Twixt Heaven And Hell (22 page)

Darius nodded. “All the more reason to gain a greater understanding of it.”

Balkan smiled. “Now you sound like me.”

“Well, allow me to sound like myself again,” Darius said. “I will be leaving the city soon.”

Balkan's eyebrows rose in surprise. “Your captains are all trained?”

“There are still men to be gathered for their commands. For my part, I have told them everything I can.”

“Hmph. You've told them – but have they learned it?”

Darius cocked his head in confusion at the statement, and Balkan continued.

“Learning is a matter of repetition. A good teacher will ensure that his students undergo that repetition. You say you've told them what they need to know – good. Tell them again. And again.”

“Nonsense. They are not acolytes.”

“Even worse. They'll think as you do – that they can get it all from one telling. Darius, they may not have your intuition, nor your – shall we say, aggressive instincts? It will not come so naturally to them as it did with you. Keep working with them.”

Darius looked unhappy, and Balkan once again laughed at him. “Stop sulking. You should at least wait until their men are all gathered. Then you can all run to the border together. You wouldn't want them thinking you've abandoned them here, would you?”

Darius sighed. “Balkan, are you ever wrong?”

“Not when Maggie is out of the room, my friend.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Warlord returned to Pyre in a towering rage. Their most potent advantage had been rendered nearly impotent. The master stroke of Traigan's campaign – the swallowing of the entire enemy border defense in one go – had crumbled with the disaster at Threeforts, and there was real danger to the Shambles as well.

A mere week after the battle, word had come through from his spy within Bastion. It had been announced that Darius, that ever-troublesome wizard, had been primarily responsible for the development of their counterspell. It had been Darius who so mauled the northern flank during the battle for the Shambles. No doubt it was he who had killed Padraig and Kray as well.

The Warlord decided that he hated this Darius more than he hated any living man. Save for one wizard's actions, Firewalking would still be a viable offensive spell. It was some moments before Mertoris had regained enough control over himself to think clearly.

Firewalking had not lost its usefulness entirely. Traigan had long been using it for troop movements and the relocation of provisions within secure territory. These were powerful tools – time and distance meant much less to him now. If only his sorcerers were better traveled, it might mean less still. He had some of the younger ones out and about now, roving with bands of warriors who were 'recruiting' - combing towns for boys large enough to serve Pyre well on the battlefield. It would be difficult to make sure all the magicians were acquainted with enough of his territory...

Traigan's brow wrinkled as he habitually smoothed the maps he studied. There was too much land. He couldn't have his sorcerers tread every inch of it. Delightful as the idea sending the fools on an elaborate and arduous march, it would also be a profoundly poor use of their time. Fools they may be, but useful ones.

Without personal memory of a place, they could not Firewalk to it. Thus far he had relied on the individual knowledge of each sorcerer under his command, assuming that somewhere in that number would be several that fit his requirements. He had been correct as of yet. That would not continue. He needed a more reliable method...

Yes, a scattering of camps at likely points. Focus points for the movements of his troops – magical crossroads of a sort. His sorcerers need not hike through miles of territory – they need only get to know a few patches of it. There were only a half-dozen ideal places near the border. Another six or so further back in case of lost territory or shifting needs. A simple enough plan. Large camps already existed at several of the locations.

Traigan took up a piece of charcoal and marked the places for the new camps onto the map. He didn't bother writing up orders – few beyond the sorcerers and his personal messengers could read.

His mouth was open to call for one when his eyes bulged. All the air seemed to disappear from the room, accompanied by a sudden flash of the most wicked heat. He felt as if he had been set alight. Scarcely a heartbeat later the air returned – but the light fled, plunging the room into deep, suffocating shadow. Torches still flickered, but their flames were tiny islands of illumination in the abyssal darkness that now smothered his Great Hall.

"
Trae'gan.
"

At the first word from out of the darkness, his very soul shivered.

"
Trae'gan.
" Again, that word, that title. It had been bestowed upon him and become his second name. He had no idea of its meaning. Nor did the sorcerers.

