Azazel clutched his aching throat in one hand and the condor’s saddle with the other.

Strix’s flight was erratic, and tree branches smacked and scraped Azazel’s face. Pine needles and dried leaves burst into plumes around them as the giant bird descended into the forests in the foothills of the Obsidian Mountains.

“Go back!” Azazel cried, his voice croaking. “He’s in trouble! Go back!” He removed his hand from his own throat, grasped the reins, and pulled, but the condor stayed on his own course, loyal to its true master’s orders. The bird’s feet hit the ground with a sudden thump, and Azazel slipped off Strix’s back, onto the rocky ground below. “Ow!”

Strix folded his wings and twisted his head around to preen the feathers on his back.

Azazel pushed himself up to his feet and limped toward the condor. “You rotten buzzard...” he rasped and shook his fist.

Strix hissed loudly at Azazel and snapped its beak, causing the angel to jump back and trip over a protruding root. The young king collapsed onto something foul-smelling on the forest floor, which he prayed was merely sulphurous mud rather than something far more likely and vile. For a moment, Azazel floundered on the ground in a panic to get away from whatever the awful stuff was.

Eventually he got to his feet. “Stupid oversized chicken…”

“From what I could tell, he saved your hide.”

The voice startled Azazel, and he raised his fists to defend himself.

From behind the trees nearby, Law stepped into view, holding his own hat over his heart. “Easy now, boy. It’s me.” Smoke slipped out from behind his teeth, around the cigar between his lips.

Azazel lowered his fists. “Oh, Law… were you following me?”

“I was just in the neighborhood, so to speak.” Law replaced his hat on his head, folded his arms, and leaned against the trunk of the nearest tree. “I gotta say, you got sand, boy.”

“Sand?” Azazel gave a confused look.

“Yeah, sand,” said Law. “You know… grit, chutzpah, guts, spine, balls. Whatever you wanna call it. You let a demon pretend to take you hostage so you could negotiate with Malkira face to face. That’s sand.”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Umm, thanks. Look, the Knight of Thorns is still up there fighting Malkira. I’m going back for him. Will you come with me?”

Law shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid Thorns already lost that fight.”

Azazel gasped. “Oh, gods! He’s been killed!”

“No!” Law raised both hands in a gesture to calm him down. “No, not dead. He’s humiliated, but not dead. He’d have to be melted down to be dead.” Azazel breathed a sigh of relief and Law continued. “The Demon King had him crumpled up and thrown off the mountain.” A surprised click sounded from the back of Azazel’s throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll go get ‘im, but I suggest you lead your army up to the mesa to avenge him.”

Azazel rubbed his own temples. “I know I should, but Malkira’s son is waiting up in the mountains, ready to ambush us when we arrive. If I lead my soldiers there they’ll be slaughtered.”

Law withdrew his cigar from his teeth and gestured at Azazel with it. “I’m sure you can think of a way to turn all this mess to your advantage. Just use a little strategy.”

“Strategy, hmm?” Azazel grunted. “Do you have one for me?”

Law smirked. “As a matter of fact, I might…”