Chapter 9

The Lands of the Host

Flying was truly a wonder and a gift, Raziel reflected, as he winged his way after the Archon. They were circling the great mountain that served as the home of the seraphim, on their way to the rest of the angels' domain. Though ragged wisps of cloud obscured his vision from time to time, the deep violet of his guide's wings stood out clearly, and she was easy to follow.

They rounded a corner and swooped over a crag, and the mountain fell away into a valley. At the sight, Raziel was so startled that he pulled up short for a moment – unlike most of ruined Nosgoth, the valley was lush and green as far as the eye could see. So this is what Nosgoth looked like before Kain refused the sacrifice, thought Raziel, fascinated. When he was a fledgling, Nosgoth was already showing signs of strain from Imbalance, and the land was sickly. This valley was untouched and unspoiled.

The Archon was steadily flying towards a faraway structure that shone with a dim red light. He remembered seeing it on his first flight to the Aerie, and he quickened the strokes of his wings to catch up. The trees – trees! – blurred beneath him, and wind streamed past his ears and riffled his hair. Their pace was swift, and before long, the tower loomed large in Raziel's vision. The red glow was still dim, but he could feel a low, strong pulse of magic running from this place like a river.

The tower itself was not remarkable at first sight. It was stone, of course; square-shaped, with a lower rim guarded by crenellations. A walkway ran beneath the rim, and the tower rose past it for several feet. As they drew closer, Raziel craned his neck to look at the top; it appeared that the seraphim had decorated their tower with a beautifully carved dragon. He winged a little closer to have a look.

The statue suddenly picked up its head and hissed at him. Raziel nearly fell out of the air – dragons? In Nosgoth? Unbelieveable. He backwinged to give the creature some space. It was obviously agitated, flexing its wings and switching its forked tail. He nearly fell out of the air again as he saw the Archon land perilously near the dragon, as if she had done it a thousand times. Raziel could hear her shouting at the beast, and it was looking at her, seeming to respond to whatever he was saying. Using the tower itself as a buffer, he flew nearer to the Archon to overhear whatever she was saying.

"Leave off! He is not a threat to us; he has come to help." A draconic snort. "Do you think I'd have a vampire with me if I felt he was a threat to us?" Fire gouted to Raziel's left, and despite himself, he flinched. "Behave yourself. The vampire lord is my ally, and therefore yours as well." The dragon rumbled, and he heard it resettle itself on top of the tower.

The Archon turned around, and saw Raziel peering around the corner. "There you are! Come inside the tower before she" – the Archon jerked her head towards the looming presence above them – "changes her mind." Raziel landed on the walkway, and a large red-black head dipped down to look at him. A wisp of smoke wafted from one nostril, and the dragon narrowed her eyes and banged her tail on the side of the tower as if to emphasize that she did not approve one bit of this visitor. He ducked inside after the Archon.

"Dragon?" he hissed, disturbed. "What is a dragon doing here in Nosgoth?"

The Archon gave a small laugh. "Since our borders are well-protected, I fear that our territories have become something of Nosgoth's wildlife refuge. We did not think there were dragons here either, but there are; they are just very secretive. This one, our large guest, spends her time basking in the energy of this tower."

"She? How can you tell it's a she? Did you look?"

The Archon burst out laughing. "No, we did not, but when a dragon raises an egg on your tower, one is quite certain that it is a she. She was attracted to the steady supply of magic, and she chose this tower for her nest. While the kit dragon was still a hatchling, the mother was a nuisance, and the seraphim who frequent this area often left with singed feathers. Fortunately for us, she is no less protective of her young than any other female, and she torched an advance party of nephilim that Turel had sent. After that, we let her stay." The Archon sighed. "But I am afraid she is none too fond of vampires. There is not much space left for the remainder of Nosgoth's magical races."

"There are more races?" Raziel stopped for a moment, considering. "Kain shaped this world for vampires, and I had assumed that his personal war concerned the humans who persecuted our kindred. Did he target anything that was not a vampire?"

"We do not know." The Archon shook her head. "All the magical races tap the energies of Nosgoth; some more than others. This is the only place where some magic still flows freely. When Kain stopped the Wheel of Time, he stopped the flow of magic throughout the land as well. It is possible that he did not know the consequences of his actions."

"And the seraphim tap this magic more than most, perhaps." Raziel raised an eyebrow. "I begin to see the crux of your problem." He looked around at the interior of the tower – it was as nondescript inside as it was outside. "What is this place?"

"This, prosaic as it sounds, is the Tower of Fire. We use the same elemental magic as you draw on for your glyphs to encircle and guard our lands." The Archon began walking, and motioned for Raziel to follow. "These four towers stand as anchors. They define the limits of the Host's territory. Outside the range of our magic, Nosgoth stands as you know it."

