Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (28 page)

“What of the Troöds?”

“They are silent, for the most part. At least since we shut down the half dozen magical factories where they were harvesting energy. I think they have more pressing matters to attend to, or they have spread themselves too thin to keep up their plans on all fronts.”

“Good, I do hate them.” Rogen paused as Jactin arrived with a tray laden with steaming meats, piping hot bread, fresh fruits, a crystal decanter of brandy, and two glasses. The two waited until the man had set it down, and looked at them expectantly.

“That will be all Jactin,” Rogen said, forking a strip of rare meat and bringing it to his mouth. “We will be fine now. Find something to do for an hour or two, you will remain closed until tomorrow. I want you to use our resources here to help people in this town, and not the gamblers who come here, but the real folks who need help.”

The thin man blinked, surprised, then nodded and turned away. He disappeared behind a heavy velvet curtain. The two waited as Rogen poured them both a drink, and ate a bit from the tray.

“Won’t he listen in?” Kaht asked, sipping her drink.

“Oh yes,” Rogen nodded, “even if I told him not to. But he will remain loyal even when skimming enough to make himself rich. He will only use the information to protect my interests, or to slit the throats of those who oppose my plans.”

“Very good then,” Kaht said appreciably, “Shall I continue?”

Rogen nodded as he ate.

“I have infiltrated three houses in Everyway, using the contacts you provided from your slave trade, and gathered enough damning information to bring them to their knees.”

“Good, twist the knife and make them shut down any trade that appears to have anything to do with the Troöds.”

“Why do you hate them so much, Master? If I may be so bold and ask?”

“Yes, you should know the reasons. They are not of this world and seek to destroy us, and open portals to their own world. I am not sure why they want this. It may be to leave here, or it may be to bring more troops here and decimate our peoples. Either way, I do not trust them. And I have attempted trade with them more time than years you have in your life.

“There is a place called Daeth’s Pass. It wasn’t originally named that, but that is what it is called now. Aeifain, Rokairn, and Humans came together to build a fortress that bordered all three of their territories. It was a wondrous place, with the magics of the Aeifain, the building skill of the Rokairn, and the drive of Humans all combined to make one place where we could all work together. The Troöds infiltrated this newly built miracle and using their shape shifting and mind control turned us against each other and destroyed one of the greatest hopes the three races have ever had. They deal with demons, opening our world to them. And so much more.

“Now,” Rogen said, spearing a vegetable, and sipping his drink, “tell me more of this Grenedal and these other allies.”

Cite reviewed what Cyril had told them in the warehouse. They agreed that they would leave as soon as they finished their business in town and had the supplies they needed for the journey. They needed to find Silver Castle, which was across the plains, which had marauding undead legions, and then into either the foothills of the Halfway Hills, or the forest called Oceaphylius Glensharrow. The city and castle were in the southwest corner of that forest, not too far from the coast. They discussed the possibility of going oversea but decided against it due to the recent events, finding a ship, trusting a captain and crew, and other such difficulties.

They decided an overland march would be longer, but have a better chance of success. They would follow the coast. It would bring them to a handful of larger towns and a dozen or smaller fishing villages. There was no telling if these were controlled by Kala the Black or by humans. A direct route would be much shorter, though it brought them very close to the capitol city of Kala’s lands, Shoulsia Sharrow.

They would ride from Edgewater and go due west, turning south when they reached the Halfway Hills. They should find a free town named New Roval at that point, where they could restock provisions before going into the forest. From there they would take a southwest course and hope to find the tip of the middle branch of the Trident River, called Wisdom. Heading west from there, they should be able to skirt the top of the Ocean River. The mountain from which Jonath had carved Silver Castle should be able to be seen and used as a guide at that point. A four-hundred-mile journey, Rogen said it should take about three weeks on foot, less on horses, more if they find danger. If things went well, they should be able to return by the first week of Witen, the first month of winter.

It was more than an hour after dark when Gruedo and Dawn returned to the Red Door. Cite noticed a large form across the street watching as his two friends entered the door. The room was filled with people, smoke, and noise. Dawn handed Cite a package as she sat down at the table and he forgot about the figure outside.

