Five

  Mastemat paused just inside the border to Nergal’s land. Crossing it had been no problem for her this time, even with an entire army of imps, hellhounds, and greater demons behind her. Most of the demon lords – Nergal included – didn’t bother patrolling their borders very closely. The wilderness around each of their cities rarely contained anything worth guarding and acted more like a buffer zone than anything else. The worst Mastemat expected to encounter would be a wandering specter or a wild leviathan or two. She sent a few greater demons ahead as scouts along with some hellhounds. They shouldn’t have any trouble dealing with whatever feral spirits might be out there. The hard part was going to be getting into Nergal’s fortress with that army – which, the more she thought about it the more she realized probably wasn’t going to happen. She would have to draw most of Nergal’s troops out, forcing them to come to her. Well – attacking someone's city in direct violation of a peace treaty usually acted as a pretty effective distraction. While Nergal was occupied fighting off Mastemat’s main forces she would take a strike team and enter his fortress where she could, hopefully, accomplish her goal. If Nergal was anything like Lord Aamon, he would send his generals to do the fighting while he stayed safely tucked inside. That could make it hard for her to liberate the souls and get them safely away, but that was a risk she had to take. She was going to have to face Nergal eventually anyway. She just hoped it would be after the souls were free. What happened after that didn’t matter as long as her brother was safe. From somewhere in the woods up ahead a leviathan roared and hellhounds brayed. Atop her jet-black destrier, Mastemat pursed her lips, ignited her sword so the army could see it better, and pointed it forward. The march continued.

  Being a prisoner sucks.

  Like, really sucks. I spent the rest of the day hanging by my wrists with my back against the hard stone wall with nothing to do but listen to the sounds of my fellow prisoner’s suffering and think about how miserable I was. My arms went numb pretty quickly, so that was a little relief, but my mind kept wondering about what sort of permanent damage this was doing to them and if I’d ever be able to use them properly again. Then I began to realize how hungry I was. I tried asking my neighbors what time they fed us, but I was met with cold stares from some and harsh laughter from others. I took that to mean that if we ever got fed, it wasn’t exactly an experience to look forward to. I had to keep reminding myself that I was already dead. Dead people don’t need to eat. But then why was I getting hungry?

  The imps eventually returned with their newest addition in tow, now dressed like one of them. The head jailer (I don’t know what his job title really was, so I’ll just call him that for simplicity’s sake) pointed the other two toward one of the prisoners. She looked to be in her early teens, around the same age as Nicole had been when she died. “Time t’ show the new guy the ropes. Grab number ten.” The two demons grabbed the girl and unclasped her shackles. She immediately began screaming and kicking. The imps only laughed. “Looks like this one has some life in it still,” the head jailer said as he pointed the others to the table in the center of the room. “Strap it down nice and tight.” The girl screamed louder and flailed about as the imps clasped her arms and legs to the chains fastened to the corners of the table. “And put a gag in it,” the jailer said. “It’s screeching hurts my ears.” The imp that had been a human only a short while ago grabbed a filthy rag from the floor and roughly shoved it into the girl's mouth. Her screaming turned to muffled coughing. “That’s better,” the jailer said as he turned to a nearby rack and began examining its contents. On the table the girl’s struggling lessened and she seemed to be having a hard time breathing.

  “Stop that! You’re killing her!” I cried, unable to just hang by and watch.

  “Watch it, soul,” the jailer said, turning sharply about to look at me. “The only reason you ain’t on this table instead is ‘cause Lord Nergal wants t’ be here himself for your first time. So if I was you I’d be more worried ‘bout that than anything else.” He grabbed another rag and strode over to me, taking hold of my jaw with his clawed hand and squeezing. My mouth was forced open and he shoved the vile cloth into it. “Now shut up,” he said, turning back to the rack of instruments. “Can’t kill a human soul anyway,” he grumbled. He found what he was looking for and grabbed a metal tube that was about as long and thick as a man’s arm and sharpened on one end like a medical needle. A hose was attached to the other end, leading to a box on the floor next to the rack. He shoved the tube at the new imp. “You’re up, Newbie. Just make sure you don’t hit its heart. Wouldn’t be good if you sent one to the abyss on your first day. ‘Specially a juicy one like this.”

