a brief, sharp chuckle. “That will take some delicious planning on my part.” She went silent again.

Asmodeus frowned. This was starting to get disturbing. No punishment other than fear of punishment for those that returned? That was very unusual. Obviously, graduated punishment for different levels of infraction made sense, but the returning demons were getting off extremely easily.

Or perhaps not, he reflected. Lilith’s punishments were legendary. Living with the belief that such a punishment was definitely coming and was, in fact, deserved, could be an exquisite form of mental torture. Rather subtle for Lilith; more like something he would do. Asmodeus shrugged and took another sip of tea.

Mount Doom

Talarius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was not sure what time it was, but he had slept for some time. Passing out drunk would do that. He did not do it often, but he had last night. He had been celebrating their victory over the Knights of Chaos, the sort of victory that he had only ever imagined in his wildest dreams. He had then drunk even more to try to wipe away the memories that Sekhmekt had shared. Those had been… he had no words, no idea how to process them. Such behavior went against everything he had been taught.

He had known that the Church and Rod had gone to bring the Light of the Five Siblings to Natoor and Najaar, yet history had been clear that the people there had been worshiping false gods, or gods long dead. Not true gods, not a recognized pantheon such as the Narveson in Norelon or the El'adasir of the alfar. Yet clearly they were real gods. Heathen yes, but not false gods.

He would like to believe it a trick, a deception by a dark goddess. It had to have been. However, the memories were so real, it was as if he had lived them himself. The depth, the details were too much. How would one fashion such a lie? Of course, given that she was a dark goddess, it had to be within her power to do such things.

When he finally escaped this place, this prison, he would need to investigate. There would be records in Justicia that could render these memories transparent as the falsehoods they so obviously had to be. He needed to clear the accursed things from his memory.

I am not so sure. A voice said in his head. Ruiden’s voice.

Why not? Talarius asked, surprised that the sword had been listening to his thoughts. Had it always been listening? While they had shared a true bond, they had never spoken. Talarius had not even known Ruiden could speak before he had shown up as a sword golem. This was going to take some getting used to.

Hephaestus corroborated the story with Sekhmekt and my father trusts Hephaestus; they are best friends, Ruiden said. Further, my father did not disagree with their statements. Surely, if he knew these visions and the statements to be false, he would have objected. Father is not averse to speaking his mind when he disagrees.

Talarius frowned. Is your father also a heathen deity?

No. Why would you think that?

Well, he is best friends with a heathen god and since he helped build Mount Doom, he is apparently immortal, Talarius replied to his sword.

Ruiden did not say anything for a moment. Well, he is remarkably long-lived, but I know he does not have a high opinion of gods, other than Hephaestus. I think he is jötunnkind, which would mean he is definitely not a god.

Talarius shook his head. The last day had been too much to process. He had been reunited with his sword, Ruiden, and discovered that his sword could shape-change into a sword golem. Then there was the fact that Ruiden was a demon-slaying sword forged in the Abyss, forged right here in Mount Doom by the resident smith. He had battled incredibly rare and powerful beings of myth, and then found out he was fighting alongside a pagan deity. It was too much to process. At the moment, all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball. However, Knights Rampant of Tiernon did not do that, so he got out of bed and began dressing himself. It was time to face the day and whatever new insanity it might hold.

The Outpost (Abyss)

“Usiris?” Bess said, looking up from her breakfast in the rooftop garden of the Outpost. “What a pleasant surprise!” Bess stood and gave him a kiss on the cheek, as did Astet, who had joined her for breakfast.

“What brings you down here? Were you racing with Charon on the Styx again?” Astet asked.

Usiris chuckled. “You know I only do that when trying to retrieve someone from the Beyond. He does not believe in return trips and so likes to give chase.”

Bess smiled. Charon and Usiris had a long history.

“I have come because I have gotten word from Merit-Ptah,” Usiris said.

Astet looked puzzled for a moment and then remembered why he would have heard from her. “She is working with you on the incubus project,” she said.

“Exactly, and she has located your Greater Demon,” Usiris said looking directly at Bess with an enigmatic smile.

Bess sat up very straight in the chair where she had just sat down. “Really? Amazing! Where, pray tell, is this mana-stealing demon that has thwarted our most hated enemy?”

Astet nodded in agreement.

Usiris chuckled. “As of last night? He was waging war alongside Sekhmekt and pêTah against Knights of Chaos here in the Abyss!”

Bess gasped.

“You can’t be serious?” Astet asked in shock.

Usiris nodded. “I am serious. He is the new Master of Doom. Lilith tried to do a preemptive strike using a Chaos Maelstrom and he rallied the D’Orcs, pêTah and Sekhmekt to defeat them and a few thousand demons.”

The two goddesses simply stared at Usiris in shock. “How does Merit-Ptah know this?” Bess finally asked.

“Well, it turns out that her incubus is a close friend of the new Master of Doom, and is also on a privy name basis with pêTah. The incubus, Sekhmekt, pêTah, Völund the smith and various D’Orcs were having celebratory drinks when she summoned the incubus.”

Bess chuckled. “I suspect that information set her back a bit.”

Usiris smiled. “It did indeed. She let him return to the party and then made contact with me to relay this information.”

“So have you talked to Sekhmekt or pêTah?” Astet asked.

“They were not responding at their palace this morning; they may have spent the night,” Usiris replied.

“Or they were still passed out,” Bess said with a chuckle.

“So, back to this greater demon... he is the Master of Doom? What exactly is there to master with a dead volcano?” Astet asked.

Usiris chuckled. “Apparently it is no longer dead. Your greater demon has relit Mount Doom and all the D’Orcs have sworn allegiance to him.”

Bess nodded thoughtfully. “He would have had to in order to defeat a Chaos Maelstrom and an army of demons.”

“Although, if Sekhmekt was there?” Astet countered.

“She would have lived—probably won in fact, but all the rest would be dead. The fact that they were having a victory feast means the greater demon is, as we suspected, much greater than a greater demon,” Bess said.

“A demon prince then?” Usiris asked.

Bess shrugged. “Orcus was a demon prince; it would make sense.”

Astet tilted her head. “Wasn’t Orcus technically a god? At least to the orcs and various jötunnkind?”

Bess shook her head, but not completely convincingly. “He had tremendous power, but as far as I know, he had no god pool, nor home on the Outer Planes…”

“We no longer have a home on the Outer Planes,” Usiris noted.

“Yes, but we all have god pools and a pantheon pool.” Bess shrugged. “I suppose if we really need to clear it up, we could ask pêTah; he obviously knows this new Master of Doom, and I believe he knew Orcus as well.”

Usiris nodded. “I have to assume Lilith thinks he’s a demon prince. If she thought he was a god, she would not have attacked so hastily, and if she thought him an archdemon, she would not have sent an entire Chaos Maelstrom after him.”

Astet was staring off over the horizon. “If they defeated an entire Chaos Maelstrom, then the Lords of Chaos are going to take notice.”

Usiris groaned. “Ugh. You really did not need to bring that up. I had not thought of that; I had only focused on the fact that we may have found a good ally. If the Lords of Chaos get involved, things are going to get exponentially more complicated.”

Bess sighed. “I am really not sure how that is possible; however, I agree.”

Freehold

“Where have you been?” Randolf asked Crispin as the djinni walked into the breakfast atrium.

“Early morning visit to Djinnistan. Remember, with these wards up, I have to physically leave the city and pop to Djinnistan to get updates. I can’t commune with the wards up.”

“Could you not just step outside the wards and commune?” Randolf asked, buttering his toasted bread. He gestured for Crispin to sit down and have a late breakfast with him.

“If I am going to physically leave the city, I might as well zap to Djinnistan. Besides, standing in the middle of the road in a trance attracts too much unwanted attention,” Crispin said, sitting down and pouring himself some orange juice.

“And pickpockets, I’d imagine.”

“Not if they know what’s good for them.” Crispin grinned.

“So, any news from the Grand Calyphos?” Randolf asked before taking a bite of his toast.

“Well, if you consider locating Lenamare’s considerably-greater-than-greater demon news, then yes.”

Randolf set down his toast. “Ah, so he has appeared somewhere? As I recall, the djinn have no access to the Abyss, so he must have materialized somewhere.”

“That has changed,” Crispin said, grabbing a strawberry. “We have reopened diplomatic relations with Mount Doom.”

Randolf shook his head, puzzled. “Mount Doom? Sounds like a rather overly melodramatic place. I take it that this Mount Doom is located in the Abyss?”

“It is indeed.” Crispin nodded. “It is a giant volcano full of D’Orcs.”

“A volcano filled with dorks?” Randolf frowned.

“I have to suspect that sort of confusion must get very old for them,” Crispin observed.

“I am completely not following,” Randolf said.

“Duh Orcs, or D Orcs. As in Demon Orcs.”

“Demon Orcs? That sounds worrisome,” Randolf said.

“I suppose it does, but not for the djinn. Mount Doom and its previous lord were longtime allies of ours.”

“Really? Orc demons allied with djinn?” Randolf sounded extremely skeptical.

“Believe it or not, historically they were much more pleasant and infinitely more reliable than regular demons.”

Randolf sipped on his tea and nodded. “Well, I suppose when you put it like that, it makes sense.”

“So the djinn once more have access to goings-on within the Abyss. I assume this is tied to Lenamare’s demon?”

“It is; he is the new Master of Mount Doom. He relit the volcano,” Crispin said, reaching for an apple.

Randolf raised an eyebrow. “I see. So I assume this confirms that he is much more than a greater demon?”

Crispin nodded. “Indeed. Millennia ago, Mount Doom was the counterbalance to the Courts of Chaos, an alternative demon empire within the Abyss. Rival to Lilith and Sammael.”

Randolf set down his silverware and stared at Crispin. “Are you saying Lenamare summoned a demon prince?”

Crispin shrugged. “Summoned? Probably not. I suspect the better phrase would be ‘was the unwitting pawn of.’ ”

Randolf pursed his lips and exhaled in a soft whistle. “I don’t think I will be mentioning this to Lenamare or the Council.”

Crispin grinned, grabbed Randolf’s half-eaten piece of toast and popped it in his mouth.

Courts of Chaos, Lilith’s Chambers

“He what?” Sentir Fallon asked Lilith incredulously.

“He froze his little corner of the Abyss over and quietly obliterated twenty-three Knights of Chaos,” Lilith repeated.

“I don’t see how that is possible,” Aodh said.

“I have interviewed multiple eyewitnesses on the pain of far worse than death,” Lilith stated. “I am confident that he did this, and did it with no casualties on his side. Not a single D’Orc was killed.”

“Well, he has clearly mastered and fully marshaled the powers of Doom,” Sentir Fallon said sourly.

“We were too late to stop him,” Aodh agreed.

“What about your contact with the Knights of Chaos—a Baron of Chaos I believe you said?” Sentir asked.

“I did,” Lilith replied. “I have not heard anything back from them, but I am sure they are not going to be amused, and the fact that their vulnerability to extreme cold is now well known to both Mount Doom and the Courts, or at least to me, means that they are going to be even more displeased.”

“Yes. And so they will start investigating,” Aodh said.

“And discover that you used their knights to preserve the status quo rather than to upend it,” Sentir said, and grimaced. “This may not have been a good idea.”

“You think?” Lilith spat. “I did not want to do this. You”—she stared at Aodh—“insisted that we attack immediately, and agreed that this was the only option.”

“I did,” Aodh admitted.

“Therefore, if this comes back to bite me in the ass, it will bite the two of you as well. Are we clear?” Lilith glared at her colleagues.

Murgatroy

Damien was watching Tal Gor remove the stick with his barely roasted breakfast rabbit when Ragala-nargoloth wandered back into their camp. Once the rabbit was out of the fire, Estrebrius stepped back into the fire to continue warming himself. Damien shook his head at the demon’s bizarre behavior.

Farsooth, gnawing on his own half-roasted rabbit, stopped eating long enough to ask, “Where did you head off to?”

“I saw some interesting markings in Murgatroy yesterday and went back to see if I could connect with my tribe’s people here in Astlan,” she replied.

That comment made Damien blink. “Your tribe extends across dimensions?”

“Indeed. Many tribes and clans have bands on other planes, particularly within the localverse. During the Days of Glory, we routinely moved between the dimensions as a matter of course. Today, much less so, but our family members are still here and there, and we do keep in touch, share information and occasionally trade.”

“I had no idea,” Damien said, impressed. To be honest, he, like most human wizards, rather assumed that being tribal and nomadic, orcs were quite primitive. Apparently not.

“Shamans communicate regularly across the dimensions; physical travel requires much more energy and coordination, but when necessary, we do it,” Beya confirmed.

“Did you make contact?” Farsooth asked.

“I did. They will be able to put me in touch with Rargh-Dargoloth, a shaman that I have had brief contact with in the past. He normally communicates with my cousin. He should have portal beads to open a gateway to here.”

“Lord Tommus will return once he wakes, and then you won’t need the beads,” Vaselle said.

“True, but I think it would be a good idea to make this connection and establish independent links. As we proceed with the Restoration of Glory, dimensional trade and travel will become far more important,” Ragala-nargoloth said.

Vaselle nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. We are going to need to create more gateways so that we do not become a burden to Lord Tommus.”

Damien looked at the warlock but said nothing. To date, Tom had seemed quite honest and unassuming, and seemed to be simply minding his own business, but this Restoration of Glory the orcs kept talking about made him a bit nervous. Not as nervous as the Grove, apparently, but still queasy. He was no longer quite so sure what he was signed up for. He had no interest in multi-dimensional conquest. Once he could get Tom, or preferably, Edwyrd, alone, they would need to talk. He would also speak with Antefalken and get his perspective.

“Do you know when Lord Tommus will be back?” Beya asked Vaselle.

Vaselle closed his eyes for a moment. “I think he’s asleep. He was up very late working to integrate the new recruits.”

“New recruits?” Damien asked. “The normal demons that were sent to attack him?”

Vaselle nodded. “Yeah. Being demons, none were permanently killed during the battle, just severely wounded and not allowed to regenerate at the end. He permitted those who wished to return to Lilith or run away completely to do so; those who wanted to swear allegiance to him could stay and move in.”

Vaselle grinned rather wickedly. “He also gave them the option to stand and be killed permanently, but surprisingly, none chose that.”

“So how many fled?” Farsooth asked.

Vaselle shrugged. “Lord Tommus didn’t count, but roughly three or four hundred. There were 1,732 new recruits; we don’t have an exact count of how many there were to begin with.”

“You know the exact number of new recruits?” Damien asked.

Vaselle nodded. “He has a link to each and every one of them, just as he does to all the D’Orcs. Actually, it is more like a binding than a link. It is most similar to a conjuror and demon slave. The link I have and the ones the shamans have is more of a two-way. I suspect in the case of the shamans it’s most similar to a priest’s link to the Upstairs, whatever that is.”

“And in your case?” Tal Gor asked.

Vaselle shrugged. “To be completely honest, that is more like a familiar link.”

Beya frowned. “That seems a bit invasive.”

Vaselle grinned and shook his head. “Not at all! It’s fantastic!”

Damien smiled tightly. It certainly did not sound fantastic to him. He would go one further and say it sounded downright creepy. There is no way he would want that sort of binding with anyone. He did not even like the use of animal familiars.

He had always wondered what made a warlock a warlock, and now he guessed he knew. He supposed it made sense; there were conjurors who used imps as familiars. That was, in his opinion, insane. Sharing that much with a demon would have to eventually taint the wizard and corrupt him. He could only imagine how much more intense it would be with someone like Tom.

That thought made Damien pause. If he paid attention to Vaselle to see signs of obvious corruption, evil or untrustworthy behavior, he could get a gauge on Tom’s true nature. Unless, of course, Vaselle was that way by default; however, that did not seem to be the case. Vaselle actually seemed like a rather naïve and overly trusting wizard.

“So what’s the plan in the interim?” Estrebrius asked.

Vaselle shrugged. “I suppose the shamans could work on their dream walking or whatever it is they do to contact their colleagues on other planes.”

Beya nodded. “That would save time when Lord Tommus returns. However, I am not sure how receptive our counterparts might be at this time of day. It does not hurt to try though.”

Ragala-nargoloth nodded in agreement.

“I think I will go looking in the town for signs of any of my horde’s clans,” Farsooth said. “I do think we need to work on getting portals set up to coordinate our work.”

Damien would not have minded exploring more of the town, particularly for anything useful in getting him back to Freehold, but he had realized after the first trip that he had taken too great a risk of running into Trevin and some others that he knew from Freehold. He and Gastropé already had their shared secrets; he did not want to have to explain to the others how he had gotten here.

On the other hand, he had no idea how he was going to get back to Freehold in a reasonable timeframe. He could not teleport that far. Vaselle would have the same issues, but Damien suspected the warlock had fewer commitments than a Councilor of Wizardry. Damien needed to get back for Exador’s proof that he and his colleagues were not demons.

He had had to miss the meeting to define the criteria, but as Chief Inquisitor of the Council, he could not miss a meeting on a major issue of inquisition. Further, if it turned out that Exador and his colleagues actually were archdemons, they would need all hands on deck. Actually, he knew Ramses was an archdemon, and was pretty sure Exador was; however, the problem was revealing it as a fact. Pulling back the curtain would force a confrontation. He shook his head, not even wanting to consider what might happen in that circumstance.

Chapter 120

Mount Doom: DOA + 2, Early Fourth Period, Early Fifth Period Murgatroy

Edwyrd knocked on the door to the suite where Antefalken was living. “Come in!” came Antefalken’s voice. Edwyrd opened the door to find Antefalken perched on a chair in the living room, busily scribbling on paper. The bard looked up and smiled as Edwyrd and Tamarin entered.

“What are you up to?” Edwyrd asked.

“Trying to get my ballad of yesterday’s battle down,” Antefalken said, gesturing to the crystal ball on the table on which he had recorded the event.

“I love ballads!” Tamarin clapped her hands.

Edwyrd grinned. “Enshrining our glory for posterity?”

“Exactly. It is very important to have firsthand accounts. I made a small fortune off my Battle of Vizenheim, which was a firsthand account. Think how different things would be if there had been a reliable account of the Balladae Orcusae.” Antefalken frowned. “Although I don’t think it would have gone over so well in the Courts.”

“I suspect not.” Edwyrd grinned, shaking his head. “We are heading to Astlan to help get people back home. Do you want to join us?”

Antefalken frowned. “I would, but I really think I need to work on this while it’s all still fresh.”

Edwyrd shrugged. “Sounds good—wait.” Edwyrd glanced to the crystal ball. Would it be possible for me to borrow your ball for a few hours? I would like to show everyone who missed the battle what happened.”

Antefalken shrugged. “Sure, go ahead. I do not need it for this part of the work.” He handed Edwyrd the ball. “Do you know how to use it? If not, Damien will know.”

“Thanks!” Edwyrd said, putting the ball in his pocket. Vaselle? he asked through his link with the wizard.

Yes, milord?

Are you ready for a gate?

Sure, just let me move the kettle out of the fire, Vaselle replied. A few seconds later, he said, Okay, all set!

Edwyrd sensed Vaselle’s summoning and opened the gate. The gate opened into the campsite outside of Murgatroy. Edwyrd gestured for Tamarin to step through the hole in reality, and then he hopped through to avoid stepping into the fire. He began closing the portal, noting Damien looking through the hole behind him.

“Antefalken wants to stay there and work on his newest ballad,” Edwyrd said, grinning.

“His newest ballad?” Damien asked.

“Yesterday’s battle. He wants to get it down while it’s fresh.”

Damien smiled and nodded. “That sounds like him.”

Tamarin had run over to a nearby tree and was staring in fascination at the leaves.

Edwyrd shook his head as she spun around and laughed joyously while looking around everywhere. Had she never been to Midgard? He looked around at the others, noting that Farsooth was not around.

Beya noticed his gaze and spoke up. “Farsooth is in town, looking for hordemates.”

“Hordemates?” Edwyrd asked.

Ragala-nargoloth nodded. “I’ve made contact with a shaman of my tribe here in Astlan. He is in regular communication with my cousin and has portal beads that I can use to get to her. We are thinking that establishing regular portal links between the realms will help us all coordinate.”

“So then you are set to get home?” Edwyrd asked. The shaman nodded. “Excellent.”

“I have been unable to contact my counterparts, but should be able to do so later in the day,” Beya said.

“Okay, and then we need to see what Farsooth comes up with. That leaves you three.” Edwyrd pointed to Tal Gor, Vaselle and Damien.

“I have a lock on Horrgus, so I know where my family is. Schwarzenfürze and I can head back any time,” Tal Gor reported.

“I think Vaselle and I are the problem,” Damien said. “I can’t teleport over thousands of leagues, at least not without special preparations on both ends.” Vaselle nodded in agreement.

Edwyrd nodded. “I don’t suppose that Gastropé and his friends have a good way to send you back?”

Damien shook his head. “I rather exaggerated to Jenn and told her that we’d be able to use mirrors to send you and Rupert to her when we located you; however, I was planning on simply having Gastropé pretend to summon the two of you or something similar.”

Edwyrd chuckled. “So we need someone in Freehold to summon me.”

“I am not sure Lenamare’s going to feel like summoning you at your request,” Damien said. He glanced at Tamarin, and a look came over his face. “Tamarin, you mentioned having a contact in Freehold? Could that contact provide us a reference point for a portal?”

The djinni stopped spinning and looked at the wizard thoughtfully. “Possibly, but not until he comes out from behind the wards. I can’t contact him through those.”

Damien gave her a puzzled look. “We took the wards down a few days ago.”

Tamarin grinned and shook her head. “They went back up after the big battle.”

“What big battle?” Damien asked, suddenly concerned.

“That sword of Talarius’s, it exposed Exador as an archdemon and things got ugly,” the djinni said.

“Was anyone hurt?” Damien asked worriedly.

“I don’t believe so. Lots of property damage though.”

“So he was expelled?” Edwyrd asked.

Tamarin nodded. “Yes. Lenamare and Randolf were able to contain him long enough for Alexandros Mien to use meteors to push him through a portal in the floor.”

Damien blinked and shook his head. “Okay, I guess that would explain the property damage. So Randolf worked with Lenamare to defeat Exador? Randolf is not actually on Exador’s side, is he?”

Tamarin shook her head. “Randolf? No he hates Exador more than Lenamare does.”

Damien gave her a disbelieving look. “Exador worked for Randolf! Randolf bent himself into all sorts of contortions to do Exador’s bidding!”

Tamarin shrugged. “What would you do to keep your kingdom from being destroyed by an archdemon? You have heard of Abancia, yes?”

“Uhm... yes. Are you saying that was Exador? That he was responsible for Abancia?” Tamarin nodded. “So Randolf knew all along that Exador was an archdemon?”

Tamarin grinned and nodded again. “As did his father and grandfather. Exador arranged Randolf’s father’s accident when the old archimage got too uppity for Exador.”

“And your source of information inside Freehold?” Damien asked.

“Randolf has a djinni—Crispin,” Tamarin replied.

Damien stared at her. “When we first met, you said you couldn’t tell me this information, yet now you can?”

Tamarin nodded. “At that time I was not aware that Exador had directly attacked Crispin without provocation. He did so during the battle.”

“And that changes things how?” Vaselle asked.

Tamarin grinned. “Djinn cannot directly attack someone, even at the order of their master. However, if a djinni is attacked unprovoked, not only can they retaliate, it also creates a debt of vengeance and all djinn will work to retaliate.”

Edwyrd looked at his djinni. “Are you saying that Exador is being hunted by all of the djinn?”

Tamarin made a rotating motion with her head. “I am not sure ‘hunt’ would be the word, but if they find him, they will report him and work towards ensuring he is punished. Crispin will be actively hunting him, as he had been actively observing him, and he can call on all of the rest of the djinn to assist.”

“Hmm,” Beya said. “That is not at all pleasant for this Exador.”

Tamarin gave her a side nod of agreement.

“I would not seek the wrath of the djinn. They would be very hard to escape,” Ragala-nargoloth agreed.

Tamarin nodded, but then added, “Unless he hides in the Abyss. Until my master here came along”—she gestured towards Tom—“we had had no access to the Abyss after the fall of Orcus.”

“Well, I know where his friend Ramses lives, but I have no idea where Exador lives in the Abyss,” Edwyrd said. “Tizzy knows where Bess lives; maybe he also knows where Exador lives. He seems to know a lot of demons.”

Tamarin shrugged. “Exador will be found. However, the bigger concern for the djinn is ensuring he is unable to do to Turelane what he did to Abancia. That has been our focus since Abancia was destroyed.”

“So why are the djinn so interested in protecting Turelane?” Vaselle asked.

Tamarin turned to the warlock and smiled. “Turelane has been our strongest ally in Astlan since its founding. Every archimage has been an anchor for a djinni.”

“That is very interesting,” Damien said, surprised.

“Yes, and very secret, but now that we can actively work to thwart Exador, the Grand Calyphos have determined that openness is a better defense than secrecy. Particularly since Exador now knows of our presence in Turelane.”

“So can you work against Exador’s agents as well as Exador himself?” Damien asked.

“Of course.” Tamarin flashed a vicious grin at the wizard.

Nysegard Storm Lord Aerie: DOA + 2, Astlan Fourth Period, Sixth Period Local Time

Exador glanced to his right to ensure Ramses was ready. His ally nodded and the two proceeded down the corridor to the large, arched double doors leading into the Aerie of the Storm Lords. He was not fully recovered from the meteor bashing, but given the manner in which the Storm Lords had mishandled the intelligence he had provided them, and his need for them to deal with Freehold, it was imperative he meet with them in their aerie. His current less-than-ideal health had motivated him to invite Ramses along as a second. He would have preferred not to introduce one set of allies to another, lest they seek to circumvent him, but in this case, he felt that it would be prudent—both to demonstrate the strength of his overall position with regard to upcoming issues, and to ensure his personal security.

He, personally, did not care for the undead. It was not their appearance or their putrid, mephitic rotting stench; there were plenty of far more unpleasant demonic forms that he had been forced to deal with. No, there was something about Unlife that he found particularly repulsive, unsettling... dare he say, “evil.”

Naturally, he did not believe in the existence of good or evil; these were simply imaginary constructs of the weak and powerless. However, when it came to the undead, something about them was definitely not right. So he supposed “evil” was as good a term as any.

“Freezing cold” is another term that comes to mind as well, Exador reflected, seeing his exhaled breath before him as the double doors parted by unseen means at their approach. Liches seemed to like the cold; he supposed that it helped preserve their decaying flesh. Keeping the meat in the freezer, so to speak.

The aerie itself was a large domed rotunda, the roof formed by a series of large curved glass panes between each of the dome’s curving support columns. Beyond the glass was a truly magnificent view of the night sky. The aerie was located in a region of Nysegard where it was currently night, unlike Abancia, from which they’d come. Of course, being undead, the Storm Lords were nocturnal by nature. Fierdlight did not bother them; unlike vampires, it was simply that they preferred the coolness of the dark.

Hmm, he thought, I should have brought Morthador. This place was so dark and dank, the greater shadow would have felt right at home and no one would have noticed him. If things went badly, he could have fought soul-draining darkness with soul-draining darkness. Damn. Exador silently cursed himself while not allowing his normal, naturally displeased facial expression to betray his inner thoughts.

The thirteen Arch-Storm Lords, or whatever these council members called themselves, were arrayed on a raised dais around the back third of the rotunda. The dais was fronted on the outside by a seamless raised wall, behind which the thirteen Arch-Storm Lords sat on identical decaying thrones, in all resembling a court or tribunal, Exador supposed.

Naturally the lighting was abysmal—meaning poor, not red like in the Abyss. This served to highlight the disturbing embers glowing in the eye sockets of the liches. Theater, Exador silently snorted. These poor fools were amateurs at courtly theater compared to the full pomp of the Court of Princes when it was in session.

Exador and Ramses stopped at the obvious focal point of the chamber, a short circular podium in the center of the room with a lectern to speak from. Clearly a courtroom setting; that was now confirmed. Exador stepped up onto the podium, Ramses following. Exador moved to the lectern and bowed in acknowledgement to the Arch-Storm Lords.

“Exador,” hissed Praelgeis, the self-titled “Lord of the Night” and head of this council. Exador had met with him on numerous occasions.

“My Lord Praelgeis, may I present my colleague, Ramses the Damned,” Exador said, gesturing towards Ramses, who was in human form and wearing his Time Warrior regalia. There was a small hiss from the right side of the dais, but Exador ignored it.

“Ramses, your legend precedes you,” Praelgeis hissed.

Ramses nodded. “Thank you, your lordship.”

“It was not a compliment,” came a sharp hiss from two seats left of Praelgeis. Exador recognized Baba Smert', a hideous old—Exador didn’t know a word sufficient to describe her.

Ramses smirked at the old bag of bones. “Then I am even more grateful.” He chuckled softly.

“Enough pleasantries,” Praelgeis hissed. “We summoned you here to discuss the information you provided us.”

Exador suppressed a grimace of annoyance at the lich’s use of the word “summoned”; they both knew the lich meant it as an intentional slight against him. “Yes, my information,” he said, twisting his head slightly in puzzlement. “Was it incorrect? Did not the Nimbus leave the Grove even as I said it would?”

“Yes, but you neglected to inform us of its reinforcements,” Baba Smert' hissed.

“Reinforcements?” Exador asked, truly puzzled. “I know of no reinforcements. I don’t believe they’ve upgraded their ships for over a decade, if not more.”

“Mortal reinforcements,” Daerth Tromlane hissed from the right. “Very powerful reinforcements.”

Exador shook his head. “As far as I know, they would only have their standard contingent and some passengers they were trying to ferry out of Freehold to avoid the Rod of Tiernon and the Oorstemothian Sky Fleet. None of whom I would consider a serious threat.”

“Oh, really?” Baba Smert' snarled. “Show them the scrying we made of the encounter.”

Within a few moments a scrying, most likely a balling, appeared between the dais and the podium, and they were able to watch the encounter. The Storm Lords were able to rapidly close on the cloudship and get off a number of good, damaging blasts before the carpets scrambled.

Exador shrugged. He wasn’t that familiar with Grove cloudship tactics, but it looked pretty routine, and given the number of Storm Lords and ice dragons, it looked like the cloudship would soon be taken. He could not imagine how the liches had been defeated.

“There,” Baba Smert' hissed. She pointed towards what appeared to be a robed man walking—not flying but walking—in the air towards an ice dragon and its rider. The scrying zoomed in on this man and his opponent. Exador blinked, recognizing one of Lenamare’s lackeys, Elrose, a master of enchantment and sorcery. It was not clear to Exador what the Natooran wizard would be able to do. One didn’t seriously consider enchanters or sorcerers when talking combat magic.

Exador’s eyes soon widened in surprise as Lenamare’s flunky quickly proved him wrong. He would have to seriously reconsider his opinions of those disciplines. As a master of water, Elrose had melted and steamed the ice dragon without heat, and then he dispersed the ice dragon using a high-pressure region. But the truly inspiring piece of wizardry was tossing a vial of water at the dismounted lich and using it to open a portal to Water, then allowing the lich’s own frozen nature to turn that outpouring of Water into ice, thus entrapping the lich in a giant ice cube plunging towards the ground.

Exador had to restrain himself from clapping in admiration. It was truly inspired. He really should have recruited the man. Argh. Hindsight!

“That wizard was dangerous and annoying, the other one even more so,” Praelgeis hissed.

“The other one?” Exador asked. He wasn’t aware of any other master-level wizards of any sort within the group, other then Trevin D’Vils. Praelgeis nodded and let the scrying expand to its full scope before focusing in on one of the marginally more effective, if smaller, flying carpets.

“The one in the turban,” Baba Smert' hissed.

Exador took another look as the scrying zoomed in. He blinked. It was that imbecile Gastropé, who had escaped with the girl, the book and the greater demon. He gritted his teeth. He should have vaporized his former employee immediately, rather than having toyed with the idea of polymorphing him into something unpleasant. In the future, no more mister nice guy.

Exador shook his head. “I know this wizard; he is barely qualified to be a wizard. I hired him as a low-level combat wizard and he failed quite spectacularly!”

The scrying stopped as several liches snickered. “If so,” Praelgeis hissed, “then you are a terrible judge of talent. Watch.”

The scrying resumed. Several carpets were in trouble, going down. The one with his former employee was zooming around and being somewhat effective, but they were clearly outgunned and going to wear out soon. Gastropé stopped launching attacks and seemed to go into a trance. He sat out at least one pass against the lich and ice dragon. His colleagues were all staring at him; clearly the nitwit had panicked and frozen.

Suddenly Gastropé said something and used his Wand of Fire to create a short, sustained blast, as if lighting wood in a fire pit. Exador blinked and Ramses coughed beside him. That moron was somehow using a Wand of Fire and mere verbal components to summon not one, but three demons while on a wildly veering flying carpet! Exador had known the boy was simple-minded, but insane?

Three fiends, type II demons, suddenly appeared and instead of eating the occupants of the carpet, they sped off and attacked the nearest lich and ice dragon. Exador’s jaw dropped. There was no way in the Abyss even a truly talented wizard of Gastropé’s experience should have been able to pull that off.

All three would have to have been previously bound to Gastropé and even then, no pentagrams, no protection? The level of bindings on those demons needed to make this safe would likely be more than even a master conjuror could easily cast. Someone like Damien? Yes. But he was one of the most gifted conjurors in Astlan, and thus the multiverse.

They all continued to watch the rest of the battle. It was, quite frankly, humiliating for the Storm Lords. Between Elrose, Gastropé’s demons and the Grove’s normal fighting prowess, the Storm Lords were clearly outmatched.

The scrying ended. The room was silent.

“To be clear, Exador,” Praelgeis hissed ominously, “this looks to us to be more of a setup, a trap, than information from our ally.”

“Ah,” Exador said, slightly taken aback, but he could see their line of thinking. Ramses was frowning beside him. He knew Ramses well enough to know the Time Warrior was preparing for battle.

“I think you are right,” Exador said suddenly.

That caused several of the Storm Lords to blink their eye sockets. A rather odd thing for beings without eyelids, Exador thought. “A trap for both of us, set by my arch-nemesis, Lenamare!”

Baba Smert' shook her head. “We’ve all heard your rants about this Lenamare, but I don’t see how you can spin this against him.”

“Ahh, but you see, all of the guests on the Nimbus work for Lenamare. Elrose is one of his key wizards—the demon conjuror turned traitor and joined with Lenamare after leaving my service. And I know from the roster that the rest of the passengers were all working for or with Lenamare!”

“I think we are going to need a better explanation, perhaps some proof,” a Storm Lord Exador did not recognize hissed.

“Very well. I have plenty of time, and I think it very important that we understand our common enemy here.” Exador smiled brightly at his “allies.”

Courts of Chaos, Exador’s Penthouse

“Ugh,” Ramses sighed as he sat down in an overstuffed chair in Exador’s penthouse den in the Courts.

“Bloodwine?” Exador asked, raising a decanter.

“Excellent, that should hit the spot,” Ramses said.

Exador set two wine glasses down on the small table between the chairs and poured bloodwine into each.

“That was some mighty fast talking you managed there,” Ramses stated, taking a sip.

“I was completely taken aback by the scrying so I had to think fast. Fortunately, it ended up being to our advantage. We have now convinced the Storm Lords that Lenamare and the Council were behind this ‘trap’ that they laid for us, thus assuring their help in invading Freehold and capturing the book.”

“This damn book is getting far more complicated than expected.” Ramses shook his head.

“I agree; however, all success must be paid for. This is the down payment,” Exador said before taking another sip of bloodwine. “The bigger the down payment, the better the payoff.”

“I hope.”

Exador shrugged. “The one thing I can’t figure out is how that nincompoop Gastropé managed to summon three fiends in such dire circumstance with so little protection or preparation.”

“You know, he did seem a lot more like a summoner than a conjuror,” Ramses observed.

“An animage?” Exador shrugged the idea off, but then considered some more. “I do agree, I suppose, but for an animage to summon three demons under such circumstances would require an even greater level of both skill and power than I know Gastropé can possibly possess. I’d have seen it with demon sight.”

“Well, there is another possibility,” Ramses said.

Exador looked at him, puzzled.

“Remember the battle between the Knight Rampant and Lenamare’s greater demon?” Ramses asked.

Exador snorted. “I’m not likely to forget.”

Ramses nodded, taking a sip. “Remember the greater demon’s minions trapped in the net?”

Exador shrugged, and then an introspective look stole over his face.

“Did one of Gastropé’s demons look familiar?” Ramses asked.

“The octopod. Yes.” Exador nodded and then perked up. “Exactly. And I know that demon. I’ve met him before, a very long time ago!”

“Tisdale,” Ramses said.

“No, that does not sound quite right,” Exador disagreed. “Tisdale was a wizard that slew Diemeron Hunt Master. One does not forget the slaying of the most powerful and feared Mind Reaver.”

“Hmm, true. Diemeron was exceedingly good at ferreting out hidden intent in those who could get close enough to hurt him, and then leave them a gibbering wreck, their minds twisted and hollowed out.” Ramses grinned as he thought about it. “I have to admit to having been more than a little wary of him myself. His powers worked on demons as well as mortals.”

“Given that the wizard Tisdale was, I believe, human, and able to slay Diemeron, he was clearly not a lowly fiend. For one thing, fiends do not shape-change, and Diemeron could hold his own against an archdemon,” Exador said.

“So, yes, clearly coincidental,” Ramses agreed.

“The octopod has a more diminutive name; as I recall, he was also more than a little unhinged,” Exador said.

Ramses frowned. “I met him when I first arrived in the Abyss. I am pretty sure his name was Tisdale, but you are correct in that I don’t think that is what he normally goes by.”

“Tizzy.” Exador snapped his fingers.

Ramses nodded. “Yes! That is the fiend’s name.”

“So this fiend was with both Lenamare’s extra-greater demon and with Gastropé,” Exador mused.

“I find it a very odd coincidence,” Ramses said.

Exador nodded. “Agreed. We know that Gastropé is now working for Lenamare, and we do know that Lenamare either controls the extra-greater demon, or is actually controlled by the demon.”

“Or perhaps allied.”

“No. We’ve been over this; I do not see Lenamare aligning himself with any demon. He would need to be the master or be completely enslaved,” Exador said.

“So perhaps then Gastropé had rings to control these demons?”

Exador nodded. “That would make the most sense. Lenamare gave him rings to control the demons.”

Ramses frowned. “Even so, for someone so young to be able to control and coordinate three fiends, even with binding rings, is quite impressive.”

Exador shrugged. “Perhaps, but I am reasonably certain that Lenamare and Jehenna would create very tight bindings between the demons and the rings.” He paused in thought and his face became puzzled. “Interesting,” he mused, “Gastropé was the only one of my people to survive an encounter with that extra-greater demon. I’ve always found his story implausible. However, if Gastropé had been working for Lenamare all along, as a spy in my camp, that would explain why the demon didn’t rend him limb from limb and organ from organ, as he did the rest of my men.” He glanced to Ramses.

Ramses shrugged. “And yet you did not detect anything about him.”

“Sheer terror was about the only thing that nithling radiated. Scared of his own shadow.” Exador shook his head.

“Very curious,” Ramses observed.

Just then, a cold wind seemed to sweep the chamber, the lights flickering as a deep dark gloom settled over the room. Ramses sat up straighter.

Exador shook his head. “Relax, it’s just Morthador, my greater shadow and trusted spy.”

Exador glanced into the darkest upper reaches of the room. “What news, my faithful servant?”

A deep bass whisper reverberated from the darkness. It was felt more in the inner bones of the ear than in the air itself. “Greetings, master. I have intercepted more transmissions from the Grove.”

“Curious. Who in Freehold would know to communicate via the earth?” Exador asked.

“Not to Freehold, but rather to Steelwell and other cities of the Modgradin Association,” Morthador whispered.

“The dwarves?” Ramses asked, puzzled. “What would be bothering them?”

“The alfar,” Morthador stated.

“Of course, the alfar, but that’s a given.” Exador shrugged impatiently. “Why would they use such a secure line of communication to whine about the elves?”

“Because the alfar are quickly marshalling forces for war,” Morthador said.

Both Ramses and Exador did a double take. “What do you mean, quickly marshalling? The alfar do nothing in less than a decade,” Exador asked peevishly.

“And against whom? The dwarves?” Ramses added.

“The orcs,” Morthador replied.

“Orcs?” Ramses’ face twisted in consternation. “The orcs in Astlan have not been a serious threat to anyone in thousands of years.”

“In Murgandy, in the town of Murgatroy, a sizeable contingent of orc warriors on D’Wargs, accompanied by D’Orcs, showed up on what appears to have been a supply run,” Morthador told them. “The alfar in the Grove are also claiming similar reports in Etterdam, Ithgar and Romdan.”

“I’m sorry, but what? Dorks and dwargs?” Exador asked. Ramses seemed equally puzzled.

“No, D’Orcs and D’Wargs. Demon Orcs and Demon Wargs,” Morthador replied instructively.

“Demon orcs?” Exador looked at Ramses. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? I thought we all came from human stock, except of course for the dragon demons… I suppose we should call them D’Dragons or something.”

“No, I have never heard of them,” Ramses said.

“They predate you,” Morthador said.

“Exactly how old are you?”

Morthador was silent for a while before replying. “Time has little meaning in the shadows in the belly of the ground. I do not know.”

“Okay then,” Exador said. “What do you know of them and why do the alfar hate them?”

“The D’Orcs were the minions of Orcus. He led them and the orcs in numerous battles against the alfar and their allies, on many worlds,” Morthador explained.

“Orcus?” Ramses grimaced. “I am pretty sure he was put down before my time; by an avatar of Tiernon, as I recall.”

“Yes, I’ve heard Damien’s bard sing the tale before the Courts. It was one of their favorite ballads. It was also indescribably long and tedious.” Exador shook his head. “But I am fairly certain it made good money for that bard.”

“Yes, you are right. I have heard it once.” Ramses tilted his head. “Wasn’t Damien’s bard also with the extra-greater demon?”

Exador grunted a short laugh. “I have to admit, this is getting curious.” He shook his head and turned back to the dark recess of the room. “What more can you tell me?”

Freehold, Council Chamber: Early Sixth Period

“I assume that I speak for us all in saying that it has been an exhausting day?” Gandros Ysandr-Eranos, Lord Chairman of the Council of Wizardry, asked wearily, resting his gavel after calling the Council to order. It had been two days since the main entranceway to the palace had been destroyed in the Council’s battle with Exador, and the entire Council had been working extremely long hours shoring up their defenses and dealing with structural damages to their fortress and city.

Meteor storms tended to be rather devastating. While Exador had been felled by half a dozen good-sized meteors, several smaller rocks had been drawn in with the larger one and rained down upon the city proper, causing collateral damage, as had Exador’s geo-quake spell. Miraculously, there had been only minor injuries.

“That would be an understatement,” Sier Barvon stated. The councilors had not only had to go out and inspect the damages, reassure people who were now worried about impending demonic vengeance, but also start preparing new defenses for what they were sure was coming soon.

“This is an unprecedented crisis and we are nowhere close to our full strength!” Tureledor complained.

“We were down a councilor as it was, awaiting the yearly meeting for the next election, and now one of our most formidable members has become our most formidable enemy,” Davron agreed.

“Trevin is out chasing down a goddess we could currently care less about and Damien appears to have gone missing,” Zilquar said.

Randolf shook his head. “Damien had to attend to some issue involving that Lord Edwyrd fellow, and took a few days leave. It was therefore Council business, given this Edwyrd fellow was pursuing leads regarding these demons.”

“So he said,” Sier Barvon complained. “Mighty convenient that he leaves a few hours before all hell—and I clearly mean that literally—broke loose!”

“I do not believe he could have anticipated that sword golem’s actions,” Jehenna said drily.

“Still, one of our foremost conjurors and demonologists is not here when we need him,” Alexandros Mien reminded them. “These things do happen, but we could certainly use his assistance now.”

“Randolf, Lenamare, Jehenna?” Gandros inquired, looking at the three wizards. “You have been pooling all your information on Exador?”

“Indeed,” Lenamare said before the other two could answer. “I also have Hortwell working with Randolf’s people in examining the history of the Exadors—or rather, Exador, since we now know he is but a single individual.”

“Have you been able to glean anything useful yet?” Davron asked.

“Only that, having been bested by the Council, he shall certainly seek a ruthless and unsparing vengeance,” Randolf said somberly.

“You have studied him for years, as a demon, yes?” Alexandros asked Randolf.

Randolf nodded. “My entire life, as did my father and grandfather.”

“I must admit, Randolf has an interesting contraption he is working on,” Lenamare told the Council. Randolf blinked in surprise at the public compliment.

“Indeed?” Gandros asked.

Randolf nodded. “I have been working for many years on a trap for him. Since it is highly unlikely that we could permanently kill an archdemon, I’ve been working on neutralizing him.”

“Neutralizing him?” Zilquar asked.

“Containing him, taking him off the playing field so to speak,” Randolf said.

“What trap could you devise that would hold an archdemon?” Tureledor asked.

“It’s not like you can just toss one of them in a deep dark hole, never to be heard from again,” Zilquar noted.

“It is a remarkable variant of a Vergian Time Stasis trap,” Lenamare said before Randolf could reply. “I had such a trap at my school, and in fact, presumably a number of Exador’s wizardlings are still stuck in it. Being in a complete temporal stasis, they would not have been hurt by my parting gift to Exador and his army.”

Randolf nodded. “The problem is that casting a Vergian Time Stasis is, as we all know, completely impractical in the midst of combat. Thus, I have been working on a means of getting him into an existing VTS. Something that Lenamare”—Randolf gestured to his colleague—“was able to do with his teleportation trap. Now, of course, it might be tricky to get Exador to teleport near us…”

“And we would need to ensure that none of our people accidentally teleport in the vicinity of such a trap.” Lenamare smiled in what appeared to be gentle concern for the wellbeing of his colleagues. Jehenna, by Lenamare’s side, cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“So we are working to come up with some alternatives. I have had some previous success, and I hope that with Lenamare’s assistance, we can perfect something demon-specific,” Randolf said.

“Excellent.” Gandros nodded. “However, we also need to worry about the wards, and maintaining them. Lenamare, between this trap, the wards and researching Exador’s methods, will you have any time to assist the newly formed demonic defense team?”

Lenamare sighed in resignation, but gave a weary smile. “It is a great load, but I am sure with the support of all my esteemed colleagues, I shall be able to accomplish what must be done!”

Jehenna twisted her head rather quickly to glance at Lenamare, as if in surprise, most likely at his unusually flattering comment about their colleagues.

“How are our supplies for maintaining the wards?” Gandros asked.

Jehenna spoke up. “If we stay in demon-repulsion mode only, we are good for another week. We are going to need to send out carpets to acquire more material components. We will need to scour the Council States and surrounding regions.”

“I expect there will be considerable overlap between the component needs of the wards, in this mode, with many of the other defenses and attack strategies the new demonic defense team will need?” Tureledor asked.

Lenamare nodded. “Indeed. I will work hard to coordinate. Jehenna will be overseeing the re-provisioning.”

“Speaking of demonic defenses,” Zilquar said. “Should we consider inviting the Rod and priests of Tiernon outside our gate inside? While I am not a fan of organized religion, an army of priests might be very useful against a demonic army.”

“Agreed,” Gandros said. “Given that Damien had been our main contact and he is still missing... Alexandros, can I prevail upon you to continue to be our emissary to the followers of Tiernon?”

The elder mage nodded. “Of course. We are going to need all the help we can get. Previously, Exador’s demons were only spying; I assume they will be coming back, with reinforcements.” He looked at Lenamare. “At some point, I should like to review the wards with you once more. We need to have an understanding of how they will perform under sustained attack.”

“Of course,” Lenamare agreed with a very tight smile. Clearly he was not pleased at having his work reviewed or questioned, but when the greatest living mage of the last several hundred years took an interest in one’s work, one did not say no.

Lenamare’s Quarters

“What was that in the council chambers?” Jehenna asked as soon as they returned to their suite.

“What ever do you mean?” Lenamare asked with mock innocence.

“Were you bitten by some altruistic humility bug?” Jehenna said. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you so friendly and cooperative towards our ‘esteemed colleagues,’ as you called them.”

Lenamare smile grimly. “Believe it or not, I actually need their assistance.”

Jehenna shook her head, not understanding.

“This new situation makes it imperative we unlock the book; I can use much of this activity as a cover for more intense work on opening the book. Further, if, by some miracle, Randolf’s trap can actually be made to work, well—getting rid of Exador buys us enormous time.”

“Are you forgetting his two archdemon friends? One of which is, presumably, a former Anilord?” Jehenna asked. “No one mentioned them in the meeting, and I wasn’t about to bring it up, but I would have to assume that all three of them will come at us. Knowing Exador as we do, his preferred vengeance would be in seizing the book from us and using it against us.”

Lenamare nodded and then shrugged. “So we build three traps. I have an escape mechanism ready if necessary. I just need you to make sure we have enough materials to keep the wards up.”

Jehenna was silent, frowning in thought. Eventually she sighed and said with resignation, “I am guessing we will not be sleeping much the next few days?”

Chapter 121

Mount Doom: DOA + 2, Late Fifth Period

Tom had begun to wonder if his council meeting would ever be over. If it was this tedious to rule one volcano, why would anyone want rule a planet, let alone a universe or multiverse? He shook his head in amusement. All of this would probably be more interesting if he hadn’t had such a busy day.

They had finally gotten the off-world shamans all back to their own worlds, and Tal-Gor was currently flying back home with Schwarzenfürze. Damien had cast a low-level illusion on his face and then hooded up, and he and Vaselle had snuck into an inn. They would hole up there until Crispin popped out of the wards around Freehold to contact Djinnistan. Tamarin had left word with someone in Djinnistan that Crispin should contact her immediately. Tamarin would then let Tom know, and Tom would get with Vaselle to open a gateway for him and Damien to return to Freehold.

It had taken a whole afternoon of rather tedious planning and work to get his guests home, and then as soon as Tom returned home to Mount Doom, he had been dragged into a conference with his commanders, including Darflow Skragnarth. They had to cover all sorts of details around longer-term housing for the new recruits, plus chores and work assignments.

Perhaps it was all the bickering about who got what assignments, like cleaning up and reopening the DoomSpa, that put him on edge. The DoomSpa had been closed since Orcus’s death and the depowering of Doom. Hard to have a spa with no temperature controls or water. It had gotten pretty dusty and disheveled over the millennia. Now they wanted to open it up—swimming pools, hot tubs, freezing tubs, lava pools, steam rooms, dry saunas, acid washes, mercury baths, the usual. Apparently, it was like a very premium version of Hellsprings Eternal. There was also a gym and massage rooms. Those had been used occasionally, but were now going to be rehabbed.

Anyway, these discussions went on for some time before they finally moved on to Völund and the mint. Actually, that was apparently the first of several things Völund wanted to bring up. Tom feared this was going to be an all-nighter. The mint alone involved questions of economics and inflation, minimum wages for Doomites, figuring out how to get them back into general circulation in the Abyss—presuming that it ever became safe for anyone to go to the Courts or other cities.

That was the odd thing. Apparently, there were other cities in the Abyss, just none as big as the Courts. Not as far as anyone knew, at least. It seemed like new information was flying at him every day. New insanities were just popping out of the woodwork. Or, he guessed, the stonework.

“As I was saying…” Zelda raised her voice to talk over Flora Lifender.

Clohng, clohng, clohng… what sounded like a deeply sonorous clock tower bell started gonging from somewhere beneath them. He could feel the vibrations in the floor and his seat.

“Crap! Just what we needed!” Völund snarled. He whipped out his hand mirror, waved his hand over it a few times and then stared into it. In the mirror, Phaestus’s head appeared.

“You getting the alarm?” Völund asked him.

“Yes, I’m on my way!” Phaestus replied.

Völund shook his head. “The consoles up here are not yet functional. We haven’t rekeyed the links to the Rod of Tommus. There has been no time, and quite frankly, no immediate need.”

“Of course,” Phaestus replied in the mirror. “It was keyed to the Wand and Orcus, and the signatures have now changed. Well, no time like the present to rekey it. Changing course to the Oubliette—meet you there!”

Völund put his mirror away and looked at Tom and a few others. “You heard him, we’re off to the Oubliette!”

“Fun!” Tizzy exclaimed. The octopod had been hanging out in a corner, smoking his pipe during the meeting.

“What’s the Oubliette? And what is that gonging?” Tom asked.

“The gonging is the cloister bell,” Darg-Krallnom said, shaking his head. “Haven’t heard that thing in close to seven thousand years!”

“The cloister bell?” Tom asked incredulously. “What? Is the TARDIS in trouble?”

“The what?” Zelda asked Tom. Tom shook his head, indicating it was of no importance.

“I met that guy once,” Tizzy observed. “Seemed a mite unstable if you ask me; kept backtracking on himself.” Tom glanced back at Tizzy and just shook his head.

“Let’s get moving, we don’t know how bad it is!” Völund snarled impatiently. He led the way through a door and down a long corridor, Tom and all the commanders following.

“So what is the Oubliette?” Tom asked again.

“It’s a deep dark dank pit into which you throw things you do not wish to ever come back out,” Tizzy replied as they hustled down a corridor that Tom had never taken before.

“It is that,” Arg-nargoloth said, whapping Tizzy on the back of the head. “But in this case, it’s also the control center and access point for the basement.”

“The basement?” Tom asked. He thought he had explored almost all of the Doomplex; he had not encountered a basement. “We live in a volcano, underground. How can there be a basement to an underground lair, which is basically a basement to begin with?”

Up ahead, Völund shook his head in annoyance. “You just dig deeper!”

“But there are lava flows, chambers and all sorts of hot primordial goo underneath this place!” Tom protested.

“Well, you pretty much nailed it with the primordial part,” Tizzy said as they hurried along, going deeper and further downward at a quick pace. “That was a key ingredient. Takes primordial goo to trap and contain primordial beings.”

“Contain primordial beings?” Tom asked. “You mean like a prison or something? A dungeon?”

“No, the dungeon is off of the DoomSpa! For obvious reasons!” Tizzy said shaking his head at Tom for missing the obvious.

“ ‘Prison’ is a mostly accurate term, although truly accurate would be ‘containment facility,’ ” Phaestus said, appearing from a side corridor and joining their trek.

“A containment facility?” Tom asked, concerned. “What are we containing?”

“Those whom the gods never want to see again!” Tizzy exclaimed.

“Amazing that you’ve avoided the place for so long!” Arg-nargoloth snorted.

Phaestus shook his head. “Trite, but basically true. It’s a prison containment facility I and a few others designed and built here several thousand years before we built Mount Doom.”

“And there are prisoners in it?” Tom asked, very puzzled. Who was maintaining it? Feeding the prisoners? The place had been unpowered for millennia!

“Yes, in a suspended state. Actually, several different types of suspended states, depending on the prisoner,” Phaestus replied.

“Why didn’t they escape when the volcano went to sleep?” Tom asked.

“Different power source. Completely independent and redundant,” Völund stated.

“So there is a super-secret prison underneath Mount Doom, and no one has mentioned this to me?” Tom asked in frustration. This was the sort of crap he needed to know! Hello!

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret. Just about everyone knows about it, but very few people know where it is,” Tizzy stated.

“So are you saying its famous? It’s a well-known prison?” Tom asked.

Phaestus nodded. “Yeah. Most people refer to it as Tartarus.”

“Tartarus?” Tom exclaimed. “You mean like the place where Zeus trapped the Titans?” He was nearing a small freak-out. “And now one of the Titans is trying to escape?”

“See, and you said you had never heard of it!” Tizzy said, grinning.

Tierhallon

Hilda finished unloading the picnic basket of meat, cheese and wine she had quickly gathered from her home for the nightly meeting in Tierhallon. They were meeting a bit early this evening, shortly after Beragamos, Hilda and Stevos had departed from Murgatroy for the night. They had taken a small break to clean up and let Moradel and Sentir Fallon finish up other business they had been working on.

Beragamos sighed with pleasure as he surveyed the night’s refreshments. “My dear, this is such a relief from that nasty food and drink in Murgatroy.”

Moradel chuckled. “I seem to recall it was your decision to get back into field work.” He grinned at the Supreme Archon. “From what I have heard of the gastronomic sacrifices you have had to make, I am very happy it was neither my suggestion, nor request, nor myself.”

Beragamos chuckled. “For all my complaints, it is nice to get back in the field, even with all its hardships. We do get rather complacent up here.”

Stevos chuckled. “You must admit that Hilda’s knowledge of fine food, and her wine cellar, significantly highlight the differences between here and the Planes of Man.”

Moradel had finished pouring the wine and set the bottle down, saying with a smile, “I will drink to that!” They clinked their refleca-crystal wine glasses and drank. “Exquisite as always, my dear.”

“Seriously, Beragamos, you need to file paperwork to have Hilda promoted to patron saint of wine and spirits!” Moradel smiled, nodding at Hilda in appreciation.

Stevos twisted his face in concentration, as if counting. “I think we have about twenty-two or three of those. Two in Astlan, in fact.”

“Oh.” Moradel sounded disappointed. “Well, back to the drawing board. Maybe we can come up with something appropriate but unique.”

“Patron Saint of Espionage, perhaps?” Sentir asked. “That is something we have never had, but which has been incredibly successful!” He raised his glass in salute to Hilda, who blushed.

“Indeed, Tiernon himself has granted her an audience to learn of her work,” Beragamos said.

Moradel nodded appreciatively. “A well-deserved honor. To Hilda!” He raised his glass in another toast.

“So how are things going in Murgatroy?” Sentir Fallon asked.

Beragamos looked to Hilda and Stevos and then said, “I think we have gathered about as much information as we can at this point. We will need more incidents to go much further.”

“What happened to that walking sword, Ruiden?” Sentir Fallon asked curiously.

“He seems to have disappeared; we have not seen him since he ran off.” Hilda shook her head.

“I have searched the area for him, but have neither seen nor magically detected anything,” Stevos added.

“Very bizarre.” Moradel shook his head. “So what are you proposing to do now?”

Beragamos said, “We are thinking that Hilda should return to Freehold, as shall I very temporarily, and Stevos will work with his illuminaries to try to detect any more orcish or D’Orcish activity. Teragdor will be our primary contact and on-the-ground agent. We don’t want to reveal ourselves and our subterfuge to any more priests than necessary.”

Moradel nodded. “Good thinking.”

Stevos said, “He is going to keep the room at the inn for the moment, and look for a more secure permanent location in Murgandy to serve as a more formal base of operations. We’ll want a secure, consecrated location where we can meet and discuss the situation. The room at the inn is far less than ideal and if we ward it up too much, it looks very suspicious.”

“If a suitable location can be found, I would consider fortifying it with far more than the standard consecration. Feel free to help him enhance both its magical and physical security,” Moradel said.

“Do we have any Rod members in the area who could be assigned as Wardens?” Sentir Fallon asked.

“A good idea, but I fear that might attract too much attention,” Moradel said.

“Could we somehow convince a Rod member to go undercover?” Beragamos asked.

“That would seem a very unusual request to make,” Moradel said.

Sentir frowned and said, “Yet Hilda did exactly that.”

“Well, I did reveal myself to him. When you get a direct request from your patron saint, who just healed you and freed you from the chains your leaders placed on you, it is rather difficult to turn down the opportunity.”

Sentir coughed and then chuckled. “Point well taken.” He raised his glass to Hilda as the others also chuckled.

Mount Doom

The gonging continued as they made their way down the very long steep corridor. It was more like a downward spiraling tunnel, Tom thought. “Downward spiraling” also described the emotional mood he was in. Every time he started thinking he was getting a grasp on his new reality, another rung would break beneath him, dropping him even further into the madness. No wonder Tizzy was insane!

At last they exited into a small unlit room. The spiral tunnel had been mostly unlit except for light from a few side passages and rooms that joined the tunnel early on. The Rod of Tommus, with its glowing ruby-and-blue sapphire gem ribbons, had provided their light, albeit they could all see in the dark. The small room had a metal wall on the far side with a very funky door that looked something like a cross between a bank vault and a submarine hatch. With his demon sight, Tom could see that it was crisscrossed with magical energy and runes. However, these were DoomNet style runes, not some runes from a foreign god.

“The opening process is a bit complicated,” Phaestus said. “Völund and I both know it, but the easiest method is to use your Rod. It is, or was, keyed to the locks, and given that only the owner of the Wand—er, Rod, can utilize the Rod, it’s a good key.”

“With the Rod once again active, you should be able to reset the key, as we discussed upstairs, simply by inserting it into the keyhole,” Völund said.

“So was Orcus like the warden or something?” Tom asked.

“Exactly,” Völund agreed.

“Just place the head of the Rod in this hole,” Phaestus instructed.

Tom shrugged and complied. A rush of extremely confusing information suddenly flooded his mind; massive amounts of data and statistics that he could not possibly process in the moments they stood there.

“Simply will the door to open,” Völund instructed Tom.

Tom willed the door to open and suddenly light and magical runes began coruscating across the door and frame, even as the large metal submarine hatch wheel began to spin. As it spun, Tom tried to understand the information he had access to; he stopped as soon as the door cracked open. That information was too confusing, and quite honestly, frightening. He saw hints of really bad things; however, he could not determine if they were bad things about the system as a whole, or bad things about the inhabitants of Tartarus.

They went through the door, a crackling field of coruscating light dancing over the doorway as each individual stepped through. Tom stepped through and felt the field permeating him, scanning him, filtering him. It was extremely odd; particularly given that he was now getting feedback from the Rod telling him the results of the scans. Tom shook his head and continued into the room beyond.

The door opened into a very large chamber that was dimly lit, as if from a single white bulb very high up on the ceiling, which he couldn’t quite make out without kicking his demon sight up to full power, and even then it seemed rather murky. Suddenly, Tom realized that there actually was no ceiling; this light came from the Rod of Tommus and Tartarus itself. They were actually staring up into a vast extradimensional gateway, extending what seemed to be a near infinite distance upward through the multiverse.

“Holy shit,” Tom found himself whispering in awe.

“The Oubliette,” Tizzy said.

“The hole in reality, down through which Zeus tossed the Titans,” Phaestus said, nodding.

“We are at the bottom of an infinitely deep pit,” Tizzy stated.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Tom whispered, even though he somehow knew it was true.

“It is actually only infinite in one direction, and that is upwards,” Völund stated.

Tom looked at the smith, puzzled.

“There are ways for certain gods, in coordination with the operators of the Oubliette, to open the pit”—he pointed upward—“up there, from any plane in the multiverse, including the outer ones.”

“However, it’s a one-way portal. You can only put stuff into the portal, because it is then sucked down the infinitely long tunnel until the prisoner hits bottom,” Phaestus added.

“No way to climb out. It is impossible to detect the one-way portal from inside the tunnel, because there are literally infinite possible locations the portal could have been opened from. It’s basically a very complex extradimensional wormhole that ends here,” Völund finished.

“Once here, the Oubliette operators must contain, restrain and process the prisoner,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“And that can be very tricky,” Tizzy commented, taking a puff from his pipe.

“Indeed,” Völund agreed rather ominously.

“So what happens with this processing?” Tom asked.

“Basically, the prisoners are analyzed and then held until a suspension cell can be readied for them,” Phaestus said. “At that point, they are interned in Tartarus.” He pointed to the far side of the room, which lit up as he spoke.

Where the architect pointed stood a massive gate or doorway, more than a thousand feet tall. Tom blinked, trying to look at it. It appeared to be some seriously funky, ornate, H. R. Giger-esque door. The difference was that the door seemed to be changing, morphing to display other forms, intricacies and monstrous humanoid forms on it, even as he looked at it.

“I am pretty damn sure the Jilted Bride knows nothing about this,” Darflow Skragnarth marveled. From what Tom could gather, only the most senior commanders had ever been down here. From the expression on Zelda’s face, he was pretty sure she had never been here.

“She knows of Tartarus, of course, just not where it is, or who’s in charge. I should think that would have changed her calculus four thousand years ago,” Phaestus said.

“I think Sammael has a pretty good idea,” Tizzy added casually.

Völund and Phaestus turned to stare at him.

“What?” Tizzy shrugged. “I didn’t say anything; it’s just that in casual conversations over the millennia, he has mentioned certain things that make me think he at least suspects. In particular, he seems to want to put the Demiurge here once he defeats him.”

“Oh hell, no!” Völund shook his head from side to side with a look of horror.

“I don’t think that is a battle that will be over any time soon, so we don’t need to worry about it,” Phaestus said to calm the smith.

“Speaking of prioritizing worries—are we going to stand around gawking or are we going to silence that stupid bell?” Arg-nargoloth asked.

Phaestus and Völund both nodded, looking rather abashed. They headed to another door to the right of where they had entered, similar to the one they’d just come through. Phaestus gestured for Tom to open the door as before. Tom complied, and the door hissed open with the smell of stale air.

The all piled into a forty-foot-square room which was lined with all sorts of gothic cyberpunk equipment, again very reminiscent of H. R. Giger. Actually, he thought, it was sort of a cross between the Command Center, the Tech Command Center, and a Giger alien spaceship. Tom used his demon sight to make sure there were no creepy acid-dripping Xenomorphs hanging out in the room.

Phaestus waved his hand over a panel near the door, causing the monitors in the room to flicker to life. Tom felt a vibration from the Rod alerting him to the activation of the “Tartarus Processing and Control Center.” It was odd how that name just came to his mind.

Völund, Phaestus, Darg-Krallnom, Arg-nargoloth, Roth Tar Gorefest, Delg Narmoloth and Helga Dourtooth all took what Tom assumed were preassigned console positions—all were first generation commanders. Zog Darthelm, his favorite Sith lord D’Orc, also took a seat.

Zog was unusual; he was both first and second generation. His father was a D’Orc, which would make him second generation, but he had been born before his father had ascended (or descended as the case was), and Zog later came to fame and also ascended. It had been confusing at first; mainly because of the way he’d introduced himself. However, Tom got the story while they were reliving the battle with the Knights of Chaos.

The rest of the commanders simply stood around rather awkwardly, since D’Orcs were not known to just stand there when things were happening. Of course, Tom was also “just standing there,” but he was trying to follow through the Rod what his people were doing on the consoles.

“I am mighty glad you showed up, Lord Tommus!” Roth Tar Gorefest stated as his hands manipulated controls on his console. “Nothing remotely interesting, other than Darflow, of course”—he nodded to his former enemy—“has happened here for thousands of years. You show up and we get a feast, Knights of Chaos, Darflow and his crew, and now the potential for a Titan to escape and destroy a couple worlds before we can defeat it and recapture it.”

Several other D’Orcs hooted in shared appreciation.

Tom just shook his head. A downward spiral into insanity, indeed.

Murgatroy

Vaselle made his way down to the tavern attached to the inn. It was quite late, Damien was asleep, yet slumber eluded the warlock. He was simply too excited by the ongoing events. Things were going incredibly well. He and his master were getting along quite well, and they were all now hard at work on the master’s plan to conquer the multiverse. Or at least, he thought that was the plan. The orcs and D’Orcs pretty much assumed that was the plan. His master, however, seemed oddly vague on the point. Vaselle could not really “feel” or “see” any thoughts from his master in this regard.

True, the master wanted to restore the former glory and freedom of the orcs; that was his new purpose. However, despite that, Vaselle was not getting a strong world domination vibe off the master, let alone a multiversal domination vibe. Of course, defeating Lilith was going to be a clear priority, and then, who knew? Perhaps the master would settle for being a Cofactor of the Abyss.

From what both the D’Orcs and the new demon recruits had said, it wasn’t like the current Cofactors ever slept together. They could barely stand to be in the same room with each other, let alone the same bed. So that shouldn’t be an issue. But was it? Did demons have sexual preferences? From his studies, he knew they were quite indiscriminate in their raping. Vaselle was sure no self-respecting demon would ever let the gender of their victim influence or abend the planned physical, sexual, mental and spiritual degradation and demise of their subject. That would be extremely unprofessional. Plus, he was pretty sure Boggy had confirmed this fact in one of his drunken stories.

Vaselle smiled to himself, thinking of the good times he’d been having at Mount Doom. To be truly part of a united team, working at a common goal. The comraderie around the campfire, like the previous evening when Edwyrd had returned after the battle. They had all eaten dinner together—everyone, including Gastropé, and Tom had shown them the balling of the battle.

That battle! It was absolutely insane! Vaselle could barely understand much of the magic that had been used. What was a gravity cannon? Sekhmekt’s super-heated breath? He laughed when he remembered Gastropé’s shock at discovering that Tom had battled alongside an actual goddess. The funniest part was that when they’d explained who she was—the Nyjyr Ennead goddess of war—Gastropé had almost fallen over. It turned out that they had been, and in fact still were, searching for signs that another Nyjyr Ennead goddess, one Bastet, was active in Astlan and possibly working with Exador. Vaselle shook his head. What an amazingly small multiverse!

Gastropé had filled them all in on what he was doing, what the Nimbus was up to, and how the alvar had all been freaked out by a simple shopping trip. The shamans had nearly split their sides laughing at the overreaction of the alvar. Those alvar were seriously paranoid. Vaselle shook his head in amusement, but then he tried to shove all of that to the back of his head. It was time for a drink, and he didn’t want to accidentally blurt something out while tipsy.

He entered the tavern room, which was not crowded but still busy enough at this time of night. There was an open spot at the bar, on the end next to a priest of some sort. As he got closer, Vaselle easily recognized the rather shabby robes of an itinerant priest of Tiernon. He’d certainly spent enough time with them to recognize one.

Up until he’d met his master, Vaselle would have studiously avoided being anywhere near a priest. The reminder of his personal shortcomings made the situation too uncomfortable. However, now that he was the servant of a great master capable of defeating the greatest Knight of Tiernon and able to steal Tiernon’s mana at will, he felt no shame. In fact, he was on a first-name basis with his master and the master’s avatars. There was no way this ugly priest would have gotten with a thousand leagues of one of Tiernon’s avatars, let alone Tiernon himself. So Vaselle was actually feeling pretty good about pulling up a bar stool next to the priest.

Vaselle sat down on the stool and gazed at the very sorry back bar. While he really couldn’t afford to go the fancy taverns in Freehold, he could afford, and did visit, good upstanding middle-class taverns. This tavern, with its serious lack of selection (there appeared to be only two ales, “light” and “dark,” if the symbols were correct, plus a single barrel of wine of the day) was decidedly not up to his normal standards.

He assumed they must have some bottles in back, but there were none up front, nor did there appear to be any hard liquors. Of course, those could also be hidden; he wasn’t really sure of dive bar protocols and inventory security. He did understand magical retail security, of course, being a merchant himself. However, the vast majority of his work was bespoke; his inventory was primarily example devices. Rarely did he sell prefabricated items; the cost of creating and maintaining such an inventory was expensive, at least for his specializations. Not that there weren’t plenty of merchants that did, but then they were generally only retailers and not craftsmen as well.

Hmm. That got him thinking. With access to Doom’s gems and precious metals, he would have the resources to make more arcane devices than ever. Of course, his service to the master came first, but with the need to provision shamans, warriors and others with arcane devices, he could be of great service with his skills in arcane device construction.

And thinking of inventory security, he would have to ramp up security if he were going to have lots of gems and metals around. Perhaps he should relocate to Mount Doom? With Phaestus and Völund around, surely there were going to be excellent laboratories there. On the other hand, Vaselle thought to himself, working out of Mount Doom would make it difficult to be the master’s servant in Astlan. Clearly, I need to discuss this with the master, so that we can determine the best way for me to serve.

Vaselle shivered with happiness, thinking about the joy of serving his master, of being his master’s tool in the upcoming restoration project. A loud cough woke him from his reverie. He discovered the barkeep staring him in the face.

“You toasted already? Or can I get you something?” The barkeep growled.

“Light ale, if you please,” Vaselle said.

The barkeep grabbed a clay mug from below the counter, turned and stalked to the light ale barrel without saying anything.

Vaselle shook his head. He really should not let himself get so distracted in such an unsavory environment. He had no way of identifying them, but he was certain the back corners of the tavern held ethically challenged patrons seeking to exploit the less ruthless drunken patrons.

Vaselle chuckled. Such individuals would be in for a big surprise if he was forced to summon his master to protect him. That would be a joyous thing to see, and probably a very smelly bowel-emptying event. He shook his head slightly, however, realizing that that would be a frivolous reason to summon his master. In fact, it might possibly anger the master. Vaselle frowned. No, as enjoyable as it might be, it would be unworthy of a good servant to summon his dark lord to a bar fight.

Crap! He had done it again. He realized the barkeep was back and wanting to be paid.

“No tabs. Cash on the barrel,” the barkeep said.

“How much?” Vaselle asked. He must not have heard the barkeep say a price.

“A secundus.”

Vaselle frowned, not quite sure what a secundus was. He assumed it was a second-class bronze coin, which implied a decent beer. The venue contradicted that, but oh, well. He dug into his purse and pulled out the equivalent Council States coin and handed it to the barkeep.

The man stared at it and flipped it over a couple times. “No change,” he said, pocketed the coin and headed towards the other end of the counter.

Vaselle shook his head and took a sip of the ale. He promptly coughed at the nasty concoction.

The priest of Tiernon looked over at him and said, “You from out of town?”

Vaselle blinked, looked over to the ugly priest, and realized that it wasn’t so much that the priest was ugly, he was half orc. He blinked again. “Uhm, yes...”

The priest nodded.

“I’m sorry, but you are a priest of Tiernon, yes?” Vaselle asked.

The priest sighed wearily, as if he’d heard the question a few too many times. “I am.”

“And you have orcish blood?”

“I do.”

“Sorry,” Vaselle said. “I am sure you get that all the time. It’s just that when I was a youth, I was schooled first by the Brothers of Hendel, and then later I spent some time at the seminary of Tiernon before deciding on wizardry.” It was a real stretch, but close enough without getting into humiliating details. “And, well, it was a rather human-centric organization, so I am a bit surprised.”

The priest blinked and suddenly smiled. “You are a follower of Tiernon? Or of Hendel?”

Vaselle froze for a moment, not knowing what to say. Technically he supposed he had been a lapsed follower of Tiernon before giving his soul to the master. However, that detail would probably not be appreciated.

He put on a self-effacing grin. “A bit lapsed, but yes. I grew up on Eton and I now live in Freehold, and to be honest, haven’t been that regular at the chapel.” Actually, “never been to chapel in Freehold” would be more accurate, Vaselle thought.

“Excellent, my son!” The priest patted him on the shoulder. “We get so very few followers of Tiernon here, at least up until the other day, that it’s a true pleasure.”

Vaselle grinned. “I can imagine. I suspect there are fewer chapels down here than in the Council States.”

The priest nodded. “I would think so, although I’ve never been that far north.”

Vaselle asked, “You’ve lived in this region your entire life?”

“I have; I was raised by an itinerant priest of Tiernon and chose to follow in his footsteps. I’ve spent my life and my mission in Murgandy and the United Federation.”

“You and your mentor must enjoy a challenge if what I’ve read about the region is true,” Vaselle said.

The priest chuckled. “Indeed. But it is rewarding.”

“I can imagine.” Vaselle really could; it had been his lifelong dream to do exactly that. Of course, now he was in an even better position to serve. “I am Vaselle, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

The priest took it, smiling. “Teragdor.”

Oubliette

“So it appears we have a restless resident,” Phaestus said after several minutes of the Ops Team scanning the system.

Delg Narmoloth nodded. “Aqua-Chamber K.”

Völund also nodded and added, “Aqua-Chamber K is one of those closest to Mount Doom. It appears, but will need to be confirmed, that the temperature of the aquatic suspension has shifted significantly, most likely due to the great deep freeze Tommus used to defeat the Maelstrom.”

Roth Tar Gorefest nodded. “Well, Doom’s ambient temperature did approach absolute zero, so that would probably have been felt down here.”

“So what does this mean?” Tom asked.

“It means Sleeping Beauty felt a chill and got restless in its sleep,” Tizzy interpreted.

“That pretty much sums it up. It’s in a transition state between sleep and waking,” Völund agreed.

“So what do we do?” Tom asked.

“Well, the automatic systems are working to restore equilibrium temperature smoothly, the hope being that the prisoner goes fully back to sleep,” Phaestus answered.

“This Titan is not the most dangerous, so that is good. The real danger is that it might disturb the sleep of others and wake up something more dangerous,” Völund said.

“So what do we do to stop that from happening?” Morok Deathstealer asked.

Phaestus shrugged. “For now, we keep a close eye on it. If the restlessness continues”—he paused and looked at a monitoring screen with some image on it that Tom couldn’t quite make out—“then the answer is probably the same as if it were fully awoken. If it woke, given time, it would work to awaken the others.”

Arg-nargoth sighed. “How many worlds are going to have to pay for that?”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, concerned.

“For this particular Titan, the best answer would be to let it out for some exercise until it tires itself out and wants to sleep again,” Völund said sourly.

“Hence the death toll,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“And that works?” Tom asked dubiously. He couldn’t imagine an awakened Titan just going on a vengeful rampage and then docilely returning to sleep.

“With this one, yes. It’s been done before, both for restlessness and to be of use to the gods,” Phaestus said.

“Wait!” Tizzy exclaimed. “You said Aqua-Chamber K?”

“Correct.” Völund nodded.

Tizzy shook his head and grinned. “In that case I claim dibs on giving the order!”

“Dibs on the order?” Zelda asked, puzzled.

“Yes,” Tizzy said. “I get to be the one to say: ‘Release the Kraken!’ ”

Murgatroy

Vaselle was starting to feel more than a bit tipsy. He was in fact, quite drunk. This crap beer was hitting him hard, he realized as he swallowed the last of his fifth one. He motioned the barkeep for two more beers, one for him and another for the priest. Vaselle had started paying because naturally, itinerant priests did not have much money.

Vaselle was by no means wealthy. He had a good middle-class (by Freehold standards) income, which here was probably a pretty decent income. However, he also had quite a bit of change left over from exchanging Mount Doom gems for material components. Plus, he was quite sure he could get more gems and precious metals from Mount Doom if needed. He’d have to be careful about flooding local economies, of course, he thought dizzily.

He and Teragdor had been having a surprisingly enjoyable discussion. True, they did have a common background in wanting to serve the Five Siblings, but then their career paths had radically diverged. Or at least Vaselle’s had; he’d been forced out and into conjury, only to end up as a warlock to the Lord of Doom.

Teragdor had faced tremendous prejudice due his bloodline, but had somehow persevered in the face of prejudice, resentment, fear and generalized resistance to his becoming a priest. Which seemed to Vaselle a rather depressing indictment of himself: a half-orc could become a priest of Tiernon, yet he could not?

But Vaselle could not complain with his new lot, nor with his new acquaintance. Even though Teragdor was one of the FOG (Forces of Good) and he, Vaselle was a member of the FOE (Forces of Evil), at the end of the day, they had a lot in common. Strange how that sort of thing happened.

“So,” Teragdor continued. He was also quite drunk. Vaselle felt fortunate that half-orcs had only half the drinking stamina of full orcs, or he’d be under the bar at this point. He had learned that lesson at the party.

“So,” Teragdor started a second time after a hiccup, “you grew up in Eton…”

Vaselle nodded. “New Etonia, in a smaller town about fifty leagues from Hendel Hearth.”

“...and then moved to Justicia, when you decided to change your faith to Tiernon from Hendel,” Teragdor finished, recounting what he’d been told.

“Indeed.”

“Oh, would I love to see Justicia…” Teragdor sighed as the barkeep put a new mug in front of him.

“It is a truly glorious city, a fitting honor to the Lord God Tiernon,” Vaselle said, smiling, drunkenly remembering the beautifully clean city. The utter opposite of the shithole of a village they were now in.

“Amen,” Teragdor said.

“Amen,” Vaselle agreed.

“But then you moved to Freehold?”

Vaselle began to shake his head from side to side, but had to stop as he was getting too dizzy. “I spent several years in a school a hundred leagues or so from Freehold,” he corrected the other priest.

“And you graduated and moved to Freehold?”

“Correct.” Vaselle nodded in agreement.

“And you own your own business making arcane devices,” Teragdor confirmed.

“Yep. Like this one!” Vaselle tugged on his Amulet of Cooling, still around his neck.

Teragdor stared at it. “What does it do?”

“It cools a thin layer of air around your body and keeps you and the air you breathe cool even in extremely hot environments,” Vaselle proclaimed proudly.

“How hot?”

Vaselle shrugged. “I have it on some authority that it will keep you cool even in the Abyss!”

“No!” Teragdor drunkenly punched Vaselle in the shoulder, who swayed dangerously on his stool.

“Forsooth! I got the idea from a wizard who had travelled through the Abyss,” Vaselle said.

Teragdor looked at him as if he was insane. “That’s not possible!”

Vaselle started chuckling. “I assure you it is…” Alarmed by himself, he mentally put the brakes on his tongue before he admitted he had done it.

“How can that be?” Teragdor asked incredulously.

“I am not sure,” Vaselle lied. He knew very well that his master had taken Gastropé through. “But the great wizard Gastropé Al-Ghayrani, sid Mierkan Tolan de Turelane has done so, and he would not lie!” he proclaimed.

“You know Gastropé?” Teragdor asked incredulously and rather loudly. “Really skinny pale wizard with a turban?”

“How do you know Gastropé?” Vaselle asked, suddenly frightened he had blown his cover.

“Did I hear someone mention the great wizard Gastropé Al-Ghayrani, sid Miersssomething or ‘nother?” a drunken voice behind them shouted.

Vaselle and Teragdor tried to rotate on their bar stools to see who was addressing them. It was a satyr! A satyr of roughly their own age, if satyrs aged like humans.

“And who are you?” Teragdor asked.

“Why, I am Gastropé’s carpet comrade in arms! He’s a combat pyromancer on my carpet!” The satyr stumbled drunkenly over towards them, leaving his colleagues at their table, ignoring them; as happens with groups of drunken—dwarves? Vaselle blinked. The satyr had been at a table drinking and playing cards with a bunch of dwarves.

The satyr reached them and extended his hand. “I am Zed, Combat Carpet Pilot on the Nimbus.” He tried to bow as he extended his hand, but started to lose his balance and had to scramble back up on his hooves. The thought flitted briefly through Vaselle’s drunken head that he seemed to know a lot of people with hooves these days.

“Vaselle,” he said, shaking the satyr’s hand.

“Teragdor.” The priest also shook the satyr’s hand.

“So you are on the Nimbus with Gastropé,” Teragdor said, nodding his head. “That makes sense.”

The satyr peered drunkenly at Teragdor, finally noticing his robe and holy symbol. “Ah-ha!” he said. “You were with the animages from Freehold! And that Stevoh guy.”

“Stevos. Yes, I am.” Teragdor said.

“So how do you know Gastropé?” Zed asked.

Vaselle had to think really hard and try not to make a mess of things. “Uhm, we are both from Freehold, and he’s a really good friend of my, uhm… boss! Yes, my boss!” Vaselle had stumbled there. He really, truly did not want to use the word “master.”

“Who’s your boss?” Zed asked.

Another difficult question. Vaselle could not say “The Lord of Doom”; that would likely cause problems. “His name is Edwyrd. Lord Edwyrd.” That would work—that was Tom’s human disguise name.

“And what does this Edwyrd do?” Teragdor asked, taking another swig of beer.

“He’s an animage. Mostly pyromancy—sorry, pyromastery, I’m a wizard and not used to animage terms,” Vaselle answered, trying to remember what his master had told him of his Edwyrd identity.

“Another animage?” Zed exclaimed.

Teragdor just shook his head drunkenly in amazement.

“What’s with all the damn animages suddenly popping out of the woodwork… Crap!” The satyr covered his mouth in drunken shock. “I’m starting to sound like Jenn!”

“What do you mean?” Teragdor asked.

“Well, you know there really aren’t that many of them since the Anilords. Except in the Grove of course; we got most of the remaining ones, or so we thought... but anyway, as soon as all this crazy shit started happening, they’ve been popping up all over the place.” Zed shook his head and then tried to steady it with his free hand as his balance started to desert him.

“Really?” Teragdor asked.

“Yeah. There is Maelen the Seer, your buddy Gamos—he is like some long lost or forgotten sort of animage—and then there is Hilda, and Stevos is also an animage, and now this Edwyrd guy.”

“Actually, animages are not common, but certainly not unheard of on Eton,” Vaselle interrupted. “There is this whole Society of Learned Fellows organization in Etonia, between New Etonia and Eastern Free Eton. They’ve got schools and everything.”

“Really?” Zed asked, surprised.

“I really want to go to New Etonia, so bad!” Teragdor wailed. “I want to see for myself the Cathedral of Justice!”

“It’s amazing!” Vaselle agreed.

“So do you think Gastropé has gone to the Abyss and come back?” Teragdor asked Zed.

Zed blinked. “That would be very impressive.” The satyr shook his head in amazement, but had to stop as he had started swaying.

“So you don’t think he did it?” Teragdor asked.

Zed shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s like an epic conjuror! We were zooming around in the stratosphere battling liches on ice dragons and getting our arses kicked...”

Vaselle’s and Teragdor’s eyes went wide at this impressive thought.

“...and Gastropé just lit a small fire on the end of his Wand of Fire and somehow summoned three fiends! You know, type II demons! No pentacles nor brazier, no protections at all, and on a wildly moving carpet. We were all strapped down. But he does it, and rather than kill us, the demons do his bidding and take to slaughtering ice dragons and liches.”

“Holy potatoes!” Teragdor gasped. “Afterwards? Did they try to kill you guys on the carpet?” He took another drink of beer.

Zed shook his head from side to side drunkenly. “Amazingly, no. I figured we’d be dead, but they just came back, quite a bit worse for the wear and thanked Gastropé for inviting them to the party!”

Teragdor shook his head in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense! Demons don’t work that way!”

Vaselle was swaying as he thought about the story. “Did one of the demons have like four arms and four legs?”

Zed nodded as Teragdor looked at Vaselle curiously. “Indeed, that was sort of the leader of the three!” Zed affirmed.

Vaselle nodded. “That’s Tizzy. I know Gastropé is his accursed master.”

“So you’ve met one of these demons?” Teragdor asked incredulously.

“Yeah, he’s pretty nuts,” Vaselle said. “But he makes like really good baked goods!” Vaselle could have really used a cookie at this point. Although that might not have been a good idea, considering how wasted he already was.

“A demon that bakes?” Zed asked curiously.

“What, do they just leave the dough out on the patio and it bakes?” Teragdor asked before releasing a huge belch.

“Practically, but no, they have ovens and regular cooking gear,” Vaselle said.

“How do you know?” Teragdor asked, disbelieving the wizard.

Vaselle blinked. Crap, now he’d stepped in it! “Uhm, that’s what Tizzy, the demon told me.”

“So you’ve talked with this demon?” Teragdor asked.

Vaselle nodded and then shrugged. “Actually, if he’s around, the difficulty is not talking to him. He’s very locationus… locutious… locashus… he’s very talkative,” Vaselle finally managed to say.

Zed nodded. “He did talk a lot. Gastropé’s friend Jenn says the demon is very annoying.”

Teragdor blinked. “I think that’s a pretty weird description for a diabolical fiend from the pits of the Abyss!”

“Yeah. Jenn doesn’t like him that much, but she seems more frustrated with the demon than afraid of him. With Gastropé, it’s hard to tell.”

Zed nodded.

Teragdor shook his head. “If everyone else knows him, maybe I should ask Gastropé to introduce me—”

Zed laughed. “You could exercise him!”

Vaselle laughed as well.

Teragdor blinked drunkenly and said, “It’s exorcise, not exercise!”

“I bet Tizzy could do a lot of exorcising with four arms and four legs!” Vaselle joked loudly, and Zed held up his mug for clinking. Vaselle clinked his mug, as did a giggling Teragdor.

“Do those sound empty or something?” Vaselle asked.

Zed peered drunkenly into his mug. “I only got a drop of clinked ale left!”

“You’re the expert on rituals, Teragdor. Does having only one drop invalidate a clinking?” Vaselle asked.

Teragdor tried to appear thoughtful and introspective, but failed. “I think for safety’s sake, we should refill and repeat the ceremony. Hate to have a failed clinking!”

Vaselle nodded, gesturing for the other two to put their mugs on the bar. “Barkeep!”

Chapter 122

Mount Doom: DOA + 3, First Period

Tom entered his sitting room, followed by Tizzy. He was surprised to see Boggy, Reggie, Estrebrius and Talarius playing whist at this late hour. He had to pause and wonder at his own surprise. He had been stuck wide awake around the clock for the last umpteen weeks and after only a few days in Doom, he was back to expecting people to sleep at night? He shook his head.

Antefalken was also there, scribbling away on his ballad, the crystal ball acting as a paperweight to hold down a large stack of curled parchment. Actually, he thought, given the time of night it was very odd that Reggie was there. He glanced towards the incubus. “You didn’t get summoned tonight?”

Reggie looked up and shook his head. “Apparently my accursed mistress and her colleague got freaked out when they discovered I knew Phaestus and Sekhmekt personally and had just been drinking with them last night.”

Tom made a wistful expression with his mouth. “Yeah, that would probably do that.” He had to refile the fact that Phaestus and Sekhmekt were actual gods, as in ancient Egyptian gods, to the back of his mind for a later freak-out. He’d managed to suppress and ignore that troubling thought for the last day or so, but Reggie had brought it forward once more. However, tempting as it might be to have a mental breakdown over trying to even conceive of being friends with ancient deities, it would just have to wait. His basement Kraken was cracking and that was sufficiently mind-boggling for tonight’s nervous breakdown.

“You look pretty beat,” Antefalken observed.

“Long day, ending with the discovery that we are running a Black Site in the basement.” Tom shook his head in disbelief as he spoke.

Everyone other than Reggie looked at him in puzzlement. “What’s a Black Site?” Boggy asked.

“A Black Ops site, black operations,” Tom explained. “An extra-legal location where people are made to ‘disappear’ ”—he made air quotes—“and imprisoned and tortured for information.”

“Tortured for information?” Tizzy asked, puzzled. Antefalken chuckled, and Boggy just shook his head. Talarius’s helm turned to look between the demons, clearly not knowing what they found so humorous.

“Who in their right mind would torture someone for information?” Tizzy asked.

“Yeah,” Boggy said. “There are like a jillion reasons you might torture someone: punishment, revenge, fun and games, stress relief for either party, lots of different sexual reasons—”

“But not information!” Tizzy interjected. “You can’t get any reliable information from torturing someone! As soon as the victim determines what you want to hear, they’ll tell you that to get the pain to stop. Trust me, I’ve been on both ends of the deal.” He paused to frown. “Although mostly on the receiving end.”

Antefalken nodded. “If there is one thing we know in the Abyss, it’s torture. It is a staple here; I am pretty sure that has been widely advertised as one our favorite pastimes. If anyone would know, it would be us.

“Okay, okay, I just said that because that’s what people with Black Sites often do!” Tom said, trying to drag the conversation back. “Besides, I don’t think we torture.” He looked to Tizzy. “Not in the basement, at least.” Tizzy nodded half-heartedly in agreement. “But we do make them disappear. And I’m not sure if they get a trial.”

“Gods have the power of high justice,” Tizzy stated. “So one way or the other, there was a trial.”

Talarius shook his head. “So what are you saying? You have prisoners in the basement?”

Tom shrugged. “There are prisoners there, sleeping. One of them is possibly waking up.”

Antefalken was looking puzzled. “What sort of prisoners did Orcus have?”

“Not Orcus,” Tizzy said. “Orcus was just the warden.”

“Orcus was the warden of a prison?” Talarius sounded quite skeptical.

“Tartarus,” Tizzy said.

The room went silent as several eyes widened, and Antefalken dropped his quill. There was a clinking noise as Talarius slumped in his seat.

“Are you telling me that we are sitting on a giant pile of sleeping Titans?” Antefalken asked looking, stunned.

“Ssshhh!” Tizzy made a whispering gesture with his left forefinger and lips. “You don’t want to wake them!” His eyebrows waggled with humor.

Mount Doom: DOA + 3, Early Third Period

Talarius once again stayed in his bed after waking. He’d had a very sleepless night of tossing and turning after learning that they were literally sitting on top of Tartarus. The mythical prison of the gods, where the worst abominations in the multiverse were imprisoned for eternity. Then, to top it off, he finds out that his captor, and his captor’s predecessor—Orcus, one of the most diabolically evil demons known to the Five Siblings—was the warden of Tartarus. That the D’Orcs were the jailers of the gods’ most notorious prison.

He could not believe this. It flew in the face of all established reason and orthodoxy. It must be a lie. How could he interpret such a thing? However, the thought that had woken him terrified in the middle of the night was the sudden realization that if this was true, then by killing Orcus, Sentir Fallon had left Tartarus with no warden for four thousand years! The most horrifyingly destructive individuals in the multiverse had been left unguarded for all that time? What if there had been an escape attempt?

Quite the screw-up on Sentir Fallon’s part! Ruiden intruded on Talarius thoughts.

The knight ignored his sword.

It was sheer unimaginable horror! Thus it could not be true. It must not be true!

But if it is? Ruiden thought at him. Talarius’s stomach curdled. He ignored the sword once more. He would force his captor to prove his claim. Clearly this was some sort of devious lie, a trick to unsettle him. To keep him off balance and unable to… to what? What was the demon trying to stop him from doing? It already had all the cards, and had promised, for whatever that was worth, to eventually return him to Astlan. It just didn’t add up.

Talarius sighed, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and rolled onto his side, bringing his knees up and pulling the covers over his shoulders, trying to bring on a bit more sleep to quiet his brain’s frantic chatter.

~

Tom was gathering together his local contingent in his sitting room to take them down to Tartarus as Talarius exited his room for the morning in his typical full regalia. Rupert, Fer-Rog, Reggie, Estrebrius, Antefalken, Boggy and Tizzy were all going down with Tom to see the Oubliette and Tartarus for themselves.

Tom was going because he and the two smiths had agreed they needed to train more operations people, particularly with the Kraken having become restless. Currently, only the first generation commanders and about half a dozen other first generation D’Orc soldiers knew anything about the TPCC (Tartarus Processing and Control Center). They had all agreed, as did Tom, that more D’Orcs needed to be trained, and so they were beginning training sessions immediately.

Phaestus had admitted that even he was rather rusty after more than a few millennia of neglect. They hadn’t actually processed anyone in about eight thousand years, and it had been almost seven thousand years since the last time the cloister bell had sounded. Obviously, he had periodically checked up on the monitoring D’Orcs and reviewed reports up until the incident.

After Orcus perished, things had gotten much more difficult, according to Völund and Phaestus. The Wand of Orcus was missing and the link to the TPCC broken. Also, of course, the Command Center was no longer powered. So they’d had to go the Oubliette on foot and go through the tedious ritual to open the doors without the Wand. They’d manned the center for the first thousand years, but by then attrition was setting in and nothing was happening, so they had gone to periodic monitoring, relying on the cloister bell for alerts.

It had been five hundred years since either of them had even been down there to ensure things were running smoothly. Tom had asked if this was safe, and they both rather uncomfortably admitted it was not ideal, but it had been so long since anything had happened. In essence, Tom decided, they had just decided to cross their fingers and hope. He was tempted to shake his head at such a strategy; unfortunately, he was in no position to do so, since that was also his entire strategy for everything. He was riding the tiger, or rather the Kraken, and trying to hang on by its tail. In any event, they had all agreed last night that they needed to step up the game. They would review all emergency procedures and make sure people were trained in them.

“Where are you all going?” Talarius asked.

“We are going to take a trip to see Tartarus!” Rupert enthused.

That gave the knight pause, and he stopped in his tracks as he was crossing the room. “Really?”

“Yep,” Reggie confirmed.

“I would like to go too,” Talarius blurted out.

Tizzy raised an eyebrow and pointed at him. “Aren’t you the enemy? Why should we let you into the most secret location in the multiverse?”

“Hmm, good point,” Boggy mused.

“I suspect this is a trick on your part, demon!” Talarius accused Tom. “I want to see for my own eyes that Tartarus exists and that this isn’t some sort of elaborate ruse on your part to trick me!”

Tom blinked and sighed. “Seriously? I did not even know this thing was in the basement until yesterday! How in the Abyss could this be a secret plot?”

“You demon princes—for surely that is what you are,” Talarius stated as a few others nodded in agreement, “are the most diabolically devious creatures in the multiverse. You have your reasons!”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously? Talarius! How insanely big is your ego?”

Even in full armor, Talarius somehow managed to look visibly shaken by such an accusation. “How do you even conceive that this has anything to do with my ego?”

Tom sighed. “You just told everyone that I am a demon prince, something I don’t particularly agree with, but assume so. What kind of ego does it take for a mortal, a human from Astlan, to think that a demon prince with an army of four thousand D’Orcs and demons at his command, along with some of the most powerful weapons known to gods and men, has absolutely nothing better to do with his time than stage some elaborate hoax on you, towards some mysterious unknown end?”

“Good point, I suppose,” Tizzy agreed sourly.

“You seriously think I have staged this entire Doom thing, the Knights of Chaos, Lilith’s army, Tartarus and a potentially escaping Kraken just to… what… subvert you?” Tom raised his arms in frustration. “You think I’ve got four thousand-plus individuals all staged in some sort of giant play for you?” He shook his head again. “Talk about paranoia! I’m sorry, dude, you just are not that high on my radar!”

Tom looked to the others. “Are we ready to go?”

They all nodded and/or agreed verbally.

Talarius cleared his throat, and Tom looked at him. “You do have a point, demon. I may be overly cautious. However, I must admit, I would like to see this prison for myself. May I join you?”

Tom looked to Tizzy, who shrugged.

“On your honor, will you swear to never reveal the location of Tartarus to anyone outside this room? To keep this secret and not share it with the Rod, your church, your god or his avatars? And further swear not to do anything to harm the prison or risk releasing the prisoners?” Tom asked.

“First Rule of Tartarus,” Tizzy chimed in, “is never speak of Tartarus!” He grinned a bit maniacally.

Talarius was silent for a moment. “You would take my word? After the Freehold battlefield?”

“If you swear to me that your word of honor is redeemed, and that it is once more good and applies to me and mine? Then yes, I would.” Tom said.

Talarius sighed and nodded in gratitude. “Then yes, you have my word to you that I will keep my word of honor and that I will not reveal the location of Tartarus to anyone outside this room; nor will I seek to harm it, you, yours and this entire complex.”

Tom nodded. “Very well then. Let’s head out!”

Murgatroy

Jenn and Gastropé were helping load the magical equipment used to scan the D’Orc’s staging site onto the transport carpet to take back to the Nimbus when Zed showed up, looking none too fresh from spending the night in the city. Gastropé chuckled at the sight of the rather greenish-looking satyr.

Jenn smiled and shook her head; apparently satyrs, in accordance with legend, had very little self-control when it came to alcohol and other pursuits of pleasure. She yelled, “Good morning Zed! How are you on this fine fierdy morning?” and was amused to see the satyr wince.

“You really don’t need to shout. My hearing is not impaired,” he replied sourly.

“Long night out playing cards?” Gastropé asked.

Zed nodded. “It got worse after I met your friend Vaselle, who was drinking with Teragdor.”

Jenn looked at Gastropé. “You have friends in Murgatroy?”

Gastropé frowned. He was also looking a bit paler, although it was hard to tell exactly what Gastropé’s various shades of pale meant. “Uhm, more of an acquaintance.”

Zed shrugged. “He also knows your demon, the four-armed and -legged one that you summoned to fight the Storm Lords.”

Jenn frowned and turned to face Gastropé. “How does an acquaintance of yours know Tizzy?” she asked suspiciously. She really did not like their demonic affiliations being made known.

“Uhm, well…” Gastropé hedged, as if trying to come up with an answer.

Jenn suddenly wondered if Gastropé might have also gotten drunk with this Vaselle character. But surely he wouldn’t have summoned Tizzy while drunk?

Zed answered for Gastropé, “Vaselle works for a good friend of Gastropé’s. An animage named Edwyrd.”

“Edwyrd!” Jenn blurted in shock and surprise. “Is he here in Murgatroy?” How would he have gotten to Murgatroy? That would mean Rupert was here too! She could finally get him back safely. But thinking on it some more, maybe not. This was not a particularly safe operation they were undertaking. However, it was far safer than chasing down expelled demons with his senseless cousin, Edwyrd. Further, if Rupert had stayed in Freehold, like he should have, he’d have had to come with them anyway. Then, she and Elrose could certainly have continued the boy’s studies.

“The way Vaselle talked, I don’t think so. We were all pretty drunk. I sort of think he was waiting for Edwyrd to show up to get him back to Freehold,” Zed replied, wincing as he tried to recall.

“How in Astlan is Edwyrd going to get him back to Freehold? For that matter, how did he get here?”

Zed shrugged.

“Uhm, maybe Edwyrd is a Voyager like Gamos?” Gastropé volunteered.

Jenn turned back to Gastropé. “Really?” she asked dismissively, shaking her head. “If he was a Voyager, why didn’t he use his Voyager skills to get us from Gizzor Del to Freehold? It’s a lot shorter distance!”

Gastropé was at a loss for words for a moment before weakly replying, “Maybe he just learned?”

Jenn sighed loudly and rolled her head in frustration. “He just learned? In what? The twelve days since we last saw him? Seriously?”

She shook her head and looked at the two men. “Where is this Vaselle staying? I want to talk to him!”

“Uhm,” Zed hemmed. “I didn’t ask. I sort of think it’s the inn next to the tavern? There are only three inns in Murgatroy, so it’s probably one of them.”

“Fine, then let’s start there. Follow me.” Jenn started marching towards Murgatroy, not waiting for the others to agree.

Oubliette

Talarius and the rest of Tom’s entourage stood in the center of the Oubliette, staring up silently as Phaestus recited the same information from yesterday. When he lit the door to Tartarus there were audible gasps.

Tom smiled as he watched Talarius twist and contort in his armor to peer through the visor and take everything in. “The atmosphere and temperature here is perfectly fine for humans,” he told the knight. “There are a lot of electronics in the other room, so, like the Tech Command Center, we have to keep it cool. You can take your helmet off to look around.”

The knight paused, considering, and then tentatively pulled his helmet off. Finally verifying that Tom was telling the truth, he put his helm under his left arm. Now he could rubberneck with the rest of the visitors.

“This is insane!” Reggie exclaimed. “I can’t even begin to imagine the resources it would take to build something like this!”

Phaestus chuckled. “But for the rest of Doom you can?”

Reggie frowned at him. “Well, that too, but since you guys said you built it, I didn’t want to imply doubt.”

Phaestus laughed. “Both took tremendous resources and thousands of years. However, it was Tartarus that provided the resources.”

“What do you mean?” Talarius asked the god.

Phaestus grinned. “It took a lot of mana, a lot of technology, lots of money and lots of labor. The building and then operation of Tartarus is how we got those resources. We did presentations before various deities and got them to back us in the construction of Tartarus. And, of course, we charge per prisoner. With all of this, we had the resources to eventually build everything here.”

“I was wondering about that. Given how resource constrained the Abyss is, and how much more sophisticated Doom appears compared to the Courts, I was curious as to how Orcus and you guys managed all of this.” Tom said.

“I wouldn’t take the sophistication or complexity of the Courts at face value. The underlying infrastructure is very impressive and sophisticated. It appears the way it does for a purpose and it’s all carefully crafted,” Antefalken said. “As are its defenses.”

“Indeed,” Phaestus agreed.

Murgatroy

Vaselle groaned as a loud pounding came at the door. He was pretty sure some demon was trying to crawl out of his skull. That nasty ale left one horrible hangover!

“Are you expecting anyone?” Damien asked, looking up in surprise from his book.

Vaselle tried to shake his head no, but it hurt way too much. “No.”

“Wizard Vaselle, open the door. I am looking for Edwyrd!” A young woman’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Damien rolled his eyes and then stared at Vaselle. “What did you say to people in the bar?” the inquisitor asked.

Vaselle grimaced, trying to remember.

“That’s Jenn, Gastropé’s companion,” Damien said. “She can’t find me here. I am going to teleport back to yesterday’s campsite. Come get me when you get rid of her.”

Damien stood, closing his book and putting it in a large pocket. He quickly whispered the verbal components while gesturing the semantic components of the Teleport spell, and vanished in a brilliant flash of light.

“What was that light?” Jenn’s voice yelled through the door. “Did you just teleport out of there?”

Vaselle groaned and said, “Give me a bit, I’m coming! I don’t feel well.” He got out of bed and made his way to the door, an incredibly distant four feet, and opened it. Gastropé, Zed and a young woman dressed as a thaumaturge were standing outside the door. The woman was the one talking and knocking.

“Gastropé, Zed,” Vaselle said, nodding to them. He stared at Jenn. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure…” He squinted at them. There was way too much light in the dim hallway.

“Jenn Rean. I work for Councilors Lenamare and Trevin D’Vils of Freehold. I am looking for an animage named Edwyrd, whom Zed tells me you work for,” Jenn said, trying to peer into the room behind him.

Vaselle stepped back, gesturing for her to enter the seven-by-eight room. “As you can see, he’s not here. I haven’t seen him in several days.”

“What about Rupert?” Jenn asked.

Vaselle was not in any good condition to improvise, but he had to try. “Last I saw him, he was studying with a friend of his named Fer-Rog at Edwyrd’s home.”

Jenn stared at him as if she did not believe him. “Edwyrd’s home? What? In Eton someplace? He’s never mentioned having a home.” She turned to inspect the room, as if looking for holes in Vaselle’s story.

“No, it’s off-plane, and he just moved in a few days back.” Vaselle had to think fast. “He felt that Astlan was getting too dangerous for Rupert, what with the Rod, the Oorstemothians and all the other insanity that has been going on recently.”

“And how exactly are they plane-hopping?” Jenn demanded.

“Uhm...” Vaselle was at a loss for an answer.

The silence built, as no one had an answer. Finally Gastropé spoke up. “The demon Tom is assisting them.”

“What? That thing? What would have possessed them to summon that monster after he kidnapped that Knight and possessed all those people?” Jenn demanded.

Gastropé shrugged. “He’s still the same demon we knew.”

“Aghh!” Jenn vented raising her hands in the air. “Why is everyone around me insane!” She started to turn away and then spun back to stare at Gastropé, arching an eyebrow. “Wait! You knew this and didn’t tell me? Why would you not tell me this? You know I’ve been worried sick about Rupert!” she demanded.

Gastropé gulped and winced. “Because I knew you’d be angry that Edwyrd and Rupert were involved with the demon Tom again.”

Jenn growled, “You think? Am I like the only person who thinks that trying to utilize a greater demon, or maybe an archdemon even, as your personal stagecoach is insanely stupid?”

“Well, Tom seems like a reasonable guy,” Gastropé said.

“He’s a demon! He kidnapped a knight of Tiernon and stole mana from a god!” She shook her head. “Even if the demon Tom could be trusted, Tiernon is not going to be happy about what he’s done, and anyone near the demon is going to be angel dust!”

Jenn paused for breath and no one said much of anything. “Wait, you said Edwyrd had a new home on another plane. They aren’t with the demon in the Abyss, are they?” She stared back and forth between Vaselle and Gastropé.

Gastropé laughed nervously and Jenn squinted at him suspiciously. He said, “That would be ridiculous. Humans can’t live for that long in the Abyss. There’s nothing to eat, and you can’t keep those little cool spells going for ever. Besides, you really think Edwyrd and Rupert would want to live in that dark cave of Tom’s?” He shook his head at the silliness of it.

“Rupert? Yes, given his previous actions. Edwyrd? I would hope not,” Jenn said, shaking her head.

Oubliette

Tom had tried to follow the training session on the consoles along with everyone else and correlate that to what the Rod was feeding him from Tartarus. It was tricky, though. Eventually he gave up and just followed the lecture like the others. A lot of the value came from Phaestus explaining the background of why things were the way they were.

One good thing was that the Command Center upstairs had summary consoles for monitoring and fine-tuning Tartarus so they wouldn’t have to keep people stationed down in the Oubliette. When things were working properly, the only times they needed to be in the TPCC was during prisoner intake and in emergencies where they needed full control of the system. Theoretically, they also needed to be there for prisoner release, but that happened very rarely.

“So let me see if I understand this,” Ayega Death Tusk asked. “We have the best prison in the multiverse, but we don’t torture anyone in it? They are all just sleeping?”

“It does seem like a waste,” Velma Snargspitter said.

Völund sighed, shaking his head. “D’Orcs.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and continuing. “They are all in suspended animation—asleep, if you will—because they are much easier to contain that way. If we tortured them, they would wake up and fight us.”

“Yeah, but this place was built as a prison for the gods. From what I’ve heard, the gods like to punish their enemies far worse than simply putting them to sleep,” Ayega said.

Phaestus took over. “That is certainly true, so while we don’t physically torture them, their dreams are anything but pleasant.” That caused a few murmurs.

“What do you mean?” Velma asked.

“For example, one of the titans imprisoned here with a checkered history, both with the other titans and the Olympians, or more specifically with the husband of my accursed mother, is stuck in a continuously looping nightmare where he is chained to the side of a steep cliff and a giant eagle flies down and lands beside him and begins picking at his belly with its beak. Eventually, it reaches in and rather slowly and painfully eats his liver. Really long torment. And then it starts over again the next dawn.”

“Okay, well, I guess that’s a pretty good punishment,” Velma conceded.

“What did he do to deserve this punishment?” Ayega asked.

Phaestus shrugged. “Well, it’s very complex. But at the root, it was a betrayal of friendship. Officially, it was for teaching mortal mana users how to access the elemental Plane of Fire, thus giving them a very powerful weapon capable of challenging the gods.”

Tom shook his head. So that was the true legend. So Prometheus was in his dungeon? The Titan who had angered the gods by helping mankind and was doomed for thousands upon thousands of years to this horrible fate? Tom had a disquieting thought about releasing him. It would be the right thing to do. But it might also be a very stupid thing to do. He really didn’t need to be pissing off any more deities and if he had learned anything lately, you really couldn’t trust the legends you grew up with. So he would absolutely have to do more investigation before doing something that rash. If the guy had been down there for over fifty thousand years, what was one more year, or ten?

The class was wrapping up now and the D’Orcs heading out. Tom nodded at Phaestus. “Great introduction, thanks.”

“My pleasure. A burden shared is… somebody else’s problem.” The smith grinned.

“I was trying to follow what you were doing on the consoles with the Rod, but it really gets tricky,” Tom said.

“Yeah, the Rod has direct stream access to the animatic quantum core, so it is very direct,” Phaestus said.

Tom just shook his head, having no idea what he was talking about.

Phaestus smiled. “It’s like a techno-magical computer.”

“Oh, that makes more sense,” Tom said.

“We were working on an AII—Artificial Intelligence Interface—for it, but got only to late beta stage when Etterdam shut us down. Our techs working on it were with Orcus and were killed. We also lost contact with the Altrusian consultants at the same time; Orcus was our key point of contact with them.”

“That’s too bad,” Tom said. “That might have made things easier for me when working through the Rod.”

Phaestus raised his eyebrows and made a “hmm” expression with his mouth. He spun, sat down at the console and began typing something in very rapidly. “There we go.”

Beta mode access activated.

Tom heard in his head the Rod’s connection to Tartarus. “What did you do?” he asked.

“I activated beta test mode for the Rod. That means you can access the AII if you want,” Phaestus said. “Just to be clear though, it had some bugs that we hadn’t worked out. You know, the odd code instability issues and such.”

Code instability issues? Tom shrugged. So it would blue screen every now and then. He could deal. “How do I activate it?”

“By default it has a mental-audio interface; you can ask it to turn on a visual interface as well. In both cases, only you will hear it,” Phaestus said.

“Mental-audio?” Tom asked.

Phaestus shrugged. “You think words at it. You can talk too, but then people will look at you funny.”

“Ah, sort of like a telepathic conversation,” Tom said. He had been doing a fair bit of that lately, both over links and with Vaselle.

“Exactly! You activate it by think-saying, ‘Hey, Tartarus.’ ”

Tom wrinkled his eyebrows. That sounded rather patent-infringing. Of course, if this was written over four thousand years ago, it was Phaestus’ patent. “Okay, trying it out loud first.” Phaestus nodded in understanding.

“Hey, Tartarus!” Tom said.

“Hello, Tommus, how may I help you?” An oddly familiar female voice said in his head.

“What is the status of Aqua-Chamber K?” Tom asked.

“Aqua-Chamber K recently experienced thermal abnormalities resulting in a lowered sleeping state, approaching wakefulness. Temperatures have returned to normal; however, while the patient has started returning to deeper sleeping states, it has not yet reached the desired level,” Tartarus said. “Would you like a visual of the patient?”

“Yes, that would be nice!” Tom thought to Tartarus.

Suddenly Tom saw in his mind’s eye a very large cylindrical tank filled with slightly glowing blue water and a horribly huge and terrifying sea creature. “Holy crap, that thing’s a monster!” Tom said out loud.

“Confirmed. That is the term used by Poseidon,” Tartarus said.

“Thank you, Tartarus, that will be all for now.” *

“You’re welcome, Tommus,” Tartarus replied.

“Tartarus show you a live feed of the Kraken?” Phaestus chuckled.

“She did,” Tom said.

“She?” Phaestus grinned and tilted his head. “Interesting.”

“Why?”

“The AII tries to take the most familiar and comfortable persona for the user—meaning the person holding the Rod,” Phaestus said. “I would expect her to be someone familiar to you.”

“Indeed.” Tom nodded.

“And yes, the Kraken is something, but that tank image does not do it justice. You see that thing off a coastline?” The god shook his head in wonder. “Well, it takes a strong man, or god, not to soil himself.” He chuckled ruefully.

Chapter 123

Murgatroy: DOA + 3, Late Third Period

Teragdor had just sat down with his morning—oatmeal?—when Stevos entered the tavern’s common room. The priest had risen a bit late this morning, having been up later than he had intended last night. He had gone out and rounded up his few local followers and performed their daily worship. It was very hard to skip worship when the avatar you were sending the mana to was going to be visiting you right after the service.

He’d been sleepy and had a mild headache. He wasn’t used to drinking so much; he rarely had the money to waste on ale. Fortunately, Vaselle had been quite generous. Teragdor grinned tightly to himself. When the blessings of Tiernon rained down upon one, they truly poured. Thanks to the avatars, he had access to more money than he’d had his entire life—something they referred to as an “expense account.” And Vaselle had assumed, rightfully so, that he was poor.

Stevos had acquired some stale bread and honey from the barkeep, and took a seat at Teragdor’s table. From the looks he gave the bowl in front of the priest, he clearly did not trust the contents any more than Teragdor did.

“Good morning,” Stevos said, smiling at the priest.

“Good morning. So we are on our own today?” Teragdor asked the saint, tentatively bringing his spoon towards his mouth.

“We are,” Stevos confirmed. “Beragamos is going to attend to the backlog he’s incurred being down here, and Hilda has a private audience with Tiernon himself.”

Teragdor’s eyes went wide in shock. “She is getting a private audience with our god?” He said in awe.

Stevos chuckled. “Isn’t that why people pray to saints? Because they have the ear of their god?”

“Well, yes, but there are so many saints, not to mention archons, I sort of assumed that it was more like passing a message along or something,” Teragdor replied.

Stevos grinned wider. “You have an exceptional understanding of how things work in Tierhallon. You are absolutely correct. For a saint, and the majority of archons, to get a private meeting with Tiernon is extremely exceptional. Large group meetings and gatherings are the norm. If you are lucky, you get to bow personally to him, get a few moments of conversation every hundred years or so. Tierhallon is a very large organization.”

Teragdor nodded. “I have always assumed it would be, considering how large the church bureaucracy is in Astlan, the huge number of saints, and I have no idea how many archons.”

Stevos nodded. “And that is just for Astlan; now add the rest of our localverse and then all the other localverses that the Five Siblings operate in—it’s almost mind-boggling.”

“I know. I am having trouble just keeping track of the names the three of you have mentioned in our conversations,” the priest said humbly.

Stevos grinned again. “Very understandable. It took me some time to learn the hierarchy. Of course, I went to saint school, so that helped.”

“Saint school?” Teragdor asked. He also suddenly realized they were having a very weird conversation in the common room of a tavern. He glanced around to see if they were being overheard.

Stevos saw him looking around and made a small waving motion. “I’ve shielded our conversation so that what we are saying will seem to be in an unknown language. It is similar to a Ritual of Overlooking, only for conversations. People will basically ignore what we are saying.”

“That’s a relief!” Teragdor said.

Stevos nodded. “But yes, there is a saint school that new saints have to go to. Someone has to teach you all about answering prayers, channeling mana to priests, collecting mana from priests. We also get much more in-depth teaching on church dogmata.”

Teragdor’s eyes widened. “Truth literally from the mouth of Tiernon and not filtered through mortal misconceptions!” He shook his head. “It must be amazing.”

Stevos shrugged. “It is a lot more accurate than what they teach in the Planes of Man, and we have plenty of very high authorities. And unlike the church here in Astlan, it is possible to actually get Tiernon’s opinion.”

“Tiernon’s opinion?” Teragdor was shocked by the idea that his god might have opinions rather than pronouncements.

Stevos grimaced. “Perhaps I should have said his judgements, but sometimes, if it involves a new issue, it can be an opinion. If it involves the provinces of another Family member, he may need to consult with them before issuing a judgement or pronouncement.”

Now it was Teragdor’s turn to grimace. “Seems rather, uhm, democratic.” He hesitated on using such a controversial term.

Stevos grinned, acknowledging the potentially insulting term. “I know, but they are all Family and they have a shared operation with overlapping interests. We don’t see that as much in Murgandy and the Federation, where Krinna, Namora and Hendel don’t have large presences.”

“I have never met anyone from those churches. I’ve met a few Torean Rangers,” Teragdor noted.

“Hard not to run into the Rangers in any far-flung region. They love to explore and discover,” Stevos agreed.

Teragdor paused for a moment before asking something that he was not clear on. “So on this point of the large Tierhallon organization?” He paused and Stevos nodded for him to continue. “I am not exactly sure who the other members of this ‘project’ are and the exact structure you have.”

Stevos nodded. “It’s actually a very unusual arrangement; as we’ve hinted at, we are trying something new outside the normal channels.”

Stevos sat back a bit, thinking of how to describe things before continuing. “All saints in Astlan ultimately report to the senior prophet of Astlan. Those of us who operate regionally also report to a greater saint in our region. As you know, this region isn’t officially staffed at the church level, nor is it at the Tierhallon level. So I sort of side report to Feronus Tibius, the Greater Saint of the Cythanian Federation.”

“So then when you received my petition, you went to him?” Teragdor asked.

“Actually, he was busy, so I went directly to  Baysir Tomgren, the Prophet of Astlan,” Stevos said. Teragdor nodded; everyone knew of Baysir Tomgren. “He had been coordinating with Moradel, the Attendant Archon of Astlan, in regards to the mana-stealing demon. Moradel is the head of the archons in Astlan; the archon equivalent of the prophet of Astlan.”

Teragdor shook his head, trying to put this together. “You have all mentioned Moradel; he is part of your team?”

“Yes, he is personally overseeing the investigation that was started when Hilda detected the mana-stealing event.” Stevos chuckled. “As you can imagine, someone compromising the Holy Ciphers and intercepting the mana stream between a saint and their illuminaries requires the attention of those responsible for the world involved.”

Teragdor nodded. “Of course—an unbelievable story.” He had heard the entire story over wine and food with the others. “So then, Hilda is a regional saint, like yourself?”

“Yes, although a bit less regional; her region was pretty much wiped out and her legend and illuminaries have spread out around Eton. She is also older than me and has more illuminaries,” Stevos told the priest.

“Who then are Beragamos and Sentir Fallon?” Teragdor asked. “I know I have heard of Sentir Fallon before, and I think I might have heard of Beragamos, but I am not sure.”

Stevos nodded and grinned. “They are the big swords. Sentir Fallon is the elder archon for the localverse.”

“Elder archon? I have not heard of that title,” Teragdor said.

“Very few have; it is really only relevant at the multiversal level. He is in charge of Tiernon’s operations in what you and I call the localverse. He had been the Attendant Archon for Etterdam up until about thirty-five hundred years ago, when he moved to Astlan to become the Attendant Archon here. He was here up until about six hundred years ago before being promoted to Elder Archon in charge of the localverse, and Moradel took over in Astlan.”

Teragdor shook his head, trying to grasp these timescales. “So Sentir Fallon is Moradel’s boss?”

Stevos bobbed his head. “Technically, but Attendant Archons are fairly autonomous. An Elder Archon is more like a steward, coordinator and advisor to the Attendant Archons. In particular, they deal with inter-plane coordination and ensuring that the various churches are consistent from world to world.”

“Whoa. This is more complex than I’d imagined. So then where does Beragamos come in?” Teragdor asked.

Stevos gave the priest a rather wicked-looking grin. “Beragamos does not have an official role in the hierarchy of our localverse.”

“But he is involved somehow, obviously.” Teragdor looked at the saint with a puzzled expression.

“Beragamos is a supreme archon,” the saint said with a very straight face.

“A supreme archon!” Teragdor exclaimed, feeling floored to think he had been in the presence of, and consumed wine and food with, and had laughed with, a supreme archon of Tiernon!

“He is,” Stevos affirmed. “Which means he does whatever he wants to do; involves himself however he sees fit.”

“He is a personal friend and advisor to Tiernon?” Teragdor asked.

Stevos squinted and shook his head gently from side to side. “More like trusted vassal, chamberlain, confidant and advisor. I don’t think gods have friends; at least not friends that are not also gods.”

“But he sees and speaks with Tiernon regularly?”

Stevos nodded in reply. “I don’t know the exact frequency, of course, but from what I gather it’s generally at least every day or two.”

“Wow,” Teragdor said. “I can’t believe I have actually spoken with someone who talks directly with our lord on such a regular basis. It’s like a dream.”

“I would have to agree. I didn’t expect to be involved with people this high up for several hundred years, at a minimum,” Stevos said, shaking his head. “We are in interesting times. It’s been a very long time since Astlan has had avatars on the ground.”

Teragdor frowned; that brought up a question he had. “So I was wondering about that. You avatars are here, doing stuff on a daily basis; what happens if someone prays to you, or needs your permission for a ritual? I haven’t noticed any of you doing any reverse praying, or however it is you answer prayers.”

Stevos chuckled. “You may be over estimating how many prayers I get in a day,” he replied, grinning. However, while we do not need to sleep, we—particularly those with a wide number of illuminaries—cannot be on duty twenty hours a day, four hundred days a year.”

“So what happens to prayers when you are off-duty or away, like now?” Teragdor asked.

“We use our HALO,” Stevos said with a broad grin before biting into the piece of bread he was holding.

Teragdor blinked, not understanding. “You mean your saintly aura?”

Stevos raised and lowered his eyebrows while giving him a grin. “No, HALO: Heaven-Avatar Link Optimizer.”

Teragdor frowned. “Heaven avatar link optimizer?”

“Yes, it’s basically a divine daemon that assists us in our saintly duties, or archon duties for archons.” Stevos said.

“A divine daemon?” Teragdor shook his head. “A demon that works for gods?”

Stevos grinned again. “No, a daemon is a magical construct that carries out certain tasks on behalf of its owner. In this case, the HALO is an offload mechanism for avatars. It provides us with our primary link to the god pool, and if needed, pantheon pools. It is also something that allows us to ‘hang up our links,’ so to speak, so that we do not have to manage all of them all of the time.”

Teragdor had never thought of such a concept. “It holds links for you; that’s very odd.”

“Actually, there are a number of holy artifacts that can do this. Wizards can also construct such devices. Each avatar is very closely linked—bound, in fact—to our HALO; it’s part of the canonization process. It can automate tasks for us, such as processing the mana in illumination streams so that we don’t have to do it manually ourselves,” the saint told him.

“So what about when someone does a ritual that requires your permission?” Teragdor asked.

“We are able to instruct it on how to handle certain prayers from various priests. We can pre-approve certain rituals and mana expenditures for specific illuminaries, and we need to do nothing, the HALO grants permission. If it is something that requires evaluation, or is beyond the pre-approved limit, I am notified and can review and approve or deny the request.” Stevos grinned. “As you can imagine, this can sometimes occur during inconvenient times, such as when I decide to sleep for a while.”

“What about normal prayers from priests or worshipers?” Teragdor asked.

“There is a prayer queue in the HALO. Certain key words or certain people can trigger alerts and the prayer will be routed to me immediately, but all others are recorded with great detail as to emotional state, thought process, all the information I would need to judge the prayer,” Stevos said. “The HALO also allows me to research the combined wisdom of Tierhallon, particularly in the context of the prayer and the one praying, so I can more properly judge the situation.”

“Wow. That sound impressive!” Teragdor exclaimed."

“It is quite wondrous,” Stevos said, nodding. “It also helps me connect with other avatars, passing along prayers, requests, and decisions to others above me or beside me. For example, if a situation requires the assistance of another saint, I can quickly share information from my HALO to their HALO and get them up to speed very quickly.”

“I never really thought of all the things a saint would have to be doing behind the scenes before,” Teragdor said.

“I don’t believe anyone does until they get to saint school.” Stevos chuckled. “As mortals, we all have these grandiose ideas of what it means to be an avatar of Tiernon. It seems so glamorous, glorious, triumphant, being an inspiration and leading the Forces of Good into battle against Evil.” The saint shook his head. “No one ever stops to think about the administrative overhead, the day-to-day grind of ensuring that Tiernon’s glory, light and justice are deployed properly day in and day out.”

Teragdor laughed. “My mentor once said nearly the same thing about being a priest!”

Stevos grinned, nodding. “It’s just the next rung up on the Holy Ladder of Success!”

Tierhallon

Hilda tried to calm her breathing and still her heart rate. She was afraid her stomach was going to twist itself into knots. Beragamos had escorted her to the Hall of Justice and into an anteroom. When she asked when they would be going in, he’d nearly floored her by smiling and telling her that only she would be going in—it was a private audience.

Hilda’s stomach had gone through the floor, and she was now desperately wishing she had a bottle of wine. Although maybe going before one’s all-powerful deity sloshed to the nines might not be the best idea, she thought. She shook her head to try and clear it. She then tried again to meditate to regain her composure, but that wasn’t working.

Beragamos had left her alone in the waiting room about a quarter of an hour ago. He had told her that they’d arrived early so that she would have some time to compose herself. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand in support, sensing and probably anticipating her nervousness.

She released a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that everything was fine and it was perfectly reasonable to be nervous about meeting one of the primal forces of the multiverse. A being whose very existence was a pillar of reality, providing shelter and protection to the weak against the vast powers of darkness. She let out another deep breath, finally starting to relax. It was all about setting up a realistic perspective.

The door to the next room opened gently and a man in his mid to late thirties with closely cropped dark hair, wearing an elegant tunic and breeches with a truly magnificent belt and buckle at the waist, peered out.

“Hilda?” the man asked.

Hilda stood and nodded, approaching the door. The man offered his hand in greeting and Hilda smiled, accepting it. She was having trouble even speaking to the Attendant.

As their hands touched, Hilda nearly passed out. A rush of light, energy, joy, strength and love came flowing through the handshake and into her being, nearly overwhelming her. This was no Attendant; this was Tiernon himself!

She gasped, her knees beginning to buckle. Tiernon quickly reached around and took her by her shoulders. His gentle strength easily supported her weight—not what it was in her youth.

“There, just relax. It’s fine.” Tiernon chuckled reassuringly. “Oddly enough, you are not the first one to have that reaction to my handshake.” He smiled at her and it was as if fierdlight were filling her soul. She glanced up into his infinitely black eyes and... the world wheeled away, blackness and then stars, lights, colors... eternity…

The next thing Hilda knew, she was sitting in a very nice armchair in front of a large mahogany desk in a finely appointed room. She had no idea how she got there.

“My apologies. I forgot to shift my eyes to my mortal form,” he shook his head as if admonishing himself for his mistake. “I had just come from the Palaestra and failed to fully shift.”

“Your godliness,” Hilda said and started to slide out of the chair to her knees.

Tiernon gave her a sharp glance and motioned her back into her chair. “None of that now! We are in private; that kneeling and worshipful rigmarole is appropriate for public ceremonies and appearances, but very tiring for a private conversation.” The god smiled as Hilda slid herself back into her chair.

“As your godliness wishes,” Hilda respectfully replied.

Tiernon smiled at her as he reached down into a desk drawer and pulled out a rather large file folder and set it on his desk. Hilda blinked, wondering if those were her reports. They must be. Tiernon then reached back in and pulled out a crystal ball. The scrying?

“I have to say, Beragamos and the others have been very impressed with your work on this incident—or should I say, series of incidents,” Tiernon said. “And reading your reports, so am I.”

Hilda was still somewhat in shock, but she managed to nod her thanks while replying, “I am honored, Your Godliness.”

Tiernon opened the file and slid up to the desk. “I have reviewed your reports, along with those of Beragamos, Moradel, Sentir Fallon and Stevos.” Hilda nodded. “In particular, I find many of your side findings to be quite interesting.”

“Side findings, Your Godliness?” Hilda asked.

“In particular, the behavior of the Church and the Rod in the battle between Talarius and the demon. I agree with you that these are serious breaches of our doctrine,” Tiernon said.

“That was my thought, Your Godliness,” Hilda agreed.

Tiernon nodded. “I thought we would watch the balling of the incident together and perhaps stop at various points so that I might get your observations on the events, and the actions of our followers. And of course, we will also discuss how this demon did what he did. Which, as you know, is a very grave concern.”

“That sounds very good, Your Godliness,” Hilda replied.

“Excellent!” Tiernon waved his hand as the room dimmed and the balling sprang to life between them.

~

Hilda closed the door to her apartment and leaned against it in exhaustion. Good exhaustion, and exhilaration! She glanced at the clock in her living room and shook her head. She had been with Tiernon for six hours! They had gone through the balling, the actions of the demon, the Rod, and the Church in detail. He had been particularly interested in the destruction of Excrathadorus Mortis. Tiernon had been quite curious as to how it had made its way from Etterdam to Astlan. Unfortunately, Hilda had no idea, but suggested that perhaps Sentir Fallon might know, since it had originally been his blade. Tiernon had nodded and agreed before moving on to Ruiden and its more-than-odd abilities and behavior.

The god had then asked for details about Freehold, the Council, Lenamare, Jehenna, Exador and the others, including Trisfelt. After they had exhausted nearly every aspect on the issue of the mana-draining incident, they’d moved on to the D’Orcs and orcs. Interestingly enough, the god seemed just as interested in the actions of the Nimbus and her crew as he did the D’Orcs.

This seemed a bit odd, given that the Grove was aligned with the alfar and thus generally considered one of the Forces of Good; whereas the orcs—and, she supposed, D’Orcs—were clearly part of the Forces of Evil. In fact, Tiernon was particularly interested in the actions of the alfar. Surely, if the alfar were preparing for war, they’d be contacting other Forces of Good?

More expectedly, he had queried her a great deal about what she had discovered regarding the D’Orcs and what they had told the orcs and others in Murgatroy. Tiernon had very clearly read every one of her reports and seemed to have nearly memorized them. The detail to which he quizzed her, and his familiarity with so much of it, was breathtaking.

She shook her head and finally started moving into her apartment. Time to run a hot bath and break out a nice chilled bottle of sparkling. She was going to stay in tonight; Freehold could wait until the morning. Although she would need to check her HALO, the small box in her study that acted as her proxy and gave her some moments of peace. She shook her head; a saint’s work was never done. She would check it and her prayer queues while she relaxed in the bath.

~

A few moments after Hilda left his office and they’d sensed the outer door closed and the saint safely gone, Tiernon’s brother, Torean, substantiated a physical presence within the room. He was shaking his head and smiling. “Well, brother, I must commend you on your debriefing,” he said, nodding his appreciation. “Extremely thorough.”

“Thank you.” Tiernon smiled. “As you know, it helps to have a good scout.”

Torean sat down and chuckled. “I think you are paraphrasing me.” He shook his head. “You do realize that you are going to want to keep her challenged, lest I try to recruit her to my own service?”

Tiernon chuckled. “She would be well suited to your team. However, as we have discussed before, I am in need of a larger direct ground game of my own.”

“As are we all,” Torean sighed.

“I still don’t know how things got this far. We have tried, repeatedly, to clean this mess up,” Tiernon said.

“We have. Ever since the Etterdam incident, four thousand years ago.” Tiernon’s brother shook his head in frustration.

“Indeed. Nét and the other El'adasir went completely overboard, forcing Orcus’s hand. Sentir Fallon was only supposed to drive him back to Mount Doom, to keep Etterdam from permanently imploding into war and chaos. He should not have been able to permanently eradicate him,” Tiernon complained. “That was not the plan, nor even desirable.”

“Yes, that was a huge setback, to which we have drunk one too many bottles of wine.” Torean shook his head. “How Sentir Fallon and that stupid little dagger were able to kill Orcus permanently is one of the greatest mysteries of the multiverse!”

Tiernon sighed. “I have never in my long life wanted to berate and punish such a massively, insanely huge mistake!” He shook his head furiously. “Even now it frustrates me.”

“First rule of Tartarus: never speak of Tartarus.” Torean chuckled grimly. “We thought this so incredibly useful when we signed up. However, after Sentir Fallon’s screw-up, when arguably we should have banded together with the other clients, we had no idea who the other clients were!”

“Other than the Olympians, of course.” Tiernon laughed ruefully.

“Not that we could ever tell them. They would have wanted to know who we had locked up,” Torean agreed. “This was quite literally an Olympian tragedy.”

“The simple fact we knew of Tartarus would have revealed that we had someone locked up; and they would have had little doubt as to who.” Tiernon shook his head ruefully. “Zeus and Hephaestus were both furious enough as it was over Orcus’s death. There was no way we could add the prisoners to the equation.”

Torean chuckled. “It is no secret as to who is missing around here.”

“In that sense, Sentir Fallon accidentally permanently slaying Orcus on our behalf allayed any suspicions he might have had in regard to the prisoners,” Tiernon observed.

“No one with a prisoner in Tartarus would be so stupid as to slay the warden,” Torean agreed.

“Thus, while Hephaestus wanted war, Zeus was not willing to go quite that far,” Tiernon concluded. “It was, however, closer than I would have liked.”

“That would have been a very unpleasant war.”

“One I am not convinced we could win.”

“I think I nearly shat myself the first time I heard the mighty Tiernon make that statement,” Torean said, chuckling. “A war he could not win? Inconceivable!”

“And so… we could not even acknowledge the horrible implications of what Sentir Fallon had so innocently done, let alone punish him for doing something that was arguably in line with church policies.” Tiernon sighed and closed his eyes.

“Yes, but he should have known about the other ramifications within the localverse, even if he did not understand the implications for Tartarus and the Olympians,” Torean said.

“Nysegard? Yes, of course, and I took him to task for that. However, he told me that he himself had not expected the end result,” Tiernon said. “He was not lying to me.”

“I don’t see how he could not have known.” Torean frowned. “I do not trust him!

“Nor I, but I have no proof. Without proof of wrongdoing, there can be no administration of justice,” Tiernon said.

“Says the god who built his reputation on justice.” Torean shook his head.

“Be that as it may, this is simply rehashing the same discussion for the—I have no idea how many thousands of times—that must end now. It appears there is a new warden of Tartarus,” Tiernon said.

“We hope,” Torean said. “What if the new Master of Doom decides to release his prisoners?”

Tiernon closed his eyes, not wanting to contemplate the thought. “We shall not go there. We need to find out who this prince is that located the long-lost Wand of Orcus and relit the volcano.”

“We never got a really good view of the thief, but I will say that he did look rather familiar,” Torean said.

Tiernon shook his head. “I noted that as well, but I don’t see how that could possibly be.”

“Do you have any idea where the Wand was?” Torean asked, changing the subject.

“None. Not a clue has been found,” Tiernon said. “My people have scoured the multiverse.”

“As have mine. The only place we haven’t looked is the Abyss,” Torean said.

“If it had been in the Abyss, someone would have found it. Mount Doom would have returned much sooner,” Tiernon stated.

Torean shrugged. “Perhaps, if they had vast mana resources, or it was somehow coded so that only Orcus could use it. A genetic marker, for example? However, even then the mana required would be significant.”

“Anything is possible. What if Orcus was not actually killed, only seriously wounded and recuperating? That would explain the thief’s appearance.”

“So he has been plotting his revenge in secret for the last four thousand years?” Torean raised a questioning eyebrow.

“We must hope not.” Tiernon shook his head. “Our intentions aside, it was our agent that slew him. He will be pissed.”

Torean grinned. “For good reason. Do you suppose he will want to collect back payments?”

“One way or the other.” Tiernon chuckled.

“So, we think the two events are connected,” Torean stated for confirmation.

“Breaking the ciphers and the restart of Mount Doom?” Tiernon shrugged. “It would seem too close in time and space to be a simple coincidence. And the stolen mana could have been used to relight the volcano.”

“Assuming one had the Wand,” Torean said.

Tiernon nodded in agreement. “What is also interesting is that this demon thief not only survived, but from the reports, reversed Excrathadorus Mortis. Something not even Orcus could do.”

“It is an interesting puzzle,” Torean agreed. “It would be good to have a look at that dagger.”

Tiernon nodded at his brother’s observation. “Indeed. I myself never examined it; however, I had several extremely high archons examine it, and they found nothing amiss.”

“Seriously? I find that very odd.” Torean chided his brother.

Tiernon shrugged. “What more would you have them do? Stab someone with it to see if their soul is eaten?”

Torean shook his head. “That would be rather antithetical to all of our teachings. In any event, it somehow made it into the hands of your Knight Rampant, who used it against this demon, who not only survived it, but reversed it before hauling the knight into the Abyss?” He tilted his head, his own words triggering a thought. “Reports are that it was reversed, so was it left in Astlan?”

Tiernon nodded. “Yes, I noted it in the balling. The Arch-Diocate on site has it in his possession.”

Torean shrugged. “So there is work to be done. We need to examine the blade.”

“Indeed.” Tiernon agreed.

Near Murgatroy: DOA + 3, Mid Fifth Period

“Hmm, I suppose it is salvageable,” Stevos said, exiting the doorway from a badly damaged corner tower. “It will take a lot of work to restore the walls.”

“The main hall is mostly intact, other than the roof.” Teragdor said. “I think it will make a good sanctuary once repaired, cleansed and consecrated.”

“The courtyard buildings are essentially worthless and will need to be rebuilt,” Stevos said.

Teragdor nodded. “Still better than anything else we found.”

The two had spent the day trying to find a new base of operations for the team. They had looked at the only two buildings in Murgatroy and not been that impressed. They had then ventured out to some old ruins in the vicinity; this one, Fort Murgatroid, was the most intact. It was a very old mud and stone fort built by the Vargosians about seven hundred years ago.

After the fall of the Vargosite Empire, it had been mostly unoccupied for a few decades before the first Earl of Murgandy decided it would be his eastern redoubt and stationed his troops there. Eventually, about a hundred years later, after Murgatroy was settled, the second King of Murgandy (the first earl’s heirs had promoted themselves to kings) they’d moved their troops to Murgatroy and abandoned the fort. It had thus been sitting empty for the last few hundred years.

Teragdor had heard tales of bandits occasionally camping there, but it was in such disrepair that none stayed long. From current appearances, it was only used as a camping site by travelers. It was roughly a league outside of Murgatroy. Close enough to be convenient, but far enough away as not to draw unwanted attention to Church activities.

They stared around in silence for a moment.

“What do you think?” Teragdor asked.

“I think it will work,” the saint replied.

“So how do we go about rebuilding it and then staffing it?” Teragdor asked. “I still don’t see what we are doing on that front.”

“I will discuss it at the team meeting tonight. We will want to use local materials, of course.” He looked around, thinking. “We don’t want to staff it with saints or archons because that would be one seriously large mana beacon, so we have some concerns about getting the Church or the Rod too involved. Plus, we would have to pull them from quite some distance, which would be noticed.”

Stevos moved to look out the wide open and broken main gate. “We could, I suppose, use Tierhallonic resources to repair it relatively quickly.” He squinted his eyes, peering to the west. “Do you think we could get some Rangers?”

“Rangers of Torean on Church business?” Teragdor asked, rather shocked.

Stevos turned, smiling at the priest. “I know it sounds odd to you and me, but in the Holy Etonian Empire the Five Churches work hand in hand on many projects.” He chuckled. “The Rod travels on ships of Namora’s Navy with wind supplied by priests of Krinna.”

Teragdor nodded. “I have been told such things, but never actually seen it.”

Stevos thought for a moment. “You were ordained in Woodsdock, as I recall?”

Teragdor nodded. “That is the closest temple. From here, it’s actually closer than Southpoint.”

“Indeed. Which is the logistical problem of using Church or Rod staffing.” Stevos grimaced. “Short of direct intercession, of course.”

Teragdor shook his head, not understanding.

“Well, I could certainly pop over there, commandeer some forces, and then do a gateway back here.” Stevos grinned, knowing that Teragdor understood how shocking and unprecedented that would be.

“That would cause more than a few heart attacks,” Teragdor agreed.

“And then the entire Church in Astlan would go to high alert and start asking a lot of questions we don’t want asked yet.”

“Yeah.” Teragdor shook his head, thinking of the chaos.

“Let’s head back to town and get some dinner,” Stevos said, heading towards their hobbled mounts.

Murgatroy

“I wish that djinni would get off his butt and leave the wards already!” Damien complained. “I am getting tired of being in this backwater.”

Vaselle looked at him and shrugged. "Well, now that the others are on their way home, there is no reason we have to stay here. We could go back to Mount Doom and wait there. It’s a lot more comfortable.”

Damien gave the warlock a look of disbelief. “Which stinky volcano were you in?” He shook his head. “Besides, given that none of them eat, there isn’t much food there except when they party.”

Vaselle grinned. “So then why don’t we go down and eat dinner in the common room rather than up in this little room?”

“And get spotted?” Damien shook his head.

“Zed said that the Nimbus was leaving today, and I haven’t seen Hilda’s people around all day. I’m betting it is safe,” Vaselle argued.

Damien frowned, thinking. “I suppose.” He stood and gestured for Vaselle to precede him through the door.

The two made their way down to the main floor and over to the common room of the adjoining tavern. There were several diners at tables; none they knew, fortunately. The two sat down at one of the few smaller tables with only four chairs, and Damien made a motion to the tavern wench that they wanted food.

After a short and mostly silent wait, the tavern wench came by and looked at them silently, simply waiting for them to order something. Vaselle was not impressed by the service.

“What is on the menu for tonight?” Vaselle asked her.

“Braised yak rib with mashed turnips, mutton stew with bread, or the standard bread, cheese and sausage,” the wench replied disinterestedly.

Vaselle and Damien looked at each other and shrugged. “Yak rib and turnips and the dark ale,” Damien said. Because it was easy to take to the room, they’d eaten the cheese and sausage a couple times and it was at best, edible.

“Same for me,” Vaselle said.

“Swapped barrels. It’s a stout now, not a dark ale,” the wench replied.

“Fine,” Damien told her as Vaselle nodded. She turned away and headed back towards the bar.

“The people here are so hospitable,” Damien observed sarcastically.

“This place would be belly up in a quarter month in Freehold,” Vaselle agreed.

“Vaselle!” a voice said from the doorway to the inn.

Vaselle looked up, startled, to see Teragdor and a man somewhere between his own age and Damien’s entering the common room.

Damien shot Vaselle a glance, annoyed that they had been recognized.

“Teragdor!” Vaselle raised a hand in greeting, gesturing for the two men to approach. By their clothes, they appeared to have just finished a horse ride.

The two came over and Vaselle stood to shake hands with the priest. “Good to see you again!” Vaselle told him.

“And you!” Teragdor agreed with a rather intimidating smile.

“This is Stevos, who also serves Tiernon, albeit in a different capacity.” Vaselle reached out to shake Stevos’s hand.

“Let me introduce you to Damien,” Vaselle said, gesturing to Damien, who gave him a small glare. Vaselle suddenly realized he’d used Damien’s real name. They had not actually agreed on a fake name for him, but in hindsight, given that the wizard was hiding from others from Freehold, they should have.

Damien stood, smiling politely, and shook the hands of both men. Vaselle noted that as he stood, he had twisted his hands and moved his mouth ever so slightly to invoke his wizard sight.

The three exchanged greetings before all four sat down again. As they did so, the serving wench came back with two mugs of stout. After setting them down, she stared impassively at Teragdor and Stevos. Teragdor didn’t seem to notice her poor manners, but Stevos seemed slightly taken aback.

“What’s Thadwall tossing on the platters tonight, Darla?” Teragdor asked.

“Yak rib and turnips, mutton and bread or the sausage, cheese and bread platter,” Darla replied with marginally more enthusiasm towards Teragdor than she had shown to Vaselle.

“Oooh. Yak?” Teragdor nodded happily before glancing to Stevos. “The yak ribs are actually quite good. I’ve had them several times.” He grinned at Darla. “I’ll have those and the dark beer.” Darla nodded.

“Hmm, well then.” Stevos said with a smile. “I shall do the same.”

Darla shrugged and headed back towards the bar.

“She is lively,” Stevos noted.

Teragdor blinked and then smiled, realizing that Stevos was being ironic. “She’s just grumpy because Tessa, the other server who should be working tonight, gave birth two days ago and won’t be back to work until tomorrow. And of course, leading up to that, Darla had had to pick up some slack. So she is doing twice her normal work.”

“Ah.” Stevos nodded.

Damien was looking a bit wide-eyed at Teragdor. “The other serving maid gave birth two days ago and will be returning to work tomorrow?” The wizard sounded rather shocked, which Vaselle could understand.

Apparently Teragdor misinterpreted the shock. “Yes, I know, an unusually long time, but Thadwall’s the father, and the baby is a boy, so he’s feeling pretty generous.”

Stevos raised an eyebrow at this. Vaselle got the impression that the older man felt similar to Damien and himself in terms of how quickly the girl should be returning.

“So, as I understand it, you work for this Lord Edwyrd, Vaselle?” Stevos asked, making conversation.

“Yes, that’s true.” Vaselle nodded in agreement.

“As I understand it, Lord Edwyrd is hunting down demons that escaped from Freehold?” Stevos asked.

“Uhm, yes.” Vaselle nodded again. That was the story that Damien was using.

“He must be a very powerful animage if he is able to rein in demons,” Teragdor said. “As I understand it, summoning is quite dangerous compared to conjuring.”

“That is generally true,” Vaselle said. “Which is why wizardry is the preferred mechanism for dealing with demons. However, Lord Edwyrd does employ Rune Magic, which technically predates modern wizardry.” All true, Vaselle thought to himself, although, obviously, that was not how his master controlled demons.

Stevos sniffed a few times. “Speaking of demons, is that sulfur I smell?”

Damien grimaced. Vaselle suddenly realized they were still wearing the same clothes they’d been wearing at Mount Doom, where there was quite a bit of sulfur in the air.

“My apologies,” Damien said. “While Edwyrd is an animage, I am a conjuror and earlier today I’d been measuring out and packing small bags of sulfur for use in spellcraft.”

Stevos smiled politely. “Well, this is quite interesting for us. Given our line of work within the Church of Tiernon, we don’t often get to talk with those who work with demonic forces.”

Vaselle smiled tightly. He was fairly certain that was a slight rebuke. He knew full well that Etonian priests did not approve of conjury. Which was why he would have loved to bring up the High Priest Verigas, who had summoned his master. However, that would probably not be a good idea.

Damien smiled. “The same is true for us. I would say we have an excellent opportunity for stimulating conversation.”

Outside Freehold: DOA + 4, Late First Period

Arch-Diocate Iskerus woke with a start from a very unusual dream. Awake, he could not remember exactly what the dream had been about, other than that he had felt a far deeper and more intimate communion with his god than he had ever felt before. And yet, at the same time, his heart was racing in his chest as if he had experienced a massive adrenaline rush. It was not fear, however. It was more like exhilaration or excitement.

He shook his head; it was almost like an unthinkably powerful blessing spell. His ears suddenly detected quite a bit of commotion in the camp. It was the middle of night, yet the sound of the entire camp rising was filling his ears. He grimaced in puzzlement and pulled back the covers on his bed.

Getting out of bed, he quickly summoned a Globe of Holy Light and reached for his robe. He fastened it and made towards the door of his tent.

As he stepped outside, it was clear that much of the camp was up. Lights, both torches and Globes of Holy Light, were quickly coming on. He spotted one of his aides coming quickly towards him.

“Hewitt? What is going on?” The Arch-Diocate asked.

“I am not sure, Your Holiness; I have only talked with a few others,” Hewitt replied, hurrying up to him. “For myself, I was woken from my sleep feeling an overwhelming presence.” He frowned. “A presence that was at once comforting, yet frightening. It was clearly a religious experience, but unlike any I have ever had. I have overheard others saying the same.”

Iskerus shook his head in puzzlement. This was extremely odd. His blood drained from his head. Was an Intercession imminent? They had been expecting one, but it had not occurred, and as time had passed so had the concern.

Suddenly there was a commotion over by the tent which held Talarius’s possessions. His actual tent had been destroyed by Ruiden’s metamorphosis, so they had moved the rest of his equipment to a new tent. Iskerus moved over to it; the guards that were stationed there to guard Excrathadorus Mortis and the other possessions seemed to be frantically searching the area, going in and out of the tent.

“What is the matter?” Iskerus demanded as he came up to the guards.

“My lord!” One of the guards came to attention, looking very pale. Iskerus nodded for her to continue. “Excrathadorus Mortis is missing!”

“Missing?” Iskerus asked incredulously.

The guard looked quite shaken. “We were standing guard when suddenly, and without warning, we were overwhelmed—”

“Overwhelmed?” Iskerus asked.

The woman looked at a loss. “Yes, we all suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of—Presence. I have no other word for it. All four of us swooned, nearly falling in place. When we recovered, others in the camp were also rousing. I went in to check on the locked-glass top case with the dagger in it.” She paused as if lost.

“And…?” Iskerus prodded.

“The case was there, undisturbed, completely locked, with your personal seal intact—yet the dagger was missing from inside!”

Iskerus shook his head in disbelief. The box had been locked; only he had the key. He had also placed his own seal on it to detect tampering; he’d then shielded it with a Holy Warding. He would have known if the warding had been broken. He had felt nothing.

“Let me see,” Iskerus said, moving around the guard towards the tent.

Iskerus entered the tent to see the fine wooden case with the glass-paneled lid sitting where he had last left it. He used his Holy Sight to check the wards. As the guard had said, the wards were in place, in no way disturbed. His seal was unbroken. Yet the silk cloth upon which the blade had rested within the box was empty. The dagger was gone.

Iskerus used every detection ritual he could think of, but he could not detect the normally obvious magical presence of the Holy Artifact. He frowned and dispelled his wards. He then removed the chain around his neck with the key to the lock, and unlocked the box. He opened the lid, cracking the seal. It had been absolutely intact. This made no sense. He reached in and felt around the box, removing the cloth. The dagger was very clearly not there!

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 their 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-earned, 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!”

“I’m sorry. In no way did I intend to insult anyone, nor disrespect them. I was just trying to process the functionality of these temples. I meant no insult,” Tom said apologetically.

“You are the Lord of Doom. You cannot insult us; your word is law. However, we are still sensitive to certain words and phrases,” Darg-Krallnom told Tom.

Tom frowned. “Again, my apologies for the poor word choice.”

Darg-Krallnom shook his head. “No need, my lord. It is our issue, and we realize that you did not understand what you were implying. We understand and it shall go no further than this room.” He glared at everyone in the room.

“So, which Doomalogue is powering up first?” Tom asked, trying to change the subject.

Arg-nargoloth nodded and gave a tight grin before turning to look at the panels behind him. “Nysegard should be the first.” He nodded after looking. “And it is.”

“Why Nysegard?” Tom asked.

“Because that was one of the largest Doomalogues and busiest. That place is nasteeeeee…” Tizzy said.

“Nasty?” Tom asked, even as he saw the others nodding. What would demons and D’Orcs consider nasty?

“Indeed, my lord. It has one of the highest populations of Unlife in the multiverse. Necromancers, liches and about any form of Unlife that you can imagine,” Arg-nargoloth answered.

“So why visit it?” Tom asked.

“Because there are orcs there, and other of our allies. We provided protection to our allies there. All sorts of jötunnkind, as well as humans, dwarves and many others,” Arg-nargoloth said.

“Even a few Dok Sidhe races,” Völund added.

“Humans, dwarves, Dok Sidhe?” Tom asked, puzzled. “Okay, so I might get the Dok Sidhe.” Tom recognized the term for the dark fairy kingdom from his reading. “But I did not know that dwarves and humans were normally aligned with orcs.”

Darg-Krallnom shook his head in disagreement. “Dwarves are jötunnkind; they may often be estranged from us, tempted away by the cursed alfar, but they are kin. And humans? Humans are neutral; they are also rather unscrupulous and will side with whoever they think best serves their interests.”

“Not that different from orcs,” Tizzy noted.

Arg-nargoloth waved his fist at the octopod, threatening another punch.

“In any event, things in Nysegard are, or were, complex,” Arg-nargoloth said. “There are different factions on different continents, all arrayed against the Unlife, all trying to survive. The alfar have their alliances, which includes some humans and dwarves as well as heartheans and gnomes, and we have ours. There is not a lot of warfare between orcs and alfar on Nysegard. Certainly there is no trust, but there are bigger enemies to deal with.”

“So how many of these Doomalogues are there?” Tom asked.

“At the time of the incident, there were six hundred and sixty-six,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Six hundred and sixty-six?” Tom asked rather incredulously.

“Yeah, I know,” Tizzy commented. “Not a prime number, and thus not ideal. Six hundred and seventy-three were actually built, which is a prime number, but we lost a few.”

Völund made a rude noise and Tom looked at him.

“That cursed necromancer!” the smith said out the side of his mouth. Clearly, the man was holding a grudge.

“Necromancer? Is this tied to Nysegard?” Tom asked.

Arg-nargoloth shook his head. “No. Not at all, actually. Some of the Doomalogues were subverted and essentially stolen by a wizard we thought was an ally, but turned out to be a necromancer. Or rather, that is what he was calling himself in some realms. We eventually realized he wasn’t even a mortal—he, or she, was a corrupted arvokar.”

“Damn flea-bitten corpse never did pay me for those seven rings I forged for him!” Völund cursed.

“It was an epic betrayal,” Tizzy observed.

“That’s when we centralized control of the Doomalogues,” Darg-Krallnom told Tom. “Prior to that, they and their elemental portals were controlled locally. After that incident we centralized control here, so when we went down, the Doomalogues also shut down. If we hadn’t done that, they could probably have stayed up and helped power us.”

“So they have their own mana generators?” Tom asked.

“They did,” Völund said. “The generators would have shut down without the Wand of Orcus and Mount Doom’s central control.”

Tom shook his head. “Back to this necromancer... I can’t imagine Orcus sat still for this?”

Tizzy chuckled evilly.

“He did not. However, because so many of the orcs involved had been loyal to him before they were corrupted by the Unlife of this necromancer, he chose to take a different path than outright war with our former soldiers,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“I thought it was an insane idea!” Arg-nargoloth interjected.

“But it worked better than most anything else we’ve done. It got rid of the damn alvar!” Völund said.

“True. It worked, and we didn’t think it would,” Arg-nargoloth conceded.

“What did he do?” Tom asked.

“He took a page from the playbook of Sammael and several gods; he used subterfuge and misdirection to manipulate mortal agents into defeating the necromancer,” Darg-Krallnom told Tom.

“Very un-orc-like.” Arg-nargoloth said, sounding rather disapproving.

“But it worked so good, the alvar thought the world was safe and got on their stupid ships and sailed off to a different plane!” Tizzy chortled.

“First damn time we’ve ever been able to rid a plane of those vermin!” Darg-Krallnom said with a grin.

Tom was left pondering. This story sounded oddly familiar to him. However, he was pretty certain they couldn’t mean what it sounded like they were saying.

“I learned new respect for heartheans,” Arg-nargoloth said, chuckling. “Turns they are not just furry-footed vermin that eat all day long!”

“Eh,” Tizzy said.

“Eh?”

“Well, I don’t know. Still not that fond of them. They ended up getting a friend of mine killed,” Tizzy said.

“You had a friend there?” Arg-nargoloth asked suspiciously. “More importantly, you had a friend anywhere?”

Tizzy sneered at him. “Yes, I had a friend! He was former hearthean, lived in this cave. We used to spend hours trying to out-riddle each other! Really pleasant conversationalist. Sure, he was a tad paranoid, but then who isn’t?”

Tom closed his eyes. Was it too late to change his mind on whether this whole thing was real? He had been going on that assumption, but at times he really needed to question that decision. How could this possibly be his new reality? He shook his head and looked at the others. “Let’s head to the Oubliette.”

Courts of Chaos, Exador’s Penthouse

“So, you have news?” Bess asked Exador as she and Ramses sat down in chairs around Exador’s outdoor dining table on the patio of his Courts penthouse. Exador was pouring them Denubian Choco-CoffeeTM.

“I do,” Exador said. He finished pouring and gestured to the fruit assortment sitting on a chilling tray.

“From the Storm Lords?” Ramses asked.

“Storm Lords?” Bess asked, puzzled. “You mean the ruling Unlife in Nysegard?”

“Exactly,” Ramses nodded.

“Indeed, they have agreed to provide us with the forces we need to take Freehold, and thus the book,” Exador said, setting the Choco-CoffeeTM pot down on the table.

“How soon can they marshal the forces we need?” Ramses asked. Bess was looking back and forth between the two, seeming quite concerned.

“That, I fear, is the rub.” Exador sighed, sitting back to take a drink from his own cup. “They are currently preparing a cleanup exercise against one of the larger outposts of the Forces of Light in Nysegard. Once that is finished, they will be able to re-deploy on our behalf.”

“So we wait for them to clean it up?” Ramses asked. “Any idea how long this will take?”

“No, and it’s not exactly waiting; they’ve requested my assistance on the wizardly front,” Exador said.

“They have hundreds, if not thousands, of wizards. The liches are wizards; why do they need you?” Ramses asked.

Exador made a grimace. “They need assistance on certain technical aspects for certain types of wards. Apparently their previous expert turned to dust, quite literally, about a thousand years ago and some critical pieces of information were lost. They need my help in piecing it back together. I have actually been assisting them on and off for the last century, but push is now coming to shove, so to speak, as they ready their cleansing. ”

“Wait,” Bess ordered, interrupting. “Are you saying you have been negotiating with the Storm Lords, Unlife, for the army we need to seize the book?”

“Yes. That is what I am saying,” Exador replied, sounding quite pleased with himself.

“You seriously want Unlife anywhere near the book?” Bess shook her head. “Are you insane?”

Exador and Ramses both laughed.

“They know nothing of the book,” Exador explained. “We have convinced them that Lenamare is a threat to them. After all, it was at the hands of his minions that they suffered their latest defeat!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Bess shook her head again. “However, I am a little surprised that you think you can trust Unlife...”

Exador grinned. “They are, I admit, unpleasant; however, we have a long-standing and mutually advantageous relationship. To date, they have always been trustworthy.”

Bess shook her head again. “I don’t know. I do not like Unlife, and I really do not like to even think about the possibility of them getting the book.”

Exador shrugged. “Do not worry, I have this covered. I shall be more than happy to go into detail.”

“Please proceed then,” Bess said, gesturing at him. “I want to hear this.”

The Cathedral of the Notorious Dame

“Enter,” Lilith commanded as someone knocked at her study’s door.

“Mistress?” Lilith’s senior facilitator, cron, asked hesitantly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Yes, cron?” Lilith asked. cron was very old-school and incredibly detailed, and thus very sensitive to matters such as the case of his name. He always referred to himself in lowercase so as to indicate his subservience to his Mistress—who was always capitalized, even in pronouns.

“One fears that one has an unscheduled visitor of some import demanding to converse with Thy Worshipfulness. It is a baron or perhaps a baroness; the translation was unclear, Tartibsizlik.”

“Tartibsizlik?” Lilith said as her normally sour countenance soured further.

“One fears so, Mistress. (S)he is awaiting thy attention in the third green room.”

Lilith shook her head ruefully; she had been dreading this meeting for some time. She was actually surprised it had taken Chaos so long to respond.

“Very well, you may present hir to me in audience chamber forty-two in seven deminutes,” Lilith informed her facilitator.

~

Lilith settled herself in the casual throne in audience chamber forty-two. It was a chamber designed to host visitors of a distinguished, yet not peer level, rank. It was designed and laid out to project her strength, yet not be too threatening to the visitor.

Yshmael and Erenael, two of her more militant-appearing archdemon courtiers, were sitting to either side of her in chairs, acting as if they were engaged in casual parlor conversation. They were not, of course; it was simply for pretense. Both were quite familiar with their roles in such proceedings.

A small gong went off and the double doors to the twenty-foot-square chamber opened, admitting one of her butlers followed by Tartibsizlik. The baron(ess) was wearing hir typical-loose fitting garment. It was somewhere between a set of robes, bound at the waist and with legs that tucked into boots, and a military uniform. The color scheme varied by the deminute, flowing through a spectrum of colors and shades on a continual and seemingly random basis.

