The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (16 page)

“Thank you, Arms Master.” Wylan smiled, bowed his head and quickly departed.

“Youth,” Heron muttered, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes again. He was not sure whether he meant the phrase enviously or as a curse. Perhaps both. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to rub out the pain centered between his eyes. The last two days had nearly been too much.

The demon wave and cleanup, yes; that had been quite remarkable and unprecedented, but that was battle. He understood that; it was everything that had come after. Not the least of which was the contents of the crystal balling they had done. Followed by endless discussions with the Council, the Rod and finally, but certainly not least by any possible or conceivable means, the endlessly tedious and sublimely ridiculous sessions with his superiors in Keeper City.

Heron wanted to pound his head on his desk in order to knock the memories of those insane, ridiculous, alarmist and never-ending discussions out of his head. Chancellor Alighieri, not unexpectedly, Heron had to admit, had been one of the primary troublemakers. Alighieri along with Chancellors Ain and Sagramn had led the arguments for taking the prosecution of the law not only to, but also
through
the very Gates of the Abyss!

The insanity of this proposal was nearly impossible for Heron to grasp. The Abyss was the fulcrum of Chaos! How could one possibly seek to impose Law upon pure, raw, unadulterated Chaos? The Chancellors literally wanted to pursue the prosecution of justice into the Abyss! He could, at least intellectually, understand Alighieri’s desire; the man had spent how many tax dollars and how many years on that boondoggle of his? This situation was nearly perfect for that overpriced project; this was what it had been built for. Heron had not believed, however, that anyone had ever seriously thought they would have need or cause to use it. The very thought of pursuing demons into the Abyss and forcibly extraditing them to face justice seemed simply ludicrous!

If only, Heron thought, he had retired before this engagement. He was old enough. He could have gracefully bowed out a year ago, or any time up until this moment. He had accepted this command, and he could not back out now, not even if the Chancellors of Law determined he needed to pursue his warrant through the Gates of the Abyss and to the very Courts of Chaos themselves. Well, then… but… seriously? Serving legal warrants to the Courts of Chaos? Did these fools even listen to themselves talk, or did they, like the majority of their audience, simply tune the sound of their own voices out? Heron sighed. If the Chancellors so determined, then so must he prosecute the law.

~

A knock came upon the front post of the tent in which Arch-Vicar General Barabus and Arch-Diocate Iskerus were sharing a late night glass of wine. “Come in,” Barabus called. The tent flap pulled back and in walked Sir Gadius, who had arrived midday on Peace Bringer, his rather large, iridescent unicorn. Frankly, Barabus found the unicorn more disturbing than Talarius’s flying horse, War Arrow. At least he did not feel the winged horse was staring at him in judgment all the time.

The knight bowed his head to the arch-vicar general and the arch-diocate. “My Lords, no luck on the missing Rod member. We have gone over the entire area outside the city a league in radius and found no sign of him. Further, intense questioning under truth sight has yielded no additional information as to what happened to the two horses and tack that have disappeared.”

Barabus shook his head; this was all very disquieting. Apparently, at some point around midmorning, one of the possessed soldiers, still seriously wounded and recuperating, had disappeared without a trace. Vanished from a guarded tent in the middle of the Rod! Further, his tentmates, who had also been recovering from wounds— healing resources and spells had been devoted to the non-possessed wounded first—had all been completely healed and all signs of possession gone. Subsequently, two mounts, a mule and their gear had simply vanished from the stockade. Again, no one saw a thing.

Iskerus sighed. “I do not like this.”

Gadius nodded. “We have also interrogated, probed, Seen, scried, done everything imaginable to get information from the other soldiers in the tent. None, however, remembers a thing. All they can report is that they had been having horrible dreams, which they no longer remember, and then suddenly they felt peace, warmth and what they describe as the warm embrace of Tiernon. After that, they report peaceful slumber until we awakened them.”

“The peaceful embrace of Tiernon—a healing spell of some form?” Barabus looked to Iskerus.

