Fire Angels

Chapter 23 Part 1 The politics of demons

I jerked awake and sat up quickly. It was silent - a deep heavy silence. I had been lying in a great bed under a rich red silk quilt and linen sheets the yellowed color of old cream. The bed was opulently hung with silken curtains and long silken cords with tassels. Beyond it the room was dim, but cozy with a warm light like fire light. Fire Angels? No. I was alone in this tall luxurious chamber.

What was this? I was clean and wearing soft linen. Shouldn't I be bloody and covered in scratches and filth? Had I dreamed that desperate battle with the Fire Angels and the horrible flight afterwards? Had I been rescued as I slept? I rubbed my face hard, trying to awaken my addled wits. After some moments I noticed the chill of iron against my forearms. A pair of delicate iron bracelets hung lightly on my wrists - witch manacles for all their fine design. At my neck was a smooth iron collar. It fitted tightly but not uncomfortably. Touching it, I had a vision of a fist tightening and squeezing the breath out of me. Quickly I pushed the thought away.

Where on earth was I?

I slid my feet over the side of the bed. Though there were rich carpets on the floor, the floor beside the bed was icy cold marble that sent a chill up my legs. I was overwhelmed by a deep bone-shaking tiredness.

Suddenly the doors of the room flew open and the room was filled with chill silver light.

"Ah my Queen you are awake!" said a voice.

It was Darmen Stalker and behind him floated two trays which set themselves upon a nearby table. Darmen Stalker! I remembered his face looming over me as I had lain exhausted on the floor surrounded by mocking demons. I lacked the strength to do more than glower at him from under the heavy weight of my exhaustion.

He clapped his hands.

"Back into bed," he said. "You have dangerously exhausted yourself and you must rest, my dear Queen." His voice had a kind of delighted sneering tone to it, especially when he said the words, my dear Queen.

I did as he said because I was fairly certain I'd fall over if I tried to get up. It seemed wise to marshal my strength for the moment.

As I lay back down, the quilts and pillows moved around me as if straightened by invisible hands. I was startled, though I tried not to gratify the closely watching Stalker by reacting. Meanwhile the trays unloaded themselves onto the table, covers lifted themselves off food and tea poured itself into a cup. It looked as if the room was full of invisible servants, but I was pretty sure Stalker was doing all these things himself. A white cloth trailed through the air like a solitary ghost and arranged itself on my lap. I watched apprehensively as a tea-cup glided towards me. A necromancer might get a great deal of pleasure from seeing scalding tea spill "accidentally" over a person. I caught the tea-cup safely enough however and the food which followed tasted good and did not contain any unpleasant surprises.

Darmen Stalker leaned against the bed post and watched me with a benign look on his face. As well he might. Was he already tapping me for my power? Was that why I felt so exhausted?

"You will have to rest and let us take care of you," he said. "You almost killed yourself struggling against my Angels. Very foolish."

I felt a kind of detachment born of my tiredness and the deep unreality of the situation. I knew I should be afraid, but instead I sipped my tea and asked conversationally,

"So they are your Angels. You're not just a messenger."

He smiled pleasantly. "No indeed. I, and no other, am the one you so poetically call the Great Destroyer. Is it not appalling to think how you of the White Colleges have let me slip in and out of your net?"