Chapter 31
“They look lost,” Fara said.
“More like chickens running around, raining blood everywhere as they wonder how they lost their heads.” Margrim chuckled as he puffed on a cigarette.
Taras shook his head. “Incorrect. They know what they’re looking for. But they fail to comprehend that it is not there. Such fools.”
Rys stared at the black-clad devil next to him.
Why did Taras have to be the one that was the most accurate and pithy? Now Rys was duty-bound to disagree with him.
The four of them stood on top of the bluffs south of Lapisloch, near the forest. They watched as Avolar’s army ran amok throughout the town, desperately searching for food supplies that Mina and Grigor had removed during the weeks prior.
A few days had passed since Avolar had marched south. Rys had passed the time inside a nearby cave that led to the Labyrinth, waiting for the enemy to grow impatient. So far, Avolar hadn’t made their move, but this panic they saw below suggested otherwise.
“Rys, that’s a face that suggests you’re going to play devil’s advocate,” Fara said.
“We call it archangel’s advocate,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
Margrim flicked his cigarette over the cliff, then lit up another one with a finger of hellfire. “Pretty sure you mortals got the term from how pointlessly argumentative our courts are, actually. Boss, did the angels argue much?”
“That would require them to have independent thought,” Rys said.
“The hot blonde we met in… whatever the fuck happened in the Labyrinth, seemed to be pretty independent.” The Ashen lieutenant smirked. “Did you inject some life into her the old-fashioned way?”
Fara ran a hand over her face and groaned, while Taras pretended not to hear.
“Sirion was… different,” Rys said. “But even so, there was a gap between how she was professionally and in private. If her orders required it, she would have executed me on the spot. I suspect the only reason I survived is that same reason I survived the Cataclysm.”
“Can’t say I know why that is, boss.”
Fara’s ears pricked up. This time, Taras appeared to be interested.
“Let’s just say I bumped into Azrael.” Rys chewed the inside of his mouth. “I survived. Not many others did. The same went for many of my encounters.”
“Such as Sirion chopping off your arm?” Fara asked, eyes narrowed.
“Azrael didn’t chop off any body parts. If he had, I wouldn’t have gotten them back.” Rys chuckled darkly. “I’m pretty sure that sword of his severs concepts. There’s probably no regeneration or healing magic on Harrium capable of healing wounds from it.”
Margrim let out a whistle. “But I bet you once knew a trick, right?”
Did he? Rys didn’t know, naturally. Something scratched at his mind, telling him that he once knew something.
At the same time, a dark feeling overtook his mind. Whatever he had done to defeat astral power came with one hell of a price.
Pun intended.
“We’ve seen what we came here for,” Rys declared. “Taras, keep us posted. Margrim—”
“I know my job, boss. If they get close to the hidden food supplies, burn ‘em all.” The Ashen grinned.
“Try burning the enemy first,” Rys advised. “I don’t like wasting food.”
Then he left with a flourish and a spell, Fara in his arms. They reappeared dozens of miles to the east, below a ridge.
A cave was barely visible nearby, hidden between a cleft. Rys scaled the snow-covered rocks without a word.
Inside, there was an entrance to the Labyrinth. He didn’t know if this led to the real deal and didn’t care. So far, Avolar had showed no inclination to attack through the Labyrinth itself. Rys was happy to keep it that way.
“You would have fit in with the enforcers,” Fara said as they settled in for a long wait. “Your patience is almost grating.”
“If I didn’t know how to pass the time, I would have gone mad long ago,” he replied, leaning against the wall.
“Are all older infernals like this, then?” Fara asked. “Margrim could probably stand around smoking for a century. Grigor and Fred argue about anything and everything for hours on end, then finish with drinks. They make me feel young.”
“Hell is apparently interminable boredom,” Rys said. “The Empire held itself together despite its issues because most infernals hated the idea of going back.”
“The ones you summon definitely have no interest in returning,” she said. “But really, every infernal?”
He chuckled. “No. But anyone who lives long enough needs to find some way to pass the time. Succubi fuck. Demons fight. Arcas devils try to get themselves killed. Knowledge devils scour every library in existence.”
