Chapter Forty-Three: Tsunami

The True Hall was not what Tom expected, though perhaps he should have raised his estimation of the Hunters after having seen Val’s hideaway.

As they came to the end of the tunnel, winding down into the earth below the great slab of rusty rock, Tom was suitably impressed.

A wide, open floor space, at least a hundred paces across, dominated the huge, circular room. Or Hall, to be more exact. Stairs descended to it from the tunnel, and it was ringed all around with tiers for an audience to sit. There was enough room to seat hundreds, and they had hundreds to be seated.

Their group shuffled round one of the tiers, finding a mostly open stretch and arranging themselves on it. The Hall, already half full, filled the rest of the way quickly.

Tom thought that most of The Lord’s more direct supporters were seated on the bottom few tiers, closest to the open floor. The Hunters were no prim and proper bunch, trending hardy and weather worn, but those gathered in those first few tiers were a particularly rough and rugged looking lot.

He saw the Hag’s insubstantial shape, hunched in a seat in the first row. Honeyfield, unassuming in the main, and yet somehow patently evil, sat nearby her. All those filling those first few tiers looked ripped straight from the stories mothers had used to scare Wayrest children into compliance with for generations.

The trickle of Hunters into the Hall slowed, then stopped. The quiet murmur of conversation died off too, as one man took the floor.

The Lord of Blood.

Tall and commanding, he strode to the centre of the Hall, arresting everyone’s attention as if it was his divine right.

If Hunters were monsters from children’s stories, then the Lord of Blood was who the adults in Wayrest lost sleep over.

No one seemed to know exactly why he had been exiled. Some said he was a Watchman, others a Guard, a small few that he had been a part of the Church. He was a noble in one story, a pauper in others, and both in some. He murdered children, or nobles, or noble children, for some inscrutable grudge. He killed clergymen and artisans, or merchants and enchanters. Some say he murdered half the Council of his day, and that was why no one could agree. But all the stories agreed on a few salient points.

He had manifested Blood. He had murdered many people. And in the thirty-something years since his exile, his reputation had only grown.

Stories of murders on Reapings fell at his feet. Villagers going missing without a trace - The Lord’s work. Whispers of rebellion fomenting in the Hunters were attributed to him as well.

Now that Tom saw him in the flesh, he could believe every word.

The man was impeccably presented, unlike his bloodthirsty fellows, and yet he gave the sense of a wolf brushing and trimming his coat to make his way past your threshold. He was violence and bloodshed, sadism and resentment, rage and bitterness, all locked in a calculating cage.

Tom recognised the cage from his father. But he had known the combinations, the calculus that would see it swing open, intimately. The Lord was an unknown. Any misstep could set him off. Tom could see that, just like his father, the Lord knew it. Knew that others knew it, too. And he revelled in it.

Tom found a sudden and intense desire to be anywhere but here. Just as quick as the flare came, it was extinguished, replaced by cold, iron resistance. He refused to cower in the presence of bullies. He would not be that man, was not that man, anymore.

Even if he died for it. So be it.

“Thank you all, for making the journey,” The Lord spoke into silence. His voice was cultured and smooth, the combination tainting his words with an oily slickness. The acoustics of the hall carried his voice to each of them clearly.

“It has been some years since we last gathered. We have much to discuss.”

He stopped then, looking at something he held in his hand. Tom could not see what it was.

“You all must have heard by now. About the orcs in the Deep. How many of you have seen them?” he asked, as if he didn’t really care for the answer.

A few hands went up, then a few more. Val raised hers, and Tom with her. All told, it seemed maybe twenty of them had seen them.

“As I expected. There are more, who I suspect have …run afoul of them.” He idly rolled the object in his hands between his fingers. “Unfortunately,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“They are somewhere in the north east. The infection has fully set in, and now can only grow.”

There was muttering at that, grumbling, that slowly raised in volume, until at the pivotal moment, just as the reins were about to slip his grasp, he spoke again.

“In six months, at the most, Wayrest will be under siege.”

The room, fallen silent, now once more surged with discord.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t believe you!”

“We must tell Wayrest!”

“We should leave!”

“How many are there?!”

The Lord simply stood, a small smile on his face, letting the exclamations play themselves out. Eventually, they withered.

“I have a proposal, for you all,” said the Lord, now looking again at his hand.

“I propose we do nothing.”

For a moment, Tom swore he could hear the grass growing above their heads. Then came the shouting once again.

“Nothing!?”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t do nothing, we’re Idealists!”

As before, the Lord let the outbursts die down. Then he let the silence drag some more.

