When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) (19 page)

“This was the light realm, where the final battle was fought.”

“It was the best place.”

“Mirra told me his name is Carthius.”

The archangel looked startled. “Kayos told her this?”

“Yes.”

“I would not have thought it possible…”

“What?”

“Carthius is one of the first gods.”

“So?”

“He is powerful,” Majelin said. “Very powerful.”

“Perhaps not anymore. This is why light gods will not fight the darkness. They cannot win.”

Majelin inclined his head. “
They know that now. Then, they did not.”

“This must have happened a hell of a long time ago.”

“Yes.”

Bane stopped
as a distant, cathedral-like structure came into view. It towered into the sky, its crystal walls streaked with soot and ash. The streams of light converged from all directions above it, forming a shining pillar that touched the tallest spire, illuminating it from within. Black clouds swirled around it, shot with silent lightning and glimpses of the streaming sky. Bane surveyed the panorama, then brushed the snow aside with his boot and scooped up a handful of soil. The ground burnt where he touched it, melting the snow, and he let the fiery dirt sift between his fingers. The raw earth gave off a sulphurous smell. He scanned the vista again. The edge of the vale was circular, vanishing into the haze in the distance, but he knew how this vast, crater-like valley had been created.

“
This is demon dust. Thousands of earth demons were defeated here; probably the entire population of this domain’s underworld. They must have risen again and again, but why would demons fight humans to the bitter end?”

Majelin suggested,
“A dark god, summoning them?”

“A dark god would not need demons to win his battles.”

“A weak one? A demigod, perhaps?”

Bane
grunted. “Possibly. I expect all the other demons also fought, but they leave no trace.” He brushed the dust from his hand and nodded at the crystalline structure. “What is that?”

“Carthius’ keep. In those days, light gods dwelt in such edifices.
The light is being drawn to him, probably to keep him alive.”

“So his enemies dragged him here and entombed him. Eternal suffering is worse than death. Why did he not go into his shield sphere?”

Majelin shook his head. “I was not there.”

“And his people tried to save him
.”

“You feel it too, do you not?”

“Probably,” Bane said. “What?”

“Carthius’ sorrow.”

“Yes, for some time now. It is most annoying.”

“Because he share
s it with you, and the darkness hates that,” Majelin said.

“Is he trying to turn it against me?”

“No.” The archangel gazed at the keep. “He would not want that. You might be his saviour.”

“Unless he has seen the future and knows that I am not.”

“Will you turn your back on him now? Why would he draw you here if he knows you will not help him?”

Bane shrugged. “How should I know? Perhaps he hopes to kill me.”

“He knows what you are, or he would not have revealed his presence.”

“Perhaps he hopes I will end his suffering.”

Majelin inclined his head. “That is a possibility.”

“Let us go and ask him.”

Bane walked down the slope, the ancient bones crumbling under his boots. He knew his ire came from the dark power, which the light god’s sorrow roused, and thrummed in Bane’s blood. He longed to cast it out, but the cursed ground made that impossible. Had Carthius’ enemies also foreseen his coming, and set traps for him? He sharpened his sight, searching for guardian runes, but any trap set for a god would be well hidden. The air grew colder as he approached the keep. Majelin’s bare feet kicked up little eddies of white dust that sparkled in the dim light.

Some of the bones were those of dark creatures,
while others he did not recognise, perhaps creatures of the light. The vast majority were human, most clad in strange, jointed armour that had a bluish sheen to it. Tubular weapons mingled with the bones, reminding him of the light guns the humans had used in Drayshina’s world. This must have been the war to end all wars, he mused, and it had. Since then, no light god had gone to battle with the darkness. They fled and hid, abandoning their domains, or cowered in their shield spheres. He shook himself, cursing the dark power’s increasing influence. It crouched in the back of its mind, pouring its venom into his thoughts. For some reason, this place, with its memories and sorrow, enraged it.

The keep’s doorway loomed over him, at least
twelve yards tall and five wide, formed from smooth crystal, with fluted pillars on either side. Bane wondered if it was crystal at all; its slight, iridescent sheen reminded him of a shield sphere. He approached the left-hand side of the doorway and ran his fingers along it, dislodging fine black dust that drifted in a little cloud. The crystal glowed blue where he touched it, reacting to his power as only the white fire did. So, the keep was made of light, and the runes that brightened at his touch told him that it contained powerful wards. The archangel met his gaze with unreadable eyes.

Bane stepped through the doorway and stopped
, exhaling a cloud of steam. The gloom was complete, save for a beam of light deep within the structure, where the pillar of white power entered it. That in itself was odd. Something that bright should have illuminated the entire interior. It was almost as if shadows thickened the air. Numerous columns and some odd shapes where silhouetted against the light, and he became aware of a soft radiance coming from the floor. Blue fire licked at his boots, as it did in a light realm or on hallowed ground, so there were no curses here. A line of runes ignited under his feet and brightened, more appearing ahead and on either side of him, as if filling with quicksilver. The lines reached the base of the walls and spread up them, the runes sometimes lighting in clusters, sometimes alone, as they had done in Sherinias’ birthing chamber. They formed words he could not read.

“What do they say?”
he asked Majelin.

“They
name the owner of this keep, his history and lineage. It is like a welcome mat.”

“So I am welcome here?”

“All who follow the light are. The keep senses your pure soul. It will not attack you.”

“I doubt it can. There is very little power here
. That is why it is blue.”

