In the Company of Ogres

Twenty-nine

Rucka sat upon his Throne of Skulls, which was actually made of cedar. But the infernal emperor enjoyed giving his things appropriately horrific names. The chair was perfectly sized for his slight proportions. Despite his diminutive stature, Rucka was supremely confident in his power. A larger throne might’ve been more impressive, but not so impressive as roasting flesh with a withering glance.

Six demons dragged Ned into the throne room. “Here he is, Your Majesty,” said an executioner.

“Why does he have a bag over his head?” asked Rucka with his dark, squeaky voice.

“To keep his evil eye at bay, sire.”

Rucka chuckled. “Remove it.”

They pulled the bag off Ned’s head, and all the demons looked away. Except Rucka. All of his eyes — except for those on his back and ass — gazed up at Ned. Ned’s eye fell upon the tiny Emperor of the Ten Thousand Hells, and he wasn’t terribly impressed. But he wasn’t in the frame of mind to be impressed by much of anything. And he wasn’t foolish enough to equate size with power.

Rucka’s throne room was a large chamber atop his tallest tower. There was no decoration, unless one counted a few bones scattered absently. Half a skull leered up from Ned’s feet. There was a painted glass window with an image of a giant demon with four arms standing atop a mountain of carcasses. The demon was covered with eyes, just like Rucka, and there was a passing resemblance. But the work struck Ned as unimaginative and unremarkable. It was just the kind of horrible image of carnage he would’ve expected in a demon’s throne room and thus rendered terribly unimpressive.

Rucka commanded the executioners to leave, and they were all too eager to comply. No demon wished to stay in Rucka’s presence, where death was just a moment of annoyance away, or risk Ned’s evil eye. The massive iron doors were shut, and Ned was left alone with the emperor.

The demon smiled. “Let me apologize for not coming to fetch you personally from your little citadel. I have some trouble crossing into the world of mortals. Too much power within me, you see. I could leave this fortress, but it would violate certain age-old treaties. More trouble than it’s worth.

“And my Iron Fortress itself can’t cross running water, even that little trickle of a river below. Don’t ask me why. Design flaw. I had the engineers killed for it, but I suppose it would’ve been wiser to wait until they’d corrected the problem. Oh, well, kill and learn. That’s what I always say.”

He dangled a pendulum. “Do you know how long I’ve searched for you? You have no idea how difficult it’s been with only these to guide my scouts. These stones are the only thing that can detect your true essence. Come from the sacred rock that was part of the transformation rite. Won’t bother you with the details. Some very special magic was used, the kind that comes along once every three ages, if that. Worked so well that even now, standing in this room with you, I don’t see anything but a mortal man. Not the slightest hint of the awesome power just waiting within you.”

The pendulum twitched in Ned’s direction so slightly that it might just have been the wind. But the stone glowed with a soft, red light.

Rucka said, “I won’t tell you how much trouble they were to get in the first place, how many troublesome gods I had to kill, how many rival demon lords I had to slaughter, or how many souls I devoured in this quest of mine. My only consolation is I enjoy killing, slaughtering, and devouring. Hardly seems like any work at all, to be honest.”

Rucka’s four small wings beat like a hummingbird’s, and he shot off his throne and hovered before Ned. The pendulum glowed brighter, and its tilt was undeniable as it pulled toward Ned.

“Have you ever tried searching the world by pendulum?” asked Rucka. “They’re a devil to use and not nearly so sensitive as would be helpful. Not to mention there’s only nine of these. Which is why it took so long to locate you. I’ve come close a few dozen times over the eons. But you’ve always wandered off before I could get my hands on you.”

“Sorry,” said Ned.

“Think nothing of it, old boy. I always knew I’d find you. One of the advantages of being an immortal. Time is always on my side. I’m surprised though that your troublesome guardian hasn’t interfered.”

“The Red Woman?” said Ned. “She’s dead.”

“Impossible.”

“She died saving me.”

