Interlude VI: Chapter Seven

War loomed. Dantalion could smell it in the smoke that rose from opened hell mouths into the Abyss as his soldiers leaked forth from the infernal flames onto Abeir-Toril. He could taste it in the metallic shuffle of a thousand swords, savoring the iron in his mouth. He could feel the earth tremble beneath the footsteps of his thirty-six legions. He could hear the flutter of bloodthirsty demons' wings, limbs twitching as if to beg for action, for movement, for war. Dantalion could not yet see- sight, the cementation of the reality of battle, arrived last. Patience awarded him sight. And so Dantalion was patient.

The Fawn stood beside him, her young and yet unscarred body plated in bluish piece mail, her strawberry blonde locks cascading from twin tails of curls at either side of her fragile, pink helixes of horns. She appeared as if a child, and having not battled yet in the Blood Wars, she constituted as one in the demonic realm. Dantalion wished not to bring her; he'd insisted she would slow him down and that she would hinder his capability to command his legions, but Balimynah was persistent in her desire that the youngest of her house follow him. Though the Fawn's presence offered him bitter thoughts, memories of his former consort Nonah Naxcthre and her current relationship with her new, more powerful consort Beelzebub, his alliance with Balimynah was precious to him.

The Fawn. Dantalion laughed cynically at his thoughts of her, amused as she earned her namesake sveltely bounding through the underbrush of the Neverwinter Wood. Her speed and grace would have made her a fine assassin, Dantalion mused, considering such career differed little from the work of an emissary. Both dealt with humans. That was all he needed to know, all he cared to know. Humans were disposable, and demons seized this advantage- for spiritual purposes and possession itself, political purposes, to make a business of them as to amass a fortune as the Saintrowe legion had. Pride swelled in him in knowing Axarthys earned much of the family's wealth. She was gifted.

Dantalion tried to forget the reason why; her curse had been his fault, and his guilt for the action eternal. It had brought him war, war with Neverwinter, and while bloodshed pleased him, her vulnerability in being the prize of battle worried him. He prayed no harm would befall his Lamb; she was no warrior, and long had passed the days when she had honed her whip, Legion, in the Blood Wars.

Dantalion could smell human blood. Neverwinter. The quarry was close, his child with it. How would she survive the clash? Concern punctured his dispassion of battle, a mercenary's glacial heart defrosted by the starkness of his daughter's face in his thoughts, singular and striking. He chastised himself for it, but a fatherly devotion to his child rose in him. Dantalion would raise his legions for it, and already had.

-

Silk.

Axarthys stroked the length of her forearms and felt it there. Liquid fabric, she'd long considered silk, because of how it slipped through her fingers and clung to each curve, each detail of her body beneath its surface as if a layer of enamel and not cloth. Fingering the silk, she rubbed her thumb and forefinger against its watery material. She parted her eyelids. She was encircled by the chaste white of blankets and plush pillows atop a colossal bed, surrounded by snowy curtains forming a nurturing canopy about her that embraced the tanar'ri in its textile grasp. She herself was cloaked in pale blue.

Appropriate in its irony. Axarthys thought, given how frozen she felt.

Futilely endeavoring to draw up more covers over her reclining body, her mind asking of her hands what they simply could not accomplish, as if the muscles themselves had died, Axarthys recalled shards of the shattered remembrance of hours adrift at sea, then stumbling for the shore, collapsing there. Fragments of images crossed her thoughts, senseless pictures, noises, emotions. Most memories were of touch, of skin against skin, a sensual creation she believed of her imagination despite its clarity in her recollection. Dismissing this perplexity, Axarthys battled to roll onto her side, ordering her muscles to do at her bidding.

A hand grasped her shoulder, externally halting her movement to gently urge, "You're going to hurt yourself moving about in such a hypothermic state, little Lamb. Lie flat, and I'll have the servants brew you warm sweet-tea. Can you swallow?"

"I-I'm not certain." Axarthys chirped, all the noise she could muster past her lips. Fingers wove between hers, holding her hand tautly. She glimpsed into the mind that belonged to the touch at the tryst of skin and skin, seeing concern.

