The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) Page 15

  “What the—?” Barabus bolted from the tent, followed by the others.

  Upon exiting the tent, a large plume of smoke could be seen from several tents over. Barabus shouted, “Talarius’s tent!” They all charged towards the smoke plume where the tent had been.

  Gadius and Sorel, swords drawn, had to push Rod members out of the way to allow Barabus and Iskerus through the circle of soldiers surrounding the former tent. A huge cloud of smoke and steam as well as the very distinct smell of a smithy permeated the area where Talarius’s tent had been.

  The tent was gone. A few flaming pieces of canvas were all that remained, other than a few magically secured chests which were smoking. As the smoke and steam cleared, a figure about seven feet tall could be seen within the remains of the tent.

  Several soldiers and priests made gestures of faith at the sight of the individual within the tent. Barabus blinked to see a seven-foot-tall metallic knight standing vengefully within the tent.

  “Is he in plate mail?” Gadius asked, puzzled.

  “I have never seen such a massive, complete set of plate mail.” Sorel shook his head in disbelief. The large figure seemed to be solid metal of sharp planes and angles. The outer edges of his armor’s arms and legs were razor-sharp edged metal.

  Barabus shook his head. “I think he’s made out of metal?”

  “A metal golem?” Sorel asked the vicar general.

  “More like a sword golem,” Iskerus said, frowning.

  “I have never heard of a sword golem,” Gadius stated flatly.

  “This looks like no metal golem I have ever seen,” Iskerus said.

  “You there, in Talarius’s tent!” Sorel shouted. “Identify yourself.”

  A deep baritone voice spoke in a monotone. “The Knight Rampant Talarius has been abducted by a demon. He has been gone thirty hours. He has not returned. You have failed to rescue him. I shall retrieve him.”

  “Okay.” Gadius smiled grimly at the golem. “Again, identify yourself, golem!”

  “I am not a golem,” the metal man said.

  “Who are you then?” Barabus yelled.

  “I am Ruiden.”

  The two knights blinked and stared at each other. Sorel then turned back to face Ruiden. “You mean like Talarius’s sword?”

  “Not like. Am. I am Ruiden, Sword of Talarius. You have failed to retrieve him. I shall succeed.”

  ~

  Gastropé sat down on the bed in the small chamber he had been assigned to at Fierd’s Rest. It was similar in size to his room at school, so while cramped, was comfortable. Fierd’s Rest was a surprisingly robust keep dating back about six hundred years. It was fairly utilitarian, and military in nature. The most striking aspect of the fortress was that it was situated at the base of a giant mountain; one with, from what he could see in the dark, an unscalable cliff face. That cliff face seemed to be the back wall of the keep.

  He had not been able to see much in the dark. They had arrived in what he would have called a sylvan glade in the middle of dense trees. The glade had been lit both by the light from the runic gateway and the palace dungeon behind it, as well as the brightly lit torch stands around the glade. Not unexpectedly, based on what Trevin had said earlier, this end of the gateway was manned by short elves. He guessed they must be forest alfar; they were all between four and five feet tall and generally had brown hair with various colored streaks. Gastropé was not sure he’d ever seen any forial alfar, as they were called before. He had seen and even briefly met a few rialto alfar, the so called “royal elves,” all of whom were at least six feet tall and incredibly thin.

  From a distance, he had seen a few races of Dok Alvar in Exador’s army. He had no idea what the various races were, though. He had also had no desire to make their acquaintance. He was not xenophobic; it was simply that some races were better left alone. In hindsight, if he had continued working with Exador’s army, he probably would have had to deal with some of those more “evil” races.

  Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he had switched sides and was now aligned with three demons from the Abyss. Gastropé shook his head; his career trajectory was not moving in a positive direction. He had started out working for an “evil” overlord, who apparently was actually an archdemon allied with a previously dead Anilord; also an archdemon. He was now keeping secrets for the most-wanted demon lord on the planet, the demon lord’s son, and a loud-mouthed octopodal demon, while working for room and board for an egomaniacal wizard who had slaughtered the entire army he had just deserted in a single blast. To top it all off, he was now tracking down what was probably a goddess who may or may not have gone rogue.

