Lanaris and Pronias sat side by side at the table, and the dor-maja sat on its haunches behind them, its head a full three feet higher than theirs. “Good morning gentlemen,” said the Paladin. “Thank you all for coming at such short notice. Before we do anything else, could we please have all the curtains and shutters closed? Our guests here...” He indicated the four robed figures who’d been the last to enter “are very sensitive to sunlight.”
Attendants went around the room, closing all the curtains and shutters, and as darkness fell around the table, some glowbottles on the wall were lit, producing a dull red light that was just enough to see by.
As soon as this was done, the four robed figures lowered their hoods, and a gasp of horror and outrage broke out around the table. Delegates jumped to their feet and reached for their weapons. The first two, whom Resalintas had thought were demi shaes, were in fact nothing of the kind. They were members of a race implacably opposed to both humans and the shae folk ever since the moment of first contact between them. They were almost human in general appearance, but their skins were as white and slimy as drowned slugs and their huge eyes bulged out of their heads as if they were being strangled. Fell men! Evil, subterranean creatures who were the sworn enemies of virtually everything else in the world but who, for historical reasons, felt a particular enmity for the shae folk.
Great though the delegates’ surprise at seeing them was, though, it was the other two, the two whose outlines beneath their robes had so disturbed Resalintas, who caused the greatest uproar as their true nature was revealed. The dim, red light from the glowbottles gleamed wetly on their slimy, rubbery, purple skin. Their evil octopus-like eyes glittered as they swept the room, eyeing the mammalian bipeds the way a cuttlefish eyes a crab just before it pounces, and the single coiled proboscis that emerged from the centre of its face throbbed and pulsed hungrily as if in anticipation. Even Resalintas jumped to his feet at the sight of them, drawing his sword and preparing to pray for protection from their telepathic mind attacks. Even the greatest warrior in the world would be terrified by the sight of a slaver, one of the most terrible and dangerous of all the inhabitants of the World Below.
Dangerous though they were, though, they wouldn’t have lasted long against a whole roomful of enraged people, most of them fierce and experienced warriors, but as the nearest delegates lunged towards them they hit an invisible, rubbery barrier that prevented them from harming the subterraneans. Baffled and confused, they stared at Lanaris for an explanation.
“Please, gentlemen, please,” said the Paladin, rising to his feet. “Please return to your seats. Let us conduct ourselves in an orderly and civilised manner.”
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the Beltharan Prince in outrage. “How dare you bring these creatures to our meeting? I understood this was to be a council of war, to organise and co-ordinate our response to the Shadowlord’s menace, not an open day for any monster or demon to attend!”
“The cthillian and gl-hug ambassadors have good reasons for being here,” said Lanaris calmly, “and if you will all settle down and return to your seats, they will explain it for themselves.”
As the Paladin called upon the powers granted him by the God of War, the delegates one by one fell silent and sat down, although they remained wary and kept one hand on their weapons as one of the fell men stepped forward to speak.
“My name is Halandramancos,” he said, a gurgle in his voice as if his throat were filled with water, “and I represent a coalition of a dozen houses who see the Shadowlord as a threat. Not only to you of the World Above, but also to we of the World Below. When he has defeated the entire surface world, and make no mistake, he will do so without our help, he will not be content but will descend to the World Below to conquer that as well. We have not interfered with your wars with him in the past because we were confident that you could defeat him on your own, but he is stronger now and his forces on this world are under new leadership. We have analysed the tactics and strategies he has used so far and, together with our best estimates of his total strength, our projections lead us to believe that his eventual victory over you is inevitable. We have decided that it is in our best interests to fight with you, therefore. Even with our help, the war will not be easy and victory is far from assured, but you will at least have a chance.”
The delegates listened in stunned disbelief. The fell men, offering to help them? The Beltharan prince leapt to his feet again, his face scarlet with fury. “We don’t need any help from the likes of you to defeat the Shadowarmies!" he bellowed. "We defeated them before, and we’ll do so again! I see your offer for what it is, a shallow attempt to trick us into revealing our plans to you so that you can betray us to him! What do you take us for, fools?”
“Who are you?” asked the gl-hug coldly.
“I am Al-Tar Fennerel Ronus, Prince of Belthar and heir to the throne,” replied the prince proudly.
“Well, Al-Tar Fennerel Ronus, you are the fool, and if you refuse our offer of help, both you and your Empire are doomed, as is the rest of the world. We are your only hope. Accept our offer and you may be victorious. Reject it and you certainly will not be.”
“We will not...” began the Prince again, but the General also rose to his feet and whispered something in his ear. The Prince glared at him in fury, but sat back down, simmering to himself in silence. The General, still standing, then spoke to the fell man. “You said that you represent a coalition of twelve houses. Does that mean that only those of you from the twelve houses are willing to help us?”
“That is correct,” replied the gl-hug. “Unfortunately, owing to the nature of our society, it is virtually impossible for us all to agree on anything, and what one proposes, another routinely opposes. It was a major diplomatic achievement for as many as twelve houses to form a coalition, and only the undoubted severity of the situation made it possible.”
“About how many of you are we talking about here?”
“Five thousand, one hundred and seventeen huglars.”
The General frowned. “The gl-hugs are mighty warriors, and word of their coming is enough to strike terror into even the best human soldiers,” he said. “Even so, five thousand is not many compared to the size of the Shadowarmy, or the Beltharan army, and while any help is welcome...” The Prince started to protest, but the General glared at him and he shut up. “And while any help is welcome,” he continued, “I fail to understand how such a relatively small army could have the kind of decisive effect you claim. Why does our victory depend on you? What can you do that we can’t do for ourselves?”
