Danner’s vision clouded over with a blue haze, and he saw his wings flicker at the edge of his vision as they began to take shape. Before he could launch himself at the demons, a sheet of angelic arrows fell down from the skies and cut a path of destruction through the unsuspecting childris. Danner fought down the rising fury and his body shook as he regained control of himself and his half-visible wings disappeared as his transformation was aborted. He looked up and thought he recognized Uriel leading the charge as they sped off toward another wave of childris.
Just then, a thunderclap of power shook Danner down to his bones, and a soundless shockwave rolled over the entire camp and knocked demon and denarae alike off their feet.
“That’s it! Arthryx is dead, primary mission accomplished,” Brican announced to the entire company. “Relay from Garnet, let’s pack up and get the Hell out of here. Orange, get set to cover our retreat and send the signal to our extraction angels. Take any of our fallen you can find, but don’t join their ranks. We have five minutes. Move!”
Danner cast one last glance at Caret’s body – which was quickly picked up by a husky denarae who carried his dead companion across his shoulders – then he sped off toward the river. He kept a constant lookout for anyone who needed his help, but it was mainly Flasch’s responsibility to extract any stragglers. He caught sight of the Violet paladin handing off an injured denarae to two others, then Flasch disappeared again, headed back into the mass of chaos to look for others.
As they neared the river, Danner passed men from Orange Platoon who were in position to cover them. He noticed signs of battle even back here and surmised Marc had already seen some action of his own. Danner caught sight of the Orange paladin directing the flow of traffic and saw a deep, angry cut down his friend’s left cheek.
“There’s the first angel,” Brican announced. He had taken charge of half the men by the river, Guilian had the other half, and they managed the flow of denarae entering the water as the angels arrived. Denarae leapt or limped into the river – carrying their dead with them – and slipped beneath the cool surface, where they grabbed the passing rope trailing behind an angel flying slowly through the water. As soon as the end of the rope was clear, the angel picked up speed and hurried off toward safety. Danner saw Trebor’s green cloak disappear into the water and knew his friend had made it out safely.
Brican and Guilian had the evac well in-hand, so Danner turned his attention back toward Orange Platoon. Marc’s archers were firing as quickly as they could identify targets, and their pursuers were kept at bay with the help of the Archangels flying overhead. Danner saw no sign of the childris and breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re all clear here,” Brican announced, taking Danner by surprise. “Orange Platoon and officers are all that’s left. Orange, relay from Garnet, fall back by squads. Archangels will provide cover fire while you pull out. End.”
Danner hurried down to the river next to where Brican and Guilian were now standing together. Half of Marc’s platoon leapt into the water and disappeared as an angel passed by.
“One angel left,” Brican told him.
“Last call, ladies and gentlemen,” Flasch said grandly as he approached the river. “Last call.”
The Violet paladin was one of the last men to reach the river, and he was supporting a badly limping Garnet on one side. The Shadow Company commander had several deep, demon-induced cuts on his body that were already showing signs of infection. Where Garnet’s face was grim and pained, Flasch’s was sharp and somewhat elated.
I don’t know how he does that, Danner wondered. We all lost men today, and I know he cares, but he’s still so damn light-hearted.
“Their deaths were worth the gain,” Guilian kythed to Danner. “They were my friends, too, but they all knew it was worth their lives, that’s why they gave them. Remember what we lost, but celebrate what we accomplished.”
Danner looked questioningly at Guilian, who nodded and gave Danner a slight smile.
“Danner, it might not be my place,” Guilian kythed hesitantly, “but I thought it worth pointing out that you didn’t asolve your wings once during that battle. I’m sure word will reach Garnet, and I think he’ll be proud of you.”
Danner winced. “I came close. I lost Caret, and had it not been for the timely arrival of Uriel, I probably would have lost it.”
“But you didn’t,” Guilian reminded him. “That was a harrowing battle, and you kept it together. You’ve changed.”
“Let’s hope so,” he replied, unwilling to give himself the same credit Guilian had. Still, Danner felt more comfortable with his heritage now, and Guilian did have a point.
Maybe, he allowed with a faint smile.
A heavily bleeding Garnet broke away from Flasch and limped up beside Danner, where he nearly fell headfirst into the river before Danner caught him. He grunted with the effort of suddenly supporting his friend’s full weight and motioned with his head for Flasch to help him. Instead of holding him up, though, Flasch deliberately put a hand on Garnet’s back and pushed him out of Danner’s grip and head-first into the river.
“It’s where he’s going anyway,” Flasch said, jumping in next to Garnet. Despite everything that had just happened, Danner couldn’t help himself. As he dove into the river, he started laughing.
- 4 -
When Shadow Company emerged from the river, they were met with an awed silence. At first, Danner thought it was a sort of tribute to the task they’d just completed. He wiped at his eyes and accepted a towel thrust his direction without really seeing who had offered it.
Danner dried his face and got most of the water out of his hair, then looked up to see who was still standing directly in front of him. Gray skin and an impudent smile gave him a moment of pause before recognition finally dawned on him.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” Caret said with a smile as he and the other recently deceased members of Shadow Company rejoined their platoons.
