Page 39 of The Malevolent Eight

Ah, shit, I thought.They know. Or at least, Rationality knows.

‘She means because I’m such a competent leader,’ I said quickly.

Nobody looked convinced.

My one minor turn of good luck? The parting gift the Celestine of Rationality gave me was a brief kiss and the wink that followed.

‘Void take us, Brother,’ Corrigan said, smacking me on the back and sending me stumbling forward into what was once again a muddy field. ‘Does the Celestine of Rationality really think you’re going to kill the Spellslinger just to get into bed with her? Because if so, I may have to rethink my opposition to organised religion.’

I wiped off as much mud as I could and went to retrieve my clothes. I didn’t keep bringing up our nakedness because I figured it would make you uncomfortable. Also, remember when I said Infernals have a weird aversion to public nudity? I guess that’s why the unbelievably huge fucking contingent of Demoniac Hellions, Subjugators, Monstrosity Artillerists and a host– literally– of other troops waited until we were fully clothed before they dropped the obscurement spell and revealed that we were surrounded.

‘Geez, Cade,’ Tenebris said, stepping gingerly to avoid soiling the garish purple and scarlet military finery he wore over his Schemelord’s armour, ‘what the fuck were you thinking? Conjuring a Celestine cathedral barely five miles from an Infernal barracks? You think nobody would notice?’

‘I thought you considered military service beneath you, Tenebris. Aren’t you supposed to be a humble restauranteur these days?’

Corrigan nudged me. ‘Ask him if he brought any of that paella.’

Tenebris gestured to the insignia of rank on his left shoulder. ‘This Schemelord gig was a requirement of the deal. Strictly part-time– you know, like when some idiot summons the Lords Celestine right on our back doorstep.’ He peered at my face. ‘Seriously, man, you got some kind of emotional problems or something?’

I turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight of more Infernal troops than I’d ever seen assembled outside of Hell itself. ‘So, what’s the plan, Tenebris? This is a lot of firepower just to kill seven wonderists.’

‘Killyou?’ Tenebris chuckled, a little sorrowfully, I thought, and shook his head. ‘We don’t bring out this many guys just to off a bunch of losers like you.’ He gave a signal, and dozens of Sorcerers and Artillerists took up position at the front. ‘This is how much firepower we need to subdue your crew without giving any of you the chance to commit suicide.’ He stared at me, crimson eyes narrowing. ‘You must’ve known this was coming, Cade. All your screwing around, messing with our plans, our recruitment efforts? The bosses want a sit-down.’

‘The Lords Devilish?’ Alice asked, mouth agape. In the six months since Hazidan Rosh had stuck me with her, this was the first time Alice had looked like a scared teenager– and this is a teenager whose psychopathic torturer parents can hold a grudge for millennia andreallylike making examples of those who defy them.

‘Tell me this is part of the plan,’ Corrigan murmured, standing close behind me. ‘Tell me that somehow this unbelievable screw-up that’s about to put us at the mercy of the fucking Lords Devilish is, contrary to all available evidence, a brilliantly cunning ploy of yours.’

‘Let’s go,’ Tenebris said, and a squad of Demoniac Subjugators bound us with intricate bronze shackles. The elaborate design and engraved sigils made it clear they had been custom-made for each of us– even Temper had a set, which made our capture unexpectedly unnerving.

The moment the cuffs closed around my wrists, I felt half a dozen spells suddenly incapacitating every part of my being, from my body to my spirit to my lousy sense of humour. I could see the same effect in the despair taking hold of all my friends. It hurt my soul, the way everyone looked at me like I was somehow supposed to offer words of encouragement– the looks that fill real heroes with an unyielding determination to fight back. And okay, maybe I haven’t presented myself as having the most heroic heart beating in my chest, but these six lunatics weren’t just some mercenary crew I’d joined; they were the best friends and the bravest people I’d ever known. And damn it, whatever the price, no gods-damned mystical shackles were going to stop me giving them my all.

As Tenebris and his army led us off in chains to wherever we were going to face the merciless Lords Devilish, I fought back against one of the spells in the subjugation cuffs long enough to call back to them, ‘Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time I had sex with the Celestine of Rationality?’

