by Mark Eller
That time had not lasted long. Only days after she started making her plans a number of her siblings began to fall by mysterious means. Others were hunted down by suspicious survivors in an attempt to save their own lives. Belthethsia had joined in those hunts, but she never believed any being they killed had been guilty. Later, she sat down and ran all her siblings through her mind. She envisioned each one, saw their strengths, regarded their weaknesses, and she realized there were only three or four besides herself who had the intelligence to work this kind of deception. One of those died the next day. Another died two days later. Realizing her time was limited if she did not act, Belthethsia approached the least likely of all her siblings and offered to join forces. Her gamble had paid off. All but the least powerful of Zorce’s children were gone. Even Berferd and Phrandex were dead, even if not by Athos’s hand,
But not her. She still lived, and she prospered.
Zorce didn’t know where her true loyalties lay.
Athos shook himself free of dust. His power reached out and grabbed two of the escaped prisoners. Their bodies rose, flew through the air, until Athos’s hands reached up. Talons sank into flesh, stopping their flight. Athos ripped their throats out with his fangs, first one, then the other, and then he held them over his head to wash away the remaining filth of his journey in their blood. Finished, he tossed the drained bodies aside and smiled at Belthethsia.
“Sister, you are injured.”
The earth had stopped shaking. The remaining walls stood firm. The ceiling above her looked like it planned on remaining in place. Releasing her hold on the bars, Belthethsia jerked herself forward, tearing the shard of rock from her flesh. She brushed irritably at her wound. Its pain was already fading. Soon there would be no trace of her injury.
“My mother is dead,” she said, striding forward to gently stoke a hand across Athos’s bare chest. Blood slicked across her fingers, sticky, fresh, smelling so sweet. She slowly raised her hand to her mouth and deliberately licked her fingers clean. The blood was thick, aged and refined within a human body that had been tortured and abused to create this heady treat. “I’m afraid she died a bit earlier than we planned, but I’m not unhappy with the way she went.”
“And Belsac?”
Belthethsia shrugged. “Probably trying to figure out why the castle is shaking or deciding what to do about all the humans who are storming the castle right now. Brother, none of that is important. Your hook is found.”
Athos stiffened with sudden shock, and then his smile became almost beatific, though suspicion flared behind his eyes. “My hook? Why was I not told?”
Wrapping her arms around her brother’s bloody neck, Belthethsia pressed her face against his chest. She leaned back to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry brother. I thought the risk of telling you was too great. Zorce might have heard rumors and investigated. As it is, Belsac thinks I told Zorce and bypassed you. He’s in a sweat because Zorce hasn’t responded to any of his messages since Belsac found the hook in a tavern, still attached to the spawn’s forearm.” She stepped back and cupped Athos’s cheek in the palm of her right hand. Her palm prickled when the small horns protruding through his skin pierced her. Her hand burned faintly from injected poisons, but it was a burn with which she was well familiar. These poisons held no fear for her. Small amounts forced into her body for the last three hundred years had made her immune.
Athos turned his head and bit her palm gently, only stripping off a small section of skin, only tearing away a little shred of flesh. A warm rush of pleasure washed through Belthethsia. Her brother was pleased.
Reaching up, he removed her hand and nodded with satisfaction. She smiled and lowered her blood slick fingers to his member. She stroked it slowly, lubricating it with her blood, feeling it rise to her touch. Its barbs tore deeper into her hand, making her bleed more. Her smile grew as his member rose higher. Later, when the battles were over, when the land was covered with thousands of piled dead, she would crawl on top of the pile to cover her body with blood and viscous fluids. She would open her arms and spread her legs, and she would bleed again when Athos drove his passion into her, ripping her with his barbs, filling her with godly semen and virulent poisons. The pain would be delicious and her surroundings exquisite. The idea of it made her feel damp, ready.