  The imp took the tube and grinned, showing a mouth full of sharp new teeth, and pointed it at the girl’s chest. Her eyes widened and she struggled against her bonds even harder, muffled shouts coming from her gagged mouth. The jailer and the other imp pushed down on her, pinning her to the table. The new imp jammed the tube down with both hands, sinking it several inches into her chest. The girl screamed again as blood seeped out from around the wound and the hose attached to the tube began to convulse rhythmically. Her screams turned to muffled whimpers and her struggling lessened. I watched in horrified fascination as the imps let go of her and she lay there, sobbing, while the tube stuck out of her chest, sucking out I didn’t even know what. Her innards? How could she even survive such treatment? After a few minutes, I noticed that the girl had stopped sobbing and she was beginning to look thin and pale, like a balloon that was losing all its air. The imps pulled the tube from her chest and I expected blood to spray all over, but only a trickle came out. They unclasped her from the table and carried her over to the wall, lifting her arms up and clamping her back to the chains. They left her there, dangling limply as blood seeped from the open wound. They didn’t even bother covering it with a rag. Again, I couldn’t contain my anger and tried to shout at them through my gag.

  The jailer came over and slapped me on the face. I could feel his claws rake across my cheek and warm blood trickled down to my chin. “Cool it, soul,” he sneered. “Lord Nergal wants to do your first extraction personally, but he didn’t forbid us from roughing you up a bit first.” He punched me in the gut so hard I nearly puked, and probably would have if I hadn’t emptied the contents of my stomach just a little while earlier. That would have been disastrous with the gag in my mouth. My legs were free and I tried to kick at my tormentor, but he just stepped aside and punched me in the ribs. I heard something crack and a sharp pain shot through my side. I collapsed, hanging limply. The imp laughed and pulled its arm back to strike again when the door to the chamber opened and another imp ran in. The jailer stopped and glared at the newcomer. “What is it? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  “Lord Nergal needs all available imps at the courtyard. Aamon is attacking the city.”

  “What about the treaty?” asked the jailer, his eyes wide.

  “Guess they broke it.”

  The jailer looked over at the new imp, the one that had previously been human, and smiled wickedly. “Well, Aamon’s going to be in for a bit of a surprise, ain’t he? Is Mastemat leading the attack?”

  “No one’s seen her yet, but you can be sure she’ll be around somewhere.”

  “I’d love to see the look on her face when she realizes what she’s up against. C’mon,” he said, gesturing at the door. “Let’s go.” The imps filed out of the room, leaving us hanging helpless and alone. My heart soared even as my ribs throbbed in pain. Nicole had come to rescue me after all, and it seemed she brought a whole army of angels with her.

  The last leviathan fell with a mighty crash, crushing several houses as it landed in an ashen heap, its flames already going out as it died. Nergal had placed his largest and most fearsome Leviathans at the gates, but they had still not been a match for Aamon’s, which had been bred and trained for precisely such an encounter. Mastemat hung back near the rear of the battle lines, watching as her greater demons and their hellhounds dealt with the lesser gate guards. As soon as the leviathan fell, her imps swarmed into the city, clashing with waves of Nergal’s imps. They couldn’t fly over the walls, Nergal had placed arcane spells on them to prevent intruders from doing exactly that. The air filled with dust as imps and demons on both sides perished in the bloodless carnage. Only the souls of those who had once been living bled and these demons had been spawned in the depths of Hell. Mastemat looked down at her arm, where the imp had raked it with its claws a few hours earlier. The cuts had already healed in scarless perfection, but her sleeve was still ripped and bloodstained – a silent reminder of what she had once been.

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  The clash at the gates calmed as Mastemat’s forces pushed deeper into the city. Nergal’s forces had been caught off-guard as she had hoped, and their defenses had grown slack after years of relative peace across the Soul Divide. Mastemat motioned for her strike force to prepare to move in. It was time for the true objective of this campaign to begin. A large black carriage drawn by two skeletal horses pulled up beside Mastemat’s black destrier while a company of imps, shades, and a few witches formed up around them. One of the witches began murmuring arcane words that sent chills up Mastemat’s spine and rumpled the feathers on her wings. She longed to strike out with her sword and cut the evil thing down, but couldn’t. Aamon’s grip on her was too strong and all she could do was sit there while the witch cast her spell. The air around the company warped and the world took on a hazy, insubstantial appearance – all except for Mastemat and her team. “We should be invisible now, Lady Mastemat,” the witch said with her crackly voice. Mastemat nodded and pointed her sword forward.

