True evil cares not for the loyalty or sacrifice of men. Only that it can use such men to fulfill its own selfish design.
Fires flickered around Thule. Lamps and torches defying the rain as it poured down from the storm above. Lightening flashed along their path, splitting trees and setting patches of the landscape aflame. Accompanying thunder shook the ground. Liquid ice poured over him, the rune tattoos along his flesh glowing deep red—rippling down his arms as each raindrop touched his skin. The enchantments kept his steed calm amidst the chaos—soldiers shouting orders, trying to be heard above the howling of the wind.
The sun had set in the distance, plunging the camp into blackness. Raging overhead, the magical storm clawed at the land, throwing sleet and snow about wildly. Thule was exceptionally pleased at the strength of the blizzard. The Tauku had done well.
“Kamen!” he roared. His horse shifted under him.
Armor rattled as a soldier ran up and bowed in such a way, it looked more like a squat. Putrid yellow skin peeked from under the helmet and chain mail vest. “Yes, Lord Thule?”
“Fires for the men,” he said simply, “Now.”
Kamen unlatched the barbed whip from his belt and cracked it overhead. “Alright scum! Axes up—we need fuel, we need FIRE!” he barked. “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!!”
Tools were snatched from wagons in haste. Giants dashed into the darkness—howling and barking at each other as they ran. Within moments, Thule could hear the sharp sound of chopping. Minutes later, felling trees.
Kamen’s curses rode the wind, accompanied by the cracking of his whip.
Looped around shoulders, soldiers pulled the trees into view. Waves of bodies, pulling the bounty of fuel into camp. Others jumped on top of the plants, swinging blades wildly, chopping limbs. Chunks were thrown into dozens of piles which surrounded the encampment.
Kamen eventually emerged through the darkness. This time dragging a Tauku by the scruff of its robes. The skinny, underdeveloped legs of the mägo scuffed along the ground uselessly, but few laughed. The taskmaster tossed the robe to the ground in front of one of the stacks of fuel.
“Light it!” Kamen threatened, “NOW!”
Thule grinned at the ruthless nature of his taskmaster. A complete devotion to duty with a loathing for all living things. He acts without fear of magical repercussion from the mägo race. Fool. They will flay his skin and drink his screams of pain at the nearest chance they get.
The Tauku lifted his head from the mud. With considerable effort, it stumbled up onto its tiny legs. It hissed angrily, this lips curling back in a snarl towards Kamen. The giant clawed hands curled inward and started to glow.
“Lieki-teolä-minä-ätäni!” it cried, lifting its palms upward.
Blue flame arched from the mägo’s hands, jumping upwards and hovering overhead. The flame split into small, sleek strips…spinning worms without heads, waiting upon their master.
“Move it!” Kamen roared at the mägo. Sharp metal barbs lashed out, striking the mägo’s back. The robes cloth split open. Blood flowed underneath. “Light them!!” he ordered.
Tentacles slithered out from under the muddy cowl. Pale, snake-like appendages that quivered and hissed, snapping back at the taskmaster.
Thule smiled again. A fool indeed.
Flame lunged through the air, unaffected by the winds, seeking a place to gorge themselves. Light and heat exploded through the camp as each blue flame dove and bit into the logs. One by one the fires raged to life, bringing warmth and light against the storm. A circle of magical flame, unaffected by the wind and rain.
Thule nodded, satisfied.
“MAKE CAMP!” roared Kamen.
Hundreds of hands pulled supplies from wagons, tethered beasts, unrolled tents and drove stakes into the frozen ground.
Huge, bulbous eyes flashed from under the hood of the Tauku. They locked on Thule.
Lord Thule smiled silently, then turned his horse away.
Chains trembled upon the ground, taking upon a life of their own. The taskmaster Kamen dropped his whip as one rose up from behind and wrapped around his neck. It squeezed tight, wrapping around a second time.
“URK!” he complained, eyes bulging.
