Iris Harper

The Betrayal

My dear demon,

It may seem a peculiar kind of fancy for a prey to leave messages to his hunter, and indeed I acknowledge it is. But I know you will read it, for you are what you are, and you will not refuse wilfully given information about your quarry. It is perhaps true that it will be this letter, or perhaps another, future one, that will lead to my demise. But it is a chance I am willing to take, for frankly, we both know I will not run long now anyway.

Perhaps you are wondering why I am running at all if there is no hope. It merely prolongs the agony of fear, despair and self-pity: Of that you are right, but as the protagonist of the first story I am going to tell you learned for himself, life is not easy to let go of.

But forgive me: I am getting ahead of myself. Have you ever heard of Scheherazade, the Persian queen who artfully saved her life by telling a cruel man one thousand and one tales? I am no Scheherazade, and no queen, and at any rate she did not exist. I am no great storyteller, no wordsmith or a cunning woman. And my hope in enchanting your frozen heart enough for you to feel love for me is impossible, I do know that. My life will not be spared because of my tales. But nevertheless, tales are what I am going to tell you: tales of truth, if you will believe them. If not my life, then perhaps I will gain the small comfort of a measure of pity in your eyes when you finally catch up with me. But because I know this is all I can hope for, I will not, like Scheherazade, break off stories in the middle to continue them another time; there might be no other time.

With those needed explanations and without further ado, I will launch myself into the telling of my first tale, the one of the fall of Lucifer.

Oh, it is a tale familiar enough to you and yours, I am sure, just as it is much known in Heaven. But has it never struck you, my dear demon hunter, that the stories we know, and the stories the humans have turned into myths, differ so widely? Our charges believe that Lucifer was an Archangel who contrived to make his throne higher than the clouds over the earth and resemble the highest of powers, and for this great crime he, and the host of angels loyal to him, were cast down into the abyss. We, on the other hand, know that there was no dramatic casting down, no exit worthy of myths. That the archangels among themselves merely decided who takes which role, and Lucifer, being one of the mightiest, assumed the difficult task of leading the other side. Yet, if that were true, then why is there so much bitterness between our two sides, and what led to the Great War that almost shattered this world? Why would a simple agreement like the one we believe to have happened lead to such devastating anger and hate?

Because it is a lie, that is why. Both versions contain but a grain of the truth, yet in effect, they are a lie. Time twisted and convoluted a rather simpler story, and turned it into myths that all the sides could handle-the myth of the fall for humanity, and the myth of friendship gone wrong for us. But what happened in fact...

It all begins with the Valkyries, at the time when they still comprised the better part of the angel legions. It is now often attempted to deny their sibling connection to what today we perceive as the seraphim, and I have heard it claimed that they never were proper angels, since all angels are male. But why would all angels be male, when demons, your kind, are both sexes? Is the male gender in some way holier, or more supernatural, or stronger than the female one? Indeed, the famed prowess and devotion of the Valkyries proves this assumption to be false. No, the reason why angels nowadays are only of one kind is to be found within two actions we consider all too human: love and betrayal.

The Valkyries are and always were fierce warriors and defenders. Often they were called shield maidens, for this is what they were in Heaven: the shield and sword that defended it and the world. Their battle prowess was legendary, their loyalty and fighting spirit unshakeable, their decisiveness in the face of evil undoubted. Additionally, they possessed something much more fearsome and feminine that turned them from merely useful, to extremely dangerous-a cunning of action in the fray and an unrelenting fierceness. None of this would have been a problem in and of itself, however, had it not been for the fact that, despite the pretence of equality among all the heavenly host, only one Valkyrie had ever been granted the rank of Archangel. Humanity cannot claim any authorship in the idea of gender inequality, I fear, for it originated in Heaven even before humanity was born. Valkyries were all too aware of the slight, and while they did tolerate it, they also were fiercely loyal to the one in their ranks who represented them: Archangel Brynhildr, the Light of Battle. Oh, of course the Valkyries had other commanders, and in theory they answered to all Archangels, but only a Valkyrie could really command the respect and love of the Valkyries. All the power of the shield maidens resided in the hands of Brynhildr.

