Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (64 page)

Birch glared at
Azazel, but turned away before the naked demon could see. So far, no one had
recognized Birch as the paladin who had escaped from Hell. No doubt, they
couldn’t feel the
āyus
of the demon inside him because of the
overwhelming demonic presence in the camp. He was certain that if someone
had
recognized him, he would have long since been transported back to Abaddon
[32]
or to Mephistopheles’s personal torture
chamber in the iron tower. The few times Azazel had shown himself to his
prisoners, Birch had carefully kept out of the demon prince’s sight. Azazel
would certainly recognize him – the demon prince had personally tortured Birch
on several occasions he could remember. Azazel had been bent on learning more
about Birch, and his unwillingness to bend or break to the demons’ will had
driven Azazel almost to the point of killing him.

Siran had left
the fence alone and, along with the surviving members of the Elan’Vital, had
already encircled the ebony demon. Without weapons there was little they could
hope to do against him. Only Birch or Perklet could destroy a demon without
blessed weapons, and for that they would have to somehow mark it with the holy
Tricrus
.
Birch started to get to his feet, but he was weak from Perklet’s healing and
could only manage to crouch on his hands and knees.

“Wait,” Perklet
said, his voice filled with intense calm. He strode forward confidently until
he was only a few yards away from the demon. The elves let him through their
circle without diverting their eyes from the wounded balrog.

“Perky, what are
you doing?” Birch cried. “Get back and let the elves subdue him first!”

Perklet ignored
Birch and took another step nearer the demon. Meresin’s crippled wings
fluttered uselessly at his side as he snarled at Perklet. The Green took
another step forward, and Meresin’s hostility faltered as he looked into the
paladin’s eyes. The middle-aged paladin’s face was filled with such peace that
the demon wasn’t sure how to react. Like a trainer staring down a feral dakkan,
Perklet took another step forward, then another.

Impossibly,
Perklet reached the demon’s side without being attacked. When he reached
forward to touch the demon, however, Meresin recoiled and fell back a step,
snarling. The elves behind him stepped back as well to keep their distance, but
they were ready to leap forward at a moment’s notice to attack the demon.

“I won’t hurt
you,” Perklet said softly, and Birch almost laughed. It wasn’t until then that
he realized what Perklet intended to do.

“No,” Birch
whispered.

“It’s all a
matter of love,” Perklet murmured as he stretched out a hand and touched the
balrog’s shoulder. The Green paladin’s eyes closed. Meresin looked about
wildly, but he seemed unable to move to avoid the paladin’s touch.

“What is that
fool doing,” Azazel cried from beyond the pen, “offering himself as an
appetizer? Or maybe he wants to pet the pretty demon.” The demons around him
laughed.

Then a miracle
happened.

The silver blood
pouring from Meresin’s wounds began to retract, coursing back up his flesh to
reenter his many wounds. His black flesh healed over in an instant, leaving
nothing behind to indicate there had ever been an injury. His wings were
likewise healed, and with a
crack
of bone, they snapped back into place.

Meresin flexed
his wings and stepped back as Perklet’s hand dropped to his side. The demon
stared at the paladin, transfixed by what had just happened. Somehow, Perklet
had done the impossible and healed a true demon, and a powerful one it seemed.
The balrog laughed then, a deep, throaty laugh that echoed in the empty air.

- 3 -

As the demons
around the pen stared in disbelief, Meresin leapt into the air and was gone
before anyone thought to follow him. Even the clouds of bloodhawks and gremlins
flying overhead could not catch the balrog, and the few that tried fell from
the sky scourged by silvery flame.

Azazel motioned
with one hand, and a group of winged demons leapt over the fence and landed
behind Perklet. Siran launched himself at one of the demons and was immediately
thrown back, as were the other elves who leapt to the Green paladin’s defense.
As Birch watched helplessly, the demons fled the pen with a non-resisting
Perklet in tow.

“Who are you?”
Azazel demanded when Perklet was held before him. “What you have done is
impossible. It’s heretical! It’s…”

“True,” Perklet
interrupted softly. Azazel reached forward and grasped Perklet’s throat to
choke him.

