Rule of Darkness Book II, Chapter II- updated 13 June 2008
Mekior knelt over the fire. Its flames danced, their light barely breaking the darkness about them. On the outskirts of their camping site, Jeria walked in, returning from his check to make sure that bushes and branches concealed even the dim light being shed, scared that a fire in this place would attract unwarranted attention. He knelt next to Mekior, warming his hands near the flames.
On the opposite side, Dialre laughed. The human woman was wrapped securely in blankets, a thick woollen head covering hiding all but her nose.
“After months of watching you two, I still find it amusing how you love that fire. Neither of you can really feel the cold, and yet you warm yourselves as if it had some meaning to you.”
Mekior just glared at her. The two remained opposed to one another, despite the months of close proximity and shared dangers. Jeria had hoped that, in time, they would at least become used to one another and be at peace, yet every barbed comment from Dialre bit into Mekior; every time Mekior displayed even a hint of his fiendish nature it seemed to taunt the woman.
“Fire, it is an universal comforter, is it not?” Sister Egrit’s voice was soft. As always, she was playing the peace maker between the two.
“Fine you bloody fiends and angels to take comfort in the flame. For use mere mortals this land is frozen. We feel it; we feel the lack of food, and a sun we have not seen for weeks now.” D’Fir stood up, swinging his arms, his breath freezing on the outside of his scarf. “We have searched for six months, and so far, nothing. Can’t one of you, with all the power of the fiends or the celestial realms do something? Consult with higher beings? Send your power out to find something?”
Sister Egrit sighed, her eyes resting on the dwarf. “It is not as simple as you would think. Of the three of us I am the only one with any real power, arcane or divine. Mekior has no real power outside of his body and Jeria runs the risk of madness if he taps into his fiendish nature. And me, I fear to use my power out here. Look around us, tell me what you see.”
D’Fir looked at her, “What do I see. Nothing. Its bloody dark when you don’t see the sun weeks. ‘Go Nortg’. Well, we’ve gone North. We walked under mountains, even got that really scary Aspith to move us through his realms to get us here. And what have we found? Nothing. Ice, and a sky that remains dark for months. Six months we have searched here, and nothing. Unless something happens soon, we may as well go home. There is not much more north we can go without dying.”
Jeria stayed where he was by the fire, but his voice was strong. “You are right about one thing D’Fir, us fiendish types, as well as Sister Egrit, can ignore the cold. We can also ignore the hunger of no rations for an extended period of time. You, and Dialre cannot. It is time you went home, time for Mekior, Sister Egrit and I to continue into realms too hostile for you to survive.”
“You always were too noble for your own good,” the voice was familiar to Jeria, but not to the others that had never faced Jeria’s father before. They jumped to their feet, looking into the darkness for the speaker.
“So, you have found me, General.” Jeria’s voice was soft, hatred apparent. “I am not what I was when we first met, come forward so you can meet my axe.” Heedless of the danger to his sanity, Jeria cut himself, feeling his blood flow down his arm, along the haft of his axe onto its blades. The heat and fury of battle lust whelmed up, yet he held back, awaiting his father.
“You mistake my presence here, whelp.” Gerion stepped into the light, the group shifting, almost unconsciously into a defensive pattern.
“Never mind, I will not be here long enough for you to attack, nor to harm me. I came to give you a word of advice.” Gerion’s smile was cold, and Jeria, stepping forward barely controlling his released battle lust, spat on the ground before him.
“You come to give us advice? And why would we believe you tales? You are nothing but the cur of Jelial, a pup he toys with.”
“You, whelp, know nothing!” Gerion grew, his body suddenly reaching the sky; more immense than the greatest of giants. “Play the games of Jelial as he reaches for divinity and you will fail. He seeks much; he extends himself, strengthening all his defenses, making sure there will ne none to oppose him. I do not want to see him succeed anymore than you do. How could I seize his place if he were divine?”
“So listen closely, pup. Your quest to the North is more urgent that you think. Let the North go unmolested, and you will fail, in everything. Seek the three peaks, and ware Briokel and his pack. They will feast on you if you do not seek out a way past them.”