Only the Demons knew why he was called that.

"I am here," the Warlord replied, his voice steady enough to belie his trembling.

There was a pause before it spoke again. The Warlord's eyes, adjusting to the sudden darkness, could now make out the outline of a hand in the furthest corner of the room. The few belabored flickers of firelight that made it so far glinted off of fingers so thin they were skeletal. The hand grasped the air convulsively, clutching and uncurling with sudden movements.

"
The War, Trae'gan. How goes the War?
"

The first question was always the same. Mertoris had his answer ready. "Well." He said simply. His impulse was always to give the awe-inspiring creature before him a title, but they never demanded nor acknowledged them.

"
The Beast has been voracious of late,
" it said.

With each word Traigan's spirit cringed. On some deep, primal level he knew he was in the presence of something which wanted nothing but to devour him, body, mind, and soul, and it refrained from doing so only because it perceived greater gain in allowing him to live.

It was the fourth time he had been in the presence of a Demon. This was not the same being that had set the Warlord's crimson circlet upon his head. That Demon had not appeared again, though he had the feeling that it was still keeping watch over him.

"We have made great gains. Many of the enemy have died," Traigan answered, again keeping his voice steady with a supreme effort of will. He was pleased with himself. The first encounters with Demons had left him a quivering wreck, weeping in terror. During the second visit, another man, a messenger, had been with him. That man had died when first the Demon spoke.

"Good, good. This is good, that the Enemy dies. You must take care, Trae'gan. You have come close to the maw yourself."

His brow wrinkling in confusion, the Warlord waited. Before, the Demons had always brought commands, directions. Now.. a warning? He could not bring himself to ask, but the Demon continued anyway.

"You must not stray so close to the conflict, Trae'gan. The Enemy may come for you there."

Traigan's curiosity forced a question from his throat before his fear could choke it. "The Angels can find me?"

"Not you,"
it croaked. A long pause and a deep intake of breath, though it had not seemed to Mertoris before that the demon was breathing before. "
The Thralls. The Enemy know the Thralls, know the power that is within them – the power of the Inferno."

Traigan glanced to the side where one of his guards stood silent and unmoving. Its body was held in the strange half-beast pose as always. Its eyes, however – the normal faint red glow had intensified so that it too could be seen through the darkness. The eyes of the corpse-creature were ablaze with a bloody fire, seeming to give off an inner anger – or hatred.

Nodding, Traigan spoke one word, almost to himself. "Magic."

"Yes."
The confirmation was drawn out into a serpent's hiss.

Mertoris was losing his composure. With each passing second he could feel the Demon's hunger all the more. It seemed to him that invisible claws were circling his skin, carving it into tender strips. He wanted the thing to leave, to go back to whatever strange Hell it called home. He wanted to flee himself; to run gibbering from the city and any chance of ever seeing such a creature again.

Even more, though, he wanted information. He had thought that the Thralls were granted to him to ensure his survival – and indeed they did. It seemed they were also a beacon, a fire-on-the-mount to the great Enemy, the Angels. No doubt to the Demons as well – those two otherworldly creatures were so alike and yet entirely opposed.

Mastering his quavering soul, he asked another question of the thing in the darkness. "You could locate the sorcerers? You must find me by the Thralls, but the sorcerers have their own magic."

"
Yes. Very good, Trae'gan."

The Warlord could feel his legs weakening. One more question, he must have one more answer. "You can find wizards then?"

For the briefest moment the Demon did not answer. An instant later, Traigan felt something assault his mind, root around in his memories, sifting, searching, learning. He gasped at the intrusion. It was gone almost as fast, and the Demon answered.

"Wizards. Sorcerers. They are the same."

That violation of his mind had been too much for Traigan. He sank slowly to his knees, teeth beginning to chatter as his self-control slipped. "Th- thank you. Do you w- wish anything more of me?" he stammered.

There was no answer save a malicious chuckle – almost a giggle, child-like and cruel. Then the presence vanished, and the darkness lifted. The light of the torches, no longer held at bay, brightened once more.

