Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus (The Nephilim Chronicles Book 3) (13 page)

The Queen walked down from her raised dais and crossed the distance to Alan and Raphael. She was taller than either of them by a foot. As she approached, Alan caught the scent of wild roses contrasting her muscular figure in a way he never thought possible. “I must give you the aid you desire or kill you where you stand.”

Alan’s heart beat with the force of a battering ram. His mouth was dry as he waited for the Queen to speak again. “I can presume what knowledge you seek, Archangel, and I will assist you except only on my terms.”

Alan expected to hear relief in Raphael’s voice when he spoke again. None came. To his credit, the Archangel’s tone was as level as before. “Thank you, my Queen. You have only to name your terms.”

“If I give you the information you desire, every minotaur will be counted amongst the enemies of the Darkness and we will enter a war my predecessors have managed to stay out of for an eternity. Still I cannot—” the Queen paced back and forth in front of Alan and Raphael as she spoke, “I will not order an Archangel and a Horseman’s execution on the pretense of fear. If I do this, then I require both your words you will hold the Minotaur Nation’s wellbeing above all else. If the fight ever comes to our doorstep, I want to know the Horseman of War and Archangel also named Poseidon will be here to defend it.”

“Done,” Raphael said even as Alan opened his mouth for the first time. Alan couldn’t believe Raphael’s eagerness to agree to the terms. Alan had enough to deal with on his plate. Adding the protection of an entire species to his agenda was not what Alan expected.

The Queen turned to Alan, “I would hear it from your own lips, Horseman.”

Alan swallowed; this was a decision he did not take lightly. All eyes were on him. Alan could practically feel Cratos’ eyes boring into the back of his head while his fingers drummed against his blade. “What is your name?”

The room silenced even further if it was even possible. Guards edged towards Alan from all sides, weapons clenched tight in their fists. With one raised hand, the Queen motioned them to stop. A gleam of intrigue passed over her face as she looked down on Alan. “And why would that matter, Horseman?”

“If I am going to pledge my allegiance to you and the Minotaur Nation. I thought it would make sense to know to whom exactly I am pledging.”

The Queen smiled. Her back straightened and her horns seemed to grow even longer from the sides of her head. The light caught her ivory horns in a way that made them shine and glimmer with a radiance Alan had never seen. “My name is Baymore Lotheria, daughter of Ragmore Lotheria and Leader of the Minotaur Nation.”

Alan gulped. Although she was smiling, her appearance now was more intimidating than staring down a charging army of demons. “I will promise to protect you and the Minotaur Nation until my last breath,” Alan said.

Baymore looked pleased as she nodded. “Good,” she said, “my second and last request is that an emissary of my choosing accompany you. Cratos will be joining you on your journey.”

Alan’s eyes darted to the minotaur who looked as displeased as Alan felt. “He will be most welcome,” Raphael said before either of them could contest.

---

Soon after their agreement, the group was dispersed. Alan, Raphael and a sulking Cratos followed the Queen deeper into the palace and eventually found themselves in a library. The room was stacked with ancient books, most in writing Alan didn’t understand. Stone bookcases filled the room with a soft, moss carpet beneath their feet. Like most of the palace, sunlight flittered through an open ceiling overhead.

“Please, sit,” Baymore motioned to a long table with sturdy wooden chairs. Alan and Raphael obeyed while Cratos chose to stay standing behind his queen. “I imagine what you are looking for is a way to reclaim your powers,” she eyed Raphael as if she were looking through him, “is that correct?”

“Yes, you are as perceptive as you are wise,” Raphael said.

“You can abandon the compliments,” Baymore said with a wide grin, “I’ve already agreed to help you.”

Alan was surprised to see Raphael turn a shade of red. The Queen saved him from any other embarrassment as she continued, “The ability the minotaurs possess to transfer power to one another is contained in our blood. It’s one of the many distinct abilities we posses that makes us different from any other beings on the supernatural plane.”

The Queen motioned with an extended hand, “Cratos, would you be so kind as to bring us a small vial?”

Cratos looked uncomfortably from his queen to Alan and Raphael, “Please, Cratos,” Baymore chided as though speaking to a small child, “I will be safe from them. If they wanted to kill me, they would have already made a move.”

Cratos cleared his throat and nodded, leaving the three of them alone in the room. “As I was saying,” Baymore said, turning her attention back to Alan and Raphael, “minotaur blood allows us to transfer power from one of us to another. This is particularly helpful when one of our kind becomes sick or wounded. We’ve even used this ability to empower a single member of our race to perform tasks that would have taken ten, even twenty, of our kind to perform. When the deed is done, we transfer the power back the same way…through blood.”

Alan was tracking with Baymore’s words but still something confused him. “May I ask a question?”

The Queen turned her dark eyes to him and nodded, “Please.”