Chapter 19

Some Light Dinner Torture

I would have been less irritated by the gaudy surroundings in which the seven of us were being tortured had we not had to sit out in the cold half the night while the Infernals erected a Scarlet Cathedral for the coming of the Lords Devilish. The cathedral was in no way necessary.

Here’s the thing about those who sit atop the Infernal Hierarchy: they’re a bunch of jealous and competitive fuckwits. The Lords Celestine are twelve in number? Well, then, we better have at least thirteen Lords Devilish. Auroral armour shimmers? Let’s make sure that Infernal armour positivelyoozesiridescence. Oh, and the Lords Celestine can cause an entire cathedral to appear wherever they choose so long as a group of idiots perform the right ritual? Behold as the Lords Devilish. . . sit around and wait for their servants to build the damned thing one spell at a time.

As much as the Lords Celestine and Lords Devilish might come off as near-identical groups of arseholes differentiated solely by their fashion choices, there are, in fact, a multitude of differences, one of which is that the Aurorals havewaybetter shaping spells. With enough raw materials and elements nearby, an Auroral Visioneer can transmute stone, wood and even dust into a wondrous temple whose beauty would reduce even the most cynical architect to tears. Infernal magic lacks the innate sense of permanence to achieve such pompous feats. Their Artificers can, of course, twist certain debasement spells to erect vaguely similar architectural wonders, just not as quickly– or as structurally sound.

‘You know, this place is kind of a dump,’ I observed to the Lord Devilish who was lounging next to the bizarre apparatus holding me bound by my wrists and ankles. She was gnawing on the end of one of my intestines as it dangled between us from the open wound on my stomach. The experience was more nauseating than painful, to be honest. I mean, sure, the belly wound hurt like. . . well, like hells, but the nerves in my body had pretty much given up by then.

The rest of our coven were suffering equally grotesque indignities. Aradeus was chained to a post while demoniac seamstresses were stitching a huge, twitching rat tail onto his rear end. Given how often he protests about being a ratmageand not an actual rat, this was truly adding insult to injury.

Corrigan was doing an admirable job of not screaming, given he was having thin slices of an especially beloved portion of his anatomy delicately carved off and placed upon round crackers for the Lords Devilish to sample.

Shame had been taken by half a dozen malefics, each of whom had been made to look exactly like Fidick, the beatific boy who’d so deceived us, and forced Shame into committing a crime so vile that it dwarfed every indecent act she’d endured as an Angelic Emissary. The six little Fidicks were gleefully stuffing Shame into a huge metal machine of cogs and wheels, which was pumping out her pulverised bones so they could be pasted onto Alice’s horns. They were getting so obscenely large that her head was weighed down, the horns slowly grinding into the floor of the cathedral.

Oh, right: the cathedral. It was, in every sense, a near-identical replica of the Celestines’, except for being larger and decorated entirely in clashing shades of red. The thirteen thrones of the Lords Devilish did have cushioned upholstery, however, so you couldn’t accuse them of lacking innovation.

Temper sat nearby on his haunches, unmolested by the small army of demoniac functionaries enacting the many torments on the rest of us. The Lords Devilish must have been stumped by the kangaroo’s mind, unable to squeeze from his thoughts any punishment that would crush his beastly soul. Perhaps kangaroos are just unconscionably evil fuckers who can’t be grossed-out no matter what you do to them. As for Galass, well, in our little carnival of corruption, she was the carrot. Or the stick. I honestly wasn’t sure how the metaphor applied in this particular context.

‘Why aren’t they torturing me?’ she asked.

They had seated her in a comfortable chair a few feet away from my significantly less comfortable iron rack. She was unshackled, and had even been permitted to keep on her silver sublime’s gown. All the while, the thirteen Lords Devilish, magnificently attired in matching iridescent scarlet robes, watched from their various thrones. What distinguished them from one another were the contrasting styles and configurations of horns which were, honestly, jaw-dropping to behold. You wouldn’t expect all those elaborate bone spirals, curves, corkscrews, prongs, knobs and antlers to evoke such majesty, but damn, they sure looked cool. The effect of all this impressive regalia was, however, entirely ruined anytime one of them opened their fool mouths.

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