  “Good. Move out.” The shades surged forward, insubstantial and invisible by nature they would act as scouts, guiding her team through the city and finding the best way into Nergal’s castle. Mastemat hoped that there would be a chute into the dungeons similar to the one Aamon had in his. It would be guarded, of course, but with their invisibility and the distraction of the battle raging in the city, she hoped it would be a relatively short and easy fight. If they could finish it quickly without alerting Nergal to their presence – that would be even better.

  It was slow going at first. The bulk of the battle was still being fought near the walls and it was difficult getting her team past undetected, particularly with the carriage hindering their mobility, but they managed without Mastemat having to intervene personally – which was good considering she needed to conserve her energy for what was to come later. Once they were past the fighting and on the main highway through town they moved much more quickly. The roads were empty since everyone was either fighting at the walls or hiding in their homes, and Aamon’s skeletal horses were quick, despite their lack of muscle. Mastemat’s destrier kept pace and the imps flew along behind, a few carrying the witches unceremoniously in their claws. The highway led straight to Nergal’s castle in the heart of downtown – all roads eventually led there. As they approached the high walls surrounding the castle a shade appeared and reported that they had found the chute into the dungeons. Mastemat nodded grimly and sent a few of the more swift and capable imps over the walls. Once they left the immediate area of the witch’s spell they became visible again and speed became more important than stealth. These walls were fortunately not protected by the same spell that the city walls were and the imps made it over quickly. A minute later the main gates swung open with a creak, revealing the imps standing on the other side, swords drawn and dust swirling about them where the gate guards had once been. Mastemat hurried the strike force through and closed the gates behind them. She had two of her imps stay behind to take the place of the previous guards, so as not to rouse suspicion.

  The shade led them to a courtyard near the heart of the castle. They had to leave the carriage near the entrance along with a witch who maintained a field of invisibility around it. They met a few imps and enemy shades along the way. The imps never knew they were there and soon turned to dust, but the shades could see right through the witch’s spell. Fortunately, the witch was competent and dealt with them quickly, her spells sending the spirits back to Hell where they belonged. Once in the courtyard, the shade scout indicated a patch of grass near the base of a tower. Mastemat placed a foot on it and it felt solid enough, but she could sense a tingling in her leg and knew that a spell was concealing the entrance. The witch was already murmuring her counter spells and the patch of ground soon began to waver and disappear. “It’s unguarded,” Mastemat noted. “Why?”

  “I do not know, my Lady,” the witch replied. “I can sense no other protections on it.”

  “You,” she said, pointing at an imp. “Check it out.” The imp looked nervous but complied, walking over to the hole and looking down before jumping in. It fell only a few feet before hundreds of spikes closed in on it, sprouting from both sides of the hole and interlacing with each other in the middle. The imp didn’t even get to squawk before disintegrating into dust. Mastemat pursed her lips. “It’s trapped. Probably using technology instead of magic. There should be some controls somewhere. Find them.”

  The shades flew off, passing into the walls and ground in the immediate area. It wasn’t long before one of them reappeared. “In the wall, my Lady, over there,” it said, its voice distant and breathy, like the breeze before a thunderstorm. Mastemat summoned her sword, igniting it and plunging it into the stone wall where the shade had indicated. She met little resistance, like slicing through butter with a hot knife.

  “Did I get it?” she asked the shade. It entered the wall and came back out a moment later, nodding. She pointed at another imp. “Try it again,” she commanded. This imp hesitated longer than its counterpart had, forcing her to point at it with her sword. “Now!” she said, reinforcing her words with a healthy glow of golden light from her aura. The imp squawked and jumped into the hole. Nothing happened this time and the imp flew back out a moment later, looking relieved. “Alright,” Mastemat said. “Let’s get in there. The real fight is about to begin.”

