The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance (The Wielder Series) (7 page)

M
aldgorath looks over his army, in the large metal warehouse they are packed in.  Exactly 1,132 strong – varieties of Dzemond, Vdivel, and lesser creatures that he has collected. This force represents less than half of his collection.

He is impressed with himself.  He has not brought forth such numbers
for action in quite some time.  He gazes over them, feeling his power and presence over them.  They feel it too and are enraptured.

“Today,
” he exclaims “We begin to tear down the barriers to the realm of the Fae.  Our actions here will set these hairless monkeys that call themselves men into war and hate on a scale that cannot be calculated. I count on you to enjoy yourselves in the taking of human lives and flesh as you see fit.”

The warehouse explodes in applause.

He gazes over the adoring mob, making as much eye contact as he can with the throng he has summoned. “There are specifics to this endeavor that are most important.   The first of which is that he must be the only one to address and rend the holy father.”  With that he points to a figure cowled in black robes, large purplish-black wings are evident as are horns through openings in the cowl.

The room hushed in acknowledgement of their master’s command.

“Bring it,” Maldgorath commands. With that an incubus brings him an ornate box.

He opens the box and produces a red bracelet and then tosses it to the winged, cowled figure who
catches it midair. 

“The
red witch will be looking,” Maldgorath directs the cowled figure.  “Make sure she sees it – leave no question.”

There is a nod from the figure in the cowled robe
as he fastens the bracelet on his wrist. 

In a deep bass
o tone he says, “As you command my lord.”

Maldgorath is happy.  He looks over this army and directs them.

“Those to the tourist busses – shift to human form and go now.  Those to the holding trailers go and await your orders.  And remember – enjoy yourselves… let no debauchery be overlooked, this is your time to enjoy! Your master is, after all, most generous.”

When you’re at a place
that's referred to as the Techno-Mage guild, you expect some bells and whistles in the conference room. I am not disappointed.  It is a voluminous room with large flat screen televisions encircling a huge stainless steel and glass table with built-in, flip up screens in front of every chair.

The table is mostly full,
with members of other guilds that also came here for refuge or conference. I base this assessment on the lack of tell-tale hardware that the members of the Techno-Mage guild wear to harness and amplify their abilities.

I am greeted by the squeaky
voice of a young man who spins his chair around to greet me. He is the prototypical nerd, pencil thin with thick glasses, a bulging adams apple, and short stringy hair. All that was missing was the pocket protector.

“
Has she asked about me, Mr. MacInerny – Ms. Silithes?”

Percy. It has to be. I regard the young man seriously.  For a moment I consider telling him that she forgot his name. But, that would be hurtful.  So instead I play the protective dad.  “She’s off limits to you young man
,” I tell him as I head to my seat with a purpose.

“W
hy?” asks Percy.  When I sit down, I look at him with purpose.  “Ask your boss Percy. In the mean time, there’s nothing to discuss.”

That gets a belly laugh from one of two fairly sizeable guys at the end of the table
:  Paladins of the Order of Light I guess. One picks up his phone and checks it.  “Gunter had a question for me to ask you… here it is.” He looks at me with a sarcastically serious expression and says in a fake Nordic accent… “Are you still resisting the demon whore?”

Percy has to stand up for her honor which gets him
stared down both by myself and the rest of the table.

That message
is vintage Gunter, the second Paladin I ever met and generally speaking a great guy.  Unfortunately I killed the first Paladin I ever met, Gunter’s friend Herrmann.  I now carry Herrmann’s sword and am pledged for revenge against Maldgorath on behalf of his family. Apparently Gunter thinks it’s a neat thing that I’ve rebuffed Sil’s advances for almost 80 years.

The conference room door busts open and we are joined by Edgar.  “Ok good people
,” he bellows out “our conference begins in twenty seconds.  We will be patching in through Protectorate and other guild headquarters.  Our great leader Alistair wishes us to know his feelings and direction. ”

There
is a heavy level of sarcasm on the last bit.

