Helkey 31 — Battle of Sunken Crag, Desperate Moves

My little ragtag army of Mottles, Urdrakes, and Plumacats is ready to go. Sure, they’re scared witless. Who wouldn’t be facing down the worst Hell has to offer in the form of scores of heavily armed devils?? Fiendish Drivers who want to nothing more than to kill your corpus, rip out your wisp, then force it to serve as a slave in a torturous worb. All led by terrible Overseers profiting from the horrible wisp trade. But our little force is fresh from two big victories against the devils of Overseer Tower. They’re also serious badasses. It’s starting to dawn on me that the Urdrakes and Plumacats are both some kind of uber predator. The Urdrakes are mini godzillas as giant snapping turtles — with the ability to shoot beams of killing light out of their frigging heads. Plumacats remind me of some tiger-velociraptor hybrid. Mottles, though not carnivorous, are like a badass mash-up of a giant bat with a cloaker from D&D. Yeah, after all the fighting, I’ve got D&D on my mind today. Deal.

I ride the nasty Vortex up to the canyon wall, my company of uber predators and other misfits following along in the Hell machine’s stinking wake. Its banshee-wail engine rips at my ears. Poor, tortured wisps churning inside a ring of spiritual teeth — spitting out soul-juice to spike the fossil-fuel crud devils burn in their engines. Clouds of noxious smoke rise around me.

I climb over the canyon’s lip, stare out across hills spilling into the Wisp Fields. Mists from earlier are now clear. Lights and shadows play together beneath a fractured night sky. At first, it’s tough to make out what I’m seeing. Though I’m pretty sure most of the lights are wisps, there’s a huge group of devils tooling about down there.

Grimjaw pads up beside me, points with a clawed hand into the lands below. “See them,” he growls. I follow the tip of his claw to a large force of devils churning across stinking lands. They’re still many miles away. A plume of back-lit smoke rises from their Vortexes which swarm around hulking scorpions — tail tips blazing in red-orange orbs from stolen wisp energy. They’re tough to miss once I know where to look. Still far off, so it’s understandable I overlooked them in omnis scientia. Grimjaw shifts his claw lower. “There too,” he says again in more of a whisper. I have to focus. After a few seconds, I catch a smoke plume against the night. Following it down, I see a cluster of flickering worbs. They’re close enough for me to hear the faint sound of Vortex engines wailing now that I’ve briefly throttled down my own nasty machine.

“I see them,” I reply. Mottle quivers as he shares in my senses. He’s excited, afraid, anticipating what’s to come.

Grimjaw shifts his hand a final time. He points above the wisps fields. I focus my sight. I can’t see shit. Closing my eyes, I shift to omnis scientia, then use its enhanced sight to follow Grimjaw’s claw to the point he’s indicating. At last I see the Uktena — its red-ribbon form threading through the night sky.

“Fuck!” I say as I recognize the devil-snake. I’d heard Grimjaw’s earlier report of the sighting. But I hoped the big Plumacat was somehow mistaken. The Uktena’s flying right for that big force of devils. It’s a rather slow flyer. But judging from its path and speed, it’ll meet with the larger devil force in about a half hour. I stare as Plumacats and Urdrake climb up onto the ridge beside me. Mottles glide overhead. Our scouts are already on the next ridge about a half mile away.

Theri and Zel pull up beside me on their own stinking Vortexes. Zaya’s flying overhead. The two wounded Plumacats wail in on their Vortexes behind us. “I want all of you to stay close to me,” I say to them. “Zaya, I’m going to need you again soon. Do you think you’ll be ready to change more wisps in about an hour?”

The Hell faerie hovers close, she has to shout over the wail of the stupid Vortexes. “I’ll have to rely on you more! But yes!”

“Fanfriggingtastic!” I turn to Zel and Theri. “What can you tell me about the scorpions? We took that one out really quick. But I don’t think I got a chance to see what it was fully capable of.”

Zel looks at Theri who replies. “The scorps are great machine monsters. Close in, they can shred about anything with their burning claws. The tails, are the bigger threat, though. They can steal raw wisp energy to throw glowing balls of destruction. Much larger than the fireball rounds. But slow. You’ll see them coming if they do. Better get out of the way.”

Fucking great. I was worried about something like this. Zel took out the tail of the first scorp we ambushed quick. So I didn’t get to see it in action. “How far can it throw its hell balls?”

“About ten miles. But like I said, they’re slow. You can see them coming. If you move, you can get out of their path.” This creates a new complication. The scorps are about eight miles out. Within range if the devils spot us. That’ll probably happen soon. Although one thing’s certain. I don’t intent to sit still.

“Frigging Great! Now follow me!” I gun my Vortex over to Zorfang. He’s got a cluster of Urdrakes near him. They’re walking in a shambling line along the ridge. Their pace is slow but steady. The measured movement is something I’ve thought about as we climb up to the ridge line. Soon, the larger devil force will see us. I’m going to need to move quick. But I’ve got to make sure I employ these Urdrake effectively or we’re all pretty much effed.

“I need to know what you’ve got, Zorfang,” I say to the massive godzilla turtle thing.

He tilts his giant reptile head down toward me giving a quizzical expression. It’s cute, even on a beast I know could bite my friggin arm off with one great snap of his serrated beak.

I point to the crystal formation at the top of his head. “How far do those shoot? Can you run out?”

Zorfang scratches at the crystal formation with a large claw. “Shoots as far as I see. But gets weak with distance. Up close, it cuts. Further, it heats. Further still, it will blind.”

I point down to the large group of devils in the Wisp Fields’ center. “What can you do to that?”

“If some look this way, we can blind them, perhaps.”

I point to the Uktena. “That?” I ask. I’m using omnis scientia to see it. I can’t fracking see it with my own eyes. I’m wondering if Zorfang can.

Zorfang looks in the direction I’m pointing. He casts about for a moment. Then, he closes his eyes. He tilts the crystal structure a little, then a small beam shoots out. In omnis scientia, I see the Uktena momentarily light up. Neat trick.

“Ahhh…” Zorfang hums. “Though closer, it is small and bobs around.” He seems to consider a moment more before replying. “Blind it. Three, maybe four of us can heat it.”

This is new information. “You can combine your beams?”

Zorfang nods.

I’m impressed. This is a hell of a capability. The Urdrakes may be slow, but they could lay down the literal heat over long distances. I felt like a commander of a laser artillery battery. Last of all, I point at the scouts closing in on their Vortexes. “And those?”

Zorfang doesn’t even hesitate. “Small cuts. We can heat the machines to explode.”

Amazing. “OK, Zorfang. That’s really helpful. So I’m going to take these Vortexes, the Mottles and the Plumacats out into the wisp fields. We’re going to be moving crazy fast. I want you to get your Urdrakes to hit that Uktena now. If you can, get him out of the air. But try not to make too much light, if you can.” I point to the next ridge line. “Then I want you to run to that ridge as fast as you can. You might have some fire hurled your way from those giant scorps.” I motion down to the larger force of devils. “So I want you guys to shoot, then move, shoot again, then move again. Keep ’em guessing. Get all the Urdrakes up there and be ready.”

Zorfang nods. “Yes father,” he says in his deep, musical tones, then begins to shuffle off.

“Wait a sec. I’m not quite finished.”

Zorfang pauses. I reach out a hand to touch his forehead. Casting my curse magic out, I connect him to omnis scientia. “Una!” I incant. Now he can see and hear through the sensor. I direct it to hover down next to me. “This is omnis scientia. It’s a sensor I’ve crafted out of magic. I’m taking it with me. I’ve just set it up so you can see me through it when you concentrate on me. Close your eyes. Try it out.”

Zorfang closes his eyes. “I can see Myra,” he says. “It is clearer than crystal sight.”

“Fantastic! Now, when I touch the sensor, you will also be able to hear me.” I reach out, drag my hand through the sensor’s curse-shaped body. “Like this,” I say as I touch it.

Zorfang shuffles in surprise as my voice is transmitted to him twice — once through regular sound and once through the sensor. “Yes! I hear!”

“OK. So you know what your first mission is, right?”

“The red snake in the sky. We try to heat or blind it. Then, on to that rise! Shoot, then move!” He sings the last bit loudly. He seems to be getting riled up.

