Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  “I take it they were displeased with my change of route?” the wizard asked with a wry smile.

  “The council is eager to have you back in Bastion,” Aethel dodged.

  Darius chuckled. “Aethel, you are spending too much time amongst us – you’re learning to be tactful.” Shaking his head, he continued. “I am making all speed back to the city. I’ll be there within three days.” He looked back at Aethel. “Are you heading to the border?”

  The Angel nodded.

  “May I ask why?”

  Again, Aethel nodded. “The Council prepares the assault upon Cairn. I go to distract our Enemy's eye.”

  Darius nodded. With an Angel of Aethel’s might close to the front lines, the Demons would be able to focus on little beyond the proximity of their ancient foe.

  Bowing his head, Darius placed hand to heart in an unnecessary salute. “You go to the lines, and I to face the ire of the Council,” Darius sighed. “– again. The swords and sorcery of the enemy, or the wizards of the Crown? I can never decide which I dislike more.”

  Aethel did not laugh – if the Angels had a sense of humor, they didn’t show it. Darius and Robert stepped back as Aethel’s mighty wings began to work the air, lifting the Seraph from the ground.

  “The War needs you, Darius. Mind the Council, for all our sakes.”

  When Darius didn’t offer a reply, Aethel turned away, facing the south. Beating wings began to lose distinction, and soon the Angel's form dissolved back into a shooting star and sped away in a blaze of white fire.

  Darius looked at Robert to find the man regarding him.

  “From the mouth of an Angel, Darius. Do you believe it now?”

  Darius met Robert’s gaze for a moment, and the wizard’s face was pensive. Long years of experience with his commander told Robert that Darius was steeling himself at the prospect of soon having to deal, as so many times before, with the obstinacy of the council. Returning to the camp, they settled themselves in their bedrolls without another word. Robert knew that if Darius was going to keep his self-control when they returned to Bastion, the wizard would need his rest.

  At the crest of a hill, the Gryphons could see the walls of Bastion, with the tower rising above them – and even the thin line of the aqueduct that brought water from the springs in the hills. From this distance the city looked tiny, dwarfed by the bulk of the mountains that rose behind it – yet the sun shone merrily off the white stone, giving the city an almost Angelic glow. Though they still had several miles to travel before they reached the gates, the vision put a spring in each man’s step.

  Darius did not share their eagerness. To him, Bastion often proved less inviting than a prison cell, and just as confining. The disapproval and watchful eyes of the High Council were everywhere. That was changing, but not nearly fast enough to please him. More and more he preferred the field to the city, the danger to the boredom and irritation.

  He did not reveal any of this to the men, of course. A genuine-looking smile grew on his face, and he quickened his pace to a trot. “Forget your weariness men!” Darius shouted. “Hot food and soft beds for a time!”

  A cheer greeted his words and the men matched his speed, most of them no doubt feeling that he was moving too slowly. Darius, however, had no desire to reach the gates of Bastion out of breath. By now the wizards would have spotted him, looking out from the tower of the Crown. Most of them would be thinking that trouble was coming back to the city. Some might actually be interested in the news Darius brought.

  The walls loomed closer by the moment as hills covered in tall grass and wildflowers fell away to each side. Before long the soldiers had covered the entire distance and were standing before the massive gates; rectangular portals thrice as tall as a man, bounded by iron and requiring the strength of twenty men to shift. A trumpet sounded clearly in the morning air and behind the gates, the crews grabbed their ropes. A second blast and they pulled – slowly an opening appeared and widened. Darius’ men called good-naturedly through the breach, telling the men not to hurry if they were tired – after all, the Gryphons had only marched twenty miles since daybreak. Laughter met their words, and the gate keepers said that if they did not fancy waiting they could lend a hand.

  The Gryphons took them at their word, and rushed the gate. Every man who was able lent his strength and pushed. The gate keepers were forced to jump out of the way as their job was done for them on the opposite side. The gates swung open with a creak of the giant iron hinges, crashing against the stone on either side with a tremendous sound. The Gryphons streamed inside.

  Last in were Robert and Darius themselves. “Let them rest for today and tomorrow,” Darius was saying. “Replace our losses as best you can. Have the men ready to leave in three days’ time. I do not intend on staying long.”

  Robert stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. “Three days only? Darius, the men have been in the field for eight months. Surely they can have a bit longer.”

  “I wish it were so, Robert,” Darius replied. “But the enemy has a new trick, and we cannot allow ourselves to be caught napping. The men will understand.”

  Once Robert had followed after the others – heading to the sprawling network of barracks that housed soldiers in the city – Darius began his own reluctant journey to the Crown.

  The district that housed the bulk of the wizards and the military minds behind Bastion’s army was a city within the city. A branch of the aqueduct ran along the top of the walls that enclosed the area, and several artfully carved opening let waterfalls spill down to the gardens that filled many of the spaces between buildings. The Crown had its own houses, schools, weavers, forges, and everything else needed to serve the wizards who dwelt there.

  Though he would have liked to walk slowly in order to delay the inevitable, Darius’ pride refused to allow it. He would not give such a sign that his peers were getting under his skin.

