Inferno 7010

11 EMPIRES OF THE DEEP

As they turned to go, the voice of the statue returned to Greg's mind.

"I know that you desire no counsel," said the statue, "but I sense that you possess memories deeply buried, and there is one at least that you would do well to recall."

In an instant Greg was transported into his mind.

He stood in the ruins of an old castle, encrusted with dark vines and littered with dessicated corpses. Pools of water were dark with blood. The sky was black and starless.

He wandered through the ruins, wondering what he was supposed to find, and in a shattered courtyard discovered an old king kneeling in the dust, his hands clutching a battered sceptre.

"Sir Alharazed?" said the king weakly. "You live, then."

"My lord," said Sir Alharazed's voice through Greg's mouth.

"The curse reached us too soon," gasped the king. "None of us could have known... that this would happen."

"Is Kitra alive?" asked Alharazed urgently.

"She lives," said the king. "I put a protective barrier around her... none will penetrate it without the secret word."

"Tell me!"

"The word is... kzadra," said the king. "Now... I must go to the land of my fathers. Farewall, Sir Alharazed. I know you have only done... what you must."

"Ack," said Greg.

He was back at the top of the tower, shaking slightly.

"Are you all right?" said Yraine, looking concerned. "You blacked out for a moment."

"All good," said Greg. "Let's get out of here."

They descended the steps and returned to the room with the fireplace. Within sat Ithuria, clad in a shimmering white robe. With her was a man in tattered black with dark hair and charred skin. They were engaged in an extremely passionate kiss, rather prolonged as well, hands slowly creeping up under articles of clothing.

"Ahem," said Greg.

"Greg!" cried Ithuria. "You live!"

"She of course means Sir Alharazed," said Greg.

The charred man rose and bowed deeply.

"Sir Alharazed," he said. "I am Corvel the Burnt. It is an honour to meet you."

"Oh jeez, you too," said Greg. "Been looking for you for quite some time."

"For me?" Corvel gestured to himself, apparently appalled.

"Yeah," said Greg. "It's complicated. Let's get out of here and then we can talk."

*

At the tower entrance Ragak was reclining and polishing his axe, and Sofia was washing her hair in a water basin and whistling.

"Boy, you're sure in a good mood," said Greg.

Sofia winked at him.

"Nice getup," she said.

"Thanks," he said. "Has anyone seen Dalile?"

An instant later the tower door burst open and Dalile stormed out, stark naked and dragging a gore-soaked greataxe.

"HOLY SHIT," said Greg.

"It's okay," gasped Dalile. "They're all dead."

Corvel had whipped out a jagged knife and levelled it at Dalile. "Who's dead?" he snapped.

"The filthy knights," she said. "Wait, did you not see them?"

"Nope," said Greg.

"None at all," said Sofia.

"Not you," said Dalile. "Who's this?"

Corvel bowed. "Corvel the Burnt, lady. Is this the, um, traditional dress of your people?"

Dalile glanced down. "I prefer to wear clothes," she said, "but it seems to be a rare circumstance these days."

"Okay listen," said Greg, "cool meeting you all and so on, but we really need to talk about what we're going to do next."

"What do you mean?" said Dalile.

"I mean," said Greg, "that I need to go back to the Duke of Filth now, and I'm just kinda wondering how everybody feels about that."

Sofia shook her head rapidly.

"Nuh uh," she said. "No fucking way."

"The Duke is a monster," said Dalile. "If I meet him, I would prefer to kill him."

"I was a slave in his Court until Corvel freed me," said Ithuria.

"I betrayed him, and he seeks my blood," said Corvel.

"He did wrong by my woman," said Ragak, tapping his axe meaningfully. "I mean to end him someday, if I can."

Greg nodded.

"Cool," he said. "In that case, I recommend that we team up and try to take him down. I totally think we can do it, guys."

"The Duke is one of the eldest demons," said Corvel doubtfully.

"I have a plan," said Greg. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Kind of."

*

In the village Throth was waiting and watching the sky.

