The Black Canary: Soliloquy

Around the summoning circle, the snows of Icewind Dale melted as flames blazed from the ground, the sharp stench of smoke hissing up from the Abyss. There was little a devil could do to smother its desire to leap into the magical circle and lay waste to the demons beneath. Absanoch's fangs sliced into his gums as he bit into the insides of his cheek, swallowing metallic-tasting blood to dull the scent of tanar'ri on his breath. A slender, crimson trail escaped his lips and leaked onto the weathered black leather of his armor, lost in the ebony oblivion of its oily surface. He turned his orange eyes on Axarthys sin Saintrowe, the languid demon pacing the pit, and snarled hungrily.

"I need to end this now, Asmodeus," he growled mutedly. Behind him, a towering, red-skinned devil glided around his servant, cruelly frowning. The lush burgundy of his velvet robes crunched in the melting snow, echoing the cracking of his shoulder bones as he rolled his arms in their sockets composedly and faced Absanoch. The assassin's polished boots agitatedly creaked.

"The demon has already ruined Neverwinter, with your expert aid," Asmodeus asserted, "Yet to allow the newly-appointed heir of the city to live would leave a margin for political stability, permitting a blank slate for Graz'zt to repeat his plan to overcome the city. This also serves us well because the further we plunge Neverwinter into upheaval, the more distracted Graz'zt becomes from the Blood War, heightening our chances at victory."

"Chances." Absanoch spat. Asmodeus had a smile in his scarlet eyes, but it never parted his lips. He remained stoic, nodding vaguely at his servant.

"The Abyss is fickle, Absanoch. Chance must always be a variable when an equation for success is to be constructed by baatezu kind in its attempt to overcome it. Chances also mean opportunity. With the naming of this new heir, the knight, we have gained the upper hand in an already unshakable plot." Asmodeus explained. The arch devil gazed at the demon as she paused to glance into the summoning circle and down into the pit that it had formed. A dretch latched its clawed fingers into the fading snow outside the circle as it attempted to enter the Material Plane, but Absanoch dove at the intruder and kicked its jaw, sending the creature reeling and shrieking back into the Abyss. Axarthys scoffed, lifting her chin.

"Unlike the Hells, Absanoch, the Abyss has endless legions to employ," she jeered, "For over ten years you and your master have masqueraded as diplomats intent on ending this frivolous Blood War. Now I see that it was only a ruse to allow your people to defeat mine. I can only begin to imagine what will happen with the Abyss itself recognizes your goal. I think dretches shall be the least of your concerns then."

"I cannot wait to be rid of you." He snarled. She was motionless, her expression as blank as the devil's once had been. Just as Absanoch grew restless with the close proximity of the Abyssal portal, Axarthys became increasingly subdued and controlled. Her mind's eye was cleared of the mists that had driven her to forgo all the behaviors of humankind, and she suddenly existed, free of her psychological fog.

"Rid of me?" she calmly replied, "As do I, Absanoch. You will free me of my bondage to Graz'zt, end this cycle, break me from these mortals and their city, their kingdom. When demons are slain, Absanoch, we are accepted directly into the Abyss's welcoming arms. Devils cannot say the same. What if you die in this attempt, devil? What fate have you to anticipate, being demoted and degraded into a thoughtless soul-form at the lowest rungs of hellish society? Nevalle rides towards us; Asmodeus foresees it. The knight will stop at nothing to slaughter you."

Like a feral animal, Absanoch dug his heels into the frost, baring his fangs. Asmodeus observed them in silence, distant. Axarthys's stiff expression only hardened, and she fixed her pink eyes unblinkingly on the baatezu assassin. She muttered, "I am glad that Asmodeus foresaw the knight's entrance into Icewind Dale. We know now that your death gallops towards us, and I pray you shall embrace it as I have mine."

-

The three travelers soared north into the empty tundra, their horses' hoof beats muffled by the thickening dust of snow blanketing the solid ice beneath. Between Sisserou's foresight spells and Alice's tracing of spiritual energy, the adventurers approached the energy void of the Abyssal portal swiftly, over the course of what seemed interminable days. Following behind them was the knight, somber and hopeless, weary from the journey.