You can imagine, I gather, how much this situation was to the liking of the Archangels. They were much more numerous in the Echelon of Heavenly Power, overwhelmingly numerous, in fact, but the one female that had sneaked amongst them held all but a tiny sliver of the military power.

And much like humans, when angels feel threatened they defend themselves in any way they find, including such that are overwhelmingly unwise and destructive. You could say that they should have merely raised more Valkyries to the rank of Archangel, merely ensured that both the slight to their pride, and the concentration of their loyalty, is done away with. But such a solution was even more distasteful to the archangels than the idea of Brynhildr holding all the power, I fear. They begrudged her presence among them, and the option of allowing even more Valkyries in the highest of ranks was not one to be considered. No, the archangels only saw one way to defend themselves from the perceived danger of Brynhildr and her Legions. Unbeknownst to their sisters, a plan was hatched, a plan so ugly and monstrous, that it is nowadays a taboo to even be remembered: an elimination plan.

It is surmised, as much as the topic is ever mentioned, in whispers and in secret, that there were a few who suggested that perhaps just eliminating Brynhildr would be enough. Do not doubt, however, that even they had no higher motives for this proposed mercy, than the mere possession of weak hearts and stomachs that turned at the idea of carnage on such scale at their doors. Nevertheless, had they been the majority, perhaps some of the consequences could have been avoided, but that was not to be. Most had no doubt the destruction of Valkyrie leader would hatch nothing but the desire for revenge in the hearts of those so loyal to her. And I would venture the guess that they were not far off the mark. Nevertheless, the archangels were not above using the death of their leader to demoralise their sisters-in-arms and soon-to-be enemies, for they needed every advantage they could gain, and seemed to have no qualms seizing each. The plan was, therefore, to assassinate Brynhildr at the offset of the attack, to seed disorganisation and confusion in the ranks of the Valkyries.

And I believe the plan would have worked perfectly, much like the destruction of the Knights Templar did, eons later (another despicable idea which had its origins with the highest and holiest among us), had the archangels not been too sure of themselves to notice the hesitation of one of the most powerful in their ranks. It is true, I believe, that Brynhildr and Lucifer were lovers, as it was later speculated, for what other reason did they have to keep their close friendship a secret? And there is little doubt, from what ensued and how things turned out, that indeed the closest friendship had connected those two inexorably. It was this loyalty to what his brothers perceived as a danger, which divided his mind and made him restless for weeks as the fateful moment approached. Lucifer, the Betrayer, had to choose which of his friends to betray. But in the end, in all but the last possible moment, he chose.

When the Archangels and the other seraphim came to their sudden attack, they found the Valkyries ready for battle. It is a testament to the shield maidens' discipline and training that with very little warning they mounted a defence so impressive and deadly. Betrayed, infuriated, they gave their all in this fight against their own brothers, in this first ever civil war. The assassination attempt on Brynhildr had failed, naturally, and she was in the forefront of the battle, dealing death with the three-pronged spear and shield that were the Valkyries' signature weapon. Many fell under her wrath, and she was terrible and beautiful to behold this last night of her life. Yes, last, for before the night of the betrayal, the night that used to be known in the annals as The First War before it was forgotten, was out, Brynhildr fell to one of the many Kefara blades aimed at her heart. The archangels, in their persistent conceit, thought this to be the only possible outcome of the battle, thought that Brynhildr's death would end the bloodshed. But instead, as Brynhildr fell among blood and fire, as her shriek pierced the hearts of those who loved her and those who followed her, another leader arose, a leader with the fire of anger in his heart.

