The Dark Lord of Crafting

Valefor wasn’t stingy with the food. By morning, we had fifty wagons rolling out to meet our supply train: salted meats, dry beans, hardtack, and even some cheese. There was also a tremendous supply of barrels, most of which were water, but at least one wagon was just beer. That was all human food. There were also large numbers of soggy-looking crates filled with disgusting slaughterhouse byproducts for the monsters that made up the bulk of my expeditionary force. I received the delivery in the company of my demons.

Gaap strutted around giving orders to the wagoners, while Malphas and Astaroth kept close to me. The two birds were similarly reserved, though the crow struck me as being arrogant and aloof, whereas Astaroth was almost meek. Odd behavior, considering he was a peacock.

“This will last a week,” Malphas clicked. “We should be in Atlan by then.”

“A week?” I said, “Is that all?”

The crow fluffed the feathers around his head with his hands like he was worried about his appearance. “The trolls are hungry.”

Fair enough. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the logistics of moving an army around, and it was hard to visualize the supply requirements without seeing them first. Zareth had been taking care of that sort of thing for me, but he was far away now. At least the zombie seneschal seemed to know what he was doing.

Astaroth chirped. “They can go hungry if they must, but it will make them weak. And the enemy is close. Water is the sharper pang. We need better maps of the grasslands. There are no great rivers between Gundurgon and the north.”

“I’m not as worried about water,” I said. “I can refill all these barrels myself if I need to.” It would be an annoying process, given the limited output of my thermos, but the supply was infinite.

The wagons were brought in by horses and oxen, but I sent most of them back. There wasn’t enough good grazing land in Dargoth to support that many animals, and monsters could pull them just as well.

Furtur brought me the sulfur himself. Two small crates were tied on either side of a pack mule that looked like it was having a hard time of it. The deer demon acknowledged his counterparts before addressing me.

“Lord of Shadows,” he said, inclining his head, “I have brought you what you asked for. If you intend to fulfill your bargain with Valefor, a witness must accompany you on your journey into Atlan. I will be the one to follow you.”

“No.” My response caused him to stop short in mid-bow. He looked up sharply.

“You are not in a position to refuse.”

Malphas clacked his beak, and I felt the air grow hot. A circlet of flame sprang into being above my helmet, momentarily distracting me from Furtur’s haughty reply. I glanced at Astaroth, who nodded at me, the fingers of one of his hands had contorted into a mystic sign. Had he just done that for effect? While I didn’t mind the aesthetic, summoning flames that close to my face was something that needed to be discussed beforehand. Still, it was nice to know that at least one of my demons would take the initiative when it came to backing me up.

“I won’t have an unbound demon following me,” I said to Furtur. “You can accompany us only if you swear an oath.”

The stag straightened. He was already tall, and lithe, and the additional two feet of horns made him seem stretched. “As the Duke said, I will not swear to your service until you have shown that you are worthy of my loyalty. However, I would consider a provisionary oath.”

With a mental twitch, I summoned the oathblade from my inventory, extending its white gold edge toward the demon.

“Let’s hear your words.”

“Very well.” He extended his hand to touch the tip of the sword, his dark, emotionless gaze locked onto mine. “I swear to neither harm nor threaten you or any of your companions, to accompany you as an observer, and support your efforts as I choose, bound for as long as we travel together.”

“I refuse your oath.” As soon as he had finished speaking, a mote of essence had begun to flow from his fingers up the length of the oath blade, but the mote vanished at my response, failing to reach the glowing crystal at the end of its hilt.

Furtur stood very still. “Why?”

“Your words were meaningless. A broken oath wouldn’t kill you instantly, and from the way you phrased it, I think the geas would have lost its power the moment you left my company. If you want me to trust you, that isn’t going to cut it.”

The flames burned brighter above my head. While I appreciated the effect, it was a bit much.

“Perhaps you are a worthy lord,” Furtur said, drawing out the words. “Forgive me, it is not in my nature to accept these chains. But I will do so if I must. I will swear a different oath.”

I glanced at Malphas, who eyed the newcomer appraisingly. “He may not be actively planning to betray you, my lord, our kind does like to keep our options open, however.”

I nodded. “Try again.”

Furtur closed his eyes. “I swear upon my deepest essence that I will not betray you, neither in word nor deed nor seek to bring harm to you or your companions. I will serve you to the best of my ability for the period of a month–”

Malephas’s croak interrupted the statement, and Furtur clarified the statement in the same breath, dropping his head in annoyance.

