The Heavenly Host

The D’Orcs had no magical defenses left. In the old days, no demon prince in his right mind would have even thought of attacking Mount Doom, the most powerful fortress in the multiverse. Like any truly great fortress, it had only fallen through treachery. Of course, since its fall she could have wiped them all out permanently, but that would have required drawing on her regular resources enough to cause people to wonder where those resources were going.

Darflow’s mission was quite secret. No one at the Courts even knew of the D’Orcs’ continued existence or any of her history with Mount Doom, and she was determined to keep things that way.

“It’s been just over a decade since the last culling. We’re due for another one in about half a year; we’ve already begun the planning and training. As per your orders, we try to be irregular in the schedule so the troops cannot become complacent.”

Lilith nodded, thinking. “Continue your training, but I’m not so sure we will want to go ahead with that, given this.” She gestured to the now-smoking giant volcano ringed by both mountains and storm clouds. She shook her head. The return of the storm clouds meant the portal to Water had reopened. The Abyss obviously had Earth, Fire and Air. Add Water, combine with the raw Spirit of demons, and you had a recipe for a giant mana factory. Which is exactly what Mount Doom was. How Orcus had ever constructed such a place was beyond her ken. He had done so without her or Sammael’s knowledge, before the advent of the boom tunnels.

Altrusian technicians — highly evolved sleestaks that normally existed outside the primary time stream — installing the boom tunnels some twenty-five thousand years ago had discovered the mountain range. Of course, it was not until about fifteen thousand years ago that the Council of Princes had realized the full significance of the storm clouds; they had previously just assumed Mount Doom was Orcus’s overly theatrical secret fortress. Lilith chuckled, fondly remembering the bitter and heated arguments when the other princes had first confronted Orcus. Those had been the days! She had to admit, completely obliterating one’s enemy was not as satisfying as one might think. It rather left a void in one’s daily life. Her current enemies were so much less interesting.

Yes, there was Sammael, but she knew him too well, and he her. They had known each other for such an incredibly long time that all real mystery and uncertainty about each other had long since vanished. Not for the first time, she wondered if Adam had made the right choice after all. Her slight smile hardened. Right choice or not, that bitch Eve had no business offering it to him. Lilith shook her head. There was no point going down that path. That was so far long gone into the mists of time, it was inarguable at this point. It was but a bitter pill, lodged deep within her metaphorical heart.

∼

^{DOF +5}

^{Midday 16-02-440}

Gastropé and Jenn wandered into the map room behind the bridge, where Trevin and the Captain were going over maps with Elrose and Maelen. “If we can follow the northwest side of the mountains, along the Murgandy border, we can descend straight south into Western Noajar,” Trevin said.

The Captain grimaced slightly. “It will be slow going, given the winds coming up from the coast and blowing against the mountains, but I agree that it is preferable to Eastern Noajar.”

“What’s in Eastern Noajar?” Maelen asked.

The Captain pointed to a series of villages at the base of a mountain near some standing stones. “Treojar.”

“Yes, we want to avoid them,” Trevin agreed, looking at the two wizards.

“Why?” Maelen asked.

“They’re rather unsavory, or more precisely, their gods are, and they don’t like interlopers,” Trevin said.

“But Aêthêal said that our height and the fact we are a cloud allowed us to slip through political borders without people on the ground having a clue we were even there,” Jenn said, puzzled.

“In most cases, but not all. For example, we would not cross over Oorstemoth or Freehold without first obtaining permission. Both would likely spot us. In Freehold there are too many wizards that might see us, and in Oorstemoth — well, they are very much aware of our cloudships,” the Captain explained.

“You now have firsthand experience that the Nysegard Storm Lords, as they call themselves, do not like us and in Nysegard have no problem fighting us at any altitude,” Trevin said with a rueful smile.

“In the case of Trojar, it’s their rather hands-on deities.” The captain shook his head in dismay.

Trevin was nodding. “Not very powerful deities in the grand scheme of things, pretty local actually, but quite deadly and fueled by sentient blood sacrifice.”

“Sentient blood sacrifice?” Gastropé asked, concerned.

“Interlopers, prisoners and people they just don’t like,” the captain said. “They aren’t powerful enough to bring a ship like the Nimbus down, but they could damage us, or at the very least distract us unnecessarily.”