Dawn had broken, but the sun was hidden behind the mountains, and so the land was lit in the blue shadow of a cold morning. From a hilltop a bronze-skinned man watched Vultheras, the sleepy city that emerged from the distant bay. He wore a blue greatcoat and an Atilonian cadet’s cap that fit snugly over his blonde hair, but although he had the boots and the belt, and a gun strapped to a holster on his hip, he didn’t look quite like a soldier.
The report of an artillery gun echoed across the bay. The cadet identified it by sound alone; an Atilonian 4 inch Medium Gun, one of many positioned in batteries around the coast.
One, he counted the seconds. Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—
Fire erupted in the sky and the rumble of that explosion then echoed back against the hills. As a stone thrown in a still pond did disturb the water, so did a dome of blue light ripple above Vultheras. When the energy settled, the water was still again, and the dome disappeared. For two months the Atilonians bayed at the door, and for two months their efforts were humiliated by Vultheras’ impenetrable mana shield.
Based on the delay, it seems they’re firing from about five miles away, the cadet thought. They’ve been going at it every day for a while now, but they haven’t been able to break the shield. The army could hit it with everything they have, and it still wouldn’t falter. I can tell.
The ninth bell was rung, sergeants barked orders, and footsteps thumped down a nearby street. Diesel engines made fitful cries and roused to action. The lonely cadet remained behind a hollowed-out hotel; his blue eyes half-lidded after the morning’s excitement. He leaned his back against a brick wall, shrugged his shoulders and folded his arms over his waist.
He yawned.
A metal door juddered open and an Echokhet emerged from the hotel. He wore a clean black dress suit marked with white tassels on the tops of his shoulders, a white braided rope down the right shoulder, and the triangle of a white handkerchief that emerged from his breast pocket. The stranger was tall, but extremely thin, with a head of short black hair. After he closed the door, he moved to stand beside the cadet. His hands, covered by tight white gloves, were clasped behind his back.
“So, this is where you were,” the Echokhet said. “You were due for a meeting with the command staff an hour ago. The general’s men have worked themselves into a fit trying to find you.”
The cadet watched him out the corner of his eye. The creases of age drew lines on his face as he made a hard smile. “I’m sorry?” he asked. “You have the wrong person; I’ve got nothing to do with the Inquisition.”
The Echokhet met the cadet’s eye with the same sly maneuver, black pupil in from the corner of his eye, as he maintained the poise and decorum of a nobleman. “You’re not even trying, are you?” he asked.
“If it’s you, then I won’t put in extra effort,” the cadet answered. “I’m surprised they sent the Inquisition’s Unusual.”
The Echokhet appeared to sigh through his nose and relax his shoulders.
“Cid,” the cadet said.
“Your office was given the requisite dossier,” Cid answered.
“An angel doesn’t need to read,” the cadet said. “An angel already knows.”
“But you didn’t know,” Cid said. “You never know.”
The cadet smiled to himself.
“How did a bum like you become an archangel?” Cid asked.
“By being stronger than everyone else,” he answered.
“I can see that being attentive and prompt aren’t qualities Achlesial appreciates.”
“He appreciates whoever gets the job done,” the cadet said.
Cid uncoupled his hands and folded the sleeve of his coat. “Since you’re already late,” he said as he checked his silver-colored watch. “We might as well chat for a few minutes.”
The cadet licked his upper lip and removed his cap. He tossed it down the hill and into the brush. As he turned his head, his eyes glimmered and changed colors, from blue to gold.
“Zelaphiel,” Cid said.
“It’s funny how we always seem to run into each other,” Zelaphiel said.
Cid tucked his hands behind his back. “You’re the only one that thinks that’s funny.”
Zelaphiel smiled. “You’re right, we may as well speak a few words,” he said.
“Achlesial wants to suppress Mathematzen,” Cid said, seized the initiative. “And, I imagine, you’re here to ensure he doesn’t break the Compact.”
“It would be troublesome if they decided to send their angels into battle,” Zelaphiel answered. “But, if that was a possibility, I wouldn’t have been sent.”
“Achlesial has sent an archangel for a mission that has no risk?”
“I drew the short straw.”
Cid frowned slightly.
“You know I hate working,” Zelaphiel said. “That’s all this is: Work. If Mathematzen decided to break the compact, I’d—well I’d probably bail out. Call me lazy or whatever you want. There are a thousand other angels that are willing to fight. I’m just here because I was told to show up.”
Cid nodded. “That sounds like you.”