“What has Wayrest ever done for you? Kicked you out, like a dog? Scolded you for something out of your control, like a naughty child? Except the punishment - their punishment! - is for you to live like a beast in the forest. A trained animal, too distasteful for them to bear having inside their precious walls, but not so much that they won’t allow you to fend off the monsters for them.

“Fuck them! Fuck the shivering sheep who allow it! Fuck the nobles who prop it all up. Fuck the Church for ordaining it. And fuck the Council, especially.”

He drew deep breaths through his nose, his chest heaving. A strand of his dark hair had come free, dangled over his forehead. No one shouted him down. They all felt it, after all. Knew it was true, to one extent or another.

“I propose we do exactly nothing, for those fuckers,” he continued, having regained himself. “They’ve done less for us.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The silence rolled on, and their thoughts with it. Then Jace stood.

“I have family in Wayrest, man,” he said in a calm and even tone. “Many of us do. I can’t in good conscience just let them die.”

Many around the Hall murmured agreement in low tones, for this was true for many of them, too.

“Surely there is some middle ground to seek here? I’ve no love for the Council either, I’m here, after all, but letting a city die..? It’s not right.”

More agreement, louder. The Lord condescended Jace with a smile.

“There is …another way. Another plan…” he said, tentatively, as if this was not what he had been leading them to this whole time.

“We could take back the city.”

The line hit them like a punch to the face. Jace sat back down, sharing a concerned look with Scriber and Val. The Hall erupted in a clamour, all decorum forgotten.

“Are you mad?!”

“We couldn’t!”

“Madness! Treachery!”

The Lord held up one hand, and the room slowly quietened.

“I’m not mad. No more mad than the Council, anyway. They send us out here to toil until we die, all for their benefit. Why not take it back, I say? We are hundreds, and we are Idealists.”

“You know why,” this from a sturdy looking woman on the other side of the Hall from them. “We’re Idealists, but between the Guard, and the Watch, and the Church, and the Nobles, they are thousands more than us. And you seem to forget, they have massive, fucking, enchanted walls!”

A few shouted their agreement with her, the passions in the room rising. She took the encouragement and carried on.

“You were there, the last time they tried this!” she shouted at him. “They had over thirty Flawless Ideals between them, and the Watch slaughtered them to a man before they even made it to the inner village-ring! We had the Siege Sage! And because of their folly, he’s dead! I don’t know about you, but I ain’t got a surge that can knock a hole in those fucking walls!”

There was a moment’s laughter at that, but it ran dry as it met the Lord’s gaze.

“You might not,” he said simply.

“Some of you may have heard stories. This last year, a dragon has been terrorising the far southern reaches of the Deep. Not a young one, either.”

He rolled the object in his hand again.

“I made a journey,” he said. “And I killed it. After twenty-five years of searching, I finally have what I need. Twenty-five years of filling requirements, and now I have the final one.”

He held the object up above his head, for everyone to see. It was a stone. Big as an apple, and such a deep, deep green it was almost black. Tom recognised it as an essence stone, but it was larger by far than any he had ever seen.

A collective gasp filled the room. The Lord smiled.

He brought it to eye level, clearly marvelling at it. Then he raised his other hand, and gently, like he was reaching to wipe a tear from a crying lover, he touched a tattooed finger to it.

The essence immediately dissolved into fractured light and merged with his hand. He clenched his fist, and closed his eyes. Then he thrust his hand outwards.

There was a rush of displaced air as a huge shape filled the floor in front of him. Everyone froze.

Where before, a single man was made small by the space, now, it was filled by a massive shape. Crouched, yet still enormous, its predatory yellow eyes slowly swivelled about the room. The Lord stood at its shoulder, one hand resting gently upon its blood red scales.

Its tail coiled about, running fully half the way around the outer edge of the floor. It lay its great head upon its feet, settling, almost cat-like, its wings, black and leathery, folded to its side.

Vicious horns jutted from its head. Spikes ran in ridges on its heavy brow, and in parallel rows down either side of its spine, all the way down its tail.

A dragon.

Another instant, and it was gone again. The sudden absence of the massive predator left more than a few people around the ring slumping in their seats, as if they’d been pushing against some obstruction that had been removed.

“Leave the walls to me,” said the Lord.

No one said anything. A long moment of silence dragged out. Then Val stood.

“Say you knock a hole in the walls,” she asked, sounding curious. “Say you oust the Council. What state does that leave the city in? And who would take charge? You, I presume?”

The Lord gave her another condescending smile, as if he had a skill just for them.

