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Ascension to the Heavens|Descent into Hell(Corsair and Xana)

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“Yeah,” Ari declared wearily. “Yeah, do it. Do whatever it takes, at this point. Hell, you could even drain them, couldn’t you? That might stop some of them.”

“Drain them?” He shook his head. “Not easily. I haven’t the strength to directly oppose a God. But I can do this.”

Kissing his wife quickly, he assumed an erect stance with his and spread wide. "Tiamet," he growled out in a throat-hurting alien language. "Tiamet, the gods slew you to forge the Earth.
"Tiamet, the gods slew you to stretch out the sky.
"Tiamet, your blood flows freely now!"

Dimly, he was aware of Ari speaking to another Paladin. Something about another army, it sounded like. He didn’t know, or care. He was too busy focusing on the building magics, trying to survive the spell. So he raised his arm and threw his sword, watching it arc out and strike the ground among the attacking Moressans.

"Satyusenya!" he thundered, raising his hands aloft. "By your mother's blood, I command!
"Satyusenya, shake the Earth!
"Split the stones!
"Satyusenya, obey!"

He would have staggered and fallen as he released the last of the words, but there was no time. Another of the Moressans had reached the top of the wall, a pretty young woman with a dozen arrows transfixing her. “Sorry,” he mumbled, seizing her by the throat and pitching her from the Wall. “Nothing personal.”

Then he saw it. Spreading chaos in the ranks of the attackers, rippling out in waves from where his sword had landed. Chaos, and belching smoke, and screams as the earth collapsed into a spreading caldera if molten stone. Within moments the seige engines were aflame and the undying Moressans, the ones who hadn’t been fast or lucky enough, were howling in agony as they burned and burned in the lava that separated them from the curtain wall of the keep.

“Matthias?” The speaker was a fresh-faced ginger, with a gap-toothed grin. A lively young man who would probably only be described as “handsome” by his lovers. He was streaked and spattered with blood, some of it his.

“Yes, Alfrec?”

“The Lady-Commander wants you at the southern wall.” He swallowed. “We, we have a, uhm, situation.”

-*-

The demon army halted its advance a half mile from the Wall, their ranks as orderly as demons ever managed. As Matthias watched, two figures ride out astride fanged horse-like beasts. “Show off,” he muttered. “I made do with real horses.”

The lead demon was a broad thing with a skeletal saurian face, armored in iron scale mail and bearing a barbed lance from which fluttered a white banner. The second wore bleating plate armor of polished ruach, with a smoking mace hanging at his hip and a broad battle-blade hooked to his saddle. They halted before the Wall, at a distance that was questionable now shit even for the Paladins. “Warriors of the War-“. The saurian demon bit down on the epithet, and tried again. “Champions of Love and War!” he tried again. “Hear the words of my Lord, and tremble!”

The armored figure on the second beast leaned forward and gestured. The saurian thing shifted its grip on the lance. “I mean,” it called archly, “heat the words of his dark and terrible majesty, Vaebahl, Lord of Hate!”

Vaebahl raised a gauntleted hand and removed his helmet. Black and white hair spilled out, framing a smoothly pretty face. “Paladins!” he called in a deceptively gentle voice. “We have, it seems, a common enemy! I have come to discuss the terms of an alliance against the risen God of Destruction! Will you treat with me?”
 
“Are you seriously considering it?” Roland asked.

“It’s not like we have many options at this point,” Aurianna admitted, taking in the legions that stood before her. “At some point we will be overrun, if we don’t do something.”

“But… demons?” he asked. She returned his gaze with an incredulous raised eyebrow, and he just sighed. “Okay I get it, dumb question. But it feels wrong.”

“Everything lately feels wrong,” Aurianna countered, strapping her spear to her back. “But we do have a common enemy, and this fight is bigger than any of us.”



Under different circumstances, Aurianna would have ridden down the lift, with a contingent of accomplished servants of Afodisia at her side, to meet with Vaebahl. This time, it was only her and Matthias, carried in his arms until they landed before the demon lord.

“Do you think we can trust him at all?” she murmured, just before they were within earshot, giving Matthias only enough time for a quick answer.

Blood splattered the armor she and Matthias wore, and sweat matted loose strands of hair to her forehead, but if she understood anything about demons correctly, it was that bravado and the appearance of strength were most important. So, despite the exertion of fighting an untenable battle against an inexhaustible force, Aurianna stood tall, firm, steel arm crossed over her flesh arm, and both crossed before her crest.

“Aurianna Kellikanos, Slayer of Lust and Torment. I pray you will understand that we do not have the opportunity for a drawn-out discussion at this time. I’d suggest you make with your best offer right up front.”
 
“Do you think we can trust him at all?” Aurianna asked as he beat his wings, hovering for a moment so he could set his wife down. Then he landed next to her, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Only as far as it’s in his best interests to keep his bargain,” Matthias replied. “And be careful. Hate is far more seductive than Lust ever dreamed of being.”

