When Angels Fall (Demon Lord)

by Southwell, T C

  “So she has no choice, and she knows it.” She was aware that she was being far too bold and Kayos was growing annoyed. Drevarin’s expression was that of a man who had swallowed a live, spiny fish. She had to know, however. Gods judged people all the time, but when did people ever judge gods?

  “Would you do that, if she refused? Would you kill her?”

  Kayos smiled, shaking his head again. “You are a persistent child. You borrow courage from your absent husband; but think on this: if I do not summon him, he will be trapped there forever. There is no other way out of a sealed domain. You want me to tell you I would never sacrifice my precious youngest daughter for any reason whatsoever, and I wish I could.” The Grey God sat back, his eyes stony. “What if it was your decision? Would you let Bane perish there, rather than risk Sherinias’ life?”

  She bowed her head. “I would do anything to free him, except kill.”

  “Ah, yes, you revere life. But life is a fleeting thing for mortals. It comes and goes in the blink of an eye, for us. They are reborn, eternally. Yet a light goddess is not. She will never be reborn. She will return to the light whence she came. Bane will remain trapped there, even as a spirit god. You will never see him again.” Kayos gazed across the room. “I am plagued by mortals. You want me to set everything right in the universe; banish evil, distribute joy and well-being to all, turn darkness to light. But I cannot, Mirra. No one is that powerful. Not even the universe itself. I can free Bane, but I must risk Sherinias to do it. I will abandon Ashynaria if freeing her is hopeless, but do you know why I will not abandon Bane?”

  “He is tar’merin,” she murmured.

  “And he is my son!” He rose to his feet. “He has saved me, and I love him.” Kayos swung away, clasping his hands behind his back. “You think being forced to make this decision does not pain me? You think I will not be saddened if Sherinias dies?”

  Several seconds passed like hours, and she peeped at Drevarin, who stared into space, his expression unreadable.

  “I will weep for her.” Kayos’ voice held a wealth of emotion. “And I have not wept since my seventh son died five aeons ago. But I would weep more for Bane. So, I will summon him, using Sherinias’ Oracle, and I will risk her life. That is my decision.” He vanished.

  Drevarin sagged, letting out his breath in a long sigh, and his eyes focussed upon her. “You have a lot of courage, to be so bold with Kayos.”

  “It did not take courage, My Lord. He cannot harm me.”

  “It is a rare privilege, to be so immune to the wrath of a Grey God that you can flout the rules of etiquette so resoundingly.” He looked away. “I, too, deplore the risk to Sherinias’ life.”

  “I never thought Kayos was happy about it.”

  “Indeed. You were just curious, hmmm?”

  She shook her head. “I needed to know.”

  “Why?”

  “She is being risked to save Bane.”

  “Do you see another solution?”

  “Bane does not like it either.”

  “Did he say Kayos should not do it?” Drevarin asked.

  “No, but he was… distressed.”

  “As are we all.”

  “She does not know yet, does she?”

  “No.”

  Mirra gazed in the direction of the White City. “Do you think he went to tell her?”

  “I doubt it. I think he will rest before he attempts to summon a mortal god from a sealed domain. He will tell her at the last moment, to spare her the anguish of contemplating what will happen. He will do all in his power to keep her alive. You know that, right?”

  “I do. I just wish there was another way. What will happen?”

  “I am unsure, never having witnessed such a summoning, but I imagine it will be quite spectacular.”

  She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  Drevarin cast her a lopsided smile. “Suffice it to say that this summoning will take every iota of the Oracle’s power.”

  “Will it affect the domain?”

  “Oh yes. There will be quakes, storms, that sort of thing, lots of strange lights in the sky, and, of course, an eclipse.”

  “We must warn the people.”

  He cocked his head. “How?”

  “The priestesses can spread the word.”

  “No one will believe them. Well, perhaps a few will.”

  “Maybe Bane will find a way out of that place,” she said.

