Nimrod preferred punctuality, and his calculations were not amiss. Within minutes, four ghost riders landed on the observatory’s deck born on winged stallions.
Stewards of limbo, they served his master in the vast reaches of the abyss. Clad in the armor of ancient kings as black as their steeds, they were no more than the shadows of phantoms. Beneath their hoods, undead grins beamed from pallid cheeks. The Captain approached him without dismounting and withheld his salutation.
Nimrod knew the Captain was not impressed, but he dared not challenge the Rider. Who knew the consequences if he drew his sword on the insolent knave? He little understood the nature of their powers and he cared less. The riders would draw his chariot through the telescope to the eye and up the ladder above Gehenna to the crossover. They would protect his frame in this plane from the ravages of the space above the air.
The Captain threw him the end of a brass chain.
“The stars reach their alignment,” said the Captain. “The one who wishes to crossover must forge his own destiny.”
Kicking his horse, the Captain led his troop to the foot of the telescope dragging the chain. Nearly riding over the onlookers, the horsemen drove Adrammelech and Hermes back to the edge of the observation deck. They had to step lively to avoid being trampled.
The riders dragged a chariot mounted on skis. Taking his end of the chain, Nimrod attached it to a hitch on the chariot, and climbed aboard. The chain’s other end ran to a ring joining it to four harnesses worn by the stallions. Grabbing the handle bars, he saw the chariot was without reins, crop, or whip. On this journey, he was a passenger.