By now, I am gone on what I intend to be my last journey away from you. I promised my brother I would see Danner safely away from the reach of the Coalition, and I can think of no safer place than in Nocka amidst the protection of my fellow paladins. Once he is safe, I will report to the Prismatic Council and tell them that God has called me to a new life.
God willing, I can then return and beg the forgiveness for which I have no right to ask. Please, between now and then, think carefully on the state of your heart. I know I have hurt you more than any woman should feel, but I pray it shall never happen again. If, when I arrive, there is still hope and love in your heart, I promise to make amends such as is mortally possible and to fill your life with the love and joy it should have long since possessed.
Ever with love, and with a promise,
Birch
Moreen clenched her eyes and felt a warm wetness trickle down her cheeks. The letter was Birch all over again. Stiff and wonderful all at once, written with his heart in the ink and with promises too good to come true. Moreen knew he had every intention of fulfilling those promises, since Birch would never knowingly lie to her, but good intentions were the stuff of legends and broken promises the stuff of reality.
Despite a past littered with so many promises lying shattered behind her, Moreen couldn’t help but hope… yearn… for just this once, that Birch would be able to follow through. No matter her words earlier that night, Moreen knew that Birch had fought and would fight still to be with her. For him, and for her as well, it was the same losing battle against his duty and faith. For a man as honor-bound as Birch, he could no more deny his sworn duty than he could cut off his own arm – and for a woman as devoted and helplessly in love as Moreen, she could no more deny him that than she could deny herself the breath of life.
“Please, Birch,” she whispered. “Just this once, let it be for us.”
A soft knock on her door caused Moreen to jump. She laid the letter down on a nearby table and wrapped a blanket tightly about her.
“Alicia, is that you?” she asked, exasperated and touched all at once by the girl’s excessive care. In someone older, Moreen would have called it mothering, but she supposed the term fit as well as any other.
“Alicia, you really don’t have to check on me, you know,” she said, striding to the door. She unlocked it and grasped the handle, turning it until she heard the soft click of the latch inside sliding past the doorframe. “I can sleep quite well without…”
Moreen stopped as the figure on the other side of the doorway came into view. The firelight behind her illuminated the broad chest and lithe muscles, but did not quite reach the newcomer’s face. Moreen would recognize that frame anywhere and in any garb.
“Birch?” she said, unable to keep the question from her voice despite her recognition. There was something about him that didn’t seem quite right, although she couldn’t place just what it was. Something about the way he stood, or the way he carried himself seemed strange.
“Mo,” he said softly, reaching forward to push on the door. She backed away and allowed him to enter the room. He fumbled slightly for the handle as he pushed it shut behind him.
Birch’s head was turned downward, as though he were trying again to hide his eyes from her. Moreen heard the click of the key turning in the lock and fought a sudden shiver. She rubbed at her shoulders and glanced at the nearby fire, wondering at the sudden chill in the room.
With a mild shock, Moreen realized she was still warm, and that cold wasn’t the cause of her shivers. She shook her shoulders to rid her body of the sensation, but it persisted. With a shake of her head, she turned back to Birch in time to see him stepping quickly toward her.
His arms sought to embrace her, but Moreen flinched back without knowing quite why. Birch had never come to her in such a manner, and there was something definitely wrong with the way he was acting. It wasn’t until he looked up at her, though, that Moreen realized it was not really Birch in her room, but someone or something else. There was no Hellish fire burning there – a flicker perhaps? a reflection from the fire? Certainly nothing like the steady flame she’d seen before – only cold calculation and cruelty.
“Who are you?” she said harshly, putting a chair between them. “You’re not Birch.”
“My love?” he said, his voice mocking. “Why do you toy with this soldier’s heart? I realize I was wrong to leave you, Mo. I’m coming back to you, dearest.”
Almost his words made Moreen unsure. Something in his tone compelled her to believe, but Birch had never once called himself a soldier…. Then she looked into his eyes again, and she knew it wasn’t him. She shook her head against a light-headed feeling that crept into her skull.
“What happened to your eyes, Birch?” she asked.
“My eyes?” he said, his voice showing some genuine confusion.
“They’re back to normal now,” she said, sliding slowly back away from him. Somewhere on a table behind her was a knife, if she could only get close enough to it to grab the blade before the imposter was on her.
“Oh, that,” the fake Birch said, faltering. “Yes, they’re back to normal. That’s part of what I came back to tell you, Mo. That and my undying love for you. I want to be with you, now and always.”
With a backward lunge, Moreen spun around and found the knife on her table. She whirled back to face only empty air, though. A soft, mocking laugh whispered under the crackling of the fire.
“Where are you?” she said, half shouting. “Show yourself, you bastard. You are not my Birch.”
A rat skittered across the floor, its soft claws the only noise except for the pop of the logs in the fire. Moreen searched desperately through the shadows, looking for some sign of where the man might have gone. There was little in the way of furniture for him to hide behind, though, and Moreen crept slowly toward the high-backed chair in which she’d been sitting a few minutes before.
