- 1 -
The crimson barrier shuddered as the daemelan struck it again with a hammer that was half-again as tall as a man and required three of the demon’s four hands to wield. The black-steel mallet could crush a man in a single blow, and Marc watched apprehensively as the demon reared back and struck the barrier again. Two more struck nearby with swords about as tall as Marc and nearly as wide as his shoulders. Their focused blows were having more effect than the more general attack the demons had initially tried across the entire arc of Birch’s barrier.
“Marc!” Gerard barked sharply. “Do you miss that girl of yours so much you’re looking at the demons in a new light?”
The Orange paladin snapped his attention back to the task at hand and did his best to ignore the monstrosity pounding on the barrier less than fifty yards to his left.
“I know the demon is pretty, but focus, boy, focus!” Gerard snapped.
Marc looked at Gerard’s scar-covered face and thought sourly that the demon was about as “pretty” as Gerard.
“What a fascinating observation,” Trebor kythed to him with a quiet laugh. “Should I pass it on to the good Shepherd?”
“You do and you get to find out firsthand what happens when a soul dies,” Marc replied. It was something he’d actually been wondering about for quite some time. Where did a dead soul go when it was slain in Heaven? None of the blessed dead who’d “died” again had reappeared. He wondered if…
“Aren’t you supposed to be focusing?”
“Shepherd’s pet,” Marc groused, but he finished looking over the denarae’s handiwork and nodded in approval. He looked up at the massive steel door, thought about the weight, and shivered.
“Done, sir,” Marc called to Gerard.
“About bloody time!”
A change in the tone of the hammering behind him caused Marc to turn, and he saw the crimson barrier flicker and at last crack and begin to fail. The daemelan armed with the hammer redoubled his efforts as the others snarled and bellowed war cries behind him. The daemelans had all bunched behind the three who had been focused on cracking the barrier, and soon they would pour through whatever gap they created to fall on the mortals lying beyond.
“Trebor, broadcast,” Marc thought to his friend, hoping he was paying attention. “Daemelans are breaking through.”
The denarae paladin echoed the warning, and Gerard immediately passed orders for everyone to take their positions. Orange and Yellow platoons and two platoons of Halo Company paladins slipped into the palace while the others retreated to the far side of the entrance and formed a defensive arc with their backs to the palace wall.
“Aerial demons incoming,” someone warned.
“Guilian, take command of the archers and bring those things down,” Gerard ordered.
Just then a portion of the barrier crumbled and fifty daemelans poured through a large gap in the shattered wall, which then flickered and disappeared entirely. The demons were nearly twice as tall as a mortal man and proportioned with massive barrel-chests and swollen muscles over every inch of their bodies. The weapons they wielded were of every conceivable type, from pole-arms to hammers and axes, some knives, swords, and even towering shields. The earth shook with the force of their pounding hooves, and despite their long history and experience, many of the denarae and paladins waiting in their path paled at the sight and stayed in place only through sheer willpower and courage.
The first two daemelans reached the gigantic doors to the palace and charged the group of mortals waiting for them less than fifty feet away. So intent were they on their prey, none of them noticed the slab of black steel falling toward them until it was too late. The door had been doctored by Marc’s platoon and came away in a free fall, crushing one of the demons instantly as it knocked two more sprawling to the ground. Other daemelans tripped over their comrades and soon the entire line of charging demons had stalled and slammed into itself.
The imps and gremlins charging down from the sky, meanwhile, received volley after volley of arrows from the mortals waiting below, and their ranks began to thin. There were no airborne targets for them to attack and none of them could get close to the ground without being raked by the waiting archers, so the demons spiraled back into the sky and hovered just out of bowshot. Guilian watched apprehensively as the store of arrows they’d brought with them rapidly dwindled.
“Halo Company, charge!” Gerard bellowed and led the group of paladins into the confused group of daemelans. They curved out from the wall and drew the demons away from the gate, and when the daemelans turned to follow and engage, Marc and the men inside rushed out and struck them from behind.
