It was many leagues beyond the bridge that Garone unleashed his minions against the general. For many hours creatures of all manner attacked the general as he searched for his daughter. Some were serpent-like, others were leopard-like, and many more were human-like. Yet the general slew them all. He was a skilled soldier and a determined father. Nothing was going to stop him from getting his daughter back.
After many more hours the general faced a winged creature. He slew the creature but lost his sword. Only his dagger was left to him, a nearly useless weapon in the face of foes determined to take from him the tailbone of the Bruth and to make him one of the Devil’s own. And so, it was that the general considered his fate sealed when a heavily armed soldier appeared before him. The general could not fight him with only a dagger.
“Man from the land of the living,” began the soldier in a gruff, miserable voice that heaped of pain and agony, “What brings you to the Realm of the Undying?”
“I search for my daughter,” replied the general. “She was taken from me some twelve days past.”
“The music maker.”
“Music maker?” asked the general.
“Her harp brings some peace to some of us with the beautiful music she produces. It reminds us of life as a living being.”
“You are a Sleepless.”
“I was the governor of the province of Trigray. I came to search for my wife so that my children could be happy again. This has been my home for many generations now.”
“Tell me, have you seen my daughter?”
“Follow the path through those hills,” he said, pointing towards some hills, “and you may find her across the River of Fire and Poisons.”
“I thank you, Governor of Tigray. Now I must be on my way, for my daughter must return home.”
“But you have no sword. The horned demon continues to gather forces to stop you.”
“I have my dagger and my bear hands to use if I must.”
“Put an end to my misery, man of the living, and my sword and shield can be yours.”
With a heavy heart the general plunged his dagger into the Sleepless being, who also turned into vapor and ceased to exist. And whether its soul went to its maker or to the Devil the general could not tell either. But its fine sword and bronze shield renewed the general’s hope of getting his daughter back.
The general followed the path through the hill, vigilant and watching every corner for signs of his daughter or his foes. And then he heard something. It was something that made his heart race. It was music, just as had been described by the second Sleepless. It was produced from a kirar harp and was as he had heard it before, played by his daughter on many an occasion. He sheathed his sword raced towards the music, but as he drew closer it seemed to drift further and further away.
“Zeina!” called the general, “Zeina! It is I, your father. Where are you?”
There was no response. The general continued his search, following the music. And then in a distance he spotted a human figure. It was Zeina. But the general only laid eyes on her for a very brief moment, for he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his back. He spun around with a loud cry. He had been stabbed by a human-sized ant-like creature that had suddenly ambushed him. The general’s sword flashed out of his sheath and the creature instantly ceased to exist—cut into a thousand pieces. Before the general could recover from his pain, several more creatures of all manner sprang from the darkness around him but all met the same fate as had the human-sized ant-like creature.
Without sparing a moment to dwell over his bleeding wound the general scurried to the place where he had seen his daughter. But she was not there. He called her name out repeatedly but no response was to be heard. He continued to follow the path through the hills, knowing that he was close to her and would soon take her back home. Zeina did not appear.
But the general saw something else. It was a man who stood still and silently several paces away from him. The man’s dark skin and black robes made him hardly discernible through the darkness. The general stood and held his sword at the ready, not daring to take another step forward until he understood his foe. The man moved closer to the general, not by walking, but by hovering, though he had no visible wings. But this did not alarm the general. He had seen stranger things in this realm.
“I am Babrel, General,” said the hovering man. “I have come to you with a plea.”
“Are you a Sleepless,” asked the general.
“No, General. I am a nevii. I gather selected souls from this realm to be taken to the realm of the maker of man.”
“You are an angel?”
“That is what they call us in the land of the living.”
“Then tell, angel of the Undying, where lies the River of Fire and Poisons?”
“Beyond the Hills of Saragoza and further beyond.”
“How do I get there,” begged the general.
“I will guide you, General, but first you must answer to my plea.”
“What is your plea?”
“The horned demon and his minions prevent me from gathering the selected souls of the Undying. There are those who by their misdeeds in the land of the living belong to Garone and the Devil. But there are those who by their deeds in that same land of the living are to spend eternity with the maker of man. But Garone and his minions intend to make them all part of the Devil’s own. I must defeat Garone’s minions so that the souls of those selected by the maker of man can be released unto him.”
“Of what use can I be to