With that warning in mind, Aurianna declared herself to the Prince of Hate. Her words were bold and slightly arrogant, a display of the kind of strength a Demon Prince would respect. Of course, a Demon Prince would also see that kind of strength as a challenge, but it was still necessary. Showing weakness would be a disaster.

To his surprise, Vaebahl dismounted and hooked his mace to the saddle of his riding beast. Then he approached, dropping to one knee and pressing the fingers of Aurianna’s steel hand to his lips. “It is my honor to greet you Lady Commander Aurianna, Champion of the Lady of Love and War, Princess of Lust and Torment.”

Oh. Shit, Matthias thought, struggling to control his reaction.

“We have reached an unprecedented time, Lady Commander,” Vaebahl continued, rising. “The God of Destruction, Whom we believed dead at the fangs and talons of the Godslayer, has returned. And He holds no more love for me and mine than He holds for you and yours.”

Vaebahl’s mailed hand swept out, taking in the ranks of his assembled legions. “He will destroy me as surely as He will destroy you. But!” Returning his attention to Aurianna, he smiled. “If we combine our armies, and if the Godslayer will stand with the Goddess of Love and War, then perhaps - perhaps - some of us will survive.”
 
Try as she might, Aurianna could not detect any lies from Vaebahl. Indeed, she well knew what he said was true, having witnessed the Dread God with her own eyes. “Is a common enemy all it takes to push aside centuries of conflict and animosity?” Aurianna asked.

“I would think survival comes before pride,” Vaebahl suggested.

Well, If Moressa and Illisia had already condemned both Afodisia and Her paladins for consorting with demons –and couldn’t be convinced otherwise, even under pain of death and dismemberment– they may as well consort with demons then. Right? She pared her husband but a moment’s glance, seeing the very subtle shock in his eyes. As much as she might have wanted to speak her concerns to him, and hear his counsel, there wasn’t time. Moressa’s forced had forced their hand.

“I can offer you a temporary alliance, until Lady Commander of the Order, Rielle Leonheart returns. Prove your sincerity by reinforcing my paladins now, and I will stake my honor and reputation on this alliance to my commander.”

Vaebahl regarded her for a time, long enough for her to regret what she’d said, even though there hadn’t been a real choice in the matter, and nodded. “I suppose we fallen do have a lot of trust to make up for, yes? Well then, command my legions, oh Princess of Lust and Torment, so that we may earn your trust in us.”

“The forces of Moressa and Illisia strike us, from the other side of the wall. I need your troops to push back their advance.”
 
“The... other side of the Wall?” Vaebahl’s eyes widened just a fraction, and he peered at Aurianna as if trying to decide if he’d heard her correctly. Then he smiled ever so slightly. “Very well then. I shall ready my Host, and we will strike when the gates are opened.”

“This is madness,” Matthias remarked as Vaebahl and his retainer rode away. ”Common enemy or no, we are about to allow a Host of demons to cross the Seraphin Wall.” He smiled humorlessly. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

-*-

Diana, leg bandaged and features haunt and grey from blood loss, met them at the top of the central tower. She scowled and shifted, trying to get comfortable on her pallet. “Goddess,” she grumbled, wincing as pain shot through her leg. “One terrible wound and they try to put me out to pasture. So. Are we about to get crushed between Death and Hate?”

“Not quite,” Matthias answered, setting Aurianna down. “But I’ll let her give the details.”

Diana lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you’ll probably try and kill me, if I tell you.”
 
Aurianna glanced back at the approach host of Hate, before nodding towards the paladin attendants. “Open the gates.”

“What?” Despite her agony, Diana jumped to her feet.

“Open the gates,” she repeated, emphasizing each word.

“For demons? Ari, are you mad?”

“Either we open the gates ourselves, or we wait until Moressa’s forces bring it down, and the demons come through anyways. Because we both know the wall is weaker from this side, and not even Paladins can hold back deathless foes forever.”

Diana grimaced, closed her mouth as her arguments fell away. Instead she turned her gaze along the length of the wall and sighed. “For centuries the Wall held back demons, and now we just let them through.”



The gates opened with a thunderous clanking, louder still than the discord of battle. Paladin and nevin alike turned their attention upon them, and gasped as Vaebahl crossed the threshold. His legions followed behind, fanning out to intercept the Moressans that surged towards the opening.

Only madness or desperation could explain this development. Clara gazed up at the wall, seeking some answer from atop the stones, and saw Aurianna. She nodded but once, and Clara nodded in return. It was indeed their most desperate hour.

Clara shifted, shedding her human form. She grew, upward and outward, and alabaster wings sprouted from her back Even the tireless servants of Moressa stood still, petrified by her transformation into a dragon.

In the span of her inhale, everything was quiet. Only a single, breathy name was uttered. “Afodisia…”

And then she breathed out cleansing flame, sweeping a wide arc before her, and immolating scores of Moressan warriors. The burned, engulfed in flame and yet undying, and their agonized screams erupted in unison. And still, Her Voice drown out their cries.

