The Wayward Godking

by Brendan Carroll

  “Your servant?” Konrad blinked at her and then leaned slightly to look around her where Abaddon lay bleeding on the ground while Inanna struggled to remove his billowing, blood-soaked robe with the help of Lucifer and Ashmodel. “Abaddon is your servant?”

  “He was.” The Queen glanced over her shoulder. “And I have only just recently retrieved him from the Seventh Gate and tended his wounds. Now, here we have him cut down again. For what purpose?”

  “He deserves no less,” Konrad told her in confusion and looked about for Mark Andrew or any sign of support. Everyone had abandoned him. His anger had subsided and he felt somehow hollow.

  “Oh? And who made you God that you can pronounce what is deserved and what is not?” She asked him angrily. “You would do well to mind your behavior, Konrad. Of all my children, I expect better of you. Even the Healer’s daughter knows better how to treat the servants than you. How can you hold him responsible for following orders? He is a servant and no more.”

  Konrad stood staring after his mother as she instructed the two angels to bring their fallen comrade to her chambers. Inanna hurried after her, weeping loudly. Ereshkigal stopped long enough to dress her down for the noise before continuing. The Queen was truly angry.

  “Well, what did you expect?” Il Dolce Mio asked him when they were alone. “A servant is not to be treated so, my friend. They are not responsible for their actions.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Konrad objected.

  “Is it?” The little king followed after him as he stomped toward the forest. “Abaddon is what he is. He can change it no more than Lucifer, the Light-Bringer or Ashmodel, the Lord of April. They have their masters, and they do the bidding of those masters. They are naught but angels, Konrad. They are not gods or Demi-gods, nor are they great arch-angels. Ashmodel is of the order of Cherubim who once guarded the gates of Eden. Abaddon is a guardian of the Abyss, placed over Satan himself, by the most High Creator. And Lord Lucifer, Prince of the Morning Star, is but a servant of God. A little violent perhaps, at times, but he has a beautiful singing voice. You have heard him adoring the child. Surely you know enough to understand that all things change in their seasons. Men of short lives may live out one life as a thief and another as a priest, but the immortals must change with their seasons. Some seasons are times of wrath and hatred and war and bloodshed while other seasons are meant for growing and birth and songs of joy. Abaddon cannot change his nature, but he can change his mission as directed by his masters. He came to plead intercession for your old friend whom you have wrongly clapped in irons. Does your heart not ache to reconcile your differences with Ernst Schweikert? Did he not once serve you as a servant faithful as any hound? Loyal as the rivers to the sea? Did he not worship you?”

  Konrad stopped in his tracks.

  “What do you know of it?” The dark Knight turned on the diminutive Ramsay.

  “I know that if I had such a friend, I would make every effort to keep him by my side,” the King told him evenly. “Friends are rare commodities, Konrad von Hetz, Knight of the Apocalypse who sees. Do you not see anything at all?”

  Chapter Twelve of Twelve

  Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; and caused the dayspring to know his place; that it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out of it?

  Mark Andrew was quickly taken aside by Sir Barry of Sussex after the Queen and her Boggans had disappeared.

  “Brother,” he spoke in a low voice. “The Master sits beside his son’s bed, waiting for him to wake. He sent me to bid you come to him… if you will.”

  Mark nodded and looked around the brightly lit meadow. His sister had certainly outdone herself this time. The meadow was almost identical to the meadow that stretched out west of his own estate in Lothian. There was no doubt in his mind where she had gotten the idea for the place. Even the tree line seemed familiar. He half expected to see the old cairn where he’d once listened on lonely nights to the sounds of the elven music. So much beauty had been lost in the world. He almost wished to take this place from her and stay here himself, but he had news for her.

  Their father was loose in the world and they would need to be on guard. Mark Andrew had never known his father… at least, not personally and the stories and legends led him to believe that he had missed very little of value. Even Marduk had seen fit to consign Anu to oblivion, locking him in stone for eons upon eons and had not the mighty Lords who served the Creator given Marduk the means wherewithal to vanquish the great Anu? What the elder god might do was beyond imagination. To think that he might leave this world and go about his own business was wishful thinking. The world would revert once again to barbarism and the time line would begin again. The new humanity would need leaders, strong teachers to carry them through the new age. Strong teachers, but men. Men were what they needed. Not gods and Demi-gods.

