The Dark Lord of Crafting

I ran toward the flames. Tilting forward, I barreled through a line of shamblers and leaped over the hedge of desiccated scrubs that Furtur had cultivated behind them. Some of the zombies moved out of my way, but most of them weren’t fast enough, and shouldering through them barely slowed me down. The human soldiers didn’t know what to do about the fire, and people were running around the camp in a panic, or sheltering in place if they were far enough away to escape its heat. Despite the size of the column, it was remarkably contained, and the flames had spread to only a few of the surrounding wagons.

The tower of red and black rose before me, roaring like a beast, and I plunged into it. It was like stepping into the funnel of a burning tornado, with the tower spinning up around a core of calm. The wind was intense, but the heat was somehow bearable, and Fladnag’s wagon sat at the exact center of a space of calm, paint peeling, roof smoldering, but otherwise intact.

The ox and the horses were nowhere to be seen, but Gastard was standing in front of the wagon, his sword drawn behind Astaroth. The peacock demon was sitting on his heels, his head bowed and his eyes closed as if awaiting execution.

“Gastard!” I slowed, and I wasn’t sure if he heard me over the sound of the tornado of fire, but he turned as I reached them.

His grim face was partially visible through the diamond helm, and he saluted with his sword, gesturing toward the wagon. I ducked my head in the front. Esmelda was clutching Leto like she was afraid he would disappear. My son’s face was pale, but he looked fine, excited, even. They were on Fladnag’s cot, and the old man was seated on the bench opposite them. His face was contorted in anguish, and he was gripping his stump, but there was no sign that any of them had been touched by the fire apart from the dusting of ash that had drifted into the wagon.

“Will!” Esmelda looked up, her eyes wide but fierce. “Help him.”

“Who?” I looked at Fladnag. I had no idea what was wrong with him.

“Astaroth.” She said, “He’s going to kill himself if he doesn’t stop.”

My blank expression was hidden behind orichalcum. With everything that was going on, Esmelda was worried about a demon?

“Are you all okay?”

“We’re fine,” Esmelda said. “Do what you have to do.”

Fladnag grunted, and Leto didn’t say anything. He looked at me and produced a weak smile.

“See you soon,” I said, turning to kneel beside Astaroth. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t seem to notice. His beak was moving, muttering incantations under his breath, and his hands were in his lap, going through a cycle of arcane contortions. His feathers looked singed, and his robe was drenched in sweat.

“Enough,” I said, but he didn’t hear me.

“Enough!” I shouted, my voice carrying over the roar of the flames. His hands froze, and rather than responding, he slumped forward, his body going slack. The swirling funnel died from the ground up, detaching from the earth and shrinking. As it dwindled, I got a glimpse of the head of the burning snake he had created still writhing through the enemy forces ahead of us, and a moment later, that too disintegrated into wisps of red and black.

It felt as if silence should have followed in the absence of that roar, but instead, there was pandemonium. The riders that had rushed through our line had broken against the onslaught of Astaroth’s inferno. The back of the column was in retreat, but hundreds of men were engaged in combat with the forces of Bedlam.

A troll lifted a horse over its head, bellowing in rage, and tossed the unfortunate animal into a cadre of Atlan fighters. Hollows and varghests cut in and out of the line, attacking mercilessly, with no care for the wounds they received in return from the short sabers of the riders. Astaroth’s work was on full display. A hundred feet from our wagon, a black ruin of bodies and incinerated camp equipment stretched out in a sinuous wave like a hellish dune. Some of our wagons and people had been caught in the conflagration, but the brunt of that fate had fallen on the riders.

I tried not to think about the deaths. There was work to be done. A clutch of riders was still fighting in an organized fashion, a number of the smaller Atlan groups had banded together around a man who appeared to be shouting orders even as he fired arrows from horseback. They were surrounded by monsters, but making a cautious retreat to the gap of sunlight through which they had come.

Gastard tapped my armored back with the flat of his blade. “I will protect them.” He said. “Go.”

I broke into a sprint, my boots pounding over cracked and blackened soil, I called Kevin’s buster sword out of my inventory, and followed the line of destruction to meet with the enemy. A stag’s horns stood out in the corner of my vision, and I saw bows in the hands of riders ahead of me begin to writhe like serpents, snapping their strings and lashing their wielders.

There were no more shamans to be seen. An unhorsed warrior tried to get in my way, snarling as he thrust with his saber. It slid harmlessly along my breastplate, and my sword ripped through his midsection. Flashes of dark hair, olive skin and blood, bared teeth, and wild eyes, screaming horses, I passed through them barely breaking stride.

