by Vox Day
They made their way uncertainly down the stairs, which were blessedly dry, and learned that they were only two floors up. They emerged into sunshine and a scene of rampant devastation. While the two towers on the promontory still stood, the hill overlooking the approach to the castle had collapsed, as had the drawbridge, the remains of which could be seen in the ditch it had so recently traversed. As they looked around in stunned amazement, another aftershock nearly knocked them from their feet and three large stones tumbled down from the watchtower, one landing not more than ten feet from them.
“The land is troubled. It knows I am here now, but it cannot serve two masters.”
“I thought this wasn’t Albion?”
“It isn’t.” The Faery King shook his head reflectively. “If this had been Albion, I daresay the very Cotswolds would have been riven. I am glad that the sword was not hidden in my demesne proper. Even so, I fear this will continue until the matter is settled.”
Holli elbowed Derek, carefully. “You okay?”
“I’ll be all right.” Derek pointed to the south. The sky was growing darker, and it was growing darker fast. “I mean, under normal circumstances, I would. Hey, Oberon, you got any more tricks in hand?”
“Leave that to me,” Puck declared, materializing in front of them, followed by Jehuel, Khasar and Melusine. He looked worried, but his eyes lit up with delight when he looked at the blade in Holli’s hand. “Well done, my liege! Oh, well done, you two! You’ve done quite a number on the property, I’m afraid, but that’s an issue for the Historic Society to deal with and I could never stomach the Jacobins anyway. Prince Jehuel, I believe you may be familiar with this particular blade?”
If Puck looked delighted, Jehuel’s eyes were blazing with a mixture of emotions that Holli couldn’t have attempted to describe. Awe, love, lust, greed and an overpowering joy were only the start, and his handsome face was like that of a child who had tasted chocolate for the very first time. She glanced at Khasar, and when he nodded, she turned Chrysaor around and presented it to the angel-prince, hilt-first. He reached out slowly for it, oh, so slowly, as if he feared it would disappear or turn into a snake before his eyes.
But when his fingers closed around the hilt, there was a hum, a flare of golden light, and thunder boomed over their heads, shaking the entire headland. For a moment, even the shadow rushing towards them from the south appeared to freeze, before resuming its headlong advance.
The ecstatic angel-prince cared nothing for the oncoming storm, instead he threw back his head and shouted triumphantly as he thrust Chrysaor towards the darkening sky. There was a terrible crack, as if the Earth itself was fractured, and four bolts of ebon light struck the tip of the blade from the four points of the compass, hurling everyone but the two royal angels to the ground. Jehuel howled, but in joy, not pain, and before their eyes he swelled until he was nearly twelve feet tall.
Suddenly, he no longer appeared ludicrous, but terrible, and what had seemed like pretentious affectation before now looked like nothing more than his princely due. He whirled about and pointed the glowing white blade at Melusine’s throat; the prostrate demon-girl’s eyes were wide with shock, perhaps even a little guilt.
“What do you think of your despised protégé now, Temptress?” His eyes were hard and cruel, and they gleamed with unholy delight. “Like so many others, you have wronged me. And yet, but for you I would not be here now, so I will spare you my wrath. Consider the debt paid.”
Without waiting for her response, Jehuel turned back to face the south. Holli’s eyes lingered on the devil-girl, who wrinkled her lip and rolled her eyes when she noticed Holli looking at her. “I’d say it’s time to bring the noise, Robin,” she told Puck.
“Indeed,” the treacherous angel agreed.
The Faery King, too, seemed surprisingly relaxed about the dark host’s approach, and Holli wondered what it was that they had planned. It had better be something good, she thought. The wind was rising fast, lashing her hair wildly about as the massive shadow came closer and she began to be able to pick out the individual demons that comprised it. There were riders of the great winged wolves and their two roaring heads, there were dragons and griffins and things that looked like lions with a snake jammed through them. There were the whirling black spirals and more ram-headed goat-demons than she could count. There were huge hell-knights in heavy black armor and red-skinned, black-winged demonesses wearing hardly anything at all. And in the midst of this great Fallen army was a malicious darkness, a black and evil void from which no light escaped. The evil storm was nearly upon them now.
