Traitor's Luck
Chapter VI
By Northstar
Disclaimer: ::looks at audience::Everyone know the drill by now? Good. Now, enjoy the story! ::Northstar leaves the stage::
The darkness withdrew, and the robed priest stepped into the light of the Labyrinth. Crossing quickly, not hampered in the least by his heavy black robes, the priest made his way to the urn that led to the series of tunnels that catacombed Jareth's kingdom. Descending once more into darkness, which was not as complete as that which he had be consigned to after their first conflict, the former Father Petya, who had once been second in command of the force that drove Jareth from the Aboveground using the Symbol of Ravenkind, thought about the events that had led to this fortunate turning.
"You alwaysss were an arrogant fool, your majesty," the priest muttered. Reaching the end of the ladder, the dark priest made his way further into the tunnels, going ever deeper into the heart of the Labyrinth. "Now, your arrogance will be you downfall..."
Softly flitting through the air, the tiny fairy watched in interest as the dark figure appeared and descended into the tunnels. Even from her aerial perch she could feel the waves of pure evil that flowed from the creature. With a shiver of fear, Gria headed for the castle. Joshuan would want to know about this! was her thought.
As the creature that was once Father Petya vanished into the depths of the Labyrinth, his old enemy, Jareth, King of the Goblins, was also descending into darkness.
Bouyed by the heaviness of the air, Jareth scrutinized each level of the Abyss as he continuosly floated downward. The heat of the barren wasteland that was the doorstep to the Abyss faded, to be replaced by an icy cold that almost froze his blood. Glancing over, Jareth's eyes were treated to a scene of a frozen tundra, inhabitants standing and lying frozen in blocks of ice, or having turned brittle and blue with the extreme cold. The cold light that flowed outward turned both his eyes a frosty blue, and left a little of the cold in his bones.
As he gratefully sank below that level, Jareth blew into his gloved hands to get them warmed up. With a newfound trepidation, he watched the ice crystals melt with the heat of his breath. The worst was yet to come. The sounds of a thousand voices crying out in agony assaulted his fine-tuned ears, and the sight which greated his eyes was horrific indeed.
Demons of various shapes and forms were herding the manes into armies, screeching orders and snapping whips made of fire that seared the rotting flesh from the manes' forms. The stench from the cursed, bloated forms overwhelmed the king, and he gagged and retched. He knew that he had arrived at his destination. This level was where the marilith known as Heratona made her base.
Whispering a spell of invisiblity, Jareth cautiously snuck by horrid armies. So these are the souls of the damned, he thought in morbid fascination as he held a cloth over his nose and mouth. I remember coming across mention of them in one of Gala's tomes. These are the souls of those who commited evil acts, yet did not warrant greater punishment! Jareth shuddered as he continued on, searching for the creature that held Galadrea's soul in slavery.
Unfortunately, for all his power, Jareth had never needed to deal with denizens of the lower planes before, so how was he to know that Heratona had ordered her armies to ignore him? Though he was indeed cloaked from mortal eyes, Jareth had left out one consideration: the denizens of the Abyss were not mortal...
"So, this is the little mage that has Petya so worried, is it?" Heratona laughed as she observed Jareth's form sneak past her oblivious minions. Her second set of arms crossed beneath her bare torso, the evil fiend wielded a wicked set of longswords with her upper arms and and heavy, enchanted battle axe in her lower arms.
Around her neck, a crystal pendant shone with a dull light, the soul it held still recovering from the drainage of it's magical essence. Grinning maliciously, Heratona sent a jolt of energy into the crystal, bringing Galadrea to conciousness.
*Wake up, little mage! I have something for you to see!*
Slowly, Galadrea opened her eyes, her form eagerly soaking up the little magical essence that Heratona had returned to her. "Wha s'it no, bitch?" she mumbled, shaking the cobwebs from her foggy mind.
*Why, someone has come to try to save you, mortal! Your king!*
Before Galadrea's horrified eyes, the clouds on one of the facet parted to reveal a dusty, tired, and weary Jareth cautiously making his way past Heratona's armies towards her castle-keep.
"You foul-smelling, arrogant, half-bred snake witch! If any harm comes to him, rest assured that even if it costs me my life, I will destroy you!" Galadrea replied venemously, her hand shooting out to hit the facet. As the vision faded, Galadrea turned her face upwards.
*Hah! Mortal, you are my slave, and soon shall your pathetic king join you. Do you know what is going on right now?* the voice of the marilith taunted Gala.
"No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me," Galadrea replied nastily, sarcasm and scorn almost physically cutting gray void.
The marilith's voice came back smug. *Even now, the one who set this trap up for Jareth is even now setting his plans into action. Yes, the Dark Priest and Jareth have quite a history, didn't you know?*
As Galadrea floated, stunned, her eyes became cloudy, and her surroudings faded. A scene unfolded before her vision, and as she watched the unknown scene, she had a feeling that what was being shown had happened long ago...