It was Lucifer who led the Valkyries to victory. It was he who took the spear from the bloodied corpse of his beloved, and he who, in blind rage, slew friend and foe without discernment. This terrible night Heaven lost many angels and Valkyries to death, but the most terrible loss, the one that would mark our future forever, was the loss of Lucifer. He fell to no blade, took no wound and no bruise, but he was lost nevertheless: to pain, to love, and guilt. When the battle itself was won, it was the Valkyries who had to restrain him, and he wounded some before they could. His anger had not spent itself, would never again spend itself, and he wanted what he named justice, but was in fact revenge. Both were denied to him, however, for no one had seen who had wielded the blade that had sapped the life of Brynhildr, and even angry as they are, the Valkyries would not put all angels to the sword. They had seen enough blood, death, and betrayal for one night.

A peace treaty, the first peace treaty ever, was drawn up. The Valkyries would leave Heaven and seek a path of their own. They severed all ties to their former home and would never again use the title of an angel. As a symbolic gesture of their "fall," the Valkyries one by one severed their wings with the sword that had slain their leader, and of them they built a path of blood and feathers to the Gates of Heaven. Those who saw the crimson, mangled wings on the ground, who saw the tall, beautiful warriors tread on them with contempt and anger as they followed Eir, Brynhildr's lieutenant, out of the Gates, had no doubt that all ties between the Valkyries and the Angels were severed that night, that any hope of reconciliation and peace died with the last breath of Brynhildr. And although ages have passed, I suspect even today the Valkyries are not done with Heaven, and with the great wrong that had been done to them. The role they played later on, in the Great War and the creation of the treaties, proves if nothing else that they are working on their own agenda and I have little doubt this agenda still has something to do with Brynhildr and the hundreds of Valkyries who died during those terrible few hours, ages ago. Immortals do not forgive and do not forget.

The angels, on the other hand, were left with no choice but to turn back to their defiled home and attempt to rebuild it. The coming of the Children (the humans) was soon approaching and the shepherds had to be ready to take care of them. Whether they harboured guilt and regret at the atrocities they had committed, I do not know, but I can only hope they did and still do.

As for Lucifer, he took no part in any of those proceedings. Grief and pain consumed him, and guilt tore his soul to pieces. Only Eir's attempt to part him with Brynhildr's bloody spear stirred him into any action, and this was a fury terrible to behold. His rage was without direction, he wanted no friends and compassion, and revenge was denied to him. He turned away from brother and sister alike, and only those closest and most fiercely loyal to him remained by his side, both Valkyries and angels. The main host of the Valkyries left without asking him to come with them, but they made it clear that would he or any of those that remained by him be hurt, they would come back to Heaven and this time they would not leave until all angels or all Valkyries were dead. The angels, however, could not have him and Brynhildr's spear among them, for they knew all too well that he would never again be one of them, never again trust them or be trusted.

It was Azrael who finally found the solution, not in death as one would expect of him, but in Hell. The division of responsibilities as it is today was not initially planned, but dividing the caretakers of the Children into shepherds and wolves sounded like a good plan: the angels to steer and nurture the flock and the demons to cull them and suppress them when necessary. Again, in their conceit, the Archangels believed that it would be enough to remove Lucifer from their ranks, to give him a small prize to keep him occupied, and they would be safe from him forever. They did not understand the powers they had unleashed upon his soul this very night, or the might they were putting into his hands. And it would take ages for them to begin to comprehend, and until the Great War and the Flood for the message to finally sink in. Immortals do not forgive. Immortals do not forget.

And yet, I ask you, my demon... who fell that night? Was it the Valkyries, who were betrayed and who shed their wings and their holiness for the life of mercenaries and perhaps revenge? Was it Lucifer, who chose to attempt to save the one he loved and his sisters-in-arms from a cruel betrayal, and instead lost all he knew? Or was it the angels, who bloodied their swords and spears on their own kin, and who destroyed more than just unity that night?

Stories are never simple, my demon. And maybe this one is not even true, for why should you believe me? This I leave to you to decide, my judge, my jury, my executioner.

