Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (48 page)

A paladin on
dakkan-back swooped low overhead and cut down two creatures who were plummeting
toward Michael. He waved a quick thanks to the unknown paladin, but the warrior
was already speeding off toward another cluster of creatures threatening the
skies.

Another call for
help came, and Michael spun to answer the mental cry.

- 3 -

Kaelus received
the reports from the field with a grunt. Through a tenuous link he still shared
with Birch, the demon could feel his mortal counterpart’s frustration and
anger. Kaelus sympathized, but spared only a moment of such thought for the
man. Birch’s role was a necessity dictated by the tactics of their enemy, and
he was the best man for the job.

For the past
month, Kaelus had relied on Gerard’s assessment of Malith and continued advice
communicated through angelic conduits. Gerard could see the same perfect
contour map as Kaelus, and when the Sarim in Kaelus’s tent spoke, the demon
could almost hear the mortal’s own voice with its roughshod language and harsh
observations.

Still, there
were differences. Hearing the words, “Damn those motherless bastards and the
filth-laden, mongrel bitches their fathers spawned upon!” in the sweet, soft
tones of a Sarim angel lost some of the pure feeling Gerard’s voice carried in
person.

Based on the
dead paladin’s tactical assessments, Kaelus kept Mikal and Garet mobile, using
them for lightning strikes and to support the special operations of Shadow
Company. Birch and Uriel, meanwhile, were to put up as strong a show of defense
and retreat as they could manage – fortifying and holding wherever possible,
but always pulling back a little further and always leading Malith’s forces in
the same direction.

Ultimately,
every force at Kaelus’s disposal currently fighting in the field was acting as
nothing more than a decoy. Sooner or later, Malith would notice that he was
being subtly herded by the ever-present temptation to destroy Birch’s forces,
and he would examine the movements and attacks that took place elsewhere in
Heaven.

Then his eyes
would fall on the seemingly random, but always devastating attacks his forces
suffered whenever they encroached on a particular area of Heaven. It was there
that Shadow Company concentrated their attacks when not otherwise engaged, and
it was there that Mikal and Garet struck with such force that they left no
survivors to tell tales.

Sooner or later,
that complete silence would shatter upon Malith’s awareness, and he would see
the hidden promise of Kaelus’s command center, which was supposedly being
protected under a veil of death and secrecy. Malith would then either swing his
entire force that way or – more likely in Gerard’s estimation – try some sort
of subterfuge to allow a breakaway force to approach as close as possible, then
strike swiftly in the hopes of overrunning the command post.

Kaelus, of course,
was nowhere near that perceived center of operations. His command was mobile
and stayed on the move almost constantly. When and if Malith did strike the
baited area, they would know long beforehand and appropriate steps would be
taken to close the jaws of a massive trap that would annihilate whatever
Hellish forces were sent.

The latest
report from Gerard regarding his training camp was encouraging: in addition to
training the dead who had never before wielded a weapon in war, Gerard promised
an elite force of paladins culled from those he’d taken with him to assist in
training. Even better news, though, was his update on the progress of their
proposed trap.

“It’s not going
anywhere near as swiftly as I might have hoped,” Gerard had reported only an hour
before, “since there seems to be a surprisingly small number of dwarves and
gnomes up here. Give us another two weeks or so and it will be everything I
promised.”

Kaelus made sure
no demonic forces reached a position where they could oversee the site of the
trap, and he himself stayed clear of it, obeying some inner premonition that
his presence there at any time might be disastrous. He had no reasons for the
warning, which he felt was akin to what mortals called a “gut feeling”.

At the moment,
Kaelus had settled in at the heart of Heaven’s weapon-making, the Anvil of
Heaven. Here it was that Dem, perhaps the most powerful of the Dominion angels,
plied his trade as the master blacksmith of Heaven. Dem was unique among all
immortals in that he was not truly a “he” so much as a “them”.

