Chapter 21
The ghastly nightmares faded as
Hertrid woke him to the morning.
“Good morning, Rwiordes,” his black
clad friend said .
“Ughhh,” Rwiordes groaned. “How do you manage to sleep?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean how are you able to sleep
soundly after witnessing such as we have
experienced?”
Hertrid immediately looked nervously
over his shoulder, “Don’t say things like that, Rwiordes!” He spoke in a forceful whisper. “He won’t like it.”
Rwiordes had not slept well that
night. The first disturbance came when
an enemy scout was captured. They had
roused Rwiordes from his comfortable bed to witness the interrogation. The second disturbance consisted of the
nightmares he experienced after returning to sleep. Scenes of the Demon’s torture of the poor
fellow replayed themselves in his sleeping mind the rest of the night. He had never seen such vile cruelty in his
entire life. Such meticulous sadism that
wrought loud screams of anguish from the prisoner burned the event into
Rwiordes’ unconscious mind. His heart
cried out for the doomed man. He had to
stand there and keep the monster that dwelt in Perilisk’s body company during
the whole of the ordeal, helpless to assist for fear of sharing in the
torture. Even the fellow’s ravings had
come up unbidden throughout the early morning hours. The Demon had, of course, obtained a full
confession and lengthy discourse on the enemies’ plan. It
sounded fairly ridiculous to Rwiordes: talk of druidry, and some Lormian
eunuch that was supposed to challenge the Demon. It had seemed complete nonsense, but the
Demon had paid careful attention to the fellow’s agonized ravings, and appeared to show signs of concern for the
first time. The foolish druid only
worsened his sufferings by his confession, as the Demon’s rage burned out its
hot fury on him. It had twisted through Rwiordes’ mind, keeping the
benefits of a peaceful sleep at bay.
Hertrid was probably right, but this
was the first opportunity they had to talk alone since Perilisk’s
possession. There was a question that
was beginning to burn in Rwiordes’s mind.
“Why do you think he keeps us
around?” Rwiordes asked.
Hertrid became more fearful and
agitated, “Sh! Don’t ask such questions! He can hear our thoughts you know.”
“Of course, I know that,” Rwiordes said. “But why us?
Why are we so special?”
Hertrid shrugged, “Perhaps he likes
our company? We don’t give him any
trouble.”
“No one with any sense gives him any
trouble,” Rwiordes pointed out, “There’s got to be something else.”
“Maybe there’s a little bit of
Perilisk left,” Hertrid ventured .
“Maybe that’s it. Let’s hope so; but think about it when you
can.”
Hertrid cowered at the thought, “You better hurry up and get dressed,
he wants us to breakfast with him before we break camp. I’ll see you there.”
He hastened away.
Rwiordes quickly climbed out of his
sweat-soaked bedding and put his clothes on.
He attempted to empty his mind of any thoughts that the Demon might
consider inappropriate. He hoped he
could continue to do it. The problem
with the practice of avoiding certain thoughts, he found, is that the vigilance
itself led him back into the thing he
was trying to suppress. His lack of
restful sleep and the great stress of his ordeal made it difficult for him to
keep up his level of concentration.
On his way to the dining tent, he
noticed that many of the men were already engaged in breaking camp and making
preparations for the final march to Coertal City. The shapes of the reclining dragons loomed
menacingly beyond the camp, even though they were several hundred yards
away. He hurried past the tent, which
housed the Abomination that had once been two dozen nomadic shepherds. He covered his ears lest he chance to hear
the horrifying moans of the thing. The
foul stench of it struck Rwiordes’ nostrils strongly as he passed. It sped him towards the Demon’s tent.
He entered the tent that the Demon
had reserved for his meals. Everyone was
already seated. The tent fell silent for
one uncomfortable moment, as he made his way to his seat. Next to Perilisk. No, next to the Demon. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t
Perilisk anymore.
“Good morning, my friend,” the Demon
said, mocking Rwiordes thoughts. “You’re
rather late, you know.”
He was using Perilisk’s normal voice,
not the diabolical, hissing whisper he normally spoke in.
“I fear, My Lord that I may have
partaken of too much wine last night. My
humblest of apologies,” Rwiordes said.
That was true enough. Not a night
went by anymore when he didn’t drink himself into an unconscious stupor.
