Agent Chully chewed on his tablet’s stylus as he thought. He’d been trying to kick the habit since his earliest school days, but no amount of scolding or beating seemed to help. He ruffled his short, velvety buzzcut and looked over at his partner, who was standing behind a desk in an office they’d commandeered as a base of operations when they’d arrived on Shredvrak.
“Any thoughts, Huluna?” he asked.
The Wabuluban female shook her head. “From what I’ve been able to find in a quick records search, the Koomites are surprisingly far-reaching. There are chapters throughout the Republic, and even a few back home in the Wabuluban Kingdom. There’s a good chance there are some hush-hush chapters in Astralbian territory, as well. However, this is the first report of violent activity associated with the cult.
“What are you seeing in the on-site evidence?”
“Eh, not much,” said Chully. “The psychic Keshri killed was the chapter’s priest. I couldn’t find any evidence in his communications that he was ordered to do this by his higher-ups. And said higher-ups used pseudonyms and untraceable messaging, of course.
“But it was all mundane stuff, as cults go. Membership dues, doctrinal questions, excitement about the Cornucopia Cluster being found and what that meant. I can see some violent intent on our local priest’s part in retrospect, but the leadership never comments on it or condones it.”
“Send me the messages, I guess,” said Huluna with a shrug. “I’ll see if I can dig up any connections between them and the known chapters. We need to start piecing together who’s who and what’s where before another chapter goes homicidal. It’s already an open secret that the Blue Griffon Fleet is looking for Koo L’Koom’s supposed stomping grounds. Progenitor help us if they actually find it.”
***
Meanwhile, on Kir147-WB1.08, also known as Hruduk, Vanbrook was admiring a orange and purple sunset on one of the Crown Prince’s balconies.
“Reminds you of Hittania, doesn’t it?” asked a voice behind him.
He turned to see Raivyn, sipping on a mug of something warm.
“Maybe a little,” said Vanbrook with a smirk. Their time on Hittania had been hectic, to say the least, but the planet’s beauty was something that stuck with them. “Hruduk has its own charms. The volcanic dunes are something to see, anyhow. What are you drinking?”
“It’s called yrati,” she said. “It’s a kind of floral tea.”
Vanbrook shook his head. “You and your floral teas. Any good?”
“It’s no tavan blossom, but it has its own charms, as they say.”
“Hey, uh, I wanted to ask,” stammered Vanbrook. “All that stuff D’Jarric said about gods and wars and whatever.”
“Um, yes?” asked Raivyn, still looking for the question.
“Do you ever feel like DJ knows more than he lets on?” he managed to blurt out. “I dunno. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“No, I think-” but Raivyn was interrupted when Hrynkak returned to the courtyard, joined by Hrake and Rehkna. Vanbrook and Raivyn rushed in from the balcony to the inner part of the building, where they could see the courtyard. The crown prince was bellowing and hissing, clearly enraged, though it didn’t seem to be aimed at anyone present.
We must talk, said Rehkna, locking eyes with Raivyn.
***
The following morning, Hrake prepared to face his ordeal. Talon Squad had scrambled to find him a way out of the mess but Hrake insisted that this was the way it must be. Besides that, Jasken had reminded them, the IGC didn’t permit direct interference with local politics until a sapient race had been fully registered and briefed on their rights. It was an area of law with many gray areas and loopholes, but interfering with legal proceedings was strictly off-limits.
After a simple breakfast of bread and fruits, they were led to a team of chariots hitched to massive desert hounds. The King, the Elders, Talon Squad, and the accused all climbed into the chariots, escorted by two chariots with three guards each. The accused each had their own chariot, and were shackled to it. Gevrok, now sporting an eyepatch, served as Hrake’s driver, and sneered cruelly at him as he fitted him with shackles. Hrake wore a solemn expression as Gevrok barked an order at the hound pulling his chariot, starting the procession in earnest.
The wide-wheeled chariots pulled them through the desert to the north, until they were in the shadow of the mountains Talon Squad had landed by, though somewhat to the east. The chariots all pulled to a stop, and the King pulled in front of Hrake, wheeling his chariot so it served as a podium. He began speaking.
