CHAPTER 27.

The Trickster

That night Khran-Av'ees yet again sprung awake in the middle of the small hours, bedsheets tattered and torn under his tossing and turning as gentle as a rockslide. The nightmares were not satisfied with only a single disruption, but kept elbowing him up every once in a while till the horizon turned pale gray. Somewhere around then the warlord yielded, buckled up his loincloth, and slouched into the upmost kitchens with dark shadows under his eyes. It was the serving boy's luck that he apparently spoke Morning-Grumpy Khran fluently, and from "GrrmhhbrrghGROAHsrrhllpffhhmph!" understood to fetch him a tankard of cold ale and a passable tray piled high with yester-even's leftovers. Some sprig of reason -- strong enough to grow on the mental soil contaminated by hangover and sleeplessness -- made Khran-Av'ees yet force the lad to gulp down a sample of every dish.

Urrgh... this court life... it be such a motley of outlandish rules and necessities wrapped into a huge parcel of scheming and, on the other hand, such unbearable tediousness. Oft he wondered wherefore so many of his men yearned to plunge into this over and over again, and let themselves become pampered silly by slaves practically watching over when the host made friends with the guzunder. Deary me and lawks, the poor sod might spill something over!

Even though his mouth tasted like unchanged stable-beddings, Khran-Av'ees wolfed down the grub and a tankard or two of strong kha-ngkuschrh'ohtd to banish the headache. Dhulisch'uoniz would have been much preferred beside this lientery of the lowliest of filth-imps. Yet none here verily seemed to master the art of brewing it. The taste, the taste; woe and the keening of the womanfolk of fallen warriors upon it! It was worse than that of a dungheap whereon a sick haa'ischughscharvh-egk'aaz* had lain for a fortnight. Pffth, he would have to commence concocting it anew in the fireplace of his chambers, so that--

Graaargh, and there be that insufferableness afresh! Servants, servants, servants. What in the seventeen hellpits was he supposed to do with that dilemma? Yester-night's plight and the bored lad now playing cat's cradle in one dark corner were once more reminding him of the mores of lordship. Ought he verily to begin harboring a flock of fussing lickspittles other than the usual crowd of minions belonging to every dark lord's standard gear?

Khran-Av'ees stared sullenly at the fork which had been twisted into an intriguing zigzag-shape in his grip slightly harder than necessary. He had a nasty inkling he was expected to set an example also in other areas of leadership besides battle-prowess and strategy-mastering to those floundering beneath him in rank. That this be the pillar of glory, and thou shouldst but grovel before his grandeur and with awe behold how he be served by many and mickle...

Hrrhmmh...ayenay. He simply had no tides to waste for the training of a myriad of morons whose mere existence seemed to be revolving around a single object: cup-bearer, cloak-carrier, bather, and whatever else utter pointlessness. A highlord probably was supposed to house a separate bearer for the paltriest of bric-a-brac akin to a solitary sock or a spare earring. Now how would the son of Khran-Ddu'h the Skullhammer appear if some parade of cheeping, tittering brats pursued at him everywhither, hauling along all the contents of his garners? Besides, would one not certainly require more than one dullard to carry a whole table or a bed? And however was one supposed to clepe or summon these yondaimon buggerers? What if he decided to build an orchard?

Flowerpot-bearers #1 to #11, grab a pot each! The palms require two per pot, so #12 to #21, move into pairs! Aaaand follow! One, two, three, march, hut, hut, hut! Down the corridor and into the garderobe!

Detestable fatuity...

A taster to test the food and drink for poisons was the sole surplus stooge he required. And hardly e'en that, if he began hunting for his own game in the lowland wolds a few hours' flight-distance from Rha-ghi'Leh, and skinned and roasted the carcasses in his own, secret halls. Again, that likely be something a lord revered enow to bear the crown of a high king should not venture into. Bugger with the so-called rules.

Yet now, there would be other errands to run and many a deed to accomplish. Starting from those eldritch statues that had even dared haunt his resttides. As if the whisperings of the green-eyed shadow-being in his coffin of rime and ice had not been plenty enough...

***

A while later, Lord Khran-Av'ees was stomping along a cobwebbed corridor, tracking his own trail left by yesterday's amok-rush. The folly still made his ears burn, but anon there would be no reminders left, as he would hammer down the stone-offenders and let slaves which indeed were not his personal ones sweep away these footprints of disgrace. A couple of elves with pick-axes and rock-hammers loped along on his backwash. He hoped the halls before would not conceal any further secrets of suchkin that absolutely should remain as his kennings only. After he had discovered the ruin of a library... Well, that had been one of those rare occasions when he had handpicked thralls for private purposes. Under his strict supervision, they had scrubbed every cranny and nook therein, carefully separated and cleaned the more well-preserved scrolls and manuscripts from the ah-so-woefully ruined ones, and built new shelves to replace the rotten and collapsed.

Thereafter, when every floor-mosaic sparkled and even the threadbare tapestries had acquired more intriguing hues than cobweb gray, he with his own hands had butchered every single bondsman and flung the miscellaneous body parts down a balcony, watching them tumble down the barren northslope with grim satisfaction. Thus was the rumormill burned down into but its bare cornerstones. Nought would threaten his secret.

