Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3)

by Brian J Moses

  Grumbling in protest, Selti nevertheless stretched himself out to his fullest before slinking down the side of the cloudy bed and trotting to Birch’s side. He glanced up inquiringly at Birch, who nodded at some unspoken communication. Selti leapt up and settled himself on Birch’s shoulder, his tail curled carefully around the Gray paladin’s neck for balance.

  Birch slung his pack on the other shoulder and took a quick glance to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, then he left the room. The corridors passed by quickly, and in only a few minutes Birch reached the battlements, where he found Uriel standing alone. The Seraph’s violet wings were folded neatly behind him and his arms were crossed as he stared out at the dark stain that was drawing steadily closer to them.

  “It looks the same as it always does,” Uriel said by way of greeting when Birch stood next to him. “Every fortress we build, they attack in the same manner, over and over again. We hold for three, maybe four days, then we retreat and begin the cycle again. Today looks no different from the rest.”

  The two men stared in silence.

  “Has there been any word on my brother yet?” Birch asked. Uriel had told Birch about his discussion with Hoil, and no one had seen Birch’s brother since. Birch’s pack now included one of the bows used by the angels – Hoil had left the bow with a note for Birch saying he was leaving for a while.

  “An Eralim reported seeing a lone mortal matching his description wandering the plains well behind our lines, but that was two days ago,” Uriel said. “I sent a scout back that way, but so far nothing. Were he an immortal or even nephilim such as yourself, I could locate him with little difficulty, but it’s surprisingly difficult to pinpoint a single mortal or even a group, dead or alive, unless you already know where to look for him. Heaven is a big place,” the Seraph added wryly.

  Birch nodded. He was concerned for Hoil, but he knew the man could take care of himself and just wanted to be alone. No matter how he wanted to leap atop Selti and go hunt for his brother, larger concerns had to take precedence over family love.

  He paused. “What did you call me? Nephilim?”

  Uriel grimaced. “That was the term Samyaza made up to refer to his experiments in creating half-breeds. I haven’t thought of that word in a millennia. I don’t know what made me recall it now.”

  “It sounds better than half-breeds,” Birch commented dryly. “It may not mean anything, but it sounds less insulting.”

  Uriel smiled apologetically.

  “There’s word from Mikal,” the Seraph said, deliberately changing the subject. “A large force of demons has broken away from the main body and is headed toward the trap. I’ll have to leave with the Archangels soon, so you’ll be in charge here until I return. Shadow Company left shortly after you went to sleep, so you’ll be without their support, too.”

  “Do you think it will really work?” Birch asked, expressing his skepticism. He trusted in Gerard’s tactical genius, but there was always the possibility of error, which they could ill afford in this war.

  “They’re falling for it, aren’t they?” Uriel replied. “I guess it just depends on who they send and who we manage to destroy that will determine how worthwhile it all is. We’re all but guaranteed to take a sizable chunk out of their army. If Malith goes himself, I’ll count it a strong victory, but at the very least he’ll send one or two of the demon lords to oversee such a mission, and any of those foul beasts that dies is a boon to us.”

  “Agreed.” Birch paused. “When will you leave?”

  “I was only waiting for you to rouse,” the Archangel commander said. “Now that you’re here and can assume command, I’ll take the Archangels out by means of the Mustion so the demons won’t see or sense our leaving. We’ll be there in plenty of time, and I’ll be back in time to craft a new fortress once you’ve left this one behind.”

  Birch grimaced, then turned and reached a hand toward Uriel’s shoulder. He hesitated at the last second, reluctant to touch the angel and inflict pain on them both. Uriel reached out and clasped Birch’s outthrust hand with his own, then smiled at the shock of pain that accompanied the gesture.

  “Be careful,” Birch said.

  “Likewise, my mortal friend,” Uriel replied with a wink. Then his face turned serious. “I mean it, Birch. Be careful. I know you never asked to have a demon āyus bonded to your soul, and I fear its effects on you. Remember, you are mortal and always have a choice in who and what you are. Hold fast to that.”

