The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars)

by Jonathan Yanez

  Alan and his group were stopped outside the palace walls by a group of sentries that eyed Alan up and down with intrigue. More words were exchanged between Cratos and the leader of the sentries. The conversation sounded like a mixture of guttural words and chomping teeth to Alan.

  Soon they were allowed entrance. Wide, steel gates swung open to a courtyard teeming with wild flowers and exotic plants. The smell of pollen and nectar drifted through the air making Alan forget his dire situation for just a moment.

  “You two will stay here,” Cratos said. Without further explanation, Cratos left Alan and Raphael under the guard of his men as he walked through the courtyard and entered the palace.

  “When we enter the palace,” Raphael whispered, “you must do as I do. Follow my lead and do not be the first to speak. As queen she has reserved that right.”

  “Got it,” Alan said. “What are the odds this plan is going to work?”

  “If we can make the minotaurs see this fight is as much theirs as it is ours, we have a chance. You did well when you made Cratos see the point.”

  “Cratos still wants to kill us though,” Alan said.

  “Perhaps,” Raphael moved to say more but Cratos was at the entrance to the palace motioning them forward.

  Alan was pushed in the back for what seemed the hundredth time. Alan forced his mind away from retaliating and instead focused on what needed to happen. Alan thought back to his first encounter with Gabriel and how powerful the Fallen Archangel had been. Without the Queen’s help to reclaim Raphael’s power from Gabriel, they were hopeless. That was all that mattered now.

  Alan followed Cratos up a flight of short stairs and into a large building. The palace was breathtaking. Smooth, stone floors polished to perfection were like mirrors to the wandering eye. Elaborate pastel paintings of minotaurs hung on almost every wall and thick pillars made of rock rose from the floor to the ceiling.

  The group traveled through the room and down a path of twisting halls decorated with even more pictures and statues. Alan and Raphael were eventually ushered into a gigantic room with an open ceiling. In the center of the room on a raised dais, was the Queen. She sat on a large, ivory throne.

  Despite the difference in their genetic makeup, Alan knew she was beautiful. It was something in her eyes, in the way she smiled at them as they approached. Her long eyelashes and sleek frame were enough to tell anyone, minotaur or not, she was attractive to her own kind.

  An army of attendants waited on her ready and willing to do her bidding. Along with the servants at her call was a company of minotaur warriors. They pawed the floor measuring the human and Archangel as they approached.

  As Alan and Raphael closed the distance between themselves and the Queen, Cratos and his group of escorts fell behind them. Alan could feel his heart beat against his chest as the tingling sensation of anxiety reached to consume his senses.

  Still twenty yards from the Queen, Raphael stopped and fell to a single knee. Alan mimicked his motions. Raphael lowered his head and stared at the bright shining floor. Alan followed a second after. For a moment, all was still. Then the Queen spoke. Alan was surprised to hear no hint of grunting or clicking in her dialect. She talked as if she had spoken English since birth. “Rise, Horseman. Rise, Archangel, and welcome to Shangar.”

  Alan lifted himself from his knee looking to the Queen with a sense of relief. Her tone was friendly, her words were courteous; with any luck this might work after all.

  “My commander, Cratos, tells me you were found entering the domain of my kingdom without invitation.” Her tone suddenly lost all welcoming charm. Her eyes shone like fire against her short almond brown fur. “He tells me you have offered your own lives as forfeit if I do not find what you have to say pleasing.”

  ---

  Alan felt fear twist his stomach. There were so many minotaurs present, all much larger than he. If it came down to a fight, even with his supernatural gifts as a Horseman, Alan wasn’t sure they would win. It would require their minds, not their muscles to get them out of this.

  “My Queen,” Raphael started, “we come in peace and friendship. Only asking you to share a piece of information that would help us overcome a common foe.”

  “This foe you speak of is the Fallen Archangel Gabriel, also known as Hades, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “Then you must know he is no friend nor foe of the minotaurs. We are neither in an alliance or count ourselves among the enemy of any human or angel. Our struggles are not yours; your struggles are not our own.”