He cast a side-glance down at Qwertyui, who was trying to keep up with his long strides, leafing concurrently his way through a thick wad of papers.

E'en he was want of knowledge. Nevertheless, it would be such a waste to cut his life-thread, even if his blood was rather caked with worm-muck. Hrrmh...

Once again, his attention turned to the quirky skin no proper elf ought to have borne upon his flesh. However be it that this filth-kin verily had gained that ill grayish tinge? Had their fathers of eld mayhaps bred with their sisters alike to the Bane or e'en with the deformed monsters of Ulgh-Lhuom'aachkgkhund ere the Dusk, when the gates to the Thousand Worlds and ever farther still gaped wide open?

That kingsbastard whose disgusting likeness he would now swipe away from his glorious halls certainly had. Yearrgh.

Verily, he ought to have been seeking for answers to his urgentmost quandaries e'en now in the depths of the library, but... This, now. Perchance it was a wee bit obsessive, but he had his right for proper sleep and dignity in his own palace! Damn insolent leerer and mocker of his majesty! The sooner it had been pounded into rubble, the better.

Khran-Av'ees's awareness returned to the winding passages before, which in the bright torchlight appeared more dilapidated than yesterday remembered. It seemed as if not half a wight had tiptoed here since Yl-maargh'Inegn had flayed the Bane alive in his wrath. Moss and mold grew in great tussocks on the crumpling walls. Tatters of rotten banners occasionally wavered in the air that possibly moved properly for the first time in tens of millennia. Everything had the brownish gray feel of an age-gnawed burial chamber about, even if the occasional gold sewn into the rags hanging above still glinted dully through the spoil.

"Oughtn't we be dere soon, sir? Yer evilness didna says it woul' be-"

"Aye, aye. Thy lord deemeth we indeed sshould have wended our way thither by now, but assh thou plainly cunnessht behold, the trail but windeth onward! Hrmghh. Thee, sshcribe, where sshtandeth Lord Khran-Av'eessh, betwixssht the crumpling wallssshsh of whichsh hallssh?"

Ooooh, that well-nigh rhymed!

"Ah, indeed... I have been endeavoring to figure out this wee little predicament..." Qwertyui bit his lip, staring at the papers. "We unquestionably passed King Hghelkg Ghur'rghyenrhapul's small solar a smidgen of tides agone. Hereupon however the maps sir bequeathed me, alas, disagree. One tells that naught lies ahead, and the second makes but an obscure remark on re-opening some walled-up rooms right behind... eh... Lady Plosoposchgh's Sweetcakes, as they humorously call a pair of circular rooms of unknown purpose here."

"Well, by the ssheventeen wailpitssh of Ghyytdavachsch'urunch Bha-rghul'haakgz, the erst tomnoddy musshteth have had but moldy broth in the plasshe of hissh witssh! Thy lord sshurely doth nay walk but on sshome trisshe-damned sshea-breezsshe, assh if he wert Vanhvha'gah of eld on hissh journeyssh, may hissh ill kin perissh in the clawssh of the ninety-one plaguessh of... hrrmh... sshomeghasshtlywosshname!"

"This latter document appears to be stamped with a... crest of a house unknown and the yeartide 10868 After Duskfall. Does sir in his wisdom have any kennings as of whether some conflict might have brought the restorations to such an abrupt end that they ne'er were initiated anew?"

Conflict... aye. Khran-Av'ees frowned at the dirty gloom ahead forking into two separate corridors. Rha-ghi'Leh was the plain embodiment of conflict. Nought but treasons and scheming and lofty pursuits crumpling into ashes. It be a miracle that the city now had stood in the hands of a single ruler even this long, regarding its tumultuous past. And so it would stay in his iron-grip; he would root every damned rebel and challenger out of the soil of Rha-kan'Ocka with his bare hands if he thuswise had to, and banish their worthless seed far off into the barren hinterlands of Tghuonegh'lchach!

"Mrrh. Whatever that wassh, thissh triple-curssht yon-shherpent of a passh-"

The words got stuck in the warlord's throat, as he turned a corner and saw the view spreading in front of him.

They indeed had arrived in the same hall whither his escape from the snares of debauchery had lead him. Yet the... change, the mere realization of the sudden change made him feel as if doused in icy water.

Slowly, he approached at the statues, jaw hanging open and breathing growing ragged. They stagnated against a moldy wall, cracked in places and so covered with cobwebs and dust they bore a closer resemblance to mummies in burial shrouds than rock-sculptures. The taller elf, whose stern visage he had gazed upon mere hours agone, was missing his head. Instinctively Khran-Av'ees's petrified eyes swept through the floor's millennial dirt, but the body part was nowhere to be seen.

What... wh- what had he beholden yesterday? By the flyblown offsprings of sewer-snakes, what had he seen? This... they had been clean as if recently dusted, and...

Cold sweat glistening on his forehead, Khran-Av'ees brushed the filth away from Lhietd's face. Through the thick layer of grime it had been somewhat hard to tell, but he indeed was missing his nose. Furthermore, a great crack ran across the visage, so that the right eye gaped but as a reedy hole in the stone.

The expression yet remained the same, leering deformedly at the confusion and fear of the warlord.

"Sir? Summat wrong 'ere?"