“Excellent! After that, we’ll be in touch.” I tap my ear. I pause, look behind me at Rookfang. For a moment, I muse about their names. Neither actually has any real fangs. Just serrated beaks. I shake off my moment of bemusement. Grabbing Rookfang’s, arm, I slide him gently off the bike. Takes a lot of effort. The guy is huge. Weighs hundreds of pounds. He plunks down to the ground beside Zorfang. “One more thing. I’ll need you to take him with you. Get two of your stronger Urdrakes to carry him.”

Positions of Forces and Recent Events During the Battle of Sunken Crag

Zorfang looks down at Rookfang, then harrooms and affirmation. With a smile and a thumbs up, I ride off in the direction of Featherstar. She’s got ten Plumacats lined up. Eight of them have finally teamed with the remaining Mottles. Grimjaw, Shade, and his scout team flow into them. Theri, Zel, and the two wounded Plumacats on Vortexes ride up. Zaya hovers overhead. My stomach tightens as I take in this motley assortment. Together we number a mere thirty-seven. Including the scouts running out ahead, that’s forty-nine. Pretty thin. But I’m counting on the twenty-three frigging laser artillery Urdrakes I’m leaving behind to give us some heavy support. As I look over my force, I feel like I’m about to take a big drop on a huge roller coaster. But this rollercoaster is diving me straight into heavy combat. Stuff is about to get real brutal.

“The chips are down. It’s time for some desperate moves,” I say to them. “We’re heading out together. Our first objective is to take out that scout company.” I point in the direction of the ten devils on Vortexes heading toward us fast. “Next, we circle back to eliminate their main force. I’m counting on you to be swift and fierce. We’re going to punch ’em in the nose, then draw them into a fight they won’t make it out of.” I sound a lot more confident than I feel. But I’ve got to make them believe it’s possible. Otherwise, it won’t be. “The Urdrakes will set up in these hills to rain barrages of blinding and heating lights down on them. Don’t look back toward the hills.” I point to my eyes, then point back at them. “Eyes to the enemy.”

I ride to the downslope, summon my moonshadow blade, then point it at the leading force of devils. “Now charge!”

***********

Corviss flies through the air as swift as he can. It’s infuriatingly slow.

He’s not a fast flier — more a swimmer of air currents. While near the Vortexes, he can catch a slipstream and glide along. Carried forward by the bike’s motion.

His teleports are crazy-quick, but short distance. At most, his jumps cover about five hundred feet. Making such swift jumps is highly exerting. He’d panicked when the fireball blossomed around him above the canyon. The sudden expense of energy needed to escape its blast drained him. He might be able to jump once or twice more before succumbing to exhaustion. So he’s stuck coiling slowly through the air toward Lavross’s lumbering force. It’s frustrating. Lavross must know about the mage’s large and deadly gathering of Plumacats, Mottles, and Urdrakes.

“Lavross, Lavross… See me Lavross!” He laments, hoping the Overseer will spot him and send out his Vortex riders to scoop him up.

He rides toward a current of falling air he hopes will carry him to Lavross when his skin suddenly becomes blazing hot. He shrieks, JUMPS!, then spins to see where the fireball round came from. There is no fireball round! Just a painful burning sensation all over his body that lets him know the heat he felt was real. He spins in a spiral. His teleport brought him lower, but he still has the advantage of height for perspective. He looks toward the Razor Hills. It takes him a moment to make out the distant forms of Urdrakes in a line along a ridge. Then, a barrage of brilliant flashes shoots out from the Urdrakes. He feels another searing pain — this time over his face, his eyes. Darkness and burning swallow him. He JUMPS! again. Falls through a well of black. Slams into the ground.

All goes dark.

When Corviss wakes, he finds he’s lost all sight except his peripheral vision. A great black hole eats up his gaze. He tries to fly, but can’t gain perspective and slams into the ground again. Popping up, he tips his head to try to see the land around. There’s a nearby rise. He scrabbles atop it, tilts his head. The rim of sight is maddening in its illusiveness. He coils and spins as he tries to see. At last, he makes out the blurry form of a scorpion lumbering about five miles away in the corner of his gaze. Hissing in pain, frustration, and not a little fear, he begins to slither across the Wisp Fields, hoping some land predator doesn’t spot him in his damaged state. Now exhausted, his body aching, battered, stinging all over from burns, he wants nothing more than to sleep. To heal from the terrible damage done to him by the Urdrakes. Each twist of his body feels like it’s doing more damage. Regina did value him enough to grant him a healing infusion of wisp energy. Should he survive. A tickle of fear runs up his spine. Did she? Corviss crawls faster.

**********

Lavross snarls at the stupid psychic. “What the fuck are you telling me, then??” He yells. His fanged mouth bites off each word. He imagines they are chunks of this spineless wretch’s flesh.

The psychic, its long horns more like antennae than regular devils’ horns, wilts — its flesh turning from red to a light pink shade. Myzlic the psychic rides behind a hoary, burly Driver atop a Vortex. Though the machine’s wailing is enough to make Myzlic’s ears ring, somehow Lavross’s yelling seems even louder. “It’s a sending from one of Dressler’s psychics! Nymkat!” Myzlic shouts back. “She says the mage has Urdrake! You need to be careful! Regina’s sending a second group to reinforce yours!’

“I know about the fucking Urdrake! I saw their fucking lights! You think I’m a lemure? I’ve been an Overseer in these parts for a fucking hundred and twenty years!” Lavross shouts back. Stupid psychics and that bitch Regina pointing out the fucking obvious. And she’s sending a damned follow-on-force… That means one thing. Regina’s lost confidence in his ability to take down the mage. “Reinforce?? Felldust!! Who the fuck are they sending?”

“Nymkat says it’s Dressler himself!” Myzlic replies, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knew all too well what it meant, sometimes, to be the bearer of bad news. And Lavross looks furious.

“Look! You tell Regina and Dressler to sit fucking tight. A couple of Urdrake aren’t going to change that damned mage’s fate one notch. His wisp is good as taken!”

“I’ll tell them you received their message!” Myzlic says evenly, then thumps his Driver, motioning for him to slow down. The Dark Psychic drops back, but is treated to a parting barrage of curses coming from Lavross.

Lavross turns away from the cowardly Myzlic. Damned psychic. One of Asmodeus’s supposed all-knowing faithful. Worthless and weak! He should’ve sent him forward with Amagash or Talith. Now he has to suffer Regina’s insistent mewlings. He blows out a frustrated breath from between his jagged teeth. “Fucking Dressler.” Regina’s favorite Overseer is a tall devil with skin so dark red it borders on black. He has a snide, self-assured air that Lavross finds both insulting and effete. Yet Regina had chosen Dressler as her high commander for military situations just like this one. If she’s moving Dressler onto the field, that meant this wouldn’t be his shit-show for very much longer. Lavross looks at the lumbering scorpions in frustration one more time. If he plays a strong hand now, maybe he can keep ahead of Dressler’s meddling and still take credit for taking the mage’s wisp.

He just needed an opportunity.

Then, a ridge-line to his right erupts in bright flashes of light. Lines of white streak out from the Razor Hills and illuminate a region of sky to his front-right. There’s a second flash. The light allows him to zero in on its source. Then he sees them! A row of Urdrake on a hillside about eight miles away. At least five of them are emitting light. He looks for a moment toward Talith. But her Vortexes are well below the beams. He scans the sky. “What in blazes are they aiming at?” He shakes his head. No matter. They’d just given away their position. And none-too-soon with Dressler and Regina breathing down his neck.

“Ranthvar!” he shouts back to his fourth in command.

“Overseer!” Ranthvar shouts as he drives up beside Lavross and gives a sharp salute.

“Take your Lance and stick with the scorpion crews. Make for those hills! There are Urdrake atop that ridge. Put some fire on them now!” Lavross points toward where he glimpsed the Urdrakes’ light beams.

“Yes Overseer!”

Lavross always appreciated Ranthvar’s ease with taking orders. A bit thick. But intelligence is often over-rated. “I’m taking the remaining five Lances! We’re going ahead to charge those hills! If you see any more targets. Don’t hesitate to bring devastation down on them with our scorpions.”

“Very good, Overseer!”

“For the glory of Asmodeus!” Lavross says, giving the customary send off.

“For the victory of Minos!” Ranthvar replies.

