When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) (9 page)

“Why?”

She shrugged. “No one knows. Maybe the two halves are incompatible.”

“Could be…”

“We need to fetch your friend if he’s the one who can change the portal.”

“Yes. Show me the portal, and then I will fetch him. You can wait at the portal; that way you will know I cannot leave you behind.”

“It’s quite far.” Andriss led the way into a sizeable clearing with a stream on the far side. Majelin stopped dead, and Andriss halted a few paces further on. Four changelings lounged beside the brook, two girls and two boys,
who all looked about ten years old. The girls sat on the rocks and trailed their fingers in the water. The boys appeared to be sharpening sticks.

The changelings’ eyes flicked past Andriss to Majelin, becoming intent. He wanted to spread the wings he no longer possessed and leap into the air, or into a Channel. He stepped back, his blood chilling. The changelings’ faces resembled angels in their inhuman refinement, but had a brutal caste, hinting at a savage side. Two of them had blue eyes and two golden, one of each sex, and one was a brunette, while the others were blond. They were huskier than angels, especially for children, but their cheeks were gaunt. The girls wore shapeless grey shifts and the boys were clad in loose brown trousers and shirts. One girl had stunted wings, and, even as he stared at them, her face became more human, with a broad nose and pouty lips.

Andriss shot him a horrified look. “They must have tracked me here.”

The archangel turned and sprinted into the forest, his heart hammering as quick footfalls pursued him. He risked a glance back. The changelings ran lightly, their strides long and powerful, far faster than a human child of their age, but then, they were probably older than they looked. Immortal blood would slow down their maturation and extend their lifespans. He was usually able to outrun most, but he was weak and his injuries sapped him. Even so, he stayed ahead of them for perhaps a league, heading towards Bane’s location, he hoped. Leading the changelings to him was probably a bad idea, and
most likely fatal for them, but in his panic he did not care. At that moment, the thought of crispy fried soul suckers was most appealing. Majelin slipped on the treacherous leaves and narrowly avoided colliding with a tree, and the changelings gained.

He bellowed, “Bane!”

His lungs burnt and terror squeezed his labouring heart. After five hundred years chained to a wall, his stamina was not what it had once been. “
Bane!
”

Majelin skidded again and fell, rolled down a gentle slope and thudded into a tree trunk. As he lay winded, trying to suck in air, the changelings gathered around him, whispering. He wondered how they fed on life force, dreading his first experience of the enervating drain when he was already so weak. A girl knelt beside him and peered at him with what seemed like concern.

“Why did you run, angel?” she asked.

“I…
You… Why did you chase me?” he gasped.

“You ran. We thought it was a game, did we not?” She looked up at the others, who nodded.

“It was,” Majelin said in an attempt to allay their suspicions. “And you caught me. Well done, children. Let us go back to the village now, hey?”

“Did you
just come through the portal?”

“Yes.” Majelin was sure that if he told them he was not
urthdrae
they would drain him to death.

“Where is your mate?”

“She… went for a walk.”

“You let her go wandering alone in the forest? It is not safe.” The child seemed almost normal, and her friendliness surprised him.

“Why not?”

She giggled. “There are animals, silly.”

“Right, right, silly me.” Majelin glanced at one of the boys as his face became more angelic.

The girl leant closer and sniffed him. “We should go and find her.”

“She prefers to walk alone. It clears her mind.”

“You smell good.”

Majelin cringed despite himself. “Thank you. You are right; I should go and find her. Hurry back to your parents now.”

“Would you like to feed us?”

He wondered if changeling children always asked so politely. “Um, not right now; I need my strength to search for my wife.”

“What is her name?”

“Ah.…” His mind was blank. “It is… um… Sarmalin.”

“Do I frighten you?”

“No, of course not; why would you? You are just a child.”

“I am
seventeen.”

“Exactly.” He wanted to shout for Bane again, and wondered if the dark god had heard him.

“And I am a changeling.”

“Well, you cannot help that.” He forced a smile, hoping it did not appear as sickly as it felt.

“My father is an angel.” Her human face melted into an angelic one, and she leant closer, her nostrils flaring. “But you are more, are you not? You are an archangel. My father told me about your kind.”

“Yes.”

“I am hungry.”

“Later, all right? I must find my wife.”

She giggled. “We do not need your permission. We only play with you.”

“I must go. Excuse me.”

The girl lunged at him, gripped his head in a vice-like hold and clamped her mouth onto his in a violent kiss. The strength drained out of him in a rush, and he went limp. She released him and jumped up, and the archangel shuddered as one of the boys moved in for his turn, unable to fight him off or even move his limbs. More strength drained out of him, along with much of his will to live. The boy seemed to suck it from him, his soft lips wet, and when the child sat back Majelin wanted to vomit. The next girl crouched over him and fastened her mouth onto his, and everything went black.

The Demon Lord looked up at a faint shout from the direction of the village, turning his head to listen. It sounded like someone calling his name, and the only one who knew it here was Majelin. He rose to his feet as a second distant shout came, able to get a bearing from it, and loped in that direction. Without power
, he could not form an Eye or far-see, and he cursed the dense forest. After several minutes, the soft sounds of giggling and voices came from ahead and to the right, and he veered towards them, slowed his pace and silenced his footfalls. A few yards further on, four strange children came into sight, one of whom crouched over someone on the ground. They fell silent and turned their heads to gaze in his direction, as if sensing his approach. Bane stepped out from between the trees, drawing in blue power, since he was loath to take up the shadows again unless he absolutely had to, and four children hardly rated it. They stared at him. Majelin lay at their feet, his eyes closed.

“Get away from him,” Bane ordered.

