The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (51 page)

“Yes,” Lilith said slowly and with great import from the low-backed chair in which she reclined, her long, midnight-black feathered wings wrapping around the back of the chair. As she stood, she briefly stretched her giant wings, blocking light from the parlor door. Her low-cut, red-trimmed black gown seemed to thrust her cleavage at the archon. He remembered the feel of them quite well. He brought his eyes back to hers.

“I am aware of the risk,” Lilith said. “However, I am also aware of the threat we now face.” LilithShe brought her wings in and glided across the carpet towards him.

“And what threat is that?” Sentir asked sternly.

“Ahh, you are not then aware?” Lilith asked.

Sentir looked at her curiously. “Do you mean the events in Astlan?” The theft of Tiernon’s mana was clearly the greatest threat to Tierhallon, but not necessarily to her. For all he knew, she could be in league with the demon thief.

Lilith smiled mischievously. “I suppose they are the same. But I am actually referring to something more specific.” She turned to look around the room, providing her voluptuous profile for his review.

“And that is what?” Sentir asked, starting to lose patience for her games. Tempting as it may be, her presence here was too dangerous.

“Ahh, I forget—those of you in the Outer Realms are cut off from information in the Abyss.” Lilith turned back towards him.

“It does seem to have some natural barriers to our eyes and ears. As you know,” Sentir stated.

“Well, then, it is good that I came to tell you the news.” Sentir looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she said simply, as if discussing the weather, “Mount Doom is once again active.”

Sentir blinked, staring at her. His stomach knotted and rolled a few times. “What are you talking about? That is not possible; it cannot be.”

Lilith smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Perhaps, but nonetheless I have seen it with my own eyes. The volcano is active and storm clouds gather.”

“The only way that could happen is if the Wand had been freed and then somehow miraculously tuned to the person retrieving it, and that particular person also happened to have a vast reserve of mana to restart the mountain.” Sentir stared deeply into her eyes, trying to read her lies.

“Further, I sealed that Wand within the Holiest Wards of Tiernon, within an impenetrable and ciphered chamber behind shielded and warded gates. Only a major Archon of Tiernon equal to or greater than myself could have released the Wand. Even then, they would have needed to overpower and retune the wand and then flood it with enough mana to restart the mountain. It is not possible.”

“Well…” Lilith said, putting her index finger to her pursed lips. “I should note that a certain party of demons, along with a hostage of your religion, were last seen making a beeline to Mount Doom, less than a full day before the mountain restarted.”

Sentir Fallon’s eyes widened and he backed up, feeling for the chair he knew had to be behind him. He sat down hard, even as he felt his innards try to sink below the chair. What had he and the Astlan team just been discussing in regards to Excrathadorus Mortis? He had not seriously believed that. It had seemed like such a worst-case scenario that it needed to be put on the table, but not too seriously considered. But this? “You know this demon destroyed the blade the three of us forged to kill Orcus?” Sentir asked, not able to look at the demoness.

“I did not know that that was the blade. However, once Mount Doom reignited, I began to wonder if the so-called “Holy Dagger of Tiernon” might not be our blade.

Sentir nodded. “It was. I saw a crystal balling of the event.”

Lilith chuckled. “I find it rather funny the Paladin called it the Holy Dagger of Tiernon, for it most assuredly is not holy. It is pretty much by definition unholy. A perversion of Tiernon’s power designed to permanently destroy animus. The dagger was suffused with antimus.”

“Which is why this cannot be Orcus reborn!” Sentir stated vehemently. “I saw him die—I saw his entire being engulfed by that negative energy, watched it follow his links to the D’Orcs in Etterdam, watched it devour them as well. As, for that matter, did you!”

“I know,” Lilith said. “I was watching, even as I shut down Mount Doom to destroy his ability to get more mana to try and save himself.”

“So how could this be?” Sentir asked. His stomach was churning horribly at this point.

“Well, clearly this demon, whatever or whoever he is, has somehow figured out how to break your so-called Holy Ciphers. If he can steal mana from your clerics’ streams, surely he could infiltrate and corrupt your wards by the same mechanism. Further, he had a lot of stolen mana to play with. It’s not inconceivable.”

“So you don’t think this is Orcus?” Sentir Fallon asked.

Lilith shrugged, her wings dipping slightly. “I don’t see how it could be. Which is why I had completely forgotten the forlorn prophecy of the D’Orcs and the orcs.”

“Prophecy?” Sentir asked.