“Don’t ask what it is, just open it,” she said. Cite untied the string holding the material around the bulky gift. He unwrapped it to find a case about three feet long of soft black oiled leather. He had already guessed the contents by the shape of the package, and if he hadn’t, Dawn was pushing the thought at him without even knowing. He pulled on the ties that held it close and opened the case. Inside was a beautifully crafted lute that was just shorter than its case. It had eight strings and the top of the neck at the tuning pins was bent backwards at an angle. A strap lay across it. He looked at Dawn, a question on his face.

“You helped kill the beast too,” she said, as Cite began to tune the instrument, “and you deserve some reward. I also saw how much you enjoy playing while onboard, and you don’t have an instrument to play at the moment. It doesn’t look like you’ll have a chance to make one while we are on the road, so I picked one up. Besides, with your memory and skill at playing I figured if a bard is going to write the tale of this journey, it should be the one that was involved in it.”

“Good idea!” Gruedo said and stood up. She climbed onto his chair and shouted to get the attention of the room.

“What the hell is she doing?” Dawn asked Cyril. He shrugged, but gave her a knowing look and sighed.

“Hey, people! You have all heard of the Beast of the Bay, the Sea monster of the Sea of Seron, the Demon of the Darkened Depths! Now, meet the Captain of Lady Luck, the woman who defeated the beast. Parsay’s own chosen consort, Lady Luck herself, Captain Dawn Redblood!” Gruedo waved for Dawn to stand as the crowd began to cheer. She glared at the girl as she stood.

“To tell the tale of her heroic deed, the man who stood at her side and fought the monster, the infamous bard from across the Rolling Mountains, traveling companion of Rogen the Plague, and Seer of the Future, Cite the Bard!”

Cite groaned as Gruedo announced the litany of titles and information he did not want made public. The people, obviously used to the bragging that went with such things, called for the tale of the event as Cite stood with his lute in hand.

The crowd quieted and Gruedo pushed Cite towards the small stage in the corner. Cite stepped onto the platform and turned to face the crowd. He searched his mind for a tune, one that was known but not so popular that the people would put other words to it. He chose one that was popular from the lands east of his village, knowing it would be rarely heard here, if ever. He began to pluck out the tune, his fingers finding the strings and building in skill as he came to know the instrument. He found words and put together a song on the spot, hoping it would appease the crowd.

Starting slow and building in intensity, Cite led the audience into the song. He was no poet and making up the lyrics on the spot was not something he was practiced at. By stretching out the lute parts between the verses, it allowed him to create the next four lines.

Dawn rose in the world and touched the sea,

Her love grew on the waves endlessly,

She found her crew and made it her family,

And was touched by Parsay on her journey.

A monster burst from the depths of dark,

The length of a ship, the heart of a shark,

It devoured all things, bringing life’s end,

Till Captain Redblood, the Gods did send.

A Troöd killed a man and his shape it took,

Bringing death for the crew, from pilot to cook,

The plan of evil fulfilled, like a fish on the hook,

It pulled in the others, but Dawn was not shook.

She saw beyond the lie, her mind strong,

She led her crew to right the wrong,

The battle grew quick, but was not long,

The creature was trapped and called out in song.

A monster burst from the depths of dark,

The length of a ship, the heart of a shark,

It devoured all things, bringing life’s end,

Till Captain Redblood, the Gods did send.

A harpoon ended the Troöd’s horrid call,

Screaming, into the water it did fall,

Replaced by something feared by all,

Teeth the size of daggers, meant to maul.

Magic and metal brought fore to fend,

Against the beast who spelled our end,

The ship shattered, the mast did bend,

To its death, Captain Redblood did send.

A monster burst from the depths of dark,

The length of a ship, the heart of a shark,

It devoured all things, bringing life’s end,

Till Captain Redblood, the Gods did send.

