Sir Samwell shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…”
“What bright side?” Barabus asked, suddenly worrying about a war between heaven and hell.
“It could simply be that the demon just killed Talarius and he went to Tierhallon the old-fashioned way,” Sir Samwell replied.
Battle Priestess Karis Crooked Stick sat on one of the stone benches in the Shrine of Doom, staring at the communication stone and worrying. She was awaiting a response from Doom as to whether they could assist, and how many days would it take them to reach the Citadel with whatever forces they could spare. This was her assigned task from the Vicar General himself, but she feared it was a waste of time. Things were so dire that it was doubtful that the Isle of Doom could even arrive before the Storm Lords overran the Citadel. Her time would be better spent leading her squadron in the defense of their home than waiting for word from saviors who could not possibly make it in time.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry. They had been terribly worried about the oncoming attack but had steeled themselves to hold on, even as their ancestors had. Then, suddenly, a few days ago their hopes had surged, culminating yesterday with the assured belief that they would be able to beat back the Storm Lords, perhaps even permanently.
That all came crashing down this morning, and now there was only despair. The rising and dashing of hope in the lead-up to this siege was more emotionally wracking than actual battle with the Storm Lords. Battle, combat — that was what Karis needed to feel better. Even if doomed, no pun intended, to failure, if she could at least be out there and go down fighting, she would feel so much better.
Instead, she was here, watching a spherical stone on a small table in the middle of this shrine to Doom — or more precisely, Orcus. She glanced to the fresco of Lord Orcus in his human form above the old, long-dormant runic gateway to the Isle of Doom. Since Orcus’s death, this shrine was simply a communication point. In the old days, it had been the portal to the Isle of Doom. Legend had it that not only had the gateway been used to move forces between the Citadel and the Isle of Doom, but also for trading and commerce.
It was actually a very large temple, larger than Karis’s small chapel to Tiernon. Legend had it that the giant D’Orcs could march three abreast through the gateway. The shrine also had a very wide passageway up to the old main courtyard and stables. According to legend and a few old alvar, the stables had even had a section dedicated to boarding the mighty D’Wargs. Obviously, like gryphons and hippogriffs, they could not be stabled with horses without the horses revolting in fear.
Karis had to chuckle imagining that. Of course, she had never seen a D’Warg, but she had seen paintings of the fierce creatures. She had to admit that they gave even her, a combat-hardened half-orc battle priestess, serious pause. She would never want to face one on the wrong side of a war, but riding one into battle would be fantastic! D’Wargs would scare even vampires. Although, unfortunately, due to the nature of their digestive system, the vampires would be unable to soil themselves as she charged them on D’Wargback.
She blinked as something in the room started rattling. She glanced at the communication stone, where the rattling was coming from. That was very weird; it was not the noise a communication stone made when someone was trying to communicate. Karis stood up and walked over to the small table with the stone, reaching down to pick it up.
It was definitely active, but there was no one trying to speak to her on the other side. What was going on? She stared at the stone for several moments before realizing that a second vibrating noise was coming from somewhere in the room. She looked up to see dust falling off the wall under Orcus’s portrait.
What in Tiernon’s name…?
Suddenly the dusty, nearly invisible runes around the gateway sprang to life. Karis gasped in surprise as the runic gateway began to stir, runes flashing on and off in an activation pattern. This was the second surprise runic gateway activation she’d had in a week! Within a matter of moments, all of the runes flashed brightly, and midday atunlight poured through the gateway.
Karis drew back in shock and surprise as the gateway that had been dead for over four thousand years, and thought to be inoperable, opened. Was it the Isle of Doom? She blinked in the bright atunlight as from the gateway emerged three human-sized people with a very large, ugly winged orc behind them.
It was the Isle of Doom! Tears started streaming down Karis’s cheeks. Somehow the Isle of Doom had managed to open a runic gateway over a thousand leagues away. No one, other than avatars, had had that much power since Orcus’s death.
Karis shifted her focus from the D’Orc to the others. On her right was a cloaked knight in the plate mail of the El Ohîm; the one on her left was clearly a Knight Rampant of Tiernon, even if his armor was oddly styled. However, all three figures paled in comparison with the individual leading them. This was a young man of pale complexion with long, black curly hair, wearing flowing robes covered in arcane symbols and carrying an immense staff with glowing sapphire and ruby gems twisting down the shaft.
This could not be! This was impossible! Karis glanced above the young man’s head to the painting on the wall over the gateway. Her jaw dropped as her eyes flicked between the young man and the fresco above, her mind going numb. She fell to her knees and bowed her head. “My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” she managed to say with the last of her breath. The Lord of Light’s presence had stolen the very wind from her lungs.
Chapter 145
Tom blinked in surprise as the heavily armored half-orc knight got down on her knees and bowed to him.
“My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” the knight — a woman, Tom realized — said.
“Yes. I–I’m surprised that you recognized me,” Tom said a bit hesitantly. He had not been planning on introducing himself as Orcus, primarily because he himself was not convinced that he was Orcus returned, and because he was already calling himself Lord Tommus.
The knight looked up above his head. “It’s rather hard not to. Although you do look much younger.”
Tom and the others turned to look up, following her gaze. There was a very large mural with Tom’s bearded face on it.
Well, that explains that, Tom thought, shaking his head. “So, and you are?” he asked, turning around and offering his hand to help her to her feet, even as he was mentally verifying that in order to get to Mount Doom, he needed to route through the Doom of Nysegard, as expected.
She took his hand hesitantly and slowly stood. She shook her head. “I am sorry. I am Karis Crooked Stick, Battle Priestess of Tiernon. I am the one who sent word to the Isle of Doom this morning. I was awaiting a response. This is far beyond anything anyone expected!”
The priestess — not a knight, after all — was fairly gushing with excitement. While Tom had not been around orcs or D’Orcs very long, this was a level of enthusiasm he had never seen. “Well, the Citadel has stood by Doom’s side through thick and thin, and we shall stand by yours,” he said, smiling. “Allow me to introduce my colleagues. We have come to evaluate the situation and strategize on how best to deploy our forces. Behind me is—”
“Targh Bowelsplitter!” Karis burst in, nodding happily. “We have a statue of the Oracle of Doom. Everyone will recognize him!”
Targh chuckled.
“Okay, well, this is Sir Stainsberry, Knight Magus of the El Ohîm,” Tom said.