“Pssshh,” Minstra hissed. “That’d be impossible.”
Something about the way he said it suddenly worried Jaker. “What do you mean by impossible?”
He looked around for something to drink. Minstra shrugged when he couldn’t find anything.
“Minstra. What did you mean by that?”
“I mean impossible. Rashnir is far away and Kevin’s dead er captured up’n Par’dise.”
Jaker stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. The monk’s half-shut eyes opened and closed as he bobbed his head, trying to keep it upright.
Suddenly, Minstra bent over and heaved the contents of his guts over the edge of the porch. Jaker recoiled in disgust as Minstra turned with a slight smile. “I think I almost hit someone down there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jibbin slapped the hot embers that still clung to his clothes from the fiery escape until they quieted and then crawled onto a supply cart in order to gain a better view. He was only four—but turning five soon. In his mind, he was practically a man. Rashnir could verify that. He was Rashnir’s sidekick; nothing bad could ever happen because of that fact. But this new thing scared him, and Jibbin hadn’t truly been scared since the alley—when his parents were murdered and he was forced to watch… the alley replayed in his dreams every night. This scene would, too.
He saw the ring of enemies that flew the flag of the Order as it formed a semicircle around their group. A smell floated on the wind: a spicy smell that reminded the child of death… the red stuff they put on their swords.
The wind shifted as he overlooked the gypsy-village that made up the Christian collection of tents and persons. Smoke burned in his nose and eyes and he looked west to the copse of trees behind them. They were further up the hillock in the only direction where Luciferians couldn't be seen barring their path. A murder of nearby crows screeched and leaped into the sky with hearty complaints as they fled the black smoke.
To the east, a billow of dust rose, kicked up by the hooves of the horses. A large drove cut a clear line across the Himnp district, obviously angled for the town owned by Kantror’s freedmen.
Jibbin almost cried again as his diaphragm tightened with fear. His thoughts turned to his parents: killed by the hate of Luciferians. He pushed it back and thought of Rashnir. Rashnir will save me, he insisted, imposing his own thoughts upon the fear. Rashnir is a hero! He can do anything?
***
Krimko led the Deathsquad near the edges of Temple of Light. He guided his horse through the meandering mountainside approach when he heard the booming thunder and the vertical eruption of light enveloped the temple’s centerpiece.
The members of his party traded confused glances and then pressed in through the crowded streets where monks and criers shouted omens of either doom or triumph. The team picked their way through the crowds as best as possible as they attempted to make it back to Herang’s station where they could collect their bounty and perhaps gather new data on the mission to kill Rashnir.
They steered around a couple sons of anak, both mendicants. Finally arriving, they found the booth unattended. Pinchôt drummed his fingers on the table as the minutes stretched long.
“Was Sheech a member of house Horpah?” Krimko asked his companions, thinking of the two that they passed in the streets. That had been nearly an hour, now.
Jandul, always direct, departed for the intelligence and bounty office where they had previously gotten their assignment. A few minutes later he reappeared practically dragging a young adherent. The low-ranking Luciferian apologized for the absent attendant. An important meeting had been called to try and discern the meaning of the quake that shook the Babel Spire earlier today.
The Deathsquad promised to return later for new leads. For now, they demanded payment so they could take in the sights and smells.
They ordered lunch at a tiny, high profile bistro known for its kaboshalged. Krimko contended they let it be his treat. They chatted over the stew.
“You’ve never seen the view from the Babel Spire?” he exclaimed to Pinchôt. He understood if Grirrg cared little for such things—he literally had no soul. Jandul had been required to take the pilgrimage as a matter of rank acquisition long ago, but Krimko felt Pinchôt had missed out on one of life’s pivotal opportunities.
“I insist that you let me take you up!” Krimko raised his hand, calling for the attendant to deliver the check.
“Now?” Pinchôt asked with surprise.
“Absolutely! We have time.”