  Gastropé sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands. This was not where he saw his life going at the beginning of the year. After graduation, he had thought he would settle down to a nice job in a city, earn a good living, hopefully meet a nice girl and get married. Instead, he was mired in tuition debt to the school and had had to take the only job he could find so he could make his first loan payment, and that job was with Exador. He had known full well the reason Exador was always hiring wizards; he went through them very quickly.

  Sure, he had lived through Exador, unlike most of the wizards that had started with him. Gastropé figured that should, in fairness, be counted as a plus. If only he could have done that and avoided being at the epicenter of an upcoming war between demons and gods! He was literally “trapped between Heaven and the Abyss.” Everyone knew what happened to mortals who meddled with demons and gods. They had an even worse record than Exador’s wizards did!

  “Could things get worse?” Gastropé muttered to himself, just before a knock came at his door. He shook his head and called out, “Come in!”

  “I hope you’re still decent,” Trevin’s voice called as the door swung open, her eyes immediately landing on Gastropé on the bed. She made a small pout. “Apparently, you are,” she muttered to herself, but still audible to Gastropé.

  “Just checking in to make sure you found your quarters and are getting settled,” Trevin said, smiling at Gastropé.

  “I am, thank you,” Gastropé politely replied.

  “You had enough to eat at dinner, I trust?” Trevin asked.

  “It was very good.” Gastropé nodded with a smile. They had been served beef stew, cheese and bread in the great hall shortly after arriving.

  Trevin nodded, apparently satisfied. “It was nothing fancy, just keep food. Tomorrow night, though, we shall have a true meal. We are going to have a combined welcome and farewell feast to celebrate this rather ad hoc adventure.” She smiled. “There will be a number of delicacies humans rarely get to sample, along with satyr beer and honey wine, as well as alvaren frost wine. You’ll want to eat and drink fully; it may be the last feast we get for quite some time.”

  “Sounds good.” Gastropé nodded to her, his eyes trying to keep contact with hers as she slid into the room to rest her hand on his shoulder. “I’m looking forward to seeing the Grove,” Gastropé said nervously, trying to eye her hand.

  She gave his shoulder a squeeze. I’m sure you’ll find it quite… provocative.” The enchantress was really standing a bit too close for comfort; Gastropé was getting a very strong dose of her perfume. He smiled and tried to scoot away slightly. This only caused the councilor’s gnarled hand to slide down over his right deltoid and grasp his bicep firmly. He felt a small bit of panic as he realized that his movement could have been interpreted as making room for her to sit down beside him. He glanced to the bed beside him and then back to her, hoping she was not taking the wrong kind of hint.

  She simply grinned at him, sliding her hand down his bare bicep a bit more. Her gaze moved to what appeared to be a few inches in front of his chest, or was it his lap she was looking at? She got a slightly puzzled look for a moment and then a bright smile as she tightened her grip slightly on his bicep.

  “Very impressive,” she said.

  Gastropé got a panicked look on his face and turned
pale, glancing down to make sure he was not showing anything in his lap. The old woman could not be that crude, could she?

  “I imagine that very few young wizards your age, fairly fresh out of school, have the skill and ability to locate and bind a fiend. A rather powerful one at that, it appears. That binding could probably hold a major demon,” the enchantress said, still staring in front of him.

  What was she talking about? Gastropé wondered if she had lost her mind. He was at a loss for words until he remembered that he had told people in Freehold that Tizzy was his bound demon. She must be referring to that. He relaxed a bit.

  “Ah, so you saw my demon in Freehold?” Gastropé asked.

