Chapter 19: He Who Can Stamp Upon the Hated Face is Blessed

Distracted by a demoralising sense of how insignificant and little he was in presence of a titan, Lord Azanth almost failed to sense the high-level being in the courtyard ahead.

Stop!

‘Wait!’ Liam cried and all three humans paused while still within the shadows of the tunnel.

Blow out the lamps!

His human companion passed on the command and as the three of them bent to their task, green-robed servants ran from the hostelry to a recently arrived carriage, inside of which was someone whose aura seemed to be familiar.

Now approach the entrance by stealth; o’er well lit flagstones do not tread. Let shadows be thy mantle, for this visitor I dread.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Aengus.

‘Creep along by the wall,’ Liam whispered his answer and even though they were fifty metres from the carriage and shouted words would not have been heard above the clatter of boxes and cases being unloaded, Lord Azanth approved. ‘Our demon friend is worried about whoever is in that carriage.’

A green-liveried, human servant opened the door with a quick bow to the person inside. A hand at the window, the door itself blocking the view, and then stepping out into the multiple lamplights of the hostelry and courtyard was Earl Clarence.

All Lord Azanth’s joy, gathered during the course of the day’s gains, was cast down into the dirt of hate. He who can stamp upon the hated face is blessed and he who must look upon that face and writhe with impotent despair is crushed.

‘Earl Clarence!’ Although spoken quietly, by the intensity of his exclamation Liam was clearly as surprised as Lord Azanth. What’s he doing here? How did he find you?

The thought that Earl Clarence’s presence could be explained by the paladin’s desire to destroy Lord Azanth was a shocking one. This was as secure a region as any of the planes. And yet, perhaps that was itself a clue to where Lord Azanth might be hiding. Perhaps Earl Clarence had commanded those with scrying magic to search for Lord Azanth and that having failed, they had drawn the conclusion he must be in a region impossible to view with magical powers. Such a conclusion might quickly lead you to the Hostelry of Eternal Light and Darkness. Yet, even Earl Clarence did not command such a force of wizardry as to hope to scour but a fraction of the fifteen planes.

And then another shock, more violent than the first. For a second figure had descended the carriage steps, accepting the arm of a servant. Lady Liseth. A demon from the Seventh Plane of Wickedness. A former lover of Lord Azanth. The ruler of a domain with seven powerful castles. A woman who had owed her position and fealty to Lord Azanth. Alas and alas and alas! What had she done? Every step that stretched the fine, red-silk material of her dress was a false one. Every gesture of her taloned fingers was a false one. Every smile bestowed on the grovelling staff of the hostelry was a false one. Lady Liseth: hiding secrets in those eyes: you inhale air to exhale lies.

Defeat in battle, to powerful enemies, would mean an incandescent rage burned through Lord Azanth until at last, the flames exhausted, he restored himself to a condition in which he could fight again. Defeat by treachery, to cold-hearted dissimulators, was unending pain. Or rather, the only means to end the pain was in the achievement of vengeance. Lady Liseth. What have you done? And what do you do here?

‘That’s a demon,’ whispered Kate. ‘She has horns. And I bet a tail under that dress. What’s she doing with a paladin?’

What indeed?

Although it entailed a risk, when the fuss of the arrival of important guests had died down and the carriage removed to another yard, Lord Azanth bid Liam approach the coachwoman, a lacerta demon, tall and thin, with a long tail whose barb could be flicked to encourage the horses, or harm enemies. Like his human companions, she too wore purple robes and greeted them with a welcome that seemed sincere.

‘Salutations. I believe you must be the adventurers who hope to clear our route through the mountain?’

‘We are,’ said Aengus. ‘And we made a good start already.’

‘Splendid. We suffer ­– myself especially – in traversing the slow roads on the outer slopes of the mountain.’

‘Did I just see a demon and a paladin get down from your carriage?’ asked Liam on behalf of Lord Azanth.

The coachwoman blinked with a nictating membrane, her sunburst eyes remaining focused on Liam. ‘We pride ourselves on discretion here. You did not see such a sight.’

‘Of course.’ Liam turned away. As they walked towards the servant’s entrance, the coachwoman spoke again.

‘Such an impossible and shocking sight. Not witnessed. No.’

Inside the refectory, the humans were just in time to obtain the last portions of the evening meal (chickpea stew, served on sweet potatoes) and while they were sat at a long table, feeding on their replenishing sustenance, Lord Azanth could sense the looks of approval and a general air of goodwill directed towards the humans from the other staff members.

The clink of cutlery, the murmurs of conversation, and the sound of chopping from the kitchen all ceased. What commanding presence had stilled the very air of the refectory? Only the Second Butler. The feline ball strolled towards them along the line of a table, gesturing with regal authority left and right in acknowledgement of greetings from his staff. Drawing up to the humans, the bulb fiend hesitated, ‘It’s the custom here for those of lesser rank to stand for the Second Butler. Hah, hah. Old fashioned I know. You have only arrived. You probably didn’t appreciate the value of custom and tradition for the hostelry. We do, however, pride ourselves on it.’

Stand up and appease this fool, for his ire begins to rise, hastened by the presence of a dozen pairs of watching eyes.