A short while later, Krimko excitedly led the way past the primary gate which yawned open onto the Fields of Splendor. He looked up, taking in the sights, and immediately leapt to the side, shouting his ire and disgust as some patron in one of the two-story booze-joints vomited over the hand-rail of the parapet above. He spat curses at the drunkard overhead and continued ahead.
He pushed the inconvenience from his mind and happily led this party across the Fields of Splendor. Krimko breathed in the scent of the yellow and white flowers as they intermingled with the musky odor of traveling pilgrims.
Suddenly, a loud kra-boom! exploded high overhead. They turned their gaze up to see a large section of the firmament break away and begin to fall.
***
Shimza and Fixxer regained consciousness long before their Christian counterpart did. Dosed with a far less potent mix of the drug, they groggily came to their senses and waited out the day.
The vampires’ prized monolith slowly passed into the distance as the day ebbed into night. Nobody had come to deliver food or drink; the intruders had become an afterthought with the flurry of concentrated activity.
Faded into an afterthought was the rumbling of movement as the giant stone barely grumbled in the distance. Granik High Town calmed significantly. The evening insects began to chirp and buzz, but no lights illuminated what remained of the town as far as they could tell from within the cell.
Shimza prodded Werthen but their companion did not stir. In fact, he barely breathed. A cursory check revealed that his body still maintained a pulse.
“I say we give him a day and then we eat him,” Fixxer said coldly.
Shimza replied with an incredulous look. “I’m not looking to become a blood sucker myself anytime soon.”
“It’s about survival,” Fixxer sighed. “It’s totally different.” Thirst burned his throat and his lips had cracked.
“What if his blood does the same thing to us as that it did to them? Maybe he is poison inside.” He stared out the window knowing that the vampiric travelers were far gone by now.
Fixxer looked at the unconscious warrior. Clearly, he hadn't entertained that thought.
“I figure we have about two more days before dehydration kills us,” he stated, still staring. A long silence followed before either spoke… perhaps an hour.
“Shimza?”
“Yeah?”
“If I die before you… you can eat me.” Fixxer slumped against the corner of the cell. They didn’t even have a device to catch and store urine for drinking.
Shimza shook his head with a mixture of disgust and amusement. “I just wish I knew what that thing was that they hauled out of here. I understand leaving us to die… but at least tell us why. I thought the bad guys were supposed to bore you with a monologue.”
Fixxer shrugged. “I guess being a bad guy is a matter of perspective.”
***
Rashnir knew he could only sprint a few more steps before his lungs would burst or his legs betrayed him. Turning his gaze, he saw his friends just arriving at the topmost structure of the tower. They were a couple hundred feet away when Jorge spun, casting off his cloak.
The flaming blue weapon split the air with a crackle of power. Zeh-Ahbe’ howled to Rashnir, urging him to greater speed as the throng seemed to gain ground against him even while his weary legs protested.
A swelling crowd of enemies seemed to peek into his peripheral vision
and he demanded one final burst out of his failing feet.
Jorge stood before the door like a defiant guardian. He shouted against the swarming horde, “You shall not have them!” His voice boomed across the sky with adamant resolve even as Rashnir’s knees buckled and he tumbled forward. The ranger skidded across the crystalline flooring which he’d so recently feared was nothing more than air.
Rashnir slid underneath the angelic defender and flopped to his side, twisting to catch sight of the Jorge who brandished his sword high overhead, ready to strike any who came near. The mob pressed in right up to the angel—as close as they could safely come without stepping into striking distance. Absinthium stood at the front, hissing.
The ranger gasped for air. They must have been right on top Rashnir’s heels!
He turned, winded and clutched his aching side. Hurrying to his feet he tried to catch his breath. Zeh-Ahbe’ and Kevin helped Karoz as they attempted to navigate the top of the spire’s entry.
Rashnir brandished his own blade and the rotunda filled with a soft blue light as he struggled to take those few steps toward his angelic friend.