Ezariel The Fallen

The Statue

The storm had let up during the day, and the clouds, tired of pouring their loads over so bleak a landscape as this city, had moved on to bigger and better things. As dusk fell and the stars started blinking back into existence, Kaiyu surveyed the landscape from the roof of the library. That is where her chase had ended the previous night, so that is where it would pick up.

She stood there for a long time, motionless as a statue, observing the old, gothic buildings and the people far below, moving like ants to and fro, and like ants unaware of the bigger picture without them. Powers surrounded them that defined their lives, yet several decades of mingling with the pinnacle of human nightlife had taught her to have no respect for their insight, or potential for perception. They were herded, culled and ruled by powers they did not even begin to comprehend, yet every night they mugged, raped, murdered, and plotted against their own with a vigour which had always amazed her. Sometimes she wondered why demons were needed to give this pretense of justice to human existence, when being a human in itself seemed to be the worst kind of punishment. Demons were a backstabbing bunch by design and necessity. Humans made the choice, every day, with glee.

Kaiyu shook her head, the first motion in a long time of utter stillness. The pigeon that had been resting on her shoulder for the last fifteen minutes, took startled flight at the statue suddenly coming to life. She followed its dash through the sky with something like a spark of amusement in her eyes. As part of her training, she had spent three months standing absolutely still on a roof like that. She was glad to see she could fool a pigeon, at least.

She unfolded sinuously and rolled her shoulders. Her fingers instinctively brushed the stiff leather scabbard at her thigh, and she frowned. She had a task to do, and no time to reminisce over the numerous faults of humanity. Indeed, she ought to not care at all: her present charge was no human, and to her kind that was all humans were--charges and prey. She had better prey now.

She closed her eyes and opened her senses. It was a hard mode of tracking; one they knew but never used, for it was overwhelming and unnecessary. When your charge was nothing but a glorified monkey that stumbled through life leaving smells and traces plain for anyone to follow; when they had friends, relatives, accomplices, tracking them was really the work of a minute. Hell, even human police sometimes managed it. But for an angel...she would have to use the full extent of her powers.

The cacophony of human life flooded her like a tide, full of noise and devoid of consequence. Cars roared like hungry beasts; babies keened like dying birds; angry voices clamoured for attention; electricity and water hummed in the walls of buildings like the pulse of a failing heart. She heard a shot, a lover's kiss, a betrayal. She smelled fear, anger, lust, deception. She touched minds and quickly withdrew, for none of them was what she was looking for. One by one, she excluded the hearts, the cars, the voices and all other noises that did not interest her. One by one she removed all the petty, greed-filled presences, for all human minds were petty and greed-filled. She discarded also the focused vortexes of thought of those of her kind, never stupid enough to come close to touching them. No demon would forgive such an intrusion.

Seconds turned into minutes, and many ticked by, until, in the end, only one noise was left. One heart was beating. One smell filled her nostrils, complicated and sweet. One mind, warm, glowing, unlike anything human or demonic.

Kaiyu broke into a run. Even on a clear, starlit night like this, she was merely a shadow, a reflection, a sensation of movement too brief to be noticed. She flew over fences, fell from roofs, climbed up walls, sprinted down alleys and startled stray dogs and cats who never knew what had passed them, but whined and ran away nonetheless, for it had the scent of a predator. Smell was another useful tool in her overflowing arsenal. To her own kind she had no odour but that of night and rain, but to her prey she smelled of danger, of death, of primal horror. And while no two people would agree how those things smelled, they knew when she was near. They felt their spines crawl, their palms sweat, and their hearts race. This scent that was not a scent, told every being with warm blood in their veins to flee and never look back. Men turned up their collars and walked faster when she flew over a roof nearby, women skidded and took a different turn than planned when she was in an alley. No one wanted to be near a hunting demon. It was a wisdom passed to them by their banana-eating cousins.

