Chapter 19
The desert camp now teamed with
activity. Their numbers had swelled with
the addition of a few more nomadic tribes, and more importantly, a sizable
contingent of marauding barbarian mercenaries, which they coincidentally
happened upon. Rwiordes, however, was
beginning to doubt the existence of such things as accidents or
coincidence. It seemed to him that
everything the Demon needed sooner or later turned up at the most convenient
time or location. It was as though the
universe had arranged itself in such a way as to be the most helpful to their
cause. The Demon’s cause, Rwiordes
corrected himself mentally. The size of
their force had swollen to almost four thousand soldiers, plus a good number of
women and children from the nomadic tribes pressed into service tending the
animals, cooking and such. Still,
Rwiordes thought, there were nowhere near enough warriors to take the largest
city in the northern lands though he had no doubts that the Demon would make
additional arrangements prior to reaching Coertol City, which lay only fifty
miles away. They had been there, in
camp, for several days, waiting for something.
Rwiordes was free to go wherever he
wanted within the confines of the camp, but he was not permitted to venture
beyond that perimeter. The Demon had
found three matching black outfits, which he insisted that Rwiordes and Hertrid
wore, and he himself wore one as well.
Rwiordes felt ridiculous walking about in the ominous clothing, but the
Demon had insisted. He had also made a
special point of announcing that Rwiordes and Hertrid were his seconds in
command, above even Tyuriuk (who was in charge of military operations). They were to be obeyed, he had
commanded, as was the Demon himself.
So it was then that Rwiordes found
himself wandering idly about the camp trying to clear his head, and his
troubled conscience. The smell of the
manure from the animal herds seemed to permeate the entire camp. In truth, however, he wasn’t sure which
smelled worse — the animals or the barbarians.
He didn’t care much for their kind; even the thieves and rogues seemed
positively cultured compared with the mercenaries and their near savage
demeanor. There was little that Rwiordes
liked about the whole situation. He was
terrified of nearly everyone around him, especially the Demon in Perilisk’s body. He could make no sense of the fondness the
Demon seemed to have for Hertrid and himself.
Yet the fiend was acutely concerned about their well-being and
comfort. Nothing made much sense
anymore.
He walked through the camp, going
nowhere in particular. At first, when
people saw his black uniform, they grew afraid, until they realized that he
wasn’t Perilisk.
“There you are, Rwiordes,” the Demon
said, coming up from behind him. “We’ve
been looking for you.”
Rwiordes turned to see Perilisk’s
form with Hertrid in attendance, like some leech-like satellite.
“My apologies, Lord. I was trying to get some fresh air,” Rwiordes
explained. “It’s not too easy an
accomplishment around here.”
The Demon inhaled to sample the air,
and agreed, “You’re quite right. Perhaps
a walk will do us well.”
“A walk is an excellent idea, Great
One.” Hertrid chimed.
“Very well, let us go then.” The Demon commanded. “We have some other business to tend to along
the way.”
“As you wish, Lord,” Rwiordes said
agreeably.
“Hertrid, fetch us some lunch, as we
may well be gone for some time.”
“Of course, Master.”
They waited for Hertrid to return
with their provisions; the Demon simply stared at Rwiordes with that
expressionless smile that carried deep undertones of malevolence. Neither spoke. Rwiordes was beginning to get used to the
Demon’s peculiarities and mannerisms. He
knew he probably could not begin to imagine what impossible and dark ideas ran
through Perilisk’s brain. Rwiordes just
made sure that he kept his thoughts up front and plain. He knew that the Demon could read his
thoughts and musings. Apparently it
didn’t bother the thing too much that Rwiordes was not entirely happy with the
whole situation. No doubt, it even
amused it. But, he was careful about
thinking anything that might be regarded as rebellious or insubordinate. The whole process of guarding his thoughts
was beginning to wear him down psychologically, he realized. Still, there was little choice. He dared not even think of crossing the
Demon. The Demon smiled in the same
silent and disturbing manner until Hertrid returned with their provisions.
“You!” The Demon shouted over to one of the
barbarians.