T
he brightening interior was so vast it appeared larger than the exterior. Bane sensed the keep’s power increasing as runes lighted all over the walls, which began to glow a soft blue. Statues became visible, lining a broad aisle that stretched away up the centre of the edifice, and the polished obsidian floor was sprinkled with tiny lights. He had seen its like before, in a dead light realm, and once again experienced the weird sensation that he stood upon a starry sky. The statues seemed to be angels, their heads bowed, each holding a black sword, point down, the tip resting on the stone between their sandalled feet. They towered ten feet tall on four-foot plinths, which kept their wingtips off the floor, even though they were folded. Their long, silver-grey robes hung from one shoulder, pooled on the plinths and spilt over in gleaming falls.

Bane approached the nearest statue
. Its eyes were closed and it was amazingly detailed, owning eyelashes and distinct hairs, as if it had once been alive. It wore blue-sheened black armour under its robe. Why would angels wear duron? Why had they stood, so elegantly posed, on the plinths while they had been transmuted? What, or who, had turned them to stone? Perhaps they were merely statues after all. He shrugged it off. Pondering such mysteries did no good. More of the keep, which looked increasingly like a gigantic cathedral, became visible as blue light spread along the walls and ceiling. Massive crystal chandeliers floated just beneath an arched roof adorned with a mural of a mighty battle wherein giant machines tore demons apart and humans flew in armoured suits.

The light reached
the roof’s apex, and the chandeliers burst into white brilliance. At the centre of the chamber, over a hundred yards away, was a crystal throne whose faceted columns reached to the ceiling. It stood on an elliptical dais that raised it three steps off the floor, and the shaft of light that poured through the roof illuminated the male figure who sat upon it, his head bowed. Shining silver armour moulded the powerful contours of his chest, chainmail sheathed his upper arms, and silver wrist guards protected his forearms. A swathe of white satin was clasped on one shoulder with a diamond-encrusted broach, and a short kilt of adamante chainmail covered his thighs. Silver sandals shod his feet, and long, gleaming blond hair hung over his face, hiding it. A thick layer of pale dust covered him.

The Demon Lord strolled up the aisle,
his footsteps echoing and his tension rising. The darkness within him warned him of his danger in this bastion of the light. He wondered how long the light god had been trapped here. Millennia, judging by the dust, yet he was convinced that there was no dark god in this place, and there never had been. There would have been signs. As he drew closer, the details of the light god’s predicament became visible. Duron manacles fastened his wrists to the arms of his throne, and more restrained his ankles. Bane stopped, his bile rising.

The
frosted hilt of a black sword protruded from Carthius’ chest, driven through his armour to impale his heart and pin him to his throne. Blue fire rimmed the wound, and blood vessels glowed under his skin, where his blood fought the dark power. The sword was crudely forged, and bore the marks of the tool that had created it: a hammer. What manner of dark being forged a duron sword with a
hammer
? Possibly demons, but that was unlikely, since they did not generally attack light gods, who were more than capable of defeating droves of them, even destroying some. Whatever had trapped Carthius was more formidable than a demon, and had more ambition to destroy the light.

The pillar of light
entered the top of Carthius’ head, and streams of shadow poured into the sword from all around. A fearsome battle was going on within the imprisoned light god, darkness and light destroying each other. Bane knew it must cause him the most exquisite agony, having
had a taste of it when Lyriasharin had channelled the white fire through him, but what Carthius suffered was much, much worse.
This was why there was so little power in this world. It was being destroyed within the light god.

The shadows
strived to snuff out Bane’s sympathy for Carthius’ plight. Did he want to free him? Had he not promised Mirra there would be no more side tracks to free light gods? Yet here he was again, faced with a quandary that could turn the darkness against him. He mounted the dais to stand before the light god, then bent and reached for the black hilt. As his fingers closed around the icy metal, three sigils on the visible portion of the blade glowed red, and he frowned. Traketh, Morbidar and Antraven: pain, subjugation and atonement. Atonement for what? Who had defeated Carthius? How had he transgressed, and against whom?

The icy hilt
stung Bane’s palm, and he released it with an oath, leaving flecks of skin frozen to the metal, which shrivelled and blackened. The sword was cursed, too. Whoever had ruined this domain had been fond of curses, apparently. A faint creak made him glance around. The place was creepy, and he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. It also seemed as if the two closest statues had turned their heads towards him, but he could not be certain. Majelin, who stood beside a statue, touched its wing. He snatched his hand back and moved towards Bane, his brows knotted.

“What is it?” Bane enquired.

“I know not, but I dislike this place.”

Bane
nodded. “It is certainly eerie.”

“That statue seem
s… alive.”

Bane raised his eyebrows, then whipped around as a voice behind him said, “They are.”

Carthius stood beside the throne, smiling. His translucent form gave off a soft, pale glow. He had a strong-boned, youthful face, flawless in every way, from his fine dark gold brows to his narrow, sculpted nose and full, sensual lips. If Bane had not known better, he would have said such perfection belonged to a dark god. Carthius’ vivid blue eyes swept over Bane and flicked to Majelin, who bowed and said, “Lord Carthius, son of Vater and Airen, most ancient and respected of light gods.”

Carthius inclined his head. “Well met, archangel.”

“Majelin.”

Carthius looked at Bane again. “And welcome, Lord of Darkness
and Warrior of the Light. Blessed be the fate that brought you here, tar’merin.”

Bane glanced at the figure on the throne. “You are a spirit.”

“Indeed. A power light gods seldom use. It is usually dangerous for us to leave our bodies unprotected, but alas, mine is of little use to me.”

“Why do you say they are alive?”

Carthius’ slight smile broadened. “They are my guardians.”

“The light won this battle?”