Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  ***

  Darius seethed inside, though not at the man before him. Lazarus was the only man on the High Council who could be described as supportive of Darius, and even then not always. However, it was not at the feet of Lazarus that the blame for these newest idiocies should be laid.

  “It is kind of the Council to take such time to consider the welfare of my soldiers,” Darius began in an effort at diplomacy. “But they are hardy, and dedicated. They will no doubt be ready to leave on the morrow next, as I ordered.”

  Lazarus heaved a sigh.

  “Your men,” he began, “have already been informed of the change in plans. General Mackette delivered them the news even as I left the Crown to find you, Darius.”

  They were standing in the center of a craftsman’s district; a place of tanneries, smithies, cobblers, and weavers. Here leather was stiffened and shaped into armor, swords and spears made, and uniforms stitched together. Darius had been wandering about the streets when Lazarus had intercepted him, enjoying the bustle of industry there.

  Now it seemed he should have hurried back to the barracks. Arric no doubt knew of his habits, knew that he would spend time calming his mind before seeing to his men. Darius had been neatly outmaneuvered.

  “Arric plays his games well,” Darius said. “In the field, bad things happen to those who play games with me.”

  “Enough of that, Darius!” Lazarus rasped.

  Several people walking by them glanced at the wizards, but soon decided they had better places to be than hanging about two wizards in a snit.

  Lazarus continued in a lower voice. “Even if you meant such a thing – and for your own sake, I shall assume you did not – do you have any idea what violence amongst the wizards would do to us? I am loath to even mention such a thing in public.”

  Darius was ashamed of his words, but pride would not let him show it. He waited for Lazarus to continue with his jaw set obstinately.

  “It is that rashness, that anger which works against you most, Darius. With these frequent outbursts – and talk of violence against your fellows! – you liken yourself to the Enemy.

  “We know all you have done, make no mistake. But great deeds do not make up for all the fears of the council. Ask yourself,” Lazarus said in a more conciliatory tone, “If all you knew of a man was the behavior that you have shown to us, would you want him placed in charge of the best men we have and thrown to the field where he is likely to do anything but what you need of him?”

  Darius heard the words and knew he should listen. Lazarus was respected by all, and – wonder of wonders! – respected Darius in return. But too many years and too much meddling by the High Council had deafened Darius to their ways. They offered words. Darius demanded action.

  “I hear you,” Darius said, not quite lying. “But it is not I who am the problem, Lazarus. I seem rash to a High Council that has been standing still for three hundred years, and I will take that as a compliment. I mean no offense – you know I have nothing but admiration for you, Lazarus. But if the Council’s ways become mine, I am lost in more ways than one.”

  Lazarus’s face was unreadable. He gave a single curt nod of his head. “As you will, Darius. You know I am with you, more than against you. But I cannot condone this divisive behavior,” Lazarus turned to the road that would take him back to the Crown. “Just remember that your actions may have larger repercussions than you realize.”

  Darius watched him go, and then turned as well, towards the barracks. Before he had taken another step, something caught his eye. Under the awning that protected the vats of boiling leather, several armorers were working on shaped pieces that Darius recognized would soon become greaves. Using the monstrous needle and thread that leather necessitated, the men were sewing small metal plates to the armor. The result, as Darius could see, looked akin to metallic snake skin, with many overlapping scales.

  Intrigued, Darius went over to the men at work. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of the concoction the armorers used to harden leather.

  “You there!” he called. “What is that you’re on to?”

  The man looked up from his work and was startled to see a wizard hailing him. Giving a sitting bow he answered, “A new notion we’ve had, Wizard sir. You place these scales over the leather, as you see. Does a lot to stop all sort of things from happening to ya. Arrows, swords, spears – won’t stop a determined thrust a’ course, but it’s a damned site tougher than just the leather,” he finished, wincing a bit at swearing in front of a wizard, but not apologizing.

  Darius studied the armor before him. It did seem a rather ingenious addition. “Has the Crown been told of your idea?” he asked.

  “’twasn’t mine, Wizard sir –“

  “Darius,” he offered.

  “-er, Wizard Darius. Was Brett’s, and yessir we’ve told the Crown. They haven’t said much about it yet.”

  “Do you have any finished yet?”

  “Er, yes Wizard Darius,” the man replied. “But only three. We’ve only got me and Brett here on it,” here he indicated the other man, apparently the creator of the strange new armor, who had pointedly avoided joining the conversation but now looked up and gave a twitchy smile. “Everyone has to stay on the usual jobs, what with need being so high for new armor.”

  “Of course.” Darius said. If he was going to be forced to stay in Bastion, he would get something done! “The sewing – it does not look hard to learn.”

  “No, it ain’t sir. Just like normal thread work, ‘cept needs a bit more muscle a’ course.”

  “If I were to send you more men, strong men, could you teach them? Would that speed your work?”

  “Absolutely, sir. Are you saying you want the armor?”

  “I am. Have a lad follow me with two of the sets you have now, please. If I like it enough, I’ll send those men to you, and then we’ll see how fast you can work.”

  “Yes, yessir!”

  Darius looked at the other man, Brett. “This was your idea?”

