The rectangle table of Diwranch the Horned King was the same as ever, but cleared of any food and beverage. The Horned King himself stood at the front, alongside Madam Mim. He was wearing the massive horned helm, which transformed him from an ordinary warlord into something monstrous, the King of the Living Dead.
Most of the Cauldron Borne were already there when Culhwch and his companions entered. A few weren't, he noticed, though the only one he knew by name was Gorge, the one who Mabon had temporarily castrated.
Bran sat down near him, and Culhwch found himself next to one of the elfin men, who turned and gave him a grim expression. "Something has the King spooked," he said.
"What could make such a man fearful?" Culhwch asked. It disturbed him how calm he was with such a creature.
"Can only think of one thing," the hybrid replied. "It has to have something to do with the Tyrant."
"Tyrant?" Bran gasped.
"King Vortigern himself. Already knew Vortimer Sevenblessed was coming. So suppose it makes sense his father might decide to tag along."
"And The Horned King fears this?"
"Of course he does," this from an especially weary looking Jason Blood. It struck Culhwch that it seemed as if the man had aged decades in mere hours. The mad look was no longer in his eye. "King Vortigern hasn't shown himself publicly in years, not since the incident. Things have been stable among the Chaos Lords in that time, even with his spawn running around."
Frowning, the other growled, "I'd be careful what you say, Blood. They say Vortimer Sevenblessed is a cruel man, especially to those who offend him."
Blood quivered in his seat, and Culhwch could swear he saw the man's eyes flash, something moving under the skin. There was a cracking sound, and Culhwch realized the man was clenching his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth.
"Holding back the Rhymer, I see." The warrior leaned closer to the sorcerer. "I confess I am curious. No one here has seen it. You've kept a firm lid on it, so go on, shed, shed the form of man…"
Jason Blood punched the other man clean in the jaw, sending him sprawling out of his chair. The possessed sorcerer was hissing, smoke rising from his mouth, burning and charring his lips. "And rise…rise…rise the daemon…no!" He fell away from the chair, quivering.
The other warrior was sprawled on the ground, not moving. Another bent over him, shaking his head. "Dead. You snapped his neck, Blood."
That wasn't Blood, Culhwch knew. He had seen the strength that went into that blow, the flash of yellow scales, the stench of brimstone, the fire that surged briefly in Blood's mouth.
"He'll be pissed when he comes back," the man continued with a sigh.
The corpse of the man who antagonized the daemonhost was dragged away by a pair of thralls. Jason Blood shrank into himself, shivering with either fear or barely held back energy.
"That man is a living time bomb," Culhwch whispered, louder than he intended, for several people around him gave him looks, and nodded in agreement. Next to him, Sir Bran was pale as death.
The Horned King suddenly called, "If we are here, except the fool who picked a fight he couldn't win, and Sir Gorge and his group, who are on the all-important job of guarding the entry, I shall explain why I deemed this meeting important." The room grew dutifully silent. "I have received word that the Chaos Tyrant, King Vortigern, will be attending the upcoming tournament. Clearly, this was already a matter of great importance, as his son, Prince Vortimer, would be coming as well as many important Chaos Lords, but this is exponentially more complicated. There must be no complications, no fault in our action and showcase of the skills of the Cauldron Borne."
He didn't seem afraid to Culhwch, just as firm and grim as ever. Determined to look good in front of his ultimate master. It seemed to him most of the Cauldron Borne seemed to understand this as well, they barely reacted to the news.
"You will all be on your best behavior," Madame Mim said with a scowl directed over the entire room. "None of your foolish masculine shows and bawdy foolishness. I'd focus that on Gorge, but he isn't here."
"I am here, actually," a pained voice laughed. "Bit less of me than usual, I'm afraid."
Turning, Culhwch just in time saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a tall being, dressed in green armor that almost resembled a bug's carapace. In one hand, it carried a glowing axe, and in the other, by the hair, it held the severed head of Gorge. The head was grinning from ear to ear, even as blood dripped onto the floor.
Diwranch smiled coldly, and stepped forward, towards the ax wielding being. "I see. You are the one they call the Green Knight, aren't you? Are you here to challenge us to a game?"
"There is no reason to," the Green Knight said, his voice a whisper that carried across the room. He stepped forward, unchallenged, and set Gorge's head on a plate. The alien warrior looked among the gathered undead. "There is nothing to test."
"Test me, xenos," snarled one man, "it will be your head."
The Green Knight ignored the braggart, looking now right at Diwranch. "Horned King. Flawed, twisted, reflection of divinity. I am here for your prisoner. You know of whom I speak, so do not attempt to deny me."
"And yet I will, because I refuse to release any prisoner." Diwranch set his hand on the sword at his side. "You know full well, ancient, that if we all went after you, you would fall eventually. I trust you are in no rush to end your long life."
"My life is to end soon by your reckoning," the Green Knight sighed, "but not today, and not here. Not in a place that reeks of the Ruinous Powers, ruled by fools playing with things they don't understand, proselytized to by slaves of darkness."
