Tenebroum PLUS Ch. 160-161 (Patreon)

Ch. 160 - Foreign Gods

The voice had known that Tanda was going to be wealthy before she’d ever set sail on this voyage. The northern trade routes were well known for luxuries that were very nearly unheard of in the South. Even her time spent off the coast, watching the city night after night, had not prepared her for the dizzying variety of that wealth, though. 

The undertemple within the Lich’s lair was a gilded nightmare that grew more extravagant with each passing year, but even that terrible heart of luxury was the only part of her Master’s kingdom to compare to the thousand delights she saw on her way to the palace. It was a humbling experience, in its way, though none of that consternation made its way to her carefully neutral face. 

Instead, she studied the sights from her ornate palanquin as she glided through the darkened streets and studied the city that passed around her. The city was made up of stone and stucco buildings, and each dwelling that was too poor for a mosaic or statues to mark its existence was decorated with colorful frescoes or lined with ornate friezes. 

Together, the result was that it was impossible to tell which buildings might be the tenements of paupers and which might be the homes of merchant lords. In the end, the whole thing became a sort of temple in its own right, and between the silken banners and fine clothes of the natives that had braved the late hour to see what the commotion was, the only symbol of status that she could ultimately discern were the small gardens and oasis that hid behind wrought iron fences along her route. In a city where everything was fancy, only a few could afford the space for simplicity. 

That lesson was driven home when they finally reached the palace of Tanda’s Sultun. It was a large, towering building, built in a spiral like a narwhal’s horn in such a way that it lorded over the rest of the walled city. It was neither its size nor its opalescent tiles that made it stand out, but the broad and verdant gardens that separated it from the rest of the city like a green manicured moat. 

Guards with wicked halberds had lined the whole route to the palace. They kept the commoners away from her death knights as much as anything, but here she faced what might as well have been an opposing army. Not only were there hundreds of broad-shouldered men wearing well-polished conical caps standing at attention, but there were mages too, draped in silk and watching her from high above as they circled her on tiny flying carpets.

The scene struck her as a show of force that was almost as ostentatious as the rest of the city, but then the Voice of Reason was sure that was the point, and to her, it stank of weakness, not strength. Mortal soldiers needed to eat and sleep. Most importantly, they needed to be paid, and with as much money as the people of Tanda spent on their decorations, she doubted very much that they had a large standing army. 

So, instead of doing anything that might provoke conflict, she dismounted her palanquin and strode past the assembled defenders with only a single skeletal knight in tow to hold her baggage as she walked toward the palace gates. No one opposed her. Indeed, the sense of relief radiating off these perfumed warriors that this would not devolve into bloodshed as she walked through the garden-lined path was palpable, and the towering bronze gates opened before her quickly enough that she didn’t even need to slow her steps. 

Once inside, she finally stood on familiar ground. There, she encountered the true warriors of the merchant realm, the servants and the courtiers, and she was bombarded with all the polite and hospitable weapons that they had to offer. The Voice of Reason would not allow these to slow her down, either. She knew that she had perhaps five hours until the blue-gray light of dawn colored the horizon once more. As much as she might wish for all the time in the world to conclude such important negotiations, time was ever against the servants of the Lich. 

So, buffeted by fawning curiosity, she moved ever forward, giving the well-dressed men and women that swirled around her just enough information to announce her properly as she moved toward the heart of the court. There, she found a place not at all like the audience halls of the South that she was used to. Instead, she found the Sultan half reclined on a pile of plush cushions at the heart of the building, ensconced in the warm light of oil lamps and the glowing wards of mages. 

The Voice of Reason made no effort to approach these. Instead, as the room was stilled and her presence was announced in half a dozen foreign tongues, she studied the men and women that ringed the outside of the room to watch. It was clear to her immediately that not all of them were human. Some of those in attendance were shown with an inner light that marked them as spirits or even small gods. 

Are such things more common here? She wondered. Did that make peace a more or less likely prospect? 

The Voice wasn’t sure. Such things might change the outcome, but they wouldn’t change her efforts. It was not at all unlikely that a city as old and grand as Tanda would have a godling of its own, but who were the others, then? Might the desert have a spirit? What about the river or the bay? 

All of that would require further study, which would be the prerogative of any number of other spirits. Her job was not to puzzle this strangeness out but to make peace with it, which she did with her gifts, a chilly smile, and as many kind words as she could muster. 

