Eban (21 page)

They were outnumbered by demons as far as he could see. Astaroth was no longer visible from his vantage point, although Eban doubted the duke was dirtying his hands in the fight. He had enough minions to overwhelm them within moments. A pang of regret plucked at him as he wondered if his brothers had fallen. If Beryl, trapped inside Rosemar's mind was gone, and whether she'd suffered. He burned with anger, listening to the shouts and growls that muffled the whisper of his blade.

The long sinuous tail of Astaroth's helldragon whipped through the air, knocking down a row of the duke's own demons, allowing Eban to scramble over them toward the Pit. The helldragon had all but paved a path to Hell's usurper king. He spotted his father, whose eyes blazed and face twisted as he grappled with an ape demon. Astaroth watched, his crooked smile growing by the second.

Rosemar, hair flying in the wind, brought the hatchet down on the ape's head. Gore splattered across her face. She gave the body a kick, knocking it away, and nodded at Seneca. They both charged at Astaroth. Eban scrambled after them, avoiding fallen corpses. Relief coursed through him when he didn't see any that resembled his brothers.

The prince of Hell raised his arms, lifting a cloud of dust and sand that swirled around him. Bits hit Eban's cheeks and stung his eyes. He tried to shield his face, but the force of the wind made it impossible to block anything.

Astaroth pointed at Rosemar and crooked his finger. She froze, her hand dropping to her sides, the hatchet falling from her limp fingers. She took one step, then two, picking her way across the ragged, broken edges of the Pit to join Astaroth.

“No!” Eban pushed through the flying sand, battling the wind that threatened to blow him over.

Astaroth ignored him, but Eliakim appeared at his side, impervious to the storm.

“Wait. He is coming.”

“I can't wait! He has Rosemar.” He couldn't have cared less about her, but if Astaroth realized that Eban loved the host body, he'd destroy Beryl. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and reached for the hatchet. A weapon in each hand, he advanced.

The hatchet had a good, solid feel and he understood why Rosemar liked it. He ached to drive the blade between Astaroth's eyes. Deep inside, the caged demon fought, scratching at his chest. He kept his gaze trained on his enemy, well aware that Eliakim stalked behind him.

The wind died and dust scattered everywhere, raining on Eban. Behind Astaroth, at the far edge of the Pit, which glowed with hellish red light, a figure on horseback galloped across empty air. Eban tensed, but Eliakim spread his glossy white wings and raised his sword.

Astaroth's head shot up and he gripped the front of Rosemar's dress, dragging her with him when he turned. He let out a roar of rage that caused the ground to shake. Rosemar's head snapped back and he shoved her away, railing in a foreign language at the approaching figure.

Eban recognized the horse now. Dapple gray with a solid white mane that whipped as it galloped, unafraid, toward them. The man seated bareback on the animal held his sword aloft. It sparkled despite the clouds.

Eliakim's wings folded and he dropped to his knees like he'd been shot. He muttered in the same language Astaroth was still spewing and Eban rocked back on his heels. It was angelic, hard on the ears, impossible for him to understand, but he allowed hope to replace his fear. Until he saw Rosemar sprawled on the rocky ground.

Blood trailed from her nose, fresh red over the other drying gore, and she remained unmoving. Eban's heart jumped into his throat. He dropped the hatchet, fumbling to re-sheath his saber as he stumbled toward her. Blonde hair spread around her like blades of cut straw.

“Beryl.” It hurt to breathe as he gathered her in his arms, searching for additional blood or wounds.

Her eyes fluttered, the brilliant green flashing through golden lashes. “What's happening?”

The harsh voice was Rosemar's, not Beryl's. Disappointment overcame his fear.

“Astaroth tried to control you,” he admitted. “You're not hurt?”

“No. He—” She shuddered, looking uncomfortable as she turned toward Astaroth. “I haven't felt that much anger and hate since I left Hell.”

