The Keys of Solomon (34 page)

“Two…”

“Why the hurry? Here. Take the damn thing. Better you than Theoneal or Azazeal.”

Procell hesitated, her eyes alight with hunger as they locked onto the blade in Nathan's outstretched hand. Once she imbued the Kiv with taint, she would be invincible. A goddess.

“Toss it at my feet. Gently.”

Nathan had counted on such a reaction. Avarice and excess had always been Procell's failing. Today it would lead to her unmaking. Nathan took a slow, cautious step forward, extending the Kiv toward procell.

“Stop!”

Nathan froze in midstride, one foot suspended in the air. He winced and staggered to his right. “What is it now? Don't you want it? Take it. Hurry. I can't stand here all day.”

“I told you to toss it on the ground at my feet,” said Procell. “You're either very deaf or very stupid. Now, stand still and do as I say or I'll leave you alone to deal with the taint.”

Nathan wobbled on unsteady legs, and Procell giggled again.

“From the looks of things, you'll be dead in an hour anyway. I could just leave now and come back later for the blade.”

“Procell, we both know you won't leave the Kiv behind. Mulciber would find it before you could return. Can you imagine that berserker with a Kiv? I'd rather it pass to a real warrior. Like you.”

Procell smiled. Not a sneer or smirk as before, but a genuine smile. Flattery always worked on the vain. She lowered the point of the kris and took a small step forward. “You surprise me, Nathan. That's very gracious of—”

Nathan set his foot on the ground. Hard. Very hard.

Nathan's physical strength
was
legendary among the Host and Fallen alike, and for good reason. The ancient Gaels had told tales of him, the deity they called
maistirad mac tire
—Master of Wolves. In one such tale, a tribal shaman swore he stood witness as Nathan buried a seven-headed demon lord beneath a mountain—a mountain Nathan had ripped from the earth. Some tribal legends contain more truth than fiction.

Nathan summoned every ounce of power within his massive body, then borrowed still more from another willing source—a source so distant it existed not only in another place, but another time as well. He focused it on the ground beneath him. Soft loam drew minerals from the very dirt and surrounding plant life. Trees and shrubs were bleached slate gray as Nathan bled them of still more trace minerals. As the minerals flowed into him, he channeled the material back to the ground beneath his feet, converting fresh earth into super-hardened bedrock. His foot slammed into the rock and sent a shockwave through the ground that toppled nearby trees and flung water from the bayou up and over its steep, eight-foot bank.

Procell's eyes widened as the ground quaked beneath her and she lost her footing. Her fabled agility had never failed her. Not once since the Great Fall had she been knocked from her feet during combat. Not once, until today. As her back struck the ground, the kris flew from her hand and landed in the thick tangle of honeysuckle.

In panic over the loss of the weapon that had helped make her the quintessential assassin, she kipped up from the ground—and onto the point of Nathan's waiting Kiv. Nathan drove the Kiv through her breastbone and gave the wire-bound hilt a savage twist, grinding heart and lung into gory pulp. As the tip of the blade exited Procell's back, it severed her spinal column. The bones in her legs melted and she sagged back onto the ground-turned-rock.

Nathan leaned over her. He wiped the liquid gold from his fingers and held the hand in front of her face. For the first time, Procell saw the self-inflicted cut that marred Nathan's palm. He then turned his head to the side, showing his neck was clean and uncut.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Procell, but you never touched me. Don't you just hate when that happens?”

Her bloodless lips formed a silent O and the light faded from her eyes. Her corporeal body erupted in a tall column of flame. Seconds later, a pile of ash the color of coal dust was the only evidence that Procell ever existed on Earth.

And then there were none!

*   *   *

And then there were none!

Nathan's triumph clearly caught Kokabel and Mulciber by surprise. Neither thought the Power had any real chance of taking out all the hidden Brethren. Kiel seized the moment and leaped forward, twisting in midair and launching a savage spinning kick at Mulciber's chest. The tactic caught the sword-wielding Dominion off guard. Both of the Brethren had figured Kiel would make good on his threat and go for Kokabel first.

