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Covalent City
AS HE WAITED in the hushed anteroom of the Council Chamber, Barakiel wondered how the members would receive him and what Pellus had told them. Barakiel had refused to speak to the adept on their trip through the rift.
The only way I saw to keep my temper in check.
Battle had done nothing to ease his fury. No Corrupted appeared, replaced by an unusually large horde of demons. He cleared them like scrub brush but felt no calmer despite the torrent of demon blood left in his wake.
When the jewel-encrusted doors of the Council Chamber swung wide, he passed between marble pillars that knit themselves toward the ceiling layer by shimmering layer. He bowed and thanked the members for granting him an audience. He caught his reflection in the table’s surface, which appeared as a pool of still water.
I look like I am about to go on a rampage.
When he raised his head, he made sure to wear a polite smile.
“It is wonderful to see you again, Barakiel. You look well,” Ravellen said.
“As do you, Madam President.”
“The warriors tell us you slaughtered so many demons in battle their stacked bodies could top the city walls,” Ravellen said.
“The warriors exaggerate, Madam President.”
“Yes, they do, and we are not here to make small talk,” Abraxos said, too loudly. “We have considered your request, warrior. We do not know what happened between you and your traveler because he has refused to tell us, but I suggest you get over your tantrum because we will not assign you another.”
Ravellen winced at his disrespect. Barakiel adopted a bland stare.
How I would love to rip off your smug face.
Abraxos occupied the seat next to Barakiel, and farthest away from Ravellen, who sat at the opposite head of the table in the place designated for the president. The Council members near Abraxos remained expressionless when Ravellen first spoke, but they nodded their heads when Abraxos made his self-satisfied pronouncement. Barakiel suspected they were aligned against Ravellen. He had heard the warriors speaking of a schism on the Council.
“With respect, Abraxos, I do not see the reason for your refusal,” Barakiel said. “What difference does it make which traveler shuttles me back and forth?”
“What difference does it make? Not just any traveler can cloak you. In fact, it is not clear that even another adept would be able to do this.”
“So, Pellus can cloak me while I am here. My journey through the rift is a different matter.”
Ravellen shook her head. “You enjoy great wealth in the Earthly Realm. Wealth that insulates you from trouble and provides you with comfort in your difficult situation,” she said. “Why do you think you enjoy that? Who do you think is responsible? No ordinary traveler could do such a thing.”
“I know, Madam President. I am grateful, but now that this wealth has been made, it grows of its own accord. Please release Pellus from his onerous duty.”
“Yes, clever to make this seem like a reward for a job well done,” Abraxos said. “But we do not think an ordinary traveler is up to the task of managing your complex situation.”
No doubt he means the task of managing me. As if I can be managed.
“Then give me another adept,” Barakiel said. Ravellen frowned. Abraxos rolled his eyes.
“Adepts normally choose their duty,” Ravellen said. “We do not order them. We merely suggest and appeal to their sense of purpose. You know that. Even I cannot order them, and I am one of them.”
“Do you seriously believe the adepts would be unwilling to accommodate me?” Barakiel asked. He nearly laughed when Abraxos scowled at him.
That’s right. You know my status, you miserable cretin.
“Please, Barakiel,” Ravellen said. “Do not cause us that difficulty. I am asking you personally.” She leaned toward him, her hands on the table, the reflection of her weary face lost as her touch transformed the surface from water to stone. “These are tense times. In fact, the High Command wishes to meet with you when you leave here to discuss recent developments in the war.”
Barakiel hid his surprise.
The High Command? Why have they suddenly deemed me worthy of a meeting?
“We need you to attend to your duties,” Ravellen continued. “To put your personal feelings aside. You will be of greatest help to the Realm with Pellus as your traveler.”
For a pulse, Barakiel considered walking out and doing whatever the fuck he wanted to do, as he had pledged to Pellus. The Council members had no right to expect his help. They were lucky he fought for them at all. But it was no use.
How can I refuse you, Ravellen? My mother loved you. You are the reason the Council did not kill me long ago.
“As you wish, Madam President,” Barakiel dipped his head. “I will forego my request in service to my duty.”