  Men like Lucio and Louis and Barry of Sussex, but what of Simon? What of Lavon de Bleu and Konrad von Hetz? Where did they fit in now? They were denizens of the past. Their time was over and yet… they lived on. His first priority would be seeing to it that the Nephilim had a place in the cosmos. He had helped to create them, he would not abandon them and Ereshkigal would be obliged to help them as well since several of them were her own doing. A surrealistic game of cricket was in progress on the grass in front of the black and yellow pavilion. Several of Simon’s sons were playing an oddly matched game against a number of Il Dolce Mio’s elves, led by Armand de Bleu. At least he would not have to worry about the elves or Armand for the time being. Their kingdom was intact. It was only a matter of getting them back there.

  “This way, Brother,” Sir Barry started off under the trees in the same general direction as the Queen had taken.

  Soon they were in rocky terrain and very soon afterwards he found himself in the dark tunnels more indicative of where they actually were. Simon was in a small chamber directly off the Queen’s boudoir. They exited the tunnel on a ledge high above the Queen’s chambers. Below him was the Boggans’ central fire pit of the and the Queen’s familiar bower. There he saw the Queen with Ashmodel and Lucifer. Abaddon lay on the stone bed while Inanna sat weeping silently under the crystal flowers. Nothing and everything changed. Only Nergal looked up at him when he stood for a moment looking down at the familiar scene. Nergal did not speak or acknowledge his presence though he saw him clearly. The Lord of the Fifth Gate had no use for Adar. He would have to go through Nergal to get to Ereshkigal, but it would not be a problem. He stepped into the small cavern.

  Simon was sleeping on a bed made of cushions and animal skins. Products of the Boggans’ hunts and scavenges. The torches burning in the wall sconces produced a ruddy glow. Lydia was there as were Reuben and Simeon, Simon’s two eldest sons. Carlisle Corrigan rose stiffly when Barry and Mark Andrew entered the room. Edgard remained seated on a foot stool made of stone.

  “Sir Ramsay,” he said at once. “Glad you could join us, Sir.”

  “My pleasure,” Mark answered shortly, nodded to Simeon, Reuben and Lydia and then bent over the Healer. “It must have been brutal.”

  “Brutal is a good word for it,” Edgard told him. “Why would she use him to save such a beast?”

  “Abaddon? A beast? You know better than that, Edgard,” Mark said and then sat next to Simon and took up his limp hand, feeling for the pulse. “Abaddon is an angel.”

  “He should have perished in the Seventh Gate along with Huber and her sordid off spring,” Edgard spat the words. “I am told that your children favored you, Sir. I daresay you never fail to amaze me, du Morte. Is there nothing beneath you? How is that you can plumb the depths of hell and still show your face here?”

  “I came to see Simon, Sir,” Mark told him offhandedly. “I have no need of an upbraiding from you.”

  “But I have need to upbraid you, Sir,” Edgard stood up. “It is your doing that has brought us to this sorry pass. All of my work is destroyed because of you and your meddling wi
th things beyond your comprehension.”

  “Oh? Ist so?” Mark let go of Simon’s hand and stood to face the Master. “And I suppose ye’re going t’ tell me now thot ye’ve got an open loine t’ God’s ear? Does ’e speak t’ you direcktly or does ’e come t’ ye in yur dreams, Edgard? Does ’e speak t’ ye in a loud voice or ist maire soft loike th’ wind in th’ willows?”

  Edgard’s face went completely white with rage as he drew his broadsword from the scabbard at his side.

  “Grandfather!” Reuben was up in an instant along with his brother. “Please! This is not the place, nor the time! Think of Father.”

  “Stand down, boy,” Edgard snapped and backed toward the door leading to the ledge in the Queen’s chamber. “Let us settle this thing here and now, du Morte! Come and see how well you fare against the Dragonslayer’s blade. My gift is from God, Uriel. I am the Fire of God, and I am an archangel in my own right! I will not bow down to you!”