She knew she’d never make it to the door in time, even had it been unlocked. The window was her only viable option, and it was across the room. She steadied her breathing as she neared the chair, certain the stranger was behind it or else nearby. The scrabble of rodent claws whispered in her ear, but she ignored the sound as she closed on the chair.
With a wordless cry, Moreen lunged past the chair and thrust her dagger, only to find the area vacated. She spun about, certain he must be behind her, but again there was only emptiness. She took a step backward toward the window, her eyes darting about frantically.
Moreen backed into something soft but solid, and she spun about, stabbing wildly. A pile of clothing heaped on the back of another chair scattered at the attack, and she sobbed in frustration as she tried to untangle a dress from the knife.
Suddenly her arms were in a steely grip, and the knife fell muffled to the floor. Moreen was whirled about to stare in the eyes of the fake Birch, who looked down on her with a cruel smile.
“My darling,” he said in Birch’s voice, but with a sinister mocking that made her shiver just hearing it. He pressed his lips to hers with a savage kiss, pulling back as Moreen tried to head-butt him. “Now, now, we can’t have that.”
Releasing one of her arms, the imposter drew back and slammed the heel of his hand into her chin, sending her crashing to the ground. Moreen’s vision swam before her, and it was a blurry image of Birch that stooped low over her.
“Don’t tell me all the fight’s gone out of you already,” he said in silky tones, mocking her. “Fear is so much more delicious when it lasts.”
Moreen’s head rocked to the side as he slapped her, fire exploding in her brain at the blow. He backhanded her on the other side, and her head lolled limply to rest on one shoulder. Desperation fought a losing battle against the tornado of pain whirling through her head, and Moreen slurred wordless protests and fought weakly with her hands to prevent the next blow.
The attack never came, though. Instead, Moreen felt her dress being torn from her body. Realization of his in
tent burned through her fear and pain, and Moreen reached to his face with an outstretched hand.
On an instinct born of confused desperation, she traced one finger straight down his left cheek, then slashed two fingers across where she’d drawn the first line.
The fake Birch reeled back from her, white fire exploding from the side of his face as he clutched the suddenly burning wound. He staggered back into her chair and kicked the table and everything on it toward the fire, all the while screaming in agony. He snatched his hand away from his face in pain, and Moreen saw through haze-filled eyes that the Tricrus she’d traced was burning white-hot against his flesh, and that a similar shape had been burned into the palm of his left hand where he’d clutched his face.
“You bitch!” he screamed, his voice no longer Birch’s. Instead, it was an unholy tone that echoed with a force and will beyond any mere mortal’s. “Human whore!”
With blackness touching the edges of her vision, Moreen stared in disbelief as he seemed to melt before her eyes. Where once Birch’s body had stood, there now hovered a black-winged raven. On the left-hand side of the bird’s head there burned a white symbol; one vertical line with two horizontal lines crossing it. The raven screamed once at her, then turned and crashed through the window, scattering glass in its wake.
Unnoticed in the fire, the letter from Birch slowly caught flame and blackened into ash.
Chapter 17
Do demons bleed? An age-old question with an uncertain answer. It is a fact that the more powerful demons all possess a type of blood which is often acidic and thus markedly different from a mortal’s. The real uncertainty lies in “Why?”.
- Orange Paladin Vander Wayland,
“Demonology” (1002 AM)
- 1 -
Danner looked back toward the city one last time, then sighed. Demar had long ago disappeared behind the horizon, ever since they’d crossed the Tali River, so there was nothing to see anyway. Nothing and no one on the road behind them…
I guess I’ll probably never know, he thought sadly. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so distraught over Alicia’s reaction to him, especially since he’d just met the young barmaid. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d somehow just missed something truly wonderful. It was as though he’d walked into a room a minute too late and missed the most wonderful experience that everyone else had shared without him.
With a wrench of his thoughts, Danner forced his eyes to the front and tried to put Demar and Alicia out of his mind.
“How long will it take us to reach Nocka?” Danner asked his uncle.
Birch rode his dark gray horse with an easy trust in the steed, as though the animal knew the way better than he, his back straight and his eyes distant. Birch had been silent all morning, his thoughts obviously dwelling on something else. Though the paladin never looked back, Danner had a feeling his uncle’s mind was likewise back in Demar.
When it became obvious Birch hadn’t heard his nephew’s question, Danner kicked his horse forward and tapped the paladin on the soldier. Birch looked at him questioningly.
“How long until we get to Nocka?” Danner asked again.
“It’s three days’ ride south from Demar to Lokana,” Birch said, focusing on Danner. The young thief kept his eyes averted from Birch’s, by now used to avoiding the flame-filled gaze. “From there, we turn west through the Salka Mountains. The lower passes will still be clear, so it’s two days to the city of Salka, then another two to Nocka.”
“So about a week,” Danner said.
Birch frowned, but didn’t reply.
“What’s wrong, uncle?” Danner asked.
“Who says anything’s wrong?”
“Me.”
Birch’s frown deepened a moment, then he shook his head and his face was impassive again. Danner detected a note of worry in his voice.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Birch admitted. Maran rode his horse closer to listen in on their conversation. “For the past few days, I’ve felt a strange unease within me, as though my gut were twisting in warning. But of what, I don’t know.”