“Yes,” Lilith said sourly. “I had completely dismissed it and banished it from my memories until one of my commanders, who has been keeping the D’Orcs in check, reminded me of it.”

“And this prophecy says?” Sentir asked.

“About a hundred years after we killed Orcus, an orc shaman in Etterdam supposedly had an oracular vision, and it somehow managed to spread through the entire localverse and to the D’Orcs remaining at Mount Doom.”

“Yes?” Sentir prodded.

“It said that their lord and master would be reborn and return one day, and would bring mana from the heavens to claim his wand, relight the fires of Mount Doom and bring vengeance on those who had wronged him. Along with some other signs and details that frankly, I don’t recall right now.”

“Mana from the heavens?” Sentir asked worriedly.

“Yes. Thought you might not like that part,” Lilith said rather snidely.

“Have you told our other conspirator?” Sentir asked.

Lilith laughed. “No, and I will not for now. You know his boss. I have no doubt they are aware and likely concerned about this prophecy. If they knew of these events, well, I think that might cause more problems than we need right now.”

“In hindsight, maybe we should have paid more attention to it ourselves,” Sentir said.

“Perhaps.” Lilith smirked. “But, naturally, I dismissed the prophecy because, as you know—”

“A prophecy requires a deity or similar higher power to see the prophecy through,” Sentir finished. “But what god is there for demons? Not to be rude, but you are a rather godless lot.”

“Thank you! That is actually one of the nicer things I’ve ever heard you say about us.” Lilith smirked. “However, your point is valid. What deity
is
seeing this prophecy through? I don’t suppose you are aware of any angry deities out to get us?”

Sentir looked up at Lilith, and his face got just a little paler.

The great demon lord Tommus sat broodingly upon his magnificent double-backed throne, contemplating his newfound dominion and its many inhabitants, while idly rotating the Rod of Tommus in its holder on the right arm of the throne. Steam and smoke mixed in the air above the suspended platform of the Great Hall at the base of the active volcano that was his fortress.

Yes, Tom decided, “broodingly” worked particularly well. It seemed to him that if a demon lord was going to sit upon his throne in a large empty room, he should do so broodingly. Clearly that was all a dark lord could do—brood—and were not all demon lords dark lords by definition?

He shook his head. He had ended up taking another nap after binding Vaselle. At the time, he had thought he was unusually worn out. However, after flying down from his balcony to the throne and spending an hour or so following the throne’s links to the rest of the complex, Tom now understood why he had been so tired. It turned out he had been unconsciously feeding mana through the Rod of Tommus to the entire complex. Basically turning it back on.

It had taken quite a bit of mana to relight a dormant volcano. There were all sorts of wards that had been hibernating but were now waking up. Plus, there was some sort of elemental portal thing to… well… “Water” was the only term he could think of for it. It was that portal which was pulling moisture into the air above the volcano and creating the storm clouds that were now raining down on the mountain and creating huge amounts of steam as the rain struck the lava below the platform.

What was weirder, though, was that the steam seemed to be permeating everything, every room, every tunnel and wrapping himself, the D’Orcs and his friends in its embrace. The steam was oddly pervasive in and of itself, permeating everything—the people, the rocks and even the flames. And with all this, the hidden runes in the complex were somehow collecting mana. It was as if the complex, or more precisely, the elaborate hidden runes within the complex were able to extract mana from combining fire, air, water, earth and animus.

According to the books in Freehold, mana was created by the friction between the five elements. Was it possible that this complex was some sort of engine to capture this friction? What was clear was that since the rain had started, the drain on his own mana had decreased as the complex had started to collect mana from this network of runes. He could follow his own mana flow through the system and see the interconnections. He just was not sure what all those connections were doing.

The other thing that he had discovered was that the complex had a number of interesting chambers and many different sets of runes and spells. Many of these runes were still dormant. It would be very interesting to know what these systems of runes would do. Clearly some of them were for protection, as well as energy generation, but he had no idea what the rest did.

Darg-Krallnom entered the platform inhaling the steaming vapor along with the gentle, pleasing scent of sulfur from below the platform. He stuck out his arms to feel the gentle rain upon his bare skin. He was still some distance away, but Tom was pretty sure the D’Orc was smiling, or at least pleased. D’Orc expressions were even harder to discern than regular demon emotions.

“Permission to approach?” Darg-Krallnom asked as he reached the base of the dais. Tom motioned for him to come up. “My Lord,” he said, bowing as he approached. “Your return is truly welcome! I despaired of never seeing the mountain fully functional again.”

