The elderly woman walked through the stony aisles, passing by the large holding pens. Only a few of the prisoners noticed her as she stalked through the darkness. The layout of the prison was simple.
The main floor had very few separate rooms; the primary ones were at the entrance to the building where they had a guardroom and a checkpoint. Offices were built at the edges of the building for the military overseers. The remainder of the floor was one large, open hall filled with enormous, iron cages tightly packed with prisoners. The inmates could hardly move there were so many.
Local prisons were not normally meant to hold so many and Grinden’s facility was small in comparison with other detention centers. When Grinden was still a neutrality there had been little need for prisons or military buildings; they’d been very seldom used except as storage. It probably would have been given to the Luciferian monastery it bordered had recent religious and political events not changed everything.
Dyule, in collaboration with his advisors from the Order, immediately recognized the need to whisk away vocal dissidents who’d been obviously “poisoned by the outside doctrines of a cult,” even if they had not been fully swayed to its beliefs. Dyule’s prison had reached maximum capacity in days as he and his recruits worked silently in the background of the city swaying opinions by censoring the narrative.
Shinna’s eyes welled up with compassion when she looked into the beaten faces of the inmates: the woman saw only abused children in need of care. She slipped her thin body around a corner as a lone soldier paced by the cages; dutifully keeping his patrol log he remained oblivious to her presence.
Once he passed her by, she felt her soul beckoning for the caged children and slipped her tiny frame between the bars that kept the prisoners from the outside world. Startled faces greeted her with silence and raised eyebrows; none of them had ever thought they would see a jailbreak in reverse.
After some brief questions, she discovered that the men and women were indeed jailed unjustly. Some had unpopular political beliefs and some sympathized with her people or refused to participate in the religious discord in Grinden.
Prisoners in Shinna’s cell began to speak in murmurs, questioning her. In her quiet voice, she began to prayerfully preach the Gospel to them. With a lack of better options, the people gave her their full attention. The Gospel was well received by the jailed people, and they sensed a spirit of compassion and love flowing out of the old woman as the people eagerly responded to her passion and zeal.
Other cells, curious about what the happenings in the neighboring cage, hissed to get their attention. Words were whispered back and forth between holding pens and the other cells were informed that they would be visited by “The Old Mother” in a short while.
Prisoners reported to Shinna in hushed voices that the cells’ excessive population problem was solved by nightly visits from temple officials who took prisoners from the cells for interrogation. Those who refused to submit and recant their opinions were never seen again or were allowed to leave and pressed into the military but on distant posts in disputed lands. Either way, interrogation was a death sentence.
Noticing that something had aroused the prisoners, the guards called another few soldiers onto the patrol. Their attempts to discern the situation proved futile. Something stirred the prisoners up, though. They probed the inmates, trying to discover what it was; no one would have guessed that a break-in had occurred.
Soldiers guessed at spreading despair; inmates wept and broke down in tears. Some guards were wary. Even though many prisoners had broken down, the soldiers were set on edge; they kept a careful eye and ear on their prisoners.
***
Rondhale and Jhonnic led their group around a tight angle on the slope’s base and blindsided a swarm of goblin bladesmen who charged towards the steep hill—intending to rush the steep incline and eviscerate the soft under-belly of the Christian company.
From horseback the blacksmith brothers mowed down shorter, ekthroic enemies. Their guttural cries mixed with the mud and blood as hoofs trampled them and the Christian warriors continued to rush from around the edge and flood to the position from behind the broken body of the Dragon Impervious.
A goblin berserker carrying a torch shrieked as he sprinted towards the skirmish line. His brethren dove for cover as the runner reached back and lit the fuse on the wooden, explosive cask that was roped to his back.
Rondhale reared in surprise, his horse instinctively reacted to the gesture and followed suit. Jhonnic flung his sword at the vile, stunted creature and it flipped end over end as it sailed through the air on a clumsy arc before lodging in the dirt near the creature’s feet.
