Chapter 157: Interlude, or, Chapter 152

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Tarin-Tiran…

Gis scowled. The hobgoblins before him, the remnants of a scouting party, cowered before the priest’s wrath. Two bodyguards, part of Gis’s party, stood to either side of the Disciple of Urkhan.

All of them were safely ensconced in a hidden chamber, one of many that Urkhan’s former disciple Melusk had secreted throughout the city, cut off and warded from the main magical constructs that powered and guarded the place. There was a thick layer of dust over everything, marked only by the fit of rage Gis had fallen into when this chamber, like all those before it, had failed to contain any useful information on the artefact the priest was seeking.

And now the scouts reported that most of their group had fallen prey to the living dungeon and been wiped out.

Useless insects!

Gis rubbed his temples. The task his god had set him was no simple one. Descend into the depths of this accursed city and retrieve a powerful artefact that had been in the care of Melusk when the city fell. If Gis was unsuccessful, there was a chance that forces from within Tarin-Tiran could birth the city anew, and Urkhan was insistent that that never happen.

His priest did not know why, but it was not for him to question the motives of his god. That Urkhan desired it was reason enough.

Though from the little he had experienced of this place’s residual magic, Gis agreed. This chaos must never be allowed to spread. It too easily could challenge the rightful rule of Urkhan’s faithful across the continents.

He’d seen as much when Basgar lost that accursed keep near the borderlands.

That blasted bard!

He was here, too. Gis knew this. Urkhan had revealed it. The last thing the priest needed was that meddling fool anywhere nearby.

If anyone was likely to wake the city’s slumbering powers, it was him. Gis even suspected he was behind the disappearance of five full companies of hobgoblins. The evidence was all wild magic, but something in his gut told him the bard was to blame.

Ghen agreed. Gis could feel it where the serpent brooded within his skull. And Ghen enjoyed an even closer connection to Urkhan than he himself did.

‘Your orders, sir?’ one of Gis’s bodyguards spoke.

‘Spare them,’ Gis said irritably. ‘They still have their uses.’

As much as he would have liked to behead the two imbeciles before him, they had at least been smart enough to escape the dungeon, to return to him with information. And there were not enough hobs left under his command that he could afford to indulge a fit of pique and kill these two.

As the hob goblins scrambled away, stammering their thanks, Gis stalked over to a chair salvaged from the detritus of the room and flung himself into it. Then he sat there, brooding on his plans.

They had to delve deeper. That was a given, at this point. He had hoped Melusk hadn’t kept the artefact in the deepest depths of the city, but apparently that was a foolish hope. Gis growled. If the man wasn’t already dead he’d track him down and kill him himself for the annoyance.

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Smug bastard.

Not that Gis had met the man, but it came through in his journals, his writings. Those things the Church of Urkhan and kept safe for a day like today, when an expedition to this accursed city became necessary.

‘Our route, sir?’ One of his bodyguards asked.

‘Down, obviously,’ Gis snapped before sighing and elaborating. ‘There are three pathways we could take. But we’ll have to risk the more obvious one. We’ll likely need Melusk’s escape route ourselves later, and if we use it to pierce the living dungeon’s territory that will be it. The dungeon will know of it and subsume it, likely faster than we can make use of it. No. That is our escape card and we cannot risk playing it now, howsoever more convenient it may be. We’ll take the deep roads, the winding path that has been carved out of the living dungeon’s territory by rebels, wild magic, and what few of our agents remain, feral or loyal as they may be.’

‘And the other group? The infidels and interlopers?’

Yes. The bard and his allies.

‘We keep an eye out for them. If we can remove them for the glory of Urkhan, we shall, but that is not our main purpose here, and nothing must endanger that. Any deviation risks the greater mission, and this city cannot be allowed to begin resurrecting itself. Urkhan forbids it.’

Gis was the newest of Urkhan’s Disciples. This was a chance to prove himself. To show his power, his strength, and his ability to dominate lesser beings.

It was not going well, so far. Yes, he had assumed command of the hobgoblins. Yes, he had defied the living dungeon and survived all the monsters that had flung themselves at him. Yes he had spat in the eye of the wild magic surges that threatened to consume everything he hoped for.

But he did not yet have the artefact his lord required. He did not have the bard’s head on a silver platter before him.

He did not have his unalloyed victory.

But he would.

Gis would descend into the depths of this accursed place, find the artefact left by his predecessor, and use its power to destroy any hope of this place rising again! he would conquer the living dungeon, destroying it or turning it to his will!

What a weapon that would be for the glory of Urkhan! What an achievement! That alone might secure his glory and fuel his ascent through the ranks of Urkhan’s disciples.

If he was strong enough, ruthless enough, he might even unseat the First of his Order and take her place as Right Hand of Urkhan!

So the priest sat and dreamed of glory, even as Robin and his party delved more deeply themselves, guided by Nilsiir, not suspecting the evil that moved to meet them from above, while Silinir awaited their challenge from below…

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