Egress looked at the vision in the scrying bowl.  The falsely-pleasant face of Nazzrant, human wizard and member of Maguleth’s northern division of the Daghaivan, looked back at him.

“I bring news of a new troop deployment to the north of the Rocky Pine forest,” the uzruul said.  “The commander believes he will come between the emergence points of the Master’s bands, and catch one of them.”

“Hah!” Nazzrant scoffed.  “We just finished two days of attacking Kaisingdale, with only a small loss.  When their reinforcements arrived, we retreated through the vulture-pools, right back to our northern stronghold.”  He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, at the orc war-chief off to the side.  “Similar bands are carrying out raids further towards the interior as we speak.”

“If you want to make yourself useful,” he continued, “why don’t you see if they’re moving any troops around our next target?”

“That was your next target, fool.  The next raid should be against Rainfold to the south.”

“Very well.  Tell the Master when next you see him, we need more of the vultures.”

“Afraid you’ll be left out in the open?  There’s a proper way to use them, you know.”

The human’s face briefly tightened.  “Don’t question my skill.”

Egress turned away, and dispelled the connection.  How he wished he could stand before the blowhard wizard, in a secluded place, and show him what magical skill was all about.

But the expenditure of the vultures was not to be taken lightly.  With the enchanted birds, the Daghaivan created the powerful gates, which allowed them to transport the raiding parties from the northern base, to virtually any town or village in Humboldt Bruit territory.  And then, with the casting of a competent wizard, the birds provided the gates to return.

Never had Egress heard of such a military campaign.

Maguleth’s planning, he grudgingly admitted, was brilliant.  The Humboldt kingdom did not have a prayer.

His mind drifted back again to that day, when his life was torn to shreds over absurd twists of fate.

For so many years, growing into decades, he had cursed the priestess who had led him, and a House squad of warriors, from their deepway uzruul city of Chaledd, on that clandestine operation, until he was numb to it.  The hate had come to have no meaning.

The matron mother of their House would have probably kept them at home; but the eldest daughter wanted capable servants of the ambitious younger daughter out of the way.

In ‘good faith’, the younger daughter had not raised a hand or her voice when their squad was ‘appointed’ to accompany the younger daughter’s staff-priestess Utrais on a mission, to help a mysterious ally.

All House Peloar had to do, was help free a newly-discovered magical treasure from the sea-elves who guarded it, and an equal share would be theirs.  So they marched out of their home, providing guidance and protection through the foreboding deepway tunnels, to a strange, run-down temple.  Their goal was hidden in caverns under a vast desert, where the land met the great ocean.

He and a couple of warriors had been the only survivors, when the operation had gone bad.  But he had nearly laughed in shock, when he realized they were in the company of not one, but three blocs of enemies.

There were the sea elves, of course.  Then came other uzruul – – followers of the heroic dark-elf goddess Selnr’i, for whom to even utter her name resulted in a death sentence.

But apart from them, stood followers of Hkoshiktay, the King of Torn Skins.

God of twisted beasts, the evil deity, like Vaow, commanded his own realm of the lower planes.  But he was such an adversary of the spider goddess, his followers were informally counted as more hated enemies than surface elves.

Their supposed ally – the lich who had come to them with the proposal – was in fact a close servant of Hkoshiktay.  Even their idiot-leader Utrais could see his true colors, when he started trying to resurrect the abominable creature held in stasis against the cavern wall.  If not for the interference of Selnr’i’s disciples, he might have succeeded.

As it was, he had lost his prize; but held the upper hand after the battle was done, and the other enemies had escaped.

And Maguleth had allowed Utrais to live!  The holy devotee to the hated goddess was allowed to walk away, in exchange for giving up her three remaining servants to his cause.

The need to spit at Utrais’ back had been distracted, by the incredulousness of the situation.  What use could this enemy have for an uzruul wizard and two blade-fighters?

After half a century of service, as he rubbed the Green Nail which sat atop his right thumb, Egress had his answer.  Maguleth wanted uzruul, because uzruul got things done.

In the service of the lich, their army stood to take over such a huge domain of the surface-world, the dreams of his youth paled in comparison.

And being high in rank in this force, he had no one to tell him what to think.  That was the difference in the zealotry between Vaow and Hkoshiktay.  The goddess commanded absolute loyalty, even in one’s thoughts.

The beast-god, however, did not care what was on a follower’s mind, as long as the enemy’s blood was on his hands.

But when this conquest was won, would he be executed simply for being uzruul?  He had no doubt, as Hkoshiktay’s hatred for Vaow was as fearsome as her priestesses’ most elaborate tortures.

Fortunately, the lessons of subtle but effective treacheries of uzruul society stayed with him even now.  The use of intrigue, with layers upon layers of subterfuge, could move the world, despite one individual’s power.

His right thumb pulsed with a slight throb, as Maguleth’s cursed Green Nail started responding to his treacherous thoughts.  He smirked with defiance.