“Good luck, Danner,” Brican kythed to him as Danner’s platoon started moving again. Green Platoon spread out and was responsible for marking and guarding the path back to the river. They would dispose of any wandering creatures and ensure a safe path for extraction.
Danner’s platoon, meanwhile, was to take point the entire way in. They were the most adept at stealth and would clear the way for Red and Violet platoons. Yellow would then follow, and poor Marc stayed with his platoon to take their usual role as rear-guard. While Garnet had been tempted to take Marc along so as to have one more paladin on-hand when they confronted Arthryx, it was more important to keep a paladin in reserve for anything that might happen to those left behind.
“Here’s hoping you have a boring day,” had been Flasch’s final comment to Marc before they began their journey through the river.
Danner slipped through the shadows at the base of a cauldron platform and gave mental commands to advance cautiously. Everywhere the denarae passed, they left a wake of bodies as they stealthily removed all of the damned they came across. Arthryx used some of his creations to tend the cauldrons, but there were blessedly few demons to deal with, and all of them lesser varieties. Danner dealt with these personally and felt a small surge of satisfaction each time a demon crumbled into black dust in his grasp.
Danner took a quick survey of their situation and breathed a sigh of relief. Still in the tent, he thought to himself. Then he redirected his thoughts, “Caret, relay to Garnet. We’re all clear here. Give the signal for Uriel to attack. End.”
Then he waited.
- 2 -
Uriel received the message with a fiery anticipation that he found hard to control. Finally, after weeks of defeat at the hands of the demons, he had a chance to strike them where it would hurt the most. He shared the frustration of his mortal companion, Birch, and he felt sorry for the paladin that he would be left behind during the day’s action. This was a job for the Archangels, however, and a mortal – however gifted he might be – would only imperil their already hazardous strike.
For a week, Mikal had been exerting his power to slowly but surely change the course of the Alethion to bring it nearer Arthryx’s base of operations, all the while disguising its more noticeable changes as tactical necessities elsewhere in Heaven. The shining River of Truth was now only a few hundred yards from the demon’s camp, which already sat almost on the banks of the Philion. It was a sad mark of the strength of the demons’ presence there that they were not poisoned by the close proximity of both rivers.
Heaven was slowly being overtaken by the demons’ taint, and if they didn’t find some way to stop Mephistopheles’s army, the once pristine fields of boundless beauty would be overcome by the shadowy taint of Hell. Uriel couldn’t stand to look at the lands that had already been overrun, and even thinking about it made his hands itch for his flaming sword.
His body keyed for action and his very essence boiling in fury, Uriel passed the word to his Archangels and exploded out of the Alethion with a roar that echoed for miles. His sword erupted in blue flame, and a brilliant white light shone from his body and pushed back the gray of the clouds with a holy luminescence. White flames wreathed his violet wings, and the golden river water beaded on the gleaming steel of his plate armor, shimmering in the light of his āyus like a million drops of mortal sunlight clinging to him for warmth and protection.
Today, the demons would know who they faced. This was Uriel – the Fist of God, come to rain justice and divine punishment on the brows of the unholy. Behind him flew the Archangels, the scourge most feared by the demons, who remembered their wrath from the days of the Great Schism.
The Archangels cried out as one, a thunderous cry that shook the very ground, “An’Deios! An’Uriel!”[27] and surged forward behind their beloved commander. A handful of demons were caught nearby as they gaped up at the sky in wordless fear, and a flurry of lightning-swift arrows destroyed them in an instant, leaving only a smear of black ash behind as the Archangels swept forward unopposed.
The demons and their damned minions responded quickly, and dark swarms of shadowy creatures circled down from the clouds and launched from the ground to confront them. As soon as targets were visible, Uriel ordered the Archangels to open fire. Their range was as far as they could see. Their accuracy: perfect.
The results: devastating.
A virtual storm of arrows raged forth with unerring aim and struck down hundreds of winged creatures. If one arrow didn’t fell a target, another and another struck until the monsters were sent screaming to the earth. Once grounded, few rose again.