  Alan couldn’t help noticing from the corner of his eye Cratos smiling as he fingered the dagger in his belt.

  “I do understand and respect your neutral position,” Raphael said. The old Archangel paused to gather his thoughts. Once ready he clasped both hands in front of him, “but please consider: if Gabriel rises to power and defeats the angels, then the humans, who is next? It won’t be long before he turns his eyes on the minotaurs and any other race that offers resistance.”

  “Is that a threat?” the Queen asked, rising from her seat.

  “Of course not,” Raphael said, his voice as solid and unwavering as an oak tree, “only an observation made from one friend to another.”

  The Queen weighed Raphael’s words, tilting her head one way then another. Silence fell over the room until the only thing Alan could hear was his own heartbeat. “It seems you have forced me in the middle of only two choices,” the Queen finally said. “No doubt, Gabriel knows you have come here. He must conclude you are seeking our aid. If I simply turn you away, he will not believe me. He will think I am assisting you.”

  The Queen walked down from her raised dais and crossed the distance to Alan and Raphael. She was taller than either of them by a foot. As she approached, Alan caught the scent of wild roses contrasting her muscular figure in a way he never thought possible. “I must give you the aid you desire or kill you where you stand.”

  Alan’s heart beat with the force of a battering ram. His mouth was dry as he waited for the Queen to speak again. “I can presume what knowledge you seek, Archangel, and I will assist you except only on my terms.”

  Alan expected to hear relief in Raphael’s voice when he spoke again. None came. To his credit, the Archangel’s tone was as level as before. “Thank you, my Queen. You have only to name your terms.”

  “If I give you the information you desire, every minotaur will be counted amongst the enemies of the Darkness and we will enter a war my predecessors have managed to stay out of for an eternity. Still I cannot—” the Queen paced back and forth in front of Alan and Raphael as she spoke, “I will not order an Archangel and a Horseman’s execution on the pretense of fear. If I do this, then I require both your words you will hold the Minotaur Nation’s wellbeing above all else. If the fight ever comes to our doorstep, I want to know the Horseman of War and Archangel also named Poseidon will be here to defend it.”

  “Done,” Raphael said even as Alan opened his mouth for the first time. Alan couldn’t believe Raphael’s eagerness to agree to the terms. Alan had enough to deal with on his plate. Adding the protection of an entire species to his agenda was not what Alan expected.

  The Queen turned to Alan, “I would hear it from your own lips, Horseman.”

  Alan swallowed; this was a decision he did not take lightly. All eyes were on him. Alan could practically feel Cratos’ eyes boring into the back of his head while his fingers drummed against his blade. “What is your name?”

  The room silenced even further if it was even possible. Guards edged towards Alan from all sides, weapons clenched tight in their fists. With one raised hand, the Queen motioned them to stop. A gleam of intrigue passed over her face as she looked down on Alan. “And why would that matter, Horseman?”

  “If I am going to pledge my allegiance to you and the Minotaur Nation. I thought it would make sense to know to whom exactly I am pledging.”

  The Queen smiled. Her back straightened and her hor
ns seemed to grow even longer from the sides of her head. The light caught her ivory horns in a way that made them shine and glimmer with a radiance Alan had never seen. “My name is Baymore Lotheria, daughter of Ragmore Lotheria and Leader of the Minotaur Nation.”

  Alan gulped. Although she was smiling, her appearance now was more intimidating than staring down a charging army of demons. “I will promise to protect you and the Minotaur Nation until my last breath,” Alan said.

  Baymore looked pleased as she nodded. “Good,” she said, “my second and last request is that an emissary of my choosing accompany you. Cratos will be joining you on your journey.”

  Alan’s eyes darted to the minotaur who looked as displeased as Alan felt. “He will be most welcome,” Raphael said before either of them could contest.

