"How often did you encounter the Angels?" Traigan asked, studying the man's reaction coldly. He was rewarded with a slight tightening of Geralt's lips, and one hand moved seemingly of its own volition towards the maimed knee of the left leg.
"Rarely. I avoided them as best I could."
"You have your revenge, in any case," Traigan said, and stood. It seemed Geralt would be content to spend his days in inebriation and idleness until the day he died – and perhaps Traigan would let him. He left the chamber without further conversation. His mind was heavy with comparisons between the words of Geralt and Ertellin, ruminations on the nature of the War and those who fought it.
Even the Demons acknowledged that sorcerers and wizards were the same. If there were some basic truth to be found, some fundamental law that had gone undiscovered, then Traigan burned to know it. Knowledge was, and always would be, the surest path to power.
The Warlord tried to shake off the strange impatience that had begun to grip him – an undirected restlessness, as if some race were underway that he was only dimly aware of. He comforted himself with the knowledge that, if Ertellin was to be believed, he truly had all the time in the world. The War would not change – until the day that it ended.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Deep beneath the Tower, a renovation had taken place. In light of the time they spent there, the wizards of the Great Conspiracy – as they termed themselves by way of both jest and grim recognition – had slowly brought more lamps, torches, cushions, and other items down to the strange room.
The room was now brightly lit, and a makeshift table had been constructed to one side, far enough from the benches for the compatriots to stand around it comfortably. A carefully – and recently – drawn map was the subject of the wizards' attention. Ethion was methodically pointing out every detail. A large chamber, similar in dimensions to the Council Chamber above though it was square, and studded with four thick pillars, lay at the center of a web of corridors. From the chamber itself five different hallways led in every direction. An antechamber attached to the main room by one of those, and from it two paths led off the edge of the parchment.
"Are you sure that's all of them?" Darius had asked when the map was set before them. Ethion had replied with only a smile and a nod. They all knew that Ethion, more than any wizard in Bastion, would know the deep layers of Nebeth. He had commanded the fortress for years, and been responsible for the expansion of the lower levels and construction of the escape tunnels which he himself had been forced to use.
He pointed to one of the hallways. "This is the tunnel that I took. It slopes steadily downward and branches thrice – most of these lead to dead ends to throw off pursuit. Two paths lead to the outside. I caved in the tunnel at multiple points when I escaped, but I cannot guarantee they haven't been reopened.
"These three are actually staircases," Ethion indicated corridors leading south and east. "Two open into storerooms. The third, here, was being used to billet soldiers. I find it likely that Pyre would have kept the room for that purpose, if they are using it at all. It depends on how many troops they have in the garrison.
"Finally, these two corridors from the antechamber lead separately to the rest of the fortress. The most direct path is down this corridor, but it leads through the commanders' quarters."
The others followed as Ethion traced the indicated routes with his finger. There were no interconnections – the large room served as a hub in the travels within Nebeth's interior, a dim subterranean crossroads.
"You were right, Ethion, exactly right," Darius said. "It's perfect. What else could we ask of a defensive position?"
"How about some big, thick doors to lock?" responded one man, rousing laughter from the group.
Darius laughed with the rest, but he looked thoughtful. "We could bring them with us," he muttered to himself, then repeated himself more loudly. "Something to barricade with, at least. A few timbers is all we'd need, nothing hard to obtain."
"Would they survive the spell?" someone asked.
"Nothing else is harmed by the Firewalking. Even clothing remains untouched. You feel the heat, but you don't get burned. We can put it to the test easily enough, though. Ethion, when is our next trial?"
"In two days."
"Good, we'll - "
Darius stopped abruptly as the room brightened from behind them. The wizards turned as one. Aethel had appeared behind them – at an end of the room with no door.
The Archangel took a single stride forward. "It is time."
"Time to learn the heart of our plan, gentlemen," Darius said. As it always did when he took another step down this path, his heart had begun to beat more rapidly. "Aethel has come to show you the spell that will make this world our own again."
Darius spoke calmly, though he'd had no idea Aethel would show up just then. The Angel's only words to him on the matter were that he would come again 'in time.'
"Extend your hands," the Angel said, and one by one the wizards put forth their hands to him. Aethel's wings swept forward, and each man's fingertips were grazed by one of the myriad gossamer tendrils. A shocked expression and a sharp intake of breath accompanied the contact. Darius did not reach his head out – he had done so before. He remembered what came next, though – as vividly as if it were happening right then.
***
There was no sight – all around was blackness. Emptiness. Somewhere in that black, though, was the Enemy. Their taint of hatred could be felt like the glow of a fire – and the heat was growing. The respite was over. The Enemy returned.
With a thought the darkness fled, replaced by light in a place that was different. All around was the power of the Choirs, felt not as individual Angels but as a single encompassing warmth. Here and there a Power shone forth in its own right, the Archangels. Makaelic was here, and others, the mightiest of the hosts of Heaven.
Through the Choirs could be felt another power – a strange power. Not Heaven, not Hell. It's presence was a dimness within the light, a wrinkle in this place that was different – it was why this place was different at all. Gabriel was there, near it, and all around it were his host, the Guardians.
