There were subtle changes in Wystan’s and his father’s faces. Demon blood boiled behind their expressions, preparing them for the fight to come. What would happen if their control slipped and they forgot who the enemy was? Wystan’s eyes cut to him and he gave the slightest nod. A thrill of terror whipped through Eban. Was it that easy to unleash the wild part of him? Instinct urged him that it would give him a better chance of survival, but he couldn’t imagine putting his human side away.
A lizard-bat dove and snatched the hat from Tell’s head. It flew off cackling in a high-pitched voice. Tell loosed a bolt after it and smirked when it crumpled in mid-air, plunging to the ground. It skidded in a cloud of dust. Whether the hat survived, Eban didn’t know, because a gracken—a miniature demon like Astaroth’s hell beast—rushed at him, its needle-like teeth gnashing together as it snapped for his arm.
It scored before he did, ripping a sizable piece of his sleeve away and piercing his flesh, but he crossed his other arm over and hit it beneath the eye. It yelped in surprise, turning him loose and drawing its ugly head back. Eban lifted the saber, slicing through the air at an angle. Before its head fell, a gorilla demon twisted his bleeding arm, pinning it behind his back. White-hot pain raced through his shoulder and he stumbled to his knees.
The demon roared, its fetid breath washing over him. His fingers numbed and the saber tumbled out of his grip. It gripped his head, one paw on either side and pushed, preparing to crush his skull like a melon. A bellow deafened him for a moment and light flared around him. The pressure vanished and he nodded gratefully to Eliakim. The angel’s powerful sword cut down two advancing demons. Eban wished he’d called down a host of angels.
In the crush of bodies, he couldn’t see anyone else, but he didn’t have time to search. Surrounded by horned, clawed and winged beasts, he reached for his saber, then drove it up into a changesteed’s guts. It wailed and collapsed, jerking as it died. Eban pushed himself up and cut a path toward the Pit, hoping his father’s sigil would help them hold Astaroth at bay.
They were outnumbered by demons as far as he could see. Astaroth was no longer visible from his vantage point, although Eban doubted the duke was dirtying his hands in the fight. He had enough minions to overwhelm them within moments. A pang of regret plucked at him as he wondered if his brothers had fallen. If Beryl, trapped inside Rosemar’s mind was gone, and whether she’d suffered. He burned with anger, listening to the shouts and growls that muffled the whisper of his blade.
The long sinuous tail of Astaroth’s helldragon whipped through the air, knocking down a row of the duke’s own demons, allowing Eban to scramble over them toward the Pit. The helldragon had all but paved a path to Hell’s usurper king. He spotted his father, whose eyes blazed and face twisted as he grappled with an ape demon. Astaroth watched, his crooked smile growing by the second.
Rosemar, hair flying in the wind, brought the hatchet down on the ape’s head. Gore splattered across her face. She gave the body a kick, knocking it away, and nodded at Seneca. They both charged at Astaroth. Eban scrambled after them, avoiding fallen corpses. Relief coursed through him when he didn’t see any that resembled his brothers.
The prince of Hell raised his arms, lifting a cloud of dust and sand that swirled around him. Bits hit Eban’s cheeks and stung his eyes. He tried to shield his face, but the force of the wind made it impossible to block anything.
Astaroth pointed at Rosemar and crooked his finger. She froze, her hand dropping to her sides, the hatchet falling from her limp fingers. She took one step, then two, picking her way across the ragged, broken edges of the Pit to join Astaroth.
“No!” Eban pushed through the flying sand, battling the wind that threatened to blow him over.
Astaroth ignored him, but Eliakim appeared at his side, impervious to the storm.
“Wait. He is coming.”
“I can’t wait! He has Rosemar.” He couldn’t have cared less about her, but if Astaroth realized that Eban loved the host body, he’d destroy Beryl. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and reached for the hatchet. A weapon in each hand, he advanced.
The hatchet had a good, solid feel and he understood why Rosemar liked it. He ached to drive the blade between Astaroth’s eyes. Deep inside, the caged demon fought, scratching at his chest. He kept his gaze trained on his enemy, well aware that Eliakim stalked behind him.