Khran-Av'ees surfaced back into reality, and forcing his face back to its usual snarly wryness took all he could muster. If his men espied this dread in him...

"Nay, nay. Here be the very maggotssh within the dunghill; sshmite them down and grind the sshtone till the lassht morsshel of their impudent beingssh fitteth into the palm of a newborn cshhild! And hail sshome thrallssh hither anon to begin making thissh noisshome plasshe fit for living! Lord Khran-Av'eesssh sshalt tolerate none of thisssh deucsshed messh lying about!"

"An' wha' about dem cheery fellers o'er yon?" One of the pickaxe carriers gestured towards the shadows further behind the warlord.

"Mrah?"

Khran-Av'ees whirled about, which, regarding the solid 350 kilos of healthy muscle mass, was always an unnerving sight. It was as if a mammoth had risen on its hindlegs and performed the Nutcrusher ballet of Peter Chao Cow-Ski** with the grace of a butterfly. Supple as the warlord might be, beyond the borders of that trait grace unfortunately yet prevailed as well as penguins in Egypt.

The view should never have made his windpipe curl into a double overhand knot for a few seconds. Aye, he had beholden the remains of mass-slaughterings erenow, mostly those of his own handiwork, but as the chill of the previous minute's shock still lingered in his chest, there was no helping the reaction.

Yet it had to be said that the cobwebbed, partly mummified corpses with their black, gaping orifices and arrows sticking out from between ribs and holes in rusty mail had something prominently eerie about them. Carelessly heaped, they half-lay, half-sat against the opposite wall of the vault, accompanied by the ruins of some pieces of furniture.

Besides, Khran-Av'ees most certainly had not beholden even a cracked fingerbone of these damned buggerers theretofore. Could... could they simply have sprawled beyond the perimeter of his light as he sat in his solitude by the statues? And yet, his night-vision scarcely was that of a cooked bat-squid, by the firehammer of Dthg'aar! How in the seventeen hellpits could he have missed those, unless... unless...

This... this damned place was haunted. There simply be no other account to it.

"Ah. I deem we found the reason wherefore the written sources were so disagreeing." Qwertyui measured at the carcasses with his gaze. "Perchance a mutiny indeed flamed up, and defenders and builders alike were-"

"Grrmhhpht. Whatever," the mountainous elf grunted, "Aroint with that wormfood! Thy lord hath much labor sshet upon hissh sshoulders on thissh very daytide, and hath nay tidessh to brood upon ssome petty sshtrivessh of lang sshyne. Jussht makesst thou sshure that thesshe chamberssh shall be freed from the ill name of being the housshe of Khalm'anch Vghaekg."

With these words, Lord Khran-Av'ees turned on his heels and marched away. His original plan had been to supervise the demolishing of the statues, but somehow he did not wish to linger in that ominous vault for even half a heartbeat more, especially as the more or less small hairs on the back of his neck still stood on end.

He shook his shaggy head, as he retraced the route back to the central parts of the palace. That... there had to be a sensible explanation to all this! There plain had to, and the blame must have lain before the cold feet of those slain! At least the lores of eld told however those chambers upon earth which became the sleep-halls of the dead would also belong to them, so that they therein might insidiously skulk and harm any wight entering unawares. He might not have believed in such tales commonly regarded as but the flibbertigibbet of frightened gammers, had he not just stood amid a battle between the kin of Tghuonegh'lchach and something out of the Plane of Wyrds.

And wherefore were all these outlandish oddities occurring so... so... coincidentally? He had traversed the plains of Rha-kan'Ocka nigh-on eighteen thousand winters without beholding a single bloody spook. Why were they all crowding to meet him now?

Anyhow... some of those buggerers of graveworms and filth in the corner must have been ridiculing him. He had touched the polished stone of Lhietd-Lhem'meeschz's face, by sblood, and his fingertips had not met cracks or coarse edges of anykin!

Nought else mayhaps explained the missing head either. Or the laugher ringing inside his skull...

It had halted quite soon as he had scurried off, dwindling away as if great distances had suddenly been put between him and the source unknown. Mayhaps some threshold there marked the borders of the haunt of Khalm'anch Vghaekg, beyond which their netherworldly powers became void.

Khran-Av'ees skidded to a halt by the junction of four passages. Watery mornlight trickled through small, grimy windows that here pierced the solid rock of the mountain. Where the stained glass stood clearer, flecks of faded color dappled the walls and floor.

Urrghrraaaah, however was he supposed to name his errand, now that he had taken leave of the statue-vault nigh-on unheeded? Eat? Nay, that had been taken care of. Sleep would have been a splendor beyond heavenly, but he would be stripped of that right unto the proper untangling of this mess. Gha'ugonak...

Ah, indeed, he had been planning to peruse the library. Of course, he was not utterly positive as of what the nature of his quest there might be in the first place, but... well... its bowels ought to yield something befitting his need.

Now, where was he...? Ah, aye, eleven floors down and a tuppence's worth of walking...

Soon, the sliding door to the library boomed shut behind Khran-Av'ees. From the outside, it resembled a patch of ordinary bricked wall with some dirt smeared purposefully upon and fake moss glued here and there. During the restorations, the warlord had therewith devised a secret passage to the halls, equipped with a couple of cunning traps. It was the soul and essence of the fort of a Dark Lord to embrace secret passages and snares, even if the latter had been built to make salami out of insider intruders rather than the brave hero who usually dodged dangers just by the sheer force of his glittery saintliness.

