But the will of Mephistopheles was absolute in Hell, even to the point of blurring the lines of reality. Aside from overcoming the nature of the Merging, he’d had to contend with the Barrier, which had long prevented demons from crossing to Lokka in force. For centuries, the King of Hell had been working to weaken the Barrier, and now his work was complete. The Barrier prevented a buildup of demonic power from crossing. An individual demon with great power could not cross, while a single, weak demon might manage the transition. But an army of the weakest demons could not cross, because of their combined power.
Centuries ago, Mephistopheles had tried filtering through an army a few demons at a time. But the plains bounded by the Earthforge were featureless and under constant surveillance from the city of Nocka and the paladins housed within. Without the strength of the more powerful demons, they were no match for the paladins, and a single sortie of the holy warriors easily wiped the weak demons from existence.
Even a force of moderately powerful demons crossing under similar circumstances – but smaller numbers – was useless, for the paladins fell on them like a hammer before their numbers were sufficient to withstand the holy might. Mephistopheles had ground his teeth in frustration for another century before he discovered a way to weaken the Barrier. Finally he had begun his efforts, slowly at first as he gathered his strength. About the time Malith had crossed, still wearing the white cloak of beauty from his life in the Prism, Mephistopheles had begun to attack the Barrier in earnest and was forming his army.
Malith was the key that had made the King of Hell’s dreams possible. Malith had presented his new liege lord with the plan that would eventually lead them to victory. Of that outcome, Malith had no doubts. Their strength was overwhelming, and the mortal defenders of Nocka would pose little problem, thanks to the efforts of The Three. Oh, they would lose some of their forces in taking the city, but in a simple press of numbers the outcome was inevitable. Malith would prove his worth to the most powerful being in Hell, and everyone would see the genius of his strength and cunning.
All of his preparations were complete. His army was gathered. The Barrier was sufficiently weakened. The city was cut off from outside aid. The Prismatic Council was practically in the palm of his hand. It was time.
“Pass the word,” Malith ordered a messenger. The damned soul had been mutated to possess wings and was now a shriveled husk of its former humanity. It was grotesque, but necessary to craft usable messengers and warriors. Fortunately, the genius of Arthryx the Bender had discovered a way to manipulate the semi-corporeal bodies of the damned, shaping them into whatever demented forms Arthryx or Malith could devise.
“My lord?” the messenger asked.
“Begin the crossing,” Malith said. “We move ahead of schedule. Proceed in designated order with all possible speed to attack the gates of Nocka. Relent only on my orders.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The messenger shambled awkwardly to the edge of the cliff and hurled itself into the air, then flew away on its twisted wings to deliver Malith’s orders.
Malith stared after it in anticipation.
“Let it begin,” he said.
- 4 -
Danner walked in the early shadows of twilight, his heart a lump of melted emotion and fiery warmth. He knew Trebor would be waiting impatiently, but even the thought of his friend’s annoyance couldn’t bring Danner down from the cloud on which he floated. He felt the urge to unleash his wings and soar to the heights where his heart already hovered in elation.
He turned a corner and avoided stepping on a pair of outstretched legs. The drunk, tramp, or whoever it was, lay collapsed and half-propped under a pile of rubbish. Danner was about to pass by when he caught sight of an outstretched hand. The flesh was bruised and bloody, but it was the gray of denarae skin. Danner immediately dropped to his knees and sorted through the rubbish, then stopped a cry in his throat as he uncovered Trebor’s face.
“Trebor!” he said in anguish. “Trebor, can you hear me?”
Danner felt at his friend’s neck and was rewarded with a sluggish pulse that reluctantly admitted the pitiful body was still alive. Trebor’s lip was split open and bleeding, and one eye was swollen shut and a disgusting purple color. Bruises and abrasions covered his flesh in a discolored quilt of pain and damage.
“Danner, is that you?” Trebor kythed.
“Yes, Treb, I’m here. What in San’s name happened?”
