Surprisingly enough, Hoil straightened and began to walk on his own after that.
Chapter 36
Growing up on the streets gave me a new insight into the sacrifices of being a paladin. I would rather own nothing and appreciate everything, than own everything and appreciate nothing.
- Nuse Rojena,
“The Urchin” (1003 AM)
- 1 -
After two weeks of uneventful traveling, they finally reached what Birch said was their first stop. They were near where the Merging had stood, but no one even suggested traveling to test if it was still standing and functional. The road ahead was too long to consider taking any detours. According to the timepiece Danner had with him, the mortal world had just reached a new month, Brakmanth, and nearly a month and a half had passed at home since they’d crossed the Binding.
The first waypoint on their path was, for Michael at least, more than a little disappointing. The building looked like an old temple of some sort, or at the very least the house of someone with very grandiose taste. Whatever beauty it had once possessed was long-since ruined, however. Tall pillars made from gleaming white angelstone had been toppled to the ground, and inscriptions of the Tricrus had been gouged out, defaced by Cthonis symbols, and otherwise destroyed by sharp demonic claws eons ago. The building itself had collapsed and there were few walls still standing.
Siran directed his elves to scout the area, and they reported back a moment later that it was clear.
“This was the first thing I saw other than empty wasteland,” Birch explained to them as they gazed on the ruined structure. “It only took me a week or so to get here.”
“Where to next then, uncle?” Danner asked.
“Those mountains,” Birch replied, pointing into the distance. “It took me nearly a year to reach them, and at the time I could have sworn the damn things kept moving further away every time I stopped to rest. This time around, I should be able to get us there in a few days.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Gerard said. “No sense yammering about like old ladies.”
It took them nearly a full week to reach the edge of the mountains, and still they had yet to see a single demon or damned soul.
“That, at least, is no surprise,” Birch said. “It was the same before. It’s an infinite plane of existence, so there’s a lot of room to get lost here. I don’t know how long our luck will hold, but enjoy it while it lasts. Once the demon king knows we’re here, you can bet he’ll send everything he can to destroy us before we ever get a glimpse of Dis, much less Abaddon itself.”
Michael looked around and spotted Marc leaning against Danner’s buggy nearby. They had stopped to give the living members of their expedition a chance to rest, so most of them were setting up tents or sitting in groups talking in low voices. Michael walked a few steps and casually leaned next to the Orange paladin.
“Remind me,” he whispered to Marc, “what’s Abaddon?”
“The deepest pit of Hell,” Marc whispered back, “where Mephistopheles’s palace lies. Think of a target. Abaddon is a deep bowl in the bull’s-eye, and it’s surrounded by a wide, empty plain a couple miles in diameter. Around that plain is a ring of high cliffs, then another broad plain, then the city of Dis, which is of course laid out in a wide circle. It’s enormous.”
Michael listened, surprised.
“How do you know all this?” he asked softly. “I’d be willing to bet that description isn’t in any text I’ve ever seen or heard of.”
“It’s not,” Marc replied. “I’ve been reading through some of Birch’s memoirs he gave me to review. For such an intelligent guy, his punctuation and word choice are seriously lacking at times. I’ve been helping him with some editing. Not a bad quick-sketch artist either, but he could never sell on the streets.”
Michael snorted in amusement. “Anything else important in there we should know about?” he asked.
Marc shrugged. “Probably a lot, but nothing comes to mind just now. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”
“Please do.”
Marc winked at Michael, then wandered off to talk to Guilian.
Michael’s platoon was already setting up to rest for the night – although calling it “night” was somewhat misleading. It was much dimmer and more foreboding than in Heaven, but like the holy plane, the light was constant and never faded. The molten sky overhead rumbled and roiled in the windless sky, but always the light filtered through to the desiccated landscape.
The Yellow paladin wandered around, bored, until he came across Birch sitting with his back propped against Selti’s flank. The dakkan was in his runner form and had settled down for a nap. Birch had a thick booklet balanced on one leg, and he was writing on a mostly blank page with a charcoal stick.
“Am I interrupting?” Michael asked politely.
“Not really,” the Gray paladin replied. “I was just noting a few thoughts I had during the day. This place brings back a lot of memories, and while I’d almost like to forget all of them, your friend Marc convinced me to write them down instead.”
“We were just talking about that, actually,” Michael told him. “I’ll have to read that someday.”
Birch finished writing another sentence, frowned, then shrugged and closed the book. He set it down as Michael walked closer.
“What were you writing, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Birch smiled with weary eyes. “I was writing down some of the tortures I remembered.”
Michael nearly tripped over the empty ground.
“None of the more exotic ones this time,” Birch continued, “just some of the daily things they did to me, most of them a complete waste of time. There are only so many times your fingers can be broken before it becomes almost boring having to heal them back a few minutes later. Painful of course, but sort of routine after a few months of daily repetition.”
Michael gave him a nervous sort of smile. Birch gestured for him to sit nearby, so Michael dropped to one knee and turned his other foot underneath him to sit on. He only wore the breastplate from his armor – the rest was carefully stowed in his pack – but he preferred not to sit directly on the dusty ground.