The wind died and dust scattered everywhere, raining on Eban. Behind Astaroth, at the far edge of the Pit, which glowed with hellish red light, a figure on horseback galloped across empty air. Eban tensed, but Eliakim spread his glossy white wings and raised his sword.
Astaroth’s head shot up and he gripped the front of Rosemar’s dress, dragging her with him when he turned. He let out a roar of rage that caused the ground to shake. Rosemar’s head snapped back and he shoved her away, railing in a foreign language at the approaching figure.
Eban recognized the horse now. Dapple gray with a solid white mane that whipped as it galloped, unafraid, toward them. The man seated bareback on the animal held his sword aloft. It sparkled despite the clouds.
Eliakim’s wings folded and he dropped to his knees like he’d been shot. He muttered in the same language Astaroth was still spewing and Eban rocked back on his heels. It was angelic, hard on the ears, impossible for him to understand, but he allowed hope to replace his fear. Until he saw Rosemar sprawled on the rocky ground.
Blood trailed from her nose, fresh red over the other drying gore, and she remained unmoving. Eban’s heart jumped into his throat. He dropped the hatchet, fumbling to re-sheath his saber as he stumbled toward her. Blonde hair spread around her like blades of cut straw.
“Beryl.” It hurt to breathe as he gathered her in his arms, searching for additional blood or wounds.
Her eyes fluttered, the brilliant green flashing through golden lashes. “What’s happening?”
The harsh voice was Rosemar’s, not Beryl’s. Disappointment overcame his fear.
“Astaroth tried to control you,” he admitted. “You’re not hurt?”
“No. He—” She shuddered, looking uncomfortable as she turned toward Astaroth. “I haven’t felt that much anger and hate since I left Hell.”
“Let’s get you up. We need every available weapon.”
Her eyes widened and she gripped Eban’s arms. “That’s Azazel.”
“What?”
His head whipped around involuntarily, watching the mounted rider slow to a halt in front of Astaroth. A tall metal helmet rested atop the being’s head. He lifted it as he dismounted from the horse.
Eban stared. Azazel, once a powerful god, a fallen angel, a demon who gave boons to men and destroyed them in the same breath, also happened to be Astaroth’s twin.
“Eliakim must’ve sent for help. You’d better hope he’s in a good mood or the plans Astaroth made to destroy you will seem pleasant.” Rosemar stood shakily. “If there was ever a time I wish I was on God’s good side.”
The battlefield quieted and Astaroth stopped shouting as the two circled each other. Seere muscled through the other demons, approaching Eliakim, although he didn’t bow at the sight of Azazel. Like the rest of them, he was scratched, battered and appeared exhausted.
Wystan, dragging a limping Tell behind him joined their group. Eban watched Astaroth’s army, but they all appeared too in awe of Azazel to move.
He was far from handsome, with features that looked as though he’d spent an eternity in the sun. Wrinkled, sunburned flesh, a pair of short horns sprouting from his forehead, long toes that ended in sharp, curving claws. The horse stood by him, draped in a green silk blanket embroidered with a toad. Azazel had several inches on Astaroth, whose face had turned equally as red.
“What is the meaning of this?” Astaroth demanded.
“Your petty war on Earth ends today.” Azazel’s words boomed over the empty desert like cannon fire, ech
oing off the rocks.
Eban’s ears hurt from the sound. He grimaced as Rosemar dug her fingernails into his arm. Demon or not, she wasn’t immune to the power in the fallen angel’s voice.
Astaroth sneered, drawing thin lips back from his jagged yellow teeth. “It is my right as a royal member of Hell to create war and havoc. To steal human souls and plunge the world into darkness. I am the mightiest of the four demon kings. I command more demons than any other ruler in Hell. I am darkness and chaos. How dare you deny me this?”
“Because I too am darkness and chaos, but when it serves, I find humans are better servants than the most loyal minions. I will not see their world destroyed because of a need for revenge.” Azazel threw his hand out and the resulting force pushed Astaroth’s legions back, although the Heckmasters, Rosemar, Seere and Eliakim remained in their places. “You want vengeance, take it with my blessing, brother, but leave the rest of the world out of it. A demon prince does not need such fanfare or so many lesser demons to take what’s his by right. If you destroy everything, you will leave us with no resources.”
