Story #198 - Draogath's Day

Draogath's Day

Draogath was having a hell of a day.

One would think that the Binder of Souls would be able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that was precisely what Draogath had always done. Each time before, he'd returned to the world of men when his power was strong enough, collecting the souls of those he slaughtered to increase his unholy army. Each time, however, he'd been defeated by a single man wielding the old magic, a single fool who thought to stand against the Binder himself. Faces changed, but the magic and the humiliation remained the same.

He'd decided to do things differently this time.

The under-earth was filled with demons, imps and sprites of various dispositions, some of whom had skills that Draogath was sure would be useful for his conquest. Instead of attacking the world of men alone and doing what he had always done, he would try something the humans called “delegation”. So far, it was proving to be a vast irritation.

“Explain to me why I can't simply crush the east. They're not protected by any form of the old magic,” Draogath grated to the small demon in front of him. Despite the thing's best efforts – Rayuul, it called itself – it couldn't help but flinch at the sound of his voice. A mortal poet living during the time of his last conquest and who was one of the first to have his soul taken described it as “though the very pit of earth were opening wide, ready to devour all ears it touched”. The poet had been largely unskilled, but that line had always resonated with him, and he had no reason to doubt its truth. He spoke, and others trembled.

“The magician, Lord Draogath, Fratztrabool the Magnificent,” Rayuul said calmly. The short, soot-covered demon had a reputation for ruthless efficiency, and had survived for centuries under the watchful and jealous eyes of demons far larger and more powerful than itself. If there was any creature in the under-earth that could help to plan a successful attack on the mortal realm – one that wouldn't end with eventual banishment and imprisonment – it was this one. Still, the thing had a habit of saying the most annoying things.

“The magician!” He roared, and Rayuul took a step back. “He has the barest control over the old magic, and what's more is a continent away. I could destroy the east before the fool knew I had even returned. I'm out of practice, Rayuul. Binding souls is something I only have the chance to do every five centuries or so.”

“I know, my Lord,” Rayuul said gently, “but you must be patient. Every moment you spend in the mortal realm increases the amount of power the magician has available to him, even if he does not know how to use it. You remember Verdan, I trust?”

Draogath scowled, then nodded. Verdan had been fool – a country whelp with no knowledge of the world beyond his farm. Fifteen centuries ago, he had been the only hope for the mortal realm, but so insignificant that Draogath had all but ignored him until the world was covered in flames and skeletal armies roamed the countryside. Though blind chance and fumbling use of the old magic, Verdan had been able to defeat him and send him howling into a poorly-made arcane prison. It was then that he had learned about the balance of magics, and the proportional increase the mortal champion was given the longer Draogath stalked the earth.

“We do not want that happening this time,” Rayuul went on, “so you'll be staying here while we take care of this magician.”

“You?” Draogath was amused. The little demon could not be much of a fighter.

“Well, demons under my command. Sprites too, for distraction. You see, my Lord, our presence in the world also increases the amount of old magic the magician can use, but only by a small amount. Even weeks of our presence equals a day of your time on mortal soil, giving us the ability to plan an appropriate demise for the champion.”

Draogath scowled. The idea of not destroying this fool magician himself did not sit well. Having someone else do it, even at his command, made him feel like a coward, as though the Binder of Souls was too weak to do his own dirty work.

“Once the magician is out of the way, Lord Draogath, there will be nothing to stop you from conquering the world. I realize this is not how you have done things in the past, but that is why you hired me, is it not? To think differently than you would, to plan an attack that the mortals will not expect?” Rayuul spread his hands and cocked his head, and Draogath almost laughed in the little demon's face. The creature was right, of course, but his attempt at wide-eyed innocence was beyond ridiculous.

“You are correct, demon,” he said quietly, managing to only shake the room rather than send chunks of rock tumbling to the floor. Perhaps doing things differently would not be so bad. “But I have a request.”

“Anything, my Lord,” Rayuul said, bowing. “I am at your command.”

“Of course you are.” To emphasize the point, he reached out and took the demon in a firm grip and then lifted him from the tiled stone. He applied just a hint of pressure, enough to remind the fool just who was in charge, and what consequences would follow failure.

“Make sure he suffers, Rayuul,” Draogath grated, “and make sure that those around him see it. Let the mortals know that their master has returned, and let them tremble as their only hope is broken before their eyes. Make him bleed!”

“Yes!” Rayuul cried out, writhing in pain.

Dropping the struggling creature, Draogath moved to the edge of his prison, and the demon skittered away into the darkness, eager to begin its task. The walls were growing thin, thin enough that he could break them if he so chose.

Soon, he thought, soon enough.

- D