An Emissary

Through the long parade of ages he had developed a sense of the setting sun and even in the bowels of the castle he knew when that destructive orb had receded into the horizon. In the nether world from which he had come its cleansing rays could not reach him. The place of his banishment possessed light and dark in a fashion, but the radiance was blunted as if through a veil. Now there was the risk of his destruction with each dawn, but withstanding the day was fair payment for the moon and stars that he now enjoyed.

He always waited out the bulk of the brilliance before he would move to the upper reaches of the keep. Tane Abiss was the eldest of his kind and knew that his survival over the many years had made him strong. Perhaps he was strong enough to resist the purification of dawn, but he was not incautious. He rarely tested his endurance and always with a setting sun. His eyes were open in his resting place until he knew that sweet night had fallen at last and the mortal world was enfolded in a cloak of darkness.

He rose rested ... and hungry.

A slave was left bound and gagged just within the entrance to his lair. He preferred to feed alone, leaving the remains to be disposed of in the new dawn by the retainers of the keep. The terror of his victims and the attendants who brought them soaked the black stone of the walls and he inhaled deeply, relishing it.

He could smell the struggling little creature, a young female this time, who had heard him stir and was now sobbing in terror in the outer room. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the muffled sounds, his hearing quite keen. He drank in the fear and despair in those little whines as a bee takes nectar and he drew the tangy scent of hopelessness with the fright, wetly sparking his appetite. A grin creased his fanged visage.

When at last his need drove him, he came to her. As he directed, she had been set upright among a few torches so that she could see him emerge from the shadows of his chamber. He appeared as his regal self, winged and clawed. He advanced slowly, letting her perceive her fate.

In the early days after his arrival his victims were left un-gagged, so that he might savor their pleading. While he enjoyed the screams, they proved disconcerting to the work of the keep as they echoed to the upper floors. He altered his ritual, omitting their cracking voices as aperitif. But how he savored their eyes! How they widened, tear-filled and beseeching as he drew near, hoping for mercy where none existed. He'd watch as they would close for long moments, thinking him a dream or vision before reopening and finding him there waiting ... smiling. In those last moments they sometimes looked up or downward in genuflection. Perhaps they prayed in vain to one deity or another for deliverance. How precious they looked when the hope faded and they embraced their fate. When all they could wish for was simply that it would end.

How sweet the taste of their little lives. He mused happily. These are such lovely prey! Such innocents nearly make being in thrall worthwhile.

The thought of his current servitude broke his mood. It burned him as much as the sun could roast him that he must serve another and that his liege be a mortal. Of late to recall the name of his lord could almost put him from his repast. It was a constant reminder of his misjudgment and the defeat he suffered at Locke's hands in their first encounter that now bound him.

Though he was a key general and would obtain a mighty reward when the demon-man came to dominion, he bore him no fealty. Unfortunately, Locke knew this as well and had made it abundantly clear that he would end his existence in an instant if he attempted to thwart or betray him.

"Obey me and you shall live and prosper, but practice your deceit upon me and I shall give you a death to last centuries." The wizard had told him in blunt, irrevocable terms. "A death your kin will speak of for all time."

Despite his undead existence, Abiss had no desire to enter into permanent sleep. He had looked at Locke's deathlike visage and saw nothing that remotely resembled mercy or accommodation. Locke would retain him so long as he served his purposes and, if he failed, he would not be freed to return to the darker realm from which he came. He would be destroyed.

Since being called from his mystic exile he had worked his own considerable powers to comply with the wizard's will. Locke wanted an army from him. A special army the like of which mortal beings had never encountered, save perhaps in the worst of nightmares. It was his charge to tip the balance of arms in Locke's favor by recruiting an unearthly host.

Each of the wizard's generals had been tasked with providing soldiers for the coming campaign. Byrrath and the mercenary Sorell each had retainers at their disposal in considerable numbers, but for all their prowess and specialty their hosts were comprised of mortal beings and subject to the natural laws of life and death.

His donation to the campaign would not be an army in a traditional sense. It would not be led so much as unleashed. Like the gargoyles and the goblins his "soldiers" would be largely restricted to night fighting, but when they took the field they would be a sight to take the heart from even the most courageous and committed of the foe.

The composition of his host left much to be desired in the way of versatility. The number of his command would vary day to day as some of the more powerful would prey upon the lesser beings within it. As for control, there would be little. Some were capable of receiving orders and these could be managed with the subtlety of tactical movement. The mass however, would be little more than ravening hell spawn fit only for the most simple and ferocious of attacks. Once released, they would strike and savage, tear and bite until a power greater than their own ended their assault. Some among them would possess arcane abilities similar to his, but most owned only the strength and sinew of claws and fangs. Their howls and wails would chill the blood.

The vampire lord knew precisely what he would be setting free and supposed Locke did as well.

This "army" will possess no discipline. He mused. There will be no "chain of command", no units or banners. No quarter asked and none given. Once on the field, I will do no more than to point and set them to charge.

He turned to the torn remains of his meal, the eyes open and staring. He squatted beside the corpse and smiled.

"Some are so savage that they will stop in the midst of the fighting to feed upon what they slew." He spoke, the body becoming his audience. "There'll be no dark heroes among their ranks seeking glory through acts of valor or single combat with the champions of the foe. This horde will bear me no more loyalty than I bear Locke. The most ambitious among them would kill and supplant me if given the opportunity or join in a coup against my leadership rather than act alone."

"A true army of chaos and its pay is the mortal flesh which had been denied them." Abiss laughed, punctuating his words by leaning forward to take a final bite of the cooling, still figure. "A booty that my potential rivals cannot promise."

"Byrrath referred to the coming war as "A Great Killing" and indeed it will be!" He whispered, a snake-like tongue circling this lips as he rose from his meal. "I've ambitions...