“It is not I who is fallen, but Moressa who refuses you the mercy of Her embrace. Disavow Her, and I shall grant you reprieve.”
 
“It is not I who is fallen, but Moressa who refuses you the mercy of Her embrace. Disavow Her, and I shall grant you reprieve.”

Vaebahl laughed as the Goddess’s words echoed across the battlefield. “Listen to Her!” he roared, spurring his steed. Lava flew from the beast’s hooves as he charged the Moressan line. “For I have no such mercy!” His arm rose, waving his smoking mace like a banner. “Destroy them!”

The Host of Hate roared out in response, and followed.

-*-

Mordwen watched the demonic Host tear into the front lines of the faithful, then raised his eyes to the gleaming alabaster figure drifting impossibly above. “You say You have not fallen?” he called, raising his staff above his head. “You unleash demons upon us, and yet You claim You are not fallen?”

He spun the staff slowly above his head. “I defy you, false Goddess! I defy You, and name you traitor!” The staff spun faster, a dark mist drifting across the battlefield in spiraling waves. “We do not need Your mercy!”

The mist clung to the immolated and mutilated and wounded among the Moressan lines. Flames guttered and injuries sealed, and men and women rose whole and unharmed. Grimly, they took up their weapons and turned to face the oncoming Host.

“The Mistress Of Final Peace has denied us nothing,” Mordwen shouted in triumph. “She has blessed us with the strength to do what You will not! Defy Hell, and defend those You betrayed!”
 
Love had failed. Only War remained.

“You name Me traitor?” Clara asked, barely breathing the words, yet still they reverberated over the blood-soaked fields. “You name Me false?”

The audacity. The hubris of that man, to stand in judgment of a Goddess? Of a dragon? A man, a mere man, not even a paladin. He may as well had been a flea or a fly for all the difference in their positions.

Rage propelled her, focus crystallized upon that man. That insect. Her shadow grew as she descended, engulfing him in her contempt. Despite his show of faith, he did flinch when she landed, white knuckles gripping his staff against the blast of air form her great wings. That flinch became a yelp as she grasped him in one massive claw, and brought him to her eye level.

“You think you can judge me, but you are wrong. You can judge me no more than an ant can judge a man. You will not be remembered as a traitor or heretic or martyr. You will be but another blood stain among the battlefield, forgotten and ignored in your futility and failure.”

Mordwen said something, either a prayer to his goddess or a plea for pity, but She didn’t care enough to hear it. Instead her jaws opened wide, and then snapped shut, razor-teeth like longsword tearing his torso from his legs. His screams quivered down her throat before finally dissolving in the acid of her stomach, and his limp legs fell to the ground with a moist squelch. His staff fell beside them, soaked in blood and splattered with mud, until she smashed it under her claw.

Blood drooled down her maw, stark against her alabaster scales, and her gaze spanned the battlefield, so that everyone could witness her great and terrible wrath. “Lay down your weapons, or face annihilation.”
 
“Did you see that?” Vaebahl howled triumphantly, staving in a priest’s helmet with his smoking mace. The undying human howled, clutching at his shattered skull in a desperate effort to hold in his brain. “Did you see that? That is War!”

The Moressan troops reeled from the double blow of the demonic charge and the sudden loss of their prophet. The center ranks crumbled as the Host of Hate tore into them, a disorganized retreat that tumbled into rout. Bugles blew and flags waved as prelates and bishops struggled to turn the tide of panic.

“Satyusenya!" a voice roared from the ramparts of the Seraphin Wall, audible above the clamor of battle. "By your mother's blood, I command!
"Satyusenya, shake the Earth!
"Split the stones!
"Satyusenya, obey!"

The lava field before the shattered curtain wall surged and spread, engulfing demons and Moressans alike. The demons howled with laughter, both at the sight of their fellows mired in the thick molten rock and the agonized screams of men and women who could not die.

Still laughing, Vaebahl approached the alabaster titan that Clara had become. “Hail, Lady of War!” he called, tossing the Moressan standard before her talons. “Had You been so fierce in days of old, perhaps I would have remained beside You!”
 
Once Clara had feared the mere mention of a demon lord, the power and terror they embodied nearly unparalleled outside of the Ten Kingdoms. And while she had eventually found the courage to face off against not one but two, they had been dreadful conflicts born of necessity, when no other choice remained.

Now, even Vaebahl grated on her nerves. As if his praise mattered to her, or that she needed his approval to wage war against ancient enemies. Clara resisted that dark contempt within her, nodding in silent agreement towards Vaebahl as the last of the Moressans.

“Now is not the time for arrogance,” Clara reminded Vaebahl, resuming her human shape. “This was but one battle, with mere Nevin. The next will not be so easy.” She turned away from the demon lord, striding through bloody fields with purpose. “Come, we have much to discuss. I imagine you are my best source in the demon lands. How many follow you, and how many have supplicated themselves before Thanades?