She led him up a flight of stairs and past a detachment of seraphic guards. Shimmering, fiery light coruscated within the chamber they guarded. They entered the small chamber, and Raziel's sensitive eyes smarted from the brilliant light. He shielded his eyes and turned his face away. The Archon, seeing his discomfort, spoke a few words and the glare dropped to a tolerable level.

"Thank you." Raziel breathed a sigh of relief.

"My apologies. You are a creature of the night, after all."

Raziel looked around at the chamber, then asked, "Where are we now?" The light that had so bothered him came from a pedestal in the center of the room. He could just make out a red orb cradled in the stone in the center of the brilliance. He closed his eyes for a moment, and fire filled his head – he could smell the smoke from a thousand fires and hear the roar of flame as it consumed all. Fire danced in his blood, and the pulse of magma beneath his feet pounded like a heart. Raziel opened his eyes again, dazzled. The Fire Glyph was singing in his brain, as if it were sentient and knew it had come home.

"This is the heart of the tower." The Archon spoke, breaking the spell. "One might call the stone the Heart of Fire, I suppose. All seraphim who can tap the power of Fire call their energy from here."

"You seem most proficient in elemental magics," said Raziel. "Can all of your number summon Fire from this source? I feel that my own Glyph energies would strike all Nosgoth ablaze if I cast my spells from here." He stretched out a claw, and tendrils of flame wreathed his talons for a moment. "For that matter, does all the elemental energy in Nosgoth spring from this source?"

"No," the Archon replied. "It does not. Come, we have three other Towers to visit, and time is wasting. At sunset, the Host will gather, and you will come to understand why the loss of our numbers becomes more and more damaging. I will explain as we fly."

Magic was very malleable, Raziel learned. It did not spring from Nosgoth's heart in great streams of four elements, but that was how the seraphim chose to define it. Many other workers of magic chose to shape Nosgoth's energy the same way because it was convenient – stable, understandable, balanced, and symbolic. All seraphim were born with some degree of magical ability, coupled with a particular affinity for one or more elements. Most had a major talent in one quarter with a minor talent in another; a few had major talents in two. Rarer still were talents in three quarters; and a select few could tap all four.

The Archon, he found, was one of these elite mages; it had enabled her rise to power after centuries of wandering leadership by the previous Archon. Turel drove the seraphim out of their territories while the former Archon dithered; in desperation, Pistis Sophia and a company of sympathizers sought to overthrow him. In a magical duel, she'd broken her predecessor's magic, and then she'd broken his neck. After assuming power, Sophia had driven Turel back and established the curtain wall around the Host's lands, but at a price to her people.

The barrier the Archon created drew its energy from the four Towers, but a portion of the magic from the entire Host was required to maintain it. Every time a seraph died, the barrier became weaker, and more magic from the remaining seraphim was required to keep it intact. This, in turn, became more of a drain upon their already-taxed resources.

When a seraph dies, she told him, all the spells that he or she has cast unmake themselves. This was her reason for anchoring the curtain wall to the entire Host instead of shouldering the entire burden herself. If the Archon died, then her people would be left entirely unprotected. At first, the drain of magic had been negligible, but as the angels' numbers dwindled, the Archon bent her resources to eliminating the problem. Hence, her summons to Raziel.

She finished telling the vampire lord her story as they left the yellow-lit Tower of Air. He wanted to ask her why the seraphim had not been able to increase their numbers, but the wind blew the words from his mouth. The Archon was flying faster than she had before toward a massive level plain in the distance, and Raziel stretched his wings to keep up. He saw multiple winged forms convening on the plain from all directions, and he surmised that something momentous was about to happen. A few minutes later, Raziel crossed the lip of the mesa and landed not far from the Archon.

The Host was gathering, one pair of wings at a time. They arranged themselves in a loose semicircle around their leader, whispering among themselves and rustling varicolored wings. Some spared curious glances at Raziel. Raziel saw Yahriel arrive, followed closely by her twin, and they spared him a glance and a friendly nod before turning their attention to the front. Dozens more of their compatriots landed over the next few minutes and finally the last laggard seraph hurried in. The Archon seemed to know when the roster was complete, and she began to speak.

"Greetings to the Host Arelim. We gather again to mourn our fallen brethren – Kochab, Sahiviel, Medan, and Iameth. They will not be forgotten." She inclined her head in homage, and the Host did likewise. Faint lamentations reached Raziel's ears. "Yet we are not without hope – the Soul Reaver Raziel has agreed to help us rid our lands of Turel. Perhaps, in time, he will also unmake the damage Kain has done to the Balance of Nosgoth and save what is left of our race. Until then, I must ask you again to help me bear the burden of our protection, and renew the shield that sustains us."

The Host murmured assent. The Archon sighed, and slowly spread her wings above her head. A thrumming began, more felt than heard, as she summoned the magic necessary for the working. Visible streams of light from her people flowed to her like water, and she gathered it to herself like a magnet. Raziel watched, fascinated, as spirals of energy gathered around the Archon, and soon she grew too bright to look at. He shielded his eyes, squinting against the brightness. The angel burned like a miniature sun, radiant with magic.