With that, Percy punche
s a digital pad and the screens above us light up, showing all the people connected to the conference.  Most, I don’t recognize.  But the people I do recognize make me feel good.  Karen, Gunter, Christophe, and Greg – the sword of balance himself.  Of course Alistair is there – leading everything.

After summary introductions,
Alistair starts right in. “Our primary mission now is the finding and destruction of the beast Ahtsag Znuul.  He has killed one of our brightest stars and…”

“We haven’t proved that yet
,” Karen interrupts

“The evidence of his complicity is beyond reproach, you know this. Edgar, please bring up the evidence and tell us the point of view of the Technological experts.”

Edgar nods to Percy and our screens populate with windows.  Emails and other information I don’t even have a clue about flash on screen.

Edgar nods to Percy in thanks and steps towards the table.  “The messages trace from the Chateau
, without question.  The fact you kept a reader box on their line certainly helped validate these facts, though that action was somewhat ethically questionable. Obviously it would be best to have access to the equipment there, but given the total devastation that is not practical. For details I will turn it over to Percy Baumgarter.”

Percy sa
ys a lot.  Most of which is over my head.  The gist of it is that the “gee-mail” account was opened originally from the chateau. Messages all trace back to the chateau. Purchases from the IP address of the computer that sent the messages were traced back to a credit card that was known to have belonged to Ahtsag Znuul.

Al
istair interjects.  “Let me read the last message if there are any questions.”  The text pops up on my screen.  It is a message from [email protected] to [email protected] The moniker registers immediately – Destroyer of hope, devourer of souls.  And the recipient is obvious too. 

Al
istair begins to read.

“Make
Tuesday of next week the day.  Either I will walk freely or I will rule over the soul of this pathetic human wizard in the afterlife.  He is weak, I know he will release me.  If he does not, then I am better off regardless as I can no longer pretend to tolerate these pathetic creatures who do not deserve to stand in my shadow, much less live under my gaze.  Together we shall split the spoils of this realm and swing open wide the gates of Helterzen.  My rod grows stiff in anticipation. The time is now. Free me.”

“Edgar
,” comes Karen’s voice. “Cannot this type of information be forged?”

“Of course it can…” is Edga
r’s truncated response before Alistair bellows out.

“Karen Redditch, are you to emotionally compromised to accept the facts present
ed to you? This creature is no friend of man. It is no friend of yours and no friend to his own kind.  Must we remove you from these proceedings?”

Everyone is a bit shocked at t
he harshness of the rebuke.  Alistair continues unphased. “Our singular goal for now is to find of and destroy Ahtsag Znuul.  We find him; we find his accomplices. We destroy him, the world is a safer place. This is not for argument.  This is Protectorate dictate. I expect all resources allocated to this task."

I don’t know how protocol works in one of thes
e situations, Karen seems to just pipe up – so that’s what I do.  “What about Maldgorath?  He is involved.  He set me up to be killed and has some mole or something in your information network. Shouldn’t we be trying to find him too?”

Based on the look on his face, th
is interjection bothers the braid-bearded one. I don’t think he likes being questioned.

“Arthur you are here
as courtesy only.  Unless I am mistaken you do not belong to a guild.  But all the same, if we find Ahtsag we may find Maldgorath.  Otherwise, that one has eluded all for millennia. Znuul is the logical target of our efforts.”

Percy asks quietly of Edgar if he may leave and is given
a nod.  On the screens I see Greg stand up and scoot his chair in.

That gets Alistair’s attention.  “Sword, where do you think you are going?”

I can’t see Greg’s face, but he’s still in microphone range.  “Well, sir I don’t belong to any guild either. The way I see it I am here as a courtesy only – to you.  And that courtesy is over. I don’t care much for your kiss my ring attitude, Alistair Burningwood.”

Th
e meeting is degenerating.  Alistair rushes off screen presumably to either placate or chastise Greg.  Karen is looking away from the camera distantly. Christophe is sitting back in his chair hands steepled.

Gunter breaks the silence.  “Then we find the beast and bring him down.  This is what we do. Demons do not belong amongst us.  This is simple fact.”