  As he released Birch’s hand, Uriel called out for his second. Camael appeared a moment later, soaring down from a higher battlement with two other Archangels following close behind him.

  “Stretch your wings and sharpen your sword, Camael,” Uriel said gaily, “we’ve got a trap to close and demons to destroy.”

  The stoic Power nodded silently. Uriel waved one final time to Birch, then disappeared into the fortress, leaving the Gray paladin alone with his turbid thoughts.

  Hours later, Birch wished desperately for the Seraph’s return to help stem the tide of anger and despair welling up within him.

  - 3 -

  “So, Mikal. Where has your betrayal led you now? You follow the demon, and every day a little more of our beloved Heaven is taken over by the infernal horde of Hell. Every day, more of our brethren are fed to the fires of destruction, torn to pieces at the claws of our eternal enemies… and yet you knowingly follow one on the path to ruin.

  “How can you think to call yourself an angel of God, acting as you do? Following the one you have chosen?”

  “Maya,” Mikal murmured calmly. “So nice of you to contact me. We were beginning to worry you’d done something foolish and gotten yourself destroyed. Still hiding out in Medina?”

  “I but wait for my chance to return to my rightful place at the head of the Heavenly Hosts. I exist as I always have and always will. Always must.”

  “Must?” Mikal laughed scornfully. “Still clinging to the delusion that you were anointed Metatron? Have you forgotten the very words we spoke to the mortals? ‘In the eyes of God, there exist no chosen people nor favored individual.’”

  “That was meant to placate the mortals and prevent religious genocide, fool. Would you drag us down to their level? Of course we didn’t mean ourselves, for we are the chosen ones, ordained by God to shepherd the mortals and foster purity and goodness.”

  “That way leads to despotism and betrays the trust given us by God to protect the mortals,” Mikal said. “Less powerful they may be, but have you not noticed the gap between our two peoples getting smaller as the ages pass?”

  “Heresy.”

  “You have said that word often, as if it should mean something to me. I find it amusing that you use the same tactic mortals have utilized for centuries, hiding a fear of the truth behind a façade of religious dogma.” The derision in Mikal’s voice was obvious, and he made no attempt to hide his feelings from the other Seraph. “Brand the truth you fear as heresy, burn the heretic at the stake, and stamp on the minds of those who might have heard, lest the seed of truth take root and sprout anew. Listen to the truth now, Maya.

  “At the dawn of our people, what need had we for speech? We communicated perfectly in an instant, mind to mind, āyus to āyus, and there was perfect understanding. We had no bodies, for we didn’t need them.

  “Then came the change. We all felt it, the will of God encouraging us to take physical shape, and what shape did we all choose? Mortals, most of us like winged humans, even as the demons assumed more grotesque forms under their guidance from Shaitan. We began to think in words, using a true language where none had previously existed. Still communication by thought, but now we used words, which could only limit us compared to the way we were before.

  “We began using tools and even built a city, emulating the weapons and structures that would come eons later to the mortals. We became more like the living mortals, following the pattern set down in God’s will.”

  “We took physical shape bef
ore the mortal realm existed. We built Medina before mortal life was more than primitive creatures floating in a primordial sea. It was they who evolved to emulate us.”

  “Is your mind so twisted?” Mikal asked, amazed. “More and more, we begin to resemble the mortals you so deride, and they in turn draw closer to us. Eons ago, when Samyaza first experimented with mortal-immortal hybridization, creatures such as Danner and Birch were an impossibility. The stuff of our two kinds was too alien and unmixable. As well try to combine angelic and demonic essence.

  “But now, look what they have become? Greater than both our peoples, if they but learn to accept and control their power. In the Hall of the Throne, it was they who broke free of your power first, not I and not Kaelus.”

  “They are abomination.”

  “They are evolution,” Mikal countered. “Clearly it was the will of God that we grow more alike, else it would not have happened. More and more I begin to wonder if His goal is not the eventual combination and coexistence of our peoples.”

  “You speak foolish and dangerous words, Mikal. How can you believe the divine God would even follow such a path?”

  Mikal laughed. “I have faith, Maya.”

