The Apple
Spiredore deposited Isfrael in the Demons' den. It surprised him. Somehow Isfrael had expected something truly horrific: a seething atmosphere of flames and acidic smoke filled with the screams of the tormented and the stink of the damned. A chamber furnished with rocks and chasms, and with blood-rusted spikes to embrace welcome and unwelcome visitors alike.
Instead the Demons had constructed for themselves a boudoir of pleasantness. There was a circle of apple trees, stunted, true, but sweetly fruited nevertheless, and an inner circle of stumps each topped with a tasselled violet or scarlet cushion. Overhead spread a sky that was only mildly stained with grey-streaked clouds.
The only aspect that was truly unpleasant was the torn and half-eaten body of a dog that lay to one side (possibly the remains of a picnic) and, of course, the Demons themselves.
They each stood between and very slightly behind the apple trees. A silent, watchful semicircle. Four were clad in pastel robes of varying hues, their faces bland, their eyes glowing like gems.
Qeteb had not varied his dull black armour, and trailed his metalled wings on the ground behind him in a parody of the Icarii gesture of welcome.
When he stepped forward, as he did now, they gouged great wounds into the earth.
"And you are ...?" he inquired. He stopped just under one of the apple trees. As Qeteb moved, Isfrael could see that behind him lay the form of the Niah-woman. She was arranged neatly, her legs straight, her arms at her side, her eyes gazing upwards without thought or warmth.
Isfrael walked forward until he stood just before the inner circle of stumps. Qeteb was directly across the clearing from him.
"My name is Isfrael," he said, "and I am Mage-King of the Avar, Lord of the Forests."
One of the other Demons, the female, smirked, and Qeteb make a quick gesture to stop her laughing.
"Lord of ashes only," Qeteb said, and took another step forward, "and Mage-King of nothing but a pack of huddled prisoners." His voice harshened. "What do you here?"
"I have come to deliver you the Sanctuary and all its fodder," Isfrael said. He relaxed slightly. This was going to be easier than he thought.
"Ah," Qeteb said, "a traitor."
"And how," said Sheol, "can we possibly trust a traitor?" She had sidled forward until she stood just at Qeteb's left shoulder.
"I can see that a new world beckons," Isfrael said, "and I merely want to carve out my own niche within it."
Qeteb laughed, but it was Barzula, Demon of Tempest, who spoke. "And now we have hit the heart of it, eh? You want something from us, and to obtain it you are prepared to sell us Sanctuary."
"I am prepared to sell you victory," Isfrael said softly.
"We do not need your help!" Qeteb said, but all the Demons shared the one thought.
Had DragonStar grown stronger than when they'd last spotted him? Sheol's news of what Dare Wing's bravado had done had been more than unsettling, and his disinclination to use any of the Enemy's Songs was ... almost frightening.
He had made no mistakes, and the Demons did not like that at all.
"You need all the help you can get," Isfrael said. "Only fools refuse aid. I am prepared to sell you the assurance of victory."
"We do not need your —"
"You are a fool!" Isfrael shouted, and strode through the circle of stumps until he stood directly before Qeteb. "You've been trapped before, why can't it happen again? Why can't it go one step further?" He stabbed a finger into the centre of Qeteb's chest plate. "What if this land is to prove your grave, Qeteb, rather than your playground?"
Qeteb hissed. "I have learned and grown the stronger for my captivity!"
"And what if the Enemy has, too?" Isfrael countered, his voice quiet, his eyes steady.
"What if the Enemy has, too?"
The Demons were silent, although Barzula, Raspu and Mot had crept forward until they'd joined Sheol just at or behind Qeteb's shoulders. What if the Enemy had, too?
"What do you want," said Qeteb.
"The Sacred Groves," Isfrael said, "and peace within them."
"The Sacred Groves?" Sheol said. "What are they?"
"The Sacred Groves are the most holy glades and forests of the Avar people —"
"We did not destroy them?" Qeteb said, his voice combining both anger and puzzlement.
Isfrael dared a slight sneer. "You know none of the secrets of this land, Qeteb, and there are many spaces still hidden you have not even dreamed of yet."
Behind his visor Qeteb smiled. He could play this idiot like a lute. So, there were other spaces still to be explored and hunted for fodder, were there? And you, with your foolish bravado, he thought, are going to lead us to them all, like it or not.
But he kept the angered puzzlement in his voice, and twitched his fists, to make it all the more convincing.
"Spaces?" he roared.
You metalled oaf, Isfrael thought, the dullness of your armour has spread to your brain. "I want the Sacred Groves," he said. "I want them in peace. You can have everything else."
"The Groves must be very special to you," Sheol said, and she made her voice wistful.
"They contain all that is holy and precious to the Avar peoples," Isfrael said. "The Horned Ones, the Mother —"
