The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (69 page)

The D’Orcs all burst out laughing at such a preposterous idea.

“Aye,” Nagh said. “Things could always be worse!”

“If I found one of those in an orc tribe, I—well, I don’t know what I’d do. Pretty sure it would demand war,” Tegh said awkwardly through his broken nose.

“Remember the first rule of conquest: kill the diplomats first and the lawyers second, before you do anything else!” Dider declared.

Arg-nargoloth walked into the room at this point and snorted with amusement. “Truer words were never spoken of conquest!” The others all laughed at this. “But let me advise you from experience: do not be too hasty on the sequence of events. One lawyer’s skull between your claws is worth two diplomats in a carriage any day!”

They all grinned at that.

Nagh, being the youngest, asked, “Really? I was taught that diplomats were worse.”

Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “They are. Diplomats are full of lies and deceit and they seek peace”—he spat on the ground—“above rightful conquest! But, when given the opportunity for a guaranteed lawyer skull crushing over a theoretical gutting of diplomats, take the guaranteed option. If you pass up the lawyer for the diplomats, all three may get away.”

Tegh spoke up at this point. “How do you gut something that has no guts?” he asked with a grin on his face as they all began laughing.

“An excellent question,” Vespa observed as the laughter died down. “However, to Arg-nargoloth’s point: do not let the ideal become the enemy of the good!”

“Exactly!” Arg-nargoloth nodded in agreement.

DOF +8

Start of Fifth Period 16-05-440

“Fer-Rog and Rupert are in danger of having too much fun,” Zelda observed as they gateway closed behind the two boys.

Tom chuckled. The Olafa orcs of Ithgar were going to repeat the Murgatroy exercise, as were the Rockguts of Romdan. In the case of Ithgar, the band they had joined up with was only an hour’s flight from a trading city, so they wouldn’t necessarily need to do the two-gateway trick. Once they had acquired whatever they could trade for, they would bring everything through to the Abyss, and then the orcs would fly back to camp and open a new gateway to get their share of the goods and return the D’Wargs.

In the case of the Olafa Horde, they had about a day’s flight as well, so Fer-Rog and Rupert had gone to join the after-hunt festivities on Ithgar, where they would spend the night again and help open the gate in the afternoon. The interesting thing was that Rupert wanted to try open a gate himself from Ithgar back to Mount Doom. If he could do that, it would be incredibly helpful. They needed more people capable of opening gates.

Tom had thought about trying to figure out a way to create more permanent gateways, but then realized that since all of the orc tribes he had met so far were nomadic, that would not be practical. For now, at least, they would need to be used ad hoc at different locations.

“So,” Tom said, “we want to see about contacting some more shamans, as we discussed. Can you round up some appropriate clan representation for the different worlds we think we might be able to contact? I think it’s useful to have someone of the same bloodline available.”

Zelda nodded. “Agreed. The temple, about thirty to forty deminutes?”

“Sounds good.” Tom nodded and smiled. Zelda took off to gather people and Tom headed back to his quarters.

Tom entered his quarters just as Antefalken and Estrebrius materialized in his living room. “I’m starting to think this is the main entrance to Mount Doom!” Tom joked.

Antefalken laughed. “It’s because we all spend so much time here, we just return to wherever we were last summoned from when we do it the old-school way. Not all of us can run around ripping holes in reality wherever we please.” Everyone laughed at that.

“We will want to work on that. We need better egress in and out of here. Rupert’s going to try opening a gateway from Ithgar to Mount Doom tomorrow.”

“That would be useful.” Estrebrius nodded in agreement.

“How is progress coming on the environmental devices?” Tom asked.

“I think well. Vaselle is quite good at arcane device construction, and while Damien is no slouch on that front, his access to Council resources and the library are quite valuable,” Antefalken said.

“And the gems from Mount Doom are also very useful!” Estrebrius added, grinning.

“Good. Any idea on how soon they can be ready?” Tom asked as Boggy walked into the room from the hallway.

“Well, how many do you need?” Antefalken asked. “You indicated that you might have some people coming in addition to Vaselle and Damien. Are you planning to invite Lenamare?”

Tom stared at Antefalken in shock until he realized the bard was joking; he then broke out laughing. “Okay, I’m going to have the thought of him here in Mount Doom at a banquet with D’Orcs for a very long time.”

Antefalken grinned.

“Actually, I think it is a great idea. He can be the main course!” Boggy was nodding his head up and down. “That’s what I advocate!”

