Belial - Episode 1 of the Elder Bornshire Chronicles

by Ben Stivers

  Famine watched until the last of them vanished into the tunnels and then he prayed, “Lord, forgive me if what I have done does not please you.”

  If all went to plan, Belial would hunt the Horsemen until the end of time or until either she was dead, or until they were. The Horsemen, however, would never retreat.

  Chapter 25

  In Hellsgate, the disgruntled residents completed their evacuation into the Downs under the careful eye of Crabtree’s unseen guards. Anthony and Wolf rousted the local Templars from their barracks and deployed them to the rooftops while Arthur and his party drew into the Dead Whore Tavern for a last counsel.

  “I would feel better about this if Ptolomus and his men were here,” Wolf remarked and Arthur nodded without stating the obvious. Ptolomus had not even been summoned, and chances were, he had his hands full protecting the estate.

  “Hot enough to fry bacoun out there,” Scralz muttered while she and Anthony pushed together two tables so all of them could gather around.

  Arthur produced a parchment and charcoal and sketched an intricate explanation of his plan. Already Scralz's barrels lined both sides of the street to the edge of town, but if things went well, they would not be needed. He went through each step, each person’s part, looked at last to the three Templar sub-commanders who nodded that they understood. At last, with questions answered, Arthur ended, “This will work. Not pretty, but if this all comes together, the Alones and Snipes will be gone.”

  He gazed across the table at Shanay and she returned his look with a wink, unfazed by what they were about to face.

  “I have seen worse odds,” Wolf commented. He tipped back in his chair and Scralz swatted at his head to force him back to four legs.

  “You break enough of them as it is,” she groused. “I’m not sure my idea wasn’t just as good. At least I was only getting myself killed.”

  Arthur noticed Adam’s eyes slant toward Scralz and the lad looked visibly tense. “Pay no attention to her, Adam,” Arthur remarked. “Believe it or not, this is her agreeable side. Usually, she is more cynical.”

  Scralz turned her eye on Adam and said, “Don’t mind me. Your mother won’t let him do something too stupid.” Under her breath, but loud enough everyone could hear, “Then again, she stays with him—that says something about her lack of sanity.”

  Shanay grinned at Adam and patted his forearm.

  “So, are we settled then?” Arthur asked, but suddenly the air between them and the bar shimmered. War and Famine both materialized.

  Arthur, Wolf, and Shanay came to their feet and Adam, realizing something had run amiss, stood slowly and turned toward where their gaze had gone.

  “Put more tables together,” Famine ordered.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the Horseman known as War boomed, “Now!”

  Anthony and Scralz bounded from their chairs and pushed the next two closest tables together as the air shimmered once more. Pestilence entered with Octavus draped over his shoulder. As his appearance registered, Thanatos appeared with Joanie in his arms.

  On the table where Arthur had sat only moments before, Thanatos laid Joanie down like a feather on the breeze. Presumably, Pestilence had done the same with Octavus, but Arthur’s attention had latched onto his daughter. From shoulder to her waist, a diagonal slash cut deep. Her eyes were slits and blood oozed from her mouth.

  “It was Mrandor and a demon,” Joanie gasped and her consciousness slipped away.

  Arthur doused her with thin magic, closing her minor wounds and abrasions in a twinkling sparkle of azure fire. A strange spell inherited from his mother, pushed forward, surprising him but staunching the blood loss. She moaned as Arthur brushed her tangled hair from her face.

  “Scralz! I need Crabwell.

  “He won’t come out of the Downs,” she said. “Not now. How can you expect him to?”

  Shanay read first the prolific concern on Arthur’s face and then the footnote of surprise as he cast his thin magic. She had seen his magic. It was mostly combative. The aura around the spell felt different, older, seasoned. She drew bandages from her belt and handed a fist full to Adam. “Put pressure anywhere that bleeds.”

  Adam complied without question, but there were dozens scattered around his face.

  Arthur turned his attention to Thanatos, “You have not taken her. Tell me she will not die.”

