by Ben Stivers
“You!”
Arthur raised his sword, unafraid to face a demon. He had killed his share.
“Step away, Shanay,” he said.
Shanay, however, was not to be set aside. “Not on your life.”
Before Arthur could move, however, Scralz grabbed Belial’s spear from behind with both hands and yanked. Surprised by the arrogance, Belial nearly lost her grip. Rather than fight for her hold, however, she abandoned the spear, letting Scralz snatch it away. Then, in her own turn, grabbed Scralz by the neck and lifted her from the ground. “Pathetic beast.”
Anthony, however, dodged in under Scralz’s dangling feet and chopped mercilessly into Belial’s right leg. The demon remained unfazed. Anthony drew back to chop at her face, but staggered away and then collapsed in the dirt as Belial’s right wingtip pierced his chest. With a snarl, she squeezed Scralz’s neck, finding it much harder to crush the half-troll’s bones than she anticipated.
Arthur leveled his sword, but a black flash passed him. With a resounding crack, Scralz lay face down in the dirt, while Belial found herself in the blood and guts of the street, lying on her back. Nearly instantly, she regained her feet with the aid of her wings pressing her back up. She cast about for what had the power to attack her.
“You!” she raged, pointing at a satisfied Blade, snorting, prancing and then rearing up to smash his hooves against her face.
Out of position, Arthur shouted at him, but the horse had finally had enough of restraint. Arthur closed the distance. Belial dodged Blade’s striking hooves.
Arthur’s sword came around, but Belial called her spear back to her. The two weapons slammed together with the sound of the gates of Heaven crashing shut. Belial stepped back and examined Arthur with her golden eyes.
“Bow to me,” she growled toward Arthur as Blade positioned for another strike, “or I will kill everyone that you love.”
“You are not leaving here,” Arthur said as he circled her, moving toward Blade. This battle could as well be fought on horseback.
Belial feinted toward him and Arthur poised to strike, but Belial leapt back and into the air with a flap of her wings, then swept left and up the street. Shanay slashed with her sword as the demon reached her and the two collided. The blow rendered Shanay unconscious and her sword flew away. Adam, reacting, drew his bow and released one and then a second arrow, striking Belial in the back. Spinning, she nearly grabbed him with her wings, but before she could reach him, Famine stood between them to shield the lad.
Belial had no time to react. Her wingtips pierced Famine through the chest and his eyes widened for an instant and then the force that had been behind them faded and he slumped to the ground, his sword still half drawn.
Grabbing the unconscious Shanay by the back of her armor, Belial flew high into the air. Both Adam and Templars drew back arrows.
“No!” Arthur shouted. “You could hit Shanay!”
Belial taunted, “I will keep her, Bornshire. I will torment her every day. I will make what Mrandor did to Aerilius look like child’s play. Hell will relish the agony I set upon her. Come and get her if you are brave enough. Come, before I grow weary of her.”
With a tilt of her wings, she turned toward Overlord City and soared away.
Adam ran to Arthur’s side. “How will we catch them?”
Arthur dropped his sword into the dirt, arms wide, he gazed into the sky, fell to his knees and cried out his misery.
Chapter 26
The Circle of the New Elders gathered around what remained of the Tree of Pain and sorrowed for what had been done to their land. Convincing the forest to let the druids work their will on behalf of each surviving tree, and all of the creatures that lived within their good graces, had not been an uncomplicated task. The forest had been here when Leet’s oldest ancestors drew up out of the dirt. To them, the druids were infants. Still, in the end, they receded and waited.
It had taken the druids weeks to sort through the intricacies of the half-undone spell to prepare to force the Tree of Pain back into the stone. Only then could the world begin to heal. Through it all, Leet led his people.
What had become of the necromancer, Mrandor, or Joanie and her husband, only the trees knew. They had been the only witness and they refused to tell. Maybe someday the forest would decide Leet, his fellow druids, and the people that they protected could be trusted to know such secrets, but this was not that day.
“What of the Bornshire woman, Leet?” Alpein asked. “Have you found any traces of her or Octavus?”
“None,” Leet replied. “You say Octavus left you and attacked the enemy upon the plain—and she was there?”
“It is the last we saw of either of them. We were more concerned with our people at the time. Perhaps that was wrong.”
Leet considered that. The Bornshires had sired Elders for generations, but they had left during Daemon’s time. Leet understood why Daemon had taken his family into Rome, not just for vengeance as he claimed, but for the honor of all of the true citizens of Britannia.
“The air is rife with magic both pure and tainted. We found blood on the grass—someone was mortally wounded. If the Bornshires perished in the battle, their deaths will not go unspoken in our tales, Alpein. Until their bodies are found, however, let us not count them among those gone to the Wheel. If, someday, they should return, we will welcome them as one of our own. That was my mistake and mine alone.”
He laid his hand upon the Tree of Pain and felt the sickness as sharply as a burning ember in his eye. Quietly, he constructed the spell that sent the blasphemy back into the earth.
