Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  “What is going on?” He shouted above the din.

  “Arric! Thank the Choirs. Nebeth is under attack! The Fortress is surrounded!”

  Complete confusion clouded Arric’s mind. Fortress Nebeth was not currently on the front. Surely this was some mistake?

  Arric hurriedly moved to the table where stood the two globes connected to Fortress Nebeth, so crucial was the stronghold. Rudely shoving aside the man speaking into one, he peered intently into the crystal and discerned the face of Wizard Ethion, the commander of Nebeth.

  “Arric!” said a voice within the Council Leader’s head. “We are surrounded! I don’t know how – we’ve had no warning from the border! Sentries reported magic, it must have been magic. Pillars of fire, they said! You have to send help! They’re already beyond the first gates, they’re inside the plateau! Several sorcerers – “

  The voice ceased and Ethion’s picture faded momentarily from the globe. Arric recognized the signs of interference from the enemy, targeted magic used to interrupt the globes. Ethion's face returned, and his voice started up once more. Arric cut him off.

  “Help is on the way! Go to the fight, Ethion! The Fortress must not fall! Go! Help is on the way!” Arric repeated and severed the link. For the barest fraction of a second he stood staring into the empty crystal as his mind reeled.

  The room had quieted a great deal during Arric’s exchange, all present awaiting his orders. He looked up at them.

  “Contact every field command! Let them know that the Enemy has made his way across the border, have all forts on alert. I want First, Second, and Fifth armies marching to Nebeth immediately! Get them moving!”

  As the wizards went about their work, another came up to Arric. “Arric! They didn’t cross the border.”

  “What?” Arric exclaimed. “Then how?”

  “We don’t know. But every border garrison is accounted for; none report any unusual activity for days! There haven’t been any sightings along the river, either. We don’t know where they came from.”

  In Arric’s mind, he saw the map which he had left back in his chamber. The border between the lands of Bastion and the lands of their foe was inconstant in many places. Forts had been built by both sides at numerous places, but always the lynchpin was Nebeth. Bastion had retaken it several years ago and pushed the border to its current position, miles away from the mighty fortress. It should not have been possible for the enemy to mount a sneak attack large enough to take Nebeth.

  Then Arric’s blood ran cold. Again, his mind’s eyes swooped over lines on the map, saw the terrain those lines represented, and it focused on a large-but-nondescript valley many miles south of the Fortress, away from the sheltering safety of any fort.

  Twenty thousand men were now cut off from any communication – or support – from Bastion.

  Generals were roused from their beds; Wizards from their studies. The messengers from the Crown gave no explanation for the call – only that they were all summoned to the council chamber at once.

  As the men began filling the circular room, Arric did a silent headcount, intending to begin as soon as the key individuals had arrived. Every man called had had a part in the secret assault on Cairn. They would now plan how to evacuate the forces involved from their hidden location before the enemy discovered them.

  Further news from the globe room had not been good. Scouts from the strongholds nearest Nebeth had reported back that the enemy had taken the fortress and there were no further signs of fighting. The enemy had enough soldiers – and, assumedly, enough sorcerers – to repel even a determined assault. Arric had ordered the nearby commanders to take up defensive positions around the Fortress in order to deny further incursion into the lands of Bastion.

  Arric noted with displeasure that as Lazarus entered the chamber, Darius accompanied him. Darius had had no part in the planning, but if Arric chose to order him from the chamber the stubborn man would surely argue – and they could not afford to waste time.

  “Lazarus, good,” Arric began, and the muttering in the chamber died away quickly as he began to speak. “We can begin.”

  The room was conspicuously quiet as Arric outlined the events of the past few hours. There were no murmured words, no gasps – even the breathing of the assembled was silent. Darius, too, was uncharacteristically tranquil, though Arric knew that would not last long.

  When Arric finished, it was not Darius that said it, though. One of the members of the High Council spoke up with fear in his voice.

