Tal drew his sword and held it high. The others did the same and a forest of shining blades appeared, held aloft in strong arms.
“Rafar,” Tal said in a low, musing voice, “we meet again.” Then, in the voice of a Captain of the Host: “For the saints of God and for the Lamb!”
“For the saints of God and for the Lamb!” they echoed.
COMPLACENCY UNFURLED HIS wings and drifted into Stewart Hall, sinking down through the main floor and into the catacombs of the basement level, the area set aside for administration and the private offices of the Psychology Department. In this dismal nether world the ceiling was low and oppressive, and crawling with water pipes and heat ducts that seemed like so many huge snakes waiting to drop. Everything—walls, ceiling, pipes, woodwork—was painted the same dirty beige, and light was scarce, which suited Complacency and his associates just fine. They preferred the darkness, and Complacency noticed that there seemed to be a touch more than usual. The others must have arrived.
He floated down a long burrow of a hallway to a large door at the end marked “Conference Room,” and passed through the door into a cauldron of living evil. The room was dark, but the darkness seemed more of a presence than a physical condition; it was a force, an atmosphere that drifted and crept about the room. Out of that darkness glared many pairs of dull yellow cat-eyes belonging to a horrible gallery of grotesque faces. The various shapes of Complacency’s fellow workers were outlined and backlit by a sourceless red glow. Yellow vapor slithered in lacy wisps about the room and filled the air with its stench as the many apparitions carried on their hushed, gargling conversations there in the dark.
Complacency could sense their common disdain for him, but the feeling was mutual enough. These belligerent egotists would walk on anyone to exalt themselves, and Complacency just happened to be the smallest, hence the easiest to persecute.
He approached two hulking forms in the middle of some debate, and from their massive, spine-covered arms and poisonous words he could tell they were demons who specialized in hate—planting, aggravating, and spreading it, using their crushing arms and venomous quills to constrict and poison the love out of anyone.
Complacency asked them, “Where is Prince Lucius?”
“Find him yourself, lizard!” one of them growled.
A demon of lust, a slithery creature with darting and shifty eyes and slippery hide, overheard and joined in, snatching Complacency with his long, sharp talons.
“And where have you been sleeping today?” it asked with a sneer.
“I do not sleep!” Complacency retorted. “I cause people to sleep.”
“To lust and steal innocence is far better.”
“But someone must turn away the eyes of others.”
Lust thought that over and gave a smirk of approval. He dropped Complacency rudely as those who watched laughed.
Complacency passed Deception, but didn’t bother to ask him anything. Deception was the proudest, haughtiest demon of them all, very arrogant in his supposedly superior knowledge of how to control men’s minds. His appearance was not even as gruesome as the other demons; he almost looked human. His weapon, he boasted, was always a compelling, persuasive argument with lies ever so subtly woven in.
Many others were there: Murder, his talons still dripping with blood; Lawlessness, his knuckles honed into spikelike protrusions and his hide thick and leathery; Jealousy, as suspicious and difficult a demon to work with as any.
But Complacency finally found Lucius, the Prince of Ashton, the demon who held the highest position of all of them. Lucius was in conference with a tight huddle of other power holders, going over the next strategies for controlling the town.
He was unquestionably the demon in charge. Huge to begin with, he always maintained an imposing posture with his wings wrapped loosely around him to widen his outline, his arms flexed, his fists clenched and ready for blows. Many demons coveted his rank, and he knew it; he had fought and banished many to get where he was, and he had every intention of staying there. He trusted no one and suspected everyone, and his black, gnarled face and hawk-sharp eyes always carried the message that even his associates were his enemies.
Complacency was desperate and enraged enough to violate Lucius’s ideas of respect and decorum. He shoved his way through the group and right up to Lucius, who glared at him, surprised by the rude interruption.
“My Prince,” Complacency pleaded, “I must have a word with you.”
Lucius’s eyes narrowed. Who was this little lizard to interrupt him in the middle of a conference, to violate decorum in front of these others?
“Why aren’t you with Hogan?” he growled.
“I must speak with you!”
“Dare you speak to me without my first speaking to you?”
“It is vitally important. You’re—you’re making a mistake. You’re bothering Hogan’s daughter, and—”
Lucius immediately became a small volcano, spewing forth horrible cursings and wrath. “You accuse your prince of a mistake? You dare to question my actions?”
Complacency cowered, expecting a stinging blow any moment, but he spoke anyway.
“Hogan will do us no harm if you let him alone. But you have only lit a fire within him, and he casts me off!”
The blow came, a walloping swat from the back of Lucius’s hand, and as Complacency tumbled across the room he debated whether or not to speak another word. When he came to rest and regathered himself, he looked up to see every eye upon him, and he could feel their mocking disdain.
Lucius walked slowly toward him, and towered over him like a giant tree. “Hogan casts you off? Is it not you who releases him?”
“Do not strike me! Only hear my appeal!”
Lucius’s big fists clenched painfully around handfuls of Complacency’s flesh and snatched him up so they were eye to eye. “He could stand in our way and I won’t have that! You know your duty. Perform it!”