The chain tugged backwards forcefully, keeping him off balance and yanking him away from the mägo.
Holding out a clawed hand, a leftover branch jumped up, into the Tauku’s grasp. It snapped the smaller branches from the limb. Flame jumped from the nearest fire to the mägo’s fingertips. With a smooth motion, the Tauku rubbed the surface of the wood with fire, singing and darkening the branch. Bending it, shaping it, until it looked like a short, hooked cane.
It leaned heavily upon the crude walking tool.
Blood still ran down the inside of the mägo’s arm, dripping over its fingers. It turned to face Kamen…teeth bared in a sadistic smile.
Chains pushed through mud, inching up Kamen’s legs. He tugged his head from side to side, grasping for breath. Curling around legs and arms, his wrists were forcefully pulled behind him. Only then did the animated chain offer him the chance to breathe.
“Release me!” he coughed and gagged. “Vile DOG—I said RELEASE ME!”
The Tauku grinned—the thin, papery lips curling up its unnaturally elongated face. Its bone-white tentacles quivered and snapped eagerly at its prey.
Kamen frowned. “Lord Thule!” he called out, the realization settling in. But Thule was already riding away.
“Sssstupid Vallen,” whispered the mägo, “only now doessss he ssssee hisss folly.” Pulling back its hood, the Tauku erupted in its gurgling versions of a laugh.
The chains started to glow with heat. Kamen wailed.
Then he screamed.
Tentacles quivered, swaying to the cries of pain as if it were beautiful music. It would be morning before the mägo would allow his prey to close his eyes in death. Until then, it would feast upon its pain.
Thule swayed in his saddle, satisfied. He had, once again, reinforced his hold over the camp.
A dark robe hobbled out, quickly moving front of his horse. Long tentacles snapped hungrily at his mounts flesh.
“We musst have more blood, my Lord,” it hissed. Behind the dark mägo, atop a heavy wagon, rumbled a black vat. It was held fast by thick chains stained red. The frozen images of humans screaming adorned each corner, arms outstretched, bearing the weight of the container. Gathered around the vat were eleven robes, swaying and chanting.
It was the vat that rumbled with the source of howling wind, rain, lightening and thunder. Thule could feel the magical power pulling, ripping at the very elements around them.
“The sspell musst be fed by the blood of innocentss.” The Tauku waved a taloned hand wrapped in dirty cloth across the landscape, pointing at the Vallen soldiers, “Thesse ssoulss will not do!”
It was this very incantation that hid Thule’s forces from the eyes of the enemy. The campaign cannot…he growled deep from within, will not fail.
“Dupël!” he roared into the wind.
Within moments, the master hunter lumbered into view.
Towering over the horse, the Therrin stood head to head with Thule. His face black under the sown flesh of his victims. “Yess, my Lord.”
“We require more blood for our Tauku brothers and flesh for the men.”
Dupël bowed his head, “Flessh hourss away.”
The Tauku swayed at the news. “It mussst not be ssspoiled! Mussst be alive, YESSS!”
Again the lumbering beast nodded, “Villagerss we have many. Wagonss of flessh will be yourss.”
Thule turned, ignoring the mägo. “And to the south?”
Dupël grinned wide, revealing filed teeth. Strips of what could only be assumed as his last meal, hung between the yellow canines. A heavy scent of rotting flesh assaulted Thule’s senses.
“Men and sslavess to sshipyardss. Three dayss time and they are ourss.”
“Excellent,” Thule replied.
It had been wisdom to purge the land of humans as they traveled northward. Blood for magic, flesh for soldiers and animals for both. Thule breathed deeply. Moisture and wind pushed outward, defying nature. Flames reached skyward, dancing over the silent screams of the ancient trees ripped from their forest homes. Yes, this is a land worthy of destruction.
Tonight he would let the men rest. Give them a fleeting moment of warmth.
“At first light,” Thule snarled maliciously at Dupël, “we run.”