Rucka stared Ned in the eye. “Really? How odd. Why should she sacrifice herself for an illusion? Disappointing. I was hoping to kill her myself. But seeing as how she died protecting you, I can at least take comfort in the futility of her sacrifice.”

Rucka touched the stone to Ned’s cheek. The pendulum flared, though it still wasn’t much of a light, and the heat seared Ned’s face without actually hurting him. He smelled smoke, but didn’t see any. His bad left arm tightened, and he worried it might take a swing at Rucka. But he stopped worrying. Punching Rucka wouldn’t accomplish anything, but it couldn’t get him in any more trouble.

Something, some Thing inside Ned, stirred. The Void. Maybe it was the concentrated evil of Rucka and his Iron Fortress. Maybe it was the closeness of the sacred stone. Or maybe it was just the pressure, the maddening sense of futility, the impatience. But the Mad Void was awake. Somewhere deep inside, it roused. It didn’t arise. Rather, it shifted restlessly, like a deep sleeper troubled by a mosquito buzzing in his ear.

It’d always been there. Always. Buried so deep Ned couldn’t sense it. Forgotten. A burden, a weight carried over a thousand lifetimes by a thousand different men and women, all just illusions. A cage of dreamed flesh and false mortality and unknowable magic. Nothing else.

That was all Ned was. Nothing. So why the hell did he care? Whether Rucka succeeded in usurping the Mad Void’s power or not, whether the illusion of Ned died or not, he saw no reason to give a damn.

But he did.

Rucka had been speaking while Ned, internalized, oblivious to the outside world, hadn’t heard a word.

“Excuse me,” said the all-powerful demonic emperor. “But am I boring you?”

“A little.”

Rucka snorted. Acidic snot dripped from his nostrils and sizzled holes in the floor. “What is your name? Not your true name, but the name this shell carries?”

“Ned.”

Rucka raised the thorny ridge that served as his eyebrow. “Would that be Never Dead Ned?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“I’ve heard tales. Now and then, here and there. I even considered looking you up once. But the Mad Void hidden in the body of an immortal? Honestly, it seemed too obvious. But I guess that’s the trick of it, isn’t it? Draw attention to yourself, instill doubt, hide in plain sight. Very clever.”

Rucka fluttered back to his throne. “Tell me, Ned, how much do you know about this business?”

Ned grunted. “Enough.”

“Then you know I intend to take that power you conceal for my own.”

Ned nodded.

“And you know there is nothing you can do to prevent it.”

Ned nodded again.

Rucka leaned forward. “But do you know how I plan on taking it? Do you know where all that power rests?”

Ned shrugged. “Inside me. Somewhere.”

“No. Not somewhere. Your power, that power, lies in the same place all great demons hold their might.” Rucka’s countless eyes burned. “Do you know where that is?”

“No,” replied Ned absently, only half listening.

“Think about it.” The room darkened, and every one of Rucka’s eyes shone.

“Their horns?” ventured Ned.

“Don’t be absurd. Too obvious. I’ll give you another guess.”

The emperor opened his jaws and sucked all the light from the throne room. All that shone in the pitch black was his hundred malignant, shimmering eyes.

“Stomach?” said Ned.

Rucka belched the light back into the air. He sat on his throne, his short arms folded across his tiny chest. His child-like face twisted into a pout, and his long tail thrashed. “Oh, come on. You’re not even trying.”

“Yeah. Uh, sorry, but I’d rather you just get it over with and kill me.”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Ned. In the first place, you’re not really anything but an illusion, so you can’t truly die. In the second, if I do… kill… this illusion, it will only awaken the Mad Void, and I’ve no desire to unleash all that power until it is firmly in my grasp.”

Rucka shot across the throne room and grasped Ned by the hair with tiny, painfully strong hands. “No, Ned, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to pluck out your eye.” He laughed. “Of course, the spell will break then, and I suppose you’ll die. In the sense that there will no longer be any need for you and you’ll fade away. And then I shall insert that eye, the Dark Eye of the Mad Void, here.” A socket opened in the middle of his forehead. “And I shall claim my rightful title as most powerful demon in this or any other universe.”