Unlike their previous foes, however, the daemelans didn’t crumble under the pincer attack, and instead they quickly reformed their ranks. After a few quick deaths, the demons recovered and the tide began to turn against the mortals. Daemelans took a particularly fierce joy in destroying the frail bodies of their mortal opponents, and often settled for nothing less than a body split into at least three pieces or crushed to a pulp. Despite the disparity in their numbers, the sheer ferocity of the daemelans’ attacks threw back the combined forces of denarae and paladins, and for only the second time in its short but glorious history, Shadow Company was forced to flee the field of battle to escape annihilation.
“Halo Company, fall back by platoons and cover the denarae!” Gerard bellowed, blood running down his head from a lucky shot. He was lucky it hadn’t taken his head off. “Everyone into the palace!”
The denarae reacted as one unit and carefully pulled back into the palace. The paladins in Halo Company formed up and guarded their retreat. The holy warriors fared little better against the demons, even though they wore thick platemail and inflicted more damage than the denarae, who were not devoted warriors of God. Paladins were cut down, gored, or crushed nearly as easily as the denarae, but still they managed to pull back into the palace to limit the number of daemelans who could approach at once. Gerard cycled the paladins from Halo Company and spelled them with denarae when able, and they were able to take down a couple of the massive demons, but more arrived to take their place.
Marc was panting as he leaned against one of the demonstone walls. He was seriously regretting having unhinged the door, which had deprived them of the possibility of closing and possibly sealing the doors. Of course, given the strength and nature of their foes, it likely wouldn’t have done any good.
They’re too damn powerful! he thought in despair. Gerard either underestimated them, or else he overestimated us.
Trebor came up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder, but stayed silent. Marc looked up at him with a wan smile that quickly faded.
“I could really use one of Flasch’s stupid comments right about now,” Marc said and glanced around for the nimble Violet paladin. He frowned when he didn’t see his friend right away, and after a moment’s searching he stared at Trebor, who shook his head.
“Not everyone made it in,” the denarae told him apprehensively.
Marc looked at the seething mass of demonic flesh held at bay by a much shorter wall of mortal steel, unable to voice the sudden terror that swept over him.
Trebor’s voice murmured ominously behind him, “Flasch is still outside somewhere.”
- 2 -
Garnet dismounted from the buggy and spared a moment to take stock of their resources. Somewhere behind them, two platoons were supposedly on their way along with Siran and his elves, but there was no telling how long it would take for them to catch up, or even if the barrier Birch had created would hold the daemelans long enough. They couldn’t count on backup arriving.
Danner was standing next to the buggy, wings dekinted, assessing the vehicle. He still had a handful of explosives left in the back, but the buggy was nearly empty of fuel. The frame was bent out of shape in places, the tires were still smoking, and Danner announced they’d done something to the engine during their harrowing entrance. The buggy was out of commission.
Their strike force currently consisted of Garnet, Birch, Danner, Michael, Brican, and – if one included dakkans – Selti in his dragon-like shape. Not exactly what Garnet had been hoping for when they confronted the King of Hell.
“Well, as Gerard says,” Garnet announced, “improvise, adapt, and overcome. This is what we’ve got, so this will have to be enough.”
He glanced at the others, who nodded in agreement.
“Let’s go.”
Garnet was only halfway across the room when a piercing ring filled the hall. He spun around just as Malith blinked into existence with six Black paladins on either side of him. The Black Viscia blocked the door they had just come through. Garnet’s eyes narrowed and he took a step toward the Black paladin.
“We meet again, my old friends,” Malith sneered. “I must say, I never expected any of you to get this far. Perhaps even Mephistopheles underestimated you. I’m disappointed in him, but I must admit I’m rather glad I got to face you one last time before the end. Both of you,” the Black paladin said, smirking at Birch and Garnet. “Even as we speak, demons are assaulting Medina and will take possession of the Throne of God at any moment. However brave your heroics in getting here, they were never going to be enough. You’ve already lost.”