  Mark drew his sword slowly, reluctantly and followed the Grand Master out of the cavern. He had expected this day to come eventually, but he’d not been prepared for it now. He’d always known that sooner or later, he would have to deal with his nephew. Once he had learned that Edgard d’Brouchart was none other than Nebo, himself, son of Marduk, he’d known that there would be no peace until only one of them remained. The main force that had stayed his hand in recent years lay comatose on the bed behind him. It was almost impossible to believe that Simon was Nebo’s son. There was nothing of Nebo in his son and if Mark Andrew had his way now, there would be nothing of Nebo anywhere in very short order.

  Edgard struck the first blow as soon as Mark emerged from the cavern, taking him by surprise and slamming him back against the stone. The clang of steel on gold when Mark managed to parry the blow, caused the activity in the chamber below to cease. He pushed himself off the rock and swung the blade in a vicious roundhouse move that would have taken the Master’s head. Edgard fended off the stroke and then drove in with a lunge toward Mark’s midsection. The Knight of Death danced backwards, struck the wall again as he turned and pushed away as Edgard’s blade made contact with the stone, sending out sparks in all directions. Simeon and Reuben edged onto the ledge behind Barry, watching the combat in utter horror. Edgard was somewhat smaller and faster than Ramsay and darted in with another overhead blow before he could recover that would have split his head in twain, but Mark slid down the wall and then stumbled away sideways. He came up quickly and slashed out at d’Brouchart’s left knee. The Master moved in time to avoid serious injury, but came away with a nasty cut on his calf just behind his bronze greaves. He bellowed in anger and pain and charged the Knight again, making another swift swing at the Knight’s neck. Mark parried the blow, stopping it just in front of his face and their blades zinged together causing them both to grimace at the deadly sound so close to their faces. Mark moved quickly, grunting with the effort to push the enraged d’Brouchart back with his left hand. The magnificent blades sang their songs of death as they came apart once more. Edgard regained his footing and actually growled at the Scot before charging in again like a wild animal.

  Ereshkigal stood with her hands on her hips, shouting something up from the chamber below, but the fighters paid no attention to her or anyone else in the cavern as they exchanged a series of ferocious, potentially deadly blows, moving down the stone ramp toward the Queen’s boudoir. The sounds of the blades striking each other and the stones of the cavern drowned out the voices of those around them. They were locked in mortal combat, oblivious now to their surroundings.

  Ereshkigal stamped one foot in aggravation as she turned on her husband.

  “Well! Do you intend to stand there and do nothing?” She demanded of him.

  Nergal still wore his armor. Only his helmet was missing.

  “It is not my battle, My Queen,” he told her blandly. “Let them kill each other. It is none of my affair.”

  “Oh, that is so typical,” she spat and then turned on Marduk who had come into the cavern upon hearing the sounds from where he rested. “What about you? Will you do nothing as well?”

  “They are doing quite well on their own.” Marduk smiled slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure they would resent my interference. I find this display highly instructive. I may have a chance to learn some useful technique.”

  “But Adar will kill your son!” She told him. “Nebo is no match for him. You know that.”

  “He appears to have improved greatly since last I saw him in battle,” Marduk disagreed readily.

  “You are despicable,” Ereshkigal hissed and returned her attention to the fighters who had reached the bottom of the ramp and were fighting around the fire pit. “Plotius!” She shouted for her captain as she made her way across the chamber. “Plotius! Get in here!”

  The Boggan captain came running to her bidding and skidded to a halt in front of her.

  “Yes, My Queen!” He bowed low before her. “What is your wish?” He gave no heed whatsoever to the tow swordsmen at each other’s throat.

  “Good grief, man,” she looked at him in disgust when he rose up again. “Can you do something about this?” She waved one hand toward the combat just as Mark took a flying leap at Edgard, pinning him temporarily against the wall before he managed to slide away. The golden sword struck a small boulder and split it neatly in half. Mark shouted something in Gaelic and went after the Master again.

  “About what?” Plotius asked, his eyes wide with terror.

