The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (70 page)

“Well, Your Lordship, this evening he began a very urgent and relatively sophisticated set of ritualized prayers to ensure he contacted me,” Stevos said.

“Something more than a bedtime prayer, I take it?” Beragamos joked.

Stevos nodded. “The Prayer of Dire Deliverance.”

“The PDD?” Beragamos blinked as Moradel nodded.

Hilda shook her head in amazement; none of her illuminaries had ever tried that. Very few did; in fact, it was usually only done by a high priest.

“So what information did he want to relay?” Beragamos said.

Stevos exhaled and then took a deep breath. “Today, in broad daylight, a band of twenty orcs entered the city with another twenty large, winged, orc-like beings. In the wargtown, they stabled twenty large and very mean winged wargs which the orcs had flown in on.

“Winged orcs?” Beragamos was looking quite pale.

“And winged wargs…” Moradel sighed.

Stevos nodded. “Teragdor reached out to some of his alvaren contacts—”

“A half-orc with alvaren contacts?” Beragamos shook his head at the nearly incomprehensible thought. Hilda found it odd herself, but certainly no odder than a half-orc priest of Tiernon.

“Indeed. As I’ve said, he’s been quite useful.” Beragamos nodded and gestured for him to continue. “They told him that these winged beings are D’Orcs.”

“Dorks?” Hilda asked, not sure she’d heard correctly.

“No—D’Orcs. You need to stress the D, a slight pause and then the O, trailing with the rest: D(uh) O(rcs),” Beragamos said softly.

“What are D’Orcs?” Hilda asked, puzzled.

“They are the unholy warriors of the demon lord Orcus,” Beragamos said softly. Moradel nodded confirmation.

“Orcus? As in the supposedly dead demon lord whose warlocks I am supposed to be on the lookout for?” Hilda said with a feeling of incredible despair.

Beragamos shook his head in disbelief. “To be honest, I thought Sentir was being ridiculous, exhibiting paranoia from one of the most difficult battles any avatar of any religion has ever faced. I never seriously thought that Orcus had returned.”

“How else do we explain the D’Orcs returning to Astlan?” Moradel asked. “We sort of assumed there were scattered remnants left somewhere in the Abyss. However, they had never had the ability to enter the material planes without powerful shamans attached to Orcus.”

“So could the orcs have summoned these D’Orcs directly?” Beragamos asked.

“Ahem,” Stevos interrupted. The two avatars and Hilda looked at him.

“Sorry, sirs, but I got a few more things from my illuminary. There was a young shaman with them; he seemed, however, to be crippled.”

“A crippled young orc?” Moradel looked surprised. “Old, crippled orc warriors might go on if they can continue to fight, but young ones born deformed or maimed early are almost always left to die.” Beragamos nodded in agreement.

“Be that as it may,” continued Stevos, “he seemed to be one of the leaders, along with a large female D’Orc and a tall, but very skinny grayish-white orc with blood-red eyes. According to my priest.”

“A skinny gray orc?” Moradel looked puzzled.

Beragamos nodded. “Most likely a Soulwrecker, Soulstealer, Soulsmasher, Soulslayer or similarly named clan of space-faring orcs from Visteroth.” He shook his head. “They are particularly unpleasant, even for orcs.”

“Space faring?” Hilda asked puzzled. Beragamos shook his head and gave her a small gesture, meaning that discussion was for another time.

Stevos continued, “Also, the orcs said they were from the Crooked Stick tribe.”

The avatars shook their heads, not getting the significance.

Stevos explained, “According to Teragdor, the Crooked Sticks were once one of the largest and most feared tribes of orcs, but today are but a very sorry remnant of their former glory. They are often used as an example of the failing of a weak tribe. They’ve been reduced to only two small bands of nomadic orcs.”

Beragamos nodded. “So unlikely to have a shaman powerful enough to summon individual D’Orcs. Assuming they knew any true names.”

Moradel nodded. “That is what I am thinking.”