“About half of the remaining fiends in the demon lands serve Thanades,” Vaebahl explained, keeping pace with her. “And about a third follow me. Demons know power when they feel it, and long to reclaim the glory days. Even if it means making slaves of themselves to Thanades. Simpleminded fools, they don’t understand that he has no intention of creating a hell upon earth, but instead seeks the perfect embodiment of order: nothingness.”

Clara ignored Vaebahl’s theorizing, instead considering her strategy. With allies among but the Nevin worshipers of Moressa and Illisia, as well as the majority of demons, Thanades could strike at the Seraphim Wall from both sides. As well he should, if he wanted to crush the most significant portion of her armies.

“We need more allies,” she admitted, the refrain coming more and more each day.

“Have you reached out to the Veiled Whisperer, in Al Nithiel? She commands the loyalty of much of the archipelago, and I suspect that she has no more love for Thanades.”

Unexplainable guilt accompanied that name, guilt Clara couldn’t place or identify. It seemed that Afodisia was comfortable sharing her body and Her power, but not all of Her secrets. Pushing past the emotions, Clara continued, “I thought the Nevin in al-Nithiel had rebelled against her.”

“Not so much Her, as some of the demons who served under Her,” Vaebahl explained. By now they’d reached the wall. Instead of waiting for the lift, Clara shifted her form to take advantage of her wings, and Vaebahl unfurled his own skeletal limbs. They took to the sky in a gust of wind. “She ceded governance of the islands back to the humans, so long as they continue to pay tribute to Her."

“She sounds like Verrier, more than a little,” Clara admitted with a little laugh, “I suppose I should meet up with him, to discuss seeking out her assistance. Once we get your forces settled in here.” They landed atop the Seraphim wall, nearby Ari and Matthias. Motioning towards the demon lord, Clara addressed her once mentor, “Make arrangements for Vaebahl’s troops to keep watch along the Seraphim Wall.”
 
“Demons,” Diana grumbled, staring down at the wall. “We’ve spent a century defending the Wall from demons. And now we’re at war with Heaven and welcoming demons as allies.”

“Allies is a little strong,” Rielle replied. “But Afodesia wills it.”

Diana sighed. “Yes, She does. But this is a trial of faith, Lady Commander.”

Below, the two women watched Vaebahl directing several demons under the guardedly watchful eye of two Paladins. One demon gestured, and Diana tensed as one of the Paladins gripped the hilt of her sword. But Vaebahl intervened, cuffing the demon to the ground. “Still,” Rielle remarked as she watched the Demon Prince savagely best the offending demon, “it would appear he’s taking it seriously.”

“Until it suits him not to,” Diana pointed out.

“Naturally.” Rielle shrugged. “So we put them in the front lines.”

-*-

“Al-Nithiel is a month from here, by the fastest ships available,” Edwin said, spreading a map before the assorted leaders of the Order. He stabbed a finger down, emphasizing a point. “And, with the Gods aligned against us, we don’t have access to any ships.”

“Why not?” Matthias asked.

Edwin began touching coastal cities as he spoke. “All of the ports on this side of the Wall are strongholds of Mereilin Sea-Lord and Tyin Storm-Bringer, both of Whom have pledged to Thanades.” He looked around the table. “We’d have to seige one of the cities, and hope they don’t fire the ships before we win.”

“What about ports in the Demonlands?” Rielle asked, leaning forward. “There are three, right?”

“Two, now,” Edwin corrected. “Reeve’s Bluff has been destroyed. And the other two...”

“Are a fortnight’s march or more from here,” Vaebahl interrupted. “Through disputed territory. Our armies would be harried the entire time.”
 
“There are ports in the Ten Kingdoms,” Clara suggested, tapping on Sarnia. “A month away, but relatively safe.”

“Are they? The people of the Ten Kingdoms aren’t exactly welcoming of paladins.” Rielle reminded her.

Clara frowned, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Because Verrier wasn’t welcoming to paladins, or any other servants of the gods. But that’s changed now. Everything’s changed now.”

Rielle studied for a while, before finally speaking, “Asumming that’s true–“

“– it’s true!”

“It doesn’t matter, wouldn’t do us much good.” Rielle’s expression turned hard. “A month to get there. A month for ships to get to al-Nithiel. A month for them to get back. Another month to march back here. Do you really think we have four months?”

“No,” Clara agreed. “But… what if we don’t need that long?”

“What do you mean?”

“I could get to port in day, in dragon form. Two days, if I grab Verrier first. Another day or two to reach al-Nithiel. Would still take the ships a month to get here, but that just gives you time to clear the path to a port. You, in particular.” Clara suggested, pointing at Vaebahl.

Well, it’s better than wait for them to strike us, but…” Vaebahl glanced up form the map, to meet Clara’s gaze, “What if Thanedes doesn’t give us a month?”

“Pull back to Mount Fearfire. It will be our last stand.”
 
