[My first decree,] the invigorated gLarmng shouted, [is that we shall evacuate the great hall for our peoples’ preservation!]
grr’Shaalg nodded spoke in a harsher tone, addressing the crowd. [Hear me and hear me good,] he spat as he took out another vial of the potion. [Goblin kind is alive by my grace and lives by my pleasure.]
The impotent crowd surged with anger at being addressed by a foreigner mid-coronation but they were too weak to do anything more than shake their fists. They fell starkly silent as grr’Shaalg handed the unstopped vial to gLarmng.
The new king held it out for show.
[Any who do not abandon these halls with me will find only death.] gLarmng tipped the ampoule upside down, spilling the contents to the floor. A collective gasp ran through the horde. [There will be no more katadoolu in this cursed place. The gLarmng kingdom will clear these halls.]
grr’Shaalg nodded to his guards who began smashing and destroying the rows of glass bottles. Broken shards of glass coated in sticky antidote splashed across the floor. Sick goblins nearest the chaos flung themselves to the ground and gobbled up the jagged debris. Broken glass cut their mouths and throats as they swallowed it in desperation. A shrill wail went up from the throng.
gLarmng began a confident walk towards the exit. [Follow and live! I will lead the way to our new kingdom, the gLarmng Kingdom,] he promised. [There is a large cache of katadoolu waiting at the great hall’s doors.]
As quickly as the invalid creatures could move they followed the king in a mass exodus.
Mounting his skolax grr'Shaalg locked eyes with gLarmng at the front of an enormous parade and then he rode towards the main exit ahead of the procession. The majority of the shambling horde slowly followed suit, surrendering the long-held hole.
***
Rashnir was the first of his group to finish climbing the heights. He exited the stairs into a brick structure that capped the spire. His steps faltered at the edge of the rotunda. His heart, bound up in the urgency of the situation, insisted he sprint all the way to beh’-tsah’s fortress and take it by force. His mind, however, locked his steps at the edge of the building.
The closer they got, the smarter they needed to be in order to rescue their friend.
Looking at his feet, he could see the sheer drop to the surface below. His heart leaped into his throat as the clouds blew lazily across the sky below his perch.
Jorge and Zeh-Ahbe’ caught up and approached from behind. “Why have we stopped?”
Rashnir pointed down to the drop. A walking path led away but appeared to be no more than a wisp of smoke.
Zeh-Ahbe’ cocked an eyebrow. “The firmament should be solid,” he said. “The monk, Minstra, told me about this during one conversation.”
Jorge’s face soured at the mention of the name. Minstra had abandoned them during the battle where the acolytes had taken their friend.
“He said that the upper firmament was composed of a crystalline type of substance. It allows the light to wrap around much of it, allowing the sun’s rays to still shine below, albeit perhaps a little dulled by the pollution.”
Across the surface of the upper firmament, patches were crystal clear, like drop-holes. Further away, mounds of dirt, hills, land, even bodies of water could be seen. Through some kind of magic, the firmament acted like an invisibility shield and the land did not block the sky beyond
Except for large crystalline formations which occasionally jutted upwards, the landscape resembled more of what they were used to on the ground below, though cancerous patches of tar and baked mud littered the grounds with increasing frequency. Efforts to clean and shape the land near the pilgrimage point remained evident. In the distance, they easily spotted a large castle.
“By all means, then,” Rashnir said. “You should take the first step.”
Zeh-Ahbe’ looked at him apprehensively.
“I’ve got wings,” Jorge said, taking a step to go.
“Wings that are broken,” Rashnir put up a hand to halt him.
Zeh-Ahbe’ leaped forward and onto the invisible ground. He stumbled as his feet caught the unexpected plane. “Let us hurry,” he said, and his two peers stepped out as well.
They crept forward as quickly as possible along the “Pilgrims’ Road.” The dusty trail featured a number of monuments with donation boxes affixed. Signs informed the loyal Luciferians of historical events and possible facts about the realm and history of the demonic council.
