Novels2Search
The Undying Emperor [Grand Conquest Fantasy]
6-16 - The Obsidian Grave Feaster

6-16 - The Obsidian Grave Feaster

The demon was in the south. Lucius was given only enough time to write letters recalling his soldiers and apologizing to his household. Of course, nothing of the purpose of his travel could be explained. Even more rumors spread throughout the kingdom when he was seen riding south under royal flags and they only grew more exaggerated when the king refused to explain the purpose.

Lucius recalled one hundred of the wastelanders, choosing several of sound mind but primarily those who had barely moved past their slave-like existence in the desert. It slowed his pace to the Ashfall Mountains, but they stood the most to gain from the battle. They were also the most expendable.

They travelled off the beaten path, to regions which only had the smallest of shrines to the water goddess, where clan heritage mattered more than loyalty to the crown. Several villages girded their walls only to watch as the company marched past them. Others prepared grand welcomes only to find themselves hosting the hero of Rackvidd, the one who slew the lord of the black keep.

Half a dozen men challenged him to duels, but he deferred them all until after his duty was fulfilled, he even arranged to have their travel expenses to Forum covered so they could duel him there once the winter ended, though it was unlikely any would bother. Once planting season came, they would have their fill of excuses to not seek their own deaths.

The further into the mountains they travelled, the less touch of Vassermark could be seen, until at last they came upon the village of Glasspeak. To the best of my knowledge, there exists nowhere in the world a map that still shows the way to Glasspeak. The people were reclusive to their little valley. Occupied with the raising of goats and the simple quarrying of stone to build their mansions. By size, they each rivaled the estates of nobles, but while they had gardens both for food and for pleasure, everywhere was stone and sand. Textiles were prized beyond measure, but the merchants demanded a high toll for the work of driving carts across the sloped roads.

It was this isolation that made it so difficult for Acheliah to track the source of the demonic intrusion.

There was much confusion upon his arrival. His name meant nothing to the locals save for two shepherds that had tried to sell their flocks close to Rackvidd. All recognized the royal seal however, and many weapons were secretly prepared with the expectation that they were to be put to harrowed for some unknowable reason. Lucius knew that he had to find the beast first, however, and had prepared.

Among the packs carried by horse and ass were great heaps of textile bolts he had purchased on the way. Had he sold them anywhere, carrying the mark of the king, he would have made a profit, but nowhere in the kingdom could he have found more eager buyers than those with herds to slaughter and fill the stomachs of his men.

The first night was a farce and he allowed them to believe the local temple was operating properly. This was despite the priest, as he was called, only having a crude translation from Vassish to the only Giordanan tongue, which even that he could scarcely pronounce, let alone preach. Pews were covered in sand and the idol of Sapphira was simply a carving of a woman made from a dried out stump some years prior.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The true religious leader of the town was a grey bearded dwarf who didn’t say a word to Lucius that first day. He pretended at senility, but never quite let the cadre of soldiers from his sight. It was him that rallied the local men the following morning when Lucius marched his men east to the old lava fields.

It was a grand cemetery, in a sense. Other cultures have left their dead to be picked apart by vultures and drakes upon the stones of mountains, but the people of Glasspeak dug shallow graves amid black sand so that, in time a fresh layer of lava would flow over them. They believed the dead would thus be preserved for eternity(1). It was through one of these molten fissures in the firmament that the eager germ of a demon passed through. One can only guess how many centuries it took to become dislodged from the channels and break free beneath the sun, but when it did the ground could not have been more fertile.

Centuries of souls beneath comparatively soft stone were like mother’s milk to it.

Lucius had to merely cut himself and cause the barest tremble of pull upon the power beneath the stone for it to burst free. I confess, when I learned of this I couldn’t help but be proud of him. The method was simple enough, true, but he did it on his own.

He described the creature as part worm and part insect. Chitin plated legs that tucked to the belly when not digging and scratching at the ground like a vermin chewing the shell from a nut. It was too big for its own good, the long tail struggling to unfurl from its nest as Lucius retreated from the undulating, lamprey like maw.

Then, he used a strategy I can only describe as a slavish use of brute strength to quell and slay the beast. The cannons he had taken from the king’s armor were a peculiar design intended for whaling, and thus launched tethered harpoons at speeds comparable to siege ballistae. Rather than have the other end tied to barrels to eventually exhaust the beast, the wastelanders grabbed onto the rope and pulled in every direction. If it tried to move forward, they pulled it back. Retreat was met with similar resistance. Thus, they held it in place with the combined strength of nearly a hundred men while a small crew loaded a single standard cannon and blasted slugs through its face.

They had to replace the leyrods four times as they drove steel balls through the demon’s twitching brain. When it collapsed, the fight wasn’t yet done. Axemen were sent to the beast and they hacked through exposed muscle until they could rip off the legs, one by one until it was naught but a chitin-plated eel. The mindless savages had no desire for fire to cinder the meat. They tore into it with tooth and claw, filling their stomachs as the sun began to set.

Lucius stayed close to the demon as it was butchered, but after a time, he exchanged cloak and helm with one of his subordinates and stole off into the hills. Up from the village came a skulking horde of vindictive men led by the wretched dwarf. True, the town’s graveyard had been defiled, but more importantly the new patron god of their valley had been laid low. I believe they thought it was the second coming of their angel, a lesser creature whose name I don’t even recall as they perished centuries prior.

The boy, who had not exerted himself in the least against the demon, fell upon the traitorous locals. Between the obsidian hills, the only escape was into the arms of well fed wastelanders. All were dead by nightfall. Those of the village who resisted were crucified and the settlement put to the torch. As such, it is no longer upon any map except perhaps some apocryphal scraps to be sold to desperate treasure hunters gullible enough to think goat herders kept a stockpile of gold that Lucius von Solhart didn’t bother to plunder.

When Lucius returned to the north, it was with one hundred demonic soldiers at his back. They were thralls no more, but their minds were still like empty cups to be filled with the world.

----------------------------------------

1. A nonsense belief. Their dead were quite thoroughly reduced to mere carbon by the heat.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter