That evening, King Ozz’s army camped in the mountain pass.

Once the campfires were started and their smoke drifted up to join the clouds, Azazel was sure that the Demon King would know they were coming. Surely he’d see the rising plumes and know an army hid in the hills. Azazel wished they could rest there without campfires, but he knew the mountains to be full of wild beasts, and fire was one of the few things which would scare them off.

Every time rocks shifted in the cliffs above, Azazel looked up to see either tail or paw of some huge predator disappear around the corner.

Azazel sat outside his tent at the highest point of the camp. Pages and attendants had worked hard to pitch it for him, at times begging him not to help them with their duties. The roof, if one could call it that, was higher than any other in the camp, and at the top of the central pole sat a golden orb, marking this as the king’s dwelling.

Pebbles and dust tumbled down the cliff sides as archers scaled the rocks to take positions watching over the camp. Each bowman wore a cloak with gray, triangular patterns on it, which made them all but invisible when they lay still among the stones.

The sound of jingling chains caught Azazel’s attention, and he turned his head to see who approached. Lady Calimei drew near, wearing a dress covered in steel scales and chain mail. At her belt rested her wand, in a sheath as if it were a dagger, and on her back she had strapped a crossbow. She’d pulled her red hair up into a bun atop her head, and held under her arm a polished helmet with a chainmail hood.

King Ozz gazed at her with deep affection in his eyes. “Even dressed for war, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, my lady.”

Calimei smirked and curtsied with her chainmail dress.

Azazel’s face turned serious, and he picked up a fallen tree branch to poke at his campfire. “Though… I still advise against this. You going to battle, I mean. If something happens to me, the people will still need a leader, and you’re one of the few fit to lead.”

Calimei rested both her fists on her hips and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“Fine!” Azazel groaned. “You’re right. It’s really because of how I feel about you. You’ve caught me. You happy?”

Calimei gave a closed-lipped smile and vigorous nod.

Azazel chuckled. “Well, at least I can do something to put a smile on your face.”

Her look turned sad and she shook her head at him.

“I know…” He poked at the fire again. “I ought not to be so hard on myself, yes?” Azazel stood from the stool in front of the fire and tossed the stick into the burning embers. Calimei nodded in agreement with him. “I’ll try. It’s difficult for me, though…” He sighed and opened the front flap of his tent. “Would you mind coming inside? There’s something I want to tell you.”

The lady gave a questioning look at first, but decided to enter his tent.

Azazel entered as well, and closed the flap behind them. He gestured for her to sit on a stool while he rested on the edge of his cot. Once they were both seated, Azazel hung his head, and spoke in a low tone. “I told you before, as I told many others, that the gods sent me to be king of Tir Shazelle? Well, I feel you deserve the whole story. You see--”

Calimei raised a finger to her lips to quiet him, then drew her wand from its sheath and pointed it at the tent’s walls. Silver dust evaporated from a pouch on her belt, and a flash of blue light lined the tent’s walls.

Azazel smiled. “Ah. That spell that makes it so no one can hear us? Is that what you cast?”

Calimei nodded.

“Thank you,” said Azazel. “For what I’m about to tell you is for your ears only. You should know, the gods didn’t choose me to be king of Tir Shazelle because they saw me as worthy.”

By the look on Calimei’s face, she wasn’t as surprised as Azazel had expected (and hoped) she’d be.

Azazel continued. “I was a simple messenger before. My job was to collect sacrifices and offerings to the angelic cities. I’d go to human villages and they’d give me food and livestock to send back home. Then they’d hold a feast and treat me as an honored guest.” He licked his lips and, finding that his shame made eye contact too difficult, looked down at his own folded hands. “But one time the villagers told me that there were demons living nearby who had been stealing their livestock. They asked for my help, and… well, they basically offered me a beautiful virgin from their village as… well, to be my wife. As… payment for my help.”

Calimei’s eyebrows raised and she folded her arms.

Azazel kept his focus downward, upon his own hands, as best he could. “I led a handful of villagers into the woods to find these demons who’d been terrorizing them. I was reckless… I had no plan. Because of my foolishness, several villagers were killed. Bigby… Boots… Marlene… and Chip. All gone.”

Azazel sighed. “In a rage, I burned the forest down so the demons wouldn’t get away with it.” He beat his own forehead with the palm of his head. “Gods! I was so stupid! So many things I could have done better! I could have brought more angels with me… at least one who was more of a warrior than I was. But I wanted so badly to prove myself to those people and… to Mad… to that woman…” His cheeks burned red, and he didn’t dare look up at Calimei as he spoke of an old flame. Even just remembering Madison brought back all the carnal curiosities he had about her. “So… when I returned home I was punished. I thought for sure they were going to kill me, but they decided on a different fate for me. They sent me to Tir Shazelle to become king. That was my punishment.”

