by M. D. Grimm
Roland proceeded to capture the strength and arrogance wrapped around him like a cloak. Yet there was also a strange, jovial nature to him when he laughed at something another demon said. It was a laugh of pleasure, not cruelty or condescension.
Roland soon became lost in the moment, filling page after page with the demon soldiers, letting each be in the spotlight, highlighting their best traits, showing them as the proud warriors they were, not simply mindless, ugly brutes many of the angelic texts insisted they were. Now Roland knew the truth. They might be fickle and bloodthirsty at times, but they weren’t stupid or oafish, and nor were they ugly.
Their forms were harsher and broader than angels, and they seemed far more dangerous and bestial, but they were beautiful and intelligent in their own right. They were still aesthetically pleasing, if one changed their opinion on what was attractive.
Roland found himself smiling at their mannerisms and attitude toward each other. He began to guess which ones were friends and perhaps which were lovers since there were women among the men, their breasts barely covered for decency’s sake. Yet when two of the women kissed in a friendly, intimate fashion, he blushed and looked away.
One demon abruptly started a rhythmic, guttural groaning that several of the others took up. Roland looked up to see them all standing, clustered together, creating a brooding, brutish melody. Lyrics soon joined the drone, the language harsh, the beat unforgiving, but it was unmistakably a song they all knew.
The other angels jerked awake as Roland stared in joy, disappointed he had no way to capture the wild sound that threatened to burst out of control at any second. It was edgy and violent, their voices deep and rough. They could make music—not the trilling, gentle, ruthlessly controlled melodies and songs of the angels, but something far more primal and fiery. It was unyielding emotion and passion, and it whipped through Roland, clutched his heart, and refused to let go.
As the song wound down an unknowable time later, Roland was panting, still entranced. He barely noticed the other angels and their grimaces or Anpiel’s furtive glances his way. He was still enthralled. Would they sing another? He dearly wanted them to sing another.
Would they teach him that song?
“Roland!” He jerked when Anpiel punched his arm to emphasize his name.
“Ow! I’m right here.”
“Are you?” she asked, her tone accusatory.
He scowled and rubbed the bruise already forming. “I’m not your enemy.”
“Keep it that way.”
They glared at each other. The demons abruptly broke apart and leapt to their positions. The reason for their sudden diligence was currently thudding down the passageway. Roland’s breath stopped as the other angels cringed away, clutching at each other.
What would happen now?
Asagoroth entered a moment later, ducking his head, sweeping his sharp gaze across the cavern. Once his entire body was inside, he appeared to consider the angels, gazing at each of them in turn. When his attention turned to Roland, Roland tensed and couldn’t look away. His hands trembled, causing the parchment to flap and rattle. Asagoroth then looked back at Zarall and narrowed his eyes.
A growl issued from his closed mouth, and he snapped his gaze to the demons, who all stood at attention under his anger. Zarall whimpered and gripped Anpiel tighter. Roland leaned forward, curious as to what was going on.
Asagoroth’s words were clipped and guttural as he spoke Middle Dimoori, and Roland understood a few words, something about the dragon’s previous orders that no angel was to be harmed. Many of the demons hunched their shoulders and shot each other frightened looks. Then one took a deep breath and stepped forward, head lowered in complete submission. Startled, Roland realized it was the demon who had shoved Zarall into the cavern, causing her to fall and scrape her knees.
Asagoroth snorted, and sparks of fire licked around the demon’s face, making him flinch. A large exhale from the dragon had the demon falling to his knees, visibly trembling. He bowed his head to the ground, hands flat on the stone.
Roland exhaled in relief, his stomach unclenching. Asagoroth didn’t want them harmed in any way. Perhaps he needed them unspoiled for his plan to work. He wasn’t a mindless, malicious brute. Intelligence and cunning showed in those magnificent blue eyes.