  “About them! Stop them! They are ruining my party,” she shouted at the captain and he cowered away from her.

  “Yes, My Queen! Of course,” Plotius stumbled away from her and disappeared into a dark tunnel.

  “Plotius, you coward!” Ereshkigal shrieked after him. “Come back here!”

  “Why not stop it yourself?” Marduk asked her. “If you are determined to save Adar’s skin, help him.”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” She shot a dark look at him and went back to her bower where Inanna sat watching the fight in abstract fascination. “Get out there and break them up!” She ordered Ashmodel and Lucifer. The two angels sat on the bed beside Abaddon. They looked at her as if she were daft.

  “Inanna!” She turned her attention to her niece. “I thought you loved him. Why do you just sit there?”

  “He would ask for my help if he needed me,” the dark-eyed beauty looked up at her blandly. “He has always asked me when he needed help. I would not risk his anger... again.”

  “Great day in the morning!” Ereshkigal pressed both hands against her temples. “Why must I do everything myself?” she grumbled and then stalked toward the fight, which was now on the ground as Mark and Edgard rolled together across the stones and into the fire pit. When they struck the ashes a cloud of white soot shot into the air above them, obscuring them from sight. Ereshkigal raised both arms and a fire erupted in the pit. Blue, green and yellow flames shot high into the cavern, licking the ceiling and curling back on themselves. Mark Andrew fell out of the pit and rolled across the floor. He came up quickly and checked his clothes for flames. Edgard on the other hand could not break through the wall of fire.

  “There!” Ereshkigal brushed her hands together angrily. “That should do it.”

  “Let him out,” Mark Andrew rushed across the cavern and stopped in front of her. His face was covered with soot and ashes. His dark hair was streaked with white. “Leave us alone, Reshki! This is none of your concern. I should have dispatched him long ago. I’m sick to death of his infernal complaints!”

  “Oh, well, excuse me!” She raised both eyebrows. “He will stay in there until hell freezes over. I will not have him ruining my reunion.”

  Simeon and Reuben and the others were circling the fire pit now. They could see the Master within the flames. He was not harmed, but he was spitting mad as he made signs for them to get him out. Barry ventured one hand into the wall of fire and jerked it back quickly. The flames fel
t real enough.

  “So you kill my son, would you?” Marduk spoke up suddenly.

  “No moreso than you would have killed mine on several occasions,” Mark retorted and turned to face the Lord of the Sixth Gate. His eyes snapped with anger. He was ready for blood and any blood would do.

  “But I thought you and he were birds of a feather,” Marduk frowned. “Spes meo in deo est and all that rot.”

  “We had common goals at one time, but that time has passed. He is a hindrance. I don’t have time to bandy words or insults with him. As a matter of fact, I am quite bored with his chatter. I would take his head and consign him to eternity in the Second Gate without it.”

  “Ahhhh,” Marduk raised one eyebrow. “And that would make things better for you?”

  “If you have something to say or if you intend to do something stupid, get on with it,” Mark raised the golden sword. “I can send you along to keep him company if you like.”

  Marduk stepped back and drew his sword.

  Ereshkigal stepped between them and then found herself rolling on the rock floor as Nergal took her down neatly out of harm’s way. They ended up near her bower.

  “I cannot believe this!” the Queen shouted. “Nergal!! Get off of me! Stop them!”

  Nergal let go of his Queen, leapt to his feet and ran back to the fight. He pulled his own glittering sword and dagger and began to fight both of them. Plotius charged back into the chamber with a number of Boggans wielding spiked clubs, half a dozen elves with lances, several of the members of the Brotherhood bearing everything from sticks and stones to oven tongs and the fight took on a new dimension. When Zaguri emerged, yawning sleepily, from another cavern, the brawl turned into a riot as the combatants tried to evacuate the Queen’s chamber en masse upon spying the horrid beast, but there was nowhere to go; it blocked the exit leading back o the meadow completely. Zaguri roared as he leapt from the top of the ledge into the battle. Only Mark Andrew stood pat to face Marduk’s ugly servant. It was a good day for dying and someone was going to fill the bill.