Zelaphiel looked up at Cid. “But not you, right? Not Cid, the Unusual. I’m sure you volunteered. I bet you’re looking forward to fighting on the front line.”
Cid smirked and made a quiet chuckle.
“Tell me,” Zelaphiel continued, squinted at the stiff Echokhet. “Why did your higher-ups send inquisitorial spec-ops? It never looks good when the prison guards rely on prisoners to do their dirty work. They’d only send you when their mission must succeed. They want no chance of failure.”
Cid arched his brow and tilted his head, turned it slowly as if to draw attention to that assertion. “I’m not a prisoner,” he said. “I’m a guard.”
“You’re magical, and that’s an innate sin they will not forgive,” Zelaphiel said and laughed. “But you’re powerful. You’re so powerful they can’t ignore you. We’re alike in that way, aren’t we? Our power affords us our privileges. You should take a vacation, I bet Special Operations will be content to wait while you enjoy some sun on the Holiday Islands. They won’t do anything important without your approval.”
Cid sighed and straightened out, set his black eyes on distant Vultheras. “Are you really an angel?” he asked. “You have no grace.”
“Do you want to test me yourself?” Zelaphiel asked. He shook his head. “No, that’d take too much effort.”
“It never looks good when the inquisition fights the angels of its own god,” Cid said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Zelaphiel nodded. “Then answer my question, so I don’t have to beat it out of you.”
Cid glanced over his shoulder and saw a serious gleam in the Zelaphiel’s golden eyes.
“You’re arrogant, you know,” the angel said. “You think you’re the smartest one in the room, but you can’t figure me out. You still can’t tell how much effort I’m willing to bear.”
Cid’s hands tightened behind his back and he clenched his jaw. “We’re interested in the Eyes,” he said.
“The sorceress, then?”
“That’s right. I’m here to secure her.”
“But, that’s not all.” Zelaphiel said.
Cid swallowed, rubbed the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “We have some information,” he continued. “It’s from an insider, I won’t divulge how we acquired it.”
“Torture.”
“We believe the ritualist that imparted the Eyes to the sorceress may be in the city.”
“The white-haired man?” Zelaphiel asked.
“Do you think Achlesial would be interested in that?” Cid asked.
“Achlesial has no interest in the Eyes,” he answered. “But that man, if he is there? Well, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”
Cid made a slim smile.
“I have enough on my plate,” Zelaphiel said. “I don’t want to deal with devils.”
He raised his hand and reached it through the air. In Cid’s eyes, it appeared the angel’s fingers had passed into an invisible box and disappeared from sight. Zelaphiel retrieved a small carton from the system inventory. He opened its cardboard corner and pushed up a thin tube.
“Oh, please no,” Cid said and tugged his handkerchief from his pocket. He pushed it over his nose and Zelaphiel lit the cigarette with a silent command.
“It calms my nerves,” the angel said.
“You don’t even smoke them,” Cid said. “But they smell disgusting.”
“Every angel has a quirk,” Zelaphiel said as he looked at the cigarette that glowed between his fingers. “Is there a style of house you like? Maybe a bit of architecture that makes you feel warm inside. We don’t always know why we like certain things, but I think it’s from a memory from our earliest days. Angels call those comforting memories quirks; it’s a habit, of a kind.”
Cid grimaced. “Not all eternal beings long for something so revolting.”
“How do you deal with all the mud, and the blood, and the death of a battlefield?” Zelaphiel asked.
“I take a bath,” Cid said.
“Hah!” Zelaphiel made a big smile. “A practical answer.”
“Have you finished with your celestial habit?” Cid asked.
The angel dropped his cigarette on the wet ground and squished it with his boot. “Yes, shall we go?”
“By all means,” Cid said and wiped his face. He stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of dress pants. “They might not go to battle if you don’t give them your blessing.”
“The command staff?”
“Those in command of a hundred-thousand soldiers, deployed on land, by air, and sea,” Cid said and moved toward the door. “Yes, the command staff. It shouldn’t surprise you that most Atilonians are true believers.”
Zelaphiel smiled. “Not you?”
Cid set his hand on the door handle. “Are we also alike in that way?” he asked.
“Heavens no,” Zelaphiel said.
They smiled for a moment before Zelaphiel snapped his fingers. His clothes glimmered and transformed from a plain-looking cadet’s uniform to a noble, angelic white dress suit. His shoulders were covered in gold tassels and a gold-colored braided rope wrapped around his right shoulder. The angel cut a very dashing figure in his coat, pinned closed by its eight golden buttons.
“Alright,” the Zelaphiel said and flashed a white-tooth smile. “I’m ready to charm.”