Birch looked at his old comrade, now a mortal enemy, and shook his head sadly. Despite everything Malith had done and despite the anger and hatred Birch felt for his former comrade, recent experience had profoundly affected the Gray paladin, and he no longer looked on Malith with the same eye of enmity.
“You know, Malith, it’s not too late for you,” Birch said. He was picturing a kind-hearted Green paladin and heard again what he’d said. Even this I can love.
You set a high bar to live up to, Perky, Birch though fondly to his departed friend.
“Even the blackest of hearts can be redeemed,” Birch went on. “You were once a paladin. You were a mean bastard, but so was Gerard, and you were a soldier of God. There’s got to be some part of you left who recognizes what you’ve become and still yearns for the light.”
Malith laughed scornfully.
“The light, Birch? What is that light, I used to wonder, but now I know.” The Black shook his head and curled his lips back in a sneer. “It is the light of obscurity, blinding us to the world. That faith of ours, which I so diligently followed, presents itself as the end of all answers and the only truth in existence. I found another path, one I find eminently more suited to my beliefs and personality.”
“Amazing how often that happens, rather than the reverse,” Birch countered. Malith went on as though he hadn’t even spoken.
“Tell me, old friend, has your blind adherence to that stifling creed brought you any lasting fulfillment? Has it even brought you a moment of happiness? I know you, Birch, you and your devotion. Part of me even used to look up to you, in a way. But for all you’ve done and all you’ve been, I bet you still haven’t even climbed atop that woman of yours, have you?”
Birch’s fists tightened, but his face remained impassive.
“My path just seems to make more sense to me,” Malith said derisively. “I believe in power. I believe in proving yourself. Mastering yourself. I believe in mastering others who cannot live up to their own potential because they are weak. I believe that those who are strong enough to rise to the top should rule from on high. We were the best of men, and we put ourselves in service to the lowest and weakest. We sacrificed our strength in defense of a God who cannot defend the very seat of his own power.
“I had my eyes opened, and I saw God’s impotence for what it is: weakness. I could never follow such a God, and I don’t believe I ever have. I have found a new power to devote myself to, and I defy you to pit the strength of your faith against the strength of my blade. Prove me wrong.”
The Gray paladin stared at Birch with a cocky half-smile on his face.
Always so sure of himself, Birch thought. Always such a fool. He’s right, but he doesn’t even know why.
“You are correct, Malith, so far as your understanding goes,” Birch replied, and had the satisfaction of seeing the Black paladin’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Malith really didn’t understand how right he was, nor how pitifully wrong he was. “You have found a faith suited to your beliefs, and I’d even agree with you that your faith is just as valid as mine, if you still knew what faith was and could embrace it. Perhaps if you knew the truth, if you could only remember what He made you forget.”
He paused and shook his head.
“What are you blathering about, Birch?” Malith scoffed.
“You spoke with Satan, Malith, and He warped you to His own ends, I’m sure,” Birch said sadly. Then he added, “But then, I suppose the same could be said of me. We’ve both made a deal with the Devil. The difference is, I remember mine and have never sacrificed virtue for convenience, nor stopped serving God. You gave Him up for a different faith, and while I lament your fate, I cannot begrudge you what is, in the end, a form of piety.”
Birch could feel the others behind him staring at him in shock. Even he could barely believe what he was saying, but it felt like the truth. It was something buried within him he’d been struggling toward for years now, ever since his captivity in Hell and his conversations with the Voice – with Satan.
The God of Evil.
“Believing and following a creed of evil, however, doesn’t make it a proper thing, no matter how valid your beliefs might be,” Birch went on. “Evil is still evil in and of itself, and all men should turn from it whether they choose to follow God or not. You mock the faith of your youth, but you’re so desperate to prove your newfound beliefs are fulfilling, you’ve blinded yourself to everything you once held so dear. You’ve lost the courage that so marked you, and now that it’s gone you’ve convinced yourself it wasn’t all that important in the first place. Maybe that helps soothe the wound, but the cut still lies festering beneath the scab of your apostasy, and it will consume you one day.”