“Why knock a hole in them, when I can just fly over?” he asked. “I hold no designs on running Wayrest, either. That sounds like a terribly dry way to spend my life. No, I simply want to dismantle the power structures that allow people like us to end up in a place like this.”

He gestured about himself, to the room, to all of them, drawing them in.

“I propose we wait for the orcs to put Wayrest under siege. They won’t get past the walls, not soon, anyhow. Then we swoop in, and gut the fucking Council, and the fucking Church, and the fucking Nobles. And with any luck, the rest won’t be so stupid as to turn away our help breaking the siege.”

“You’re forgetting something.” A voice rang out, clear into the room. It took Tom a moment to realise it was his own. Every eye swivelled to him. Val was looking at him with a baffled expression. Jace and Scriber too. The whole room, for that matter.

“Who are you, might I ask? You’re not familiar.” The Lord enquired, polite, for all the edge on the question.

“Tom,” he said. “Tom Cutter.”

“Ah, the young lad who first brought us the news of orcs. How heroic. Tell me, Tom, what have I forgotten? I confess, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

Muffled laughter bubbled around the room. Tom felt his cheeks burning. But he would not be cowed.

“They have Ideals. Surely I can’t be the only one who’s seen it.”

The Lord paused, unsure.

“Yes. I hadn’t forgotten, I merely thought it might be a fancy,” he said. “What I’m unsure of is, what difference does it make if they do?”

“The walls,” Tom said, growing more confident. “You said they won’t get through them anytime soon. If they have Ideals, though…”

He let the thought trail off, and he could see comprehension dawning in the other Hunters. A few began to nod their agreement with him, then more.

“They won’t have the walls down quick regardless of whether they have Ideals or not. If they could, then the Hunters would have broken in and given the Council what they deserve decades ago,” the Lord said dismissively.

“We can’t know that,” he pushed. “They’ve never had them before. Maybe they’re different from ours. Stronger, maybe. Maybe they’ve more of them. The stories all say that there’s always more orcs. Stands to reason they’d have more Ideals, too.”

“That’s a lot of maybes to hang our chance at freedom on, lad. You might be a Hunter, but you’re young. You’ll see how things work, in time. I propose we keep with the plan.”

Tom floundered.

“No harm in checking, is there?” This from Val again. “Can’t fly all of us in there on your dragon, anyway.

“We’re Hunters. No better scouts for hundreds of miles in any direction. I propose we make use of our skills. The orcs won’t be at the walls for several months yet, you say. Let us use the time. Might be it’ll help us, when we’re inside the walls again, and they’re breathing down our necks.”

Agreement rose steadily through the room, and Val sat back down.

“I …don’t see why these two plans can’t coexist,” the Lord said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yes, I can see how it might be useful to have some of us scout the orcs.”

He paused for several moments. The room grew restless. They could feel the Gathering was almost done.

“I will pick those who will be part of my strike force over the walls. Those who are willing, scout the orcs, and find as much information as you can: how many of them are there, confirm their Ideals, and how strong they are. Any information you can, and bring it back here. The rest of you, prepare. We will have need of you, in one fashion or another, before long. When the siege begins, find your way here. We will get you inside the city.”

Then he abruptly made for the exit, and the gathering began to dissolve as well. Tom’s group began to file for the exit, and after some interminable time, waiting their turn to shuffle down the tunnel, tussling with his inner turmoil, they made it back to their camp, outside.

“Madness!” Jace hissed. “The Watch will slaughter us all!”

Val was quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

“Not much we can do about it now,” said Scriber. “He’s got their blood up. Put visions of hot food every meal and a soft bed every night in their heads. The boulder’s rolling.”

“We can still stop this,” Val said, stirring from her reverie. “But we need to move quickly.”

“How?” said Moth, disbelief clear on her face. “Truth be told, I’m not even sure I want it stopped.”

“We need to get proof of the orcs and bring them to Wayrest. If we don’t they’ll be caught even less prepared for this all than they should. We can try warning them of the plot, too, but you know what they’re like when you thrust a problem at them.”

“They’ll ignore us,” Scriber said confidently. “They’ll think we’re trying to wheedle our way back into the city by ratting on other rats.”

“If they don’t believe us about The Lord, that’s on them,” Val said decisively. “If the Council gets swept up by The Lord, I’m not sure that would be a bad thing either. But if they’re unprepared for the orcs, and the orcs have Ideals, and The Lord murders all the leaders while they’re under siege, well… we might not have a city to even dream of going back to.”

Her words fell into solemn silence.

“Tom and I will leave tomorrow,” she said. “We have work to do.”