Rucka tossed Ned away. He fell on his back to lie on the floor. The fall banged his head and bruised his elbow. The leering demon emperor hovered over him.

“You can beg for your life now. It won’t do any good, but feel free.”

“No, thanks.”

Ned’s bad arm shot up and seized Rucka by the throat. It squeezed without any effect. Rucka dug the claws of his hands and feet into Ned’s forearm, lifted him high in the air, and spun around once before hurling Ned across the room, where he landed atop the Throne of Skulls, smashing it to bits.

Ned suspected he might’ve broken a bone or two. He played it safe by not moving. He was beyond pain now. Not that he didn’t hurt. He hurt like hell, and a shard of armrest dug into his spine unpleasantly. But he’d gained acceptance of what was coming, and he no longer cared about such trivialities as agony. He was only an illusion in the end. By extension, so must have been his pain. And his worry. And everything else. That made them easy to ignore.

Rucka groaned. “Well, this isn’t any fun. If you’re not going to cower properly, I guess we might as well get on with it.”

“Guess so,” replied Ned as casually as if commenting on the bricks of the ceiling he was staring at.

The throne room doors opened, and seven demons stepped in. They wore hooded cloaks that concealed their bodies except for their large orange wings.

“I could pluck the eye out right now,” explained Rucka. “Though I’d enjoy the vulgarity of it, some of the Void’s power might slip away. And I want it all.” He chuckled. “Every… single… drop.”

It took longer than Regina would’ve liked to saddle up all of Ogre Company’s rocs, but if she was going to face a horde of demons, she knew it was only sensible to have as many able-bodied soldiers behind her as possible. There were thirty-three rocs in the stables. On average, each could carry three full-grown ogres. The most capable warriors were selected for the mission. There weren’t enough saddles for all of them. Most of the ogres held on to the feathers with one hand while carrying their massive club or giant sword or whatever absurdly huge weapon they favored in the other. At least another three hundred goblins, all too eager to rush headlong into oblivion and unwilling to be left behind, clung to the rocs’ undersides, legs, necks, wings, and any other free space. Regina, Miriam, Sally, and Ace (along with a dozen goblin hitchhikers) led the flight.

The bulk of the company had remained behind at the citadel to prepare for the worst, whatever that might be. Frank had been one of them. Regina found herself wishing him by her side. She couldn’t think of any other soldier in Ogre Company she would’ve preferred. But he was hurt. Even hurt, he was probably the toughest grunt in the company. Possibly as fearless and deadly as she.

She caught herself smiling and wiped the grin from her face.

Rocs filled the sky. The pilots had managed to get the monstrously ill-tempered birds into a tight V formation. From the ground, thought Regina, they must have been an impressive sight. One hundred airborne ogres, give or take, hurtling headlong toward certain doom, possibly about to begin a battle for the fate of the universe.

“There it is!” shouted Ace.

The Iron Fortress came into view. It was smaller than Regina expected, and its obsidian bricks were difficult to pick out on the dark horizon. But the glittering jade and the soft glow of its tallest tower made it obvious enough once her eyes adjusted.

Regina grinned. And this time she couldn’t stop smiling. She so loved a suicide mission.

The moment the Iron Fortress appeared, she anticipated a great host of winged demons would pour from its every opening. She expected, with some grim Amazonian dream of glory, to be swept away in a tide of knives, gnashing teeth, and cruel claws. It would be a beautiful death, the kind an Amazon could be proud of.

But nothing of the sort happened. Not one demon, not even the littlest imp, came forth. The Iron Fortress just stood there. One of its tremendous legs absently pawed the earth, but in no way did it exhibit the slightest acknowledgment of Ogre Company’s approach.

“Shouldn’t they be doing something?” asked Miriam.

