CHAPTER 1

An Emissary

Through the long parade of ages he had developed a sense of the setting sun and even in the bowels of the castle he knew when that destructive orb had receded into the horizon. In the nether world from which he had come its cleansing rays could not reach him. The place of his banishment possessed light and dark in a fashion, but the radiance was blunted as if through a veil. Now there was the risk of his destruction with each dawn, but withstanding the day was fair payment for the moon and stars that he now enjoyed.

He always waited out the bulk of the brilliance before he would move to the upper reaches of the keep. Tane Abiss was the eldest of his kind and knew that his survival over the many years had made him strong. Perhaps he was strong enough to resist the purification of dawn, but he was not incautious. He rarely tested his endurance and always with a setting sun. His eyes were open in his resting place until he knew that sweet night had fallen at last and the mortal world was enfolded in a cloak of darkness.

He rose rested ... and hungry.

A slave was left bound and gagged just within the entrance to his lair. He preferred to feed alone, leaving the remains to be disposed of in the new dawn by the retainers of the keep. The terror of his victims and the attendants who brought them soaked the black stone of the walls and he inhaled deeply, relishing it.

He could smell the struggling little creature, a young female this time, who had heard him stir and was now sobbing in terror in the outer room. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the muffled sounds, his hearing quite keen. He drank in the fear and despair in those little whines as a bee takes nectar and he drew the tangy scent of hopelessness with the fright, wetly sparking his appetite. A grin creased his fanged visage.

When at last his need drove him, he came to her. As he directed, she had been set upright among a few torches so that she could see him emerge from the shadows of his chamber. He appeared as his regal self, winged and clawed. He advanced slowly, letting her perceive her fate.

In the early days after his arrival his victims were left un-gagged, so that he might savor their pleading. While he enjoyed the screams, they proved disconcerting to the work of the keep as they echoed to the upper floors. He altered his ritual, omitting their cracking voices as aperitif. But how he savored their eyes! How they widened, tear-filled and beseeching as he drew near, hoping for mercy where none existed. He'd watch as they would close for long moments, thinking him a dream or vision before reopening and finding him there waiting ... smiling. In those last moments they sometimes looked up or downward in genuflection. Perhaps they prayed in vain to one deity or another for deliverance. How precious they looked when the hope faded and they embraced their fate. When all they could wish for was simply that it would end.

How sweet the taste of their little lives. He mused happily. These are such lovely prey! Such innocents nearly make being in thrall worthwhile.

The thought of his current servitude broke his mood. It burned him as much as the sun could roast him that he must serve another and that his liege be a mortal. Of late to recall the name of his lord could almost put him from his repast. It was a constant reminder of his misjudgment and the defeat he suffered at Locke's hands in their first encounter that now bound him.

Though he was a key general and would obtain a mighty reward when the demon-man came to dominion, he bore him no fealty. Unfortunately, Locke knew this as well and had made it abundantly clear that he would end his existence in an instant if he attempted to thwart or betray him.

"Obey me and you shall live and prosper, but practice your deceit upon me and I shall give you a death to last centuries." The wizard had told him in blunt, irrevocable terms. "A death your kin will speak of for all time."

Despite his undead existence, Abiss had no desire to enter into permanent sleep. He had looked at Locke's deathlike visage and saw nothing that remotely resembled mercy or accommodation. Locke would retain him so long as he served his purposes and, if he failed, he would not be freed to return to the darker realm from which he came. He would be destroyed.

Since being called from his mystic exile he had worked his own considerable powers to comply with the wizard's will. Locke wanted an army from him. A special army the like of which mortal beings had never encountered, save perhaps in the worst of nightmares. It was his charge to tip the balance of arms in Locke's favor by recruiting an unearthly host.

Each of the wizard's generals had been tasked with providing soldiers for the coming campaign. Byrrath and the mercenary Sorell each had retainers at their disposal in considerable numbers, but for all their prowess and specialty their hosts were comprised of mortal beings and subject to the natural laws of life and death.

His donation to the campaign would not be an army in a traditional sense. It would not be led so much as unleashed. Like the gargoyles and the goblins his "soldiers" would be largely restricted to night fighting, but when they took the field they would be a sight to take the heart from even the most courageous and committed of the foe.