Kiel's heel connected and the impact rumbled through the Mississippi low land like thunder. He felt Mulciber's sternum give way beneath his heel. However there was no time for self-congratulations. The injury was severe and would hamper the Dominion's mobility and sap his stamina, but it wouldn't take him out of the fight. And there was still Kokabel to consider.

As he dropped back onto his feet, Kiel thrust out his hand and shouted a Word of Power. A lance of blue fire aimed at Kokabel's head leaped from his fingertips, but Kiel never saw the result. Kokabel had already recovered from his initial surprise and launched his own attack. Emerald-colored chain lightning crackled across the small clearing, engulfing Kiel and dropping him to his knees. His hair burst into flame, and smoke poured from his mouth and nostrils. Skin fell from his exposed flesh in long, blackened strips. He hadn't expected the power or ferocity of Kokabel's lightning strike.

His slender body contorted by excruciating pain, Kiel tried to scream but the sound stuck in his throat. In his many eons on Earth, Kiel had fought countless battles against the Fallen and endured his share of wounds inflicted by Words of Power. But he'd never felt anything like this. Never like this. Through scorched eyes, he watched as Mulciber advanced. The berserker carried the flaming sword.

Father, help your servant!

Nearly blind, Kiel glanced at the spot where Kokabel had stood and saw nothing but trees, the bark blistered and peeled away from their scarred trunks. His line of sight was interrupted by the looming form of Mulciber. The fallen angel advanced, grinning, his eyes gleaming with madness brought on by battle lust.

“Say good-bye, Nathaniel.”

Mulciber raised the sword high overhead in a two-handed grip.

I'm coming, Kiel!

Too late, my brother. Too …

Mulciber froze with the sword still poised above his head. His maniacal grin disappeared and he looked at Kiel with a puzzled expression. His lips moved but no words came out. Instead, golden froth bubbled from his mouth. He shook his head from side to side as if in denial that such a thing could happen. Not to him, not to the scourge of the Host, the great and mighty Mulciber. His body shuddered once before falling facedown upon the ground.

Nathan shoved the Kiv into the ground to clean the taint from its blade, then stepped over the fallen Dominion and knelt beside Kiel.

“You're a mess, brother. I'll get you back to Sanctuary and we'll tend to this nasty sunburn.”

Kiel winced, then chuckled through gritted teeth. “You're in a fine humor, all things con—considered. Tend to Orus first, then come back for me.”

“I'm afraid there's nothing left of Orus to tend. He dwells in the Void now.” Nathan gathered Kiel to his chest and stood up. “Let's go home. I've some long overdue news for you.”

With Kiel cradled in his powerful arms, Nathan made the short walk across the glade to the monastery. In minutes, Kiel lay upon a bed inside the same bedroom where he had tended to the near-fatal wounds of the Offspring Paul Young. Young had suffered the grave misfortune of encountering Axthiel in a roadside motel. The treacherous Axthiel, one of the most powerful of all the Fallen, had entered into a pact with Legion. He would seek out and eradicate the Offspring in exchange for a place of prominence in a newly made world—a world in which humans, what few might remain, would be kept as cattle.

Nathan had heard the injured Offspring's
reach
and responded, along with another member of the Host, Sharaiel. They arrived in time to save Young, though Sharaiel lost her life during the rescue. After Axthiel killed Sharaiel, he turned his wrath on Nathan. The battle leveled eleven rooms and destroyed a dozen vehicles in the motel parking lot. Axthiel fled when it seemed Nathan would gain the upper hand.

After the battle, Nathan brought Young to Sanctuary where Kiel could best utilize his prowess in the healing arts. The man's recovery was no less than a miracle of divine intervention, an act that lay beyond even Kiel's mastery. Today, as Nathan examined the horrific burns that covered much of Kiel's body, he hoped the Creator might see fit to intervene again. Otherwise, he feared his brother might not survive the night. If, by the grace of God, Kiel lived until morning, the healing rays of the sun would facilitate his return to health.