I will translate, said Rehkna in Talon Squad’s mind.
I’d rather just put a bullet in the king’s head, thought Vanbrook.
That would be ill-advised, Vanbrook, replied the shaman.
Oh, uh, did I think that out loud? thought Vanbrook apologetically. He really didn’t care for this method of communication.
The King says: this trial by ordeal is agreed to as recorded. The warrior Hrake stands accused of blasphemy and sedition, as do Elder Shaman Rehkna and Crown Prince Hrynkak. If Hrake can return with the head of the Roach Lord of the Mountains of Wasting, very the Gates of the Underworld, all three will be pardoned. If he fails, his co-conspirators are condemned and will die by the hammer. We praise the gods for visiting us, and pray that they are pleased by the justice done this day.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Woah, interjected Reclan, looking down at a warning on her tablet. These mountains are seriously radioactive. We really shouldn’t get any closer without proper protective gear. Is that why the King is sending Hrake here? To give him radiation poisoning?
Not everything you say makes sense, responded Rehkna. But yes, the very air is poisonous there. Hrake must work quickly.
Gevrok turned to Hrake and unlocked his shackles, then spit on his face. Hrake wiped the spittle away without any change in expression and turned to another guard, who handed him his weapons. He slung his knife around his waist along with his sling and a few stones and hefted his hammer to his shoulder.
He walked silently into the rising hills, the sun just beginning to set as he strode across the black sands.
***
Nearly an hour later, Hrake made it to the foothills, where the Roach Lord’s lair was. The towering gray rocks were smooth here, blasted by the winds and sands of the Black Dunes. The cave where the Roach Lord lived was well known among the citizens of Gred, and it was avoided at all costs. The Mountains of Wasting were the gates to the underworld, and the Roach Lord was the guard thereof. Finding his quarry would not be the problem. He soon found himself standing before the gaping maw of the cavern, and already the poison seeping from the underworld made his stomach turn.
“Progenitor,” Hrake prayed aloud, “If you are truly the one creator, god of gods, help me now.”
He bellowed fiercely, looking to fight the Roach Lord in honorable, single combat, as the ordeal demanded. A screeching roar answered his call, and the beast emerged from the cave on six long, spindly legs. It stood nearly ten feet at the shoulder and had a face like a dragon, with a long, angular snout and two long, jagged mandibles that resembled a jawbone when brought together. Two bulging black eyes emerged from its skeletal, armored face, and its powerful, lithe body was covered in shiny, dark brown armored plates from its long neck to its whip-like tail. Two great, insectoid wings covered its back. Facing an enemy nearly forty feet long, Hrake felt dwarfed, but not cowed.
He adjusted his grip on his hammer, eying the beast warily. The first move was the monster's. As expected, it began by firing a plume of boiling acid from a set of glands located on the end of its snout.
Hrake dove to the side, rolling away from the deadly spray. He grunted as a single drip splashed onto his heel, leaving a scorching sore. He rose to his feet, his head swimming as the poisonous air around him began to take effect.
He locked eyes with the beast again, trying to gauge its intention. It struck suddenly, but Hrake's honed reflexes brought his hammer up in a parrying blow quickly enough to deflect the razor-sharp mandibles.
Taking advantage of the roach's vulnerability, Hrake stabbed out with the spearhead of his hammer, piercing the soft flesh between the plates of the beast's armor. It let out a hissing roar and rounded on Hrake, spraying another blast of acid. Hrake dodged again, but this time his left shoulder was drenched. He roared in pain, fighting the instinct to grasp the wound, fearing the acid would burn his hand, as well.
He stumbled behind a boulder, the acid still smoking and hissing as it deformed his scales and skin. He held his hammer in his right hand, ready to strike when the moment came. However, the Roach Lord seemed content to wait, at least for the moment. Hrake slowly put the butt of his hammer’s staff out in sight of the beast, and there was a sudden, violent spray of acid. He pulled the hammer back, shaking it to fling the boiling poison from the staff. The nausea and dizziness he felt reminded him his time was short. He needed to act.