“Well I was, well I was!” Complacency cried. “He was nothing to fear at all, a slug, a lump of clay. I could have held him there forever.”
“So do it!”
“Prince Lucius, please hear me! Give him no enemy. Let him have no need to fight.”
Lucius dropped him on the floor in a humiliated heap. The prince addressed the others in the room.
“We have given Hogan an enemy?”
They all knew how to answer. “No indeed!”
“Deception,” Lucius called, and Deception stepped forward, giving Lucius a formal bow. “Complacency accuses his prince of bothering Hogan’s daughter. You would know about that.”
“You have ordered no attack on Sandy Hogan, Prince,” Deception answered.
Complacency pointed his taloned finger and screamed, “You have followed her! You and your lackeys! You have spoken words to her mind, confused her!”
Deception only raised his eyebrows in mild indignation and answered sedately, “Only upon her own invitation. We have only told her what she prefers to know. That can hardly be called an attack.”
Lucius seemed to take on some of Deception’s maddening haughtiness as he said, “Sandy Hogan is one case, but certainly her father is quite another. She poses no threat to us. He does. Shall we send someone else to hold him in check?”
Complacency had no answer, but added another note of concern. “I … I saw messengers of the living God today!”
That only brought laughter from the group.
Lucius sneered, “Are you becoming that timid, Complacency? We see messengers of the living God every day.”
“But they were close! About to attack! They knew my actions, I am sure.”
“You look all right to me. Though if I were one of them, I would surely pick you as an easy prey.” More laughter from the group spurred Lucius on. “A limp and easy target for mere sport … a lame demon with which a weak angel can prove his strength!”
Complacency cowered in shame. Lucius strode about, addressing the group.
“Do we
fear the host of heaven?” he asked.
“As you do not, we do not!” they all answered with great polish.
AS THE DEMONS remained in their basement lair, patting each other’s backs and stabbing Complacency’s, they took no notice of the strange, unnatural cold front outside. It moved slowly over the town, bringing a harsh wind and chilling rain. Though the evening had promised to be bright and clear, it now grew dark under a low, oppressive shroud, half natural, half spirit.
Atop the little white church, Signa and his two companions continued to stand guard as the darkness descended over Ashton, deeper and colder with each passing moment. All over the nearby neighborhood dogs began to bark and howl. Here and there a quarrel broke out among humans.
“He’s here,” Signa said.
IN THE MEANTIME, Lucius’s preoccupation with his own glory kept him from noticing the little attention he was now getting from his troops. All the other demons in the room, large or small, were gripped by a steadily rising fear and agitation. They could all feel something horrible coming closer and closer. They began to fidget, their eyes darting about, their faces twisting with apprehension.
Lucius gave Complacency a kick in the side as he walked by and continued his boasting.
“Complacency, you can be sure that we have things very much in control here. No worker from our number has ever had to sneak about for fear of attack. We roam this town freely, doing our work unhampered, and we will succeed in every place until the town is fully ours. You listless, limp little bungler! To fear is to fail!”
Then it happened, and so very suddenly that none of them could react with anything other than air-piercing shrieks of terror. Lucius had hardly gotten the word “fail” out of his mouth before a violent, boiling cloud crashed and thundered into the room like a tidal wave, a sudden avalanche of force that crushed like iron. The demons were swept across the room like so much debris in a raging tide, tumbling, screaming, wrapping their wings tightly around themselves in terror—all except for Lucius.
As the demons recovered from the initial shock wave of this new presence, they looked up and saw Lucius’s body, contorted like a broken toy, in the grip of a huge, black hand. He struggled, choked, gagged, cried for mercy, but the hand only tightened its crushing grip, inflicting punishment without mercy, descending down out of the darkness like a cyclone from a thundercloud. Then the full figure of a spirit appeared, carrying Lucius by the throat and shaking him about like a rag doll. The thing was bigger than any they had ever seen before, a giant demon with a lion-like face, fiery eyes, incredibly muscular body, and leathery wings that filled the room.
The voice gargled up from deep within the demon’s torso and sprayed out in clouds of fiery red vapor.
“You who have no fear—are you now afraid?”
The spirit angrily hurled Lucius across the room to join the others, then stood like a mountain in the center of the room, wielding a deadly, S-curved sword the size of a door. His bared fangs glistened like the jeweled chains around his neck and across his chest. Obviously this prince of princes had been greatly honored for past victories. His jet-black hair hung like a mane to his shoulders, and on each wrist he wore a gold bracelet studded with sparkling stones; his fingers displayed several rings, and a ruby-red belt and scabbard adorned his waist. The expansive black wings draped down behind him now like the robe of a monarch.
For an eternity he stood there, glaring at them with sinister, smoldering eyes, studying them, and all they could do was remain motionless in their terror like a macabre tableau of frightened goblins.
Finally the big voice echoed off the walls: “Lucius, I feel I was not expected. You will announce me. On your feet!”
The sword moved across the room and the tip snagged Lucius in the hide of his neck, jolting him to his feet.
Lucius knew he was being belittled in the sight of his underlings, but he made every effort to hide his rising bitterness and anger. His fear showed well enough to adequately cover his other feelings.
