Darksiders: The Abomination Vault (41 page)

“Foolishness.” Death leaned Harvester against the wall, then lay Black Mercy and Mortis beside it. “It never matters
how
you win; only that you do.”

“I cannot accept that,” Azrael told him.

“Nor I,” said War.

“No, I thought not,” Death said. “And, of course, the reason we have the luxury to debate this is
because
we won. The next time, when your need for an ‘honorable victory’ results in the destruction of half of Creation, feel free to come back and argue the point
then
.”

Azrael’s lip twisted angrily. “We have been allies in this, Horseman. Fought side by side, and it was well that we did; we’ve ended a threat to the Charred Council and Heaven both. For that, you have my gratitude.

“But I strongly recommend that you wait a good, long while before ever again coming to the White City in search of aid.”

The two brothers watched him step through the doorway and soar upward to disappear in the ashen flurries.

“Touchy,” Death said.

“What do you plan to do with the Abominations?” War asked him.

“For now, I’ll return Black Mercy to the Vault and then
restore the full wards. Eventually—once the Council’s temper has cooled and they’re not watching me so closely—I think I’ll see them all pass through the Keeper’s portal. Even without the Ravaiim blood, I think Creation would be better off.”

“Probably so.” A pause, then, “Even Mortis?”

“Well … Mortis is all but dead. It poses no threat. Perhaps I’ll keep it around, just in case.” Death turned, eyeing the crystalline barrier warily. “Give me a hand with this, War, would you? We have a prisoner to deliver and a rather lengthy report to make to the Charred Council, and I want this place secure before we leave.”

Grudgingly, each aching more than he’d ever confess to the other, the two Horsemen studied the only window to the Abomination Vault.

“And I
do
expect your help with all this,” Death added, waving at the wreckage strewn across the chamber.

“Hah! Heaven, Hell, and the Grand Abominations are one thing, brother. Cleaning up? You’re on your own.”

“Ingrate.”

“… 
AN INTERESTING PROPOSAL YOU BRING US
,
Panoptos.”
  The rightmost of the Council’s effigies flickered in the hellish glow, the dancing shadows painting a change of expression across the face that the stone itself could not properly manage.
“But we question the necessity. We have the Horsemen under control.”

“Of course, my lords, of course.” Panoptos flitted to and fro across the platform—not idly, not pacing, but so that he might address each of the three visages with equal attention. “But Death, at least, has proved his capacity for defiance. Should he do so again in your presence, you can punish him as he deserves, and all is well. Suppose, however, he should rise above
himself
elsewhere
? While wandering on his own, or worse, on an assignment for you?” Phantom wings flapped silently, invisibly, in the wafting smoke.

“Should you grant my Watchers some power of their own over the Riders, as I’ve suggested, you’d need never worry about such things. We can ensure your servants’ obedience at all times, in
all
worlds.”

A low rumble, perhaps the contemplative grunt of tectonic plates, reverberated from all three idols at once, carrying with it a peculiar burst of intertwined smoke and flame. Then,
“You make a compelling argument, Panoptos. Go for now. We shall consider it.”

A quick bow—less a bob of the head than a forward rotation on the axis of his wings—and the creature was gone, soaring down beside the stairs and swooping over the broken, empty earth.

No … Not
quite
empty, at that.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s come calling! We were
just
talking about you.”

Death halted his march across the blackened, lava-spotted plains of the Charred Council’s realm. “I’m flattered. Hello, Panoptos.”

“Off to report to your masters then, Death?”

“Something like that.”

“Wonderful! I fear I cannot be there to hear it firsthand, but I’m certain they’ll pass along the gist. And if not, I’ll get it from the other Watchers. Can’t serve as their favored agent without full knowledge, can I?”

“No, I’m sure you can’t.”

The Horseman began to walk in one direction, the winged creature to flutter in the other. But again, Death halted.

“Panoptos?”

“Yes? What?”

“In all this, we never did discover precisely who sent the demon mercenaries after the Grand Abominations. Obviously, we tipped them off ourselves, there at the end, to ensure they’d be there at the same time as Hadrimon, but who involved them in the first place?”

“A fair question.” Panoptos’s shrug made use of his arms and wings both. “Plenty of factions would have wanted such weapons. Perhaps we’ll never know who it was.”

“Perhaps not.” Death idly tapped a finger on the chin of his mask. “It’s funny, though. You see, whoever it was knew enough to approach Raciel specifically, of all possible allies in Hell. He knew enough to send the demons after us wherever we were—first in Lilith’s old laboratory, and then on the Ravaiim homeworld. Why, it’s almost as though it was someone with access to every single report we made to the Charred Council along the way.”

“Hmm.” Eight of the nine glowing eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes, I can see how it might seem that way.”

“It got me wondering, who could
possibly
have access to that sort of information? The Council themselves, of course, but the last thing they’d want is for the Abominations to fall into demonic hands. The other Horsemen? Fury is faithful to the Council. So is Strife, for all his posturing.

“But of course, the Council’s most ‘favored agent’ would also have access, would he not? It’s possible, I’d think, that such a creature might have grown resentful at his eons of servitude—slavery, really. And maybe, just maybe, such a creature might find a whole brand-new servitor race, based on him, to be the perfect soldiers for his own army. Why, if only he had weapons of sufficient power to arm them, even the Charred Council couldn’t keep him under their thumb!”

A soft, undulant hiss emerged from the emptiness of Panoptos’s face.

“It’s a fascinating notion,” he said finally. “But of course, even if such a ludicrous, far-fetched tale were true, you would be stuck with an appalling lack of evidence. You
could
go to the Council with nothing but theories spun of supposition and moonbeams, of course …”

“But the Council is not particularly well disposed toward me at the moment,” Death finished for him. “I’m aware. And even if that weren’t the case, I would never put something of this magnitude before them without proof.”

“Well, then.” Panoptos began to drift backward on outstretched wings. “It seems we have nothing more to say to each other.”

“It seems not.” Then, after a brief pause, “Panoptos?”

“What?”

“Creation is quite impressionable.
Everyone
leaves a trail of their actions. And everyone, however wise, however powerful, however immortal, makes mistakes.

“All it requires is the patience to wait for them. And you’ll find no one, in all Creation, quite so patient as Death.”

For the first time, uncertainty shone through the creature’s green glow as the Horseman turned on his heel and continued on his way.

DEL REY BOOKS BY ARI MARMELL

The Conqueror’s Shadow
The Warlord’s Legacy
Darksiders: The Abomination Vault