Their leader did not try to flee. When he saw me coming, he jinked his horse and met my charge with a wordless battle cry. He wore a wolf pelt over one shoulder, and his short hair was matted with sweat. The thing that struck me about him was how young he looked. His face was lean and angular, but despite his actions, all that I could see in his eyes was fear.

I dismissed the sword, dropping low and planting my feet on the ground, meeting his mount head-on. I felt the collision down my spine, and it cost me two hearts. The animal flipped over me with a pained cry, and the young orkhan tumbled to one side, losing his weapon in the process. I lurched forward, grabbing him before he could recover and lifting him bodily up.

“Call a surrender!” I shouted.

He was shaking, and tears mingled with blood running down the side of his face.

“Surrender!” I demanded again, and he shook his head. The fighting continued around us, and one of his comrades attacked me from behind.

The sensation of his sword ringing against my back plate was a distant thing, and a moment later, a hollow rode in and removed the problem. The battlefield was chaotic, monsters and men rushing back and forth, grouping and breaking apart. A group of riders attempted to come to his rescue, only to be scattered by a troll.

Without the shamans to aid them, the fight was becoming increasingly one-sided. I couldn’t see what the other half of the Atlan army was doing, but there were still arrows falling around us haphazardly, their trajectories disturbed by the barrier of wind still in force above.

“Demon,” the man said, not even struggling against my grip. “Your justice will come.” His promise was undermined by the quaver in his voice. Now that I had him close, I didn’t think he looked older than fifteen. How had he become the leader of a force like this?

“I’m not a demon,” I said, “and I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill any more of your people. You’re the ones attacking us.”

He looked away, saying nothing more. Those of his riders who could retreat had already done so. The rest were being butchered around us, and I had no desire to participate. I put the young leader under my arm like a sack of grain, barely feeling his weight, and sought out Furtur. The demon had surrounded himself with a circle of wooden spikes, and a troll was running interference around him to dissuade would-be heroes from attacking,

There was an arrow sticking out of his back, but it didn’t appear to bother him. The demon saluted me as I approached.

“If anyone surrenders,” I said. “Don’t kill them. Take them captive.”

His head quirked to one side. “Koroshai do not take captives,” he said. “It is an impossible request.”

“Make them,” I said, grinding my teeth. Astaroth was down, and the other demons were in the wind somewhere. I kicked one of the spikes out of my way and dropped the orkhan at his feet. The young man scrambled up into a crouch, the hatred plain on his face, but he had no weapons, and did not attempt to run.

“This is one of their leaders,” I said. “Keep him here and keep him alive.”

The demon nodded, and with a gesture, caused a wooden stake to wrap around the orkhan’s legs like a rope. The boy shouted curses, struggling to free himself, but he didn’t have the strength to do so.

Gastard was still standing sentinel ahead of Fladnag’s wagon. He had laid Astaroth out on the bench built onto its exterior. It didn’t look like any of the enemy had reached them in my absence, and a cluster of soldiers had formed a loose ring around the area.

“It appears you have won,” he said. There was no note of victory in his tone, and I knew how he felt. My heart was still beating in my ears, and though the arrows had stopped coming, I didn’t feel like celebrating. Losing monsters was one thing, but there had been a human cost as well, both for us and for Atlan. There was blood slicking my gauntlets, and the men I had killed were flickering across my mind’s eye like a slideshow.

Malphas landed nearby a moment later, saving me from having to answer.

“They are in full retreat,” the demon reported, sounding satisfied. His robes were in tatters, and he ran his hands through the feathers on his head to bring them back into some semblance of order.

“The other column?” I said.

“Running as well,” he said. “I think their shamans are dead. Do you want me to harry them?”

“No.” Hopefully, they would take the word of what had happened back to the other clan leaders and they would be less eager to take us on. “I don’t want to do any more killing than necessary. They know how much of a threat we are now. They might leave Dargoth, or at least be willing to talk.”

My experience with the shaman and the young orkhan hadn’t done anything to bolster my confidence that we could negotiate with Atlan, but we might have more luck once the heat of battle had faded. More experienced leaders would be able to realize when they were outmatched.

“Are we still going north,” Gastard asked.

I lifted my visor, and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh assaulted my nostrils. “Soon,” I said. “After we clean up.”

The gap in the storm slowly closed, and the field dimmed back to the perpetual twilight of Dargoth. Human officers organized a field hospital while the demons reassembled the ranks of the monster regiment, who were happily feeding on the remains of the enemy as well as their own.

I moved Astaroth’s legs so I could sit beside him on the bench, and Esmelda came out of the wagon to talk to me. She took one glance at the burned line and turned her back on it. Her eyes were red and wet.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Nothing a healing potion won’t fix.” My entire body felt bruised, and my back was giving me a twinge, but it was nothing in need of immediate attention. “What’s going on with Fladnag?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking concerned. “When the battle started, he became agitated. He isn’t talking.”