  Trevin blinked and shook her head, looking him in the eyes again. “Uhm, no, afraid I didn’t. I was just noticing the binding link you had extending off into the nether regions and into the Abyss. Very skillfully crafted, I must say. I can honestly say, I am impressed.” She grinned at him. “In any event, sleep well tonight. We’ll be rising early, before dawn. A servant will wake you in time to do your morning ablutions before we break our fast with some fruit and bread. We will then take the lift up the cliff side. Unfortunately, the view won’t be ideal in the predawn light, particularly on this side of the mountains, but for some that’s a blessing.” She tilted her head. “Being a fellow Turelanean, however, I’m sure you are comfortable on carpets, so heights won’t be a problem?”

  “Uhm, no, no problem,” Gastropé replied, still quite nervous and reeling from her statement about a binding link extending from him to the Abyss. What was she talking about? He had never, would never, put any sort of binding spell on Tizzy!

  “Excellent then.” Trevin let go of his bicep and patted his shoulder again, before spinning away to exit the room. “Sleep well!” she said as she glided from the room.

  Gastropé shook his head slightly as if to clear it. He quickly spoke the words necessary to invoke his wizard sight and stared down to his chest. He had to focus it a bit, but the enchantress had been right! There was some sort of link spell emanating from his chest and extending off into the aether.

  He probed it, trying to determine what exactly it was and where it was going. He frowned; it was clearly a binding spell, from him to someone else. He was on the controlling end and the link clearly went off plane. Gently touching the translucent black cord, he suddenly got a whiff of unusual smoke. A very identifiable smoke; it was the same smoke he smelled when Tizzy was puffing on his pipe. He did not recognize the exact binding—it seemed a bit archaic—but it was very clearly a lower third-order binding from a conjuror to an enslaved demon.

  Where the hell had it came from? He knew for a fact he had never cast any spell on Tizzy. There was no way he could have —he didn’t even know the demon’s true name. How long had it been there? Who had put it there? Was it even possible for a third party to create a binding linking between a conjuror and a demon? He had never heard of such a thing. It really should not be possible. Something very strange was going on, and once again it felt like things were spinning out of his control.

  Chapter 88

  DOF +2

  Predawn 15-19-440

  Hilda glided unnoticed down the street in the dark predawn hours, Danyel softly sleeping back at the Inn, no one the wiser that she had even left the building. She was more than happy to not be wearing her normal saint attire on these muck-filled streets. One would think that such a modern city of such learning and wealth could have cleaner streets. Clearly, she had been spoiled by her afterlife and the tidiness of the Outer Realms. Objectively, Freehold was nicer than the villages and cities she had known during her mortal existence, but once one had seen the lights of Heaven, it was hard to settle back into the mundane world.

  Nonetheless, she had her duty. During her bath, she had finally gotten enough relief from the headache to get a feel for the city. There had been no temple of Tiernon in Freehold for centuries, but there was a chapel, and that would have to do. Actually, it was probably better for her purposes. Security at a true temple would be much higher. She needed to get in and out unnoticed; hence, the after-hours visit.

  “Alms… alms for a poor blind beggar!” A hand suddenly shot out from a doorway to brush her own hand. Hilda stopped in shock; it was amazing that a beggar could pierce her spells. She glanced at the beggar, a man of about thirty years with a pockmarked face and the milky gaze of a blind man. His hands were dirty, dry and scaly and covered in rather nasty boils and pockmarks.

  Hilda did a quick reading of the man. Yes, definitely blind, rather lice ridden, some nasty skin conditions and some fluid congestion in his lungs, but otherwise able-bodied. He was also, she noted, of Etonian faith; weak faith admittedly, but he had been dedicated to Namora at some point, most likely as a sailor.

  “Thank you, mistress. Thank you for stopping. Can you spare a few coins so that I might get some soup?” the beggar pleaded with a strong whiff of cheap beer on his breath. Hilda shook her head. She had no problem with drinking beer, but drinking cheap beer was pretty much the definition of a sin. However, she supposed beggars could not afford anything else.

  Hilda thought for a moment. She knew most beggars in large cities were actually professionals, and there were, in fact, beggar guilds. Perhaps his ability to spot her was a sign that his life was at a turning point. “I shall do better than that!” Hilda beamed at the blind man, who of course could not see her smile, but his head did tilt, perhaps at the melodic sound of her voice as she ramped her aura up.

