Four riders crossed the countryside of Tir Shazelle together.

The bright sun warmed them all day, filling their hearts with soothing hope that their venture would fare well. Golden fields of wheat, barley, and rye stood as sentinels on either side of the road. A breeze caused those crops to shimmer, and the stalks danced together in a graceful flow. Far off in the distance, friendly farmers raised their hands to wave to Azazel and his companions.

According to Father Jasper, their first goal was to recruit the loyalty of the famed Knight of Thorns, a mysterious warrior who’d shown his face only to his closest servants.

“Time and again, the Knight of Thorns has ridden in on his own to rescue innocent villagers from attacks by brigands and demons. The peasants cheer whenever they see the rose upon his shield and the barbs upon his armor! If such a hero swears fealty to you, then the common people will surely do the same.”

“The Knight of Thorns lives in Briar Hold, a castle which has never fallen to siege or invasion.”

But soon the sky grew flushed red as the sun hid its face behind the horizon’s hills. Briar Hold was still many hours’ ride.

“Father Jasper,” called Azazel over the sound of the horses’ hoofbeats. “Where can we rest our heads? Is there a town nearby?”

“Indeed.” Jasper pointed his bony finger down a road heading south. “Duncaster lies down this path. It’s not more than half an hour away. In fact, it might prove fortuitous to visit them, for they supply food and lumber to the local adonium mines!”

Azazel said no more, but merely pulled the reins to redirect his horse down the road to Duncaster.

A rushing stream ran beside the road, and fish leapt from under the glassy surface of the water. Deer beside the riverbanks looked up at the four riders, then turned and bounded off into the cover of the nearby trees.

Just as Azazel turned his head back to ensure that he’d not lost any of his companions, a low-flying crow crashed into the Silent Swordsman’s helmet. The Silent Swordsman shrieked and flailed to brush the black bird away.

That was a surprisingly high voice…

Azazel might have thought an embarrassingly high voice to be the reason the Silent Swordsman never spoke, were it not for the look of confusion on Neji’s face.

Azazel’s eyes narrowed and at the pull of his reins his horse trotted up to the Silent Swordsman. “Lift your visor,” he commanded.

The Silent Swordsman stared at him through the eye-slits and said nothing.

Neji rode up beside Azazel. “You heard his majesty, darling. Do as you’ve been commanded.”

The Silent Swordsman sighed and hung his shoulders in defeat, then raised the visor to reveal the smudged and dirty face of an eleven-year-old girl.

Azazel’s eyebrows raised. “I… I’m guessing you’re not the Silent Swordsman?”

“No, my dear,” said Neji, “That’s Ember.”

“Ember?” Azazel repeated. “Ah! Ember! The mechanic. We’ve met before.”

“Dear girl,” Neji giggled, “are you so enthralled with playing dress-up that you would steal the Silent Swordsman’s armor? Are you proud that you made fools of us?”

Ember responded with an indignant, “No. I’m not playing anything. You need me.”

“I need you?” said Azazel, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes,” said Ember. “Me and my automatons. We’ll be much more help to you than the Silly Swordsman would have been.”

“No.” Azazel shook his head. “We don’t know what kinds of dangers we may face on the road. I will not take you into harm’s way. Go back to Brook Hold.”

Ember pouted. “You think I’ll be any safer riding back to Brook Hold on my own?”

Azazel turned to Father Jasper. “She has a point. Father, ride with her back to Brook Hold. We’ll stay in Duncaster up ahead until you return.”

Ember chuckled. “Sure, you can send me home with the priest, but once I’m back there’s nothing to stop me from sneaking out and finding you again. No four walls can contain me, you can bet yer ass on that!”

“Such crass language!” Neji gasped with a hand over her heart.

Ember rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop being such a prissy bitch!”

Azazel fought to suppress a snicker at the look on Neji’s face. “Ember, I appreciate that you want to help, but I… I can’t risk your life.”

