Here is the first short story I ever had published. I hope you like it.

- Patrick Ramsahoye

Patrick Ramsahoye, is working towards a B.Sc Enginering at Carleton University to go with his B.A. English.

Pat has an incredible wit and sense of humor peppered with a slightly dark side. His short story reflects this as well as his love for science fiction and fantasy.

The Burning Angel Tavern

by Patrick Ramsahoye

The hollow sound of the mount's hooves warned of the rider's approach like the smoke of a fire. Like a demon rising from a pit the rider crested the hill. The sounds of the forest grew silent as he passed. Even the pale moon hid behind dark clouds as he approached. With each step of the mount the sword in his scabbard shook as if it were anxious to be used. When the moon dared peek out from behind the clouds his helm could be seen to wear the face of death.

The lights of the tavern shone in the darkness. As he approached the rider could hear the sounds of revelry coming from inside. The door burst open and two figures flew out. They rolled in the dirt, a tangle of thrashing limbs. The rider ignored them as he tied his mount to the post near the door. The sign over the entrance pictured an angel bound to a stake in a flaming pit. The dark rider went inside, his black armor clanking with each step. He sat at the bar and took off his helmet, revealing a scar running diagonally down his face from left to right.

The room was less crowded than he expected to find it. Most of the tables were empty, and only two other men sat at the bar, and a third had passed out on it. All the noise seemed to come from the back room. The air was thick from the smoke coming from the fireplace. The barkeep looked at him. "Can I get you something?"

The rider put some coins on the bar and pushed them towards the barkeep saying, "pink lady."

The barkeep worked at holding back a smirk. "A pink lady? Wouldn't you rather have a bloody mary? That's one of my specialties."

"I asked for a pink lady."

The barkeep shrugged and turned to make the drink, shaking as he tried to hold back his laughter. He put a glass in front of the rider. The rider pulled out the umbrella and started his drink. One of the men at the bar turned to the rider. "I know most of the people around here,, but I haven't seen you before. I'm curious to know what an awesome warrior like yourself would be named."

The rider put down his glass. He had been waiting for this. He got up and stood behind his barstool. With his right hand he held his blood red cape over his left shoulder. His left hand pushed the hilt of his sword out from under the cape. He took a dignified and powerful stance and said, "Where I come from I am known as..." His right eyebrow raised just a bit and his mouth curled into an evil grin. The room quieted. Even the noise from the back room seemed to lessen. After a pause just long enough for the maximum dramatic effect he continued, "Herbert," in a whisper just loud enough for the people at the bar to hear him. They nodded their heads and turned back to their drinks.

"Well," asked Herbert, quite surprised.

"Well what," asked the barkeep.

"Why aren't you cowering in fear, racing for the door, or diving behind the bar?"

"Are we supposed to be," asked the man sitting beside the first.

"Yes," replied Herbert, not without some disappointment, "I'm Herbert, Scourge of the Nether Dimensions, Terror of the Swirling Mists, Warlord of the Dark Riders."

"But I thought I was the Scourge...," began the second man before the barkeep hastily shoved a tankard in front of him. The barkeep winked at the first man and said, "I'm awfully sorry, it's just that I can't remember ever hearing of a Herbert before, but it does sound like you deserve to have us all run and hide from you. Perhaps if you tried it again we might get it right."

Herbert shook his head. "No. No. It has to work the first time or else the magic of the moment is lost." He sat back down at the bar.

"I really do feel bad about this," said the first man as he patted Herbert on the back. I'll buy the next round. Luce," he motioned to the barkeep, "another round, on me." Looking back at Herbert he said, " now that we know who you are it's only fair that we introduce ourselves. My name is Mephistopheles, but you can call me Mephisto." With a look of caution he looked at the the second man.

The second put down his tankard and held a clawed hand out to Herbert. "I'm Beelzebub," he grinned.

Mephisto motioned to the barkeep, "And, this is Lucifer."

Lucifer stopped polishing a mug just long enough the shake Herbert's hand and say, "Call me Satan. Glad to meet ya."

"So," began Beelzebub, "you are the Scourge of the Nether Dimensions. I imagine you must be very terrible indeed."

