The Wrath of Angels (Eternal Warriors Book 3)

by Vox Day

  “Long have I prepared for this moment, Lord of the Sword. Countless spells did I cast, countless angels did I drain, but not until this very moment was I sure that my preparations were sufficient. Now I am a god among gods and Satan himself will fear to challenge me! But you, o prince of fools, shall return once more into the Void that is your destiny!”

  And with those words, Prince Jehuel, once of the Sarim, vanished in a blinding flash that sent streamers of gold and silver arcing across the sky before plunging to the ground below. Holli was caught up in the strangely beautiful sight when Khasar growled at her and brought her back to her senses. “Get the sword,” he snarled, and he twisted his body, sending her tumbling from his back.

  She furled her wings and dove, catching the sword less than twenty feet from the ground. It no longer glowed white, but was the color of old, yellowed ivory, like the tusk of an elephant long dead. Was it useless? Had they already lost? Then all Hell seemed to break lose as the green lightning leaped into the sky and battle was again joined. But the Mad One’s army was invigorated by Maomoondagh’ triumphant duel, and though Oberon’s wild spirits flew recklessly into the breach for a second time, they did so without hope of victory.

  “To London!” she heard Puck shouting, but not until she looked at him did she realize he was yelling at her. “Fly, as fast as you can!” The problem was that London lay to the south, on the other side of the demonic army. She couldn’t see Khasar anywhere, but she did her best to stay low and keep the stubbornly savage fairies between her and the enemy. Now, where was south, exactly? She saw a spot of sky that was less dark and headed for it, just as a quartet of Hell-knights smashed through a score of tree sprites, sending the smaller spirits flying in all directions.

  “Angel!” one of them shouted, and only through a desperate twisting roll did she avoid being spitted on a devil’s lance. But though the demon missed her, its evil steed was trained for battle, and she looked up just in time to see one of its flaming hooves heading directly for her face. It struck her hard in the head, and then she was falling, falling, falling….

  Chapter 35

  Redemption

  For knight to leaue his ladie were great shame,

  that faithfull is, and better were to die.

  All losse is lesse, and lesse the infamie,

  then losse of loue tot him, that loues but one;

  —Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

  Am I dead? Holli thought, too confused to be afraid. She was cold, horribly cold, the sky was empty and dark over her head and she had a strange sensation of falling. But if she was dead, why was she wearing a sports bra? Then she looked over her shoulder and no sooner had she realized that she was still alive than she learned she wouldn’t be for long. The ground was approaching fast, very fast, and she was painfully aware that she no longer had wings.

  “Oof!” Something hit her hard around the midsection, and then she was no longer falling, but was instead moving rapidly parallel to the ground. There was a faint scent of cinnamon, which seemed vaguely familiar. “Melusine?”

  “Don’t you dare drop that sword,” the demoness ordered. Holli was somewhat surprised to see that her right hand was still holding onto Chrysaor. I guess that’s what they mean by a death grip. Only I’m not dead, I don’t think.

  “You’re not dead,” Melusine answered her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. “If you were an angel, you would have been, or at least as dead as angels get. Fortunately, you aren’t, so that was just a violent means of shedding the angelic guise with which those shadowstalkers cloaked you. I assume it was shadowstalkers, anyhow, I don’t know anyone else who would dare.”

  “Um, who?”

  “You may be a good liar, Holli, but it’s a little harder when I can read your thoughts.”

  “Can you read this?”

  “Very funny. I’d expect you to be a little more grateful.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re trying to drag my brother off to Hell!”

  “Not at the moment!” Melusine sounded almost offended. “Okay, fine, maybe I did just keep you from going to Heaven, but that’s different. I’m not sure why, since I don’t know what else Puck thinks he can do to Maomoondagh that will work any better than sticking that useless sword in the ugly beast’s chest, but I’m sure he’s got a backup plan. He always does.”