  “He may well have to destroy it to do that, and there are mysteries about that place that could prove dangerous to many others. It was created as a prison, after all.”

  Mirra groaned. “If only he had not gone to the underworld.”

  “You think it better to let an archangel suffer and perish?”

  “No.” She sighed. “These are impossible choices. There is no way to win.”

  “That is the lot of gods.”

  Drevarin gazed across the room for several seconds, then vanished. Mirra stared at the spot where he had been sitting, contemplating this new and disturbing turn of events.

  Chapter Nine

  Warrior God

  Senior Scitech Drontar glowered at his peers across the long, polished redwood table in President Randoman’s conference room. Gold-framed portraits of past presidents graced the cream walls, and a bank of diamond-paned windows gave a view of a garden with shady trees and allowed in streams of sunlight. The gold-patterned crimson carpet matched the floor to ceiling curtains, and potted plants added a little greenery to the décor. The meeting room was located in the Great Hall, just down the corridor from the president’s office. Drontar rarely ventured out in public anymore, but a request to attend a meeting with the premier could not be denied.

  The men and women in attendance were all top scientists specialising in matters pertaining to fiends and dra’voren, and their eyes were constantly drawn to the brown beret he was now forced to wear to hide his short black horns. Drontar was well aware that the hat looked ridiculous, but it was not as bad as horns. He had tried everything to get rid of them, but if he cut them off they grew back instantly, and nothing else affected them. He had even visited Astrakan, the so-called ‘master of the dark arts’, who had informed him that only a dra’voren could remove the curse. Drontar suspected that he just did not want to help, having noticed the magician’s supercilious smirk.

  Astrakan made his living as an entertainer, wowing crowds with his illusions, clouds of smoke, bangs and flashes, and Drontar was sure he was a charlatan. He lived in a gloomy mansion with an entourage of fawning youths, pretty girls and a couple of heavy duty bodyguards whose flinty black eyes had given Drontar the willies. The magician had examined the sigil scar on Drontar’s chest with great interest, but had declared that the geas was also impossible to remove. Drontar was sick and tired of his mind going blank every time he needed a useful idea. The handsome dark-eyed magician sat at the end of the table, gazing into space with a preoccupied air. His flawless features, dead-white skin, glossy brown hair and smart black suit reminded Drontar of Bane, and he wondered what he was doing at a meeting of top scientists.

  The hum of conversation died away and everyone stood up as President Randoman entered and sat at the head of the table. He placed a report recorder in front of him and waved them back into their chairs. The middle-aged president had short silver-grey hair, a lean, tanned face with sharp blue eyes and a prominent nose. His pale fawn suit complemented a cream shirt that almost matched the walls, and Drontar had always found him somewhat intimidating.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’ve asked you here to discuss the situation with the dra’voren who’ve taken over the Cloud World resort. The influx of Sarlan City’s population has caused a problem, since we don’t have place for them. They’re being housed in refugee camps and relocated to abandoned areas of the city that were previously deemed too dangerous due to environmental hazards. So, we need to find a way to reopen the gates and reclaim Cloud World and Sarlan City. Tha
t’s at the top of the agenda today.”

  Randoman laced his fingers and cleared his throat. “On a connected matter, I was recently visited by two men who told me that Bayona is rife with fiends, and, when I watched Commander Sarjan’s report, I was concerned, so I ordered Major Ranjal to send out a few soldiers with portable scanners. The results are disturbing, to say the least. The scanners detected many dark forms amongst the population, who seem to look exactly like humans. My visitors also informed me that our religious cults might have solutions to this problem, although, with the number of fiends that were detected, it would be a major undertaking to destroy them all without stealth ships. I’ve ordered more stealth ships built, but that’s going to take time. I also sent scientists to examine what my visitors described as ‘white fire’, which was discovered in many churches. I believe you were in charge of that, Scitech Drontar. What are your conclusions?”