  Thanatos drew his lips together, his human visage his selected presentation. “I am neither god nor prophet. Do not ask me.”

  Arthur’s agitation surged to flush his face, but his tone held level. “I need an act of goodwill from you.”

  “You incur a significant debt, Bornshire,” Pestilence warned. He had chosen a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in his forties, but his voice still held a maggot-ridden timbre.

  “You talk to me of debts after all that I have given?”

  Famine held up a hand to hush anyone from talking and he did so forcefully. No one could converse until he granted it.

  “Speak your mind, Bornshire, but be quick. Your previous ask of us is about to make itself known.”

  “Take my daughter and her husband to Crabwell.”

  “He does not know us,” Thanatos replied.

  “Make him know you.”

  Thanatos nodded and lifted Joanie in his arms. Pestilence hoisted Octavus as the floor began to tremble.

  “May the confrontation you sought become you,” Famine said and the Horsemen vanished with their charges.

  Weeks had passed while Raliax waited for the army to be ready. They had not marched since he had come to command and he had left the preparations to Ham, the most seasoned soldier in his ranks. There were logistics—food, water, marching assignments, runners, cook wagons—all had to be in place and each role well-defined for cross-country travel before the army could step outside of the walls. If not, all could be chaos.

  At last, Ham had sent word that he would come to Raliax’s quarters for a pre-march meeting. Thankfully, Nerva had not been seen since the last time that he had summoned Raliax. In the intervening time, Raliax felt as though he walked through a field of sword tips, waiting for him to trip so that his blood could quench their thirst.

  The thought of the frightening Death Handlers hauling him away in one of their wagons unnerved him as it did much of the population. Nerva’s declarations had taken their toll on the morale of not only the civilians, but also the army itself. Even the most hardened of his soldiers balked at putting the floundering civilian populace to task. The labor progressed, but it slowed and what good would that wall serve if no one remained to live behind it? The influx of raw recruits drained the time of his experienced troops. Having warm bodies to fill ranks did not equal having an experienced military.

  A rap on the door was followed by a turning of the latch and Ham entered. “Captain, the army is prepared to march.”

  “How many?”

  “More than four hundred. I know you wanted more, but the years have not been good to us, Raliax. This is all that we have. I assigned the augments and regulars half-and-half. We cannot leave the city empty of muster and the work must still be supervised.”

  Raliax wished he could deride Ham, but not because of Ham himself. To the contrary, the situation laid no fault on the soldier, but a ruler who would not listen to reason. Hellsgate might acquiesce to annexation. After all, they had no military, but to what end? Compared to Overlord City, there were few enough residents. Not enough to pay tribute worthy of the trip or bodies enough to repair another gate.

  “Confound me,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  He waggled a hand at Ham. “Go. Prepare your own men. We will march at first light. Hellsgate must comply, I suppose.” Ham stared forward with words perched on his mouth, but Raliax was in no mood to hear them. “You are dismissed, Ham—and Ham? I hope this will not be a problem for you.”

  Ham stood long enough to say yes or no, but said nothing. Instead, he swept back through the door and qu
ietly closed it.

  As the others assumed their positions, Arthur took a moment to discuss the upcoming battle with Blade, who had taken his customary place at the back of the alley outside of the tavern. Unlike most times, he fidgeted.

  “This battle is not for you, my friend,” Arthur assured him. “It is a street fight, not our usual fare.” Blade snorted and shook his head, but Arthur remained firm. “I will be back.”

  Pawing the ground, Blade remained where he was told and Arthur rejoined the group on the deserted broadness of Pagan’s Way. Sounds of Snipes and Alones emanated from the sewers. They were making no effort to hide their approach.

  He and Shanay took the center of the street and the lead while Adam and Wolf took the left side, Adam closest to Shanay. Anthony and Scralz took the right flank. From there, Anthony could direct the rooftop Templars if the need arose to change plan midstream. Scralz carried one of Sab’s anvil hammers in each hand. Arthur glanced her way, taking in the hammers and she shrugged good-naturedly.