Lilith nodded politely at the baron(ess) as (s)he approached. Hir expression was, Lilith believed, quite serious, although given that hir face, not unlike hir robes, continuously morphed into different, mostly humanoid colors, shapes, bone structures and genders, it was more than a little bit difficult to be sure what hir expression was.

“Tartibsizlik. As always, a pleasure to see you.” Lilith smiled tightly.

“Greetings, Mistress of the Abyss,” Tartibsizlik greeted her in return.

“How may I be of service to the Lords of Chaos?” Lilith asked.

“You may recall that you recently pressed upon me for the use of a Chaos Maelstrom?” Tartibsizlik asked.

“Indeed. They seem to have encountered some difficulties,” Lilith replied carefully. “I assume by secondhand reports that they were defeated? I received no direct report.”

“That is, perhaps, more than we received,” Tartibsizlik said.

“Indeed?” Lilith arched an eyebrow in surprise.

“Indeed. Two days ago, Court time, the remnant tachyon streams of seven of our knights returned to the entroposphere. The other sixteen have yet to return, and we have been unable to detect their energy signatures in the continuum.”

Lilith grimaced. “That strikes me as unusual. I thought a knight’s energy pattern always returned to the Source?”

“Indeed.”

The silence was thick in the room; finally, Lilith spoke again.

“Well, would that not imply they remain—functional?” Lilith was not sure the term “alive” applied to Knights of Chaos.

“One should think,” Tartibsizlik said. “The only way to completely remove a knight’s signature energy pattern would be to lock it in a ground-state configuration. A full ordering at ground state would completely eliminate the original signature, even if the energy was subsequently released.”

Lilith thought for a moment, or pretended to. Based on the reports, she was almost certain that that was exactly what had happened. “I am not sure how that would be possible. Certainly, no demon could do such a thing.” She shrugged. “Therefore, your knights must still be alive.”

Tartibsizlik simply stared at her, hir face shifting in race and gender every half deminute or so. Finally, the baron(ess) continued. “Do you seriously think that a Knight of Chaos would remain prisoner for any length of time? It would fight to the death for its freedom and to return to the Source.”

“So how can I help you?” Lilith asked, trying to end this standoff.

“Who or what was the target of the Maelstrom?” Tartibsizlik asked.

Lilith shrugged. “Mount Doom.”

Tartibsizlik blinked in a highly unusual display of surprise. “Mount Doom? Is it not shut down?”

“It has been relit by a demon who claims to be the heir of Orcus.”

Tartibsizlik tilted hir robed head. “A challenger to the status quo?”

“No,” Lilith said emphatically. “It is an attempt to reestablish an old order. This demon seeks to restore the Order of Doom. An order that these courts”—she gestured to their surroundings—“the Courts of Chaos, are dedicated to challenging.”

Tartibsizlik stared at Lilith for several moments. S(he) was the only person Lilith had ever met—or rather, the only non-divine person she had ever met, who could behave so unnervingly in her presence. Lilith was the one who was supposed to make others uncomfortable.

“Very well,” Tartibsizlik finally said, nodding to her. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

“As always, you are welcome.” Lilith smiled graciously.

Tartibsizlik bowed. “I take my leave, Your Majesty.”

“Of course,” Lilith replied. The baron(ess) turned abruptly and marched towards the doors, which quickly opened for hir at the butler’s hand wave.

As the doors closed with a solid thud, Yshmael coughed politely. “(S)he gives me the creeps,” the archdemon said.

“Indeed,” Lilith replied.

The Inferno

The bridge had been cleared of extraneous personnel, leaving only Captain Cranshall, the bridge crew at their stations, Chancellor Alighieri, Wing Arms Master Heron and Arch-Vicar General Barabus. Currently the captain and crew were going through their very thorough set of operational checklists for launching a new aerial vessel. Once done, the captain would relay the results to Wing Arms Master Heron.

As Barabus understood things, once Chancellor Alighieri had ceremonially turned the ship over to Captain Cranshall, the vessel was under military control and not that of the chancellery. This meant that the captain was the supreme commander of the vessel, reporting to Wing Arms Master Heron on matters of strategy and specifically, the mission. Operational command of the Inferno was Captain Cranshall’s sole province. This, Heron had told him, was in line with how their traditional aerial fleets worked.

It was, of course, not completely different from how the Rod worked. The Rod’s ships were actually provided by the Church of Namora and manned by her fleet sailors. The Rod were essentially the chartering clients of a large part of Namora’s fleet; Torean’s Rangers chartered a large number of ships as well. The remainder of the fleet that was not chartered was used to patrol and protect the Holy Etonian Empire’s interests at sea.

As a client, Barabus could tell fleet officers where to go and when he wanted to be there; but it was at their sole discretion as to how that was achieved. Thus, things were not dissimilar to Barabus’s role at sea; however, due to the Oorstemoth’ s more integrated forces, Heron could also order ships to attack enemy vessels. Under normal conditions, Barabus could only request such assistance. In the event of a war, as declared by the Holy Etonian Emperor, Barabus’s rank would become that of Holy Etonian Warlord, and he would have overriding command of the Rod, the Rangers, and the Fleet, as well as the Sky Wardens of Krinna and the Healers of Hendel.

Captain Cranshall presented the checklist to Heron, who reviewed it. “I wish circumstances had allowed me to review the items on this checklist in more depth ahead of time, Captain. There are enough variations from our traditional ships that I am not completely confident of my full comprehension of the list; however, I trust that you and Chancellor Alighieri have been thorough in your preparation of this list, in accordance with all appropriate military and legal standards?” He looked at the Captain and Chancellor.

“Aye, Arms Master. We have followed all standard new ship documentation and checklist protocols and are confident in this list,” the captain replied.

“Our courageous captain is completely correct—” Dante began.

“Excellent then. Approved!” Heron quickly snapped, cutting the chancellor off in midsentence to avoid another long and tedious answer.

“XO Stevensword?” the captain barked.

“All required and optional systems are go! All dock tethers are free and clear!” the executive officer shouted back.

At least the Oorstemothians can speak tersely when needed, thought Barabus. That was a huge relief.

“Bring us to hangar launch altitude,” the captain ordered. XO Stevensword began issuing the commands to raise the ship out of her cradle.

“Mister Tallswan, inform the hanger crew to open the hanger doors!” Cranshall ordered.

“Contacting,” the comms officer replied.

As the Inferno rose above her cradle, as indicated by the viewing mirror at the front of the bridge, the hangar doors began parting. Once they had fully opened, Cranshall ordered, “Take us out, Stevensword!”

A rumble from the belly of the Inferno could be felt as the forward drive engines engaged and the ship began moving forward, with a deep and oddly comforting thrumming sensation felt throughout the ship. Barabus was impressed by the seemingly effortless motion of the giant vessel. This thing was huge, and very heavy, but it was proceeding forward incredibly smoothly. Far smoother than any ship he had been on; much more like one of the giant imperial carpets that the emperor and his family used.

Within a few moments, the ship’s viewing mirror was showing an unobstructed view of the outside landscape. Barabus could see Keeper’s City off to the far left in the mirror.

Another few moments and XO Stevensword shouted, “We are clear of the hangar, sir!”

“Excellent! Take us to an altitude of six leagues!” Captain Cranshall ordered.

Barabus saw Heron start. “Six leagues?” The wing arms master asked. Ninety-five thousand feet was extremely high, but he had little experience with flying ships like the Inferno.

“Indeed, sir. The Inferno can go anywhere. Based on our information on Abyssal topology, we felt that six leagues would be sufficient height to avoid most of the local topology,” the captain said.

Chancellor Alighieri opened his mouth to begin expounding on the subject, but Heron hastily replied, “This is excellent! It should facilitate things greatly when serving justice to the Grove.” He was smiling broadly, with what seemed to be a determined sparkle in his eye. “We are all aware of the issues we’ve had getting our ships over their mountains.”

Actually, Barabus had not been aware of that. He really knew very little about the Grove, other than that it was extremely well guarded by what many had described as an impenetrable mountain range. He was a bit curious to know what justice Oorstemoth felt needed serving in the Grove, but given that was far outside the current scope of their agreements, he had no desire to inquire.

Barabus felt quite heavy suddenly; it was if gravity were trying to pull him down with twice its normal strength. He looked at the viewing mirror and realized that the Inferno was rising straight up with remarkable acceleration. So his previous guess was correct; it moved like a flying carpet, but rather than a soft carpet pulling one upwards, there was a hard metal floor doing so.

Wing Arms Master Heron braced himself on a nearby railing.

“Well, this is interesting!” He glanced at the captain. “Full vertical launch?”

“For secrecy purposes, the Chancellor has requested that we try to limit the exposure of the Inferno to outside parties. What spies do not realize we have, they cannot report to their masters,” Captain Cranshall explained.

“Exactly. Early estimates of—” the chancellor said, about to expound upon the captain’s statement.

“Understood and approved,” Heron said quickly, once more cutting of the Chancellor before he could bore them to death.

Barabus suppressed a grin; the chancellor was looking a bit frustrated.

“Captain?” Heron continued. “As I understand it, we will be using an Abyssal Gateway?”

“Indeed, sir,” the captain responded quickly before Chancellor Alighieri could open his mouth. “Testing revealed that opening an AG and then going through it, much as the demon who stole the Arch-Vicar General’s knight did, is the most mana-efficient manner in which to transport a vessel with so much metal. As you know, getting large amounts of metal through the Astral Plane to any other plane is extremely mana-intensive.”

Heron nodded. “So we would also use dimensional gateways to go to other planes, rather than phased transitions?”

“Indeed,” the captain agreed. “However, if we wanted to go to the Astral Plane, we would need to use a phased transition, given that the Astral Plane is completely immaterial.”

“Would this be true of the aether as well?” Barabus asked curiously.

“Indeed, it would. Both would be extremely expensive; far more so than a ‘ghost ship,’ since ghost ships are generally almost entirely wooden with only iron bindings, fixtures and such,” Chancellor Alighieri explained.

“Altitude of six leagues achieved, sir!” XO Stevensword barked.

Everyone turned their attention back to the executive officer at this, relieving Barabus, for the moment, of further scrutiny.

“Excellent. Begin the checklist for the Abyssal Gateway,” the captain ordered.

“Where in the Abyss will we be upon entry?” Heron asked the captain.

The captain paused and glanced toward the chancellor at this question, who shrugged and nodded to the captain to proceed.

“That is a problematic issue.” Captain Cranshall replied.

“Problematic?” Heron asked.

“Yes, sir,” the captain said with a sigh. “We do not have any good maps or reference points for the Abyss. In fact, finding an actual spell for an Abyssal Gateway proved to be quite difficult. No one in Oorstemoth has traveled to the Abyss since the days of Ponchas VII. Not, at least, that we have documented records of.”

Heron blinked. “So over a thousand years?”

“Yes, and even then, what records we have are rather sketchy,” the captain admitted.

“So we are going in blind and could end up anywhere?” Heron asked.

Barabus felt slightly ill.

“Not anywhere, sir. That’s one reason for our high altitude. It’s highly unlikely that the gateway will open into the middle of the Courts of Chaos or someplace like that.”

Heron closed his eyes. Barabus swallowed hard.

“In that case, we must go in at full battle stations. Highest alert. I don’t want to be ambushed,” Heron ordered.

“As planned, sir,” Captain Cranshall replied, nodding in agreement.

Barabus strapped himself into the bridge observation chair next to Chancellor Alighieri. Wing Arms Master Heron was a few feet away, in the flag officer’s seat. Captain Cranshall had taken the conn from XO Stevensword, who was seated in another chair in front of a set of panels with various arcane controls. When the ship had gone to battle stations, the lighting on the bridge had turned red. Barabus supposed this was to avoid any ambiguity as to the defensive status of the ship.

“Captain, all systems are go for opening the Abyssal Gateway. The Gateway Coordinator is locked and loaded on the best coordinates we have in the Abyss. Awaiting your command!” XO Stevensword said before turning back to his panels.

“Very well. Mister Moorcock,” the captain said to the dimensional helmsman, “open the Abyssal Gateway!”

The area surrounding the viewing mirror—what Barabus had thought of as the frame—suddenly lit up in a quick succession of magical runes. One would light up and then another would light as the current one went dark. In the mirror itself, at a point about fifty feet ahead of the ship, a disturbance appeared in the air. It appeared to Barabus as if he had been looking at a painting of the sky from above the clouds, and the invisible hand of the artist had started smearing the colors.

And then it got really weird as the space seemed to warp. Suddenly there was what appeared to be a twisted reflection of the Inferno in the space; this was quickly engulfed in flames as a fireball appeared to burst in the distorted spot and a ring of fire began expanding rapidly, perpendicular to the Inferno’s keel. Inside the widely coruscating ring of flames was a red sky.

As the ring increased to a diameter large enough for the ship to pass through, Barabus saw white-topped red mountains in the distance. He shook his head, once more rethinking the wisdom of this foolish quest. They were about to travel where no mortal should ever go... into the very heart of darkness and evil.

“Abyssal Gateway is stable and fully open,” Mister Moorcock reported.

“Mister Cerenkov, take us through,” Captain Cranshall ordered the ship’s traditional helmsman.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Mister Cerenkov replied, shifting a T-shaped handle forward.

Barabus closed his eyes and began praying to the highest power that he could think of, short of Tiernon himself: his patron archon, Sentir Fallon. He felt the ship move forward smoothly, but kept his eyes closed.

“We are through, sir. We have cleared the Abyssal Gateway!” Mister Cerenkov stated.

“What’s our status? Are we detecting any enemy combatants?” the captain barked.

“Negative. No sign of life, nor animus, on my sensors,” XO Stevensword responded.

“Sorcery detects nothing,” Helferth, the chief sorcery officer reported.

“Do a full sweep on the main viewing mirror,” the captain ordered. One of the crew adjusted some dials and the mirror began panning around them.

What a depressing landscape! Barabus thought to himself. The Abyss, at least where they were at in it, was a giant rust-colored desert. From what he could see at this altitude, it appeared to have very rugged and arid terrain. Large plateaus were intermixed with giant chasms and ravines, and some insanely tall and relatively thin pillars reaching into the sky.

Barabus frowned. Those relatively spindly pillars seemed to defy every law of geomancy that he knew of. Admittedly, as a soldier, his knowledge of the subject was cursory, but gut-level common sense told him that this place did not obey any normal rules.

He suddenly noticed that at lower altitude, there were brief bursts of light every so often in random locations. Some were so far away as to be sparkles.

“Sorcery, what are those lights?” the captain asked.

“Hmm... ” Helferth was studying a crystal ball. “They appear to be spontaneously erupting balls of fire and/or plasma.”

“Plasma?” Heron asked.

“Super-heated gas with a very large electrical charge,” Chancellor Alighieri replied. “Essentially the epitome of elemental Fire.”

Barabus blinked and looked askance at the chancellor. That was the second time he’d answered in a reasonable manner. Clearly, this place was disturbing him as well. Is that sweat on the man’s brow? If so, is it a good thing or a bad thing? Barabus wondered nervously to himself.

“All systems within acceptable limits, Captain,” XO Stevensword said.

“Internal air temperatures and pressures are as expected,” the chief enchantment officer reported. “External temperature at this altitude is approximately one half vapor point.” He paused for a moment. “Atmospheric pressure is roughly that of sea level.”

“At six leagues?” Heron asked. “That is not right.”

“That is what I am detecting,” Xerxes, the CEO, replied.

“This place does not seem to obey the normal rules of physics,” Barabus noted.

“A known problem on some planes,” the chancellor said. “We’ve tried to account for every possibility. So far, so good.”

“Hmm.” Barabus nodded. He now understood the sweat on the man’s brow.

“Very well. Close the gateway,” the captain ordered.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Mr. Moorcock replied.

Within a few moments, Barabus felt a strange sensation of queasiness, an anxious nausea in the pit of his stomach. He breathed in and out, trying to ease this sudden anxiety attack.

“Portal closed. We are now firmly in the Abyss!” Mr. Moorcock shouted.

“Excellent!” the captain said, rotating in his chair to face Heron, the chancellor and Barabus. “Welcome to the Abyss, gentlemen!”

Barabus started to smile tentatively, even as he distantly heard a number of wails coming from various passageways leading to other parts of the ship. Multiple individuals were crying and shouting. It took him a moment to make out what they were saying.

“Tiernon! Tiernon, Lord! Why hast thou forsaken me?” Barabus made out one of the voices speaking.

“I can’t feel Saint Roderick’s presence!”

“Saint Hilda preserve us!”

“Almighty Tiernon! Where is your protection?”

“Forgive us for what we’ve done! Lord, do not abandon your servants!”

Barabus felt his blood curdling in his veins as deep-seated fear took hold of his stomach.

“Damn. I was afraid of something like this,” Chancellor Alighieri said in a slightly higher octave than normal.

Yes, the man was definitely sweating, Barabus noted.

Chapter 125

Oubliette

“In 41,972 MDT, we implemented the Orion protocol for all new entrants,” Phaestus said. “The Orion protocol is still the prisoner intake protocol in use today—or rather, the last time we had a new prisoner.”

“Although we did have a revision to it in 46,032,” Arg-nargoloth added.

“True,” Phaestus said, nodding, “and again in 48,344. Generally, whenever we have issues with an intake.”

Tom was hoping these dates would not be on a test. He had thought he had escaped going to school and taking tests when he was forcefully relocated to the Abyss. However, that was not the case with Tartarus. Who would have thought that Demonic Overlords had to worry about grades? Tom shook his head, smiling at the thought before noticing that Tizzy was making some very odd faces. Talk about being back in school!

The octopod was wrinkling his nose and making spitting motions with his mouth. It was, in fact, a series of severely disquieting grimaces.

Phaestus and Arg-nargoloth stopped their discussion, noticing Tizzy’s faces. “What is the matter with you?” Phaestus asked Tizzy.

“Ick. Stinky cheese! Nasty, horrible stinky cheese, left to rot in a smelly sweaty boot!” Tizzy answered, looking very annoyed. “Ack, ack. Unpleasant, unpleasant.” He shook his head back and forth and waved air into his face with all four hands, as if trying to clear the smell. “Anyone got a handkerchief? I need to blow this smell out of my nose!”

“Sorry,” Tom said.

Phaestus shook his head, reached into a pocket and handed Tizzy a handkerchief.

Gods blow their noses? Tom thought bemusedly.

Tizzy took the handkerchief in both hands and proceeded to deliver what had to be the most noxious, squishy, slimy-sounding nasal explosion Tom had ever heard.

“Whew!” Tizzy exclaimed, pulling the handkerchief back from his face and looking at the mucus before folding the now-soggy handkerchief up. “Much better!” He tried to hand it back to Phaestus, but the god grimaced and gestured for Tizzy to keep it.

“What was that all about?” Arg-nargoloth asked.

Tizzy shrugged. “Not sure. Just smelled this terribly rancid odor. Seriously unpleasant.”

Tom became alarmed. Tizzy could smell newcomers to the Abyss. “Have you ever smelled this odor before?”

Tizzy shrugged again and scrunched his face. “No—or at least not this bad, or complex. I mean, there were some odor components that reminded me of your tin can”—he pointed upwards towards Doom, where Talarius was—“but far worse. There was also another scent that I have no idea what it was, and it rather overwhelmed everything.”

“So can we expect visitors?” Tom asked.

Tizzy once more shrugged, but this time to indicate that he didn’t know.

“Ugh.” Tom shook his head. “Well, let’s worry about that later tonight. We’ll have to see if there is some way to get more information.”

Freehold, Havestan Gardens Inn

“So that’s what we know,” Hilda finished, summarizing for Trisfelt her and Gamos’s adventures down in Murgatroy. For consistency’s sake, they had gone with the same story that they had told the Nimbus crew. There was no question that Trisfelt and Jenn would eventually compare notes.

“Amazing—and disturbing.” Trisfelt shook his head. He started to pour more wine before realizing they had emptied the bottle.

“It is…” Hilda trailed off, frowning. Something, suddenly, was not right. After the incident outside the walls here, she had set up notification alerts if any of her illuminaries suddenly went offline, and her HALO was notifying her that a good number of them had just done exactly that!

Trisfelt noticed Hilda’s sudden silence and disquiet. “Are you okay?”

Hilda tilted her head to the side, frowning. “I am not sure… ” Noticing Trisfelt’s concern, she shook her head. “Sorry. I myself am fine. I just have some links to some of my patients and those links were just broken.”

Trisfelt raised an eyebrow in concern, clearly hearing the concern in Hilda’s voice. “Do you need to go investigate?”

Hilda grimaced. Something was seriously wrong. “I am so sorry, but I think I need to investigate. It may be nothing. It is certainly nothing I would have expected, so perhaps it is simply a glitch, but I fear I must check on them.”

Trisfelt nodded in understanding. “Then by all means, go,” he said, standing to see Hilda out.

Tierhallon

Hilda made her way through the halls of Tierhallon towards the meeting room as quickly as was seemly. As soon as she’d gotten free of the city’s wards, she’d blasted off an alert to the others that a major event had happened and that they needed to meet.

She opened the door to see Moradel already there and looking concerned. As she started closing the door, Baysir Tomgren, the Prophet of Astlan, stopped the door from closing and entered.

“Hilda.” He nodded to her. “I am sure you must have felt it as well?”

“I have, Prophet. It is quite troubling.”

“What is it? I got your message first, Hilda, and then not a minute later, word from Baysir,” Moradel said.

At that point Stevos and Beragamos entered the room.

“What’s up?” Beragamos asked.

“What is missing is the better question,” Baysir replied, even as Sentir Fallon slid in through the door.

“Hilda?” Beragamos turned to the saint.

“A few moments before I notified you, I lost contact with several of my illuminaries and followers. I am trying to sort it out, but about half of my people that were with the Rod in Freehold have suddenly gone dark.”

Baysir nodded. “I’ve gotten the same reports from other saints, and have verified it myself.”

“How many?” Moradel asked worriedly.

Baysir shook his head. “It’s hard to count, particularly with followers, but I am thinking at least fifty priests, possibly more. All had been somewhere in Norelon.”

“How could fifty priests and who knows how many followers, presumably Rod members, all go dark at the same time?” Stevos asked.

“Lenamare blowing up a temple?” Beragamos suggested. “As I recall, he has a penchant for mass annihilation.”

“We need to check with Reception, right now,” Moradel said. “If they all died, they will be showing up there.”

Sentir Fallon gave a small shake of his head, seeming to wake from a trance. “I just now asked Rasterus, who is on duty there. At the moment, it is business as usual. He will notify me if he gets a large influx.”

“We need to check our prayer queues. Surely, if there was any notice of something like this about to happen, we’d have some prayers,” Moradel told the others.

Baysir nodded. “I will have every saint in Astlan comb through their prayer queues. We’ve made some operational changes since the greater demon incident. We should be able to pinpoint the problem much quicker this time.”

Beragamos sighed. “I really hope this sort of thing is not becoming commonplace. However, from what we are seeing, I am not feeling optimistic.”

The Inferno

“Okay, do we have everyone here?” Barabus asked his assistant. They, the priests and Rod members were crowded into the largest space on the Inferno: the staging and deployment hold. It was a very tight fit for the fifty-four priests, one hundred and twenty-five Rod members and the three knights.

“Yes,” Terses, his personal assistant, told Barabus.

“Everyone, I know you are all quite upset and feeling lost!” Barabus’ voice echoed across the chamber thanks to his Necklace of Vocal Projection; very useful for a commander. There was much more than a little confirmation in the response of his audience.

“I have discussed the situation with Chancellor Alighieri,” Barabus continued, gesturing to the chancellor behind him, standing next to Wing-Arms Master Heron. Discussion was something of an understatement. He’d had a very heated exchange with the chancellor over why they had not been informed of this possibility.

“The situation we have found ourselves in is not completely unexpected, and it is nothing to panic about. Our links to Tierhallon are interrupted, but not broken. We have not been abandoned, nor forsaken.”

The rumblings from the audience implied that he had a hard sell.

“While the chancellor had not been certain, due to the fact that no one in Oorstemoth has travelled to the Abyss in over a thousand years and the records were very sketchy, there were hints that what we are experiencing is a simple property of the Abyss,” Barabus said. “I have also confirmed with Brother Talbot, our own historical expert on the Abyss, that there are some mentions of this in ancient Tiernonic tomes that this phenomenon is natural, and in fact a requirement for the existence of the Abyss.” He was also not amused that Brother Talbot had not brought this up; but then of course, Barabus had never met the brother until after entering the Abyss.

“What was not unexpected?” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Apparently,” Barabus told them, “it is impossible to link between the Abyss and the Outer Planes. The Planes of Man are, essentially, according to Brother Talbot, a neutral ground between the heavens and hell. Links between the Outer Planes and the Planes of Man work fine, and links between the Planes of Man and the Abyss work fine; however, these links cannot traverse from the Outer Planes through the Planes of Man to the Abyss.”

Barabus could barely contain his frustration at himself as well as other senior members of the Church and his own advisors. They should not have rushed into this so quickly, so blindly. It was a critical failure of intelligence and due diligence. However, he could only truly blame himself.

“So what does this mean?” someone shouted.

“It means that we are cut off from Tiernon and his avatars. As long as we are in the Abyss, we will have to rely on the mana we have with us, and what we can generate and maintain here,” Barabus said. He noted Diocate Temerlain nodding behind him. Temerlain was the senior member of the Church on this mission, and one of Iskerus’s most trusted lieutenants.

As expected, there were a number of mutters and groans at this news.

“Why can’t we just keep a gateway open so our links work?” one of the priests called to them.

Barabus blinked; that sounded quite reasonable. He looked to the chancellor.

“Uhm, yes,” the chancellor began. “Three issues. First, we do not have the mana resources to keep a gate open perpetually. Secondly, we can’t move the gate, so the Inferno would have to stay in one place. And finally, our gateway generator creates a hole large enough for this ship to traverse. If we were to leave such a large hole open in reality, eventually demons would find it and pour through to Astlan. As you can imagine, that would not be good.”

Barabus inhaled deeply. That certainly answered the question. “However, do not fear! Chancellor Alighieri has generously opened the treasury on board the Inferno to provide us with gemstones from which to create Holy Mana pools. Furthermore, to ensure the success of our mission, Wing Arms Master Heron has asked the crew to join us in worship services in good faith, so that we may accumulate mana from more sources and store it in mana pools for use by our priests.”

That seemed to cheer the priests up a little bit.

“We will now take questions; please raise your hands if you have a question,” Barabus told the audience, and sighed at the sea of hands that shot into the air. He gestured to a Rod member near the front.

“If we are cut off from Tiernon and his avatars, and links do not work, then are we not also cut off from Tierhallon?” the soldier asked.

“Yes, I think that is implied,” Diocate Temerlain confirmed tersely beside Barabus.

Barabus started to move onto the next question when the soldier spoke up again. “So if we get slain by a demon down here, how are our souls supposed to get to Tierhallon?” The room went deathly quiet for a few moments before utter pandemonium broke out.

Courts of Chaos, The RMS: DOA + 4, Mid Fifth Period

Zargoffelstan set his empty mug on the bar of The Ripe Young Maiden’s Surprise and grimaced. He nodded to the bartender, the boy-demon Tut, to refill his mug. He really should not be drinking another. His purse was rapidly emptying; he had not been to Astlan much lately and so had been unable to snag things to sell in the Abyss for cash.

Tut set a new mug down and smiled at Zargoffelstan. “Zarg, I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately. Did you off your accursed master? I thought you liked him.”

Zargoffelstan frowned. “No, he’s still alive, but he’s trapped in Freehold on Astlan behind these anti-demon wards so he cannot summon me. Consequently, I have no work and no opportunities to snag stuff from Astlan to sell here, so I’m drinking my money away!”

Tut shook his head in sympathy. “Freehold? They still have the wards up all this time after expelling the demons?”

“No, they went down, and I got back in for a bit, but apparently one of the Councilors of Wizardry—Lenamare’s archenemy, Exador—was exposed as an archdemon pretending to be a wizard, and there was a big battle and Freehold put the wards back up. Sent me scrambling again!”

“An archdemon posing as a wizard? That is so bizarre!” Tut said.

Zargoffelstan nodded, it was unheard of and completely irrational.

“That greater demon has set off a whole chain of events,” Tut observed.

Zargoffelstan nodded. “Tell me about it. You know I’ve met him?”

Tut did a double-take. “You’ve met the greater demon that stole the knight?”

Zargoffelstan took a drink from his mug before replying. “Early on, I had to protect my accursed master from him.” He did not fail to notice the look of skepticism on the bartender’s face; he was used to it. “Yes, my accursed master works for the wizard Lenamare, who is the greater demon’s accursed master.”

Tut shook his head and suddenly seemed much more interested in Zargoffelstan’s story. “Oh, this is juicy. You need to tell me the whole story!”

Zargoffelstan smiled sadly. “I can tell you a bit, but as I said, I’m going broke quickly, so I can’t stay for too long.”

“Not a problem!” Tut said, grinning. “This is killer detail on the most talked-about thing in the Abyss in centuries! Drinks are on me!”

Zargoffelstan was surprised by the offer, but one didn’t look a gift basilisk in the face! He grinned and nodded, making a toasting gesture towards the bartender.

Tierhallon

“Well, they don’t seem to be dead, just cut off,” Sentir Fallon told the others at their reconvened meeting several hours after their first hasty meeting on the new crisis.

“I’ve been tracing who I have left in Norelon and who is missing,” Hilda said. “As far as I can tell, all my remaining illuminaries and their flocks are still camped outside Freehold. The ones that are now missing are the ones that left on ships for parts unknown shortly after the demon expulsion.”

“Where did those ships go?” Moradel asked.

Baysir shook his head. “Not completely clear, but I suspect Oorstemoth.”

“Oorstemoth?” Beragamos asked.

“Once we began to suspect they were in the contingent that departed, I queried our saints with the most illuminaries in Justicia to see if there were any clues. We are still working on it, but there seems to have been a great deal of thought and prayer surrounding some agreement with Oorstemoth,” Baysir said.

“A deal with Oorstemoth? That seems exceedingly unusual,” Moradel said.

“Indeed,” Sentir Fallon agreed, frowning.

“Further,” Baysir continued, “the Arch-Vicar General of the Rod was apparently leading the team that left Freehold.”

“He has been confirmed missing as well,” Sentir Fallon said, nodding. “I have a long history of being a patron of the arch-vicar generals. In my prayer queue, I found a brief prayer for protection and guidance from Arch-Vicar General Barabus; it seems to have been but minutes before they were cut off.”

Hilda shook her head; this was not good. Their principal problem was that, unless a priest did a chant or ritualistic prayer, such as used in a blessing or benediction, they did not get clear messages. Ad hoc, silent prayers conveyed emotions; sentiment with no really solid details. Oddly, there had been no prayer rituals regarding whatever had happened; at least, none that they had identified so far. There were quite a few saints that still needed to report in.

“Have you been able to identify any illuminaries in Oorstemoth?” Beragamos asked. “It would be exceedingly unusual to find one of our priests there, so if we did, that would tell us where they went.”

“We suspect there are,” Baysir replied, “but you know how hard it is to track specific individuals and their location if they are not actively using mana. And at the moment, since we started looking this afternoon, we are seeing nothing other than minimal routine rituals in all of Norelon. Presumably, eventide or morningtide might present some opportunities.”

Moradel nodded. “Have everyone who had illuminaries with the Rod in Freehold keep a very close eye out. A morning worship service will be our next best opportunity.”

The Abyss

Sam finished hammering his most recent piton into the side of the cliff. As a rule, he preferred to use camming devices, which were non-destructive to the mountain face; however, there were some spots on a good climb, particularly in the Abyss, where only a piton would work, and this was one.

The few subordinates he had that were willing to speak their mind to him thought that his clean-climb philosophy was a bit superfluous in a plane like the Abyss, where there were essentially infinite numbers of mountains to climb and relatively few mountain climbers. Sam’s standard response was that he considered the Abyss his home, and he had no desire to deface and damage his home by pounding random, unnecessary giant spikes into the walls. That sort of destructive activity was, as he liked to point out, what the Planes of Man were for.

After attaching the carabiner to the piton and looping his rope through it, Sam paused to take a breath. He glanced down below his footing on the wall at the sheer five thousand foot drop he had been scaling. An incredible sight. Such views were so much more satisfying when secured to a cliff face by fragile ropes and climbing anchors, rather than simply flapping one’s wings in the air or using magic. Rope, muscle and metal—that was where the challenge was, where the sport came from.

As he rested, listening to the sound of his own breathing, Sam suddenly noticed a loud thrumming sound coming from overhead and behind him. He twisted his body and craned his head to get a view of where the sound was coming from. In doing so, he suddenly felt a vibration in the rock to which he was clinging. That vibration seemed keyed to the thrumming noise.

Sam blinked at the sight above and behind his position. There was a very large semi-cylindrical metal object floating through the sky above him. He phased his demon sight in to get a better look at this truly odd spectacle. The object was made out of metal; what appeared to be iron, steel, mithral and adamantite as well as a few others. Every inch of the surface was engraved with runes, pentacles and other arcane spellcraft. Many of the runes were glowing, throbbing with light and power in time to the thrumming noise.

He shook his head. The object was at least a thousand feet long, perhaps two hundred feet wide and eighty or ninety feet tall. It looked like nothing so much as a giant Typhoon-class submarine from one of the Earths. However, this monstrosity was at least twice the size of the one of those Soviet-era nuclear submarines. The other difference was that this thing had what appeared to be three conning towers. The main tower was in the middle and was proportional to a Typhoon class conning tower. There were two others of about half the size of the central tower; one at the front, another at the back.

The vessel was flying over the top of the giant mesa he was climbing, about five hundred feet to his right. Sam frowned in consternation. What is this thing? Where did it come from, and how in the Abyss did I not know about it? His mental alarm bells were now going off. Which of his numerous enemies was responsible for this thing?

Sam adjusted his eyes to focus on the side of the main conning tower. It was at a pretty steep angle, but he could make out a flag painted on one of its sides. He brought the flag into focus. It was not that large, so it took only demonic magnification to read it. He blinked. He looked again and shook his head.

It was the flag of Oorstemoth in Astlan. He would recognize that sign anywhere; there was only one Oorstemoth in the multiverse, thankfully. Sam had to admit this was truly dumbfounding. Knowing the Oorstemothians well—or at least, he had known them well—he could imagine the purpose. They were interested in extending the rule of their law into the Abyss. They were clearly planning to arrest or subpoena demons that they felt had broken their rather byzantine and, quite honestly, arbitrary laws.

Sam sighed. So much for the climb. He needed to investigate and get a handle on this before things got out of hand. Or more precisely, into the hands of one of his enemies.

Tierhallon: DOA + 4, Mid Sixth Period

“We have a priest in Oorstemoth,” Baysir told the quickly reassembled Astlanian response team.

“Excellent!” Moradel said, pleased.

“Actually, we had a few priests conduct small worship services along with some ritual prayers for fellow priests and Rod members on some sort of sacred mission,” Baysir told them.

“A sacred mission?” Beragamos asked with a worried note in his voice. “Given that they are in Oorstemoth on a sacred mission, I am more than a little concerned.”

“Particularly since none of us in Tierhallon seem to know anything about this mission,” Moradel said, grimacing.

“Any idea of what the sacred mission is?” Hilda asked.

Baysir shook his head. “No, but we are reasonably sure it is some sort of joint mission with the Oorstemothians.”

That caused a number of indrawn breaths. A joint Church and Rod mission with Oorstemoth? That was quite unprecedented.

“Given that their first convocation or alliance with Oorstemoth was in Freehold and they left the city together, I have to believe this concerns Lenamare’s demon,” Sentir Fallon said.

“I do not see how this can be good.” Beragamos shook his head.

“I think we may need to ‘visit’ one of these priests and get more information. Is there one who would fit a good profile for a Dream Sending?” Moradel asked.

Baysir gave a tight-lipped grin. “Well, in terms of one I think we can keep quiet, the High Priest of Gizzor Del is there.”

“Verigas?” Moradel asked.

“The priest that started this mess for us?” Stevos asked in shock.

“Yes.” Baysir nodded.

“I am rather surprised he hasn’t been disciplined,” Stevos said.

Baysir chuckled. “An extended stay in Keeper’s City? I suspect he is being punished.”

“Very well, who should do the sending?” Beragamos asked.

The Inferno

Barabus sighed pleasantly as he put down his fork. The meals onboard the Inferno were surprisingly tasty. He, Wing Arms Master Heron, Chancellor Alighieri, Diocate Temerlain, XO Stevensword, Sirs Gadius and Gaius and Sir Lady Serah had all been invited to dine with Captain Cranshall this evening. It was a tight fit for nine people, but then most things onboard this ship were a tight fit.

“This meal has been a nice respite after all the turmoil today. Thank you, Captain,” Diocate Temerlain said to the Captain.

“You are most certainly welcome. I find that a good repast with enjoyable company often soothes tired nerves, at least for myself,” Captain Cranshall said, briefly raising his wine glass before taking a sip.

The day had certainly been wearing on the nerves, Barabus reflected. The whole death in the Abyss question had rattled everyone, including the Oorstemothians. He had not given much thought to Oorstemoth and faith; he’d assumed they were mostly atheists. Apparently not. He and the others had all had their hands full trying to calm the nerves of the crew and the Rod members.

Captain Cranshall had decided to land the ship on a very large and insanely high mesa not that far from their entry point. They were going to need to regroup and strategize to meet their new concerns. While doing that, there was no reason to expend energy flying around aimlessly or even hovering in one spot. Further, landing on the tall mesa would most likely be less conspicuous than sitting in the middle of the air.

“As I explained, by not hovering in the air, we should be less prone to discovery, and on top of this very tall mesa, no one at lower altitudes will even know we are here,” Captain Cranshall reminded them. “This will give us some uninterrupted time to plan our next step.”

“Indeed,” Wing Arms Master Heron agreed. “This mesa is unbelievably high. I’ve never seen anything this high outside of the Grove’s mountains.”

Diocate Temerlain nodded. “A demon would have to be flying at a spectacularly high altitude to see us.”

BANG!

BANG!

Two loud bangs came from near the center of the ship. Further, it sounded like it was coming from above them. Diocate Temerlain blinked in shocked surprise.

“What the—” XO Stevensword exclaimed before being interrupted.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

XO Stevensword was closest to the door. He stood quickly, looking very concerned, and moved to exit. “It sounds like someone is banging on the main hatch!”

“Indeed!” Captain Cranshall agreed and stood as well. He waved at a small mirror mounted on the wall of the captain’s mess. “Bridge, what is going on?”

“We are unsure, sir,” Chief Sorcery Officer Halferth replied. “None of our sensing equipment detected an enemy presence, and we are not seeing anything on the main scanners. We need to check the porthole hear the main hatch.”

“On my way,” XO Stevensword snapped. Cranshall nodded and followed.

Barabus looked to Heron, who shrugged.

“Let us go see,” Heron said.

BANG!

BANG!

The dinner companions all began squeezing out from around the tight booth table in the mess to go see who their visitor was.

Barabus noted the knights going the opposite way, most likely to more fully arm themselves. He arrived in the onboarding room to see Stevensword on the metal ladder leading up to the hatch in the ceiling, peering through a porthole.

“Open up in there!” a loud voice yelled from outside.

“Who are you and what do you want, demon?” Stevensword yelled.

“You are an Oorstemothian vessel from Astlan, are you not?” the voice yelled. That caused a large commotion among those in the boarding room.

“How in the Abyss did he recognize our flag?” Wing Arms Master Heron muttered.

“We are. This is the Oorstemothian Extra-Dimensional Enforcement Vessel Inferno,” XO Stevensword replied.

“As I suspected! In that case, I claim sanctuary under Title 12, Rule 54, Clause 139 of the Oorstemothian Code of Chivalry!” the voice yelled back.

Barabus noticed that several people, most notably Captain Cranshall, Wing Arms Master Heron and the chancellor, all reacted in shock at this reply. The chancellor in particular was blinking rapidly.

“What law is that?” Heron hissed to the chancellor, apparently not wanting to be heard by the being banging on the hatch.

“I, uhm... ” Dante fumbled, clearly uncertain and trying to think. “I am not familiar with that one; it would have to be incredibly old.” The chancellor’s brow wrinkled. “The Oorstemothian Code of Chivalry dates back to the earliest days of Oorstemoth.” The Chancellor paused for a moment. “Back during the period of the Knights of High Justice.”

“Knights of High Justice?” Captain Cranshall whispered incredulously. “That would be something like fifteen hundred years ago, the reign of Ponchas the Second, perhaps the Third.”

BANG!

“Are you still in there? Open up! It has taken you miscreants long enough to come and rescue me! I want to get out of this damn set of armor!” the voice yelled.

Captain Cranshall called up to XO Stevensword, “What do you see out there? Do you say it is a demon?”

The executive officer made a shrugging motion. “He’s not at a good angle for the porthole. I simply assumed that, being in the Abyss, this person was a demon.”

“What can you see?” Heron demanded.

“Well, a person encased in a lot of metal. Golden or perhaps bronze metal. It appears quite formal, and of a very old style. Not seeing any wings or tail. He is moving around and I just get glimpses,” Stevensword said.

“Who are you?” Captain Cranshall called up.

Barabus noted that both the captain and the wing arms master seemed to be sweating profusely. As was he himself.

“What do you mean, who am I?” the voice sounded quite perturbed. “I am the person you came to rescue! Hello! Are you daft?”

Heron looked to Barabus, who shook his head. “That is not Talarius. The voice is wrong, as is the armor.”

Barabus noted that his three knights had returned with weapons drawn.

“Could you be more specific? We have come to treat with several issues of justice,” XO Stevens called back.

Barabus swore he heard a harrumphing noise, which would be quite remarkable given the thickness of the hull.

“I am Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third!” the voice yelled back with outraged dignity.

Stevensword looked to the captain. Chancellor Alighieri drew in a sharp breath, causing the others to glance at him.

“Now open this damn hatch before I have you all tried for high treason!” the voice thundered.

“Well, he does sound Oorstemothian,” Sir Lady Serah observed.

Barabus glanced back warningly at the knight; even though he agreed with her, this was probably not the best time for snide remarks.

Heron looked to the chancellor, who was leaning against the bulkhead and looking quite pale. “I take it you recognize the name?”

Chancellor Alighieri nodded weakly. “Yes, Sir Samwell was indeed a First Knight of High Justice and Ponchas the Third’s champion. He pursued a demon into the Abyss, seeking High Justice on behalf of the Keeper of Law, and was never seen from again.”

Heron shook his head in bewilderment. “Are you telling me this chap has been down here for fourteen hundred years?”

Chancellor Alighieri gave the wing arms master an odd expression. “I am not, but that is what he seems to be saying.”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“You are hereby notified under Title 3, Section 4, Clause 132 of Military Justice that you are in violation of a direct order from the First Knight of High Justice, Sir Samwell!” the voice yelled. “If I have to demand you to open this hatch one more time, I will find you in contempt and subject to High Justice!”

“You mean he’s going to execute us?” Gaius asked in shock. “Inside this ship? Is he mad?”

“As I said, he is definitely Oorstemothian!” Barabus heard Sir Lady Serah whisper to Gaius.

The captain had fortunately not heard her, or was overlooking the slight. “That is what he is implying,” he said, shaking his head. Let us change places, Stevensword!”

The XO dropped to the deck and the captain climbed the ladder. “Sir Samwell! This is Captain Casper Cranshall, in command of the Oorstemothian Extra-Dimensional Enforcement Vessel Inferno, under the leadership of Lord Heron, Wing Arms Master of the Oorstemothian Fleet, Lord Protectator of Oorstemoth and the Council of Justice, Duly Recognized Agent of High Justice, and Commander of the One-Thousand Four-Hundred and Thirteenth Sky Fleet of Oorstemoth. I apologize for the delay, but security protocols dictate that before allowing you to board this vessel, we must be able to vouch for your identity.”

“Argh,” the voice complained. Its owner made some sort of clanking noises and then suddenly slammed a medallion down upon the porthole. “Is this validation enough?”

“Uhm, one moment,” the captain replied before looking down at the others. “I do not recognize this medallion.”

Heron sighed and said, “Let me look.”

The captain dropped to the deck and Heron climbed the ladder and peered through the porthole. “Hmm.” He glanced at the chancellor and gestured. “Come up beside me and take a look.”

The chancellor frowned, but came forward and gingerly tried climbing the narrow ladder beside Heron, who had slid himself over and was hanging half off the ladder.

Dante made it up and peered through the porthole. “Could you please show me the other side?” he yelled.

The medallion clanked as the person outside flipped it over. Both Heron and Dante peered at it.

“It looks like the medallions the Knights of High Justice used to wear,” Dante said cautiously.

Heron nodded. “I’ve seen them in the museum.”

“Are we certain that it was not stolen from him by a demon?” XO Stevensword asked.

“Possibly. They were, however magically attuned to the wearer,” the chancellor replied.

“This is Wing Arms Master Heron! Give us one more moment before we comply!” Heron yelled.

Barabus could hear the tired sigh from the other side of the metal hatch. This fellow must be incredibly theatrical to make such loud sighs, he thought to himself.

“Very well,” the voice said.

“Scan him with everything we’ve got,” Heron ordered the captain.

Cranshall went to a nearby mirror and began giving instructions to the chief sorcery officer. They waited a few minutes before Halferth reported back.

The captain shrugged and looked to the wing arms master. “Under the new parameters, he does appear to be human, although the Inferno’s protections are keeping us from getting a good reading. He is too close, essentially in a blind spot. However, we can detect lawful Oorstemothian spellcraft upon his person.”

Heron blew air threw his compressed lips and glanced to the three knights behind Barabus. “Let us clear the boarding area; seal the hatches to this room. If you three good knights would be willing to stay in here to help us vet this Sir Samwell, that would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” the knights replied almost in unison.

“Arch-Vicar General, Diocate, Stevensword and everyone else, please clear the boarding room. Chief Sorcery Officer Halferth and myself shall do the vetting,” Captain Cranshall said. The CSO was entering the room even as the captain issued his orders.

“I will be staying as well.” Heron said. The captain frowned, clearly not thrilled with putting so many senior officers in danger; however, it was Heron’s call.

~

It took them a few minutes to get everyone arranged. Before leaving, Diocate Temerlain Blessed the occupants of the room and performed a very abbreviated Ritual of Demon Protection. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. After that, he left the room and the last airtight hatch into the room was sealed behind him.

Heron nodded to the captain, who in turn, nodded to Stevensword. He kept his hand clear, ready to draw his short sword should this be a trick.

Stevensword climbed the ladder and began turning the wheel on the hatch to open it. “Step back for the hatch to open!” he called. There was some clanking as the person on the deck moved. Stevensword gave another turn of the wheel and then turned the handle. There was a slight hiss of air and the hatch sprang upward slightly, allowing the XO to rotate it open.

“Finally!” the voice complained. “Your efficiency is sadly lacking. I shall have to report you to the Keeper of Law!” Hot, dry air swept into the chamber, bringing everyone’s perspiration level to new records.

Stevensword jumped down off the ladder even as an ornately helmeted head peered down through the hatch into the boarding room. “Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice, Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third respectfully requests permission to come aboard, captain!” the knight shouted down the hatch.

Captain Cranshall glanced at Heron, who gave him a nod to continue. “Permission granted,” the captain responded.

The ornamented helmet nodded on the knight’s shoulders and disappeared. A moment later, a heavily and ornately armored foot came through the hatch, stepping tentatively on the top rung. “Hmm, this might be a bit tricky,” the knight said.

With some loud clanking noises and more than a little difficulty, the knight began lowering himself through the hatch. It was a difficult fit, Heron thought to himself. The hatch was not that large and the knight’s armor was quite bulky and fluted. It was a set of armor that Heron himself would never think to wear into battle, designed more for court than for combat.

Eventually the knight made it to the deck and turned to face them. He let out a loud sigh as he stepped away from the ladder so that XO Stevensword could ascend and close the hatch.

The knight reached up and twisted his helmet, removing it to reveal a very human-looking man in his mid-twenties with red hair and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. The knight grinned happily at them, seeming quite pleased to be there. “You gentlemen are a true sight for sore eyes!” The young man stuffed his helmet under one arm and began pulling his gauntlets off. “I had begun to give up hope of ever getting out of this accursed place!”

He hung his gauntlets on his belt. Both a sword and shield were slung across his back. He shook his head and breathed deeply of the rapidly cooling air. “Praise be to Drott Kmon!” the knight said, grinning upward and invoking the Narveson god of law and order and one of the patrons of Oorstemoth.

“Yes... about that, how long have you been here?” Heron asked sternly. He was not yet ready to be friends with this oddity. He noted that Halferth was mumbling various incantations and messing with several vials of liquid, clearly doing his job as chief sorcery officer.

The knight whistled, shaking his head. “An eternity, it seems. There is no day or night here and no need to sleep, so I literally have no idea. It feels like centuries!” He grinned at them again.

“About fourteen, I should imagine,” Sir Gaius said, drawing the knight’s attention. The Oorstemothian knight blinked at the sight of the three Knights Rampant.

“Knights of Tiernon?” Sir Samwell asked. He looked back to Wing Arms Master Heron and then to the captain. “That seems a bit odd. I trust that the proper paperwork has been completed and accounted for?”

“I told you he was Oorstemothian,” Heron overheard Sir Lady Serah whisper to Gaius. Heron suppressed a tight grin. He had been thinking the exact same thing. This being was clearly familiar with Oorstemoth and the law. “Indeed. It is an official alliance, approved by the Council of Justice for this mission,” he told the antique knight.

Sir Samwell nodded his head briefly in acceptance. “I shall trust your word on that, uhm, Lord Protectator… I am not at all familiar with your titles. I assume there has been some reorganization in the time I’ve been trapped here.”

“Considerable. As Sir Gaius points out, by Astlanian time you have been here over fourteen centuries,” Heron told the knight.

Sir Samwell blinked, clearly shocked. He grimaced. “You mean as in one thousand, four hundred years?”

“Today is Demoni 7th, 1631 OOT,” Stevensword told the knight.

Sir Samwell seemed to stagger slightly. “Seriously? I pursued that accursed archdemon through the Gates of Hell on Nilis 12th, 135! Nearly fifteen centuries ago!” There was a loud clanging noise as the knight fell against the bulkhead behind him, clearly taken aback by the time he had spent in the Abyss. There was an ear-wrenching sound of metal scraping on metal as the knight slowly slid down the bulkhead in shock.

“Yes,” Sir Gadius said, moving closer to the sitting knight, his sword ready. “You appear to be human; thus I fear I must enquire as to how you are still alive.” He phrased this more as an accusation than a question.

“What?” the knight seemed puzzled and looked up at the Knight Rampant, shaking his head. “Clearly you are unfamiliar with this place. Have you ever tried dying here?”

That caused everyone to shift uncomfortably, remembering their heated discussions about the topic this afternoon.

“What exactly do you mean?” Captain Cranshall demanded.

“Well, it’s bloody difficult is what I mean!” Sir Samwell retorted angrily.

“What do you mean, it is difficult?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“I mean this is the land of the dead and the damned! No one is actually alive here, not in the normal sense. If you are already dead, how exactly are you supposed to die?” the knight asked as if explaining the obvious to a group of morons.

No one said anything for several moments; all were trying to come to grips with that statement. A statement that was admittedly consistent with what they had all been taught about damnation.

“Except we did not get here by dying. We opened a portal and came through it,” Captain Cranshall explained to the knight.

Sir Samwell grimaced. “As did I. Or rather, I followed the archdemon through his portal. I am still dead, at least as long as I’m here.”

“I think we need you to be more specific,” Heron said to the collapsed knight.

Sir Samwell sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bulkhead. “Occupants of the Abyss are cut off from the Outer Planes; there is no connection to them.”

“Yes, we have discovered that,” Sir Gaius agreed.

“So if you do die, you have nowhere to go. And further, the Abyss is not one of the material planes, the so called Planes of Man. Animus can exist here on its own; it doesn’t automatically disperse back into nature and get reabsorbed. And the plane is fairly mana rich. Long story short, you just regenerate.”

Captain Cranshall shook his head, not understanding. “So if I run you through the heart right now?”

Samwell grimaced. “Well, assuming you could pierce my armor, which is doubtful, it would bloody well hurt, and I might pass out, but I would recover. I would regenerate.”

Sir Lady Serah looked at him curiously. “Is that why you appear to be so young?”

The Knight of High Justice smiled charmingly at her. “Indeed, my lady. Skin and muscle cells continually regenerate to the state they were in when you arrived. Those who are in the Abyss are essentially immortal.”

That left everyone silent as they pondered this.

“What if you are wounded when you arrive?” Sir Gaius suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?” Samwell replied.

“You said the cells regenerate to the state they were in when one arrives.”

Samwell nodded. “I see your point. But no, you will heal to your body’s optimal state. Long-term healed wounds, of course, will not easily regenerate, although I suppose in theory they would eventually. Diseases also seem to be healed or at least halted with time. I am no healer nor expert on diseases, but no one dies of disease.”

“How do you know any of this at all?” Sir Gadius asked suspiciously.

Samwell gave the other knight a tired glare. “Try spending a century or two being tortured in an archdemon’s dungeon. You’ll eventually figure things out.”

“So you’ve escaped from an archdemon’s dungeon?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“On several occasions.” Samwell said wearily. “It’s one of the things one must do to avoid pain in this place.”

“Are you thirsty?” Halferth suddenly asked the Knight of High Justice, moving across the chamber to offer the knight a glass of water that had appeared in his hand.

“Yes, that sounds fantastic!” Samwell said before eyeing the sorcerer suspiciously. “You did hear me just say that you can’t actually kill someone here, yes? So if this is poison or something, it won’t work that well.”

“It is not poison. It is water, with a bit of sorcery to validate your credentials,” the CSO explained.

Sir Samwell gave the sorcerer a tired look. “A truth potion? Seriously?” He shook his head and reached for the glass. “Very well, then.”

Sir Samwell took the glass and drank it in a single gulp. He handed it back to the sorcerer before leaning back to rest. “I assume it takes a few minutes?” Samwell asked.

“Not even that,” the sorcerer said, smiling. “What is your name?”

The knight sighed, opening his eyes and meeting those of the sorcerer. “I am Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third. On Nilis the Twelfth in the One Hundred and Thirty-Fifth year of Oorstemothian Official Time, I pursued an archdemon through the Gates of Hell and have been trapped, unable to return to Oorstemoth, ever since.”

The knight started clanging around in preparation to stand. “What other questions may I answer truthfully for you?

The Outpost (Abyss): DOA + 5, Late First Period

Bess was reviewing her notes regarding the previous day’s extremely disturbing meeting with Exador and Ramses when her valet, Kanefer, knocked gently on the edge of the entranceway to the parlor she was sitting in. She looked up and smiled at her loyal avatar, who was masquerading as gorgon-like demon with the lower torso of a snake and the upper torso of a handsome and muscular warrior.

“Yes, Kanefer?” Bess asked politely.

“Mistress, the demon Tutankhamun is here to see you,” Kanefer said, causing Bess to blink in surprise.

“Show him in!” Bess told her valet with a smile.

Kanefer gestured towards the outer chamber, and the boy-demon Tut entered the room.

Bess stood as Tut crossed the room to kneel before her. She tapped his chin, signaling he should rise. “Tut, tut, Tut!” Bess chided him. “You know we do not stand on such formality here!” She shook her head, smiling. “What brings you across the plains from the Courts?”

“Mistress,” Tut said, rising, “I bring news that might be of value to you.”

“I should expect so, given that you flew all the way here.” Bess grinned.

Tut nodded and smiled at his gracious queen. “I came as soon as my shift ended, taking the usual precautions not to be followed.”

Bess nodded in understanding, indicating he should continue.

“Earlier this evening, a low-level demon that I’ve known on and off for the last few decades revealed interesting details of his accursed master,” Tut told her.

Bess gestured for him to sit in the chair near hers, sitting down herself. “What did he report?”

“He had been spending far more time at the bar than had been his habit. Enquiring, I discovered that his accursed master was in Freehold, behind the wards that were raised again after Exador’s exposure,” Tut said.

Bess nodded.

“Inquiring further, it seems that his accursed master is Hortwell, one of Lenamare’s senior wizards.”

Bess smiled. “Interesting.” Indeed, another entry point to Lenamare and the book could be quite valuable. Exador had fumbled things so badly, and was currently being so extremely reckless, that another path to the book could be useful. Perhaps even necessary.

“He has also met and dealt with Lenamare’s greater demon, Zargoffelstan,” Tut added.

Bess nodded appreciatively. “I assume you’ve arranged for additional contact with him?”

“Indeed, I have. I also got his version of what happened at the school as well as afterwards. Hortwell tends to keep him around during his work hours, and so Zargoffelstan is privy to a fair amount of information.”

“And you were able to extract this information?” Bess asked, smiling at him.

“I have become an accomplished bartender over the last several decades. Free drinks work extremely well.” Tut grinned back at her.

“Excellent! This is far more interesting than worrying over my notes!” Bess exulted. “Do let us continue!”

Keeper’s City

Verigas, still tentatively the High Priest of Gizzor Del, tossed in his sleep. For the last quarter month, his dreams had been troubled. Clearly the result of his transgressions and the subsequent turbulence they had caused. Tonight was no different.

He was walking through a forest that at first had been primarily deciduous, but as he went on, the altitude began to increase and evergreens were starting to be interspersed with the leafy trees. The sky was a dark gray and he could smell smoke in the air. A rather putrid-smelling smoke, for that matter. One that served to discomfort him.

He felt lost, alone in the forest. He looked for signs of a trail and spotted what looked to be a hood or bonnet lying on the ground. He stopped to examine it; it was the bonnet of a young girl. Two of the ties were still knotted, but one tie was torn from the bonnet. As if it had been ripped off the child.

Verigas felt a chill run down his spine as the forest suddenly seemed more ominous. His eyes lit upon what appeared to be a trail through the leaves and forest debris. It led from about a foot past the bonnet deeper into the forest. It appeared to Verigas’s untrained eyes that the person making the trail had been dragging something.

He followed the trail for about another two hundred feet before he suddenly spied a small boot protruding from a bush. He quickly hurried over and around the bush, only to draw up short with a gasp at what he discovered.

On the other side of the bush, hidden from his previous view but otherwise in plain sight, was the body of a young girl! Verigas recoiled in horror. The girl’s neck was savagely mauled, and while her dress was splattered with bloodstains, the neck wound appeared to be relatively dry. There was no large puddle of blood, no dripping of blood, only stains. While the leaves below the girl’s head and neck did have blood on them, still-wet blood, they were not soaked as he would have expected.

Verigas felt a deep-seated gnawing begin in his gut. This was no wolf; no beast had done this! This could only have been the work of a vampyr, or perhaps a vampire. However, from his limited understanding of the undead, the savagery would lead him to suspect a vampyr.

Verigas grasped at his chest, pulling his Sword and Shield of Tiernon amulet outside his robe. Did he have Holy Water? He grasped at his belt in vain. Who carried vials of Holy Water around with them outside of stories?

Now he could see before him what had to be the monster’s trail. Disturbed leaves and twigs, spattered with drops of blood, leading further into the forest and uphill. Cold fascination took hold. Despite the pleas emanating from the back of his head, he knew he had to see, had to confront this monster!

Verigas marched forward, following the trail upward and further into the darkening forest. Suddenly he heard the sounds of fighting. Heavy breathing, muttering and snarls of low rage came from a clearing up ahead. Verigas proceeded cautiously to the edge of the clearing.

It was a clearing at the base of a large rock formation. A giant boulder, perhaps thirty to forty feet in diameter, surrounded by smaller rocks and boulders as well as rock fragments. The fragments appeared to have fallen from the top of the boulder. This was made more obvious due to the fact that the large boulder was riven in twain, as if split by an axe, or perhaps lightning; the shattered pieces of stone lying scattered at the base of the large rock.

A scream of rage drew Verigas’ attention to the battle below the rock. Vampyr! He had been right; there was a tall, thin, ragged vampyr snarling viciously, exposing its mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. The vampyr and its opponent, a good-sized woman wearing the habit of a Sister of Tiernon, were circling each other in battle.

The vampyr lunged, swiping with its deadly sharp claws, and the Sister of Tiernon dove to the left far faster than one would have imagined. This threw the vampyr off-guard, and it overbalanced. It stumbled, trying to recover even as the large sister dove towards the vampyr’s chest, both hands wrapped around a large dagger radiating the Grace of Tiernon.

The Sister plunged the blade into the vampyr’s breastbone with what had to be incredible strength and shouted, “By the power of Tiernon, I condemn thee to eternal damnation! To true death! Return to haunt the living no more! By the power of Tiernon, I end thy vile Unlife!”

There was a flash of bright light and suddenly the vampyr exploded! It burst thunderously into a spray of bloody gore that splattered Verigas’s white robes. With a start, Verigas realized he was only about ten feet from the Sister and where the vampyr had been.

The large woman was clearly winded. Her hands, the right still gripping the hilt of the blade, rested on her knees as she bent over, trying to recover her breath. Verigas shook his head, suddenly glancing up to the riven rock, where a full blood-red Uropia was perfectly framed at the top of the split. As if a dark ruby in a setting.

“Verigas?” the woman suddenly asked.

It took Verigas a moment, but he suddenly realized that the Sister had be the legendary vampyr slayer Hilda of Rivenrock, who had perished some four hundred years ago defending the Orphanage of the Sisters of Tiernon at Riven Rock. When he had first heard the story as a youth in the seminary, he had spent several nights in terror under his covers.

“Verigas.” Saint Hilda was standing up now and looking directly at him. How could that be? He had never even been to Riven Rock. He had no idea where it even was.

“Yes,” Verigas replied, still in shock over what he had witnessed and at being addressed by a saint in a dream. Dreams were generally not this lucid. Verigas felt a new chill run down his spine. This dream—he knew it was a dream now—was just a little too lucid.

“Where are you?” Hilda asked.

“Keeper’s City in Oorstemoth,” Verigas replied.

“Why are you there?” the saint asked.

“I’m here to support the Church’s mission, our alliance with Oorstemoth.” This really did not make much sense. Why would a long-dead saint from Eton want to know why he was in Oorstemoth?

“What is the purpose of the alliance?” Hilda asked.

How would a saint not know about the holy mission? Verigas wondered.

“Uhm, to rescue Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon, and bring to justice to the foul fiend who abducted him and caused untold damage to the Church, the Rod and Oorstemoth. To ensure that the foul creature who dared to steal Tiernon’s Holy Mana can never do so again,” Verigas said.

Verigas blinked at the expression on the saint’s face. He could not quite determine what it meant.

“And how exactly do they propose to do this?” the saint asked.

Verigas was not really sure, but this seemed unusually direct and on point for a saint. Were saints not supposed to be sort of mystical and cryptic? “Oorstemoth has built a vessel, a flying metal ship,” he replied.

“A ship? You mean like the ones that were docked outside of Freehold?”

This saint seems remarkably up on current events for a dream, Verigas thought to himself. Yet, she doesn’t know about the Holy Sacred Mission?  He said, “No, it’s all enclosed, sort of like a tube with towers on each end and in the middle. It’s covered in magical runes.”

“And how will this help them recover Talarius?” she asked.

“The Inferno can travel to any place in the multiverse,” Verigas said. “They’ve taken it to the Abyss to hunt down the archdemon and recover Talarius!”

The saint closed her eyes briefly and sighed. This really wasn’t what Verigas expected for a mystical experience. “I’m going to need some more details.” Hilda said, looking at Verigas and moving closer.

The Inferno: DOA + 5, Early Second Period

“Gaius?” Gadius called softly towards the bunk above him.

“Yes?” Gaius replied at a normal speaking level.

“I was checking to see if you were asleep.”

“I am not. Nor are you, unless you are once more talking in your sleep.” Gaius chuckled.

“Funny. No, slumber will not come.” The white knight sighed.

“Nor for me,” his ebony counterpart agreed. “I am not sure why; I should be exhausted by the emotional trials of this day. Mentally, I do feel it; however, physically I do not feel tired.”

“Perhaps it is the stress of our unexpected guest, or the fact that we are actually in the Abyss?” Gadius proposed.

“Hmm. I have been thinking about that; however, Sir Samwell did agree to disarm and check his weapons and armor into the armory, as per ship rules during non-combat periods,” Gaius said.

“And, in fact, divested himself of additional blades and weapons as well, beyond what we ourselves have done,” Gadius agreed. “And Sir Lady Serah is fully armed and standing guard on his quarters. She is surely powerful enough to hold off even an archdemon long enough to sound the alarm should he prove hostile.”

“So then it should not be that; we’ve slept with far worse enemies nearby,” Gaius said.

“Could it be what Barabus told us about the Oorstemothians not knowing about the aether?” Gadius asked. “If they are not aware of the aether, then there is no way this ship could be protected against aethereal penetration—unless they got extremely lucky with other countermeasures.”

“Perhaps, although that thought has bothered me less than the potential it opens up for our work in Oorstemoth.”

“I have not tried to shift. Doing so would allow us to determine if the ship is secure. If we shift and can leave the vessel, we can be fairly certain there is no such protection,” Gadius said.

“Good point. Why don’t you try?” Gaius asked.

“Because you are the one who loves the aether more than I and are far more versed in it. How many times have we had this discussion?” Gadius asked, his smile reflected in his humorous tone.

Gaius chuckled. “Yes, and it is your dislike of the aether that probably makes you paranoid of the ship’s vulnerabilities.”

“And you are not concerned?”

“I am now that you reminded me.” Gaius laughed.

“So?”

“Very well,” Gaius replied with mock resignation.

Gadius waited, staring up to the bottom of Gaius’s bunk, waiting for the knight to test the ship’s defenses.

“Hmm, that is very odd,” Gaius said, sooner than Gadius had expected.

“What is odd?” Gadius asked.

“I shifted, and I felt the shift, but after shifting I was still in the material realm. Right here, not aethereal.”

“What do you mean? You could not shift to the aethereal realm?” Gadius asked.

“No. I shifted, or at least it felt that way; however, everything stayed the same. It felt like the material and aethereal realms were one and the same,” Gadius said, and paused. “I have not shifted back, in fact.”

“So you think you’re aethereal now? I should not be able to hear you,” Gadius said.

“There, I shifted back, and I’m still—still here. This is very odd. I have never encountered this, nor heard of it.”

“Thinking back to school, was there not some philosophical speculation that the Outer Planes had no aether? Similar to the Astral Plane?” Gadius asked.

“Hmm. Good point. Let me think.” Gaius went silent for a few moments. “I do think you may be correct. Although there were different arguments about the why of this. But perhaps that is the answer.”

“The Abyss is an outer plane?” Gadius asked. That seemed to go against everything they had been taught.

“I am not sure I would go that far, but it would appear that the Abyss is something different. It is not one of the Planes of Man. Perhaps only the Planes of Man have aethereal realms?” Gaius said.

“Well, given that the aethereal realms are distinct with each Plane of Man, that would make some sense. They may be an aspect or dimension of the Planes of Man.”

“I am now wishing I had paid more attention to those philosophy classes,” Gaius said, “or taken some advanced ones.”

Appendix II:  Introduction & Overview of Time, Space and the Multiverse

Chapter 126

Isle of Doom (Nysegard): DOA + 5, Late Third Period

Valg Death Cheater slowly rotated clockwise, scanning the horizon for incoming threats. He had been getting odd premonitions of something building for the last day or two. Something was coming; he just could not define what it was. Neither his shaman Eagle Sight nor his D’Orc sight saw anything unusual on the horizon. No dragons, no undead pterosaurs winging their way over the plains of the Isle of Doom.

Valg smiled tightly, as he always did thinking of his homeland. He, his family and his ancestors had lived on the so-called Isle of Doom for thousands of years; its name was a source of rich irony for Valg. First, the “island” had an area of nearly two hundred and fifty thousand square leagues, which should qualify it as a continent. Secondly, for most of its history it had been one of the safest continents in Nysegard thanks to his ancestors, many of whom were still alive. Such as his great something-or-other grandfather Targh Bowelsplitter.

Of course, keeping it safe had gotten exponentially harder several thousand years ago, long before his time. According to the stories of the Oracle (as Targh Bowelsplitter was known), the volcanic fortress in which they lived, the Doom of Nysegard, was once connected to Mount Doom in the Abyss. It was from this legendary place that the D’Orcs had come to protect and save the various peoples of Nysegard from the predations of the Unlife.

For thousands of years, the Isle of Doom had been a safe haven for all those seeking to escape the Storm Lords and their minions. It had not been completely clear what had happened, at least not at first, but their volcano had started losing power and eventually shut down. It started with the links to Mount Doom being severed and ended with the magical defenses shutting down, leaving the fortress and the island in rather dire straits.

The Storm Lords had not discovered this immediately, but when they had, they wrought devastation on the Isle of Doom. The D’Orcs and their non-D’Orc allies had fought valiantly and eventually, after several centuries, managed to once again repel the Storm Lords. However, it had been an uphill battle ever since to keep the island safe. It was not clear how many more centuries they would be able to hold out.

After a few D’Orc warriors were slain and then summoned back from the Abyss by shamans, they had eventually learned the fate of Orcus and Mount Doom. That had been extremely demoralizing for the D’Orcs on the island; that demoralization had probably hindered their efforts. They had struggled on, however, and a few D’Orcs from Mount Doom had agreed to be summoned to Nysegard to aid them, but Mount Doom had suffered even greater losses and had not had excess forces.

It took a lot to kill a full-blooded D’Orc, and fortunately, none had died in the last two thousand years. While those that died could be summoned back, the dead D’Orc would need to fully regenerate in the Abyss before a shaman could bring it back. That would be time they very seldom had. Their D’Orc resources were stretched thin over the island. There were currently about one hundred full-blooded D’Orcs in Nysegard.

That was actually up from what they’d had when the volcano went down, thanks to volunteers from Doom and full-blooded D’Orc children. When Doom had fallen, there had only been about eighty D’Orcs, due to the fact that over two-thirds of the D’Orcs stationed in Nysegard had been pulled to Etterdam and perished with Orcus. There were another forty or so half D’Orcs like Valg himself, as well as another thirty-plus with some D’Orc blood. They relied heavily on their larger armies of orcs, humans and dwarves to keep the island safe, but Unlife was a plague and on such a large “island,” it could sneak in and start spreading corruption, converting living creatures into Unliving creatures at every opportunity. Fortunately, the D’Orc’s goblin engineers had been doing great work at creating makeshift technology to replace the magic and high technology they had lost with Mount Doom.

Valg completed his second rotation and sighed. He could just feel a sort of tingling, this bubbling in the air and spirit that he had never felt before. He was fairly young as D’Orc shamans went, only fifty-two years old—a babe by D’Orc standards, but up there for an orc—but something that he’d never experienced was now gnawing at his stomach. He would need to consult with Targh. Following his link to the Oracle, Valg noted that Targh was in the henge at the base of the volcano.

Valg stepped up on the railing of the watchtower and dove off, his wings whistling in the air as he dove down the side of the watchtower’s peak towards the henge. It was odd for Targh to be in the henge at this time of day; others did the gardening and maintenance, so one would really only expect him there for ceremonies. Or looking for portents, Valg suddenly realized.

After several minutes of extremely rapid descent, Val spread his wings to break his descent and rotated to come in for a landing on the walkway leading to the henge. Crunch went the gravel under his hooves as he landed.

Targh looked towards him and nodded before returning to whatever he had been looking at or doing. Valg approached him quietly and stood waiting for the elder D’Orc’s attention.

“You have questions, child?” Targh asked.

“Yes, grandfather,” Valg replied. Targh preferred that all his descendants simply call him “grandfather.” He said he was too old to try to remember all the generations of his progeny. As a child, Valg had marveled at his grandfather, who was over twenty thousand years old. Such a time was inconceivable to him then, and for that matter, now.

“Something is off,” Valg said.

Targh paused and nodded. “I am no shaman, but I feel it as well. Something has changed, whether for the better or worse I am not sure. It does not feel bad, per se—in fact, more like a distant memory—but for the life of me, it is a memory I cannot recall.”

“It has been bothering me now for more than a day. It is like the energy in the air before a thunderstorm, yet there are no clouds in the sky,” Valg said. “And as a shaman, I feel a premonition that something is about to happen, yet I cannot say what.”

Targh nodded. “Your senses on this are better than mine. But from what little I can feel, I would have to agree.”

“There you two are!” Valg’s mother’s voice called to them. Valg turned to where his mother, the most beautiful of D’Orcs, was just coming up the walkway.

His mother, Eldebra Death Cheater, at only five hundred and forty-two years old was one of the most renowned D’Orc warriors since the first generation that had come from the Abyss. She had more undead slayings under her belt than D’Orcs four times her age.

Valg was reasonably certain she was coming up from the village and her hut, where she cared for his aging father. His father, Karth Death Cheater, was a great shaman, perhaps the greatest in a thousand years, but he was an orc and at only one hundred and twenty years of age, was feeling the pangs of mortality.

“Child,” Targh said, beaming at his granddaughter, “what brings you up this path?”

“Karth is sensing some sort of disturbance; one that he does not understand, but that he feels might be extremely important.”

Targh nodded. “We were just discussing this. Even I feel something; Valg here has confirmed it for me. Let us return to your home, where we may discuss this with Karth.”

All three of them headed down the path and into the nearby village of Krallnomton. The village was due south of the old city of Krallnomton, which had been destroyed during the War of Recovery over three thousand years ago. The memories of the dead were such that when they rebuilt the much-smaller village, they had done so south of the original city, rather than within the old city boundaries.

They had to take a small detour around one of the village wells, where three young orcs were battling it out with wooden practice axes. Valg chuckled at their youthful exuberance and joy while whacking away at each other. One of these days he would like to have children of his own, but he needed to win a girlfriend first.

An orc his age would have been married and had children and possibly grandchildren, but with his D’Orc blood, his first duty was to all the people in their charge. So training, vigilance and battle took precedence over his personal life. He could also expect to live considerably longer than an orc. It wasn’t exactly clear how long a half-D’Orc or anyone with D’Orc blood could expect to live. There were not that many after all, and most of them pushed themselves so hard that eventually an honorable death in battle claimed them. If not, they were still around and fighting after multiple centuries.

The oldest living half-D’Orc was about a thousand years old. D’Orcs and orcs hadn’t started intermarrying until about two thousand years ago, and the first several over-extended themselves in combat and perished. Shamans had not had any luck in summoning them after death, so presumably only full D’Orcs returned to the Abyss.

They reached Valg’s parents’ home, where he had grown up. Valg had moved into quarters within the volcano complex about two decades ago. His father had always felt too removed from nature and the spirits of the world within the volcano, so his mother had moved out to the village with him.

His father was sitting at his worktable in his wheeled chair, meditating; the strong smell of incense filled the living room. He opened his eyes as they entered, nodding respectfully to Targh, his son and giving his wife a tight smile.

“Ah, you come for a visit?” Valg’s father asked softly. He no longer had the fierce energy that Valg remembered from his youth. His physical health had been declining ever more quickly over the last one to two decades. His mind and his powers, however, remained as strong as ever.

“Indeed.” Targh’s strong voice reverberated around the closed space. He nodded to Valg. “Your son has confirmed the feelings I have been getting. Something is changing.”

Karth nodded. “Indeed; the very air is charged beyond anything I have ever experienced. I am feeling an overall increase in ambient mana, and I have no idea what could be causing that.”

“That is what it is!” Valg said, suddenly recognizing the sensation he’d been feeling. That feeling, as if before a storm—it was an increase in the surrounding levels of mana!

Targh nodded. “But what would be the cause of this?”

Karth shrugged. “Unfortunately, the most obvious would be that mana is being focused here in preparation for a large spell.”

“As in an attack?” Valg’s mother asked.

“That would be the most obvious,” Karth agreed.

“Are you sensing Unlife?” Targh asked.

Valg’s father shrugged. “I am basically stuck in this village. Around here, I sense no darkness, nor any with the mana; however, that does not mean it is not nearby.”

Valg nodded. “I have been surveying the lands around the volcano from the watchtower and have not sensed any Unlife; not within the range of my perceptions.”

“We need to increase our vigilance. I will also contact the other villages to see if they are noticing similar increasing levels,” Targh said.

Karth frowned. “A wise precaution, but if we have an enemy, presumably the Storm Lords, capable of this sort of attack… Well, if they can do it simultaneously in multiple locations, we are in very serious danger.”

Valg gritted his teeth. This was not good. He had not felt anything particularly ominous about these sensations until now. He still felt nothing directly, but this discussion was unsettling and caused his stomach to clench with dread.

Rumble.

Everyone in the room looked startled as the ground, and thus the entire house, shook with a tremor.

“What was that?” Valg’s mother asked.

“A groundquake?” Karth said, puzzled.

“There have been no quakes since the volcano went dormant,” Targh said, a note of concern in his voice.

“Let us get outside, in case there are more,” Karth said.

Rumble.

Rumble.

Several more tremors shook the ground as the four left the house, Eldebra pushing her husband’s chair. As they exited the house, they could see that everyone else in the village had come outside as well. People were looking around.

“In the air—we need to look around!” Targh commanded.

Valg, Targh, his mother and the other three D’Orcs currently in the village launched themselves into the air, fanning out around the village’s palisade, all scanning with D’Orc sight for threats.

Rumble.

Rumble.

Rumble. CRAAACK!!

A tremendous cracking noise came from above them, up near the dome of the volcano. The D’Orcs and everyone in the village turned to stare up at the cone of the volcano in shock.

“What in the Abyss?” Targh bellowed.

Rumble.

CRAAACK!! CRAAACK!! CRUNCH!!

Rumble.

RUMBLE!

RUMBLE!!!

Horrible and violent cracking noises came from inside the volcano as the tremors came faster and more violently then before. Suddenly a large belch of soot burst from the cone of the volcano, followed by an overpowering stench of sulfur and brimstone.

“The volcano is becoming active!” Valg’s mother shouted.

“How in the Abyss is that possible?” Targh exclaimed. Everyone in the village was pointing and shouting in excitement and fear.

“If that thing blows its top, we are going to need to evacuate, fast,” Karth said via shamanic distance speak.

“It has control vents and defined lava troughs that historically controlled and channeled an eruption, modeled after Mount Doom,” Targh replied, albeit with a note of concern in his voice. His concern was for the mortals in the village; obviously, D’Orcs would barely notice a bit of lava.

Valg felt his hair stand on end. It suddenly felt as if the entire village, the entire mountain was crackling with energy. It was a very disconcerting. He had never felt anything like this.

The ground shook again, causing a few small chicken fences to collapse in the village.

“I need to get up there and see what’s going on. Everyone else, start gathering together and prepare to be evacuated to higher ground,” Targh ordered.

“Karth? Is there anything you can do to ward the village from any mudslides or falling rocks from the mountain?” Targh asked the shaman.

“I will see what I can do,” Karth said, and started murmuring.

Valg recognized the chant for strength; his father was summoning strength to walk and do combat. Valg grimaced. Such chants always needed to be paid for at a later time. He hoped his father was strong enough to pay the cost when it came.

KRAA…AAACK!!!!

KABOOM!!!

A giant fireball exploded into the sky from the cone of the volcano after the loudest cracking they had heard so far, even as the ground shook with renewed fury.

Suddenly a huge plume of fire and lava sprang from the mouth of volcano, along with the most terrifying screech that Valg had ever heard.

Mount Doom: DOA + 5, Earlier Third Period (Shortly Before Previous Scene)

Darg-Krallnom gave Tom a big grin. “As we predicted last night, monitoring systems indicate that mana levels at Nysegard’s Doom are now sufficient to reopen the connection to Nysegard.”

“Excellent!” Tom said, grinning back. This was exciting; they were about to reopen the portal to the Doomalogue in Nysegard. Last night they had been looking at the power levels and Darg-Krallnom had predicted they should be able to open the portal by midday today. If all went well, and if—a huge if—the people at Nysegard had been able to hold out, then they would be able to expand their resources.

Resources on multiple fronts. Darg-Krallnom had reported that when the connection had gone down, there were still several D’Orc shamans in Nysegard; that was huge. Tom needed more skilled shamans in order to make contact with the other planes. They had a lot of inter-plane travel they wanted to do, and he could not be the only person opening portals and gateways.

The second possible resource was that there was a slight, very slight, possibility of using the generators in Nysegard to help charge Mount Doom. Of course, this depended on who, if anyone, was at Nysegard’s Doom. In the past, it had been heavily populated, and there had been a lot of battles with Unlife, resulting in significant mana generation. That was something quite exciting. There had been some interchanges with them for the first thousand or so years, but they had not heard anything recently.

The third was the possibility that they would get some more D’Orcs as well as other allies that were possibly versed in Doom Lore. Again, this was all most likely wishful thinking. Vargg Agnoth and Helga Dourtooth, both of whom were actually from Nysegard, were not optimistic, given the odds that would have been against the D’Orcs and their allies on the Isle of Doom.

Darg-Krallnom, however, was much more optimistic. He was from Astlan, but he was one of the oldest living D’Orcs; he and Arg-nargoloth were some of the very first D’Orcs ever incarnated. Darg-Krallnom had spent considerable time reinforcing Nysegard when they had created the Doom there. Apparently there were cities there named after all four of them.

According to his commanders, Nysegard had been greatly favored by D’Orcs. This was due to the fact that the situation in Nysegard, for a very long time, had been very clear cut. There had been no questions of politics; no one tried to distract them from battle using senseless diplomacy and negotiation; no chance of peace short of outright victory. In Nysegard, it was a pure battle for survival. There were no wishy-washy labels of good or evil, no FOG or FOE; there was only Life and Unlife.

This had confused Tom the previous evening. “Unlife? What do you mean?” he had asked.

“That which is diametrically opposed to Life,” Tizzy had quipped.

“That seems a bit circular,” Tom had snapped back.

“Technically,” Phaestus had interrupted, “it is a form of life that is based on antimus instead of animus.”

“Antimus?” Tom had never heard of that before.

“Negatively polarized animus,” the god had informed him. “Not many individuals are even aware that animus can be polarized, but it can be. By its nature, animus has what I would call a positive polarization, at least in the parts of the multiverse that we exist in, but there do exist regions of the multiverse where the animus, or much of it, is polarized in the opposite direction.”

Antefalken had interjected, “I’ve never heard anyone ever mention this.”

“You would not have, unless you were talking with a skilled necromancer, and even many of those do not truly understand what they are dealing with. The difference between a resurrected individual and a revenant or similar undead is that the undead was brought back negatively polarized. This is something that can fairly easily happen when trying to shortcut the resurrection process,” Phaestus said.

“And you know this because?” Antefalken had asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m a god, and it is part of my business to know such things.” Phaestus had grinned at him.

“There he goes!” Tizzy had shouted. “Playing the god card!” The octopod waved his hands in the air. “Nearly impossible to win an argument when they play the ‘I’m a god’ card. I wondered how long it would take him!”

Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth both chuckled. “He got you, Phaestus,” Arg-nargoloth said with a smile.

Phaestus had grinned and nodded. “In any event, Tommus, the Unlife are those beings that are primarily antimated rather than animated.”

“Antimated? Now I think you are just making up words!” Tizzy had yelled.

“Maybe, but I can do that because… I’m a god!” Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth both joined in the final part of the sentence, after which they all laughed.

“So you mean zombies, ghosts, ghouls, vampires and such?” Tom had asked.

“Yes. All forms of undead. Although there are a lot of gradations, particularly in terms of the spirits, that I don’t have time to go into,” Phaestus had said.

“And there is no uncertainty that they are evil? Many believe that demons are evil, as well as orcs,” Tom had said. “How do you know it’s not the same?”

“A good point, but creatures of antimus are strongly attracted to and feed on animus. They feed on the animus of others. They are thus the ultimate predators. Those they fail to completely consume are generally infected and will eventually become antimated; typically, undead of the kind that infected them,” Phaestus had explained.

“In other words, they have no interest in talking to or even subjugating you; they simply want to eat you,” Darg-Krallnom had told him. “And they are very difficult to stop.”

“Also keep in mind that, unlike a normal predator who simply kills you, and then your spirit or soul moves on, when you are consumed by Unlife, it is true death,” Arg-nargoloth had added.

“So, they could permanently kill a demon or a D’Orc?” Tom had asked with great concern.

Phaestus nodded. “Or, in theory, a god.”

That had caused others to do a double take. “A god?” Antefalken had asked.

Phaestus shrugged. “It would be extremely difficult, but in theory it is conceivable, although most likely not practical.” The smith sighed. “If a sufficiently powerful Unlife creature could trap a D’Orc, demon or being from the Outer Planes so that they could not depart the Planes of Orc, and they exhausted themselves in the fight, yes—it could kill them permanently.”

Everyone had shuddered and gone silent for a moment, and then Tom’s eyes had gone wide. “That had to be what the blackness was!” he suddenly murmured.

“What blackness?” Antefalken asked.

“Talarius’s dagger,” Tom had responded. “There was some sort of blackness, a draining sort of thing inside of it. When I was stabbed by it, I could feel it draining my animus, my soul. That’s when I started pulling mana directly from Tiernon. I used it to cleanse the blackness, to destroy it and undo the damage it had done to me!”

There had been a number of murmurs at this.

“That would make sense; the highly positive gods use their power to destroy Unlife. You basically acted like a priest of Tiernon in that respect,” Phaestus said.

“Farg’s dead eyes,” Darg-Krallnom had cursed. “And with Orcus cut off from the reserves of Mount Doom and the Doomalogues, he would have been unable to stop the darkness!”

“So that’s how Sentir Fallon killed Orcus? He used a soul-sucking dagger?” Antefalken had asked in shock.

They had fallen silent, contemplating what had to have been the horrifying last moments of Orcus’s life. Tom had shuddered; he had come close to the same fate. Way too close. He shuddered again now; simply remembering their conversation last night gave him a very queasy feeling.

The evening had not been completely depressing. Vargg Agnoth had pointed out that very few Unlife had that sort of power, that direct of a connection to raw antimus. Normal Unlife were bound by more material constraints. It was generally unheard of for a D’Orc, or demon for that matter, not being able to return to the Abyss. Orcus’s demise had been a carefully designed trap, apparently coordinated between Sentir Fallon and Lilith.

For the most part, the commanders had pointed out, Nysegard was D’Orc paradise. Not being traditional living creatures, D’Orcs and demons could not be infected by Unlife; they could only be consumed. However, once a D’Orc got severely wounded, they would dissolve to the Abyss. In order to kill a D’Orc, its animus would have to be consumed fast enough that the D’Orc could not return to the Abyss.

“The fourth and sixth regiments are staged for deployment,” Vargg Agnoth reported as he and Helga Dourtooth entered the DCC. Those regiments were Vargg’s and Helga’s, and both had majorities of D’Orcs from Nysegard. They had no idea what they would be facing once they opened the gateway to Nysegard, so they were going in armed to the teeth with two D’Orc regiments and an D’Warg regiment.

“Are we all set up here?” Tom asked, looking at the others. Darg-Krallnom, Arg-nargoloth and Völund were coming with them. Völund was going to investigate the functional capacity of the Doomalogue. Antefalken had decided to take a break from his current ballad to accompany them in hopes of getting yet another ballad out of the adventure. Boggy was also coming. The others in Tom’s normal entourage were busy with other tasks.

Tom had purposefully chosen to keep Talarius in the dark about Nysegard. He was sure the knight would want to go along, and could probably be quite useful; however, Tom did not feel up to the risk of the knight returning to the Planes of Man and contacting Tiernon. One mission at a time was his current motto. Talarius mainly stuck to his room, so they could just conveniently forget to invite him.

“We are!” Darg-Krallnom told him.

“Then let us head down to the Portals of Doom!” Tom said with a grin.

“Good luck!” Zelda wished them, standing beside Roth Tar Gorefest in the DCC.

“Thanks!” Tom called back as they headed down the hall leading to the portals. The portals were an interesting place; when he’d first surveyed Mount Doom, he’d ignored them as one more giant maze of tunnels in the mountain, due to the fact that none had been active. But they were actually a labyrinthine set of long and bending hallways, each about thirty feet wide and thirty feet high, lined with framed indentations in the natural stone of the mountain. According to Darg-Krallnom, when the portals were active, each indentation became a passage into its respective Doomalogue. Currently they simply appeared to be ornamental indentations.

On their tour last night, Helga had pointed out that the name of the world was inscribed in what would be glowing letters over each portal, when active. Currently they were simply engravings. According to those with him on the tour last night, when the portals were active, the entire region was quite disconcerting due to the curvature of the halls and the fact that there was no way all the tunnels could possibly exist side by side, particularly the ones that turned quickly on the other side.

Today, however, it was very straightforward. Tom could sense the active runes above the Nysegard portal. The runic name was active, but the portal was closed, indicating that it could be opened. Of course, Tom did not actually need to use his senses to find the runes, as there was a very long line of D’Orcs and D’Wargs lined up and ready to charge through the portal. The team from the DCC made their way to the front of the line, Helga dropping off to join the front of her regiment.

Tom reached the Nysegard portal. He was not completely sure what to do, but he assumed it would be rather self-evident if he used the Rod of Tommus. He held the Rod up next to the lit rune, willed himself into the rune and quickly felt his being traversing the link to the Doom of Nysegard. As expected, there was a runic network of very similar design to Mount Doom. Unlike Doom, however, it was mostly unlit. The only portion of the network that was lit was that leading to the reserves, which they had been charging.

Using what he knew of Doom, he followed the network from the reserves to the elemental portals. Interestingly, they seemed perfectly intact and well preserved. It should be pretty straightforward to start them. He quickly checked out the rest of the core mechanisms and compared them to their Doom equivalents.

“So far, everything seems well preserved and in good condition,” Tom told the others.

“Open the primary Fire portal first, followed by Earth, then Air, and finally Water,” Völund instructed. “The secondaries can wait.”

“Got it.” Tom nodded his thanks. He released the flow from the mana reserves into the network leading to the Fire portal. The portal lit with mana and Tom willed it to open in the same manner he had manipulated the Elemental Portals of Doom.

Rumble.

The Fire portal turned over sluggishly. Tom prodded it again, using his own mana.

Rumble.

Rumble.

The Fire portal opened; Fire, energy, began to flow into the volcano. Tom then repeated the process with the Earth portal.

Rumble.

Rumble.

Rumble. CRAAACK!!

“Fire and Earth are now active!” Tom shouted to his crew. Cheers went up.

Rumble.

CRAAACK!! CRAAACK!! CRUNCH!!

“Air is open, and gases are heating up quickly!” Tom called. Now for Water!

Rumble.

RUMBLE.

RUMBLE!!!

“Water is open!” Tom said. He extended his senses to the surrounding region. Yes! Life! he thought to himself. He was detecting no nearby sign of the inky blackness of antimus. “We have animus in the nearby region. No nearby Unlife!” Loud cheers went up from the assembled D’Orcs, along with yaps of excitement from the D’Wargs. “I’m activating the network to allow the reserve mana and my mana to mix with the local animus and start the generators!”

“I can’t believe I’m going to see home again!” Vargg Agnoth said rather huskily behind Tom. Was that a sniffling noise? Tom wondered to himself.

KRAA…AAACK!!!!

KABOOM!!!

“Generators online!” Tom shouted as the generator combined the Four Elements together and released a giant ball of fire, magma and steam, along with shards of shattered ground, into the air. Now for the portal before him. Tom willed it open and a long hallway appeared before him. Cheers went up from the assembled D’Orcs

“Be prepared for anything. Just because there is no Unlife does not mean there is no danger!” Vargg shouted.

Tom nodded the order to Darg-Krallnom, gesturing for him to proceed.

“D’Orcs charge!” Darg-Krallnom thundered in a truly terrifying shout.

Tom stood aside as his army launched themselves screeching down the tunnel. Tom mentally followed them down the tunnel and then overtook them with his mental projection, surging ahead of his army. For them to get out, he’d need to clear the way. Time for a lava burst! He pushed the lava and magma flows upward, clearing the mouth of the volcano to give his screeching D’Orcs egress.

The last regiment member charged through. Tom gestured towards Boggy and Antefalken, and the three took off after the D’Orc army. It was time to reintroduce Nysegard to the Power of Doom!

Isle of Doom

As the screeching increased and spread, Valg belatedly recognized the terrifying war cry of hundreds of D’Orcs bursting from the mouth of the volcano. More D’Orcs than Valg had ever seen assembled together in one place in his life!

“D’Wargs!” Valg’s mother shouted upon seeing a huge outpouring of giant winged wargs in addition to the horde of D’Orcs. There were none of the legendary creatures in Nysegard. yet all knew of their legendary prowess and loyalty.

From the center of the volcano, a demon larger than any of the D’Orcs, and seemingly growing larger as it flew, burst upward through the center of the D’Orc explosion, waving a huge scepter coruscating with blue and red light.

A loud booming voice rose from above the volcano, presumably that of the ever-expanding demon.

“Nysegard! Doom is once more upon you! The forces of Mount Doom have returned to your world. Unlife shall be defeated and the Peace of Doom shall reign again!” the voice bellowed.

Everyone was shouting and yelling, and it was chaos on the ground as orcs began falling to their knees.

“I am Tommus, Heir to Orcus, Master of Doom!” the bellowing voice exclaimed.

“The Wand of Orcus!” Targh shouted, looking back at the others and pointing towards the giant demon. “He bears the Wand of Orcus! Doom has finally come!”

Valg blinked as he refocused his Eagle Sight on his many-times grandfather. Were those tears streaming from the ancient D’Orc’s eyes and down his cheeks?

Several of the newly arrived D’Orcs were descending on the village at high velocity. “Do I see a rusty old bucket of a D’Orc?” a very deep voice bellowed from the group of oncoming D’Orcs.

Valg’s grandfather turned toward the approaching D’Orc who had spoken. “Darg-Krallnom?” His grandfather asked in amazement before shouting it. “Darg-Krallnom!”

“Rust Bucket! I would have assumed you to be lich farts at this point!” Darg-Krallnom bellowed.

“By Lilith’s frigid teats! It is you! I never thought to see this day!” his grandfather bellowed before charging full speed through the air at the oncoming D’Orc. There was a loud crash as the two collided in midair, their arms embracing each other tightly in joyous reunion.

“Darg-Krallnom!” Valg’s grandfather shouted again as the two pulled apart to grin happily at each other. “I cannot believe you have survived!”

“Nor I you!” Darg-Krallnom shouted.

Valg had to resist the urge to cover his ears at the volume. He glanced up to see more D’Orcs descending on the village. He also noted other groups of D’Orcs taking off in other directions, most likely towards other towns.

“Who else is with you?” Targh asked.

“Arg-nargoloth is off to his namesake city, as I am sure are Helga Dourtooth and Vargg Agnoth,” Darg-Krallnom told his grandfather. “Unfortunately, so many are gone.” He shook his head sadly.

Targh nodded. “We’ve had some word from those who returned to the Abyss early on.”

“It’s been a long time, and there were more losses,” Darg-Krallnom said sadly. “However, things are looking good now that Lord Tommus is with us.”

Valg’s grandfather nodded. “He is the heir of Orcus?” he asked uncertainly.

“Indeed, even as prophesied. He stole mana from the gods, found the Wand, relit Mount Doom, has taken our allegiance and led us to victory in epic battle! We have not only beaten, but subsumed the forces Lilith sent against us. We defeated a Chaos Maelstrom!” Darg-Krallnom shouted.

“You what?” Targh’s eyes went wide in shock.

Only about half of what the D’Orc had said made any sense to Valg. What was a Chaos Maelstrom? It did not sound good, but it did sound like an impressive victory.

“You heard me, Rust Bucket!” Darg-Krallnom punched Valg’s grandfather in the shoulder. “Lord Tommus led us to decisive victory over Lilith’s forces and then convinced most of them to turn their backs on her and join our ranks!”

“Is that a good idea?” Targh asked.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “I was hesitant, but I think so. He let those who wished to return to Lilith or run away do so. There was no threat to their lives. They have sworn and bound themselves to him and so now, we watch.”

“Well, returning to Lilith in defeat is a threat to their lives,” Targh grinned.

“Indeed,” Darg-Krallnom said. “However, we need the bodies to fully man Doom and bring mana levels up to where we can open the Doomalogues.”

“So are we the first?” Targh asked.

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “As planned.”

At this point Valg noted that the very large demon, Lord Tommus, was descending towards them. He had to blink because even though the demon was getting closer, it was also getting smaller. When it reached Darg-Krallnom, it had stopped shrinking and was about one or two heads taller than his grandfather.

“From what I see of the greetings going on, I assume the area is secure?” the demon lord boomed in a rather awe-inspiring manner.

“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 demon 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 around 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.

“What?” Tal Gor asked. He did a double take and had to glance at the glowing bowl to stabilize himself. The orc that had identified himself as Fer-Rog did look like Fer-Rog, the D’Orc boy from Mount Doom; that was why he looked familiar, Tal Gor suddenly realized. And the one claiming to be the son of Lord Tommus did sound like Rupert.

“How?” Tal Gor asked in surprise and shock.

“Skinwalking,” Beya Fei Geist said, smiling gently at Tal Gor.

“Skinwalking? D’Orcs and demons can skinwalk?” This was incredible, and more than a little disturbing.

Beya chuckled. “Of course, or at least some of them can. Do you not remember Lord Tommus masquerading as Edwyrd the human animage?”

Tal Gor shook his head in amazement. “Yes, but… well, he’s Lord Tommus, the Heir of Orcus. He can do whatever he pleases.”

Rupert chuckled. “He’s also my dad! I’ve got a human form as well; I thought it would be good to also have an orc form.”

“And Rupert taught me how to do it too!” Fer-Rog said excitedly.

“Interesting,” Farsooth Gore Tusk said, suddenly appearing sitting to Tal Gor’s left.

“Indeed,” Ragala-nargoloth snorted, also appearing in the circle on the other side of Farsooth. Is she smoking a cigar? Tal Gor wondered in shock, looking over at the shaman. How does one smoke an astral cigar?

“Ah, greetings!” Beya told the other shamans.

“Yes, as I was about to explain, Lord Tommus has asked me, and by extension the rest of you, to help train Fer-Rog and Rupert in the shamanic tradition. We will be needing more shamans; particularly on the Mount Doom side,” Beya told them.

Ragala-nargoloth nodded her head. “Excellent idea.”

“It should also be easier for them to blend in and learn orc traditions if they look normal. Demons and D’Orcs are more likely to provoke a violent response in those that are not familiar with them,” Farsooth commented.

“What is the other pillow for?” Ragala-nargoloth asked Beya.

“We have one more guest for this evening; one of us who was not able to attend the celebration,” Beya explained even as the pillow was filled by a new orc.

“That would be me,” the new orc said as he arrived. “My apologies for running late. I was detained on my shift, transcribing a very long-winded order from Admiral General Darth Nargolos’s second assistant deputy.”

Tal Gor and the rest nodded, not completely understanding what the very oddly dressed shaman was saying. Oddly dressed was perhaps an understatement, Tal Gor reflected.

The orc was wearing a sleeveless black silk vest-like tunic, trimmed in silver and belted at the waist with what appeared to be a woven metal belt about a claw’s length in width. He wore matching black silk pants that opened up wider at the ankle to cover very large boots made of some very unusual material. His wrists were encased in very odd gauntlets, each with a glass surface with glowing and blinking lights on it. His arms bore various tattoos, many of which were fairly traditional for a shaman, but some of which made no sense at all, at least not to Tal Gor.

He also wore a small coronet with a few gems mounted on the front, and metal strands or wires running down to his ears to join with an earring, at least on Tal Gor’s side. His head was shaven except for a very long ponytail from the rear crown of his head. Not a completely uncommon style, but the metal wires lacing it were quite unusual.

“I am Leftenant Trig Bioblast, Second Shaman of the OCSS Skull Crusher,” the newest orc introduced himself.

“Greetings, Leftenant.” Beya nodded at the shaman. “I am Beya Fei Geist, Shaman Mistress of the Olafa Horde on Ithgar. We Dream Spoke previously.”

“Indeed; a pleasure to astrascope you,” the leftenant said.

“Farsooth Goretusk, Vice Shaman of the Rockgut Horde on Romdan,” Farsooth introduced himself. “I must ask, what is an OCSS Skull Crusher?”

The leftenant grinned. “The Oak Clan Star Ship Skull Crusher.”

“Starship?” Rupert asked. “Sorry—I am Rupert, Lord Tommus’s son and apprentice to Beya Fei Geist.”

Trig Bioblast arched an eyebrow and nodded in recognition to Rupert. He did not seem surprised that the Lord of Doom appeared to have an orc son. “Greetings, Prince Rupert.” He grinned. “Lord Tommus informed me that most of you were from technology-suppressed realms. A starship is an enclosed ship that travels not between continents but rather between the stars.”

Ragala-nargoloth choked on her cigar. “You mean the lights in the sky at night?”

The leftenant grinned and nodded. “Indeed; stars with planets around them and various races living on them.”

“Incredible!” Ragala-nargoloth shook her head. “Ragala-nargoloth, First Shaman of the Nart Tribe on Etterdam.”

“I will need to learn more of your strange world,” Tal Gor said, trying to sound more confident and experienced than he felt at the moment. “I am Tal Gor El Crooked Stick, Assistant Shaman to the Crooked Sticks of Astlan.” He had no desire to admit that he was technically only an apprentice.

“And I am Fer-Rog, son of Zelda, Steward of the Mount and Ser-Rog of the Bear Clan of Veresai,” Fer-Rog said proudly. “Oh, and apprentice of Beya Fei Geist.”

Trig Bioblast grinned at the boy and nodded in recognition.

“Well, now that we have the introductions done,” Beya said, “we have much to discuss, much work to do to reestablish the links and gateways between the worlds so that the Restoration of Glory may proceed at a pace satisfactory to the Lord of Doom.”

Trig Bioblast chuckled. “Ah, yes. Nothing like a good campaign of interdimensional conquest!”

Several others chuckled at that.

“If I could, I would drink to that!” Ragala-nargoloth said, pulling the cigar from her mouth. “Oh wait, I can!” She reached down beside her pillow, where a goblet suddenly appeared in her hand. She brought it up to her face and gestured in a salute before taking a drink.

Trig Bioblast glanced to Tal Gor. “She is quite skilled.”

Tal Gor could only nod in agreement at the leftenant and look in admiration at the hard-living shaman as she took her drink. Smoking and drinking while in a trance was certainly impressive.

Etterdam: Mid Sixth Period Courts of Chaos time, Dawn Local Etterdam Time

“This place has seriously gone downhill,” Sentir Fallon observed, standing on the top floor of the long-abandoned tower in which the three of them were meeting.

“We haven’t used it in four thousand years, and we have never allowed any of our servants to know of this place,” Lilith replied.

“Enough small talk,” Aodh said. “We agreed that meeting here at our old location in Etterdam was far safer than meeting in the Abyss or the Outer Planes, and for the same reasons we had four thousand years ago.”

“Agreed,” Lilith said. “Sentir, I believe you said you had a favor to ask?”

“A favor, an early offer of negotiation,” Sentir Fallon replied.

“Very well; you know how I enjoy deal-making.” Lilith grinned maliciously. “What is your proposal?”

Sentir Fallon sighed. “Apparently some very foolish members of our Church and the Rod, in pursuit of this greater demon currently hiding in Mount Doom, joined forces with the Oorstemothians and have decided to invade the Abyss.”

Lilith blinked twice and then shook her head. “They what?”

Sentir Fallon sighed again. “Yes, apparently the Oorstemothians have built some sort extra-dimensional paddy wagon, allowing them to travel anywhere in the multiverse and serve up their idea of justice.”

Aodh made a snorting noise. Sentir Fallon and Lilith both looked at the avatar, who was covering his mouth to suppress a laugh. Sentir had not been aware that Aodh was capable of humor.

Lilith chuckled as well. “So, what—they loaded it up with a bunch of priests and Knights Rampant?”

Sentir Fallon shrugged. “So it appears.”

Aodh looked questioningly at Sentir Fallon and asked, “They are looking for a single knight, who was kidnapped by a so-called greater demon and could be anywhere in the Abyss?” He shook his head in amazement. “How do they expect to find this knight? They do realize that the Abyss is slightly infinite?”

Sentir Fallon rolled his neck on his head in frustration. “Mortals do not often think clearly.”

“Often? Try never,” Aodh replied smugly, shaking his head.

“So what do you want me to do?” Lilith asked.

“If you or your agents encounter them, try not to kill all of them. We will ransom their return,” Sentir Fallon said.

Lilith shrugged. “Very well.” Sentir Fallon felt a wave of relief, she was being quite reasonable. “Of course,” she continued, “I cannot vouch for Sammael. Even if I cared to inform him of this event, I would have no way to explain how I know about it. I am not about to reveal our machinations.”

“You may not,” Aodh said firmly. Lilith gave him a small glare of annoyance.

Sentir Fallon nodded. “I understand. We shall just have to hope that Sammael does not discover their existence.”

“So, now on to more interesting topics,” Aodh said, changing the subject. “Any word from the Lords of Chaos?”

Mount Doom: Late Sixth Period

Reggie stood in his room, turning, twisting and flexing in front of his full-length mirror, trying to determine the best possible poses to showcase his absolutely stunning muscle development. He was, he had to admit, incredibly handsome and gorgeous. More than he could have ever dreamed of being in his old life.

He was so incredibly beautiful he often found himself just looking at himself lustfully, or gently caressing his own arms, legs and every other inch of his hunky purplish body. He was a walking, talking, living, breathing (when he needed to talk, at least) sex machine! The perfect embodiment of male sexual perfection!

To add to that, he had been learning all sorts of new positions and maneuvers designed to please his partners from his accursed mistress, the bodaciously built black beauty, Merit-Ptah. He was the perfect lover, or would be once she finished his training. And that, right there, was the problem! He was not training! He had not seen his bootylicious babe of a mistress in several days, not since she had freaked out about learning that he was on a first-name basis with her boss. Well, her god rather, but he was pretty sure it was the same idea. He hoped that hadn’t offended her. He could not imagine that it would have intimidated such a strong-willed woman.

Reggie sighed. To say he was feeling frustrated, meaning sexually frustrated, would be an understatement. Things were worse now than they had been on Earth, where he had literally gotten no action that wasn’t his own! He had gotten so accustomed to the all-night love sessions with Merit-Ptah that he was now feeling this giant passion hole at the center of his being. He’d have called it a case of “blue balls,” but his were already a really dark purple, so that might not have made sense. Of course, that expression made no sense either; was it blue from cold?

He shook his head, frustrated at his unmet needs. Of course, he had to admit, it wasn’t like he wasn’t getting any action. Sure, there were a huge number of really hot and horny D’Orcettes or Lady D’Orcs or whatever they were called, and they were not at all shy; anything but! He was routinely groped by them while walking down the corridors. It was quite fun, and sure, he probably made love to seven or eight of them a day, but that was not the same. Plus, that only accounted for what? Eleven or twelve hours out of his day?

Sure, he was learning quite a bit from the Lady D’Orcs. They were incredibly strong, so doing things like making love standing, or upside-down in a handstand, was pretty cool. As was sex on the wing above Mount Doom, but he just felt like something was lacking. Hell, he had even played around with a couple of those demon attendant guys at the Doom Spa! He had never seen himself as gay or bi or anything, but hell, it had been fun. Just not as fun as with his accursed mistress. He really missed her.

He wished there was some way he could make her summon him. He knew that it wasn’t supposed to work that way, but he wished he could. He longed to follow that binding link coming out of his chest, follow it right through the Astral Plane to Merit-Ptah’s house. Reggie closed his eyes, imagining how he’d do it.

Just like in his dream-loving sessions, he would follow the link through the crazy lights until he saw her sleeping form. There, resting in her bed, sound asleep, her more-than-ample bosom slowly rising and falling under her nightgown. He would sneak into her dream bedroom, lift the covers at the foot of the bed, and slide upward towards her warmth. He would nestle in gently and softly, his tongue reaching out to—

“Reggie!” he heard Merit-Ptah exclaim. He glanced up to see her sitting up, in her dream, and lifting the bed covers to peer down at him to see what was going on. “What are you doing here?” She seemed surprised.

Reggie felt hurt, and he knew it must have shown on his face. “I missed you, my dearest mistress. I needed your warmth, your love, your passion!”

Merit-Ptah blinked a few times, and suddenly her expression softened with love. “I’m sorry, my pet. I did not mean to neglect you. Let me make it all better…”

Reggie grinned at her from under the covers with unfettered joy, and an incredible amount of lust.

The Inferno

Sir Samwell was passing by the officer’s mess on the way to his cabin when he noted that Wing Arms Master Heron was alone in the mess, going over numerous documents spread before him on the table. This might be a good information gathering opportunity, Sammael thought to himself.

“You are working late,” Sir Samwell said.

“Late? I have no idea how one determines time in this place,” Heron replied, looking up as Samwell entered the small room.

“A good point. However, even after all this time—and especially odd given the fact that we do not need to sleep here—I still find myself thinking in terms of night and day.” Sir Samwell grinned and then frowned. “Actually, now that I think of it, many demons do the same. Even the Courts of Chaos have magically simulated night and day.”

Heron shrugged. “I suspect it is ingrained in everyone.”

“But why in demons?” Sir Samwell asked. “There is no fierd in the Abyss; why would beings from a world without a fierd have any sort of inherent desire to organize time as mortals would?”

Heron blinked in surprise, not having thought of that before. “That is unusual. Are you certain of this?”

“Well, if one is in the Courts of Chaos, it’s pretty hard to miss the fact that it gets very dark and lamps are turned on for half the day.” Samwell shrugged.

“That is odd,” Heron noted. “It is almost as if demons were not actually native to the Abyss.”

Sir Samwell chuckled. “I would not mention that to your religious comrades; I suspect such a statement would be considered heresy.”

Heron grinned at the knight.

Samwell sat down across the table from the Wing Arms Master. “So, I am a bit curious.”

Heron tilted his head questioningly.

“I get the impression that locating and rescuing me may not have been your primary goal on this venture. Am I correct?” Sir Samwell asked.

Heron suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable. “I will admit, finding you, and doing so this quickly, was a bit of a surprise. After all, the Abyss is a big place.”

“Indeed,” Sir Samwell agreed, nodding. “So, since it was not your knight that was kidnapped by this greater demon, what exactly is your, or rather, our—Oorstemoth’s—goal in this venture? What does Oorstemoth get out of it? Other than yours truly?”

Heron sighed, sitting back. “Well, that is a bit complicated.”

Sir Samwell nodded for the Wing Arms Master to continue.

“The Church and Rod of Tiernon became involved with this greater demon when one of their priests accidentally summoned the greater demon, who proceeded to open an Abyssal gateway and bring forth a party of mortals in the small city of Gizzor Del,” Heron said.

“Gizzor Del?” Sir Samwell asked in surprise. “Is that tiny hellhole of a city still around?”

“It is,” Heron said while Sir Samwell shook his head in disbelief. “In any event, this party booked passage to Norelon aboard the vessel of a smuggler wanted on multiple warrants for illegal trade, falsified permits, tax evasion, larceny, general perfidy and a host of other illicit activities,” Heron continued. “The Constabulary had word that he was in Gizzor Del and were waiting for him to leave so that they might execute the warrants against him.”

“A demon booked passage on a smuggler’s ship?” Sir Samwell asked, puzzled. “What sort of smuggler books demons as passengers?” He shook his head. “The moral turpitude of Gizzor Del must have sunk to levels even lower than in my day!”

“Well, not exactly. While the city has very few laws, it is not quite that bad yet,” Heron answered. “The demon came through with a second demon and three mortals. At some point in Gizzor Del, the greater demon disappeared and a fourth mortal, a Lord Edwyrd, appeared. It was Lord Edwyrd that booked passage. The second demon was also not present until much later. So Asmeth would not have been aware of the demons.”

“Ah-hah,” Sir Samwell said.

“To make a long story short, our Protectors intercepted the ship and demanded that they submit to summary high justice,” Heron told the knight.

“I would assume that in this particular case, the correct judicial sentence would be the destruction of the vessel and imprisonment or termination of the criminal and all associated parties?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Indeed.” Heron nodded.

“And I take it that this Lord Edwyrd and his party resisted the Order of Summary High Justice?” Samwell asked.

“Indeed, which automatically condemned them to their own Order of Summary High Justice,” Heron replied.

“Foolish of them. If they were truly innocent passengers, they should have worked to hand the criminals over to the Protectors and then submitted themselves for trial on the grounds of criminal ignorance of the law,” Sir Samwell said.

Heron nodded in agreement. “I am sure they would have been given a lenient sentence; perhaps only a decade or two in prison.”

“What is wrong with the criminal mind?” Sir Samwell shook his head in disbelief at such irrational behavior.

“I suspect it is something intrinsic to their naturally disordered state,” Heron said. “So this Lord Edwyrd not only prevented the execution of the warrants, he sank our vessel, killing the entire crew with the exception of Assistant Vice-Constable Pyromancer Fiernon.” He shook his head.

“They were truly asking for the Writ of Law to strike them down,” Sir Samwell said, once more shaking his head.

Heron nodded. “Fiernon was miraculously able to follow them to Hoggensforth, which is where this Lord Edwyrd and his crew disembarked—”

“Wait!” Sir Samwell interrupted. Heron paused and looked at him. “You are saying that this assistant vice-constable pyromancer, whose ship was lost at sea, was able to follow the smuggler’s vessel the remainder of the way to Hoggensforth?”

Heron nodded. “It was truly inspirational. Apparently he had minored in aquamancy at the university.”

“A pyromancer with a minor in aquamancy? Those two skill sets are antipodes! While I know that master wizards must study all disciplines, starting with such a combination is very unusual,” Sir Samwell exclaimed.

“Not as much as it used to be.” Heron shook his head. “There are now several naval pyromancers who have studied aquamancy, pretty much for this sort of situation.”

“Interesting. Times, they do change.” Sir Samwell grinned.

Heron smiled back. “Sometimes too quickly.” He shook his head and continued, “Fiernon contacted our local field protectator, Wylan Wynterford. The two pursued the party to Freehold.”

“Wait—what did they do about the smuggler?” Samwell asked.

“Unfortunately, the Rod arrived and seized the vessel before Wylan and Fiernon could execute Justice.” Heron shook his head in dismay.

“Unfortunate,” Sir Samwell remarked.

“In any event, the miscreants and our two agents arrived in Freehold and sent word to the Constabulary, and I marshalled the Sky Fleet, and long story short, we ended up laying siege to Freehold, along with the Rod of Tiernon.” Heron sighed.

“You could not convince this Freehold to relinquish these uninvited guests?” Sir Samwell asked with a tone of disbelief.

“Freehold is the home of the Council of Wizardry, and the capital of the Council States.” Heron said. “Invading the city would have been an act of war. All we could do was camp outside and demand their return.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, the Rod also wanted the same party.”

“So what happened?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Well, the city put up these magical wards that would have been very difficult for either us or the Rod to penetrate, and took the matter under consideration,” Heron said.

“And their eventual response?” Samwell asked.

“Well, it turns out they somehow discovered that their city was infested with a bit over a thousand demons.”

Samwell blinked rapidly in shock. “A city of wizards infested with demons?” He looked questioningly to Heron. “I’m not sure what that means. Wizards often have lots of demons.”

“No, these were invisible demons that the wizards had been unaware of,” Heron answered.

“Invisible demons that the wizards were not aware of?” Sir Samwell repeated questioningly.

“Yes—a bit embarrassing, if you ask me.” Heron grinned.

“Indeed. So what was the resolution?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Well, the Sky Fleet and the Rod came to us with this plan to violently expel the demons—mostly sprites, shadows, imps and a few fiends—and asked us to slay them as they fled in panic,” Heron said.

“This worked?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Actually, yes, quite well, until this greater demon emerged along with a few others in its retinue. Apparently Sir Talarius had managed to capture a lesser greater demon that looked remarkably like the greater demon and was about to slay it when the greater demon landed and offered to duel Sir Talarius in single combat in exchange for the life of the smaller greater demon.”

“Well, not ideal, but better than having your army severely damaged by the greater demon,” Sir Samwell remarked.

“Yes. And it was a very close battle,” Heron added.

“This must be a very impressive Knight Rampant,” Sir Samwell observed.

“Yes, he was, but he also cheated. Talarius gave his word to single combat, but ended up getting help from the Rod and priests.” Heron sighed. “Thus, the knight nearly triumphed.”

“I am not one to wish a demon luck; far from it. However, I do have to say that a knight violating his personal oath is, quite personally, sickening,” Sir Samwell said.

“Indeed,” Heron said. “If he were one of ours, he would be in a great deal of legal trouble. However, it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Sir Samwell raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Indeed. Talarius surrendered, and then the demon shape-changed to a human form and came forward to offer the knight mercy.”

Sir Samwell closed his eyes, suspecting what was coming. Actually, he knew full well what was coming, but needed to be convincing to Heron.

“The knight pulled forth a dark blade, one capable of permanently slaying a demon, and attempted to kill the demon with it,” Heron said.

“He violated the terms of his own surrender?” Sir Samwell shook his head.

“Shocking,” Heron agreed. “I am no longer convinced that our allies have their former moral certainty.”

“But wait...” Sir Samwell shook his head. “Such a blade would have to destroy the demon’s animus very quickly.  How did the demon survive such a blade?”

“Ah, that’s what has the Church of Tiernon so upset.” Heron grinned. “Somehow—and no one understands how—the greater demon was able to possess a number of priests and Rod members and turn them on each other, before literally tapping into Tiernon’s illumination streams and harnessing Tiernon’s god pool to reverse the blade!”

Sir Samwell sat back hard, banging his head on the wall behind him. “How is that possible?”

“We have no idea, nor does the Church.” Heron smiled. “But it does make them anxious.”

“So then the demon abducted Sir Talarius?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Opened an Abyssal Gate below the man’s feet and dropped him straight into the Abyss!” Heron shook his head in admiration while grinning.

“Well, I would have to admit, that is justice well served!” Sir Samwell told the Wing Arms Master.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, the demon must face his own high justice.”

Sir Samwell tilted his head. “So, because this demon brought this Lord Edwyrd into Gizzor Del, and led to the constabulary vessel being sunk, you are pursuing it into the Abyss?”

“Well, no; we are not quite that insane.” Heron grinned back.

“That is a relief,” Sir Samwell replied.

“No, we have consulted and compared detailed notes with the Rod and Church. We made a scrying of the battle and have watched it repeatedly. We believe that Lord Edwyrd and the greater demon are the same person. While the human form that approached Talarius is not identical to the descriptions we have of Lord Edwyrd, they are similar,” Heron explained.  “In any event, we believe that Lord Edwyrd is, in fact, the greater demon. It is the only explanation we can come up with that fits all the pieces of the puzzle. It also explains the thousands of demons—those were also Lord Edwyrd’s. We do not believe a wizard could safely control that many hidden invisible demons among a city of wizards.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can see that,” Sir Samwell said.

Heron nodded. “We felt that we could use priestly support in serving justice upon Lord Edwyrd. But beyond even that, they have the ability to track and detect Talarius in the Abyss. Something that we would not be able to do on our own. Thus the alliance.”

“Fascinating!” Sir Samwell exclaimed. “I think it is an excellent idea, except for one thing.”

“What one thing?” Heron asked, suddenly alarmed.

“If he were controlling a thousand hidden demons, he would almost have to be an archdemon, if not a demon prince.”

Heron frowned. “You think so? Everyone we’ve spoken with has insisted he is a greater demon.”

Sir Samwell shrugged. “Based on my experience, such as it is”—he gestured around them, indicating his tenure in the Abyss—“it is quite unlikely that a greater demon would command the allegiance of a thousand demons, let alone be able to force them into hiding in a wizard city.”

Heron sighed. “That will certainly make executing the warrants against him more difficult.”

“Indeed.” Sir Samwell nodded.

Appendix III:  Introduction to Animus and Mana Polarization

Chapter 127

Mount Doom: DOA + 6, Late First Period

Tom slept soundly, curled in his now-common fetal position, clutching the Rod of Tommus as if it were a security blanket. It had been a long and exhilarating day. After being introduced to everyone in Krallnomton and ensuring that word was going out to the other cities and fortresses on the Isle of Doom, both by D’Orc messenger and shaman spirit message, they had all sat down to a hastily arranged feast. They had spent the rest of the day catching up and discussing plans for the Isle of Doom.

The stories of war, blood and sacrifice faced by those who had been stranded in Nysegard had been incredibly moving. Even though this had all occurred thousands of years before Tom’s birth and he had had nothing to do with any of it, he had somehow managed to feel guilty on behalf of Orcus for having left them with a skeleton crew when he’d gone to war in Etterdam.

Some of that discomfort was most likely due to the mistaken belief among some of the D’Orcs that he was somehow Orcus reborn. It was a belief that, to his own discomfort, Tom had avoided correcting. He supposed he felt some guilt on behalf of Orcus because he was technically pretending to be him reincarnated.

He had never claimed anything like this; the mistaken belief was all due to that silly prophecy from the incredibly suspiciously named prophet, Tis-Arog-Dal. He was more than a little suspicious that he might have walked into some sort of crazy plot of Tizzy’s. The only issue was that Tizzy did not strike him as someone capable of focusing on anything for more than a few minutes of time, let alone thousands of years.

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his sleep as his dreams turned to fighting the Unlife in Nysegard. He was leading a charge of D’Orcs, orcs, dwarves and humans through a Storm Lord Fury, as their regiments were called.

The mortals were focused on ghouls, zombies, skeletons and other lesser undead; the D’Orcs worked to seek out and battle the greater undead. Vampyrs, vampires, jiangshi, lich commanders, necromancers and non-corporeal undead, all of which were very tricky for mortals to battle.

For whatever odd reason, they were fighting the battle at night; this seemed very odd to Tom. One would think battling in daylight would have given them a greater advantage. His assumption, as he tried to think about it in his dream, was that they had had no choice for some reason. Greasy smoke and the smell of burning flesh dominated his sense of smell as he ruthlessly smashed lesser undead before him and moved towards a nearby vampire necromancer.

Someone shouted at him from his right. He looked in that direction to see Vosh An-Non, his most trusted general, pointing to the sky. Storm Lords! Two of them were approaching on ice dragons. The dragons were blasting super-cold sleet down on the masses below them; a breath weapon that did little damage to the undead, but was extremely damaging to mortal troops.

Tom grinned in pleasure at Vosh An-Non, nodding in agreement at his general’s plan for the two of them to take the battle to the two liches. Tom twisted to his left and shouted to one of his newest D’Orcs, Vargg Agnoth.

“Vargg! Take the vampire colonel. Vosh and I are going for the ice makers!” He gestured to the two liches on dragonback. Vargg nodded. Fuzzily in his dream memory, Tom knew that while less than two centuries old, Vargg Agnoth was well versed in slaying undead, having grown up and demonstrating great prowess here in Nysegard.

He launched himself into the air towards the two Storm Lords, as did Vosh An-Non. Tom briefly thought of blasting the liches with fireballs from the Wand—no, the Rod of Tommus—but dismissed it as unsportsmanlike. He wanted to feel their icy bones crunch beneath the crushing weight of his Rod.

As happens in dreams, he was distracted by the sight of a pale D’Orc he knew to be Vordek Deathstealer swooping down upon a cluster of vampyrs, the incandescence of his lichtshwert painting their spike-filled maws in an almost surreal red bath of light against the inky blackness of the battlefield.

He smiled in appreciation of Vordek’s skill at slicing off the heads of the vampyrs. The sight caused his dream to jump to Visteroth, a rather dark and forbidding planet orbiting Erdnalla 3. Visteroth had been a world much like Nysegard, overwhelmed by Unlife. However, over thousands of years, the orc clans there had been able to adapt, creating through very risky trial and error, a genetic vaccine against the Unlife.

Unfortunately, not many survived vaccination, but those that did were immune to the predations of the Unlife, as were their descendants. There had been a few unforeseen side effects, of course. The Deathstealer and Soulwrecker clans were both very tall and thin for orcs and were also extremely pale, a dusky gray pallor that was frankly a bit off-putting to most other orcs. That paleness, along with their nearly fluorescent red eyes and deadly hand-to-hand fighting skills, made them some of the most feared warriors in their galaxy after they had driven the Unlife from their world.

Of course, Tom reflected in his dream, it was not just their fighting skills. For some reason, Loki (a vision of the jötunn-god laughing and drinking across the table from Tom came to mind) had speculated that it was related to the mana involved in the Unlife defense. The genetically modified orcs were far more sensitive to animus and mana than most orcs. Nearly all of them possessed strong animage skills of some form or the other. Naturally, being orcs, most of these animages focused on combat-related skills such as body mastery, cell mastery, kinetomastery, spatiomastery and temporamastery. Tom chuckled darkly to himself. And yes, a few of them had branched out and were skilled at telemastery and Mind Reaving; that could be very handy.

In his dream, Tom shook his head suddenly, wondering how he knew all this and where it had come from. But then he chided himself; when you had been around as long as he had been, you were bound to accumulate a lot of information. What? Sixteen or seventeen years? Tom asked himself in the dream. This dream, and he suddenly realized it was a dream, made very little sense. He shook his dream head harder. This caused his physical head to shake, and one of his horns snagged against the headboard, waking him up. What a crazy dream! he thought to himself before falling back to sleep, this time with only scattered thoughts of Unlife mixed in with disjointed conversations with his friends.

Fort Murgatroid: DOA + 6, Early Third Period

Teragdor stood in the doorway to the southwestern tower of Fort Murgatroid, watching the reconstruction work. It had taken a full day for Stevos to negotiate assistance, but he had managed it. Yesterday, they had returned to Fort Murgatroid, where they had welcomed multiple saints from both Tierhallon and Torholden to the fort.

They had left before dawn and ridden to Fort Murgatroid, where they planned to summon the saints by performing rituals that would allow the saints to find them. Stevos had brought a set of marching drums and a trumpet. He had shown Teragdor the beat he would need to play on the drums while he himself would sound the trumpet.

Teragdor smiled at the memory of the dawn summoning. He had belted the drums on, and felt filled with pride as upon them he began to bang, even as the setting of Uropia turned red as blood with the morning light of Fierd and Stevos’s trumpet sounded its call. Answering the call, Torean’s horsemen began to ride. With Fierd’s fire beginning to blaze, the stars began to fade from the dawn sky.

Teragdor had lost himself in the music. It stretched across the planes, beckoning the forces of Tiernon and Torean. To think he, Teragdor, had been in the musical number when the saints went marching in to Fort Murgatroid!

There were a dozen saints of Tiernon, and another dozen of Torean. They had quickly organized and began scouring the building and grounds with cleansing and purification spells for both Torean and Tiernon. A team of horses had brought a wagon with rune-inscribed stones that would be used to construct two runic gateways. One would go to a monastery of Torean, where a team of human carpenters and masons would join them; the other gateway would open to a quarry in New Etonia, where they would get stone. Teragdor knew very little of runic gateways, but had never heard of one that could span such a distance. He supposed it was quite literally miraculous.

The saints, apparently, did not actually need to sleep, so they had been working all night. To say he felt in awe would be more than an understatement. This morning there were scaffolds all over the fort, masons and carpenters scrambling up and down ladders and hauling materials. There were probably two dozen masons and as many carpenters.

Teragdor had shaken his head in wonder at everything that had happened while he had slept in town last night. There was a creaking noise behind him as someone came down the very questionable stairs in the tower behind him. Teragdor looked behind him to see a large man with a huge mane of hair and full beard stepping onto the main floor. The change in lighting from the outside to the inside kept him from recognizing the man in the interior darkness.

The man chuckled and nodded to Teragdor, seeing the priest’s expression of wonder at the activity in the fort. “When needed, we can literally move heaven and hell, it seems.”

Teragdor grinned and stepped aside into the courtyard, allowing the large man to exit. As the man came into the daylight, Teragdor gasped and fell to his knees. The prophet himself! The Prophet of Astlan, Baysir Tomgren, was standing beside him!

The prophet shook his head and gestured Teragdor to stand. “We are on a holy mission together, Teragdor, and time is of the essence, so no need for formality.”

“Your Holiness.” Teragdor bowed his head in acknowledgement as he stood.

The prophet chuckled. “You will learn, with time, that the true secret to miracles is speed and efficiency, my lad.” The saint made a broad sweeping gesture. “We need this fortress ready and we need it in place before any of those who might seek to hinder us are even aware of its existence. We need it to appear as if it sprang up overnight,” he said, chuckling at his own words.

“Well, Your Holiness, it is pretty close to that,” Teragdor said.

The prophet smiled down at him and nodded. “And in most cases, close is good enough.” He turned to look back at the construction. “Using a true miracle to make a permanent fortress would require so much mana that it would set off alarm bells throughout the plane. The trick is to use just enough mana to avoid detection and get the job done as fast as possible.”

“That seems reasonable.” Teragdor really had no idea how to respond.

The prophet looked carefully at him. “Teragdor, we value your assistance in this. In particular, we appreciate your assistance in helping us work outside our normal channels.”

Teragdor nodded. Stevos had been very clear that they wanted to do this outside the normal church hierarchy, for some reason.

The prophet continued, “Once built, this fortress and chapel will be in your province. Stevos will help as time permits, but it will be a challenge for you. We are going to man the walls with Torean’s Rangers, and a local priest of Torean will also be here. As we find people we can trust for this mission, they too will arrive and assist you.”

“Understood, Your Holiness. Or…” Teragdor paused, uncertain if he should go on.

“Or?” the prophet asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or, I think I understand. I’m not completely sure why you are all so adamant about not involving the Church and Rod,” Teragdor said rather timorously for an orc, or half-orc.

Baysir nodded and smiled. They were suddenly surrounded in a dome of light, obscuring the sight and sound of the courtyard.

“What I am telling you, you must not reveal to anyone in Astlan that we have not vetted,” the prophet said. Teragdor nodded. “There have been certain actions taken by the Church and Rod that make us suspect there may be some corruption of doctrine, and potentially the shielding of information from Tierhallon. Until we know how great the problem is, we are taking no chances. The Rangers and Brothers of Torean we are using are from more isolated orders here in Astlan; they too have been sworn to secrecy by Torean’s saints.”

Teragdor gulped; this was far beyond anything he would have ever suspected. He shook his head. “What sort of actions have they hidden?”

Baysir chuckled wryly. “There has been a long strand of suspicious behavior, here and on a few other planes. However, the most recent is an undisclosed alliance with Oorstemoth and an undisclosed and unauthorized invasion of the Abyss.”

Teragdor’s eyes got wide and he had to steady himself. “The Rod invaded the Abyss?”

Baysir grimaced. “Yes, and we are not particularly happy about it.”

Freehold, Council Palace

“Wow,” Vaselle said as he stood next to Damien in the demolished grand foyer of the Council Palace.

“We probably should have magically reinforced the walls,” Damien said sourly.

“Well, at least the Council will be stimulating the economy with lots of construction work, what with fleeing demons blowing holes in walls and councilors battling it out with a former councilor,” Crispin, standing beside them, said with a smile.

Crispin had finally left Freehold for Djinnistan this morning, and so Tom had been able to establish a link outside of Freehold. Vaselle had decided then and there that he needed to construct something with a link on it outside the city. He had several items in his shop with links to himself; however, the wards had been up and blocking his links, so they had been of no use to his master.

He needed something outside the city, something a bit more rugged and easier to use. Perhaps an active artifact, something with a mana pool and a fire spell that could ignite a fire to make creating the gateway easier. It would probably be a good idea to make quite a few of those. Vaselle figured it would be very useful to place them with various allies and locations they might need to travel to.

“Councilor Damien!” a very smug-sounding voice shouted from the other side of the ruined grand hall. Vaselle saw Damien visibly wince.

“Councilor Lenamare,” Damien said with a nod.

Vaselle blinked and looked more closely at his master’s accursed master.

“So nice of you to finally join us,” Lenamare said acidly.

“Yes. I had to be out of town, following up a lead on that demon you misplaced,” Damien replied. “Fortunately, you seem to have had everything under control.” He gestured to the wreckage around them. Workers were just now filing in with the morning light to continue removing rubble.

“A lead?” Lenamare asked rather drily.

“Yes, I was contacted by Edwyrd, the animage. He and your student Rupert had been working to locate your demon, along with Tiernon’s knight,” Damien said.

“And were you successful?” Lenamare asked, sounding skeptical.

“I did have some success. I will be preparing a report for the council,” Damien told his fellow council member.

Vaselle noted that Crispin was watching Damien with a great deal of curiosity. He was reasonably certain the djinni knew the truth. Vaselle suddenly wondered what the djinni would tell his master, Councilor Randolf.

“Hmm.” Lenamare sniffed and seemed to suddenly realize how dirty and disheveled Damien looked. “Have you been buried in a cave or something?”

“Something like that.” Damien said. “Scrying into the Abyss requires one to get one’s hands dirty.”

“Scrying into the Abyss?” Lenamare looked very puzzled by Damien’s statement. “I am not sure how that would be possible.”

“It is not easy,” Damien said, sounding tired. “However, I am not yet ready to publish my paper on it.”

Lenamare stared at his fellow councilor for a moment as if trying to come to some decision. He finally shrugged and smiled. “Very well, then. I look forward to both your report and your new publication on scrying into the Abyss.”

Damien nodded. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am in need of a bath.”

“Yes, you are.” Lenamare said. He nodded, turned away and proceeded upon his journey.

“We should meet for a recap tomorrow sometime,” Damien said to Vaselle.

“Sounds good to me. I’m going to go work on some new projects I have in mind,” Vaselle said. “Thank you for your assistance, Crispin.”

“You are welcome, Vaselle,” the djinni replied.

“Yes, thank you, Crispin,” Damien said. “Are you planning on informing your master of my connections to Mount Doom?”

Crispin tilted his head, thinking. “I am not sure how the Calyphos feel on that. Until they clarify, I will not be relaying any information.”

“Thank you,” Damien said, and Crispin nodded.

Noajar, New Sais: Early Third Period

“Wow, the architecture here is very odd,” Gastropé said to his companions as they wandered the streets of the walled city of New Sais in Noajar, near the southern tip of Norelon.

“Noajar was originally a colony of Najaar Kmet. So it is only natural that the cities would use the same architecture as Natoor and Najaar.”

“I am still trying to get these lands down,” Jenn said. “Najaar Kmet was an ancient kingdom or empire consisting of the continents of Natoor and Najaar, and they had settled some people here in Noajar, on the southern tip of Norelon.”

“Correct,” Elrose said.

“And the Holy Etonian Empire invaded and took them over,” Gastropé confirmed.

“Not exactly,” Elrose said. “What we think of as the Holy Etonian Empire did not exist in its current form at that time. Initially, it was the Rod and the Rangers, exercising their newfound freedom after long being suppressed by the Anilords. So at that point there was not a Holy Etonian Empire. There was an Etonian empire that spanned the entire continent, which was essentially the predecessor to what we call the Holy Etonian Empire. Etonia Eternia, as it was called, was a theocracy ruled by a council of the High Pontificates of the Five Churches of the Etonians. The Anilords shattered the Holy Council’s power and they broke up the continent into various political regions with their own rulers to dilute the power of the churches.”

“So their invasion, which came near the end of the reign of the Anilords, was part of an attempt to recreate Etonia Eternia?” Jenn asked.

“Essentially,” Elrose agreed. “They were trying to flex their independence, and the Rod of Tiernon, which had formerly been called the Militia of Tiernon, was quite new in its current form.”

“I don’t think any of the wizard schools in Norelon cover it much,” Gastropé said.

Elrose nodded. “We give it only perfunctory coverage at Lenamare’s. It is not particularly useful for understanding modern wizardry, which comes from Norelon and Eastern Free Eton. And when I was a student, it was not covered much better. What I know, I learned from my parents and grandparents. My great-great-grandparents came to Norelon from Natoor. Thus, as you might expect, my grandparents were more than happy to discuss the depredations of the Etonians.” He chuckled.

“That must have been interesting,” Jenn said with a frown.

“To a child, somewhat amusing, sometimes terrifying. However, I probably learned more from my first teacher; his father was from Natoor and so had more recent and less filtered information,” Elrose explained.

“One thing I don’t see, though, is how could the Anilords have broken the power of the Holy Council? Wouldn’t the Etonian avatars have interceded?” Gastropé asked.

“Mmm.” Maelen spoke up. “The Etonian gods, much like others, tend to be ambivalent about political structures, so long as those structures are not constricting their worshipers and thus their mana supply.”

“That seems very cynical. One would think that prayers of people being unseated by political change would have some effect,” Jenn said.

“It does, if things are getting worse,” Maelen agreed. “However, in this case it was far subtler. The Council essentially devolved its power willingly—in a manner of speaking.”

“I have heard that, but never understood it,” Elrose said. “It makes no sense; rulers do not relinquish power.”

“It is contradictory to normal human behavior; however, if the council members were unduly influenced by advisors that shaped their thinking…” Maelen trailed off.

“What kind of advisor is going to be that persuasive?” Gastropé asked dismissively.

Maelen shrugged. “Mind Reavers.”

“Mind Reavers?” Elrose asked with a gasp.

“What are Mind Reavers?” Jenn asked, having never heard of such things.

“They do not sound pleasant,” Gastropé added.

“I thought they were myths!” Elrose said, sounding more shocked then Jenn had ever heard him.

Maelen shrugged again. “They were a particular type of Anilord. They practiced a perverted form of telemastery. Mind Reaving to telemasters is as necromancy is to self-respecting wizards. It was banned at the fall of the Anilords, and all known practitioners were hunted down and slain.”

“Slain?” Jenn asked. “Why not just put them in a dungeon?”

“Too dangerous.” Maelen shook his head. “They could easily convince the guards to let them out, and probably many others. Mind Reavers could control other people as if they were puppets. And afterward, the controlled individual would not even realize they had been controlled, should the Reaver so choose. The individual would be convinced that everything had been his or her choice.”

Gastropé shuddered. “You mentioned that Etonia Eternia was different than the Holy Etonian Empire, that it covered all of Eton, but not the lands of the Najaar Kmet and was a theocracy,” he said. “But the Holy Etonian Empire is also a theocracy and covers a good chunk of Eton plus Najaar Kmet. So why wouldn’t they just restore Etonia Eternia? You know, like an inter-regnum.”

Maelen chuckled. “Well, for one thing, The Society, which had played a great role in the downfall of the Anilords, was not interested in joining any new Etonian empire. As a member of the Learned Society of Fellows, which is actively involved in the management of the Republic of Etonia, I can say that we still have no interest in joining said Empire. Thus we have resisted, and continue to resist such suggestions. We have also allied with the feudal lords and city-states of Eastern Free Eton, to keep their influence there tempered. Thus the Holy Etonian Empire only covers about a third of the continent. I think they probably have more land and citizens in Natoor, Najaar and here in Noajar than in Eton.” He shook his head and added, “Also, they are not a theocracy.”

“They aren’t? I thought the churches ruled the empire?” Elrose asked.

“No. The Holy Etonian Emperor, Rafaestus Torson III, is independent and secular. There is a Holy Council and they work closely with the emperor, and while there is a lot of overlap, the actual government is secular. Further, the churches operate all over Eton, and in Norelon, beyond the boundaries of the empire.”

“Then what makes it holy?” Gastropé asked.

Maelen grinned and shook his head from side to side. “Well, the imperial family, with their very distinct purple eyes, is said to be descended from the god Torean.”

“Demi-gods?” Elrose asked, frowning.

Maelen shrugged and gave them an expression indicating he doubted it. “Very diluted blood at best.”

“So that’s the only holy part of it?” Gastropé asked. “I always thought it was a much bigger deal—you know, religious wise.”

Maelen nodded. “The five religions are the only recognized religions, and the empire does use the resources of the churches as extensions of itself, so it is pretty tightly integrated. However, the emperor is officially neutral to the five religions and is the final arbitrator between them in Astlan. So it is complicated, but it is not a theocracy, even though it may seem that way.”

“Wait,” Jenn said. “Back up. You included Noajar in the lands the empire controls.” Maelen nodded. “So are we actually in the Holy Etonian Empire right now?”

“We are. A colony, but still part of the Empire,” Maelen confirmed.

Mount Doom: Third Period

Tom listened carefully to his Nysegard commanders around the conference table: Targh Bowelsplitter, Vargg Agnoth, Darg-Krallnom, Arg-nargoloth, Helga Dourtooth and Völund. Tamarin had shrunk herself down to less than a foot tall and was sitting on Tom’s shoulder. She had apparently gotten this idea from seeing a cartoon image in his mind, when searching for an ideal form, featuring a demon sitting on someone’s shoulder and whispering in their ear. She had thought it would be funny if she sat on a demon’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“As was mentioned yesterday,” Targh was saying, “our shamans have been powering runic gateways manually as needed to shuffle troops between villages; however, it would be good to get the permanent gateways set up as soon as possible. As it is now, we have to do multiple hops to reach some destinations.”

Völund nodded. “Agreed. I think the first thing to do would be to hook your current gateways into the DoomNet. The old gateways were in the old cities and thus most likely heavily damaged. Obviously, the old gateways are better integrated, more sophisticated, use less mana and have greater range, but they may take too much time to repair. I will have a small team start investigating the old gateway, but the majority of our efforts will focus on the new ones.”

Helga nodded. “I am certain that there will be renewed attacks as soon as the Storm Lords realize that the Doom of Nysegard is once more operational.”

Targh grunted in agreement. “They have been making periodic tests for the last few thousand years, but have not made a truly concerted effort since we finally pushed them back a bit over three thousand years ago. However, I suspect they will make a serious effort to damage us before we can get back to full strength.”

“Why have they not tried a more massive attack recently?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“Well, for the last large battles, we formed a coalition with others, including the… Los Alfar… and were able to deplete their forces considerably,” Targh explained.

“You what?” Arg-nargoloth exclaimed in shock.

“You heard me,” Targh grunted.

“You joined forces with the fragging elves?” Arg-nargoloth seemed quite offended.

“Enemy of my enemy!” Targh replied angrily. “It was that or extinction.”

Arg-nargoloth shook his head in dismay. “I hope the cooperation ended shortly thereafter?”

“As you know, we had before, and have now, an uneasy truce. There have been times where they have called on us for assistance, and we have obliged out of honor.”

Helga grinned cynically at Arg-nargoloth. “As I have told you many times, Nysegard makes strange bedfellows of everyone.”

Arg-nargoloth sighed. “I know that very well; it is just depressing to know that things got to such a level.”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “We do what we must in pursuit of war. Next topic.”

Targh spoke up. “My thought is that we do the oath-taking with those in Krallmonton today and then, as we bring the runic gateways up, we proceed to each village for the rest of the oath-takings. No sense wasting time flying hundreds of leagues between towns.”

Darg-Krallnom looked to Tom regarding this issue. “Agreed,” Tom said simply.

“Does anyone have anything else to discuss?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

No one said anything so Tom thought he would bring up his idea. “I have a thought,” he said, causing the rest of the group to turn their attention to him. “Valg mentioned that when half-D’Orcs died, you”—he gestured to Targh—“and your shaman were not able to summon them back from the Abyss? Unlike full D’Orcs.”

“Indeed. They apparently did not return to the Abyss like a D’Orc would,” Targh said sadly.

Tom nodded. “This is interesting, because from my experience, half-demons do return to the Abyss. However, those that I know returned had all been to the Abyss before perishing on the Planes of Orc.”

Helga tilted her head. “So their souls had a reference point, an anchor, to return to. That makes sense.” She nodded in agreement.

“Therefore, I am thinking we want all of those with D’Orc blood, of whatever amount, to spend some time in the Abyss,” Tom said. “We can do rotations if needed to maintain troop levels.”

Vargg slapped the table. “Excellent idea, my lord! Actually, I had been about to suggest that we begin rotations with all the D’Orcs in Nysegard. We generally rotated troops across the Doomalogues to ensure uniform training and experience. We should restart this program; later-generation D’Orcs need more battle experience and I am sure many on Nysegard would like to see Doom and old friends again.”

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “Yes, I like this. Vargg, can you work out a rotation schedule with Targh that ensures proper experience levels and training opportunities in Nysegard?”

The D’Orcs all nodded and seemed quite pleased with Tom’s suggestion, so he decided to broach the next, more ambitious thought he’d had. “One other thought I’ve had is this. We are very short-handed in terms of shamans in Mount Doom; we need more magical support here if we are to reestablish our old connections,” he said.

“Agreed; however, we are not exactly flush with D’Orc shamans on Nysegard,” Targh said.

“But you do have quite a few orc shamans,” Tom said.

“Orc, human, dwarven, yes,” Targh agreed. “I would not say we have a surplus, but we do have some very good ones.”

“Exactly. In particular you have Karth Death Cheater; I believe you told me he was one of the greatest shamans in a thousand years.”

Targh frowned. “He is; however, he is very old for an orc. I doubt he would survive long in Mount Doom.”

“What if he were a D’Orc?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Darg-Krallnom said with a grin. “That would work extremely well.” The others all nodded in agreement, seeming very happy with Tom’s idea.

“Now, the problem is this: does anyone remember how to make D’Orcs?” Tom asked. That caused quite a bit of muttering and shuffling in their seats.

“Well, there were quite a few shamanistic rituals required,” Arg-nargoloth replied tentatively. “Not sure if you have any shamans on Nysegard that are familiar with the process?” Arg-nargoloth looked to Targh, who seemed lost in thought.

“We may; it has been so long; we have lost so many,” Targh said with a frown.

“I do know, that in the case of someone who was still alive, it was simpler,” Darg-Krallnom said. “As I recall, it was a matter of the candidate smoking demon weed and traveling to the Astral Plane, where a shaman would then summon them as a D’Orc using a ritual similar to summoning a demon.”

“Demon weed?” Tom asked puzzled. What Darg-Krallnom was saying sounded exactly like what had happened to him; except that he had simply smoked marijuana, not demon weed.

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “It’s an herb, literally a weed, that some demons smoke for stress relief and relaxation.”

Tom frowned. “You mean like tobacco or marijuana?”

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “I don’t know what the second one is. I suppose it’s similar to tobacco but the effect is different; tobacco doesn’t do much for D’Orcs and demons. Similar to alcohol, we need something that is generally lethal to mortals to become intoxicated.”

Tom shook his head. “So why is Tizzy always smoking his pipe if tobacco doesn’t affect demons?”

Darg-Krallnom coughed. “He is not; he is smoking demon weed.”

“Which is one reason he is often incoherent,” Vargg Agnoth said.

“Hmm. I am pretty sure that it’s the only reason he’s still sane,” Arg-nargoloth said, shaking his head. “Or relatively sane.” He shrugged.

“So Tizzy has a supply of this demon weed?” Tom asked. He wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts were leading him. He was going to need to table those thoughts for now, however.

“Yes,” everyone said, almost in unison.

“Okay, then,” Tom said. “Targh, check with your shamans, see if any of them know the rituals.”

Targh nodded in agreement, seeming quite pleased with this plan.

“I think that wraps it up,” Helga said, looking at Darg-Krallnom, who nodded.

“It is good to have a plan, a set of orders,” Vargg Agnoth said happily. “It has been so long. Reclaiming Nysegard thrills the blood.” He pounded the table in emphasis. The others nodded as well, several also pounding the table in agreement.

“I know it has me psyched,” Tom told his commanders. “I had the weirdest dreams about battling the Unlife last night.”

“Slaying Unlife makes the blood sing more than any other opponent,” Targh agreed. “If your dream was good, I can assure you that the reality will be far better!”

Tom chuckled. “I am sure. It was just odd that of all the D’Orcs I dreamt I was in battle with, all of whom I felt as if I knew well, the only one I actually knew was Vargg Agnoth. Although for some reason I thought he was only two centuries old.” Tom shook his head.

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “He has not been that young in nearly ten thousand years!”

“Who did you think your companions were?” Vargg asked curiously.

“My right hand, my general, was named Vosh An-Non. It felt like I had known him forever.” Tom shook his head, not noticing the looks of the others around the table. “And there was Vordek Deathstealer lopping the heads of vampyrs with his lichtshwert, which led me to dreaming about Erdnalla 3 and even Loki.” Tom grinned, looking up at the now very silent and still commanders around the table.

“Can you tell me a bit more about this battle?” Vargg asked, rather cautiously, Tom thought.

He shrugged. “There was this huge army of Unlife. The battle was at night and it was pitch-black; I don’t even recall a moon. The whole battle seemed rather ill-advised in regards to timing. The D’Orcs were going after the necromancers, vampyrs, vampires and higher undead. The orcs, humans and dwarves were taking on the lesser undead. I recall Vosh spotting a couple of Storm Liches on ice dragons and we peeled off to battle them, while I directed you to take on this necromancer vampire I had been about to take.”

Tom looked at Vargg and then around at the very silent table.

“Why are you all looking at him so weird?” Tamarin suddenly asked from Tom’s shoulder, as puzzled at Tom was.

“Because that sounds like the Battle of Night’s Helm. It was about a hundred and sixty years after my ascension, and the three of us—Vosh, Vordek and I—were the closest to you at the battle. The Three Vs, you called us,” Vargg said, eyes rather wide.

“What do you mean, you three were the closest to me? You mean Vosh and Vordek were actual D’Orcs?” Tom asked, even as a feeling of panic was seeping into his stomach.

“Of course. Both perished permanently at your side in Etterdam,” Darg-Krallnom replied in a louder-than-usual voice. “Vosh An-Non was your commander general, the First D’Orc.”

“And Vordek,” Vargg added, “was perhaps the greatest D’Orc animage of all time.”

“Wow!” Tamarin exclaimed. “This is great news! You are getting your memories back! Normally it takes an experienced mind specialist to help people remember past lives. You are recalling things on your own!”

The D’Orcs around the table suddenly laughed and started thumping the table and yelling in excitement. They were all clearly excited that Tom was getting his memories back. Tom, of course, was experiencing a moment of deep and abiding horror. He glanced down at the Rod of Tommus in his hand. Was the Rod—or rather, the Wand of Orcus—somehow infecting him with old memories from Orcus? There was no other possible explanation.

“This is such great news!” Arg-nargoloth said, grinning at Tom.

“Indeed. It is taking me by surprise,” Tom said.

Tamarin leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You do not seem that pleased, master.”

Tom nodded in agreement with her; he would explain later. In theory, djinn knew quite a bit about magic. Perhaps she would have some ideas about what was going on.

~

Talarius moved down the corridor confidently, yet as nonchalantly as he possibly could. He wanted his exploration to seem as if he was randomly walking in areas he was entitled to visit. There was nowhere in Doom he had been barred from visiting; however, he expected that whatever new endeavor his captor was so engaged in with multiple D’Orc regiments would be something that the demon would not want him to know about.

Admittedly, they had made no great secret of their activities; the long line of D’Orcs had been more than obvious. However, his captor had not directly informed him of what he was up to. As a soldier, Talarius thought it looked like a small invasion force had been assembled and deployed. The question was, to where?

That was the point of Talarius’s wanderings. The D’Orcs had all gone down to a large maze-like region of Doom, with walls lined with large indentations. Following the trail of disturbed dust through the maze, Talarius came to an indentation that was actually a tunnel. A natural rock-walled tunnel, in fact; not the carved stone of the corridor.

The halls were dark in most of Doom, since D’Orcs could see fine in low light; thus Talarius was using his visor to see with. However, there was a glow above the entrance to this hallway that provided better illumination. He glanced up to the light source at the top of the tunnel’s entrance. There were some glowing runes above the archway.

Talarius frowned, not recognizing the runes, but suddenly realizing all the other archways had non-glowing runes above them as well. Was this some sort of runic gateway? he wondered. From the dust patterns it was pretty clear that everyone coming this way must have gone through the archway and this tunnel. Talarius found this quite curious. He shrugged. There was only one way to find out where the tunnel went.

~

As Tom and Tamarin headed down the hall towards his quarters, Zelda intercepted him. “Lord Tommus!” she called, coming up to them.

“Good morning, Zelda!” Tom said, grateful for the distraction from his new paranoid thoughts.

“Beya Fei Geist is in the Temple of Doom with a request,” Zelda said.

“Okay,” Tom replied. “Let’s head over there.” They changed course and headed to the temple. Tamarin, once more full-sized to avoid getting bounced off Tom’s shoulder while he walked, started small talk with Zelda. As they chatted, Tom found himself mentally tracing through the Rod of Tommus, looking for any sign of Orcus.

When he had found the Rod, it had been inert. He had not detected any significant mana beyond that of the spells locking it in place. Given the pressure they had been under, he could have missed some residual mana, but surely he would have noticed any animus? He needed to discuss this with someone, like Tamarin or Antefalken, who understood animus and memory and all this crazy spiritual stuff.

His assumption, based on what he’d learned in the weeks since he’d been summoned, was that mana was simply energy; that life and spirit were animus. Using his demon senses, or perhaps his animage sort of senses, it was very easy to tell the difference between the two. Animus was clearly alive; spirits and such, which he had so far only really encountered in his dream, were collections of animus held together with mana bodies. Dream walkers, he gathered, were doing astral projection. That would jibe with his own summoning. One would presume, then, that what Tom thought of as a “soul” was this bodiless animus. Therefore, any memories of an individual—in fact, the consciousness—would be contained within the animus. Thus, it seemed to Tom that if the Rod was trying to infect him with Orcus’s memories, it would have to have animus in it. He had been certain that there had not been any in the Rod.

Could it have come from somewhere in Mount Doom? Following the links between Doom and the Rod, perhaps? If so, why had it taken so long? What had changed? That made Tom blink. Tartarus had changed. He had not previously had a connection to Tartarus. Could Tartarus, a supernatural prison for those even the gods feared, also contain some remnant of Orcus that was now trying to possess him?

Tom sighed. This was one case where having read too much science fiction, fantasy and horror was working against him. All sorts of alien or supernatural possession scenarios were now running through his head nonstop. His stomach, or whatever this body had for a stomach, was twisting itself in knots.

“Lord Tommus!” Beya Fei Geist’s translucent dream manifestation greeted him. “Zelda, Tamarin!” The shaman nodded to the others.

“Beya Fei Geist! Good to see you. I hope the boys aren’t causing you problems?” Tom asked, suddenly concerned that his shaman was having trouble controlling a couple of demonic preteens.

Beya chuckled. “Not at all—quite the contrary!” She shook her head. “No, we had an astral meeting last night with all your shamans, including Trig Bioblast!”

“Excellent!” Tom grinned at her.

“We made a few plans that I wanted to discuss with you,” Beya said. Tom nodded for her to continue. “We would like to start reaching out to other clans and groups; recruit more shamans and reestablish tribal allegiances to Doom.”

“Very good. How can I help?” Tom asked.

“Well, other than in Trig’s world, which is quite odd, I must say, travel between tribes is time-consuming; and then there is the matter of proving the things of which we speak.”

Tom nodded in agreement and gestured for her to continue.

“So, our thought was that perhaps we could borrow some D’Wargs for our expeditions, and also some D’Orcs to come along with us. It would pretty quickly demonstrate the veracity of our claims,” Beya said.

“It could also freak a lot of people out,” Tamarin said.

“I agree with both of you,” Tom said, thinking about the ruckus they had raised in Astlan.

“If we do this, can we try to keep knowledge of what we are doing limited to the orcs? In particular, I don’t want to alert any elves or humans who might decide to raise alarms.”

Beya nodded. “I do not think that should be a problem, although we will have difficulty not alerting other jötunnkind.” She frowned. “Often there are other jötunnkind in orc communities.”

Tom shrugged. “I am less concerned with jötunnkind than elves and humans.”

“Excellent. Thank you, m’lord,” Beya said, bowing slightly.

Tom grinned. “Zelda, can you see to it that Beya is put in contact with someone who can arrange whatever the two of you decide is needed?”

“Indeed, m’lord,” Zelda said. “We still have the hunting lists; we can use those to choose escorts.”

“Excellent,” Tom said. “Also, in addition to the regiment commanders of the selected D’Orcs, coordinate with Vargg Agnoth and Targh Bowelsplitter. They are working up rotation lists for our Nysegard contingent.”

Zelda’s eyes widened in surprise, having not yet heard of this development. “Certainly.”

“Nysegard contingent?” Beya asked.

“We have reopened the Doomalogue in Nysegard!” Tom grinned at her. “We now have a permanent gateway to Nysegard and have reestablished contact with the D’Orcs that were still there.”

“You had D’Orcs stationed in Nysegard?” Beya asked in surprise.

“We actually had outposts in six hundred and sixty-six worlds. I would have to believe there were outposts in your localverse as well: Ithgar, Astlan, Etterdam, Targella, Romdan, Avalon.”

Beya bit her upper lip, thinking. “What would they have looked like?”

“Large volcanoes. They were essentially smaller-scale replicas of Mount Doom, including mana generators,” Tom said.

Zelda nodded. “They would have been central to everything involving Orcus on each world.”

“Interesting... I will need to research this and discuss it with the other shamans, but locating these volcanos could give us some good direction on where to go first,” Beya said.

Tom nodded, having not thought of that. “Actually, that would be very good. As we reopen these old gateways, I would prefer to not go in blind. On-ground reconnaissance would be very useful.”

Nysegard, Krallnomton

Talarius had wandered through several tunnels, running into some dead ends before finally discovering a passage that had light at the far end. About a third of the way down, he encountered a widened area, somewhat like a room extending to his right with an exit directly opposite the hallway he was coming through.

In the room, two D’Orcs sat on stone benches at a stone table, playing cards. Both had large axes with hilts ready near their right hands, resting against the table. The D’Orc facing Talarius’s hallway looked up as he entered and nodded in recognition before playing a card from his hand that caused his partner to curse softly. Well, softly for a D’Orc—it was actually rather loud.

Very relaxed sentries, if you ask me, Ruiden said in Talarius’s mind. And playing cards in the dark?

Yes, very relaxed, Talarius agreed. Actually, sentries playing cards was not at all unusual; it was their lack of reaction to him, an enemy combatant and hostage, just strolling by that was unsettling. Well, that and playing cards in a quite dark room. The only light was that from the tunnel he was following.

And they are not in the least bothered by your presence? Ruiden asked.

Apparently not, Talarius agreed. He had to admit that he was more than a little disappointed by their lack of reaction. What was the point of being held hostage by a paranoid demon lord if you could not provoke their paranoia?

As he headed toward the light, he was somewhat surprised that it was not the red light of the Abyss, but rather appeared to be more like natural daylight. He hurried on towards what was now clearly a tunnel exit.

Talarius stepped out of the tunnel onto a small ledge on the side of a mountain and looked down slope to see a village on the edge of the ruins of a larger city. He shook his head in amazement. He was free of the Abyss! He noted birds flying in the sky, and grass and other greenery swaying in a gentle breeze. While it was mostly fierdy, storm clouds were moving in over the top of the volcano.

The knight pulled off his helmet, prepared to put it back on quickly if the atmosphere was dangerous. It was not! He could smell fresh, natural air. He was back on the Planes of Man! Thank Tiernon! He felt like shouting with joy; however, he dared not, lest he alert his captors. He grinned and shook his head in amazement.

He noted a trail leading down from the ledge to the village below. Should he take it? Or should he head for parts unknown and escape? If he went to the village, it was likely that the D’Orcs would find him. Unless, of course, they’d raided the village and moved on.

He glanced back to the village, thinking about putting his helmet back on for his visor’s long distance vision, but then rejected the idea. He liked the fresh, temperate air. The village was some distance away. It did appear there was some smoke, but only from some huts, and consistent with cooking fires. There was also motion in the village, so not everyone was dead.

This was curious. Why hadn’t the D’Orcs killed everyone? True, they had not killed everyone in the towns where they’d gotten supplies. Perhaps it is an orc village?

That would make sense, Ruiden replied. So? Are we going to make a run for it?

Talarius sighed. As tempting as his thought of fleeing away from the village had been, he could not. For one thing, he had no idea what world he was on. They sky was not quite the correct color, and the fierd did not look right either; it seemed a bit smaller. The other thing, of course, was that he was technically bound by the rules of hostage. His captor had honored it; thus so must he. He was not free to escape.

No, Talarius told Ruiden. We are honor bound.

He shook his head. Prior to his battle with the demon, he would have scoffed at the idea that the concept of honor applied to demons. However, much to his chagrin, his captor had behaved with far more honor than Talarius himself had. It was quite infuriating, if one thought of it, that a demon was behaving more honorably than a Knight Rampant. It was not something Talarius could tolerate. When they’d gone to battle the Knights of Chaos, he’d sworn to himself that as long as his captor treated him honorably, he would treat honorably with the demon. As a knight, it was the least he could do.

Talarius sighed and began heading down the path to the village. It was a fairly steep path, but well maintained. The maintenance was interesting. D’Orcs would not need to maintain a path, or even tread one, given that they could fly. That meant someone else, that did not fly, was journeying back and forth to the mountain. Talarius glanced behind him.

Not mountain; volcano, he corrected himself. There was a very clear volcanic bowl at the top of the mountain, along with clouds of soot belching from it. He snorted. It was like a miniature Mount Doom! He shook his head. What was this place?

