Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6--THE WULGARS




The dove perched just in time to see that the last one to enter the cave was a massive cut-out of black―a profile only assumable by one creature. Then the boulder rolled shut, occluding the inner glare of firelight.
The darkness plunged the dove’s mind into a fantastical access: Double-queued, cat-bodied felxens agilely stalked the tree branches for him. Diphyaks stooped down upon his unmoving form. Hundreds of cannibal beetles clung to the dove’s wings and nestled into his flesh, rummaging for his life’s marrow. Mosquitoes sucked at his eyeballs….
He blinked. Enough! The dove willed away the disgusting scene. He hated the Arnarian Jungle with all his feathers, and even worse, the thick Arnarian Jungle at the highest of the Arnarian Crags. It was not mere fantasy when the dove envisioned massy rises of steam siffling from the earth, choking the weakling noises, and deadening the already darkened vision. Because the crag reared its summit to the sky, water came not from rain but from the minglement of cloudcaps and the jungle canopy. The dove could not see, but rather heard the leaves from the treetops perpetually splattered their beads of moisture onto their lowers, and their lowers, which in turn showered the droplets upon the forest bed. It rained not outside the forest, but in.
“Remove her gag,” echoed a voice, guggling as if a creek chuckled down its throat.
The dove cringed, recognizing the owner of the voice. Then his head snapped forward and a current tickled up his spine. He could actually hear what came from the boulder-barred cave! Shuddering, he gave ear to the voice’s continuance.
“Let us make our sacrifice to Wulg—”
“Musn’t you, musn’t you!” screamed an ugly female voice. “I repent—!”
“Repentance is of no matter,” the gurgling voice rasped. It had the incontrovertible timbre of a lord. “A single sin is death’s insignia. Love is a lousy act of the Lorars.”
A crack sounded, like the snap of a whipcord, and then a pained squeal.
“Thy blood shall brew our beverage.”
Writhingly, tortured scream. Unable to endure anymore, the dove embraced his head in his wings. Even though, the final sound reached him.
The lord’s voice echoed again: “Over spilling flesh we shall pray to He who has wrought the past from the present.”
Bile surged in the dove’s chest. He swallowed it bitterly. Accidentally he sniffed the air. The jungle’s rancid stench of carrion swept into him and overthrew his stomach. The fluid surged up again, and this time he was unable to limit it. It lurched past his small beak, spilling onto leaves, joining water on an earthward peregrination.
Upchucking was ineluctable while in the jungle.
The dove changed to a cleaner perch. From this one, he was aware of the treillage of branches above him, spanning the trees like a hammock—or a sieve of contagion, so the dove desired.
Settling himself but not too deeply, he watched the wire of orange light that encircled the boulder. The boulder smothered the cave entrance, but not the spelaean voices.
“Let us commence our meeting,” said the lord. “The Lorar Rangers have hitherto failed to spy us. The trickle of patience has paid off.”
Alike the lord except for a slight higher pitch, another voice spoke: “It is time to reveal ourselves, isn’t it brother?”
A multitude of voices broke: “Waited we have for long, sss.”
“I hope that’s why we amass here, Lord.”
“Very looong,” agreed the lord’s sister.
A voice clittered like cicadas: “The Lorrrarrr Rrrangerrrs may searrrch Arrrnarrr Jungle a—”
“Nay!” cut in the lord. “The Lorar Rangers presently take their annual celebrations. They will not burden themselves to scour here until two weeks have come to pass. I have calculated thus. If any of you bestow distrust upon your lord, I offer you chance to voice it.” The lord chortled a threatening inducement.
“It is not that, Lord,” said a voice, exactly like that of an elfess except sarcasm besmirched it. “It is this incompatible climate, I assure you.”
“Of course we will depart from here, Bola. Time bodes the destruction of our inborn enemies, indeed it does,” the lord said mockingly. “Now, Kukkle the Blades. You ask why I summon you here? You ask whereto Aruki has gone? Yes, I have tracked him down. Evidentially he had been collecting frog poison at a crag of a northern exposure.“
The Lord’s sister asked, “Evidentially?”
“That is, I found him dead.” There was an intake of breath, a low growl, and a hiss. “To be more precise, cleanly-picked bones exist as his relics. His throwing-stars and Pouch have been stolen, a fried frog, milked of poison, still lies there. Most importantly, two ropes are amongst his bones. See…”
A silent intermission ensued.
“What I surmise is this: Someone fettered him, his fire was extinguished, Goreslugs and mosquitoes then drained his blood until he fell to the fangs of Wulg. Finally the Diphyaks descended. I found two of his poisoned throwing-stars at the brink of the clearing. At someone he threw them, though they were skillfully deflected. Who is thiiis?”
Another pause followed, brittle.
“Subsequently, Kukkle, this makes you the captain of the grigs. But, before I acknowledge thus, I must ask if you are the life-taker of Aruki.”
Kukkle cried, “Absolutely n-n-not, Lord!”
“Do not spin the words you aim at your lord, Kukkle. I already know who the killer is. If you lie, your death…”
“I s-s-swear, Lord! It is not my doing! I would—”
“Very good then, Kukkle,” the lord said. “You are captain of the grigs. While all of us mourn the great loss of Aruki, you have reason to celebrate. As for the murderer, I do not doubt it was a… Loraaar.”
Bola asked, “How so?”
“The smell. A Lorar’s.”
“The rest may be warned! The Lorar Rangers will be warned of our presence if it has been divulged!”
“Sister? Such fear you show? Even the Lorar Rangers would crumble to us.”
A tigerlike growl rumbled in the cave, fortified by other voices of vicious accord.