Only then did the trees relent to sleep.
Crabwell let the citizens of Hellsgate leave the Downs, but detained Arthur for a short discussion. “They still don’t know of the underground,” Crabwell said. “Keep it that way.”
“If that is what you want.”
“It is.” Arthur nodded and started to walk away. “Wait.” He turned. “Your daughter—she had visions while I tended her. Talked in her sleep. A lot like you that way, but different stuff.”
“Such as?”
Crabwell shrugged. “I am not a learned man like you, but she frightens me, Bornshire. You slept while you recovered. I can only surmise she did as well in her own way, but she never closed her eyes—not ever. Sometimes, she spoke to people I could not see. Armageddon, Arthur. She used that word a lot. What does it mean?”
Arthur nodded slightly. “Let us hope we do not find out. Is that all?”
Crabwell shook his head, led Arthur to an empty porch and sat down. Arthur sat next to him. “Don’t come back here. We have involved ourselves enough.”
“Evil has a way of not caring what you want, Crabwell.”
“While you are damned near a war-in-a-sack, Bornshire, you are not quite. I warn you, do not come back here. You have worn thin your welcome. That is the group talking, not necessarily me.”
“So we are friends you and I?”
Crabwell replied, “I’m an old man. I cannot afford to be your friend. I like living too much. People die around you like Rumbar or disappear like Shanay. Are you going to search for her?”
“I am,” Arthur replied.
“I will lend you a scout, a damned good one too. That is as much as I can do and I do it for your wife, not you. Scralz was nearly killed. With Anthony gone, I am unsure what she might do.”
Arthur understood Crabwell’s rebuke. In his zeal to drive the threat from Hellsgate more of his loved ones and friends had suffered and died. “I tried to keep Scralz out of the thick of this. I just want you to know that. She would not hear of it.”
“Doesn’t surprise me, Arthur, but it doesn’t change the circumstance, does it? A captain does not order his men off a sinking ship and then watch them stay. He makes his decisions and the crew obeys.”
With that, he urged his creaky knees up from the porch and walked away. Arthur strolled thoughtfully back to the tavern.
Later that afternoon,
he stood in the middle of Pagan’s Way. The vendors had already returned to haggling and Hellsgate put back on its irrefutable stucco of just another town, as though days before blood and gore had not garnished its streets.
Repair had begun on the buildings that burned after the explosions. Where all the wood came from, he did not know, nor inquire. None of it looked new. Bloodstains remained in the dirt and would probably stay there until the next hard rain.
Standing in the middle of the road, he recounted the unstoried battles he had fought upon its flatness. Two years after Cleola’s death, he had returned to Hellsgate on this road. He had clashed with the Apostles here, killed them. He had hunted Necros upon this street. He had met both Scralz and Shanay. Had saved a friend from the Romans on this street. Had burned Anthony’s pyre upon this street. Perhaps this road truly led to the gates of Hell.
Or protects the gates of Heaven, came the returned thought to his mind.
Maybe.
He stood next to the ashes where Anthony’s pyre had burned and considered his next move. Ptolomus reported activity in the Valley of Wizard’s Tower. Shanay had been taken to only-God-knew where by Belial and God was mute. The Horsemen had delivered on both of their favors, lost one of their members, and no doubt thought that he owed them. If he did, they had not returned to claim their due.
He could not dismiss them if they happened to charge him in the future. Asking Thanatos for more help would prove fruitless.
“Thinking?” the raspy voice of Wolf asked.
Arthur reached up and examined Wolf’s bruised face. “Looks like it hurts. Damn, are you getting old?”
“Nah,” Wolf replied. “Just too much to drink last night. We’re going after Shanay, right?”
“Trying to decide what we need to do next.”
“We go get her and kill that bitch, Belial.”
“That is your plan?”
“You have a better one?”
Adam came around the corner of the street from the alley with Blade, Artex, and Wolf’s stallion in tow. Blade had been particularly cranky since the battle. Arthur took Blade’s reins from Adam reached them.
“I wish I did, Wolf, but my first duty is to Shanay,” Arthur replied. “God can tend to Himself if need be, but I think even He would want me to find her.”
“Where do we begin? She could be anywhere.”
“I have asked Him to give me direction,” Arthur replied. “Hopefully, He will answer. If Shanay were here, she would say that I must be patient—wait on the Lord.”
Wolf harrumphed, “Yes, doing what Shanay says and patience are your two strongest suits.”
Arthur tried to muster a smile and then looked up as he heard the approach of horses from the head of Pagan’s Way. The standard-bearer carried the crest of Nerva and Overlord City. Behind him, the Captain of the Army rode, flanked by his seconds. Beyond them, the dust that rose near the horizon announced that an army followed.
“Now what?” Wolf asked.
Arthur’s mouth drew down to a thin line. Shoving a foot into his stirrup, he gained the saddle, steeled his face, and put his hand on his sword.
“Seems we have direction. You and Adam saddle up and spread out. This is about to be interesting.”
THE END