  “Faith? In what? There is no faith where there is experience.”

  “Faith is experience,” Mikal countered.

  “Faith is trust where knowledge lacks. We came into existence and have walked daily in the garden of God’s touch. Each of us feels the will of the divine. We are immortals, and we have stood in the presence of God and heard His voice. We know. What is there to have faith in?”

  “Perhaps in the reason why the Throne stands empty and always has since the early days of Creation, when last we stood in His presence. I’ve often wondered why He has left us alone, with no sign of His presence since that day. There may not be an answer, at least not for one such as I, but I am beginning to have faith.”

  “We exist, and we follow. We KNOW the will of God as no others can, for we are the embodiment of His will. I ask you, with such knowledge, what is faith?”

  “I don’t know, Maya,” Mikal answered, “but I believe Kaelus is beginning to understand things none of us ever has. I have seen it in him, brewing like a storm waiting to be unleashed. It isn’t his power that I follow, it’s his clarity of purpose. His destiny. It shines from him so brilliantly I wonder that I’m not struck blind. I have faith in what he represents. I trust, so that I might understand.”

  “Foolishness.”

  Mikal laughed out loud. “That may be, but I’ve seen that even fools can be on the path of truth. Sometimes they see it more clearly than those of us who know so much more and understand so much less.”

  “More and more, you speak like the mortals. You, at least, are becoming more like them in thought and action. It is sad to see one so great fall so far.”

  “You must be standing upside down, Maya. I’m not falling, I’m rising so much further than you can possibly imagine,” Mikal said, and he wondered why he sounded so much like the old human Trames.

  “Farewell, Mikal. We’ll not speak again until the time of my ascension is at hand. For your sake, I truly hope you survive to witness my triumphant return. Know that I will hold no grudge, for when the time comes, I will see your repentance and smile as you return to the true will of God.”

  “Farewell, Maya,” Mikal murmured sadly.

  - 4 -

  Perklet slumped against the wall wearily. He’d spent the last five hours healing his brother paladins and sending them back out to fight. One out of every four came back within an hour, and one in ten came back as members of the blessed dead. Many of the newly dead stopped by to thank Perklet for his earlier efforts, then left to continue fighting even in death. It was enough to drive a man mad if he let it get to him.

  “I won’t let it get to me,” Perklet whispered to himself. “I’ll heal those who need healing, and that’s it. I won’t think about it. I’ll do my duty, this gift from God, and heal my brothers. Heal them.”

  Perklet repeated these words, “Heal them,” over and over, trying to drown out the thoughts and doubts crowding his mind.

  I healed men today without praying for them. I was too tired to think straight. It’s happened before, but still they were healed. Did I do it myself, without asking God for His blessing? No, God heard my desires unvoiced and healed them anyway. Healing comes from God, of course.

  “Then why don’t I believe myself?” Perklet whispered in despair. “Because I’ve felt and experienced something different than what I was taught? I healed men before I ever became a paladin. I know I did. Could Trames be right? Who am I to question the teachings of the Prism?”

  He stumbled through the halls, his thoughts in disarray. Other Green paladins were handling the injured, so Perklet had granted himself a brief respite from healing. What had he told the others? Oh yes, he was going outside to check with Birch if there were any wounded who hadn’t been carried down yet.

  Perklet stepped outside and gasped. The sky, always overcast, was now a dark, stormy gray, and it choked off the light across the horizon and cast the front of the citadel in shadow. He had seen such a phenomenon before, but only after days of fighting when the demons were on the verge of overrunning them. Never had the sky darkened so quickly on the first day of battle.

  A chill feeling of doom swept over Perklet, and he shivered in spite of himself. Angels and flying demons battled overhead in immortal fury, but the ledge Perklet had walked out upon was empty of angels and demons alike. A handful of paladins – Perklet couldn’t tell from this distance if they were alive or dead – stood at the edge of the ramparts, waiting to defend against any foe.

  “Perky!” a harsh voice called from above. “What are you doing out here?”