Herbert replied, "Oh yes, I am. Why just today my dark riders and I maimed and destroyed an entire village. Now there are ten people who won't use my name lightly again, I tell you."

"Oh my," said Beelzebub sarcastically, "that sounds like it must have been exciting."

"And I suppose you've done worse."

"No, I can't say that I've ever done anything quite like that. I did have a hundred virgins sacrificed to me last night."

"Come on," broke in Mephisto, "it was only seventy-two virgins."

"That's a lie," yelled Beelzebub, nostrils flaring.

"How can you say that to me, after all I was with you last night when you got them, and I distinctly remember there only being seventy-two virgins in the lot."

"Well," growled Beelzebub, "they were all virgins when they were captured."

"But it doesn't do you any good to have your minions defiling your sacrifices before you even get a chance to use them."

"My priests have to get some fun out of it, or else they won't want to be my priests any more."

"Oh, I agree, but there has to be a limit. Next thing you know they'll only be thinking of themselves and forgetting about you totally."

"So what did you do about it," asked Satan.

Beelzebub buried his snout in his drink and mumbled something. "What was that," asked Herbert.

Mephisto broke out laughing and said, "Nothing. He did nothing."

Satan looked shocked. "Nothing? Didn't you castrate them, or render them impotent? In the very least you could've covered their faces with warts."

"I didn't do any of that. I don't want to push them too hard. You know I have precious few of them, and I can't afford to have any of them running away."

"Well, you know that's your own fault. If you made service to you more appealing, like I do, you would have a much larger following."

Mephisto broke in, " Don't give us that. You know you would be nowhere if it weren't for Mister Goody-Two-Shoes' preachers always giving you that free publicity. I wish I had as many problems as you do."

"Don't act like you don't get anything out of it. How many followers do you two steal from me just because they mix us up?"

"Not enough," grumbled Beelzebub.

"And you," Satan turned to Beelzebub, "you're not as forgotten as you'd like to think you are. What about all those songs..."

"I'm hardly ever mentioned, and when I am they mean you."

"Or that game that's so popular nowadays, that I'm not even mentioned in. You're listed as an Archfiend."

"Yeah, as the second in command to some goob named Asmodeus. Who in the name of Home is he? At least Mephisto here gets his name pronounced properly."

"That's because I'm a more artistic devil. Plays, movies, stage names, it's all in the marketing."

Herbert was feeling left out. He turned to Satan. "If you're so much more powerful than these two why are you bartending. I'd have thought you had a big castle or something."

"It's my turn."

"You're turn?"

Mephisto became more interested in this conversation and answered for Satan. "Yes, you see we are all so busy with our mortal affairs that none of us has time to look after the tavern full time so we all take turns. That way we can have our fun and socialize too."

"That may be why you come here, Mephisto," broke in Beelzebub, "but I only come because Satan mixes the best drinks I've ever had. He's good enough to tempt angels. He even brings in the old crowd." He pointed to a table in a corner.

Herbert hadn't noticed them before. "Who are they?"

"They are the heroes of the game. They had followings that would put any of ours to shame. Now let's see, who is who? The fellow in black is Hades. The Woman with the black and white face is Hela. They were both so mean their names are both synonymous with the underworld. They actually had everyone convinced that what they had to offer was the best there was. The older man beside Hela is Loki, her father. Even I don't trust him. He's supposed to responsible for the end of the world, and I wouldn't be surprised if he still manages to do it. If you want to hear about some real good times just ask them to tell you a story. Makes me wish I was around when they were at their best, just to see what they were like."

"What happened to them?"

Mephisto answered, "Mister High and Mighty stole all their followers. He offered them something more than Hell for the good and bad. I'm telling you, that guy is the worst thing that ever happened to us."

"Oh, I don't think He's all that bad," said Satan. "after all, He did clear the way for us. No one can get all the mortals at once, especially the way He does things. 'Don't do this. Don't do that.' Even so, there's barely enough left for the rest of us."

"Not the way you hog things," said Beelzebub. How many followers do you have?"

"I think I've got a couple of million. Does that sound right to you Mephisto?"

