Book 3: Sound And Fury

  Chapter 23 Thick As A Brick

  In the command tent, with the sides rolled up for a clear view of his beleaguered war-camp, general Trask growled and snarled at his underlings.

  “My entire mage corps can’t figure out why the artifacts have failed, nor why the slaves haven’t realized the problem…” He hissed angrily.

  “My overseers can’t command their slaves magically, yet they sit there, placidly awaiting instructions. I wonder from whom they will receive those orders?” He asked, with a significant glance at the madman projected in the clouds. The deranged witch continued giving a high level lecture on the inner workings of soul bound artifacts and enchanting, with a focus on breaking such devices.

  /

  “Once you have a thread of the soul’s mortal Will grasped in your own, you have to slow down and take some time. Until you find some resonance, some commonality or empathy for the being inside, their soul will defend against anything you do.” The towering illusion in insectile armor, with a tasseled, pentangle mortarboard gap atop his bug helm spoke clearly and carefully to his audience.

  He carried on for some time, while using a bronze capped rod of bamboo to indicate the salient points on his mountain obscuring, blackboard of clouds.

  “Finally, it’s time to begin obliterating the primary curse runes in the seal. Take your time and move with care, until you can remove the lid.”

  Several of Trask’s mages were covertly taking notes, rather than focusing on the general’s briefing, that was perhaps the most infuriating part of the whole matter. “Priest Nuttley, I would appreciate your input on this matter…”

  The general almost gagged on his desire to gut the pale, doughy wizard priest… but he was the second son of Cardinal Espinoza’s favorite pleasure slave. Mentally cursing all politicians, priests and lords, he glared up at the lunatic, standing among the clouds and moons.

  “Hey, Ward…” The colossal figure asked someone unseen. “Can we alter the visible light in our projection a bit? I want the folks without a vision gift to see all the action.”

  “Sure, I’ll shift the ectoplasmic decay spectrum over some, you may lose some contrast and depth of field…” The same man’s voice drifted out, in a slightly different pitch and timbre.

  “Sure… Nerd.” The lunatic replied merrily, as he carefully used a small chisel to excise a rune from the silver seal holding the jar closed.

  “Yeah, we’ll see if I provide my nerdy audio video services next time…” The unseen man sassed back, a moment before the cloud image shifted slightly, bringing a horde of drifting, hideous ghosts into view all around the valley and among the drifting clouds.

  Spirits of dead men and beastkin wandered all around and among the living of both armies, drifting heedlessly, or staring, leering or jeering at the living, from beyond the veil of life and death.

  “Oh, that’s too much, bro… We don’t want to let these guys see everything… dial it back a little.” The madman grumbled at his unseen servant. With a flicker of light, the drifting shades vanished from sight… Though the thought that they were probably just unseen, lingered in many troubled minds.

  With the spectres faded from view, the soul jar on the lunatic lecturer’s workbench remained, surrounded by a dense haze of drifting, ghostly threads and strands that floated and waved. Like the tendrils of a sea creature, they stretched, reaching out into the tides of magic, seeking something the mortals could hardly guess at.

  “See? Even from within the bottle, the soul still calls out to others, hoping to find resonance, companionship and commonality. The creature’s sentient Will is the problem, since only a self aware Mind retains the capacity for evil.”

  He smiled at the unwilling class of students and chuckled wryly. “That is the true nature of evil, you know… The cruelty and callous nature of beings who lack empathy, naturally spread that disease to others, when they are allowed to gain power.”

  With a careless flick of his wrist, the madman flipped the cut crystal stopper from the bottle and stood back just a little. From the open vessel, the hazy, insubstantial figure of a middle aged man, with handsome features, dressed in rich robes and a fur collared mantle emerged. Above the image of a noble lord of stately bearing, the man’s face was wracked with trouser soiling, mind rending fear.

  “There you are, Fletch… Lich lord who would become a true immortal.” He laughed a little at the deeply frightened ghost.

  “You see me, don’t you?” He asked the spectre, drifting in a tightly coiled column of haze, above the jar. “You see what I am, what your god and his friends tried to make of me? Yes, you do…”

  He laughed cruelly and gazed up at the moons, which was weird, since the towering figure in the clouds seemed to be staring off into the void between stars.

  “Your filthy pontiffs see too, because I allow them to. They are all watching, you know… They can see everything you do, through the spells and curses they wound into your soul when your buddy or his minions helped you pickle yourself.”

