She pulled away, a slight smear of white greasepaint on her palm. She bent down on one knee. Put her palms together. Bowed her head to him.
“You know what to do, noble clown,” she said.
Odom the Paladin followed her lead. Getting to one knee. Bowing his head.
“Lead us to glory, oh noble clown,” he said.
Rachel did the same. “We are ready.”
Roger the ogre shrugged and got down on a knee and bowed his tiny, lumpy head. “Readies when’s you’s ares bosses.”
Hilario trembled. His gut gave an acidy twist.
He looked at Marco. The detective gave him a sour look.
“I ain’t bowing, clown boy,” Marco said, “But anytime you wanna get this show on the road, We’re ready.”
The detective brought out his gun. Gave it a stroke along its barrel.
Dang right, dog, the gun said, Bring on the hurt.
Oh dear.
He looked to Larry. Well, Larry in Igidbon’s body. Oh, he’d done such a bad thing.
Larry/Igidbon crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a glaring look.
“This body is dirty,” Larry said in a raspy voice that was a disturbing combination of Larry and Igidbon.
“I’m sorry, Larry,” Hilario said, “It won’t be for long.”
Hopefully. Making zombies was so bad. Would saving an entire city atone for it?
Hilario glanced around at his companions. His little army. There were only three entities in the van who didn’t have their eyes on him. Rodney the perpetually unconscious delivery driver, Queezleyan the six-tailed rat demon in the bloodwood box and…
The black angel.
Who still occupied the space behind the driver’s seat. The air hissed and sizzled around the spiky, glittering being.
Or maybe it was paying attention. Who the heckity heck knew with those things?
“So,” Marco said, “What’s the plan, boss man?”
65
Orkes really weren’t good soldiers
Oh, sure, they could be trained in combat techniques. Organized into formations and sent into battle.
But they really weren’t all that bright.
Running at the enemy, screaming and waving sharp, bladed weapons was their thing.
And most of the time that was all that was needed. Get enough Orkes screaming and waving sharp things and a dark lord could accomplish his short term goals of kicking the poop out of some lesser enemy.
Orkes would be perfect for taking a human city. Drop a million or two Orkes into the city and the residents would barely have time to soil their underwear before being overrun by the hulking, snarling beasts.
But using Orkes for guard duty? Now that was just asking for trouble.
Hilario drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Acid churned in his stomach. Through the open window beside him, the rotten garlic stench of orkes drifted in, along with the acrid smoke of the nearby campfires. What in the heckity-heck were they burning, anyway? There wasn’t any wood for, well, a long, long ways.
He glanced at the nearest fire. Which was about the size of his van. He could make out something vaguely skeletal in the flames.
Maybe he didn’t want to know what they were burning.
Besides, there were other, more urgent things for him to contemplate.
Like whether his stupid plan would work.
Orkes were dumb, but they weren’t complete idiots.
Like the ones arrayed in front of the van. Most of them stood eight to ten feet tall. Their mostly bare upper bodies bulged with rock hard muscles. The kind of muscles human body builders would weep with envy over.
The orkes eyed the van with their beady black eyes and fingered their wicked blades. Battle axes, stubby swords, long swords, pikes, spears, bandoliers of daggers–if it was made out of metal and could hold an edge, they seemed to have it.
At least the ones in front of him didn’t have machine guns and rocket launchers like the one who had attacked Sinzerklaazz’s keep.
Though that might have been preferable. At least a rocket launcher would make for a quick death. An orke with a sharp knife could take his time.
“Come on, Larry,” he said under his breath, “Play along.”
The others lay on the floor in the back of the van. Being quiet for once. A miracle in itself.
Larry and Roger the ogre were on the roof.
It had taken a quick, quiet conversation with Larry to convince him to play along.
I-a don’t-a like-a this-a body-a, Hilario-a.
Hilario conceded the point. Having one’s soul forced into the dead body of a dark lord had to be uncomfortable. But he told Larry it was time to take one for the team. Step up and do something to atone for his selfishness.
Do it for Rachel, who wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for him.
So Larry had climbed to the top of the van. Hilario had worried Larry’s soul might be pulled from the dark lord’s body when he left the van, but apparently being in contact with the van was enough. For now.
Roger the ogre had gotten down on his hands and knees and Larry sat on the ogre’s back. Detective Marco had said something about that being undignified, but Hilario and Odom had assured him this was normal. Ogres often were called upon to be field chairs for battle commanders.
Ogres were cheap and disposable, after all.
According to the dark lords of the unseen world.
Hilario took the bullhorn off his lap and brought it to his lips.
Of course he had a bullhorn. He went to children’s parties, didn’t he? How else was he going to be heard over all that screeching?
He leaned his head out the window and clicked the trigger. The bullhorn squealed.
He cleared his throat and lowered his voice by several octaves.
“Make way for the great and terrible Lord Igidbon!”
The orkes seemed less than impressed. Their beady eyes moved from Lord Igidbon’s reanimated corpse to the van and back again.
“Lord Igidbon commands you to move or face