Ember made a mocking face, then said, “What makes you think I’m any safer at Brook Hold? Think about it. Just a few weeks ago we were overrun by demons, and they held the castle until you came and took it back. My bet is, I’m far safer with you than I am there.”

“You have a point, but…” Azazel’s brain searched for any possible argument he could offer in return, but nothing came to mind. She might very well be right. At the moment the demons in the area had little real reason to hunt for Azazel, but they might want Brook Hold back. They were more likely to be attacked at the castle than on the road.

“Besides…” a mischievous smile crossed Ember’s lips, “I’m one of Lady Calimei’s closest friends. If you want to learn more about her you need only ask…”

. . .

Once the four of them passed over the rolling hills, Azazel spotted the outskirts of Duncaster.

A palisade of wooden spikes surrounded the town, and two guard towers flanked the main gate. The gate itself stood as high as a man’s chest, and upon it was written a list of rules.

Don’t start fights. Don’t take stuff that isn’t yours. Except in the tavern, no one is to be loud or disorderly after sundown.

Azazel chuckled at the decrees and rode up to the closed gate. The guards in either tower held longbows, and both nocked arrows to the strings, though they did not raise their weapons. “Who goes…”

Without a word, Azazel spread his wings a little wider for the guards to see.

“Oh! By the gods! A heavenly guest!”

One of the two guards dropped his bow and scrambled down the ladder to the gate. Once Azazel and his three companions had entered the town, they dismounted and tied off their horses to wooden posts nearby.

Well, Azazel, Neji, and Jasper tied off their horses. Ember looked her automaton bull in the eye and said, “Sit.” With grinding gears and screeching joints the bull did so.

Sparkling stars covered the night sky, and all three moons waxed.

In the town’s dark streets, only one building stood as a glowing beacon, drawing all eyes to it: the tavern. Through the windows gleamed the light of this place of debauchery and revelry. Azazel looked up to the building’s second story, where the windows were dark, and each covered in tattered curtains.

So, the tavern is also an inn. It’s a wonder any travelers get sleep here.

Azazel approached the tavern. From inside he could hear bustling conversation, raucous laughter, and instruments playing folk music. When he pushed open the front door and entered, the sounds within became almost deafening. The air hung thick with the smells of tobacco smoke and alcohol.

“Ha ha!” one patron cried out over all the others. The burly man stood and pointed his finger at the younger man he’d apparently just beaten at cards.

Over by the fireplace sat a collection of fur-covered chairs, each with strong, bearded men sitting within. Upon the wall above them were the heads of many dangerous monsters, their lips pulled back to reveal fearsome teeth. Their eyes now beads of glass.

All came to a sudden halt when the crowd took notice of the angel in their midst, and his strange companions. The only sounds now were those of the fireplace, the wind outside, and the creak of the floorboards as those further from Azazel strained to look over the shoulders of their fellow drunkards.

Behind the bar stood a man with black hair, a curled mustache, and arms far larger than Azazel’s thighs. As the four approached him, he cleaned a pint-sized stein made of wood and pewter.

When Azazel stopped in front of a bar stool, the inn-keeper rested his massive, calloused hands on the counter and said, “I’m afraid we’ve no wine. You want beer, ale, or whiskey?” in a voice richer than the darkest chocolate.

“Beer,” said Azazel, feigning confidence in his choice. He’d never tried beer before. They didn’t serve it in the angelic cities, and villagers rarely gave it as an offering.

The inn-keeper took a new mug from the shelf behind him, tilted it under one of the kegs on the counter, and turned the handle. The mug filled up with a bronze-colored liquid, and foam poured over the lip. Once the mug was full, he slid it across the counter to Azazel.

The angel took the mug by the handle, raised it high, and said, “Praise be to Nebo, god of science and alchemy, for teaching us how to brew beer!”

“Praise be…” the crowd murmured.

Azazel leaned his head back and gulped down the contents of the mug. All around him, the nervous faces began to smile one by one. When the mug was empty, Azazel slammed it down on the bar and said, “I love it!”

“Good,” said the inn-keeper.

