Bane went to its centre and stretched out his arms, palms down, and hammered the shadow pentagram into the ground with a vicious downward motion. The shadows vanished into the street with a sizzling crunch and puff of dust, leaving a perfectly carved pentagram in the cobblestones. Bane wrote a sequence of six runes with the shadows that trickled from his fingers, whispering their names, and his gesture hammered them into the cobblestones in the centre of the pentagram. Stepping out of it, he raised his arms.
“Jestek rannith vartome. Prekesh!”
Shadows poured from the pentagram and runes and rushed in from all around, forming a whirling column above the pentagram, as wide as it was. It vanished into the ethers above; a one-way gateway to his target. He commanded, “Nar Grethan Narjis, Kayos!”
The column thickened and darkened as black fire raced to form it, its spin speeding up. When he judged that it could not become any more powerful without escaping his control, he clenched his hands and made a violent downward motion, as if tearing something from the air.
The swirling column of darkness wavered and swung as if in a wild wind, and Bane spread his hands to control it, for it seemed in danger of defying his command. If he lost control of it, the consequences for the marketplace and a sizeable area around it would be dire. The Fetch expanded and thinned, defying his ability to stabilise it, and then, with a dull thud and an explosion of black fire, it collapsed. The shockwave made Bane stagger back and sent the archangel sprawling. Barrows and stalls flew into walls and smashed, strewing produce across the street, and the windows of neighbouring shops and houses shattered. A wall collapsed and three doors vanished into dwellings. The shadows spread across the ground and seeped away into the stones. The backlash was nowhere near as devastating as it should have been, however, so something had not only closed the Fetch, but had also sapped its power.
Bane swung away, muttering, “A thousand poxes on this accursed place!”
Majelin picked himself up and dusted himself off. “Was it the boundary wards?”
“No. This is not an underworld.” Bane set off in the direction of the Tower of Light.
Majelin caught up and fell into step beside him. “You are going to speak to the Oracle?”
“If I can.”
“You cannot approach it as -”
“I know.”
Bane forced the shadows from his flesh, letting them pour from his fingers to writhe upon the ground like black snakes before they sank into the cobblestones. Majelin pulled a face and moved away.
The curving curtain of white power came into view at the end of the street as they turned a corner, shimmering and swirling in the sunlight. Myriad ancient buildings surrounded it, their sweeping lines and pale crystal and alabaster walls reminding him of a light realm. Most were pyramidal structures covered with windows, as if designed to house thousands. The open tops allowed the tower to illuminate spacious interiors, like a communal meeting places.
Chapter Seven
Tower of Light
As Bane approached the Tower of Light, his instincts rebelled against going anywhere near that amount of white fire. He remembered all too vividly his last, painful experience of it. While the rest of the realm suffered from a lack of power, it was concentrated here, protecting the Oracle. Only a light god could approach one in a light realm’s soul city, and he hoped a mortal god with a pure soul could enter this one. It had no reason to strike at him, but doubt made him tense. Its age gave him hope that it would know what he was, but it had been sealed off in this realm for its entire existence, so that was not a certainty either.
The column of light was smaller than Bane had expected, less than a league in circumference. Perhaps it had shrunk as its power had dwindled. Somehow, this tiny bastion of white power served as a light realm in this strange place; one that did not require a light god to keep it active, but presumably continued to serve the realm on the command of the Grey God who had created it. He became aware of a soft hissing as he drew nearer. The ground had been turned to diamond sand where the light touched it, forming a sparkling border. Bane stopped and gazed up at the dazzling curtain, which gave the impression of streaming downwards, like a cascade of shining water. He had seen something similar in the God Realm, only it had been blue. Had that, too, once been a citadel of the light, guarding something precious, which had fallen into the chaos? There were many mysteries in the God Realm.
Bane touched the shimmering curtain, receiving a slight jolt as his fingers passed through it, similar to the frisson he had experienced from the wards of Sherinias’ birthing chamber. The light invaded his flesh, making his hand glow, but it seemed harmless. After casting a glance at Majelin, he stepped through the radiant curtain and into the misty gardens of a light realm. Light poured down from a blinding spot high above, making him squint. So, this was a separate realm from the one outside. It also appeared to be much larger than it had seemed from the outside. Deep drifts of diamond sand crunched under his boots as he walked towards what he took to be its centre, where a vague, translucent structure was visible between the misty trees. He was somewhat surprised when Majelin followed, but then, there was no reason why an angel could not enter a light realm. Since this one had no gate, perhaps even pure-spirited people could.
A glowing crystal tower rose from the rippled sand, its walls covered with runic symbols of immense power. He walked around it, searching for a door, but arrived back where he had started without finding one.
Bane snorted and turned to the archangel. “This place annoys me more and more. How am I supposed to speak to the Oracle when I cannot enter its presence?”
Majelin shook his head. “I do not know.”