Regina agreed. Some response was expected. Even courteous. There couldn’t be a legendary last battle for the fate of the universe if the Forces of Darkness refused to show up. It was extremely poor form. After all, the demons had to notice the mighty fighting force just moments from their doorstep. Did the residents of the giant, walking castle not consider them a threat at all? Were the hideous creatures within so powerful that the company wasn’t even worth a minimal response? She found that hard to believe. More likely, she decided, the fortress had other defenses, dark underworld sorceries gathering now to swat each and every roc from the sky before the battle could begin. Green and orange lightning flashed all around the tallest tower, a sure indication that some demonic magic was at play. Yet she carried on fearlessly.

“Maybe they haven’t noticed us!” yelled Ace above the whipping winds.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Regina shouted back, her pride stinging a bit.

It’d been a long time since anyone had dared lay siege to the Iron Fortress. Its long legs made scaling its walls an impossible feat. Those same legs also allowed it to crush any army stupid enough to dare the impossible, and should a force prove immune to even this deterrent, the fortress could always amble away at its leisure from more bothersome attackers.

Inside the castle itself, within its malign walls, a great swarm of terrible demons waited to unleash themselves upon anything foolish enough to challenge them. They would’ve gladly joined in battle against Ogre Company had anyone been on watch. But the Iron Fortress had no watch because it’d been a long, long time since it’d had need of one. And demons, being generally lazy and irresponsible, had ceased keeping up the duty.

Technically, there was a watch at work, but they were either drunk on elf blood, fornicating, or engaged in a rousing game of competitive skull juggling. Consequently, the only residents of the Iron Fortress to catch a glimpse of the trouble heading their way were a couple of gargoyles chained to a parapet. Since neither cared much for either chains or demons (and weren’t particularly fond of parapets either), neither spoke up, but instead shared a good chuckle and wink. Regina knew none of that and assumed she was rushing into an ambush. It didn’t deter her. If anything, it made her more determined. It’d been too long since she’d enjoyed the bloodlust. She’d forgotten how sweet it tasted.

“Where do you think they’d be keeping Ned?” asked Ace.

“There.” Miriam pointed to the tallest tower, sheathed in crackling supernatural energies, casting an eerie red glow in the twilight that made the dusk as bright as a new dawn. “That would be my guess.”

Regina shook her head. “Too obvious. Besides, this is Ned we’re talking about. He’s probably still locked away in some pit.”

“I told you we should’ve brought Owens along.”

“He’s always been bloody useless,” said Regina. “And what could he do anyway? Hear Ned’s location?”

Ace whipped the reins, and the rocs broke into a power dive toward the fortress. The formation followed suit.

The hooded demons chanted. The Void stirred again inside Ned. It bubbled in his throat, tasting like rotten maple syrup, thick and clumpy.

Rucka flicked over and grabbed Ned by the shirt. The small demon casually tossed him into the center of the throne room. The sorcerers continued their chant as they formed a circle around Ned. Their pendulums shimmered, casting delicate strands of light that reflected off each other and bent in the air like silver threads. Still droning, the sorcerers pulled away their hoods to reveal faces they didn’t have. No mouths. No ears. No noses. Only three eyes arranged in a triangle upon their foreheads.

Rucka leered. “It won’t take long, Ned. The bindings that hold the Void in this shell are too powerful to be destroyed by anyone but the Void himself, but we only need loosen them a bit. The rest will come from within. And when he rises, when he can no longer sleep, at that one moment when he is at his full power yet too groggy to realize what is happening, I shall pluck out your eye.”

The emperor salivated. Drool dripped from his lips to puddle beneath his hovering body.

Strangely, Ned didn’t sense anything else wrong with him as the magic did its work. His pain faded, and the Void continued to rumble within him. But despite the awesome magics being unleashed (to be honest, this was just a guess since Ned knew nothing of minor magic much less the awesome type), Ned didn’t feel anything else. There was only one explanation. He was fading away, and because he wasn’t real, he couldn’t even sense it.