Just beyond, the sneering, raging, sorcerer waved his toqeph through the air and chanted. His staff traced a slow series of arcs, drawing upon what limited power he had remaining to him. The air seemed to rush into the void that he had created out of sheer force of will; his words spat vitriol and the mage’s scaled shoulder mantle grew red hot. It burst into flames as an orb of pure nothingness burst into existence, sucking inward like an imploding star a foot above the sorcerer.
Rashnir turned into the wind that rushed past him only to find his friends clinging to the Babel stair, trying to keep from being thrown down the shaft or off the steps.
Absinthium growled, screaming with worry. “It’s not enough!”
Rashnir turned back to the spell caster, ready to try something crazy.
Jorge put out a hand to warn his friends to stay back.
Absinthium dropped his toqeph to the floor and urged more power into the nether sphere which shimmered and spun above his gnarled hands that clutched at the air. With a howl of rage, his burning garment crept up the wizard's wispy hair and melted his neck skin. All of his forces gathered behind him suddenly collapsed as the void pulled a shadowy essence from their bodies like steam escaping into the atmosphere. The black orb absorbed them and grew and grew, crackling with lightning and taking greater form and color, looming out of control.
With a mighty yell, the arch-mage hurled the sphere at his enemies with incredible speed. The globe of destruction hit the angel with cosmic force and detonated like a volcanic eruption.
Jorge groaned as he tried to shoulder the explosive load—tried to shield his friends from the eldritch bomb, but his defiant growl turned to a shriek of pain. Everything exploded, incinerating the angel and shattering the top of the Babel Spire. A chunk of the firmament itself snapped and shifted.
Beginning with an awful groan, the fractured shard slid against itself with cataclysmic force, and then it fell, hurtled to the ground with unrelenting fury. The wave of power washed over the Christians, who hid behind whatever protection they could find.
Rashnir dropped the keys as he dove out of the way. The force of the blast tore apart even the mystic links that held them together.
The concussion bomb flung shrapnel, ash, fire, and bodies in every direction. Rashnir tumbled through the sky. Hurtling towards the ground even as stones and broken bricks smashed into him, he angled a vector to reach the tumbling keys. He spotted the glint of precious metal but a plummeting chunk of crystalline firmament smashed the golden and silver keys, fling them out of sight and beyond his reach.
Above, Zeh-Ahbe’ tumbled through the air; limp and knocked unconscious he slowly shrank down in size, returning to his slightly smaller-than-average human shape. The blind angel had one hand around his waist. Karoz's other arm grabbed a hold of Kevin. The preacher, too, had been knocked out cold.
Rashnir groaned as he fell, pelted by debris. The top of the tower smoked far overhead; he suddenly realized Karoz streaked towards him, following the sound of the warrior’s yell.
Karoz wrapped his arms around the warrior, squeezing Zeh-Ahbe’ and Kevin up against his body before locking his hands around the trio. Throwing his weak and weary wings outward, the air caught under them and their descent came to a jarring, momentary halt. The angel fell in an uneasy, controlled fall. Chunks of debris continued smashing into them and the angel grunted in pain as he tried to slow their still-too-rapid descent.
Rashnir put his hands to his face and tried to shield himself from the ground as it rushed up to meet them. The promised painful impact rushed forward to greet them.
***
ekerithia watched the scene from the edge of the Fields of Splendor. He saw the arcane blast explode far above them just as the trio of ghouls exited the final rungs of the tower. They darted to safety just as the firmament cracked and ripped apart.
The concussive blast obliterated the topmost section of the Babel Spire—vaporizing his original post. Nothing remained of the hidden alcove where he’d spent millennia observing the realm.
A huge part of the upper deck collapsed and crumbled and an enormous part of the crystalline upper-ground fell with tremendous speed. It shifted color to something like shale when it separated from its parent plane and tipped downward like a jagged spear, lodging into the yellow-dotted fields and kicking up geysers of dirt on impact.
The demon watched as the angel was atomized by the sorcerous blast and the humans tumbled and plummeted towards the mountainside. ekerithia saw the blind angel scoop up the spinning, falling Rashnir as he tried to slow their fall.