The goblin cackled as it ran, only altering course slightly because of the dangerous projectile. In the tunnel vision of zeal, however, the thing tripped on the protruding handle of Jhonnic’s sword and toppled to the dirt, smashing his face through the gravel and splaying the ekthro flat.
It scrambled to right itself, but not in time. The cask exploded in a thunderous ball of fire which momentarily illuminated the edge of the quarry.
Pinchôt and Grirrg, already bloody from the skirmish, caught sight of the mounted brothers and howled at their men who turned as one unit and charged for the Christians even as they finished mopping up with the clandestine team of goblins.
As soon as the barbarian’s guild and their accomplices closed the gap a band of giant wolves tore around the stony edge on all four legs. The hunters from the Say-awr’ locked their feral eyes on the Narsh Barbarians and pounced through Rondhale and Jhonnic’s line, snatching surprised warriors as they sprinted past and casting the larger, combined force of Grindenites and Luciferians into momentary disarray with fang and fury.
***
Descending through the air and speeding like a falling comet, the demon beh’-tsah plummeted towards his prey. His trajectory sent him rocketing towards Jorge with malicious intent.
The angel spotted him and didn’t miss a beat; he cleared the forward path of his enemies and struck down those pressing in on his flanks. As soon as he eliminated the potential threats, the massive demon crashed down behind him.
Enormous, clawed paws trampled the Christian warriors that beh’-tsah landed upon. The demon batted away all men who stood nearby and thrust his powerful wings outward in a display of supremacy, bellowing a howl of challenge at the angel. A group of Christians nearby charged at him and he kicked with powerful, lion-like legs and swiped at them with his powerful arms, sending them flying through the air like handfuls of gravel.
The demon stood erect, a terrible monster of war—a tribute to the blackness of murder: fifteen feet tall, veined bat-like wings protruded from his shoulders. The angel, in contrast, stood at nearly nine feet, the epitome of grace and beauty; his majestic wings hung draped behind him like those of an eagle with platinum-inlaid feathers.
Jorge, despite his smaller stature, charged at the demon with righteous fury. His shimmering wings trailed behind him like a cape; his holy sword flamed above his head in high guard as he rushed on his enemy.
The clash of the two weapons pealed like thunder, warning those nearby to avoid the intensely personal conflict. The ferocity with which the two swords struck was unmatched by any of the rest in battle.
beh’-tsah hurled bitter insults and curses at his enemy, snarling in an unknown tongue. Likewise, the angel reminded his adversary of the truth which the demon failed to acknowledge.
“You are weak, Angel! How dare you think that you can challenge me! I have fed and grown strong upon these people; my might exceeds any power in this land!”
“You lie to even yourself, wretch. You knew from the dawn of time what the consequences of your actions would be if you fell away. You have always known Truth and denied it: your downfall will be utter and your name will not be remembered!”
“Fool! I know the contracts as well as anyone; I know the agreements between hay-lale’ and Yahweh. I know what th
e bond says about those that would be permitted entrance to this realm at the designated time!
“You are among the weakest of the remnant of the Host. You delusional little puppet. Had you been an adversary worthy of challenging any demon-lord, you could not have been admitted to this realm,” the demon taunted the angel as he batted away the angel’s strikes.
The two supernatural beings traded blows. The demon struck out of pride and arrogance, insulted at the mere notion of a challenge. beh’-tsah rained intensity upon the high-guard of Jorge, backing him away and wearying him with the power of the assault fueled by demonic, bitter hatred.
“You know that you are damned, foul demon! None of this has any meaning. You know what your end state is!”
“If I believed that, tiny angel, then I would have never rebelled in the first place!”
The demon slashed with a vicious sideswipe meant to cleave the angel at the midsection. Jorge ducked the blow and rushed with a counterattack.