"So fragile." The voice remarked, its sound resonant, smooth in its texture, tenor in its tone, and spoken with the trappings of educated intonation. The sound was musical to Axarthys, a ballad of victory after the anguish of war, a serenade in its possessor's declaration of chivalrous romance. Axarthys's muscles may have been rendered numb by cold yet her heart thawed immediately at Nevalle's voice, its echo and vibration dispelling the ice of her hopelessness. Basking in the warmth of her joy she rolled her head cross the pillows toward him, closing her eyes.

"'Twas my fragility that seduced you." She remarked. She felt him smile.

"Knights are not seduced," he corrected, "Seduction is criminal. No, knights fall in love."

"Then you admit you love me?" She murmured. To her displeasure he'd released her hand then, severing their psychic bond. He sighed as the knock of his boots on the wooden floors reverberated in her ears. He paused at his desk, the metallic ring of his sword removed from his scabbard sounding. The blade thumped in the leather against the sheath as he lifted it, his breath hesitant and slowed. He jerked the blade in his hand, the whoosh of the weapon swung upwards evident. An insubstantial paranoia permeated the chamber. Though Nevalle's emotions admirably were introvert, Axarthys sensed his apprehension.

"War with your people draws terribly near. My lord spoke to me this morning of it. Nasher warned the city to prepare for battle, but the people know not that abyssal legions are a three days' march away. I must ride out to face these demons before they reach Neverwinter." He announced.

"Suicide." Axarthys uttered.

"I know," he said, "But Nasher has little choice. It was his final resort, aside from one last, dire hope. To invest faith in what he feels he cannot, and what may forever tarnish his reputation in Neverwinter. He… he asked the Nine consult with you in devising a method of attack."

"You ask me to aid you in killing my people." She whispered.

Nevalle replaced his blade, his footsteps returning him to Axarthys's bedside. He sat beside her, outlining her jaw in his fingers to implore, "I know what I ask you to do is the highest treason to your people. In so aiding Neverwinter, you will likely be banished from the Abyss. All I can promise of a new life here is the cruelty of my people and the mortality of my kind. I have so very little to compensate you for your betrayal, except for my love, whatever left of it there is after my love of Neverwinter. If you decline, I will free you in hopes you will return to your people and convince them with your presence the uselessness of war. Would you stand by me, Axarthys?"

She tensed, shivering. She mouthed tentatively, "You defended me unquestioningly and saved my life twice. But to betray my kind, to think I would never see my mother, my sisters and my home again, such a painful price that is," she began to cry. Thousands of years she had existed as part of the Abyss, as one of its children. Memories of Balimynah tutoring her on the etiquette of mortal court in the plush extravagance of her throne room and of her mother Nonah, the Bird, presenting her with the whip Legion, stung like wasps. Axarthys shook her head, "I love my family so very much. I cannot betray them."

He caressed the bridge of his nose against hers and kissed the bone of her cheek, "I can't convince you against your will and I will not try. I honor your sovereignty."

Sovereignty. The word ignited potent sentiment in her, expressed in a tremble of her bluish lips. Too long had she been a prisoner to know that word. Nevalle offered her sweet freedom, to return to the world months ago she had been extracted from. All the happiness she had known before arriving in Neverwinter would be hers, infringed upon by no hunter, by no state, by no people. Her estate grounds once more she would meander, transversing her vineyards with the scent of palomino grapes flourishing on their vines. The rainy days between she'd wile away exploring the vast reaches of Waterdeep's maze of alleys and avenues. Axarthys breathed in long, fully, filling her weary lungs with soothing air. She exhaled, "I chose freedom."

"Know I cannot follow you down that path." He responded quietly, only suggesting his mourning. Axarthys nodded, pressing her lips into a hard line to suppress fresh tears.

"I will be happy." She finally said, opening her eyes in conclusiveness, the awareness of her chosen fate. Nevalle's hands fell from her face and the bed creaked as stood from her side, his footsteps pacing before the window at the other side of the room. Axarthys sensed the intense sorrow from his thoughts before he broke their physical touch. He dared not speak to his misery at her second departure from him. Her exile to Ruathym had been a worse wound than ever Bishop's blade could have inflicted upon him. Yet his voice was stoic, his posture poised and his features taciturn as knighthood dictated.