Liam sprang to his feet. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. You are entirely right; we’ve been out all day fighting monsters in the tunnel and had no opportunity to learn the proper way to greet the Second Butler. Or anyone for that matter.’

‘Of course, of course. Now you make a bow. That’s it. And so, my colleagues of the purple, please resume your seats and permit me to join you to learn about your afternoon. The very fact that you have returned alive is a welcome surprise. Might I hope that from your use of the word “fighting” you have done more than scout the challenges that lie ahead for you?’

‘What was the score again?’ asked Liam.

‘Fourteen tunnel spiders, twelve chrono-beetles, and eleven glowpedes,’ answered Kate promptly.

The astonishment of the Second Butler was palpable. ‘These were monsters you witnessed?’

‘Killed.’ The young monk wiped the last of his sauce with a piece of bread and seemed to be more interested in the cleanliness of his plate than in gauging the reaction of their employer. O foolish human mortal, no need of Telepathy to read thine inner mind.

‘Just to be clear. In one afternoon, the three of you, merely Level… that is to say… of levels below those of the monsters, who are known to gather in groups of three, managed to slay all those creatures?’

‘We are much tougher than we look.’ Aengus pushed his plate aside and now gave the bulb fiend his full attention.

‘So you said at our introduction. Can you prove your words are true?’ The talons on the butler’s hands seemed to become extended.

‘From the drops perhaps? Open your trade screen.’ The girl who addressed the demon had stored all the crafting drops in her inventory, while Liam’s brother had the soul stones from the day’s efforts.

A pause. Then the talons retracted and the Second Butler raised an arm and called out. ‘A bottle of Meredoc for our adventurers. Make it a ‘sixty-four.’

Scurrying sounds could be heard from the direction of the kitchen.

‘Is that a wine?’ asked the monk.

‘One of our very finest. We should celebrate your achievement. Why at this rate, you’ll have the tunnel open in a matter of days. I might even be promoted to First Butler for this. That drooling fool of a mist demon has caused us to suffer a diminishment of our reputation for too long.’

‘Could I perhaps have some cake instead? I’m only fifteen. I don’t like wine.’

The bulb fiend raised an arm again. ‘And our wedding cake. The five-tier one.’

Soon, the humans were toasting their success – as measured by the pitiful ambitions of the bulb demon rather than one the true scale of reconquering the Seventh Plane of Wickedness – and taking pleasure from slices of cake that were tiny in proportion to the amount that would remain even after they had filled themselves to the utmost. Was there a symbolism here? A human indulgence, neither cynical nor naïve, a genuine pleasure, yet one which having been satiated, left them staring at the tall, sweet structure and appreciating that they had but consumed a fraction of it. Were they aware that all their efforts to gain levels must be resumed, again and again? They were, of course, even if their goal was far more modest than that of Lord Azanth. Kate and Liam wished for revenge upon the college authorities and the younger brother wanted fame. Narrow ambitions, to be sure, but nevertheless felt so strongly as to ensure no complacency would take hold among them.

‘I don’t like to spoil the moment,’ said Kate, licking the back of her hand where some cream had fallen on to it. ‘But something very strange happened in the tunnel. We ran into ourselves, our future selves who claimed to be ten minutes ahead of us.’

Putting down his glass of wine, the Second Butler leaned forward as if about to speak. Then he stood up and roared, ‘have you no duties!’

An empty refectory was the result of a minute’s panicked withdrawal by all the other staff of the purple. After which, the bulb fiend settled down again and in a whisper said, ‘I saw the timequake on my clock. You must have been much closer to the epicentre. Chronos is restless and unless he is bound tightly once more, he will ruin our reputation. No one will visit.’

He will ruin much more than that. The entire plane will become chaotic. Time is a strange power. It is a whimsical tyrant, which in every plane has a different face for all that one says and does. Time must be channelled: for should it spill wildly, the stormy waves on the seas that sailors dread will be as nothing to the upheavals in the lives of all rational beings on this plane, humans and demons alike.

‘Can’t anyone do something?’ asked Liam.

A fanged grin was one could that could be used to mock and the Second Butler displayed his teeth now. ‘The age of heroes is long gone. Even Lord Azanth, once the most powerful demon of the Seventh Plane of Wickedness, would not have been able to subdue a titan and restore the strength of the chains that bound him.’

‘What about Earl Clarence?’

‘That vain fool?’ With a snap the bulb demon closed his jaws abruptly, then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I must not discuss our guests. It would be most unprofessional and as you may know, Earl Clarence has arrived at our establishment this very evening.’

Perspicacity was not a trait that Lord Azanth associated with bulb demons. Yet this one had grasped the essence of the paladin in that pithy phrase: vain fool. To be a fool to yourself was bad enough, but to be vain was to be a fool to the world. On his restoration to power, Lord Azanth would visit the Hostelry of Eternal Darkness and promote this demon. For not only had he understood the inner nature of the paladin, he had invoked Lord Azanth as symbolic of the highest power of demonkind.

As time passed and Lord Azanth was forgotten, as the raindrops wore the stones of his palaces and blind oblivion swallowed up his cities, fewer and fewer demons were left to uphold his reputation. Here, though, was one who did. And Lord Azanth found that his brittle and deep-fried heart had room for feelings of gratitude and beneficence as well as vengeance.