Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION

  Virgil Debique

  Copyright 2018

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any

  manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of

  brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  First Printing: 2018

  ISBN 978-0-244-98067-2

  www.virgildebique.com

  Authors Note

  To all the readers, this is a preview of my upcoming novel Angel of Destruction. If you enjoyed this,

  then please let me know. You can find me on Facebook and Twitter and via my website. I hope you

  enjoy it and are eagerly awaiting the rest of it, which will soon be available.

  Chapter 1

  He was sure that he had a name, but no matter how hard he thought he could not bring it to the

  front of his mind. Is that not always the way? He thought to himself. When you try too hard to

  remember something it eludes you, but when your mindis pointed in a different direction, the

  thought creeps back up to you, tries to catch you unawares, then you can snatch it up and remember.

  When you try too hard, the thought knows this and stays far enough away that you cannot grasp it

  fully, it is still there but more like a shadow, a ghost of a memory that you once knew.

  He stood looking out of the window at the vast crater in the ground below the city but then turned

  back to what brought him here. The room was bare apart from two wooden chairs. The walls were

  made of large stone blocks. Looking at them he wondered how much magic was needed to keep

  them in place so high from the ground. The floor was smooth stone and sat in the middle on one of

  the two chairs, was a stout man with thinning black hair and a thick-set face. He was a pale

  creature, but his current predicament had him bright red in the face and sweating profusely. It

  was not a good day to be him.

  “It matters not who I am. You are one of the Voices, and I need information,” said the Man in White

  as he looked down at the sweating figure of a man.

  “But please, if you untie me, then I can think better, and I can help you. I want to help you,” pleaded

  the man. “If someone wanted me dead, then I would be. I would not have seen your face. So, that

  means I can help you find what you are looking for. If you would untie me then we can come to an

  accord and both go about our business.”

  The Man in White moved back to the window looking out again at the marvellous city. He

  sometimes wished he could have a normal life, be like the people in the city and enjoy simple

  things. Maybe if he could remember his name he could be a different person. No, that was not his

  destiny that lay on a completely different path. A path he would be walking alone.

  “All I want to know is the name of the Angel that frequents this world. You are a voice of Angels;

  you speak with them and are respected by them so you will know of the one I speak. Give me his

  name and then I will be on my way,” the Man in White said in dreamy voice as he looked longingly

  at the world around him.

  “I will need to consult with others. I am not sure which is the one you are looking for,” the stout

  man was beginning to panic.

  When he awoke that morning, it had been like any other day. He had turned to find his maid in the

  bed next to him, dried blood on the pillow from when he had hit during his moment of ecstasy.

  Now, barely time for supper and he was tied to a chair in a room high up in one of the castles. He

  knew the futility of trying to call for help, for this part of the castle was no longer used. His only

  chance was to try and negotiate with the assassin.

  “From what I have heard about your kind, you already know which Angel I seek, so delaying will not help you. From here it looks like you only have two options. The first is to give me the name of

  the one I seek and the second is not to give me the name. The choice is yours.”

  “What sort of a choice is that?” the stout man cried.

  “What is your name?”

  “My name is Aram, and I am a Voice to the Angels.” Aram replied, trying to puff out his chest. It was

  useless, he had been tied here for over an hour, and he was starting to feel hungry. For someone of

  his stature, being tied to a chair and refused any food, it was unheard of, a sacrilegeand it was

  clearly a situation he had never found himself in before.

  “Aram, I require this information from you, but you are not obliged to give it. If you wish to be loyal

  to the Angels, then I will find another Voice who is willing to betray the one Angel that I want,” the

  Man in White said as he sat in the only other chair in the room.

  They faced each other, Aram trying not to look into those deep black eyes. They just did not seem

  real, but there was a depth to them, and he almost felt like he was drowning. After a few moments,

  the Man in White stood and moved back over to the window.

  There was something about Elysia that had always enchanted him. While he had heard stories

  about the city before, no story could capture the magic of the place itself. The only way to truly

  appreciate the city was to visit it.

  Forgetting about Aram for the moment, he stood staring out at the city again. One story he had

  heard told of a group of magicians that were ful of self-importance and believed there was no one

  greater than themselves. Wanting to be physically as wel as mentally superior to all, they had

  raised the city from the land and using all their power combined created an invisible barrier

  between the ground and the now floating city. For all time Elysia would belong in the skies above

  the peasants, a testament to the inhabitants social standing in the world.

