Night had fallen over Malkira’s garden, and the Demon King stood waiting.

At the moment, the jidra were all at rest, having eaten their fill. The slaves sat in their cages, some weeping, some trying in vain to slip free of their chains, and others rocking themselves back and forth while whispering prayers to the gods. Ten trolls, each bound to Malkira’s will by their rage restraints, stood watch over the cages, with clubs the size of tree trunks in their hands. Wolf-headed sentries patrolled the edges of the plateau where sat Malkira’s garden, each armed with crossbows and carrying spears on their backs.

Behind Malkira stood his personal hut, from which the Demon King heard Moloch’s obnoxious snoring. Hopefully, the seer would receive more visions tonight, and Malkira could act with knowledge of the future.

“Your majesty! A visitor!” called out one of the sentries.

The Demon King tensed at the sound of the sentinel’s voice, and the magic tome floated up to hover just beneath his right hand. “Who is it?”

“I… one of ours,” called the sentry, “a dreila. And he has a prisoner.”

“They may enter,” said Malkira.

The Demon King looked on as four sentries marched up the hill, onto the plateau, illuminated in the light of the white, green, and red moons. They flanked a figure in copper-colored armor, with bronze wings and golden locks of hair. The angel walked with both his hands raised in surrender and a knife at his throat. Malkira’s eyes traced up the blade to the darkness enveloping the handle. He blinked twice in surprise and the dreila who held the angel hostage came into view.

When they were about twenty paces away, Malkira raised his hand and said, “That’s close enough.” The dreila and his prisoner stopped in their tracks. Malkira’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the dreila. “Identify yourself,” he commanded.

The dreila bowed his head. “I am Koshek, son of Zalaam of the Western Sands.”

Malkira ran his fingers along the sand-papery texture which had grown on his chin there since he’d planted his garden. “Ah, yes, I know of you. I’m surprised, Koshek. Most of my warriors know this is no way to transport a prisoner, especially an angel. His hands, ankles, and wings should all be bound.”

Koshek gave an apologetic shrug.

Malkira groaned and rolled his eyes. “Who is this prisoner?”

“King Ozz,” said the angel.

Gasps and murmurs resounded throughout the ranks. The sentinels raised their weapons and took aim at the angel. They glanced over at Malkira, awaiting the order to slay this angelic king they’d heard so much about.

“Wait.” Malkira raised his hand, and his warriors grunted and groaned with disappointment. He pointed his finger at Azazel. “Why have you come here?”

Azazel glanced over at the jidra garden and the prisoners in the cages. Pity furrowed his brow, and anger ground his teeth. “I’m here to negotiate the release of all prisoners and your immediate surrender in exchange for the well-being of your people.”

Malkira snorted. “Those are bold demands under the circumstances. Tell me, why should I surrender?”

“Two reasons.” Azazel held up his thumb and index finger. “First; there is the matter of a little sneak attack your son has planned for you.” Azazel gestured over his shoulder with his head. “Koshek here can attest to it. Ra-Gadol has an army in the mountains… umm…” the angel peered out at his surroundings and pointed at a winding pass in the mountains, “...that way. Yes, they’re encamped over there. And, I hate to be the one to give you this terrible news, but your wife is dead. Worse, Ra-Gadol murdered her.”

Malkira’s warriors gasped and murmured. Some rolled their eyes and muttered that Azazel was clearly a liar. Malkira himself blinked twice and shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Queen Jahi is my son’s greatest ally. Maybe his only ally. He’d never--”

“Begging your pardon, your majesty--” Koshek interrupted, “--but I’m afraid Azazel is telling the truth. According to witnesses the queen and prince had an argument in their tent. It escalated to shouting. Then the sound of a sword piercing flesh. Finally, sobbing and retching.” Malkira’s heart stopped when he heard the dreila recount the increasingly damning evidence. “Later that night, witnesses spied the prince carrying something wrapped in a rug over his shoulder. Spots of blood formed a trail from his tent to the place where he buried his mother. Yes, we confirmed it was her when we dug her up.”

Malkira’s warriors all turned to eye him. Though none of them would dare to say it, he knew by the looks of contempt in their eyes that they blamed him for the death of their beloved queen. It was no secret that he’d hated Jahi for years, and he’d confided in those he considered friends at the time that he often fantasized about killing her himself.

Don’t you dare turn on me… he thought as his burning eyes glared back at each of his subordinates. You know what I’ll do if you betray me.

“The second reason you should surrender--” Azazel continued, “Is that the Archangel Metorael has come to help me bring you to justice.”

One of Malkira’s warriors dropped his crossbow, turned, and ran. The Demon King raised his hand and when the deserting demon reached the path leading down from the plateau, the ground under him crumbled. The deserter telped and cried out in pain as he tumbled down the cliff. The looks of pity and dread on the other warriors’ faces brought a smirk to Malkira’s lips.

“I’m not afraid of Metorael.” Malkira folded his arms.

