At the top of the long staircase stood Azazel.

The bronze-feathered angel stared at the iron portcullis guarding the castle gate. Long before he saw any of the foul creatures who’d captured the castle, Azazel’s skin crawled with thousands of icy needle-pricks.

“Hey!” called a voice from above.

Azazel looked up to the battlements to see a demon who appeared like a man with the head of a wolf. Many more like the first soon took their places on the battlements.

“Who goes there?” called one of the demons.

Others nocked arrows to their bows and loaded their muskets.

Azazel let out a long, steady breath and slipped a hand behind his back with a seleni coin closed under his fingers. “My name is Azazel,” he shouted. “And I demand to speak with your master!”

Though their weapons were ready, the demons did not yet take aim at the angel before their gates. “An angel telling us what to do? Why should we listen, wick?” the wolf-headed demon spat the slur as if it were poison on his tongue. “We’ve learned well from Metorael that our folk what is foolish enough to surrender get killed anyway. Burned alive.”

Azazel drew his sword. The sun’s light gleamed off the golden blade, causing the demons to squint and turn away.

But rather than attack, Azazel placed the sword on the ground. “I am not here to fight. Merely to negotiate.”

“Coin purse too!” shouted one of the demons. “You take us for fools? Cast your money into the chasm so we know you can’t cast no spells at us!”

Azazel nodded, untied his coin purse from his belt, and threw it aside. As the leather pouch fell, the silvery coins scattered down into the rocky depths. It stung a little to literally throw away what most commoners would make in six months, but Azazel comforted himself with the thought that he could retrieve those coins later.

The demons on the wall murmured to each other. One shouted to Azazel, “Both hands! Show us both hands now, wick!”

Azazel slipped the seleni coin between his fingers into the back of his belt and held up both hands for them to see. “I am unarmed. But I dare say, one angel is hardly a match for so many seasoned warriors as yourselves.”

The wolf-headed demons looked up and sniffed the air. With a satisfied nod, one said, “So, you are alone. No reinforcements lying in wait… We’ll see if Lord Raum would be willing to speak.”

Two of the demons from the battlements disappeared behind the stone walls. Azazel waited before the gate. Every time he shifted his stance, he felt the two seleni coins he’d hidden in each of his boots and the two in his gloves. The one in his belt ground against his armor. Five miracles. Well, six, if he included the seleni coin he’d forced himself to swallow (assuming he’d get that back any time soon). That was Azazel’s only defense against whatever these creatures decided to do once they let him in the castle. Knowing no miracles which could directly harm the demons, Azazel’s palms were nervous with sweat.

After a few moments the demons returned to the battlements. “We’re going to open the gate for you. If you try anything, we’ll fill you with holes!”

A drawbridge fell over the gap between the top of the stairs and the castle with a loud thud.

The screech of the first portcullis’ rise was pure torture. Azazel’s soaked palms covered his ears. Once it had reached its heights, he crossed the drawbridge.

All weapons pointed at Azazel as he walked through the open archway. Once inside the gatehouse, he looked up to see a metal screen over his head, and cast-iron cauldrons sitting just on the edge of the screen. One good kick would send whatever lay inside those pots down on his head. Judging by the bleached bones and scorch marks on the floor beneath his feet, he’d suffer an excruciating end.

The first portcullis shrieked again as it came down, trapping him between two iron gates, beneath pots of burning death above.

A creak, and the drawbridge rose behind him, until the sun’s light no longer shone into what had become his cage. Azazel took a deep breath, and silently prayed to all the gods that the demons would not simply use the opportunity to kill him.

Though the sound of the next portcullis’ ascent was just as terrible as the first, it was to Azazel as if a choir sung the most beautiful of hymns. A restoration of hope after a moment of pure terror.

