Twixt Heaven And Hell (40 page)

***

After one more stroke, Arric replaced the quill into the jar of ink. He had just given the official permission for plans to build a city upon the border, halfway between Bastion and Nebeth. It would be only the third major settlement in Bastion's history, and would in fact be a good deal larger than Riverside before long.

"Choirs grant it a kinder fate than the Crossing," Arric muttered, scrubbing at his eyes.

It struck him that it was already evening. Rising from his chair and moving to his west-facing window, he saw that the sun was balanced neatly upon the mountain peaks.

It was strange. He'd given word that he wished to speak with Ethion and Darius when they returned to the city. He wanted an update on Ethion's progress – and wanted to make sure Darius wasn't planning some attack on Nebeth with his soldiers. Arric didn't care
how
bored the man was.

Stretching his limbs, Arric departed his chambers and made for the globe room.

"Ewan," he said to the ranking wizard there. "When did Ethion's group return?"

Ewan looked bewildered. He glanced about the room to the rest of the wizards manning the globes. "We have received no word of their return, Arric."

Arric's brow knit. He'd felt their test, even as far from the city as they had been – their spells had grown more and more powerful as they worked, and every wizard could now feel when a trial was being carried out.

Arric moved over to a set of globes keyed to areas of the city, stopping in front of the one that reached to the barracks.

He activated the globe, starting the crystal to glowing as his magic fed it – down in the city, its twin was doing the same. Soon the power flowing from Arric eased, a sign that another wizard had taken up the other side of the connection.

"Arric!" the man said. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Darius within the barracks?"

The face in the globe bobbed as the man shrugged, though the gesture itself was unseen. "It would be hard to know, Darius often comes and goes with little fanfare. I doubt he would come here, though, as his Gryphons are not in the city."

"Yes, I'm aware. Thank you," Arric said, and let the connection lapse without further comment.

Something more than confusion had begun to rise in Arric's heart – something darker, a baseless unease. The Council Leader tried to ignore it as his mind roved over the various reasons why Ethion or Darius might not have returned.

"What is it, Arric?" asked Ewan. "What's Darius done now?" he said, smiling.

Arric looked up at him. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Come. Help me find him."

***

"Alright, boys. It's almost time!" shouted Pollis. "The wizards are ready. Are you?"

The roar that rose left no question as to their answer. The Gryphons stood with their lieutenant. The torch Pollis carried gave the soldier's faces a look of feral delight as they stood in the darkness around him. Their packs contained food, water, and bedrolls – their tents and other equipment was left behind. Their long blades sat strapped to their packs – the swords at their waists were shorter, with a wider blade to give them the weight a weapon needed to penetrate armor. Many Gryphons carried man-height spears, and others the logs that had been cut, stripped of branches and sharpened at one end. Several logs and some leather lashings could make a useful barrier in a tight space.

“Darius told you how we'd get at the Enemy,” Pollis began. “We'll do to them what they've done to us – appear out of nowhere, carried by fire. He told you to harden your hearts, men. He thinks you'll be
afraid
!
Are you afraid?
" Pollis taunted them.

Again, the roar, the stomping of feat and emphatic shaking of every soldier's head gave the exultant answer.

"Good! Now who wants to
lead
us into the fire?"

Every Gryphon extended his hand, some towards Pollis, others into the air, volunteering,
demanding
the honor to be the first through the portal.

Darius looked on, his eyes shining with pride.

"Now that," Ethion remarked beside him, "is a leader of men."

"Yes," Darius said. "He's almost as good as Robert was."

Ethion gave Darius a sideways glance, part disbelief, part sympathy.

"You!" Pollis selected one soldier. Some of the others booed at the decision, even as their fellow grinned and shouted back at them.

"And you!" Pollis pointed to another. He hushed the men with one hand. "We'll go two by two into the spell. You know your work. You know the plan. Fight well! Two by two, take your places!"

The Gryphons rapidly formed a double-line starting near where the wizards were standing. Some looked excitedly and expectantly at Darius, who returned their smiles with his own. His heart, too, was beating hard with anticipation. Once the movement had settled, he strode out to the side so his men could all see him. He carried no torch, but a steady white flame sprang from an upraised palm, bathing him in a different light.

"Gryphons! Know now what we seek to do!" he cried. "In the deep halls of Fortress Nebeth, these wizards will cast a great spell. This spell will change the War! This spell will make sure that the Enemy will never again be able to threaten Bastion without bleeding for every step between it and Pyre!"

