Belial - Episode 1 of the Elder Bornshire Chronicles

by Ben Stivers

  Mrandor’s eyes widened as he realized his error. Still, he turned to cast a spell to obliterate the newcomer into nothing but a pile of ash, but when he did, she had already withdrawn to the edge of the forest once more.

  “Come and get me hell-spawned maggot! Come bask in the wrath of Joanie Bornshire, daughter of Arthur Bornshire, granddaughter of Daemon and Lieala Bornshire. Come try me, coward. In the name of God, I will gut you!”

  Fury coursing through his veins, Mrandor ordered his troops into the night-cloaked forest, thoughts of Drybridge gone, but the judgment of a One God believer, nagged him.

  Chapter 23

  In deep consternation, Arthur, Shanay, Wolf and Adam sat on their respective horses. Blade and Artex scratched fitted shadows into the twilight that approached, while Shanay and Wolf’s horses merely blended with their chestnut coats. Across from them sat, what in passing might have appeared to be a mirror image, but upon scrutiny, any sane person would have turned and fled from the presence of the Horsemen.

  Taking station a mile outside of town, Arthur had summoned his sometime comrades, wondering for all the world how he might gain a favor from them without the Horsemen, Thanatos in particular, having already suggested that they grant him a boon.

  “You assume much, summoning us as common souls,” Thanatos began. Each Horseman had chosen a hideous manifestation. Arthur supposed that was more to set the mood than to divulge their disposition.

  Arthur ignored the rebuke and replied with an iron tone. “I summoned you as counsel with my other closest allies. Your wisdom and guidance may coincide with God’s plan for the world. Only you can decide that.”

  “And where has He guided you?” Thanatos inquired.

  Arthur shrugged, “The Lord has been uncommunicative about what I think I have learned. Mysteries remain, but permit us one step at a time.”

  “As you wish, but what we may know—what we may share or do will depend on our imposition.”

  Arthur nodded and revealed what he knew of Mrandor, including that some other entity stood behind Mrandor, a new patron.

  “With this patron partnered with Mrandor, the world is on a path to Armageddon,” Arthur concluded.

  Thanatos chuckled, “Partnered—strange definition of the word. Either of them is liable to kill the other before tomorrow dawns.”

  “Then you know the patron? Mrandor has grown that strong?”

  Thanatos said nothing to that. After a pause, he said, “Mrandor and his dozen armies scour the earth for anyone attached to you. He has subjugated the northern tribes. Starves them. Tortures them. Murders their children to make them comply. By now, you know that your father and mother have gone to their Wheel.”

  His tone trailed off. Arthur absorbed that information in context. “Are you saying Mrandor murdered them?”

  Thanatos returned a blank look as his answer. “Your parents were powerful. Yet, they left the earth before their time. That is all I will say.”

  Shanay leaned over to Arthur. He leaned into her so that she could whisper. Both sat back up.

  “Thanatos, what does it take to gain your cooperation?”

  Thanatos’ expression softened in the slightest waver. “Arthur, the Horsemen can do much upon the earth. When our duties align, you feel us the most. We have the same Father in Heaven. How and why He allows what He does is not for me to speculate. You should know from your own experience that He moves in ways that baffle. Only the faithful would follow such a mysterious path. Only the faithful can. I can say that Mrandor and his patron are not always in agreement. You know the man—what is left of him.”

  Arthur donned himself with his best attempt at admonishment. “I bend to your knowledge. With the hellhounds returned, I only assumed Mrandor had a hand in that. So tell me of their conflict.”

  Thanatos leaned back in his saddle. “I think I have said enough. Did you ask us here to gain information? I will not hide that you make me suspicious, old friend.”

  “I could say that I am sorry I have made you feel that way, Thanatos, but you and I—let us not pretend that game between us. I have a plan to eliminate the Snipes and Alones. I need only one thing from the Horsemen and it does not involve your swords.”

  “Our swords are at your service when it suits God’s plan,” Thanatos replied, “but ask of us what you will. We will fulfill your request if we can.”