Azazel shrugged. “Then you’re an idiot.” A few of the demons nearby stifled their laughter. The angel continued, “Everyone with any sense fears Metorael. He is both powerful and pitiless. He doesn’t just kill his enemies, he incinerates them. It’s an awful way to go. You may not be afraid of him, but your servants are.” The young angel smiled. “I’d even wager they fear him more than they fear you.”

Malkira narrowed his eyes to slits. “Whelp, I’ve been causing terror since before you were hatched!”

Azazel nodded. “And Metorael’s been causing terror since before your grandfather was conceived.”

“Bah!” Malkira threw up his hands. “What do you propose?”

“I have an army standing by for my command,” said Azazel, a confident, almost cocky, grin on his lips. “I propose that we fight Prince Ra-Gadol and his followers together. Then, when the battle’s over, you set free your prisoners and turn yourself in. Once you’re captured, Metorael will move on to more important matters and leave your subjects alone.”

Malkira snorted. “He’ll leave them alone? Such a lie! My people will never be safe as long as the gods live, you know that!”

Azazel shook his head and took two steps closer to Malkira. “Without you, the Perdition Demon Clan is of little concern to someone as important as an archangel. Once you’re gone Metorael will move on to another clan. Think of your people and their future, your majesty.”

Malkira sneered at Azazel. “Liar! You filthy liar!” He spat and pointed his finger at Azazel. “Never trust a wick!” He glared at his warriors. “You hear that? NEVER trust his kind! I’ve heard the reports of survivors from Brook Hold.” His furious eyes returned to Azazel. “You tricked your way in by offering yourself as a hostage. Then you bashed Lord Raum’s face in. Liar! Everything you speak is poison!”

Malkira flicked his wrist and the dagger in Koshek’s hand yanked itself out of his fingers and cut across Azazel’s throat. Koshek cried out in surprise. Azazel dropped to his knees, his fingers wrapped around his own throat in a vain attempt to hold the blood inside.

“Mal! Above you!” the shout came from Moloch, the seer, as he burst out of the front of his tent. Malkira looked up just in time to see the dark shape of a giant bird plummeting towards him. He raised his hand to cast a spell, but before he could the condor’s talons kicked him onto his back.

Malkira hit the ground hard, the stars and moons above him spiraling in his sight. His head and back throbbed, and two of his warriors rushed over to help him to his feet.

Crossbows snapped and muskets popped. When Malkira finally saw what they were shooting at it appeared to be a man in white armor with rose patterns all over. The knight ran to Azazel’s limp body and lifted him up under one arm while his other held the shield over the angelic kind’s body. Arrows snapped and bounced off the shield as the knight hurried back to the condor and threw Azazel over its back. An arrow pierced his shoulder joint, but the knight seemed unfazed by this. He produced an orange vial from a pouch in his belt, popped the cork, and forced Azazel to drink the contents. Before the wound on the angel’s throat had finished healing, the knight slapped his riding condor’s hind-quarters and the bird took off into the air.

More arrows bounced off the knight’s armor, and he drew his sword. Malkira raised his hand and his warriors ceased their volleys. The Demon King peered up at the condor as it disappeared behind the mountains. He could fly, but the bird was moving way too fast for him to keep up. With rage burning in his heart, Malkira returned his gaze to the white-armored knight who’d been so bold as to rescue the angelic king out from his grasp.

“Your king will still die,” Malkira taunted. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The knight stared in silence, his visor hiding his face. He still held his sword at the ready in one hand and his shield on the opposite arm.

Malkira cracked his knuckles and widened his stance. “Tell us your name, sir. We’ll want to know it when my subjects tell the tale of this battle.”

“I am called The Knight of Thorns,” came an echoing reply within the metallic helm. “My name is not important.”

Malkira’s brow raised. “The Knight of Thorns? The hero the humans of Tir Shazelle have revered for many generations?” He’d never admit it, but he used to tell Nadia stories about this knight. It was said he was a man with neither fear nor malice in his heart. A true paragon of everything a knight was supposed to be.

The knight shrugged. “I am The Knight of Thorns. That is all.”

Malkira raised his right hand level with his chest, the great tome floating beneath. “Well, then, sir… you know I can’t release you after that little act of heroism.”

The Knight of Thorns nodded, raised his shield, and started his march toward Malkira, his blade brandished high.

Malkira aimed the fingers of his left hand at the Knight of Thorns and arcs of lightning flew from his fingertips. The bolts struck the knight and crackled around him, but he continued his advance unhindered.

The Demon King stepped back from his advancing foe, confused. He held out his left palm toward the knight and a stream of fire burst forth.

The Knight of Thorns crouched, hiding more of his body behind his shield. When the flames dissipated the knight’s shield was red hot, but he was starting to increase his pace.

What in Sygin’s name?

Sweat on Malkira’s brow betrayed his dread, but his face was a stone.

The Knight of Thorns broke into a full charge, his steel boots kicking up dirt and shards of black glass.

Malkira waved his left hand a the ground just before the Knight of Thorns and a spike of obsidian shot out of the ground like a javelin. The newly-formed weapon ripped through the knight’s armor and impaled him to the spot. His sword clattered to the ground.