As Talarius got closer to the village, he was surprised to see that, while ringed by a very sturdy, and even formidable, palisade, the gates were currently open and he could see people. Yes, people! Humans, dwarves and orcs, all wandering around, conducting the daily business of villagers. There were also a fair number of children.

He noted a group of youngsters of various ages and races outside the palisade, engaging in mock combat with swords and shields. What a very odd sight. There were clearly two teams, marked by ribbons on their arms, but the teams were not divided by race. Each side was a mix of humans, dwarves and orcs.

That was quite odd. Normally, even with an alliance, humans would fight in human armies or regiments, orcs with orcs, and dwarves with dwarves. Obviously, there were exceptions, particularly with exceptional warriors of each race; however, such a random mixing was unusual in Talarius’s experience.

He stopped near the mock combat to observe more closely. An older man, a human in leather armor who was teaching them, noticed Talarius presence and smiled as he walked over.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Timeron. You came from the volcano; are you with Lord Tommus?” The man, speaking an oddly accented dialect of High Etonian, extended his hand in greeting.

Talarius blinked, surprised at the man’s friendliness. He quickly pulled off his gauntlet and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you. I am Talarius. Yes, I have come from Mount Doom. I am a guest of Lord Tommus.” He felt that was the simplest explanation that wouldn’t raise too many questions.

Timeron smiled broadly. “Indeed, welcome. Lord Tommus’s return is a glorious victory for the Forces of Light!”

Talarius shook his head, not sure he had heard the man correctly. “I’m sorry. Did you say a victory for the Forces of Light?”

The man nodded. “Indeed! At our height, Doom was the greatest of the Forces of Light here on Nysegard!”

Talarius blinked again. Nysegard? A world so nasty and lost to darkness that the Church had placed severe restrictions on traveling there? If this was Nysegard, then fleeing would not have been a wise choice.

This could actually be fun! Ruiden whispered in his head. The sword loved slaying undead.

“So this is Nysegard?” Talarius asked.

“Certainly. Did no one tell you?” Timeron asked.

“Well, I was occupied on other matters, so was not at the council meetings,” Talarius hedged.

“Ah.” Timeron nodded his head. In doing so, he noted the Sword and Shield of Tiernon amulet on Talarius’s belt. “Tiernon? Are you a knight of Tiernon?”

Talarius froze for a moment, suddenly nervous again. “Uhm, yes, a Knight Rampant from Astlan. I am surprised you recognized it. I did not think we had a large presence on Nysegard.”

To Talarius’s shock, Timeron nodded his head. “Not for thousands of years. However, your people are still here. There are a few followers even here, on the Isle of Doom. No priests though, just family worshippers with long tradition. A god of light and justice is always popular among warriors fighting the Forces of Darkness. However, over on the larger continent, there are still a few fortresses manned by the Shield of Tiernon,” Timeron said.

Talarius blinked. He was not sure what the Shield of Tiernon was, but presumably it was the Nysegard equivalent to the Rod of Tiernon. He refocused on what Timeron was saying.

“That’s how I recognized the symbol. We have a communication stone to them, as we do to the other groups composing the Forces of Light,” Timeron told him.

Talarius was stunned. “So you have fought beside them, as allies?”

“Not me, of course; Targh and several other D’Orcs have. Pretty sure we haven’t fought side by side for hundreds of years.”

The knight suddenly felt dizzy, as if he might swoon. “D’Orcs have fought alongside the forces of Tiernon?” His voice sounded weak, even to himself.

Timeron made some sort of shrugging expression. “According to the tales told by the D’Orcs who were there. We’ve even fought alongside the Los Alfar, and believe you me, that’s one crazy alliance.” He shook his head in wonder. “Apparently it was all both sides could do—orc, D’Orc and the Los Sidhe—not to kill each other. However, given the overwhelming threat of the Forces of Darkness… well, strange bedfellows and all that.”

“Yes,” Talarius said, feeling quite dazed. “Orcus, Champion of Light?” he mumbled to himself, but Timeron apparently heard him.

“Indeed, that is how he is known in Nysegard.” Timeron shook his head. “Things got very, very bad when he perished.” He gestured to the ruins. “The Unlife nearly overran the Isle of Doom. All of our major cities were flattened. Tens of thousands lost their lives to the Unlife.”

Talarius felt a cold shiver run down his spine at that thought. Naturally, it reminded him of Melissance. He had to block that memory from his mind, lest he sink once more into despair. He looked sadly at the soldier. “Cleaning up after the undead is no easy task.”

Timeron closed his eyes briefly. “Indeed; I fear the ‘clean up’ is worse than the actual battle.”

“It is far more heartbreaking,” Talarius said with a small catch in his voice.

“You’ve lost loved ones to the Unlife?” Timeron asked sympathetically.

Talarius nodded, trying not to get moist-eyed. “I have. More than I can count.”

Timeron gave a sad laugh. “On Nysegard, such is Life, as we say.” Timeron intentionally stressed the word life to emphasize the dark truth that came with living surrounded by Unlife.

Talarius turned his attention back to the students, trying to get his mind off his own thoughts. “Clearly, training is critical here on this world of perpetual war.”

Timeron nodded. “It is, and they shall be tested soon.”

Talarius looked at him. “You have word? Or is it just that common?”

“No word, but the Storm Lords will not sit idly by as we try to restore the Peace of Doom to our lands. They will attack harder and more viciously than they have in centuries—perhaps millennia,” Timeron said grimly.

The Courts of Chaos: Fourth Period

“So, you have our bait here in the palace now?” Lilith asked Asmodeus as they sat in front of the coldfire blaze in the fireplace, chilling their sweaty bones on a typically balmy night in the Courts of Chaos.

“Yes, indeed I do. Hesseforthalus brought her to the Courts earlier today,” Asmodeus replied before taking a sip of blood wine. “Hmm, a thirteen-year-old male virgin. How tart and refreshing!”

“It is, is it not?” Lilith agreed with a smile, then tilted her head in sudden remembrance. “Before I forget...” she switched the glass from one hand to the other and reached down beside her to retrieve a small satchel. “It is too risky to keep our bait here in the city; Sammael or others would eventually discover her. So here are maps, codes and instructions as to where I wish to store her until we can decide on how best to use her.” She handed the packet to Asmodeus, who took it from her with a nod of acknowledgement.

Asmodeus looked at the packet for a second. “I trust that if I assign Hesseforthalus to principal guardianship, that will be fine?”

Lilith shrugged. “Your vassal; if you trust him, fine.”

“I do,” Asmodeus said, nodding. “Apparently, she is one of his prized possessions or something.”

Lilith rolled her eyes and waved the thought away. “So what was the story again? Vampires, corruption?” she asked, returning to their earlier conversation.

“Well, it turns out it’s a bit more complicated,” Asmodeus replied. “The vampires were not so much agents as colleagues, and they were the leads in a more complicated Unlife plot not particularly related to Hesseforthalus. Turns out they infected a large number of local Tiernon followers with ghoulism.”

Lilith grimaced. “Never cared for ghouls. No table manners.”

“Truly,” Asmodeus agreed. “However, their high priestess went after the vampires directly, trying to stop them. Well one thing led to another, a number of very juicy betrayals on the part of her staff, and well, as these things typically go, she ends up getting infected herself.”

“Mmmm.” Lilith pursed her lips. “I assume a half-dead, Unlife-infected high priestess doesn’t go over really well with the boys Upstairs.”

“Indeed. She was immediately cut off from Tierhallon and was unable to heal either herself or her flock of devoted followers,” Asmodeus said.

“And Talarius comes into play how?” Lilith asked.

“Turns out they were romantically involved,” Asmodeus said.

“Ah, yes, I recall you mentioning that.” Lilith nodded.

“Yes, and the vampires asked for a few favors in return for releasing her. Talarius, however, believing that Melissance had succumbed to ghoulism of her own free will, was none too amused.”

“Who in their right mind would do that?” Lilith interrupted. “Be a vampire?” She shrugged, indicating “perhaps,” and then said, “But never a ghoul or even a ghast.”

“Yes,” Asmodeus agreed, “however, I doubt the knight was thinking this sort of thing through at the time. In any event, he refused.”

“So then how did she end up in Hesseforthalus’ possession?” Lilith asked. “One would expect she would have simply endured a very long living hell as a ghoul, or died of starvation, or be killed by some holier-than-thou type.”

“Well, it turns out that Hesseforthalus was negotiating with the vampires. He was somehow involved in the corruption as well—not so much as the master, but as an ally. I really don’t know, nor do I care. The man is an always wrapped up in some crazy machination, way too taxing to follow the details… in any event, the ghoul Melissance found a Calling Token of Hesseforthalus’s that the vampires possessed, and used it to summon him and strike a bargain.”

“The plot is getting a bit twisted.” Lilith frowned.

“Indeed. In any event, she wanted her flock cured of ghoulism, which she could no longer do, having been effectively excommunicated. So she made a bargain with Hesseforthalus that if he cured her flock, he could have her soul.”

“Ahh, now I see!” Lilith said. “And by taking her soul into the Abyss, she would be cured of ghoulism herself.”

“Precisely. She would only have to suffer eternal torment at Hesseforthalus’ hand,” Asmodeus nodded.

Lilith wrinkled her nose. “I think I would have chosen the ghoulism. Your servant is a bit of a pervert, even by this place’s standards.”

“Yes, well, we should not judge. Different cultures, you know. Remember, he was originally a Denubian.”

“Ah, right. Hmm, not sure I knew that; however, it does explain all the mouths.” She shrugged, now gaining more insight into the archdemon.

“Indeed. However, she wanted to save her people,” Asmodeus said.

“So naturally, Hesseforthalus cured them. A bargain is a bargain,” Lilith said.

“Oh, of course. Naturally! And as soon as they were cured, in burst the vampires’ ghoul squad and reinfected them, right before her eyes!” Asmodeus said, beaming.

“Ah, yes, demonic justice! It warms the heart.” Lilith raised her glass towards Asmodeus in a toast.

He reciprocated with his glass, allowing them to clink. “And chills the soul…” He gave Lilith one his more endearing evil grins.

The Inferno

Barabus, Captain Cranshall, Chancellor Alighieri and Sir Samwell stood on the walkway overlooking the work area where the priests of Tiernon and Oorstemothian wizards were working on the Ritual of Seeking. The three Knights Rampant, along with four Paladins, stood at the Seven Points of Holy Protection surrounding the working. The room was quiet except for multiple groups of chanting individuals, composed of both wizards and priests. Each of the thirteen groups were chanting spells, rituals or mantras that were part of the very complex multidisciplinary effort that Diocate Temerlain and CSO Halferth had devised.

“A very interesting effort, if I do say so myself,” Sir Samwell said softly to the others.

“Indeed,” the chancellor agreed.

“What do they expect the range to be at current power levels?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Temerlain has said they should be able to cover a radius of about three hundred leagues,” Barabus replied.

“An eighteen-hundred-mile diameter—that is quite impressive,” Sir Samwell said, frowning.

“It is indeed, particularly given the unexpected limitations the priests are facing,” Chancellor Alighieri agreed.

“Of course, given that the Abyss is, as far as anyone knows, infinitely large,” Sir Samwell continued wryly, “this might take us a few thousand years.”

Chancellor Alighieri made a choking noise, even as Barabus and the rest turned to stare at the knight.

“I hope you were not in a hurry to get home?” asked Sir Samwell.

“Well, obviously we cannot physically spend that much time!” the chancellor exclaimed.

Sir Samwell shrugged. “You have a deadline back in Oorstemoth? Otherwise, given how long I’ve been here, we can certainly stick around.” He shook his head sadly. “I cannot tell you how saddening it was to realize, the other day, that all my friends, family and colleagues in Oorstemoth are long dead.”

The others on the walkway looked at each other, trepidation at their undertaking finally starting to sink in.

Mount Doom: Early Sixth Period

Tom sat staring into the coldfire blazing in the fireplace of his sitting room. It was strangely hypnotic and helped him concentrate on trying to locate any traces of foreign animus that might be the source of his dream last night. He had been close to freaking out most of the day. Fortunately, he had had a respite during the oath-taking in Krallnomton this afternoon.

It had been a pretty joyous occasion. Everyone had sworn to him—D’Orcs, orcs, humans and dwarves. That had been quite a surprise. He had assumed that it would just be the D’Orcs and the orc shamans; however, everyone in town had lined up to swear their allegiance.

In retrospect, he probably should not have been surprised. Nysegard was an incredibly dangerous place for the living. It followed that it was a highly militaristic and feudal society, with a strong chain of command and fierce loyalty. In many ways, seeing humans, in particular, kneeling before him had driven the surreality of his situation home. It was one thing to be the leader of giant warlike D’Orcs and a motley demon army; that was something that didn’t quite seem real. Even though he was sure that he was not dreaming, having a fantasy army of demons and D’Orcs allowed him, on some subconscious level, to disassociate his current life from his past life on Earth.

But seeing human warriors and children physically swearing to him? That was a tie to Edwyrd and the week he had spent almost feeling normal again. In retrospect, even though he had not thought of it that way at the time in Freehold, Edwyrd had felt like the old Tom, just living at a really wacky Renaissance festival.

The entire Doom situation had pretty much gone over the top, sending him back to Tom the demon and the odd juxtaposing feelings he’d had before becoming Edwyrd. Doom, the oath-taking, the battle with the Knights of Chaos and Lilith’s army had felt like he was living in a crazy fantasy movie. But seeing the humans today? That had sort of jolted him out of the movie. Agreeing to lead humans, and orcs and dwarves who lived with a very real risk of dying, was much more intimidating than leading a group of immortals who were nearly impossible to kill.

What it came down to, Tom suddenly realized, was that leading mortals carried a much greater sense of responsibility. It was more real. People could die. People would die; in particular, death would be coming when the Storm Lords attacked the Isle of Doom upon discovery Doom’s return.

And he, Tom Perkinje, would be responsible for their deaths because he had opened the Doomalogue and returned the D’Orcs to Nysegard. It was quite intimidating. Now, add in the fact that he was also in the process of being possessed by the spirit of Orcus or something? It was enough to make him want to curl up in a ball once more.

This whole Orcus possession thing was bad. Where were these memories coming from? How could he stop them? How could he be sure he was not being corrupted by the demon prince? Would he turn evil? Would he lose his own identity in the much older being’s identity? It was terrifying. He needed to find a way to stop these memories from invading his mind.

“Are you going to sit there staring at the coldfire all night?” Boggy’s voice woke him from his speculation. Tizzy and Boggy had come into his suite while he was staring into the coldfire. Antefalken had been scribbling away on his ballad while Reggie, Tamarin and Estrebrius were playing cards. Reggie was teaching them to play poker, Twenty-One, as they did not have four people for whist. Talarius was still in Nysegard. He had ended up getting tied up working out defensive strategies with the military leaders in Krallnomton.

Tom had been more than a little concerned when he had returned to Krallnomton to find Talarius there, free from the Abyss. However, he had been working at training the people of the village and seemed as happy and relaxed as Tom had ever seen him. He did not appear to be an immediate flight risk.

Of course, given that it was Nysegard, and Talarius had no ability, as far as Tom knew, to travel between planes, it was doubtful there was anywhere he could safely flee to. So Tom had said nothing, simply nodded to the knight and continued on. Tom had, however, asked Valg to keep an eye on Talarius. He did not know if the knight could pray for some sort of divine intervention or something now that he was once more on the Planes of Orc, so it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him.

“No. I’m just troubled by a dream I had last night,” Tom replied to Boggy.

Boggy shrugged. “Why would you be bothered by a silly nightmare? Your reality—pissing off the Lords of Chaos, making an eternal enemy of Lilith by stealing her army, being pursued by the forces of Tiernon for stealing mana and kidnapping his knight, and now having triggered a war with the Storm Lords of Nysegard—should be more than enough to make any reasonable nightmare seem quite pleasant.”

Tizzy nodded in agreement at Boggy’s assessment.

Antefalken looked up from his writing and nodded his head thoughtfully. “You know, when you put it like that…” he trailed off.

“Master? Why are you troubled about such good news?” Tamarin asked.

“Good news?” Boggy asked. “Your dream was good news? And that bothers you?”

“Really should not look good news in the mouth,” Tizzy advised. “It usually has rotten teeth.”

“Yeah, well good news is a relative term,” Tom told Tamarin. “Yes, the D’Orcs think it is good news, but it is actually very disturbing news.”

“How is getting your memories back disturbing?” Tamarin asked, puzzled.

“Memories back?” Boggy asked. “From where?”

“Master Tommus dreamt last night of a battle in Nysegard that actually happened. He remembered events that Vargg Agnoth was able to confirm as correct, as well as D’Orcs that perished in Etterdam that no one had told him about.”

Antefalken shook his head. “What? You’ve been to Nysegard before?”

“Not me. Orcus,” Tom said.

Boggy did a double take. “You are remembering things as Orcus? How is that possible? You do know you are not actually Orcus, right?”

“Yes, I know that. I know that they think I am some sort of reincarnated version of Orcus, thanks to that prophecy; however, we all know that’s not true.”

“Do we?” Tizzy said.

Everyone suddenly looked at the octopodal demon.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, annoyed.

“Well, Boggy and I have known you for less than five weeks. We don’t know what you were doing before that. For all we know, you could be Orcus.” The insane demon shrugged. “Maybe you had amnesia after the battle and have been running around the Abyss all that time and are just now getting your memory back?”

Tom, and for that matter, everyone in the room just stared at the green octopod in shock.

“We found Tom because you smelled butter and dragged me along to find him!” Boggy told Tizzy incredulously. “You may recall he was formerly a sixteen-year-old kid from one of the Earths, yes?”

“A sixteen-year-old newly enslaved demon five weeks ago?” Antefalken stared at Tom in shock. “How is that possible?”

“Have we not been over that enough at this point?” Tom asked the bard in exasperation.

“Well, yes, I know you were, theoretically, newly summoned by Lenamare, yet you never have explained how you have a son. But now I find out that you are only sixteen years old? Clearly not old enough to be Rupert’s father,” Antefalken pointed out.

Tom was glad Rupert was in Ithgar. “I am not actually Rupert’s father. I have no idea who his father is. He simply mistook me for his long-lost demon father, and he was so thrilled and excited and things were moving so fast that I never had the time, nor the heart, to correct him.”

Antefalken was quiet, looking thoughtful for a few moments. “That would be consistent with the way you strenuously avoid talking about the issue when Rupert is around.”

Tom nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that myself. You didn’t have a kid in Harding,” Reggie said.

Antefalken looked at Reggie. “So you knew Tom before he became a demon?”

“Yeah. We had met a few weeks before when he and his mother moved to Harding, New Jersey,” Reggie said. “We were both at a party hosted by another friend of ours when he was summoned. He died right there on a couch. Caused a shitload of problems for the rest of us.”

“So you can confirm he is sixteen?” Antefalken asked. “I find it quite amazing that a sixteen-year-old, and this is new information, could end up as a greater demon upon summoning,” Antefalken said.

“Yes, that’s about right. He was in the same class as I was,” Reggie said.

“But then he got promoted to demon prince with his own army in just five weeks!” Tizzy interjected.

“Yes, that does seem rather incredible,” Boggy said.

“Never heard of it happening that fast. Usually takes tens of thousands of years from what I’ve heard,” Estrebrius said.

Tom huffed angrily. He wanted to protest that he was not actually a demon prince, he was still a greater demon, but it seemed more important to point out that they were overlooking their own involvement. “You have all been here, yes? Other than Tamarin,” he said, nodding to the djinni. “You guys have seen everything that has happened at every step! How can you argue about this when you were right there with me?”

Boggy nodded. “He’s got a point.”

Antefalken shook his head. “I know, I know. But the level of coincidence and happenstance just strains credulity!”

“You are incredulous?” Tom voiced his frustration. “What do you think I am? I’m the subject of all this craziness! And now, somehow, Orcus’s memories are sneaking into my dreams. I am searching and searching for any clue as to what is going on. My assumption is that there must be some residual animus belonging to Orcus that is somewhere in Doom or Tartarus that is seeping over the links to the Rod of Tommus and then into me. However, I have not been able to locate it yet.”

“That seems possible,” Tamarin said thoughtfully, “although not particularly probable. However, I have no other explanation to offer at the moment.”

“Nor do I. However, now I am paranoid that I’m about to be possessed by a dead demon prince!” Tom said.

“Yeah. That would not be good,” Estrebrius agreed.

“Paranoia is a definite trait of demon princes, and archdemons for that matter,” Antefalken pointed out.

“Very good point.” Boggy nodded in agreement. “So Tom’s paranoia could be a sign of possession?”

“Yes,” Tamarin said, getting into the argument. “However, I am not sure we cannot rule out other possibilities.”

“Such as?” Reggie asked.

“Well, Tom could be a reincarnation of Orcus, who was simply reincarnated on an Earth. Given that the Earths provide a lot of demons, that would increase the probability of someone summoning him back to the Abyss to resume his destiny,” the djinni explained.

Tom just shook his head at such insanity.

“Or,” Reggie countered excitedly, “maybe Orcus, wounded after the battle, fled to someplace safe, like an Earth, and has been living there with amnesia as a human for the last four thousand years.”

“You are not helping!” Tom glared at Reggie.

“In either of those two cases,” Tamarin continued, “the memories would be a sign of healing, not possession. So, while possession is a worry, it is not the only possibility. I would thus not immediately fear the worst from these memories.”

“Exactly!” Tizzy interjected. “And think of this: these memories will be very helpful when we go to collect back payments from those deadbeat gods!” He clapped his hands enthusiastically.

Boggy grimaced and looked at Tizzy. “What in the Abyss are you talking about?”

Tizzy shrugged. “Orcus has been gone for four thousand years, and according to Arg-nargoloth, no one from Doom has been collecting the containment charges for the prisoners in Tartarus. We are going to have to start collecting them again, with interest of course. So it would be useful if Tom could remember who owed us what.”

“Ugh.” Tom put his head in his hands. He wanted this entire conversation to go away.

“Uhm, who is going to go tell a god that he or she needs to pay up?” Reggie asked.

Tizzy grinned. “You’re an incubus; pretty sure you could convince the goddesses to pay up.” The octopod made leering motions with his eyebrows.

Chapter 128

Mount Doom: DOA + 7, Late First Period

Tom followed the mental map of Doom that he’d constructed from his links towards the Library of Doom. He had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning with worry over the thought of having more dream memories from Orcus if he fell asleep. He had finally decided to get up and walk around.

As a kid—well, up until he had been summoned as a demon—he had always felt great comfort in the company of books. Real books, not e-books. Sure, he read e-books and always looked forward to the gift card for his e-book subscription on his birthday each year; however, while convenient they were not a substitute for the weight of a real book, particularly a hardback. The smell of the paper and ink, the texture of the pages, and the sheer impressive weight of all the knowledge and adventure stored within aisles and aisles of books gave him comfort.

Libraries were thus a place of solace; a place to learn and take comfort. The quiet, contemplative atmosphere soothed the nervous anxiety engendered by the frantic modern world. Cellphones were silenced, voices were whispers and an air of quiet respect pervaded the rooms. Sure, students searching frantically through piles of books and taking notes on multiple pads of paper had begun to give way to students peering into glowing screens, but the towering shelves of knowledge still guarded the treasures of thought and reason.

He needed reason. He needed objectivity. He was getting too panicked. Not only by the invading memories, but also the never-ending onslaught of insanity mixed with responsibility that was now coming his way. As fast as he made new friends and allies, he was acquiring new enemies with vast resources and far, far greater experience.

He was not trying to make these enemies; it was simply that at every turn, he was apparently stepping on someone else’s toes and somehow forcing them to act irrationally. He was starting to realize that it was not just the wacky wizards of Astlan, like Lenamare, Jehenna and Exador, but everyone. Every single individual he encountered was paranoid and guilty of making crazy assumptions based on very little empirical evidence.

And now, as if that was not bad enough, he was starting to become paranoid himself. Was it contagious? The invading memories, the way events seemed to be driving him in an unknown direction to some unknown end? It seemed like some giant conspiratorial plot. If that type of thinking wasn’t paranoia, then what was? He was searching for explanations that most likely did not exist. Shit happens; that was a fact. However, he was guilty of chiding those around him for looking for connections that did not exist, and at the same time feeling the allure of assuming there was some sort of conspiracy of events—destiny, if you will—that was driving things.

Tom did not believe in destiny. Destiny only existed in storybooks. When real people talked about destiny, they were trying to find meaning in random events, and the choices that the people involved in those events made were based on numerous factors, many of which were likely suspect.

Whatever the case, though, he needed to chill, and since Doom had some sort of library, that seemed like a good place to go for some calm rational thought. He was not really sure what he would find there. He knew it was a very large room and sealed from the outside by numerous runes and spells. Of course, the DoomNet covered it, but there were also thousands of other runes that were lower-powered that held spells that were independent of Doom’s mana generators.

Tom knew very little about wizardry, but he could tell that there was a vast number of low-level spells in place within the library. Presumably, from what people had said, they were preservation spells. The Abyss was not particularly friendly to organic matter; nor was time.

Tom reached the main entrance to the Library of Doom and twisted the handle of the large wooden double doors. He had to trigger a rune that was locking the door, but that was no problem. A small blast of much cooler air puffed through the doorway as Tom stepped into the large room. Entering the room, magical glass lanterns turned on to light the large chamber. Actually, make that a vast chamber, Tom thought as he took in the sight. He could sense that the lighting was powered by Doom, and preservation spells were on the shelves and even the books and scrolls themselves, of which there were enough to take his breath away.

This was a library of yore, Tom thought to himself, gazing in awe at the large four-story room with ornately carved wooden walkways and shelves. Each floor was probably fifteen feet tall, comfortable for someone of his own height. The closest thing to it that Tom could remember ever seeing was the Council of Wizardry’s library in Freehold. However, this was even more impressive than that; certainly larger.

He was at the base of a giant study room, with what appeared to be a large mapping table near the front, similar to the 3D map table in the DCC. The sides of the main room were the end points of long aisles stretching off for who knew how far. Looking down the closest one, it seemed to go a long distance before opening into another large chamber.

There had to be at least thirty aisles along each of the three walls to his right, left and ahead. The wall behind him was solid, with bookshelves lining the first story. On each of the three additional stories, a walkway circled the main room, and thirty aisles led off from each of the four walls.

Tom looked up at the large domed ceiling, ornately decorated with relief sculptures of angels, demons, and all manner of odd creatures. Talk about intimidating. He shook his head in wonder. He needed to check his mental map, but this place really did not seem dimensionally consistent with the rest of Doom’s layout.

“By the beard of the First Grand Calyphos!” Tom heard Tamarin exclaim in shock and wonder behind him. He twisted to see the djinni transfixed in the doorway behind him. He had not realized she had followed him.

Tamarin’s eyes roved the walls and aisles with an expression of—something—awe, reverence, lust? Tom was not quite sure. After a few moments she continued into the library, her head shaking in disbelief and awe. “I have, of course, heard of the Library of Doom, and I knew it to be magnificent, but this transcends anything I had envisioned,” she whispered, clearly daunted by the library's grandeur. “It is one of the ten greatest libraries in the multiverse. It is only fifty thousand years old, but has treasures spanning nearly a million years of written knowledge.” She laughed ruefully. “While, in theory, the Library of Djinnistan is larger, being amorphous, it is not nearly as intimidating nor as glorious as a physical library of this size.”

“Not exactly what one expects to find in the Abyss, I suppose.” Tom grinned at her.

Tamarin smiled at him. “Demons as a rule are not known for their scholarship, and orcs have a bad habit of burning books, but the demon princes and archdemons are different. They understand that knowledge is power. As do the gods. Orcus’s library has been closed to the multiverse since his death; however, during the height of the Doompire, scholars from all over the multiverse, those who knew of it, sought answers here. It was no small part of Orcus’s power structure. Access to this library was extremely valuable.”

Tom shook his head. “Orcus was obviously far more complex than most give him credit for.”

“He certainly was. He had to be in order to take on both heaven and hell and survive,” Tamarin said. “Or so I have learned from my studies. He is far before my time, or that of any living djinni.”

“Are djinn not immortal?” Tom asked, surprised.

Tamarin grinned at him. “Not at all. We are mortal; we just live for a long period of time. Longer than humans, orcs and dwarves, but less than the Rios Alfar and their close kin.”

Tom nodded with a wistful expression.

“Your D’Orc friends? Their lifespan, their history is as inconceivable to me as I am sure it is to you.” Tamarin moved towards the mapping table. “Not as long as the gods, obviously, but still nearly unimaginable.”

“How old are the gods?” Tom asked, suddenly struck by the thought of gods dying.

Tamarin shrugged. “As old as their followers have believed in them. That is why it is so critical to them to expand into new planes of existence. Mortal races and their civilizations only exist so long. The gods must diversify their support base across many planes of existence to ensure their power supply and thus their longevity. The more they can diversify, the more stable the pantheon or the god.”

“Or the god?” Tom asked. “Aren’t gods tied to their pantheon?”

“No. Pantheons can be family, friends or allies. Many of the oldest gods join multiple pantheons to further diversify their power base. They have multiple alliances and connections,” Tamarin said.

“Like Phaestus,” Tom said, a lightbulb clicking on.

“Exactly—he is a perfect example.” Tamarin spun to face Tom, grinning with delight. “He is an Olympian, a Nyjyr Ennead, jötnar, several dwarven pantheons and numerous others. As well as being a member of the Tartarvardenennead.”

“The Tartarvardenennead?” Tom asked, having never heard the name.

“The Nine Wardens of Tartarus.” Tamarin smiled. “To be completely honest, it is a new phrase for me as well. After you reopened Tartarus, I went and did some research.”

“So who were the nine?” Tom was extremely interested to know this.

“That is not widely known; it is, in fact, considered a closely guarded secret. However, from what I have seen and heard since being here, clearly Orcus, Völund, and Phaestus; most likely Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth. After that, it would be pure guessing; one would think this Vosh An-Non, Orcus’s general. That makes six; I have no clue as to who the others might have been.”

“This keeps getting more and more complicated,” Tom complained.

“Indeed, which is what makes it so interesting.” Tamarin smiled at him. “I am sure you could ask the others; they would have to know.”

“Probably a good idea; in particular, if there are other ‘partners’ in this black site I’ve suddenly found that I am in charge of.” Tom shook his head, thinking of everything he was learning, yet still needed to know.

Suddenly something hit him. “You said there is close to a million years of written history here?”

Tamarin shrugged. “That is one estimate made by djinn who have studied here. However, there could be older items.”

Tom shook his head, trying to conceive of that. “So then some of these plane-hopping deities—deities I may end up going against—could be a million years old?”

Tamarin shrugged again with a frown. “I have no idea, only the speculations of my teachers in various classes. You would probably not be surprised that the gods are extremely jealous of their true nature and interplay. Very few welcome djinn inquiries into their history.”

Tom sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I can’t even imagine someone being that old.”

Tamarin chuckled. “Exactly. The existential dilemma.”

Tom was silent, thinking about such beings before realizing that there was something wrong with what Tamarin had just said. “Wait. The existential dilemma? The anxiety at the heart of existentialism is that one’s lifespan, one’s influence is so limited that it will, in the scope of all time and space, be meaningless. If one is a plane-straddling million-plus-year-old deity, I hardly think existential dread is going to be a problem. Such beings could clearly make some impact.”

Tamarin smiled. “Ahh, you speak of mortal existentialism. Existentialism is a two-sided coin. On one side, which is the side of which you speak, is the dread of a tiny, short-lived nothingness in the grand scheme of things. That is mortal existentialism; the true immortals worry about the dread of an eternity of existence. The never-ending, unceasing torment of eternal meaningfulness. Or worse, near meaningfulness.”

That rather stopped Tom cold. He was not sure he even understood what it meant. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

Tamarin grinned. “It is something I do not truly comprehend, but it is well known to the very long-lived races, such as the alfar and the oldest djinn. Demons, gods, avatars—all true immortals must face it.”

“Okay,” Tom said, still not getting it.

Tamarin smiled. “At its most simple level, how do you spend eternity without getting bored? At what point do you need to take a rest?”

“Okay, I get that, I have heard about gods and demon lords playing games with mortals to amuse themselves,” Tom agreed.

“Yes, that happens a lot. However, that is just the most obvious sign of this dilemma. There is a reason that mortal memory gets hazy with time. For the sake of sanity, it has to be purged/submerged so that we can continue to exist in the present and not be lost in the past. For mortal creatures, sleep plays a big role in this sifting, storing and offloading of memories. Now imagine living forever, without sleeping, without truly forgetting,” Tamarin said.

Tom shook his head a bit. This had all crossed his mind in his old cave as he sat there, bored for hours on end. “Yes, that could be a problem.”

“According to what I’ve read, Orcus, in addition to needing the mana generated in Doom for Doom itself, which creates competition with the D’Orcs, wanted D’Orcs to get tired and have to sleep,” Tamarin said.

“So you are saying that sleeping, which I thought just let us collect mana more efficiently vs. Doom, also serves as a way of offloading memories and history?”

“Exactly. That is, at least, the theory we have in Djinnistan, based on the conversations of the many djinn that served Orcus have reported,” Tamarin said. “He indicated that it would help his troops withstand the stress of eternity. To have a chance to clear their mental decks, to get a daily respite from consciousness and reality.”

“That’s pretty heavy,” Tom said shaking his head. It was, however, exactly the sort of respite that Tom increasingly found himself longing for. He thought for a moment. “It also explains why, once Doom shut down and the D’Orcs no longer got tired, and many stopped sleeping, so many of them gave up the will to live. It was this immortal existential dread!” Tom smiled. This made so much more sense now.

“Excellent point!” Tamarin agreed. “And when it comes to how long an immortal can cope with existence before they need a respite, or a respite greater than even sleep can provide; well, that explains the Phoenix Cycle,” Tamarin said.

“You mean the bird that dies and is reborn in flames?” Tom asked.

“Exactly. Almost every culture in the multiverse, every god and pantheon has a concept of a cycle of birth and death, of re-creation.” Tamarin said. “There are tales in almost all religions of the death and rebirth of gods.”

Tom was starting to lose track. “So you are saying that even gods are mortal?”

“By choice,” Tamarin said excitedly. “Current djinn thinking says that gods and immortals eventually get overwhelmed by immortal existentialism and need to stop and start over, even as their followers do in many cases.”

Tom stopped to think of that for a minute before responding. “So you are saying that there probably are not many million-plus-year-old gods? That eventually they have to reboot?”

“Reboot?” Tamarin gave him a puzzled expression.

“Start over, shut down and restart themselves,” Tom explained.

“Yes, like the Phoenix story,” Tamarin agreed. “Just as with mortals, at some point all gods either give up and cease to exist, or engineer a rebirth. They just accumulate too much memory, too much history and need to clear the books, so to speak.”

“And if they never did this?” Tom wondered aloud. Not so much a question as a thought.

“I would think they would break down, perhaps go insane.” Tamarin shrugged. “This is all very speculative. It’s the sort of thing we djinn love to argue about for stimulation and pleasure.”

“Lord Tommus?” A voice from Tom’s left caused him to turn. Approaching them was—Tom had to stop and dig deep, touching briefly at their link—Erestofanes, one of the relatively few demons living in Mount Doom prior to his acquisition of Lilith’s army.

“Erestofanes, did we wake you?” Tom asked the demon, who was, he now recalled, the Chief Librarian of Doom. “I fear we were speaking way too loudly for a library!” He smiled bashfully.

Erestofanes chuckled. “My lord, do you have any idea how long it has been since there have been any voices in the library? Let alone a booming one.” He shook his head, grinning. “I am just happy to have anyone in the library, other than my assistants. I typically only see Völund or Phaestus every decade or so. We have not had that many patrons since the Incident.”

“Expect to find me here fairly frequently. Both for research, but also for the comfort of being surrounded by so much wisdom,” Tom told the librarian.

Erestofanes smiled brightly, revealing his razor-sharp fangs below his nose and two sets of eyes. The demon was literally four-eyed, as well as four-armed. Tom assumed he was pretty good at researching multiple books at the same time. “Excellent,” the demon said. “That will be most welcome. And should your lordship have the opportunity, I would like to discuss restarting our acquisition program at some point.”

“Certainly! Have Zelda schedule a meeting of all involved parties,” Tom said cheerfully. He would love to restart accumulating knowledge for Doom. “I am sure much was missed in four thousand years.”

“Yes, truly,” Erestofanes sighed. “However, there were four occasions where Hephaestus was able to recover select works from the Libraries of Alexandria on a few Earths before their destruction. I suppose it was one of the benefits of being part of a pantheon worshipped by the people who built the libraries.”

“The Library of Alexandria?” Tom asked in amazement. “That is impressive.”

“Thank you m’lord. Hephaestus, of course, deserves the credit,” Erestofanes said, smiling. “We recovered numerous original works. I personally enjoyed the work of the playwright named Homer. Hephaestus recovered original copies of several of his works.”

“Really? Wow, I would love to read them, although I’m not sure demon universal translation works on writing,” Tom said.

“You would be surprised. Demon sight is pretty good at translation. Given how important contractual negotiations are for demons, it comes rather built-in. However, admittedly, I try to take the time to study the various languages natively. I have picked up quite a few during the last four thousand years. I’ve had quite a bit of free time, what with so few visitors to the library,” the demon said, ending with a sigh.

“We will work to change that,” Tom said, smiling at him. “I am certain we have numerous people that will want to visit. Tamarin has mentioned that the djinn used to study here.”

“Yes, indeed.” Erestofanes smiled at the djinni. “They are lovely patrons and were of great assistance in helping us make new acquisitions.”

“And we need to bring our mana-using team back up to snuff. I assume there are books on wizardry, animagic and shamanism?” Tom asked.

“Oh my, yes,” Erestofanes said, rolling his eyes. “From many different worlds and systems. Also a superb collection of science and engineering books. You know we have one of the most comprehensive collection of Altrusian writings anywhere in the multiverse.”

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. “I had not known that, but am not surprised, given that they were involved in a lot of the work done here.” He didn’t mention Tartarus; he was not exactly sure how widespread knowledge of the black site had gotten outside the circle of his commanders.

“Indeed, indeed.” Erestofanes nodded. “Although, when it comes to trans-dimensional-temporal engineering, I have found the works of the Gallifreyans to be a bit more accessible in their approach.”

“The Gallifreyans?” Tom asked, feeling his sanity once more under attack.

“Yes. They are from a planet and plane with great mastery of time and space, from a technological perspective. Currently—hah, hah, excuse the obviously illogical term—they have located their planet in its own pocket universe. Now, admittedly, the Altrusians do handle the more magical aspects of the subject better; however, the Gallifreyan approach, while a bit more limited, is more solidly wedded to traditional principles of physics, matter and energy. They do tend to ignore mana, which I suppose is logical in that they are from a very high-tech plane, but they have managed to get a decent understanding of animus and have been able to do remarkable work on animatic regeneration and reincarnation from a technological point of view. Which, interestingly, is not something many high-tech dimensions have been able to do.”

“Uh, yes,” Tom said, trying to cut off what he was pretty sure was going to be a very pedagogical lecture on what he suspected was one of the librarian’s favorite topics. “This is incredibly useful, and I want to discuss this in great deal, but tonight I had come mainly for some calm reflection.”

Erestofanes stopped and shook his head. “My dear, I am so sorry. I got pulled off on to one of my tangents. I have a terrible habit of doing that.”

Tom chuckled. “No problem at all, and actually quite enlightening. However, I had wandered down here to do some thinking and introspection.”

“Of course, of course. Your prior self came here quite often for that,” Erestofanes told him. That was not what Tom wanted to hear. “Well, I shall let you wander,” the demon said. “You may be interested in examining some of your prior self’s portraits.”

Tom shook his head slightly in puzzlement. “Multiple portraits? I would not have thought O—my prior self to age and thus not need portraits at different stages of life.”

Erestofanes nodded in agreement. “Indeed. He—you—did not age except by choice; however, you—uhm, Lord Orcus—this is quite difficult to keep straight…”

“Just refer to my prior self and current self as if we were two different people.” Which we are, Tom thought.

“Yes, very well. Indeed. Uhm... oh yes, he liked to have portraits done of various forms, shapes, bodies that he frequently transformed into. Over time, detailed memory gets hazy, thanks to sleeping, as you two were discussing, and having accurate portraits enabled him to get forms correct which he had not recently assumed. Sort of a continuity check, if you will.”

Tom blinked. “How many different forms did he have?” From his experience and discussion with Rupert, having lots of forms could be tricky.

“Oh my, let us see, many. Certainly one for every race he routinely worked with: his default orc form; actually about a dozen variants of his orc form; a couple human forms; dwarven; several species of giant; even several alvaran forms, if you can believe it. Then of course, he had custom demon forms, his hearthean form, his I’iskatha form, his—”

“I think I am getting the idea; no need to list them all. I am sure I will see them soon enough in my wandering,” Tom said, cutting the librarian off.

“Indeed, there are a number of gallery rooms with his portraits, as well as portraits of his various friends, colleagues and enemies, of course.”

“He managed to get his enemies to sit for portraits?” Tom asked, surprised.

“Sit? That might be a strong term in some cases. Strapped to a rack, or strung up in a stockade, frozen by a spell, so many different methods…”

Tom laughed. “I get the idea.”

“And in many cases, he purchased the portraits from others. That is, for example, how he got the portraits of the other demon princes.”

“So he has portraits of the other princes?” Tom asked.

“Yes, multiple. Typically, of their most common forms. His goal was for his agents to be able to recognize them in their different forms,” the librarian answered.

“That seems like a very good idea.” Tom nodded.

“Would you like me to guide you to one of the galleries?” Erestofanes asked. “If not, the library map can direct you to them, as well as interface with the card catalog system and locate any book, scroll, picture, artifact, relic or whatever else the library and museum contains.”

“Hmm.” Tom had to stop and think. It would probably be good to see what Orcus had looked like. At first he had assumed that he was a large D’Orc, but having listened to the others around Doom, he had come to the conclusion that Orcus had been a demon, not a D’Orc, because in fact, Orcus had created the D’Orcs.

“Yes, that sounds very interesting. Lead the way.” Tom gestured for the librarian to lead them.

“Excellent, this way…” Erestofanes led them across the room, over to the last aisle on the wall to their left. “Lord Orcus felt that his portrait gallery should be quite sinister, hah, hence to the left as we enter the library.”

“Sinister? As in the Latin word for left?” Tom asked.

“Exactly!”

“But Rome was founded and collapsed within the last four thousand years; Orcus was dead at that time,” Tom replied. Something wasn’t making sense.

“Perhaps on the worlds you are familiar with, but there have been a number of Latin civilizations throughout time. It is one of several pet cultures for the Olympians. As they move from plane to plane, they—like most pantheons—like to set up structures of power and social alignment that they are familiar with. Typically, they will have three or four variants of each spread around at any given time,” Erestofanes explained as he led them down the book-lined aisle.

“Individuals and names will vary from plane to plane and world to world, as will, of course, geography and history; the gods, however, tend to like things to follow certain predictable paths. Destinies if you will. If something doesn’t work out their way on one plane, they will tweak it for the next. And so on.”

“Seems very manipulative,” Tom said.

“That’s stability—immortality preservation.” Tamarin said.

“Exactly, my dear!” Erestofanes exclaimed.

“Rather seems to trivialize individual free will,” Tom said aloud.

“It varies by pantheon of course,” the librarian said. “Not all are so rigid, and even those that are do like some changes and variations. They don’t want to play the same exact game over and over again. That gets boring. No, they want a good match, yet one that they feel more comfortable with than their enemies.”

“Seems like a sound strategy,” Tamarin remarked.

Tom snorted. “I don’t know; I hear something like that and I feel like I want to put my claw on the board and perhaps tilt the playing field in favor of the little guy. Make things a bit fairer for everyone.”

Erestofanes laughed as he walked ahead of them. “Some things never change, my lord! I cannot count the number of times I’ve heard your prior self say exactly that!”

Tom felt his stomach drop at that statement. Surely the invasion of memories wasn’t subconscious as well? Was it? Tom thought back. He had always rooted for the underdog; it was a natural instinct. He was sure this had to be pure coincidence. It had to be... didn’t it?

They continued down the corridor for about another two hundred feet before encountering a large entryway on their right. This archway led into a portrait gallery. Large portraits of various individuals of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. There were four other hallways leading out of this room to additional rooms; one to the right and to the left in the center of those walls, and then two near the ends of the opposite wall that appeared to go to the same room.

In the center of this wall was a very large—life-sized, in fact—portrait of a very large and quite intimidating demon. Erestofanes turned and bowed, gesturing up at the painting of the demon. “My Lord Tommus, may I introduce my Lord Orcus in what is believed to be his true form.”

“I can see the family resemblance!” Tamarin said, shocking Tom. He had not seen any immediate family resemblance. Sure, it was a very large red demon with scaly red hooves like his own. And the demon had a very massive and scaled tail with a black metallic spade-shaped point; however, it was much thicker and longer than Tom’s.

The demon was also monstrously muscled, far more so than even Tom. The demon was closer to fifteen feet tall, rather than Tom’s twelve to thirteen feet. He did wear something like a kilt, but it had no pockets, unlike Tom’s. It also had something of a massively muscled roid-gut, not the relatively taut muscled abdominals that Tom had. Further, Orcus’s horns were far larger and jutted much further forward than Tom’s, although they were the same ebony black. Orcus’s face was far more wrinkled and craggy; his eyes were large and luminously black, matching his horns. While Orcus did have something of a pug-like snout, it was more pronounced than Tom’s, and his head was larger in proportion to his body than Tom’s. The jaws were huge, most likely capable of biting a man’s head off.

And sure, he had tremendous bat-like wings, as did Tom, but Orcus’s wings were far more heavily muscled along the wing-arms and his tip spikes far nastier and sharper than Tom’s. So, he supposed that in some ways, one could say they were of similar demonic form, but Tom was, as he knew by heart, far less intimidating, far less scary than this version of Orcus.

“I don’t know that I see it,” Tom said.

Tamarin and Erestofanes both glanced at him in an odd way. “You don’t see it?” Tamarin asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose we are of similar demonic type, you could say. But he is far bigger, older, rougher, scarier and infinitely more intimidating than me,” Tom replied, feeling a bit annoyed they couldn’t see that.

“Okay,” Tamarin said, making a funny motion with her mouth as she said it. “Although if demons did grow and age, could you not see yourself looking something like this in ten or twenty thousand years?”

Tom shook his head quickly. That was ridiculous! “No, I doubt it, but even so, we don’t. Look, I get it that some people might see some similarities, but you know how people think those of other races all look alike. It’s nothing more than that.”

“So, here is his favorite orc form.” Erestofanes changed the subject, pointing to a smaller painting of an orc to Orcus’s right, Tom’s left.

“That is an intimidating orc; I will admit that,” Tom agreed. It was of an orc tribe with greenish complexion and rough, slightly scaly skin. He had a huge red Mohawk atop a frightening large head with huge pointy ears and a jawline to end all jawlines, with thick jutting tusks. The lisp would have to be horrible; Tom could also imagine the snorting from the massive nostrils in the center of the face, just below two large, deep set, blood-red eyes and a truly formidable brow and forehead. Naturally the orc was massively strong, and decked out in all manner of weaponry, albeit relatively light armor. The orc’s right hand rested on the hilt of a battle hammer whose shaft was shoulder height for the orc, and the mallet was one that was typically found only in trading card game art. It was so huge that no living creature could conceivably wield it.

“Wow, now that is impressive,” Tamarin said, shaking her head.

“And the corresponding D’Orc form…” Erestofanes gestured to the other side of Orcus’s portrait. This D’Orc looked very much like the orc they had had been looking at, except it was D’Orced up. Bigger, scarier, if that were possible, and with porcine hooves, bat wings and horns.

“I believe he felt more comfortable keeping his preferred orc and D’Orc forms close for quick changes,” Erestofanes said.

“Makes sense,” Tom said, admiring the picture.

Erestofanes, meanwhile, had begun sliding across the opening to their left, heading towards the left wall. He gestured to the first painting there. “This was Orcus’s preferred human form.”

Tom turned to look at the new painting, also life-sized. it was a picture of a man in very ornate robes embroidered with runic symbols and emblems that Tom recognized from some of Maelen’s books and papers as being tied to animages and the Society of Learned Fellows. So the man must be an animage, Tom was certain. The luxurious robes caught his attention first, but then his eyes traveled up to the man’s face.

A man in his early thirties with a short curly black beard and mustache, along with a wild mop of thick curly black hair, a pale complexion, a rather pronounced nose and bushy black eyebrows stared back at him. He looked oddly familiar.

Tamarin let out a gasp when she saw the picture. “It’s your human form, just older!” she exclaimed, causing Tom to stare at her briefly. His eyes darted back to the painting to see what she meant. He felt his heart stop and his stomach sink to his hooves. He was not sure, but he felt like his deep red complexion had suddenly turned pink, if not Gastropéan gray. Tamarin was right! It was like looking in a mirror at himself, only older!

Tom moved closer to inspect the man’s face, the eyes, the expression, the… the… he felt the world lurch as he fell over. Barely registering pain, he crashed to the ground with a loud yet seemingly distant thud as the world went blank.

Chapter 129

Tierhallon: Mid Second Period

It was a rather tame meeting this morning, Hilda reflected, sipping on her wine as Moradel recounted a rather fanciful tale from one of his first assignments. There had not been much news to report. Baysir was running late, but since he often did not attend these meetings, they had just started drinking without him. This evening, or rather morning, it was a lovely white Serclay from Etterdam that Sentir had brought.

The door opened and in burst Baysir with a bright grin on his face. “We have received a prayer from Talarius!”

Hilda blinked in surprise and leaned forward over the table, even as Sentir Fallon, who had been leaning back on the two rear legs of his chair, landed it on all fours.

“Excellent!” Moradel exclaimed.

“He has returned to Astlan?” Sentir asked excitedly. “Did that crazy joint venture locate him?”

Baysir shook his head. “No, and still no word from them.”

“So where is he that he was able to send up a prayer?” Beragamos asked.

“That was the odd thing. Saint Evicious did not recognize it at first because Talarius was not in Astlan. He is in Nysegard!” Baysir announced. A refleca glass appeared in his hand and he motioned for wine.

“Nysegard?” Sentir Fallon asked in shock, even as he began to pour the wine.

“What in the Abyss is he doing in Nysegard?” Moradel asked.

“Isn’t that an off-limits plane?” Stevos asked.

Beragamos looked uncertain and shook his head. “Not exactly off limits; more like an extreme travel advisory.”

“Nasty place. We have lost extensive resources there—including saints,” Sentir said grimly.

“Including saints?” Hilda asked in shock.

“Place is overrun with Unlife. Over the last ten thousand or so years, we’ve had to invest heavily to protect our people. That includes sending in saints to do battle,” Sentir told them.

“And they died? Permanently?” Stevos asked, looking more than a little concerned.

Beragamos also made a grim face.

“Several, yes. Perhaps one every hundred years or so, but it adds up after several millennia,” Sentir said.

“Our human forces suffered far worse; particularly after…” Beragamos trailed off, glancing toward Sentir.

“After what?” Stevos asked, puzzled.

“After I slew Orcus,” Sentir said quietly.

“How in the multiverse would killing a demon prince hurt our efforts in Nysegard?” Stevos asked, at a complete loss. Hilda shared that feeling.

Sentir grimaced. “Well, it turns out that, as they say on the plane, Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.”

“Meaning?” Hilda asked.

“Meaning that Orcus and his forces had a very large and powerful presence on Nysegard and were extremely important in keeping the Unlife in check,” Beragamos said. “When Orcus fell, so did his empire. His forces were severely weakened and were, in fact, on a back footing, fighting for bare survival for about a thousand years.”

“With Orcus gone, his threat reduced, the Storm Lords and their various allies were able to focus a lot more of their attention on us,” Moradel added. “Our losses rapidly escalated, and we were forced back into a much smaller footprint in a few large fortresses.”

“You are not saying we were allied with Orcus and his D’Orcs?” Stevos asked, aghast.

“Alliance is a strong term,” Sentir said.

“Enemy of my enemy is perhaps more accurate,” Beragamos said. “That being said, there were, and have been, times since the fall of Orcus that we have fought alongside them.”

“We fought alongside D’Orcs?” Hilda asked, shaking her head.

“D’Orcs, orcs, humans, dwarves—yes,” Sentir said. “If you can believe it, we were also joined on a few occasions by Los Alfar as well.”

Stevos shook his head in disbelief. “Are you saying that D’Orcs and orcs fought alongside elves? Their mortal enemies?” Hilda was left reeling by this; it was unheard of.

“As they say, Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.” Sentir sighed.

“Wow!” Stevos exclaimed. “Talk about unintended consequences!”

“Yes,” Beragamos said drily, glancing at Sentir Fallon, who was staring into his wine glass.

“So if Talarius is in Nysegard, does that mean he escaped to there, or that this Lord Tommus has returned to Nysegard?” Stevos asked.

Baysir shrugged. “So it would seem; although why he would allow Talarius to visit and thus alert us is a mystery.”

“A trap?” Sentir Fallon asked.

Beragamos seemed startled by the suggestion. “That would be incredibly audacious.”

Baysir nodded. “He will likely have enough on his plate once the Storm Lords realize he is there. Why would he want to add us to the mix?”

“Strange bedfellow?” Stevos asked.

“What?” Moradel asked in response, not comprehending.

“Perhaps he is trying to attract our attention, trying to get us to pay more attention, invest more resources in Nysegard to fight these Storm Lords,” Stevos suggested.

“Hmm, that would be bold, and make far more sense than acting as a trap to lure us into combat,” Moradel agreed.

“I am not sure... I still favor a trap. Perhaps he wants to steal more mana?” Sentir Fallon asked.

“That seems like a risky play,” Hilda replied. “If the Forces of Darkness have driven us into small pockets on the world, then they are clearly dangerous. Surely he could figure out a smaller-scale distraction without such extreme risks. He did the previous time.”

Sentir Fallon shrugged. “Perhaps. All I do know is that we have already lost too many resources on that plane; trap or strange bedfellow, I’d prefer not to invest any more resources.”

“If we want to recover Sir Talarius—and I think we all agree that allowing demons to kidnap our Knights Rampant is a bad precedent that should not go unanswered—then would not it be easier to rescue him from Nysegard than from the Abyss?” Moradel asked.

“Well, since none of us can actually go to the Abyss, and it is not safe to send mortals there, I would agree.” Beragamos said. “However, I am also loathe to try to engage both the Unlife and a demon prince at the same time.”

“Further, such a direct engagement to rescue a Knight Rampant on our part would set a bad precedent. They are supposed to be fairly self-sufficient,” Sentir added.

“So a more mortal intervention?” Stevos asked.

“Given our level of trust of the Church in Astlan?” Baysir asked, shaking his head. “We are already keeping them in the dark as to our involvement there.”

“Do we trust the Church in Nysegard?” Hilda asked.

“I believe so. They are about as battle hardened against the Forces of Darkness as one can be,” Beragamos answered, looking to Sentir for confirmation.

Sentir Fallon shrugged. “True; however, their resources are very limited, even as we’ve scaled back our resource allocations here in Tierhallon for Nysegard.”

Stevos frowned. “Well, we just set up Fort Murgatroid as an independent operation with Torean’s Rangers and priests. We trust them, and their mission is to track the D’Orcs. Well, we now know where the D’Orcs are.”

“Interesting idea, Stevos.” Beragamos nodded his head. “Sentir, correct me if I’m wrong, but have we not had half-orc and even orc priests in Nysegard?”

Sentir blinked, thinking about it. “We certainly did. I have no idea if we do currently. Dashgar or Inethya would know.”

Beragamos nodded. “I would think Dashgar as Attendant Archon might know, but the Prophetess Inethya would definitely know.”

“So, we would use Fort Murgatroid as a staging point to Nysegard and the Church of Nysegard and the rescue of Talarius?” Moradel looked to the others to see their reactions.

“I think we should consider this,” Baysir said.

“Given our only priest on this at the moment is Teragdor, is he of sufficient rank to be leading this effort?” Hilda asked.

“Well, we can certainly approve him for larger mana withdrawals on our side. He’d have to be tutored in higher rituals as well. We can’t officially promote him within the Church though,” Moradel said.

“The one promotion we can give him, as I think you are alluding to, is the title of Apostle of Tiernon,” Baysir said.

“In many ways, that is how he is working now,” Stevos noted. “He’s got the attention of Tiernon and is talking to and working with his avatars, and we are asking him to be our emissary to Nysegard. That is an apostle, pretty much by definition.”

“Apostle of Tiernon is a very high honor for someone whose main quality was being in the right place at the right time,” Sentir said frowning.

“Isn’t that how destiny is supposed to work?” Beragamos asked, chuckling.

“Yes, but no one up here worked to set him up to be in the right place at the right time,” Sentir groused.

“True, but no one has to know that,” Baysir said, smiling. “Going forward, we just tell everyone that this was our plan all along.”

“In other words, standard operating procedure.” Beragamos laughed before taking another swallow of wine. “Is there another bottle? We should discuss this a bit more.”

“Indeed,” Baysir agreed. “I am fairly certain our friend Teragdor will be the first half-orc Apostle of Tiernon in the history of Tierhallon.”

“Strange bedfellows indeed,” Sentir Fallon agreed glumly.

Mount Doom: Late Second Period

Tom lay in his bed. He wished he could roll over and lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling, but his wings made that difficult. He had tried it and it was quite uncomfortable. The two pillows he was sleeping on were actually not against the headboard, but further down on the bed so that he could rest his head in an elevated position, keeping his horns from tilting his head at an uncomfortable angle and giving him severe neck cramps.

He had previously thought of assuming his Edwyrd form to sleep in, although he was not at all sure he wouldn’t pop back to demon form in his sleep. He had never actually slept as Edwyrd. He had, however, stared at many a ceiling as Edwyrd.

However, he was not so sure he wanted to change into Edwyrd now that he had seen Orcus’s human form. He had no idea how to parse the paintings. Hell, he had fainted! He was only out for a few moments, but it was rather embarrassing. Dark Lords were not supposed to faint. Pretty sure that was in the handbook: no fainting! Truly bad form, particularly in front of one’s vassals.

Both Tamarin and Erestofanes had been quite concerned, but he had been able to get back up and assure them he was fine. After all, there couldn’t be anything physically wrong with him. It had just been an overwhelming shock.

A shock he still had no way of explaining. Once he got to bed, he had been able to fall asleep for a short while, his brain just feeling too worn out. That, however, had not lasted long before his anxiety had woken him. He needed to figure out some way of de-stressing.

He had a long day ahead of him; four different swearing-in ceremonies in four different cities. They would be traveling to the cities via runic gateway and do the oaths at each stop. It would take until nearly midnight Nysegard time. If he was this uptight, he would not be able to concentrate on the oath-taking. That would be a grave disservice to his vassals. He needed some way to get the tension out and unwind; a sauna and hot shower or something. Except that didn’t make a lot of sense in the Abyss.

Wait, he thought. The DoomSpa! They were restoring it; everyone was talking about it. In theory it was like Hellsprings Eternal, only better. Perhaps he should head down there before starting his day. Soak in a lava pool, have an acid steam sauna? That seemed like his best bet. Tom hopped out of bed to head down to the DoomSpa.

DoomSpa

Lesteroth Garflog finished squeegeeing the last of the excess mercury back into the pool. D’Orcs were terrible about tracking mercury and acid around the place. Of course, to be fair, it would help a lot of there were towels to dry people off with.

There were a few towels, but as a rule they were not used for the mercury pools because they were too difficult to wash. They were never allowed for the acid pools because, obviously, the acid would dissolve the towels rather quickly. So they were really only useful for the water and blood pools. Fortunately, lye basins, which were actually watered-down alkali pools, were pretty good for washing the few towels they had.

He, or more specifically, Bellyachus, who was in charge of the DoomSpa’s laundry, was hoping a shopping expedition to the Planes of Meat would happen soon to bring them more towels. During Lord Tommuss’—er, Orcus’s—absence, a lot of the former towels had been repurposed for clothing.

Why the D’Orcs insisted on wearing clothing was a mystery, but it was a habit they all had. Sort of like this sleeping business. Very weird that, but he had found himself getting sleepy and sleeping as well. He had forgotten how good it felt to sleep, to just not be, for a few hours a day. Considering how boring things had been in Doom’s Redoubt, sleeping would have been a great way to pass the centuries.

It was also, Lesteroth had to admit, nice to have an actual job with real work, not slave work, to do. He was going to be paid for his work! And soon, after a few more shopping expeditions, they would have food and x-glargh and maybe even Denubian Choco-CoffeeTM at some point.

From what he had heard from the D’Orcs, back in the day, Mount Doom had been a center of civilization in the Abyss to rival the Courts of Chaos. More importantly, however, Lesteroth and his friends would have relatively decent jobs with stuff to do, and actually have a reliable source of income! That was the problem with the Courts: having reliable, not soul-destroying, income.

That, of course, was why he’d signed up for Lilith’s army; to actually have money. However, much to his frustration, he had been posted to a place with nowhere to spend it. And his contract had been, like all of Lilith’s employment contracts, for eternity or until Lilith terminated one. And of course such termination, should it occur, was very slow and agonizingly painful.

It was quite remarkable that he and his buddies had found a convenient out. Sure, there was always the chance that Lilith would someday defeat Lord Tommus and seek horrifyingly terrible vengeance on those who had betrayed their contracts; however, Lord Tommus seemed quite capable of holding his own against Lilith and her forces. By which he obviously meant himself and his comrades. According to pretty much everyone he’d met that had been posted at Doom’s Redoubt, they were pretty typical of all of Lilith’s regiments.

“Lesteroth Garflog!” A deep, reverberating, thunderous voice startled him out of his reverie. Lesteroth spun in surprise only to fall on his knees in awe. Lord Tommus! Think of the devil! Was this a surprise inspection? He couldn’t believe the Lord of Doom knew his name; at least could not until he remembered they had a link that probably helped the demon prince recall his name.

“Your Demonship! How may I serve you?” Lesteroth quavered, kneeling and bowing his head.

“Well, you can start by standing up and looking at me,” the demon prince said with a chuckle.

Lesteroth stood shakily; he was not at all accustomed to being in the presence of a demon prince. It was more than just a little bit intimidating.

“Your Highness?” Lesteroth asked again, timidly looking at Lord Tommus’s amazingly handsome and noble face.

“I have never been to the DoomSpa before. I need to relax so that I can focus my attention on the four oath-taking ceremonies today. What do you recommend?” Lord Tommus asked.

Lesteroth blinked. The Dark Lord Tommus, his sworn master, the Lord of Doom, a Prince of the Abyss, was asking for his, Lesteroth Garflog’s, advice? What sort of fantasy world have I entered? Lesteroth wondered in confused awe.

Fort Murgatroid: Mid Third Period

Teragdor finished the Ritual of Sanctification on the main altar to Tiernon within the chapel. A group of Tiernon’s and Torean’s saints had done some sort of joint Beatific Sanctuary spell on the chapel itself last night. He had never heard of such a thing; apparently it was a permanent equivalent of the more standard Greater Sanctuary spell, which only lasted for a few hours under the best conditions.

This one, however, was not only permanent, but they’d somehow made the site sanctified to both Tiernon and Torean; again, something he had not even known was possible. One of Torean’s saints, Timbly, had informed him that such joint rituals, at a mortal level, were fairly common within the Holy Etonian Empire, where the churches frequently worked side by side.

Of course, his own sanctification of the altar was a bit of weak tea compared to a super-powered sanctification of the chapel by two groups of saints; however, it was tradition for the priest in charge of a chapel to personally sanctify the main altar.

This main altar was a bit odd in that the chapel had two side-by-side altars, one to Tiernon and the other to Torean. Torean’s altar had been sanctified this morning by Rasmeth, the Torean high chaplain, who had arrived to handle Torean’s religious operations.

Teragdor had watched the sanctification from a pew. It was actually pretty similar to the one he had just finished. After a few moments of prayer after Rasmeth had finished, Teragdor had gone up to his altar to begin. Understandably, he had felt a bit awkward; Rasmeth was of higher rank, a high chaplain versus an itinerant priest, and Teragdor had never actually sanctified an altar in a chapel. He had done so on a few smaller forest altars, and while the ritual was the same, it felt much more solemn to do so in an actual chapel.

Actually, being in a physical chapel was a pretty rare occurrence for Teragdor, given that there were none for several hundred leagues of Murgatroy—other than his new one, of course. In the end, it had gone surprisingly well, if he did say so himself. His prayer for confidence and a steady hand had apparently paid off; he’d felt the power of Tiernon flow through him with greater ease and strength than on any of his previous sanctifications. It was most likely because they were already in a sanctified chapel, so its strength supplemented his own.

As he turned and headed down the aisle, he couldn’t help but notice Rasmeth staring at him oddly.

“Is there something wrong?” Teragdor asked the priest. They’d only spoken briefly when the priest had arrived this morning. He was suddenly terrified he’d done something wrong.

Rasmeth shook his head. “No, but I thought you said you were an itinerant priest of Tiernon.”

Teragdor blinked in surprise at the very odd statement. “I am. What causes you to ask that?”

Rasmeth shook his head slightly. “Well maybe they do things differently in the Church of Tiernon, but you have an amazing amount of Grace for an itinerant priest.”

It was now Teragdor’s turn to shake his head. He had no idea what the priest might mean. Typically, that statement would mean that Tiernon was exceptionally with one. The more Grace of Tiernon one had, the higher spiritual rank one was; in other words, the more powerful rituals, pronouncements and mantras one could do.

“Uhm... thank you?” Teragdor said uncertainly.

Rasmeth smiled and gave a quick shake of his head. “No, I know that sounds weird. I suppose it is just that out here, so far from the church, one doesn’t see much opportunity for advancement. I would have expected someone with your Grace to be higher up in the church hierarchy. At least, that would be the case in the Church of Torean.”

Teragdor nodded politely with a small grin. “Uhm... thank you. I do what I can. I do not get to see my superiors that often.” He shook his head. “I have been spending an extremely unusual amount of time with saints and avatars; perhaps some of their Grace has rubbed off.”

Rasmeth titled his head and smiled. “Yes, I would suspect so. I am still in some shock at finding saints actually in the building. I had never even met a saint, or even presumed to ever meet one, until Timbly suddenly appeared to me in a dream with instructions to come here. And then when I get here? There are saints of Tiernon and Torean here. Not in dreams, but physically here. It is—surreal. That’s the only word I can think of.”

Teragdor made an O shape with his mouth as he let out a long, drawn-out “Oh, yeah.” The half-orc grinned and nodded in agreement. “You cannot even begin to imagine who I’ve met. I spoke with Baysir, Prophet of Astlan, yesterday!”

Rasmeth’s eyes went wide in shock. “Tiernon’s prophet in Astlan? Here? He spoke to you?”

Teragdor nodded solemnly, trying as hard as he could to remain humble. “I know. I am sure I must be living in a dream at this point. It’s as if I am living in one of the Times of Legend.”

“You may be.” Stevos voice startled the priests as he walked up to them. Both priests turned suddenly to the saint, who was walking down the aisle with a book strap containing three rather expensive-looking books.

“We may be?” Teragdor asked, noticing Rasmeth bowing respectfully. “Rasmeth, may I introduce my patron saint, Saint Stevos Delastros.”

“I am honored, Your Saintliness. I did, of course, recognize you. You are highly respected in the local Church of Torean,” Rasmeth said humbly.

“Thank you, Rasmeth. Timbly speaks quite highly of you. As you are aware, I am sure, this is a very unusual and highly discreet mission,” Stevos said.

“I do, Your Saintliness,” Rasmeth said, bowing in acknowledgement.

“I don’t stand on honorifics; you do not need to refer to me as ‘Your Saintliness,’ ” Stevos said, chuckling.

“As you instruct, sir,” Rasmeth replied.

Stevos grinned and shook his head. “We have located the Knight Rampant, Sir Talarius, and thus, presumably, the D’Orcs,” he announced.

Teragdor’s eyes widened in surprise. “He’s returned to Astlan?”

Stevos shook his head. “No, nothing so straightforward. He has filed prayers from Nysegard. We believe he is with the D’Orcs, whom we suspect have returned to Nysegard.”

“Nysegard?” Rasmeth asked with a note of concern in his voice.

Teragdor shook his head; he was not that familiar with that world.

Stevos sighed. “Yes. It is a long story, but apparently the D’Orcs, or rather Orcus, had a very large presence in Nysegard, and we believe that they have returned and that Talarius is with them.”

“That cannot be good! As I recall, the Forces of Light in Nysegard are nearing their last stand,” Rasmeth said with concern. “If the demons have returned, it will likely mean true darkness on the planet.”

Stevos chuckled. “That would be the logical thought. However, it turns out that the D’Orcs, under Orcus, were one of the largest contingents of the Forces of Light on Nysegard.”

Both Rasmeth and Teragdor were silent for a moment, trying to wrap their heads around that obviously nonsensical proposition.

Teragdor shook his head. “I am sorry; did you just say that Orcus and his armies were on the side of Light?”

“Odd, isn’t it? But yes, apparently they were; perhaps the largest Force of Light on Nysegard,” Stevos answered ruefully.

“That… that goes against everything we know about demon lords,” Rasmeth said, sounding bewildered.

“Indeed, so it would seem. However, it also appears that upon occasion, in Nysegard, the Five Siblings, D’Orcs and even the Los Sidhe have fought side-by-side against the Unlife.”

Rasmeth shook his head, unable to grasp this. “If I did not know, could not see, that you are a saint, I would have said you are either crazy or lying. This goes against everything we are taught.”

Teragdor nodded in agreement.

Stevos shrugged. “Apparently there is a saying that Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.” He chuckled, looking to Teragdor. “For example, I recently learned that on Nysegard, not only are half-orc priests of Tiernon not unheard of, but there actually are pure-blooded orc priests of Tiernon and Torean.”

“Seriously?” Teragdor asked in shock.

Stevos nodded. “Inethya, the Prophetess of Nysegard, tells me that about ten percent of their priests are full-blooded orcs, and another twenty percent have orc blood. The numbers are even larger for Nysegard’s equivalent of the Rod. She says that is also true of Torean’s priests and Rangers.”

Both priests blinked in surprise, they stood there in silence for a few moments.

“So is there a plan to rescue him?” Teragdor finally asked.

“There is; or at least a plan to make contact,” Stevos said.

Rasmeth’s eyes narrowed. “And since you are telling us this, I assume we are involved?”

Stevos chuckled. “Indeed. Sentir Fallon is not thrilled with sending more avatars into Nysegard. He and the others would prefer to use mortal intervention.”

“Except that you have reservations about using the normal Church and Rod channels,” Teragdor said.

“Exactly!” Stevos nodded with a wry grin. “We want to use Fort Murgatroid and resources that we will screen and move here to contact our Nysegard people—both those of Tiernon and those of Torean. We think the Rangers of Nysegard might be quite useful in discreet contact on Nysegard.”

Rasmeth nodded. “That would make sense.” His eyes suddenly shifted behind Stevos; Timbly had entered the chapel and was coming to join them.

Timbly, a bushy-bearded bear of a man, or rather saint, in leathers, came up and gave Stevos a slap on the back. “Filling them in on the fun?”

“Indeed, I have been,” Stevos said.

“Should we break up for our individual briefings?” Timbly asked. “We need to fill you in on the local resources in Nysegard.”

Stevos nodded. “Yes. Teragdor, you and I need to speak, as do Timbly and Rasmeth.” The two priests both nodded. “Let’s head to your offices.”

It was weird to have an office; Teragdor was still marveling at it. While it was not much of an office by cathedral standards, it was far more than he’d ever had before. For one thing, for the majority of his career he had slept in sleeping bags and, if lucky, in a tent. Now, as of this morning, he had a permanent home at Fort Murgatroid!

He had a small bedroom on the second floor of the back half of the chapel, and on the ground floor he had an actual office with a desk and two chairs for visitors. Rasmeth also had his own room and his own identical office. As a high chaplain, he was sure that the accommodations were far below Rasmeth’s standards, but for Teragdor it was a huge honor.

They entered Teragdor’s office and Teragdor gestured for Stevos to take the armchair behind the desk.

Stevos shook his head with a grin and sat down in one of the armless visitor chairs. “This is your office, Teragdor. Have you even had a chance to sit in your chair?”

Teragdor grinned, moving around to take his chair. “For but a few moments this morning. This a big upgrade for me.”

Stevos smiled. “And that is part of what I wanted to talk about. You are now a chaplain, because you have a chapel, or at least a shared one. Unfortunately, because we are working outside of the normal church channels—and even if we were, we essentially never dictate church roles and positions—this chapel and your chaplaincy are more facts on the ground than facts in some book in a cathedral.”

Teragdor nodded. “I understand completely.”

“That being said, this is officially yours and Rasmeth’s property, and you have Tierhallon’s full support.” Stevos chuckled. “Given that it was built by Tierhallon, we can give it to whoever we want.”

Teragdor also laughed and nodded.

“As we locate and assign more people we can trust, we will station them here, and as such they will be nominally in your domain. However, given that we are now asking you to establish relations with Nysegard and be our point person on this, it was decided that we needed to give you a promotion to ensure you have the resources you need,” Stevos said.

Teragdor shook his head in confusion. “I thought we just agreed that you have no authority to promote me within the church?”

Stevos gave him a deep nod of agreement. “Correct. However, we can promote you in Tierhallic rank.”

Teragdor shook his head. “What does that mean?”

Stevos smiled broadly. “Baysir, Moradel, Sentir Fallon and Beragamos have agreed that you should be anointed as an Apostle of Tiernon!”

Teragdor blinked in shock, feeling the color drain from his face. An Apostle of Tiernon? Teragdor? Had there been one in the last thousand years? They were extremely rare, unheard of except in legend. That would explain Stevos saying they were once more in a “Time of Legends.”

“I—ah—I have no idea what to say... This is such an amazing honor. I never could—I can’t even comprehend it,” Teragdor stammered out.

Stevos grinned and shrugged. “Well, in many ways you’ve been functioning that way. Hell, you’ve not only had dinner and drinks with multiple saints, you’ve done so with Beragamos, Supreme Archon of Tiernon. You are taking orders and instructions from the Saints of Tierhallon. If that doesn’t qualify you as an apostle, I don’t know what does.”

“So what does this entail?” Teragdor asked, still stunned.

“Well first, you’ve already been granted bureaucratic permission from Upstairs for much higher mana resources, and now we need to do a formal anointing and then follow up with a heck of a lot of learning!” Stevos lifted the book strap with the books from beside him and put it on Teragdor’s desk. “These books have very thin pages and contain a large number of rituals, pronouncements and mantras. Actually, every ritual, pronouncement and mantra that mortals can perform. I will tutor you, but you’re going to need to study and practice them as well.”

Teragdor shook his head, his eyes locked on the books. He could not comprehend this; it was too great an honor. Too unbelievable.

“When you are not reading them, I would keep them in the book strap,” Stevos said. “It is blessed with powerful protections to keep the books from being damaged. Further, as part of the anointing process, we will key the books to open only to you. You know—trade secrets and all.”

Teragdor nodded silently, still in shock at this turn of events.

Stevos chuckled before continuing. “I can assure you that a great number of your superiors in the Church would most likely sin to get their hands on these books. There are things in there known only to the High Pontificate, and a few that not even he knows.”

Teragdor suddenly realized he had not been breathing. He let his breath out, continuing to stare at the books. This was what shock must feel like. He’d treated wounded people in shock, but had not truly experienced it.

“Oh, and we may want to see about brushing up on your physical combat skills as well.” Stevos grinned. “Nysegard is a very hostile place, and we need to make sure you can stay alive long enough to smite some undead with the Radiance of Tiernon!”

Nysegard, Nargolon: Late Third Period

Talarius stood watching as the oath-taking ceremony in Nargolon came down to the last dozen people. He shook his head at the similarities to the one he had seen yesterday in Krallnomton. It was inconceivable to him that this vast array of very different people—D’Orcs, half-D’Orcs, orcs, half-orcs, dwarves, half-dwarves, humans, and a few of hearthean descent as well as a few half-alfar—were so willing to unconditionally swear to this demon lord.

What bothered him the most, he supposed, were the looks of relief, joy and hope that they all had as they swore their oaths. They saw this demon as their salvation, as someone capable of saving them and their way of life; as a protector and guardian against the Darkness.

That was Tiernon’s role! It was just wrong that a demon lord, a gods-forsaken demon lord, could fulfill this role. He would have thought perhaps they were deluded, but he had now heard enough tales from the times of Orcus to know that Orcus had apparently played that role himself, at least here. Either that or the immortal D’Orcs had convinced later generations of this.

But if it was all a façade, what was the purpose? That was what Talarius could not determine. It was getting progressively harder and harder for him to untwist the logical knots he was having to tie himself into to continue thinking of this demon as pure Evil with a capital E.

The people he had talked to, and trained, had all been good people who had not believed they were lying to him when they praised the D’Orcs and Lord Tommus. While he did not have Holy Truth Sight, his visor could accurately measure changes in body temperature, subdermal tension and other minutiae that could give him an indication of whether or not the subject was lying; at least for humans, whose physiology he understood. He did not know enough about orcs to be able to interpret their honesty. Alvar were even harder to judge, based on his experience.

It was also odd that multiple people in both Krallnomton and Nargolon had recognized him as a knight of Tiernon and welcomed him with what could only be called open arms. The level of subterfuge this demon would have to be going to in order to seduce and corrupt him was, frankly, becoming untenable. He would, even as Tom had pointed out, have to be insanely egotistical and full of hubris, all sins that he had tried to avoid his entire life, to think that he was so worthy of such mind- and dimension-bending machinations.

As the service finished, one of the oath takers came up to him. He appeared to be a lad of about twenty; however, by his ears and fine features, Talarius recognized him as having alvaran blood. The half-elf stuck out his hand to Talarius in greeting.

“Stainsberry,” the lad said as Talarius took his hand.

“Talarius.” Talarius nodded.

“I can’t tell you how auspicious it is for Lord Tommus to arrive with a Knight Rampant of Tiernon at his side,” Stainsberry said.

Talarius tilted his head in pleased puzzlement. “You recognize my station?”

Stainsberry chuckled. “My training required me to memorize all the insignia of the various knighthoods.”

Talarius blinked in surprise. “You have trained as a knight?”

Stainsberry nodded. “I am a Knight Magus of the El Ohîm.”

Talarius blinked and shook his head in surprise. “Knight Magus of the El Ohîm? I don’t believe there have been any of those in Astlan in thousands and thousands of years.”

Stainsberry, or rather Sir Stainsberry, nodded. “We are a rare order, dedicated to defeating the Forces of Darkness wherever they may occur.”

“Do your vows not prevent you from swearing allegiance to Lord Tommus?” Talarius asked, suddenly curious.

“Not at all. Our first oath is to the Light. We are encouraged to swear to the Patrons of Light in the pursuit of the Light,” Sir Stainsberry said.

“And you are certain this Lord Tommus is a Patron of the Light?” Talarius asked.

Stainsberry looked at him oddly. “Clearly. For one thing, he has a Knight Rampant of Tiernon at his side. Arg-nargoloth, the patron of this village, regaled us last night about how you fought at Lord Tommus’s side against the Knights of Chaos, along with the goddess Sekhmekt, who is so powerful in the Light that she bears the Aten and is the daughter of Ra-Orûs, God of the Light.” He shook his head. “I can think of no greater recommendation. And, given that we also know and trust the D’Orcs who have stood with the Light for tens of thousands of years in Nysegard, and now that many of the greatest D’Orcs of legend—Arg-nargoloth for one—have returned and proclaimed Lord Tommus to be the Light Lord Orcus reborn, how could we doubt?”

Talarius nodded with a tight grin, not willing to argue the point at this moment. “You make a very convincing case.”

Stainsberry grinned. “It is good to have one’s certainties challenged, my new friend, and so I appreciate your desire to ensure my loyalty and expose any uncertainties I may have. However, I feel very confident.”

Talarius shook his head. “No, I did not mean to challenge your loyalty; it is simply that I am continually amazed at how Lord Tommus manages to so easily reclaim the mantle of Orcus.”

Stainsberry gave him a wry grin from the side of his mouth. “Well, walking around with the Wand of Orcus is also a pretty good indicator that he is who everyone says he is.”

“Indeed,” Talarius agreed. He did not quite see it that way, of course; he had been there when the Wand was found and Tom had since been at great lengths to assure him and the rest of his entourage that he was not, in fact, Orcus. So he was not really sure what to think or make of this situation.

Freehold, Council Chambers: Mid Fourth Period

Damien shook his head. His fellow councilors had been updating him on the chaos that had occurred in his absence. Quite the inspired wizardry, he had to admit. Given that the council and the city had survived, it would have been quite something to see. On the other hand, it was not every day one got to see a demon prince and a goddess wage war against Knights of Chaos, particularly when that demon prince was ostensibly one’s friend. That would take some adjusting to. Assuming, of course, that Tom actually was who he claimed to be. This whole throne-of-Orcus business seemed just a bit too convenient. He would, however, have to sort this out later with Antefalken—assuming his bard ever returned. For now, there was council business.

“Incredible, all of you, simply spectacular! We all owe you a great debt,” Damien told them.

Sier Barvon snorted loudly. “Please tell that to my brother-in-law and the other magistrates. They are not amused by recent events, and are even less amused about the costs. Both those of repair and those due to lost business.”

“Seriously?” Zilquar asked. “They should be glad we are here to defend them and keep them safe.”

“Keep them safe?” Davron asked. “You do know that all of this is due to Exador, yes? He brought in the demon army, and then he tried to destroy both the council and the palace!”

“I did inform the council that he was a danger to all of humanity,” Lenamare observed drily.

“No, you told us he was a danger to you,” Tureledor said. “I am sorry if I do not consider you and Jehenna to be the sum total of humanity.”

“Actually, that—specifically Exador—is the point of the magistrates,” Sier Bavron replied.

“Indeed,” Davron agreed.

“Exador was one of our own. We let an archdemon into our midst, we took him into our confidence and we were betrayed,” Sier Bavron told them.

“Quite true,” Jehenna admitted. “We have never gotten along with Exador, however, we never suspected him of being an archdemon.”

“None of us did,” Zilquar agreed.

“Yet they feel we brought this upon not only ourselves, but them and the city as well,” Davron said.

Damien shook his head, but chose to ignore Davron’s comment for the moment. “Is it actually true that none of us knew?” He turned to look at Randolf. “Did you not know he was an archdemon?”

Randolf suddenly looked uncomfortable. He coughed to clear his throat. “Indeed, I did know he was an archdemon. My entire family line has known ever since he destroyed Abancia.”

Alexandros Mien suddenly spoke up. “Abancia destroyed by an archdemon—that does make so much more sense than even the most powerful of wizards, which we all believed Exador’s ancestor, so to speak, to be.”

“Indeed, we quickly discovered it. His disguise was quickly pierced by our djinn allies,” Randolf said.

“Yes, indeed... your djinn allies,” Alexandros said. “We need to have some discussions about this rather intriguing relationship of yours.”

“Indeed, we all simply thought you were a pervert,” Sier Bavron said.

Randolf shook his head. “No, no—Crispin is far older than me. Older than Alexandros.”

“I suppose that makes it alright then. It’s your djinni that’s the cradle robber,” Sier Bavron harrumphed.

Damien shook his head. “So why did neither you nor your family ever mention this?”

“And have Turelane turned into a wasteland like Abancia?” Randolf shook his head. “No; in order to protect our people, we decided to play ignorant and go along with his charade.”

“Did Exador know that you knew?” Jehenna asked.

Randolf shook his head. “Not at all. We have all been very careful—except for my father. He became fed up with his subservient position, and, I suspect, revealed too much. It is my belief and Crispin’s that Exador suspected my father of knowing the truth, and arranged for his demise.”

“So you then moved into damage control?” Gandros asked.

“Indeed. The fawning sycophant, you know, is as much a façade as the one used by Exador. I had to ensure that Exador felt no threat from me, my family, or my people,” Randolf informed them. “That being said, here in Freehold, I have been working in secret to not only expose him, but trap him or ban him from Astlan.”

“It does make some sense,” Lenamare said. “I have to say, our recent work together has completely reversed my opinion of your skills. You are actually somewhat competent.”

Randolf gave Lenamare something that, to Damien, looked half way between a smile and a smirk.

“Thank you, Lenamare. I take that as a great compliment,” Randolf replied.

Lenamare nodded. “It may serve as such.”

Damien rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long council session. At least they were now back to their usual bickering banter. He supposed that was a good thing.

Etterdam, Arcem Conclave: Mid Fourth Period Courts, Early Sixth Local Time

“Well, I am glad to see you have at least had someone sweep the place out,” Aodh remarked rather dismissively as he entered their principal meeting room atop their tower in Etterdam.

Sentir Fallon rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well, given how much the two of you whined like a snotty little virgins last time, I decided to swoop down and abduct some peasants to clean the place up,” Lilith replied. “When we are once more done with this place I will dispose of them, even as last time.”

“In that case, why not abduct some stone masons, carpenters and such, as we did last time?” Aodh asked.

“How long are we going to be using it?” Lilith asked. “Last time it was for more than a few centuries.”

“It may be that long again, or longer,” Sentir Fallon said sourly.

The other two looked at him in surprise.

“Orcus—and I think by this point it is becoming clear that we are dealing with Orcus—has reopened his satellite volcano in Nysegard,” Sentir Fallon said.

Both Lilith and Aodh inhaled rather loudly at that. “What makes you so sure of both details?” Aodh asked sharply, sitting down in a chair that materialized beneath him. Lilith shook her head in exasperation at his blatant use of magic, and then summoned one for herself as well. Sentir shrugged and retrieved his own chair.

“Talarius, the abducted knight, has appeared in Nysegard on the Isle of Doom,” Sentir said. “We have received multiple prayers from him there, and in those prayers we have seen signs of D’Orcs flying around an active volcano in a region that is clearly not the Abyss.”

“If this demon wants to open one of the satellite Dooms, why would it start with the nastiest place first?” Aodh asked.

“Because he knows,” Lilith said, sounding angry.

Sentir closed his eyes even as Aodh locked his on Lilith and stated emphatically, “There is no way he could know. The Dark Apostle blocked off access to Doom for Orcus and his army. You cut the link to the Nysegard Doom, so they could neither use mana, nor return upon death.” He shook his head and continued. “Sentir slew Orcus permanently and infected the D’Orcs with the Blackness before I even opened the gateway to Nysegard outside the Dark Apostle’s wards. No one other than our own servants were left alive. There is no way he could know that we used the forces of the Storm Lords to destroy his mortal army.”

“Aside, perhaps, from your forces who were cordoning off the area so none could escape?” Sentir asked.

“As I said, other than our own people. I note that your people were there on the field as well, both mortal and immortal,” Aodh snapped.

“I am not sure it matters how he knew at this point,” Lilith interrupted. “What does matter is that he is clearly aware of everything we did and is moving rapidly with his vengeance. Do the Storm Lords even have any idea that he is back in Nysegard?”

“I don’t see how they could. The only way we know is because Talarius is with him,” Sentir replied.

“Why?” Aodh asked.

“Why what?”

“Why is your knight with him? Why would Orcus allow this knight back onto the material planes, where he could contact Tierhallon?” Aodh clarified. “It seems rather risky.”

Sentir shrugged. “The place is extremely hostile. Between Orcus’s own forces, the Unlife, and the limited resources the Five Siblings have on that world, where is he going to go?”

“Yes, but why let him contact Tierhallon?” Aodh reiterated.

Sentir shook his head slightly. “We see it as one of two things: a trap to draw our forces to him so the demon can steal more mana, or he wants us to deploy more resources to the world.”

“Why would he want more forces of Tiernon on Nysegard?” Lilith asked.

Sentir sighed. “On Nysegard, the Church and the Isle of Doom are on the same side against the Unlife.”

“Oh, yes,” Aodh said with a slight malicious grin. “I forgot, you and your people are morally opposed to the Unlife.” Sentir glared at him. “I forget, given your own propensity for using them.”

“Enough,” Lilith silenced the other two. Aodh and Sentir both turned to her, now silent. “There is one other possibility,” she said.

“And that is?” Aodh asked.

“Tiernon is on to you.” Lilith stared directly at Sentir, who blanched. “Despite your assurance at the time, how confident are you that he bought your entire story? You were not supposed to permanently kill Orcus.”

“It has been four thousand years,” Sentir protested. “I have been promoted a couple of times since then. And I don’t see how this connects to Talarius?”

“What if Talarius was a plant all along?” Lilith asked.

The other two stared at her in silence.

“I am not sure I follow,” Sentir said. “How could Tiernon have known this so-called “fourth order” was going to come and kidnap Talarius? The entire episode took us all off guard.”

“Perhaps,” Aodh said introspectively.

Lilith smiled and nodded, allowing Aodh to come to his own conclusions.

“You are saying that perhaps this demon, who Sentir is now almost certain is Orcus, was in contact with Tiernon beforehand, that the battle and mana theft were planned, and that Talarius was used as a liaison? That the two are somehow working together to expose us?”

Lilith grinned seductively, or perhaps mischievously, or maliciously, or something in between, as growing looks of comprehension and horror crept across the faces of her companions.

Outside of Freehold: Mid Fifth Period

Vaselle had finally decided on a secure location for this device. He’d spent the last few hours tramping around the woods outside of Freehold, looking for an appropriately secure, weatherproof and flame-proof location for his portable gateway. He grinned at the name he had devised for it.

It wasn’t a gateway in the classical sense; in fact, it was very specialized and could only be used by certain people. It was also very purposefully unidirectional. It had no intrinsic gateway capability, so only people who understood what it was, and were appropriately linked, could use it. It was quite ingeniously simple, and thus safe. The most complicated spells he’d needed had nothing to do with its purpose; they were to keep it immobile and locked where he put it down, so no one could easily walk off with it. At least, not without him or his beloved dark master noticing. It also had a fairly simple, if potent, short-range Spell of Unnoticing on it, so most people would ignore it if they were within a few feet of it. The spell was short range so that from a distance, it would not be noticeable to someone with any sort of Sight.

Other than that, it contained a small fire spell that could be triggered over a link; and, of course, a mana pool that would power the other spells, but which could easily be recharged by himself, his master or any other warlocks or shamans linked to the master. That was all—that, and of course the link to his master, and hence to himself and any others his master wished.

The entire purpose of this device was to allow anyone with the link and the ability to do so, to start a small flame to support one of Lord Tommus’s Demonic Portals. This device would basically eliminate the need to have someone at a location in order for Lord Tommus to open a portal. Vaselle was going to glue this one right here, in this small, sheltered rocky alcove.

Vaselle muttered the small cantrip to enable the geo-lock on his device, and it was set. He had already charged it. It now just remained for Lord Tommus to test it. Unfortunately, his master was still at the oath-taking ceremony in Nysegard. He’d briefly joined with his master and shared the idea for his device. His master had been extremely pleased, but was not free to test it until later in the evening. Thus they had decided that Vaselle would place it and Tom would test it out, without Vaselle near, later in the evening. They had decided that Vaselle should be in the city, so they could be sure that Lord Tommus was tracking the device, rather than Vaselle. It was quite important to remove potential cross-effects when testing devices.

If this worked, Tom wanted Vaselle to construct a bunch more of them. He also wanted Vaselle to return to Mount Doom so that Vaselle could test to see if he, using Tom’s power, could also open the portals. That would be very important, as the master wanted his shamans and future warlocks to be able to open portals on his behalf.

Vaselle quietly clapped his hands together in delight. He was so pleased to be of service to his master. It made him feel so special, so valuable, to provide the master things he needed.

Mount Doom: Late Sixth Period

Tom made his way down the corridor to his room; he wanted to check in with the guys hanging out there. For some reason, they all liked to gather in his personal sitting room, even though there were many sitting rooms that were not tied to a bedroom suite. He assumed it was just habit. Well, and Antefalken had assembled his huge piles of heat-resistant paper to write on.

He wanted to check on them to see if anything new had come up before testing Vaselle’s portable gateway. Those should be incredibly useful; he was quite happy with Vaselle’s initiative. He wouldn’t be able to actually visit Vaselle, given that Freehold was still, as far as he knew, encased in Lenamare’s wards. However, it would be nice to see his old stomping grounds, so to speak. He laughed to himself at that; he had only lived there for a bit over a week.

After that he was going to bed. Today had been a long day; he had traveled to three different villages for oath takings. Interestingly, the villages were linked in chains, so they had gone to the largest village first, and then from there to two smaller villages that connected to it. He’d had to think about it a bit, but the model did make sense for a place like the Isle of Doom, where quick mobilization from multiple locations was needed. If everyone had to hub out of one location, like Krallnomton, everyone would have to go there first.

The travel and setup time, however, meant it wasn’t that efficient for doing oath takings. The method they had used at Doom had been to have regiments come to Tom, rotating people in and out. After today’s oath taking, they’d had a council session in the evening and discussed this.

His commanders agreed that it was taking too long; the Forces of Darkness might not give them enough time before testing them to get everyone sworn. The original reason they were going to the villages had been because they didn’t want to leave any villages unoccupied.

After a couple rounds of discussion this evening, they had finally decided to send troops from Mount Doom to the villages to keep them occupied while their residents were taking oaths. There had been some concern about resource constraints, in that they did not have that many D’Orcs; however, Darflow had suggested that his demon troops also participate.

Tom could tell that some of his commanders were a bit leery of this, not completely trusting the demons yet. However,  they had all sworn oaths, and Tom had links to them, so he took it upon himself to end the discussion and agreed to use a mix of demons and D’Orcs.

Tom reached the door of his suite and opened it. He entered his suite to see Antefalken, as expected, still scribbling madly at piles of paper on the table he’d chosen to use for writing his ballad—or ballads; Tom seemed to recall Antefalken wanting to do a ballad on the Return to Nysegard. Boggy and Estrebrius were playing cards with Tamarin and Tizzy, the latter two of whom seemed to have very large piles of betting stones.

“How goes it?” Tom asked the bard as he came up to look over the his shoulder.

Antefalken looked up and sighed. “It is going; there is just so much to cover. I’ve been doing a number of interviews to get different perspectives on the battle with the knights, and on the return to Nysegard. The problem is that I just don’t have enough background material on either the knights, or for that matter, on Nysegard.”

“You, the demon bard, are short on background information?” Tom asked with a grin of disbelief. “I find that hard to believe.”

Antefalken snorted. “I know, but the thing is, so much of this goes back so much further in time than even I am accustomed to. And of course, everyone only has certain parts of the puzzles.” He grinned. “I love a challenge though. After all, the best bards, ahem, are also the best historians.”

“Eh,” Boggy snorted.

“Eh?” Antefalken asked.

“I am not sure the best ones are. I know some very good historians that couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Boggy replied, not looking up from his cards.

“I did not imply any reciprocity in my statement. Good bards are good historians, not necessarily the other way around,” Antefalken said defensively.

“Eh,” Boggy said, frowning at his cards.

Tom grinned at Antefalken. “If you like to study history, then you probably want to check out the Library of Doom.”

Antefalken dropped his quill and rotated to stare directly at Tom. “The Library of Doom?”

“Oh yes, fantastic place,” said Tamarin, not looking up from her cards. “If I wasn’t having so much fun playing this game called ‘poker,’ I would be down there now. Actually, I was there most of the day.”

“This place has a library?” Antefalken asked. “I didn’t think orcs, and thus D’Orcs, had much use for books.”

“Yes, but apparently, Orcus and the others did.” Tom chuckled. “It is huge. I thought the Council Library was big, but this place dwarfs it. How far back did you say some of the items go, Tamarin?”

“Well, Erestofanes could say for sure, obviously, but the djinn estimates there are works going back about one million years,” Tamarin said, turning to grin at Antefalken.

Antefalken jerked suddenly and tipped over on his stool, wings flailing wildly to catch himself. “Where is this place? Screw the ballads for now!”

Tom had never seen the demon bard so excited. He chuckled. “Follow me. I’ll show you the way, then I have to test out Vaselle’s new portable gateway.”

Aedesin, Mount Ehiron: DOA + 8, First Period (Courts), Dawn Local Time

Aodh climbed the long and winding steps towards the top of Mount Ehiron, where his lord god Nét kept his riding eagles. His Godship liked to spend his mornings, such as they were in the Outer Planes, with his beautiful war birds. Unless there was an emergency, Nét’s avatars were required to climb the stairs; flying and teleporting tended to disturb the very large birds. They took such intrusions as threats.

At long last Aodh reached the aerie, a beautiful palace devoted to the very lovely and extremely deadly birds. He reached the outer stone patio, crossing it to the large rough-stone main building of the aerie. As he grasped the handle of the entryway, he once more took time to enjoy the nearly sensual texture of the well-worn wooden handle, noting that a fresh wave of lichen was climbing the mortar between the stone wall and the framing of the doorway. On the Planes of Alfar, such things would be lost in the constant riot of life and the natural world; in the Outer Planes, such details were signs of detailed craftsmanship and never-ending attention to detail. There was no such thing as natural in Aedesin or any of the Outer Planes.

Aodh entered the aerie, noting several of the large birds swiveling their heads to take in his presence. Nét used neither hoods nor blinders upon these birds, trusting their heightened intellect to tame their basic hunter instincts. His judgement in this was mostly right. Fortunately, when in Aedesin, lapses in their judgement could be painful, but not fatal. On the Planes of Alfar? Well, the priests and riders knew to tread carefully around the birds.

Aodh noticed his master at the far end of the aviary, near the diving platform. He was in discussion with Danu, the mother goddess of their pantheon. He had hoped to discuss this with his master alone; however, he had been instructed to bring any updates on the situation directly to his master as soon as possible.

He moved slowly, softly, yet confidently down the long hall, ensuring that none of the birds were spooked. They did not like sudden motions or anything too startling. He approached the two deities and stopped about fifteen feet away, waiting to be noticed.

He purposefully ignored their conversation as was proper, allowing it to flow through his mind without registering. After approximately a quarter hour, his master and Mother Danu finished their conversation and turned their attention to Aodh.

“Aodh.” His master nodded towards him. “You bring word?”

Aodh moved forward, bowing first to Mother Danu and then to his master. “Indeed, my lord,” he said, nodding.

“This is in regard to... ?” Mother Danu asked Nét.

“The demon who restarted Mount Doom and who has launched D’Orc incursions into the Planes of Alfar,” Nét responded. Mother Danu nodded, clearly up to date on the situation. Nét turned his attention back to Aodh.

“Sentir Fallon brings word that he and his master believe that this demon is, in fact, Orcus. My immediate allies have also concluded the same,” Aodh said.

Nét nodded. “Even as I suspected. On what do they base this new confidence?”

“He has restarted the Doomalogue in Nysegard,” Aodh replied.

Mother Danu made a small, obviously involuntarily hissing of indrawn breath through her pursed lips.

Nét inhaled deeply through his nostrils, allowing them to flare ever so slightly in the process. He glanced to Mother Danu. “As I’ve said?” Nét asked her.

“If he is moving this quickly, both to reclaim control of his old mortal realms and to recreate his relay stations, then he will be moving to attack soon,” Danu responded.

“Other critical news? We shall discuss the details of this in depth, however, I would know the most critical pieces of information first,” Nét instructed Aodh.

“That is the crux of the news. Most of the rest involves how the Five Siblings knew of his reopening of the site. The remainder is more speculation on motives, particularly with regard to vengeance. We—my immediate allies and I—suspect he may be aware of the Dark Apostle’s work and be seeking to punish the Storm Lords first,” Aodh said.

Nét nodded. “That would be logical. He would certainly want to eliminate any possibility of repeating what happened the last time.”

“So you believe his first target will be the Storm Lords?” Danu asked Nét.

“It would appear so; either them or Lilith. Both would be easier targets than Tiernon and Sentir Fallon. Lilith he could at least temporarily neutralize, and the Storm Lords he could probably do severe damage to now that the Dark Apostle is no more,” Nét replied.

Danu’s eyes narrowed. “This Dark Apostle? Stoivenychas? He was a necromancer, yes?”

“Necromancer and priest of Sutekh,” Nét replied. “Unlife as well, of course.”

“Of course.” Danu shook her head in revulsion. “Although a pawn of ours, I cannot be sorry that he was vanquished. Cloud of Disintegration, was it?”

Nét nodded. “He lost control of it in battle with an Astlanian human wizard.”

Danu shook her head in amazement. “I find it amazing that such a mature and, need I say, ‘evil’ creature as the Dark Apostle could be vanquished by a mortal wizard, let alone a human one. That sort of power would require centuries of experience.”

“Indeed, the Dark Apostle itself was at least six thousand years old at the time of its death,” Nét agreed.

“Remarkable achievement for the mortal,” Danu marveled.

“The same wizard killed the Anilord Diemeron Huntmaster nearly a quarter of a century earlier,” Nét noted.

“The Master of the Mind Reavers?” Danu asked in surprise.

“Indeed.”

“Perhaps not so surprising, in that case,” Danu agreed changing her mind.

Nét turned his attention back to Aodh. “We must move to take action immediately, mobilize our forces in the Astlanian localverse, put other adjacent realms on notice.”

Aodh nodded. “Of course. Our forces in Nysegard are problematic.”

Nét sighed and nodded. “Agreed. For what it is worth, let them be on alert.”

“If only we had better access to that world,” Danu lamented.

“What little influence we had was greatly diminished in the process of getting the Dark Apostles assistance in getting rid of Orcus,” Nét agreed.

“There will, of course, be pushback from the Elders and noble houses. As any sane alfar, they will see these actions as precipitous and rushed,” Aodh noted.

“Indeed,” Danu agreed. “And they are; yet, we have long prepared for this eventuality, and there is prophecy on our side. I shall have my priests support yours.” Danu nodded towards Nét. “We will get the others on board as well.”

Nét and Danu stood in silence, watching morning light creep over the valley below them as they waited to be sure Aodh was completely out of earshot.

“Aodh was right. This will require an unprecedented acceleration of action on the part of our people,” Danu told him.

Nét closed his eyes for a moment. “Indeed. However, as you said, we did prepare our people with prophecy, as soon as we learned of the orc prophesy.”

“I do not see how the orcs can have had a viable prophesy about the return of Orcus without a god to see it through. Orcs are notoriously godless heathens,” Danu said. “Orcus was one of the closest beings they had to a god, and you assured us that there was no trace of him left on Etterdam.”

“Indeed, I am very confident of that,” Nét agreed.

“So what god managed this prophecy?”

“Not an orc god—a demon god.”

“A demon god?” Danu had to suppress a laugh at such an absurd concept. “Demons have no gods; they even hold their nominal rulers in contempt.”

“Ah, but there is the Demon All-Father,” Nét stated.

“The Concordenax? That is a myth. I know of no one who has ever met this theoretical being.”

“I am not so certain of that,” Nét told her. “This being would have to be the trickiest of all demon kind. He, or she, would be very easy to overlook.”

Danu shook her head. “I shall not even try to argue on that point. Regardless of how the prophecy came to pass, I agreed with you millennia ago that we cannot allow the Tartarvardenennead to continue with their prison.”

“It did take me some time to convince you,” Nét reminded her with a small, tight smile.

“Only about fifty thousand years. As you said, first they came for the Titans, and we did nothing, then they came for the other gods, and—well—it was time to do something.” Danu shook her head. “As you said, the Tartarvardenennead are true atheists, the greatest threat to the Godhead in millions of years. It is only a matter of time before they imprison all of the gods.”

Appendix IV:  Orc Social Structure

Chapter 130

Astlan, Crooked Stick Camp: DOA + 8, Dawn

Zargvarst El Crooked Stick, D’Orc Squad Leader, inhaled the fresh scent of dew on tall grass as he watched the first light of Fierd begin to peek over the eastern horizon. “Ah, nothing like the butt crack of dawn!” he exclaimed with joy.

“It has been four thousand, two hundred, forty-two years and three quarter months since last I stood upon these planes preparing for battle against the so-called Los Alfar,” Zargvarst told the others. He shook his head in wonder. “One forgets the smell, the anticipation.”

He turned to those behind him, readying themselves and their mounts. “Of course, there is no battle today, but still, we start on adventure!”

“Perhaps soon we can do battle with the treacherous Los Alfar,” Kirak Doth Far suggested. This was Kirak’s second trip to Astlan. Kirak, Didar An Sep, Nagh Felwraith and Zerg Fel Far had all previously hunted with Tal Gor and his tribe; they had been overjoyed to be selected to return.

Tal Gor surveyed their party. Zargvarst was first generation, born here on the Orcan Plains during the Desolation forty-nine hundred years ago. Having been ascended at the Doomalogue in Astlan, he knew where it was. He was accompanied by four of the twenty D’Orcs that had hunted with him. On the orc side, Tal Gor was bringing his oldest brother and only sister, Bor Tal and Soon An; his brother Fel Nor was staying behind to continue his work with the tribe. Lob Smasher, the youngest of the tribe’s elders by several years, Fed Tal from the hunting party and Elgrid Rage Wracker, one of their best warriors, were joining them as well.

They had five D’Orcs, six orcs, and ten D’Wargs; one D’Warg for each orc and four to carry supplies and equipment. All D’Wargs were fully barded for battle. The orcs and D’Orcs were also bringing their full battle regalia, but for travel were not fully armored. They would be fully armed and armored when they approached other tribes or when they were in hostile territory. They wanted to present as impressive a front as possible to the other tribes to better to make their case.

Tal Gor gripped his shaman staff tightly. He’d installed his summoning stone and bound the staff to himself, along with its mana pool. The bindings had taken him a bit of time, given that he’d never seriously tried to do such rituals on something he planned to actually use.

He looked towards Schwarzenfürze, who seemed quite happy to be getting out of camp. She didn’t like sitting still, nor did anyone in the tribe like her sitting still. Apparently, when well fed, sitting still caused problems with her digestion. The results were, predictably, extremely unpleasant.

He had been nervous about carrying his valuable staff on D’Wargback thousands of feet off the ground; fortunately, the harness had both a holding cup and a long but detachable tether between the harness and staff, along with a wrist strap for him to use. Dropping a sword or scythe that was replaceable was one thing, but a magical staff crafted by Völund the Smith? It was, frankly, worth more than his life.

“Are we ready?” Zargvarst asked.

The others variously announced their readiness. Tal Gor affirmed, “Aye,” and his watching family and the other tribe members saluted them. Tal Gor mounted Schwarzenfürze, settling comfortably into the saddle. His butt was finally getting worn in after the hours of flying back from Murgatroy and a few practice sessions trying to use his staff as a weapon from D’Wargback.

“Set.”

“Mounted!”

“Let’s go!”

The confirmations that everyone was ready came one by one. As soon as everyone had acknowledged their readiness, including growls from the D’Wargs carrying supplies, Zargvarst lowered his hand, signaling their launch. The D’Wargs started running down the cleared space on the plain, flapping their wings and rising into the air one after the other, the D’Orcs launched themselves straight up. The assembled tribe cheered as they all took to the air and got into formation.

Tal Gor and the rest of the orcs waved down to their families and friends below, and then they were off, heading north. Fierd was now fully above the horizon to their right. Tal Gor grinned. He loved flying; it would be so cool to have wings like a D’Orc. Who knew, maybe if he served Lord Tommus faithfully and brought victory and glory to the Doompire, he might someday be ascended to D’Orchood. He knew from talking to drunken D’Orcs at the celebration that they wanted to add to their ranks.

It was, of course, pure hubris to think that he, a crippled, barely trained shaman, could ever aspire to the ranks of the greatest orc legends, but looking at his staff and suppressing a grin, he seemed to have made a good start. He just needed to not screw up. That was the thing; he had never really been a success at anything. His greatest success had been in contacting Lord Tommus and that had been pure coincidence, not any skill of his own. Hell, he hadn’t even discovered his totem yet.

Horrgus had been exceedingly vague on how one actually acquired, or, he supposed, revealed or discovered one’s totem. So he had no idea how to acquire an animal spirit guide. He was pretty sure he needed to do that in order to become a full-fledged shaman. Again, his drunken master had been extremely unforthcoming on that.

So what was he supposed to do? Wander around until some dead animal spirit walked up to him and started following him around? Or, he guessed, leading him around, because that’s what totems did. At least he thought they did that; again, Horrgus was not the ideal person to learn from.

Obviously, he could ask some of the other shamans working for Lord Tommus, but talk about humbling! They were his peers; they were not supposed to be his teachers. In some ways, he very much envied Rupert and Fer-Rog, who were learning from someone he suspected was one of the great orc shamans. Although Ragala-nargoloth was no slouch either. As far as he’d been able to tell, both Beya and Farsooth had been shocked and impressed by her ability to smoke cigars and drink glargh while in a trance. Now, that would be a skill worth learning. Of course, he’d already had more than enough experience with one drunk teacher, so even though Ragala-nargoloth was clearly far better than Horrgus, he was pretty sure Farsooth or Beya would be better teachers.

Except, he couldn’t ask them. It would be too humiliating. They assumed that he was a full-fledged shaman like them. He had carefully avoided referring to himself as an apprentice shaman. Which was probably not a good idea, given that he was now likely in over his head and doomed to fail.

Doomed to fail? He chuckled. He was certainly doomed. Hopefully, he was doomed to success with Lord Tommus. He shook his head. He needed to find something else to think about on their long journey or he’d be riven with anxiety and depression about his own natural shortcomings.

Zargvarst had done measurements using the stars last night. He had said that the heavens were a bit off after more than four thousand years, so he wasn’t precisely sure where the camp was relative to the Doomalogue, but he had rough idea. He said that it was literally impossible to miss the Ring of Doom, as he called it, as it was visible for more than fifty leagues. In any event, he suspected they were between two hundred and fifty to three hundred leagues from it.

Based on his trips to Murgatroy, Tal Gor estimated that a loaded D’Warg could probably travel fifty leagues in a half day; a hundred if they did not stop. However, the orcs needed to eat, drink, relieve themselves, sleep and resupply, so they were planning on camping. While D’Orcs outside of Mount Doom didn’t have to sleep, they’d all gotten back in the habit, so were planning to do some sleeping. The D’Orcs would, however, stand watch since, again, they did not have to sleep. Neither Tal Gor nor his brother and sister had complained about that. Like everyone in the tribe, they regularly took turns at watch, and it was not fun.

Actually, they hoped they would be spending their first night at one of the semi-permanent tribal camps surrounding Mount Orc, assuming they could locate people they knew before it got too late in the evening. Tal Gor had at first suspected Mount Orc to be the Doomalogue; however, according to Zargvarst, it was too close to where he believed the tribe currently was. Unfortunately, the maps he had from Mount Doom were seriously out of date, particularly since orc tribes didn’t spend a lot of time in one location. Even the semi-permanent tribes around Mount Orc moved every decade or so. They stayed within the region of course, but they relocated to fresher hunting grounds and grazing land.

Tal Gor shrugged. He was pretty confident that someone at Mount Orc would know the place Zargvarst was taking them and would be able to give them better directions. Lob Smasher had spent quite a bit of time around Mount Orc and so knew many of the tribal leaders in the region, so obtaining hospitality and directions should not present a problem.

Mount Doom: End of Second Period

“Good morning, master!” Tamarin greeted Tom as he exited his bedroom into the sitting room.

“Good morning, Tamarin!” Tom smiled at the buxom genie in her blousy pink costume. “I’m heading to Nysegard, of course; what are you up to today?”

Tamarin shrugged. “As always, I am at your command, master. If you had nothing for me to do, I thought I’d spend the day in the library.”

Tom nodded. “Excellent. I’m just going to be taking oaths. I am sure you will find the library much more interesting.”

“I could spend decades at a time there.” Tamarin shook her head in amazement at the library. “I was just going to browse, but if there is any research I can do for you, I’d be glad to do so.”

Tom frowned and shrugged; he couldn’t really think of anything. That would be a good idea, though; to get Tamarin, Vaselle and other mana wielders to research things that could aide them. He’d just been so focused on all things Nysegard that he hadn’t been thinking about longer-term strategy. Erestofanes had told them there were tons of magical resources.

Tom’s eyes widened. “I just thought of something!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, master?” Tamarin asked enthusiastically.

“Remember the council meeting where we discussed trying to D’Orc shamans and other great warriors?” Tom asked.

Tamarin’s face lit up even brighter. “I do. The library must have documentation on the D’Orcing process. They would have written it down!”

“Exactly. I have no idea why I didn’t think of this sooner, but it clearly seems like the best option.”

“I will get on it right away. This is exciting!” Tamarin clapped her hands and gave a small hop of joy.

“Thanks!” Tom said.

Ithgar, Ten Leagues from Olafa Horde Camp: Early Third Period Local Time

“This is fun. Very weird, but fun!” Fer-Rog told Rupert over their “shaman” link. Rupert thought of it more as a demon link, since he and Fer-Rog had created it at Mount Doom to help them practice shape-changing. However, Beya had shown them how to speak over it when distances intervened; since then, when they used it for talking, he thought of it as a shaman link.

“I know; it feels really weird to be flying but not flapping one’s wings,” Rupert agreed. “I feel bad that Bathesheeva has to lug me around.” He rubbed his D’Warg’s neck, feeling the rumble of pleasure in her throat.

“True, but I am sure they appreciated being out of Doom and the Abyss as much as everyone else. Don’t you, Tartevahst?” He bent down and hugged his D’Warg.

Both Rupert and Fer-Rog were traveling in their orc forms; it was part of their education and training. Also, as they encountered other tribes, explaining D’Orcs was going to be interesting enough, but a straight-out demon like Rupert? So they were traveling in their orc forms: Rog and Rugog. Obviously, Fer-Rog was Rog and Rupert was Rugog.

Fer-Rog had wanted to call himself Fer-Ocious, but Beya had said that sort of name would get his head smashed in, so he’d decided to simply use Rog. Rupert had always just gone by Rupert, so he wanted to keep the name similar so there would at least be a chance he’d know who people were talking to when they addressed him.

This morning at dawn they had launched their quest for the Ithgar Doomalogue. Hespith Fowl Breath, the first generation D’Orc squad leader for their journey, had been unable to get a lock on their location due to overcast skies last night, so they were heading to Orcopolis to get some maps for her to look at. Many things change in over four thousand years: rivers move, cities fall. In particular, they needed something to not only show where the Doomalogue had been, but more important to Hespith, where they were relative to it.

Beya thought they should be able to reach Orcopolis by late afternoon; plenty of time to get a good campsite in the city before the best ones were picked over. It was a bit odd, but apparently in Orcopolis there were camping grounds that were similar to inns. Travelers rented a space to set up their tents, and the campsite owner supplied clean water, communal fire pits and wood for them, as well as waste disposal and bathing and toilet facilities. Basically, an inn where you brought your own walls and beds. Rupert had thought this quite odd, but then what did he know? He had never actually stayed overnight in an inn himself.

Freehold: Early Third Period

“You want me to do what?” Hilda asked incredulously, setting the half a biscuit ring with schmear that she’d been about to take a bite of back down on her plate. She then reached for her Bloody Tatiana to wash down the shock.

“Yes, I know it will be tricky, but we do think that Talarius’s steed, War Arrow, will be able to help us track him down in Nysegard,” Stevos explained again.

“Yes, but you want Danyel and me”—she gestured at her assistant standing nearby—“to just march into the Rod’s camp and liberate a winged horse?”

“And the barding as well. We are likely to face a lot of Unlife, and War Arrow will need her armor.”

Hilda closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. She finally opened them and looked at Stevos. “And you’ve talked this over with the others? Particularly Moradel? Iskerus is already paranoid enough after losing Excrathadorus Mortis, and Danyel.”

“Not to mention the fact that the Beggars Guild is apparently still pestering him about his rogue priestess,” Danyel added with a laugh.

“What?” Stevos asked.

Hilda shook her head, indicating it was no big deal. “I’ve had a few run-ins with the Beggars Guild; I healed a number of them against their will when they wouldn’t stop bugging me. So now the guild master is convinced that Iskerus has a rogue priestess and is marching out there every day to see what he’s doing about finding her—meaning me.”

“From the way you described it, I am assuming you used healing combat on them?” Stevos asked with a grin.

“Not on the first one, just the small group that accosted and threatened me if I didn’t un-heal the first one,” Hilda said.

“They are really starting to get annoying though,” Danyel said. “We see them lurking around the city, spying on us when we are out.”

“Do they know where you are living?” Stevos asked.

“I don’t think so; I’ve chanted up a storm of misdirection rituals around the inn that are targeted towards people with nefarious intent,” Hilda said.

“Currently, the inn and tavern here are rated the safest in the city.” Danyel grinned.

Hilda nodded and said, “I’ve also given Danyel an amulet to chant over to make himself unnoticeable whenever needed, particularly when coming and going from the inn. I am doing my own chants as I enter and leave. However, about the city, I let them see me. I have no problem with healing a few more. I just don’t want them bothering Danyel.”

Danyel shrugged. “I am a soldier, and I am armed. Beggars aren’t stupid.”

“Still, you need to be careful. If they gang up enough, that could be a problem,” Hilda told him.

“Well, with all your recent practice with unnoticing and misdirection, you should have no problem getting into the Rod’s camp and liberating War Arrow,” Stevos said with a grin.

“Okay, so tell me this. Assuming I get him out of the camp, how do I get him to Fort Murgatroid?” Hilda asked. “I can’t just take him through Tierhallon.”

“We have a bunch of Saintly Gates at Fort Murgatroid,” Stevos replied. We’ll just create an endpoint somewhere nearby.”

“Oh, and all those priests out there”—she gestured to the surrounding army—“won’t notice that?”

“We won’t keep it open that long. Simply long enough to get War Arrow through.”

“Ugh,” Hilda sighed. “You do realize there is a lot that could go wrong with this, yes?”

Stevos shrugged with a smile. “I am pretty sure the illustrious Saint Hilda, Patron Saint of Espionage, can handle it.”

“You are so very not funny,” Hilda said.

Etterdam, Nart Command Tent: Fifth Period

“This is not going to be pleasant,” Ragala-nargoloth remarked, looking over the map they were using to chart their mission to the Etterdam Doomalogue.

“For the alvar, you mean?” Nisvel Crooked Stick, Leftenant of the 8th Regiment of Doom clarified.

Ragala-nargoloth looked at him, surprised that there could be any confusion. “Obviously. That volcano, those mountains belongs to Lord Tommus. The alvar may currently be occupying the area around it, thanks to their treachery four thousand years ago, but it is his property. It is well past time that we reclaim it for Lord Tommus.” She stuck her cigar back in her mouth.

Chief Hellfiroth Bowel Slicer snorted. “We have not had the aerial capability to get our forces over the Strait of Death before.”

“That has changed,” Ragala-nargoloth said to the assembled leaders. She looked to Nisvel. “Given that we are going into hostile territory, I think we should requisition additional forces.”

Nisvel, her D’Orc commander, nodded. “I agree. I will request them from Arg-nargoloth.”

“If I happen to run into him, I will second the request,” Ragala-nargoloth said. One of her apprentices, Teg Death Screech, snickered when she said this. She cut him off with sharp glance. Teg, like most of her apprentices, had a very prurient mind. Although, to be fair to the boy, they’d both had the same lewd thought.

The Inferno: Late Third Period

Gadius turned from staring out the main viewport on the bridge as Barabus and Temerlain came through the hatchway leading to the cargo deck where the searching rituals were being performed. Sir Samwell and Chancellor Alighieri, who had been engaged in some obscure debate of Oorstemothian constitutional principles, also turned. Captain Cranshall rotated his command chair to face the two new arrivals.

Barabus was shaking his head “no” in response to the unasked question.

“No sign of Talarius here either,” Temerlain told them.

Sir Samwell appeared to do a double take, clearly surprised at their lack of success. “Are you absolutely sure? I would have wagered anything that your knight would be there.” He pointed out the view screen to an active volcano, surrounded by storm clouds, in the distance.

“Yes, we are well aware of that. You’ve made your point several times,” Barabus replied. “However, we are not detecting him here, no more than in the last six areas we’ve checked.”

The quest for Talarius was quickly proving to be every bit as tedious as Sir Samwell had indicated earlier, when they had first started searching. They had covered a logical grid around their original location on the mesa with no luck. Finally, Sir Samwell suggested they look near the most likely locations; large demon population centers. The Courts of Chaos was the only such place that any of the Astlanians knew of; however, Sir Samwell had thought the Courts a bit too obvious and high-profile of a place for a rogue demon to hide his hostage. He had argued that it would be more likely for him to have gone to one of the smaller cities. Of course, “city” was a very loose term in the Abyss, apparently. Ahead of them, highly magnified on the viewing mirror, was an extremely large volcano that was sitting at the edge of their search radius—not an actual city. According to Sir Samwell, there were a large number of demons that lived in the volcano. It sounded rather absurd, but then this was the Abyss, so demons wading through lava made as much sense as anything.

Sir Samwell was shaking his head, quite vexed that they had been unable to find Talarius in the volcano. It was as if he had known, or thought he had known that the knight was being held there.

Gadius was still not completely sure of this Sir Samwell. Yes, Temerlain and his priests had performed every form of test and exorcism they could think of on him; however, without access to Tierhallon, the priests did not have their full resources. A very powerful demon could likely have withstood the scrutiny they were able to provide. The only good consolation Gadius had, and he presumed this was true of the others, was that Sir Samwell did seem to have a very good understanding of Oorstemoth and its laws, or those that it had had when he claimed to have lived there. The minutiae of legal detail that Sir Samwell and the Chancellor were continually debating was so tedious that the Knights Rampant had taken to avoiding the two whenever possible.

He noted with amusement that Captain Cranshall also seemed to find other duties as soon as those two showed up. It was quite nice to know that not all Oorstemothians were insanely boring and tedious, or at least that there was a limit to how much even they could handle.

“What is this place again?” the captain asked Sir Samwell.

“I noticed it is only place in the Abyss that we have found so far that actually seems to have weather,” Chancellor Alighieri said.

“Yes, it’s as if every cloud in the Abyss gravitated to that site and started dumping rain,” Barabus agreed.

“And it’s the only moisture we’ve seen except for snow on some very high mountains,” Dante added.

Sir Samwell nodded. “That is but one of its peculiarities. It’s a very unusual place. It is sort of a rogue outpost where a good number of demons that are out of favor in the Courts congregate.”

“And you know this how?” Temerlain asked, sounding a bit suspicious.

Samwell shrugged. “As we’ve discussed, I’ve been here for some time and I’ve been the prisoner of multiple demon lords. I’ve been tortured here, as well as the Courts and a few other places.”

“I actually find it interesting that the Courts, and the—what are they called, the ‘Co-Factors’? tolerate a rogue outpost,” Dante noted.

“Tolerate, can’t get rid of—mainly a matter of semantics, I suspect,” Samwell said with another shrug. “As I understand it, Lilith, one of the Co-Factors, did recently try to have these folks exterminated.”

“I take it she failed?” Barabus said.

Samwell chuckled. “Miserably,” he said. “In fact, the vast majority of her forces defected after their very resounding defeat.”

Temerlain looked puzzled. “The lord of this volcano didn’t kill her soldiers?”

Samwell shook his head. “No, not as I heard it. For one thing, killing anyone down here permanently is a lot of work. While it can be done, typical clashes between demon armies are more about dismembering and immobilizing the other side and, if you can, scattering those remains over wide regions so it takes them quite some time to regenerate.”

“I still find it very odd that they would switch allegiance,” Wing Arms Master Heron said.

“Yes, I know. Not particularly loyal, but you get what you pay for, and Lilith is not known for her generosity. She relies on low wages and fear of torture and reprisal. I am sure many of her soldiers were dreading returning home after failing her so spectacularly,” Samwell told them.

Barabus shrugged with one shoulder as he looked at Temerlain at his side. “That does sound consistent with what we would expect.”

Temerlain nodded. “Indeed.”

“So, then,” Dante said, changing the subject. “Where do we look next?”

Everyone looked to Sir Samwell.

He frowned. “I still have difficulty in believing he is not there. The place is rather famous for its prisoners. I have to think that this Talarius fellow would be there. It’s not like his captor would just go hole up in a random cave for weeks on end.” He shook his head and grinned. “That would make it nearly impossible to find him; we would have to scour every foot of the Abyss.”

“So what are our other options?” Captain Cranshall asked.

“I am wondering—no offense, Temerlain—whether at such extreme range the demons there are able to shield Talarius from your searches. If we got closer, would you be able to pierce any deceptions they might be employing?” Samwell asked.

Temerlain blinked and rubbed his chin. “You bring up a very good possibility.” He seemed to think for a minute. “With our weakened state, however, to be confident of even detecting a distortion or deceptive spell, let alone Talarius, we would need to get quite close; within a few leagues.”

“Hmm,” Dante said, turning towards the captain. “Do you suppose we go to a higher alert, battle stations even, get closer and keep a close eye out for demons pouring out of the volcano to attack us? And have the priests do their scanning?”

Cranshall raised an eyebrow. “We could; we would have to leave a number of our shields down during their scans, so as not to interfere with them.”

“But we could bring them up quickly if demons came rushing out?” Wings Arms Master Heron asked.

“Certainly. And even without our primary shields up, a few demons aren’t going to be able to do too much damage,” Captain Cranshall said.

“Excellent,” Dante said rubbing his hands. “After all, how many demons could there be in that volcano?” He beamed at the others, looking for agreement.

“Probably no more than five or six thousand at this point,” Samwell said. His statement was greeted with complete silence as everyone stared at him in shock.

“Five or six thousand demons?” Barabus asked. “In that volcano?”

Samwell shrugged. “Well, we are about 300 leagues out from it right now, and while your magnification is, I am sure, good”—he gestured to the volcano on the view screen—“that volcano is very large. Thousands of years ago, I am told, there were over twenty thousand demons living there.”

“Twenty thousand demons?” Barabus leaned against the wall in shock. Temerlain put his hands to his head, pushing back his hair as he tried to grasp this.

“That’s more than were in Freehold,” Heron said softly.

“Truly,” Dante said in amazement. “But did you not say that the majority of demons were imps, sprites, shadows and such?”

“Indeed,” Heron said, and Barabus nodded in agreement.

“Hmm,” Samwell said as if he found that odd.

“What do you mean by that?” Cranshall asked the knight.

“Nothing. Just curious.” Samwell shrugged.

Heron shook his head. “So we go very carefully and keep our fingers on the buttons for the wards.”

“Definitely,” Cranshall said, not sounding completely convinced.

Nysegard, Krallnomton: Noon

Tom leaned back on his chair. Fortunately, since the Isle of Doom did have a D’Orc population, they had appropriately sized chairs that could also accommodate wings. While a little small for Tom, it was doable. They were taking a break between villages taking their oaths for a small lunch celebration. While it was nice to not have to travel to various cities and being in Krallnomton at the base of the volcano, he had to maintain some concentration on keeping the rain from falling on the ceremony. Activating the volcano had pretty much turned the town into Seattle. He also felt slightly bad about not visiting all of the cities to inspect them as a commander should.

Tom sighed. He was going to be doing this for some time yet, and it was starting to weigh on him. This was just so much responsibility. Yes, he’d had this argument with himself many times before, with D’Orcs and with demons, but being here and seeing humans and orcs, mortals, look on him with so much hope? It was daunting. Who was he, a sixteen—no, strike that, seventeen-year-old kid, to have people swearing loyalty to him?

Sure there were tons of stories about young heirs taking the throne of the kingdom at his age or younger; however, those were established kingdoms. He was taking over and reviving a dead empire. It seemed this would take a bit more hubris than simply inheriting a functional kingdom. To add to that, his subjects, by and large, were bloodthirsty, war-starved orcs, demons and super-orc demons, and such groups were infamously difficult to control in all the fantasy books.

Actually, upon reflection, Lilith was probably a textbook case of how one should, or at least how one was expected, to rule such a dark contingent. Of course, that had not worked out well for her. Her reign of terror over her troops had driven them to him. So maybe Tolkien, Jordan, Sanderson and the others didn’t truly understand the best way to rule such a group. In those stories, the dark lords who ruled by brute force and terror always ended up failing miserably.

Although, to be fair to the dark lords in those tales, the authors were clearly biased in favor of the good guys. Which was interesting, given that the main complaint he had heard from the D’Orcs about the other side was that the alfar always did the PR work and painted themselves as the defenders of righteousness and honor. Team D’Orc, the orcs and their allies were always presented as the bad guy, exactly like demons. Which is why it probably made sense to have them join forces.

“The tedium of the crown,” Phaestus said beside him. Tom started from his reverie, having not realized that Phaestus had come up beside him. Tizzy and Darg-Krallnom were with him.

“Yes, it’s taking a while, but I don’t find it boring. Daunting, yes—these are big obligations for them and me—but not boring,” Tom said. Darg-Krallnom nodded in appreciation.

“So several more days, I take it?” Phaestus asked.

“At least,” Darg-Krallnom replied.

“You know at some point we need to continue Tartarus training?” Phaestus reminded them.

Tom nodded. “I know; we just want to get everyone sworn before the Storm Lords figure out what is going on.”

Phaestus nodded. “Agreed. Just been thinking about how. While we have covered induction procedures, we have not even touched the release procedures.”

“Release procedures?” Tom asked, puzzled. He twisted his head to stare at the god. “Why would we want to release anyone?”

“Well, the obvious thing that comes to mind is that if the Kraken hadn’t gone back to sleep, we would have had to release it to keep it from waking the others or causing other problems,” Phaestus reminded him.

“And we need to be able to release prisoners for those clients that don’t pay up!” Tizzy interjected.

“What?” Tom asked, shaking his head.

“It’s been over four thousand years since any of our clients have paid their fees!” Tizzy exclaimed between puffs on his pipe. “We are going to need to collect! And if they no longer want to pony up, we release their prisoners!”

“I’m not sure that’s a high priority,” Tom said. He had more than enough on his plate.

“What exactly is the point of running a for-profit prison if you don’t make a profit?” Tizzy asked, waving all four of his hands theatrically.

“I am sure the Olympians will pay,” Phaestus said with a grin. “They are one of our largest clients, and they really do not want those titans out and about.”

“The Five Siblings might be a bit more interesting, given how you took Tiernon’s mana and all, and how Sentir Fallon did kill you—or Orcus, or whatever.” Darg-Krallnom said. “The point being is that they are currently in league with our biggest enemy in the Abyss, Lilith. So collecting from them may be—amusing.”

“The Five Siblings?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“The Etonians, as they are referred to by people in Astlan who are not part of their religion,” Phaestus told him. “They are actually called the Five Siblings internally and on worlds without a continent named Eton.”

“We have prisoners of theirs?” Tom asked, shaking his head.

“Two.” Tizzy nodded.

“If Orcus and the D’Orcs were holding prisoners for them in Tartarus, what could possibly have possessed them to put the prison in jeopardy?” Tom asked.

“That is a mighty good question that we have been contemplating for the last several thousand years,” Phaestus said.

“I’m thinking we should just let them out; skip the negotiations!” Tizzy grinned emphatically.

“Yes, we know. You said that the moment you showed up after Orcus’s defeat,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“And we should have done it!” Tizzy exclaimed.

“You may recall we were missing both Orcus and his Wand? As well as a good chunk of our staff?” Phaestus asked Tizzy. “Doing anything with Tartarus would have been insane!”

Tizzy squinted suspiciously at the god. “You say that word likes it’s a bad thing?”

Tom interrupted the two of them. “Are you saying that we have some leverage over Tiernon and his family?”

“Yes,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Who have they got locked in our basement?” Tom asked.

“Why, dear old mummy and daddy of course!” Tizzy grinned broadly before taking a big drag on his pipe. Tom blinked and looked at the octopod in shock.

“Well, technically, stepmummy and daddy,” Phaestus corrected.

Tizzy paused and then shrugged with a slight grimace as he removed his pipe. “Technically, even worse in that case, that shrewish old harridan. Cinderella’s stepmother was quite pleasant by comparison.”

Tom did a double-take. How did Tizzy know Earth fairy tales? For that matter, how did he know so much Earth culture in the first place? He frowned and shook his head. If he stopped to question any of this, he’d spiral down and join Tizzy in insanity. He just needed to let Tizzy’s outbursts pass and not let them phase him.

Phaestus nodded. “She pretty much set the standard for evil stepmothers. Not that she was a good mother for her own children either. I only liked two of them; the others were a pain. The two I liked hated her.” He shrugged before glancing up at the sky. “Maybe that’s why I liked them?” He gave Tom a big grin and a wink.

“I’d personally have rather had Lilith as my stepmother,” Tizzy agreed.

Tom glanced at the two of them. How could anyone be worse than Lilith? He looked to Darg-Krallnom. “Who exactly are we talking about? Would I have heard of her?”

Darg-Krallnom shrugged, not certain. “Her name is Eris.”

Phaestus closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment, inhaling as if to draw strength. He finally looked up and opened his eyes. “I detest that woman. She has brought more problems to the Olympians than anyone I can think of… well, other than my parents’ own marital woes.”

“So she’s an Olympian goddess?” Tom asked.

Phaestus nodded. “My sister, in fact.”

“You helped lock up your own sister?” Tom asked in shock.

Phaestus shrugged. “In our family, being related does not mean we have to like each other. After all, I hate my mother with a multiversally renowned passion.”

Tom noted that the others all nodded in agreement with this statement.

The Inferno: Late Fourth Period

Barabus shook his head in amazement. “I will give you one big thing,” he told Heron, who stood beside him. “This ship can seriously move.” The Inferno was the fastest vessel Barabus had ever been on; in what his watch told him was about three and a half hours, they had traveled two hundred and fifty leagues.

“I will grant Dante that.” Heron chuckled in agreement. “I have never seen anything like it. His new geomantic propulsion system is unlike anything I have ever encountered. If there is any way I can get it on my regular airships, you can rest assured I will try.”

Barabus grinned at Heron. Naturally, of course, he was being polite. The thought of Oorstemoth having even one ship capable of this sort of speed, let alone multiple ones, was absolutely frightening. The Empire would be at grave risk. If nothing else, this joint venture had been a real eye-opener.

He chuckled to himself. At this point, he would almost be willing to forget Talarius and run back to New Etonia to inform the high pontificates and emperor of what Oorstemoth had up its sleeve. However, they were sworn to a joint mission, and who knew what additional intel he might uncover. Of course, said intel did raise the issue of the nondisclosure agreement they had all been required to sign. He had never actually heard of a legal contract binding one to secrecy before—normally blood was sufficient—but he supposed it made some sense in a very twisted Oorstemothian sort of logic.

Sir Samwell came over to them. “I could not help but overhear you, and I must agree. What Chancellor Alighieri and his team have achieved is indeed remarkable.” Barabus was not sure, but did the smile on Sir Samwell’s face seem as fake as his own? What reason could there be for that?

“Captain, we are detecting a mirrorcast being broadcast from up ahead,” Comms Officer Tallswan reported.

“What?” the captain asked, puzzled.

“It appears to be a fairly standard two-way mirroring invitation,” Tallswan reported.

“Very well,” the captain said, looking around to see who was on the bridge. It was the standard crew plus Dante, Samwell, Heron, Barabus and Sir Lady Serah. The other two Knights Rampant were with Temerlain on the cargo deck. He faced the main viewing mirror. “Put it on the main mirror.”

Tallswan nodded and made some gestures on his console. Suddenly a huge, incredibly hideous and ferocious red and green orc’s face appeared on the large mirror.

“Argh…” Sir Samwell said, obviously as shocked by what they were looking at as Barabus was. Dante was looking positively horrified.

Barabus had never seen such a truly vicious-looking orc before. Those tusks are huge! Wait, does it have wings? He blinked. What in the Abyss? An orc demon?

“You are Doomed! Identify yourself and explain why you have violated Mount Doom’s airspace!” the angry orc demon demanded.

The captain replied calmly, “I am Captain Cranshall of the Oorstemothian Extra-Dimensional Enforcement Vessel Inferno.” Barabus had to respect the man’s composure. “Our vessel is here under the direction of Heron, Wing Arms Master of the Oorstemothian Fleet, Lord Protectator of Oorstemoth and the Council of Justice, Duly Recognized Agent of High Justice, and Commander of the One Thousand Four Hundred and Thirteenth Sky Fleet of Oorstemoth.” He gestured to Heron.

“I am here on a Writ of Forcible Extradition—” Heron started.

“Writ?” the angry orc demon interrupted. “Fancy words? You aren’t a bunch of lawyers, are you?”

Sir Samwell made frantic gestures to the comms officer to cut the audio.

“Audio off,” Tallswan said.

Sir Samwell looked around at the others. “Trust me—no one here is a lawyer, no one here is a diplomat! Whatever you do, whatever you say, do not admit to being either one of those things, or we will be blown out of the sky!”

“Why?” Heron asked.

“If you haven’t noticed, these are D’Orcs. Demon Orcs. You know how regular orcs feel about lawyers and diplomats, yes?” Heron frowned, indicating that he clearly did. “These guys hate them even more.”

“What’s going on? Why are you silent? Speak up or be shot down!” The D’Orc demanded.

The captain gestured at Tallswan to turn the audio back on.

“My apologies; we had a small issue with our sound on this side. I assure you that we are not lawyers.”

The D’Orc raised one eyebrow, as if he didn’t believe the captain. “What are you doing here?”

Heron spoke up. “We have come seeking a knight of Tiernon who was defeated and taken hostage by a demon in Astlan. We also seek that demon.” He gestured to Barabus. “This is Arch-Vicar General Barabus of the Rod of Tiernon in Astlan. He only seeks to get his knight back.”

The D’Orc’s eyes shifted back and forth among the people on deck, apparently trying to decide if he believed any of them. His eyes finally settled on Sir Samwell and narrowed, as if he recognized him. “So then what is he doing there?” the D’Orc asked, staring at Sir Samwell, who coughed uncomfortably.

“I am Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third,” Sir Samwell introduced himself. “I have been trapped here in the Abyss for the last fourteen hundred years or so, and they have come to rescue me, as well as Sir Talarius.”

“Uh-huh,” The D’Orc said rather suspiciously.

“Yes, my lord... Arg-nargoloth, is it? I do believe you oversaw my torture at one point a few centuries ago when I was in your custody,” Sir Samwell said.

Barabus blinked. That was curious. Although the man did say he had been tortured here, and the fact that this—D’Orc—Arg-nargoloth recognized him did add to his seeming veracity.

“Yeah, that must be it,” The D’Orc said derisively before turning his attention back to Captain Cranshall and Heron. “Those you seek are not here. Go away!”

“May I inquire if you have seen them or if they have been there?” Captain Cranshall asked.

“Very well,” the D’Orc replied before going silent.

Captain Cranshall looked around at the others, at a bit of a loss.

“Have you seen them? Have they been there?” Captain Cranshall finally prompted.

The D’Orc shook his head. “No. Nobody here but us D’Orcs! No knights, no kidnapping demon. Now go away, you are not welcome.”

“We would just like to spend a little bit of time here. We want to look around to see if those we seek are nearby. You have our word that we will not bother you,” Captain Cranshall said.

“No. Go ‘way,” the D’Orc said.

Captain Cranshall turned towards Heron and Barabus, looking fairly confident. Heron nodded at him. Heron also seemed confident. Obviously, they had experience with orcs and knew how to handle the creatures.

Cranshall turned back to the viewing screen. “We promise not to bother you. We will just stay where we are for a short while. We will not come any closer,” the captain told Arg-nargoloth.

The D’Orc seemed to calm down a bit, although, if anything, he seemed even more determined. “You are within the territory of Mount Doom; you have come uninvited and are not welcome. You will turn your vessel around immediately, or whatever it is you do with your silly flying submarine, and leave at once.”

Barabus was surprised. He was not sure he had ever heard an orc speak in such a manner before; normally they just grunted and yelled. He also had no idea what a submarine was. Clearly it was something that belonged below water, so how that had anything at all to do with the Inferno was a mystery. But he really did not claim to be an expert on orcs.

Captain Cranshall turned once more to Heron, who indicated that they should ignore the order. The captain turned back to the mirror. “I regret to say that we are unable to comply with your request until after we have finished our investigation,” he said politely.

“Very well.” Arg-nargoloth suddenly smiled; Barabus felt an odd chilling sensation at seeing that smile. “I was hoping that would be your position. Our engineers will be quite pleased! You shall receive a friendly warning; you will then leave or we will get serious.”

The mirror went blank for a moment before returning to a view of the volcano a few leagues away. Captain Cranshall shook his head. “Use all sensors to detect D’Orcs coming for us, and raise the shields as soon as you spot anything. In the meantime, we—”

CRUNCH!!!

The mirror suddenly went pitch-black, and then everything went dark, all light on the bridge extinguished. Barabus felt himself suddenly, agonizingly crushed to the point where he could not draw a breath, his heart could not beat. The crunching and shrieking of overstressed metal assaulted his ears even as his breath suddenly returned, and he found himself flung into the air, bouncing agonizingly off the ceiling of the bridge. Light flared out as the bridge was suddenly lit with colorful glowing runes; every surface was covered with them, flaring brilliantly as loud klaxons drowned out the very thoughts in his head.

Barabus slammed into the wall and console to his left, once more taking away his breath, as the ship suddenly tilted forward and to the right. He saw people screaming orders in panic as the world careened around them. Crew members were flung willy-nilly about the bridge, arms and legs broken as they crashed into pipes and railings. The navigators were scrambling to strap themselves into their seats and regain control of the Inferno.

Captain Cranshall, with a bloody gash on his forehead, lurched to the command chair and shouted into the horn to engineering, “What in the Abyss just happened?”

Sir Samwell was helping Dante get to his feet, his right arm twisted in a very unhealthy manner.

Barabus looked to Sir Lady Serah, who nodded to him. “I’m going to the cargo hold where the wizards and priests are. That place has got to be a disaster!”

It would have to be; it was the largest open space in the ship with a large ceiling. He was sure that the priests, wizards and all their apparatus had just been sent flying. What a disaster!

Suddenly he found himself careening across the room as the ship suddenly shook and there was an incredibly loud noise that sounded somewhat like a gong. Metal screeched and groaned as the Inferno seemed to collide with something.

“Captain! The forward keel hit the ground!” one of the navigators yelled as the captain tried once more to strap himself into his command chair.

“Forward geomantic propulsion is down; port propulsion is restarting using backup mana pools. Starboard is online, but primary pool is at one-third capacity. Rear propulsion appears to have been overloaded but is now recovering!” one of the engineers shouted.

“All wards and reflectors to full!” Captain Cranshall yelled.

“All shields and reflectors at full current capacity,” an officer replied. “However, forward geomantic repulsers are offline with the forward geomantic drives.”

“Rat’s lice!” Captain Cranshall cursed. “What in the name of Ponchas Pilas hit us?”

“First Geomancer Komanskus here, sir. It appears to have been some form of geomantic wave or distortion. Whatever it was, it has strained our geomantic systems to the limit. Our drives were able to naturally deflect most of the attack, but they are severely damaged. It’s going to take us some time to repair them,” Komanskus reported over the ship’s internal communication system.

“Can we get out of here using the remaining drives?” the captain asked.

“In theory,” Komanskus replied. “The navigators will need to compensate with the port and starboard systems to lift the front of the ship. We can then use geomantic attraction to reverse our way out of here. At the moment there is no feasible way to propel the ship; not until we get the forward system repaired. Propelling with the rear drives will most likely drive us into the ground, and obviously we can’t push with the front drives; we need the port and starboard to keep the nose off the ground, so all that’s left is to use the rear geomantic drives in attraction mode to pull us out of here. It is going to be extremely tricky as is, since we don’t have much to attract to.”

“Do what you can to get us out of here before they fire again,” Captain Cranshall ordered. The bridge went silent for a moment as people continued to pick themselves up and the navigators and engineers tried to get the ship moving.

“Very, very impressive,” Sir Samwell suddenly said, nodding.

“Yes. A bit more than I would have expected from orcs or demon orcs,” Heron said, shaking his head in wonder and disbelief.

“I suppose,” Sir Samwell said, “but I was actually referring to this ship. Most of your defenses were lowered to search for Talarius, and yet we survived a gravity cannon blast. That is quite impressive.”

Dante looked at him in confusion. “A gravity cannon blast? Is that what that was? What is that?”

Heron and the others also looked curiously at Sir Samwell.

The knight shrugged. “That’s what I assume it was; I have never actually been on the receiving end of one before. Although I suppose that is obvious, given that I am still three-dimensional and not a singularity.” His face had a bit of an ironic expression at this point. “I’ve only ever seen them used on others from a distance.”

“Where have you seen them?” Captain Cranshall demanded.

“Well, here in the Abyss, obviously. Where else?” Sir Samwell asked, seemingly annoyed that anyone could assume he would have seen them anywhere else.

“But what is it?” Barabus asked.

“If I understand what Dante has built, it is a weaponized version of his geomantic drives. Even as this ship’s drives repel the force of gravity to move, these cannons cause a gravitational collapse at their target site. In essence, they crush the target with overwhelming gravity from all sides,” Sir Samwell said. “I have no idea how it is done; I only know what I’ve seen.”

Dante was shaking his head in amazement. “I do not see how that would be possible! It is incredible!”

Barabus was getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If the Oorstemothians now knew that such a weapon was possible, how long would it be before they developed one? Tiernon protect us.

Nysegard: Mid Fifth Period

Tom breathed a sigh of relaxation as they finished up the current ceremony. They were going to take a break for dinner and a celebration for the most recent groups, and then there would be one more ceremony this evening, followed, of course, by a celebration for that group. This was definitely more productive; they were getting multiple villages covered at each ceremony.

Hearing the sound of hooves behind him, Tom turned in his chair to see Arg-nargoloth approaching.

Darg-Krallnom, sitting to Tom’s right and a bit behind him, nodded in greeting. “Come to visit now that your watch is up?” he asked Arg-nargoloth.

Arg-nargoloth frowned. “Not exactly. We’ve had some unwanted visitors and I’ve been dealing with them. Roth Tar Gorefest is continuing to monitor their retreat.”

Tom and Darg-Krallnom both stood to face Arg-nargoloth. “What happened?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“An interesting assortment of characters are searching for you and your hostage,” Arg-nargoloth said, nodding towards Tom.

“Lilith’s people?” Tom asked, puzzled. Who else would know where they were?

Arg-nargoloth shook his head no. “Definitely not her. No, it was a bunch of military types, who I suspect were also lawyers. They used lots of big words and titles. They said they were from someplace called Oorstemoth.”

“Oorstemoth?” Tom exclaimed loudly in surprise. How in hell had they followed him here? “You’ve got to be kidding me! How are they even alive in the Abyss?”

“They are in a giant metal ship. Looks sort of like a weird nuclear submarine, except that it flies. It’s pretty good-sized, too,” Arg-nargoloth said.

Darg-Krallnom looked at Tom in amazement. “How could they have tracked Lord Tommus to Mount Doom? The Abyss is infinitely large; you don’t just find someone in a few weeks!”

Arg-nargoloth nodded. “Ah, but that was only one group. There were others in the ship with them. Barabus, a general in Tiernon’s Astlanian army, was there.”

“Barabus? From the Rod?” Tom asked. “He was here? With the Oorstemothians?” Is hell freezing over? Tom wondered. Oh shit! It has! And I’ve done it! Tom laughed to himself. He had to laugh because otherwise, these bozos showing up on his doorstep would have him weeping with frustration.

“Who was the other?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“Sammael,” Arg-nargoloth replied.

Now it was Darg-Krallnom’s turn to looked stunned. “Sammael? With Tiernon’s army and priests? Has the multiverse lost its mind?”

“Wait—you mean Sammael, as in the Co-Factor?” Tom asked.

“Yep,” Arg-nargoloth replied.

“Those two groups were both bat-shit crazy about me being a demon. They hate demons! Why on Earth—I mean Astlan or Nysegard, would they be standing next to the biggest demon in the Abyss?” Tom asked.

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “Well, I assume they didn’t realize it was him. He was in his default human form, which is how I recognized him over a mirror cast. He was wearing some sort of knightly armor and told me his name was Sir Samwell something or other, a knight of Oorstemoth who had been trapped in the Abyss for a thousand years or so, but had now been rescued by them.”

“Hmm. He must have spotted them and decided to infiltrate them to find out what they were up to,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“That’s pretty standard for him. I think Tizzy’s the only nosier demon in the Abyss,” Arg-nargoloth agreed.

“Wait, so we’ve got this flying submarine crammed full of nut-job lawyers, a holy army and the Emperor of the Abyss, and they somehow magically just appear on our doorstep? Where are they now?” Tom asked gesturing broadly with his hands. He was near freaking out again.

“Well, we hailed them, as I said, and found out who they were. I told them you guys were not there, that we had not seen you and that they needed to leave. They refused me a couple times. Told me they wanted to stick around and search,” Arg-nargoloth said.

“Probably using their priests to look for Talarius.” Darg-Krallnom nodded.

“And conveniently,” Arg-nargoloth smirked, “he happened to be here in Nysegard—so they were unable to locate him.”

“Well, at least something is working out for us,” Tom said. “So did they search and leave?”

Arg-nargoloth looked at Tom as if he was crazy. “No. I told them to leave or else. They said else; I said fine and gave them the thanks of our engineers. We needed to test the restored gravity cannon turrets anyway, so we blasted them. Their shields were down so we damaged them pretty damn good. They had come charging in at twelve hundred klicks per period, they went limping out at about two hundred klicks.”

“Hah!” Darg-Krallnom high-fived Arg-nargoloth. Both were wearing shit-eating grins.

Arg-nargoloth continued, “As I mentioned, Roth is monitoring their very slow retreat. We think they got the message.”

“Impressive,” Tom said with a grin. Very impressive. This made him feel quite pleased. “The only thing that bothers me is how they thought to look here.”

“I would have to assume that Sammael pointed them towards us to test them out. Clearly, he would want them destroyed, or eliminated as a threat, and he would not want to risk testing on the Courts or any of his palaces. So he probably decided to test against us.”

“That seems a bit annoying.” Tom shook his head. “It makes sense, but I find it a bit rude.”

“Demon princes are not known for nice house-warming gifts,” Arg-nargoloth stated.

“I am sure,” Tom agreed. “But that means he knew Doom was back in business.”

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “He would certainly have learned of Lilith’s defeat. Very little she does escapes his notice. He’s more than mildly obsessed with her.”

“And she with him,” Arg-nargoloth noted.

“True. However, he is much subtler,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“How big a risk is he to us?” Tom asked.

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “The fact that Lilith is trying to destroy you, and that we kicked her butt, probably means he’s amicably disposed to us. Anything that weakens her or keeps her off balance is a net plus for him.”

“We always got along much better with Sam than Lilith,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Sam?” Tom said. It occurred to him that the name Samwell was a close-sounding name to Sammael, and Sam would simply be the short form. “What does his default human form look like?” Tom was suddenly quite suspicious of his climbing buddy.

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “There really isn’t much variance among human forms as far as I can tell; they all look about the same. This one is rather pale, reddish hair with a tightly trimmed beard, average human height and weight.”

“Does he wear mountain climbing gear and like to climb mountains?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth both looked surprised. “So you’ve met him?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“I have,” Tom said. “He had been mountain climbing near my old cave, shortly before we came to Doom. We talked, and he invited me to go climbing with him.”

“That’s a good sign.” Arg-nargoloth grinned and nodded his head affirmatively.

“It is?” Tom asked.

“Yes. There are only two types of people he invites to climb with him,” Arg-nargoloth said.

“Either they can fly on their own and he likes them,” Darg-Krallnom said, “or they can’t and he wants to push them off the mountain to their death—or, in the Abyss, their severe pain.”

“Preferably on a very high mountain with a very jagged, rocky fall line off the mountaintop,” Arg-nargoloth agreed.

Ithgar, Orcopolis: Late Fifth Period

“Wow, this place is impressive,” Rupert said to Fer-Rog as the two of them wandered down the streets of Orcopolis.

“Yeah, I’ve never been to a city before. Or at least an above-ground one. Everyone says that Mount Doom was a city in a volcano back in the old days, but for all my life it’s been basically a giant, mostly empty, house that we lived in,” Fer-Rog replied.

“I’ve been to several small towns and two big cities: Gizzor Del and Freehold,” Rupert said. “Gizzor Del was much smaller than this. I think this place is probably about the same population as Freehold, but it’s physically larger. It is nowhere near as cramped. This place has all these really wide streets and—what did Beya call them? Avenues?”

“Yeah, avenues were what she called them. Very broad streets for troops to march down, parade in.”

“Plus, the buildings are all much bigger, but of course that’s probably because orcs are bigger than humans for the most part. But they are also much sturdier here. Lots of heavy carved stone with ornate carvings,” Rupert continued.

“Yeah, all these stone gargoyles are pretty cool. I think gargoyles must be really popular here; I’ve spotted quite a few wandering around.”

“Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I’m not sure that anyone would even notice if I was walking around in my true form, there are so many interesting and different people and animals here. I had only read about goblins and trolls, but there are quite a few just walking around, going about their normal business. At my old school, we were always told that goblins and trolls were sort of untrustworthy brigands and rogues. Here they seem just like normal people.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories about them, but of course always as comrades in arms, particularly during Ragnarök. Did you see that ogre with two heads a couple streets back?” Fer-Rog asked.

“Yeah, he—or is it they? was, or were, totally fierce! Seriously, would you address a two-headed person in the plural? I’m thinking it might hurt to get it wrong.”

“I don’t know. We should ask Beya. What I want to know is how does someone that tall fit in a tavern? Almost all of the doors here are only twelve feet tall. That ogre was probably eighteen feet tall.”

“Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I suspect there are ogre taverns. Probably giant inns and taverns as well. I noticed as we were flying in a section on the south side of the city, there were what appeared to be much larger buildings, and based on window spacing, I don’t think they just had a lot of floors.”

Fer-Rog shook his head. “I must have missed that. I was just too impressed by seeing a city—any city—for the first time.”

“It is a very diverse city. You notice how no one freaked out about D’Orcs at the campsite?”

“Yeah. They got a lot of attention, but it was all more curiosity than fear. ‘Orcs with wings, cool,’ seemed to be the response,” Fer-Rog said.

“I am sure that was disappointing.”

“Oh, I know it was; I was watching Hespith’s expression. She was not amused at how friendly people were. She really prefers it when people just meeting her cower in fear,” Fer-Rog said, nodding in agreement.

“Hey, you two!” an orc standing to the side with a bag over his shoulder called to them. He was about their own age, or the age they were pretending to be, about nineteen or twenty.

“Yeah?” Fer-Rog asked.

“You guys like to party? There’s a totally bashing dance party happening over at Head Smashers Lounge tonight. Admission is only three coppers and a two-drink minimum with this map,” the orc youth told them, waving a piece of paper.

“That sounds cool! We haven’t been to a party in at least a week,” Rupert said.

Fer-Rog nodded. “Yeah, cool!”

The orc grinned at them. “Here is a map. It’s only a few blocks from here. Give them the map for the reduced cover charge.”

“Cool!” Rupert said as the orc handed him the map.

“Thanks!” Fer-Rog nodded to him as they continued on their way.

“That was very nice of him to invite us to the party!” Rupert said.

“Yeah. A little odd that one has to pay money to party, though. Although I don’t know much about parties—or money, for that matter. Just the two we had here with the Olafas and back at Mount Doom after the oath taking.”

“I’m thinking it’s to pay the expenses of putting on the party. In a city, it’s not like a family thing; someone has to pay for things for the party,” Rupert explained.

“That makes sense!” Fer-Rog nodded.

“Think we are okay for money?” Rupert asked, fingering his small money pouch.

“I think so; we should have that many coppers. I mainly grabbed silver and gold coins before leaving the Abyss.”

Rupert shook his head. “I didn’t think of that. I just brought some emeralds, rubies and sapphires, all small to medium-sized. We should be able to exchange them for money.”

“Yeah, I am sure there will be some place willing to buy them,” Fer-Rog said.

“Cool!” Rupert replied.

Astlan, Near Mount Orc: Late Fifth Period

“Yes, I think this was the better plan,” Lob Smasher said, eyeing his roasted rabbit skewer. “We come in out of the east with Fierd’s light, fresh, rested and fully geared, rather than coming in at night, when our initial impression would be less than ideal.”

There was suddenly a thunderous ripping sound from behind Tal Gor as Schwarzenfürze finished eating her rabbit. The putrid miasmic odor that the Crooked Sticks had been getting only too used to caused everyone to start cursing and fleeing the cooking pit to get fresh air.

“That D’Warg, I swear she does that just to see us run away!” Bor Tal complained angrily.

Schwarzenfürze’s eyes followed him as he hopped away, the light of the campfire reflecting ominously in her eyes. It was, of course, very hard to see her expression in the dark, but Tal Gor assumed it was, as usual, rather mocking. Tal Gor was absolutely certain she did it simply for her own amusement; the timing was always just a little too perfect.

Ithgar, Orcopolis, Head Smasher Lounge: Mid Sixth Period

“They weren’t kidding about the head smashing,” Fer-Rog said to Rupert as they stood at the edge of the dance floor of the Head Smashers Lounge. They were watching people, mostly orcs, dancing to very loud music in the weird tavern. The dance seemed to involve periodically smashing one’s head into either the person one was dancing with or some random person nearby. If both smashers had large tusks, they generally smashed tusk to tusk; otherwise forehead to forehead.

The music was something someone had called Death Tribal Voodoo; in terms of rhythm, or lack thereof, it wasn’t that different than D’Orc Metal, except there were no lightning guitars or similar instruments. The instruments were mostly various types of drums, gongs, bells and similar devices, along with some more traditional-looking stringed instruments.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” a large orc appearing about their age suddenly asked them as he guzzled down a very large mug of glargh. He was practically shouting over the loud music.

Rupert shrugged and looked at Fer-Rog. “I guess we should; we paid for them when we came in.”

Fer-Rog nodded and looked at the curious orc. “We just didn’t think of it.”

The orc looked at them in disbelief. “It’s glargh! How do you not think of glargh?”

Rupert shrugged. “It doesn’t do a lot for us.”

“What do you mean? Is that a brag about how much you can drink?” The orc was clearly a bit drunk already.

Fer-Rog shrugged. “Not exactly. It’s just a fact.”

“Does that make any sense to you?” the orc asked a friend of his, who had walked up with a large mug of his own.

“Nope. Sounds like he’s calling you a lightweight,” the large orc’s friend said.

“That’s rich, considering these two are both scrawny!” the large orc said.

“We are apprentice shamans,” Fer-Rog said.

“Scroll trollers…” the large orc’s friend said, shaking his head dismissively.

“What’s your horde name?” the large orc asked.

“Olafa,” Fer-Rog replied.

“Ha! Olafa are lightweights! I doubt Olafa scroll trollers can drink more than one mug of glargh before passing out!” the large orc said.

“Is that a challenge?” Rupert said with a wide grin.

“Of course it is!”

“Accepted,” Rupert said. “I am Rugog; this is Rog.” He gestured to Fer-Rog.

“Aggfred,” the large orc said.

“Snoggnord,” the large orc’s friend said.

“Let’s go to the bar,” Rupert said.

Fer-Rog nodded and led the way to the bar. “I wish they had cookies…” he said to Rupert.

Chapter 131

Mount Doom: DOA + 9, Early First Period

Tom entered the library to spend some time with his thoughts. He had just come from the DCC and ensuring that the Oorstemothians and their friends were still making their way out of Doom’s lands. Their ship was quite interesting; it did indeed look like a very large, flying nuclear submarine, but with three conning towers: a large main tower in the center and two smaller towers on each end. It was not clear to Tom what the point of those end towers was, but he assumed there was a good one.

The question was, just how crazy did one have to be in order to think that sending a ship to arrest a demon in the Abyss was a good idea? As crazy as wizards like Lenamare were, he was pretty sure they were still wise enough not to pursue a demon into the Abyss. Why Tiernon’s people would join them was another mystery. Why was it that all of his opponents seemed completely irrational?

“Oh, hello!” Antefalken said as he exited an aisle carrying two large books.

“There you are!” Tom said with a grin. “I haven’t seen you since I dropped you off here.”

“That’s because I haven’t left, nor did I sleep last night. This place is just too much! I could spend centuries in here,” Antefalken said.

“But then who would hear your ballads?” Tom asked, smiling.

“Well, given that most of my audience is immortal… not sure it’s a problem,” The bard replied.

“I think Damien would be a bit put out,” Tom reminded him.

“Not if he saw this place! He’d forgive me—he’d be here by my side. And it’s actually quite cool in here, so he could spend a few centuries with me.”

Tom nodded and had a sudden thought. “Have you seen the paintings of Orcus?”

Antefalken shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Follow me. I want your opinion,” Tom said, gesturing for Antefalken to follow him.

The bard set his books down on a study table and came over to join Tom, and they proceeded down the aisle leading to the portrait room.

“In the room we are about to enter are portraits of Orcus in his various forms. He apparently used the paintings as references to remember the different forms,” Tom told Antefalken.

“Yes, that’s pretty standard,” the bard agreed.

They entered the room and Tom gestured to the main painting of Orcus.

Antefalken whistled. “Well, that’s not at all what I thought he’d look like.” He twisted his neck to stare at Tom for a minute and then back at the picture. “You do know there is an odd resemblance, yes?”

“So I’ve been told by Tamarin and Erestofanes. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now. However, that’s nothing compared to his standard human form,” Tom said, gesturing to the picture that had freaked him out.