“This may be none of my business,” Michael said, “but I’ve wondered – what was the worst thing they ever did to you? Your worst memory from here, I mean. I imagine there’s a lot to choose from, but…” he trailed off uncertainly.
Birch shook his head. “I don’t mind you asking at all, and I can tell you exactly what my worst experience was. I was held for six years, three months, and eight days after they finally captured me. Nearly every day they had me, I was tortured either physically or psychologically. After a few months, the demons would delight in teasing me that I could end my torment by renouncing God and the Prism and worshipping the King of Hell.”
Michael thought of Malith.
“Six years, three months, and two days after I was captured, I caught myself blaming God for my predicament, and I very nearly cursed His name,” Birch said softly. He looked up at Michael, but stayed silent.
Finally, Michael asked, “But you didn’t, did you?” Birch shook his head. “So why then…”
“Why is that my worst memory?” Birch asked. “Because it terrified me that they’d been able to push me that close to giving in. If they did it once, they could do it again, and if they could do that, they just might be able to break me. It was only a matter of time, and in Hell, that’s about the only thing you have. Less than a week later, as I hung broken and bleeding, I made my deal with Satan and escaped.”
Michael was silent for a long moment, then finally, in a soft voice, he said, “A lesson in faith.”
“Or desperation,” Birch said without looking at him. “Take your pick.”
- 2 -
Three weeks later, they still had seen neither hide nor claw of a single demon or damned soul. The incessant dullness of their journey began to wear on many of them, and tempers flared on more than on occasion, e
ven between the normally close-knit denarae in Shadow Company. Flasch wondered how anyone could endure a journey like this without companionship, and guessed most White paladins who crossed ended up talking to their dakkans most of the way.
He gently fingered the green and violet scarf tied around his waist and thought of Anolla. Did he love her? Maybe. Or rather, he loved her, he just was not necessarily in love with her. Flasch remembered an old girlfriend making that distinction years ago, and he’d called it trite semantics. Now he wasn’t so sure. He really thought he might be in love, and if not, he was at least well on his way.
The flimsy scarf was only partially visible – Flasch’s armor covered the rest. He wore most of the non-constrictive pieces from his full suit: the greaves, the breast- and back-plates, even a pair of bracers. Flasch disliked the full platemail attire, however, especially the pieces that governed his joints. The former thief couldn’t stand having his arms and legs hampered in any way, and a layer of thick steel tended to do just that. He was lean and muscular, but not really built to carry full armor like Garnet and some of the others were.
A short distance ahead, Flasch noticed everyone beginning to slow to a halt.
“Nap time already?” he mused. “But it’s still light outside.”
Flasch smiled half-heartedly. With no one nearby to hear his quips, they just weren’t as much fun. He trotted forward until he reached the spot where everyone had stopped. Birch was kneeling on the ground, running his fingers through the dust, and several others were standing around him watching silently. The Elan’Vital spread out and kept a careful eye on their immediate vicinity, while Shadow Company scouted further afield.
“What’s up?” Flasch asked, catching Brican’s eye.
“Birch said this was where his first dakkan mount Sultana died,” the denarae answered. “This is where Selti was born.”
Flasch looked around and saw the gray dakkan in his drann shape, standing across from Birch. The little beast’s tail was whipping back and forth in agitation, and every few seconds, he shifted uncomfortably and crooned in distress.
“Is that what’s wrong with him?” Flasch asked.
“How should I know?” Brican kythed with a touch of sarcasm. “I can’t kythe in dakkan minds, you know.”
“Well work on that, would you?”
Brican turned away and didn’t bother to reply. Flasch grinned at his back.
Danner joined their group and stood behind his uncle. He stood motionless for a moment, then his head jerked up as though hearing something. He looked around with a perplexed expression, unable to locate whatever it was he had heard.
“Danner, are you all right?” Brican asked.
“There’s something else here,” he said softly, “a presence of some sort.” He looked down at Birch. “Uncle?”
“I feel it, too,” Birch replied. “It’s familiar and yet…”
Just then, Selti leapt into the air and let loose an ear-piercing screech. Instinctively, everyone covered their ears and watched the gray drann swoop toward Birch. Flasch wondered if the little reptile was going to attack, but at the last second, Selti flared his wings and landed on Birch’s hastily outthrust arm.
Selti latched onto his paladin’s forearm and wrapped his tail around Birch’s bicep. He stretched out his neck and crooned urgently.
Birch’s eyebrows drew together in thought, and he looked at the area around him in confusion.
“Is this…” he murmured. “Why do I remember this place being different?” He looked all around him, then shook his head. “It was brighter, and the landscape was gentler. There were creatures all around, demons who were gathered and spoke of battle. Up there,” he said, pointing toward a nearby cliff, “one demon stood and told us we had to fight back or be slaves. They all agreed and shouted, eager for battle.
“Only one among us spoke against him, as he’d always spoken out,” Birch went on in a daze, reliving what Flasch realized was probably a memory leftover from Kaelus. “He was my friend. He looked like one of the angels, save for his red eyes, but he was a demon like the rest of us. He spoke of peace and understanding, and when the demon king shouted for him to die, a dozen monsters rushed forward and tore him to pieces. Nisroc cut his wings off and held them high as trophies. And I did nothing.”