“Is there any chance that anyone could let me see what’s going on,” she heard Derek complain. Khasar said nothing, but he nodded slowly before he transformed into his fighting Aspect of the great blue-winged lion. Holli fingered the wicked blade at her side, wondering which sword she should use, that or her fiery Divine blade. Neither would do much against what looked like two legions of fallen angels, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She only wished she could see Daddy one more time and tell him how if he ever wanted to see her again, he had to stop fighting so hard and accept God’s grace. Heavenly Father, Almighty God, if you’ve ever heard a single thing I’ve said, please, make him listen to you, please! Let them kill me in his place, God, but in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, please just give him more time!
She drew Flamestealer and nearly dropped it in shock. The evil thing was humming, moaning actually, and visibly shaking at the feast of angelfire that surrounded it.
“Whoa! Is that thing alive?” Derek shouted. “Holy cow!”
Forget it! Holli quickly slammed the evil thing back into its scabbard. If an angel’s sword was good enough for Aliel, then one was good enough for her. But she had no chance to draw it, for just then, as the Mad One’s army began to descend upon them, the Earth exploded.
Chapter 34
Fell and Fey
When the poets dreamed of angels
what did they see?
The bishops and knights well placed to attack
—David Sylvian, (“When Poets Dreamed of Angels”)
It was as if a bomb had burst in their midst, only there was no blast ripping them to pieces. And instead of shards of steel flying in every direction, there were petty spirits of every sort and shape imaginable launching themselves skyward. Wood and water, sand and stone, the wild spirits of earth, sea and sky rose up from the water of the Loch, from the hills, from the nearby forests and from the very ground under Holli’s feet. They were small, they were without armor and poorly armed too, but there were thousands, tens of thousands of them, and they hurled themselves against the Mad One’s host without remorse or restraint, aroused by the hatred only seven centuries of demonic misrule could inspire.
Oberon rose into the air with them, and again from his hands the green lightning struck, carving two deadly bolts of devastation out of the enemy’s ranks. Those gaps were barely filled with new warriors when the Faery King’s horde smashed into the foe, shrieking and shouting, with far more bravery and ardor than discipline. They were brave and they outnumbered the usurper’s host three to one, but they were small, so very small. Nor did they look like warriors and Holli found it hard to believe they could prove a match for the Mad One’s great army of evil.
It was like watching water breaking upon a stone. When the two forces collided, the Faery horde shattered upon the darkly burning blades of the shadow army. Holli saw one Hell-knight smash aside at least a dozen sprites with a mighty blow of his sword, and the fiery breath of his black steed incinerated six more. The hungry jaws of the Cerebei snapped up spirit after spirit, even more than the brutal studded clubs their riders wielded so cruelly. And hundreds went flying in all directions at the merest touch of the dread black spirals, only to regroup and fly at the foe again. But try as they might, none managed to come anywhere near that deadly quiet darkness at the center.
And yet, their efforts were not completely in vain. Ho
lli saw that many, if not most, of the lesser demons and demonesses on the perimeter were being ripped to shreds by the vicious teeth and claws of the wildlings. The reckless abandon of the Faery assault seemed to dismay their foes, and the terrible shadow was arrested halfway between Earth and Heaven, not retreating, but no longer advancing either. One particularly ferocious band of wood sprites even managed to disembowel a dragon, then ripped apart the shrieking rider of a two-headed wolf before being driven off by a deadly pair of Hell-knights. Still, the battle wasn’t looking good as far as Holli could tell.
“They can’t break them,” Khasar muttered, confirming her opinion.
“It’s those cursed knights,” Melusine snarled. “Nothing short of a prince’s fire will penetrate that armor.”
Off to the side, Prince Jehuel was trembling, his face white with barely restrained passion, as he watched the terrible destruction of the Faery King’s forces. Once he shouted and made as if to leap into the fray, but Puck’s firm hand restrained him.
“Bide your time, Prince,” he advised the seething angel-lord. “It will be soon. You must not strike too early, at all costs you must reach Maomoondagh and strike him down. If you attack now, you will never reach him!”