Lavross spins off to shout to his other Lances. It takes only a minute for the command to run through the ranks. With a shout of “Forward!” Lavross presses the red and golden button on his Vortex. The worb-engine wails as wisps are ground down — injecting their spirit juice into fiery combustion within the engines. The vehicle leaps forward — shooting out and away from the collection of towering scorpions. The five Lances line up on Lavross, forming a great sweeping V with him at the center. His hand itches to reach for his weapon. His rifle. His Night Axe. “Soon now,” he growls to his axe. “Soon you will taste blood. Soon.”

As he speaks these words of violence-intended, behind him the Scorpions each fling an enormous ball of black and orange into the Hell-night. Casting a dark and fiery light, they rise ponderously toward the hills where he sighted the Urdrakes.

**********

The stupid Vortex is rattling my brain with its banshee wail. I shoot down the slope. On either side of me stretched out in a line are my thirty seven — Mottles, Plumacats, Theri, Zel, Zaya, my Mottle and last of all me. The Plumacats eat up ground in long bounds. The ones teamed up with Mottles can lope as fast as my Vortex so long as I don’t press the evil, spikey red-gold button. They can also frigging fly for short bursts. I’m counting on that mobility to save our bacon. We’re going to run out toward the enemy scouts fast and make ourselves a frigging target. If being a target doesn’t sound bacon-saving, wait around a while, clue? I’ve got tricks. Speaking of targets, I look up at Zaya. The luminous, green-skinned Hell-faerie’s born aloft on translucent wings like those of a giant dragonfly. Illuminated by lux, they become iridescent — casting little rainbows around her. As we reach the valley and start up toward the next ridge, I extend a hand to Zaya.

“I want you to ride with me!” I shout up to her. “Sit here!” I pat a spot on the Vortex’s seat in front of me.

Zaya looks with distaste down at the Vortex. “Must I?”

The Vortex bounces over some rocks, then shoots up the slope. It spits rocks and spews out more of its foul smoke. “Yes! If those devils see you, it might give away my plan! Worse, they could try to snipe you! Then we’d all be screwed!”

Zaya keeps flying near me but makes no move to land. She turns her face forward. I know she’s still listening, though.

“Look! You’re going to like what I’ve got planned! Just hang in there with me for an hour! Maybe less!”

“What’ve you got planned?” Zaya asks, drifting a bit closer.

I grin despite myself. Yeah, she’s hooked. “‘Keep your plans dark and impenetrable as night! And when you move — strike like a thunderbolt!'” I’m quoting Tsu Su here. It’s something Mori — Dad — used to say all the time. He’s fucking right.

“Oh, the secret thunderbolt plan!” Zaya replies. “OK, I’m in.” With one last disgusted look at the Vortex, the Hell Faerie flits down to enfold herself between my arms and behind the Vortex’s handlebars. Mottle quivers pleasantly at the faerie’s arrival. Yeah, Mottle, I like her too.

With Zaya safe, I focus on the slope. The Vortex pounds up toward the second ridge line. Atop it are my scouts. They see us coming, then leap forward, ghosting out ahead of our larger group. I keep the Vortex throttled back a bit to allow all the Plumacats to stay with me. It’s still a pretty stiff pace. I don’t have time to spare.

Before we hit the rise, I see the sky light up with the Urdrake’s frigging white laser beams. There’s a red flying snake with horns on the other end of those beams whose day just got a Hell of a lot worse. I grin wickedly. I shouldn’t be happy. But this is war after all. And that bastard is part of team ‘I’m going to kill you and enslave your effing soul.’ Yeah, count me happy the little bastard’s taking some serious heat right about now. I draw up short of the rise, allow all the Plumacats and Mottles to catch up. I look back to the Urdrakes, pushing my senses to omnis scientia. Through it, I clearly hear his deep, song-like commands. They’ve finished their barrage. Zorfang is moving them down the hill now. Good. They’ll take about two minutes to reach this ridge. Should work out just fine.

Then the night lights up as huge black-orange balls loft toward us from the Wisp Fields. They remind me of giant charred and flaming marshmallows tumbling through the sky. What a weird time to start thinking about smores. They move lazily. They’ll cover the distance to us in about two minutes. I don’t intend for him to be there when they effing land.

I reach out to omnis scientia. “OK, Zorfang, can you hear me?”

“Yes, father, we are moving as you asked. Shoot them move.” His voice is labored, huffing with exertion. Around him, I hear similar noises along with the sound of scrabbling. From what I’m hearing, those Urdrake are seriously halling ass for things so large and typically slow.

“Good. Get the Hell out of there. You’ve got effing meteors heading your way. Did you get the Uktena?”

“It fell from sky. Burned. Probably blind.”

“Perfect! Now, I have another instruction. When you reach the ridge where I am now, I want you to focus all your fire on the group of scouts heading toward us. It’s the small group of about ten devils on Vortexes. By the time you do, we should be engaged with them. Hurry! We’re going to need you!”

“I shall do this!” Zorfang roar-sings.

“Fantastic!” I say, then I shift my senses back to myself and the thirty-six other souls with me. Without another pause, I shout “Forward!” In a great spray of dirt, noxious smoke, flapping of Mottles and scrabble of claws we are shooting up over the rise. I glance at my horologium watch. It’s 4:41 AM, Hell time.

Above me, the giant blazing marshmallows begin to fall toward the ridge Zorfang just vacated. Below, the flat expanse of Wisp Fields opens up, illuminated by deadly lights passing overhead. About a mile and a half off, I can clearly see the ten devils on their Vortexes. They’re coming straight for us. Must’ve seen the Urdrake’s laser beams. They’re following the giant orange balls in toward us. Noise of their screaming engines mixes with my own. Yeah, they’re fucking close and coming in hot.

I turn toward the second, larger group of devils. What I see makes me grin despite the tormented screams of souls being ground up by devils’ engines for fuel tearing out my ever-loving ears. It’s a massive group of about fifty devils riding their Vortexes in my direction at full speed. They’re about seven miles away and running flat out. Must’ve pushed the evil spikey red and golden button. Time to put some heavy fire on these bastards. It’s also time to test the power of all the scores and scores of wisps filling up my energetic vessel.

I point my Vortex toward the scouts and gun the engine. They’re opposite the larger group. If I head toward the scouts, I buy myself a little time. So I race toward them. Plumacats teamed with Mottles fly down the slope beside me. The remaining Plumacats race behind. They lag a bit. But that’s OK. I want a follow-on force. My own scouts are up ahead. I see they found a gully to run and fly through on their way toward the ten devils on Vortexes. If I’m lucky, they’ll come at the bads from the left at about the same time I’m ready to hit them from the front.

My immediate worry is the fact that the goddamn devils have me outgunned. Only Theri, Zel, and I have firearms that can be used with any real skill. Sure, there are two Plumacats with rifles that got about five minutes of training. Enough to give away their positions, but little else. The ten devils rushing toward me are all armed with rifles. I can see them lifting their weapons from saddle holsters on their Vortexes, aiming toward us as our groups converge. These rifles probably have a maximum range of about a quarter mile. Fireball rounds — about the same. Given our closing speed, they’ll be coming into range really damn quick. I don’t want to give them a chance to use those weapons effectively.

I’m lifting my hand when all Hell breaks loose behind me. The giant burning marshmallows are finally landing. WHUP! WHUP! WHUP! WHUP! Four massive explosions tear the air. I don’t see any strike points. I’m blocked by the ridge. But burning material flies high and shrieking rocks rain down hundreds of yards away. I hope Zorfang’s long gone. I can’t afford any delay despite the frigging cataclysm practically coming down on my effing head. “Vexare! Verberare!” I incant, bleeding a crap-ton of energy from my rapidly refilling vessel to increase my missiles’ range. Five bright sparks shoot toward my enemies. As they rocket out, I shout “Una! Lux!” and bleed another excessive plug of energy into my incantation. The missiles swell with brilliant light. Each blazing like a sun, five five huge lights converge on the devil scouts. Range is excessive. Three miss altogether. But two strike a Vortex — causing its spiked tire to unfold like a ripped soda can. Its rider is flung about fifty feet before landing with a thump I can hear a mile off. Lux continues to spill out brilliant light. The devils hold up hands to shield their eyes as they skid to a halt.