Athos roughly removed her hand, snapping one or two tiny bones when doing so. “Later. After our victory.” He gave her a feral grin. “My last concern is gone. With the hook in my possession I will soon be ready to battle our father.”
Belthethsia knew she looked confused. She rubbed her bloody hand across her face, regretting that it was already almost healed. “But you are already more powerful than him; he just doesn’t realize it yet. None of them do. The hook has given you so much power I doubt there is a single god alive stronger than you.”
“No,” Athos agreed, “but Zorce is almost as strong, and he has far more skill.” His expression became sly. The smile slowly forming on his face held enough grease to fill a vat. “I move, sister, when I know success is the only possible outcome. With my hook returned I’ll absorb power from these mortals and our father’s followers. Very soon, Zorce will die.”
“I never understood why you allowed the old mage to wear it or why you allowed him to use it instead of you,” Belthethsia confessed.
“Our father,” said Athos, “never suspected its true worth when he gifted the creation I fostered to me. I treated it no different from any of the other thousands of cursed objects I own. I thought it safe enough in Lial’s keeping, and mostly it was. Who would have thought a spawn would gain enough backbone and purpose to do murder and then remove its own hand so it could wear my little toy. No matter now. The spawn is dead and the hook returned.” Shrugging, he studied the crevasse. “With the latest reinforcements ten thousand hellborn have now crawled out of Hell. Perhaps another five hundred have crawled out of the hole in Yyles. It isn’t many, but it’s all we have to work with. It’s enough for now. Let’s go claim your throne and my world.”
* * * *
Endless.
Their numbers seemed to stretch out forever. Elise looked across the streets of Grace and saw an endless stream of mail clad soldiers marching in cadence, all of them heading for the castle grounds. Her brother rode to the fore, sitting high on one of the few war arvids the Altude Empire’s centuries old breeding program had managed to produce. Reed looked proud with his armor gleaming golden in the sun. He looked fine and strong, confident and contemptuous. His gaze traveled over her people, her army, and a sneer formed on his lips. A wash of shame ran through Elise when she saw her soldiers through his eyes. Her people were ragged, untrained, and almost worthless. These were the results of her best efforts, an army which only partly owed its loyalty and forming to her. The rest had been gathered by Mathew, or they had arrived because they saw the city's anger had finally risen against the hellborn who claimed rule over them.
Elise stiffened her shoulders. Her shame lessened her for her army did not deserve contempt. They might be untrained, but they were staunch and true, if not exactly true to her. Perhaps a quarter of these people, she knew, would be pleased if she died. They saw her as an extension of their late king. They saw her as one of those who had cast aside the virtuous gods and invited Hell in to rule.
She could not fault them. She had stood by during the early days. She could have questioned. She could have demanded a greater role than mother and wife, but she had allowed herself to follow the expectations of her new home rather than the expectations and training of her father. She had become complacent, had become less than herself.
Shoulders firm, her lying stride confident, Elise strode forward to meet her brother. When they met Reed reined in his mount and stared down at her. A dozen years her senior, his face was sun tanned and deeply lined. A new scar cut across his cheek and into his lip, pulling his face into a caricature of the laughing brother who used to toss her in the air when she pestered him.
"Fa
ther says you have bollixed things up so terribly he has no choice but to take over so his borders remain stable." Reed nodded to a rider to his left, a woman several years Elise's junior. "I'm to set things right and place Mari on the throne. When this is over, you will come home until father finds somebody else for you to marry."
Elise's body went cold. She fastened her gaze on Mari. "Sister. You were only ten the last time I saw you."
"I've grown since then," Mari replied. "I'm sorry we have to do this, but father must be obeyed." Her tone exuded sympathy, but her expression remained cold.
"These people are under my care," Elise said emphatically. "This land does not belong to our father. I'll fight to my last breath to protect them."
Sneering, Mari made a brief gesture, taking in Elise’s troops. "With what? These? Face it Elise, you are outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out-armed. You have no defense. If we chose to destroy your army it would be accomplished inside the hour. No, this land now belongs to the empire, and you are in disgrace. Father sent us here to rectify this situation. I suggest you get your people out of the way so we can attend to business."