  “It seems Darius has been vindicated, then. Only the new magic he claims to have witnessed could explain this. The enemy has found a way to move men with magic.”

  The macabre calm was then shattered – every Wizard and General spoke at once with their denials, affirmations, and alternate explanations. Arric rose from his seat and after a few moments of shouting and waving his hands for attention, managed to silence them again. He spoke then, loudly to remind them all who was in charge of the Council.

  “Enough! I do not like it, but the facts are before us. The border is intact; no forts have been taken or have even seen significant enemy forces in a week. Patrols have ranged unmolested. I refuse to believe that our commanders on the front are so incompetent as to let an entire army slip right by them! Darius is vindicated, indeed.”

  Here Arric stared straight at the troublesome Wizard, who had stood stony-faced by the wall the entire time. His expression did not change at the Council Leader’s words. He seemed hardly to be paying attention.

  Damn the man, Arric thought. Silent when given the perfect chance to gloat.

  “Well, Darius? Have you anything to say?”

  A tiny smirk curled the corners of the other man’s mouth. When he spoke, his voice bordered on disdainful. “This alone: I am unsurprised that disaster followed from the dismissal of my report. I suggest we get on with doing something about it.”

  Teeth grating, Arric nodded. Damn the man, indeed. “Yes. Gentlemen, you are all familiar with the planned assault upon Cairn. This has rendered such an event impossible. We must remove those men from the valley in the safest way possible, and we must do it quickly.”

  Again the room exploded in loud and disorderly argument, in which Darius now took part with gusto. His voice soon won out over many others with his opinion – “Nonsense! We should press the attack, and we should do it now! Were not our preparations practically complete?”

  Several of the Generals sounded their agreement, and were joined by two or three Wizards. Press the attack now, they all said. Give the enemy something to worry about as well. Arric promptly laid such calls to rest.

  “Out of the question. With Nebeth fallen we have no way to reinforce or resupply our men at Cairn. They would be cut off.”

  “As are the enemy forces at Nebeth! You don’t see them shy from the danger!”

  Darius’s words brought many angry retorts, which Arric again silenced. “You suggest we behave more like the enemy, Darius?”

  “Only when they are winning,” came the heated reply.

  Arric had no answer for that ridiculous statement, and ignored it. “This is not the issue, gentlemen! I have given you our course – we must evacuate our army from the valley and get them back beyond the Fortress. If we can do this without discovery then we may be able to reuse the valley and our preparations at a later date, after retaking Nebeth,” he concluded, hoping to appease the others.

  “A feint then, a diversionary attack,” Darius spoke again. “To the north-eastern approach. Draw their attention as far from the valley as possible.”

  “You wish to throw away the lives of more soldiers?” one man asked.

  “Silence,” Arric scolded him. Much as he hated to encourage Darius, the plan was a good one. “We’ll lose perhaps three thousand men if the feint goes poorly. There are twenty thousand soldiers in that valley, and almost a dozen wizards. If we lose them, we lose all flexibility on the border.”

  “We have three armies en route to
Nebeth already,” a General proclaimed. “Only Fifth need travel far to attack from the east.”

  “Yes,” Darius agreed. “Have them join with the others to make our intentions plain.” Arric was listening closely, and so heard the man add under his breath, “Just like always.”

  It took half an hour to decide on the specifics of the plan, despite the simplicity of the concept. Darius was incongruously helpful in speeding along decisions over the details, his aggressive focus helping to keep others in check when they wanted to discuss some triviality to death. For this, Arric was thankful. He could count the times Darius had been more helpful than troublesome on the fingers of one hand, while drinking tea.

  Just when Arric was about to announce an end to the council, the doors creaked open. All heads turned to this interruption. Given the late hour, any messenger could only bring further bad news.

  Any human messenger, that is. Into the chamber stepped a figure of awe; Makaelic, Archangel and First of the Seraphim.

