Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3)

by Brian J Moses

  “From whence does evil come, captive one?” Satan had asked him during one such visit. Kaelus already knew the obvious answer was false. The first time Satan had asked this question, Kaelus promptly replied, “You,” and was rewarded with scorn and mocking laughter. The next time, Kaelus answered, “From choice.” This earned him a moment of consideration, then a wave of dismissal and a decade of solitude.

  The third time, Kaelus spent nearly a month in thought before answering.

  “From itself.”

  That time, Satan stayed and discussed the depths of his question and Kaelus’s various answers, and by the end Kaelus had begun to realize the true separation between the concepts of Good and Evil and the deities that supposedly embodied them.

  And he began to contemplate the possibility of something beyond both.

  As Kaelus pored over his thoughts and compared them to more recent experience, he quickly approached the Anvil of Heaven. It seemed clear that his free will was not unique, and in fact all immortals possessed at least some of the same ability to choose. Since the instant of their creation, however, they had been indoctrinated to believe they had no free will, however, and were bound by their natures. Thus, for those who possessed it, their own will held them captive to the belief that they had no such freedom, and made it so. Effectively, thanks to their indoctrination, they had chosen not to choose. In the end, Kaelus wasn’t sure whether he should be sad or furious at the grand lie the immortals had existed under since the dawn of time.

  He wondered whether the opposing deities who had instilled that belief in their followers actually believed the lie as well. That would at least make it a tragic misunderstanding rather than a cruel deception.

  Finally, his thoughts were interrupted by the intruding sound of three hammers pounding in the unmistakable rhythm of a master craftsman at the work of a forge.

  Kaelus looked out from his own thoughts and focused on the three figures in front of him. The three angels were perfectly identical in every respect, down to the manner in which they wielded their forge hammers and struck every blow perfectly. Each was tall and thickly built as befitted a blacksmith, forgoing the delicate litheness preferred by many angels. Each wore a thick, black smock, and each angel’s four crimson wings were kept carefully back from the blue flames that leapt from the forge fires. This…these were Dem, the only immortal who had ever completely and perfectly replicated his own āyus.

  Off to one side, three Parasim waited dutifully for the master blacksmith to require their assistance. Shadrael, Meshrael, and Abednael – the “keepers of the furnace” as they were called – were experienced blacksmiths in their own right, but their primary function was to assist Dem. The three angels were almost as heavily muscled as the master smith and were so similar in appearance that were they mortals, they would have been assumed to be triplets. The only notable distinction between them was the color of their wings. Shadrael’s wings were a gentle blue, Meshrael’s were the color of ripe limes, and Abednael’s were such a pale yellow they were practically white.

  “In a way, Dem,” Kaelus said aloud as he approached, “you are the counterpart to the Unholy Trinity, as they called themselves. The Three.”

  The centermost Dem looked up at Kaelus and regarded him silently while the other two continued their labor unceasingly.

  “But where The Three were separate entities united in mind and spirit, you are a single entity divided in body only,” Kaelus said. “An interesting contrast of possibilities, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ve told you just as I’ve told others, Kaelus, I don’t know how I did it,” the centermost Dem said.

  “I just did,” the Dem to the right said. “Now, more than ever…”

  “…I wish I could remember,” continued the Dem on the left as the one on the right grunted in effort. “It could be a valuable tool in this war.”

  “Indeed it could,” Kaelus nodded, “but as you said, you’ve already told me you don’t remember. That’s not why I’m here, Dem.”

  Kaelus addressed the centermost Dem simply because that was the one closest to him and therefore the most convenient.

  “One of the mortals in my command has come up with an interesting idea, and I need your help to make it possible.”

  The Dem on the right straightened and wiped at his brow – a useless gesture since angels did not perspire, but Kaelus knew it was an affectation Dem had picked up from centuries of dealing with mortal blacksmiths.

  “A new weapon, eh?” Dem asked.

  “Hope it’s downright lethal,” the Dem on the left said, also wiping at his forehead with the back of one hand.