  “Shanay,” Arthur asked, walking up the street. “Is this what you had in mind when you said we should get back into the world?”

  “If this were our last battle, Arthur, I would choose no other place than your side.”

  He drew his sword and halted before they reached the first sewer drain. Gideon had given him miraculous weapon to kill Lucifer, but he had not returned to claim it when that war ended. Whatever politics ruled in heaven, he doubted he would ever understand God’s motives. The screeches that echoed from that orifice detailed all he needed to know.

  The Snipes reached the daylight ahead of the Alones and sprang out into the dim day as though light and dark had no meaning. That surprised Arthur. He had not considered that Famine’s spell might yield creatures undaunted by sunlight.

  When half a dozen clambered onto the street, unwavering Templar arrows sprang from the rooftops that hedged the street. Three Snipes were struck in the head or the neck and staggered to their knees. The rest suffered torso shots. They howled at the rooftops as others poured forth.

  Arthur lunged into the skirmish, hoping that the Templars would exercise enough good sense to be discriminating in their target selection and not revert to a curtain of wood.

  A Snipe sprang onto the street, took a breath to size Arthur up, and then swiped at him with a honed claw. Before it could draw back the outstretched arm, Arthur nimbly cleaved it, the sword doing what it was designed to do, destroy the ungodly. With a ferocious bite, it champed on his sword, but Arthur’s dexterity was greater than the Alone. He drew the blade up, chopping its head from the inside of the top jaw through the skull and out of its ears.

  Gore and broken teeth splashed onto Arthur’s face and gloves. Mentally, he thanked Crabwell for his new armor. Another Alone came from behind the first one and leapt into the air to descend on Arthur with arms open wide. Arthur rammed a stout boot into the creature’s chest, a decided soft spot that caved in from the explosive wallop. Around them, the sewers belched dozens of creatures and the current grew with each passing moment.

  Shanay caught a Snipe through the neck as it tried to bite Arthur in the shoulder and the beast spun around, trying to wrench her sword from her grasp. She clung to it, shoved her boots into the dirt and heaved downward. The blade slashed through the Snipe’s shoulder blade. Diverted by the shoulder’s bone, the sharp steel proceeded into the beast’s midsection. Taking advantage of the moment, she stepped forward and heaved a second time, slashing through the thing. Lacking cohesion, it slumped to the ground with a gurgle.

  An Alone stalked her from a distance then charged in a movement almost too quick to see. Templar arrows struck it as it sprang. One punctured the area above the mouth where a clouded eye existed. The second struck the tail and pinned it to the street. Distracted, the creature flopped to the ground. Shanay dodged and severed its head. The creature folded in on itself, turning to an orange goop.

  Despite the arrows from the rooftops, the street continued back up with a river of living sickness as the creatures continued to exit the Labyrinth.

  Adam centered himself and pushed away the finality of the situation. The monsters that spewed out of the sewer, though slightly more hideous than the ones that had slain his first parents, were the same ilk. They would not slay his second parents.

  As an Alone exuded out of the sewer, Adam allowed his rage to take him. He swung his sword with considerable dexterity. A slim and silent line, the contact felt as one did gutting a hog with a sharp knife. He had done that at his time at the butcher’s shop, an occupation that had numbed him to the sight of blood. What poured out of the thing, however, looked nothing like blood, but more like purulence from an infected wound. He recoiled, and brought his sword around laterally as the Alone twisted toward him with bristling teeth. The blade cut through the outer skin, then the circle of teeth, sending them scattering about the street. The thing fell forward. Adam drove his blade through the top of the beast down into the dirt, then he ripped the blade toward him, hewing.

  Whether the thing was dead or not, he could not surmise. It still jittered, but he had wrecked its ability to bite. Leaving it, he pressed forward to engage another, all thoughts of fear gone as he slipped into the envelope of battle, a wake of dead Alones in his path.