  Holli nodded, then screamed as Melusine rolled to avoid impaling Holli on a pine tree. They were flying at a rapid pace, really fast and really low. “Um, even if you don’t drop me or run into something, I’m going to freeze to death here if you don’t do something fast. And also, people are probably going to think it’s really weird if I go sailing by without an airplane or at least a helicopter.”

  “Good point.” Holli sighed with relief as Melusine took her and the precious sword out of septus and into the warmth of the higher shadows. Then, much to her surprise, she fell asleep.

  She woke to a cloudless blue sky and the sound of demons arguing. Looking down, she saw they were high over the Thames, not far from the cross-topped peaks of the Tower Bridge. “I can’t see anything,” she heard Derek complain. She couldn’t see him either. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

  “Fiat visum,” Puck said, then he and Derek came into view, as well as Melusine’s arms. Holli gasped at the sight of dried blood on Derek’s chest, until she remembered that he’d been hurt under Loch Ness.

  “Are you okay? Did you see Khasar? What happened?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not sure, exactly, although Khasar did manage to fight his way free after you got run over by that hell-horse. He and Oberon were getting chased north while we snuck around and followed you down here. Man, Holli, I thought you were smoked for sure, but Melusine was quick as a cat; she caught you and didn’t look back.”

  “I hung onto the sword,” Holli said proudly, waving it.

  “Both of them. That’s quite the look.” He pointed at her, and she realized that she still had Flamestealer strapped to her side. It didn’t go with her workout stuff quite as well as it had with the angelic robes, though.

  “Like you’re one to talk, Joe Boxer.” She pointed at him and laughed. “You think maybe we can get them to stop and get some clothes for us? Your chest looks pretty bad.”

  “Merely a flesh wound.” Derek grinned, then glanced up at the demon in whose arms he was hanging suspended. “Say, you don’t think you could get us some clothes, do you?”

  “No time, sorry,” said Puck. He jerked his chin at a small dark cloud, far away on the northern horizon. It was distant, but it was approaching a little too quickly to be anything natural. “Melusine, stay on my heels and let me do the talking. Holli, you just hang onto that sword, and Derek, I suggest you close your eyes.”

  Derek made a face and Holli wondered what the demon meant by that. Then she found out, as Puck pulled in his leathery black wings, hugged Derek close to his chest and dive-bombed towards the river hundreds of feet below. Holli couldn’t help shrieking as she felt Melusine’s arms tighten around her and then her stomach was dropping out like she was riding the mother of all rollercoasters as they plunged recklessly downward, with the gray water below looking disturbingly like asphalt.

  They hit, without impact thank God, and then they were rushing along underwater. Puck led them into some sort of huge tube that ran into the river, and they had sped through several turns down and in before Holli realized they must be traveling through the London sewers. The mere thought made her gag, and even the knowledge that she wasn’t even on the same strata as the polluted liquid didn’t help a whole lot. They cruised through a twisting maze of corridors, and Holli just starting to wonder how Puck could possibly have any idea where they were when they emerged from the water in front of a large, circular door.

  Melusine released her, and Holli stood unsteadily upon her own two legs for the first time in a while, wrinkling her nose at the smell. The water, as she had correctly suspected, reeked abominably, although the two seven-foot demons
standing guard at the door didn’t seem to mind.

  “Oi, what you got here?” one of them demanded of Puck. Puck didn’t flinch as the guard invaded his personal space, instead he reached up and pulled the demon’s head down by one horn until they were nose-to-nose.

  “We have to see Titania, now!”

  The big demon tried to pull away, but Puck was much stronger than he looked. “Hey, let go! No password, no entry!”

  “The password is this: Oberon lives and struck down the Mad One.”

  The guard’s large yellow eyes widened, and he glanced worriedly at the other. “Right, then. Well, um, go right in… I’d better stay here.” Holli saw Puck shoot Melusine a cynical glance; even she could tell that the guard had no intention of sticking around for a change of management.

