#28 The Annunciation of the Lady Beauvoir
Lady Beauvoir's chamber in Barfunweltz Manse was deathly quiet as she contemplated her strategies once again, honing the details so nothing could thwart her ambitions. Lord Voltaire was still away on his quest; perhaps he would not return? It mattered not, she had already found the answers to the questions she had asked of him. The main obstacle to her plan now was that troublesome priest, the Baby-Eating Bishop of Barfunweltz and his False Messiah.
Their Raptured Court of flesh-eaters had become the dominant power in Barfunweltz, and numbers were being added to it daily. But if she was to realise her ambition of total control over all the followers of the Rose, they too must be brought to heel. The Flesh-Eater Courts were ever unpredictable allies for the Legion of Blood, and unless she could find a way to inveigle herself into their delusion, she would never be able to bend them to her will. But she had a plan. Using Anya's strange connection with the Raptured Court, they had planted a seed in the collective delusion. Now she just had to wait...
Before long, her preternatural senses discerned the awkward flapping of great leathery wings drawing near. Gracefully she sank down onto her knees and lowered her head towards her window, as if in prayer.
A moment later, the quiet was shattered as the hulking form of a crypt infernal smashed though her window and landed awkwardly in her chamber. Unflinching, she maintained her meek position, but silently raised her eyes in mock awe.
"Greetings, you who are highly favoured," the monstrous creature rasped through its drooling, blood-encrusted maw, "I am Gabriel."
"My lord, I am greatly troubled!" Beauvoir affected the most pathetically timid attitude she could muster. "What kind of greeting is this?"
"Do not be afraid..." the infernal trailed off as a confused expression spread over its bestial face.
Quickly, Beauvoir reached out with her mind, opening the tiniest crack of her imagination to the powerful delusion emanating from the mordant. Immediately, she saw the undead monster as it saw itself: a majestic archangel; shining, glorious, benevolent and magnificent. She pushed back firmly against the delusion as it threatened to overwhelm her psyche.
"O archangel! Can it be that I have found favour with the Lord of the Rose?" she suggested, hoping she sounded convincingly innocent and meek (she had been neither for hundreds of years). "Has he really chosen me - a humble maid - to bring forth his Majesty into the mortal realms?"
Prompted by her mental probing, the infernal answered: "His spirit will come on you, and the power of the most high will overshadow you."
"I am the Lord's servant," Beauvoir answered. "May your word to me be fulfilled."
At that, the 'archangel' seemed satisfied its celestial duty had been fulfilled; it turned and launched itself clumsily through the hole it had smashed and out into the purple evening sky. Even as it left, the delusional vision faded from Beauvoir's mind.
She smiled to herself; her ruse appeared to have worked. All she had to do now was make her suggested prophecy come to pass. Raising the Soulblight portion of the False Apostle's soul would be no mean feat. Yet her research suggested her rites would be sufficient to wrench it from the Empty Hearse. The stakes were high: if she failed, the Flesh-Eaters would now see her as some kind of antichrist or apostate; but if she succeeded, all the undead of Barfunweltz could be united under her control...
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