For a moment the Warlord remained there on the floor, ashamed that he had not kept his resolve. He rose slowly to his feet, and glanced once more at the Thralls. The glow of their eyes was was lessening again.

Traigan was sure there had been emotion in those eyes. Whatever the Thralls were now, once they had been four humans – and one Demon, though a lesser creature than the true masters of Hell. Sacrificed and ripped apart to fuel the bodyguards of the Warlord.

Had something of its will survived to inhabit the Thralls?

Might it not feel some anger towards Traigan, as well?

A shudder ran down his spine before he let out a deep breath and pushed the recent memories from his mind, save only the things he had learned. No matter the embarrassment, he had been given a very valuable lesson. It was time to think on ways he might redress old grievances – and punish old enemies.

The Warlord called for a messenger.

***

"What did you think was going to happen?" Darius fumed. "How many times must we be outmaneuvered before you realize the necessity of moving quickly?"

"Darius -" Arric began, but Darius cut him off.

"You will never learn, Arric!"

Darius stalked from the council chamber before Arric could continue.

The word had come through only moments before – Fort Andreth had fallen. Despite the constant pleas from Darius – and others – to retake the Shambles immediately after the battle of Threeforts Valley, the High Council had dithered and delayed.

"Too dangerous." That worn and tired denial had once more reared its head. "The Shambles are an expensive place to attack," Arric had concluded. "The cost may be too great, and our men are weary from so many battles."

"Every day you delay Traigan will strengthen his hold," Darius said. Disbelief had tinged his voice at the time, arguing against Arric in a scene that had returned to familiarity after Threeforts. The cooperation he thought they had achieved was strained now. "Do you think it will be less expensive to take in the future?"

"We took it last in a moment of opportunity," Arric calmly explained – as if both he and Darius had not been present in those battles. "We shall have to wait for another."

"That moment is right now! This is the best chance we may have for years to come! If we do not seize it, we are left defending bare grassland. You know as well as I what that entails!"

"We have been here before, Darius," Arric had said. "The Enemy has never managed to push us more than a mile or two beyond the Shambles. We will hold."

Darius had despaired at that moment. It was blindness – madness even. Success built on success, victory upon victory. If Bastion stopped to rest itself now, it would be years before they regained the losses they had suffered in the last few weeks. Nebeth was once again in the hands of the Enemy, as was the Shambles. The borders had not been in this state for almost fifty years.

Must we bleed for another fifty to return it to where it was a scant handful of weeks
ago?
Darius wondered.

In the corridor, he paused for a moment. He took a deep, slow breath, letting his aggravation seep from him. Things were
not
the same. Bastion now had the Gryphons and their brother companies – and it had Kray.

For a month, Darius and a select few other wizards had picked the poor man's brain. They had learned much, but none of it was crippling to the enemy – not even especially damaging, in the short term. As a weak sorcerer, Kray had been excluded from the usual circles of power. The most useful things he knew had been learned even as he plotted his final betrayal, when the Warlord had taken the man under his wing.

As his anger seeped away, Darius began to regret his harsh words. It had occurred to him that perhaps Arric was not, in fact, bound and determined to aggravate him but was trying to lead Bastion as best he could. It had also occurred to him that perhaps he and Arric were simply too different in their methods to ever be in perfect harmony.

Darius turned another corner in the great stone tower of the Crown. He nearly ran into Lazarus as he did so – the old wizard nimbly stepped out of the way as Darius stumbled to avoid the collision.

"Lazarus! Forgive me."

Lazarus merely shook his head with a smile. "Another spat with Arric, Darius?"

"It is that obvious?"

"I could hear your parting words. With a voice like that, you must be quite the battlefield commander."

Darius's face flushed slightly in embarrassment. Lazarus chuckled at his discomfiture.

"So! He can feel shame after all."

With a deep breath, Darius attempted to explain himself. "It is such a wasted opportunity. There is no need for us to give up both the Shambles and Nebeth. There
was
no need. Now..."

Lazarus nodded in understanding even as he spoke against him.