"You're departing, then," he said.

"Yup," said Greg. "We've got work to do."

"Your work here is better than we could have imagined," said Throth. "At last our suffering village can return to life. The Blight has left these woods."

"Awesome," said Greg. "Couldn't have done it without Castopher's homicidal knights, though. Incidentally, where are those guys?"

"Departed," said Throth. "I was not sorry to see the end of them, I confess. Although your friend remained behind."

"My friend?" said Greg.

"Azarak," said Throth.

"Oh yeah," said Greg. "That guy."

"I hope you will take him," said Throth. "His stench befouls the air."

"Absolutely," said Greg. "For sure."

"One more thing," said Throth. "The Drum of Kyrthen has been in our tribe for centuries, but it is time for it to be passed to you. Where you go, among the empires of the deep, it will be of far more use."

"Wow, thanks," said Greg. "I'm sure that'll come in handy."

So they left the Blighted Forest: Greg wearing his armour and his obsidian sword, leading the pack; Dalile naked and dragging her axe; Ithuria and Corvel the Burnt staying close together; Sofia with a wandering look in her eyes; Yraine sticking close to Greg; Azarak silently dragging his feet at the rear, his eyes on the ground; Ragak glaring at him and thumbing his axe meaningfully.

At last they reached the glittering portal that opened upon the labyrinth.

"Okay," said Greg, "is everyone ready to execute The Plan?"

Everyone made noises of assent.

"Good," said Greg. "So, uh, let's go!"

They plunged into the darkness.

*

When the portal opened on the marble wasteland of the Court of Filth, only three came through: Greg, Ithuria, and Corvel the Burnt.

They stared at the tentacled face of Hoarg, emissary of the Duke of Filth.

"Greg," said Hoarg blandly. "Or is it Sir Alharazed now?"

"Greg is fine," said Greg. "I did the job. Finally."

"Yes," said Hoarg, "the Duke will be pleased to see that his prodigal servant has returned. How do you fare, Corvel? Still burnt?"

"Eat shit and die, Hoarg," suggested Corvel.

Hoarg laughed drily.

"We've been looking forward to seeing you, Corvel," he said. "And your little bitch too."

From the outskirts of the marble courtyard, six tentacle-faced men emerged, clad in black armour and menacing with serrated black blades.

"Let's go see the Duke," said Hoarg.

They siezed both captives and stripped them naked. Ithuria's flesh was smooth and bare, like a beautiful porcelain doll; Corvel's flesh was charred under his tattered clothes. He was truly awful to behold. The guards put a bit gag in Ithuria's mouth and lashed her to a cart, while Corvel was tied behind and forced to follow.

"Move, bitch," said Hoarg, idly flicking his whip at Ithuria's bare bottom. She moaned through the gag and leaned into the reins, dragging the cart with agonizing slowness. Corvel raced pathetically behind.

"The Duke had begun to fear you'd abandoned your quest," said Hoarg to Greg, as the cart trundled along. "Lord Pazgul whispered in his ear, saying that the spirit of Lord Alharazed had consumed you and ruined your loyalty. He will be pleased to see that you have not turned traitor to the master of filth."

"Absolutely," said Greg. "I would never."

"Move, slut," groaned Hoarg, laying the whip into Ithuria. She squealed and tried, pathetically, to pick up the pace, but the weight of the cart was too much.

To Greg it felt as though hours passed before they finally reached the entrance to the Court, as Ithuria strained to pull and Hoarg plied her with the lash. Her piteous shrieks of pain were agonizing to hear. But, at last, they had arrived, and Hoarg led Greg away from the trembling victims and into the Court.

At the very entrance the Duke of Filth waited, his three mouths grinning fiercely.

"You've done well, Greg of Earth-Land," he said. "Now will you gain your prize?"

"Absolutely," said Greg.

"Then come," said the Duke. "Let Sir Alharazed be united at last with the bride he sought for centuries, journeying across time and space."