The angel soon stood in the courtyard before the keep, where a great beast towered over him. The giant was nearly three times his height and bore the shape of the strongest of men. A bulbous nose covered most of its face, and a bushy eyebrow ridge shadowed its yellow eyes. Its lower jaw extended forward, and sharp tusks protruded upward on either side of its giant schnoz. The creature wore armor plates almost as thick as the castle’s walls and brass arm-bands on each wrist. Each hand held a sword, the blade of which was longer than Azazel was tall and wider than his shoulders.

The foul stench from this hairy monster confirmed its breed.

A troll…

Azazel looked over the troll, and his eyes fell to the brass arm-bands. Those must be his rage restraints. If anything goes wrong… maybe I can get those loose...

Azazel’s eyes searched the beast’s blades for any sign of adonium inlay. When he was certain there was no glow on those massive weapons, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The troll lowered himself to his knees before Azazel. The angel was taken aback at first, thinking this a strange sign of respect from such a bestial demon, until he saw the tiny creature crawling up the troll’s back.

The troll’s master stood as high as Azazel’s knee, but on the monster’s shoulder he appeared far smaller. Long, pointed ears drooped on either shoulder. A dagger of a nose protruded from his face. Spike-like horns rose from his temples.

An imp? Azazel thought. Damn! Most imps could use magic. That made this far more dangerous than anticipated.

The imp ran his three-fingered hand through what little hair sprouted from his wrinkled head. “I am Lord Raum.” His voice was high-pitched, nasal, and as cracked as his old skin. He clasped his gnarled hands together, like the intertwining of roots under a long-dead tree. “I understand you wish to negotiate.”

The murky aura of evil in this place chilled Azazel to his bones, and Lord Raum’s jagged grin didn’t help. He wanted nothing more than to take one of the seleni coins in hand and call on his miracle early, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough to defeat them all.

“Yes, I want to negotiate.” Azazel’s eyes trailed up to the tallest tower in the castle. He saw the large glass window at the top, but from where he stood, he could not see inside. “I want Calimei freed.”

Lord Raum’s throat released a sound somewhere between an old hag’s cackle and a young cherub’s giggle. “Oh my… you must know how valuable a hostage is to us in our current situation, surely.” The imp scratched the inside of his ear and flicked something orange from his nail. “Are you offering something equally valuable in return?”

“More,” said Azazel.

Raum’s wet breath sucked in, and strings of white saliva disappeared between his jagged teeth. “More? As in, more valuable to us than Calimei? You have my attention, wick.”

Azazel held out both of his hands. “I offer myself as a hostage in her place.”

Raum cackled again. “Oh?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Azazel nodded. “And you’ll find I’m a far more useful hostage than she.” Azazel pointed back to the war camp outside the castle. “The humans there have almost given up hope of ever seeing Calimei again. She is the only reason they’re still here. If they lose that hope for any reason, they will attack this castle, to avenge both her and those you’ve already killed.” Azazel turned back to face Raum. “But if you give her back to them, they will leave, take her as far away from this place as they can. And they won’t dare attack the castle while you hold me prisoner. None would risk holy blood on their conscience.”

Raum raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why are you so willing to give your life for this girl?”

Azazel pressed his hand to his own heart. “She is the love of my life.”

The imp snorted. “The love of your life? You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true,” said Azazel. “Before you arrived, I was in negotiations with her mother and father. I was to marry her. Give further legitimacy to their family’s claim to power.”

Raum scratched the inside of his left nostril. Given the length of his nose, this made for an uncomfortably long silence. Once the imp had finished, he turned to his minions. “Bring down the woman. Not Calimei, the old hag who talks for her.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The troll turned its head to watch the two demons scurry off into the keep, his bulbous nose sniffling.

Azazel waited in silence.

After a long pause, Raum said, “So, why does an angel care so much about human politics?”

“That business is my own,” said Azazel.

Raum cackled. “No. No it isn’t. If you are to be my prisoner, then you aren’t entitled to any secrets at all. Tell me, what is your interest in the politics of Tir Shazelle?”