“Our last stand, hm?” Vaebahl grinned and lifted his goblet. “Well, I always did want to die killing as many of my enemies as possible.”

“I’d rather kill as many of my enemies as possible and live,” Matthias replied, pouring himself some wine.

“Well, yes,” Vaebahl agreed. “I rather thought that went without saying. And... don’t I know you from somewhere? Somewhere other than the Onyx Keep, I mean?”

“Troion,” Matthias replied. “The northwest tower, overlooking the bay.”

“You were there?” Vaebahl smiled slightly. “Oh, yes. I remember, now. The last Paladin to fall.” The Demon Prince frowned. “I was certain I’d killed you.”

Matthias shrugged. “I was pretty sure you had as well. But, back to the subject at hand: I think Clara’s plan is the best.”

“Is it?” Rielle asked. “I mean, I’m certain Vaebahl could cover the distance in the same time. And I’d think the Veiled Whisper would be more likely to listen to a fellow Demon..,”

“No, they would not,” Vaebahl interrupted. “Peace is maintained between Hatred and Secrets because there is an ocean between us.” He drained his goblet. “We are a quarrelsome lot, really.”

“And the reputation of the Godslayer could, ah, discourage hostilities,” Edwin added.

“Perhaps,” Vaebahl agreed. “I would hesitate to attack him.”
 
“Matthias has a habit of surviving despite, the odds,” Clara teased, offering him a playful smirk. It was nice to put the war from her mind, but it could only last a moment. Clearing her throat, she stood, “I’ll leave you all to figure out the details.” There was one more thing to do, before returning to Fairefaeora.

The door to Lily’s room opened with a creak, startling a young woman who sat beside the bed and held one of Lily’s bandaged hands. Clara didn’t recognize the girl, but she recognized the look of worry and concern on her face, as she watched over Lily.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s been sleeping a lot. She slept through most of battle.”

Clara nodded, “She’s fought enough battles in the last few days to last a lifetime.” The girl winced, and Clara identified the reaction as guilt. “I need to wake her up. Why don’t you grab some food, for both you. I expected she will be quite hungry.”

The girl didn’t argue, just took a last look at Lily as she stood, and left after closing the door behind herself. Clara took her place beside the wounded paladin, brushing back a loose strand of dark hair. Gentle, but insistent hand nudged Lily, cautious of her injuries, but unrelenting. She blinked several times, and then whimpered as she sat herself up. Breath rattled through cracked lips.

“Drink,” Clara said, in a tone that was closer to a command than an offer. Lily’s eyes followed the blood that beaded up, and she swallowed hard. “You’ve suffered much, Lilianna, but you’re stronger than what happened to you. While you fully deserve a break, there isn’t time. Afodisia needs you still.”

Lily nodded, “Yes, for my Goddess.” One more deep breath and she accepted the finger, sucking lightly of the blood. Then she gasped, and fell back heavily on the mattress, eyes screwed shut. It was not the gentle mending of holy magic, but the power of order, exacting and rigid. It restored her damaged flesh to health, but it took several heartbeats until that rhythm returned to normal and steady breathing resumed. Finally, her eyes opened, blazing like molted gold, and she sat up in bed. “Thank you. I pray that I can serve Her well, and repay Her blessings.

“You already have. I’m proud of you. She is proud of you.” Clara might have said more, but footsteps in the hall alerted her to another, and both women turned towards the door as it opened.

The same girl from before, whose had watched over Lily with worried eyes. “You’re awake,” she said, her entire face lighting up in a hopeful smile.

“I am,” Lily agreed, her face matching her lover’s for joy. With her eyes closed, she breathed deep the scent of roasted beef and field greens and freshly baked bread. “And you have brought me the most delicious meal, if my nose is to be believed. Or perhaps I am just famished?” Her lover laughed in genuine joy, and joined her on the bed, taking a soft kiss before offering one of the plates to Lily.

Clara left the room, but the smile didn’t leave her face. There was much to fight for. Much worth fighting for.
 
Mount Fearfire

Hrothgar shifted his stance just a little, drawing on a millennium of experience to conceal his unease. No, be honest now, his fear. Fear of the Dragon, sharper and stronger now than ever before. Sharper and stronger even than when he’d been a twisted and crippled slave.

The lights in the great vault beneath the mountain gleamed dim and cold, striking witchfire off the heaped treasures and the racked angelic weapons. The Dragon shifted uneasily, metallic crunching and ringing sounding as he stirred. He’d denied his pain for his recent tasks, Hrothgar knew, but it was there nonetheless. He could still see the oozing, ragged rent in the Dragon’s breast, where the Destroyer had struck him.

“I can smell what you’re thinking,” Verrier rumbled.

“Indeed, my lord?” Hrothgar replied. Noncommittal answers were often the safest, over the long centuries.

Sparks flew as the Dragon flexed his wing and dragged his talons across the floor. “You fear me. You fear for me, and for yourself as well.” A great crimson eye regarded the man before him. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not a fool,” Hrothgar answered.