Puck walked over and placed his hand on Khasar’s muscular shoulder. The great lion’s golden fur twitched and the archon growled low in his throat, but Puck did not flinch. “I am aware that it is considered unseemly to take sides, but in the current circumstances, I wonder if perhaps you might see fit to lend us a paw or two.”
“I have a dispensation,” Khasar rumbled, not sounding displeased at the prospect of wreaking havoc among the Fallen. “If Oberon will tell me where he will strike, I shall clear a path for Prince Jehuel. But he must follow me closely. They will fall quickly upon us.”
“Khasar, no!” Holli cried, pulling on his mane. She couldn’t bear it. There was no way he’d be able to fight his way through that chaos in the sky. If a pack of Twice-Fallen had nearly pulled him down, how could he survive the Hell-Knights?
“We are created for a purpose, my dear.” His breath was hot and sweet in her face. “There is nothing to fear.”
“Then I’m coming with you!” Holli answered, even though her eyes were burning. “So am I,” she heard Derek announce. The two demons, Puck and Melusine, glanced at each other; their silence conspicuous.
“Derek, you will stay,” the archon answered, and his voice brooked no argument. “Though you can see them now, they could strike you down with little more than a glance. Holli, are you sure?”
“Let me ride on your back again, the way we did before. And this time, if someone shoots an arrow at you, try to dodge, will you?”
The lion’s rumbling laughter eased the fear gripping her heart as he lowered his shoulder and she climbed onto his back. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t completely unfamiliar either. Once she was settled, Khasar growled at the Fallen.
“Follow me, Prince Jehuel, and may the Lord Almighty guide your hand.”
Jehuel blinked at the unwanted blessing, but he saluted Khasar and Holli with his sword, then threw his cloak back with a dramatic flourish. “Strike them with thy vengeance, O king of Faery, and with this most sacred sword shall we inaugurate the reign of the once and future king of Albion!”
Khasar snorted and Holli, despite feeling like she was going to throw up, couldn’t help smiling. Well, Jehuel could be as pompous as he wanted, as long as he took down that horrible Mad One up there, hiding behind his black veil of shadow. Khasar roared a defiant challenge, and then they were arcing skyward. Holli kept her own wings furled to keep them from getting in Khasar’s way as his powerful blue wings brought them towards the raging battle in seconds, but it was nice to know that if she was thrown off, she wouldn’t plunge straight down to the Loch below.
The battle was even more vicious when seen up close. It was confusing, a mass of screaming, shouting blurs and colorful bursts of light exploding everywhere as spirits were obliterated left and right. She saw five dryads clinging to the neck of a wolf-thing; as its rider plucked one off and smashed it to bits with his club, another managed to dig its fingers into the wolf’s eye, causing the demonic beast to thrash so wildly that it threw its rider.
She didn’t see what happened to him, nor did she see the flash of green lightning that smashed into the battling figures in front of her, she only heard a loud hiss followed by a booming crack, and then the aftereffects. Where a moment before there had been a large black dragon leering at Khasar and opening its jaws wide, now there was nothing, and for twenty yards on either side of them, demons were shrieking and beating at the incandescent flames flaring out from their tattered Aspects.
“For the Most High!” Khasar roared, and Holli lurched back as his powerful wing-strokes sent them speeding forward. She slashed wildly at a black-armored helmet, then screamed and nearly dropped her sword when the knight parried her stroke and struck back at her. But they were already past him, Khasar’s terrible paws were smashing demons aside and a burst of silver flame from his mouth sent one black spiral spinning off into three of its dark kin, setting all four of them alight with holy silver fire.
A griffin dove towards him from the side, its huge eagle claws outstretched, but a stroke from Holli’s flaming sword forced it into a keening retreat, minus one leg. A Hell-knight thrust at Khasar’s maned head, but the archon ducked, twisted and ripped at the unarmored belly of the knight’s fire-breathing steed with his curved claws. A moment later, Holli saw a white-hot Chrysaor carving through the black helm as if it was soft plastic. Seeing this, the two demons behind the knight turned tail and fled before Prince Jehuel, and Holli herself ran through an unwary black spiral that was attempting to evade Khasar’s powerful jaws.