“Just to make sure I am understanding what you are saying: Raphael will have to cut himself and Gabriel and use minotaur blood as a link between the two?”

“That’s right. It’s the only way for Raphael to extract his power.”

“And what if he takes too much?” Alan asked worried, “What if he can’t stop?”

Baymore tilted her head to the side as if she didn’t understand the question. “It’s not a perfect science; something like this has never been done. I would be lying if I said it was guaranteed to work at all. You’ll have to figure out the steps as you go.”

“Great,” Alan said under his breath.

Raphael cleared his throat much louder than needed, “My Queen, we accept the means you offer with our gratitude. We’ll figure out everything else when the time comes.”

Before Baymore could respond, Cratos appeared in the doorway holding a small cylindrical glass vial with a cork stopper. He walked into the room and handed the vial to Baymore. “Thank you, Cratos,” Baymore said accepting the vial, “I’ll also require your dagger.”

Cratos stood backed aghast as he realized what his queen was about to do. “May it never be my Queen. I will gladly give my blood for you.” Cratos brandished his steel blade and turned his left wrist over to expose his veins. “You have only to ask.”

“I know,” Baymore said as she placed a hand on top of Cratos’ own. “If there was any doubt, then I would ask this of you. But this is my choice to make and my blood to give.”

Alan found himself respecting the minotaur queen more and more. She was not only fair and gracious but she was a leader to be respected. Whether or not he made the right decision in providing his loyalty to her was yet to be seen.

“My Queen,” Cratos insisted with a shake of his head.

“Enough, Cratos,” Baymore said with a hint of rebuke in her voice, “my decision is final.”

Cratos released the blade to her custody, powerless to do anything except stand by and watch. Baymore in turn wasted no time. She wielded the blade with surgical expertise and drew a long shallow cut in the palm of her right hand. Returning the weapon to Cratos, she made her wounded hand into a fist and squeezed. Black liquid fell drop by drop into the vial Baymore held underneath.

If the act caused the queen pain, she showed none. In fact, she continued to clench her hand into a fist repeatedly until the vial was near full. Only then did she stopper the glass vial and hand it to Raphael. “Go now,” she said looking at them both, “stop Gabriel before his war turns on the minotaurs. And remember your oaths to the minotaur race.”

Michael flew with the forward company of Seraphim and her Death Angels. They were still a few miles away from Golgotha when scouts returned with disturbing news. Apparently, Gabriel was not alone in the ancient castle. Gabriel had announced a call to any Fallen or Dark Nephilim willing to stand with him. Hundreds answered his cry, coming from all over the supernatural plane. There was word that even deserters from Sodom’s army were making their way to Gabriel’s stronghold.

Events of the battle to come and strategies ran through Michael’s mind as fast as his wings beat the morning air behind him. This was shaping up to be a battle much larger than Michael originally estimated. Esther sided up to her superior as they traveled, “Scouts say recruits are still trickling in.”

“Our first course of action should be to cut off all entrances into Golgotha,” Michael said.

“Yes, sir,” Esther said, “And the Nephilim?”

Michael thought about the humans that entered the fight on both sides of the war. These men and woman were handpicked by both the Light and the Darkness and provided abilities to use for their respective sides. “Hold our Nephilim back until we are ready to make the main assault on Golgotha.” With the mention of the human Nephilim, Michael’s mind drifted to Danielle and Angelica.

“That will work,” Esther said, “most of them do not have the ability to fly so they will be behind our main force as it is.”

This agreed with Michael. He hated the thought of throwing humans into the mix. This was their fight to win or lose. When Nephilim were introduced into the battlefield, they were supposed to be agents working on behalf of angels on earth, not warriors dying on the supernatural plane.

“There is also no sign of her,” Esther said with a mixture of regret and relief. “She’s not among the ones flocking to Gabriel’s banner. At least, not as far as we can tell.”

Esther didn’t have to say Ardat’s name for Michael to know of whom she was speaking. Ardat was gone, up and vanished from the Temple. Michael wasn’t sure what he really thought she would do.
Did I really think she would have waited for her sentence? Remain content to let others fight and stand by hoping for a favorable ruling?
Michael’s heart ached for only a moment before he reminded himself of his duties. He needed a clear mind to make the decisions that presented themselves. Wherever she was, Ardat had made her choice.

“There it is,” Esther said.

Michael shielded his eyes against the bright reds and oranges of the sun. Golgotha’s familiar black walls sprouted from the top of a large hill and reached towards the sky with pointed fingers. The fortress was intimidating. Its sheer size was mindboggling. The castle’s mass would be an advantage if one had enough personnel to man it, but could also leave weaknesses in the defense if there was not. Michael was willing to bet Gabriel had nowhere near the numbers needed to defend such a base.
Pride and your reckless nature will be your downfall,
Michael thought to himself.