Astaroth opened his mouth, but Azazel continued, “Seneca trapped you, Seere followed Ea’s wishes for the Gray Lands. Seneca’s offspring, yes, I can see battling them as well because they have denied your attempts to free yourself.”
He snapped his long fingers and the surrounding army scattered into ash. Eban’s relief was short-lived as Azazel grinned.
“This is a battle I will enjoy watching.”
Astaroth blinked, put into place by his twin. “I will destroy them all,” he muttered.
Azazel inclined his head. “Indeed. You may begin.”
Chapter Twenty
Seneca met Eban’s gaze and gave him a sad smile. With a minute shake of his head, he stepped forward, appealing to Azazel. “My liege, I ask that you leave my boys out of this. They were only doing my will, as your legions do yours. My rank among the demon lords has been revoked because of my actions and I don’t seek to reclaim it, because I don’t believe forsaking Astaroth was wrong. I loved a human—not the worst crime a being of our power has committed. Let them go and they won’t interfere.”
Tell straightened, his shoulders tight. “The hell with that. I won’t stand here while Astaroth tears you to pieces.”
Wystan gripped his little brother’s shoulder, holding him back. “Shut your mouth. You want to end up like the legions?”
Tell growled in response. Eban let go of Rosemar to take Tell’s other arm.
“He’s right,” Eban said.
Azazel ignored them. “Let’s begin.”
“I have one question, my liege.” Seneca looked contrite.
“Out with it.”
“In the names of my children and my beloved wife, is my sacrifice enough to banish Astaroth for good this time?” Seneca drew a jagged piece of rock from the folds of his shirt and lunged at Astaroth. “With this body, I seal the door!”
They were a blur as they tumbled toward the yawning mouth of the Pit, Seneca driving the rock into Astaroth’s neck. A fountain of brown blood spewed, splashing the edge of the hole. Astaroth managed a blood-curdling scream and the pair pitched into the red abyss. Azazel laughed, showing his delight with a huge grin. He made no attempt to stop the two demons.
Eban darted forward, hand outstretched although he knew he’d never reach his father in time. His fingers closed over empty air. His heart skipped a beat as the light flared green and air rushed up from the tunnel, followed by pained howls. A glowing bubble rose and settled over the hole. With pops and cracks, it solidified. For a moment, everything was still. Then the ground rumbled and loose gravel jumped.
“What the hell is going on?” Wystan asked.
A mound formed where the center of the Pit had been and it grew, rising above them until it was a rolling, rocky hill on the landscape not unlike the others that surrounded Berner. The dust settled slowly, falling around them in clouds.
Azazel tipped his head back and laughed again. “Berner’s portal to Hell is closed. Astaroth is no longer a threat. Seneca did well, proving himself worthy of his convictions.”
Eliakim trembled, but didn’t raise his head, eyes still shuttered as he bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
Behind Eban, there was a loud thump and a gurgling noise. He turned, stunned to see Rosemar prying the hatchet out of the juncture where Seere’s neck and shoulder met. Blood rolled down his dust-covered finery and his blue eyes widened, then fluttered. He reached for her, but she stepped back. His legs gave away and he fell face-first to the ground.
“Go to Hell, my liege,” she snarled. “The Gray Lands are mine.”
She lifted the hatchet as though daring the Heckmasters to approach. With a smile at Azazel, she said, “Do you remember the good times we had? When we walked the earth as deities, worshiped by the masses? I was lust incarnate, bringing together the powerful and weak, creating empires and burning them to the ground. I will have my day again.”
She turned her attention to Eban. “If you join me, I’ll spare them. If you do not, I’ll bring each of you to your knees and make you watch while I tear Berner apart board by board, brick by brick.”
A bolt flew past him, aimed at Rosemar, but it stopped before it reached her. She held out her hand and the bolt hovered in the air.
“How pathetic.” She twirled her finger and the bolt spun, shooting back at Tell.
He yelped when it pierced his thigh, staggering and dropping to his knees.
Too stunned to move, Eban looked between them. Tell gripped the metal-and-wood projectile, his face pale. The three of them were unpleasantly affected by silver, but it wouldn’t be enough to kill Tell. Still, Eban moved toward him, ready to help remove the bolt.