The Dragon chuffed, blasting the man with a wind that reeked of sulphur and lye. “No, you’re not. But don’t worry: I won’t lash out and kill you in a blind rage.”

“I always assumed you’d lash out and kill me in a deliberate, cold fury,” Hrothgar stated.

The Dragon chuckled, then graced himself up like a rising mountain. “True. But I won’t be doing that today either.” Slowly, he stalked towards the great ramp that wound towards the surface. “I have a guest to welcome.”
 
Unlike any previous time Clara had come to the mountain, she did not take human form upon landing. No time, she told herself, not when Thanades could strike at any moment. The great bulk of her dragon form crunched over loose treasure as she made her way to Verrier. She glanced over the Godslayer with eyes like molten gold, scrutinizing the injury on his chest. The one Thanades had given him, when he reached into Verrier’s chest to rip out Thanades’ own heart.

“I thought you had healed,” Clara noted, deep voice booming through the cavern, “when you devoured Ignaerius.” It made some sense, she supposed, that he hadn’t yet healed that wound. It wasn’t a physical injury, not completely, but gash over Verrier’s very soul. That he had even survived was miraculous.

“Are you well enough to travel?” There was concern in her words, but little patience. “We need to make for the Jeweled Archipelago, and see about convincing the Whisperer in Shadows to join our cause.”
 
“The wound reopens,” Verrier growled, ignoring the slow drip of blood from his chest. “Ignaerius gave me the strength to close it, but it is an act of will to hold it in place. Destruction is not so easily thwarted.”

“He simply won’t take the time to heal, milady,” Hrothgar added, voice sounding small amongst the thunder of the two titans. “He...”

“There is no time!” Verrier snarled, and Hrothgar took an involuntary step backwards. “The gods threaten the safety of this world. My world!”

“And you’ll help by killing yourselves?” Hrothgar answered back, clearly drawing extra courage from Clara’s presence. “We...”

“Are you well enough to travel?” Clara interrupted.

“No,” Hrothgar stared.

“Where?” Verrier asked, curiosity shading the word.

“We need to make for the Jeweled Archipelago, and see about convincing the Whisperer in Shadows to join our cause.”

Verrier blinked. “That should prove... interesting.” Idly, he batted aside a snarling thing that had formed itself from his blood and the stone of the floor. “But yes, I am able to travel.”

The snarling thing scrambled back to its misshapen legs, then scuttled to try and draw a line of attack against Hrothgar. Idly, Verrier crushed it as he stalked up the ramp. “Come, then. You can explain this plan while we are on the wing.”
 
Clara opened her maw to argue with Verrier, before she thought better of it. Verrier could decide for himself if he were well enough to travel. She had enough on her mind to second guess Verrier’s condition.

Clara took to the sky again, great wings booming with each flap, like distant thunder. Once Verrier flew beside her, she spoke again “You said this should prove interesting. Do you have a history with the Veiled Whisperer as well?”

Cool winds buffeted her scales as she moved against the breeze. “I have to admit I don’t know much about her. Or, him? I’ve heard it both ways.” Clara approximated a shrug, as close as she could in dragon form while flying. “I had heard that there was an uprising against the demons in al Nithiel, some twenty years back, but it doesn’t seem like they deposed the Whisperer.”

The trip to the Jeweled Archipelago was calm. The days were spent traversing miles and miles of endless ocean, following the waves, and occasionally a pod of dolphins. Evenings were spent upon small islands to rest upon for the night. Clara remained in dragon form, curling up into a ball upon the sand against Verrier. It was just easier this way, she told herself, easier than shifting to human form and constructing a shelter for the night. Easier to grab a seal in her talons, and eat it whole. It was just… easier, to be the dragon.

By the third day, they reached the archipelago. Dozens of islands, as far as the eye could see. "Do you know where we can find the Veiled Whisperer?"
 
The Jeweled Archipelago lived up to it's name. From the air, the collection of islands glittered with white beaches and jade foliage and sapphire streams and bays and emerald waters all around them. Also, from the altitude they flew at, even the bulk of two great Dragons was nearly invisible against the sky. Anyone who happened to glance up would mistake them for birds, flying much lower. They would be wrong, of course, but it would keep the viewer much calmer. And Verrier was uninterested in venting his spleen on random humans within the domain of the Veiled Whisper.

"We can find the Whisper on the largest island, no doubt," Verrier decided, angling slightly and nodding towards a new destination. "It's where I would make my lair, if I ruled the archipelago. It would serve both as a symbol of power and as a convenient location for everyone to gather to pay tribute." He barked laughter. "Why go hunting, if I can make my prey come to me? But as to whether or not we will find the Whisper there..?" He bobbed his head in the equivalent of a shrug. "That depends on whether or not the Whisper chooses to be found there."

