A Spy in the Camp
The old man appeared frail as he hunched over the table. Long white hair and a matching beard almost obscured the object he held with both hands. Cold green, bloodshot eyes focussed intently on the centre of the object, which looked much like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and obsequious. His words dripped with honey as he fawned into the glass ball. “All is in order, Master. Your great plan will soon come to pass. I have located the Sword and have dispatched my trusted deputies to recover it. Soon the only threat to your Mightiness will be safe in our possession. Soon you will have control of the entire multiverse. You won’t forget your humble servant who has served you so faithfully and well? I only ask to rule FirstWorld. What is one dimension in the infinity of the multiverse?”
The ball blazed red and the old man shook as his unblinking eyes locked onto the object. “Yes, Master. But what is the Hero without the Sword?”
The ball blazed again and the red light made the old man’s eyes look feral, like an animal filled with blood lust. “Yes, Master. The fool Manfred has called a Council of the Wise at Melasurej. He thinks he has found another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. Those whose hope fails think that Gilgamesh is reborn.”
The ball flashed a cold blue and the old man winced. “Forgive me Master; I will not utter his name again. It is a vain hope. I have a spy in the Council. I will learn everything that happens and whatever futile plans they put in place. My armies march ever forward. I shall join them myself soon and will take Melasurej in your name before the year is out.”
The ball faded to yellow and then translucent. The old man’s eyes blinked again and his hands released the object. His green eyes turned red and his voice hardened. “Fetch me a slave girl – old enough to meet my needs, but still tender.” A servant who had been cowering in the corner of the room rushed to obey.
The old man paced up and down impatiently, muttering to himself. “Soon I shall have the Sword, the Hero, and Melasurej itself. Then I will not have to debase myself anymore. Then I shall be the master of the multiverse.”
The door opened and the servant returned with a naked girl. He pushed her inside the room and hastily closed the door, with him on the other side. The girl was barely a teenager. She struggled to hide her nakedness with her hands and cowered in a corner, head down, barely able to look at the old man. She shivered in terror as she waited for him to take her. Her tiny new breasts heaved as she struggled to form words of pleading that might save her honour.
The old man looked at her and smiled, displaying long canines. He began to salivate and his beard became matted and wet. As he moved towards the cowering girl, he began to change. The grey-haired old man transmogrified into a hideous wolf form. He stood eight feet tall on his two hind legs and his body was now transformed from a seemingly feeble old man into a sleek and powerful black wolf. Its long fangs dripped with a mixture of poison and saliva. The girl opened her mouth to scream but no sound was forthcoming. Her death was mercifully quick as the wolf tore out her throat.
As the wolf ripped apart her body and gorged itself, it didn’t notice the forgotten and still-uncovered glass ball on the table, which momentarily flashed with a chilling blue light.