Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (46 page)

Kaelus nodded in
satisfaction, pleased with his choice.

“Last is the
combined force of paladins, angels, and the blessed dead,” Kaelus said. “We’ll
be splitting the main body of the Heavenly Hosts, which currently includes most
of the best commanders we have available. Mikal will command one wing of the
divided Hosts, and Uriel the other. Other Seraphim and Dominions will be found
to command further units as I move about and redeploy our forces, but these
will be the primary wings of the Hosts. Birch, I’d like you to take command of
half the living paladins and accompany Uriel. Garet, you remain in command of
the rest and follow Mikal. As we’ve done here, Mikal and Uriel will primarily
command the angelic forces, while you two will command the mortals and blessed
dead. Uriel,” Kaelus said, and his immortal friend looked up attentively, “I’m
counting on your Archangels to help lead the way. You’ll be bearing the brunt
of Malith’s offensive, and I need the very best there to hold him as long as
possible.”

Uriel nodded,
then glanced over at Birch and grinned.

“I’ll hold them,
you kick ‘em where it hurts,” the Seraph said. Birch smiled briefly, then
winked one of his fiery eyes.

“Thanks to
Garnet,” Kaelus said, gesturing, “we have a few new tactics to help move around
and fight the demons from Hell, and hopefully we can surprise that motherless Black
paladin they have in charge there.”

Gerard made a
dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat.

“Yes?” Kaelus
asked.

“Just wanted to
be fair, Kaelus,” Gerard said. “Malith
did
have a mother, I met her once
and she was rather pleasant, despite her previous life as a street madam. We’re
just pretty sure his unknown father was a pit viper.”

- 3 -

Flasch hurried
through the camp, trying to find Anolla and her brother before they left. The
twins were to accompany Gerard and an escort of dead paladins and a handful of
angels on their way to the new training grounds, and Flasch had been trying all
day to get Anolla alone so he could talk with her away from the men in her
family. He wasn’t sure what her twin thought, but he was rather certain that
both Garnet and his father frowned upon Anolla’s interest in Flasch.

He sincerely
hoped it was nothing more than familial concern and not anything personal. The
first could be overcome with time, but the second left him in something of a
quandary with his emotions on one side and his friendship and loyalty on the
other.

Flasch slipped
between two tents that, judging by the snores emanating from both, were
currently occupied by slumbering paladins.

“How am I
doing, Trin?”
Flasch asked his squad leader. Against his reservations,
Flasch had deployed his platoon around the camp and asked them to act as scouts
for him. Apparently, they all found his situation highly amusing and accepted
the assignment with broad grins and a few knowing winks.

“Looking
good, sir,”
Trin replied.
“I’ve got Dishka in place helping to pack some
of their things. He and Brad have thrown a few games of darts together, so I
thought it best he volunteer to help out.”

“Good
thinking,”
Flasch thought back. He grinned.
“Good initiative. I like
that in a squad leader.”

Trin chuckled
through his kythe.

“Cut between
the two tents on your left, then stop behind the gray tent with the blue
pennant on top,”
Trin directed him.
“Wait there, then step out and hold.
She’ll be able to see you, and Dishka will do his part.”

Flasch followed
Trin’s instructions and waited patiently.

“Step out
now.”

As Flasch peeked
out, he saw Dishka nudge Anolla and mutter something close to her ear. Anolla turned
slowly until she saw Flasch, and a brilliant smile lit up her face. Flasch’s
breath caught in his throat, even at a distance, her smile was so genuine and
radiant it sent his senses reeling.

Now
that
is beauty
, he thought to himself.

“You’re a
lucky man, sir,”
Trin kythed to him.

“Objective
one completed, now get out of my head,”
Flasch thought irritably.
“Warn
me if someone’s coming, otherwise go stare at the mountains or something.”

Anolla carefully
slipped away from the others and made her way casually toward where Flasch was
hiding. When no one was looking, she ducked behind a tent and soon after
appeared at his side.