He said simply before leaving her to the emptiness of the room, tears threatening to devour the flimsy shell of his polite reticence, "Know then that I will miss you, my lady."

-

Aldanon rarely heeded the knocks on his door. Young nobles, he'd convinced himself, waited on the opposite side of the wall prepared to lay siege to his home, hungry for his prime property. No, Aldanon would not allow that foolery. He would lock his lips as the voices requested his response from outside, release some toxins into his brewing potions so the ominous, audible hissing and cackling of the substance unnerved the passerby. The war with the King of Shadows had been enough nonsense. He hardly desired to attract more.

Yet this time, the knocking was uniquely feeble. It sounded as if made from the tiny fist of a young serving wench, more likely a beggar girl. Aldanon felt a heady magic in the air that came with it, a pleasantly smoky scent emanating from the entry way. He thought it the sulfurous odor of summoned demons, yet it was far too delicate. Intrigued, Aldanon crawled from his seat and strolled down the hall calling, "What do you want?"

"To regain lost abyssal power." The cryptic response was. Interested, he flung the door open. He saw a diminutive woman standing at his doorstep dressed in white. She nodded and curtsied in greeting, waiting for his formal invitation of entry before she lifted her cloak to step beyond the threshold. When the door closed she removed her hood, her pink demon horns apparent. She introduced herself, her flesh pale with cold and voice whittled to wheezing, "Pardon my hesitance to state my name outdoors. You may imagine the response of your kind when a tanar'ri wanders freely your city's streets. I am Axarthys Saintrowe, Lady of the Lamb."

"So you aren't going to light me aflame or summon mariliths to consume my human soul?" He asked, not pausing for her reply to interject, "Wonderful! I have never spoken to a demon without being singed, bitten, beaten, flogged, jabbed or splayed. This will be most enlightening! Usually I cannot carry a semblance of a conversation without your kind unless you are restrained in a most complex summoning circle, of which-"

"- I require now, and have been told you are the finest crafter of." Axarthys expertly interceded. Aldanon rubbed his palms together excitedly.

"Yes, yes of course! Come in, come in. This is quite thrilling. A tanar'ri in my household, how exhilarating! Whatever you need, demoness, by all means ask. A summoning circle is a most reasonable request." He began to march off with Axarthys in tow. Collecting a handful of colored chalks from his desk the wizard inquired, "Naturally, I will need to know what use you have of this circle, to draw it to your needs."

"I wish to draw upon the Abyss's power to regenerate my full demonic form on the mortal plane." She answered with difficulty, heaving breaths. Aldanon nodded.

"Ah, interesting indeed," he remarked, "The process will further tax your presumably weakened body. So for what purpose would you seek to regain your wings and tail in such a deplorable state?

She stated, "War."

-

Knighthood did not condone sorrow, and love it ignored. Emotions belonged to the distressed noblewomen knights rescued, or to the crowds that cheered as the ever-reserved knights journeyed home victorious from war. Emotion defined them. Little separated the barbarian from the knight on the battle field, for both were talented warriors. Save the knight's dispassion allowed for his level-headedness in combat. Emotional emptiness bought the knight focus the barbarian lacked, making the knight the superior combatant.

Nevalle was aware of this, and felt damned when unmanageable tears welled in his eyes over the thought that Axarthys would forever abandon him. He paced the Temple of Tyr brooding over her upcoming second departure- angry with the tanar'ri for leaving him once more after all he'd done in her name, saddened with the prospect of having to let her go a second time, as if taking not one but two swords to the chest. The pain was that piercing.

He implored Tyr for a reprieve of his feelings, asking to be detached from the demon so as to concentrate on the battle ahead. Instead his attempts at considering battle strategies before the temple's altar were fogged by Axarthys. Nevalle had known too many superficial women, typically noble daughters- all of them shallow, all of them puppets of their royal courts. They possessed the exterior grace a landed knight as Nevalle required in a woman, but they lacked substance. Axarthys lacked nothing. She was adept in the arena of the social court and equally as capable reasoning with her superiors in a court of law. She could signal her thoughts with the complex trickery of a fan or display her opinions in an intricately stated speech in the halls of a king. She was exalted by her people, a noble of her world, and though she was a demon her normality, her substance, was genuine. And above all, of more worth than her courtly talent and social status, he loved her fiercely.