  He smiled in a cajoling way at the shady image of a terrified lord. “Don’t feel so bad, they do that to most of the beings they possess or influence, in one way or another.” He murmured happily.

  “Besides, your problems are ending, right about now. Once I popped your top, you can’t stop. Your soul is no longer isolated from the great cycle of life, the universe and everything and you are already unwinding into the void…” He glanced back to his silent, largely unwilling but rapt audience.

  “This is the part my kids like best…” He impossibly pulled an absurdly long, elaborately carved smoking pipe from his armored lack of sleeves and puffed on it a few times. A dense, gray cloud of smoke flowed from the fellow’s mouth and nostrils, as his smile widened.

  “Oh, yeah! Headband! Nothing better for when you’re watching fireworks…” With that, he carelessly tapped his pipe’s dottle into the open jar, which erupted in a silent, nearly invisible flame.

  /

  Like all the helpless, hopeless, doomed slaves in the pens Reeila watched the odd madman in the sky. He nattered on entertainingly, babbling complete nonsense while a group of unseen musicians played soft music through the whole war-camp.

  It was amusing… and she had nothing else going on. Oddly, none of the legionnaires, overseers, mages or templars had made their usual, furtive visits to the female slave pens. For that mercy alone, most of the collared women breathed silent prayers of thanks to whatever gods might hear them in this strange realm.

  She tucked her long, fluffy tail around her own shoulders and as many others as she could reach. As the evening cooled, they all huddled close, each seeking what warmth she could from the women clustered tightly around her… And perhaps some scant protection from whichever of the soldiers, knights, priests or wizards might develop a taste for one of the beastkin slave girls. All too often the girls dragged away in the night returned maimed, broken or not at all.

  A loud, startling ‘POP’ drew the entire valley’s eyes upwards, higher even than the towering projection capering and dancing in the scattered clouds. Colorful motes and sparks of light burst forth, glittering as they slowly fell back to earth, only to be engulfed in more detonations and brightly beautiful flowers, blooming in the distant sky above.

  “Ooohhh…” Uncounted parched and desperate throats whispered in amazement from the slave pens.

  “Ahhhh!” Still more slaves, warriors and leaders muttered from all over the camp, as the sky became a garden of explosive delights and flaming pleasures. The soft music swelled as the initial skyburst went off, slipping smoothly into a potent, driving and ecstatic song that seemed to fit the moment.

  Twenty minutes of ‘O Fortuna’ and a few spicy numbers from ‘Habanera’ slowly fell silent as the last sparks flared and sputtered in the small jar.

  “Ahh, that was just right.” The madman in the sky whispered happily, still puffing away on his freshly filled pipe.

  “Poor lord Franklin or Feather… Whatever. Our bottled lich buddy is no more. His soul is even, now screaming at the injustice of it all, as he slips into the maw of the Devourer of Souls…” After that dire proclamation, his expression of mild pleasure and stoned amusement sharpened. “Now it’s time to address you lot.”

  He glared down at the gathered army with slightly red and bloodshot eyes and a weird, crooked smile, behind his awful bug mask.

  “My friends are currently wondering what most of your rank and file warriors are wondering… ‘Why haven’t they sent their vast army of slaves to wipe out our little band of warriors and knights?’ …That’s pretty weird, right. Your bosses are just sitting there, watching me goof on them and twist their tails.”

  He laughed loud and raucous joy across the silent foothills. His smile hardened into a grim rictus as his laughter died.

  “Slaves. Stand up and face inward, make no noise.” He said calmly, amidst the noise and bustle of twenty thousand people rising to their feet as one and turning to look at the inner camp in utter silence.

  “At the very beginning, I told you clowns that you could still escape; if you went through the gate unarmed and unarmored. That opportunity has closed now. As has the gate behind you.” He spoke calmly and firmly, as if to a troublesome child.

  “I stole all your slaves, supplanting your artifacts of mastery with my own.” He growled, his gaze fixed firmly on the inner camps. The lunatic tugged his gorget aside, revealing a leather collar around his own neck, glinting with metal threads and strange runes.

  With his armored throat guard dangling, he pulled his insect mask and helm away, revealing an unremarkable looking man late in his youth. He shook his sweaty, messy hair and grinned a mad, crooked smile at the gathered army below.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I’m Gary Ward, Fool, deranged witch and dungeon lord of the Madman’s Moon. I’m here to free slaves and kill immortal dickheads, whether they are gods, demons or spirits. Pontiffs of the light cult; I’m coming for you.”

