Once upon a dreadful time

Throngs

Under dark, brooding skies sped Hradian, to come in among snow-laden mountains, their grim jagged crags and rearing massifs looming all ’round. The peaks marched away beyond seeing toward starwise and dawnwise and duskwise bounds, and seldom did outside folk come this way, and then only if they were desperate, for this was the Chaine Malefique, and herein did dreadful Trolls live. Yet Hradian felt no fear of these monsters, for, along with other dire folk, they were her allies.

Besides, Orbane was with her, and he could easily keep them at bay.

Deeper into the bleak mountains she flew, until at last she espied her goal. Then down she spiralled and down, down toward a large gape of a cavern below, the opening yawning wide.

She came to ground at the entrance, where she and Orbane dismounted. And standing just inside the mouth hulked an enormous being. Hideous, he was, and massive, some nine foot tall or so. And all about him was a terrible miasma, a rotting stench, like a burst-open animal lying days dead in a hot summer sun.

He was dressed in greasy hides, and he had yellow eyes and green-scummed tusks that showed as he bared his teeth at the appearance of this twain.

As Hradian and Orbane started for the entrance, “Stanna!” demanded the Troll in a guttural growl.

Orbane paid him no heed and strode on. “Stoppa!” roared the huge creature.

Still Orbane trod forward, and the Troll stepped in front of the wizard.

Orbane muttered a word and made a gesture, and the monster stood rooted in place.

“Acolyte, I lend you a meager portion of my might; you may destroy this creature for trying to bar my way.”

“My lord, is that-?” Hradian’s words chopped short as she realized she was about to ask him if it were “wise.” Instead, she pushed an upturned clawlike hand out toward the chest of the Troll and, with nearly orgasmic power pulsing through her, as if she were squeezing something, she slowly closed her fingers.

The Troll groaned but once, its face turning gray, and then it crashed down at her feet, dead ere it hit the stone.

On into the cavern strode Orbane, with a floating globe of arcane light preceding him and Hradian scurrying after. Twisting and turning, they followed the way as it wrenched deeper into the darkness. But at last they came to a torchlit hall, a number of Trolls therein, the stench nearly unbearable. And on an upraised dais and in a massive chair of stone sat one larger than the rest.

“Bolock!” called Orbane.

The Troll’s yellow eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Lord Orbane?”

Orbane laughed. “Indeed, my old ally. And I have come to tell you that this time we will not fail.” Bolock turned to the other Trolls and snarled, “Down, fools!

Can you not see Lord Orbane has returned?” As Trolls groveled on the stone cavern floor, Orbane stepped to the dais.

Bolock grinned, his great tusks a dingy green in the yellow torchlight, and he said, “But I thought you were trapped in the-”

“I was, but I escaped.”

Behind Orbane, Hradian’s shoulders sagged, for it was she who had got her lord free, and yet he gave her no credit. Still, she understood that if the minions thought he had escaped on his own, then they would think him even greater than anyone could imagine. Nevertheless, she desired the praise that would come with recognition.

“I have a new plan, Bolock,” said Orbane, “one that your throng will share in, and the rewards you and your like will reap will be unimaginable. . ”

. .

Over the next fortnight, Hradian ferried Orbane thither and yon throughout portions of Faery, where he exhorted his allies of old to gather from far and near. They went to the great grasslands to enlist the Serpentines and their scaled, cloven-hoofed steeds; to the hills to gather up the Goblins; to the swamps to command the Bogles to heed the call; and to other domains as well. Most immediately joined Orbane’s cause; some delayed their decisions; still others refused him outright, those who were powerful enough to tell him no. The congress of Wyverns were among those who rejected Orbane’s demand, their flames smoldering as a warning to the wizard that if he tried to use his powers they would incinerate him; although Orbane could have immobilized them, still he would not make enemies of these powerful creatures, and so he left in a rage of frustration.

Orbane did not approach some beings, for he knew they would not ally themselves with him, such as Lord Dread, who was the leader of the Wild Hunt. Neither did Orbane speak to such creatures as the Pooka, or Corpse-candles, or the Spriggans, and other such. For although some of those were deadly, still he needed an army for his plan, and they simply would not do, for some were wild, others stubborn, some cowardly, and still others independent with agendas of their own, hence would not yield to his command.

And after each meeting, as the witch flew the wizard toward the next goal, Orbane laughed at what fools these dolts were, expecting he would reward them. “No, no, Acolyte, my plan will rain chaos not only over all of Faery, but the mortal world as well. And as both the wise and the unwise alike flounder about in such madness, I will become master of all.” And so, from many parts of Faery, long marches began, dreadful allies all heading for a rendezvous with their lord and master. Bearing flails and cudgels and barbed spears and other such brutish weaponry, they came. And in the beginning, each croft and hamlet and village and town they encountered they pillaged and raped and slaughtered and burned. In their wake they left nought but ruins, and men slain and women murdered and half-eaten corpses of children torn asunder. Soon every dwelling or ville they came to they found abandoned, the inhabitants run away to hide in the hills or the forest or in other surround.

Even so, the deserted steads and towns did not survive.

And in the temperate lands, from the screening foliage of nearby woodland trees and bushes and from the concealing stalks of field grasses, tiny beings followed the dreadful progress and noted the lines of the march, and soon wee Sprites went winging toward distant goals, while in the frozen realms, Ice Sprites watched long moments and then flashed away.