And as suddenly as she had begun to move, Kaiyu froze. She was on a low rooftop overlooking an alley, just next to the central park. The glow of the angel's presence had abruptly disappeared, but something else had replaced it. She slowly turned her head slightly to the side, and her long, thin tongue flicked out to taste the air. Blood. Angel blood and quite fresh. It did not taste of fear, or pain. It tasted of...determination? Mixed with it was the acrid taste of rust and soil.

Kaiyu dropped off the roof soundlessly and walked towards the park. Her movements were swift, faster than a jogging human although to her that was merely slow, leisurely walking pace. She knew he had eluded her again, for now. She would not find him in the park, but there was something there, something he had led her to. He had managed to mask his presence in the Weave once she was close enough to where he wanted her to be. She could take it for a lucky coincidence, and maybe he was hoping she would, but she had already underestimated him for far too long. She would have to talk to Zaebos again. He was old, and probably had run into plenty of angels in the field in his time.

The bundle of bloody feathers was tied to the base of a rusty old statue of a woman holding a child's hand, a little way into the park. The grass was still wet there, small diamonds glittering on every leaf in the starlight, and a huge birch stood a faithful guardian to what must have been the embodiment of some imagined human virtue or other. The night smelled of freshness, of life and new beginning. At least, that is what it would have smelled of to a human nose. To Kaiyu, all was drowned out by the sweet and burning smell of the blood of her prey.

She crouched down and lifted the feathers to reveal the neatly folded piece of paper underneath. Picking it up, she realised, a bit taken aback, that it was, in fact, several sheets of paper, filled with the flowing, calligraphic writing of the angel, Ezariel. A letter? She frowned at the inoffensive paper. The message was intended for her, she had no doubt, but what could he hope to achieve with this? Would he plead for mercy with his hunter, his killer? Kaiyu snorted in disgust at the thought, and was about to tear the sheets apart, but then checked herself. Her frustration with being led on and fooled once more, her confusion at the angel’s illogical acts, was getting the better of her. Whatever the contents of the letter were, she would learn more about her quarry from it, and that was all that mattered. If he was foolish enough to leave her messages, so much the better. Already, because of his liberal spilling of blood, she could taste him and track him from miles away. A hunter took every advantage. And she was a hunter.

Kaiyu leapt up, feathers and letter still in hand, and landed lightly in the lower branches of the birch. She sniffed the air for any immediate dangers in her surroundings then, sensing none, sat down. The branches of the old tree hid her from any casual glances, and while they blocked out the light too, she needed no light to see these letters. She unfolded the sheets and the pale red strokes glowed at her, clearer and brighter than the stars. Kaiyu began to read.

The Swords

The door to Caim's office was of heavy black granite pierced by red veins that ran down its face like rivulets of blood. He flicked his hand negligently and the door slid away with a barely audible groan. The feat would have been much more impressive if Kaiyu could not sense the Stalker pushing the door. Using one of them as a doorkeeper was...interesting.

As she followed Caim inside, Kaiyu took in her surroundings. On the left wall was a mantelpiece of the same black and red granite, upon which a rough cutlass-like weapon lay ensconced on velvet in a case of black wood and glass. The sputtering blaze in the fireplace cast eerie red reflections on the glass, making it and the object enclosed look somehow evil and demonic in its very nature. Kaiyu's gaze paused on the rough blade—faded, dull and unremarkable, unless one knew what it represented. To assure perfect appreciation of the meaning of the ancient artefact and its owner, a gold-framed painting hung over the mantelpiece: A man who looked much like a human version of Caim wearing a mocking sneer, wielded a blade much like the one in the case, swinging it at the head of a younger, gentler-appearing man. The skies above them seemed to explode in fire and light as the blade committed the first of many sins to follow.

"A beautiful work of art, wouldn't you say? Quite accurate too."

Kaiyu looked towards her superior and shrugged. "I would not know, Highlord. Appreciation of art is not one of my abilities. But I do trust it is faithful to the actual events."

