Ayara

Morbid sconces of bony arms lined the seemingly endless hall.  Each skeletal hand gripped a torch, at the end of which blue flames blazed without heat or sound.  Below them the stone floor peeked out on either side of thick carpeting.

They crowded around the banquet doors, now shut, and strained to hear what was happening inside.  The door shook against its jamb, startling the eavesdroppers.  Bonnelle pulled a pin from her bun and fidgeted with the hair it released. Lt. Chrincha stood apart from the Rude Rubies, leaning against the far wall with his staff.

“What should we do?” Looked across the faces gathered around her.

“The Dread Lord said someone would see us to our things before we were escorted back to camp,” Bonnelle answered.  She continued twisting the red hair between her fingers.

Kornin sighed.  “You know that’s not what she meant, Bonnelle!”

An orc approached in a hobbling gait.  Shabbily dressed, his sickly yellow skin was crisscrossed with scars wherever it showed through the rags.  “I am Bargur, one of War Master Bigrummar’s War Party.  I will show you back to the main gate.” He wrung his hands while daring a glance at the banquet door.

Plates crashed and someone struck the wall so hard the hall shook, knocking ages-old grit from the ceiling.  What followed was the anguished baying of someone large.

“War Master,” Bargur uttered, looking up.

“We must leave now, before the Dread Lord turns their attention on us.” Chrincha marched in the direction Bargur came.  Realizing he marched alone, he stopped.

Ayara grabbed her uncle’s hands in hers. “He’s not going to execute them, is he? They don’t even deserve to be tortured. Bigrummar and Yurzan are idiots, but they meant no harm.  Tad and the others couldn’t have known the communicators would affect the key stones the way they did.”

“He’ll kill them,” Toran eked.  “They’ve humiliated the Dread Lord. First, Bigrummar and Yurzan made it seem like he wouldn’t respond to the World of Light.  Then Hohza made the Dread Lord’s forces seem incompetent.”

“They won the campaign! Tad captured half of us,” Ayara shouted. “The Dread Lord should be proud!”

“Do you really want to go in there any try telling them that?”  Renaut hunched over on Kornin’s right shoulder.  

“Seems an odd way to raise an army.  Nobody can learn from their mistakes if they’re killed for making them,” Henri said from Kornin’s left shoulder.

“Maybe the idea is for them to learn from others’ mistakes?” The tangle of hair Bonnelle twirled between her fingers had grown along with the pile of pins by her feet.  

Toran pinched his eyes and sniffled.  “This isn’t about the soldiers.  Withering Sorrows is making sure they don’t appear weak to the other Dread Lords!”

“But Withering Sorrows is your friend!  Wouldn’t that compel them to spare Hohza if you desired,” asked Bonnelle.

Ayara released her uncle’s hands. “Or Tad?” Her voice was pulled thin by desperation and worry.

“Or the boss,” Bargur added, sounding like a drunk asking for another drink.

Shaking his head, Toran answered them all. “We’re mortals.  We can’t compare to how the Dread Lord is perceived by their peers.”

Chrincha slammed his staff into the floor.  With their attention grabbed he addressed the crowd.  “Lest any of you forget, we were perfectly willing to kill Tad, Hohza, and any other monster just three days ago.  It is the way of things in this barbaric place.” He pointed the staff at Toran, the jewel embedded in the head sparkled in the torches’ light. “We have our prize and whether those we would have killed are dead by our hands or their master’s means nothing.”

Hohza’s anguished wails bled through the doors.  “No,” Toran said.  He glared past the weapon at Lt. Chrincha.  “You aren’t taking me back without Hohza.”  He looked at Ayara. “Or Tad.”

“They’re monsters,” said Chrincha through clenched teeth.

“Tad’s a child! Someone who disparages this land as ‘barbaric’ can’t just ignore that,” blurted Ayara.  She pointed at the Lieutenant with her finger almost touching his cheek.  Another scream.  This voice was small and shrill.  Could it have been Tad or Glum? Ayara gasped. “Uncle, do you think you really think you could calm the Dread Lord?”

“I won’t allow this!” Chrincha aimed his staff at Bonnelle.  “Order your team to subdue Toran so we can take him back to the camp.”

“If you point a weapon at me you’d best be ready to use it!” Bonnelle backhanded the jeweled head away. “Kornin, Ayara, disarm the Lieutenant so we can discuss things in a civilized manner.”