Kaelus stepped
from his tent and nodded at two pairs of elves who stood guard outside. One
pair immediately fell in step behind him while the other remained to guard the
tent. Signals were passed, and before Kaelus had gone a dozen steps, El’Siran
had arrived and was at the demon’s side.

“We visit the
Anvil,” Siran said as a statement of fact.

“I need to
consult with Dem about an innovation Garnet passed on,” Kaelus said. “Flasch came
up with the idea of freezing Heavenly waters in the shape of arrowheads for
mortal weapons, which might serve as devastating weapons against the demons.
Arrows marked with the holy symbol do worthy enough damage, but arrows that
strike with the watery essence of Heaven and unleash it within the demon’s
body…”

Kaelus trailed
off with a vicious grin.

Siran nodded
professionally. “I’ve noticed that hot things stay hot here and cold things
cold,” the elf said in a detached voice. “There is no true temperature here, so
ice may stay ice if crafted properly.”

“We’ll find out
soon enough,” Kaelus said, and they both fell silent.

Kaelus
appreciated the elf’s verbal restraint. Too many mortals, he’d found, felt the
need to fill silence, but not Siran. The elven commander was a warrior to the
core and a man who had no room in his body or mind for frivolity. Necessity was
a way of life for him, the way of a man who was complete in and of himself.

In the meantime,
Siran’s silence gave Kaelus a chance to think away from the pressure of his
command tent. In there, his mind was focused solely on the war and how he was
going to stop Mephistopheles’s general. Away from the tent, however, his mind
turned toward other, potentially more disturbing, matters.

Eons of
captivity had given Kaelus little else to do besides observe mortal lives and
contemplate his own thoughts. His observations of the mortals came at the hands
of none other than Satan Himself, Kaelus’s only companion throughout the ages.
Whether by coincidence or design, the toll of those long centuries upon
centuries of conversation and contemplation were bearing fruit within Kaelus in
ways he’d never anticipated.

And he didn’t
think Satan had anticipated them either.

Kaelus was aware
as never before that he possessed some of the same gift that previously was
thought only to exist in mortals. He had free will, and he could choose the
good or evil of his actions. Moreover, he had slowly come to realize that he
always
had
chosen, no matter what the rules of immortal dogma said.
During the Great Schism, only he and Abdiel had resisted the call of
Mephistopheles, and despite their demonic origins, the pair had what he
considered a goodness that equaled that of any angel.

“From whence
does evil come, captive one?”
Satan had asked him during one such visit.
Kaelus already knew the obvious answer was false. The first time Satan had
asked this question, Kaelus promptly replied,
“You,”
and was rewarded
with scorn and mocking laughter. The next time, Kaelus answered,
“From
choice.”
This earned him a moment of consideration, then a wave of
dismissal and a decade of solitude.

The third time,
Kaelus spent nearly a month in thought before answering.

“From
itself.”

That time, Satan
stayed and discussed the depths of his question and Kaelus’s various answers,
and by the end Kaelus had begun to realize the true separation between the
concepts of Good and Evil and the deities that supposedly embodied them.

And he began to
contemplate the possibility of something beyond both.

As Kaelus pored
over his thoughts and compared them to more recent experience, he quickly
approached the Anvil of Heaven. It seemed clear that his free will was not
unique, and in fact all immortals possessed at least some of the same ability
to choose. Since the instant of their creation, however, they had been
indoctrinated to believe they had no free will, however, and were bound by
their natures. Thus, for those who possessed it, their own will held them
captive to the belief that they had no such freedom, and made it so.
Effectively, thanks to their indoctrination, they had chosen not to choose. In
the end, Kaelus wasn’t sure whether he should be sad or furious at the grand
lie the immortals had existed under since the dawn of time.

He wondered
whether the opposing deities who had instilled that belief in their followers
actually believed the lie as well. That would at least make it a tragic
misunderstanding rather than a cruel deception.

Finally, his
thoughts were interrupted by the intruding sound of three hammers pounding in
the unmistakable rhythm of a master craftsman at the work of a forge.