  Arthur laid out his plan and the Horsemen carefully listened.

  When Arthur finished his tale, Thanatos nodded that he understood their part and watched as Arthur and his party rode away.

  Pestilence hissed softly and let his frustration slip away. “He thinks you are helping them, but I know your thoughts, brother. To do this might get them all killed.”

  Mars said nothing, but grinned comfortably. What was to come suited his charge. If blood ran in the streets that would not betray his notion of how all of this should go. The end of Creation would be the end of the Horsemen’s constant trial.

  Famine fiddled with his horse’s bridle, nonchalantly letting the other Horsemen have their say. Mostly Pestilence and Thanatos argued back and forth, not so much as to the ending, but the method. When he surmised the decision they would make, he spoke, allowing his sparse voice to spill into the space between the four of them.

  “I will have the say of this.”

  The other three turned toward their companion. Famine usually had little to contribute to tactical conversation, more prone to a long-term action than the other three. He held no collection dues and truth be told, the keen constriction upon them seldom gave him a chance to do more than plight the common man.

  “We know Arthur’s intent. We sit outside of his knowledge and make believe that we have no hand in what is to come. You will listen to me, all of you. If you cannot be a part of what is to come, then stand aside and I will do this alone.”

  The three of his brothers quivered, their physicality drifting to another place, and within the space of a breath, they were gone.

  “So be it,” he said.

  Arthur felt skeptical when he heard that Scralz and Anthony had simply vanished, giving away the stables and blending into the countryside. He had known her for many years and that was not like her. That she would toss aside everything nice and neat without a fight meant she did not intend to return. Not coming back meant more than leaving Hellsgate.

  He marched into the Downs and though he was not challenged, he knew that he had been watched. Crabwell met him in the middle of the street.

  “You cannot just saunter in here,” Crabwell warned. “By the good graces of my watchmen, they gave you a favor and fetched me, but itchy fingers could just as well put an arrow through that thick skull of yours.”

  Arthur faintly smiled. “I am not so easily killed.”

  Crabwell returned the smile, but he too only lightly brushed the canvas of his face with a brushstroke of mirth. “I do not joke with you.”

  “I understand,” Arthur replied. “I need to know where Scralz went.”

  “She has a harebrained idea,” Crabwell admitted, “but she is pretty pissed at you, soldier.”

  Arthur waited for a more robust answer. Crabwell told him where to start his search, but Scralz’s exact movements remained a mystery.

  Arthur thanked Crabwell and then gathered Shanay, Adam and Wolf. Shanay bent his ear for a bit, making both Adam and Wolf smile from the corner, but they stopped under Arthur’s scowl. While Shanay finished her sermon, they set out, hoping the Horsemen would have the good sense to wait until they returned before putting Arthur’s request into action.

  On a horse that could have been carved from coal, the Horseman traveled through the Black Forest unimpeded by anyone or anything until he reached the guard of the stone golems.

  The large rock and earth creations rumbled up from the ground as he approached. Famine dismounted and strode toward them. The creature’s emerald eyes gleamed. Behind their eyes, he registered a dim intelligence that burned destruction as fuel. />
  “Impressive,” he murmured and lay a hand upon the first golem he came to as the creature drew back a boulder for a fist. With his touch, he muttered a command from deep within Creation and the beast crumbled to the ground, its various parts separating and tumbling across the forest floor.

  The horde of men within the camp turned toward him and he regarded them as shadows. They could not lay hands upon him, but with a thought, he could kill them all.

  Yet, that was not his intent. Stepping past the rest of the golems, he wound his way around the randomly laid fires and shrugged off the attention of the mercenaries until he came to the base of the black tower.

  “Come out,” he commanded and then waited.

  He did not have to wait for long.

  After half a night of digging, cursing, and moving rock out of the way of the entrance, Scralz crawled down into the narrow tunnel and began calculating how they could navigate the barrels down the slithering passageway to the river below. Mostly, her temper had the best of her. Bornshire and his godforsaken bravado. Telling her she could not do something somehow agitated her more than usual.

