The second day of preparations went by in a blur for Kathy and Byron, who each procured an enchanted bag like Daggeuro's, the three of them dividing up their preserved foodstuffs more evenly, in the event they should become separated. Weapons were checked, spells tested, and travel gear inspected. At around noon, Daggeuro asked Kathy, Byron, Senta, Dimanche and Vernon to kindly give him the afternoon and evening alone with his family, that he might enjoy them before departing the next morning. None objected. Even the dragons, Maefus and Croag, left for the outer town under heavy guard by sergeant Prinett and the voodoo spirit, along with eight elite dwarf warriors.
Kathy and Byron walked hand in hand to the small park on the underground city's north side, Byron stopping now and then to remark upon the strange architectural designs of the dwarves who'd crafted this city. Kathy liked to see him so engaged, his chatter enlivened as it hadn't been since crossing back into Ether. Whatever his mood, he always seemed to radiate it outward in a bubble, easily and unconsciously influencing the mood and mentality of those around him. Much as Kathy seemed able to elicit cheerfulness from most people by her natural charisma and friendliness, so too did he get a response. But he often did so without words; his body language always spoke loudly.
And where people often opened up to and felt at ease with Kathy, they were leery of Byron at first, uncomfortable. She knew he was capable of making quick friends, but he was a pessimist by nature. It made him difficult at times to deal with in a social setting. Now, though, he was at his peak of good vibes.
When they arrived at the park, they found a bench and took a seat, watching some youths in the near distance playing what looked like soccer. Byron looked all around, snorted. "If I couldn't see the walls, I wouldn't think we were underground."
"I know. The amount of earth magic here is kind of freaky. Good for me, though. Lets me practice," she said, forcing tendril-like vines to creep up out of the soil.
"So, a question," Byron said.
"What's up?"
"Think those kids'll let us play?" He smiled broadly at her, and they soon joined in with the adolescent faeriefolk, enjoying light sport. Everyone needs a game now and then.
King Ovin climbed up another section of the tree in which he'd taken refuge, cursing under his breath. The fundamental laws of magic kept changing with each new environment he was thrust into, and he'd discovered he couldn't fly in this hellish new expanse only moments before the wolf-things below had come upon him. He looked down at them, wretched creatures with gnashing mouths all over their bodies, trying to climb up in a panic as a wave of black water came roaring at them from what he thought of as north.
He was now high enough that he would escape the deluge, but he had to wonder what deadly qualities that liquid possessed, where it came from. Such inquiries were moot, of course; nothing here made any degree of sense. That was how the thing that brought him here operated.
The wave crashed through, bending the tree leeward, and he clung to the trunk's rough bark for dear life. When the black water washed through and lowered, he looked down and saw the wolf-things reduced to smoking bones. The tree, however, seemed just fine.
"Just another day," he mused aloud. He stepped away from the trunk, and heard a creak of hinges behind him. A door, just his size, had appeared in the bark, and as it flew open, he screamed, sucked by some unholy force through into darkness. For a while he just floated in the black, wondering what horrors would next greet him.
Maefus sat on the roof, staring up into the darkness of the air over the city of Boneyard. He'd been up there since everyone else bedded down for the night, and when he heard grunts coming up the ladder behind him, he was taken by surprise t find it wasn't Croag joining him, but the voodoo spirit, Baron Dimanche. The angular black man was now wearing his neon green suit, a loose necklace made of beads and teeth standing out against his chest as he approached the morphed red dragon.
"Baron Dimanche," Maefus said, incling his head in welcome. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Mind is too busy to let me rest right now," Dimanche confirmed. "T'inking about some tings I've been told ovah de last couple of days."
"Oh? Such as?"
"Such as de complete razing of Ether since de last time I was here," Dimanche said, joining Maefus in looking up into the dark. "I knew dere was once a long and nasty war between dragons and wee folk, but I nevah would have expected it would result in de desolation topside."
"Few of the ancients could have expected it either," Maefus admitted. "Without Ovin, the wee folk have nobody with an even enough head to even try coming to terms with us. With the Destroyer in charge of so many of my kin, it will never happen. Hence part of the importance of this quest you're joining."
