by Kenyon, Nate
He had tried to speak to Auriel again after she had interrupted his confrontation with Balzael. Outside the Gardens of Hope, he had been met by one of her angelic host and was told she was in repose and would not see him. The gardens were a place of peace and tranquility, where angels sat in deep meditation and in search of balance under a heavenly chorus that set the trees shimmering with light and sound. Auriel would not bring this conflict in here, her guard said. The angel had given him a symbol of peace in a light flower to adorn his robes, as she would for any visitor to the gardens, but her tone was dismissive; would she have acted this way before Tyrael had shed his wings?
It was not like Auriel to refuse him, even under these circumstances. He had left the gardens without protest, but what he had seen there was chilling. The trees continued to shimmer with light, but some of that light had been tainted with the faintest streaks of gray, as if . . .
No. He could not think this way. Perhaps the real problem was within, and his new mortality and the rush of strange emotions he was feeling had something to do with it. Was his decision to rejoin the Angiris Council as a mortal shortsighted after all? Was he no longer fit to rule as Wisdom, or any other?
Tyrael made his way to the Council chamber. Imperius met him outside the entrance.
The archangel of Valor was surrounded by members of the Luminarei guard—one of them Balzael, who stepped forward as Tyrael approached. He appeared about to speak, but Imperius swept his second-in-command aside as he strode up to Tyrael, wings extended in a blaze of light. “Your attempts to persuade our sister to join your side were misguided,” he said. “It is forbidden to pursue a debate in the days before it is taken up in a Council session. You have jeopardized the entire Council with your recklessness. Has your mortal flesh clouded your vision?”
Ever since Tyrael had made the decision to shed his wings, forever altering his relationship with the Council, their conflict had remained unresolved and hung over them all like a dark cloud. “Do not let our unfinished business taint your thinking,” Tyrael replied. “What happens here today has nothing to do with the anger you hold for my choices.”
“Wisdom.” Imperius’s wings trembled with rage or mirth; Tyrael could not decide. “Is that your advice for me from consulting the pools? I think not. A mortal who peers into the chalice may go blind, Tyrael. Perhaps you are afraid of what you might see.”
“I fear nothing but your lust for conflict. The stone’s influence is having an impact on the High Heavens, even now. Valor does not mean the execution of innocents.”
“Nonsense,” Imperius said. “The stone cannot harm us here. You see this as an opportunity for peace, but peace shall not exist until Sanctuary has been destroyed. Sacrifices must be made for the victory we seek. The Prime Evil nearly brought us to our knees, Tyrael! Never have the gates fallen before. There is no room for mercy—not anymore!”
He turned to enter the chamber, as if dismissing Tyrael from his sight. The archangel of Wisdom caught his armored arm. Power raced through Tyrael’s flesh, nearly making him gasp. He gritted his teeth. “Do not do this, Imperius,” he said. “There is also great goodness in them. Do not turn your back on the chance we have been given.”
Balzael stepped forward again, but Imperius waved him away. He shook off Tyrael’s touch as if disgusted by it, and the tone of pity his voice took on was far worse than his anger.
“The world of men has threatened our existence for too long,” Imperius said. “It is a tool for the Hells to use against us. You have chosen to join their mortal ranks, and your judgment can no longer be trusted. You will learn, soon enough. The Council will act, whether you like it or not.”
“Do not forget that the last time the fate of Sanctuary rested with the Council, the final vote was in favor of its existence,” Auriel said. “In order to reopen such a debate, you must present evidence of a fundamental change that requires it.”
“The evidence is clear,” Imperius thundered from his perch above the Council floor. The archangel of Valor leaned forward as he gestured toward the Black Soulstone, his wings snapping in ribbons of light around his golden armor, his commanding voice filling the room as he turned to Itherael and Auriel. “It sits in mute judgment before us all.”
“Do you not think the stone is safe here, among us?” Auriel asked.