They’re shouting in confusion. One is pointing at the larger force of Vortexes closing fast. The others recover as the blinding lights fade. They rev their engines. In a spray of dirt and rocks they rush forward again. More cautious, this time. I’ve bought us about thirty seconds. Pushing my focus back toward omnis scientia, I shout to Zorfang — “How soon ’til you get in place?”

For a moment, I don’t hear anything from Zorfang. Oh fuck! What if the giant marshmallows took him out!? Then, I hear the reassuring rasp of his labored breathing. “Thirty heartbeats!” he shouts through omnis scientia.

“Good!” I pour on speed and hurl another volley of over-juiced and lux-enhanced “Vexare Verberare!” at the scouts. This time, I intentionally aim short, lighting up the land to the riders’ front. One missile strikes a lead devil who’d broken away from the pack — blasting off an arm. He slams into the ground and is swallowed by churning spikes from a following Vortex. The nasty machine grinds the devil into hamburger before it skids to a halt in front of my blinding displays of lux.

“We are here, father!” Zorfang sings to me through omnis scientia. As the lights from my barrages fade, Urdrake lasers begin to rain down on the scouts. We’re still rushing them. By now we are in rifle range. Theri and Zel lift their weapons.

“No fireballs!” I shout.

Zel drops his weapon, exchanges the fireball round he was about to use. Theri shoots with her weapon, misses. Then I see shadows flying up from the crevice to my left. Six Mottles and six Plumacats crash into the devil’s flank. They tear two devils from their Vortexes. I don’t see everything that happens. But I hear the sounds of screaming, of chaotic rifle reports, of bones crunching, of flesh ripping. A Plumacat falls to the side, bleeding from a bullet wound. Its Mottle flaps off to engulf yet another devil. By now, lights from the Urdrake are raining down on the devils. One manages to get off a fireball round. It streaks toward us. I lift my hand. Sparks shoot out of my name curse as I shout — Confractus! The fireball round dissolves in mid-formation. Ten Plumacats and Mottles pounce on the remaining devils — many of which are now blind or surrounded by glows of raging air as they burn.

In a moment, all is silent. We’ve crushed another scout force. This time head-on. But with fifty more devils breathing down my neck, I’ve got zero time to celebrate. Out in the wisp fields, four more massive balls blossom from the scorpions’ tails. Four more burning marshmallows rise up. I reach out to omnis scientia. “Zorfang! Get the Hell out of there! Down the rise this time!”

“Shoot and move!” I hear Zorfang sing out again.

“Good! Stay alive! And when you get to the bottom, I want you to shoot at those scorpions. Try to blind those fuckers. We can’t continue to have this crap raining down on us.”

“Yes Myra!” Zorfang sings out. His voice is strained, his breathing labored. But there is no complaint in his tone. I plow on toward the downed devils. I see some Plumacats actually devouring their frigging corpses. I can’t take time to deal with that now. Besides, Plumacats gotta eat. Pulling up to a cluster of idle Vortexes, I shout “Lunen! Svert Umbra!” My moonshadow blade leaps out. A darkness in my hand. Soft light spreads all around. I turn to Zaya. “Are you ready?” I ask.

Her eyes twinkle. Her iridescent wings flutter. I think she’s guessed what I have planned next. “Oh yes! Very much yes! It’s thunderbolt time!”

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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Helkey 30 — Battle of Sunken Crag, Predators’ Games

Elation pumps through my body. Heartbeat pounds in my ears. All nerves jolt in celebration. I’m still alive! Our rag-tag force lets out another cheer. I take a breath. No time to celebrate, not now. Maybe not ever. This is Hell after all. I let my moonshadow blade flicker out. The sight of all the dead devils, their gore strewn across the canyon floor, makes me reel. The smell of death — extraordinary. It’s the coolest part of the day. Heat pounds down on me like a hammer. I lean to one side. Catch myself on a boulder, pop out Perry fuckin A, take a long drink.

Mottle must sense that I’m swooning from heat and exertion. He shakes himself, flicks off bits of crushed devil, then returns to cover me. The cool is welcome. The blood coating the inside of him sticks to me. I stumble again, look up. Urdrake and Plumacats are casting about. One walks around with long ropes of drool dripping from its jowls. Are they fucking hungry? Do they want to eat the devils? What do Plumacats and Urdrake eat anyway? I stare at them, taking in the Plumacats’ fangs and claws, the Urdrake’s serrated beaks. A Plumacat licks its jowls, glances at me, then actually frigging meows like it wants to eat the devil carcass and is asking me for permission.

This is too much for me to process. I suddenly feel really damn sick. Then I’m barfing the empty contents of my stomach all over the ground. Mostly just bile and water now. Last real food I had was at Starbucks in Berlin. A whole fucking world ago. A yesterday and a half ago. Frail fucking human who’s now surviving on Mottle injections. I wipe my mouth, make myself stand. I can’t afford a moment of weakness. Not now when everyone is fucking counting on me. Not when Zaya’s conjured up a pack of uber-predators for our allies that I now have to somehow appear strong enough to lead. Mom. Dad. All the souls here — in my name curse, in my shadow, I’m guessing maybe a whole Hell of a lot more than just that — they’re counting on me to get this right.

I glance at my horologium watch. It’s 3:47 Hell time. Goddamn dawn’s gonna break in a few hours. That won’t be pretty. I’ve got a full-on fucking war on my hands. I’m gonna be fighting it in the fucking heat pretty damn soon. I’m already fighting in the heat. It’s like a hundred and five out here. Day’s gonna kick that up to like one-thirty plus. I take another breath, let it out. Everyone’s quiet now. The victory elation has settled down. Some are picking through the devils’ equipment, poking at those weird unicycles, or nosing the corpses. Most are staring at me again. Waiting. Some watched on as I barfed. Great!

I wipe my mouth off, pull myself together, then jump up on top of the boulder I’m standing next to. Hell, if Plumacats can do it, why not me? “We just scored another major success. Here, in this canyon, we plant our second victory flag!” I scan them as I talk loudly. I’m basically imitating my Dad’s impression of a drill sergeant from basic fucking training. I never went to basic — I’m just a frigging seventeen-year-old. But I think I got most of it through osmosis from early childhood. My manner seems to be working. I’ve got their attention at least. “So patting ourselves on the back is in order! But we can’t rest for too long! We just made a shit-ton of light and noise! Plus those were likely just a group of scouts! For now, we need to take stock. If there are wounded, I want to know. If any of you know how to help wounded, I want to know.” I point at Featherstar. “You’re in charge of setting up a detail to manage those who’ve been hurt! If there are casualties, I need to know about it fast!” If there are dead, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Featherstar gives me a speculative look, then bounds off.

I turn to Zorfang. He’s one of the Urdrake who shot beams of light out of their fucking heads. “I didn’t know you could…” I think of the right words for a moment. Oh Hell, it doesn’t matter. “…shoot beams of lethal light out of your heads! That’s crazy useful. Will have to keep that in mind for future. For now, I want you to get a group of Urdrakes to collect all the useful gear here. A lot’s broke. Some’s not. Find out what’s not. Collect it and distribute it. Also — put the weird bikes that still work to one side.”

Forces and Major Events in the Wisp Fields and Razor Hills

Zorfang growl-hums his agreement. I nod. He rumbles off, thick tail swishing back and forth. I lift my voice again. “You both have ten minutes! When you’re done report back!” I’m not sure if they know what minutes is. Doesn’t matter. They can tell from my tone that I want them to effing hurry.

“OK Mottle,” I whisper over my shoulder. “While they’re doing that, can you have the team of six Mottles and Plumacats head up to the canyon wall and fan out? I don’t hear any more of those weird devil bikes nearby. But if they’re coming I want to know.” Omnis scientia’s still floating high above the canyon. I can use that too. But more eyes are always better. I take a breath. This next part is a big risk. But it’s gotta be done. “Also, if any devils got away from our engagement, I want our scouts to hunt them down and take them out. Go for stragglers and small follow-on forces. Take down anyone who can run back and rat us out. Tell them to make a circuit of the ridge-line facing the Wisp Fields, get some eyes on both the fields and the scorpion we destroyed, then report back.”

Yes, Mottle thinks back to me simply, then flies off. He goes to the small group of scouts we organized back in the cave, touches a Mottle named Shade. There’s a brief pause as the two share thoughts. Shade’s Plumacat partner — Grimjaw — growls a couple commands. Then our scout squad bounds off. Our company watches them go. A few Plumacats give yowls of encouragement. Everyone seems to know they’re taking a huge risk for us.

