i.
Hive
"Let me assure you, Kethilgern, I will get the information I want," snarled Bloodhem Spikeflail, gazing down at the figure bound to the chair. The terrified fettlelegger was trembling from head to taloned foot.
Bloodhem gestured to the two black-feathered shryke guards standing on either side of the door. "These fine shryke sisters said they caught you talking of the waifs. That friend you were speaking to has been dealt with, but I can assure you that they are thirsty for more treacherous fettlelegger blood…and unless you answer my questions honestly, you shall slake their thirst."
The snarling long-haired goblin paced up and down, and continued. "Tell me, Kethilgern, what do you know of that treasonous settlement known as New Edgelands?"
"N-nothing," stuttered Kethilgern. "I…I was just talking of…of how much longer the waifs could last down there, for s-surely our Glorious Leader, Vartolius Xax, shall locate them soon."
"LIES!" roared Bloodhem. He drew a bloodstained hammer from his belt and smacked it menacingly on the ground.
"I'm not lying!" shouted the fettlelegger, struggling against his bonds, his browless eyes wide with panic.
Bloodhem Spikeflail swung the hammer into the side of Kethilgern's skull. Dazed, head swimming, Kethilgern stared at Bloodhem, cringing in pain and terror.
"I'll strike harder the next time," growled the long-hair.
"All right, I'll tell you everything!" cried Kethilgern.
"Excellent," purred Bloodhem.
"I…I saw three waif skycraft heading in the direction of a village near Hive. I swear, that's all I was talking about…I don't know anything else."
SMASH! The hammer made contact with the side of the fettlelegger's head once more.
It took more than thirty seconds for Kethilgern to stop his head spinning this time. "Please! That's…that's everything I know! You've got to believe me!"
Bloodhem Spikeflail gazed at Kethilgern, his face expressing nothing but contempt and disappointment. Surely if the fettlelegger was concealing anything else he would not dare risk yet another blow. "Very well," he grumbled.
"Am…am I free to go then?" inquired Kethilgern desperately.
Ignoring the question, the long-hair crossed the room, staring out the window once more. "Shrykes," he said softly, "feast."
He paid no attention to Kethilgern's screams of horror, followed by his even louder shrieks of agony as the two shrykes split him open and began to devour his organs. "So," he grumbled softly, over the hideous ripping and tearing noises behind him, "the waifs are growing bolder."
He tore his gaze away from the barreling cranes, and looked up at the sky above the prisons and crematoriums of Hive. Perhaps the three skycraft were still here, conducting raids…
"Those diminutive, sniveling, mind-reading sneak-thieves are nearly as bad as the scoundrels in Omniphrax," he snarled, pounding a fist against the glasswood windowpane. "One of these days, I'll see to it that they are all purged from the Edgeworld."
ii.
The City of Yodels
The great underground chamber was full of yodeling calls and howls.
"WUH!" Silence!
The speaker was a large gray banderbear in the center of the chamber. The massive crowd of banderbears fell silent at once.
"Wurrah-urrow wurgh wah-wah!" I bring grave news. One who walks among us is a traitor.
"Wah!" shouted a small but wild-looking male. How can this be?
"Wuh-wuh, Lurroam worra-weg wah!" growled the gray banderbear. Lurroam, he with tusks of iron and ears of spidersilk, has abandoned our sanctuary. He has fallen in with the white-robed ones.
There was instant uproar. Every banderbear in the chamber roared and bellowed, some with indignation and rage, others with skepticism and disbelief.
"Wurgh, worra-wah urgola!" yodeled a female with silky brown fur. No banderbear would ever sell out his brethren. I will not believe this.
"Worremol lurgowa wuh-wuh!" barked a thin albino, rounding on the brown female in a contemptuous snarl. Worremol, your blind trust will one day be your downfall!
"Lurroam wah wurroo!" bellowed another voice. My faith in Lurroam was never strong. He is a coward and a wretch!