The two elves grabbed at the Lieutenant.  As they did, the sprites leaped from Kornin’s shoulders.  When they landed on the carpet, they were ready to pull reagents from their robes.

Chrincha kept his attackers away by swinging his staff.  Ayara slipped close but caught his elbow across her chin and staggered back.  Kornin snagged the weapon but had to reel away when the Lieutenant used the enchantment to blast at him.  The energy struck the door and in response, the chaos inside stopped for just a moment.  Perhaps the Dread Lord was fearful they were trying to force their way in?  Bargur seized the opportunity and joined the fray.  He punched the soldier in the spine and wrapped his arm around the elf’s throat from behind.  Lt. Chrincha gagged and lifted one hand ti rake his hand across the orc’s arm, but Bargur didn’t relent.  Ayara and Kornin disarmed the Lieutenant by tearing his weapon from his other hand and letting it drop to the floor.

 “I’ll have you arrested for striking an officer,” Chrincha snarled.  Spittle flew from his billowing lips. 

“Shut it, Lieutenant.  None of us are citizens of Yendell, let alone members of your army, and you’ve no authority in this place,” Bonnelle scolded him with her hands on her hips.  “Now, Ayara, do you remember what I told you before we came here?”

The girl blinked in surprise at her boss.  “You said you’d renegotiate the agreement if I asked for it.”

“You call this a renegotiation?” Lt. Chrincha strained against Bargur to no avail.

The rest of Bigrummar’s orcs turned the corner.  “Is something going on down there, Bargur,” one of the orcs asked.   He stopped suddenly when he saw the orc holding Chrincha.  “You idiot! Let him go! You know the Dread Lord forbid us!”

Bargur wavered.  He looked to Bonnelle for help.

“Don’t let him go, Bargur!” Bonnelle turned to the others.  “We asked for his help.  Now, everybody be quiet for a moment.” She pointed at the Lieutenant.  “Now, about our contract.”

“What about it?”

“It stated we’re to bring Toran in to settle unpaid taxes.”

“Yes.  I’m sure you appreciate that was a cover for our actual mission.”

“Cover or not, it’s my contractual reason for being here. What is the unpaid amount?  It wasn’t specified in the contract.”

“Excuse me?”

“If it’s a criminal amount—one hundred golden beds or more—then this contract would require that I take ‘an abundance of care’ to ensure his safe return. That would mean if Toran runs in there to save that strapping orc pupil of his, the Rude Rubies would have no choice but to go in and keep him safe.  Don’t blame me, though; blame the Tax Collection Statutes.”

Chrincha drolly answered “it was a misdemeanor.”

“Toran?” Bonnelle turned to the elder elf.

“Yes?” The doctor kept his eyes on the door.  The screaming had resumed in the dining room.

“Were you making much tutoring the future pain in everybody’s ass?”

“Nothing at all,” he answered, distant.  “She compensated by helping around the house and aiding me with notes for my book.  I never wrote that one. It was going to be an analysis of the middle dynasty’s epic poems.”

“Lieutenant, did you know the Tax Authority has a fixed rate they use to tax the benefits someone receives from an unsalaried apprentice? I do because my family employs some elven craftsmen.  I have a very good idea what the ceiling of Toran’s debt is, given that it’s a misdemeanor.”  She rubbed her hands together.  There was a sly glint in her eyes.  “Toran, may I buy your debt to the government?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Now, Lieutenant, I’ve just guaranteed payment of his outstanding taxes, effectively settling the debt in lieu of delivering the man, and fulfilled my contract.  If you need Toran back in Yendell, you must negotiate with us now.”

The Lieutenant shuddered, then lowered his head. “You know you’re only courting death, right?”

“Only if things go poorly,” Bonnelle said.  She looked to the gang of orcs. “Get us our weapons. We’re going to talk to the Dread Lord!”

 

Tad

Tad cowered behind the overturned banquet table with Glum and Yurzan. Behind them, Gohta huddled against the kitchen door, barred from entering by the terrified staff.  Glum’s left sleeve of was torn and blood trickled down his wrinkled, flabby arm; an injury he suffered when he shielded Tad from one of the Dread Lord’s errant strikes.  Fortunately the wraith’s fury had been focused on Bigrummar, otherwise he would have torn through the pair. 

As the two goblins crawled along the carpeting their fingers became coated in the grease, gravy, and wine that soaked the carpet after the table was toppled. The redolent smell of fine meat was accompanied by the pathetic whimpering of Bigrummar on the other side of the table.