  “Yes Wizard Darius.”

  “Well done. Keep at this. If it protects as good as it looks, I’ll see you’re both rewarded for it.”

  Smiles lit the men’s faces at the prospect of reward. Darius also smiled, inwardly. If the new armor worked well, he’d see they were rewarded with their own leather works, and plenty of labor to craft their invention.

  Chapter Six

  The streets outside the barracks were always busy. Carts brought food and other supplies to the soldiers training to defend Bastion and her people. Soldiers came and went at all times of the day, going to and returning from taverns, shops, and companion houses.

  The barracks themselves covered a huge area, and included sleeping quarters, training areas, parade grounds, and mess halls. It was the domain of the common soldier – officers were not expected to sleep in bunks like any other soldier, but had real homes along the northern hills, nearer the Crown. Most of them had wives and children, making the bonus a necessity. They needed only come to the barracks to meet with their men and each other – though some few, like Robert, had acquired Darius’s odd habits regarding such separation. Generals were few and far between, staying mostly in the Crown. At any time, three of their number were responsible for the administration of the barracks, but these men were rarely seen by the soldiers. Sergeants, generally the oldest and most experienced soldiers, were the authority here when such was needed.

  Four years ago Darius had formed the Gryphons, and taken to staying within the barracks. He slept in the same manner as his men, though in a room separate from them to afford him some status. In the beginning the men had been wary of him. Wizards were frightening creatures, denizens of the Crown and wielders of strange powers. Even the generals obeyed them. Suddenly there was one amongst them, and it had made the men uncomfortable.

  It took time, but Darius had changed that. Four years of marching and bleeding, celebrating and grieving with them had changed their opinion on one wizard, at least. Da
rius still wielded strange powers, but he was no longer strange himself.

  To the soldiers he was a hero. To the generals, he was an enigma. To the wizards, he was a chore.

  The Gryphons, lacking other things to do and still unused to the idea of remaining in Bastion for more than a couple days at a time, were caring for their equipment. The smell of leather oils and the sound of whetstones rasping down the edge of a blade filled the air. Darius walked into all of this and immediately began calling out orders.

  “Pollis! Trevor!” he shouted, naming two of his men. “On your feet!”

  The two men, a pair who had been with Darius for the entire lifespan of the Gryphons, came running and saluted. Darius tossed the packaged armor at them.

  “Put those on, and fetch your blades. Then get out to the yard,” he said as they caught the package he had been carrying.

  As the men hurried to follow orders, Robert walked up to Darius with a troubled look on his face. Just as Robert opened his mouth to speak, Darius stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  “Save your breath. I already heard,” the wizard said.

  “And?” asked the Lieutenant.

  “And nothing. We will remain in Bastion – for the time being,” Darius added with a small smile. “I have a few things to look into, in any case. With luck, the Council’s interference won’t hurt us too much.”

  “And without luck?”

  Darius snorted and shrugged, but did not answer. Robert indicated the soldiers donning the odd new armor.

  “What is this?”

  “Something new,” Darius replied curtly.

  Robert gave a wearied shake of his head. “That seems to be a theme for us, lately.”

  Robert left off the questioning and followed the wizard into the yard along with the other Gryphons. Soon the two soldiers, Pollis and Trevor, joined them, their armor shining in the afternoon sun.

  “How does it wear?” Darius asked.

  Pollis answered as he moved about, rotating his shoulders and swinging his arms experimentally.

  “Heavy like you might think, captain, but not badly so.”

  “Have a match, then. Test your new finery.”

  As Darius watched the two men, Robert spoke from beside him.

  “We had an incident today, with one of the recruits.”

  “Oh?”

  Robert proceeded to relate the near-death experience of the man Lawrence to his commander, who did not so much as bat an eye.

  “Older man? Veteran? Probably not the first time he’s been Healed, then.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Robert shook his head. “I could have sworn he was gone. It seemed that the Angel brought him back from the dead, right before my eyes.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “Yes, yes. They can mend any wound this side of death, I know, but -”

  “Almost.”

  Robert turned to the wizard, who was still watching the exchange of blows between his soldiers intently. “Almost?”

  Darius nodded absently. “They can heal any malady, physical and even mental. There was a man once, a killer. In Bastion. He slaughtered several people rather brutally before the soldiers caught him. The man was obviously deranged. They were going to execute him for his crimes, but Makaelic would not allow it. He had the man brought to the Crown along with the families of the victims.

  “Makaelic stood before the man and told the soldiers to release him. Such was the rapture of the Angel, the killer made no attempt to escape, just staring at the hem of Makaelic's robes as the Archangel removed one of his gloves.

  “I was there, an acolyte at the time. At first I saw no hand, no fingers, no flesh. Just white light. Bright enough that I could not look directly at it. The madman cowered before it. Once my eyes had adjusted enough, I thought I saw the outlines of fingers within the light, but I can’t be sure. Makaelic placed his hand upon the man’s head. He spoke words that neither I nor any other wizard understood, though we felt that they had great power in them.”