Gastard had removed his helm, and he was holding it under his arm. His blue eyes were solemn.

“He strikes me as a man who has seen more than his share of death,” he said. “Let him have his peace.”

There had to be a reason Fladnag was living the way he was. I couldn’t be sure what had happened in his past, but it couldn’t have been good. Maybe he had been a hero once, but now he was something else.

Astaroth stirred, his eyes opening into slits, and he made a cooing sound.

“He told us what he would do,” Esmelda said, her lips pursing as she gazed down at the demon. “He said that he was going to sacrifice himself to ensure our safety and that the flames would not harm us as long as we remained in the wagon. That spell, it was horrible, I don’t know what to think about it.”

Gastard grunted. “A loyal demon,” he said. “There is no such creature.”

Astaroth said nothing. It was hard to tell if he was even conscious, and his body looked shrunken and frail. Much of the color had faded from the feathers of his crown. Gastard was probably right. Whatever demons did, they were acting in their self-interest. Death for them meant being returned to Bedlam, so giving up their lives in defense of someone they had sworn to serve didn’t carry the same weight. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. I didn’t want to consider what kind of damage he may have done to our people, but his actions had certainly been effective. The charge had threatened my family, and he had stopped it in its tracks.

“I think I captured an orhkan,” I said. “I’m going to interrogate him.”

“Shouldn’t you rest?” Esmelda said.

“Eventually.”

Our captives were being held in a cage Furtur had made out of a destroyed wagon. It wasn’t as pretty as something I would have crafted, but it did the job well enough. There were more than a dozen warriors trapped under a dome of wood, its supports studded with splintering thorns, and soldiers stood watch nearby.

Most of them were wounded, but they were not being treated. The orkhan and the shaman were close together, and they glared at me in silence as I stepped up to the frame.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“Batu,” the young man said, standing. His fear was gone, and the blood had dried on his face. “Son of Torgudai, warrior of the steppes. What is your name, demon?”

“I told you,” I said, “I’m not a demon. My name is Will.”

The shaman peered at me suspiciously. One of her legs was swollen, covered in deep purple bruises, stretched out to the side while the other was folded under her. She did not attempt to rise.

“You may wear a human face,” she said, “but you have the eyes of a demon.”

“That’s…” I sighed, “accurate. But it’s only because I killed the demon they belonged to.”

Batu sneered. “You say that you killed it, but you walk with demons at your side. Are you not the one they call their Dark Lord?”

“I am,” I said, “but things are changing in Dargoth.” I pressed closer to the dome, lowering my voice. None of my demons were nearby, but there was no telling how close of a watch they kept on me. I met the shaman’s silver-edged eyes. “I want you to help me.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What help could there be for you, tainted one?”

Batu scoffed. “Tricks and lies. Kill us. We will not be a part of your schemes.” He was putting on a brave front, but I could hear the uncertainty beneath.

“I am not the same man who has ruled Dargoth in the past. He is my prisoner, and I can’t hold him without their help. But you have magic I don’t.”

The shaman’s lips were dry and cracked, she wetted them, hesitating to speak.

“There is only one Dark Lord,” Batu said. “Our people have fought him for generations. When I am dead, they will continue to fight. Your storm will not touch Atlan. Not ever.”

“I’d like to end the storm,” I said. “I’d like for Dargoth to be green. But I can’t take on the demons all on my own. They are working with me because I have agreed to help them bring their master into this world. But that isn’t what I want. I want the demons gone, and the former Dark Lord contained, but I can’t do that on my own.”

“You would betray them?” The shaman said. “How can we believe you?”

“I don’t know how I can convince you,” I said. “But if you don’t agree to help me, then I will have to continue doing what they want. We didn’t come here just to fight you off. We are traveling to Salenus to destroy it.”

Batu tried to strike me through the frame of the dome, and his fist caught on the thorns. He gritted his teeth. “You will never touch it.” He said. “The great eagle will descend from the heavens and burn you to ash.”

“Great eagle?” I said. “Is that your god?”

“Say no more,” the shaman grabbed Batu’s calf for emphasis, squeezing tight, and the young man backed off. Fresh blood dripped from his fist. The silver around her irises flared as she looked up at me.

“My name is Erdene, tainted one. And I will think about what you have said.”

“Fine,” I said, stepping back. “I’ll speak with you again when we are on the move.”

It was progress, but it came at a cost. There was a notification ding as I walked away from the cage, and I checked my System screens for the bad news.

You have violated a sacred oath. Geas activated. Penalties will accrue until you seek atonement.