The Dark Lord of Crafting

As we approached the way station, the sky faded from gold into the melancholy shades of sunset. Even as the world darkened, my eyes, Beleth’s parting gift, adjusted to present me with new clarity. They drank in the fading colors, even those reflected from the orichalcum of my armor, transforming the landscape into a field of shining grays.

Our trek from the homestead had gone by too quickly. Leto was warming up to me, and with what was potentially waiting for us in Dargoth, I had considered not returning to Mount Doom. If Bojack died with his oathblade intact, I would still be bound to our agreement, and there was no way to escape its strictures without finding the blade. If he wasn’t around to clarify the orders he had given me, they were open to interpretation. Killing individual demons wouldn’t break our pact and initiate the curse, but wiping them all out would.

Intent also had to be taken into account. I couldn’t with the sole purpose of purifying Plana. Any progress I made on that front would have to be incidental, and that would quickly become a balancing act too complicated to manage.

If he was dead.

We had been walking on the red granite road all day, a straight shot through an endless stretch of black and gray sand. The way station loomed, a finger of dark stone stabbing up into the sky and casting a long shadow over the sands.

Esmelda’s long, chestnut brown hair swayed with her steps, as Leto was currently riding Marie. Her dress was simple but fine, like most everything she wore, clothes that made her look like she belonged in some elegant drawing room, not in the middle of an apocalyptic desert. Was it a leftover from our previous life, or had she been making dresses in a cabin in the woods? The fading light gave her heart-shaped face an almost ethereal glow.

Leto had been trying to act independent, but I’d often seen him watching his mother for cues and reassurance. He looked uncomfortable atop the horse. Not because he couldn’t ride, he’d been doing that his entire life, but the Wastes made him nervous. For someone who had known only a temperate little patch of the world as home, the desert had to seem like a hellscape.

Gastard trailed a few paces behind us, his eyes trained on the tower, scrutinizing it as if he expected arrows to begin whizzing out at any moment. If it came to that, I had my own bow and magic arrows, and more than enough stone to throw up a bulwark for my family while I dealt with whoever had decided to give us a problem. On our last visit, taking over the way station had been touch and go. With my new armor, however, regular soldiers weren’t much of a threat to me anymore.

As we got closer, a sense of unease knotted up in my gut. This was the moment of truth. Would the soldiers recognize me as their Dark Lord, or were they still operating under old orders? After what had happened last time, Kevin was sure to have warned his gatekeepers about the threat of

other Survivors. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone today.

My eyes darted to the guards standing on either side of the portcullis at the end of a drawbridge. They stood stiffly, their mail painted white, with polearms at rest. They had to see us, and they weren’t sounding any alarms. That was a good sign, right?

As we came within throwing distance, still without a response from the guards, the heavy iron portcullis lifted. Chains rattled and gears turned somewhere in the darkness of the tower, hoisting the gate inch by inch until it was high enough for us to pass beneath.

My shoulders relaxed. It felt like someone had just removed a fifty-pound weight, or a hundred pounds, considering how much I could carry now. They knew who I was supposed to be. There was no other reason to welcome a man in magical full-plate into your garrison. No arrows were flying through the air, and the guards, if anything, stood a little stiffer, as if they were expecting an inspection.

I shared a glance with Esmelda, and even though she tried to hide it, I saw my relief mirrored in her eyes. We stepped under the towering gate and into the way station, walking unimpeded through a short tunnel vault lined with murder holes, exchanging the heat of the desert for the mildly hospitable air of the tower.

The double doors beyond the vault were already open, and another set of guards approached; an entire team of them, at least twenty, lined up to salute me. Whenever I saw Kevin’s soldiers in a group, I couldn’t help being reminded of the Stormtroopers from Star Wars. Their armor was that uniform.

Of course, they weren’t Kevin’s Stormtroopers anymore, they were mine, and they didn’t pull a single blaster rifle on us.

"Dark Lord, we were informed of your arrival by Vizier Zareth," one of them said, his voice sounding tinny through the helmet. "Your wyverns are prepared and ready for travel."

My wyverns, as in, more than one. "Lead the way," I replied, improvising an imperious wave of my hand.

The mobs were huddling under a marquee on the roof of the way station, protected from the dying light. My mount had come back, and he lifted his head, flexing his wide maw in an expression that would have been terrifying if I hadn’t grown accustomed to the beast's quirks. There were four other wyverns beside him, looking cramped and irritable after spending the day unable to stretch their wings.