The Arch-Diocate shrugged. “A very powerful one, by that description and given the level of healing that was done, particularly to the one named Mikael Rhys Barton.”

“So it doesn’t sound like demonic influence then,” Barabus stated.

Gadius made a snorting noise, “True, but then my examination of Excrathadorus Mortis shows no sign of demonic influence either. Quite the contrary.” Iskerus nodded in agreement.

“Damn it,” Barabus muttered aloud. “That damnable demon has turned the world upside down!”

Gadius nodded. “If only I had arrived sooner.”

Iskerus chuckled, but not pleasantly. “No offense, my good knight, but from what we’ve seen or witnessed, I’m afraid if you’d been here, you would be sharing a torture chamber with Sir Talarius. That demon was not at all what we thought initially. It was clearly an archdemon, at a minimum.”

“A minimum?” Gadius was too shocked by this admission to take umbrage at the observation of the value of his assistance. “I thought the energy requirements for a demon prince to materialize on the Planes of Men was too great—that all seers and those sensitive to mana and the supernatural would be instantly alerted? How could a demon prince have been on this plane and everyone not known?”

“Perhaps because it’s been here for a very long time?” A voice from outside the tent observed. The flap parted and Sir Sorel entered. “Perhaps it came during a period of great strife and upheaval, when no one would have noticed the power surge?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the cheerful one?” Iskerus asked Sorel as he entered, the Arch-Diocate smiling and rising to welcome the newly arrived knight. Sorel laughed ruefully and the two embraced as old friends.

Gadius saluted Sorel, who returned it. “It’s good to have you with us, Sorel. It’s been a long time since we were able to do battle together.”

“It has indeed.” Sorel smiled warmly and clasped Gadius’s arm. “I only wish I’d been here sooner. I dare say the two of us working with Talarius could have tamed this beast.”

Barabus stood and Sorel saluted him as the arch-vicar general returned the salute. “Good to have you, Sorel,” the arch-vicar said solemnly. “We need all the expertise we can get. The level of infamy has risen to new heights on this battlefield.”

“So I hear.” Sorel nodded, looking concerned. “What’s this I hear about negotiations for an alliance with Oorstemoth?” Gadius shuddered, Iskerus frowned.

“Very preliminary at this point. We had good success working with them in eliminating demons fleeing the city, and their sorcerers managed to capture the battle on crystal ball, which has been immensely useful in dissecting what happened. You will definitely want to see it, and we should probably watch it again ourselves. However, first things first… have you eaten?”

CRASH! BOOM! SCREECH! SCREEEECH!

The extremely loud sound of a lightning strike followed instantaneously by massive thunder shook the entire camp. That was followed by a horrendous shrieking and screeching of metal wrenching that caused all within the tent to cover their ears.

“What the—?” Barabus bolted from the tent, followed by the others.

Upon exiting the tent, a large plume of smoke could be seen from several tents over. Barabus shouted, “Talarius’s tent!” They all charged towards the smoke plume where the tent had been.

Gadius and Sorel, swords drawn, had to push Rod members out of the way to allow Barabus and Iskerus through the circle of soldiers surrounding the former tent. A huge cloud of smoke and steam as well as the very distinct smell of a smithy permeated the area where Talarius’s tent had been.

The tent was gone. A few flaming pieces of canvas were all that remained, other than a few magically secured chests which were smoking. As the smoke and steam cleared, a figure about seven feet tall could be seen within the remains of the tent.

Several soldiers and priests made gestures of faith at the sight of the individual within the tent. Barabus blinked to see a seven-foot-tall metallic knight standing vengefully within the tent.

“Is he in plate mail?” Gadius asked, puzzled.

“I have never seen such a massive, complete set of plate mail.” Sorel shook his head in disbelief. The large figure seemed to be solid metal of sharp planes and angles. The outer edges of his armor’s arms and legs were razor-sharp edged metal.

Barabus shook his head. “I think he’s made out of metal?”