  “Scralz, everything good down there?” Anthony called from the opening.

  Bless his soft heart. He meant well. “Quit your shouting! Want the whole damned labyrinth to know we are down here?”

  It crossed her mind with those biting words that perhaps the elixir had triggered a bit more trollishness about her. She grumbled to herself a few words that sounded like an apology, but she knew Anthony could not have heard.

  The air in the labyrinth cooled from the moment she stepped past the entrance. The floors were dry and dusty. Dark that would render a human blind shadowed the rocks throughout, but her night vision had always been better than a mere human could be.

  The way down was strewn with debris—rocks, bigger rocks, and then rocks that would refuse anything other than ‘go around’, blocked the path here and there. She began tossing the smaller stones out of the way.

  How would she tell Anthony that he could not go with her?

  She let her arms hang down, and then decided that resting the one attached to her healing shoulder might be a good idea. She propped against one of the larger stones near the entrance.

  “Anthony?”

  He would be patiently waiting. That was his way. She loved him in her own way, not the same as she had Rumbar. Still, Anthony had a way about him that charmed her, coaxed the smidgeon of genteelness into the light of day, if only for a few breaths at a time.

  He did not reply.

  “Anthony?” she called a little louder, but she had been serious with him earlier. With monsters who-knew-where in the labyrinth, they could be right up a side tunnel or a vertical shaft somewhere. Down further than she had been, she heard a faintness of the river, but in her bones, she felt its strength, patiently whittling away at the rock, the stone giving of itself to the waters, purifying the current as it moved.

  Still, he did not answer.

  “He is probably napping up there,” she mumbled to herself, pushing off the restful rock where she leaned and heading up toward the entry. No way would Anthony snooze while she toiled in the labyrinth. Perhaps he was unloading the wagons.

  She climbed from the hole to find a crowd of horses and some unwanted company.

  “Sorry, Scralz,” Anthony said, standing near the wagon. “I didn’t hear them coming.”

  Belial erupted from the base of her tower with her wings unfurled and her teeth clacking like corn on a millstone. She met Famine’s blank staring eyes with her own fiery anger.

  “Why have you come? To affront me? You have no power here, Horseman.”

  Famine lowered his chin slightly. “My apologies for your golem. It was not my intention to destroy it.”

  Belial blinked in hesitation and looked past Famine to the pile of rocks and earth that lay where one of her creations had sat for so many days. Though fury rippled her teeth, when she spoke, she held disdain from her tone.

  “I will make another. Simple enough.”

  Famine did not believe her, but that was of no consequence. “Though we have never met, Great One, I have heard of you, of your accomplishments in the Kingdom of Hell. Here you remain while Lucifer is gone to the Void. I know your intention. I have come to offer my services.”

  Wingtips tilted in. Her interest snagged to his words. “How could you surmise my intention?”

  “My brother collects souls, remember? We know what those souls know, good or bad.”

  Metal feathers tinking like thousands of sword blades, she drew closer. “I will hear you, Horseman, but if you have no words to please me, I will suffer you to Hell.”

  “I think not,” Famine replied, shifting his own appearance through a suitable swath of appearances until he saw one that forced her to withdraw, if only slightly. “Still, what I have to say may interest you.”

  Belial crouched down and Famine believed she might pounce upon him. Such an encounter would be a refreshing change from his normal duties. He held no concern that either could defeat the other with any type of lasting damage, but the obscurity of Heaven and Earth and the rules of the Father could still surprise after eons.

  “Tell me your tale,” Belial hissed. “I have little time for impotent gods.”

  A wry grin offset her insult and swayed him not. “You have abnormals in Hellsgate. They are remarkable. I could not have created such things. Conscripting the earth for a ‘making’ is no small feat without the Father’s blessing.” That much truth he held ironclad and if Belial weaved lies to exist, she would certainly know the unfamiliar taste of his words. “Yet, fair Belial, I could help to enhance them. I could help you to embellish them so that they evolve from threat to scourge.”