“This mountain is truly a wonder.” Tom smiled. “There is so much that is still dormant, but that will change as the mana levels build.”

“Indeed.” Darg-Krallnom nodded. “It has been nearly a decade since the Eternally Damned One’s forces have raided us. We have been expecting them for some time now. It will be good to have the fortress’s full defenses available for the first time since…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Lilith’s forces raid the mountain periodically?” Tom asked, concerned.

“Every decade or so, generally between seven to fifteen years. They like to keep us off guard.”

“Why? What do they seek to gain?”

Darg-Krallnom shrugged. “We have debated this; we have not given them any particular provocation. We have no interest in them and ignore them in their fortress. We trade with demon clans further out than ourselves. No one ventures to the Courts. We suspect they are trying to keep our numbers in check.”

Tom shook his head. “Then she must fear you —fear the D’Orcs becoming a threat to her reign.” He smiled, as did Darg-Krallnom, and Tom nodded appreciatively.

“We shall repay her treachery against you, My Lord. Now that you have returned, her vile betrayal shall be repaid,” Darg-Krallnom told Tom with a truly heated passion.

“At some point I will need your reports on her actions so that a full accounting can be made against her,” Tom said, going along. At this point, he was playing a role he barely understood. He was under no illusion that any of this treachery had happened to him, but clearly, the D’Orcs had suffered and felt a need for vengeance. Although if his world’s idea of orcs was anywhere close to being accurate, it probably did not take a whole lot of treachery to demand vengeance.

“Indeed, those of us who failed you must atone,” Darg-Krallnom replied somberly.

Tom shook his head. “I am not interested in the atonement of any of the D’Orcs. You were betrayed as well, correct?” Tom was swinging into left field here.

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “We should have been better prepared for her treachery, her sabotage. We did not keep our guard sufficiently raised in her presence and she was able to disrupt the mountain’s mana generation even as the Unholy Terror of Tiernon struck you with the vile dark blade. We failed you at your hour of greatest need!” Darg-Krallnom was clearly anguished, bending over as if in pain.

Tom reached out and grabbed him by the biceps. “You did not fail. You were betrayed! Do not forget that.” He squeezed his arm to get the D’Orcs attention. Darg-Krallnom inhaled and stood up, nodding his understanding of Tom’s implicit command.

“If it will make you feel better, I have essentially destroyed Excrathadorus Mortis; I reversed it completely. It is now a blade of healing. It can no longer serve its former purpose.” Darg-Krallnom’s eyes widened in surprise. “In fact, I am pretty sure the priests of Tiernon are scared to even touch it at this point.”

Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “I am very relieved that threat is gone. How did you manage to find it?”

Tom smiled. “The knight—my hostage? After I defeated him and his soldiers and chose to show him mercy and spare his life, he shoved it into my stomach.”

Darg-Krallnom’s eyes widened again. Tom smiled. “The knight had cheated in battle, so I too went outside the rules. I intercepted his god’s mana streams to his priests and used Tiernon’s own mana to cleanse the wound and reverse the blade.”

Darg-Krallnom inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, and then reopened them. “Of course, as the prophecy said—you come with mana from heaven!” He chuckled. “We have often wondered what that meant, but it is now clear. It literally meant mana from heaven.” The D’Orc commander shook his head in amazement.

“I am not aware of this prophecy; where did it come from?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom blinked. “Well, we assumed that you revealed it to the shaman who spoke the prophecy.” He seemed surprised. Tom might have stepped into it.

“When was this?”

“About 100 years Abyss time after your death, My Lord.”

“And the shaman?”

“He was a shaman of the Nart tribe of Etterdam, the same tribe as Arg-nargoloth. A very respected shaman named Tiss-Arog-Dal. His prophecy revitalized the very disillusioned tribes of Etterdam and quickly spread throughout the localverse and the Abyss,” Darg-Krallnom explained.

“Tiss-Arog-Dal?” Tom asked, somewhat suspicious of the name. It sounded a little too much like someone else’s name.

“Yes. As I said, a very respected shaman.”

“Is there any record of anything unusual about this shaman?” Tom asked.

“Unusual? You mean more unusual than normal for a shaman? They are all a bit off-balance.”

Off-balance; well, that fit. “I mean physically? Anything odd physically? Any deformities?” Tom asked.

Darg-Krallnom seemed puzzled by the question. “Not that I’m aware of, but I never saw him. By the time I heard the prophecy, the shaman had passed away. Why?”

