The Heavenly Host

“I’m hoping we can catch some wyvern,” Darg-Krallnom said. “You have any idea how long since I’ve had a wyvern steak?”

“About as long as it’s been since I’ve eaten anything,” Roth said.

“Or anyone,” Arg-nargoloth finally chimed in, and the D’Orcs all laughed. Arg-nargoloth had been over examining various talismans and had finally wandered back to the group. “I’ve got a likely-looking one from Etterdam here,” he said, holding up a silver talisman. They had all noted that some of the talismans were shinier than others. He was not sure if that meant anything, but the Astlanian one that Tal Gor had appeared around had been shinier, and was even brighter now.

Tom shrugged. “Well, let’s give it a try and see if anyone is home.”

∼

^{DOF +6}

^{Sixth Period 16-03-440}

Talarius sighed with pleasure. It was the first such sigh he had uttered in a very long time. The pleasure was coming from the gloriously wet washcloth he had dunked in the washbasin full of rainwater in his room. He had finally decided to let his guard down, a small amount. The demon Tom was out with the D’Orcs, probably planning a war to take over the multiverse, so Talarius had filled the large washbasin in his D’Orc-proportioned room off of Tom’s suite with rain water from the balcony and brought it back to his room.

He had then shut the door and barred it with the wardrobe. He knew it would not stop the demon entering, but perhaps he would have enough warning to get some of his armor back on. He had then cooled the room using the rune that the demon had shown him. Finally, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had peeled his armor off, along with the padding.

Tiernon almighty, did that feel good! There was no soap, but he did not care; he scrubbed himself clean with the washcloth. It felt so sinfully pleasant. The water was quite warm, but still cooler than any place outside this bedroom. He savored the opportunity to wipe the dried blood, sweat and caked dirt from his skin and his healed wounds. To be outside his reeking armor! Yes, it was a sustainable environment under adverse conditions, but sustainable was not the same as comfortable. Not when the outside temperature was nearly the boiling point of water.

It felt so good to be clean. Talarius stared at his underclothes and padding. How he wished he had the time to wash them out and let them dry. However, he clearly did not. He had no idea how long the demon would be distracted with his machinations. The best he could hope for was to let the clothes dry out from his own sweat and stench.

Talarius glanced at the bed. It was quite large, yet not unnaturally so, and oddly comfortable, even in his armor. Why a demon — or more precisely, a D’Orc would need a bed was a bit strange. Demons notably did not sleep. True, the demon Tom did, but then he had been busy charging the fortress. Rupert and Reggie slept, but they had been doing so in the cave. As far as he could tell, Boggy, Antefalken and Estrebrius never slept, and Tiernon knew that damn multi-limbed menace never shut up. If it was not talking to someone, it was talking to itself. Talarius shook his head. The only time it was silent was when it was billowing foul-smelling smoke from its pipe.

Talarius glanced again at the bed. It was night, he was quite tired, and he was powering the cool rune, so he might want to conserve his energy. Maybe if he arranged his armor for quick dressing, he might be able to lie down for a few minutes. Of course, “quick” dressing took about a third to half an hour but he would at least get his breast plate on before he was overwhelmed by demons. He would keep the Rod of Smiting in his hand, just in case.

∼

“So how did your beloved servant, Exador, take the news that he is an archdemon?” Crispin asked Randolf as the wizard entered his bedroom.

Randolf frowned and then sighed. “Far better than I’d have hoped, or for that matter, feared.” He shook his head. “I was fully prepared for him to take it very badly; in fact, I expected a rather destructive reaction,” he said as removed his dressing gown and hung it up.

“He wasn’t his normal destructive self?” Crispin asked, puzzled.

Randolf shook his head. “Quite the contrary; he laughed his head off. Never in my life have I seen him more amused. He acted like he’d just pulled off the greatest joke imaginable upon the Council.”

Crispin frowned. “That seems very odd.”

“Indeed,” Randolf said, sliding into bed. “He was so convincingly moved by the preposterousness of the very idea that he almost had me believing it was all some sort of hoax. If I didn’t know the man better than anyone else on the plane, I’d have been tempted to believe him.”

“So what, then?” Crispin asked. “Is he just going to brazenly go around and laugh his ass off at whomever is so ridiculous as to accuse him of being an archdemon?”