The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) Read online

  Tizzy buzzed up and into the conversation. “Yep! I am thinking you’re going to be mobbed by people asking for autographs next time you hit the courts. And the paparazzi are going to be jumping out around every corner!”

  “Paparazzi? You mean like tabloid photographers?” How could there be paparazzi in the Abyss?

  “Photographer? Not familiar with the word,” Antefalken said, “but mirrographers, and tabloid ballers, definitely. The Courts thrive on gossip, so tabloids and gossipmongers do great business!”

  Tizzy shook his head. “I only wish you’d told me in advance you were planning all this; I’d have figured out some way to set up a mirror feed to the Abyss and then charge admission at bars for demons to watch it.” The octopod shook a couple of index fingers at Tom. “Remember that next time and I’ll cut you in for a share!”

  Tom grabbed his horns with his hands and just shook his head back and forth. “Argh!”

  ~

  Bess purred as the gentle warm air of the fur dryer cascaded over her body from all directions, gently whipping the water from her body. She really missed the luxuries of home. The Abyss was so damn hot that it was impossible to get a decent bath, let alone a blow-dry. The Outpost, as they called it, did have air dryers but they were principally used for cool air on extra-hot days. Of course, that was every day in the Abyss; there were no seasons in that hellhole.

  She had no idea how that place had come about. It had just always been there, certainly as long as she could remember, which was an incredibly long time. Like any normal deity, she had ignored it until they’d hatched this scheme about a hundred years ago, or no more like a hundred and fifty years ago—time flew. That’s when they’d built the Outpost and she’d “revealed” herself to the “Court.” Since then, she had had to spend the vast majority of her time there schmoozing demon princes and archdemons.

  What morons. All of them, running around pretending to be evil. The evil of the demons was nothing compared to the evil of the Etonians. Now there was true evil with a capital “E.” It was hard to imagine she could hate any pantheon more than the Demi-Urge, but somehow the Etonians had managed to one up the biggest Ego in the multiverse. The Demi-Urge was just a crazed greedy narcissist, and not that bright; not bright enough to understand the concept of hypocrisy. The Etonians were a different story. They seemed to revel in hypocrisy.

  Further, at least the Demi-Urge had the Adversary to oppose him. No one seriously opposed the Etonians and their massive land and soul grab. For one thing, their PR teams would quickly brand anyone standing in their way as “evil.” The joke of that!

  “Enough!” Bess said aloud to herself. She could not allow herself to go down this path again. Too much anger was a distraction. It made her boil inside, and she needed to be cold. As cold as the Abyss was hot. Bess exited the dryer chamber into the poolroom. Anup was still in the pool. She admired his trim muscular form, his firm muzzle and sharpened canines, his silky long ears pointing straight up. The jackal had to be one of the most beautiful creatures after the cat, Bess thought idly, smiling to herself.

  “Do you have to go so soon?” Anup asked, licking his maw with a lustful stare.

  “Three times is enough for one morning.” Bess smiled playfully at him.

  “Yes, but when I only get one morning every decade, I should be entitled to make-up sex for all the missed mornings!”

  Bess arched her eyebrow. “Men. You are all the same. You confuse a man’s entitlement with a woman’s gifts. Two things that only occasionally coincide.” Anup chuckled. “Besides, I must meet with General Thuti to assess the recovery of the troops we lost when Lenamare blew up his castle.”

  “That was painful; you could literally hear a roar as the Wheel of Life sped up to unprecedented levels to hold the lost souls until they can be reborn. I’m still amazed it was able to handle that large of an influx so incredibly fast.”

  “Usiris is good. You have to admit that,” Bess stated.

  “That I will give him.” Anup gave her a grim smile. “It’s not his skill that annoys me.”

  Bess laughed.

  ~

  Vaselle dropped his backpack in the clearing. It was midmorning and he was finally outside the city. He had tried to get out yesterday, but they were still under lockdown. As of this morning, however, the city guard were finally letting people leave the city, and letting them back in, but with significant inspections and long lines. However, he would worry about that later. For now, he was outside of the city and outside those damn wards that had driven all the demons out, and which completely prevented him from conjuring his demon back.

