“He could not have translocated,” Mikal said wearily to himself in disbelief. “It’s impossible, not from within the river.”
So focused was he on Iblis’s miraculous disappearance, he didn’t see a flight of gremlins streaking toward him, hoping to take advantage of his weakened state. Too late, Mikal looked up and saw gleaming ebony talons that slashed into his flesh and tore at his wings. He raised his sword and slashed ineffectively at the demons, which darted about in the air and easily evaded his exhausted efforts to defend himself.
Just then, a young human clad in thick leather armor launched himself from a nearby outcropping of stone and crashed into the flying demons, dragging several down to the ground and hurling them into the Philion. The thickly muscled mortal stood over Mikal and beat back the encroaching demons, which quickly regrouped to face this new threat. However brave he might be, the man was obviously not a paladin and would have limited success against the flying demons.
Still, he held them off long enough that Mikal was able to gather a measure of his strength and lend his own sword, and he stood to put his back to the human’s. The demons screeched at the thought of such prey escaping them, and they immediately swarmed down to attack.
“Now, ‘Nolla!” the mortal shouted, and a spray of water shot forth from the stone outcropping, dousing the demons with the waters of the Philion. The gremlins screamed in pain and broke away, but some were so doused with the Heavenly water they crashed to the ground and struggled weakly against destruction that clung to their flesh and ate away at their being.
In a moment, the air was clear and Mikal and the unknown human were safe. Mikal slumped to the ground and allowed the healing waters of the Philion to wash over his lower half. He quickly drew strength from the river, enough so that his own āyus was no longer in danger. Time and further healing would restore him, but for the moment Mikal was relieved that he still existed.
He allowed the young mortal to help him to his feet. Mikal stretched his wings and ruffled his feathers in agitation, but he was too weak to do much more than that.
“What’s your name, human?” he asked.
“Bradley, sir. Bradley jo’Garet,” the human replied. “That’s my twin sister, Anolla, up there.” A young female human jumped down, part of a sprayer still in her hands. Her smile radiated from her like a beacon of youthful exuberance.
The angel smiled. “I might have known. Well, Bradley jo’Garet, you just saved me from a rather embarrassing fate. History might think less of a Seraph who was brought down by a group of mere gremlins.”
Mikal stared at the Philion and searched for some sign of Iblis, but the demon prince had vanished without a trace. He would have felt it had the demon prince been destroyed.
Hariel and Doriel flew down and landed next to Mikal and the mortal twins.
“Mikal, the demons are in full retreat,” Doriel reported with a smile. Hariel was as somber-faced as any Power, and she quickly glanced at Mikal’s wounds as though verifying the Seraph wasn’t about to expire before their eyes.
“Doriel, harry them as you see fit, but do not take any risks,” Mikal told the Dominion. “We’ve won this fight, but there are many more to come, and we’re going to need every angel and moral we can keep alive.”
The two angels flew off, and Mikal turned to Bradley and Anolla, who stood silently waiting for him.
“Come, young mortals,” Mikal said with a tired smile, “I’m sure your father will be as pleased to hear of your valiant rescue as I will be to tell him.”
Chapter 38
Why do we always feel there is too much or too little time? Why is there never just enough?
- Trames,
“O Musings” (976 AM)
- 1 -
The poisonous taint of the demons was now visible on half of the surrounding horizon. Gray filth polluted the once pristine surface of Heaven, and some reports even said that some angelstone had succumbed to the demons’ presence. Heavenly crystal from the tainted lands no longer broke neatly into evenly faceted chunks, but rather shattered into amorphous shards that were as twisted and revolting as the taint that infected them. So far the waters of the rivers had gone unpolluted, but many wondered if it was only a matter of time.
High atop the tallest tower in Medina – directly over the Hall of the Throne – two Seraphim stood and surveyed the encroaching foulness with grim foreboding.
“It’s been nearly two months since they crossed,” Uriel said. Mikal nodded. “We have no way of knowing if they’re even still alive. No contact at all.”
“We have to hold for as long as possible,” Mikal said. “We need to give them time.”
“How much more can we give them?” Uriel asked incredulously. “Have you looked at the sky, Mikal? The demons will be at our walls in a week, two at the most. Once they reach Medina, there’s no telling how long it will take for them to break through and take the Hall.”
“Then we give Birch those two weeks and however many days more we can squeeze from our defense here,” the other Seraph replied. “I remember Mephistopheles from the old days, and he will not have changed much. He is impatient, and that will push Malith to take the city as quickly as he can. He’ll make mistakes, and we’ll slow him down.”
“He can afford to make mistakes,” Uriel countered. “He outnumbers us at least five-to-one. Much of that is damned souls, but still, the odds are nothing short of staggering. And there must still be countless more demons and damned souls in Hell he can call on, should it become necessary.”
Mikal stared at the gloomy horizon and closed his eyes slowly. The faint saffron tint of his flesh seemed to glow in soft pulsations as he considered.
“Then we make it as hard as possible for them to come anywhere near Medina,” he said finally, “at least not without getting their feet wet.”
Uriel stared at him in shock.