  Drontar shook his head. “Inconclusive, sir. Our instruments only detected the same sort of interference that was experienced aboard Retribution when Commander Nikira tried to analyse the dra’voren who came to the aid of the living one she captured. All we know is the fire won’t stay alight outside the churches, and it gives off only a little warmth.”

  “Warm fire?” Randoman asked.

  “Yes, sir. It doesn’t burn, but it does appear to destroy fiends, if the people who turned to dust or fire when the flame was transported to other churches were fiends.”

  “What else could they have been?”

  “People, sir. Perhaps the fire only affects some. We just don’t know.”

  “But if they were fiends, it could be a weapon.”

  “Except we can’t take it out of the churches, sir,” Drontar said.

  “Right.” Randoman unlaced his fingers and fiddled with his recorder. “There have been so many unbelievable reports recently, it’s hard to choose one to focus on, but there was an incident in a nightclub just a few days ago that bears investigation. According to witnesses, three or four large black dogs, or wolves, attacked the customers and killed two, but what’s really interesting, or disturbing, is that some of the people turned into piles of dirt or exploded in flames when they were attacked by these… dogs. I’ve seen the vidimages of the incident, and what really bothers me is that the two men who weren’t attacked, and remained in their seats throughout the incident, were the same two who came to see me in my office.”

  Randoman picked up the remote and pointed it at the wall screen, activating it. The gruesome attack played from start to finish, and at the end the picture froze on two burly men with brutish faces.

  “Messrs Kaadeskari, or something like that,” Randoman said. “So, do any of you have any ideas about why these two weren’t attacked?”

  “If I had to guess,” Drontar said, “I’d say they were fiends. Those beasts are demon hounds, or hellhounds. Retribution encountered two of them in the Wastes. They killed more than a dozen soldiers. If there are three loose in Bayona, I’m surprised more people haven’t been killed.”

  “What do we know about these… hellhounds?”

  “Not much, sir. The two we encountered in the Wastes are the first we’ve ever seen. One was… um… summoned, by the dra’voren, Bane; the other was in the place where he supposedly fought the other dra’voren. We assumed it was his… pet, or helper.”

  “So the three in the nightclub could have been those two fiends’ pets?”

  “Possibly.” Drontar indicated the screen with a pointer he always kept on hand. “You saw how they seemed to give the beasts orders, and they obeyed. It’s also entirely possible that those two are dra’voren; maybe two of the ones who’ve taken over Cloud World. For all we know, they can look any way they choose.”

  “Did you ever see them change their appearance, on the ship?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So, you’re just guessing again,” Randoman said.

  “It’s an educated guess, sir. We have very little idea what they’re capable of.”

  “Strange, since you’ve been studying them your whole life.”

  “It’s almost impossible to study dra’voren, sir. As you know, they’re extremely dangerous,” Drontar said.

  “And yet there you sit, and I’m still in one piece, too, after encountering dra’voren. As far as we know, they haven’t killed anyone. How do you explain that?”

  “I’d say they have some agenda. But we don’t know if the two who visited you are dra’voren.”

  Randoman sat back. “Well, we need a solution to this problem. Is there any way to get rid of these dra’voren?”

  Boran Rannymede, a chubby, balding man with a condescending air, shook his head. “Unless we can shred them, there’s really nothing we can do, sir. They’re far too powerful to kill any other way, as Governor Predoran discovered, although some of us, and I’m one of them, think two of the beings might actually be creators.”

  Drontar snorted. “They’re all bloody dra’voren. Their actions speak for themselves. Creators wouldn’t have chucked everyone out of Cloud World or closed the gates, and besides, I’ve met the one called Bane, and one of the others, and they’re definitely not creators. We ran numerous tests on Bane, all of which proved he’s basically a man, with very strange and potentially invaluable DNA. That’s unusual, I grant you, and he has some strange powers, but Retribution’s logs prove he was using the dark power when they captured him, and the sword he used to fight the other dra’voren contained dark matter. His clothes are made of it, too. Commander Nikira doomed us when she brought him here.”

  “Yes, we all know your opinion on that,” Randoman remarked.