The composition of his host left much to be desired in the way of versatility. The number of his command would vary day to day as some of the more powerful would prey upon the lesser beings within it. As for control, there would be little. Some were capable of receiving orders and these could be managed with the subtlety of tactical movement. The mass however, would be little more than ravening hell spawn fit only for the most simple and ferocious of attacks. Once released, they would strike and savage, tear and bite until a power greater than their own ended their assault. Some among them would possess arcane abilities similar to his, but most owned only the strength and sinew of claws and fangs. Their howls and wails would chill the blood.

The vampire lord knew precisely what he would be setting free and supposed Locke did as well.

This "army" will possess no discipline. He mused. There will be no "chain of command", no units or banners. No quarter asked and none given. Once on the field, I will do no more than to point and set them to charge.

He turned to the torn remains of his meal, the eyes open and staring. He squatted beside the corpse and smiled.

"Some are so savage that they will stop in the midst of the fighting to feed upon what they slew." He spoke, the body becoming his audience. "There'll be no dark heroes among their ranks seeking glory through acts of valor or single combat with the champions of the foe. This horde will bear me no more loyalty than I bear Locke. The most ambitious among them would kill and supplant me if given the opportunity or join in a coup against my leadership rather than act alone."

"A true army of chaos and its pay is the mortal flesh which had been denied them." Abiss laughed, punctuating his words by leaning forward to take a final bite of the cooling, still figure. "A booty that my potential rivals cannot promise."

"Byrrath referred to the coming war as "A Great Killing" and indeed it will be!" He whispered, a snake-like tongue circling this lips as he rose from his meal. "I've ambitions beyond the possession of land or the subjugation of the mortal races. I care nothing for what passes for riches in this world and I've no desire for governance over what remains when the fighting is done. But when the lands are subjugated, I'll not return to the black realm to rule over those that are outcast from the thriving earth. I've come to enjoy the scents and sounds of a living world. Here there is wind and rain, nights with starlight, trees and hills and changing seasons."

He cast a passing glance at the body on the floor.

"And so much prey to choose from. Once returned to the living, I could never subsist on the bitter dregs of my dark world again. There will come a time to challenge Locke once more and when I do, I will be prepared. I will not go back!"

"My lord Abiss, may I enter?"

The voice that diverted his musings was honey-sweet, but a voice which Abiss knew was both a mask and a flawless lure. Only the exceptionally wise and watchful would detect what was behind it.

Decay and certain death await those who grew close enough to be enthralled by that voice. He thought.

He turned to face the closed door, recognizing its owner. It was murder that came with her kisses, for a succubus had to kill to live. Like himself it drew its sustenance from men, until what remained was a husk; soulless and devoid not only life, but spirit.

She approached the chamber door silently enough to avoid my detection so she could listen. Abiss noted. She has stealth to match her mercilessness, the perfect assassin.

He willed the heavy door open with a gesture and seated himself in the shadows of his lair.

"I trust you have something special to tell me this evening, Lucretia?" He said. "My time is short."

She was an exceptional beauty dressed in a long gown of deepest blue and trimmed in silver thread so that it caught the glimmer of the few torches in the room as she walked. Their glow highlighted her movements, reflecting and accentuating her entrance. She owned thick raven tresses whose curls that flowed like a torrent over perfect curves and graceful limbs. The dark hair and dress contrasted superbly with skin so white it appeared as fine porcelain in the flickering lamplight.

She stepped gingerly around the remains of his supper without taking her eyes from his face and stood elegantly before him. She bowed slightly, arms extended downward and outward from the body, palms up in the ancient manner of servitude. In this pose she brought every lovely feature to play. She raised her head to him, long eyelashes fluttering, and her full lips broke into a slight smile that contained the look of both demure maiden and wanton harlot.

It is exceptionally good baiting. The vampire admitted, knowing this form was but one of many. The succubus would appear to her victims as their heart's dearest desire come to life ... loving and enamored. The dupe would drop his guard as she drew close, often embracing her happily for her words and form, even her mannerisms and scent, were drawn from the memories of her quarry. These usually died with lips softly mouthing the name of her lure. That the prey sometimes discerned that the vision was not real or that he was literally dissolving in the arms of a demon was immaterial. Once ensnared, so powerful was the trance that all that mattered was the mirage, for however long it lasted before the end.