“I’ve not had dealings with the World of Light in centuries!” The Dread Lord circled Bigrummar as they raved.  White smoke coiled from the carpet where they stepped.  “And you cretins made me look like a fool before them!” Their voice rasped.

After the Dread Lord’s bare-handed lashing, Bigrummar’s back was a bloody mess of torn flesh and his vest was shredded, hanging in pieces from his shoulders.  He slowly crawled toward the banquet hall door while wheezing in pain.  Withering Sorrows skulked closer, their fingers now capped by jagged blades.  When the troll heard the hiss of the carpet nearby raised his left arm to cower behind it. “Gr-great and most powerful Dread Lord … I meant no harm!”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” The Dread Lord’s smile would seem warm were their tone not so condescending. “You’re too stupid to plan that far ahead!” Their arm stretched and coiled around Bigrummar’s throat.  The troll was being strangled while Withering Sorrows lifted him into the air, then flung him against the far wall.  Bigrummar moaned in pain as he slid to the floor.  The chandeliers spun about, banging their jeweled adornments against each other. 

Hohza stood, chest out, arms thrown back, and just a bit of blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. By his feet the chest holding the lures lay with its top opened and contents laying around.  “It’s your own fault, Withering Sorrows.  What sort of leader keeps their subjects ignorant and then throws a tantrum when that ignorance causes them trouble?”

“The fool,” Glum said, his voice low.  He, Tad, and Yurzan inched their way toward the kitchen door.  The long table kept them from the Dread Lord’s view.  Perhaps Yurzan and Gohta could force their way through the kitchen door and escape.

“I only know the Golden Peacock is an emissary of the World of Light because I’ve read about it, thanks to Toran’s teachings.  Teachings you disparage!”  He pointed at the wraith.  “If you kill us now, we’ll sing a song of our Dread Lord’s inability to take responsibility for their mistakes!  What do you think The Makers will make of that?”

Bigrummar stumbled to Hohza’s side. He rubbed the back of his neck.  The few threads holding his vest together snapped.  “Why do you care,” he asked Toran, his voice low. “I’ve never done you any good.”

“I won’t deny you’ve been one of Toran’s better projects, Hohza.  Cunning and capable … yet tainted by insolence!”

Tad stopped and looked back.  He’d seen Hohza face most of Bigrummar’s War Party.  He’d gone toe-to-toe with Bonnelle Rhodian, who’d laid waste to dozens of War Masters throughout the Dark Lands.  Was he really facing his own Dread Lord?

Withering Sorrows raised his hands.  His talons stretched towards the ceiling.  As they did, their spindly shadows swung along with the chandeliers.  One of them touched Tad’s leg and he felt a chill. 

“Did you think your achievements protected you from my wrath?  It was only my respect for the Doctor that kept you safe. Had he not taken responsibility for you, I would have had your rebelliousness beaten out of you while you were young!  But now it will be best to simply end you.” They flexed their fingers, popping knuckles which hadn’t been there a moment before. The Dread Lord leaned forward and stared at Hohza.  The orc’s gaze didn’t waiver despite Withering Sorrows scraping one pointed nail across his cheek, drawing blood.

Bigrummar lumbered beside Hohza.  “Let me take Hohza and his War Party into my own.  The shame of demotion will be enough to keep any orc from listening to his nonsense ever again!”

Withering Sorrows took their hand from Hohza and clasped them together.  They considered Bigrummar’s proposal with a bemused smile on their face.  “Why should you care, Bigrummar? You’ve tried to kill him a dozen times.”

“He would make my War Party all the stronger.  We would be feared across the Land as we spread your glory, Dread Lord.” Bigrummar bowed his head. 

“Noble,” the Dread Lord commented, their tone droll and unimpressed.  “Not something I would have said of you before.”

“Thank you?” Bigrummar scratched his head.

“Do you see, Hohza, how infectious your attitude can be? It’s even inspiring this brute to work against my will.  Unlike him, however, I’m sure you can appreciate why you and the others must be killed.”

With a right hand three times larger than a moment before, the Dread Lord swiped at Hohza.  The orc ducked the attack. While on the ground he snatched up the Wraith’s Edge.  Hohza stood and thrust the handsome weapon of gold flecked black stone at Withering Sorrows’ temple.  The blade bounced off the wraith’s pitch skin and dropped to the floor.  Hohza grabbed his sprained wrist and stared at the Dread Lord. 