  “The moment the Seraph’s hand touched his head, the murderer looked as if he had been submersed in cold water. His eyes snapped wide open, his jaw dropped. When Makaelic finished his spell, all the madness had left the man.” Darius folded his arms, his eyes no longer seeing the soldiers before him, but rather a moment long in the past. “I could see it in his eyes. He had been granted a terrible clarity. He looked around the room with an expression... he look about at the families who he'd harmed, and he began to weep uncontrollably.”

  Darius took a deep breath. “Through the sobs, he managed to speak the words ‘I am sorry.’ His weeping grew greater, until with one last strangled cry he collapsed to the ground.”

  Finally Darius looked at Robert. “He was dead. Guilt had stopped his heart.”

  Robert stared in rapt attention. “What had Makaelic done? Surely this was not Healing?”

  “It was, of a sort. Makaelic shared his mind with the deranged man. The purity of an Angel's mind corrected whatever was wrong within the man and instead of being murderously insane he was – for a moment – surely amongst the most compassionate men in the world.”

  Darius sighed. “Unfortunately, Makaelic could not remove the memories of the man’s actions. He could not heal the past. It was this that killed the man – realizing that all he had done, he had done whilst not caring at all. He couldn’t reconcile what he’d been with what he’d become.”

  Robert made no reply, no doubt doing some reconciling of his own. In his lifetime as a soldier, he had been Healed more than once, and seen it done for countless other men. It was difficult for him to imagine Healing resulting in harm.

  Darius called to the combatants to halt their exercise, asking them what they thought of the scale armor.

  “Wonderful, Captain. We avoided the joints -” which weren’t covered by the metal scales “- and were being careful, but look here,” Trevor said, indicating his stomach where a shiny gouge had been dug amidst the scales. “Polley was being sloppy again,” Trevor teased, giving his comrade a shove. “That would have bit deep into normal leather, I could feel it. Didn’t make it through this armor. Are we getting more?” The soldier asked eagerly, like a child keen for a new toy.

  “That depends,” Darius replied with a small smile. “How well can you sew?”

  Chapter Seven

  It was with weary feet that Darius mounted the steps to Balkan's home. It had been a long and vexing day. Darius sniffed the air. At least he seemed to have arrived in time for supper.

  His knock was a mere pretense, as his hand was already opening the door before the sound was noted within. First to come to the door was the little one, Kaylie. A sprightly girl with dark red hair and freckles, she had only her height to show that she was her father’s daughter.

  “Darius!” she squealed, having not seen her father’s friend in many months. Too large now to latch onto one of his legs as she used to do, she ran forward and leapt up, hugging him around the neck.

  It was a measure of Darius’s fatigue that the child nearly overbalanced him. He recovered and was returning the embrace by the time Kaylie’s mother and father had turned the corner.

  “Kaylie! My girl, how are you?” he said, setting her down. He cast an eye up and down her skinny frame. “You’re growing too fast. Balkan!” he said to his friend as the other wizard came into view. “Didn’t I tell you to stop casting spells on your daughter?”

  “Since when did Balkan begin listening to anyone but himself?” Maggie replied for her husband, coming forward to greet Darius as well. “It is good to see you, Darius. You are well?”

  “Very,” he lied.

  “Come in out of the hall. You’re just in time for supper. Come on.”

  “No doubt precisely what he had in mind,” Balkan said with a smile as he led his friend to the adjoining dining room. “Well done.”

  “At least I can claim one victory today,” Darius said. The look in his eyes told his friend much. Neither
man delved further into the subject – such things were not fit for the table.

  Kaylie did most of the talking during the meal, wanting to catch Darius up on all she’d done while he’d been away from Bastion. Most of which consisted of besting her friends – the majority of them boys, sons of generals and other officers – in one contest or another.

  “I can run faster and farther than any of them,” Kaylie bragged around a bite of brown bread, earning a rebuke from her mother not to speak with her mouth full. After finishing it, she carefully set her bread down before continuing. “And I beat Charlie in war today,” she claimed proudly.

  “War?” Darius asked incredulously. “What’s this game?”

  “Sword fighting,” Maggie said. “That Charlie has managed to cajole sword lessons for his friends, one of the Lieutenants is teaching them. I don’t like it, but Balkan says not to stop it,” she explained, casting a displeased look at her husband.

  “It’s harmless,” Balkan protested. “They use the little padded swords we start the boys on when they’re ten, and they have proper supervision at all times – I made sure. Besides,” he added, contemplating his wine, “Kaylie always wins. Isn’t that right, Kaykay?”

  “Don’t call me that! That’s a baby name.”

  Balkan grimaced. “Old people get to call other people by baby names, Kaylie. It’s a law.”

  “That’s not true! Darius, is that true?”

  “Your father knows more about the laws than I, Kaylie,” Darius said. “You should probably believe him.”

  “Oh, stop it, both of you,” Maggie interrupted. Balkan grumped something about spoiling the fun, but she ignored him. “Kaylie, it’s time to do your sewing.”

  Kaylie immediately put on a hurt face. “I don’t want to, I hate sewing.”

  “You do not, you used to love it. It's important to know.”

  Darius chuckled, drawing all eyes to him. He nodded earnestly. “She’s right, Kaylie. Sewing is a very important skill to have.”