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THE DAWN CAME PEACEFULLY to the balcony off Barakiel’s bedroom. Mist flowed along the surface of the river in the fresh light. Barakiel knew the mist would burn away as soon as the sun rose higher, but he wished it would stay. He wanted to remain in that moment, naked in the cold air, his mind as shrouded as the water.
Pellus would arrive soon. They had some earthly business to deal with before they slipped into the Covalent Realm for their clandestine meeting with Adonael. Barakiel knew his suspicions would be confirmed. His realization about Adonael’s cryptic utterings had awoken a powerful instinct. He could almost feel his father chuckling with glee now that contempt for the Council was something his son shared. Barakiel remembered Lucifer’s voice, calling him to abandon his duty.
You will take orders from the Council? Ridiculous. Taking orders is not for warriors such as us.
Barakiel would never see his duty as a weakness. He could separate allegiance to the Realm and its citizens from allegiance to the Council. All he could hope was that the commanders would share his view.
Or enough of them, at least.
He went inside to get dressed. When Pellus arrived, Barakiel was drinking coffee at the kitchen table. The adept spent an hour outwitting the financial markets while the warrior brooded. He grumbled when Pellus asked him questions.
“We still need to make you money, so please stop complaining,” Pellus said.
After Barakiel signed some papers to be mailed, they sat together at the kitchen table, coffee in hand.
“We will travel directly to the Wasteland,” Pellus said, as he added cream to his cup. “You will wait there while I fetch Adonael. In the Wasteland, you can remain uncloaked. Adonael needs to see you as you are. Anything else would cause distrust.”
“Of course.” Barakiel nodded. “Does he know you plan to bring him to the Wasteland?”
“Yes. As far as I could tell, he approves. It is the safest way.”
“It will be uncomfortable for you.”
“I will live. It may be more uncomfortable for you. We have a brief window of time in which to meet with Adonael, but Remiel cannot meet you in the Wasteland until much later. I need to show my face at the Guild Hall between the two meetings, to avoid suspicion.”
A short time later they stood in a dusty valley between the squat rust-colored hills of the lower Wasteland. Barakiel had never been so far into this barren landscape. He heard the rumblings of chukka beasts in the distance and was thankful he had brought his sword.
Pellus disappeared into a rift to fetch Adonael, leaving Barakiel to his thoughts. He sat on a rock and brooded about Zan. He’d received a note from her in the mail the day before. When he saw her handwriting on the envelope his heart had pounded like a bass drum.
The note informed him that the followers were cooperating. They’d provided details on points of distribution around the United States. They knew the names and locations of those who trafficked in flesh as well as the monsters who operated the snuff production houses in Albania and Burma. If their information was accurate, the FBI and Interpol could disrupt the ring. The hunt for everyone involved would take many months, but they could put a halt to the depraved business, and soon. Zan said she thought it was important for him to know. She thanked him again for his help. Barakiel had been thrilled by her message but also crushed.
Nothing but professional, when I crave her emotion.
He greeted Pellus’ reappearance with relief. He didn’t want his negative thoughts to make him useless. Adonael looked stunned as he approached with Pellus, as if he didn’t know whether to run Barakiel through with a sword or fall at his feet.
I must bring back terrible memories of my father.
“Fine warrior,” Barakiel said in a gentle voice. “I want to thank you for coming here. You take a great risk.”
“Look how you shine,” Adonael said, all confusion melting from his eyes. “You will save us.”
Barakiel looked away and shifted his weight. “Uh, yes, well, first you need to explain what you think has put us in peril. Can you do that?”
With jerky movements, the damaged warrior grabbed Barakiel’s hand, words pouring out in a rush. “Cowards. Filthy cowards. They thought they could, yes, thought they could keep him in his place. Arrogant, so arrogant. So stupid. He is too clever, too strong.” He looked, pleading, into Barakiel’s eyes. “They are dying. Good warriors. Dead, all dead! Filthy cowards. Avenge her, shining one. My mate, he slaughtered her.”
After a brief glance at Pellus, Barakiel took Adonael’s hand in both his own. He usually kept the vivid memories of his suffering at bay, but at the moment he was not alone. He let himself remember. He let himself feel. He hoped Adonael could see.
“Lucifer must answer for his crimes,” Barakiel said. “Those who abet Lucifer must answer for their crimes.”
The damaged warrior straightened his shoulders and held his head high, never taking his eyes from Barakiel’s face.