  A slight widening at the eyes coaxed the notion from him that her interest held. Still, suspicion lay thick in her question. “Why would the Horsemen do such a thing?”

  He hooked his thumbs into his belt and considered her question. She awaited a lie and if he told one, the opportunity to seize the moment would be lost and an ally with it.

  “The Horsemen do not offer this assistance to you. I do. As to why, I tell you with sincerity, the life of a Horseman sometimes wearies. The unraveling of Creation is all that could end my existence except to be struck down by the sword of Gideon.”

  “You prefer the Void to life?”

  Famine allowed himself a small chuckle. “A life—yes, if that is what you will call it. I prefer an end to it. Whether that be to the Void or to Heaven is not for either of us to say.”

  “If you can achieve Heaven, you could find yourself in Hell. The Father is not forgiving, despite His words.”

  “Then perhaps I would prefer the Void should that time come. Still, I see no reason to refuse my help. Things have not gone to plan, have they?”

  A flutter of wings and an increase in her incessant teeth rattling let him know that he had struck a soft spot.

  “I will hear your plan. On the day Creation ends, I will release you to the Void.”

  “If that is within your power,” he replied.

  “Tell me.”

  Arthur rested quietly upon Blade, the two of them sewn to the night like presages of events most dreadful. Shanay positioned to Arthur’s right. Wolf sat to his left and Adam had taken a spot to Shanay’s right.

  They had easily picked up the trail from the slight knowledge that Crabwell had of events, as he knew them. Scralz’s wagons left the faintest rut in the dry dirt and then a heavier groove as they left the road and traveled across the landscape. Arthur, Shanay and Wolf had trailed so many people in their lives, they had not needed to dismount and check the trail, though they did take time in a couple of places to point out telltales to Adam.

  As they approached the campsite, Arthur ordered Blade to stealth. The others had followed suit, and to Artex’s credit, he stuck to the routine outlined as though he had choreographed the entire sequence many times. He patted Blade gently on his thick neck,
feeling a fatherly pride that Adam and Artex had taken well to their new lifestyle. Shanay had carried nothing but good words to Arthur’s ears about Adam’s conduct, and the incident at Ploor had settled in and rooted. The lad would be with them for as long as he chose. A vacuum that Arthur had never acknowledged to be empty had been filled.

  Away from the camp, Arthur climbed down and whispered a brief command to the horse. Blade nodded, but did not snort, as he was prone to do. Arthur crept forward toward the Templar commander.

  Anthony stooped over a hole in the ground, not something that surprised Arthur in this territory and certainly not since he had met Crabwell. What Scralz was up to, however, remained a mystery. Not wishing to give her chance to bound away, Arthur moved catlike through the night, past the two wagons, and wrapped a hand around Anthony’s sword arm, clasped a hand over Anthony’s mouth and hauled him backward. Their struggle remained brief, as Anthony realized who had taken him.

  “I will not harm you,” Arthur whispered.

  Recognizing Arthur’s coarse whisper, Anthony relaxed and Arthur released his comrade while he signaled the others to come forward. Blade led the way.

  “What in the name of stubbornness are you two doing?” Arthur inquired.

  Anthony looked sheepish. “She wasn’t happy with your decision. She has her own plan. She’s clearing a path to the river to float these barrels.”

  Arthur nodded comprehension and suggested they wait until she was finished. “Who knows? She may get tired and come out on her own. She might be less—grouchy that way.”

  Shanay argued that point, suggesting that she call Scralz out and talk to her, but Arthur did not want that.

  “I have to square this with her,” he explained, and Shanay acquiesced.

  After a while, a call came from the tunnel. “Anthony?”

  She did not appear, but soon after, she called again. When he did not reply, she came out to find the five of them waiting.

  “Sorry, Scralz,” Anthony said, standing near the wagon. “I didn’t hear them coming.”