  They passed five more guard-posts in like manner, leaving a trail of stunned and frightened guards behind. None seemed especially inclined to face their former liege lord, and whatever vengeful grudge he might be bearing after having centuries to consider his betrayal. But the seventh door was an entirely different matter. There were more guards, five to be precise, and they were not so easily finessed. Their captain, a short but massive creature with four arms and an intelligent expression merely folded both pairs as Puck ran through his breathless routine. “You’re lying,” he said calmly. “The rebels were crushed this morning. And yet, I fail to see what you hope to accomplish in the absence of the King with two young mortals and a petty temptress.”

  “Rather a lot more than you’d probably imagine,” answered Puck, meeting the guard captain’s gaze directly. An unspoken communication seemed to pass between them. Holli was surprised when the captain smiled faintly and stepped aside.

  “Very well. If you would see the Queen, see her you shall. Let her judge your fate.”

  “But sir,” one guard protested. “The mortal bears arms.”

  “What of that!” The captain waved his concerns away and placed his lower right palm upon the door. A sigil, hitherto unseen, glowed red and the door opened. “Do you think the Queen fears a mortal bearing metal sticks?”

  The chastised guard retreated and the captain indicated that Puck and his companions were free to enter. As he walked them into the massive chamber, Holli heard him whisper to Puck. “If you succeed, remember me. If not, best do your cursed best to forget.”

  Puck’s answering grin was full of cynicism as the captain took his leave. The chamber in which he left them was a high-ceilinged throne room, nearly as long as a football field. It was an architectural monstrosity, with high arches and alcoves lining either side. As Puck led them down the long march towards the dais at the end, Holli peeked in the nooks as they passed and saw both beautiful sculptures and exquisite paintings as well as frightening demonic trophies. At first she thought the things displayed on columns were busts, but she learned otherwise as one horned devil’s head opened its eyes and moaned unexpectedly.

  A hand caught her wrist in an iron grip as she started to bring the sword up in instinctive response. “Control yourself,” hissed Melusine. “Do you want to leave yours here too?”

  Not if she could help it. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the unblinking stare of a lion-headed archon in the next alcove, but the awful sight only made her start worrying again about Khasar, the word of his escape notwithstanding. They were two-thirds of the way to the end of the chamber now.

  “Robin Goodfellow, is that you?” Titania rose from the lesser of the two thrones on the dais and irritably waved her hulking bodyguards and ladies-in-waiting aside. “How come you here?” The Fallen queen was the most beautiful thing Holli had ever seen. She wore only a simple emerald sheath with nothing more than a silver tiara set in her mass of crimson hair, yet her appearance permitted no doubts of her royal nature.

  “Stand aside, Titania,” Puck ordered. The queen’s honor guard bristled at his tone, but fell silent at a glare from the glorious queen, who swiftly returned her attention to the fallen angel. “As goes the Blood Cup, so goes Maomoondagh. Stand aside and leave it to me.”

  “We are told the field was Maomoondagh’s this day, Robin.” Her green eyes were unreadable.

  “Oberon is yet unconquered, Titania.”

  The Fallen Queen of the Isles raised one elegant finger and stroked her cheek in contemplation. It seemed as if she considered the matter forever, but it was really only a few seconds before she turned towards the waiting demons. “Out, all of you! Begone!” They vanished instantly.

  “Damn you, Robin, you’d better be right,” Titania warned him, though she smiled as she reached down and rumpled his hair. “Or there will be Hell to pay.”

  The demon closed his eyes for a second, but his expression was darkly amused when he opened them again. “There will be Hell to pay in any case, Faery Queen. If we fail, it is not the wrath of Maomoondagh you need fear, but rather the endless hunger of Diavelina.”

  His words struck home. Titania nodded once, her lips pressed firmly together, then she, too, disappeared. Puck whirled about and pointed to the larger of the two thrones, constructed of ivory embossed with a sumptuous crimson velvet cushion inlaid. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  Holli approached it cautiously. For all that it looked inanimate, the Mad One’s throne had an evil presence all its own, lurking as if it was liable to spring out at her. Then she realized, to her horror, that it wasn’t inanimate at all, because the cushion, red as blood, was pulsing slowly, as if it was alive.