“I am going to ask you questions now,” Barakiel said, as he let go of Adonael’s hand. “Pellus and I want to be certain that we understand what you have told us. All right?” The warrior nodded. “Do you mean to tell us that the Council could have destroyed Lucifer, but chose not to?”
“Once, yes, once.” Adonael’s hands beat a nervous rhythm. “Such arrogance. Too late, now, too late. Filthy cowards thought they knew!”
Barakiel glanced at Pellus again.
He certainly believes what he is saying.
“Does the Council believe it can defeat Lucifer?”
“Who knows!” Adonael kicked at the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. “Too late. Filthy cowards! So stupid. Not Lucifer. Lucifer is clever!”
“Yes, he is.” Barakiel ran a hand through his hair.
“Now listen carefully, Adonael. I want you to answer yes or no to this question. Did the Council allow Lucifer to survive so the warriors would devote all their energy to fighting him instead of challenging its authority?”
“Filthy cow—”
“Please, sir.” Barakiel held up a hand. “Yes or no?”
Adonael opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Yes,” he finally said.
Pellus took a step closer to the two warriors. He kept his eye on Barakiel, who could not blame him for his apprehension.
He fears I cannot contain my rage. He may be right.
“How do you know this?” Barakiel’s eyes flashed to match the Stream crashing blue and furious over their heads.
“In the chamber! Worthy purpose, ah, ah! Stupid, filthy cowards! So arrogant. Think they can control everything. He is laughing! Laughing!” The damaged warrior kicked at the dirt again.
“It is all right, Adonael.” Barakiel smiled in such a way that the color drained from his companions’ faces. He lowered his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying not to laugh.
The way I feel right now, my laughter would chill them even more than my smile.
“Did you hear them discuss this in the Council Chamber?”
“Yes, shining one.”
“Please do not call me ‘shining one.’”
“Yes, shining one.”
Barakiel chuckled. He managed to make it sound normal, causing Pellus to laugh with him. Some of the tension eased from the adept’s face.
“I should bring you back to the Keep now, Adonael,” Pellus said. “Best to not invite discovery.”
Before they left, Barakiel grasped Adonael’s shoulder. “Thank you, warrior,” he said. “You honor us with your selfless devotion to the Realm. I will try to live up to the faith you have placed in me.”
Adonael grasped Barakiel’s shoulder in return. “Kill him. You can kill him.”
Beneath the haze-induced confusion, Barakiel saw something in this warrior that he understood without words. Adonael turned to follow Pellus to the rift.
Left to himself, Barakiel decided to ascend Streamcatcher, the highest peak in the upper Wasteland. He could make it there and back if he hurried. As he barreled through the low hills he left a streak of red dust behind him. Chukka beasts turned their giant tusked heads at the sight and sound. Barakiel stopped to get a closer look. Inky mouths yawned wide within brown leathery skin. They could swallow him whole, which was obviously what they intended to do, attracted by his energy. Barakiel sped off, thankful the beasts were not quick.
I am not surprised it takes twenty hunter-warriors to kill them.
When he summited the peak he gazed at the Stream above him, enveloped by its deafening roar. He had never been this close. He felt if he lifted his arms the Stream would gather him, take back his energy to send it whirring through the heavens trailing brilliant blue light, all that would remain of the entity that had once been Barakiel.
What would happen to my pain? Would it streak red instead of blue? Perhaps it would it spell out, “Do not forget that he loved a woman.”
Barakiel didn’t want to leave. The rush of the Stream matched the chaos in his mind, but Remiel would be coming soon and he was desperate to share this information with her. He descended, leaping from ridge to ridge. So close to the Stream he felt his limbs would burst with energy. He could run up and down that mountain a thousand times and it would make no difference.
How many Corrupted could I slaughter with this power? A pity I do not fight for another four turns.
Back in the lower Wasteland, Barakiel did not wait long before Pellus returned with Remiel. The warriors grasped each other’s shoulders in greeting.
“What is this about, Barakiel?” Remiel asked, scowling. “Pellus was being mysterious, as usual.”
“I will let Pellus explain. It began with him.”
The adept related his confusing conversations with Adonael. Remiel continued to scowl. As he finished his tale with angry interjections from Barakiel, her black eyes grew big and round.
“This cannot be true,” she whispered. She asked a series of questions then stalked off to pace the hills some distance away. When she returned her eyes were glistening.