Overall, well... Traps and secret passages were all fine and dandy, but Khran-Av'ees could not comprehend the obsession of many a fellow-in-trade to, say, man-sized ventholes. Or mounting massive heating systems to strategically weak places, over which the hero might just fly, shoot artfully down an arrow which would after a couple of canny rebounds hit some highly important lever whose new settings would cause the whole damn thing to explode. Hrmphf. Mayhaps he ought to rewrite parts of Buruh'rahkka's darklording guide, as there were such monstrous logical gaps therein. What was for instance the point of a self-destruct mechanism? Or labeling the scrolls wherein you had written a carefully designed world domination plot with something akin to 'Þe Sekkryt Planses, DO NAY TOUCH!!!!!'? E'en a teenling snotnose capable of spelling a couple of runes would be able to pilfer them.

He sighed beneath the high dome of the library. The sloping ceiling had been scrubbed so clean that even the scant torchlight faintly illuminated a section of a crumpled fresco depicting blue-robed Immortals and waves of rolling sea. The clack of his clawlike toenails against the cold mosaic floor was the only sound in the fusty silence, as he wandered off to the nearmost shelf.

Indeed, if he only wiste whence to begin... Attempting to wake up that fester-spawn of Rghuvechtd'har's famished loins highte Gha'ugonak was just as inane a notion as that bit about chivalrously granting one last wish to the hero-to-be-butchered. He had not conquered the dominion just to turn into some namby-pamby twit mucking up his overlordship due to some idiotic whim of last-second soppiness. Likewise, that wizard was a disgusting, sadistic lunatic to start with, and there be no foreseeing his wiliness, even if the warlord somehow managed to block all that powerful magic.

Hitherto, Khran-Av'ees had attempted backward scrying to Gha'ugonak's clothing and the assortment of belongings he had borne on the moment of defeat. Yet there had been nought of value. Either the roiling spells zooming hither and thither during the daimon-attack had mightily swept away all prior traces of magic-weaving, or then the rebellion's mysterious wherewith of journey simply left nought behind. For the most part his interests were spinning around the latter bit, aside from the lurk-hole of the G'Uhageids, which had to be uncovered at any cost.

One of the objects confiscated from the daik'schepp hung around Khran-Av'ees's neck even now. It was a curious little triangular pendant, reminding him much of the gholmgh'arkgich'oov through which the heroes of eld had journeyed into the Thousand Worlds. Oh, if he only could con something also about those tricksy devices, for he was positive the rebel-scum somehow had harnessed their secret powers the Dusk ought to have guttled till the last surge. Yet nought should be taken granted after all these perturbing events of late. Simply nought kenned the depths of the gaffer and his filth-kin's craft, what foul artifices and prowess indeed might squirm in their curst veins.

It might have helped a tad if there had been an order of somekin to the manuscripts and whatnots of the library. Whosoever had served as the previous owner had guaranteed that a cookbook specializing into northeastern lizard-dishes had found its way beside Advanceded Ballystics Für Alchemysts and perhaps some rotten volume handling the proper removal of dried snot from the nostrils of an angry mhaughuj. For one, Khran-Av'ees had found a stack of his best spellbooks wedged between Ye Granð Anðe Nobble Histoorie Of Feßtive Egpaintying and something that had pictures of different shapes of pointed elf-ears. Now, half of those had gone the same way as Gh'alowazahrh and a couple of his friends. So splendid. However in the bleeding hellpits was he supposed to find replacements for something that likely had survived the Duskfall as but single copies?

Granted, he had rummaged through a couple of shelvings already, but there still loomed an umpteen more in the vault's further shadows. The only means to continue was but the old: carry on browsing through the contents book by book and shelf by shelf, beginning from the one he had marked as previously completed.

He strode towards the broad wall opposite to the secret entrance. Somewhere here the last mark had been placed... ah.

A great cloud of dust shot into the air, as he picked up a couple of thick volumes from the highmost shelf with an oversized hand. Grah. When had that pesterer landed thither? Already decay was taking over the sanctuary of kingly lores from the heart of elderdays, even when one might still gaze at his reflection on the polished floor. Nought was of avail in this combat against the ruining spells of the Dusk, was it?

Mrrh. He would not, not allow this precious thing to be crushed by the hammer of corruption anew. Either he would perform the maid's errand himself, or choose again a couple of worthless thralls to do his bidding. The previous, even if it stank of dull toiling, sounded more tempting. If knowledge of this place was divulged to certain parties, an exodus of idiots would soon be swarming the corridor beyond, sniffing and peering at every loose rock with a magnifying glass. Oh, he well kenned the value sprawling herein. Even if Khran-Av'ees could not precisely name the highlord, he yet had fathomed that one of the more enlightened kings ruling ere the Bane had founded the library. The traces of art spoke for themselves. This particular, highly detailed and braw style he had never beholden elsewhere, and it certainly had no counterparts in the post-dusk scrawlings of eminent artists.