Demons were stronger, tougher targets than their accompanying legions of the damned, but they were also usually protected by a screen of mutated flesh that flew in front of them like a shield. A concentrated hail of arrows could puncture the wall of flying decoys to catch the demons unaware, but most were too wily and survived the onslaught.
As the demons drew nearer to the Archangels, Uriel ordered half his angels to continue firing their arrows to provide cover. These he placed under his second, Camael. The Power quickly assumed command of his force and directed their aim with deadly efficiency. The remaining hundred angels followed Uriel as he led them into melee combat.
Uriel’s sword cut a wide gap through the ranks of the damned, and within seconds he’d claimed his first demon. The Seraph wove a deadly pattern in the air, cutting a path of mayhem as he avoided all but the most glancing of blows from the Hellish swarm that engulfed them all. A dozen tormented shapes fell to his sword, then a dozen more as he twisted about.
The attacks of the damned were as nothing to him and could be shrugged off. Any strike that landed from a demon’s claws or weapon, however, was potentially more damaging, although in most cases it would do more harm to the one who struck him than to Uriel himself. His āyus was powerful enough that only a demon of equal or greater power could attack him with impunity. A lesser gremlin charged directly into Uriel’s chest and clawed at his unarmored face only to watch in horror as its talons dissolved at the first touch. Before the gremlin could flee, Uriel reached in with his free hand and crushed its head with a burst of holy fire.
Uriel spared a fraction of his attention to feel for the presence of his Archangels and was relieved to note that all of them were still flying. Several were injured, three seriously so, but the wounded had retreated under the cover of Camael’s arrows and now had replaced swords for bows once more so they could continue fighting.
Warfare among immortals was vastly different than that of mortals, who knew mostly ground-based melee combat. What aerial combat they engaged in was conducted on the backs of flying beasts and machines. They knew nothing of true aerial combat, flying under your own power and striking down foes flying under their own. Ground warfare often relied on mobile walls of mortal flesh and steel as battle lines clashed, a luxury of two-dimensional mentality. The added dimension inherent in flight made such conventions impractical, if not outright ridiculous. Aerial combat was much faster and more confusing, because attacks could come from any direction and a lone warrior especially had to stay on the move whenever possible to prevent enemies from flanking him or slipping in behind.
The Archangels were trained to create seemingly random patterns so their foes couldn’t predict their flight path and plan accordingly. No matter how an individual angel dove, wheeled, or climbed through the air, however, each member stayed in constant contact with the others and followed an overall directive that maintained unit cohesion amidst the worst chaos of battle. Gerard, and later Garnet, had tapped some of this ability with their denarae, but wordless communication had been a part of the immortal heritage since the dawn of time, and there was no substitute for eons of experience.
Uriel broke free from the press of battle and soared unengaged for a moment while he surveyed the conflict. He was pleased with the performance of the Archangels, who had been itching for a chance to release their pent-up frustration and righteous anger
. A part of him felt sorry for the damned souls who bore the brunt of that holy power; after all, most of them had been tortured and forced into the war against their will.
Who would choose to live in Hell and fight willingly for these monsters? Uriel wondered with a wry smile. Then he remembered Malith, and the smile disappeared.
He was just wheeling to begin another charge when a demonic presence tickled the edge of his awareness and absorbed his attention. He focused in on the presence and peered with a raptor’s gaze into the din of battle until he located the source of the power he felt.
“Aesthma,” Uriel growled with true hatred. The sword in his hand blazed with renewed fury, and Uriel screamed the demon’s name as he hurtled forward.
Aesthma’s segmented body wove gracefully through the air like a giant wasp with armored plates covering the pieces of his torso. His multi-faceted eyes were set on the sides of his head like a bug’s, and his left eye was ringed with scarred and blackened chitin that would never truly heal. Monstrous mandibles sat beneath a large, flat nose, and tiny holes just beneath each eye served as his ears. Long antennae curled out gracefully from the top of his head, while six gossamer wings beat almost invisibly from the center segment. A long, sinuous, scorpion’s tail lashed angrily behind him and struck any angel that came within reach. Aesthma’s victims screamed in agony and fell from the skies where they were immediately swarmed by land-bound demons and damned souls. Two long, spindly legs dangled down from his body; a foot higher, two arms stretched out and ended in wicked pincers. Another pair of human-like arms dominated the demon’s upper body, and he wielded a pair of swords that dripped unceasingly with a viscous black liquid.