“Arcas devils? I feel you’ve mentioned them before.”
“Flat-chested murder-machines with unquenchable bloodthirst. I’ve been able to summon them for a while, but they can be dangerous if left idle,” he said.
“Ah. Your strength Gift comes from one.” Fara nodded.
“Yes. Krisanem is orders of magnitude more powerful than any other Arcas devil I’ve heard of.” He frowned. “They’re usually glass cannons used to defeat sturdy enemies, like dragons or demons like Fred.”
“Fred specifically?”
“Bausfrahr in general. Demons with replacement Gifts are difficult to kill, but Arcas devils are their exact opposite,” he explained.
Where Fred was a slow-moving brick shithouse with limited offensive capability, an Arcas devil died when sneezed at by magic but could vaporize a small castle.
Both Fara and Rys chattered away for hours, waiting for word from Grigor.
At some point, something occurred to Fara, as her ears and tails pricked up. “Oh, right. I wanted to bring something up.”
He glared at her. “Don’t you dare tell me to call him Tarasu.”
Fara smirked. “He lives rent-free in your head, doesn’t he?”
“Oh no, he pays rent. He’s a summoned devil.”
She groaned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t care. I refuse to accept that as his win this time. He forgot to remind me about his name.”
“You know that you’re tempting fate by bringing that up? I bet that you’ll find some reminder somewhere. Like, we’ll teleport back to the town once Avolar leaves and find out that Taras has spelled out his name with corpses,” she said.
That would be pretty amazing. Rys made a note to visit Lapisloch before heading to wherever the battle actually took place.
“Anyway, that wasn’t what I wanted to ask.” Fara hesitated. “You don’t consider yourself human, do you?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you’re also not an infernal. What’s that like?” Her eyes bored into him. “Knowing that you don’t belong anywhere and that your choices in life have granted you power, but that you’ve permanently severed yourself from everyone else.”
Rys stared at Fara, and his expression turned grim.
This question wasn’t truly about him.
“A comprehensive answer would be too nuanced to be of use to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I suspect you already know my opinion.”
“You gained power. That alone makes it worth it,” Fara said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Yes, but no.” Rys sighed and looked into the darkness of the Labyrinth below. “I told Alsia not long ago that power comes with a price. I believe that power is the only currency in the world—that means that gaining one type of power often means trading away another. Social influence is power. If turning the entire world against you is the price, nothing short of omnipotence is worth it.”
Fara gulped. “Oh.”
He turned to face her. “Fara, what’s this about? You’ve been avoiding a serious discussion ever since we returned from the Labyrinth.”
“I… I’m facing a choice that I don’t really understand,” she admitted, face turning red. “It’s about Imira.”
“The havoc fox, who was once a mystic fox.” Rys kept his expression neutral, despite his concerns about what a havoc fox was.
“Yes.” Fara gulped again. “You might be the only person on Harrium who might understand the choice I’m facing. But I wanted to make it myself, rather than be influenced by you.”
“Fair. Is that why you waited?”
“Yes. I think we need to talk about it.”
He leveled a look at her and she winced.
“I mean it this time,” she protested. “After Lapisloch, I’ll explain everything to you. You might not like it, however.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t like, but I usually learn to accept them,” Rys replied. “Sometimes the spice of life comes from allowing a little bit of chaos into it, instead of trying to control every little thing.”
“Spoken like a man who spends every day bored to death in his office,” Fara teased with a smile.
“You should join me in there more often. I’m sure Maria would be thrilled.” He winked at her.
She groaned. “Not you, too. You’re screwing Alsia now, right? Why not convince her to join in? I’m happy to have you all to myself.”
That sounded like a fantastic idea, especially as he knew Maria would be very interested in him later.
With the serious conversation over, they settled into a comfortable rhythm of light chatter and rotating naps. A day passed, and Fara gestured for Rys to leave the Labyrinth. Unlike him, she remained outside the invisible barrier that prevented mindspeak and sendings from working.
Margrim’s voice entered Rys’s head once he protected himself and stepped outside.
“Boss, had to burn some of the supplies,” the Ashen told him over mindspeak. “Saw a bunch of mages out on patrol with the knights. No markings.”