Rosemar’s eyes lit with fire. She moved with demonic speed, launching herself through the air at them. Eban grunted as her weight hit him. Her skin was hot, hands scorching where they touched his face, neck and bare arms. Her fist pounded against her face, striking his cheekbones, his nose, cutting his lower lip. He tried to grasp her wrists, to wrestle her off, but she kept fighting.
Arms swept in behind her, pulling her away. She struggled against Eliakim, swearing as her skin burned.
“Let go of me, you bastard.”
“I promised Beryl I would do her the honor of ending her life.”
“No!” Eban pushed to his feet, heart in his throat. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Eban.” Wystan put his hand out, snatching the back of Eban’s shirt. “You know she can’t be saved.”
Eban whirled and pushed Wystan away. “Get off me.” He turned back to Eliakim. “Don’t kill her.”
“I gave my word. You see the damage she has done.” Eliakim nodded at Seere’s corpse. “This abomination cannot be allowed to walk the earth.”
“Abomination,” she spat, writhing against his grip. “Turn me loose and we’ll see who’s the abhorrence.”
“I’ll do anything,” Eban said. “If you give me time, I can find a way to get rid of the demon.”
He felt cold. Even the blood congealing on his face seemed to be freezing. Eliakim’s eyes shone with sympathy. Eban’s vision blurred and he dashed the tears out of his eyes. Behind the rage on Rosemar’s face, Beryl was tucked away, maybe aware of what was happening. Frightened, unable to reach out to him. The monster he’d been suppressing struggled. Together, they could free her. To hell with his brothers and the angel. They didn’t care about Beryl, never had.
He’d fought for her since the beginning, when Wystan wanted to throw her out. When Tell believed she harbored something dangerous inside her mind. Neither of them knew what she meant to him. They never would.
Eliakim wrapped his arm around her throat. “I am sorry, Ebaneezer.”
“I can’t live without her.”
The angel shook his head. Red marks disfigured Rosemar’s
face and she was clearly in pain, but she still struggled. Eban dove for the hatchet, ignoring the sudden sting of pain in his back, the infuriated scream that left Rosemar’s throat, and Wystan’s shout.
The hatchet whistled through the air, but Eliakim and Rosemar disappeared in a flash, leaving the head buried in the dirt. They reappeared a few feet away.
Wystan grabbed him, pining Eban’s arms to his sides. “Stop. She poisoned your mind, Eban. She’s trying to break us apart so she can destroy everything. Don’t you see? That’s not Beryl.”
Seere had promised him closure, but she’d taken him. He was probably roasting in Hell for his crimes against his fellow demons. Something inside Eban snapped, the final thread on the leash holding his demon side back unraveled and he saw red.
“I don’t need your opinion, Wystan.” His voice came out a low growl, strange in his ears, throbbing with rage. “You have a wife and a town to look after. For once, stay out of my business.”
He shrugged, throwing off Wystan’s arms, then put every ounce of strength behind a punch that knocked his older brother off his feet. He felt the stinging burn of the silver bolt Tell had fired to keep him from killing Eliakim, but couldn’t reach it to rip it out.
“Jesus, Eb, don’t do this.” Tell’s crossbow hung limply in his hands. “You’ve gotta calm down.”
“Why? So you can tell me again how Beryl doesn’t matter? So you can behead her and justify it by claiming it’s your duty? You’re as much a demon as I am, as Wystan is, Harl—”
He never saw the sword that hit him, only knew that if Eliakim had used the edge of the blade, he’d be lamenting lost loves with his father in Hell. The flat of the sword hit the back of his head before he got Tell’s given name out and he staggered. The demon in him roared and he swung around, prepared to tear Eliakim’s head from his shoulders.
Eliakim had Rosemar’s arm twisted behind her back, oblivious of her spitting and swearing.
“Kill him, Eban. Let’s have this done and we’ll go to the Gray Lands. No more Heckmasters, no more sickly sweet daydreams of a place where your brothers can live without fear or ridicule. They don’t want to rule. They don’t deserve it.”
Eban Page 21