  It was seriously annoying, but given the power he had witnessed from the walls yesterday, the council’s precautions certainly made sense. It was just inconvenient that sensible precautions were keeping him from realizing his dreams. Although, he supposed, the fact that such sensible inconveniences were impeding him might be an indication that he should heed them.

  But how could he? What he had seen yesterday, what that demon lord had done to the priests… Was that not his dream? To be filled with the divine spirit? Okay, maybe a negatively divine spirit in this case, but… seriously, to be the servant of a being capable of standing toe-to-toe against the forces of Tiernon and winning? A being capable of subverting, infiltrating and manipulating those same priests and soldiers that had rejected him?

  Vaselle was off the road by a half-hour walk, surely far enough to avoid attention. He began pulling his components from his backpack to set up his pentacles. Vaselle smiled to remember the tales of Myrion, the old priest of Hendel who had spent hours tutoring him when he was a young boy. His stories of how the spirit of his god, Hendel, would enter him to perform healings and miracles. The peace and joy that came from being filled with the divine spirit, to be the willing tool of a greater power, a greater good.

  He had dreamed of being a priest and letting a god fill him, use him to work the god’s will upon Astlan. He had first entered the seminary of Hendel as an aspirant spending a year learning the ins and outs of the religion, but when it came time to dedicate himself, the priests had informed him that he did not have the calling. His nature was not a good fit for the god; he was not really priestly material. The bitterness, the disillusionment had hurt. To this day, this memory brought tears to his eyes.

  He had then thought maybe a different god, a different Etonian. There were no proscriptions against changing one’s devotion between the different Etonian gods. He tried to get accepted as an initiate of Tiernon with again the same answer. Okay, fine. He could dedicate himself to the Rod. Be a soldier for Tiernon. That had lasted about two months when they gave up on him as being a failure at most traditional weapons skills, and again, not a great spiritual fit. Either liability was forgivable, but not both.

  Thus, Vaselle had decided that if he could not be a servant of a higher power, he’d be the higher power. He had gotten accepted at Master Yeltsin’s School of Conjury; and while starting very late, it proved to be something he was actually talented at. He often mused that perhaps it was his very talent for summoning and controlling others, particularly demons, that made him not a great fit for the priesthood.

  He laughed as he sketched out the pentacles in the area he had cleared of forest debris and grass. Clearly being talented in demonology would be contraindicated for Etonian priesthood. So perhaps that had been for the best. The priests must have known or Seen something in his future. It might have been nice for them to explain or mention it to him; it would have saved him a lot of pain. However, given that Etonian priests did not like conjurors, pointing him in that direction would not have been something they would have wanted to do.

  There; the pentacle was complete, the brazier set. He lit the fire and began his chant. It was the standard conjuring for a bound fiend. A type II demon that he knew well. At home, he had permanent pentacles set up and inscribed for conjuring this particular demon, but that was not working now, thanks to the Council’s anti-demon
wards. It had certainly been a shocker when Estrebrius had suddenly jumped up and slammed the door open and fled Vaselle’s house with no warning. Vaselle had followed, yelling and screaming at the demon to return, but it just made a beeline over the city walls. Vaselle had quickly cast a flying spell and took off after the demon as it flew over the city, but had been stopped at the wall.

  As he chanted the summoning spell for Estrebrius, he reflected on what he had seen going on outside. It was hard to see through the wards, but he had eventually adjusted his wizard sight for a clear view of the events that were about to occur. He had been floored , could not believe what he was seeing. Fortunately, by the end of the evening, the black market had bootlegged scryings of the event for sale and he had been able to watch it over and over again throughout the night. And thus, in the wee hours of the night, he formed his plan.

  “Estrebrius, I command you come forth!” He released a handful of sulfur into the brazier, causing a large flash. And there the demon was, standing in the pentacle as usual, although he was looking a bit sickly, Vaselle thought.