Antefalken turned to look at that portrait and did a sharp double take. “Unholy bat crap!” He turned to stare at Tom in shock. “How is that possible?”

Tom shook his head. “I have no idea; that’s why I wanted you to see it.”

Antefalken turned back to the portrait and simply stared. “How is it that a demon prince, dead for four thousand plus years, had a human form that looks just like yours. Are you sure you had never seen pictures of him before?”

Tom shook his head. “No. My Edwyrd form is what I looked like as a human, perhaps a little older.”

Antefalken just shook his head. “That is really creepy.”

“Yes. Thanks for realizing it.” Tom said gratefully. “Tamarin and Erestofanes seemed to take it in stride. I know for a fact I am not Orcus and we don’t do reincarnation on my world. Or at least no one can prove it, nor did I have a religion that would reincarnate me.”

“That’s the key point, I think.” Antefalken agreed. “Every instance of reincarnation I am aware of is controlled by the gods. It’s part of a religious contract they have with their followers. I have the impression that you are not a particularly religious person.”

“How can one be religious when one drinks and has dinner with gods and goddesses?” Tom asked. “It’s really hard to worship someone you know.”

“I would have to agree. I myself am not religious. Demons get too big of a look behind the curtains,” Antefalken agreed.

Tom paused for a moment. “Okay, I am now thinking back to our conversation shortly after I brought Talarius to the Abyss. You were telling me, to my shock, that the gods were real people, and now here I am talking about having dinner and drinks with them.” Tom shook his head in disbelief and wonder. “I’ve done that with Phaestus and Sekhmet, and tomorrow night I’ve been invited to the Nyjyr Ennead’s outpost in the Abyss for dinner. This is getting a bit too surreal.”

“Someone is moving in rarified circles,” Antefalken grinned at him.

“Not as rare as people that used to be in Lilith’s good graces,” Tom shot back with a grin.

Antefalken nodded. “Very few stay that way, and I’m afraid I am no longer in her good graces. I’m pretty sure I’m on her exterminate list, in fact.” He stopped suddenly and looked at Tom. “Wait—did you just say these gods have a place in the Abyss? Why would gods have an outpost in the Abyss?”

“Yeah, that struck me as odd as well,” Tom agreed. “Phaestus said it had something to do with their restoration plans. Apparently they are working on multiple fronts. I am betting it will make more sense once I see the place and talk to them more about their plans.” He shook his head. “Gods and all their crazy scheming.”

“Almost as bad as the demon princes and archdemons.” Antefalken laughed.

“Almost,” Tom agreed.

Antefalken stared back at the painting of human Orcus. “It’s a nice gown. I saw it in a display case early this morning.”

“What?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“Over on the other side is a large set of rooms with display cases of clothes.”

Tom shook his head. “Why would Orcus keep his clothes in a museum rather than his closet?” He made a puzzled expression. “Actually, his closet and wardrobe are fairly empty, very basic. I’m not even sure where Zelda got the gown I used for the first oath taking in the throne room.”

Antefalken nodded. “The clothes in the cases are just his templates. He doesn’t actually wear those particular clothes.”

Tom looked at Antefalken, puzzled. “What you do you mean, his templates?”

Antefalken looked quizzically up at Tom. “For shape-changing, of course. Just like with these pictures. He uses the clothing templates to remember what the clothes he wants to shape-change into look and feel like.”

Tom shook his head. “What? Are you saying his clothing was part of his body or something?”

Antefalken nodded and tugged on his collar. “Of course. You haven’t noticed that I always wear the same clothes and they are always clean and never get damaged? Even when I get fire-balled or shot full of arrows? Heck, with all the soot around here, it would take a lot of washing to keep my colors this bright!”

Tom reached down to carefully touch the bard’s shirt, trying to avoid clawing him. “Really? This is you?”

“Yep.” Antefalken nodded. “However, they are removable parts of me. I can take them off, and if I leave them somewhere, they’ll just fade away and I can reform them as needed. Makes getting dressed when the lass’s father or husband comes pounding on the door much easier.”

“So you can shape-change?” Tom asked.

“Not exactly.” Antefalken shook his head. “About the best I can do is alter my appearance. Hair style, facial hair and clothes. Took me a hell of a lot of practice to get the clothes right. I tend to keep them the same so I don’t have to memorize too much. I do sometimes change the color, but that’s about it.”

“What about stuff in the pockets?” Tom asked suddenly, thinking about the things he kept in his belt and kilt.

“Well, if I have something in my pocket and the clothes fade away, then the item is lying where I left it. So I have to be careful with that. Otherwise, it’s not much different than carrying it.”

“Very interesting.” Tom said. He was going to need to try creating clothes. It would be a lot easier for Edwyrd in particular. In his true form, however, he’d stick with his real kilt. He couldn’t afford to accidentally lose his holy arrowheads. One never knew when he’d need to crack Tiernon’s runes and spells again.

Rod Camp Outside of Freehold: Mid First Period

Beragamos sighed, shaking his head. “In the last seventy-three thousand, four hundred and eighty-three years, give or take a few centuries depending on which planet we are talking about, I have done and been many things, but I swear tonight is the first time that ‘horse thief’ was one of them.” Although I can’t vouch for previous cycles, he thought to himself.

“You do know that in many places, horse thieves are hung,” Hilda commented.

“We are not stealing a horse; we are simply returning him to his rider,” Stevos said.

“Tell that to the people with the noose,” Beragamos said.

Hilda frowned. “Wasn’t Saint Espierre hung as a horse thief?”

“I think you are right—a horse thief martyr,” Stevos said.

“Yes, but it was a setup, with trumped-up charges. Which is where the martyrdom and canonization came in,” Beragamos said.

“I guess it’s good he isn’t here for this discussion,” Hilda said. “I never drink Bloody Tatianas in Tatiana’s presence. It’s just a bit rude.”

“In that case, are we going to have to avoid talking about the Unlife in front of you in Nysegard?” Stevos asked Hilda.

Hilda snorted. “Not at all. I hate those things as much today as I did at the time of my death. I am more than happy to discuss roasting them with Heavenly Heat, Light of Day or any of the two dozen or so rituals and chants that I’ve studied up on during my sainthood.”

“Sentir is very clear that he doesn’t want to lose any more saints or avatars in Nysegard,” Beragamos admonished them.

“So that means no combat?” Stevos asked.

“That’s what it sounds like to me,” Beragamos said. “It’s his localverse, and he is responsible for overall resource allotment. Besides, this is a rescue mission; a rescue from orcs and D’Orcs, not Unlife. It’s highly unlikely we’ll be there during a Storm Lord attack.”

“You do understand, you just guaranteed the opposite,” Stevos said mock sourly.

Beragamos chuckled. “I know. I know that’s the common wisdom, but trust me, after seventy-plus thousand years, I can assure you that such sayings are pure superstition.”

“I hope so,” Hilda said, grinning. “The stench of a zombie flambé running past you is enough to make you lose your appetite.”

“Ugh, that must be a truly terrible stench in that case!” Danyel piped up cheekily.

Hilda grinned widely and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “You know me too well.”

“So are we all set?” Beragamos asked.

“Timbly is in position at the Saintly gateway and has briefly tested it.” Stevos said. “I performed a number of rituals to ensure that the brief opening was not noted. Fortunately, most of the camp is now asleep.”

“All of it is, other than the sentries,” Beragamos confirmed. “I’ve drenched the place with peaceful dreams and uneventful slumber. I did, however, avoid putting the horses to sleep. I don’t want to have to drag a slumbering flying horse out of the camp.”

“And I’ve gone by each of the sentries and individually, ahem, influenced them to be watchful outside the camp rather than inwardly. And I’ll keep us wrapped in Holy Silence while we are in the camp,” Hilda said.

“Excellent. Danyel, you know where War Arrow’s barding is located?” Beragamos asked.

“I know where it was; with Sir Talarius’s equipment. However, I’ve heard that Ruiden burnt the tent down so they had to relocate things. I do, however, have an idea of the most likely places it could be,” Danyel replied.

Beragamos nodded. “Very well. That will work. Stevos, why don’t you go with Danyel to look for the barding and keep the two of you in Holy Silence; Hilda and I will look for War Arrow.”

“Sounds good.” Stevos nodded, gesturing for Danyel to lead the way.

“Fortunately, I expect it should not be too hard to locate a winged horse,” Beragamos told Hilda with a chuckle."

~

Arch-Diocate Iskerus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was time for bed. It had been a long day and an even longer night. He glanced at one of the Holy Candles of Warding before him, noting it was greatly diminished, as were the six others at each point of the Sacred Wards he had erected for his mirrorings.

Mirroring over the large distances between Freehold and Oorstemoth and Freehold and Justicia was extremely difficult, if not impossible, without assistance. It required a sanctified space, along with several wardings on multiple levels to filter out external influences. Then one had to inject extra mana into the mirrors to cover the distance, along with stability rituals. In short, it took considerable effort, so he tried to schedule them in quick succession once per week.

He’d had his scheduled 16:50 mirroring with Diocate Brisbane, who was manning the fort, so to speak, in Oorstemoth. He felt quite sorry for the poor fellow; he was certain it would have to be nearly unendurable to be stationed in Keeper’s City with all those blowhards.

Of course, he also had Verigas there with him. Verigas had been the topic that had caused that meeting to run long. The priest who had started this whole mess had finally come to Brisbane to report a suspected Dream Sending. He’d been reticent to do so, fearing it had been merely a normal dream, since it made absolutely no sense.

Verigas had dreamt of this saint; he was familiar with battling vampyrs in a forest under conditions similar to the saint’s martyrdom. The saint he believed it to be was one Saint Hilda of Rivenrock, a patron of healing and guardian against the undead.

Why on Astlan such a saint would appear to Verigas was completely unfathomable to both Brisbane and Iskerus. They would have been tempted to dismiss it, if not for the fact that the saint had essentially interrogated Verigas, seeking information on what he was doing in Oorstemoth.

She had been very interested in the disappearance of a large number of Rod members and priests near Oorstemoth, and had questioned him at length as to what he knew. Naturally, Verigas had been true to form and basically broken down and told her the entire story.

Now, obviously, if this was simply a dream it was no loss; however, if it was actually a visit from a saint, it was quite disturbing. It was incredibly worrisome to Iskerus. They had been expecting an Intercession ever since the demon had possessed large numbers of priests and Rod members, stolen mana from Tiernon and kidnapped Talarius.

Much to everyone’s unease, none had occurred. They had all been living on pins and needles for days, awaiting a heavenly host to descend upon them and start looking for answers; however, that had not occurred. This was both a relief and, oddly, a source of additional angst. It was sort of like awaiting the executioner’s axe. Add to that the disappearance of one of the possessed Rod members, the magical transformation of Ruiden, Talarius’s sword, into a golem, and finally the impossible vanishing of Excrathadorus Mortis, and everyone’s nerves were nearly shot. That nutty beggarmeister and his talk of a rogue high priestess was simply icing on the cake of Iskerus’s frustration.

In any event, they had run long on that call, trying to judge between them the credibility of Verigas’s story, which meant he’d had to immediately jump to his mirroring with the high chamberlain and high pontificate. That had been a case of hurry up and wait.

The high pontificate had been called to Toreanhold, the seat of the Holy Etonian Empire, on Imperial business. Apparently the emperor’s youngest son, Kristof, the Prince of Etonia, had gone missing in the Wilds of Eton and the emperor had called an all-hands-on-deck meeting.

Now, what a Prince of Etonia would be doing in the Wilds was an incredibly obvious question; one which Iskerus had nevertheless asked, naturally. Iskerus had met the boy, or young man, rather, on a few occasions. Barabus, of course, knew all the imperial heirs quite well, having personally appointed their knightly instructors and overseen their training, and to say he was a sturdy lad was something of an understatement. Other than the signature purple eyes of the House of Torson, he looked nothing like his siblings. Which was, it turned out, why he had been there in the first place, High Chamberlain Mericas had explained. Kristof’s mother was the daughter of Lord Narthan, the nominal ruler of the Wilds of Eton; thus, Kristof was also in line to that title, at a much closer proximity. He was seventh in line for the Imperial Throne, but thanks to yet another accident, now second in line to Lord Narthan’s.

He had apparently gone into the Wilds to learn about his maternal grandfather’s lands; lands which were not, interestingly enough, part of the Holy Etonian Empire. The empire had tried to acquire them at many points in the past, but the place was, quite frankly, too much trouble—too dangerous.

In any event, he and the high chamberlain had discussed this and other lesser matters not requiring the high pontificate for several hours, until High Pontificate Barolas had finally returned. It was at that point their planned two-hour meeting began. Once that had ended, he’d finally been able to use the chamber pot before doing some research on this Saint Hilda of Rivenrock. He’d have preferred to use the latrine, but had not wanted to break the wards. The wards provided him shielding from the camp and all the noises and distractions outside, and allowed him to concentrate in peace.

Now he wished he had not done the research into a book of saints that he possessed, at least not before bedtime. His research had created even more anxiety for him. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes again. This Saint Hilda appeared to be a rather large woman with blond hair and a vivacious personality. She was very similar in appearance and mannerism to the healer he and Barabus had met in Freehold, who, coincidentally, had also been named Hilda and who knew quite a bit about church protocol. She also, he had realized, fit the profile that the beggarmeister had brought to him of the “rogue” high priestess who was going around healing beggars.

Iskerus sighed loudly and stood to extinguish the wards and the candles. What was going on? None of this made sense! Was there a rogue saint running around the periphery of the church’s operations? If so, why? Why not come right out and have an Intercession? This was so against historical precedent that it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Enough! Bed! Iskerus thought to himself. He need to walk off a bit of this anxiety, and then get some sleep. He needed to get out of his tent, which had begun to seem like a prison for his worries, uncertainties and anxieties. The wards removed, Iskerus stepped out into the cool night. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the night air. So calm, so peaceful and quiet out here. He smiled to himself, glad for the respite. He began walking towards where the horses were penned. He would see if any of them were awake, maybe provide a few carrots to a lucky horse.

Iskerus was about halfway to the pens when he suddenly realized how truly quiet the camp actually was. He’d noted it before, but now, he stopped to look around, realizing that there was no activity or movement around the camp at all, as far as he could see. The only sounds were the crickets and a few snores as he had passed the tents. No one was wandering around; there were no late night fires where soldiers, unable to sleep, were tossing dice or telling tall tales. This was quite unusual. Iskerus frowned and then started as he noticed the flap to a storage tent suddenly open wide, yet silently, and someone hunched over began pulling something out of the tent. Silently. Too silently. No huffing, no scuffing, no sound of any sort. This was very odd.

Iskerus grimaced and marched towards the tent as a young man in the garb of a body servant was revealed to be dragging barding out of the tent. Iskerus went up to the young man, and as he reached out, sound suddenly returned.

“Watch for the strap there, it’s going to tangle on the pole!” Someone inside the tent said quite loudly.

“I’ve got it!” the young man with his back to Iskerus replied as he worked to maneuver something inside the tent.

“Excuse me, but what exactly are you two doing?” Iskerus demanded.

The young man with his back to Iskerus nearly jumped a foot in the air in surprise; there was a loud clattering noise inside as the man inside apparently dropped something.

“Oh, crap,” the voice inside said.

Iskerus stepped back, his hand on his dagger as the young man turned to face him. He looked very familiar, but Iskerus was unable to place him. From inside the tent, another, slightly older young man in ranger’s garb emerged.

“Who are you, and why are you up?” the man dressed like a ranger asked as if he was annoyed. The younger man just hung his head and stared at the ground.

Iskerus blinked. How presumptuous! How brazen of this man, who was clearly not part of the Rod or the Church, to demand this of him in his own camp. The man acted as if it was Iskerus who was up to no good. “I am the Arch-Diocate Iskerus, and this is my camp!” he stated firmly. “Who are you two, and what are you doing?”

The brazen young ranger sighed. “It figures.” He shook his head. “Why are you awake? you should be asleep like everyone else in the camp.”

“You have not answered my question. And based on your question, I must now ask, what exactly have you done to my people?” Iskerus asked angrily.

The ranger shook his head from side to side. He seemed not in the least bothered by being caught red-handed in the act of theft. If anything, he appeared rather put out that he had to bother with Iskerus.

The ranger frowned. “You must have been heavily warded. You were probably mirroring with Justicia. At this distance, you’d need to be heavily shielded to get a good connection.”

Iskerus frowned. How could this ranger—soldier—thief, know this? “Again, who are you and what are you doing? Speak now before I summon guards!”

“You are inside our Holy Silence and I’ve just extended it so you can’t easily run out of it to wake anyone up,” the young man said.

Iskerus did a double take. This man was a priest? Iskerus didn’t recognize him; he wasn’t one of his own. Who was he? He needed answers, and if he was inside a Holy Silence, it would be difficult to wake anyone short of running up and kicking them.

Before he could demand more information there was a slight ripple, the sound that comes when two Holy Silences merge. A woman’s voice, an oddly familiar voice, suddenly spoke.

“Have you two found the barding yet? We think it would be easiest to take it to War Arrow and have her wear the gear before we leave,” Saint Hilda of Rivenrock said as she came around the tent. She came to complete halt, staring in surprise at Iskerus. After a moment she shook her head and asked, “How are you still awake, Arch-Diocate?”

“I suspect he was warded and doing a long-distance mirroring, but he has not said,” the ranger said.

Saint Hilda shook her head, frowning, like the others acting as if she felt slightly put out by Iskerus’s presence in his own camp. “Oh, dear, this is definitely not a good thing.”

Iskerus should have been in awe, standing as he was before a saint, but it had been a long and frustrating day. “This time I recognize you, Saint Hilda of Rivenrock. What are you and your agents doing here?”

Saint Hilda nodded in response to his identification. “You are, of course, correct—I am Saint Hilda of Rivenrock—but unfortunately, your recognizing me is even more problematic.”

“What do you mean, problematic?” Iskerus demanded, suddenly feeling extremely uneasy.

“Well, meaning you were not supposed to be awake and see us doing our work.” She shook her head, as if trying to figure out what to do. “We can’t have you telling the rest of the church what we are up to.”

The ranger sighed. “Nysegard?” Hilda looked at him in surprise and then tilted her head as if considering.

“Nysegard?” Iskerus asked, not at all sure what they were talking about. Were they planning to kidnap him to another world?

There was another ripple in the Holy Silence as another bubble merged with theirs.

“Hilda, have you found them?” came the voice of an older man from around the tent.

Iskerus looked up as the person whose voice it was came around the corner of the tent, then blinked in surprise and stepped backwards as he saw the man. It was as if the statue at the entrance to the cathedral in Tiern Anon had come to life, in full color, and walked around the edge of the tent and into the Arch-Diocate’s reality. Beragamos Antidellas, Supreme Archon of Tiernon, was now standing not six feet from him!

Iskerus felt the world begin to spin and then tilt, and then darkness.

The Inferno

Arch-Vicar General Barabus sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. They were sitting in the Captain’s mess. XO Stevensword had just read, at great length, an overly detailed report on the ship’s status. It was not good.

At least, that was the obvious takeaway. He had rather lost track of the details, something he found himself doing often when listening to Oorstemothians. He shook his head and looked around the table at the morose faces of the others.

“So, sounds like you need to do a lot of repairs?” Sir Samwell noted from the doorway to the mess in which he was standing; the mess was jammed full as it was.

Stevensword gave the knight a somewhat caustic glance for his overly simplified repetition of what the executive officer had just said.

“That is the simple answer,” Captain Cranshall said drily.

“So perhaps it would be best that we now return too Oorstemoth for repairs?” Sir Samwell suggested.

Chancellor Alighieri sighed before replying, “If you had been paying attention, you would have realized that our trans-dimensional vortex manipulation engine was damaged and several runes were cracked, along with forty-three other issues in regards to the engine. We are not able to shift planes until we resolve all of those issues.”

“And there are numerous other related issues that also have to be repaired before we can travel the multiverse again,” Captain Cranshall added.

“Not the least of which are our geomantic drives,” Stevensword stated. “You must admit, Sir Samwell, the Abyss is a very precarious place and without our full mobility, we are but perched pigeons.”

Sir Samwell twisted his lips and grimaced. “So, we are stuck here for a bit.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve been stuck here for fourteen hundred years; I suppose another hundred or two won’t be that bad.”

Barabus’s stomach clenched at the knight’s disturbing assessment.

Mount Orc: Dawn

Tal Gor grinned as he felt the warmth of Fierd upon his back. The impressive Mount Orc was now to his right. He had visited Mount Orc several years back and it still left him awestruck; a single giant mountain rising out of the plains. The top of it was a very large keep, the so called “last stand” for embattled orcs against the alfar. While there were plenty of fables and songs about it, there was very little hard historical record of it actually being used; however, there were ancient scars upon the stones of the fortress, indicating it had been used in battle at some point.

The fortress on top and the leagues of catacombs within the mountain were believed to have been of jötunnkind construction. For the clans and bands living nearby, venturing into the catacombs in search of some new treasure was considered a rite of passage, even if the so-called “treasure” was generally quite lame. As far as anyone knew, there were no complete maps of the catacombs and very few stories of people going more than a few leagues down into them.

Tal Gor shook his head to rid his thoughts of Mount Orc and focus on today’s events. They were flying towards the long-term encampment of the Rock Smasher clan. Lob Smasher (no relation) knew several members of the clan there and felt it was the best option near Mount Orc.

Everyone was dressed in full battle regalia; however, they were also flying their peace banner along with their clan banner. They did not want to accidentally put an ally on a war footing, but they also wanted to ensure respect for their mission and for Lord Tommus.

As they came within sight of the Rock Smasher camp, or rather, the camp’s sight of them, Tal Gor could see multiple clan members scrambling to gear up. He gestured to his sister, Soon Tal, to wave the peace banner clearly. His brother, Bor Tal, was flying the Crooked Stick banner and Kirak was flying the banner of Doom.

A large number of orcs were now scrambling from their tents, nearly all armed, naturally; however, it appeared they had seen the banners and were not going to battle formation. He noted several people passing seeing tubes around, possibly to read the banners, but most likely to stare at the D’Orcs.

He imagined they were a very impressive sight. He knew what his family had thought when first seeing the D’Orcs and he remembered well the reactions of people in Murgatroy, so he had a fairly good idea of the spectacle they presented. This time, they should be even more impressive, as they were not wearing hunting gear, but rather the full glory of their armor and weaponry.

Zargvarst was in the lead, followed by Lob Smasher and Tal Gor side by side behind the D’Orc squad leader, the rest of the orcs and D’Orcs fanned out behind them. Zargvarst came in for a landing about one hundred feet from the array of Rock Smashers on the field. Lob Smasher and Tal Gor landed further behind him due to the fact that, while D’Orcs could land vertically, when carrying a load, it was much easier for D’Wargs to do a running landing, even as they did running take-offs.

Zargvarst waited for Lob Smasher and Tal Gor and the others to dismount and join him. Ahead of them, Tal Gor saw a woman who, by her dress, was the band chief, standing with several of her elders and commanders nearby. The rest of the large camp waited behind their leaders.

Soon Tal, Bor Tal and Kirak came up beside them carrying their banners, ensuring they were plainly visible. As they had agreed the night before, Lob Smasher spoke first.

“Greetings, Rock Smasher Clan, illustrious Soo Van”—Lob Smasher roared, nodding towards the woman Tal Gor assumed was the chieftain—“indomitable Gor Varg, mighty Luga Shagrishn...” Here, he nodded to the man and woman nearest to the chieftain, then turned to the others and continued, “...Grodog Scarface, Lagdush Flatfoot and the rest of the clan. I, Lob Smasher, Elder of the Crooked Stick clan, greet you on behalf of Tal Gor, Shaman of Lord Tommus of Mount Doom.” Lastly, he gestured towards Tal Gor.

The Rock Smasher chieftain and her commanders remained silent for a few moments, eyeing them and the D’Orcs. Eventually, Soo Van replied, speaking formally, “Greetings, Lob Smasher, I recognize you as an Elder of the Crooked Stick clan, and acknowledge your shaman and fellow tribe members. I am, however, not familiar with your unusual compatriots, nor of this Mount Doom you speak of.”

Lob Smasher nodded. “That is one of the reasons for our visit; to introduce you to our allies from Mount Doom. This”—he pointed to Zargvarst, standing next to him—“is Zargvarst El Crooked Stick, formerly of our tribe here in Astlan, currently a member of the 19th Regiment of Doom under Lord Tommus, heir to the throne of Orcus.”

Zargvost nodded and thundered, “Greetings, Soo Van. It has been over four thousand years since I strode these plains; I am honored to do so once more. And I am honored to meet you and your clan.” He grinned rather suddenly and alarmingly, and gestured to the top of Mount Orc. “I remember well manning the walls of Mount Orc during the Desolation. The treacherous alfar were ruthless; yet we did prevail and shall always do so.” His grin widened into a very toothy smile as he chuckled, apparently with fond memories.

The Rock Smashers were looking at Zargvost even more oddly than before, if that were possible. Tal Gor could hear the amazed whispers of the rest of the tribe behind their leaders.

The man named Gor Varg suddenly spoke up. “You’ve mentioned Mount Doom and the dead god Orcus; are you saying you are with them?”

Zargvost nodded. “I am—we are. Lord Orcus and a large number of our forces, both from the Abyss and the Planes of Orc, were slain by treachery in Etterdam on the battlefield and at Mount Doom by the Five Siblings, allied with Lilith, Queen of the Damned, and we believe, somehow, the Los Alfar. With Orcus’s death, the Wand of Orcus was lost and the fires of Doom quenched for over four thousand years.”

Zargvost frowned and bowed his head for a moment, then looked up with a fierce grin of determination. “However, that has all changed. The long-prophesied Heir of Orcus has finally arrived! Having wrested mana from the gods, he recovered the Wand of Orcus and relit the Fires of Doom—all as prophesied by the shaman Tiss-Arog-Dal one hundred years after the death of Lord Orcus. Lord Tommus is the heir of Orcus and shall restore the orcs to their rightful place in the multiverse.” Zargvost grinned. “And, of course, along the way, we shall have vengeance!”

Tal Gor’s orcs and D’Orcs roared loudly in approval behind him. He noted a significant number of excited orcs in the assembled crowd of Rock Smashers; their whispering and internal conversations had stepped up and a few had cheered as well. The leaders seemed far more reserved, as one would expect. They would not want lose face by appearing too eager at the claims of people, even someone they knew, who showed up unexpectedly on their doorstep in the morning.

“Well then,” Soo Van said, “it appears we have much to discuss.” She looked to Lob Smasher. “By the honor of the Crooked Sticks, do you swear that this visit shall be peaceful?”

Lob Smasher nodded and gave her a sincere smile of confidence. “On my family’s honor, I, and we, so swear it.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement as did Soo Van.

Ithgar, Orcopolis: Midmorning

Rupert and Fer-Rog sat on a marble bench in the courtyard of the house they were visiting. Beya, Hespith and Ugdur Helg, chief of the Helg tribe—their tribe within the Olafa horde—were inside in a private meeting with Orcag Deathfinger, chief of the Deathfinger tribe within the Houofa horde. The rest of their contingent were relaxing in the courtyard.

Apparently Beya had contacted Orcag’s shaman a few days back, so the Deathfingers had been expecting them this morning. After their private meeting, the rest of Beya’s contingent and the rest of the house would share breakfast together. They had been meeting for almost half a period at this point.

“I guess it’s a good thing we don’t need to sleep in Astlan,” Fer-Rog noted. “We wouldn’t have gotten much last night.”

Rupert chuckled. “I hope Aggfred and Snoggard’s friends were able to get them home safely. They were looking seriously worse for the wear.”

“Their walking was about one degree above crawling.” Fer-Rog laughed.

“I had more fun last night than at any time other than the inauguration party,” Rupert said with a bright smile.

“And if there had been cookies, it would have been even better!” Fer-Rog agreed.

“Hmm, not sure how our new friends would have done with cookies.” Rupert frowned. “Given how they hit us, the cookies might be a bit like x-glargh for normal orcs.”

“Pretty sure someone said that x-glargh is poisonous for orcs.”

“Exactly. Cookies probably wouldn’t have been worth having. It would have been hard to explain why we couldn’t share,” Rupert noted.

Suddenly, the doors to the house opened and Beya was there, gesturing for everyone to come in and break their fast. She smiled brightly. “Come in everyone; we’ve come to a great agreement!”

Everyone filed into the entry hall and proceeded to a large dining room. There was a large buffet along one wall; in the center of the room there were tables arranged in a circle so that everyone would be able to see each other.

“Please, take a seat at the table!” Orcag exclaimed, gesturing. “We shall have a toast before we dine!”

As people came in to take seats, servants—or at least, Rupert assumed they were servants—were pouring some sort of liquid into chalices at each diner’s seat. He wasn’t sure, but it looked sort of like orange juice, albeit perhaps a bit runnier.

“Orange juice and vadter,” Beya told him as she noticed him staring at the liquid.

“Vadter?” Fer-Rog asked.

“It means ‘little water.’ By itself, it looks exactly like water. However, it’s a distilled spirit with a very high level of alcohol content. So high, that in many places they drink it in little glasses; hence the name ‘little water.’ ” Beya grinned.

“Where is that sleepy-headed son of mine and his shield-mate?” Orcag demanded. “We can’t very well toast this decision without them!”

“They will be here,” an older orc told Orcag. “They over-indulged last night and did not return until early this morning. They both appeared to have been sat upon by a giant!” The older orc laughed, as did Orcag.

A groaning noise came from a door on the other side of the room as two orcs in fine if horribly disheveled clothes came stumbling into the room, shielding their eyes from the fierdlight.

“Aggfred! Snoggard!” Fer-Rog and Rupert both shouted at the two orcs, who cringed at their loud bellows.

“You’ve met?” Orcag asked the two apprentices, surprised by their recognition.

“Yeah, we played drinking games at Headsmasher’s all night. We had a blast!” Fer-Rog exclaimed.

Orcag looked at them closely, then turned to look at Aggfred and Snoggard, slightly sourly. He then turned back to Rupert and Fer-Rog. “Did you two bow out early?”

Fer-Rog and Rupert blinked in surprise. “No, we won!” Rupert said.

Orcag turned back to his son and sighed, shaking his head, but said nothing, gesturing the two very glarghvosted orcs to take their seats. He took his own and waited for the two youths to get into position for the toast. Orcag gestured and everyone stood and reached for their glasses.

“This is a glorious day in Ithgar. Beya Fei Geist and her unusual friends bring great tidings, along with a great mission. Lord Tommus, the heir to Orcus, has relit the Flames of Doom! We are now on the path to the Restoration of Glory, and the first step will be relighting the Doom of Ithgar so that we shall have direct and permanent access between Ithgar and Mount Doom!”

Everyone in the room cheered, raising their glasses in preparation.

“On this great adventure to begin the Restoration of Glory, I have committed the resources of the Deathfinger clan, to be spearheaded by my son and heir, Aggfred, and his shield-mate, Snoggard. They, along with a band of Deathfingers, shall accompany Lord Tommus’s designated representative in Ithgar, Beya Fei Geist, to the Doom of Ithgar!” Orcag proclaimed to loud cheers.

“And so to my friend, Beya, her tribe, our D’Orc allies and our own band of warriors, we drink to success!” Orcag shouted before downing the orange juice and vadter in a single gulp.

Fort Murgatroid: Midmorning

Arch-Diocate Iskerus woke to the tweeting of birds he could not immediately identify. The scent of freshly plastered walls was easily identifiable, along with other scents he associated with large grassy plains. He could also feel the warmth of morning fierdlight upon his face and neck, as if coming through a window.

That was not right. He was, or should be, in a tent in the cleared region around Freehold. He opened his eyes to take in his surroundings and blinked. He was, indeed, in what appeared to be a sparsely furnished small bedroom with freshly limed walls and new, hewn-plank flooring.

He was lying on a small wood frame bed with what felt like a grass and feather mattress. There was a small table and chair in the room, currently above his head from his prone position. A washing bowl and large clay water pitcher were sitting on the table.

A second chair containing his outer clothing, neatly folded and appearing far cleaner than it had been in a quarter-month, was a few feet away. His short sword, dagger and other accouterments lay on top of the clothes. He realized he was wearing only his standard undergarments, in the state he would have expected.

To his right a few feet away was a wall with an un-paned window, with shutters wide open to allow the morning light in. On the opposite wall from the window was an open door leading to a hallway, which also appeared to be freshly plastered.

Iskerus frowned. Where was he? What had happened and why wasn’t he in his tent? He tried to remember what had happened last night. He had been doing his regular mirrorings, delayed in the case of the high pontificate due to Prince Kristof’s disappearance. He had researched claims from Verigas about a potential Dream Sending. He’d taken a walk to clear his head; there was something he’d been troubled by.

Iskerus sat up suddenly on his bed, remembering what had happened. He had run into strangers in his camp who’d been stealing barding, and around the corner had come Saint Hilda of Rivenrock! The saint that Verigas claimed to have received a sending from—the same woman who had been pretending to be a healer in Freehold!

Iskerus gasped and dropped back on the bed, causing it to move slightly on the wood flooring. Beragamos Antidellas, the foremost Supreme Archon of Tiernon, had also walked around the corner of the tent! He had stumbled upon a saint and one of the greatest avatars of his religion, stealing barding from his camp!

Iskerus stared at the ceiling above him, the fresh plaster and large wooden log beams supporting the ceiling barely registering. Could that have been real? That sort of thing did not happen; Tiernon most certainly did not work in mysterious ways!

His mind reeled, trying to grasp at some answer as to what he was sure he had witnessed, as well as trying to figure out where he was. This place was nothing at all like Tierhallon or any of the less fortunate places one might end up spending eternity in his religion. This place seemed like some sort of outpost or something.

“Ah. You are awake,” a calm, pleasant-sounding voice said from the open doorway.

Iskerus turned to look at the voice and did a double take. He blinked again to try and clear his vision. Had he become completely divorced from reality? There was a young man, or rather, what appeared to be a half-orc, standing in the doorway, wearing what were clearly robes and vestments of Tiernon, albeit rather unusual ones.

The half-orc’s garb was something out of the history books. Or perhaps a hybrid version. In part, they appeared to be those of a chaplain, but the stole and cincture were those of an Apostle of Tiernon—something that had not existed in Astlan for at least a thousand years, if not more.

“Who are you? Where am I? Iskerus demanded awkwardly as he tried to rotate and sit up quickly.

The half-orc smiled in a very friendly, paternal manner; something that Iskerus naturally recognized immediately, having used it more times than he could remember. “I am Teragdor, servant of Tiernon, and you are in the chapel house of Fort Murgatroid, on the border of Murgandy.”

Iskerus shook his head. “Murgandy?” He tried to remember where Murgandy was; it took a moment. “You mean Murgandy as in to the east of the Cythanian Federation?”

“Yes, just south of The United Federation,” Teragdor agreed with a smile.

“That has to be a thousand leagues from Freehold! How long have I been unconscious?” Iskerus asked in shock.

“As I understand it, you passed out in your camp. Saint Stevos simply eased you into a deeper sleep and they brought you here shortly after the third hour. It’s now just after the seventh hour.” Teragdor gave him a reassuring smile; at least, Iskerus assumed that it was supposed to be reassuring. The young man was half-orc, so it was a bit hard to be sure.

“Saint Stevos?” Iskerus asked, trying to buy time to process this.

“Saint Stevos Delastros, Patron Saint of Travelers of the Border Forests and my personal patron.” Teragdor nodded. “He was the one aiding Danyel, the Rod member on our team, lug the barding from the tent where it was stored.”

“Your team?” Iskerus asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Our team.” Teragdor nodded, seemingly implying it was also Iskerus’s team. “I am not at liberty to say much more for now. I don’t want to influence your deposition.”

“My deposition?” Iskerus asked, concerned.

“Deposition, debriefing. I would not read too much into my choice of words. Saint Hilda and few of the others simply want to interview you about recent events. I am told you should think of it as an informal, off-site, Intercession debriefing. Nothing more than that.”

Iskerus’ stomach churned. Nothing more than that. As if that wasn’t quite a great deal in and of itself. There had not been an Intercession in generations; they were quite rare, albeit very well documented. It was this fact that had put entire camp on pins and needles; the dread of an Intercession and all that it entailed.

“You were told?” Iskerus asked, trying to get a handle on this and perhaps who had informed this cleric.

Teragdor nodded. “At breakfast this morning, Stevos filled me in on the details of the meeting in Tierhallon after they brought you here.”

The half-orc’s words were nearly meaningless to the Arch-Diocate. This cannot be happening. Iskerus very clearly heard what the priest was saying, but it was so far beyond comprehension. Tierhallon was having meetings to discuss him, Iskerus, and saints were having breakfast with chaplains on the other side of the continent and…

Teragdor frowned, as if just thinking of something. “Oh, it will be a bit unusual in that Saint Timbly of Cossembly might sit in.”

“Saint Timbly of where?” Iskerus asked, puzzled; he had never heard of any such saint.

Teragdor nodded. “He is one of Torean’s saints here in Norelon.”

Iskerus blinked. A dual intercession with avatars of both Tiernon and Torean? What was going on here? What had he stumbled into? Iskerus briefly closed his eyes. Experience told him that this Teragdor was simply trying to be reassuring and helpful; however, the net effect was anything but. This was not good; he was so far out of his depth that he felt at a complete loss as to how to proceed. He hadn’t felt this way in decades.

Nysegard: Lunch Break

Tom sat back on his oath-swearing chair, twisting his neck to get the kinks out. He had not slept well last night; he had had another one of those dreams where he remembered things he had no way of remembering. Although this one was a bit more bizarre, so it was likely, or so Tom hoped, that it was simply his own overactive imagination.

He looked to his right where Darg-Krallnom was sitting, whittling on some wood during their lunch break. Neither he nor Darg-Krallnom needed to eat, of course. One more day was all they had left. They were hoping to finish everyone up tomorrow, perhaps with a long day.

Darg-Krallnom noticed Tom glancing at him. “Everything okay?” he asked Tom.

Tom frowned. “Last night, I had another one of those dreams with people I could not have known.”

Darg-Krallnom perked up and grinned. “More memories returning? Good!”

“Perhaps.” Tom tilted his head, indicating he was not so sure. “This one was bizarre. A group of us—you, me, Arg-nargoloth, Tizzy, Völund and Phaestus—were hanging out in this strange cave. The person I think of as Loki was there, as was Vosh An-Non, and we were all smoking pipes very similar to Tizzy’s.”

“Good. That seems reasonable,” Darg-Krallnom said, much to Tom’s dismay.

“Well—here’s where it gets weird—there was also a talking monkey there.” Tom laughed and shook his head. “Or maybe I was just really wasted and thought there was a talking monkey.”

Darg-Krallnom grimaced and shook his head. “No, the fraggin monkey was probably there. Only creature in the multiverse more annoying than Tizzy is his damn monkey.”

Tom’s jaw dropped slightly. What? Darg-Krallnom actually knew a talking monkey? And it belonged to Tizzy? This makes no sense! How much did he not know about the people surrounding him?

“Tizzy has a monkey?” he asked weakly.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “No, and don’t tell the fraggin monkey that I referred to him as being Tizzy’s. That’s just what Arg-nargoloth, Vosh and I used to refer to him as behind their backs. They were, and presumably still are as far as I know, close friends. When Tizzy, the monkey and Loki would get together we called them the Triad of the Trying. They were excessively annoying.” Darg-Krallnom frowned menacingly at the memory.

“So you all hung out with this talking monkey?” Tom asked, feeling his grip on reality slipping.

“Well, don’t get me wrong. He is incredibly annoying, talks in riddles, laughs and giggles incessantly, runs around playing tricks on people—but he is a very clever monkey. Way too smart if you ask me. Certainly too clever for his own good. But, I admit he can be helpful.” Darg-Krallnom looked around them at the sky and mountains. “Particularly here in Nysegard, in pitched battle with the Unlife, having him stop by with a basket of peaches can make all the difference.”

Tom shook his head from side to side, trying to comprehend what the D’Orc commander was saying. “I’m sorry, but you are really losing me.”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “Singkûn, which is his name, is an extremely formidable warrior. Certainly the best hand-to-hand, hand-to-foot, foot-to-foot and foot-to-hand warrior I have ever encountered. And his stick is pretty wicked, too; however, if you get seriously drained of animus by the Unlife, one of his peaches will more than restore you, or even a D’Orc or demon. They are basically animus bombs.”

“He’s what? A martial artist?” Tom asked, trying to understand what Darg-Krallnom was saying.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “He calls himself a monk. But, yes, I guess that’s one way of phrasing it. There certainly is artistry in his movement. Never seen anyone leap like he does. Covers leagues at a time.” Darg-Krallnom shook his head in amazement.

Okay, so maybe this monkey monk was real, or had been. “So where is he now?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged again. “No idea. Half expected him to show up to the oath taking; he’s probably locked up somewhere by one of the gods. He’s always pissing them off. Pisses me off, too. That’s actually how we got to talking about building Tartarus. We were smoking demon weed and complaining about the gods locking up everyone they didn’t like, so we came up with this half-baked idea to build a prison to lock up the gods.”

Tom blinked in surprise. “You were planning to lock the gods up?”

“Well...” Darg-Krallnom paused and then said, “That was the original idea, but we eventually realized that it wasn’t that practical of an idea, since it would be doubtful that we could lock up all the gods before some of them started coming for us. So we decided to build a prison for the gods to lock up other people and make a fortune doing so.” Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “Enough to build Doom on top of Tartarus and along with it, the mana engines, so that we could deal with them on a level playing field.”

Tom shook his head in awe, seeing in his mind how the plan for Doom must have unfolded.

“What you dreamt about was probably one of our brainstorming sessions. The nine of us gathered regularly like that both during planning and construction,” Darg-Krallnom said, grinning with fond memories.

“The nine of you…” Tom said, things suddenly clicking in his head. “…the Tartarvardenennead!”

“Hah!” Darg-Krallnom bellowed with a laugh. “That name! See, you are remembering things! That is what we called ourselves. I had forgotten that word—it is very hard to say.”

Tom let out a small whoosh of air. “Well, actually Tamarin mentioned it. She discovered it doing research on Tartarus in the library.”

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “That’s the good thing about having a djinn; they are really good with all that book nonsense. They can read it all, put it together and just sort of zap you a summary. Very handy.”

“Zap me a summary?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, sort of like the way shamans communicate with each other without words. They somehow send ideas, concepts, images—all sorts of things that would take forever in words,” Darg-Krallnom replied.

“Interesting,” Tom said. It was very interesting, indeed. It was similar to how he and Vaselle could communicate; actually probably identical, since Tamarin and he were linked in a similar manner.

Fort Murgatroid: Mid Afternoon

Arch-Diocate Iskerus sat nervously in the small conference room at a very fresh-looking wooden table. Everything in this place seemed quite new, or perhaps newly reconstructed, he corrected himself. He could see that there were older sections and walls that had been repaired very recently. The chapel itself appeared to have once been the main hall of a fort that had been recently upgraded and added onto. The entire rectory, where he currently sat, was all new.

It was a bit strange here, to say the least. Teragdor had allowed him free rein over the entire fort, including the main gate. Considering he had been abducted, this seemed a bit odd. Teragdor had not said anything, but had left his room with the door wide open, and no one had hindered his movement about the complex.

Of course, having walked out the main gate, he could understand why. They were essentially in the middle of a large grass plain, a semi-arid one at that. Quite a few wild grasses and various strains of wild wheat covered the land for as far as the eye could see. Perhaps the oddest thing to note was that there were no well-worn paths or trails to or from this fort. None, at least, that went very far. While the grounds immediately outside the gate were flattened and trampled by construction supplies and, he assumed, workers, while wandering the perimeter he saw no sign of a road leading to this fort. There were a few areas that looked like they might have been minor paths that a few horses had traveled, but that was not particularly conclusive.

To put things simply, it appeared that the fort had just sprung up out of nowhere, or perhaps been resurrected out of nowhere. The main walls were quite old, and newly patched. It was as if the angels had descended from the heavens and decided to rebuild the fortress—an observation that Iskerus was fairly sure was accurate, given the extremely high Grace levels of nearly everyone in the fort. He had no obvious way of knowing, but he suspected most of the inhabitants were saints or avatars; it was a suspicion he was deeply uncomfortable with.

Iskerus shook his head, trying to clear it of such thoughts. He had enjoyed a surprisingly pleasant, if reserved, lunch with Teragdor and his Torean counterpart, Rasmeth, Apostle of Torean. They were both friendly but reserved, obviously due to his impending deposition. The deposition which he was now awaiting in this conference room.

A knock came at the door, which was shut. “Hello, may I come in?” Hilda’s voice asked quite pleasantly.

Iskerus quickly stood. “Of course, Your Grace!” he called back. He was suddenly having trouble remembering the appropriate term of address for speaking with a saint. It was not something that he had any formal experience with.

The door opened and in walked Hilda, carrying a large picnic basket. Behind her was the other saint from last night, Stevos Delastros, who carried a small velvet bag.

Hilda set the large picnic basket down on the table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought some wine and cheese for the deposition, the thought being that we would all be much more comfortable and relaxed with a glass of wine and a tasty snack!” she informed Iskerus as she began to open the basket.

Saint Stevos entered; behind him came a very large bearded fellow in well-worn leather armor.

Stevos gestured to the large man. “Iskerus, may I introduce Saint Timbly of Cossembly.” The large saint nodded politely and made a gesture of greeting. Their current positions in the room made a handshake awkward—not that Iskerus would consider himself worthy of shaking the hand of a saint.

“Ah, Hilda, you’ve brought some of your legendary wine? Stevos has sung the praises of your palate,” Timbly said to Hilda, who laughed pleasantly.

“I hope he has not sung them too high; I would hate to disappoint,” she replied.

“I doubt that would be the case,” another voice from the hallway remarked. Iskerus looked past the nearby saints to the door; his legs suddenly felt weak as he recognized Baysir Tomgren, the Prophet of Tiernon upon Astlan.

“Your Holiness!” Iskerus said in awe as he dropped to his knees.

Saint Baysir nodded in recognition of his obeisance and gestured for him to rise. “That should be all of us,” he said to the others. “We don’t want to overwhelm the Arch-Diocate in this small space.”

Hilda looked around the room and nodded. “It is a bit tight, but we have enough chairs, and the window has shutters we can close for the balling.”

Stevos placed his velvet bag on the table, and Iskerus suddenly realized they had a crystal ball for scrying, most likely the one made by the Oorstemothians. He gulped. That was extremely unusual and unheard of, as well as being unsettling.

“Everyone take a seat and let’s get comfortable; I suspect we shall be here a while.” Hilda smiled and gestured to the chairs.

Chapter 132

The Abyss, Nearing the Outpost: DOA + 9, Late Fifth Period

Tom tried to calm his nerves. It was finally hitting him that he was about to have dinner with several of the gods of Ancient Egypt. The level of surreality encroaching upon his personal reality was quickly becoming troubling. Although he was pretty sure he’d had this same exact thought several times recently; each time, the ante was upped and he was saying it again a day later. Something totally surreal would happen and he would have these thoughts, yet somehow accept the surreal event and move on, only to have a new level of insanity occur the next day, only to be absorbed as normal. He had a real fear that this was how Tizzy ended up being Tizzy.

When he had first met Phaestus, he had not realized that the man was actually the Greek god Hephaestus as well as the Egyptian god pêTah. He had started getting a bit suspicious as to who he really was when they had talked, but he had been so busy with the oath taking and celebration, he hadn’t had time to really process his observations. However, once the Knights of Chaos showed up and Phaestus brought his wife, Sekhmekt, to the battle, his suspicions became impossible to ignore.

He wasn’t quite sure he remembered exactly who Sekhmekt was, but her gigantic lioness-headed form was very clearly that of an Eygptian goddess; plus she had had those giant sphinxes. However, in the fog of battle, with a rapidly approaching enemy and everyone in a panic, one sort of took such things in stride, and since at that point things had been moving pretty fast, he had put the issue to the back of his mind. At least until he’d discovered Tartarus. That had, of course, forced him to acknowledge his new reality. At that point, all pretense was off and Phaestus had declared who he was.

In any case, the surreal banality of him, Tom, going to a dinner party hosted by Egyptian gods was mind-boggling and forced him to think more objectively about what this all meant. It seemed presumptuous, to say the least, to be an invited guest, treated as an equal by beings straight out of mythology. What would Edith Hamilton have given to be his plus one? Although, thinking on it, he wasn’t sure how much she had covered the Egyptians. Although Hephaestus would probably have been more than enough to keep her interested.

“This Outpost is really out there,” Tom remarked, wanting to strike up some conversation to escape his thoughts.

Phaestus, beside him in the large flying chariot in which they were riding, laughed as he flexed the reins of the four giant winged horses. The horses were certainly not your classic winged horses, like Talarius’s horse. These were large black stallions with black bat-like wings and glowing red eyes, who snorted fire.

“Just as with Mount Doom, we did not wish to be on the beaten paths, so to speak.” The god grinned back at Tom. “We needed it just close enough to the Courts to not be inconvenient, yet not too easy for demonic spies to try and infiltrate.”

“Yeah, and remember, Doom is a very long haul from everywhere,” Reggie added from the rear seat.

“Very intentionally,” Tamarin added.

“We don’t like visitors,” Vargg Agnoth agreed. “I think your Oorstemothian friends have learned that lesson.”

Tom chuckled. They were a rather odd lot, he reflected. Phaestus was basically the bridge between the two groups. Tom’s retinue included Reggie, who had binding relations with the Nyjyr Ennead’s followers, and Vargg as the D’Orc representative. Tamarin had been very interested in attending, and Tom valued her advice. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Antefalken had also wanted to come. It would be the bard’s first break from his composing in days.

It would be nice to get some interaction time with Vargg. He needed to get to know his various commanders better. He had previously focused his attention on the most senior commanders, Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth; however, both were occupied. Darg-Krallnom was focused on finishing up at Nysegard; Arg-nargoloth had some personal plans, which seemed unusual; and Roth Tar Gorefest was on duty this evening in the DCC. Thus, Vargg Agnoth was the next ranking commander, followed by Delg Narmoloth from Earth.

“We should be there before long.” Phaestus said with a smile.

“I never knew you could expand the Boom Tunnels to get a chariot through them,” Antefalken said.

“Yes; it is critical if you want to move large objects. It is not well advertised, for obvious reasons,” Phaestus replied. “However, all the demon princes know how, as do many, if not most, of the archdemons. So it is not quite the secret it used to be.”

“The Boom Tunnels were built after Doom, yes?” Reggie asked.

“Much later.” Phaestus nodded. “They have only been around for about twenty-five thousand years.”

“So how did you get all the construction materials to Mount Doom?” Reggie asked.

Phaestus snorted. “That was a bit of logistics. And the Boom Tunnels would not have helped; we were purposefully operating below the radar, away from Lilith and Sammael. All materials were either local or brought in from off-plane. Actually, Doom was relatively easy, as by that point, Tartarus was complete and we could use the Oubliette to ship stuff directly to Doom from anywhere in the multiverse. And then, after the World Gate was built, things were even easier. Tartarus, on the other hand—that took some work!”

“Do your fellow gods in the Outpost know of Tartarus?” Tamarin asked.

“Good point. Sekhmet obviously knows. The rest know of its existence, and most suspect I am involved with it. They do not, however, know where it is, nor that Tom or the D’Orcs are involved with it, and we all prefer to keep it that way, so that is a topic we will want to avoid!” Phaestus said.

“So who will be at this dinner this evening?” Antefalken asked.

“Well, I know for certain that Sekhmet and Bastet will be there. Bastet asked for the meeting and is leading our efforts in the Abyss. I suspect that Astet will be there as well. I would not be surprised if Usiris shows up. What with being the god of rebirth and resurrection, I suspect he will want to see for himself how Tom may or may not be related to Orcus.”

“Usiris? As in Osiris?” Tom asked, raking his brain for mythology.

“Indeed.” Phaestus nodded.

“He is married to Isis?” Tom stated rather questioningly.

Phaestus nodded. “Astet is what she currently goes by. As I mentioned, she will most likely be there.”

Tom shook his head in awe. He was about to have dinner with the mighty Isis?

Fort Murgatroid: Mid Sixth Period

Iskerus stood on the wall of Fort Murgatroid, leaning on the parapet as he watched Fierd lower itself below the horizon. His debriefing, or whatever one wanted to call it, had ended not that long ago and he’d had to get out and clear his mind. To say it had been a surreal and deeply unsettling and uncomfortable experience would certainly be an understatement.

It had borne little resemblance to the Intercessions of lore. These saints had seemed to have most of the answers before the questioning had ever begun. It had felt less like a discovery process, and more like a trial. A very pleasant, and genial trial, but a trial nonetheless.

They had begun by reviewing the scrying. Much to Iskerus’s incredulity, their focus had been less on the actions of the mana-stealing demon than on the actions of Talarius, Barabus and himself. It made no sense; they should have been pursuing the vile demon that had stolen Tiernon’s Holy Mana and abducted the preeminent Knight Rampant of Tiernon in Astlan!

Instead, they were concerned about Talarius’s word of honor, and the fact that his priests and Barabus’s Rod members had assisted—nay, supported Talarius in his single combat. For some reason, they had seemed quite disturbed by the fact that they had not abided Talarius’s word of honor to a demon? A very deadly Greater Demon?

After the scrying they had spent an unusual amount of time delving into local church history. They appeared quite interested in investigating the evolution of Church doctrine and its compatibility with Church dogma. They had quizzed Iskerus on his own feelings on current church practices and how he had been taught to balance practical, day-to-day doctrinal issues with matters of dogma.

It was not where he had expected the questioning to go. He had expected them to focus on understanding the vile demon’s plans and motivations—not how Iskerus and Barabus had handled the situation. After some time on this path, he had finally gotten up the nerve to ask them if they were interested in knowing about their efforts to get Talarius back.

He now sincerely regretted that question. They had obligingly asked and he related their efforts with Oorstemoth and how they were working to retrieve Talarius from the greater demon. Much to his dismay, they were apparently all too aware of these plans, and were not pleased. Clearly, it had been Saint Hilda interrogating Verigas, and quite thoroughly.

It turns out that upon entering the Abyss, all the clerics and Rod members had become disconnected from Tierhallon. All mana links were broken, prayers could not be heard and Tiernon’s avatars had lost all ability to contact or monitor the priests and Rod members.

Iskerus had been shocked to learn this. It had never crossed his mind that this could happen. That would make things extremely difficult for his people. He had gotten a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, thinking about the predicament Barabus must have found himself in.

“Lovely evening,” Teragdor observed, coming up alongside the Arch-Diocate.

“Yes,” Iskerus agreed somberly.

“I gather from your manner that the debriefing did not go as you might have hoped?” Teragdor asked.

“Not at all.” Iskerus shook his head and sighed.

“They are not at all what I expected.”

Iskerus looked at the half-orc in puzzlement.

Teragdor shrugged. “Are they, the saints, anything like you imagined in your studies? In your imagination?”

“Not at all,” Iskerus admitted, now understanding what the apostle meant.

“They seem, very oddly, quite normal.”

“Yes, like people.” Iskerus frowned thinking about it.

“Well,” Teragdor said with a grin, or at least Iskerus thought the half-orc was grinning, “the saints were all once normal people like you and me. Now they are just very old people with a lot of power and the ears of the gods.”

Iskerus chuckled. “That is technically what we are taught, but oddly, in my imagination, and I suspect that of most, we dream of much more. We put so many hopes and aspirations upon our saints—we imbue them with so many expectations that I suppose it becomes impossible for them to live up to such expectations in the flesh.”

“Indeed,” Teragdor agreed. “However, I would not be too complacent with their appearance and mannerisms.”

Iskerus looked at Teragdor, once more puzzled.

“They are normal people most of the time, but when the Grace is upon them, they are far greater than any mortal could ever hope to be. I have only seen brief glimpses of this, but I am led to suspect that their very seeming so mortal is designed to put us mortals more at ease.”

“Logical,” Iskerus noted, thinking.

“Take Hilda, for example.”

“Very well.”

“She seems to be the most natural and down-home, simple, kind person one could imagine,” Teragdor said.

Iskerus tilted his head back and forth. “Yes, she is disconcerting that way, but from what I have gathered she is anything but.”

Teragdor nodded in agreement. “Half a week back, she had a personal private audience with Tiernon himself to discuss this situation we are all in. Apparently it went on for several hours, or the Tierhallon equivalent of that.”

Iskerus looked at the half-orc in shock. “Incredible!” This news made his stomach drop. How could this, in conjunction with the very odd debriefing, be good news for him? “But I don’t understand,” he said suddenly after a moment of silence. “If this case has Tiernon’s own attention, why are they not focused more on this demon and the whereabouts of Talarius? They seemed relatively unconcerned about his fate, and were openly displeased with our efforts to locate and retrieve him.”

Teragdor chuckled. “Well, it’s a bit more complex than you suspect. We know who the demon is that abducted Talarius; we know where he probably lives. Yet, more importantly, we already know where Talarius is.”

Iskerus did a double take. “You know where he is? How? The saints informed me they were blind to the Abyss, that they had no way of making contact with agents there.”

Teragdor smiled. “That’s because Talarius is no longer in the Abyss. He is in Nysegard, and that is why the saints were in your camp. They were retrieving Talarius’s steed, War Arrow, and the horse’s barding. We are mounting a rescue mission to Nysegard to retrieve Talarius!”

Iskerus stared in shock at the half-orc priest. To say he was stunned was to say far too little. They knew where Talarius was? They were planning to get him back? Iskerus shook his head slowly. “So you know who this demon is? You were able to track him to Nysegard?”

“Well, actually, we found Talarius once he got to Nysegard and started praying. But we do know how he got there, based on the resources of the demon that has him hostage.”

“So you are aware of this demon? You know all about this mana-stealing demon? That is why the saints were not that interested in what I could add?” Iskerus asked.

Teragdor bobbled his head while biting down slightly on his lips. “Essentially. It’s why the saints are in Murgatroy. The demon showed up here with some of his forces.”

Iskerus once more found himself staring incredulously at the half-orc. “The greater demon’s forces? So he is actually, as we suspected, not a greater demon, but one of the archdemons that were infesting Freehold?”

Teragdor shook his head. “Nothing that simple. We have fairly good evidence that the demon that stole our lord’s mana and abducted Talarius is the Lord of Doom.”

“Lord of Doom?” Iskerus asked. That did not sound at all auspicious.

“More precisely, the new, or perhaps returning, Lord of Mount Doom in the Abyss, the Prince of the Dead, God of the Underworld, Punisher of Broken Oaths, the long thought dead god of the Orcs. In short, he is either the Demon Prince Orcus, or his heir. Whichever it is, he has the Wand of Orcus, has reawakened Mount Doom and commands an army of demonic orcs.”

Teragdor grinned, almost maliciously it seemed, at seeing Iskerus’s horrified expression. “So, Arch-Diocate, are you ready to join us on our mission to rescue our most brilliant Knight Rampant from the clutches of the Lord of the Underworld?”

The Abyss, the Outpost: Late Sixth Period

Tom shook his head, looking at the bulky vacuum thermos mug in his right hand. With its button-triggered flip lid and pop-up straw, it reminded him of something that could be used by the astronauts on the space station. He ran his tongue around his tingling mouth. “That is a truly unique taste!” he marveled, looking up at his hosts.

“Perhaps the most refreshing beverage I’ve ever had in the Abyss,” Antefalken agreed.

Bastet purred, pleased by their enjoyment of her after-dinner aperitif.

“Amazing, really,” Tamarin said. “And these mugs? Pressure-sealed with a straw and release trigger. It’s the perfect delivery mechanism.”

“The way it tingles in the mouth and throat going down, very pleasurable,” Reggie added as well. “I would never have thought of drinking liquid carbon dioxide.”

“Phaestus designed the mugs,” Osiris noted. “Getting a convenient delivery mechanism for the Abyss, or even the material planes, was a bit tricky.”

“Indeed,” Astet added. “Previously we had to travel to various moons of gas giants to find flowing rivers of liquid CO2, and drink it from the stream. Now that we can bottle it, we can enjoy it anywhere.”

Tom blinked in some surprise. “Interesting... I had assumed you’d compressed it; I didn’t even think about it occurring naturally in various cold regions. That would be much easier.”

Astet shrugged. “Well, that’s the best way to get it in volume. Sorcery and enchantment can be used to create it as well, but it gets a bit complex. That is a case where wizardry works far better than animagic.”

Tom glanced to Phaestus and then turned to Bastet. “Thank you for this truly delicious meal and aperitif, but perhaps we should take some time to discuss our mutual interests.”

Bastet smiled. “Very to the point. I like that; far preferable to the elusive style of most demons.”

Vargg Agnoth suddenly spoke up. “Directness is also the D’Orc way.” He had said very little during the dinner. “Which me brings me to the obvious question. As gods and goddess, why are you slumming it in the Abyss?”

Antefalken looked at Vargg, in shock for his brusque rudeness. Tom twitched his eyebrow, suppressing a small grin; Vargg had asked the question they had all been dying to know.

Usiris chuckled. “A very obvious question, I am sure.”

Bastet also grinned, apparently not offended. “It is, and not unexpected. And the explanation is a bit complex. However, I shall try to explain.”

Tom nodded in appreciation of her candor.

“As you probably know, we were less than diligent in many regions of the multiverse, several thousand years ago. We had become distracted with some questions, and operations, on the far side of the multiverse and, honestly, had not been properly honoring our commitments to our followers in all regions.”

“We were too complacent, and allowed ourselves to be taken advantage of,” Usiris said. “In fact, we were so absorbed in our projects that we purposefully sat out Ragnarök, choosing not to take sides.”

“For which many paid a great price. Mount Doom included,” Phaestus noted.

Bastet sighed. “Indeed. We thought that by not choosing sides, we could remain neutral and be left alone. We therefore attended our other business elsewhere, not realizing that other combatants would take advantage of our inattention to try and steal our resources.”

“What specifically did they do?” Tom asked.

“Several things. For example, on Earth, Ragnarök presented a huge opening for the Demi-Urge; he used the distraction to establish critical resources near our own operations. In the years following Ragnarök, his followers increased their power at our people’s expense.”

“Particularly, your idiot friend Ramses’ expense,” Usiris griped.

Tom looked at him curiously.

Usiris shook his head. “I consider that failure the start of our demise on Earth. Our previously very successful Pharaoh, Ramses the Great, totally embarrassed himself and us with his handling of the Demi-Urge’s followers. In his pursuit to preserve his ego and force the Demi-Urge’s people to bow to him, he lost half his army in the Red Sea.”

“This is old history,” Astet glared at Usiris. “There is no point in rehashing it.”

Tom was looking extremely puzzled. “Are you talking about Ramses pursuing Moses and the Israelites into the Red Sea?”

“Ahh, so you know the story.” Phaestus nodded sagely. “Not surprising; it’s one of the greatest humiliations a pantheon has ever faced.”

“I think we are getting distracted from the topic at hand,” Bastet interjected.

“Are we?” Usiris asked. “You’ve engaged that imbecile’s services once more. The man is so stupid, he doesn’t even have a clue that you are a goddess from his mortal life!”

“Wait!” Tom interrupted. “Are you talking about Ramses the Damned? The archdemon working with Exador in Freehold?”

“She is.” Usiris nodded. “Which is one reason I don’t visit here that often. I think this entire business in the Abyss is simply too risky.”

Bastet closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She placed a calming hand on Usiris’s. “Let me explain in more detail.” She opened her eyes and locked them on Usiris, who simply grunted and sat back, obviously not pleased.

“Exactly,” Bess explained. Our endeavor here was for me to blend in and appear as an archdemon that had been living in the wilderness of the Abyss for several thousand years, but now returned. My goal was to infiltrate the courts and seek an alliance with Exador, and as things worked out, Ramses.”

“Why would you want to ally with Exador?” Antefalken asked. “He seems to be a bit reckless.”

Usiris pointed to Antefalken and nodded his head as if to say, See, he agrees with me.

Bastet nodded in agreement. “He is a handful, but he is also quite brilliant, as is Ramses.” She glanced to Usiris to silence his objection. “Regardless of what some may think of them, they rose from newly summoned demons to archdemons in only a few thousand years, possibly less. Something which is nearly unprecedented.”

Antefalken made a choking noise around his metal straw. He gestured apologetically. “However, that is beside the point. Exador knew about and was on the trail of a very powerful arcane object that would be of great assistance to us in righting the wrongs that our enemies inflicted upon us.”

“Such as Tiernon and Torean in Astlan.” Reggie gestured towards Sekhmekt. “Lady Sekhmekt shared some of her experience of their treachery.”

Sekhmekt bowed her head, still feeling somewhat guilty about her oversharing. “Precisely. We had believed the Five Siblings to be at the least neutral towards us, if not amicably disposed. We had no inkling of their enmity, let alone their planned treachery.”

Reggie shuddered.

Tom nodded in sympathy. He had heard of the oversharing from several who had been there. “The Five Siblings have much to account for,” he said, “towards yourself and towards Doom. However, I am not sure how this artifact—by which I assume you mean Lenamare’s book—can be of assistance against the Five Siblings.”

“How powerful a spell could there be, contained within a physical book?” Tamarin asked. “Something that powerful would require very powerful protections to even hide it, let alone keep it from imploding.”

Bastet sighed and looked thoughtful for several silent moments. “Well, to be honest, we are not sure what exactly is in it, other than very valuable information about the workings of not only gods, but avatars and demons. Information that is not generally privy to even the vast majority of gods.”

Astet leaned inward. “Information that might allow us to defeat and at the least, capture and bind the Five Siblings for eternity, or close to it.”

Tom shook his head. “Really? The book did not seem that impressive to me.”

All of the gods except Bastet were staring at him in shock.

“You have seen the book?” Astet asked.

Bastet nodded. “Jehenna lost it, and you and your mortal friends recovered it. Exador confided this to me.”

Usiris stared at her in shock. “And you did not think to inform the rest of us?”

“It was, he assured me, a minor setback.” She chuckled. “It was obviously Lord Tommus who prevented him from getting the book.”

“You do not currently seem that upset with me,” Tom observed.

Bastet chuckled. “I am not. It was Exador’s problem, not mine. We had not expected Lenamare and Jehenna to so easily misplace the book. It was their error, and given that we now know that Exador was competing with you for the book, how could he have succeeded?”

Bess shook her head with a smile, and took another sip from her bottle. “In fact as someone who has spent the last one hundred and fifty-some years pretending to be someone less powerful than she is, I must compliment your own performance. A truly masterful strategy to get the mana you needed to relight Doom on such a short timeline. No, I cannot be upset; I can only applaud.”

“Thanks.” Tom nodded his head while taking a sip. Obviously, he had had no strategy, no plan; he had bumbled into all of this. However, he was certain that was not something to be revealed. He chuckled out loud at this thought.

Bess raised an eyebrow at his chuckle, as did a few of the other gods.

He grinned. “I had absolutely no idea the book was valuable at the time. I thought it was a diary belonging to Jenn, Lenamare’s student who I escorted to Freehold. It wasn’t until near the end of our journey that we discovered it was not her diary. Which is why I say it was not exactly an impressive book.”

“It looks like a girl’s diary?” Usiris asked intently.

Tom shrugged. “A small leather-bound book with leather wrappings, typical of a journal or perhaps a merchant’s log.” He was struggling a bit to come up with an analogy. Books like Jenn’s or Lenamare’s were rare where he came from, but some hipsters and back-to-nature types liked them.

Usiris raised an eyebrow, looking to Bess. “Rather unusual for a book containing so much powerful information.”

Basted snorted. “I point out that as far as we know, or can tell, Lenamare still can’t open it. He is not an idiot. Lenamare has been competing against Exador for his entire life, and typically gets the better of an archdemon who is several thousand years older than himself. If he cannot open it, then it is clearly the book we are looking for.”

Astet and Sekhmekt nodded in agreement.

Usiris sat back, his hands in the air. “Fine. However, I still think this is a dicey proposition. For one thing, the book is hidden behind impenetrable wards.”

“Not truly impenetrable. Just inconvenient,” Bess replied. “We could easily breach them and go searching for the book, but it would set off alarms and Lenamare would flee with the book to some unknown location. At least for the moment, we know where it is.”

“I seem to recall you being driven out by the wards, just like Exador and Ramses,” Usiris remarked dryly.

Bess glared at him. “You know very well that I was not. They were admittedly most unpleasant, but I could have overcome them; any of us here could have. However, that was not the role I was playing. The wards were more than capable of banishing an archdemon, and most likely a lesser prince. However, both Lord Tommus and I were playing roles, and our roles required us to flee.” She looked at Tom for agreement.

Tom nodded, agreeing with her even though he really had been forced to flee. He had not even considered trying to resist. The thought had not crossed his mind. However, once again, he was, as Bess stated, playing a role. This time it was that of a mighty demon prince about to overthrow some gods.

Fort Murgatroid: DOA + 10, First Period

“Well, this afternoon was surprisingly productive,” Baysir said to the assembled group. Baysir, Hilda, Stevos and Timbly had reassembled this evening at Fort Murgatroid to discuss their thoughts on the afternoon’s debriefing with Iskerus. Baysir had had another appointment after the deposition and the other three had decided to do some additional research on Astlan’s history so they could correlate information from Iskerus with other events.

“Truly,” Timbly said. “At first I was a bit surprised by your focus on doctrine versus dogma, but thinking upon it, it made far more sense to discuss that. We know very well what happened with the demon and Talarius; what we did not know is what motivated the Church and Rod to escalate the events.”

Hilda nodded. “Well, to be honest, I had not really planned on delving so much into the history of Church doctrine and the timelines, but for some reason I found the path we accidentally started down quite interesting and wanted to pursue it.”

“I think it was a wise choice.” Baysir nodded in agreement. “We have been aware of certain lapses on the part of the Church in this localverse for some time. None of it enough to warrant an Intercession, but certainly worth investigating and this, I believed, proved to be a good opportunity.”

“It is interesting that Iskerus seemed to believe that much of the doctrine about when it is acceptable to break oaths or use what we would think of as troubling rituals have been around as long as the Rod has called itself the Rod,” Stevos said.

Baysir nodded. “Astlan started using the term ‘Rod’ after the fall of the Anilords. Prior to that it was the Militia of Tiernon.”

“Which, interestingly enough, is about the time that the Rod invaded Natoor, which apparently is what set this goddess Bastet on a warpath or something,” Hilda said.

“So you are once more thinking that the cat demoness is the Nyjyr Ennead goddess?” Stevos asked.

“I am, for the moment; however, that brings up another odd point that I cannot reconcile,” Hilda said.

“What is that?” Timbly asked.

“When the Rod invaded Natoor, the Arch-Vicar General of the Rod was named Exador,” Hilda stated as the others’ faces quickly displayed shock at this news.

“Are you saying that you think the Arch-Vicar General of the Rod was an archdemon?” Baysir asked incredulously.

Hilda shrugged. “We know that the current Exador has a long history of masquerading as a human, pretending to age and die and always begetting a male heir named Exador.”

Stevos nodded in agreement. “We are only talking a thousand years ago; that is not an unreasonable timeframe for an archdemon to play such a game.”

Baysir had put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands as Stevos spoke. He sighed and looked up at them. “I would have heard his prayers, as would many others. This is an Arch-Vicar General we are talking about, and technically only the second or third since they renamed the Militia the Rod. He would have been under quite a bit of scrutiny from both Sentir and myself as well as many other avatars.”

“Well, the conquest of Natoor and Naajar were particularly bloody, and uncharacteristic of our stated doctrine,” Hilda replied.

Timbly nodded. “Agreed; the entire Holy Etonian Empire and the brutal conquest model is not at all how we like to come in. Normally we work to infiltrate, subvert and absorb local populations peacefully. This is central to how the Rangers work. It is, in essence, a large part of their mission.”

Baysir twisted his head on his neck, as if trying to relieve stiffness. “I will need to go back to my diary. I know Sentir and I had more than a few dustups over this. We were both caught a bit unaware and had to scramble to contain the damage.” He grimaced. “An archdemon leading our army would explain a lot in how this came about.”

“So then, what is it you can’t square?” Timbly asked Hilda.

“It is this: if the cat archdemon is Bastet, why would she be aligned with the archdemon Exador, who more than likely led the conquest of her followers?” Hilda asked.

Baysir raised an eyebrow. “They would be very odd bedfellows.”

“It makes me think of the saying: Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” Timbly noted.

Stevos made a small chortle and grinned.

Baysir nodded and shook his head. “Possibly true, but again maybe we are over thinking this. We have no concrete proof that the cat archdemon is the goddess Bastet, nor proof that Arch-Vicar General Exador is the same archdemon we are dealing with today.”

Mount Doom: Early Second Period

Tom wandered through Orcus’s gallery in the Library of Doom. Having spent the entire day in Nysegard and the majority of the evening outside of Mount Doom, he was fully charged, so to speak, and had no need for sleep. Nor would his mind allow it; it was moving in overdrive, trying to understand the games the gods played.

While he had intellectually realized it as his anxiety built all day about meeting with the Nyjyr Ennead, he had not truly gotten it at the “gut level,” the emotional level. It had not been until halfway through his liquid CO2 cocktail that it finally hit him that he had somehow moved from pawn to queen on the chessboard of the gods. That had turned his stomach into an icier knot than even the super-cold CO2.

It was the moment when the fear and awe of meeting the ancient Egyptian gods turned into the sudden realization that he was going to be expected to play in their league. He would have to compete at the god level, whatever that was. It was, Tom reflected anxiously, a level at which decisions he and his allies and opponents made could bend the course of destiny of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of beings.

Could he do it? Was he up to it? Clearly he had the ego, the hubris to play on that level. Only someone who fancied himself a peer with the gods would even think to play their games on their level and terms; and Tom had been, and was still, considering it. The Nyjyr Ennead wanted to ally more closely with him and Doom; they wanted to work together to bring down Tiernon and Torean. They believed he was a worthy ally!

That thought frightened the, well, he wasn’t really clear what, out of him; he did not seem to have bowel movements, so it was quite literally impossible to have the shit scared out of him. He had to be mad, insane, to consider it. He was a seventeen-year-old human, out of his world, out of his depth, and possibly out of his mind, given these Orcus visions.

They had discussed it lightly on the ride home. Sekhmekt, of course, was fairly enthusiastic about working more closely together; she had really enjoyed the Knights of Chaos. Phaestus had been surprisingly non-committal and a bit reserved, concentrating on driving the horses. He had not been against it, simply reserved; Tom suspected he might have more to say in private.

Phaestus and Sekhmekt had returned to Anuropia when they got back to Doom. The rest of them had retired to his study to discuss the dinner. Reggie was quite enthusiastic, as it tied out with his work for his apparently not-so-accursed mistress. The incubus seemed seriously smitten by her; Tom shook his head.

Tamarin thought it was an interesting offer, worthy of exploration and discussion; a very reasoned response, as he expected. Antefalken was all for it. The thought of having a ringside seat for a battle between pantheons was something that no bard could resist. Tom was pretty sure the bard was already counting coins in his head from the additional ballads he would be able to write.

Vargg Agnoth had been mostly silent and dour; no real surprise there. However, he finally admitted that an arms-length agreement for now as the two sides got to know each other might be useful. He did not trust the Nyjyr Ennead, except of course for Phaestus and Sekhmekt, but he was more than aware of their urgent need for allies in the coming battles. Their current enemies, Lilith and Tiernon, had beat them four thousand years ago at the height of their power; given that they were nowhere near that level of readiness now, they would need allies.

Tom sighed, shaking his head as he approached the case that held the fancy animage robes. He needed to do something to clear his mind of this evening and these concerns. He really would go insane if he continued to focus on his own insecurities and the precariousness of his situation.

Perhaps trying to figure out how to change his form with clothes might be useful. Other demons, including Antefalken, were able to do it. It should be no problem, right? Tom grinned ruefully at that thought. He shifted to Edwyrd and opened the glass case. He figured the first step would be to touch, handle and wear the robe. He imagined he would need to sort of go all Zen and “grok” the robe, to make it one with himself. Or some other such mental machination.

He might have laughed about such things a few months back, however, that sort of stuff really did work for animages, and apparently for demons. Shape-changing really was mind over matter; substance shaping form, or something like that. He had no idea, simply instinct and feelings to go on.

Actually, that was a good description of his entire state—this entire game he found himself playing. There was no logical set of guidelines for someone in his position. In so many ways it was so preposterous, so out of the ordinary, so utterly unbelievable that there could be no real playbook for what to do. Winging it, so to speak, was the only conceivable option, was it not?

Tom, for one, hoped so.

Chapter 133

Freehold: DOA + 10, Shortly After Dawn

Vaselle, lugging his pack of carefully wrapped portable portal links, made his way to the portal link he had hidden outside of Freehold. He was delivering his first batch of portal links to his master, and he was feeling quite pleased and excited.

When he reached the portal, he activated the linking and then traced it back to his master and on to the Temple of Doom, where another solid link point existed. It was tied to a brazier they now kept burning. The theory, which they were testing now, was that he could follow the links to that brazier and tie the flames there to the flame generated by the portal links and open a gateway on his own, either with his own mana or with Lord Tommus’s.

If he, as a warlock, could use his dark master’s power to open the gateway, that would be the simplest; otherwise he would have to try a couple of different spells that he had researched. Vaselle relaxed, allowing himself to focus on the brazier in the Temple of Doom. In the back of his mind, he felt himself... well, enfolded was the only expression he could think of, in his dark master’s mental embrace. This was sort of weird, touchy-feely animage-like stuff, very different from normal wizardry, so it had taken some getting used to. In his mind, he could feel his dark master’s presence all around him, not intervening but passively watching, supporting. Vaselle focused on the flame there, and then on the portable portal link in front of him; he willed the link in front of him to trigger its flame spell. The flame flared up about a foot before returning to a more modest six- to eight-inch flame.

Bracing himself in his lord’s presence, Vaselle superimposed the two flames in his mind, willing them to be the same flame. In his mind, he was using the Laws of Contagion and Similarity to blend the two flames into a common portal. Doing this raw, without the normal entrapments of wizardry, was quite challenging, but also quite thrilling.

The flames were mirrors of each other. If he simply reached out his hand through the mirrored flames, he could bend himself through to the other side, become his own reflection in the Temple of Doom. He felt Tommus’s mind, like a giant mental claw, reach out and guide his hand, showing him how to make a small tear in the flame to allow the reflection through. There it was—suddenly a hole appeared in the flames and he could see both sides. With a gentle prodding from his lord, he imagined his being flowing through the portal to the other side.

Suddenly he was there, in the temple beside his master, staring back through the flames to the rocky region from whence he had come. He sighed and allowed the flame spell on the portal link to expire, closing the portal.

“Well, that was interesting,” his master told him. “That’s not at all how I visualized it, but it seems to have worked. You are here!” His master gently patted Vaselle on the back, sending a thrill of excitement through his body.

“Yeah, doing things the animage way is a bit weird,” Vaselle said. “I’ve never really worked that way before and so was sort of improvising, trying to mix my understanding of wizardry and some of my religious training.”

“As far as I can determine, improvising seems to be the way animagic works.” Lord Tommus unleashed a deep, dark chuckling noise within the temple; the sound reverberated off the stone walls.

Vaselle shuddered in both awe and a bit of unease at his lord’s humor. Being linked to him, Vaselle completely understood the good-natured manner in which the chuckling was meant, but the physical effect was very different.

“So, master,” Vaselle asked, “where shall we plant these first portals?”

“Tal Gor is heading into the dungeon below a fortress called Mount Orc, where he will contact me and we will plant one portal link there. Beya Fei Geist is scouting out a good location in a city called Orcopolis; she will also contact us shortly.”

“Farsooth, Ragala-nargoloth and Trig?” Vaselle asked about the other shamans.

“Farsooth and Ragala-nargoloth will be in place late this evening, so I thought we would do them after I finish the oath-taking in Nysegard later tonight,” Tommus told him. “Sometime after, Trig will be in a good position; however, we are not completely sure that the devices will work in his universe. It’s pretty high tech.”

“So after the first two, will you contact me to come back, or should I leave them with you, or...?” Vaselle asked, hoping for an invitation to hang out at Mount Doom.

Lord Tommus must have sensed his intent, because he chuckled again. “If you wish to wait here at Mount Doom, I am pretty sure that Tamarin would be more than happy to show you around the Library of Doom.”

Vaselle had never heard of the Library of Doom. Even as the thought entered his mind, he could see an overwhelmingly large library in his mind’s eye; memory remnants of conversations between Tommus, Tamarin and Erestofanes, also filled his mind. This communication method was very strange and oddly disturbing, yet very much the sort of thing Vaselle had always dreamed of. They had used it on more than one occasion and it was both useful and incredibly efficient.

“Definitely. Think of all the knowledge there!” Vaselle replied in wonder and excitement.

Noajar, Nimbus: Mid Third Period

“So absolutely no sign of Bastet or other Nyjyr Ennead activity?” Captain Ehéarellis asked. The captain, Trevin, Maelen, Elrose, Jenn and Gastropé, along with first mate Aêthêal, were gathered in one of the Nimbus’s conference rooms to decide their next course of action.

Elrose shook his head sadly. “Absolutely nothing. No extra-dimensional activity. The Nyjyr Ennead appear to be as dead as ever.”

“Given this, and we’ve all reviewed the data several times over,” Trevin said, “we must decide whether this lead is worth pursuing to Najaar and then to Natoor, or should we be paying more attention to the D’Orcs?”

“The closest of the major temple ruins in Najaar is approximately eight hundred leagues, about three and a half days’ travel for the Nimbus,” the captain informed them. “Four days, if we are a bit more circumspect in our path.”

Gastropé shook his head. That sort of speed was simply unimaginable. He still could not get over how fast this cloud could move. “And how many ruins will we need to be investigated there?” he asked.

“There are, I believe, a great many,” Elrose said. “One would hope that if any of them are in use at any level, we would be able to detect sympathetic reverberations.”

Maelen shrugged, indicating doubt. “I suspect that many of the sites will be too ruined, too desecrated to function at any level. We will probably need to check several sites to find the least damaged.”

“The other side of the coin is that things are getting quite tense in the United Federation, and from what I hear secondhand, in Kel Femaer as well,” the captain said.

Aêthêal nodded. “I hear that the priests of Nét are arguing for preemptive strikes against various orc tribes.”

Captain Ehéarellis glanced towards his first mate with a small grin. “So the aetós are now paying attention to alfar priests?”

“When they seek war?” Aêthêal nodded. “Then we do pay attention. In particular, my people living near Jötunnhenj have spotted alvaran sky patrols.”

“Near Jötunnhenj?” Trevin asked with grave concern as she sat up in her chair.

“Indeed.” Aêthêal nodded.

“That is not a good sign,” the captain noted.

“That is the heart of orc and jötunnkind territory,” Trevin said. “They could only be more provocative if they sent patrols circling Mount Orc!” She shook her head. “What are they thinking?”

“I suspect they are thinking that the D’Orcs may try to reopen their base of operations in Astlan,” Captain Ehéarellis replied.

“Their base of operations?” Jenn asked. “They had a base in Astlan?”

“Indeed, or so the stories go. This is all before my time, but I know the stories. My grandfather fought them at Mount Orc and near Jötunnhenj, where their base of operations was.”

“I have never heard of any of these locations,” Gastropé said. “Where are they?”

The captain tilted his head from side to side. “Mount Orc is the ancestral home of the orcs in Astlan, or so the legends go. It is an extremely large mountain rising out of the middle of the plains with a fortress on top, capping perhaps the largest labyrinth on the planet. It is about ninety leagues northeast of Murgatroy. Jötunnhenj is said to be the ancestral home of all jötunnkind in Astlan. It is about two hundred and seventy-plus leagues from Murgatroy.”

Maelen frowned. “So this Jötunnhenj is quite a bit closer to us then the closest ruins in Najaar?”

Aêthêal nodded. “Less than half the distance.”

“So which has the more likely payout?” Elrose asked.

Trevin sighed, shaking her head. “I am thinking that preventing a war between orcs and the alfar takes precedence. We need to convince those sky patrols to stand down. It will infuriate the tribes on the plains.”

Aêthêal nodded in acceptance of Trevin’s decision. “We shall conclude things here, load the ship and chart our course. We should be able to leave by midnight.”

Etterdam, Nart Camp: DOA + 10, Early Sixth Period

Ragala-nargoloth checked her runes one last time. They were solid. Actually, there wasn’t as much to check with these runes as she would for most summonings. It was no dark spirit or long-lost soul she was summoning that might require protection. No, this was a demon summoning.

She chuckled to herself. Obviously, anyone in their right mind summoning a demon would want to have protections upon their protection to the highest degree. It was well known to all that a summoned demon that broke through the summoner’s projections would perform unspeakably abhorrent and depraved violations of the flesh upon the summoner.

In this case, Ragala-nargoloth was hoping for some unspeakably abhorrent depravity to be performed upon herself. She grinned in anticipation as she looked around her travel tent, ensuring that all was in place. Nodding in satisfaction, she poured a small sack of crushed herbs upon the fire in the brazier to her right. Smoke and the scent of the burning herbs began to fill the tent.

“Ackrotha tor-norgomonos. Vechkt bratzlaven copen doorscht. Vasloning gbharghostvertung, nas dicht trofflachtus.” Uracai, the highest language of the orcs, could get very complicated to speak. She personally did not enjoy speaking it, but for many rituals it was a necessity.

Ragala-nargoloth spit into the brazier, causing it to sputter and sizzle. “Voghdaskanare gorbhalemcht nasvarghblhast vekkumtosdt.” She centered her mind and reached out through the bracelet upon her left arm. Technically, it was a ring for its owner, but on Ragala-nargoloth it was a bracelet.

She continued to chant in Uracai, allowing the words to wash over her as she followed the linkage. There! She felt her target! “Dossdachnt tor-norgomonos, bratlzven torvoldhuzt!”

The larger brazier in the center of her runes suddenly burst out brighter and stronger, smoke billowing as a rumble of thunder came from within the fire.

“Who summons me?” boomed a loud voice in normal orcish.

“It is I, Ragala-nargoloth, First Shaman of the Nart Tribe of Etterdam! By the power of my legendary ancestor, Arg-nargoloth the Left Hand of Doom, I command you to appear!”

“You do, do you?” the voice boomed.

“I do,” Ragala-nargoloth stated firmly.

“I sense no protections upon you worthy of my might. You do understand that by summoning me without protection, I will be free to do the most ungodly and perverted tortures upon your body?”

“I am counting on it!” Ragala-nargoloth chortled.

The booming voice laughed as well. “Very well then, my luscious victim, prepare to be ravaged!”

Arg-nargoloth stepped through the flames and into Ragala-nargoloth’s tent. “I have been awaiting your summons with great anticipation of our planned perversions.”

“Welcome, my lover! Mama’s got an itch deep inside; it needs to be scratched!”

Fort Murgatroid: DOA + 10, Shortly After Lunch

Iskerus watched the Rangers, who had only arrived this morning, reorganize in preparation for departing once more, this time for the Citadel of Light. Iskerus shook his head at the name; it was rather grandiose. Different worlds, different standards, he supposed.

The Citadel of Light, as it was called, was the largest Etonian city/fortress in Nysegard, apparently. Iskerus had virtually no knowledge of Nysegard, other than that it was a place no one in their right mind would venture to, second only to the Abyss. Of course, given that he had sent a large Rod contingent to the Abyss, he was not exactly in a position to throw stones.

He supposed he should be grateful that Teragdor and his people were willing to rescue Talarius. However, he had to admit some guilt at staying here rather than venturing to Nysegard to rescue the knight himself.

“Here you go!” Iskerus turned to see Teragdor dragging a large wheeled trunk behind him, stopping to Iskerus’s left.

“Here I go?” Iskerus asked, staring at the trunk, obviously not understanding.

“Well, recognizing that you had no change of clothing with you, Stevos requisitioned from Tierhallon robes, clothing, undergarments, armor and accessories for one of your station in Nysegard.” Teragdor smiled happily at the Arch-Diocate.

“Appropriate for one of my station in Nysegard?” Iskerus echoed with a sinking feeling.

“Of course. Surely you want to go along to rescue Talarius, be the friendly face that he recognizes. He will need someone he is comfortable with, someone he trusts and with whom he can open up about his ordeal!” the apostle said with a broad grin.

“Yes. Of course. How generous of Saint Stevos!” Iskerus tried his best to look grateful and hide his shock.

“They don’t call them saints for nothing!” Teragdor said, patting Iskerus on the back. “We expect to depart within about two hours.”

Nysegard, Citadel of Light: Dusk

Karis Crooked Stick, Battle Priestess of Tiernon and squad leader of the Night’s Watch, removed her helmet as she marched across the common area of the lower east guard hall. She needed to report her squad’s findings to Vicar General Grob Darkness Slayer.

She hung her helmet and small shield upon their hooks and continued on up the steeply winding ramp towards the sixth floor, eight levels up from the guard hall. There were very few stairs in the Citadel; it was critical that they be able to deploy large equipment and weaponry wherever needed. Most of the larger pieces were on wheels, but the rest were bulky enough that stairs would be treacherous for lugging the devices.

Exiting on the sixth floor, she made her way down the corridor to the debriefing room. She knocked on the door and received a grunt of acknowledgement from the other side. She twisted the handle and marched in to find, as expected, Vicar General Grob Darkness Slayer sitting at his map table. Slightly less expected was Diocate Aeris, who was apparently consulting with the Vicar General.

Her surprise was due to finding the two of them alone in the same room; Karis had the impression that Aeris and Grob did not like each other. They rarely shared words when in common company. Which, of course, was not that unexpected, given that Grob was an orc and Aeris an alfar.

“Battle Priestess Karis Crooked Stick reporting,” Karis informed the two.

“Agh, my ugliest trainee!” Grob roared.

Since Karis was at attention, she refrained from making an obscene gesture at her superior—said gesture being her normal response to his ribbing. Full-blooded orcs often found her to be rather homely, like all half-bloods; however, numerous men, both human and orc, found her attractive, so her old instructor’s ribbing was simply an orc social grace, to which a rude gesture would be appropriate.

“Vicar General, Diocate.” Karis nodded.

“What news have you?” Aeris asked, getting straight to the point.

“Earlier reports are correct. The ring settlements are starting to receive refugees from the border farms. The Storm Lords appear to be advancing. We spotted a vampire squadron and came across a cadaver trail.” This was the beaten path left by a zombie horde, littered with various bits of flesh that had fallen off the zombies as they moved.

“Where?” Grob looked at his maps with a piece of charcoal.

Karis placed her rolled-up written report on the stack of reports on his desk. “The trail was a league east of Dob’s Den,” she replied. “The vampire squad had raided March’s End three nights ago, and we trailed them to a temporary nest about two leagues southeast of March’s End.”

“Did you engage?” Diocate Aeris asked.

“Negative. Our orders were to observe and report only,” Karis replied.

Grob nodded. “We need information at this point; reports from genpop are starting to come in rapidly, so we need our trained recon teams to move fast and gather as much intel was they can and get it back to us ASAP.”

Aeris nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Glad you approve,” Grob snarked. The alfar ignored him, gesturing for Karis to sit to continue their debriefing.

Citadel of Light: Mid Sixth Period

Karis had finished her dinner and made her way down to the small chapel deep in the bowels of the citadel, which she and her squad used for their worship services. It was a very old and rather small chapel, rarely used in recent decades; she had discovered it years ago as a young girl and fallen in love with the ancient baroque stone carvings. The chapel’s main room was about thirteen by twenty feet, with the altar at the far end. The side walls were lined with small alcoves, each about five feet deep with ornately carved curved archways.

The local radiance of her Heavenly Handfire cast deep shadows into the archways, creating a mood of deep, peaceful calm. Tonight she worshipped alone; her squad was tired and in need of some drink after their mission. She would give thanks to Tiernon for their safety on their behalf. She was sure the saints would be fine with that. At least, they had never complained.

Karis chuckled at that. Legends held that the saints used to go into battle against the darkness alongside the men and women of the Citadel; however, it had been nearly a thousand years since the last recorded divine visitation. Many of the soldiers morosely joked that the saints had forgotten them.

She lit the candles around the altar and doused her ball of Heavenly Handfire, allowing only the natural light of candles to illuminate the room. She genuflected, making the sign of Tiernon in the traditional beginning to the majority of worship rituals. Tonight, as always upon returning from a mission, she would perform Saint Caftar’s Ritual of Thanks and Blessing.

She rose from her genuflection and inhaled to begin the Incantation of Thanks when out of the corner of her eye she noticed flashing light from behind and to her right. There should be no light behind her. She turned to see who had entered.

No one had entered, the light was emanating from the ornate edging on the archway of the middle alcove. What had not been completely obvious before, due to the worn nature of the carvings, was that the carvings were runes. Runes in High Script, the sacred writings of the Five Siblings, appeared now that they were lit. They were flashing in various sequences: one rune would light, go dark and then another would light. At different points, different runes glowed different colors.

Karis drew her formal sword; she had left her full battle gear in her small bedroom. She only had the ceremonial blade used in worship services. Fortunately, while technically ceremonial, it was, nonetheless, quite sharp. She moved into position facing the archway, trying to discern what exactly was going on.

She blinked rapidly as the room was suddenly lit by what appeared to be mid- or late-afternoon atunshine. That was impossible—Atun had been setting even as her squad had entered the Citadel several hours ago. Karis raised her left hand to shield her eyes as they adjusted.

She blinked again as a half-orc about her own age came through the alcove’s archway, and then her eyes widened when she saw that the other side of the archway appeared to be the atunlit courtyard of a lightly fortified fort or keep. The half-orc coming through the door was wearing clerical attire—Tiernon’s robes and symbols—but they were of unusual design and color. Was that apostolic purple on the sash?

“Who goes there?” Karis demanded, holding up her ceremonial blade in defense.

The half-orc blinked a few times, his own eyes adjusting to the darkness of the chapel. “I am Teragdor al Tiernon, Apostle of Tiernon in Astlan.” He spoke haltingly, as if Nysegardean was not his first language. “I come seeking the assistance of those of the Five Siblings faiths in retrieving a Knight Rampant from Astlan, being held prisoner in Nysegard. Who am I addressing?”

She had been correct; the youth was wearing the colors of an Apostle of Tiernon, and claimed to be one. She shook her head. How long had it been since there had been an Apostle of Tiernon on the soil of Nysegard? Interestingly, the apostle’s surname was al Tiernon, meaning he had been a fosterling of the church. Not that uncommon, actually, when so many children had lost their parents to the Darkness.

“I am Karis Crooked Stick, Battle Priestess and Squad Leader of Tiernon upon Nysegard.”

“Battle Priestess?” The half-orc seemed puzzled at the title, and then seemed to do a double take. “Wait, did you say Crooked Stick? As in the orc tribe?” He peered at her more closely. “Are you half-orc?”

“Was it the name or my features that gave me away?” Karis asked.

“Both, I suppose. I have never met another priest of Tiernon who was also half-orc,” Teragdor replied. “So I suppose I was taken by surprise.”

“Well, in that case you are going swoon for Grob Darkness Slayer.” Karis snorted.

“Who is he?” Teragdor asked.

“He’s the Vicar General of the Citadel of Light, and a full-blooded orc,” Karis reported.

Teragdor’s eyes grew wide. “A full orc Vicar General of the Rod of Tiernon?”

Karis shook her head in puzzlement. “What’s a rod? He is the Vicar General of the Shield of Tiernon.”

“Is everything okay in there? a voice from the courtyard shouted in a rather hard-to-understand version of Nysegardean. “I told you, the Rangers should go first. If you are dead, Teragdor, I will not hear the end of it.”

Teragdor answered, speaking in his more understandable, accented Nysegardean. “I am good! I am simply speaking with Karis, Battle Priestess of Tiernon.”

“Battle Priestess?” A different voice said. There was some shuffling and an older human wearing the robes of an arch-diocate strode into the darkened chapel, peering at her.

“What is with you Tiernon folk? Do you all just go charging into the unknown with no thought for recon?” the first voice asked, the speaker now coming into focus in the archway. This gentleman appeared to be wearing the robes of an apostle of Torean. Two apostles and arch-diocate popping through a saintly gateway, as it surely must be—this was completely bizarre.

“Allow me the introductions,” Teragdor said. “Karis, may I present Arch-Diocate Iskerus of Norelon and Eastern Free Eton in Astlan.” He gestured to the arch-diocate, who nodded to Karis.

“Rasmeth, Apostle of Torean upon Astlan.” The apostle gestured at the latest individual to come through the archway.

Teragdor grinned at his colleagues and gestured to Karis. “Gentlemen, the Battle Priestess and Squad Leader, Karis Crooked Stick.”

“A Crooked Stick priest of Tiernon?” Apostle Rasmeth shook his head. “Strange bedfellows indeed.”

“I hope I am not late,” another individual coming through the doorway said.

“Not at all. Karis, may I present my patron saint, Saint Stevos Delastros, Patron Saint of Travelers of the Border Forests—and, apparently, Travelers of the Localverse!” Teragdor said.

Karis stared at the last entrant in shock. A saint? True Sight was adamant; he was clearly a saint. An actual Saint of Tiernon, in Nysegard? What momentous event had triggered such an odd company?

“We need to clear room for our Rangers to come through. I believe Inethya will also be joining us,” Rasmeth said making gestures for people to move out of the area in front of the archway.

Karis’s breath made an involuntary sucking noise; a gasp, she suspected, as she had never done such a thing before. “Did you say Inethya? As in the Divine Prophetess of Tiernon upon Nysegard?”

“Yes, yes, she prevailed upon Dashgar to allow her to join us,” Rasmeth said.

“I fear we are going to be testing the limits of Sentir Fallon’s restrictions on avatars in Nysegard.” Stevos grinned.

“Well, lad, fortunately as an avatar of Torean, I’m not bound by Sentir Fallon’s constraints, so I’ll be joining you as well.” A rough baritone voice chortled as a large, barrel chested human stepped through the archway.

“Well met, Timbly!” Stevos greeted the saint.

“Another saint?” Karis muttered to herself. “I don’t think my little chapel can contain this much holiness.” Fortunately, no one was listening to her—or so she thought.

The Arch-Diocate Iskerus chuckled beside her; she hadn’t realized he had moved so close. “Yes, I myself only discovered their activity yesterday. It has come as a bit of a shock. They really are nothing like in the old stories and books.” He grinned at her. “I do hope, however, that your chapel can contain a large winged horse that we need to bring through?”

Karis just stared at the Arch-Diocate, still too much in shock to truly process what he was saying.

Citadel of Light: Late Sixth Period

Grob shook his head again and glanced in confirmation at Arch-Diocate Verablis Tierny, the most senior priest of Tiernon on Nysegard after the death of High Pontificate Sessblame sixth months ago. The church had not yet been able to hold a conclave to elect a new high pontificate. Arch-Diocate Tierny shrugged and glanced towards Holy Lord Ranger Rassnon, the head of the Rangers of Torean in the Citadel. All were clearly as dumbstruck as Grob.

“You are telling me, Karis, that a squad of Rangers of Torean, led by an Apostle of Torean, have shown up in my basement with not only an Apostle of Tiernon and an Arch-Diocate of Tiernon, but also a veritable Heavenly Host of both Torean and Tiernon?” He stared at her as if she was nuts.

“Yeah. They are down at the main stables at the moment. As I said, the Divine Prophetess of Tiernon, Inethya is also with them,” Karis noted.

“Yet you say that they have come not to aid us in battle, but to locate a lost Knight Rampant?” Diocate Aeris asked, displaying a rather surprising amount of open incredulity for an alfar.

“It’s not as simple as that,” came a woman’s voice from behind Karis. The blanching on the faces of everyone before her, along with their sudden genuflections, caused Karis to turn around and discover that the Prophetess Inethya had somehow silently entered their sealed conference room.

“Your Holiness!” Arch-Diocate Tierny exclaimed while prostrating himself on the floor.

Inethya gestured for him to rise.

“Forgive us your holiness, but we have heard nothing concrete from Tierhallon for centuries, so an unprecedented contingent of foreigners and avatars suddenly showing up in our basement one night in search of a missing Knight Rampant of Astlan leaves us rather confused,” Diocate Aeris told the prophetess; she was clearly the least intimidated of Karis’s people.

Inethya sighed and gave her a gentle smile. “I understand the confusion; however, we have been constrained in how we may aid Nysegard for several centuries. Tierhallon has determined that it cannot afford to lose anymore avatars in direct conflict on Nysegard, so we have been prohibited from direct intervention. We are only allowed to work through our illuminaries.”

“Yet you can show up now?” Grob asked.

“The retrieval of Sir Talarius has been approved at a higher level than the proscription against direct intervention. Thus I, and others, are allowed to visit Nysegard as long as we are working on retrieving Sir Talarius.”

“So you are not here to aid us against the machinations of the Storm Lords?” Arch-Diocate Tierny asked in a very concerned tone.

“Should the Storm Lords attack while we are here, of course we would defend ourselves and those around us…” Inethya said.

Tierny seemed to relax slightly at this.

Grob, however, wanted more assurance. “And how long are you to be here?” he asked.

The prophetess smiled again. “As long as it takes us to retrieve Sir Talarius. Given that he is some distance away, the recon and planning should take several weeks, and then there’s the execution... I suspect a month or two.”

Grob shrugged at this and then grimaced. “That may be enough. We suspect an attack within a few weeks.”

Inethya’s smile froze. “So imminent?”

“Their forces are rapidly building in nearly every direction. We are looking at a larger initiative from the Storm Lords than we have seen in several centuries,” Diocate Aeris said matter-of-factly.

“Well, then I am sure we will be of assistance,” Inethya said.

Freehold, Havestan Gardens: Late Fifth Period

“Ah, my dear, once more you have prevailed upon the chef of this fine establishment to exceed themselves!” Trisfelt proclaimed, laying his fork down upon his plate.

“Thank you, but all I do is order; they do all the work,” Hilda replied with a smile.

“But you do give them ideas, I suspect?” Trisfelt said softly in a conspiratorial manner.

“Perhaps a hint or two.” Hilda smiled.

“I was sure of it,” Trisfelt stated, looking quite satisfied. “The Council kitchens are overwhelmed preparing food for all the reconstruction workers, and so have little time for fine cuisine.” The thaumaturge shook his head sadly.

“I can only imagine.” Hilda said sympathetically. “The devastation of the two events has been unbelievably extensive.”

“True, and apparently the battle in the great hall, what with the meteors, giant cracks in the floor… well, let us say there was tremendous structural damage to much of the palace’s foundation,” Trisfelt said. “That, in fact, is what keeps me so busy. I am getting no teaching done; I am needed to inspect and work repairs upon so much of the infrastructure.”

Hilda shook her head in shared dismay. “It seems patently unfair. Thaumaturgists build and strengthen while pyromancers and similar simply destroy, and destruction is so much easier than construction. What takes them but minutes to destroy takes you days and months to repair.”

“Indeed. However, I assure you that the conjurors are also working overtime. Maintaining these demon wards is quite exhausting and resource-intensive. Lenamare, Randolf and Damien are working as much overtime as I am in trying to improve our demonic defenses and make them more affordable, resource-wise, to maintain,” Trisfelt explained.

Hilda nodded, then tilted her head. “Did I not hear that the wards could only be maintained so long with the resources within the city?”

Trisfelt nodded. “Indeed. However, in part that has been alleviated because we are nearly exclusively focusing on demonic and extra-planar defense. This simplifies the consumable material component supplies a fair amount. The Church of Tiernon has actually been quite helpful on this front, assisting us in acquiring more of the material components we need. Being in the demon-vanquishing business means they do have the sort of components we need. Jehenna, who is in charge of acquiring material components for the wards, has sent our traders out looking for the additional resources.”

“Interesting. So the Council is actively working with the Rod and Iskerus?” Hilda inquired.

“Indeed, although Iskerus seems to have vanished on some mission for the church; rather odd as we were in the middle of planning how to bring them inside the city, both to shelter them and to add to our defenses for when the archdemons return with their armies.”

“Hmm, these are clearly odd times. The Church and Rod have gone from laying siege to preparing to be besieged.” Hilda shook her head in amazement.

“A great common enemy often has that effect.” Trisfelt chuckled.

Etterdam, Nart Camp: DOA + 11, Early Third Period

Arg-nargoloth surveyed the mock combat being conducted over the plains below him. Given that the Doomalogue on Etterdam was occupied by alvar, they had brought in another two hundred D’Wargs and brought the total D’Orc contingent to forty. More than enough to deal with any mortal alvaran army.

He was hovering in the air next to Ragala-nargoloth, who was on D’Wargback beside him. Watching the clumsy swipes that the orcs were taking at each other, he chuckled and shook his head.

“Something amusing?” Ragala-nargoloth asked him.

“More like a pleasant memory, or perhaps some forgetfulness. It has been so long since we’ve had to train orcs on D’Wargback that one forgets that it is not simply an innate skill,” Arg-nargoloth said.

Ragala-nargoloth twisted her mouth in a grimace. “You must admit the extra dimension, and the rotational abilities of D’Wargs compared to wargs, requires some practice to get accustomed to.”

Arg-nargoloth grinned over at the shaman. “No insult to your warriors. Remember, they are my very distant kin as well. No, it has never been trivial to adjust to aerial combat; not for orcs on D’Wargback, nor for newly arrived D’Orcs. One simply forgets over time.”

Ragala-nargoloth asked, “How long has it been since you were a new D’Orc? You have been a legend for longer than anyone can remember. There are many that do not even believe you were once mortal. They only remember you as the most famous D’Orc of Etterdam.”

Arg-nargoloth closed his eyes, remembering. “It is odd how memories fade with time. Even now, that dark limbo between Orcus’s death and the arrival of Lord Tommus seems but a fugue state of dull memories that are evaporating, and I am recalling Doom’s various battles and training of armies. I have trained, or seen to the training of, hundreds of thousands of orcs and D’Orcs over the millennia, to the point where I do not remember most individual names; however, I still remember my mortal days upon this world with a sharp clarity. The threat of imminent death makes each breath, each thrust of the sword, each gulp of ale all the more glorious and memorable.” The D’Orc shook his head. “I recall that time, those experiences, over seventy-thousand years ago, better than I remember the names of my thousands upon thousands of vanquished foes during the intervening years.”

Ragala-nargoloth whistled.

Arg-nargoloth glanced at her curiously.

“You may actually be older than some of these hills!” She gestured to the hills on the plains.

He chuckled. “I am almost certain that I am. In fact, I believe that several of those hills are where I buried my enemies. There are very few plains in this world where I have not been victorious.”

Arg-nargoloth’s eyes suddenly narrowed, his brow furrowing as he stared straight ahead.

“What is it?” Ragala-nargoloth asked, concerned at the D’Orc’s sudden shift from humor to concern.

After a moment, Arg-nargoloth shook his head, as if clearing it. “Nothing. My thoughtless bragging reminded me that my greatest failure was also upon this world.”

“Your greatest failure?” Ragala-nargoloth asked, puzzled.

“Orcus was betrayed upon this world—my home world. I should have been at his side. My victories here are made hollow by his loss, the loss of thousands of D’Orcs.”

“Thousands of D’Orcs?” Ragala-nargoloth blinked. “What could kill thousands of D’Orcs?”

Arg-nargoloth snorted. “That is something those of us left at Mount Doom have pondered for all these years. It seems inconceivable.”

“It is inconceivable,” Ragala-nargoloth stated.

“Well, in that case, we are going to need to conceive of such a thing, and do it quickly. If it remains unconceivable, then we will be blind when it strikes again,” Arg-nargoloth replied somberly.

Mount Doom: DOA + 11, Early First Period

“I cannot believe we are finally done swearing every man, woman, child and assorted variations,” Tom said, sinking into the Tom-sized couch in his sitting room. Estrebrius and Boggy were playing cards; Reggie was with his mistress. Vaselle and Tamarin were in the library and Tizzy was apparently running around somewhere else, hopefully not bothering Tamarin and Vaselle.

“Is that going to be standard procedure?” Antefalken asked, looking up from where he was scribbling away on one of his ballads.

“What?” Tom looked at him, puzzled.

“Taking oaths from mortals as well as demons and D’Orcs?” Antefalken replied.

“Going to get very time consuming, even for an immortal,” Boggy said, not looking up from his cards.

Tom shook his head. “I don’t believe so. My understanding is that traditionally only the D’Orcs and allied demons swore oaths. Nysegard, because of its beleaguered state, is an exception.”

“So, what are you going to do with all your free time starting tomorrow?” Antefalken asked with a grin.

“You could play cards with us,” Estrebrius suggested.

Tom shook his head and grinned at Estrebrius before turning his head back to Antefalken. “What free time? Phaestus and the rest of the remaining Tartarvardenennead want us to get back in the Oubliette classroom.”

Antefalken shook his head. “The headaches and responsibilities associated with running the most famous dungeon in the multiverse...”

Tom chuckled. “Well, to be fair, I did prefer to be the dungeon master, rather than the player.”

Antefalken frowned, not getting the reference.

“Never mind.” Tom waved it off. He had preferred being DM, but now, with these invasive memories, he was at risk of being one of the monsters from the Monster Manual. The dreaded “wandering Orcus.” He had to chuckle, remembering his frustration with amateur DMs who thought you could just drop a demon prince, a unique individual, into a dungeon with no motivation or even logic. At least he wasn’t Demogorgon. He’d never liked the two-headed demon.

No, he, Tom, was not some imaginary demon prince wandering around in a sub-volcanic labyrinth. He was a real person in an unreal situation. The thought of actually being the reincarnation of some mythological creature... Inconceivable.

Vosh Anon’s face suddenly flashed before his mind’s eye, the D’Orc’s sardonic grin mocking his trepidation over some endeavor. Tom shook his head at the vividness of the memory. I keep using that word, inconceivable; perhaps it does not mean what I think it does, he suddenly thought to himself, hearing the voice of Inigo Montoya.

“You okay?” Boggy asked.

“You sort of blanked out,” Antefalken said.

Tom shook his head. “No, just thinking, lost in my thoughts. But there’s no time for navel gazing! I need to get Vaselle and set up his portable portal links with Ragala-nargoloth and Farsooth.”

“And then I need to make a gateway for Beya to send another two dozen D’Wargs for their allies.”

“No rest for the wicked!” Antefalken said with a grin.

“What? Only two dozen? Ragala-nargoloth wanted a hundred!” Boggy said.

“She’s going into hostile territory,” Tom noted.

“Yes, but forty D’Orcs?” Antefalken shook his head in disbelief, shifting back to seriousness. “That’s like forty greater demons!”

“Orcus had a lot more than that last time he was in Etterdam. That did not turn out so well,” Tom said morosely.

“Yeah. Okay, then,” Antefalken agreed.

Chapter 134

The Inferno: Mid Third Period

“There are definitely advantages to not needing sleep,” Arch-Vicar General Barabus observed as XO Stevensword finished his status report. The crew had been working around the clock to repair the ship and they had just received welcome news of these efforts.

“Sleep?” Sir Samwell asked Barabus with a wry grin. “Do you have any idea how long it has been since I had a good night’s rest?”

“I would assume one thousand, four hundred and eighty-six years, give or take a few months,” Heron replied.

“Yes, that would be correct.” Sir Samwell nodded to the wing arms master. “More or less.”

“In any event, while we are now mobile and our defenses much improved, we are still unable to plane shift,” Captain Cranshall said. “Wing Arms Master? Is it your desire that we resume our searching while we continue repairs?”

Heron nodded. “We might as well continue. Arch-Vicar General?” Heron looked to Barabus.

Barabus nodded. “Temerlain and his priests have scanned this area, so I would suggest we proceed as we had been for now.”

“Yes, back to searching for a small, eighth-of-a-carat diamond on a very large beach.” Sir Samwell smiled as he unhelpfully reminded them of the task at hand.

Ithgar, West of Orcopolis

Rupert grinned, as did Fer Rog, as they watched Aggfred and Snoggard reel on their D’Wargs as they flew through the morning air. Their two new friends were still glarghvosted from last night’s leave-taking party. The two had foolishly re-challenged Rupert and Fer Rog to another drinking contest, trying to recapture their honor.

It had worked out about as well as two nights before. He supposed at some point they would have to tell their new friends the truth, maybe. He shook his head; it was good to be moving again. The last two days had been spent in boring planning sessions.

Apparently, the location of Ithgar’s Doomalogue was in the middle of a desert with some generally disagreeable tribes. It was for this reason that the Deathfingers were sending twenty of their own, including the Deathfinger heir, Orcag’s son, Aggfred, and his shield-mate, Snoggard, to negotiate passage.

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 binding 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, yes, 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.

Phaestus smiled. “Let me try to make it simpler. There are the material planes, which in many ways are simply one many-faceted plane with infinite reflections. The Æsir, Vanir and Jötunn refer to all the material planes as Midgard, the middle world. Between the Outer Planes and Midgard lies Limbo, and between Midgard and the Abyss lies Purgatory.”

“So when Tizzy told me that the Abyss was two planes down from Astlan, the one plane down was—or is—Purgatory?” Tom asked.

“Exactly!” Boggy nodded, as did Phaestus.

“Okay…” Tom said slowly. “I think I’m going to leave questions about these two planes until later. We have a few other things to deal with first.”

The group looked at him expectantly. “Karth Death Cheater, one of the greatest orc shamans of the last thousand years on the Isle of Doom, is nearing death. We, the council and Targh Bowelsplitter have decided that Karth would make a great D’Orc shaman,” Tom informed them.

“I would agree,” Phaestus said, nodding. “And we need more D’Orcs as well.”

“Do you know how to, uhm, D’Orc someone?” Antefalken asked.

Tom nodded. “Tamarin, Vaselle and several first-generation D’Orc shamans are working on recreating the ritual.”

“Excellent! This shall be really interesting,” Antefalken exclaimed. “I cannot wait to see this. I am getting a treasure trove of knowledge here!”

“Yes, but there is a small hitch,” Tom said.

“What?” Estrebrius asked.

“We need Tizzy,” Tom said.

Everyone except Phaestus shook their heads or made similar gestures of disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Boggy said. “I do not think I heard you correctly. He’s my partner, and while there have been many times I have needed him, pretty sure I am the only other person to feel that way.”

“We need demon weed,” Tom said. “And apparently that is what he smokes in his pipe. He is the only person I know that has any.” Tom sighed and looked at Boggy. “Unfortunately, he has been mysteriously absent the last few days. I was hoping you might have some way to contact him? You are his partner, after all.

Boggy grimaced and shook his head slowly. “Sorry. He somehow finds me all the time, but it is only when he chooses. I have no idea how to contact him. To be honest, it has been a problem more than once.”

“Dang.” Tom sighed. “We haven’t got much time. Karth overextended himself using magic, and now he is paying the price, and it is killing him. Tamarin is hoping to buy him some more time, but she cannot buy much.”

Phaestus shook his head. “That is unfortunate. I love Tizzy like a brother, but he is not the most reliable person.”

The room was silent as everyone thought. After a few moments, Reggie coughed, causing everyone to look at him. “Uhm...” he said hesitantly.

“Idea, lad?” Boggy asked.

“Well, I have, and we”—he glanced to Phaestus—“suspect that Völund may have a stash of cookies we could use,” Reggie said rather hesitantly.

“As I recall, he did not eat any cookies at the party,” Boggy said.

Phaestus nodded. “As I told Reggie, Völund does not ‘officially’ eat cookies; millennia ago he used to complain that cookies were slowing people down, making them lazy. However, at the party I did notice him pocketing a good number.” The god grinned.

Tom grimaced and shook his head slightly, not understanding. “What do you mean? How would cookies help?”

It was Phaestus’s turn to cough, and Tom turned to look at him.

“Tizzy’s cookies are made with demon butter,” the god said.

“What?” Tom asked, still not understanding.

“They are edibles,” Reggie said. “You know, Colorado Cookies?”

Tom’s head went back in surprise. “You mean they’re pot cookies?”

Phaestus shrugged. “Demon pot cookies.”

“Yeah, they are to pot what x-glargh is to glargh,” Reggie said. “X-pot, I guess.”

“We are already calling it demon weed. So I would stick with d-pot, or d-weed,” Boggy suggested.

Reggie made a thoughtful expression. “I suppose, but then why don’t we call x-glargh, d-glargh, to be consistent?”

“Because the D’Orcs started calling it x-glargh first, and it’s too hard to get them to change their habits,” Phaestus explained.

“So x-glargh predates demon weed?” Reggie asked.

Phaestus shook his head. “No, demon weed came first. Orcus needed it to make D’Orcs. However, in the day we didn’t call it demon weed. It has had other names. Remember, these things all sort of evolve naturally over time, linguistic habits and such.”

Tom shook his head. He liked his friends, but their ability to go completely off topic was extremely frustrating. Perhaps he was spending too much time with the D’Orcs. He sighed out loud. “Fascinating discussion,” he interrupted. “Reggie, round up all the cookies you can find. I have no idea how much we’ll need.”

“Do you want me to check with Rupert and Fer-Rog as well?” Reggie asked.

Tom furrowed his brow, wondering what Reggie was talking about. Suddenly, Tom remembered the oath taking celebration and Rupert and Fer-Rog sitting in the corner, eating a giant pile of cookies! Tom closed his eyes and carefully pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed it was a good thing he really wasn’t Rupert’s father, because he was clearly very bad at being a dad.

Citadel of Light: DOA +12, Mid First Period

Hilda followed the Ranger of Torean through the labyrinthine halls of the Citadel of Light. Hilda held her tongue from making the observation that for a “Citadel of Light” the place seemed rather dark, gloomy and oppressive. Admittedly, it was the middle of the night, even later in the Citadel than in Freehold. What with being completely different planets, locations on planets and whatnot, it was probably more surprising that it was only a few hours later. Of course, given also that years and dates were completely different, perhaps it wasn’t that odd.

She shook her head; it was a bit confusing. Obviously, she was well schooled in the nature of the multiverse and was a resident of Tierhallon and such; however, she actually had very little experience with traveling to different worlds. All her life, her work, her mission, had always been focused in, on and around Astlan. Tierhallon, of course, had no night, no day, no real fixed schedules. Night and day were generally arbitrary and varied from location to location. Avatars had no actual need to sleep, either; however, most did when they could just to break up the day and give themselves some down time so that they could refresh themselves. However, when working in Astlan, or for that matter, anywhere on the material planes, one tended to resume thinking in terms of fixed night and day; and given how much time she was spending in Astlan, her mindset was tuned to its cycles.

It was actually quite refreshing to be temporarily entrenched within the trappings of mortality and the concerns of night and day. Which brought her to one of the more interesting things about the Citadel of Light. The Citadel was actually as active, if not more active, at night than during the day.

The hallways of this giant fortress were bustling with people, a truly amazing variety of races actually, going to and fro on their daily, or in this case, nightly business. The Ranger leading her, while Astlanian, had been here for about a day and a half and as a scout, had quickly figured out the lay of the land and informed her that the Citadel of Light worked in three shifts, around the clock. “Eternal Vigilance Against the Night” was their watch phrase.

It made quite a bit of sense to Hilda; the undead were far more active at night than during the day. Thus, if an attack were to come, it would most likely happen during the night. Vampires, vampyrs, specters and numerous other Unlife did not get along well with fierdlight, or atunlight in this case. Zombies and ghouls were, of course, fine during the light of day. Liches, while light sensitive, had magical protection, but tended to rely on armies and servants that shunned the day.

This should be an interesting adventure. Her specialty, of course, was Unlife. Fighting the Unlife was what had gotten her martyred and thus ascended. Her primary patronage was defense against the Unlife, her secondaries being women and children, so naturally, in many ways she should be right at home. She had studied extensively on the lore and how to defeat Unlife in saint school.

By and large, Unlife outbreaks in Astlan were not that common. The Knights Rampant were more than enough to deal with most cases. Hilda typically only had to intervene when someone was trapped, alone and in need of help against Unlife, much as she herself had been when she died.

The Ranger leading her stopped at a good-sized, iron-banded wooden door and knocked. A voice from within called, “Come in.” The Ranger opened the door and stuck his head in. “Saint Hilda of Rivenrock, Your Holiness.”

“Excellent. Send her in!” a second, deeper and louder voice exclaimed. The Ranger stepped back and motioned for Hilda to enter.

She entered the room, her guide closing the door behind her. Sitting at a table strewn with various maps were Stevos and Timbly. Both men stood as she entered, and Hilda noted them eyeing her picnic basket.

“Hilda? Did you bring some of your delicious wine?” Timbly asked with great anticipation.

“Of course. You do not think I would arrive empty-handed, do you?” Hilda asked.

“Thank Tiernon and Torean! The wine here is only a step or two above Murgatroy,” Stevos exclaimed.

“Where do you get such delicious wines?” Timbly asked as Hilda set the basket on an empty chair. Stevos cleared the maps so that Hilda might set bottles and glasses on the table.

“Historically, I have simply accumulated interesting wines as I found them, and kept them in my wine closet,” Hilda told them. “However, as this mission goes on, my closet has become increasingly bare, so I’ve taken to scouring the wine purveyors of Freehold. Fortunately, given that Beragamos also has an exquisite palate, he has taken to approving my expense reports.”

“I suspect Moradel and Sentir would as well.” Stevos grinned.

“Indeed, yet even they must follow at least some protocols. Beragamos, on the other hand, answers only to our lord god.” Hilda smiled back as she uncorked the first bottle.

“I suspect he would also approve your expense reports,” Stevos said, waving the cork beneath his nose for the aroma and with his thumb. He checked the moistness of the cork. It was important that the cork be sufficiently moist to guarantee that bottle had been stored on its side and not upright. Further, by examining the dust lines on the bottle, one could hopefully make some determination of periodic rotation. One wanted to ensure that the bottle had properly settled, yet not in any way separated.

Hilda began pouring the wine. “I should so pray,” she said, grinning at the two of them. She finished pouring and took a seat, as did the other two.

Hilda raised her glass in a toast. “To our mission! May the grace of Tiernon and Torean be with us!”

“To our mission; may Grace be with us!” the other two saints agreed in response, all three clinking their glasses.

“So what progress?” Hilda asked after taking a sip. She smiled slightly, enjoying the flavors of the wine. It was exactly as she had hoped.

“Interesting,” Timbly said.

Hilda looked at him questioningly. “Not quite the response I was expecting.”

“It is slow going, even with Inethya here,” Stevos replied, shaking his head.

“How so? We do not require that much,” Hilda said.

Timbly sighed. “Apparently things are a bit bleaker here than they have been in centuries.”

“From what I’ve heard of this place, I find that disturbing,” Hilda said.

“Indeed,” Stevos agreed. “The High Pontificate of Tiernon upon Nysegard, Sessblame, perished about six months ago.”

“Of decidedly unnatural causes,” Timbly said, raising his eyebrows while preparing to take a sip of wine.

“Quarter-months or full months?” Hilda asked.

“Month months. Nysegard only has a single moon,” Timbly said.

“A single moon?” Hilda asked in consternation. “I would think that would be highly unstable. How could you balance the masculine and feminine astrological influences?” She shook her head. “I’d be terrified of the moon plunging into the planet’s surface!”

Stevos shook his head. “I know! But for some reason, it is apparently stable. I cannot explain it, but then astrology has never been my strong suit. It’s all science to me!” He waved his hands dismissively.

Timbly nodded. “From what I can gather, I believe it was about nine to ten quarter-months ago, Astlan time.”

“So they suspect a plot by the Storm Lords?” Hilda asked.

“Indeed. Further, new activities of the Storm Lords is making it difficult for the arch-diocates to assemble to select a new High Pontificate,” Stevos said. “In particular, there is increasing evidence that they are moving to attack this particular stronghold, the largest fortress of the Five Siblings upon Nysegard.”

“So these movements of the Storm Lords’ minions, that is what is limiting their resources for assisting us?” Hilda asked.

“Yes, in large part,” Timbly said. “In particular, the Dark Fleet seems to be working to blockade Namora’s vessels trying to reach the Citadel. Ships are making it out, but none returning have been able to pass.”

Hilda shook her head slightly. It was quite disturbing if Namora’s ships could be blockaded. That was not something that happened in Astlan. Ever. “Well, I had not really thought to go by sea,” she said. “I was rather expecting to locate a luminary closer to where Talarius was and use that link to open a portal.”

“Not so easy,” Stevos said, shaking his head. “Apparently there are no priests or other illuminaries of Tiernon upon the Isle of Doom.”

“There may be a few Rangers, but we are having trouble tracking them down,” Timbly said.

“The priests of Torean here don’t know where their Rangers are?” Hilda asked.

“The Rangers are heavily deployed and concentrated around our various strongholds,” Timbly said. “Those that are far afield tend to be very far afield. Travel to the Isle of Doom is very time-consuming, short of a portal. So there may be some Rangers there, or they may be en route to or from. The infrastructure is far more concentrated and limited in Nysegard, compared to Astlan.”

“And I cannot say that our contacts here are as helpful as we might like,” Stevos said.

That caused Hilda to do a double take. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it appears that they, or at least the servants of Tiernon, are feeling a bit underserved by their avatars,” Stevos said drily, taking another sip.

“Underserved?” Hilda asked.

“They seem most put out that no saint or avatar of Tiernon has shown up on Nysegard in a thousand-plus years, despite the often urgent need, given their fight against evil, yet a small Heavenly Host appears out of the blue to rescue a single Knight Rampant from Astlan,” Stevos answered.

“As Inethya was told, rather sternly, Nysegard has lost a large number of Knights Rampant in the last thousand-plus years, and yet no assistance from Tierhallon appeared,” Timbly said. “And to be fair, Toreanhold has generally followed Tierhallon’s lead in this regard. Although not quite as rigidly. There have been a couple minor interventions.”

“This is due to Sentir Fallon’s desire to not lose any more avatars?” Hilda asked.

Stevos nodded, raising his glass slightly.

“I understand the desire to not lose avatars, in particular saints, who would be the front line. However,” she said, gesturing around at the Citadel, “clearly such a battle-rich environment would provide more than ample opportunities for ascension of new saints?”

Stevos nodded slightly. “That was my thought. Having seen a good part of this fortress, and listened to reports of what is going on, I would think there would be more than enough heroic deaths in the face of evil to merit a steady stream of saints.” He shrugged. “And yes, many would be younger, newer saints, but that would still allow for greater holy resources than that which any mortal could provide.”

“Certainly there is more than sufficient mana generation and worship to provide very good mana streams relative to the population size,” Timbly added.

“Yet Tierhallon is not promoting more?” Hilda asked.

“Correct. Inethya was rather silent on this; however, it was clear that she was aware of the issue and seemed genuinely frustrated by it.” Stevos said.

“As in her hands were tied, so to speak?” Hilda asked.

“Exactly.” Stevos nodded, as did Timbly. Hilda simply shook her head.

Mount Doom: Late Second Period

Tom returned to his suite from the Library of Doom, where he, Vaselle, Tamarin and three D’Orc shamans from Nysegard had spent the last several hours going over their preparations for the “D’Orcing.” That was Tom’s preferred term, although technically it was considered an ascension by the orcs. He’d reserved his comments upon his thoughts about the term, but given that they were sending the orc to the Abyss, he felt “descension” might be a better term. That, however, would be counterproductive to team morale.

He opened his door and stopped in surprise at the sight of Boggy, Estrebrius, and Tizzy playing poker at this late hour. “You three are still up?” he asked.

“No rest for the wicked!” Tizzy quipped. The others grinned.

Tom shook his head. Antefalken had used the same expression just the other day. Very odd how certain cultural expressions seemed to cross the multiverse. Extremely odd, in fact; however, if he were going to start counting everything that did not add up around here, he would get nothing else done.

“Where have you been?” he asked the octopod. “No one has seen hide nor hair of you for several days!”

Tizzy blinked, lowered his cards, tilted and turned his head to stare at Tom in shock. “What? You noticed?”

Tom shook his head at the crazy demon. “Of course, I noticed!” Of course, he almost hadn’t, but… “Do you think if you simply run off and disappear for days on end that I won’t miss you?”

Tizzy put his cards down. “Miss me?”

“Yeah, you know, notice that you are gone? You are not exactly inconspicuous.”

Suddenly there was a loud clattering as Tizzy’s chair tilted over and the octopod came running at Tom. Tom was too shocked to do more than stare as the demon slammed into him and hugged him.

“You missed me! You really missed me?” Tizzy was hugging Tom tightly, burying his face in Tom’s chest. “I can’t believe this! No one has ever missed me before!” The demon suddenly let go and started spinning around, waving his arms. “Tom missed me! He missed me! Someone missed me! Happy day! Happy day!” he shouted.

Tom looked over to Boggy and Estrebrius. Estrebrius, at least, looked as surprised as Tom felt. Boggy just shrugged, shook his head and leaned in to try and peek at Tizzy’s cards.

Tom sighed, watching the demon dancing with joy. Tizzy seemed genuinely happy and joyous, yet Tom could not help but suspect that it was also sarcastic on some level. It had to be. One had to believe that a demon that was tens, if not hundreds of thousands of years old would be a bit more composed. But as everyone was quick to point out, Tizzy was not a typical demon.

“So where were you?” Tom asked.

Tizzy stopped spinning and grinned at Tom. “Gardening.”

That was not what he’d expected to hear. He had no idea what he had expected, but that was not it.

“Gardening?” Estrebrius asked. At least Tom wasn’t the only one confused.

“Yeah. Had a problem with some vermin burrowing into my garden.” Tizzy nodded enthusiastically.

“Where do you have a garden in the Abyss?” Estrebrius asked.

“Oh, the garden is not in the Abyss. Here everything is hydroponics,” Tizzy said.

“Hydroponics? Water farming? You know that’s almost as odd,” Tom said.

Tizzy tilted his head right to left and back a couple times. “Not if you have professional-grade equipment, climate control and enclosed grow chambers.”

“How did you get all that?” Estrebrius asked.

“Ahem.” Boggy cleared his throat and grinned. “I have connections—or rather, I had connections. Money talks.”

“Where did you get money?” Estrebrius asked looking back and forth between Tizzy and Boggy.

“Trading, of course. We are business partners after all,” Boggy stated as if it was obvious.

Tom just shook his head. True, Boggy had told him they were partners. At first he had thought Boggy had meant they were domestic partners; however, they had quickly clarified that they were, in fact, business partners. Tom had never thought to ask them what business they were in. As he was thinking this, something suddenly clicked.

“Wait. You said you were gardening, and you had to deal with pests?” Tom asked Tizzy.

“Uhm, yes, I just said that a couple sentences ago. You need to pay more attention,” Tizzy said, shaking his head.

“Yes, and it was not in the Abyss,” Tom said.

Tizzy nodded, not seeing Tom’s point.

“How did you get to Midgard? I thought you had to have someone summon you?” Tom asked suspiciously.

Tizzy grinned and made a gesture in front of his chest, as if tracing a cord. “I have an accursed master who owes me a favor!”

“Hey!” Boggy exclaimed, looking at Estrebrius, “he owes us a favor too! We too kicked lichy butt for him!”

Tom frowned. They were clearly talking about Gastropé and the whole cloudship thing. He really should get more details on that. That had happened at Hell Springs Eternal, just shortly before their trip to Doom, so he really hadn’t heard the whole story. He knew there had been liches on ice dragons; was there any correlation to the Storm Lords of Nysegard? That was probably something he should explore.

Appendix V: Hilda’s Saint School Notes on the Undead and the Unlife

Chapter 135

Isle of Doom: DOA + 12, Dawn

Tom watched the sun, or rather Atun, rise above the horizon from Doom’s Watch, the extremely high watchtower on a peak near the main volcano. This tower was used by the shamans, Valg in particular, to scan for potential threats. For the last few centuries it had not been continuously manned; rather, the shamans took turns coming up every few hours at semi-random intervals to do scans.

It had originally been built in the earliest days of the Doomalogue, before the full monitoring network had been deployed, and then again after the fall of Doom, when the monitoring network was down. The Storm Lords had been relatively quiescent for several centuries, at least by comparison, so they had gone to random watches. The Doomalogue was so far inland that Targh and the other elders felt that the outer watch towers and patrols would give them enough advanced information that they could be confident of the reduced schedule.

Tom really had no opinion on that. He knew very little about combat, tactics or strategy other than what he had read in fantasy novels. He was quite fortunate to be surrounded by commanders with thousands—tens of thousands, in fact—years of experience. That is just still too surreal, Tom thought to himself, thinking about being around people with tens of thousands of years of experience.

He stared intently at the atunrise, his demon eyes automatically polarizing to shield themselves. He wanted to concentrate on the beauty of the atunrise in order to suppress his own uncertainties. As he seemed to be always observing, he was in way over his head trying to lead others that were thousands upon thousands of years his elders, and soon he would be tested.

They were about to try and ascend the first orc, create the first new D’Orc in over four thousand years. If they failed, if he failed, it would be a bad omen to everyone. A sign that he was not fit to lead them. Technically, of course, no sign was needed; he was unfit, unworthy to lead them. However, he was trapped by their hope, their expectations; he had to succeed and validate their misplaced faith in him.

Tom found it more than ironic that a month or two ago, he had been wallowing in self-indulgent pity about how everyone expected him to be a horrible monster, and how their expectations were driving him to be a horrible monster. Memories of that soldier in the woods that he had “popped” suddenly raced through his mind. Today, however, he was wallowing in self-indulgent pity about everyone expecting him to be a great hero, a savior.

He shook his head. When the pendulum of expectations swung, it certainly swung far and hard. Whatever happened to just being a normal seventeen-year-old, looking forward to his junior and senior year of high school and then college?

Tom laughed, thinking about college and also thinking about the party after the oath taking at Mount Doom; at least he was getting a more intense party experience then most kids got in college. Orcs partied hard, and so did D’Orcs. There had been drinking and celebration after every oath taking in Nysegard. He had been at parties almost every night since coming here.

If anything, if felt as if those in Nysegard drank more heavily, or perhaps more seriously than those in Doom. In Doom, it has been a truly joyous celebration, they were coming out of a very despondent time. That had been hard and heavy drinking, but with a very light-hearted nature. At least until the morning after; now that battle had been a hangover.

Here, though, in Nysegard, Tom sensed a more cautious, somber and yes, even sober nature to their drinking. He suspected it had to do with knowing that you could literally die the next day, or worse, become undead, cursed with a hunger for animus to appease one’s undying hunger.

Memories of battlefields with ravenous ghouls and ghasts, led by vampires with brilliantly glowing red eyes suddenly swirled across Tom’s mind. A vampyr’s maw wrapped around his forearm, trying to gnaw it off. Tom shook his head. Damn it!

He had come into Nysegard to avoid dreams of such things. He had lain down on his bed after shooing his friends off to their own rooms, and then tossed and turned, kept awake by both the coming ascension and his fear of sleeping and the insidious dreams of Orcus. He had decided to head to Nysegard, where he need not sleep and could review the preparations that were underway for this evening’s ceremony. And yet, the dreams—or at least, the memories represented within the dreams—had followed him.

He had never even heard of a vampyr before, yet he had known with certainty that the ultra-toothy ravenous beast gnawing on his forearm was a vampyr, an alternate strain of vampirism. He shook his head. Vampyrs looked very much like the Fright Night vampires, except they were even more toothy, with two rows of teeth on top and bottom in their unbelievably wide mouths. Far more frightening in appearance and far more unreasonable than normal vampires.

Normal vampires were people, or perhaps un-people? They were intelligent; at least as intelligent as whoever they had been when alive. Vampyrs, however, had far greater, far less controllable hunger; one could only reason with them when they were satiated and in their human form. Tom blinked and thought, How did I know this? This is not standard Bram Stoker sort of knowledge.

“Shit!” he cursed. Enough of this. He could not be allowed to be alone with his thoughts. He leaped into the air and dove towards the side entrance of Mount Doom. It was time to get busy with the day.

Citadel of Light: Early Third Period

Teragdor stood upon the outer rampart of the Citadel’s eastern wall. It was a very impressive stone wall, nearly one hundred and fifty feet high. He had never seen such a massive fortification. The Citadel truly lived up to its name; it was a mighty fortress and city surrounded by concentric walls on three sides, and a formidable wall and incredibly steep cliff to the west that dropped two hundred feet into the rocky sea.

The Citadel’s harbor was a one-hundred-foot wide inlet in the cliff; a giant wall and sea gate blockaded it. The docks were all at sea level and access was through lifts and easily defended passageways within the cliff. Teragdor had not traveled that widely in Astlan, but he had never heard of anything like this there.

He supposed this was what happened when one had over fifteen thousand years to build a fortress. That was when the construction of the Citadel had begun: fifteen thousand years ago. Teragdor was not even certain if any kingdom, nation, or civilization on Astlan, outside the alfar, had even survived that long. Obviously, the alfar had royal lineage on that timescale and longer. Perhaps, on Nysegard, it was the close work of the alfar, dwarves, humans, orcs and others that had allowed this civilization, this society, to survive so long, particularly in the face of such adversity.

He shook his head, once again marveling at the strangeness of his own thoughts. Alfar and orcs working together? To say these were interesting times was so far beyond an understatement. He sighed and then peered down to the giant moat below them. He suddenly realized that something odd was going on. He had not been paying much attention to all the activity along the extremely wide and long moat that wrapped the giant fortress, but he now realized that the activity was quite strange. Or at least he thought it was; he was not that familiar with moats. Only the largest fortifications in Murgandy had true moats.

This moat was not a dirt channel filled with muck; no, it was a solid stone-lined channel with gigantic, shaped stones on par with those of the walls. What was odd was that the water level in the moat seemed noticeably lower than it had been when he had arrived. Further, there were boats cruising along the sides of the moat, with workers doing something.

“What in Tiernon’s name are they are doing?” Teragdor asked out loud to no one.

“Apt, I suppose, in that Vicar General Darkness Slayer has ordered it in the name of Tiernon and his siblings,” a voice replied a short distance away.

Teragdor jumped. While he knew there were a number of other people along this section of the rampart, he had not realized that anyone was so close. To his right, about ten feet away, was a middle-aged human in the robes of a priest of Krinna, Goddess of the Wind and Sky.

Teragdor chuckled at the priest’s response and nodded at him.

The priest took this as an invitation to approach and came closer, nodding in respect at Teragdor. “I am Leighton, priest of Krinna,” he said with a smile.

Teragdor nodded in return. “Teragdor, prie—apostle of Tiernon.” He grinned at his inadvertent slip of the tongue. He was not yet accustomed to his new title. It sounded so presumptuous.

“I must admit, I had assumed as much.” Leighton smiled back at him. “We do not see a lot of apostles in Nysegard of any god, let alone Tiernon.”

Teragdor nodded and tilted his head in wry response. “Nor in Astlan. It has been at least a thousand years since there have been any apostles of the Five Siblings in Astlan.”

“And now there are two. Are things that bad there?” Leighton asked in concern.

Teragdor frowned. “That is a complicated question to answer.”

“Complicated? An apostle of Torean and an apostle of Tiernon at the same time,” Leighton said, raising an eyebrow. “Seems rather obviously dire.”

Teragdor grimaced. “In the grand scheme of things, yes. In the immediate term, I should think less dire than here.” He gestured to all the activity going on down below.

Leighton chuckled. “Indeed. Yet every day here is dire, a never-ending struggle for Life against Unlife; and yes, things are starting to appear direr than in centuries.”

Teragdor nodded. “So what is it that they are doing in the moat? If war or a siege is coming, then draining the moat does not seem like the most obvious course of action.”

Leighton grinned widely and nodded. “They are not exactly draining it.” Teragdor raised an eyebrow. Leighton continued, “Yes, they are draining the current water from the moat and are about to cleanse the entire system and then purify and sanctify it. After that, it will be refilled with Holy Water.”

Teragdor blinked, nonplussed. He looked back down at the giant moat, it had to be over fifty feet wide, thirty or forty feet deep and encircled the citadel—thousands of feet long. “Holy Water?”

Leighton nodded. “The Sacred Water of the Five.”

Teragdor’s mouth dropped open for a moment. The Sacred Water of the Five was something he had, of course, heard about, but never encountered. It was Holy Water that was jointly blessed and sanctified by all five of the Siblings. It was thus rare outside of New Etonia and the Holy Etonian Empire, and in general only used for imperial functions such as blessing heirs and nobles of the empire.

“That is a lot of Holy Water.” Teragdor shook his head.

“Indeed. We have very large vats within the citadel where we prepare it and then, when times require, we fill the moat and catapult bombs with it,” Leighton replied.

Catapult bombs? Teragdor suddenly understood the purpose of the platforms hanging below the wall. He had noticed them earlier. On the inside of the wall he was currently on, there were platforms on rails stationed about thirty feet down, at inserts. Inside the inserts were wheeled carts, obviously intended to roll out onto the platforms and be raised to the top of the wall as needed.

“The Holy Water in the moat is continuously cycled through the vat system to be re-consecrated, as well as to ensure that the water is continuously running in the moats. Thus, not only do we have a ground deterrent, but also an aerial deterrent for those Unlife that cannot cross running water,” Leighton explained.

“Incredible,” Teragdor breathed in awe.

Leighton shrugged. “We do what we can. Thirty thousand-plus years of never-ending war tends to spur advancements.”

Isle of Doom: Early Fourth Period

Tom, Boggy, Tizzy and Estrebrius wandered down the path from the volcano to Krallnomton, or more precisely, the henge there. Reggie, Völund and Targh, along with Valg and Kroth-bitor, one of the three first generation D’Orc shamans, were examining a leather bag that Reggie was holding.

“How is it going?” Tom asked.

“We have rounded up all the cookies we could find,” Völund replied.

“Why are you rounding up cookies?” Tizzy asked. “They aren’t horses or D’Wargs; I hope you aren’t planning on riding them.”

Targh rolled his eyes and replied, “We are preparing to ascend Karth Death Cheater.”

“Ascend? As in D’Orcination?” Tizzy asked, sounding surprised.

“Exactly,” Völund said.

“I know that I’ve said this before, but you’re sending him to the Abyss. Isn’t that more of a descension?” Tizzy asked.

Tom glanced at the octopod. He was suddenly disturbed that Tizzy was speaking aloud the very same thoughts he had had. Almost verbatim. That was rather frightening.

Völund sighed and turned to Kroth-bitor, ignoring Tizzy. “Do you want to grind the cookies up?”

“Ack! What? What? Grind up my cookies! My epicurean delights? My babies of buttah!” Tizzy suddenly shifted to his yenta voice on the word “butter.” “How dare you, sirs! Have you no respect for high-end gourmet edibles! These cookies have won Best Cookie of the Year, every year, from High Times magazine. And with different judges every year—apparently each year’s judges have mysteriously disappeared shortly after the contest,” Tizzy said, his voice descending to an almost conspiratorial whisper with the last phrase. “No idea why,” he continued his rambling subtext, scratching his chin. “I suspect they feel they have reached edible nirvana and so no longer wish to tempt fate with potentially lesser consumables in subsequent years.”

Targh grunted. “As you know, we need demon weed, and this was what we had in your absence. We had no idea where you were, you just up and vanished on us.”

Tizzy grinned mischievously. “So you are saying that you missed me?”

“We could not find you. I think the phrase ‘misplaced you’ is more accurate,” Völund said quickly before Targh could respond.

Tizzy glared at him. “You aren’t being very nice to someone who has something you want!” he said, sounding quite miffed.

“Do you have demon weed on you?” Tom asked, trying to cut this off.

“Is my name Tiss-asteratorh-atora-Dale Forgenzatola-makafolah?” Tizzy asked.

“Not that we know of,” Boggy said.

“Oh.” Tizzy stopped abruptly, looking puzzled. He twisted his lips, thinking. “What is my name? I am pretty sure I wrote it down somewhere.” He shook his head, seemingly completely distracted. “Where did I write that? Was it in my journal?”

Boggy gave him a puzzled expression. “You do not have a journal.”

Tizzy looked back at him, equally puzzled. “You mean I don’t have a personal journal where I put all my hopes, fears, dreams and ideas?”

Boggy simply shook his head.

Tizzy scrunched his eyes together and then suddenly released them, opening them wide. “You are right; that’s my friend Jenn!” He grinned. “Some really juicy stuff in there.”

“Tizzy,” Tom stated rather sternly. The little demon was going off the rails again. “Do you have any demon weed that we can use for the ascension?”

“Oh. Right.” Tizzy shook his head and seemed to get more focused. “Sure, just let me reach into my stash and get you some.”

“Everyone avert your eyes! I am pretty sure we don’t know want to see where he keeps it!” Boggy shouted. Reggie giggled and Estrebrius chuckled.

Tizzy glared at him and shook his head. He stuck out his lower right fist and opened it palm down. A small leather pouch dropped from his palm, suspended by a small drawstring wrapped around his ring finger.

“I keep it in my hand. Where do you think I keep it?” Tizzy demanded of Boggy.

“Well…” Boggy shrugged. “I’ve never known. I suspected…”

“Suspected?” Tizzy asked, squinting.

“Never mind,” Boggy replied, closing his eyes.

“How much do you need?” Tizzy asked.

“Well… we are still trying to figure that out. We were just going to use all that we had,” Tom said.

Tizzy looked shocked. “No, no, no. Particularly not with an edible. Not for a D’Orcing!”

“How much do we need?” Targh asked Tizzy.

“Well, let’s see.” Tizzy frowned, thinking. He started counting on his fingers. “One pipe bowl for the victim—ahem—applicant, one for Orcus, one for each shaman present, and then every three D’Orcs in the summoning circle can share a bowl. I, of course, will need a bowl.”

“Orcus isn’t here,” Völund stated.

“Oh. That might be a problem.” Tizzy paused, as if surprised. “Hmm, in that case, Tom will do.”

Tom closed his eyes in frustration. Was it just him, or did it seem like Tizzy was off his meds today? Or was it that he was more on them than usual?

“And why do you need a bowl? Are you planning on being in the ceremony?” Targh asked.

“No. I’m just a spectator,” Tizzy replied.

“So why do you need a bowl?” Targh asked.

“Dude, it’s his weed, man!” Reggie exclaimed.

Tizzy grinned and pointed a finger at Reggie. “Exactly! You know, another hundred thousand years and I might actually like you!” Reggie frowned at that. Tizzy stuck out his tongue.

“I don’t think you have enough in that little bag for that many bowls,” Valg noted.

Tizzy held the bag up and looked at it. It was about an inch and half in diameter. He shifted his eyes to Valg, looking at him slightly askance. “There are four kilos of demon weed in here! I should think that would be enough.”

Valg blinked, shook his head and stared pointedly at the tiny bag. “Four kegs? How...?” He trailed off, noting that Tom was shaking his head.

“Seriously, don’t ask. I am finding it increasingly easier to simply not question him,” Tom said with a sigh.

Citadel of Light: Mid Fourth Period

Teragdor, Rasmeth and Leighton were crossing one of the many large courtyards of the Citadel, returning from a refreshing lunch at one of Krinna’s cafeterias, when very loud, deep and reverberating horns began sounding. Both Teragdor and Rasmeth winced at the tremendous volume of the horns.

“What is that?” Rasmeth yelled to Leighton, who was looking quite concerned.

“They are the Horns of Gathering,” Leighton replied, shouting back.

“And those are?” Teragdor asked.

Leighton made several gestures while mouthing some chant, and suddenly the sound of the horns was suppressed enough that they could converse normally.

“They are horns that will be sounded from relay towers, ordering people in the outer communities and farms to evacuate their homes and come to the Citadel,” Leighton said.

“Does this happen very often?” Rasmeth asked.

“Never in my life, nor that of my father or grandfather. There are other horns for regional evacuations, which are far more common; every decade or so.” Leighton gestured for them to follow him as he changed the direction in which they had been heading. “Let us go see if we can find out more details. As apostles, you will surely be provided detailed information; more than I would normally get.”

Leighton continued his explanation as they headed towards a set of doors. “In order for these horns to sound, the Rangers must have determined credible threats of Unlife armies in at least three of the four cardinal directions; the fourth is typically the sea. Unlife are, by and large, not fond of the sea. Surprisingly, zombies do not float; unlike, for example, a bloated corpse.”

“Unlife armies in three directions?” Teragdor asked with concern. “So essentially surrounding us?”

“Exactly.” Leighton nodded. “Given that they had begun cleansing the moat, this was most likely not unexpected. As you know, the information from Torean’s Rangers, Krinna’s Sky Wardens and even the Shield’s Guard patrols have all been pointing to increasing Unlife activity.”

“And, as I recall from one of our briefings, no ships are making it into the harbor,” Rasmeth stated.

“Ah, yes. Forgot about that one. So then, four sides most likely, or perhaps three known and the Vicar General is simply taking no chances. That’s what we hope to find out.”

They entered back into the Citadel, literally back inside given that the Citadel was surrounding them on all sides and even below their feet. The place was insanely huge. Leighton led them down a long hall to a spiral stair-ramp on their left.

The ramp led them up and up. After passing several levels, they finally exited the ramp. As they did, a familiar voice hailed them. “Teragdor, Rasmeth!” Stevos called, hurrying down the hallway towards them. Timbly was right behind him. “When this infernal racket started I traced your illumination link to find you. Do you have any idea what is going on?”

As the two saints got within a few feet of them, they both suddenly got looks of surprise on their faces as they entered Leighton’s zone of quiet.

Timbly said, frowning, “That’s unusual!” He then took a good look at Leighton. “Ah—priest of Krinna. Of course, should have realized. We do not have this ritual; it could be quite handy. For us, it’s mainly complete silence or nothing.”

“Gentlemen, may we introduce Leighton, priest of Krinna,” Rasmeth said.

The saints both held out their hands to shake with the priest. Leighton, for his part, looked a bit taken aback to be shaking hands with actual saints, but quickly overcame it and made a quick genuflection before shaking their hands.

“Leighton explained that these are the Horns of Gathering, ordering everyone in the outer regions to evacuate to the Citadel. For them to have sounded, significant forces of darkness must have been spotted in at least three, and we suspect four directions. This is the first time in centuries, Leighton informed us,” Teragdor explained.

“We are going now to seek more information from the vicar general and others,” Rasmeth added.

“Indeed, that sounds like a very good idea.” Rasmeth nodded, gesturing for Leighton to lead on.

They followed the corridor in the opposite direction from which the saints had come until they reached a large door. Leighton opened it, ushering the others into another, much busier corridor. This corridor was filled with what appeared to be couriers, Rangers and soldiers hustling to and fro, clearly working to get messages and orders out.

“Arch-Diocate Asferóth!” Leighton called down the hall.

Teragdor blinked and widened his eyes in surprise when a large winged human suddenly stood up straight. He had been bending over, speaking into the ear of a hearthean. Teragdor realized that this man (an Arch-Diocate of Krinna?) must be one of the legendary aetós! He had never met one before, which was why he thought them to be legendary, beings of myth. He probably needed to narrow his definition of what was mythological. He was meeting way too many extremely strange people lately; not only saints and archons, but elves that worked with orc priests of Tiernon? The world, or, more accurately, he supposed, worlds, were spinning out of control around him.

“Leighton!” The Arch-Diocate replied in a very resonant voice that could easily be heard over the din of the room, and through Leighton’s sound barrier. Actually, Teragdor realized, Leighton’s sound barrier was quite interesting in that the Arch-Diocate had heard him through the dampening barrier and over the din of the horns. Clearly an amazing little ritual. He wondered if it was possible to adapt a ritual of Krinna for Tiernon?

The aetóên cut quickly through the crowd to join them. It was only when he came through the sound barrier that he blinked in surprise, realizing there were two saints and two apostles with the priest. The Diocate shook his head and smiled before nodding to the four off-worlders.

“I see you have improved your social circle lately,” The aetóên joked, patting Leighton on the shoulder.

Leighton grinned back. “Asferóth, may I introduce you to Saint Stevos Delastros, Saint Timbly of Cossembly, the Apostle Rasmeth of Torean and the Apostle Teragdor of Tiernon.” He gestured to Teragdor’s party and then turned to them. “And gentlemen, may I introduce to you Asferóth, Arch-Diocate of Krinna for the Citadel.”

All parties nodded and shook hands, and then Leighton asked the Arch-Diocate, “What news have you?”

Asferóth shook his head. “No more than you. I was heading to the command center when I stopped to instruct Hafnerth”—he gestured back to where he had been, apparently referring to the hearthean—“to get word to the other arch-diocates of Krinna. Hopefully the skies are not fully blocked as well.”

“How would Unlife block the skies?” Teragdor asked, puzzled.

Asferóth chuckled. “In oh, so many ways. The Storm Lords themselves are fond of riding ice dragons, but there are also undead dragons, pterosaurs, harpies, and yes, even aetós; among many others.”

Stevos shook his head in wonder. “I am not sure I have ever heard of such beings in Astlan. I suppose Unlife aetós make perfect sense, but the others? Truly bizarre!”

Asferóth nodded. “Nysegard has been so long afflicted by Unlife that they’ve established their own ecosystem, or as we refer to it, a necrosystem. There are entire disciplines dedicated to understanding it; for example, necronomology studies the reasoning, logic and thought process of the Unlife, and necrotony studies the various species and taxonomy of Unlife.” The aetóên shook his head. “Yet I digress, as is my wont.” He smiled. “We need to see Grob, Rassnon and Elden.” He gestured for them to follow him.

“I know Grob Darkness Slayer, but am unfamiliar with Rassnon and Elden,” Teragdor said to Leighton.

“Rassnon is the Holy Lord Ranger of Torean upon Nysegard, and Elden No Tracks is Vicar-Warden of the Citadel. He is in charge of the Sky Wardens of Krinna at the Citadel. Ach-Vicar Admiral Avalea Stormfront, who commands Namora’s Navy upon Nysegard, is currently at sea,” Leighton replied.

Teragdor nodded, as did Rasmeth.

The party followed the arch-diocate along the corridor. The winged man proved quite adept at clearing a path in the crowded hallway. Teragdor certainly understood why; the large muscular priest was extremely intimidating, and the fact that his elegant arch-diocate robes actually matched not only his plumage, but his hair as well, made him quite visually striking.

There were two large double doors at the end of the corridor that were opening and closing rather frequently with people going in and out; Teragdor assumed this was the command center. This was quickly confirmed as guards at the door moved to open it for the arch-diocate and his party.

Inside was a very large chamber. Quite interestingly, along all of the walls were arrayed freestanding full-length mirrors on wheeled bases. Teragdor had to blink in some surprise; he was not sure he had ever seen so much glass in his life. While his initial thought was that the people in the command center were worried about vampires; he quickly realized that many of the mirrors reflected locations not inside this room. They were magic mirrors used for communication and scrying, apparently. That would certainly make sense for a command center, and it would still be useful in detecting any vampire spies.

Of course, he was not sure if there were such things as vampire spies. He had never actually encountered a vampire, or a vampyr, or any undead, for that matter. Humans in and around Murgatroy tended to have the decency to stay in their graves after death, thank Tiernon, and orcs burned their dead. It was more than a little difficult to reanimate ashes.

He was pretty sure that his experience was about to change. From the sound of the horns, and the bustle and activity in this room, it appeared that an Unlife attack was imminent. Given how put out about the fact that so much heavenly horse power had shown up to rescue one Knight Rampant, he was pretty sure it would be in very bad form for them not to pitch in and help. For one thing, it was pretty clear that being surrounded by Unlife would make getting out to locate Talarius rather difficult. That would probably have to wait until after this siege was taken care of.

One should think that having a bunch of saints and archons raining down from the heavens would allow them to make pretty short work of the Unlife forces. At least, Teragdor hoped they could do that. Stevos had indicated that Sentir Fallon was not in favor of risking any more saints and archons on Nysegard. Apparently they had permanently lost quite a few. That was very disconcerting, given that saints and archons were immortal and if slain in the material worlds, should just return to the Outer Planes.

He was pretty sure that such restrictions would not apply to off-world apostles. Did they? Teragdor wasn’t sure. It went against his training, and in fact, his very nature to see Tiernon’s flocks in danger and not work to defend them. He had taken oaths, as had they all. He just wasn’t sure how up to the task he was, but he was more than ready to try.

The good news was that a mace was his preferred weapon, and all the books said that maces and blunt instruments were typically best for most undead. Squashing them seemed to work best as he recalled, skeletons had nothing to cut, just bones to smash. And one did not want to slice zombies; if you lopped a limb off, rumors had it that the limb would continue attacking you independently of the zombie. Brain smashing was the only option.

They approached a large map table in the center of the room. Teragdor was taken aback to realize that it was a three-dimensional physical map made of painted clay and wooden pieces as various elements. He had never seen such a sophisticated map. It was quite remarkable.

“What news?” Asferóth asked.

Grob looked up at Asferóth, noting the saints and apostles with a cursory glance before replying. “It appears they intend to try and surround us. We have confirmed reports in five of the eight cardinal ground directions, and the three we don’t have are spread out. We have aerial sightings above four of the five cardinal directions.”

Asferóth shook his head. “It has been a very long time since they’ve managed to muster this many forces.”

“Longer than either of us have been alive,” Aeris replied, gesturing to a uniformed and decorated alfar, whose gray hair and youthful visage suggested a Nurel Alfar, a mountain elf.

“Indeed, at least two thousand, if not twenty-five hundred years,” the elf Teragdor assumed to be Vicar Sky Warden Elden confirmed.

“Since you are still here, I assume they were defeated? Do you have records of how that was accomplished?” Stevos asked.

Grob snorted. “We have some, but more in terms of oral history. Twenty to twenty-five hundred years is a long time to preserve paper without the use of magic, or alvaran materials. We do not have the resources to transcribe everything, only the most important things.”

“There are alvar who would remember, if we can find them,” Aeris stated. “However, there is no guarantee how much useful detail they’d recall. Most of the leadership of that time has perished.” He looked at the off-worlders. “On Nysegard, leadership tends to shorten one’s lifespan considerably.”

“What we do know is that only a few saints of Tiernon came to our aid,” Grob said staring at Stevos. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, he turned to Timbly. “The same goes for Torean.”

“Krinna, Namora and Hendel’s saints showed, however,” Aeris said.

“As did the remains of Doom,” Grob stated.

Stevos blinked, the last statement giving him a more comfortable entrance point to the very awkward situation they were in. “The remnants of Doom?”

Grob nodded. “The survivors of the Doompire on the Isle of Doom.”

“We came to their aid after their volcano stopped, and they came to ours. Even after we lost the support of Lord Orcus, the people on the Isle of Doom have continued our alliance,” Elden informed them.

“It has probably been a thousand years or more since last we allied; but we may need to call on them once more. We can only hope they have survived and prospered. There has been very little communication with them for hundreds of years,” Grob noted.

Stevos grimaced and looked to Timbly. “That should not be necessary, we will be here, and we will work to bring additional resources from Tierhallon to bear.”

Grob stared into his eyes for several silent moments and finally nodded. “I shall hold you to that, Saint. We have no idea what resources are left on the Isle of Doom, if any.”

Teragdor swallowed uncomfortably and looked at Rasmeth. They had not actually gotten to the point of telling the people of the Citadel where Talarius was, nor how he got there. The saints had wanted to be circumspect, given what they knew of the strange bedfellows of Nysegard.

“You have my word that I will discuss this directly with not only Inethya and Dashgar, but with Sentir Fallon himself,” Stevos said.

“Sentir Fallon?” Arch-Diocate Verablis Tierny spoke up. “What is his role in this?” The arch-diocate did not seem particularly enthused—in fact, quite the opposite—to learn of Sentir Fallon’s role in the current situation.

Stevos shook his head. “He is the archon in charge of our localverse. In principle, Dashgar reports to him.”

Grob snorted angrily. “That would explain quite a bit.”

“I’m sorry?” Stevos asked, puzzled, like Teragdor, at the seeming enmity towards the archon.

“You do understand that life for everyone on Nysegard got immeasurably worse after he betrayed Lord Orcus upon Etterdam,” Grob said.

“That’s the second time you referred to him as Lord Orcus,” Timbly said. “That is not the term we typically use for him, so we are a bit puzzled. He seems a bit more popular here than in Astlan.”

All of the Nysegard commanders were looking at Timbly in surprise. Aeris spoke as if in disbelief. “Orcus? Prince of Light, Lord of Oaths and Honor, Punisher of the Damned? One of the most powerful forces for Justice in the multiverse? How do you refer to him?”

“Uhm, well, as a demon prince?” Teragdor blurted out in shocked surprise.

“A demon prince?” Grob asked, sounding taken aback. Multiple people who had overheard their conversation started murmuring. “Well I suppose one could infer such, given that he ruled from the Abyss. However, it was he who fought to hold Lilith and Sammael in check.”

“And if you know your Five Siblings history, it was Orcus to whom the Siblings turned to deal with their accursed parents,” Arch-Diocate Tierny stated resolutely, as if such a thing was common knowledge.

Stevos’ mouth dropped open as if he wanted to respond, but had no thought as to how. Teragdor glanced to Timbly, who was also staring in shock at the arch-diocate. Clearly this was information they had been unware of. Of course, Teragdor had known very little about Orcus before the saints had arrived, but the fact that two saints, one of Tiernon and the other of Torean, could be so caught off-guard by mortal members of the churches, who seemed to know more than they did, was more than a bit disconcerting.

