The two of them, Acniss and Cacmieh entered through the obsidian hewn door of the meeting chamber, silently approaching their respective seats. The black rough, jagged walls were inscribed with various magical runes forming into frames around the elongated dark gaps where the ancestors rested. Their light mixed with the flickering warm of the torches placed around the edges creating a menacing undertone to the whole chamber. The ceiling itself rose to dizzying heights, supported by a few slim pillars disappearing in the dark infinity, seemingly keeping the earth from falling onto them. Their seatings, three thrones with serrated edges with demonic skulls on the top edges staring at the door with their gleaming ruby eyes were placed atop the slightly elevated part of the chamber with a long, dark violet carpet laid out onto the cold, smooth floor before the flat stairs.
“How many of them gathered in the end?” As soon as they sat down in their respective thrones, Acniss asks turning her attention to Zoklaeth who for the first time arrived earlier waiting for the two. After learning about Griggorn amassing an army in the former capital of their kingdom, things got tedious for Acniss. For the most part because the other two seemingly came around the Nameless, thinking that an alliance is more favorable for their future than one with the Deadfire.
“There is around five thousand according to my scouts.” Zoklaeth replies with a calm voice as he leans on his claymore keeping his head locked at the door as if waiting for someone. Still feeling a bit anxious, the wanting feeling of engaging in a battle coming over him after a long time the Traitor is finally showing himself with a considerable army at his command. It has been decades if not almost a century since Zoklaeth participated in a real battle of two large armies.
“Maybe even a bit more if we count the four other smaller armies that are moving to regroup with them.” Cacmieh adds in after getting a telepathic message from his own spies keeping their eyes on the movements of the smaller forces moving out from the fortresses that once housed the smaller armed forces of the Upper Stratum’s provinces. “They number around five hundred each.”
“Seems like Griggorn is on the same opinion on him.” Acniss says while trying to push the headache out of herself after not having a good night sleep after three days.
“He also seems to be moving his forces around.” Zoklaeth adds focusing his attention now on his claymore’s blade, imagining it bathed in the blood of the Dhau-Íssz that took up residence all over the Upper Stratum after taking over the cities and fortresses razed by the Deadfire. He adds that the Nameless’s servants are still attacking the few outposts that were left on standby, amassing their own armies, unlike the previous weeks where only a few returned to the former border city sitting at the entrance to the upper layers of the mountain.
“So, he has his own way to spy on them.” Acniss murmurs then comes to the conclusion that the Nameless may have been already aware of their haven in his own way, with Aivha serving as a distraction to this fact. Who in their right mind would send a brainwashed fanatic as a way to convince a third side to ally with themselves she thinks while a smile forms on her alluring lips. Then she looks at the, thoughts about the other two comes to mind “What if they got brainwashed too.”
Does that mean she is the next on the block to be turned into an ally against her will. Or maybe he sees her as more valuable as someone retaining her own will, maybe it is a way to show her his full power.
While she sees the Arnyak and to an extent the other undead of his as valuable on the war effort, she always found the minor Aspect of Mind as more interesting and useful in the long term. People change, and sometimes it is better to control them without the possibility of revolting. And what better tool for that is if not the minor Aspect of Mind. For the first time in her life, she feels aroused at the power play that the Nameless showed her. She has no doubt about it, especially because Aivha had ample opportunities the past few weeks to turn her too.
“What is our step?” Zoklaeth’s question brings her back to reality. While they still possess a considerable amount of force with still around seven hundred Warrior caste members, four hundred maguses and a few hundred abominations including some arachnes that survived the rampage.
“Our best bet maybe to intercept one of the armies on their way to the main force.” Cacmieh adds without hesitation, agreeing with Zoklaeth for the first time. “I’ll speak with Aivha and together with the servants of his we can outnumber them easily.” He continues but while slowly standing up to make preparations.
“We won’t do such things.” Acniss then interjects before the two could leave, her firm voice echoes through the chambers. “It has been already decided.” Cacmieh slowly turns back and speaks with his monotone voice.
“It has not been.” Acniss says, her thin brows furrowing while her soft skin stretches as she looks at the two. “Remember what your little protégé said when she returned. He doesn’t want our help.”
“How does that make sense Acniss?” Cacmieh says while gliding towards Acniss towering over her with a cold stare she returns with an unimpressed one. “Let me rephrase it to you. He doesn’t need our help.” She spells it out slowly while getting up from her chair. “Right now.” Then adds at the end with a soft whisper into his sharp ears pierced with obsidian.
“When Griggorn falls.” She stops for a second. “That is when he will need our forces to supplement his.” She continues while Cacmieh’s usually motionless complexion distorts into one of a child not understanding the explanation of their parents.
“There is a reason he still moves around his undead but not the ones here. Most likely they are hunting for monsters before intercepting the Griggorn’s army including the ones heading to regroup with his, slowly chipping their numbers until he can easily gobble up the rest including Griggorn.” As she continues on the two’s complexion turns one of an understanding followed by one of shame for Zoklaeth. “If we move our forces against those two armies, we may deprive them of fodder.” She finishes before sitting back down with a smug smile on her wickedly divine face.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“But we also shouldn’t just sit on leaves.” She continues. “Zoklaeth, send two of yours to the South West. Let’s see what the Dhaugrians stance is.”
