Bad Blood Runs Black chapter 40 part 1

Bad Blood Runs Black - chapter 40 part 1 by John "Basileus Ioannis"

“Are you pulling my leg?!” blurted Chawinda, nearly dropping the tiny crystal ball. “You are going to depend on that Mundhelm to go find Gemma? You’re nuts! Right after we talked to Haergrim’s sister, you told me that he and Viturhimin might have had something to do with the airship going missing!”

“Well, I suspected that he might have something to do with it,” said Pana, “since he would benefit from restarting the war. But that was before I got these instructions from my deity. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, either, hun...but I seriously doubt the gods would want me in trouble, or Gemma for that matter. He’s a prime suspect, sure, but my deity did say he was an ‘unlikely source’ of help.”

“You know I’ve never questioned this before...hells, never had a reason to before...but are you damned sure you got the instructions right? Your holy instructions, that is?”

The high priestess sighed. “She’s never steered me wrong before...yes, I have faith I got it right, the destination, the altitude, and the person I am to contact. Like back there in Gertrude’s office, my faith told me to wait. So until that...” She reached over and took the sphere back before the drow really did drop it, “...this crystal ball tells us it’s time, we should get back to the castle, and let Mother and Father know what we’re going to do.”

The two, astride their galloping horses, continued through the city streets wordlessly, the sound of the shoes on the hooves striking the cobblestones echoing through the nearly deserted boulevard. They did not notice a glow coming from one narrow alley they passed, scattering a couple frightened rats.


A few seconds later, a knight in full plate armor stepped out from between the buildings. Sir Jurgen looked left and right, as if searching for something. He saw the castle looming beyond the Forum, turned towards it stiffly, and began clanking down the center of the avenue.

A merchant wagon had pulled out from another alley with a load of radishes, but seeing the approaching knight, had to quickly pull over to avoid running him down. The teamster, looking consternated, glared at him but said nothing, eyeing the warrior’s longsword hanging from his baldric. What in the hells is his problem? Staggering like a drunk down the middle of the street, he thought.


“Roger, Schneehund Six, read you have returned to base. Proceed to the castle, Sir Jurgen...the Grand Duke wishes to debrief you, over,” the operator in the castle library spoke into her crystal set.

An image of Sir Jurgen’s face filled the crystal ball. He was still dressed in his black commando attire. The knight looked weary from his mission into the fens, his black hair matted with perspiration, his face grimy. “Roger Lawine, I’ll be there within the hour, Schneehund out,” said the knight’s deep voice.

Several feet away, Loewenherz and Lilde were still seated around the map-covered table. The grand duke twirled a strand of his blonde beard in his fingers, a look of concern on his face. “I am not questioning your faith, my daughter...but if the gods have granted you the spell to locate your sister, why not use it now, so we all know immediately?”

“I can’t, Father...I am waiting for the signal to teleport, if I expend the spell now, I might not have time to pray for another copy. Please understand,” said Pana.

“I really don’t like these instructions,” said the grand duchess to her daughter. “You are putting yourself in considerable danger, even with your Feather Fall ring. And to go to that man...” She crossed her arms and clutched them with the opposite hands as if she was cold.

“I know Mother, I was surprised too, especially right after the conversation with Rilthien. Yet, the instructions were so specific, I don’t believe there is any room for interpretation, or error. This teleportation artifact is set for those coordinates, and this crystal ball will tell us when to go.” She held up the brass-colored lozenge in one hand, the clear fist-sized sphere in the other.

“While your bodyguard is most capable, won’t you take more with you? At least some of my guards,” offered her father, waving an arm at some of the largest, strongest soldiers in the realms who were posted around the library.

“No, Father, I thank you for your concern...but I don’t feel the gods are sending me into a hostile situation. Chawinda alone may be accepted, whereas a detachment of armed troops might be taken as an affront.” Inwardly, she smiled, knowing the effect bringing a drow onto a High Elf airship would be. She didn’t fear a confrontation, knowing that any threat against either would be tantamount to an act of war. But she didn’t have to make things comfortable for Mundhelm.

“Pssst...missy...” whispered Chawinda, who stood behind Pana’s right shoulder. “You sure Rilthien will get hold of Mundhelm? I think dropping in unannounced won’t be a good idea...”

The high priestess turned to the drow and whispered, “Yes, hun...will you stop worrying? She makes it sound like it’s hard to reach him, but I know for a fact that she’s got her own crystal device, there’s no way he can’t receive her message.”

“That’s assuming she USES her crystal ball,” added the bodyguard darkly.

(Author’s note: do you realize how long I’ve wanted to use that line, that Chawinda said something “darkly”?  Usually it’s Haergrim bringing down the gloom and doom...)


Rilthien sat in her room, talking into her crystal set in Elvish, the velvet cover collected around it. “Yes, Serrasqer Bashal, that is what the Vesterlaending princess said, in its entirety.”