“Aesthma!” Uriel screamed again to get the demon’s attention. Uriel closed to within a few yards, cutting down any creature foolish enough to challenge his wrath. Even though the demon hadn’t turned to face him, Uriel knew better than to think Aesthma hadn’t taken note of the angel barreling headlong toward him. Aesthma could see in almost every direction at once.
At the last second, Uriel pulled out of his dive just as his demonic foe whipped his tail about to attack where Uriel would have been. He slashed with his sword, but the tail moved too fast as the demon recoiled it back to safety.
Now Aesthma turned his face toward Uriel and the mandibles parted in a hideous grin.
“Uriel returns to finish what he started?” the demon taunted as he lurched back to avoid another stab of Uriel’s sword. “My eye wasn’t enough for you?”
“I might settle for your head this time,” Uriel replied. He kicked out to block a strike from Aesthma’s tail even as he deflected attacks from the demon’s twin blades. Uriel suddenly dropped straight down and lunged for Aesthma’s tail with his free hand. He unleashed a burst of white flames as he yanked the demon down after him and released the tail before the stinger could strike him. Uriel’s hand burned from the contact, but more importantly, Aesthma’s tail would burn, too.
“You know, you were a lot prettier as a mindless childris,” Uriel said, jumping backward as Aesthma whirled to face him.
“Don’t fool yourself, Uriel,” Aesthma hissed, “I was never a mindless anything. While you were still learning how not to cut yourself with that sword of yours, I was plotting the overthrow of Pleroma itself. My sting has brought screams from countless angels, including your precious Gabriel.”
“Damn you,” Uriel growled as he again tried to penetrate the demon’s defenses with his sword.
“Thank you,” Aesthma replied, breaking away from Uriel long enough to give him a mocking bow. Uriel closed the distance immediately and scored a glancing hit on the demon’s carapace that left a searing blue gash beneath his wings.
The two immortal enemies were consumed by their duel, oblivious to the ongoing battle around them. Occasionally, a demon or angel would stray too close and was struck down by one of the combatants, but these were mere distractions compared to the broiling enmity that fueled their personal war.
One such distraction nearly cost Uriel his existence. He lacked Aesthma’s all-encompassing vision, and when the demon twisted about and left him an opening, Uriel thoughtlessly leapt forward to exploit the weakness. Too late, he felt a heavy weight crash into him from above, knocking him toward Aesthma’s waiting stinger. He twisted to avoid the potentially lethal blow, but the demon was too quick.
An instant before the stinger could strike, a sharp blow pushed him down and the sinuous limb shot past harmlessly. Uriel looked up and saw that Camael had soared in to kick his commander out of the way, then pushed off to avoid the dripping black blades that slashed after him. With Aesthma distracted by Camael’s antics, Uriel lashed out with his sword and lopped off the bottom of the demon’s right foot.
Aesthma shrieked in pain and jerked about insanely. Before Uriel could recover to finish him off, the insect demon shot straight up and disappeared in the swirl of combat. An instant later, Uriel could no longer sense his presence.
“Do we give chase?” Camael asked, hovering over Uriel.
“No,” Uriel replied regretfully. “Aesthma’s faster than either of us.” Uriel righted himself in the air and clapped a hand on Camael’s shoulder. “Didn’t I order you to stay out of the melee and keep those arrows coming?”
“Just doing what Archangels do best, sir,” Camael said with a stiff bow.
“Bless you,” Uriel said, grinning back at him. That’s probably the closest thing I’ve seen to a Power telling a joke, he thought to himself.
“Sir, you need to see what’s going on below, though,” Camael reported without acknowledging his superior’s mirth.