  ---

  Soon after their agreement, the group was dispersed. Alan, Raphael and a sulking Cratos followed the Queen deeper into the palace and eventually found themselves in a library. The room was stacked with ancient books, most in writing Alan didn’t understand. Stone bookcases filled the room with a soft, moss carpet beneath their feet. Like most of the palace, sunlight flittered through an open ceiling overhead.

  “Please, sit,” Baymore motioned to a long table with sturdy wooden chairs. Alan and Raphael obeyed while Cratos chose to stay standing behind his queen. “I imagine what you are looking for is a way to reclaim your powers,” she eyed Raphael as if she were looking through him, “is that correct?”

  “Yes, you are as perceptive as you are wise,” Raphael said.

  “You can abandon the compliments,” Baymore said with a wide grin, “I’ve already agreed to help you.”

  Alan was surprised to see Raphael turn a shade of red. The Queen saved him from any other embarrassment as she continued, “The ability the minotaurs possess to transfer power to one another is contained in our blood. It’s one of the many distinct abilities we posses that makes us different from any other beings on the supernatural plane.”

  The Queen motioned with an extended hand, “Cratos, would you be so kind as to bring us a small vial?”

  Cratos looked uncomfortably from his queen to Alan and Raphael, “Please, Cratos,” Baymore chided as though speaking to a small child, “I will be safe from them. If they wanted to kill me, they would have already made a move.”

  Cratos cleared his throat and nodded, leaving the three of them alone in the room. “As I was saying,” Baymore said, turning her attention back to Alan and Raphael, “minotaur blood allows us to transfer power from one of us to another. This is particularly helpful when one of our kind becomes sick or wounded. We’ve even used this ability to empower a single member of our race to perform tasks that would have taken ten, even twenty, of our kind to perform. When the deed is done, we transfer the power back the same way…through blood.”

  Alan was tracking with Baymore’s words but still something confused him. “May I ask a question?”

  The Queen turned her dark eyes to him and nodded, “Please.”

  “Just to make sure I am understanding what you are saying: Raphael will have to cut himself and Gabriel and use minotaur blood as a link between the two?”

  “That’s right. It’s the only way for Raphael to extract his power.”

  “And what if he takes too much?” Alan asked worried, “What if he can’t stop?”

  Baymore tilted her head to the side as if she didn’t understand the question. “It’s not a perfect science; something like this has never been done. I would be lying if I said it was guaranteed to work at all. You’ll have to figure out the steps as you go.”

  “Great,” Alan said under his breath.

  Raphael cleared his throat much louder than needed, “My Queen, we accept the means you offer with our gratitude. We’ll figure out everything else when the time comes.”

  Before Baymore could respond, Cratos appeared in the doorway holding a small cylindrical glass vial with a cork stopper. He walked into the room and handed the vial to Baymore. “Thank you, Cratos,” Baymore said accepting the vial, “I’ll also require your dagger.”

  Cratos stood backed aghast as he realized what his queen was about to do. “May it never be my Queen. I will gladly give my blood for you.” Cratos brandished his steel blade and turned his left wrist over to expose his veins. “You have only to ask.”

  “I know,” Baymore said as she placed a hand on top of Cratos’ own. “If there was any doubt, then I would ask this of you. But this is my choice to make and my blood to give.”

  Alan found himself respecting the minotaur queen more and more. She was not only fair and gracious but she was a leader to be respected. Whether or not he made the right decision in providing his loyalty to her was yet to be seen.

  “My Queen,” Cratos insisted with a shake of his head.

  “Enough, Cratos,” Baymore said with a hint of rebuke in her voice, “my decision is final.”

  Cratos released the blade to her custody, powerless to do anything except stand by and watch. Baymore in turn wasted no time. She wielded the blade with surgical expertise and drew a long shallow cut in the palm of her right hand. Returning the weapon to Cratos, she made her wounded hand into a fist and squeezed. Black liquid fell drop by drop into the vial Baymore held underneath.

