Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3)

by Brian J Moses

  They were held in by an eight-foot-high fence made of black-steel mesh. They were unfettered, but their weapons had been taken away, as had the paladins’ plate armor. Birch and Perklet wore only their padded tunics and leggings, and they still had their cloaks. The demons enjoyed mocking the paladins’ garb, and had even suggested the mortals use them to hang themselves when the torture became unbearable – the demons might even have allowed such a release, just for the vile novelty.

  The ground and sky were both a sickly gray color, and touching the cloud-like earth left an invisible, greasy taint on their flesh. Since they had no bedding, however, they lay on the ground and endured the disgusting residue it left behind.

  “I really thought we were going to make it,” Perklet said, his voice filled with despair. Seeing the normally upbeat and tireless Green so dreary and dispirited made Birch’s heart wrench in anger.

  “I did, too,” Birch replied. He’d decided not to say anything about the angelic arrow he’d seen in Kaelus’s leg. He didn’t have any answers, and Perklet didn’t need to shoulder that burdensome knowledge, or the questions it raised.

  “Just when I thought I was understanding something important,” Perklet said. “Just when I thought…. I just keep turning things over in my head. What was it Kaelus said about this Absolute thing? The entity beyond God and Satan both?”

  “The source of original creation,” Birch replied. “It’s where God and Satan both came from, the entirety of existence, the beginning and the end of everything. According to Kaelus, it’s where our souls were supposed to go, until the immortals stepped in and taught us about Heaven and Hell, at which point we became convinced of eternal judgment and the proper destination of our soul.”

  Birch shook his head. “Millions of the dead, trapped in Hell for no better reason than they believe that’s where they’re destined to be. If we could convince them of the truth, they’d be free, as Kaelus freed those before.”

  Perklet sat quietly in thought.

  “And you saw this Absolute? When you died, you saw it?”

  “I…” Birch hesitated. “I don’t know what I saw, Perky,” he answered. “I saw what I thought was Heaven, only when I finally got here,” he gestured around them, “I discovered it’s nothing like what I experienced. I think now that I touched it once again in the Hall of the Throne, but at the time I thought it to be God – and then it was gone.”

  “You say it’s the determinant of morality and encompasses both Good and Evil, just as we all do,” Perklet whispered. “It’s within us. Virtue expresses morality, which predates the divine.”

  “What’s that?” Birch asked.

  “Healing,” the Green went on, oblivious to Birch, “the manifestation of love. If there’s enough love, then, shouldn’t healing work? Virtue comes not from Heaven, but from the heart.”

  Before Birch could question him, Perklet abruptly stood and walked to where Birch was still lying on the ground. He raised himself onto his elbows, but Perklet knelt and pushed him firmly back down.

  “Hold still, Birch,” Perklet said insistently.

  “Perk, if you’re trying to heal me, it won’t work,” Birch said quietly. “We tried yesterday, remember? The demon inside me…”

  “Doesn’t make any difference,” the Green cut him off. “Now hold still.”

  Birch collapsed back to the sickly gray ground as Perklet put his hand on his chest and closed his eyes.

  “The demon isn’t in you, Birch. The demon is you,” Perklet whispered. “Even this I can love.”

  The Gray paladin sighed in resignation. In a few moments Perklet would give up his futile gesture and…

  He stopped as a feeling of peace and healing calm began to emanate from his chest where Perklet’s hand rested. Like an icy chill, it spread through Birch’s body until every inch of his flesh tingled. He looked up at Perklet in shock and saw an expression of unmitigated joy and peace on the Green paladin’s face. It was only after a moment’s study that he realized something was wrong with Perklet’s face.

  His lips weren’t moving.

  He wasn’t praying.

  Everything Birch had ever learned about healing made it clear that prayer was required, and that it must be an audible prayer for God’s intercession and healing. Silent healing prayers had been tried but had met with universal failure by even the most gifted of paladins. For centuries, Orange and Green paladins had collaborated in search of a reason why this should be so, but none had proven anything. But now, somehow, Perklet was healing him without praying for divine power. Impossible!