He knew it was the end, the end of Neverwinter, the end of his own life. Mortality unpredictably assaulted and engulfed his thoughts. Without her, he knew he would be devastated; if to make her loss even more excruciating, he could never know that she would return to him in some other life. And just as strongly as he felt his own death drawing near, he felt Neverwinter's empire fracturing.

Nevalle saw a ring of fire only miles from the travelers, and smelled brimstone in the air. Within moments, he was blessed with the sight of Axarthys's stormy face and rosy horns, and his world unraveled.

-

Darmon stood in the frame of Nasher's bedchamber door, hesitating.

The Lord of Neverwinter opened an eye, groaning as he struggled to balance his back against the pillows supporting his withering body. He called the knight's name feebly, and heard Darmon answer with a sigh. The warrior's chocolate brown cloak swayed as he wavered, fearing to enter with the news he brought to his lordship.

But he eventually surrendered, and murmured, "I spied them, as you insisted. Alice and Sisserou left for Icewind Dale days ago."

"Where have you been since then?" Nasher coughed. Darmon peered into the chamber, gradually crossing the threshold as he ventured to the center of the room, crossing his arms nervously and eyeing his lord. His jaw tightened uncomfortably.

"I have spent my time at Casavir's estate, discussing… discussing options for our kingdom with him, my lord," he announced. Nasher began to question the knight, but Darmon interceded, sparing his lord the breath. He ceded, "My lord, Sir Nevalle left with the medium and Sisserou. Casavir would not stop him from doing so. I do not think he shall return to accept the throne."

"He is a Knight of the Chalice-"

"Versed in battling fiends, I understand," Darmon interjected, "But do you think he'll pass the chance to secure his future with Axarthys? My lord… my lord, I mean to say that he will embrace death. He is foolhardy and smitten with a demon. Do not convince me otherwise that he will not chase her unto the ends of the Abyss. He has already descended into the lower planes once for her."

For a long while, Nasher was quiet. His thoughts were intermittently broken with a cough, or a struggling breath. The wordless silence ended with a defeated moan, as the lord of Neverwinter sank in a motion of surrender into the feather-down bedding, clutching faintly to the coverlets.

"Nevalle served Neverwinter obediently for many years," he began, "He has not always been zealous about his duties, particularly in recent days, yet he has given his life numberless times for our kingdom. To ask for his continued service until the end of his life would be selfish on our part. Perhaps we were meant to let him take his leave of us. Many would call him immoral for departing his people for a demon's embrace, yet he has loved her singularly and sincerely for over a decade's time."

"You knew you would have let him go, had the chance arisen any other time," Darmon uttered. Nasher smiled gently, peacefully.

"Since he first became my squire, he has always been a son to me- a wayward and prodigal one, but a son nevertheless. He has served me dutifully, as any son should their father's wishes, and now I repay that debt with his freedom. Nevalle was never a slave to Neverwinter. Worry not, Darmon. Let us pray he returns victorious, if he does not at all."

-

Axarthys sin Saintrowe had fallen far out of touch with humanity. She could no longer act human, speak human, dress human. It did not matter how human her demon's body was, deprived of the spaded tail and wings it once proudly boasted. The slits of her serpentine pupils could no longer open doorways into the goodliness of her character. Within, he heart had blackened, and the coldness of her gaze did not deny it.

She no longer loved Nevalle as she had when he first danced with her, those many years ago in Neverwinter. She never consciously decided that she did not love him; the Abyss had simply removed her need for compassion from her. In her mind, Nevalle still epitomized safety, happiness, and the security of the mortal world. But he was an abstract concept, a goal, and not anyone of meaning to her. Axarthys knew this, and yearned to love him as she once did, meaning that her death and rebirth would- hopefully- restore her capacity to love him fully once more. He deserved better than the hollow husk that she'd become as the Abyss tightened its grip on her. Even in her current state, however, she desired him still.

The halo of his blonde hair, crowning the armored body riding towards her, sent a tremble through her legs and yearning through her mind. Absanoch coiled his fingers on the demon's forearm, announcing to Asmodeus, "They've arrived, my lord."

"Kill the demon," Asmodeus instructed, "Before the knight attempts anything heroic."

Before Nevalle could reach her, Absanoch unsheathed his sword and emptied the liquid contents of a vial on his belt onto the blade. He plunged it through Axarthys's torso. The demon felt only pressure as the point of the weapon pierced through the skin of her back, and the hilt thumped against her fragile ribcage. Soon, her tiny frame registered the immense pain of her injury, and then the sensation of burning. Absanoch had doused his sword in holy water.