"WUH!" roared the gray banderbear once more. Again, the tumult died down at once.
The white-robed ones may now know of our secret location. We have always made preparations for this day. We must flee!
"Meerowa wurgh!" shouted another banderbear. Have you lost your mind, Meerowa?
The gray banderbear, Meerowa, continued. The solitary tracks of banderbears are never meant to be unified. See what has become of us in this place? Our peaceful ways have curdled, and we bicker amongst ourselves.
"Wuroo weg-worra wah-wah!" protested an elderly female banderbear. But we are fugitives from the white-robed ones. We would not survive!
There remains one place in the Edge where a welcome would await us, yodeled Meerowa. The eastern haven of the scholars.
We would never make it! argued the old banderbear.
The journey would be fraught with peril, agreed Meerowa solemnly, but it is our only choice. Lurroam has betrayed us to the white-robed ones; they know where we are.
I still do not believe that! shouted Worremol fiercely.
Let us suppose we agree with you, Worremol, and that our sanctuary is still secret. said Meerowa. What is there for us here? I would rather perish in the attempt to return to the old ways, than of old age in this place, trapped like a piebald rat.
At this, many banderbears shifted around.
Meerowa speaks the truth! proclaimed a toothless old banderbear, raising a massive paw in the air.
Soon, the entire room shook with the yodeled concurrences of the banderbears.
There is a secret passage, constructed long ago, that only the most senior of us have been aware of. said Meerowa. It emerges in the Deadwoods, many miles away from the surface city. Quickly, follow me!
iii.
Great Glade
"Faster, you great brute!" snarled Bruto Spleethe, lashing the great black banderbear with the menacing hammelhornhide whip in his hand.
A small convoy was moving through the cobbled streets of the New Undertown district of Great Glade. At the front was the carriage of the Commander of the Great Glade Military, pulled by Lurroam. Flanking them on either side were Freeglade Lancers. Once, this army had been charged with the noble job of protecting the beautiful Free Glades from slavers and other unpleasant visitors. With their green chequered collars, white tunics, and scarlet banderbear badges, they had crested the Deepwoods canopy, sitting astride magnificent prowlgrins and wielding mighty lances. Now, like everything else in the once-great city, the Freeglade Lancers served a different purpose.
The Freeglade Lancers no longer sported the famous uniforms, loyal prowlgrins, or even lances. Now, they wore charcoal-black robes emblazoned with a spiky red F on the front, and their belts were almost completely obscured by glisterguns, phraxfire globes, and sparktasers. Instead of faithful beast companions, the Freeglade Lancers piloted small, sleek glistercraft. And, rather than fighting for freedom and peace, the modern Freeglade Lancers typically spent their time flying to the remote districts and surrounding villages, bullying and torturing those who had failed to meet the tax demands of Xelius Pulnix.
Behind the Freeglade Lancers marched a phalanx of Phraxguardians. Most of these elite minions of Vartolius Xax patrolled Riverrise and carried out twisted experiments in the Great Phraxtower, but those Phraxguardians stationed in Great Glade, Hive and the other settlements of the Deepwoods functioned as a federal authority that could overrule the local forces. The Phraxguardians were dressed in flowing, pure-white robes with a circle of black lightning bolts on the chest. And, though they looked unarmed, it was common knowledge that the Phraxguardians had countless concealed weapons underneath their robes.
At the rear were the soldiers of the Great Glade Military. Once, the city had had many different military and police forces keeping order—the Old Forest Scouts, the Phraxmarines, the Great Glade Guard, and the Cloddertrog Constabulary, among others. Now, with the exception of the Freeglade Lancers, the armies had been consolidated to form a single, mighty force. These particular soldiers were trailing large, floating sumpwood cages behind them. Each cage was crammed full of small, fluffy, orange creatures with razor-sharp teeth and enormous mouths which wrapped almost completely around their bodies—wig-wigs. Lurroam was frequently darting terrified looks at the sumpwood cages as he trudged forwards.