Tom shook his head. “No reason; just trying to put some pieces together.” Tizzy was adamant that he could not shapeshift, so he could not have been this shaman. Had Tizzy perhaps had a son with an orc woman? Alternatively, was Tizzy feeding the shaman information, or was the name Tiss-Arog-Dal completely coincidental and Tom was just getting paranoid? To be honest, Tizzy really did not seem to have the sort of attention span necessary for even formulating a prophecy, let alone guiding one over thousands of years. However, Tom could not help remembering how pleased Tizzy had been when he had mastered the Rod of Tommus.

“Not to change the topic, My Lord …” said Darg-Krallnom respectfully. Tom gestured for him to continue. “Would it displease you greatly if the younger folk were to come out onto the platform and take in the rain and steam?”

Tom gave him an odd look. “They want to come out in the pouring rain?”

Darg-Krallnom nodded. “None of the D’Orcs born in the Abyss have ever seen rain before, or water, for that matter.”

Tom shook his head and looked around. Sure enough, there were D’Orcs peering anxiously out of various tunnels, entry points and balconies. How stupid of him. They were apparently scared to come out and disturb him while he was brooding.

“Everyone! Come out and enjoy the rain! Whether you have ever seen it or not, come on out and enjoy the rebirth of Mount Doom!” Tom bellowed and gestured for the D’Orcs to come out.

The waiting D’Orcs cheered and began spilling out onto the volcano’s platform.

~

“M’lord, you have a
visitor
requesting an audience,” Bartholomew announced from the French doors to Randolf’s terrace. He stressed the word “visitor” rather oddly.

Randolf glanced to Crispin across the table. They were enjoying their afternoon tea and cucumber sandwiches. Crispin shrugged.

“Does this visitor have a name?” Randolf was puzzled, as typically the lord chamberlain would announce the visitor’s name and title.

“I am afraid I did not ask,” the lord chamberlain replied abashedly.

Randolf raised an eyebrow; this was a highly unusual lapse on the chamberlain’s part. “You forgot to ask?”

“I’m sorry, Your Lordship, but I did not think of it as having a name,” Bartholomew answered.

“
It?
” Crispin asked. “You are referring to the archimage’s visitor as an
it?
My, that seems a bit contemptuous, even for you, Bartholomew.” The djinn grinned; he loved tormenting the chamberlain.

“I have no better word, Your Lordship.”

Randolf shook his head. “Very well; show him in.”

The chamberlain turned and left the doorway.

“This should be amusing. He seemed rather in a flap,” Crispin noted.

In a few moments, Bartholomew returned and announced, “The sword Ruiden, Your Lordship.”

Randolf frowned at the very odd title, then his eyebrows shot up when he actually saw the guest. It was a metal golem.

“What in the seven realms?” Crispin muttered from the other side of the table as Ruiden entered the terrace.

Bartholomew turned and left.

“Thank you for seeing me, Archimage,” Ruiden said, nodding to Randolf. He then turned his head and nodded to Crispin. “Djinn.”

Crispin blinked in surprise at his disguise being blown. “You know I am a djinn?”

“Yes; it is clear looking at your aura,” Ruiden said.

“You are good,” Randolf stated softly, leaning back, confident that the golem, or whatever it was, was not going to attack. Although it looked quite deadly.

“You are a sword, I believe Bartholomew said?” Randolf asked.

“I am. I am Ruiden, Sword of Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon,” Ruiden stated.

“And what brings you here this day?” Randolf asked. He gestured to the pot of tea and plate of sandwiches. “Would you care to join us?”

“Thank you, but I do not digest,” the sword said. “I am investigating the abduction of Talarius.”

“Ahh,” Randolf said, but then gave the sword a questioning look. “It makes sense you would undertake such an investigation, but I am not sure why you would need to speak with me. I was inside the city during the fight and abduction.”

“Correct,” Ruiden said. “That corroborates what I have already learned. However, you are the employer of Exador, who
was
outside the city, on a flying carpet with Ramses the Damned and an unknown woman.”

“Yes, he does work for me, loosely. However, I have no idea why he was out on the carpet,” Randolf said. “You would probably need to inquire with him.”

“I intend to; however, he is not here now,” Ruiden said. Randolf nodded. “Moreover, from information I have gathered, it appears that there is a high probability that Exador may be responsible for the demons within the city, and therefore that the demon that abducted Talarius may be an associate of his.”