The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (85 page)

Hilda nodded, noticing that Danyel had moved to a nearby sofa and was simply staring in awe at the archon. She had to smile; it was not every day that you met someone right out of the most sacred texts of your religion. Ruiden took a guarding position near the door.

“I am not sure why you simply did not call a meeting; would that not have been easier?” Hilda asked, puzzled.

“Well, based on your experience on the ground, I thought I might try it myself. The situation has escalated and I now need to be very much on top of the game.” Beragamos shook his head ruefully.

“Escalated?” Hilda chuckled. “That is one way of putting it.”

Beragamos grimaced. “No, no—I am not speaking of events in Murgatroy or even here. Although I am thinking we may want to reopen a temple in Norelon and establish a permanent base for the Rod. However, that too is not my current concern. The escalation occurred in Tierhallon.”

Hilda got a concerned and uncertain look on her face, suddenly afraid of what he meant.

Beragamos nodded at her expression; it was as he had thought. “Yes, I was summoned to the Palaestra this morning.” Hilda gulped. She knew what that meant.

“Our god read the reports I filed, and called me in to discuss it personally,” Beragamos said.

Hilda felt her stomach going through the seat of her chair. This kind of scrutiny could not be good.

Beragamos nodded, but then smiled. “However, on the bright side, after reading about you and hearing of your interviewing the orcs in the wargtown, our god is most pleased with your work,” Beragamos said.

Hilda sighed, that was a huge relief. “Well, that’s good,” she said with a smile.

Beragamos nodded. “It is good indeed. The downside”—Hilda looked concerned again—“is that he wants to meet you in person to get your firsthand impressions on the situation and what your experience has been with this new method of inquiry you have pioneered.”

There was a moan from the couch and then a thunk. The two avatars looked over to where Danyel had been sitting to find him on the floor passed out, having slid off the couch. Beragamos looked at Hilda and raised an eyebrow.

Hilda smiled and shook her head. “That is where I would be right now, if I had not already had a bit of sparkly to ease my nerves. Poor Danyel has not had any alcohol in several days.”

Beragamos chuckled. “Well then, the lad will not ever want to meet Tiernon in his Palaestral form.” He took a sip of his sparkling cocktail.

~

Reggie took time to enjoy the sensation of his room fading in around him. He was back from “work,” if you could call having dream sex with women work. It was practice sex, but it was still sex. But he figured it was more like working on a porno film. He kept getting technical instructions from Merrit-Ptah, his accursed mistress. It was not as fun as one might think.

But the good news was, he was getting a night off! Woo hoo! And it just happened to be on the night of the party. Merit-Ptah and her peeps were relocating to a different city, and so she would not be summoning him this coming night. That meant he could be at the party!

He had not been to a good party in a long time. The last one he had been at, Tom had gone and died on them. That had really busted up the party. The weeks after had also been stressful, which is why he had been smoking, trying to take a break, only to die en flagrante, so to speak, and end up here.

“I need a joint,” Reggie said to himself. A good blunt would take the stress off. Of course, that is what had gotten him into this screwed-up situation in the first place. Shaking his head, he headed off to the mortal suite.

When he got there, things were fairly quiet. Apparently, the orcs were still asleep. Estrebrius and Antefalken were playing cards. Two individuals he did not recognize were out on the balcony, watching the never-ending ceremony.

“How goes?” he asked the two demons.

“Good up here,” Antefalken said.

Reggie gestured with his head to the volcano. “There?”

“Good. Going pretty smooth, might end up a little ahead of schedule even,” Antefalken said.

“Only issue was Tizzy running around his kitchen late last night, screeching about needing more butter,” Estrebrius said.

“What is with this guy and buttah?” Reggie tried to say it like Tizzy, sort of yenta-like.

Estrebrius squinted. “Don’t know, but I think he meant regular butter this time, for his ‘magic cookies.’ He sent some of his demon buddies out to get more.”

Reggie shrugged. “Well, that’s easy enough, I guess.” He was not sure actually sure where you would get butter in the Abyss, or how one kept it from melting.