The colors especially were so splendid in their twinkling merriness, with bright red set together with magenta and neon green, and warm brown together with azure and yolk-yellow and moss green... Such a lovely eye for tones the bygone lord indeed had had, nigh-on as if he had been the mighty Khran-Av'ees himself!

The warlord carried a heavy stack of books into an alcove furnished with comfy divans, a strong table, and a couple of lecterns. Blazegems, the very few he had managed to unearth from various hidden storerooms of now departed lowlandish pettylords, shone and floated above little ledges running along the semicircular wall. He had ordered the bowl-shaped ceiling right above to be coated with mirrorglass. That wee trick turned even the much scanter light of hohdglontt tolerable for reading. The elf might have entered the halls with a torch in hand, but no fire was allowed further amid these oh-so-tender treasures.

Lord Khran-Av'ees returned to the shelf twice or trice to retrieve a couple of more armfuls. Once back in his favorite divan with plump cushions set all around, he carefully began leafing through the scrolls and bulky volumes, endeavoring not to harm the oft very frail sheets.

Yet there was no helping some cases. As he opened what on the first glance bore the signs of a potionbook, the ancient pages practically dissolved when hit by light. Another thick, very promising-looking book with marvelously embossed metal casing was so rotten inside it left his hands sticky with brown ooze while the contents gently dribbled onto the floor.

He sighed, and pushed aside the book quite literally fluid in prose. All this war-waging... how it brought many a yoretime marvel into utter ruin, such as these, great jewels of knowledge left untended for eons... On moments akin to this Khran-Av'ees's hindsight severely questioned the necessity for this strife of seventy-thousand yeartides during which so much glory and knowledge had faded away into sheer nothingness. Not even a lingering memory as of what might have been remained in so many cases.

Nevertheless, what sense would there be in idly squatting on one's haunches and allow other half-wits to demolish e'en the paltry peddling of finery still left? Nay, you had to grasp the hammer of power yourself and bring into peril these bickering tomfools, whose dull minds found no worth in the higher arts of the noble-blooded.

Tssth. And now, if he only could dig out something hence... Nay, he surely did not need a bedraggled copy of Atlas of Chamberpots: the Fascinating World of Shapes and Sounds anywhere. The slim volume about medicines extractable from Rha-gkyhrhuipian flying frogs might be of some use, though...

And so hours crawled past, and the stacks on the table waned and waxed. A growing selection of codices and rare scriptures concerning advanced spellweaving and history had been set aside on one corner of the table. Yet still he lacked this... well...

It had slowly dawned on Khran-Av'ees that the mere way to interrogate Gha'ugonak without awakening him would be some form of mind-reading. He was not positive whether such a feat was even possible albeit old shamans such as dathoh Ghomegh'alo narrating wild tales of yoretime wizards who could muster this fascinating skill.

Ah, such splendid tides, those... This dathoh had for aye been his very favorite: again and again the warlord had returned to Ghomegh'alo's stuffy tents smelling of herbs and those outlandish weeds he burned in his pipe to harken to fantastic tales and lineages memory still preserved. Once he had even inquired the shaman whether he might be of aid in tracing back the bloodline of the mysterious northlander, ikgh-u'ayjoch Khran-Av'uotdaacgh, the first and last seed of the house of Khran whose name official records still preserved. But alas, Ghomegh'alo had been then too blind to inspect the runes Khran-Av'ees had brought by his feet. The name indeed had carried a meaning of somekin, but already at that time the memory of the one born ere the Dusk had become overcast.

And now, these... these dreadful likenesses with, well, them! Bleeding hellpits...

He stared absently at the pages he was leafing through, not truly taking in the contents.

What was this all supposed to mean? The wyrds must have been playing some mummer's lark with him; sheer coincidence was the only option. And the Khalm'anch Vghaekg in their haunt-halls of yesterday... By some devilish means they must have known how disturbed he had been due to the uncanny familiarity of the G'Uhageids. Well, they could share tidings on the dismal plains of Tghuonegh'lchach, could they not? Certainly some rumors of that daimon-war had trickled down into the courts of the Grim-Lord, and restless spirits probably could not resist a chance to flout... hrrhmhh...

Inattentively he lifted up the topmost tome in the bookpile, and opened it randomly from the middle.

Well, thus it had to be... Bleeding gibers, as if he did not have better uses for his precious hours than brooding over those kingsbuggerers, excluding schemes to get easily rid of them...

And yet... wherefore had that ghost peered at him thusly amid the battle, even if but for quarter a heartbeat? There had been something... something almost akin to curiosity there... or...

His finger traced at the neat, even lines on the flamboyantly decorated page of the newest book. "Anðe wyþ tenðere care cherish þe ðeserte-Flovver fayr, so þat her Jhoy woulðeþe flouryß, anðe nay ane tyttle of-" And what in the seventeen bleeding yonpits was this rubbish? Another stinking ode of a hundred pages devoted to some bloody single flower wavering in the summerwind, scratched down by some harebrained scald with the imagination of a roasted dungbeetle? There had already been enow of those, aroint with them!

Although, this text sounded much akin to that idiot whose torn pages he had found stuffed inside one of his spellbooks. He had no time for ludicrous gobbledygook such as...

Rather angrily, he turned a thick page. The picture that now spread out beneath his broken nose yet had an almost mind-paralyzing effect. Mouth agape, eyes bulging, Khran-Av'ees abruptly seemed to be stripped of all other abilities save that of staring stupefied at the folio.

