Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (12 page)

The woman
grunted at him and stalked back into her home, still wielding her broom
belligerently. Danner stared after her silently for a moment trying to settle
his thoughts, then he turned and stepped back down into the street. Trelik
followed silently behind him, his face carefully neutral.

“Trelik, have
Blue Platoon converge on me as they conclude their investigations and report
what we’ve got so far,”
Danner ordered.
“As soon as we’re done here, I’m
meeting the other officers at the chapterhouse to discuss our findings.”

“Understood,
sir,”
Trelik replied.
“They’re on their way in.”

- 2 -

In another
section of the city, Brican was having considerably more success with his
investigations, which surprised him. Garnet had said he would receive a warm
reception with the people of Nocka, but Brican hadn’t really believed him. The
Shadow Company commander was a good man and Brican considered him a friend, but
he was still a human and therefore somewhat blind to the racial antagonism of
his own people. This time, however, it appeared Garnet was right, which
perplexed Brican.

To be certain,
the scars of racism were still in the minds of most people and were painfully
obvious even in their words, but it was a passive sort of thing, leftover from
cultural brainwashing and their upbringing rather than conscious antagonism
toward the denarae.

“I gotta say,
it’s nice seein’ you boys again,” one older human said to Brican. “I never had
much use for denarae before, but after seein’ the way you shads fought the
demons, well, I just gotta say my thanks.”

Of course, the
old man had flinched slightly when the interview was over and Brican had
extended his hand, intending to thank the man for his cooperation. After only
the briefest of hesitations, the man shook his hand, but Brican could read the
reluctance in every nuance of his body language. Others had pretended not to
see his proffered hand. One man had discreetly wiped his palm on his pants
afterward.

Talking to a
denarae was one thing. Shaking his hand – actually
touching
a “shad” –
was another thing entirely.

Still, Brican
supposed it was progress of sorts. At least they were smiling instead of
throwing rocks. No one had come running at him and stabbed him with a
pitchfork, so it was an improvement over some of the past experiences Brican
had had with humans.

Almost, he
thought he might be able to tolerate humans on a general scale, as Garnet kept
pushing him to do. But deep inside, Brican knew this was only a small segment
of humanity that was still experiencing the residual gratitude from having
survived the Barrier War, and Shadow Company’s high profile had made them an
integral part of the perceived victory. To these people, Brican and his fellow
denarae were a large part of the reason they were alive.

That would fade
with time, he thought, and would never spread beyond the borders of this city.
In other cities around the world – and worse, out in the countryside – the
racism and condescension toward denarae would continue unabated. The river of
time would swallow up this tiny bubble of tolerance and flow forward unmindful
of the brief spark of hope and racial acceptance.

Brican sighed.
Garnet always spoke with hope that their two races could exist equally and
peacefully someday, but Brican didn’t see that day coming soon, if at all.
Flasch had even once told him God surely looked down upon something as wretched
as racism and that someday religion might be used as a force against racial
intolerance. So far, in Brican’s experience the exact opposite had been true.

“If that’s the
case, then what the Hell is God waiting for?” Brican muttered. “Why not go
ahead and start fixing it right now?”

A denarae’s
mental voice broke into his thoughts. “
Sir, I think you should speak to and
kythe this man yourself,”
one of his men reported.

“Guide me to
you,”
he replied, shoving his own thoughts aside.

When Brican
found the man in question, he paused a moment in surprise. The old human was
dressed in a severe black cassock with a wooden
Tricrus
hanging at his
neck. Nearby, two of Brican’s men scoured the area where a paladin had been
found murdered.

“He’s a priest,”
Brican murmured, taking in the man’s clothing and trying not to grimace. “It’s
a different man,” he said sternly, then muttered disparagingly to himself,
“What would Garnet say?”

All of Brican’s
positive exposure to religion among humans had been through the paladins of the
Prism. Like nearly every mortal in the world, whatever their race, Brican held
some form of religious conviction. It was impossible not to have at least a
basic belief in Heaven and Hell and their denizens when the doorway to Hell was
just around the corner. Everyone knew of the existence of the Merging and what
lay beyond it, so there really was no such thing as an atheist.

Different races
held various views on religion, of course, but as far as Brican knew, the
distinctions between them tended to be centered around doctrinal interpretation
and specific beliefs rather than sweeping theological differences. What
actually happened to a soul upon death; whether God was loving or vengeful or
even disinterested; and how God intended the races to treat each other. The
view that one race was superior in the eyes of God to another, for example, was
a popular theme for sermons in rural human communities.

“This is my
commanding officer, Captain Brican Dok,” the denarae near the priest introduced
him as he approached. The elderly priest looked at Brican with a benign smile
and bowed slightly in greeting. When he straightened, Brican noticed the old
man never quite seemed to look him in the eyes.

“I am… uncertain
of the proper way to… address you,” Brican said haltingly.

“Father Charles
is my name,” the old man said.

“Father,” Brican
said, inclining his head slightly. “I understand you might have some sort of
insight for us about the paladin who died here.”

The old man
raised his hands in a gesture Brican couldn’t quite interpret.

“I saw him die,
yes,” Father Charles said, still not quite meeting Brican’s eye, “but I don’t
know how much I can really tell you about it. My eyes aren’t what they used to
be.”

“Just please
tell me what you saw,” Brican said, trying to control a surge of irritation in
his voice. The lack of eye-contact from the man was an especially painful thorn
to Brican after the reluctance of some of the previous humans he’d interviewed.

“Jishan often
came to speak with me about matters of faith,” the priest said, gesturing with
one hand to make the holy symbol as he said the departed paladin’s name. “He
was a Violet paladin, and so very interested in my experiences leading
congregations out in the countryside.