“Fellow workers …” he said, his voice quivering despite every effort. “Ba-al Rafar, the Prince of Babylon!”
Automatically they all leaped to their feet, partly out of fearful respect, mostly out of fear of the tip of Rafar’s sword, still waving slowly back and forth, ready to move against any dawdlers.
Rafar gave them all a quick looking over. Then he inflicted another personal blow against Lucius.
“Lucius, you will stand with the others. I have come, and only one prince is needed.”
Friction. Everyone could feel it immediately. Lucius refused to move. His body was stiff, his fists clenched as tightly as ever, and though he was visibly trembling, he purposely returned the glaring look of Rafar and stood his ground.
“You … have not asked me to yield my place!” he challenged.
The others were not about to intervene or even get close. They backed off, remembering that Rafar’s sword could probably sweep a very wide radius.
The sword did move, but so quickly that the very first thing anyone perceived was a scream of pain from Lucius as he coiled into a twisted knot on the floor. Lucius’s sword and scabbard lay on the floor, skillfully cut away by one swift slash from Rafar. Again the sword moved, and this time the flat of the blade clamped Lucius to the floor by his hair.
Rafar leaned over him, blood-red breath spewing from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke.
“I perceive you wish to challenge for my position.” Lucius said nothing. “ANSWER!”
“No!” Lucius cried. “I yield.”
“Up! Get up!”
Lucius struggled to his feet, and Rafar’s strong arm stood him with the others. By now Lucius was a most pitiful sight, totally humiliated. Rafar reached down with his sword and with the barbed tip picked up Lucius’s sword and scabbard. The sword swung like a huge crane and deposited Lucius’s weapons in the deposed demon’s hands.
“Listen well, all of you,” Rafar addressed them. “Lucius, who fears not the hosts of heaven, has shown fear. He is a liar and a worm and is not to be heeded. I say to you, fear the hosts of heaven. They are your enemies, and they are intent on defeating you. As they are ignored, as they are given place, so they shall overcome you.”
Rafar walked with heavy, ponderous steps up and down the line of demons, giving them all a closer look. When he came to Complacency, he drew close and Complacency fell backwards. Rafar caught him around the back of the neck with one finger and pulled him up straight.
“Tell me, little lizard, what did you see today?”
Complacency was suffering from a sudden memory lapse.
Rafar prodded him. “Messengers of the living God, you said?”
Complacency nodded.
“Where?”
“Just outside this building.”
“What were they doing?”
“I … I …”
“Did they attack you?”
“No.”
“Was there a flash of light?”
That seemed to register with Complacency. He nodded.
“When a messenger of God attacks, there is always light.” Rafar addressed all of them angrily. “And you let it slip by! You laughed! You mocked! A near attack from the enemy and you ignored it!”
Now Rafar returned to grill Lucius some more.
“Tell me, deposed prince, how stands the town of Ashton? Is it ready?”
Lucius was quick to say, “Yes, Ba-al Rafar.”
“Oh, then you have taken care of this praying Busche and this sleeping troublemaker Hogan.”
Lucius was silent.
“You have not! First you allow them to come into places we reserved for our own special appointments—”
“It was a mistake, Ba-al Rafar!” Lucius blurted. “The Clarion editor was eliminated according to our orders, but … no one knows where this Hogan came from. He bought the paper before anything could be done.”
“And Busche? It was my understanding that he fled from your attacks.”
> “That … that was another man of God. The first one. He did flee.”
“And?”
“This younger man sprung up in his place. From nowhere.”
A long, foul sigh hissed out through Rafar’s fangs.
“The host of heaven,” he said. “While you have taken them for granted, they have moved in the Lord’s chosen right under your noses! It is no secret that Henry Busche is a man who prays. Do you fear that?”
Lucius nodded. “Yes, of course, more than anything. We have been attacking him, trying to drive him out.”
“And how has he responded?”
“He … he …”
“Speak up!”
“He prays.”
Rafar shook his head. “Yes, yes, he is a man of God. And what about Hogan? What have you done about him?”
“We—we have attacked his daughter.”
Complacency’s ears perked up at that.
“His daughter?”
But Complacency couldn’t contain himself. “I told them it wouldn’t work! It would only make Hogan more aggressive and wake him from his lethargy!”
Lucius grabbed for Rafar’s attention. “If my lord would allow me to explain …”
“Explain,” Rafar instructed Lucius while warily eyeing Complacency.
Lucius quickly formulated a plan in his mind. “Sometimes a direct attack is not wise, so … we found a weakness in his daughter and felt we could divert his energies toward her, perhaps destroy him at home and disintegrate his family. It seemed to work on the former editor. It was at least a start.”
“It will fail,” cried Complacency. “He was harmless until they tampered with his sense of well-being and comfort. Now I fear I won’t be able to hold him back. He is—”
A quick, threatening gesture from Rafar’s outstretched hand stifled Complacency’s wailings.
“I do not want Hogan held back,” Rafar said. “I want him destroyed. Yes, take his daughter. Take anything else that can be corrupted. A risk is best removed, not tolerated.”