Chapter Forty-Two
Darius emerged from the Far Door and felt at his face out of reflex, confirming that despite the scorching heat his face was unharmed – right down to the stubble upon his cheeks. He kept moving forward, clearing the way for more soldiers behind him. Beside him Pollis was already shouting orders even as he looked about to get his bearings.
In front of him, against the wall, a Gryphon was removing his blade from between the ribs of a man who looked more surprised than afraid, one of his hands still clutching a basket that until recently had been full of dried fruits, now strewn upon the floor and quickly mingling with blood.
More and more soldiers came pouring through the portal, taking stock of their surroundings in an instant and separating into groups to guard corridors and search the rooms beyond the great chamber. Pollis kept up a steady stream of orders as each pair of men came through. The lieutenant paused to breathe as his commander spoke to him.
"I will go to guard the antechamber," Darius shouted over the crackle of the fire. "Fetch me when the others come through!"
Pollis nodded as his commander moved to leave. The antechamber was on the exact opposite side of the portal, which had erupted into existence perfectly in the center of the room. The flames licked at the pillars standing near the four corners, blackening the dust to soot. Darius jogged around it, hugging the wall. Between the fire and the stone, there was precious little space to move, and he often had to turn sideways to allow his soldiers to slide by him on the way to their own work. Even as he neared the corridor that led to the antechamber – and thus the routes to the surface – a Gryphon grabbed his arm from behind.
"Captain!" the man shouted. "There are enemies in one of the rooms! It will be hard to dig them out without you!"
Darius merely nodded, turning to indicate that he would follow the man. He was led back around the portal, down one of the hallways – towards the room where Ethion said Bastion had billeted soldiers. It seemed Pyre had indeed adopted it for the same purpose. Gryphons were clustered in the hall, and one of them was down. He was bleeding heavily from his side, and next to him lay a javelin with blood on its tip.
"Waiting for us – around the corner," said the wounded man in a gasp.
"Get him away," Darius ordered a pair of men. "Give him care."
As the wounded man was half-carried, half-dragged from the hallway, Darius tried to stretch out his senses to peer around the corner – but the portal threw off his ability. The power that was flooding the room through the spell clouded everything. Steeling himself, Darius threw himself into the corner. As his vision cleared the stone, he saw the warrior – a tall man with little clothing on, obviously having been preparing for sleep. A javelin was even now leaving his grasp.
Darius threw up a hand, and the weapon burst into splinters, the steel tip careening off towards the ceiling. The next spell struck the man in the chest and smashed him into the far wall of the room where he lay senseless, or dead.
Darius rose and began to move towards the opening. Another of his soldiers clapped a hand to his shoulder, stopping him. The Gryphon whispered in his ear.
"There are several out of sight, right next to the doorway. They cut down a couple of our men," he said. Darius looked and saw that there was indeed blood upon the floor, but any bodies must have been dragged out of sight. Clever.
Try as he might, Darius could not feel anything save for the constant pounding pulse of magic from the portal. Any attempt to reach around the corners blindly with his spells would be similarly clumsy. Charging through the doorway was likely only to get him cut down...
Darius's gaze fell upon the belt of the soldier next to him, and he reached out his hand to grasp hold of the waterskin that dangled there. He tore it loose and tossed it down the hallway, right through the entrance. At the moment it passed the threshold between hallway and chamber, Darius pumped magic into the water – and it exploded into a cloud of scalding steam.
Screams erupted from out of sight, and then a man fell into view, clutching his face. The soldier next to Darius did not need an order – he jumped into the room, followed by several others and Darius himself.
The attack had injured several warriors, most of whom had fallen to the floor, but there were still a score or more left. Every one of them was mostly unclothed, none wearing armor, though all had their weapons in hand. From the corners where they had been hiding out of sight, they surged forward to overwhelm the Gryphons and the wizard.
But now, Darius could see them.