The uncouth fellow almost died of
fright on the spot when he saw who it was that addressed him. He leapt to the ground, prostrate.
“Get up. Did I ask you to crawl on the ground like a
worm?” The Demon inquired, now in his powerful dark whisper.
“N-n-n-no, M-m-m-m-master,” the
unfortunate warrior answered, getting up quickly.
“Go tell Tyuriuk that my friends and
I are going for a walk into the desert, we may be some time. Tell him also that we shall return with the
rest of our forces. It is my command
that we shall break camp at nightfall, whether we have returned by that time or
not. Do you understand this message?”
“Y-y-y-yesss,” was all the barbarian
could muster.
“Quickly then, find him and tell him
before your feeble brain forgets my words.”
The fellow ran off looking for
Tyuriuk, lest he should incur the wrath of their Master.
“There now, let us go for our walk
then,” the Demon said.
The three of them walked out from the
camp’s perimeter, waving to the sentries as they went. It was still warm, but it did not get so hot
in the Entrine Desert in the autumn as it did in the southern deserts about
which Rwiordes had heard. Judging from
the sun, it was about ten or eleven in the morning, Rwiordes observed. They began in the same silence that Rwiordes
and Hertrid had grown accustomed to while accompanying the Demon. He said nothing, so they said nothing. Rwiordes toyed with the paranoid notion that
the Demon did this as a means of observing their thoughts without the
distraction of conversation. With that
idea, he attempted to observe as much of the natural beauty of the desolate
region as possible. He noticed how the
wind had made waves and swirls in the sand and dunes that stretched out as far
as the eye could see. A few cacti and
brush plants dotted the scene. The sky
was cloudless and deep blue. A warm, dry
wind blew in their faces. At least,
thought Rwiordes, it didn’t smell like cattle or barbarians.
The vista reminded Rwiordes of the
many hours the three of them had played on the desert’s edge as children. Perilisk, Hertrid and he had been inseparable
friends. Funny, it seemed that it had
always been Perilisk that had gotten them into trouble. But that was a long time ago. Even now...
Hertrid’s voice interrupted his
reverie.
“May I ask a question O Master?” he
said, addressing the Demon.
“But of course, my friend. Ask me whatever you like. I know the answer. Ask how many stars burn in the heavens. Ask
me how many grains of sand lie below our feet.
I know. I have had ample time to
ponder such things from my position of eternal exile. What do you want to know?”
Hertrid obviously paused to consider
that, but then proceeded with his original questions, “You had that barbarian
tell Tyuriuk that we would be returning with the remainder of our forces. Do you expect to find yet another army out
here?”
Good question, thought Rwiordes,
though he had not the courage to ask it himself.
“Not an army as such, no. But our ranks shall be reinforced by those
that we are on our way to meet. We shall
be invincible,” the Demon explained.
“Hold your questions, you shall see the answer with your own eyes soon
enough.”
“Of course, Lord,” Hertrid said.
With that they walked in silence for
another two hours through the barren expanse.
At last they found a large rock jutting out of the shifting sands and
directed themselves toward it. The Demon
instructed them to climb the giant protrusion of stone. Several lizards scurried away as they
scrambled and pulled themselves up the rock’s craggy face. Once on top they were afforded a fantastic
panoramic view of the desert. No clouds
marked the afternoon sky.
The only sound that could be heard was the whining of the wind as it
blew over the sand from one end of the horizon to the other. A great loneliness welled up in Rwiordes as he stared off
into the empty distance. For a second he
became afraid that they would not be able to find their way back to the camp,
until he remembered that their guide was not really Perilisk. Then he wasn’t certain that he wanted to go
back. He caught himself from indulging
in that thought for long, lest his possessed companion should become aware of
the nature of his thoughts.
The Demon declared that it was time
for their lunch, and Hertrid hurriedly set out their picnic. A great sense of unreality lingered in
Rwiordes’ mind as they dined upon cold lamb and ale on the lonely precipice in
the middle of nowhere.
“This is good lamb, Hertrid. Well done!” commented the Demon.