  If the act caused the queen pain, she showed none. In fact, she continued to clench her hand into a fist repeatedly until the vial was near full. Only then did she stopper the glass vial and hand it to Raphael. “Go now,” she said looking at them both, “stop Gabriel before his war turns on the minotaurs. And remember your oaths to the minotaur race.”

  Chapter One Hundred Eleven

  Michael flew with the forward company of Seraphim and her Death Angels. They were still a few miles away from Golgotha when scouts returned with disturbing news. Apparently, Gabriel was not alone in the ancient castle. Gabriel had announced a call to any Fallen or Dark Nephilim willing to stand with him. Hundreds answered his cry, coming from all over the supernatural plane. There was word that even deserters from Sodom’s army were making their way to Gabriel’s stronghold.

  Events of the battle to come and strategies ran through Michael’s mind as fast as his wings beat the morning air behind him. This was shaping up to be a battle much larger than Michael originally estimated. Esther sided up to her superior as they traveled, “Scouts say recruits are still trickling in.”

  “Our first course of action should be to cut off all entrances into Golgotha,” Michael said.

  “Yes, sir,” Esther said, “And the Nephilim?”

  Michael thought about the humans that entered the fight on both sides of the war. These men and woman were handpicked by both the Light and the Darkness and provided abilities to use for their respective sides. “Hold our Nephilim back until we are ready to make the main assault on Golgotha.” With the mention of the human Nephilim, Michael’s mind drifted to Danielle and Angelica.

  “That will work,” Esther said, “most of them do not have the ability to fly so they will be behind our main force as it is.”

  This agreed with Michael. He hated the thought of throwing humans into the mix. This was their fight to win or lose. When Nephilim were introduced into the battlefield, they were supposed to be agents working on behalf of angels on earth, not warriors dying on the supernatural plane.

  “There is also no sign of her,” Esther said with a mixture of regret and relief. “She’s not among the ones flocking to Gabriel’s banner. At least, not as far as we can tell.”

  Esther didn’t have to say Ardat’s name for Michael to know of whom she was speaking. Ardat was gone, up and vanished from the Temple. Michael wasn’t sure what he really thought she would do. Did I really think she would have waited for her sentence? Remain content to let others fight and stand by hoping for a favorable ruling? Michael’s heart ached for only a moment before he reminded himself of his duties. He needed a clear mind to make the decisions that presented themselves. Wherever she was, Ardat had made her
choice.

  “There it is,” Esther said.

  Michael shielded his eyes against the bright reds and oranges of the sun. Golgotha’s familiar black walls sprouted from the top of a large hill and reached towards the sky with pointed fingers. The fortress was intimidating. Its sheer size was mindboggling. The castle’s mass would be an advantage if one had enough personnel to man it, but could also leave weaknesses in the defense if there was not. Michael was willing to bet Gabriel had nowhere near the numbers needed to defend such a base. Pride and your reckless nature will be your downfall, Michael thought to himself.

  As Michael and his forces drew nearer, small, black dots that looked like ants could be seen moving towards the stronghold. Exceptionally few of either the Fallen or their Nephilim were granted the ability of flight. When the angels were cast out of heaven after the Usurper’s uprising, they were stripped of their wings. Likewise, only the Dark Nephilim awarded with the power of flight would be able to contest Michael and his angels in the sky.

  “Esther, Seraphim,” Michael shouted. Both women sidled beside him in vastly different ways. Esther was attentive and focused, looking to carry out whatever command he might give. Seraphim, on the other hand, had her eyes trained on the enemy below. Her red hair whipped in the wind behind her as her one black and one grey wing beat in unison. “We need to cut off all ways into Golgotha. Esther, you will take your men and establish a perimeter a safe distance from the walls. Seraphim, you will lead your Death Angels and capture any Fallen or Dark Nephilim that are still trying to get inside the keep, but do not engage the structure itself. We aren’t ready for an assault yet, do you understand?”