When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) (11 page)

Bane gestured, shadows streaming from his hands, and Gathered at the same time to power his command. “
Drothcan nevaar getrak perin
.” He paused to allow his words to take effect, then added, “
Vrodath!
”

The shadows formed a swirling vortex that widened and deepened as the Gateway took shape in the cliff face, opening a portal to the outside through the rock and whatever lay beyond it. It appeared to bore into the stone, but that, he knew, was an illusion. A Gateway joined to points in space via a wafer-thin threshold, but stepping through it took a little time and gave the impression of the vast distance it spanned. He had been unable to give this one a true destination, since he had only a vague idea of where he was, but he hoped it would lead to the mid realm of Sherinias’ domain. He beckoned to Majelin as the Gateway’s edges solidified, indicating that it had completed its span
. The swirling shadows congealed into pitch-black gloom.

The boundary wards flickered as they re-armed, then lighted in a sequence that travelled away along the cliff face, clusters of runes flaring almost white around his Gateway. The edges of the portal wavered, and it shrank, then slammed shut with a thud. The sequence of disarming runes Bane had burnt into the cliff vanished, and he glared at the black stone.

“A pox on this place!”

“What happened?” Majelin enquired.

“The damned white wards closed it.”

“So you cannot create a Gateway?”

“Apparently not.”

Bane swung away, muttering a string of curses under his breath. His failure worried and frustrated him. The darkness within him goaded his temper, adding its own brand of irritation as it urged him to lash out and destroy his prison. Part of him agreed with it, despite the dire consequences of such an action. Striding back to the edge of the forest, he sat on a log and glowered at the cliff, wondering what he should try next. Majelin eyed him warily. Andriss looked ready to burst into tears.

A rustle of feathers drew Bane’s attention upwards. An angel glided down, avoiding branches, back-winged once and landed lightly. She was typical of her kind, blue-eyed and auburn-haired, lovely in the perfect, overly-refined way all angels possessed, and archangels, to a lesser degree. Her grey garment was a trifle more modest than was usual, covering her shoulders, its tattered hem reaching her knees.

T
he angel approached Bane quite boldly, stopped three paces away, bowed and said, “Greetings, tar’merin.”

Bane nodded. “Angel.”

“I am Lyrica. You honour our world with your presence, Great Lord.” She inclined her head to Majelin. “Archangel.”

“How long have you been watching us?”
Bane asked.

“Since you approached the village. At first
, I thought you just a man, and Majelin one of the fallen, so I was curious about how you came here. No one does unless he or she is mother or father to a changeling child.”

“Yet you are not…” He glanced at Majelin. “What did you call it?
Gothass urthdrae
?”

Majelin appeared a trifle embarrassed. “Yes.”

Bane asked Lyrica, “How did you come to be here?”

“I was born here, Lord. My mother did not love the father of her changeling child.”

“Then… Oh, I see.”

She smiled. “My parents went to great lengths to be reunited.
When my mother came here, my father lay with a human woman in order to follow her. I have two sisters.”

“So, even though Ordur went to great lengths to ensure no innocents were brought here, now there are lots of them.”

“Through no fault of his.”

Bane grunted. “You light lot are always so quick to forgive and forget, or not even allot blame. He is responsible. He and the others should have made sure humans and angels could not have children and avoided this whole damned mess.”

“I am sure they would have, had they known this would happen.”

“They are gods. They should have foreseen it.”

“Have you never made a mistake, Lord?” she enquired.

“Not one this big. And this is not the only mistake they made.”

“And yet, your mistakes oftentimes have sweeping repercussions, do they not? Have you not the power to save worlds, or destroy them?”

He glared at the cliff. “I have yet to destroy one, although I may start with this one if I do not find a way to quit it.”

“That would be cataclysmic, not only for those of us who dwell here.”

“Then you had best hope I find a way out.”

Lyrica nodded. “I do, Lord. May I invite you and your companions to visit the fair city of Aberdorn?”

He shot her an astounded look. “There is a city here, too?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Huh. This just keeps getting worse. But I think not. I wish to leave this accursed place.”

“But your Gateway failed, and I do not think you will be able to disarm the boundary wards long enough to form a stable portal, Lord.”

Bane sighed. “And why is that?”

“Ordur created this place. Do you think he did not plan for every eventuality?”

“A pox on Grey Gods. They bungle it when they create races, but not when it comes to building prisons to incarcerate the unfortunate consequences.”

“It may be possible for you to leave, but not the way you intend. Come to Aberdorn, Lord, and perhaps learn the answer.”

“Perhaps?”

“Nothing is certain, but if, indeed, you hold the key to leaving this place, there are many others who would quit it too.”

“I will wager there are, but I will not free them,” Bane said.

“They are only humans, Lord. Unlike angels, they are fickle, and over the aeons many lost their mates, took new ones of their own kind, and had children. They dwell in the ancient city and defend it against the changelings. There are more changelings than you imagine. They hide in the forest and hunt our people. I am happy to tell you all you wish to know, but night falls soon. It is not safe to be in the forest at night. We should continue this discussion in the city. It is far from here.”

“And we have to walk.”

“I shall walk with you, Lord, and it will be worth it. The city offers safety, shelter and sustenance.”

Bane glanced at the sinking quasi-sun. “We have already walked all day. We will not make it there before nightfall.”

“Then I shall bring you food and blankets.”

He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Which way?”

“Along the boundary, Lord.” She pointed to her left. “That way.”