Like the government that controlled it, the city of Great Glade was no longer the way it was long ago. The smoke-filled sky was a hideous boiling red, the smog in the upper atmosphere penetrated only by the glare of glisterships, and much of the city was obscured by a foul-smelling haze. However, many of the most impressive structures of the city were still visible. To the north, the Ledges district was full of massive, evil-looking sky ships, glisterjets pulsing and propulsion ducts roaring. Slightly south of the Ledges, the districts of Ambristown and New Lake were rife with staggering opulence and beauty—sealed inside vast, clear domes, so that the rich government officials who made their homes there did not have to breathe the terrible fumes. To the west, the district of Cloud Quarter was even more magnificent, completely taken up by the sprawling palace of Xelius Pulnix.
Further south, the city was quite different. The remote districts of the Northern and Southern Outer Cities were highly developed, and larger than ever, filled with sprawling masses of slums where most of the unfortunate citizens of Great Glade were forced to live. The former chimneys and smokestacks of East Glade and stiltshops of Copperwood were replaced with dark, sinister factories. East Glade was the location of the weapon factories, and Copperwood now produced glisterships…and in both districts, the hapless slaves who kept the cogs turning rarely lived past thirty years. The districts of Old Forest and the Silver Pastures were now just as industrial as East Glade and Copperwood; the factories here produced more innocuous items, such as furniture and cooking pots—yet the slaves here hardly fared better than those constructing weaponry and glisterships. The markets of New Undertown were perhaps less changed than the other districts, though it was far from uncommon to encounter slave-traders there these days.
Perhaps the worst fate of all, however, was the one suffered by the oldest and most historic district of Great Glade—The Free Glades. These days, that name was more than a tad ironic, for the Free Glades was the location of the government buildings and army barracks of Great Glade. It was from the Free Glades that the influence of Vartolius Xax and Xelius Pulnix was exercised.
"I said FASTER!" screamed Spleethe.
"Wig-wig," Lurroam muttered in fear, glancing over his shoulder again.
"FASTER, you dimwitted sack of fur, or they will dine on your flesh right here and now!" shrieked Spleethe, lashing Lurroam with renewed brutality. The black banderbear yelped and redoubled his efforts.
In a few minutes, the markets of New Undertown gave way to the foundries and forges of Old Forest. Foremen were zooming about on glistercraft, screaming insults and zapping the groaning slaves with sparktasers. Some of them merely moaned in agony and continued their work; others screamed as the bolts of energy hit them and shakily increased their speed; one or two of them dropped to the ground and did not get up. What was more, a few foremen who overstepped their authority were being publicly flogged by Phraxguardians and Great Glade Military Officers, howling in pain and humiliation.
"Well, well, well…a banderbear!" leered a flat-head goblin foreman, staring at Lurroam, clearly wondering if he could bully the occupant of the carriage into offering the rare creature up for servitude. However, the foreman's evil grin instantly vanished as he registered the phalanx of soldiers, and the Commander of the Great Glade Military, and he hastily scurried away before anyone could realize what he'd been planning.
"Wurrawoo wuh-wuh wurgh!" growled Lurroam, pointing to a soot-stained statue of a hammerhead goblin, larger than life, standing in the shadow of a massive factory. If the banderbear hadn't pointed it out, none of the group would have noticed it.
"He's saying that's the secret entrance into the City of Yodels," piped up the fourthling translator, who was sitting next to Spleethe in the carriage.
"Very well," said Spleethe. With a crack of the hammelhornhide whip, Spleethe severed the bindings harnessing Lurroam to the carriage. "Lancers, Guardians…I do not need backup; I can look after myself." he fingered the phraxfire globes at his belt. "Lurroam, lead the way. And you can follow behind us, Vinnius."
