“Sure.” Scorio replied, and after being introduced to the remaining Tomb Sparks and Emberlings he and Naomi fell in alongside with Faridian, the three Flame Vaults just behind.
Faridian eyed Scorio’s wounds. “Those are nasty injuries. I’m surprised you can walk.”
“As long as I keep my Heart ignited it’s not too bad.”
“You must have an expansive reservoir.”
“I do.” Scorio could feel the pressure of the other man’s curiosity, for even a massive reservoir would expire before they reached the Fury Spires, but chose to elide the implicit question. “Where are you all returning from?”
“The Sentinel Tower.” Faridian pointed toward the southeast. “It’s three valleys over, and the source of the Iron Tyrant’s tribulations.”
“One source,” said Dakshina from behind.
“One source,” agreed Faridian with a smile. “It’s an ancient tower, a fascinating construct. Its origin predates our written records. It seems to have always been there, though there’s speculation that our original Imperators built it during our first push out of Bastion. If they did, however, they outdid themselves in terms of scale and obscurity of purpose. It’s been abandoned for as long as we’ve known about it, and is the source of the Gurlocks.”
“Gurlocks,” said Scorio. “The Iron Tyrant mentioned those when he asked me to work for him. Fiends?”
“Not exactly. It’s hard to be precise.”
“They’re our enemies,” said Jaks. “Which means they’re basically fiends. Might as well be.”
“They’re generated by the Sentinel Tower,” said Yuze, tone fervent. “Which makes them artificial constructs, not naturally occurring fiends.”
Jaks laughed. “Since when does the method of ‘generation’ matter? They’re born out in hell, they come after us, we kill them. Fiends.”
Faridian raised a hand, forestalling further argument. “While it’s true they are products of the Iron Weald, they appear to be creations of the Sentinel Towers. They’re fascinating, and appear to be a fundamental part of the Iron Weald’s ecology.”
“Towers?” prompted Naomi.
“There’s a second on the far side of the Iron Weald,” said Faridian. “Almost diametrically opposite us. It, too, generates Gurlocks, but our closest encampment to that tower is Hydra’s base, which is almost a hundred miles north. The Gurlocks there don’t bother them, seeming to instead to fall into slumber.”
Scorio was fascinated. “Slumber? So there’s an army of them building up over there?”
“Not quite.” Faridian’s smile turned pained. “There seems to be a set number that they generate, though it’s impossible to tell how many, as most proceed underground upon being created. A decade ago, the Iron Tyrant sponsored a research trip to the second tower to see if we could learn more about them. Several Gurlocks were destroyed at that time, and a second foray a year or two later confirmed that their numbers had been restored.”
“But they’re not quiet over here?” asked Naomi. “Are the Fury Spires closer to them?”
“They are, but not markedly so.” Faridian pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Records indicate that the Gurlocks have always targeted the Fury Spires, though in the past the blazeborn rebuffed them.”
Yuze leaned forward. “The blazeborns are the fiends who created the Fury Spires.”
“Oh.” Scorio raised his gaze to take in the great mottled edifice, the towers rising from the central dome-like structure that filled the entirety of the valley like an ashen-brown mountain range of its own. “What happened to the blazeborns?”
“Their numbers are greatly reduced,” said Faridian, “and they now serve at the Iron Tyrant’s pleasure. Alas, when the Iron Tyrant took their home to be his base of operations, he also inherited their enemies. Unless we keep the Gurlocks in check, they sojourn here and seek to destroy us.”
Scorio had a thousand questions, but the pain and exhaustion made it hard to focus. Fortunately, Naomi was there to continue the conversation. “Serve at the Iron Tyrant’s pleasure? They’re slaves?”
Faridian considered her with a raised brow. “How do you think the Iron Tyrant acquired his moniker?”
“They’re fiends,” said Dakshina with disdain. “They’re fortunate the Iron Tyrant saw a use for them, seeing as the regular people of Bastion can’t travel this deep into hell. Their fate could have been - and perhaps should have been - far worse.”
“But why?” asked Scorio. “Why did he want to live here? Why not just operate a simple base like the Nightsong?”
It was Yuze who responded, his tone pensive. “The Iron Weald is surprisingly inhospitable for being only the second layer of hell. It’s said that even the Telurian Band and the Silver Unfathom are safer. Until the Iron Tyrant conquered the Fury Spires, we had only precarious outposts under our control, and those were constantly attacked.”
“Maybe the fiends don’t appreciate being slaughtered,” muttered Naomi.
Jaks leaned forward to peer at Naomi as they walked. “We’re talking about fiends here!”
Faridian again raised his hands calmingly. “The ten layers of hell are peopled by all manner of fiends. Some are our enemies, others our servants, a few our allies. Fortunately most are indifferent to our presence. The nature of our relationships are determined by the balance of power between the two parties. Unfortunately for the blazeborns, they were overcome by the Iron Tyrant’s ambition and power. Such is the way of hell.”
“Like the Emerald Host,” said Scorio softly, missing Lianshi as he recalled her passion for such topics. “Right?”
“The Emerald Host is one such power,” agreed Faridian. “And one that occupies much of our attention as they’ve begun a northern migration at the behest of the Viridian Heart. That migration and the Blood Ox’s war are the current focal points - besides the Pit itself - for most Great Soul activity in hell.” Faridian shook his head wearily. “Though the Emerald Host is far beyond the concern of the likes of us. You must be a Pyre Lord to even reach the Emerald Reach, and I believe the situation is so dire that a Crimson Earl has fallen back from the deeper layers of hell to deal with it.”
“The Seamstress,” said Yuze. “Right? The head of House Basilisk. That’s what I heard while working at the Fiery Shoals.”
“Correct,” said Faridian. “Though who knows if that is still true? It takes time for word to travel across hell.”
“Are there any updates on the war against the Blood Ox?” asked Naomi. “Last we heard from Plassus, it wasn’t going so well.”
Faridian and the others stared at her in amazement.
“You’ve been chatting with Charnel Duke Plassus?” asked Jaks.
“Well.” Naomi flushed. “He was present at our trial.”
“The one where we were cleared of all wrongdoings,” put in Scorio. “Along with Vermina and the Iron Tyrant. Plassus tried to recruit us for the war effort.”
“I see.” Faridian was clearly impressed. “When you’re healed I will very politely demand to learn more about what took place in Bastion. We’ve heard all manner of wild rumors, but your name is always at the center of it.”
“When I’m healed,” agreed Scorio tiredly. “Sure.”
“But in answer to your question,” Faridian continued, “the war does not go well. Our forces have retreated across the Bone Plains nearly to the edge of the Iron Weald itself. The Blood Ox holds LastRock, and his forces seem limitless. Our only advantage is that the great tidal wave of Gold mana that washed him and his army north is finally receding, starving his most elite forces of power. But it’s not been enough to allow us to turn the tide.”
“Why doesn’t an Imperator just fly in and kill him?” asked Naomi.
Jaks laughed. “Just like that? Someone should have remembered to ask. Saved us all this bother.”
Even Faridian was smiling. “The Blood Ox is a True Fiend. He hails from the Pit. It’s said he escaped the Imperator’s cordon when they attempted to realize the Cerulean Prophecy and failed.”