Cite stepped down to a quiet room and returned to the table. Before he had reached it, a drunk roared his approval and others took up the cheer. Before the night was through, he was called upon to sing it many more times. Others came in from the street to hear it as word spread, and even other minstrels came to learn the new tale.

Rogen returned sometime later. Many of the patrons slapped him on the back, only to get a stern look in return. He had three mugs of ale handed to him before he even reached the table.

“What are they going on about?” He looked at the mugs in front of him with suspicion. The other four passed a look between themselves, unsure who should explain the night’s events. Dawn decided that she should be the one.

“Gruedo announced who killed the beast when she heard Cite could play the lute I just bought him. So the people decided they wanted to hear the bard sing the tale.”

Rogen eyed Cite. “So why are they so excited to see me?”

“Gruedo also decided to give all of our credentials. She has been quite popular this evening.” Dawn sighed. Rogen looked across the room at the bar where Gruedo sat surrounded by people.

“I think it is perhaps time we retired for the evening,” Rogen suggested. No one disagreed.

Chapter 16: Gathering Storm

“To seek shelter when there is lightning shows wisdom, unless you live in a storm cloud.”

Ancient Proverb of Chanian

5854 – Ault – Kornon – Ginof

Rondarius sat in the covered litter, carried on the shoulders of four of his most mobile corpses. They were on a hill overlooking a town. The clouds had gathered and the wind was picking up. He knew he would get wet; he always got wet when things got exciting. He decided it was because the Gods were crying about their people being slaughtered. He had nice clothes now, warm and fancy clothes. They didn’t fit him well, but he loved them anyway and they would keep him dry. The walking dead brought them when they came, all dressed in fine bedclothes and formal foppery.

After his spell to raise the deceased, they began to arrive. At first just a few showed up each day, though soon legions upon legions of lumbering, rotting, and fetid hordes of living dead arrived at his door. At first, he didn’t know how he would feed them all. Soon he realized that they didn’t eat. Well, they didn’t eat like normal people did. In fact, they ate only normal people.  They did not seek them out though, but if a salesman happened to stop by the dilapidated old tower Rondarius lived in, one could bet that the knight of the road would become a snack, much to his own surprise. The Necromancer giggled as he imagined some man with a cart full of goods knocking on his door, only to have it opened by a seven-foot tall pale shape in clothes that were much too small for it. He pictured the terrified man turning to run and being overcome by the groping masses of zombies. Then Rondarius could have the whole cart and never have to pay for anything.

Tonight would be like that, but for a whole town instead of just one man. Thousands of people would feel that terror in the dark. It was a moonless night and the equinox. Rondarius snickered again as he poked one of the chair-laden zombies in the back of the head with a stick. He snatched the brown-shelled cockroach that crawled out of the hole he had created and played with it, letting it run from one hand to another. He looked over the town as the insect sought an escape. His legion had surrounded the town soon after dark, each animated corpse responding to the slightest mental suggestion from him. He could see each of them when he closed his eyes, like points of purple light in the night sky of his mind. This town was doomed. He would send his unwieldy army into the town and direct it to devour every living being. Fueling their hatred, he would make this place his new home by destroying its current residents, then adding them to his army as he had done with every other village and town he had visited.

The equinox was a time of change. There would be change, more than anyone could imagine. Autumn was here and it was a time for things to die, time for the healthy to wither, time to wipe away the old. Cold times were coming and Rondarius would be leading that tide of winter by making the autumn his.

Just thinking the instructions was not dramatic enough; Rondarius stood in his litter, and it rocked dangerously as he swore at the bearers. He commanded his host of dead to begin its quest with a grand wave of his arms. Disorganized hordes of the monsters lurched into the town. He bounced up and down in his chair, the zombies underneath struggling to keep it upright. He screamed in glee and shrieked in delight as his servants burst into homes, inns, and other buildings, dragged people into the street, pummeled and bit them. His force numbered less than a thousand and the townsfolk probably outnumbered them by four to one, but it didn’t matter. The walking dead radiated something that made normal, sane people terrified. It was just something so wrong and unnatural that it muddled their minds a little bit, sapping their sanity and scarring their souls. Rondarius was not affected though. He had all his mental resources under control.

