When Angels Fall (Demon Lord)

by Southwell, T C

  There were no runes that deactivated the wards, but he had not been expecting any. He pondered what he would have to do and its possible consequences. Once he had created a deactivation for the wards, others would be able use it, but he doubted that any of the realm’s inhabitants would possess the necessary knowledge. It had to be done, regardless.

  Behind him, Majelin cursed and Andriss gasped, and Bane swung around. Changelings emerged from the forest, at least twenty by his count, and most stared at him with obscene hunger. Some even licked their lips. Bane frowned at them as Majelin sidled towards him, wondering if Andriss had betrayed them somehow. The girl looked frightened and dismayed, however, so perhaps the changelings had followed their trail. Their features shifted almost constantly in a bizarre and horrible way, one moment angelic, the next human, with a strange blurry, smeared phase in between. Some had stunted wings that shrank and grew as their aspect changed, and the women’s rough grey shifts only reached to mid-thigh, revealing shapely legs, while the men wore the same coarse brown homespun shirts and trousers as the boys. Their clothes were too small, as if they had no way of making new ones once they left their parents.

  Most appeared to be in their prime, while a few looked a bit younger, but it was hard to tell, with their ever-changing faces. In their more angelic forms, they possessed a strange, savage beauty, but the switch to the more human aspect made it uglier by comparison. Some had brown hair and others blond, and a few had feathers sprouting from their forearms. Bane blinked, noting that their corrupted souls, most a deep crimson or a mixture of mauve and green, suffused them, as angels’ spirits did. So, they had the souls of angels, usually immune to corruption, as far as he knew. Somehow, human blood made them vulnerable.

  A tall, golden-eyed woman with blonde hair tied up in a crude plait approached Majelin, who quickened his retreat. She studied Bane, her expression a little wary. “Newcomers are most welcome here.” She showed pearly teeth in a false smile. “But since neither of you have a wife and unborn child, we have to wonder how you got here. Not through the portal, I will wager.”

  Andriss sprinted for the forest, and yelped as two changelings grabbed her.

  The woman glanced at her. “How did they get here?”

  “He-he said they came through a black trap.”

  The woman stopped a few paces from Bane and tilted her head as her visage transformed into an angelic one. “Do you know what we are?”

  “I do, but you would be foolish to attack me, and dead shortly thereafter. Did the children tell you of their encounter with me?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So, you are a blue mage?”

  “Even that should give you pause.”

  A man shouted, “Enough talk, Anneska, let us feed!”

  She shot him a quelling look before frowning at Bane again. “You claim to be more?”

  One of the men who held Andriss captive clasped her face and kissed her savagely, and she sagged, falling to her knees with a moan.

  Bane raised his brows and shot Majelin an incredulous look. “That is how they do it?”

  The angel nodded, looking sick. “It is vile.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “We can draw life force from any part of your body,” Anneska said, “but we prefer to do it in a kiss. So much more poetic, do you not agree? A kiss of death, if we choose. We let her live because she is bait. We capture many humans with her, because the males think she is pretty, and the children use her as a snack.”

  “How many humans are there?”

  “A lot.” Her eyes glinted. “They breed like rats in their stupid city. Do not imagine you are safe because you are a mage. All mortals are mere sustenance to us.”

  Two of the bigger men sidled closer to Bane, their eyes shifty and faces tense. Since she appeared to be the ringleader, he took control of the woman’s mind with a lash of thought.

  “You two, stop!” she cried.

  They froze, casting her puzzled, angry looks, and the taller man demanded, “Why? Enough playing with him; we are hungry.”

  She blinked rapidly as she fought Bane’s control, and her mental strength surprised him. He increased the power of his psychic hold and forced her to say, “He is right, we should not attack them. We do not know what he is or what he could do to us. I think he is dangerous.”

  The two men scowled at her, and the rest muttered. “That is not what you said a moment ago,” the tall man said.

  “I have changed my mind. Leave him.”

  “No. You are wrong. We will feed.”

  “He will kill you!”

  “What happened to your courage? You fear a mere man?”

  Anneska grimaced as she struggled against Bane’s psychic hold. “He is more. I know not what, but he is not a mere man.”

  “So he is a mage, so what?”

  “He has powers.”

  “So do we.” The changeling glanced back at his cohorts. “Come on!”

  The big men and several others charged Bane, and he took control of a few more of them, making them stop, but there were too many and their ability to defy his control was strong. Just before they reached him, he jerked up his chin, flinging them away with the power of his mind. They fell with thuds and grunts, as did Majelin, and the women and Andriss sprawled.

  Bane frowned at his would-be attackers. “Leave, now, or you will regret it.”

  A numbing shock fizzled through his mind, making him stagger back and clutch his temples as the changelings scrambled up and charged him again. Once more, he flung them away, and a second, more powerful mental blow made him reel sideways and fall to one knee. The psychic attack surprised him, and he surmised that it must be a bastardised angel talent they had inherited. It would have incapacitated a normal man, and it was targeted at him, for Andriss and Majelin were unaffected. The changelings scrambled up again, some appearing a little dazed, but they closed in on him, undaunted. He rose to his feet and summoned the shadows.