The Sultan’s servants took her precious objects from her as she presented each of them, and once that was done the Sultan looked down on her magnanimously and offered her exotic incenses and aged wines from a dozen different ports along with golden jewelry. It was only the last that the Lich would have an interest in, but she thanked him for all of them just the same. 

“Surely you have come all this way for more than gifts and pleasantries,” the Sultan said finally. “Tell me… tell all of us what your dark fleet is doing here.”

“We have come to make war—” she started to answer, but the Sultan quickly interrupted her as he finally pulled his bulk up to his full height instead of slouching. 

“Is this a threat? In the heart of our power, you think to—” he started to say, his indignity rising with each word.

“But we have come to make friends too,” she said, continuing in a loud, clear voice that silenced the few remaining whispers. “The darkness has risen and claimed the South, but it will not stop there. In time, the whole world will belong to my master.”

“Tanda has stood for hundreds of years and resisted dozens of armies,” the Sultan said, leaning forward. He was obviously enjoying this as he licked his fat lips. “What makes you think yours would do any more than add to the bones in the wastelands around the city?”

“Besides the fact that those bones would be converted into fresh soldiers for the fight?” the Voice smiled. “Tanda has been strong for a long time. It would be strong even now, at first, at least, but we have already claimed Constantinal and Rahkin and every kingdom in between the two, and only those few that surrendered to the darkness still live and breathe. All the rest are broken places, grown over with weeds and shadows.”

“So you ask us to bend the knee?” The Sultan asked, appearing even more annoyed. He looked like he was about to tell her off, but a look at one of the women who lounged around the base of the Sultan’s dais seemed to make him think better of it. “We will not surrender to you or anyone else, but we would… consider an alliance, perhaps, with the proper terms.”

“An interesting proposal,” the voice said automatically, but it had barely registered. “What would that look like in your mind?”

Instead of dealing with the puppet figurehead, she turned her gaze to the woman whom she’d thought to be nothing more than a courtesan until that moment. She was dressed in pale silks and golden ornaments that showed more of her body than they hid, but as soon as their eyes met, the Voice could see an ageless depth in the eyes of the other woman. 

While it was possible she was a mage, it was far more likely that this was the goddess of Tanda here, hiding in plain sight. It was that insight that guided the rest of the Voice’s conversation with the Sultan. He might have been the one saying the words, but it was the nameless woman’s body language she was listening to as the two of them began the elaborate dance of diplomacy. 

For the next two hours, the three of them made proposals and counterproposals as everything slowly fell into place. Given the Sultan’s hostility, it was hard to understand why this meeting was even taking place at first, but it eventually became clear why: Constantial. Every time the name of that city came up, the Voice saw the shadow of fear cross the eyes of her true opponent. The goddess of Tanda did not wish to share the same fate as her sister city and was forcing the mortals that ostensibly ruled her to find another way. 

That was reasonable. That was a motivation that the Voice of Reason could understand, and she used that to frame the discussion. Guaranteeing both the city-state of Tanda as well as any of their partners that wished to sign on as well safety and security both from the Lich and any of their neighbors that might feel differently for a moderate tithe, to be delivered monthly to Rahkin, or possibly other nearby cities after they had been conquered.

“O-o-one percent of the city’s population every year…” the Sultan stammered when she first proposed the terms. “Even spread out monthly, that would still be dozens of ships! The cost is too high!”

“You would lose more people in your first night of standing against use than you would in a year of fealty,” the Voice insisted. “I’d invite you to ask the good people of Rahkin, but they refused our generous offer and are no more.”

That caused a round of collective gasps, but the Sultan ignored them. “If you’re so confident, then why not ask for two percent or even ten percent?” he asked. 

“We seek a relationship that will span decades,” the Voice answered smoothly. “No city could flourish under such an onerous yoke.” 

That metaphor was as close as she dared step to the truth. The people of this city, and all cities that might yet be brought to heel, were nothing but herds of cattle, and so they would be harvested slowly. For now, they could pay in beggars and criminals, but she was certain that in time when the Lich held dominion over the world, they would pay with their prayers and their dreams, too. After all, just as her dark lord used every part of the body to build its creations, it would use every part of creation to build what was going to come next. 