"Feh, joining is a strong word for it," Dimanche scoffed. "I didn't even want to cross ovah from Spirit Plane, but my eldah bruddah demanded it. Our ties to Ether Plane are strong, almost as strong as our ties to Mortal Plane, where he is worshipped by many as a god."
"Is he? A god, I mean," asked Maefus. Dimanche squinted, rubbed his chin and jaw with one hand thoughtfully.
"Yes, and no. He is a high patron spirit in a collective known as de Loa. He has authority, but it isn't central only to him. Yet many worshippers of de Loa pray specifically to him."
"And does he answer those prayers?"
"Not many," Dimanche said. "But he gets lots of dem. I'm lucky if one in twenty people who know of him have even heard of me. I am no god, just a spirit of means and influence." He grinned broadly. "Of course, dat gives me a little more freedom to do as I please. Being a god isn't so great. Dere's all sorts of expectations. I prefer to do as I please."
"Yet you are here, against your will," Maefus pointed out.
"I may have ovahstated my objection before," Dimanche confessed. "It's in my nature to rebel a little." The dragon made no comment to this, skygazing. Finally, he stood up and turned toward the ladder, putting one hand down upon Dimanche's shoulder.
"I think I know a bit about rebellion and gods," he said, heading off of the roof.
When Kathy awoke the next morning, she found Byron getting dressed hastily and checking his gear one final time. She moseyed down the hall, used the bathroom, and headed back to get dressed and geared up. Within fifteen minutes, everybody except Daggeuro was standing out in front of the house.
She marveled at Vernon's heavy plate armor, all polished, rounded plates of silvery metal. On his back rested an enormous warhammer, his belt weighted with throwing hammers and pouches. His bag, a brown burlap rucksack, shimmered with the same magic as the other enchanted bags the company kept.
When Daggeuro came out of the house, his eyes were bloodshot, his snout streaked with the tracks of his tears. He made no effort to hide this; like all things, he bore his emotions with no shame. "We know not what manner of danger we go toward. We know only that we must face it, in order that these lands might be free once more. The dragons have been tricked for far too long into doing the bidding of an evil greater than any we have seen in our time. We may not all survive, and if any are faint of heart at this last, step away now, and be held blameless."
Nobody moved, and nobody blinked. Daggeuro grinned grimly. "Then it is well." He led the company to the lift, all of them silent as they rose to the access ramp, the kennin warrior using his limited wind magic to lift the hatch to the surface. Once outside, the braces holding the dragons in their morphed forms fell open on their own, and Maefus and Croag took on their native forms. Kathy felt her legs tremble, her heart racing as the enormous wyrms, each the size of a double-decker bus, looked down upon them.
Maefus cleared his throat. "Daggeuro, Dimanche and Senta shall ride upon me. Kathy, Byron and Vernon shall be on Croag. We shall secure you to us with spells, which will make you feel short of breath at first. Remain calm, and your breathing will return to normal." He and Croag turned around and lay themselves flat as they could on their bellies. Kathy clambered up Croag's tail unsteadily, gaining confidence as she reached his broad middle back.
Byron was soon right behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. Vernon did the same to him, and moments later, she felt the magic take hold, and she almost panicked. But she had no time to worry about this; the dragons were in flight before she could struggle for air, and her wonder took over.
There is no feeling quite like riding a dragon through the air. When riding a horse, one feels the beast's muscles and breath working underneath them. The air whips through their hair, toys with the skin. Riding in an airplane, watching out the window, gives a sense of the awesome speed and distance one travels at, the power of the machine wrapped around them.
Riding upon Croag was a weird middle ground experience. While she could feel his musculature moving under her, she only caught a hint of the wind around her. Yet unlike flying in a plane, which she never cared for, she felt simultaneously safe and exposed, secure yet somehow in danger.
Someone was whooping excitedly, and it took a moment for her to realize the noise was coming from her own mouth. The borderland beween joy and terror, that terrain of the mind oft labeled 'exhiliration' or 'adrenaline high', was the domain to which Kathy's thoughts fled as they soared over the countryside.