  The centermost Dem grinned at Kaelus.

  “Looks like you’ve come to the right place, milord demon,” Dem said. He waved Kaelus closer and sat down to listen while his other two incarnations continued their work at the forge.

  Chapter 26

  If we stand on the shoulders of those who come before us, we must pay for their sins. If we stand upon their corpses, we must pay for our own.

  - Violet Paladin Gareth Baradin,

  “A Life of Sacrifice” (602 AM)

  - 1 -

  Hoil slid down the crystalline wall and slumped to the ground. The strength in his legs had finally given way to despair, and he allowed himself a moment of physical discomfort before his emotions swelled and swallowed him once more.

  “I can’t find her,” he murmured. “She must know I’m here. Why hasn’t she come to me yet?”

  His legs splayed out in the hallway before him, and for the first time since the birth of his son, Hoil wished desperately for a flagon of strong spirits in which to drown himself. He usually managed to get himself drunk on the anniversary of Danner’s birth, but that was usually just a natural progression of slowly trying to drown out the mounting pain the day begat. Now he wanted to skip the intervening hours and drink himself straight into oblivion.

  It wasn’t enough to make me forget then, and it wouldn’t be enough now, he thought morosely.

  After a long moment of mindless wallowing, a spark of thought intruded on the darkness of Hoil’s thoughts.

  “Someone’s got to know where she is,” Hoil said. “Who else can I ask?”

  As though summoned by his thoughts, an angel strode gracefully down the hallway and paused to stare down at Hoil.

  “Hoil?” the angel asked.

  “Rogael,” Hoil said with something approaching genuine pleasure. Rogael was an Erelim and a member of Uriel’s infamous Archangels, and as such was quite the rogue – a kindred spirit for Hoil. Since coming to Heaven, Rogael had been one of the few immortals Hoil had met and kept company. The Archangel had a fondness for mortal games of chance, and Hoil had never been one to turn down an opportunity for such entertainment.

  “What happened to you, my human friend?” Rogael asked with a broad smile. “Is your mortality finally catching up with you? I must say, I thought you’d have a few more years left before your body gave out on you.”

  “Nonsense,” Hoil said with a forced smile. “I thought I saw a gold coin on the floor and stopped to check it out.”

  Rogael grinned at him and winked, not believing a word Hoil said. He stepped forward and helped Hoil get to his feet. When he was steady, Hoil released the angel’s hand and nodded his head in thanks.

  “We seem to have a bit of time on our hands,” Rogael said with a gleam in his eye. His maroon wings twitched in anticipation, one of his worst tells. “How’s about giving me a chance to win back that bow I lost to you yesterday? You can’t even use it.”

  “Some other time,” Hoil said, shaking his head. “Soon, though, I promise. I plan on giving that bow to Birch, but I can use it as a stake first. I want to get my hands on a few of those swords you all wield.”

  Rogael chuckled good-naturedly.

  Hoil hesitated, then asked, “Rogael, you’ve been a member of the Archangels since the Great Schism, yes?”

  “All of us have,” the Power co
nfirmed. “Very few angels have genesed[24] since the first few centuries after the war, and our ranks were almost intact at the end. Uriel’s a good commander.”

  “So I’ve seen,” Hoil said.

  “We’ve always been a bit of a rogue unit,” the angel continued before Hoil could say anything else. “That’s why we work so well with Uriel, I guess. He’s really the only commander we follow, and we’ve been known to disobey him on occasion if we all feel strongly enough about it. It irritates him almost as much as it pleases him to see us so independent.”

  “Wonderful,” Hoil said, cutting him off before Rogael could open his mouth again. “Now, since you’ve been around a long time, you’d know just about every angel in Heaven, correct?”

  “Of course,” Rogael said, affecting an air of having just been insulted.

  That’s what they all say, but there’s still too many to know, Hoil thought privately. Certainly none of the angels he’d spoken to yet had been able to help him.

  “Then maybe you can help me find someone,” Hoil said. Rogael dropped his pose and looked at him, his expression open and helpful.