Sure, they were monsters, and they could eat people, but they were kind of cute after you got to know them.

Esmelda looked at the creatures with suspicion, her gray eyes narrowed and uncertain. Leto, on the other hand, seemed more curious than afraid, tugging at his mother's hand as if asking to go closer. Whenever monsters weren’t trying to kill me, I rather liked them, and my son seemed to share that affinity.

Esmelda's fingers tightened around our son’s hand as she stared at the wyverns.

"They're...intimidating," she said, choosing her words with care.

Leto was more vocal about his reservations. "Aren't they evil?" he asked, pulling his gaze away from the wyverns to look up at me. His eyes filled with a blend of excitement and apprehension that only a child could muster.

"Up for debate,” I said, trying to ease the tension. “They are dangerous, though.” I frowned, turning back to the soldier. “Where’s the handler, or did they fly here by themselves?”

“She’s with us, lord.” The man saluted, calling down the shaft that led to the roof. Shortly after, a woman in riding leathers climbed up to the roof with a stuffed sack slung over her back. She bowed deeply to me, and inclined her head to each of my companions.

“May I speak?” She asked, keeping her gaze down.

“Sure,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Lenda.” The woman was whip-thin, with muscle corded on her forearms. She’d shaved the sides of her head, and what remained of her hair was braided in the back, less a stylistic choice than something that would tighten the fit of her riding cap. “I am the Wyvern Marshall of Mount Doom, and Vizier Zareth asked me to bring the beasts here and keep them ready for your use.”

“I’ve ridden them before,” I said, “but would they be safe for my companions?”

The woman’s gaze flitted back to Esmelda and Leto, curious. Whatever questions she had, she kept to herself.

“Perfectly so. The gear I have with me should suit them,” she dropped her pack and began sorting out leathers, then looked over at Gastard. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have anything in his size.”

Messengers were generally on the small side, like jockeys. The less of a burden the wyverns carried, the faster and farther they could fly. My knightly friend stood apart from us, his expression twisted into a scowl. Though he hadn’t said anything, I knew he wasn't thrilled about the wyverns, or what their presence entailed. Gastard was a loyal man, but I could recognize how far it would be pushing that loyalty to command him to ride a creature he would see as fit only for extermination, or to entrust Emselda’s well-being to the same.

I walked under the marquee to eyeball the monsters, looking for signs of aggression. They were trained to carry messengers, and as long as they were under a demon’s control, they wouldn’t randomly attack humans, but I’d already seen the consequences of that control slipping. I touched each of them in turn, looking into their beady eyes. Even if they were trained, I didn’t want to risk my family on the whims of a beast I wasn’t intimately familiar with. Noivern didn’t belong to Orobas, he’d been tamed by my System.

I crouched down to be at eye level with Leto. “I’d like you and your mother to go together on my mount. There are extra straps on the saddles to accommodate two riders, and I trust him. As long as you are respectful, he shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“This isn’t wise,” Gastard broke his silence. “These beasts aren’t horses, they are man killers.”

Hearing that, Leto took a step back. He looked up to Gastard, and he would probably agree with whatever decision the templar made.

“From the look of you,” Lenda bristled, “you are a man-killer. But you serve the Dark Lord, as we all do. These beasts are to be treated with caution, it is true, but I have tended them for years, and they know their duty.”

Gastard’s face darkened at the “man-killer” comment, but I stepped between them.

“How urgent is our return?” I asked the marshall, “What was the state of Mount Doom when you left? Is it under attack?”

“Very likely, my Dark,” Lenda bowed again. “The enemy's forces had not arrived when I departed, but by now, the mountain will be under siege.”

“What are we up against?”

“From our flyovers, we estimated the enemy army well outnumbers the garrison at Mount Doom. There is at least one rebel demon among them. A raven. He commands the winds, and brought down several of our scouts.

"I hate putting this on you," I said to Esmelda. "Wyverns aren't very cuddly, but Mount Doom is under siege, and they need me back as soon as possible. If you don’t feel comfortable riding, I can go ahead while you three stay here. I wouldn’t want you to follow on the ground with Dargoth in the state it is.”

“That is acceptable,” Gastard said. “I am not afraid to see battle, and would relish the opportunity to fight at your side once more, but my other obligations take precedence.”