For almost fifty years he ruled from his mountain fortress in a land of lush woodlands that held perilous dangers. The castle had been beautiful once, when it had been under the stewardship of the Von Zaroviches. It had stood against the forces of darkness, until it had been defeated from within by a creature of terrible power. The Von Zaroviches had been scattered, and now all manner of fell creatures wandered the lands, under his rulership. The worst of these were the lycanthropes, shapeshifters which looked human, but capable of changing themselves into fell beasts. Also allowing his violent, slavish goblyns free sway, Jareth the Goblyn King kept the populous firmly under his thumb.
Only one beacon of hope was left in the land that had once been known as Barovia. That was the clergy, who gained their clerical powers from their patron god. However, such power was as nothing against the fiend in the castle. Jareth continued his rule of terror unopposed.
But then, one day, the king woke up to find an army at his borders. An army led by Count Strahd von Zarovich, rightful ruler of Barovia.
******
"If we attack up the River Luna, we should have a decent chance against the goblyn army," Alec Gwilym, Count Strahd's second-in-command counciled his superior.
"Gwilym has a point, my lord," Lord Victor Wachter put in, pulling his mail gauntlet from his hand. He looked over at his commander.
Count Strahd had a cunning expression on his noble face, a face that was hardened by a lifetime at war. "If the clerics have done as they swore they'd do, they should have a weapon to use against the Goblyn King by now. Defeat the head, and the body dies, but we must clear the way to the head," Strahd explained. That idea went over well with his generals. Most of them had been with the Count since he first formed his army and set out to reclaim Barovia and the other lands that had been lost years ago. The only thing that stood in his way was the endless, mindless horde of goblyns that were completely under Jareth's control.
Though many of them owed their lives to the clerics and their magical healing, many of these men had little use for faith in spiritual beings that seemed extraordinarily fickle. Faith was a luxury for the non-combatants and those who lived in times of peace. What counted to them was the abilities and intelligence of their commander. However, they were completely loyal to their liege, and would follow him to the death...most of them any way.
After dismissing everyone from his tent, Strahd sat at the table, gazing at the map, and brooding over the loyalty of his soldiers. Lady Yllana, head of the clerics that travelled with his army, was most certainly loyal. She was a force for good, and the existence of a being such as Jareth was anathema to her and her god.
Victor and Alec he was sure of also. The others though...perhaps one of the things that had contributed most to the Goblyn King's reign was that he allowed the Ba'al Verzi, a league of assassins free reign in his kingdom. Anyone could be Ba'al Verzi: the brother who you grew up with, your wife, by the gods, even the mother who bore you could be one of the infamous assassins!
These assassins were extremely good, and extremely patient, often waiting years to make a strike while building up trust. It was this threat that was the most deadly.
****************
"Bah! What do I care if the heir to Von Zaroviches wishes to set himself against me? I will strike him down as I have done all the others!" the king scoffed, gazing at his reflection in the elegant mirror. His pale-blond hair hung in stylish whisps about his angular face, with the majority trailing down his back. He wore a white, ruffled shirt that was open at the chest, a gold, fitted vest, and white tights with black boots. Behind him, his small werefox informant kneeled in obedience.
"My lord, the clergy has gone extremely silent. Not even our spies within the order know what is going on. They are up to something, something that I fear may overwhelm even your power," the little creature continued.
"Enough, Sir Didymus! My rule is absolute, and my powers unmatched. Do not talk to me of the clergy either. They are a spineless group that I can wipe out with a toss of a crystal!" he exclaimed, a mocking tone in his voice. At that, he held up a hand and formed a small, clear, crystal sphere. He gazed into it, willing it to show him the face of this Von Zarovich pup that had dared to challenge him.
The crystal remained blank, showing nothing.
With a vicious curse, Jareth threw the crystal at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it shattered into many pieces, which then, with a soft tinkling, fell to the floor and vanished. "Well, what are you still doing here?" he asked peevishly of the fox creature.
"As you command, my lord," Didymus replied, and quitely left his lord's chambers. Walking down the chambers, the noble werefox gently stroked his chinhairs. Though he was loyal to his lord, and would obey his every order, there were times when the knight felt as if he had given his oath of loyalty too easily.
With a sigh, Didymus shook his head. The lot of a knight was not to wonder or question, but to obey. Still, he had to wonder about the outcome of the coming battle.
*************
It was a fierce and bloody battle. The forces of Count Strahd swept through the mountain pass and up the Luna, slaughtering the unorganized hordes of goblyns and lycanthropes by the hundreds. Wisely, the Count had armed a special unit of calvary and foot soldiers with silver and enchanted weapons to deal with the steel-resistant shapeshifters. As the battle raged on, the forces of Light began to tire, while Jareth's goblyn forces kept on coming, a seemingly inexhaustible supply.
Meanwhile, at the Goblyn Castle, Jareth sat in his carved throne, a tight smile on his handsome face. His forces were taking a great many casualties, but they were mainly the worthless goblyns and now the Count's minions seemed to be tiring.
Laughing, Jareth banished the scrying crystal, and drank from the wine cup that one of his female slaves had brought. Beautiful yet mindless, since he had wiped the memories from each of them, reducing them to mindless, eager-to-please children. Yet, they held no appeal for him. They were boring.