  “Clearly you idiots have never encountered a dark god before.”

  Bane raised his hands as the changelings approached, some of them circling to try to get behind him. That would not do them any good, he reflected, but they seemed singularly uneducated when it came to dealing with a dark god. Evidently their angel parents had not seen fit to teach them about the dangers of the darkness, never expecting them to encounter it in this protected place, and they lacked an angel’s instincts. If they ever escaped, he suspected that they would soon fall foul of a dark god and become his slaves or perish at his hands. Their ability to feed on life force would delight their master, so perhaps sealing them away in this place had been a mercy, too. Ordur must have known they would be used for evil purposes if they were allowed to roam free, even in the God Realm, where their need for spirit energy would force them to hunt mortals. For once, he faced people who did not fear him, and wished they did.

  The changelings rushed at him, and he gestured, unleashing the black fire in burning swathes that crisped those closest to him. They collapsed, howled and writhed as the shadows consumed them. Two exploded in red sprays, splattering their comrades with shredded meat, blood and offal. The survivors cowered and beat a hasty retreat, looking at Anneska for guidance. She snarled, scowling, and swung away to stride into the forest. The rest followed, casting many angry, hungry looks back at Bane. Majelin brushed at the gore that clung to his skin, his face twisted with disgust, and Andriss dry heaved.

  The Demon Lord turned back to the cliff, keen to form the Gateway and leave this accursed place and its dangerous denizens before they came up with a plan to incapacitate him. Now that they knew about him, they would probably stalk him, waiting for an opportunity to catch him off guard, which would make sleeping difficult. The depleted power source concerned him, too. If the changelings escaped, they would wreak havoc in Sherinias’ domain. He read the sequence of runes that sealed this realm off from the rest of reality, seeking the answer to deactivating the wards in the knowledge the dark power best
owed. The answer came to him within moments, despite the ancient language the wards were written in, for the darkness was just as primeval.

  Bane wrote a shadowy runic sequence in the air and spoke their names in a whispery voice, then motioned at the cliff. The runes shot into the stone with a puff of dust, forming a line of chiselled symbols filled with black fire. Bane stepped back as some of the runes on the cliff face glowed soft blue. Lines of them lighted and dimmed all along it, disappearing into the haze on both sides as his command sparked a reaction from the white wards. Perhaps, if the power source that fed them had not been so depleted, his disarming might not have worked. These were not true boundary wards, which could not be disarmed; they merely hid the realm and blocked everything that tried to get out and much of what sought to get in, save Kayos’ Eye. The white wards brightened all along the realm’s boundary as they fought his command runes, then, with a deep chime, they went dark. For the first time in millennia, the hidden realm was visible to any god who happened to be watching.

  Bane gestured, shadows streaming from his hands, and Gathered at the same time to power his command. “Drothcan nevaar getrak perin.” He paused to allow his words to take effect, then added, “Vrodath!”

  The shadows formed a swirling vortex that widened and deepened as the Gateway took shape in the cliff face, opening a portal to the outside through the rock and whatever lay beyond it. It appeared to bore into the stone, but that, he knew, was an illusion. A Gateway joined to points in space via a wafer-thin threshold, but stepping through it took a little time and gave the impression of the vast distance it spanned. He had been unable to give this one a true destination, since he had only a vague idea of where he was, but he hoped it would lead to the mid realm of Sherinias’ domain. He beckoned to Majelin as the Gateway’s edges solidified, indicating that it had completed its span. The swirling shadows congealed into pitch-black gloom.

  The boundary wards flickered as they re-armed, then lighted in a sequence that travelled away along the cliff face, clusters of runes flaring almost white around his Gateway. The edges of the portal wavered, and it shrank, then slammed shut with a thud. The sequence of disarming runes Bane had burnt into the cliff vanished, and he glared at the black stone.

  “A pox on this place!”

  “What happened?” Majelin enquired.

  “The damned white wards closed it.”

  “So you cannot create a Gateway?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Bane swung away, muttering a string of curses under his breath. His failure worried and frustrated him. The darkness within him goaded his temper, adding its own brand of irritation as it urged him to lash out and destroy his prison. Part of him agreed with it, despite the dire consequences of such an action. Striding back to the edge of the forest, he sat on a log and glowered at the cliff, wondering what he should try next. Majelin eyed him warily. Andriss looked ready to burst into tears.

  A rustle of feathers drew Bane’s attention upwards. An angel glided down, avoiding branches, back-winged once and landed lightly. She was typical of her kind, blue-eyed and auburn-haired, lovely in the perfect, overly-refined way all angels possessed, and archangels, to a lesser degree. Her grey garment was a trifle more modest than was usual, covering her shoulders, its tattered hem reaching her knees.

  The angel approached Bane quite boldly, stopped three paces away, bowed and said, “Greetings, tar’merin.”

  Bane nodded. “Angel.”

  “I am Lyrica. You honour our world with your presence, Great Lord.” She inclined her head to Majelin. “Archangel.”

  “How long have you been watching us?” Bane asked.

