Under The Swamp

Malek’s bony fingers moved like spider’s legs, skimming over the smooth, moist surface of the rocks and up along the body of the gilmora slumped on the stone. The icy flames of his power still lapped at the creature’s flesh, caressing its most hidden recesses.

“The experiment failed, Vitreys,” he said, drumming fingertips against a flicker of flame that went out at his touch.

A viscid sound spread through the cave as Vitreys slithered toward Malek. He was still wearing the ceremonial robe: a red and gold jacket with a six-pointed crest rising behind the nape of his neck and the high headdress that grazed the lowest points of the stone vault. The necklaces and bracelets tied to his wrists jingled discordantly. Malek would have wrinkled his nose if he had one.

“We will try again,” commented the gilmora.

Malek’s gaze shifted, his black eyes staring pointedly at Vitreys.

“We’ve been trying for months. I’m beginning to think the gilmora are not suited for this kind of…change.”

Vitreys’ blue-black tail flicked in agitation, striking a rock violently. “We have an agreement, Malek.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Protection in exchange for…”

The bony mask Malek had instead of skin curved into what should have been a smile. Vitreys immediately stopped talking.

“You’re doing it again,” he noted begrudgingly, clucking his tongue. “You’re teasing me.”

“A habit of mine,” Malek replied. “Long nights locked in a cave bore me, Vitreys. Let me have some fun now and then.”

The gilmora crawled closer to the carcass lying on the rock. Its skin had deepened even bluer and the tail was in uncontrolled spasms.

“Did you use the stone?”

Malek slipped his claws into one of the pockets of his cloak and pulled out a diamond-shaped catalyst. “It wasn’t very useful.”

“Like all the others,” Vitreys muttered. “We need something bigger.”

“The most powerful catalysts were destroyed during the attack on Nosgroth; it will be difficult to find others of such magnitude.”

“We should stop using them individually, then.”

“Accumulating catalysts is dangerous, Vitreys, it would attract unwelcome guests.”

“Like the one we captured tonight?”

“Like the one…” Malek froze. “Who did you capture, Vitreys?”

“A marall.”

“Which marall?”

“Is it important?”

“I need a name, Vitreys.”

“He says his name is Greskar.”

Malek closed his eyes and let his arms fall along his sides, hiding them in the folds of his cloak.

“Take me to him.”

“Why?”

“Because Greskar is what happens when there is a leak of information. You should control your faithful better.”

Vitreys did not reply and led Malek down the corridors of the shelter. In some sections, fetid water from the swamp above trickled down the walls, saturating the room with its nauseating smell. No one seemed to notice. No one except Greskar.

When Malek reached him, his disgusted expression suggested that he was more sensitive to smells than they were. The marall was hanging by thick chains from the rock wall, the blood still sluggishly running down his side an incation of the force that’d been necessary to put him there.

“My dear Greskar,” he greeted with cheer.

Greskar replied by spitting a lump of clotting blood on the ground.

“Did Zagal send you for your superior skills of negotiation?” joked Malek.

“I am not here on Zagal’s behalf.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Who sent you, then? You’re not going to tell me you’ve become a deserter. That poor child, Greskar-“

“Do not mention my daughter!”

Malek took a few steps around the room but did not respond. He had known Greskar for a long time, ever since Zagal had invited him to propose an alliance. Although invited was not the right term. Perhaps it was more accurate to say captured. Bound. Forced. Fortunately, he had several connections in Lemmeth and had managed to escape quickly.

“I am here on behalf of Morgal,” Greskar said after a few seconds of silence.

Malek stopped in front of him, less than a step away. “Things in Lemmeth must have changed.”

Greskar emitted a low roar. “West Lemmeth is a sewer, Zagal has left it to rot!”

“He was never a good organizer,” Malek nodded. “So you turned to the enemy?”

“Morgal has promised to protect my family, to take them to the east and-“

Malek’s laughter bounced off the rock walls so loudly that the ghost of his echo took a while to fade.

“Morgal lies.”

Greskar opened his huge mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat.

“Morgal always lies,” Malek repeated. “I didn’t think you were so stupid.”

Greskar growled, trying to free himself from the chains that held him bound. Vitreys, who had been standing in the corner the whole time, approached and shook his necklaces in front of the marall’s snout.

“Do you know what these are?”

“Keep your trash out of my face,” growled Greskar.

“D’har,” Vitreys answered for him. “And do you know what D’har do to the likes of you?”

Greskar growled again and pulled so hard that one of the chains snapped. Vitreys prepared to respond to the attack, invoking holy fire in one of his six hands.

“Away, Vitreys, this is no way to treat guests.”

Malek caught one of the still-healthy chains with his fleshy claws. A blaze of flame danced along the rings. When it found where metal met flesh, Greskar began to scream. Already close to his limit, the marall’s voice quickly grew hoarse and his muscles fell limp from pain. Malek withdrew the flames.

“Now that we are all calmer, do you want to tell me what Morgal wishes from me?”

Greskar coughed and wiped his mouth on his shoulder.

“She knows about the stone.”

“News flies.” Malek turned to Vitreys. “Find out who to kill.”

Vitreys nodded, but stayed where he was.

“Now,” Malek ordered, watching the gilmora slip out of the room muttering.

“I hear you, Vitreys!” he shouted after him, then returned his attention to Greskar.

“Why do you want the stone?”

“Call, Awakening, whatever it is your kind use them for.”

“Morgal is predictable: when something works, she tries to replicate it until she gets sick of it. She wants to take down Zagal like she did Nosgroth, but she’s not sharp enough to understand that she needs allies.”

“She has many allies.”

“I’m talking about Aesyr, Greskar. Sorry to disappoint you, but your people are little more than minions. Sacrificable. Morgal doesn’t give a damn about you or your children; she thinks she can rule by herself.”

Greskar moved uncomfortably, rattling his chains.

“She sits locked in her palace watching you from above, promising protection, gifts, alliances. All the while every other Aesyr is just waiting to stick a knife down her throat.”

“And why are you telling me this?” asked Greskar, his voice still hoarse.

Malek ignored the question. “How many stones has Morgal accumulated?”

“Enough.”

“But no more than Zagal or she wouldn’t have sent you here.”

“Your point?”

“Find out who has the advantage and bring the stone to the other.”

Greskar laughed, his ragged voice making it sound more like a grotesque cough. “And why should I do that?”

“So long as Morgal and Zagal keep facing each other without starting a war, I can keep quiet and devote myself to my experiments. War makes it difficult to get materials and it is very noisy. I need silence to keep my thoughts in order.”

“You are crazy.”

“And you are in a very bad position.” Malek slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the catalyst again. “I’ll give you this. Take it to whomever you like, then take your children and run away. Find a tribe in the mountains or islands, get out before you have to bury one of them.”

Greskar felt the chains loosen, and before he could react he found himself free. Erect in all his height, he towered over Malek. The Aesyr did not blink, and when Greskar took a step toward him, he threw the stone to him, which the marall caught on the fly.

“Get lost. If the gilmora see you around again, they won’t just chain you up.”

Greskar turned the stone over in his hand, then walked past Malek and toward the cave exit, sniffing the air.

“This place reeks,” he said, turning for the last time toward the Aesyr. “Morgal will come looking for you.”

“When she decides to leave her golden tower, I will be here waiting for her with open arms,” Malek replied, sweeping his arms wide to accompanying the words. Flames danced and twisted across his fingers.

As Greskar disappeared into the corridors below the swamp, Malek’s eyes flashed and for a single instant the focus of his power was clearly visible.

A frightening, eternal void.