The Demon King chuckled and wiped bloody sweat from his brow. “Thus ends the career of the Knight of Thorns.” He started to walk away, but he heard the sound of steel grinding against rock. The warriors all around gasped and murmured.

When Malkira turned around again, the Knight of Thorns drew the obsidian javelin from his chest. No sooner had the tip left the hole in his armor then the knight hurled the black spear at the Demon King.

Malkira raised his hand and the spike shattered in mid-air. Shards of black glass pelted him, leaving tiny, crimson cuts all over his bare torso and ragged face. The Demon King instinctively closed his eyes, only to open them again and immediately see the Knight of Thorns’ shield inches from his face.

There was no time to react. The shield smashed Malkira’s nose and sent him sprawling back. While the Demon King still staggered, the Knight of Thorns pressed him again. The shield caught Malkira in the chest and his feet left the ground.

Malkira spread his wings and caught himself on the wind. He twisted his body around and beat the air, lifting off the ground in an attempt to escape the knight’s onslaught.

But the Knight of Thorns seized Malkira by the ankle.

Malkira twisted and flailed, trying to get away, but the Knight of Thorns held firm. The knight’s gauntleted grip tightened on Malkira’s ankle, the demon’s veins pounding against the obstruction in their path. With no visible sign of effort, the Knight of Thorns pulled Malkira in closer.

Malkira slapped his hand to the front of the knight’s visor. A flash of light from the king’s palm, followed by a loud pop, and the Knight of Thorns’ helmet flew from the knight’s shoulders.

The Knight of Thorns released Malkira, turned, and chased after his helmet as it rolled along the ground. Malkira collapsed onto the dirt, then watched the humorous scene with a smirk on his lips. “Oh, so that’s why you’re so hard to kill. Ha! Should have guessed that when I saw no blood.”

The Knight of Thorns bent down to pick up his helmet, but his left foot kicked it further away. Malkira burst out laughing, and soon so did his warriors. The Demon King rose to his feet and shook the dirt from his wings. “This is the legendary Knight of Thorns, my people. A hollow suit of armor, bound by oath to a humiliating existence. Pathetic!”

The helmet was just within the knight’s grasp. Malkira waved his hand and the helmet rolled again, bounced off the ground, then flew up into the branches of a tree, its eye sockets turned toward the trunk. The headless Knight of Thorns stopped dead in his tracks.

Malkira chuckled again. “If you’re anything like the oath-bound warriors I’ve read about, you see through the eye holes of your helmet. That’s why it’s so important your head remain on your shoulders.”

The Knight of Thorns’ body stumbled along until it bumped into the tree where his helmet lay. He reached up and took hold of the branches to begin his ascent.

The Demon King turned to his warriors and said, “Beat him.” The subordinates all rushed over to the Knight of Thorns, yanked his headless body down from the tree, and laid into him with clubs, rocks, and books. They laughed and jeered and spat with every blow they landed. The Knight of Thorns thrashed out at them, blindly swinging his fists and kicking his legs. One unlucky demon howled in agony when the knight’s metal boot struck him between the legs.

In spite of the onslaught of blows, the Knight of Thorns’ body suffered only a few minor dents and scratches.

“All of you, stand back!” Malkira shouted. In an instant, his subordinates fell away from the Knight of Thorns. Some turned to mock the demon who lay in a fetal position on the ground, holding his groin in both hands and sobbing. Malkira turned to the four trolls and pointed to one. “You. Crush him.”

“Yes, master.” The troll stomped forward. Foolish as the beast was, it knew to march around the jidra in the garden rather than step on those meat-eating plants and become their next meal.

At the sound of the monster’s approach, the Knight of Thorns’ headless body scrambled to get to its feet to flee. But the moment he’d gotten up, the troll walloped him with its club and sent him crashing back down again. While the knight still lay on the ground, the troll bashed him again and again with his club. The chest-plate caved in, as did the arms, the shoulders, and the legs. Until the Knight of Tstoodhorns was a mess of crushed steel.

The demons’ terrible laughter echoed off the cliffs nearby. Malkira stood with folded arms and a pleased smile on his face. He pointed at the troll. “Now, take his helmet and roll his body up into a ball around it.

The troll reached into the branches of the tree and picked up the Knight of Thorns’ helmet. As before, the knight remained silent while the troll placed his head in the middle of his pulverized body, then folded it over and rolled it into a crumpled metal ball. Once he was satisfied, the troll set the steel ball on the ground in front of Malkira.

The Demon King patted the knight. “No doubt you’re still alive after all that, but rather wishing you weren’t. Tell me, is this the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to you?”

The Knight of Thorns said nothing.

Malkira’s brow furrowed. “Answer my question, or I’ll melt you down next. Is this the most humiliating thing--”

“Yes,” came the knight’s muffled reply.

“Well, it’s about to get worse.” Malkira looked up at the troll and pointed off into the distance. “Throw him. As far as you can.”

“Yes, master,” said the troll. It bent down, picked up the Knight of Thorns, and chucked him with all its might. The glimmering ball of steel sailed through the air, off into the distance, and fell to the depths far below the mountains.

Malkira turned to the rest of the demons present. “Remember what you saw today. This is what I do to my enemies.”