Astlan, Orcan Plains, Thirty-Five Leagues Southwest of Jötunnhenj: Early Fourth Period

Tal Gor squinted at the needle-like spikes in the distance ahead of them. According to Leftenant Zargvarst, those impossibly tall spires formed the outer perimeter of Jötunnhenj. Jötunnhenj was a roughly elliptical mountainous region stretching about eighty-five leagues east to west and fifty leagues north to south. At its heart was the Doomalogue, a massive volcano that mirrored Mount Doom.

It was surrounded by impossibly tall peaks, which in turn were surrounded by smaller mountains and then an enormous ring of massive hills and rough lands. At the edges of these were fourteen tremendous spires—spires so tall and relatively thin that they could never have formed naturally. D’Orc legend had it that Loki had imported them from the Abyss and shored them up with magic to withstand the natural forces of Astlan.

Encircling these spires was a mighty river, whose width ranged from half a league to nearly three quarters of a league. This river was fed by a source below the Doomalogue, which flowed into four massive tributaries that radiated in the Primary Inter-Cardinal Directions to the circular river and then continued on to feed the rest of Easter Norelon.

To the west, eight massive obelisks as tall but far wider than the spires rose to form a magical wall protecting the henge from forgotten forces that had arisen from the central desert some twenty thousand years ago. Forces that had threatened the Doomalogue before Zarvarst’s time, well before the Desolation. Such timespans caused Tal Gor’s mind to reel. If it were not for the fact that they were still over thirty leagues from the encircling river, and he could plainly see with his unaided eyes the immense Spires of Doom, he would have thought such tales and description to be pure myth.

Tal Gore was suddenly distracted by the fact that Didar An Sep of the Fen Horde on Romdan had flown over to Zargvarst and had started pointing to various locations in the sky above them. Tal Gor looked towards the locations to which the D’Orc had been pointing, but saw nothing. Perhaps a few small specs, but that could be dust in his eyes.

After a few moments of the two staring at various locations, and the other D’Orcs doing the same, Zargvarst moved in closer, and gestured to Lob Smasher to also close in. Once the elder had done so, Zargvarst shouted to them. “It has been a long time since I have flown over these plains, but is there any reason why riders on hippogriffs would be flying patrol over them?” he asked.

Both Tal Gor and Lob gave him shocked expressions.

“Hippogriffs?” Lob asked, puzzled. “As far as I know only Nuren Alvar use hippogriffs on any scale. How many are you seeing?”

Tal Gor quickly began chanting to activate his Eagle Sight. It was one of the few chants that he was quite good at. He turned towards where a couple of the D’Orcs were focusing their attention. Sure enough, there was a patrol of six orcanoid riders on beasts with the head, wings and fore claws of a giant eagle and the hind legs of a horse. He could not make out the race of the riders nor any insignia; only their basic forms and vague colors. He did not recognize the colors as significant.

“We have spotted four patrols in various directions,” Zargvarst replied. “We are looking in the others.”

Lob Smasher shook his head and spat over the shoulder of his D’Warg. “Sniveling, traitorous mountain elves! They ride where they have agreed not to ride and betray their oaths! They are most likely too frightened to attack us at the moment, but they will be gathering reinforcements.”

Zargvarst nodded. “As I suspected. We should land and fully arm ourselves.” Lob nodded, as did the rest in earshot, which for the D’Orcs would have been all of them. They had been riding in their lighter underlayer of armor, since they had not expected to be challenged in known orc territory. These plains had multiple orc tribes and they bore markers of trust from the tribal leaders at Mount Orc, which accounted for the majority of tribes in Astlan.

Didar An Sep yelled back, “They are still few enough and far enough away that we should be secure on the ground while we’re changing. We will have plenty of warning should they try to descend on us.”

“They would need to be abysmally stupid to attack a party with five D’Orcs and six orc warriors on D’Wargback,” Tal Gor’s brother, Bor Tal, said.

Tal Gor suppressed the thought that the six orc warriors—his family, by and large, were rather superfluous in that assessment.

Zargvarst looked at the young warrior skeptically. “They are elves! Intelligence and the normal rules of logic have little to do with their motives. They are cowardly, conniving, dishonorably duplicitous creatures of pure hatred and bile. Sanity is not something that factors into their decisions.”

The Inferno: Mid Fourth Period

“We’ve got something!” Diocate Temerlain shouted into Arch-Vicar General Barabus’s quarters. As with most passengers and crew, Barabus kept his door open to assist the Inferno’s air circulation system’s efforts to keep the ship cool.

Barabus looked up from his notes in surprise. “You’ve spotted Talarius?”

Diocate Temerlain nodded excitedly.

“Where?” Barabus jumped out of his bunk.

“Let’s go to the bridge and I can locate it on the map.” Temerlain grinned enthusiastically.

“Excellent!” Barabus shouted.

Gadius and Gaius poked their heads and shoulders out of their door, as did Sir Lady Serah. Barabus gestured at them to follow. They headed down the corridor.

As they passed Heron’s quarters, Barabus stuck his head in. “We’ve got a signal!” he said.

Heron leaped to his feet. “Indeed? This is an astoundingly amazing accomplishment; the odds are astronomical!” he exclaimed.

They all made their way towards the bridge. As senior leaders, they were all quartered on the same deck as the bridge, so they had no need to scuttle up or down ladders. They all filed onto the bridge, where the Captain and XO were working over the mapping table.

“We’ve got a lock on a signal!” Temerlain told them.

There was a clattering noise as Sir Samwell sat up straight in a chair he’d been lounging in. “You’ve detected Talarius?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, we’ve detected a Holy Emanation of Tiernon. There is not going to be anyone else outside of the ship doing that,” Temerlain pointed out.

Sir Samwell made an expression of… well… uncertain agreement? Barabus was not sure how to interpret the knight’s expression.

“Where?” Captain Cranshall asked.

“Here are the approximate direction and distance from our current location.” Temerlain handed XO Stevensword a small piece of paper. The XO tapped some buttons on the edge of the map table and a green dot appeared on the map, which was currently set to the scanning range of the Inferno, with the Inferno being a red dot in the center.

“Near the edge of our range,” CSO Halferth noted.

“Did we not scan that region in one of our earliest sets?” Captain Cranshall asked.

Halferth’s brow furrowed in thought, and then he grimaced. “It would have been at the outer range. We are trying to do have some overlap.”

Sir Samwell had been staring at the dot, his brow also furrowed. “I think that must be a false positive. There is nothing there—no fortress, no city, no volcano.”

“You seem to know your Abyssal geography,” Gaius commented somewhat sarcastically.

“You spend enough time being chased by demons, you get a pretty good idea of hiding places. There really is nothing there, or at least there should be nothing there. I would find it very odd if your demon was held up there,” Sir Samwell stated, ignoring the sarcasm. To Barabus, he seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Well, what else do we have to do here, other than look?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

Chancellor Alighieri, who had entered the bridge during their conversation, chuckled. “I believe the good lady is correct.”

Captain Cranshall nodded. “To that location then, Stevensword, set course.”

Chapter 136

Astlan, Orcan Plains, Twenty Leagues Southwest of Jötunnhenj: Early Fifth Period

Tal Gor scanned the sky around them from Schwarzenfürze’s back as they continued on their journey, now fully armored and hopefully prepared for battle. He had to use the term “hopefully” because none of the orcs had any experience in aerial combat. Yes, they had done air-to-ground attacks against animals while hunting for the feast, but fighting enemies in the air? That was not something many orcs ever did. True, there were stories of orc tribes that had tamed dragons, but that seemed a bit fanciful.

It had been a bit difficult to get Schwarzenfürze fully fitted out again, as she had suddenly decided she wanted a snack of plain grass and shrubs. It was just like the stubborn D’Warg, to get hungry just when they needed to prepare for battle. He was chasing her around, trying to make sure everything was in place. Eventually, however, he had gotten her properly fitted and his own weapons readied and in place for quick switching in combat.

The D’Orcs had recommended that all the orcs start with crossbows for distance combat. As with Tal Gor’s staff, the D’Warg harness had long tethers that could be knotted to iron rings on the crossbows, ensuring they would not fall if dropped. That was critical when one had to switch to close-quarter combat with axes or swords.

Of course, it was not at all clear to Tal Gor how that would work, not without accidentally slicing a D’Warg. Zargvarst, however, had assured them that unless their weapons were magical, they would not be able to seriously harm the D’Wargs, other than to perhaps throw off their balance or impede their wings’ motion.

Lob Smasher’s primary battle axe was inscribed with runes of power, so that would be a problem, other than that none of the orcs had any arcane weapons that would harm the D’Wargs. Except for Tal Gor, of course. His staff was a shamanic staff, and its mana pool stored his mana. It had some other shamanic properties as well; however, as far as he knew, the blade, metal teeth and mace parts of it were not magical.

At least Völund had not said the blades were magical. Tal Gor frowned. However, given that the staff was forged in the Abyss by Völund the Smith, he who had forged Arthur’s Caliburn (as well as Durandal and Gram, which would be reforged as Regin, not to mention the walking, talking sword golem, Ruiden), it was probably not safe to assume the very sharp, double-edged blade was not magical. He would need to be very careful.

Tal Gor rocked his staff on its large metal ball mace base in its holding cup, placing the very long staff at arms’ length to inspect it once more. Not that he had not spent a tremendous amount of time doing just that, as well as practicing with it over the last week or so. It was truly a work of mastery, from its mace base to the ornately carved unknown wood of the haft, inlaid with fine strands of metal leading to his handholds. From those smooth handholds, the staff split into two paths, creating a circular region, into which his summoning stone was firmly clamped. The outer edges of the circle were lined with sharp teeth of some metal he was not familiar with. When the two paths rejoined, twisting back into a single piece of wood, it went a short distance before widening, with the blue sapphire mana pool embedded through the haft. About four inches past the sapphire, the haft was mounted with a large, double-edged, two-foot-long metal blade. In all, the staff was a good twelve feet long from end to end, over five feet taller than Tal Gor.

The blade and the base of the mace were etched, but the etching did not appear to be runes. Some of the carvings and metal twinings, however, he thought could be runes. He had studied it with his shaman sight, but nothing had proved conclusive, particularly since he had bound and started charging the mana pool before truly studying the staff. In hindsight, that had been a mistake, but short of draining the pool, he could not easily separate the mana he had imbued in the staff from what might have been there before.

Of course, after four thousand years, runes or magic in the staff could have discharged, and by recharging it, he may have reactivated its magic. He was not sure. If only he’d had a better teacher than Horrgus. Someone who didn’t spend half their time drunk and the other half glarghvosted.

A shout from Didar An Sep brought his attention around towards where she was pointing westerly, towards Fierd. Tal Gor darkened his Eagle Sight to be able to see better against the glare. There they were, advancing with Fierd at their backs to hide their approach. It was still hard to count, but there appeared to be perhaps three dozen mounted riders. Tal Gor began tightening down his staff, so that he could switch to his crossbow.

Kirak Doth Far laughed. “Hah! I count only forty riders and their mounts, where as we are eleven warriors, five mounted D’Wargs and four now more lightly loaded D’Wargs!”

Didar An Sep shook her head. “Forty combat units to fifteen of ours? They must have a death wish!”

Zargvarst chuckled loudly. “In that case, I shall borrow a phrase from the djinn: their wish is our command!” He motioned the party to start heading towards the alvar.

Zerg Fel Far, who was also a first generation D’Orc, shook his head. “These must be younger elves who have never fought D’Orcs before. Otherwise they would not be so foolish.”

Nagh Felwraith spoke up. “Perhaps they have a wizard or animage to help put up a fight?”

Didar An Sep shrugged. “We can hope.”

Tal Gor glanced at his brother as they both began tightening their crossbow strings. From the worried expressions they shared, he was certain his brother was no more optimistic than he was. In recent decades, it was all their tribe could manage to hold their own while evenly matched against alvaran forces on land. He glanced to his sister as well; Soo An was looking grim, but determined. Of his tribe, only Elgrid RageWracker seemed to be enthused.

Tal Gor chortled bleakly to himself. Elgrid was arguably the only member of their band who was enthusiastic; the D’Orcs seemed disappointed. He supposed it helped to be immortal and know that even if you were killed, you would simply reappear in the Abyss. His tribe did not have that luxury.

Zargvarst glanced back and noted the concerned expressions on the four orcs’ faces. He nodded. “I know you are all anxious to both improve and demonstrate your warrior skills on D’Wargback, but please remember that the D’Wargs are as battle starved as we D’Orcs, so I would ask that you not take all the fun for yourselves. Share the slaughter, allow the D’Wargs some kills. They know how to fight with riders on their backs; simply present a smaller, tighter, target on their back and give them their head as opportunity presents itself.”

As if in response, Tal Gor felt a rumbling in Schwarzenfürze’s belly beneath him. Was her stomach growling with hunger? He had always thought battle starved and hungry for battle were expressions of a desire to fight, not literal sensations of hunger. He shook his head, noting that the distance between the two parties was decreasing quickly at this point.

“In position: D’Orcs on the front line, orcs with crossbows behind!” Zargvarst ordered, spinning around to face the advancing alvar. “Try not to waste quarrels on us, but do not shy from tricky shots; you cannot harm us!”

The band moved into a rough wedge formation with Zargvarst at point, Kirak to his right followed by Didar An Sep, and then two of the pack D’Wargs; to his left was Nagh and then Zerg and two more pack D’Wargs. Each member to the right or left was a bit behind their mate towards the center. Essentially, they were forming a shield around the orcs, who were readying their crossbows.

For the orcs, Lob took inner point with Bor Tal and then Elgrid to his right, Soo Ann and Fed Tal to his left. Lob gestured for Tal Gor to move behind him, making him the most shielded of all. Tal Gor frowned at the implication that he needed the most protection. Although it was technically true, it still did not sit well with him. Nor, judging by her growl, with Schwarzenfürze.

“I wonder if they realize that puny ball of light does not impair D’Orc sight,” Kirak said.

“They are elves,” Didar An Sep spat emphatically. “They are cunning and tricky, dishonest, manipulative and cowardly, but still fundamentally stupid, ignorant and useless.”

“Crooked Sticks!” Zargvarst called back. “See if you can use us to shield your eyesight from Fierd and take aim around us at a target not directly between us and Fierd as we approach.”

This was actually a pretty good idea, Tal Gor realized as he and Schwarzenfürze moved to comply. As the distance got shorter, fewer and fewer alvar were in line of sight with Fierd. Tal Gor cocked, then raised, his crossbow, his Eagle Sight bringing a target into close range.

This was actually something he had some skill with. His bad leg impeded his ability to fight in close combat, or chase down and slice open prey while hunting, but he could hunt with a crossbow. It was also the reason that Eagle Sight was one of his best shamanic skills—he used it to hunt both animals and game birds.

This was a bit different from shooting birds; he was not aiming up and the effect of gravity would be different; however, he should be able to compensate. At their current distance, he could clearly see that these were indeed Nuren Alfar: the pasty face, the dirty dishwater hair, the pointy little ears. The alvar were definitely armed. In fact, the one he was staring at was drawing its bow in preparation.

They were within range of alvaran arrows, but their accuracy would not be good at this distance. No problem when shooting into an army, but when looking for specific targets, it could be difficult, particularly if one was not a shaman. While alvar had legendary eyesight, it was no match for Eagle Sight.

Tal Gor could easily target the alfar. He was just a little too short for a traditional quarrel; however, using an orcan recurve crossbow and a shamanic chant of Forceful Accuracy, he should be in range. “Steady, girl—about to shoot,” Tal Gor told Schwarzenfürze. The D’Warg moved into a smooth glide, giving Tal Gor the steady platform he needed. He aimed for the exposed throat; at this range he could not penetrate the armor. He began his chant.

Steady… Tal Gor thought to himself as he chanted. Now!

Thung! went the crossbow as it released. Tal Gor continued his chant; he would chant until the quarrel found its target. He tracked it with his Eagle Sight. Going, going… thunk! Hit!

Tal Gor grimaced. He had hit the shoulder joint. His targeting was off. Curses!

“Whoa!” Lob Smasher exclaimed in surprise.

“Hah! First blood, shaman!” Didar An Sep shouted.

“Hurrah!” shouted the D’Orcs admiringly.

“By father’s balls!” Bor Tal shouted. “How did you make that shot? That was incredible!”

“Lots of hunting and a bit of shamanism!” Tal Gor grinned at his brother and then turned back to watch his target try to pull the bolt out of his shoulder. Tal Gor began reloading.

“Leave some for us, lad!” Kirak shouted.

Schwarzenfürze’s stomach growled again, presumably in agreement.

The other orcs began firing. Bor Tal managed to hit a hippogriff’s wing, causing the creature to screech and wobble slightly, but it continued to advance. Soo An narrowly missed her target. Fed Tal cursed loudly as his bolt went wide. Elgrid managed to scrape a rider’s armored leg and perhaps draw some blood from his mount.

Alvaran arrows began raining down on them, bouncing trivially off the D’Orcs. Of the few in the first volley that made it through the D’Orcs, over half completely missed a target; the remainder hit the D’Wargs and failed to penetrate either their exposed hide or their armor.

With a resounding twang louder than any of the others, Lob Smasher released a giant bolt from Chest Splitter, his truly massive crossbow. The bolt sped through the air with a scream they could hear from a distance, pierced an elf’s thigh through its leather armor, and appeared to be solidly lodged.

“Hah!” Lob yelled in triumph.

“Excellent work, all! Reload!” Zargvarst shouted.

Tal Gor had finished cranking. He placed his quarrel and raised his bow, taking aim at a different elf, the first one having changed position and no longer an easy target.

Tal Gor focused his Eagle Sight on his target’s neck once more. “Steady, girl,” he told his D’Warg before he began chanting.

Thung! His crossbow fired. Tal Gor concentrated on his chanting, trying to will the bolt to strike true.

Hit! Dead on, through the neck! Tal Gor grinned widely as the elf grabbed its throat and began to keel over, its hippogriff beginning a rapid descent to get them on the ground. Tal Gor imagined that flying around with a flopping corpse tethered to one’s back was awkward. He smiled to himself at the thought, but stopped when he realized that would also be true for their D’Wargs.

“Insane!” Soo An yelled. “I never realized what a shot you were!”

“I think we were misjudging you, even before you found Lord Tommus!” Fed Tal yelled as he cranked his crossbow.

“We may need to start calling you Tal Gor Dead Eye!” Zargvarst yelled back at him with a grin.

“Getting close!” Didar Sep An shouted, finally drawing her massive great sword. The blade was a good ten feet long, the hilt another three. Tal Gor had to wonder if she’d used the same blade when mortal. It was proportional for a D’Orc, but would have been large even for an orc.

Of course, the six-foot arc of Zargvarst’s axe blade was just as impressive. All the D’Orc weaponry was impressive. Back that up with their talons, and no one in their right mind would want to stand against them. These alvar were in for some serious damage. Tal Gor shook his head.

“Let’s hold back so I can get another target,” Tal Gor told Schwarzenfürze, patting her on the back. She slowed their flight as Tal Gor worked to pull and then reload his crossbow.

It was at this point that the first wave of alvar broke against the D’Orcs.

Tal Gor stopped his efforts in order to watch. Broke was the right word. Blood was raining everywhere as the D’Orcs flew between the elves and began slashing and smashing into the nearly helpless enemy. Leather armor such as the alvar were wearing had no chance against the Abyss-forged weapons of the D’Orcs.

Schwarzenfürze was rumbling and throbbing between Tal Gor’s legs. He could feel her guts at work, apparently starving for battle. He fired off his next round, chanting as it sped towards its target, only to see a blade slice through the elf’s neck even as the bolt came within a foot.

Tal Gor shook his head and began securing his crossbow so that he could use his staff. Schwarzenfürze clearly wanted to engage in closer contact; he supposed he should let her before all the targets were gone. He secured his staff’s wrist strap in place and loosed its ties so he could swing it freely.

Lob Smasher was now moving in, heading towards alvar more on the periphery.

“Argh!” Tal Gor screamed as a searing pain shot up his left leg. “What?” He stared down at himself; an arrow had pierced the back of his leg. He had metal greaves on the front of leg, covering his shins, but only leather armor in back. How had an arrow come from behind?

He turned his head, his eyes widening in surprise. There was another squad of alvar on hippogriffs behind them, more than had been in front of them. “Behind us!” Tal Gor screamed at the top of his lungs to his band. “Backstabbing alvar are behind us!”

The orcs spun in midair and the D’Wargs started to bank to confront this new threat. Having been in the rear, and then slowing to better target, Tal Gor was considerably closer to the new threat than the others. He glanced back again only to see a very large elf with golden hair and a glowing sword approaching him and Schwarzenfürze rapidly. Rialto Alfar! Royal elf, an alvaran knight! He’d never seen one before, but there could be no mistaking what was coming for him.

“Dive!” Tal Gor shouted at Schwarzenfürze and pounded on her back and used his heels to goad her to increase her speed.

She did, but she also twisted her head to see what had caused the excitement. Her eyes focused quickly on the oncoming alvaran knight; they widened slightly and then squinted. She looked forward and to her left. Her wings went into overdrive, bringing them down and around in a tight bend. Tal Gor was not quite sure why she had started to make a circular arc, as this actually allowed the knight to close the distance. He had to trust that the D’Warg knew what she was doing. She was growling, and her stomach was rumbling nonstop at this point. Tal Gor shook his head even as he worked to loosen his staff. “Ox dung!” The stupid knight was within ten feet and closing.

“Faster!” Tal Gor patted Schwarzenfürze, looking ahead again to see where they were heading.

Click. Click. Click.

Tal Gor groaned, this was not the time for his D’Warg to get nervous and play with her stupid tail spikes. What was she going to do? Whap the hippogriff in the eye with a spike and blind it? He glanced back. The knight was going to be in striking range soon. He tried to bring his staff around.

Suddenly there was a loud ripping noise.

Click. Click. Click.

Tal Gor wrinkled his nose at the putrid stench.

Click. Click… WHOOSHHHH!

Tal Gor did a double take as the pursuing knight and his mount were suddenly engulfed in a miasmic flaming cloud of gas!

“Flint and steel!” Tal Gor shouted. How could he have been so blindly stupid! That’s what the clicking was; it was flint and steel to light Schwarzenfürze’s farts! He grinned broadly and patted the D’Warg as they now pulled easily away from the still-flaming knight and hippogriff. The creature’s screams of agony was music to his ears.

“I have never been so happy to have you fart!” Tal Gor shouted.

It was, however, a momentary respite. They were now under many of the new alvaran forces, who could all clearly see him, and some were heading down! This was not good. There had to be at least sixty pairs in the new band of alvar. His tribe was moving to engage—or rather, Lob Smasher with his magic blade was; the other four orcs were hunkered down on D’Wargback as their mounts moved in for an aerial kill on various alvar and their steeds.

The shrieks of the enraged hippogriffs melded with the snarling howls of the D’Wargs as the two sides engaged. Tal Gor tore his gaze from the battle overhead to discover another alfar coming straight at him with a lance! Schwarzenfürze was heading straight at the knight and hippogriff, on what appeared to be a collision course! Not knowing what else to do, Tal Gor gripped his staff with both hands, moving it into a braced lancing position.

CRACK! Thunder rolled over his head as his sight was momentarily blinded by a flash of lightning from above. He dared not take his eyes off his oncoming enemy, but he was pretty sure the alvar had a wizard who was engaging them. He hoped the wizard would go for the most obviously dangerous targets first.

Tal Gor and the alvaran knight were heading towards each other at breakneck speed. The knight had a shield; Tal Gor’s was on his back. His staff was a polearm, not a lance; he needed to hold it with both hands to secure it. It was going to be a question of who skewered who first.

Tal Gor whispered a quick prayer to Tommus. He had no idea if Lord Tommus listened to prayers, but he was pretty sure it couldn’t hurt. Tal Gor braced for impact, gritting his teeth while trying to adjust his seating to try to deflect the lance off the side of his armor. That, however, would only work if the lance went where it currently appeared it would go. He had zero experience with this style of combat.

He felt a rumbling between his knees, and suddenly his stomach dropped out from under him and he was swept by a wave of vertigo as Schwarzenfürze made a momentum-defying ninety-degree vertical turn, plunging the two of them straight down towards the ground.

Click… click… click… WHOOSH!

The hippogriff shrieked in agony as Schwarzenfürze’s flame-enhanced cloud of malignant dyspepsia struck the hippogriff’s underbelly. Or that’s what it sounded like; Tal Gor was too close to losing his lunch to pay much attention as his D’Warg continued her dive, which was quickly turning them upside down as the D’Warg doubled back on their original trajectory.

Suddenly the D’Warg’s wings collapsed inward against him as Schwarzenfürze twisted with a massive effort, spinning herself and Tal Gor on their axis, taking them from being upside down to right side up. The D’Warg’s powerful wings unfurled once more and began pumping hard to regain altitude, heading back towards the D’Orcs.

Tal Gor twisted his head around to see Schwarzenfürze’s most recent victim dropping his smoldering wooden lance while trying to pat out the remaining flames on his hippogriff’s feathers and his own clothes. Eagle Sight revealed severe burns to both rider and steed. Tal Gor grinned and shook his head. Schwarzenfürze was truly something else.

Suddenly, from the middle of the second squad of alvar, a fireball raced through the air and engulfed Zargvarst and Kirak, obscuring the two D’Orcs. As the flames dissipated, the two D’Orcs were still on course heading for the second squad.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, it was like a breath from home!” Zargvarst shouted towards the origin of the fireball.

D’Orcs were obviously fireproof; orcs were not. Tal Gor suddenly worried what would happen if the wizard shot a fireball at his tribemates. He was able to count all of them, so none had been hit by the lightning bolt; however, at some point the wizard would give up on the nearly invulnerable D’Orcs and start targeting his tribe. Fortunately, at the moment, they were all tightly engaged with the alvar; it would be too dangerous for the wizard to fireball the orcs. Other than Tal Gor himself, who was currently some distance away, preparing to circle back.

What could he do to protect his tribe from a wizard in battle? That, technically, was one of the core duties of an orc shaman, something that he was ludicrously underprepared to do. Obviously, he had studied elemental affiliations and elemental chants and rituals. He could start a fire, but there was no way he could launch a fireball, let alone deflect or shield orcs from one.

Shielding would be very impractical; it would require some sort of large magical shield to block the fireball. Deflecting it would be easier, if he knew how to control it. Even so, how would one do that? He could envision attracting a fireball—he understood the idea of using the Laws of Association and Positive Attraction to somehow bring the fire to him—but then what would he do with it?

CRACK! Thunder rolled again as a massive bolt of lightning struck Zerg Fel Far in the back, right between his wings as he was busy dismembering an alfar and its mount. He did not appear to notice until a few moments later when he let go of his prey, allowing them to begin tumbling lifeless to the distant ground below. He looked up and around. “Anyone else noticed the damn mosquitoes around here? I think just got bit!” he called out to his compatriots.

Tal Gor shook his head in amazement. He would need something that could positively attract a fireball or a lightning bolt, both of which were aspects of Fire. Not actually towards him, unless he wanted to be a martyr, but beyond him, to some sort of gigantic fire and lightning magnet that the essence of Fire could return to. Tal Gor blinked. Something like one of Mount Doom’s elemental portals. Lord Tommus had used the Elemental Portal of Fire to suck all the heat out of the Abyss.

Tal Gor frowned. Was that the Law of Positive Attraction or the Law of Negative Attraction? He was not sure it made much sense, but if Lord Tommus could use a Fire portal to suck heat away, surely his lord could use the Fire portal to suck in a fireball or lightning bolt.

But that was Lord Tommus, and he wasn’t here. Here was only Tal Gor, a sorry-ass apprentice shaman of the Crooked Stick tribe. He needed to think.

They were coming up on another alfar and hippogriff. “Schwarzenfürze? Do you want to take this pair, as Zargvarst suggested? I need to try and figure something out.” She nodded and growled in happy agreement. “Okay, I’m going to secure myself and my staff down so you can do your thing.”

Tal Gor hunkered down, securing his staff, similar to what he’d seen his family members do a few minutes ago. He needed to think. He started chanting a calming chant and tried to allow himself to follow his link to his Oath Link through his summoning stone to Lord Tommus; the stone should amplify the link.

Lord Tommus? he queried respectfully.

Tal Gor! Good to hear from you!

With his second sight, Tal Gor found himself standing in a large henge on some material world, definitely not the Abyss. Tamarin was there, as was Vaselle, but neither showed signs of realizing he was present. He wasn't surprised, given that he was technically dream walking, although he might have expected the djinni to notice.

Am I interrupting? Tal Gor asked.

We are rehearsing and preparing for an ascension tonight. Creating a new D’Orc, Tom replied. However, I can spare a few minutes.

Tal Gor’s second sight was suddenly interrupted as Schwarzenfürze crashed into a hippogriff and its rider. Screams and blood flew near and wide and Tal Gor was jostled on the D’Warg’s back as she shredded flesh and gnawed on the bones of her prey.

Suddenly, Lord Tommus was there with him, insubstantially. Holy shit! You are far busier than me! Do you want to create a gateway for me to come through?

CRACK! Another lightning bolt lit the sky above them as it struck one of the pack D’Wargs that was nearby. As Tal Gor’s sight returned after the flash, he saw that the D’Warg’s leather bags looked a bit charred, but the D’Warg had continued gnawing on the head of an alvar while it simultaneously fought to slash the throat of the hippogriff with its hind claws.

Seeing this, Tal Gor was tempted, but he could not always rely on Lord Tommus to rescue him. He needed to learn to do things on his own.

Actually, my lord, I was seeking advice, Tal Gor replied. The D’Orcs will prevail. However, as you can see, there is a wizard, and it is shooting both lightning bolts and fireballs. I was wondering about trying to deflect or perhaps attract the essence of Fire to keep it from roasting my tribe. I got to thinking about how you used a Fire gateway to suck the heat out of the Abyss, and was wondering if that could be used to suck away a fireball from a wizard.

Lord Tommus tilted his head for a second and then grinned, or Tal Gor hoped it was grin. It was a rather different look on his lord’s face. He had to grip his saddle tightly as Schwarzenfürze lurched, grappling with her prey. It was hard to see what was happening on the other side of the D’Warg, who was vertical in the air and clawing away at her prey.

Great idea! Here, this is a link to the primary Fire portal in the Abyss, Lord Tommus said.

Tal Gor shook his head. He knew this vision was all in his head, but it was still bizarre how Lord Tommus was suddenly handing him what appeared to be a flaming thread that led off… somewhere.

Tal Gor reached out with a spirit hand and took hold of the portal. He shuddered as he felt the raging energy of Fire. He was suddenly engulfed in flame, lighting, light, energy.

Pull back a bit, Lord Tommus instructed. Another lurch as Schwarzenfürze shifted, her hind claws scrambling to disembowel the hippogriff, helping bring him back to this reality.

Tal Gor pulled back. Fire was too overwhelming, too powerful. He had heard warnings about the raw elements; now he understood them.

So, when a fireball, for example, comes towards you, simply reach out with your mind and with this portal link, Lord Tommus told him. Focus on the Fire link and the fireball becoming one. If you must, fling the link to Fire at the fireball and allow them to connect. The fireball will follow the link, I guarantee it.

A loud belch from Schwarzenfürze caused both Tal Gor and Lord Tommus to stare at the D’Warg, who was pushing away the remains of the hippogriff’s corpse, along with that of its rider. They watched as the two shredded corpses fell through the air towards the distant ground.

Very impressive, Schwarzenfürze! Tom said to her from his spirit form. To Tal Gor’s utter surprise, the D’Warg turned to stare directly at Lord Tommus and gave him a short bark. How the D’Warg could see a spirit form—something that should only exist in his mind—was more than a little puzzling.

Tal Gor shook his head and looked around. They were once more slightly separated from the rest of the battle. He directed Schwarzenfürze to head towards the orcs, who were regrouping. At this point there were only about twenty alvar and hippogriff pairs left.

As he came abreast of the other orcs, Lord Tommus, who was still there in his mind, spoke up. It looks like your concerns were well-founded!

Tal Gor looked towards his vision of Lord Tommus, who was pointing to the center of the remaining alvar. Approximately half of them were encircling an older, taller, unarmored alfar, who was gesturing and waving a staff around. Suddenly another fireball burst forth from the wizard’s staff, this one heading directly towards the orcs!

Now! Do what I told you; focus it through the summoning stone. That should give you more control, Lord Tommus instructed.

“Wyvern turds!” Elgrid Rage Wracker shouted, seeing the fireball coming towards them.

“We are toast! Scramble!” Bor Tal yelled.

Tal Gor focused on the link to the portal, tracing it through the summoning stone, which was also what he had used to connect to Lord Tommus, so it was not particularly difficult. Imagining his staff as a slingshot, he spun it in a circle around his head with the thread-like link attached, imagining it wind up. Using his Eagle Sight, he focused on the fireball, imagining it was really a rabbit. He began speaking a chant he knew for summoning fire and then released the thread-like link, imagining it as a tethered arrow.

The link connected with the fireball, and suddenly it was coming straight at him!

Concentrate on imagining it being sucked into the portal, returning it to its birthplace! Elongating, shrinking in size to fit through your stone! Lord Tommus instructed.

The fireball began to stretch along the link, now arcing more like a bolt towards Tal Gor’s raised staff.

Lord Tommus grinned at him and instructed, Imagine you have a net on your staff and you are going to catch the fireball in the net. I don’t want you to let it go to the portal. I want you to catch it in your staff. If you need to, let the staff reel to compensate for momentum. The Lord of Doom said this urgently but confidently, as if had trained hundreds of shamans to do this before. Which, Tal Gor reflected, he probably had.

The fireball or bolt came roaring in; the heat was incredible! It was smaller in size, but seemed all the more intense, a blue-hot heat. It struck his stone, his magic net. Tal Gor had to draw mana from the mana pool to contain the fire. He changed his chanting to one for controlling fire, guiding it. It was a chant he’d never had much luck with before, but now was the time to try.

The staff was gyrating with the momentum of the fireball, now about eight inches in diameter, as it swirled, trapped around the summoning stone. He had to hold the staff with both hands for fear it would be ripped from his hands.

What do I do now? Tal Gor asked Lord Tommus in near panic.

The same thing you did to launch the thread, but this time I want you to pitch it back to the wizard, and really toss it! Channel the fire from the elemental portal to add to the flame; make it bigger, stronger. Feed the fire from the portal, Lord Tommus said.

I’m not sure how! Tal Gor cried out mentally. He was starting to panic.

Allow me. This is something I learned with Vaselle. Suddenly Tal Gor felt an immense presence, reassuring and confident, rock-solid, ancient and powerful, engulfing him, filling him. He felt confidence flood him as he swung the staff with one hand in a great arc, willing the Fire from the elemental portal to stream through his stone and into the fireball, now appearing as a large circle of fire, his staff, a spoke of a wheel, and from the spoke more and more Fire came to feed the burning ring of fire!

It grew higher, stronger, now a giant ring above his head, traced by the motion of his staff. His Eagle Sight focused on the wizard, who was staring at him in shock and, perhaps, awe. As their eyes met over the considerable distance, the wizard suddenly turned pale and began making all sorts of gestures and mouthing words.

Tal Gor felt his mouth twist into a smile of its own accord. He realized he was practically screaming his fire control chant at the top of his lungs. With a last surge, he swung the staff towards the wizard and released the Fire. The ring of fire went spinning through the air like a discus of flame, ten feet and then twenty in diameter. The air between him and the alfar surrounding the wizard shimmered, a shield to deflect the wheel of flames. It broke upon the shimmering air into lashes of flame that rained down upon the alvar, scorching and burning them and their mounts! Hippogriffs with flaming wings began quick spiral descents to land, their riders desperately trying to pat out the flames on both themselves and their mounts.

The wizard, slightly scorched but mostly intact, shook his head, staring at Tal Gor. He started mouthing another spell and making wide gestures. Tal Gor was suddenly frightened that the wizard was about to launch some new, non-fire based spell. He glanced to his right at sudden movement.

Lord Tommus, who was now once more beside him, no longer inside him, grinned. You won!

But he’s casting another spell! What do I do? Tal Gor asked, starting to once more panic.

I have seen this spell. Wizards tend to use it a lot around me, Tom chortled.

Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of purple light, spikes of light radiating outward in the cardinal directions from where the wizard had been. When the light vanished, the wizard and his hippogriff were both gone.

Tal Gor frowned. What happened?

Teleport. He who flees and runs away, lives to flee another day! Lord Tommus laughed.

What a horrible, cowardly idea! Tal Gor said, shocked. Fleeing in such a selfish manner, leaving wounded comrades behind to deal with the victors, unaided? The cowardice was mind-boggling! No wonder the alvar were so hated.

Nysegard, Krallnomton Henge: Moments Later

“Master?” Tamarin asked, concerned.

“He is somewhere else, with one of the shamans,” Vaselle said, also concerned, but not as much as Tamarin.

Tom heard them; he shook his head as if suddenly waking from an incredibly intense daydream. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, and held up his hand to calm his two friends so he could collect himself. He felt dizzy. He had not done anything like that in a very long time. When was the last time? Torvolg Myleanr on Romdan? He enjoyed being the teacher, showing his warlocks and shamans how to wield the power he provided them. Particularly when they were young and still so full of wonder.

Tom blinked again, coming more fully—awake, if that was the word. What had happened? What were those weird thoughts? He’d been speaking to Tal Gor, lost the signal and followed his link back to discover the shaman’s party under attack by alvar. His shaman had wanted to learn how to defend himself and his people with Fire. A key part of any shaman’s or warlock’s training; something he had done so many times. Teaching the young was one of the best perks of his mission.

Tom shook his head again, more widely this time. Tamarin and Vaselle stepped back to avoid getting gored by his horns.

He had to clear his thoughts. No, not my thoughts, HIS thoughts! Something in that situation had triggered old memories—no, foreign memories! It was so very odd. He’d been himself; he’d had memories of possessing Vaselle and sought to use the same technique with Tal Gor. Showing, teaching his student, much like teaching someone to golf by wrapping one’s arms around them and holding the club with them. Only spiritually, like a ghost doing pottery with his true love. But teaching his student things that Tom himself only barely understood—how could that be possible?

Tom’s stomach ached with anxiety. What was going on? These stupid thoughts, feelings, memories were now attacking him during the day, when he was awake. Or sort of awake. From what he’d learned from the shamans, the sort of travel where he was with someone in their mind, invisible to others, that was a variant of dream walking. That’s what he had been doing!

He had sort of assumed that it was just a term and not literally related to dreams; but now he was not so sure. If dream walking was related to dreaming, then it would make sense that he’d be susceptible to these false dream memories that had been plaguing him.

That had to be it. There could be no other possibility. Realizing this made him feel better. He’d fallen into a dreaming state, so whatever was haunting his dreams was able to reach him there. But what was it that was haunting him? He still did not know. Had Orcus somehow gone all Freddy Krueger? Looking to haunt the dreams of any teenager that moved onto Doom Street? Given that he had been unable to detect any leftover animus in the Rod, or in Doom itself, that made about as much sense as anything. The only other possibility, as he’d considered before, was Tartarus. He had mental links to that place and its experimental AII.

That made him sit up straighter. Could that be it? He was keyed to Tartarus the same way Orcus had been; what if Orcus had used the AII and left memories in it, somehow? Could the AII interface be trying to return those memories to what it thought of as their owner? That would make sense. Hell, he’d been told it was experimental! Experimental computer systems were always doing crazy shit like that. Yes—that had to be it. He needed to explore that path.

Feeling relieved, he glanced up to see Tamarin and Vaselle staring at him in grave concern. He grinned, feeling much better. Now he just needed to come up with an excuse for his very odd behavior.

Astlan, Orcan Plains: Moments Later

As Lord Tommus returned to Vaselle and Tamarin, Tal Gor slumped over his saddle, exhausted and drained worse than anything he could recall. He’d had to use almost all of his mana reserves, plus that within his mana pool, to deflect and redirect the fireball.

As a loud roaring noise drew his attention from his own thoughts. What was that noise? He looked up to find himself surrounded by his tribe, along with the D’Orcs. They were screaming, shouting, yelling and laughing.

“Tal Gor! You did it! You saved our butts and took out nearly a dozen alvar and their mounts in one fell blast! Unbelievable! Incredible!” Elgrid shouted.

“I never even imagined you had that sort of skill, lad!” Lob shouted with joy. “Horrgus could never have done that at his peak and sober!”

“You defeated and forced an alvaran wizard to flee like the slime-encrusted tilapean tape worms they all are!” Zargvarst said with a wide grin.

Tal Gor grinned and nodded his head happily. He was just so tired he could barely speak. “I owe it to the support of Lord Tommus. He showed me how to do it.”

Bor Tal and Soo An looked rather puzzled, as did the other orcs. Clearly they had not seen anything.

Zargvost nodded. “So, you got a little one-on-one time with Tommus. Orcus used to do the same with his shamans and warlocks. He would train them personally; it was what made them the most feared mana wielders in the multiverse.”

“Indeed,” Nagh Felwraith agreed.

Bor Tal looked around, once more verifying that there were no more alvar in the air. He then looked down towards the ground far below. “What should we do with any still alive down there?”

Zargvarst grinned. “With my D’Orc sight, I noticed a band of tents to the north of us. We will inform them of the presence of these interlopers. It is important that the tribes know of this incursion, and if they can capture some, they can be questioned; if not, the corpses will provide proof of them breaking the armistice.”

Lob Smasher nodded. “Definitely. I think the corpses will be enough; it’s not like we can trust anything they might say under questioning.”

“True, but questioning can be a lot of fun,” Elgrid chortled.

Kirak spoke up. “You said they broke an armistice?”

Lob nodded. “They came onto our lands and attacked an authorized delegation of the tribes. Remember all those tokens of safe passage we got?”

“Yes,” Kirak said, nodding. “Exactly my point. I have lived my entire life at Mount Doom, so am not completely familiar with how things work on the Planes of Orc, but from the legends that I’ve been told, breaking an armistice in such a manner can mean only one thing…” he paused.

Lob, Elgrid, Zargvarst and Nagh all laughed and nodded. “Indeed. It means war!” Lob said, grinning from ear to ear. Everyone started slapping each other on the back in excitement. Today had been a very good day indeed.

The Inferno: Late Fourth Period

“We are now within five leagues of the emanation,” XO Stevensword reported to the others on the bridge.

“Captain,” Chief Sorcery Officer Halferth interjected.

“Yes?” the captain replied.

“Given our last encounter, I recommend we engage all cloaking shields,” the CSO suggested.

Captain Cranshall nodded. “Excellent point. Proceed. Bring our defensive shields up to half power as well.”

“What are these cloaking shields?” Barabus asked.

Halferth looked over to him and replied, “Even as we have magical defenses, shields, against damage, we also have sorcerous shields that hide us from detection, that make us invisible to most detection mechanisms.”

Gadius made a snorting sound behind him. Barabus could only agree with the knight.

“If we had such cloaking shields before, then why did we not deploy them?” Barabus asked wearily.

“Well, yes... ahem.” Halferth glanced at the captain.

The captain explained, “To be honest, we did not think a band of outlaw demons would possess ranged weapons in a volcano. We assumed that if they were going to attack us, we would have seen their forces leave the volcano and so could engage defensive mechanisms.”

“And, as well, I might add,” Halferth interrupted, “while these shields block most forms of detection of us, they also block our ability to scry outwardly. If we’d had them all up, your priests would not have been able to detect much of anything. In this case, we have already pinpointed the location.”

“So we are completely invisible?” Sir Lady Sera asked.

“Mostly,” Halferth admitted.

“Mostly?” Gadius asked.

“We are not perfectly invisible, or we could not see where we are going. We have left ourselves slightly open to visible light. Observers will see a ripple of air, at most,” Halferth said.

Gaius, to Barabus’ right, nodded. “As with various cloaks of invisibility.”

“Exactly. Same principle. If we do not move, or move slowly, it is very unlikely anyone will notice,” Halferth agreed.

“So we are going in slowly, I take it? Not the usual breakneck speed?” Gaius asked.

“Indeed. We are currently at ten leagues per hour,” XO Stevensword replied. “About one-sixth of our optimal cruising speed. Given the current state of the drives, about one-third of what our engineers report as our current operational cruising speed.”

“So we have about half an hour to kill,” Gadius stated.

“So we are arriving at nowhere?” Sir Samwell asked, entering the bridge. Heron had sent a crew member to notify the knight. His long presence in the Abyss should allow him to provide them useful insight.

XO Stevensword replied, “Indeed. As we come around this next pillar, we should be able to see it. Our visual range is quite limited due to our cloaking shields.”

“Hmm. In that case, the nothing that is there should not see us.” Sir Samwell chuckled, looking down at the map table showing their position.

“Indeed,” Heron replied, nodding.

“Well, there is definitely something there,” CSO Halferth said, looking up from a scrying plate on his console. “I can detect quite a bit of mana and animus at the location, despite the fact that our own shields are obscuring my measurements.”

“How large?” Chancellor Alighieri asked.

Halferth shrugged. “Very hard to tell; either a very large army or some very large demons. Or both.”

“Great.” Cranshall shook his head. “Full power to the defensive shields; take us to battle stations.”

XO Stevensword activated the battle station alert and the bridge went red even as alarms sounded through the ship.

“We should be seeing it just… about… now!” Mister Cerenkov, the helmsman, reported.

Even as he said “now,” they rounded the pillar, revealing that there was definitely something there.

“Where the Abyss did that come from?” Sir Samwell cursed, sounding genuinely shocked and surprised. “That wasn’t there last month!”

Gadius looked over at the knight. “How do you track months without a moon, or day and night?”

Samwell smiled and pulled a small ornate disk on a chain from under his armor. “Pocket watch. There may be no night and day, but time still works.” He clicked on the side and a small metal door popped open to reveal a glass plate covering the hands of a small clock.

Chancellor Alighieri’s eyes widened. “Is that one of Gyr D’Loon’s creations?”

“Indeed.” Sir Samwell smiled. “If you wish to examine it, after we finish taking stock of this—impossibility…”

“Oh!” Dante shook his head to clear it, having completely forgotten the task at hand. “Of course.” He looked back at the viewing screen. “What is that?”

“It looks like a melted castle,” Sir Lady Serah replied.

“Or a stalagmite castle?” Gadius countered.

“Yes, but where did it drip from?” Gaius asked.

“It is colorful,” Heron said.

“Particularly for the Abyss,” Sir Samwell agreed.

“Maybe it’s a wax castle? It looks like it sort of melted into that form,” Dante suggested.

“I have never seen a fortress that looked like that,” Barabus said, shaking his head. It was clearly a fortress of some sort. It had walls with towers, or spikes at least, and windows. There was a moat of lava flowing around the walls, although no sign of a nearby volcano. The inner fortress had multiple towers as well, including several that seemed to bend, or rather droop sideways, and one that appeared to be a full arch. It was as if the tower had once been very tall and had slowly bent over until its top had come to rest on the ground. It was not actually possible to see the base due to the outer walls, but that was the impression Barabus got.

The aspect of this weird fortification that gave everyone the thought of stalagmites and candles was the striation of every building. The walls were not made of normal stone, or if they were, they were grown stone or melted stone or something, all quite smooth and striated with different colors. Near the base were darker colors; near the heights brighter colors. The colors ranged pretty much the entire visible spectrum.

The fortress, was also rather obviously occupied. The inner buildings seemed to have holes, or openings at random heights and locations, out of which and into which demons and other creatures were flying. Now, the very odd thing was the other creatures. The demons were what one would expect for demons, familiar to anyone who had fought one, but the other creatures were highly misshapen and quite frankly disturbing, even by demonic standards. They had tentacles, smooth and suckered, random sets of mouths, and odd numbers of limbs protruding in random directions. Barabus had never even imagined such horrors existing. He was fairly certain he would be having nightmares for some time; assuming he was ever going to be able to sleep again.

“What in the name of creation are those things?” Heron asked out loud what they had all been thinking.

“Denubian DemonsTM,” Sir Samwell said with a grim expression.

“Denubian Demons?” Barabus asked. “I have never heard mention of them in any church lore I am familiar with.”

“Denubian DemonsTM. You really do not want to leave out the trademark.” Sir Samwell grimaced and shook his head. “I would not expect you to have heard of them. They rarely get to Astlan,” the knight explained. “For one thing, no one native to Astlan could properly pronounce their true names to summon them. You need a minimum of two mouths to get the names even remotely close to being accurate. Most greater and higher demons would require at least three or four mouths.”

“And you know all of this because...?” Chancellor Alighieri asked the knight, who shrugged.

“The same way I know much about anything here; at some point, or rather points, I have been the ‘guest’ of various Denubian DemonsTM.” He shook his head. “As you might image, their questioning can be quite disconcerting. They neither speak nor think linearly, so you get all sorts of odd questions hammered at you at the same time, even from a single torturer.”

“What would Talarius be doing here?” Gadius asked. “The demon who took him was certainly not a Denubian DemonTM.”

“Indeed,” Sir Samwell replied with a frown. “That would be a very interesting turn of events.”

Chapter 137

Mount Doom, Tizzy’s Kitchen: Late Fourth Period

“Here,” Tizzy told Reggie, handing him a stone bowl and pestle. “I need you to grind up those dried mushrooms.” He pointed towards five bushel-sized baskets of dried mushrooms on a nearby counter. “There’s a second bowl and pestle under the counter. You should be able to do two bowls at once.”

“Why am I grinding mushrooms?” Reggie asked. Estrebrius had come and dragged him down to the kitchen, telling him that Tom needed his help. “And where is Tom?”

“No idea; probably in Krallnomton,” Tizzy said. “Get busy. It took me forever to get these ingredients; we have to grind them all and then mix them just exactly right!” He waved towards the others in the kitchen: Boggy, Estrebrius and Antefalken. Each had large baskets of different dried plants.

“You told me Tom needed my help!” Reggie said to Estrebrius.

“He does. He needs you to help us grind the ingredients for the mortal stash! We don’t have a lot of time before the ceremony starts,” Tizzy replied over whatever Estrebrius had started to say, hurrying over to check on Boggy’s work. “And we gotta get everyone’s pipes stocked.”

“Mortal stash?” Reggie asked, not having a clue what the octopod was talking about.

Tizzy sighed, his top shoulders sinking in exasperation. “For the D’Orcing!”

“Okay, but what do you mean, ‘mortal stash’?” Reggie asked.

Tizzy shook his head in bemusement. “You really are a lousy stoner! All those participating in the ceremony need some enhancement to ensure everything goes smoothly, that non-mana wielders are able to share their mana easily with Tom and the shamans. Standard religious-slash-shamanistic practice for mana harvesting. Did you never go to church?”

“We didn’t take drugs in my church!” Reggie objected.

“I think you have to be on drugs to believe in the gods,” Boggy said.

“So you don’t think Phaestus is real?” Antefalken spoke up.

Boggy shook his head. “Obviously, having met the geezer, I know he exists; I simply refuse to believe that the gods are all-knowing, all-powerful solutions to life’s problems.”

“In my experience, they are not the solutions, so much as the problems,” Tizzy quipped. “However, that is beside my point. We need to stay focused on our project!”

Boggy stared in shock at Tizzy. “Who are you and what did you do with my partner? Are you possessed? I’ve heard rumors of humanic possession, but never thought I’d see it.”

“You are very funny. But as the official Stash Master of Doom, I have responsibilities!” Tizzy moved around the kitchen, waving his upper two hands and then looking over Antefalken’s shoulder. “Anyway, as I was saying, the D’Orc and demon participants will be smoking pipes with demon weed. We can’t give mortals pure demon weed, except for our victim—er, patient.” Tizzy shook his head at his slip of tongue. “If we gave them all demon weed, who knows where they’d end up on the Astral Plane? Probably somewhere near the Knights of Chaos, or worse, the Lords of Law! Talk about a boring group—makes the Oorstemothians seem like drunken frat brothers.”

“How do you know about fraternities?” Reggie asked, shaking his head in puzzlement.

“That’s not important! What’s important is that we need to have a mixture of ingredients for the mortals to smoke! We’ve got trace amounts of demon weed, normal marijuana, tobacco, the wax off these poppy seed pods, and of course those mushrooms.” He pointed to Reggie’s mushrooms.

Reggie raised an eyebrow and leaned over the bowl to sniff the mushrooms. “Ugh!” He shook his head, pulling his face back; they smelled like cow shit. “These are psychedelic mushrooms!”

“Psycho what?” Estrebrius asked.

“You know, stuff that makes you hallucinate,” Reggie said.

“Pfff!” Tizzy dismissed Reggie’s accusation. “What, are you asking if they are going to smoke the mushrooms and then look up and see a bunch of giant, multi-colored, bat-winged, vaguely porcine hooved creatures with giant tusks and a ten-foot-tall, four-armed purple dude with wings, a sinuous tail, two sets of massive pectorals, twelve pack abs and a perpetually erect penis? All of whom are chanting, dancing and flying around in circles to the beat of drums and a bunch of horns? Well then, yes, they will be hallucinating, but they would be seeing the same thing whether or not they smoked the mushrooms!”

Reggie paused in thought. “Okay, good point. Can I keep some mushrooms for myself?”

Tizzy chuckled. “Much better, but no! But if you are a good demon, I will get you some more later.”

“This is going to make an enormous stash,” Reggie noted, looking at all the ingredients.

Tizzy nodded. “We are going to need a lot, enough for several hundred mortals to share in their pipes.”

“How many people are going to be in this ritual?” Antefalken asked with a skeptical expression.

“Well, it varies depending on which version you do. But it looks like they are planning on using the full henge and everyone nearby. I mean, naturally, everyone who can come will want to be here. First new D’Orc in over four thousand years; even longer since we invested a shaman. We need stuff for them so we can harvest their mana.”

“That’s an incredible number of people and mana. My summoning was just a few wizards,” Reggie said.

Tizzy twisted his head. “Not just a few wizards. No, you said your accursed mistress is Merit-Ptah, beloved of Ptah. I’ve met her and her consort in several of their previous lifetimes. They are not only powerful ancient wizards, but animages and priests as well. Given what you’ve said about their repopulation project, you can bet they had some divine intervention to boost their mana supply.”

He paused. “But the thing is, I give the wizards this: their ability to safely package up tons of mana in their spells, runes and gadgets gives them a serious edge in terms of efficiency and safety compared to how an animage or shaman has to do it. Shamans need a lot more raw mana to do the same thing the wizards do with their nifty little spells. Plus, orcs are a lot harder to transform than humans. Who’d have thought? They do not go gently to their Doom!” The octopod shook his head in what seemed to be amazement.

“You really know a lot about this stuff!” Estrebrius marveled, looking at Tizzy with awe.

Tizzy grinned back.

“You were gone until last night; you seem to have gotten up to speed really fast on what needs to be done. Did Tamarin brain zap you?” Antefalken asked.

Tizzy looked at the bard as if Antefalken was the crazy one. “Why would I need to get up to speed? I’ve been to at least half of all D’Orcings that have ever occurred.”

Reggie did a double take. “What? You’ve been through a lot of ascensions?”

Tizzy shrugged. “Of course, all the early ones! Eventually it got boring and I just kept the supply chain stocked.”

“All the early ones?” Boggy asked.

“Sure. Who do you think helped Orcus develop the process?” Tizzy asked as if this were common knowledge. “He, I and Vosh An-Non, the great shaman, also the first D’Orc we ever did. Well, first one we did who lived through the process. It was a mite touch and go for a while. By the time we got to Arg-nargoloth and Darg-Krallnom, we pretty much had the bugs worked out.”

“So why aren’t you up there advising them on the ritual?” Reggie asked incredulously. “I am sure they could have used your help.”

Tizzy gave a small head shake as if he did not understand what Reggie was saying. “Hello! Who would be taking care of the stash? Do you know how hard it is to round up all this stuff and prepare it on short notice?” He threw his arms up in the air and exclaimed, “Enough questions! We need to get to work. I am probably going to have to help with the poppy seed pods; scoring them is a real pain. Besides, Tom will do just fine. Making D’Orcs is like making babies. You never forget how. Trust me!” Tizzy waved away Reggie’s concerns.

“Uhm... except that Tom has never made a D’Orc?” Reggie noted.

That stopped Tizzy. “Hmm, yes. Forgot that, my bad. Well, no worries; he’s obviously made babies! Where else would Rupert have come from?”

Nysegard, Krallnomton Henge: Mid Fifth Period

Tom closed the gateway behind the party going to Etterdam with Karth Death Cheater. For the version of the ritual they had come up with, the anointed one, Karth, needed to be on a different plane from the one to which he was summoned; it could not be the Abyss because that was the third plane in the so-called Dimensional Triad.

The biggest problem Tom had was that all of his current shamans, other than Trig Bioblast, were from the same localverse.  Tom had briefly discussed sending Karth and the party to Trig, but Trig was not on a planet, he was on a spaceship in deep space, in rather cramped quarters.  If a party of D’Orcs suddenly appeared on a military spacecraft, there would be lots of questions needing to be answered.  Questions Tom was not quite ready to deal with.  He had previously decided to focus on only one genre at a time.  Once he mastered fantasy worlds, he’d move on to science fiction worlds.  Or, he supposed, in this case, science-fantasy worlds as some magic apparently did work on Trig’s plane.

Thus Karth, along with the D’Orc shaman Kroth-bitor, Karth’s wife Eldebra, two other orc shamans, Nod Rock Bender and Luga Strength Sapper and Arg-nargoloth had all gone to Ragala-nargoloth’s campsite as a waypoint.  They had contacted her yesterday and she had taken her party slightly off course to a nearby henge, which being on a ley line intersection would help provide the power for her to open a second gateway to Excelsion, which was not in the localverse.

She knew some shamans about one hundred leagues from some city named Ged.  Apparently, the ruler of this city, an immortal archimage referred to as the Mobius Magi, had a propensity for interfering on many planes of existence, including Etterdam.

They’d had to carry Karth on a stretcher, as the shaman needed to conserve all the energy he had left for the ascension. Tamarin’s magic was currently keeping his body intact; at this point a very loose tethering point for his animus and mana. Tamarin did not think it would take much demon weed to get him, an experienced shaman, out onto the Astral Plane where Tom and the shamans could “capture” him.

The shamans would act as spiritual guards and escorts on the Astral Plane, while the D’Orcs, D’Wargs and orc warriors there would provide physical security for the henge. It was critical that nothing intrude on or interfere with Karth either in Excelsion or the Astral Plane before Tom summoned him.

Tom was feeling more than a little queasy about this whole D’Orcing thing. Having gotten brain dumped on by Tamarin and spending the last day or so planning the ritual, there was no way he could avoid noticing the similarities to his own summoning. Vaselle had even confirmed that the D’Orcanization ritual was basically a shamanistic version of the wizard spells of demon summoning and binding.

Which meant, logically, that the stuff that Reggie had brought to the party had not actually been pot, but rather demon weed. Something he’d been suspecting since he learned of the plant. Given that both of them had smoked the stuff and both ended up demons, it was rather irrefutable evidence.

The only question was, where had their demon weed come from? According to his orc shamans, demon weed did grow on the material planes; they were, when lucky, able to get small amounts from traders. It was extremely expensive due to its scarcity and because shamans, wizards, animages and priests all used it in very small doses for magical rituals.

If it was completely naturally occurring, then he supposed it could grow on Earth; but given there were no mana wielders on Earth, or at least not many powerful ones, it might not be cultivated. However, given that it looked like pot, one would think more people would have tried it, been summoned and died. This would have had to raise some red flags with authorities over the years, yet it had not. As far as he knew, he and Reggie were the only people on Earth to die of a pot overdose. One would think with modern legal medicinal, and in some places even recreational pot, more people would have found the stuff and overdosed to the far ends of the Astral Plane.

Although, to be fair, Boggy had said that a large number of demons did come from Earth or alternate Earths, so apparently there had been a lot more people smoking demon weed and exiting stage left, so to speak; it just did not rise to a high enough threshold to garner significant notice.

He shook his head. There was no time to debate this with himself; the ritual was about to commence. While it would take time for those in Etterdam to get set up and secure, the Nysegard side also had a lot of work to do. They needed to link everyone and bring up the necessary wards and protective circles around the henge and those clustered around it, providing mana.

Tom took his place on a small backless throne that someone had dug up. Vaselle and Tamarin stood to either side of him—experienced observers, tightly linked to him, who could advise or assist him as needed. He nodded to Muzga Death Tusk, the oldest and most experienced D’Orc shaman they had. She would lead the initial rituals; Tom would be doing the actual summoning and binding. He hoped he could remember the words.

Muzga gestured for everyone to get into their initial positions, all seated. She and Uzgash Death Smasher, the third of the first-generation D’Orcs, along with Tom, were providing the base triad; one at each corner of a triangle formation, inside the henge. Outside of them were five younger-generation D’Orc shamans, including Valg, stationed at each of the five points of the pentacle they had drawn in blood upon the ground stones of the henge.

Next came seven orc shamans, arranged around the pentacle, then eleven D’Orc warriors. The seven shamans and eleven D’Orcs would be doing a very powerful dance of protection. Outside of them were thirteen additional participants; one standing on top of each of the henge pillar stones in the inner ring.

The thirteen consisted of Darg-Krallnom, Targh Bowelsplitter, Vargg Agnoth, Helga Dourtooth, Gulogd Death Cheater, Eldebra’s father, and then seven shamans. The seven shamans included three orc shamans, Buga Breathstealer, Gorga Greatsword, and Gishnakh Stormsurge, and two human shamans, Mery Messwirth and Anfrith Hallworth.

The final two shamans were perhaps the most unusual, at least in Tom’s mind. Thakad Stonemason was a dwarven shaman and a woman, which made Tom feel awkward about all the dwarven woman jokes he used to make with his gaming buddies. Contrary to popular misconception, Thakad did not have a beard or any other excess body hair. The last shaman could probably only exist on Nysegard: Elyelwith Flores, one of the Forial Alfar—a wood elf—and for the last thousand years a shaman on the Isle of Doom, now sworn to Tom.

In the outer ring were three concentric circles of dancers. The first ring had seventeen dancers, the middle circle had nineteen dancers, and twenty-three were in the final circle. On top of each of the outer twenty-nine pillars were two drummers and a young assistant, the pipe holder. At the base of each stone, inside the circle, were horn players, each with an assistant with a pipe ready for them to inhale during breaks in their playing.

The outer dancers would be harvesting mana from those outside, not directly in the ritual. It was the job of the thirteen shamans on top of the inner circle to channel that mana to the inner dancers and the inner circles.

The dancers would be passing pipes between them; D’Orc dancers would pass pipes of demon weed, and the mortal dancers would exchange mortal stash pipes. Each pipe was carefully color coded to avoid accidentally creating any more D’Orcs or demons. Or so the joke went; technically, they’d need to specifically summon the person by name.

The region outside the drum circle held the general population, who would be chanting and dancing as they felt the spirit and energy. They too would be passing color-coded pipes. The stationary inner participants each had their own pipes, as Tizzy had instructed.

Tom shook his head, thinking about the massive drug rave he was about to throw. His mom and former stepdad would be so disappointed in him. He assumed his actual father would be as well, if he had not died in that giant fireball at his lab. But if this was how one made D’Orcs, then so be it. I mean, these are shamans, witch-doctors, curanderos. If it was okay for Carlos Castaneda, maybe it is okay for me. Certainly it should be okay for trained shamans. Right?

~

“Drug-fueled paganism!” Talarius shook his head in disapproval from his perch atop a nearby stone that was not part of the henge.

Sir Stainsberry laughed. “As a wizard, I would like to agree with that. A clear head is required for wizardry. However, I know from my mother’s people, as well as from other members of the El Ohîm, that there are many paths to truth and the Light.”

“Alvar and the El Ohîm use drugs?” Talarius looked at the Knight Magus in shock.

“Not all, of either group; not even most. However, ‘spice,’ as this special demon drug is called among the alvar, is used sparingly by sorcerers and a few other wizards, and several animages, such as Voyagers. Some alvaran shamans and even priests of the El’adasir occasionally use various mind-altering substances to achieve higher states of consciousness, or enhanced states of being,” Sir Stainsberry said. “Spice, in particular, is used to assist in astral projection. The true danger of that drug, for mortals, is that if you take too much—and by too much I mean more than a small pinch—you can find yourself lost in the far parts of the Astral Plane and have quite a bit of trouble returning. Particularly if you are untrained and have no clue as to what is going on.” The Knight Magus shook his head ruefully.

Talarius frowned in disapproval. “So let me understand this process,” he said. Stainsberry nodded, so Talarius continued, “The old orc shaman is going to take this spice, and travel to the Astral Plane with attendants.”

“Correct.” Stainsberry nodded.

“Then Lord Tommus and his people are going to essentially go hunting for him on the Astral Plane? And when they find him, they will bind him, trap him, and somehow conjure him into a new D’Orc body here in Nysegard?”

“Exactly. That body will be created by the mana and rituals done here. The new D’Orc’s form will be a combination of Karth and what people expect a D’Orc shaman to look like and be. They will imbue the excess mana they generate into this new form. The more they have, the more powerful he becomes,” Stainsberry told Talarius. “During this process, his mortal body in Ithgar dies. He is pure animus on the Astral Plane, which is transferred into, and fused with, the newly created D’Orc form.”

“And then?” Talarius asked.

“Then he is bound to Lord Tommus, which is sort of a moot point, since he’s already sworn allegiance, and then he will be sent into the Abyss, so to speak. At that point the transformation will be complete. He will need to rest for a few days, but he will then be a full D’Orc with all the knowledge and skills he acquired in mortal life,” the knight concluded.

“D’Orcs, as I am starting to learn, are basically demon orcs, yes?” Talarius asked.

“Yes; demon is a generic term for beings that are bound to the Abyss.”

“So he will be immortal?” Talarius asked.

“Indeed, even as are demons. D’Orcs are just demons that come from orcs; there are also demons that come from humans, elves, dwarves and most other intelligent species,” Sir Stainsberry said, speaking louder, as the drums had started pounding and were about to drown out conversation.

Talarius, however, had turned at this and was staring at Sir Stainsberry incredulously. “Wait. What did you say? There are demons that were once human?”

“Indeed,” Stainsberry shouted back. “All demons have to come from somewhere. Other than the D’Orcs, very few demon races procreate frequently; therefore, they rely on wizards and other mana wielders to conjure mortals into the Abyss to resupply their ranks. Making a human demon is no different than making an orc demon. The only difference is the mortal race they started as.”

Talarius began to feel the world reeling around him. The drums were getting louder and louder. Was the ground dropping? He distantly noticed the wizard lighting a pipe and inhaling. Talarius’s nerves were on edge. He could barely think after this revelation. He began to hyperventilate.

“This… edge off.” He heard Stainsberry shouting as he pushed something into his hand. It was a smoldering pipe. There would be no demon weed in it, he’d learned that. It was mostly tobacco and a few other herbs. He did not normally smoke tobacco, although it was not proscribed by his church, no more so than alcohol. The few times he had tried tobacco, it had been relaxing.

Talarius took the pipe, clenched it between his teeth and drew in a breath, the red coals glowing as oxygen flowed into the pipe and smoke filled his lungs. He turned to look back at the henge as the people started to chant and dance.

~

“This is weird,” Reggie said, passing his pipe to Boggy. “I am getting goosebumps. If I had any body hair, I’m pretty sure it would be standing on end.” They were able to talk over the drums at a somewhat reasonable level because Antefalken was strumming some sort of noise-canceling tune with one hand on something that looked like a ukulele strung over his shoulder.

“Your cornrows are looking rather frizzy,” Estrebrius said. Reggie had had to explain his hairstyle to the smaller demon. Despite being centuries old, the demon had apparently not met or seen many black—or in Reggie’s case, formerly black—people. He was dark purple now; a minority color among demons, who arguably were the most persecuted minority in the multiverse. He was now a double minority—wait, incubi were also a minority among demons. Hell, yeah! Triple minority! Reggie pumped his fist in the air, and Estrebrius raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior. Elite of the elite! And shit, he was best buds with a demon prince! Fuck yeah! Talk about elite!  Reggie giggled, more than happily buzzed. He probably should not have eaten those two cookies before toking up.

Antefalken took the pipe from Estrebrius and inhaled deeply. “It’s been a good seventy or eighty years since I’ve had any demon weed. Well, other than a cookie or two.”

Reggie blinked, staring at Antefalken and his ukulele thing. A thought just struck him. “Wait, I thought you weren’t a mana-using demon?”

Antefalken took another hit and nodded. “I’m not, but I am a bard, and I can do some bardic magic—you know, spellsongs, chants, that sort of stuff. We are in a very mana-rich environment right now, and with this pipe and all the mana floating around—that’s what’s putting your hair on end—it makes it much easier for me to do things like this noise-canceling tune.”

“What the—is that Tizzy?” Boggy asked in consternation, pointing towards the outermost ring of unofficial dancers.

They all turned to see the octopodal demon down in the crowd, his pipe clenched between his teeth, puffing like all get out, and all four hands pounding away on two sets of two bongos strapped to his front. He was walking on all fours, or rather dancing, rather weirdly.

“He seems to be having fun!” Estrebrius noted.

“Let’s go join him!” Antefalken said, ceasing his playing. The full volume of the drums and the crowd suddenly hit them in full force.

Reggie jumped in surprise, feeling the rather amazing beat starting to move him. “Let’s go!” he shouted.

~

Vaselle suddenly realized that it was getting dark faster than it should this early in the evening. He looked up to the sky to see that very dark storm clouds, much darker and lower to the ground than Krallnomton’s normal Doom clouds, had moved in. He examined them with his wizard sight, which he had activated at the beginning of the ceremony so he could observe the process.

Interesting; they were mana-driven storm clouds. This was something he had read about, but never actually seen. Intense levels of mana and animus churning could create storm clouds, which, like all storm clouds, were accumulations of air, water and fire in the form of lightning. He shook his head, suddenly realizing something that should have been obvious. The storm clouds that surrounded Doom! That was what those were; he simply had not realized it.

Vaselle blinked as the first flash of lightning lit the sky. He tipped his head back further, reveling in the power. Wizard spells were so contained, so packaged and tight in their use of mana and animus that the storm clouds rarely had time to gather. It was the raw, excess mana and animus that attracted the storm clouds. Only during times of war, when wizard battled wizard on a large scale, did you typically see these clouds.

He giggled slightly, more than a little bit affected by his mortal stash and Tom’s own demon weed flowing over the link. Storm clouds in a battle would make throwing lightning bolts very easy. Probably one reason they were so much more popular in a war. Easier to call down upon a target from the storm clouds, and much more targeted than a fireball that might roast your allies.

He had to imagine that the soldiers on the ground hated it. Nothing like being mired in mud, muck and pouring rain, poor visibility and the threat of lightning strike. It was good to be a wizard… and better to be a warlock.

Vaselle closed his eyes, feeling the intense beat of the drums and the wailing of the horns. The entire henge area was very hard to look at with wizard sight. It was bright, very bright. There was so much magic, it was more than a little overwhelming.

The dance of protection created a cloudy, glowing shield that seemed very primitive compared to that of Lenamare’s wards, yet these wards seemed far more natural, rawer and perhaps at some primitive level, even more awe-inspiring. It was the fine-weave artistry and taut control of Lenamare’s wards that in some ways was deceptive. They had immense power locked within them, hidden. Here the power was fully on display. He had to admit it was every bit as inspiring in its own very different way.

Suddenly the drum beat shifted and several of the dancers changed direction, chants rhythmically shifting. Vaselle opened his eyes to see the pentacle flashing brightly. With a sudden twist, through his link with Tom he found himself with Tamarin, in the Astral Plane.

The region outside the inner ring was very hazy, and he could see nothing outside of the drum circle; simply the vast colorful nothingness of the Astral Plane. Tom began his chanting. Vaselle could feel Tamarin with him inside Tom’s brain. This was surreal. Superficially, it was not technically dissimilar to a three-wizard link for spellcasting. Viscerally, however, it was much different. This was far more intimate; similar to possession, yet with three people. He could feel, experience the shaman links to Muzga and Usgash, and then to the other shamans on secondary levels. Those shaman links were the equivalent of wizard links.

They were, however, to Vaselle’s wizard-trained sensibility, far more raw, more ad hoc, free-form and loose than he was used to. He supposed that made sense. He needed to stop analyzing this, though, and focus on Tom and the summoning.

“Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I, Lord Tommus, Master of Doom, summon you by your true name. I demand that you attend me to swear your obedience and demonstrate your obeisance.”

Vaselle blinked. While he understood what Tom was saying due to their link and rehearsal, he was not speaking Universal. It was some other language, a very harsh one that he was unfamiliar with. It sounded something like Orcish, but it had a different cadence, different inflections.

The summoning didn’t take long, unlike what could happen in demon conjuring. Karth was already linked to Tom and a willing target. So, with a not-unexpected swooping sensation, Karth sort of stretched, elongated—well, telescoped—into the center of the pentacles.

What was rather unusual was that Vaselle could clearly see that it was Karth. This would happen if summoning a known demon from the Astral Plane; however, one seldom did that. Typically, only new demons were summoned this way, and they were always formless blobs of light.

“Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I now bind thee in the orcish tradition of Abdimman Fal Tregnon and the Bringers of Chaos, Destruction of Order and Birth of Justice for the Oppressed and Maligned,” Tom intoned to Karth. “I am Tommus, Heir of Orcus, Lord of Doom, Father of D’Orcs! Do you hereby invest yourself in my cause, myself and my destiny?”

“I do,” Karth replied.

“Do you swear upon all that you hold true, the core of your being, at peril of eternal shame, dishonor and condemnation, that you will forever serve me and my cause, even unto and beyond the true and final death?” Tom asked.

“My lord, I so swear!” Karth replied.

“Take now my binding,” Tom ordered as an even brighter strand of pure light flowed down and over the existing link. Karth reached out and took the link with his astral hand.

“Consume the link!” Tom commanded.

This part was unlike anything Vaselle had ever seen with demon binding, but the intent was clearly the same as the more coercive binding fixation spells. They had gone over it several times, so Vaselle had a good idea of what was happening, and intellectually he understood it, even if it was foreign to how wizardry did these things.

Karth’s astral hands began shoving the link down his throat. Given that everything in the Astral Plane was translucent, rather ghostly, one might say, Vaselle could actually see the link sliding into his esophagus, where it seemed to start curling up in the center of his chest. Vaselle blinked; the link was settling where an orc’s heart would be, except that astral forms were simply manifestations of an anima body and did not actually have any organs.

“Wrap yourself in my link; surround yourself with my power. Tie yourself, your soul to mine!” Tom commanded. Karth started turning around, winding the link around himself, wrapping himself up.

This was very trippy; no wonder one had to get high for this. Vaselle shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy. He felt the power of the drums beating through his body as Tom pulled them back to Nysegard. Suddenly the drums stopped with a loud, thunderous final stroke. The horns blew; the dancers stopped for a moment and then reversed as the drums started a different beat.

“Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I, Tommus, Lord and Master of Doom”—Vaselle’s master was holding his Rod high above his head—“summon you to Nysegard, by the power of the D’Orcs and the Defenders of Nysegard. We demand that you appear before us in your true D’Orc form!”

Loud wails expressing a large variety of emotion came from the outer dancers. They seemed to move into overdrive, their dancing becoming even more frenzied as the drumbeats picked up speed and intensity.

“We, the Defenders of Nysegard, demand that you appear before us in true form. Reveal yourself in all your D’Orcish splendor!” Tom shouted. Vaselle noted that all the inner shamans were chanting rapidly; a few were making semantic gestures along with mouthing words, apparently doing rituals.

The darkened sky above lit up brightly as five bolts arced through the sky, and the wind began picking up. Vaselle was beginning to get sensory overload. Tom was still shouting, but he could barely concentrate on it, even with the link, over the roar of the drums, horns, shamans, and the wailing dancers.

Suddenly there was a huge crash of thunder and lightning struck the center of the pentacle. The material components they had placed there burst into flame, roaring higher and higher. Inside the flame, a very large winged creature unbent and stretched out, screaming in soul-rending agony.

Vaselle grabbed Tamarin’s hand and squeezed. They were watching the birth of a D’Orc, the first created one in over four thousand years! He glanced at her, she was smiling every bit as brightly as he was.

~

“Dear Lord Tiernon above!” Talarius rocked back and forth on his heels as the new D’Orc screamed from within the henge. Its agonizing scream was somehow audible above the insane cacophony of the drug-addled partiers.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Sir Stainsberry said.

“And more than a little bit frightening. By the way, I am also seeing colors I have never seen before. Not sure where they came from, or where they’ve been,” Talarius said, blinking rapidly as some smoke got in his eyes.

At last, the new D’Orc quieted down. Lord Tommus asked it a few more questions in that very odd language, to which it replied in the same tongue.

“What language is that, and why can’t we understand it? I thought the demons and D’Orcs all spoke some sort of universal language.” Talarius looked to Stainsberry.

“Interesting that they call it Universal and not Multiversal,” Stainsberry commented while visibly swaying to the rhythm of the drums, which were slowing down and losing some of their intensity, allowing them to speak. “There are clearly some obvious limits to what it can translate. Or something. I think the point is that Lord Tommus isn’t actually speaking Universal.”

Sir Stainsberry blinked a few times and waved his hand towards Talarius in a vague gesture. “Could you please stop swaying so much? You are making me dizzy.”

“I’m not the one swaying. You are the one who is swaying!” Talarius paused, suddenly realizing that he was swaying, just like Stainsberry. “Oh wait, my bad. I am also swaying.”

Talarius moved his head from side to side, trying to clear it. “So what… what was he speaking?”

“Not sure,” Stainsberry said, “but I sort of think it might have been Jǫtunnspråk, the ancient high language of the jötunn. Sort of like High Jötnmál. Doubt anyone’s heard it since Ragnarök.”

“Ragnarök?” Talarius asked. “Wasn’t that some sort of huge battle between giants, gods and mortals?”

“Indeed. In theory, the last battle was but a few hundred years before Orcus was slain in Etterdam. Some among the El Ohîm suspect that his slaying may, in some way, have been the true last battle, or at least in some way connected.”

“Huh.” Talarius tilted his head to think about that, or at least to think about thinking about it. He was having a bit of difficulty concentrating on much of anything. Suddenly he noticed another splash of light from the center of the henge. The flames around the new D’Orc flashed brightly and then died, leaving no sign of Karth.

“He has gone to Mount Doom,” Sir Stainsberry said. “I wonder if they have someone watching for him?”

“That would be awkward, showing up at your new home with no one there to greet you,” Talarius said. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Good idea!” Stainsberry said. They both tried to sit down rather awkwardly; neither one had much in the way of equilibrium.

“I hate vertigo!” Talarius muttered.

DoomSpa: Minutes Later

“Incoming!” Talgorf yelled down the tunnel towards the DoomSpa. Bellyachus and Lesteroth Gorflog were supposed to be standing by. Talgorf was carrying the front end of the stretcher with Karth on it. Svartbart, the apprentice quartermaster, who was of Nysegardian descent, carried the rear of the stretcher. Ayega DeathTusk brought up the rear, behind the stretcher. As Commander of the 7th Regiment, she had been in charge of the welcoming committee.

“Make sure we have a nice, soothing, hot mercury bath for him! It’s been thousands upon thousands of years, but I still remember how much pain I was in after my ascension!” Ayega shouted at the top of her lungs.

Bellyachus shouted back. “We are all set, everything in place as ordered! Ufthak Skinpeeler has her massage table set up and ready to go as soon as he’s out of the bath!”

Ayega chuckled. “Excellent. There is no ache or pain a good session with Ufthak can’t cure. She is the best torturer I’ve ever encountered! She’s been at it for over twenty-one thousand years.”

“From the screams I hear outside her sessions, she sounds fantastic!” Talgorf said over his shoulder.

“She is. Of course, since the fall of Doom, she’s been limited to mostly massages, teaching yoga and Pilates classes and, of course, recreational and therapeutic torture,” Ayega said.

“No, she got in a few captives from Doom’s Redoubt,” Talgorf said. “I know one guy who chose to flee to the hinterlands after Lord Tommus’s deep freeze maneuver. He was once captured in one of our raids and she tortured him for a solid two decades before she got bored and tossed him out on the slopes of Mount Doom to drag his seriously broken body back to the Redoubt. He spoke of her often for the next six or seven hundred years. You don’t forget someone with her expertise.”

Ayega chuckled. “She’d be pleased to know that. Have you two reminisced?”

Talgorf shook his head. “No. To be honest, she sort of intimidates me. I’ve been too nervous to approach her on it.”

Ayega shook her head. “No, no, she’s a sweetheart. She loves to hear about past clients, at least when they’re still alive. Although, from what I’ve heard, you might not want to bring it up during a session. You know—old memories, old muscle memories?”

“Mmm. Good point!” Talgorf nodded in agreement.

“Unholy sephiroth!” Bellyachus exclaimed, seeing Karth on the stretcher. “He’s huge! Even for a D’Orc! That is one huge and scary-looking shaman!”

Ayega nodded. “That ceremony was more than a little overkill—or over-rebirth—or something. There were more people at that ceremony than any other I can remember seeing.”

Talgorf shook his head. “Given that he was already a very good shaman, he’s going to be really powerful.”

“We’re going to need one, I am sure,” Ayega agreed. “We have more than enough enemies.”

Library of Doom: DOA + 13, Early First Period

Tom wandered the seemingly endless aisles of books, taking calm solace in their comfort. He seriously needed to wind down after this evening. He wasn’t even sure how to describe it. He had been so nervous, so worried, stressed and anxious leading up to the ceremony; he couldn’t get over how calm he was now.

Yes, he was still completely wired from the entire experience, which was why he had sought the library to relax in, but he was not anxious. Worried thoughts and recriminations were not coursing through his brain as they so often were after major actions on his part. His mind felt quite light, clear and full of insights. He just felt good, happy, excited, yet so totally Zen.

It was like he had finally grokked the whole demon business for the first time. He was, maybe, finally cool with it. He had been on the active end this time and it really changed one’s perspective. Of course, his subject had been more than willing. Unlike the vast majority of demons.

For orcs, getting D’Orced was basically like canonization, divine ascension. You lived a good and virtuous mortal life, and the best and bravest were rewarded with immortality upon death. When it was fighting the good fight with glory and honor, in the service of the greater good, immortal life was a noble thing.

When it was as a slave to a nutso wizard, that was a bad thing. It was so odd how the same procedure could be so good and yet so evil. It was all about how and why it was done. Of course, that was basically true of anything, of everything.

Tom smiled happily as he wandered into the room with the really cool animage robes. Orcus’s animage robes were a layered set of robes with a belt that Tom found fascinating. He loved the design, the runes on it, the interwoven and interlocking symbols. He really didn’t know why he found it so fascinating; he just did.

Of course, technically, this was just the template robe. According to Antefalken, he was supposed to memorize these clothes and somehow make them part of his body. Talk about weird. Talk about grokking! You’d have to really know, understand, grok the robes in order to make them a part of yourself. So were all these wardrobe heavy demon lords Zen masters or something?

Tom shifted into Edwyrd, his belt and loin cloth falling noisily to the floor. He stepped out of the belt and walked naked over to the glass case that held the robes. He carefully opened the case, and a waft of stale air came tumbling out to tickle his nose. Even the fabric of the robes smelled fantastic at this distance.

Edwyrd carefully removed the layers of the robe, gently folding the outer layers and setting them at the base of the case. When he got to the inner layer, he took it off the manikin and carefully slipped it on. Oh... it felt so good. It was some strange material somewhere between silk and satin. He ran his hands over the inner robe, pressing it against his skin, feeling every inch of it, reveling in it. He then carefully put on the outer layers, taking time to run his hands over each layer to get a feel for it, and finally fastened the belt.

It was interesting to note that the robes contained numerous hidden pockets, the perfect place to store arrowheads or dragon teeth. “So comfortable,” Edwyrd said out loud.

They were a bit big for him, though. That wouldn’t be a problem if he created them as part of himself; he’d make them his size. But for the moment, the real robes dragged on the floor. He chortled as he suddenly realized he could just make himself a bit bigger. He did so, slowly growing until the robes fit.

There was a pair of matching boots in the case as well. He would need to find or generate some socks. Although if the boots were part of himself, would he need to wear socks? As he slid his feet in, the answer became obvious; the boots were lined with some sort of soft fur.

Edwyrd stepped back out of the room. He decided he would wander once more, now dressed in these robes. It would allow him to get used to their feel, and he could comfortably explore them with his mind, much as he did runes and magical spells. He suddenly remembered there was a small mirrored room nearby. He had previously dismissed it as a dressing room, but now he realized its import. He could look at himself from every direction and absorb the robes’ features.

He moved over to the dressing room, opening the door and stepping through into the gentle, indirect lighting of the room. He shut the door. Hell, even the floor and ceiling were mirrored. He laughed, exploring the images of himself in every conceivable direction while running his hands and fingers over the robe.

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me. Edwyrd gave a small laugh internally, as the song lyrics wafted up from the depths of his memory. That song would do it, it was perfect grokking music. Was there not even a mirror scene in the musical? Different song, though.

Edwyrd spun gently as the lyrics continued in his head, his heart filled with the music. Time to leave the mirrored room! He left, nearly flinging himself into one of the vast aisles of books. He placed his hands gently on the opposing shelves of books in one aisle and closed his eyes as he let the shelves guide him down the long hallway. He would let his mind travel the symbols of the robes.

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

Edwyrds’s mental fingers roved over the robes, touching, exploring every layer, every pattern. His mind wove through the fabric; yet at the same time, visions of tonight’s activities also flashed through his mind—the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people at the ceremony. He began running down the aisle with his eyes closed, guided by the books. Right behind you, I see the millions. On you, I see the glory!

Edwyrd grinned. He felt good. For once, in what seemed like a very long time, he actually felt happy and extremely content. He opened his eyes to stare into the future, imagining a young Roger Daltrey running down the next aisle along with him.

Listening to you, I get the music

Gazing at you, I get the heat

Following you, I climb the mountain

I get excitement at your feet

Tom grinned even more broadly, realizing it was only fitting that his mind would be playing music from a rock opera about someone with his own name.

Chapter 138

Citadel of Light: Early Second Period

Hilda shook her head in disbelief after Stevos and Timbly finished recounting their experiences from today. She stared briefly into her wine glass, pondering what she had just been told. Inethya was looking down at her hands, which were wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. Dashgar simply sighed.

“So is their view of Orcus considered heresy?” Stevos asked the others. Hilda, Dashgar, Inethya and Baysir had joined Stevos and Timbly this evening at the request of the on-site saints.

“We have been somewhat aware of their feelings for some time,” Dashgar said, looking at Inethya.

“If heresy this is, it is not new,” Inethya agreed.

“We’ve tried to look the other way, and to be fair, since he took over the localverse, Sentir has made it much easier for us to look away,” Dashgar said.

“Why look away?” Timbly asked.

Inethya sighed. “Orcus was perhaps our most important ally on Nysegard. With his assistance, we were slowly beating back the Unlife. He committed much more supernatural support to fighting the Unlife than any of the Five Siblings.”

“More supernatural support?” Stevos asked, puzzled.

“Immortal feet upon the ground, if you will. He deployed thousands of D’Orcs on the ground, easily two orders of magnitude compared to the number of saints or archons we kept on the ground. Even when the Five deployed avatars in Nysegard for major confrontations, there were still more than one order of magnitude more D’Orcs than avatars,” Inethya told them.

“Perhaps,” Hilda cautioned, “yet I am not sure I would discount the amount of mana that the various off-plane avatars would have deployed through their illuminaries. An avatar working through priests can be in many places at once; priests, as proxies, can greatly magnify an avatar’s ability to exert influence.”

Dashgar nodded in agreement. “That is, of course, the argument that has been made by Sentir Fallon.”

“And is certainly true on an ongoing basis. However, during major battles, D’Orcs and avatars are far more potent than mortal priests. Also, Orcus had shamans, wizards, and druids working with him,” Inethya said.

“As you know, the Five Churches are not easily persuaded to bring alternative mana wielders to their bosom. Orcus would work with any ally that proved true and trustworthy,” Dashgar said.

“In any event, once our people here began figuring out that it was Sentir Fallon, an archon of Tiernon, who permanently slew their ally—things got complicated,” Inethya said.

“They were not happy,” Dashgar told them. “And they were quite vocal in their prayers.”

“I fear I must also point out that the losses that Sentir Fallon talks about, the permanently slain avatars? That really only started to be a problem in the aftermath of Orcus’s demise. As they told you, we committed quite a number of forces to defending the Isle of Doom after Orcus’s death, and we lost a lot of saints the first thousand or so years. We lost more than we had ever lost before.”

“Shortly before the last truly huge battles, around twenty to twenty-five hundred years ago, Athgar, Sentir Fallon’s predecessor as Elder Archon of the Localverse, began to scale back our operations. Discussing this again now, I am just remembering that this was at the urging of Sentir Fallon,” Dashgar told them.

“He did? But he was not an Elder Archon at the time. He was Attendant on Astlan,” Baysir said.

“Well, as you know, we have these regular conclaves of the Attendant Archons for each localverse,” Dashgar said. “There are only thirteen worlds in our localverse that Tiernon has a true presence on. Another half dozen or so worlds have smaller presences, not large enough to merit an Attendant Archon. In any event, it is at those meetings that we discuss the shared concerns and resources of the worlds within our localverse. Obviously, I was routinely bringing up our resource issues here, and reporting on our losses. When the topic came up as to what to do about it, it was Sentir Fallon who suggested we refocus on supporting the priests and training mortal forces, rather than going in and risking our increasingly limited number of saints.”

At this point Hilda interrupted Dashgar. “That is a question I have. It would seem that in a world of eternal conflict, there would be great opportunities for self-sacrifice, martyrdom and thus canonization?”

Inethya chuckled at this. “Indeed, one would.” She shook her head sadly. “And that was generally the case before the fall of Doom. In what we might call the great saint-making battles, Doom’s forces typically gave us the cover to get the newly departed to a safe location before they could be drained of animus. Even when we were not fighting side by side, the Unlife were so reduced that we had plenty of opportunities for sainthood against lesser Unlife.”

She shook her head again. “That first thousand or so years that I mentioned, we were still able to recruit saints at about the same rate as before; however, we were losing them faster. After that, well… things got ugly and the Unlife had become strong enough that they could often consume the animus of the martyr before we could do an ascension.”

Stevos grimaced and gave a small shudder at the horror of this. Hilda closed her eyes for a moment and then raised her glass in a toast. “To those brave illuminaries and warriors who have fallen and been consumed.”

“To the fallen.” The others joined in the toast.

“So why are Torean’s forces also holding back avatars?” Timbly asked.

Dashgar shrugged. “As with Torean and Tiernon, Sentir Fallon and Noahn Whitlove, the Elder Archon of Torean for the localverse, are close.”

“So why have the Unlife held back for the last few thousand years? You said they have gotten stronger; why have they not attacked?” Baysir asked.

“We speculate that, from what we can determine, they have been purposefully holding back,” Dashgar said. “They do what it takes to keep us from expanding, but they have not tried the sort of large-scale attacks against us that we saw thousands of years ago. Given that the strength of the Unlife our people are encountering has been increasing, they are trying to build up more experienced, more powerful forces so that when they do strike, it will be far more successful.”

“Well, this appears to be exactly that. A major battle coming, and soon,” Stevos said. “We”—he gestured to himself and Timbly—“feel we should be here. Given that we are asking them for aid, we should be willing to grant ours to them.”

Dashgar nodded and looked to Inethya and then Baysir, who obviously had been thinking on this.

After a few moments, Baysir spoke. “I am fine with it, if it is fine with you, Inethya. I would aid if I could, but we all know the politics of that.” He smiled at Inethya, who grinned and rolled her eyes.

Hilda suddenly spoke up. “Well, if you two are staying, I would like to stay as well. The Unlife are my calling, after all.” `

Baysir tilted his head. “I am not opposed to your doing this, but we should certainly check with Moradel and Beragamos. I do not want to have to explain your eternal demise to them; they have taken a shine to you.”

Inethya chuckled, raising her glass. “Indeed, I am loath to risk losing access to your wine cellar!”

Isle of Doom, Krallnomton: Early Third Period

Talarius woke to midmorning fierdlight. His first thoughts were of concern regarding how late it was; he had slept half the morning. His next thought was that he really did not feel like moving. Nope, I really do not want to get up; I’d be good with lying in this pile of hay for the rest of the day.

That thought caused him to bolt upright. Vertigo kicked in immediately as the world swayed around him. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I under a spell by some dark magus? Where the hell am I? When am I? Why am I lying in a haystack? He was feeling extremely disoriented; it had to be some sort of confusion spell. He really could not get his bearings.

Who is that? Talarius thought, staring at the alfar lying next to him in the haystack. The fellow was half in and half out of his armor. Talarius looked down at himself. He was in the same state; it was as if they’d been trying to get their armor off in order to sleep more comfortably, but had not succeeded before falling asleep or passing out.

He knew the fellow; he was a Knight Magus. One of the El Ohîm? Stainsberry. That was it. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only made his vertigo worse. He was pulling it together now. He was on Nysegard, in a field, presumably somewhere between the henge and Krallnomton. What in the Abyss had happened?

“A D’Orcing,” Talarius muttered to himself, answering his own question. It was all coming back in a rush. He remembered it all now. What an incredibly surreal experience. Lord Tiernon! That unholy ceremony had been unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Utter paganism, drugs, dancing and excessively loud music. The lights, the colors, the sounds. The agonizing scream of the newborn D’Orc.

“A D’Orc, a demon orc; a demon created from a normal orc.” He now remembered Stainsberry’s words. “D’Orcs are just demons that come from orcs. There are also demons that come from humans, elves, dwarves and most other intelligent species.”

Chills raced down Talarius’s spine. He was not sure how to process this. It was well known that demons lured humans, all mortals, into acts of evil, consigning them to eternal torment and damnation. But they were consigned as victims of the demons’ perversions, not as a demon themselves.

People did not become demons due to their vile acts. It was not like virtuous people, who were rewarded with eternal life as a saint. More thoughts, discussions came as his memories returned slowly. For orcs, becoming a D’Orc upon death was the same as a human being canonized. D’Orcs were orc saints; yet they were demons.

Talarius suddenly felt nauseous. It was not from the vertigo, though; it was these heretical thoughts in his head. “Indeed, all demons have to come from somewhere. Other than the D’Orcs, very few demon races procreate frequently; therefore, they rely on wizards and other mana wielders to conjure mortals into the Abyss to resupply their ranks. Making a human demon is no different than making an orc demon; the only difference is the mortal race they started as.” Stainsberry’s words echoed in his head.

The horrifying implication was that wizards and their ilk were recruiting or kidnapping people and turning them into vile and despicable demons! He had always suspected there was something off, something utterly nefarious about those damn wizards. He had never really trusted them. Other than Stainsberry, who was also a knight, one of the El Ohîm and thus not a traditional, shifty wizard—he had a code of honor. Demons were created, not born, or something like that. Stainsberry had implied that some were born, or could be. Half-demons, most likely.

He had no idea what the implications of it were. It was a known fact that demons were by their very nature evil. Not so much the ones he was currently with, he had to admit. Tom and his crew had been crass and obnoxious, even threatening—at least, Tizzy was—but he had not seen them do anything particularly evil. All the torturing going on at Mount Doom seemed to be consensual. Odd as that seemed.

Here in Nysegard, Tom and his D’Orcs were actively fighting the same enemies as the Five Siblings. By definition, they should be neutral with respect to Unlife, if not allied with them. However, they were actively engaged in open warfare with the creatures.

He had to stop and think about some of the things Tom had told him. So much of what the demon had said early on, Talarius had written off as demonic lies. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that everything Tom said was a lie; and now with this new information, perhaps the demon’s reactions had been sincere. Talarius shuddered. Ascribing human emotions and motivations to a demon was heresy, he was fairly certain.

Yet if Stainsberry, and for that matter his own eyes last night, were to be believed, much of these demon creatures were formerly mortal—human, orc, or alfar beings to which traditional motivations could be applied. It would therefore seem that one could ascribe such motivations to them.

Talarius sighed. He was going to need a long day of prayer and contemplation. He should probably fast, but his morning hunger after the night’s rest was far greater than normal for some reason. He really wanted something to eat. It needed to be huge, a good snack, sweet, salty. Hmm…

Astlan, Orcan Plains, Stone Finger Camp: Mid Third Period

Tal Gor finished checking both his own and his tribe’s bandages. Fortunately, he had not been responsible for bandaging and healing, as a shaman normally would be without a healer. He could bandage as well or better than most, but his shamanistic healing was not quite what he might like. However, that had been taken care of by Ferroos, the shaman for the Stone Finger tribe’s camp, where they had spent the night.

It had been the Stone Fingers whose tents Zargvarst had spotted to the north of where they had been attacked by the alvar. They had flown there, not stopping to tend wounds; it had not been that terribly far when flying.

Naturally, their arrival had been greeted with shock and fear, but Lob had quickly shown the Stone Fingers their credentials from Mount Orc, which included a Stone Finger talisman. Their news and the obvious state of the orcs had further worked to smooth the introductions.

The Stone Fingers had quickly mounted a wargback party to retrieve prisoners and corpses. Nagh Felwraith led a band to the alvaran crash site. It went unspoken, but Nagh would be able to provide additional support should more alvar have survived than they suspected. The other D’Orcs stayed with the Crooked Sticks and Stone Fingers should any aerial attacks occur from other alvaran resources.

Elgrida Far Eyes, the chief of the Stone Finger band, also sent riders out to nearby tribes and bands to alert them. While awaiting the return of those seeking the remains of the alvaran force, Ferroos had treated the Crooked Stick wounds, which fortunately, were mere flesh wounds. No organs or serious damage had been done, in large part thanks to the skillful nature of the D’Wargs in shielding their riders.

During their patch-up, Elgrida mentioned that Ferroos had spotted the flying patrols, but had not been able to determine who they were. Tal Gor and their band had just confirmed their worst suspicions. This, added to the fact that the alvar had broken the armistice, was definitely cause for a small celebration.

Not only was war coming and they could begin plotting their strategies, but the Stone Fingers were anxious to hear of the battle in the sky. It had been a great long time since the orcs had had such a decisive victory. Five D’Orcs, six orcs and ten D’Wargs taking out one hundred alvar and another hundred hippogriffs was a monumental victory! Victory against ten times one’s own forces was legendary.

They had feasted and were well into celebratory toasts when the recovery expedition returned near midnight with about a dozen wounded alvar and a similar number of hippogriffs. Naturally, they had confiscated all the alvaran treasure they could locate before burning the bodies. They had cleared the area safely and monitored the fires until they began to die down; at that point they had left, leaving only a large cloud of oily black soot oozing into the sky.

Suffice to say, they had not gotten to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. To the consternation of the Crooked Sticks, D’Orcs neither slept nor got drunk on glargh. While they’d sipped some of their x-glargh, they preferred to remain vigilant through the night. Even with the late start to the morning, most of the orcs in the camp were feeling a wee bit glarghvosted.

“Let us harness the D’Wargs and get ready for the morning training session!” Zargvarst told the band.

Lob Smasher nodded. He had just finished a morning meeting with Elgrida, discussing plans for both the Crooked Sticks and the Stone Fingers for the next few days. The battle with the alvar had clearly outlined the need for the orcs to have more battle training on D’Wargback.

Thus, the plan was to pitch their tents and spend the next few days with the Stone Fingers, and to train the Crooked Sticks in more advanced air-to-air and air-to-ground combat. The Stone Fingers would also participate in the air-to-ground combat training, as they would need to be prepared to battle alvar on hippogriffs.

“What are you staring at?” Zargvarst growled at Nagh, who was shading his eyes and staring up at the clouds. Nagh pointed towards one particularly good-sized cloud.

“I realize it has been thousands of years since I’ve stood upon the Planes of Orc, but do not clouds typically all follow the same general airflow at a given altitude?” Nagh asked.

“They go where the wind blows, obviously.” Zargvarst shrugged. “You have not forgotten that.”

“Well, in that case, that is a very unusual cloud.” Nagh nodded to the cloud he was pointing at.

Tal Gor used his Eagle Sight, although at such distances with such a nebulous subject, it did not help that much. However, it did seem like the cloud was moving in a different direction to those nearby.

“Hmm.” Zargvarst shook his head, indecisive. “The tall spires of the Doomalogue’s outer ring probably cause all sorts of odd airflows, and that cloud is probably at a different altitude. It is very hard to judge such things from the ground.”

Nagh nodded in agreement. What other explanation could there be? What harm could a single rogue cloud do? Rain on them?

Astlan, Orcan Plains, Nimbus: Mid Third Period

“My lady, the courier is in the upper hanger, should you wish to question her,” the ensign handing Trevin a sealed leather pouch said.

“Thank you,” Trevin told the ensign. “Excuse me one moment,” she said to the others around the table as she proceeded to open and read the message.

Trevin, Elrose, Maelen, Jenn, and Gastropé were all enjoying tea and biscuits, as had become their custom of late, at the time called “nineses” by the ship’s chef and galley master, Bernaud, as well as his fellow hearthean crew members. It was essentially a late-morning tea break for heartheans.

The galleys, in various combinations, served all the hearthean meals and then some, given that the Nimbus when on a mission operated around the clock. For those on a normal schedule there was dawn’s break at 5—typically fruits, biscuits, cheeses, juices and hot beverages; full breakfast at 7.5, which was a large meal with both hot and cold meats, eggs, pastries, griddle cakes, syrup toast, and a plethora of other calorific wonders. Nineses came as a brief respite before lunch, and was mainly tea and biscuits. Lunch was served around 11, and was usually sandwiches and salads, things that were easily taken with one to eat at work. At 14 was high tea, which was once more tea, but often with a nip of something extra in the tea, small sandwiches and pastries. At 17 was dinner, the big meal of the day—a full multi-course meal that varied by the day. At midnight, the twentieth hour, was supper (unless dinner was still going, which could often be the case). As the name implied, supper was often soup and bread, or perhaps some reimagined version of what was left from dinner. This meal, while always served on the Nimbus, was a bit less well attended due to the hour and the fact that many were sleeping. Under normal circumstances, heartheans would then be sleeping until either dawn’s break or full breakfast. However, on the twenty-hour clock of the Nimbus, there was a reverse schedule that started at 15 with dawn’s break for the other shift and concluding with supper at 10 the next day.

Gastropé only attended nineses and high tea with the group from Freehold, as that was when they all met to chat. He attended the other meals sparsely, as his hunger dictated. Dinner was his most frequent, given that it was often the most formal, with the Captain and senior crew members attending. It was an excellent opportunity to hear tales and legends.

“Frost lizards bite my toes!” Trevin cursed, surprising everyone.

Gastropé looked up from his reverie as Trevin lowered a small piece of parchment to her lap. She shook her head. “So, we arrive too late,” she said.

“Too late?” Maelen asked with a look of concern.

“As we knew, the alvar had hippogriff patrols around Jötunnhenj; well, yesterday they encountered their first group of orcs and D’Orcs,” Trevin informed them.

“So there has been another incursion from the Abyss?” Elrose asked.

Trevin wobbled her head from side to side, as if not completely agreeing. “Incursion is a matter of perspective. Given that we know the D’Orcs have been with local orcs, presumably Crooked Sticks, that means that they are on the orcs’ home territory and doing nothing wrong. Under the current armistice, the incursion would be the alvar into orc territory.”

“What happened?” Jenn asked.

Trevin sighed. “Apparently the orcs and D’Orcs also spotted the alvar. They landed and armed up.”

“Not good,” Maelen said quietly.

“No, not good. The alvar went for reinforcements, reinforcements sufficient to take out the orcs and D’Orcs…” Trevin said, trailing off and shaking her head.

“How many were there?” Gastropé asked, thinking about Tal Gor; he would have to guess the shaman was one of the orcs.

“Five D’Orcs, six orcs and ten D’Wargs—four were apparently carrying supplies,” Trevin said.

“And how many alvar were judged sufficient to handle this?” Maelen asked. His tone implied skepticism as to whether the alvar had handled it.

“A forward party of forty alvar on forty hippogriffs, and a hidden rear party of another sixty pair to engage the orcs and D’Orcs from the rear after initial engagement. Of the alvar, ten were Rialto Alvaran knights, and they had a powerful wizard, Hetgar Fielos; someone I happen to know.”

Jenn made an indrawn breath. “That is like ten to one, plus a wizard. It must have been a massacre!”

“Not the way I bet you are thinking,” Gastropé said, thinking back to what he’d seen with Tom. Gastropé could not help remembering the way Tal Gor’s D’Warg had seemed ready to shred him.

“What do you mean?” Jenn looked over at him, seeming slightly annoyed.

“You are both correct,” Trevin said, looking even older than usual. “It was a complete massacre; the alvar had no chance. The orcs and D’Orcs suffered no casualties, only a few scratches to the orcs.”

“And the alvar?” Elrose asked with trepidation.

“A rout. Hetgar was forced to flee, teleport away after the last of the team went down. It seems there was a very powerful warlock with the orcs, who was able to fling Hetgar’s magic back at him.”

Gastropé furrowed his brow. Vaselle did not seem to fit the description of a powerful warlock. He wasn’t that much older than Gastropé and really didn’t seem to be quite so together as to do something like that. How many other warlocks could Tom have recruited? He was also not an orc. Tal Gor was an orc, but he was a shaman. One would think an alvaran wizard would know the difference.

Gastropé blinked in shock. Damien? Could a councilor succumb to such temptations? He shook his head; he needed to think more clearly. Damien was also not an orc, and there was no mention of a human. Besides, this was Tom and Damien he was talking about, not some actual dark lord.

Gastropé suddenly realized Trevin was still speaking. “They sent a rescue force, but by the time they arrived, the orcs and D’Orcs had burned most of the bodies. From the looks of the trails leading away, there were some survivors, now prisoners, but not very many. Trevin stood. “That is about all I have. I am going to go see if the courier knows more. I’ll let you know what I find out at high tea. I am going to have to make some long mirrorings in the next few days.”

Trevin left the room with the ensign, leaving the others in silent contemplation.

Suddenly Jenn spoke up, looking at Gastropé. “How did you know that the orcs would win?”

Gastropé got one of those sinking feelings in his stomach. “Well, I talked to a bunch of people who saw them, even as we all did. If D’Orcs make giant, battle-hardened orcs nervous, filled with awe, don’t you think they would be truly nightmarish in battle? Not to mention the fact that they are demons? We both know firsthand the sort of destruction they can cause; now imagine an orc demon.”

Jenn raised an eyebrow at him, thinking for a moment, before finally nodding. “I see your point.” She shook her head in what Gastropé assumed was dismay.

Elrose looked to Maelen. “Has war come?”

“It is not quite what I was expecting, not this front; however, it feels consistent and I did see orcs. Certainly demons of various sorts. Perhaps some were D’Orcs that I had no context for,” Maelen said. He shook his head. “Given what I have read, mainly here on the Nimbus, it would seem the orcs have good cause for claiming that the alvar have broken the armistice.”

“And that means?” Jenn interrupted.

Maelen shrugged. “When it comes to orcs and the alvar, the answer is generally war.”

“War...” Elrose repeated.

The Abyss, Near Melted Castle: Fourth Period

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Sir Lady Serah asked as they peered around a very large stone boulder in the direction of the melted fortress.

“No,” Sir Samwell said quite decisively and distinctly through his helmet.

They were all in full armor, with weapons drawn. Steedless, of course. Sir Samwell had no mount; neither Peace Bringer nor War Bringer were on board the Inferno, and Gaius and Gadius had indicated they were having trouble summoning them. Sir Lady Serah had left Aeros, her hippogriff, on board. The hippogriff’s magical barding would have protected him from the hostile climate, but Serah had thought it best that if some were on foot, all should be.

Sam, of course, knew very well why the two knights did not want to summon their steeds. Given that they were each other’s steeds, it would have been rather awkward. Naturally, he felt some petty amusement at the thought of the two oh-so-holier-than-thou knights taking turns mounting each other. Of course, Sam reflected, given what he knew of the sex life of unicorns, the fact was that they actually did take turns mounting each other in that other way, so the joke did lose some of its juvenile appeal.

Unicorn reproduction was one of the slightly odder things that he had observed within the realm of both humanoid and equinoid species. Within their own species, unicorns formed almost exclusively same-sex bonds; however, such bonds were, obviously, not particularly useful for reproduction. Thus, unicorn marital bonds were quite open in terms of sexual partners that were either humanoid or equinoid, provided said carnal relations were with partners of the opposite sex. The whole virginity thing was, Sam believed, more myth than reality.

The result of this was that all unicorn children were produced by mating with either an equinoid or a humanoid. It was a distinctly odd multi-species arrangement. If he had ever felt the motivation, which—at least in the few million years that unicorns had existed—he had not, he would have explored the oddity. It was only now that he was in close proximity that he felt even a remote kindling of interest.

Of course, said interest was primarily aroused by the thought of the awkwardness that would ensue should he choose to have a conversation with them in front of their too-religious peers. Quite frankly, he had no real idea what Tiernon’s policies were on such things; however, he assumed that being a stereotypical, overly righteous and punctilious god, he would have issues with it. They all did. Sam detested the overly righteous punctilious hypocrites.

No one had said anything after his quick denunciation of the effort. That was annoying, he’d been hoping for a snappy rejoinder. Actually, he thought the plan was a wonderful idea, from the perspective of his own curiosity; however, from the point of view of actually locating Talarius, it was a plan obviously doomed to fail. Talarius was in Mount Doom with Tom. Whatever they were detecting here, it was not Talarius.

However, it was curious. This place was not on any of his maps. His minions were continuously scouring the Abyss for any changes or new developments. They would have reported this. Further, he had been through this region himself within the last year or two. This fortress and the odd lot of demons were definitely not here when he last passed through, en route to a climbing expedition with Moloch.

The question was, which Denubian DemonTM had set up shop here? And what Denubian DemonTM would also have non-Denubian demon servants? It was indeed quite the curiosity. Delightfully so. Such puzzles were what he lived for. Well, that and out outwitting his Adversary. Sam chuckled to himself.

Gaius held his hand to the side of his helmet as if listening to something. After a few moments he nodded, presumably to himself, and lowered his hand. “I have just received word from the Inferno. They are in position and ready to start the distraction.”

“This should be amusing,” Sir Samwell said quietly. He wanted to be almost heard, not officially heard. The “plan,” which had been hatched over half a day or more of Oorstemothian pontification and Knight Rampant ethical vexation, and involved “sneaking in” to an enemy fortification, was ridiculously simple. The Inferno would approach one side of the fortress and reveal itself in a threatening manner, attracting the attention of those in the fortress. Meanwhile, the four knights would sneak in and rescue Talarius.

Sam had to shake his head. If he had not been there the entire time, there would be no way he would have believed it could have taken them that much time to come up with such an obvious plan. Seriously! Did neither Oorstemoth or Tiernon have even a single half-assed script writer between them? Incredible negotiator that he was, Sam seriously doubted that he could pitch that plot on public access cable, let alone basic! Forget broadcast, and premium cable was not even on the table.

Okay, it was true there were a few other details. Their scrying equipment was quite remarkable; they had completely analyzed the fortress and found several weaknesses. It was so remarkable, in fact, that it had him rethinking some of the defenses at his own sites. That being said, it was still a seriously overused and blatantly pathetic plan.

Of course, Sam suddenly thought to himself, no one in the Abyss would even be capable of imagining that someone might try such a brain-numbingly simple-minded plan. In fact, they might actually overlook it as a possibility. That caused Sam to raise an eyebrow. Could these nitwits actually “under-think” an archdemon? This just keeps getting more interesting. Much better than another mountain-climbing expedition. He was so happy he had stumbled upon these poor lost souls.

The Inferno

“Verify that defensive shields are in place,” Captain Cranshall ordered.

“All battle station shields are at optimal strength,” XO Stevensword reported.

“As we, hopefully, get close to our target, one question still puzzles me,” Barabus said to Heron in the chair beside him.

“And that is?” the wing arms master asked.

“You are here to serve justice and the writ of law upon this demon,” Barabus stated.

“Indeed,” Dante said from the chair on his other side. Barabus gave him a glance and a nod before turning his head back to Heron.

“So what do you plan to actually do when we confront the demon?” Barabus asked.

“Serve up justice, execute our writ, of course,” Dante replied once more unhelpfully.

“Yes, I get that, but in physical terms, what does that mean? Are you arresting him and taking him back for trial? High justice?”

Heron nodded and started to speak.

“Exactly,” Dante interrupted.

Barabus rolled his eyes while facing Heron, who gave him a tight smile.

“If he will surrender, then we will bring him back for trial. If not, we are authorized to either contain him and bring him back, or if that is not feasible, we will try him here and then execute him,” Heron said.

“How would you contain him?” Barabus asked, in shock at that thought. “My suspicion is that he is no simple fourth-order demon.”

“We have the ability to contain an archdemon, if need be,” Dante told him.

That caused Barabus to rotate and face the chancellor. “You do? When he is already standing before you? Not summoned?” The arch-vicar general gave the chancellor a suspicious look.

That caused Dante to frown. “In theory. I admit it might be a bit tricky; we’ve never actually done it before. Not for an archdemon and not on an unsummoned demon, but in theory, it should work.”

“I see,” Barabus replied. He did, indeed. That option was most definitely not going to happen. He turned back to Heron. “So you have the weapon capacity to destroy an archdemon in the Abyss? Keep it from regenerating?”

“We have a couple of options on the table. Obviously, we won’t know for sure until we try them. No one has ever tried to slay an archdemon in the Abyss, as far as I know,” Heron replied.

“Except for Sir Samwell,” Dante interjected. “He said he pursued an archdemon into the Abyss.”

“Yes, but as I recall, he ended up in the creature’s dungeon, where he was tortured,” Heron replied.

“Although he did survive, so… I have no idea. We will have to get his opinion,” Barabus said.

“Assuming of course, the knights are not captured during their mission,” Dante noted.

Barabus closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, he’s escaped an archdemon’s lair before; we assume he can do it again. It may just be a while.”

“CSO Halferth, lower the cloaking shields,” Captain Cranshall ordered.

“Let us see what happens now,” Heron said, staring forward at the main viewing screen as the image of the fortress suddenly became much clearer as they revealed themselves.

Mount Doom: Fourth Period

Tom sighed as he made his way into his bedroom. He was just returning from another training session in the Oubliette. He was not sure how much had penetrated; he had still been feeling rather high. He supposed that was the term. He shook his head, remembering his late night musical dance number, or whatever that had been, in the library, communing with a set of robes.

It did seem to help a bit. He had practiced a few times after returning the robes to their storage case. He was able to make Edwyrd’s skin appear rune-tattooed and baggy. It was a start, he supposed. He would need to get Antefalken to give him some pointers, perhaps tonight, but for now he needed to rest. He had gotten very little sleep last night before the Oubliette crew had come pounding on his door for more training sessions.

Of course, that had also meant interacting with the AII. That pretty much had to be where these creepy Orcus memories were coming from. He hoped having had another training session today would not lead to more foreign dreams tonight. Or right now, for that matter, Tom thought as he lay down on his bed for a short nap before the Council meeting scheduled for fifth period.

The Abyss, Melted Castle: Fourth Period

“I will give the captain this,” Sir Samwell said as the thunder of multiple large lightning bolts rained down upon the Inferno on the other side of the keep. “He did manage to attract their attention.”

They could not see the battle from their current location, scaling the wall of the castle. They were climbing the rough stone wall towards a lowered region that was out of sight of the watchtowers. Flying, which all could have managed, would have been too obvious. Most demons flew, so someone flying over walls was a high priority for monitoring. Someone scaling walls, and crawling through a low point on the walls that happened to be obscured to watchtowers—that was one of the weak spots that had been identified.

Of course, given that they were all in full armor, it was not a trivial task. Sir Samwell and Sir Lady Serah had the most difficult go, being in full plate. Gaius and Gadius wore chainmail, which was far more flexible and, in fact, quite light, given its supernatural qualities. However, neither Samwell nor Serah were willing to concede any hardship.

Sir Samwell, in fact, had boasted that he often went mountain climbing in his plate armor to test his skills. The other knights were skeptical of this, but being an Oorstemothian, they could not be entirely sure that the knight might not actually be that crazy.

They finally reached the top of the wall, or at least the lower-level target that they were aiming for.

Sir Gaius peered over the wall, scanning the inner courtyard near their location. “No one is present in the courtyard. There are demons hovering in the distance, but they are all facing the other direction, watching the battle,” he reported.

“How is the path to the entranceway we identified?” Gadius asked.

“Clear!” Gaius replied.

“Upsy-daisy, then!” Sir Samwell said, motioning Gaius to get up and over the wall.

“That is a very odd expression,” Sir Lady Serah said beside him.

“It actually comes from the phrase ‘up-a-daisy,’ which is the antonym of lackadaisy, as in lackaday or someone who is lackadaisical. One would presume that someone who is very energetic would be upadaisical, but I don’t recall having ever heard someone use that,” Sir Samwell informed her.

Sir Lady Serah shook her head inside her helmet. “You are quite the linguist.” She sounded amused.

“Yes, well, when one grows up in Oorstemoth… the artful use of language is something of a national obsession,” Sir Samwell said.

“I bet you are quite the charmer,” Sir Serah said.

“Perhaps once we succeed in our quests and are back in Astlan, you will do me the honor of dinner so that you might test your hypothesis?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Perhaps,” Sir Lady Serah replied cheerfully She turned to look up and saw that her way was clear to ascend and climb over the wall.

~

“This place is something of a maze,” Gadius exclaimed, looking down at the tracking device he was carrying. They had had no difficulty descending and crossing the courtyard to the passage they hoped would lead them to the tower where they believed Talarius was being held prisoner.

“Something of a maze?” Sir Lady Serah questioned. “It is a maze. I am not sure I have ever encountered so many branching corridors in so many different odd directions: right, left, up, down and every conceivable angle. It’s like some sort of giant ant colony.”

“With an amazing number of dead ends,” Sir Samwell added. He suddenly stopped, lifted his visor and peered at the rough wall of the corridor, sniffing it. The others noticed and looked at him oddly.

He shut his visor and said, “It’s also quite new. These corridors were, I believe, bored out, and given the lack of wear, I would say very recently.”

“Is that typical of Denubian DemonsTM?” Gadius asked.

Sir Samwell shrugged. “To be honest, the Denubian DungeonsTM that I’ve been in were not made of this material. This is some sort of stone or melted ground.” He shook his head. “The Denubian DungeonsTM I have been in were also quite non-angular, if you will, but were typically made out of some strange metal. Either that or they were more conventional dungeons that just happened to have Denubian overlords.”

“What, no TM on Denubian overlords?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

That stopped Sir Samwell in his tracks. “You are correct. I had been simply using the term for a generic overlord of a dungeon, but as far as I know, they have not trademarked it.”

“I am not really familiar with this trademark thing that you and the other Oorstemothians talk about,” Gaius said.

“It’s part of intellectual property laws. Think of it as legal protection for a name,” Sir Samwell told him.

“Why would a name need legal protection?” Sir Lady Serah asked as they continued down the corridor, following Gadius’s tracking device.

“To prevent false representation, of course. I can’t imagine that you would be too pleased if some other army went around calling itself ‘The Rod of Tiernon.’ ” Sir Samwell said.

“Why would they do that, if they are not?” Gaius asked.

“Perhaps to swindle, fool or misdirect others? To gain their trust?” Sir Samwell replied.

“The Rod would put an end to that quickly,” Gadius said.

“True, but what if you were an organization that is not an army? What recourse might you have to keep someone from representing themselves, or their product, as yours?” Sir Samwell asked.

“A sword,” Sir Lady Serah said.

“Yes, but sometimes, violence is not advisable. And in many cases, there can be an honest conflict between two groups wanting to use the same name. Trademarks are legal contracts that work within courts of law to determine who has the exclusive right to a particular name under what context,” Sir Samwell said.

“Ugh. I do not think I will ever truly understand Oorstemoth,” Gaius said.

“No offense,” Sir Lady Serah said, looking at Sir Samwell, “but at times Oorstemothian diligence with respect to the letter of the law and contracts and such seems oddly reminiscent of the obsession demons have with contracts and the exact wording of the contract.”

Sir Samwell paused for a second, but then responded cheerfully, “No offense taken, but now that you mention it, I cannot say that I disagree. What a very odd coincidence!”

“Does it not strike you as odd that we have encountered no one—no demons, monsters or otherwise since we’ve entered the keep proper?” Gadius asked, peering forward into the dimly lit tunnel ahead. Suddenly there was a thunderously loud explosion, along with a sudden shaking of the tunnel around them, similar to a small quake.

“I think that might be your answer,” Sir Samwell replied, brushing dust off his visor.

“Cranshall is really giving it to them,” Sir Lady Serah marveled.

“Yes, well, let us hope he does not give them too much while we are still in here,” Gaius said, looking anxiously for cracks in the tunnel.

With that somber note, the party proceeded silently for another one hundred feet before the corridor opened up into what appeared to be a foyer. This was a larger space with three different entrances, including the one they were coming out of, along with a fourth one leading to a stairwell winding upward. Gadius gestured towards the stairwell and upward, indicating the direction they wanted to go.

“Hello, there,” a voice said. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

All four knights rotated to see a demon, a relatively normal-looking one, if there was such a thing, staring at them in shock.

The knights all quickly moved to en garde positions facing the demon.

“We are here to rescue your prisoner demon!” Gaius declared.

“My prisoner? I don’t have a prisoner,” the demon replied, sounding rather offended by the very idea.

“Your master’s prisoner,” Sir Lady Serah said, vexed.

“Uhm, my master has no prisoners here. There are no prisoners here.”

“What do you mean, your master has no prisoners here?” Gadius asked, sounding decidedly puzzled.

“He’s lying. He is a demon!” Gaius decreed.

“Excuse me. Have we met? I find your tone quite insulting. Why are you accusing me of lying?” the demon said. “I do not lie. Lying is a good way to get on the bad side of my master. You do not want to be on the bad side of a demon prince.”

“Your master is a demon prince?” Sir Lady Serah asked, shocked.

“For kidnappers and home invaders, you are remarkably uniformed about your target, missy,” the demon said, shaking its head.

“Who is your master, demon?” Sir Samwell demanded.

“Only the best-dressed demon prince in the Abyss!” the demon declared, turning up its nose in a very haughty manner.

“Are you going to answer?” Sir Gaius demanded.

Sir Samwell chuckled. “He did. There is only one demon prince who styles himself thusly.”

“Who is that?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“Asmodeus,” Sir Samwell replied.

The demon with his nose in the air gave Sir Samwell a curt nod of acknowledgement. “At least you are not all uneducated rubes.” He shook his head.

“This is a very odd demon!” Gadius declared. “This is not the sort of behavior I would expect from a demon who just ran into four knights in his parlor.”

“Not my parlor, my master’s parlor—or rather his vassal’s, and it’s not even a parlor, it’s a foyer. Seriously, what sort of thieves, brigands and rogues are we attracting these days!” The demon sniffed loudly with disdain.

“Doesn’t he seem extremely brave, considering the situation?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“He’s one of Asmodeus’s majordomos. They aren’t known for their modesty,” Sir Samwell replied sternly. “Further, to get to his position, he would have to be a powerful greater demon, if not a minor archdemon.”

“Minor archdemon? My dear sir. There are no such things as minor archdemons!” The demon shook his head, crossing his arms on his chest.

“So what is up with the décor?” Sir Samwell asked, waving his arm at their surroundings. “This is not Asmodeus’s style.”

“How do you know Asmodeus’s style?” Gaius demanded.

Sir Samwell turned his head to face Gaius. “I spent a few decades—”

“In his prison,” Sir Lady Serah finished.

“Is there any demon’s prison you haven’t been in, Sir Samwell?” Gadius asked.

“Sir Samwell?” The majordomo demon suddenly dropped his arms and stared directly at Samwell, eyes going wide.

Sir Samwell shook his head in what the others assumed was resignation. “Yes. Sir Samwell. And you would do well to remember who I am and my history with your master.” .

The demon noticeably gulped.

“So, as I said, this is not his style of décor,” Sir Samwell repeated.

“Ah. Yes. It is actually Lord Hesseforthalus’s castle. He holds it for my master,” the  demon replied with considerably more respect—or trepidation—than he had showed before.

“Hah! Denubian! I knew it!” Sir Samwell exclaimed, gesturing to the other knights for confirmation.

“Sir Samwell believes it to be a new castle,” Sir Lady Serah said. “Is it?”

The majordomo demon gulped again and nodded. “It is but a few days old. We just moved in when these barbarians in the fish tank showed up. I take it they are with you?”

Gaius nodded. “They are. You built this place in a matter of days?”

The demon shrugged. “Denubian CraftmanshipTM is well known; they are some of the best builders and engineers in the universe. If they can DenubaformTM an entire planet in seven days, what’s a little fortress in the Abyss?”

Gaius shook his head and glanced at Gadius. “We digress too much. We need to get in and out.”

“Take us to your prisoner, demon!” Gadius demanded.

“Are you deaf? I have already told you there is no prisoner here,” the demon said angrily. “You are starting to annoy me.”

“We know Sir Talarius is here!” Gaius nearly shouted.

“Our locator shows his position up in that tower!” Gadius said, pointing up the spiral staircase with his locator.

“Sir Talarius?” The demon grimaced. “I have no idea who that is!”

“Likely story, demon!” Sir Lady Serah replied. “Who then, is being held prisoner in that tower?”

The majordomo demon shook his head in annoyance. “You people have one-track minds. How many times do I have to tell you no one is being held prisoner! You are so rudely pointing to the chambers of Lady Hesseforthalus!”

“Lady Hesseforthalus?” Sir Samwell repeated questioningly. “I was not aware that he was married?”

“Well, apparently you just don’t run in the right social circles!” the demon said. “He’s been happily married for almost ten years now.”

Sir Samwell shook his head. “You know that’s like a week in Abyss time.”

The demon shrugged. “So? They are still on their honeymoon! And look! She got herself a brand new castle! Talk about a loving husband.”

Sir Samwell sighed and rubbed his helmeted head with his mailed glove. He turned to the other knights. “You are right enough. We shall have this gentleman”—he gestured to the demon—“escort us up the tower to see Lady Hesseforthalus, and find out what your detector is pointing at.”

The other three nodded. “Best thought I’ve heard since we entered this foyer!” Gadius said.

Sir Samwell gestured to the demon to lead them up the stairs.

The demon frowned at him. “I’m a majordomo, not a butler!” he said with a sniff.

“And if you don’t lead us to whatever our locator is locating, I will personally chop you down to a valet!” Sir Samwell said, raising his sword threateningly.

The demon blanched. “My, my. No need to get so testy! All you had to do was ask politely. Is that so much?”

Sir Lady Serah let out a very loud sigh and gestured, mimicking Sir Samwell moments before, for the majordomo to take the lead.

“Very well, but you should put those sharp sticks away. Denubian stairs can be a bit awkward; you don’t want to accidentally fall on your swords or anything convenient like that,” the demon said, heading for the stairwell.

They followed him up what admittedly were rather treacherous stairs, the majordomo demon muttering under his breath the entire time.

Gadius carefully watched both his feet and the locator as they climbed. “We are getting closer!”

“This is a rather tall tower, and a rather dizzying stairwell,” Sir Lady Serah noted.

“Denubians have a remarkable sense of balance. I think it’s due to all those ears of theirs; lots of ear canals. I’ve heard it’s nearly impossible to give one of them vertigo,” Sir Samwell commented. “But when they do get it, stand clear!”

“Again, you are very remarkably informed,” Sir Lady Serah complimented Sir Samwell with a small chuckle.

Sir Samwell flipped his visor up and gave her a smile. “Knowledge is a never-ending quest! It is something all great men and women should pursue their entire life.”

“Indeed.” Sir Lady flipped her visor up and beamed back at him before closing it again.

“And, you must admit, my lady, as we discovered upon my arrival on the Inferno, I have been at this quest far longer than most.”

Sir Lady Serah laughed. “Indeed, Sir Samwell, indeed.”

After the seemingly interminable climb, the stairwell exited into another foyer. This one, however, was of a very different architecture. It was quite normal—for a human palace, at least. Solid marble floors, four marble columns and a vaulted ceiling. On the opposite wall was a set of good-sized, white-lacquered, arched double doors, inlaid with gold. There were also rather ornate golden door handles as well.

“The Lady Hesseforthalus’s chambers,” the majordomo demon said.

“The locator is pointing right through the doors,” Gadius exclaimed.

“Very odd décor, for a Denubian,” Sir Samwell commented.

The demon gave him a condescending look. “Whoever said that Lady Hesseforthalus was a Denubian?”

“Can we see her?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“We want to see who is behind that door with her. It must be Talarius,” Gaius said.

“And I keep telling you there is no one of that name here,” the demon said, shaking his head. “However, since we are here, I shall enquire if the Lady Hesseforthalus is receiving visitors.”

He walked over to the door and knocked gently. The door opened slightly and a short—something—opened the door. The three Knights Rampant all swallowed loudly at their first sight of a Denubian.

“I would have no idea where to strike such a creature,” Gaius whispered to Gadius.

“The rule is to look to the eyes, below which will be the neck; however, which eyes? There seem to be quite a few. I think there are an odd number...” Gadius replied.

“And I see nothing that looks like a neck,” Sir Lady Serah whispered back.

The door closed and the majordomo demon walked back over to them. “The Lady’s handmaiden is checking with her Ladyship. It will most likely be a few moments, if we are to be received.”

“We had better be received,” Gaius said ominously.

“You are a knight,” the demon pointed out. “I should think you would understand the nobility and courtly manners.” He stepped back and looked at the four of them. “The air and temperature are suitable here for humans—I assume you four are all human?” He seemed to be staring directly at Sir Samwell while saying this.

“We are,” Sir Samwell affirmed.

“Very well,” the demon said. ”Rest assured that should the Lady Hesseforthalus deign to give you an audience, you will be under her truce. That means she will not harm you unless you first try to harm her. Further, I also afford you the same promise in there, and out here, as Prince Asmodeus’s agent. Therefore, I should request you remove your helmets and sheath your swords.”

“Very well.” Sir Samwell complied, sheathing his sword and beginning to remove his helmet.

“Are you insane?” Sir Gadius asked. “We are in as hostile a territory as it gets!”

“If Asmodeus’s agent, one of his majordomos, gives you his word, he will honor it. There are rules to this place, bizarre as that might sound,” Sir Samwell replied.

It took a few moments, but eventually the other three knights also sheathed their weapons and took off their helmets, placing them under their arms.

The doors opened wide this time and the handmaiden spoke. “Lady Hesseforthalus shall see you now.”

The three Knights Rampant blinked in surprise. The creature was speaking in three-part harmony with itself. That was most unusual.

The major-domo made a gesture for the knights to proceed him into the room. They did so, warily. The room they entered was a large receiving room. A very large receiving room; so large, in fact, that it should not have been able to fit within the tower. There were several additional closed doors leading off the room.

Sir Lady Serah looked in puzzlement at Sir Samwell.

“Trans-dimensional engineering. The Denubians are experts at it. How they manage it in the Abyss?” He shrugged, implying he had no idea.

The room was once more all white marble with gold inlaid columns, golden braziers glowing with blue fire, radiating coolness. Huge, furry white rugs were draped everywhere on furniture and benches. At the opposite end of the room was a raised dais with a large, white, upside-down, conical-shaped throne, with its back to them.

“My Lady Hesseforthalus!” the majordomo announced. “May I present, uhm, well, Sir Samwell and three others whose names I have not been informed of.”

“I am Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third of Oorstemoth,” Samwell announced.

The majordomo demon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“I am Sir Lady Serah, Knight Rampant of Tiernon upon Astlan!” Sir Lady Serah announced herself.

“I am Sir Gadius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon upon Astlan!” Gadius announced.

“And I am Sir Gaius, also Knight Rampant of Tiernon upon Astlan!” Gaius announced.

There were several moments of complete silence, and then a voice, a human-sounding voice, a woman’s deep and throaty voice, came from the other side of the throne.

“Amadeus. I would have a private conversation with my visitors. Would you and Miss ❦₣₧☑℮©₡ᾞᾤᾷΊῌ please wait outside?” the voice asked.

“Certainly, my lady!” the majordomo demon, Amadeus, replied. He and the handmaiden with the unpronounceable name backed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“So, I have visitors. Finally, after all these years, visitors from Astlan!” The voice sounded somewhat sarcastic and more than a little bitter. “Sir Samwell, I am afraid I do not know you. But I thank you for visiting me.”

“So, there is someone in the Abyss that you do not know?” Sir Lady Serah whispered to Sir Samwell with a smile. He grinned back at her.

“Yes—that quick, sharp sense of humor, Sir Lady Serah. I remember it well,” the woman said.

That statement caused the faces of the three Knights Rampant to go pale, their jaws dropping.

“And of course, the salt and pepper of Knights Rampant, Sir Gaius and Sir Gadius. What a fine reunion we are having.” The voice chuckled, although it did not sound amused.

“I am sorry, my lady, but do we know you?” Sir Gaius asked, puzzled. “You certainly seem to know us.”

“What? Dear Gaius, have you forgotten me so quickly?” the voice asked. She made a tutting noise with her mouth. “It has only been a decade and you all forget me! I would have thought myself more memorable!”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but we have no idea who you are,” Sir Lady Serah said.

“What? Do the Knights Rampant damn so many of those they’ve sworn to protect to the predations of the Unlife that they forget even their closest friends? The beloved lady of the ever-so-gallant Sir Talarius?”

The throne suddenly spun around, revealing a very gorgeous human woman with long flowing red hair, alabaster skin, and an hourglass figure in a skintight white dress and white fur stole. “Is it not enough that you all forsook me and my flock—damned us all to hell—that you must also forget me?”

“Melissance…” Sir Lady Serah breathed softly. There was a buckling noise as Sir Gadius collapsed to the floor in shock. Gaius quickly bent to help him back up.

“Well, at least he knows how to behave in the presence of a lady,” Melissance noted, looking at the fallen Sir Gadius.

Chapter 139

Courts of Chaos: Late Fourth Period

Bang, Bang, Bang! Someone was pounding on her study door. This was quite annoying. “If you want to come in, you better have a damn good reason for pounding on my door!” Lilith yelled.

The door opened and in marched Asmodeus with his favorite majordomo, Amadeus.

What a very odd way of entering, Lilith thought to herself. “What is up with the overly dramatic entrance?” she asked rather archly. She was no longer angry or annoyed, so much as puzzled.

“The trap has been sprung!” Asmodeus practically screamed. Which, for Asmodeus, meant he was speaking at a volume level suitable for public speaking. He was not exactly the excitable type.

Lilith shook her head. “The trap? You mean with the knight’s ghoul trollop?” She gave them a very puzzled look. “We haven’t even set it yet.”

“Yes, but the fortress is under heavy attack as of a few hours ago. All forces are engaged to battle this really bizarre, flying nuclear submarine thing that is highly resistant to the spells Hesseforthalus and his team are throwing at it!”

“Who has a flying nuclear submarine? That doesn’t even make sense!” Lilith exclaimed.

“Well, that’s the vexing part. The submarine attack was a diversion. Four knights, three of whom are Knights Rampant of Tiernon, snuck into the fortress during the attack, looking for someone they thought was Talarius.”

Lilith did a double take. “Three Knights Rampant of Tiernon, in the Abyss, in a flying submarine, thought Talarius was in our glass cage?” She blinked a few times in surprise. In fact, part of her surprise was her surprise; she had not seen this coming.

“Wait. You said there was a fourth knight? This one was not a knight of Tiernon?” Lilith asked.

Asmodeus gave her a very grim grin. “No, it was a certain former First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third of Oorstemoth.”

Lilith groaned and sank back in her chair. “That son of a black hole!” She shook her head. “So this is some scheme of his.”

“Your Infinite Wisdomness?” Amadeus enquired gently.

“Yes, Amadeus?” Lilith responded wearily.

“The other three knights are not aware of who he is,” Amadeus offered.

“One should hope not. Not if they want to remain in good standing with Tiernon.” Lilith shook her head.

“From what little I could gather, and it was not much, I believe the flying submarine is from Oorstemoth, and it is transporting the Knights Rampant and other members of the Rod along with various Oorstemothian officials. They are looking for Talarius, and one must presume some form of justice against the demon who took him. I suspect, ahem, Sir Samwell encountered them and then joined them to discover what they were up to,” Amadeus rattled off rather quickly.

Lilith stared at the majordomo for several, long—exceedingly long—moments before nodding at him and turning her attention back to Asmodeus. “Interesting theory. I see why you like him. Such help is hard to find.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “Are they still there?” she asked.

“Indeed, they are currently in a private audience with Lady Hesseforthalus,” Amadeus informed her.

That caused Lilith to open her eyes and tilt her head back to the majordomo. “I’m sorry, who? Is Hesseforthalus married?”

Asmodeus grimaced. “Odd sort of thing; rather explains the man’s squeamishness in turning her over, but Melissance is Hesseforthalus’s wife.”

Lilith blinked. “You are telling me that Hesseforthalus is consensually boinking a former high priestess of Tiernon and the former lady fair of Sir Talarius?”

“Ahem.” Amadeus cleared his throat. “Precisely.”

“Oh, this is too rich!” Lilith shook her head. “Now, how can we use this to our advantage?”

Lilith looked suddenly at Amadeus. “Get back there now and whatever you have to do, do not let them leave. Offer them some hospitality, whatever—just keep them occupied, preferably pleasantly, until we figure out our game plan!”

Amadeus nodded quickly and scurried out the door before teleporting back to the melted castle.

Melted Castle: Late Fourth Period

“So you know her?” Sir Samwell asked.

“Oh, they do indeed,” Melissance said before any of the three knights could reply. She stood up from her throne. Sam had to admit she was more than ordinarily ravishing for a human.

“They were supposedly my friends and colleagues of my beau, Sir Talarius. Of course, when the chips were down, when I and my flock were at the mercy of a band of vampires and ghouls, they abandoned us.”

“You went ghoul and took your flock with you!” Sir Gadius exclaimed.

Melissance closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. “How truly daft are you knights? No one in their right mind chooses to be a ghoul. It is an absolutely horrible disease that no one should ever be inflicted with!”

She came down the stairs in what Sam found to be a very alluring manner. “I told you, I begged you and the church for assistance for me and my people, and you refused. You interdicted me, leaving me with no way to cure either myself or my people. And, worst of all, that no-good, two-bit son of a harpy, Talarius, told me to my face that I had chosen my own doom—that it was my fault. He had the gall to blame me! Blame the victim of the attack? How dare he! How dare you stand with him!”

“You all betrayed your oaths to Tiernon—you failed in your service! You are disgraces to that symbol around your necks!” Melissance came right up to each of their faces, staring them in the eyes.

“Well, you do have to admit, you do seem to have sold your soul,” Sir Gadius said, gesturing around her opulent apartment.

“I sold my soul to Hesseforthalus in exchange for curing my flock!” Melissance exclaimed. “That was the deal! My soul, their cure! My soul theirs!”

“Uhm, pretty sure they all died as ghouls though,” Sir Lady Serah said.

“No. They did not. Hesseforthalus had no easy means to truly cure ghoulism, not without great risk to the victim. The only way to cure them was to bring them to the Abyss,” Melissance said.

“The cure sounds worse than the disease,” Sir Gaius observed.

Melissance snorted. “Does this look worse than the disease?” She gestured around them. “They are in a very safe and secure location. My bond with Hesseforthalus sees to that. They are well cared for. They have a better life, an immortal life, than they could have had in Astlan, even before they were infected. I visit them regularly.”

“But they are trapped here for eternity,” Sir Gadius exclaimed.

“And how is that different than Tierhallon?” Melissance asked. “Do you think mortal souls can exist on their own in the Outer Planes? Of course not! Those souls who choose to spend eternity, or some part of it, in Tierhallon are in special areas, special “glass cages,” even as I am here, even as my people are, here in the Abyss.”

“She makes a very good point,” Sir Samwell said neutrally.

“I am sorry, but this is just too insane!” Gadius said loudly. Suddenly the tower rocked again as another volley from the Inferno hit the fortress.

“What in the Abyss is going on out there?” Melissance gestured towards a window. “What is that thing and why is it attacking my house?”

“Uhm, that’s our ship, and it’s attacking the castle as a distraction so we could come in and rescue—uhm—you,” Sir Gaius said, finishing a bit lamely.

Melissance tilted her head in some puzzlement. “Rescue me? You did not even know who I was when you entered this room. And you’ve continued to make it perfectly clear that you believe that I damned myself. So pardon me if I find that a bit odd.”

Gaius looked to the others and swayed his head slightly from side to side. “So, actually we were following a signal, an emanation of Tiernon. Apparently you are still radiating clerical power with Tiernon’s signature.”

Melissance paused, tilting her head to think. “The Abyss is completely cut off from the Outer Planes, and I was interdicted before coming here. However, I can still do basic rituals using my own mana and what I can channel from others here. Given my training, it would probably register with Tiernon’s signature.” She put her hands on her hips. “But what are you doing in the Abyss, searching for emanations of Tiernon?”

The three knights looked at each other and then down at the ground, seemingly unwilling to say.

Melissance looked to Sir Samwell. “Do you know?”

Sir Samwell grimaced. “Well, you see, it seems that Sir Talarius got dragged into the Abyss by a demon who defeated him. They have come, with the aid of Oorstemoth, to retrieve him and bring justice to the demon who took him.”

Melissance stared at him in stunned surprise for a very long minute. Finally she threw her hair back, tilted her head to the ceiling, and burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed, until finally she’d had enough. She bent forward slightly to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. “Great—he gets defeated and dragged to hell, and you can’t wait to plunge into the Abyss after him. Me, I get bitten by a hasty vampire and turned into a ghoul—something for which we have many rituals to cure—and you are all hands off. Wacky Melissance, she damned herself by her actions!” She shook her head. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe—just maybe?—Talarius also damned himself by his own actions?” the former high priestess demanded.

~

“I am really not comfortable with this,” Barabus told his compatriots as they walked through the gates of the melted castle. A small contingent of demons, several of whom had been actively attacking the Inferno about two hours ago, were awaiting them in the courtyard.

“We reviewed the contract they sent over. It was, in a word, impeccable,” Chancellor Alighieri replied. “Exquisitely constructed, yet elegantly simple. I am quite certain we shall be safe under its terms.” He shook his head in wonderment. “We in Oorstemoth have always had the impression that the Abyss was a lawless wasteland with no understanding of legal systems, authority, chain of command, justice, honor, and so forth. However, in reading their amazingly concise one-hundred-and-fifty-two-page document, I find myself having to rethink my opinion of them.”

Sir Gadius turned to stare at the chancellor questioningly.

“Whoever wrote that document was a legal genius! They even included nondisclosure and mutual intellectual property protection provisions,” Dante said.

“What?” Barabus asked, not having a clue as to what the chancellor was saying.

“Well, for example,” Dante explained, “if, in the course of our interactions, they, or we, inadvertently see, witness or become aware of proprietary devices or intellectual processes—for example, these belts we are wearing to allow us to walk around safely in the Abyss without keeling over—those rights must be respected and dealt with according to the contract. It also applies to both military and general staffing, fortifications, etcetera. In other words, any information we gather here, or vice versa, we are not allowed to disclose to others, nor may we use that information to gain an unfair advantage over the other should our cease fire end less than amicably.”

Barabus shook his head. As far as he was concerned, the ceasefire agreement was only one hundred and fifty-two pieces of paper; paper that could easily burst into flame in the Abyss. He glanced towards Heron, who was very reluctantly and nervously nodding in weak agreement. They had received word from the knights over their encrypted Holy Mirrors, reporting that Talarius was not in the castle and that they had been offered a cease-fire along with an invitation to dinner.

To say that everyone on the Inferno had been shocked was something of an understatement. When CSO Halferth had joked that perhaps all of their attacks had served as a polite knocking, Barabus was certain that both Captain Cranshall and XO Stevensword had visibly blanched at the thought.

In any event, Sir Gadius had returned within about an hour with the cease-fire agreement and a guarantee of safe passage for the three leaders, as well as the four knights. He had also filled them in on the details, including the fact that the emanation they had detected had belonged to Melissance.

That had been quite the surprise as well. Talarius’s former romantic interest was probably the last person he had expected to find in the Abyss. Although, given what had transpired, he had known she’d been hauled off by a demon; he should have considered the possibility. Very odd how both of them had been abducted by demons; it was not exactly a common occurrence. In fact, they were the only two people he knew of whom had been bodily dragged off to the Abyss.

“Demons are known for keeping their word,” Heron stated once the Chancellor had finished speaking. “Our lawyers were comfortable with the document.” He shook his head, still not completely convinced.

“If need be, we shall all lock arms and battle our way back out while the Inferno resumes its attacks if there is any treachery,” Sir Gadius said.

“In that case, I suppose it is fortunate we cannot die in the Abyss,” Chancellor Alighieri said, turning his head to give Sir Gadius a small smile.

“Greetings!” a demon in the courtyard hailed them. “I am Amadeus, majordomo of Asmodeus, liaison to Lord and Lady Hesseforthalus, at whose castle you have arrived. I apologize that Lord Hesseforthalus is not here to greet you himself, but his duties have called him away. I therefore present a cold welcome—I’m sorry, I believe your people use the term warm welcome—on behalf of Lady Hesseforthalus, who welcomes you to her newest abode.” The demon was wearing a rather odd formal uniform.

After a short pause, Chancellor Alighieri inhaled deeply and began, “Greetings and salutations! On behalf of Oorstemoth and the crew of…”

Barabus tuned the chancellor out. This was going to take a while.

~

“Melissance.” Barabus nodded his head to the former high priestess, now demon spouse.

“Barabus.” Melissance smiled tightly, returning the nod. Amadeus had just introduced everyone in Melissance’s tower chamber. She quickly turned to Chancellor Alighieri with a much brighter smile.

“My dear sir, I am told by your current, and my former, colleagues that this remarkable vessel, which has done what most thought impossible—storm the gates of hell, so to speak—is your creation?” Melissance asked.

“Indeed, my lady.” Chancellor Alighieri smiled and bowed his head briefly.

“Simply fantastic! You must sit by me at dinner so that we may discuss, under our mutual non-disclosure agreement, of course, this marvelous machine! It is beyond anything I have ever even imagined!” She shook her head in wonder.

“It would be my pleasure, my lady,” Dante replied.

Barabus suppressed a grin. He noted that the chancellor was having some difficulty keeping his eyes from dropping to Melissance’s cleavage. She had always been extremely beautiful, but here, she seemed completely radiant. He suspected that such a fact should be disturbing.

Melissance’s eyes swept the rest of the party. “Shall we proceed to the dining room?”

Receiving nods from several members, Melissance smiled and gestured to Amadeus to open a set of double doors to their left. The doors opened wide, revealing a good-sized room with a table set formally with china and crystal. Barabus blinked, trying to determine how such a room could fit within the tower. He was not even sure how the current chamber could possibly fit in the tower.

As they entered the room, he noted several smaller demons in formal servant uniforms standing near the edges. As they entered, a vision came from around a column, presumably from a hallway. Vision was the only word Barabus had for what came to greet them. He heard indrawn breaths from a number in his party, including the chancellor. The being entering the room was the most stunningly gorgeous man Barabus had ever laid eyes upon. Strong—incredibly muscular—and of perfect form, the six-foot-five man had long golden hair flowing over the shoulders of his white gown, sparkling blue eyes, and gloriously golden feathered wings, the same color as his hair, upon his back.

What was this being? The only word that came to mind was avatar, a god’s avatar; yet that made absolutely no sense what so ever.

Seeing the shocked expressions on her guests’ faces, Melissance smiled; clearly, she was well aware of the effect this being had on people. “Allow me to introduce Salvatore, my personal bodyguard and right-hand man—or rather, demon.” Melissance grinned in delight, gesturing to the stunning sight before them.

“Gentlemen and lady, I bid you welcome!” Salvatore said in the most mellifluous, harmonic voice Barabus thought he had ever heard. It was as if he was listening to a small choir speaking with one beautiful voice.

Sir Lady Serah shook her head, staring in shock at the being. “I’m sorry, but did Melissance just say you are a demon?”

Salvatore grinned mischievously, tilting his head from side to side as if the term was flexible. “Technically, yes, in that I am not a mortal even upon the Planes of Man. I was formerly a seraph in the service of a certain deity whose name I may no longer say.”

Sir Samwell snorted loudly, causing Salvatore to glance at him with a humorous smile.

“Was there not something in that contract you sent to the Inferno about not infringing on others’ copyrighted material?” Sir Samwell asked.

Barabus had no idea what the knight meant.

Salvatore grinned more broadly. “I fear I have no idea of what you speak, good knight; I can only speak as to my own personal story.”

Sir Samwell made what sounded to be a rumbling growl of irritation—a sound that Barabus normally associated with Modgriensofarthgonosefren warriors around alfar.

Sir Gaius spoke up. “So you are a fallen avatar?”

Salvatore bent his head in acknowledgement.

“That is quite interesting. There have been several theories that demons are actually fallen avatars,” Dante said.

“We prefer the term enlightened avatars, actually,” Salvatore replied.

Sir Samwell made that odd noise again.

Melissance laughed. “Shall we sit? I suspect we shall all have plenty of time to explore our various histories and tales in the near future.”

“Indeed, my lady,” Salvatore agreed, pulling back the largest chair for Melissance. “We are a very interesting party.” He glanced very specifically at Sirs Gaius and Gadius before his eyes came to rest on Sir Samwell.

Tierhallon: Late Sixth Period, Murgatroy Time

“So, to summarize,” Tiernon said looking out from behind his desk at Beragamos. “Hilda, in pursuit of the abducted knight and the mana-stealing demon, has found herself in the middle of an impending conflict with the Unlife, who are currently the main obstacle between herself and her goal, and so wishes to participate in the conflict and eliminate that which is standing in her way?”

“Yes, Your Godship, that indeed sums it up,” Beragamos, sitting in one of the two chairs opposite the desk, replied.

“Hmm.” Tiernon pursed his lips in thought. “Well, I must admit, she has the team spirit. This is exactly the sort of attitude I look for and applaud.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms upon his desk. “As you know from the adventures of the idiots in the Rod, we cannot go after Talarius, nor gain access to the mana-stealing demon, in the Abyss,” he said, Beragamos nodded.

Tiernon continued, “If we want to actually retrieve Talarius, and more importantly”—he stressed the last clause heavily—“get a good look at, perhaps even apprehend, this mana-stealing demon, our best bet is to do it on Nysegard. Actually, I suspect it is our only bet.”

Beragamos swallowed hard. “I am not quite there yet on the apprehension, Your Godship. I would like to size him and the situation up quite a bit more.”

Tiernon grinned and nodded. “We will not underestimate this demon again.” The god shook his head and thought for a few more moments. “Very well; Hilda may go, as well as Stevos, and if Inethya or Dashgar want to go too, I am fine with that.”

“Thank you, Your Godship,” Beragamos replied.

“I am not convinced Sentir will be happy with me overruling him,” Tiernon mused, and looked mischievously at Beragamos.

Beragamos chuckled at the joke. “You are his god, his savior and his world. He will get over it.”

“Yes.” Tiernon smiled before looking more serious. “One more thing,” he said, looking intently at Beragamos. “This is only between you and me; I would like you to sneak into Nysegard as an observer. Do not reveal yourself to the others or mortals. Do not join in battle. I do not want anyone to know you are there. But I would like you to observe our forces and how they conduct themselves, and should the opportunity present, after the battle, travel to the Isle of Doom and get me details on this demon.”

Beragamos blinked at this unexpected request, taken by surprise, but he quickly nodded. “As you request, Your Godship.”

Etterdam, Arcem Conclave: DOA + 14, Dawn

“You seem rather morose today,” Lilith commented to Sentir Fallon as the two of them and Aodh sat watching Etternon, the local star, rise above the horizon while sipping local ice wine. They had been discussing their next steps.

“Things are getting awkward on Nysegard,” Sentir Fallon replied sourly.

“Awkward?” Aodh asked. “There are many words for that wasteland; awkward is not typically one of them.”

Sentir Fallon snorted. “The Storm Lords, whom you may recall have been of considerable assistance to us, are making a very significant advance upon one of the largest resistance cells, a place called the Citadel of Light.”

Lilith groaned, shaking her head. “How overly melodramatic!”

“Yes, well, in any event, they have been raising forces and planning a huge purge of the Citadel for the last few thousand years, and are now putting it in place,” Sentir Fallon said. “I have been working diligently to withdraw Tiernon’s forces from the plane in order to both assist them and to cover my own—our own—dealings with them; I don’t want to lose too many avatars and saints. It’s a long story, tangled-web issues, you might say.”

“And so your betrayal of Tiernon is making you sulk?” Aodh asked.

Sentir Fallon shook his head. “We have discussed this many times; it is not a betrayal. Not if I can keep the casualties to a minimum and over a long enough period. It’s called managing the situation so that all parties arrive at a mutually agreeable state.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. “Whatever you need to call it to keep your stomach calm. What’s the issue that has you so concerned?”

“Is it the heir of Orcus in Nysegard?” Aodh asked.

Sentir Fallon grimaced in semi-disagreement. “Not so much. While Orcus was an ally of the Citadel of Light, this Tommus has a very real and current grudge against Tiernon and his forces. Further, I believe he is still too weak to risk his own resources on assisting the Citadel. No, the problem is on Tierhallon’s side.”

“What do you mean?” Aodh asked. Lilith was staring straight ahead into the rising Etternon.

Sentir Fallon sighed. “I have worked to keep both Tiernon and Torean’s forces out of Nysegard and the fray, as I’ve said. However, Hilda of Rivenrock—the one who is investigating this Tommus demon and Sir Talarius—has managed to insert herself into the Citadel of Light and has dragged Inethya, the Prophetess of Nysegard, and Dashgar, the Attendant Archon, as well as another of our saints, and several saints and archons of Torean, into the entire mess.”

“So they are going to be there to defend this Citadel?” Lilith asked.

“It appears so. They are also working to coordinate with the avatars of the other Siblings.” Sentir sighed before taking another sip.

“And you can’t stop or discourage them?” Aodh asked. “I thought you were in charge of that localverse.”

“I am, but there is only so much I can do without raising questions, and Beragamos went over my head and got Tiernon’s explicit approval.” Sentir Fallon scowled as he said this.

Lilith frowned and looked to Sentir. “Beragamos will not be there, will he? That would be a rout!”

“Indeed!” Sentir closed his eyes and shook his head. “Fortunately, he is not going. However, I am still left with two possibilities.”

“Two possibilities?” Aodh asked.

“Yes,” Sentir said. “The first, and most likely, is that the Storm Lords will fail in their plan to revive the works of the Dark Apostle Stoivenychas, and will suffer serious losses at the Citadel thanks to divine intervention from Dashgar and Inethya and the other avatars—”

“Which would make them very unhappy with you,” Aodh interrupted.

“Us,” Sentir corrected him quickly. “But indeed, and thus complicate other things.”

“Or? The other possibility?” Lilith asked.

“Or they succeed in reviving the work of the Dark Apostle Stoivenychas and the Five Siblings take an incredible, mind-numbing defeat that will be extremely uncomfortable and difficult to deal with,” Sentir said.

Lilith shrugged. “However, you will have advised against it, and have been overridden by Tiernon himself. It will not be your fault.”

“Yes, but it will raise questions and discussions I would rather not have to deal with.”

“So, what is the probability that they can recreate the works of the Dark Apostle Stoivenychas?” Aodh asked.

Sentir shrugged. “A few centuries or so ago, I would have said none. A tremendous amount of his work was lost with him. Clouds Of Disintegration are very good at eliminating things.” Sentir sighed. “However, they have another ally who has considerable experience with the work they are interested in.”

“Who?” Aodh asked.

“An archdemon named Exador,” Sentir Fallon said.

“The same archdemon involved in this whole Astlan—Lord Tommus thing?” Lilith asked in surprise.

“The same,” Sentir Fallon said, nodding.

Lilith shook her head. “What an amazingly small multiverse!”

The Inferno: Mid Third Period

“I am so glad you were all finally able to come to breakfast,” Captain Cranshall said with a tight grin as the last of the expedition to the melted castle sat down in the mess. Cranshall, Heron, Dante, Barabus and the four knights all crowded around the small mess table, while XO Stevensword looked on from the doorway.

Sir Lady Serah stared bleary-eyed into the cup of hot tea in her hands. “Lack of sleep is a severe problem when dealing with a hangover.”

Barabus sighed over his own tea. “What exactly did we informally agree to last night?” the Arch-Vicar General asked.

Chancellor Alighieri groaned and said, “I think we may have agreed to allow Melissance and her brutally beautiful bodyguard to join us in our quest for Talarius and the greater demon.”

“Does it strike anyone else that allowing a fallen avatar and the wife of an archdemon onboard might not be the best idea?” Sir Samwell asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least hungover.

“It has struck me so several times,” Heron said. “However, they were so pleasant and persuasive, I found it nearly impossible to disagree with them last night.”

“We do sort of owe Melissance something,” Sir Lady Serah said.

Gadius and Gaius both groaned, putting their heads in their hands at nearly the same time.

Barabus raised an eyebrow. “Her story was quite compelling. We truly did her wrong—Talarius in particular.”

Gadius sighed. “Reflecting back upon it, our reactions at the time do seem particularly mean-spirited, unjust and out of line with Tiernon’s own teachings. In retrospect, I am not sure why we were so certain she had chosen ghoulism.”

“And why have we never questioned it until now?” Gaius asked.

“So did you formally agree to their joining us?” Captain Cranshall asked, clearly not thrilled with the idea of having two such passengers.

“Only a short-term agreement to negotiate a contract detailing the rules of our engagement and cooperation,” Dante replied, his voice slightly muffled due to the fact that his head was resting in his arms on the table.

XO Stevensword moved suddenly, making room in the door for a member of the galley crew. “You may wish to raise your head—we have bacon, ham, eggs and toast arriving!” Stevensword said.

“Ugh… grease…” Sir Lady Serah groaned.

Oubliette: Early Fourth Period

“So how many more sessions are there?” Tom asked Phaestus as the others filed from the room.

Phaestus shrugged. “My lesson plans call for another five to six sessions, then we have practice sessions.”

“How are we going to practice?” Tom asked. “Do you know anyone who would want to volunteer for a stay in Tartarus?”

Phaestus chuckled. “In terms of our normal clientele, very few are so trusting.” He shook his head. “However, it is not necessarily unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Tom tilted his head and looked questioningly at the god.

Phaestus smiled. “’The prisoners are all in suspended animation of some form, depending on their species. While there, they dream.”

Tom nodded; he knew this. “As is the case with Prometheus; he continuously dreams that an eagle is ripping his liver out while he is chained to a stone.”

“Exactly.” Phaestus nodded. “Most people assume that his punishment is literal, but that would be very boring for the eagle as well. Very few eagles are that vindictive. Actually, only Zeus in his eagle form is that vindictive, but even he has better things to do and would eventually give up. Thus the dream sequence.”

“It does seem efficient,” Tom agreed.

“It is. We can custom tailor the dreams to create the perfect agony or hell for the prisoner without having to have some demon or another creature saddled with doing it.”

“Of course, demons do love torture,” Tom pointed out.

“Yes, creative torture is something they tend to enjoy, but even so, it gets old over time, particularly if the punishment is particularly redundant and repetitive,” Phaestus said. “However, we can do other sorts of torture that are more subtle and disturbing.”

“Such as?” Tom asked.

“How about a glutton in a room full of delicious-looking cakes, pastries and cookies? He or she feels compelled to eat them, but finds them a bit dry. Ideally, one would dunk them in some milk or other liquid, but the container is perpetually empty,” Phaestus explained.

Tom frowned. “Pretty sure that was a TV commercial for the milk industry.”

Phaestus shrugged. “Who knows more about torture? Imagine being kept perpetually pregnant and lactating and attached to a milking machine three or four times a day?” Phaestus shuddered. “I’m a male, but I can sympathize for female animals in such a hell.”

Tom shook his head to clear it. “Back to the point of it not being necessarily bad. Do you mean that we can program pleasant dreams?”

“Indeed.” Phaestus nodded. “In fact, we were working on developing dream programs to sell to deities who wanted to reward followers—minions or others—with a few centuries of pleasure. That was interrupted, of course.”

Tom shook his head. “I get it, but it seems like a very odd product.”

Phaestus shrugged. “At some point, it’s all about killing eternity, isn’t it?”

“Killing eternity?” Tom asked, before suddenly remembering his conversation with Tamarin. “You mean immortal existential dread?”

Phaestus grinned. “Indeed. Being immortal is not necessarily easy.”

Tom shook his head. “So this place”—he gestured to their environment—“is about sixty thousand years old?”

Phaestus nodded. “Almost sixty-five thousand years since we began construction.”

“So when was Vosh An-Non, the first D’Orc, created?” Tom asked.

Phaestus inhaled, thinking. “I wasn’t there myself, but from what I was told, it was about four thousand years before we came up with the plans for Tartarus. Vosh was just over two thousand years old when I met him.”