“League mages,” Rys said.
“That’s my guess,” Margrim replied. “I think they found us using magic, so I pulled out. Best not to head back or go near the hidden supplies, I think. Taras is keeping watch.”
“Got it. Regroup with Grigor,” Rys ordered.
He was about to sever the connection, but Margrim seemed to have more to say.
“And?” Rys asked.
“You won’t like this.”
“I’m in command. It’s my job to deal with things I dislike.”
“Yeah, but you really don’t like this specific thing,” Margrim said with a chuckle.
Somehow, Rys knew what was about to come.
“Did he spell his name with corpses?” he asked.
“That would be pretty great. I should give him that idea.”
Damn.
“But no, you’ll find out when you eventually fight these schmucks from Avolar.” After letting out a raucous laugh, Margrim cut the link.
What the hell did that mean?
Later that day, Rys got his chance to find out. The sun began to set and Grigor contacted him over mindspeak.
“They’re moving.”
With that, Rys and Fara left. They teleported north, right to Grigor’s new encampment.
Ditches and low walls ran across hundreds of meters, blocking a dirt road. Beyond them sat a mass of tents. Soldiers gathered around low fires as they cooked their rations. Only a token guard defended the walls.
A tower stood within the camp, roughly in line with the road. Burned-out buildings surrounded it.
Rys and Fara found Grigor outside the tower.
“What was this, a supply depot?” Rys asked as he approached.
Grigor grunted. “They built many of these along the road. We found several smaller ones farther east, in the hills.”
“Do you think you’ve missed any?”
“Not enough for Avolar’s army to supply itself.” Grigor gestured to the surrounding camp. “While Frederick established the camp, I burned out every depot and supply caravan between us and Torm Ridge.”
Fara’s eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t they have border forts farther south? Avolar advanced south months ago.”
“What use are border forts without an army to garrison them?” Grigor snorted. “Most of them were so ramshackle that a single use of my earth spike Gift sent the guards fleeing for their lives.”
“In other words, they underestimated the speed we could move at,” Rys said. “What’s the word on Torm Ridge? I thought Avolar left a small army there.”
“It has mobilized, but given the speed their other army marched at…” The demon prince shook his head. “They are days away. I have shut down the sending towers in the region, although they may have long-range devices.”
“So they might try to pincer us, but we’ll have plenty of warning.” Rys rubbed his chin.
“No. The army in Lapisloch is marching toward us.” Grigor’s maw twisted. “Perhaps they believe their reinforcements are closer than expected. But I believe they might simply overestimate their ability.”
“I didn’t think they’d panic this soon,” Rys said. He frowned. “Don’t get overconfident, Grigor. They might be up to something, especially with the League mages.”
“Regardless, this is our opportunity to claim victory. We should seize it.”
“I didn’t say not to. Make the preparations,” Rys ordered. “When do you expect them to attack?”
“Early tomorrow. My concern is that they may march throughout the night, and strike at dawn,” Grigor said.
“That would be immensely stupid. They’d be exhausted from marching all night, and most of their army have never fought a real battle.” Rys sighed. “I’ll stick around then. If Taras thinks they’ll be late, I’ll retreat to the Labyrinth to preserve my strength.”
Rys settled in once again for a long wait, with Fara beside him. Her tails wrapped around his body and kept him warm.
Part of him wanted to do something else to stay warm, but the look she gave him when he grabbed her breast told him otherwise.
“We can fuck after the battle, Rys,” she said drily. “Unlike you, I’m not a machine. You tire me out with your endless stamina.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
The night passed quickly enough. Rys ended up staying.
Stupidity turned out to be the order of the day.
Avolar’s army crept up in the morning mist. The first rays of sunlight were barely visible in the distance, obscured by the weather and mountains. By the time the sun got out of bed, the battle might be over.
Not that it mattered to Rys. Taras and his Malakin had tailed the enemy the entire night. Avolar’s attempt to surprise him had been an abject failure.
Rys stood on one of the platforms behind the dirt walls protecting the camp. He sipped at a mug of coffee and tried not to make a face.
“You’re so damn precious about your coffee,” Fara said. She favored water this early, but also had some bread in her other hand.