“You’re not seriously suggesting…”
“I am,” Mikal said fiercely. “We flood the city. I’ll raise the surrounding land to create a bowl and redirect the Philion to fill it, and any damage it incurs be damned. I’d pull down every building myself if I thought it would protect the Throne in some way. Gather whomever you need and seal the library, but don’t waste time on anything else, not even the Hall of the Throne. We can rebuild the entire city if need be, but not if we don’t survive.”
He opened his eyes and glared at Uriel. “I don’t like it any better than you, Uriel, but the rivers are still our best defense as long as they remain inimical to the demons. I’ll never be able to submerge the whole city, and this is a delaying tactic at best. Eventually they’ll figure out a way to drain the waters or corrupt them, I’m sure, but even that will buy us time while they puzzle through it. In the meantime, Dem relocated his forges here, and he’s been working on weapons and more of those gnomish pumps. We have hundreds of them now and will have more by the time we need them.
“We flood the city and station pumping crews about the city with flights of angels to keep them safe,” Mikal told him. “I want the Archangels airborne every instant helping wherever you’re needed the most. Whole companies of the blessed dead have practiced underwater maneuvers, thanks to the trap we laid, so I want them prowling the bottom of our new lake and attacking from below while you attack from above. The demons can’t follow their retreat into the water, so there’s no need for standup fights. Hit-and-run across the entire city on such a scale as those Hellish beasts have never dreamed.
“We haven’t lost very many of those paladins who recently crossed over to help us, and they all have dakkans. Take them airborne and unleash them under Garet’s command. He best understands the aerial tactics of his brethren, and he’s proved more than capable thus far. God as my witness, we’ll attack these monsters from land, sea, and air, and we will hold them for a whole year if we must to give Birch and the others the time they need.”
Uriel stared in amazement at the passion in Mikal’s words. The emerald-winged Seraph w
as normally more reserved and even-tempered, and it was easy to forget the strength of the fire that burned within him.
“I have every faith in Birch to free Kaelus, and in them both when they face the demon king himself,” Mikal said. “I’d hate to have them return triumphant only to find Medina in rubble and a demon prince sitting on the Throne.”
Uriel studied Mikal’s face a moment longer, then he grinned. “I won’t let it happen if you won’t,” he said. He saluted and spread his wings to fly away.
Then he paused and peered over his shoulder.
“What will you do while I’m passing the orders?” he asked his old friend.
Mikal closed his eyes and knelt on one knee.
“Pray.”
- 2 -
Despite the general feeling of rest and energy, the combined army of paladins, elves, and denarae had to wait three days before they could safely leave the Grove of Holiness. The demons prowled the area, incessantly searching for their escaped quarry. Birch had been correct in that the demons couldn’t even see the Grove, so as long as they stayed within the confines of the trees, scouts could track the demons’ movements to ensure they were long gone before the expedition moved out.
After that, time dragged by even more slowly than before, this time punctuated by the occasional rush of adrenaline as they worked to avoid the occasional demon patrol. As the only dakkan present, Selti stayed airborne whenever possible in the shape of a small animal to spot the demons at a distance, and Birch exerted extra effort to speed them around any areas where fiends lurked. Only once did they have to stop and fight a small pocket of fast-moving imps. They took the demons by surprise and slaughtered them within minutes. Selti brought down the last two who tried to fly away to raise the alarm. It was hoped that the battle had been so fast that a definite message hadn’t gotten out. All the same, they left the area as quickly as possible.
Another week passed, then another. The terrain they covered ranged from desiccated desert to snow-swept plains – they struggled to endure blistering snowstorms one day, and the next there was nothing in sight except the cracked earth under their feet and the molten sky overhead.
Still another week had passed before Birch announced they had reached their next destination.
Before them stood a massive tower made of black iron surrounded by a gate and fence of silvery metal that gleamed mirror-like and reflected the molten clouds overhead. The bars of the fence were reed-thin, but Danner suspected they were far stronger than they looked. The tower had three perfectly vertical sides – each easily fifty feet across – that were as wide at the top as at the base two hundred feet below. There appeared to be no visible windows.
Every few seconds, screams of unbearable agony could just barely be heard drifting down through the air. The tower stabbed upward toward the sky as though in defiance – or perhaps in proclamation of the suffering that went on within.
“The fence is made of adamant,”[37] Birch said distantly, “crafted in the days of Pleroma when such metal was more plentiful. Even then it was an ostentatious display, now it’s just a waste. The tower is solid black-steel, and streams of fire and black ice run beneath and are pumped into the rooms above.” Danner turned and saw a strained expression on his uncle’s face. He’d never seen anything like it, and for some reason it made him back away from Birch nervously.
“What is this place?” Gerard asked. “I’d almost rather stare at another week of trees than look at that thing a minute longer.”
“Tartarus. The Tower of Wrath. It’s where the worst of my torture took place,” Birch said. His eyes burned fiercely, and he gripped his sword hilt tightly. “This is where they turn White paladins into Black apostates. Gerard,” he said through clenched teeth, “send in Halo Company and clear the tower. Some of those screams may be from our brothers still trapped inside.”
