Demon Angel

human life."
    "As dictated by God?" he guessed, swinging back to Georges. "After his revolt, why would Satan agree to such terms? How could killing a human be worse?" As the words left his mouth, he felt a rush of shame and horror that he had asked the question in earnest, as if it were a truth to be sought.
    "Free will and life are the two gifts bestowed upon humanity which may not be compromised." Humor flitted over Georges's face. "And as few men will bring injury upon themselves, the demons could not hurt them."
    Questions flooded Hugh's mind, but the image of Sir William bound and awaiting Lilith rushed to the fore. He gave a short laugh, and the answering smile on Georges's lips told him the older man divined his thoughts. "Aye, some do will it upon themselves," he said, sobering. Perhaps the man could see within his mind.
    But if Georges did, he gave no indication that he recognized Hugh's suspicions. His gaze, though directed at Hugh, seemed far beyond him. "The men could do little against the demons, for they had neither the strength nor speed to combat them effectively. But the army of human foes distracted them, scattered them, as the dragon had the seraphim. And one man, finding himself alone against the wyrm, managed to defeat it with a strike to the heart."
    Of course—Saint George and the dragon. Hugh had heard this tale from the time he'd been a lad. "Do not forget to include the virgin, George !" he said, his mockery little disguising his anger. Young he might be, but rarely a fool. "The king's daughter, a sacrifice to the dragon, saved moments before it devoured her."
    "That is a later story," Georges replied. "And I failed to save her."
    Hugh shook his head in disgust. "You are mad." But his breath drew fast and tight, and he could not erase the image of the winged creature from his mind. If Georges was mad, then Hugh must be equally.
    "And what of that?" he said, gesturing with his sword to the bailey. "A demon, was it? Or a dragon come to devour the castle?"
    Georges did not answer him directly; he stepped to the parapet and looked over the side. There was naught to see. This side of the castle faced the valley, and everything below the ridge lay in shadow. "The ruins here, in Greece and Rome—we heard many a tale from the Crusaders and traveling knights while in the Angevin court, did we not? Of their magnificent structures, and the wonder of a society that could produce that beauty. That ours is a poor and corrupt society in comparison, succored on the last remnants of their greatness."
    "That is what they claim," Hugh said impatiently. "If not for the degeneracy of men, it would still be standing, not a rotting memory."
    Georges shook his head, turned to lean against the parapet, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "Men are no more evil—or better—than they were then. Nor has the number of demons, sent to tempt and lead men astray, dwindled. But that second battle made apparent to those Above that the seraphim, in all their power, could not relate to men, nor protect them, without being worshipped themselves. And men could not be blamed for that— the seraphim were too different, too… inhuman; they could not pass, even in a human guise. Likewise, so the demons are too inhuman for one who knows how to look—for one who knows that he needs to look. And so to gain an advantage, those Above created the Guardians: men and women given angelic powers, enabling them to defend against the demons, but who remained men and women. The one who destroyed the dragon was the first made, and he was given the task of choosing others to join him."
    Hugh's laughter rang out over the bailey, echoing against the stone and returning, the angry edge worn off by disbelief. "I suppose you are here to recruit me then? What shall be my test? To kill the demon in our midst?"
    "That is not how it is done." His eyes darkening, Georges said, "You saw that demon, and you still reject the truth I have told you."
    "Aye, because demons are well known—but men who are as angels, and take the name of Guardian? 'Tis profane."
    Georges stared at him for a moment, and then his face softened with the slightest of smiles. "I told her you would bend, but not break—I was mistaken: in some things, you don't even bend."
    "Does she think to unbalance me?" Hugh did not need to ask whom Georges was speaking of. If one knew how to look; it had not taken him long to think of all he'd seen since his return to Fordham Castle.