"I'm sorry, Elise," Reed said, "but she is right."
"We battle against Hell," Elise reminded them. "This is not as easy as you believe. Your troops have never faced anything like they are going to face now."
Reed shifted in his saddle. He studied the castle walls, looked at the pile of dead hellborn, and shook his head. "We have faced these and worse. Why do you think father decided to take a hand? The results of your husband's folly started crossing our borders months ago. They terrified our peasants, killed a number of our livestock, and no few of our villagers. The Altude Empire has no patience and less desire to become a cesspit like Yernden. At the first rumor we fielded troops and cleansed our lands. Now we are going to clean yours. Get out of our way, sister, and get your people out of our way, too. They belong to us now so we have little desire to harm them."
"Many hellborn have magic," Elise warned. "Most do not die easily, and some are invulnerable to all but god-blessed weapons. Our defenses are close to exhausted. We have a certain salt that kills them, but we are running out. We have priests of Anothosia who are drained of power, and we have followers of Omitan who don’t seem to be doing much of anything."
"We have our own magic," Mari said, "and everything dies if you stab it often enough. Keep your salt and your priests and your puny catapults and your false god-blessed swords. We brought our own assault weapons." She frowned. "Go find your tent, or something. Stay out of our way."
"Please don't do this," Elise begged. "You have no idea what you face."
Reed glanced at the soldiers who now stood arrayed behind him. "Confine her," he ordered.
* * * *
Hellborn scuttled around the castle preparing for war. Glad cries of bloodthirsty intent echoed off the walls. A few hellborn proudly sported arrows jutting from their bodies, thus proving their courage in manning the walls. Three lay still on the floor, victims of druid arrows that had dealt mortal wounds. Cries of anger and defiance sounded through the windows, sweet music to Athos’s ears. Listening to soothing screams and the sound of ripping flesh, he wished he dared join the battle. The experience of facing him would be a perfect introduction to his new world, but pragmatism insisted such an act would be folly. He was not fodder meant for the front. He was a general, the supreme general, and it was time he let Belsac know he had arrived.
He nodded to his sister. “You’ve been in the mortal world for several years, so you are more familiar with its ways. Where would Belsac have set up his command center?”
Belthethsia shook her head slightly. “Sorry, I don’t know. I never learned of war and pillaging and all that other fun stuff. I’m more of a small arena type of girl. I like getting personally involved.” She looked around. “I suppose he’ll need someplace where he can see most of what is going on, so the battlements might be a good place to start.”
A sudden cacophony of agonized screeches filled the air. Hellborn suddenly surrounded them, crying in agony, their flesh smoking, their bodies melting. A wild-eyed gaunt tumbled down a flight of stairs. Large patches of skin had been stripped off his arm. Some skin still remained attached to his talons, showing he had damaged himself to escape a worse fate. Rising, he shook himself and raced back up the stairs.
“Well,” Belthethsia noted. “That was interesting. Shall we go kill Belsac?”
“Maybe,” Athos answered, and led the way up the stairs.
The battlements were chaos, which made them rather fun. Hellborn manned the walls, throwing curses which took solid form and rained down on the humans below. Wraiths and wyverns flew in the sky, showering down fire and acid, making quick dives to rake exposed skin with rot infected talons. Hellhounds rose on their hind legs, draping their front paws over the parapets. They howled down at the mob, and then their legs convulsed in a sudden leap that sent the hellhounds into a five story fall.
Athos grinned. The scene was delightful. It spoke of hundreds, even thousands of human deaths. Screams and cries reverberated off the solid stone surrounding them, echoing the same delicious agonies time and again. Belsac stood off to one side, shouting orders, gesticulating wildly, proving he obviously had no idea what he was doing. His stance, his actions, the nervous jerkiness of his motions, all said he was in over his head.