Beragamos sighed and closed his eyes. “Hilda, you cannot know how grateful I am for your wine locker.” He reached out and took a sip of wine. The others all did the same. Hilda tasted it. Ahh… perfection. It would have been the end of her if it had soured after all this drama.

Stevos’s eyes went wide in surprise upon taking a sip; likely he had never experienced such a fine wine. She was pleased that both senior avatars seemed to appreciate it.

“This came from your stock, Hilda?” Moradel asked. Hilda nodded. “I am going to need to start inviting you to more meetings.” The avatar grinned, and Hilda chuckled.

“Ahh, I have to admit this helps immensely,” Beragamos said. “I am going to alert the attendant archons of the Astlanian localverse and other nearby realms that were historically plagued by Orcus. We need to know how far-flung his machinations are.”

“Indeed.” Moradel raised his glass in agreement and took another drink.

~

DOF +9

Midnight ?? (Olafa Camp, Ithgar) Ithgar Date Unknown; 16-06-440 Astlan

“This passing-out-drunk thing seems to have some advantages,” Fer-Rog said to Rupert. “If we stared at a D’Orc like we are staring at these passed-out orcs, we would be pounded into meat coins.”

“Yeah, it’s really helpful to have a model to stare at to practice a new form,” Rupert said.

“There are a few mirrors in Mount Doom, but if I stared at myself, I’d see my wings and I think that would be distracting as I try to make them disappear,” Fer-Rog said.

“Probably. I find it easiest to change to a form I know well, but I think if the two forms are too similar it would be hard to keep them apart,” Rupert replied.

“Yeah, that’s about it. What do you think?” Fer-Rog asked Rupert.

Rupert stopped working on his own form and looked at the large, older-looking orc sitting naked next to him. Fer-Rog had been wearing clothes, but had taken them off to practice shifting. Many of their models were a lot bigger than they were. “That’s pretty good. You need to work on the wrinkles, though. It’s the details that get you. That would be one benefit of shifting to a young orc; you wouldn’t have so many wrinkles, scars and other details to remember.”

“I have to think clothes could hide a lot too,” Fer-Rog said as he relaxed and shifted back to himself.

“And being closer to our own age, we would not have to worry about acting old,” Rupert added.

The two boys were out by one of several groups of passed-out orcs. The D’Orcs were in other parts of the camp. Sober or not, the shapeshifting would have had them freaking out. This band of orcs was a lot larger than the Crooked Sticks.

Several D’Orcs were busy mating with orcs; others had gone around from campfire to campfire to tell their stories to new groups. Fer-Rog had said he bet that the D’Orcs were having as much fun telling their old stories to people, who had not heard them every other day for the last four thousand years, as they’d had on the hunt.

Given that D’Orc children did not come along that often, every one of them were immediately inundated by old warriors who needed someone new to marvel at their stories. At this point in his life, Fer-Rog had heard most of them, and a couple of them twice.

Rupert concentrated and shifted into another orc passed out nearby. It was different in that the orc was technically a bit larger than his true form, so he did not feel as compressed, but it was still uncomfortable. He just needed to concentrate on the form. He had no plans to use this particular form, but just practicing any new form, particularly an orc form, would be useful.

“So, what are you two little demons up to?” a stern woman’s voice asked behind them. Both boys lost their assumed forms as they spun in surprise.

It was Beya Fei Geist, the shaman Tom had contacted. She chuckled at their surprise. “Skin-walking lessons is it?” She walked over to the dying campfire and tossed another log onto it, stirring the embers to cause it to blaze up. “Very impressive for two such youngsters, demons or not, to be teaching themselves skin walking.” She gestured to a nearby log. “Sit.” She sat herself.

“So, you are both impressive and fierce-looking young warriors. Why would you want to look like far less fierce orcs?” Beya asked.

The two boys looked at each other sheepishly and shrugged. Finally, Fer-Rog spoke up. “I have lived my entire life at Mount Doom. I want to go to other places, have adventures, maybe get to fight someone who has not been training for thousands of years and have a chance at winning.”