Bane stepped closer and placed his hand upon the icy crystal, which seemed to shiver at his touch. Somewhat to his surprise, his hand sank into the wall, and he stepped forward. The crystal passed through him with a frigid touch, like splinters of ice in his flesh, then he stood upon a black field sprinkled with stars. Light shone through the walls in a blue glow, and at the centre of the circular chamber, a spiral galaxy about two yards in diameter hovered. He walked around the Oracle, his boots clicking on a silken floor that seemed non-existent.
He spoke, although his words had no sound. “How do you function without Ordur?”
A whispered echo preceded its reply. “I do not.”
“He is not here.”
“I do not require him.”
“How so?”
“I am not his Oracle.”
Bane stopped to gaze at the slowly spinning spiral of stars. He had a feeling that questioning the Oracle was going to be a frustrating experience. “How do I leave this realm?”
“You cannot.”
“Why not?”
“It is forbidden.”
Bane wandered around the Oracle again. “I asked how it can be done.”
“With a key.”
Bane drew out the key he had got from Torvaran. “Like this?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“The light.”
Bane paused to glare at it. “Riddles. I hate riddles.” His soundless speech was somewhat disconcerting. “What if I destroy this realm?”
“You will perish.”
“Does this place have a name?”
“Arvandeth.”
“Can the gate be opened?”
“Yes.”
“With a key that is the light,” Bane said.
“Yes.”
“How do I find this key?”
“The light is the key.”
“Speak plainly!”
“The key is the light.”
Bane cursed and strode to the wall, passed through it and almost bumped into Majelin, who stepped back. Bane headed for the curtain of light, eager to quit the bastion of white power and its unintelligible riddles.
“What did it tell you?” the archangel asked as he caught up.
“Just bloody riddles.”
“Maybe I know the answer.”
Bane passed through the outer wall. “Well, you are an angel, I suppose.”
“So what did it say?”
“The light is the key, and the key is the light.”
Majelin hesitated. “Ah.”
“You know what it means?”
“I would rather not say.”
Bane strode down the street. “So you are as useless as that damned Oracle.”
“It is a matter of trust.”
“You still think I mean you harm?”
“I think you will do anything to escape this place.”
“I got into this mess because I saved you,” Bane said. “It would be rather pointless if I killed you now.”
“Even if it was the only way out?”
“Perhaps the question is not whether I would sacrifice you to regain my freedom, but whether you would sacrifice yourself to free me.”
“The light will never ask one of its children to sacrifice himself.”
Bane inclined his head. “And yet the Oracle said that only the light can free me.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find an alehouse and get horribly drunk.”
“How does that help?”
“It does not, unless it takes away my conscience so I can kill you.”
Majelin stopped, and Bane continued down the road to a building whose swinging sign named it ‘The Black Swan’. Entering a dim, deserted taproom, he flopped down at the nearest table and ordered a tankard of ale from the buxom blonde serving wench who approached him with a timid smile. The bitter brew did little to alleviate his discontent; rather, it amplified it as he mulled over what he had learnt.
Every great gate had to have a key; apparently it was one of the laws of the universe, and, in order to ensure a dark god never opened this gate, Ordur had decreed that only the soul of an angel, given freely, could open it; something that could never happen, for a dark god. This, Bane had gathered from Majelin’s rather ineffectual attempt at being cryptic. The thought of killing the angel he had rescued in order to regain his freedom sickened him. It went against everything he had learnt the light stood for, and he wondered how even a Grey God could make such a dark decree. Then again, he was certain that the gate did not offer egress, even if it could be opened. It smelt like a trap, and the dark power disliked it.
If he did not find a way out, however, he would be imprisoned here for all eternity, for he had a feeling Majelin was wrong about souls coming here from Sherinias’ domain. The wards were too powerful, but, if there was no soul city here, where had the souls come from? Perhaps lesser souls could pass through the wards, like the ones that trapped a spirit god in an underworld while still allowing the souls of the damned to descend there. It did not make much sense, but he was sure the wards would not allow him to escape even as a spirit god in a thousand years’ time.
Ordur had gone to great lengths to ensure the changelings, or any other dark creature that stumbled into this place, would never leave it. He wondered what Kayos was doing, sensing an Eye upon him, although unable to identify it. Certainly only a Grey God was powerful enough to see through the wards, but it could have been Ordur. He did not think Ordur paid much attention to this realm anymore, or he would have righted the wrongs in it. There were plenty of them. An entire race of people, albeit few in number, and several angels, trapped in here with the changelings, paying for Ordur’s inattention.
Perhaps Kayos would summon an angel and send a message to the second eldest Grey God, but, even then, it would take time for Ordur to make his way here. Probably enough time for Tolrar and Scryon to rise again. Bane did not know who to curse, Sarmalin for begging his aid, Torvaran for creating the Fetch, Majelin for being the bait or Ordur for creating this abomination of a prison realm. Perhaps he should just curse himself for falling into a dark trap.