Mundhelm’s placid, smiling face was in the sphere. “Very well, Qezeveliate Rilthien. We will rendezvous with her at those coordinates. Although, her deity must have a sense of humor! Why not just ask us to land in the capital city there, make things easier?” His grin widened to impossible proportions, probably a parabolic distortion due to his leaning closer to his crystal set more than his face taking on unnatural elasticity. His face became less misshapen as he pulled back a bit. “The gods never fail to amaze...how they could possibly know exactly when and where I would be at a given time...ah, but alas, they didn’t tell her when, did they?” His image showed his fingers pressed together in front of his smiling face.

“Yes, Serrasqer...would you like me to tell her what sort of vessel you would be flying in?”

“No, daughter of Rohrgrim, no need to tell them too much, too early...just reassure her that we will meet her. That will be all, thank you.” The image waved one hand, and the crystal ball went dark.

Rilthien let out her breath, her head drooping to face the floor. She raised her shaking hands, and covered the sphere with the velvet cloth, then stood up to relay the message.

Mundhelm stared at the darkened crystal set, his fingers still pressed to his lips. Suddenly his visage became terrible with anger, as he viciously slammed balled fists down on the table, causing the massive sphere to move a finger’s width on the tabletop. “How?! How would the gods know that we would be moving through there soon? And to let the Vesterlaendinge know...”

He sighed, opening his hands and pressing the palms down flat, stretching out his fingers and thumbs. His face calmed, the smile returning. “Heh...no matter...those primitives have nothing that can counter us. Had they known that at any time during the war, we could have obliterated them from the face of the world...”

He waved his hand over the set again, but the sphere did not light up. Instead, a voice emanated from the device, “Yes, Serrasqer Bashal?”

“Captain, are we prepared to depart?” said Mundhelm at the disembodied voice.

“Yes, Serrasqer Bashal, we await your order.”

“Very well, take flight now. Proceed at full speed on the predetermined course.”

“Yes, Serrasqer! Helm, lift off, set course...” Various orders were given to unseen recipients. Somewhere deep underneath the room, a whine was heard, rising in pitch until it reached a crescendo like a banshee’s wail. The room began shaking, as if an earthquake had hit.

Mundhelm waved his hand over the crystal set once again, and the voice stopped. Now, I wonder what our hunters are up to, he wondered, and waved his hand again. He spoke to the sphere, “Slikkepind, Blaesende, where are you now?”

A picture began to form. Soon a beautiful elf-like woman’s face materialized, pale with bright pink lips, pink eyeshadow, and pearly white eyes and radiant teeth. It sounded like the roar of rushing wind in the background, like a tornado. “Hi Mundy Pundy! Blaessy, what does that sign over there say?”

A strong masculine voice could be heard in the background, “OH-MA-HAW?!”

Slikkepind’s face cocked up one pink eyebrow, her lips pouting. “Oh goodness sakes alive! I think you’re not reading that right...” Suddenly a loud noise was heard, like a kudu horn. “Blaessy, stop pulling on that, I’m trying to talk to Mundy Dundy!”

Mundhelm did a facepalm. “Alright, you two, listen! I may have coordinates soon for you to search, so don’t go anywhere for a bit, okay? Just stay there, and I’ll tell you where to go next.”

The happy pink elf-like face filled the crystal ball (which, as you recall, is about two feet across). “Okay, Mundy, we’ll pull over at the next rest stop coming up, ten-four good buddy!” The roaring wind sound dropped in pitch to a loud growl, as another blast from the horn ripped through the air. “Blaessy, I said stop that!” Suddenly Slikkepind looked annoyed, and turned away to her left and appeared to throw a punch off-camera which landed on something with a resounding THUD.

“Ow, man, don’t bother the driver!” yelled the masculine voice. The screen went dark.

The Serrasqer sighed, shaking his head. “’Oh-ma-haw’...that doesn’t even sound Vesterlaending, where in the hells are they?”

Outside, the city of Vatishehir was quaking, but the terrain around the city was not moving. Dust clouds rose from here and there, and a voice could be heard echoing throughout the city streets. “Citizens, caution, seek shelter...citizens, caution, seek shelter...” But there were no people visible, everyone had already gone indoors. Suddenly the ground cracked all along the outside of the city walls. More dust rose, obscuring the city from view, as a high pitched hissing sound, like a loud whistle, grew in intensity. The brown cloud was several kilometers across, and about five hundred meters high.

Suddenly, several buildings rose up out of the dust cloud. Then more, and more, continued to appear. The buildings began moving westwards, slowly rotating about the city center. As they cleared the obscurant, it became evident that most of the buildings, as well as trees, and lawns, and ponds, in fact the entire city, was flying. A good chunk of earth hung below the city, leaving a massive crater several kilometers across in the green fields. Vatishehir was a flying city.

Atop the highest building, there appeared to be a penthouse that was wider across than the building itself. On its roof were numerous mushroom-shaped protrusions, and below that were panoramic windows wrapped around the entire penthouse. Within, there were several elves, some seated, some standing. This was the ‘bridge’, the control center for the flying city.

In the center of the floor was an elevated chair, upon which sat an elf in long green robes over elfin chain armor. The male elf wore an intricately worked helmet, his ears and long dark hair protruding. Instead of cheek pieces, the helmet had transparent hemispheres, like bubbles. He touched one of the clear bulbs as he talked to thin air.

