Thomas Sniegoski - Walking In the Midst of Fire

“Angels,” Malatesta said.

“Damn it,” Montagin hissed.

He turned to the sorcerer, doorknobs in hand. “Finish what you have started, or we’ll all be dead,” he proclaimed before stepping out into the hall and closing the double doors tightly behind him.

Montagin stopped just outside the study doors and took a deep breath, centering himself, before he marched down the corridor toward where he sensed the emanations were strongest. Turning the corner at the end of the hallway, he found the servant, Marley, bowing her head in reverence to a gathering of three angels who stood in the entryway.

The three wore human appearances and attire, exuding discomfort as they looked in his general direction.

“Ah, Dardariel,” Montagin said, attempting to hide his own unease. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“The general,” the angel responded curtly. “Take me to him at once.”

Montagin suddenly felt as though his verbal skills had completely left him. He stared at the three soldiers of the divine.

“He isn’t here,” he managed, feeling as though millennia had passed before he was able to answer.

Dardariel glared, his dark predatory eyes glistening in the light of the hallway.

And then the laughing began—not from the angels, but from the girl.

“Silence, woman!” Montagin roared, his body momentarily taking on the guise of his true form, a being of fiery light.

The blind woman sensed his displeasure, and carefully backed away from the angels. “I meant no disrespect,” she said, although Montagin could see that she was still stifling a smirk.

“Leave us,” Montagin commanded, and Marley quickly turned, hand upon the wall as she nearly ran from them.

“Why do you tolerate such lack of respect?” Gromeyl asked, a look of disgust on his smooth, perfect features.

Montagin once again assumed his human form. “That one, I’m afraid, is a bit touched in the head,” he explained. “But a favorite of the general.”

“I cannot even begin to understand how you bear to have them among you,” Sengael said. “They are such filthy, untrustworthy beasts.”

“And yet the Lord God Almighty loves them so,” Montagin added.

The three angels turned their gazes to him, and Montagin resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to step back.

“Until He doesn’t,” Dardariel said, his voice as cold as the vacuum of space.

“Perhaps,” Montagin begrudgingly agreed.

“Take us to the general,” Dardariel repeated. “He told us to meet him here, on this day, at this time. A commander of Heaven’s armies would not be so vulgar as to not be here.”

“And I’m telling you that—”

“I know not what games you’re playing, Montagin,” Sengael snarled.

Dardariel sniffed the air. “He is here,” the angel soldier stated. “And you will not keep me from him.”

He brusquely shoved Montagin aside, the two other soldiers following close behind, glaring menacingly as they moved past him down the corridor.

“And don’t think the general will not be told of this,” Gromeyl threatened.

Montagin didn’t know what to do. He seriously considered an attack on the three, but realizing the folly in that, entertained the idea of coming clean.

Letting them know exactly what was going on—what had happened.

“Please, my brothers,” Montagin stated, following the angel soldiers. “The general’s essence covers this dwelling; there isn’t an inch that doesn’t hold his powerful scent.”

He’d managed to come around them just as they reached the study, blocking the doors with his body.

“Why would I wish to keep you from your meeting?” Montagin asked, desperately hoping that they could not read his panic.

Dardariel reached out, laying a hand menacingly upon Montagin’s shoulder.

“Get out of the way,” he ordered, and Montagin began to feel the heat of Heaven’s divine fire start to flow from the soldier’s hand.

The doors to the study opened abruptly and Montagin released a pathetic scream as he turned to look into the face of General Aszrus.

“General,” Montagin stated in disbelief.

“What is the meaning of this?” the general demanded, stepping out farther into the hall, closing the doors behind him.

“General Aszrus,” Dardariel said, stepping back along with his two companions, all three bowing their heads. “You’re attendant was attempting to keep us from . . .”

“My attendant was doing exactly as he was told,” the angel general said, looking to his aide.

Montagin shrugged off the shock. “I tried, General,” he said. “But they did not wish to listen.”

Aszrus fixed them all in a withering stare.

“Then perhaps they’ll listen to me,” he stated. “Leave my home. I have no time for conference today.”

“But General,” Dardariel began. “The war council is meeting in two days and . . .”

“Have you lost the gift of tongues, soldier?” Aszrus asked. “Am I speaking some language that you are incapable of understanding?”

“No, sir,” the angel soldier answered quickly, averting his eyes.

“Then leave,” Aszrus commanded. “Do not return until you are summoned again.”

The three angels raised their eyes to their superior. Montagin waited for some sort of challenge, but it did not come.

“As you wish, my general,” Dardariel responded, obviously chagrined.

Dardariel’s gaze then fell upon Montagin, and the angel did all he could to suppress a smile of petulant satisfaction, and supreme relief.

Without another word, the three soldiers opened their wings, and with a rush of air, were gone from the mansion.

It was a moment before Montagin could react.

“What madness is this?” he shrieked as he turned to face the general.

The general’s appearance began to melt away, revealing the form of the smiling Vatican sorcerer.

“Besides being top in my class for offensive and defensive spells,” Malatesta offered, “I also excelled in the art of glamour.”

Castle Hallow

1349

Simeon could not find his master.

He’d searched high and low, but the whereabouts of Ignatius Hallow were unknown even to his demonic servants.

The old necromancer had mentioned that Simeon’s lessons would start earlier than usual, and would be more challenging than ever before.

Simeon’s thoughts raced through the years he had spent in service to the necromancer called Hallow. None of them had ever been easy, and many of the things he had learned had resulted in his own death. But that was not such a high price to pay when cursed with eternal life.

Hallow had called him the perfect student, hoping if he’d had time to sire a son, he would have been as obedient—and enduring—as Simeon.

But today Simeon was to be challenged.

He had searched everywhere for his master—every place but one, which was forbidden to him.

Hallow called it his sanctum, a place only for him. Simeon always believed that was where the most powerful of the necromancer’s knowledge was kept, and he wondered if this day would be the day that the special room was revealed to him.

The sanctum was located in a hidden chamber, deep beneath what was believed to be the final room in the castle. It was part dungeon, part torture chamber, and part wine cellar. The only reason Simeon even knew of its existence was that he’d followed his ancient master one night, and unseen, watched as the old man opened the secret door and descended even further into the bowels of the earth.

Simeon moved aside some old wooden barrels and began to search for a way to make the entrance appear. Eyes squinted and hand glowing with a supernatural light he ignited with a simple spell of illumination, he looked, but could not find any trace of a door.