“Thank you, warrior. We will not forget.” The faintest bit of tension left her, an easing of her shoulders. “Please go with the attendant now. The High Command is waiting for you.”
With a bow, Barakiel departed, but not before he sneered at Abraxos.
You got what you want, but I will never listen to you and the rest of the Council knows it.
The attendant led Barakiel through the polished stone corridors of the Keep until they reached the Gallery of Light, a vast hall of windows and mirrors that gathered the sapphire brilliance of the Stream and sent it careening around the space in waves and spirals. Barakiel wanted to linger in the delicious energy. He wanted to absorb so much power that the High Command would be struck speechless at the sight of him.
The attendant waited as he stretched his limbs. A door opened, followed by the click of boot heels on marble. Commander Remiel came striding down the gallery, her deep blue robes swinging.
“Hello, Commander. Ravellen did not tell me to expect you.”
“She did not know this is to be a full meeting. All the battalion commanders will be there.”
“Thank Balance for small favors. I am not in the frame of mind to sit at a table alone with the three high commanders staring at me.”
Remiel thanked the attendant and gestured for Barakiel to follow her. They walked to a set of ornate double doors carved from chukka bone. The carvings told some story, but they passed through before Barakiel could tell what it was.
“I hope you realize this is an honor, to be invited to the Nexus.” Remiel referred to the High Command’s chamber deep within the Keep. Few Covalent outside the leadership had ever set foot there.
“I do.”
“Good.” She set off down another polished stone corridor. “Let me prepare you, although the high commanders gave me few details beyond the fact that they want to ask you about your father.”
“We could have guessed.”
“Yes.” They reached a winding staircase cut from rose marble. Remiel leaned in close so she would not be overheard. “Let us wait until we are deeper. I need to speak frankly.”
They descended into the bowels of the Keep, around in big curves until the rose marble gave way to black stone and the air turned cool and damp. They were underground.
“Now we are alone,” Remiel said. She kept descending, but more slowly. “As you know, the three high commanders are legendary Warriors of the Rising, among the most powerful in the Realm, but I would not say they are equal. I need to warn you about High Commander Galizur. Do not trust him.”
Barakiel had been around the battalion commanders enough to know that devotion to the High Command was hardly universal, so this did not surprise him.
Nothing is ever simple with the Covalent.
“Galizur owes his position to Abraxos,” Remiel said. “He is an excellent fighter, but he lacks insight. A poor fit for a position where intelligence is far more important than the sword.” She stopped to squint at Barakiel. “Do you understand?”
“Yes. Abraxos made sure his mouthpiece would become high commander before he resigned the position himself to join the Council.”
“Precisely. A worrisome situation.” Remiel explained that the High Command was meant to balance the Council, especially in all things military. The system could not function properly when one among them had no mind of his own.
“To make matters worse, High Commander Camael served with Abraxos across a million turns,” Remiel continued. “Camael is a warrior of deep integrity, but he was shaped by the same events and personalities as Abraxos. Their strategic approaches are nearly identical. That leaves Osmadiel as the sole high commander to provide diversity of opinion.”
“I have heard she is a close friend of Ravellen.”
“She is, but no one earned her rank more than Osmadiel. I assume you are aware that her battalion drove your father from the Realm?”
“Yes, the warriors told me. They often speak of her skilled blade and her tenacity. And her hair, for some reason.”
“Ha! Blame the quickeners. They pen odes to Osmadiel’s blood-red hair as often as her sword. I wish they would celebrate her tactical mind.” Remiel turned hard right. They followed a rough-hewn corridor downward at a steep angle and emerged onto a flat space before a thick steel door. The Nexus.
Remiel passed her hand over the Conduit, a glowing blue square to the left of the door. She announced their presence and the door opened. The eleven other battalion commanders were standing in small groups when Remiel and Barakiel entered, their heads nearly grazing the ceiling of the black stone chamber. Screens embedded in the uneven walls shimmered with emerald green light that reflected off a massive onyx table. Gold static filled an archway that led to some inner sanctum, no doubt a barrier maintained by the adepts, closed to all but the High Command.