  “Master,” the demon bowed slightly unsteadily.

  “Why are you so wobbly, Estrebrius?” Vaselle asked, rather concerned. It was odd to be concerned about a demon’s health, but Estrebrius had always been a very reliable demon. He clearly was not well.

  “I am sorry, Master. Yesterday I was overcome by a compulsion to flee the city.” Vaselle nodded and waved to the demon that he understood and was not mad. “And once outside the city, I was overtaken by some scoundrels on a flying boat who shot me out of the sky and proceeded to turn me into a pincushion, forcing me back to the Abyss.” The fiend shrugged. “Unfortunately, I’m still recovering.”

  “Hmm, sorry to hear about that. Very unfortunate. I won’t keep you long, but I do need your assistance.” Estrebrius looked at him, a bit confused by the apparent contradiction. “Are you aware of the battle yesterday between Sir Talarius of the Rod and an extremely powerful demon, who in the end defeated the knight?”

  Estrebrius blinked in surprise at the question and then nodded. “I saw a bit of it, and naturally everyone in the Abyss is talking about it.”

  Vaselle nodded, pleased. “Are you familiar with the demon champion? Do you know him?”

  Estrebrius looked at his accursed master in surprise. “Uhm, no, no one really knows who he is. No one had seen him before yesterday, or very few. There are lots of liars in the Abyss, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

  Vaselle frowned; that was inconvenient. “Hmm, so this may take you a while. I need you to locate this demon, reach out to him and get me in contact with him.”

  Estrebrius made a choking noise and seemed to almost jump in his pentacles. “Master, are you serious?”

  “Very,” Vaselle confirmed.

  “You understand this demon must be at least an archdemon, if not a Prince. It’s really not a good idea to attract the attention of such a being.” Estrebrius sounded incredulous, as if Vaselle had lost his mind. Perhaps he had, the conjuror thought to himself. However, after yesterday, he knew in his bones that this was the right course.

  “I understand that, but I need to meet with this demon. I believe I can offer him something of great interest and it would be most worth his while to grant me an audience.”

  Estrebrius stared at his accursed master. “My Lord, master,” he finally said, “I really must advise against this. It can only lead to pain and death for both of us. This demon is thousands of years old and has remained a complete mystery over all that time. That requires a tremendous amount of cunning and almost unimaginable shielding power. Plus, he’s tied to a number of other archdemons, the Rod, the Oorstemothians; you’d be safer to walk into the very Abyss than to have so much as a whisper with this demon!”

  Vaselle took his demon’s warnings very seriously; they were thoughts he had had himself. However, he had steeled himself for this. He would be strong. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I must do this, Estrebrius. I command you by your true name to obey me and locate, contact and act as my emissary to this demon.”

  Estrebrius looked almost desperate. “Please master, don’t do this. You are a very great master, wise and powerful, and I am honored to be your humble servant, but this is a most dangerous course of action. Please reconsider!”

  Vaselle shook his head again. “No, demon. Obey me. Locate this demon for me, and arrange contact!”

  Estrebrius bowed his head, feeling the wizard’s spells urging him to obey. “Very well, master.”

  ~

  Randolf rolled over on his side and caressed Crispin’s face in the late morning light. Their morning love session had been as magical as ever, perhaps even sweeter now that Exador’s undoing seemed to be underway. He mentally reached out to his wardings around the room, ensuring they were still secure. He was not concerned about the privacy of making love with his catamite; that was an open secret. It was their conversations that needed to be secure.

  “New day, new perspective!” Randolf grinned at Crispin.

  The youth grinned back. “Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’s too early,” he said, massaging Randolf’s side. “I know how you want this charade to end, but until we are sure Exador is completely exposed and discredited as a human, the masquerade must continue.”

  Randolf rolled onto his back and sighed. “I know, I know. But I’ve lived my entire life as someone I am not. I want to be me and not Randolf the Second, Exador’s Arch-Toady!”

