One hundred and four
Pyrgus overrode the safeties as the flier reached Imperial Island. He sent out a single burst of code that would neutralise the palace security system, then pitched the nose of the craft towards the lawn outside the main entrance doors.
‘Straps,’ he ordered. Nymph and Woodfordi were immediately secured to their seats by body-netting. Woodfordi’s knuckles showed white where he gripped the arms. ‘Dive,’ Pyrgus muttered.
There was an elemental scream as the flier went into a steep descent with no loss of speed. Pyrgus kept his eyes firmly fixed on his target, a level area between two flowerbeds. The ground rushed towards him with indecent haste. He waited, heart thumping, until it seemed he could almost reach out and touch it, then commanded, ‘Land!’
The flier attempted to comply, but Pyrgus had left things far too late. The tulpa thought-forms built into its propulsion system read the situation in an instant, reinstated the safeties and hurled the craft back upwards. It banked, struck a tree branch and cracked open like an egg. Pyrgus fell out to drop in a heap on the ground. Nymph and Woodfordi dangled from their netting.
‘That was exciting,’ Nymph remarked. She pulled a knife from her boot and cut herself free, holding on to the seat with one hand. Then she clambered on to the branch and released Woodfordi.
‘Thanks, Miss,’ he murmured gratefully. ‘I thought I was a goner for sure.’
‘So did I,’ Nymph told him. She swung from the tree and dropped nimbly to the ground, leaving Woodfordi to his own devices. Pyrgus was already on his feet, limping towards a running guard contingent that had just emerged from the palace.
‘I’m all right!’ he called over his shoulder.
Nymph smiled a little to herself.
‘Escort us to Queen Blue!’ Pyrgus called grandly to the approaching guards. He suddenly noticed a tall figure on the palace steps. ‘Mr Fogarty, can you arrange to get Blue and the Generals together – and Madame Cardui. There’s news.’
To his surprise, Mr Fogarty ignored the urgency in his voice and came down the steps towards him. The guards fanned out and surrounded them both, then parted to allow Nymph and Woodfordi through.
Fogarty said, ‘Christ, it’s all happening tonight.’ He looked beyond Pyrgus at the wreckage in the tree. ‘Have you any idea what those bloody things cost?’ He looked back at Pyrgus. ‘Henry’s just gone off his head as well.’
Pyrgus gripped his arm and leaned across to whisper, ‘Beleth’s army is an illusion! The portals aren’t real either. There’s no demon invasion and Uncle Hairstreak’s marching all the Nighter forces into the desert.’
Fogarty stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ he said.
One hundred and five
Beleth was shifted into his most powerful form. Curling ram’s horns grew out of his forehead. His teeth were smiling fangs, his body knotted muscle. Only his height was curtailed, perhaps because of having been encased in the altar: he was little more than six feet tall. A blood-red cloak swept from his shoulders to his ankles. His feet were bare and Blue could see that each toe ended in a wicked talon. His eyes bored into hers.
Beleth shook himself as if to throw off any remnants of the porphyry block. The brass wall at his back was changing, each plate flowing liquidly into its neighbour before sliding downwards. For just the barest instant Blue wondered if the pentagram circle might contain him, but he threw back his cloak and strode towards her.
Blue took a step forward and threw herself into his arms.
‘My darling,’ she whispered breathlessly as she stretched up to kiss him.
One hundred and six
‘ Nooo! ’ Henry screamed. Beyond Blue and the devil, the wall had disappeared so that the chamber opened up, impossibly, on to a scene that chilled his blood. He was overlooking a vast metallic plaza, surrounded by squat, black buildings underneath a lowering sky. Set to one side of the plaza were twin thrones carved from obsidian and ornamented with complex inlays of what might well have been gold. Ranged before the thrones, row upon row, were thousands, tens of thousands, of horned demons. All were on their knees.
Henry ran. He had no weapon, but he struck Beleth with his shoulder so violently that the creature staggered. ‘Leave her alone, you bastard!’ Henry screamed. He punched and kicked the demon with a flurry of blows.
Beleth brushed him off like a gnat.
Henry was thrown violently across the floor. His foot caught in the remnants of the porphyry altar so that he stumbled and fell heavily. Beleth strode across and kicked him violently with one taloned foot. Henry’s clothing ripped and blood welled from the gash across his stomach.
‘Henry!’ Blue gasped. She felt a jolt as if she’d been kicked herself.
Henry’s eyes glazed, then slowly closed.
Beleth turned back to Blue with a smile.
‘Is he dead?’ she whispered.
The devil shook his head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps we should keep him as a sacrifice to celebrate our marriage.’ His eyes bored into her. ‘Would you like that, my dear?’
After a moment, Blue said dully, ‘Yes.’
Beleth took her hand and led her through the open wall. There was an instant of transition as the ancient magics gripped, then they were standing on the metal plaza. The kneeling demons prostrated themselves at once, foreheads pressing on the metal pavement. Beleth’s voice rose to the intensity of thunder.
‘Behold my new consort and your Queen!’ The kneeling demons roared approval.
Blue glanced behind her. Two of Beleth’s demons had entered the pentagram chamber and were dragging out Henry’s prostrate body. He looked more dead than alive. There was a sickness in her stomach, but she pushed it down savagely. Nothing must interfere with her duty to the Realm.
‘Not quite the truth,’ said Beleth quietly, ‘but soon you will be both.’
He led her to the smaller of the two thrones and waited politely until she was seated before sitting himself. She looked out over the sea of demon backs as the creatures began to climb to their feet and moved in regimented segments to take their appointed places.
The demons loved formality and ceremonial, that was for sure. All Beleth’s closest attendants were robed, horned and cloaked, their faces sharp and eyes aglitter. Beyond them stood rank upon rank of demon guards, naked for the most part, with the low light reflecting dully on their scales. Four enormous devils who moved to occupy the cardinal points sported barbed, prehensile tails.
The atmosphere was sulphurous, oppressive and very, very hot. Blue felt a bead of perspiration trail down one side of her face. Two ancient chamberlains carried a sturdy oak-wood table across the plaza and placed it directly in front of the thrones. This would be for the signing of the marriage pact, she thought.
The sense of occasion was heightened by the standard-bearers who moved quickly to surround the table on three sides. They were all imps dressed in eye-jarring motley where complementary colours flashed and clashed without the aid of a single woven spell. For the banners themselves, scarlet and black predominated, reflecting the heavy brocade now being spread across the table.
She forced herself not to look directly as the two demons dragging Henry dumped him in a heap against one table leg. He was still alive but unconscious, his breathing laboured. She had an uncomfortable feeling she might be required to drink his blood as part of the ceremony. If any of his blood remained. His clothes were already saturated from the wound in his stomach.
Beleth cleared his throat and stood on his throne to give himself more height. He looked imperiously around the assembled throng. ‘This is an auspicious occasion,’ he intoned in a voice that seemed too large for both mouth and chest. ‘A formal Marriage Pact – the first of its kind – between a ruling Prince of Darkness and a ruling Queen of Faerie.’ He was forced to pause by the spontaneous cheering of his subjects.