When he emerged back into the central hall, Darius was just in time to see Ethion stumble from the portal. A bare second later it spluttered and died – not precisely the careful, measured way to end the spell, but at least it hadn't destroyed itself and taken anyone else with it. Ethion looked exhausted.
"Are you well?" called Darius over-loudly, his ears still ringing from roar of the fire and the clash of battle both. Ethion nodded from where he knelt, recovering. The other wizards milled about, moving to the center of the chamber to give the Gryphons more room to move about. Soldiers were carrying the lumber towards the antechamber where the main defense would be. Others were piling the provisions off to one side, clearing the space in the center for the wizards to work their ritual in.
Darius could see that Pollis was studying the blood on him to determine if any of it belonged to the wizard – none did, to Darius's knowledge. "The Enemy there has been dealt with," indicating the way he had returned from.
Pollis nodded. "The escape tunnel is still caved in. It doesn't seem like they've even tried to clear it."
A man came dashing back into the room from down one of the storage corridors. "This way is clear, sir!" he shouted to Pollis and Darius. Soon another soldier came from a corridor on the opposite side of the room, bringing the same message.
In the center of the room, the other wizards were gathered around Ethion, who still knelt upon the charred stone breathing heavily.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Darius asked.
Though his face remained drawn, Ethion nodded – and stood, with effort.
"Let us begin," he said.
As one the wizards moved, forming a circle within the four pillars of the room as if by instinct. Darius moved as well, to clear their way. "Do not disturb them!" he called to the soldiers who could hear. "Keep to the edges!"
The nine robed men, upon reaching their stations, stood uniformly: head hung, eyes closed, arms at their sides, as if asleep on their feet. They stood like this for many heartbeats, doing nothing Darius could discern – until he realized that there was a vibration, a rising hum, in the room. It came from the wizards, though below the reach of even the deepest human voice. Steadily it rose, and Darius saw that one by one mouths were opened and voices emerged.
It truly was Angelic magic. It was song.
It was beautiful.
***
The boy was acceptably prompt. As soon as Vorse had rung the bell, a hand parted the curtains that separated the sorcerer's private rooms from the rest of his official chambers. None were allowed in here save himself, and only his attendant was allowed to see inside.
"Sorcerers have just arrived somewhere in the Fortress," Vorse said without looking at the boy. "Find them, and find out what they want."
There was no acknowledgment save the boy's withdrawal, and then quick footsteps moving away. Vorse disliked the talk of lesser people. He could barely even stand to hear most sorcerers speak. No doubt he would have to put up with that soon enough, though. Whatever fool it was that had decided to show off by Firewalking directly into the fortress must have some suitably important errand. Reinforcements, handwritten messages – perhaps even another general to replace he, Vorse, as commander of Nebeth.
Or perhaps it was just a test. Ever since the attack on the Enemy's city, Traigan had been ordering more and more inquiry into the abilities of Firewalking, seeking to tap heretofore unknown advantages. Vorse did not think he would find much. T
he trick with the globes was handy, certainly, but globes were too precious to use in such a way often. Magic tended to yield its most powerful secrets up front – what came after was dross.
Vorse put the matter from his mind. Soon he would know what it was all about. No need to wonder. Ertellin had never ceased to wonder, and look where it had gotten the man. He and Vorse had once been close, but with the rise of his former associate's madness Vorse had distanced himself. He had no wish to lose his mind, considering insanity the one thing worthy of fear. His daily meditations were meant to stave that off, seeking to strengthen his control over the chaos of thought.
Sometime later – he did not know how long, for in his sanctum there were no candles, the only light coming from a brazier beyond the curtain – a distraction broke through the enforced emptiness of his control, shattering it as irrevocably as a jar dropped to the stone floor.
A Demon had come.
Vorse leapt to his feet and ran from the room. The power of the Demon was all Vorse was aware of, and it drew him like a moth to flame. Down halls and up stairs he went, always towards that vast font of power. He burst into the cool night air, and on the fortress ramparts the monster stood before him.