“It seems reading hasn’t taught you everything.” The Dread Lord retrieved the weapon without stooping to grab it.  “The Wraith’s Edge only works when wielded by an immortal.  That means a wraith.”  They grabbed the back of Hohza’s head with the left hand and pulled it back.  With the right, they touched the tip of the blade to Hohza’s chest.  A web of red light spread across his skin, stretching from one shoulder to the other. Then the skin beneath the light swelled and burst.  Hohza yelled out, but the Dread Lord drew the blade across his skin, delighting as new wounds appeared around it.

“He deserves better than that,” Glum muttered.  He reached for Tad and put his arms around him.  “Don’t look, kid.”

The doors to the banquet hall were thrown open.  Toran stood at the precipice. Behind him the invaders from the World of Light were gathered and armed. Even the Lieutenant, whom both Ayara and Glum had spoken ill of throughout dinner, stood in the rear with his staff.  Even Bigrummar’s War Party was there, although they stood back, wary of showing aggression to the Dread Lord.

“You’re still here?”  The Dread Lord pushed Hohza to the floor.  The orc gasped as his carved chest struck the carpet. The wraith also flung away the Wraith’s Edge, which skidded across the carpet but stopped when it struck the table.

“I can’t let him get it back!” Tad tore free of Glum and scrambled around the table.  When he first tried to pick up the blade its weight kept it in place.  Using both hands he strained to drag the Wraith’s Edge away. 

“Put that down, boy!” Glum thwacked Tad’s hands with his cane. 

The boy didn’t release the dagger, though. “If I have it the Dread Lord can’t use it to hurt Hohza again.”

“It’ll take him not even a second to take it from you!”

“Dread Lord Withering Sorrows,” Toran clasped his hands together.  “I beg you to favor exile over execution. I can take them all away from here to a place just outside Yendell where they can live among their kind.  You can tell the Dread Lords they suffered the most horrible deaths imaginable.  I’m sure many would think life in the World of Light to be just that!”

“I will not have my songs contain verses of my weakness, Toran!” Withering Sorrows’ eyes flared.  The Dread Lord looked about, noting the movements of the elves and orcs.   

“Haven’t discussed this a thousand times over? Mercy and compassion are not weakness! Even the Makers lamented slaying the Primarch!  They’d marvel at the Dread Lord who allowed their servants to live, despite their folly, rather than continue the legacy of suffering and domination?  Yours would be a tune that would soar among the others! Withering Sorrows, the first Dread Lord to raise up their subjects!”

That didn’t sound so bad, Tad thought.  Was this what Hohza was always getting in trouble for preaching to the other orcs?

Gohta ran from the kitchen door and bounded over the table.  He got to Hohza and began helping him to his feet.  Thick strings of blood dangled from Hohza’s chest as Gohta lifted him.

The Dread Lord stared down Toran an uncomfortably long time.  All the while, the occupants of the banquet hall were frozen in fearful anticipation.  “Your great Yendell has seen more years than most Dread Lords, Doctor Toran.” The venom in the Dread Lord’s voice as they spoke their friend’s name made it seem like he meant it as an insult.  “Do you think it was achieved by being merciful?  Do you think for even a moment that they mean to show mercy to Harnen?  No, Yendell survived and will continue to do so by crushing its enemies.”

The warm smile on Toran’s face was replaced by tight puzzlement.  He turned from the Dread Lord to the Lieutenant. 

“Don’t be so naive, Toran. Do you really think they’d go through such effort just to sit down and have a conversation with her,” the Dread Lord taunted in a sinister, cold tone.

“I would never be her assassin,” Toran remonstrated the Lieutenant.

“You wouldn’t have to be.”  Chrincha’s smile was mirthless.

Toran huffed.  He made trembling fists.  Rather than strike the Lieutenant he looked to the Dread Lord.  “I apologize, old friend, for thinking I could leave.  I request to stay here, with you, and continue—"

“The time for that is quite past, Doctor.”  The Dread Lord lashed out. Black tendrils veined in light wrapped around Hohza and Gohta.  They lifted the orcs into the air.  “We all have our masters, doctor.  I must serve my pride you have to answer to yours in Yendell.  My servants will box your belongings and send them along.  Perhaps, in another thousand years, you can find your way back here.” The Dread Lord began squeezing the life from Hohza and Gohta.

Glum released Tad’s hand.  “Now’s our chance!” The codger propelled himself on his cane towards the kitchen door, where Bigrummar had joined Yurzan in pounding on it.  How strong was that door, Tad wondered, as he followed, still dragging the Wraith’s Edge. 