She was perfect, and he wept that he'd lost her.

"Nevalle?"

Her voice. His breath caught in his throat, choking him.

Axarthys was standing at the entry, the halo of the white fur of her cloak glowing in the blurred vision of his weeping eyes. As the way they'd met she was entirely swathed in snowy whites. Except where once she glided, now she stumbled. She halted halfway down the central aisle, grappling for one of the pews in support. Two pink, leathery wings unfurled diffidently, stretching across her back. Her spaded tail swayed behind her as she continued forward, declaring in a frightening rasp, "Love I swore to Bishop, yet he caged me as a bird for four years' servitude. Love I swore to my family, yet they contained me in Blood War combat for three years' eternity. Love I swore to you, and after many months your prisoner, you offer me freedom. Yet it is not because I am disposable that you would liberate me, no- I am valued, beloved so much that if my love's unhappiness allows me to be happy in my freedom, he would pay it.

"And yet this is no singular act of compassion. When I was his prisoner, he respected me. When his people tortured me, he healed my wounds. When my enemy cut open the flesh of my hand, he defended me until he was struck down, and one week he lay in pain for me. When I was left to freeze, he offered me the warmth of his chambers," she spoke, halting beside him to whisper, "Nevalle, you are an extraordinary man."

Besieged by her words, by the frightening beauty that was Axarthys's fully realized demonic form, Nevalle could hardly command his legs to dash to her, though her frailty terrified his limbs into action. He sprinted to her, catching the spade of her forked tail in his palm to rub its leather as he lifted her into his arms. He shook his head, carrying her to a seat admonishing, "There is nothing extraordinary about fulfilling my duties, my lady. You risk your health coming here to tell me these things."

"You must know this; very few noblemen are noble men. This, my dearest, beloved knight, is why you are so extraordinary," Axarthys smiled lovingly, reaching into one of her gloves to draw forth the blue silk ribbon he'd wrapped her orchids in. She beckoned for him to kneel, and instantly his armored knee clanked on the floor. She tied the ribbon around the hilt of his great sword, kissing his brow from her seat to utter, "Take this token of my subservience to you into the coming battle. You have earned my submission as well as my love."

"You will not return to the Abyss?" He asked, the rising hope inside his throat drying whatever tears for Axarthys Saintrowe's fate remained.

She replied, "There is no future there for me that I have not already known. Power, war, politics. The ignorance of a people blinded by the Blood Wars. But you, you represent a world of chivalry, of honor, of law that I never knew existed. In place of chaos, you would offer me peace; in lieu of hatred, you would offer me love."

"A love not recognized in full," he frowned, "For I must defend Neverwinter before love, reducing you to second priority. I have only half a heart to give. You instead could have complete abyssal power."

"Better to serve you than reign in hell." Axarthys assured.

"Do not make this choice for my betterment." He advised. Still she persisted, shaking her head tenderly as he rejoined her on the pew, holding her to prevent her collapse. Her labored breathing worried him though her words inspired him. She reposed both hands flat on his chest over the eye of Neverwinter emblazoned across his heart.

"I have been an emissary for the better part of eight thousand years. I have known millions of mortals and demons both, and notwithstanding the fleeting infatuations akin to my fondness for Bishop, I've not once felt my limbs tingle and my spirit soar as they have in your presence. I am not quick to love; I have not loved as I do you ever, not once in all my millennia. The demon of my mind tells me it is foolish to betray my people for this love after countless eons of servitude, yet the woman of my heart tells me half a human heart is more than enough for a demoness. Know I have not once heeded my heart. If it is a mistake to do so, then at least I will have made it consciously. I stand by you, and that is final." She smiled, glancing up towards him for his response.

He stumbled on words, tried to clamor for them and gather his thoughts. Instead he turned his face over his shoulder, saying, "I am at a loss."

"Overwhelmed?" She suggested gently. He breathed in deeply.