For the first time since that horde of demons ambushed them, Roland took an easy breath. Asagoroth didn’t want to hurt them. They were a means to an end, tools, weapons in his war. A war he wanted to win with the least amount of bloodshed as possible. He glanced at Anpiel and knew by the rigid set of her jaw and narrowed eyes that there was no way in the cosmos he would be able to convince her of that. Her mind was set as to her opinions on the demons and their leader. It was what would make her such a formidable and valiant high chancellor when her time came. But it also blinded her to what could be obvious if she saw beyond her prejudices.
Roland looked back as Asagoroth pressed the tip of his snout against the demon’s back and forced him flat against the ground. He let out a sharp growl in warning before lifting his head. The demon stayed flat, quivering. The other demons kept their eyes on the ground.
Asagoroth snorted in seeming satisfaction, then walked around the demons, making a circuit through the cavern before turning his bulk to face the entrance again.
Roland’s stomach growled, and three angelic stomachs answered it. He winced and flicked a glance at Anpiel before standing. She gripped his robe, but he managed to swat her hand away and take a cautious step forward.
Asagoroth began to duck his head when Roland said his name. The dragon froze for a moment before turning back and tipping it to one side, causing one of his horns to scrape the ceiling. He settled that blue gaze on Roland, but this time Roland wasn’t terrified. He was still wary and felt a healthy dose of caution and humility, but the bowel-loosening terror of before was gone. Asagoroth wasn’t a voracious beast. He could be spoken to and negotiated with.
“My lord.” Roland bowed his head. “Please forgive me, but I wish to inquire as to food for us. I don’t know for how much longer we will stay, and I fear we will only grow weaker without sustenance. Also, if I may, perhaps we might be granted some privacy for more, um, personal matters?”
His bladder had made itself known and was none too happy with him. He doubted it was any better for the others.
Warm air flowed over him, and he lifted his gaze to find Asagoroth watching him intently. He began to sweat again from the heat Asagoroth let off.
“What is it that angels eat?” he asked. “Is it very different from demons?”
Roland glanced at the demons, then back. “Many of our supplies are taken from the Middle Realm. Berries, some edible flowers. We don’t eat meat, as I believe demons do.”
Asagoroth straightened his head, his horn creating a shallow furrow in the stone as it was loosened from the ceiling. Some debris fell with the movement, and Roland flinched to avoid it.
“You speak well for one so young,” he said.
Roland blinked. “I, um, thank you? I have no wish to insult you.”
Asagoroth snorted, and a large gust of warm air flowed over Roland, carrying the smoky scent of a warm fire on a cold evening. “You fear I might eat you if you anger me?”
Did he sound… amused?
Roland dared a small smile. “I would rather err on the side of caution, my lord.”
The rumble that came out of Asagoroth this time was light in timbre and actually made Roland smile fully. It was a genuine laugh. He actually saw Asagoroth’s mouth curl up at the edges.
“You would not even get stuck in my teeth, you are so tiny.” It startled Roland to realize he’d said nearly the same thing not too long ago. “Perhaps I should feed you to fatten you up.” Asagoroth poked Roland ever so gently in the stomach with the tip of his snout.
“Ow!” Roland said, more surprised than hurt. He stumbled back a step and rubbed his belly, heart racing, with a wide-eyed stare. Was the mighty beast teasing
him? Every instinct he possessed told him that was exactly what was happening.
He snorted a laugh. “I think I will stay tiny, thank you very much. No temptation that way.”
The light in Asagoroth’s eyes darkened, and Roland froze. What had he said? Dammit! Had he offended him after all?
“Temptation.” The word rolled slowly off Asagoroth’s tongue like a dark caress, and Roland shivered, mortified his body stirred in a way it hadn’t for a considerable while. Not since his last bed wrestling with Gabryl months ago.
Oh dear Light.
What was happening to him?
Asagoroth lifted his head and spoke several barking, guttural words to the demons. Five of them jumped to his side, and two hurried to the other angels as Asagoroth turned to the entrance once again.
“These five will see to your food and water needs,” he said briskly. “Those two will take each of you to another smaller cavern for personal needs.”