“Shit coffee is shit coffee,” Rys said. “But I’ll take what I can get out here. Something hot helps in this awful fucking weather.”
Behind them, his army finished off whatever rations they could and prepared for battle. Grigor wanted Avolar to believe they had the element of surprise, so he didn’t move everybody into formation yet.
Nearly three thousand soldiers lined up in the distance, visible thanks to Rys’s magically enhanced vision.
“They have a lot of cavalry,” Fara noted. “I count at least three or four hundred.”
“Five hundred, according to Taras.” Rys pointed at the three groups he spotted. “A hundred heavy knights in the center—presumably the elites we’ve been warned about—and two hundred on each flank. I can’t see any mages, however.”
“Could they be pulling the same trick as at Fort Foret?” she asked.
The last time the League attacked, they hid their mages among the regular soldiers.
“I doubt it. They don’t need to crack proper fortifications this time. But they’re definitely up to something,” he said.
For his part, Rys had half the army of Avolar. What he did have were plenty of elite soldiers, however.
Kinadain swordsmen, sorcerers, and archers from the dains, as well as his infernals. His two demon princes alone made up for countless enemy soldiers. Only Avolar’s elite knights and the Malus League mages could hope to hurt Fred and Grigor.
As the minutes ground on, Rys wondered when Avolar would attack.
Suddenly, an enemy knight rode forward. It took Rys several seconds to realize that he wasn’t riding a horse, but some sort of griffon.
“Don’t griffons usually have wings?” he asked, confused.
“We mostly have wingless varieties around here,” Fara said.
“Hmm. Do you remember who this is?” Rys gestured to who he presumed was the enemy commander.
“General Myrne. He’s the brother of an elder, and was a Slayer candidate. I’ve bumped into him before, mostly because he was friends with Barul,” Fara said.
“That would have been nice to know.”
“I imagine Alsia didn’t tell you for a reason. Or maybe she didn’t remember. It’s hard to tell when it comes to her.” The fox shrugged.
Whatever the case, Myrne appeared to be preparing to say something. His army readied itself to charge behind him.
“General Grigor!” Myrne roared, magic carrying his voice across the entire valley. “I will offer you one chance to surrender, and spare you and your tainted king the humiliation of defeat.”
“So much for surprise,” Rys muttered.
Behind him, he heard orders bellowed out as Grigor dropped the charade.
No response was given to Myrne. Rys sipped his coffee.
“I have more for you, General Grigor!” Myrne gestured behind him, and one of his knights rode forth from the rear line.
The knight carried a figure over the front of his stallion. Said figure was swathed in black and tied up with thick ropes.
Rys slugged down his coffee and tossed the mug aside. “Goddammit.”
“If you do not surrender, I will have no choice but to execute this prisoner,” Myrne bellowed.
“Is that…” Fara said, eyes wide and ears bolt upright.
Rys didn’t answer, and instead rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“If you wish to save the life of your elite agent, Tarasu, then surrender!” Myrne said.
Silence, save for the soldiers forming up around Rys.
“That’s not him, is it?” Fara asked flatly.
“Of course not. I can sense him over a mile away. That’s just some random asshole that Taras dressed up.” Rys cursed. “I bet he got the fucking succubi in on this. This was what Margrim was referring to? Avolar thinks that Taras is an elite agent?”
“You are genuinely mad.”
“I can’t believe I’m being threatened over the life of fucking Taras, and it’s just a prank,” Rys said.
After swearing again, Rys cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted back, “His name is Taras!”
Laughter rose up from the infernals around him, including guffaws from Grigor. Avolar’s army shifted nervously.
Myrne paced back and forth on his griffon.
“I won’t repeat myself,” he shouted.
“Fuck it,” Rys said.
Then with a flick of his wrist, he incinerated the knight carrying the fake Taras. Myrne’s griffon leaped backward, and shouts rose up from their formation.
Motes of prismatic light vanished once the hellfire dissipated. The knight and the fake Taras were gone.
“I’ll give Taras the win now,” Rys muttered, while Fara grinned at him.
Then Myrne roared in fury and ordered his army forward.
The Battle of Lapisloch had finally begun.