“You believe this, Barakiel, now that you have spoken with Adonael? Every part of it?”
“Yes.”
Remiel brought her hand to her mouth. “I can still see their faces,” she said, her eyes closed. “Their stricken faces when I told them their loved ones would never return. All those lost warriors. For what? Stability? We paid that price for stability?” She spat out the word. She looked from Barakiel to Pellus and back again. “How can this be true? How could they have done this?”
“They are craven and dishonest and no longer deserve our loyalty,” Barakiel said, staring intensely at his commander. “The fools have allowed Lucifer to become powerful enough to defeat us. The citizens should know.”
“If this is true, I agree.” Remiel’s face hardened in the twilight. “But we are not certain.” Barakiel was about to protest, but Remiel raised her hand. “Not a word, warrior.” She turned to the adept. “What do you think, Pellus?”
“I am sorry, Barakiel, but I agree with Remiel. Adonael is an unreliable source.”
Barakiel walked in a tight circle.
They do not want to believe this. It takes an exile to believe it.
He threw up his hands. “Then how do we confirm it?”
“We will discuss this with Osmadiel after your next tour of duty in the Turning. She will know what to do,” Remiel said.
“I hope you are right, commander.
Pellus emerged from the rift into a hard rain driven by a cold wind. He liked the approach of winter in the Earthly Realm. He found such weather beautiful. He could see the clash of giant systems and feel their fearsome energy. He knew Barakiel liked it, too, so he was not surprised to find him on the roof, soaking wet, his face to the wind, his hair whipping about. The Covalent nodded to each other. They took in the storm for a few minutes.
“As much as I hate to drag you away from your storm, I have delayed long enough,” Pellus said. “Before I take you to battle, I need to tell you what Roan and I have discovered about the traitorous traveler.”
Barakiel looked at him sharply. “Delayed long enough?”
“I did not want to tell you before your meeting with Adonael.”
I do not want to tell you at all.
“Tell me what?”
“Shall we go inside? You need to prepare for battle.”
“Stop it, Pellus, and tell me.”
The adept tipped his face to the lashing rain. “I have reason to believe that the traitor is Domist.”
“Domist?! Mate to Abraxos?!” Barakiel shouted so loudly his voice was like a storm unto itself. “Oh, Zan, what have I done to you?”
The fear and guilt in the warrior’s eyes had Pellus wishing he would return to his lunatic hatred.
I need to reassure him.
“We will protect Zan,” Pellus said, his voice rich and loud over the rain. “I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. I do not even care about the consequences. Domist may be a powerful adept, but so am I.”
Barakiel pressed his lips together and nodded. He breathed deeply as they went inside. When he spoke again he was calmer. He asked Pellus to tell him everything that he and Roan had discovered.
“Perhaps I should speak with Ravellen,” Pellus said when he had finished. “I think we can trust her to keep our confidence about Zan.”
“What can Ravellen do?” Barakiel exclaimed. “If we make any move, Domist will tell the Council everything. You yourself told me the Council would have Zan killed.”
Pellus could not tell him he was wrong.
“I see only one solution. I will kill Domist,” Barakiel said.
“You will hardly be able to love Zan if they execute you.”
“She will be safe. That is all that matters.”
“Will you please allow me to help you before you do anything so rash? Without my help, you will never get near an adept.”
The warrior leaned forward. “Then you will help me.”
It took an act of will for Pellus not to shrink away.
And there is the lunatic hatred. It will serve him well in battle.
Surrounded by a thick horde of demons in the silver and amethyst sheen of the Turning, Barakiel swung his luminous blue sword with glee. The sound of his blade slicing into flesh, the spraying brown blood, the howls of dying beasts, all gave him some relief from his terror.
If Domist was the traitor, Zan was in danger every minute of every day. He needed to be at her side. Pellus had said she would return to him, but he didn’t know how stubborn she was. How angry.
At least in battle, Barakiel could exact payment from the demons for the loss they had caused him. He could pretend the heads he took were Domist’s. Growling and cursing, he felled demon after demon as his fellow warriors struggled to keep up with him. He only regretted that the Corrupted had not appeared. He wanted to rip out their throats with his teeth. Osmadiel glanced over as she led a band of warriors to bottle up the demons on the right side.
She worries I have become unhinged.