  Wolf killed a second, and then a third Alone while vaguely aware that Adam was merely a step or two behind, but well out of Wolf’s sword range. Both hands wielding his shorter swords, he felt the comfortable familiarity of battle settle into him. Although the creatures in the street outnumbered the smaller band, were they taken by themselves, the Templars on the rooftop were dishing out their own personal doses of death to the enemy from the safety of their perches. Not for a moment did he wish he were with them. Here in the street with Arthur was where he belonged.

  About the street, sparks crackled. Alones and Snipes had been set on fire by small sacks of oil attached to the Templars arrows. Arthur killed any that came within reach, but spent most of his time stalking and killing the ones that got through the arrow storm.

  Shanay maintained a two-step pace behind him, killing a path through the horde as she went. Where Scralz and Anthony were, he had not time to discern, but he had seen both Adam and Wolf battling Alones on the far side of the street.

  Only after he had killed more than a dozen of the repulsive things, did one get through to claw him. An Alone raked his leg through his calf and blood welled quickly on his pants.

  “Do not stumble,” his mind warned. “Do not stumble.”

  Sensing a kill, the Alone circled him, waiting for Arthur to misstep, but Arthur turned warily, realizing that his back presented to the oncoming herd of beasties. The Alone stretched itself out and hissed with a growl for good measure. Arthur stopped his turn and mocked the thing. Caught by his brashness, the creature hesitated, then gasped as Shanay’s sword slashed it into two pieces. It collapsed.

  Satisfied, Shanay commenced a close quarter encounter with an Alone that had tried to suck her into its mouth. Her sword struck through the lip and then, as the creature tried to reconstitute its stand, the top half of it fell away, cloven.

  With a clean line of dead creatures in front of them, the beasts had finished gorging the street. Arthur’s group had managed to dam up the flow, pooling the beasts between the barrels on the street. Arthur waved a hand to Anthony who had fought his way clear to the stable.

  Scralz stood between the two of them bashing two Alones together until they looked more like flasks of ale.

  Anthony’s shout went out and his arm flew up in a signal. As one, the Templars notched flame-tipped arrows to their bowstrings and fired into the barrels that lined the streets, flanking the Alones and Snipes.

  “Get down!” he ordered, no small command, being he was asking his family and comrades to abandon a superior position for a lesser.

  Shanay hit the dirt as he did while Wolf shoved Adam in between two buildings and followed him closely behind.

  For a momen
t, Arthur thought that perhaps his idea might not have been a good one as the pitch outside of the barrels caught fire and simply burned. Before he could turn his head toward Scralz to register his doubt, the barrels exploded in a small detonation that blew apart Snipes and Alones en masse, and then a second larger explosion on the opposite side of the street shredded the monsters into tatters of gore and sending Arthur into the air to land on his back, stunned.

  Before that concussion settled, a massive ignition rocked the foundation of Hellsgate, blasting holes into the sides of buildings and a small crater that crossed Pagan’s Way.

  Shaking off the stun, Arthur climbed to his feet, surveying the destruction. Some of the buildings were on fire and the Templars already moved to create a fire line. Bits of black brain, broken teeth, bones and blood covered him, Shanay, Wolf and Adam. Adam’s eyes had matured by years. Yet, his expression looked as if he had chopped a cord of wood instead of monsters.

  “Still with us?” Arthur asked.

  “I am,” Adam said. Arthur nodded. Shanay confirmed that though lacerations and bruises were her closest friends, she would live to see the dawn.

  “Worse than stomping roaches,” Wolf remarked, wiping the gore off his arms. Around him, Alones and Snipes lay hewn like a forest devastated by a greedy woodsman. “There must have been what, eighty?”

  “Enough of them,” Shanay said, but another sight caught her attention from the sky. “Arthur, what is—?”

  Rupturing the air, Belial crashed into the street with a ferocity that paled Arthur’s attack on the Alones and Snipes. Wolf charged in, but Belial’s left wing tossed him like an insignificant stone into the side of the tanner’s building. The wall gave, but not enough. He slumped to the ground. Spear in hand, she swung about on Arthur.