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“What numbers? Your people are hurt, they’re exhausted, they’ve just flown all this way. Who are you going to take with you to fight Medrion? And don’t say Helena’s people—you know she won’t spare any of her forces on your pointless crusade.”
He stopped pacing and turned to look at me—to glare at me. “Pointless crusade?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, placing a hand on my hip. “Don’t give him what he wants.Think.” I approached him, and gently placed a hand on his bare chest. “I know you’re in pain, but you have to take a moment to think.”
“My pain is nothing compared to the agony I intend to inflict on him,” he said.
“I know… but not like this. You can’t.”
The Tyrant’s lips pressed together. “And what would you have me do instead, Lightbringer?” he asked.
“We can shore up a defense here—notthe same as cowering.”
“What defense can we mount against an Archangel and a band of his most loyal, and powerful followers?”
“I don’t know, but you saw that shield. Maybe Helena’s people have more power than you think… there has to be a reason Medrion hasn’t already attacked us here. Maybe he knows he’ll lose.”
The Tyrant shook his head. “You and I both know this place will not stand up to his might. You are also assuming that Helena would be willing to put her angels in danger to defend mine.”
“She made that decision as soon as she let them take refuge here. He’s already on his way, but we still have some time to breathe, to heal our injured; to prepare our own home advantages.”
The Tyrant’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like a Commander,” he said.
“It’s what I used to do.”
He took my hand, the one I had placed on his chest. “You should continue to do it… you are good at it.”
“Medrion knows you won’t fly out to meet him,” said Helena as she strode into the grand hall. She had Micah and Azrael at her side, the Cherub and her angel falling into step with her. “He has a plan,” she continued.
“We were just discussing that,” I said, removing my hand from the Tyrant’s chest as I turned to face her. “But at least now, you can be sure we were telling you the truth about him.”
“Nothing hurts me more than knowing Medrion, one of our most brilliant Archangels, has fallen so far into depravity that he would wantonly murder his own kind.”
I shook my head. “With all due respect, Medrion fell well before he came to Earth. He was just more inclined to hide it back then.”
“Either way, it appears he’s made his true colors known… the worst part is, he is generating support.”
“Support?”
“I have been speaking to our new refugees. Not all of your people fought Medrion to the last—some surrendered, some even joined his cause.”
“Impossible,” growled the Tyrant. “They would never.”
“I am sorry to have to tell you, but we are mortal now. We can be made to bend, and break, and as you have said before; Medrion is good with his words.”
The Tyrant stepped forward, looking like he was about to attack someone—anyone—for daring to suggest his own angels would turn their backs on the Ebon Legion. He held himself, though, showing more restraint than I thought was possible from him.
“He’s on his way here,” I said, “That’s what Kalmiya told us. Do we have time to mount a defense?”
“Noneof you better be about to tell me I should sit on my hands and wait for him,” barked the Tyrant, “Or so help me.”
“Easy,” I said, “I don’t think that’s what’s happening here… surely, they have a plan?”
Micah had been silent until now. Like Helena, he chose exactly what to say and when to say it. He was difficult to read, most of the time, but I had seen this face before; his quiet, contemplative stare.
“It’s not so much a plan as much as it is a worry,” he said.
“A worry?” I asked.