He didn’t want to die. And not just because his death meant the end of the universe. There was more at stake. Less, actually. But for the first time in as long as he could remember, Ned wanted to live. He didn’t know why. His life had been a remarkably dull affair up to now, excluding the last few days of dragon wizards and demon emperors. But maybe that was his fault. Or maybe he was just destined to live a boring, eternal existence. And maybe one day he’d be sick of it. But not today.

Damn it all, he was Never Dead Ned, and if there was one thing Never Dead Ned was good at (and as far as he could tell there was only one thing), it was not dying. Actually, he was pretty good at that, but staying dead was another matter. And after all this time yearning for the icy whisper of true and lasting oblivion, Ned decided he wasn’t so keen on ending his days after all. He had to do something. At the very least, he had to try.

The sorcerers’ voices blended together into a low rumble that vibrated the throne room and, indeed, the entire fortress. The Mad Void grumbled, though only Ned sensed it, and even he wasn’t so sure about that anymore. There seemed every possibility that what he thought was awakening unspeakable evil was nothing more than a hearty case of indigestion.

Ned wondered if a mistake had been made. He didn’t feel all-powerful. Nor did he feel as if he was fading away after all. He felt… well, he felt like Ned. But it didn’t seem likely that the Red Woman, the sacred stones, and the demons could all have been wrong.

The chant reached its crescendo. The lights of the pendulum gathered into a swirling cube over his head that settled on his body, and for a second Ned thought he might throw up.

Rucka pounced. The demon forced Ned to the floor and pressed tiny, sharp claws to Ned’s face.

Ned belched.

The light faded.

Rucka’s smile vanished. He pulled back his empty hand and squinted at Ned. “What’s this? Where is it?” He hopped to stand on Ned’s chest and glare at his sorcerers. “Where is the power?”

The sorcerers lowered their pendulums but dared not speak. With a grunt, Rucka blasted a fireball out of his nostril that slowly and painfully incinerated one of his minions. The sorcerer writhed in twisted agony, screaming and begging for mercy.

Rucka seized another by the robes. “Please, speak up.”

The sorcerer’s voice sounded muffled and distant, logical given his lack of a mouth. “Forgive us, oh dreaded lord, but we do not know. It should’ve worked.”

Rucka disintegrated this sorcerer in an instant, discarding the gift of agony usually granted to those who failed him. He had more pressing concerns than such infernal civilities.

The remaining sorcerers cowered as Rucka stalked toward Ned. “I felt it. For the briefest of moments, I sensed… something. Something inconceivable, even to my intellect. Yet it remains hidden.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced twice around Ned. “I see now that I must settle this affair personally.” He turned to his sorcerers. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, oh merciful dark lord,” said one.

“Think nothing of it.” Rucka waved a hand. The floor opened up beneath them, and they tumbled down into the depths, into the literal bowels of the Iron Fortress itself.

Rucka’s many eyes glowed with blue flames. He made no move toward Ned, just stared at him. The demon picked up a pendulum and channeled his dark powers through it. The stone burned a murderous red, bathing Ned in a crimson spotlight as Rucka’s magic clawed at the illusion of flesh, striving to tear it away, to strip away the chimera of mortal bone and blood. Ned blurred around the edges for just a moment. His lack of reaction surprised the emperor, but he kept this to himself. A cruel grin remained across his face as he pushed more of his awesome power against the ancient spell that was Never Dead Ned.

There were few external signs of the invisible magics. Shafts of unholy fire poured from Rucka’s eyes. A single drop of sweat formed on Ned’s forehead, and he felt kind of itchy. But he didn’t scratch. He didn’t want to give Rucka the satisfaction.

Scowling, Rucka hissed a rancid, orange mist that wrapped around Ned. His itchiness grew, and that stinging indigestion stirred again, much like the sensation triggered by the sorcerers but a little stronger. Ned stifled a gag. He scratched his nose and wiped the tears from his eye. But that was the worst of it.