“Are you sure it’s not just reacting to something you ate?” Danner asked innocently. Birch shook his head.
“It’s not something physical, nephew, but something spiritual,” he replied, “and it feels familiar, except I can’t quite place it. It’s been hard for me to focus, what with the circumstances of my brief reunion.”
“Perhaps it is a leftover reaction from your journey through Hell,” Maran suggested softly, his eyes narrowed. “Certainly no one else has seemed to share your unease, apart from Danner’s excessive twitching at night, and I can think of no greater thing to set you apart from everyone around you.”
“My what?” Danner started to say indignantly, but he was drowned out by Birch.
“Except that I’m the only paladin around,” Birch said, “but you could very well be right. It just feels like…” Birch stopped, his eyes widening. “No,” he whispered.
“What?” Danner and Maran asked in unison.
“What is it, uncle?” Danner was suddenly alarmed by the intense fear in his uncle’s burning eyes.
“That’s where it’s from,” Birch said, his voice almost too soft to be heard. He realized the other two were staring at him in alarm, shook his head, then turned to Maran.
“It’s not something leftover from Hell,” he said, “but it is something I felt there. When one of the larger or more powerful demons was nearby, I felt the same reaction. It always served as a warning to me once I placed the sensation. I encountered a half-dozen demons of such power before I recognized it, though. It’s a subtle reaction and hard to place.”
“But we’re not in Hell now,” Danner began, then trailed off as Birch nodded slowly.
“That’s what frightens me, Danner,” he said. “The more powerful the demon, the more difficult it is for him to cross the Merging. The same goes for large quantities of demons, though they be of lesser power. That’s why the world hasn’t been buried by a stream of the damned, because they can’t cross over in sufficient power or numbers to threaten the Barrier. Any crossing of weaker groups is ruthlessly eradicated by the paladins in Nocka who help maintain the vigil on the Barrier.
“But there are no demons of such power in our world, and if I’m feeling this sensation now, it means something powerful has crossed the Merging, and it’s somewhere nearby,” Birch said soberly. “But where…” Birch’s eyes burned with a brighter intensity, and Danner flinched back from the heat of his gaze. For a moment, it was as if Danner was sitting too near a roaring fire, and he shivered uneasily at the sensation. At the same time, his body tingled, and he imagined he could almost feel the same unease his uncle had described.
Suddenly Birch whipped his head around and stared back down the road behind them, his eyes not on the ground but on the sky overhead. A dark spot had appeared unnoticed on the horizon and was rapidly growing larger.
“There!” Birch cried, wheeling his horse around.
Danner glanced back in fear, his eyes widening as he saw the creature hurtling toward them. Something deep within him stirred at the sight of the demon, and his pulse quickened even as he flinched at the shriek of demonic fury carried on the wind.
- 2 -
Sal bellowed, his thoughts and voice consumed by agony and rage. The white fire still smoldered on his cheek where the human wench had touched him, tracing the holy Tricrus on his flesh. Sal had fled the city, changed into a fiery red dakkan, and immediately set off in search of the paladin.
He would repay the human bitch by slaying her paladin lover, then return and rend her soul. His thoughts burning with revenge, Sal had barely the sense of mind to claw at the fire on his face, lessening the pain as he desecrated the holy symbol. The additional agony was of a physical nature from the claw wounds he’d inflicted on himself, but that sensation was an unholy blessing compared to the ethereal torture his āyus[33] had suffered from the undamaged symbol.
>
Fortunate that the woman had not been someone of true faith, such as a paladin, or else Sal’s whole existence might have unraveled. That, more than anything, was the true power the paladins possessed over demons and why they posed such a threat to Mephistopheles’ plans. Any one of the holy warriors could destroy all but the most powerful of demons just by tracing the Tricrus on them, and lesser demons could be destroyed just from normal attacks by the holy paladins. Sal’s carelessness with the woman served as a painful reminder that while only the paladins could truly destroy him, any mortal could inflict serious pain and injury if they knew how.
Where did the bitch learn that secret? he fumed, the land racing beneath him in a blur. How did she know to do it?
Sal’s fury burned more fiercely as his questions brought no answers, and he cast out a thought of fury to his brothers. The silence that followed quenched his anger with a suddenness that brought his flight to a wrenching halt.
My brothers? he asked again and screamed in renewed fury as he met only silence. The sound climbed from the depths of his soulless body and ripped from his throat to blast across the empty road.
SHE is responsible! The human bitch had broken his contact with his brothers, and for the first time in their existence The Three were no longer one. Maddened by this thought, Sal’s eyes settled on three travelers on the road in the distance and he hissed in feverish insanity.
With a roar from his draconic maw, Sal sped toward the paladin and his companions.
- 3 -
“Now, Selti!” Birch barked, leaping from the back of his horse. Danner was about to tell his uncle that the drann was nowhere in sight when he stopped, his eyes widening in amazement.
Birch was focused entirely on the dakkan diving toward them, gauging the distance between them with a professional eye. He ignored the transformation going on behind him that so fascinated Danner, and only broke his concentration when he realized Selti was in his flying dakkan shape.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 19