“A metal golem?” Sorel asked the vicar general.

“More like a sword golem,” Iskerus said, frowning.

“I have never heard of a sword golem,” Gadius stated flatly.

“This looks like no metal golem I have ever seen,” Iskerus said.

“You there, in Talarius’s tent!” Sorel shouted. “Identify yourself.”

A deep baritone voice spoke in a monotone. “The Knight Rampant Talarius has been abducted by a demon. He has been gone thirty hours. He has not returned. You have failed to rescue him. I shall retrieve him.”

“Okay.” Gadius smiled grimly at the golem. “Again, identify yourself, golem!”

“I am not a golem,” the metal man said.

“Who are you then?” Barabus yelled.

“I am Ruiden.”

The two knights blinked and stared at each other. Sorel then turned back to face Ruiden. “You mean like Talarius’s sword?”

“Not like. Am. I am Ruiden, Sword of Talarius. You have failed to retrieve him. I shall succeed.”

~

Gastropé sat down on the bed in the small chamber he had been assigned to at Fierd’s Rest. It was similar in size to his room at school, so while cramped, was comfortable. Fierd’s Rest was a surprisingly robust keep dating back about six hundred years. It was fairly utilitarian, and military in nature. The most striking aspect of the fortress was that it was situated at the base of a giant mountain; one with, from what he could see in the dark, an unscalable cliff face. That cliff face seemed to be the back wall of the keep.

He had not been able to see much in the dark. They had arrived in what he would have called a sylvan glade in the middle of dense trees. The glade had been lit both by the light from the runic gateway and the palace dungeon behind it, as well as the brightly lit torch stands around the glade. Not unexpectedly, based on what Trevin had said earlier, this end of the gateway was manned by short elves. He guessed they must be forest alfar; they were all between four and five feet tall and generally had brown hair with various colored streaks. Gastropé was not sure he’d ever seen any forial alfar, as they were called before. He had seen and even briefly met a few rialto alfar, the so called “royal elves,” all of whom were at least six feet tall and incredibly thin.

From a distance, he had seen a few races of Dok Alvar in Exador’s army. He had no idea what the various races were, though. He had also had no desire to make their acquaintance. He was not xenophobic; it was simply that some races were better left alone. In hindsight, if he had continued working with Exador’s army, he probably would have had to deal with some of those more “evil” races.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he had switched sides and was now aligned with three demons from the Abyss. Gastropé shook his head; his career trajectory was not moving in a positive direction. He had started out working for an “evil” overlord, who apparently was actually an archdemon allied with a previously dead Anilord; also an archdemon. He was now keeping secrets for the most-wanted demon lord on the planet, the demon lord’s son, and a loud-mouthed octopodal demon, while working for room and board for an egomaniacal wizard who had slaughtered the entire army he had just deserted in a single blast. To top it all off, he was now tracking down what was probably a goddess who may or may not have gone rogue.

Gastropé sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands. This was not where he saw his life going at the beginning of the year. After graduation, he had thought he would settle down to a nice job in a city, earn a good living, hopefully meet a nice girl and get married. Instead, he was mired in tuition debt to the school and had had to take the only job he could find so he could make his first loan payment, and that job was with Exador. He had known full well the reason Exador was always hiring wizards; he went through them very quickly.

Sure, he had lived through Exador, unlike most of the wizards that had started with him. Gastropé figured that should, in fairness, be counted as a plus. If only he could have done that and avoided being at the epicenter of an upcoming war between demons and gods! He was literally “trapped between Heaven and the Abyss.” Everyone knew what happened to mortals who meddled with demons and gods. They had an even worse record than Exador’s wizards did!

“Could things get worse?” Gastropé muttered to himself, just before a knock came at his door. He shook his head and called out, “Come in!”

“I hope you’re still decent,” Trevin’s voice called as the door swung open, her eyes immediately landing on Gastropé on the bed. She made a small pout. “Apparently, you are,” she muttered to herself, but still audible to Gastropé.