With Mottle off my back, the heat hits me again like a hammer. I’m never going to get used to it. It’s way beyond human physiology to deal with this crazy inferno, the stifling sulfur air. My folks said a good chunk of devil magic’s set up just to keep them going through Hell’s nasty environment. Sure, they’re better adapted to it than humans. But adaptation can only do so much. Worbs and the magic they produce became a kind of Faustian bargain for most devils — enslave souls to survive in Hell. It all happened in the deep long ago when Hell’s environment took a nose-dive for the worst. There’s a reason most creatures left alive in Hell are devils. Many blue devils don’t have worbs. They tend not to live long. Maybe to age 35. When you’re dying off that quick, it’s hard to raise children to keep a species going.

Zaya flies up to me, tipping me out of my momentary reverie. Maybe I’m finally starting to get tired after two fights and hours of slogging through Hell’s crazy environment. “You wouldn’t let me fight,” she says with a cross look on her face.

“Yeah. Not this time. But don’t be too upset. There’s a lot of fighting left. So you’d best get ready for some more action.”

Zaya gives me one last frown. “What’s next, then?”

“Next we get ready to take the fight to them. But smart-like.”

“You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.” I didn’t have shit. Well, not yet at least. I look at my watch. It’s 3:59 Hell time. I spring up, clap my hands together. I’m still standing on my boulder so I can see everyone. “OK! Time’s up! Zorfang! Featherstar! Mottle! Come back here and report!”

My newfangled commanders shuffle back. Theri and Zel return beside them together with a Plumacat and two Urdrakes. They’re carrying armfuls of weapons which they lay down in front of me. I told them to distribute these weapons. Guess I’ll have to tell them who gets what. Another five Urdrakes wheel the giant spikey unicycles toward us. Wow. Looks like five of their nasties still work.

I wait another minute for them to gather, then speak up, again adopting Dad’s drill sergeant tone. I admit, this part of my new ‘job’ would be kinda fun if the subject of it all weren’t so goddamn grim. “OK! First tell me about casualties.”

Featherstar leaps forward with a proud yowl. “Only three wounded. We lick their wounds now.” I think this is just a figure of speech. But when I follow Featherstar’s lashing tail, I see two prone Plumacats and an Urdrake being minstered to by a third Plumacat who’s actually licking them. I’m too much at a loss to say anything. Which is good. Because I stare on for another moment which is enough for me to notice some kind of white film spreading out with each lick of the Plumacat’s tongue. The film covers wounds, creating a natural binding.

Zaya’s still hovering nearby. I turn to her. “Care to explain that?” I point to the film. I’ve got a lot more questions for Zaya about the Urdrakes and Plumacats. But I’ve got like no frigging time — so I stick to essentials.

“Oh. It’s a kind of natural healing salve they produce through glands in their mouth. It stops bleeding, aids the healing process, can even be used to re-attach limbs.”

Re-attach limbs? That’s pretty potent healing. I file this information for later and carry on. “Fanfriggintastic!” The next question is one I dread to ask. “Any dead?”

Featherstar gives a proud if dismissive flick of her tail. “No dead,” she says simply. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There are probably going to be dead by the end of today. Still not something I want on my conscience. When a creature dies in Hell, its wisp might reform after a time, if it is strong. Otherwise, second death in Hell means annihilation.

“Good! Excellent!” I say to Featherstar, trying to keep some kind of command presence. I’ve gotta project confidence to keep ’em all together and believing they’re going to live and such. Turning to Zorfang, I ask my next question. “So what’ve we got for spoils?”

“Five of these,” he points to the weird unicycles. His words, though still sonorous, are now much more articulate. “Six of those,” he points to a pile of rifles. “Seven of those,” he points to a cluster of handguns. “Eleven close-fighting weapons. Plus this –” he points to the bag of ammo hanging from Zel’s shoulder. I think for a moment. None of them but Zel, Theri and me know a damn thing about firearms. They’re going to need to learn quick. “Zel — you and Theri pick some Plumacats that you think might train up quick with the pistols and rifles.” Looking at the Urdrakes, I’m not sure if their hands will fit the firearms’ grips. I look at the pile of serrated swords and axes. “Distribute the heavier melee weapons to the Urdrakes. Give the lighter ones to the Plumacats.” There’s nothing here for the Mottles. From what I’d seen, the Mottles are badass enough. Hell, they’re all badass enough.

Theri and Zel start moving to distribute the weapons. They each pick a Plumacat, then immediately start giving it a basic instruction on firearms use. I give them a couple minutes to talk. The Plumacats aren’t going to be very effective with those weapons anytime soon. But it’s a start.

“OK. I hate to say it,” I say, raising my voice to address everyone, “but we’re going to need to get a move-on fast. So gather ’round!” I glance at horologium as the Plumacats, Urdrake, and Mottles cluster in the canyon’s center around me. “It’s already 4:06 AM Hell time. About twenty minutes ago we ambushed a squad of scouts.” I don’t know if this is the right technical term. But the devils on the Vortexes were about the size of a squad. “These scouts are almost certainly part of a larger force that’s coming out of Overseer Tower. We don’t know how big it is. But I’m guessing it’s not too large given the fact that we weren’t a fucking army when we hit the scorpion. So as I said before, we’re going to start moving toward Overseer. That’s our ultimate objective. We’ll stick to this canyon for now. But I want another group of six Mottles and Plumacats to form a …” What did Dad call it?? Oh yeah. “To form some pickets. We don’t want anyone surprising us as we move. So fan out about two hundred yards from us and report back if you see or contact any enemy. Got it?” Everyone is silent. “Good! Now let’s be ready to move in ten minutes.”

I plop down from my rock, gather Theri and Zel, then angle over to the wounded. The Plumacat and the Urdrake both have bullet wounds that the ‘medic’ Plumacat, Velestra, has bound up with her magical spit. The bullets were somehow neatly plucked out and are on the ground in a bloody pile. Both are conscious. They crane their heads to look at me as I approach. The other wounded Plumacat is unconscious with a large gash on his forehead. This gash is also bound up by the magical healing spit. I kneel by the two conscious wounded. “Can you move?” I ask them.

“They can. But no hard work.” Velestra speaks for them before they can answer.

I look at Zel and Theri, then point to the weird unicycles. “I know those are devil machines. I can see their worbs, sense the wisps within their jagged traps. But we’re going to need them now. We’ll free those wisps once we win this battle. If we win. Now I want you to figure out how to use them. I want you each to drive one and then to teach these two here how to drive them.” I motion down to the wounded Plumacats.

“What about the last one?” Zaya asks from her hovering position over my shoulder. She looks at the Vortex, various shades of disgust playing on her green face.

“I’m driving that one. I’ll be carrying the unconsious…” I turn to Velestra, “…what is his name?”

“Rookfang,” Velestra replies.

“I’ll be carrying Rookfang. Now let’s get to Hell’s version of driver’s ed. We only have five minutes.”

It takes more like ten minutes to get everyone moving. Jobs are assigned. Scout groups arranged and deployed. Looted weapons distributed. Rudimentary instruction on firearms use given. Everyone looks confused. ‘Clear as mud,’ is what Dad would say. Sounds about right. The bikes are thankfully simple to use — throttle, breaks, and turning all managed with the handlebars. The fat tires are surprisingly easy to balance on. The seats that rest atop them, if not comfortable, are functional. The machines, Theri and Zel call them Vortexes, are large, powerful, and covered in lethal spines. So using them takes caution. Like everything else in Hell, they burn some kind of nasty fossil fuel spiked with worb energy. All worbs are terrible — grinding down and torturing wisps to access their energy. But the Vortexes have a second setting that activates the worb to get more from the wisps. I tell everyone not to use that button unless they absolutely have to.

We finally start rolling out at 4:23 AM Hell time. More than three quarters of an hour after our fight with the scouts. I’m getting real damn anxious about follow-on forces that haven’t arrived. I’m conjuring up things to be paranoid about. I loft omnis scientia, sending it out toward Sunken Crag even as we move north among the hills. The Mottle-Plumacat teams of scouts fan out to our right and in front of us — venturing as close to the Wisp Fields as they dare while still keeping cover. The Vortex roars and spews stinking clouds of pollution beneath me as our main force continues down the canyon. The wisps within it moan in pain. The noise makes me cringe. It reminds me of a banshee wail. I’ve never heard a banshee wail. But this is what I imagine it would sound like. I take a breath. Ignore the horrible stink and sound. I’ve gotta think about next moves. But I really need to figure out where the bads are before I commit.