“I was worried
you would leave before I could see you,” Flasch said, flustered now that the
moment was upon him. His tongue felt like a lead weight, and his thoughts
seemed to whirl about beyond his ability to control.

“I was worried
you wouldn’t come see me,” Anolla said. Her cheeks turned a rosy color. “Well,
I mean, I was hoping you’d come say goodbye.”

San, she
looks beautiful when she blushes!

A hundred
different things passed through Flasch’s mind, all rehearsed beforehand and all
forgotten in the moment. Florid phrases suddenly seemed inadequate, and instead
Flasch opted for simple honesty.

“Anolla I…” he
stopped and reached down awkwardly to take her hand in his. “Anolla, I just
wanted to tell you how much this last week has meant to me. Spending it with
you, I mean, even just the little bits we’ve been able to sit together and
talk. I don’t know when I’ve ever had so much pleasure just talking to
someone.”

Flasch cleared a
lump in his throat and swallowed it again, then he smiled briefly in
embarrassment.

“It’s just, I
don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, and I don’t want to lose something
it’s taken me so long to find and recognize,” Flasch said, his words
alternately rushing from his lips and stumbling past his thoughts. “It’s just
as Trames said, everything else I’ve seen just seems dull beside what I feel
when I look at you and see the simple truth of your beauty. It’s true,” he
said, laughing slightly at the blush on her cheeks. “I was just too stupid to
see it before.”

“Well, I was
pretty ugly before,” Anolla said with a laugh. “I don’t think I could blame
you.”

“And yet, if you
looked like you did then, but I knew you like I know you now, it wouldn’t make
the least difference to me,” Flasch said. “I’d still feel the same way about
you.”

Anolla’s hand
tightened in his.

“And how is
that?” Anolla asked.

“Well, please
don’t tell your father, and for the love of God don’t tell Garnet, but I’m
falling in love with you, Anolla,” Flasch said. As soon as he said it, the
whirling in his mind settled, and he no longer felt like his stomach was about
to burst. “I didn’t want you to leave without knowing, and I didn’t want to
leave you without saying it.”

Tears welled in
her eyes and Flasch’s heart skipped a beat until he saw the radiant smile on
her face.

Without saying a
word, Anolla slipped a long, flimsy scarf with a swirling green-and-violet
pattern from out of a pocket and wrapped it around Flasch’s waist. She tied an
intricate knot in the middle, then shifted it off to one side.

“What’s this?”
he asked.

“It’s something
my mother told me about,” Anolla said, wiping away her tears. “Women would
sometimes tie scarves to the men they loved as a token, and the knot was
supposed to contain a piece of their love to keep him safe. I know she still
gives one to my dad sometimes when he leaves and she has a bad feeling. Only
the woman who tied it could undo the knot, and it was a symbol of a mutual
promise to return to each other.”

Flasch didn’t
even stop to think, he just lifted a hand to her cheek, leaned in, and kissed
her delicate lips for the first time. Anolla responded with a passion that surprised
him, but after only a moment they parted by silent consent.

“I’ll come back
to you,” Flasch whispered. A mental warning from Trin alerted Flasch that
Anolla’s father was on his way to say goodbye to his children. Flasch lifted
Anolla’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. Anolla left him
reluctantly, but she went back to her tent and finished stowing her gear a
moment before Garet arrived.

She glanced back
once, but Flasch had already disappeared.

What good is patience if you have nothing to hunt? No
goal? No target?

- Malith jo’Tarqin,

private journals (997 AM)

- 1 -

“A month!” Birch
said in disgust. He stared out the window of a marble-white wall toward the
endless white plains beyond. The citadel he now occupied was a recent
construction. Less than twelve hours before, the cloud-like ground of Heaven
had been flat and featureless as far as the eye could see. Then Uriel had
caused the earth to split, and a perfectly formed fortress of white stone
erupted from the ground, towering so high it was visible for miles and it
dominated the landscape. Rivers were diverted, mountains moved, all to funnel
enemy forces to this one location.

