Steady now. It is but a summoner sparrow.
The bird made its way towards them. The Dullahan raised his arm, and the bird landed upon his wrist. The bird was not alone; it had a rider. A tiny passenger that held reins as fine as spiderweb and sat upon a saddle of dandelion yellow. The rider resembled a red-capped toadstool, with spindly arms and white spots for eyes. They spoke to the Dullahan. At least, that is what Lucifer assumed the stream of squeaks to be, something akin to a squirrel in a rage. The discussion was brief.
Byleist tipped forward in a shallow bow and the bird alighted, taking its toadstool messenger with it.
I have a message for the Erlking, but do you know, I think I’d rather look into the problem at the tower myself.Lucifer could not see the creature’s face, but he certainly felt the weight of his hidden stare.
‘What has happened?’
Badh needs his supper and his valet cannot secure entrance to the tower.
Lucifer frowned, wondering if he’d heard correctly.
Formidable as he may be, the sorcerer’s valet claims Badh cannot go long without a meal, or he suffers the shakes and sweats. Macha’s raven, Gladstone…now is that not just a ridiculous name?Lucifer stared and said nothing.Fine, initially the sorcerer sent the raven to turn the valet away. Busy, she said, ensuring there was nothing left of the daemon to give his majesty any issues. But the valet returned after a while, and there’s now no sign of the raven, the Morrigan won’t answer the doorbell, and there is a giant hole in the tower wall. He said he has a soup that is best eaten hot, parsnips and Brussels sprouts with rosemary and garlic. Do you suppose it is delicious?’
‘I truly don’t care.’
Do you think my Lord Death found his prince?
A sudden blaze of light put paid to any further conversation. The stunning sunrise colours of earlier emanated from within the conservatory.
The simurgh cried out.
The creature’s distress snatched at Lucifer, gripped him by the ribs and pulled. He bade no farewells, and moved at a fierce clip through what was exactly as the Dullahan had said: a maze. The hedges were all immaculate in their upkeep, more like sculpture than real living plants, but infuriating either way. Lucifer grasped at the bone in his pocket, and it jumped in his hold like a guppy. It did not take long to understand that the fragment worked somewhat like a water diviner, shifting subtly in Lucifer’s grasp, leading the way.
A right, forward, left, two more right turns, honing in on the Erlking that the Dullahan was beholden to.
Twice more the simurgh cried out with such forlorn notes that Lucifer stumbled. His chest was tight, his fervour to reach the creature, no, theillusionof a creature, near to overwhelming. He fought off thoughts of sparing the simurgh. Of taking it from here as the Trumpeter brought Wrath down upon this land.
Inconceivable thoughts he must banish.
He’d be damned if he’d allow a dead angel to manipulate him anymore.
This Cultivation held pieces of the Primordial Flame. Seraphiel had gone too far.
And Lucifer had already gone too farforhim.
He brought his flame to the surface, caring little that his disguise was ruined. The leaves around him curled and crackled as he passed by.
His anger took no time to rise. It was always there, just below the surface, since the day Seraphiel had chosen the halo over all else. Over him.
Soft murmurings reached his ear. Gabriel spoke in the sombre tone of the Higher Angels. But this was no ordinary conversation. The tell-tale musicality indicated that the angel was in the midst of Cultivation. Lucifer had listened to Seraphiel often enough to know. Which worked this situation in his favour, for when in the midst of wielding their divine magick, the angels were in something of a trance, detached from the world around them.
Lucifer could use the Trumpeter now and Wrath would be upon the disconnected Archangel before he recalled what century he was in. The deed would be done with barely a fuss.
The bone took him left at a superbly-crafted topiary figure, another of the Erlking himself, this time upon a sleigh, dragged by six wyverns.
Then, all at once, the true Erlking was right in front of him. Waves of vermillion hair sweeping around him like he drifted beneath the sea.
‘Trespasser.’ The elf bared sharpened teeth, his beauty swapped for venomous disdain, sapphire irises almost lost beneath blown-wide black pupils.
Lucifer raised his right hand where his vestige was concealed in the nail upon his thumb. The piece of angel-bone siphoned the torrent of his flame, spilling its power through all his fingers.
The burst of fire struck at Lokke, and the Erlking evaporated.
‘Trespasser.’
Now the elf was overhead, kneeling upon the hedge, which had grown double its height in the blink of an eye. Lucifer launched the flame again.