“Yeah, but he was freaking because he has to do something with it, melt it down and infuse it with some secret ingredient, I guess, and then strain it out.”

Reggie raised an eyebrow at that. “I think I am going to want some of these cookies.”

He wandered out onto the balcony and peered over the edge to see the line waiting to go up and swear to Tom. Boy, was this freaky or what? He glanced over to his two companions. They were not D’Orcs, demons, or orcs. There were sort of like really old, ugly humans.

One was about six feet tall but rather hunched; the other looked fairly human, but was under five feet tall and really burly. They both had very calloused hands resting on the balcony.

Reggie nodded to them. “I’m Reggie, a friend of Lord Tommus,” he said.

The taller individual seemed to ignore him until the short guy poked him. “I am Völund, Smith of Doom.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of you. You make all the weapons and armor here. Cool!” Reggie held out his upper right hand to shake. Völund ignored it.

The shorter fellow harrumphed. “You’ll have to ignore my friend; he’s not much of a conversationalist.” The two glared at each other.

Reggie reached out to shake the shorter man’s hand. “And you are?”

The man laughed. “Oh, sorry. I don’t get out much. I am a homebody. People usually come to visit me, and when they do, they obviously know who they came to see. Völund is one of my best friends and about my only equal—”

“Superior,” Völund interrupted.

“—in smithery.” The man shook his head at Völund. “I am named Hephaestus currently, but my friends call me Phaestus.”

“Nice to meet you, Phaestus. Glad we are getting some visitors, it livens things up!” Reggie said.

“Indeed.” Phaestus nodded. “And smithing is a tiring, thankless job. I need a break right now, so the party will be good. Help me get rid of some stress.” He moved his shoulders around. “I carry it all in my shoulders and upper body.”

“Well, Tizzy is making what he calls ‘magic cookies.’ If they are what I think they are, they will definitely help with the stress!” Reggie said.

Phaestus blinked. “Tisdale is here?” He looked at Völund. “Why in the name of Tartarus did you not mention this?”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Völund said, shrugging.

“I’ve got to go see him. I have not seen him in well over four thousand years. Do you know where he is?” Phaestus asked Reggie.

“Sure, I’m betting he’s in his kitchen. I’ll take you there.”

~

DOF +10

Late Third Period 16-07-440

Reggie and Phaestus were wandering lost down one of the corridors from Tizzy’s secret kitchen. Well, technically not that secret. The two of them had found the magic treasure. They were moving a bit slowly. Phaestus had quite a limp, but more importantly, they were both pretty cookied. Limps seemed to be pretty common what with Völund, Phaestus and Tal Gor. Reggie idly wandered if there was a connection.

“I wonder where Tizzy gets his weed. The Abyss is a barren wasteland; where does he dig this stuff up?” Reggie asked Phaestus.

“I don’t know about up, but I know about high.” Phaestus grinned back at him. “My me! It has been a long time! Tizzy’s cookies are the only thing that can really relax me. Drinking can sometimes relax me, but often it just depresses me and I get grumpy.”

“Grumpy! Like Snow White!” Reggie suddenly said, looking at Phaestus in realization.

“Who?” Phaestus asked.

“Not important; chick that fell asleep. Thing is, though, she had these seven buddies that were dwarfs. Are you a dwarf?” Reggie asked.

“Nah. Get that a lot. They do like me a lot, the dwarves, they do. They’ve been good to me; I try to be good to them.”

“So you are just naturally short?” Reggie asked.

“Yep. Rest of my family are normal sized, most of the time.” 

“You have a family?”

“Of course I have a family!” Phaestus laughed.

“Does Völund?”

“Not that he’ll speak to. Not sure, really. He had a couple brothers. They may have gotten left on the other side of the birefrigerated bridge or whatever it’s called.”

“Oh yeah, jotuns…” Reggie remembered.

“Something like that. Pronunciation’s a bit off.”

“Wow, I’m feeling really good!” Reggie said. “I think this has got to be the best time I’ve had in the Abyss!”