“We have argued this many times. The greatest threat lies not with the stone but with the men who created it. We have failed to act for far too long. And while we argue endlessly through the ages, the Burning Hells continue to whisper their foul secrets in the ears of humans, influencing souls and using their world against us. The soulstone is yet another example of this. Forged by men, Auriel! If not for that, would the gates of Heaven have fallen to the Prime Evil? Would we have lost so many of our brothers and sisters and come so close to the Arch shattering before us?”
“That is not so certain as you make it out to be,” Auriel said. Tyrael watched her from his own seat above the floor. Her voice remained calm, in direct opposition to Imperius’s impassioned speech, but he sensed an edge to it that he had last felt when they were together in these same chambers. “The Prime Evil may have simply found another way and perhaps then would have succeeded in destroying the Arch.”
Imperius chuckled, but the sound held no warmth. “Hope has blinded you to the truth, my sister. Hell’s servants have been broken, their leaders cast into the abyss. Now is the perfect time for us to act! We have the chance to land the decisive blow. Sanctuary has always been our greatest weakness. Destroy it, and we will swing the battle in our favor and end the Eternal Conflict—forever.”
The Council chamber was silent. “There is some hope yet for humankind,” Auriel said finally. “Remember that they are born of both angels and demons. There is as much capacity in them for light as for dark.”
But the archangel of Hope’s words lacked conviction, and her argument fell flat. Tyrael cleared his throat. The fact that Imperius had avoided his gaze for most of this meeting of the Council had not escaped him. “Do not forget the role the nephalem played in defeating the Prime Evil,” he called out. “The Black Soulstone was forged in Sanctuary and was used against us, that is true. But the nephalem faced great evil and cast it down, when we, Heaven’s guardians, were unable to act.”
“And you declared a new golden age of angel and man, together for eternity,” Imperius said, his words full of barely suppressed disgust. “Perhaps you should have consulted the Council before making such a promise.”
The archangel’s icy words were full of challenge, and the threat of violence once again hung over the chamber. Tyrael would not rise to it, not this time. “The nephalem have abilities we are only beginning to understand,” he said. “If we destroy them now, we may lose our greatest weapon against such evil.”
Imperius’s voice grew louder. “In defiance of the law of the Heavens, you have interfered with the world of men again and again! And you have chosen to cast down your wings. This is just the latest example of your recklessness!” Imperius turned to the other members of the Council. “It is time to address an issue that concerns us all. Without Tyrael’s meddling in the affairs of the mortal child Leah and her mother, the Prime Evil may not have found a home in the stone.”
“That is not for us to know,” Auriel said. “And Wisdom is not on trial here.”
“Then perhaps Wisdom should offer his counsel.” Itherael, archangel of Fate, had been largely silent for most of the session. In fact, he seldom spoke at all, and his words now surprised Tyrael. “Let us take up another, still unresolved issue, in spite of our series of debates: what to do with the Black Soulstone.”
“Wisdom is no longer with us,” Imperius said. “Malthael is gone, never to return.”
“Be careful of your tone, my brother,” Auriel said. “Do not insult Tyrael’s decision to rejoin the Council; it does not become you.”
“Then tell us what insights you have gained from Chalad’ar, Wisdom,” Imperius said, his voic
e mocking once again. “Tell us what to do with the stone. The Council has been divided on this for too long. Or are the rumors among the angels correct, and you have yet to consult the chalice?”
Itherael and Auriel turned to Tyrael, waiting for him to offer a solution. He looked at the soulstone on its perch, imagined he saw a beat of blood-red light at its core. The darkness pervades this holy place, he thought. It creeps in unbidden and corrupts everything it touches.
Tyrael had come to his own decision. But he was unsure about how his advice would be taken by the others and hesitated for a moment too long.
Imperius turned away. “Malthael would never have been without an answer, yet this one is silent once again. I shall speak for him, then. We break the stone at the Hellforge.”
