All men should strive to be cunning and strong. The Great Wyrm will take vengeance upon those who prove to be weak and foolish.
Vulgnash felt a peculiar craving. The dead are not subject to most human passions, at least not to the same degree as humans. Hunger they feel as a primal craving for life force, one that makes every cell in their bodies ache with need, much as a choking man burns with need for air. But there is little place in them for lust, or vanity, or compassion.
So this craving annoyed him. It was an ache for vengeance. The human woman had escaped him, had shown him to be weak in front of Lord Despair.
Vulgnash had seen his lord s displeasure.
The dungeons again, he thought, as he climbed down the winding stone stairs. I will be forever in the dungeons.
He yearned to be off on some more dangerous assignment. Watching over the Wizard Fallion had its dangers, it was true, but Fallion posed little threat.
Vulgnash went to the dungeons, found Fallion there. The floor was rimed with frost, and now snow fans were forming on the bars and walls. Fallion was out cold. Sound asleep, nearly comatose.
The rest of the prisoners were much the same. Talon lay still, barely breathing. The wyrmling girl appeared to be dead. Daylan Hammer s breathing was equally shallow. Only the emir seemed to be breathing heavily, and he groaned in his sleep as if at a nightmare.
Vulgnash tried rattling the doors. They were solid iron and each weighed a thousand pounds. He could not move them. The locks were secure.
Vulgnash paid one last call upon the Wizard Fallion.
He was firmly chained by a leg to the wall.
Vulgnash decided to have some fun with him. He took a cot from another cell, and took some old rope, then bound Fallion s arms and legs so tightly that it would cut off the circulation.
Then he dragged a cot into the cell, laid Fallion upon it faceup, and held Fallion s head back so that he could not see his own body.
He gave Fallion just enough heat to warm him so that he began to revive. Fallion came awake, regaining consciousness in fits and starts, so that he muttered and shook, trying to rouse himself.
When consciousness reached him, Fallion simply lay there on the cot with growing horror on his face. He struggled and tried to move his arms and feet, but could get no feeling.
Vulgnash knew what he was thinking. Dozens of his Dedicates had been mutilated, their arms and legs removed, and Fallion could not tell if he had any appendages.
'Fool,' Vulgnash hissed. 'Without arms or legs, you look like a worm. Squirm for me. Squirm for your master.'
'No, please!' Fallion called, trying to wriggle, trying to see if he had arms.
Vulgnash merely set a foot upon his forehead and held his head back so that he could not see.
'You thanked my master for letting you feel the pain of his subjects. So as your reward, he has cut the arms and legs off of thousands of them, and he has let you feel their pain. Would you like to see them?'
Suddenly Fallion lashed out with his senses, tried to pull heat from the walls of the cell. But the stone was cold and held almost no heat at all. Fallion s was a pitiful attempt at escape.
Vulgnash pulled the heat from Fallion once again, sent him deep into a swoon.
That should hold him for a few more hours, Vulgnash thought. And he will dream…
Vulgnash stalked out of the dungeon, found Kryssidia, and took his last four forcibles to the chief facilitator. It did not take fifteen minutes for the facilitator to round up some small folk and rip the sight from two of them. The effect at first seemed minimal. He could not see any better in the darkness, but now the glow worms on the wall gave off a color he d never seen-a dim green.
With the last two forcibles, Vulgnash took more endowments of metabolism, and told Kryssidia to meet him in his chambers.
Quickly Vulgnash raced up through the tunnels, climbing the stairs, like a caterpillar winding its way up a twig, until he reached his own spartan quarters, where his crypt lay.
The sun was dying on the horizon, a bloody thing dropping toward its grave. Red clouds scudded along the sky line, promising a coming storm.
For the first time in his life, Vulgnash looked out upon a world of color-blues and purples in the sky, grays and tans and greens in the forests.
So this is what a human sees, he thought in wonder.
The endowment had worked well enough. The daylight annoyed him, but it did not hurt as much now. It was bright enough so that the idea of flying repelled him, but darkness would be here soon.
He went to his closet, got a fresh red robe, and strapped on a sharpened long sword as black as obsidian.
He halted for a moment near the door to his own parapet and glanced longingly at his own tomb.
Ah, he thought, to sleep, perchance to dream.
Vulgnash felt at peace. Torturing Fallion had salved his wounds, fed some of his need for vengeance.
But more than that, he felt secure knowing that he would be going into battle with Despair at his side.
As a Knight Eternal, Vulgnash had never been truly alive. He had no soul, and could not harbor or feed a locus. Thus, there was no way that he could communicate across the leagues with Despair, as the Death Lords did.
But now Lord Despair was displaying some new power.
He can speak to my mind, Vulgnash realized, with the powers of an Earth King, though he cannot hear my thoughts.
This development delighted Vulgnash. It almost made him equal to the Death Lords, and it raised his value to the master. At the same time it afforded him some privacy.
But an onus was upon Vulgnash. His master would be angered if he took too long to punish the Fang Guards.
Kryssidia came shortly, and the two of them raced to the nearest window and leapt from the tower, unfolding their crimson wings and taking flight.
They swooped low, so that the shadows of distant mountains covered them, and flew madly above the trees, careering this way and that, using their own momentum to hurl them forward faster and faster.
Day faded to dusk, and dusk surrendered to darkness.
As he flew even with Kryssidia, the Knight Eternal apprised him a little better of the situation at Caer Luciare. The Fang Guards were taking endowments, and they thought themselves powerful enough to challenge the empire. They were led by an egotistical fool named Chulspeth who did not know yet that Despair had taken physical form and now dwelt at Rugassa. Nor of course would Chulspeth be aware that Despair had gained unheard-of powers, the protective gifts of an Earth King.
Vulgnash knew Chulspeth. He was the leader of the Fang Guards. Vulgnash had personally chosen the man for the honor of being the first to take an endowment of bloodlust.
Once again, Vulgnash thought, I have not served my master well.
Kryssidia grew hungry, and the Knights Eternal slowed their flight for a time, veering from their course as they hunted. They found a small settlement where a little smoke from evening cooking fires hung in a haze.
It was a guard post of some kind for the small folk, a mountain village with nothing but a wall made of wood. Guards paced about in towers.
The Knights Eternal swept into the village, dodging arrow fire as they came. They spotted children playing in the street, children that leapt up in terror at the cries of their parents.
Vulgnash swooped low and scooped up a toddler on the wing, and Kryssidia did the same. The parents screamed frantically and chased after them, shaking their fists and hurling curses.