“I was beaten to a pulp, what’s it look like?” There was a slight pause. “Damn, do I look that bad?”
“Probably worse.”
“I can’t move or concentrate enough to heal myself,” Trebor kythed. “I need you to heal me.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Danner asked, thinking about his haphazard success with healing.
“No, but go ahead and do it anyway. It’s either that or risk carrying me all the way back to the Prism chapterhouse.”
“Right. Here goes.”
Danner forced his thoughts to be calm, and settled into a relaxed state of concentration. He whispered a fervent healing prayer and laid his hands on Trebor’s chest and forehead. A blue-white light glowed from beneath his palms and slowly spread over Trebor’s body like a dense mist as he focused on each injured portion of his friend’s body. When Danner removed his hands, the mist dissipated and Trebor’s body was still bloody, but entirely healed. His flesh was whole and unbruised, and in a moment Trebor opened his eyes and stared about him in amazement.
“That was probably the strangest sensation of my life,” Trebor said.
“The healing, or getting beaten to a pulp?”
“Yes.”
Danner hauled him to his feet, and Trebor swayed uncertainly a moment before he was stable.
“Thank you, Danner,” he said. He frowned, then shook his head in wonder. “No healing sleep. I don’t even feel tired. That must have all come from you.”
Danner might have blushed had he not felt so horrible about what his friend had endured.
“I’m sorry I let you walk back alone, Treb,” Danner said, “and I’m sorry I took so long. You must have been laying here for an hour at least.”
“Eh, after the first few blows I didn’t feel a thing, and I really didn’t notice the passing of time, or anything for that matter, until you showed up. Unconsciousness will do that to you.” He stopped and looked at Danner in surprise, then said with a sly smile, “An hour at least? It seems congratulations are in order.”
Now Danner did blush, but his thoughts immediately came back to Trebor’s incident.
“How did they sneak up on you? Didn’t you hear their thoughts? Who were they?”
Trebor shook his head. “I didn’t exactly catch their names, but I’m assuming they’re either Coalition or just denarae-haters. There’s enough of them around.”
“It’s so senseless!” Danner grated in guilty frustration. “A random encounter in the street nearly kills you?”
“I’m a denarae, Danner, and that’s enough for some people, remember?” Trebor said sadly.
The bitter reality of that statement crashed in on Danner. He lived with hundreds of denarae and considered Trebor his best friend, but it was so easy to forget the cruel bigotry the rest of the world directed at the gray-skinned demi-humans. Even Trebor’s guard must have been down, Danner realized, and their complacency had nearly cost the man his life. He never should have let Trebor go alone, but… he’d had other things on his mind.
“As for how they snuck up on me, I was distracted. That was my own damn fault. You don’t have to be sorry, Danner.”
“Well, I am.”
“Well, knock it off,” Trebor insisted. “If you feel bad, let’s say it’s cancelled out by your having healed me when I couldn’t do it myself.”
“But…”
“Just shut up, Danner, or I’ll tell Marc what you did with his sister.”
Danner’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. Trebor g
rinned at him and nodded in satisfaction. Their relationship was no secret within the group, but this was a new level, and Marc had a conservative streak in him when it came to women that was surprising in someone dating a skin dancer.
“Now let’s grab Marc’s books, get back to the chapterhouse, and pick up Gerard’s message. Garet will be waiting for us by the time we get there.”
Garet was indeed waiting, but not to return them to their camp. The entire complex was a flurry of activity with paladins rushing in every direction at once. It was only through Trebor’s ability to locate people’s thoughts that they were able to track down Garet at all.
“Boys, I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you,” Garet said when they found him. He was strapping himself into a suit of full platemail armor, which Danner didn’t think the giant paladin even owned. He’d professed a preference for chainmail when Danner had originally met him, and he’d never seen him in anything else. “The Prismatic Council voted a ‘No’ for sneaking into the camp to kill the demon, claiming there wasn’t enough evidence to prove his identity, and they will not condone the outright murder of a man ‘just in case.’”