In some sense, it was a very educating experience, what with simultaneously granting answers to several questions laden with various degrees of importance. He suddenly wiste who wrote in rhyme and who very, very likely had constructed this library. The crucial fact as of where the longship was supposed to be brought at bay in certain forays of less hostile persuasion was also added to the heap of novel knowledge, as well as what an odahlic be. This... krrhmh... this one definitely was purple. No doubt about that. Not one morsel of a whit, as it bore no shroud whatsoever... ermmh...

Sooo... this verily be not about gardening or flowers... Erm, well, in some sense aye, but...

Khran-Av'ees hardly knew where to put his flustered gaze, as the pages offered such a great deal to peer at. Simply closing the eyes would bring no alleviation either, as the image with its garish colors had been branded onto his retinae. Cheeks and ears burning, gut feeling as if hot coals had been rolling within, he with one shaking hand managed to grab a couple of pages and slam them over the disturbing display. However, what was revealed thereafter possessed even worse an aura.

By the grim-hammer of Tghuonegh'err, these two were... limber. Saliva running down his jaw and into his beard, he turned the page upside down and to one side, some minute part of the yet half-sensible subconsciousness apparently trying to figure out where one person ended and the other started. Slowly Khran-Av'ees scanned through more sheets, drinking in the pictures alike which he ne'er had even fathomed to exist.

Oh, oh, oh... oh dear... What, a man might use his tongue to something akin to that? And this, now...

The present folio featured a rather petite, plump lass in the, well, handling of the king that so eccentrically exhibited his might. Oh, she was most succulent as-is, but it was perchance the expression that fanned the flames most. That little, full-lipped mouth slightly open, her eyes closed, the slender neck arched backwards... In his ears -- elsewise so full of hot, throbbing buzz -- Khran-Av'ees could almost hear the wench's rapid, ragged breathing as the male li- ufffh... nay, nay, he had to cease hatching such flyblown thoughts of utter foulness, they...

The screams of his conscience were yet efficiently muffled, as the giant, horny foot of crimson urges straight from the deepest backbone stamped on the shoulder-angel and squished it into but a wee, sticky puddle onto the mental floor.

He had been feebly about to force the horrible book shut, but failing to perform this act of utmost bravery, Khran-Av'ees instead traced his way to the nameflap just after the thick, floridly ornate cover. Even if the warlord never before had held a copy in his own hands, spelling the lines

Howe To Pleese A Sweete Laðy:

Þe Masterfull Gyiðe To Succeßful Love

~*~*~

Lhietð-Lhem'mëschz Of Ghyv Uhageyð

Highe Kynge

Of

Alle Rha-kan'Ocka Anðe Elvynlanðes Ande Beyonðe

Tyðe Of Ðhu'iskgnjetðuuz

Y. schyommgh'eischkg Tymmes 29495043 ande CDXCIII besydes

resulted in no further savvy. Khran-Av'ees had harked about this, erm, spectacle erenow, even if he had not comprehended the contents might be this dazing. The values of even smudged, torn copies with whole chapters missing could be counted with neither vigherlhi'uskg nor rhuzak'gkheev on most marketplaces. This was perfectly preserved, the runes as if drawn yestermorn, and the pictures bright as if doused in sunlight.

And he could not help himself from greedily inspecting more of the meticulously drawn adventures of the king of lovers. Uuufff, and this, now...

Much due to his flabbergastedness, the elf had not hitherto consciously perceived all the special effects his body was going through. Now, however, it slowly dawned on him through the surges of hot blood that there was some kind of hideously uncomfortable tightness plaguing him, something that...

Oh no. Not this. Not now. Bloody damnit and the death-rattles of yondaimons impaled on the trident of Vhe-dt'echinech, he should have been studying, STUDYING, and that scarcely stood for the savoring of these unsettling affairs! Nonononono... NOOOO...

Khran-Av'ees sprung up from the divan as if he had been lounging on a family of hedgehogs, and with a kind of odd, stumbling and crook-kneed gait hobbled to the hall's entrance and through the secret passage, barely avoiding a poisoned dart whizzing past as his out-of-place ungainliness triggered one of the traps.

Water... cold water, ice, ANYTHING...

Hazily he remembered there was a larder two or three floors down the nighmost staircase. He bumbled down the corridor and the winding steps thereafter, rushing into the storeroom and on the way knocking over a maidservant carrying a heavy tray. Merely the bare walls remained listening to the tinkling of breaking glass and the ensuing curses. Khran-Av'ees had found his savior, and he plunged keister first into the cold-water tub wherein jugs of churned milk were kept to delay curdling.

One could almost see steam rising from the vessel, as the warlord leaned back against the cool wall, breathing deep with growing relief.

For some annoyance, the larder was connected to a small storey-kitchen with an open doorway. As the worst racket of Khran-Av'ees's unwieldy entrance had quieted down, with all the capsized pots and jugs having calmly settled onto the floor in varying degrees of destruction, a shy maid and some soot-nosed potboy tiptoed to peek in. They were left tarrying by the threshold, gawking at the warlord's weird bathing with expressions parallel to as if they had just beholden him giving birth to a two-headed dinosaur.