His men cheered at the claim. Those who understood nothing of magic would not think to ask how such a thing was possible – and none save the wizards understood anything about magic.

"This spell must be cast in Nebeth. Those who are with me will work the magic – I, as always, will fight alongside you," Darius said. "One final thing -  Pollis lied," he declared as a sanguine grin grew on his face. "I know well that you fear nothing!"

A final cheer, and Darius joined them. Then he turned and motioned to Pollis. "You and I will be here," he said, inserting himself into a place in the column not far from the front. "The other wizards must come through last." He looked towards Ethion and the others. "You are ready?"

Somber nods came from the wizards. The spell they must use now was not the spell that had brought them to the glade, but the exact spell that the sorcerers of Pyre had developed – save in one respect. The wizards could not risk leading themselves and the soldiers through Hell, as the Enemy did. Though it required so much power as to be at the furthest limits of their ability, the wizards would be assuming the burden of power for each man that stepped through to the Far Door.

Ethion turned to the empty darkness, away from the men, and began. A whisper of magic rose from him and leapt away into the darkness. Then Ethion began to raise his true power, and the other wizards joined him, pushing at the hard barrier of distance, feeling as though they were striving against he walls of Bastion itself. Greater and greater they pushed, gathering all the power they could, and the barrier did not give at all – until all at once, it collapsed. The gate appeared, fire leaping out from nowhere to drive the darkness away.

"Now!" cried Darius, and the Gryphons began to move.

***

"Darius disappears often enough," Ewan said. "The man has no real home. Who ever knows where to look for him?"

Arric rounded on the man. The Council Leader's eyes were almost frantic, his face flushed. "But does Ethion? Do the others? There are ten wizards missing! None have seen them since this morning. We must know why!"

They were in the Council chamber along with several others, and through the window glass the night was moonless and full of stars, not a single cloud obscuring the sky. The perfect calm of that view opposed the storm that was growing inside Arric. His apprehension had long since given way to full-blown dread. A cold ache in his chest grew with every heartbeat as he reaffirmed to himself each moment that something dire was happening.

The doors opened, and a wizard led a pretty young woman into the chamber. It was Pendrick's wife, her expression of muted worry similar to the one Arric had worn an hour before. Arric himself tried to calm his own face as she entered.

"Wizard Arric?" she said as she curtsied. "What is it?"

"We are so sorry to bring you from your home at this hour, my dear," Arric said. "We had to ask though, has Pendrick been home this evening?"

His calm and measured words were to no avail – as soon as he'd asked the question, her face became worried. "This evening? Of course not, he is away on – well, he said he was being sent on a mission, and that he would not be back for several days."

Arric and the other traded looks. At their blank expressions, she began to question them frantically. "What is the matter? What's happened? Is Pendrick alright?"

Arric touched hands to forehead in exasperation, and smiled. "Ah, of course. I had not thought they would leave so soon."

Though she looked no better at his words, at least the woman grew no more agitated. "What do you mean? How could you not know he had left?"

"You must understand, dear, that since the tragedy with Balkan, our plans have had to keep some secrecy. Even I did not know exactly when he would be leaving."

She said nothing, looking about at the other wizards present. Most smiled at her, and Callos nodded reassuringly.

"I'm terribly sorry we disturbed you for this," Arric said, placing a hand upon her shoulder and leading her back towards the door. "Wizard Alistair will walk you back to your home." Arric gestured for the wizard who had brought her in, and walked them both through the doors.

"That was quick thinking, Arric," Lazarus said when he returned. "Well done."

"I didn't want her to worry," Arric said absently. "There is no need."

"Isn't there?" Lazarus said, and the from beneath his bushy white eyebrows he speared Arric with a look.

Arric returned it, and his feelings quickly ripped through the sham calm he had affixed to it while he lied to Pendrick's wife. "You feel it, too."

The old wizard nodded slowly. "Yes. Something is wrong."

Arric was about to reply when his eyes were drawn past Lazarus to the window the man was sitting in front of. His breathing quickening, Arric hurried closer to the glass. Lazarus rose and turned, his mouth dropping open. Soon, every wizard had his face pressed to a window.

Outside, lights were rising from the city, like stars returning to the sky. They rose from the barracks, from the Houses of Healing, and all the other places where the Angels maintained a constant presence.

"The Angels," Lazarus breathed.

"They are leaving the city," said another.

"Why?" asked Callos, his breath frosting upon the window before him.

Arric pushed away from the wall, hands balling into fists, and shouted.

"What is
happening
?"

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. The 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.