Paradise is composed of thirteen floating islands, each with a castle ruled by a member of the Gathering. They are connected by wide highways. It is very difficult to see the upper firmament from the ground below. If it was not for their benevolent interventions, we might never know of their existence or efforts on our behalf. Which demons do you pledge to?
Rashnir scoffed as he read it.
Below the sign was a collection of steel, locked coffers with coin-shaped slots intended to take donations, as if travelers could purchase a boon from such a pledge. The trio looked up as a loud horn blasted in the distance.
The Babel Keep captured their attention as troop movements could be seen in the distance. Brilliant flashes strobed from the far side of the fortress where some opposing force had obviously met with resistance.
“Quickly!” Jorge insisted. The trio sprinted along the road, hoping that the cover of the nearby conflict would provide enough concealment for them to arrive unmolested.
They darted across a parched hummock. The gentle rise afforded them just enough view of the battle to see the two giant demons, each towering over their respective armies, trying to kill each other. Each whittled away at the others’ forces. Insignificant as the three spies were, Jorge and company pulled their hoods closer for good measure.
Any ekthro they found out in the open had secured a relatively defendable position where they could watch the skirmish unfold in gory detail. None of them paid attention to the three invaders that skirted the edge of the scene, taking as wide of a berth as possible until they arrived at the rear of the Babel Keep.
A nervous-looking ghoul fidgeted near the refuse containers.
“You there!” Rashnir called.
The ghoul whirled anxiously and pointed at his own chest. “Me?”
With the serendipitous distraction raging beyond the walls, they didn’t have a moment to lose. “Are you Cheska?”
The revenant shifted his eyes from side to side to check for spies. “I am Cheska. You are here for the prisoner?”
Jorge nodded solemnly, acknowledging their mission.
The sallow-skinned, hairless man looked sickly, as if on the verge of death—but that was the state of all ghouls. They subsisted on the whims of the master who had turned them. Ghouls were lost; they had already surrendered their souls to another power.
“Quickly. We must not be seen,” Cheska hissed. He took the large key-ring from his belt hook and led them to a small servant port. Just before he could fit the key into the lock, the door flung open.
Another ghoul darted from the door. He clutched an enormous, gilded book to his chest. He locked eyes with Cheska momentarily and the two broke eye contact. Each acted as if the encounter had never happened. Two more ghouls who skulked near the refuse pit crawled up to meet the burglar. The trio of thieves turned away as a unit and scampered off in the direction of the tower. Clearly, there were more angles at play than anyone suspected.
“Do not be seen,” Cheska repeated as if covering up the encounter they’d just had. He pushed his way through the door and led them down a winding path. They slipped past kitchen scullions and maintenance workers—the hidden, the outcast, and the lowly members of Paradise’s servile caste. Even they failed to see each other as anything more than shadows.
Jorge memorized the turns and twists, planning the quickest exit possible, should they need to escape without their guide. Cheska took out his keys again and unlocked a door in the wider part of the hall where the c
eilings grew to nearly ten feet tall; it led steeply downward and into the bowls of the keep.
At the bottom, a number of locked doors lay closed upon the floor. Each opened to a pit within the dungeon. “He is here.” Cheska pointed to a closed and barricaded gate.
Rashnir pulled the ghoul aside for a moment and questioned him as Jorge and Zeh-Ahbe’ banged on the door.”
“Kevin? Kevin, are you there?” Jorge asked, raising his voice only slightly.
“I am here!” Kevin replied. “And so is my friend!”
Zeh-Ahbe’ tried to pry the door open, but the lock held. Jorge’s flaming weapon flared to life in his hand and he sliced through the lock; Zeh-Ahbe’ pulled open the doors, flinging it wide open and exposing the recessed pit where the preacher had been dumped.
Rashnir joined them at their side a moment later. Cheska’s blood covered his forearms.
“Karoz?” Jorge exclaimed. “By the rood, is that you?”