"Ent dem milor' Khran hissel?" the lass eventually piped up, as the head of the state but lounged with his eyes closed in the tub, fully clothed, amid the partly overturned milk-jars gently rolling and bobbing in the pearly-turned liquid. "Um. Does milor' wish fer summat?"

As Khran-Av'ees's eyes shot open, a third figure appeared in the doorway, this time one of the workmen ordered earlier to whack down the statues. He almost dropped the huge can of beer and several loaves of bread due to the rather unexpected sight.

"Erm, has... has sir been dere all 'em tides?" he yet managed to stutter, "We've... erm, we've bin tryin' to find yer hi'ness cause o' sum hardships wi' em stonebuggers. Um, if I mot be so brave as to ask... wut's sir doin' dere?"

"Mrah. Do nay e'en suckling babes in their cradles ken however sshplendid milk-bathssh be for the health of thy sshkin?" the warlord snarled and scampered up, somehow trying to hide the uncomfortable purpling of his cheek. At least the longship had sunk, so one item had been ticked off in the list of this week's embarrassments.

"But... shouldna sir erst take 'is raiment off to-"

"Enow with foolissh queshhtionssh; hath it nay been plain to every wight from the dawn of tidessh that the sshupreme lord cunneth do assh he pleassheth? Now, sshomeone fetcssheth me a towel and sshome dry clothing, hie and anon!"

As the youngsters hastened off, the warlord addressed the worker again.

"What in a manner of hardsshipssh be thesshe? Hourtides of mickle and many have I quesshted for accomplisshmentssh worthy of a bejeweled crown in my chamberssh. Shhould ye nay have been able to fell a pair of sshtatuessh gnawed brittle by the shharp teeth of uncountable agessh by now?"

"Ermh... We... err... we did ge' 'em headless feller down; dem bugger was easy enow." The male scratched at the back of his neck in an uneasy manner. "But dem noseless... wossisname, dem i'em bouncy songs wi' humorous wordings, if milor' kens-"

"What about him?" A nasty cold squirm, nothing to do with the dripping clothes that were starting to suck in the perpetually chilly air of the stone colossus, wriggled down Khran-Av'ees's spine.

"Eerm... 'em stone in it... dem queer thingy just won't budge. 'Tis akin to tryin' to break a mountain with a tuft o' sodden grass, if milor' catches me meanin'. An' I cannae fathom it, 'cause ye clear as aught can behol' 'em wear all over 'em nobbybugger. I mean, howe'er did he lose 'em conk o' his if we cannae hack e'en a whit o' a farthin' o'dem rock away?"

"Urhm. Let me sshee it," Khran-Av'ees managed to gulp, whilst attempting to retain such a careless expression as if he had been listening to but a dreary rumor told a hundred times over.

A nauseous writhing began to grown in his gut as dry garments -- about half of them undersized due to the unfortunate fact that none could access his most private rooms -- were eventually brought, and the kids turned to wring his hair which had sucked in perhaps a third of the tub's liquids. After a basketful of troubles, he fastened a moldy tapestry under his chin to serve as a substitute cloak, as nought else could be found and every bristly hair on his body stood on end, even if coldness could not be blamed for everything. On the way back to the statue vault, he the barely heard the worker's baffled gibbering about the problems of removal and how everything else yet had proceeded smoothly.

This... by the fireanvil of Dthg'aar, this was beginning to stink of more than a mere coincidence. Something, someone, some bleeding trickster out there was severely trifling with him. And wherefore was it all related to this preposterous muggins he loathed almost more than the fork-tongued gaffer-kingling? That book, for one. Had it verily been but a happenstance, or would the ill winds blow as with yesterday's rallying?

Would he even find that... that dreadful thing anew, as he in due course returned to the library? If he did, might it perhaps lie in tatters, paint faded and half the pages gone? It... this...

Could this all be somehow linked with the dreams, could the... the yoncreature with the firepit eyes be behind this? Eerh... The... that being seemed somehow too sinister, too mightful to engage into this kind of cheap trickery with which some dimwitted devilkin might spend its sordid pastime. And even that might be an overestimation.

That laughter, though... those rolling overtones and harmonics... Could it mean there be more than a single spook toying with him? Well, that verily might be the case, as the vault had become the last abode of many a slain, not solely one sod erring to lie on the way of a new uprising.

A corner or two, and the vault spread out again before the warlord. The mummies and the nameless G'Uhageid had been kicked out, a good part of the ceiling had been uncovered from beyond the hanging filth, and a latched door had been discovered behind the carcasses. Those workers not stamped with the status of thralls were mainly dallying around. One apparently still curious about Lhietd's statue was staring at it with a nonplussed expression, scratching at his head. The warlord soon joined him as the former companion began dealing out the foodstuffs.

"It... it jus' won't budge. Looks yer hi'ness a' our bleedin' poor tools. Dem stonebugger jus' breaks 'em when ye keeps on tryin' to wipe off dem stupid sneer o' his or summat otherkin."

The spate of pickaxes and other rock-crushers with their broken blades tossed against one wall only increased Khran-Av'ees's anger mingled with fear and confusion. Nevertheless, that idiot had to be tossed into the darkmost swells of the blackmost of the blackest of black oblivions! Nought else to that!