"Had you not been my consort, Axarthys," he muttered into her ear, "I would have put you through a greater misery than this before you died. It will not be long, demon, before you again see the Abyss."

Leaving her body on his sword, Absanoch carried her to the summoning circle. Releasing her body from his blade, her midsection slipped off the impaling weapon and clung to the edge of the Abyss, prepared to fall into the pit and accept her death, so that she could be reborn. Before she perished, however, she felt Nevalle's hand snatching her wrist. Her eyes burst open, and she hissed, "Release me to my death, else I shall never return to you anew!"

"I need to tell you-"

"-There are no final words that could ever express the love I know you bear me. Go, my knight," Axarthys panted, cupping her bleeding wound as she gazed up towards him one last time, "Go and slay the devil Absanoch, and promise me- if I am your lady, as you have sworn me to be- that you might live fully, until you die."

"Axarthys!" He cried out to her, but she smiled. Fleetingly, she felt her old love for him again. She struggled to climb from the pit, to give him one last kiss, but was only able to claw at the pit's edge. Nevalle leaned over, kissing her brow, and she closed her eyes, her body weakening steadily.

"We cannot ever be happy in your world," she whispered, "I will find you again, Nevalle. Until then, you must find new happiness here."

She wriggled from his grasp, and her body disappeared in the smoke and flames licking the interior of the pit from the bottom of the Abyss. The ground quaked, and Sisserou dove forward, grabbing Nevalle and dragging him backwards into the snow before the earth closed up before them, and the land patched itself where the pit had been drawn. There remained only the carved surface of the summoning circle in the ice.

"A touching final speech," Asmodeus noted. Sisserou helped Nevalle to his feet, as Alice approached with her hands grasping the magical scrolls tucked in her belt. The arch devil paced around them once, and then passed by Absanoch, murmuring in his assassin's ear, "I leave you to these humans. Kill them, and make our message to Graz'zt known."

The devil dissipated in a cloud of red mist, which sunk to the earth and bubbled through the icy grounds and back into the Hells. Pointing his sword at the three companions, his stiffened expression broke into a chilling grin.

"Now, servants of Neverwinter, you will see the end of this game." He announced. Nevalle stepped forward, pushing the medium and the witch back.

"Defeat me first, devil, and you may have at them," Nevalle offered, "But do not lack the chivalry to deny me the right to defend these women."

"Very well," Absanoch agreed coldly, "I shall have little trouble slaughtering a man whose heart is weakened with the loss of his demon, and whose mind reels perpetually with obsession of her."

The knight knew that it was the end for him. He would never find the happiness Axarthys expected him to, not without her, and as she said, never in his world. He was damned, to be sure, and he would never see the light of Celestia. Though Axarthys would surely perish once she landed in the Abyss through the portal, and he would be absolved of his pact, his soul would be forever tarnished by the evil he'd wrought by loving her. No god, no angel could ever cure him of his love- his craving- for her. Life- at very least, his mortal life- was empty without her. Having nothing to lose, and only the netherworld to gain, Nevalle lifted his sword above his head and charged the devil.

Absanoch, surprised but not astonished by the knight's tactical deficit, extended his sword out in front of his chest, bracing himself as the human charged towards him still. Impale yourself, then, the devil coaxed in his mind, leap onto the point of the blade and extinguish yourself.

But the devil had fatally miscalculated. Nevalle's great sword, at least a foot longer than his opponent's blade, came smashing through the devil's neck moments before the enemy's blade could pierce his body. Absanoch hadn't a moment to scream before the cold metal severed his head from his neck. Yet as his body lurched in defeat, he endeavored to expend the last of his energy thrusting the sword towards the looming knight's body. In one felling strike, the weapon crashed through Nevalle's lower abdomen just beneath his armor. Absanoch's head slipped from its neck and rolled through the snow, leaving a scarlet shadow of blood in its wake. The knight dropped his own weapon, registering the piercing agony of the wound in his side. As he looked down at the length of the sword in his chest, he watched the devil's dead hand slip limply from its hilt.