After removing Kiel's charred clothing and loose strips of fire-blackened skin, Nathan applied an herbal salve to the worst of the burns, then held his hands several inches above Kiel's ruined body. He drew healing energies from his own body and the surrounding land, then channeled those energies into Kiel. A soft glow of golden light filled the room and surrounded the bed. Nathan sank to his knees, and speaking in a near-dead language not heard on Earth for thousands of years, he uttered a prayer on Kiel's behalf. Kiel was conscious throughout the ordeal, and twice, Nathan paused in his ministrations to listen as Kiel mumbled his own simple prayer. He didn't ask that his life be spared or that his misery be lessened. Instead, he praised the Creator's name, and asked that His will be done. The earnest request shamed Nathan.

Not two hours earlier, I stood in this very spot and cursed my sorry lot. Yet Kiel endures the kiss of
quickfire,
and gives thanks to the Creator! I'm not worthy to stand in his company.

After Kiel finished his prayers, Nathan leaned low over the bed. “Don't try to speak. Just listen. While I battled Procell, God spoke to me. The Usurper's vanguard is broken, and the war for the Throne of the Host nears its climax. Very soon, a new band of traitors will fall from Heaven's Grace. When I first heard this news, I despaired. Forgive me my weakness, Kiel, but I nearly surrendered the fight against Procell.

“But then, I heard the clarion call of victory as it rang across the multiverse. I heard the rallying cries of the Earthbound Host, a clamor that rose up with one voice and shouted its defiance at Legion, Lucifer, and their collective minions. In that instant, the Creator touched my mind and body and I understood, Kiel. I understood! As long as we are willing to carry the fight, we may not lose. Humanity can survive this trial provided they find the courage and the will to endure. We must help them, Kiel. This is our destiny.

“And first, we must find Sam Conner.”

CHAPTER 21

Casa Grande

“Buckle up, cousin!”

Living in a state of “scared spitless” was fast becoming a habit Sam could do without, but there was damn little he could do about it at the moment. He tried to stare straight ahead, afraid if he ever looked at the driver of the white Lincoln, his heart would stop on the spot. The Lincoln accelerated with surprising speed, and Sam placed both hands on the dash to prevent himself from rolling into the driver's lap.

The driver. Henri. With an
i
. Sam's nemesis from two years past, now come back to help him rescue Kat, for an as of yet unnamed price. A kaleidoscope of thoughts, jumbled and nearly incoherent, raced through Sam's mind as he summoned up his courage and looked to his left at the boy who'd tried to kill him on so many occasions.

Though sitting behind an oversize steering wheel, Sam figured the boy was three or four inches short of his own six feet. Slim, with fine facial features framed by jet-black hair, and stylish wire-rimmed glasses sitting upon an aquiline nose, he looked nothing like the bogeyman Sam had imagined, nothing like the monster that had stalked his nightmares for two long, nerve-wracking years. Sam also knew looks could be deceiving.

It was true that Henri carried the stench of demons. In fact, his psychic signature was among the strongest Sam had ever encountered. However, there was something else, another element to that signature. Sam couldn't quite place it, but it was very familiar.

At the corner of the Quonset hut, Henri veered away from the building, and took them out toward the landing strip.

“W-where are we going? My sister is back there!”

“Relax, cousin. I'm just getting into position. We're going to make a strafing run. As your friend Mr. Falco would say, the far end of that building is a target-rich environment. In layman's terms, it's saturated with bad guys. We'll make a pass and take out as many as we can. That should cause sufficient confusion among their ranks. When we double back again, I'll let you out at the last hangar. You'll have to go after Katherine on foot, but I shouldn't think you'll have any difficulty locating her. Her aura burns like a small nova. Now roll down the passenger window and make ready with that nasty
quickfire
you use so well. When we—”

“Wait! Please slow down. Do you know exactly where they're holding Kat? And what's
quickfire
? I've never heard of it.”

Henri
tsked
. “Your education is woefully inadequate. I expected more from Joriel.
Quickfire
is—”

“Get outta town! You know about Joriel?”

“Cousin, everyone who is anyone knows of the sublime Joriel, just as we all know of Uriel, or if you prefer, Horace. I try to avoid that one, but it's not easy. He does get around, and after all, this
is
a small world.” Henri spun the steering wheel, whipping the Lincoln into a 180-degree turn, and throwing Sam into the passenger-side door.