Fortunately, he had not possessed mortal eyes for ages.

"You realize my dear, that your wiles are lost upon me? I can see you as you truly are and even if I could not, I have been dead to all of mortality's attractions and distractions for more centuries than I can recall."

"It never hurts to practice, Milord." the sweet voice replied.

"And were you practicing eavesdropping at my door as well?"

"I assure you I had only just arrived. I have matters to discuss before your meeting with the Command Council."

"Ah yes, The Council." Abiss remembered with a touch of irritation. Locke had placed the mortal Sorell in overall command in his absence and the mercenary had scheduled regular meetings of the three senior lieutenants to discuss the preparations of the wizard's army.

Sorell had organized the leadership structure of the host into two echelons. The first comprised the commanders of the races Locke had recruited. These gathered periodically to receive orders and review strategy. Abiss attended occasionally, finding the meetings as amusing as visiting a menagerie of game beasts to determine which would be slaughtered for dinner. The second was Locke's High Command and consisted of himself, the gargoyle king Barrath, and "Captain-General" Sorell.

How these folk loved their titles. Abiss stifled a sigh. The conference will be another tedious affair. The armored cretin will want to know what "troops" I have mustered and in what configurations. He'll want me to reassure him that I can bring them forth and deploy them when needed.

In the seclusion of his thoughts, he admitted that the Commander of The Blood Tide was not altogether inefficient and that his questions were not unreasonable.Abiss simply did not wish to take orders from his prey and so was routinely flippant to irritate his commander.

The fool thinks me unfamiliar with soldierly matters. The vampire fumed in those private moments. Idiot! A seeker of blood would find much sustenance in the fringes of war.

He turned back to Lucretia. "And what matters concern you, my pet?"

"At the bidding of our liege I have sought out the last Finder of the Elves." The demon replied, ignoring the condescension in Abiss's tone. She spoke slowly with another slow lowering and lifting of dark eyelashes, her voice soft and laden with false desire. "The bearer of the magic has fled and is many leagues from us. I beg leave to pursue him."

The vampire's smirk widened to a wolf's grin. "As I recall, you were bidden to locate and destroy these elf magicians and have been doing so for months. Why does this final elf bring you here to ask about it? Is he stronger than the others? Do you require assistance in executing him?"

Lucretia responded with a predatory smile of her own and shook her head.

"In locating this one I have learned that there is not a single Finder remaining, but two. I presumed that this is a thing worth knowing. Am I wrong to inform you of it?"

"Well, isn't that news?!" Abiss said, long fangs protruding from his lips. Our liege was not so thorough in his planning, and infallibility is not one of his many powers. Thus through one of my underlings a potential threat is ferreted out. It should please "my Lord" that his capable and worthy sub-commander has dealt with it decisively.

"You have done well, Lucretia. Indeed, that is a thing worth knowing. Where is this second elf?"

"Far away, my lord." she replied, with curtness that was unmistakable. The succubus would provide no further information. "He is not in his homeland, but in the rough lands beyond their realm."

Abiss looked at the demon. His eyes flashed red and he gazed with clinical interest through her mystic facade at Lucretia's true self. She was a sight in any form! She had eagle-like talons at her feet and black wings that were much like his. The tresses of silky raven hair were in genuineness a coarse twisted mane spread around a fanged face. Her arms were long and muscular, ending in cruel claws that could tear through hardened leather like parchment. Where once was a beautiful woman now coiled an undisguised monster, savage, powerful, and pitiless.

Around her neck she wore a necklace. A chain of iron for the touch of silver was painful to the demon-kind. Dangling from it was a small pouch which he knew contained, like the trophies of a hunter, some fourteen recovered silver charms taken from Elf Finders. Huntress though she was, she had not taken so many herself. Most were recovered as the spoils of raids and assassinations and had been accumulated in a gold cup. The cup was staged in the keep's treasure room on a pedestal as any plunder. They were no more than jewelry in any but an elf's hands, but once Lucretia spied them she asked for them hungrily. In possessing them she could measure the shifting balance as her world gained preeminence over this one and the pleasure such an adornment offered was irresistible. Abiss granted the request not out of kindness but in understanding. She was a creature of the black while the charms were symbolic of the obverse, the literal opposite of her existence.