Though the negotiations lasted almost until morning, she returned to her ship before the first sun rose with a deal signed in blood. One more city entered the fold, and she hadn’t lost so much as a single death’s head to achieve her goal.

Ch. 161 - An End for Abenend

Though it took almost a year for the winds of magic to sour enough to spell the doom of the Magica Collegium, the effects were felt widely within months. For a time, the mages struggled against the invisible noose of the Lich without any real understanding of exactly what it was it had done, but it was no use. 

First, the delicate divination and teleportation magics they relied on to detect and counter any incursions into the valley failed them, and in time, everything else did as well. By the time Groshin’s rats had wormed their way into the granaries of the villages and the basement of the school itself, the wards that had protected it for so long were spontaneously combusting nearly every day and becoming almost as hazardous to those they protected as to those they defended against. 

In that way, magic was increasingly becoming more of a liability than anything. One minute, a set of wards that had been carved into the doorway of a building to protect it from evil were doing the job they'd done for generations, and the next, they were bursting into flame and catching the thatched roof on fire. 

It was a subtle evil that apparently not even their Goddess had discovered the cause of. For it was only at the end of things when mages were already fleeing their sinking ship, that they even thought to begin striking out those ancient wards with hammer and chisel. Those short-sighted actions would not save them, though; they just made Tenebroum more eager for what was to come next.

The mages of Abenend had lived by magic for so long, and now they would die from it as well. The Lich hungered for that moment. It remembered well when they tried to drown it and smother it in its cradle. They had failed, but it would still return the favor. Tenebroum just wished that it had been able to use water rather than air to affect its revenge; it would have been more poetic that way. 

Indeed, the day the hordes of undead finally began to pour the tunnels that had been dug in opportune places where underground caverns nearly reached the surface, it was probably already over, and most of the runes that might have warned the mages of what was coming had long since been defaced. The result was a massacre. 

Until now, every assault after the first one had been met with overwhelming firepower as soon as the Lich’s forces were within range. This time, the mages that remained to secure the walls of the Collegium were blindsided, and the battle that followed was bloody and brief. 

It was hard to fight, of course, when every fifth spell might blow up in the face of the caster. Even before the Lich’s abominations had topped the ramparts, there were already mages on fire and others who had turned themselves to stone in the face of twisted essence. For the first time in their long history, indeed, for the first time in the history of the world, the winds of magic had turned against them, and they had no idea how to cope with that.

Tenebroum had decided not to send anything fancy or complicated on the assault, for that reason, of course. Krulm’venor and the shadow drake were both left home, far from this battlefield, because the delicate spells that bound their tremendous power might unravel in a stray gust of un-wind. Instead, the Lich sent simple, bloodthirsty creatures that were less likely to be affected by such complexities.

The wights and the war zombies that boiled up from the ground and charged across the night were fast and brutal but not nearly as fast as the centipede cavalry that followed in their wake. 

The multi-legged horses and their skeletal riders sometimes started to come apart where the lack of magic treated them unfavorably, but this didn’t stop them from forming siege ladders on nearly every stone wall that protected the school. Its cavalry was gruesome but fairly simple. Even the relatively simple magics that tied together the bones of dozens of different people and animals were too complex for the terrible smog that now covered the valley.

Indeed, the strangulite-laden winds proved more dangerous than the mages themselves, and once they had unfolded in place, only a few of them were dislodged by lightning and other magics. The casters themselves weren’t so lucky. They became lightning rods that glowed even brighter than their targets while they were boiled alive by their own magics. 

It was a thing of beauty, or at least it would have been had Tenebroum dared to observe it up close. The whole valley of Abenend, with its few remaining twinkling lights, was too contaminated for it to even risk a view from a flock of red-eyed black birds thousands of feet above. Instead, it merely tasted the impressions from its bloodthirsty minions as they charged heedlessly into danger. The resulting picture of a hundred maddened viewpoints was fairly complete but hopelessly flawed, like viewing the world through thick, frosted glass. Even if the details were lacking, the pain still came through very clearly.

It didn’t need to see every blow to know that it was winning. It could tell that merely from the taste of blood and the sight of distant fire as the fortress finally began to burn. 

In the end, even the Lich had expected the defenders to put up more of a fight than this, but famine and the loss of magic had taken their toll; apparently, the two combined had broken the spirit of the mages far faster than it had hoped. Even so, it had expected that it would have to repeat this assault, once, or even twice more, to finally purge the annoying mages. 