Edgar brings the meeting to a close and all the screens go black. “Well it seems we have a direction to follow,” he says.  “Let’s all get back together in a few hours – say 6pm.”

There is general agreement and everyone leaves – except me.  The evidence against Znuul is damning.  I remember that he held
his personal power in secrecy for the longest time.  But all the same, why would he confide the things he did with me? I’m pretty insignificant in the scheme of things.  I mull on this for a while and wonder what Karen must be going through.

I agree with Edgar
that a little rest is called for, so I make my way back to my room to lay down for a bit.  I’m almost to my room when I am greeted by a noise I didn’t want to hear from the room across.

“Oh baby biiiird!”

My blood begins to boil.  One thing.  Edgar asked me to make sure of one thing.  And my word is now broken. I storm over to the door and fling it open to find Sil sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs over what appears to be Percy’s shoulders and a look that can only be described as “pleased” on her face.

That is until she saw mine.

“Crap! Baby bird, stop!” With that, one of her legs flexes back and pushes him away by the shoulder from under her pleated leather skirt.  Percy looks at me bewildered as if he had no idea I was even there until that moment, his face like a glazed donut.

“Arthur
,” the bitch says with an awkward smile, “I wasn’t doing anything to him; he was doing things to me.”  Damn demon word games, like that makes it right.

My anger bubbles over at that and I light into her
, without regard for how much discomfort it causes her.  “Edgar asked for one damn thing!  Just one!  And you can’t control yourself?  You made me a fucking liar!”

Each word ricochet
s off her causing her to flinch and pull back. 

“Stop it you’re hurting her!”  Percy man
s up for a moment, but backs down when he meets my eyes.

My anger
is so overwhelming I’m shaking. “That’s my word you broke you untrustworthy bitch!  My word! I trusted you! Did you even consider that?”

She
is obviously shaken, my rage having a profound effect upon any of my summonlings.  I fix her gaze and say the most spiteful thing I can think of to purge myself of this anger. “Silithes, you are just fucking worthless.”

Her eyes
go wide as she starts up, mouth opening to say nothing. She takes several steps backward until she backs into the wall, then slides down to a sitting position. Her gaze turns faraway and she covers herself with her wings, basically looking like some kind of strange shaking egg.

I turned my eyes to Percy. He
is standing there stunned with a big wet stain on the front of his pants. “Young man,” I address him, “You are coming with me to the principal’s office right now.”

The Gendarmes
at the Vatican are expecting a busy day.  The busses are lined up and people filled the entrances in swarms.  The Swiss Guard stand at the entrance, but their presence is more for show.  Their swords can do little at stopping a fully armed entourage. So, the Gendarmes hold their positions in the background, ready to step in should real security be needed – at least that’s how they thought of it.

This
isn’t a professional jealously or anything of the sort.  There is much respect both ways.  They each understand their role in the keeping of order in the Vatican.

But neither
Swiss Guard nor the Gendarmes understand much other than feeling something is wrong, when the black panel van stops in front of the entrance at the Saint Ann. It is out of place and reeks of bad intentions.  It stays there for a minute, almost daring the Swiss Guard to step forward and challenge it.

Then the rear doors sw
ing open on the van and a very large man clad in a black robe and cowl steps out.  After unfolding himself from the van, he takes a step forward, face blocked by his cowl. Then the Swiss Guard realize how really wrong things are when the man spouts large leathery black wings and with a flex of the knees and whoosh of those wings, takes to the air at least twenty-five feet above them.

In a deep basso tone that project
s far and wide, the hovering creature holds out its arms and addresses anyone who is listening. “Idolaters!  Worshippers of false gods!  Hear me!  The gates to hell are open and I, Ahtsag Znuul am bound by the one true god to lead the throngs of hell in the cleansing of your false faiths.  Repent, kneel before us and be spared.  Stand by your false gods and you will join us in hell as our servants and slaves!"

His gaze f
alls upon the Swiss Guard, who respond by pulling their swords.