“It’s
poisonous,” Azazel sneered angrily. He stared at the mortal in his grasp, his
thoughts churning. Perklet stared up at him, his serene face devoid of fear.
Finally, the demon shook his head and snarled, “I don’t want to know how or
why, I just want to know that it will never happen again. As my old comrade
Nisroc might have said, it is dangerous to let fester knowledge so poisonous,
and to prevent infection, I will cauterize the wound.”

He threw Perklet
back into the arms of a drolkul, who held the Green paladin securely. Two
hellhounds stood in front of Perklet and growled at him. Their snarling lips
dripped flames to the ground, where they sank into the gray clouds and
disappeared.

“Ready the
Hellfire and place a stake of black-steel in the ground here,” Azazel
commanded. “Triple the guard on the mortals, but let them witness every moment
of their friend’s anguish.”

In short order,
a thick stake of black-steel was speared into the ground a dozen feet from the
fence, and Birch and the elves watched in horror as Perklet was bound to the
post. His feet were lashed securely two feet off the ground. The Green paladin
did not struggle, and he showed no fear as they brought forward a black
cauldron filled with liquid flame. Cloth was piled around the base of the steel
stake (Birch recognized the tattered remains of a tent and several
blood-stained tunics in the midst), and Birch nearly gagged as the demons added
a few dismembered human limbs to the pile. A green-skinned balrog stood
waiting, cauldron in-hand and a bloodthirsty grin on its face.

“It will be all
right, Birch,” Perklet said, his quiet voice carrying despite the demons’
racket. “I have the answers I sought. I’ve lived a life of love and healing,
and I found temperance, justice, and knowledge as I traveled with you. Now I’ve
learned my final lessons, and I’ll face the end with courage and a new-found
pious faith. Nothing can harm me.”

As Birch watched
in amazement, Perklet’s torn, green cloak rippled in an unfelt wind and swiftly
transformed from vibrant green to a pure, snowy white color. The peace and
beauty on the paladin’s face were heart-wrenching to behold, and Birch
remembered with a sense of awe his own transformation from a Red paladin of
courage to a White paladin of beauty. It seemed so long ago!

“Enough of
this,” Azazel cried, dipping a steel mace into the brimming cauldron of
Hellfire. “Burn!”

Azazel flicked
the mace toward Perklet, and dripping globs of Hellfire flew forward and landed
on the White paladin’s legs and immediately caught flame. A drolkul dipped four
daggers – one in each clawed hand – into the Hellfire and followed Azazel’s
example, flicking tiny droplets of Hellfire onto the paladin and the pyre built
beneath him. A balrog brandished a woven whip
[33]
and lashed Perklet twice across the
chest.

Perklet’s flesh
and clothing ignited, and as the flames roared into life around him, he started
to scream in agony. The slow-burning Hellfire clung to every surface and ate
through cloth and leather to reach the skin within, where it burned even more
slowly as though determined to inflict every last second of agony on its
victim. The White paladin’s flesh began to blacken, and the stench caused
Birch’s stomach to heave – his throat burned as he nearly vomited in horrified
disgust. He prayed fervently for his friend’s suffering to end swiftly and
mercifully, but it seemed there was no mercy in the infernal fires that slowly
ate through the paladin’s body.

Birch
desperately tried to extinguish the Hellfire by blessing the cursed flames, but
either he was too far away or the demonic presence within him interfered. The
flames burned unceasingly and unmercifully as Birch watched, unwilling to look
away.

Perklet’s agony
went on and on, until finally he fell silent. Birch began to whisper another
prayer for his friend’s soul, when a new noise made him stop in wonder. He
looked up at the still-roaring fire and saw Perklet’s blackened face, and
impossibly the White paladin was still alive. What’s more, he was
laughing!

There was no
pain in his voice, no words in his cry, and Perklet’s exuberance was as
impossible as his healing of the demon. Whatever agony he endured seemed to
come back two-fold as pure joy, and as Birch watched a ghostly spirit rose out
of the charred body and looked down at the demons below with a benevolent
smile.

Perklet’s body
went limp and started to fall apart as the true fire tore his corpse asunder,
but his soul looked down at Birch, who couldn’t help but smile in return. The
former paladin’s soul mouthed a few words at Birch, but no sound came from his
ghostly throat. Then, in a brush of ethereal wind, Perklet dissipated and
vanished from sight.