"I suppose in terms of holding on to life we come out a bit ahead," Gorge's severed head laughed from the table. His blood was starting to overflow the plate.
"Gorge shut up, you're supposed to be dead," Mim snapped angrily, "get ye back to the cauldron!"
"I've grown fingers and my manhood back before, I suppose a whole body is simply a matter of time," the head giggled.
Dirwanch and the Green Knight ignored the arguing witch and head on the plate, staring each other down. "You must offer something in exchange, of course," Diwranch said calmly. "That's the rule of hostages, you know. You have nothing I desire materially, your kind being squatters on this planet."
"Therefore, your demand will be immaterial."
"There is a fight coming up. The Tyrant himself will be coming." Diwranch smiled, with his horned helm he looked like an entity from hell. "Witnessing an Eldar, one of the rulers of this world of old, fighting in the arena will give him much pleasure, I think."
"The Tyrant is known for his cruelty and love of childish pleasures, yes," agreed the Green Knight. "You of course will attempt to kill me. It won't work."
"Rumors of your kind's immortality are greatly exaggerated," sniffed Diwranch.
"As is yours." The alien reset his ax on his belt, turned, and walked toward the hall. "I saw an empty room on the way here. I will take my rest there. You should know my kind sleep lightly." Suddenly, the Green Knight stopped short, looking over directly towards Culhwch. Culhwch shrank away from the gleaming inhuman eyes of the creature. "Sir Culhwch. Yes, I know of you. Perhaps that is what is happening, then." Before Culhwch could ask anything, the alien had already vanished soundlessly back into the shadows.
"More complications," Madame Mim grumbled loudly, "this seems to be building into a disaster, My Lord."
Diwranch, looking curiously at Culhwch, frowned coldly. "We play it more carefully than, as ever when the Tyrant and the ancients come into play. Culhwch, you are tasked with cleaning the floor before the Black Cauldron."
It seemed like a punishment, for no particular reason. Culhwch hadn't asked for the Green Knight to notice him. He didn't even attempt to argue. In truth some time alone with his thoughts sounded nice. "Of course, My Lord," he replied.
"Should have a bite to eat, first," Gorge's head added in. "Could all use a bit more fattening, I think, me especially."
From a fair distance, Culhwch heard Diwranch whisper to Mim. "Get needle and thread and find Gorge's body. It should be lying somewhere."
He also heard her hiss of disgust, as he walked down the stone steps back to the hall of the Black Cauldron.
**************
Before the hewn steps was a massive mess of blood, no doubt from the beating the resurrected crow mutant had suffered. Looking at it, Culhwch wondered if the unfortunate had even survived, or if he had to once again be reconstructed and emergent from the Cauldron.
He found himself staring at the hulking abomination. It didn't resemble any artifact, human or otherwise. It seemed to just be a natural formation, like the opening of a long-extinct volcano, the sigils didn't hurt his eyes like the ones of the ruinous powers he'd seen over the course of his current life as a slave and now a Cauldron Borne, they were faded and dim.
Culhwch suddenly pulled back. Unconsciously, he had drifted closer to the Cauldron, hand outstretched as if to touch it.
"Curiosity killed civilization."
The Dark Apostle was standing at the stairs entryway, eyes boring into Culhwch.
Culhwch backed away, almost into the cauldron. Before the demigod, his sword felt little better than a needle against a lion. "Lord?" he croaked.
"You people of Avalon are a stubborn breed, playing with matters they don't understand." The Apostle nodded to the Cauldron. "I suspect you think this is something of the Gods, or something the Gods have turned to their use, yes?"
"What else could it be?" Culhwch asked.
"Damned if I know." The Dark Apostle stepped closer, silent as a panther. Culhwch noticed several massive clay jars on the Marine's chains. They seemed to rustle, as if in anticipation. "You people found it, and used it to create those twisted freaks."
Culhwch bit back the temptation to point out that the pot shouldn't call the kettle black. He instead managed, through a dry throat, "If you say so, Lord."
The Apostle stopped short. "Do you even realize what it did to you?" And his hand dove suddenly, and something blocky came up aiming at Culhwch.
Before he knew it, he was diving, even as the block roared and burst into flame. Behind him, something hit the cauldron and exploded, causing no damage to the ancient rock.
Already, the Space Marine was aiming, Culhwch's heart pounded, and everything seemed to be moving slowly. His sword was in his hand, the simple weapon feeling like a truly futile gesture. The block roared again, this time Culhwch met it, swinging his sword with a crazed scream.
The explosion occurred behind him, and he felt a sharp pain on his cheek. The Apostle was laughing, putting the block away behind his back. "You all understand nothing," the Word Bearer sneered, "by the Gods, you are such fools." And just as suddenly, the demigod was gone, vanishing back up the stairs.
Culhwch stood still for a long moment. The sword in his hands was a blackened, destroyed mess. Blood ran down his cheek, shrapnel having torn a gash into it. It was already closing. What had he become?
With a shudder, he went back to cleaning the bloodstains.