He beat his wings, gaining altitude before settling into a long, gliding dive. "But, something you asked in Faetheora that I did not answer. I... have a slight history with the Veiled Whisper." His head turned slightly, slitted red eyes resting on her gleaming form. "You have a deeper history, the portion of you that is Afodesia. I sired the Whisper on you, although your pregnancy did not come fully to term until after the War was ended. By then I was sore wounded and in hiding, watching as Thanedes led the surviving Gods in binding Primordial Dragons as slaves. I was... not inclined to emerge and announce our kinship." A dark chuckle escaped him. "I doubt I would have anyway. I've never understood the impulse to coddle and care for hatchlings. They're a potential risk, and should be driven away or destroyed before they can threaten you. I suspect that may be the only thing Thanedes and I agreed on."

HHe beat his wings again, leveling off. "So tell me. What is our child like?"
 
Clara frowned or, at least made an approximation of frowning in her dragon form. Verrier’s disdain hurt, both as Afodisia and as herself. Clara still resented the choice that had been taken from her, the blessing that remained elusive. Verrier took it for granted, eschewing a relationship with his child.

As the goddess, his rejection of their child was reminiscent of the asymmetrical nature of their relationship. Another reminder that his feelings for her weren’t the same as her feelings for him. She understood, but it still hurt.

Ignoring the ache tugging at her heart, she answered him, “They’re not fond of me either. But, luckily I suppose, the reason they dislike me is the same reason they will be willing to meet with us. They want something, something only I can give them. Because, in order to protect our child, I limited them, and they’ve resented me ever since.” Clara let out a laugh, a short bark of sound, “I won’t have a choice, this time. We need their assistance, and we need them at their very strongest.”

Descending downward in a slow, wide spiral, Clara continued, “I think you’re wrong, though. You claim your child is a potential threat, and enemy. Yet here we are, seeking them out for an alliance. If they didn’t exist –or if you had snuffed them out early– we wouldn’t have this option.”

“I know dragons don’t play well together, but, well, how did that turn out for them overall?”
 
Verrier chuckled at her final question, the sound rumbling out in a dark growl. “Not at all well,” he assured her. “I even tried to tell them that. I explained that we were mighty but you were many, and that we could not prevail without cooperation.”

Sighing, he banked left and began a slow, spiraling descent towards a city of marble perched on a sapphire harbor. “They didn’t listen, of course. And you remember what happened after. My kin slaughtered or imprisoned, all save Yarost’cherev - and he crawled away and hid in the pit Thanedes later forged into Hell.”

His body rippled and flowed like wax as he descended, shifting and shrinking into the form of a raven. In that shape he swooped low over the flat-topped buildings, inspecting his surroundings with slitted red eyes. “Perhaps the godly half of the Whisper’s heritage will moderate those tendencies. Because I am not confident that we can defeat the forces arrayed against us without some level of cooperation.”

Catching a thermal, he soared up over the palace. “I can smell the Veiled Whisper,” he murmured. “But it is an old smell, and the odor of humans is strong.”

-*-

Nasir Yusef al-Udan, Caliph of al-Nithiel and Royal Consort of the Onyx Queen, rested his hands on the polished marble rail of the balcony and stared out across the city and the harbor and sighed. Twenty years he’d been co-regnant of the Jeweled Isles. Twenty years, and it still didn’t feel real at times. “Maybe,” he muttered, “I’m just a...”

A back bird, large as a cat, landed on the railing in a thunderous ruffle of feathers. He peered at it, examining it carefully. “What are you?”

“I seek the Veiled Whisper,” the bird croaked, and Yusef’s hand fell to the hilt of his scimitar in startled reflex. “And I see their mark on you.” The bird stalked closer along the rail and Yusef found himself pulling away, motivated by a nameless dread. “Tell me, human. Where will they be found?”
 
“Yusef? Who are you talking to?” Aurelia called from their chamber. She parted the curtain to the balcony, surprised to find him alone, save a rather large bird. “I thought I heard you speaking with someone.”

Another bird landed beside the first. “You heard right. We seek the Veiled Whisperer, and it is quite urgent that we meet with them,” it spoke, it’s words clear, as if spoken by a human. Aurelia blinked twice, and then frowned at her husband.

“Is this some trick of your magics? It’s not funny.”

“It’s no trick,” the bird insisted. After a moment, when Aurelia still didn’t respond, the bird changed, its form growing and flowing into something else. Someone else, a pretty woman of fair skin and dark hair. Aurelia thought she might have been younger than herself, but couldn’t say for certain, either way. But her armor and great sword were unmistakably suited for only a paladin. “I am Clara Olgasdottir, and I… represent Afodisia.” Aurelia took note of the carefully chosen word, but let the woman continue. “We need to met with the Veiled Whisperer as soon as possible.”

“The Veiled Whisperer isn’t here. Hasn’t been, for some time,” Aurelia explained, striking a balance between deferent and commanding. She suspected that “paladin” merely scratched the surface of Clara’s identity. After all, Faye was a paladin, and she’d never shapeshifted before. “They left us in charge of al-Nithiel, Aurelia al-Udan, and my husband, Yusef. The Whisperer in Shadows only shows up when it suits them. And it’s a few years yet before the next tribute is due.”