Roland’s words stuck in his throat, and he only loosened them when Asagoroth was more than half-gone.
“Thank you!” he called after him.
For a split second, Asagoroth stilled, then vanished down the passageway, the thudding of his mighty steps fading away.
Chapter Four
The demons were quick in their retrieval of berries and edible plants. Once Roland managed to convey and even sketch what angels could eat, the demons were more than eager to collect what was needed. Roland knew it was fear of Asagoroth that made them so accommodating, but he didn’t see a reason to be anything but polite and express gratitude. Even the most aloof demon was beginning to smile and nod at him.
Anpiel wasn’t happy.
“One would think you’re growing fond of those fiends,” she said quietly, her tone harsh, her dark eyes flashing.
Roland popped a berry into his mouth and met her stare without flinching. At first she’d refused the food, and he knew it was the fact that demons had touched it that made her reticent. But after Roland ate some and Zarall stuffed her face, Anpiel and Sabrael finally broke. Starving themselves would not end their predicament any faster, and it would make it only that much harder for them to think and stay focused.
“I’m done arguing with you, Annie,” he said just as quietly, just as harshly. “I want us to all make it out of this alive. Think of it as political negotiations. He hasn’t harmed us, so we don’t give him a reason to harm us. It costs us nothing to be polite and gracious.”
“Only our pride and dignity,” Sabrael said, glowering at him.
Zarall stayed quiet, chewing thoughtfully and picking at the scabs on her knees.
“Pride and dignity mean nothing if we’re dead!” Roland said. Then he exhaled sharply and turned away from them. “I told you I’m done arguing.”
“Who put you in charge of negotiations anyway?” Sabrael asked.
Roland snorted. “I didn’t see any of you jumping up to do the job. You just sat there, pissing your robes.”
Sabrael lurched forward, grabbed Roland around the collar, and yanked their faces close. “You want to say that again?”
“Hands off!” Anpiel shoved Sabrael away. “Do not touch my brother ever again.”
Roland sat back, panting, his blood hot with anger. Sabrael looked about the same, bright eyes flashing with wounded pride and fear. Out of the corner of his eye, Roland noticed the demons watching them with interest. Although they had been speaking quietly and in High Enochian, it was obvious there was discord among them. They would appear weak if they didn’t present a united front. When he pointed out as much, Sabrael scowled and slouched back against the wall, obviously conceding that point.
“If only we’d been trained to harness cold like soldiers,” Sabrael grumbled, almost to himself. “Then we could turn those bastards into blocks of ice.”
Anpiel sat back as well but still glared at Roland. “We wouldn’t have to pretend to be united if you would stand with us against the monsters.”
At the end of his rope, Roland got in his sister’s face. “Where is it you think I stand? Huh? Who got us food? Water? Who tried to get you out of harm’s way? Where have I ever been but at your side?”
Anpiel had the grace to look ashamed. For a moment, anyway. She closed her eyes and took slow, controlled breaths. Roland pushed his back against the wall, tentatively flexing his wounded shoulder. It protested painfully, and he gritted his teeth to keep the moan inside.
“I’m scared,” Anpiel whispered a long moment later, words only he could hear. “Not just of what will happen to us or what the beast’s plans are. But of you. For you.”
He frowned and glanced at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve always been a little… odd. Even for an artist.”
He looked away.
She touched his hand. “Remember who you are, Ro. You’re an angel and an artist. You’re one of us. Demons are our enemies.”
Roland closed his eyes and said nothing.
He woke up sometime later when he grew too warm. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly. Across the cavern was Asagoroth. At his feet were sleeping demons, some crowded together, others alone. He sat with his tail curled around his claws, his gaze on the passageway, but his eyes seemed unfocused. What was he thinking about?
Still moving carefully, Roland grabbed a blank piece of parchment and some charcoal, then began to sketch. The compulsion wasn’t something he could deny or ignore. Besides, what was the harm? Asagoroth’s calm breathing was almost hypnotic, and it lulled Roland into a steady rhythm, weirdly comforting. It wasn’t long before he realized his own breaths had changed to match. Smiling slightly, Roland did the best he could to draw an accurate representation of Asagoroth. Yet it just wasn’t enough. As he grew more frustrated, he realized he would never be able to do the majesty of the dragon justice. It was disappointing to acknowledge that.