Byron, clinging not quite too tightly to her, picked up on her good vibes and mirrored them, minus the vocal outburst. He enjoyed air travel in planes, and this was not so different as to be overwhelming. But the force with which Vernon held him was uncomfortable; he felt like a grape being squeezed slowly towards bursting. He tapped the cyclops's forearm to get him to loosen up a little, which he did.
Kathy saw that ahead of them, on Maefus's back, Senta was not faring so well. The normally silent gotrin assassin was heaving over the red dragon's side. Not for everyone, she thought.
After a couple of hours' travel the dragons set down near an empty village, to allow everone to stretch their legs and make toilet. By now Senta looked positively green, and Daggeuro didn't look too happy either. "The firm ground is lovely," the kennin warrior remarked.
Kathy pulled out a can of Coke for herself and one for Byron, who was smoking a cigarette after having found a bathroom in one of the empty houses on the edge of the abandoned town. He looked around thoughtfully, thanked her for the drink. "Keep on the lookout," Byron said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that house I was just in looked freshly ransacked," Byron said. "We may not be alone here." Kathy felt her stomach gurgle nervously, reached into her bag and pulled out several small figurines. "I'm so glad you have those things." She animated five of the little fairy-shaped statuettes and sent them off to seek out any otherwise unseen company.
Kathy sucked air through her teeth as one of the figurines fluttered into an empty tavern, spotting a copper renderman half-hidden behind the bar. It was wearing denim trousers and a sleevless green vest, but she recognized the metallic, blocky head and knife-like fingers on its hands as it ducked down out of sight. Another of her scouts caught a glimpse of another copper renderman sneaking out of a window onto a rooftop, where it laid flat to avoid being seen.
She summoned the scouts back and returned her mind's eye to her head. "Rendermen, coppers," she whispered. "They're hiding from us."
"From them, you mean," Byron said, pointing to the dragons. "Okay. Well, we'll probably be up and away again soon, so no worries." And he was right, the company climbing aboard the dragons' backs nd taking off minutes later. Kathy didn't like being hidden from. It made her feel like a monster. Then again, she supposed, rendermen had felt that way for centuries, most likely.
Odd how civilization did that to people.
When they were several miles out from the Gray Wastes, Maefus and Croag touched down in the center of what looked like a prison courtyard. It was actually a borderland fort, once occupied by troops of the Peloran army. Pelor had been a small nation of religious militants devoted to the worship of Felgor, an ice god. Byron could still fee residual power calling out to his own water magic, which he remarked felt like having someone pushing thoughts into his head.
Daggeuro gathered everyone in the failing light in the center of the courtyard. "We will head inside for the evening, and depart at sunrise. Be watchful. This place has the feel of a haunting, and may well be dangerous to us. Pelorans were thankfully disdainful of things like traps, so we needn't worry overmuch about those. Everybody stay close."
The dragons morphed down, and the company followed Daggeuro through an old oak door into a darkened vestibule. He and Vernon lit torches, illuminating a dust-choked entry chamber, replete with furnishings and tapestries depicting winter scenes. Kathy was struck by how Nordic they seemed, as though the Norse pantheon had found its way into Ether. She then paused, wondering if perhaps it had been the other way around, if the Vikings of lore had somehow tapped into this realm of Ether.
A brief inspection showed them they were alone in the fort, though there were skeletal remains of soldiers here and there. They all appeared to have died in some battle many years earlier, and the style of weapons left in their rotted bodies were of distinctly lizardman make. These had been early victims of the loyalist purge, it seemed.
The fort was a stopgap against specters from the Gray Wastes, equipped to handle a unit of perhaps twenty to thirty men, if they doubled up in the quarters within. The fact that most private rooms had two beds seemed to support this idea. Byron and Kathy settled into one room with a singular large bed, while everyone else chose to bunk alone.
Kathy shivered until Byron got a fire going in the room's small fireplace. Sitting close, they drank Cokes quietly. All was still except for the crackle of the fire and sip of their drinks, and for the moment, that suited Kathy fine. But as the darkness outside more closely became reflected inside, and the fireplace became their only illumination, the quiet became unnerving.
"I wonder how Tigger's doing back home," Kathy mused aloud.