“Bring her up to flank speed. Follow the terrain over the mountains. Where are the eagles?”

The hemispheres allowed him to hear and talk with people. He heard a voice say, “Rodleder Belfilas reports that the eagle Eskadriller are fifteen minutes out, approaching from the southwest.”

“Prepare the main park for their arrival. Sensors, let me know when they are five minutes out. Helm, prepare to turn into the wind, on my mark.” The captain heard a chime in his right ear. He released his left hand, and touched his right fingers to the bubble on the other side of his face. “Yes, Serrasqer Bashal?”

Mundhelm’s voice said, “Captain, status?”

“Yes, Serrasqer. The Skibbyen will be at flank speed shortly. We will rendezvous with the eagle Eskadriller in fifteen minutes. We are on course, all is in order.”

“Outstanding, notify me when the birds have landed.” The bubble fell silent.

“Yes, Serrasqer,” said the captain, releasing his right hand after confirming Mundhelm didn’t have more to say. He rose from his seat, and walked to one side of the ‘bridge’, picking up a spyglass from a rack. He turned to face a female elf clad in identical helmet, armor and robes, who was standing nearby. “Number One, you have the con, I will be out on the gallery.” He turned towards a nearby doorway leading to a balcony.

“Yes sir,” the first officer replied, then yelled out, “Captain is off the bridge!” as she assumed his raised chair, immediately putting her left hand up to the clear bubble on her helmet.

As the captain opened the door, a brisk wind made his hair fly around. Several other elves were already on the balcony, each with their own spyglass. As he bellied up to the railing, the other elves greeted him. He leaned over, and could see more elves on a platform nearby, with their spyglasses fixed southwards.

The captain looked around. It had been years since the Skibbyen, the ship-city, had taken flight. The sun was shining brightly overhead, with only a few white cumulus clouds floating lazily by. The mountains loomed to the west, and the vessel was slowly climbing up and over the ridgelines. Below, the city sprawled up to the perimeter walls. Life was slowly returning to normal, with elves moving to and fro in the streets. Couriers on horseback darted hither and yon, and songbirds flittered between the trees. All seemed at peace with the world. It was hard to imagine that the Skibbyen was a warship.

A chime went off in the left hemisphere, and the captain put his fingers up to it. “Captain, Sensors. The Eskadriller are just on the other side of the ridgeline ahead, five minutes out,” said a voice in his ear.

He raised his spyglass with his right hand, and spoke out loud, “Very good. Helm, turn into the wind, now.” The other elves on the balcony with him also raised their spyglasses at the captain’s words. At the platform, one of the elves pointed a finger southwards. The captain leaned over the railing to look behind the tower, and was satisfied to see that the park was prepared for the eagles’ arrival. All the trees around its edges were planted in special vats that rotate on their vertical axis, allowing them to be folded down flat, leaving an unobstructed, wide grassy field. Several elves could be seen darting about the prostrated trees, securing them to tie-downs in the grass with vines.

As the ship-city passed over the top of the mountains and turned to the right, the eagles could be seen in the sky behind them. The birds stretched their huge wings out, gliding in on final approach. One by one, they touched down on the grassy field and waddled to spaces between the fallen trees, their riders dismounting. The first rider, with a red helmet and matching red footwear, waved up to the tower. The captain waved back to Rodleder Belfilas. I see he’s still wearing those boots of his, he thought.

Down in the bowels of the city, in his conference room, Mundhelm was enjoying a quick lunch of kale leaves and nuts. One of the big crystal balls on his table gave an audible chime, and he wiped his mouth on a napkin and waved his hand over it. “Yes, Captain? Have the eagles landed?”

“Yes, Serrasqer Bashal, the last of the Eskadriller are down and secured, we are proceeding on our original course, down the western slope of the mountains,” said the captain’s voice.

“Excellent. Let me know when we approach the rendezvous point, thank you.” He waved his hand again, and used the same hand to pick up another leaf of kale, which he put in his mouth. Good, we now have two Eskadriller of eagles for combat air patrol, and three roc Eskadriller for bombardment. With the weapons built into this Skibbyen, we could respond to any foolishness on a moment’s notice.

Mundhelm looked content, yet he stared at the darkened crystal ball on the far right, the one Slesk the vizier had spoken to him on earlier. The Ciulthann...he still has not responded with his approval. He might still wuss out, and we’ll have to return eastwards. Until he gives a green light to the operation, we will have to remain over our territory, out of sight of the Vesterlaendinge...fortunately, they can’t send up their own flyers, or the jig would be up. He smiled as he chewed on his kale.

He found his thoughts turning to Yaegermaskine Two Seven Seven Kay, disguised as Sir Jurgen the knight, teleported into the capital of Hannetzbirg. The Inevitable...it should have made contact by now. If the Vesterlaendinge are indeed hiding the hostage and son of Rohrgrim, that bearded fool Loewenherz will die, and our strike team will extract Qezeveliate Rilthien. When I relay that to the Ciulthann, he will have no choice but to approve resuming the war. He flipped a fingerful of nuts into his mouth, and chewed contentedly.

--- to be continued ---