He cackled and clapped; crushing the roach he had been playing with, as a dozen of his soldiers of the sod dragged a whole family from their home. He watched in an almost sexual excitement as they tore the youngest to pieces, the father trying to reach the child. The mother screamed and tried to flee, only to be brought down by three of the creatures. Soon her screams died, as did she. The man of the house stood within a circle of corpses of his parents, his seven children, and his wife, a shovel in his hands. He took unbalanced, wild swings, decapitating one of Rondarius’s favorite zombies. It was then that the Necromancer felt something new, a presence from one of the newly killed corpses that littered the ground. The woman, she had the spark. Rondarius focused on that, and fanned that spark into the flame of unlife.

She rose from the dusty street as the first spatters of rain began to fall. Rondarius commanded his other creatures away from the woman’s still living husband and sent her forward into the circle. When the man saw her, he cried out in relief and opened his arms to her. She ran to his open arms and Rondarius could almost smell the man’s joy turn to terror even from the distance he was, as she ripped into his exposed throat. She finished her task quickly and expertly then dodged into the crowd of terrified villagers. She moved faster and he could feel her mind was sharper and clearer than the other undead.

The death mage sat back and thought about this new development as his monsters did their grisly task. He sent his awareness out over the village again and again that night, searching for that spark. When the night was done and the attack over, he had found four others with that same spark. Each had taken his offered magic and risen back up under his command, quicker, stronger and more efficient than their older siblings of the silt.

Later, as he sat in his litter in the city hall, surrounded by corpses that stared up at him with empty eye sockets full of adoration and mud, he called these new additions to him. They moved like hunting cats. They slid and writhed their way forward, their heads whipping to the side with snake-like speed to watch any movement. He could see that their teeth had chipped on the bones they had gnawed and were now pointed. He had created a new breed of undead. One of stealth and skill that were born, or rather killed, predators.

He sent them into the night to hunt down any people that may have escaped. The necromancer commanded them to search the barns, basements, and buildings and destroy any living creature they found. He began to laugh. The laughter would not stop; it rolled from him until he could not breathe. The bony dog under his chair stopped chewing on the meaty thigh it had stolen and looked up at him. When he finally did stop, gasping and holding his sides, he looked down from his elevated seat.

“Set me down carefully, Vicktor,” he said to his lead zombie. The four holding the poles that his chair rested on lowered it to the floor. “Very good, now go and find me all valuables. Gold, jewels, art, fine clothes! Remember what I have told you, Vicktor. Do this task well, and then you may eat the dog.” The zombie watched the animal crouched under its master’s chair as he backed out of the room to begin his appointed task.

Grenedal Dragonblood, a man who had been changed by time and magics, watched. In the Kingdom of Humbrey to the north, was the Duchy of Velent. It was the southernmost noble house of thirteen. It was on a small stretch of land between the Lost Swamp and just north of the border of the Kingdom of Trysteria, and the Duchy of Malvor. Duke Malvornick was often seen in Velent, and was recognized to be a close friend of the Duke and Duchess. To the north of Velent was the County of Trism. The Count often appeared in Velent also, but did not seem quite as friendly as the southern Kingdom’s Duke did. At that very moment, the Count was leaning close to the ambassador from Malvor and whispering. They both looked up, at the same time, at the man watching them.

Grenedal looked down, staring at his skin. The lines on it had become deeper and more pronounced in the past year. People thought it was hair that was on his arm, but if you looked closely, you could see that the lines were too close to the skin and too uniform. They resembled scales more than anything else. In the shadows of the evening festivities of the Autumnal Equinox and holy day of the Changing Wheel, few people noticed the oddities. People noted his height though, which was more than two meters tall.

