Chapter XLIIX: Deep Thinking
A lone bat spiraled high above the bleak landscape of Ramgost, weaving in and out of the dark clouds that covered the sky as it whirled northward. Below it flashed the desolate lands that had once been fertile with forests and streams, the country once known as Eriador. After the vampires had spread their reign over the land and driven out the inhabitants, the forests had all but collapsed, leaving diminutive patches of still green land, but reducing the remainder to desert like, cratered, dust filled land.
Above this wasteland, the bat performed a quick half loop and began a screaming descent, diving nearly vertically toward a massive valley, in the center of which loomed a gargantuan tower shaped like the fangs of the vampires. The bat accelerated faster as it closed the distance, then pulled up at precisely the correct moment, slowing to a normal pace just before the gates of the massive tower.
With a slight pop, Vrayon transformed, shaking his head from side to side and smoothing his wind-ruffled hair. The vampire began marching up the final few of the three hundred steps leading to the fortress's entrance, but a bellow from below stopped him in his tracks.
Smoothly, Vrayon spun on his heel, casting a collected glance down the flight of steps to the small assembly that awaited far below.
"Vrayon!" a harsh voice thundered. "Get your pointy-fanged hissing arse down here!"
The vampire transformed once more, raced down the stairway, then returned to human form just before the group of soldiers.
"Grishnákh," the Remnant General hissed, "I vould appresssiate it if you vould keep your tongue in check vile you are in my domain."
"I'll use whatever damn language I bloody well want to!" the massive orc thundered, taking a menacing step toward the vampire.
Six elite vampire soldiers, who had been attempting to keep the horde in check, simultaneously drew their long swords, points toward the ground, but the message was clear; advance further, and pay the consequences.
Vrayon held up a hand, holding the elites at bay for the time being. He coolly slid forward to meet Grishnákh, staring defiantly into the orc's eyes as he did so. The two stood motionless for a moment, before the larger of the two, Grishnákh, finally stepped back a few paces. The six elites immediately moved to flank their commander, swords still drawn.
Garulf, who had been sitting in human form on one of the steps below the orcs, gazing out into the barren landscape, rose and jogged up the steps to stand before Vrayon.
"Your men here say that we cannot enter," the lychen spoke evenly. "I was unaware that members of the Remnant were allowed such luxuries as denying their fellow soldiers, their," his gleaming red eyes flickered up to the elites, "Commanders, entry to fortresses. Is this a new law?"
Vrayon smiled smugly. "No, not at all. In fact," the vampire idly gazed at one of his claws, "It isss vone of ze oldessst lawsss of my people. None but vampiresss shall enter Dol Sssereg1."
"It was my understanding," Garulf countered smoothly, "That when one joined the Remnant, the laws of the alliance preceded tradition."
"Dol Sssereg isss not Remnant property," Vrayon hissed. "Ze barracksss and military compound to ze eassst are. You are velcome to ssstay zere."
The lychen snarled and clenched his fists, prompting the elites behind Vrayon to raise their weapons slightly.
"I will report that you treated commanding officers of the Remnant with utter contempt," Garulf threatened, "refused them the service entitled to them, and spoke against the laws. You know the punishment for treason."
The vampire General shuddered, recalling witnessing the Drow death squads executing those accused of high treason against the Dark Lord.
Vrayon was persistent, defiant even, but no fool. Resisting would get him nowhere but into trouble. Hissing under his breath, the General bowed low, spreading his arms.
"You are correct, General, and I apologissse for ze inconvienence my men may have causssed you. Ve are not acussstomed to visssitorsss, you mussst underssstand. Pleassse, enter. Velcome to Ramgossst."
Garulf grinned broadly. "Wise choice, Vrayon. I thank you, and I believe you will be glad to have us and the information we carry."
Vrayon stood and gestured to the elites, who regretfully sheathed their blades, stepped to the side of the stairs, then snapped to attention and saluted smartly.
The vampire General raised his hand toward the ominous tower. "I eagerly avait ze newsss you bring. Come, ve go to my private quartersss."
The lychen clapped the petulant uruk-hai on the back, then followed the vampire. The orc, turned and gestured to his men, who stood and began to follow the generals, some of them snarling at the vampire elites, who did not flinch, though the feelings conveyed in their eyes were ones of extreme hatred. Once all the orcs and lychens had passed, three of the elites spun and took up the rear of the procession, while the other three returned to their posts at the foot of the stairs.