Uriel sighed. Just one laugh, Camael. One smile, even. He genuinely liked his second, but Powers tended to be a bit stiff at times. In that respect, Camael was the consummate Power, all duty and very little joy in his existence.
“Show me.”
Uriel quickly surveyed the ground and immediately saw the source of his second’s concern. A dark wave was rushing toward the center of Arthryx’s camp where he could see an ongoing battle between Shadow Company a small army of damned souls. Uriel had no idea if they’d been successful in their mission, but in a matter of minutes the entire company would be eradicated.
“Sir, you know we have strict orders not to interfere on the ground,” Camael said severely. “We’re diversion only.”
“So?” Uriel asked, throwing an amused look at the Power. “Keep the remains of your force here and engage as you will. As you said, the rest of us will do what Archangels do best.”
Camael nodded and sped off as Uriel rallied his force and charged toward the ground.
- 3 -
Danner cut down another demon and took an involuntary step backward as the body fell forward. It dissolved into black ash without ever touching him.
“Caret, get me a headcount!” Danner ordered without having any idea where his squad leader was. Blue, Red, Green, and Yellow platoons were scattered and fully engaged with a virtual flood of damned souls and their demonic overseers. Denarae linked up with comrades wherever they were available and stood back-to-back if necessary to protect each other. Larger groups moved as quickly as they could through the fray to rescue smaller pockets before they were swarmed, but it was taking far too long to get everyone together again.
I don’t think we’re in the damn tent anymore, Danner thought with weary frustration.
The battle had reached a pitched fury at the outset, and Danner felt like he’d been fighting for hours instead of a mere twenty minutes. In the distance, he saw the Archangels battling their way through skies thick with flying demons and damned souls.
“If this is their idea of a diversion, we need to have a little talk about strategy,” Flasch had yelled to Danner a minute or two before. The Violet paladin had split his platoon into five groups of ten and they prowled the battle, slicing into enemy ranks with surgical precision to reach their trapped fellows.
“Blue Platoon reports two seriously wounded, one
critical, but zero dead, sir,” Caret kythed to Danner. “Estimates from the other platoons show few fatalities but plenty of injuries.”
Danner said a quick prayer of thanks that the news wasn’t worse. He’d half expected his platoon to be decimated, given the state of things. For a moment, Danner found himself without an enemy in combat reach, and he took a few deep breaths to settle his breathing.
“How’s Garnet coming with that damned demon?” he asked. “Does he need any help, or are we almost out of here?”
“Unknown,” the denarae squad leader replied. “Demon’s still alive, and I’m not about to interrupt Garnet to ask how he’s doing.”
“Good call,” Danner thought to him. The breathing room he’d found vanished, and he was back in the thick of the fray. He wished Trebor was still with him. As soon as Garnet moved in to attack Arthryx, however, he’d summoned Trebor – who was both a paladin and free of platoon responsibilities – to help him.
“Caret, where are you?” Danner asked. “I’m alone here, guide me in.”
With most of his attention on the battle raging around him, Danner nevertheless managed to follow Caret’s directions until he found the denarae with most of his squad at his side.
“Blue leader! Watch out, demons incoming on your position!”
Danner didn’t recognize the mental voice, but with a warning like that, he wasn’t about to stop and ask for identification. The next words he heard sent ice running down his spine.
“God help us! It’s childris! Get the Hell out of there!”
“Move!” Danner shouted, reinforcing a mental command. The denarae with him split into two groups and sprinted away at top speed. Even with men supporting their wounded comrades, one of the injured men stumbled and crumpled to the ground. Caret spun and dashed back just as a wave of twenty childris demons swept out from behind a toppled cauldron.
Caret skidded to a halt and tried to reverse his momentum, but before he took two steps the foremost demon speared him through the chest first with one, then another of the razor-sharp blades that made up the creature’s forelimbs. Danner watched in horror as Caret swung his sword and beat ineffectively against the demon’s hard shell. Without slowing its headlong rush, one of the demon’s sword-arms slipped free and speared Caret through the throat while the other held him aloft, then he was cast aside like a broken doll as the demon raced forward.
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) Page 38