  “There’s something seriously wrong with that thing,” Derek said unnecessarily. “Kill it already!”

  Holli raised Chrysaor, but her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and brought the sword down hard. Something stung her hands as it struck something unyielding—the sword rebounded violently and went flying out of her hands.

  “Oh, give me that,” Derek said, in a disgusted tone. He reached down, picked up the sword and thrust it at the pulsating throne. There was a flare of red light and Derek was thrown backward five or six feet. He hung onto the sword, but he stared at it grimly before showing his reddened palm to the two demons. “It burned me through the hilt. I don’t know if the sword’s got no juice left in it or what, but I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “No, it is not,” a thunderous voice rumbled through the vast chamber. Maomoondagh was standing on the far end of the chamber, surrounded by a score of his greatest champions. “And you, mortal, are going to die.”

  Derek brandished Chrysaor and stepped between Holli and the advancing demon king. The prongs of Maomoondagh’s iron crown nearly touched the ceiling, and he covered more than a man’s height with each step. Yet Derek did not retreat. “Stay back, or I’ll destroy your throne and your power with it!”

  Maomoondagh stopped and laughed, his pallid eyes narrow with contempt. “Strike away, little boy. Do you think me so foolish as to leave it unprotected?”

  Holli stepped out of the way as Derek spun around and with a frustrated cry, smashed the blade down as hard as he could with both hands. This time, the crimson burst was accompanied by a thunderclap and Derek was hurled off the dais as the demons shouted with laughter.

  “Derek! Are you all right?” Holli jumped to the edge, drawing Flamestealer as she did so, ready to make a last stand. Melusine and Puck were already at his side, pulling him to his feet. Chrysaor was several feet away, still sickly yellow, and when Derek, groaning loudly, limped over to pick it up, she saw the beginnings of a huge purple bruise on his back.

  “I warn you, Son of Chaos, if you come closer, you shall perish,” Puck was shouting at Maomoondagh, but Holli found herself looking at her weapon. Flamestealer was vibrating, and what she’d at first thought was Derek was actually the sword, moaning as it tried to bend around her shoulder to get at something behind her. But there were no angels behind her. What did it want? Wayland said it drank angelfire. She glanced backwards. The throne!

  An idea struck her. Five of the dark champions were
marching ominously towards them and Derek was struggling to raise Chrysaor to face them when she reversed the madly twitching sword in her grasp and thrust it backwards into the crimson seat of the living throne.

  An inhuman shriek shook the chamber, freezing everyone. It came from Maomoondagh, who clutched at his breast and reeled backwards. Holli drove Flamestealer deeper into the soft scarlet, and when she twisted it, Maomoondagh cried out again and fell to his knees. She glanced under her arm and what she could see of the blade was glowing yellow-orange, as if the raw essence of angels was infusing it with pure volcanic power. Something like electricity was crackling all around the edges, and through the handle she could feel the sword was almost ready to explode.

  “Stop them,” Maomoondagh whispered painfully, and his champions sprang forward. But before they reached Puck and Derek, Holli pulled Flamestealer out from the throne and pointed it at the closest demon. A fiery torch of molten lava erupted from the Fallen-forged blade, incinerating the big demon in an instant. With a cry of joy, she swept the sword back and forth like a flamethrower, roasting three or four more demons and driving the survivors back.

  “So you want some of that? You digging that? How you like that? What about some more of that?” She shouted incoherently as another evil spirit shrieked its last and erupted in a lethal rainbow of colors.

  There was a moment of shocked silence when she paused to consider the strange sight of the mighty fallen angels cringing before her. Then she turned the deadly stream of angelfire on Maomoondagh himself. The usurper of Albion howled as the flames he’d stolen burned into his massive body, engulfing him in a raging inferno.