Last time, it had almost killed him; maybe this time it would. He drained his tankard and summoned the wench with another. He would not languish in this godforsaken place forever, nor would he slay Majelin. There had to be another way out. How did he even know he could trust the Oracle? It, like everything else, might have the sole purpose of keeping him trapped here by whatever means necessary, even lies. It must have been aware of his arrival and what he had been at the time, and if it did not know the significance of his ability to enter its inner sanctum unmolested by the wards, it might think he was an enemy. Did Oracles think?
The light was supposed to be the hallowed healer and all about truth, love and compassion, but did that apply when it was confronted by the darkness? It seemed rather silly to hold onto those morals in a battle that could destroy it if it did, yet if it did not, was it any better than the darkness? Bane had not drunk to drown his sorrows since he had been Arkonen’s pawn, and his tankard emptied with monotonous regularity. The serving wench brought tankards three at a time after a while, and he ignored her coy smiles. He did not do anything in half measures, he mused, so if he was going to get drunk, he was going to do a good job of it.
When a clatter of running feet and shouts came from outside, Bane merely sighed and quaffed his rather flat ale. He was in no mood to fight changelings, and the city’s army was, presumably, able to defend it, since it had done so in the past. Besides, he was far too drunk. Sensing a dark presence opposite him, he looked up at the hooded figure who sat there. The stranger wore a grey robe belted with a black rope, the material similar to that which angels wore, only darker, and a bit tatty. The newcomer rested his arms on the table and leant forward, his face shadowed.
“Sacrifice the angel,” he said in a rasping whisper.
“Go back to Hell.”
He chuckled. “I am not from Hell.”
“It is still where you belong.”
“There is no Hell here.”
“Oh yes there is,” Bane said.
“Where?”
“Right outside that gate.”
“You want to be trapped here forever, dark god?”
“I will not be.”
“There is no other way out. Do you think I have not tried for centuries?”
Bane shrugged and leant back. The serving wench and bartender stood by the door, watching the commotion outside, clearly unaware of the hooded man, which told him that the stranger was invisible to all but him; an angel’s talent.
Bane said, “A black mage is nothing compared to me.”
“Indeed, but even you are no match for a Grey God’s wards.”
“You think not?” Bane took a deep draught of his ale. “I beg to differ.”
“You will be sorely disappointed. Three other dark gods have fallen into this trap, and none escaped. The gate destroyed them.”
“I am different.”
The stranger nodded. “Mortal. I noticed that; and powerless.”
“At the moment.”
“Oh, I am no threat to you, rest assured. I welcome your presence here. You will open the gate and free us all.”
“Not you or your ilk.”
“I do not see how you will have a choice in the matter. Once the gate is open…”
Bane leant forward, banging his tankard down. “Do you really think a Grey God would make it so easy for you to escape? And I will not sacrifice the angel.”
“Oh, but you will. If you do not, my brethren will destroy this city. Even now, they invade.”
“If you do that, you will have no one to feed your foul appetites. Besides, how can you destroy it so easily when it has stood against you for centuries?”
“Is that what they told you?” The stranger sniggered, a rasping sound rather like a saw stuck in wood. “They lied. We feed on them whenever we wish. Perhaps they do not realise why they wake up weak and sick, with dreams of being fed upon, but more likely they do not wish to believe it. They bolster their pathetic courage with the false feeling of safety within these walls, but what use are walls when changelings can fly?”
“That must be tough to do with wings that come and go.”
; “Several centuries of practice allow us to hold our angelic form for a time.”
Bane shrugged and picked up his tankard. “Wipe them out then. I do not care.”
“I think you do.”
“You are mistaken.”
“Then we will add you to the menu when they are gone.”
“And you will perish.”
The stranger shook his hooded head. “You require rest. You created a shield in the forest, but did you sleep?”
“I will find a way.”
“And we will kill the angel.”
“You begin to annoy me.”
“What will you do?”
Bane sensed the changeling’s vicious smile. He assumed the stranger was also a black mage, or he would not have the courage to face a dark god, even a powerless one. Angels did not fall to the darkness and live, but apparently changelings did.
“Why do you hide your face?” he asked. “Are you so loathsome you fear it will sicken me, or are you something other than you wish to appear?”
“I am exactly what I seem.”
“Oh, good, you are nought but a fool, then.”
“At this moment, I am more powerful than you.”
“You think so?” Bane chuckled. “Then you truly are an imbecile.”
“Laugh all you want; you will not when this city dies.”
“You have the unmitigated gall to sit at my table uninvited and spout this drivel? You are not only an imbecile, you are…”
Bane lunged across the table and seized the mage’s throat, starting a Gather at the same moment. His movement was so fast the mage did not even have time to flinch. Bane’s Gather drew the black power from the changeling’s flesh in a rush of foulness that contained some of his disgusting memories, making Bane a little ill. The coarse hood fell back to reveal a bald, gaunt face with a hooked nose and thin lips, his deep-set green eyes white-ringed. Stripping the changeling mage of his power did not affect his angelic abilities, however, for the bartender and serving wench gaped at Bane, from which he deduced that he appeared to be wrestling with air.
When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) Page 12