Twixt Heaven And Hell (25 page)

Without a sound, it continued to shudder and draw into itself, falling to its knees beneath the layers of foul cloth. Finally it collapsed entirely and only one hand remained visible. As Traigan watched, even that shriveled and crumbled into dust.

Swallowing back bile, the Warlord turned away. He knew his plans were on course – the creature's task had been complete, that is all. He called over one of the door guards.

"Clean that up," he commanded coldly. The man gave the pile a wary look, making no move to follow orders. Traigan waited the barest of moments and repeated his order. He was reasonably certain it would not do the man harm – if Traigan could face true Demons, certainly this supposedly hardened warrior could deal with the leavings of a small one.

The man dithered another moment, but then wisely decided that disobeying his Warlord was the more dangerous path. Traigan generously ignored the hesitation. He left the grand hall, wanting to get away from the stink that had survived the creature's presence. He hoped it would not linger long. Even the air of Pyre, bordering on odious even to those long accustomed to it, seemed like a breeze fresh in comparison.

As Traigan breathed deeply to clear his lungs with the night air, a triumphant smile spread across his face. He had always known he was singular amongst the Warlords of Pyre, even discounting not being a sorcerer. His achievements outmatched those that had come before, but only in scale. Now, he had secured the distinction with an act that was more unique.

There had never before been a Warlord who dared command the Demons.

***

The Gryphons rose with the dawn. It was a particularly beautiful sunrise, with the vivid hues of the rising sun hanging incandescent over the silhouette of the distant mountains. Out of pure habit the Gryphons went about erasing the signs of their stay, despite being securely in friendly territory. Fires were doused and the ashes scattered, matted grass was brushed with branches to restore a more natural appearance. While the men worked, Robert held counsel with Darius, with Kray standing silently beside.

"Wizard Harr is being tended at Fort Turast," Darius said, indicating the structure visible to the south. "Arric wanted me to speak with him. The man has been delirious since the battle, something to do with the counterspell – if there is a danger to it, we must know."

"The spell made him sick?" Robert asked with a frown. He'd been around Darius long enough to know that was unusual.

Darius nodded. "It is very strange – the wizards who were with him claim he never completed the spell. When he woke, he began babbling something about where the portal led, something horrible on the other end. "

Kray spoke then with urgency in his voice. "Not at the other end, Darius. In between."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you when I first came to Bastion. The sorcerers warned every man to use the spell that it leads through Hell. They warned us to close our eyes as we stepped through."

Darius's eyes went wide. "You think they meant it literally?"

Kray's paused before answering. "I did not think so at first. Now I fear they did. It would explain the trouble your – the wizards are having duplicating the spell for Bastion. It always requires too much power. The spell must support the existence of what is transported."

Kray's brow furrowed. He was speaking of theory now. His own skill with magic afforded him no practical knowledge of these things, but that proved less a barrier than Darius might have thought to a man so fiercely intelligent as Kray.

"It would be the same for the sorcerers. Even sacrifice would not yield enough power. Unless they send the men somewhere else first."

"Where location has no meaning," Darius muttered. "Kray, that is brilliant."

The wizards had not been able to transport men more than a few miles. The needed power grew with leaps and bounds, and to enact a spell from Bastion to the border would have required the combined power of more wizards than had ever lived at one time.

If the sorcerers could send men through Hell, though, surely Heaven could serve the same purpose – and be much less burdensome to those who used it, no doubt. He did not know how the Angels would react to their home being turned into a mystical crossroads. Darius would not be the one to ask – and he certainly wouldn't want to do it without their express permission. A problem for the researchers.

"I need to give this information to the Council immediately," Darius said. "It makes the counterspell a great deal more hazardous."

As Darius turned to see how far along his men were in their tasks, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

There was a feeling in the air. Something was... off.

Puzzlement became foreboding, and Darius looked about for some kind of threat. There was none. The feeling grew, a gathering wrongness spoiling the new morning.

Then Kray gasped. "No..." he said with terror. His eyes wide. "Darius, it's - "

Darius had recognized the feeling as well, and spun to shout some warning to his men – though what he would say, he had no idea. There was no preparing for this kind of attack.

From a point of nothingness in the air, a creature of nightmare clawed its way into the world with a sound that was half bestial roar, half insect chitter. It was massive, with muscular legs as long as a man was tall. The body atop them was covered in bony plates, and from it sprouted four arms, all of them ending in a pair of long, thin claws.

Soldiers ran from the monster as fast as their legs could take them. The unfortunate ones closest to the Demon died on the end of those claws; the arms moved like a striking snake. The gaze of two bulging, bloodshot eyes – eerily human in appearance, though set in a boney, monstrous head that looked like no natural creature – swept from side to side, seeking something.

Distracted by more running soldiers, it bounded for them, claws tearing and rending in bloody joy. It seemed to grow angry then, and as he ran Darius felt massive energies surge forth. The Gryphons were all dashed from their feet by a scratching, biting, unseen cloud, bloody lacerations appearing on their exposed skin. Though Darius tried to defend himself, his efforts were useless in the face of a Demon's power.

It resumed its search, looking intently at the fallen, moaning forms all around it. Its claws lashed out seemingly without thought, slaying any in its reach. Then its gaze fell upon Darius – and the wizard knew he had been targeted.

This Demon had come for him.

Abject terror caused him to strike out, and the frantic blow had all his might behind it. He had the momentary pleasure of seeing the beast flinch slightly, and snort in annoyance, or pain – or contempt. It stomped for him, the shaking of the ground slowing Darius's attempts to scramble away. The Demon sucked a mighty breath into its lungs, the earthly act a mere mask for enormous power that focused in the space of an instant. Darius knew that his life was over.