  In response to a silent command, twenty thousand slaves turned, slowly and carefully took hold of their rickety pens and pushed them over. They marched silently away from the stunned and deeply terrified conscripts, legion and knights, without a backward glance.

  The formation of warriors mounted on horses and… other things that rolled silently, advanced slowly, allowing the columns of ragged, wild eyed slaves to march by, behind their lines.

  Once the slaves disappeared into the tree line, the bland featured, shaggy haired peasant in the sky gazed down on the conscript brigade. Most were nervously trying to spread out from their camps, without drawing attention to their uncoordinated movements. The man smiled, watching a thousand men try to formulate a thousand escape plans, without getting caught.

  “friends… sit tight for just a little longer. You are in no danger from me.” The fellow whispered gently and smiled, before his lambent gaze fell back on the central camp.

  “You guys are in significant danger from me… And you still haven’t realized that you are encamped around a dangerous artifact that I made… From the corpse of a god that I killed.”

  He smiled down at the gathered warriors, mages and clerics, as if he were looking each of them in the eyes from his awful height. “I killed the god of War in this domain and a bunch of his immortal friends… For collaborating with your cult. Think on that for a moment; I’ll give you some time.”

  He stepped away from the empty soul jar and sat down on a patch of scrubby grass and herbs, his legs crossed beneath him. With a long, slow sigh, he began working his fingers into the soil, rooting around in the earth with a smile of relief and pleasure on his face.

  “Ohh… That’s better.” He sighed softly a few seconds later. “Now I need to make a confession… I’ve been stalling this whole time. The truth is, I’m just a normal rank human… I’ve been told that my ‘power level’ is laughable and I’m the weakest member of my team… all of which is true.”

  He smiled benignly and continued. “I am, however, seriously sneaky and absolutely weird.”

  He chuckled at the ever more confused army of light, who were now paralyzed by indecision. “You can’t attack our forces, cause I have that horde of slaves, hiding in the woods. You can’t escape, because the gate is closed, by my Will.”

  His smile became more cruel as he spoke. “Even if you could escape back home… Your pontiff has seen your abject and humiliating failure. How do you think that body jumping, demonic shit-bird will react to your return? Not with a parade, I think.”

  The fellow leaned back, with his fingers still buried in the dirt, clearly enjoying himself. “It gets worse, though.” He murmured quietly from the clouds. “For you guys, anyway. I feel much better. I’ve been holding back for a while, cause your slave collars are made of iron. I couldn’t have that kind of chaos unleashed here. Innocents would certainly be harmed in that case. Now that they are safely out of the area… I can finally cut loose.”

  While his inexplicable words were still drifting on the wind, the pavilions, cranes, gantries and every other structure in the camp silently collapsed.

  No tent stakes, cleats, rings of clips remained to support the canvas and silk canopies. Just as rivets, bolts and spikes corroded into flaky red dust, dropping the heavy moving equipment to the silent earth.

  Cookware and camp stoves vanished into heaps of embers, steam and coals, as every iron object in the camp surrendered to centuries of rust in a few scant moments.

  Startled knights stumbled and fell, as their familiar and well cared for armor became clots of dusty, corroded junk, unable to even remain in place as straps and buckles pulled loose or found themselves affixed to nothing at all. Hands nervously sought and grasped hilts… drawing weapons that fell apart, leaving wooden brass and leather furniture holding pitted, crumbling blade remnants. Spears became sticks, daggers and even humble cooking knives crumbled to dust.

  Even the chamberpot in the general’s tent surrendered to the effect, ruining the lord’s favorite rug. In the final indignity, the banner of Light, given by the pontiff’s own hand fluttered to the ground, the cleat and chain securing it to the mast were no more.

  “You came seeking power… You’ve found it, but it also found you.” He barked a rueful laugh at the chaos erupting in the clearing, under the pale golden, warm, light of the moons.

  “Conscripts, legion of the light… any of you guys that come over here and sit down, you will be unharmed. Try and escape or cause any trouble and you will find out how far my generosity extends… A hint, it’s not far.”

  He turned to the command tent and pavilions, a smile of wicked glee on his face.

  “Lords, priests and knights… I demand your unconditional surrender, no parole will be given.”

  He laughed and giggled, rocking on his butt, his fingers still rooted in the deep, dark soil. “It must be a shock… to find yourself helpless before another person’s power and Will.”