  When Perklet was finished, he stood slowly and looked down at Birch with calm eyes.

  “How…”

  Birch only managed that one word before a bloodcurdling demonic scream pierced his ears and set his mind spinning. Perklet fell to one knee and clutched his head, while beyond him the elves – with their keener sense of hearing – writhed in pain on the ground. Even Siran fell to one knee in sudden agony, but the instant the scream choked off, the elven captain was back on his feet and looking for a threat to face.

  “You thought to challenge me, Meresin?” a familiar voice boomed out. Azazel, the demon prince.

  “No, my lord Azazel, never…” a throaty voice replied. Birch could hear the agony contained in that voice, and it wasn’t hard to deduce who’d been screaming.

  “Witness the price of treachery,” Azazel said, cutting the other demon off. “You think yourself powerful enough to rise to the status of demon lord? You, a mere balrog? Do you seek to take Chernobog’s[31] place? You are barely fit to serve as overseer to the pathetic damned.”

  Meresin screamed again. The confrontation was happening somewhere off to Birch’s left, but a large crowd of demons had gathered, and he could see nothing of the encounter.

  Siran’s eyes passed over the gathering of demons, then he quickly scanned the area around their enclosure. A heartbeat later, he casually moved to one side of the pen and began examining the fence in earnest, prying at the black-steel mesh and widening a hole where two sections must not have been joined properly. Birch realized the elf’s incessant pacing hadn’t been a sign of nervousness or a coping mechanism, he had been studying the camp and their enclosure while no doubt marking the placement of the demons around them.

  Another tortured scream brought Birch’s attention back to the infernal drama playing out beyond his sight.

  “It hurts, yes?” Azazel taunted. “You fool. An imp could defeat you now, weak as you are.”

  “Or a mortal,” someone called raucously.

  “Hmmm, yes,” Azazel said thoughtfully. He laughed out loud. “Perhaps that would prove more entertaining at that.”

  A large, black-fleshed demon was hurled from the infernal crowd and crashed into the center of the pen where Birch and the others were held captive. The demon’s wings were ripped and broken and hung limply behind him, and his flesh was viciously torn across most of his body. Molten silver blood poured freely from his wounds as he struggled into a defensive crouch. The demon was manlike in figure – he looked a little taller than Birch, but was inhumanly muscular – and his skin was the color of polished obsidian, his eyes the same silver as his blood. He was completely hairless, and two black ram’s horns curled out on either side of his head. He snarled at the mortals around him with silver teeth.

  “Don’t kill him at once, mortals,” Azazel said, striding forward so he could see into the pen. “I want him to suffer a slow, ignominious death at your hands.”

  Birch glared at Azazel, but turned away before the naked demon could see. So far, no one had recognized Birch as the paladin who had escaped from Hell. No doubt, they couldn’t feel the āyus of the demon inside him because of the overwhelming demonic presence in the camp. He was certain that if someone had recognized him, he would have long since been transported back to Abaddon[32] or to Mephistopheles’s personal torture chamber in the iron tower. The few times Azazel had shown himself to his prisoners, Birch had care
fully kept out of the demon prince’s sight. Azazel would certainly recognize him – the demon prince had personally tortured Birch on several occasions he could remember. Azazel had been bent on learning more about Birch, and his unwillingness to bend or break to the demons’ will had driven Azazel almost to the point of killing him.

  Siran had left the fence alone and, along with the surviving members of the Elan’Vital, had already encircled the ebony demon. Without weapons there was little they could hope to do against him. Only Birch or Perklet could destroy a demon without blessed weapons, and for that they would have to somehow mark it with the holy Tricrus. Birch started to get to his feet, but he was weak from Perklet’s healing and could only manage to crouch on his hands and knees.

  “Wait,” Perklet said, his voice filled with intense calm. He strode forward confidently until he was only a few yards away from the demon. The elves let him through their circle without diverting their eyes from the wounded balrog.

  “Perky, what are you doing?” Birch cried. “Get back and let the elves subdue him first!”