Kaelus looked
out from his own thoughts and focused on the three figures in front of him. The
three angels were perfectly identical in every respect, down to the manner in
which they wielded their forge hammers and struck every blow perfectly. Each
was tall and thickly built as befitted a blacksmith, forgoing the delicate
litheness preferred by many angels. Each wore a thick, black smock, and each
angel’s four crimson wings were kept carefully back from the blue flames that
leapt from the forge fires. This…
these
were Dem, the only immortal who
had ever completely and perfectly replicated his own
āyus
.

Off to one side,
three Parasim waited dutifully for the master blacksmith to require their
assistance. Shadrael, Meshrael, and Abednael – the “keepers of the furnace” as
they were called – were experienced blacksmiths in their own right, but their
primary function was to assist Dem. The three angels were almost as heavily
muscled as the master smith and were so similar in appearance that were they
mortals, they would have been assumed to be triplets. The only notable
distinction between them was the color of their wings. Shadrael’s wings were a
gentle blue, Meshrael’s were the color of ripe limes, and Abednael’s were such
a pale yellow they were practically white.

 “In a way,
Dem,” Kaelus said aloud as he approached, “you are the counterpart to the
Unholy Trinity, as they called themselves. The Three.”

The centermost
Dem looked up at Kaelus and regarded him silently while the other two continued
their labor unceasingly.

“But where The
Three were separate entities united in mind and spirit, you are a single entity
divided in body only,” Kaelus said. “An interesting contrast of possibilities,
wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ve told you
just as I’ve told others, Kaelus, I don’t know how I did it,” the centermost
Dem said.

“I just did,”
the Dem to the right said. “Now, more than ever…”

“…I wish I could
remember,” continued the Dem on the left as the one on the right grunted in
effort. “It could be a valuable tool in this war.”

“Indeed it
could,” Kaelus nodded, “but as you said, you’ve already told me you don’t
remember. That’s not why I’m here, Dem.”

Kaelus addressed
the centermost Dem simply because that was the one closest to him and therefore
the most convenient.

“One of the
mortals in my command has come up with an interesting idea, and I need your
help to make it possible.”

The Dem on the right
straightened and wiped at his brow – a useless gesture since angels did not
perspire, but Kaelus knew it was an affectation Dem had picked up from
centuries of dealing with mortal blacksmiths.

“A new weapon,
eh?” Dem asked.

“Hope it’s
downright lethal,” the Dem on the left said, also wiping at his forehead with
the back of one hand.

The centermost
Dem grinned at Kaelus.

“Looks like
you’ve come to the right place, milord demon,” Dem said. He waved Kaelus closer
and sat down to listen while his other two incarnations continued their work at
the forge.

If we stand on the shoulders of those who come before
us, we must pay for their sins. If we stand upon their corpses, we must pay for
our own.

       
- Violet
Paladin Gareth Baradin,

“A Life of Sacrifice” (602 AM)

- 1 -

Hoil slid down
the crystalline wall and slumped to the ground. The strength in his legs had
finally given way to despair, and he allowed himself a moment of physical
discomfort before his emotions swelled and swallowed him once more.

“I can’t find
her,” he murmured. “She must know I’m here. Why hasn’t she come to me yet?”

His legs splayed
out in the hallway before him, and for the first time since the birth of his
son, Hoil wished desperately for a flagon of strong spirits in which to drown
himself. He usually managed to get himself drunk on the anniversary of Danner’s
birth, but that was usually just a natural progression of slowly trying to
drown out the mounting pain the day begat. Now he wanted to skip the
intervening hours and drink himself straight into oblivion.

It wasn’t
enough to make me forget then, and it wouldn’t be enough now
, he thought
morosely.

After a long
moment of mindless wallowing, a spark of thought intruded on the darkness of
Hoil’s thoughts.

“
Someone
’s
got to know where she is,” Hoil said. “Who else can I ask?”

As though
summoned by his thoughts, an angel strode gracefully down the hallway and
paused to stare down at Hoil.