  Looking down from the city, one could still see the large crater that had been left when it had risen

  to a higher standing, and it was a good days walk around to get to the other side, not to mention

  far too deep for anyone to try and climb down.

  He liked this story, the very idea that a group of people who thought that they were the best that

  not only society had to offer but the best the world had to offer. While all cities and countries had

  people like this, noble aristocrats with wealth beyond imagination, these magicians had gone a

  step further than building a palace away from the poorer areas. They had built a city away from

  everyone, and the only way to enter the city was with by proving your worth.

  While he stared out at the marvel that was Elysia, he realised his mind was wandering again. It had

  been doing this more and more lately. Was he becoming something different? Was he becoming

  more human? He dismissed these as flights of fancy and turned back to Aram, who looked like he

  was going to pass out. Picking up his bag from below the window, he took out a smal flask and

  unstoppered it, offering it up to Aram who gulped it down like he had never tasted water before.

  “I know what you are Aram, I know your perversions, I’ve seen the results on the faces of the

  woman you force into bed,” the Man in White began, holding up his hand preventing Aram from

  defending himself. “You cannot deny what I know. I have no feelings towards what you do, but I do

  know that no one will miss you if something were to happen to you.”

  “Please, please… I will help you, let me help you!” Aram cried. “I just need a couple of hours to find

&nbs
p; the one you want.”

  Normally he would not let his prey go, but something outside was calling to him, and he wanted to

  answer that call. While this went against everything he knew and had been trained for, he decided

  to release Aram and see what the little man was going to do. Even though he knew this was not the

  best thing to do, it would lead to a fatal mistake for Aram.

  “I will give you two hours to find the name of the one I seek. Do not try and hide because I will find

  you.”

  The Man in White picked up his bag, took out his knife and cut the rope binding Aram’s hands and

  then left the room. Aram sat there rubbing the burns on his wrists before finding the strength to

  get up and walk slowly and quietly to the door. All the doors in the castle were made from a dark

  solid wood that was so heavy it took Aram a moment to pull the door open. As it opened, the hinge

  creaked a little, and he shrank back into the room, fearing the assassin was waiting for him

  outside.

  When he was sure there was no one stalking the hallway outside the room, Aram quickly stepped

  through the door and made his way for the spiral staircase that led down to the main part of the

  castle.

  ***

  Aram made his way straight to his rooms, of which there were many. Being a Voice to the Angels

  meant that not only was he a magician, but he had the added prestige of being born with the

  ability to speak with the Angels. This extra level of arrogance afforded him luxuries others could

  only dream of, and it put him above the law in Elysia, a fact that he took great pleasure in.

  His rooms were in the south wing of the castle he held been held captive in, and it took too long for

  him to get there, but once he arrived there, Kravol and his Elysian guards came running over to

  him.

  “Sir, we have been looking everywhere for you,” the guard said as he caught up to Aram.

  “Covel heard a commotion. He tried shoutin’ yer name, but nothing. By the time he broke down the

  door, yerwere gone,” Kravoll said in a gruff voice.

  Aram ordered the guard to get more men, to fill the corridor leading to his rooms if he had to, but

  under no circumstances was anyone to get into his rooms. When he had first moved here, he had

  purposefully chosen this apartment suite for the simple fact that there was only one main door.

  While for each of the eight rooms inside, anyone wanting to enter had to first go through this door

  and past the guards. Once he was satisfied there would be enough men, he opened the door that

  led to his lavishly decorated audience chamber where he received his guests.

  “We have a problem Kravoll,” Aram said as he ushered Kravol into the room and then made his

  way to his throne while Kravoll locked the door. While he was not of royal blood, Aram’s position

  was akin to a King’s, and like everything else, he indulged. His throne was made from an ancient

  metal from a land that had been long lost to legend. No one knew where he got the methir from to

  make the throne and the fact he refused to tell anyone added to the mystery surrounding him and

  made some people see him as something more than he was.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “There is an assassin loose in Elysia, and he seems fixated on me. He thinks that I will betray an

  Angel and has given me two hours to find the one he wants.”

  “You are right; we do have a problem. I will call for my men,” said Kravoll as he opened the door to

  the room. Leaning out, he whispered to one of the guards who immediately put his weapon down

  and went running down the corridor.

  Aram was of a sadistic nature and gained great pleasure from the torture of others. While he was

  above the law of the city, there were still those who wanted to see him punished, even executed.

  For this reason and this reason alone, he had hired The Untamed. NormallyKravoll and his kind

  would not be allowed near Elysia and would be killed if they laid a foot on its sacred ground, but

  Aram was above the law, and he paid officials not to pursue the matter.