As Michael and his forces drew nearer, small, black dots that looked like ants could be seen moving towards the stronghold. Exceptionally few of either the Fallen or their Nephilim were granted the ability of flight. When the angels were cast out of heaven after the Usurper’s uprising, they were stripped of their wings. Likewise, only the Dark Nephilim awarded with the power of flight would be able to contest Michael and his angels in the sky.

“Esther, Seraphim,” Michael shouted. Both women sidled beside him in vastly different ways. Esther was attentive and focused, looking to carry out whatever command he might give. Seraphim, on the other hand, had her eyes trained on the enemy below. Her red hair whipped in the wind behind her as her one black and one grey wing beat in unison. “We need to cut off all ways into Golgotha. Esther, you will take your men and establish a perimeter a safe distance from the walls. Seraphim, you will lead your Death Angels and capture any Fallen or Dark Nephilim that are still trying to get inside the keep, but do not engage the structure itself. We aren’t ready for an assault yet, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Esther said immediately veering off to give orders to her lieutenants.

Seraphim’s reply came back in a question, “We will kill any that try and flee us. Why not attack Golgotha now?”

Michael looked the Death Angel up and down. Seraphim was a great warrior and a good friend whether she knew it or not. One thing Michael could do without was her urge for battle. “We wait for night to fall. I gave Alan and Raphael that long.”

At the mention of Alan’s name something crossed Seraphim’s face. Some kind of emotion even Michael had never seen after spending an eternity with her. Just as soon as it was there, it was gone. “Then tonight we will bring Gabriel’s scheme to a final end.”

Seraphim flapped her wings harder to join her Death Angels at the head of the formation.
Hurry Alan,
Michael though,
this is going to all end soon.

“The sun is already starting to set,” Alan said trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. “We need to get going now.”

“We will,” Raphael said, examining the large warehouse of armor and weapons the minotaurs provided. “But it would be rude to refuse the Queen her gift of supplies before we depart.”

“Yes,” Cratos grunted as he entered the warehouse. “And you will need your strength, Horseman.” As much as Alan hated waiting, the steaming mound of meat on the platter Cratos held in his hands made his mouth water. “Eat,” Cratos said, placing the offered food on a pile of shields stacked waist high.

Alan attacked the food with mixed feelings as he watched the sky turn into a myriad of orange and pink hues. The meat was tender and spiced just right. Each bit seemed better than the last. Alan tried to remember the last time he had eaten or slept.

Cratos interrupted his thoughts with a light laugh. Alan looked up into the minotaur’s eyes with a upturned eyebrow, “What?”

“Are you enjoying the food, little brother?”

“Yes,” Alan said suddenly taking the last piece of the foreign meat and holding it away from his mouth, “why? What did you do to it?”

“Oh, I didn’t do a thing. I just wonder if you know what it is you eat so ravenously?”

Alan looked at the slab of meat that could pass for anything. If Alan had to guess, it was some kind of venison but, really, he had no idea. Who knew what animals inhabited the supernatural plane. This was one of the few instances Alan chose ignorance instead of facts. “I don’t want to know,” Alan said as he chomped down on the last piece of delicious meat.

Cratos chuckled again in a deep tone that rumbled from the depths of his chest, “Good choice, little brother.”

“Alan,” Raphael called from somewhere down the many aisles of helms and swords.

Alan gulped the last morsel of mystery meat as he walked through the warehouse to find Raphael. The building reminded Alan of a large warehouse. Aisles upon aisles lined the inside of the warehouse and held every kind of weapon or armor Alan could imagine and many he had no idea existed. He found Raphael looking at a section of an aisle to the rear of the warehouse that housed complete outfits of smaller-looking gear.

“This is the section we use when our youths are ready for battle,” Cratos said with a smile.

Alan looked back at the rows of armor he had already passed. Cratos was telling the truth. With the average minotaur measuring seven to eight feet tall, their armor needed to match their impressive build. The section of the warehouse they were in now was home to suits of armor that looked like they would be big enough to serve Raphael and Alan.

Raphael was staring at a suit of plated golden armor, lost in thought. The sheen from the steel reflected his face back in a way that twisted his features. For a moment, Alan thought he caught the reflection of the man Raphael used to be. His eyes were hard, solid, unyielding. His mouth was firm and decisive.

Silence fell over the unlikely group of human, angel and minotaur. Raphael slowly extended a hand and touched the metal. He let his hands fall down the breastplate to the greaves and gauntlets, then, finally, the helm.

One could only imagine the memories going through Raphael’s mind; thoughts of so many dead by both his own hands and by those of others. The weight of his own promise to never fight again bearing on him as the vow would soon be broken.