“Let's get you up. We need every available weapon.”

Her eyes widened and she gripped Eban's arms. “That's Azazel.”

“What?”

His head whipped around involuntarily, watching the mounted rider slow to a halt in front of Astaroth. A tall metal helmet rested atop the being's head. He lifted it as he dismounted from the horse.

Eban stared. Azazel, once a powerful god, a fallen angel, a demon who gave boons to men and destroyed them in the same breath, also happened to be Astaroth's twin.

“Eliakim must've sent for help. You'd better hope he's in a good mood or the plans Astaroth made to destroy you will seem pleasant.” Rosemar stood shakily. “If there was ever a time I wish I was on God's good side.”

The battlefield quieted and Astaroth stopped shouting as the two circled each other. Seere muscled through the other demons, approaching Eliakim, although he didn't bow at the sight of Azazel. Like the rest of them, he was scratched, battered and appeared exhausted.

Wystan, dragging a limping Tell behind him joined their group. Eban watched Astaroth's army, but they all appeared too in awe of Azazel to move.

He was far from handsome, with features that looked as though he'd spent an eternity in the sun. Wrinkled, sunburned flesh, a pair of short horns sprouting from his forehead, long toes that ended in sharp, curving claws. The horse stood by him, draped in a green silk blanket embroidered with a toad. Azazel had several inches on Astaroth, whose face had turned equally as red.

“What is the meaning of this?” Astaroth demanded.

“Your petty war on Earth ends today.” Azazel's words boomed over the empty desert like cannon fire, echoing off the rocks.

Eban's ears hurt from the sound. He grimaced as Rosemar dug her fingernails into his arm. Demon or not, she wasn't immune to the power in the fallen angel's voice.

Astaroth sneered, drawing thin lips back from his jagged yellow teeth. “It is my right as a royal member of Hell to create war and havoc. To steal human souls and plunge the world into darkness. I am the mightiest of the four demon kings. I command more demons than any other ruler in Hell. I am darkness and chaos. How dare you deny me this?”

“Because I too am darkness and chaos, but when it serves, I find humans are better servants than the most loyal minions. I will not see their world destroyed because of a need for revenge.” Azazel threw his hand out and the resulting force pushed Astaroth's legions back, although the Heckmasters, Rosemar, Seere and Eliakim remained in their places. “You want vengeance, take it with my blessing, brother, but leave the rest of the world out of it. A demon prince does not need such fanfare or so many lesser demons to take what's his by right. If you destroy everything, you will leave us with no resources.”

Astaroth opened his mouth, but Azazel continued, “Seneca trapped you, Seere followed Ea's wishes for the Gray Lands. Seneca's offspring, yes, I can see battling them as well because they have denied your attempts to free yourself.”

He snapped his long fingers and the surrounding army scattered into ash. Eban's relief was short-lived as Azazel grinned.

“This is a battle I will enjoy watching.”

Astaroth blinked, put into place by his twin. “I will destroy them all,” he muttered.

Azazel inclined his head. “Indeed. You may begin.”

Chapter Twenty

Seneca met Eban's gaze and gave him a sad smile. With a minute shake of his head, he stepped forward, appealing to Azazel. “My liege, I ask that you leave my boys out of this. They were only doing my will, as your legions do yours. My rank among the demon lords has been revoked because of my actions and I don't seek to reclaim it, because I don't believe forsaking Astaroth was wrong. I loved a human—not the worst crime a being of our power has committed. Let them go and they won't interfere.”

Tell straightened, his shoulders tight. “The hell with that. I won't stand here while Astaroth tears you to pieces.”

Wystan gripped his little brother's shoulder, holding him back. “Shut your mouth. You want to end up like the legions?”

Tell growled in response. Eban let go of Rosemar to take Tell's other arm.

“He's right,” Eban said.

Azazel ignored them. “Let's begin.”

“I have one question, my liege.” Seneca looked contrite.