The Red paladin took one look at Birch’s face and obeyed without question. He personally led the attack into the black tower. The rest of the expedition arranged themselves defensively around the entrance to the tower, but nothing happened. New screams pierced the ebony steel walls, demonic howls of surprise and agony.
Danner watched his uncle’s face carefully, and from the fierce expression and occasional spasms of imaginary pain, he deduced that Birch was reliving some of his torturous experience. His knuckles were white on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and the flames in his eyes burned steadily brighter as he stared with enmity at the tower.
It took nearly two hours for Gerard to clear the tower. When he finally returned, several of the paladins with him carried men in their arms who still wore the tattered remains of their armor and the white cloaks of the Prism. The battered paladins had been healed of the worst of their wounds, but Danner could still see marks of demonic claws, blistering burns, and half-healed scars over torn flesh. He nearly gagged at the sight of one man’s shredded abdomen.
Once they were safe, a pair of Greens knelt over them to complete the healing process. Moments later, they were all asleep.
Gerard looked up grimly from two men at his feet.
“Inside, they said there was one more until just a few days ago,” he told them. “The demons finally broke him, and these two watched while his cloak turned black as he swore himself to Mephistopheles.”
“It will never happen again,” Birch announced, “not here it won’t.”
Without a word of warning, he strode to the base of the tower and drew his sword.
“Get back!” Danner shouted. “Everyone get back.”
Birch stared up the edge of one corner to the distant top, then raised his sword high. Demonic wings burst into existence on Birch’s back and spread wide as they burned with a fiery glow. A crimson nimbus of power surrounded Birch’s upraised sword as he brought it crashing down on one side of the corner. A thunderclap nearly deafened them all as his sword struck the tower.
“Never!” he shouted, then struck the other side of the tower. “Again!” He struck once more.
“Never!” Another clap of thunder. “Again!” Another.
“Never! Again!”
Over and over, Birch struck the tower with his sword, every word and blow punctuated by a peal of thunder rolling out from the base of the tower like a shockwave of power. Nearly everyone had fallen to their knees rather than face the relentless onslaught of Birch’s fury, and just when Danner was beginning to wonder if Birch’s attack was having any effect, he heard a crack louder than any thunder and looked up in time to see the base of the tower split apart where Birch still hammered against the wall with his sword. The crack ran up the length of the steel wall as Birch continued.
“Never! Again!”
The crack widened, and with one final blow, the Tower of Wrath split into a thousand pieces and fell away from Birch. The black spire crashed to the ground and collapsed in on itself as a massive cloud of dust rushed into the air.
When the air cleared, there was little that could be recognized as having been the tower called Tartarus. Only the adamant fence remained standing, unmarred by the destruction wrought within it. Without saying a word, Birch walked back to their group and was given a wide path of awed respect. He mounted Selti in his runner form and looked back with his burning eyes at the toppled tower.
“There’s one of my demons laid to rest,” he told Gerard, his voice bleak. “Let’s go find the other one and put him down.”
- 3 -
Iblis woke to the feeling of agony. He screamed in pain as he felt the icy waters of the Philion crushing around him, attacking his āyus, the very essence of his existence.
I will not perish! I burn! I hunger! I will consume! I… must… not… perish!
Still he raged in his mind and thrashed about wildly until he finally realized he was not, in fact, being destroyed. The pain was in the memory of his limbs, and he opened his eyes to behold the stormy sky that covered the conquered lands of Heaven.
He lay on his back on an empty plain, and he glanced at his
arms and legs to reassure himself he was whole. He willed four wings of dripping flame to sprout from his back, confirming that he was still master of himself. If he’d had the wings before, he might have escaped Mikal’s desperate ploy, and the demon prince vowed to never suffer such a lack of foresight.
“I underestimated the Seraph,” he growled, “but when next we meet, I will incinerate him and scatter his ashes in the Dena-Fol.”
“That can wait, Iblis,” an amused voice said from behind him.
The fire demon whirled and found Azazel lounging on a raised bed of tainted earth. The demon was, of course, completely unclothed and looked none the worse for his supposed brush with oblivion.
“Azazel,” Iblis grumbled. “Why are you here? Was it you who saved me?”
“If only I had that power,” the demon prince demurred. “Unfortunately for me, but quite fortunate for you, I am but a messenger of a higher power who seems to think you’re important, O Lord of Fire. It was He who saved you, and He whom you will now serve just as I do.”
“I serve no one who has not first proven themselves by force of will,” Iblis declared. “Let this higher power of yours show himself and face me with shaishisii, then we’ll see.”
Azazel stood and walked closer to Iblis, who took a step back in uncertainty. The unclad demon stared at him with cold eyes and smiled.
“You will serve, Iblis,” Azazel said, his voice charged with a power not his own, “or I will consign you to the nether[38] of oblivion. You will carry out our master’s will.”
Iblis gaped in terror at the visions carried across through the other demon’s words, visions only another immortal could see or truly grasp. He trembled at the power conveyed in those words, and it was all he could do not to drop to one knee and bow his head in supplication and worship. He felt a presence unlike anything he’d ever experienced suffusing the area around him, like a shadow of power emanating from the other demon.
Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) Page 55