“I’m not interested in politics.” Azazel waved a dismissive hand. “I fell in love with Calimei and want to marry her. Her parents agreed to it because it will strengthen their bloodline.”

The front door of the keep burst open, and the two demons emerged again with an elderly woman in tow. Long waves of white hair rested on her back, and she wore a calm, serene expression on her face.

Azazel looked her over, at the fine clothes she wore, the golden pendant around her neck, and the smile lines at the corners of her lips. Was this Calimei’s personal attendant?

“Crone!” screeched Raum at the elder woman. He pointed to Azazel, “Have you ever seen—”

“Nana!” Azazel cried out. “Oh, thank the gods! You’re alive! Have they hurt Calimei? Did these vipers harm my betrothed?”

The old woman blinked twice, as if just now waking up.

Azazel forced himself to lock his eyes with hers rather than glance up at Raum to see if he was deceived. If the old woman didn’t corroborate Azazel’s story, the imp’s suspicions would only grow. He’d know Azazel had no reason to exchange his life for Calimei’s.

“No,” said the old woman. “No, master. They haven’t hurt her.”

Azazel exhaled exaggerated relief. “Oh, thank the gods!”

“And, how many times must I tell you?” said the old woman. “Calimei calls me Nana, but until you two are wed you are to call me ‘Zale.’ I’m not your Nana. Not yet.”

Azazel scratched the back of his head. “Right… sorry, Na… Zale.” Only then did Azazel dare to let his eyes wander back to Raum.

The imp twisted his lip between two fingers as he puzzled. “Hmm… old crone…” Lord Raum pointed a claw at Azazel. “Shut it, you! Old crone, clearly you know this angel. What is his relationship to you?”

Zale shrugged. “He has no relationship with me.”

Raum grinned and his eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

Zale nodded. “He’s engaged to Calimei, but he’s not taken the time to really get to know me. Frankly, I find it rather rude, but angels are entitled to—”

“Yes yes, that’s fine, whatever,” Raum grunted and folded his arms. “Well, wick, it seems to me you’re telling the truth, and if you want to give your life for the girl that’s fine by me.”

“Not just for the girl,” said Azazel. “For every other hostage in the castle. Any servants you might be holding in there must be set free.”

Raum gave an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Because… I know my love, and she would never forgive herself if she was the only one rescued. She’d do something foolish, like try to come back and save the rest of them. Releasing all of the other hostages is the only way to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Raum pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow. “You seem to think your life is worth a great deal…”

“You and I both know it is. Frankly, you’re getting a bargain here.”

Raum touched his fingertips together in silent contemplation. “Very well. Strip.”

“Strip?” Azazel reiterated in panic and disbelief.

Raum nodded. “I want to make sure you’re not hiding any daggers, weapons, or seleni anywhere. You’re perfectly welcome to play martyr here, but I will not have you trying to be a hero in my new castle.”

Azazel thought for a moment, then slipped of the glove of his left hand. In a flash, he reached inside and produced the seleni coin he’d hidden there. “Weapons down!” he shouted. The demons on the wall cowered and backed away. “I know a miracle that can bring this whole castle down on top of us in an instant!”

Raum cackled. “Do you now? Do you really think you can cast it before my minions turn your body into jelly?”

The troll raised both of his swords overhead, ready for his master’s word.

“Release the hostages first,” said Azazel. “As soon as they’re outside the gate, I’ll…” He groaned. “I’ll undress and give myself over as your prisoner.”

“All the hostages… except the crone,” said Raum. “I dare say, if you get your lady’s Nana killed, she will hate you the rest of your life.”

“Zale goes free too!” shouted Azazel.

“Yes,” said Raum with a nod. “After you’ve complied with my orders. We’ll release most of the hostages now. Then, when you are safely locked in the dungeons, I’ll release the old one. Fair?”

Azazel looked to the old woman, whose eyes communicated no fear. “Fair.”