“Show yourself, coward, before I send you to the Pit from which you crawled,” shouted Jehuel, looking not at all ridiculous any longer, but like a true Lord of the Sarim, like the angelic warrior prince of Heaven he had once been. A small dragon, half again the size of Khasar, flew towards him snorting fire and Jehuel struck it down with Chrysaor as easily as if he was swatting a fly.
There was a tearing sound, and the demons on either side of them fell back as the shadow parted, dissolving as it fell away. Behind it was Maomoondagh, the Mad One, the usurper king of Albion, in all his hideous splendor. He was white, like a corpse, and on his brow he wore a crown of woven bone. His eyes were a colorless shade of grey, but they glowed with a dark, occultic fire. His long silver hair swirled about him like a cape, and he wore no armor, exposing an emaciated frame. He was gruesome, like a Grim Reaper without his cloak and yet there was a twisted beauty to him that fascinated even as it appalled.
He carried no shield, only two thick black-fire swords, each with a wicked hook at the end. He regarded Jehuel without fear, and a faint smile even pulled at his thin grey lips. “You cannot defeat me, renegade. Not even with that sword. I am immortal beyond immortal. I am a god among gods.”
“With this sword I have slain your uncles, your brothers and your sisters. And with it, I shall slay you, Son of Chaos. You do not belong here; you never should have come.”
“This is my realm. The land is mine, as surely as that blade belongs to you. Leave, or suffer the due consequence of your presumption.”
Jehuel drew himself up to his full height, which would barely have come to the chest of Maomoondagh were they on the ground. But a flutter of his four wings brought him eye-to-eye with the false angel and he smiled contemptuously as Chrysaor burst into golden light and he sprang forward, a falcon attacking an eagle.
His speed was incredible, and yet Maomoondagh managed to turn aside his first blows. The mass of surrounding demons rustled as those behind pushed forward to see this epic battle or soared higher in the sky to get a better view. Holli could see all too well, as she and Khasar hovered behind Jehuel, who was darting forward to strike, then dancing back again before the great blades of Maomoondagh could find their mark. Each time one of
those hissing blades fended off Chrysaor, there was a hollow, booming sound, like thunder in the dark sky. Maomoondagh was stronger, but Jehuel was faster and it looked almost as if he wielded three blades to the Mad One’s two. For a brief moment, they furiously traded blows as if neither of them would ever tire.
But if the combatants were well-matched, their weapons were not. Whatever evil forge had produced Maomoondagh’ twin swords was no match for the fires of Heaven, and the deadly black flames of one blade were beginning to fade into dull grey when Chrysaor met it squarely, just above the hilt. There was a burst of purple light, then Maomoondagh hissed with irritation as he stared at the flamed-out useless stump in his hand. He hurled the hilt at Jehuel, who grinned triumphantly and pressed his attack even harder. Chrysaor was a golden blur, striking, thrusting and chopping, and the roars of the vast demonic audience fell to a hush when another purple flare left Maomoondagh unarmed.
But the Mad One seemed strangely unperturbed. “This is your last warning,” he warned Jehuel. “Strike me and you shall surely perish!”
“You are well-named,” Jehuel scoffed, and he brought Chrysaor back over his head, then buried it almost to the hilt in the Mad One’s bare chest. Maomoondagh screamed with pain, a cry that shook the heavens, and clutched at the naked blade with both hands. His cry was echoed by his shaken army, dismayed by the mortal wounding of its leader. Jehuel smiled cruelly and he made as if to twist the blade in the wound, but he blinked, surprised, when he found that he could not. And then, to Holli’s horror, the golden glow surrounding Chrysaor abruptly disappeared as if its power was being drained out of it.
And so it was. For a moment, all were silent as Maomoondagh grasped the hilt and pushed the dying sword out of his body with a terrible crackling sound. Jehuel was too stunned to react immediately, and by the time awareness of his danger dawned in his eyes, it was too late. Maomoondagh, with a single powerful throw, drove the point of the magical blade into its owner’s head, directly between the eyes. Jehuel did not cry out, he did not make a sound, but even if he had, it would have been drowned out by the demonic roar that hailed the Mad One’s victory. Transfixed by his sword, the defeated angel-prince did not so much as move or even blink as Maomoondagh taunted him.