  Hoil took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he spoke.

  “I’m looking for my wife,” he said. “She died soon after my son’s birth, and I’ve been without her radiant beauty ever since. She’s the only reason I came here, to see her again, but I’ve looked all over and wandered through every unit I can find, hoping to see her, and I’ve even questioned a few hundred angels and dead people who I thought might be able to help me. I assume she would have come back here, but I haven’t heard from her. She must have heard of our presence here by now, and she couldn’t ignore coming to see her husband and son, could she?” By the end of his final question, Hoil’s voice had taken on an almost plaintive quality.

  Rogael nodded in sympathy, then stopped as his brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “You asked if I knew the angels here,” Rogael said. “Why would that help you find the soul of your mortal wife?”

  “My son is Danner,” Hoil reminded him, “the half-angel. We believe his mother was an angel by the name of…” Hoil stopped, daring himself to say her name again.

  “Her name was Alanna,” he said finally. He looked up pleadingly into Rogael’s eyes. “Do you know where I might find her?”

  Rogael’s expression turned from sympathetic perplexity to guarded silence at the mention of Hoil’s wife’s name. Hoil let the silence stretch out between them as he studied the immortal’s face. Either angels were as easy to read as mortals, or else Rogael had just spent too much time around the dead and had picked up their mannerisms, because Hoil read him as easily as he did any man alive.

  “Tell me,” Hoil said, his voice tight.

  “I… I cannot,” Rogael said finally, looking away. “If it is answers you seek, for this you must ask Uriel, my friend. I’m sorry.”

  Hoil stared at him a moment longer then decided he would get nothing by pressing the issue.

  “Uriel, huh?” Hoil said grimly. “Well, let’s just see what he has to say then.”

  He brushed past Rogael, who slipped aside after the barest of contact between their shoulders. It was enough for the angel to read the hurt and fear buried beneath a growing layer of anger. He stared after Hoil’s retreating figure and let out a mortal-like sigh.

  “I’m truly sorry, my friend,” Rogael whispered. When Hoil was gone from sight, Rogael left in search of his fellow Archangels in the hopes of lightening the sudden weight that had settled across his shoulders.

  - 2 -

  Jayen reigned in his dakkan sharply to avoid a collision with the dakkan in front of him. Behind him, he heard other paladins halting their mounts as well.

  “What’s the delay?” he shouted as his dakkan paced a slow circle beneath him. Jayen stretched upward in his saddle in an attempt to see further ahead.

  “Sin-cursed demons,” someone muttered, and Jayen wagered he was right. Whatever the problem, there would be a way to blame the demons, he was sure. They seemed to be behind everything that went wrong anyway.

  The response was passed back down the line.

  “There’s an angel laying in our path. Possibly dead.”

  Demons for sure, then.

  Without waiting for orders, the paladins formed in a loose circle around the body of the downed angel. Their weapons were drawn and they stared grimly outward, ready for an attack. Two Green paladins were already kneeling next to the crumpled form, examining his wounds.

  “Can’t be dead or it would have disappeared,” one of the Greens muttered to himself.

  Jayen glanced uneasily at a grizzled old Red next to him.

  “A trap?” he asked nervously.

  “Easy, youngster,” the Red growled. “Control your fear. Even Yellows are supposed to show courage.”

  Jayen forced a slight laugh.

  “I’d feel a lot more courageous if I knew this wasn’t a trap,” he replied, which earned him a headshake from the older paladin.

  Jayen glanced over his shoulder at the two Greens and their charge. The angel was indeed still alive, but was too weak to do more than moan in agony. As far away as he was, Jayen could still see horrible burns covering the angel’s body with blackened flesh as well as several gashes where some demon’s claws had ripped into the poor angel’s body. Half of the immortal’s perfectly beautiful face was now a ruin of torn, burned flesh, and only one of the angel’s eyes turned in its socket to regard his rescuers. One of his wings was nearly severed from his back, and the other was twisted halfway down at an impossible angle.