The Cherubim began their song. There were tones in it of power and of sadness, but mostly of resolve. This act was necessary, and there would be no hesitation. This place was different in a way that was dangerous, and it could not be allowed to fall into the grasp of Hell, even for a moment.
Ever.
The Enemy had come, in strength greater than before. One way or another, Heaven's sway over this place would be broken. All the Choirs moved to safeguard the Cherubim, but the Enemy were stronger, and inexorably the power of the Demons pressed inward. Through it all the Guardians worked their ritual. A vast and powerful force was rising from their song.
When it completed, the War stopped.
Angel and Demon were thrown from that place, thrown into the black emptiness that was everywhere and nowhere in the cosmos. For a fleeting moment, Angel and Demon alike took stock of the change the Cherubim had wrought. That strange place, where the devouring abyss was held at bay, was seemingly gone.
***
The whole of the vision hit the men in the fraction of an instant that they touched Aethel's wings. It was meaningless to dwell on how long the event in that vision – that memory, as Darius believed it to be – lasted. Darius found he could not think too much on the vision, or his mind began to reel at its very strangeness, how things such as time, distance, or even the concept of individuality were hard to apply. However the Great War was fought beyond the boundaries of the mortal world, it was beyond the power of a human mind to comprehend.
In the silence that followed, his fellows had the same reaction Darius himself had had. Most of them stood with mouths agape, minds still struggling to sift through the vision, and heads shook softly as they realized that the more they thought about it, the less they understood of it.
"Amazing," one man breathed. All nodded in agreement.
>
"I don't understand," Ethion said, his hopelessly confounded expression directed at the floor. "Did the spell come with the vision, or the vision with the spell?"
"Try not to think about it too hard," Darius suggested.
Aethel spoke at last. "You have what you need now. May you use it wisely."
With that, the Angel turned and moved towards the door, leaving the stunned wizards to glance to one another at the sudden appearance and departure. Aethel's long strides took him from the room by the time Darius thought to follow, calling out the Angel's name once he had left the room. Strangely, the Angel was much further down the corridor than he should have been.
"Aethel, wait! I must thank you, again, for helping us." Darius said. "I see – I can sense, somehow, that you are troubled. Why?"
The Angel stopped and turned. From beneath the hood, the light of Heaven was dimmed, a sure sign that something weighed upon the Angel's mind.
"I worry, Darius. I have looked into their hearts now – as I have looked into yours. You alone of them have considered the great loss humanity will suffer. It does not bode well."
"It is a sacrifice – the loss must equal the gain. They know this," Darius protested.
"They do not. Not in the depths of their souls. Not yet. They see only the gain, the great gift they are to receive."
Darius was speechless for a few moments, fearing that Aethel had changed his mind – but if so, why grant them the spell?
"Does this change anything?" Darius asked tentatively.
"No," came the welcome reply. Aethel tucked his hands within his sleeves in the familiar pose, and seemed to lose some of his burden. "The cause is right. But I worry, Darius – for if your own compatriots cannot fathom the loss, what will happen when the entire world must face it? Before the Angels came, your people lived very simply. Under our tutelage we have given you a great strength – we have given you the unity of Heaven. Now, the might Bastion wields is greater than you know. To what works will that might be set, once the War is gone?"
Darius answered carefully. "I cannot say, Aethel, but that our concern, not yours. We want our destinies to belong to us alone, and with that comes the responsibility of deciding them."
Somehow, he had said the wrong thing, for the Archangel's cowled head bowed, and his light flickered once more.
"No, Darius. I bear that responsibility as well – for I have helped you to this. Succeed or fail, some day you will die, and escape the consequences," Aethel said. "I risk coming to regret my actions for all eternity."
Darius was speechless. After a moment, Aethel bowed his farewell, and disappeared around the corner.
When he re-entered the room, the wizards were all sitting about on the newly-padded benches and chatting. Ethion looked up at his return.
"All is well?" the man asked. Darius nodded in response, quickly taking a seat beside his fellows.
"There is one last part of the plan that we should discuss," said Alexander.
Darius could still feel Ethion's inquiring gaze upon him, but looked instead to Alexander. "What is that?"
"Escape."
There was a chorus of agreement, and Alexander continued. "I'm sure you're ready to give your life for this, Darius – and so am I. That doesn't mean I'm eager to. Once we've cast our spell, we'll be buried in the catacombs of Nebeth. The strongest fortress in the world. How do we leave?"
"I don't know," Darius admitted. "Perhaps we could try to excavate the tunnels again."
"I ruined them quite thoroughly," Ethion said. "If the Enemy hasn't done any work on them, it will take us a good long while."
"We can bring plenty of provisions. The journey from here to there will be only a matter of a few steps to us – we can carry enormous amounts of supplies."
"What happens if we all die anyway?"
Everyone looked towards the wall, against which sat the young Pendrick. There was a great measure of sadness on his face. The young man had a wife, and still was determined to be a part of the plan. Darius admired him greatly for that.