  The Green paladin looked up and saw Birch sitting astride Selti, who was clinging to the outer wall of the fortress in his full-sized dakkan shape some twenty feet above Perklet. The Gray paladin’s eyes blazed with crimson flames as he looked down from his perch.

  “I… I was…”

  Selti released his hold on the rocks and dropped down to land beside Perklet. Birch slipped from his saddle and landed gracefully on the battlements. He had an angelic bow in his left hand, which he hung on the side of Selti’s saddle.

  “Is something wrong?” Birch asked him urgently. The Gray paladin’s face was drawn in harsh angles of anger and concern. His eyes smoldered, and Perklet resisted the urge to step back. There was something almost sinister about Birch’s ill-concealed frustration.

  “What’s going on out here?” Perklet asked, looking at the sky again.

  “The demons are attacking full force, and they’re grinding us to dust,” Birch said grimly. “It looked like their standard assault pattern, but within the first hour they started changing their tactics, never letting us have a moment to breathe or adapt.”

  Perklet noticed a deep gash on Birch’s left hand and motioned for the other paladin to turn and accept his healing. Perklet reached forward hesitantly. The demon that had bonded to Birch’s soul made him uneasy, but Birch was his friend, so Perklet gritted his teeth, grasped the wound, and began a healing prayer.

  “We’re killing them in greater numbers than ever before,” Birch went on, “but it just isn’t enough. Something’s changed here, and I don’t have a damned clue what or why.”

  “Shouldn’t we retreat then?” Perklet asked in confusion. He frowned at the wound. His healing hadn’t affected the injury at all.

  “No,” Birch said harshly. “We can hold them, we just need more time.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Perklet,” Birch cut him off. He jerked his arm away and spared only an irritated glance at his unhealed wound. “This is warfare. Battle. If you don’t have any business here, I need you back in the infirmary tending the wounded and getting them back out here.”

  Perklet’s normally gentle face firmed, and he tilted his head angrily as he glared at Birch. The Gray paladin drew his s
word and turned back toward Selti, preparing to mount again.

  “If Uriel were here, he’d have already called the retreat, knowing he couldn’t hold this place,” Perklet chided him.

  Birch spun to face him.

  “I almost wish he was here. I could have used his strength here today, but Uriel would have already retreated, giving this place up and admitting failure without ever testing or trusting his strength,” Birch bit back angrily. “We have the strength to hold them longer, if we just have the will to back it up.”

  “Birch, we can’t hold against numbers like that, and you know it,” Perklet said with as much force as he could muster.

  “Yes we can!” Birch replied angrily. The flames in his eyes flared, and Perklet imagined he felt a wave of heat sweep over him.

  “Birch, give up this meaningless hunk of rock and save your men!” Perklet pleaded. “Our goal is not to hold, it’s to slow them and save as many as possible. Allow defeat today and…”

  “NO!” Birch screamed and swept his sword high in anger. Perklet recoiled and raised a hand to defend himself, but instead of attacking him, Birch drove his sword into the ground and buried half of the blade in the pristine white stone. He stood and glared at Perklet.

  “We are soldiers of God, the bearers of the light. They are demon-spawned filth from Hell,” Birch shouted, “and yet we flee before them like cowards instead of facing them down and instilling the fear of God in these, our most unholy of foes. We hold, we retreat. They advance, they destroy. If I thought we could hold indefinitely, I would hold us here until the stones crumbled around our heads before I yielded to those Sin-cursed spawn of Satan. As it is, we must hold at least a few days before we retreat,” he spat the word, “and start again. Every day we hold them is another day they do not advance, another day they do not spread their filth.

  “We must hold, and we will hold here,” Birch pointed accusingly at the blade protruding from the angelstone fortress.

  “I didn’t crawl from the dungeons of Hell and escape the clutches of the demon king just to cower and retreat at the first push of force like some spineless beast. I will face the curs who growl and bare their teeth and send them yelping back to their master in fear,” Birch went on, his fists clenched at his sides. Red flame erupted from between his fingers, and Perklet saw the flickering of leathery wings behind him as the demon within Birch began to manifest… physically, at least. Perklet feared it was already present in other ways.