At that moment, Sir Didymus rushed into the throne room. "My lord!" the fox-man yelped, his nature taking over for a minute.
"Yes, what is it?" the king asked in a bored tone, not really paying attention to his retainer.
"A force of warrior priests have appeared in the castle! They appear to have in their possession a holy artifact of tremendous power. As we speak, they are cutting their way through the castle guard in the courtyard!" Didymus explained, panting.
With an angry snarl, Jareth leapt to his feet, his attire automatically changing to an all-black ensemble, complete with a flowing black cape. "Hold them off, idiot! How did this happen anyway? GO!" he shouted. Nodding his head, Didymus left the throne room, quickly making his way to the courtyard.
"To me, men! We'll cut down these intruders like they are nothing! Success will be ours!" he cried to his soldiers, and was answered by their deafening cheer. "Well, then, CHARGE!"
As one, Sir Didymus's troops crashed into the ranks of armored clerics and warrior priests, matching swords and spears against the maces and morningstars and flails. At the forefront was Didymus himself, supporting his troops in the thickest parts of battle. Chants to their god ringing out, the holy force slowly began making headway, the blessings of their patron guiding their aims and hearts.
"Fall back!" Didymus cried as he realized that they were being overwhelmed. As he parried a blow with his sword, and blocked another blow with his shield, he missed the strike from behind. Turning at the last moment, Sir Didymus threw up his sword, barely deflecting the killing blow. Yet, the mace struck home, crashing down on his face. As everything went black, the loyal Sir Didymus reflected that death wasn't so bad...not as bad as the shame of living in defeat.
The tide of battle surged around the body of the knight, and the priests forced their way to the castle's main entrance.
****************
Sensing the defeat of his guards, Jareth decided the best course of action. Something was wrong. He had held dominion over the land for over 50 years. The Von Zaroviches had always been worthy foes, but the priests had never posed any threat. Which was why he had allowed them to exist. Now, for some reason, his minions had started to decrease in power.
The King turned away from the castle window and strode down numerous staircases to the entrance hall. Summoning the powers at his command, he cloaked himself in invisibity and awaited the priests. Time to put an end to those presumptuous fools.
The sounds of battle approached, and then the doors were blasted open, flying off their hinges. As the holy warriors spilled in, they formed an honor guard around a group of high priests. A toss of a crystal was enough to cause the majority of the holy men and women to jump and look around fearfully. Laughing, he watched the effect as his melodius voice rang through the entry hall.
"Well, well. The clergy finally grew a spine did they?" he laughed, slowly striding forward from the shadows. Weapons were raised, but the head priest motioned them back.
"Goblyn King, your reign is over," the high priest pronounced solemnly. Jareth crossed his arms and smiled, showing his tiny fangs.
"Oh really? As I recall, I have enough power in my smallest finger to wipe you all off the face of this planet, yet you can't touch me," he mused mockingly, his mismatched eyes ice cold and hard as adamantium.
One of the other priests dropped his hood back and shouted out, "We now have a holy weapon, spawn of evil, one given to us by our god specifically to destroy you!" The youngish priest's amber eyes blazed out of his face from underneath an illkept mop of longish-brown hair.
"Father Petya, silence!" the High Priest, Kir, admonished his junior. Jareth's eyes glimmered in amusement. Well, well, what have we here? Dissension in the ranks?
"The time has come monster, for your reign to end. Your army is being defeated by Count Von Zarovich's forces, and now it is your turn," the high priest continued, holding forth a golden symbol, carved with runes of power, and shaped like a sunburst with a clear crystal in the center.
"Really? Do try," Jareth hissed, power flaring around him and turning his eyes a pure white. A hurricane-force wind swept through the room, knocking many of the clerics to the floor. Kir, however, stood tall and proud, surrounded by Petya and the other lesser priests. The holy symbol flared with bright, pure light that came from the sun, creating a glowing, golden shield of sunbeams.
"This is the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind, Goblyn King," Kir intoned, holding the symbol aloft. "It was specifically given to us to use against you. Your end is now!"
Rays of light once against burst forth from the artifact, and a pure, focused beam lanced out from the center crystal, cutting through Jareth's defenses and striking him. Shrieking in agony, Jareth's powers faded, yet the holy light did not. Feeling himself weakening, Jareth looked up, hatred in his coldly beautiful eyes.
"You think this is the end? Foolish priests! This is only the beginning, and if I fall, I'm taking you with me!" he spat, and with his last remaining strength, sent a crystal at the priests. However, the crystal missed Kir, and impacted against Petya instead.
"No! NOOOOO!" the young priest screamed as he disappeared along with the crystal. Grimacing, Jareth reached deep inside himself, and summoned a power that he had hoped never to have to use...
The burst of dark light engulphed them all, bubbling outward until it took in the entire castle and courtyard. Then, as quickly as it had exploded, the dark bubble retracted, taking with it all those in the castle, who had given their loyalty to Jareth, and the king himself. Left behind were the dead, and the forces of Light.
Kneeling, High Priest Kir gave thanks to his god, while silently saying a prayer for Father Petya. It was there that Lord Strahd and his generals found them.