Getting rid of the statue had indeed become an obsession. And when Khran-Av'ees got one of those whizzing around in his head, yielding was as likely as him starting to wear pink, glittery things with flowers and little hearts embroidered upon.

"Ssshtand back, there!" The warlord bellowed at the men, and spat into his hands. A few seconds later, a discharge of raw energy burst from his fingers and hit the stonebugger squarely in the chest.

What Khran-Av'ees had not prepared to face was the hard jounce sending him flying through the air and crashing into the half-rotten door on the opposite wall. For a moment, his senses mistook the blow for an actual attack, and with a booming growl he somersaulted up, only to end nose to missing nose with the stupid statue. It had not suffered so much as a scratch.

Panting, the warlord peered around the room. Even more mystifying was the fact that none of the other men had tumbled down. What in the name of Yl-maargh'Inegn's warhammer and his bleeding immortal wossnames? Had the hit been but a mere repercussion of his spell, it ought to have affected also these other dolts...

Someone in the audience shrugged. "Didna we tells yer hi'ness? Methinks 'em bastard's been bewitched or summat suchkin."

"Ne'er seen aught alike, we has."

The warlord might have been furious, but not utterly robbed of his braincells. To make sure that the workmen's and his own assumptions held some basis, he flicked at the rock with but a dinky crackle that might have felt like a pinch on the skin of an actual person. As it touched the effigy's surface, it leapt back as a tiny flame which winked out instantly.

Aye... he certainly had never beholden aught alike either, and there had been many a quirky and outlandish sight by the roads of his life-tides. The figure was indeed wrapped with some kind of lingering wards of oldenday magic, or then some being unknown... erhm... Could something out of the yonrealms actually dwell inside that ugly sneerer? It... it verily could not be thus. It sounded so... well, utterly beyond any sensible reason.

Besides, he had to make one thing sure.

"Hrrmh. Hath anyone of ye, assh ye have here in this vault of sshomber mysshteries witnesshed many an hour roaming passht, ssheen or perhapssh harked aught... aught outlandissh?"

"Nay, if yer hi'ness dosnae count ole Rhi-mbagh'intd dere hittin' ane o'em dead buggers straight inne eye wi' his water from bleedin' two yards afar ere we gave 'em a nice an' cozy home i'em bleedin' furnace, grahahahahah."

"Aye... an' ye has 'em wonky toenail da' grows inne shape o' a corkscrew, ye has. Now dat's bleedin' outlandish!"

"Yeh, but harks ye dis tale o' mine I heards sumwhere where dis feller has summat else growing inne bleedin' shape o' a corkscrew..."

The workers exploded into raucous cackles, as Khran-Av'ees turned his back on them.

Well, well... this be a damned duel of forces, then... Whoever or whatever lurked behind this mockery was almost surely only after him.

"What art thou, and whatever be thissh quessht of thee to throw thesshe rotten fruitssh of taunt and jessht against the noble fasshe of Lord Khran-Av'eessh?" the warlord hissed against the stone, so silently that the babbling lackeys hardly caught one syllable. "Ansshwer if thou daressht!"

The carven features remained as immovable as ever, although he could have sworn the shadows thereon shifted oddly, if but for a split second.

***

Somewhere, as if in a different dimension, a deep-gray, starless sky stretched itself over frozen ground that twinkled faintly with dark hues of purple and blue even when rays of light never properly touched it. It was a weird place, as it seemed existing in the same space with the statue vault, so that the two in a way melted together. Flagstoned floor merged with rimed sand and tiled wall with dark, misty air. When it came to the hall itself, there was a blue, transparent sheen to every stone and living thing.

Upon an outcrop, nigh the border of the fused realms, stood a dark figure that gazed down into the vault whose ceiling was but a flimsy blue veil against the alien sky. A cold breeze occasionally blew through the vast emptiness of the odd land, but judging by the constant swirling and billowing of the shadow's robes, they possessed some uncanny life of their own.

The figure raised one hand to where its chin might have been, although in this deep gloom it was difficult to tell whether the limb was even fully human. Or the head, for that matter.

Oh... that lad was so... so... dreadfully amusing, the figure deemed somewhere in the hidden depths of its mind. And so akin to what had been foreseen eons agone, even if these past-flying thousand-years had been but fleeting whispers. Once you had descended into the lands beyond change, whole nations seemed to wax and wane in the span of what before might have felt like a single afternoon.

It wondered how much Master already guessed or even kenned about this young Av'ees, Son of Khran as he so proudly highte himself. Well... nought had been yet carven into the stone-book of destinies and judgment, but he was... oh... so intriguing besides possibly making even the grimmest, coldest rocks of the inner courts roll in mirth with his ludicrousness.

Well... even if he ne'er turned out to bear the long-whispered name upon his brow... Ah, aught that gave a good cheer beneath the starless welkins of this everlasting night was a worthy pursuit.

And there the figure continued towering, robes flapping around its frame, as Khran-Av'ees down in the ghost of a vault continued kicking and cursing at the statue, mostly oblivious of the unknown watcher.

Well, mostly oblivious in the sense that the sight of his mortal eyes was, alas, trapped into the realm of bone and flesh. Yet there lingered that certain itch on the edge of his mind whispering that everything was not as it should be...

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