Tom gave Boggy a snarky grimace. “I hardly think that Damien is going to feel at ease watching one of his fellow Councilors of Wizardry being eaten.”

“He can be dessert!” Boggy said.

“No,” Tom said firmly. “To be clear, no one is going to eat, or even talk about eating my guests, particularly in front of them.”

“Egh. You’re not a bit of fun!” Boggy sulked.

Tom stuck his tongue out at Boggy. “Now, back to the question. Yes, Damien, Vaselle, Tal Gor, Beya Fei Geist, Farsooth GoreTusk and Ragala-nargoloth.”

Boggy nodded. “I’m sure Arg-nargoloth will be thrilled to see her here.”

Tom looked at him, puzzled. “Why, did they not get along?”

Boggy grinned wickedly. “According to Arg-nargoloth, they got along very well; many times, in fact.” He chuckled and said, “I’m willing to bet that if she is at the celebration, they’ll get along several more times.”

~

Hilda sighed as she waited for the others to arrive in their usual conference room. It was quite odd to have a late-night meeting. She had spent the day—well, technically a good part of the last two days—working with Trisfelt on his new rapid brew process for beer. It turned out that her ability to see and work at the cellular level was of great benefit to Trisfelt in understanding the exact details of the fermentation process. Not only could she help him more accurately measure the effects of different ingredients, she could detect when his magical efforts were causing more problems with the fermentation than they were helping.

She had found it quite exhilarating, a completely new type of research. The best part was that it was centered on improving something important to her: alcohol production. Trisfelt had a very detailed system that, while taking some time to understand, was clearly useful in testing and experimentation. He called it the scientific method, a most wonderful method. Trisfelt had told her that it was the basis of modern wizardry and was why wizardry had progressed so much in the last few hundred years. It was all in the methodology. The method of magic! How glorious!

Of course, based on her experience, such a method might work well in the Planes of Men, but all bets would be off in the Outer Planes. Everything here was pretty much there due to the direct desires of the pantheons and their assistants. Even the refleca-wood chair she was sitting on at the moment. Sure, it looked like wood, as did the table before her, but it was not actually wood. It was but a reflection of wood from the material planes.

That was the secret of the Outer Planes; they were but reflections of the material planes as seen through a god’s eyes. Or the eyes of multiple gods and goddesses, some of whom didn’t always agree with each other as to what the current state of reality should be. That did make things interesting. Thankfully, the disagreements only affected the common regions of the pantheon’s outer planes. Tierhallon itself was pretty stable; or at least, the regions where the avatars lived was stable.

The regions where the “deceased” lived were quite malleable by the gods, avatars and in many ways, the deceased themselves. In the Etonian religions, a good part of one’s afterlife was of one’s own subconscious choosing; subject, of course, to the constraint of one’s particular deity’s overall framework and rules.

The door to the room opened and Beragamos walked in. He smiled to see Hilda, much like a kindly old grandfather, and shut the door behind him. “Good to see you, Hilda!”

“A pleasure as always, Your Lordship,” Hilda replied with a bright smile.

Beragamos chuckled. “Feel free to call me Beragamos in private, my dear.”

“Thank you sir, Beragamos,” Hilda replied with a bright smile. What a great honor this was.

Beragamos sat down with a loud sigh. “If you’ll pardon the expression”—the supreme archon tilted his head to give her a wry expression under his brows—“it’s an ungodly time of night to call a meeting! If you ask me.” He chuckled.

Hilda chuckled as well. “It is a highly unusual time.”

“Is there wine?” Beragamos looked around the room, frowning as he saw none.

“Allow me, your… Beragamos,” Hilda said. “I will retrieve some from my wine locker.” She held her hand out above the table as if holding a bottle of wine by the neck and summoned a bottle of Romden Heart Valley Portsooth, 1470 RV.

The bottle appeared in her hand and she set it down on the table. She had dug deep into her wine locker for this one. It was not every day one got to have wine with a supreme archon of Tiernon. Beragamos clapped as he peered at the label.

“My dear! What impeccable taste you have! Here I had hoped for some simple table wine, and you bring a masterpiece.” He waved his hand and two refleca-crystal wine glasses appeared on the table. After a moment of hesitation, he motioned and two more appeared.

“I will not rush such a fine bottle of wine, so I fear we must be prepared to share it with Moradel and Sentir.” He shook his head. Hilda just grinned and pulled her travel corkscrew from her pocket. One always needed to be prepared.