Beya burst out laughing. “Okay, that last bit, the wanting to fight someone who has not been training for thousands of years. That is a new one for me!” She laughed once more. “An admirable response. I can see where such combat could be frustrating for you.”

Beya turned her attention to Rupert. “And for you, son of Tommus?”

“I too have had a sheltered life. Now that I am starting to come into my own strength and power, my father is always there, casting a large shadow. I’d like to get out and make something of myself on my own, prove my worthiness to be his son,” Rupert said.

Beya nodded thoughtfully. “Another good answer. One I’ve heard many times, but still a good answer.” She was silent for a moment, thinking. “So you would pretend to be normal orcs, so as not to frighten everyone you encounter?”

The boys nodded in unison.

Beya chuckled again. “You see, that is the difference between demon youth and orc youth. The orc boys and girls dream of going places and have people quake in fear. You two seek the opposite.” She smiled warmly and looked Rupert directly in the eyes. “Clearly you understand the fear you can cause.”

Rupert nodded and the three sat silently by the fire for a few moments.

“Very well then,” Beya finally said. “I know something of skin walking. My precise methods may not be your methods, but perhaps I can teach you a few things that would be helpful. At least during your short visit tonight and tomorrow.”

~

“Are you ready, My Lord?” Zelda asked as Tom opened the door to let her into his suite.

“All set. Where are we doing this?” Tom asked.

“I have the commanders and other team leaders meeting in the command center. We also have maps of the Doomplex to discuss the arrangements.”

“Excellent; let’s go.” Tom joined her in the hallway. “Maybe we’ll pick up the guys who are here.” He gestured to the other suites in the hall.

Zelda squinted in thought. “Boggy and Tizzy are in a lower kitchen, cleaning it up and organizing.”

“What for?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“The cookies!” Zelda grinned.

“He’s going to make them? And here?” Tom shook his head. “Where is he getting the ingredients?”

Zelda shrugged. “He’s got a stream of type I and II demons hauling in supplies from the closest boom tunnel. Including Estrebrius.”

Tom shook his head in wonder. “Well, he does seem to know almost everyone in the Abyss; I wonder how he got them to haul all this stuff for him?”

Zelda chuckled. “I have a sneaking suspicion he’s offering them room and board in your house.”

Tom chuckled too. “Would you be okay with that?”

Zelda shrugged. “We have the room. We used to have demon servants and even some warriors back in the old days. As long as they swear allegiance to you, it would not be unprecedented. I am sure several of my senior staff would appreciate having more hands to do work. As you can imagine, D’Orcs aren’t much for doing routine chores.”

“And we will need to maximize our combat readiness. If the D’Orcs are free to train and prepare, that could be useful,” Tom said.

Zelda nodded with a smile. “Exactly my thinking, My Lord.”

“Okay, so Reggie is with his accursed mistress; Rupert and Fer-Rog are in Ithgar.”

“Talarius is with Antefalken, working on the x-glargh,” Zelda noted.

“Really?” Tom looked at her as they walked down the corridor. “Talarius is actively involved?”

“I heard Antefalken tell him the Astlan hunting party had brought in some barrels of wine for the mortal guests, so I suspect he wanted to try that out,” Zelda commented.

Tom chuckled. “So do you have the basics for the ceremony worked out?” That was what they were going to the command center to work on with the various leaders.

“Yes, we are thinking to do the swearing in, in pairs, if that will work for you. Each will swear an oath, but they will come up in pairs. I think that will save some time,” Zelda said.

Tom nodded. “Do you have a good time estimate?”

“At least a full day. If we put in some breaks and adjust for the rotation of people working on preparing the party, I am thinking about a day and a quarter,” Zelda said.

“And we start…?” Tom asked.

“The last of the parties will be back by noon tomorrow, or shortly thereafter. So we are thinking to start early fifth period.” She paused, then added, “Oh, and before I forget, can you have the Ithgar crowd purchase some tanning supplies? I have a list somewhere.”