"I came here to pray Tyr would help me focus on battle. I begged and pleaded I could allow your memory to pass peacefully in my mind. I agonized over the possibility that you would leave me a second time. I imagined myself an unmarried Captain of the Guard for the remainder of my days. To be loved, and to love in return, that kind of happiness I never planned for, no matter how much I wished for it and prayed for your change of heart." He harbored her lightly in his arms, eyes meeting her gaze as he laughed though the veil of remaining tears, "Honestly, Axarthys, you just tromped through the doors with wings and a tail and you expect me to be able to grasp your definitive declaration of love?"

"And even more, my declaration of love accompanies war with the Abyss. This is too much for your mortal comprehension, I am sure. There are many troubles and changes about, my treasured knight, but if we are to overcome them, I recommend you enforce your priorities. Let us conquer battle before the love that wrought it." She counseled, propping herself up onto his lap to lock her knees at either side of his torso. Slanting in towards him, his mouth at her neck, she murmured in his ear, "For if you are the man I have known, your duty is first to Neverwinter before it is to me. Let us see to it that you remain the knight I love."

-

Camryn Nyx gazed, hypnotized, into the black basin of a scrying bowl. The aqueous substance acted as a mirror, reflecting the woman's chestnut locks and stony eyes. The thin lengths of her lips parted to the hiss of an incantation, the liquid in the bowl rippling. When the movement subsided, ashen wings appeared in the pool's mirror just behind her shoulder. She intoned, "It is I, your servant. War draws. Have you new orders, my lord?"

"Possibly. What of Bishop?" a voice asked.

"Alvarez bribed him, promising a seat at his side should he return Axarthys Saintrowe to him. Now the ranger prepares for battle in the Abyss. I know not what his course of action will be precisely- the magic I imprinted upon his wound may only see so much. Thus so, my visions are limited," she reported, "But if you would hear my own thoughts, I would gladly offer them, my lord."

"By all means."

"Though the ranger is empowered no doubt by Alvarez, he cannot match the full fighting force of Neverwinter. Dantalion won't tolerate Bishop seizing Axarthys- Dantalion was only allowed to declare war if he promised to bring Axarthys to Demogorgon. Both the city and the Abyss are against the ranger. I imagine he will attempt to lure Axarthys into the Abyss through one of the hell mouths opening in the north, singling her out and bringing her directly to Alvarez." Camryn explained. The voice in the bowl gave a considerate sigh.

"Intuitive, my servant. How were you able to obtain so much information on Dantalion's motivations?"

"To my displeasure, from another demon." Camryn's nose wrinkled, "It would have pleased my warrior's heart to slay the fiend where it stood, but a greater good has been accomplished. While I loathe admitting it, my lord, this demon may turn out a fine agent."

"We shall see after this battle is complete," the voice answered, pausing to think a moment before ordering, "Accompany the emissary to Bishop's location in the Abyss. It will draw her away from the battle, and should she ultimately be seized, better by the ranger than thirty-six legions of demons. We cannot allow Dantalion any victory. After you have slain Bishop or Axarthys is taken by him, transport yourself and any of your companions to my throne. If the battle continues, we will gather the aasimon and crush these demons. I will withhold Axarthys Saintrowe until she is judged properly. Until that time, though, you must defend the tanar'ri Axarthys Saintrowe with your life."

Camryn growled, cringing, "That shall be difficult, my lord. I can barely stand her demonic stench."

He responded, "Then you may never rise against the thirty-six legions of Dantalion. Stand tall- you do so in my name. Now go, and see yourself to the war council."

-

Axarthys gazed about the panorama of the war council, the massive round table of the room affording ample space between each attendant. Alienated from the support of Nevalle, beside her seat yet over a yard away, she was singled out. The eyes of the Nine encircled her, predatory, doubt laced with hesitation and woven with spite staring her down. Nasher, directly across from her, initiated the meeting with the prompt, "Nevalle, describe this tanar'ri's situation to the council."

He stood, back straightened and reserve strict with courtly poise, detached from the benevolent knight Axarthys cherished yet nevertheless admired. He explained, "As you wish, my lord. Axarthys was issued an ultimatum shortly after I returned her to Neverwinter's control following rescue from the shipwreck of her exile vessel. Honoring it, she is upheld by our laws to strategize war against her people."