It was Belial, one of the mightiest masters of Hell. A human-seeming skeleton that stood twenty feet tall, the Demon's bones were black as midnight and covered in spiderweb cracks which glowed red with Hell's malevolence – the same red that burned within the eyes of the Thralls. Belial was covered all about in flames, and though he burned no light shone from him – instead, those flames seemed to devour their own light, and that of the torches, and the very stars.
Vorse fell to his knees before the mighty figure. "My great lord!" he shouted as he lay prostrate.
"Vorse," the Demon responded, and its words were without sound – they thundered, painfully, within the sorcerer's head. "What happens here?"
As the Demon Lord spoke, Vorse could feel him throwing off immense power, casting his will hither and thither, searching for something.
"Lord?" Vorse asked, raising his head.
"Do you not feel it?" Belial screamed within the sorcerer's mind, and a giant skeletal hand crashed down in rage upon the stone. From the cracks within the bones something like blood seeped, hissing and bubbling as it dripped onto the stone.
Vorse had no time to answer, for the attentions of both man and Demon were drawn to the plain, where an explosion of white light shattered the hold of darkness. Vorse was blinded for an instant, but when his vision returned he saw an Angel, robed in gray, hovering some distance from the fortress walls. Seeing the Demon, it drew its shining blade.
Vorse felt Belial's anger grow at the appearance of the Great Enemy, and the Demon screamed again. The pain of that mental cry made Vorse clutch his head as if to keep it from bursting apart. Belial turned and stepped towards the edge of the rampart.
"Within the fortress. Stop them."
With that command the Demon leapt from the walls. Wings of pure void erupted from his back, blotting out the stars as they carried him to his foe. Vorse scrambled upon the rock as he ran back into the fortress.
Before he had reached the first staircase that would lead him deeper into Nebeth, a frantic-looked warrior bounded up the steps to him.
"Master Vorse!" the man yelled. "The Enemy is inside the Fortress!"
The Sorcerer seized the man by the throat, his wizened fingers wielding a grip like iron.
"I know that, you idiot," he hissed back. "Go and fight them!" He threw the man bodily back down the stairs, magic aiding his strength. The dull thud and clank as the man and his weapon hit the ground belied how quickly the warrior was on his feet again, and he ran from his master as much to escape as to obey. Just as Vorse had.
***
As the wizards worked their invocation below the stones of Nebeth, a deep and subtle magic spread through the world – and the Aeonians, feeling some threat, were called forth. Angels and Demons descended upon Nebeth, knowing it to be the focal point of this assault. As the spell grew it suffused the stone, the earth, the grass, rendering its origin indistinct.
The legions neither of Heaven nor Hell knew from whence this strange power came. All they knew is that their eternal foe was at hand – and they fought.
Demons burst from the ground in forms as innumerable as they were vile, and the Angels arrived like shooting stars, beautiful even to the warriors of Pyre who feared them. Several set upon the massive form of Belial, soaring about his head and striking blow after blow from their swords. Carried upon his wings of oblivion, Belial breathed clouds of putrescence to bind them. From the air he plucked one gray-robed figure, and its light seemed to bleed away into the fire that wreathed the Demon. The bony hand convulsed and the Angel's form flared bright for an instant – and then was gone.
The whirling aerial melee was broken when another titanic form fell from the Heavens. The huge, burning star took Belial from the sky and bore him to the ground beneath it. When they struck the earth, white fire and smoke alike roared forth in a bilious cloud. At its center the Archdemon hissed and spat. It struck with claw and dark wing alike at the Angel that held him down. As great in stature as Belial, it was clad in robes of shimmering blue that the darkness could find no hold upon – and on its head shone a segmented golden crown.
Makaelic had come.
One gloved hand gripped Belial's throat, and with his wings the Angel fended off the furious blows of his enemy. With his free hand, Makaelic drew his sword, the light it threw so bright it was painful to look upon. He drove the shining point straight into Belial's roaring mouth, burying it in the Demon's throat until the blade disappeared from view.