Taking out one of his sling stones and his knife, he threw the stone to one side, where it cracked into a boulder, breaking the silence of the stand-off. As soon as he heard the crack, he stepped around the boulder he had been hiding behind and threw his knife. His aim was true and the knife sank into the Roach Lord’s eye. The beast screamed in murderous rage.
Hrake stumbled back behind the boulder, trying to stay out of sight of the monster, and almost fell into the puddle of acid that still smoldered on the ground. He managed to jump over the hazard, but tumbled to the ground, coming to rest on his shell, exposed to the beast. The Roach Lord was frantically raking one of its forelimbs over its face, eventually dislodging the knife. Blue-green gore now ran from the eye socket as it turned its head to find its prey. Locking onto Hrake, it stomped forward. The warrior managed to bring himself to his knees, but was too weak from the acid and the poisoned air to do so much as to raise his hammer. Despite his best efforts and the wounds he had inflicted, he could not defeat the beast.
He had spoken the truth when he said he did not fear to die, but he was loath to bring Rehkna and Hrynkak with him.
“Progenitor,” he said simply. “I cannot do this.”
Then it happened. A breeze stirred, and Hrake drew it into his lungs. He felt like he was filled with fire. With a strength not his own, he stood and leapt towards the Roach Lord, hammer raised over his head by his one good arm. The beast shot another blast of boiling acid, but it passed harmlessly under Hrake as he brought his hammer down in a mighty blow.
***
King Zrykyk shuffled and muttered as the sun fell lower and lower in the sky.
“Surely he is dead now, lord,” Gevrok said to him. “If the Roach Lord didn’t devour him the poisoned air of the Mountains has claimed him.”
Zrykyk waved his henchman away. “You out of all of us should know how hard Hrake is to kill.”
But the hours wore on, and the King’s patience waned.
“Hrake has failed his ordeal,” he declared. “He has met his proper fate. Now the others must meet theirs.” The king kept his face stony, but would not meet his son’s eyes, which were burning with hatred as they regarded Zrykyk.
When Vanbrook saw that the prisoners were being led to the open sand, and that the Hrudukite with the eyepatch walking towards them brandishing his hammer, he rose from where he had sat in the sand, approaching them with his hand on his revolver.
“Vanbrook, you can’t interfere!” shouted Raivyn.
“What’s the point in being a god if you can’t exact judgment?” he retorted, running over and standing between Gevrok and Rehkna.
He stood toe to toe with Gevrok, who was a head taller than he was and nearly twice as wide. Vanbrook snarled up at him, and the Hrudukite regarded him with fearful curiosity.
We put ourselves in the hands of the Progenitor, Vanbrook. Not you. Stand down.
Vanbrook obeyed the elder shaman hesitantly, slinking back over to where the rest of Talon Squad stood but keeping an eye on Gevrok the whole time. The mad king would get what he wanted after all. Once proper relations with the Hrudukites were established, Vanbrook would do everything in his power to take down this cruel despot.
“Wait!” cried Reclan, pointing to the north. “There’s something on the horizon!”
Following her finger, the whole party looked north to see a tiny speck. Gevrok nodded to the guard behind Rehkna and she was forced to her knees. He hefted his hammer.
“Wait!” cried Elder Rukyk. “We must see the ordeal out to the end.”
Gevrok paused, looking to the King, but the King was silent. He grudgingly lowered his hammer and turned to the speck. It had grown bigger.
“Surveillance is not interference,” muttered Reclan. She activated a drone and flew it towards the speck. It quickly resolved itself on her screen, and her face split into a toothy grin. Talon Squad gathered around to see an image of Hrake, looking exhausted, but carrying the severed head of some kind of massive insectoid monster. The Squad broke into cheers, showing the screen to everyone in turn.
“What is the meaning of this strange mirror?” demanded the King.
“It would seem it shows the truth,” said Rehkna, squinting into the distance.
Soon enough the image on the screen could be seen with the naked eye, and Hrake slammed the Roach Lord’s severed head to the ground at the feet of King Zrykyk.