Chapter 3
Zarel brushed damp ginger hair from her face for what felt like the hundredth time that day and took a careful swig from her almost-empty waterskin. The baking desert sun was starting to lose its heat now as the evening came on and although the anticipated respite was welcome, the prospect of being outside the Abbey's walls with night drawing in was most certainly not. She glanced around the rest of her cohort and saw the same concern on the faces of the other five Seraph, while their three novice charges looked tired and a little scared.
Their fearless leader did not seem to share their concern, though she wondered if he really even understood the situation. He certainly didn't seem to understand where he'd led them, as he peered out shortsightedly from under a pair of thick and ancient spectacles.
"Brother Kaidus," she ventured, since it seemed no-one else was going to, "we are a long way from home now. It will start getting dark soon."
"Hmm?"
He squinted at her distractedly, his wizened and skinny form fidgeting in the ill-fitting brown robes he favoured. More of a clerk than a cleric, and well past his prime, but Kaidus could certainly walk.
"Are you getting tired?" It wasn't asked unkindly, but nor was he really offering a rest. "That library must be here somewhere. I visited it just last year."
Kaidus hadn't been out of the Abbey in three years or so the rumour among the gate guards went. He must have run out of reading material, she decided.
"It will be dangerous if we have to try to hurry back at dusk. Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?"
"Nonsense! It's right around this corner, I remember..."
They rounded the corner in question to find a street of small houses. Obviously never grand, all were in very poor shape now and several had already collapsed down into piles of rubble. Certainly there was no library here. Someone sniggered quietly.
"Ok, it must be a little further. But it's most definitely here somewhere..."
It took another hour to find the place, by which point Zarel was considering just how badly her superiors would take it if they left the senile monk to wander the city by himself. Unfortunately abandoning Kaidus to his own devices wasn't a serious option. Next she had to wait as he pottered about the abandoned scriptorium, kicking up a new cloud of dust with each scroll he touched.
The novices scurried about at his direction, selecting and wrapping ancient books and scrolls in cloth for their journey back to the Abbey. Zarel wondered idly if the books would even get read - there was a decent chance some overzealous cleric of Agraton would burn the whole lot rather than risk them introducing some terrible moral corruption that their words might contain. She caught a glimpse of one book's title, On Effective Drainage and Agriculture, and figured that one at least was probably safe from the pyre. She stifled a yawn.
"Pass me your lantern."
Tomasz had left his spot guarding the door and came to stand beside hers, a large window that was still letting in some decent light.
"It's not dark yet," she protested, but unclipped it from her pack anyway.
"I know. Just don't want him getting any ideas. Hand it over."
Zarel handed it over. Tomasz was three years her senior, with a confidence she envied and a sculpted jaw that she rather fancied. The general consensus was that he was officer material. He gave her a wink as he tucked it deep into a suspiciously clinking sack.
"Such a shame we're losing the light," Tomasz raised his voice as he nudged her in front of the window and strode back toward the door. The sack of lanterns was passed out to Clare, on watch outside.
Zarel admired her silhouette as she blocked out the evening sunlight. The Seraph armour gave her strong shoulders even more width and its decorative copper wings added their distinctive profile. Below that, the bronze armour tapered to a narrow waist and a chainmail skirt, before the shiny bronze greaves and boots that protected her legs. Add in the long haft of her sharp steel glaive and her shadow had the look of a warrior angel.
"Did no-one think to bring candles?!"
She was broken from her reverie by the complaints of Brother Kaidus, who was holding a crumbling book up to his face to squint at a faded index.
"Sorry Brother," Tomasz was standing close to him, subtly casting the text into even deeper shade. "Perhaps we could come back tomorrow with some."
"Drat..." the academic shook his head and tucked the book under his arm as if determined to continue it later. "Well, I suppose that we should probably head back. If you could start packing up..."
The novices were already ready, each bearing a satchel of salvaged tomes.
"Oh, well then..."
Proper dusk took hold when they were about halfway back, by Zarel's reckoning. The air was getting chill now as the sun surrendered its place in the sky and the clear desert night came on. The sandstone buildings on either side of the street still radiated the warmth of the day and probably would for many hours, but they walked in the centre of the road. Falling roof tiles or full blown collapses were the usual danger, but the darkened windows and doorways held a certain menace now too.
The lanterns miraculously reappeared as the last of the light faded, earning Clare a reproachful look from Brother Kaidus. The dark skinned Seraph ignored him as she lit them one by one and handed them to the other guards. Six little pools of light illuminated their group and let Zarel see where she was walking, but didn't pierce far into the gloom.
Everyone's pace had increased noticeably by the time they reached the bottom of the Abbey's steep hill. The dark and cold of the street was oppressive, with a foreboding silence that meant the echoes of their footsteps seemed to chase them across the cracked flagstones. Zarel, near the back, found she had to almost jog to keep up with the sudden hurry. It was as if they had all decided they were being chased, without a word being spoken between them.
It was in this haste that one of the novices, she thought it was Ricard but she wasn't certain, blundered right into a figure lurking in the darkness. He fell backward with a yelp, crashing down onto his backside and scattering ancient books everywhere. The figure let out a low, snarling growl. It was echoed a moment later by another, and another. They had blundered right into a trap!
"To me!"
Tomasz was the first to react, leaping forward to drag the fallen novice back to his feet and pull him back toward his peers. Zarel and the other Seraph formed a hasty line in front of Kaidus and his helpers, glaives lowered and pointed toward the snarling shapes. Oddly yellow bestial eyes reflected their lantern light back at them, but from heights of seven or eight feet tall. Their ambushers were enormous!
Light flared as Clare opened the shutters of her lantern wide, casting a brighter illumination. Zarel almost wished she hadn't.
In front of them were the hulking shapes of seven werewolves, huge furred creatures with a rough humanoid body shape but the features of wolves. Each was wearing a spiked metal collar and very little else, though some had the tattered remains of clothing hanging off them like streamers. They were clearly aroused and deep in the thrall of the Itch, she noticed with dawning horror. Three males sported angry red erections, and she could actually see the thick juices that dripped down between the females legs.
The imposing rank of lycanthropes opened up to reveal two more figures, an incongruous pair.
One was a bare chested human man with a furious scowl, he had thick black hair, an unkempt beard and the most imposing dark eyebrows. A spiked collar, too large for his neck but apparently too small to pass his heavy jaw, sat awkwardly on his shoulders. A delicate silver chain, looking far too flimsy to be practical, ran from the collar to the other figure's palm.
The other was a devil. Red bat wings, elegantly folded, cloaked a crimson skinned female form clad in an immodest black dress that did little to hide her generous breasts. A filigree of delicate black lines tattooed on that too-perfect red flesh depicted a variety of spiky runic designs that made Zarel's eyes hurt to look at. She managed to drag her gaze up to a face that was equally perfect with a sharp nose and high cheekbones, cruelty and nobility mixed in equal measure.
The devil had either caught her staring or was just feeling particularly pleased with herself, for she gave Zarel a triumphant smirk that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I am Lael. These are my pets."