**********

Corviss plunges toward the ground, barely rights himself, then skips and skids to a stop. His last minute teleport saved his life. Above and to the left, a fireball blooms in the air five hundred feet away. It consumes the space where he flew just moments before. Hissing in terrified frustration, he threads his way back up into the air. Careful to stay low, he flees as fast as he can fly back down toward the wisp fields.

“Amagash you fool!” Corviss spits. But he can’t entirely blame Lavross’s lieutenant. No one expected the mage to have an army backing him. Her! He reminds himself. “Her,” he hisses out loud. He can still see her clearly — dripping an extraordinary excess of magic, sparks flying about her like the fireworks of some victory celebration held by Asmodeus on the battlefield of Avernum, a blade made of pure curse magic held in one hand, a shield like a spectral rosette blooming in front of her. He’d only ever seen two mages. Three now. This one was by far the most potent. The most brazen in her use of magic. He was certain Regina, high in Overseer, would’ve tasted the flood of power, seen the lights and explosions blooming over the Razor Hills. Lavross would’ve noticed as well. But both could only guess what they meant.

“I’m the last survivor. I must let them know.” Corviss didn’t see all his companions die. But he might as well have. The ambush was as sudden as it was fierce. No-one could survive that. The Mottles, Urdrakes, and Plumacats numbered three or four score at least. Other rebels — two blue devils stood with the mage. This was worse than any mere machination of Regina’s regional rival — Lanvfer. This was a rebellion of the old sort. Of the kind that hadn’t happened for hundreds of years. Corviss spits in disgust. There were still only seventy, eighty perhaps. “But how did so many hunted gather together? How did they organize?”

Corvis realizes he’s talking to himself as he flies, swift as his battered body will carry him toward Lavross. He can just make out the large scorpions lumbering across the Wisp Fields. Too slow for his liking. “All is well. I know her whereabouts. Once I report, Lavross will know what to do.”

**********

Out across the Wisp Fields, riding his Vortex, Lavross scratches his chin and frowns at the explosions flowering above the Razor Hills. The fireball rounds are familiar. Those lines of light are energy beams from at least ten Urdrake or he is a fool. It seems he was wise to send Amagash out ahead rather than lead the scout force himself. Looks like Amagash is getting more than he bargained for. This thought draws a chuckle from Lavross as he signals to Talith, his third in command and the remaining Overseer in his Century.

“Take another Lance and head into those hills. If Amagash needs help, back him up. And, get me a fucking report on the enemy’s number and location!”

Talith gives a smart salute, then drives off with her Lance. That’s two Lances deployed, violent contact made, and he still didn’t know squat. He sends out a command, adjusting the movement of his dwindling Century toward the explosions, and glances angrily at the scorpions. If he needs to pour on the speed, he’ll have to leave the beastly machines behind. He had the sinking feeling this night was about to turn into a shit-fest real quick.

***********

Qlul and Landrax are startled from their investigation of the scorpion’s wreckage by a loud series of explosions above the Razor Hills. Qlul’s just picked up a bit of glossy green membrane before he’s distracted by the loud rumble. About four miles off, the thunder of fireball rounds tear through the air. Sharp rifle reports crack. Then lines of light shoot up into the sky. “What the fuck?” Qlul exclaims as another explosion roars out of the hills. “It sounds like Amagash is getting his ass kicked over there,” he says to Landrax.

Landrax isn’t looking at the explosions. Instead he’s staring at the bit of insect-like membrane Qlul is holding in his hand. “Oh fuck,” Landrax says as he stares at the wing.

“What?” Qlul says.

“Well, you know I used to be a Poacher right?”

“Yeah, get to the fucking point.”

“That’s a Vila wing shedding. They’re really damn rare. But I’d bet my horns on it.”

“Vila?” Qlul asks, stunned for a moment more. Then, he looks back to the rent wisp vats on the scorpion. “Fuck? You think?”

“Whoever hit this scorpion, opened up those wisp vats. Maybe they we’re just looting the wisps. Maybe they took them for another reason.”

Qlul’s mind is catching up quick. “If there’s a mage and a Vila they could…”

“… shape a lot of fucking wisps into forbidden forms. Those lights look a lot like something the Urdrake can do. They’re not so rare as Vila these days. Tough buggers. I captured one once. Near blasted my face off with lights like that.”

“Oh fuck! We have to report back to Lavross and quick!” Ignoring the plight of their companions in the Hills, Qlul and Landrax mount their Vortexes and rush swiftly back toward Lavross.

**********

High up in Overseer Tower, Regina Rouge continues to scan the Wisp Fields for her new prize. Unable to rest, she instead revels in the imagined hunt, anticipates the taking of a great mage wisp. Her body lights up with energy. Like some primordial leviathan swimming through ancient waters, she tastes the air for her prey. Every now and then, she detects a tantalizing hint. The air is full of rumor of him.

Then, after hours, her patience is rewarded. A flood of magic rushes up from the Razor Hills. She feels it before she sees it. The outrush heats her face like Hell’s sun. Her sensitive eyes detect the broad arc of powerful curse-magic shining up from the Hills in a rain of sparks. It is a stunning display. For a moment, she’s taken aback at how much power the mage expends in what must be merely one or two magical castings. Then the air above the Razor Hills lights up with explosions and white rays of energy.

“What?” Regina is seldom at a loss for words. But, for a moment, she’s mystified by what she’s watching. “Urdrake?” she says as understanding begins to dawn. “How?”

Regina will puzzle this mystery out in due course. What is clear now, though, is the mage isn’t some cat’s paw in one of Lanvfer’s games. What’s happening on her lands is something else entirely. If multiple Urdrake and a mage are hiding out in her Razor Hills… it means a rebellion of the old kind may be underway. And Asmodeus hates nothing more than vile organizations of old kind on Minos, much less reports of them striking at any of his resources. These are Wisp Fields. One of the most precious land commodities in all the Hells. Regina cracks her Holocaust Scourge at her attendant. “Get me Dressler and a Dark Psychic. We may need to deploy the other Centuries.” Startled by her sudden mood-shift, her attendant skitters away.

************

Grimjaw’s powerful form springs across a deadfall. Above and behind him, the Mottle — Shade — billows out, forming a wing. Together, they fly fifty feet then land on a precipice over-looking the Wisp fields. His streak lands beside him. Five companions for his hunt. Just hours before, he was a frail wisp captured in a scorpion’s vat. It felt like being in the stomach of a great monster as it prepared him for digestion. Its horrible Hell magics stunned him, then began to taint his very being. Terror didn’t even begin to describe what he’d felt. But now the meaother Zaya and the feaother Myra had gifted him with a vicious and powerful body. A Plumacat form possessed of raptor eyes, feather-like fur and armor combined, deadly fangs and claws, sacks of healing salve at the back of his mouth, and a muscular form as powerful as that of a moderate-sized tiger. They’d made him into a hunter of hunters, a predator who preys on the slaver race. They’d partnered him with this majestic Mottle that granted him flight, camouflage, and a vibrational sense of everything around him. He rejoices in his new form, at his helpful allies, at the opportunity to do vengeance on those who sought to enslave him in the worst way imaginable.

It’d taken perhaps two hundred hearbeats for the swift Plumacat and Mottle streak to free themselves of the canyon, to leap over the ridge line, and to peer from this high hilltop down onto the Wisp Fields below. Grimjaw scans the land about. His eyes, keen as any bird of prey, make out minute details. He immediately sees the larger force of devils out among the drifting wisps. They’re in the middle of the fields. Four scorpions, eighty riders. Another ten riders breaking off to head in his direction. Grimjaw shifts his gaze, carefully scanning for any other movement. Then he sees it. Below him and moving in the direction of the larger devil force is the red thread of a flying serpent. An Uktena — as meaother and feaother had called it. Grimjaw growls in frustration. The Uktena is too high up. Too distant to strike. But it is slow-moving and doesn’t seem to notice the smaller force of ten riders. It will take another hour or so to reach the large group of devils.