Alan was captured by the moment. When he finally did find his voice, it came out cracked and shallow, “Raphael, we should go. I—”

Before Alan could finish, a leathery hand fell on his shoulder. Cratos’ grip was firm without crushing, “Easy, Horseman, give the Archangel a moment.”

Alan felt a rush of blood flood his face. As much as he wanted to give Raphael all the time he needed, the sun was setting. Even now shadows of the oncoming night were beginning to flitter through the opened ceiling. The hour was soon approaching when Michael would attack Gabriel. Raphael would have to break his word and reenter the fight between the Light and the Dark.

“No,” Raphael said still looking at the armor, “Alan’s right, we have no time to waste. This has to be done. If for anyone’s sake, for Kassidy’s.”

A few minutes time found all three warriors choosing armor and setting the various pieces in place. Raphael selected the suit of armor that had caught his eye. The golden hue of the metal transformed the white-haired Archangel into the figure of the leader he was before.

Alan looked on with admiration as Raphael placed each piece on his frame with a delicate touch. With the straps Raphael could not reach, Alan was surprised to see Cratos ready to assist. The large hands of the minotaur were as agile as they were strong. When Raphael was finished, he looked as though he belonged at the head of an army. “Now, let’s get you fitted.” Raphael said to Alan.

“Uh, yeah,” Alan said motioning to a suit he picked out on the same aisle. “What do you think of this one?”

Cratos excused himself to go find his own gear as Raphael walked towards Alan and admired the suit he chose. It was forged from a dark metal somewhere in the color spectrum between black and grey. Alan smiled as the tone reminded him of Seraphim’s metal wing. His heart beat faster at the promise of seeing her again and finishing what they started. Alan knew the level of excitement he felt at seeing her once more meant something far greater than friendship. He was eager at finding out what that was.

“A fine choice, Alan,” Raphael motioned Alan to stand still as he took down the breastplate and began securing it on Alan’s chest. “I know you’ve been in a few fights before but, trust me, this will be like nothing you have experienced yet.”

Alan thought back to his first encounter with Gabriel, how pathetic his attack had been and then to the memory of Seraphim crying out in pain as Gabriel turned his wrath on her. The anticipation of a rematch made Alan’s blood boil.

Raphael finished securing the breastplate then moved on to the greaves and shin guards. “Until we are able to wound Gabriel and transfer the power he stole from me, he will be a maelstrom of power. Even after I take back what is mine, Gabriel should not be taken lightly.”

“I’ll be ready,” Alan said securing the gauntlets in place. Whoever had made the armor was a master at his or her art. Despite the protection the armor provided, Alan felt as though he could move in any direction he desired. He was mobile down to every digit of his fingers.

“I see you found a suit of armor small enough for you, little brother,” Cratos said turning a corner. The minotaur had spent the time equipping himself with dark green armor that started at his shoulders and continued down to end in a metal skirt. His head was free of any helm, leaving the thick horns protruding from his skull free to be used as weapons.

Alan ignored the jab and instead looked to Raphael for the cue to be on their way. Raphael took his glance with a nod of his own. “One last thing, Alan. Do not be so impetuous. I want to free Kassidy as badly as you. But we will be hard-pressed to do this without weapons.”

Cratos cocked his head to the side and motioned to them to follow. “Weapons you say, Archangel? Well, the minotaurs are masters at forging steel. Please allow me.”

Alan and Raphael followed Cratos to a corner of the large building where an entire section was dedicated to every kind of weapon fathomable. It was clear to see the workmanship of each piece was beyond a simple blacksmith. Even with Alan’s limited understanding of weaponry, he could tell these weren’t only weapons; they were works of art.

Cratos wasted no time. As if his mind was already made up before they entered the weapon area, he headed for a large piece that looked like a metal rod connected to an anvil. The minotaur hefted the weapon as if it were as light as a dagger. “I’ve made my choice. Horseman?”

Alan looked around at the multitude of weapons to choose from. There were everything from single-handed swords and spears he recognized to weapons like whips and nets he had no idea how to wield. One item more than any other captured his eyes. The metal was so well-oiled, it caught the last light of the dying sun and showed through the coming shadows of the night. It was a great sword that rested with its point on the earth. From tip to the base of the pommel, it was so long it reached Alan’s chest. Alan grasped for it and tested its weight. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather and ancient runes were written on the pommel.

The weapon felt light despite the mass as Alan leaned in closer to try to catch any familiar symbol on the runes. “It says, ‘Only the strong’
,
” Cratos explained. “It is a good blade. I think it will serve you well.”

“Shall we?” Alan and Cratos looked over to Raphael. The once leader of the Archangel corps looked back at them as he placed a golden helm on his head. His free hand held a trident as tall as he was, its silver and gold adorned with carvings of gigantic waves and mythological sea creatures.. Three sharp prongs all as long as daggers topped the weapon. “It’s not my own, but it will do the job.”