Spleethe stepped out of the carriage, followed by the fourthling, Vinnius. Lurroam hurried over to the statue, and beckoned Spleethe with his massive paw. Spleethe and Vinnius hurried over, and Lurroam gestured towards the exposed left ankle of the statue. Carved into the statue's ankle was a tiny image of a banderbear's head.
"Sky above!" gasped Vinnius. Spleethe grinned unpleasantly.
Lurroam gently pressed the carved banderbear head with one of his claws, depressing it like a button. At once, there was a groaning, shifting noise, and the statue of the hammerhead slid to the right, revealing a massive hole in the wall large enough for the three of them to enter.
"A sneaky little trick," snorted Spleethe, stepping in after Lurroam, closely followed by Vinnius. "But not sneaky enough."
They found themselves in a secret passageway which sloped downwards, becoming darker and darker with every step they took. Spleethe reached into his robe and withdrew a small, spherical glass object containing a sparkling, flashing, multicolored glister. He squeezed the sphere, and at once, the flashing light changed abruptly, becoming bright, steady, and blood-red, illuminating the passageway with a scarlet glow.
"Wuh-uh-uh-ooooo!" yodeled Lurroam in alarm, staring at the sphere with wide eyes.
"He says that 'The evil imprisonment of glow-seeds in machinery fills his heart with dread,' translated Vinnius.
"I told you to stop translating what that beast says into mumbo-jumbo!" snapped Spleethe, rounding on Vinnius in anger. The fourthling shrunk back, alarmed. "And as for you," he snarled, turning to face the large black banderbear, who cowered in fear, "Criticizing the Glorious Leader's invention of glister power is treason of the worst kind. Watch your mouth, or there'll be a phraxfire globe with your name on it!"
Trembling, Lurroam shook his great shaggy head, and continued down the passageway, still occasionally shooting glances at the glowing sphere.
Eventually, the tunnel leveled out, and they began to see smaller paths branching off of theirs. The musty odor of fur was unmistakable. The twisting labyrinth of tunnels became more and more complex as they continued on, but Lurroam never left the main path. At last, they came to a set of great doors, each decorated with an embossed banderbear head.
"Wah-wah wurragah wurra-woo," said Lurroam.
"This is the gathering hall," explained Vinnius. "They hold two-hour meetings here at this time every day. Every single banderbear in the City of Yodels is in this room right now."
"Excellent." growled Spleethe, unclipping one of the phraxfire globes from his belt. "All it'll take to wipe them out is a few of these."
Without further ado, Lurroam opened the doors. They swung open, to reveal a cavernous hall…that was completely empty.
Spleethe stood rooted to the spot for several seconds. Then, he turned to Lurroam, incandescent with rage. "Where are the banderbears? What's the meaning of this, you great dumb brute?"
"Wu-u-uh, wurgh wulla-weg wuh wuh!" cried the banderbear in fear.
"He says that his disappearance was noticed—they probably suspect he's a traitor," said Vinnius. "He says it looks as though they've all gone."
"Gone! Gone where? Tell me, before I splatter you across the walls!" screamed Spleethe, raising the phraxfire globe.
"Wuh-uh-uh, wulla-wuroo wurgh, wah weelura-woo!"
"He says that there is a secret tunnel that only the city elders are supposed to know about, but that he overheard them discussing," explained Vinnius. "It leads to a brambly old ironwood stand in the Deadwoods, a few miles east of Northern Outer City."
"Show me this exit, you miserable oaf!" snapped Spleethe.
Lurroam crossed the room quickly. The walls of the chamber were inlaid with elaborate carvings of banderbears throughout history, describing the plight of the noble beasts from the beginning of time. Strong banderbears who had escaped the evil Deepwoods slave markets in the dark ages even before Kobold the Wise…epic journeys undertaken by thousands of individual banderbears from all corners of the Edgeworld to reach the Valley of a Thousand Echoes, for their fabled Great Convocation…the beginning of the First Age of Flight, and those adventurous banderbears who had served the sky pirates…heartrending carvings depicting the way the banderbears' way of life was threatened by the encroaching settlements of the Third Age of Flight…the merciless slaughters conducted by Vartolius Xax and his armies…the establishment of the City of Yodels beneath Great Glade, and the valiant banderbears who had given their lives to ensure the safety of their fellows…
"Well?" demanded Spleethe, running his fingers over the phraxfire globe in his hand. "Where's this secret exit?"