Rucka grumbled. He’d expected Ned to melt away. The magic at work was more complex than he’d first imagined. Unmaking such spells demanded subtlety and patience, but he’d never been very good at these. Instead he poured more of his dark magic through the sacred stone and into Ned’s false mortal shell.

Ned’s indigestion roared, though by the time it crawled out of his belly and up his throat to push its way out his closed mouth, it was barely a dull snarl. Some alien presence rose in his guts and lashed out at the bothersome nuisance of the First and Greatest Emperor of Hell.

Rucka exploded.

For such a little demon, there was a terrible mess left behind. Slimy goop covered the walls. Ned was splattered with the malodorous stuff. He would’ve thrown up, but he didn’t have the energy. Rucka’s many eyes littered the floor. Each and every one glared at Ned. It was a good indication that the demon wasn’t dead, though he was clearly very annoyed. Ned couldn’t blame him. Rucka’s might was beyond understanding, yet the Mad Void had swatted him away as casually as if the terrible demonic emperor were some easily swatted away thing. Ned didn’t have the energy for metaphors right now either.

The Void settled back into its slumber. Although it hadn’t really awoken. If it had, the universe would probably be ash by now. Except the stuff that was already ash. That would probably become some lesser class of ash. Dust, thought Ned. Or soot. He wasn’t sure which, and it seemed largely irrelevant. What was relevant was that the Mad Void was a very deep sleeper and had little interest in waking up. That was good.

However, it had also crushed Rucka with the barest flex of its metaphysical might. Which meant if it ever did wake up, even against its will, there would be no force capable of putting it back to bed. Rucka didn’t understand that, and he’d keep poking the Mad Void with a stick. The results could only be disastrous to the entire universe, including Rucka. The goop that was the emperor was slowly but certainly drawing himself back together. And that had to be bad since Ned doubted the exploded emperor had learned his lesson.

The throne room doors flew open, and in rushed a squad of demon soldiers. Ned could identify them as soldiers by their gleaming black armor and wicked scimitars. He could identify them as demons, though their armor covered them almost completely, because it was a safe bet that almost every resident of the Iron Fortress was a demon. Even him, when he thought about it.

“Forgive us, great and merciless lord,” said the lead soldier, “but the fortress is under—”

The slimy remains of his master interrupted his report. He slipped on a bit of intestine and fell flat on his back with a resonating clang. Two others followed his example, sliding across the floor. The remaining three learned from their example and didn’t cross the threshold.

The soldiers, those not trying to rise to their feet, took in the scene. Ned couldn’t see their faces behind their closed helmets, but he assumed their expressions were of awe. It appeared as if he’d destroyed their fearsome leader. He didn’t see any reason to correct the assumption.

“I guess I’ll be leaving now,” he said, “if that’s okay with you.”

Rucka’s minions were so used to bowing before omnipotent masters that they lowered their scimitars without hesitation and stepped aside to let Ned pass. He didn’t know how long it would take Rucka to reform, but the more distance between the emperor and Ned, the better. The trickiest part would be crossing the throne room without ending up sprawled helplessly across the floor. Before he could begin the delicate journey, a shadow fell across the window.

Ned turned just in time to see the painted glass shattered by a shrieking roc. The bird planted its feet in the slime and skimmed forward, driven by its momentum. Ned barely managed to dive to one side as it coasted by him and crashed against a wall. The moment’s stop was enough to allow it to dig its claws in the floor to gain some stability, though it was a stiff breeze away from toppling over. A dozen goblins dropped from the roc’s feathers and charged the demon soldiers. In other circumstances, the experienced demon warriors would’ve slaughtered their foes, but there were few opponents as wily and unpredictable as a squad of greased goblins.

The sounds of a battle raging outside reached Ned’s ears as he gingerly pushed himself to his knees. He spat out some goop. Not surprisingly, Rucka tasted horrible.

“I told you he was in this tower,” said Miriam.

“Yes, yes.” Regina threw down a ladder. “Ned, we’ve come to rescue you.”

“Thanks.” Ned smiled as he crawled his way toward the roc. A rescue at this point was a trifle late, but it was still the thought that counted.