"Yes, that's about right. It's certainly more than I have, but then I don't really keep track of my own. I think its more fun just tempting them over to our side."

"'Don't keep track of my own,' he says," grumbled Beelzebub. "And here I am trying to squeak by with just a few hundred thousand." He turned to Herbert. "Isn't that pitiful? I bet you can top that no problem. How many of these Dark Riders did you say you had?"

Herbert hung his head down. "Twenty-five."

"How many?" Disbelief was in Beelzebub's voice.

"Twenty-five, okay! I only have twenty-five."

"Calm down," said Satan. "That's not too bad. When I started I didn't have any. Then I got one, then two, then the next thing I knew I had influence all over the world. You Just have to work at it."

"And how long did it take you to get a decent following?"

"Just a few centuries. At the rate you're going you'll be up here with us in no time."

"Right. I have more Dark Riders now than I've had in one thousand years."

"Oh. So its taking a while. At least you have followers. I know hundreds of minor demons who would give their right horn for just one follower, right Lefty?" The drunk at the end of the bar lifted his head just enough to grunt something. "And here you are complaining about only having twenty-five."

"You should be thankful you have as many as you do," said Mephisto.

"True," broke in Beelzebub, "and they must be a pretty frightening bunch to do so much damage to ten villagers. I usually ignore villages and work more on cities myself, but I can imagine how hard it must be to pillage and destroy a whole. I can see it now, all those women and children running for their lives, the huts billowing black smoke as they burned, the men hopelessly using pitchforks against the charging onslaught, the cattle and horses stampeding in fear, and the dog (there's always a dog) standing firm and doing its best to demoralize the attackers with its fierce barks. Just talking about it makes me want to go out and ravage the countryside some. I wish I had time to get involved in my priest's raids like you do."

"Well, actually they aren't my priests, but they're as loyal as priests when I agree to do what they vote for. I don't exactly remember stampedes. They only had an old cow and a workhorse, but there was a dog. It was a small dog, but it was there. So were the men, uh, man. And he wasn't using a pitchfork. He had a scythe. he knocked down seven of my best men before we managed to splatter him, and that wasn't so easy with all those old women beating us with brooms."

Mephistopheles started laughing. "One man with a lawnmower and a bunch of old hags gave you and twenty-five men on horseback all that trouble? I wouldn't be so anxious to tell that story, Herbert."

"What are you laughing at? That was a difficult attack, probably the hardest raid we've had in a long time. I bet you've never done anything harder."

Satan leaned over the bar and looked Herbert in the eye. "When we were just starting out we were in a major war. Imagine just us three and whatever we could scrounge up as troops against hordes of angels. We were outnumbered sixty to one. I don't have to tell you we were beaten, but we weren't defeated. We ran away, but we've been building up our forces. Now the angels aren't so anxious to take us on, the sides are too even. When you and your Dark Riders can tell me you did something like that I'll be impressed."

Beelzebub slapped Satan's arm to get his attention. Remember towards the end of the war, when they had us surrounded in that valley? I thought we were as good as dead, but just when things looked their worst you came through for us. They never expected us to retreat into Hell. It caught them totally be surprise."

"You weren't to shabby yourself," said Mephisto. "You held off all those angels long enough for Satan to open up the way to Hell for us. If you hadn't done that we'd have been swarmed."

"I couldn't have set up a defense if you hadn't found what their plans were. One day you'll have to tell me how you did it."

"Ah, but it's a trade secret."

"All it takes is teamwork," said Satan.

The door to the back burst open. Four demons crashed onto a table and tried to use the pieces to beat each other. The occasional mug or chair followed them through the opening. "That's it," said Satan, "if I don't stop them they'll tear the whole place apart." He went into the back room shouting, "Okay, that's it. Party's over. Everybody out. You don't want to make me angry." Beelzebub grabbed the four demons and tossed them out the front door.

Between thunderclaps from the back room Mephisto said, "Where's Herbert?"

"I don't know," said Beelzebub as he took his seat again. Maybe we inspired him to try another village. I hope he can handle it."

"I don't think we inspired him." Mephisto picked up the helmet from the bar and the sword off the stool and put them on the wall next to the right horn.