Chapter 28
The First and Second centuries of the Age of Lords saw a sudden, violent shift in the dissemination of world religions. Where men of all races had once worshiped diverse pantheons of gods and goddesses, the Epiphany introduced a monotheistic faith that spread with both religious zeal and fanatical violence. By the turn of the Third Century, the other “pagan” religions had been all but eradicated.
- Tolin jo’Gerran,
“A History of Religion” (501 AL)
- 1 -
Brad hung his head as his squad left the training field. Sympathetic hands clapped him on the shoulder and a few people murmured words of encouragement, but their pleasantries were drowned out by words of scorn and mocking laughter that only Brad could hear.
You were so ready to go off and fight, thinking you were the next great warrior in the family. Look at you!
The son of Garet jo’Meerkit, humbled again. Shame.
Failure.
Child.
Brad’s own doubts and feelings of inadequacy hammered at him relentlessly and gave him little room for comfort. Another day of futile effort and careless mistakes left him feeling low and dejected, and assurances that he was gaining in skill were brushed off as platitudes from his instructors trying to make him feel better.
His already slow steps faltered and stopped as Brad found himself alone. No other person – living, dead, or immortal – was in sight, and for a brief moment Brad considered just walking away and leaving. Return home to the mortal world and disappear, a failure who could be forgotten by a family of warriors.
Such morbid thoughts were brief, however, and he brushed them away with an angry shake of his head.
No, damn it! I came here to fight, and I started training so I could make my father proud. I am a son of Garet jo’Meerkit, and I will not quit!
Brad’s jaw firmed as he repeated his final thought over and over again in his head like a mantra.
I am a son of Garet jo’Meerkit, and I will not quit!
A whisper o
f doubt muttered, “Failure” but Brad forced himself not to heed its voice. He started forward once again, but halted almost immediately as he heard his name called. Brad turned and saw Anolla running toward him, a smile on her face.
Of course she’s smiling. She is doing very well under her instructors. No, stop it!
“What’s up, ‘Nola?” he called out.
“I just heard from Gerard, and Shadow Company came back safely,” she said as soon as she was within normal speaking distance. Her face was flushed from the run, but she was barely breathing heavy. The new leather armor she wore was a little too large for her and hid most of her figure, but Brad thought that was just as well, since no one in this camp needed to be checking out his twin sister’s body.
San, all of the men in this camp are dead anyway! He thought to himself with a macabre chuckle.
“Garnet’s okay?” Brad asked. “And Flasch, too, I guess?”
“They’re both fine,” Anolla replied. “There were a lot of injuries and they lost a few men but, Brad, they destroyed Arthryx the Bender! The demon who twists all those poor souls trapped in Hell, he’s dead, and it was Garnet who delivered the killing blow.”
Brad grinned at her enthusiasm.
Garnet, the successful warrior, the true son of Garet jo’Meerkit. He suppressed his moody thoughts without changing his expression, and soon enough his smile was genuine once more.
“Glad to hear they’re both okay,” Brad said. “I hope they’re not too under-manned.”
Anolla actually shivered.
“That’s the creepy part, Brad,” she said, rubbing down goosebumps on her exposed forearms. “This is Heaven, so all the men who died were waiting for them when they got back. Or at least their souls were waiting, ready to get back with the company and keep fighting.”
Brad stared at her a moment while this sunk in. A moment later, he too felt the flesh on his arms ripple in a sudden chill.
“Yeah, exactly,” Anolla said, noting his reaction.
A shadow swept past them on the ground, and they looked up as a flight of angels flew overhead. Each of the immortals carried a paladin in their arms, and they sped by so quickly they were out of sight in less than a minute.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Brad asked, happy to change the subject.
“I don’t know, but I overheard some of my instructors talking about a special group of paladins Gerard was working with,” his sister said, still staring after the now-vanished flight of angels. “Apparently, just about all of the paladins who’re training us, alive or dead, are taking turns experimenting with Gerard’s latest ideas.”
“No idea what they are, though?” Brad asked hopefully. Maybe he could start learning now so he could get a head-start if it was something he’d have to know later.
Anolla shook her head.
“I just know I see a lot of angels carrying paladins, and a lot of paladins falling out of the sky with those cloaks,” she said. “They do that anyway, though, so I’m not sure what’s going on.”
Brad frowned, then shrugged. The twins started walking back toward the nearest river, the Mustion, so they could wash up. There was no dirt or dust in Heaven, but they still had to rinse the dried sweat from their bodies. It seemed strange washing in a river that seemed made entirely of music, but they had quickly learned to accept such things. You could touch it, it felt wet, and it got you clean – that was enough.
Of course, Brad and Anolla were the only two living people undergoing training, and so they were the only ones who suffered from the minor inconvenience of sweat. Such a little detail, but it was mildly disconcerting for Brad to look around after a long day of grueling exercise and see that his was the only clothing that bore sweat stains. Much like washing himself in a river of music and having his shadow go a different direction than his sister’s, however, it was just something to which he slowly grew accustomed.
“Well, if it’s important, we’ll find out later,” he reasoned. “Until then, I’ve got more than enough to occupy my time without looking for more to distract me.”