“Hear, hear the Lord Zazan!”
“They c-c-cannot challenge us―us greatest army of Wulgars. I still wonder how we have gathered and bred to this number,” Kukkle said.
Bola sneered, “I have contributed the most.”
A new voice crackled, “I have collected as much as you, Bola.”
“Silence! Or I’ll answer with these,” growled the lord. A strident screech screamed from the cave, like the sound of needly nails sliding down a glass pane.
A small, cynical cough followed, and then silence for a minute. The dove shuddered and shifted uneasily on his tree branch. All of his feathers trembled to be rid of this accursed jungle. He had enough information—too much information. The more he learned, the worse befell the prospect.
Again the lord spoke: “We shall begin the journey today.” Audible sighs, a prolonged hiss, and a contented purr greeted the words. “Lord Zyzomys’s work is to be consummated. Elect your second-in-commands prudently; they will replace you if the case of Aruki repeats itself. And mayhaps even a third-in-command for safe measure. Arm and armor yourselves. Inform your divisions to do likewise.”
“Logistics?” asked Bola, as if the lord should have already thought of that.
“If Lorar flesh does not cohere with your tongue, you may harvest berries here. The river will not stray from our direction, so you may creel and fish during opportunities. Airlubbers shall be in abundance.”
A snort and a humming sounded, like a plucked bowstring. The dove was surprised he could hear to such detail.
“Wherrre arrre we to go firrrst?”
The lord answered swiftly, “Zarza and I have compromised to split the horde and finish our conquest quicker, correct, sister? Remember, this expedition relies on speed. It behooves us to seize those positions where resistance is slack.” The dove leaned forward keenly. “Zarza will go with you and your division, Kukkle, along with half the Jargans. She will head to Fortress Leera. I, along with the other captains, will firstly defeat Castle Briar, and after, proceed to Plateau Garaknion. If Garaknion falls to me, I will make way to Fortress Leera, sister. However, I will leave behind enough of the horde to hold the plateau off from Lorar allies. On the contrary, if you defeat Fortress Leera, sister, then stay put, for Fortress Leera can easily be recaptured by Lorars.”
“How I wonder where you will find the brain to overcome Garaknion, brother.”
“I wonder the same. You are quite lucky to have an easy target, sister. The straws were in your favor. By word from our spy, Fortress Leera’s population is a proximate thousand Lorars.”
A lie, gasped the dove. Two thousand.
The crackly voiced added, “Who are all as fat as flies,”
The Lord continued: “Your Jargans could vanquish them with ease, let alone the hundreds of grigs Kukkle will command. As for Plateau Garaknion, I will have to devise some ruse to overcome its perpendicular defenses. However, do not worry, my captains. I shall find a way…. Now, has everything been breached? Think longly.“
For a while, no sound filtered up from the cave.
The initial horror fell off the dove’s wings. If this Wulgar horde were true, he, with his intelligence, would be the one to rouse the Lorars to awareness and grant them a considerable head start over the evil army.
A raptor screeched nearby.
“Yes,” said the captains at last.
“Excellent,” crowed the lord.
Kukkle began, “At Castle B-B-Br―”
“I will not entertain dimwitted questions,” the Lord said. Sniggers trailed his words.
A brush of movement sounded from within the cave. The lord’s voice came again, louder. “There is an ultimate thing we must perform before abandoning the Arnarian Jungle.”
Silence. The wire of light, girdling the boulder, darkened.
The boulder burst from the cave maw and slammed the tree. The dove lurched on his branch and beat his wings frenziedly, clinging to balance. Leaves swayed violently, hanging by only their stuttering stems. Darkness glowed with firelight. The dove whined. The earth quaked. The leaves rustled more when the lord stepped from the cave. Then, the forest grew silent, overawed.
The Jargan loomed eight-feet tall. A torch illumined his muscle-knotted body. With his purple glower, he locked the boulder and reached his arm back, motioning with a crook of his needle-nailed finger for the other Wulgars to withdraw from the cave.
The dove shrunk even deeper to his branch, wishing for once in his life that he was a nonentity. Fear cleaved his wings to his flank.
From the lord’s domed head snaked thin, fire-paled hair, which a porte cochere of tree branches pressed against his scalp. Gray hide, tough enough to snap swords and redirect arrows, armored his body. Two ridged horns, inflected by right-angles, topped his brow; another identical pair protruded out the sides of his thick, hirsute chin. The two sections of each horn measured a foot long.
From behind, three-feet lesser than the Jargan, appeared a female dark elf. Hubris marred her poisonous beauty, upturning her nose and studding scorn in each of her subtle movements. Her slender fingers curled round a bow, which assimilated with her black skin. A quiver fraught with arrows was slung over her narrow shoulder; feathers, a duplicate of her white-pink hair, fletched each shaft. Her jaundiced pupils darted around like yellow dragonflies set in a moonless midnight. They settled on the dove.
The dove leapt from his perch, hooking around to escape the firelight. Twang! Something impacted his tail. He flew hills in the air. But pain sprung from his end, crushing his will to fly. He fluttered, then collapsed. The dove was lucky: The firelight was not on him. But darkness enshrouded his mind, tugging away his consciousness. The dove fought, gasping, grappling with the dark that loomed over his senses. He was the only chance for the Lorars.
“Never mind the airlubber,” gurgled the Jargan Lord from afar. “You have struck its tail well. We will burn the jungle, and it shall be unable to escape.”
The Wulgars snickered. The jungle froze, about to be transmuted to a scorching furnace. Even the leaf-cutting ants, beneath their foliar luggage, halted in their pheromonal tracks.
The dove’s vision flashed white, then sunk into a desensitizing black.