“Out with it.”

“In the names of my children and my beloved wife, is my sacrifice enough to banish Astaroth for good this time?” Seneca drew a jagged piece of rock from the folds of his shirt and lunged at Astaroth. “With this body, I seal the door!”

They were a blur as they tumbled toward the yawning mouth of the Pit, Seneca driving the rock into Astaroth's neck. A fountain of brown blood spewed, splashing the edge of the hole. Astaroth managed a blood-curdling scream and the pair pitched into the red abyss. Azazel laughed, showing his delight with a huge grin. He made no attempt to stop the two demons.

Eban darted forward, hand outstretched although he knew he'd never reach his father in time. His fingers closed over empty air. His heart skipped a beat as the light flared green and air rushed up from the tunnel, followed by pained howls. A glowing bubble rose and settled over the hole. With pops and cracks, it solidified. For a moment, everything was still. Then the ground rumbled and loose gravel jumped.

“What the hell is going on?” Wystan asked.

A mound formed where the center of the Pit had been and it grew, rising above them until it was a rolling, rocky hill on the landscape not unlike the others that surrounded Berner. The dust settled slowly, falling around them in clouds.

Azazel tipped his head back and laughed again. “Berner's portal to Hell is closed. Astaroth is no longer a threat. Seneca did well, proving himself worthy of his convictions.”

Eliakim trembled, but didn't raise his head, eyes still shuttered as he bowed.
“Thank you, my lord.”

Behind Eban, there was a loud thump and a gurgling noise. He turned, stunned to see Rosemar prying the hatchet out of the juncture where Seere's neck and shoulder met. Blood rolled down his dust-covered finery and his blue eyes widened, then fluttered. He reached for her, but she stepped back. His legs gave away and he fell face-first to the ground.

“Go to Hell, my liege,” she snarled. “The Gray Lands are mine.”

She lifted the hatchet as though daring the Heckmasters to approach. With a smile at Azazel, she said, “Do you remember the good times we had? When we walked the earth as deities, worshiped by the masses? I was lust incarnate, bringing together the powerful and weak, creating empires and burning them to the ground. I will have my day again.”

She turned her attention to Eban. “If you join me, I'll spare them. If you do not, I'll bring each of you to your knees and make you watch while I tear Berner apart board by board, brick by brick.”

A bolt flew past him, aimed at Rosemar, but it stopped before it reached her. She held out her hand and the bolt hovered in the air.

“How pathetic.” She twirled her finger and the bolt spun, shooting back at Tell.

He yelped when it pierced his thigh, staggering and dropping to his knees.

Too stunned to move, Eban looked between them. Tell gripped the metal-and-wood projectile, his face pale. The three of them were unpleasantly affected by silver, but it wouldn't be enough to kill Tell. Still, Eban moved toward him, ready to help remove the bolt.

Rosemar's eyes lit with fire. She moved with demonic speed, launching herself through the air at them. Eban grunted as her weight hit him. Her skin was hot, hands scorching where they touched his face, neck and bare arms. Her fist pounded against her face, striking his cheekbones, his nose, cutting his lower lip. He tried to grasp her wrists, to wrestle her off, but she kept fighting.

Arms swept in behind her, pulling her away. She struggled against Eliakim, swearing as her skin burned.

“Let go of me, you bastard.”

“I promised Beryl I would do her the honor of ending her life.”

“No!” Eban pushed to his feet, heart in his throat. “Don't hurt her.”

“Eban.” Wystan put his hand out, snatching the back of Eban's shirt. “You know she can't be saved.”

Eban whirled and pushed Wystan away. “Get off me.” He turned back to Eliakim. “Don't kill her.”

“I gave my word. You see the damage she has done.”
Eliakim nodded at Seere's corpse.
“This abomination cannot be allowed to walk the earth.”

“Abomination,” she spat, writhing against his grip. “Turn me loose and we'll see who's the abhorrence.”