“I knew it was your favorite,” said
Hertrid beaming from the thing’s praise.
“Er, well, it used to be your favorite.”
“Yes, its taste pleases me. And you, Rwiordes? How do you enjoy our picnic luncheon?”
“Quite tasty. My thanks, Master. And to you as well, Hertrid,” Rwiordes
replied. “The ale has a good body to be
sure.”
“Something the barbarians had come
across in their...um...outings,” said Hertrid.
A new sound began to register in
Rwiordes ears suddenly. At first it was
hardly discernible above the cries of the desert winds. Its volume increased fairly quickly, though
even so its direction of origin was not clear.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
It was a deep bass sound, conjuring a sense of movement, of power.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
It issued from every direction.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Some element of the sound seemed
familiar to Rwiordes, but he couldn’t quite place it. He strained in every direction, to identify
its source. Hertrid was doing the same. The Demon appeared amused at his companions’
antics, though he kept eating his lamb.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Rwiordes gasped in astonishment as
his eyes found something of size flying out of the distance above the
horizon. At first he had no idea what it
was. It was traveling at great
velocity. It was heading towards
them. Hertrid grabbed Rwiordes’ shoulder
and pointed in the opposite direction, towards the East. Three flying figures were headed towards them
from there as well.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Whoosh! The sound grew loud as
thunder as the flying things neared.
Rwiordes realized that the sound was
the flapping of giant wings, moving vast quantities of air beneath them.
Rwiordes and Hertrid sat there on the
rock, transfixed in wonder and fear as the massive creatures approached. It was one of the most magnificent sights
they had ever seen. More and more of the
things became visible at various distances, nearing the rock upon which they
were seated.
The air moved with the force of the
breeze from the vast wings and swirled with great force around them.
The desert rumbled in protest, shaking under the powerful currents of
air produced.
Rwiordes had no doubts as to what the
vast creatures were. They were
dragons. Lots of dragons. The sky was swarming with the things. Huge and mighty creatures they were, monsters
of power beyond anything he had ever imagined.
There were dragons of almost every color and size.
“Please”, said the Demon, “Let us
finish our delicious lunch, pay no attention to them. I assure you they will wait.”
Rwiordes and Hertrid looked at each
other. They attempted to finish their
lamb, but it was quite a difficult task with a horde of dragons circling the
rock they were seated on. The wind from
their wings produced such gusts that it had become a fairly complex procedure
to eat and keep from being blown off the rock.
The Demon simply kept eating in his sinister, casual manner. Rwiordes gulped down his ale eagerly,
counting the dragons. He counted
twenty-six of the flying behemoths in total.
At length the Demon finished his
lunch, yawned, and stretched himself. He
stood up into the swirling vortex of wind.
Sand was blowing in small cyclones about them, stinging Rwiordes’ eyes,
yet the Demon in Perilisk’s body seemed undisturbed by the commotion. He raised his arms and let out a shrill cry of
power. Suddenly the dragons descended to
the desert floor. They laid themselves
down before the Demon, in what appeared to Rwiordes to be humble subjugation.
The contrast was remarkable. It seemed unnaturally still now. Even the desert’s own wind dared not break
the silence. The massive reptilian
bodies stretched out over the desert sand.
Hertrid was shaking in terror, Rwiordes observed. It surprised him that he wasn’t. He was quite certain, however, that the Demon
was the master of this situation, and that they had nothing to fear from the
assembled dragons.
The Demon spoke loudly and clearly,
his voice echoing with great force, “Greetings to you, Lords of Fire and
Wind. We meet at the appointed place, at
the appointed time. Many of you have
slept long centuries awaiting my coming.
You must wait no longer! I have
come!”
The dragons let out a roar of
triumphant ferocity, which shook the rock and forced Rwiordes and Hertrid to
cover their ears.
“The Days of Undoing are at hand!”
The Demon screamed maniacally. “Let the
World tremble before me, ere I, the Lord of Chaos and Darkness, swallow it in
my infinite hunger!”
Again the dragons roared.
Rwiordes grew afraid for the World.
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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