  “Darius!” the sound of his own name nearly made him flinch. Looking for who had hailed him, he relaxed. Balkan, his closest friend, hurried towards him from a west-leading road.

  “Balkan!” Darius called in return, relieved to see a friendly face. “How are you? How are Maggie and Kaylie?”

  “Well, all of us well,” the other wizard replied as his hand enveloped Darius’s. “Maggie sends her best. Kaylie has just seen her eighth birthday, and suddenly says she wants to join the army,” Balkan gave a rueful grin. “Where do you suppose she got such an idea?”

  Darius’s friend was a tall man, and an oddity amongst the wizards for two reasons. Firstly because he was married; few men of magical talent were able to find time enough away from their studies to keep a woman interested, but Balkan’s partner, Magdalene, had either an infinite amount of patience or an infinite amount of love. Secondly because Balkan did not vehemently disagree with everything Darius said and did – though that particular fault was becoming less and less rare due to Darius’s victories.

  Darius returned the smile. “Let me talk to her. I have over two hundred men who could give her a few reasons why she should stay in Bastion.” He sighed. “And the first reasons would be the forty-three men who cannot tell her anything.”

  “Forty-three?” Balkan clapped a hand to his friends shoulder. “That's fortunate, for eight months in the field. We’ve both seen far worse. You’re lucky the border has been quiet of late.”

  “The calm before the storm, Balkan. That's what this is. I think I’ve seen the first thundercloud, too. No doubt you've heard by now.”

  “Yes, there have been certain rumors of you… straying from your orders.”

  “Straying?” Darius asked, amused. “I suppose I should thank Arric for putting it so delicately.”

  “That is not how Arric puts it, Darius. You'll be pleased to know, however, that Arric’s latest attempts to rally the Council against you are having little effect. You’re winning that fight, at least.”

  “I do enough fighting away from Bastion,” Darius said. “I shouldn�
��t have to come home to yet more of it. I don’t suppose you have any clue what the reaction is?”

  “No, but you’ll find out rather quickly. A call went out for the council to gather as soon as the Gryphons were seen approaching the city. They’re no doubt expecting you to barge into the chamber in a few moments.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because that’s the first thing you do whenever you return to Bastion, Darius.” Balkan smiled widely. “I apologize, but I’m unable to attend this particular meeting. Maggie told me if I’m not home to have midday meal with Kaylie and her today, she’s leaving me for a cobbler.”

  “Marriage is good for something after all, then. Be off with you, Balkan. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “Ah!” Balkan’s outburst kept Darius from continuing his reluctant journey to the tower. “I am reminded. When the council is through with you – I mean, when the council is through,” Balkan chuckled at his own joke, though Darius was not amused, “Come by my home. I have something I’d like to show you.”

  “I will Balkan. Provided there is anything left of me.”

  The two friends parted. Darius envied the other wizard – there was certainly no comparison between a dinner with wife and daughter and being second-guessed by the Council.

  Darius entered the massive structure of the tower. From the council chamber at its pinnacle, a wizard could see for many miles in all directions save north, which was blocked by the mountains. Below the top chamber were rooms housing the networks of globes and their keepers, which allowed communication between Bastion and its many armies and fortresses. Beneath those were laboratories, libraries, and living quarters.

  Darius bypassed all else on his way to the top and found the council chamber's doors shut. He paused before them, momentarily dismayed at what he would find within. For the briefest of moments, he considered turning around and leaving – he had not yet been officially summoned. The council could wait...

  With a sigh, he shook his head, and recalled Balkan’s remark.

  “I’d hate to disappoint,” he told himself, just before vigorously throwing open the double doors and striding inside the Council room.

  Chapter Three

  Darius had walked in on a full session of the council. Nearly every wizard in Bastion seemed crowded along the walls of the chamber, watching silently and expectantly as he entered. The table in the center of the chamber swept through three-quarters of a circle, with the gap serving as entryway to the hollowed portion at the center. Seats for eleven wizards lined the outside.

  No one knew who had chosen the initial members of the High Council, as it was called, but from then on it had chosen the wizards to fill its own vacancies. Every wizard was technically given a voice in the council, but the men in those seats were the true power, the minds behind every important decision in Bastion.

  At times, that thought depressed Darius to no end.

  “Welcome home, Darius. We are glad to see you safe,” said Arric. The elected leader of the High Council sat in the center, in a seat that, although it had a higher back, was otherwise indistinguishable from the rest. “Please, come and stand before us. We are sure you are aware of what we must discuss. We will do you the courtesy of hearing your description of events before any speculation is made.”

  Darius only nodded, walking forward to stand at the center of the room, an area naturally under the scrutiny of every member of the High Council due to the curve of the table. He kept his eyes on Arric. After a moment to organize his memories into a clear stream of events, Darius took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “A fortnight ago as we made for the Fortress Nebeth as commanded,” Darius began, disguising his irritation at those ridiculous orders. “- my men and I came across signs of an enemy war band. Perhaps three hundred men, moving quickly. As we were then far behind the lines, still five days from the Fortress itself, I was alarmed.” Some murmuring filled the room. When it had subsided, Darius continued. “After notifying Bastion of these events, I immediately began a pursuit of the foe.