Gerard stepped forward and shook Birch gently. “Birch, snap out of it.”
Birch shook his head to clear the visions and nodded at Gerard in thanks. Then he looked down at Selti, who still clung to his arm.
“Is it…. Abdiel?”
- 3 -
Kala watched in frustration as the demons marched past the outpost. The reports were true, then – Malith had instructed his forces to bypass all fortresses and march straight on to Medina. The demons had a long way to go yet, but there seemed to be no stopping them. She knew Uriel and Mikal were working non-stop, trying to find ways to delay or destroy as much of the army as possible, but the demons had split into five groups and were that much harder to affect. Even if they managed to somehow slow or halt one division of the army, still there were four more who would march on unimpeded.
Already, the demons had covered nearly half the distance to the holy city. They built bridges made from the flesh of damned souls to cross rivers or simply flew across, and they bored through mountains using the powerful digging skills of the drolkuls. There seemed to be no stopping them.
Whenever possible, Uriel led hit-and-run strikes against the demons, and while he was having some effect on one of the armies, others had been less successful. A Power named Dunael had led an assault against the army commanded by Beelzebub, and the demon prince had wiped them out to the last man and angel. A Dominion named Doriel had suffered almost as badly at the hands of Iblis, the fire demon. Less than half of the angels led against Iblis’s forces had survived the encounter. Doriel himself was badly burned by the demon prince and was still recovering in the waters of the Philion under the care of a Sarim.
Garnet and the others had crossed into Hell three weeks ago, and there had been no word from them since. Not that anyone was expecting to hear from them – they were deep in enemy territory, after all – but still, Kala missed the giant warrior and his surprising gentleness. They had only just started to explore their feelings when suddenly Garnet’s father was killed and he had to rush off to rescue Danner’s uncle.
She wanted him back.
“My dear,” a cheerful voice cried, “look who I found.”
Kala turned from the window as Trames entered the room with Brad and Anolla in tow. The twins had filled out considerably since she last saw them, and even Anolla had developed the lithe muscles of a swordswoman. Kala smiled at the competent way they both handled themselves now, even if they were still both untested on the battlefield.
“Kala!”
Anolla rushed forward and hugged the warrior woman, but Brad reserved himself with a broad grin and a polite nod.
“Well met, Anolla, Brad,” Kala said, genuinely pleased to see them. “Where did you find these two, Trames?”
“Oh, wandering the halls,” the old man replied absently as he became absorbed in studying the angelstone walls of her room. Kala sighed in resignation.
“Our unit is assigned to the Seraph Michael,” Anolla said eagerly as she released Kala. “We’re part of a real fighting unit now.”
“What does your father have to say about that?” Kala asked.
Brad waved a hand. “You know our dad well enough. He warned us to be careful and look out for each other and everyone around us, but you can tell he’s really proud. He’s assigned here, too, probably so he can keep an eye on us.”
Kala smiled, then she looked out the window. The twins followed her gaze.
“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?” Brad asked, all traces of youth and glee gone from a voice that suddenly sounded very adult.
“Worse than you can imagine,” Kala told him. “Seraphim, Cherubim, Dominions, Powers, and all the other angels are doing their
best. Armies of the living and the dead are striking wherever they can, and still there doesn’t seem to be any way of stopping them.”
Anolla embraced Kala again, this time in comfort.
“We may not be able to stop them here,” the young woman said, “but I bet things will change for the better when Garnet and the others kill the demon king.”
“You think they can do it?” Kala asked.
“Of course,” Brad replied confidently.
“He’s a child of Garet jo’Meerkit,” Anolla said. Brad nodded and smiled faintly as his sister added, “There’s no stopping any of us.”
Anolla grinned fiercely at Kala, who could only laugh.
- 4 -
Hoil crept back down the hall toward James and Nuse, who were secreted around another corner. James watched him coming and wondered how anyone that large could move so silently. Sure, Hoil was a thief who recently went honest, but still, there were some things that just shouldn’t be physically possible.
The former thief motioned for them to duck back out of sight, and he followed them a moment later and breathed a soft sigh of relief.
“I never wondered how good an angel’s hearing was,” Hoil whispered. “Now I know. I made the tiniest of noise well down the hallway, and one of those blasted Cherubim came to investigate. I had to duck into a side room to avoid notice.”
“So they are still guarding him there?” Nuse asked.
“If not him, then someone.” Hoil shook his head. “I know you two are great paladins, but there’s no way you’re going to get close to them without making noise. You can’t sneak up on these angels, trust me.”
James frowned in thought.
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Nuse suggested. The other two looked at him inquiringly. “I mean, yes, they’re guarding him, but I doubt they have orders to shoot on sight anyone who happens to wander through the library. We might be able to talk our way past them.”
“How?” Hoil asked bluntly.
“He’s the mediator,” Nuse replied, off-handedly waving toward James.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” James said wryly.
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) Page 52