A murmur from Auriel brought a fast response. “We should not risk destroying it,” Itherael said. “It was forged by human magic; its destiny is a mystery to me. Even the Scroll of Fate cannot tell us what might result from such an attempt—”
“It must be hidden!” Tyrael said.
His words rang out, stronger than he might have intended. The others stopped, their attention returning to him. He cleared his throat again, hating how weak it made him sound. A throat made of flesh and blood was not a trustworthy vessel for such a speech. “Itherael is right,” he said. “The Black Soulstone’s power is unknown to us. The Horadric mage Kulle forged it using magic the nephalem alone possess. We cannot risk trying to destroy a thing like this; it may even release the Prime Evil upon us once more.”
“Hide it where?” Auriel’s tone had grown cautious, as if she knew what he might say. “We have already discussed shrouding it but could not come to an agreement. It cannot stay in the Council chambers forever.”
Tyrael looked at his fellow archangels, sadness washing over him. He imagined that they viewed him with suspicion, perhaps thinly veiled hostility. Even Auriel’s aura had changed, her wings pulsing softly with a light that mirrored the taint he had seen in the gardens among the trees.
He was not Justice or Wisdom, nor was he a man; he was a mortal angel, and this did not fit with the world they knew or with any other. His vision of peace with the land of men and a new life ending in eternal sleep was swiftly fading.
He had never meant for it to come to this.
“In Sanctuary,” he said finally. “We must hide the stone in a place neither angel nor demon can reach.”
“Are you mad?” Imperius roared, his voice crashing through the Council chamber like the crack of thunder. “You want to return it to the very place it was forged, where the Hells can use human souls against us? Darkness will find a way to rise once again, and the stone will become the weapon that destroys us all!”
“I have hidden soulstones in Sanctuary before,” Tyrael said. “I have bound them with nephalem magic and kept the Prime Evils imprisoned—”
“And they have always found a way to corrupt humankind enough to escape,” Auriel said. “I, too, cannot condone this, Tyrael. Imperius is right: Sanctuary must never be allowed to know the Black Soulstone still exists. It is much safer here, where we can provide protection by the Luminarei.”
“Can you not see what the stone is doing to you?” Tyrael’s own voice grew louder. He stood from his seat and began to descend to the Council floor, steps infused with the energy of the Heavens materializing before him. “You sit here in judgment of me while all around you grows colder and darker each moment. It must be removed from here, or we risk the corruption of everything we hold most holy!”
Imperius pointed down at where Tyrael now stood in the center of the chamber. “You accuse us of growing lazy and blind in our duties to uphold the laws of the Heavens, while you, as archangel of Justice, chose to abandon your post willingly and assume mortal status?”
“Rage is a symptom. The stone feeds upon your light, drinks from your essence, and waits for you to grow weak enough for the very stars to fall—”
“Ridiculous. You do not think we are capable of sensing such danger?”
“Your pride blinds you to the truth. You cannot feel it as I can. You are not . . . mortal.”
In a blaze of righteous fire, Imperius exploded from his throne, launching himself to the floor, where he landed in front of Tyrael and stood looming over him. “As well we are not,” he said. “You have insulted the Council enough. We should have acted much sooner. I will not listen to your impudence any longer!”
Silence descended, the moment frozen in time. Not long ago, they had met on this very same spot and had come to blows.
“I will not raise a weapon against you, Imperius,” Tyrael said. “Not this time.”
He stepped around the archangel of Valor, who did not make a move to follow. Tyrael’s heart beat faster as he walked toward the chamber exit.
“Where are you going?” Auriel called. “The rules of the Council forbid anyone to leave while we are in session.”
Tyrael paused under the arch. “I can no longer sit with you as archangel of Wisdom,” he said. “You must respect my choice to shed my wings, or I will not remain. And if the stone stays here, Sanctuary is lost, and the High Heavens along with it. I fear you will choose a path that cannot be undone.”