Hilda had just begun to pour the wine into Beragamos’s glass when the door opened and in came Moradel and a young saint whom Hilda did not recognize.

“Oh drat, a fifth!” Beragamos muttered under his breath.

“Good evening my friends,” Moradel said rather grimly. “Unfortunately, Sentir is occupied and won’t be able to join us.”

“How unfortunate!” Beragamos said with what sounded like great emotion, even as he withdrew his hand from creating a fifth wine glass.

Moradel glanced at the bottle of wine, his eyes widening as he recognized the label. He snorted. “Yes, I am sure you are truly disappointed, Beragamos.” He shook his head with a slight smile.

He turned to gesture to the young saint. Hilda thought of him as a young saint because he appeared to be in his early twenties so he must have died young, but he was also young given his aura. She would be surprised if he had been a saint for more than sixty or seventy years.

“This is Saint Stevos Delastros, Patron Saint of Travelers of the Border Forests,” Moradel said, gesturing to Stevos, who nodded politely to each of them. Clearly the youth was feeling a bit overwhelmed to be in the meeting, even as she had been but a few days back. It was funny how quickly one became accustomed to the previously unbelievable.

Moradel shut the door and Hilda poured wine for the four of them. Stevos nervously took a seat that Hilda gestured for him to take and Moradel sat down at the final seat. He raised his hand to give them pause before trying the wine.

“I think you will want to wait to drink until after you’ve heard what Stevos has to say,” Moradel said solemnly.

Beragamos raised an eyebrow at this as he pulled his hand back from his glass. “Very well,” he replied. “But first, where exactly are the Border Forests?” Hilda was glad he asked; she had no idea.

“Uhm, they are on Norelon, Your Lordship,” Stevos replied hesitantly. “They are the forests between the Abancian wasteland and Jotungard. Where the Kingdom of Murgandy and The United Federation are.”

“I am not sure I like where this is going,” Beragamos said firmly yet hesitantly at the same time. “ If there is trouble in that region, historically it meant orcs.”

Stevos nodded. “But it’s worse, Your Lordship.”

“Worse?” Hilda asked, puzzled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stevos said.

Hilda smiled tightly. While technically a term of respect, the word always put her on edge; it made her feel old. She had only just celebrated her two hundred and forty-sixth birthday one month—okay, a month and a half ago. She was by no means old; at least not amongst present company. She glanced at the two archons.

“Go on, Stevos,” Moradel said.

“Well, as you know, our presence in that part of Eton is minimal and has been so for some time,” Stevos began.

“Since the Desolation,” Beragamos added.

Stevos nodded. “While we do have resources in the Cythanian Federation, and of course Noajar, Ferundy and further north have not been particularly welcoming.”

“Alfar, orcs, and assorted brigands are not our ideal worshipers.” Beragamos smiled.

“Aye, My Lord, but I do what I can in the region. I support a number of itinerant priests who do try to support the faithful that we find there,” Stevos said.

“Admirable work, lad.” Beragamos smiled.

“Thank you, sir,” Stevos said somewhat breathlessly, clearly nervous. “So as it is, not having a huge number of illuminaries to deal with, I tend to pay special attention to those I have.”

Beragamos smiled and nodded, trying to ease the young saint’s nerves. “Excellent.”

“So, one of my priests, Teragdor—” Stevos began.

“Teragdor? That is an odd name,” Beragamos interrupted.

“Yes, Your Lordship. He’s half-orc, half-human,” Stevos acknowledged awkwardly.

“Half-orc?” Beragamos blinked. “We have half-orc priests?” Hilda was shocked herself.

“Yes, Your Lordship. He was a child of rape, naturally, and his human mother abandoned him with one of our priests,” Stevos said. “It’s a long story, but eventually the boy entered the priesthood and has done quite well. Given the difficult circumstances of the region, I would say quite well indeed.”

“And you are sure of his devotion?” Beragamos asked.

“Yes,” Moradel interrupted. “I am aware of this particular priest and he has been thoroughly vetted, as you can imagine. He is sincere, and to be honest I would probably trust him more than some of our people surrounding Freehold.”

Beragamos chuckled. “Verigas?”

“Of course,” Moradel said. Stevos looked back and forth, not understanding.

“Go on then, Saint Stevos.” Beragamos nodded with a smile.