Malith laughed again.
“This is too rich,” he roared. “You, Birch, of all people, concerned over the state of my soul?”
Garnet saw a shadow move in the corridor beyond the Black paladins, but the flames and smoke still roaring through the hallway made him doubt his own eyes.
“There is something to be said for changing your beliefs, Birch,” Malith told him, still smiling. “It offers a whole new perspective on things, especially your old lifestyle. Do you realize that I…”
Malith’s words choked off as a foot of steel ripped through his chest, speared his dead heart, and split his sternum in half. The Black Viscia turned and saw Siran holding the other end of his halven with a faintly disgusted look on his normally impassive features.
“You both talk too much,” Siran said reprovingly to Birch. He retracted his halven and, as Malith slumped to the ground, attacked the nearest Black paladin before anyone else had moved.
Behind Siran, a group of elves streamed into the room and confronted the Black Viscia, who fell back in disarray under the unexpected onslaught. Garnet saw a group of paladins and denarae following behind the elves, but cries rang out in the hallway and they turned to face some new menace in the palace corridor. A wild mixture of drolkuls, childris, balrogs, imps, and even a few bloodhawks forced their way into the room to reinforce the Black Viscia, who quickly regrouped and steadied their battle line.
“Birch, Danner, go!” Garnet shouted to them as he motioned Brican and Michael forward. “You two deal with Mephistopheles, we’ll keep them off your backs.”
Danner looked at him in concern, then nodded reluctantly.
“For God and for man,” he said, saluting Garnet with his sword.
“For life,” all of the paladins finished together. Uncle and nephew hurried to the unguarded doors as Garnet plunged into the fray.
- 3 -
Birch crossed the threshold first and felt a hundred memories wash over him; most were his own, some were inherited from Kaelus
. The Demon King’s throne room looked as it had since its creation – a nightmare of horror so perverse it could only have come from the mind of the lord of all demons.
Lesser demons had been culled and sacrificed to their king’s glory, and their bones had been used to layer every available surface of the massive throne room. Bones had been elongated and fused together to create a ridged floor, and the demonstone walls were pocked with thousands of alcoves containing skulls of every conceivable size and shape, from fist-sized imp heads to massive daemelan skulls. One demon skull was nearly twice as large as Birch was tall, and it leered down from the wall with a vicious, tooth-filled grin.
Chandeliers of skulls and bones hung on black steel chains from the vaulted ceiling – the ribs of the vaults appeared to have been constructed from the appropriate bones of the same titanic demon whose skull dominated the wall. Small pools of Hellfire from the Dena-Fur burned in the lofty chandeliers and in channels cut in the floor, casting a steady, furnace-like glow throughout the throne room.
Statues littered the room depicting creatures in varying states of torture and agony, but Birch was already well-aware that these statues were, in fact, demons and damned souls who had been motionless for eons. Mephistopheles dominated their wills so completely that they were no longer capable of movement beyond an occasional, terrified shifting of their eyes, or perhaps a whimper of agony savored by their captor. He was eerily reminded of his own immobility during their confrontation with Maya.
In the center of the room, Kaelus knelt on the bone floor, bound hand and foot by black shackles that rippled with a blue-violet power. The captive demon’s back was to them, and his head was bowed.
Seated atop a dais with nine steps, on a throne of black-steel that seemed to be all sharp spikes, was Mephistopheles. The King of Hell.
Birch had seen the demon king many times before and in many different guises, but he heard Danner gasp in surprise. For centuries, mortal artists had portrayed the demon king as a hideous parody of human flesh, complete with horns, a forked tail, rows of dagger-like teeth, and crimson skin. Some showed him with bat’s wings, others with goat’s feet and dark hair covering his body.
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) Page 59