Tom shook his head, not being able to comprehend these sorts of time scales. “So exactly how old are the gods?”

Phaestus barked a laugh. “That is a very complex question. It depends on which gods you are talking about—not only pantheons, but meta-pantheons and specio-generational pantheons. Then, when you consider the nature of time, it really doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been talking with Tamarin and Erestofanes, but I’m not still not clear on this,” Tom said.

Phaestus shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, time is an artificial construct that only exists in Midgard—the Planes of Orc or Man, as one would have it. The Elemental Planes have no concept of time. The Outer Planes are reflections of Midgard so they have time, but it’s not absolute. The Astral Plane is even weirder; time there is subjective and relative to the person or spirit in the Astral Plane.”

“I have heard and read some of this, but I am not sure how, if time in the Outer Planes where the gods live, is all relative, a reflection of Midgard, then I am not sure what this means for them or how they evolved there if there is no fixed time,” Tom said.

Phaestus shook his head. “No, they did not come from there. None of the gods did. All of the gods, of whatever specio-generation, evolved or were created on the material planes and then migrated to the Outer Planes. That’s why they are so focused on the material planes. They really can’t give up their fascination with materiality.”

“So you evolved there?” Tom asked.

Phaestus grinned. “Evolved is a complex term. Evolution is a process that happens to a species, not an individual; however, for animanic beings, mana wielders, there can be forced or controlled evolution; induced living mutation, if you will.”

“I am getting confused,” Tom said.

“Welcome to the club.” Phaestus grinned. “We—and I mean most of us who are interested in studying such things—do not know who the first gods were. We believe they were some species, or multiple species, that did evolve and learned, or developed the ability to harness mana and animus. These beings subsequently created many other species, such as the Sidhe, some of whom eventually grew or evolved, or became newer gods.”

Tom was going to need time to think that through. This was quickly spiraling to a bigger, more complex conversation than he had intended. “So I think I am getting off-topic from my original question,” he said. “How old are the current gods we are dealing with, such as you and your family?”

“I have multiple families.” Phaestus grinned and winked at him. “However, I get your point and will answer the slightly broader question first. The current specio-generation of gods, those that are mostly humanoid and that we interact with the most, are less than a billion years old as a whole. And that includes the Titans; the Olympians are perhaps half that age.”

Tom shook his head. “Are you saying that you are half a billion years old?”

Still grinning, Phaestus said, “I don’t actually know.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“I think I am a few hundred million years old, although obviously I don’t remember all of that time. However, there has been a ‘me,’ if you will, extending back that far.”

“A ‘me’?” Tom was completely lost.

“My core animus, or a contiguous and continuous regeneration of it. Meaning a pure, single strain of perpetually regenerating-slash-recycling animus that has maintained a continuous consciousness over that time period,” Phaestus said. “I just do not have concrete memories spanning that entire time. Much of it has been lost in the recycling process, if you will. Older and older memories sloughing off like a dragon’s scales as new memories, or scales, are formed.”

Tom sat silently for a while, trying to digest that. “That seems rather daunting, frightening even, and I think I mean that in an existential sense.”

Phaestus grinned. “It does, but it’s not that bad. That’s the beauty of the Phoenix Cycle.”

Tom nodded. “Tamarin and I talked about that a bit.”

“I suspect that the Phoenix Cycle is the one key thing that makes gods possible. If a being can master the Phoenix Cycle, they can keep going for a very, very long period of time. It is the ultimate regeneration, rebirth.”

Tom nodded and then paused. “But wait, isn’t that just reincarnation? Your other pantheon, the Nyjyr Ennead, are proposing to do exactly that.”

“Sort of,” Phaestus said. “The processes are similar; however, reincarnation is simply the repackaging of animus in a physical, material, body or form. When we typically talk about the Phoenix Cycle, that is a rebirth or recycling of the animabody, the entire animus collection.

“Those we call immortal—demons, avatars, gods—have the ability to maintain their animus, or soul, without materiality. Mortals do not; not without assistance, whether arcane or divine. Thus, mortals can repackage, rebind their animus to material forms upon death. Immortals can incarnate at will, subject to mana constraints, and form material bodies or dissolve them,” Phaestus explained.

Tom shook his head. “That is heavy. I’ve got a lot to think about. I appreciate it.”

“No problem; it’s all part of the cycle.” Phaestus chuckled.

All part of the cycle? Tom worried as he left the control room. He did not like where that phrase took his thoughts. There was no way he was part of any Phoenix Cycle. He could see now that many of the others might be thinking along this line, but it was clearly impossible. Orcus’s animus had been completely drained and lost; there was no core amount of animus left to recycle.

Further, such recycling, if it had been possible, should have been done several thousand years ago. It would not be randomly happening on some far-off technology plane. Tom had not spontaneously regenerated himself on Earth. He had a completely normal mother and father. Or had had a father, as well as a stepfather. He was sure his real father, a physicist, would have laughed at such crazy spiritual nonsense.

Perhaps he would go for a flight around the volcano, get some exercise and clear his mind before the day’s council meeting. He wanted to be clear of disturbing thoughts so he could practice some more on his shapeshifting with clothes. He’d spent a couple periods last night doing this, with Antefalken’s coaching, and it would take several more nights. This clothing business was much harder than simple shapeshifting. Creating something that was you, but physically separate and materially different—that was very tricky.

Freehold, Lenamare’s Dining Room: Late Fifth Period

“I want to take this moment to thank you for such a gracious going-away dinner!” Hilda raised her glass of Amiepen 429 Toristan, one of her best reds, in a toast to Lenamare and Jehenna.

Trisfelt quickly seconded the toast. Lenamare gave a nod of appreciation and raised his glass, as did Jehenna with a polite smile.

“It was the least we could do for someone who has been so helpful to the Council,” Lenamare said.

Jehenna sipped her wine and raised one eyebrow in surprised appreciation of the wine’s excellent taste and texture. Setting it down gently, she smiled more brightly. “How long did you say you would be away?” she asked.

Hilda sighed and shook her head. “It’s a war—a siege, in fact—something we have all learned way too much about recently.” She nodded towards Lenamare in acknowledgement of the trials and tribulations he had been forced to put up with. “So I am not sure. Gamos, my grandfather, assures me that there will be very large defensive forces more than capable of repelling the siege, but one never knows. All we do know is that there will be casualties and healers will be needed.”

“Your skills were certainly well used and appreciated here,” Lenamare said, nodding pleasantly to her.

“But Nysegard?” Trisfelt asked with quite a bit of trepidation. “I am not that familiar with the world, but nothing I have heard about it is good.”

Hilda nodded. She had decided to be as honest as possible with Trisfelt and his allies; it would keep the story simpler. She had not gone into any of the details; she had, in fact, shifted some to say that it was large school of animages in need of defense, one that their own school had sworn a mutual defense pact with. The story was almost true, if you simply switched priests for animages.

The problem was that she wanted to preserve her relationships and ties to Freehold in the event this elusive demon and his cohort returned, and thus she needed a reason to explain her potentially long absence. How many alvaran weddings could she be expected to attend, particularly within a few quarter-months of each other?

“To be fair, I have not heard much good, either; however, I have it on good authority that the world is quite lacking in demons,” Hilda said with a smile. D’Orcs are another story, she thought, but she was not going to bring that up. “So I see that as a net positive.”

Lenamare chuckled and nodded. “Indeed.”

“Of course,” Jehenna said drily, “you may find yourself returning to a demon siege.”

Lenamare’s mouth ticked slightly at this rather pressing reminder.

“I know; I hope I can return beforehand to be of assistance.” Hilda shook her head. “Do you have any idea how soon the foul being may seek retribution?”

Lenamare gave a small shrug. “We gave him a pretty good spanking, but his ego is ridiculously beyond the pale, as is, of course, typical of archdemons.” He shook his head slightly in frustration at the thought. “Thus, being bruised, we may be assured that as soon as he has recovered and regathered his forces, he will attack.”

“Is this why the Rod and the priests have started moving into the old barracks?” Trisfelt asked.

“Indeed.” Jehenna nodded. “We have reached a mutual aid agreement with them, and they will add to our internal defenses.”

“They have also seen the wisdom of availing themselves of our superior protection,” Lenamare noted.

Hilda had to smile brightly at the implied insult to her church and god. The man was difficult. “Quite an unusual arrangement, I must say,” she said.

“It is,” Jehenna said, nodding in agreement, “and quite odd that their leader, this Arch-Diocate Iskerus, was so suddenly called back to Justicia even as we were sealing the agreement.”

Hilda chuckled. “Well, as they say, the gods work in mysterious ways.”

“Mysterious?” Lenamare wrinkled his nose and shrugged dismissively. “I believe the term is random.”

Ithgar, Edge of Noaware: Mid Sixth Period

“Shaman? You requested our presence?” Hespith Fowl Breath asked as she and General Farsbargodden entered the tent where she, Fer-Rog, Rupert and the other shamans of Doom had just completed a Dreaming.

“Yes, change of plans,” Beya Fei Geist informed them.

“Change of plans?” General Farsbargodden asked suspiciously.

“Yes. We’ve just had a meeting with the other shamans searching for Doomalogues,” Beya told them.

“It’s war!” Fer-Rog blurted out.

Farsbargodden’s right eye twitched and the corners of his mouth started to pull upward.

“Not necessarily—not here.” Beya Fei Geist gave Fer-Rog a rueful glance. “However, in Astlan the party was attacked on orc territory by one hundred alvar on hippogriffs.”

“In orc territory?” Farsbargodden’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, and there is an armistice in place. The alvar have violated it with their unprovoked attack,” Beya Fei Geist said.

“Did any of the alvar survive?” Hespith asked.

Farsbargodden glanced at her, apparently surprised she had phrased the question that way.

Beya Fei Geist nodded. “A few did, but were captured by a local tribe on instruction from Lob Smasher. They will be used as proof of the violation.”

“Excellent,” Hespith said.

“However, the only reason there were survivors was because the orcs had not properly trained for combat on D’Wargback,” Beya Fei Geist said.

Hespith nodded in understanding.

“Ragala-nargoloth has been training this entire time rather than traveling. Her party is heading into alvaran-occupied territory; they are expecting to have to clean the Doomalogue of its alvaran infestation,” Beya said. “Where we are going may or may not have alvar, but it will have a variety of hostiles.”

“So, a respite to train,” Hespith stated more than asked.

“That is my thought. General?” Beya asked.

“Agreed.” General Farsbargodden nodded.

Astlan, Orcan Plains: Early Sixth Period

“Ariel, your people were very clearly in orc territory,” Trevin said in a loud voice directed at the rather distance-distorted mirror image of the Alvaran prince. She was having a mirroring with the Elders of the Grove, or trying to. At over four hundred leagues from the edge of the Grove and nearly five hundred from the chamber, they were close to the extreme range of mirroring, even with the powerful amplifiers of the Grove and the Nimbus.

As a consequence of the distance, the image quality was poor; about like looking into very shiny metal mirror. The sound quality was similarly poor, and so she had to speak loudly and enunciate clearly.

This was the fourth mirroring she’d had with the Grove since she had received word of the battle. It was the first, however, in which all of the Elders were able to be present. Ariel, in particular, had been away dealing directly with the D’Orc presence. It was, in fact, likely that either he or his sister had ordered the patrols.

“That is but a technicality,” Ariel responded. “They have summoned D’Orcs from the Abyss; that is a clear provocation and in violation of the armistice.”

“Nonsense!” Duranor, the dwarven elder, shouted. “Trevin’s friends in the Council of Wizardry invited an archdemon to join their council. The alvar didn’t try to invade the Council states!”

Trevin shook her head, not understanding what she had just heard. “Wait a minute! Duranor, what was that you just said about the council inviting an archdemon to join us?”

“What? You haven’t heard?” Ariel asked in surprise.

“Heard what?” Trevin asked, concerned.

“Exador!” Duranor said. “Turns out he was the leader of the three archdemons in Freehold. The hundreds of demons were his.”

“What?” Trevin said in shock. “How do you know this?”

“Apparently there was this sword golem that revealed him, and that led to a massive battle in the palace foyer with meteors, quakes, fires, a djinni and all sorts of mayhem!” Duranor told her.

“How many were injured? Killed?” Trevin asked.

“Minor wounds, from what we’ve heard.” Elraith said.

Trevin shook her head in amazement. “When did this happen?”

“About sixteen days ago. We learned of it perhaps a week ago,” Duranor said.

“And Exador?” Trevin asked.

“Plotting his revenge, I should imagine,” Prince Ariel replied.

Trevin closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process and make sense of this information.

“Back to my point. The wizards in the Council States and all over the world summon demons all the time, and you do not go invading their land,” Duranor told Prince Ariel.

“Yes, but those demons have never formed regular armies to battle us,” Ariel said.

“Technically, it was orcs summoning D’Orc armies, I should think,” Duranor said. “How is that different than wizards in armies summoning demons? You had no business in their territory. They had not left their land; they had not invaded yours.”

“It was only a matter of time. This has all been prophesied,” Prince Ariel stated calmly.

“Prophesied?” Trevin asked. She was not aware of such a prophecy.

“Yes. About one hundred years after Orcus was slain in the fields of Etterdam, the orcs received a prophecy of his return, and sometime later, a prophet of Nét released a counter-prophecy that the alvar would rise to stop him,” Prince Ariel said.

Trevin closed her eyes again. “This would have been useful information to have had sooner.”

Ariel shrugged on the other side of the mirror. “You and I have not had a mirroring since you left the Grove. The D’Orcs happened after that.”

Trevin sighed. “Agreed. We need to communicate more frequently.”

“So. Will you represent the alvar in getting the hostages back?” Prince Ariel asked.

“Of course,” Trevin said. “We are not that far from where the battle took place.”

Smithy of Doom: Late Sixth Period

Vaselle wiped the sweat off his brow. He was going to need a more powerful cooling system. This part of Doom was considerably warmer that most parts. Molten lava and various metals would do that. He had, with Tamarin’s help, managed to convince Völund to let him set up shop in one of the—well, forging studios, he supposed you would call it, down in the Smithy of Doom.

The smithy was actually quite large, and apparently at some point Völund had had quite a number of smith apprentices working for him. There was the main smithy, and then a good number of studio or workshop smithies. Currently there were only three D’Orc smiths working for him in the main smithy, and Phaestus’ team had taken over the two largest studios; however, there had been a number of midsized and smaller studios available, and after considerable amounts of—uhm—begging, he and Tamarin had managed to get the Smith of Doom to agree to his using one.

The funny thing was that a small studio for a D’Orc was still larger than his entire shop in Freehold. That reminded him; he was going to need to get some tools from his shop tomorrow. In fact, perhaps he would need to buy a second set of tools. There was a lot of good stuff here, but it was generally D’Orc-sized.

In the morning, he was planning on taking some gems with him through his portal beacon outside Freehold to visit a colleague of his to engage him in a commission; he would also go to a tool shop and get more tools.  It would be his first attempt to actually use his master’s power to open a portal on his own.

While studying in the library, he had looked up information on Orcus’ warlocks and discovered detailed descriptions and, in fact, instructions on creating official ‘Warlock of Doom’ clothing and paraphernalia.  He should be able, eventually, to make many of the accouterments, but magical clothing was a bit out of his realm of experience; however, Ganulious was a gifted magical tailor that he had worked with before.

He shook his head, smiling broadly in joy. If he had not already achieved his life’s most unimaginable dream of being the lowly servant of one of the most powerful forces in the multiverse, Lord Tommus, he would have said having a laboratory next door to Völund the Smith would have been an unrealistic dream come true. As a craftsman of magical artifacts and devices, who better to learn from than Völund the Smith?

Of course, having access to the heating fires of a safely contained active volcano, and a nearly infinite supply of precious metals and gemstones, were also major benefits. He was, quite literally, in heaven! He could not believe his amazingly great fortune. Best of all, he had a purpose, a mission; to craft devices for his master.

“I think that’s the last of the dirt!” Tamarin exclaimed, holding her “vacuum bag” up for his inspection. Tamarin had found a long tube and heavy-duty cloth sack, and wrapped the opening of the sack very tightly around one end of the tube to create a very unique contraption. Using her djinn powers, she created a low-pressure region inside the tube, and when she ran the open end of the tube across the floor, dirt and small debris were sucked up the tube and then expelled into the sack. While doing this, the cloth sack inflated with the air that was being sucked up, and there was a continuous whooshing noise. It was far more effective than sweeping.

“If I ever get the spare time, I am going to have to figure out how to make one of those with conventional wizardry,” Vaselle said, smiling in appreciation. “I am sure I could sell a lot of them.”

“I’ve got lots of great ideas!” Tamarin said. “I’ve spent my life studying so many things that as an immaterial djinni, I could only imagine. Now that I’m in a material world, there are so many fun things I would like to try out.”

“Well, you know, I need to be building stuff for our master, like coolers and portal beacons, but that’s only the beginning. I think we worked well together on the D’Orcing, so if you want to work with me here in the lab, that would be fun.”

“Wow, thanks! I’d love to—at least, when our master doesn’t need me,” Tamarin said. “My first job is to serve him.”

“Oh, of course! No ,it’s just whenever you have time. I’m the same way; if the master needs me to go on a mission or smite some of his enemies, that takes priority,” Vaselle agreed.

“Excellent!” Tamarin clapped her hands together before running over and giving Vaselle a great big hug.

Chapter 140

Citadel of Light: DOA + 15, Shortly after Dawn

“This place is really filling up,” Timbly observed from one of the inner walls, which straddled the first inner courtyard and the outer courtyard. They were watching a huge stream of refugees coming through the northern outer gate and across the mighty wood and steel bridge that spanned the outer courtyard, which was actually about forty feet below the two sets of gates.

“If we get everyone in, it will be over two hundred and fifty thousand people,” Leighton told them.

Teragdor shook his head in awe. “And you have the supplies for a siege?”

Leighton shrugged. “The Siblings willing. Supply trains are bringing in stored grains, meats and anything that has been harvested. This is not huge, given the time of year, but far better than at the end of winter. They are bringing in all readily available livestock as well; no sense in leaving them to the Unlife to slaughter. We have longer-term base supplies, of course; things that keep well, if not digest well. Beyond that, we will rely on food and water replication spells.”

“That is one advantage to having a large clerical contingent,” Timbly said.

“Hendel’s people are often quite taxed. Being of our earth god, they not only have the best nourishment rituals, but also, obviously, the most powerful healers,” Leighton said.

“I have no experience working with priests of the other Five Siblings. I assume the priests of Krinna will focus on aerial defense?” Teragdor asked the priest of Krinna.

“Indeed. We also work with enchantments. Defensive enchantments, particularly glamour protections and such, are very important against certain types of undead.” Leighton smiled. “But the most excitement comes from blowing clouds of vampire bats out of the sky!”

Timbly shook his head. “Vampires can actually turn into bats? I thought that was a myth.”

Leighton chuckled. “It is a myth. Some of the most powerful vampires can take on winged, batlike forms, but they are not actual bats. No, vampire bats are very large, extremely vicious and deadly bats under the control of vampires. They fly in large swarms and swoop down upon victims from the sky en masse.”

“What do Namora’s people do against the undead?” Teragdor asked.

“Well, for one thing, they are very good at turning water into wine.” Leighton grinned. “Far better than any of the rest of us.”

They all laughed at that. It was well known that water-to-wine rituals were generally only good for salad dressing, or if one was exceedingly drunk.

“More seriously, many undead have problems with running water,” Leighton told them. “Namora’s people can channel streams, rivers and even floods of water to wash out undead forces. They are also the first line in maintaining the Holy Water supplies. Beyond that, they handle all liquids; acids and alkaloids can be very effective against undead. Really nice for dissolving both zombies, skeletons and other animated dead, who aren’t smart enough to get out of the way.”

“This will definitely be interesting,” Teragdor said, taking a deep breath. He was actually feeling excitement in his blood at the thought of the forthcoming conflict. He was not sure if that was due to his orc blood or his priestly calling.

“Indeed.” Leighton grinned. “Our forces are elated that for the first time in millennia we shall have a full contingent of avatars from all Five Siblings! I think the commanders are still in shock that Dashgar and Inethya themselves have graced us with their strength; and that Fassbindr, Prophet of Torean upon Nysegard, will also be here with two saints, in full measure with Saints Hilda and Stevos of Tiernon.”

“I have to admit my own pleasant surprise,” Timbly agreed.

“There are rumors that Ashnea Brightfeather may show up; have you heard anything?” Teragdor asked Leighton.

“I am praying so!” Leighton shook his head. “While intimidating to be in the presence of both Torean’s and Tiernon’s prophets, having Krinna’s own prophet here would be something truly beyond any dream that I might have conceived of!”

Timbly chuckled. “I suspect that once the prophets of two of the Five Siblings show up, there is increased pressure on those of the others.”

“Indeed.” Leighton grinned. “The rivalry of the avatars of the Five Siblings is nearly as great as that between the siblings themselves.”

Teragdor chuckled. “With all this divine power, I suspect the Storm Lords are in for a surprise.”

Leighton nodded with a smile. “For once, we shall have a decisive advantage over the Unlife.”

Nysegard, Approximately Thirty-Three Leagues from the Citadel: Midday

“You have to admit, they have very impressive logistics,” Ramses said to Exador, who was sitting beside him on their private flying carpet. They were returning to the tower, where work on the Dark Apostle’s lore was being conducted. This morning they had received a tour of the Storm Lord’s preparations.

“I grant you that. It’s no Abyssal Switch, but…” Exador said.

“You do know what would happen to their army if you did an Abyssal Switch on it, yes?” Ramses asked with a chuckle.

“If one does not take the proper precautions? I certainly do, which is why I always keep one ready to go whenever I deal with necromancers, in the event of an out-of-control undead army,” Exador said, chuckling as well.

“Do you still have any necromancers left?” Ramses asked.

“Actually, one did survive Lenamare’s little blast. Technically, he should be dead, but his skills are keeping him going,” Exador said.

“That’s impressive,” Ramses said.

“I have to admit, I was impressed.” Exador nodded. “He now gives off a soft blue glow in the dark. It’s a tad disconcerting.”

Ramses shook his head. “You mean he glows without wizard or demon sight?”

Exador nodded. “Exactly. The blue glow does not seem to be magical in nature.”

“So sort of a ghostly soft blue?” Ramses asked.

Exador shrugged and then shook his head. “I know what you are thinking, but he’s completely solid. His flesh is what seems to glow; it’s not like the aura some revenants have.”

“So are you going to bring him to Nysegard?”

“I don’t think so.” Exador shook his head. “Given that he survived, he’s getting powerful enough that I don’t really want him picking up too much more information from the Storm Lords. Remember, necromancers tend to live a fairly long time as it is, and the half-dead ones even longer. I’m betting he’ll be around for another sixty, seventy, maybe even a hundred years. I do not want him going lich on me. They are all megalomaniacs.”

“That makes sense. I’ve never been super-fond of liches—our allies excepted, of course. In fact, of all the undead, I prefer mummies. The embalming and bandages ensure you don’t have all that rotting flesh falling off on the carpet,” Ramses said.

“Yes, but I hear they attract dust mites,” Exador said.

“Better that than maggots,” Ramses observed.

Exador shrugged, turning his head to watch another ghost ship carrying undead troops float towards one of the docking platforms.

“Given the traffic, and what we’ve been told, they must have over five hundred transport ships,” Ramses said.

Exador nodded. “That’s just the flying ghost ships. From what I’ve been told they have a similar number of more traditional sailing ghost ships.”

“These folks in the Citadel are in for a very unpleasant time,” Ramses noted, shaking his head.

“They are indeed. Between the surprise we are working on and the vast array of forces they are deploying at such a rapid pace, they are going to be at a severe disadvantage,” Exador agreed.

Oubliette: Early Fourth Period

Everyone had left the TPCC after class except for Tom, who was messing with the AII’s settings, and Phaestus and Darg-Krallnom, who wanted to run a few quick checks on the systems.

Tom finished up and saved the AII settings even as the other two finished their tests. This led Tom to ask Phaestus a question. “You recall our conversation yesterday on reincarnation and the Phoenix Cycle, yes?” he asked.

Phaestus chuckled. “I really only have trouble remembering things more than a few hundred thousand years ago; I can still remember yesterday.”

Tom grinned. “What about reincarnation? It is something that the Nyjyr Ennead do for their followers, as do many other gods, correct?”

“Indeed. It is one of several possible selling points for deities,” Phaestus replied.

“So they do this with magineering; they mentioned a Wheel of Life, I believe,” Tom said.

“Correct. It would be quite burdensome to have to manually process every soul. Different deities and pantheons, however, have their own mechanisms and methods,” Phaestus said.

“Why do you care? It’s not really a problem for us,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Isn’t it?” Tom asked, and Darg-Krallnom looked puzzled. “Well, here is what I was thinking: we have sworn in all these people in Nysegard, mortal and immortal. When the immortals, the D’Orcs, are slain in battle with the Unlife, they are sent back to Mount Doom like any other demon. However, when the mortals die, what happens to their animus? Do they all have gods who will collect their animus? Yes, I know there are a few priests in Nysegard, but there doesn’t seem to be a lot. I would think mortals would often look to gods to protect them from Unlife.”

“On Nysegard they looked, and will look again, to Doom,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Exactly, but we do not provide any afterlife services to them. Is that something we should be doing? For one thing, we do need more D’Orcs,” Tom said. “Should we try to streamline or improve the process? Automate it?”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled, as did Phaestus.

“So we come back to this question again,” Phaestus said.

“What do you mean again?” Tom asked.

“This issue came up every thousand years or so,” Phaestus told him.

“So you have considered it?” Tom asked.

“Many times,” Darg-Krallnom agreed.

“What was the answer?” Tom asked.

“Well, that was why it kept coming up. It was—is—a difficult question; one of priorities, branding and other issues,” Phaestus replied.

“Huh?” Tom asked, bewildered.

“We could, in theory, do it,” Phaestus explained. “We have, in principle, the knowledge of how to do it, or at least some of it. We know we can capture souls in anima jars; we’ve done that for designated D’Orcs before they die. We could figure out something to do with those we collect; however, the real problem is—”

“Do we want to be in the god business?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“The god business?” Tom asked.

“Once you start promising people life after death, you are basically in the god business,” Phaestus said.

“Orcus, and most of the Tartarvardenennead, were not fans of the gods. Present company excluded,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“He had no desire to be worshipped as a god,” Phaestus said. “He felt it was, one, a responsibility he did not want to have and, two, that gods were generally more in it for themselves and their own power than for the sake of their followers.”

“Which is true,” Darg-Krallnom stated.

“For some of them,” Phaestus countered.

“I said present company excluded.” Darg-Krallnom shrugged as he said this.

“Many of my best friends are gods.” Phaestus glared at the D’Orc.

“I’ve always said you need to hang with a better crowd. Us, for example,” Darg-Krallnom replied.

“If you haven’t noticed, I am spending a lot more time with you, now that Tom is here.”

“You will find it much nicer here,” Darg-Krallnom informed him.

Phaestus shook his head and turned back to Tom. “So, in any event, Orcus struggled with the desire to provide for those who fought for him versus the desire not to become that which he most disliked.”

“How many of the mortals in Nysegard are religious, with afterlife plans?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by afterlife plans. Orcs are generally shamanistic; they believe in going back to the spirits of the material world. Ancestral spirits, nature spirits or simply returning to nature.”

“Actually, the D’Orc thing was quite a shift in paradigm for the orcs,” Phaestus said.

“It certainly was. Immortality to orcs comes through the memories and retellings of your glory passed down from generation to generation. Orcs have no desire to sit around on a cloud playing musical instruments,” Darg-Krallnom said emphatically.

“So it is not really as big a concern as you might think,” Phaestus said. “I suspect it was as much a guilt thing on Orcus’s conscience as anything else.”

“Although to be fair, it could save a lot of training time if we could recycle more people,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“That was Tizzy’s argument, as I recall,” Phaestus said.

“Now you are just being mean,” Darg-Krallnom told the god.

Astlan, Orcan Plains: Late Fourth Period

“I still can’t get over Exador being an archdemon,” Jenn marveled to Gastropé, who was sitting on the carpet next to her as they headed toward the orc camp where the alvaran prisoners were being held. An envoy from the Nimbus had arranged for a meeting between the Grove and the Stone Finger tribe, who had the prisoners. The rest of the Freehold contingent had decided to come along in hopes of getting more information about the D’Orcs.

“Pretty big oversight on the part of the Council of Wizardry,” Gastropé agreed. “I guess he neglected to include that on his CV.” At nineses this morning, Trevin had filled the rest of the party in on what she had learned last night.

Jenn snorted. “Of course, you actually worked for him and never noticed.”

“I’m sorry, but if Lenamare and Jehenna couldn’t determine he was a demon, let alone an archdemon, how is a lowly wizard like me supposed to know?” Gastropé replied.

Jenn laughed. “I think that’s the best part of this. Lenamare the Great was completely fooled!”

“I know!” Gastropé grinned at her, and then paused. “Of course, you realize this means that throughout their years of competition, it turns out that Lenamare was continually one-upping a thousands-of-years-old demon lord?”

Jenn’s faced sagged. “Argh. Thank you for ruining the mood! This just means he’s going to be even more insufferable!” She shook her head in frustration.

Gastropé shrugged. “I am hoping someone thought to ball it. That’s a battle I’d love to have seen!”

“Completely!” Jenn agreed, smiling at him once more. “I can only imagine it—all of them in combat together, including Alexandros Mien!”

“Historic!” Gastropé marveled. He would love to see a balling of it, but he was just as glad not to have been in the battle. Like Jenn, he had been shocked by this revelation this morning. Never in a million years would he have guessed Exador was a demon. Although, given his reputation, he probably should not have been surprised. Further, the fact that he had never guessed Edwyrd and Tom were the same person should have clued him in that you could not judge a demon by appearances. On the bright side, he supposed, he had been working for an archdemon; now, with Tom, he was working with a demon prince. That was a definite trade up; the big plus being that he was working with, rather than for a demon prince.

That was, to Gastropé, a very important distinction. He was unlike nutty Vaselle, who was Tom’s warlock. Gastropé could not imagine wanting to be that. It had been bad enough to be a simple employee of Exador, whose unofficial employment agreement included an implicit termination clause—meaning Exador could terminate your existence whenever he felt like it. He had no desire to be any demon’s servant, lackey, employee, slave or whatever.

Of course, from a textbook point of view, Exador fit the “dark lord” bill much better than Tom. As far as he could tell, all of Tom’s people he had met seemed genuinely happy to be working for him, including the demons. Gastropé had never met anyone working for Exador who was actually happy to be working for him. For most, it was at best a job, except for the crazier, greedier, power hungrier, or downright antisocial bullies. There had been quite of a few of all of those types.

Gastropé frowned. In fact, Tizzy even seemed to enjoy working for Gastropé. Demons were not supposed to like their accursed masters; yet Tizzy was always friendly towards him. Of course, Gastropé was not really Tizzy’s accursed master. He still had no idea where that link could have come from. That was still very disturbing. The only thing he could even remotely think of was that Tizzy had bound himself to Gastropé, but that made no sense at all! Why would a demon bind itself to a wizard? Particularly a demon that claimed to have no magical powers?

On the other hand, what did sense have to do with Tizzy? The demon, while amicable and talkative, was completely off-balance and unhinged. He could also be more than a little bit menacing; he was a demon, after all, as those liches had learned. That had been three fiends—second-order demons—and they had wreaked unholy havoc upon liches on ice dragons? It was too easy for wizards, conjurors like himself in particular, to get complacent and start thinking that just because a demon was of a lower order, they were not deadly.

It was this logic, which he had spent many sleepless nights refining, that had led him to the conclusion that a small number of D’Orcs and D’Wargs were more than a match for a hundred alvar on hippogriffs. Given this, he could certainly understand why the alvar were freaking out. He would probably be freaking out if he was in their position. Of course, he wasn’t a thousand-year-old being that was supposed to be all logical and deliberative. This rush to panic seemed contrary to everything he had ever heard about alvar. Of course, that was just it—he knew only legends and secondhand information.

“Why so pensive?” Jenn asked after Gastropé had been silent for a time.

“Just thinking about the alvar versus the orcs and D’Orcs,” Gastropé told her. “Given the power of the D’Orcs, I can see why they would be concerned about them reappearing; however, this rush to battle, the incursion into orc territory? It seems like a forced error.”

“Indeed.” Maelen twisted around from his pillow in front of Gastropé. “That was my thinking exactly.”

“If so,” Jenn countered, “then why are they making it? Their adults are all centuries old, their leaders even older. Surely they would realize this?”

Elrose twisted around as well, from where he was sitting next to Maelen. “Age is not necessarily synonymous with wisdom.”

Maelen chuckled. “Indeed; there are a lot of us old fools running around out there!” He waved his arm at the world below them.

“But more seriously, what we are following in all of this are premonitions and visions,” Elrose told them. “By definition, that means supernatural forces are at play. Which in turn means that things are happening that we do not know about.”

“Supernatural forces?” Jenn shook his head. “What is that supposed to mean? Ghosts? Undead?”

“We know the Storm Lords are active,” Gastropé said. “But those are normal enemies of the Grove.”

Maelen chuckled. “No sign of that at this time.” He shook his head. “Elrose means forces, as in beings and influences from outside the natural world, the Planes of Man. Divine influence, prophecy—things like that may be influencing people’s otherwise rational decisions.”

Elrose had gone still, staring off into the distance, shortly after Jenn mentioned the undead. Gastropé noticed first, and then the others when they noticed Gastropé staring at Elrose.

“Elrose?” Jenn asked. The sorcerer said nothing.

“I think he’s having a vision,” Maelen said softly, or relatively softly, on the windy carpet.

“I didn’t think sorcerers had random visions, like seers,” Gastropé said. “I thought they had to cast a spell.”

Maelen shook his head. “Only those who do not work in the field routinely; very experienced sorcerers who work extensively with the time streams and portents can have what are called flash-forwards. Very much like a seer.”

Suddenly, Elrose blinked and then frowned, his brow furrowing with concern. He shook his head, as if trying to pull himself back into the present.

“What is it?” Maelen asked.

“The word undead. It was a trigger word,” Elrose said, still seeming a bit shaken. “I flashed on a prior vision of Freehold under siege. The one where demons and gods were at play. This time, the Storm Lords were present.”

“The Storm Lords at Freehold?” Trevin had been listening in, particularly after Elrose had frozen. She, too, had twisted around. “As far as I am aware, the Council has had no significant interaction with them, ever.”

Elrose slowly shook his head from side to side. “I am sure I saw them surrounding the city. The wards were up, in demon-repelling mode, the walls lined with a combination of Council soldiers and Tiernon’s forces.”

“The Rod? Inside Freehold?” Maelen asked. “That’s a significant change.”

“Indeed,” Trevin said, frowning.

“I know, but that’s what I saw; at least, before my vision switched to someplace else.” Elrose frowned again.

“Where did it switch to?” Maelen asked.

Elrose shook his head again. “I am not sure; it was someplace I have never seen. Someplace I can’t even imagine being in Astlan. The architecture looked like nothing I have ever heard of. It was an insanely massive fortress.”

“An insanely massive fortress?” Trevin asked. “There are some good-sized fortresses in Astlan.”

Elrose once more shook his head. “Fortresses with concentric hundred-and-fifty-foot-tall stone walls, a gigantic stonework moat on three sides, and a single wall of the same height on the fourth overlooking a very steep two-hundred-foot cliff dropping to the sea?”

“Not so many.” Trevin grimaced, brow furrowing in thought.

“And this was just a feeling, something I just sort of knew, but I am pretty sure that the moat was filled with Holy Water. The place was inundated by the presence of the Five Siblings,” Elrose added.

“Okay, then,” Trevin said. “Holy Water moats are something you will likely only find on Nysegard.”

“The Storm Lords, then?” Maelen asked.

“So it would certainly seem,” Trevin agreed. “On two fronts.”

“It’s not like the playing field wasn’t crowded enough as it was,” Jenn groused.

Trevin sighed and rubbed her eyes with her right hand. “My compatriots in the Grove will have to be alerted. The Grove’s issues just got much more complicated with the Storm Lords involved.”

~

Gastropé stood nervously next to Jenn behind Trevin in the orcs’ tent. The tribe holding the alvar was called the Stone Fingers, and their chief was one Elgrida Far Eyes. Interestingly enough, this tribe of orcs seemed to respect the Grove and its flag of truce. When they had first started traveling together, Trevin had told them that a lot of what the Grove did was play intermediary.

They were not, she had assured them, diplomats so much as interlocutors. Orcs did not like diplomats, or more precisely, felt they were about as useless and spineless as lawyers. Gastropé idly wondered if they’d had any wars with Oorstemoth and how they would ever be able to settle them. Neither side seemed likely to ever simply surrender.

Respectful of the Grove or not, it was clear to Gastropé that the orcs were not likely to release the prisoners without some concessions.

“I, personally, agree that the alvar acted hastily and are technically in violation of the armistice. Prince Ariel, however, considers their activity to be self-defense,” Trevin tried to explain one more time to the chieftain.

“How defense against not attack?” Elgrida asked in typical broken Trade.

“It is complicated,” Trevin said.

“We no attack. We do our lives. Alvar attack our people. No provoke. Our land, our peaceful land. Alvar violent, attack innocent travelers,” Elgrida said. “Deserve death.”

“And most of them did die. Your people saw to that. However, those that are still alive, the alvar would like to have back with no more harm done to them,” Trevin said.

“Why? They proof of alvar lies and treachery!” Elgrida demanded.

Trevin shook her head. “This will take some time. I believe it will speed things up if I speak Orcish. May my associates have some water and be allowed to stretch their legs while we talk?”

Elgrida’s mouth twisted in what Gastropé thought might be a pleased grin. Apparently things were moving in the direction the chieftain wanted. She gestured to one of her warriors, who motioned to the rest of the party: Maelen, Elrose, Jenn, Gastropé and Peter, who had driven the carpet for them.

They had purposefully gone in without obvious weapons, since they were on a peaceful mission. Trevin had assured them that the orcs knew who she was and that their lack of weapons would not be seen as a weakness, but rather as a sign of strength.

They exited the tent with the warrior who had gestured to them and one other warrior. “Devdesh bring water in short time. Walk this area. No spy! No go in tents,” The warrior said.

“Uhm, is there a latrine, someplace I can—make water?” Gastropé asked the warrior. He had been holding his bladder for some time. He probably should not have drunk so much tea earlier.

The orc warrior snorted derisively and pointed to what appeared to be a roofless tent about three hundred feet away. “Go make water. Hah.”

Gastropé clenched his jaw and marched off to the latrine. It was a bit embarrassing, but if the talks were going to take quite some time, he would have no choice. Better to get comfortable now rather than be squirming later.

Gastropé made his way back from the open pit surrounded by curtains that the orcs called a latrine. He was very glad he had only needed to make water. There had been no amenities for the other sort of business.

“The question is, will Elgrida be able to get the alvar to agree to leave our lands in exchange for their prisoners,” a rather familiar-sounding voice said in perfect Trade from a nearby tent.

“Doubtful. We will probably have to fight them all the way to the Doomalogue,” another, deeper, voice said.

A third, very large-sounding person chuckled. “I really have no problem with that. Personally, I hope the alvar need some more lessons.”

Gastropé stopped. Who in an orc camp would be speaking perfect Trade with no accent? And why did that first voice sound so familiar?

“I would not mind a few more of those training lessons from Lord Tommus,” the first voice said. Gastropé suddenly recognized the voice.

“Tal Gor?” Gastropé called softly towards the tent. He did not want any of his compatriots hearing him.

There was sudden silence inside the tent; within moments a tent flap on the left side of the tent opened and Tom’s shaman, Tal Gor, popped his head out. “Gastropé!” he called out happily. “What are you doing here?”

Gastropé quickly made quieting gestures with his hand and hurried over to Tal Gor. “The alvar have asked the Nimbus to bargain for the release of the prisoners,” Gastropé told him. “I wondered if it was you and your friends that took out the alvar; I just didn’t expect you to still be here.”

Tal Gor nodded and gestured for him to come inside the rather large tent.

Gastropé entered to find three other orcs and two very large—D’Orcs? He had never seen a D’Orc, of course—none had come through with Edwyrd—but they could be nothing else.

“Who is this?” one of the D’Orcs asked suspiciously.

“This is Gastropé; he is one of Lord Tommus’s warlocks!” Tal Gor told them.

Not technically true… Gastropé thought to himself, but he was not going to disabuse them of that fine point.

“Gastropé, this is Zargvarst El Crooked Stick, our D’Orc mission commander.” Tal Gor gestured to the D’Orc who had asked who he was.

“This is Dider An Sep.” Tal Gor gestured to what Gastropé suddenly realized was a female D’Orc. He was not sure she wasn’t scarier than the male D’Orc.

“Lob Smasher is an elder of my tribe,” he said, gesturing to an older orc. “And this is my brother Bor Tal and sister Soo An.” Tal Gor motioned to the remaining orcs in the tent.

Gastropé nodded. “An honor to meet you.” He had no idea what the appropriate greeting was for an orc ally.

“You are a warlock of Lord Tommus?” Zargvarst asked. “Why were you not at the ceremony? And why are you with those bartering for the alvar?”

“Uhm...” Gastropé had to think fast. “I am on a mission for Lord Tommus. I am keeping an eye on the Grove and several members of the Council of Wizardry, and could not get away for the ceremony. Which was fortunate, since I was able to open a gateway for the shamans to get back to the material planes.”

That was basically the case. Okay, technically he was not on a mission for Tom, but as long as Tal Gor played along, that should work.

“So you are a spy?” Didar An Sep asked.

“Well, I am keeping an eye on the Grove and their—allies—and if necessary, report what I learn to Lord Tommus,” Gastropé hedged, deeply.

“A spy,” Didar An Sep repeated.

“Spies are sneaky,” Zargvarst stated as fact. “However, so are alvar.” He inhaled deeply through his giant nostrils. “It makes sense to fight fire with fire.” The D’Orc nodded. “It is not something I would want to do, but I see the need.”

“So did you know what the alvar were up to?” Lob Smasher asked him.

“We were in Noajar when we got word that the alvar were planning to patrol the skies here. We immediately set course to intercept them and try and force them to give up this very obvious incursion. The Grove is very serious about ensuring that the armistice is kept, and wanting to stop the alvar. We were simply too late,” Gastropé said, trying not to sweat too much. It was hot in here.

“So this Grove place? It knows the alvar are in breach?” Soo An asked.

“Indeed. Trevin, their leader, spent no little time cursing out the alvar for their stupidity and paranoia,” Gastropé said, exaggerating.

“As she should.” Bor Tal nodded in approval.

“So, do you want to tell me about this battle? I hear it was epic!” Gastropé grinned at Tal Gor. He wanted to get as much information as he could.

“If we are going to do this, we should have some glargh!” Bor Tal exclaimed.

“I could do with a drop of x-glargh.” Zargvarst nodded.

Didar An Sep also nodded. “I feel much better about this discussion with the Grove, knowing now that Lord Tommus has his claws resting on their shoulders!”

Gastropé swallowed hard, he was once more in over his head.

“I shall get the bottles; I will also let the Stone Fingers know we have a guest!” Lob Smasher said.

The Inferno: Early Fifth Period

“I have only had a chance to briefly review the contract they sent over,” Chancellor Alighieri told those assembled in the captain’s mess.

“And?” Heron asked.

“Well, as I said, it’s only a cursory scan. The document is a reasonably taut six hundred and thirty-two pages long,” the chancellor said. “However, it does appear to be of impeccable logic and thoroughness.”

“Does it prevent them from blowing the ship up once they are inside?” Sir Gadius asked.

Dante blinked in surprise at the question. “Well… on first glance, yes. Now obviously, there may be some loophole conditions under which they may be able to do so; as I’ve said, this has been but a cursory review. I’ll be going over it in detail with the ship’s legal team.”

Sir Gaius shook his head. “A contract is only as good as the paper it’s written on.” He turned to look at Sir Samwell. “Do you think they will honor it?”

Sir Samwell shrugged and seemed to think for a moment. “Well, I do not know this Melissance; you will need to reach your own conclusions as to how far she can be trusted. As far as this bodyguard of hers, Salvatore? Assuming he is sworn to Hesseforthalus and that Hesseforthalus signs the contract, then you can trust what is in the contract.”

“You are saying this archdemon is trustworthy?” Barabus asked the knight.

Sir Samwell shook his head. “No, I am not saying that. I am saying that he will honor his contract. He is known for taking contracts very seriously. He is a Denubian DemonTM after all; contracts are very important to them.”

“Excellent!” Chancellor Alighieri exclaimed, pleased.

“What you need to worry about,” Sir Samwell said, continuing after a pause to look Barabus in the eye, “is what is not in the contract.”

Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Mid Fifth Period

“Where is he?” Jenn asked for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“Maybe he fell in?” Maelen asked.

“I hear that orcan latrines are anything but pleasant.” Elrose grinned.

“No, seriously, where did he go? And why are the guards not more worried about him being missing?” Jenn asked. “They haven’t even batted an eye at the fact that one of the interlocutors for the alvar seems to have disappeared into their camp.”

“We have been together long enough, and through enough insanity, that I would sense if he was in danger,” Maelen assured her. “I sense nothing ominous.”

Peter nodded. “Gastropé is more than capable of taking care of himself. Remember how easily he summoned three fiends on a wildly gyrating carpet? If the orcs gave him any problems, he could just summon his demons.”

Jenn closed her eyes. That would be all they needed: Tizzy in the middle of an orc camp! She didn’t even want to think how that might go. It would certainly destroy whatever chance they might have to get the alvaran prisoners back. “I am going to check the latrines,” she declared.

The others shrugged, so she marched off in the direction Gastropé had gone. She was about three-quarters of the distance and was passing an extra-large tent when she heard people speaking in fluent, accent-free Trade.

“And then the wizard sent a lightning bolt right towards me, and Hefngratz spun at the craziest angle and took the entire bolt to his stomach!” a voice proclaimed.

“Did he completely absorb the bolt? Did you feel anything?” Gastropé’s voice asked in amazement.

“Not a thing!” the voice said joyfully. “Everyone needs a D’Warg!”

“I don’t want to go into battle without one!” a female voice agreed.

What in the Abyss? Jenn said to herself. Why was Gastropé speaking to people in an orc camp about D’Wargs? She moved around the side of the tent and located the opening flap.

“Well, you certainly do not want to go into battle against a D’Warg!” a very deep voice said, laughing.

Jenn shook her head in annoyance and pulled the flap to the side.

“Gastropé! What are you—” Jenn stopped in mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

Inside the tent was Gastropé, drinking what appeared to be beer out of a very large mug, sitting on a pillow. Also in the tent were three orc warriors, what she guessed was a shaman and—and—and what were those monstrosities?

“Who is this?” one of the monstrosities asked Gastropé as it took a drink from its own mug.

Jenn shook her head and gaped at the creature. It was some sort of horrific cross between a demon and an orc. A D’Orc? A demon orc? That was all it could be! And Gastropé was in a tent drinking with two of them and four orcs? Swapping tales of battle? The battle with the prisoners they were trying to free?

Jenn blinked three or four times and then pulled her head back and let the tent flap drop. She stepped back, trying to figure out how to process this.

“Ah… Abyssal dung beetles,” she heard Gastropé curse.

“Would those be D’Dung Beetles?” one of the orcs asked, causing the others in the tent to burst out laughing.

Nysegard, Darg-Krallnomton: Mid Fifth Period

This is critical information! Ruiden thought, sounding almost angry to Talarius.

The two were working through one of their standard routines. Talarius liked to run through different martial exercises before dinner each evening. It was important in times of noncombat to stay fit and in touch with one’s weapons; thus, he and Ruiden were working through a set of moves and while doing so, Talarius had filled the sword in on the D’Orcing ceremony, during which Talarius had left Ruiden in the barracks where he had been staying. Surrounded by allies, he had not felt the need to have the great sword strapped to his back. The less cumbersome Rod of Smiting, which fit in its own compartment, was more than sufficient in the situation. Ruiden had not known what he had been missing, and now that the sword knew, it was not thrilled at having missed it.

You do know I am a demon-slaying sword? Yet you did not think I would find such a ceremony interesting? Observing how demons are created? Ruiden asked.

Sorry, Talarius responded. I did not know that was what was going to happen. Did you know that D’Orcs and demons were created the same way? You are a demon-slaying sword, not a D’Orc-slaying sword, right?

Ruiden was silent for a while. Talarius continued working through the pattern of moves, but he could tell Ruiden was distracted, or maybe pouting? The sword did not flow quite as smoothly as usual. It was still smoother and lighter than any non-magical sword, and most magical swords for that matter, but it was not demonstrating the same level of coordination—or perhaps the term was cooperation—that he was accustomed to.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Talarius asked out loud.

Have them make another D’Orc? Ruiden suggested.

I doubt they are going to be willing to do that with no suitable candidate. There was a lot of work and preparation that went into this ceremony, Talarius told the sword.

Ruiden made what Talarius interpreted as a mental harrumph noise.

Talarius shook his head. Can’t you read my memories or something?

I am not a mind reader! I can mentally talk to you, but I can’t access your memories, at least not as far as I know, the sword told him.

That was actually something of a relief; Talarius had no desire to press that issue. Perhaps your father could tell you how it’s done. Surely he knows? he suggested.

In case you haven’t noticed, my father talks even less than I do! Ruiden replied.

Talarius sighed. He needed to do something to get back on his sword’s good side. He shook his head; he really could not believe he needed to keep a sword happy. Tom had seriously mucked up his life! Things were suddenly much more complicated. Perhaps you could speak with Tamarin, then? Talarius suggested. He was not thrilled at the idea of having his sword talk to one of the demon lord’s minions, but she was a djinn. Djinn were not a priori evil; they could be good or evil. At least, he believed that was the case. They were typically seen as neutral forces within the realms.

Very well. Set that up and we shall see how it goes, Ruiden finally agreed after several more moments of silence.

Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Mid Fifth Period

Gastropé set his beer down and scrambled to his feet. “I need to deal with this,” he told the others. “I will be back as soon as I can.” He pushed his way through the tent flap to find Jenn standing with her back to the tent. Her stance told him she was angry. She glanced back to ensure it was he who had left the tent and then started marching away; fortunately not back towards the Nimbus party, nor into the orc camp.

Gastropé grimaced and followed.

“What were you doing in there?” Jenn nearly shouted after they had left the immediate vicinity of the camp.

“I was getting a firsthand account of the battle!” Gastropé said.

Jenn shook her head in frustration. “What? You just found a random orc and said ‘take me to the D’Orcs and tell me about the battle over a beer’?” She stopped suddenly and spun to face him. “You could have been killed, you idiot! These monsters killed about six dozen alvar and their hippogriffs!”

“Well, the alvar attacked them. They were just traveling in orc territory and were assaulted. They were defending themselves, no different than any travelers assaulted by brigands or an enemy. Or us when Oorstemoth attacked Captain Asmeth’s ship. Did you forget that we sank their ship and drowned their sailors?” Gastropé asked, raising his arms slightly in the air.

Jenn shook her head in vigorous denial. “Are you nuts? That is nowhere close to being an accurate comparison! D’Orcs are the minions of that reincarnated demon prince! They are clearly evil!”

“Why are you always so quick to call people evil?” Gastropé asked. “We have no proof that they are evil, just stories written by the victors in a battle that took place four thousand years ago.”

“Ugh!” Jenn slapped both hands to the sides of her head. “You are impossible! You fail to recognize the obvious.” She glanced up to the sky and finally dropped her hands to her side. “Ignoring that for the moment, how on Astlan did you manage to get so friendly with them?” She was nearly shaking with anger and frustration.

“Well, I—I had been going to tell you in Murgatroy, but sort of got distracted by your finding Hilda,” Gastropé said.

Jenn frowned. “What? You have been talking to the D’Orcs since Murgatroy? You found D’Orcs in Murgatroy and never mentioned this?” She waved her hands over her head in bewilderment.

“Well, no—I ran into Tal Gor, the shaman. There were no D’Orcs in Murgatroy, just some shamans trying to get home…” Gastropé trailed off. He might be telling her too much.

“What? You just randomly befriended a group of orc shamans traveling through Murgatroy?” Jenn asked, clearly having trouble believing him.

“Well, no. Tizzy contacted me and wanted me to open a gate for Tom,” Gastropé said.

“Tom?” Jenn shook her head in surprise. “You mean the demon that abandoned us in Gizzor Del? The one that later kidnapped that knight of Tiernon?” Jenn started pacing. “The demon that started this entire mess? Why would he contact you? This makes no sense, none what-so-ever.” She shook her head slowly from side to side to emphasize her last point.

“Yes—the one that rescued us from Exador, the archdemon that was trying to wipe out your school! Did you forget that? Exador is evil and Tom is his enemy,” Gastropé said.

Jenn sighed and rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“Well, you remember I have that odd link with Tizzy?” Gastropé asked.

“Yes, and we have no idea why. Have you learned something on that?”

“No. I still have no idea how it got there, but I have it, and Tizzy was with Tom and Tom needed my help to get his shamans home,” the pale wizard explained. “And I owed Tizzy a favor for battling the Storm Lords.”

“Yes, you still haven’t fully explained that to my satisfaction,” Jenn noted, staring him in the eyes. She blinked. “Wait, what do you mean his shamans?”

“Yes, well, as I’ve told everyone, those demons, Boggy and Estrebrius, are friends of Tizzy, and all three of them are in the Abyss with Tom.”

“All hiding out in that cave of his? That’s gotta be a blast for a demon-slaying knight of Tiernon!” Jenn said sarcastically.

“They were there for a while, but they moved.”

“Moved?” Jenn asked. She paused and her eyes widened. “You are not saying they moved to Mount Doom with Orcus?”

“Uhm, not so much with Orcus as, well—Tom, or Lord Tommus, as they call him. He’s also the one who recovered the Wand of Orcus and then relit Mount Doom with the mana he stole from Tiernon. He’s the one leading the D’Orcs; it was Tom who opened the portals for them.”

Jenn simply stared at him, blinking every now and then. “You are telling me that the instigator of all the insanity that has propelled us halfway across the continent and set the alvar on the warpath is Lenamare’s greater demon?” she finally asked in disbelief.

“Uhm... technically, I think he is a bit more than a greater demon. He and his people defeated Lilith’s army and a Chaos Maelstrom.”

“Lilith? You mean the demon queen? The ruler of the Abyss?” Jenn asked numbly.

“Yeah. The army wasn’t that big of a deal; he convinced them to surrender, and most swore allegiance to him. The rest he released to go back to Lilith or wherever they wanted. That proves he’s a good guy. A real dark lord would not have let people go,” Gastropé explained. “It was the Chaos Maelstrom that was the problem. Apparently those are really nasty things; everyone is scared of them. Lilith sent it to destroy Tom, but he was able to defeat it with help from this goddess Sekhmekt.”

Jenn slowly lowered herself to sit on a large rock behind her. “A goddess?” she said in a daze.

“Yeah, apparently one of those Nyjyr Ennead—the ones from Natoor.”

Jenn sat there in silence for several minutes. She finally shook her head. “Wait—in Murgatroy Zed mentioned your friend, Vaselle. He was waiting for Edwyrd.”

Gastropé gulped, realizing he was walking a dangerous line between truth and lies.

“Wait!” Jenn cried, standing back up. “Vaselle said Edwyrd and Rupert were using Tom to do plane hopping!”

Gastropé felt the blood drain from his face. “Uhm, yeah. Like Vaselle told you, both he and Edwyrd are working with Tom. Edwyrd was able to locate Tom pretty quickly after they left Freehold.”

“Does Councilor Damien know this?” Jenn asked.

Gastropé frowned. “He knows that Edwyrd is working with Tom. Edwyrd returned to Freehold after we left and hired Vaselle. They had a meeting with Damien; several, in fact.” Gastropé was winging it now. He’d asked Damien how he had ended up in the Abyss. He was not completely sure about all of the details, but he thought he knew enough. He’d have to crosscheck with Damien at some point.

“And you somehow never mentioned this?” Jenn asked Gastropé in what he felt was a slightly threatening manner.

“Well, Vaselle did tell you that he and Edwyrd were doing stuff with Tom…” Gastropé trailed off.

“What about all this other stuff? The D’Orcs, Tom being in charge of Mount Doom? You do realize this is a huge piece of the puzzle we’ve been trying to solve?” Jenn demanded more than asked.

“Well, I was going to, but what with Hilda and all that stuff, I didn’t know how to bring it up quietly. We have been in pretty tight quarters and I didn’t know what or how much I should tell the others. In particular, given how bent out of shape the alvar are over the D’Orcs, I really didn’t want to bring up the fact that I was a friend of their boogieman,” Gastropé admitted.

Jenn stared at him for several more moments, not blinking. He gulped again. Finally, Jenn nodded. “On what to tell the alvar, your decision was probably right. Your decision to get involved with Tom again is clearly insane. Where is Rupert?”

“As I told you before, he is in a school in Ithgar. Very safe,” Gastropé said. He was not going to tell her that Rupert was with a bunch of orcs in a band just like Tal Gor’s and doing the exact same thing because, that was not safe at all—unless you were a demon, which Rupert was, so he was safe and Gastropé was not technically lying.

Nysegard, Agnothnon: Mid Sixth Period

Talarius exited the new permanent portal from Krallnomton to Agnothnon. Phaestus and his avatar craftsmen had been working overtime. Apparently his avatars did not need to sleep, even in the material planes. He shook his head in wonder at their hard work as he headed toward the Good Knight’s Rest, which was the local inn and tavern in town. He had to admit these portals between towns were rather amazing, even if they were not the original permanent portals that the island had possessed in the old days.

The Rod should really consider more widespread usage of runic gateways between its fortresses, he thought. One would think if a motley mix of orcs, dwarves, humans and heartheans were smart enough to come up with the idea of permanent portals for rapid mobilization, the Church and Rod should have been able to do the same. He shook his head; it would not be the first thing he had found that the Nysegard Doomers had come up with in terms of military readiness that the Rod had overlooked.

Being at permanent war against an implacable foe did, surprisingly, have some advantages, as did a lack of tremendous magical resources. After the fall of Doom, these folk had really needed to improvise and Talarius had to begrudgingly admit that they had come up with some very interesting tactics and solid long-term strategies to defend their island. He had spent most of his free time, when not training himself or others, trying to learn the nature of war on Nysegard. Having access to teachers with thousands of years of experience was extraordinary.

At first he had been hesitant to engage the local D’Orcs in conversation; however, none of the D’Orcs here knew of his extremely ignoble first encounter with their leader. Not many of them even knew his history at Doom, but they all knew he was a hostage, not an ally or partner. He had—rather selfishly, he admitted—not gone out of his way, or even within his way, to bring this small fact up to anyone. Thus, they treated him as a brother in arms. One who had fought beside Lord Tommus and the goddess Sekhmekt against Knights of Chaos, in fact. He had to admit that it felt good to have something to be proud of after his defeat at the hands of Lord Tommus. A small moment of partial redemption for his shameful behavior during that duel.

He still had no excuse for his dishonorable behavior. Even if—as was now questionable—Lord Tommus had been the vile, despicable and dishonorable creature that Talarius had assumed him to be—as one might reasonably expect any greater demon to be—that was still no excuse for lowering himself to the same standard. He, himself, should have maintained his honor and held to his oath. He should have fought fairly; he had not. The ends did not justify the means if it required one to abandon one’s sworn principles.

Enough. He needed to get away from such thoughts. He also needed to get away from the thoughts that were currently preoccupying his sword, Ruiden. Tamarin had agreed to sharing her knowledge of the demon- and D’Orc-making process with his sword. Since they were both telepathic, they seemed to hit it off rather well. Talarius shook his head in dismay. His sword was making friends of its own. Had the multiverse turned upside down?

Rather than focus on such thoughts, he had been more than happy to accept Stainsberry’s invitation to dinner and drinks at the Good Knight’s Rest. For one thing, it was nice to see that there were some trappings of normal life on Nysegard, such as inns and taverns. Even if, Talarius thought as he entered the tavern, said tavern had a very odd clientele. He glanced around the tavern to see tables with a mix of alvar, orcs, humans, heartheans and dwarves eating and drinking together. This intermingling was a common enough sight in Krallnomton, and several places in Astlan; however, the fact that about twenty percent of the people in this particular bar were alvar while nearly a third were orcs? And they were sharing tables and laughing and drinking together? That was, to say the least, extremely odd. In rougher quarters where the two races might be forced to comingle, they typically grouped together by race, staying away from the others while bartenders cast wary eyes upon their patrons to ensure their establishments suffered no collateral damages.

“Talarius!” Stainsberry’s voice called from the far side of the large, crowded main room of the tavern.

Talarius turned his head and spotted the knight waving to him. He made his way over to the knight’s private table. As he reached it, he was somewhat surprised to see an older dwarf wearing what appeared to be priestly robes sitting at the table with Stainsberry.

Stainsberry gestured to the third seat at the table.

“Imagine my surprise to find that my dear old friend, Thrinarv Gottslieb, high priest of Hephaestus, was in town?” Stainsberry was shaking his head at the surprise. “Thrinarv, this is Talarius, who I was telling you about.”

“Greetings, Talarius!” Thrinarv said, putting his mug of ale down and reaching out a hand to Talarius, who shook it in greeting even as the dwarf shot Stainsberry a short glare and said, “What’s this old friend business? We are the same age!”

“Greetings,” Talarius said, looking back and forth between the two; it was hard to believe they were the same age, even though he understood the differences in lifespan. Talarius took his seat.

Stainsberry grinned at the dwarf. “Well, but you look like you’re about a thousand years old.”

“Upstart!” Thrinarv groused. He looked to Talarius. “We were born a month apart, two hundred and ninety-three years ago. He is actually a month older than I.”

“So have you both known each other the entire time?” Talarius asked curiously.

“Not the entire time; we were but children, probably around forty or so, when we met,” Stainsberry said.

Thrinarv shrugged, accepting the estimate.

Talarius shook his head. He had never really had intimate conversations like this with any of the really long-lived races. As “children,” they had both been older than he was now. It was more than a little humbling. Much more so than being around thousands-of-years-old D’Orcs, surprisingly. He figured that was because he saw the D’Orcs as infernal creatures, not mortals. Which, he now knew, they had once been. Argh. He was trying to get that out of his head. “So you are a priest of Hephaestus?” he asked the dwarf.

“High priest, actually,” Thrinarv said, motioning for a server to come by the table.

“So now that the connection to Doom is back, have you met your god?” Talarius asked curiously.

“From a distance. He was working on the portals along with some of his craftsmen,” Thrinarv replied, taking another drink.

“You do not sound impressed,” Talarius stated. “Seeing your god and his avatars doing their work, I should think that would be awe-inspiring.”

Thrinarv shrugged. “My people have a more casual relationship with our gods than you humans, or the alfar.” He nodded his head sideways to Stainsberry.

“I actually don’t follow any single god, as you know,” Stainsberry said. “Our order is faithful to and respects all the Gods of Light.”

“So when you die, where do you spend eternity?” Talarius asked, puzzled.

“Eternity is, in my opinion, overrated,” Thrinarv stated as a server, a hearthean, finally reached the table. “The wine is passable, but the ale is better,” Thrinarv told Talarius. “I assume you don’t want the glargh.”

“Ale is fine for me,” Talarius said.

“I’ll take another as well, Hasbro,” Thrinarv told the server.

“Would you like some food?” Hasbro asked Talarius. “We have a very good potato and leek soup tonight, along with fresh sourdough bread to dip in it.”

“If you like pterosaur, they serve a really good one here,” Thrinarv added.

“It is nice and crispy tonight. I would recommend a side of the pumpkin-spiced turnips to go with it,” Hasbro said.

“I’ll have the soup,” Stainsberry told Hasbro, who nodded. “Are you good on your wine?” he asked Stainsberry.

“I guess I’ll have another, since you will be making the trip,” Stainsberry told the server.

“I’ll have the pterosaur and the turnips,” Talarius said. He had not had pterosaur in years. They were not common in New Etonia outside of Sur Etonia and further south.

“Good choice. I shall have the same,” Thrinarv said.

The server nodded and headed off.

“I have to say that after the few weeks in the Abyss, it’s nice to be back in civilization,” Talarius said.

“The Abyss must be quite abysmal if you consider Agnothnon civilized,” Stainsberry said.

“It’s really not that bad, for Nysegard,” Thrinarv said. “I once spent an entire summer in Astlan in this town called Murgatroy.” Thrinarv shook his head. “Talk about lousy beer!”

“You’ve been to Astlan?” Talarius asked, shocked.

“Of course. Been to a good chunk of this localverse, as well as several others. Of course, I haven’t been to Astlan in over thirty years,” Thrinarv said.

“Neither of us was born here. We choose to work here, where we can do measurable good for the Light,” Stainsberry said.

“Where are you two from?” Talarius asked.

“Excelsion,” Thrinarv said.

Talarius shook his head, he had never heard of the place. “No idea where that is.”

Thrinarv shrugged. “Not many have. It’s in a different localverse, so the laws of magic are a bit different.”

Talarius looked to Stainsberry, who smiled and said, “Born and raised in Avalon, which is also where I trained as a Knight of the Elohim.”

“Where did you two meet, then?” Talarius asked, puzzled at how they could have met at such a young age.

“The Grove,” the two said at nearly the same time, causing them both to chuckle.

“The Grove?” Talarius asked. “The bizarre mountain region in Astlan?”

“And in other worlds. It is a mountain-hedged grove in an extra-dimensional space that resides on multiple worlds of the localverse simultaneously,” Stainsberry told him.

“It resides on multiple worlds at once?” Talarius frowned. “How is that even possible?”

“Really good magineering, I’d suspect,” Thrinarv said, bringing his mug up to his lips. After drinking, he lowered and tilted the mug, eyeballing the inside skeptically. “Should have ordered sooner, getting pretty dry in here.”

“It acts as sort of diplomatic refuge for our localverse,” Stainsberry said. “They have also been very active on Nysegard; however, due to their very close relations with the alvar and the alvaran royalty, they do not work that much with Doom. Certainly not since Orcus was slain. Prince Ariel of Astlan, who alternates with his sister as one of their Elders, is a close ally of Prince Elyas of Etterdam, who was key in the whole Etterdam situation.”

Talarius shook his head. “Okay, now you have me truly intrigued. How did you each make it to Nysegard and decide to work on the Isle of Doom?”

“Lad, that’s a long story,” Thrinarv said. “We are going to need quite a bit more ale.”

Talarius put a small bag on the table. “I assume they’ll take Astlanian silver?”

“Silver?” Stainsberry exclaimed.

“You are in the right place, lad,” Thrinarv said, smiling. “You have us to guide you. Silver in Nysegard is more valuable than gold! It’s much more useful here.”

Stainsberry nodded in agreement. “Indeed.”

“Makes for excellent trading opportunities for those who travel off-world,” Thrinarv added. “Currency hedging has been very lucrative for my ministry.”

Stainsberry shook his head, grinning. “You will also note that priests of Hephaestus swear no vows of poverty.”

“It’s for the church, my good knight. We’re smiths—making things costs money!” Thrinarv said, laughing.

Nimbus: Supper

Jenn stared into her soup. They had returned to the Nimbus about an hour earlier. Having missed dinner, they had all agreed to meet for a meal after Trevin had spoken with Prince Ariel via a mirroring. Jenn had been in a very troubled mood for the entire evening.

After her argument, or discussion, or whatever one wanted to call it, with Gastropé, the two had returned to the tent with the orcs and D’Orcs, and Gastropé had introduced her as a friend and ally of Lord Tommus. That was a stretch. However, she had not objected to the description, as she had not felt like upsetting the extremely large demon orcs, nor the entire negotiation. For another thing, her relationship towards Lenamare’s demon was something she could not explain to herself, let alone a group of strange orcs and D’Orcs.

She was not sure who she was more upset with: Gastropé, Edwyrd, Damien or herself for being blind to these shenanigans. Probably Edwyrd. While surprisingly skilled, he was, like Gastropé, still young and inexperienced. Maelen’s suspicions about his age to one side, she was a good judge of people and he seemed to have neither the confidence nor maturity of someone much older than he appeared. Taking a little kid like Rupert plane hopping with what now turned out to have been a demon prince was stupidity on a scale that she could barely even comprehend. And as for Damien, a councilor of wizardry should have had more common sense than to continue any sort of cooperation with the demon Tom.

In any event, they had sat down and she’d had some water when offered glargh. She had no idea what glargh was, but she was fairly certain it was something like really crappy beer. After being around Trisfelt for so long, she could not tolerate the swill most taverns served. In truth, she generally preferred wine to beer; something they would surely be having after they finished their supper.

The orcs had filled her in on what they had told Gastropé before she arrived, and then proceeded into an extremely graphic description of the battle. While she was not experienced with soldiers, she had been through a siege or two by this point—she still could not believe she could say that; it was not how her life was supposed to go—and she had never met any soldiers so excited about the seriously gory details of combat.

Jenn’s thoughts were interrupted as the door to their dining room opened and Trevin entered. Somewhat to Jenn’s surprise, the Enchantress had changed into something close to age-appropriate clothing. Maelen, Elrose, Gastropé and herself were already seated and enjoying their soup, warm bread and cheese.

Maelen smiled and rose, moving to the sidebar where the food was laid out. “Can I get you some soup, bread and cheese?” he asked Trevin.

Trevin shook her head and sighed as she seemed to collapse into a stuffed side chair, not at the table. “I am going to skip supper and go directly to brandy—if you don’t mind?” she inquired. Maelen nodded and moved to the small cart in the room that contained wine and spirits.

“I take it the discussions with the Alvar did not go well?” Elrose asked.

“You take it correctly.” Trevin snorted.

“It seems to me that the core request of the orcs—that the alvar remove all of their forces from orc territory—is more than reasonable. Did they have a problem with that?” Elrose asked.

“Of course.” Trevin closed her eyes for a moment. “I have managed to get them to agree to withdraw the basecamps that these particular patrols are operating from; or more precisely that we will see to their relocation back to alvaran territory.”

Maelen handed her a glass of brandy. “So what is the problem.”

“The alvar have other base camps in various parts of orc territory they are not willing to retreat from,” Trevin said.

“Do the orcs know of these other base camps?” Gastropé asked.

“They did not mention them; however, they were very explicit that all alvaran forces must withdraw. So within the spirit, if not the letter of the agreement, the other base camps must be removed,” Trevin said.

“If the Grove is an interlocutor, is it required to inform the orcs of this? And even then, why did the alvar let you know of these other camps?” Elrose asked.

“Prince Ariel and the nobility did not tell us about the other groups. That is something we learned from the aetós, and a few local alvar,” Trevin said.

“So it was you who brought up the other camps which they refused to remove,” Jenn said.

“I did. They were not particularly amused by my knowledge.” Trevin smiled as she took another sip of brandy. “However, none of them are amused in the slightest by current events—which is actually rather odd for alvar.” Trevin shook her head slightly in puzzlement.

Maelen shook his head. “Prince Ariel is one of the Grove Elders.” Trevin nodded in agreement and for him to continue. “So there are representatives of most races within the Grove, and several have representation among the Elders?” Maelen asked.

“Yes. Not all races are able to agree on an Elder representative and so do not have an Elder.” Trevin nodded.

“Ah. I assume that is the case for the orcs then?” Maelen asked. “That was my interest: why the orcs do not have representation within the Grove.”

Trevin twisted her head back and forth slightly on her neck, implying it was more complicated than that. “No, the orcs are actually fairly capable of doing such things across the worlds; at least, at certain points in time they have been able to do so. It’s more to the point that the Grove is essentially a diplomatic organization, and diplomacy—sitting around airing grievances, negotiating treaties and similar things—is not something the orcs have a lot of patience for.”

“Will the orcs be okay with this?” Elrose asked.

“It depends on whether or not we tell them,” Trevin said.

“And is there a requirement to tell them?” Maelen asked.

“Only if we want to keep their trust in the future,” Trevin said.

“And do you?” Gastropé asked a bit more intently than one might have expected, but Jenn now understood his reasoning; he was a spy. She was aiding a spy. Argh.

Trevin sighed and took another sip of brandy before replying. “Yes, but I also want to get the alvar back safely.”

“How about simply ensuring their safety?” Gastropé asked.

“What do you mean?” Jenn asked in surprise, not seeing the difference.

“Well, negotiating is about meeting in the middle, yes?” Gastropé asked.

Trevin shrugged. “Of course.”

“So, if the alvar will not completely withdraw, but only from these particular bases, then perhaps the orcs would agree to hold their prisoners hostage in return for the good behavior of the alvar,” Gastropé suggested.

“You mean as per the Rules of Hostage?” Maelen asked. “Do the orcs honor that?”

“Yes,” Gastropé said. A worried look suddenly crossed his face and he added hastily, “At least, according to what I’ve read.”

Elrose looked at the wizard a bit askance, but said nothing. Maelen shrugged.

Trevin, after a few moments of pensive thought, finally replied. “If agreed to, they will honor it. Honor and one’s word are extremely important to them. That being said, there is not a lot of leeway in terms of their honoring it. A simple misunderstanding may imperil the hostages.”

“I am not sure I follow that,” Jenn said.

“One of the central issues separating orcs and alvar is, I suppose one might say, literalness,” Trevin explained. “Orcs tend to be very straightforward and literal in their interpretations. They are not fond of semantic games. If you say you will do something, or not do something, you obey that oath on all levels and circumstances. The alvar, on the other hand, tend to use subtlety and complicated language that give them considerable leeway in interpretation of an oath or agreement.”

“The case in point, I suspect, is such an example,” Maelen said nodding in understanding. “They agree to remove these patrols—the ones the orcs know about—but not all patrols or units that the orcs may not know about.”

Trevin nodded tightly. “Exactly.”

“One has to admit, that does sound rather sneaky,” Gastropé said.

Trevin chuckled. “The dwarves, orcs, and several other races would most likely agree with that. In fact, I have heard many of them say exactly that.”

Chapter 141

Nysegard, Thirty-Three Leagues from the Citadel: DOA + 16, Mid First Period

Ramses pulled his head out of one of the lower interior chambers of the runic obelisk he was working on. He, Exador and several other wizards, several of whom were liches, were working in a large laboratory that from appearances, had been a large grain storage room in a keep that the Storm Lords had acquired several weeks ago. The former commanders of the fortress had been more than willing to give the fortress over in exchange for some live flesh. Ghoulism was such an unforgiving hunger.

“I think I have the correct settings for tuning these to the new high-capacity mana pools that were delivered yesterday,” Ramses told Exador.

“Excellent. These things are going to need a lot of power,” Exador replied.

“The relay mechanism is quite impressive,” Ramses said. “I had never thought to circumvent the multiple mana pool restrictions by using a series of sequential fail-over pools, bridged by anima jar buffers containing sufficient mana to power the failover transition when the prior pool was depleted,” Ramses said.

“That is the advantage in being in the soul-sucking business, as the Storm Lords are; they find all sorts of interesting use for animus that the rest of us would never think of,” Exador said.

“Yes, and having no compunctions or hang-ups about the sanctity of life—or more importantly, souls—gives one plenty of animus to fill the jars.” Ramses grimaced as he said this. He personally found the operation to be ethically distasteful, even by his and Exador’s own standards.

“So,” Ramses began, walking over to look at what Exador was working on, “any luck on your end?”

“Some. The fact that we are only trying to use one warding facet makes things doable on this scale. Not even Lenamare could manage this sort of scale of warding with every tuning, or the variability. The calculations to balance the instabilities would be insurmountable,” Exador said.

Ramses chuckled. “I must say, I do find it amusing that Lenamare’s most famous piece of wizardry shall serve as the down payment on his and Freehold’s demise.”

“Indeed!” Exador grinned. “With the Storm Lords behind us, Freehold will fall not that long after the Citadel, and the book shall be ours for the taking!”

Library of Doom: First Period

Tom shook his head, watching as his tusks moved with head. “Thish ish hard to hold, ahnd haddar do shpeak,” he tried to say in his new orc voice. Antefalken had suggested they take breaks from Tom trying to shift clothes by trying different races. Currently he was working on his orc form; a form that admittedly, he had modeled on Orcus’s orc form because he was too embarrassed to ask an actual orc to stand still so he could stare at them and practice turning into them. It seemed too gauche and too personal. It would also have exposed weakness on his part, which was an odd thought because that had never been one of his concerns in school. It was just that now that he was leading a bunch of people, perhaps into battle someday, he felt he needed to project a strong image.

“Yeah, that’s horrible pronunciation, even in Universal,” Antefalken agreed, walking around Tom and studying his form.

Tom was only changing his physical form; he was in no way ready to try to shift both clothes and a new form at the same time. Therefore, he was standing in front a mirror wearing a loin cloth, with the Orcus-orc portraits surrounding them. It was rather odd how he had no compunction about going naked in his true form, yet as either Edwyrd or this new orc form, he felt an urge to shield his privates. It was weird and he had no explanation for it. However, that was the least of his problems; for the moment, he simply needed to keep his form stable.

“I fahnd id amahzhing dat Ruberd and Fuhrogg could mashter an unknown form zo easily,” Tom said.

“You know, if you kept a consistent speech impediment, I could probably understand you better,” Antefalken observed.

“Drying diffhurnt thingz to imbrove mah zpeach,” Tom said.

“Unfortunately, this is not something I can help with, since I can’t change my entire form.” Antefalken shrugged. “Maybe you could get Rupert and Fer-Rog to come back and teach you?”

“Rubherd did deach me furst dime,” Tom said.

“Kid is impressive; I have to admit that,” Antefalken said, shaking his head. “As, of course, is your situation. Has to be the fastest promotion from new arrival to demon prince in the history of the Abyss.”

Tom shrugged.

“It would lend credence to the Phoenix Cycle theory,” Antefalken added.

Tom suddenly expanded back to his true form, his concentration broken. Fortunately, the small loincloth had been only loosely tied around his waist. “Not you, too?” he asked sourly.

“Given what you’ve told us and all the discussions, along with your meteoric rise, I would not rule it out,” the bard answered.

“Yes, but if that was the case, why the four-thousand-year hiatus?” Tom asked. “From what the others have said, it normally wouldn’t take that long; and then I end up on the other side of the multiverse?”

Antefalken shrugged. “Well, I would guess that most of the times that it happens, the person going through it did not just have their soul sucked by an Unlife dagger. Perhaps there was so little left, you had to go through some sort of karmic progression to regrow your animus over four thousand years?”

Tom shook his head. “That requires reincarnation. I was not a member of a religion that believed in reincarnation. I wasn’t even religious, and as we have learned, after Ragnarök and then after the Demi-Urge gained power, all the other gods fled Earth. So who would have been providing the reincarnations?”

Antefalken grimaced and shrugged. “I have no idea. I know nothing of what pantheons might have stuck around. I’m not a theologian.”

“Well, I know Hinduism and Buddhism have reincarnation, and were around on Earth; however, I was not a member.” Tom scrunched his face in thought. “Actually, in fact, I think those religions do not require a deity or pantheon per se to reincarnate; it is just part of the system.”

Antefalken shrugged. “I suspect it is something built into the pantheon, something set up as part of their mechanisms.”

“I don’t think so.” Tom shook his head. “Pretty sure the Buddhists do not believe in any gods, they believe more in a gestalt, a unified universality, or maybe multiversality.” Tom squinted with one eye, trying to put the ideas together. “Not sure how that works with the whole multiverse thing? Is each universe a gestalt, and the multiverse is a collection of gestalts?”

“I get where you are going; some of Anselm’s people thought along those lines,” Antefalken said. “However, since one can cross between universes, and one does not suddenly become part of a new gestalt, the multiverse itself must be a single gestalt.”

“So then, who is handling their reincarnation?” Tom asked.

“Seriously above my pay grade.” Antefalken shook his head. “Maybe there are avatars that aren’t gods, but supernatural spirits overseeing the belief systems and reincarnation.”

A chuckling sound came from the opening to the room on their left. Tom looked over to see Erestofanes, the librarian.

“Beg your pardon, but I was wandering by and could not help but overhear your conversation,” Erestofanes said.

“No problem. Do you have answers?” Tom asked, thinking it was very likely the librarian would.

“I fear I have too many answers.” The librarian smiled as he said this.

“Anything of use?” Antefalken asked, grinning back.

“Well, since you are talking about Buddhism, the person to ask would be Singkûn, should he decide to show up again,” Erestofanes replied.

“Who?” Antefalken asked.

“The unaccounted-for ninth member of the Tartarvardenennead,” Tom said.

Antefalken shook his head.

“Indeed,” Erestofanes agreed.

“Not helping.” Antefalken shrugged. Tom gestured for Erestofanes to continue.

“Singkûn is a very intelligent and powerful monkey, or perhaps a D’Monkey, I suppose, if that makes any sense.” Erestofanes shook his head briefly. “In any case, he is quite legendary, particularly in Buddhist circles.”

“Ah, so he is a Buddhist supernatural figure?” Antefalken said.

“Yes. In fact, it is said that he was once imprisoned under a mountain by the Buddha himself.” Erestofanes shrugged. “However, I have been unable to locate any first hand documentation on this, so it is hearsay.”

“You have met Singkûn, yes?” Tom asked, and Erestofanes nodded. “Could you not have just asked him?”

Erestofanes gave a rueful chuckle. “While Singkûn is a very admirable, virtuous, and sometimes reliable person, getting a straight answer out of him is decidedly impossible. Worse than Tizzy, in fact.”

“Good gods below, how could that be possible!” Antefalken exclaimed.

“Well, should he show up as a bard, having a keen interest in history, legend and such, I am sure you shall discover this on your own.” Erestofanes grinned and nodded. “In fact, should you get him to imbibe, which is not terribly difficult, he will give you more than enough stories for thousands of ballads!”

“Okay, now you have me!” Antefalken said with a grin, turning to Tom. “You need to find a way to summon him!”

Erestofanes laughed again. “Darg-Krallnom would tell you that, much like Tizzy, the task is not so much to summon Singkûn, but rather how to banish him once summoned.”

Tom just shook his head in amusement. It would be nice to meet this fellow, particularly if he was an expert on reincarnation, and perhaps even the Phoenix Cycle. That seemed like something a Buddhist supernatural being might be of great use on.

Nysegard Doom: Third Period

So, was your session with Tamarin useful? Talarius asked his sword as he got dressed in his quarters in the Doomalogue. He had set himself up in an unoccupied bedroom. It was far more utilitarian than his room in Mount Doom, which made sense given the wartime nature of the entire world; however, it was far better than many camps, and even inns, at which he had stayed on missions. He had no desire to stay in the Abyss, if he was not required to, and Tom had made no mention of it.

The demon had been true to his side of Talarius’s Oath of Hostage. He was trusting Talarius, something Talarius would probably not have done in the reverse scenario. Not that he would have ever considered trying to take a demon, let alone a demon prince, hostage.

It was very informative on many levels, Ruiden told him. However, none of them were particularly reassuring.

What does that mean? Talarius asked, suspecting—fearing—that he understood all too well.

If I follow the information trail that Tamarin laid out for me, I am forced to the conclusion that not only are D’Orcs and demons essentially indistinguishable, other than by their initial race; I am also forced to believe that saints are also the same sort of beings, Ruiden told him.

That stopped Talarius in his tracks. His blood ran cold, chills and small bumps raising the hair on his body. This was the same blasphemous conclusion he had come to in the haystack. He had not voiced this blasphemy to Ruiden, yet both the sword and the djinn were coming to the same conclusion he had.

How is canonization any different? If we look at the liturgy, what does Tiernon’s own liturgy say they are doing? Does it not sound almost identical to D’Orcing? Ruiden continued.

Yes. It does. Talarius thought back sourly. I had come to this blasphemous conclusion myself; I was hoping that it was simply my own misinterpretation.

You do realize this has rather serious repercussions as to how one defines good and evil? Ruiden asked.

I am not going to think about that right now, Talarius responded angrily. Fortunately, we are in Nysegard, where such questions are far simpler. Unlife is evil, and we can eliminate it.

Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Mid Fourth Period

Jenn sat behind and to the right of Trevin, on a pillow in the Stone Finger chief’s tent. Gastropé sat to her right, Elrose and Maelen to her left. She had suggested that they should try to follow the negotiations today, unlike yesterday; her stated logic being that they should stay together in case the negotiations did not end well. Trevin had shrugged, saying that she doubted it was absolutely necessary, but might be wise all the same.

Gastropé had looked at Jenn, puzzled. He knew that she knew that they were in no actual danger. At least, she and Gastropé were in no danger, being—in the D’Orcs minds—allies of Lord Tommus. Her real reason, of course, was that she did not particularly want Gastropé sharing the fact that the alvar were not actually willing to remove all of their forces. She felt that it was Trevin’s job as the negotiator to make this judgement and handle it in her way. She was afraid if the orcs were told in advance of the alvaran duplicity—and admittedly, she did feel it was duplicity on their part—that it might bias or damage the negotiations.

They had been here, in the tent, negotiating for about a quarter of an hour. Things seemed to be going well enough. Trevin had not yet brought up the existence of the other patrols and incursions into orc territory.

“So, Ariel agree to remove all of his sky patrols?” Elgrida Far Eyes summarized their discussions so far in broken Trade.

“He will remove all of the sky patrols around Jötunnhenj,” Trevin agreed, with a bit more precision, nodding her head.

“And what about those not around Jötunnhenj, yet still in orc territory?” a very deep voice speaking perfect Trade said. Jenn recognized the voice of the D’Orc leader, Zargvarst. She closed her eyes; this would not be good. They were about to be exposed as having been working with Tom.

An opening in the tent wall behind Elgrida Far Eyes parted, revealing another room of the very large tent. Zargvarst, Tal Gor, Lob Smasher and Didar An Sep, all in formal gear, entered the tent. The orcs at the edges of the tent came to attention with their entrance.

Jenn saw both Maelen and Elrose start beside her, almost rising, or perhaps jumping back. She glanced out of the corners of her eyes to see their shocked expressions. She noted that Trevin’s back stiffened in surprise, but otherwise the enchantress maintained her composure.

“And also, what about his land patrols, scouts and soldiers of all other natures?” Zargvarst asked.

Trevin shook her head gently. “I am sorry? I do not believe we have been introduced?”

Zargvarst gave the enchantress what Jenn suspected was meant to be an amused nod of appreciation, but which she herself found a bit ominous.

“I am Zargvarst El Crooked Stick, of the Astlanian Crooked Sticks. While you and I have not met, Ariel and I have met several times. I spent my mortal life combating his many crimes against the orcs, and after my death, I continued to defend our lands from the barbarous incursions of the vile alvar. I have led troops against him on over a dozen occasions, I have personally fought him to a standstill as a mortal, and once defeated him in combat as a D’Orc. He has never prevailed over me,” Zargvarst said with a fierce pride. “I know both him and his sister quite well,” he continued sternly. “If they have agreed to remove their sky patrols around Jötunnhenj, that means there are troops elsewhere in our realm that he is not withdrawing. If he were to say that he was removing all sky patrols from our realm, that would mean he was leaving ground troops, or other forces that he can conveniently claim are not sky patrols.”

Jenn could see the tension in Trevin’s back as Zargvarst gave his speech.

“I understand his treacherous tricks all too well to be fooled,” Zargvarst stated. He suddenly smiled and changed the subject. “As to the rest of my immediate party, allow me to present one of my fiercest warriors, Didar An Sep.” He gestured towards the female D’Orc, who nodded.

He gestured to Lob Smasher. “This is Lob Smasher, an Elder of the Crooked Sticks of Astlan, the tribe that first contacted Mount Doom.” Lob Smasher nodded to them.

“Finally, may I present Lord Tommus’s Shaman Commander in Astlan, Tal Gor El Crooked Stick—the first shaman to journey to Mount Doom in over four thousand years. Tal Gor, you should know, is also the shaman that blew Ariel’s cowardly wizard out of the sky, forcing the pusillanimous pig to abandon his soldiers. Craven, as all alvar are, he fled when confronted by his superior.” Zargvarst was practically spitting his contempt for the alvaran wizard.

Tal Gor, carrying an insanely large pole arm-slash-magical staff, bowed his head to Trevin in acknowledgement. Did that staff have a mana pool? There was a very large sapphire embedded in it, along with some other sort of metallic stone mounted in a complicated setting.

Jenn quickly made the motion to activate her wizard sight. “Holy…” she whispered to herself in surprise. That staff was extremely magical! And the odd stone had a link going off-plane. Carefully brushing it with her mind, she was able to get a sense of someone she recognized as being the demon Tom. This shaman could have Tom in the room within a heartbeat!

She glanced towards Maelen and Elrose, who were also plainly staring at the staff. Gastropé seemed to pay it no attention; he had most likely seen it before.

Trevin nodded. “I am Trevin D’Vil, Enchantress of the Grove and Councilor of Wizardry in the Council States. With me are Maelen of the Society of Learned Fellows, Elrose of Lenamare’s School of Wizardry and adjunct of the Council, as well as Jenn Rean and Gastropé Al-Ghayrani, also from the Council.”

Tal Gor and the D’Orcs gave all of them brief acknowledgements. Amazingly, and to Jenn’s great relief, they pretended not to know her and Gastropé.

“As I conveyed to Elgrida Far Eyes yesterday, Prince Ariel conveys his regrets regarding this attack,” Trevin said.

Didar An Sep snorted. Jenn noticed Tal Gor giving Didar a quick glance and a short smile.

Zargvarst nodded. “Prince Ariel? So his father continues to refuse to die? Please convey to Prince Ariel my deepest condolences on that subject.” Several orcs suppressed chuckles at this. Zargvarst continued, “I am certain Prince Ariel regrets—his losses. What remains unspoken is his regret for his unprovoked actions.”

Zargvarst looked around at the others within the room. “All should do well to remember that at least one half of everything an alfar says is found in what they did not say. Their purposeful omissions speak as loud as, and often louder than, their actual words.” He looked at Trevin. “Enchantress, go back to Prince Ariel and tell him who he is dealing with, so that he may know the truth of what I shall tell you.” The D’Orc commander paused to allow Trevin to nod in agreement.

“Also, assure him that we will not kill his prisoners if he does not remove his forces,” Zargvarst stated calmly, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, particularly the orcs. There were numerous murmurs of surprise and consternation.

“No. They shall not die, ever,” Zargvarst stated menacingly. “We shall, instead, drag them and their mounts down into the deepest and darkest reaches of Mount Doom, in the Abyss; into an impossible prison, from which not even light escapes! And they shall be mercilessly tortured, their living flesh peeled from the bone; then they shall be forced through painful regeneration—only to have this repeated over and over for eternity.”

Jenn blanched at this, as did, of course, Gastropé. Even Maelen and Elrose seemed quite disturbed.

“Yet, fear not, there shall be some creative respites. When not peeling their live flesh, we shall eviscerate and disembowel them, and force-feed their living organs and bowels to their compatriots.” Zargvarst grinned menacingly. “Tell Prince Ariel that these are but the least of the torments they shall endure for all eternity if he does not remove every single alfar, and every alvaran ally, stooge, henchmen and other being from our territory,” he finished. The room went silent.

“Finally, should he agree, we will hold the prisoners here unharmed until we can verify that all alvar are gone from our realm,” Zargvarst stated, leaving another long silence.

Finally, Tal Gor spoke up. “Any questions?”

“I think not,” Trevin said quietly.

Zargvarst nodded. “Elgrida, get word of our proposal spread wide, outside of the orcs, to the alvar and others. Should Prince Ariel refuse our offer, I want everyone, in particular his own troops, to know what they can expect under his command. His loyalty to his soldiers is no better than his wizard’s loyalty to the patrol he led.”

Zargvarst turned back to Trevin and looked her directly in the eyes. “Enchantress, there is a bond between soldier and leader. It is a two-way street. Any leader who is not loyal to his soldiers deserves no loyalty in return.”

Trevin nodded tightly.

Zargvarst glanced around to the others in the room. “Those are the words of Lord Tommus as spoken to the commander of the demon soldiers whose leader, Lilith the Jilted Bride, abandoned them to certain defeat at the hands of Lord Tommus. Soldiers who now serve Lord Tommus, who shall be loyal to them in return.”

Nimbus: High Tea

“Skip the tea, I need a brandy!” Trevin said as they filed into the viewing room used for their high tea.

“Is there anything stronger?” Maelen asked, making his way to the serving table that held the liquor.

“I have no idea what’s left. There should be something; if not, we can send for something,” Trevin said, dropping into an overstuffed chair.

“Well, this Zargvarst just upended everything I thought I knew about orcs,” Elrose said going to the wheeled tea cart to pour himself a cup of tea.

“For a being who does not like negotiating, he is particularly good at it,” Maelen said.

“Wine?” Gastropé asked Jenn.

“Yes, please,” Jenn replied gratefully.

“I do not believe it, but I think Zargvarst has boxed Ariel in,” Trevin said, shaking her head.

“That was brutal, direct and no-nonsense; all traits I would attribute to an orc,” Maelen said. “However, it also showed a shrewd knowledge of the alvar and how to use their own tactics and weaknesses against them.” Maelen shook his head in wonder.

“The business of sending messengers to broadcast their threats—that was blackmail,” Elrose said.

“Indeed. A very un-orclike tactic,” Trevin agreed.

“Well, he is a five-thousand-year-old demon,” Gastropé pointed out. “I suspect that gives one quite the perspective.”

“How do you know his age?” Maelen asked.

Gastropé paused, as if surprised to be asked that. “Uhm, well, look at the statements he made, about when he was on Astlan as a mortal, the battles he fought? But more importantly, there were no D’Orcs made after Orcus was killed, so he has to be over four thousand years old, and he said he fought for centuries. I mean I suppose he could be older, but…”

Maelen nodded. “No, no, you are quite right. I guess I am just so taken aback by his play, that I am not putting the pieces together as fast as you are.”

“So do we think they will actually do all those horrible things?” Jenn asked. Those were exactly the sorts of things demons were known to do. Tom had claimed to be different, and she had almost started to believe him; however, if his commanders were making such threats...

“Oh,” Gastropé tilted his head back on his shoulders and rolled it back and forth. “I am betting they will get tired of torturing them after a few hundred years—a thousand, tops.”

Jenn blinked. That was a very un-Gastropé-like thing to say. This was the same wizard that had actually soiled himself in Tom’s presence, and he was now making casually flippant remarks about demons torturing people? His activities with these demons was clearly desensitizing and perhaps corrupting him.

Trevin chuckled at Gastropé’s remark. “You may be right, although I am willing to go up to two thousand years. Normal demons, yes, but remember that these are D’Orcs which were once orcs; they are bound to have some seriously pent-up revenge fantasies they will want to enact.”

“However, it’s a moot point. It’s the threat, the possibility that they will do so, and the psychological effect it will have both to boost the orcs and to unnerve the alvar,” Elrose said.

“So when are you going to take the offer to Ariel?” Jenn asked.

Trevin shrugged, drinking the brandy that Maelen had brought her. “Later this evening. I want time for the orcs to get the word out.”

“If they use their shamans, word could spread faster than you might expect,” Gastropé said.

“Use their shamans?” Elrose asked.

“Yes, you know how orc shamans do their dream walking and talking. They can communicate nearly instantly across vast distances and even across planes,” Gastropé said, setting his now-empty wine glass down.

“Across planes?” Elrose asked.

“Yeah, it’s basically astral projection. That’s how they know where to open portals between the worlds, for example.” Gastropé said as he poured himself another glass of wine.

“The orcs plane travel?” Elrose asked in shock.

“Actually, they do.” Trevin nodded in agreement. “As much, or perhaps more than humans. Their shamans are much more spread out and intermingled among their people than wizards. Shamans are sort of a combination of priests and druids. Therefore, they are much less concentrated, more spread out, and they communicate regularly with each other. I had forgotten this.” She looked to Gastropé and smiled. “Someone has been doing their reading in the library.”

Gastropé blushed. “Uhm, yeah... I can’t stare at the ground”—he gestured to the viewport—“all day.”

Jenn narrowed her eyes. She suspected Gastropé’s knowledge was much more firsthand. He had probably been observing Tal Gor and the other shamans working for Tom. She shook her head. She was going to need to talk to him. One glass of wine and he had seriously overshared. She did not want them to end up in some alvaran prison for colluding with the enemy.

Mount Doom: Late Fourth Period

Talarius, with Ruiden on his back, marched down the hall towards the demon suite, as he called it: the suite of rooms in which Tom’s demon coterie was quartered. He and Ruiden had been going around in fruitless circles in regards to the question of demons and such all day. There were no good answers.

However, in the process of trying to figure out some way to verify what they fearfully suspected, he had recalled the conversation with the coterie and the two gods after the battle with the Knights of Chaos. Phaestus had referred to Reggie as a recent incubus arrival. At the time, Talarius had taken him to be a recent addition to Tom’s associates. However, going back over the conversation with this new context that had been forced upon his consciousness, it made far more sense that Reggie was a brand-new, freshly made demon.

Talarius opened the door to the demon suite and looked around. No one was in the sitting room, but Reggie’s door was shut. Talarius marched over to the door and pounded on it. He heard a loud gasp and then what sounded like a deep-throated giggle. That made no sense.

“Who is it?” Reggie’s voice called out.

“It is I, Talarius. Ruiden and I have some critical questions for you.”

“Uhm, can it wait? I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” Reggie said.

Talarius heard what sounded like a couple other people whispering in the background. He frowned, trying not to imagine what sordid things might be happening in the incubus’s room. This was very frustrating. “Very well, I shall be waiting in my room in Lord Tommus’s suite,” he informed Reggie. “Please join me as soon as possible.”

~

Talarius was sitting on a chair in his room, Ruiden leaning against the arm of the chair, when Reggie came through the open door. Talarius looked up and gestured for him to close the door, which Reggie did with a puzzled look.

“You had questions for me?” Reggie asked, sounding puzzled.

“Indeed; thank you for joining us.” He gestured to Ruiden before gesturing to a larger chair that Reggie could sit in.

Reggie sat down.

“After the battle, when you returned from your mistress while we were drinking, the god Hephaestus stated that you were a newly arrived incubus,” Talarius stated.

“Uhm, yes,” Reggie said, clearly not knowing where he was going with this.

“What exactly did he mean?” Talarius asked.

“Uhm, that I was new here. You remember when I arrived, back at the cave,” Reggie said, clearly uncertain as to what Talarius was getting at.

“Yes, but where did you arrive from?” Talarius asked, shaking his head.

“Uhm...” Reggie hesitated. “Did Tom not tell you?”

“No, and the D’Orcing ceremony has raised serious questions as to where demons actually come from when they are—newly arrived, so to speak,” the knight said.

“Agh. Yeah, about that,” Reggie said, sitting back. “Well, Tom didn’t specifically tell me not to tell you, he just wanted to save that conversation for later. I guess.”

Talarius, who did not have his helmet on in his cooled bedroom, simply stared impassively at the incubus.

“Well, so... uhm, yeah, I’m a new demon. My mistress summoned me from my life in New Jersey. It was very similar, but much sexier than the D’Orcing ceremony,” Reggie admitted. “And I had no idea what was happening.”

“And this New Jersey? Where is that?” Talarius asked.

“Uhm, it’s on a world called Earth. Tom and Tizzy told me that it’s on the very far side of the multiverse and that wizards in Astlan can’t recognize people from our world as being humans. They think the lights they see on the Astral Plane are unbound demons,” Reggie said.

As we feared, Ruiden said to Talarius.

“So what great act of evil had you committed to be so consigned to the Abyss?” Talarius asked.

“Nothing!” Reggie shook his head quickly. “I didn’t do anything other than, well, smoke a joint that must have contained some demon weed.”

Talarius blinked, thinking back to the cave when Reggie had first arrived. The conversation that Tom had engaged in—people passing joints around. He had thought they were talking about human flesh, limbs. He frowned. “What exactly is a joint?”

Reggie shook his head puzzled. “Uhm, it’s like a hand-rolled cigarette but with weed in it. Normally it’s just marijuana, but in this case the one I smoked had demon weed.”

“A cigarette?” Talarius asked.

“Um, a small rolled-up piece of paper filled with tobacco. You put it in your mouth and light it on fire. I guess it’s like a paper pipe, except it gets burnt up with the stuff inside,” Reggie explained.

Talarius sat silently for a moment. Ruiden remained silent as well. He really did not like what he was hearing. “So you were a human in this New Jersey?” he asked.

“Uhm, yes.” Reggie nodded. “I was a kid, in school.”

“A child? How old?” Talarius asked in shock.

“Well, older than Rupert. I was—am—sixteen of my world’s years. Same age as Tom,” Reggie said.

Talarius did a double take. “What did you just say?”

Reggie grimaced. “Maybe I should not have said that. Never mind.”

“No, I mind. What are you saying?” Talarius demanded.

“Uhm, well, Tom was this new kid at my school. We had become friends. We were at this party, and, well, I’m the one who gave him the joint that sent him off to the Astral Plane, where Lenamare captured him. You know the rest,” Reggie said.

Unholy gods! Ruiden said in his head. Can this be true? It makes no sense!

Talarius just sat there, stunned, barely able to think.

Reggie fidgeted as he sat in the uncomfortable silence.

Talarius was busy playing back his memories of everything Tom had ever told him; every scold, every warning. He felt himself going numb. He stood up and put his helmet on. “Thank you,” he told Reggie and gave the incubus a nod of thanks. “I need some fresh air to process this.”

Talarius walked over to the door, opened it and left, leaving Reggie sitting puzzled in the knight’s room.

Citadel of Light: Dusk

Teragdor shook his head while staring at the giant three-dimensional board showing the environment around the Citadel. They were all in the command center, being briefed on current events. Things were escalating quickly; the Storm Lords’ advance units were within a day’s march—or more technically, a night’s march, since many of the advanced forces were night-bound. Shambling zombie hordes fortunately moved rather slowly, as well as preferring the day, and that set the pace for the entire army.

“We estimate that their main body will be here within about three nights, including tonight,” Grob told the assembled leaders, including Teragdor, Rasmeth, Stevos, Timbly and Hilda.

“So the advanced forces should arrive by dawn,” Diocate Aeris guessed.

Grob nodded. “Indeed. We need to get everyone in. The Shield, Rangers and Sky Wardens have been out all day, sweeping the inner regions for anyone still out there. There are still quite a number of refugee groups on the roads. Our troops will be acting as a shield against the advance forces, in case any arrive earlier than expected.”

“What is the nature of the advance forces? Will they go to ground with daylight?” Hilda asked.

"That is their standard tactic. The advance forces are typically vampires, dhampyrs, ghasts, ghouls, and sometimes a few specters," Grob informed her and the rest of the off-worlders. "Normally they go to ground, relying on the ghasts and ghouls to take guard rotations under the direction of senior dhampyrs.”

“Do you work to root out these nests?” Timbly asked.

“In recent centuries, yes. Those have been more like reconnaissance nests; however, this time we are going to be spread too thin. The Storm Lords are simply coming from too many directions and we have too many civilians to protect,” Grob said.

“Stevos, Timbly, Rasmeth and Teragdor have important preparations they need to be doing tonight. I, however, am at your disposal,” Hilda said. Teragdor remained quiet; he knew that what Hilda meant was that he and Rasmeth had more training to do. They had spent every available hour the last few days training with their respective saints, learning and practicing the advanced rituals, chants and invocations that had been well above their previous ranks.

Aeris raised an eyebrow slightly, looking to Hilda. “You are a soldier?”

Hilda smiled tightly. “Unlife are my specialty. I was canonized for my defense of a village against a horde of vampires, vampyrs, ghasts, ghouls and yes, dhampyrs. I have since spent my afterlife as a patron of all those who stand against the Night.”

Hilda tilted her head and trained a steely gaze to Grob’s eyes. “So, I think I am uniquely qualified for dealing with the advanced forces you describe.”

Teragdor chuckled. “She easily defeated the Meat Maker of the Broken Tusk Clan, our local wargtown master, with a single kick.” Wargtown masters were generally the fiercest brawlers in any town. “He got the first punch; she took it and then plowed him ten feet back into the wargtown.” There were more than a few murmurs at this.

Grob grinned and nodded. “I will not disagree, Your Saintliness. I need to be upright for the coming battle.” He chuckled.

Teragdor chuckled as well. “I can assure you there was no one upright in wargtown at the end of that day, because Hilda bought them drinks and then drank the entire town under the table!”

Grob raised an eyebrow at this and glanced inquiringly at Hilda.

She shrugged and simply smiled. “I do like my spirits.”

Stevos and Timbly both nodded in agreement.

“Well, perhaps I need a new patron saint!” Grob laughed.

Day’s March Outside the Citadel: DOA + 17, Late First Period

“There, there. Everything is going to be fine, my dear. We are going to get you and your family safe inside the Citadel,” Hilda told the sobbing young girl she was gently lifting. The girl’s shoe had gotten stuck in the mud and she had fallen down off the slightly raised road while trudging through the darkness towards the Citadel.

Hilda sat the girl down and gave her a big hug while reciting a cleaning ritual to remove the dirt, mud and sweat from the young girl, her clothes and shoes. Hilda pulled back from the girl and smiled at her in the torchlight. “See? Already better!” She gestured down the girl’s clean clothes; the girl looked down and gasped in surprise and happiness.

Hilda smiled and stood, leading the girl by the hand back to her waiting mother and siblings.

“Thank you so much!” The mother told Hilda.

“Hilda smiled. “It’s my duty. The Blessings of Tiernon and his Siblings be upon you!”

The woman and the rather awed children nodded and then turned to continue down the road. Hilda turned back to see several Shield members smiling at her.

“You Sisters have a far gentler touch than we Shield members,” one of the soldiers she was currently working with, one Sarjeant Jacob Holspice, told her. Jacob was in charge of this particular squad. He was a nice young man from someplace called Hovertly. Hilda did not have the faintest clue whether that was somewhere nearby or on the other side of the planet; she had simply nodded as if she knew exactly where he was from.

“It’s simply the differences in how we serve!” she said brightly. She had not told any of the Shield members who, or rather what, she was. Having one of Tiernon’s saints working alongside one could be very distracting. Way too much veneration and all that nonsense; it got in the way of getting work done.

Once they had determined where she could best help—an area where the Forces of Darkness were closer than in other locations—one of Grob’s battle priests had mirrored the commander in the region and had him recite a prayer that Hilda had provided. He had told the commander it would bring them good luck by invoking a powerful but little-known saint who fought the Unlife.

All quite literally true. True, because by saying the prayer to Hilda, she was able to get a lock on the commander and transport herself to his location, albeit in the woods about ten feet away. This time, unlike the adventure that had started this whole thing, she was in a Sister of Tiernon’s working clothes. These were very different from the robes one often associated with Sisters of Tiernon. The working clothes were designed for rugged, outdoor use; on the battlefield, in particular. It consisted of lightweight cloth armor which was bound to, and served as padding for leather plate armor. It was far more flexible, if less protective than full leathers. Sisters were often on their knees tending the wounded, and the armor needed to allow for a full range of motion while still providing some protection.

She had been working with this team of soldiers for the entire night. In particular, she had spent considerable time healing those who had been injured, or who were sick and thus moving slower. That was in fact one of the reasons these people were further behind; many of them had family members who were sick, infirm or aged.

Assisting—or rather, boosting the strength and stamina of the aged at the level required here, was admittedly something she had not had to do a great deal of in her sainthood. Forced marches fleeing massive Unlife armies did not really happen that often in Astlan. It had never happened, in fact, as far as she knew.

“As I told you when you arrived,” Jacob said, “you are the first Sister of Tiernon I’ve ever met. My grandfather used to talk about them all the time, but their ranks have been spread thin over the last century.”

“Well, this is an unprecedented attack, so we have to prepared for encountering all sorts of—unprecedented—things!” Hilda beamed at him. “Vicar General Grob thought this region would be in most need of my services.”

“I think the fact that you actually know, and have talked to, Vicar General Grob Darkness Slayer shows how rare and important the Sisters’ work is,” Jacob told her.

Hilda beamed. “Aren’t you sweet! But we are all simply servants of Tiernon trying to do our best to stand against the darkness.”

“Sister?” a voice called for her, and she looked to see a young woman waving at her, leaning over a man who appeared to have twisted his ankle, or perhaps worse. It was difficult to tell in the flickering torchlight. She was not used to such poor lighting, but they really didn’t want to use too much mana and attract undue attention.

“Coming!” Hilda called, waving at them as she started forward. She was about halfway to the girl when she overheard one of Jacob’s soldiers speaking softly.

“Have you ever met someone so cheerful, uplifting and pleasant in the face of oncoming apocalypse?” the soldier asked.

Jacob laughed. “I have to admit, if I have ever met someone with a saintly disposition, it would have to be her!”

Hilda grinned and hurried on.

Library of Doom: Late Sixth Period

“…and this fellow is Prince Asmodeus,” Erestofanes said, gesturing to a very long wall of portraits. “Of course, Asmodeus, as you can see, changed form relatively frequently, so it is quite doubtful he still looks like any of these very often.”

Erestofanes, Antefalken, Tamarin and Tom were touring the portraits of Orcus’s enemies, or suspect persons, as Erestofanes had explained. It wasn’t just one’s enemies that one needed to be able to recognize, but one’s friends, associates and otherwise dangerous colleagues. Since they had been spending quite a bit of time in the library practicing Tom’s shape-changing, they decided to take a break by having Erestofanes show them the portraits.

It was quite interesting to note that there was a portrait of Sammael that looked the same as the current Sam. Apparently it was his preferred relaxation form; one could only wonder at the motivation. Antefalken had been able to recognize two of Lilith’s portraits.

What was also interesting, or rather disconcerting, were the portraits of the Tartarvardenennead. In particular, there was a large group portrait. There everyone was, either the same as they were today, or as Tom remembered them from his dreams. Singkûn was interesting, he actually looked something like a character that Tom remembered showing up in several martial arts movies. Of course, he also looked like an orangish version of one of the apes in the old Planet of the Apes movies.

“Given our current situation, I don’t suppose you have any pictures of Tiernon?” Tamarin asked the librarian. “Pretty sure there would be no good way to get an image of him.”

Erestofanes paused in thought, scratching his chin with his upper left hand. “We have no paintings of him. However, Orcus did have his personal Memory Mirror.” He tilted his head and squinted, thinking.

“Memory Mirror?” Tom asked.

“It’s a mirror to store saved images from a regular Magic Mirror, like the ones Phaestus, Völund, and several Council members use regularly,” Antefalken said.

Tom shook his head. “So it stores digital photos?”

Antefalken scrunched his face. “No idea what those are.”

Erestofanes was nodding. “Completely different mechanism, but yes, it’s like that. They are the images captured by a Magic Mirror that have been uploaded to the Memory Mirror for later viewing.”

“So where is this mirror?” Tom asked.

“That’s what I was trying to remember.” Erestofanes grinned. “He had kept it in his room, but after his death, I thought it best to store it in the library vault. While keyed to the Wand—Rod, I still thought it best to lock it up, just in case. I can look up which one and deliver it to your room, if you wish.”

Tom nodded. “That would be great, thanks!” It was a bit creepy to look through some long-dead guy’s photo album, but it might have useful information.

Tamarin clapped her hands. “Excellent! I bet seeing these images will help spur the return of your memories.”

“Great,” Tom said without a lot of enthusiasm. Maybe this was not such a good idea.

Day’s March Outside the Citadel of Light: Early Second Period

“So we are sure there is no one behind us on the road?” Jacob asked two rangers who that had caught up to them from the rear.

“As sure as we can be in this darkness,” one of the rangers, an alfar, said. “We have very good night vision and obviously can see mana and animus, and have not been able to spot any.”

“Can you also detect antimus?” Hilda asked.

“Not so easily in the dark.” The alfar shook his head. “In the light of day, it shows up as a much darker shade of the colors you would normally expect. Ghouls are warm-blooded, so if they aren’t tightly wrapped up or hidden, we can detect their heat emanations. “

“Same with dhampyrs, but vampires are very hard to detect, since they tend to be close to ambient temperatures unless they have just fed,” the second ranger told her.

“I’ve heard no word of vampyrs in the advance party. I assume they are simply too blatant and hard to control in a recon situation?” Hilda asked.

“Exactly. They see someone tasty, get distracted and raise a huge ruckus. The vampires find this annoying,” the first ranger said. The Shield members all nodded in agreement.

“Ghouls can sometimes be a problem as well if they get hungry, but they are typically less driven than vampyrs,” the second ranger added.

Hilda was about to ask another question when a dog nearby started barking loudly. She looked over to where the noise was coming from. It was near a bend in the road that the line of refugees had just turned. The dog was barking loudly into the woods.

Even as she watched, the dog took off into the woods.

“Tiber!” A boy about ten years old shouted before launching himself after the dog.

“Rogier!” A woman, presumably the boy’s mother, shouted and started moving after her boy, only to be restrained by her husband.

“It’s not safe off the road,” the man told his wife. “I am not going to lose both you and the boy!”

Hilda hurried towards the place where the boy had disappeared into the woods. “Don’t worry, I will get him.”

“It’s not safe for an unarmed woman to head off into the forest at this hour—not with the Unlife advancing,” the first alfar worried.

“I’ll go with her!” Jacob said, and started off.

~

“That is one fast dog,” Hilda said to herself as she pursued the boy and dog into the forest. Fortunately, the undergrowth was not that bad, so there was nothing impeding her. It was pitch-black under the trees, but her Holy Sight was fine in the dark, as well as allowing her to see the animus of both the boy and the dog. Also, the dog was still barking.

She could hear Jacob hurrying after her, about to catch up.

“Sister!” he called behind her. “This is not wise; you should have allowed me to fetch the boy.”

Hilda waved her hand above her shoulder. “Trust me, Jacob, I’m fine. This is not my first forest sortie in the middle of the night in woods infested with Unlife!” Admittedly, the last time she had actually done this exact thing, she had ended up dead; however, she was much better now.

Even as Jacob reached her, the dog suddenly stopped barking with a loud yelp.

“Tiber!” the boy shouted from about ten feet ahead of them as he entered a clearing.

“That was not a good yelp,” Jacob said gesturing with his sword.

“No, it was not,” Hilda said.

Jacob put his arm up in an effort to restrain Hilda from going forward, so that he could go first.

Such a sweet boy, Hilda thought to herself as she brushed his arm aside and headed for the clearing.

“Rogier?” Hilda called. “Come back here, come to me.”

At this point the boy was in the clearing, standing still and staring at something that Hilda could not see against the black backdrop of the trees beyond the boy. That was not good. She adjusted her Holy Sight. Yep, aura hiding, air temperature vampire. Hilda shook her head and then grinned determinedly.

She hurried into the clearing and up to the boy, Jacob coming up quickly behind her. In the clearing under the night sky, she could now clearly see the vampire. He had been shielding his mana, but this close, she could sense it. She wondered if he could sense her own. She had been purposefully shielding herself from the battle priests.

She put her hands on the boy’s shoulders. She noted the dog was still alive, at the boy’s side. The dog was staring at the vampire intently, but silently. The vampire said nothing as she pulled the boy back and behind her. As Jacob came up to her, she said softly, “Take the boy, keep him safe. Let me handle this.”

“Sister?” Jacob asked, puzzled.

Hilda shoved the boy at him.

“So... Sister? A Sister of Tiernon, I take it?” the vampire said in a deep and resonant voice.

“Something like that,” Hilda said with a grim smile.

“So you are going to handle this?” the vampire asked, making a motion with his hands.

Hilda sighed, recognizing the motion. It was not a spell, but rather a gesture for his associates to close ranks and surround them. She twisted her fingers and muttered a short chant under her breath. After the small ritual, she could sense the five other vampires in the clearing. Correction: four other vampires and a dhampyr.

The first vampire chuckled. “I am so glad the three of you could join us for dinner!”

Hilda briefly closed her eyes to fully engage the ritual she had just performed. She needed to ensure there were no other Unlife nearby. There were none. She opened her eyes and smiled at the vampire.

“Although to be honest, you appear to be big enough to be a complete meal for all of us by yourself,” the vampire said.

“Disparaging a woman’s weight is not becoming of you. I thought vampires were supposed to be more charming than that?” Hilda said. She was, of course, not upset; she knew very well how large-boned she was. She was buying time with conversation while she secretly worked on the semantic gestures of her warding with her hands behind her back.

“You shall not get our blood without a fight,” Jacob bravely told the vampire. Hilda could sense his fear, and thus his bravery.

“Really?” The vampire looked at Jacob.

“Do not meet his eyes!” Hilda ordered. “Neither of you!”

“Ah,” the vampire sighed, turning his attention back to Hilda. “So you have some experience with vampires?”

“On Nysegard? Who does not?” Hilda asked.

“Those who gain experience with our kind typically do not have repeat encounters,” the vampire said.

“Well, in that case, I probably should make the best of this learning activity, if it is to be my last,” Hilda told the vampire, her fingers twisting in the gestures of her warding. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” she asked conversationally. Jacob was staring at her as if she was nuts.

“I am Vladimir Bistent,” the vampire leader said with a nod of his head.

“Really?” Hilda asked incredulously. “That must be an assumed name!”

“Why do you say that?” The vampire glared at her angrily, his eyes now glowing red.

“Do you have any idea how many vampires I’ve met named Vladimir?” Hilda asked. “I mean, I would get it if all the dhampyrs,”—she used her head to point in the direction of the dhampyr, which caused Vladimir to blink in surprise that she knew it was there—“were named that, because maybe it was a popular baby name among vampires.” She made a tisking noise. “But you cannot expect me to believe that vampires only bite and turn people named Vladimir. It strains credulity.” She shook her head in mock exasperation, her gestures almost complete.

“Enough. I think it is time for dinner!” Vladimir started to advance, even as Hilda raised her arms over her head, spinning her body around in a circle and shouting the words of her warding in joy.

A glowing circle of light suddenly appeared around them all; the six vampires, Hilda, Rogier, Jacob and Tiber. The vampire blinked in shock and surprise, noticing the luminescent dome now arching overhead and providing late twilight-level illumination. By the sounds behind her, Hilda knew his compatriots were also turning to examine the wards.

The vampire stopped advancing, and a broad grin spread over his face as he examined the wards. He threw back his head and laughed heartily.

Hilda simply stood there, observing the vampire laughing, already working on her next move. She finally glanced at Jacob and then down at the boy, smiling at them both. “You may need to avert your eyes before too long; it may get a little gory,” she told them softly, trusting the vampire’s own laughter to drown out her words.

The vampire finally lowered his head dramatically to stare at her. “So, the Sister is really a priestess?”

Hilda tilted her head and closed her left eye tightly in an eh facial gesture. “Something… like that.”

“Well, I fear that whatever you are, you are not a very good one. Your teachers must be so disappointed. The wards are supposed to go between you and us.” The vampire shook his head, enjoying the situation.

Hilda gave him an expression of bemused wonder. “Now why would I want that?”

The vampire stopped laughing and tilted his head to stare at her, even as she gave him a bright grin and waggled her eyebrows in amusement.

“To protect you?” he finally said as if she were daft.

“Oh?” Hilda asked, pretending to be surprised. “My bad!” She stepped forward, advancing on the vampire. “So you want to drink my blood, do you?” She was now within arm’s length of the vampire.

The vampire tilted his head in puzzlement at her, but said nothing. He was clearly trying to understand her game.

“Very well, then.” Hilda raised her right arm and pulled back the padding of her leather bracer with her left hand. She then held up her left arm to show the vampire her empty left hand. Once she saw that he had noted it, she made a flicking gesture with her wrist, and a small dagger appeared in her hand. Before he could react, she used the blade to slice her wrist. Blood quickly began welling.

Hilda offered her right wrist to the vampire. “Be my guest.”

The vampire squinted his eyes, perplexed by her matter-of-fact expression and bizarre actions.

Hilda noticed his nostrils flaring; the scent of blood would tempt him. She simply needed to stand there. “Go on…” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t bite.” She chuckled softly, moving her wrist closer to him. She noted that the other vampires were moving closer. That is very helpful of them, she thought to herself.

“I do not know your game,” the first vampire snarled softly.

“What game? You can drink my blood, all of it. A meal for all of you, you said? All you have to do is swear not to harm my two wards,” Hilda said.

“And why should we swear?” Vladimir asked, “when we can have all of you?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Hilda shook her head, frowning, as if scolding a small child.

“Are you insane?” The vampire shook his head.

“Perhaps, but are you not hungry?” Hilda’s wrist was about an inch from the vampire’s nose.

“Very well.” The vampire slowly reached up and took her arm, guiding her wrist to his mouth. “I shall suck you dry!” His tongue slipped out to touch the blood; testing it, she was sure. She shook her head at his melodrama. Vampires did not seem to have much in the way of original dialogue.

His eyes widened in surprise as he murmured, “Amazing. I have never tasted blood so sweet!”

Hilda smiled and made a gesture towards the other vampires. “Gentlemen, and women, why not come near? There is plenty of me to go around.”

The vampires came closer still; they were now surrounding her and Vladimir. She hoped Jacob would have the good sense to move the two of them away from her and the vampires. By this point Vladimir had latched his mouth onto her wrist and closed his eyes, savoring her blood. She felt a sharp pain as his fangs punctured her wrist.

He was a messy eater, slopping blood all over. She noted that the other vampires, although not the dhampyr, who was further back, were sniffing. They could smell the very attractive blood. “Come, all of you!” Hilda called to them.

She held up her other arm in the direction of two of the vampires, stretching to expose her wrist. One of the vampires moved in quickly and bit her wrist.

“Unholiness!” the vampire muttered around his fangs in her wrist. The vampire next to that one came up behind her, going for her neck. She could sense the frustration of the other two vampires at having to wait. It was truly unfortunate that her armor was restricting their access. That made it much harder for her to get the other two vampires and the dhampyr. But that was what the wards were for; she just had to hope Jacob could defend himself and the boy.

“Agh,” Hilda said as the vampire moving for her neck finally bit her, right in the jugular. This one would go quick.

“Vladimir!” Hilda said commandingly. When he ignored her, she jerked her wrist, causing his eyes to open and lock on hers in anger.

“I just wanted to tell you that my wards? They are where I wanted them to be. I needed to ensure that none of you escaped.” She smiled brightly as she removed her maskings, all of them. The clearing, already better lit by her wards, became much brighter as her full aura sprang to life.

While having a vampire’s fangs lodged in the side of one’s neck from behind made speaking a bit more inconvenient, she could tilt her head a bit and easily pronounce what need to be said.

“By the power of Tiernon, I offer you the Grace of Life! I absolve you of your sins! Your vile transgressions shall no longer curse you! The blood lust shall abate even as the Unlife flees your bodies! I gift unto you Tiernon’s Blessings of Mortal Life!” Hilda shouted and then fully opened her upstream links to allow her god’s mana to flood her being, her blood.

The power and might of Tiernon, God of Light and Justice, flowed freely through her and her blood. The vampires shrieked and began struggling to dislodge their fangs, which were now firmly welded to her flesh. There would be no escape.

Hilda’s aura flared incandescent, brighter than the morning Fierd—or Atun here in Nysegard, Hilda thought to herself. Suddenly she heard loud screams and squeals behind her. She blinked, suddenly hoping the vampires and dhampyr not stuck to her wouldn’t immolate. That would be very inconvenient.

The struggling vampires jerked away from her and fell to the ground, writhing in agony, even as her aura returned to normal. Life returning after so long would likely be quite painful. They would be rolling like that for a bit. Time for the others.

Hilda turned to find the two other vampires smoldering on the ground. The dhampyr was cowering against the wards, fierdburned but otherwise alive. She quickly cast an immobilization ritual on the dhampyr and turned to Jacob and the boy, who were huddling on the ground. She walked over to them, gesturing for them to rise. They did so shakily, staring at her in awe and wonder.

“I’m so sorry for the theatrics,” Hilda said, shaking her head. “It was probably totally overkill on the pyrotechnics, but it comes with the territory, I fear.” She gave both of them a big embrace. “It’s all right, relax. I’m still the same Hilda who came in with you. I’m just doing the lightshow so we can see to clean this mess up.” She pulled back from them to smile into their tear-streaked faces.

“Who are you, Your Holiness?” Jacob barely managed to ask.

Hilda shook her head. “I’m exactly who I introduced myself as: Hilda of Rivenrock.” She shrugged. “I may have omitted my title, but what with the urgent need to get people to safety, I didn’t want to stand on formality.” She grinned and patted him on the cheek, and gave Rogier’s hair a warm tussle.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You know what will help?” She reached into her belt pouch and pulled forth a small flask. “I think a small nip of this will calm your nerves.” She looked down at the boy. “And maybe an even smaller nip for the lad. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some cleanup work to do!” She stared at the smoldering vampires. “I wonder if there is anything left salvageable with these two? They aren’t dust, so there must be something left that I can cure.”

“What… what did you do to them?” Rogier asked Hilda, who turned to see him pointing to Vladimir and the other two former vampires, still writhing on the ground.

“They aren’t dust? You didn’t kill them?” Jacob asked, confused.

“Kill them?” she asked in surprise. “No, anything but!” She shook her head. “Now, normally, that would be the thing to do, but we are on the brink of war! We need intelligence! Information!”

Hilda grinned at them and moved to kneel next to the first smoldering vampire. “I cured them of their vampirism. It is much easier to deal with, and question, them as mortals rather than as vampires.”

“Are you going to cure them?” Rogier asked, pointing to the smoldering vampires.

“That’s the plan, however it’s rather tricky since they are halfway to charcoal. They are going to need to be healed, but I can’t really heal them until they are mortal. If I tried to heal them while they were Unlife, it would just wound them more.” She tilted her head. “Actually, that’s a great idea! I shall Harm them—it’s sort of like the reverse of healing. Normally, it’s frowned upon, but in this case, I think appropriate,” she said. “That should heal an Unlife.”

“What about him?” Jacob pointed to the crouched dhampyr, wrapped in the glowing strands of Hilda’s restraints.

She frowned. “That is a bit trickier. I may need to think about him. Which is why he’s restrained.”

Chapter 142

Citadel of Light: Early Third Period

“Whoo! I do not know about you guys, but I need a Bloody Tatiana!” Hilda said as she proceeded to mix herself one at the sidebar of the private dining room in which they had gathered to break their fast.

“A little early in the morning for me, I fear,” Rasmeth said.

Hilda looked over her shoulder at the apostle. “Nonsense! That’s what detox rituals are for!” She turned back to the pitcher in which she was mixing her beverage. “You have a nice relaxing drink with your meal and conversation, and then when it is time to go back to work, you just do a quick detox ritual.”

“That really seems like cheating,” Teragdor said.

Stevos chuckled. “That is exactly what I said when she told me! However, I fear I quickly succumbed to the wisdom of the mighty Saint Hilda’s words.”

Hilda snorted and shook her head at the statement.

“I personally think it is an excellent idea!” Timbly nodded, smiling. “I have to say, I have learned so much working with you folks. You really know how to afterlive!”

Rasmeth shook his head. “I guess; I shall bow to the wisdom of my elders!”

“Now, now! You go around talking about my age, and no Tatianas for you!” Hilda smiled broadly as she brought the pitcher over to the table.

“That is a very large pitcher,” Stevos noted.

“I know; I believe it is of orcan origin. I do have to say, orcs understand the importance of having enough to drink,” Hilda said.

Teragdor simply grinned and rolled his eyes at the racial stereotyping.

“I am sure Grob and his people would love to have toasted you, even as we shall,” Rasmeth said.

“Very impressive work!” Stevos agreed as Hilda poured his drink. “I would never have thought to capture Unlife and then convert them for questioning.”

“Well, in my life experience, I tried to get information out of various vampyrs and vampires and had very little luck. Therefore, I always figured that the next time I needed information from one, I should simply cure it; at which point all our normal methods of questioning will work just fine,” Hilda explained.

Rasmeth nodded in agreement. “It is very hard to tell if a vampire is telling a lie.”

Teragdor nodded. “No pulse, no blood pressure, bodies at only room temperature, so they don’t have much to measure.”

“I think it’s a package deal with corpses,” Stevos said, setting his drink down as they all chuckled.

“What about the dhampyr?” Rasmeth asked.

“I do not know. To be honest, I have not really dealt with them that much.” Hilda sighed, sitting down. “They are alive, just tainted with blood lust. Basically half-blood Unlife.”

“I really do not see how that’s possible, and I know something about being of mixed race,” Teragdor said.

“Mortal mother, vampire father impregnates her, but the father does not infect the mother and she is alive through the term,” Stevos said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, but how are vampires able to reproduce if they are dead? I would sort of think things wouldn’t work,” Teragdor said. “If you know what I mean?”

Hilda frowned. “At first I thought you meant his seed, which would be antimus based, I assume, but now that you mention it, they have no blood pressure, so how...?” Hilda shook her head in distaste at the line of thought. “I am sure one the academics in this place can tell you. I really do not want to talk about this at breakfast.” She stared down at her plate of hot sausages and bacon, then reached for a strip of bacon.

Citadel of Light, Dungeon: Early Third Period

Rede Yondin sat on the stone bench in his dark cell, somewhere in the deep bowels of the Citadel of Light. He put his head in his hands and tried to suppress his tears. He was frightened. Actually, he had been frightened for some time. The last ten months had been a living hell, but last night’s events and his current situation were truly dire.

His misery had started when his mother had gotten ill and died. At that point, he had been all on his own; there had been no one else. His half-brother had joined the local militia and been killed the year before; after that, he and his mother had lived a solitary life on a small farm deep in the woods.

They had not been able to live in town once Rede’s true nature had revealed itself around the age of twelve. He had always been a bit pale, but as his dhampyr features manifested, his skin had turned a very unhealthy-looking shade of grey. Like all dhampyrs, he had to ingest blood regularly or his skin would get quite nasty—itchy, dry and tight. On Nysegard, everyone knew what that meant. It was not easy to hide for long in a small walled village.

He, his brother and mother had purchased a small walled farm in the forest with most of the money Rede’s father had given her to raise him. They had a garden for their basic needs, along with a lot of chickens that Rede could feed safely on. Chicken blood wasn’t very nutritious or pleasant, but it kept him alive, if not particularly healthy.

His half-brother’s death had been the first blow, and then his mother’s the final blow. Things had started to spiral downhill at the point. It was difficult for a single person to manage all the tasks on the farm; particularly when the chickens were scared shitless of him. Literally shitless—ever since he had turned, when he came near the chickens they would try to run away while dropping a trail of dung behind them.

So the farm had been suffering from neglect, and Rede from hunger, and then four months ago the Unlife finally overwhelmed the nearby town. The small army that finally felled the town and its militia naturally encountered his farm. The scent of the chickens had drawn them.

The only benefit to his condition, at least as far as Rede was concerned, was that Unlife had no interest in him. The first group to locate his farm had been some ghouls, who had swarmed over his walls to eat his blood supply. He shuddered in remembrance of the disgusting slaughter. As the ghouls were feeding, a ghast had shown up and realized he was a dhampyr.

The ghast had been moderately interested in finding a dhampyr youth living alone on a farm near the village they had just overrun. He had taken Rede to his commander, a vampire. The vampire had asked who his sire was and Rede had told him.

Surprisingly, his father, whom Rede had never met, but whose name his mother had told him, was not only still alive, but actually quite high up in the Storm Lords’ service. Rede had ended up spending about a month as a “guest” of the local vampire commander while word got back to his father.

The stay had been an eye-opener into the ways of his father’s people, so to speak. The experience was horrifying but he had, for the first time since puberty, had a good meal. The blood had been served warm in a leather drinking pouch. He had not asked where it had come from, but spent a very large amount of time worrying about it.

Eventually, Vladimir and his crew had arrived with instructions that Rede had been awarded the rank of corporal and assigned to Vladimir’s unit for training. Vladimir was a two-hundred-year old vampire leftenant, specializing in reconnaissance. His team consisted of his senior sarjeant, Anastasia; one Sarjeant Voldroit; and two other corporals, Anabelle, who had been a vampire for about two years, and Carlton, who’d been turned about six months ago.

For the last three months, he’d been learning how to be both a dhampyr and a soldier. He closed his eyes, trying to forget much of that time. Actually, to be fair, other than being forced to learn how to feed from sentient races, it had been relatively normal. It was just the feeding that horrified him.

He and his mother had always killed the chicken and drained the blood into a bowl for him to drink; he had never actually used his fangs to bite anything. He had simply drunk the blood through his teeth, as if they were straws. Dhampyrs, like vampires (but not vampyrs) had hollow fangs that led to capillaries in the roof of his mouth. He simply made a motion in his throat similar to swallowing to activate suction pulses to draw the blood in.

Since dhampyrs were not infectious, unlike vampires and vampyrs, he actually could drink a victim and not have to either kill or turn them in order to avoid creating a ghoul. He had tried to do that as much as possible, but the vampires—Vladimir in particular—had little patience for that. Eventually, when Rede fed, if he didn’t finish the meal, Vladimir would finish it for him.

Last night, though, had been the most terrifying thing of all. He had been sickened at the thought of Vladimir killing and feeding on the woman and child, and even the soldier, who was not much older than himself. Soldiers died in war, so there was that consolation, but the killing and feeding on the very motherly heavyset woman and the little boy was something he could barely manage to watch, let alone participate in.

However, things did not go as planned. He still shook in awe at the woman’s power. They had somehow encountered an actual, physical saint of Tiernon. Sure, everyone knew the legends of the old days when the saints fought alongside the mortals against the Night; but that was all they were: myths and legends. Rede shook his head in remembered terror. The full power of a god, channeled through its saint, was terrible to behold, at least when you were on the opposing side. He had been certain she would wipe him and the others from the face of Nysegard. Surprisingly, she had not. She had, miraculously, re-turned Vladimir, Anastasia and Voldroit, and in the process nearly incinerated Anabelle and Carlton. He shook his head, remembering their tortured screams.

However, in the end, they too had survived. The saint had somehow healed them enough to re-turn them to human form again. That had left him, for which there was no such thing as a re-turn; he was naturally born with his condition. He had survived, but for how long?

It was not like he had any valuable information to give them. He had not really seen that much in the three months in the woods with Vladimir, and the month before he’d been an isolated guest in the vampire lord’s castle. He had nothing to offer the people of the Citadel, and he was sure they would not believe his protestations of innocence. Everyone knew that dhampyrs were part of the Night.

He was doomed.

Mount Doom: Early Third Period

Tom opened the door from his bedroom to the sitting area to find Talarius sitting bolt upright in a chair with his sword leaning against the armrest. He was in his full armor—which made sense since the sitting room was not as cool as the knight’s bedroom. The knight had been staring at Tom’s door, apparently waiting on Tom to wake up.

“Hello,” Tom said hesitantly.

“Demon,” Talarius stated. That was not good, Tom thought. He hadn’t used that mode of address for some time. “We have some questions for you.” He gestured to Ruiden beside him.

“Okay,” Tom said, moving to a chair of his size.

Talarius rotated his own chair to continue to face Tom. “First: what do you know of New Jersey?” the knight asked.

Tom did a double take, flabbergasted by the question. How would Talarius know about New Jersey? He slowly shook his head, trying to clear it. “It’s a state in a country called the United States of America, on a world called Earth,” he finally said cautiously.

“A state within a country?” Talarius asked.

“The whole country is a federation of fifty different states,” Tom said, finding it beyond bizarre to be explaining his old country’s nature to a man in a suit of heavy plate armor.

“Second: what is a joint?” Talarius asked. The knight must have been talking to Reggie; no one else would use that word.

“It’s a rolled-up piece of paper with an herb that you smoke, much like a pipe. Have you been talking to Reggie?” Tom asked.

“Third: have you ever been to New Jersey?” the knight asked.

Tom sighed. “So you have obviously been speaking to Reggie.” He shook his head and carefully rubbed the bridge of his nose with his knuckles to avoid poking his eyes out. “What do you want to know? Just come out and ask.”

That seemed to give the knight pause. Finally, he spoke again. “Where were you before Lenamare summoned you?”

“I was at a party in Harding, New Jersey, with Reggie and several other friends who have somehow managed to escape being summoned by a crazy wizard,” Tom said, putting it all on the table. “And yes, I was a human just a few quarter-months back.”

Talarius simply sat there. It was very hard, actually impossible, to judge his expression with his visor closed. Tom was not enjoying this conversation.

“And your age?” the knight finally asked.

“I was sixteen, a few years older than Rupert. I turned seventeen about the time of the oath taking here,” Tom said, slouching in his chair.

“You expect me to believe that an untrained sixteen-year-old boy was turned into a greater demon in some manner similar to the D’Orcing, landed in a strange world and proceeded to foil the plots of his wizard master and group of archdemons, luring both the Rod and Oorstemoth hundreds of leagues to Freehold,” Talarius stated more than asked.

Tom said nothing. What could he say?

“And that this sixteen-year-old, newly arrived greater demon beat me in combat that was rigged in my favor, stole mana from my god, reversed a very powerful artifact and abducted me?” Talarius finished.

“Yes,” Tom said wearily. “We have both been together for everything else, so you do not have to repeat our shared history. I agree to it all.”

Talarius shifted in his seat. It would be nice if I could see his expression, Tom thought. That helmet made conversation quite awkward.

“So explain how a sixteen-year-old who has only been a demon for a few quarter-months has a ten- or twelve-year-old son?” Talarius demanded.

Tom sighed. “That is a mystery to me as well.” He gave the knight a weak grin. “When Lenamare first summoned me, Rupert was a student, an orphaned student at his school. He knew his father was a powerful demon, and for whatever reason, he decided that I was his father come to reclaim him.” He shook his head, shifting uncomfortably. “In the battle with Oorstemoth, on the ship, he was badly wounded—we thought dead. However, I took him to my quarters where he regenerated into his demon form for the first time, and he looked like a small version of me. He told me his story about being an orphaned half-demon and how happy he was that I, his father, had come for him.”

Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose. “By that point we were so close, and he’d just been through so much, and he was so very happy, that I didn’t want to—couldn’t break his heart. My plan was to give him some time, distance from his pain, and eventually explain things to him.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then reopened them. “But, unfortunately, the longer a lie goes on, the harder it is to break it. I just keep putting off the discussion I do not want to have.”

Talarius shook his helmeted head, and was silent for some time before finally speaking. “Am I to believe all of this?” he asked wearily.

“Talarius, if I were the super-manipulative demon prince that you think I am, and I were lying to you, would I make up something so insanely unbelievable?”

“Be quiet!” Talarius suddenly shouted, staring down at his sword. Apparently the two could communicate telepathically. He turned back to face Tom, and then rose from his chair. “I am going to get some fresh air, clear my thoughts.” The knight turned on his heel and proceeded to leave the suite.

Tom hadn’t even made it out of his suite yet this morning, and already it felt like a very long day.

Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Third Period

“Do you think we will we hear back from the alvar today?” Tal Gor asked those assembled in Elgrida’s tent to break their night’s fast.

Lob Smasher and Elrgida both shrugged.

Zargvarst seemed to muse for a few moments. “If so, then it will be later in the day. He will want to verify that we are alerting people outside of our territories. After that, they will engage in endless rounds of discussion along with tedious amounts of indecisive whining. Normally, I could state as a fact that we would not; however, these alvar have been moving very quickly. Far quicker than they normally would.”

“Word should be getting out,” Tal Gor said. He gestured to Ferroos, the Stone Finger shaman. “We dream conferenced with the Shamanic Council at Mount Orc; they have all the details of the battle, the results and the discussions surrounding the prisoners. including Zargvarst’s promise.”

“They were very pleased, I might add,” Ferroos said, nodding.

“Indeed, the cheering was quite boisterous.” Tal Gor grinned at Zargvarst. “They will be relaying it out to all the tribes, as well as those in Murgandy, the Federation and Ferundy.”

“And to Jotungard as well, of course.” Ferroos nodded.

“Excellent,” Egrida said.

Lob Smasher nodded. “Of course, should they accept the deal, we have no way of verifying it,” he said.

“The Grove has set itself up as interlocutor; perhaps we hold them responsible for verification?” Zargvarst suggested.

“They do seem to like interlocution and getting in the middle of everyone else’s affairs,” Elgrida said. “Out of respect for their current usefulness, I will not use the word that perhaps best describes their function.”

Zargvarst chuckled. “Yes, no sense in insulting them to their faces, or now behind their backs, at this point.”

Tal Gor shook his head. “I get the impression that, for some incomprehensible reason, they do not find such words insulting.”

Lob Smasher grinned. “In truth, and while they may not find the words insulting, they would know that should we say the words, we could only do so as insults.”

Nimbus: Nineses

“So when will Prince Ariel get back to you?” Maelen asked Trevin as she gently blew over her extremely hot tea.

“I have no good idea.” Trevin shook her head. “He was extremely frustrated, more so than I believe I have ever seen him.”

“Frustrated? That is not an emotion I would expect from an alfar,” Elrose said.

Trevin took a sip of her tea, smiling, then tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “True, yet, nor would I expect an orc, or in this case, I suppose, a D’Orc, to get the better of an alvaran prince at the negotiating table.”

“So did he know this Zargvarst?” Gastropé asked.

“Given Aeriel’s very brief tightening of his brow, right between his eyebrows, the slight narrowing of the eyelids and the mildly flaring nostrils?” Trevin nodded. “I suspect so.” She chuckled.

“You actually seem to be enjoying this,” Jenn said to the enchantress.

“Prince Ariel is a friend and colleague of mine, yet he can be a bit hot-headed, impetuous and downright imperious, even for an alfar,” Trevin said. “He overstepped the boundaries that he himself negotiated through the Grove with the orcs.” She shrugged. “For once, the orcs have the upper hand. They do not get that very often.”

“You sound rather pro-orc,” Jenn said, puzzled.

“I am neutral; that’s the entire point of the Grove,” Trevin stated. “I try to stay above the fray, so to speak. Of course there are exceptions—those who do not wish to play by the rules the rest of us have agreed to. In those instances, I am less neutral. Neutrality does not mean passivity.”

“You mean like the Storm Lords?” Gastropé asked.

“And, at certain points in time, Oorstemoth, as well as others.” Trevin nodded.

“But the orcs play by the rules?” Jenn asked skeptically.

“By their interpretation of the rules. Yes, they are very honorable in their own way, even as are the alvar. However, misunderstandings arise, tempers flare and wars happen. The Grove seeks to prevent such things from happening—at least, between the various races, and the worlds upon which we operate. We stay out of a race’s internal affairs.”

“What about this demon lord? Orcus?” Jenn asked.

“Orcus?” Trevin sighed.

“Lord of the Underworld, the Damned Prince, as I recall you saying,” Maelen said with a smile.

“Hard as it is to believe, he died before I joined the Grove,” Trevin said.

“But with a name liked the Damned Prince, how trustworthy can he be?” Jenn asked.

“That is a matter of perspective. I used the term ‘Damned Prince’ because that is the title given to him by the alvar.” Trevin said. “However, in some stories, the title would be better phrased as ‘Prince of the Damned.’ ”

“Why is that better?” Gastropé asked, frowning.

“Are you familiar with the ancient phrase, ‘Thrice damned be he who breaketh his oath?’” Trevin asked.

Gastropé shrugged, glancing at the others. “Of course.”

“Well in certain circles, Orcus is the Punisher of Oath Breakers, and Lord of the Underworld to which they are cast down,” Trevin said.

“So he took oaths very seriously?” Jenn said.

“Yes. He is in charge of punishing those who break their word,” Trevin said.

“You mean like Talarius, who broke his oath and allowed the Rod to assist him in single combat?” Gastropé asked. “Who he then dragged down to the actual underworld, the Abyss?”

Trevin stared at him in shock, as did the others. No one said anything for a moment.

“How did I miss that?” Trevin shook her head slowly from side to side. “I have been so blind.”

“That certainly makes the most sense of anything we’ve heard,” Elrose said.

Gastropé turned to stare out the window, trying to piece all of this together. Tom swore up and down that everything was coincidental. As far as Gastropé could see, everything had been coincidental—very crazy coincidental. It could not have been planned. There were too many parts to be arranged.

“This would imply that Orcus planned all of this, but there are simply too many moving parts needed for all of this to just happen,” Gastropé said, sharing his thoughts out loud.

“Coincidence, providence, prophecy, fate?” Maelen said. “There is something happening on a much larger scale than we can see at this time. We’ve known that since this trip started, but only now is the game board being revealed to us.”

Gastropé glanced to his side to see Jenn staring at him. Clearly she was going to want to talk to him in private.

Citadel of Light, Early Fourth Period

“So, what have you learned, Vicar General?” Hilda asked Grob Darkness Slayer as he sat down in his chair in the conference room the saints had taken over a few days before. Grob and Aeris had joined the three saints and two apostles to fill them in on the first results from interrogating the prisoners.

“Not as much as we might hope.” Grob shook his head.

“I personally oversaw the initial interviews with the former vampires,” Aeris told them.

Hilda nodded. That would make sense; you wanted a priest who was a skilled Truth Seer. Aeris, as a half-alvaran priestess, would most likely be very good.

“The two that you re-turned later were very low-level; one had only been a vampire for three months, the other two years,” Aeris said. “As a consequence, they had very little information to provide, other than personal observations. Such observations will take longer, more detailed interviews. At their low rank, it’s doubtful they understood much of what they might have observed.”

“The others?” Timbly asked.

“Vladimir is refusing to answer any questions, and in fact, seems to be in shock. He simply sits on the floor hugging his knees, staring at his feet with locked teeth and a tense stare,” Aeris said.

“That is not unheard of.” Hilda nodded. “Vampires that have spent more of their existence as Unlife than living, often have a terrible time adjusting back to mortality. I would expect the younger ones to be more resilient, depending on the nature of their turning.”

“The other two, Vladimir’s right and left hands, so to speak, are in less shock, but are being very recalcitrant. We are getting some information—we know their names, mission and a few other facts—but we will need several more interrogation sessions,” Aeris said.

“What about the dhampyr?” Teragdor asked.

“We have not talked to him yet,” Grob said.

“Why not?” Rasmeth inquired.

“I wanted to test out my Truth Sight on the others first; I am not sure how well it works on dhampyrs. I confess I’ve never interviewed one before,” Aeris replied.

“To be honest, we normally don’t interview Unlife that often, other than some ghouls and an occasional ghast. Vampires are tricky to capture, extremely hard to contain and generally resistant to Truth Sight,” Grob said.

Hilda nodded in understanding. “If the dhampyr is young, Truth Sight should work fine. He appeared to be quite young, but that can be misleading. Dhampyrs can live for a very long time, at least by their non-vampiric racial norms.”

“So something like half-alfar?” Aeris, the half-alfar, asked.

“Analogous, but in a much less pleasant manner,” Hilda agreed.

Teragdor looked at Hilda curiously.

“They have to feed,” Hilda said, seeing his look. “If they feed well, they can live a long time; if they feed not-so-well for long enough, they will not live any longer, and often have shorter lives than their non-Unlife counterparts.”

“Would you like to be in on the questioning of the dhampyr?” Aeris asked. “Technically, they are your prisoners. You can be involved with any of them that you want.”

Hilda shrugged. “I can take a look at the dhampyr, be there for the questioning. Give you my thoughts on how accurately the Truth Sight is working.”

Aeris nodded. “Very well; my thought is to resume after the midday meal. Shall I come for you here?”

“I will be here.” Hilda smiled. Aeris, Grob and the other locals had been so much more cooperative this morning, after she had actually gone into the field and accomplished something that would have been very difficult for their own people to do.

It confirmed one of Hilda’s long-standing beliefs: when you are willing to get down to work and get your hands dirty alongside others, they take your advice much more to heart. That was the problem that saints and avatars often faced. Familiarity without shared sacrifice could often generate resentment over time. It was one thing to be distant and use the shock value of an unexpected manifestation; the more mystery, the better. But it was another to be present and seeming to only give orders or make demands without contributing.

Library of Doom: Early Fourth Period

“There you are, bard!” Talarius’s voice boomed, echoing in the vast room.

“So much for the silence of the library.” Antefalken shook his head in exasperation. Was he ever going to get this ballad written? He looked up from the scroll he was reading at the rapidly approaching visored knight. “The temperature in this room is quite modest; you can take your helmet off,” he told the knight.

The knight came and stood across the table from Antefalken. He removed his helmet and set it on the table. He was looking rather haggard for some reason. Apparently he was not getting enough sleep. “The D’Orcing ceremony has raised some questions for us,” he said.

“Us?” Antefalken asked.

Talarius gestured at the sword on his back.

Antefalken nodded in understanding. “And what might those questions be?”

“You are a scholar, yes?” Talarius asked.

“Somewhat. I’m a bard and student of history,” Antefalken replied.

“You are also a demon.”

“Obviously,” the bard replied calmly.

“So you know where demons come from?” the knight asked.

Antefalken raised one eyebrow in a questioning glance. “Are you asking me about the birds and the bees for demons? Seems to me I just had this conversation not that long ago with Damien.”

“I think you know what I mean. The new D’Orc—he was created from an orc.”

“Yes, we were all there,” Antefalken said. He now knew where this was going. Not surprising, he supposed.

“So, in your mind, what is the difference between a demon and a D’Orc?” Talarius asked.

“The initial race,” Antefalken said calmly. “And, of course, consent.”

Talarius blinked. “So you admit it?”

Antefalken shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Particularly since you obviously knew the answer before you asked the question.”

“So, this wizard you work with—you are conspiring with him to create more demons?” Talarius asked.

Antefalken blinked in surprise and shock. He had not seen that one coming. He started laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” Talarius demanded.

“It’s just that it’s rather ludicrous.” Antefalken shook his head. “Damien has no idea, at least as far as I know, where demons come from. None of the wizards do. If they knew, and kept doing it, they would have to admit to being evil.”

“So you admit they are evil?” Talarius asked.

“Every demon in the Abyss will tell you that they think wizards are evil. You have to understand—they summon and bind us against our will, ripping us from our homes and families, and then enslave us. They torture us when we do not do what they want. We are at the mercy of their every whim,” Antefalken said.

Talarius was silent, staring at Antefalken in shock.

“You know all those stories of demons using tricky words to get out of their contracts, hopefully to someday rip their accursed master to shreds?” Antefalken asked.

Talarius simply nodded, saying nothing.

“That is not because we are necessarily evil, it is simply revenge for that which they have done to us,” Antefalken said.

“Necessarily evil?” Talarius got a small gleam in his eye.

“Yes, if you believe in evil. There are good demons and bad demons, even as there are good people and bad people. No difference. I am simply saying that there is more than one possible motivation for a demon ripping its master to shreds. In most cases, it is simply revenge,” the bard told Talarius.

Talarius was silent, thinking, or perhaps discussing this with Ruiden.

“So were you once human?” Talarius asked.

“Indeed I was,” Antefalken said. “I was a normal human bard. A long time ago.”

“Lilith?” Talarius asked.

“She is very old. One might think she was once human, but I am not so sure. She and Sammael have quite a mythology cooked up. In it, she was one of the first four humans ever created; yet they were also immortal and two of the four chose to give up immortality to live on the Planes of Man. Lilith and Sammael did not and stayed where they were, presumably here in the Abyss. I have no idea if this is true, but it is their most popular story, and in it, they were never truly human as we know the term.”

Talarius shook his head, turning to leave.

“Talarius,” Antefalken said, his tone cautioning.

The knight looked back.

“You are one of very few humans, mortals, who knows this. I can fairly safely say that I doubt any other mortal in Astlan knows it. The reason we do not enlighten people is not for lack of trying, but rather it is due to ingrained disbelief. People believe what they want to believe, and when they are set in their ways, by their culture, their religion and to some, what they observe, trying to change their view is very difficult.”

“Meaning?” Talarius asked suspiciously.

Antefalken shrugged. “Nothing. You are free to tell whoever you want. Trust me, however; people in Astlan and in your own church will think that not only are you blasphemous, but that you are also insane, or more likely, possessed by a demon. They will say you have been corrupted by the evil lies of the demons, and most likely try to cure you.”

Talarius turned a ghostly shade of pale white as Antefalken’s words, and his own experience on the other side of the story, sank in.

Citadel of Light, Dungeon: Late Fourth Period

Hilda and Stevos followed Aeris and a Shield member down into the Citadel’s dungeons. They were, as dungeons went, quite clean and well lit. Hilda suspected that if you were locking up Unlife, good lighting would be important. In particular, Light of Day devices should be installed to flash hallways to keep them from escaping. She shook her head. This was idle speculation; whatever they were doing here, it had been working for centuries.

“These first two rooms on each side contain the re-turned vampires; the third one on the right is Vladimir and the third on left is the dhampyr,” Aeris informed them.

They walked up to the large iron door with a small barred window at head height and a food slot at the bottom. Aeris waved her hand over the lock, mouthing a small unlocking chant; the guard then inserted a key and pulled on the handle.

“He is chained to his bench; the chain will only barely reach the door,” Aeris said.

“I should be fine,” Hilda said, moving into the room. She brought forth a small ball of light to illuminate the room as Stevos and Hilda followed her in.

The dhampyr lifted its head to look at his visitors, blinking at the sudden light in the room. It seemed to take a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but once he recognized Hilda he gave a small, rather pathetic cry and cowered back on the bench.

Hilda frowned. Were those tear streaks running down the dhampyr’s face? His eyes were certainly red, as if he had been crying and rubbing them; not the blood you saw sometimes with vampires.

“Go ahead!” the dhampyr sniffled. “Just kill me already. My life could not possibly get any worse than it has been these last few months!” He began to cry.

Hilda blinked. This was not quite what she had been expecting. The dhampyr, who appeared to be an extremely thin young man of about sixteen or seventeen years, was a bit less imposing that she would have thought for a soldier of the Storm Lords.

“So, you are having a bad time of it?” Aeris asked. “Do not expect sympathy from us, dhampyr.”

The dhampyr glanced at the Diocate. “I expect none. I know what your church preaches about my kind. Go ahead and kill me. I could care less; I have nothing left to live for. Everyone I love has been taken from me. I could barely manage to survive by chasing chickens around my yard, even before the Storm Lords came and destroyed the entire town and captured me.”

“Everyone you love?” Aeris asked dispassionately. “What do dhampyrs know of love?”

The dhampyr looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Don’t confuse a dhampyr for a vampire. I am as mortal as you—more so, in fact. I’m but a human with a condition I never asked for. I’ve been a pariah ever since I started showing signs of my condition several years back. My family was forced to move to a farm away from town for fear of my safety. I’ve lived on nothing but the blood drained from chickens ever since. Do you know how unsatisfying that is? But I have no other recourse,” the dhampyr complained angrily. “My brother gave his life defending our town from the Storm Lords! My mother then died a few months later of the wasting sickness because it wasn’t safe to bring a priest to our farm to treat her for fear of them finding me!” He shook his head. “My mother, my brother—they taught me more about love, personal sacrifice and pain than you will ever comprehend, you emotionless alfar!”

Hilda frowned slightly. She had been watching the dhampyr throughout with her Truth Sight. There was no question that he was telling the truth as he saw it. She gestured to Aeris to let her do the questioning. “So how did you end up in Vladimir’s squad?” she asked the dhampyr.

“The Storm Lords finally overran the village. The ghouls must have smelled my chickens. I had a fairly large number, since that’s all I ate. They came, scaled my walls, and ate all my chickens.” The dhampyr pressed his fists to his eyes to suppress tears at the memory. “Then a ghast came and was surprised to find a dhampyr hiding on a human farm. He took me to his vampire lord, who asked for the name of my father—who I have never met, by the way. He then contacted my father,  who sent Vladimir to enlist me against my will in the forces of the Storm Lords.” The dhampyr was half crying, half shouting in anger.

“So, it seems like things turned out well for you,” Aeris said.

The dhampyr looked at her once more like she was insane. “It worked out for me?” he asked sarcastically. “I had never killed a sentient creature for food, ever! As I said, mainly chickens. Occasionally I could get goat or cow blood if someone was butchering and my mother or brother could purchase it. I had never even drunk human or any other race’s blood before the vampire lord took me in! Do you know what it is like to have to drink blood that you know came from someone who was murdered?” the dhampyr demanded. “Then Vladimir, he would let me drain just a little bit of blood from the people we encountered. Everyone I spared, he killed. Eventually, I ended up killing my victims as painlessly as I could, lest Vladimir savage them far worse!” The dhampyr shook his head in what seemed to be great remorse.

He turned his head to face Aeris angrily. “So go ahead, do your worst! I have been through hell and there is literally nothing you can do that is worse than the last four months of my life. Just put me out of my misery.” The dhampyr sobbed, placing his head on his arms, which were crossed upon his knees.

They were all silent for a bit. Finally, Hilda spoke up.

“When was the last time you fed?” she asked.

The dhampyr shrugged, not lifting his head. “I don’t know... two days, perhaps.”

Hilda looked to Aeris. “Find him some fresh animal blood. I suspect he would like it still as warm as possible.”

“What is your name, boy?” Stevos asked.

The dhampyr sighed in resignation. “Rede. Rede Yondin.”

Hilda nodded and turned to the guard. “Make sure he has a chamber pot and fresh water as well.”

“We shall speak more later, Rede Yondin,” she said, looking directly at him, but he did not lift his head.

Hilda gestured and led them out. The guard and Aeris relocked the door and Hilda led them back out of the dungeon. Once they were out of the prisoner section, Hilda stopped and addressed the guard and Aeris. “This is very disturbing on several levels. See to his safety while I decide how to proceed. He is not to be harmed, nor interviewed by anyone without me present.”

“As you command, your saintliness,” Aeris said, nodding in agreement.

~

Hilda closed the door to their conference-slash-dining room. She and Stevos sat down in silence for several moments. Hilda sighed loudly and looked to Stevos.

“Well, that was something. I never thought I would be moved by one of the Unlife,” Hilda said.

“I could detect nothing but sincerity in him. Both in terms of the truth of his words, and his emotions,” Stevos agreed.

“As with me,” Hilda said.

“What is the saying? The worst thing that can happen in battle is that you discover your enemy also has a soul?” Stevos asked.

Hilda chuckled. “I think that saying was for conflict between humans, or mortal races at least. I am pretty sure it does not apply to Unlife.”

“True,” Stevos agreed. “However, where truly do the dhampyrs sit on the spectrum of Unlife? As you noted, we have cures for ghoulism and vampirism; they can be redeemed. Either through contrition or, as you did last night, for handling purposes. Revenants, zombies and such, those can be laid to rest. What can one do with a dhampyr?”

Hilda shrugged. “Not much. You kill them. The proscription is to allow them to have peace in death.”

“Yet if the dhampyr is contrite? Is, in fact, someone as this Rede appears to be?” Stevos asked. “If he were a ghoul, or a recently made vampire, he could atone, be cured and resume his life. Yet our only option for someone like Rede is death?”

“I will have to double-check, but I am pretty sure this issue is not frequently discussed,” Hilda said sourly. “It does not come up. Most dhampyrs are raised by their vampiric parent in the ways of bloodshed and terror.”

Stevos sighed. “We serve a god of justice. In this case, if we can verify his account, is death justice for him?”

“Probably not,” Hilda said, raising her arms. “But do you think our people here are going to be okay with letting a dhampyr go free? There is something of a grudge match going on.”

Nysegard, Pevnost’ Smerti: Atundown

Czernobog von Smerti rose from his troubled Atun-slumber and made his way out of his repositorium with unusual haste. He needed to get a report on the previous evening’s events from his liegenghast, Teodor. He was not in a good mood as he entered his study. Teodor stood alert and attentive.

“What have we learned?” Czernobog demanded.

“Vladimir’s squad was in the forest approximately a night’s march from the Citadel at last check-in. That would have been about two hours before you lost your link to Vladimir. They were monitoring the retreat of the mortals to the Citadel, as well as updating our maps of the region,” the ghast told his master.

“Were there reports of fighting in the region?” Czernobog asked.

“No. However, we do have a report from further back towards our main line that there was a brief period of intense light from the approximate region they would have been in,” Teodor replied.

“A brief period of brief light?” Czernobog asked. “As in atunlight?”

“Yes. Something like an extended flash of atunlight from a single location,” Teodor said. “A few small burns were incurred, but no casualties at the main lines.”

“So, it seems they encountered a high priest of one of the Siblings and met with their end.” Czernobog shook his head in dismay as he sat down at his desk. The loss of Vladimir was quite unfortunate and annoying. However, his primary concern was for his son, Rede. After losing contact with Rede upon his mother’s death, he had been fortunate to recover him and place him in Vladimir’s care for training. It had been ahead of his original schedule, but the mother’s death had been unexpected. When she had died, his links to the family were broken.

Rede would have survived the atunlight. That was, after all, the point in having a dhampyr, a trusted ally and family member who could work in daylight more reliably than a ghast. The question was, had he been put down or simply captured?

“Who or what do I have inside the Citadel? Anyone?” Czernobog asked even as Teodor started going through his notes. It would be most inconvenient, and from a timing perspective, expensive, if he had to start over and sire another dhampyr. It would also mean another deal with that demon he so despised.

Mount Doom, Demon Suite: Late Sixth Period

Talarius opened the door to the demon suite to find Tizzy, Boggy and Estrebrius playing cards. As expected, Reggie was out cavorting with his perverted mistress. Talarius closed the door as he came in quickly. However, upon glancing at the table he had to halt and raise his visor—allowing the hot air to enter his suit—and stare at the table.