“Which here shall mean thirty days from today. Should I fail in my duty, may the force of this oath pursue me for as long as the blade it is sworn upon remains true.”

A fraction of his essence traveled up the edge, coming to rest among the other crimson motes swirling within the crystal. This back and forth made me wonder if I needed to take a closer look at all the oaths the other demons had sworn, given that there was so much room for interpretation in the phrasing. But it would do for now.

“I’ll mark my calendar,” I said.

***

Four demons and I crowded around a table covered in maps, Furtur had brought up-to-date depictions of Grimwald as well as territories in Atlan. We hadn’t bothered setting up a tent, so we were standing in the open as the wagons moved around us and the laborers did their best to remain unobtrusive in our presence. One of the maps was marked with the locations of previous raids, as well as which towns were still untouched, and where garrisons were stationed to defend them. The orkhans fought on horseback, and they were skilled enough bowmen to fire from the saddle. Whatever bows they used had better range than the crossbows that Dargoth’s soldiers were equipped with, and they made a habit of whittling down any enemy force before closing to finish them off. It still seemed like a strategy that demonic magic, and the right monsters, should have been able to counter.

Zombies would be useless, but Voidmen were fast enough to chase down a horse, and you had to put an awful lot of arrows in a hollow knight before it would even be inconvenienced. Trolls were all but immune to normal ammunition unless you happened to shoot them in the eye.

“So what’s the problem,” I said. “How haven’t you been able to stop these guys yet?”

“Their shamans,” Furtur said. “They practice a sorcery which is anathema to our own. The strongest among them can banish the lesser entities, and break our spells.”

“It is nothing but a failure of will,” Malphas said, glaring at Furtur. “Eight harbingers dwell in Gundurgon. If you had gone together, no single power of this realm would have been enough to oppose you.”

“Perhaps,” Valefor allowed, “but if we pursued them out of the cover of the storm, we would be at a disadvantage. The orkhans are happy to retreat if a battle does not turn in their favor.”

“Four of you and one of me should be more than enough to manage any shamans,” I said, “but what else can they do? And where does their power come from? Aside from demons and heroes, I’ve seen anyone using magic in this world.”

“There are native powers for them to draw upon,” Malphas said. “I was not present for the early conquest of Dargoth, but there were once sorcerers here as well. We deemed their existence to be too much of a challenge to our authority, and Kevin agreed. Their schools were destroyed, and their manuscripts burned.”

“Seems shortsighted,” I said, “if the other nations still have magic users.” But demons didn’t think that way. They were full of themselves, and they wouldn’t have wanted mere humans wielding powers akin to their own. The Free Kingdoms had laws against the use of magic, so I’d known it was a thing in some sense, but I’d thought of it as a historical side note rather than a potential threat.

“Their spells aid them against the shadow,” Furtur said, “and support their warriors, giving them surpassing stamina and fervor, but they are capable of little else.”

Gaap waved his hairy arm over the maps. “Where are they now? I want to meet these shamans.”

“They move constantly,” Furtur said. “But if we travel to Salenus, they are sure to come to us before we arrive.”

Salenus was a dark spot on an otherwise empty territory. Atlan was a land of rolling grass, with hardly any mountains to speak of. It was dotted with lakes, but apparently, the Orkhans didn’t establish permanent cities. They were nomadic, surviving in small bands until those groups were called together for a raid. It didn’t sound like a society that could challenge Dargoth, but the Mongols had taken over China and a lot of other countries in their heyday using the same playbook.

“How long will it take us to get there?” I asked.

Malphas gestured at the wagons, the people busily tracking the supplies and preparing for their distribution. Our human cohort was relatively small, a few hundred in total, including those who were there as support. Still, I didn’t want to run out of food in the middle of enemy territory.

“At the speed of a march, close to ten days.” He said.

“I thought we only had enough for a week?”

“With proper rationing, it can be done. Once we face the orkhans, we can slaughter their horses, and take whatever else they have. Our numbers will be reduced as well.”

It was a cold calculus, but accurate. I didn’t like the idea of killing a bunch of horses, but it could become necessary. “What happens when they attack,” I asked. “Do we have a game plan?”

The blue feathers on the back of Astaroth’s head popped up. “We can stop their arrows,” he said, glancing at Malphas. “Wind and flame will be enough for that.”

“The air is mine to command,” Gaap said loudly, “I will stop them myself.”

