Darian and the Barge
By Oscar S. Cisneros [Author Info]Darian heard the Orcan barge before he saw it. The great ship rumbled far ahead, its cargo hold filled with fanatic orcs in celebration. Three miles across and two tall the tunnel wound in a slow turn toward the Great Heat hundreds of miles ahead. Beating drums echoed around the floating iron ship as it lumbered down the lane.
Darian buzzed behind a giant stalactite and clipped a collapsible metal web to its stone. They would never find him there, flitting from perch to perch, with black iridescent wings carrying his slight frame aloft. A dark elf with wings would be a welcome ‘guest’ aboard the barge. Darian drew back. The thought of those massive green fists shattering his thin bones would prevent any thievery aboard that ship tonight.
Or would it? He buzzed toward the barge. Hovering for a moment, he strained his wings as he cast a quick spell and then winked from sight.
On the deck the orcs were piled everywhere, drugged and unconscious. Long before the drow had taught them the science of mycology, the orcs had learned to cultivate and grow their own fungi. Until the first of them were educated by the drow, they had always believed the hallucinations caused by some species were supernatural. Their learning had done little to dissuade them of these beliefs, however; the orcs consumed the glowing mushrooms before sacrifices to their gods. Having feasted, they now lay heaped atop each other, rumbling on the deck with guttural purrs of contentedness.
Darian considered making himself visible. Only the dancers and musicians were conscious, as were the priests whose magic guided the ship. What would their blurry eyes make of a winged dark elf?
There was no time for games, however, at least not now. He rushed to a massive, plated ball of iron bolted to the deck and superstructure. This great drum held the Essence of Levity. Sealed, pressurized and coated in layers of armor, the levity lifted the ship into the cave’s air. Eight of these domes housed the lifting drums and only the orcs know how they were made.
The dark elf dreamed a vain fantasy of de-coupling them in secret as the Orcus drums beat their beat. He was a daring drow but also owned the spider’s discretion -- only fight on your own terms. And yet what better terms than an almost idle barge filled with sleeping orcs?
"Rock still elf," grumbled a deep voice behind him
Darian turned slowly to meet the gaze of white-clad orcan priest whose huge arms bore a net bow.
"I shall be on my way, good sir. I will forever be in debt for this brief respite from the sky; my wings are thin," Darian said.
"And your tongue quick, elf" rumbled the orc, his gizzard clicking loudly in agitation.
Darian feared his gaze. For ten thousand years the dark elves had enslaved the orcs. Now they stood in an uneasy alliance born of economic reality. Societies cannot thrive in sustained war, not in an environ like the Underworld. The old masters now paid their former slaves well for their massive strength. No longer were the orcs pinned to a dark elven web of fear. Since the day Orcus the Second first hallucinated the Great Walk, it was the dark skinned drow that lived in fear of an empowered race.
The drow were powerful, but they were few -- little match, really, for thronging hordes of enraged orcs. But the dark elves owned the financial and magical spheres of this Underworld; the orcs needed them too and in turn feared the untapped masses of demons the drow could spill into this realm as revenge. And so former master and former slave worked together anew.
"On different terms," Darian said, "We should meet on different terms. I bear a message for Orcus the Fifth from my city. Your leave I request to deliver the thoughts."
"Rock still, elf" the orc said. "You come with Tlaltos ship. Our celebration ends before the fires of the Great Metal Face."
"My wings will reach there sooner than your pleasure ship. And I will be missed…" Darian said. A few orcs had begun to rise from their stupor and wondered why their priest spoke to no one, only a voice.
"A dark elf messenger hunts always alone and in secret," the orc shouted. "Few will know of your passing."
"You can never hold me, great one, only kill me. Let us meet anew on different terms and on a different night."
Two flips and a jump later, he was over the deck’s rail diving quick and in silence. He veered beneath the ship as the outstretched webbing of the net bow blasted past him.
Darian’s UnderPixies would soon shriek in delight when told this portion of the tale; the flitting escape from the lumbering barge was the stuff that made their rapid little hearts beat in approval. They would soon hear the tale.
| Author Info |
|
Copyright © 1999 by Oscar S. Cisneros. This material may be distributed only subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License, v.04 1998 or later (the latest version is presently available at http://www.opencontent.org/openpub/).
Distribution of substantively modified versions of this document is prohibited without the explicit permission of the copyright holder. Distribution of the work or derivative of the work in any standard (paper) book form is prohibited unless prior permission is obtained from the copyright holder.
Permission not granted to use the email addresses on this page for commercial purposes. Please contact us, but don't spam us. Unsolicited commercial email from the address on this page will be considered an act of trespass.