They passed through the foul court and into a darkened chamber. From his robes the Duke produced a huge black key and inserted it into a heavy black door. They swept open with a ponderous groan. For the first time outside of his dreams, Greg looked upon the face of Princess Kitra.

She was twice as beautiful as she'd seemed in his dreams: dressed in gold, her hair flowing down her bare shoulders. She sat on a throne, gazing blankly at the roof. Around her a field of magical energy shimmered faintly.

"There she sits," said the Duke, his mouths grinning.

Greg's mouth was bone-dry. His whole body trembled. He stared at the Princess, and felt the soul of Alharazed reminding him of centuries of death and rebirth, of transit across forgotten dimensions, battles with unspeakable horrors, all in search of this singular moment. His hand groped for his sword and he remembered that it had vanished when he passed through the portal into the Court.

"Kitra," he whispered.

The Duke gestured.

"As you can see," he said, "a shield surrounds her. But I am sure you know how to remove it. Do so - claim your bride - and you may leave this court forever, to go where you desire."

Greg knew not to trust the Duke. He was positive that the whole thing was a trap. But he also knew that, regardless of whatever happened next, he had to speak to his beloved again.

"Kzadra," he whispered.

The field burst and vanished.

"Thank you," said the Duke.

There was a deafening explosion. Heroslayer Nethro burst through the wall, wielding a flaming sword longer than Greg was tall.

"Time to die, Alharazed," said Nethro.

"Okay," said Greg.

There was another pop. A portal materialized in the air, and Ragak charged through it, blade upraised.

"Die, monster!" he roared.

Dalile blasted through behind him, still stark naked, waving her axe.

"Eat shit, motherfucker!" she blared.

Yraine and Sofia burst through the portal, somewhat less impressively. They didn't say anything.

Nethro looked only slightly nonplussed. Greg took a step back.

"Let's fight," he said.

Nethro swung his flaming blade in a devastating arc; Ragak took a step back, ducked, and swung his axe. He missed. Dalile's axe clanged off the wall. Yraine glared at the Duke and raised her arms.

"AVEREN SKAREN," she wailed.

"NO MAGIC," snapped the Duke.

A swarm of knights in spiked armour charged through the doorway. Yraine raised her arm and fired a bolt of crackling lightning that leapt from knight to knight, frying the flesh beneath. "AAAAAGH," they shrieked.

Nethro's flaming sword carved a slash in the air, while Ragak backed up, ducking, weaving, waving his axe, and then the blade descended in a devastating arc, and Ragak was cleaved in two, the halves seared shut by the flames.

"DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!" roared Dalile, her axe flailing wildly.

A fissure tore the air with a horrible sucking sound, and the obsidian sword flashed through and into Greg's hand.

"Okay," said Greg, "now we're talking."

More spiked knights were pouring through the doorway, shielding the Duke, and they appeared to be keeping Dalile and Yraine occupied. (Sofia was hiding in the corner.) That left Nethro to the rage of Sir Alharazed.

The obsidian blade swept towards Nethro, and the flaming sword came up to meet it with terrifying swiftness. Again and again the two blades locked, spitting sparks and ash, and slowly Greg was driven back. For the first time the magicks of the blade seemed to be suffering. Whatever force inhabited the sword, it could not keep up with the Heroslayer.

"Guys," said Greg. "Guys! Aaaagh!"

"Return to the dark, Alharazed," intoned the Duke. "Be devoured by the infinite night."

The flaming sword smashed the blade from Greg's hand. It fell to the floor, dull and lightless.

"Now," said the Duke, "an era of pain begins."

He raised his arms. Black lightning flew from his fingers, and everything Greg saw was utterly consumed.

*

"That plan didn't go how I hoped," said Greg.

"No shit," said Sofia.

They were in a vast courtyard of grey stone, filled with X-shaped crosses of wood. To each of the countless crosses a naked captive was bound. Greg hung on one cross; on the opposite side, Sofia, her naked flesh once again exposed to the elements.

"Now what do we do?" said Greg.

But there wasn't really anything they could do.

Except wait.

And wait.

And wait.