Mary Gentle - Grunts

Hive Commander Kah-Sissh, nudged again by Ashnak’s boot, spoke. “This is the Emperor of all Jassik. Emperor of those who are here, and of those who rule, in his name, the myriad worlds of the stars. He leads us from world to world, plundering and pillaging, subjecting all to Jassik control. He leads the holy war, across stars uncounted, forging an empire of worlds too many to be numbered!”

“Wait!” The Dark Lord stared at Kah-Sissh’s back and at the Jassik’s multibarreled disruptor. “What discourtesy is this, orc Ashnak? I was under the impression that our foes had agreed to throw down their arms.”

Ashnak shrugged. “Bit difficult with cyber-grown weaponry, Ma’am. We’re doing the best we can.”

Hive Commander Kah-Sissh drew himself up, towering over the assembly. “I am bound by a warrior’s bonour to keep the terms agreed at the peace negotiations!”

The Jassik rubbed his claw across his chitinous skull between his faceted eyes, as if he found the Opticon’s light uncomfortable.

“For some reason, I do not entirely remember all the conditions,” he added, “but nonetheless, I hold to them!”

The Dark Lord seated Herself again on the Throne of the World. She shot a sharp glance at Ashnak. “I ask again: why have you brought this body here? I am not in the healing vein today.”

“Our ship-egg is on the point of hatching.” The alien Hive Commander stood on his exoskeletal hind limbs. Sun gleamed on his articulated thorax, domed head, and acid-dripping jaws. His faceted eyes held a thousand reflections of the Lord of Darkness. “Within hours we must leave this petty world. The Jassik Empire must continue on its conquering way.”

“‘Petty’ world?” the Dark Lord mused. “That is not something it is tactful to say to Me.”

“No, Ma’am.” Ashnak glared at the Hive Commander. “What Kah-Sissh means to say, Ma’am, is that the Jassik need a Swarm Master to lead them. This one is destroyed in mind, but only damaged in body. Dread Lord, the Jassik offer You the body of the Swarm Master to possess—if You will become their Emperor and lead them from world to world, conquering as You go.”

A silence fell on the Parliament. Ashnak’s gaze swept Oderic’s scowling features, Magorian and the White Mages; the Ferenzi nobles and people; the creatures of the Horde…

The Ruler of the World’s gaze returned from the same survey.

“What do I rule, here?” She asked. “Some half a million creatures. Yes, little Kah-Sissh, I have been speaking with your Jassik companions of the worlds that lie beyond the stars. The many, many worlds.”

An orcish voice spoke up from the rear of the Opticon.

“It’s quite all right if you refuse, Ma’am,” Major-General Barashkukor called, almost on cue. “They’ve said that if you don’t want the post, they’ll offer it to someone else.”

“ Will they, now…”

The Dark Ruler of the World stood, jewelled belt blazing in the Opticon’s sunlight. She turned Her gaze upon the tiers of seats.

“And who would accept this offer? You, Magorian? To be a hero again in a body not betrayed by age? Or you, Oderic, who thinks he is a wizard, to gain the knowledge of the stars?”

Her gaze swept on.

“My br— My necromancer would have taken this chance, out of courage or desperation. What of you, nobles of Ferenzi? Dwarves, will you study the engineering of the stars? Halflings, will you carry your thievery to other worlds? Elves, will you visit those stars of which you sing? Ah, you see that I see into you all. There is not one of you who can answer Me.”

The Dark Lord’s gaze lowered to the marble dais at the foot of the Throne.

“Not even you , little orc. Come, confess it before your fellow warriors and be shamed. You will not take the offer of a Jassik Emperor’s body. Your bowels loose at the very thought.”

The orc Supreme Commander shrugged, shifted uncomfortably from combat boot to combat boot, and avoided his grunts’ eyes. “Ah. Well. That is…”

The Dark Lord’s voice seared. “Shall I make you take the offer? It is in My power so to do.”

Rapidly concealed anxiety showed in the orc’s porcine eyes. With a more genuine discomfort, he said, “No, Ma’am!”

The Dark Lord laughed.

“It would be a fitting reward, to dispossess you of your orcish warriors. But that I can in any case do. Let Me think…Yes. Curiously enough, little orc, there is something you can do for Me.”

A Darkness began to fill the Opticon.

Out of it, Her voice said, “I here proclaim Ashnak of the Agaku to be My regent, to rule this petty world in My absence!”

Ashnak’s tusked jaw sagged.

Her voice laughed.

Darkness swirled, stinking of rot and bone, smelling of spices and cherries and the east wind. The unseen dome of the Opticon creaked. The shrieks and cries of the delegates fell, muted, as if into infinite void.

Abruptly, Darkness vanished.

Ashnak swiped at his eyes that streamed in the sudden sunlight. All the elves, Men, kobolds, witches, dwarves, and other delegates in the chamber rose to their feet, shouting—and then suddenly fell silent.

Lights ran across the black metal body of the Swarm Master.

Hive Commander Kah-Sissh and his Jassik escort folded and fell, making obeisance on the tiles.

The Swarm Master rose.

His articulated armoured body hung suspended between chitin-metal limbs, weapon-muzzles gleaming. His faceted eyes glimmered with an ancient amusement.

He spoke, His voice ancient and familiar:

“None of you are worthy of Me…You and this world are too poor in scope for My ambition. What, is there no more world left for Me to conquer? Are there no worthy enemies? I go now to rule an Evil Empire beyond your comprehension! Little beings, amuse yourselves in this dungheap that is also Mine, for I shall not return to it, beg Me though you may.”

The Emperor of the Jassik moved on metal-chitin limbs. He lowered his acid-dripping jaws towards the discarded body of the female Man that lay between His feet.

“I have a universe to conquer!” He hissed.

The Jassik Swarm Master picked up The Named’s limp body in one foreclaw, bit her head off, and, escorted by Jassik warriors, paced regally out of the Opticon, chewing.

Will Brandiman glanced up at the sign over the door— “Wrestling Emporium” and, in smaller letters, “A DIVISION OF MAGDA BRANDIMAN ENTERPRISES”—and trotted past the bouncers into the club. A welcome fug of pipe-weed smoke and small beer hit his nostrils. He paused for a moment, eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light. There were no uncurtained windows to let the morning in.

“Ned?”

“Over here, Will.”

Halfling-sized and Man-sized tables filled most of the floor. The club’s arc-lights shone on the roped arena, on a dais, in which two mud-spattered dwarves wrestled in three inches of black slime.

“Foul!” Ned Brandiman bawled, thumping his fist on the table. His red wimple was pushed back, showing his curly brown hair and his stubbled cheeks. He grinned up at Will.

“Good, isn’t it?” he said happily.

The ex-Son of the Lady, Amarynth Firehand, also looked up from where he sat, his arm around Ned Brandiman’s redhabited shoulders. “Ah. Brother-in-law William. Do you approve?”

With a roar, the smaller of the wrestling dwarves flipped the other over, kneeling on her shoulders and rubbing the black mud into her beard. Will waited until the ringing cheers had died down before he said, “Dwarf mud wrestling, Holy One?”

“No, no. I am no longer Holy.” The elf lowered his eyes. “The Lady of Light has told me how unfit I am. Now I must wallow in sin and depravity, tasting every vice, until my knowledge of evil is perfect. Only then dare I call myself Most Holy again.”