  Kravoll was a master at what he did, killing. He and his men were all several hands taller than

  Aram and almost as wide, but where Aram indulged too much and gained weight, The Untamed

  fought and killed, honing both their muscles and their skills. Their heads were all shaven apart

  from a small knot of hair on the top, which was bound with cord. The same cord was wrapped

  tightly around their biceps accentuating their muscles.

  Just looking at them repulsed Aram, but his life was more important to him, and most of the time

  he could ignore them. They were being paid handsomely to be where he needed them, but not to

  interfere with his life. This had been how the Man in White he caught him.

  Aram had just visited one of the many women he deemed worthy of his body. When he was

  feeding his impulses, his urges, he refused to have anyone else in the room and so, this had given

  the assassin the opportunity to capture him. He had been taken by surprise, while he was

  vulnerable and his hands had been tied and a cloth forced into his mouth. This had prevented him

  from defending himself using magic, and he had been taken from the room to where the assassin

  was interrogating him.

  He sat in his throne drinking a glass of wine while he waited for more of Kravoll’s men to arrive.

  While he sat there, he thought about everything that had happened and of the implications. Why

  was there an assassin looking for an Angel? What would happen if he betrayed the Angels? He

  dismissed the last question almost instantly for he knew what would happen. The price for

  betrayal was the same in any realm. Death.

  “I hope your men are up to the task Kravoll?” Aram asked as he took another sip of the sweet

  wine. “I need to tell the Angels what has happened here, but before I do that, we need to resolve

  the problem.”

  “There’ll be ten more of The Untamed here shortly. It matters not how good he is; he will be no

  match for my men and me, I have ten of the best with me. When he comes for you, we will be

  ready.”

  ***

  After leaving Aram sat in the chair, but no longer bound, the Man in White made his way to the end

  of the hallway outside the room and into another empty room. In here it was much the same as the

  one he had just left, no furniture and nothing adorning any of the walls. The floor was the same

  solid rock, and the walls were the same large square blocks of solid stone.

  There was no window in this room, so when the door closed he struggled to see clearly, still, he

  knew exactly where he was going. The Man in White walked over to the far wall and reached out

  his right hand. He lightly traced the stone blocks with his fingers until he found what he was

  looking for. Pushing against the rock, there was a small click, and part of the wall swung inwards

  on hidden hinges revealing a dark, musty passageway.

  Holding his palm out in front of him, the air around him stilled, the breeze that was coming

  through the passage stopped, and a pinprick of a light appeared in the air several inches above his

  hand. It was a soft white light, and even though it was only small, the strength he needed to create

  it was evident on his face. The light grew into a small ball not much bigger than his fist, more than

  enough light to see by and he extended out his hand, the orb of light floati
ng out in front of him to

  guide the way.

  While he was not a magician, he had found that he could control the energy around him to a smal

  extent. Everything in the world moves, they move because they have energy. By tapping into this

  energy, he could absorb it and convert it into another form such as light or heat. While it was a

  relatively simple procedure, he was not a magician, and the sweat was running down the side of his

  face, but he knew he had to move quickly.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he willed the light to move down the tunnel, and the door closed

  behind him causing a rush of air to pass his neck, the hairs standing on end. He quickly walked

  down the stairs following the light and before long; he was at a dead end. A stone wall stood in

  front of him blocking the way. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the energy from the orb of light and

  then let it diffuse, the air around him warming slightly.

  Holding his hand out in front of him, so he didn’t walk into the wall and make a noise, he guided

  himself closer, and as before, his fingers scanned the wall in front of him until he found a small

  metal ring about head height.

  Pulling the ring, a small cylindrical piece of rock slid out, and he could see into the room on the

  other side of the wall. As he thought, there was no one in the room, so he put the piece of rock

  back, blocking the hole while the fingers on his left hand searched the rock that would unlock the hidden door.

  When he was inside the room, his gaze swept around mentally taking a picture of where

  everything was. Near to the wall on his right was a methir throne. While he had never seen

  anything made from methir before, he did not have time admire the craftsmanship. Behind the

  throne was a thick curtain hiding a door that led to Aram’s bedroom, knowing that Aram would

  now be afraid and not want to be separated from his men, he slipped behind the curtain and into

  the room.

  Aram never let another in this room, this was his sacred place and looking around, he realised that

  in private, away from the eyes of others, Aram appeared to be a modest man with only small

  ornaments decorating the two tables in the room and only one tapestry on the wall depicting a

  battle from a popular legend.