"Have you a plan established, tanar'ri?" Nasher asked. The Nine's eyes narrowed, fixed upon her. Lips quivering, Axarthys lifted herself from her seat, expanding her wings to force her upwards. Wooden chair legs creaked as they slid across the stone floor. Axarthys nimbly, though gradually, scaled the table, kneeling before the map of Neverwinter. She examined it and then traced the outer walls of Neverwinter on the drawing with her finger. Her eyes thinned, scrutinizing. She closed them, imagined the assembled legions of Balimynah's army. She wished to picture a similar force outside Neverwinter. War had not been her niche as she was an emissary, and conjuring the images in her mind was problematic. Axarthys swallowed her nervousness; should her plans fail, should they falter in the slightest, her life would be forfeit. The Abyss would not allow a traitor to live. Given, death itself did not frighten her. She was selfish, wished death then in her hypothermia, its lingering cold clinging to the infirmity of her form. But Nevalle wished her to live. For him, she would. She had to.

Carefully she reported in no louder than an utterance, "Most archdemons command thirty to forty legions. Had I the name of the archdemon heading this operation, capable I would be of devising a sounder plot. For now, all I may offer is less specific advice. Would still you hear it?"

Nevalle laid a hand on her back, having come to her from his seat. The suddenness of the action startled her, though its warmth she welcomed. He asked her gently, "If we had the name of the archdemon, how much more would you be able to help us? Do you know?"

"Should the demon be one I am dear to, my advice may be thrice, I would daresay, even tenfold as-" Axarthys shivered, words cut short with pain. The sharpness of it transcended the ache of hypothermia, seizing her capacity of reason. Doubling over she sunk from the table, falling back into Nevalle's arms. His touch no longer felt warm but as if red-hot brands, searing their imprints on her bare skin. She gasped as he deposited her into her seat, the wood of the chair agonizingly stiff and unforgiving against the swollenness of her spine. Each vertebrae puffed pinkish with misery. Her breathing became difficult. Her body was under spiritual siege, too weak to oppose the strong divine force that neared. She sought to summon a voice from her throat to inform Nevalle. All that came from her mouth was a hiss.

Nevalle said, unaware of the severity of her condition, "She is sickly still. I ask you be patient, else we'll have no information at all. My lord Nasher, is there any way to retrieve the identity of the archdemon leading the abyssal forces?"

"I am not sure. Our scouts have done well to stay far from these tanar'ri." He responded.

Axarthys battled with frustration, furious Nevalle and Nasher both ignored her, angered they could not understand her misery. Voice rendered useless Axarthys wailed tearfully, fingers tensing up in positions her skeleton did not seem to permit. Her back arched over the arm rest of her seat. A flutter of feathered wings, the nearing footsteps of a divine force Axarthys feared deeply. Anticipation, terror grew as the steps drew near. A knock at the door. When it opened Axarthys smelled holiness; her eyes burned with parchedness from it.

"My lord Nasher," the entity greeted, "You must excuse my brusque entry. Had it not been necessary, I would have abstained from intruding upon your council."

"Speak your peace."

"You know me as the healer Camryn Nyx. I am an agent of Tyr, and healed the ranger Bishop. My liege instructed I imprint him with tracking magic as I cured his leg, afraid the ranger would escape after the paladin Adelaide Cryhart's order to slay the demon Axarthys Saintrowe" She explicated.

"Go on." Nasher goaded.

"Bishop did flee, consorting with the demon lord Alvarez. Apparently, from what visions I received of their pact, the attack is led on Neverwinter to capture the demon Axarthys Saintrowe for Demogorgon, so she may become his consort." She explained. Nevalle clamped a hand on Axarthys's writhing shoulder.

"He will not have her," he sternly responded, "And know I have little confidence in the words of a cleric who only now reveals her supposed aid to our city."

"Good. I am glad you doubt me as demonstration of your caution, though disappointed in your concern for the demon. Know, servant of Tyr, that I am no cleric. I am safe to admit so in the company of loyal Tyrran worshippers that I am one of Tyr's warrior aasimon. I am the planetar Sedna Belladonna." She said. Some of the Nine fell into a bow upon the floor. Casavir lowered the mace at his side, head bowed.

"We are honored to have your audience." He said. The planetar smiled.