  “Take my hands,” Hilda instructed, sticking both hands out towards his, practically in his face. Uncertain and puzzled, the beggar lifted his hands upward and Hilda grasped them. The man flinched at her touch, clearly sensing something unusual. He started to pull away, but Hilda would not let go.

  “Sorry for bothering you, mistress. I should go now,” the beggar pleaded with her.

  “Nonsense, my good man. I can sense the spirit of Namora on you. Clearly, you have fallen on hard times in this distant land. Namora’s brother, Tiernon, believes in helping all true Etonian kin. Allow the power and might of Tiernon to lift you and guide you!” Hilda began pulling from her illuminaries; she would not need to go upstream for this. “May the power and blessing of Tiernon be upon you now and for all your days!” Hilda sent the power of Tiernon’s healing blessing down her hands and into the beggar’s.

  The man gasped as the divine rapture of Tiernon filled his body. Given that she could see fine in the dark, she could easily see the milky film fade from the man’s eyes and the corrupted skin peel from the man’s hands and face as fresh new skin replaced it.

  The man suddenly went rigid and then limp as the healing finished. He collapsed back into the doorway gasping for breath, inhaling more deeply than he had probably been able to in a few years. He stared at her, seeing another face for the first time in who knew how long.

  Hilda gave him her most beatific smile. “May the blessings of Tiernon and his sister Namora be upon you as we part in peace!”

  She turned abruptly, releasing her built-up aura, and started down the street once more. “Wait! Wait!” The beggar called out from behind her. “I can see! I’m healthy!” Hilda smiled to herself, pleased. “You just took away my livelihood! Do you have any idea how hard it is out here for a healthy beggar?” The man sounded almost angry.

  Hilda shook her head. “What am I supposed to do?”

  The beggar whined some more.

  Frustrated, Hilda called back, “I don’t care, How about getting another job and earning your money from work? Return to the sea—you were a sailor at some point, yes?”

  “Uh, yeah… uh…” the beggar spluttered. Hilda simply shook her head. Whatever happened to people wanting to get a miracle? Seriously, this current generation; never satisfied with what they had. She laughed softly. Yes, it was annoying, but she had pretty much expected something like this. He had been a professional guild beggar; she was now certain of that.

  She supposed it would
be awkward to return to the guildhall both empty-handed and healed. Not her problem though; as a saint, it was her job to help people, whether they wanted it or not. Tiernon would also be pleased. While he certainly believed in charity and assistance to those in need, he had no patience for slackers and societal parasites. She laughed to herself once more, pleased with her side mission tonight.

  ~

  The chapel priest had been sound asleep in his bed. His assistant, sleeping near the chapel’s front door to assist with late night supplicants, was asleep as well. Both as Hilda had hoped. She had deepened their sleep and then magically barred the doors to the chapel to keep any other late-night visitors from intruding.

  It felt so nice in the chapel. The consecrated space acted as a buffer to the unpleasant sensation of the wards. As she had hoped, it allowed her to focus and concentrate better than at any point since she had entered the city. She headed to the altar, noting the bowl of holy water nearby. Excellent—she would need both to complete the ritual. She pulled the small sapphire amulet from her pocket. Calling it a sapphire amulet was a bit strong; it was more of a small sapphire pendant on a silver chain. However, it should do just fine.

  She needed to fashion something to hold the spells to keep the wards at bay so she did not have to actively keep the ritual going herself. This would be only her third holy artifact since she had graduated from saint school, but she felt confident that she would have no problems. Once the necklace was working, she could, with luck, also use the chapel’s sanctity to boost her ability to contact the archons off plane and file her report. These stupid wards were a huge pain in the butt.

  ~

  “Decisions, too many decisions!” Tom complained. He was sitting on his chair. He felt bad that he did not have furniture for anyone else, but he had never expected to have so much company. Nor had he really had time to build more. He had offered to let anyone who wanted to sit in his single chair, but it was really too big for anyone, including Reggie and Boggy.