"I don’t want to be separated again,” Esmelda said, her face drawn. “If these beasts are meant to be ridden, we can ride them. You said Leto and I could be carried together?”

“Yes,” I gestured at Noivern, “that one’s mine.”

The wyvern may have mistaken the motion of my hand as a treat toss, as he chose that moment to gape his razor-lined maw and trill. Esmelda stiffened, and Leto took a step back, though they were well out of reach of the wyverns.

“We’ll feed them first,” Lenda said, “and then I’ll show you how to mount and teach you the basic commands. These beasts are smarter than they look, and they listen to everything we say. You don’t have to be afraid.”

With night minutes away, I placed torches around the roof. Shadowbane would have hurt the wyverns, but simple light was enough to prevent spawns while the wyverns had dinner and Lenda commenced a coaching session.

Gastard wasn’t happy, but he didn’t argue further. As much as I didn’t want to be separated again, if he had put his foot down on the issue, I would have gone on alone. With what we were flying into, I was already worried that this was the wrong choice.

An extra-large harpy landed on a crenelation near me, and when I met her eyes, I knew it was Celaeno.

“You make strange allies,” she said.

“You’re one to talk,” I replied. Was riding a wyverns any stranger than having harpies follow me wherever I went? “Is the flock with you? I thought you would all be on the mountain.”

“Most remain.” She preened her glossy black plumage, pulling an unruly feather through her beak. “I came in warning. Your foes are encamped, and their demon keeps us away.”

“What are they doing?”

“Building stone tossers. They brought a feast with them, more than the flock could ever eat.”

She meant the mobs. “If we fly through the night,” I said, “can you keep up with the wyverns? There’s going to be phantoms.”

“They are swift,” Celaeno said, continuing to groom herself. “As are we.”

Not long after that, we were soaring through the air, and a journey that would have eaten days was reduced to hours overnight. The harpies were keeping pace with us, and even when phantoms did spawn, they couldn’t keep up. Those that appeared close enough to us to be a threat attacked me exclusively, my Purifier status making me the most tempting target. The achievement causing me to aggro hostile mobs had seemed like a drawback at first, but when there were people nearby I wanted to protect, it was a blessing.

The wyverns' powerful wings beat against the swirling air currents, the gusts of wind tinged with acrid fumes. I glanced over at Leto. He and his mother had both donned the protective gear of messengers, his eyes wide and exhilarated.

“Is this what planes were like?” Leto yelled over the howling winds, his voice tinged with awe.

"Not really!" I shouted back.

The leathers shielded them from the worst of the windburn, and the wyverns were well adapted to the inhospitable atmospheric conditions. I felt a rush of adrenaline as we banked around a sagging cloud that had suddenly erupted with multi-colored lightning. I’d never seen it strike the ground or a flying creature, but now I worried that the storm itself was a greater risk than any mob while we were in the air.

The scarred, fungal-infested landscape of Dargoth rolled away beneath us as Mount Doom materialized ahead, the fortress a dark smudge along its flanks. Plumes of smoke rose from cracked plains around the mountain, signs of the invading army at rest. That smoke was set against the backdrop of the black-brown column pouring from the mountain's caldera, the emissions of the cauldron in the forge.

A wave of relief washed over me when I saw that the walls were intact, their ramparts unbroken and manned with soldiers. Defensive turrets jutted out at intervals along the fortification, with catapults at the ready secured on broad platforms. They might be under siege, but Mount Doom was anything but a soft target.

Siege engines had been raised among the enemy lines, tall, wheeled wooden towers, and trebuchets. The army sprawled across the foothills, with strings of supplies still approaching, what must have been their last support from Nargul before Berith took over for me.

A rough estimate told me their numbers were in the thousands, including the usual menagerie from Bedlam. Trolls stalked about, some aiding in construction. They had a varghest cavalry division, and more than their share of shamblers, stationed in eerie stillness to either side of the main force. Human soldiers filled several full companies, though they weren’t positioned for a march on the walls. Much of the encampment was asleep.

As my gaze swept over the army, I searched for the presence of Malphas, the raven demon I’d been warned about. But no magical winds assailed us as we cut a long arc around the enemy to bring us to the mountain. As the wyverns descended the aery, the wyverns spread out in a line so as not to jostle each other. One by one, we spiraled into the silo.