Sudden blood loss left him delirious. Sisserou and Alice rushed to his aid, and he felt the witch pulling the weapon from his body. He heard the click of buckles as someone unlatched his armor, and warm hands peeling the bloodied chainmail from underneath the metal plates. A thick, fur-lined cloak was tucked over his injured body. He felt magic- Sisserou's magic- coaxing him to fade into unconsciousness, and then Alice's voice, calling to him in the darkness.

His eyes parted momentarily, and the last sight he witnessed was the halo of the medium's hair, framing the teary grey of her eyes. Her skin was gloriously golden against the dead white of the tundra surrounding her, and there was a tepid, reddish blush to her chilly cheeks. She was serene, exquisitely so, but her tranquility and collectedness hardly betrayed the sadness in her gaze. So long confronted with demons, Nevalle struggled to comprehend the angel before him.

He collapsed, lifeless, in her arms.

-

Nevalle survived.

He could never return to the life of a knight. He'd been rendered lame from combat with Casavir over time, and so he retreated into court life, numbed by the same vices he adopted after he was parted from Axarthys the first time. Miserable and lonely, he found little solace. Sisserou and Casavir, the only people in Neverwinter who understood his suffering, we engrossed in the lives of their three daughters, immersed in a more serene life on their country estate. Darmon, who had accepted his role as regent, had no spare moments to spend soothing the miseries of his peers. Ladyship Alucié, his dear mother, had passed away peacefully at Swychcreste, leaving her son with the estate's care. But the knight had no energy to commute from Neverwinter to his ancestral home. Detached and isolated, as if a prisoner of Neverwinter himself, Nevalle withdrew from the world into Castle Never.

But Alice Reinhardt never forgot him.

She would bring him volumes from the city library and share with him her favorite tales of legend and lore with him, discussing religions of the Sword Coast and abroad as she sketched images of spirits she'd encountered in her mediumship work, accompanied by tales of their past lives. Her patience was endless; he could mourn his suffering aloud for hours to her, and she would listen tirelessly. When he had no will to eat, she would bring him a basket full of loaves and dried meat and insist that he did; when he could not sleep, she brewed chamomile tea to ebb at his restlessness. He slowly realized her subtle, modest beauty. She wore little makeup, though her skin was luminous, and her lips were consistently an inviting shade of rich peach. The blonde of her hair was platinum and silvery, and her tresses reflected their golden hue in the mirror-like grey of her eyes. As time passed, he began to measure his life in the moments until he would see her again.

Axarthys had been fleeting and volatile. But Alice was steadfast. She never parted his side when he needed her comfort and company most.

One morning, Nevalle fingered the canary-diamond ring he carried in his pocket. He intended to give it to Axarthys, his Yellow Orchid, his little lamb. It was decadent, exotic, and pleasantly oversized, fit for a princess of any realm. Yet his imagination recurrently envisioned it on Alice's hand. As much as he told himself that she was of a lower class, the less he cared that it was the case. He would marry Alice, he decided, and left the cell of his chambers for her shop in the Docks to present the ring to her. Before he set foot outside Black Lake, however, he brushed his thumb across the yellow surface of the diamond he carried. It would always be Axarthys's.

He proposed instead with a small, stately white diamond that graced the radiance of her skin like crystals on a chandelier enhancing the already brilliant glow of its fiery candles. They were wed, and soon bore a son named Norwood- a testament to the blondeness of both of his parents, with his father's eyes and his mother's placidity. They lived happily until the Weave collapsed, and magic destroyed Neverwinter, but even in death they did not suffer a miserable fate. Tyr was dead, but Alice and Norwood- a boy by the time the city fell- placed their religious faith solidly in Helm, and ascended to the emerald fields of Celestia peacefully, as happy as they were in their days at Swychcreste. Sisserou and Casavir, whose distant estate escaped the destruction in Neverwinter, grieved for their beloved friend and her cherished son. Swychcreste had been leveled, and so Alice and Norwood were interred next to Rodric, where Casavir and Sisserou left orchids on their graves.

Nevalle's body was never found, and his soul was barred from Celestia. The souls of his wife and son missed him sorely, and for what seemed millennia Alice often confided in the angels of Helm that she hoped her husband was spared the fires of the Hells.

He was. For not repenting his love for Axarthys, he was condemned to the Abyss instead.