  She waited until her entire team entered the chute then dismissed her sword and jumped in herself. Unlike the imps, the passage was too narrow for her to use her wings but she wasn’t worried, it was probably only a hundred feet or so to the bottom. As she fell, she let her aura continue shining so as to pierce the darkness. Even then, she only just barely saw the ground before hitting it. She braced herself and landed hard, knees bent to absorb some of the shock. It was a bit jarring, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle, and it was good to remind her subordinates just how tough she was, in case any of them started getting ideas. She drew her sword again and ignited it, taking a look around. The imps had already formed a perimeter around their landing spot, and she saw that they were in a cave. Ahead, a passage led off into the darkness, and behind them was a massive pit – most likely hiding some sort of nasty surprise for any poor soul unfortunate enough to fall in. Mastemat waited for a few moments to see if anything was coming to greet them, ready to summon her shield if needed. When nothing arrived, from either the pit or the corridor, she motioned the team forward, taking the lead this time. A few moments later one of the shades appeared, confirming that the dungeons were up ahead. “I cannot pass the door, though, Lady Mastemat,” it said with its breathy voice. “It has enchantments upon it that hinder shades.”

  She nodded. “Not surprising. This has been a bit too easy so far, actually. It’s getting me worried.” She looked back at the rest of the squad. “Be ready for anything. These souls are Nergal’s greatest treasure. He’s bound to have some sort of nasty trap ready.” They reached the door without incident, however, which only served to make her more cautious. She reached out to touch it but thought better of it at the last moment. She turned to the witch instead. “What can you sense, witch?”

  “Not much, my Lady,” she rasped, closing her eyes and humming a tune that chilled Mastemat to the bone. “Only the same enchantment the spirit mentioned. It does seem odd that there are not more spells set upon this door. Lord Aamon has many dozens on his.”

  “Is it locked?”

  “If it is, it’s mechanical, my Lady.”

  Mastemat pointed at an imp. She didn’t know if it was the same one that she had tested the entrance tunnel with or not – they all looked the same to her. “Try the door.”

  “Please, my Lady,” the imp whimpered. “It’s almost certainly trapped.”

  “If our mission fails yet you return alive, how much worse do you think it will be for you?”

  The imp whimpered once more and cowered slightly but complied, reaching out and turning the handle. To everyone’s surprise, it opened without protest. The imp looked back at Mastemat hesitantly and she urged it forward. It cringed, but dutifully took a few timid steps into the room beyond. When nothing happened, the rest of them filed in. The room was too dark to see the walls, but she could see the shadow of a large offering table in the middle of the room and hear soft moans and sobbing all around her. She flared her aura a bit more, lighting the room completely.

  Her brother was strapped to the table. He had obviously seen her come in and was struggling against his bonds, his mouth gagged tight. About two dozen other souls were chained to the walls all around the room, many of them drained nearly to the point of entering the abyss. She ran up to her brother while motioning for her team to start extracting the others. She pulled the gag from his mouth and he sucked in a huge breath of air. “I knew you’d come for me, Nicole,” he said, still gasping. He studied her while she worked at releasing his chains, not looking him in the eye. She wasn’t used to hearing that name anymore, and every time he said it, a wave of shame shot through her core. She was no longer Nicole and never could be again. But of course, he didn’t know that. How could he? “That Nergal guy is close,” he said, rubbing at his recently freed wrist. “He was called away. The fight in the city needed his attention.” Pride and awe filled his face. She looked away. “Is that your doing?” he asked. “Are there more angels out there?” He paused, noticing the other members of her strike team. “Nicole…” he said slowly. “Why are demons rescuing us?”

  “They're not rescuing you,” she whispered, barely getting the words out. “They're stealing them for my master.”

  He laughed timidly. “What do you mean, your master?”

  “Lord Aamon. He ordered me to attack the city and claim these souls for him.”

  “To rescue us from the demons, right?” he said hesitantly, pulling away from her a little as she freed his ankles.

  She shook her head, filled to bursting with shame. “To rescue you, yes. But not the others.”

  “I have to give Aamon credit,” a deep voice said from across the room. “He finds the most creative ways of tormenting his slaves.”

  Mastemat spun around, flaming sword ready and her shield appearing in her free hand. “Nergal,” she said, the words flowing from her lips whether she wanted them to or not. “I’ve come for you.”

  “Oh, I know,” Nergal said, his voice calm. He stepped forward and she saw that he was wearing black plate mail and holding a massive great sword. “I’ve been expecting you ever since I learned that this pitiful little soul here was once your kin.” He raised a hand and Mastemat found herself consumed by a raging pillar of fire.

  End of Chapter Five