“I'll do anything,” Eban said. “If you give me time, I can find a way to get rid of the demon.”

He felt cold. Even the blood congealing on his face seemed to be freezing. Eliakim's eyes shone with sympathy. Eban's vision blurred and he dashed the tears out of his eyes. Behind the rage on Rosemar's face, Beryl was tucked away, maybe aware of what was happening. Frightened, unable to reach out to him. The monster he'd been suppressing struggled. Together, they could free her. To hell with his brothers and the angel. They didn't care about Beryl, never had.

He'd fought for her since the beginning, when Wystan wanted to throw her out. When Tell believed she harbored something dangerous inside her mind. Neither of them knew what she meant to him. They never would.

Eliakim wrapped his arm around her throat.
“I am sorry, Ebaneezer.”

“I can't live without her.”

The angel shook his head. Red marks disfigured Rosemar's face and she was clearly in pain, but she still struggled. Eban dove for the hatchet, ignoring the sudden sting of pain in his back, the infuriated scream that left Rosemar's throat, and Wystan's shout.

The hatchet whistled through the air, but Eliakim and Rosemar disappeared in a flash, leaving the head buried in the dirt. They reappeared a few feet away.

Wystan grabbed him, pining Eban's arms to his sides. “Stop. She poisoned your mind, Eban. She's trying to break us apart so she can destroy everything. Don't you see? That's not Beryl.”

Seere had promised him closure, but she'd taken him. He was probably roasting in Hell for his crimes against his fellow demons. Something inside Eban snapped, the final thread on the leash holding his demon side back unraveled and he saw red.

“I don't need your opinion, Wystan.” His voice came out a low growl, strange in his ears, throbbing with rage. “You have a wife and a town to look after. For once, stay out of my business.”

He shrugged, throwing off Wystan's arms, then put every ounce of strength behind a punch that knocked his older brother off his feet. He felt the stinging burn of the silver bolt Tell had fired to keep him from killing Eliakim, but couldn't reach it to rip it out.

“Jesus, Eb, don't do this.” Tell's crossbow hung limply in his hands. “You've gotta calm down.”

“Why? So you can tell me again how Beryl doesn't matter? So you can behead her and justify it by claiming it's your duty? You're as much a demon as I am, as Wystan is, Harl—”

He never saw the sword that hit him, only knew that if Eliakim had used the edge of the blade, he'd be lamenting lost loves with his father in Hell. The flat of the sword hit the back of his head before he got Tell's given name out and he staggered. The demon in him roared and he swung around, prepared to tear Eliakim's head from his shoulders.

Eliakim had Rosemar's arm twisted behind her back, oblivious of her spitting and swearing.

“Kill him, Eban. Let's have this done and we'll go to the Gray Lands. No more Heckmasters, no more sickly sweet daydreams of a place where your brothers can live without fear or ridicule. They don't want to rule. They don't deserve it.”

“Stand down, Heckmaster.”
Eliakim's eyes were frosty, his mouth turned down in a fierce scowl.
“I take no pleasure in killing this woman, nor do I wish to kill you. This is the only way. Take pride in what was accomplished here today. Your enemy is defeated. The Pit is closed. You are but one step from peace.”

“You don't know what you're asking, you winged rat.” Hatred for the angel burned through him. His enemy. How had he ever admired Eliakim's skill with the broadsword? Felt relief when the angel killed his demon brethren? He flexed his hands, wishing he could get close enough to inflict the same damage on Eliakim as his holy touch gave Rosemar.

“You think because I do not give into love as easily as a human that I cannot love? When my father said, ‘Obey me and love the mortals who walk the world I created', I did not rebel as my brothers. I loved them because Father told me to do so. Do you believe I have no feelings for the woman this demon has trapped? How it pains me to hurt her. Her last wish was peace and she will have it because my father wants it for her.”