Caim nodded and gestured Kaiyu towards the back of the room. There, two heavy gilded armchairs were placed on opposite sides of a large, ornate, wooden desk, of the type that would be the prized object in a baroque art collection. One of the armchairs was a tall-backed, ornamental red and gold affair, whose arms were shaped like writhing snakes with horns, and whose legs looked like talons. The other, while very similar, had a slightly peculiar structure, with a back that broadened sharply from the base and then ended rather abruptly about halfway of the height of the back of the first armchair. A thick red cushion hugged the top part of this chair's back. Caim gestured Kaiyu towards the tall armchair and he himself took the peculiarly-shaped one. He settled his wings so that their base rested on the cushioned back of the armchair, before arching down towards the carpeted floor.

Kaiyu slid into the proffered armchair. Her right hand tingled distractingly. She flexed it and peered at the spot where her claw had ripped from her flesh. The angry welt of a wound had stopped bleeding already and the itching that accompanied the process of fast healing was starting to make itself known. She could do without it right now. Still, she supposed that for hunting this particular prey she would need her full set of claws.

"Are you all right? I see your hand got hurt." Caim steepled his fingers and looked at her over them with an almost genuine expression of concern.

Kaiyu looked up and met his probing gaze levelly. "I am fine, thank you. It is merely a claw, it will regrow until evenfall."

"Would you say your behaviour outside was strictly necessary? I am sorely tempted to say you might be overdue for time in the Pits."

"I am not in the habit of letting myself get caught..." Kaiyu shrugged. "... and those messengers looked in fact much like a hunting party. Only, lacking in skill."

"So you were ignoring my official summons..." he trailed off.

"What official summons?"

Caim nodded briefly "That is right. No official summons. Nothing of this talk will be, strictly speaking, official. As befits the nature of your task."

Kaiyu frowned. "This rather large sweep is attracting a lot of attention, however. How does this fit with the secrecy?"

Caim spread his hands and affected an air of genuine innocence. "The sweep. Oh, but my dear huntress, this sweep was not for you. We are looking for a missing object."

A furrow appeared between Kaiyu's brows as she studied Caim. "An object? If you weren’t looking for me, then how did you know I received your unofficial summons?" She could say he was enjoying this game. Perhaps it was all that was left to a High Hunter that approximated a hunt.

"Your conversation with Zaebos was rather interesting. I have always thought that old man was too nosy..."

He looked up at Kaiyu, expectantly. She looked back.

"Are you not going to plead for him? Tell me that he is still useful, that I would have to find someone to take care of the Pits if I were to have him punished? He did do you a favour, after all."

Kaiyu shrugged. "He took a risk. Sometimes they don't pay off." She paused. "Besides, you did use him. That makes him useful, to you. Perhaps even useful enough.”

Caim smiled coldly. "I can see what makes you the huntress you are. Do you have anything to report on your task?"

"I tracked my charge to the rooftop of the library. He had left a decoy there, some feathers and a letter written in blood. He avoided me tonight thanks to rain and poor visibility, but cannot run much longer."

"He has been avoiding you for more than two weeks now, is that not true?"

"Week and a half. Seems his senses and survival instincts are better than I expected from one of his kind. I underestimated him in the beginning, based on my previous experience with hunting human prey. I have learned from this mistake."

Caim nodded. "Common failing of our kind. Angels do have their gifts, and I have been given to understand that this Ezariel has spent a lot of time in the field. That makes him far more adept at survival and hiding, evidently. You should have been warned not to underestimate him."

Kaiyu merely nodded. She had her opinion of the leadership abilities of her direct superiors; indeed, of their ability to find their own backsides with a map. Considering those superiors, one way or another, had likely been promoted by Caim, however, she did not find it prudent to share snide remarks.

Caim studied her expression carefully. As purposefully blank as it was, he must have seen something in it, for he said, "Perhaps, should you perform to my satisfaction, I will make sure your orders never come from underlings again."

Kaiyu nodded. He waited for a few seconds, expecting her to offer some comment it seemed, but then continued.

"Your task is rather unique, as you know. This renegade angel has the potential to be a major disturbance in the order of things; he also has the potential to shatter the treaties.”