“And just who is Briokel? What manner of creature do you warn us against?” Sister Egrit spoke up for the first time, the pain of addressing the fiend obvious on her face.
Gerion looked at her, at her pain, and laughed. “You cannot even address me without feeling pain? And you would go North and face the demons that Jelial has placed there? You are foolish, Celestial: foolish and doomed.”
“Perhaps, but still I go and do what you fear to do, do I not? Now speak, what, or who is Briokel.”
“Seek the answer yourself, Celestial. I have told you, my son and this pathetic rabble with him, all I will.” A flash of light and Gerion disappeared.
Jeria looked at the now empty spot, his hatred and bloodlust still powerful, still driving him. He saw the fiend, the celestial and the puny human. His rabble, Gerion had named them, and his rabble they were! A smile and he shrugged of the red haze that threatened to engulf him.
“So, do we trust him? Do we seek knowledge of this Briokel?” D’Fir’s voice was gruff, voicing a concern all felt. Gerion could not be trusted, yet they knew that for now, he would not want Jelial to ascend anymore than they would.
“Do we have a choice?” As always, Sister Egrit voiced the pragmatism that would have to drive their actions. “I will commune with the spheres, see what, if anything, I can discern behind the veils and shields that Jelial has blocked us with.
Jeria stepped forward, his hand grasping her arm. Deftly, she removed it, her eyes not leaving his face. “You know it must be done, and I am the only one that can.”
Carefully she drew out the symbols of the deities that people had not invoked in the millennia since Jelial’s ascension. Her words held a soft cadence not heard for centuries, her pleas rising out, engulfing the symbols in a light that brought thoughts of Joy and rejoicing. For a moment, it played over her, her face transformed, ecstacy playing across her features. Then it changed. Black lines started from its heart, reaching out, brushing across the faces who all watched- cold, clammy, leaving thoughts of despair and the grave, at least, they did on all but Sister Egrit. Into her they dove, her eyeballs exploding in a stream of mucus, the tendrils of darkness exiting through her ears. Dragging her into their center, and she disappeared. Silence fell, and the ground where once the light of the celestial spheres had played, lay dark and burnt.
***
Jelial stared out of the broken city. Charred buildings thrust into the air, bodies littered the streets, and the smell of burnt flesh, blood and rotting meat caressed his nostrils. Still, the time for enjoyment was over, with the renewal of power it was time to return to the wider conflict. With a last look at his handiwork, Jelial soared into the air, heading for the coast and a rendevous.
The massive stone ships lay anchored in the bay. By rights they should have sunk beneath the waves, their immense stone hulls too dense, too unwieldy, to serve as anything save coffins for those that would dare to venture into the sea in such vessels. Yet they floated, and on their decks hundreds milled.
Glazerou looked towards the shore, to the forest that lay before them.
“Any word from our Masters yet?” His question was aimed at a short, squat creature that stood before him. Once, this creature had been a pageboy of the court, beautiful and sought for liaisons by the ladies of the court. In him, the change had been particularly cruel; his body was shrunken, the colour of pale maggots, his skin lay in folds and wrinkles, while all his hair had fallen out.
“No, my liege. Our Masters have yet to send word.”
Glazerou looked towards the crystal- its black facets mocking him. The orders had been clear, board the ships of stone to cross the grass seas and then the real sea. Come to his far away land and wait for orders. But the waiting was growing hard. The dead who sailed the ship did not care, their lack lustre existence held no imagination, no desires, no needs. But to those who lived, they had needs. Food was running short, tempers driven by the change leading to confrontations. Already, three had been killed by others over minor matters. Jelial needed to issue them new orders soon, or it would be difficult to hold the Changed under control.
Sighing, Glazerou turned to head down to his quarters when he was thrown to the deck by a strike in his back. Furious he jumped up, staff at the ready, already incantating words that would destroy the one who dared to attack him. But as he turned, his words dried up as he sank in obeisance to the ground.
“You turn your back on me and then threaten me with your puny magic?” Jelial’s voice was soft, lilting almost humorous, yet the look in his eyes was deadly. “You really are a worm and a traitor- first your people to me, and now me!”