The Demon regarded him coldly. His black eyes peering at Rwiordes in a most disturbing
fashion. No one else dared to
speak. Rwiordes knew, of course, that
the Demon did this to unnerve him; he obviously took a great delight in
intimidating him. The problem with the
technique was that Rwiordes was getting used to it. A sudden notion flashed against his
mind. It occurred to him that of all the
people in that room, only he wasn’t afraid.
He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t.
He wasn’t sure what prompted him to do it. Somehow he forced himself to stare into those
black pools of evil that were the Demon’s eyes.
He nonchalantly picked up a piece of toast, bit into it, and spoke as he
chewed:
“So, uh Master, do you suppose there
was anything to that crazed druid’s blabberings last night? Do we have anything to worry about?”
He did not once break his stare at
the Demon the whole time, even as the crumbs tumbled out of his mouth.
“Are you a fool?” shouted Tyuriuk,
who stood up as he spoke. “Our Lord cannot
be vanquished. No one could...”
“Enough!” cried the Demon. “I have warned you, Tyuriuk, you must respect
my friends as much as you respect me. I
believe Rwiordes was addressing me.”
Everyone was stunned. Tyuriuk bowed in apology to Rwiordes and sat
back down.
The Demon beamed with a friendly,
good-natured sort of smile, and spoke in his evil hiss, “, there are elements
of the Druidic plan that concern me slightly.
I assure you, however, that those nature-loving fools have nothing that
can harm me. I shall deal with them soon
enough. If there really is a Champion,
it shall be dealt with. But we have more
pressing concerns. Tyuriuk, are the
troops ready?”
“Yes, Master. They wait but your command, and they shall
take Coertal City.”
“You understand the plan then? I shall tolerate no mistakes,” the Demon
said.
That sent a shiver down everybody’s
spine, thought Rwiordes. Tyuriuk’s
lieutenants nervously assured their Master that
was in readiness.
“Let us eat, then we run to Coertal
City,” the Demon announced.
“Uh, run?”, asked Hertrid.
“Yes,” the fiend answered. “I am in rather a hurry to begin our little
conquest. We shall each and every one of
us, run the entire distance to Coertal City.
Any who falter, shall be dragon food.”
It seemed damn hot for that late in
the year. He could barely breathe and
his chest was pounding. His legs ached,
his muscles began to cramp. Rwiordes
pushed himself on to greater speed; the Demon made it quite clear that he
wanted him and Hertrid up front (probably, he thought, it was the fiend’s way
of getting back at him for his flippant audacity at breakfast). They ran behind the Demon, who seemed to
possess inexhaustible strength and endurance.
He ran in the most peculiar manner, his arms were stretched out almost
as wings, and he moved with great speed over the sand. Eerie shouts and cries came out of his mouth;
if he was indeed saying something, Rwiordes could not tell.
Rwiordes was quite surprised that he
was able to keep up with him. He had
never particularly liked or practiced any sort of athletics or the like. He wasn’t even in any sort of shape but he
knew only too well, that to tire was to die.
The dragons flew behind the army as it moved. An occasional scream announced the failure of
somebody to keep up.
They could begin to see the spires
and towers of the great city-state from about four miles away. It was there at that distance the ground
became grassy, with more and more vegetation present.
The city would only have a short
warning before they cleared the last distance to its gates. It would not be enough time for them to prepare. They were not expecting attack, they had no
real enemies among the local nations of the North though, even if they had vast
armies that could be immediately summoned and outfitted, they would still have
no chance. Rwiordes was certain that
they, with their rogues, mercenaries and dragons, would be victorious. No, that the Demon would be victorious.
The Demon’s plan was clever, Rwiordes
had to admit. The dust and sand that
their army kicked up was sufficient to hide the dragons, which flew behind
them. The guardians of Coertal City had
raised the alarm when they saw what they had never thought possible: an army attacking from the desert. They probably felt that they could,
none-the-less deal with an invasion of such small numbers. They had brought in a good deal of troops to
defend the great wall which surrounded the metropolis. Once those troops were in place, the Demon
wisely sent the dragons in first.
Rwiordes could only imagine the
surprise that must have generated.
Dragon fire rained upon Coertal City.
From outside the walls Rwiordes could hear the screams like thunder even
over the sound of the dragon’s wings.