  “If they’re creators, we might be able to reason with them,” Rannymede said.

  “They’re not bloody creators!” Drontar scowled at his peer.

  “They closed the Great Gate, which, according to everything we know about it, was built by creators, so only they’d be able to do that.”

  “We know even less about the Great Gate than we do about creators or dra’voren.”

  “Exactly.” Rannymede nodded. “So how do we know they’re not what they claim to be?”

  “They claim to be gods, and we know gods don’t exist.”

  “Do we? What if we’re wrong?”

  “You think Bane’s a god?” Drontar made a contemptuous sound that was so forceful spittle flew from his lips. He wiped his mouth. “He’s flesh and blood, same as us! And he claims that dra’voren are what he calls ‘dark gods’.” He mimed quotation marks.

  “They are gods,” Astrakan murmured, drawing all eyes to him.

  “Oh, really?” Drontar sneered. “And what makes you an authority on gods all of a sudden?”

  Randoman said, “I invited Astrakan as an expert on occult matters.”

  “He’s a just an entertainer.”

  Astrakan inclined his head. “What you’re dealing with can’t be explained with science. I’ve watched the vidimage logs the stealth ship made, and there’s no doubt about it. Also, Bane has cast down the four dark gods that were loose in our world.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Astrakan shrugged. “I have my sources of information.”

  “That’s bullshit! There are no dra’voren in our world. We’d have known if there were!”

  “How do we get rid of them?” Randoman asked.

  “If they’re gods, there’s no way,” Rannymede replied.

  Voldaray, a top xenobiologist, said, “I think they closed the Great Gate to trap us here, so they can slaughter us.”

  “Bane told Predoran that they’re going to leave,” Rannymede said. “That’s why they closed the Great Gate, to keep the creator they leave behind safe. She’s the girl who evicted the tourists from Cloud World, and -”

  “You really think a creator would do that?” Drontar asked.

  “Why not? If Cloud World is, as she said, her realm, we shouldn’t have been there.”

  “She’s the daughter of Pretarin, who created th
is world,” Astrakan said.

  “Oh, and I suppose your ‘sources’ told you that, too, huh?” Drontar enquired.

  “Yes, they did, as a matter of fact.”

  “So just who are these so-called ‘sources’ of yours who know everything?”

  Astrakan surveyed his audience’s intent faces. “Fiends.”

  Several scientists gasped, others muttered, and some swapped horrified looks. Randoman eyed the entertainer, po-faced.

  Drontar was stunned for several seconds. “You admit to dealing with fiends?”

  “How else do you think I know this? You’d never ask a fiend, and you couldn’t, anyway.”

  “So how can you?”

  Astrakan shrugged again. “I’m an expert in the dark arts.”

  “Maybe you’re a bloody dra’voren.”

  The magician snorted and smiled. “You’ve got to stop labelling everyone who knows a few things about the dark power and fiends a dra’voren, Drontar.”

  “Maybe you’re a fiend, then.”

  Astrakan chuckled. “Maybe you are. Maybe that’s why you have horns. How are the horns treating you, anyway? Do they itch a bit? You shouldn’t hide them.” He gestured, and Drontar’s head went cold as the beret presumably vanished. He resisted the urge to check it while his peers stared at him.

  “You bastard,” Drontar snarled. “I wish…”

  “I’ll bet you get those blank spells often, hmmm?”

  “You have no right! You should be…”

  Astrakan pulled a face. “That must be frustrating. Try to think happy thoughts.”

  “What was done to him is cruel and unjust,” Randoman said, surprising Drontar. “I’d ask you to remove the horns and the… other thing, but I don’t suppose you could.”

  “A master of the dark arts can’t remove a dark god’s curse, but even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not even if he begged me, on his knees. The way I heard it, he deserves it.”

  Drontar shouted, “At least I had the courage to stand up to that bastard, while you -”

  “Enough!” Randoman scowled at Astrakan. “Could a fiend kill this Bane character?”