  “We chased them for three days with the best speed we could make. On the morning of the third day, we arrived at the town of Deem’s Crossing. For those of you who don’t know of it, the Crossing is a small town built to speed the delivery of supplies to our armies at the front.”

  The strength of Darius’ voice faltered for a moment.

  “It had been completely razed by the enemy. We found no survivors.”

  Yet more murmuring forced Darius to pause, though he welcomed it. The memories of the butchered town still caused a swell of bile in his throat.

  The air was filled more with anger than alarm, this time. Darius did not elaborate about his own actions in that place – his peers would learn in time what he had discovered. “We continued our pursuit and in another day were poised to fall upon our foe.

  “This did not happen. During the night I was awoken by sorcery of incredible power. After rousing my men we went to discover what devices our foe was working.”

  Darius finished by describing the burn mark he had found, and the lack of any clue to its origin.

  “I believe,” he stated, “that the enemy has discovered a way to transport men using magic. These men were sent behind our lines using this magic and departed in the same way. I was not near enough to the entrance or exit to determine anything for certain, but I do have some theories as to its limits.”

  “Indeed,” said Arric. “And we shall hear those in due time. For now, I rather think we should discuss the initial act – that is, you, disobeying direct orders.”

  So it began. Darius’s jaw tightened. “I have already given you my reasons. I believe any man here would deem them sufficient.”

  “Perhaps. But would they deem them wise? You said you believed the enemy raiders to be at about three hundred in number. At the time, you commanded only two-hundred troops, Darius. Your men would have met a numerically superior enemy after a lengthy pursuit.”

  “The Gryphons are not typical soldiers, Arric. They are used to being outnumbered.”

  “Indeed they are not typical, they are the best young men we have. But it must be assumed that the enemy would not send ‘typical’ soldiers to sneak through our lines –“

  “They did not sneak!” Darius interrupted. “Will you ignore my warnings? An entire town was butchered. We have an emergency on our hands -”

  Arric stood, stopping him short. “Wizard Darius! You will observe order in this chamber. Another such interruption and you will be shown out. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Darius spat.

  “Good,” said the High Council leader, again taking his seat. “Now, as you say – we would have quite the situation to deal with, if the enemy were to use this...” Arric searched for the right words, a rare event for him. “... this new trick of theirs more often. Yet, none of our commanders have reported raids like this. None of them have reported anything out of the ordinary. Don’t you think, Darius, that if the enemy had discovered a fantastic new ability, they would waste no time in using it to their advantage? How do you explain that nobody else has seen nor heard anything of what you witnessed?”

  Folding his arms, Darius experienced the distinct pleasure of having an answer prepared for one of Arric’s inquisitions. “Traigan.”

  “Mertoris Traigan? The enemy Warlord?”

  “I know of no other by the name.”

  “What of him, then?”

  “He’s smart, Arric. He’s been causing us trouble since he rose to power in the enemy ranks. He doesn’t behave like them. He has patience, he plans better than all of us combined.” Darius kept speaking over the offended outbursts of several other wizards in the room. “He has the ability to make real use of this, if we give him that chance.”

  Arric considered him for a moment, letting the other wizards of the High Council speak quietly amongst each other – most likely about how unhappy they were at being called inferior to an enemy than about anythi
ng relevant. Finally, he spoke, silencing the others. “Your words are noted. This too, we shall speak of later. Now, Darius, I must request that you leave the chamber. The council will decide on the proper course of action.”

  “Why must I leave?”

  “Your presence is disruptive, Darius. The proper course of action also includes what to do with you.”

  “Ah, my sentencing. Of course -” This time Darius ignored Arric’s attempts to cut him off. “Mark my words, Arric. If you decide to disregard the warning because you do not favor the messenger, Traigan will make fools of us all. I will go, then, and fight the war that you seem so intent on ignoring.”

  Darius heard several wizards to one side of the chamber cheering his words as he removed himself from the room.

  “Some of them understand. The number will grow, as long as I keep being right,” Darius thought. Then he sighed. “But with this, would I rather be right, or wrong?”

  Chapter Four

  Before he had turned the corner, Kray felt it. He was too far away to detect the true beginning of the spell – a whisper of magic that spoke of rocks and trees and a distant place in the world – but this, anyone for miles would notice. At least, any sorcerer for miles would have noticed, and who else mattered?

  No. Incorrect. A fallacy. That was old thinking. Traigan would have laughed fit to kill had he heard Kray’s thoughts. The new Warlord was not as quick to execute a subordinate as others before him, but he did enjoy making sure the sorcerers were aware of his disdain. Several of Kray’s peers were still muttering about an incident half a week earlier, when Traigan had referred to magic as a ‘crutch.’ If not for the Demons’ protection, the man would have been killed months ago by an irritated sorcerer.

  Kray climbed the stairs to the entrance of the stronghold. From there he could see the wide plains beyond the city, covered in a second city of tents. Somewhere in the world the spell announced its presence like an errant finger of the sun, but here at the origin it was merely a blazing portal wide enough for two men at once to step through.