“We sort of expected that,” Danner replied. “I’m just going to assume they’re deliberately misunderstanding the concept of scratching him up, as Michael put it, rather than just plain being too stupid to grasp the idea. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt toward cowardly politicking over rampant idiocy.”
“I second that,” Trebor chimed in.
“Well, that’s just the tip of the mountain.”
“Why is everyone rushing around?” Trebor asked.
“That’s the rest of the mountain,” Garet replied. “An army of demons just crossed the Merging,” he said bleakly. “They’re only moments away from assaulting the Barrier, and the city defenders will be overwhelmed unless we get there to help them.”
“Let’s get moving then,” Danner said urgently.
“No, not you two,” Garet said with a shake of his massive head. “You get your hides back to Gerard and let him know what’s happened. We’ve got reports of a small force of elves moving this way from the north, and it’s my guess that’s your uncle, lad. You’re to carry orders to Gerard to meet up with this force, establish their identity and intentions, and if it is friendly, escort them to Nocka. He’s to get them past the Merishank army and inside by any means necessary. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
“What about the advisor?” Trebor asked.
“It seems to me I was supposed to order you not to do something, but I must be slipping in my old age,” Garet said. “Whatever it was couldn’t have been too important, otherwise I’m sure I would have remembered. No doubt someone will remember for me, but by that time, you two will be back in your camp, won’t you?”
“Bless you. Thanks, Garet,” Danner said with a smile.
“Don’t thank me yet, boys. I’ve got to go fight now, and I can’t spare the time to get you out of here,” Garet said. “You’ll have to sneak out on your own.”
“Nothing easier,” Danner replied confidently.
“Well, get a move on then. And boys,” he said, “pray for us all.”
“God help us all,” Danner said. “For God and for man.”
“For life,” they said together. Then Danner and Trebor watched Garet’s back as he lumbered off quickly down the hallway.
“We’re going to fly out?” Trebor said, reading Danner’s mind.
“Let’s get to the tower so no one sees us take off. There’s enough cloud cover that unless someone’s looking right at us when we leave, we should be able to reach concealment quickly enough.”
“Don’t talk, run.”
Chapter 21
A man’s responsibilities are just as important as his rights.
- Denarae Proverb
- 1 -
Ran frowned as he received his report from the dybbuk. The demon’s servant had given him disturbing news that the paladins were considering a clandestine assault into his camp with the sole purpose of assassinating him. That could be dealt with, perhaps, with enough security and guards around him at all times. The holy warriors would be reluctant to slay human lives unless absolutely necessary, but Ran could throw a thousand men in their way, if necessary, to be slaughtered without a second thought.
Almost as disturbing was the report of the Orange paladin who had arrived with those intent on the assassination. Vander Wayland, the dybbuk had named him. That one knew too much already and had probably guessed more. He would have to be dealt with soon, before he could uncover the identity of Ran’s spy.
“That one is too clever by far,” Ran said telepathically to the dybbuk. “I want him dealt with as soon as possible in an appropriately horrible way. It must not draw attention to his theories or findings in any way, however, and it cannot lead back to you. I don’t want another clever one picking up where he left off. You are a valuable tool in my brothers’ absence.”
“I have already hidden away several of the key texts as you ordered, master,” the dybbuk said. “Some were missing, and I have yet to discover their whereabouts.”
“How many paladins do you have left under your control?” Ran asked, even though he already knew the answer. He was just frustrated.
“The young paladins removed all but one of my resources, and it is he whom I now occupy, master,” the dybbuk reported apologetically. “I do have some influence through other means, however. The others live still somewhere, but my connection to them has been severed and I cannot sense them. I also cannot, as you know, control more unless you pass them to me.”
