Chapter 4: Venim

Rusty chains rattle as the primitive elevator carries me up the sheer rock face of Mount Bolguz. Through the bars of the rising cage, the great ash plains spread before me, vast and dark and gray. The sky above the plains looks like bleeding ink. The air smells of burning.

Ul.

It is the ugliest damned planet I’ve ever seen.

In truth, it is the only planet I can actually remember seeing. Yet I know in my soul I have seen others before it, and I know they cannot have been as ugly as this.

The elevator cage clanks against the rock wall as it ascends, startling a pair of screechers perched on the crags. They take to the skies on leathery wings, and I watch as they sail off into the distance. I am envious of their freedom.

Yet they are no freer than I. Not truly.

They cannot leave Ul, just as I cannot. Just as nothing on this Monad-forsaken planet can leave, save for the precious ore buried deep within its guts.

The difference is, the screechers do not know they are imprisoned.

And perhaps that is the real reason I envy them.

The elevator clangs as it reaches the pulley at the top of the cliff. The big bastard holding the chain is named Ugrin. It is by the strength of his four arms that the elevator has risen, and now that same strength is the only thing that keeps the cage from plummeting to the ground far below. Ugrin waits for me to remove my chitin helmet before he makes fast the chain.

“Venim,” he gurgles.

He opens the cage door, and I step out onto solid ground. I reach into my pack and tip him a few flecks of ore for his service.

“Caution,” Ugrin says with an ironic twist of his mouth. “Pharod is in a mood.”

“When will he ever not be in a mood?” I ask.

Ugrin grins. It is not a pretty sight. “When the ore runs out,” he intones, quoting the oft-repeated phrase which, here on Ul, means never.

“If that ever happens,” I say. “Pharod will be in a mood indeed.”

Ugrin laughs at that. A nasty, nasty sound.

Pharod’s stronghold sits atop Mount Bolguz like a broken horn sprouting from a giant skull of stone. Eons ago, this mountain was a volcano, the largest in the quadrant, but it has since fallen dormant. Now its bowels are a warren of mines--mines which belong to Pharod, Ore Baron of the Western Plains.

Actually, that is not entirely true. Technically speaking, the mines of Ul belong to the Emperor, but the Ore Barons control them in his stead. Xenithar would never dare to set foot on this planet. He wouldn’t last five kethars here. Not five.

I walk with my helm tucked under one arm. Up here at the summit, the air is hot, and I am tempted to remove the rest of my armor too, exposing my bare scales to the open air, but I know it wouldn’t help.

Besides, I may still need it yet.

As I approach the stronghold, a figure comes crashing through a window high above, flailing his arms amid a rain of shards. He hits the ground a few paces ahead of me, splattering purple gore all over my chitin greaves.

Well. Ugrin wasn’t joking. Pharod is in a mood indeed.

I scrape the guts off my soles and step into the stronghold. As soon as I’m inside, I can hear the Ore Baron raging upstairs. At first it’s just an indistinct snarl echoing through the winding halls of stone, but as I climb the stairs the words become clearer, more distinct.

Pharod is unhappy because the Unfettered have attacked another one of our caravans. That’s the sixth time this draz. He’s pissed, and he’s breaking things.

Not all of the things he’s breaking are inanimate.

By the time I reach the open door of Pharod’s chamber, his roars are almost deafening. The scene within is total chaos. Overturned furniture. Broken plates and cups. Greasy bones from a half-finished meal. A group of underlings are cowering by the wall. One of them lies dead on the floor. A Narkeevian from the looks of it. His throat’s been ripped out and now it’s oozing green.

I stand in the doorway and watch. Pharod has not seen me yet, and I do not wish to interrupt his tantrum.

“Six!” he bellows, kicking over the last upright table in the room, sending its contents flying--skin maps, ore nuggets, a goblet of expensive offworld wine--“Six! Don’t these Unfettered bastards realize they would be dead without me?

He stalks over to the broken window and stares out of it, breathing heavily. As usual, he is shirtless, and the fur on his upper body is standing on end. The mere sight of that stuff makes my scales itch beneath my armor. If I were covered in a hide like that, I reckon I would have a temper too.

Pharod’s snout rumples in aggression, baring bloodied fangs.

“We have a system,” he growls to nobody in particular. “A karfing system. I give the Emperor his ore; he gives us the things we need; and I, in my infinite wisdom, distribute those goods among the people. Without me, Ul would starve! Yet these Unfettered scum have the gall to steal from me, biting the very hand that feeds them...”

He is, of course, leaving out a few important details.

The fact that Ul is a prison, for example. Every man on this rock is an inmate, branded with a glyph denoting his crime and dumped here with no hope of ever escaping. I do not know the precise nature of the Ore Baron’s crimes; I only know that glyph burned upon the flesh of his chest means “Atrocity.” He could have been put to death, I’m sure, but the Emperor realized a man such as Pharod could be useful here on Ul.

He turns away from the window in disgust, and his eyes suddenly lock with mine. His crest raises. His nostrils flare.

“Venim!”

The Ore Baron charges toward me across the chamber with murder in his eyes. A lesser man would probably void his bowels and flee in terror, but I stand my ground. It is the only way to deal with a Karrion like Pharod.

Besides, I do not fear death. Indeed, I sometimes think it would be a welcome alternative to my life here on Ul.

Pharod comes to a stop right in front me, his wet nose a mere finger’s breadth from my face. When he exhales, I can smell the blood of the Narkeevian he killed before I arrived.

“Venim,” he says again. “Where the null have you been?”

“Scouting,” I answer calmly.