Resalintas watched the interplay between the Prince and the General with approval. Evidently, he’d misjudged the relationship between the two, and he guessed that the General had been told by the Emperor himself not to stand any nonsense from his son, and not to fear any repercussions if he found it necessary to slap him back into line. He’d never met the Emperor in person, but he already approved of him, a rare privilege that few had ever earned.
“The thing we can do that you cannot is enter the Shadow itself and hit the enemy in his homeland,” replied the fell man. “The Shadowarmy exists in a state of barely controlled anarchy, and it would require only a small amount of sabotage, a small number of assassinations, behind the enemy lines to disrupt their tactical command hierarchy, greatly impeding their ability to wage war. The enemy is not completely devoid of common sense, however, and so keeps all his command structures safely inside the Shadow, where you cannot reach them. We can reach them, however, and with your agreement, we shall do so.”
“Why do you need our agreement?” asked the General. “If you can do this, then why don’t you just do so? Why bother to ask our permission?”
“The enemy controls all the access points between the World Above and the World Below that are inside the Shadow. To reach the surface world, we have to use an access point within your territory, and the freedom to move through your territory without being attacked.”
“Can you do that?” asked the General in surprise and alarm. “I thought you couldn’t stand the sunlight. Why else do you remain in your dark, underground cities when you could live on the surface?”
The fell man glared at him. “The arrogance of your race is beyond belief. You imagine that because we live underground, where the light of your accursed yellow sun cannot reach, that our lives must be empty and miserable. You cannot imagine the beauty of our cities, the wonder of our architecture, the effort and skill that goes into the construction of even the most insignificant building, the smallest bridge, the narrowest tunnel. Your human cities are hovels in comparison. Live on the surface? Why would we abandon our beautiful cities to live on the hellish surface, where the sun burns the eyes, hurricanes howl and water pours down from the sky? We can tolerate the surface, so long as we wear heavy cloaks to shield our skin from the light, but no gl-hug would choose to live here.”
The General sat down, chastened but satisfied with the answer, but Resalintas wasn’t happy with it. Self preservation was a good and plausible reason for the fell men to want to help human civilization, but some instinct told the elderly priest that there was more to it than that, something the ambassador hadn't told them. He stood, therefore, and addressed the subterranean creature. “I believe you have another motive for wanting the Shadowlord defeated," he said. "Please tell us what it is. Your real reason for making this offer to help us.”
The fell man glared back angrily, and the priest locked eyes with him. Not many creatures in the world could stand up to the priest’s firm gaze without cracking, but the fell man managed it, returning his gaze without wavering in the slightest. Even so, though, he decided that it might not be a good idea to risk lying to this man. “You are correct," he said therefore. "We do have another motive. The Prince of the Undead is growing in power and status in the hell dimension in which he resides. Our priests tell us that he may soon achieve the status of a true God, in which case he will be in direct competition with the Goddess Atlacha, Queen of Spiders, praise Her name. By opposing him, we will gain Her favour, therefore, and rise in power among our people. This is of no concern to you, however. What do you care why we wish to help you? We wish to do so, and that is all you need to know.”
Resalintas nodded, completely satisfied with the answer. That sounds more like it, he thought. He turned to the slavers. “What about you? Are you also here to ask our permission to cross our land?”
“No,” replied the creature. It communicated telepathically, since it lacked the vocal apparatus for normal speech, and the priest shuddered as its projected thoughts turned into words that crawled around inside his mind like slimy worms. “We have not come to ask for anything. We have come to inform you that we will be passing through the territory that you have claimed for yourselves and to warn you not to interfere with us. You are of no interest to us. We will not interfere with any humans or any other surface dwellers we come across during our journey to the Shadow, but if we are attacked, we will strike back with ten times the force that is used against us. Remember that we allow you to inhabit the surface of our world solely because we have no use for it and you are no threat to us, but if you become a threat we will wipe you out utterly. Do not doubt our ability to do so.”
There was some angry muttering around the table, mainly from the trogs, the Nyundians and Prince Fennerel, but the Calmanian delegate stood and held out his hands for silence. “I don’t understand why you have to travel on the surface at all,” he said to the cthillian ambassador. “You are capable of astral projection, Why don’t you just astrally project yourselves straight into the Shadow?”
The slaver looked back at him with its mottled grey, dumbbell pupilled, octopus eyes, as cold and emotionless as those of a dead fish. “Astral projection is not the same as actually being there,” it said, its proboscis coiling and uncoiling thoughtfully. “Also, it is not possible to astrally project into the Shadow. We have tried. We would not emerge onto the surface unless it was absolutely necessary. Like the gl-huga, we can survive on the surface, with suitable protection against the sunlight, but we do not enjoy it.”
“So long as you attack only the Shadowsoldiers and their allies and take no hostile action against civilised people, we will not interfere with you,” said Lanaris. “We all give you our word.” He called upon each of the delegates in turn to take the vow, and they all did, although with grave reservations. Only Prince Fennerel protested, stating quite categorically that the presence of evil, subterranean creatures in Beltharan territory would not be tolerated, but the General overruled him and made the promise on his behalf, whereupon the two slavers pulled their hoods over their heads again and left the room without another word, followed by the fell men.