Birch looked at
the air where his friend had vanished, and he couldn’t help but wonder what
Perklet’s final thoughts had been. What had the other paladin seen or felt that
left him in such joy? Was it God, or had he touched that Absolute entity?

The demon camp
was suspended in complete silence as they witnessed this second miracle, and
even Azazel was left dumbfounded by Perklet’s spiritual transformation. Before
anyone could so much as move or speak out, a rain of blue death fell from the
sky.

Demons began to
scream.

Do you know why surprise attacks work? Not because your
opponent isn’t expecting it, but because in that particular instant, he
knows
it’s not coming.

   
- Gerard Morningham,

“A Treatise on Modern
Warfare” (1006 AM)

- 1 -

Gerard looked down
the ranks of his new company and nodded in approval. Three hundred paladins
pulled from the ranks of the living and the dead, all trained in new forms of
aerial combat and extreme maneuvers. He’d conceived of the idea years ago, but
never had a practical use for it, nor had he a convenient way to train such a
unit. Now with angels at his disposal for training purposes, his dreams had
once again come to fruition, and he hoped this group would be as telling in
this war as Shadow Company had been in the last.

None of the
paladins had dakkans – suffering under the crunch of time, Gerard had ignored
training with the traditional flying mounts. Besides, none of the dead paladins
even
had
dakkans to use. Gerard could incorporate that later with the
living members after they had won the war. He refused to acknowledge the
possibility that they might lose. Whatever it took, no matter the odds, Gerard
was utterly committed to seeing this war through to victory.

He looked toward
where Shadow Company was preparing and saw Danner securing the last of several
large bundles to his gnomish buggy. Gerard cast out a thought to contact the
first denarae he saw.

“Trebor,
relay to Danner, just what the Hell does he think he’s doing with that thing?”

A moment later,
the denarae kythed back,
“Says he wants it for all the traveling we’ll be
doing, especially with its special cargo. Better to have it and not need it and
all that.”

“I think he’s
an idiot, but if Garnet approved it, I’ll not gainsay him,”
Gerard thought
grudgingly.

“Uriel, are the
Archangels ready?” Gerard called to the Seraph, who raised an arm in
confirmation. “Angels, take your positions!” he cried.

Three hundred
angels – none of them Archangels – lined up behind Gerard’s force of paladins
and firmly embraced the holy warriors. A Dominion named Doriel took his place
behind Gerard and wrapped his arms under the Red paladin’s armpits, holding him
securely.

“Halo Company,
lift off!” Gerard ordered.
“Uriel, please take command of the angels
transporting Shadow Company,
” he thought, knowing the Seraph would pick up
a thought directed his way. Gerard’s experience commanding Shadow Company made
communicating mentally with angels an easy transition to grasp and utilize.

“Acknowledged,
Gerard,”
the Archangel commander replied.

Behind Halo
Company, a flight of another hundred and fifty or so assorted angels
transported Shadow Company. Each angel held two denarae, one in his arms and
another clinging carefully to his back so as not to obstruct the angel’s wings.
None of them were happy with the arrangement, but they didn’t have enough
angels to spare from the front lines just to transport the denarae more
comfortably, and Halo Company needed their one-to-one ratio to operate
properly. Of course, the angel carrying Danner’s buggy was something of a
luxury, but Gerard silently admitted it would probably be useful to have along;
not for this operation, but for the one to follow.

Within moments,
the flight of angels had pierced the ever-present cloud cover overhead and
soared within the cumulous cushion. Doriel had assured him they could still see
well enough through the cloudy mist, and Gerard had never had cause to question
the Dominion’s assertion. They flew higher and higher into the layer of clouds
– by the time they reached the demons’ front lines, they had to have enough
distance between them and the ground that the demons’ aerial patrols wouldn’t
detect the angels soaring overhead. The most sensitive angels were flying point
ahead of the flight, far enough they could pinpoint any demons and send warning
before the larger group could be detected. Short of an insanely bad stroke of
luck, even if the scouts were sensed, they would appear to be loners and not
the advance of a larger force higher up.