Ace struggled to keep his mount steady. Not easy with the slippery floor and the roc’s natural inclination to pace around. But it would be extremely bad form to have the giant bird fall on Ned in the middle of the rescue.

“What the hell happened here?” asked Ace.

Ned grabbed the ladder and began the ascent. “Nothing much. I just exploded a demon emperor.”

“You?” asked Regina as she helped him to his seat between Miriam and her.

“Sort of.” He smiled sheepishly.

The pile of muck that was Rucka had managed by now to pull itself together enough to form a misshapen head, a lump with eyes and a crooked mouth. “This isn’t done, Ned!” bellowed Rucka. “I will destroy you! I will have your power! I will—”

The roc, slipping and sliding its way toward the window, squished Rucka and his threats underfoot. Twice the bird lost its footing, but Ace’s superior skills kept it from rolling over and crushing its riders.

Ned picked out ogres, goblins, and demons swarming on the Iron Fortress. The glow of the fortress itself bathed the battle in a green and red luminescence. It wasn’t so much a grand battle as a warm-up clash. Right now, Ogre Company was winning by virtue of first strike, but each passing moment more and more demons were appearing.

“Sir?” asked Miriam.

“What?” replied Ned.

“Your orders?”

Again he’d forgotten he was supposed to be in charge.

Now that he remembered, he still didn’t have the experience to be good at it.

“What would you do?” he asked Regina.

“I’d order a retreat back to the citadel, sir. Might give us the advantage.”

“Right, right. Do that then, Archmajor.”

Regina nodded to the goblin bugler clinging to the roc’s tail. “Sound the retreat.”

The bugler blew the call. Ogre Company remounted its birds with surprising discipline. There were a few stragglers eager to get in a few more licks, but the company was soon in the air, sailing back toward Copper Citadel.

The slime-coated goblins battling the demon soldiers skated effortlessly across the slippery throne room to climb back onto the roc, which Ace spurred out the window. The bird plummeted downward until Ace yanked its reins hard enough to remind it to start flying. Screeching with great irritation, as if it’d much rather hit the brick below, the roc flapped its majestic wings and soared off. The slime covering Ned sloughed off to stay behind in the fortress.

The bugler continued to sound the retreat as the rest of the reptilian birds launched themselves. By now, the demons had managed to get their brimstone cannons out. They fired a few volleys of sulfurous flame that went wide except for one that struck a roc’s side. The bird wobbled but wasn’t greatly bothered.

The Iron Fortress shrank slowly in the horizon. It stomped its great feet in an earthshaking temper tantrum.

“You came for me,” said Ned.

“You are our commander, sir,” said Regina.

“And we were worried possibly about the fate of the universe,” added Miriam.

“Oh, yeah,” agreed Ned. “I suppose that’s important.”

Ned glanced back at the fortress again. A few parting shots of stinking fire soared through the air, but were well short of the flight. There weren’t any demons in pursuit. Probably in disarray without their emperor, Ned decided.

But once Rucka reformed, there was sure to be an army of the damned coming.

Ned weighed his options. He could order Ace to keep flying and hope to outdistance any pursuers. There was no shame in running away. But he doubted that would work. He might be able to put them off for a while, but hiding would be a lot harder now. The demons knew who he was. So did he. So did a few hundred soldiers. True, they didn’t know exactly what he was, but close enough that obscurity would be difficult to find in the long run.

At least in the citadel he was surrounded by several hundred soldiers. They might not be the best of the best, the greatest collection of warriors, but they were a damn sight better than striking off on his own. He didn’t know how many demons might be coming, but a few hundred ogres at his side meant he’d have some chance. Circumstances left him no other choice.

Ned shuddered. He didn’t have much confidence in Ogre Company. And even less in their commander.

A goblin tugged at Ned’s leg. “Did you really blow up a demon, sir?”

Ned didn’t feel like offering clarifications of things he didn’t truly understand himself.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”