Chapter 69

  Bovinarros thanked his own foresight — not for the first time — that he had committed most of his EXP gains to his constitution over the past ten levels. He wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky to have been born into an influential family within his clan; with a population so high and so little EXP to go around, he couldn’t have levelled as much as he had if not for his family’s privileges. On the other hand, had he been born into a lesser family of a lesser clan, he would have become a simple soldier or a mage, or perhaps a crafter or something or another — all of which would have offered a better chance at staying alive than being an aide to the beloved leader of the Great Herd of the Third Ring. King Ox had always been known for his quick temper and the speed with which he could and would turn aides into paste, and the moment Bovi’s name had come up as a possible replacement aide in a long line of replacement aides, he had made the sensible choice. Now, at level 35, he knew he was one of the sturdiest minotaurs in the entire invasion force — not counting a couple of champions and the king himself — able to take punishment that would kill or cripple anyone under level 45. Unfortunately, his choice had left his strength, soulstrength and willpower woefully inadequate, which had left him stuck as an inferior fighter among his peers. But as it had turned out, outlasting and wearing down an opponent was a valid and surprisingly effective strategy, so it was a small price to pay for being able to take the punishment King Ox so loved handing out. Still, it was tough being the only durable aide; so much work, so many punches, never enough time to deal with everything that needed to be dealt with.

  Bovi rubbed his muzzle as he walked out of the king’s tent after his latest meeting with him; getting punched only once meant that Oxenarrikhon, adored by the masses and exalted by all, had been in a relatively good mood — until he had spoiled it by mentioning to him the reports that mages and miners were going missing from the workforce that had been tasked with shovelling the enemy city away along with the entire hill on which it stood.

  ‘Deserters?’ he mumbled just to himself, his hands clenching into fists.

  King Ox couldn’t seriously believe that any of his mages, soldiers or workers would just decide to disappear never to be seen again, could he? Minotaurs were no deserters — the mere mention of the word was offensive. Minotaurs had always been and always would be loyal, doggedly sticking to their leaders and doing what they were told. To follow a worthy leader was the nature of the minotaur, this he knew as well as anyone in the Third. Deserters? Really? It wasn’t often that Bovinarros felt the need to hit back — certainly not on account of being punched or kicked — but this time he’d had to force himself not to react. Deserters? No! Absolutely not. Where would they even go? This entire Ring was enemy territory; even if a few mages or soldiers decided to cast loyalty aside and flee — which they would never do — they wouldn’t last very long, so what could possibly possess anyone to do it? Something else was going on. He hadn’t had the time or the need to speak in detail with the generals in charge of the workforce; with thousands of soldiers dying every day in sieges or skirmishes all over this cursed, burning hot Ring, twenty or so mages missing wouldn’t warrant any special attention. But now? Sacrificing the low-level soldiery to achieve victory and dominance over the Fourth Ring was one thing, calling them deserters was another. He’d have to look into this.

  ***

  Bovinarros stepped onto the serpentine path and began the long walk from the king’s tent on top of the hill down to ground level. The next hill in the distance glared at him, the light of the horrid, fiery sky bathing the dark slopes and the even darker walls of the city in reddish light. Scaragar; a small, hilltop city, the new seat of power from which the lord of this Ring exerted her influence; the last obstacle in the way of victory over the demons of this realm. Perhaps it was so, perhaps not. It was for King Ox to decide.

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  The aide stopped after just a few steps, his eyes lingering on the view for long moments. From so high above, the minotaur masses surrounding Scaragar Hill, working tirelessly to collapse it, looked like the canopy of an endless forest waving in the wind, the camps around them nothing but pockmarks in the ground. Maybe King Ox had put his own residence up here because he didn’t want to share a camp with those he saw as potential deserters? Just the thought, the possibility, made his stomach churn and his chest burn; he knew he had to push it back into some hidden corner of his mind and focus on the tasks at hand instead, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do with nothing to distract him as he was making his way down. He sighed. He had wanted to talk to one of the generals in person later, but it seemed he had to do it now, otherwise by the time he’d reach the camps below, his anger would grow out of any reasonable control, and he wasn’t sure what he’d say or do if that happened.

  General Oxiramon! He sent his thoughts, calling out to one of the two generals in charge of demolishing Scaragar Hill.

  Bovi! I thought we had another hour until you wanted to meet with me. The general’s thought-voice filled his mind.

  Yes, we are meeting in an hour. I want to hear the details of the disappearances beforehand.

  Oh? Is it suddenly a matter of interest? After all this time? The general inquired, and he didn’t sound happy.

  It is now. I made a mistake. Bovi admitted.

  A mistake? How so?

  I mentioned your report to King Ox.

  And?

  And he said and I quote: “Cowards and deserters are none of my concern. If you find them, kill them!”

  Bovinarros thought his connection to the general had vanished; no words were coming through, but after a few moments, an unmistakable wave of anger and disgust began to leak through it.

  General? He called out to him again.

  Bovi! Are you sure you didn’t mishear him? King Ox wouldn’t say something so disgraceful. Cowards? Deserters? Absolutely not! Oxiramon’s thought voice was filled with a combination of rage and the hope that Bovi’s statement was, by some miracle, a mistake.

  He said it. That’s why I’m talking to you, general; I want to know the details and investigate this, because if I don’t, I will soon find myself saying or doing something in the presence of the king that will get me killed. Bovi sent his thoughts, sighing out loud.

  I might just march up there with you and tell him that no-one in my army is a deserter or a coward. How dare he insult me so? The general seethed.

  As I said, general, I want to look into this. Something is going on, and it’s not desertion.

  Agreed. The general said immediately.

  I’ll be in your camp in less than an hour. Prepare every report from every one of your soldiers who might know something.

  It will be done by the time you get here. The general acknowledged the instructions, and this time the aide felt as the connection was cut.

  Bovinarros resumed walking down the path, and he tried to take his mind off the matter, at least for the duration of the trek. With so many other things to deal with, surely, he could focus on those instead. For instance, general Bovithar and his army were less than a day away from Garoshek, and according to his scouts, the city looked deserted — no army, no residents, no enemy champion. What was going on there? Or the series of stalemates at many fortified cities of the Fourth Ring — which were neither good nor bad positions to be in. But as King Ox seemed to be obsessed with Scaragar as much as he was with the enemy champion, the generals at those cities were complaining more and more about leaving them with the bare minimum of troops to keep those cities surrounded. On the face of it, it was the sound thing to do; if King Ox took the title from the ruling demon lord, all cities would crumble before him. But for that to happen Scaragar had to be taken or destroyed first. And that thought brought him back to the disappearances. Bovinarros couldn’t place the feeling welling up inside him; something was … wrong. But what was it? He didn’t know, but the more he dwelt on the ongoings at Scaragar Hill, at Garoshek, and about King Ox himself, the more he was sure something was going very wrong in this wretched Fourth Ring of Hell.