  He was dressed as any other Seraph, all in shimmering robes with a hood that completely covered his face. His head ever-bowed, no part of his countenance could be seen. His robes – of the deep, lustrous blue of the Seraphim – were hemmed and bounded by silver cloth covered in golden runes. The glowing expanse of his mighty wings partially obscured the sword that hung from his belt.

  One always knew the chiefs of the Angels, whether or not one had met them before. To stand before Makaelic was to know that here stood the being who had led the forces of Heaven in the Great War since time began.

  Makaelic, though, was marked out yet more. A diadem formed of several links made a broken circle above his head. It did not rest upon his cowl, but rather held its place a scant finger’s breadth above. For its entire length it was a pure, simple – though segmented – golden ring, and it shined with a light akin to that which illuminated the Angels’ wings.

  Every man in the chamber stood in respect, a gesture which was as much automatic as it was heartfelt. It was exceedingly rare for Makaelic himself to visit Bastion. Few of the Archangels – save for Aethel – made their presence known in the mortal world save for the battlefield – where they always appeared without warning and just when they were needed.

  Makealic bowed. “Honored men of Bastion,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. “You have reached a decision regarding your stranded soldiers?”

  In the peculiar manner of Angels he already knew of the crisis at hand.

  “Yes,” replied Arric, always vaguely uncomfortable on not having some title to grant the awesome creature. He quickly explained the strategy that had been decided for allowing the thousands of trapped soldiers escape from their hideaway-turned-prison.

  “Makaelic, the enemy will not doubt the sincerity of the assault if you are present to assist it,” suggested Darius.

  To Arric’s surprise, Makaelic agreed. “Yes. Though where I am, my foes will be. Your men must be wary.”

  ‘My foes.’ Demons. If Makaelic was present for the battle, Demons would show to oppose him. The feint would become another struggle between the two great forces of the Aeonians. In such a battle, men could only flee – or fall.

  Makaelic left as suddenly as he’d arrived. As soon as the doors had closed again, Darius announced that he would be taking the Gryphons into the field again with the intent of unraveling the mystery of the teleportation spell.

  “No, Darius,” Arric said. “Carry out your investigations from within Bastion.” He would not let the man use this crisis as an excuse to run about the border again.

  Anger took its customary place upon Darius’s expression. “Arric –“

  Arric cut him off. “This is not open to debate, Darius! You will remain in Bastion. This council is dismissed.”

  Chapter Ten

  Darius was waiting just outside the chamber when Arric entered the corridor. Arric's already-sour expression darkened further when he read the challenge in the man's posture. Arric’s route back to his own chambers took him past Darius, who fell in step with him.

  Neither man spoke for a moment, until the other wizards were out of hearing. Then Darius rounded on his ostensible leader.

  “You see now that I told no lie, Arric. I was right to investigate those marauders. I found evidence of this magic. You ignored me and claimed to the entire Council that I had misled them about my reasons for straying from your orders. And now we have a crisis – we are abandoning the best-planned assault in Bastion's history!”

  Arric had been expecting this, but the venom in Darius’s voice surpassed anything he had seen from the man. His eyes were afire and his fists were clenched – there was a challenge to the way he was looking at Arric.

  It was then that Arric realized – Darius was very near to hating him. How did such ire arise in a wizard of Bastion? How had a man taught by the wisest of his elders become nearly as fiery and unpredictable as one of the enemy?

  What was it that made Darius so very different?

  Drawing a deep breath, Arric spoke with a determinedly neutral voice. “Darius, I never believed you had actually lied to the council, nor did I say anything of the sort. Even if I had sung your praises to all of Bastion, we could not have averted this. You returned to us days ago. The evidence you brought us was barely even a theory. Unless you knew more and kept it from us?”

  Darius looked even more offended at that implication. “I have never kept anything from the Council, Arric. Do you doubt my loyalty? Is that why you constantly seek to cage me here in Bastion, keeping me useless?”