The strike did not come. Puffs of blood burst from the Demon's sides and it seemed to grunt. Darius and his attacker turned as one to see Kray, holding a fistful of dirt and pebbles taken from the mountain soil. Bit by bit, it came flying from Kray's hand, flaying the Demon.

"Run, Darius!" Kray shouted even as he continued his assault. The Demon shook its head in irritation as pebbles continued to embed themselves in its hide or strike off the armoring bone plates. Confusion seemed to have hold of it. It looked back to Darius who was still lying, terrified, at its feet. A deep, rumbling grunt shuddered forth from its throat.

Then Kray struck again, this time with magic alone – a weak attack. It had its effect. Turning full towards the ex-sorcerer, the Demon released the fell magics it had gathered, a spell so forceful it could be seen with the naked eye – a blight upon the natural world, darkening the air itself. Kray screamed as it hit him.

Darius had been scrambling backwards on all fours, unable to remove his horrified eyes from the Demon. All in one instant his control returned, and a flash of shame drove him to his feet – Kray had saved him, and he was leaving the man to the tender attentions of the Great Enemy! Just as he was about to strike out again, he was again driven from his feet by a flying tackle.

"Sir, we must escape!" Robert shouted at him.

Darius attempted to fight off his lieutenant and rise again to the aid of Kray.

"Sir, no! You cannot save him! Save yourself!"

Coming to his senses, Darius heeded his friend. The fear that had been so strong in him had given way to a much more familiar emotion – anger. Even as he rose to his feet to escape, he struck one more futile blow. Instinct made him to reach beyond the flesh – a Demon was no creature of bone and blood. This time, Darius attempted to do as the Angels did – force the creature from the world, sending it back to Hell.

For the briefest of moments, the Demon's strength wavered. It seemed to calm, its eyes losing some their terrible frenzy.

It did not last long. Robert urged Darius into a sprint as the Demon recovered and whirled on the fleeing men. It bounded for them, closing the distance in two gigantic steps. Slashing claws smote and threw them both – a long jagged cut was torn into Darius's back, though he felt little pain. Landing several feet away, he was stopped from rising when the Demon's foot came down on his leg. This time, Darius felt it, and howled in agony. Again, anger shared his soul with fear.

Behind him he heard another deep breath as the Demon prepared the magic that would end his life. Darius tried to fight. He tried to defend himself. His every effort was warded off and torn away with nary a trouble. Then the Demon struck.

An unearthly screech rose from Darius's throat as his soul attempted to shake off its bindings and answer the beckoning of the beast. He was afire with pain – he could feel each fingertip, each toe, and every scrap of tortured flesh in between. The pain consumed him such that time stretched – what was in fact the merest sliver of an instant seemed to stretch on, and on, and on...

From out of the sky streaked a form like a falling star, a savior from above. It smote the Demon, knocking it from Darius's prostrate form. The terrible creature was sent reeling, stumbling and tripping over itself from the force of the collision.

On the ground Darius lay, his eyes were and unseeing. He was neither unconscious nor awake, alive nor dead. He was poised perfectly on the head of a pin, and a fall in any direction would be his doom.

The Archangel Aethel rose up in his full glory, and unlike before – when he appeared to the men of Bastion – he was enormous, matching the Demon for size. His wings extended to their full span. The Archangel turned his head and saw Darius. His wings relaxed from their challenging pose, and Aethel half turned to the fallen wizard. Hand and wing reached out as one; healing magic surged forth.

The pin upon became a pebble, and then a plateau. Darius's soul ceased its attempts at escape, and with a relieved groan the wizard lapsed into sleep.

From where it had warily watched the Angel rescue its prey, the Demon roared a challenge. Aethel turned away from the wizard, and his wings again spread wide. The hand that had reached in aide to Darius now strayed to the Angel's belt, grasping the hilt of his blade.

Aethel's voice was heard weaving peaceful, joyous words into a song of surpassing beauty. The sword was drawn, its blade outshining the sun in splendor worthy of Heaven.

The Demon roared again. The song rose.

The Great War continued.

***

The Demon's cries reverberated through the Valley, drawing the attention of the watchers on the walls of Fort Turast. Those with sharp eyes could discern two huge figures in the distance.

A wizard, commander of the fort, burst from the stairwell to the highest tower the fort had to offer. He was breathless, having run from the depths as soon as he felt the activity to the north.

"What?" he asked of the guard in confusion. "Why?"

A bewildered look was his only answer.

More roars shook the valley as the giant, whirling battle continued. It was an impressive sight to the soldiers, but to the wizard the brawl was but a sidenote to the colossal energies they unleashed upon each other. Their physical forms were only a symptom of their presence in the mortal world. First and foremost, the Aeonians were beings of immense magical power. Anything near them was in danger of being caught up in those storms, and annihilated.

***

"Hurry!" Pollis shouted to the two behind him. "He fell over this way!"

"It's too close!" spoke up one in protest, though he did not slow. "We'll get ourselves killed!"

"No one's gonna cry for you!" Emanuelle rebuked the man and kept pace with his cousin. To their relief, so did the other.

The three soldiers made their way around the edge of the forest area, giving the duel between Angel and Demon a wide berth. It was not easy – when the two mighty figures clashed, one or the other was often thrown a great distance, and the fight covered a huge amount of ground.

Even so, Pollis would not hesitate to run between the Demon's legs to get to his Captain. Or so he told himself.

He was moving so fast that he well nigh tripped right over Darius, lying in the destroyed vegetation of the Demon's wake. Pollis felt for a heart beat, and was rewarded with a steady, gentle flutter against his hand.