“I remember it
was about noon time, because I had just finished burying poor Alelia’s little
newborn not an hour before,” Father Charles said, and a look of intense sadness
came over him. “Poor, innocent child. They said he only lived for a few seconds
out of the womb, then he was lost.”

Something about
that sparked in Trebor’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. He spared a sudden,
intense moment of thanks that Caeesha was in perfect heath, as were the twins
growing inside of her.

“I was standing
in this very spot waiting for him, and I just saw Jishan coming ‘round the
corner there, when suddenly he stopped and cried out in pain,” Father Charles
said, shaking his head. “I called out to him, but he just yelled, then dropped
to the ground. I thought I saw someone behind him, but when I called out for
him to help, he was suddenly gone.

“I wonder now if
he’s the one who killed poor Jishan, or if he was really even there.”

Brican frowned
and turned to the denarae who’d called him over.

“Show me what
you saw in his memory,”
he kythed to the other man.

Immediately,
Brican saw in his mind the exact scene the old man had described, slightly out
of focus from the human’s poor eyesight. The Violet paladin came around the
corner and stopped, then cried out in pain and died. Brican had only vague
reports of the death, but from what he’d been told, the paladin had only a
single wound through his chest. Examining the picture memory closely, he saw
the blood fountain from the wound, but saw no weapon.

After the
paladin in the vision dropped to the ground, Brican did indeed see the vague
outline of a man standing immediately behind the slain human. A strange sort of
gray light – if such a thing truly existed – seemed to emanate from the robed
apparition, and Brican even saw what looked like a sword in his hand. An
instant later, the figure was gone, vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.

“Word just
came in from the other squad,”
Brican heard in his mind as the image faded,
“and a retired paladin was nearby when the soldier there was killed. He was
close enough to see the death, and he saw a similar figure for a moment, too.
It vanished before he could speak to it or get a good look, though.

“Whatever it
is, that gray figure seems to be a link between the two deaths.”

- 3 -

Danner walked
down the corridor inside the chapterhouse of the Prismatic Order, feeling
overly exhausted from his day out in the city. There was really nothing for him
to do until the others showed up, so he wandered aimlessly for a while until
weariness prompted him to look for a bed. He needed sleep desperately, even if
it was only for a half hour or so.

Something
brushed against Danner and he stared in confusion at the empty air. He saw a
glimmer of a strange, sort of grayish light, but it was gone before his tired
mind could fully register its presence near him.

“Danner?”

He turned and
saw Maki coming down the hallway ahead of him. The Blue paladin appeared
hesitant and almost nervous.

“Maki,” Danner
said by way of greeting. He glanced at the doors nearest him. “It’s been a
little while since I’ve been in this section. Do you know where there’s a spare
room I might use to catch up on some sleep until Garnet and the others arrive?”

“Sure,” Maki
said, looking relieved. “This room right here is empty, actually. I’ll get a
message to some people so your friends know where to find you.”

Danner was too
tired to smile.

“Thanks, Maki,”
he said gratefully. “I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,
Danner,” the other Blue paladin replied. He opened the door for Danner and
gestured for him to proceed him into the room. Danner eyed the nearby bed
longingly and all but collapsed into it. He was snoring lightly before Maki
even had a chance to close the door.

Maki continued
down the hallway to his own small quarters. The living arrangements were
sparse, but his needs were simple and the Prism provided that much, at least.
He glanced back toward where he’d just deposited Danner and sighed.

Opening the door
to his room, Maki had taken only one step before he stopped in shock. A strange
gray light filled his room for a moment, then disappeared as Maki crumpled to
the ground. The door shifted on unseen currents and bumped gently against
Maki’s lifeless legs as a pool of blood slowly spread from beneath his body.

- 4 -

Brican broke his
contact with the other denarae and ordered all of his men to form up in a
nearby street. Left alone with the old priest, Brican was suddenly very
uncomfortable. The ghosts of his past crowded close in Brican’s mind, and he
tried in vain to shake the images and sensations they evoked.

The old man
shifted his weight and peered up at Brican uncertainly.

“Are you all
right, my son?” Father Charles asked.

Brican drew back
slightly in surprise. “I’m… fine,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem
troubled,” the elderly priest replied with concern heavy in his voice. “I sense
a great turmoil in your soul. A burning pain and a terrible, terrible anger.”

Brican swallowed
past a sudden lump in his throat and a dryness in his mouth.

“It’s nothing,
Father,” he replied, irritated to hear hoarseness in his voice. “Nothing
personal, anyway. I had a bad personal experience with the church, and seeing
you just brought back some painful memories.”

Now why the
Hell did I tell him that?
Brican wondered in exasperation.
He doesn’t
need to know my damn life history.

Father Charles
nodded sadly.

“I’m sorry to say,
I think I understand,” he said, and Brican was surprised to see remembered pain
on the old man’s face. He released a haggard sigh. “I fear I know all too well,
and I am truly, truly sorry for whatever may have happened to you.”

Without stopping
to think about what he was doing, Brican kythed and plunged into the man’s
thoughts. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with a consuming sadness and grief,
coupled with a righteous anger and longing doubts. The emotions were so
powerful, Brican nearly staggered under their weight. It took him a moment to
filter through the chaotic sadness and find the source. Finally, he saw.

“You held those
denarae children until they died,” Brican whispered, fighting a sudden
tightness in his chest, “praying all the while. You prayed to heal them, to
reverse the damage of hatred, and still they died.”

Unbidden,
unnoticed tears trickled down Brican’s cheeks, tears that were mirrored on the
old pastor’s awe-struck face as they stared at each other. The memories from
the priest were too close to Brican’s own to prevent the tearful reaction. Once
again, he saw his friend’s children cradled in his arms, blood thick past his
elbows as smoke choked the air around him.