When the other warriors reached farther into the horde, cleaving it in two, the demons’ formation collapsed. They fled. Barakiel could barely quell his desire to go after them. He sped to Osmadiel.
“High commander! We should pursue them. We can kill them all. We can see what we will find at the edge of the Destructive Realm.”
“Absolutely not, warrior. A change in our defensive strategy would need to be approved by the Council. I have told you that before.”
“Yes, high commander.”
I do not want to wind up in the quarry again. I need violence.
After the battalion had returned to the city and concluded its roll call, Barakiel caught site of Pellus and Remiel waiting at the edge of the Great Plaza. He caught up with Osmadiel.
“High commander,” he said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Remiel and I wish to speak with you about a matter of great importance.”
Osmadiel raised an eyebrow. “You would make a terrible spy, warrior. You should have the adept give you lessons.” She laughed at her own joke, then even more at the look on his face. She leaned in. “Of course I will speak with you. Your tone has me worried, but laugh with me.” Barakiel managed a fake chuckle.
“Good,” Osmadiel said. “Give me some time to shed the stink of battle, then come to my chambers. Have Pellus cloak you.” With a wave of her hand, she strode off across the plaza.
A short time later, all four Covalent were seated in Osmadiel’s chambers. Barakiel appeared as a lesser warrior, cloaked by Pellus. The adept dropped the illusion and the high commander scrutinized each of them in turn as they fidgeted under her gaze. She rose and went to the Conduit console glowing blue in the gray stone of the wall. She ran her finger down the screen and serene music filled the room through a link to the Quickeners Guild Hall, where musical performances were constantly in progress.
“There,” she said. “Perhaps that will soothe the three of you. You are staring at me as if the Calamities are about to begin again. Now, I am going to get us some root wine. When I come back, one of you will explain what in all the realms is the matter with you.”
When they had their glasses of garnet-colored wine in hand, Pellus told Osmadiel the same story he had told Remiel. Barakiel took over the narrative when it reached his meeting with Adonael in the Wasteland.
“Warrior to warrior, I know he was telling me something real.”
The three Covalent looked at Osmadiel expectantly, but her face was a cipher. She rose and went to her window, with its view of the glowing amber gates of Covalent City and the Stream shimmering blue above them. When she turned back to them, her emerald eyes were bright with emotion. Barakiel’s heart leaped to see her.
She should be upset. We have been betrayed.
Osmadiel took a deep breath. “I knew about this policy.”
Barakiel was too stunned to react. So was Remiel.
“That does not surprise me,” Pellus said.
“What?” Barakiel bellowed, flying to his feet. “Does not surprise you?” He gawked at Pellus, then strode over to Osmadiel. “Explain yourself!”
“You. Do not. Make demands. Upon me!” Osmadiel shouted back at him, then bowed her head. Barakiel didn’t take his eyes off her.
How could I have been so wrong about her?
“Your anger is justified,” Osmadiel said, her shoulders slumping. “I do not support the policy and I have done everything in my power to get them to abandon it. They will not listen to me.” She turned to Remiel. “I believe the battalion commanders have heard the High Command discuss this dissension, at least in vague terms.”
Remiel covered her mouth with her hand. She stared at the wall with unfocused eyes before she locked her gaze on Osmadiel. “We know you pushed for our forces to go on the offensive against Lucifer.” She went to stand beside the high commander. “I also know you well enough to state with the utmost conviction that you would never go along with such a policy unless you had no choice.”
Barakiel swung his head from side to side. He was so angry he sputtered more than spoke. “You had a choice. You had a choice. You could have told the warriors. You could have told someone!”
Pellus rose to face the enraged warrior. “Osmadiel took an oath to obey the Council, Barakiel. Do you think it would be an easy decision to foment rebellion? Some of us remember the purges of the civil wars. No one wants to return to rule based on fear.”
“And whom do you fear now?” Barakiel asked, casting venom-filled eyes around the room. “Suffering is his joy. Killing is his lifeblood. Conquest is his nourishment. You should have asked me. I would have told you he will not rest until you have all felt the bite of his hatred. No one can contain Lucifer.”
I cannot cope. If only I had Zan to give me strength.
With a groan, Barakiel sank into a chair. He covered his face. He did not want them to see that his rage had deserted him.
Osmadiel put her hand on his back. “I am sorry, Barakiel. You have paid a price for the craven actions of the Council that I will never understand. We abandoned you, a foolish and heartless act that disturbs me almost as much as the stupidity that has marked our dealings with Lucifer. And you are right, I was too weak to defy the Council. But not anymore. The warriors should know. They will know.”