Belial screamed again, and those few warriors that watched spellbound from the ramparts collapsed in pain, bleeding from eyes and ears – save for those that died on their feet. Slowly the Demon's flames faded, the glow from the cracked bones dimmed. Makaelic withdrew his sword from the blackened, burned skeleton as the bones fell to ash.
Everywhere about Nebeth a mighty conflict raged, the savage howls of the Demons matched the song sung from the throats of a hundred Angels – but Makaelic did not join their song, nor did he join their battle. His hooded gaze turned upon the fortress itself, and looked deep within. With one beat of his wings he rose from the site of his victory, carving a shining arc through the night sky to land upon the walls. When he landed he was no longer massive, standing as tall as a man – but his splendor was undiminished.
Men and Demons fled before him as the greatest of Archangels strode into Nebeth.
***
The Enemy was making a reckless attack now, pouring down the hallways with little heed for their own lives. The Gryphons obliged them with death – their spears struck at the ones beyond the barricades and swords made quick work of those who managed to climb or crawl around them. As Pollis had predicted, the Enemy had to halt their charge every few minutes in order to pull the bodies of their own dead away – an act which cost them yet more lives.
At first Darius had fought with his men, but once he saw they did not need his help he lent his abilities to helping the wounded. He rose from one man who had taken a spear to his thigh – Darius had felt for and singed shut the gushing artery within, one of the most delicate things he had done in all his long days of wielding magic. His hands and armor were covered with the blood of a dozen men, and he was forced to wipe his hands on the walls as he rose to his feet.
No sooner was he up than his knees went weak and he nearly fell again. Pollis, who'd been shouting encouragement to the soldiers as they blunted yet another rush upon their defenses, saw the stumble and moved to help his Captain.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking his leader over – but any wound would have been impossible to find in Darius's state.
Darius nodded, though his eyes and mouth were wide in amazement. "The Aeonians!" he breathed. "They're here. They are fighting!"
Pollis looked confused. "Why have they come?"
"The spell," Darius pointed towards corridor, out from which the steady and unearthly song could be heard. Then he remembered – Pollis did not know. "The Demons... have come to stop us," he finished. Pollis need not know that the Choirs may have come to do the same.
Between the rising invocation and the gargantuan power of the Aeonians, Darius almost did not notice the attack – and even when he did, he was too slow to stop it. Gryphons were thrown from one of the corridors bodily as flame consumed the barricade, reducing it to crumbling ash in moments. Darius spun around and saw a tall, gaunt man with cunning eyes standing in the hall. He was clad in black and red robes and wore the golden circlet of a General of Pyre.
In the next instant, both the sorcerer and Darius struck out at each other. Darius was a strong wizard, and no sorcerer was raised to such a position without great power of his own – but the violence of their duel was lost in the storm of magic all around.
Slowly the sorcerer advanced, step by step, down the hall. His hands were held before him, palms forward as if presenting something to Darius. His mouth twisted somewhere between a contemptuous smile and a snarl, he flailed at Darius, spells coming at a pace so furious Darius had difficulty in keeping up attacks of his own.
"Could it be?" said the sorcerer, and the voice itself dripped with cruelty. "Is it the great Darius that I have before me?"
Darius matched him blow for blow, but it cost him dearly. He had to struggle to spare even enough concentration to answer.
"That is my name. Yours is not known to me," Darius said through clenched teeth.
The evil smile grew. "Do not worry. I shall whisper it in your ear as you die."
Here and there the sorcerer lashed out. He struck not at Darius, but at his soldiers – those who guarded the opposite corridor. Through a stone wall. With a sinking feeling, Darius realized that this man was his better at the art of violent magic. Behind the sorcerer more warriors were gathering in the hall, but none dared rush past their master. Behind him, unheard to Darius, Pollis was ordering reinforcements to take the place of the fallen at the remaining barricade – but none dared venture down the other corridor.
Twixt Heaven And Hell Page 40