“For eight days?” he shouts. “For eight karfing days?”

“It was only seven,” I correct him. The underlings in the corner cannot believe my insolence.

Pharod snarls. “You’d better have good news for me, Venim. You’d karfing better have some good karfing news.”

“I do.”

Pharod’s eyes brighten. His ears lift.

“Speak,” he says. “Speak.”

“I’ve located the hideout of the Unfettered who have been attacking our caravans.”

“All by yourself? How?”

“Not entirely by myself,” I answer. “I had some help. Ten days ago, my men captured an Unfettered bandit. He required some ‘encouragement,’ but eventually he spilled. I went alone to see if the information he had given us was true. It was.”

Pharod lunges with his claws. I spin and dodge. I’m tempted to draw the glazeblade sheathed on my back, but I restrain myself. Pharod whirls to face me, growling.

“You captured an Unfettered,” he snarls, “and you did not bring him to me?”

“Are you kidding? You’d have killed him before he had a chance to talk.”

For a moment, Pharod looks as if he’s going to attack me again. Then his snout breaks into a huge and hideous grin. He claps my shoulders hard--a friendly gesture. If I weren’t wearing my pauldrons, it would most certainly leave a bruise.

“You’ve got balls, Venim!” He raps my chitin codpiece with his knuckles and turns to face the other underlings. “You see? This is why Venim is my top enforcer. He’s got balls. Big ones. He gets things done without me having to hold his karfing hand every step of the way.”

He looks at me again.

“The hideout,” he hisses. “Show me where.”

It takes us a few kethars to find the right map among the detritus of Pharod’s fury. A tattered piece of zlortch leather inscribed with kreffid blood. The underlings set up a table, and I spread the map out before us.

“Here,” I tell him, tapping the location of the Unfettered hideout.

“The Spine?” Pharod says, referring to the ridge of mountains that cuts across the landscape. “How? That whole place is lousy with scuttlers.”

He taps my breastplate, which is fashioned from the shell of one the subterranean bugs that infest the underworld of Ul.

“Perhaps,” I explain. “But the Unfettered are using the caves nonetheless. I discovered secret passages here, here, and here. The scent of Unfettered was all over the entrance.”

“Interesting...”

“Do you wish me to mount an attack?” I ask him, eager for the task. It has been far too long since my glazeblade has tasted blood. Days.

Pharod thinks for a moment. He’s actually pretty good at thinking when his temper is under control.

“No,” he says at last. “One of the others can handle that. Krone or Sleezl. I have something different for you. Something... subtler.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to go to the Weedians.”

“The Weedians?” I ask.

Like the Unfettered, the Weedians do not work for Pharod or any of the other Ore Barons. Their presence, however, is tolerated. For one, they are not hostile. More importantly, they farm the dreamweed for the other inmates to smoke. I do not use the stuff myself. Neither does Pharod. He permits it, however, because it gives his workers something to do with their free time besides planning a revolt. Keeps them docile, pliant, obedient.

“There are rumors,” Pharod goes on. “Rumors of a cult taking shape. It is said the cultists use the dreamweed to commune with strange gods.”

“I’ve heard of them. The Awakeners.”

“That’s right,” Pharod says. “The Awakeners. I want you to go among the Weedians. Ask around. See what you can learn about this new religion.”

“The Weedians will recognize me,” I tell him. “They know I’m your man. They’ll be suspicious.”

Pharod scratches his chin with a claw.

“So pretend you’re unhappy. Maybe you’re thinking of switching teams. If the Weedians believe you’re a free agent, they will court you.”

It won’t be hard to pretend.

But why?

Why is Pharod suddenly interested in some superstitious cult? Does he think they pose a threat to his dominance over the Western Plains? Or has the request come from someone even higher up the food chain? Perhaps even the Emperor himself?

Before I have a chance to consider these questions more thoroughly, a sound steals my attention--a rumbling so deep, it shakes the very stones of the stronghold. For a moment, I think Mount Bolguz may not be dormant after all, and we’re all about to get blown to null. Then I realize the sound isn’t coming from below...

It’s coming from above.

“What the karf?” Pharod grunts.

He races over to the shattered window, and I follow. What I see beyond the jagged panes makes my blood race inside me.

Off in the distance, a storm cloud churns across the sky like ink dropped in water, a dark and roiling mass at least twenty draths in length. Lightning plays within its shadowed depths. Wicked flickerings and pulsings. I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm so grand and terrifying. I’ve certainly never seen one appear so quickly.

But then, this is clearly no ordinary storm.

After a moment, the clouds seem to ripple and pull back like a tangle of black rags, revealing a solid object sheathed within. It is a ship, massive and red, its hull wreathed in flames like a burning sword descending from the heavens.

There is no mistaking what it is: an Imperial concubine ship.

And it’s crashing here on Ul.

As I watch, a tiny spark divorces itself from the burning hull and veers away toward the planet’s surface. Another spark follows, then another. Soon the Scarlet Ship is raining sparks like hundreds of little glowing seed pods over the land.

Escape pods. Concubines.

Females.

Great Monad. Females. The mere thought is enough to make my breeding organ go rigid inside my armor. A trickle of pre-seed slithers down my leg.

Beside me, Pharod is doing a much better job of restraining his arousal. Always the schemer, he. I suspect the hairy bastard has more in mind than mere breeding. I can practically hear the wheels turning inside that thick skull of his. He rests one huge, clawed hand atop my shoulder.

“Venim,” he chuckles as we watch the great red ship come down, “forget about the Weedians for now. It appears we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

TO BE CONTINUED!
PRE-ORDER HERE: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GHMN112X