Weakling.
- 2 -
The assembled demons glanced up as a shadow fell across the mound of gray earth that divided them into two halves. A human figure stood in front of a sheet of fire that hung like a banner in the air behind him. On one side of the mound were several of the original demon princes of Hell, creatures who had come into existence already more powerful than their brethren and who had immediately seized control over their weaker kin.
Beelzebub, who spoke with a voice like the buzzing of flies and whose flesh churned constantly as though hundreds of thousands of insects crawled unceasingly beneath the surface.
Iblis, a humanoid demon composed of fire who swam in the Dena-Fol[28] as if it were a lover’s embrace.
Khamuel, the self-styled Dark Angel, one of the only demons to maintain a human-like appearance such as the angels did. Khamuel’s six ebony wings were feathered like an angel’s and as dark as his eyes and hair. He wore pristine white robes in mockery of their eternal enemies.
Azazel and Succubus, twin human-like demons with pale blue flesh and black, leathery wings who stayed naked and toyed with the souls of the damned and seduced them before inflicting searing tortures that produced screams heard halfway across the vast city Dis. The demonic couple hosted orgies of blood and delighted in tormenting the damned with sex almost as much as they enjoyed torturing and pleasing each other. It was said their short black horns grew longer when engaged in their diversions.
Second in strength only to Mephistopheles and Daella, these were among the most powerful demons who had accompanied the demonic horde into Heaven. Their ranks had once been greater, but the Great Schism had destroyed several others, including Nisroc, Gramuel, and Mammon, all three of whom had once stood above the demons gathered now.
Across the greasy mound were demons who were equal in power, if later come into their own. These were demon lords who began their existence as mindless bits of āyus, without thought or power of their own. The demon lords gained strength over the eons until they were a match for the more powerful princes, and finally they were acknowledged as equals.
Aesthma, a former childris and the only one of his kind to gain an identity and will of his own before the Great Schism. The insectoid demon’s power waxed quickly, and he was the first of the demon lords to force his way into the ranks of Hell’s elite.
Lotan, who had taken the form of a small seven-headed dragon so long ago that none remembered what type of demon he had been originally. Three of his heads had been cut off by Mikal during the Great Schism – the stumps seared with holy fire – and the demon had been unable to recreate them ever since. Lotan towered over the rest of them, more than twice as tall as a human, but among such a company, physical size meant little.
Molekh, a bull-headed drolkul whose first appearance on Lokka during the Merging War had given rise to the myth of the minotaur that still persisted in some regions of the world. His dense fur was a muddy red in color, and a fire could be seen burning within him whenever he spoke.
Nekushtan, one of the most cunning and devious of all demons, who of all of them was created unique but still mindless. The demon lord came into being as a winged, bronze-scaled serpent no larger than a man was tall, and for eons he was ignored by the other immortals as a freak. Eking out an existence by prowling the limits of Pleroma, Nekushtan preyed on demons and angels alike with impunity until the Great Schism forced him into permanent residence in Hell, where he finally emerged from obscurity and pledged his service to Mephistopheles. He was now fifty feet long and at least a foot in diameter with a wingspan of over twenty feet.
Like the demon princes, there were demon lords aplenty who were no longer in existence. Asmodeus, Lilith, and Bau were known to have fallen during the Great Schism, and no one had seen the mountainous Chernobog since the final days of the Merging War. Most recently Min, Ran, and Sal – The Three – had been slain in the mortal
world by the holy paladins. Other demon lords and princes remained in Hell, but these had been chosen by the King of Hell to assist in the destruction of Heaven, and they reveled in their fortune.
“Of course, there is one of your own who is missing today, one who was recently destroyed at the hands of our enemies,” said the one member of the assemblage who was neither demon lord nor prince, but who currently lorded authority over all of them. The chosen commander of Hell’s armies, the right hand of Mephistopheles, a damned soul who could at any time lose favor and find himself under the claws of those he now scolded.
I was chosen. Let them fear me!
Malith glared at the assembled demons, blithely ignoring the looks of hatred and unholy lust that were directed at him. So long as he continued to curry the favor of Mephistopheles, none here could touch him. So long as he handed his master the Throne of God, he could grind the most powerful of demons under his heel with impunity. For Malith, the threat of vengeance was a nuisance, or at worst just one more reason for him to succeed.
“Arthryx has been destroyed, as we all know, thanks to his own poor planning and some unfortunate luck on the part of the angels and paladins,” Malith said grimly. “Let it be a warning to all of you what can happen, even now when we are so near our moment of victory. Fortunately, he was able to complete most of the creations I required for the days ahead, and those he did not I can do without. For your purposes, the plan remains unchanged.”
Malith waved his hand over the sickly gray mound and it immediately flattened. Lines and symbols sank into the surface, detailing a map of some part of Heaven. A withered demon in the corner controlled the map, reading Malith’s intentions by tuning in to his thoughts. It galled Malith that what seemed like such a trivial power, by demonic standards, was beyond him and required the use of a pathetic gremlin, a creature among the lowest of the demonic hierarchy.
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) Page 39