  “Not a demon in sight,” a paladin called down from an airborne dakkan.

  One of the Greens shook his head helplessly while the other tried to get the angel’s attention.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked insistently. “When did this happen? Can you tell us anything about who did this to you?”

  The angel tried to move his lips, but only unintelligible groans escaped. The few words he managed to form were in a language none of them understood.

  “Tokul,” the angel croaked. “Tokul!” He flailed his wings uselessly and one of his hands slid limply to the ground. The angel’s remaining eye swiveled as he twisted his head to look down at the hand. Summoning whatever reserves of strength he still possessed, the angel pushed his hand into the soft, cloud-like ground of Heaven until it was buried to the wrist.

  Before he could complete the warning, Jayen’s dakkan reared back in alarm and let out a piercing shriek. The other dakkans followed suit, and it was all Jayen could do not to cover his ears to block the painful sound.

  “Here now, Elleran, stop that,” Jayen shouted, thumping him in the side with the flat of his blade. He turned his dakkan around just as the cloudy ground beneath him was rent asunder. A clawed hand stretched out and ripped down Elleran’s belly, tearing through the armor-like scales like they were paper and spilling the dakkan’s entrails out onto the pristine, white ground.

  All around Jayen, demons and damned souls were pouring forth from the ground and slashing into the paladin ranks from all sides. As Elleran collapsed out from under him, Jayen leapt clear and landed back-to-back with a Blue paladin whose mount was also crippled.

  “Ambush!” someone roared needlessly.

  Directly beneath the wounded angel, a large section of the ground gave way. The two Greens disappeared amidst a flood of winged creatures that leapt into the sky and immediately assaulted the six paladins flying overhead. In seconds, they had slain one rider and his mount and were sorely pressing the remaining paladins.

  Jayen fought with a feeling of rising despair and terror as men he’d known most of his life were ripped to pieces around him. He felt pressure leave his back and turned only to see a blue cloak vanish under a swarm of leathery flesh and bloody claws.

  The ground beneath him trembled, and Jayen leapt aside just as another clawed hand punched through the surface and grabbed at his ankle. He slashed down with his sword and severe
d the seeking limb, which was quickly followed by the rest of the demon, now bellowing in pain and clutching the stump on its arm.

  Jayen risked a quick glance into the ground and nearly lost control of his stomach. Eyes, mouths, ears, arms, legs… Everything melded together in a gross distortion of mortal flesh, made worse by the great holes ripped through it by hungry demons’ claws.

  Too slow to guard against all avenues of attack, Jayen dodged one set of slashing claws only to be caught across the arm by another. He spun and nearly dropped his shield, then a heavy fist caught him in the base of his spine and he collapsed to his knees.

  A desperate cry of triumph drew Jayen’s attention skyward, and he saw a Red paladin riding on a green dakkan. The pair broke free of a cluster of flying monsters, wheeled about, and quickly escaped from the hopeless fray.

  “At least someone got away to warn them,” Jayen muttered, no longer feeling the pain being inflicted on his body. Through some twist of cruel fate, Jayen was one of the last few paladins alive, and the demons halted their mindless rampage to savor their remaining victims.

  For hours, Jayen prayed silently even as he screamed in pain, begging for release. When the end finally came, even Jayen could no longer discern whether his pleas of “Let me die!” were directed toward his captors or the God he’d sworn to follow.

  - 3 -

  Perklet sighed as he stepped back from the last of the wounded near him. Scattered about the crowded room, a dozen other Green paladins worked their prayers of healing to mend the wounds of their fallen brethren. Paladins of all six Facets lay in various states of health, some still grievously wounded, others newly healed and sleeping to complete their recovery.

  The worst of the wounded were treated by angels, whose remarkable healing powers could bring a man back from the edge of death. Perklet had passed a half-dozen men on to the angels in the next room after deciding the wounded paladins were beyond his abilities. Five had survived and walked out of the room wondering at their good fortune. The sixth was carried out of the room and his body was flown back to the Iridescent Gates to be buried in the mortal world at a later time.