“It is I,” the blind angel spoke into the air. “Who is it, friend? Your voice is familiar!”
“Jorge!” the angel said, hopping down into the hole. He hoisted Kevin up to Zeh-Ahbe’ who waited with open arms.
“My friend! My friend!” Karoz exclaimed. Though he was bling, his ducts still worked and hot tears rolled down his cheeks, spilling beyond his crusty blindfold. “I can hardly believe it’s really you,” he said, taking Jorge’s face in his hands. “Quickly, you must go—get Kevin Johnson to safety. You must leave me! My bonds are unbreakable; they come from the same chains as those binding the ones kept under the darkness of Tartarus.”
“Nonsense,” Jorge said. “You’re coming with.” The angel’s azure blade warmed the blind one’s face, and he heard the crackle as the blade spit and hissed against a heavenly metal that it could not cut.
“I told you,” Karoz insisted. “You must flee—leave me!”
Jorge slashed again, and this time Karoz felt himself falling out of his taught bonds. Karoz grabbed at the brazen links which had held him for so many centuries.
“But how?”
“Your chains and the manacles they connected to were not made of the same stuff. I assume they blinded you before they trapped you here?”
Karoz nodded. “I kept cutting myself free. I slashed at those chains for years before I gave in to my fate.”
“There is only One who controls fate.”
Karoz nodded as Jorge clasped his badly atrophied arm and helped haul him to the surface level of the detention block.
“And now, we’re all getting out of here!” Jorge insisted.
Rashnir embraced Kevin. “I’m so glad you are safe!”
A rumbling explosion rocked the fortress from beyond. Dust shook from the ceiling.
“Who knows how much longer the battle outside will keep those juggernauts distracted?” Zeh-Ahbe’ urged them to haste.
Jorge helped Karoz find his footing and one by one they stepped over Cheska’s corpse. Rashnir handed the ghoul’s keychain to Jorge as they came to the top of the stairs.
Rashnir embraced them each in turn. “I have to go deeper,” he insisted. “I have to keep my word and retrieve the key for ekerithia.”
Jorge shot him a look as if to warn him away from his task. His grimace finally broke into resignation. The angel knew that the warrior intended to keep his word and preserve his honor—even to a demon.
“I won’t be gone long,” he promised. “Besides, if I don’t make it, I won’t have to marry the queen or fight her sister.”
Kevin shot his friends a questioning look. They couldn’t spare a moment to explain it to him.
“I’m coming with you,” Zeh-Ahbe’ insisted. He looked to Jorge to give his blessing.
The angel scowled but nodded. “I will see them safely out,” he promised. “Godspeed, and blessings on you!”
The fellowship parted company. Two angels and the preacher went towards the exit. A ranger and a werewolf followed the directions Rashnir received from Cheska before Rashnir silenced him. They plunged ahead further into the dark heart of the Babel Keep.
Chapter Sixteen
Minstra stared down into the empty cup made of baked, glazed clay. The strong liquor caused his eyes and thoughts to swim.
The disgraced monk’s heart hurt as he thought of his failure, his act of cowardice. He wasn’t quite sure why he even ran during the invasion which claimed so many lives at Sprazik. Minstra tried to convince himself some higher power had compelled him… but he knew better. Deep down he’d always been afraid.
He’d traveled to Briganik in hopes of finding information on the outcome. The word on the street is what drove him to the bottle: they’d captured the krist-chin leader. He stared at it his cup, emptied it, and angrily chucked it out the terrace which overlooked the Fields of Splendor. The cup sailed over the second story veranda.
“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that,” the bartender scolded.
Minstra nodded mockingly. His cheeks glowed drunkenly.
The monk had been desperate in his hope that Kevin might truly possess the answers to all his life’s biggest questions, but he had been taken captive by the Gathering. And nothing escaped the Babel Keep unless the demon lords let him or her or it go freely.
His head pounded almost as much as his heart. He laid it down on the countertop and turned his head. Minstra squinted to see if his eyes had betrayed him. Minstra thought he recognized the man walking through the door.