“We’re too far apart for me to do that,” Ran snapped, “and I must remain close to maintain my hold over so many at once, else I’d simply fly to you now. Were I able, I would willingly pass control of these buffoons to you so I could concentrate on more important matters. The hated paladin’s arrival, for example.”
The dybbuk had reported that the Gray paladin, who had escaped from Hell and been a part of The Three’s mission to the mortal plane, was soon to arrive. Ran feared and hated that one above all others, with the possible exception of the holy presence he’d felt in his camp the other night. If those two were to join together and attack Ran, he would have little chance of surviving, of that he was sure.
Ran had already considered abandoning his place in the Merishank army and seeking a more suitably anonymous role, but Mephistopheles would not hesitate to destroy him for such a betrayal. The demon was bereft of his brothers, but he had no wish to join them in oblivion.
“When the paladin arrives, I can ensure he remains delayed with reports and other such hindrances as needed,” the dybbuk suggested.
“That will only do me good if he goes into the city first,” Ran said irritably. “If he has learned of my presence, however, he will come for me now. It is his quest and his duty, thanks to you.”
“How then may I be of service, master?” the dybbuk asked humbly – and tactfully not pointing out that it was Ran’s own brother who orchestrated the plot to send the paladin hunting after The Three.
The plan had failed on so many fronts, primarily because The Three were not used to dealing with mortals, nor with the travails of travel in Lokka. Travel in Hell was as much an act of will as one of motion, and local weather was controllable by any demon of sufficient strength. There was no need to account for storms, damaged vessels, human frailty at sea, or any number of other frustrations that could wreak havoc on the best-laid plans.
Ran’s brother Min had once controlled a paladin accompanying the Gray one, and he was to be used as a knife in the dark or a sword in the back at an opportune time. Sal had spared the life of the Gray paladin’s woman, intending to take her at a later time and break her will. Two key tools ready for use, but madness had taken one, and poor planning removed the other from consideration. In the end, delays in travel had forced their hand: the fall of the dwarven nation and the resulting chaos took precedence over one man’s death,
and Sal’s efforts in gathering lesser demons nearly went to waste. The trap they sprung on the Gray paladin was less effective than it might have been, and their mad paladin had lost his life without destroying even one of his fellows.
Centuries of planning had been rapidly devastated, and their mission still lay unfulfilled. Sal’s next step would have been to journey to the elven islands and foment chaos there to prevent them from sending any reinforcements to Nocka. Elven warriors were second-to-none in Lokka, and a significant force would hinder the demons’ efforts in the coming war. Too many plans were unraveling, and one more failure would likely result in Ran’s obliteration.
His thoughts churned, maddeningly alone in the absence of his brothers’ presence.
“Slay the Orange paladin at the first suitable opportunity and continue your efforts of disrupting the Council and the city defenders,” Ran said finally. “I will contact you when I have further orders. In the meantime, seek to contact the mortal Mephistopheles has placed in charge of his army. Malith. He may have need of you.”
“Yes, master.”
Ran broke the mental link and moved to sit in a chair in the corner of his tent. He wrapped himself in a thick black cloak and sat brooding, laying plans to ensure that he survived long enough to see the accursed mortal light of the next day.
- 2 -
Birch stared at the road ahead with a feeling of dread. The Merishank army was already camped outside Nocka, blocking their way into the city. Nighttime was quickly approaching, which would help their chances of getting closer without being detected, but he was at a loss of how to get into the city. He could always leave the elves in hiding and fly in with Moreen on Selti while Perky and Nuse used their own dakkans and brought Hoil, but if the elves were discovered, they would inevitably be attacked and annihilated by the overwhelming human force.
Siran had assured Birch his elves could get inside on their own if needed, but Birch foresaw too many opportunities for misunderstanding and disaster to risk that just yet. For now, the elves had gone to ground and were hiding amidst the landscape with ease. Birch could have wandered across the entire area and not known that a hundred elves were within a stone’s throw of him. The elves were at home with the natural world, and they knew their craft.
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 30