Map of Recent Events

Shade tenses. Something comes, the Mottle’s words form in Grimjaw’s head even as its senses merge with his. He can now feel a vibration off to his right. He turns his head in time to see two of the spiked, one wheel bikes roar out toward the Wisp Fields’ center. They’re heading out from the ring of debris marking the destroyed scorpion. In about a minute, they’ll pass a hundred yards in front of Grimjaw’s position. He growl-signals to his team. His Mottle touches the others. His intent for them to strike spreads through them as emotion and thought. Careful to use a ridge-line jutting out from the hills to mask their movement, Grimjaw leads his streak closer in. They fly-run-fly down to a low rise about twenty feet above where the Hellish unicycles will pass. Grimjaw tenses, his streak-mates smile in anticipation. The bikes arrive. Grimjaw pounces, Shade unfurls. The combined force of his jump and the Mottle’s flap propels him thirty feet up. At the top of his flight’s arc he extends his claws, locks his eyes on a prey. It is the front biker.

“Qlul!!!” the rear biker bleats in terror is at sees Grimjaw descend. Too late!

Claws catch in the devil’s flesh. The Plumacat’s jaws close over the devil’s head. There is a satisfying crunch. Wet blood floods his mouth. He turns, with flesh in his mouth, to his streak-mates. They have dispatched the other rider. No more screams of warning from that one.

Grimshaw swallows the delicious-tasting devils’ flesh. “Good! It is good!” he growls. For a minute, he and his streak are taken in by the devouring. Shade ultimately shakes him out of the frenzy. “Yes,” he snarls at last. Shaking his fur a second time he snaps at his streak to drag the carcasses and bikes into a depression. He does not have time to revel in his hunt’s success. He must return to Myra. Must report the prey’s position. Satisfied these prey won’t be telling their fellows another word, Grimjaw, Shade and his streak leap-fly back toward the canyon. Grimjaw licks his fangs. The hunting tonight has been excellent.

**********

The nasty Vortex is giving me a fracking headache already. The fucking thing stinks. The wailing worb is a thousand times worse than a crying baby. You know, the kind that sticks burs of pain through your ever-loving ears and all the way into your effing brain. Yeah. Imagine that but ten times worse. It’s not just the sound. It’s the fucking fact that I know I’m torturing those souls just by riding this fucking infernal machine. That’s what it’s like riding a fossil fueled, soul-sucking Vortex. And I’ve only been at it for like five minutes. Feels like a fucking million years. According to horologium, it’s 4:28, Hell time.

The canyon cuts deeper into the hills. The land grows more jagged and threatening. I check on Rookfang. The big guy’s sprawled across the Vortex behind me. Still unconscious. Lucky to be him. I turn to look back up at the green-black puke of the late-night, early-morning Hell sky, stars barely visible, the moon Charon squatting down on the horizon like a frog when I see the silhouette of a Mottle and Plumacat fly overhead. They land with barely a sound beside me. Then five more pairs ghost down. It’s creepy and slick at the same time. Makes me jump just a little. They’re all covered tail-to-nose in blood. For a second I freak out. Then I realize the blood’s not theirs. I throttle down the Vortex and enjoy the blessed ever-loving silence of my ringing ears. Damn things should carry like five hundred warning labels.

Jumping off the Vortex, Mottle and I land lightly beside the scout team. It’s clearly the scouts. I’d recognize Grimjaw’s elongated fangs from a hundred feet off. I look the scouts over for a moment. Yeah. They are covered in gore. It was real bad for whoever or whatever it was they took down. “OK. Tell me what just happened.”

Grimjaw pads forward, dark eyes taking me in. His black feathers remind me a bit of what I learned about velociraptors. Feathered dinosaurs. Although I’m pretty sure velociraptor feathers were colorful and this Plumacat looks like some crazy mash-up between a black tiger and an eagle of some sort. Like seventy percent black tiger thirty percent eagle, but who’s counting. He flops down comfortably next to me and begins washing the gore off with his tongue. Maybe that’s eighty percent tiger?

“We scouted as you requested.”

I ordered it. But who’s splitting hairs. “Report what you saw.”

“There is a large force of about eighty Drivers in the Wisp Fields. They’re about halfway down from Overseer Tower. The Uktena escaped and is flying toward them. It’ll take about an hour to reach the force. There’s a smaller group of scouts out ahead and heading toward us. Perhaps another ten. We also ran into a couple of stragglers from the last group. We pounced them. They were heading back from the scorpion’s wreckage. Seemed to be in a hurry.” He continues to lick himself.

I give him a pat. “Good work. Damn good work.”

The Plumacat gives a rumble that sounds like a purr. “It is a pleasure. I delight in turning predator into prey.” His dark eyes twinkle with relish and something else. Perhaps satisfaction.

Grimjaw’s information is key. His taking out the two scouts probably saved us some time. Maybe the element of surprise too. I’m worried about that Uktena. It saw us. Probably got a decent account of our numbers. I don’t know if it’s figured out how we gained those numbers. I look to Zaya. The Vila’s flying a little bit off to my left. She’s hung back ever since we started using the Vortexes. She’s frowning and has a disgusted look on her face. I totally feel the same way about these disgusting machines. But each of them houses like ten wisps. And that might prove to be crucial to our next effort. They’re too heavy to drag. So we’ve gotta ride them.

Everyone has stopped. They’re staring at me. Waiting for orders. I’m in a kinda crucial moment. It’s go big or go home time. Go home’s not an option. I step back from Grimjaw, turn to my company of the transformed. They cluster around, large, feeling eyes stare down. The Plumacats and Urdrakes are predators. They kinda terrify me. But I remind myself that they’re a part of Hell’s order. Maybe they’re even a last-ditch reaction by nature here to throw off the destructive, world-wasting devils. The Mottles are a comfort. Though they too possess the capacity for great violence. It’s how you survive in this broken world. The way of the sword, the tooth, the claw. And now is the time to walk that path or be destroyed.

“Grimjaw and his scouts just discovered the enemy’s position. There’s about ninety bads down there in the Wisp Fields. Ten more scouts are headed toward us. The larger group’s also out there. But they’re moving slower on account of the four scorpions they’re bringing with them. They only outnumber us slightly now. But they still have a major advantage in organization and hitting power.” I’m kinda impressed with myself. Dad really beat tactics into my head with all the war gaming as a kid. Plus, you know, D&D can actually teach you up on tactics pretty quick if you’ve got a good game master. Dad was the best — always throwing me into the shit. Since like age seven or so. “We can’t let them survive this night. Overseer has much greater numbers to command. If they find us here, they’ll use that force as a base, then send out more fast-moving reinforcements to hem us in, pin us down, and annihilate us. So now is the time for us to strike a blow and take down those devils!”

The Plumacats yowl in support of my suggestion. The Urdrakes, inspired, raise their voices in a growling song. Even the usually chill Mottles seem taken in by the predators’ bloodlust.

“So we are going over that rise. We are heading out into the Wisp Fields. And we are going to take down those devils. Are you ready!?”

Their uplifted roar of response is deafening.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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Helkey 23 — Queen of Drivers and Overseers

Regina Rouge stands atop Overseer tower, balcony railing clenched between two gauntleted hands, eyes scanning the flurry of activity below, a smile like a splash of blood on her lips. Her gun-metal armor grips her lithe form, fanning its spines into the hot, sulfurous air of Hell’s night. A red worb brimming with hundreds of captive wisps swirls over her left shoulder. At her hip is a long, ruby rod. Its end capped in black metal. A true Holocaust Scourge. One of the handful crafted by Asmodeus’s masters of infernal device. Not one of those cheap imitations bragged about by the petty nobles of Mechanus. She lays a palm over the weapon’s handle and peers out over her realm — the rich spawning grounds of Knife Lake. One of the most fertile basins for wisp formation in all of Eastern Infernia. Her source of power and profit this past Century. The one thing enabling her tenuous hold on Hell-Lord status.

The wisp-mongers of Mechanus are expecting a new supply of culls. And she is running late. A situation she seeks to remedy through that old Hellish occupation of over-work. Twenty scorpions are now grinding away to meet the jilted demand. Her full force of hundreds of Drivers along with a few score mercenary Poachers out scouring the lowlands for the wisps that continuously form here. Brought by demons, Terror Hounds, or simply by the increasingly terrible and competitive existence of those living on the prey world — Earth. Ever hungry, the Lords of Hell and their vast servant entourages require more souls to power their magics, to fulfill their never-sated lusts, or to curry favor in the endless power games of Asmodeus. His own ingenious lures bringing them more and more. She just need trap them, cull them, send them docile and ready for shaping into forms or use as a kind of liquid power in worbs.