When it saw the moon moving through the sky to defend her last bastion of mortal defenders, Tenebroum knew it had already won, though. She would never do such a bold thing unless her cherished mages were on the brink of defeat. As far as evil and darkness went, she was a terrible weapon in her own right, and as she brightened, night faded into pale twilight. 

As her light flooded the valley fully, it was enough to cause all of its undead minions who were not already deep inside the castle to turn to dust. Dozens of its minions died, but every one of them was easily replaceable, and Tenebroum cared very little for the loss. It would have lost a thousand minions to put her in such a vulnerable place without batting an eye because it was then that the Lich launched the weapon it had been working on for so long, just in case an opportunity like this should ever arise. 

Tenebroum could never be sure that the witch Lunaris would strike at it again at this moment, of course, but it had been certain that she would do so again one day. That was why it had taken the cancerous shard that would never become a copy of its dutiful Dark Paragon and turned the thing into a single cursed weapon that was closer to arcane cancer than any true construct it had built. 

The thing still had a tiny piece of its maker at its core, of course, but it had mutated beyond all recognition. It was a violent, primitive thing now, made from dark ether, and the Lich was certain that even if it tried to give the thing a body, it would have been quite mad and very nearly uncontrollable. So it didn’t bother.

In the last two years, the constantly morphing dark crystal shards had been pruned and sharpened, and they had been fitted with wings and enough minor air essence to ensure that it could fly as quickly as even the dark rider. The Lich had never bothered to name the dread creation, though, as a drudge that had been stationed on a nearby mountaintop for just this purpose released it, and the thing soared across the sky Tenebroum decided that it looked like a harpoon or a vampire bat more than anything. 

The Goddess paid no attention to it as it soared over the top of the Wodenspine mountains, aiming ever higher. She was so intent on burning the evil that was burrowing its way ever deeper into the heart of the Magica Collegium that she only noticed the jet-black projectile gliding against the black backdrop of the night sky in the moments before it struck her. 

By that point, it had flown so high that it had left even the tallest peaks in the distance behind it. Lunaris tried to retreat then, but she was too slow. She tried to blast it with the full force of her light, but it was impossible to focus on a point that was so close to her, and in the end, all she succeeded in doing was burning the wings off of the dread creation before it pierced the thin skin of lunar soil, and began to worm its way deeper inside of her like a bladed tapeworm. 

The soul shard had been rejected by Tenebroum because it was too aggressive and too out of control for any conventional servant it would care to make. To unmake one, though, or even a God, it was perfect, and it quickly began to spread out its tendrils of avarice and hate as it sought to devour its host. 

The moon screamed, then, as she turned away from the world completely to focus on the tiny shard of shrapnel that was growing inside her as it looked for something vital to sever and devour. As she retreated into the void, Tenebroum’s awareness of its construct slowly faded. It doubted that a single pinprick would be enough to end such a powerful goddess, but it would certainly remind her that even she was not beyond its reach. That wound would take up her focus for a long time, and it would have been enough to put a grim smile on its face if it had been more than implacable gilded bones. 

Instead, the Lich turned its gaze back to the fall of Abendend and felt the desperate battle play out as a distant series of urges. Rage, bloodlust, and fear dominated the scene and gave it just enough details to understand that though it only had a few hundred wights and reavers left in that cursed place, the mages were far fewer in number. There were perhaps only a few dozen of them left, and they were quickly becoming an endangered species in their own bloody halls. 

In the basements, at the heart of their power, their magic worked far better, but even their strength could not last forever. It also cut them off from their greatest ally of all: the light. The suns eventually started to rise, but that light could not harm the teeming horde of the dead that still fought in the depths. 

For hour after hour, the two wildly uneven forces fought. Mages blasted apart whole corridors full of bloodthirsty monsters with their wands and staves, only to be ripped apart in turn by the pieces of the survivors that were still strong enough to rip them to bloody shreds. The fighting was as intense as any his forces had endured since the fall of Constantinal, and part of the Lich longed to get closer to the violence, but it knew the whole area was poisoned still, so it resisted. 

After the obelisks had been shut down and the whole area had been allowed to detoxify for several weeks, it would collect all the souls and trophies worth collecting. It would still have what it needed, even if the bodies had long since grown cold.