He rubbed his eyes, head still on the table. It can’t be… can it?
***
Rashnir crept silently through the massive corridors. Zeh-Ahbe’ followed closely behind. The activity outside the keep captivated the attention everyone within the structure. The distraction allowed them to move mostly unchecked as they drew ever closer to the throne room. They’d only been forced to eliminate a small handful of under-demons. They melted under the azure flames of Rashnir’s blade before they could alert anyone of the intruders.
The two invaders slinked along the wall, stalking right up to the edge of a massive, stone archway which opened to the main throne room of the castle. Rashnir poked his head around the casement and peered inside.
At the far end, a wrought iron throne sat upon a raised podium. It glowed faintly from below where a luminous line etched through upon the floor. The blazing seam connected the seat of power to a slightly recessed well at the chamber’s center. Twelve more radiant lines connected to the central hub. Each emblazoned within the surface. Some shimmered, others glowed strong and steady.
Rashnir spotted the key jutting out from the mystical hub. The pulsing illumination glinted off the burnished gold. A type of brazen chain connected the key. The mystic links looked the same as the ones that had held down Karoz and the ranger knew his sword would be useless against it. The other end of the fetter connected to a silvery key which lay on the floor, slightly corroded, as if it were an afterthought compared to its more valuable counterpart.
Neither Rashnir nor Zeh-Ahbe’ had any idea what each key was for. They only knew that they had to claim it.
Ducking inside, Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ clung to the safety of the wall. Their eyes searched intently for any signs of observation. The room had so many places an ambush might lurk that entering it felt foolish.
Twelve pillars supported the tall ceiling of the domed chamber; hooks upon the walls held long banners stretching floor to rafter. Each one displayed the sigils of the lesser and greater demon houses: the thirteen castles located in Paradise.
Zeh-Ahbe’ shifted into his lycan form. His hair bristled under the palpable tension in the air.
Rashnir steeled himself, slapped his friend on the shoulder, and stepped out beyond the row of pillars. He compromised between a crouch and run as he stalked towards the central key.
Suddenly the air crackled and Rashnir flung himself forward into a tumbling roll, barely evading the bolt of lightning that zapped just past his ears.
The arch-mage stepped forward from behind the throne as Rashnir scrambled to the far side of the room opposite of Zeh-Ahbe’. Absinthium wore a strange, scaly sort of tunic which neither of the Christians had ever seen him in before. “I knew you would come,” he spat. “I have foreseen it, and yet I have protected my dread lord from your deadly plot. He is not here—murderers!”
Zeh-Ahbe’ shot Rashnir a look of befuddlement. Rashnir returned it in kind.
“You will not leave this chamber alive!” The sorcerer blasted a fiery burst into the pillar where Rashnir hid. Flames washed over the cylinder, heating the warrior's face.
Rashnir tried to form a plan, but little came to mind except to face the mage in open combat. That did not strike him as a wise idea.
Absinthium slowly stepped down the steps of the dais as he flung another blast of eldritch energy at the pillar. “Tell me, Rashnir the krist-chin, where is your friend—the werewolf. I have foreseen his death. In every future I’ve seen, he dies in this room. I will kill him today!”
Rashnir glanced worriedly to Zeh-Ahbe’s position, but he was gone, creeping up the edge of the room while the mage focused on the ranger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Rashnir yelled, praying that the Luciferian’s visions weren’t a matter of fate. He fled his post and jumped behind the next pillar which afforded him a better angle of approach to the room’s center.
His movement elicited a trio of blasts. They scarred the floors and walls as Rashnir barely evaded the projectiles. Behind him, against the wall, the blood-red banner of raw-tsakh’ caught fire and vented an oily, cloying smoke into the chamber.
Blasting the new pillar with enough force to chip away at the nigh-indestructible material, Absinthium remarked, “But if you are not here lying in wait for assassination…” His eyes widened as he trailed off and stared at the key.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 87