After greetings, the warriors took their seats around the table, Barakiel at Remiel’s right hand. He wished his anger would return. The walk and discussion had left him nervous, mostly because he planned to offer some unsolicited advice. He doubted a rank-and-file warrior had ever dared suggest anything in the Nexus.
Few can rival me on the battlefield, but I am not in my element around a table.
The High Command appeared with a flourish, the golden static of the barrier crackling behind them. Tendrils clung to their rich purple robes as they took their places at the head of the table. All the warriors stood and bowed.
“High commanders, Barakiel has joined us today at your request,” Remiel said. On cue, he bowed again. Everyone took their seats.
“Gracing us with your true appearance today, Barakiel?” Osmadiel asked. “I was told you must be cloaked to remain in the Realm.”
“Not if I remain for only a short time, high commander.”
“Well then, let us not waste time. We brought you here to ask if you have a theory as to why your father has withdrawn his Corrupted from battle in favor of sending ever larger demon hordes against us. We surmise he may be planning a major offensive.” She looked haggard, as did the others.
“Lucifer has withdrawn every single Corrupted?”
“Yes.”
Barakiel gazed at the luminous emerald screen across the chamber.
Is he waiting for me to kill the false monks and render myself vulnerable? If only I could tell them.
“My father could be preserving his warriors for an offensive, yes. Or he could be planning some other change in strategy.”
“Would the Corrupted be involved in this planning?”
“No. He might summon Melembec and Razael, the leaders of the Corrupted, but only to explain what he had already decided. Lucifer does not take advice.” Barakiel rubbed his forearm under the table as the eyes of the commanders drilled into him. He did not want to tell them anything untrue. “He might have convened the Corrupted to bathe them in his presence, to renew their devotion.”
Camael snorted. “What commander would waste time with such foolishness?”
“Certainly no high commander of the Realm would do so,” Barakiel said. “Our warriors sink all they are into their duty, but who knows what drives the Corrupted? I think they need Lucifer. I have looked into their eyes as I killed them. They are filled with the grim power of Destruction, but their individuality has been erased.” He surveyed the faces around the table. He could tell that most understood.
“Although I have not seen my father since I was an adolescent, I remember what it was like to be in his presence. He inspires obeisance. His power is seductive. Judging from what happened to my mother, few can withstand his will.”
Remiel placed her hand on his arm. He nodded and smiled, fortified by her concern.
“Well, whatever your father is doing, he always knows which battalion is weakest,” Galizur said, leaning forward and placing his fists in front of him. “Perhaps he has a spy.” His broad shoulders humped over the table as he attacked with his sharp black eyes.
Barakiel returned the high commander’s glare, anger settling over him like battle armor.
Do you actually think you are being clever with your implied accusation?
“We would be grateful for any insight you may have on this subject, warrior,” Camael said, as he threw a stern glance at Galizur.
“No doubt my father keeps careful records of the battles,” Barakiel said. “Including casualties. To suggest we have a traitor when there is a simple explanation is useless paranoia.”
His acid tone drew a cautionary look from Remiel and renewed scowling from Galizur. He had skirted dangerously close to disrespect, which no warrior should ever show to a high commander, not even a stupid one.
“The Realm’s Watch has been alerted to the possibility of a spy, high commander,” said Kalaziel, one of the battalion commanders whom Barakiel counted as a friend. “They will be vigilant, but thus far they assure me there is no sign. Lucifer has not infiltrated the Realm since he murdered Barakiel’s mother and sought to torture him with her corpse.” She turned her warm caramel eyes his way. “Pardon my callousness.”
Barakiel waved off her concern.
You remind them that I am unlikely to spy for my father.
“Let us set aside Lucifer’s means of determining his targets for the time being,” Osmadiel said. “The more immediate problem is that his tactics have been effective. The weakest battalions continue to take heavy casualties, while strong battalions slaughter demons as if the warriors are at sword practice. We must rebalance, or Lucifer will punch through our lines.
“Remiel,” she continued. “I would like Barakiel to fight for both of us. My battalion needs his sword. Lucifer’s hatred for me burns white hot, no doubt because my warriors drove him from the Realm. He has hammered us. So many have died that the others struggle to fend off their grief.”