  The collapsing pavilions and scaffolding revealed the large, oddly round boulder the camp had been built around. Behind that, a new feature adorned the clearing, a high hedge of very thorny and unwelcoming brambles encircled the rear of the space, cutting off any easy retreat. Large, menacing wasps and bees hovered and swooped among the pale white blooms that decorated the awful hedge.

  “Those thorns and berries are toxic…” The madman sighed happily. “All those bees and wasps… they are sunsting honeybees and sugar wasps. They are very dangerous… Don’t get stung! Those beautiful creatures are sentient residents of these deep woods and my friends. They agreed to help us mess you clowns up right away! That’s how popular you assholes are, in the wider realms.”

  While he nattered on at the knights and lords, the conscripts and most of the legion figured out which way the wind was blowing and were shuffling over to the far end of the clearing, ignoring their leader’s shouts and commands.

  An army that marches at spear point becomes much less motivated, once the spears stop being pointy. The legion had little desire to find out just how much control the lunatic had over the vast army of hungry, desperate and angry slaves, lingering on the edges of the open space.

  When the madman stood from his seat on the ground, once more towering mountain high in the clouds; only a few dozen of the legion regulars remained at their posts.

  “Ah, very nice.” He murmured with satisfaction.

  “Well? Do you surrender unconditionally? Or do I send my forces in…?” The madman looked off to his left, considering something that went unheard and unseen in the clouds. “Hold that thought… Count Liam wants to talk to me and he’s way more important than you, general Trask.”

  /

  “Gary… There are still well over fifteen hundred knights, warriors and mages down there. They may be un-armored and armed with sticks and clubs…” He began, once Ward cut the audio feed.

  “I can’t ask these men and women to risk their lives that way…”

  “I said I would send in My forces. You guys are just security for this show.” He stretched and smiled brightly, looking much healthier than he had been, just a few minutes before.

  “The Tarots, my kids and the goblins are going to handle this. Any of you that want to bust some heads can feel free to come along, when the thing jumps off. I just ask that you do a s little killing as possible. Some of these people may be unwilling collaborators.”

  “Oh? Is it time time? Mosh pit?” Ghnash asked eagerly, while Amy and Becky kept the music going with a soulful rendition of ‘Mas Que Nada’ that packed some serious bossanova feels.

  “I could really go for some metal.” The goblin had a hopeful smile on his oddly too handsome, green face.

  “I promised Shai that I wouldn’t get anywhere near a battle.” Gary mumbled awkwardly. “I think she’ll bust my ass sideways, if it gets out of hand.” He shook his head at the cheerful little terror.

  “Besides, you know I can’t use my influence and gifts to actually hurt any living creature that way, even indirectly.”

  “You could hurl all those slaves at them and let several problems resolve themselves…” One of Liam’s minor lords offered, drawing the soul shivering glares of all the Garies and most of the Adventurers on the field.

  “Not cool, lord jerkoff… Be glad I don’t know who you are.” Strength rumbled from somewhere nearby. “Unless you wanna step forward and suggest that again.”

  “Chill, bro…” Several of the more reasonable Garies called out in unison.

  “Our enemy seems to have decided to take a gamble.” Wheel of Fortune muttered unhappily, drawing their attention back to the war-camp in the clearing. Men scurried into ranks, holding tent poles, wooden mauls and headless spear shafts, clad in their underlayers of quilted cloth. “I’m not surprised; we’ve given them few other options.”

  “All right, gang… let’s limber up.” Gary called out to no one in particular… he wasn’t even facing the Foresthome troops. He spoke into the deep, dark woods all around, to the empty boughs and dim shadows.

  “ClownShoes, Ragamuffins, unleash hell!” He barked to his grinning kids, who darted for the battery of small catapults, arrayed behind the treeline.

  “I didn’t make those flingers for chucking skulls, Liam.” He scolded his friend gently as the first stink-bomb landed among the enemy.

  /

  “Mas Caliente, Asswipes!” Rio shouted with glee, as his catapult launched a ball of smouldering stuff into the sky. When it struck ground, a low, sputtering flame erupted from the object, discharging huge volumes of smoke that burned the light cultists’ eyes, lungs and skin.

  “Taste my Habanero Hotfoot!” He cheered.

  Down in the enemy camp, things were chaotic at best. The loud barking voice of the general drifted up, accompanied by the screams and cries of his troops, who were having a very bad night.

  “Nice… Let’s switch to itching powder for a volley, team.” Wilf barked. “We’ll see how that works!”

  Drifting plumes of scorching, chili pepper smoke combined with invisible clouds of noxious, feculent stench to drive even hardened veterans to their knees.

