Apostles of Doom

“Word should be getting out,” Tal Gor said. He gestured to Ferroos, the Stone Finger shaman. “We dream conferenced with the Shamanic Council at Mount Orc; they have all the details of the battle, the results and the discussions surrounding the prisoners. including Zargvarst’s promise.”

“They were very pleased, I might add,” Ferroos said, nodding.

“Indeed, the cheering was quite boisterous.” Tal Gor grinned at Zargvarst. “They will be relaying it out to all the tribes, as well as those in Murgandy, the Federation and Ferundy.”

“And to Jotungard as well, of course.” Ferroos nodded.

“Excellent,” Egrida said.

Lob Smasher nodded. “Of course, should they accept the deal, we have no way of verifying it,” he said.

“The Grove has set itself up as interlocutor; perhaps we hold them responsible for verification?” Zargvarst suggested.

“They do seem to like interlocution and getting in the middle of everyone else’s affairs,” Elgrida said. “Out of respect for their current usefulness, I will not use the word that perhaps best describes their function.”

Zargvarst chuckled. “Yes, no sense in insulting them to their faces, or now behind their backs, at this point.”

Tal Gor shook his head. “I get the impression that, for some incomprehensible reason, they do not find such words insulting.”

Lob Smasher grinned. “In truth, and while they may not find the words insulting, they would know that should we say the words, we could only do so as insults.”

Nimbus: Nineses

“So when will Prince Ariel get back to you?” Maelen asked Trevin as she gently blew over her extremely hot tea.

“I have no good idea.” Trevin shook her head. “He was extremely frustrated, more so than I believe I have ever seen him.”

“Frustrated? That is not an emotion I would expect from an alfar,” Elrose said.

Trevin took a sip of her tea, smiling, then tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “True, yet, nor would I expect an orc, or in this case, I suppose, a D’Orc, to get the better of an alvaran prince at the negotiating table.”

“So did he know this Zargvarst?” Gastropé asked.

“Given Aeriel’s very brief tightening of his brow, right between his eyebrows, the slight narrowing of the eyelids and the mildly flaring nostrils?” Trevin nodded. “I suspect so.” She chuckled.

“You actually seem to be enjoying this,” Jenn said to the enchantress.

“Prince Ariel is a friend and colleague of mine, yet he can be a bit hot-headed, impetuous and downright imperious, even for an alfar,” Trevin said. “He overstepped the boundaries that he himself negotiated through the Grove with the orcs.” She shrugged. “For once, the orcs have the upper hand. They do not get that very often.”

“You sound rather pro-orc,” Jenn said, puzzled.

“I am neutral; that’s the entire point of the Grove,” Trevin stated. “I try to stay above the fray, so to speak. Of course there are exceptions — those who do not wish to play by the rules the rest of us have agreed to. In those instances, I am less neutral. Neutrality does not mean passivity.”

“You mean like the Storm Lords?” Gastropé asked.

“And, at certain points in time, Oorstemoth, as well as others.” Trevin nodded.

“But the orcs play by the rules?” Jenn asked skeptically.

“By their interpretation of the rules. Yes, they are very honorable in their own way, even as are the alvar. However, misunderstandings arise, tempers flare and wars happen. The Grove seeks to prevent such things from happening — at least, between the various races, and the worlds upon which we operate. We stay out of a race’s internal affairs.”

“What about this demon lord? Orcus?” Jenn asked.

“Orcus?” Trevin sighed.

“Lord of the Underworld, the Damned Prince, as I recall you saying,” Maelen said with a smile.

“Hard as it is to believe, he died before I joined the Grove,” Trevin said.

“But with a name liked the Damned Prince, how trustworthy can he be?” Jenn asked.

“That is a matter of perspective. I used the term ‘Damned Prince’ because that is the title given to him by the alvar.” Trevin said. “However, in some stories, the title would be better phrased as ‘Prince of the Damned.’ ”

“Why is that better?” Gastropé asked, frowning.

“Are you familiar with the ancient phrase, ‘Thrice damned be he who breaketh his oath?’” Trevin asked.

Gastropé shrugged, glancing at the others. “Of course.”

“Well in certain circles, Orcus is the Punisher of Oath Breakers, and Lord of the Underworld to which they are cast down,” Trevin said.

“So he took oaths very seriously?” Jenn said.

“Yes. He is in charge of punishing those who break their word,” Trevin said.

“You mean like Talarius, who broke his oath and allowed the Rod to assist him in single combat?” Gastropé asked. “Who he then dragged down to the actual underworld, the Abyss?”

Trevin stared at him in shock, as did the others. No one said anything for a moment.

“How did I miss that?” Trevin shook her head slowly from side to side. “I have been so blind.”

“That certainly makes the most sense of anything we’ve heard,” Elrose said.