the way, gave us the name of his Prime on
Breathnóir
. The warrior is none other than
Dusken Kullen, Glyn’s long-lost brother.”
“No shit?” Owen exclaimed then grinned. “Another brother brought back from the
dead.”
“Have either of you had experience of Ridge Lords?” Arawn inquired. When both
Owen and Bevyn shook their heads, he told them about Brell.
“A sorcerer, eh?” Bevyn said. “Things must be worse than we thought if She
brought one of them here.”
The men broke off their conversation when their mates’ carriage arrived and went
to help their ladies down. Together, they climbed the steps of the Citadel with their
entourage bringing up the rear.
Once they were all settled into their quarters, Moira and Annie oohing and ahhing
over their separate rooms and Lacy Boulbé—Owen’s nanny—having inspected hers,
word was sent that the Reapers and Lady Reapers were to come to the High Council’s
chamber.
“In uniform,” they were ordered.
Healer Dresden and his assistants Healers Anton Sorrel and Benjamin Tate, along
with Penthe Aracnea—the Amazeen who was head of Citadel security—and Sir Giles
D’Brickashaw, the Primary Guide, were standing outside the chamber doors when the
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Gehdrins, the Crees, Bevyn and his lady-mate Lea, Glyn Kullen, the Tohres—all three of
them—and Kasid Jaborn walked up.
“The Shadowlords and Gatekeepers are within with the Ridge Lord,” Giles
reported. “They will call us when they are ready.”
“Is She here?” Arawn asked.
“The goddess asked to be summoned when all are settled in the chamber,” Giles
replied.
“No word of Iden yet?”
“I am afraid not, milord,” Giles responded.
“They aren’t going to require my little one to be here, are they?” Glyn asked. He
had yet to transfer one of his fledglings to his lady-wife but his wife’s child—the little
girl of Kullen’s heart if not his body—had been turned to bring her back to life. It was a
decision for which Kullen had paid dearly. “Valli is a bit young for this kind of thing.”
“No, Lord Glyn. She won’t be needed,” Giles told him. “But the Elfinish will be in
attendance.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Arawn chuckled.
The sound of footsteps behind them made the Reapers and their ladies turn.
Coming toward them was the newest addition to their warrior family and though
Arawn, Cynyr and Eanan had met the newcomer, the others had not.
“Lord Fontabeau Sorn, ladies and gentlemen,” Arawn introduced the gunman.
“It’s an honor,” Fontabeau said, bowing to the ladies then accepting each of their
hands in turn and kissing it. He shook hands—warrior fashion—with Bevyn and Owen
and Kasid. He bowed to Penthe but refrained from extending his hand to her. He shook
hands with the healers and nodded at Sir Giles, whom he had already met.
“Phe’s lady get settled in?” Cynyr inquired.
“Aye. She’s not happy they wouldn’t let us see Phelan, but she likes his room well
enough,” Fontabeau replied, glancing at the healers.
“We haven’t been allowed to see him either,” Arawn said. “I did get the report that
he is resting comfortably but still unconscious.”
“That is the goddess’s doing,” Healer Dresden explained. “He is still in quite a lot
of pain. She is keeping him asleep while the irritant is cleansed from his bloodstream.”
“But he’s all right?” Fontabeau pressed.
“As well as can be expected, milord,” Healer Dresden said. “We anticipate a full
recovery.”
“By the gods I hope so,” Fontabeau said on a long sigh. “It tears the heart out of me
knowing what he’s been through.”
“Phe is a fighter,” Owen said.
Fontabeau raised his chin and looked Arawn in the eye. “Did the High Lord tell
you what my punishment is to be for disrespecting him?”
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Arawn grinned. “Got on his bad side, did you?” He put a heavy hand on
Fontabeau’s shoulder, squeezed. “There won’t be any punishment, Sorn.”