Noivern let out a satisfied screech, happy to be home. As we dismounted, grooms were already running with buckets of water and offal for the beasts.

Zareth was the first to greet me. I hadn’t been gone all that long, but he seemed even slenderer than the last time I’d seen him. The stress of the siege was getting to him, even his goatee looked out of sorts, the braid at his chin frizzed without oil.

Bojack came next, wearing a red toga and a golden stash. His wardrobe had expanded since we came to Mount Doom and he became the head demon in Dargoth. He didn’t look happy, but that was nothing new.

Zareth pulled me aside immediately, urgency written on his face. "My lord, the situation grows dire," he said, keeping his voice low. "No doubt you observed the weapons they are constructing. Given their size, and Malphas’s magic, I have no doubt they will outrange our catapults by a significant margin. In another day at the most, they will begin battering the walls."

That news wasn’t great, but I’d had worse. The walls of Mount Doom could survive a little battering, and now that I was back, I could do something about those trebuchets. If we had delayed our return any longer, it could have been a catastrophe, but now it was just one more problem to be solved.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said.

Zareth visibly relaxed, looking as if he was about to collapse.

Bojack spoke over us. "Your expedition to Nargul left us thinly staffed here," he said in a gravelly voice. "Most of the lesser entities and foot soldiers went with you. It didn’t seem prudent to face the enemy in the field.”

Was he apologizing for not already having the situation wrapped up? It was hard to tell with Bojack.

“They should already be back,” I said. “Nargul is ours, and Gaap was supposed to bring the army here. Where are they?”

“Ah,” Zareth sighed, “that is good news. Our scouts did report another force approaching, but they took it to be reinforcements for Malphas.”

“Well, if they’ve got a monkey leading them, then they’re ours.” Unless other demons were involved, Malphas wasn’t getting any help, and we would be able to hit him from both sides.

"Anything else to report?” I asked. “Have they just been camping out there?"

Bojack answered me without inflection. "Malphas attempted an infiltration. A squad of Voidmen breached the fortress, intent on freeing Kevin. I dealt with them myself."

That was a scary thought. I didn’t know if Voidmen would have been able to break Kevin out of his cage, but they certainly could have caused havoc within the walls. Kevin getting out would be worse than ten armies joining the siege.

I saw Esmelda take Leto to a quieter corner of the aery. She wrapped her arms around him and whispered something in his ear. Leto glanced at Bojack before he looked back at his mother. His face was tight.

Oh, right.

They had never seen a demon before, and demons were the most feared servants of the Dark Lord. They were also the lillit equivalent of Boogeymen. This was going to take some adjustment for them both.

Gastard, who had been increasingly tense ever since I’d asked him to ride a wyvern, was ready to unsheathe his sword the moment Bojack set foot on the aery. His hand remained on the hilt of his weapon as he hovered protectively near Esmelda and Leto. I’d been so caught up that I had practically forgotten about my family's presence.

Maybe it was time for introductions. I turned to Esmelda, Leto, and Gastard.

"This is Zareth, my vizier, and this is Bojack, my right-hand horseman.”

Zareth bowed deeply, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "It is a true honor to stand in the presence of the Dark Lord's family," he said, his voice full of genuine respect.

Bojack snorted and offered nothing more than a dismissive wave, a clear contrast to Zareth's decorum.

Esmelda's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "The honor is ours," she told the vizier.

"Make sure they have somewhere secure to stay,” I said, “We can talk strategy when they’re settled."

"Of course, my lord," Zareth responded, already moving to execute my orders. He turned to Esmelda, Leto, and Gastard. "If you would be so kind as to follow me, I'll escort you to your chambers. They have been prepared to the utmost standards, befitting those beloved of our Dark Lord."

Esmelda shot me a glance, her eyes filled with lingering worry. She gripped Leto's hand more tightly, reassuring both him and herself. Gastard remained as taut as a bowstring, his fingers grazing the hilt of his sword, but he nodded ever so slightly at Zareth’s words, accepting the situation for the moment.

As they began to follow Zareth away from the landing platform, Esmelda turned back, a fleeting instant. Our eyes met, and then, she turned away.

As soon as we were alone, Bojack snorted.

"While you were out, something else of note occurred," he said.

“What?”

"A harbinger appeared in Kevin’s cell.”