“It has been expensive,” Tartibsizlik said, hir face flashing to that of an angry old crone. “We have lost an entire Maelstrom, and now the Storm Lords have lost half of their supposedly overwhelming army, even with the interdiction and four risar at their disposal.”
“The Unlife are useful for the fear, disruption and chaos they bring. But perhaps it is time we recognize that they have their limits,” Sutekh said.
“Clearly,” Tartibsizlik agreed.
“Perhaps — or is it their leadership?” Dysnoma asked.
“Your suggestion?” Sutekh asked.
“Perhaps we should not put all of our Unlife support in the Storm Lords. I think it is time we provide Czernobog von Smerti with the resources he has been requesting,” Dysnoma suggested.
“If you wish,” Sutekh replied. “However, Orcus is moving quickly to undo much of what we have worked these last six thousand years to gain. We may need to move even more aggressively than that.”
Dysnoma chuckled. “I hope you were not expecting me to disagree? You know there is nothing in the multiverse that I want more than to punish my dear brother. He must suffer for our mother’s fate!”
The Second Lacuna
Rede sat despondently in his cell. He had not seen the saint or the priest in what he guessed was two days. Fortunately, however, the guards had continued to bring him blood and fresh water, and emptied the chamber pot. Not that there was ever much for him to leave in the chamber pot, given his liquid diet.
Unlike a vampire, dhampyrs could and did eat food as well. They preferred meat, naturally, but could digest anything their non-dhampyr parent’s race could eat. He could survive on blood if need be, at least for longer than a non-dhampyr could survive on water; however, it was not particularly healthy in the long term and he would get sick.
He assumed the war was in full gear by this point. He based this assumption on what little he knew of the army’s plans and the fact that the number of guards was lower than it had been previously. He sighed, shaking his head at the irony of his situation.
For his entire life, even after his symptoms emerged, he had been on the side of the Light. He had done what he could to support their village and people. He had always rooted against the Storm Lords and their army. At least until he’d been forced to join them. At which point, as miserable as that might have been, it was his side.
Now, however, he was trapped in the dungeon of the Citadel, awaiting inevitable death. His only hope was for the Storm Lords to overrun the Citadel, killing everyone in it and then freeing him. How horrific! His own life depended on hundreds of thousands of people dying.
He closed his eyes for a few minutes of uncomfortable rest, but was suddenly roused by some really bad whistling. Someone — one of the guards, obviously — was making their rounds and trying to whistle. However, it was really bad whistling; almost like what a child would do when learning to whistle.
“Hmm. Human. Male. Ehh,” a very nasal voice said before the whistling resumed.
“Human. Female. Not too bad, edible,” the voice said to Rede’s shock. Did the guard just describe a woman as edible? The whistling did not resume, fortunately.
“Another human male. A bit stale-looking though,” the disturbing guard said. The guard then inhaled deeply for some reason before making a small cough. “Probably shouldn’t be smoking this. Outside the Abyss, it always gives me the munchies, and this smorgasbord is a bit lacking.”
Rede shook his head. Outside the Abyss? As in the place where demons live? Something very odd was going on.
“Hmm, another human female. At least there’s some meat on the bones,” the clearly demented guard said.
Is this some sort of intimidation? Trying to scare prisoners into giving up information? Rede wondered. That had to be it. There were no other logical explanations.
“Another male. Hmm. This one seems to be a bit catatonic. Unless I miss my guess, he’s also way past his sell-by date,” the nasal voice mused.
A very strange scent reached Rede’s nose. Dhampyrs had very acute olfactory abilities, as did many predators. He peered out the small, barred window of his cell.
Suddenly an extremely ugly, mottled face with a pipe sticking out of its mouth appeared in the window. Were those horns on his forehead? Rede tried to squeeze himself further back into the corner.
“Whoa!” the ugly creature exclaimed. “What do we have here? Do I smell dhampyr?”
Rede said nothing, simply stared in terror at the creature outside his cell door. Had the Storm Lords summoned a demon to come for him? He didn’t know if they could or would do that, but he was certain that the Citadel would not be using demons.
“Hmm, not very talkative, are you?” The face looked down and Rede heard the sound of papers being shuffled.
“I am going to assume that since you look like a dhampyr and you smell like a dhampyr — and because there is an empty wineskin that reeks of blood — you are a dhampyr!” the demon said, for clearly it had to be a demon. Nothing else was this terrifying.
“What is your name, dhampyr?” the demon asked.
Rede remained silent.
“Ahem. How am I going to know whether to eat you or rescue you if you won’t tell me your name?” the demon asked.
Rede swallowed hard. The demon arched an eyebrow, opened the eye under it wide and simply stared at him.
“Rede,” Rede finally said.
The demon suddenly smiled, revealing very sharp fangs, much more frightening than Rede’s or, for that matter, Vladimir’s fangs.
“See? Much better!” the demon said, looking down and shuffling papers. He held the papers up, several sheets in each hand above his head, and peered back and forth between them. “Hmm. This is such a pain.”
More papers came into view at the bottom of the window, as if the demon were holding them in a second set of hands. The demon looked down at those, shaking its head and grimacing. Finally he looked up. “Sorry for the confusion. I’m working from my old notes.” The demon sighed. “I misplaced my book, so I’m kind of going by the seat of my pants.” He shook his head sadly. “And the problem with going by the seat of my pants is that I don’t own any pants!” He then began to nod, apparently to himself. “As you can imagine, this makes things rather difficult.” The demon looked down and stared fruitlessly at the papers some more before lowering his upper hands and shuffling all the papers. “What’s your last name?” he asked.
Rede stared in shock at this very weird demon. He would have expected demons, particularly one this horrifying, to have their act together a bit more.
“Hello! Last name? Family name? Surname?” the demon asked.
“Yondin. Rede Yondin. Yondin is my mother’s family name.”
The demon gave him a grin and began going through his papers again, muttering something unintelligible. “Ahh! Now we are getting somewhere!” He looked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Can you confirm your patrimonial name? That of your sire?”
“Czernobog Smerti was my sire,” Rede said. Clearly this demon must work for the Storm Lords. It was not something he would have expected, but nothing in his life was making a lot of sense.
“Excellent!” the demon exclaimed, raising his left upper hand, which now contained a large, purple-plumed feather pen. He moved it down theatrically to where Rede assumed paper was and made a motion as if he were checking a box. “Yep! I am here for you!”
That was something no one really wanted to hear from a demon. Rede hoped the lock would prove some impediment. Perhaps as it was wrenched off the frame, the guards would hear and come running? Rede could not see what the demon was doing, but from what he could see through the window, he was moving to open the door. There were some clicking noises and suddenly the door opened outward, the demon coming around it to enter his cell.