“Regardless, you have witnessed every bit of the Logos come to fruition. You cannot deny the truth it contains. Your experiences verify it and testify to this fact! This is all vanity. You cannot win.”
“Then so be it,” he scoffed. “If you are right, then I will do my best to take as many of these souls with me to eternal damnation. They will line my place of torment as trophies and adorn my pit. They shall be numerous reminders of the glory denied me by the selfishness of the Creator!”
“Deluded fool! You deny what has stared you in your face for every moment of your existence!”
The two unyielding forces battled and taunted each other across the floor of the quarry. They traded blow after blow; the dread lord crushed any Christian who got too close to the action and the angel tried to steer the duel deeper into enemy forces to prevent beh’-tsah from killing more of his warriors.
***
Rondhale and Jhonnic pressed the enemy and led several valiant Christian men into the fray. The twin brothers led a charge against a section which consisted mostly of royal fighters. Many of Rutheir’s soldiers had remained on horseback and struck at the Christians from their saddles.
The frenzied mounts fell and crushed their riders as the Christians targeted the horses rather than the men—trying to cripple if they didn’t need to kill. They worked in pairs; one warrior would fend off the assaults coming from the high position and the other would cut the legs from the horses, toppling the mounts. The terrified neighing of injured horses—a sick mix of fear and pain—panicked the other nearby horses. The mounts reared and cast off their riders, bucking them as they fled in terror.
They’d succeeded in driving the enemy back when the tide suddenly shifted. A powerful force of warriors came to bear on their flank as the army of the king, led by Rutheir himself, broke through their line. The skilled gladiators, hand-picked by the corrupt warrior king, wore away the steadfastness of the Christians.
Rutheir’s ferocity broke the resolve of many on the Christian flank and disrupted the entire force led by the brother blacksmiths, casting them into disarray. The confusion allowed the king’s fighters to isolate the opposing warriors and cut them down as they separated from the body of the unit, doomed by their isolation.
***
Arriving on the edge of a battle already in motion, Kyrius streaked into the sky high above of the skirmish. Borne on angelic wings, his keen eyes gave him a detailed sense of the battle; he immediately spotted his angelic counterpart, Jorge, battling against the monstrous demon overlord.
Diving, he intended to blindside the evil creature. Together, he and Jorge would vanquish the foul beast, perhaps even ending the battle. As he streaked downward, his acute sight spotted another danger high on the hillside. He noticed the crumbling earth within the palisade erected to protect the weakest Christians: the elderly, the unskilled, and the children.
He watched a hole burst open in the ground inside the walls. The ground gave away as goblins burrowed up from beneath; surprising their victims they swarmed upon them.
Shinna’s last request rang in Kyrius’ ears, “watch over the young ones for me when you return.” There was no decision that needed making. He believed that Jorge and the Christians could defeat the beast below.
The speeding angel shifted trajectory and flew down inside the palisade, instead. The first of the emerging goblins had trusted in the safety of an easy kill and never saw his approach.
Under the high velocity with which Kyrius came down, his slashing approach completely stunned the vile ekthro. They were cast back down into the deep tunnel, hewn apart by Kyrius’ sword. The angel charged down the hole, determined to battle the goblins all the way back to their source, protecting the children above and purging the tunnel of any threatening ekthro.
***
Just beyond the forces of King Rutheir, the goblin multitudes buzzed like a swarm of angry, black insects, stingers raised to smite their foes. They swarmed out of orifices they’d opened in the quarry walls, brandishing falchions and spears. The kept coming and coming until their numbers finally began to ebb as they emerged in the distance. The ekthro moved as a fluid mass, like a bloodthirsty flood.
Bomarr, accompanied by Rah’-be and Sil-tarn, was lost in its tide. Beaten back by the waves of hideous goblins, the ekthro tossed them aside like flotsam in the tide. The other Christian warriors who accompanied them had been lost earlier, and they were now surrounded. They only intended to defend themselves and stay alive, but the mass of ekthro pushed them wherever it willed.