  Netted balls of dried leaves and plant matter kept falling on the camp, bursting into great puffs of dust that clung to skin and began raising welts and blisters within seconds.

  Stinging nettle and poison oak were a nuisance under normal circumstances, just as chili dust and hot pepper smoke were unable to actually harm anyone…

  After days in sweaty armor in the summer, rashes and raw, abraded skin were common soldier’s complaints, for all ranks. Exposing those sensitive parts to the various and cruel concoctions of the Wards produced absolute chaos in the disordered and broken army.

  “Keep it going, kids.” Gary shouted, as he produced one awful bio weapon after another, all derived from the crop fields, forests and monsters of his new homeworld.

  /

  Overseers Sandring and Patterson slipped silently through the woods, dressed in the tattered uniform rags of slave soldiers. Slipping out of camp among the milling throng of beast-kin and human wretches had been Patterson’s idea and it was a winner, so far! Together they ducked into a tangle of brush and vanished in the night, with none the wiser.

  “Bollocks…” Sandring muttered crossly. “No slaves, no supplies, not even any clothes… But at least we got out alive. We’ll find some isolated farm to raid… something the two of us can handle.”

  “We’re unarmed… And an old lady with a broom is about all I feel ready to face… after that.” Patterson muttered. “What if we just follow that road until we find a town?”

  “What? Get a job in this backwater realm? Hauling firewood or cleaning privies? Go ahead, Pat. I’m not cut out for that lifestyle.” Sandring sighed. “I joined up so I’d never have to hold a shovel again.”

  Oddly metallic and harsh music rang out from behind the two men, startling them nearly out of their filthy rags. When they turned, a short, blocky young lad stood there, wearing odd wooden armor and holding a short shovel… or some kind of shovel based musical instrument.

  “Well that’s sad to hear, gentlemen. I think shovels are handy things. As far as escaping or raiding farms in this valley goes, that is not allowed.” The fellow said, quite cheerfully.

  His smile widened, as six small figures riding very large canines emerged from the woods around the two ‘escaped slaves’.

  “Goblins…” Patterson stammered feebly. “Tame goblins? Heresy and blasphemy!”

  “These ladies are my friends… Please remain respectful and courteous.” He murmured with a smile. “I promise, they won’t slice you up… If you surrender and behave.”

  “Yub yub! Show us your tea-party manners! We’re legit princesses!” Daisybelle insisted from the back of her mount. “Politeness, or we’ll dance the may-pole with your guts and feed you to these hungry doggies!”

  “Daze…” The short lad muttered, while Valerie and Aja bound the prisoners securely. “No more… You’ve killed enough people today.”

  “Bah! New long-knife is double good! So sharp and won’t shatter on bones! We can kill way more today!” She enthused, clapping her tiny green hand to the slender saber at her hip.

  “So shiny…” Gloria agreed, running her fingers delicately over the gleaming steel thorn in her hand.

  “Smooth cutting!” Maggie-may sang cheerfully.

  “Girls…. Before you start finding excuses to slice these idiots up, could we please get them turned in to the local lord?” The short lad pleaded with his bevy of green, blood thirsty damsels. “I’ll bake cookies…”

  “Will there be spiced cocoa?” Maggie-May demanded. “I like extra chili pepper!”

  “Yes yes, Maggs… Gandree boy will feed us well. He is always happy and compliant, after playing with his shitter digger.” Daisybelled replied smugly, while helping Gandree drag the prisoners away on foot. “He’s a shy pooper, you know!”

  “I feel like I’ve been hit in the head and nothing makes sense, anymore…” Sandring muttered sourly.

  /

  At Gary’s signal, Maya, Frankie and Harry joined Rio and Amy for a special assignment. The remaining kids switched from stink bombs, hot pepper smoke and nettles, to a neat pile of bright colored clay spheres, sealed with wax and a net of jute cordage around each.

  “All right, launch the silly-shrooms. ” Wilf called, once they were ready. The bright colored, melon sized orbs arced through the night, flung by the six small catapults hidden among the pines and aspens. Each split wide open in a puff of dust colored… dust on impact, as they smashed into the battered encampment.

  “Hallucinogenic mushroom spores?” Liam asked his mad brother in a quiet moment.

  “Yeah… they are gonna be having a really bad trip after all we’ve put them through.” He sighed. “Come on, kids. Time to start closing out this show.”

  Together, five kids and a lunatic slipped from the camp and vanished among the shadows, moonlight and trees.

  /