Here they would
stand, and here they would hold for as long as possible before Malith’s
overwhelming army forced them to retreat yet again. This had been the pattern
for the past fifty days, and Birch saw no end to it in sight. The endless
panorama laid out before him seemed an apt metaphor for the war being fought
upon it.

“A month since
Kaelus divided our forces with the vague promise of turning the tide of the
war, and all we’ve done in that time is hold and retreat,” Birch said as he
clenched his hand around the stone of the window. In the mortal realm, Birch
knew, this would be the first day of Solmanth and the beginning of the summer
season. Spring had long since thawed the last vestiges of winter from all but
the most remote of locations, farmers would be working in their fields under an
increasingly oppressive sun, and children would be swimming in lakes and
streams to cool off after a long day of play.

In Heaven, none
of these was true. There were no children playing. The light was constant,
despite the lack of a definite source. The temperature was constant, neither
hot nor cold. The war was constant, and the days blurred together in a
never-ending cycle that slowly ground away at their forces as they ceded ground
to the demons. Retreat was constant. Defeat was constant.

Red flames
erupted between his fingers and scorched the pristine rock, and when he turned
to regard the angel behind him, he left a blackened handprint on the otherwise
perfect surface. Selti scampered into the room in his drann shape and
immediately poked his nose into every corner, sniffing hungrily.

“A month,
Uriel,” he said to the Seraph, who stared at him patiently. “You construct, we
defend. We hold, then we run. This is not a war, it’s a slow slaughter and a
long road to defeat and despair. What in the name of Hell is Kaelus thinking?”

“You’re not
thinking straight, Birch,” Uriel explained calmly. “Our wing of the army is
supposed to be falling back…”

“As if we had a
choice,” Birch said bitterly.

“…so that we can
maneuver Malith’s forces as we wish,” Uriel said with a hint of force. “You’re a
sound enough tactician to recognize this, and we both know it.”

Birch frowned
distastefully even as he nodded in acknowledgement.

“So what’s
really eating you?” Uriel asked.

“I’ve given
enough to this war,” Birch said in a level voice. He paused a moment to collect
his thoughts.
Temperance,
he thought to himself.
Anger is not a
weakness unless left uncontrolled or misdirected.

He allowed his
anger to drain out of him with a self-control built on the teachings of the
Prism and tempered in the fires of Hell. Selti appeared under Birch’s hand and
changed himself into a gray-furred Labrador, which Birch began to pet absently.
His voice softened as he continued. “I’ve given enough both as a paladin and as
a man, and the thought of yielding anything, even a piece of the infinite
ground of Heaven, sits inside me like a viper coiled and ready to strike. Every
inch we yield is like poking that viper with a stick, and with every fortress
we leave behind, the serpent coils tighter and tighter.”

Birch gave a
dry, humorless laugh. “I’ve counseled my nephew on most of the virtues at one
time or another, but I think he would find me a poor example of temperance
right now.”

Uriel laid a
hand on Birch’s shoulder and withheld a wince. The demonic presence within
Birch was growing stronger with every day, it seemed, and while Uriel knew
Birch was still in command of himself, he worried about the growing effects on
his mortal companion.

“I can
sympathize, my friend,” Uriel said, by now comfortable enough with Birch to use
the familiar moniker. “I really can. It is not easy for me to watch my home
being slowly devoured by my immortal enemies, and to know that I must continue
to yield before them like some cowering weakling. My anger and despair would
threaten to drown me, save for one comfort I hold close.”

Birch turned and
looked questioningly at the Seraph.

“Our time will
come,” Uriel said with a fierce intensity as he gripped Birch’s shoulder more
tightly. “Malith will lead his forces all unknowing exactly where we would have
them go, and when we strike, we will make such an ending of him that the forces
of Hell will shatter and the blow will reverberate across the immortal plane
and echo hauntingly in the ears of the King of Hell. And then, Mephistopheles
himself will feel the sword of justice, and he will know fear.”

Birch held
Uriel’s intense gaze for a moment, then he faltered and looked away. Uriel’s
hand slipped from his shoulder.

“What is it?”
Uriel asked.

“I’m afraid of
him,” Birch admitted in a low voice.