He waited a moment in silence to gauge Calimei’s reaction. After five breaths, he slowly brought his eyes up to look upon her astonished visage.

“B-becoming king…” she began, her every breath heavy and labored, “...that was a-a-a-a p-punishment?”

Azazel gave her a guilty smile. “It was supposed to be. But, to tell you the truth, I’ve enjoyed this ‘punishment’ more than I have most ‘rewards.’ After all, it led me to you.”

Calimei gave a weak smile in return, but it faded immediately. “You were r-r-reckless… so they g-gave you a n-n-nation?”

Azazel chuckled nervously. “Well, when you put it that way, it makes the gods seem irresponsible, doesn’t it?” He continued his uncomfortable laugh, until he saw that she was not amused at all. The look on Calimei’s face was one of pure dread.

Azazel groaned and rubbed his temples. “Listen… I’ve been thinking about something for a long time. Again, this must stay between the two of us.” He glanced to the tent walls. “That spell you cast… is it still in place? You’re the only one who can hear me right now?”

Calimei nodded.

“I don’t think the gods have our best interests at heart,” Azazel blurted out. The sigh of relief from Calimei told him she’d been thinking this for a long time. “I burned down a forest and they sought to punish me. They did so by sending me to be king over a nation. While they offered no help in that quest, they certainly didn’t take any steps to stop me. Then there’s… well, there’s a certain archangel named Metorael.”

Azazel had been about to ask Calimei if she’d heard of Archangel Metorael, but her widened, horrified eyes told him she knew the name and the reputation that went with it.

“He didn’t burn forests,” Azazel said, “He burned villages, towns, even cities. He’s done it over and over, and in spite of it all he was made an archangel and has retained this rank for over a hundred years. I went to Godsmouth to prevent him from simply burning the place down. I watched, powerless to stop him, when he burned a woman… no, a priestess alive under the mere suspicion that she was cavorting with demons. It’s no secret that some angels have evil in their hearts, the ancient verses tell us that much. But the gods seem to celebrate his wickedness. They reward his evil deeds.”

Calimei opened her mouth, struggled for a moment, and choked out the words, “Raphael too.”

“Yes!” Azazel pointed a finger at her. “You’re right! Ashtoreth’s archangel has a rotten reputation too. From what I’ve heard, Raphael has forced humans into his bed under threat of death. He’s extorted money, food, and goods from merchants on the road. He’s supposed to be the Archangel of Love, but the people of Avlo Wydrin up north cower at the sound of his name. His cruelty is no secret, yet, he’s been Ashtoreth’s archangel for almost three-hundred years now.”

“The p-priesthood d-denies it,” Calimei said.

“That’s right,” said Azazel. “The priesthood denies that Metorael and Raphael… and, for that matter, any other angel still serving the gods, have ever done anything wrong. Father Jasper denounced and abandoned me when I insisted that the stories were true.” Azazel wrung his hands. “Everyone knows it, but the priests are in denial, and they want others to be the same.”

Calimei’s hands and head trembled. “What do we do?”

“I… I don’t know.” Azazel hung his head in defeat. “All I know is we can’t trust the gods… if that’s even what they really are. We have to look out for our own and trust in… I don’t know, something more than the gods. A greater good that is beyond all of them.”

“Enlil?” Calimei asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“Maybe.” Azazel scratched the back of his head. “The ancient verses say Sygin slew Enlil. If she can act against his will maybe the other gods can too. They may be trying to bring him back, but when he returns will he be happy with what they’ve done? All the innocent people they’ve hurt?” He stood from his cot and crossed the room to Calimei, taking her trembling, cold hands into his own. “Whatever happens, I’ll protect you. Even should the gods themselves come to wage war against us, I will stay by your side. No angel, demon, god, or false god will ever tear you away from me. I swear it!”

Calimei rose to her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. He, in turn, wrapped her tight in his embrace, their suits of armor grinding against each other. She buried her face in his long, golden locks, and his nose hid in her scarlet curls. The aroma of whatever she’d used to clean her hair that morning still lingered there. Azazel gently rocked her, silently telling the woman he loved that all would be well, no matter how terrible it all seemed.

But their tender moment was cut short by shouts and screams from outside the tent. A familiar dread gripped Azazel’s heart, like pin-pricks from a frozen needle.

A demon?

He released Calimei, gave her an apologetic look, then rushed out through the front of his tent, his sword in hand. Calimei soon followed, with her wand at the ready.

The soldiers throughout the camp parted, as if making room for some invisible intruder. Azazel blinked, and the intruder was invisible no longer.

In the midst of the camp walked a dreila, with skin so dark the shadows on the ground bent toward him and light fled. His eyes were red as embers, and he held up both his hands as if in surrender. “I wish to speak!” his voice was hoarse. “King Ozz, you will want to hear what I have to say.”