"Stand tall, paladin. Your service would have you do so as my equal in your devotion to our god." She replied, walking about the table to offer a hand to all who had knelt before her. When she had reached Nevalle, standing over the crumpled Axarthys, she clamped her jaw, warning softly the knight, "Any deva would pity this monstrous fiend. I am no deva. Remember that while I hold your unfailing service to Tyr dear, I will not be so compassionate of your abomination. It will take all my willpower not to kill her."

"If you are any angel of Tyr," Nevalle replied, a hand atop Axarthys's head protectively, "You would defend her. She has suffered greatly in the name of justice."

"My mercy she has under direction of Tyr. My pity will never be hers." Sedna Belladonna replied, kneeling before the seated tanar'ri. Axarthys trembled visibly, teeth chattering. The planetar cooed forebodingly, "Divine justice will be dealt to you by the end of this war. You may have seduced your human warden, but my lord deity will not wilt in face of your charms. You shudder, I see. That is well. Fear justice."

Axarthys mewled, "If you are of Tyr, see me as a fellow planar, and judge fairly my soul."

The planetar lifted the demon's face by the chin, freeing it of the knight's grasp to rejoin, "You have no soul."

The planetar dropped the demon's chin, regaining her footing to continue around the circle. Sedna Belladonna completed her lap about the table, halting at Nasher's side. She tilted herself across the table towards the map of the city, bolstered up on one elbow to permit the other arm full reign of the length of the map. She spread her digits, brushing the open space north of the city, "There are thirty-six legions of demons filtering down from the mountains toward Neverwinter. Hell-mouths have been opened, dispersedly and remotely enough that human contact is lessened. This assures the demons are not assaulted in their most vulnerable state- when they are re-entering the Abyss. This matter we will speak of later. For now, we must channel the demons' movements, limiting their siege power."

"They have the advantage descending from higher ground onto the city itself, but their movements are already restricted as the Neverwinter River flows on one side of their forces, barring them from surrounding the entire city," Casavir mentioned, his pointed finger falling from the crest of the mountaintops along one side, south towards Neverwinter, "If we dare to halve our army, we may send one half above the current positions of the abyssal legions and order half remain in the city, trapping the demons. This will force them to move along our west walls, towards the ocean. From that point, we may make use of a small naval force, where spell casters may launch projectile magic from a safe distance, driving the army south of Neverwinter, towards Waterdeep."

"Yes, indeed, what of Waterdeep? Have not they sent aid called for by the Lord's Alliance?" Sedna Belladonna asked.

"War came too swiftly to implore their aid." Nasher lamented, "We must rely on our own prowess."

"Good. Then we know precisely what parameters we have to work within. I agree heartily with the paladin Casavir, and additionally, I would add if we take a small party with Axarthys towards the hell mouths, it would bait the demons away from the city long enough that half the army could ascend the slopes above the demons. We could also use the opportunity to pursue the ranger Bishop, whose treachery should come to justice." The planetar responded, inquiring of Nevalle, "You aren't above the use of your prisoner in such a way?"

"No, not if it is for Neverwinter," he answered, "Though I do not like knowingly placing her in harm's way. I would have more confidence if she went with knights I trusted."

"I will accompany her, at Tyr's request." Sedna Belladonna replied.

"If Lord Nasher would permit it, I would go with Axarthys. Know as well, planetar, I would be honored to battle alongside a celestial of Tyr." Casavir stated. The planetar nodded in graciousness. Axarthys squirmed in her seat, sitting up to grapple Nevalle's arm. He gazed to her, leaning in to hear her quivered whispers. He sighed, nodding and returning to the council.

"Axarthys does not feel safe traveling alongside a celestial and paladin both." Nevalle reported, "I, on the other hand, find it perfectly acceptable. There are two no more perfectly suited warriors to enter the Abyss and face down tanar'ri than a planetar and a paladin. Lord Nasher, if you find it permissible, I would agree to it."

"I trust your judgment. It will be allowed." Nasher replied.

"My lord, if I may," Nevalle added, "Axarthys has yet to present her thoughts. Would you hear them?"

"The demon may speak."