Outside the chamber, Balzael was waiting for Tyrael, weapon drawn. The strapping guard blocked his way, his armor infused with a golden glow, two others stepping up behind him. “You insult the Council,” he said. “It is against the laws—”
“Get out of my way, Luminarei,” Tyrael said. “Or do you mean to use that sword?”
“An angel without wings,” said Balzael. “You are like a bird with clipped feathers that cannot fly. Perhaps we should put you in a cage.”
Tyrael drew El’druin. How dare you insult me, the one who commanded you for so many years? he thought. The anger that he had held back rose up in him like a hungry flame.
“That would be the last thing you tried to do,” he said.
Balzael raised his weapon in a fighting stance. Tyrael swung El’druin in a mighty arc, bringing all his rage through the blow, the sword clashing against the Luminarei’s own and driving the angel backward and down to his knees. The anger felt like a cleansing fire, consuming him from within, and yet its very presence muted El’druin’s power. Tyrael raised the weapon once more, his muscles quivering, but the Luminarei guard moved blindingly fast, rolling sideways and up again, his sword at the ready.
“Enough!” Imperius suddenly stood at the archway, his fiery wings raised and crackling like lightning around his armored visage.
“Sir,” Balzael said. “He has chosen to leave the Council in session! He should be thrown into the Ring—”
“Let him go,” Imperius said. “Look at his bones, his flesh. He is weakened by his mortal status and unable to fulfill his duties.”
“You are wrong,” Tyrael said. “I am stronger in spirit now than I have ever been, Imperius.”
“Then why have you not yet turned to Chalad’ar? Are you afraid of what you might find within it? Or will it be too much for a mortal to bear?”
“My choices are my own and do not need to be explained.”
“And once again, you have chosen to stand with Sanctuary,” Imperius said. “If the Council votes to destroy it and eliminate the threat it holds for the Heavens once and for all, will you remain with the world of men and perish with them?”
Tyrael looked at Balzael, who had yet to lower his sword, and at Imperius, who stood under the arch as if blocking his return. He slid El’druin back into its sheath, his rage suddenly gone. Even I am being influenced by the foul, black pitch flowing across our realm, he thought. I must find a way to stop this.
“If that is the will of the Council, then so be it,” he said.
Then Tyrael turned and left them standing there, aware that he had taken the next step down a road to an end he could not foresee.
Chapter Five
A Meeting of Thieves
Tyrael pushed away the memory of the Council’s debate
and looked at the ragged group of humans gathered around him. Their faces held varying degrees of skepticism and awe. Jacob had likely sensed the sword El’druin from a distance, and the necromancer Zayl had almost surely felt him coming long before he had made himself known. They would accept his presence and what he had to say, if for different reasons.
The others he was not so certain about. The monk had shown impressive strength and valor in battle against Belial’s servants in Gea Kul, and his heart was pure. But the monk also followed his own path, and the possibilities that came with that were dangerous at best. His two companions from the Horadric cell at Gea Kul were valuable for their knowledge but had yet to access the hidden wells of power they possessed, and it was possible that they never would. The wizard was undeniably talented but equally headstrong and cynical; her scars were not physical and yet ran deeper than most and would provide a great challenge to overcome. And the barbarian was a woman without a tribe or a sense of place, possessing outward strength but little confidence.
A group of strangers and nothing more, Tyrael thought. He was reminded of a moment centuries ago, when he had faced another band of humans with a task that seemed nearly impossible. But this was the greater challenge. What they might become, should they choose to embrace what he was about to tell them, remained up to him.
“My apologies for the use of secrecy,” he said. “You have all braved great dangers already. But it was necessary for reasons you will soon understand. Your meeting here in Tristram is not by chance.”
“It was you,” the wizard Shanar said. The words sounded like an accusation. “You’re behind the resonance!”
“The man who appeared to me with a message from the gods,” Mikulov said.
The others murmured softly in the firelight. “It has been written, many times, that the archangel Tyrael walked among men,” the scholar, Cullen, said. “And we have heard as much from Leah more recently. But—forgive me—you’re no angel.”