“I am sorry for the suffering of your warriors, high commander,” Remiel said. “But are you sure Barakiel’s presence would not worsen the situation?”
“I do not think so. As you have told me, the Corrupted make stupid mistakes in their fever to deliver the son to the father. And, as the warriors have told me, Barakiel is unstoppable.”
“That he is,” Remiel said, chuckling. “Well then, I have no objection. Barakiel?”
“I will go wherever I am needed, commander.”
As if I have a choice.
“Good,” Osmadiel said. “You and I will work out a schedule, Remiel.”
“Yes, high commander. I will make adjustments.”
“With respect,” Barakiel blurted. “May I comment as to strategy?”
Osmadiel pursed her lips.
“No, you may not,” Galizur said.
“Why not?” Camael asked. “We brought him here to gain his insight. Please go ahead, Barakiel.”
“Thank you, high commander. You honor me, but I believe your approach is too cautious. You speak of lines and rebalancing. These defensive tactics give Lucifer too much time. We should go on the offensive or warriors will continue to die with nothing to show for it but the same sectors of the Turning. We need to hunt down the Corrupted. If we kill them, Lucifer will fall.”
Barakiel thought he detected a reaction among the high commanders. A short frozen moment. A beat of anxiety. But he couldn’t be sure.
“Mind your place, warrior,” Galizur snarled. “Such a decision is for the Council.”
“I know that, sir, but the Council will listen to you concerning military strategy. We need to have this discussion. I see how we fight. We could prevail.”
“Yes, warrior. The commanders told us that you expressed this opinion in your previous tactical meetings,” Osmadiel said. “But we have discussed an offensive with the Council already. It is not prepared to suffer those kinds of casualties.”
“Are we not taking heavy casualties under our current strategy?” Remiel asked. “I have informed so many Covalent that their beloved mates will never return that I hear their wails in my sleep.”
“We would lose many more as if we met Lucifer in the Destructive Realm,” Camael said. “We do not know what we would find there.”
“Well, let us find out,” said Hagith, a battalion commander who often groused about the timidity of the Council. He straightened his stocky frame in his chair and waggled his bushy eyebrows. “Travelers have explored the Destructive Realm before. They can do it again.”
“Yes!” Barakiel grinned at him. “My father’s realm is disorienting, but I think Hagith is right. The travelers could help us prepare.”
“I agree,” Remiel said. “We should at least reconnoiter before Lucifer slowly bleeds our forces to death.”
“We outnumber the Corrupted,” Barakiel added. “We should press forward.”
“I think you fail to appreciate the advantage of home ground,” Camael said. “As it stands, we fight with our backs to the Realm. The demon hordes cannot surround us. If they did, many more would die. None in the City would escape the wails of the bereaved then.”
“It will not happen. Not if we are ready,” Barakiel said. “We can form a circle to face them. Instead of standing with our backs to the Realm, we stand with our backs to each other and travel outward in an irresistible wave, like a tsunami.”
“Like a what?” Camael replied. “A soo-nom-ee? You have been too long in the Earthly Realm, Barakiel.”
Everyone laughed a little too hard as if trying to throw off the gloom that hung in the air. All except Galizur.
“Do not think the Council forgets your personal reasons for pushing an offensive against Lucifer,” he said. “Victory would mean the end of your exile.”
Barakiel almost shoved out of his chair to his feet.
How dare you say that to me?
Remiel placed her hand on his arm in warning. He took a deep breath before he spoke.
“High commander, let my actions in battle speak for me. I would never suggest a strategy or tactic for personal reasons. I believe an offensive strategy would be best for us all.”
Galizur was about to reply when Pellus’ voice came floating out of the Conduit that glowed blue by the side of the door.
“This is a meeting of the High Command!” Galizur bellowed.
“I beg your pardon, high commanders,” Pellus said, “but if Barakiel is to remain any longer in the Realm, he must be cloaked.”
“You may take your leave, warrior,” Osmadiel said. “This is a discussion better suited to the leadership alone. I will see you in battle.”
“I will be honored to fight beside you, high commander.”