Nevalle uttered quietly to the demon for a few moments, the council exchanging questioning glares. Sedna Belladonna watched with patient disgust, Casavir with a compassionate indifference to her heritage. Eventually Nevalle swung the tanar'ri to her feet, a hand on the small of her back to support her standing. Axarthys leaned against the table, huffing infinitesimal breaths. She panted, "I need the name of the demon who leads the attack. Sedna…?"

"Dantalion." The planetar curtly replied. Axarthys's mouth gaped, her eyes springing tears.

"My father." She breathed. Axarthys crumpled backwards, caught in Nevalle's waiting arm. He forced her to stand, facing her towards the council. She exhaled sharply, fists tensing as fury sapped her strength. Her fear of divine power twisted into malice, an all-consuming spite. Hissing, she arched her spine and hung her shoulders over the table, snarling, "Planetar, you knew of this, did you not?"

"I had figured it so, though that is of little concern. You have far more worrisome threats than your father- he seeks to return you home preferably in one piece. It is Bishop you should be concerned about." Sedna Belladonna crooned from cross the room, "But you know nothing of his treachery, do you?"

Axarthys's gaze sharpened with raw rage, "I am not deaf. I heard of Bishop's plot, consorting with Alvarez to make me Demogorgon's bride, but Dantalion will not allow it and seeks to reach me first. Let us exploit Bishop's treachery. Let us side with Dantalion."

"No. Instead, we must distract Dantalion's army and guide you to the hell mouths. From there, we will battle Bishop, while the misled abyssal forces are crushed by Neverwinter's army." Sedna Belladonna firmly stated. Axarthys's impatience carved itself, whittle to the emotion of contemplation. Considering the angel's plan the demon lifted partial weight from Nevalle's arm as she clung to the tabletop.

"We risk our lives crossing the war plains towards the hell mouths," she said, "Instead, let Dantalion lead us to them. If he wishes to save me from these walls, give him reason to do so- knowingly threaten mylife, and he shall come to my aid, returning me through the hell mouths where Bishop may be found."

"And how are we to convincingly threaten your life without actually doing so? That may prove a higher risk than dodging the abyssal forces." Casavir mentioned.

"Flog me, hang me- but allow a third party to do so, someone not in understanding of these terms." Axarthys paused, rapped her fingers, and then said, "Adelaide. Adelaide Cryhart. Surrender me to her; permit her to punish me as she sees fits for my crimes. Surely her formulation for my death will be a lengthy one, allotting Dantalion fair time to rescue me and to slay her, if you agree she is so disposable."

"I cannot allow you to so daringly dispense of your life. Weak as you are, such an attempt could easily kill you." Nevalle chastised in her ear. Axarthys wrapped a palm over his, thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"If we are brave, Dantalion will be fast." She hushed in assurance, head yielded upon his shoulder. Nevalle eventually nodded, stiffening the embrace of his arm around her delicate waist.

"And who-" The planetar interrupted their shared moment of affection, "-Shall accompany you, led by Dantalion, to the Abyss?"

"Rightfully I would assume you, and perchance Casavir, who moments ago pledged his shield to my defense. A planetar is a feared force, and a paladin, whose holy aura burns the very marrow within demon bones, is welcome. Trail behind me, and I will lead you to the Abyss," Axarthys replied, lowering her voice to say, "Nevalle, I cannot bring myself to ask you to aid me over Neverwinter."

"I am glad." He replied.

"That is well, for Nevalle shall lead the armies of Neverwinter alongside me." Nasher proclaimed, "And as a sound course of battle has been set at our feet, all we must do now is follow it. You may each retire to your chambers. We reconvene for war on the morrow."

-

Author's Notes:

I can't believe this- 13 pages of this chapter that only BEGIN to cover the final battle! I decided to break it off after the council because not only does that keep the chapter length consistent with the others but it's a good point of closure. Not to mention, enough tension occurs in this chapter between Nevalle and Axarthys. You can only consume small portions of their drama at a time lest your brains splatter inside your intact skull. That's just disgusting.

Keep checking for the next chapter to be posted. Personally I don't know when that will be because I'm moving in to college this Friday, otherwise I'd give you a roundabout idea. 'Till then, have a happy Labor Day and enjoy the chapter!

Author-ly love always,

Valah