  Perklet ignored Birch and took another step nearer the demon. Meresin’s crippled wings fluttered uselessly at his side as he snarled at Perklet. The Green took another step forward, and Meresin’s hostility faltered as he looked into the paladin’s eyes. The middle-aged paladin’s face was filled with such peace that the demon wasn’t sure how to react. Like a trainer staring down a feral dakkan, Perklet took another step forward, then another.

  Impossibly, Perklet reached the demon’s side without being attacked. When he reached forward to touch the demon, however, Meresin recoiled and fell back a step, snarling. The elves behind him stepped back as well to keep their distance, but they were ready to leap forward at a moment’s notice to attack the demon.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Perklet said softly, and Birch almost laughed. It wasn’t until then that he realized what Perklet intended to do.

  “No,” Birch whispered.

  “It’s all a matter of love,” Perklet murmured as he stretched out a hand and touched the balrog’s shoulder. The Green paladin’s eyes closed. Meresin looked about wildly, but he seemed unable to move to avoid the paladin’s touch.

  “What is that fool doing,” Azazel cried from beyond the pen, “offering himself as an appetizer? Or maybe he wants to pet the pretty demon.” The demons around him laughed.

  Then a miracle happened.

  The silver blood pouring from Meresin’s wounds began to retract, coursing back up his flesh to reenter his many wounds. His black flesh healed over in an instant, leaving nothing behind to indicate there had ever been an injury. His wings were likewise healed, and with a crack of bone, they snapped back into place.

  Meresin flexed his wings and stepped back as Perklet’s hand dropped to his side. The demon stared at the paladin, transfixed by what had just happened. Somehow, Perklet had done the impossible and healed a true demon, and a powerful one it seemed. The balrog laughed then, a deep, throaty laugh that echoed in the empty air.

  - 3 -

  As the demons around the pen stared in disbelief, Meresin leapt into the air and was gone before anyone thought to follow him. Even the clouds of bloodhawks and gremlins flying overhead could not catch the balrog, and the few that tried fell from the sky scourged by silvery flame.

  Azazel motioned with one hand, and a group of winged demons leapt over the fence and landed behind Perklet. Siran launched himself at one of the demons and was immediately thrown back, as were the other elves who leapt to the Green paladin’s defense. As Birch watched helplessly, the demons fled the pen with a non-resisting Perklet in tow.

  “Who are you?” Azazel demanded when Perklet was held before him. “What you have done is impossible. It’s heretical! It’s…”

  “True,” Perklet interrupted softly. Azazel reached forward and grasped Perklet’s throat to choke him.

  “It’s poisonous,” Azazel sneered angrily. He stared at the mortal in his grasp, his thoughts churning. Perklet stared up at him, his serene face devoid of fear. Finally, the demon shook his head and snarled, “I don’t want to know how or why, I just want to know that it will never happen again. As my old comrade Nisroc might have said, it is dangerous to let fester knowledge so poisonous, and to prevent infection, I will cauterize the wound.”

  He threw Perklet back into the arms of a drolkul, who held the Green paladin securely. Two hellhounds stood in front of Perklet and growled at him. Their snarling lips dripped flames to the ground, where they sank into the gray clouds and disappeared.

  “Ready the Hellfire and place a stake of black-steel in the ground here,” Azazel commanded. “Triple the guard on the mortals, but let them witness every moment of their friend’s anguish.”

  In short order, a thick stake of black-steel was speared into the ground a dozen feet from the fence, and Birch and the elves watched in horror as Perklet was bound to the post. His feet were lashed securely two feet off the ground. The Green paladin did not struggle, and he showed no fear as they brought forward a black cauldron filled with liquid flame. Cloth was piled around the base of the steel stake (Birch recognized the tattered remains of a tent and several blood-stained tunics in the midst), and Birch nearly gagged as the demons added a few dismembered human limbs to the pile. A green-skinned balrog stood waiting, cauldron in-hand and a bloodthirsty grin on its face.

  “It will be all right, Birch,” Perklet said, his quiet voice carrying despite the demons’ racket. “I have the answers I sought. I’ve lived a life of love and healing, and I found temperance, justice, and knowledge as I traveled with you. Now I’ve learned my final lessons, and I’ll face the end with courage and a new-found pious faith. Nothing can harm me.”