A few times before the Reapers and their ladies had come to this round
subterranean room with its high-vaulted ceiling and walls as black as night. The huge
room was lit only by numerous cast iron hanging torches set five feet apart. Underfoot
was a thick black carpet that muffled their footsteps. Upon the carpet were two
concentric gold-rimmed circles. In the space between the two circles, on a lighter gold
background were five blue alien symbols. The inner circle was black with a five-pointed
star, its intersecting lines placed in the middle of the circle. Each point of the star was a
different color—dark blue, dark green, dark brown, gray and red. A long dais sat at the
top point of the star and upon it was three throne-like chairs upholstered in crimson. It
was there the Shadowlords sat. Slightly apart from them was a blue chair and it was to
this seat Brell headed. To the right of the Shadowlords were three gray chairs in which
sat the Gatekeepers—Argent Ben-Alkazar, Corallin Tarnes and Aureolin Belvoir. To the
left of the Shadowlords were three green chairs reserved for the healers. On a velvet
perch all her own, the Worldly One sat preening, licking her hairless paws one after the
other.
“Be seated,” Lord Kheelan ordered, and the Reapers and their ladies took their
places in black chairs placed in a semicircle before the dais while Sir Giles and Penthe
flanked the door as sentinels for the assemblage.
When all were seated, the High Lord took a deep breath.
“We are all here save Belial,
Mo Regina
,” he said.
Morrigunia, the Triune Goddess, materialized between the dais and the black
chairs. She was dressed for battle with a short white toga over which She wore a
brightly polished breastplate of hammered copper, the stippling on the armor giving
the impression of scales. Knee-high boots of dark brown kid fit Her shapely legs. Upon
Her head was a winged helm. In Her right fist She carried a
Dóigra
—the deadly weapon
of choice of the Amazeen warrioresses—its star-shaped head gleaming in the low light.
“Fear not for Iden, My Reapers,” She said. “He is alive though he is being held
prisoner. I will leave shortly to free him.” She held up a hand, anticipating the
questions. “He is in no immediate danger. Let me speak first then you may ask what
you will.”
Everyone remained quiet as the goddess paced back and forth before the dais as
though She sought the right words. When at last it seemed She had, breaths were
collectively held for no one missed the import of the moment nor the urgency hovering
over them all.
“There is evil,” She said, “and then there is Evil.” Her green eyes met each of the
Reapers. “You have fought Raphian thus you know what defines evil. The demon is a
wily adversary but He is not the most malevolent entity in the megaverse nor is He the
most dangerous to humankind. There is one far greater in wickedness than Raphian
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will ever be. His name is
Yn Drogh Spyrryd
, the Evil One.” She looked at Glyn. “Some
have intimate knowledge of just how evil He can be.”
Glyn nodded agreement.
“For those of you who do not know of
Yn Drogh Spyrryd
, I can only explain Him by
telling you His is a brutal path upon which those who worship Him take great delight
in traversing. Where His venture, death and destruction follow.
“He resides on a world called
Treigeilys
, which in the Old Language means a place
of abandonment. It is where those go whose evil is so great, not even hell will take
them. In
Treigeilys
, He has four Higher Archdemons who preside over the
Peccoil
, the
Sinful. Seven more Archdemons—known as the Focal Fiends—direct the
Peccah Shiaght
,
or as we know them—the Seven Deadly Sins.
“There is among the Higher Archdemons one known as Kerreyder. He presides
over the punishment of those who rebel against
Yn Drogh Spyrryd
and those who refuse
to worship the Evil One. It is Kerreyder who holds the keys to the torture chambers
deep beneath
Treigeilys
and he who is the warden of Prysson, the megaversial prison
where the worst of the worst are interned. The worst of the worst is called the
Nikkeson
.
It is the vilest of the vile, the most depraved monster humankind has ever known.
“Dredged up from the watery muck beneath the lowest level of the Abyss, the
Nikkeson
was called forth by
Yn Drogh Spyrryd
to carry out His vengeance against those
who oppose Him. But the
Nikkeson
proved nearly impossible to control. When it is not
exacting retribution for its master, it is kept chained within Prysson.”