At once, the magic exploded upwards in a blazing fountain into the sky overhead. It struck some invisible point and divided into four streams; red, yellow, green, and blue. Each raced downward along the curve of an unseen dome to strike its respective Tower. The Towers, in turn, sent bolts of colored light skimming along the curve to close the great circle they anchored. The dome overhead shone intact for one brilliant moment, then faded.

The Archon staggered, completely spent. Some of the seraphim, released from thrall, fell to their knees in exhaustion. It was long minutes before the weary could stand and stretch their wings to fly. The oncoming twilight was punctuated by tired wingbeats headed home to the Aerie. While her people left, the Archon stood motionless, wrapped in her wings. Finally, she folded her wings back, and called to a splendid dark angel who was watching her with a protective, concerned air.

"Nakir. Please attend us, if you will," she said, beckoning.

"As you will, my lady," he replied. Raziel sized up their new companion – Nakir was a tall, powerful seraph, dark as night with startling, brilliant gold eyes. His wings were subtly barred with gold, echoing his coloration. "What is it you wish?"

"Nakir, this is Lord Raziel, the reaver-of-souls who has come to help rid us of Turel."

The dark angel bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Raziel."

Suspicious, Raziel offered a wary greeting and stood back. Something was going on, and he was not sure he would like it.

The Archon refused to let him get away so easily. "Nakir, Lord Raziel is in need of training in aerial combat. I felt that your warriors were the most skilled, and he will receive no less than the best from us while he is our guest."

"Training?" Raziel hissed, breaking in. "This is an insult! I have been a warrior for a millennium, and I have no further need of combat training! I am no ignorant fledgling!"

"You are not inexperienced, but you certainly are a fledgling as far as wings are concerned," the Archon remarked wryly. "How long have you been winged – a few weeks? Your landings are imprecise and you need more practice in adverse wind conditions."

Raziel glowered. He remembered all too well the embarrassing moment where he had stalled midair in front of Yahriel. He did not care to repeat it.

"I do not need to be taught how to fight," he growled, through clenched teeth.

"No, but you do need to be taught how to adapt your style to midair," she retorted. "There is no better teacher than my most trusted general. I cannot force you to do this, but I do feel it is necessary."

"I will…consider it," Raziel said, grudgingly.

"Good." The Archon looked tired. "I need rest. We will meet again later." She wearily walked to the edge of the plateau and launched herself off, leaving only Nakir. The dark angel grinned at Raziel, as if in camaraderie.

"So, we will be seeing you tomorrow, at sun's zenith then?" he said.

"Perhaps."

"Should you wish to join my band of hunters, you might want to meet us on the east side of the Aerie."

"I will think about it."

The dark angel spread his black wings, lazily. "Once we are through with you, you can help us hunt Turelim, if you like. Hunting on the wing is most enjoyable."

"One can only imagine."

Nakir eyed the sullen vampire lord. "Not much for words, are you? As you wish. You won't need them. We'll be seeing you."

The dark angel took off, blending into the gathering dusk. Raziel scowled, and took to the air himself. He had no need of sleep, and the wooded areas below still held his curiosity. Night was falling swiftly, and he was feeling more like himself – a creature of the night, ruthless and deadly. Raziel's talons flexed convulsively. Perhaps there was good hunting below him, just for the thrill of the chase. He no longer needed fresh blood, but the cup he had drunk in the Archon's quarters tasted as good as it ever had. Raziel began to spiral lower, searching the forest for signs of movement on silent wings.

Flying lessons, pah! He would do just as well without them.

He dipped lower to skim the treetops, his night-adjusted eyes making the landscape clear as day. A steady breeze blew as the land cooled. It was most enjoyable, and Raziel closed his eyes for a moment in bliss. The air was alive with the scents of living things, warm-blooded. He stretched his wings a little farther.

The wind under his wings grew rough, and Raziel began to bounce. Alarmed, he tried to correct, and dropped dangerously close to the treetops. He broke through a few branches and plowed through the foliage of a particularly tall tree before he gained enough altitude to clear the forest. Pride battered, Raziel looked for a clearing where he could start his hunt and forget his ignominious attempt at acrobatics.

The trees gave way near a stream, and he landed, not without a slight stumble. As Raziel settled his wings, he heard a low laugh from above him. Nakir wheeled on the night breeze, serene. He called down, "Perhaps you should think harder about joining us tomorrow. Until then, reaver-of-souls!"

Damn him! thought Raziel, furious. He shadowed me all the way from the plain! His rage exploded for a moment, then faded to a seethe as he considered how completely unaware he had been of the general's presence. Perhaps there is something to be learned here after all, he thought. Perhaps.

That was for tomorrow. For now, the night was young, and a vampire prowled the lands of the Host. The secrets in the woods beckoned.