Majelin studied the city in the soft mid-afternoon sunlight. Its high walls and watchtowers were symptomatic of this blighted realm, but they were crude additions. The towering spires of a much older, graceful city were visible over the stone ramparts, and the city’s most striking feature was a column of light that rose from its centre to vanish into the ethers high above. The fortifications pinned it to the towering boundary cliff, which formed the most formidable of its defences. Vast areas of cultivated land surrounded it to the edge of the forest, where woodcutters and labourers cleared more
ground.

They had walked for much of the night before stopping to rest, and Bane had raised shields to protect them, but had been unable to sleep. If any changelings had found them, none had made their presence known. The dark god now looked even more tired and irritable. He strode ahead, clearly keen to reach their destination and get some rest, while Lyrica walked beside Majelin, discussing how he had come to the realm, and Andriss trailed behin
d.

As they approached a pair of massive iron-bound wooden gates, Lyrica signalled to the men who watched them from the battlements. The gates creaked open and Bane marched through them without pause. Inside, a cobbled thoroughfare led into a rather haphazardly built city, its depths hidden by the whitewashed buildings that bordered its winding roads. A company of pike men in boiled leather armour and dark blue tunics waited in a sizeable plaza just inside the gates, their pikes grounded and expressions stern. Beyond them, a motley crowd of civilians murmured and pointed at the newcomers. Evidently Lyrica had told its denizens about Bane when she had fetched blankets and food the previous night.

A burly man with a broad, belligerent face, piercing green eyes, a bushy red moustache and plaited locks stood in front of the soldiers. A short, gold-trimmed royal blue cape hung from his broad shoulders and a matching tunic and breeches clad his portly form. Shiny black boots and a thick gold neck chain completed his outfit. From his proud and slightly hostile demeanour, Majelin deduced that he was an elected official of some sort. He was also nervous, the archangel sensed, although he hid it well. Another auburn-haired angel, this one with golden eyes, stood beside him, and leant closer to whisper to him. He amended his bearing a little, tacking on a false smile as Bane halted a pace away and surveyed the city.

The burly man said, “Welcome to Aberdorn, My Lord. I am Mayor Monaran.”

“I assume you know who I am. I require a place to sleep.”

“Of course, but first we have prepared -”

“First I require rest, Monaran.”

“A libation, perhaps?”

“A bed, in a private room. Do not make me ask again.”

T
he mayor bristled, but inclined his head and gestured to a building a little farther down the thoroughfare, one of the ancient, original structures, which resembled a crystal castle. “This way, My Lord.”

Bane followed the mayor, and Majelin wanted to accompany him, but also to explore the city. He was strangely loath to be parted from the tar’merin, perhaps because he was the only possible way out of this place, although Majelin did not expect him to find an egress while they were apart, or to leave without him. Nevertheless, letting Bane out of his sight made him uneasy.

As Bane vanished into the building, Lyrica asked, “Is he always so rude?”

Majelin smiled. “I do not know him well enough to judge, but he is tired right now, and quite fed up with the situation he finds himself in, thanks to his rescue of me.”

“Indeed. From your account, his actions are surprising, even for a tar’merin.”

“You said that if there is a way of leaving this realm it is to be found in this city. Of what did you speak?”

“Come, I will show you.”

The muttering crowd, which had started to disperse, parted to let them through, and Lyrica led the way down a wide cobbled road bordered by double-storey buildings that housed shops on the ground floors and living quarters upstairs, diamond-paned windows overlooking the street. Women in ankle-length peasant frocks with puffed sleeves and frilly necklines carried wicker shopping baskets, children at their heels, and men pushed barrows of produce or met to chat and puff pipes. Some called greetings to Lyrica, who responded with gracious nods and sweet smiles, and the society struck Majelin as strange in the extreme.

Normally, angels did not mingle with humans in such a manner, but without Channels Lyrica and her sisters had little choice, except to remain invisible all the time or leave the city. For angels, however, invisibility required constant effort, and they could not live in the forests, where the changelings would hunt them. They passed bakeries and sweet shops, clothing stores and a smithy hard at work at his forge. The city had the appearance of any other medieval town in a normal mid realm. The only odd thing about it was the lack of domesticated animals. A city such as this should abound with horses, dogs, poultry and livestock, but none were in evidence, and only the sounds of humanity filled it.

The street wound between rows of buildings towards the boundary wall, circumnavigating the spires, which Majelin was most curious about. When they rounded the last corner, he stopped
dead. At the end of the street, in a gap between the shops and houses built against the cliff, was a great gate. Majelin’s heart pounded as he hurried closer to gaze up at it with a mixture of awe and relief.

“I cannot wait for Bane to see this!”

Lyrica followed him. “Will he be able to open it?”

“I do not know, but he is a god, and only a god can open a great gate.”

“He is strange. Before the changelings attacked, he had a pure aura, but when he created the portal, he appeared to be a dark god. I was a little afraid to approach him.”

“I am surprised you know about tar’merin. Not many do. Your parents told you, I assume?”

“Yes.” She gazed up at the mighty portal. “They were wise.”

“Indeed.” Majelin ran his hand over the chiselled runes that covered the ancient stone in orderly lines, wishing Bane was there to open it. “Do they still dwell in the village?”

“They are dead. It was hard for them to raise three daughters in that place, surrounded by changelings.”

“How did they manage it?”

“The fallen helped them. When my father arrived with his human doxy, a cruel and corrupted woman, he abandoned her to return to my mother, who forgave his transgression because of its reason. The fallen had slain her rapist shortly after he arrived, when they learnt how her child had been conceived. They were outraged. A young changeling was ordered to draw enough life force from her to kill the child she carried. When they are young, the changelings do as their parents bid. Soon after she lost the half-breed child, my mother conceived me, and my birth was a source of great happiness to the fallen. My sisters followed soon after. I think my parents craved the company of true angels, and the only way to have it was to give birth to us.