Phaestus snorted. “Not surprised. This place sort of sucks! They used to toss Titans down here to get rid of them. Not into the volcano, but into the Abyss.”

“Yeah, not a great place to live. Weather is really terrible,” Reggie said.

“Yeah, I think my friend Bess was a bit wacko for building a fortress down here,” Phaestus said.

“I bet the real estate is cheap!”

“Yeah. If real estate is all about ‘location, location, location,’ then she probably got her Abyssal Palace really cheap!” Phaestus giggled. “ ‘Course, her other place has a view that is literally out of this world! Well, not
this
world, except that it is out of this world, but I mean that the view she has there is out of the world she has it on. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not at all.” Reggie shook his head and smiled.

“Neither do I.”

“Wah woa woo vad waah!” a voice said off to their left.

“What was that?” Reggie asked.

“I don’t know. Sounds like someone who’s really drunk!” Phaestus said. The two turned to look into an alcove, from which the voice had seemed to emanate. Some of the stone wall had collapsed and water was trickling out. Perhaps it gave way during the rain, Reggie thought to himself.

“Wah orgus dorg,” the voice said again.

It was dark in the alcove, so Reggie turned up his demon sight to max. He blinked. There was a chunky fellow in the alcove, about five feet tall. He seemed rather misshapen, with two arms and two legs that were thick and ungainly-looking. His head and neck seemed to merge into one sort of stumpy head, and if Reggie did not know better, he would swear the guy’s skin was mud.

“Hey, a mud man!” Reggie exclaimed.

“Hi, mud man!” Phaestus said.

“Waaan eee orgaass. Shtablish reel ashions!” the mud man said.

“Why would someone put a mud man down here?” Reggie asked, puzzled.

“No, no. He grew here!” Phaestus shook his head.

“Mud men can grow?” Reggie found the idea rather funny.

“He’s not a mud man; or rather,
it
is not a mud man. It’s a mud golem!” Phaestus told Reggie.

“Is it speaking universal?” Reggie asked. “Because I don’t understand it.”

Phaestus nodded. “It is, but its vocal cords aren’t. Well, technically it doesn’t have any. Talking has to be very difficult.”

“So why is it here?”

Phaestus shrugged. “Not sure, but I am guessing it wants to establish relations with Mount Doom.”

“Yashs!” The mud man said.

“Hmm, I think we are going to need someone who can talk to spirits,” Phaestus said.

“Where are we going to find a psychic in the Abyss?” Reggie asked.

“Typically one would use a shaman or seer.”

“So we just need to find a shaman. I think I might have seen a few upstairs,” Reggie said, giggling.

“I think you are correct, my dear friend,” Phaestus said, slapping him on the back, or trying to. Given the height difference, the slap hit Reggie in the butt.

“Do you want to go get one or should I?” Reggie asked.

“Do you know how to get back to the room with the shamans?”

“No,” Reggie admitted, shaking his head.

“Then I better go get one,” Phaestus said.

~

Tom smiled to himself as Ivan Throat Cruncher swore his oath alongside his wife, Imelda Throat Cruncher. They were a great third-generation team, Zelda had whispered to him. This ceremony was certainly making him feel pumped. Each oath was creating a link between himself and the D’Orcs and Doom.

These links were very similar to the links with the shamans and Vaselle. Perhaps a bit more low-key, since few if any of the D’Orcs were mana wielders, but nonetheless, from the small tests he’d tried during the downtime, he should be able to channel mana to and from them as well as communicate with them.

On some level, Tom recognized that this was sort of creepy; a gross violation of privacy. Very much like the feelings he’d had after linking with Vaselle. But on the other hand, it also felt like family. He could actually feel the emotions of the D’Orcs. Right now, everyone was excited, joyful and full of pride and hope. That joint swelling of emotion from the D’Orcs was overwhelming. He was feeling an intense emotional high from their high. At the back of his mind, a small warning was flashing about what might happen if they got seriously depressed, but for now, he couldn’t think about that.