Shivering and filled with fear Glazerou kept his face downwards, not daring to look at his Master. “Master, I did not see you! I did not know who attacked. Forgive me, for I remain your faithful servant and serve you willingly and with my whole heart and soul.”
“What is your soul to me, worm? You sold it to me ages past for the safety you sought for yourself and your people. For now, I will hold judgement and punishment in abeyance. Prove your loyalty with actions, not words!”
“Your task is simple, through that forest is a mountain and an entrance to the under realms. You will go through and seek out the place where the city of Weald Hall once stood. You will unearth it from beneath the rubble, rebuild it and occupy it. I intend this to be my first step in wiping out those who hide underground. Slowly we will take it over, leaving them nowhere to go!”
“As you wish, my Master. How will we find our way through this forest?” His eyes still cast downwards, Glazerou hoped he would not enrage the powerful fiend any further.
“A guide will be sent. Now go and do as I ordered.” Jelial looked down at the creature that had once been a mighty human king, and was now nothing more than a pitiful slave. If the human had shown any real courage, he may have felt some pity for his plight, but as cowardly and pathetic as he was, he felt nothing but disdain and disgust. He would prove an useful tool, but how long would he even survive? Once again Jelial took to the air, soaring skywards as he left the pathetic remnants of an once great human kingdom behind him.
Briokel ran with the pack. Howling into the darkness, they rejoiced in the freedom, in the chase. Ahead of them, the massive stag ran, its red tinged skin showing its tainted nature, its massive horns razor sharp and dripping ichor. Soon, it would probably turn around and fight, then the pack would have to mind the horns and their poison, but for now- just the pure joy of the chase.
He ran, but then he saw figure watching the chase from a nearby hillside. Leaving the pack, he turned, heading towards the watcher, his figure flowing as he ran, until it was almost manlike when he arrived.
“My liege, it is a long time since you graced me with your presence.” Briokel bowed before Jelial, turning to watch the chase with his king.
“I have news for you, Briokel. Sources tell me that those who oppose me may have learnt of what I hide, and what you guard. The shamans dance, but they cannot divine further no matter how much I push them.”
“Ahh, then my days of the hunt are at an end. I will stay close to make sure that no one approaches. I have long since ensured that the way is guarded and I would be warned in good time if anyone approached, but if they come, I will watch closer.”
He fell silent as he and Jelial watched the end of the hunt. The stag turned, its massive head flung around, its horn cutting across tow of the chasing pack before they could react. One was decapitated and lay still on the ground, the other almost cut in two. As they watched, its wounds started closing, even as the rest of the pack circled the stag. A bite, and a chunk of flesh was torn from the stags hid quarters, as it turned t attack the source of its pain, another bite, another chunk of flesh gone. Slowly the pack ate the stag, the bites shallow, more to inflict pain than to satisfy any hunger. For four hours they tore at it, only finally killing it when its innards were spilt across the ground and its cries of pain had died away.
“Ahh, the pack does well.” The whole time Briokel and Jelial had watched the spectacle, revelling in the pain and torture of the stag. They felt refreshed, and Briokel’s comment summed up their feelings well. “They will do the same to any who approach. Let those who seek come, the pack will feed and enjoy the hunt.”
“Beware Briokel, those who come will not be so easily despatched. There are those of power amongst them, not least the scion of Gerion.”
“Gerion spawned a whelp? I am surprised he did not just eat it as it was born as he has done so often. He is not one for feelings of filial duty!”
Jelial laughed, at ease with Briokel whom he knew would not attack him as he was so much weaker. “It seems that the General rutted with one of his slaves, who then escaped and gave birth in one of the free cities. This child is proving problematic. He has not yet come to his full power, but he has already been disruptive. When they come Briokel, try to keep this half-fiend bastard alive and available for questioning. I have suspicions that Gerion uses him for his own ends, though the two have no feelings of love or duty to one another.”
Briokel nodded, wondering how he would carry out his lord’s orders. As much as it was phrased as a request, he knew that failure to deliver Gerion’s spawn for questioning would reflect badly on him, resulting in his own punishment. “As you speak, so shall the pack and I do my liege. We will destroy the interlopers and obtain Gerion’s spawn for questioning.
