[Miroku]

There was an unseasonable chill in the early morning air, raising
goosebumps on Threnody's exposed skin. She noticed the increase of
the guards on watch as she strolled the catwalk to the Royal Quarters.
Something was up. Sometimes it sucked just being one of the members
of the Infernal Garrison. It left you out of the loop on what was
going on. The old adage 'The first to go, and the last to know'
came to mind.

She turned her head and let out an almost stifled squeak. There
was an armored cohort of Geryon camped outside the castle about a
hundred yards out. The regiment's colors and the flag of the City
of Dis fluttered in the cold wind that blew down from the mountains.
'Oh ****, no', Threnody thought. Not good.... NOT good. Trying
to appear as nonchalant as possible, she quickened her step.

Butterflies the size of gremlins did their widdershins dance of
death on her stomach bottom. What the presence of Hell's brutal
constables meant wasn't clear, but never boded well for anyone. They
kept the peace and enforced the tenets of the Abyssal Covenant, and
were ruthless in how they accomplished those duties. She quickly
flashed back on a memory of her days as a raw conscript. The days
spent in basic training had been tiring, the instructors relentless..




Sweat beaded on her brow, dripping down to her eyes or hitting
the ground with minute hisses. Up, down, up, down, kiss the ground,
and rise back up.

"Count off in order the parts of the Covenant as defined by
the Great Council!", barked her Instructor. He had the heavy
musculature and dilligence for which the Minotaurs are well known.

Up, down. "One! The souls of the Damned must be
maintained - the Divine's Will, sir!"

Up, down. "Two! Sinners shall be divided. Each realm shall
be specific and each realm shall serve sentence on the Damned, sir!"

Up, down, up, down. The day had barely begun and already the
air over the Abominable Sands started to scorch the breath from the
lungs. Just as it had since the Pit was made by the Creator.

She could see her fellows out of the corner of her left eye
standing at attention while her punishment was meted out. They
didn't make one sound. Any of them could be singled out for
'special treatment' for so much as a single guffaw.

Up, down. "Three!.... To that end, there shall be no war on
any Circle of the Abyss, sir!"

A toothy grin showed briefly (then died of loneliness) on the
Instructor's face. "That's right, my little worms.... no war on
ANY Circle of Hell. That includes this little corner of it!" He
walked a short distance from her, letting his scornful gaze pass
over each cadet. The bloodvine whip in his right hand was coiled,
but everyone knew that at an instant it could lash out. The
lacerations from it wouldn't heal quickly, and the poison in the
barbs kept the blood flowing long after the last strike.

"I don't know which of you little spunk-sucking nematodes
thought you could actually start a barrack brawl without me
finding out about it, but Worm Snowball here...', gesturing at
the prostrate and sweating devil, '... will be paying the price
for it. The next one of you caught in the same situation will
look on her with ENVY!"

The name Snowball was given to her because, as one of the Drill
Instructors had said at the begining of this group's arrival she
had 'a snowball's chance in Hell' of making it. The term worm?
All new conscripts are called that. One step up from damned souls
but one step down from full members of the Hordes.

Whirling suddenly, his whip made an audible >crack!<. Threnody
bit down on her lips untill blood flowed. Claws of fire raked
across her shoulderblades as the Instructor pulled back the whip,
leaving ragged torn flesh. Blood oozed thickly and fell off her
lower back where the bone dry ground soaked it up. Better to not
show any sign of weakness. To do so would provoke derision and
more 'motivation'.

"I didn't say STOP, Worm Snowball.... continue!", the Instructor
bellowed.

One... two... up... down...

"Four! ... All feuds between one Lord and another shall occur
only in the Hollows... sir!"

He nodded once "That MEANS, my little Wormlings, that there's a
time... and most certainly a place to settle your issues. But...
not... HERE! Continue!"

The poison was already getting to her. Though her people were
immune to almost all types of toxins, the poison of the bloodvine
plant seemed to bypass a devil's constitution, making it a potent
barrier as well as a weapon. Threnody's head spun a bit as she
tried to remember what had been taught her by rote.

Up, down "Five! An Order of fiends shall be created to protect
this Code. They shall be known as the Geryon, sir!"

A look of pride crossed the Instructor's face. "I have the honor
of being part of that elite cadre." Red light from the rising form
of Erasmus, The Red Flame of Passion, glinted off a badge worn over
the left breast of the Instructor's jerkin. "None of you would
make the cut... you can barely make **** from food", he sneered.
"Next!"

Up, down "Six! All creatures from any Circle are free to leave
their Master's service in exchange...."

>Crack!<

"Wrong answer, Worm Snowball!, the Instructor bellowed. "What
creatures can leave their master's service? Caedar Hounds?
Mugwumps? Harpies? All those things are cunning, yes, but they
lack free will. They live by instinct. Start over!"

It took a herculean effort to stay on her hands. An overwhelming
sense of unfairness and building anger welled up from inside. She
hadn't been the one who started the fight. That's good, another
part of her mind said, use that anger to focus.

Threnody growled out, "Six! All warriors from any Circle are
free to leave their Master's service in exchange for pledging
allegiance to the Geryon, sir!"

"Good! Continue".

"Seven! The Sixth Circle shall be named after the true Dark Lord
who lies embedded in eternal ice at the bottom of the Pit! It shall
have no rulers, and be protected by the Geryon, sir!"

>Crack!<

"The Sixth Circle is more than named after Lord Dis, Worm. It is
the gathering point and meeting place of all Hell's Lords. Continue!"


By this time the hot winds from off the salt flats had picked up.
The minute particles of sand and salt grit added to the raging
wildfire that had consumed her back and shoulders. It was more than
equaled by the dark fury that nestled in Threnody's heart. Her
Instructor was only doing his job, but that didn't stop her from
imagining catching him at a disadvantage and ripping his throat
out and filling her mouth full of his hot salty blood. Or strangling
him with his own whip, watching his face purple and his eyes swell
and pop out of the sockets. Any of those would be just fine.


"Eight! None shall oppose the Divine Will, sir!"


"None shall oppose the Divine Will", the Instructor mimicked.
"Yet". Another sneer. "Finish it up, Worm. Chow's waitin'!"


"Nine! If the Code is broken, then the offender shall suffer
retribution from the Council, Sir!"


"Outstanding, Worm Snowball! Fall in with the rest of the
trollbait!"


On the strength of sheer rage Threnody picked herself up from
the ground and dusted herself off. She walked stiffly back to
her place in the talon's rank and file. From the corner of her eye
she could just make out the look of pity Garm gave her. It was very
brief. Expressions or other activities of that nature could get you
one-on-one attention from the DIs. Indignation colored her thoghts.
Son of a ***** probably instigated the fight last night by saying
the wrong thing. She'd only gone into the room to break it up.





That still pissed her off. 'Still', Threnody thought idly,
'all things considered, Garm has'nt changed much since those
early days'. He still gets himself into trouble. And who bails
his sorry ass out of it every time? You guessed it. The day was
rapidly approaching when he'd have no one to help him.

She noticed that she'd walked into the Royal Quarter without
taking in her surroundings, and cursed inwardly. Real smart.
No one stopped her though. Odd. One thing the Fae are sticklers
for is protocol. They were so rigidly formal you wondered if
their servants used too much starch in the wash on laundry day.
Some of them carried handkerchiefs and would hold them to their
noses as any of the grunts passed by them. Probably nosebleeds
from hoisting their noses into such high altitudes. Heh.

A passing thought came to Threnody. If the Geryon were here
on Council buisness, then the missing souls were big news to
Someone High Up. That possibility chilled her to the marrow
more surely than did the frigid air outside.



<TBC>