Lurroam pointed at a carving that looked strangely out of place. Most of the carvings were depicting events throughout history, but this carving, which resembled the simple face of a banderbear, did not seem to signify any particular event. Lurroam pressed a claw against the banderbear's left ear, and, at once, the carving slid away, revealing another carving beneath it. Apparently, this particular chapter in the history of the banderbears was supposed to be concealed.
The new carving depicted several banderbears digging through soil, apparently carving out an underground tunnel. "Wuh," said Lurroam, pushing this carving, and it swung inward to reveal a long, dark passage.
"So that's it, then," said Spleethe, an evil smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. "All we have to do is follow the tunnel, and those pestilential lummoxes will be at our mercy!"
iv.
New Edgelands
"I have brought your supper," came the thoughts of the ghostwaif as he entered the small chamber, bearing a tray of bluebean porridge and a jug of water.
The ancient fourthling in the room sat up. He had a lined, weary face, a long white beard, and pale, almost unnaturally blue eyes. His clothing looked as though it had once been elegant and fashionable, but it was now little more than tatters. The most peculiar thing about the figure, however, was that he was glowing.
Every building and street in the settlement of New Edgelands was pitch-black—no sunlight reached this place, at the base of the Edge cliff itself, and the waifs had no need for lamps when they could see with their minds—except for this room. The mysterious golden glow emanating from the fourthling flooded the room with light, making the ghostwaif squint.
"You're too kind, Tintifuce," rasped the fourthling, his voice shattering the deathly silence.
The ghostwaif winced, barbells quivering. "I do wish that you would lower your voice," he thought to the figure, while, at the same time, underthinking: As if your infernal glow wasn't bad enough, cutting through our reassuring darkness!
The fourthling was unable to hear Tintifuce's underthoughts, but knew enough about waifs to realize that he was concealing something nasty. "I regret that I displease you," he thought in reply.
"Oh, don't be silly; it isn't a big deal," thought Tintifuce. Whereas I regret that Kilfitresse has not authorized me to end your miserable life.
With that, the ghostwaif left the room, slamming the door behind him, and the lock clicked. The fourthling swallowed a few mouthfuls of the tasteless gruel, took a sip of the water, and lay back down on the floor.
After a few seconds, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, and shuffled over to the barred window.
He could not see anything through the impenetrable darkness, but he knew that, beyond these walls, there were hundreds of dome-shaped buildings where the waifs lived. He turned his head in the direction of the Hangar…the large building where the waifs stored their skycraft. Of course, he could not see it through the gloom, but he knew that it was there. He then looked in the opposite direction. Beyond the buildings of New Edgelands, he knew, the barren, featureless rock stretched away into the distance forever.
There was a time, he reflected sadly, that he had been burning with curiosity about what lay below the Edge. Now, he wanted nothing more than to see the surface world again.
He didn't know exactly how long he had been down here, but he knew it had been hundreds of years. He was still not entirely sure what he owed his amazing longevity to, but he viewed it not as a blessing, but a curse. Especially because of the waifs.
They hated and feared him in equal measure. The darkness was their friend…it kept them safe. And he dared to shatter their darkness with his blasphemous, mysterious glow. But the waifs' equally strong fear prevented them from killing him. They were instead content to keep him imprisoned.
The fourthling reached into the pocket of his torn clothes, and pulled out a small, round portrait. It depicted a smiling youth with indigo eyes, wearing the armor of a knight academic, with the lofty towers of Sanctaphrax in the background.
"Alas, now I know exactly how you felt," he whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "To have a tale that never ends…"