Tonight’s effort will bring her more wealth, more favor. As long as it succeeds. So she watches from her balcony, ready to send a missive flying should any of the planned work run awry. Tonight, an annoying mist lies over large sections of the fertile lands to her south and east. She frowns as she tries to glimpse the scorpion she dispatched there. Through the mists, she thinks she sees the flick of its tail. Catches a glimpse of the tail contacting the wisp, then undulating with light as it draws the soul into a refinement vat. The tail flicks again. She smiles, stretches, cracks her knuckles. All is going well. The wisp mongers will be happy. Her wealth will continue to grow.

Then, near her scorpion, she sees a red flash that swiftly blooms into a flower of flame. A fireball shot. Her breath catches. Could her rival be taking action against her tonight? Lanvfer might be tempted to make a bold move to upset her shipment. He’d know the wisp-mongers are desperate. Any failure on her part will give him leverage. Regina had to admire the move. But it’s risky. Asmodeus will only turn a blind eye to the most minor internecine squabbling. Challenges between competing nobles are supposed to be settled on the battlefield of Avernum. But that only happens in instances of open warfare. Far more common are veiled conflicts or quietly incited rebellions. It’s one of the ongoing features of Hell — its lords ultimately fall prey to the endless grind of infighting. All except Asmodeus who delights in playing one against the other.

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Her armored fist tightens on the railing. Ever the pragmatist, Regina knows she is just as vulnerable to a fall as the rest. Another fireball round explodes near her scorpion. She can’t see what’s happening down there, but that light is unmistakable. Then, she sees the streaks of force — trailing sparks as they cut through the fog to explode over the scorpion. Five bolts of pure spiritual energy followed by the more familiar arcs of orange fireball rounds. The massive explosion rends a hole in the fog. She can see the wreckage of her scorpion clearly now, her keen devil’s eyes piercing miles to make out small forms crawling over it — collecting the pillage of victory.

“That was magecraft.” She whispers the words, then involuntarily licks her lips. Her sensitive devil’s nostrils flare. She can smell a scent that to a human would hint of saltpeter. Spark scent, the devils call it. A tell-tale of human magecraft that a devil noble such as Regina could sniff out better than a shark could sniff blood in water. That magic, those sparks, this smell. To her mind there is no doubt. In her hundreds of years, she’s captured a mage wisp but three times. Each rending — a victory that served to secure her present high place in Hell’s ever-shifting heirarchy. A hunger settles into her gut that has nothing at all to do with food. “This changes everything.”

Somehow, a mage had come to her lands. If she could capture it — one of the most valuable of wisps, worth more than a destroyed scorpion, worth more than the entire rushed wisp harvest, worth more than any of her best years’ crops — would be hers for the taking.

She lays a hand on her Holocaust Scourge, channels a tongue of its angry fire through her worb. The wisps within scream in pain — sending out her signal. In a few moments, the air above her ripples. Unfolding from a flash of flame, an Uktena — a flying red serpent with two horns jutting from its head — appears. It treads the air in front of her languidly as it drifts down to her. This serpent is Corviss. One of her many messengers.

“How might I serve you, mistress?” Corviss hisses.

“Someone has destroyed a scorpion.” Her tone is relaxed but it bears the subtle weight of those used to command. “It happened in the Lowlands’ Wisp Fields at the East End. “

Corviss hisses again, this time in surprise and delight. Uktena were unabashed lovers of conflict and mayhem. Trouble of all kinds and the suffering of others was a joy to them. “Does my lady suspect who would commit to such a thing?” A forked tongue flicks out. Two dark eyes glisten in anticipation.

“Not yet. Though there is a mage among them.”

Corviss cannot contain himself. He corkscrews through the air, spits burning venom above him, then bathes in it. Shuffling his coils in ecstasy, he curves back toward her. Should they capture a mage, all in Overseer Tower will bask in glory and receive Asmodeus’s favor for a year and a day. “Superb! What is your command!”

“We require the perpetrators. Send a Century and four scorpions to the Lowlands. Tell them to find the wreckage and deploy a hunting party — a Lance or two, each led by an Overseer should suffice — to pick up our quarry’s track from there. Hold the scorpions and the rest of the Century in reserve.”

“Yes lady Regina!” Corviss replies. “Shall I be off?”

Regina touches her Scourge. A red flame bites Corviss’s tail. He shrieks in momentary agony. “Do not presume,” she says evenly.

“Forgive me lady. I just… It’s been so long. My excitement got the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

Regina nods curtly, then continues. “Choose Overseer Lavross. He has the most experience dealing with magecraft. And warn him — the mage had enough skill to take down a scorpion with only a small group of companions. Perhaps as few as six. That said, he was able to exploit Hell’s society and gain allies. Probably from among the slave classes. One also cannot ignore the possibility that a rival may employ a mage as a cat’s paw.”

“The treason!” Corviss hisses, aghast at her suggestion.

“… will be plausibly deniable so long as the mage’s wisp is taken. And the mage wisp may serve as a mitigating gift to any Hell Lord, such as myself, who captures so dangerous an interloper. Lanvfer is quite cunning. I won’t put such maneuvering past him.”

“You are deft as ever, lady,” Corviss simpers. “I see why you send such a large force.”

“Yes. If this is a veiled plot by Lanvfer to unseat me, we’d better be ready. Alert the other four Centuries and put them on standby. It will slow the harvest. But our capture of a mage will more than offset our loss. However, do not allow any word to spread to the mercenaries. Just keep them hard to task. Instead, quietly double the number of spies we keep among them. Tell our agents to send back word if our mercenary friends act unexpectedly.”

Corviss bows. “It shall be so,” he hisses. He writhes in the air before her — almost tying himself in knots as he lurches into motion, then stops himself. He will not risk another burn from her Scourge. And yet this news of a mage, of a possible assault by Lanvfer is too delicious for an Uktena not to react.

Regina smiles, drawing out the moment. Toying with her Uktena messenger is one of her more sumptuous hobbies. “Very well…”

Corviss hangs on a tenterhook.

“One last thing.”

The Uktena lurches in mid-lunge, almost caught as he nearly withers the air to leap to Overseer Lavross. “Yes, my lady,” he manages lamely.

Regina is too overjoyed at her coup to inflict punishment for his minor insubordination. “Tell Lavross that the Lance responsible for capturing our mage will receive two allotments on top of the usual reward. Allow rumor of the reward to spread to the mercenaries, just not the aim of our present hunt. I trust in your subtlety.”

“My lady!” Corviss beams at the unexpected compliment.

Disappointed Corviss didn’t attempt to jump off again, Regina waves a hand in dismissal. “Now go!”

Corviss coils his body, bursts into flame, then disappears. Far below, she sees his fire light among a formation of Drivers. They stand, heavily armed and ready, at the base of Overseer. A contingent force prepared to deal with any surprise. In only a few minutes, they’re in motion, mounting their one-wheeled Vortexes which spew long tails of black smoke as they rush off toward four scorpions. Her force now in motion, she turns back to the east. The fog there is breaking up. But even her keen eyes can no longer make out the tiny forms she glimpsed in the distance. There is, however, an odd movement of wisps. A large group breaks off, then flows into the hills. It’s not unheard of for wisps to move together in such a way. They seem to naturally sense when they’re hunted. Often clustering together. Seeming to hope numbers alone will save them. It never works out. Her Drivers are as brutal as they are efficient. Yet these wisps do not appear to merely cluster and drift fearfully this way and that as they tend to. Instead they move swiftly into the hills, then cut into a lowland where they vanish from sight.

Strange and stranger. No matter. Whatever your magics, whatever alliances you think you have here in Hell, mage, will amount to nothing. They will crumble as ash in your hands. With mine, I will rend your wisp personally. I will make you my slave in the most horrible way imaginable. And forever-on you will serve me, Regina Rouge, Queen of Overseer Tower and Hell Lord. This I swear.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

(Enjoying the story? Want to help support the continuance of this tale? Please like, share and subscribe.)

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