***
Rashnir and his companions cut a swath through the enemy, aiming for the king as Rutheir reveled in the carnage. The opposition offered little resistance and men of the Order were hewn down like cornstalks in a field despite the ‘ãbêdâh serum.
Rashnir caught sight of Bomarr in the distance. The young man struggled against a crowd of enemies. They thrashed and jabbed at the mountainous warrior, coming at him from every side—practically drowning him with their presence. Rashnir tried to curt a new angle for Kelsa’s brother as his comrades battled around him in defense, struggling to keep the ranger’s flanks clear. Rashnir’s friends faltered for a second as they tried to reposition, unsure of their leader’s redirection. He recognized the crossroad of decision: he needed to steer his men to the left and offer assistance to Bomarr and Zeh-Ahbe’s kinsmen or continue pushing toward Rutheir’s men who wreaked havoc on Rondhale and Jhonnic’s flank.
He made a snap judgment. In his mind, he refused to listen to all the emotions and complaints of his inner voice and looked at the greater whole of the battle. Rashnir guided his company right, heading towards the wicked king’s battlegroup.
***
Deep within the prison the cells buzzed with whispers as the Gospel spread from cell to cell. The messenger avoided the patrols of guards who paced around the energized cages. The cells had seemed to fill with a supernatural sense of joy. Shinna slipped from pen to pen and spread the message of peace and love to the inmates, unobserved by the confounded soldiers.
As the night drew deep, the prisoners’ newfound sense of joy and relief only amplified with the elapsed time. The meandering guards were totally mystified; they knew, though, that it was only a matter of time before they discovered its reason and they eyed the pens with intense scrutiny.
The usual events of the evening still occurred; the doors slammed open to reveal the smirking visage of the Luciferian interrogator, Krimko, who the Order had dispatched at Dyule’s request. He stood there in the entry as he regularly did, trying to intimidate both guard and prisoner alike. Krimko’s wicked grin was the type that reflected the true nature of his heart. He took satisfaction in administering pain. His uncovered head had gone naturally bald and his eyes were cold and tiny, giving him a weasely appearance.
Normally, he basked in the sense of despondency that hovered about the wrought iron cells and permeated the air of the prison like a fog. The aura of dejection felt like some pale,
spiritual corona that made him giggle deviously each day he selected someone to interrogate. It was not so, tonight. Some other force had dispelled his dark, enjoyable miasma.
As he paused in the doorway, waiting to absorb that aura of hopelessness, a happy emotion washed off of the cells and soured his mood. The prisoners’ emotions were opposite of what he’d expected.
Krimko sensed the change and spat. Immediately, he inquired into what had happened. The guards told him they couldn’t figure it out, but it had been happening all through the night.
He pulled aside several guards and pressed them into service. Together, they pulled a middle-aged woman from her cell. Krimko struck her face with an iron rod. She shielded her face with her hands and so he broke those, too. The short man grabbed a fistful of clothing and hauled her back to her feat, pummeling her head with his fists and hissing with rage. Krimko beat her savagely; he didn’t even ask the question.
Finally, he relented and let her collapse to the floor. Crouching low, he seized her by the hair and pulled her face close to his before shouting into her bleeding ear. “What has happened here? Why are you are all acting this way. Woman, are you ready to recant your opinion of the Luciferian church? Are you ready to return to your home and commit to the Order—to the only true church?”
With halting breaths she replied kindly, wincing as her words stung her split lips. “I am sorry sir, and I forgive your abuse, but I cannot.”
“What is this madness?” he screamed, slapping her across the face again and bruising his hand in the process. “You act like one of those insane krist-chins!”
“Why yes, sir,” she replied. “That is what I have become; I am a Christian.”
“What!” Krimko screamed even as the cages erupted in shouts of acclamation. The general population shouted their allegiance to the Christ, boldly making their conversions known and drowning out Krimko’s words with their cries.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 52