"You made arrangements for him to be taken care of, so I'm sure he's fine," Byron replied. "Is it just me, or did this place turn spooky a few minutes ago?"
"Why do you think I started talking," Kathy asked. "It feels like someone's watching us." She cast her eyes about the room anxiously. "Someone who doesn't want to ask us what our holiday plans are." Byron chugged down the rest of his soda and set the can on a dusty table in the corner.
"I say we turn in early, then," he offered. "If we're asleep, we won't know that feeling." Kathy concurred, and soon they were both asleep. Though neither spoke of it, both humans dreamed that night of a towering, soot black tower, beside which stood a gingerbread house. In the window of that house was the gnarled, green face of a witch, ready to cook the pair and gobble them up.
When morning came, Daggeuro awoke everyone by coming around and pounding on their doors until they answered. Kathy and Byron joined up with everyone in the courtyard, with Vernon coming out of the fort last.
Croag began the warm-up talk this time around. "We will pass into the Gray Wastes within ten minutes of being airborne. I caution you, those lands are bleak in all ways, including the air itself. The chill we felt last night is persistent in that barren place. Be prepared. Also, there may be specters near where we will be landing. Though they are usually repelled by the Destroyer's proximity, some few are bold or dumb enough to draw near. Maefus and myself will take care of them. Your business is not with such creatures. Are all of you ready?"
Nods, followed by climbing aboard the dragons then. Off they went once more, and shortly after, they were into the soul-sucking realm known as the Gray Wastes. Kathy felt her magic recoil; the atmosphere of that realm was anathema to her Awakened power. She heard Byron over her shoulder jabbering something unintelligible to himself, felt him beginning to tremble against her back.
Something was very wrong, and as they came within view of the tower, it seemed to get worse. Byron's arms squeezed almost painfully around her, and she tried rubbing his hands with her own to offer some measure of comfort. He stilled, and as the dragons landed, he was the first person off of either of them, pulling out one of his cards and using it to conjure a hellfire shotgun. Kathy landed next to him, one hand on a knife, the other on his shoulder.
"Byron, what's wrong," she rasped, looking around for danger and seeing only the tower and the strange black box Maefus had told them about. Byron had his weapon trained on the box's door, or rather, on the bizarre, flame-headed man shape standing in front of it.
"It's the power here," Byron said sidemouth to her, locked in place, aiming at the man with the flames for hair. "I recognize it, and if I'm right about who the Destroyer is, we're in a lot more trouble than we even thought before." Daggeuro, Senta, Vernon and Dimanche soon stood in a half-ring behind the humans, whom flame-hair approached slowly, casually. Smoke smouldered out from the cuffs of leather driving gloves on his hands, and he stopped some ten feet away from them.
Maefus spoke, saying, "Greetings again, Jago. You don't seem surprised to see us delivering these folken to this blasted place."
"The Destroyer knew they'd be coming," Jago replied, his voice that of a cultured Englishman. "It's actually quite well that you brought them. Ah," he said, clapping his hands together, glowing coals that were his eyes turning toward Byron. "It is so good to see you again, Byron!"
"Again," Byron and Kathy asked in harmony. Byron continued, "I doubt I'd forget a face like yours."
"Well, you never actually saw me, but you did meet one of my kin, Roderick of the Blade," said Jago, revealing a row of needle-like teeth in a large, predatory smile.
"You're a stranger," Byron said, lowering and dismissing his weapon. Hellfire wouldn't hurt Jago, aligned with flames as he was. Byron visibly trembled, clenched his hands and stilled himself. "So the Destroyer, is he who I think he is?" Kathy looked to Daggeuro and the others, saw that they were entranced by this back and forth.
"Depends. Will you risk saying his name," said the stranger named Jago. Byron lowered his head, eyes squeezed shut.
"Quoth," he murmured. The door of the black cube flew open then, and a vacuum of power flowed out, pulling the company toward the darkness beyond.
"Ding ding, you guessed right," Jago shrieked as they were pulled past him. "Give the man a Kewpie doll!" Through they all went, one by one, tumbling into darkness so complete, it was like falling into the realm of sleep.
The nightmare had begun.