The goddess shuddered.
“Through no fault of his own, Glyn Kullen has set into motion the
Fadeyrys
, the
Prophecy of Doom written many millennia ago and in doing so has set the
Nikkeson
loose from the frozen pit of its lightless cell. At this moment, it is somewhere among the
vast waterways off the coast of Flagala or Vircars.”
A gasp went through all those assembled except for the Shadowlords, the Ridge
Lord, the Elfinish and the Gatekeepers—who were already privy to the terrible news.
Morrigunia waited until quiet descended on the High Council chambers. Her face
was filled with sadness as she said, “The
Fadeyrys
reads…
Amid the days of
Jerrey Souree
innocent blood will flow,
In the Land of the Chosen where life will be no more;
Sacrificed flesh will be offered up this fateful day.
Chants spoken in the ancient tongue shall find the ear,
Of the greatest Evil mankind has reason to fear;
And the Path shall be opened to show Him the way.
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BlackMoon Reaper
A warrior tried through no fault of his own shall fall,
His weakness shining like a beacon, his cry a siren’s call;
To lure the
Nikkeson
unleashed from His cell into the fray.
Unto a new world and to new blood shall the demon fly,
And drink His fill while tears gather in every eye;
Where the innocent can not hold His fury at bay.”
Unease shifted through the room but it was Cynyr who spoke. “Does this thing—
this
Nikkeson
—have Iden?” His wife put a hand on his leg to comfort him for Iden was a
good friend to her husband.
“No, Lord Cynyr,” the Triune Goddess answered. “Though I can not prevent you
from worrying about your friend, I assure you he is not in any immediate danger, but
should I not retrieve him soon, the
Nikkeson
will discover his whereabouts and go after
him.”
“That’s why you brought us here,” Arawn said.
Morrigunia nodded. “You must be kept safe from this evil for you are not equipped
to fight him.” She looked to Brell. “That is why the Ridge Lord is here. It will take a
powerful sorcerer to send the
Nikkeson
back to Prysson.”
“Why not just kill it?” Kasid Jaborn inquired.
“Because it can’t be killed,” Lord Kheelan said. “If that had been possible, believe
me when I tell you it would have been seen to long ago.”
“Have you fought this evil, Your Grace?” Owen asked, for there was something in
the High Lord’s demeanor that suggested he had.
Lord Kheelan looked to the goddess with what was obviously pleading but She
turned Her face from him.
“Long ago there were two friends,” She said. “Where one went, you would find the
other. From childhood it had been so.
“The two grew into manhood, enlisted as was required of them in the militia of
their homeworld. Their people were at war so they fought side by side for the glory and
honor of their homeland, became national heroes—much loved and deeply respected.
Hailed as the salvations of their world, they were given mates who were considered to
be the most beautiful women in the Quadrant. The two warriors Joined with those
mates in a dual ceremony on the same evening at the stroke of midnight and the two
handsome heroes along with their two beautiful spouses became inseparable.
“But one of the men wanted what the other had. Though he loved his own wife,
gave her his seed to bring forth a young girl child into their world, he lusted after his
friend’s mate. His days were spent tracking her with his eyes, his nights spent dreaming
of her and plotting ways he could be with her, for this woman, this weak and willful
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woman, encouraged the warrior’s attention, attention he has trouble keeping from other
men’s wives.”
Gazes went to Lord Kheelan who was staring straight ahead. He sat so stiffly, so
straight he resembled a statue rather than a man.
“One day when this man’s wife and child were visiting her parents on Serenia and
his boyhood friend was seeing to matters elsewhere, the two adulterers came together.
They consummated their passions on the very bed where his wife had given birth to
their girl-child.”
Lord Kheelan’s eyes fluttered.
“For many months the illicit affair continued until one day—suspicious of what he
feared was going on—the man’s friend pretended to go about his business but instead