A Dish Most Cold

The wizard's spirit slapped aside the demon soul who snarled back at the wizard in anger. The wizard merely pointed to the back of a very, very long line. "I don't care who you were on the other side. Here you wait your turn." At the look in the wizard's blood red eyes, the demon soul turned and slunk away.

Of all the corners of the hellish Darkness, this was surely the blackest. But the lost souls of the un-dead flocked here, for here was something new. Something that promised release from the endless torment of Darkness. Here this wizard's spirit had found a way to pierce the veil between Darkness and the world of the accursed living. The un-dead spirits could then possess the very bodies of the living, experiencing the sensations forever denied them in Darkness. Here this wizard was building an army.

The wizard spirit worked carefully and methodically as if he had all the time in the world. Which he did. Time had no meaning in the realm of Darkness. From this multitude of un-dead spirits the wizard selected only the very best to be his lieutenants. To possess a living body and do his bidding on the other side. Those he rejected howled in agony that the chance to feel, to see, to hear had been denied them. Their torment moved the wizard not at all.

Before, when he was alive on the other side, the wizard had been defeated and his soul had fallen into Darkness. The wizard was determined that things would be different this time. There would be no mistakes. He would take no chances. And, in the end, he would hold dominion over the realms of both Light and Darkness. Forever.

Now, It was time to continue his work on the other side. The wizard slipped into his host body as a hand slips into a well worn glove. For a moment he basked in the sensations from the body, touching, listening, looking about the ornate office. He could just feel the soul of Proctor Alberrin, stuffed down out of the way into a dark corner of this mind. Weeping like a child locked in a closet. The man could scarcely comprehend what was happening to him. What was forcing him to the evil deeds he wrought. The wizard noticed, with disgust, that the good Proctor had soiled himself at the possession. There were some benefits to the spirit realm after all, the wizard mused as he cleaned the mess.

The wizard began reading the day's dispatches. His plans were progressing nicely. The humans had been whipped into a killing frenzy of greed. They fought both his orc minions and one another to attain each new item as he crafted them for the orcs. He laughed. Little did the humans realize that the more orcs they killed the stronger his forces grew. Already he was able to challenge the humans for control of some of the outlying cities. More and more humans were starting to die, providing new souls for his un-dead army. He had even managed to have his un-dead minions possess some of the high town officials insuring that the guards kept interference to a minimum. Some of the orcs still resisted his control though, but they were few and could not stand for long against both the humans and the possessed of their own kind.

The next paper brought a frown to the wizard's borrowed face. A courier, between Yew and Britain, had been ambushed and killed by these renegade orcs. The papers, which the courier had carried, were missing. Normally this would be of little consequence, but the wizard's agents had tracked one wounded orc north to a clearing just south of the Yew moongate. The wizard instantly recognized this location. This clearing held the chapel home of that never to be sufficiently damned healer/priest and his rag-tag collection of sickening friends. The very ones who had, once before, defeated his plans, destroyed his body and exiled his soul into Darkness. This event warranted his full attention.

The wizard relaxed and allowed his spirit perception to flow outward. Past the massive castle walls and moat, over the mountains and north west towards Yew. His view circled the clearing like some great dark bird. The old priest's chapel was gone now. Replaced by other buildings. The wizard focused his concentration, clearing the image. Other people, strange dress, speaking a strange language. Mongols! Somehow that damned old priest had brought a Mongol Horde into Britannia. There was the Mongol leader. The Khan was reading the papers. The wizard strained, reaching out to snatch the soul away from that one threat but was blinded by the light from two tall candles and then saw only darkness…

The wizard's vision cleared. He was lying on his back looking up at the ceiling from the floor of his office. Damn! He had forgotten to feed this worthless old body and it had failed him. Shaking, he crawled to his chair and began eating some fruit from a bowl on the desk. Some strength returned but it would be quite some time before this body was fully renewed. Never mind. He would task his most trusted captain to deal with this Khan. He reached for parchment and quill and began to write.

My dear Galliard, Although our operation is progressing nicely, it has been brought to my attention…

The wizard planned quickly as his pen scratched out his instructions. Once it was brought to him, he would devour the soul of this Khan adding its energy to his own. Then he would have the power to easily deal with the rest of this Horde. Growing in strength with each one he consumed. He would save that damned old priest for last. Making that one's torment last a long, long time. The wizard grinned as he plotted out his revenge.

© 2001 Todd Bailey