“No! Tad, over here,” Ayara called from the opposite door.

Before him, Bigrummar pounded the kitchen door so hard that it buckled against the frame but didn’t collapse.  Yurzan yelled at the orcs and goblins inside, calling them cowards for not helping. Behind, Tad heard Bonnelle and the others filling into the room.  Magical blasts pinged against the Dread Lord.  Hohza cursed at the wraith despite struggling for breath.

Glum stopped and leaned into his cane.  He watched the door continue to hold despite being cracked from Bigrummar’s pounding.  “Must be wraith magic.  The Dread Lord controls almost everything about the Keep.” He licked his lips and began hobbling back to the table.  “I’ve an idea. Come with me.”

While following his boss Tad saw the invaders took the lead in combatting Withering Sorrows.  When Bonnelle smashed her hammer against the Dread Lord’s back they didn’t even flinch as the anvil-like head sunk into their inky flesh.  Blasts from Ayara’s gloves and Lt. Chrincha’s staff glanced off the wraith as though they’d been pelted with water bladders. Hohza and Gohta kicked and clawed at the Dread Lord, but their struggles only allowed the tendrils to further constrict.  

Around the sideways table, nearer the fighting, Glum retrieved the Eggfinity’s in its pouch.  “Take this! Turn yourself to stone! It will keep you safe!”

Tad had told him about how Hohza used it to subdue Gohta.  Glum then reminded Tad that it was immortal stone, according to the manifest, that did not weather nor break.  If Tad used the Eggfinity the Dread Lord might not be able to harm him.  Would that matter, though, if he was left a statue?

The boy let go of the dagger and clasped the bag in his hands.  “Glum, maybe you should.”

“This is not the time to argue with me, Tad! Do this!” The old goblin leaned into the boy.  He fumbled with the bag, his trembling hands seeking the cinch.  Tears streamed down his cheeks.  “You need to hold it tight so the Dread Lord can’t take pry it from your hands. Maybe someday someone will undo the spell and you’ll be safe. Please just listen to me.” He sobbed.

Immortal stone, Tad reminded himself.  He looked at the dagger by his feet, which was little more than a letter opener in the hands of someone mortal.  He snatched the pouch back from Glum with his right hand and leaned to grab the Wraith’s Edge’s handle with his left.  “I promise to start listening to you if we survive this!” Tad ran toward the Dread Lord. He ran his thumb over the velvet pouch, seeking its opening, but careful not to touch the stone egg inside.  It would be best to hold it loose, so it falls from his hand, Tad decided. 

Fall. That’s what he had to do! He imagined breaking machines, with parts falling over and fasteners, belts, and haphazardly applied tape fell.  He approached the base of the Dread Lord.  From a distance it always seemed like they wore an oily black robe, but now Tad saw it was more like a puddle that the wraith rose from.  Above Tad, Hohza gurgled in anguish.  Ribs snapped as the wraith’s tendrils wound tighter.

“Tad, get out of here,” Hohza strained to say.

The boy frowned, knowing it was a bad thing to disobey both bosses with one action.  Hadn’t Hohza wanted to be advised of alternatives before they were performed?  He just didn’t seem to get anything right!

“What’s this?” The Dread Lord pushed their head toward Tad.  They didn’t lean so much as stretch their neck to arm’s length.  Those pinprick red eyes looked down at Tad, but he met their gaze.  He’d have given anything to work alongside the Dread Lord, who had once saved his life. That didn’t give them the right to take it themself, nor those of Glum, Hohza, Toran, or the others.  Even if Withering Sorrows wanted to be like Gohta, who was fueled by anger, at least that orc didn’t try to kill everyone.

He saw Ayara watching the exchange with a face stretched by fear. Her fingers were poised to attack the Dread Lord with her gloves again, despite how useless they’d been so far. Three days ago, she’d been ready to kill him, but now was willing to lay down her life to protect him.

Although it strained his arm, Tad raised the dagger and pointed it at a clump of the dread lord’s fluid form.  Maybe it was a foot.  “Why couldn’t you have been more like them?”

“I’m not weak.”

Tad stood on his right foot and tilted forward, keeping his left foot lifted back for balance.  “I am, and I’d rather be weak than be like you.” He rolled on his sole and fell forward.  When he was sure he’d land properly, he let his right thumb find the smooth, cool surface of the stone egg.