“How are you playing whist with only three people?” the knight asked, puzzled. It was at this point that he realized that Tizzy was holding two hands of cards, one in each set of hands.

“Not a problem!” Tizzy exclaimed. “I have always been of more than one mind on most issues, so I can easily play as two people!”

“You should see him try to screw himself over!” Estrebrius said enthusiastically.

Talarius shook his head, not understanding. “What? Is he not partnering with himself?”

“Certainly not—how would we keep him from talking to himself behind our backs in his head?” Boggy asked. “I’m partnered with the upper hand; Estrebrius is partnered with the lower hand.” Boggy shook his head as if Talarius were completely clueless.

Talarius shook his head, closing his eyes only briefly.

Don’t let them distract you! Ruiden said.

I won’t, Talarius replied. “You!” He pointed at Boggy.

“Me?” Boggy asked, bringing a hand to his chest.

“Yes. I need to speak with you,” Talarius said, then glared at Tizzy. “Not you. You need to remain silent.”

“What?” Tizzy asked in mock horror. “Me be silent? I think that’s asking a lot!”

“It really is,” Estrebrius agreed, nodding.

Talarius closed his eyes again, gathering patience. “No, I need to ask Boggy some questions and I don’t want you to answer them, even if you know the answers.” He opened his eyes and stared directly into Tizzy’s.

“No! Why can’t I answer questions that I know the answer to?” Tizzy asked, puzzled and seemingly offended.

“Because you are a menace to reality!” Talarius nearly shouted.

“Ooh!” Tizzy exclaimed. “That’s a new title for me! I like it. Brilliant! I am going to use that on my business cards!”

“Tizzy, I need you to be quiet so I can get answers from Boggy. Not from you. I don’t trust what you say.”

“That’s not very nice!” Tizzy pouted.

“If you do not stay silent”—Talarius reached for Ruiden’s hilt—“I will slice off all four of your arms and since you will not be able to pick them up to reattach them, you will have to regrow them from scratch!”

Tizzy grinned and tried to clap while still holding his cards. He glanced at Boggy and then Estrebrius. “See! What did I say?” He looked back to Talarius. “He’s adapting very nicely, getting the hang of this place. Spoken like a true native!” Tizzy gave Talarius a huge grin. A bare moment later, his brow furrowed and he frowned and looked at his shoulders. “Wait!” He looked back at Talarius. “How do you know that my arms won’t grow back four Tizzys?”

“Lilith forbid!” Estrebrius said shock and mock horror. “That would be a nightmare.”

“I think that would be what they call an existential threat to reality!” Boggy said, nodding. He looked up at Talarius. “Please, however annoying he is, you can’t risk it! We’d end up with five Tizzys! The multiverse isn’t big enough for that!”

Talarius sighed. He was beaten before he even asked the first question. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave; however, he could not do that. He looked imploringly at Tizzy. “Please, Tizzy. Would you please remain silent while Boggy answers my questions?” he asked.

Tizzy made a harrumphing noise and crossed all of his arms, frowning.

Talarius closed his eyes. “I will owe you a favor,” he said through clenched teeth.

Tizzy suddenly threw open his arms, releasing his cards to fall to the ground. Estrebrius and Boggy watched their game fizzle in dismay. Tizzy’s arms extended and then suddenly all four of his hands, one after the other, slapped onto the demon’s face, covering his mouth. He waggled his eyebrows behind his large hands, indicating his acceptance of the deal.

Talarius sighed again and shook his head. He turned to face Boggy. “Boggy, when we first met, Tom and Tizzy had gone out looking for what you called a ‘new arrival.’ ” Talarius said.

Boggy shrugged, nodding in agreement.

“You didn’t want to tell me the details at the time, but I want you to tell me now,” Talarius said.

Boggy closed one eye and started shaking his head.

“I think I know what the new arrivals are; I’ve had conversations with Reggie, Tom and Antefalken about it. I just need you to confirm what they told me,” Talarius said.

“Sounds like he’s bluffing. Trying to get you to reveal information,” Estrebrius said.

Talarius glared at him.

“Sorry, but it’s a standard demon trick,” Estrebrius said defensively.

“I know that Reggie was newly created in a manner similar to how a D’Orc is created,” Talarius stated firmly.

“Or maybe it’s not a trick,” Estrebrius said.

Boggy shrugged. “Okay, if you know that, then what is your question?”

“At that time, you said that it was odd that there would be two new arrivals so close together in time,” Talarius said.

“I suppose…” Boggy said hesitantly.

“Who was the other, the earlier new arrival?” Talarius demanded.

“I really don’t think I’m at liberty to say,” Boggy said.

“Come on, this was about a quarter-month after Lenamare first summoned Tom,” Talarius said in exasperation. “Was it Tom?”

Boggy sighed. “Yes, it was. Tizzy and I were the ones to greet him when he first arrived.”

Talarius nodded. “As we suspected.”

“We?” Estrebrius asked. “I hope you aren’t going Tizzy-native on us.” Tizzy glared at him.

“No.” Talarius shook his head in annoyance and pointed to his sword. “Ruiden and I are asking the questions together.

Estrebrius made a weird facial expression. “That’s a bit freaky.”

Talarius shook his head and returned his attention to Boggy. “I want you to confirm what Tom told about himself. Where was he from, what was he doing, and how old he was when summoned.”

Boggy gave him a shocked expression at the question. “Well, uhm...” Talarius gave him an intense stare, and Boggy sighed. “He said he was from one of the Earths, these technology planes with very little mana. He had been at this party where Reggie had given him a joint that we now presume contained demon weed.”

Talarius nodded. “And did he tell you how old he was?”

Boggy frowned, uncertain about something. “Yes, he did, and I was amazed at the time, and in hindsight it is even stranger, given all that has transpired.”

Talarius twisted his forearms outward in an expectant gesture, indicating that he should just answer the question.

Boggy shrugged. “He told me that he was sixteen of his world’s years,” he finally admitted.

Talarius closed his eyes. So at least he is being consistent.

For what that is worth, Ruiden agreed. Although by this point I don’t know what that means.

Talarius nodded, then asked Boggy, “So you do find it odd that a sixteen-year-old human could be thrust into this situation and achieve what he has done?”

Boggy shrugged again. “Of course; it defies logic. However, the orcs and D’Orcs did have a prophecy about this. I am guessing that if you have a prophecy on your side, things get done no matter how improbable.”

Talarius shook his head, not knowing what to think next. He finally simply said, “Thank you,” nodded to Tizzy, closed his visor, pivoted and made for the door.

As the door closed behind him, he heard a loud gasping noise, as if someone had been holding their breath for a very long time. Tizzy. Talarius shook his head.

Chapter 143

Library of Doom: DOA + 18, Early First Period

Tom walked about the room very carefully, trying to hold the two layers of simple robes together as he moved. He had finally mastered a single robe last night; tonight he was trying two robes. He would have to manage three layers and a sash to wear, or rather be, the animage robes. He’d also have to manage a pair of boots.

“You need to stop feeling the clothes. You need to segregate them from yourself; otherwise the feedback loop between each of the robes, and the inner robe with your skin, becomes too distracting,” Antefalken advised.

“How long did it take you to get used to wearing yourself?” Tom asked.

“About twenty years, as I recall,” Antefalken said.

Tom stopped, the outer robe dissolving. “Twenty years?”

Antefalken nodded. “Yes, but I still haven’t managed to actually change my form; you and Rupert managed to do that very quickly.”

Tom shook his head as he reformed the outer robe. “Rupert somehow figured it out all on his own.”

“The determination of self-preservation, I should imagine. He, however, was just locking in what he thought of as his true form,” Antefalken said.

“True,” Tom agreed then his brow furrowed. “We don’t even know how old Rupert really is. As a human he looks like he’s about ten, but he’s probably at least thirteen. Heck, he may almost be my age.”

Antefalken chuckled. “Well, you are very mature for your age.”

“Unless the Phoenix Cycle is real and I actually am Orcus, in which case I am incredibly immature for someone who is hundreds of thousands of years old,” Tom said with a grin.

“I am betting that’s a big part of the Phoenix Cycle: giving yourself a fresh perspective, wiping away the cynicism and the baggage that holds you back after a very long life.”

“Perhaps,” Tom said.

“I know that when I was incarnated as a human for a lifespan, even though I was partially pretending to be a child at first, it did do wonders,” Antefalken said.

Tom looked at Antefalken in shock, losing both of his robes before pulling them back together. “You what?”

Antefalken grinned. “As payment for some exceptional service, one of my patrons gave me the use of an incubus, allowing me to incarnate as a human. So I lived out a roughly normal human life, starting as a baby.”

Tom shook his head in amazement. “That’s very cool!”

“Indeed it was. It was quite the experience, because even though I had my knowledge, I had to grow up and retrain myself in order to get my skills back. In particular, the first years as a baby were bad. The brain is still developing, and so you are feeling very fuzzy the entire time, like in a fog, and you have zero motor skills.” Antefalken shook his head, smiling at the memories.

“So what did you do in your second human life?” Tom asked.

“Old habits die hard. I was a bard,” the demon said with a sparkle in his eyes. “I even started a school on the northern tip of Norelon, at a place I named after myself: Antefalken’s Reach.”

“You are going to have to tell me your adventures sometime!” Tom said enthusiastically.

“Once you master your clothing,” Antefalken said, pointing to where Tom’s robes had parted again, exposing himself. “Might want to think about creating some underwear while you are at it.”

Citadel of Light, Dungeon: Third Period

“Good morning, Rede,” Hilda said, entering Rede’s cell with Teresa, a Priest Inquisitor of Torean. Hilda had never heard of such a title before. However, despite the ominous-sounding title, Teresa was actually a very convivial person with a much warmer demeanor than Diocate Aeris.

Rede looked up from where he was sitting on his stone bench. At least he was no longer crouched on the floor. It also appeared that he had washed himself a little bit—all good things. However, he remained silent as two guards brought chairs in for Hilda and Teresa.

“Rede, I am not sure if we have been properly introduced,” Hilda said with a smile, utilizing all of her charm. “I am Hilda of Rivenrock, which, interestingly enough, is in Astlan, rather than Nysegard. Now, as you may have gathered from our first meeting, I am a saint of Tiernon.”

Rede nodded, not meeting her gaze.

Hilda walked up and held out her hand in greeting. Rede stared at it in what appeared to be terror.

“It’s just my hand, Rede. I am offering you a handshake. I promise it will not hurt you in any way,” Hilda said.

Rede looked up at her as if she were crazy. Which probably made sense; saints did not normally shake hands in greeting with Unlife. Hilda smiled as gently as she knew how. Rede finally reached out and tentatively, timidly shook her hand.

“See? No shocks, zaps or lightning bolts.” Hilda grinned at him. She released his hand and gestured for Teresa to come over. “This is Teresa; she is a priestess of Torean, who happens to be good with conversations. She’s human—no strange heavenly business.” Hilda winked at him. “Teresa, may I introduce Rede Yondin, recently of a recon patrol for the Storm Lords.”

Teresa reached out a hand. “It is good to meet you, Rede. I know you are not happy to be here, but if you work with us, we will try to make your stay as tolerable as being in a dungeon can be.”

Rede shook her hand with a similar timidity.

“Now, we have a few questions for you,” Teresa said as she moved back to sit down in her chair. Hilda smiled and did the same.

“Hilda has told me a little bit about your situation,” Teresa said. “It sounds quite different from what we would have expected, and we would like to learn a bit more, if you don’t mind?”

Hilda stretched her neck. Teresa was very good at this. Certainly she was more thorough in her follow-up questions than Hilda was. Of course, Hilda did most of her questioning using alcohol; that would probably not be appropriate here. She suppressed a grin.

Rede’s story seemed consistent with what he had briefly told them yesterday. If this was a rehearsed story, then it was an extremely detailed story—right down to the symptoms of his mother’s illness, as well as on the nature of raising chickens. There were numerous very domestic details that she would not have expected a normal dhampyr to know.

Dhampyrs were generally groomed by very senior vampires to be their primary assistant. It would seem that they had managed to capture Rede before he’d had significant training. He claimed, apparently truthfully, to have not even met the vampire who had sired him. She found that unusual, or at least, it was not her expectation. To be honest, most of her knowledge of dhampyrs was from the books. This was the most significant interaction she had ever had with one.

“So, Rede,” Teresa continued the conversation she was having. “You’ve stated that you have never met your father.” Rede nodded. “But you do know his name, yes?”

“My mother told me his name. He had given her money to support our family,” Rede said.

“And what is his name?” Teresa asked.

“Czernobog von Smerti,” Rede said softly. He was still very reserved, but he had clearly become more comfortable over the last hour.

“Czernobog von Smerti?” Teresa repeated, startled. It was almost like she could not believe the name she’d heard.

“Do you know of him?” Hilda asked Teresa, who simply nodded.

“I’m told he has some seniority within the Storm Lords’ army,” Rede told them.

“Yes. We have heard of him, so he does have some seniority,” Teresa smiled, lying through her teeth, Hilda noted. Teresa knew exactly who this vampire was and was clearly suppressing her excitement, trying to remain calm. Hilda was fairly certain Rede could not sense her reaction, but as far as Hilda was concerned, the priestess might as well have been jumping up and down.

~

Hilda and Teresa left the dungeon about a half-hour later. Teresa had previously told Hilda that she had hard limits on how long she would interview a prisoner to get the optimal amount of information per session. By Hilda’s estimate, Teresa had pushed her own limit.

Once they were out of the dungeon region, Hilda immediately turned to the priestess.

“Okay, clearly you knew who his sire was,” Hilda said. “Could you perhaps enlighten me? I know nothing of politics.”

Teresa shook her head quickly—not in negation, but more as someone who had a big secret to reveal. “Everyone in the Citadel knows who he is. I find it amazing that Rede doesn’t know. Of course, being from a rural village, he probably wouldn’t.” She shook her head again. “But if you study the Storm Lords, you obviously know who he is,” she said very excitedly.

Hilda nodded and smiled patiently at the priestess’s excitement. “Yes, but I do not. Who is he?”

“He’s the most politically powerful vampire in the world!” Teresa gushed. “His power base is such that he is more an ally of the Storm Lords than a subject. Actually, I suppose you could argue, he is a Storm Lord—except those are all liches. But whatever, he is a very powerful agent of the Unlife! Almost, potentially, a rival power of darkness!”

“Interesting,” Hilda said.

“Amazing, actually. This is a huge prize!” Teresa said. “He is definitely the sort of hostage that we might be able to leverage! Having him wander right into you? Talk about miracles!”

The Inferno: Fourth Period

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Melissance said as she came down the ladder from the main hatch of the Inferno. Samwell was certain that her behind was swaying as it was to tempt the males below her. Although, to be fair, climbing down a rung ladder in high heels could not have been that easy.

“I really cannot stress how much I think this is a bad idea,” Sir Samwell said to Captain Cranshall.

“I have my own misgivings,” the captain replied. “However, Chancellor Alighieri and the ship’s lawyers have spent the last three, nearly four, days, around the clock, hammering out contracts and legal agreements to protect both sides in this endeavor.”

“We are letting a damned soul, who happens to be married to an archdemon, along with her ‘fallen angel’ valet, live in very close quarters with us,” Samwell said. “While I can understand and appreciate a good contract as much as the next Oorstemothian, I really do not see how the Rod and priests are okay with this. It boggles the mind.”

“Well, she was formerly one of them, and they seem to feel some responsibility for her plight,” Cranshall said. “And most importantly, she can help us locate Talarius and the greater demon.”

“Okay, so rescue her, let her help us,” Samwell countered, “even at the risk of angering an archdemon. But why invite an actual demon onboard?”

“Fallen angel,” Chancellor Alighieri said, coming up the hallway behind them and inserting himself into their conversation.

Samwell turned to stare at the chancellor. “You do know that the only difference between an angel and a demon is which side they play for?” Samwell asked rather incredulously. “He’s admitted he plays for Hesseforthalus, the lady’s husband. That makes him a demon.”

“Well, yes, but as the servant of an archdemon, he must be only a greater demon. I should point out that Talarius nearly beat a greater demon by himself; you single-handedly chased an archdemon into the Abyss and survived. We not only have you, but three Knights Rampant, and a ship full of priests and Rod members, all sorts of magical protections built into the ship, and a signed contract.” The Chancellor raised his shoulders in a shrug. “What more could one want?”

“To not knowingly invite a demon onboard a magically sealed vessel?” Samwell replied.

Isle of Doom, Agnothnon: Mid Sixth Period

“You seem very down this evening, Sir Talarius,” Thrinarv noted as he set his mug down.

“Indeed, you seem quite dour,” Stainsberry agreed.

“I fear my sword and I”—Talarius patted Ruiden resting against his chair—“are having a bit of a crisis of conscience.”

“I’m sorry, but did you say your sword is having a crisis of conscience?” Thrinarv asked, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. He glanced sideways at Stainsberry, who simply smiled.

“Ruiden, my sword, is intelligent, and at times autonomous, and we talk mind to mind,” Talarius said.

“Really?” Thrinarv asked somewhat skeptically.

Talarius frowned. “Yes. He was forged as a demon-slaying sword by Völund the Smith. He can also transform into a sword golem. He actually came searching for me in the Abyss.”

Thrinarv raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Völund, you say? In that case, I shall accede to the assertion.” The priest raised his mug and gave Talarius a bright smile before taking a swig.

“So what are you having a crisis about?” Stainsberry asked.

“It is this D’Orcing business, and the demon-summoning business,” Talarius said.

“Still in shock about demons originating as mortals, bound against their will?” Stainsberry asked.

“Yes, but not as before. I have confirmed it with multiple demons, including Lord Tommus,” Talarius said. “I am concerned about how I could have been so wrong for so long.”

“Well, you have the consolation that, unlike most people outside of the Isle of Doom, you long ago accepted that demons were not intrinsically evil,” Stainsberry noted.

“Well…” Talarius said slowly.

“Indeed. Traveling to the Abyss to fight alongside a demon prince?” Thrinarv asked rhetorically. “Not many would do that. Very few actually could, in fact.” Thrinarv furrowed his brow in thought. “Hmmm.”

“What?” Talarius asked.

“Given that as a mortal, you were able to stand side by side with a demon prince and a goddess to slay Knights of Chaos, you would probably be a worthy candidate someday for D’Orcing yourself,” Thrinarv said.

Stainsberry nodded. “I would drink to that!” He raised his glass to toast with Thrinarv, but paused when Talarius did not join in. He turned to look at the knight. “Talarius?” he asked in concern.

“I think he’s about to throw up!” Thrinarv yelled. “Someone find us a bucket!”

The Abyss, Ramses’ Estate: Late Sixth Period

“A toast!” Ramses said, raising a glass of blood wine towards Exador.

“A toast to finally finishing up a marathon session!” Exador agreed, clinking his glass to Ramses’.

“I don’t think I have put in that much continuous effort without a break in a millennium,” Ramses said, shaking his head.

“Agreed. That was a lot of work, but worth it to secure their assistance against Lenamare and the Council,” Exador said.

“Yes, about that. Are you not the least bit anxious about providing our allies with this magineering?” Ramses asked. “No fear of them using it against us someday?”

Exador chuckled. “Of course I am.”

Ramses tilted his head questioningly.

“A good part of my effort was in creating what I would call an escape hatch.” Exador pulled two amulets from his robe’s deep pocket, setting them on the table. “One for you, one for me, and I am going to have my people create some more for our other allies.”

“What exactly does it do?” Ramses asked, picking one up.

“The trick was to find something that was not an obvious defect in the system. This is not a defect, but rather the exploitation of a loophole. Without a deeper understanding of the spellcraft than any of their people possess, it is an undetectable loophole,” Exador said.

“So one wearing the amulet is not subject to the warding?” Ramses asked.

“Indeed; a get-out-of-jail-free card.” Exador chuckled.

“This will certainly work in Nysegard, should it be needed, but what if they should use this system against us in Freehold? We will have our demon armies; I am not enthused by the thought of losing all of mine permanently,” Ramses said.

“I know. We cannot give every demon an amulet, for one thing; that would be rather blatant. However, I am working on a spell version, a pentacle-based one. That should be ready before we move on Freehold. Actually, it will be ready before we give the go-ahead,” Exador said.

Ramses gave him a questioning look. “What, our demons simply walk into the pentacle?”

Exador grinned at him. “Exactly. Think of it as an exit pentacle.”

“Excellent.” Ramses raised his glass for another toast.

Exador responded with a smile.

Outside the Citadel of Light: DOA + 19, Pre-Dawn

Hilda watched the last wagon cross the east drawbridge into the citadel. They had been working all night to get the last of the stragglers in. It was a tremendous task, making sure they had everyone. The Rangers, Shield and Sky Wardens were relentlessly making multiple passes of the nearby regions, going from building to building and making sure everyone had gotten out.

They had actually been doing this around the clock since the horns had first sounded. This was all new to her. The scale of this operation was breathtaking—or would have been if she actually needed to breathe.

Rassnon, the Holy Lord Ranger of Torean upon Nysegard, came up to where she, Grob, Rasmeth and Timbly were watching the final preparations outside the walls.

“We believe we have everyone,” Rassnon informed them. “Elden’s wardens are reporting that the main forces are stopping for the day about a league away in all three land directions. This is consistent with what my Rangers are seeing. We are having periodic skirmishes with some of the advance parties; however, most of those have now retreated to join the main army.”

Grob nodded. “And from the sea? They run no lights on their ships, so my watchers have not been able to spot any of them. That should change as Atun rises…”

“Elden reports that there is a considerable flotilla approaching, both by sea and by air. However, exact location and numbers are difficult to estimate as we head into a new moon,” Rassnon said.

Hilda looked at them quizzically. “What is a new moon?”

The Nysegardians looked at her in surprise.

“How do you not know what a new moon is?” Grob asked.

“I’m from Astlan, remember? Your single moon system is a mystery to us. It seems extremely unstable,” Hilda replied.

“What do you mean, unstable? And how many moons does Astlan have?” Rassnon asked.

“In Astlan we have two moons, Uropia and Anuropia. Uropia traverses east to west and Anuropia circles the poles,” Hilda explained. “Uropia represents the female aspect, Anuropia the male aspect. Without balancing these two aspects, I can’t see how your single moon’s orbit would be stable.”

Rassnon shook his head. “Tarth, the moon, is female and Atun is male. The cool feminine moonlight of Tarth is balanced by the fiery maleness of Atun. It is very stable.”

“Yes, your system seems like a recipe for tidal instability,” Grob said.

Rasmeth shook his head. “No it’s highly stable. But in any event, what is a new moon? What makes it new?”

“A new moon is when Atun, Nysegard and Tarth are all aligned at the same latitude and the shadow of Nysegard covers Tarth and it is invisible in the night sky,” Rassnon told them. “It is a particularly inauspicious time, which is why the Unlife like to time things by it.”

“That makes sense. Your male and female aspects are in opposition, with Nysegard in the middle.” Hilda, Rasmeth and Timbly all nodded.

“In any event, we shall use the daylight to do a final pass to make sure we have everyone and everything of value,” Grob said.

“I will alert Dashgar and Inethya, and Timbly will alert Fassbindr and Delilah. They shall gather the others,” Hilda told them.

“The others?” Rassnon asked.

Hilda and Timbly grinned.

“Well, once the Attendant Archons and Prophets of Torean and Tiernon announced they were going to be here, at that point it became a competition,” Timbly said, chuckling.

“A competition?” Grob asked.

“We are going to send the Storm Lords packing once and for all!” Hilda smiled.

“Ashena Brightfeather and Molona Tramen will be here to represent Krinna,” Timbly told them.

“Garion Hearthhand and Seliana for Hendel,” Hilda said.

“And, of course, Eileen Sealegs and Jacquesparrow for Namora,” Timbly concluded.

Grob shook his head in amazement, “Jacquesparrow even? I… I…”

“Are speechless?” Rassnon asked. He looked at the saints. “Your Saintlinesses, we cannot thank and praise you enough!”

Hilda blinked to see tears leaking from Grob Darkness Slayer’s eyes. She looked away to save him the embarrassment.

“This is perhaps the greatest moment in the long history of the Citadel. All five Attending Archons, all five prophets, three saints and two apostles?” Rassnon was shaking his head. “Thirteen avatars and two apostles? The Storm Lords do not stand a chance!” He looked to Grob. “We shall be victorious! I cannot tell you how my heart sings. Before you showed up, we were fearful of our very survival. Now? Now we have a chance to strike at the very heart of darkness!”

Grob looked to the sky, spreading his arms wide, and shouted. “All praise be to the glory of the Five Siblings!”

Isle of Doom, Krallnomton: Early Third Period

Talarius stood on an ancient stone platform overlooking the practice fields, watching the D’Orcs’ war games. He had to admit it was more than a little intimidating. He would not want to be the opposing army. The D’Orcs were wielding insanely massive weapons that no mortal could even lift, let alone swing. He would not want to be hit by one of those things; the concussion alone would knock him halfway across the battlefield.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” someone asked beside him.

Talarius started. He’d been so engrossed in the war games, he had allowed a complete stranger to sneak up on him! His inner turmoil was clearly taking a toll on him, causing him to let his guard down. He looked over to the stranger.

It was a young man, perhaps twenty years of age, with slightly pale skin that was unusual on this island, and fairly long, very curly black hair. He was wearing a very fancy set of layered robes with all sorts of magical runes and symbols woven into the fabric.

Talarius nodded. “They are indeed; I would not want to face them in battle,” he said, looking at the young man. He seemed vaguely familiar.

“Nor would I,” the young man said with a chuckle. “Fortunately, that is not a problem I will have.”

“No,” Talarius agreed. “I’m sorry, have we met? You look vaguely familiar.”

The young man grinned broadly and then chuckled again. “It’s me, Tom—or rather Edwyrd, as I call this form.”

Talarius did a double take and blinked. “Tom? Lord Tommus?” the knight asked in shock.

“The same,” the young man said. “Also the mysterious Lord Edwyrd that the Oorstemothians pursued to Freehold.”

Talarius shook his head. “Ah, yes. I remember you mentioning him back in the cave. So this is the form that your human friends saw?”

“Indeed.” Tom—or Edwyrd—turned, smiling, to look out once more at the wargames.

“Yet this is not the form you used after my defeat?” Talarius said.

Edwyrd nodded. “I did not want anyone to recognize Edwyrd as being me, so I improvised.”

“So you were in Freehold in this form while we were camped outside?” Talarius asked.

“Yes, as you know. My demon form tends to freak people out,” Edwyrd said.

“I would agree,” Talarius said. “So which is the real you?”

“Now? Ever since I was summoned, the big demon form is my true, default form. This”—he gestured down at himself—“is close to what I looked like as a human in New Jersey. I just made the form a little older to get more respect from the people I was traveling with.”

“Can you take any form?” Talarius asked.

“In theory; in practice, it is much more difficult. I have to work hard to keep a consistent form and appearance—you know, keep a mole from moving from cheek to cheek?” Edwyrd grinned. “So as a result, I, and others who can do this, establish a set of defined, memorized forms that we reinforce with paintings or statues to help us remember finer details.”

“How many forms do you have memorized?” Talarius asked.

“Not many. I have only just added an orc form; still working on that one. Other than that, just the demon form and this one,” Edwyrd said.

“So why are you using this form again all of a sudden? There should be no need for a disguise in a place where you rule in your demon form,” Talarius said.

“Practice,” Edwyrd said. He ran his hands down the robes. “Up until now, I’ve always worn normal clothes in this form; however, I recently learned that most demons create their clothes as part of their form. And so I’ve been practicing that. This is my first public test run with these rather complicated clothes.”

Talarius frowned, puzzled, and looked more closely at the robes. “You are telling me that these robes and your boots—they are actually you?”

“Indeed. However, I am wearing real underclothes. At the moment, if I get startled, I’m likely to end up naked. So the undergarments are a safety net.”

“Modesty?” Talarius shook his head. “As I recall, you were completely naked when we first met. You only got the loincloth at Hellsprings Eternal.”

“I know,” Edwyrd said and then shook his head. “It is the weirdest thing, and I’ve found no one who can explain it, but as a demon, being naked doesn’t bother me in the least. The loincloth is for pockets, and so I don’t distract others, as Reggie does quite a bit. The funny thing is that when I am in this form, or my new orc form, I have a sense of modesty.”

“Hmm.” Talarius took that weirdness in and then had a thought. “I think I know the answer.”

“Really?” Edwyrd asked in surprise, and his robes seemed to flicker a little bit.

“For mortal creatures, the genitals are a weakness, a location that an opponent will seek to use against you. Thus the instinctive reaction to shield one’s privates with one’s hands when exposed. It is to protect them. Demons do not need to do so.”

“Wow. That’s an interesting idea. I can assure you, though, that it does hurt to be attacked there.” Edwyrd gave Talarius a pointed stare, referencing the knight’s attack at Tom’s privates during their battle. “However, probably not as much as it would for a human, and certainly it would have no evolutionary benefit, which is where instinctive behavior would come from.”

“Evolutionary benefit?” Talarius asked.

Edwyrd shook his head and grinned. “Good point. For the moment I forgot where I was. I doubt there even is evolution in magical worlds. Certainly there isn’t any in the Abyss.”

Isle of Doom, Agnothnon: Midday

Talarius entered the tavern in Agnothnon. It was less busy than in the evening, as one would expect, but there were people in the room drinking. The Isle of Doom was always vigilant, so there were people working around the clock; naturally, some would be relaxing at midday after their shifts.

It is a bit early for you, isn’t it? Ruiden asked.

It is, but I find myself deeply unsettled by this morning, Talarius told his sword. He sat down at the bar.

It seemed like a perfectly normal conversation to me, Ruiden replied. However, I have been informed that I am not much of a conversationalist.

That is precisely the problem, Talarius thought back emphatically.

“Light ale,” he told the barkeep that had come over; she nodded and moved to get his drink.

How is it a problem? Ruiden asked.

I just spent much of this morning having a completely normal conversation with a demon prince, Talarius explained as if the problem was obvious.

Yes, I was there. I observed and listened to the conversation, Ruiden said patiently. I do not understand what you are saying.

Talarius sighed out loud. This morning, I felt like I was speaking with Edwyrd, a completely normal young man! At times, I even forgot that I was talking to a demon, let alone a demon prince!

So you are upset because a demon prince, your captor, seemed like just another human being? Ruiden asked.

Exactly! Talarius thought back.

However, did we not just learn, and verified as far as we could, that he actually was a human from a distant world that had been summoned and turned into a demon? Ruiden asked.

Yes, but there is a big difference between knowing something theoretical, or distant, and it is another to have to face that uncomfortable fact directly, Talarius complained.

Edwyrd—and I prefer to think of him as Edwyrd rather than as Tom the demon, it’s easier to compartmentalize—just seemed like a completely normal person, and yet he is the Lord of Doom, a Prince of the Abyss? I just can’t reconcile the two, Talarius said.

The barkeep set the ale down and Talarius slid the coins across the counter. After the heavy drinking of Thrinarv, he knew exactly what the ale cost without being told.

I see. Well, as you know, I do not have a lot of experience with humans in a social context, Ruiden said. If it is any comfort, the saint and archon of Tiernon that I met in Astlan seemed no different than the humans they were working with.

Talarius choked on his ale, nearly spitting it out. The what?

The saint and archon I worked with in Astlan, Ruiden said. They were investigating the mana stealing and your abduction.

Talarius was left speechless, or rather thoughtless. There had been a saint and an archon investigating his abduction? That was… was… unbelievable. He could not possibly believe he was so important as to warrant an archon and saint investigating him.

Who were you working with? Talarius asked. On second thought, the mana theft would not have gone unnoticed; it was completely unprecedented. It was probably that which concerned them the most.

The principal investigator was one Saint Hilda of Rivenrock, Ruiden said.

The one who specializes in Unlife? Talarius asked.

Not that she mentioned, but I really know nothing of Tierhallon and its inhabitants, Ruiden said.

Who was the archon? the knight asked, lifting his mug to finally take another drink.

He called himself Beragamos Antidellas, Ruiden said.

Talarius almost spit out his ale. Beragamos Antidellas! The Right Hand of Tiernon? He felt as if he were about to fall off his stool.

I did not hear his title. Older fellow, short white hair, Ruiden added.

Talarius gasped, placing his forearms on the bar and resting his head in his hands. Could this day get any more surreal?

Citadel Command Center: Early Fifth Period

Teragdor had to keep a hand on the large map table that he had front row access to. Could this day get any more surreal? he wondered. He was standing next to Rasmeth on one side and Grob Darkness Slayer on the other. They were watching as the ten most senior avatars of the Five Siblings on Nysegard calmly debated the battlefield they were all at the center of.

Even the huge, battle-hardened orc high commander next to him seemed to share his awe. They were in the presence of divine beings who were strategizing on how to obliterate the Forces Of Darkness. He noted that further back in the room, several people were even on their knees.

To say that the denizens of the Citadel had been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support from the Five Siblings would have to be one of the biggest understatements that Teragdor could even conceive of. He had thought he’d been inured to divinity with his prior experiences, but this was overwhelming.

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have envisioned this—no one in Nysegard could have!” Leighton whispered. The priest of Krinna was standing just behind and between Teragdor and Rasmeth. “And to have this close of a view? I owe you a debt that I can never repay.” Leighton shook his head.

Rasmeth twisted his head to look at Leighton, and whispered back, “Do not think we do not feel the same awe. This is beyond anything in our wildest imaginations.”

“Elden?” Ashena Brightfeather, Prophetess of Krinna, asked the vicar warden. “You report that at midday the Sky Wardens spotted forest fires behind the Armies of the Night?”

“Indeed, Prophetess—about half a league behind their encampment,” Elden replied. “We have noted this in every direction that we have sent the Wardens to look. Unfortunately, we dare not get too close, or we risk counter-attack from their forces.”

“Why would they hem themselves in with forest fires?” Seliana, Attendant Archon for Hendel, asked.

“Unless they are not planning to keep the fires going,” Fassbindr, Prophet of Torean, answered. “This sounds more like they are creating a fire line; they are clearing forest for some reason.”

“Indeed,” Melona Treman, Krinna’s archon agreed. She looked down at the board. “This map is to scale?”

“It is.” Grob said from beside Teragdor.

“Very well; we shall use the Eye of Krinna.” Melona extend her right arm over the closest part of the map to her, where they thought the fire line should be. She raised her other hand palm up, drawing their attention to the air above the table, and began chanting softly.

The air above them became distorted and within moments, everyone in the room was looking at an aerial view of the region. They could easily see part of the massive army surrounding the Citadel; in particular, enormous white tarps that were covering the Atun-sensitive members of the army during the day.

Gasps arose around the room as an ice dragon with a Storm Lord on it suddenly passed right through their vision. It was a shock, and for most, the closest and best view any had ever had of one of the Storm Lords. The dark-robed lich did not seem aware of their viewing, and quickly passed out of the view port.

“Well, that was startling,” Ashena Brightfeather remarked, breaking the tension of the room.

“That was the first time I have ever seen a lich, or an ice dragon,” Teragdor said to Rasmeth and Leighton.

“I have only seen them from a distance.” Leighton said. “That was a spectacular view!”

“Indeed; I actually felt chills seeing it. I do not want to think about being that close in person,” Rasmeth remarked.

“Okay, let’s get back to the task at hand,” Melona reminded everyone. “That sort of thing can happen with the Eye of Krinna; those we observe have no easy way to detect our viewing. I’ve had birds seem to fly right through the air at me.”

Several people chuckled at that. Teragdor turned his attention back to the encampment and shook his head at the absolutely massive amounts of equipment arrayed with the armies. It was truly terrifying. The view then panned past the encampments to the area behind them. As expected, a line of charred forest, completely burnt down, stood behind the encampment.

“What is that, over there?” Eileen Sealegs, Prophetess of Namora, asked, pointing to what appeared to be a large cloud rolling down the cleared line of trees. The cloud was at ground level and seemed to be traveling the clear space between the trees.

Melona moved her hand over the map in the direction of the cloud. Teragdor was impressed by the way she knew how to coordinate what they saw above their heads with the map below; he probably would have moved his own hands in the wrong direction. As she panned across the view, one could see other dragons; presumably ice dragons, in the air, patrolling the skies above the encampment.

“I’m guessing the aerial patrols are why the Wardens can’t get very close. Why we aren’t immediately taking the attack to them?” Rasmeth whispered to Leighton.

“Correct on the first, partially right on the second,” Rasmeth replied. “We needed to get everyone inside before we engaged; the safety of the general population is our first priority. Today is our first good chance to truly recon them and get an idea of what we are up against. It’s really the first time all of their forces have been fully arrayed before us for the coming battle. We have rushed to attack in the past and been taken by surprise. We’ve learned lessons about their tactics; we want to know about all the pieces on the board before we engage. I grant you it may seem strange, but we have a long history of repelling them.”

As the Eye of Krinna moved closer to the cloud, it became clear that the cloud was actually dust from soil and gravel churning up and plowing under the charred forest remains. As their viewpoint moved over the cloud, two zombie dragons with riders became visible flying behind it.

“Geomancers are plowing the ashes and debris under,” Garion Hearthhand, the hearthean Prophet of Hendel, said.

“What, are they building a road? Seems a touch bizarre,” Jacquesparrow, Namora’s Archon on Nysegard, observed.

Teragdor glanced at the archon. He was quite an interesting character; looked a bit like a deranged sailor of some sort. Upon arrival, Teragdor had noticed that he walked in an extremely odd, almost drunken manner. Leighton had told him that the archon’s walk was common among people who had spent more time at sea than on dry land. Even so, Teragdor could not get it out of his head that the archon was overly inebriated.

“It would certainly facilitate movement of equipment and resources around out of the range of our weapons,” Grob observed. “Although I’d have thought they could have built the road a bit closer.”

“Melona,” Dashgar said. “Since you have the Eye of Krinna open near the camps, can we try to do some recon, get troop counts, equipment? I know the tarps are a problem, and may in fact be misleading, but whatever information we can gather will be useful.”

“Certainly.” Melona smiled.

The Inferno: Mid Fifth Period

“I trust you are settled into your compartment?” Chancellor Alighieri asked Melissance and her very charming escort as they entered the bridge.

“We are, thank you!” Melissance smiled at him in a truly fetching manner.

“I am so sorry that we did not have two separate rooms available. You are certain your husband will not mind the two of you sharing such close quarters?” the chancellor asked.

Salvatore smiled radiantly. “They are separate bunks, and no offense, but I am sure my lord Hesseforthalus will be most appreciative of my close watch of his beloved soulmate.”

The chancellor nodded. While the woman was incredibly attractive, one would have to be truly insane to even contemplate cuckolding an archdemon. Are angels, or former angels, even able to deflower maidens? Dante suddenly wondered. Are they not purely spiritual beings? Perhaps that was why Hesseforthalus did not object to their close quarters.

“So, you say you have some manner of locating Talarius?” Sir Samwell suddenly interrupted Dante’s thoughts.

Melissance glanced at Sir Samwell and then to the others on the bridge. “Indeed,” she said, smiling beguilingly as she lifted a small velvet pouch in her right hand.

“What is that?” Sir Samwell asked skeptically.

Melissance reached into the pouch and pulled forth a golden locket. “My Gifting locket: the everlasting symbol of Talarius’s love and devotion to me.”

Dante noted that the other Knights Rampant suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable at this. Dante was not familiar with Etonian “gifting,” but he assumed it was some form of promissory collateral.

“I have not attempted to pursue the link upon it which once bound us,” Melissance said. “However, even if severed, I should think a skilled wizard could leverage the Law of Contagion to repair and recreate the linkage. Unfortunately, it is not something that I can do with my limited resources here in the Abyss.”

Dante smiled warmly. Melissance was as intelligent as she was beautiful. “You are absolutely correct, my lady! I should think we shall be able to recreate the linkage within a few days, even if it has been severed!”

“Excellent! I shall eagerly await reports of your success.” Melissance placed the locket back within the pouch and handed it to Dante.

Citadel of Light: Late Fifth Period

Beragamos Antidellas stood at a window in one of the higher inner towers, peering out at the atunset. He’d had to pull a fair amount of Unnoticing to get here. As one would expect, this location was not open to the general public. He was dressed as a Brother of Tiernon and was carrying a large portfolio of papers, posing as clerk in the bureaucracy. That and surreptitious Unnoticings—an invisibility ritual would have gotten noticed way too easily—had gotten him to a spot from which he could observe the assembled forces.

The drawbridges had only been up about an hour and already the advanced parties of Unlife were entering the outskirts—more a collection of villages—around the Citadel. In the sky, Storm Lords on ice dragons, as well as other riders on an assortment of other Unlife creatures, patrolled over the encroaching army.

Beragamos shook his head. This was a very odd siege. It was extremely orderly, and no one was rushing to attack the other side. The aerial Unlife were not yet seeking to fly over the Citadel with attacks, nor were the forces within the Citadel doing anything to impede the setting up of the Unlife camp. No sorties, no poking at the incoming forces with mad dashes for the drawbridge at the last moment.

Of course, given the seriously unprecedented level of avatar support inside the Citadel, Dashgar and the rest might be purposefully allowing the besieging army time to get set up. Allowing them to become entrenched targets to be blasted in wide swathes of Heavenly Light. Certainly the Unlife could not be expecting that surprise.

He had been rather shocked at how many avatars had shown up. Dashgar and Inethya had clearly outdone themselves in getting support. Sentir Fallon’s reticence at sending in avatars had apparently created quite a bit of frustration among not only among Tiernon’s and Torean’s forces, but the others as well.

Traditionally, one would send in several ground-level saints, not the Attending Archons and prophets. This was an incredible amount of firepower. It should be a major victory for the Light, one that should please Tiernon and all of the Siblings. Yet Beragamos found himself frowning; something did not seem right. He could not say what was wrong, other than everything seemed extremely off.

Fire Line Around the Citadel: Late Sixth Period

“That is the last of the land-based beacons,” Ramses told Exador as one of his demons secured the nearest beacon in place.

“Good,” Exador replied, looking at his map under a small ball of Demon Fire. “The ships with beacons should also be in place. I will head out to them and run final tests on the aligning mechanism.”

“I’ll stay with the land beacons in case I need to adjust any settings with the drift compensating mechanisms with the beacons on the shore,” Ramses said.

“Hopefully, the other ships will be able to keep any of Namora’s priests outside the range of the beacon ships. The last thing we need is to have giant waves shoving the beacon ships out of position,” Exador said. “They’ve got every single sorcerer and aquamancer on the ships working to keep them in position.”

“Good. I will also double-check the links to our demon agents guarding the beacons on land, if you will take care of those at sea,” Ramses said.

“I will. I’ve placed some of my brighter demons on the ships. Defending a beacon on a ship is a bit trickier than one on land,” Exador said.

“Fortunately, if things do go badly for our demons, they will be able to simply fly outside the perimeter and return to the Abyss. We have lost so many mortal forces that we can’t afford to lose demonic ones as well,” Ramses said.

“You really are not going to let that incident and Lenamare’s school go, are you?” Exador asked, shaking his head.

Ramses chuckled. “Nope. Not for another few centuries, at least.” He glanced up into the night sky. “Don’t look now, but here comes Daerth Tromlane.”

“I am sure the Thirteen are anxious to begin.” Exador shrugged.

They waited quietly as Daerth Tromlane landed his massive—well, Exador wasn’t quite sure what he was riding. It was some form of dragon; it did not, however, look like a zombie dragon. The best guess he and Ramses had come up with was that it was a lich dragon; however, neither had ever heard of such a thing.

Daerth Tromlane came over to them, the red embers of his eyes smoldering through the openings in his golden helmet. Exador once again noted that all one could see within the inky blackness of the helmet were the glowing eyes; there was no sign of flesh within the helmet.

“Are we ready?” Daerth Tromlane asked in his typically dour hiss.

“Nearly,” Exador said. “All beacons are in place; we want to fine-tune the ship beacons and assure they are aligning properly. We should be able to test within two hours. If the tests go well, we should be able to bring it up shortly before dawn.”

Daerth Tromlane stood there. Exador took a small motion of his helmet to be a nod of acceptance. They were on schedule after all.

“We will join you at the command center for the activation,” Exador finally said.

“Very well. I go now to arrange for the storm clouds to block the morning atunlight,” Daerth Tromlane said before pivoting on his heel and marching back to his dragon.

Exador stood silently watching the Lord of the Sky as he left them.

“He is ever so sociable,” Ramses observed.

“If you think he has a stick up his butt, you should have met Stoivenychas, whose work we have recreated. That guy had serious issues,” Exador told his colleague. “Serious issues,” he repeated, shaking his head.

Citadel Command Center: DOA + 19, Early First Period

“The Wardens are reporting changes in air pressure indicating a storm front is moving in,” Warden Commander Fielos, Eldon’s most senior commander, reported.

Ashena Brightfeather chuckled. “Well, they wouldn’t be the Storm Lords if they didn’t bring in their black storm clouds to shield their armies from Atun’s light. We will have a little surprise for them this time.”

“You are going to break up the storm clouds?” Garion Hearthhand asked.

“Indeed. While our mortal priests have not been able to break their lock on the clouds in nearly ten thousand years, I have every confidence that with the power of Krinna at my disposal, we will not have too much trouble,” Melona Tramen replied confidently.

“One question, if I might?” Stevos asked. Dashgar nodded to the saint. “They are going to need an incredible amount of time get their forces in place. They have not bothered with any attacks, not even aerial, and we do nothing to disrupt them, either. Why is this?”

Dashgar grinned. “War with the Storm Lords and the Citadel is something like a game of chess. Rushing too fast causes errors. They will not launch aerial attacks until they have the proper ground game in place to support the attacks.”

“The moat is filled with running Holy Water,” Eileen Sealegs added. “That will prevent any casual ground game by the Storm Lords; they will need to do very coordinated tasks to cross it on the ground. Further, the running water disrupts many of their aerial forces; they will want magical support on the ground ready to be able to counter the running water on behalf of the aerial forces. From the sea? We have strong currents in place sufficient to act as running water and similarly disrupt their air game.”

“I believe I saw Jacquesparrow heading down to the docks earlier,” Inethya noted.

“Indeed. They will not come by sea while he is there,” Eileen Sealegs replied.

“Now as for us?” Dashgar said. “We are going to be observing where they set up their various support operations—specifically those Eileen just mentioned—we want those all located and well understood so that we may attack them directly while they are at their weakest and we can do the most damage. Meaning we want all of their forces here, not in the surrounding woods or on the roads. They will need most of the day to construct their war machines. We should have the lay of the land by dawn, so we strike then with Atun in the sky, and the storm clouds dispersed.

“Other than clearing the sky of clouds, this is all part of the standard plan that has developed over the millennia. The major difference is that this time we have the firepower to quickly cut their knees out from under them and press the offense.” Grob said. “However, for now, we want things to go exactly as usual so that we may take them by surprise.”

Fassbindr chuckled ominously. “They are not going to know what’s hitting them.”

Nysegard, Exador’s Command Center: Early Second Period

“We are ready?” Daerth Tromlane asked, or was it stated? Exador was not quite sure which. His voice was almost entirely without inflection—simply a single monotonous note of dour ominousness.

“All tests have been passed, all beacons are online,” Ramses said.

“Then begin the spells to bring them up,” Praelgeis, Lord of the Night, instructed.

Exador glanced to the circle of lich wizards assisting him and Ramses. They all nodded readiness, and he began the chant to bring up the wizard links. Unpleasant, moldy-tasting wizard links, but wizard links nonetheless.

Citadel Command Center

Hilda watched intently as Dashgar laid out the battle plans that would commence within the next few hours. The key would be to allow Atun to rise sufficiently high in the sky so that when Malona# stripped away the Storm Lord’s black clouds, the unfiltered atunshine could do its work on the unprotected night dwellers.

At the same time, the Sky Wardens would launch their aerial assault against the daylight-safe troops, hitting the aerial ones first to disable their air power. Meanwhile, they had located all the major zombie squadron locations and would be targeting the Holy Water catapults on them. The Storm Lords, being tricky, had made several of those into difficult targets; the catapults were deadly, but not new.

“Now, as for the ice dragons and liches…” Dashgar began before suddenly trailing off.

Hilda suddenly felt a deep coldness sweep over her, coldness and nausea.

“What in the name of Krinaeria?” Ashena exclaimed, turning ashen in the face.

“What in all that’s unholy?” Eileen Sealegs cried.

Several other people in the room, mortals, started shouting startled remarks as well.

Hilda swayed. Something was very seriously wrong. Incredibly seriously wrong. The feeling was extremely similar to when the Inferno had vanished, yet different. Far worse. Far, far, worse. She tried to synchronize with her HALO, but it was gone! Her HALO and every one of her illuminaries had suddenly vanished! She quickly reached towards Tierhallon’s master HALO, only to find that it too was gone—Tiernon himself had vanished as well!

“Tierhallon is gone!” Hilda shouted, even as Stevos said the same thing.

Ashena looked at Hilda, her eyes wide in shock. “As is Krinaeria!”

“Namorafjord is also gone!” Eileen Sealegs cried.

“The only links I have are personal links to people here in the Citadel,” Hilda said.

“Me, too!” Stevos said with a note of panic in his voice.

“I am able to manually reconnect personally to people here on Nysegard,” Dashgar exclaimed over the increased shouting in the room, “but I can’t reach my HALO or the god pool!”

“Hendel help us!” Garion Hearthhand exclaimed. “I can get to every illuminary I have tried, so I think the local ones here are fine, but I can’t get to the god pool.” He stared at Seliana, his archon. “Our personal link is up, but I can’t verify anything with our HALO links.”

Seliana nodded, concentrating. “I am in the same position. My illuminaries here in Nysegard went down, but I can manually relink to them. I am not finding any of my off-world illuminaries that I’ve tried. While I can manually reconnect to illuminaries here on Nysegard, I am unable to reach any on the other Planes of Man.”

“What in the name of the Abyss just happened?” Inethya asked.

“It seems we are cut off from the Outer Planes and other material planes as well,” Delilah, the archon for Torean said. She glanced to Timbly and then to Fassbindr, who both nodded.

“I’ve got a link to you, Stevos,” Teragdor said, turning to the saint, who was deathly pale.

“You are the only illuminary I have left,” Stevos said.

“What in the names of the Five Siblings have they done?” Rasmeth asked.

Citadel of Light, Refugee Quarters

Beragamos woke from his sleep in sudden shock. He had come to Nysegard with his incarnated body rather than his usual avatar body in order to better hide his nature; thus he had been sleeping in a bunk down with the refugees.

Something was horribly, indescribably wrong. He felt at a complete loss. He felt empty, empty in a way he could not remember ever being before, at least not in any recent Phoenix Cycle.

“Where is Tiernon?” Beragamos exclaimed, suddenly realizing what was wrong.

“In Tierhallon; now go back to sleep!” someone shouted at him.

Beragamos shook his head. He quickly reached out with his mind, following his links. He had no links off-plane! He could sense his team members: Hilda, Stevos, Dashgar, Inethya, Teragdor. They were here, they were fine, but he had no access to anything off-plane. Tierhallon, his HALO and the god pool were gone!

He blinked and tried to stop the sudden onset of hyperventilation. Tierhallon could not be gone! That would be inconceivable. And besides, he could not seem to reach anything off-plane. None of his old links to priests and illuminaries on other planes that venerated him.

No, it is not Tierhallon that is gone from me, but rather I am gone from Tierhallon, Beragamos thought as he stood to quickly get dressed. He needed to find the others. Whatever was happening, this overrode Tiernon’s instructions.

Tierhallon

Sentir Fallon was enjoying a glass of wine while reading reports from the local archons and prophets, when something suddenly seemed off. He could not place it. He set his wine down and began searching among his links and illumination streams, both those on his HALO and those he held directly. Dashgar and Inethya! They were gone, gone along with all of Nysegard. The primary illumination streams from Nysegard ran through them. Yes, there were plenty of secondary streams, but the main ones were missing. Even from people who were currently here in Tierhallon, but reported to Dashgar or Inethya.

Suddenly some of the Nysegard links came back online. Dashgar’s and Inethya’s HALOs were going autonomous. This was something he understood full well from his trips to the Abyss. Before traveling there, he always made sure all of his links, including personal ones, were transferred to his HALO so no one would notice a short absence on his part.

In this case, however, Dashgar and Inethya had not transferred their primary links to their HALOs, and so there had been a brief time before the HALOs’ logic systems had detected their absence and failed over their still-active links. There was only one explanation.

“Tiernon damn those liches,” Sentir Fallon swore. Somehow, the Storm Lords had managed to reproduce the Dark Apostle’s work.

This was a variant of the warding that had blocked Orcus from the Abyss. This one, however, was blocking access to the Outer Planes—perhaps even all planes. The Dark Apostle’s first version had blocked all planar contact; it had taken him several more centuries to be able to be able to exclude the Outer Planes. That had been a critical factor in their timing.

Certainly they would not have been able to block the entire world, but with Dashgar and Inethya at the Citadel, which they had been trying to block, all of the illumination streams running to Tierhallon through the two of them would have been broken. They would have their illuminaries on Nysegard, the vast majority of them, but would not be able to relay them off-plane.

It would be only a matter of minutes before Dashgar and Inethya would pull their local illuminaries back from their HALOs. The HALO would then lose access to those streams. Essentially, all of Nysegard would go back offline again. That was going to show up downstairs. An entire world disappearing would impact the charging of the god pool. This would show up as far worse than an accounting glitch. Damn liches!

Another cold thought struck him. Dashgar and Inethya had reached out to their Torean counterparts; had they accepted? Had the two reached out to their other Sibling counterparts? How many other attending archons and prophets had just vanished?

This was bad, very bad. He needed to get on this immediately!

Citadel Command Center

Teragdor was feeling rather queasy with his connection to Tierhallon lost. Fortunately for him, his patron saint had his back. Stevos was actually behind him at this moment, looking over his shoulder at the map.

“Vicar General!” a voice called from over by one of the mirrors.

“Yes?” Grob called back.

“The aerial attack has begun. Catapults are firing as we speak, to take out the ground support,” the mirror’s operator told him.

“Very well; tell them to hold back on sending Wardens into the air,” Grob ordered.

“Kargen!” Grob yelled to someone else in the room. “Scramble the enchanters and aeromancers; they are going to have to be our first line of defense in the sky. We need to keep this a ranged battle. I want to keep casualties down until we have more healing support.”

“Aye, Vicar General,” Kargen’s voice came from the crowd.

Grob turned back to the rest of the people around the map table. “We are going to rely on ranged attacks from wizards and animages for the moment.”

“Vicar General!” another voice called from the mirror region. “Ground assault has begun. The pyromancers are using the fire canons on those attempting to bridge the moat!”

“I need all available wizards and animages at their stations on the walls!” Grob yelled.

“If the Outer Planes are unreachable, then I’d assume so is the Abyss,” Elden said to Grob, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Our conjurors are going to be every bit as out of actions as our priests.”

Hilda, Stevos and Teragdor all looked at the Lord Ranger in shock. “You use demons to fight your battles?”

Rassnon shrugged. “They are not our first choice, but against the Unlife, they are the lesser of two evils.”

Stevos looked to Dashgar in surprise. The archon simply shrugged; he apparently knew and approved of the use of demons to fight the Unlife.

Teragdor whispered ruefully to Rasmeth, “We aren’t in Murgandy anymore.”

“No, we are not,” Rasmeth said, equally in shock that the Citadel would even think of using demons.

Behind them, having moved to fill in the space where Leighton had been standing before being called to duty, Iskerus heard them and added “Sir Talarius’s helmet would literally blow off at the thought of fighting side by side with demons. It’s a good thing he isn’t here right now.”

Chapter 144

Citadel Command Center: Mid Second Period, Dawn

“Enough,” Beragamos told the guard blocking his way to the Command Center. It had taken him more time that he would have liked to find his way here. With Tierhallon offline, he had only his links to Hilda and the others here. Links were straight lines; they did not account for walls, ceilings and floors, nor did they come with any mapping assistance. Thus, he’d encountered a great number of dead-ends as he’d made his way to the Command Center.

“I’m sorry, Brother, but we are on total lockdown. The fight has begun; only essential people are allowed in the Command Center,” the guard said.

Beragamos shook his head. This was the problem with incarnated bodies, at least for him. He was wearing real clothes and so could not change them on a whim. They also didn’t come with built-in halos or auras. Beragamos pulled back the hood of his robe.

“Tell me, Shield member. Have you never seen a statue of me?” Beragamos asked.

“When did they start making statues out of Brothers of Tiernon?” The guard asked.

“I’m not a Brother of Tiernon. I am Beragamos Antidellas.”

The guard shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve reviewed the list. There is no Beragamos Antides on the list.”

“Antidellas. Hello?” Beragamos said incredulously, shaking his head in exasperation. Seriously, if young Danyel could recognize him and go into awe, what was this man’s problem?

The guard simply shrugged.

“Stand aside and let me pass,” Beragamos said, using Sancto Mandato.

The guard stepped aside, as expected, and Beragamos opened the door and entered the room to see people scrambling around and having very heated conversations, many of them with people in mirrors.

Beragamos looked around, following his links. His people were all gathered at a smaller table, poring over some documents. He headed over there.

“What do we know?” Beragamos asked, coming up behind them as they were hunched over the table. Hilda, whom he was directly behind, jumped a few inches off the ground in surprise, then spun around to stare at him in shock. All of them—Hilda, Stevos, Timbly, Teragdor and Rasmeth, were staring at him.

“Beragamos!” Hilda exclaimed in surprise. “How did you get here? We have been unable to get off-plane by any means.”

“I was sleeping down in the refugee quarters when the links broke. I’ve been winding my way through this giant maze, following my links to all of you,” Beragamos said shaking his head.

Timbly blinked in shock. “You mean you’ve been here all along?”

Beragamos gave them a mea culpa expression. “Our lord god, Tiernon, asked me to come in secret and quietly observe the battle with the Storm Lords, and in the event you were able to go after Talarius, provide backup against his abductor.” He shrugged. “I was ordered not to reveal myself except in an emergency. I think this qualifies.”

Stevos sighed. “Well, thank Tiernon for that. This is a completely unprecedented situation.”

Beragamos nodded. “It appears all links to the Outer Planes have been severed.”

“Nor can we shift to Tierhallon, or anywhere off this plane,” Hilda said. “The gateway to Fort Murgatroid has been closed, and can’t be reopened.”

“Beragamos!” a voice shouted from the large mapping table in the center of the room. Dashgar and Inethya had spotted him and were heading over.

“Thank Tiernon! You have come to fix this!” Inethya said as she reached them.

Beragamos shook his head sadly. “No. I’ve been here, incarnated, for a few days now. Lying low in case of problems. However, this is not at all what I had anticipated.”

“I doubt anyone would have.” Dashgar shook his head. “I have never seen anything like this.”

Hilda’s eyes suddenly widened. “We have, though!” She nodded at Beragamos. “This is very similar to the wards that Lenamare used to expel demons, albeit a much stronger version. Those wards, while not blocking access to illumination streams or the god pool, did interfere with our communications and blocked archons from entering. They also gave me a headache,” she added.

Dashgar looked at her, considering her words silently.

“Yes, but it is different,” Beragamos said. “The archons are all still here, trapped—with no headaches, I assume—and all illumination streams off-plane seem to be cut.”

“Agreed,” Inethya said. “I can reach illuminaries on Nysegard that have direct connections to me, but I am unable to reach any of my saints. I am trying to determine if any of my illuminaries elsewhere on Nysegard are able to reach saints that are in Tierhallon. If so, we can perhaps get word back to them.”

“Excellent idea,” Beragamos said. “That is quick thinking. We will have to work indirectly if all off-plane links are cut for the Citadel. I can’t believe they could cut the entire world off.”

Teragdor spoke up. “Uhm... question?”

“Yes?” Beragamos asked.

“I’m very new to this high-level stuff, but if all links to the Outer Planes are cut off, what happens when people are slain in battle? How are their souls, their wraiths, going to get to Tierhallon? Would they not be trapped here, susceptible to the Unlife?” Teragdor asked.

Beragamos closed his eyes. The apostle was right. He hadn’t even considered that. If others, mortals, made this connection, there would be widespread panic.

“We’ve got some more planning to do. Let’s get everyone back to the main table,” Beragamos instructed. “We are in battle. A good number of priests are completely offline, without the resources they need for battle and healing, and of those that are connected to us, the only available mana is that which we avatars ourselves have to give out. We need to get priests reconsecrated to avatars that are here.”

Citadel of Light, Cathedral of Tiernon: An Hour Later

Battle Priestess Karis awaited Grob’s arrival in the vestry after the emergency meeting of all priests. She had known something was very wrong. Early this morning, she had awoken to a sense of heart-stopping loss. She had suddenly felt the absence of Tiernon, of his saints. She could still feel her prayer channels to the Prophetess Inethya, but that had been all.

Very shortly thereafter, the assault had begun. Fortunately, the Holy Water systems were still working, and they could still consecrate more water. At the moment, that was their primary defense—that and wizards. The Vicar General had been forced to reverse order their playbook, falling back on the wizards and animages for ranged combat. The Wardens were grounded for the moment until priests could heal again.

A short time ago, in the sanctuary, they had learned more; they were swapping priests in and out of positions to brief them on the situation. Apparently the Citadel had been cut off from the Outer Planes; from all other planes of existence, in fact. All links, all illumination streams, all possibility of travel off-world had somehow been cut off by the Storm Lords.

Priests were sobbing and confused. The Unlife was using the chaos to maximum effect. Their main army was quickly moving in, building and fortifying siege emplacements. Their advance units were starting to put pressure on the wall defenders. The defenses of the Citadel had always been heavily reliant on heavenly resources, and were thus now woefully underpowered. The irony of today’s situation was not lost on Karis. On the day they had thought to go into battle with the most heavenly resources ever, they went in with the absolute least.

The thirteen avatars were also disconnected, their own streams cut. The long and short of it was that the only divine assistance of any sort they could expect was from the avatars that were here. The priests had all been instructed to perform consecration ceremonies to bind themselves to the saints and avatars that were here. Those avatars would supply priests with mana for rituals, as well as manually process the mana from worship services. They were going to need to be doing a lot of worship services.

The first of the main problems was that the local avatars could not easily store great amounts of mana, so they would have to work to carefully time the worship services and mana expenditures. They would be on a very tight budget in terms of mana usage. Every drop would count; there would be nothing to spare. The next problem was that the manual processing and distribution of mana would be fully occupying the avatars. They would be effectively incapacitated and thus completely unable to aid in the direct defense of the Citadel.

The situation this morning, the emergency meeting—all of it had been mind- and soul-numbing to Karis and the other priests. She was in shock; she barely knew what to think. However, she was half-orc, a Battle Priestess of Tiernon, and they were at war against the Forces Of Darkness. It would be a far harder battle than they had anticipated, particularly in light of the secret that had been shared in the meeting.

Being cut off from Tierhallon also meant that those who perished would not immediately be sent to Tierhallon, as their souls could not get off-plane. That revelation had sent the assembled priests into the closest thing she had ever seen to a panic within the Citadel. Of course, there had been assurances that the avatars were working on this and would find a solution. However, in the meantime, they were not to bring this up with worshipers unless asked, and then they were to simply assure them that the avatars would handle things.

Karis had to admit, that was very small comfort. In any event, they had been instructed to focus their use of the limited mana supply available to healing and defensive spells. Keep people alive, keep them safe. Alternate plans were being made for the offense; in particular, how to remove the interdiction and restore extra-planar connections. That was the only offensive plan at the moment; everything else would be defensive.

Near the end of the meeting, Grob had motioned her over and told her to wait for him in the vestry. So here she now was, doing all she could to be brave in this unimaginable situation. She prayed to Tiernon directly, even though she knew it would not get through. The only place a prayer could get to at the moment was to the avatars already here. If she needed to pray to one of them, it would probably be more effective to just walk up and talk to them in person. She shook her head. What a weird situation.

The door to the vestry suddenly opened and Grob came in quickly and shut the door behind him.

“Yes, Vicar General?” Karis asked.

“Karis,” Grob said, coming over to her to speak more softly. “As you may be aware, the avatars do not want us reaching out to the Isle of Doom.”

“I was not aware of that, but given the resources we thought we had, that makes sense. No need to bother them; it would be very difficult for them to get here in time anyway,” Karis said.

“I know. I have no idea what resources they might have to spare, nor do I think they can get here very quickly. It is nearly a week of around-the-clock flying for them under the best of circumstances. However, we are in very dire straits. If nothing else, perhaps they can avenge us when they finally arrive,” Grob said.

Karis nodded grimly. It was a very dark thought.

“You know where the communication stone is, yes?” Grob asked.

“I do, Vicar General,” Karis answered.

“Then get hold of Targh Bowelsplitter and see what they can do.”

Isle of Doom, Krallnomton

“Orcus’s balls!” Targh cursed as Valg brought him the news from the Citadel. Valg had been the closest shaman to the linked talisman to the Citadel, and thus the one to answer its call. The young shaman had been in complete shock and quickly assured the person on the other end that he would inform the Oracle, Targh, and get back to her shortly.

“Sound the Call. We need to prepared for anything, including going to the Citadel if Lord Tommus agrees,” Targh said. “I will go gather the commanders in Mount Doom.”

Valg nodded and launched himself towards the Call Tower as Targh flew off towards the entrance to the volcano.

Mount Doom, Council Chamber

Tom entered the conference room with Darg-Krallnom and Tamarin by his side. Most of his commanders were already seated; he was surprised to note that Talarius had also come. Naturally he would have heard the Call of the Horns on the island and would have wanted to know what was going on.

Tom himself wanted to know what was going on. All he knew was that they had been contacted by the Citadel of Light, one of the largest fortresses belonging to the Five Siblings. He assumed that Talarius knew that too. This could be tricky.

Tom sat down in his chair; Tamarin shrank herself and sat on his shoulder. He waited a few moments for the last of his commanders to assemble. He then looked to Targh, even as Valg entered and went to stand by his grandfather’s side.

“What news?” Tom asked.

“Valg has received word from the Citadel that they are under an unprecedented attack by the Storm Lords,” Targh said.

“Unprecedented?” Darg-Krallnom asked. “That is a very strong word, given the history of the Citadel.”

“Indeed. It seems that the Storm Lords have not only lain siege, but somehow cut off all extra-planar contact to the Citadel,” Targh said.

That caused the assembled commanders to murmur amongst themselves.

Tom shook his head. “So they cannot plane shift or open gateways to other planes such as the Abyss? But do they even use demons? How much of a problem is this?”

Valg shook his head. “No, my lord. All contact to other worlds is cut off. Neither links nor illumination streams can go off-world. They are completely cut off from Tierhallon and the other Sibling Realms. No different than a priest entering the Abyss,” Valg explained.

“You mean their priests are essentially powerless?” Talarius asked in shock.

Valg nodded. “Exactly. They cannot draw down mana from the god pools. The only mana they have access to is their own personal mana or that generated by local worship services. Nothing from off-world. The souls of the newly dead cannot travel to the Outer Planes, and are subject to capture and consumption by the Unlife. They are completely cut off!”

That caused everyone in the room to gasp, and begin murmuring. The horror of the situation was a palpable weight upon the room.

A chill ran down Tom’s spine. Those streams that he had hijacked had been cut, their priests completely cut off. Remembering that, a memory suddenly struck at him from out of nowhere.

“Vosh!” Tom screamed at Vosh An-Non. His general looked over to him from where he was battling an avatar of Nét. “I’ve lost the link to Doom!”

“What?” Vosh yelled back in shock.

“I don’t know, but the link is down to Doom. I’m trying to reroute through the local Doomalogue, but something is wrong. It should have failed over automatically, but it did not! I am trying to manually connect, but I think there is something going on at the Doomalogue—something very bad!”

“Can you try routing to another Doomalogue? Try Gormeghast, Astlan, any other!” Vosh shouted as he stabbed his sword into the diaphragm of the avatar he was battling.

“Crap! Those are not working either! I am unable to reach any of the Doomalogues other than the local one! We are completely cut off!”

Tom gasped, bending over in fear and horror at the realization hit him. No, hit Orcus! That was the moment when Orcus had realized they were cut off from Doom and all the Doomalogues. The terror, the sudden desperation! He felt light-headed and found himself hyperventilating, despite not needing to breathe. He tried to close his eyes, only to realize they were already closed. He leaned back in his chair, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, and suddenly realized that Tamarin was yelling frantically in his ear.

“Master! Master! What is it? Are you under attack?”

Tom took a deep, slow breath and held it. He had to calm himself. He stretched his arms before him to force himself to relax, unclenched his fists. He was here, he was Tom. He was not Orcus. This was not Etterdam. Slowly, Tom felt the panic subside, the reality of the room overtaking the memory. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes again and then opening them.

Everyone in the room was staring at him in shock; several were standing. Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth had gotten up and moved to his side.

Tom shook his head and waved them away. “I’m fine. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to calm everyone. “I was suddenly hit by one of those memories. An extremely powerful memory of Orcus and Vosh An-Non on Etterdam, near the end. The emotions overwhelmed me.”

“Near the end? What triggered that?” Vargg Agnoth asked in concern.

“It was the issue of being cut off from all other planes,” Tom said. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the vision, the memory, but not get caught up in it. “We were in battle against Sentir Fallon and several of his fellow avatars, along with an avatar named Aodh and others who served Nét.” He shook his head. “I have no idea who Nét is, other than that I—or rather, Orcus—hated him very much and wanted him dead or in Tartarus. But in any event, at one point Orcus lost contact with Mount Doom.”

Delg Narmoloth nodded. “When Lilith sabotaged us.”

Tom shook his head in disagreement. “No, it was more than that. He lost contact with Mount Doom, and he was upset that his links didn’t fail over to the Etterdam Doomalogue. He tried to reestablish the links through the Etterdam Doomalogue, but it was broken—something was wrong with it and he was having problems. He then tried to connect via other Doomalogues, such as on Astlan. For all those he tried, he got no response, nothing. That was different from what was wrong with Etterdam. He could sense Etterdam; he just couldn’t get the linkage up and pull mana.”

“We stayed active for some time after we presumed Orcus dead,” Targh said. “It was a graceful shutdown because the control connection to the Wand was lost. I would assume that Etterdam would have done the same.” He shook his head. “In fact, Etterdam should not have shut down because he was there with the Wand.”

“This is interesting,” Phaestus said. Tom blinked, he had not been aware that Phaestus, and Völund as well, had joined them.

“Etterdam was the first link to shut down,” Völund said. “It shut down, or our connection to it was lost before Doom itself shut down.”

Phaestus nodded. “That is one of the few things we were able to determine after the fact.”

“At the time, we were all too busy trying to expel Lilith’s forces,” Arg-nargoloth said.

“We never did determine how she got into Doom. Every entrance in the Abyss was heavily guarded,” Darg-Krallnom said.

“Perhaps she came through from Etterdam?” Roth Tar Gorefest suggested.

Phaestus nodded. “It would not have been as heavily guarded. If she had taken that, sabotaged it and then taken the portal back to Doom... that would explain a lot.”

“However, Orcus should still have been able to make contact with Astlan, or even Nysegard for that matter,” Völund said.

“But he could not,” Tom said. “I—he was at a loss to explain it. But if it was something like this, what has been reported at the Citadel, that would explain why he could only contact the Etterdam Doomalogue.”

“Which Lilith had already sabotaged,” Phaestus said, nodding.

“It would also explain how we lost so many D’Orcs,” Morok Deathstealer said. “If all extra-planar access had been severed around the battlefield, any D’Orcs that were killed would have been unable to return to the Abyss.”

That caused all chattering in the room to cease as everyone was struck by the sheer horror of the moment. In many ways, it personified the situation that those at the Citadel were in now.

“I am not so sure,” Darg-Krallnom said, shaking his head. “If this thing was blocking interdimensional access, Orcus should still have been able to reach any of the other worlds in the localverse—Astlan, Nysegard, the rest.”

Tom looked at Darg-Krallnom, puzzled. “Those are different worlds, different planes. So if you cut off all communication with other planes, they would have been cut off.”

Arg-nargoloth shook his head. “They are other worlds, different planets, but they are all in the same localverse. They simply orbit different stars, possibly in different galaxies. That’s why it’s called a localverse.”

“However,” Phaestus interjected, “while they are different planets, unless they are within the same star system, interstellar distances are so vast that such links are extremely mana-intensive. Therefore, the links can, and do, take the shortest available path. For demons, that means going through the Abyss or the Astral Plane; for gods, it generally means their Outer Plane or the Astral Plane.”

“I would doubt, if he was actively engaged in combat, that he’d be able to force the link across interstellar distances,” added Völund. “Too much concentration would be required. As for intergalactic distances, that would be off the table without an amplifier. I also doubt he had any idea of where those worlds were relative to Nysegard, since the links have always been able to shortcut through other planes.”

“Either way, in the heat of battle he was stranded,” Tom said, and the others nodded.

Zelda sighed. “That solves the biggest mystery. They all battled to the death and could not return.”

Darg-Krallnom nodded somberly. “We never could figure out why none returned. They were trapped and slaughtered. Twenty-two thousand, four hundred and sixty-three D’Orcs, and who knows how many hundreds of thousands of mortals.”

Tom closed his eyes and thought about that. He’d known there had been well over twenty-five thousand D’Orcs at one time, but this was the first time he’d heard the exact death count. It had been a slaughter, almost a genocide. Presumably some mortal followers had survived; there were good numbers of orcs still on Etterdam.

“It is a bit ironic that the Citadel, followers of the Five Siblings, are now reaping the same fate that Tiernon sowed upon Orcus in Etterdam,” Morok Deathstealer noted.

“No,” Targh said curtly. “They—their ancestors are not responsible for what happened on Etterdam. That was Sentir Fallon and Nét. The followers of the Five Siblings on Nysegard honored their oaths!” He shook his head. “They honored them then; they have honored them since. It is not justice that the same fate befall them. They have been true to their word.”

Tom raised a calming hand towards Targh. “No one is saying that we are abandoning them to their fate. We simply need to be cautious and ensure that it is not a trap. Our total forces are one-fifth what they were at Etterdam, and we need to ensure that Mount Doom and the Isle of Doom are invulnerable to a repeat of Etterdam.”

“Agreed,” Morok said. “Karmic justice aside, we do have free will. I was simply noting the irony.”

“This situation requires great caution,” Arg-nargoloth said. “As Lord Tommus says, we cannot walk into the same trap that befell Orcus. Not so soon.”

Tom nodded. “I think what they are seeing now is the same thing Orcus saw. Although I will note that Nét and Sentir Fallon did have access to the Outer Planes, since they had plenty of mana to draw upon.”

“Perhaps they built in an exclusion for themselves,” Phaestus mused. “We still do not know exactly what they did then, or are doing now.”

“It would behoove us to find out,” Völund said.

“Yes—but most carefully,” Phaestus said.

“Agreed,” Tom said, drawing attention back to himself. “Let us break for the moment and determine our best options. We must do this wisely and safely. If it is like last time, any dead D’Orcs or demons”—he looked at Darflow—“will not be returning. We cannot allow that.” He suddenly noticed Talarius looking rather agitated, but continued, “We must know what we can put together in terms of a force, and what we need to do in terms of ensuring that we do not repeat Etterdam.” He looked to Darg-Krallnom. “How much time? Half a period?”

Darg-Krallnom looked around the table at the other commanders, getting a visible read on their confidence levels, before finally nodding. “That will work.”

“Uhm... Lord Tommus?” Valg raised his hand as Tom stood to leave, allowing his commanders to plan.

“Yes, Valg?”

“One more rather important detail,” Valg said.

“Yes? We need all the information we can get,” Tom said.

“Apparently there are something like fourteen different avatars of the Five Siblings there, including the prophet of each of the Siblings, the head archons for Nysegard for each of the Siblings, as well as four others,” Valg said, causing indrawn breaths from those assembled. “They too are completely cut off.”

Tom closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Great. So if we break the siege and restore their access, they immediately try to arrest me.”

~

Tom and Tamarin left the conference room with Phaestus and Völund so that they might discuss the situation in private while the commanders made their plans. Tom was no military commander; he would rely on the recommendation of commanders with thousands of years’ experience.

“Lord Tommus!” Talarius called from behind him.

“Follow us if you want to talk,” Tom said.

“Lord Tommus, I beg of you, do not abandon these good souls to the Unlife!” Talarius pleaded.

“I have not made any decisions yet, Talarius.” Tom looked to the knight. He was fully armored due to the heat, so Tom could not see his face, but his voice was definitely strained with emotion.

“I understand there is much history, bad history between my god and you, and your predecessor; but I beg of you to consider that they—these people on Nysegard—have kept their oath to your people here!” Talarius said.

“I’m well aware of that, and it is very important,” Tom said as they moved briskly down the corridor towards Tom’s room. “But the situation is dangerous and we must evaluate what we can do safely.”

“My lord, just grant me this,” Talarius begged. “Should you decide against intervention, at least allow me to go there and fight by their side.”

Tom stopped for a moment at the door to his room, and looked at the knight. He was clearly being earnest. Tom nodded and said, “I will consider that as well.”

Talarius nodded, as much as he could in his suit of armor.

Tom opened the door and proceeded inside. He noted that Talarius followed him, Tamarin, Völund and Phaestus into the room. One problem with having the knight living in the same suite as himself.

As the door closed behind them, he ignored Talarius and looked to Phaestus. “I know very well that the Nyjyr Ennead hate the Five Siblings, and I understand if you do not wish to be involved in aiding them,” Tom told the god.

Phaestus shrugged. “Well, I’ll grant you my wife will have no desire to be at your side in this battle.” He made a rueful expression. “However, should you choose to aid the Citadel, I will assist you. It will not be the first time I have put the needs of Mount Doom ahead of one of the pantheons I belong to. Eris would be one such example.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, feeling an immense amount of relief.

“Given what happened last time, I believe that I should be stationed here to ensure the operation of Doom continues,” Völund said, looking to Phaestus, “and that you should be in the Nysegard Doom to ensure it is not sabotaged like at Etterdam.”

“Agreed,” Phaestus said. “Between us and the heavy guards both here and at the Doomalogue, we should be able to stop Lilith, or at worst, delay her long enough for retreat.”

“One thing that concerns me,” Tom said, and the others looked to him. “There are avatars there; do we have any idea if one is Sentir Fallon? If this is another trap, I would have no idea how to recognize him.”

“Good point,” Phaestus agreed.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Tom said, looking around. “Erestofanes was going to deliver Orcus’s Memory Mirror. I asked him if we had any paintings of Tiernon, and he suggested that Orcus may have had a mirroring of him.”

Phaestus sighed. “Yes, there will be a mirroring or two of Tiernon on the Memory Mirror.”

Tom looked at him oddly. “Why did you sigh when you said that?”

Völund snorted. “Because it’s going to complicate the situation for you, and raise all sorts of questions that the Citadel doesn’t have time to deal with.”

“Okay, now you’ve really got me curious,” Tom said.

“Me too,” Tamarin agreed.

Phaestus simply shook his head and frowned. “I assume he would have put it back in its original location.” He gestured towards the door to Tom’s bedroom.

Tom went and opened the door and peered in. Sure enough, there was a large, gold-framed mirror on the wall opposite the balcony. Tom entered his bedroom, gesturing for the others to follow, which they did.

Tom walked over to the mirror. “How do you use this?” he asked.

Phaestus sighed yet again. He was really not enthusiastic about this. “You hold the Rod, concentrate on the mirror and tell it what you want to see. In this case, I would suggest a particular image.”

“Which one?” Tom asked.

“It is one that Orcus referred to as ‘The Wedding Party,’ ” Phaestus said.

“The wedding party? Tiernon was at a wedding?” Tom asked, puzzled. Why would Orcus have a mirroring of a wedding that Tiernon was at? That would have to be a spy in a very high place.

“Quite a few important people you probably want to know about there,” Völund said somewhat sarcastically.

“So how do I do this?” Tom asked.

Phaestus moved closer. “Like with any magic mirror on a wall, you say ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me the wedding party, from one to all.’ That will bring up all the images of the wedding party, starting with the first.”

Tom nodded his head and turned to address the mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me the wedding party, from one to all.”

The mirror blurred for a moment, and then revealed exactly what might have been expected. It was a wedding party after a wedding. There was a bride and groom, a very large bearded older man and a pale, almost Goth-like bride with a rather odd smile. On the groom’s side stood three men of varying ages and two women. On the bride’s side there were three people.

Tom blinked at the three. The first was himself—or rather, the human version of Orcus that looked like an older, bearded version of Edwyrd. The second was a younger man who looked very much like Rupert in his human form. The third was Phaestus.

Tom shook his head in puzzlement. “Whose wedding is this? I thought you said that Tiernon would be there. I see Orcus and you, and someone who looks a lot like Rupert in his human form.”

Völund chuckled. Phaestus glared at him.

“The man next to the groom is Tiernon. Next is Namora, then Torean, Krinna and Hendel; the Five Siblings in their most common, casual forms.” Phaestus said.

There was a clanking noise as Talarius took his helmet off and stared at the image. “Are you telling me that Tiernon and Orcus were at a wedding together?”

“Not exactly. What you are looking at is the wedding party—as in the bride, groom and attending family members.” Phaestus said calmly.

“The two families?” Tom asked. Talarius, Tamarin and Tom were all staring at Phaestus in shock.

“The groom is Aetherus All Father, the father of the Five Siblings,” Phaestus said.

“You mean one of the people Tiernon had us lock up in Tartarus?” Tom asked in surprise.

“The same,” Phaestus said.

“So is the bride Eris? Your sister?” Tamarin asked.

Phaestus nodded. “Daughter of Zeus and Hera, also known as Discordia.”

Tom shook his head, trying to clear it and make sense of this image. “Okay, so I know why you are in the wedding party, but why is Orcus there, next to her?”

“Because Orcus is the son of Eris,” Völund said as if it were the most obvious thing the world.

Tom felt as if he’d suddenly been struck by lightning. This made so little sense. Orcus was actually a god? “So you are…” Tom trailed off, looking at Phaestus.

“Orcus’s uncle.” Phaestus nodded. “Only one of my sister’s kids I ever liked. Well, Logoi is a decent kid, most of the time. Orcus was the only one of her children to show up at her wedding—and agree to put her away when it became necessary.”

“Oh, and by the way, the rest of our family doesn’t know it was Orcus and the Five Siblings that had her locked up,” Phaestus added, almost as an afterthought.

There was a loud clunking noise as Talarius fell to his knees on the floor, shaking his head. He closed his eyes for a moment before looking up at Phaestus. “So you are saying that Tiernon and Orcus were stepbrothers?”

“Stepbrothers,” Tom repeated, trying to get that through his head.

Tamarin shook her head. “So let me be sure I understand this. The Five Siblings conspired with their stepbrother to imprison their mutual parents in Tartarus, and then later ordered their stepbrother murdered?”

Völund chuckled. “You’ve got it.”

“That is so bizarre and twisted,” Tamarin said.

Phaestus shrugged. “Nah. Actually, it’s pretty common in my family. In fact, I’d say it is simply standard family drama. The only way it could be any more routine for us would be if Tiernon had not intended for this to be the outcome. That Orcus had been killed by some horrible mistake. That would have been what my family refers to as a tragedy. Something they tend to have an unhealthy obsession with. It’s why I spend most of my time with my wife’s family.”

Tom sat back on his bed in shock. This was way too insane! He shook his head, and looked again at the mirroring, furrowing his brow.

“So who is the young man between Orcus and you?” Tom asked.

“Ah.” Phaestus nodded. “That is Dis, Dis Pater. He is Orcus’s son. He was also slain on Etterdam, along with so many others.”

Heavens’ Home

Tiernon and Torean sat silently waiting for their siblings to arrive at their meeting room on their father’s Outer Plane. Despite his “disappearance,” they had kept their father’s plane up and running for several reasons. The first was that it was a place where they could meet without the knowledge of their own avatars; the second that their father’s avatars needed somewhere to live, as did souls in their afterlife unwilling to reincarnate and get on with things. One could not legitimately advertise an eternity in heaven and then seek to cap the length of eternity before booting people back to the material planes.

Of course, given that their father and stepmother were only “missing,” there was no legitimate public reason to close the issue without even more questions arising. On the off chance they ever released their father and came to terms with him, he would also want his stuff back. Of course, Tiernon reflected, the only two reasons his father would ever be released would be if he apologized and agreed to a divorce from that nightmare wife of his, or Orcus let him go out of spite.

The door to the room opened and Krinna and Namora entered. They nodded and sat down. A few moments later, Hendel entered through the second door. No one said anything for a few moments.

Finally, Krinna started the ball rolling. “So, you managed to lose an entire world for us?” she asked sarcastically.

“As I understand it, this whole venture was your undertaking?” Hendel asked Tiernon and Torean.

Torean shook his head. “As you know, Tiernon and I had been withholding on-the-ground resources on Nysegard. We’ve discussed this many times. A situation arose where we were forced to act in good faith and allow our attending archons and prophets to directly intervene. They invited your colleagues.”

Namora pursed her lips and nodded, but not in a particularly agreeable way; it was more of an accusatory nod. She finally spoke. “And what was this situation that changed your minds? After centuries of trying to persuade us to your point of view?”

Tiernon grimaced. “As you may have known, I had a Knight Rampant abducted by a demon.”

Hendel made a questioning gesture with both hands. “It happens. It’s not the end of the multiverse. Besides, what does that have to do with Nysegard?”

“The knight and his demon abductor showed up on Nysegard,” Torean said. “Our agents were trying to retrieve the knight and investigate the demon.”

“Who also happened to break into your god pool and steal your mana?” Krinna noted, again sarcastically. “Someone is feeling vengeful.”

Tiernon closed his eyes. “It has gotten a bit more complicated than that.”

“In any event,” Torean explained, “our avatars needed to go through the Citadel, as that is the closest location we have to where the knight is being held. The Citadel was preparing for siege and essentially guilted our avatars into helping.”

Krinna looked at him sharply. “It was my understanding that it was the god and his or her avatars to use guilt against their worshipers, not the other way around?”

Torean sighed. “When you talk the talk, you have to walk the walk, or you lose credibility. You know this very well. Father taught us all together.”

Tiernon shook his head. “Enough beating around the issue. The truth is that the knight and the demon showed up on the Isle of Doom when the demon restarted the Doom of Nysegard.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Namora asked in shock. Krinna and Hendel had equivalent expressions on their faces.

“How did this demon manage to start one of the Doom satellites?” Krinna asked.

“I thought they were tied and controlled via Mount Doom in the Abyss,” Hendel said.

“They are. The demon started that a bit before this,” Torean replied somberly.

That caused all three siblings to stare at Torean and Tiernon in shock.

Hendel sighed. “Exactly who is this demon?”

Tiernon gave Hendel an awkward smile. “We are fairly certain it’s you-know-who.”

Namora’s face fell like a ton of bricks placed in a silk hammock. She was not pleased. “You are telling us that the demon who stole both your mana and your knight is the god whose name means ‘Sacred Oath,’ who has spent his entire existence punishing oath breakers? A god with whom we share an oath of loyalty and fraternity?” Namora asked scathingly.

“An oath which, as I recall, you broke!” Krinna said equally angrily.

“And that this god is now back from the dead?” Namora finished. She glared in anger at her brother.

“Yes,” Tiernon said. “We were trying to get a read on how angry he is.”

“A read?” Krinna asked incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Namora said. “Your idiot archon only permanently slew him along with over twenty thousand of his avatars, and who knows how many hundreds of thousands of his followers!”

“You were not sure if he was going to be angry?” Hendel asked softly. “I think this is one of those situations when you need to ask yourself what you would do in his position.”

“And then get the hell out of town. Fast.” Krinna added vehemently.

Mount Doom: Tom’s Bedroom

The room was very silent as Tom and Talarius took in the shocking news. Tom shook his head, trying to clear it. “So? What happened to Mrs. Orcus?” Tom asked.

Völund laughed at that, and even Phaestus grinned.

“That is actually a very long standing question among the Tartarvardenennead,” Phaestus said.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, frowning.

“He means we haven’t got a clue,” Völund answered.

“Dis simply showed up one day and Orcus announced that he was his son,” Phaestus said. “He never revealed who the mother was. He simply said that it was a complicated story, that he would tell us someday. Someday never came.”

“Tizzy claimed he knew, but well, that really doesn’t mean much of anything,” Völund said. “I actually suspect it was parthenogenesis.”

“Parthenogenesis?” Tom asked, not knowing the word.

“Asexual reproduction,” Phaestus explained. “That’s how Athena was born. Long story short, Zeus was having really bad headaches—migraines—for several months. Eventually he prevailed upon me to operate to see if I could find the source of the headaches.” Hephaestus shrugged. “What do you know, he had a tumor and when air came into contact with the tumor, it rapidly expanded, leaping out of his head on its own. Turns out the tumor was Athena, fully grown. Oddest damn thing I ever saw!”

Hephaestus looked up to find both Tom and Talarius staring at him. “What?”

“You cannot be serious?” Talarius said. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!”

Phaestus shrugged. “Ridiculous or not, it’s Athena’s story and she’s sticking with it. All her priests teach the story, albeit with a few minor variations.”

“People believe this?” Talarius asked incredulously.

“They do.” Phaestus smiled. “However, I, personally, would not put too much weight in any deity’s origin story.”

“Why not?” Tom asked.

“Because they are stories. Much like Lilith and Sammael’s. The real origins are lost to time and the Phoenix Cycle,” Phaestus explained. “We remember telling our origin story in previous cycles, so we repeat that story, but the simple fact is that the truth lies too far back for most of us to know with absolute certainty.”

“At some point you begin believing your own church’s teachings because that is all you have,” Völund said.

“Another reason that Orcus did not want to be in the god business,” Phaestus said. “Refusing to join a pantheon or create a god pool.”

“What do you call this place?” Talarius asked. “It seems to have the same functionality as one of these so-called god pools.”

“Indeed.” Phaestus nodded, as did Völund. “However, it does not depend upon worshipers donating their mana to him. It generates—creates—mana on its own.”

“But doesn’t it need animus to create that mana?” Tom asked.

“Indeed; that is part of how mana is made. However, Doom is cooperative. It brings together the raw elements, and then people surrounded by those elements generate mana. However, that mana is theirs for the taking as much as it is for Doom’s. Doom does not take mana that people already have, but it does compete with them in terms of collecting the mana—hence the sleeping.”

Talarius sighed and rose wearily. “Enough of this lecture.” He turned to stare once more at Tom. “You told me yesterday that Edwyrd is how you looked as a human.”

Tom nodded. “I was younger, but that is what I looked like on Earth.”

Talarius shook his head, sweat flying from his forehead in the hot room. “If Edwyrd is an older version of your human form, how is it that Orcus’s human form is but an older version of Edwyrd?”

Tom shrugged in uncertainty. “I have no idea. The first time I saw a portrait of Orcus’s human form, I actually passed out from shock.”

“He did. It was very startling. Erestofanes and I had to help him back to his feet,” Tamarin agreed. “He is very heavy in this form.”

Talarius looked to the djinni. “Will you swear an oath to that statement? Understanding that your master is the one who punishes oath breakers?”

Tamarin nodded solemnly. “I do so swear that my master passed out when he first saw the library painting of Orcus in his human form.”

Talarius shook his head slowly. “I do not know, demon. This is a lot to try to understand.”

Tom nodded. “Tell me about it. I am in the same boat as you, Talarius. This is all new to me.”

“I must go think, meditate, and yes, pray,” Talarius told them. “I will be in my quarters within the Doom of Nysegard. My entreaty to aid the Citadel still stands, as does my desire to fight alongside you and the D’Orcs to save the Citadel. Should you grant my entreaty, do not leave without me.”

Talarius put his helmet on and marched stiffly from the room. Tom glanced to the others; they sat there in silence until the outer doors were closed behind the knight.

Phaestus shook his head. “Go easy on him, Tommus. The poor man is at his wits’ end.”

Völund moved his head from side to side in amazement. “I would have bet anything that he’d have had a breakdown and gotten violent by this point.”

“Ahem. Are you forgetting that you did indeed make such a bet with me?” Phaestus asked, furrowing his brow.

“Figure of speech. I remember. Just give it time—meeting Tiernon’s avatars will likely be the last straw,” Völund harrumphed.

“Why do you say that?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“Gods are meant to be in heaven,” Völund said. “Once you meet your god and realize that they are but a man, or woman, it tends to shatter belief.”

“He has come a long way down that path already,” Phaestus noted, shaking his head. “I truly feel for him. It is a very difficult road.”

“Uh, hello? What about me?” Tom asked somewhat sarcastically. “As I said, I am in the boat alongside Talarius.”

Phaestus chuckled and Völund grinned as the two moved to leave the room.

“What?” Tom asked loudly at their departing backs.

“That is true, nephew, but you are an immortal. Each of us goes through this same experience every hundred thousand years or so,” Phaestus said. “This is Talarius’s first time.”

Tom stared at the two in shock as they left the main suite. He turned to his bed, nearly leaping into to it so that he could curl up in a fetal position, close his eyes and try to make the insanity stop.

Heavens’ Home

“So,” Namora said coldly. She was clearly quite upset with both Tiernon and Torean. “Do you believe this world lockout is the doing of our stepbrother?”

Tiernon shrugged uncertainly. “We do not know. We have never seen anything like this, an entire region sealed off from us.”

“Perhaps they were all killed?” Hendel asked. Krinna gave him a shocked look.

“What could kill fourteen avatars at once, that quickly?” Torean asked, also shocked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Namora said sarcastically, “perhaps he unleashed the Kraken and sank the entire continent?”

“That would seem a bit extreme…” Torean said with more uncertainty than one might have expected.

Tiernon shook his head. “No. We have, and I am sure some of your people have, received prayers from priests elsewhere on Nysegard who report that our avatars are alive and well. Priests on Nysegard are still fully connected to their prophets and attending archons. It is simply that our avatars cannot connect to us from where they are.”

“So it’s not like Orcus did a massive Abyssal Switch and dragged them all to hell?” Krinna said. “I hear he likes to do that sort of thing.”

Tiernon shook his head. “No, it is some form of extra-planar interdiction. Something we have never found record of before.”

“Well, given that Orcus has both Völund and Hephaestus working with him, it is entirely possible that he’s built a new tool,” Hendel said.

Krinna shivered. “Do you have any idea what he could do if he were able to use this to trap someone on a material plane, unable to draw upon their god pool, unable to escape?”

“If he could finagle it, he could very easily drop a god into the Oubliette,” Hendel said, staring directly at Tiernon. “It would make it far, far easier for him to punish oath breakers.”

Tiernon swallowed hard at the thought, but then shook his head. “No, I do not think so.”

“No?” Namora asked, arching an eyebrow.

“First of all, the Citadel and our avatars were preparing for war—a siege by the Storm Lords,” Tiernon replied. “If this interdiction is Orcus’s doing, that would mean he is working with the Storm Lords. I simply do not see Orcus ever taking the side of the Unlife. It is antithetical to everything we know about him,” he added emphatically.

“True.” Namora nodded. “The Orcus we knew would never do that. However, the Tiernon that Orcus knew would never have broken an oath and ordered him permanently slain.”

Tiernon glared at her. “How many times must we go over this? I did not order him permanently slain! I wanted him out of Etterdam, that is all!”

“What, you couldn’t just ask nicely?” Krinna asked sarcastically.

“I tried to reason with him, but Nét had gone too far. Orcus wanted payback and would not listen to me. The entire world was locked in war—a war that would have cost us most of our followers as well as those of the El'adasir!” Tiernon said.

“Your followers. Maybe someone should have instructed his priests to stay out of the fight between Nét and Orcus. It was your church that chose to join forces with the Los Sidhe against the orcs and jötunnkind; not mine or Namora’s,” Krinna said.

“Yes, the church made a mistake, and in large part that is thanks to my avatars there, led by Sentir Fallon. That is why I told him to fix his mistake personally and get Orcus off the plane,” Tiernon said. “You all know this. Why do we have to rehash it?”

“Because the sort of losses you feared on Etterdam may now be happening on Nysegard,” Namora said. “You once again allowed your attending archon to ‘go in and fix things’ and now they are cut off, at peril of their own demise and we can do nothing about it!”

“We could always send higher level archons to assist,” Torean suggested.

“And lose them as well?” Krinna asked.

“We have not had much luck sending our agents in to right these big issues. Perhaps it is time for a true Divine Intervention on our part?” Hendel asked.

The others all looked at him in shock. “Do you understand what an escalation that would be?” Krinna asked.

“If Orcus is behind this interdiction, if it is a trap, do you really want to walk into it?” Namora asked incredulously.

Citadel Command Center: Midday

“So far we have been able to keep them at bay with relatively minor injuries,” Eldon reported to Grob and the others in the Command Center. “We have everyone re-tuned to our local avatars.” He gestured to the avatars now seated along one side of the table.

They had needed to get chairs for the avatars in order for them to stay at the table. As it was, they were only able to half pay attention to the conversations. The manual processing of both incoming and outgoing mana streams was quite taxing, particularly when there were only two avatars for a god.

Tiernon’s avatars had it the easiest. Hilda and Stevos were able to take quite a bit of burden off of Dashgar and Inethya, and Beragamos was above them, doing most of the heavy processing and storage. Timbly was able to assist Fassbindr and Delilah, but their workload was still greater than Tiernon’s avatars. The other six avatars were, however, being pressed to the limits of their abilities.

Namora’s avatars had some luck in that they had a good number of priests who were out at sea, not in combat at the moment. So they could provide mana and were not draining much. In terms of mana drawdown, her avatars were fortunate, as most of her priests were working on keeping the moat and catapult Holy Water renewed. This was a steadier, smoother outflow of mana than with active combat.

Krinna and Hendel’s avatars were hitting the limits of how much they could actually channel and contain at any given time. The four essentially kept their eyes closed, completely locked in concentration. Of all the avatars, Beragamos was probably the most actively engaged, due both to his larger team and his far greater capacity.

“The Storm Lords are still in the process of setting up; assembling their siege craft, organizing their regiments, setting up camps and battle lines.” Grob shook his head. “Common sense, our own experience and all of the records are clear that this is their weakest moment, and as you all know, we were going to hit them hard so that they could not get ensconced and positioned to strike.”

“They clearly timed this interdiction thing so that we could not exploit their weakness,” Aeris noted.

Beragamos looked up and over to Teragdor and Rasmeth, who at this point were simply observing. “Teragdor, do you feel ready to go out and exercise your apostolic duties? I am confident that we now have enough control of our mana streams that we can divert some for higher-level combat operations.”

Teragdor’s stomach twisted; he was not sure whether that was trepidation or eagerness to go into battle. This would be his first true battle as a priest of Tiernon, let alone as an apostle. “I am ready, Your Holiness.”

Beragamos nodded and looked to Rasmeth. “Can you support him out there? I suspect Torean’s streams may be more tightly constrained than ours, but you should be able to work at priest levels, if not apostolic. Having two apostles visible out there is worth every bit or perhaps more than anything we have the mana to do.”

“Of course, Your Holiness,” Rasmeth replied.

~

Teragdor strode the battlements in his apostolic armor, alongside Rasmeth in his apostolic leathers. This was the first time he’d worn this gear outside of his room. His armor and Rasmeth’s leathers had been brought from Tierhallon and Toreanhold, respectively, a few days ago. They were impressive artifacts and Teragdor was grateful for their holy nature, because he was not at all accustomed to moving in plate armor; he’d never worn anything more than leather armor, and that not frequently. He was a priest, not a Rod member.

He held his great shield with its apostolic emblem to his right, shielding himself and Rasmeth from the arrows that were pelting the ramparts. The majority of soldiers were hunkered down below the crenellations with shields above their heads. They were there in the event the Unlife scaled the walls or managed to get over the moat. So far, to his knowledge, none had. The arrows were coming from various Unlife on flying steeds in varying levels of decay. Teragdor had never in his worst nightmares envisioned this sort of battle.

Beragamos had been right, however; the sight of them striding the battlements seemed to cheer people up as they strode by and were seen. Grob had given them the name of a commander on the wall to coordinate with. Teragdor was hoping the commander could tell him what to do because, honestly, he had no experience with battlefield combat. He could fight as well as the next half-orc, or priest of Tiernon for that matter, but as to what one did when working with an army? He was at a complete loss.

He was sure that was the reason for his trepidation. He did not want to make a fool of himself, lose face. He looked to Rasmeth, speaking softly so only the two of them could hear over the shouts of the soldiers. “Have you ever been in a situation like this?”

Rasmeth looked at him, startled. “I am—was a high chaplain; I worked in a chapel!” He shook his head. “As an itinerant priest of Tiernon, no less, you’ve got far more field experience than I do.”

Teragdor sighed. “I pray we do not screw up.”

“Well, at least you’ve got two more people listening to your prayers than I do.” Rasmeth chuckled ruefully.

“Apostles!” A strong tenor voice called to them.

Teragdor looked over to see someone, a short someone, in the plate armor of a Shield commander gesturing for them to join him—her? They made their way towards the stocky four-foot-two commander, who was standing behind a curved shield wall set back from the crenellations; apparently a command center of some sort.

“Good to have you.” The commander gestured to the aerial forces hovering outside the moat and launching arrows and crossbow bolts at the people along the wall. The hovering forces were spread out and moving in and out of range, aware that if too many of them clumped together, they could be hit by a Holy Water catapult, as in fact happened while Teragdor’s eyes were drawn to where the commander had gestured.

“I am Wall Commander Kharkurd. The vicar general sent word you would be joining us,” the commander said. Definitely a woman, Teragdor decided.

“Our honor. Blessings of Tiernon be upon you,” Teragdor told her, making the gesture for a secular blessing. Mana levels were too low for a traditional priestly blessing. “I am Teragdor.”

“Blessings of Torean upon you,” Rasmeth said and gave her secular blessing as well. “I am Rasmeth. How can we be of most assistance?”

The commander gestured for them to join her behind her wall, which had a glass window to allow her to view the battle in relative safety, and currently, privately. She looked out to the surrounding army. “They are still setting up camp, constructing their equipment, organizing their troops. They are not yet ready for full aerial combat. Fortunately for us, there is much more preparation required for an aerial assault across the moat.” The commander sighed and looked out the forces hovering on the other side of the moat.

“I imagine one-hundred-and-fifty-foot siege towers take some time to construct,” Rasmeth said.

The commander nodded and pointed down the wall to where such towers were being constructed. “True. However, they have other options. Zombie dragons carrying passenger wagons that they will try to land on the walls,” she informed them. “For the moment, though, they are simply testing us. They have not brought out the heavy infantry, nor any serious magic; at least, not against us or the Wardens above us.”

She gestured to the Sky Wardens above their section of wall, who were flying in complicated patterns that made targeting them difficult. “I hear the ground battle to get a bridge over the moat is much more intense, but up here? My guess is that they are working to see how incapacitated we are. They are looking to see how we respond; are we healing soldiers that are wounded with clerical rituals or traditional healing?” She shook her head, and then used her hand to direct their eyes to what Teragdor suddenly realized was a lich on an ice dragon behind the Unlife troops that were shooting at people on the wall.

“The lich is also looking at the mettle of the Sky Wardens, who have not taken the battle to them yet. Which, I believe, according to history, is unusual for us.” The commander shook her head “However, to be honest, I am speaking from book knowledge and speculation. Only the older alfar have seen a force this large. In my two hundred and four years of life, we have only seen isolated attacks against the outlying farms and villages.”

She looked back and forth between the two apostles. “Understand that we train our whole lives for such a scenario as this, and yet for the vast majority of our soldiers, this a new, untested situation, particularly given that we are cut off from the Heavens. We did not train for that; we have relied very heavily on our priests being able to smite the undead. Under the best of circumstances, my men would be scared today; given this morning, they are terrified.”

Teragdor nodded and looked out towards the skies, thinking.

“When do you think they will mount a more serious attack?” Rasmeth asked.

“I have no idea. From the books, the night is always the heaviest. Even with the cloud cover, the vampires and vampyrs are sluggish during the day, as are wights. They use a lot of wights, as you might imagine, basically reanimating every ghast or ghoul that dies on them. The jiangshi are more functional, but not that much more so. So I would expect a full barrage come nightfall, unless they determine we are so weak that they move sooner.”

Rasmeth shook his head. “What are jiangshi?”

“They are a sight,” the commander said, shaking her head. “When you see one you will not mistake it. They are very intelligent Unlife, very devious. I think the best term might be zombie vampire. Their motions are stiff, like most zombies or mummies, and rather than walk, they generally hop. However, unlike zombies, they can move very fast if need be and older ones can leap vast distances in a heartbeat, as with vampires, they have fangs to consume the animus of the living.”

Holy Saint Stevos, hear the prayer of your disciple, the Apostle Teragdor, Teragdor prayed while Rasmeth talked. Stevos had promised him this would work, but he’d never done a prayer like this before, so he was still a bit surprised when Stevos responded.

I can hear you, Teragdor, Stevos said in his mind.

Commander Kharkurd says that so far, the enemy is testing us, determining how weakened we are before deciding how and when to attack. Most likely it will be at nightfall, but possibly sooner if they see weakness. Further, the soldiers, while well-trained, are inexperienced and now terrified by this morning’s events, Teragdor prayed.

That would make sense. What do you recommend? Stevos asked.

There is a lich on an ice dragon monitoring this section of the wall; I was thinking of sending it a clear message that we are not defenseless. Something to surprise them and give them pause, even as they did to us this morning. What is the best we can do at the moment? Teragdor prayed.

One moment while I check with Beragamos, Stevos replied, going quiet for a few moments.

Suddenly Teragdor sensed another presence in the prayer; it was Beragamos. May I commune with you, be one with you, using your senses and join you in your body? Beragamos asked him.

Teragdor blinked in surprise; he did not know avatars could do that. Uhm, certainly, he replied.

Suddenly he felt the warm presence of Beragamos even closer than before, completely inside his skull. He felt his hands lowering from their prayer position as he himself walked out from behind the shield and over to the wall to stare down at the vast horde of Unlife below, and then surveyed the sky above. Interestingly, while arrows were still falling, none struck his armor.

His eyes suddenly went to the lich on the ice dragon and within seconds he was staring the lich directly in the face, as if close up. That was the fastest transition to one of the Holy Sights he had ever experienced. He felt his head nod as his vision returned to normal and his body turned back towards the commander and Rasmeth, both of whom were looking at him very oddly. He walked about halfway back.

I think we can give them a show, something a bit more than a single apostolic spell, Beragamos said. I will return to you momentarily.

Teragdor shook his head as Beragamos released him.

“What was that about?” Rasmeth asked in concern. “That was very strange of you.”

“That was Beragamos; he sort of possessed me to investigate the situation,” Teragdor said wonderingly.

“Possessed you?” Rasmeth said.

“I think it was a Holy Communion. I read about in my apostolic books, but have never experienced one, obviously,” Teragdor said, blinking a few times. “He thinks we can do something to give them pause.”

“Really?” Rasmeth asked.

“Praise be to Tiernon!” the commander said.

“I am sure we won’t be able to do it too many times, but right now, while we have the reserves, we can try to make them a bit nervous, to reconsider,” Teragdor said.

Teragdor felt Beragamos’s presence again. I am back. May I borrow your body once more? Everything I am going to do is in your apostolic books and within your power to do, but I am going to be doing three or four things at once, and I fear you have not had enough training to put them all together, Beragamos explained.

Certainly, Teragdor replied.

He felt Beragamos re-enter his mind, his being. Teragdor found himself setting his great shield down. He then removed his gauntlets, laying them down gently. His body moved to an open space on the wall. As he did so, his mouth began to speak in a chant, however it was in no language that Teragdor knew.

Within moments, Teragdor was shocked to find himself rising into the air, his hands held wide at his sides, parallel to his shoulders. Could he be a more obvious target? His body rose to about twenty feet above the top of the wall. His eyes moved to stare at the lich on the ice dragon. Teragdor was at the same height as the lich, and they had a line of sight for direct eye contact.

At this point, all of the Unlife forces outside the moat in their vicinity were firing at him, yet their arrows went wide. Teragdor once more found himself chanting, but this time it was a new chant—a very loud chant, again in a language he did not know.

He felt his eyes boring into the lich’s red-ember eyes. The lich was clearly paying attention, curious as to what Teragdor was doing. Suddenly and without warning, Teragdor’s sight was blinded by an intense flash of light as he felt himself, or rather Beragamos, flowing from his eyes to the lich’s eyes.

Teragdor heard a horrendous screeching noise that he suddenly realized was the lich screaming in pain. As the scream became louder and louder, Teragdor’s sight returned. The lich and his dragon were bathed in a very bright, heavenly light that crackled and danced around them in small bolts.

And then it was gone, the air still, no more screaming lich. Just a cloud of dust floating to the distant ground below. The lich and its dragon were simply gone. The Unlife’s aerial forces had all turned to stare at the lich, who was now no more.

Teragdor found himself floating back down to the battlement, his feet touching down lightly. Beragamos chuckled in his mind. Perhaps that will give them pause. And then the archon was gone and Teragdor slowly lowered himself to his knees, feeling extremely worn out.

Citadel of Light, Storm Lords’ Command Post

“What is that priest doing?” Ramses asked, staring off towards the Citadel. “Is he purposefully trying to make a target of himself?”

Exador turned to look where Ramses was staring. He blinked and shook his head, focusing his demon sight on the priest rising above the wall. “That’s not a priest!” he exclaimed in surprise.

“What is it, if it is not a priest?” Baba Smert' asked in her typical acidic hiss.

“It’s an Apostle of Tiernon… and… if I am not mistaken, there is also an Apostle of Torean up on the wall,” Exador replied, puzzled. “The armor style is also that of the Church of Tiernon in Astlan, not that of Nysegard. This is very strange.”

“Is an Apostle of the Five Siblings similar to the Dark Apostle?” Baba Smert' hissed.

“Not typically that powerful. It is a rank that is higher than a High Pontificate, but a bit lower than a prophet. Technically, prophets are often saints who were apostles when mortal,” Exador said, squinting, “I would argue that the Dark Apostle was most similar to a prophet; however, their methods of ascension to power are quite different.”

“Your time leading the Rod has certainly paid dividends,” Ramses noted.

“There were a—” Exador was cut off, startled as what appeared to Exador to be twin golden yellow laser beams flashed from the apostle’s eyes to those of the monitoring lich.

“That is odd; how can we see beams of light without clouds or smoke to diffract the light?” Ramses asked.

“It’s Heavenly Fire, not exactly a laser beam,” Exador said.

Suddenly the lich and its dragon lit up brightly with coruscating Heavenly Fire.

Exador made a smacking noise with his mouth. “Would not want to be that lich or its dragon.” The light brightened; if he extended his hearing he could hear the lich’s screams of agony.

“That scream,” Baba Smert' hissed. “His phylactery is under attack! Yet it is thousands of leagues away!”

The Heavenly Fire from the apostle’s eyes vanished and within but a few moments, so did the glowing lich and ice dragon. Only a cloud of smoke and perhaps steam remained. Exador shook his head in amazement at the sight.

“How did they do that?” Baba Smert' hissed angrily. “You swore they would be cut off! You have failed to block their off-world access!”

Exador shook his head, puzzled. The old bag of moldy bones was seriously angry. “No. The wards are up, the beacons are working. I have no access to the Abyss, nor can I plane shift. Try for yourself if you do not believe me.”

Baba Smert' muttered to herself for several moments and then said, “Fine, your magic seems to be working. How did they do that?” she hissed angrily.

“Well, they somehow managed to import a couple apostles from Astlan into their fortress before the wards went up. Perhaps they also snuck in a few saints, who are now powering the apostle,” Exador said, shrugging.

“And what are we to do about that?” Baba Smert' asked angrily.

“Any avatars would be similarly cut off from the heavens. They would only have so much mana easily available to them. Yes, they are formidable, but their resources will most likely be applied to priests in the Citadel so that they can heal their people, keep the Holy Water fresh, et cetera,” Exador replied.

“You seem to know a lot about these priests. Your recommendation?” Baba Smert' asked.

Exador shrugged again. “This is a siege. It may be a longer siege than we expected, but it is a siege. We deal with any avatars the same way we deal with any resources in a besieged fortress. We wear them down, slowly, battle after battle. If we hit them hard enough, for long enough, their resources will run dry.”

“I believe Praelgeis said there are over a quarter million mortals within the Citadel. What if they have worship services to recharge the avatars?” Ramses asked.

Exador inhaled deeply, thinking. “There is only so much mana they can store, and they can only process mana so fast. We have to hit them hard enough, long enough to force them to use more mana than they can process and so deplete their reserves.”

Exador looked to Baba Smert'. “It may be a bit more difficult than we expected, but nothing has really changed. You have your largest army ever, and they have the least divine assistance that they have ever had. Victory is still ours.”

“It had better be,” Baba Smert' somehow snarled and hissed at the same time. Exador simply gave her a tight-lipped smile. He truly did not like this revolting sack of rotten meat. He was beginning to see why Bess had refused to even deal with the Storm Lords.

Krallnomton: Midday

I thought you were going to pray? Ruiden asked Talarius.

I was, but I can’t seem to get my mind still enough to concentrate on a prayer, so I’m trying to meditate, Talarius replied.

We have heard a lot of disconcerting information this morning, Ruiden agreed.

Do you believe any of it? Talarius asked.

Well, a grown woman popping out of a brain tumor after surgery is difficult to believe, but I’m not an expert on gods, Ruiden replied, and then, somehow sounding rather morose, he added, I’m no longer much of an expert on demons either. I thought I knew what they were, and now I don’t.

Talarius shook his head. I don’t care about that ridiculous story. Hephaestus admitted that you can’t necessarily take a god’s origin story at face value. No, what I can’t accept is that Tiernon and our Church has always taught us that demons are demonstrably evil. And now I find out that a demon—the demon I tried to permanently kill—is not only a recycled demon prince, but if I believe that mirroring and Hephaestus, is the stepbrother of my god?

Well, I for one was relieved to find out Tom is actually a god. Makes me feel like less of a failure as a demon-slaying sword, Ruiden said. Talarius wasn’t sure if it was serious or joking. It expressed very little emotion as a golem when speaking, and its thoughts were only marginally more expressive.

I mean, I can maybe accept that demons and D’Orcs, and even saints are mortals who are converted by magic into immortals, Talarius said. I don’t like it, but I have enough evidence, and a lot of corroborating independent testimony, that I cannot really deny it. But the fact that Orcus, the villain of Church legend, slain by Sentir Fallon, is the stepbrother of my god?

So when you say your mind is not still enough, do you really mean that you simply do not want to pray to Tiernon and ask him if he had his stepbrother murdered? Ruiden asked.

Talarius put his face in his hands, groaning. Something like that. It’s simply too insane to believe. But so much of all of this is too much to believe! Where do I draw the line? Are there even lines anymore?

Ruiden was silent.

Talarius shook his head and got to his feet. I really hope we are going to the Citadel to battle the Storm Lords, he said. At least I know that the Citadel will bring me no more questions; that we will simply fight against the darkness. Good versus evil. Things will be much simpler there and in the glory of combat, I will not have to think.

He sighed. “Tiernon! I really need to stop thinking,” the knight said out loud. “No more questions; no more confusing and contradictory information that I can’t deal with!”

Citadel of Light, Battlements: Early Fourth Period

Teragdor was once more on the battlements after a short rest. Unfortunately, slaying the lich and its dragon had only seemed to antagonize the enemy. The Sky Wardens were now fully engaged in trying to stop incursions over the wall. Several zombie dragons had already tried to deliver wagons of zombies to the tops of the walls. The Sky Wardens could beat them back, but in many cases they were able to unload their zombie passengers.

That meant the soldiers on top of the wall were now fully in battle and the battle priests engaged. Teragdor had never heard of battle priests until he’d met Karis, but they did seem to be a good idea. They were priest combatants who waded into battle and fought the Unlife directly, giving regular soldiers an edge in combat both with protection rituals and blessings as well as quick healing.

That was essentially what he and Rasmeth were doing at the moment. With more troops now engaged, they did not have the mana to spare to do major attacks. Interestingly, as with the battle priests, the emblem on his shield was actually a consecrated symbol of Tiernon that he could use as a normal Holy Symbol, thus giving him a free hand for his mace.

He had cast the Apostolic Ritual of Unlife Aversion upon himself. This provided him and those around him with a region in which Unlife were not only hindered but actively and painfully repelled. He was trying to use it in such a way as to push the zombies off the top of the wall. Preferably the outside wall, but there were people on the ground on the inside prepared to deal with any zombie mush that might try to crawl or ooze away from the impact site.

CRUNCH went his mace in a zombie’s skull. The mace’s pleasant glow would be quite useful once Atun had set. He pulled the mace, dripping with brains, out of the skull. The weapon had the option to raise spikes out of the main ball, similar to a morning star, but without the chain. However, in the case of zombie skulls, a simple round ball mace was more effective, as it was not as easily stuck in broken skull bone crevices.

“Aigh!” wailed a soldier about two feet from him. Somehow a zombie—no, that was a ghoul—had gotten between the segments at the wrist joint of her armor and was gnawing on the woman’s wrist.

“Off with you!” Teragdor yelled, quickly crushing the ghoul’s skull. That would prevent it from being turned to a wight. “Let me see your wrist!” he ordered the soldier, moving to try and surround her with his shield. He allowed his mace to fall on its strap as he reached for the woman’s hand.

Teragdor quickly recited the ritual for curing ghoulism and then followed up with a healing ritual.

The woman looked up gratefully. “Thank you, apostle!”

“Keep up the good work!” Teragdor said with a nod as he pulled back, turning around and flipping his mace back up into his hand.

CRACK went his mace, glancing off a ghoul’s head this time. He shoved with his shield and the ghoul went tumbling over the wall to the inside court. Teragdor winced slightly. He had no problem with making zombie mush, but ghoulash was different. Ghouls were infected, diseased mortals; aside from their horrible hunger, they were actually intelligent people. Falling to one’s death like that was not a particularly honorable way to die. Not how he would normally want to defeat, or kill, his opponent.

He suspected however, that such a sentiment came from his mother’s side. He doubted too many orcs had such moral qualms. Of course, that could be the ingrained racism of the Church in Astlan. Orcs were not held in that high regard in the Astlanian Church of Tiernon, unlike here. Having been raised among humans, he had internalized many of those prejudices. Only here in Nysegard could he stand side by side with half-orcs, humans and orcs and see them all as individuals and not preconceived caricatures.

CRUNCH went his mace into another zombie skull. Zombies, on the other hand, were pretty much exactly what he’d always thought they’d be like. Only the putrid smell had he not counted on. No one had ever told him how truly horrible rotting zombie organs and flesh smelled.

Mount Doom, DCC: Early Fourth Period

“The seventeenth regiment, under Flora, shall be responsible our ground and tunnel defense here at Doom,” Arg-nargoloth noted, gesturing on the map table to the ground entrances to Doom. “Tar Roth Non is reporting that all the hydra hounds that survived Lord Tommus here are fully regenerated and ready to eat anyone entering the tunnels.”

“Sorry about that,” Tom said. He really did feel guilty for the havoc his party had wreaked upon the hydra hounds, who had just been doing their jobs.

Arg-nargoloth chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be; I am exaggerating. All of the hounds actually survived. This is the Abyss, after all. The ones you brained so they could not sprout new heads are just taking longer to regenerate. They should be ready for combat in a few more weeks. Anyway, we still have over a thousand hounds ready for combat.”

“The tenth is ready for Doom air support,” Zog Darthelm reported. “We have gotten three new gravity canons online and the plasma infantry are now at their defensive stations.”

Tom shook his head. “I wish we could use those plasma rifles in Nysegard. I suspect they would work quite well on Unlife.”

“They do indeed.” Morok Deathstealer nodded in agreement.

“I prefer gravity rifles for zombies. One-stop pulverization, brains and all,” Zog replied.

“Neither of which work in Nysegard,” Arg-nargoloth interrupted, trying to keep the planning session on topic.

“Vespa Crooked Stick and the nineteenth are in the process of deploying to the Nysegard Doom,” Targh informed them. “We will want the most experienced Unlife fighters with us at the Citadel. Vespa’s people, along with our mortal forces, will be on high alert during the expedition to the Citadel.”

“How are our magical defenses on the Isle of Doom?” Tom asked.

“Not what we want,” Völund responded. “We’ve been focused on getting the transportation and communication systems online.”

Phaestus spoke up. “I can assist there. While my wife will not go to the aid of the followers of the Five Siblings, she is more than happy to help Doom resist any potential treachery on their part. She will be bringing in two companies of sphinxes. We will place them all in key strategic locations. They will not let anyone pass; it’s one of their specialties.”

Tom nodded. “As to our advance party, Arg-nargoloth,” he said, looking to the commander, “you are to be in command of Doom itself. Your first is going to Nysegard in command of the second regiment, correct?”

“That is consistent with our practices for the last ten or twelve thousand years.” Arg-nargoloth said, nodding in agreement.

“So you have your hands full here. Darg-Krallnom and Targh, will you join me in the advance party?” Tom asked. “You both have great experience with the Citadel.” The two D’Orcs nodded in agreement.

“Talarius, you are the one pushing for this.” Tom smiled at the knight. “You also know the most of the modern Church. Will you join me as well under your oath?”

“I will.” Talarius nodded.

“Is there anyone else who should join us?” Tom asked.

Talarius spoke up. “I might offer a suggestion.” Tom nodded for him to continue. “I have made the close acquaintance of Sir Stainsberry, Knight Magus of the El Ohîm. Given all that has transpired between Doom and the Five Siblings, along with the oddity of this interdiction, it might be advisable to bring him along up front.”

“Very good idea!” Arg-nargoloth exclaimed. “I had no idea one of the El Ohîm was on the Isle of Doom. That will work in our favor.”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “Yes, that will give the avatars at the Citadel pause before committing any perfidy.”

Tom shook his head. “What are the El Ohîm?”

“It translates literally as ‘of the gods,’ ” Talarius informed him. “So Sir Stainsberry is a Knight Magus of the gods.”

“Which gods?” Tom asked suspiciously.

“All of them!” Talarius grinned. “Or at least all of them that have sworn to uphold the Concord of Conciliation and the Balance.”

Tom just looked at him curiously, not really understanding.

“They are representatives, in a sense, marshals, of the Tribunal,” Phaestus explained. “The Tribunal is something of a governing body for inter-pantheon affairs. Each signatory pantheon has a representative on the Tribunal. It is their job to keep order between the pantheons.”

“Interesting. So bringing Stainsberry is like bringing a sheriff to ensure everyone agrees on the rules?” Tom asked.

“Yes. Although I would say that Doom’s interactions with the Tribunal are… complex,” Arg-nargoloth said.

Tom looked at him questioningly, but Phaestus explained, “Doom, and the Tartarvardenennead, are not signatories to the Concord of Conciliation. This is for a number of reasons, including conflict with the Courts of Chaos, as well as the fact that the Tartarvardenennead is not technically a pantheon in the traditional sense.”

“It would be rather against our mission,” Darg-Krallnom said.

Phaestus shrugged. “In any event, Tartarus also complicates things. The Tribunal very much wants to control Tartarus; however, the Tribunal as a whole does not know that we are the ones running Tartarus—for our own protection, of course. Some do, or some in the representative pantheons know, but the actual Tribunes may not know.” The god shook his head. “Tartarus’s secretive nature complicates many things.”

“We should really consider doing an Oubliette session on the whole administrative and political aspects of Tartarus at some point,” Tom said.

“I will put it on the list. All of Doom’s relationships are going to have to be reviewed and re-evaluated,” Phaestus said.

“So,” Tom said, shaking his head to clear it. “Back to planning!”

The Inferno

Barabus looked up as Chancellor Alighieri entered the bridge looking rather perplexed. Heron noticed as well. The chancellor had sent word for them to assemble on the bridge. It was getting to be a tight fit with not only their standard group, but their two new passengers as well.

“What have you found, chancellor?” Heron asked him.

“Well, I believe I have restored the link to Talarius…” Dante said, sounding less than certain.

“Why, that is excellent news! I was sure a man of your talent could succeed!” Melissance practically gushed at the chancellor, who smiled less confidently than Barabus had ever seen him behave.

“However, it’s a bit odd,” Dante said.

“What do you mean, odd?” Heron asked.

“Well, the link does not go anywhere in the Abyss,” Dante told them looking up and around at the others.

“Where does it go?” Captain Cranshall asked.

“To Nysegard,” Dante replied.

“Nysegard?” Barabus asked. That was one of the last places he’d have expected Talarius to be.

“Yes, so it appears.” The chancellor nodded.

“Are you sure it’s Talarius on the other side?” Heron asked.

“Pretty certain. It is someone associated with Tiernon; I can now recognize that signature fairly easily after the last several days,” Dante explained.

“This is so bizarre.” Barabus glanced at Tamerlane, who was wedged into a corner behind him. The Diocate shook his head, indicating it made no sense to him either.

“You are certain that it goes to Nysegard?” Captain Cranshall said.

“Yes, as I have said a couple of times,” Chancellor Alighieri replied sternly. I have triple-checked the coordinates against every tool I have. Nysegard, being in our own localverse, is not that difficult to identify. It’s not like he was wandering around a random Earth or something.”

“What the…?” The chancellor suddenly exclaimed, staring at the locket intensely.

“What is it?” Heron asked.

“The link just went dead.” Dante began moving the locket around in order to stare at it from multiple directions.

“It went dead?” Barabus asked.

“Yes. It was there just fine, and now the link is simply broken!” Dante exclaimed.

“Did he plane shift?” Sir Samwell asked.

Dante shook his head. “Not unless he went to the Outer Planes; the link should follow him to any other world he could travel to.”

“Well, that would be rather disconcerting,” Melissance said suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Barabus asked.

“Well, you said he is with this mana-stealing demon, yes?”

“Yes.” Barabus nodded. “As far as we know.”

“Well, if Talarius went to an outer plane—the only way he could break such a link, as I understand the chancellor—then he most likely went to Tierhallon,” Melissance said with a shrug.

“And the demon with him,” Salvatore added.

Chancellor Alighieri frowned. “Well, that would not be good.”

Sir Samwell shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…”

“What bright side?” Barabus asked, suddenly worrying about a war between heaven and hell.

“It could simply be that the demon just killed Talarius and he went to Tierhallon the old-fashioned way,” Sir Samwell replied.

Citadel of Light, Shrine of Doom: Mid Fourth Period

Battle Priestess Karis Crooked Stick sat on one of the stone benches in the Shrine of Doom, staring at the communication stone and worrying. She was awaiting a response from Doom as to whether they could assist, and how many days would it take them to reach the Citadel with whatever forces they could spare. This was her assigned task from the Vicar General himself, but she feared it was a waste of time. Things were so dire that it was doubtful that the Isle of Doom could even arrive before the Storm Lords overran the Citadel. Her time would be better spent leading her squadron in the defense of their home than waiting for word from saviors who could not possibly make it in time.

She did not know whether to laugh or cry. They had been terribly worried about the oncoming attack but had steeled themselves to hold on, even as their ancestors had. Then, suddenly, a few days ago their hopes had surged, culminating yesterday with the assured belief that they would be able to beat back the Storm Lords, perhaps even permanently.

That all came crashing down this morning, and now there was only despair. The rising and dashing of hope in the lead-up to this siege was more emotionally wracking than actual battle with the Storm Lords. Battle, combat—that was what Karis needed to feel better. Even if doomed, no pun intended, to failure, if she could at least be out there and go down fighting, she would feel so much better.

Instead, she was here, watching a spherical stone on a small table in the middle of this shrine to Doom—or more precisely, Orcus. She glanced to the fresco of Lord Orcus in his human form above the old, long-dormant runic gateway to the Isle of Doom. Since Orcus’s death, this shrine was simply a communication point. In the old days, it had been the portal to the Isle of Doom. Legend had it that not only had the gateway been used to move forces between the Citadel and the Isle of Doom, but also for trading and commerce.

It was actually a very large temple, larger than Karis’s small chapel to Tiernon. Legend had it that the giant D’Orcs could march three abreast through the gateway. The shrine also had a very wide passageway up to the old main courtyard and stables. According to legend and a few old alvar, the stables had even had a section dedicated to boarding the mighty D’Wargs. Obviously, like gryphons and hippogriffs, they could not be stabled with horses without the horses revolting in fear.

Karis had to chuckle imagining that. Of course, she had never seen a D’Warg, but she had seen paintings of the fierce creatures. She had to admit that they gave even her, a combat-hardened half-orc battle priestess, serious pause. She would never want to face one on the wrong side of a war, but riding one into battle would be fantastic! D’Wargs would scare even vampires. Although, unfortunately, due to the nature of their digestive system, the vampires would be unable to soil themselves as she charged them on D’Wargback.

She blinked as something in the room started rattling. She glanced at the communication stone, where the rattling was coming from. That was very weird; it was not the noise a communication stone made when someone was trying to communicate. Karis stood up and walked over to the small table with the stone, reaching down to pick it up.

It was definitely active, but there was no one trying to speak to her on the other side. What was going on? She stared at the stone for several moments before realizing that a second vibrating noise was coming from somewhere in the room. She looked up to see dust falling off the wall under Orcus’s portrait.

What in Tiernon’s name…?

Suddenly the dusty, nearly invisible runes around the gateway sprang to life. Karis gasped in surprise as the runic gateway began to stir, runes flashing on and off in an activation pattern. This was the second surprise runic gateway activation she’d had in a week! Within a matter of moments, all of the runes flashed brightly, and midday atunlight poured through the gateway.

Karis drew back in shock and surprise as the gateway that had been dead for over four thousand years, and thought to be inoperable, opened. Was it the Isle of Doom? She blinked in the bright atunlight as from the gateway emerged three human-sized people with a very large, ugly winged orc behind them.

It was the Isle of Doom! Tears started streaming down Karis’s cheeks. Somehow the Isle of Doom had managed to open a runic gateway over a thousand leagues away. No one, other than avatars, had had that much power since Orcus’s death.

Karis shifted her focus from the D’Orc to the others. On her right was a cloaked knight in the plate mail of the El Ohîm; the one on her left was clearly a Knight Rampant of Tiernon, even if his armor was oddly styled. However, all three figures paled in comparison with the individual leading them. This was a young man of pale complexion with long, black curly hair, wearing flowing robes covered in arcane symbols and carrying an immense staff with glowing sapphire and ruby gems twisting down the shaft.

This could not be! This was impossible! Karis glanced above the young man’s head to the painting on the wall over the gateway. Her jaw dropped as her eyes flicked between the young man and the fresco above, her mind going numb. She fell to her knees and bowed her head. “My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” she managed to say with the last of her breath. The Lord of Light’s presence had stolen the very wind from her lungs.

Chapter 145

Citadel of Light, Shrine of Doom: Mid Fourth Period

Tom blinked in surprise as the heavily armored half-orc knight got down on her knees and bowed to him.

“My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” the knight—a woman, Tom realized—said.

“Yes. I—I’m surprised that you recognized me,” Tom said a bit hesitantly. He had not been planning on introducing himself as Orcus, primarily because he himself was not convinced that he was Orcus returned, and because he was already calling himself Lord Tommus.

The knight looked up above his head. “It’s rather hard not to. Although you do look much younger.”

Tom and the others turned to look up, following her gaze. There was a very large mural with Tom’s bearded face on it.

Well, that explains that, Tom thought, shaking his head. “So, and you are?” he asked, turning around and offering his hand to help her to her feet, even as he was mentally verifying that in order to get to Mount Doom, he needed to route through the Doom of Nysegard, as expected.

She took his hand hesitantly and slowly stood. She shook her head. “I am sorry. I am Karis Crooked Stick, Battle Priestess of Tiernon. I am the one who sent word to the Isle of Doom this morning. I was awaiting a response. This is far beyond anything anyone expected!”

The priestess—not a knight, after all—was fairly gushing with excitement. While Tom had not been around orcs or D’Orcs very long, this was a level of enthusiasm he had never seen. “Well, the Citadel has stood by Doom’s side through thick and thin, and we shall stand by yours,” he said, smiling. “Allow me to introduce my colleagues. We have come to evaluate the situation and strategize on how best to deploy our forces. Behind me is—”

“Targh Bowelsplitter!” Karis burst in, nodding happily. “We have a statue of the Oracle of Doom. Everyone will recognize him!”

Targh chuckled.

“Okay, well, this is Sir Stainsberry, Knight Magus of the El Ohîm,” Tom said.

Stainsberry nodded politely to Karis. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Mine as well. Oh, I am so happy to meet you, all of you,” Karis said, beaming.

“And this—this is Sir Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon!” Tom told her.

Karis’s eyes grew wide. “Sir Talarius? Of Astlan?” the battle priestess asked in surprise.

Now it was the Doom delegation’s turn to be surprised.

Talarius took his helmet off. “You know of me?” he asked.

“Well, of course! That’s how we ended up having so many avatars here! They came looking for you!” Karis said.

“They what?” Talarius asked again in shock. Tom wasn’t sure if the knight’s eyes could get any wider. Talarius’s brow furrowed. “Is one of the avatars Saint Hilda of Rivenrock?” Talarius asked, sounding almost puzzled by his own pronouncement.

“Yes! She is here, along with Stevos, Teragdor and Beragamos!” Karis said, clapping her hands together.

Now Tom was the one who was puzzled. So, the avatars that Tamarin had told him were investigating the Freehold incident were here? That was not a good thing. But how did Talarius know their names?

Talarius furrowed his brow again and shook his head a couple of times, his mouth moving slightly as if he was talking to himself.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, concerned.

After a moment, Talarius looked at him. “I’m sorry. I’m talking to Ruiden in my mind.” He then noticed Karis’s odd look. “My sword—we communicate mind to mind.” Karis nodded.

Tom had momentarily forgotten that Talarius and Ruiden talked that way. Talarius had told him this, as had Tamarin. In fact, that would be how Talarius knew of the avatars. Tamarin had told him that Ruiden had been traveling with Tiernon’s avatars, which is how he had ended up in Murgatroy. Things were starting to add up, and come together. It was just getting very difficult to keep all of the insanity straight in his head. Who knew who, and what and when did they know it? It could really make one’s head spin.

“Ruiden has worked with Hilda and Beragamos before,” Talarius said.

“Well, excellent! What a happy coincidence,” Karis exclaimed. “Oh! Before I forget, your horse is here, along with her barding.”

Talarius shook his head. “War Arrow is here? How?”

“Arch-Diocate Iskerus brought her. I believe they were going to use her to somehow help you escape the demon that kidnapped you!” Karis said and burst out laughing. “Little did anyone suspect that Lord Orcus would beat them to the punch and rescue you first!”

“Uhm, yeah…” Talarius said.

Tom smiled slightly at Talarius’s discomfort. It was not very nice of Tom, but it was rather fun, nonetheless.

“So! Shall I take you to the Command Center?” Karis asked hopefully.

“We need to try something first, rather quickly. We need to test this plane-blocking thing.” Tom said, motioning Targh to step around him. Tom then reached out and closed the runic gateway.

“How does closing the runic gateway do that?” Karis asked.

“I will open it again in a moment, but I need to see if Targh can follow my link to the Nysegard Doom and then back to the Abyss,” Tom explained. He nodded to Targh, who promptly took a deep breath as if preparing to relax. He then faded from view, even as a normal demon returning to the Abyss would do.

Tom nodded. “Excellent!” he turned and moved the table with the communication stone out of the way. “Targh Bowelsplitter, I summon thee from the depths of the Abyss!” Given his link to Targh, he didn’t need to use a true name or any real spell.

Within moments Targh reappeared in the room, fading in even as he had faded out. Tom grinned.

Karis gasped. “How did you overcome the dimensional blockage?” the battle priestess asked in surprise.

“I am linked to the Doom of Nysegard, which in turn is linked to Mount Doom. While I cannot go directly to Mount Doom from here, I can get to Mount Doom through the Doom of Nysegard,” Tom explained.

“Excellent!” Karis said. “So Mount Doom and the Doom of Nysegard are both once more fully operational?”

“They are indeed,” Tom smiled, raising the Rod of Tommus slightly.

Karis shook her head in sudden realization. “The Wand of Orcus, of course! I guess I was expecting something a bit smaller.”

Tom chuckled. “I understand. When I am in this form it’s a staff; however, when I change into other forms of different sizes, it stays the same size. So in battle, for example, it looks like a wand.”

“Of course!” Karis said. “Should we head to the Command Center?”

“Sure,” Tom said. Might as well confront these avatars before getting any deeper into this mess, he thought to himself. At least he had his full power, unlike them.

“I just want to open the runic gateway and update everyone there. We’ll have a few more people come through to start preparations,” Tom told the battle priestess. “I am also going to have Darg-Krallnom join us.”

Citadel Command Center: Late Fourth Period

Teragdor, taking a break from the battlements and working on preparations for things he and Rasmeth could do when darkness came this evening, nearly jumped out of his chair as the main doors to the Command Center were slammed open by the guards that had been just outside. They were both smiling brightly. Karis entered the room, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Citadel! We are Doomed! Lord Orcus has returned to fight by our side; the Forces of Doom have come to our rescue!” she shouted joyfully.

The entire room went silent for a moment, and then turned to see a completely unexpected sight. Behind Karis came two knights in armor, one with a large cloak; behind them was some sort of young wizard with curly black hair and a seriously magical metal staff with a demon’s skull on top. Flanking the wizard were two of the scariest-looking D’Orcs Teragdor had ever seen—although, given that he had only seen about a dozen D’Orcs in his life, that was not as strong of a statement as it might have been.

“What the…?” Grob Darkness Slayer spluttered, moving towards Karis before stopping dead in his tracks and staring at the wizard. Grob shook his head, even as Diocate Aeris came to his side. “Prince Orcus?” the vicar general said in shock before his eyes moved on to the two D’Orcs. Grob fell to his knees. “Praise be to Tiernon! He has delivered us the Lord Orcus reborn!” he shouted. Aeris rested her right hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She seemed in shock.

Teragdor quickly glanced to the avatars. Those of Krinna, Namora and Hendel remained oblivious, but Tiernon’s avatars, along with Timbly and the avatars of Torean, stood to get a better view.

Suddenly, Arch-Diocate Iskerus surged forward. “Talarius!” he shouted in surprise, rushing over towards the party.

The knight without the cloak, the one with the giant sword on his back, took off his helmet to reveal a man who appeared to be about thirty, wearing a broad grin. He quickly moved forward to embrace the arch-diocate.

How could a man so young be the greatest Knight Rampant in Astlan? Such a reputation would take decades, Teragdor wondered.

“Iskerus! I would never in a million years have expected to find you in Nysegard!” the Knight Rampant proclaimed.

“And I cannot believe you were able to escape your demon captor!” Iskerus exclaimed as the two embraced in greeting.

Teragdor shook his head. He had personally told Iskerus that they suspected that the demon that took Talarius was Orcus. So that’s a little awkward, Teragdor thought to himself. However, to be fair, he did not see the demon that had captured Talarius. There were two D’Orcs, a second knight and the wizard. Wizard? Or Animage? Teragdor wondered, suddenly recognizing some of the symbols on the robes the young man was wearing. Wasn’t there an animage involved in this? The one who had burnt the Oorstemothian ship? He didn’t remember exactly what he’d heard, but it seemed like at some point, the demon the Rod was chasing had been caught up with an animage.

“Well, Arch-Diocate, I did not exactly escape,” Talarius said, pulling back from the embrace.

“What do you mean?” Iskerus asked, frowning in puzzlement.

“I am here under an Oath of Hostage. I have come to fight at the Citadel’s side along with Lord Tommus here—sorry, Lord Orcus. It’s a rather long and confusing story.”

Iskerus looked to the animage and then back to Talarius again, not understanding. “But what about the demon that you battled and that dragged you to the Abyss?”

The animage tilted his head in a small nod. “Good to see you again, Arch-Diocate Iskerus, although I do not believe we were properly introduced before you had your priests attack me. I trust that Verigas and his compatriots suffered no long-term damage from my possession of them?”

Teragdor could not see the arch-diocate’s eyes, but he suspected they were extremely wide. Yep, he thought, confirming it as Iskerus reached out to the priest beside him for his balance.

“You?” Iskerus shook his head. “You are the demon?”

“I am,” Lord Orcus replied.

Or was it Lord Tommus? Lord Tommus Orcus? Teragdor was not at all sure about the names.

“You!” Beragamos said, standing with his hand resting on the arm of his chair. He was clearly multi-tasking at the moment. “You claim to be the demon prince Orcus?”

The animage looked at Beragamos. Teragdor could not be sure due to the distance, but it almost seemed if Lord Orcus’s eyes lost their focus. He did not respond for several moments, as if thinking about what to say. “Beragamos Nesferalem# Antidellas,” he finally said with a gentle smile and a slight nod of recognition. Teragdor had not known that the archon had a middle name. “It has been quite some time since we last worked together.”

Teragdor shook his head and looked towards Beragamos. What did that mean? Why would Tiernon’s right hand work with a demon prince? This made very little sense. However, sense or not, Beragamos was looking quite pale. Apparently the strain of processing mana was getting to him.

Lord Orcus suddenly looked around the room. “Yes, we all know that Tiernon and I have unfinished business. However, that business is not here. The Citadel has always been a loyal ally of Doom and Doom shall always be a loyal ally to the Citadel. We have sworn oaths, and unlike some, neither the Citadel nor Doom broke their oaths.” He was looking back at Beragamos, clearly sending the archon a message.

“So?” Orcus said, coming towards Beragamos. “Are you a man of your word, archon? Are these other avatars men and women of their word? Do we all agree to put our past disagreement aside for the purpose of defeating the Storm Lords and driving them back to their graves?” he asked. “Do we all swear to be brothers and sisters at arms and to allow the others to depart unharmed to their own homes after we achieve victory?”

Beragamos was silent, thinking for some time. “We will keep our word. We will honor such an agreement, if you do the same,” Beragamos finally said.

“Come now, my old colleague, have you ever even so much as heard of me breaking my oath, let alone known me to break my oath?” Orcus said.

Teragdor felt a chill run down his spine. There was something different about this Orcus than the one who had first entered the room. He could not put a finger on it, but this person seemed much older, more confident. Of course, one would have to be extremely confident to stare down the Supreme Archon of Tiernon, he reflected.

“I have not,” Beragamos admitted, finally shaking his head.

Teragdor glanced to Hilda and Stevos; both were staring at Beragamos in shock. Shock not that different from what Teragdor himself was feeling.

“So?” Orcus asked. “Shall we get to work? I assume some of you recognize Targh Bowelsplitter from the Isle of Doom.” He gestured to one of the two D’Orcs.

“I am also accompanied by my senior commander, Darg-Krallnom.” He gestured to the other, even bigger D’Orc. The large D’Orc chuckled and stared directly at Beragamos.

“We work together once more, Øverst-archon,” Darg-Krallnom said somewhat ominously.

“This is Sir Stainsberry, Knight Magus of the El Ohîm.” Orcus gestured to the cloaked knight. “And, as Arch-Diocate Iskerus noted, Sir Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon will be fighting at my side, even as he did against the forces of Lilith, Co-factor of the Abyss and her Knights of Chaos.”

The last claim stirred more than a few murmurs around the room. A Knight Rampant of Tiernon fighting side by side with Prince Orcus against Lilith, Empress of the Abyss. Talarius must be quite the knight. Teragdor had no idea what a Knight of Chaos was, but it sounded rather bad.

“So, now you know who we are. Perhaps a few more introductions from your side and then we get down to planning the Storm Lords’ defeat?” Lord Orcus suggested.

~

Tom looked on as Darg-Krallnom, Targh and Grob Darkness Slayer discussed the large battle board, as they called the table before them. The battle board looked very much like the miniature boards he and his friends had used to play war games. The only real difference was the fact that, here, they were planning a real battle involving real lives.

Apparently through the daylight hours, the Storm Lords had mostly been testing the Citadel’s defenses. Beragamos and the Apostle Teragdor had given them a show of force that had kept them from escalating their attacks in the afternoon. However, all bets were thought to be off once Atun set.

Tom glanced at Beragamos. Earlier, when the archon had called him out, Tom had had another vision from Orcus’s life. This one had been of himself, Beragamos, Vosh An-Non and Tiernon strategizing on some issue that he could not quite recall. The only thing he truly remembered from that was Beragamos’s name and the fact that at some point in time, Orcus and Doom had worked closely with Tiernon and his avatars. Being stepbrothers, that probably made sense. He already knew that they had conspired to lock their mutual parents in Tartarus. Talk about a dysfunctional family!

“So, you have rerouted all your priests’ connections to the Outer Planes to the avatars in this room?” Sir Stainsberry asked. Tom was actually rather impressed with Talarius’s half-elven friend. He truly understood not only military issues and wizardly issues, as one might expect of someone with the title of Knight Magus, but he also understood the multiverse and how the gods and their avatars worked. He was very happy Talarius had convinced him to bring Stainsberry along.

“Yes,” Teragdor said. “We, Tiernon’s people, have the most avatars and thus the best capacity, as you can see, whereas when there are only two avatars, they are fully occupied by handling the illumination streams.”

“And this blockade started a few hours before atunrise?” Stainsberry asked.

“Yes. We were taken completely by surprise. I had no clue that such a thing could even be done,” Beragamos said from his chair.

Tom snorted, causing everyone to look at him in surprise. He shook his head and looked at Beragamos. “Perhaps you should consider checking with Sentir Fallon, in that case.”

Bergamos’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Tom waved his arms around, indicating the interdiction around them. “I have seen this before. It is nearly identical to what Sentir Fallon did to—me—on Etterdam.” Tom had nearly said Orcus. He needed to remember that he was pretending to actually be Orcus. “I and my people were suddenly completely cut off from not only the Abyss and Mount Doom, but to other planes as well. Tom raised the Rod of Tommus as an example. “I lost our connection to Mount Doom. It should have auto-rerouted through the Etterdam Doom, but I was unable to keep that connection up.” He frowned, hating to go over this memory again. “We now know this was because Lilith’s forces, along with Nét’s, had seized the Doom of Etterdam and broken its link to Mount Doom in the Abyss. I then tried to reach other Dooms in Midgard, but was not able to make any off-plane connections. I and my forces were trapped on the battlefield on Etterdam with no outside mana streams and no way to return to the Abyss upon death.”

“Sound familiar?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

Everyone around the table was looking stunned. This would, of course, be the first time any of them had heard of what had actually happened. Of course, Tom himself had only learned of it this morning, so it was truly new information.

“And you think that was Sentir Fallon’s doing?” Beragamos asked.

“He was leading the attack against me, at Aodh’s side. He, Aodh and Lilith worked as a team to defeat me,” Tom said.

Darg-Krallnom nodded in agreement; they had spent quite a bit of time discussing this as part of their plans on how to avoid a repeat.

“These are serious charges,” Beragamos said sternly.

“We are in a truce, Beragamos. These are not charges; they are facts that are immediately relevant to the situation at hand,” Darg-Krallnom said. “Orcus has dealt with this sort of thing before. We intend to fight it differently this time.”

“But saying that Sentir Fallon was in league with Lilith?” Beragamos asked skeptically.

“Well, you admit that he was working with Nét’s minion, Aodh, and you know what happened,” Darg-Krallnom said, and Beragamos nodded. “We, the D’Orcs at Doom, have always known that Lilith took down Orcus’s connection to the Abyss. We know this because her troops came marching into Doom from Etterdam. You think this was a coincidence?”

Beragamos was silent for a moment. “I will admit it is suspicious timing.”

Darg-Krallnom shook his head. “We have known each other for nearly forty thousand years, worked together many times. You know my opinion of coincidence.”

Beragamos got a sour look on his face. “Clearly, once this is over, this must be investigated.” The archon looked at Tom. “Understand, it was never Tiernon’s intention that Sentir Fallon kill you or your people permanently. He only wanted Sentir Fallon to preserve Etterdam. Your war with Nét was destroying the planet.”

Darg-Krallnom looked at Beragamos very oddly. “Then perhaps he should have tasked Sentir Fallon with driving Nét from the plane instead?”

Tom said, “Again, we will deal with this after the Storm Lords are defeated.”

Beragamos and Darg-Krallnom both nodded.

Tom noted that Grob Darkness Slayer seemed relieved by his pronouncement. He could certainly understand why. One didn’t want one’s two strongest allies at each other’s throats. He turned to Beragamos again. “What have you set up to get your people to the Outer Planes should they be killed?” he asked. That had been his number one concern about coming to the Citadel.

“We have nothing. We have no idea what to do about that,” Rasmeth said.

“When your people die, what links do they follow?” Tom asked.

“Their souls can take any link they have that will get them to their respective Outer Plane,” Beragamos answered. “But, obviously, there are no links at the moment.”

“So why haven’t you sent avatars outside the interdiction and made sure everyone has links that pass through those avatars?” Tom asked.

All the avatars not concentrating on processing mana stared at Tom in surprise. He looked back at them, puzzled why they were shocked by this. “Yes, you could use those same avatars to channel mana streams from the god pools to priests within the interdiction,” Tom said.

“A relay avatar!” Beragamos said.

“Yes. That’s essentially what I’m doing, only I am using the Doom of Nysegard as the relay. You would need to use avatars. They wouldn’t be able to channel as much, but it would be better than this,” Tom said.

“That is brilliant! I can’t believe we did not think of that,” Aeris said. At least Tom was pretty sure that’s who the woman was. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the new people he had just met.

“How do we know where the interdiction ends?” Asferóth, the winged Arch-Diocate of Krinna asked. Tom had originally mistaken him as an avatar; he certainly looked like a very colorful and majestic angel.

“Wait!” Karis, who was standing behind Grob Darkness Slayer, interjected. “Lord Orcus? Couldn’t they just use your runic gateway to go to the Isle of Doom? We already know that is outside the interdiction!”

Beragamos looked to Tom and then to Darg-Krallnom.

Tom sighed. “I am sure you understand why we are leery of this idea?” he asked the archon.

Beragamos nodded. “I swear by my immortal soul that we shall do nothing to sabotage the Doom of Nysegard, nor Mount Doom, even after the battle is complete. I so swear on behalf of the Five Siblings.”

Darg-Krallnom nearly glared at the archon. “We shall hold you to that.”

“Actually, Darg-Krallnom, we do not need to, remember?” Tom said with a tight grin. “I have Hephaestus, also known as pTah, and his wife Sekhmekt guarding the Doom of Nysegard, along with an army of their avatars. The rest of their pantheon is available within minutes.” He looked at Beragamos. “As you probably know, the Nyjyr Ennead want nothing more than to tear down Tierhallon, along with all of the Five Siblings’ Outer Planes.”

Hilda, the heavyset saint who had been chasing Talarius, looked up from her concentration on mana processing towards him. “You are working with Bastet and her people?”

“All of them.” Tom nodded. “We were both wronged, betrayed, by the Five Siblings.”

Beragamos closed his eyes. Hilda looked to Beragamos, apparently seeking the truth of the matter.

“Is it true?” Talarius suddenly demanded of Beragamos.

Beragamos opened his eyes to meet Talarius’s. “Is what true?”

“Sekhmekt shared a vision, mortal memories, of what happened in Natoor, in the city of Memphis. Her vision showed the Rod and Rangers ravaging and terrorizing the city, conversion by force,” Talarius stated angrily. “Doing things that are clearly in violation of everything the Church and Rod stand for. She said this happened all over Natoor and Najaar.”

Beragamos sighed. “There were issues with that venture. Oversight was not what it should have been. The Siblings have been working to correct what occurred there. The attending archon was transferred out; a new one brought in shortly after that.”

Talarius had a look of complete horror and revulsion on his face.

Tom shook his head and asked, “Who was the attending archon?”

Beragamos looked at him sidelong and grimaced. “I take it you know?”

Tom did not know, but he had a pretty good hunch. “Based on what you have told me, I can make a guess.”

Talarius looked at him, puzzled.

Sir Stainsberry asked, “Sentir Fallon?”

Beragamos nodded quietly.

“If I were to believe what you said about Tiernon not intending his treachery, that Sentir Fallon acted on his own both times, then I would suggest that Tiernon has seriously failed as a god of Justice,” Tom said coldly. He was actually more than a little surprised at how angry he was feeling at the moment. The horrors of this Sentir Fallon were old, well before Tom’s time, but for some reason he found himself taking all of this personally.

Inethya, the Prophetess of Tiernon on Nysegard, spoke up. “Even before Sentir Fallon was promoted to the role of Elder Archon of the Localverse, while he was Attendant Archon for Astlan, he had been advocating for a decreased ground game on Nysegard. He is the one primarily responsible for the reduction in the number of saints joining battle here.”

“Actually, we had to go over his head to Beragamos to get permission to be here for this battle,” Dashgar admitted.

Beragamos sighed, closing his eyes again for several moments as the tension around the table simmered and no one spoke. “As Lord Orcus has said, such issues are for another day. I assure you that all of this will be brought before Tiernon as soon as this war is over. Let us focus on winning one battle at a time,” he said upon opening his eyes.

Citadel of Light, Tower Balcony: Early Fifth Period

Talarius stood observing the obscenely large army of the dead surrounding the Citadel. He was on a balcony down the hall from the Command Center. He shook his head; this was his first true view of the Citadel as a whole. It certainly lived up to its name. He had never seen, nor even imagined, a man-made fortress on this scale. It was quite daunting. As was the Unlife army arrayed around the mighty fortress.

It was very difficult to get an accurate count of the bewildering number of Unlife arrayed before him, both on the ground and in the sky. But if the keep had nearly a quarter of a million people holed up in the bowels of this fortress-city, then there had to be nearly the same number of Unlife on the field and in the air. These were mind-boggling numbers. How did one defeat an army that size? How did one raise an army of that size? How many necromancers did they have?

Talarius shook his head. He had feared that a battle in Nysegard would not be enough to take his mind off his internal turmoil. The ridiculously insane battle before them could actually work. It would, however, have been better if that infernal—hah!—archon of Tiernon, Beragamos Antidellas, had not essentially confirmed everything the demon and his god friends had told him.

Talarius felt his fury returning. His entire life had been predicated upon a lie! The sacred Church and Rod had committed atrocities beyond imagination. Hypocrisy was not a strong enough word for the self-delusion of his Church. Beragamos, while not admitting that Tiernon and Orcus were stepbrothers, admitted that they had worked together as allies. Even Orcus’s right-hand man—or D’Orc, Darg-Krallnom, knew Beragamos.

He had never been so grateful to be in his plate armor. Its rigidity had only barely been able to keep him upright during these revelations. He closed his eyes, breathing in the late-afternoon air, trying to clear his mind. How could the Church have committed these atrocities? Not only upon the worshipers of the Nyjyr Ennead, but upon the forces of their ally, Tiernon’s stepbrother? How could his god, Tiernon, ignore the perfidy of this Sentir Fallon?

Ruiden spoke in his mind. Humans, and apparently deities are often oblivious to their own sins.

Talarius chuckled. I don’t believe a human could be as blind as Tiernon, he replied.

Well, I hate to point it out, but you were walking around with a soul-sucking dagger. Pretty sure that was also against Church doctrine and policy.

Talarius’s eyes went wide. Ruiden was absolutely correct! I did not know at the time it was an Unlife dagger!

Nor, admittedly, did I, Ruiden said. I am actually surprised that I was never able to sense the Unlife in it. All I felt was Tiernon’s magic and aura.

So what I did, I did unknowingly, Talarius responded.

However, if you think back to the times you used it, there were, in retrospect, some signs, Ruiden said thoughtfully.

Talarius shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth to block out such thoughts, memories that perhaps should have given him pause, should have allowed him to see what was going on. But he had been blind to them; at the time he didn’t see the signs. Now, in hindsight, it should have been obvious. Even as he’d been blind to his own lack of honor in fighting Tom.

His lack of honor in dealing with Melissance! Oh, gods! How could I possibly have thought Melissance had chosen Unlife? Talarius suddenly realized in horror. She had insisted on her innocence, but for whatever reason—reasoning that now, today, seemed completely insane—he and his fellow knights had turned their back on her and her flock! He fell to his knees with a crash, resting his head on the backs of his hands as he grasped the stone balustrade of the balcony.

I was so blind. So stupid! How could I have been so unknowing? Talarius cried to Ruiden.

Perhaps Tiernon did what he did unknowingly? Ruiden suggested. Perhaps he suspected Sentir Fallon, someone he has to have known for thousands upon thousands of years, but could never prove it? Perhaps the same things that blinded you to your own failings blinded Tiernon to Sentir Fallon’s.

Talarius shook his head. He is a god! He is my god. I hold him to a higher standard—that’s one of the core reasons to worship a god! They are ideals, bastions of the perfect! They are not supposed to be fallible, not like mortals.

Well... Ruiden said. Talarius was certain by the mental tone of the sword that he was not going to like the rest of the sentence. You’ve now met three gods—Sekhmekt, Hephaestus and Orcus—as well as any number of avatars, including the D’Orcs. And then there is my father, who is immortal, if not a god. Do you believe any of these individuals is infallible?

Talarius chuckled mirthlessly. Hardly. They are no different than the mortals they seek to rule! They are not perfect, nor ideal. They are just older and more jaded, yet for all their age they make mistakes!

So why would you expect Tiernon, or any of the Siblings, to be any different? Ruiden asked.

Because Tiernon is my god! Talarius shouted angrily in his mind at his sword. I have put my absolute trust in him. His design brought Excrathadorus Mortis into my possession, a soul-eating blade! How many have died permanently at my hand because of this?

As I understand it, the blade was the doing of Sentir Fallon, not Tiernon, Ruiden argued. Perhaps you should be angry with him. Enough others seem to be.

“No. I need to start accepting responsibility for my own choices, my own actions,” Talarius said out loud to his sword. Fortunately, he was alone on the balcony. “Sentir Fallon may have created the blade, but I took it. Perhaps he or the blade blinded my sight, but it was my actions that damned Melissance to her fate. If we live through this, I must make atonement. I must find and rescue Melissance from the foul fiend that took her soul!”

Citadel Battlements: An Hour Before Atunset

Hilda breathed in the fresh air as she surveyed the dark host surrounding the walls of the mighty fortress. It felt like a fortress had been lifted from her shoulders. Both Beragamos and Dashgar had gone to the Isle of Doom with Orcus, as had the other attending archons. Once they were there, all of her links, her illumination streams, had been restored, rerouted through Beragamos. She could once more bask in the light of Tiernon.

She did not, however, envy Beragamos and the attending archons. They would have their proverbial hands full channeling everything through themselves. They would once more be able to hand off links to the avatars’ HALOs; however, all of those links would have to run through them, both uplinks and downlinks. They would have the assistance of their HALOs, but they themselves had to linked to the avatars in the Citadel. Their HALOs could not handle that due to the interdiction.

She assumed, or rather hoped, that Beragamos and the attending archons would be able to bring more avatars to Nysegard to share the load. However, given the bureaucracy, and the fact they couldn’t go to the Outer Planes without breaking the links to the Citadel to drag avatars down here, she expected it would take a few more hours before full power was restored to the priests, especially those of the other Siblings.

Of course, with this small, momentary break, she could think about the mind-numbing conclusion to her mission. This was not at all what she had envisioned; not in a hundred million years. To be honest, she had been so preoccupied with her links that she hadn’t been able to fully process what had been said. What had registered made no sense. She desperately wanted to have a meeting with the local team still here—Stevos, Timbly, Teragdor, Rasmeth and Inethya—and go over what had been said. Teragdor and Rasmeth, in particular, would have understood the details better than she had been able to follow. So much of what she thought she had heard could not conceivably be correct; that’s why she needed to corroborate with the others. At a minimum, they needed to get their story straight and get some answers from Beragamos.

Beragamos knew Orcus! Hilda shook her head. That one D’Orc had even claimed to have worked with Beragamos in the past. How in Tierhallon could that possibly be? And why had Beragamos never mentioned that he knew the demon they were chasing personally?

A demon that Sentir Fallon had slain? Did Sentir Fallon know that Beragamos had worked with Orcus and his D’Orcs? Was that why Beragamos had said nothing? Hilda’s jaw suddenly dropped. She was suddenly remembering Orcus and his big D’Orc saying that Sentir Fallon had conspired with Lilith, the Queen of Demons, to defeat Orcus!

Hilda put her head in her hands. Saints did not normally get headaches, or at least not very often, but it certainly felt like one was coming on. Sweet Lord Tiernon, do I ever need a drink! she thought to herself, chuckling at the thought. Thankfully, it was impossible for a saint to be physically addicted to alcohol, but the act of drinking—the taste, the smell of the wine—that was what relaxed her, allowed her to be objective, to look at the big picture, and that is what she needed now.

She took a deep breath and tried some calming exercises. She needed to focus. At the moment, the abrupt culmination of her mission had yielded more questions, more confusion than she had started the mission with. If she took time to follow the logic of the conversation in the command center, her world would be on very shaky ground. There was a battle at hand. Now was not the time for questions; now was the time for action.