The interspecies horde marched up the remaining steps to the humungous black gates, which creaked threateningly open. One by one, the soldiers entered into the gloomy darkness of the tower, until the only life remaining outside in the desolate valley were the ever-vigilant guards.
Dilotè groggily opened her eyes, blinking in the glare of the torchlight and the nearly rising sun. She hazily took in her surroundings; she appeared to be in one of the black-camouflaged temporary shelters the Drow stayed in during missions.
"Awake, I see?" the familiar baritone questioned from where he sat on his cot.
The Drow girl groaned wearily, covering her eyes with her hand.
"Feeling that well, eh?"
The Captain, glanced down at herself, seeing that Turdú had removed her plate armor and over shirt, leaving her with only her short sleeved undershirt.
Turdú turned away slightly, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. You were losing a lot of blood, and I..."
Dilotè weakly raised her hand. "It's fine."
She paused, scrutinizing the bandages. "Was I that bad off?"
Turdú gestured to a pile of purple blood-soaked rags just outside the tent entrance.
Dilotè let her hand fall down heavily onto the cot she lay upon, releasing a soft grunt.
"You did well, though," the General offered.
"Did I?"
"You eliminated the second and third in command of the Venyarohirrim, and you all but captured their leader," Turdú reminded the girl gently.
"Oh, yeah. The horsewoman. All but captured?"
"Well," Turdú admitted, "I had to tie her up. But you knocked her out. In fact, she's still unconscious."
Dilotè smiled slightly at this news. "How long have I been out?"
"Only a few hours," came the reply.
The girl sighed. "Good."
"Sir?" From just outside came the deep bass of the scout from before the battle.
"Come," Turdú responded, rising from his seat to greet the man.
The reconessaince soldier entered, saluting first the General, then the Captain.
"How art thou feeling, ma'am?" he inquired solemnly.
The girl smiled from her position on her bed. "I am much better, thank thee. Forgive me if I do not rise."
"But of course, ma'am."
"The report, sergeant?" Turdú pressed calmly.
"Sir," the sergeant nodded briskly. "There are no enemy soldiers trailing us. I returned to the battle site, and I must say, it is quite impressive."
"Mornië will be pleased," Turdú commented.
"Indeed he shall, sir."
Turdú nodded, inspecting his ceremonial dagger that he always kept at his waist. He glanced up suddenly, drawing the blade, his dark eyes shining. "Kneel."
The soldier's eyes flickered questioningly, and his glance shot to Dilotè, who had closed her eyes, resting again. After a moment's hesitation, the soldier dropped to one knee before the General.
"Captain," Turdú called softly.
"Mm?" Dilotè groaned, eyes still closed.
"If thou could spare one more moment of rest," Turdú offered.
The girl's eyes opened, shot first to Turdú's face, then the soldier's, and finally the dagger. She then painfully propped herself onto one elbow, her eyes glowing.
Turdú catiously slid one hand behind Dilotè's unharmed shoulder, assisting her, while with the other, he touched the sergeant's forehead with the blade of his dagger.
"Name, soldier," the General commanded.
"Velkyn Tenn," the soldier answered.
"Sergeant Velkyn Tenn," Turdú recited, "By the power invested in me, General Turdú Morngul, and Captain Dilotè Linta, by the Dark Lord and Savior Maneva Mornië, I hereby promote thee to the rank of First Lieutenant in the Remnant army. Rise, Lieutenant."
Velkyn's face glowed with pride as he rose from his knee. Turdú gently eased Dilotè back onto the cot, turned, searched through his pack for a pair of Lieutenant shoulder stripes, and then handed them to the newly promoted soldier.
"Place these on thy uniform," the General instructed, "And have one of the orderlies paint another stripe on they armor."
"Yes, sir," Velkyn beamed.
"Dismissed, Lieutenant. I will see thee in the next officers meeting," Turdú saluted.
"Thank thee, sir."
"Thou earned it, soldier."
As the assembly of soldiers entered the main hall of Dol Sereg, Vrayon gestured down the hallway to the right.
"If ze sssoldiersss vould be ssso kind asss to follow my elitesss," Vrayon suggested, "Zey vill show you to your quartersss. Ze Generalsss may come to my quartersss vith me."