  “Since you approached the village. At first, I thought you just a man, and Majelin one of the fallen, so I was curious about how you came here. No one does unless he or she is mother or father to a changeling child.”

  “Yet you are not…” He glanced at Majelin. “What did you call it? Gothass urthdrae?”

  Majelin appeared a trifle embarrassed. “Yes.”

  Bane asked Lyrica, “How did you come to be here?”

  “I was born here, Lord. My mother did not love the father of her changeling child.”

  “Then… Oh, I see.”

  She smiled. “My parents went to great lengths to be reunited. When my mother came here, my father lay with a human woman in order to follow her. I have two sisters.”

  “So, even though Ordur went to great lengths to ensure no innocents were brought here, now there are lots of them.”

  “Through no fault of his.”

  Bane grunted. “You light lot are always so quick to forgive and forget, or not even allot blame. He is responsible. He and the others should have made sure humans and angels could not have children and avoided this whole damned mess.”

  “I am sure they would have, had they known this would happen.”

  “They are gods. They should have foreseen it.”

  “Have you never made a mistake, Lord?” she enquired.

  “Not one this big. And this is not the only mistake they made.”

  “And yet, your mistakes oftentimes have sweeping repercussions, do they not? Have you not the power to save worlds, or destroy them?”

  He glared at the cliff. “I have yet to destroy one, although I may start with this one if I do not find a way to quit it.”

  “That would be cataclysmic, not only for those of us who dwell here.”

  “Then you had best hope I find a way out.”

  Lyrica nodded. “I do, Lord. May I invite you and your companions to visit the fair city of Aberdorn?”

  He shot her an astounded look. “There is a city here, too?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Huh. This just keeps getting worse. But I think not. I wish to leave this accursed place.”

  “But your Gateway failed, and I do not think you will be able to disarm the boundary wards long enough to form a stable portal, Lord.”

  Bane sighed. “And why is that?”

  “Ordur created this place. Do you think he did not plan for every eventuality?”

  “A pox on Grey Gods. They bungle it when they create races, but not when it comes to building prisons to incarcerate the unfortunate consequences.”

  “It may be possible for you to leave, but not the way you intend. Come to Aberdorn, Lord, and perhaps learn the answer.”

  “Perhaps?”

  “Nothing is certain, but if, indeed, you hold the key to leaving this place, there are many others who would quit it too.”

  “I will wager there are, but I will not free them,” Bane said.

  “They are only humans, Lord. Unlike angels, they are fickle, and over the aeons many lost their mates, took new ones of their own kind, and had children. They dwell in the ancient city and defend it against the changelings. There are more changelings than you imagine. They hide in the forest and hunt our people. I am happy to tell you all you wish to know, but night falls soon. It is not safe to be in the forest at night. We should continue this discussion in the city. It is far from here.”

  “And we have to walk.”

  “I shall walk with you, Lord, and it will be worth it. The city offers safety, shelter and sustenance.”

  Bane glanced at the sinking quasi-sun. “We have already walked all day. We will not make it there before nightfall.”

  “Then I shall bring you food and blankets.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Which way?”

  “Along the boundary, Lord.” She pointed to her left. “That way.”

  Majelin studied the city in the soft mid-afternoon sunlight. Its high walls and watchtowers were symptomatic of this blighted realm, but they were crude additions. The towering spires of a much older, graceful city were visible over the stone ramparts, and the city’s most striking feature was a column of light that rose from its centre to vanish into the ethers high above. The fortifications pinned it to the towering boundary cliff, which formed the most f
ormidable of its defences. Vast areas of cultivated land surrounded it to the edge of the forest, where woodcutters and labourers cleared more ground.

  They had walked for much of the night before stopping to rest, and Bane had raised shields to protect them, but had been unable to sleep. If any changelings had found them, none had made their presence known. The dark god now looked even more tired and irritable. He strode ahead, clearly keen to reach their destination and get some rest, while Lyrica walked beside Majelin, discussing how he had come to the realm, and Andriss trailed behind.

  As they approached a pair of massive iron-bound wooden gates, Lyrica signalled to the men who watched them from the battlements. The gates creaked open and Bane marched through them without pause. Inside, a cobbled thoroughfare led into a rather haphazardly built city, its depths hidden by the whitewashed buildings that bordered its winding roads. A company of pike men in boiled leather armour and dark blue tunics waited in a sizeable plaza just inside the gates, their pikes grounded and expressions stern. Beyond them, a motley crowd of civilians murmured and pointed at the newcomers. Evidently Lyrica had told its denizens about Bane when she had fetched blankets and food the previous night.

  A burly man with a broad, belligerent face, piercing green eyes, a bushy red moustache and plaited locks stood in front of the soldiers. A short, gold-trimmed royal blue cape hung from his broad shoulders and a matching tunic and breeches clad his portly form. Shiny black boots and a thick gold neck chain completed his outfit. From his proud and slightly hostile demeanour, Majelin deduced that he was an elected official of some sort. He was also nervous, the archangel sensed, although he hid it well. Another auburn-haired angel, this one with golden eyes, stood beside him, and leant closer to whisper to him. He amended his bearing a little, tacking on a false smile as Bane halted a pace away and surveyed the city.