  “Of course not! Darius,” Arric shut his eyes momentarily. This was like speaking to a child! “Darius, you are an exceedingly talented wizard, we all acknowledge that. For that exact reason, you belong in Bastion with the rest of us. You will do the most good lending your talents to the greater effort. You are wasted in these tiny skirmishes that the Gryphons engage in, no matter the success you’ve enjoyed.”

  The praise did not work as Arric intended. Darius did seem to lose much of his ire, but was no friendlier for it. Instead of fiery, his demeanor became so cold that Arric half-expected the man’s breath to start misting as he spoke in sharp, measured tones.

  “Wasted? My Gryphons have put the fear of Heaven into the enemy along the entire border. We slaughtered so many at one point that enemy commanders refused to send raiders through any area we were so much as rumored to be crossing. We reduced their efforts to absolute futility, and you say ‘wasted?’ Arric, can you not see that these are the things that will eventually win the War?

  “Where I am wasted, Arric, is here in Bastion. I have not the temperament for research, nor for the instruction of acolytes. I belong in the fight. There are plenty of wizards who spend the bulk of their time on the border –“

  “Yes, but where the Council sends them, Darius! Not wherever they please!”

  Even Arric’s outburst failed to excite the errant wizard. “My methods work, Arric. The things I am doing are having true effect on both our forces and those of our foe. I cannot see how you can manage to ignore that I am handing you results. Instead, you chain me here, out of some perverse fear that I will go and do something new, when that is exactly what we need. A wizard from the Forging would hardly know the difference between the battles he fought and our own. In three hundred years of war, where have our ways gotten us? Back and forth over a few miles of land, every soldier fighting to reclaim what his father lost. It is time to break the pattern, Arric.”

  Darius held Arric’s eye a moment before turning away and stalking down the passage.

  Chapter Eleven

  Standing completely still, with his chest pressed against the bole of a tree, Ammu watched and listened. Every inch of skin was covered in a sticky mixture of mud and tree sap, rendering him the same color as the bark of the thousands of trees around him. Leaves, small branches, and even vines had been fastened into his armor. Even had one known he was there, finding him amidst the vast green and brown backdrop would have be
en near impossible until the searcher had drawn close enough to touch with Ammu’s outstretched arm.

  A slight ache had begun in Ammu’s back, down near his hips. He had been standing just as he was now for over four hours, and his only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Had he been able, he would have stopped that too. There was no telling what might give him away, and his two duties as sentry were to see, and to not be seen.

  The people from his tribe made the best sentries and scouts, especially here so near to their once-home. They knew the trees, the grass, the birds and the other wildlife. They knew what belonged and what did not. From their village on the banks of The Water, they had fished and hunted and lived in simplicity and peace.

  Then the strange men had come, with their weapons of steel. They took away men and women both, and slaughtered any who resisted. Sometimes they killed seemingly for the joy of it. Men, women, and children of Ammu’s people had died on the points of spears and swords, axes and arrows. Until the men of the City arrived, and drove off the dark, evil ones who’d so abused Ammu’s simple folk.

  Ammu’s grandfather had been one of the first men to join with the men of the City, the great place of stone called Bastion. They were taught how to make war, and to the effort of vengeance they bent their own knowledge; Disguise, stalking, how to imitate the bird calls so that your quarry would not recognize its enemies gathering. Ammu’s people became great hunters of men. Bastion’s armies were grateful for it, for they now had a decisive edge amidst the woodlands near the river.

  Soon though, the Enemy began utilizing the same techniques. The captives they’d taken had taught them, voluntarily or under the threat of execution or torture – or the knowledge had been taken in other ways, ways only hinted at in dark ruminations by the wizards. The Enemy lost its fear of the woodlands, and soon the ebb and flow of the war rolled the border back, beyond the river-peoples’ village. The Enemy did not forgive or forget, and it was razed to the ground.