“What do you draw?”
Roland jumped, and the charcoal fell from his stained fingers. His heart skipped a beat as he looked up to find Asagoroth focused on him with unnerving intensity.
“Um. I—nothing. Nothing. Just….”
Asagoroth watched him, waiting.
With a shaky sigh, Roland stood on unsteady legs and took hesitant steps forward. Holding his breath, he turned the parchment around and lifted it above his head. Asagoroth flickered his gaze over it.
“That is me.”
It wasn’t a question. He knew it was him. Well, thank the Light he didn’t sound offended, merely surprised.
“Yes. But I can’t capture you right. I don’t know why I even attempted it. You’re just too, well, massive for me to accurately represent you.”
Asagoroth grunted. “You are saying I am too fat to fit on your parchment?”
Roland’s eyes bugged out of his head as he lowered the sketch. “What? No! No, not at all. That’s not what I—”
A light rumble trembled out of Asagoroth’s chest, and Roland exhaled in relief.
Laughter. He was teasing again.
Roland smiled. “What I mean is your energy, your being, is just too massive to convey with any medium.” He felt himself blushing. “You’re majestic, and I can’t capture you with my meager talents.”
Asagoroth lowered his head until his eyes were level with Roland’s. Roland hoped his gulp wasn’t audible.
“Your talents are not meager. I like that you want to draw me. I enjoy you looking at me.”
Uh. What?
Roland blinked, speechless.
Asagoroth settled his body on the ground, resting his stomach against the stone. He set his chin on the tops of his forearms and sighed in apparent relief. He snaked his tail all the way around his body. Roland didn’t think it would be a horrible fate to gaze into those startling eyes forever.
The slit pupils dilated slightly, and he was reflected in the black. He looked rather haggard, and his hair was tangled and stringy. His robes were also clingy, and he doubted he smelled the best. He barely stopped himself
from cringing. It was rather humiliating to be so dingy when compared to the being in front of him.
“You are an artist, then?”
Roland snapped his attention away from his vain thoughts. He nodded. “Yes, that is what the seer chose for me.”
“Your fates are chosen from birth.”
“Yes. The seer looks upon us and knows what we are destined to be.”
“Strange,” he said absently. Then, quietly, “Perhaps it is the seers I should have taken.”
Roland frowned. “Pardon?”
“Without your seers, the angels would not know what they are supposed to be or do. Better chaos. Faster capitulation.”
Roland clenched his fists, which had him crinkling the parchment in his hand. Asagoroth stared at him, head somewhat slanted, eyes gleaming with interest. Perhaps amusement. He was amused by Roland’s anger. Arrogant ass.
“Why are you doing this?” Roland asked, forcing himself to relax and keep his voice calm. “To rule all the realms? Then what? What will you do once you conquer everything?”
Asagoroth stared at him. Roland could read nothing in his gaze.
“Will owning everything make you happy?”
“Happy?” Asagoroth said, contemplating the word. “What is ‘happy’?”
Roland gaped. “You… you don’t know….” He took a deep breath. “It’s not easy to describe. Is this what you really want to do?”
“It is not about want,” he said softly.
Roland frowned and tilted his head, considering the great beast in front of him. For an intelligent being, he seemed confused by simple things. Or perhaps such concepts were more complex than Roland thought.
“Who are you?” Roland asked quietly.
Asagoroth focused on him again. “I am dragon.”
“That’s what you are. I asked who you are.”
He narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. “I don’t understand.”
Roland highly doubted he uttered such words regularly. “What you are is a dragon. What I am is an angel. But who is Asagoroth the dragon? I was born an artist, and that’s who I am to my people. Sometimes I wonder if I could be someone else, would I want to? Do you ever want to be someone or something else?”