‘That’s always been the counter-argument,’ said James.
There was a knock on the door and the Duke shouted, ‘Come in!’
Servants arrived with wine and food, and quickly prepared the table. ‘Thought you might be hungry,’ he said after the servants left.
Jim poured wine and handed out the goblets. Another knock came and again the Duke bellowed for whoever was outside to come in. A messenger entered and handed him a parchment bearing a seal. Looking at Jim, the Duke said, ‘You’re not the only one with eyes out there.’ His grin vanished as he read. ‘Damn it to the seven hells!’
‘What is it?’ asked Jim.
‘That damned fool Chadwick of Ran. He’s landed his army to the south of the city.’ He read on. ‘And he’s brought friends. Salador and Bas-Tyra are with him.’
Jim sat back. ‘Are these fools starting a civil war before we’ve even buried the last king?’
Duke James shook his head in frustration and said, ‘Give me that damn wine!’
Now Rider was fully-fleshed. Her form was human, but her face lacked the tiny imperfections of humanity, the creases and lines, spots and dimples. She had skin too smooth to be mortal, and her brown eyes, flecked with moats of ruby, were able to peer through realities. Her body was lithe and agile, as strong as tempered steel and as hard as diamond. Hair golden one moment, silver the next, flowed from under a black cap that was set at a rakish angle. From a shimmering brooch pin of alien make and unknown metal a long, flaming feather trailed, a rare phoenix plume. Only the powerful harmony of her magic kept it from vanishing into ash or setting her hair alight.
She rode a creature out of fable, a mare of golden hue, with hide that shimmered like metal and a mane and tail of copper sparkling with flashes of pure white light. Her breath was steam as she pounded across uncountable miles down through the Vortex into the Entropy Funnel, her hooves striking sparks on the perfect surface of the roadway. She was one of the most powerful of her kind, the Matriarch of the Heavenly Herd, the star-spanning mounts of angels. That she had been given the task of carrying the rider demonstrated the importance of this journey.
Rider focused on her mission: to reach the mortal realm and give orders to the awaiting host. It was time to assault an enemy seeking a foothold on a poor, sad little world. A strange place, it was a world of coincidence and destiny, a battleground in an ages-old struggle that was far greater than even the wisest among humanity could imagine, beyond even the understanding of the beings they called gods. All of reality as they knew it stood in peril and this one, tiny world, normally insignificant in the vast scheme of the universe, was where the struggle would soon commence. If this world fell, so would fall all of that sector of reality, and eventually all reality, even unto this realm.
As Rider raced along, primal matter leapt from orb to orb, massive surges of power to destroy star systems, causing the Golden Moons to thrum and vibrate, their pitch changing in a cacophony of sounds that were the highest music imaginable. Legends were told of lesser beings who had somehow found their way to the Sphere of the Golden Moons and died of thirst or starvation as they sat transfixed by a music so profound it immobilized the listener. It was the sound of everything.
Down through the higher realms she rode, feeling the falling energy states around her, as the abundance of creation, the immeasurable wealth of heaven’s bounty cascaded down with her as she descended into the mortal realms. Vision became paramount as other senses faded, music and sound had to be heard rather than known, and the feel of her mount between her legs became a sensation that began to fatigue her. Separating from the Presence was painful at the end.
At the boundary of the Sphere and the Realm of Emergence, the road changed again, become the yellow- white road known as the Star Walk, the Gateway Path, or the Hall of Worlds. Time shifted as she entered the edge of the mortal realms, and she sensed its passing. Here was the boundary of reality as mortals knew it, where new matter entered their space and time. It was speculated about by many races, but none had come here, understood and returned to spread the word. The boundaries of mortal exploration were still vast distances down the Hall, lifetimes of exploration away.
At the edge of the Hall, near the boundary between the Sphere and the Hall, waited the Host. Immobile, they stood arrayed in battle rank, thousands of agents of Heaven, waiting for their orders. Ageless and patient beyond mortal comprehension, they were as alike as perfect statutes. Yes she knew them all, each and every one, for it was one of those things carried over from her time being in the Presence, being one with the Source. Before the arrayed ranks of the Host waited one alone, and she reined in her mount before him.
‘Riakel,’ she said in greeting.
‘Rider,’ he said in return. He was majestic in appearance, the personification of a human’s vision of what an angel should look like: tall, broad of shoulder, features strong yet beautiful. Riakel’s hair flowed to his shoulders and was ebony in colour, yet his skin shone pale yellow in the Hall’s fey light. He wore a long flowing robe of white, and over it a battle harness. At his left hip was a massive sword in its scabbard, and she knew that once it was drawn it would burn with Heaven’s fire.
Behind him stood silent rows of warrior angels, each displaying a slight difference in colour of skin, hair, eyes, yet all alike, ready to carry out their mission should the Celestial Rider fail in hers.
Riakel’s black eyes fixed on her and he said nothing. There was no need for speech between them, for each had been sent on their missions with the full knowledge of what must be done.
Yet she felt the need to speak. ‘How long?’
He inclined his head slightly to one side, as if cracking his neck, a very human gesture she knew meant the question was pointless. ‘It is not known,’ he answered. ‘The Source always provides us with the knowledge we need.’
‘But not until we need it,’ she amended.
‘Soon. Too long the demons have had free reign in the mortal realm while we have been confined here.’ With a gesture towards the countless angels standing motionlessly behind him, the Master of the First Host repeated, ‘Soon. Even now someone attempts to unlock the barrier, and should they succeed, we shall unleash Heaven’s wrath as has never been known in mortal history.’
‘I have your orders,’ said Rider. ‘The demons and their minions are to be obliterated, returned to the lower sphere. All except two. They have a role to play.’
‘How will I know them?’
‘You will know them.’
The Master of the First Host nodded. ‘The balance must be restored.’
‘But in the time specified, and not before.’
‘You have another mission?’
She nodded. Knowledge manifested in her mind. ‘Yes. I must be off.’
Without another word, the Rider turned her mount and moved back down the Hall of Worlds, passing the first pair of doors into the mortal realm.
She was now in what humans called the lowest heaven, a realm of wonderful, yet mortal beings. Most beings from the realms below would consider this realm ideal, for it combined the finest aspects of mortal experience with an apprehension of the wonders of the Higher Realms.
Time began to weigh on her, for now time was perceived by her in the same way as it was by mortals. And time was short. The imbalances of the past needed to be corrected, and she was the last attempt by the Presence to correct that imbalance without there being utter destruction.
If she failed, and if he to whom she carried warning failed, then the Host would cease to merely battle Hell’s minions; they would be fully unleashed to undertake a cleansing of the realm called the First Realm of Hell by those above it, and the First Realm of Heaven by those below it, and the Source would start anew.
It had happened before. Yet the Source was love and mystery and offered hope.
She sped past more doors as the she plunged deeper into the mortal realms, into more populated space. The road twisted and turned and hundreds of doors were left behind. She would ride past ten thousand more before nearing the one through which she must travel, to the world called Midkemia.
A thrumming filled the air, harsh and discordant, jarring the senses like a physical blow. She reined in, for something was amiss. Suddenly Rider knew that the waiting host had not advanced far enough, did not know the waiting was not at the will of the Source! Something hobbled the mind here, limited perception, and robbed those