But the demon’s eyes were primarily drawn to the metallic glimmer of the keys which flung wide as they plunged to the field far below. The two ghoulish accomplices to the book holder also saw them. Ducking beneath the hail of deadly stones they each sprinted through the debris and snatched a gold or silver key.
ekerithia patted his leather pouch and set his eyes upon the ekthro which slinked away and into the shadows as quickly as possible. He purred to the two trapped souls within.
“Soon. Very soon.”
***
Rashnir hit the ground with a fleshy Whap! The wind left his lungs and he gasped for air, feeling every inch of the several-mile sprint he’d just run as well the force of the impact. He turned over and groaned. A hail of stone and brick continued raining around them.
Groaning and wincing, he scrambled to his knees and began to drag Kevin to safety. Rashnir shouted to Karoz for direction. He dragged Zeh-Ahbe’. They crawled up against the fallen chunk of firmament which had buried itself in the soil, creating an immense bastion for them to hide behind.
Rashnir peeked over a jagged edge, praying for some kind of help. He glanced across the field, past the combat monks who rushed into the shin-deep fields, ready to act as damage control. Rashnir spotted ekerithia turn and walk away, completely consumed by some other person or thing and disinterested in their plight.
Looking back at the enemies rushing to the scene he continued his whispered, desperate prayer. His heart sank further when he spotted the Luciferian Deathsquad. He made eye contact with the insidious, little man, Krimko, who narrowed his eyes to slits with recognition.
“What do you see?” asked Karoz.
He worriedly looked in the other direction, keenly aware that the Deathsquad would be on its way shortly. On the other side, he spotted another threat: the trio of warrior women rushing towards them with ‘ãbêdâh oiled weapons brandished and held high. They looked ready for a fight and Ly’Orra scowled at Rashnir—her honor demanded first blood against the former-ranger.
Rashnir spat and bit his lip. His heart raced and adrenaline pounded in his ears. She must’ve finally convinced them this was the setting for her Pawar!
“What do you see?” repeated Karoz.
“Only trouble,” the exasp
erated Rashnir lamented.
Epilogue
ekerithia followed the creature into the shadows.
A ghoul hissed and yipped short notes to his companions. They thought they had the upper hand in the blackness after the sun had gone down. Creatures of vampiric power only strengthened in the absence of light.
The ghoul grew confident in the dark. It knew something followed it but remained unsure of its pursuer’s origin as it cast pale, yellow eyes back and forth through the darkness, watching the creature through a wood of ebon tree trunks. Lilth’s agent had no idea that its stalker was so much higher on the food chain.
Carrying the massive tome it had stolen from Paradise, the one creature refused to slow for anything. He was of no interest to the demon.
Shifting into his invisible form, ekerithia slid through the rows of trees and over-matched the strides of the ghoul he pursued until he found himself in the lead. Running ahead, the vampiric minion crashed into the invisible hunter and tumbled to the ground.
It thrashed and flailed, failing to understand as ekerithia bent over the thief. He seized it by the throat and squeezed with his hands, pressing until the soft neck in his hands collapsed and cracked. The demon squeezing until a liquid, gurgling noise bubbled up from the body.
Smiling with satisfaction, ekerithia slipped his hands into the pockets of the fiend. He grasped the cold metal and pulled out the key. It flashed silver in the moonlight.
The prize had fallen to him. The plan was in motion. Soon it would all burn, and just as before, he would watch.
***
Crashing through the massive double doors of the demonic fortress where his peers had gathered, peh’-shah spat curses as he strode forward. A defeat had been bad enough, but the final insult had been levied. He scanned the room and deep satisfaction welled up within him.
More than just the original demons of the coup had arrived at the council. Other powerful demons who held lesser seats not on the Gathering had joined them. He nodded to ter-aw-feme’, rem-ee-yaw’, ked-ay-shaw’, nid-daw’, moot-teh’, and eesh shek-o’-beth eesh. He’d been unsuccessful in courting these demons to his side earlier in his campaign to overthrow of the Gathering’s leader.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 89