**
The soft footsteps of the Nameless fill the courtyard in front of the Spiral Tower of Aduriniech as he slowly walks down the set of stairs. Two menacing statues keep eternal watch at the edges of the rail that has seen better days. The two resembling demonic bat like figures stare into the distance, as if trying to overlook the tall buildings surrounding the courtyard, their once glinting ruby eyes missing, corroded at the dark flames of the Deadfire.
“Are ye sure it is the right time to depart?” Ferthur asks as he hovers close behind the Nameless, his rough voice sounding like a worrywart friend after accepting the offer of his master.
“It is the exact right time.” He replies, his voice light and airy matching his androgynous face, followed by a plethora of other voices whispering the exact same words in a monotone tone. His undead start slowly crawling out from the dark gaps between the buildings lining up while waiting for his command.
“Isn’t this fascinating?” He asks as he observes the statue depicting King Adesci, the last ruler of the dark elves. His majestic form hewn out from the dark stone that makes up the mountain, polished that even after the ravage it glistens in the cavernous lights. Every curve in his flamboyant, thick beard sculpted by the best craftsmen of the Upper Stratum while the faint madness that grappled his mind shown on his eyes staring high towards the missing top of the Spiral Tower.
A weird amalgamation of a single hand glued onto his chest, six fingers with each two pairs possessing different length and girth. The two on the far right appearing slender, withered almost. The middle two appearing more corpulent with grease drooping from them and the last two on the right with rough texture with hard, sharp edges. Veins pour out from under the flamboyant collar of his armor worn during the time statue was sculpted, reaching up to his temples as if their destination has been set, while the abyssal pulsing is no more.
“Thousands of years at their feet, yet they still obsessed with recording every little one.” Ferthur says as he joins in on his strange whims.
Elves, like the rest of the mortal races share this obsession of recording, even though in their cases it often depicts their hardships and sacrifices their kings and queens, even some of their nobles make for the betterment of their people. Like this statue signifying the consumption of Adesci by the pact of the Triumvirate.
“Why here?” Ferhur asks himself as he inspects every little detail of the statue, wondering why make or place this statue in a border city.
“Because it isn’t just about the sacrifice he makes for his people, but the reason for that.” The Nameless answers while keeping his attention on the statue, feeling a little sense of kinship with the fallen king while the undead surround them, mostly the former citizens and guards who fell with the city, cursed to serve their executioner.
“Also, I/we won’t leave with our full force.” As he starts moving towards the streets, the undead does so at the exact same time, their movements perfectly harmonized as the gritty sound of the dead moves.
“I/we leave some here with you in case the ones on the upper layer fell to an incursion.” He continues as they stroll around the streets, Ferthur notices the Nameless looking at each building as if he is saying goodbyes to them forever.
“At least until the dark elves arrive back here.” He adds when they arrive at the square in front of the gate.
“So ye do plan to give them back their kingdom.” Ferthur says just as the constructs open the gates and heading to their respective regiments of all kinds of undead raised and tuned to the will of the Nameless the past two or three months. Each now imbued with the forbidden Aspect thanks to Ferthur appear more demonic than undead with the dark negative matter that served as glue keeping their joints together covered in infernal flesh.
The one most notable of this change being the Arachnoid Construct whose flayed ogre body gained a new layer of skin, much rougher and dark as the surface of frozen magma with cracks omitting a dark soft glow. Besides the infernal evolution, their bodies have been upgraded also with Stahlaar. Each piece of dark plate got grafted into their flesh or carapace adding to their already dreadful appearance according to Ferthur at least.
Their corrupted presence now fills the air with both coldness and a heat of the myriad realms of the Abyss Below, shifting constantly to confuse the body of their living opponents. The moment they reach their position, they freeze in place waiting for the command of their Master.
“What are ye waiting for?” Ferthur asks after only the two of them are left in the square.
“For them.” An uneasy coldness grips the air, a large figure appears from the left side walking with heavy steps with a strange sound almost sounding like the combination of a metallic clank and the creaking of bones. The Arnyak appeared as an almost three meters tall shadowy figure draped in layered cloak with a gaping darkness in it and robe seemed to made of some kind of woven material yet still had a lightless shimmer to it. The armor around it also appeared less bone like, yet it seemed to imitate the glistening dark metal of Stahlaar yet its surface appears more matte black, the edges of certain pieces like the shoulder plates and gauntlets are much sharper, with miniscule cavities at precise intervals making it almost appear serrated.
“Ye need a protector?” The devil asks him as the Arnyak stops a few steps from the Nameless.
“No.” He replies as he turns his head back towards Ferthur, his androgynous face half lit by a combination of cold lights appears smiling before he turns back and walks towards the exit with the Arnyak following after him, perfectly keeping the five step distance from his master.
The harsh scenery in front of the walls was awash filled with undead of all kinds. Bestial at the front with three decaying Hydra’s standing out with their numerous heads silently hissing. Elven, orcish, dwarven and human zombies, ghouls and ghasts emanating the negative matter filling their putrid husks clad in mismatched spoiled armors. The constructs on the front waiting silently for the command of their master and on the far behind the new undead with ethereal flesh dark as the lightless void that surrounds the world tree with Stahlaar plates grafted onto their bodies asymmetrically.
The thousands of undead remain motionless until the Nameless makes his first step out the enormous gate with the Arnyak in two. Ferthur watches as he slowly disappears, his undead creations slowly surrounding him as they march into the distance, the ground softly quaking under the thousand footsteps.