  “Well, unlike your father or grandfather, you may get a chance to escape the role your line has been forced to play to protect Turelane,” Crispin said, rolling onto his own back.

  “It’s a shame you couldn’t see the balling,” Randolf noted, “It was fantastic. It totally upended the playing field. I have to believe Exador was near shitting himself on that carpet near the end.”

  “You may thank your esteemed fellow councilors for my hasty departure yesterday morning. I was almost blasted back to Djinnistan!” Crispin shook his head. “Fortunately, their spell was directed at demons and other extra-planar individuals. The other extra-planar part is what saved me, I think. I would hate to have been a demon subject to that spell! Even after they turned off the overt expulsion part, the general compulsion gave me a headache until I eventually figured out how to counter it.”

  “And I assume that’s why you weren’t back when I had to leave for the meeting?” Randolf asked.

  Crispin raised his arm to give Randolf a thumbs-up from beside him on the large pillow-topped bed. “My master’s wisdom is as deep as the waters in the sea!” Crispin giggled.

  Randolf rolled over on top of Crispin, his forearms propping him up above the lad. “You boy, need to quit with the sarcasm before I stuff you back in your bottle!” Randolf pretended to snarl before breaking down into laughter.

  Crispin laughed as well. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s a lamp! Not a stupid bottle! Men have lamps, women have bottles!”

  “Bottle this!” Randolf’s mouth covered Crispin’s and their laughter was lost to their lust.

  Chapter 85

  DOF +1

  Late Morning 15-18-449

  Hilda stood at the edge of the still dewy clearing, gnawing on her burnt, crusty and cold breakfast cake, about four hours after dawn. Not that she needed to eat the damaged baked good; she never needed to eat, it was really more stress relief. She could not actually gain or lose weight as a saint. Saints generally looked exactly the same for all eternity, short of some strange event. In some ways this was convenient in that she had never had much luck losing weight when she was alive; she had been on what seemed like a lifelong diet. Now she could eat whatever she wanted and not gain any weight. However, that also took a lot of the pleasure out of it. No more sense of being “bad” and cheating on her diet.

  Actually, it was pretty dang hard to be “bad” as a saint. It certainly put a damper on getting dates. She would be at a party or a bar, and someone would ask her what she d
id. “Oh, I’m a saint.” Suddenly, the other person would make pleasant excuses and move on. And that was at an avatar bar; she was sure a human party or bar would be even worse.

  That was one nice thing about this undercover work; she could pretend to be someone else. She could lie and do it for the cause of Good. She shook her head and put the rest of the burnt cake into her belt pouch. The other nice thing about this whole adventure was wearing street clothes. She had been given an account at the quartermaster’s to be outfitted in Astlanian garb and tools.

  Unfortunately, they had no “normal” horses to complete the masquerade, so she would have to get some from the Rod. She had also been advised to locate a follower of hers and use him or her as a guide to current customs and appropriate behavior. Further, as a lady in the city, she would need to have a man-at-arms or squire. Technically, she should also have a maid, but that would start to get really complicated. They needed to keep this quiet.

  The question had been, who? She had scanned her followers in the area and finally decided on a young man named Danyel. Danyel had been born not too far from Rivenrock and was in fact a descendant of the children Hilda had died to protect. He had also been possessed by the demon, and then had the stuffing beaten out of him by other Rod members, who had to take him down to protect Talarius.

  At the moment he was unconscious from his wounds. He’d been going in and out as far as she could tell, but she hadn’t been monitoring that actively. Given that he would almost certainly feel great contrition for allowing himself to be possessed and attacking Sir Talarius, she was fairly certain she could get him to agree to assist her quietly as part of his penance. Naturally, he would help her in any circumstances, but her thought was that his guilt, undeserved in her opinion, would help assuage his concerns in performing surreptitious services. Not something the Rod was famous for conducting.

  Hilda was currently dressed in a modern version her old habit as a Sister of Tiernon, and had surrounded herself in her most subtle misdirection and anti-noticeability rituals. Being invisible was too risky in this camp, so simply being unnoticed would be far better.