Fresh anger darkened Eliakim's face. Eban shifted his gaze to Rosemar. She was shaking, her struggles a little less frantic.

“Pathetic,” she whispered. “Go on, then and kill her, but I'll return. I'll always return.”

Her face reddened as Eliakim increased the pressure on her throat. Eban didn't hesitate, just moved, ripping Eliakim's hands away from Rosemar. She gasped for breath and staggered away while he wrestled the angel. Eliakim's hands burned against him, the same constitution as holy water, but he only knew if he didn't send Eliakim away, everything he loved would be gone.

His foe was bigger, stronger, had all of Heaven on his side and it was mere seconds before he had Eban on the ground, the sword at his throat.

“I am sorry. Forgive me.”

He closed his eyes as the sword's razor edge nicked his throat, fiery hot. It would be a relief, stepping out of the mortal body, going somewhere—anywhere—else instead of being weighed down by human problems.

“Wait.”

Eban's eyes snapped open again as Azazel called out. He'd forgotten the fallen angel was here, watching the whole fight as though he was sitting in a private box at the theater.

“Oh, he has a devil in him, this one, but so much human emotion. He controls it even though it wishes to break free. I've seldom seen the like.” Azazel cackled and rubbed his hands together. “Prince Seere is dead due to his own self-importance, Prince Astaroth banished to my prisons for millennia of torture, and Baron Seneca awaiting new command. It doesn't seem fair that two of our players are given such rotten fates.”

Eliakim's hands trembled.
“You know this cannot be allowed. She cannot remain on earth and he cannot set the demon free.”

“I know that as well as anyone.” Azazel rubbed his knobby chin. “What can we do with the pair of them?”

“Let Beryl go,” Eban ground out. “She didn't ask for any of this.”

Azazel nodded, then held up one finger. “What is the price of her ransom?”

He didn't hesitate. “My life. Mine for hers.”

“Agreed. To Hell.” Azazel pointed at Rosemar, his wicked smile firmly in place. A current of blue energy raced from his finger to her body. She jerked as though hit with a lightning bolt.

Eban struggled against Eliakim, but the angel wouldn't budge. Rosemar's lips pulled back in a snarl, but it faded as her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed. A sob tore from Eban's throat. He couldn't reach her because Eliakim would never allow him up. Beryl was wounded, had to be exhausted, and he wasn't even sure she was alive.

“Do it, Eliakim. Make it quick,” he whispered. The rage inside him died, burning out like used-up coal. The aches and twinges in his body intensified and he looked forward to the release of death.

“Ah, but I need my one to guard the present. Is it a task you can manage if you have the woman you love?” Rocks crunched beneath Azazel's feet.

Eban looked up into the fallen angel's snake-like eyes. “What?”

“An old prophecy, one that assures demons do not take over this world. I may be banished from Heaven, I may have a palate for darkness and chaos, but I take the prophecies seriously. You have always understood the humans better than your brothers. I need a representative if we're to make Berner safe for all beings.”

“What's the catch?” Eban asked. “There's something you want from me. Some deed in exchange for your mercy.”

“I forgive your incredulity—this time. Do not press me. When the mood strikes, I am kind and giving, as my father taught me. If you go against me, be warned, I will show no clemency, but you have it this day. Your life and that of Beryl Brookshier, whole and complete. Is that not what you desired?” Azazel blinked, waiting for Eban's answer.

“That's exactly what I want.”

“Let him go, Eliakim. I believe you're wanted at home. A word to the wise, Heckmaster. Do not call the angels again. They are not here for your whims and quibbles.”

“Yes, my lord.” He shook himself as Eliakim helped him up. “I'm sorry if I caused trouble by invoking angels.”

The fallen angel lord nodded. “The fate of the Gray Side is in turmoil. For now, I will hold sway over Prince Seere's domain. When the time is right, your father will control the legions meant to protect the Gray Lands and this section of Earth. His old territories.”