Grenedal knew that Duke Malvornick had plans for this Kingdom, but not what those plans were. The dragon-kin could not counter any of the Duke’s intentions without that information. Grenedal was good at getting information though, and had spread enough coins through the hands of others in the past few days to buy a fourteenth noble house in Humbrey. Soon, the information would begin to trickle down to him. Once it did, he would piece it together and start to ask the questions that would uncover the well-hidden schemes of Malvornick.

Lord Jaeken stood by another noble. The aristocrat had been making many visits to Velent lately. He had not been sending messengers or knights, but rather attending the meetings himself. Grenedal knew both Lord Jaeken’s sons had disappeared, and each of them had once been priests of Jonath with promising futures. The Lord was speaking with great feeling, and the Earl was listening to every word he said.

Grenedal turned to his companion. They both had dressed for the celebration and wore matching finery in golds, browns, and yellows, her gown full and flowing. She was a slim woman with exotic features. She sipped at the crystal chalice of wine, eyeing the men in the room with an almost predatory gaze.

She noticed him looking down at her, and raised her glass in toast. “Well, Lord Dragonblood, here is to the upper echelon living up to its exciting possibilities.”

“I know what you mean; there is a reason I wasn’t disappointed when I was disowned. You missed nothing by being raised on the streets.”

“But you got it back easily enough.”

Grenedal glared at her for a moment, and shrugged. “My whole family being murdered was not necessarily easy. At least, not for them I would guess. Ironic though, if they had not sent me away, they would all still be alive.”

“You sound like you had it done for the sake of revenge.”

“You know where I was when it happened, strapped to a machine that killed most people in less than a week. You found me there, three months after you lost me.”

“Yeah, but look what came of it.” She snaked her arm around his body. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention the magic you now have. That machine brought out more, much more, than just your family’s dragon blood.”

“We don’t have time for this. You have a job to do. Talk to the Earl; find out what Lord Jaeken has been doing. I will put a tail on Malvornick’s envoy.”

“Oh, you have a tail too now?” she asked, as her hand slipped to his posterior.

“Go on, and don’t use your real name, Kaht.” He pulled himself free of her groping hands.

“Have I ever?” She sauntered into the crowd, every male head turning to watch her sinuous movements.

The Earl had little to tell Kaht, though he had succumbed to her charms, and a small potion poured in his drink, with little effort. She learned where Malvornick was that night though, and decided that perhaps it would be more useful to find him. And it would definitely be more interesting and dangerous. There was only so much monotonous seduction that a girl could put up with. Men were predictable, even when it could bring death with a wrong word. Perhaps they were even more predictable that way.

Kaht had changed clothes, and now looked like any one of the dozens of servant girls in the place. She had access to any room she chose to go, no one questioned a servant.

Once out of the main areas, she made her way down the stairs to the dungeons below, where the Duke was said to be. It took a dagger, a little blood, and a promise of bliss to get that information. No one would find that man for weeks, stuffed into a midden heap below a privy as he was. The people here seemed to thrive on pain of one sort or another. Either seeing someone hurt, or hurting another. She had seen at least a dozen slaves’ collars that had the tag dangling from it showing that someone was due for a lashing, or marks showing they recently received one. Not to mention the three lords and one lady she had found in dark corners buggering someone in one form or another. Suffering was joy in this place, and she wasn’t sure if it repelled or intrigued her.

She found the Duke, but only after backtracking three times and discovering the secret panel in the dungeons, which led to a private chamber. The room was bedecked with devices that even she had never seen. There were tables with straps; a rack with cutting implements, leather floggers, cat o’ tails with metal razors, and other such tools. There were also tools that she hadn’t encountered. Iron pincers, wicked curved tools, leather strips with sharpened studs that went inside of the cuffs, and more. But those things only caught her eye for a moment. The most interesting thing was a naked Duke Malvornick leaning over a woman that lay on a table. 

The table was hinged so the legs and arms could be spread, pulled away from the body. The blonde woman was strapped down, her arms spread away from her, and her legs spread. She was nude. Thin silver pins had been stuck in her thighs, biceps, and pierced her plump breasts. Blood welled up at these points. Malvornick spoke to her as if she were a lover, telling her things he would tell no other.