By this, Athos was not pleased. The common hellborn should never have seen the third or fourth most powerful being in all of Hell act as if he were a new hatchling given his first victim. Belsac was ruining things, had ruined things. This war should not be taking place yet. It was premature, but Belsac had allowed Helace to mutilate her husband and display his pieces on the city’s front gate. True, he had tried to correct Helace’s error. Also true, the enemy humans were obviously dying in droves, but dozens of hellborn bodies also lay still. Other hellkind screeched agony while their skin bubbled and boiled. They were dying, his troops were dying, and that never should have been permitted. He needed as many as he could preserve for when he faced his father. They would act as protective fodder before Zorce’s wrath.
Athos stalked towards Belsac, ball lightning dancing angrily between his horns, his face set, eyes narrowed. His anger was so patently obvious; his godhood was so apparent that even dead hellkind scuttled and rolled and crawled out of his way, their vacant minds still reacting on raw instinct.
Belsac saw them, and his expression firmed. Athos could almost see him push the battle for the castle aside, could almost see him prepare for their confrontation. Belsac’s body straightened, and the fingers of one hand flew free. Five snakes suddenly flitted about him, playfully twining about his arms and neck. Belsac gestured and he was suddenly joined by fifteen minor devils and major demons. Battle talons exposed themselves. Poisons dripped from protruding tongues, dropping to the floor, making solid stone smoke and melt away. Belsac’s left hand remained fingerless. His right hand gripped a severed arm. Athos’s Hook was attached to the arm’s wrist.
Athos stopped so suddenly Belthethsia almost collided with him. She shifted to the side, threw back her shoulders, and saw that Athos watched her.
“May I?” she asked.
“Please,” Athos answered.
Belthethsia smiled, showing the perfectly pointed beauty of her meticulously filed teeth. She gestured theatrically. “Belsac what is the purpose of this display. Athos did not come here to cause harm. He arrived to further our father’s plans. He is to take over the diversion and stretch this battle out so the virtuous gods keep their attention fastened where it should not be.” She indicated the wounded and dead hellborn. “This would never have happened if Athos had been in charge. We should never have lost more than ten or twenty during the entire battle.”
“It was the stuff they put in their bags,” Belsac defended himself, “and their numbers. Nobody expected they would arrive in such numbers. Our cousins killed them by the horde, but there was always more arriving. They surrounded us, wei
ghed us down, and then they killed us.” He rubbed at his face. “Even that wasn’t so bad, but then they threw something up here. It burst apart with a loud noise. Some sort of cloud flew out of it, striking down our cousins. I breathed a bit of the cloud and now I can’t get an ache out of my lungs, not even after I healed.”
Athos sniffed the air and nodded. “I smell salt, and I smell Flinstar.”
“We knew they found some of the salt that formed when Flinstar destroyed himself,” Belthethsia admitted. “We never suspected they would figure out what to do with it.” She studied Belsac and his guard. “You do know Athos is here to kill you, do you not?”
“He thinks he’s here to kill me,” Belsac replied, “but I’m not the easy meat he expects.” His eyes fastened on Athos. The snakes surrounding him circled in a sudden burst of insane energy. Belsac’s smile oozed oil. “I have your hook, and I know it can easily kill our kind. I also have my friends, and I’m almost as strong as Mercktos was, which I suspect is stronger than you. Do you think you have the power to counter all of us? Do you think you can defeat your own hook?”
Athos remained silent, contemplating all the hellborn arrayed against him. He watched the flying snakes that had been Belsac’s fingers. They looked a bit puny. It was almost as if they were not quite up to full size and strength, not that it mattered. Such small toys were of no moment. Belsac’s friends, they were another matter. If it came to pure power, with all of them against only him, the contest might have been close— if he had owned only the little power Zorce and Belsac assumed he possessed. Still, with a war in progress and a possible battle against his father coming up, Athos saw no need to exert himself unnecessarily.