The crowd erupted into applause, and the music started up again. Patrons resumed their boisterous conversations and games of chance. A serving wench stumbled and dropped an empty glass to shatter on the stone floor.

“My name is Strato,” said the inn-keeper, as he filled another mug. “What brings you here, master? I would assume you were here for an offering, were it not for your… well… more grounded companions.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Strato,” said Azazel. “Actually, I am here because I seek the Knight of Thorns.”

“Ah.” Strato curled the end of his mustache between two enormous fingers. “Well, Briar Hold is another day’s walk yet. You’d probably reach it easier if you flew.”

“Yes, but I’d prefer to have my companions with me.” As Azazel said it, he turned his head to his companions, only to discover they were no longer right beside him. Across the tavern, he spotted Neji flirting with the men seated by the fireplace and Ember at the card table placing bets. Father Jasper wasn’t in the tavern anymore. It took Azazel a long search to discover the undead priest stood outside the tavern, his skeletal face peering in one of the windows. Those who sat closest to the window did their best to avoid eye-to-eye-socket contact with Jasper’s frightening features.

“You travel with two mortals and an undead priest…” Strato smoothed out the middle of his mustache, just above his lip. “Oh! Does that mean you’re hunting an evil creature? I have a blunderbuss, so I’d be glad to help!”

“No, nothing like that!” said Azazel. “Though, it’s good to know I can count on you in a crisis.”

Strato poured another mug of beer and slid it over to Azazel.

The angel took a sip. With foam on his lip he continued, “Actually, Father Jasper out there,” he gestured to the priest, “has just declared me King of Tir Shazelle.”

After a moment of silent questions, the bar-tender’s eyes widened, and he bowed his head. “My liege!”

“Lift your head,” said Azazel, and the inn-keeper did so. “Anyway, we need a place to stay the night. How much do you charge for a room?”

Strato snorted and raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t dream of charging you to sleep in one of the rooms upstairs…”

“I insist, good man,” said Azazel.

“No, you don’t understand.” Strato pointed at the ceiling above him. “There are no actual beds up there. Travelers usually sleep on bedrolls. Rooms are cheap for that reason, but for a king? And one who’s lived in the heavenly cities? That’s unacceptable! I would much rather give you my own bed, then—”

“Are you married?” Azazel interrupted.

“What?”

“Do you have a wife?”

“Yes, I do.”

Azazel shook his head. “I will not sleep in the bed you and your wife share. That is for the two of you, no one else.”

Strato stared at Azazel with a mix of gratitude and confusion. “That’s not what the Ashtoreth priestesses teach…”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Yes, those loyal to Ashtoreth say love should be shared by all with all through all in all from all… I am an angel of Seth, the god of justice. Seth teaches that man and wife are one and shall not share their bed with strangers. I will sleep in one of your guest rooms.”

Strato scratched the back of his head. “Well… I’d still feel guilty charging you…”

“Then I will sleep there free of charge,” said Azazel. “And I will remember this kindness you’ve shown me.”

Amidst all the other noise of the tavern, Azazel heard swiftly-approaching footsteps. Instinctively, he moved to draw his sword, but a strong hand clasped his wrist. Hot breath tickled in his ear, breath which smelled of copper. “Don’t get too tippled, my dear. There’s a demon about.”

“Neji?” he muttered and turned to face the demon-slayer. “A demon here?” he whispered back. “How do you know?”

“I have nosed his blood,” whispered Neji with a finger against one nostril. “But with so many blokes around…” her eyes searched the crowd, then returned to Azazel. “I cannot tell which of these chaps is the demon.”

“Strange…” Azazel stroked his own chin. “I can normally sense demons’ presence, but I haven’t sensed them here…”

Neji shrugged.

Azazel looked over the crowd as well, hunting for any sign of fangs, claws, red eyes, or any other feature which might give away the demon who’d infiltrated the town. “Take Ember and Father Jasper upstairs, to one of the guest rooms. Tell them they are to wait up there while we investigate. We’ll find this demon.”