It was a horrid process. His soul was torn, mutilated, and he toiled through endless layers of the lower planes as he sank deeper and deeper into his own damnation. Lost and terribly confused, he was shuffled with the other souls through the pits of the Abyss. He had no hope of ever seeing Axarthys. He'd spent a decade searching for her and wasn't granted a glimpse of her face, and had learned not to trust in what would inevitably flee him. Nevalle was dragged through the alleys of some unknown Abyssal metropolis by the soul-sellers, and drugged with deadly Luhix, could barely remain conscious as his spirit was auctioned off at a decadent market square to demons swathed in rare silks and printed satins. Depraved and avaricious, prices skyrocketed as tanar'ri clamored to purchase him as their own. As a slave, or worse, as a pet. An endless stream of auctioneers vied to have him, until at last their numbers slimmed, and one bid remained. After a second's pause, he was paraded out from the dais onto the street, and escorted behind an entourage of hideous beasts and mutated monsters to a lavish apartment in the city's blackened heart. Crumpling into a plush couch in the entry way, Nevalle did not regain consciousness for hours. When he did awaken from his stupor, however, his nightmare seemed merely that. Rubbing his forehead, he cautiously propped himself up on the couch, and gazed towards the other side of the room.

Seated across from him, draped entirely in golden fabric with snowy coils curling about a crowned forehead, was Axarthys sin Saintrowe.

She had changed since her death. Her complexion was darker, and her horns and eyes were no longer a meek shade of pale rose, but vibrant, grayish pink. Where there were systematically cut holes in her dress, horns poked from her dark flesh, and small ones dotted the ends of her brows. Her smile was inhuman, but not unattractive, and the red of her lips repeated itself in the scarlet blood tracing one of her eyes and coursing down cheek. It seemed frozen in time, as if she'd suffered some temporary stigmata congealed permanently on her flesh, staining her skin.

"I predicted that it would end this way," she announced. Her voice was reaped of its melody entirely, yet the confidence in her tone revealed that she'd grown accustomed to her own demonic sound. Nevalle, in disbelief, sat up in his seat and reached for her hand. Her touch was warm. The demon smiled faintly, murmuring, "Dying succeeded in ridding me of the cold, but I see it could not stop your damnation."

"I was not bound here by a pact," he assured her, but the demon shook her head.

"You have chosen this, and that answer shall suit me," she promised in return. Axarthys entangled her fingers in his, and slithered off her chair. She sat down next to him, stroking his shoulder as if to ascertain his reality fully. She whispered, "I've waited for you, my knight, my pet."

"I cannot say I have done the same," he regretted, "Nor was I a knight, after you left me last. I was crippled and unable to fight, and resigned from the Nine. I then married the medium, bore a son, and perished in the defeat of Neverwinter. They now enjoy the fields of Celestia, while I- I linger here."

The demon knew; the knight saw it in her eyes. She merely shrugged the elegant and bare curve of her shoulder, evident beneath the chiffon of the top of her gown. She asked, "Do you miss them, then?"

She could not understand why he cared. She was a demon.

"They are happy, as their souls should be," he answered. Sorrow passed over his face as he recognized the extent to which he pined for their company, and to which he'd forgotten his former desperation to be with this demon. His wife, his son, his family- he would never see their faces again. He was too shocked, too miserable too quickly, to cry.

In the end, Nevalle achieved what he'd always longed for. He spent eternity with Axarthys. Yet he gave everything he loved for it, and wept endlessly for his wife and son, for Rialnah, and shouted in his sleep at the fury he felt for Casavir and Sisserou. They lived on, enjoying sunlit fields and quiet evenings and most of all, the company of their children. Children. All his life as a nobleman, Nevalle desired a son, and he had it in Norwood. Now, he would not see Norwood for all eternity. The Eden he envisioned never was to be found between the demon's grey arms. It had been in Alice Reinhardt, the common-born woman he once shunned from his presence, and in the son that would have inherited his title. Paradise was perpetually lost to him.

Axarthys sin Saintrowe, a demon, the Lamb, conquered him.

-

Author's Notes:

As ever, you have my humble thanks for your continued readership. TBC was a pleasure to write, and I hope it's been just as much a pleasure for you to read. I sought to write a convincing, realistic ending to my tale- insofar as supernatural fiction allows realism, and while still allowing my main characters to be together in the end (after all, if they didn't hook up after two stories, it would be quite the let down!)

With my love always,

Valah