“So be it
,” the winged creature bellows.

At that proclamation,
much of the crowd of visitors begin shaking and tearing at their clothes as they transform into creatures that were in no way human.  The doors on the parked trucks in the distance burst open followed by a flow of hell hounds, fiends, imps and other horrors pouring out.  The real tourists scream and attempt to run, but most are tackled and cut down quickly.

This event
is duplicated along the other gates to the Vatican city, with the exception of the winged beast Ahtsag Znuul.  Fiends, devils and demons fall upon the guards at the gates. The Gendarmes step out and open fire. The bullets do very little.

The flow of the demon
ic army washes over the Swiss Guard and Gendarmes alike, leaving death and dismemberment in their path, eventually flowing into the holy city. But, the Swiss Guard and Gendarmes are not the only lines of protection.  Cameras feed into the central security complex.  The people watching the feeds cannot believe what they are seeing.  A general alarm is sounded, which involves the Italian police.

Stepping into the middle of the area with the camera feeds are two fairly large men –
Paladins of the Order of Light who are stationed there.  They regard the camera feeds and one of them speaks up – “Our swords and armor, brought to us now!  There is evil to smite.” The other Paladin regards the feeds and offers “Regular bullets will not do against the greater ones, make sure the Gendarmes know to keep distance, the Swiss Guard should attempt to decapitate.”   The persons at the board respond with communication to the persons in the field.

~

The winged beast flies rapidly across the city to the Holy See.  It crashes through a window, finding itself facing the Pope, his entourage attempting to usher him to safety. Unfolding its bulk, the beast stands up and regards them all. 

“Foul one!” yell
s one of the cardinals at the Holy Father’s side “You have no jurisdiction here! You have no right!  This is holy ground!”

Unphased, the beast raises his hand, which h
olds a large black rod.  A bolt of dark energy emanates from it, piercing the Cardinal and sending him flying backwards into the wall.  The other cardinals encircle the Holy Father in a defensive formation.  But that does not stop the Holy Father himself, who spreads them apart and approaches the large cowled, winged demon facing them.

“I do not fear you
,” he proclaims. “You have no place in this house of God.”  With that he walks right up to the demon.  “Begone!”

The beast turn
s its cowled head at that proclamation. Then it turns back to the Holy Father – “Not enough!”  And with that he thrusts his hand into the Holy Father’s chest, lifting him from the ground and pulling his heart out. He shows it to the cardinals, followed by shoving it under the cowl.  The beast pulls the heat out showing it to them again, with a huge bite taken from it.  It tosses the heart at the feet of the cardinals. “Pray to your false god” it says. “Your time here is coming to an end.

Saying
that, it grabs up the Holy Father’s dead body and flies back out the window

~

The Paladins now armored, wade into the fray.  They dispatch foe after foe at the ends of their glowing holy swords.  That is until one of the monsters in the swarm takes aim with a gun taken from the Gendarmes.  A Paladin falters having taken a bullet in the leg.  The gun rings out again, doing the same to the other Paladin.  Having been distracted and slowed, the swarm of fiends over-whelm them with sheer numbers, dismembering them and feasting upon their flesh.

The remainder of the holy city f
alls in similar fashion, with the cumulative force of numbers and magical power overwhelming all standing before them.

~

The media reports frantically on what appears to be an unprecedented event.   Devils have risen from all around and attacked the Vatican.  They stand back at a distance and report with emotion.  From out of the sky the media contingent is confronted by a winged demon holding a body.   It hovers above them and drops it in front of them.  Then it too, descends and lands behind the body – the body they now recognize as being the Holy Father himself.

“None of the false faith are safe from us
,” its voice booms from under the cowl.  It stands before the media for a moment regarding them from under its cowl.  Then it peels a red bracelet from its wrist, holds it up and kneels down to dip it in the blood of the Holy Father. It takes to air again, flying away – leaving the bracelet behind.

R
ome burned - In a day.  And almost as soon as they appeared all the fiends were gone - one by one. Leaving nothing but the charred husk of a once vibrant city.