"No need to be morose, man," Alexander said.
"What if we succeed, and then die?" Pendrick insisted. "We have to ensure that Bastion learns of what has happened. They might think it's some attack of the Enemy, or that the Choirs abandoned us. If all this occurs with no explanation, there will be panic."
"He's right," agreed another. "We need to leave word behind, somehow."
"One of us stays behind?"
All eyes turned to Pendrick. If there was one man who deserved to remain, it was he. His expression simply hardened, though, and he shook his head slowly. "I am going."
"It need not be someone," Ethion mused. "We could leave behind a message. A letter, entrusted to somebody who will deliver it to the Council after we've left."
The wizards discussed who might be given the task. Eventually the talk turned to other details of the plan. Preparation, timing – escape was brought up again, and the wizards argued back and forth over the best options. It was like a session of the Council – every detail discussed to death, few decisions made. Darius listened to it with little interest, remaining silent. In his mind, the plan was more or less complete – if it comforted the others to endlessly discuss about the trivialities, so be it.
Chapter Forty
When Darius entered the barracks, there were few of his men there to greet him. It was dusk, and most of the Gryphons had sought out food and song and merriment at the common rooms, or in some cases, their own homes. The few that remained were gambling around a table, with bits of sugared apple as their tokens. Pollis was among them, which Darius was glad for. Hunting a soldier down in his off-hours was often an insurmountable task. He motioned to his lieutenant that he needed a word.
Pollis nodded and rose from the game, then thought twice and leaning down, swept his remaining bits of sweet into his hand and deposited them into a small bag that hung from his belt – all the while giving the other men a mock-suspicious glare. The others laughed – Pollis's pile had been rather diminutive.
The smile on his face still fresh from his joke, Pollis moved to his Captain and saluted. "Sir?" His expression relaxed and grew serious quickly, though, when he saw Darius's face. The wizard carried two map scrolls underneath his arm, and his demeanor was entirely businesslike.
"Our respite is almost over, Pollis. We'll have work to do, soon," Darius said. His man nodded and awaited further explanation. Darius drew him over to another table and, with the flick of a hand, lit the lantern upon it. He withdrew one of the scrolls and laid it flat upon the table, revealing a map of the areas near Bastion, centered on the Patchwork Forest to the south.
"In three days," began Darius, "I want the Gryphons to leave the city and make for this clearing." Darius used a bit of charcoal to mark a spot within the forest, a little over halfway towards the border. "Take your time. You'll have five days to reach it, and I want the men rested when they arrive. Carry food, water, some warm clothing – everything we'll need for an extended campaign."
"For how long, sir?"
"As much as they can carry," Darius answered. "That's why you'll have so long to get there. Again, do not tax yourselves on the way. Soon after the fifth day from your departure, I will arrive with some other wizards." Darius looked his lieutenant in the eye. "You must camp near the treeline, far from the center of the glade. We will be arriving by spell – do not be alarmed."
Pollis gave no sign of unease at the announcement, and Darius went on. He set the other scroll down – on it was the map that had been prepared by Ethion, showing the maze of corridors and rooms.
"When you've reached the clearing, gather the men and acquaint them with this area," Darius said, and paused for a moment to study Pollis for some reaction. Again, there was none. "This is the place we'll be defending. This large room here will be our home for some time. We'll have barricades, anything we can construct with simple timbers and rope.
"How long, Pollis, do you think the Gryphons wil
l be able to defend this place?" Darius asked.
Pollis stared long and hard at the drawing. Measurements had been added for the width of the corridors and the size of the rooms – even the number of stairs that lay down some hallways. Pollis looked back up at his captain with the ghost of a smile on his face. "Sir, unless the Enemy can afford to attack us day and night, we'll hold until the provisions run out."
"You think so?"
Pollis indicated the main corridors. "The widest of these is only enough for two men to walk abreast. The Gryphons are, man for man, a match for any soldier in Pyre. We've been working on the best ways for fighting in spaces like this for weeks, now. The Enemy could throw thousands at us. They'll run out of room to step over their own corpses before they break us."
Darius sighed, and his stern expression softened. "That is a fine thing to hear, lieutenant. Thank you. He rolled up the scrolls again, tying them with strings of leather, then handed them over to Pollis. "I've already ordered the gathering of supplies. You'll have two days to prepare, and you'll leave the next morning. Understood?"
Pollis saluted again, crisp and heartily. "Yes sir!"
"Good. One last thing," Darius leaned in closely. "If you are asked, the Gryphons are going out for a training march. That is all."
His Lieutenant simply nodded. "I understand, sir."
Darius left the barracks feeling buoyant – Pollis's assessment of their chances within Nebeth had lifted his spirits. No doubt his fellow conspirators would be happy to hear that their mission would not necessarily be a suicidal one after all.
***
Pollis sat back down at the table. The piles had not shifted much whilst he had been gone – no doubt the soldiers had been doing their best to eavesdrop on his conversation with the Captain. Pollis did not dig his 'tokens' back out. He met the gaze of each man at the table. All waited patiently and expectantly for the orders they knew were on the way.
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