The youngsters glanced at each other and smiled, and the tallest girl licked her lips. “Now we have a bonanza.”

“Now you have a problem,” Bane retorted. “Move away from him, now.”

“Oh, we are finished with him,” she said. “Now it is your turn.”

Their shifting faces and forms revolted Bane, and their boldness annoyed him. Raising his hands in a sweeping gesture, he unleashed twin streams of blue fire that engulfed the boys. They screamed and collapsed, writhing as their skin sizzled, clothes charred and hair frizzled
. The girls retreated, their eyes wide. Bane was somewhat surprised by the changelings’ ability to withstand fire, wondering if they had inherited it from their angel parents. The boys scrambled to their feet and fled before Bane could strike at them again, the girls hot on their heels. In truth, he was reluctant to burn children, changelings or not. He approached Majelin and bent to check his pulse. Finding it strong, he settled on a log to wait.

Awareness returned to Majelin in waves, and
, when a particularly strong one washed him into the light, he opened his eyes to stare at the leafy canopy, on the brink of passing out again. He fought the encroaching darkness, birdsong wafting to him faintly, as if it came from a great distance. The pale, hazy spot that served as a sun moved a fair distance before he could summon the strength to sit up, swaying. Every iota of energy had been sucked out of him, and he gazed around, dazed.

The Demon Lord sat on a log nearby, looking bored. “Not clever of you to get caught,” he remarked. “Are you all right?”

“No. I have no strength. They ran faster than me. They are monsters.”

“That goes without saying. Did you find out how they get here?”

The archangel groaned and flopped back. “You are a heartless monster.”

“What do you want me to do, hold your hand?”

“There is a portal, unless the girl lied.”

“Where is it?” Bane asked.

“I do not know. She said she would take me there, but led me to the changelings instead. I think they almost killed me.”

“I think you will recover.”

“She said it is formed with the blue power. Can you use the blue power?”

“Yes.”

Majelin heaved a sigh. “Then we just have to find it.”

“It will not be that simple. It must be a one-way portal, and I am not a blue mage. I have only dabbled in the blue power, so I will have to figure out how to change it, if it is even possible.”

“You have got to get us out of here before those bastards drain us dry. It is the most horrible experience I have ever had, save for the torture.”

“They regretted meeting me.”

“Ugh.” The archangel’s stomach heaved. “What did you do to them?”

“Only singed them a bit; they do run fast.”

“Right now, I am glad you are worse than them.”

Bane stood up. “Let us find somewhere to rest while you recover.”

Majelin nodded, but it took him several more minutes to gather enough strength to climb to his feet, his legs shaking, and follow Bane deeper into the forest. They made a rude camp under a particularly dense tree, and Bane reclined on his cloak, summoning a cup of ambrosia to sip. Majelin eyed it, surprised when the dark god offered to share it. He held the cup while the archangel drank, and the creamy fluid restored a lot of his strength, healed his injuries significantly and filled him with a warm glow, all of which told him that its source was the white power. The light in the sky, or, presumably, roof of this weird realm descended beyond the forest and vanished, plunging the pseudo-world into darkness that only a few bright spots in the sky relieved. He stretched out on the soft leaves and closed his eyes.

Torvaran came at him with a
black blade, his eyes glittering. Majelin braced himself for the pain as the dark god thrust the dagger into his side and drew it up his ribs, cutting a long gash that oozed blue blood. Torvaran leant closer and glared into archangel’s eyes, smirking.

“Why do you not cry out, archangel?” he growled. “Or fight me. You are not being very entertaining.”

Majelin summoned the Sword of Vengeance and slashed at the dark god, who skipped back, chortling. The chains limited Majelin’s reach, but he was able to keep his enemy at bay to a certain extent. It bought him a little respite, but also delighted Torvaran, who revelled in Majelin’s futile defiance. The archangel glared at his foe.

“Come closer, so I can lop off your head, you cowardly scum.”

“That cannot harm me, puny angel. Your sword is useless against me.”

“Why do you avoid it, then?
I would cut out your heart, if you had one, but you are naught but dead dirt, a slave of the darkness, its minion! I would slice off your limbs and watch the white fire consume you, if you were not too craven to stray within my reach.”

Torvaran laughed. “And you are a weakling! Rattle your chains and wave your sword, angel. I enjoy seeing you try so hard to be brave, while you cringe within.”

Majelin swung the sword and clipped the dark god’s shoulder. Torvaran guffawed, lunged and stabbed Majelin in the heart. He grunted and sagged, striving to show no weakness, and the wound healed.

“Your immortality is your curse,” Torvaran
said. “Because of it, you will be my plaything forever.”

Majelin jerked awake, sat up and glanced around. Pale light slanted through the forest, and Bane sat staring into the distance.

He turned to cock an eyebrow at the archangel. “You talk in your sleep.”

Majelin rubbed his face. “Uh… What did I say?”

“A lot of threats and promises to do grave bodily harm, presumably to your former torturers.”

“That would be a fair assumption.”

Bane gazed into the forest again. “We should go to this stream you found, capture one of the villagers and make them show us where the portal is.”

Majelin nodded. With a dark god at his side
, he should be safe, and he no longer cared if Bane razed the village and wiped out the changelings. The memory of the nightmare lingered, making it almost unbearable to be in the company of a dark god. It helped a little that Bane no longer possessed the strange, pale-rimmed dark aura, which had been hard to discern in the underworld cavern. Now, his aura was as pure as a light god’s, but the knowledge of his dark side tainted that. Majelin had once revered the legends of tar’merin, and still did, to a certain extent. That did not mean it was easy to trust one, after his experience in the underworld. His recent degradation at the hands of dark creatures had also increased his antipathy towards anything that claimed kindred to the darkness.