Flames licked the city greedily as the beasts repeatedly swooped down in
their wrath, while behind him the Demon laughed hysterically.
Once the dragons eliminated most of the city’s
defenders, the Demon had two of the largest of the reptiles knock down a section of the massive
wall that enclosed the city. The troops
poured into the streets and alleys. They
moved as if possessed by an insidious fury, hacking and forcing their way
in. No one could stand against
them. The Abomination was then led into
the main market area and set free in the plaza.
It moved with surprising agility, racing to devour any who could not
outrun it. The Demon then summoned all
manner of rats and foul vermin to rise from out of the city’s sewers and cause
havoc. Panic and chaos swept the city
like a tidal force.
Rwiordes and Hertrid walked with the
Demon into the mayhem a short while after the bulk of the soldiers had entered the city. The streets swarmed with their men and those
who fled them. The Demon had been
precise in his instructions: kill
everyone until he commanded them to stop.
They were doing their work too well.
Blood trickled out windows and down towers, dripping down staircases as
small waterfalls, and winding down the streets into the drain gutters. Thousands of rats, and hundreds of thousands
of insects and spiders crawled about the streets, swarming equally over the
living and dead. They seemed, somehow,
to know which were the Demon’s men and which were not. The rogues and mercenaries moved with
impunity through the flood of vermin and gore.
Overhead the dragons pounced upon any who still attempted to hold the
fortifications on the walls. Their wings
produced powerful gusts of wind which blew with gale force across the plazas and parks,
carrying amounts of debris dangerously
through the air. Whirlwinds of smoke and
dust passed here and there. Rwiordes
wasn’t certain which was more disturbing, the screams which rang out from
around, or the Demon’s laughter.
The three of them walked unharmed
through the bloody chaos that surrounded them.
The Demon headed with interest towards the market where the Abomination
scurried about spreading horror and death.
They passed right by the monstrosity. It paid them no heed.
“This way,” the Demon said.
They followed him as they always did,
full of uncertainty and dread. He
entered into the main entrance of a tower.
He appeared to know exactly where he was going. He resumed his laughter and wild ravings upon
entering. He ascended a staircase. Rwiordes was getting numb to it. He felt as though he had been robbed of emotion,
as he stepped over
body after body. He was cold and dried up inside. The Demon kept exposing him to newer and newer
levels of terror, and his capacity to be afraid decreased proportionally with
each nightmarish scene he was forced to witness. What could he do but accept his lot? He had no power to help any of these
people. He knew at that moment that,
even worse, he did not have the power to help himself. He found himself staring down at the corpses
that lined the hallway, and thinking that they were the lucky ones. They had nothing more to fear, whereas, his
fate loomed only in dark uncertainty.
Every corridor looked the same to
Rwiordes, but the Demon clearly knew where he was leading them. After a little while they came to a
door. Several members of their army of
thieves waited outside the ingress.
“Master!” they cried in surprise.
The Demon stopped his insane
jabbering long enough to inquire, “Why stand you here fellows, when our enemies
hide inside?”
“There are too many of them, we were going
to fetch reinforcements,” they answered.
“Well,” the Demon said. “Your reinforcements are here. Hold the door from this side, my friends and
I shall tend to those who cower behind this door.”
The soldiers looked at each
other. They didn’t appear to have any
problems with that plan. Rwiordes wasn’t
too happy about it. Still, he no longer
had the ability to doubt the Demon.
Whatever happened the Demon would win, that was a foregone conclusion.
The fiend turned to Hertrid and
Rwiordes.
“Let us finish this, gentlemen,” he
said, then he whistled.
At once an army of spiders and
cockroaches crawled out of every crack in the tower’s stonework. They paid no heed to the rogue soldiers, scurrying
past them as they approached. Rwiordes
rediscovered his capacity for terror as the disgusting little things began to
climb up his legs. Hertrid screamed as
they engulfed him from head to toe. The
Demon howled in his unholy, sadistic laughter.
He was quickly covered in the mass, himself. The creeping flood was crawling up Rwiordes’
torso, now. He froze.
They teemed over him, covering his face; he wanted to scream, but was
afraid to open his mouth to do so. His
flesh tickled as the vermin swarmed over him, encasing him in a living morass.
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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