Barakiel raised his head. He squared his shoulders and took his feet.
This is not the time to fall apart.
“The citizens should know. We should announce it on the Great Plaza.”
“This is not the Earthly Realm.” Osmadiel glanced at Remiel. “Covalent rulers do not seek the support of the citizenry. No, if we are going to change this heinous policy, we must get the battalion commanders on our side before it is more widely known. You can forget about the High Command. I have been fighting with Camael and Galizur about this for an age. Camael is too conservative to argue with the Council and Galizur is a stooge.”
“Is the Council unanimous regarding this policy?” Pellus asked.
“No. I am not supposed to know, mind you, but Ravellen withdrew her support the moment casualties began to increase. The worse it has got, the more she has tortured herself for supporting the policy in the first place. But only four of the fourteen remaining Council members are in her camp. A few more may be persuadable, but they are intimidated by Abraxos. He was the architect of the policy.”
“Abraxos! Abraxos!” Barakiel pounded on the stone wall. The chamber shook with his force.
“It would not be good for our quest if you destroy this chamber, as much as I would like to join you,” Pellus said.
Willing himself to be still, Barakiel leaned with his forehead against the wall. He couldn’t think clearly, but he knew he could rely on his friend. “Tell them please, Pellus. About Domist.”
The adept turned to the commanders. “Abraxos may be playing a deeper game than any of us realize. We have reason to believe his mate is a traitor. That she has been assisting Lucifer.”
Once Remiel and Osmadiel had gotten over their shock, Pellus told them what he knew.
“That is thin gruel, adept,” Osmadiel said.
“I know.”
Remiel pulled Barakiel away from the wall. She put her hands on his upper arms. “You can protect her, warrior. You will.”
Much to Remiel’s shock, he hugged her. He hugged her so tight she squeaked, causing Pellus and Osmadiel to smile. Barakiel released his commander. He concentrated on the soft music still wafting from the Conduit.
One step at a time. I need to stay calm.
He looked at his assembled friends. He would place his faith in them. They were so much wiser.
“Obviously, I am a mess,” Barakiel said. “All I can do is slaughter our enemies and pine for my mate. Please tell me what to do.”
“As hard as it will be, you should not do anything about Domist here in the Covalent Realm. You could easily wind up in the Wasteland Dungeons,” Osmadiel said, her eyes sliding from Barakiel to Pellus. “What you do in the Earthly Realm is your business. In the meantime, I will find out what I can in as subtle a way as I can. And do not worry, warrior. I will not give Domist a reason to reveal the existence of your human mate.”
Barakiel suppressed his urge to hug Osmadiel.
“As for the asinine policy towards Lucifer, we must force the Council to abandon it,” Osmadiel continued. “Remiel and I will do some quiet work with the battalion commanders. At least three will fly into a rage to rival yours, Barakiel.”
“Yes,” Remiel said. “We will have to put Hagith and Kalaziel in cages.”
Pellus rubbed his hands together. “I have two proposals,” he said. “One, I think I should discuss this with the Sylvan Three. They will keep our confidence and they could be essential allies should we choose to become openly defiant.”
“By all means, yes,” Osmadiel said, “considering they could be the difference between whether we live or die.”
“Uh, two, proposal two,” Pellus continued. “I think Barakiel and I should pay a visit to the Destructive Realm to see what we find there. If we offer some information to the battalion commanders about the likely field of battle, they may be more willing to go on the offensive.”
“Lucifer will know the second Barakiel sets foot there,” Remiel said. “You will never make it out alive.”
“We will stay at the edge until I determine if I can cloak him. We will not go far. We will be able to easily flee back into the Turning, but I need Barakiel with me. Travelers may have explored the Destructive Realm ages ago, but he is the only warrior to have been there.”
“I agree, Pellus,” Osmadiel said. “I will try to cover for you if I hear anyone voicing suspicions about your activities, but for now, another meeting like this one is out of the question. I will contact you all should one become necessary.”
“I can update Barakiel about our progress with the commanders after our next battle,” Remiel said. “When do you fight for me again, warrior?”
“Not until next phase, after the earthly winter solstice. I am due to report in twenty turns.
‘It will have to do.”
“Yes, it will,” Osmadiel agreed. “And Balance help us all.”