Hilda gritted her teeth, resolutely trying to smile. The most important thing to keep in mind was that she had the opportunity to put her questions and uncertainty to the side and do what she’d been wanting to do since arriving in Nysegard. She was going to go kick some vampires in the fangs! She would don her Saintly Plate Armor and go forth to wreak Holy Havoc among the Unlife. Her blows against the Unlife would, hopefully, act as blows against her own uncertainties and anxieties.

Tierhallon

Tiernon was reviewing the latest reports from Nysegard when Beragamos’s link suddenly came back online. He had actually been shocked when the Supreme Archon’s link had first disappeared; he had noticed that well before Sentir Fallon had reported the outage.

Beragamos? Tiernon sent down the link. He very rarely communicated this way with anyone, but the urgency of the situation dictated a change of protocol.

One moment, my lord, I must reshuffle a good number of links, Beragamos said. Tiernon was not completely sure what Beragamos was speaking about; however, he could imagine that with so many links cut, Beragamos was busy restoring them.

It took several minutes but eventually Beragamos responded. Apologies, my lord, but Dashgar and I are relaying all the links from Inethya, Hilda, Stevos and all of our priests in the Citadel; it’s a bit complicated to get the routing reset properly, Beragamos said.

So you are not at the Citadel? Tiernon asked.

No. We and the attending archons of the other Siblings are on the Isle of Doom, Beragamos replied to Tiernon’s immense shock.

The Isle of Doom? With the demon? Tiernon asked.

Yes. After we were cut off, the vicar general had his people contact the Isle of Doom. They did not know that the demon had reactivated the Doom of Nysegard, so had not been expecting any immediate help. However, this afternoon, Orcus, Darg-Krallnom, Targh Bowelsplitter, Talarius and a Knight Magus of the El Ohîm came through.

A Knight Magus of the El Ohîm? Tiernon closed his eyes wearily. So Orcus had involved the Tribunal,. They had tried so hard to keep them out of all of this.

Yes. Although he has remained silent on any of the issues, I would expect him to bring them up if he were here on Tribunal business, Beragamos replied.

Fine. We will let that particular problem rest for the moment, Tiernon said. So why are you at the Isle of Doom?

We don’t know how far out the interdiction goes, so once Orcus opened the old runic gateway to the Citadel to bring his D’Orcs through, we archons were able to go through it to the Isle of Doom. The Isle of Doom is not under interdiction, and thus Orcus is able to use it as a relay to Mount Doom, Beragamos told him.

So you have verified it is Orcus? Tiernon asked. As if invoking the Tribunal’s agents was not proof enough.

Indeed. He remembered my full name; he also remembers how Sentir Fallon slew him, and it is extremely troubling. Far worse, or at least more problematic than you feared, Beragamos said.

So he’s angry, I assume? Tiernon asked.

That may be an understatement. But in any case, we have called a truce. He does not hold the Citadel responsible for what he considers your betrayal. He did bring up oath breaking a fair amount and made a point that only the Siblings would get, regarding oaths of fraternal loyalty. None of the other avatars would have gotten the reference.

Tiernon sighed and shook his head. But you are all working together against the Storm Lords?

We are. He is the one who told us how to get around the interdiction via relays. He says the interdiction was used against him on Etterdam by Sentir Fallon, Lilith and Nét’s avatar, Aodh.

What? Tiernon, asked emoting shock to Beragamos.

Yes, it’s shocking, but it may explain a great deal, Beragamos said. Based on what he has said, and what he knew about getting around the interdiction, as well as the word of Darg-Krallnom, I have no reason to doubt him.

We will need to discuss this in much more detail when you return, Tiernon said. What do you need in the meantime?

Alert the Siblings and have them send more avatars to Nysegard and to the other enclaves, I would suggest. We need more relay links to fully power our forces here, Beragamos said. Obviously, we need more avatars as well.

You say send them to the other enclaves? Tiernon asked. Why not to the Isle of Doom?

Orcus does not trust us. Lilith sabotaged his Etterdam Doom, which is what kept him from relaying his links last time, Beragamos explained. So he’s asked Hephaestus, Sekhmekt and their avatars to guard the Isle of Doom. If we bring in too many avatars, they may see that as a threat and bring in the rest of the Nyjyr Ennead.

The Nyjyr Ennead? Tiernon asked in shock. They are allied with Orcus? Aside from Hilda’s suspicions, he had not seen or heard anything from them in the last several hundred years. Ever since Sentir Fallon’s last screw-up.

They are; and as you might expect, they are also very angry with us, Beragamos said.

Tiernon sighed. He really did not need this, but at least things were coming out into the open. Perhaps it was the Nyjyr Ennead who had convinced Orcus to call in the Tribunal’s agents? He shook his head. Better the threats you knew than the ones you did not. Is there anything else you need? he asked.

Only the obvious. We do not want to marshal our avatars for Nysegard through Sentir Fallon. I think it best to keep him in the dark about what is going on until we can sort things out, Beragamos said.

Agreed, Tiernon replied. At the moment, all we have is the word of those we have wronged under his oversight. We need further inquiry, but at the same time, I cannot risk Sentir Fallon making the situation worse.

Isle of Doom

Beragamos shook his head as he disconnected from Tiernon. How could I have been so stupid? he thought to himself. This relay link thing should have been obvious to anyone with a clear head. In hindsight, he now realized they could have used their links to other priests on Nysegard, in other cities, to make connections and teleport to those priests, thus getting outside the Citadel.

I panicked—we panicked. People as old and supposedly as experienced as Beragamos should not panic. Dealing in the mortal realms led one to think like a mortal, react like a mortal. Although perhaps not only a mortal fault; any avatar suddenly cut off from their god would panic.

However, they had just been dealing with a similar situation with the Inferno. They should have learned from that, developed scenarios for that and similar situations. Not that anyone, other than Orcus and perhaps Sentir Fallon, could have anticipated such a situation.

This business with Sentir Fallon was bad. Sentir Fallon was a longtime friend and colleague. Beragamos knew Tiernon had been suspicious, and for very good reasons frustrated with the archon; however, at no point had Beragamos actually suspected Sentir Fallon of any complicity. It was just not in the archon’s nature, or so Beragamos had thought. He had been Sentir’s strongest backer before Tiernon and Torean.

Now, today, not only had he panicked and been unable to figure out a way to deal with the interdiction—something that should have been obvious to him—he had heard credible testimony that Sentir Fallon was in league with Lilith as well as Nét. Perhaps even the Storm Lords, given that they somehow had the same magineering.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time to retire, or take a break. He had been at this for so very long now and he was making mistakes. He shook his head. Look at how much he had enjoyed working with Hilda, though. Up until now, their adventures had been the most enjoyable experiences he’d had in centuries, if not millennia. Was that a subconscious recognition that he was getting too old for his job?

Chapter 146

Citadel of Light, Shrine of Doom: Shortly Before Atunset

As soon as Talarius and Stainsberry came through the runic gateway from the Isle of Doom, Talarius paused to re-secure a few items on War Arrow’s tack. They had had to return to the Isle of Doom due to the fact that his Bag of Safekeeping, which had been with the gear Iskerus had brought with him, refused to open in the Citadel. Stainsberry had had the same problem. Thus, in order to get items that both would need for the coming battle, they’d had to return to the Isle, outside of the interdiction, so they could get to their gear. He would need to keep this in mind in the future, in case this interdiction business started becoming part of a new standard in siegecraft.

War Arrow was now all set in her special Unlife Barding, which included silver horse shoes with spikes on them, along with full guards for her legs and underside. While certainly the largest, this would not be their first Unlife army. Their reunion had been very joyful and both he and War Arrow were excited to ride into battle once more.

Stainsberry’s steed, Mufasa, was a giant winged lion that had been stabled in Agnothnon; Stainsberry had needed to retrieve him and his tack, as well as his Bag of Safekeeping. War Arrow had eyed the lion warily, but had not seemed too worried. War Arrow routinely dealt with undead, Unlife, demons, all sorts of unpleasant things. A winged lion was no more than a curiosity for her.

He closed his eyes, calming himself. Only a few more minutes and he would be in battle, his mind clear and in focus for the purpose ahead. No more time for questions and self-doubt; training and experience would take over. This was a job he knew how to do, that he had done countless times.

He glanced up as he heard more people coming through the gateway behind him. It was Tom, Antefalken and three other demons of different proportions.

“Who are these—uhm—gentlemen?” Talarius asked Tom, referring to the three demons coming through the runic gateway carrying large rectangular boxes with them. “And what are they carrying?”

Tom, in his Edwyrd/Lord Orcus form, smiled at the two knights. “These are Talgorf, Bellyachus and Lesteroth Garflog, and they are carrying an invention of Phaestus’s devising. I call them Doomboxes.”

“Doomboxes?” Talarius asked, shaking his head.

“It’s a reference to my home world; to something called a boom box. These have the same sort of purpose, but are magical. They are connected to the Doom sound system, so anything we play at Doom on the organ and from the band will be broadcast—relayed—through these speakers,” Tom explained.

Talarius squinted. “What? You want music for the battle?”

Tom nodded. “It’s actually a D’Orc tradition, used to intimidate our enemies and rally our troops.”

“This is going to be epic!” Bellyachus exclaimed, nodding.

“It should enliven the battle. What will they be playing?” Stainsberry asked.

Tom shook his head. “I have no idea; I’ve left Tizzy in charge of the musical arrangements.”

Talarius blinked. “Well, this should be interesting. But I am sure it will help spur us on to victory!”

“I hope so too,” Antefalken said, holding up the protective bag for his crystal ball. “I am running out of space on my ball. I’m hoping you can defeat the Storm Lords within a few hours.”

Talarius and Tom both made choking noises at that statement. “I think we are looking at several days,” Tom told the bard.

Antefalken gritted and bared his teeth in frustration. “Well, that sucks. I wonder if they have a crystal ball store here?”

“It’s a big place—it’s actually a city,” Talarius told the bard. “So it’s possible.” He shook his head and turned back to Tom.

Tom grinned, shaking his head. He handed Talarius a large horn on a strap. “Anyway, speaking of our soundtrack, I want you, Talarius, to lead the charge and sound the Trumpet of Doom. Under normal circumstances, it would sound both where its player is and in Doom. I’ve added a link through the Doomalogue so those in Doom, as well as the Isle of Doom, can hear it.

“As we discussed, we have staged the D’Orcs in Nysegard to take advantage of the time difference. Behind the five of you, I will follow my link to the horn and open the sky portal below the storm clouds and allow the full light of Atun to bathe the field of battle. The Forces of Doom—demons, D’Orcs and D’Wargs—shall come through behind you,” Tom explained for the benefit of those that had not been at the planning table. Which would be the four demons, Mufasa and War Arrow.

Talarius nodded, acknowledging the honor with which Lord Tommus was entrusting him, and took the horn. “Demon lord, if you had told me I would be doing this when you first—er, met me? Well, I have absolutely no idea what I would have thought.” Talarius shook his head, giving Tom a rueful grin. He had almost said, When you had first taken me hostage before remembering that Stainsberry was there beside him. Although Iskerus has probably shattered that illusion, Talarius thought sadly to himself.

“This should be a good battle. I only wish the gravity canons and other high-tech equipment worked in Nysegard,” Tom said.

Talarius laughed. “Now that would not have been a fair fight. Even I would admit to that.”

Tom grinned and chuckled as well. “Good luck. I shall see you on the field of battle.”

“To all of our luck!” Talarius raised the horn as a salute.

“To luck!” Stainsberry agreed.

Antefalken spoke up. “I am going to be out there ahead of you. Be sure and crank up your armor before sounding the horn. It’s going to be dark and these balls are not that great in low light.”

“As you wish, bard. Who am I to argue the dictates of posterity?” Talarius replied.

Citadel of Light, Storm Lords’ Command Center: Atunset

“All forces are in place,” Baba Smert' hissed at Daerth Tromlane. Exador was not sure whether the old, moldy crone bones’ hiss was a statement or question.

Daerth Tromlane looked up from his command mirror and nodded. “We are set, even as Atun sets,” the Storm Lord intoned.

“The Citadel of Light makes its final stand,” Praelgeis hissed.

Exador was not completely certain, but he thought he sensed glee in the lich’s voice. He had not realized the creatures had any positive emotional responses.

“That’s interesting,” Ramses observed. Exador turned to look where Ramses was pointing. “Note that about half the Sky Wardens, those that were rotated out of combat, have changed formation and are all heading out over the sea.”

Exador used his demon sight to enhance the somewhat distant aerial force.

“This is most unusual,” Baba Smert’ hissed. “Abandoning their position above the Citadel, even as our most significant attacks are nigh?”

“Now they seem to be turning and getting into column formation, as if they are about to charge back to the battle field,” Ramses said, giving a play-by-play commentary to what they could all clearly observe for themselves.

“Whoa! Who’s the torch?” Ramses asked as a bright light suddenly flared at the head of the columns.

Exador focused his vision on the bright object. “There’s a second blue torch lighting up about twenty feet to his left.”

The first bright object was a silvery knight in glowing plate armor, riding a heavily barded flying horse. Exador blinked to see the flag and colors of a Knight Rampant of Tiernon. “That’s an Astlanian Knight Rampant! Like the apostle we saw earlier,” he told the others. Why were there Astlanians here, particularly given the interdiction?

“The blue knight,” Praelgeis hissed. “He wears the colors of the El Ohîm!”

“We cannot allow the Tribunal to learn of our beacons,” Baba Smert’ hissed.

“It would cause undue attention that we cannot afford,” Praelgeis agreed.

“We will need to ensure he is disposed of,” Daerth Tromlane intoned.

“Exador?” Ramses said with a note of concern in his voice. “Does that first knight, with the giant sword, look familiar to you?”

“What do you mean?” Exador asked, peering closer and at the sword in particular. He then zoomed in on other details, including the coat of arms on the flying horse’s overcoat.

“Uhm, correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t that Sir Talarius? The knight who was dragged down to the Abyss by Lenamare’s demon?” Ramses asked.

“Gnome’s balls!” Exador cursed. He glanced back at the seven Storm Lords in the command center area. “That knight was last seen being dropped through a portal to the Abyss by a demon belonging to my enemy, Lenamare. If Lenamare’s demon is here, we might have some difficulties.” Exador shook his head. Based on what Morthador had reported, this could in fact be quite serious indeed.

“What does that mean?” Praelgeis hissed.

“Lenamare’s demon—and I say that not knowing whether the demon works for Lenamare or Lenamare works for the demon—has reportedly raised an army of demon orcs in the Abyss,” Exador said.

“Demon orcs?” Baba Smert’ hissed in a very high-pitched tone. Exador noted that all the Storm Lords’ eyes were suddenly glowing extra-bright red. Apparently they were familiar with demon orcs, or D’Orcs as Morthador had called them.

“Yes—” Exador started to say when the most gods-awful, bone-chilling horn sounded. Or it would have chilled him to the bone if his current body actually had any real bones. He turned his attention back to Talarius, only to see him charging through the air, leading the Sky Wardens and blowing the horn.

“The Trumpet of Doom!” Praelgeis shouted furiously.

“It cannot be!” Baba Smert’ hissed in shrill denial.

As the horn’s disquieting blare finally ended, a ball of fire appeared in the air behind and above the two knights.

“This cannot be!” Daerth Tromlane boomed. “A Doom Gate! Inside the interdiction?”

Exador noted that several of the Storm Lords were hissing and cackling amongst themselves in their revolting raspy-hissing-clicking language. One which he really had no interest in having translated into Universal.

“Is that music?” Ramses asked.

“What the...?” Exador asked, frowning as a strident marching anthem blared outward from the oncoming knight. Exador noted three demons fanning out in front of Talarius, carrying large boxes. Presumably these boxes were the source of the music.

“Whoever is coming is bringing their own theme song!” Ramses exclaimed, sounding a bit too enthusiastic given the situation. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”

While they were distracted by the music, Exador suddenly realized that the ball of fire behind Talarius had been expanding into a ring! “How on Nysegard are they opening an Abyssal Gateway inside the beacons?” Exador shouted at the expanding ring.

“That’s not the Abyss on the other side! That’s atunlight! They are about to fry the entire freaking army!” Ramses shouted. The shouting arguments, or discussions, or whatever they were, of the Storm Lords was quickly escalating.

Suddenly, from the not-quite-an-Abyssal Gateway, a very large version of Lenamare’s demon emerged, brandishing a brightly glowing metal wand.

“Doom has returned!” Praelgeis shouted, practically in Exador’s ear. He turned to see the Storm Lords staring and pointing in shock at the large demon.

“Orcus is alive! This is not possible! We made sure he was permanently dead!” Daerth Tromlane screamed angrily.

Suddenly, behind Lenamare’s demon, a group of very large demon orcs were coming through in formation. A lot of them. A very lot of them. Exador shook his head as fanning out to each side of the D’Orcs came a second wave of normal demons. Hundreds and hundreds of them—much more than a thousand, in fact.

“What are those?” Ramses asked.

Exador saw what Ramses meant. Above and below the D’Orcs, even as the demons were to the right and left, flew some very ugly winged—wolves? No. wargs? D’Wargs? All were flowing from the ever-expanding fiery hole in the air.

The knights and Lenamare’s demon were now over the Citadel and coming in towards the Army of the Night. Exador glanced back to the Storm Lords to see them scrambling to get to their various commands, screaming at their generals and underlings.

“This is not good,” Ramses said. “There must be well over three thousand demonics. If you ask me, all of those orc demons appear to be major or greater demons, at a minimum. We outnumber them by less than a factor of a hundred! This is definitely not good!”

“I’m not sure how this could get any worse,” Exador said, shaking his head in dismay. He noted they were now alone in the command center.

“Oh, crap,” Ramses said, staring in a different direction slightly to the north of the Citadel. A very large, feather-winged woman was rising into the air above the northern army.

“What is she?” Exador said.

“If I were to guess, and it’s only a guess, but I think that’s the Prophetess of Krinna upon Nysegard,” Ramses said.

Exador sighed. “I should not have said that, about things getting worse.”

“Yeah,” Ramses said. “Because I am seeing what I think are several other avatars emerging from the Citadel and they do not appear to be lacking for mana in any way whatsoever. They seem to have found a way around the beacons. All Holy Hell is about to break loose.”

“I hope the Storm Lords know what they are doing, because I really do not want to have to get my hands dirty here,” Exador said, his shoulders slumping.

Ramses chuckled. “Have I thanked you enough for the amulet?”

Above Battlefield, Talarius

As planned, Talarius and War Arrow dove towards the bulk of the heavy infantry, while each D’Orc, demon and D’Warg regiment peeled off to their assigned targets. Stainsberry and Mufasa were splitting off a bit, but would be staying nearby.

Are you ready? Talarius asked Ruiden as he drew the sword.

I think so. This will be only the second time I’ve ever done this, Ruiden said.

On the count of three, once you tell me you are ready, Talarius said.

A few seconds later Ruiden said, Ready.

Talarius raised the sword high and began spinning it in a circle above his head. One… two… THREE! he mentally shouted at his sword as he released it into the air towards the troops below.

Ruiden spun through the air far more graciously and on-target than any normal, well-balanced sword thrown in such a manner would have flown. As it reached a point approximately halfway between Talarius and the army below, a sudden massive CRACK sounded, followed by rumbling thunder as lightning arced from the sky and struck the sword.

As hoped and planned, Ruiden the sword golem was spinning through the air. As he flew, Ruiden reshaped himself into the spinning glaive formation he had used successfully against Exador. Moments later Ruiden hit the armed forces, a spinning wheel of carnage.

Talarius winced to see so many zombie parts flying through the air. He had to hold his breath as the stench from the already decomposing corpses rose from the ground, mixed with the putrid smell of zombie blood, spilled organs and other unpleasant corpse fluids.

Talarius nudged War Arrow, directing her to pull up. He twisted in his seat to reach for his Bow of Heaven that was secured to the rear of his saddle. He was very glad Iskerus had brought all of his equipment. Talarius moved the bow into position while murmuring the words of the activation ritual.

It was rather difficult to concentrate on the ritual due to the very screechy, albeit motivating, music coming from the Doomboxes. Tizzy, in his nasal and often raspy voice, was apparently the lead singer, screeching about his enemies being “thunderstruck.” He had no idea where the demon came up with such things.

Fortunately, he was able to get the bow active. The Bow of Heaven did not fire normal arrows; rather, it used Holy Lightning Arrows that were a reflection of his faith and his will. His will was certainly there; he only hoped his faith was still strong enough to launch the arrows.

Using his visor’s targeting mechanism, he drew on an important-looking vampire below and off to the right. It was a tricky target because the vampire was using its cloak to shield itself from the atunlight coming through the portal. He pulled back on the string, the magical arrow forming in position. Closer... almost… there! Talarius thought as he got a clean line of shot on the vampire’s chest and released the arrow.

The arrow sped towards its target and struck true. The vampire screamed and exploded exactly as Talarius had hoped. One vampire down; only what, sixty-thousand more to go? Talarius thought to himself.

Above Battlefield, Stainsberry

Stainsberry shook his head in amazement as Ruiden, the glaive golem, began his devastating assault on the army below them. That sword had to be one of the most devastating weapons he had ever seen. Intelligent, autonomous and nearly indestructible. What more could one ask for in war?

He turned his attention from the golem to his first target, one of the lich commanders on dragonback. Typically, it would be these liches controlling and directing the zombies. If you eliminated the commanders, the zombies would meander rather aimlessly. They were still dangerous, of course, but given their hunger and incredibly short attention spans—due to rotting brains—they were not a large military threat.

For this sort of work, Stainsberry brought forth his Staff of Blue Lightning. Liches were typically immune to electrical attacks. However, Blue Lighting, the Lightning of the Gods, was a different story; it was effective against pretty much every known threat in the multiverse. He had even used it against a Knight of Chaos once. It had saved his life.

“Ghairm mi a-nis an dealanaich de na diathan! Le mo bòidean a 'mhòid-cheartais, faodaidh cumhachd gorm fras dealanaich!” Stainsberry shouted as he pointed the end of his staff at his target.

The increasingly less-dark night air was split by a blinding flash of blue-colored lightning arcing from the end of his staff to the lich. As the bolt finished its arc, the lich and its dragon were outlined in small blue arcs of electricity coruscating across the two. As the arcs subsided and the rictus of the lich and dragon was released, the two quickly began plummeting out of the sky, trailing a large cloud of smoke from the lich’s charred clothes and flesh. It wasn’t easy to char the flesh of an icy-subzero lich, but Blue Lightning could do it.

Tower Roof, Death Cheaters

“The Storm Lords are attempting to bring their clouds between the portal and their followers, as we expected,” Karth Death Cheater, the newest D’Orc, observed.

“You two get to work. I will ensure that no one interferes,” Eldebra told her husband and son.

They had, naturally, anticipated exactly this move and so the Death Cheaters had set themselves up on one of the Citadel’s tallest towers, along with a wide variety of shamanic components and tools. Shamanism was particularly good at manipulating the weather, given their rapport with the Katsina, the Spirits of the Air. For someone who could befriend the Katsina, controlling the weather was far simpler, and more effective, than the wizardry used by the Storm Lords.

Karth and Valg began beating their drums even as their feet moved in time with the rhythm in the complicated dance pattern necessary to interact with the Katsina.

Citadel Battlements, Teragdor, Rasmeth

Teragdor and Rasmeth were once more on the battlements, moving up and down the wall as they ensured that all the troops were protected by the most powerful blessings and protection rituals available to an apostle. It was not glamorous, but the strength of their rituals was ensuring very low casualties.

The Unlife had increased their efforts to take the walls since this afternoon. They were no longer holding anything back. Even now, Unliving pterosaurs were dive bombing over the moat to ravage the soldiers.

Rasmeth raised his right hand, his Symbol of Torean clenched within his fist. He shouted and Holy Fire sprang from his symbol and struck the pterosaur on its long neck. The Unliving beast screeched in pain and scrambled to try to avoid the fire.

Teragdor, with the time that Rasmeth had bought them, finished his gestures and made his pronouncement, a Ban of Holy Righteousness. The pterosaur suddenly collapsed, it’s Unlife banished from the corpse.

“Chop that thing into little pieces so it can’t be reanimated,” Teragdor told the soldiers nearby. He wasn’t actually sure whether or not a corpse could be reanimated after a Ban of Holy Righteousness—having never done one before—but he figured it was not worth taking the chance.

Rasmeth had already moved on to the second pterosaur, this time managing to hit it in the eye, searing through it and burning out the brain. “Incredible shot!” Teragdor shouted to the other apostle.

He glanced down off the wall to where one of the D’Orc regiments was clearing the field near the base of the wall. To say the view was incredibly surreal was an understatement. The D’Orcs were wielding insanely massive weapons that were out of proportion even to someone of their great size. He had no idea what sort of strength it would take to wield such weapons.

There was one D’Orc down on the ground simply spinning in circles, wielding some sort of cross between a sword and scythe. His circles were wide and he moved up and down among the Unlife, creating a massive swath of carnage. Bodies and limbs were rendered and then smashed on a second pass.

The problem with that, Teragdor thought, was that, in the case of zombies, their limbs were still active—at least until the head was destroyed. He blinked, realizing that behind the D’Orc with the giant blade, another, smaller D’Orc—a child D’Orc?—was coming along and stomping on and smashing any severed heads it found.

Teragdor shook his head and grinned. His grin faded, however, when he looked further down the wall, in the direction the D’Orcs had come from. Soldiers, most likely ghasts and ghouls, were shoveling the mangled zombie parts into the moat. If they managed to dump enough zombie mush into the Holy Water, it would become contaminated, allowing the aerial Unlife an easy route over the moat.

He gave Rasmeth a small thump on the shoulder and directed the other apostle’s gaze to the moat-stuffing ghouls. “We better head that way!”

Rasmeth nodded and said, “I’ll get word to Leighton. He can relay that to the Sky Wardens.”

Leighton was about a thousand feet north and two hundred feet above them, on one the Sky Warden’s MAHCs, Mobile Aerial Healing Carpets, which were extremely large flying carpets that served as flying triage and healing centers. The carpets were heavily loaded with protective spells to keep Unlife at bay and were manned by not only priests, but also by Brothers and Sisters of Krinna. Wounded Sky Wardens could either land or be brought to the carpet for healing.

MAHC Alpha-7, Leighton

Leighton thanked Rasmeth for the information and quickly threaded his way to Leftenant Tylyr Felbs. “Leftenant,” Leighton said to get the MAHC commander’s attention.

“Yes?” the leftenant asked.

“I just received word from the Apostle Rasmeth that ghoul soldiers are moving in behind the D’Orc carnage and shoveling zombie parts into the moat near wall checkpoint 34. They are moving down-wall to intercept, but wanted to alert Sky Command,” Leighton said.

Leftenant Felbs nodded. “Good—or rather, bad, but good to know. I will relay to Sky Command.” He shook his head. “I am unbelievably thankful for the return of the D’Orcs, but it would have been nice if we could have coordinated our work better, to avoid this sort of situation.”

“Indeed. However, compared to where we were this morning, I’m just grateful that we have the power to fly the MAHCs,” Leighton said.

The leftenant grinned broadly. “Leave it to a priest to always find reasons to thank the gods.”

Leighton chuckled, returning the grin. “We all play our own small roles in the gods’ plans.”

“Incoming!” one of the lookouts shouted.

Leighton turned to see a gryphon and rider coming in for a landing. Both were looking much worse for the wear. He moved in to assist once they were onboard. Brother Thelen was also readying himself. Leighton would work on healing the Warden, and Thelen would heal the gryphon. Once more, he was very relieved to actually have the mana to do this. He didn’t even want to try and imagine how bad things would have been if Lord Orcus had not come to save the day.

Knee-Deep in Zombies, Reggie, Boggy Estrebrius

“This is sick, man!” Reggie said with a frown, staring at the goo on his claws. He, Boggy and Estrebrius had gone out on their own to a less D’Orc-heavy region and were wading through undead, ripping them to pieces. At the moment they were wading through zombies and wights. The putrid corpses were really disgusting.

“When can we go back to ripping apart ghouls?” Reggie asked. “This is just nasty!”

“I don’t know. I like squashing the heads between my claws. It’s like squishing rotten cantaloupes or pumpkins!” Estrebrius said.

“Remember not to breathe!” Boggy shouted as he broke a zombie in two over his head.

“Definitely!” said Estrebrius. “Half the nasty is the smell!”

“It’s hard to talk if I don’t breathe!” Reggie yelled back.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Estrebrius suggested.

“Be careful though; I was doing that and ended up swallowing some intestinal splatter,” Boggy warned as he shook his head.

“Hey, is Tizzy going to join us?” Reggie asked. “He’s no longer singing; it’s been all instrumentals for a while now.”

Boggy paused and a zombie tried gnawing on one of his wings. “I would think so.” He frowned. “Normally he enjoys this sort of thing as much as the next demon! I wonder why he hasn’t shown up?”

“His loss!” Estrebrius shouted in glee has he smooshed two severed zombie heads, which were gnashing their teeth in frustration as they tried to bite him, together between his two hands. Reggie winced at all the rotten brain goo dripping through the demon’s fingers. Things seemed so much cleaner in zombie movies. Well, most zombie movies—that guy with the chainsaw hand splattered lots of goo, and his zombies could also remote control their body parts.

Battlefield, Tom

Tom released the flame from the Rod of Tommus and watched the smoldering remnants of the lich he had spent the last few minutes barbecuing flutter to the ground. Or sprinkle to the ground, as he was mostly dust. The problem was that simply incinerating a lich would not slay them.

He and Talarius had touched base about an hour ago, and the knight had told him that liches were problematic because the source of their immortality was a phylactery that contained their vital organs. Until one destroyed the phylactery and the organs, the lich could eventually return. Typically, Talarius informed him, the lich’s spirit would seek to possess someone’s body and then use that body to capture, kill and embalm a new body for it to use.

So, in many ways, this was futile from a long-term perspective, but it was more pleasant than fighting ghouls and ghasts, which looked like normal, living people. Flesh-starved, insane people, but still people. Zombies and most of the other animated undead seemed to be easy enough to leave to others. Thus, he’d been seeking out liches and larger threats. He’d run up against a few vampires, but none had presented too much of a challenge. The liches and their ice dragons could at least put up a fight using wizardry.

Tom glanced to his portal. Night had finally come to the Isle of Doom, so he closed the portal. He didn’t want any of the flying corpses to make their way through the gate. He looked around for his next target. There we go! he thought, spotting a zombie dragon. He wondered if they were flameproof? Actually, thinking about it, how could you have a zombie dragon? Dragons were demons. His very first fight had been with a dragon, whose cave he had stolen. Tom frowned at the memory. He still felt guilty for that, but fortunately he’d been assured that the death would not be permanent. That was what was puzzling—if dragons were demons, then why were there dragon corpses to reanimate? Well, time to find out. Tom took off towards the zombie dragon.

Knee-Deep in Zombies, Hilda

Hilda and her squadron, Shield Sarjeant Jacob Holspice’s squadron, were making their way through the D’Orc carnage outside the moat. She had specifically requested to work with her friends from a few nights back. Unfortunately, that meant that the squad had had to wait on her, although she suspected having the direct protection of a Saint of Tiernon in your squad was probably more than enough to assuage their impatience for battle. She chuckled at her own humor. She knew full well it did.

Hilda had been delayed several hours in taking to the field simply because she, Stevos, Inethya, and Timbly had been too busy fielding links and illumination streams to be able to actually go into battle. However, after a few hours, enough other avatars of all Five Siblings had finally made it to Nysegard, and so the avatars at the Citadel had been able to hand off streams.

This was going to turn out to be a big presence and in fact, a very unprecedented presence. The Siblings were not only sending archons to other locations on Nysegard; shortly before they left other saints had begun coming from their new locations on Nysegard to the Citadel. She and Stevos had worked to bring up two Saintly Gateways to other locations on Nysegard. The first saints through would set up additional gateways, while local commanders would fill them in on the status and needs for battle.

The current plan was to launch a dozen saint-led squadrons to go after the vampires and vampyrs, along with the ghasts and ghouls shielding them. One good thing had been that Orcus’s sky portal to the Isle of Doom had swathed a large section of the battlefield in atunlight, forcing the vampires, vampyrs and other daylight-sensitive Unlife to try to seek shelter and save themselves, and so kept them from battle.

Now that night had come to the Isle of Doom, and the portal was closed, the vampires and their forces would be out in force, and the ghasts and ghouls who had been left in some disarray by the atunlight would be far more organized and dangerous. Which was fine; the portal had bought them the time needed to get the streams stabilized and new saints onto the battlefield.

A guttural screech above her made Hilda glance up quickly in surprise, only to see a very large orc zombie flying overhead. Apparently it had been batted like a ball through the sky by one of the D’Orcs to their right with their incredibly oversized weapons. She stared in awed amazement at the giant winged demons.

To think, only weeks ago they had been scrambling in fear of what these returned D’Orcs might be up to in Astlan, and today? She was wading her way through mushed zombie parts side by side with D’Orcs. Hilda shook her head, looking up to where Orcus was wrapping an extremely large pterosaur in golden chains from his Wand. If anyone had told her even two days ago that the Demon Prince Orcus would actually be leading the forces of the Five Siblings into battle, she’d have had them committed to one of the Sisters’ sanitariums.

ZZzztt. Hilda glanced to her left flank, beyond the soldier, Thad, who was guarding it, to see a wight being zapped by the protective shield she had wrapped around her squad. Thad quickly smashed its head in with his mace, which she had also Blessed.

Hilda nodded, pleased. This part of the field was mostly cleared of active combatants, but the rear guard were starting to move back in. They needed to hurry towards the vampire-led ghoul armies before they got bogged down with more zombies. Hilda frowned, trying to understand where they had gotten so many corpses to reanimate.

Suddenly there was a commotion among the mass of zombies ahead and to the right of them, separated from them by about thirty feet of mulched zombie corpses. The zombies, who had been milling around, apparently awaiting orders, now seemed to be scrambling to change positions and move out of the way of something. She had to adjust her Holy Sight, but something on the other side of the zombies was apparently causing havoc.

Whatever the commotion was, she could see various zombie limbs flying up into the air and coming back down among the still-functional zombies. It was rather similar to the havoc wreaked by the D’Orcs, but there were no D’Orcs in that area that she knew of. Whatever it was, it was below the head height of the zombies, and heading towards them.

“Alert!” Hilda told her squad, pointing to the commotion. The region was poorly lit; their principal light source was her own Holy Light, which lit them up as very obvious targets. The remainder of the illumination on the battlefield came from the Citadel’s walls some distance behind them; lightning bolts crashing down upon the D’Orc regiment about two thousand feet southwest of them; fireballs launched by various wizards; and whatever pyrotechnic display Orcus, Ashena Brightfeather or some other high-powered knight or avatar might produce in the process of battling the Unlife. The squad turned to face the commotion.

Suddenly the area at the front of the zombie line erupted in a whirlwind of blood, zombie guts and random pieces of goo-covered severed limbs. This was clearly visible due to the fact that the whirlwind was glowing extremely brightly. It appeared to be a gigantic, self-propelled, metal spinning glaive, about five feet in width.

The glaive whirled out of the mass of zombies, causing Hilda’s squad to move to full defensive crouches, preparing for an attack. However, instead of attacking, the spinning glaive came to a halt and suddenly started rearranging itself. Within moments, there was a humanoid sword golem standing in front of them.

“Hilda of Rivenrock!” Ruiden shouted.

“Stand down, he’s with us. This is Sir Talarius’s sword, Ruiden,” Hilda shouted to her squad.

“His sword?” Jacob asked her in disbelief.

“It’s a very long story, but yes, we know each other. He used to store himself in my inn room,” Hilda said. Jacob looked at her in puzzlement. Hilda shook her head. “Yes, I know how crazy that sounds.”

Ruiden walked over to them. “Good to see you again, Hilda!”

The sword seemed much more sociable than it had been in Freehold. It almost seemed relaxed.

“Good to see you, Ruiden. So I take it you found Talarius and that is how you came to be here?” Hilda asked.

“Indeed, I have seen and learned a lot, much of it very disturbing, but yes, I was on his back when he entered the Command Center with Lord Tommus, or Lord Orcus as he is known here,” Ruiden said.

Hilda smiled somewhat thinly. “Well, we certainly have much to catch up on, but perhaps we could hold off on that until after the Storm Lords are vanquished?” Hilda asked.

“Certainly. Where are you off to? Would you like me to clear a path?” the sword asked.

Hilda tilted her head, nodding. “That would be most generous of you.” It would certainly speed their progress. She’d need to Lay To Rest the zombie parts that Ruiden would end up strewing in their path, but it would be far safer for her squad.

Hilda blinked as off to their left and overhead, a brilliant flash of light erupted and continued. Hilda turned to see a figure her Holy Sight revealed as Ashena Brightfeather, flying over a regiment of the Army of the Night. The extremely bright light was Krinna Fire emanating from a large mirrored shield bearing the symbol of Krinna and blasting down upon the army below a concentrated beam of Unlife-incinerating light. Clearly, Krinna’s archons had arrived on the planet in full force.

Praelgeis’s Command Center: DOA + 20, Early First Period

“Where are these avatars coming from, and where is their mana coming from?” Praelgeis demanded of Exador.

Exador shook his head. “They must be relaying the mana from somewhere else on Nysegard. Local runic gateways to their other fortresses. My guess would be that they are dropping archons to other fortresses they have. From those fortresses, they are then ferrying in combat-ready avatars.

“We have not encountered this much resistance since the Battle of Night’s Helm,” Daerth Tromlane hissed.

Praelgeis’s helm shook. “This is worse. Much worse. I do not recall ever seeing this many senior avatars. Ramses has noted that the winged saint with the Krinna Fire is Ashena Brightfeather, Prophetess of Nysegard. I have counted at least eighteen other avatars. At no point in history have the Forces of Light deployed this level of force.”

“And they come with a reborn Orcus,” Baba Smirt’ hissed. “With Orcus returned, he and the Siblings should be at each other’s throats, fighting each other! That was the Dark Apostle’s contingency plan should we fail to permanently slay Orcus.”

“How did this happen with no warning?” Praelgeis asked.

Exador kept his mouth closed. It happened with no warning because it had happened incredibly fast; a matter of quarter-months. Nothing happened that fast for immortals. These ventures took centuries, not months or quarter-months. He was not, however, going to reveal this information. The fact that he had been aware that Lenamare’s demon was suspected of being Orcus reborn, and not told them, would only aggravate his relationships with them.

“If we are going to have any hope of salvaging this fiasco, we are going to need to go big,” Baba Smert’ hissed. “Very big.”

“Hmm. Well, while you figure out what’s very big,” Exador said, watching Ashena cook untold numbers of troops, “might I suggest something that is modestly big, and unusual?”

“And what would that be?” Praelgeis asked.

“Fire, cold and lightning don’t do much to slow the D’Orcs down. I don’t know if you have it in your spellbooks—it was a surprise to me when the Council of Wizardry used it against me—but it would at least knock that flying torch out of the sky and keep the D’Orcs pinned down.”

Ankle-Deep in Zombies, Doom First Regiment: One Hour Later

“These are the days, my friend!” Darg-Krallnom shouted to his second-in-command, Ergda Doom Wraith.

“Hah!” Ergda shouted back. “It is good to be back home on Nysegard; I take great comfort in obliterating Unlife! I was sure we would never return to such simple pleasures!” she said, flicking the head off an alvaran zombie and into her mouth. “Candy!”

Darg-Krallnom grimaced. “I do not know how you can eat such junk food!”

“I haven’t had such delicacies in a very long time,” Ergda pointed out.

“Yes, but that stuff is literally rotten!” Darg-Krallnom complained.

“I prefer the term fermented; you know, as with glargh or sauerkraut!” Ergda replied and popped another zombie head into her mouth.

Darg-Krallnom splattered a small zombie squad and then turned his primary attention back to Ergda. “Notice how they’ve stopped with the lightning bolts?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess they finally wised up!” Ergda said.

“They need to save their energy for their undying breaths when we finish them all off,” Darg-Krallnom joked.

“Hey, do you hear that whistling noise?” Ergda asked.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I think it’s coming from above us.” Darg-Krallnom looked up to see several fiery spheres coming through the clouds.

“Are those coming our way?” Ergda asked.

“Time to scramble!” Darg-Krallnom shouted, even as he saw one of the spheres moving directly towards him as if it had a mind of its own. “This is going to hurt!” he shouted seconds before the large meteor crashed into his head, driving him out of the sky, through the mushed zombie sludge and into the ground.

Field of Zombies, Tom

Tom smashed in the head of the giant, feathered, oriental dragon zombie, finally managing to crush its brain. Where are they coming up with this undead bestiary? Tom wondered. It was at this point he heard loud whistling noises coming from above the battlefield.

There was a meteor shower coming through the clouds at them. Crap! What are those liches up to now? It took but a moment for him to find out. One of the meteors seemed to chase Darg-Krallnom from his position before plowing into the D’Orc driving him down and into the ground. His commander was going to have a really bad headache from that one.

The burning light of Ashena’s Krinna Fire suddenly flared wildly all around the battlefield. Tom spun to see the prophetess knocked from the sky by another meteor. Tom looked up frantically to see another meteor, still pretty distant, coming directly for him.

He flew sideways, only to see the meteor swerve towards him as well. It was not immediate, momentum clearly applied, but it was coming, and fast. Okay, they’ve got curveballs? I’ve got a bat! Tom thought to himself. His stepfather had forced him to play Little League against his will, for two seasons. He had not been much of a hitter, but this was a big baseball and he had an even better bat.

He didn’t have time to really aim; he’d be lucky to hit it anywhere that was not the Citadel. He was out of time! He raised the Rod as if it were a bat and prepared to slide back at the last second, so he could hit it. He energized the Rod. Three… two… one—swing!

CRACK! went the meteor. It was not the Rod, that was shielded in an energy field. The meteor went left—technically a foul ball, but he was fine with that. Particularly since it plowed through a couple of vampire-led ghoul battalions.

Tom looked up at the sky. There were a lot more meteors coming. Either they came in swarms, or there were quite a few liches casting spells, at least if the spell worked like the ones in the RPGs. Time for some batting practice.

Tom flew towards the nearest oncoming meteor, not clear who it was going to. D’Orcs, it’s time to play ball! he shouted over his links to the local D’Orcs as he moved to intercept the meteor and knock it towards one of the Storm Lords’ command bunkers.

Tamarin! Tom reached out to the djinni, who was in the Citadel Command Center, serving as his communication link to Grob. Have the avatars pay attention to what I am doing to combat the meteors. We can turn this to our advantage!

Oooh! That looks like so much fun! Tamarin somehow managed to clap mentally. I will relay the information on!

CRACK! The meteor bounced off his Rod and right towards the command bunker. The commanders, a couple liches and some vampires, dove out of their bunker with a preternatural alacrity. Or at least the vampires did. Apparently liches, being as they were decomposing sacks of bone, were not quite as lithe as vampires.

Battlefield, Hilda

Ruiden had been true to his word and cleared them a path through the zombies to the closest vampire-led ghoul squadrons. The sword had then proceeded to continue on through the ghouls, leaving behind it a rather sickening mess of recently living corpses.

Ghouls and ghasts were always more problematic than zombies, or even vampires or vampyrs. Ghouls and ghasts were living, diseased people who had to eat living, or very recently living, flesh to survive. Ghouls were generally not in control of their hunger. Ghasts, however, had reached an accommodation with their disease and over decades had learned to process the flesh and blood they consumed, mastering their hunger and subsequently extending their unnatural lives.

In both cases, however, the creatures were living people. Most protocols recommended conversion, atonement and trial for ghouls. However, the longer one lived with the disease, the more corrupt one became. Longtime ghouls could often not live with the guilt of their actions as a ghoul, and so suffered greatly and sometimes killed themselves. Ghasts and many others were unwilling to atone, and so were typically executed. However, Hilda had always believed in giving them an option for redemption, at least for ghouls. This was why she felt torn over Rede the dhampyr; for him, redemption was not technically possible.

In any event, redeeming ghouls on the battlefield was neither feasible nor safe, and thus they must be put down. However, unlike zombies, one could not forget that ghouls, however sickly or unkempt, were people. Of course, vampires and vampyrs were formerly people, but they were not technically alive; the former were actively evil, and the latter so dangerous that they had to be put down.

For the last—well, Hilda had no idea, she was losing track of time—hour or so, they had been battling through the now really angry ghouls still alive in the wake of Ruiden’s meat-grinding carnage. Her chants and rituals were protecting and enhancing the soldiers, including electrifying the ghouls, but up ahead and to the left was a large squad of vampyrs. For that, she planned to get out front.

Even as she was summoning her Holy Vorpal Sword of Light, the vampyrs were turning from their course towards her squadron to engage in combat with something behind them. It was too dark in this area to see without Holy Sight, so she increased her night vision.

Hilda gasped. There was a group of demons moving in an orderly manner, not that different than her own squad, flying low the ground and engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the vampyrs. She shook her head at a sight that could only be out of the End of Times. Demons rending vampyrs limb from limb with complete aplomb.

Vampyrs were the most vicious, unrelenting creatures Hilda had ever encountered, and these demons were literally ripping them to pieces as if they were rag dolls instead of giant ravening mouths of teeth in humanoid form. It was not that the vampyrs could not bite the demons, or claw them, but the demons simply did not care. The demons were being wounded, but their wounds were healing even as she watched.

Suddenly the largest of the demons broke free from the vampyrs and made his way towards Hilda’s squad over the bodies of ghouls. As he approached, a ghoul got in his way and he simply ripped it in two and tossed it over his shoulder. Her squadron quickly moved to face the very frightening demon. The still-living ghouls between her and the demon rushed to get out of the demon’s path.

“Hail, Saint of Tiernon!” the demon said, stopping about ten feet away. “I am Darflow Skragnarth, Commander of Doom’s 20th Regiment!”

“What do you want, demon?” Hilda demanded.

The demon tilted its head, its mouth splitting into a hideous and deeply terrifying grin. “Why, to be of assistance!”

“To be of assistance?” Jacob shouted in shock.

“Of course! We are, unbelievably, on the same side! All of us did, after all, follow Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon and Apostle of Doom, into battle!” Darflow Skragnarth said.

“Talarius? Apostle of Doom?” Hilda asked in shock.

“Apostle, harbinger, emissary? What else would you call the person who sounds the horn of battle to bring forth an army?” Darflow Skragnarth asked.

“Well, this is a onetime thing,” Hilda replied, “so I think that term may be too strong.”

The demon chuckled. “Perhaps; however, he did fight side by side with Lord Orcus and the goddess Sekhmekt of the Nyjyr Ennead against the Knights of Chaos. Thus, I argue that Talarius is clearly as much a knight of Doom as a knight of Tiernon,” the demon replied.

Hilda was at a complete loss. She seemed to recall hearing something about this in the command center. She shook her head. “You attempt to distract me. Why, demon?”

The demon grinned. “I do not seek to distract you. I simply seek to note that Lord Tommus, or Lord Orcus if you will, is not what you may think. Nor are I and my soldiers. Today we, enemies for millennia, fight side by side, brothers-in-arms,” Darflow said.

“I am still not understanding what you want!” Hilda yelled back.

“Why, to fight by your side. You do understand the stories we shall be able to tell? Heaven and Hell, united to battle the Unlife? This is glory!” The demon laughed. “Now, where do you head? My soldiers will clear the way!”

Field of Zombies, Stainsberry

Mufasa twisted to the left and downward, allowing Stainsberry’s sword to strike the vampire man-bat in its right deltoid, causing it to shriek in agony—forcing Stainsberry to wince in pain at the sound—and interrupt its flight sending it back towards the ground.  Those half-bat-half-vampire things were a pain to deal with; fortunately, there were not that many of them.

A loud whistling sound came from above them even as Mufasa began twisting both his neck and entire body to see what the noise was.  Stainsberry noted an expression of extreme surprise on what he could see of his mount’s profile, causing him to painfully twist his own own helmeted head, struggling to see what was coming at them.  He blinked, there was a giant flaming rock about ten feet away heading directly at him.

The world suddenly went fuzzy as Mufasa shifted them to the aethereal realm just as the meteor impacted the two companions.  Stainsberry’s virtual breath was knocked out of him as he and his mount were dragged by the meteor’s aethereal momentum towards the ground.  He felt the tingling sensation as his aethereal form passed through the meteor’s core to emerge from the other side on top of the crater on the ground below.

Inanimate objects had no physical presence on the aethereal realms, but they did present resistance.  This was why one could walk upon the ground, or the water in the aethereal realm; however, one could, with force of will, pass through these objects—typically walls and doors.   In this case the resistance of the meteor, with all its momentum had dragged he and Mufasa down to the ground with itself.  Being immaterial they had both passed through the meteor as it impacted with the ground and its resistance.

Of course, since both he and Mufasa were animus beings, they were solid to each other and ended up getting tangled up in each other’s limbs and Stainsberry ended up being unseated, which in turn, returned him to the physical realm, even as dirt and body parts began raining down on them from the explosive impact.  Mufasa quickly followed; the two found themselves sitting in a very large crater in a pile of meteor and undead debris.  The meteor’s impact had cleared a roughly circular region of the battlefield in twenty-foot plus diameter.

A loud yowling came from his left where a D’Warg with crushed rear legs wailed in pain.  Apparently, the meteor had crashed into a battle between D’Wargs and vampyrs.  He guessed vampyrs given the large number of broken teeth in the area.  He cracked open his visor to get more air, even as he noted a few mangled vampyrs struggling to rise.  It was doubtful they would be much of a threat unless one stepped directly in one’s mouth.

“Here lad, I’ve got you!”  A familiar voice came from behind him.  Stainsberry got to his feet to see Thrinarv kneeling beside the injured D’Warg.  “Nasty injury!  I know you’ll regenerate, but let me speed it along.”  The priest said.

“Thrinarv!  Well met!” Stainsberry exclaimed, pleased to see his friend.

The priest looked up from the D’Warg upon whose hands were placed for healing.  “Well met Stainsberry!  Great fun is afoot!”  The dwarf chuckled.

“So, you are with the D’Wargs?”  Stainsberry asked.

“I am moving around throughout the battle to wherever I can be of assistance with my healing or other services.”  Thrinarv nodded, “And of course, a good bit of skull bashing!”

Stainsberry shook his head.  “I bet the priests of the Five are jealous that you are completely unfettered in your priestly duties!”

Mufasa snarled and suddenly a vampyr behind him screamed in pain as the lion disemboweled him.  Stainsberry gave his companion a thumbs-up for guarding his back.  He noted that Thrinarv had a holy aura surrounding himself and his patient that seemed to keep the Unlife at bay.

“It is mighty convenient to have one’s god sitting on the same planet just a thousand or two leagues away.  Much closer than the Outer Planes—or the lower ones, for that matter.”  Thrinarv agreed.

The dwarf suddenly frowned.  “The two of you survived crushing by shifting to the aethereal?”

Stainsberry nodded. “Mufasa was thinking fast!  If it had been up to me we’d both be on the other side of that meteor.” He pointed to the ground below them.

“So, the interdiction does not apply to the aethereal realm.”  Thrinarv noted, standing up; his patient fully healed and read to munch more vampyrs.

Stainsberry blinked in thought.  “Well, that is fortunate.”  He frowned, “however, I am not sure that is unexpected.  The aethereal realms are very tightly bound to their corresponding material realm.  That’s why we tend to refer to them as realms rather than planes.  I know most wizards are sloppy in their terminology and talk about the aethereal plane; however, there is no single aethereal plane.  Every material plane has its own aether, and you can’t travel to other material planes via one.  You can, however, travel between planets.  Slow going, but it does avoid the problem with vacuums.”

Thrinarv grinned, “You know you are preaching to the choir.  We do study this in our seminary.”  The priest told him.  Another vampyr screeched in pain as Mufasa dispatched it.

“I said wizards get it wrong!  Not priests.  Please note, I am taking my own colleagues to task!”  Stainsberry grinned at the priest before pulling his visor down, preparing to return to battle.

“To victory!”  Thrinarv shouted as Stainsberry moved to remount Mufasa.

“To victory my friend!”  The knight magus returned.

Praelgeis’s Command Center: Late First Period

“Well, that was a giant waste of time and mana!” Baba Smert’ hissed as two more command bunkers were plowed under by redirected meteors. One of the D’Orcs had even managed to knock an ice dragon and lich commander out of the sky with a meteor. Shortly after that, the avatars had taken to the sky with glowing Rods of Energy to begin knocking meteors out of the sky as well.

Ramses shook his head. “I have to say it again. Just as when he battled Talarius, that demon has some odd ideas of combat. Very good ideas, but most unusual.”

“Yes, and now he’s teaching his tricks to the D’Orcs and the avatars of the Five Siblings. I think we need to upgrade his threat potential,” Exador said.

“Threat potential? Of course he’s a threat! He’s the grandson of Zeus! Children of Olympus should always be considered extremely dangerous!” Praelgeis hissed angrily at the archdemons as if they were ignorant children.

“Grandson of Zeus?” Ramses shook his head in surprise. “I thought he was a demon, not a god. And certainly not an Olympian!”

Exador suddenly felt a tad nauseous.

“He is not an Olympian. He refused to join the pantheon,” Baba Smert’ hissed. “He refuses to join any pantheon; he is an Atheist!”

“That seems a bit odd, for a god not to believe in other gods,” Ramses observed.

Baba Smert’s embers darkened for a moment, as if she was closing her eyes in frustration while speaking to a moron. “Not an atheist, but an Atheist, with a capital A,” she hissed.

“An Atheist is someone who does not believe that the gods have divine right to rule over the mortal realms,” Praelgeis explained. “Some even seek to overthrow the gods. The El’adasir believe Orcus is one of these, but the Lords of Chaos are not so convinced.”

“The Lords of Chaos?” Exador asked. “You mean those gods who have refused to sign the Concord of Conciliation?”

“That is not their defining characteristic. Their refusal to sign is a matter of their nature. The Concord of Conciliation is a tool of the Lords of Law; it maintains order within the multiverse. It is therefore contrary to the rather self-explanatory goals of the Lords of Chaos,” Daerth Tromlane explained, once more as if instructing children.

Exador really did not like these foul beings. Unfortunately, overturning the status quo of the Abyss required strange bedfellows. It was most inconvenient.

“Anyway, time for Plan C—or is it Plan D?” Ramses asked, inciting burning red glares and hisses from the three Storm Lords.

Praelgeis shook his head and turned to his general-adjutant. “Have them start assembling the Tomb Gate. We need to establish a gateway to Necropolis.”

Baba Smert’ hissed angrily, “Is that safe? Things here are bad. If they capture it, they can use it to bypass our defenses and strike at the heart of the Necrology!”

“Do we have a choice?” Praelgeis hissed back. “If we are to salvage this, we need to break out the Doom Busters. The only way to get them here before we are all ashes is to use the Tomb Gate.”

Baba Smert’ shook her head, but said nothing.

Praelgeis nodded towards his general-adjutant to proceed.

“Which ones will you use?” Daerth Tromlane asked.

Praelgeis shrugged. “I am open to suggestions. I am not sure we have the mana resources to use more than a few. We were simply not prepared for this situation.”

Chapter 147

Southern Rear Battlefield, Tomb Gate: Pre-Dawn

“That is a seriously big gateway,” Ramses said, shaking his head in awe.

“I will admit that it is impressive wizardry,” Exador said in agreement. “A portal that large which can span the distance to Necropolis? And it’s portable!”

It had taken nearly two hours for Praelgeis’s minions to assemble and test the Tomb Gate, but they now had it open. It was a massive portal, approximately one hundred feet wide and perhaps seventy feet tall. It was also rather unusual-looking. It contained a number of runes that Exador was not familiar with, some of them slightly disturbing.

A large procession of undead ogres was currently pulling a very large platform through the open Tomb Gate, atop of which was what appeared to be an enormous glowing blue crystal sarcophagus limned with mithral runes. The sarcophagus was nearly thirty-five feet wide, twenty feet in height and well over one hundred feet long.

“Do you have any idea of what’s in this thing?” Ramses asked.

“No,” Exador replied, shaking his head, “but it appears to be very large, and based on the inscribed wards, very dangerous.” He frowned, nodding to the group of thirteen liches on the front of the platform, who were huddled in discussions. “And apparently rather complex to command and control.”

“Thirteen necromancers for one creature?” Ramses grinned. “I do not envy the Citadel, or Orcus.”

“Something that needs that much control?” Exador replied grimly. “I am not sure I envy us.”

Citadel Command Tower

Vicar General Grob Darkness Slayer and Diocate Aeris had come up to the roof of the central tower that housed the command center to meet with Tom, Targh, Darg-Krallnom and the prophets of the Five Siblings. Tamarin had naturally accompanied them since it was her job to relay communications to them from Tom.

“Dawn approaches,” Grob said, looking to Ashena. “Melona Tramen had planned to open the storm clouds to allow atunlight in before the interdiction. Will you be able to keep the skies clear?”

Ashena nodded. “I can open them, and should be able keep them clear. The Death Cheaters”—she pointed to the other tower where the D’Orc shamans were—“are coordinating with me. They are in contact with local Katsina. It should be a very interesting and powerful combination. However, due to the amount of concentration required, I will not be available for battle.”

Grob nodded. “That’s fine. Full-on atunlight is critical at this point.”

Aeris nodded in agreement.

Grob changed the topic. “What have we learned about the interdiction?”

“Our best clue comes from the sea,” Eileen Sealegs, Prophetess of Namora, said, speaking up.

“Indeed?” Aeris asked.

“There is an arc of ships holding steady at sea that is directly in line with where the surrounding road we found yesterday terminates,” Eileen reported. “Ashena’s people are reporting that there are beacons, small obelisks about ten feet tall, at the edge of the shore, in line with the ships.”

Ashena nodded. “While swatting meteors, I received the report on the beacons and was able to spot additional beacons on the circular road. I believe it is a very unusual warding that is using the beacons instead of a more traditional pentacle.”

Grob nodded. “That would be it. I think we need to break it.”

“We are working on that,” Eileen said. “We believe the simplest mechanism is to break the warding at sea, pull the beacons on ships out of alignment.”

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “Air and sea attacks, then?”

Eileen nodded. “Exactly.”

“That will be—” Fassbindr started to say, but was interrupted by Garion Hearthhand.

“Friends!” Garion exclaimed. “I think you need to see this.” The hearthean was staring to the south.

“What?” Grob asked, turning to stare.

“How far away is that?” Fassbindr asked, sounding rather awed.

“About a third of a league,” Ashena said in a hushed voice, staring at what everyone was looking at.

“Those guys must be very tall,” Aeris said in awe.

Tom shook his head as he stared at the three beings, whose appearance was causing his stomach to twist in both unknown familiarity and revulsion. Three giants. They could only be giants; three one-hundred-foot tall, undead giants.

“I have never seen a giant that tall,” Grob said in awe.

“Those aren’t giants; they are true jötnar, risar,” Darg-Krallnom said grimly.

“The one with the red cheeks and flames for hair is an eldþursi, often mistakenly called a fire giant. The bluish one with the icy hair is an hrímthursi, commonly called a rime giant or frost giant. The third is a vindthursi, mistakenly called a wind giant,” Targh told them.

“I thought all the true jötnar were locked out of Midgard after Ragnarök?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“They were, but these are some sort of abomination,” Targh said. “These, and others like them, were used to smash the cities of the Isle of Doom.”

Darg-Krallnom shook his head almost angrily. “Jötnar are immortals. You cannot reanimate something that cannot die!” Darg-Krallnom looked to Tom, his face ashen with horror. “This should not be possible!”

Targh nodded. “I agree, but impossible or not, they are extremely difficult to defeat.”

“How did you defeat them?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

“We did not. We wore them down over a century of war. Or more precisely, we allowed them to wear us down.” Targh gave a sarcastic laugh. “They would come in and attack cities; we’d repulse them as best we could, albeit after the city was destroyed and thousands had died.” He shook his head. “They require far more work, far more mana to animate, or whatever it is the Storm Lords are doing, than normal undead. Typically, they could only be deployed for a few days at a time before the Storm Lords would retreat with them.”

“You say you let them wear you down?” Darg-Krallnom asked, puzzled.

“We ensured it was not worth the effort to use them. You may have noticed that we did not rebuild the cities and have instead spread ourselves out over a large number of smaller villages?” Targh asked.

“If there is no target large enough to justify the expenditure required to use them, then there is no point in using them!” Tamarin exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Exactly,” Targh agreed.

“So there are three here. Is this typical of what they would use to destroy a city?” Grob asked.

Targh shook his head ruefully. “No. No, they never deployed more than one per city. If they were using multiple risar, they were at different cities.”

“And they are sending three against us?” Aeris asked, looking pale.

“It would seem so,” Targh said.

Southern Battlements, Talarius, Stainsberry: DOA + 20, Dawn

Talarius and Stainsberry both stared south towards the risar. They had rotated in with the coming dawn so that they and their steeds could get some rest. At the Citadel, all soldiers were on rotation schedules, even without a siege. Grob and the other leaders were very careful about keeping soldiers rested. Talarius and Stainsberry had actually been out longer than most, but even they and their steeds had limits.

Talarius shook his head. “Why do they simply stand there?”

“Risar are not supposed to be reanimatable,” Stainsberry replied. “They are immortals, like avatars or deities. Beings of pure animus and mana. If killed permanently, there should be nothing left. There would be no flesh to reanimate.”

“Perhaps, but from what I remember from school, and the discussions of Reggie and the other demons, non-material beings can come to the material world either as physical manifestations created ad hoc by mana, or as true incarnated beings. In the second case, if the animus leaves the body, you would still have a corpse. Correct?” Talarius asked.

Stainsberry nodded, frowning. “Very good point indeed; I had not considered that option. My understanding is that full incarnation is not done that commonly; and fully incarnating the body of a risi would require a lot of mana. Maintaining the body would also require immense amounts of mana.”

“On the other hand,” Talarius replied, “the most effective reanimated undead have the souls of the original owner. That’s the key difference between a simple zombie and, say, a jiangshi or lich. It would seem that if you were going to all the trouble of reanimating something so huge, you would want a higher level of undead, something truly Unlife.”

Stainsberry nodded. “I should think. There certainly seems to be a lot of preparatory work with them.” Both knights had been using the telescopic vision in their visors to inspect what was happening around the risar. They noted that the Storm Lords had thinned the presence of their forces in the path of the risar.

Talarius looked up to the central command tower as the wind around them suddenly began blowing heavily. “That’s quite a gust!” the knight exclaimed before moving his jaw to relieve the sudden pressure in his ears.

“Ashena is creating a very high-pressure zone to disperse the cloud cover!” Stainsberry yelled as the wind began to roar, pushing out from the citadel. He pointed over to the second tower, where their enhanced vision could see the Death Cheaters dancing.

“This is quite interesting; the D’Orc shamans are working with Ashena. Two very different methods of weather manipulation. This should be very difficult for the Storm Lords to counteract,” Stainsberry noted.

“It’s putting a big damper on the air game as well!” Talarius said, pointing overhead, where the various airborne combatants were retreating on both sides. Flying would be difficult for anyone, but particularly for winged beings and carpets.

“Not sure if these winds will last the day or not,” Stainsberry yelled over the wind to Talarius.

“This world is upside down!” Talarius yelled back at Stainsberry. “A prophetess of Krinna coordinating with D’Orcs from Mount Doom? It upends everything I grew up believing!”

Stainsberry laughed and clapped Talarius on the back. “Is it more upending than a Knight Rampant of Tiernon leading the Forces of Doom into battle? I swear that is why I love this literally god-forsaken world! The normal rules do not apply here! Anything is possible!”

Talarius grinned behind his visor, feeling the best he had felt in a very long time. True, he was exhausted from battling atunset to atunrise, but it was a good exhaustion, a righteous exhaustion that he had not felt in a very long time. Glancing to the sky, he opened his visor to feel the returning light of Atun upon his face, even as he noted sudden bursts of flame from the surrounding army as unprotected vampires and vampyrs began bursting into flames. What a glorious morning!

Citadel of Light, Main Courtyard, Hilda, Stevos

“That was a night!” Stevos said, sitting down on a stone bench along one of the inner walls of the main courtyard. He and Hilda had both just rotated in with their squads. The avatars did not need to sleep, but their mortal squads did.

“I do not believe I have ever put down so many Unlife in my entire life as I put down last night. And then the carnage of Ruiden and those demons? I could never have imagined such a thing,” Hilda said.

“Yes, the demons. That was very discomforting,” Stevos told her. “We were actually fighting alongside demons from the Abyss!” He shook his head. “I am pretty sure that has to be an act of heresy!”

“Stevos,” Hilda sighed, shaking her head as if in exhaustion, “I have no idea what is heresy and what is dogma at this point. But clearly, the information we have been working with is suspect.”

“Orcus and Tiernon have worked together before? How is that even possible?” Stevos asked.

“I don’t know, but Beragamos clearly knew both Orcus and his main D’Orc,” Hilda said.

“So if he knew Orcus personally and he knew firsthand of D’Orcs, why did he never say anything?” Stevos exclaimed, raising his hands.

“There is something we are missing,” Hilda replied, acknowledging the other saint’s frustration. “For one thing, I am deeply troubled by what I thought I heard about Sentir Fallon.”

“You heard that too? That has to be a lie!” Stevos said.

“Last night, as we prepared to battle, that was my thought too; however, only a few hours later, my squad was being escorted by a demon squadron. Their efforts allowed me to get much closer to master vampires and re-turn them than I could have with my squad alone,” Hilda said.

“You re-turned them? When they were surrounded by ghouls?” Stevos asked in shock.

“Yes. Probably not the nicest thing to do, but sometimes justice is harsh,” Hilda said, quoting a well-known proverb of Tierhallon.

Horns blared warning throughout the Citadel.

“What does that mean?” Stevos asked.

“I have no idea, but my first guess is that those extremely tall creatures to the south are finally moving.” Hilda said, standing.

Citadel Command Tower

“They are moving!” Targh Bowelsplitter called.

Tom turned from his conversation with Darg-Krallnom and the avatars to look towards the risar. The Army of the Night had fully cleared the path to the risar and now the giants were moving towards the Citadel. Moving with increasing speed, in fact; within moments they were running.

“We need to get going! If they hit the walls, it is going to be very bad!” Targh yelled. “I am off to my troops!”

“Ready?” Darg-Krallnom looked to the others, who nodded.

They had chosen Darg-Krallnom, Tom, Roth Tar Gorefest and Inethya to be the initial principal combatants. The four launched themselves into the air in the direction of the now-charging risar.

“Time to go big!” Darg-Krallnom shouted, raising his giant sword. Tom wasn’t quite sure what he meant until he saw the D’Orc growing larger, along with his sword and armor! Darg-Krallnom can change forms? Tom had not known that. He did another double take as Roth Tar Gorefest suddenly did the same.

“The bigger the better!” Inethya shouted as she too began to expand along with her plate armor.

Tom snorted; this would be a more interesting battle than he’d thought. He grabbed the Rod of Tommus with his tail and began unbuckling his kilt. The kilt was normal demon dragon hide and didn’t change size. During the initial charge he had worn it as an armband; this time he would need to wear it as a ring. He probably could have done without it, but he was still not completely trusting of the Five Siblings and so had wanted his arrowheads with him. As Edwyrd, he had carried them in a pouch attached to a real belt worn under his robes.

The Rod of Tommus also did not expand, as far as he knew, so it was about to become the Toothpick of Tommus. Okay, maybe not that bad. It’s about eight feet long, so it will be more like a large pen, he thought. I only hope the pen truly is mightier than the sword.

Due to having to adjust his kilt and the Wand, Tom was behind the other three as each chose a risi and readied for aerial tackles. There was a crash of thunder as Darg-Krallnom thrust his giant sword into the belly of the eldþursi, the fire giant. Suddenly Darg-Krallnom was on the other side of the fire giant. Tom blinked; the fire-giant had flashed to flame! Hey! That’s my shtick! Tom complained to himself.

Roth Tar Gorefest would have been the next tackle, but in a manner similar to the fire giant, the vindthursi, or wind giant, simply turned to air. Only Inethya physically collided with the hrímthursi, the rime giant. There was a loud crash as her shield smashed into the giant, quickly followed by a crackling sound as ice crawled over Inethya’s armor. Within moments, the prophetess was encased in ice.

Tom moved up and over the currently frozen prophetess and leaped onto the rime giant—actually a frost giant—and turned into burning flame. Shit! he thought to himself as his Rod and kilt plummeted towards the ground. He really needed to work on his tactics.

That was stupid of me! But what’s done is done. Tom turned up the heat to try and melt the frost giant. Things were getting wet, but the frost giant seemed able to regenerate his icy armor nearly as fast as Tom could burn it away. This was not going to work; the frost giant was moving on, going around Inethya and heading for the walls of the Citadel.

Tom let go of the frost giant and flew down in flame form to retrieve his possessions. He landed, shifting to his true form, albeit his slightly more traditional larger form. He grabbed his kilt and the Wand and fastened the belt around his arm.

Earth! Tom yelled in his head and pointed the Wand of Orcus at the ground in front of the charging risar. He willed the Earth Portal at Nysegard to pull the ground under the giants towards himself—literally pulling the ground from beneath their feet.

The giants collapsed on the ground as Darg-Krallnom and Roth Tar Gorefest moved in to smash the two giants on the back of their heads before they could shift to their elemental form. Tom winced at the sound the two giant battle swords made as they crashed into the giants’ heads; with any luck, that would disorient them temporarily.

There was a loud explosion as the ice encasing Inethya burst, spraying ice shards for a thousand feet, impaling several nearby ghouls and cutting slightly into Tom’s wings and buttocks. The prophetess began chanting something that Tom could not make out. Suddenly her sword began glowing very brightly.

Inethya moved towards the frost giant, who was struggling to stand in its icy and still slightly melted armor. She drove her glowing sword straight down to the giant’s back, point first. There was a loud crackling sound as the armor began splitting under the sword’s pressure. Inethya pulled back and struck down again in the same location, this time edge first, trying to force the crack to enlarge. That knocked the frost giant from all fours to flat on the ground.

The fire giant turned to flame and suddenly engulfed Darg-Krallnom. Darg-Krallnom batted at the flames with his hands, as if trying to put them out. He was not in any pain, obviously, but he seemed quite annoyed. He looked to Tom. “This is going to be a long battle; we all seem rather evenly matched.” The D’Orc commander shook his head in frustration.

Tom shared the feeling. He was at a loss as to what to do against these creatures. All of his main ranged attacks were elemental based, and these giants were also elemental based. He needed something that was not elemental based, or perhaps something Earth based. A gravity canon would be extremely useful right now.

The wind giant flashed to air before reforming about one hundred feet closer to the Citadel, and began charging it again.

Crap! How do we stop that thing? Tom wondered. He took off at full flight speed to try and overtake the wind giant. He suddenly had a plan.

He was faster in the air than the wind giant was on the ground. He overtook it and spun, landing in front of it. His head was not even waist high to the giant, but if the giant stayed physical, he would trip it up before it could crash into the walls of the Citadel.

I may have incoming near the upper Air Portal, Tom sent to Arg-nargoloth. It’s an Unlife Hrímthursi. If it changes to physical form, knock the crap out of with the gravity canons. He didn’t want to use the Nysegard Air Portal in the event the wind-giant went material on the Isle of Doom; that would be bad. Doom in the Abyss would be much better prepared.

Got it! Arg-nargoloth replied.

The giant charged straight at Tom, who had the Wand pointing at it. As he had hoped, the giant shifted to its air form. This was going to be risky, but... he gunned up the Air Portal at Doom and used the relay at the Doomalogue to suck the wind giant’s gaseous form to the Air Portal.

Both Doom and the Doomalogue revved up to pull the wind giant to the Air Portal. It seemed to be working, as a vortex of visibly churning air twisted at the end of the Wand of Orcus. Come on now! Tom tried willing the wind giant to get sucked up into the Wand. It was fighting hard, though; very hard.

If Tom’s brow could have sweated, it would have been doing so. The wind giant was pulling extremely hard, much harder than he’d imagined. Tom stared down the Wand at the funnel cloud trying to escape his vacuum cleaner. He could see the liches in front of a giant archway in the distance. “Okay then, buddy, let’s do this your way!” he said out loud as he quickly reversed polarity on the Air Portal and then pulled air from the Nysegard portals as well. Instead of sucking, he was going to blow the air giant back to the Storm Lords.

WHOOSH!!

The funnel cloud suddenly shot back down the cleared path towards the Storm Lords. As it did so, the wind giant turned back to physical form, but his momentum was too much; his physical body continued to fly through the air until it crashed into the assembled Storm Lord forces, and then into the archway behind them. There was a loud explosion with brilliantly flashing lights as the archway fell over.

Tom had to blink. The region around the giant and the archway seemed to warp and twist before finally returning to normal. The archway was collapsed and broken, the entire area a shambles, nearly everyone and everything lying on the ground.

Tom turned to the other two giants, who were now simply standing there as if unsure what to do. Darg-Krallnom and Roth Tar Gorefest quickly began attacking them, and they only halfheartedly fought back.

“I think the liches controlling them were knocked out of commission!” Inethya yelled to Tom.

“Can you seek to banish them as you would other Unlife?” Tom yelled back.

Inethya nodded and quickly began chanting and moving her arms.

Tom shifted his attention to the fire giant as it fended off attacks from Darg-Krallnom. It was definitely taking damage. Was it hurting? Tom noticed the giant’s eyes wincing with the blows that connected. He’d never seen a zombie wince; they should not feel pain.

Tom shifted his sight to examine the creature better. He blinked. The thing was bound up in all sorts of dark tendrils encasing it. The giant’s inner light was the dark purplish light of antimus. Is that light? he wondered, briefly seeing a small flash of animus light at the core of the giant, before it was hidden again by dark tendrils.

Suddenly radiant light poured down from the sky as Inethya’s ritual took effect on the frost giant. Roth Tar Gorefest jumped back and switched to attacking the fire giant with Darg-Krallnom. Tom smiled to himself as he watched the cleansing light of Tiernon’s magic engulf the frost giant. That would be able remove the antimus, even has he had used it to cleanse himself. As he watched, however, the black tendrils seemed to fatten, widening, encasing, shielding and protecting the antimus inside.

He glanced to Inethya, who was frowning. Clearly, things were not going as planned. The light was unable to pierce the tendrils to get inside and cleanse the antimus. The antimus needed to be cleansed by the light, even as he had cleansed Excrathadorus Mortis; unfortunately, the black tendrils crawling over the giant’s being prevented that.

Suddenly the giant taking a beating from Darg-Krallnom and Roth Tar Gorefest seemed to shake its head. It quickly flashed to fire, faster than Tom could react to activate the Fire Portals. It was suddenly on the other side of the two D’Orcs and making and end run, in physical form, to the walls.

The two D’Orcs had stumbled at the sudden disappearance of their target, and were working to recover. Tom shook his head and took off after the fire giant. As the giant approached the moat at a full run, it suddenly jumped, leaping over the moat and slamming hard into the wall.

There was a great creaking and groaning sound as the Citadel’s wall was rocked by the giant’s impact. The fire giant released blasts of fire, scorching the wall. Steam rose from the moat as the flames licked the water. Suddenly the giant fell to its knees and plunged its fists in the Holy Water. It let loose a horrific scream of pain even as fire raced over the moat’s surface, turning the Holy Water to steam.

Tom heard a shout from behind him and turned to find the frost giant now charging the Citadel wall, even as the fire giant had. The beams of Holy Light were still following it, but were really not slowing it as much as one might have thought. The Holy Light suddenly went out as Inethya collapsed to her knees, clearly overtaxed by the spell. None of the avatars were operating at full power yet.

Tom moved to tackle the frost giant, but with the giant’s momentum and Tom’s smaller size, all he could do was grab it by the waist, knocking it off target as it leaped the moat, and then he and the giant crashed hard into the wall.

Darg-Krallnom flew over and slashed down at the fire giant’s head as it bent over the moat, trying to vaporize it. That blow connected, hard. Apparently the liches controlling the risar had learned their lesson about changing to elemental form.

Targh Bowelsplitter and his D’Orcs suddenly descended on the giants and began working to pull the fire giant’s hands out of the moat.

Tom struggled to pull himself out from under the frost giant. “Argh!” he howled as the frost giant got to its feet, stomping on Tom’s legs. “Screw you, ass wipe!” Tom shouted. The giant’s foot came down, smashing into Tom’s head. Argh! That really hurt!

He heard D’Orcs cursing and as the giant’s foot lifted to stomp on his face a second time, he could see why. The wind giant was back, and while not in gaseous form, it was able to create windstorms that were blowing the D’Orcs away from the fire giant.

“Argh!” Tom yelled again as the frost giant once more stomped soundly on his head. The stupid thing did not seem to mind his horns. Its ice armor seemed to be protecting it. Lightning suddenly struck the frost giant, knocking it off balance sufficiently for Tom to pull his legs free and escape.

Tom heard a whistling of air, and suddenly a spinning set of glowing blades hurtled out of nowhere and began attacking the fire giant, impervious to the wind giant’s efforts. Tom’s eyes widened in surprise. Ruiden had suddenly appeared and came to their aid. Had he been still out there mowing through the Army of the Night? Tom wondered.

Ruiden’s attacks caused the fire giant to flash to flame and relocate a short distance away. Tom could not help but notice how blackened the giant’s fists were. The Holy Water had obviously been effective.

KTHUDD! The ground beneath their feet shook.

Tom looked around, trying to figure out what it was.

A loud cracking noise came from somewhere; it sounded like it was on the other side of the wall.

“What the hell is that?” Tom asked Targh, who was the closest to him at the moment.

A bergrisi is attacking the southern wall! Tamarin informed him from the control tower.

“Tamarin says a bergrisi is assailing the southern wall!” Tom yelled to the others.

“Lilith’s teats!” Targh cursed, clenching his fists in anger.

“When the three risar stood up to the south, I was grateful that they had not brought a bergrisi with them. For walled cities like this, they are the worst possible thing!” Targh yelled even as Inethya landed another lightning bolt on the frost giant.

“What are bergrisi?” Tom yelled back.

“Mountain giants!” Darg-Krallnom called out. “They are affiliated with Earth, and thus stone!”

“And they are twice the size of the other risar!” Targh yelled.

“Twice the size?” Tom asked in shock. “You mean two hundred feet tall?”

“Roughly!” Darg-Krallnom nodded.

“Where was it?” Tom asked. “Why didn’t we see it?”

“I am guessing they hauled it north on a cart, close to the ground, while we were staring at the standing risar in the south!” Targh said.

“Shit!” Tom yelled, shaking his head.

Citadel of Light, Battlements

“Is that your sword down there without you?” Stainsberry asked Talarius as they stood upon the southern wall looking at the battle raging at its base.

“Yes, he is somehow still going,” Talarius replied. “I really have to wonder how he has so much mana. This flying glaive thing must be incredibly mana-intensive. He obviously has a mana pool, and honestly, it’s never run dry before, but this is far more mana than I’ve ever seen him use.”

“What’s the longest you’ve ever seen him do this?” Stainsberry asked.

“I have never seen him do this. He’s always been an intelligent sword who assisted me in battle, but until we got separated, he’d never turned into a sword golem and never done this sort of thing. This is also only the second time he’s used the glaive form. The first time was unmasking and attacking an archdemon.”

“An archdemon?” Stainsberry shook his head. “Well, being an essentially unbreakable magical artifact, forged in the bowels of hell, probably would give one the self-confidence for that sort of thing.”

Suddenly a new set of horns began blowing, this time to the north. “What is that?” Talarius asked as people began moving quickly to reinforce the northern walls on the other side of the Citadel.

“I have no idea,” Stainsberry said, shaking his head.

“Do you fly on your own?” Talarius asked.

“Belt of Flying. Really not safe to have an aerial steed without one,” Stainsberry said.

Talarius grinned at the other knight and nodded in agreement. “Let’s go to the command tower and coordinate with Grob,” he suggested.

Stainsberry nodded and the two launched themselves into the air, speeding upward to the central tower.

“Whoa!” Stainsberry yelled as they approached the command tower. “That thing is twice the size of the others!”

“This is going to be bad!” Talarius yelled back to the other knight. “We need to head straight for the southern wall.”

“I don’t think we can stop that thing!” Stainsberry yelled as the two shifted course for the oncoming mountain of giant flesh that was charging the wall.

“What kind of risar is it?” Talarius yelled.

“By its size, I’d guess a bergrisi, a mountain giant,” Stainsberry shouted back.

“Does it turn to stone?” Talarius asked, thinking of what the other giants had done.

“That would be my guess,” Stainsberry said. “Did you see the stone plates it has strapped to itself as armor?”

“We need to get people off that wall!” Talarius yelled.

“I know; I am hoping that others will realize that. I am going to try to slow it down!” Stainsberry said as they approached the wall. The giant was about one thousand feet away and closing very quickly.

The Knight Magus pulled his staff from over his shoulder and took aim at the bergrisi. “Ghairm mi a-nis an dealanaich de na diathan! Le mo bòidean a 'mhòid-cheartais, faodaidh!” he chanted.

The air was suddenly rent by a giant arc of the bluest lightning imaginable. The thunder crash behind the lightning was tremendous. Talarius was much closer to it this time; his visor darkened to shield his eyes. The giant took a direct hit to the chest, knocking it off course but still heading forward.

It stumbled into the moat and screamed in pain before slamming into the base of the wall with an earth-shaking crash. Several people on the wall were knocked over.

Talarius and Stainsberry landed. “Everyone! Get off the wall!” Talarius shouted, drawing his bow.

“Evacuate the wall!” Stainsberry shouted in the other direction.

Talarius fired at the bergrisi. His Holy Lightning Arrow struck, causing the giant to wince. A very small burn mark appeared on the giant’s arm. “This is going to take a lot of arrows. Blast it again!”

“I will, but I haven’t recharged since returning. I’ve got maybe three or four more strikes before it’s drained,” Stainsberry replied as Talarius fired off another arrow.

The giant was getting to its feet. It suddenly leaped back across the moat and began running away. “I seriously hope it’s not going back to gather momentum!” Talarius shouted.

“Ghairm mi a-nis an dealanaich de na diathan! Le mo bòidean a 'mhòid-cheartais, faodaidh!” Blue Lightning raced through the air and struck the giant in the back, shoving it forward and off balance.

Suddenly two more two-hundred-foot-tall giants, knights in glowing plate mail (one of whom was very stout) expanded on the battlefield behind the bergrisi. The two knights raced after the giant, squashing Unlife troops beneath their feet.

“By the power of Riven Rock, I smite thee!” the burly knight screamed, swinging a giant hammer at the head of the bergrisi. The hammer struck the giant in the head, releasing a blinding flash of light. Talarius’s visor darkened briefly, protecting his eyes.

The bergrisi reeled left with the impact’s momentum as the second knight attempted to skewer it on his hundred-foot-long glowing sword. Unfortunately, even as he struck the giant shifted, becoming what appeared to be a two-hundred-foot tall stone golem; the knight’s sword screeched painfully along its stone surface.

“Ghairm mi a-nis an dealanaich de na diathan! Le mo bòidean a 'mhòid-cheartais, faodaidh!” Once more, Blue Lightning arced from Stainsberry’s staff to the bergrisi, this time causing a small explosion of stone as it struck the stone golem.

“I’m going to rive your rock, giant!” the large knight, who Talarius now realized must be Saint Hilda, screamed as she once more smashed the giant, this time in the chest. An explosion of powdered stone rose from the impact site, and the stone golem stumbled back reeling. Far less dexterous in is stone form, it tottered for a moment and then fell over onto several squadrons of ghouls and ghasts.

Talarius shook his head. From this distance he could not hear the screams, but he imagined it was horrible. The size and scope of this battle, along with their resources, had sort of shielded him from the very real horror of battling the Unlife. Yes, these ghouls were foul, infected creatures, but they were mortals; the devastation of the crushed ghouls was thus still stomach turning.

The giant shifted to its flesh form in order to get up. The other giant knight struck at the bergrisi’s exposed elbow, slicing deeply and causing a roar of anger and pain from the giant as it stood.

“Aim for the eyes!” Stainsberry told Talarius.

Talarius nodded. They were at a very long range, but his Holy Lightning Arrows were not subject to the normal laws of gravity and air resistance. He focused with his visor and began releasing a quick volley. Three struck before the giant was able to turn enough to shield his eyes.

The giant took off running away from the wall once more, the two knights in pursuit. The giant edged left, even as the army at the edge of the cleared path began frantically trying to flee the region as the giant drew near them.

Talarius blinked in surprise as a very large zombie dragon suddenly appeared, diving out of the sky to attack Hilda. The dragon was about one-half the size of giant-Hilda, but still quite deadly.

“Crap, here come more!” Stainsberry said as a two-hundred-foot-long serpentine dragon zombie came down and began wrapping itself around the other giant knight.

The dragons, and now a flock of pterosaurs, were viciously attacking the giant knights, allowing the running bergrisi to get further ahead and begin doubling back. The giant was soon charging towards the wall of the citadel again. Unfortunately, the giant undead beasts attacking the two knights were taking all their attention.

“Well, it looks like I’ve found a good use for my last lightning bolt,” Stainsberry said as he took aim at the approaching giant. “I’m going to give it a moment to get closer for a stronger hit.”

Talarius nodded, scanning the battlements to make sure everyone was gone. He stepped back to peer down inside and saw people quickly moving away from the wall. He nodded and drew his bow again, aiming at the giant’s eyes once more, and began a new barrage.

“Ghairm mi a-nis an dealanaich de na diathan! Le mo bòidean a 'mhòid-cheartais, faodaidh!” Stainsberry shouted, even as the bergrisi shifted into a thundering stone golem charging the wall. The bolt crashed into the stone golem, causing a hail of powdered rock to fall on whatever was left below it, but its momentum did not seem to be affected.

“Brace for impact!” Talarius shouted as loudly as he could, using his helm’s power to magnify his voice. He and Stainsberry moved above the wall.

Talarius glanced back; the outer courtyard for this region was almost clear. People were fleeing through the gate in the inner wall. The battle was about to move inside the outer wall.

KABOOM!!!

The entire citadel rocked as the two-hundred-foot tall stone golem bergrisi crashed into the one-hundred-and-fifty-foot outer wall. A deafening rumble followed as the outer wall began to collapse under the impact.

Interdiction Road

“This is not good!” Ramses cursed. He and Exador were busy trying to stabilize the interdiction. The destruction of the Tomb Gate had sent multi-spatial ripples through the entire area. That had been the disorienting reality warp accompanying the explosive destruction of the gate.

Those ripples had disrupted the beacons and they were scrambling to restabilize them. However, it was now being complicated by the fact that while Atun was shining brightly on the battlefield, the sea where the beacon ships were sailing was incredibly stormy.

His demons were reporting that the winds were dangerously high and that the sails had been furled and the ships battened down. On top of this, the seas themselves were experiencing huge waves that appeared to be independent of the wind.

Exador shook his head. There could be no question that the avatars of Krinna and Namora were trying to break the interdiction. However, one problem at a time, Exador reminded himself.

Citadel of Light, Southern Wall

“What the…?” Tom shouted as the Citadel behind him shook against his back. There had been a tremendous crashing sound, and now he could hear what sounded like a rock slide in the distance.

Tom had his back against the wall, once more wrestling the frost giant. Targh and his team were currently beset by a huge swarm of flying undead monsters. He had thought they’d made good progress over the night in killing off the large flying zombies, but apparently they’d found reserves.

“That sounded like an outer wall collapsing!” Darg-Krallnom shouted. I’ve heard it many times before. I prefer the sound when I am the one doing the crashing!”

Tom grunted as the frost giant managed to pin him to the ground. Inethya was busy trying to contain the wind giant with the help of Morok Death Stealer. Morok had somehow managed to get his lichtshwert to function in a magical realm. The interesting thing was that it could actually hurt the wind giant in its aerial form.

Morok’s regiment was there as well. Now that the giants were more solidly focused on the wall, the Army of the Night—or at least, the daylight capable part of it—had reengaged in combat. Morok’s squadron was keeping them at bay.

“Lich farts from the depths!” Darg-Krallnom shouted, and Tom glanced his way. The fire giant had just flamed and leaped to the top of the wall.

“Shit!” The giant was about to enter the Citadel and he was pinned down. He whipped his tail around and jabbed the frost giant with everything he had, concentrating the funneled lightning from the Doom of Nysegard through his tail. He’d never tried this before, but it was worth a shot.

The frost giant’s armor was crackling with electricity, and it finally let go of him to get away from his tail. Tom rested for a moment, thinking. They needed a new tactic; this wasn’t working. He glanced up to see several avatars attacking the fire giant on the top of the wall. Even so, he could detect screams of mortals being hurt by the giant stomping on them.

He’d had several more opportunities to examine the risar. They were physical bodies that were reanimated, much like a zombie, but with far more bindings than any of the zombies he’d seen. The dark tendrils that crawled beneath their skin seemed to be both a shield from attacks like Inethya’s as well as a container for the antimus inside. He had also confirmed that there was some small core of animus inside the bodies. That was not something he had seen in any of the other animated undead or Unlife.

Tom suspected that the animus inside was the true soul of the risar; that it was trapped in an Unlife prison, unable to break free. He needed to be able to cleanse the antimus, burn away the dark tendrils and hopefully release the trapped animus.

The problem was that the black tendrils were more than capable of blocking divine magic. He needed to be able to pierce the tendril shield and get something inside the giants. He needed, he suddenly realized, Excrathadorus Mortis. Tom blasted the frost giant with fire from the Wand and began making his way to Inethya. “Inethya, do you have a link to Iskerus?” he shouted.

“Yes. Why?” the prophetess shouted back as she swung her sword at the wind giant.

“I need to find Excrathadorus Mortis—I left it with the arch-diocate,” Tom shouted.

Inethya grimaced as she dodged a fist, and then she nodded. “Give me a moment.”

Roth Tar Gorefest slugged the frost giant in the location its kidneys should be. Ice armor crinkled with the impact.

“Bad news!” Inethya shouted. “He says it vanished from its heavily warded container. Vanished with no trace and without any seals being broken.”

Tom was still blasting the frost giant as Roth Tar Gorefest struck again.

“How is that possible?” Tom shouted to Inethya.

“I have no idea! Divine Intervention?” She shrugged, refocusing on her own battle.

Divine Intervention? If she was a prophetess, an avatar, what would she mean by something so vague as Divine Intervention? It made no sense. Tom shook his head; it suddenly made sense. She meant that Tiernon himself must have taken it.

“Shit!” Tom cursed again. The fire was still not working. He swapped the fire for a sustained electrical blast. This thing’s armor was unreal.

If Tiernon took it, it would be in Tierhallon. How the hell would he get it back? Did he just ask Tiernon to return it? That didn’t seem particularly likely at the moment. He was going to need to get it himself. Of course, he had no idea where Tierhallon was, so that was a bust.

Tom frowned, thinking. Wasn’t Tiernon’s god pool in Tierhallon? Could he follow a link to Tierhallon and find it? He’d had a link to Excrathadorus Mortis. He’d turned it off, but if he got close enough, based on what he’d read in Freehold, he should have no problem reconnecting to it. He just needed to get close enough.

“Roth Tar Gorefest! Can you handle this guy, keep him down while I work on something else?” Tom shouted to his commander.

“We can!” the commander replied and gestured for several of his subordinates to join the battle. Big as the giants were, only so many could fight them at once before getting in each other’s way.

Tom nodded and took off into the air. As soon as he got to a good position above the fray, he reached towards the kilt pouches on his arm. Crap! The arrows would be too small for him at this size. Tom returned to his normal size and began fastening his kilt on his waist, his tail holding the Rod of Tommus. Finally, he got one of the arrow-darts of Tiernon out and he began looking for Inethya’s link. He was going to have to drill into her link and then go through Beragamos to get to Tierhallon. He was not sure what that would take. He could see her link; it was quite wide and strong compared to what the priests had had.

He tossed the arrow, funneling himself through it as he’d done several times now, and locked it into the stream. Don’t panic! I give you my oath, my word of honor, that no harm shall come to Tiernon, nor his avatars! Tom told Inethya, who jerked in surprise as she felt his intrusion. He could feel her shock—horror even—at his violation. I am very sorry, but I need to do something drastic if we are to defeat these risar, he said. He winced as the wind giant pounded her face with his fist. Her guard was down; she was distracted by Tom’s actions. He hoped she wouldn’t fight him; he wanted to get in and out fast.

Tom swayed suddenly with massive vertigo. What was happening? Was Inethya fighting back? He shook his head as he felt links shifting inside the Rod of Tommus. “The interdiction is broken!” he shouted. “We are all at full power!” That was the vertigo! Inethya’s link now went straight up to the Outer Planes without routing through Beragamos.

Tom raced up the link with his mind, up into the sky above, going where he had not previously gone. He blinked, reeling as he suddenly found his astral self in a very strange place. It was like being in some sort of house of mirrors. That was the only way he could describe it, but he had no idea what that description actually meant.

He had very little time; he was certain his intrusion would be detected. He felt for Excrathadorus Mortis, allowing his mind to expand, willing the link to activate. Where is it? There it is! The blade was in some sort of bubble of stability. In a non-mirrored area, if that made sense. Actually, nothing made sense here; the mirror thing was simply a metaphor for how he experienced the place.

He reached out to Excrathadorus Mortis and solidified the link. He could now understand the bubble a bit better. Excrathadorus Mortis was a physical object in a non-physical place. The bubble was some sort of pocket universe or something. This was more instinctive rationalization than anything he actually knew. But what was clear was that he could open a true gateway into the bubble to bring the dagger physically through to Nysegard.

As Tom did so, a small ring of fire appeared before him on Nysegard. Tom reached his free hand through and grabbed his dagger. My dagger! he suddenly realized. It was his dagger. It had slain Orcus, had nearly slain him, and he had remolded it, he had remade it in his own (and admittedly, Tiernon’s) image. It had been Tiernon’s mana after all, wielded by himself.

Tom pulled the dagger through the hole in reality even as he let his mind race back down Inethya’s link. He closed the hole to find Inethya staring at him in anger from about five feet away.

“What in creation’s name did you just do?” Inethya yelled at him in fury.

“I retrieved my dagger from Tierhallon,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

“You cannot invade my link and ride it to Tierhallon to steal things!” Inethya was definitely pissed.

For some reason, perhaps guilt at his invasion of her link, Tom also got angry. “Why not?” he snapped. “It’s my dagger. My stepbrother had it, and he seriously owes me one! I’ve known him longer than you’ve been an avatar. This is between him and me. If he has a problem with me doing this, well, he knows where I live.”

Inethya blinked in shock, not fully comprehending what Tom had just said.

Tom grinned at her despite his anger. “Now, I have work to do. I’m about to fix this situation.”

He dove down towards the frost giant, the Rod of Tommus wrapped in his tail, Excrathadorus Mortis in his right hand. Keep him distracted, his back to me at all costs! Tom instructed Roth Tar Gorefest.

Tom once again linked the two Fire Portals in Nysegard to the two Fire Portals in Doom. He then connected them to Excrathadorus Mortis, causing the blade to burst into flame. He shifted the blade into a two-handed stabbing position and crash-landed onto the frost giant’s back. Tom plunged the large, glowing, fiery blade into the giant’s back, right between the shoulder blades. The fire of four Fire Portals concentrated on a single, relatively tiny spot, burning through the icy armor.

I’m in! Tom shouted to any that could hear his mental shout. He released the flames and focused on the power of Excrathadorus Mortis. He willed the blade to send forth its power into the giant’s body. He willed the full power of the blade to devour the antimus, to burn the tendrils of darkness. “There is a lot of Darkness here!” Tom exclaimed out loud. He shifted his links and began funneling mana from Doom to the blade to enhance its power. Doing this, he was suddenly struck by the memories of curing himself and the dagger. In some ways, it felt like a repeat of that event; however, this time it was the Mana of Doom doing the cleansing—burning through the giant’s body, wiping the infection from it. Searing the tendrils, watching them shrivel.

Tom followed each tendril and suddenly realized that there were tendrils—links—extending from the giant’s back towards the Storm Lords. Tom and Excrathadorus Mortis followed those links, consuming and transforming them as he went. As he moved through the links, he soon saw where they were going; the tendril links split into thirteen separate links.

Each link led to a lich! He followed the links to each lich, locking his connection in place and then delving deeply into the first one, the one standing to the right of the others. Into the literal heart of Darkness. He scanned the link, even as he felt resistance. The lich was fighting back, battling him and his dagger! Tom grinned and began pulling more mana. It looked like this was going to take a lot of mana. Time for his stepbrother to start paying off his debts. Tom began pulling from Inethya’s connection to the god pool. With the added power, it was suddenly much easier to beat back the liches’ resistance.

There! Tom mentally shouted in triumph. He’d found the link he had been searching for. The link to the liches’ phylactery! Time to put an end to this evil!

Tomb Gate Vicinity

“What has happened?” Praelgeis hissed as he suddenly felt his off-plane links restored.

“The interdiction has fallen!” Baba Smert’ hissed.

“They were already circumnavigating it. I doubt it shall matter that much,” Daerth Tromlane noted.

“I shall contact Exador nonetheless. I want it back,” Praelgeis hissed as he pulled a mirror from his robe’s pocket. A sudden commotion from the commune controlling the hrímthursi caused him to turn his attention.

“Something is happening with the hrímthursi!” Daerth Tromlane exclaimed.

Baba Smert’ levitated into the air to peer at the battle. “Orcus is on the back of the hrímthursi! It is something of his doing!”

Praelgeis returned his attention to the hrímthursi commune. The liches were clearly battling something. It was as if their links were becoming unstable, guessing by the gestures and the spells they appeared to be frantically casting.

Suddenly, Tertiblisthy went completely rigid, as if in a death rictus, and began chanting furiously. Praelgeis’s eyes narrowed in on the lich’s visage. There was a look of sheer terror on his face. Praelgeis was not sure he’d ever observed such a panicked expression on one of his own kind.

Without warning, Tertiblisthy began screaming. It was the scream that shook every lich to the core of their dark essence. Tertiblisthy’s phylactery was under attack! He glanced to the other members of the commune, who were frantically casting spells of protection upon themselves.

Praelgeis winced as Tertiblisthy suddenly exploded in a blackness-shattering cloud of dust and expired bindings. “This is bad!” Praelgeis shouted.

Suddenly the lich next to where Tertiblisthy had been standing locked into a rictus, fighting for survival before emitting the dreaded, horror-inspiring, phylactery screech. Praelgeis winced once more as another cloud of black dust rained down upon them from the second exploded lich.

“This is…” Baba Smert’ shook her head, unable to describe what she was feeling.

The third lich began screeching its phylactery wail.

“I think the speed of the attacks is increasing!” Daerth Tromlane shouted.

“It would make sense; Orcus now has a template for exploding anyone linked to the hrímthursi! Have those controlling the other two do whatever it takes to get Orcus off the hrímthursi!” Praelgeis shouted as another cloud of exploded lich rained down once more.

“Exador!” Praelgeis shouted into the mirror. “Get back here immediately! Forget the wards, we need to go to plan E!”

“Plan E?” Exador asked in shock. “I don’t see how things could have shifted against us that quickly!”

“They have! If you want an army for Freehold, you’d better get back here and save it!” Praelgeis hissed.

“Fine! Just make sure your wizards are ready with the spells I’ve provided you for this situation,” Exador hissed back.

Citadel of Light, Southern Wall

Tom finished off the last of the thirteen liches controlling the hrímthursi. He pulled himself back and ran through a final check of the frost giant. The risi was clean, and alive, once more. Excrathadorus Mortis could not only destroy antimus; it could, in this case, also heal the damage done. Does that make it a dagger of healing? Tom wondered.

He pulled the blade out, willing the wound to close. The giant had been standing stiffly, but now quickly collapsed to the ground. Tom looked up to find Roth Tar Gorefest, Darg-Krallnom, Inethya, Targh and his soldiers, along with Morok and many of his soldiers, all battling to keep the other risar from attacking himself and the frost giant. Tom worked to try to un-crumple the frost giant so it could rest a bit more peacefully, as much as possible at least.

As he got the giant rolled over onto his back, his eyes fluttered open, his breathing deep and steady. He blinked at Tom and suddenly grinned. “Lord Orcus. Praise Loki, I should have suspected it would be you who could save me from my damnation! I owe you much!”

Tom smiled. “For now, honor that by staying as safe as possible and getting your strength back. I need to assist the others.”

Morok! Tom called to the commander. Have your men guard our recovering friend here!

Will do! Morok replied.

Tom glanced up, noting that Ruiden was in his golem form and looking to find ways to strike the giants without slicing an ally. Unfortunately, things were so tight that there were no good opportunities.

“Ruiden, why don’t you go check on the northern wall and see if you can help against that risi?” Tom suggested.

“Excellent idea!” the sword replied before launching itself over the wall.

Tom stood and turned to examine his options. The eldþursi had his back to Tom. Perhaps some cold fire to cut through the fire giant’s hot fire? Time for another cleaning! Tom leaped onto the eldþursi’s back.

Citadel of Light, Inside Northern Wall

Talarius moved back and forth, trying to keep his aim on the bergrisi’s eye in order to blind him with lightning bolts from his bow. It was tricky work, made trickier by the relatively tight confines of the inner courtyard. Unfortunately, with the giant slamming against the inside walls, the courtyard was soon going to be much bigger.

“We need to drive him outside the wall!” Stainsberry yelled.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Giant-Hilda roared back in exasperation. She was standing on top of the inner wall opposite the collapsed wall and holding her hammer as if it were a croquet mallet. She was trying to knock the stone golem hard enough on the chest to trip it over the rubble behind it, moving it closer to the outside. “I could really use a thaumaturge to turn this thing to mud!” she boomed in her giant form.

“Can they do that? Melt stone?” Stevos asked.

“I have no idea; I would hope a sufficiently powerful one could do so,” Hilda replied.

Talarius glanced around once more to ensure that the adjoining courtyards—thank Tiernon for the segmented nature of the Citadel and its courtyards—were finally emptied. Carpets had been ferrying people wounded by the collapsing of parts of the inner walls as the stone golem careened off them. There had been a lot of casualties; he had no idea how many deaths.

Talarius looked to Stainsberry, who had suddenly moved to one of the walls and was rummaging through his Bag of Safekeeping. Good thing the interdiction was lifted, Talarius thought. Unfortunately, he could not think of anything in his own bag that would be more useful than his bow. His Rod of Smiting could chip away, but to get the most damage he would need to be braced upon the ground, or something other than the air under his feet. He let loose another volley of arrows in quick succession, but all the stone golem had to do was blink to protect itself. It singed its stone eyelids, but did little else.

Talarius heard a whistling noise and looked up to see Ruiden spinning towards him. The spinning glaive stopped rotating and reformed into a golem beside Talarius.

“In its stone form, there is not much I can do against this golem,” Ruiden said.

“I know; I’m in the same boat,” Talarius said. “We are going to have to come up with plans for such situations in the future. This is not something I had ever seriously considered.”

“Our challenges have certainly expanded under Lord Tommus,” Ruiden noted.

Talarius chuckled. “I cannot argue that.”

Citadel of Light, Southern Wall

“Okay,” Tom said out loud, “now all we have to do is keep the normal Unlife away from our recovering friends.”

“That’s not going to be a problem!” Darg-Krallnom shouted. Tom looked towards the commander, who gestured to the Unlife that had been surrounding them. “They are in retreat, I suspect to reorganize. Surround the leadership, protect them at all costs. A very good thing for us!”

Tom grinned and turned back to Inethya.

“Incredible!” Inethya said, shaking her head. “That dagger was able to do what my rituals could not.”

“This was a very strange situation. The Storm Lord’s spells were guarding the antimus tightly, but more importantly, the core souls of the risar were locked inside as animus. They were imprisoned within their own incarnated forms,” Tom said.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Inethya said.

“Nor have I,” a new voice said behind Tom. He turned to see that Beragamos had returned now that the interdiction had been shut down.

“I note that someone has once again been stealing mana from heaven,” the archon said sternly.

“You try to re-turn three risar controlled by thirty-nine very powerful liches, now permanently slain, without using every drop of mana you can get your hands on,” Tom said somewhat sarcastically. “I also admit that Tiernon’s mana is very pure and most efficient.”

A tremendous crashing sound from the other side of the Citadel brought their attention back to the fact that there was still a fourth risi attacking the Citadel.

“Enough resting. We have more work to do!” Tom said, launching himself into the air. “Morok, bring your people with m;, the rest of you guard the risar in case the Unlife return!”

Tom had to blink at the clouds of dust and debris rising from the north side of the citadel. The outer wall had been breached, and two of the three inner walls in that courtyard segment had also collapsed. Those walls had contained corridors and rooms embedded within them; he hoped everyone had gotten out.

Two giant knights, two hundred feet tall, were battling a stone golem. Talarius was flying around shooting lightning bolts out of his bow as Ruiden periodically dove in to scrape the risi. Stainsberry was on one of the walls, casting a spell. Several other avatars were flying around shooting various beams of light at the stone golem, all to little affect.

Tom glanced back towards Stainsberry, suddenly recognizing the cloud forming in front of the Knight Magus. “Stainsberry! No!” Tom yelled, moving towards the Knight Magus while keeping close watch on the Cloud of Disintegration.

“Stainsberry, there is a live, non-antimus soul trapped inside the giant. He is possessed and being controlled by liches! I can cure him! Shut down the cloud!” Tom yelled.

Stainsberry looked towards Tom and nodded, then abruptly changed his chant and the motions of his hands. Tom hoped he could get the Cloud of Disintegration shut down safely.

“How do you propose stabbing that?” Inethya yelled.

“We need to force him into his mortal form!” Tom yelled back.

There was vwooshing sound as Morok and his elite squadron drew their lichtshwerts. Tom nodded at the twelve D’Orcs to dive in.

“We need a stone-to-mud ritual,” Hilda said, although at two hundred feet tall, her voice boomed louder than a normal shout.

Tom looked to Beragamos, who looked pensive and finally nodded. “I think I can make something work. It’s not part of what I normally do, but it should work with some modifications.”

“Great. I need him to stay in flesh long enough to stab him, maybe a little longer!” Tom shouted. He noticed that Morok’s crew was able to cause burns on the stone golem. That was more than most could do.

Beragamos nodded and began chanting and gesturing. Within perhaps a few minutes, the sharp corners of the stone golem began to visibly soften, to melt. Tom moved to get into position. The golem staggered as one of its feet started to melt. It turned, ignoring the two giant knights, and swatted at one of Morok’s D’Orcs, glaring at Beragamos.

Tom assumed it was the fact that the archon was glowing and shouting things about mud and stone and Earth that tipped off the golem drivers—the lich commune—as to who was responsible. Tom moved to reposition himself even as the golem moved to try and swat Beragamos from the sky.

As the golem’s arm moved upward, his forearm began to bend the wrong direction as his elbow began to liquefy. The golem roared in anger and suddenly flashed to flesh. Tom lunged quickly, assuming he had only a small window. He had to aim high, at the base of the neck, to avoid the risi’s stone plate armor.

In! Excrathadorus Mortis pierced the giant’s neck and Tom began to clean the giant. After the first three he had gotten an optimal pattern down, balancing the tendrils fighting him and the necessary cleaning. However, this big fellow needed a lot of cleaning.

The risi started changing back to stone! He could not blame it because Morok’s people were getting in very solid blows. Tom took his left claw and carved it into the stone golem’s neck to hold on. Excrathadorus Mortis was in and linked to the blackness. It would not be dislodged, but Tom might be. He opened the flood gates to Doom, the Doomalogue and Tiernon’s god pool. He had a lot of work to do and he needed to do it fast, before the golem did too much more damage.

After what seemed like a small eternity, he was able to clean the golem to the point that he could follow the links to the commune. He was surprised to find that the bergrisi had seventeen liches controlling it. He got his initial lock on the liches and moved to the first.

Suddenly Tom felt indescribable pain coming from the other links. The liches had found a way to protect themselves. Surprising, given that they were on opposite sides of the battlefield, but he assumed the commanding Storm Liches had somehow got word to them.

Tom had to withdraw slightly and put up mental walls to numb the pain of the attacks. He had no idea what they were doing, but it hurt. He created his own link to the other end of the commune link.

Morok, I need you and a couple others to follow this link to the lich commune controlling the risi. They are putting up a fight; I need you to distract them. Do not kill them here; I need to be able to hunt down their phylacteries so I need them functional, just unable to cast spells! The D’Orc was from Visteroth, a world where the orcs had evolved to combat the Unlife. Morok would fully understand what was needed.

Understood! Morok said, and pulled three of his elite to follow him.

Tom turned his attention back to the liches of the commune. They were fighting their way back. He was losing some ground. He took a deep mental breath and waded once more into the pain. It would be very helpful to understand what they were doing so he could combat it. He really needed animage training; perhaps Morok could help with that. The D’Orc was an animage. At the moment, all he could do was press against each link in succession, testing for weaknesses, pulling back if the pain got too great.

The Unlife are in motion, Morok reported. They are pulling all their forces from this side as well, gathering the remnants of the army on the plain before the main gate. I would guess they are about three-fifths of their original size. There are ghouls carrying coffins, I assume the vampires. I would call it a retreat, but they are gathering in a single large area rather than leaving the field.

Keep me informed, Tom replied. He twisted his head on his shoulders; he was developing a real headache battling these seventeen liches. One would push back, driving him back towards the bergrisi, and Tom would respond, only to have one of the others advance. It was not a question of sheer power; he clearly had more, but they were using wizardry, which everyone had informed him could be much more effective per unit of mana spent.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the links suddenly weakened and Tom moved in for the kill. The lich was distracted, as he’d hoped, and the others started to press upon him, but then three more suddenly backed off. That was sufficient; the pain was lowered enough so that he could proceed.

Within moments he had the link to the phylactery, and then the lich was screaming in fear and agony. It warmed the cockles of Tom’s soul to hear a creature that thrived and fed upon the fear of others to feel fear, agony and pain itself. Where had that thought come from? Tom suddenly wondered. He shook his head even as the lich exploded, and he moved to the next.

Northern Courtyard

“He’s coming down!” Talarius shouted at the D’Orcs surrounding the suddenly flesh-and-bone bergrisi, trying to control its collapse. He sighed a breath of relief; Tom had managed to bring the giant down. Talarius peered at it. It was rather amazing; the bergrisi looked very different, obviously alive and healthy, than it had before. That was not something that Excrathadorus Mortis could have ever done when he’d had it. Technically, he thought to himself, it’s not really the same dagger anymore. He closed his eyes for a moment before moving to land on the inner wall. The giant, heavyset knight had shrunk down to normal size and was standing on the wall beside Beragamos.

All three stood there, watching a larger-sized Tom try to make the bergrisi a bit more comfortable in the confined, crumbling courtyard.

Hilda raised her eyebrows. “For a demon prince, he shows an amazing amount of compassion.”

Talarius chuckled mirthlessly. “I no longer know what the phrase demon prince means. He has been more than honorable to me; more so than I deserve. He extended his trust when he had no reason to.”

“Sometimes things are more complicated than they first appear,” Beragamos agreed, nodding.

“We are all going to have to talk,” Hilda said, staring intently at Beragamos.

“We will. Things are complicated,” Beragamos said. “We still have much more work to do here.”

“We do,” Talarius said. He could not believe he was addressing the most senior archon of his god as an equal, but things were changing. “However, I have one question first.”

“Yes?” Beragamos said, raising one eyebrow in some surprise at his temerity.

“I recently saw a memory mirroring of Orcus at a wedding; the wedding of Aetherus and Eris,” Talarius stated.

“I know the image. I held the mirror,” Beragamos said.

“So all of that is true,” Talarius asked, trying to be as stoic as possible.

“That Orcus is the stepbrother of the Five Siblings—that they were once great, if undisclosed, allies?” Beragamos asked wearily.

“So it is true,” Talarius said.

Beragamos nodded. Hilda was staring at both of them in complete and utter shock.

“And they conspired—” Talarius began, but Beragamos interrupted him with a tight, teeth-clenched grin.

“We will not talk about that here, in public—not with the Unlife nearby,” Beragamos said grimly.

Talarius nodded.

~

Tom stood up from the bergrisi, who was finally resting comfortably. He turned to the fallen outer wall to see Morok and his small team flying back in. Tom smiled as they approached. “Good work! I cannot tell you how invaluable your mission was!” he told them.

The D’Orcs laughed. “And we cannot tell you how much we enjoyed the sweet, sweet singing of the liches as their phylacteries burned,” Morok said before taking a deep breath through his nose. “It is a song of joy that warms our hearts and puts wind into our lungs!”

“What news of the Unlife?” Tom asked.

“There was only a small regiment, a few hundred, protecting the commune. We took them out. All other forces are being withdrawn to the central plain. All functional forces are moving into a large circular region on the plane. I estimate about one hundred and twenty thousand, perhaps one hundred and fifty thousand,” Morok said.

“That must be a huge circle,” Tom said.

“They are very tightly packed into the circle; it is not what I would consider a battle formation,” the commander informed him.

“Have your men guard the bergrisi from any Unlife attack. You are an expert on the Unlife; join me on the command tower. We need to coordinate,” Tom instructed.

Commanders! Tom ordered. All not specifically assigned to guarding the risar or other critical points, herd the Unlife to their circle, but do not engage until further orders!

“Avatars, to the command tower,” he shouted.

Citadel of Light, Main Gate: Late Third Period

Tom hovered over the main gate with Talarius and Stainsberry at his side on their steeds. Grob was with them on a griffin; Beragamos hovered nearby as well. Tamarin had shrunk herself and was sitting on Tom’s shoulder. They were watching as the D’Orc, D’Warg and demon forces of Doom arrayed themselves in the air around the very tightly packed circle of Unlife. It was very bizarre to note the various avatars in the air with them at cardinal locations.

They had spent about a third of an hour on the Command Center, observing the frantic rearranging of the Unlife army, before deciding to supplement the Forces of Doom with avatars and simply surrounding the Unlife army, which was making it so ridiculously simple to do so.

“I do not understand what they are doing,” Stainsberry said.

“They do not attack; they are all just crowding together behind a very fierce front line that surrounds them,” Talarius observed. “They have crammed all their giant zombie bestiary with them into the area as well, the flying ones in the air above them. Is this some sort of bizarre last stand where they stack all the flying undead in holding patterns above them?”

Tom shook his head. He had no idea. Needless to say, they were very leery of a trap.

The only thing they had noted in terms of a trap was that wizards were frantically creating a runic circle around their forces. One might assume it was some sort of warding. However, what sort of warding could stop the divine and Abyssal forces that were arrayed around the Unlife?

Suddenly a loud voice rang out from the center of the Unlife. “Orcus! Avatars of the Five Siblings!” a hissing voice proclaimed. “You have won the field today, but we shall fight again.”

Suddenly the runes the wizards had been frantically writing around the Unlife army burst into a solid wall of flames, shooting upwards to the heavens. A massive heat wave rolled out from the area where the Unlife army was. Nothing was visible through the giant column of flame.

“Did they just incinerate themselves?” Talarius asked in shock. The surrounding forces had all pulled back several feet in surprise, but the cylinder of flame did not expand.

Suddenly the giant cylinder of flame reaching to the sky vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The Army of the Night was no more. The plain of shattered corpses and Citadel outbuildings was no more. In its place was a red and orange desert of large boulders, sand and rubble. A wave of intense heat continued to expand outward from the desert, even after the flame was gone. Distortion of the air above the desert indicated that the area was extremely hot.

“They actually incinerated their army!” Stainsberry exclaimed in shock. “How insane are they?”

Tom blinked. He had never seen this before, but he recognized the desert of home. He had heard of this spell, and had once pretended he was familiar with it. “No, they did not incinerate themselves. They performed an Abyssal Switch,” he said numbly.

“An Abyssal Switch?” Grob asked. “What on Nysegard is that?”

Tom chuckled. “Not on Nysegard anymore. An Abyssal Switch exchanges land on a material plane with an equivalent area of land in the Abyss. That desert down there is a region of the Abyss.”

“So then the very large region that was here, with the army on it, is now located in the Abyss?” Diocate Aeris asked.

“It is,” Tom nodded.

Talarius shook his head. “So the Storm Lords took their entire remaining army into the Abyss?”

“Looks that way,” Tom said.

“The Abyss, in theory, temporarily depolarizes animus,” Stainsberry said, frowning. “I have to wonder what sort of havoc that would wreak on Unlife?”

Beragamos shuddered. “I can’t imagine it is pleasant.”

“Can we locate them?” Grob asked. “Hunt them down?”

“The Abyss is a very big place,” Beragamos said.

“Trying to find someone, or a group of people, in an infinite area takes time,” Stainsberry noted.

“It does,” Tom said. He shook shaking his head and turned to Beragamos. “By the way, did you send a flying nuclear submarine into the Abyss after Talarius?” he asked the archon.

The Inferno

“Good morning!” Chancellor Alighieri exclaimed cheerfully as he came into the officer’s mess, where Heron, Barabus, Cranshall and Sir Lady Serah were eating breakfast.

“You seem unusually cheerful this morning despite yesterday’s disappointment,” Heron stated.

“I have excellent news!” The Chancellor smiled at them. “The link to Talarius came back up about an hour and a half ago and it’s been steady ever since!”

“That is good news!” Barabus smiled happily, raising his cup of tea in a salute.

“Still in Nysegard?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

“Indeed. It appears to be a different part of Nysegard, but definitely in Nysegard,” Dante said, nodding.

“So what caused the link to break?” Heron asked.

Dante shook his head from side to side. “I have no idea. It is uniquely unprecedented, and short of Sir Samwell’s suggestion of sudden slaying and the subsequent surcease of his spiritual spark upon the mortal realms, or an invasion of Tierhallon, I am at a loss.”

“But he is not dead?” Sir Lady Sarah asked.

“He is alive and in Nysegard,” Dante replied.

“Then we proceed with caution, but our path is now clear. We are going to Nysegard while we can still track him,” Heron proclaimed.

“To Nysegard!” Captain Cranshall nodded and moved to leave the dining room.

Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Late Second Period

Tal Gor and the other orcs finished saddling their D’Wargs as Elgrida, Ferroos and several others came to bid them farewell.

“Shaman?” Elgrida nodded to Tal Gor. “With the Grove having assured us that the alvar have fled our lands, we celebrate our people’s first decisive victory over the alvar in thousands of years.” She shook his hand. “This is truly a good omen of what is to come.”

Tal Gor nodded. It was good. Trevin D’Vils had assured them that her ship, which had returned after a few days away, had verified the alvar were gone from orc lands. She had given both himself and Ferroos link stones to contact the Nimbus in the event any more alvar were found. She had also promised to proactively monitor alvaran activity.

Tal Gor mounted Schwarzenfürze. “We thank you for your assistance, and for continuing to guard the prisoners. Contact us if they need to be cast into the Abyss!” he smiled at Elgrida and Ferroos.

“Good fortune in seeking the Doom of Astlan, apostle,” Elgrida said.

“Apostle?” Tal Gor asked her curiously.

“We do not like the term Emissary of Doom; it sounds too much like a diplomat,” Elgrida said.

Tal Gor winced at the frightful comparison. He could not argue that point—he had not thought of it—but now, particularly after the last several days, it was unmistakable.

“So we have decided to refer to you as apostles. All of you,” Ferroos said. “A thousand years from now, when storytellers around campfires regale children of the Restoration of Glory, it will be much better to speak of the Apostles of Doom and the Quest for Justice!”

Tal Gor nodded with a broad grin. “Thank you all!” He looked to Bor Tal and Zargvarst, who both nodded back, and then they launched themselves into the air towards Jötunnhenj and their Doom.

The First Lacuna

Nysegard, Teampull de Ùpraid

Sutekh, God of Chaos, Lord of the Desert Storm, Purveyor of Change, stood before the scrying pool beside his long-term ally, Dysnoma, Goddess of Anarchy, and their very useful compatriot, Baron(ess) Tartibsizlik. The scrying pool revealed an aerial view of the battlefield around the Citadel of Light, where the Storm Lords’ army had just fled the field of battle in defeat.

“Well, Tartibsizlik, your warning was most prescient,” Sutekh noted.

“The Lord of Law, the Oath Maker has returned,” Dysnoma said acidly. “Your minion and his allies did not finish off the Oath Maker as promised.” She glared briefly at Sutekh.

“It has been expensive,” Tartibsizlik said, hir face flashing to that of an angry old crone. “We have lost an entire Maelstrom, and now the Storm Lords have lost half of their supposedly overwhelming army, even with the interdiction and four risar at their disposal.”

“The Unlife are useful for the fear, disruption and chaos they bring. But perhaps it is time we recognize that they have their limits,” Sutekh said.

“Clearly,” Tartibsizlik agreed.

“Perhaps—or is it their leadership?” Dysnoma asked.

“Your suggestion?” Sutekh asked.

“Perhaps we should not put all of our Unlife support in the Storm Lords. I think it is time we provide Czernobog von Smerti with the resources he has been requesting,” Dysnoma suggested.

“If you wish,” Sutekh replied. “However, Orcus is moving quickly to undo much of what we have worked these last six thousand years to gain. We may need to move even more aggressively than that.”

Dysnoma chuckled. “I hope you were not expecting me to disagree? You know there is nothing in the multiverse that I want more than to punish my dear brother. He must suffer for our mother’s fate!”

The Second Lacuna

Citadel of Light, Dungeons: DOA + 20, Early First Period (During Battle)

Rede sat despondently in his cell. He had not seen the saint or the priest in what he guessed was two days. Fortunately, however, the guards had continued to bring him blood and fresh water, and emptied the chamber pot. Not that there was ever much for him to leave in the chamber pot, given his liquid diet.

Unlike a vampire, dhampyrs could and did eat food as well. They preferred meat, naturally, but could digest anything their non-dhampyr parent’s race could eat. He could survive on blood if need be, at least for longer than a non-dhampyr could survive on water; however, it was not particularly healthy in the long term and he would get sick.

He assumed the war was in full gear by this point. He based this assumption on what little he knew of the army’s plans and the fact that the number of guards was lower than it had been previously. He sighed, shaking his head at the irony of his situation.

For his entire life, even after his symptoms emerged, he had been on the side of the Light. He had done what he could to support their village and people. He had always rooted against the Storm Lords and their army. At least until he’d been forced to join them. At which point, as miserable as that might have been, it was his side.

Now, however, he was trapped in the dungeon of the Citadel, awaiting inevitable death. His only hope was for the Storm Lords to overrun the Citadel, killing everyone in it and then freeing him. How horrific! His own life depended on hundreds of thousands of people dying.

He closed his eyes for a few minutes of uncomfortable rest, but was suddenly roused by some really bad whistling. Someone—one of the guards, obviously—was making their rounds and trying to whistle. However, it was really bad whistling; almost like what a child would do when learning to whistle.

“Hmm. Human. Male. Ehh,” a very nasal voice said before the whistling resumed.

“Human. Female. Not too bad, edible,” the voice said to Rede’s shock. Did the guard just describe a woman as edible? The whistling did not resume, fortunately.

“Another human male. A bit stale-looking though,” the disturbing guard said. The guard then inhaled deeply for some reason before making a small cough. “Probably shouldn’t be smoking this. Outside the Abyss, it always gives me the munchies, and this smorgasbord is a bit lacking.”

Rede shook his head. Outside the Abyss? As in the place where demons live? Something very odd was going on.

“Hmm, another human female. At least there’s some meat on the bones,” the clearly demented guard said.

Is this some sort of intimidation? Trying to scare prisoners into giving up information? Rede wondered. That had to be it. There were no other logical explanations.

“Another male. Hmm. This one seems to be a bit catatonic. Unless I miss my guess, he’s also way past his sell-by date,” the nasal voice mused.

A very strange scent reached Rede’s nose. Dhampyrs had very acute olfactory abilities, as did many predators. He peered out the small, barred window of his cell.

Suddenly an extremely ugly, mottled face with a pipe sticking out of its mouth appeared in the window. Were those horns on his forehead? Rede tried to squeeze himself further back into the corner.

“Whoa!” the ugly creature exclaimed. “What do we have here? Do I smell dhampyr?”

Rede said nothing, simply stared in terror at the creature outside his cell door. Had the Storm Lords summoned a demon to come for him? He didn’t know if they could or would do that, but he was certain that the Citadel would not be using demons.

“Hmm, not very talkative, are you?” The face looked down and Rede heard the sound of papers being shuffled.

“I am going to assume that since you look like a dhampyr and you smell like a dhampyr—and because there is an empty wineskin that reeks of blood—you are a dhampyr!” the demon said, for clearly it had to be a demon. Nothing else was this terrifying.

“What is your name, dhampyr?” the demon asked.

Rede remained silent.

“Ahem. How am I going to know whether to eat you or rescue you if you won’t tell me your name?” the demon asked.

Rede swallowed hard. The demon arched an eyebrow, opened the eye under it wide and simply stared at him.

“Rede,” Rede finally said.

The demon suddenly smiled, revealing very sharp fangs, much more frightening than Rede’s or, for that matter, Vladimir’s fangs.

“See? Much better!” the demon said, looking down and shuffling papers. He held the papers up, several sheets in each hand above his head, and peered back and forth between them. “Hmm. This is such a pain.”

More papers came into view at the bottom of the window, as if the demon were holding them in a second set of hands. The demon looked down at those, shaking its head and grimacing. Finally he looked up. “Sorry for the confusion. I’m working from my old notes.” The demon sighed. “I misplaced my book, so I’m kind of going by the seat of my pants.” He shook his head sadly. “And the problem with going by the seat of my pants is that I don’t own any pants!” He then began to nod, apparently to himself. “As you can imagine, this makes things rather difficult.” The demon looked down and stared fruitlessly at the papers some more before lowering his upper hands and shuffling all the papers. “What’s your last name?” he asked.

Rede stared in shock at this very weird demon. He would have expected demons, particularly one this horrifying, to have their act together a bit more.

“Hello! Last name? Family name? Surname?” the demon asked.

“Yondin. Rede Yondin. Yondin is my mother’s family name.”

The demon gave him a grin and began going through his papers again, muttering something unintelligible. “Ahh! Now we are getting somewhere!” He looked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Can you confirm your patrimonial name? That of your sire?”

“Czernobog Smerti was my sire,” Rede said. Clearly this demon must work for the Storm Lords. It was not something he would have expected, but nothing in his life was making a lot of sense.

“Excellent!” the demon exclaimed, raising his left upper hand, which now contained a large, purple-plumed feather pen. He moved it down theatrically to where Rede assumed paper was and made a motion as if he were checking a box. “Yep! I am here for you!”

That was something no one really wanted to hear from a demon. Rede hoped the lock would prove some impediment. Perhaps as it was wrenched off the frame, the guards would hear and come running? Rede could not see what the demon was doing, but from what he could see through the window, he was moving to open the door. There were some clicking noises and suddenly the door opened outward, the demon coming around it to enter his cell.

Rede shrank back at the sight. The demon did indeed have four arms; he also seemed to have a second torso extending from the buttocks of his front legs to a rear set of legs. Rede blinked as he realized that the demon was not only completely naked, but that it was rather frighteningly endowed—twice! Rede wrenched his eyes away from that sight to note that the demon had green, insectlike wings on his back that were moving gently back and forth.

As the demon entered the room, Rede puzzled over the fact that its hands were empty. There were no papers, no pipe, no plume, nothing in the demon’s hands. He glanced out the door to see if the papers were on the floor. There was nothing there; perhaps they were on the other side of the door.

Rede’s eyes came back to the demon as it made its way over to him, flashing a very creepy grin. Rede was not sure what the demon was going to do. Probably disembowel him, or perhaps take him back to the Storm Lord army. He wasn’t sure which he’d prefer at the moment: short-term, agonizing pain followed by death, or a long miserable life as a monstrous predator.

The demon stuck out his lower right hand. “Nice to meet you, Rede. My name is Tisdale, but my friends call me Tizzy. You may call me Tizzy!”

Rede stared at him, blinking. He tentatively reached out to shake the demon’s hand, being careful not to cut himself on its razor-sharp claws. The demon’s grasp was surprisingly dry and quite warm. Concentrating on the handshake, Rede at first didn’t notice the demon’s other upper hand reaching for his neck until the demon’s forearm brushed against his cheek. Rede lurched, trying to pull away as a nasty metallic screeching sound assaulted his ears.

Suddenly Rede was falling over, down to the floor. The demon’s hands were free and clear of him; one of them held the metal collar that he had been wearing, which was now pinched open.

Tizzy dropped the collar and chain on the bench and turned toward the door. “Come along now. Those guards will eventually come back and I’m so munchy, I might have to eat them.” The demon gestured at Rede to follow him.

Rede scrambled to his feet, his legs stiff and aching, and followed the demon out of the cell. He glanced behind the door, but saw no papers or pen. The demon gestured for Rede to come up alongside him as he marched them towards the exit.

As Rede came forward, he noted that the demon was lighting his pipe with a small flame which shot from the thumb on the hand not holding the pipe. He was not sure where the pipe had come from; it had not been there in the cell.

The demon’s lower left hand suddenly appeared in front of him with a small tube of rolled-up paper. Each end of the paper tube was twisted shut, presumably to keep something inside the tube.

“Smoke?” the demon asked after taking a big puff on his pipe.

“Uh, no thanks?” Rede said tentatively, not wanting to insult his demon rescuer.

Tizzy shrugged. “Are you sure? It’s a great stress reliever, and according to my records, you’ve been under a lot of stress recently.”

“I’m good, thank you,” Rede said shaking his head.

“Too bad! Your loss.” Tizzy shrugged. “But that’s okay, we have plenty of time yet for you to relax and have a good smoke once we get you settled in.”

“Uhm, so where are we going?” Rede asked.

“Well, first we are going to the Isle of Doom here on Nysegard,” Tizzy said. He turned to smile at Rede, wiggling his eyebrows. “And then I’ll take you on a tour of the Abyss!”

Rede stopped in tracks. The demon was not taking him to the Storm Lords? Instead he was dragging him to the Abyss? He was literally going from the frying pan into the fire!

Tizzy reached out to pull Rede forward. “Come, come, it’s not that bad. Plenty of mortals visiting these days! Vaselle is even making these nifty personal air conditioners. I think you two will get along. Given how nervous you seem, I’m betting you and my accursed master, Gastropé, will get along as well.”

Tizzy paused for a moment. “But if I were you, I’d be a wee bit circumspect around Jenn. She’s got these crazy ideas about good and evil, and I suspect she’ll think that all dhampyrs are evil.” He started moving again, pulling Rede along. “So come along, don’t worry! You’ll love being Doomed!”

The Demons of Astlan shall continue in Volume IV.  Unfortunately, Tizzy is not willing to release the name of the volume at the time of printing.

Meanwhile, be prepared for the Chronicles of Astlan, Book I: Into the Wilds

Appendix I: The Localverse

Curriculum Obtestatus: College of Wizardry

University of the Council States

The localverse is the name given to alternate worlds or planes of existence that follow essentially the same rules of magic that Astlan does, but which are not alternate versions of Astlan. While the worlds have different sets and levels of wizardry, spells and arcane devices that work in one world work completely as expected in the other worlds of the Localverse, with no modification. Animagic and similar druidic and shamanistic magic also work normally, as do Holy Rituals, although the prayers and chants may be different for historical reasons.

At various points in time, various groups in Astlan have engaged in regular or semi-regular trade with these other worlds. The level of trade and interaction over the centuries has been dependent on the various groups, parties, nations on each world having the desire or ability to trade.

One very interesting characteristic of these worlds is that they all share common timelines, meaning that every time one travels to one of the localverse worlds, it is always the same version of that world. Thus, all interactions between worlds are historically connected and are shared experiences between the planes. For example, if you were to talk to an individual on one of these worlds, the next time you returned, they would remember talking to you.

While this might sound obvious, technically, it is not. The principal concept of the multiverse is one of multiple versions of reality where different timelines exist. Worlds in the localverse share a common timeline. Now it is true that, if you ventured to Excelsior or another plane not in the universe, the same spell using the same coordinates would bring you to the same plane every time. It is possible to find timeline variants of the non-localverse worlds if one really tries. In some cases, it may take years or centuries of searching, but it can be done.

However, to date, no one has ever encountered an alternate timeline version of the other worlds in the localverse. What most scholars take this to mean is that the planes of the localverse are so close together that one cannot actually phase shift to those realms using conventional means. One would instead have to use a variant of a time travel spell to get to alternate versions, even as one would need to do to get to an alternate version of Astlan.

When traveling between these worlds, it is very important to know coordinates both for the world itself and for locations within the world. Thus, for example, while the same spell will allow one to travel to any of these worlds, the spells must be customized to include information on which world and where in that world to travel to (it can be inconvenient to materialize over a large body of water). The Council and its trading counterparts in these worlds have standardized spell variants for designated locations on each of these worlds. One presumes that other groups have done similar.

         Astlan

o    Our home world.

         Avalon

o    An orderly world that has many naturally forming gateways to other planes of existence. Avalon is a majority Sidhe world, with humans in the minority relative to Astlan.

         Etterdam

o    By Astlanian standards, Etterdam is a war-torn world ruled by a great number of feudal overlords. Kingdoms, nations, empires and dynasties tend to be rather fluid over the centuries, much more so than on Astlan.

         Ithgar

o    Ithgar is a pleasant world, not too different from Astlan in terms of temperament and wizardly skills. Ithgar does, however, have more conflict between humans and jötunnkind than Astlan.

         Nysegard

o    Nysegard is under severe travel restrictions by all sensible Astlanian authorities, not only wizardly ones, but by most major religions as well. Nysegard was overrun by the Unlife many thousands of years ago. While life still clings to the plane, the Forces of Darkness are the strongest on Nysegard of anywhere on this side of the multiverse. Nysegard is quite infamous for exporting its necromancers and Unlife to other planes within the localverse, seeking to gain footholds.

         Romdan

o    A land of vast plains and gentle mountains, there are many nomadic cultures on Romdan as well as a large number of sophisticated city-states.

         Targella

o    Targella is in some ways quite different than other worlds within the multiverse. Oddly, among the majority of races—human, alfar, orc and dwarven—more often than not, the societies are matrimonial rather than patrimonial. It is unclear why this would be so widespread, but it is often disturbing to travelers from strong paternalistic cultures.

Appendix II: Introduction and Overview of Time, Space and the Multiverse

By Borgolos Thought Splitter, Shamage of Doom

Mount Doom Shamanic Studies Program: Inter-Dimensional Magineering & Research

Mortal mages and scholars have a limited understanding of how the multiverse functions. This is perhaps understandable, as it does take centuries of study to even truly appreciate the complexity of time and multispace; this is why the gods tend to have the best understanding of how things work. However, with the assistance of the Altrusians, the djinn, and some input from moderately cooperative gods, Doom’s understanding is far beyond that of most mortal scholars.

In this article, I shall restrict myself to speaking of the Planes of Orc, the material world. Discussion of the Outer Planes, Elemental Planes, Astral Plane and the Abyss can be found in other articles within the Library of Doom. I shall include some information on the æthereal realms, as these realms are intrinsic to the various material planes. Further, as this is but an introductory overview, I shall not discuss the mathematics, nor the actual magineering requirements and proscriptions. Those too may be found in numerous other documents.

Terminology

We begin with clarifying basic terminology that is often confused and conflated.

         The multiverse: The entirety of creation, including all planes of existence

         The Elemental Planes: Should be well known as the material components of the multiverse: Earth, Air, Water, Fire and Spirit. It is the interaction of these five elements that creates mana.

         The Planes of Orc, Man, Elf, etc. These are the material or physical planes created by the combination of the five elements, called Midgard by jötunnkind, the Æsir, the Vanir and many others.

         The Outer Planes: A “halo” region outside of the Planes of Orc. It is very mana-rich and animus friendly. These regions reflect aspects of the material planes and do so subject to the machinations and manipulations of very powerful magineers—commonly referred to as gods.

         The æthereal planes are contained within the Planes of Orc. They are specifically tied to individual material planes of existence. They are Spirit shadows of the material plane to which they are attached.

         The Astral Plane: A very unusual plane that is accessible only to animus and mana, more so than the Outer Planes. The Outer Planes may have refleca materials which are reflections of material objects and which have the semblance of material properties; however, these do not exist within the Astral Plane. It is a realm only accessible to animus and mana, similar to the æthereal realms; however, unlike the æthereal realms, there is only one Astral Plane and it connects all of the other planes of the multiverse. Some scholars have alluded to it being the “grouting of the multiverse.”

         The Demiplanes: Djinnistan. A realm of spirit and elements that is arranged differently than the material planes. In some ways they might be considered an alternate set of material planes; however, apparently there are not an infinite number of time streams. Unfortunately, for security reasons, the djinn are not particularly forthcoming about their own plane(s).

         Limbo: A layered buffer realm, or set of planes “between” Midgard and the Outer Planes. Many deities and pantheons use it as a staging area for followers awaiting Judgement or Assignment.

         Purgatory: A layered buffer realm, or set of planes “between” Midgard and the Abyss. Many deities and pantheons use it either as a staging area or as a threat of damnation for those of their followers who require either additional review or a milder punishment than having them thrown to demons or the dark gods of their own pantheon.

         The Abyss, aka Home: A place that defies logic, contradicting the laws of both magic and physics.

o    As far as we can determine, the Abyss is infinite in extent.

o    It has materiality, like the material planes, yet also is quite friendly to animus and mana. This should not be possible.

o    There is only one Abyss. Unlike the multiverse, it appears to be time invariant, i.e., it is not possible to bifurcate its timeline. This presents numerous issues with regard to events in the material planes as well as those in the Outer Planes (which reflect events in the material planes).

o    Some scholars, both demonic and godly, have referred to it as the bedrock, or foundation of the multiverse. However, this, plus its time invariance, contradicts the Standard Model of the Multiverse and its relationship to time.

o    This has caused some to suspect that the Abyss may lie outside the multiverse, which of course is contradictory and ontological; however, this theory would imply that the multiverse exists somewhere within the Abyss. I do not pretend to understand the ramifications of such a statement.

Time

Understanding time is critical to understand the vast majority of the multiverse. Time is the zeroth dimension, and orders (and reorders) the multiverse. It is different from all of the other 665 dimensions that form the multiverse, in that it is the baseline for the ordering of the different universes of the material planes.

For clarification, the Planes of Orc—the material planes—comprise the majority of the multiverse and are its heart, assuming something that is technically infinite can be the majority of something super-infinite. The material planes are bound by, and ordered by, Time. The Outer Planes, as reflections of the material planes, are thus affected by time as well; however, the very powerful magineers (gods) living there are more than capable of distorting their own reflected worlds. I must cut this discussion short, because, while quite interesting, it comes perilously close to discussing one of the touchiest issues between the accords of the gods and demons, the Rules of Temporal Manipulation. Allowing that the RTM are a very political issue, I shall not discuss them further in this article.

As stated previously, the æthereal realms, being tied to their material planes, are temporally synchronized with them. The Astral Plane is loosely coupled in time with the material planes, and because of this loose coupling, there can be some very unusual circumstances. For example, two different incarnations of the same individual from different closely aligned timelines can actually meet with impunity in the Astral Plane.

The Elemental Planes are assumed to be relatively immune to, or unaffected by time. Since there is no life there, at least as far as anyone can determine, there is no clear way to measure or detect time in the Elemental Planes.

The Abyss clearly has time—is ordered by time—but as stated, there is only one timeline for the Abyss; there are no alternate Abysses. At least, not so far as anyone can determine. Similarly, the Abyss has no æthereal plane; we suspect this is related to the fact that spirit forms (animabodies) can exist here without being dissipated.

The time invariance can create some paradoxes when mortals come to the Abyss, as in theory, it should collapse a mortal’s timelines to a single instance; yet upon their return to their material planes do their timelines merge back to their original state? This is not clear to our researchers due to the fact that we cannot directly measure our own alternate timelines. We can only examine alternate timelines that are highly distinct from our own.

There is some speculation that this is how some “deceased” individuals in a particular material plane/timeline manage to return from “hell.” The idea is that an alternate, non-deceased version of them travels to the Abyss and then returns to their timeline. A glitch in their re-merge could cause the previously deceased timeline version to return to their original timeline, once more alive after having been in the Abyss.

In any event, back to time.

Most material planes of existence have a single primary timeline. This timeline may temporarily bifurcate when individuals make different actions in the same circumstance; however, if these differences (such as what one ate for breakfast) are minor and make no major impact on the timeline, they are quickly collapsed back to the main timeline.

However, there are times when a confluence of events is so extreme that the timeline will bifurcate more severely, and there may be multiple independent timelines for years, centuries or millennia before they collapse and merge back; and if the course of events compounds, the multiple timelines may end up being completely different planes of existence.

Time Travel

It is possible to travel purely in time, or nearly purely. To travel in time, one must also travel in space, unless one wants to end up in “outer space” (whatever that is in one’s universe) due to one’s planet moving. Thus, true time travel, except for very short jumps, is quite tricky, complex and energy-intensive.

This is one reason it is not done that often, other than by inexperienced individuals. Given that temporal bifurcations generally collapse back to the main timeline, there is little point in traveling back in time, unless one is planning to stomp on a large number of butterflies and thus force a permanent bifurcation of one’s material plane.

Now, clearly, lesser bifurcations can exist for years or centuries; however, for someone within the timeline who is time traveling, all they are really doing is shifting their perceived consciousness to another version of themselves. The old version in the old timeline may still exist or may be ended, depending on events.

This of course, applies only to individuals within a timeline using time travel. For individuals from outside the local timeline, manipulating the timeline of other planes of existence is a very, very different issue and as mentioned, the Rules of Temporal Manipulation are quite firm, and violation of them may result in very serious sanctions.

Local Universes

Mortal scholars often refer to the material plane/timeline they reside in as their local universe, or localverse. A localverse is a single timeline, a single plane of existence. The alternate worlds in a localverse are not on other planes of existence, they are simply other planets orbiting other stars in the same universe.

Further, because the further one must travel in space within one’s localverse, the more energy is required, the categorized or known worlds in that localverse are often the worlds closest in space to one’s own planet. The power requirement for contacting worlds within one’s localverse that are in other galaxies, for example, is often larger than that required to go to a completely different universe.

Appendix III: Introduction to Animus and Mana Polarization

Excerpt from Principia Haatelis by Eibon of Cykranosh

Library of Doom Catalog Number:ßéÅçþ-69454-AD-¥ç-CXXXIVCLXIX

Perhaps one of the first principles taught to me by my first master, Zylac, was that of polarization. Now, of course, most of my learned readers will assume I mean ferromagnetic polarization; however, that is but an analogue to that of which I speak. I refer here to the central concept of life, animus.

Animus, as we all know, is the manifestation of the elemental Plane of Spirit upon the physical planes of existence. It is that which, when assembled according to the rules of Law, produces the Soul—that which we consider our primary life force, the true essence of who we are, and that which allows us to transcend the limitations of the physical world and return to the Outer Realms upon death, or to be reincarnated in new flesh, depending on our contracts with the deities of the multiverse under the covenant established by Adam and Eve, from whom mortal kind is derived.

In the realms in which the majority of us live, animus is a positive force; it is life and living and is the key to immortality. However, what most will not tell you is that the multiverse is bounded by more realms than those we think of. In addition to the standardly taught multitude of physical planes, Elemental Planes, Outer Planes, the singular Astral Plane and the truly hellish Abyss, there are four other quasi-planes.

I refer to them as quasi-planes because no one or thing may dwell upon them. No animus may ever reach them. Rather, they are more like ”forces” that shape and bend the other planes, particularly the physical planes and Outer Planes. So while many conveniently refer to them as planes, this is simply because of the way people on many worlds confuse the notion of four-dimensional intersections of quantum strings with “planes” or “multiversal energy states.”

These four “planes”, or “forces”, or whatever you call them, are what I prefer to think of as meta-forces in that they work to shape the topology of the 4D quantum strings and their intersections (e.g., the planes), particularly with respect to animus and mana. However, they do so in different ways. I will eventually get to some of the details, as I understand them in my limited manner, later in this tome; however, a full discussion is beyond a single volume.

These four meta-forces—I think that is probably the best word to describe them in simple mortal language—consist of Law, Chaos, Positive and Negative, for want of better words. These words are not at all accurate; they are but poor mortal substitutes for what the gods know intrinsically. Now actually, Law and Chaos are a pair and Positive and Negative are a pair. So in truth, what I just told you were four meta-forces are actually but two, each antipodal aspects of the other. Law/Chaos and Positive/Negative, as one would expect due to the Laws of Bifurcation, but I digress.

Law/Chaos works to bind/unbind mana. Briefly, for this is not what I want to speak of in this text, the relative balance or proportion of Law/Chaos in a region of the multiverse determines the balance of magic or technology available to planes within that realm. Where there is more Law, there is less magic and one must use technology to unleash the equivalent effects that one gets from magic. Where there is more Chaos, mana is less bound, more available for use by individuals. With such chaos, the repeatability of science and technology degrades and randomness and uncertainty creep in. Clearly, things become quite untenable at either end of this spectrum.

Similarly, in life-forms (and this is what is important and why I discuss Law/Chaos in this text), e.g., for mortal creatures, the balance of Law/Chaos determines how tightly mana is bound to flesh. What we call the elder races, such as the Sidhe, are less tightly bound to flesh and thus reflect a higher degree of Chaos. Younger races, such as humans and dwarves, tend to be more tightly bound and reflect a higher degree of Law. Incidentally, the lifespan of a race tends to be (but is not exclusively) represented by how tightly they are bound to flesh. Meaning that the more tightly bound races tend to have shorter life spans than the less tightly bound. However, those lives tend to be more stable and in some ways, harder to terminate.

There are many reasons for this, and we will go into this in later tomes; but for now, as you might imagine, those that are the least tightly bound can live a very long time. However, even they are subject to the Phoenix Cycle.

So, after this long digression I come to Positive/Negative, and we use these words emotionally, not so much scholarly. Animus is subject to Positive and Negative polarization. In this part of the multiverse, we mainly see positively charged animus. In other regions, there is much more negative polarization.

Now, because both negative and positive polarizations are animus, on the physical planes, both can support life; however, within a polarized section of the multiverse, they are very different sorts of life, and in the later course on necromancy we shall cover this. The short answer is that on this side of the multiverse, where organic life is grown with positive animus, the binding between flesh and spirit is much more integrated and thus has a higher degree of Law, and thus lower Chaos. Negative life on the positive side of the multiverse will be bound at a higher Chaotic state than positive life, meaning positively charged animus is more tightly bound to matter (over here) than negatively charged animus.

The key here, the crux of our discussion, is that positively charged animus, or animus, and negatively charged animus, or antimus, as it is colloquially called, attract each other, even as Chaos and Law are attracted. Chaos seeks to unbind Law, and Law seeks to bind Chaos. So life based on antimus, which I will call Unlife, seeks out and tries to cancel out life based on animus, or Life. Of course, this is a very simplistic explanation.

Realizing that these designations are arbitrary, I seek only to cast that which is least familiar within the most familiar of terms.

That all being said, because antimus binds to flesh, but on this “side” of the multiverse it must be much more loosely bound, when attempting to reattach animus to flesh, it is generally far easier to first polarize the animus into antimus and then attach it to the flesh. Of course, this is a very loose binding, as discussed, and the flesh itself was grown using animus and not antimus and… well, quite frankly, the Unlife inhabiting the body needs to replenish the body with positively charged animus, or the body will eventually fall apart. However, if one can acquire fresh animus to repair the body, having a Chaotic binding, one could live for a very long time.

I will also take this opportunity to note that on the other “side” of the multiverse (or wherever it is) flesh that is grown naturally with Unlife is perfectly stable, and over there, positively charged animus animating a body requires infusions of antimus to keep it functional. I think this is important to note. Despite popular misconception, there is nothing intrinsically “evil” in antimus or “good” in animus. Such terms are completely relative to where one resides in the multiverse. Over here, antimus is seen as evil; on the Negative “side” of the multiverse, animus is seen as evil.

Where the questions of good and evil come into play is in the methods needed for sustaining a decaying body. Such methods are typically seen as unethical, and thus referred to as “evil”; a concept which, I am sure we can agree, is quite amusing and useless.

Appendix IV: Orc Social Structure

By Oskavus Tiratus, Scholar of Orkthropology

Mount Doom Shamanic Studies Program: Cultural Studies

Orc social structure is often quite confusing to outsiders. At the highest level, it is relatively straightforward. However, at the daily level it all comes down to interpersonal bonds of family, friends and allies. From a scholarly point of view, it comes down to trust networks. The social structure all comes down to whom can one trust.

One thing that makes things difficult for travelers is that in different places, in particular upon different worlds, not all levels of the social structure are in place. This is typically due to historical reasons.

The principal social units are described below (the larger the organization, the lower level of trust between groups):

         Nation: A nation is the largest social structure and it represents a collection of hordes that have sworn to work together under an agreed-upon command structure. Binding agreements are usually formal.

         Horde: A horde is a collection of tribes that are sworn to work together under an agreed-upon command structure. Binding agreements are often formal, at least initially. Over time, on some worlds, large, long-surviving hordes behave more like giant tribes.

         Tribe: A tribe is a collection of families that are closely joined based on where they live and their joint history. There is a well-established command structure under the tribal chief and a council of elders.

         Clan: A clan is a family of orcs with well-known/established genealogical inks.

         Family: An orc's family consists of his or her immediate family members out to one degree. Beyond this they are clan mates.

o    Mother/father

o    Brother/sister

o    Aunt/uncle

o    First cousins

         Band: A band is not so much a social group as a physical group of orcs that travel and live together.

o    Technically/traditionally, it is a subdivision of a tribe, or in some cases a horde.

o    Bands are defined by geographical location, and/or traveling and living together.

o    Band members may change as individuals may choose (or be ordered) to travel with another band within the same tribe/clan/family. A band may be of a single clan or multiple clans. In the case of a horde band, there may be members of multiple tribes.

o    There will be a designated band leader, often a band chief and his/her elders/commanders.

o    Band loyalty is perhaps the most intense trust connection because the survival of the group depends on trusting each other.

o    The loyalty of the band, or more importantly, the lack thereof, as one would expect, tends to be the area of greatest drama, as it is susceptible to treachery, particularly when loyalty to one's other social groups conflicts with loyalty to the band.

         Shield-mate: A shield-mate is a person, mutually chosen and sworn upon in front of others, who represents the most intimate bond of trust on a military/combat level.

o    Shield-mates are optional. When agreed upon, formal bonds of friendship and loyalty are sworn.

o    Shield-mate agreements may be terminated.

o    Shield-mates, in times of combat, come before spouse and children.

o    Shield-mates are expected to defend each other to the death if need be.

o    Shield-mates can be of the same or opposite genders.

o    Shield-mates may or may not share physical intimacy, and doing so is not considered a breach of marriage vows.

Appendix V: Hilda’s Saint School Notes on the Undead and the Unlife

Infected

Dhampyr:

A dhampyr is a living vampire. They are not that common, as they are extremely hard to create. Vampires and vampyrs cannot procreate like mortals. Vampires and vampyrs are, to all intents and purposes, dead. They have no pulse; blood travels through the body consciously via vascular contraction, not via the heart.

In order for vampires (or in theory vampyrs, but this would be very unlikely) to procreate, they need the assistance of powerful magics. They need both a necromancer and typically an incubus or succubus. Female vampires require a succubus to bear the child, and male vampires require an incubus to sire their offspring.

Dhampyrs are alive and they have both animus and antimus in their system (typically). They are the only known stable examples of antimus and animus coexisting in a living creature. Dhampyrs are typically not contagious; at least not in terms of creating dhampyrs. However, under some circumstances they can induce ghoulism.

Dhampyrs have no sensitivity to light. Dhampyrs can consume animus similar to a vampire; they have the same animus-processing capabilities as a vampire. A well-fed dhampyr is effectively immortal, similar to a vampire. Further, because they can process animus, but are not as dependent upon it for survival, they are often very powerful animus and mana users. Dhampyrs do not have to immediately consume all the animus they drink from a victim. They can store excess animus beyond what they need to survive (which is much less than a vampire); this allows them to attract and retain more mana than a normal mana wielder of the same skills and experience.

Ghast:

A ghast is a ghoul who has control of their ghoulism. Ghasts are typically individuals who have lived with ghoulism for a very long time and have come to be able to “manage” their condition. A ghast with proper access to fresh animus can live for quite some time, and even preserve their youth. Ghasts are typically very cunning and smart. Ghasts are ghouls and are thus Unlife and extremely contagious. When not feeding—and they can often go for some time between meals—a ghast appears to be a perfectly normal mortal and would only be detected by someone using Holy Sight or a similar ritual.

Ghoul:

A ghoul is a living person whose animus has been polarized into antimus. This creates considerable issues in terms of binding antimus to an animus-optimized body. In order to survive, ghouls need to consume fresh animus on a regular basis. While the individual may be quite intelligent (or not—they are just people) they are often overwhelmed by a never-ending hunger for animus. Unfortunately, unlike a vampire, vampyr or dhampyr, ghouls have no specialized mechanism to consume animus; their only option is to consume living or very recently living flesh.

Vampire:

Vampires are perhaps the most well-known and feared of the Unlife. Vampires are extremely intelligent, often centuries old and extremely powerful on multiple fronts. They are extremely strong, have remarkable senses, are able to leap great distances and scale walls (and ceilings). Their ability to live for a very long time allows them to accumulate great wealth and power. As they age, many acquire different skill sets associated with being a vampire; such skills may include flight and shapeshifting capabilities.

Vampires are Unlife who consume animus by drinking the blood of a living creature (as do dhampyrs and vampyrs). They are contagious, but the nature of the contagion depends on the vampire’s actions. An individual completely drained of animus is simply dead. One who is drained almost to death, but then receives a fresh infusion of vampire blood, will become a vampire if they survive the process. A partially drained victim may contract ghoulism from the vampire. The chance of contagion depends on the amount of blood drained from the victim and the number of times the vampire feeds.

Vampires burst into flame when exposed to daylight. Vampires can be repelled by sufficiently powerful priests and occasionally a layperson; however, this does vary from god to god. Vampires do not recoil from mirrors, and while many MISTAKENLY believe that vampires are invisible in mirrors, this is not generally true (unless the vampire is a mana user).

Vampyr:

Vampyrs are an alternate strain of vampire; one typically seen as being less efficient at consuming animus. Vampyrs typically (increasing with age) have very large mouths with extremely powerful jaws. Their mouths are filled with hundreds of flexible but sharp teeth, similar to a shark.

Vampyrs do not have the sophisticated fangs of vampires and dhampyrs, and simply swallow blood and flesh and process it in their belly. Many have compared vampires and vampyrs to ghasts and ghouls. Vampyrs tend to be much more consumed by their hunger than vampires; they certainly have less impulse control, and their eating habits can make even ghouls queasy.

In theory, old vampyrs develop additional skills similar to vampires. Such vampyrs are less common than vampires, simply due to the fact that vampyrs, unable to truly control their hunger and disguise their nature for long, are often located and put down before achieving advanced age.

In all other respects, vampires and vampyrs are essentially the same in terms of abilities and vulnerabilities.

Spirits

Ghost:

A ghost is a spirit trapped on the aethereal plane. Upon death, the spirit leaves its body, but rather than ascend to an outer plane or flow back into the material realm, the spirit manages to enter the aethereal realm, where it can survive generally unmolested by the material world for as long as it desires.

Phantom:

A phantom is a ghost with the ability to appear visually on the material plane. While not physically present, a powerful phantom can appear completely normal and solid. However, they are insubstantial and unable to interact physically with the material plane.

Poltergeist:

A poltergeist is a ghost, or phantom, that can manipulate the material plane through sheer force of will. If the ghost is that of an animage, then it will be likely have some degree of kinetomastery and manipulate the physical world via this discipline. Other ghosts, over time, may naturally develop kinetomastery with sufficient practice.

Specter:

Specters are actually quite rare. A specter is a ghost, typically a poltergeist, who can form an anima body on a material plane for a short period of time. This is analogous to the anima bodies typically used by avatars who do not fully incarnate. The duration for which the specter can maintain the anima body depends on the specter’s available mana. Unlike ascended (or descended) beings, specters do not have an anchor to the Outer Planes or the Abyss, and thus have much more difficulty in maintaining their anima bodies.

Wraith:

A wraith is the spirit of someone recently deceased that has not yet “moved on.” It is animus that still retains animatic cohesion, at least for some period of time. If a wraith can figure out how to possess their old body, they can come back as a drauger or revenant. If they can figure out how to get to the aethereal plane, they become a ghost. With luck, the wraith has made afterlife arrangements and can follow links to their promised afterlife.

Undead Corpses

Drauger:

Drauger are self-willed, self-animated zombies. They are mortals who have refused to die and vacate their mortal remains. They often possess magical abilities, which is typically what allows them to hold on to their remains. However, great trauma or magical events can also be the source of the attachment. The remains are, while animated, dead and decaying. Drauger will eventually decay away until nothing remains, short of magical intervention from an artifact or necromancer.

Drauger are NOT Unlife. They are not contagious and can operate at any time of day or night. Drauger were often very powerful heroes or villains in life; larger-than-life personalities that could not be extinguished or persuaded to move on.

Jianghsi:

Jiangshi are very intelligent zombie vampires. Jiangshi are Unlife, and as with vampires, they draw animus from their victims, consuming it to survive. While not common, jiangshi can operate in daylight, but they are typically a bit more sluggish and disoriented. Jiangshi are very stiff and somewhat ungainly. They typically hop in order to move. However, they can be very quick and often have strong hand-to-hand combat skills. They may be spellcasters as well.

Lich:

Liches are necromancers who have essentially embalmed themselves and placed their vital organs in a phylactery, typically a sealed urn. This phylactery is where their primary animus resides. It is a very special form of anima jar. From this phylactery, the lich’s spirit animates its body. Liches are extremely powerful necromancers; they are very intelligent and dangerous. Liches are Unlife and consume animus, but they are not contagious. They can operate fine in daylight, although they prefer the night and the cold.

Liches preserve their flesh with very powerful cold spells. These preservation spells render them difficult to harm via cold or fire. Lightning does typically work, but is not as effective as one would expect.

Mummy:

Mummies are bandage-wrapped, embalmed corpses that are created by necromancers. They are most typically used as guards. The process of making a mummy is believed to be similar to that of creating a lich; however, liches create themselves, while mummies are created by liches and necromancers, often against the will of the deceased. As with a lich, a mummy’s animus is stored within its phylactery. If the mummy’s body is destroyed, eventually, given enough time, it will reassemble itself. This can, however, take a very long time. One must destroy the phylactery in order to end the curse that binds the deceased to the mortal realm.

Mummies are Unlife, but are not typically contagious—although they may have a number of parasites and other illnesses associated with them. Mummies have no issue with daylight, nor do they typically consume animus.

Revenant:

Revenants are essentially less powerful drauger. Revenants may come back on their own accord, or they may be created by necromancy or shamanism. Depending on how the revenant is created, it MAY be Unlife; however, not all are Unlife. Revenants are not contagious and typically do not consume animus, although some Unlife revenants can do so.

Skeleton:

Skeletons at first glance seem to simply be animated bones. However, there are multiple ways to animate skeletons and this makes them tricky to deal with. Some are simply animated bones controlled by a necromancer, a curse, or some other spell. These are essentially puppets and their ability to think is limited by what the controller can see, do, and manipulate.

In some cases, what appears to be a skeleton is actually a revenant or drauger in very late stages of decay. These are often the most dangerous, because they really are not skeletons; they simply appear to be skeletons.

Skeletons are also popular tools of ghosts. A single skeleton is animated by a single ghost, so one is actually fighting a ghost that is using the bones as a tool. This is different from a necromancer or spell, because in those cases there will likely be multiple skeletons active. In theory, a very powerful ghost could manipulate multiple skeletons, but this is extremely rare.

Finally, what might appear to be a skeleton may actually be a severely decayed zombie. In this case, the skeleton is Unlife and may be contagious.

Wight:

A wight is a ghoul zombie. If a ghoul under the influence or control of a necromancer dies, that necromancer may choose to bring the ghoul back from the dead as a zombie. These are particularly dangerous because they are contagious both as a ghoul and as a zombie. A victim who survives a wight attack may become either a ghoul, a zombie or a wight.

Zombie:

A zombie is, most commonly, someone who has been brought back from the dead improperly (depending on one’s perspective). From a clerical perspective, a zombie is a failed resurrection where the returning animus becomes accidentally polarized as antimus and thus imperfectly binds to the body.

Zombies typically have relatively low intelligence. However, there can be exceptions, particularly for fresh or powerful zombies. Truly powerful, well-fed, well-maintained zombies can be as intelligent as they were in life. The problem is simply that of brain decay; it muddles their thinking and other cognitive functions.

Zombies are usually Unlife and they are thus contagious. The distinction is similar to ghosts. What appears to be a zombie could simply be a body animated by a puppet master, or even a powerful ghost. In these cases, the zombie is not Unlife and is not contagious.

Zombies will eat any part of a mortal to consume animus, just like a ghoul. However, as has been widely reported, they particularly like brains. Brain tissue is a critical part of the zombie diet in order to keep cognitive thinking working properly. The more brains a zombie eats, the smarter they are.