Clara nodded, and glanced around, “Well, I suspect they will show up soon, so we perhaps we should stick around.”

Aurelia swallowed down her distaste. Her better sense warned her against offending the shapeshifter, but decades of rule had left her unaccustomed to merely acquiescing. “Are you quite certain that is wise? Surely you know the Veiled Whisperer is no friend of Afodisia.” Gods, the last thing she needed was a battle between the Whisperer and this Clara within the palace walls.

Clara cocked her head, “Tell me, was the Whisperer who aided you in your battle against the demons, or the Goddess of Love and War?”

“I thank the Goddess for her aid, and honor her, but it is only a truce with the Veiled Whisperer that permits our rule, and our very existence,” Aurelia explained diplomatically.

“I ask that you trust in the Goddess, once more. That you honor Her by standing beside Her in Her most desperate hour.” Something changed in Clara’s voice, something that prevented Aurelia from arguing further. Instead, she merely nodded.

“Very well. May I escort you to the Tower of the Stars, then? It’s the highest point in the palace, and private as well.”
 
Still in the form of a raven, Vertier launched himself into the air and landed on Clara’s shoulder. “The Tower of the Stars will suit us, then,” he declared. “Privacy is important, I think. There is no need to call unwanted attention to our visit, after all.”

Yusef reached for a pull rope to summon an attendant, then stopped. “All right. Follow us, then.”

The two monarchs led them through the servants passages, taking care to avoid notice. Carrier studied everything around them as they traveled, noting a demonic taint on much of the architecture. It had been steadily and repeatedly purged, but traces remained. Interestingly, none of it bore the signs of a god or a dragon. “Did the Veiled Whisper avoid the pleasures of the court?”

Aurelia shuddered as if remembering something. Yusef’s eyes narrowed, but he shook his head. “As far as we can tell, the Whisper was obsessed only with knowledge. As long as the demons and humans rendered tribute and obedience, they didn’t care what else happened.”

“We’ve reached the tower,” Aurelia declared, cutting off Verruer’s unformed reply. He peered about curiously as Clara stepped in. The chamber within was a spacious receiving room, adorned with abstract works of art and low couches and chairs. Stairs spiraled up the wall, leading higher into the tower.

“Pretty,” the dragon declared. “But nothing here says ‘stars’ to me.”

“The name comes from the observatory at the top,” Yusef replied. “There’s a telescope up there. Apparently, the Whisper liked looking at the stars.”
 
“Stars, huh?” Clara glanced up towards the top of the tower, “I hadn’t intended a long visit, but it might be worthwhile to stay until nightfall to see that.”

“don’t get comfortable; you won’t be staying long.”

The voice came from nowhere, and everywhere, so suddenly Clara’s hand immediately went to her sword. It took a deep breath to deter the urge, tightening her hand into a fist instead. ”We didn’t come for a fight.”

“no, not a fair one, at least.” From the shadows emerged a single, longer shadow. A tall, thin figure, obscured by veils. The whisper’s gaze turned towards Verrier, “you said you’d devour me, if i stepped foot or claw in your domain. yet, here you are, in my domain. unbidden. unwelcome.”

“Consider this a lesson, then.” Clara crossed the room to stand before the Veiled Whisper. “It doesn’t matter how strong you become, if you have no allies by your side. True strength lies in the allies you can call to fight at your side.”

“allies?” Whisper cocked their head. “i thought you knew; dragons don’t play well together.

Clara crossed her arms over her chest, “And we both know you aren’t fully a dragon.”

“yes.” The whisperer rubbed one arm, gloved fingers moving back and forth along their forearm, “you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?”

“I did what I had to in order to protect you. I will not apologize for that.” Her expression softened, just a touch, and she even dared to reach through the whisper’s veils to caress their cheek. “But I don’t want to fight with you over this, not anymore. Perhaps now we will learn just what sort of power a dragon-blooded god can wield.”
 
The Whisper flinched back from Clara’s touch, slapping at her arm with a snarl of anger. “where was this compassion when you sealed me, then? where was your vaunted love?” A sound of disgust echoed from the hood. “why should illustrate to you?”

Verrier pecked idly at a grape in a silver bowl. “Because we have a use for you, now.”

Harsh laughter echoed throughout the room. “at least one of you is honest. what need?”

“Thanedes,” Vertier replied.

“is dead,” the Whisper replied, choosing a seat and sprawling in it like a throne. “what of…”

“Thanedes is alive once more.” Verrier snatched the grape up and swallowed it. “Alive, and seeking the end of all things.” Cocking his head, he eyed the robed being across the room. “Even you.”

“interesting. i’veheard no rumors of that.” The Whisper returned Verrier’s gaze from within the depths of their hood. “and what is it you want?”

“To grant you your freedom from the bonds of Love,” Verrier replied. “In exchange for you helping us kill the Lord of Destruction once more.”
 
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