The vampire turned to his comrades. "Are your captainsss presssent?"
"Captain Wyvren is currently commanding the troops inside Lycha," Garulf responded.
"As of last night, I have no Captain," Grishnákh growled. "He was killed, along with all his soldiers, in the forests of your lands."
"I am deeply grieved," Vrayon hissed, sounding not the least bit sorry. "I assure you, it vasss not my troopsss zat ssslew zem, zough ve did take down ze infidelsss who did so. As a matter of fact, I jussst lossst my own Captain a few hoursss ago to rebelsss, which probably ssslew yoursss, earlier."
Grishnákh growled in answer, turning to his troops. "Follow the elites."
The orcs and lychens saluted, spun, and continued down the hall behind the three vampire soldiers.
"Vell zen," Vrayon hissed, "Shall ve move to my quartersss?"
A few minutes later, the Generals saluted the guards outside Vrayon's private headquarters, entered the door, and sat at the large table that Vrayon gestured to.
"Ssso," the vampire began as he sat, "Vat newsss do you bring to me?"
"The Udunaedos are in your country," Garulf spoke sharply and straight to the point. "We are here to assist you in killing them."
"I had guesssed zat zey vere here. However, I do not believe I requesssted your asssissstanssse, did I?"
Garulf smiled smugly. "You did not, but Mornië did. It is by his order that we are here."
Vrayon stroked his goatee thoughtfully. Mornië had great confidence in the vampire, but he knew that the Drow looked derisively upon the orc and lychen, using them as arrow-fodder. The Dark Lord would certainly not expect, even with the assistance of the other two Generals, that Vrayon would have the ability to slay the Noldor. In fact, the vampire recalled his Master having once commented that the only one who could kill the elves would be Mornië himself. Though Vrayon questioned that fact, he knew that he was not in any mood to take the Udunaedos on at the moment.
Mornië knew this, Vrayon was certain. Therefore, the farce of killing the two champions was not the real reason that Mornië had sent Garulf and Grishnákh. The Drow was counting on Vrayon to determine that reason.
The vampire recalled Turdú countering Mornië's comment by saying that if he, Vrayon, and Dilotè were to fight the Noldor, that they could slay them. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord had ceded that the comment could have truth in it. Yet, he had not sent either of the other Drow.
Vrayon wondered where Turdú was, and then recalled Mornië's brilliant plan in the Dead Marshes. A mission that Turdú could actually accomplish, the vampire thought to himself sarcastically. The Drow General had failed to acquire the coveted Night Crystal again and again...
That was it. Vrayon had consistently proved to Mornië that he would put everything he had into completing any mission he was assigned. By sending the other two Generals and not Turdú, Mornië was ordering him to secure the Night Crystal.
The vampire spun on his heel.
"Lieutenant!" he barked at the door, which swung open immediately, opened by a guard, sword drawn.
Upon seeing the vampire General standing with a smile, the Lieutenant sheathed his blade and saluted smartly. "Sir!"
"Get me Major Ravnor," Vrayon ordered sharply.
The lieutenant saluted and exited the room.
"What is the meaning of this?" Garulf growled questioningly.
Vrayon held up a hand, halting the inquiry. The lychen snarled softly and leaned back in his chair, glaring harshly at the vampire.
A moment later, the Lieutenant returned with a tall, gaunt soldier that, though he would haunt the dreams of humans, would be the poster-boy of the vampire army.
"Commander," the vampire snapped with a salute, showing his set of blue stripes that signified the rank of Major, the third highest rank in the Remnant.
"Kneel, Major," Vrayon ordered briskly.
Ravnor's eyes widened as he knelt, not quite believing what was happening.
Vrayon spun his ceremonial dagger from inside his cloak and touched the other vampire's forehead. "By ze power invesssted in me, Vrayon, and zessse two Generalsss, by Maneva Mornië, I declare you Captain of ze Vampire Army of ze Remnant. Rissse, Captain."
The newly promoted Captain rose to his feet and saluted sharply.
"To what do I owe zisss honor?" Ravnor inquired, still somewhat shocked.
"I have a special mission for you, Captain," Vrayon hissed.
"Oy, this should be interesting," Grishnákh snarled.
Vrayon grinned a disturbing smile, revealing his long white fangs.
"Oh, it shall, my friend."
1 The Tower of Blood