  As Birch watched in amazement, Perklet’s torn, green cloak rippled in an unfelt wind and swiftly transformed from vibrant green to a pure, snowy white color. The peace and beauty on the paladin’s face were heart-wrenching to behold, and Birch remembered with a sense of awe his own transformation from a Red paladin of courage to a White paladin of beauty. It seemed so long ago!

  “Enough of this,” Azazel cried, dipping a steel mace into the brimming cauldron of Hellfire. “Burn!”

  Azazel flicked the mace toward Perklet, and dripping globs of Hellfire flew forward and landed on the White paladin’s legs and immediately caught flame. A drolkul dipped four daggers – one in each clawed hand – into the Hellfire and followed Azazel’s example, flicking tiny droplets of Hellfire onto the paladin and the pyre built beneath him. A balrog brandished a woven whip[33] and lashed Perklet twice across the chest.

  Perklet’s flesh and clothing ignited, and as the flames roared into life around him, he started to scream in agony. The slow-burning Hellfire clung to every surface and ate through cloth and leather to reach the skin within, where it burned even more slowly as though determined to inflict every last second of agony on its victim. The White paladin’s flesh began to blacken, and the stench caused Birch’s stomach to heave – his throat burned as he nearly vomited in horrified disgust. He prayed fervently for his friend’s suffering to end swiftly and mercifully, but it seemed there was no mercy in the infernal fires that slowly ate through the paladin’s body.

  Birch desperately tried to extinguish the Hellfire by blessing the cursed flames, but either he was too far away or the demonic presence within him interfered. The flames burned unceasingly and unmercifully as Birch watched, unwilling to look away.

  Perklet’s agony went on and on, until finally he fell silent. Birch began to whisper another prayer for his friend’s soul, when a new noise made him stop in wonder. He looked up at the still-roaring fire and saw Perklet’s blackened face, and impossibly the White paladin was still alive. What’s more, he was laughing!

  There was no pain in his voice, no words in his cry, and Perklet’s exuberance was as impossible as his healing of the demon. Whatever agony he endured seemed to come back two-fold as pure joy, and as Birch watched a ghostly spirit rose out of the charre
d body and looked down at the demons below with a benevolent smile.

  Perklet’s body went limp and started to fall apart as the true fire tore his corpse asunder, but his soul looked down at Birch, who couldn’t help but smile in return. The former paladin’s soul mouthed a few words at Birch, but no sound came from his ghostly throat. Then, in a brush of ethereal wind, Perklet dissipated and vanished from sight.

  Birch looked at the air where his friend had vanished, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Perklet’s final thoughts had been. What had the other paladin seen or felt that left him in such joy? Was it God, or had he touched that Absolute entity?

  The demon camp was suspended in complete silence as they witnessed this second miracle, and even Azazel was left dumbfounded by Perklet’s spiritual transformation. Before anyone could so much as move or speak out, a rain of blue death fell from the sky.

  Demons began to scream.

  Chapter 33

  Do you know why surprise attacks work? Not because your opponent isn’t expecting it, but because in that particular instant, he knows it’s not coming.

  - Gerard Morningham,

  “A Treatise on Modern Warfare” (1006 AM)

  - 1 -

  Gerard looked down the ranks of his new company and nodded in approval. Three hundred paladins pulled from the ranks of the living and the dead, all trained in new forms of aerial combat and extreme maneuvers. He’d conceived of the idea years ago, but never had a practical use for it, nor had he a convenient way to train such a unit. Now with angels at his disposal for training purposes, his dreams had once again come to fruition, and he hoped this group would be as telling in this war as Shadow Company had been in the last.

  None of the paladins had dakkans – suffering under the crunch of time, Gerard had ignored training with the traditional flying mounts. Besides, none of the dead paladins even had dakkans to use. Gerard could incorporate that later with the living members after they had won the war. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that they might lose. Whatever it took, no matter the odds, Gerard was utterly committed to seeing this war through to victory.