Caim continued, “You have a brilliant record of dealing with problematic cases. Of course not of this magnitude; but still, rather remarkable. So, you were chosen to deal with this one." He paused and looked at her intently.

Kaiyu merely nodded. She could sense he wanted her to thank him for the praise, but it had been no more than a statement of facts. Caim allowed himself a brief frown before continuing.

"The angel must be stopped."

He reached down and a scrape of wood on wood alerted Kaiyu to the opening of a drawer. She tensed, barely perceptibly, and her claws tingled with the urge to come out. She did not trust Caim. Of course, she did not trust any demon. Caim half smiled and winked at her.

"No fool, I see," and pulled out the short sword.

Kaiyu's gaze followed the sword as he laid it on the desk, traced the rivulets in the ancient short steel with her eyes, the shades of darkness and light, read the meaning. She raised her eyes to meet Caim's. Those mere seconds of self-control in the presence of a naked edge that could destroy her in the hand of one like Caim was the payback of decades of training. She saw a shadow of admiration cross his eyes.

"You know what that is?"

"Yes."

"Then you know your task has changed."

Kaiyu studied the blade again, her gaze running over the steelwork that gave this mere sword the power to deny the gifts of the angels and demons. The Kefara blades were treasured among the undying the way any deadly and destructive secret would be among beings whose nature was the hunting of prey. The treaties bound them to a code of action, that was true, but nothing could bind their natures. The sheepdogs had once been the wolves, and they still dreamt wolf dreams.

Kaiyu knew no demon of her rank bore one of those blades, or indeed officially knew of their existence. She was fairly sure the long sword sheathed at Caim's hip was a Kefara blade, and it was rumoured others of the High Circle owned such weapons as well. But to give a Hunter demon such a blade was to give her the power of death over the undying.

She lifted her eyes to meet Caim's. "The murder of immortals is forbidden by the treaties."

"This case is an exception not envisioned in the treaties. We were requested to take care of the renegade and that is what you are now asked to do."

Kaiyu's eyes narrowed as she sensed an edge to his words, a danger. "I was not aware that the treaties allowed for exceptions..."

"And I was not aware that I would be lectured by a huntress on how to interpret the treaties." Caim's eyes flashed fiery red, and he leaned forward. "The High Circle interprets the rules and the treaties, and we are in contact with the Echelon. I, as a member of the Highest, am giving you a task. Do you presume to question me?"

Kaiyu bowed her head in immediate submission. "I apologise, Highlord. I misspoke."

"Indeed you did. Know your place, huntress. You are good in the field, but that makes you no more than a prized hunting dog. I am the hand that feeds you. Fail to obey, and you know the consequences."

"Yes, Highlord."

He nailed her with a hard gaze for a moment, then flicked his hand in annoyed dismissal. "Take the blade and go. Your task is still a secret. Your possession of this blade is a further one. I trust you to deal with that."

With those words he pulled something more out of the drawer and tossed it at her. It was a hard leather scabbard, black and quite unremarkable.

Kaiyu stood up. Her hand hovered over the hilt of the short sword for a few seconds, her senses screaming danger at her in all the hundreds languages of demons. And yet, she knew refusal was not an option. She grasped the hilt and lifted the blade. It cut the air with a silky swish of sound, and she ran her gaze over its intricate steelwork, to the pinnacle of death. Then, with the naked deadly steel still in her hand, she met Caim's gaze. She saw no worry there, not a flicker of disquiet. But behind her, his invisible sentinels stirred.

Kaiyu sheathed the sword and bowed her head before turning to walk out. Her gaze fell on the framed scene of ancient crime and the old, dull blade. Ages passed, but things changed little, in the perfectly functioning world of Hell.

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N.B. A cookie and ten points of awesomeness will go to the first person who can tell me who Caim is. Kestrel, you are forbidden to reveal what you know. *wink*

Read next chapter at Chapter VI: The Statue