I’d forgotten that the baboon had an air affinity as well. He’d never made use of his powers in my presence. That left the stag.

“What about you?” I asked. “What can you do?”

“I command the wood,” Furtur said simply.

“What, like, trees?”

“Among other things. Though dead matter is the most biddable.”

“Huh.” It was one of the extra elements Orobas had talked about. If he swore a full oath, we would be one step closer to making a new storm cauldron, not that I particularly wanted that project to succeed. “Can you make plants grow faster?”

The demon shrugged, impatient with my questions. “I can, though it is costly to do so.”

Crops already grew around me at phenomenal speed. I could have fed the army by myself, but only if it was standing still. We couldn’t carry a farm on our backs as we traveled. Would a little demonic magic be able to speed up the process even further? It would have to be a last resort, any food that had been influenced by Furtur’s magic would carry the risk of being tainted by it.

“When we come against them,” I said. “I’ll fly with Noivern and try to take out their shamans myself while you four keep the army organized and defended. Once their spellcasters are dealt with, we can switch to offense.”

“As you wish,” Astaroth said, reverently, and the rest agreed. The peacock seemed to have gone all in on accepting me as a leader in a way the others could only imitate.

“Alright then,” I said. “You all keep the monsters in line. Let’s get moving.”

From here on out, Gaap and the forces of Bedlam would be taking the front, while my family and I remained back with the supply train. When the Orkhans started hitting us, we needed our worst foot forward, and I could try to make sure our resources weren’t stolen from us in a midnight raid.

My human companions weren’t far off. They had gathered around Fladnag’s wagon, and they were in conversation with a massive harpy. Celaeno crowed in greeting as I approached.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“She was waiting to speak with you,” Esmelda said, “and we were sharing some of the dried meat.”

‘It is not as satisfying as fresh,” Celaeno said, regarding me with a violet gaze. Her feathers were so black that she looked like a missing piece in the puzzle of the world.

“Too much salt for you?”

She ruffed her feathers. “Too dead. Too clean. The flesh of Bedlam is what we covet.”

The harpies were the only creatures I knew of other than myself who could eat food tainted by Bedlam and not be the worse for it. They had adapted to the diet, and it was the reason they were more than just big birds.

“Have you seen something?” I said.

“The future is as dense as these skies,” Celaeno said. “But there is something ahead of us, something looming, and it fills me with fear.”

“You mean other than the Orkhans.” I stopped to pat Leto’s shoulder, and he glanced up at me to frown. Whether or not he was interested in my affection seemed to vary day by day.

Gastard was sitting on the bench of the wagon beside Fladnag, running a whetstone along the edge of his blade. Fladnag was puffing drowsily on his pipe. The smoke smelled bitter, with a skunky undertone. Whatever herbs he was breathing in had him in a good mood.

“Perhaps she means Salenus,” he said, “or the choice that stands behind it.”

“He won’t destroy it,” Esmelda said.

Gastard grunted. “Then what are we going there for?”

“We’re here to deal with the Orkhans,” I said. “That doesn’t necessarily involve smashing any monuments to the goddess.”

Esmelda’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying it might?”

“That depends on what we find in the north,” I said. “I’m hoping this adventure can lead to allies instead of enemies. That reminds me, what language do the orkhans speak?”

“I don’t know,” Esmelda said, “I didn’t know anything about Atlan until we came here. The Shui mentions other peoples beyond Dargoth, but the references are vague. I grew up thinking the Dark Lord had stretched his shadow over the whole world outside of the Free Kingdoms.”

“Their leaders will have some Kevinian,” Fladnag said, “but their language is called Ongol.”

We all looked at him, and he took a long puff before blowing out a few smoke rings, apparently content to leave it at that.

“I thought you hadn’t traveled this far before,” I said. “Can you speak it?”

“I can,” he said. “I may have a book scribed in that tongue tucked away somewhere as well, if you are interested in seeing it.”

Did he know I could harvest a language like I harvested trees? “That would be a great help,” I said, “and if there’s any negotiation to be done, I’ll take you along.”

“Certainly.” The old man lowered his head. A moment later, his breathing deepened as if he had fallen asleep. His pipe slipped down to his side, and Gastard patted out its contents before producing an oilcloth to polish his blade.

“We should get moving,” I said. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”

Esmelda glanced at Fladnag. “Who’s going to drive the wagon?”

Leto jumped to his feet. “I will!”

The old man stirred but didn’t object.