Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (42 page)

Gerard had
laughed then, a sharp barking sound that did wonders to relieve the silent
tension in the canvas confines of the tent. After a few more arguments on both
sides, Gerard had dismissed Garnet to see to the deployment of
his
company.
After he was gone, however, Gerard dropped the façade of good-natured
understanding and humor.

Oh, he
understood Garnet’s arguments, and Gerard was forced to admit he was right.
Gerard was trying to interfere in the same way he’d once so resented from
others above him, and there should be no excuse for that.
But this was
different!
He understood things in a way those desk-pounding bureaucrats
above him had never been able to – he was a warrior first and foremost. His
perspective was different, which made his interference different.

Didn’t it?

“Everybody
thinks they know better, Gerard,” Uriel said.

Gerard scowled
at him.

“Stay out of my
head, angel boy,” Gerard growled.

“Even when
you’re playing the fool?” Uriel asked, grinning. “I admit, I don’t usually
enjoy peeping into mortal minds, but yours really is fascinating. Tell me,
Gerard, do you really know the definition of the word hypocrisy?”

“Enough!” Kaelus
said in a firm voice. His horns nearly reached the top of the tent, and Gerard
absently worried the flames that often wreathed his horns might incinerate the
canvas. “You bicker like old, mortal women. Uriel, this is not the time for the
trickster. We need the flaming sword, the avenging angel of justice.”

Uriel’s grin faded
quickly, and he nodded at Kaelus with a hint of ill-concealed rebelliousness in
his gesture of acceptance. The demon stared at him a moment longer, then turned
his blue-fire eyes back to Gerard.

“I don’t have
time for you to nurse your wounded pride, Gerard,” Kaelus said. “You and Mikal
work out the final details to coordinate the assault. Mikal, you’ll take charge
of the garrison as soon as we arrive. Gerard, you’ll continue to coordinate our
assault forces until we’ve stabilized the stronghold. With any luck, we’ll have
time to push the demons back and pull our forces out.”

Birch made a
sour face. He turned his fiery eyes to the map, and an orange glow was faintly
visible on the white surface of the ground.

“Speak your
mind, Birch,” Kaelus grumbled.

“Are we still
set on that course?” Birch asked. “Is there no way to hold the garrison? Is
retreat our only option?”

“He says it is,”
Kaelus said, pointing a clawed finger at Gerard, “and Mikal and I agree. If you
see another viable option, speak it now or hold your peace.”

Birch stared at
the map a moment before he shook his head.

“No,” he
muttered. “No other option.”

- 4 -

“Pull back
Red, you’re overextended,”
Garnet ordered mentally. While he watched from
the arms of an airborne angel, Guilian’s platoon carefully eased backward and
avoided catastrophe.

“Good job,
Guilian,”
Garnet added once the denarae were safe.
“We’ll discuss it
later. Relay to Blue, pull back on second squad, Orange will lay down cover
fire in sequence. End. Relay Orange and Blue, begin on my mark.”

Garnet watched
the flow of the battle carefully, waiting for the exact moment.

“Now!”
he
practically shouted in his mind.

With exact
timing and sequence, Danner’s platoon dropped to the ground a split-second before
Marc’s arrows sped overhead and tore through the ranks of the damned souls that
pressed forward. Orange Platoon had time for a second volley before Blue leapt
to their feet and rushed back to fill the gap left by the slain creatures.

“Relay to
Violet. Flasch, are you ready to spell for Michael? End.”

A moment later,
Garnet received the affirmative. He sent the order for Violet Platoon to slide
through the ranks of Yellow, meanwhile Michael’s denarae fell back in a
controlled, orderly fashion and removed themselves from the heat of the battle.
They were ready to be called back at a moment’s notice, but for a few blessed
minutes they were able to take care of a hundred tiny details that could mean
the difference between life and death in the heat of battle. Armor was
tightened, notched weapons were exchanged, laces retied, and most of the more
serious injuries were healed by a pair of lesser Sarim angels Garnet had
on-hand for just that purpose.

After only a
scant five minutes of rest, Garnet ordered them back into battle. Next, Violet
Platoon cycled in for Green, then they would move on to Blue. Last of all,
Flasch would spell in for Red and Orange platoons, then the cycle would begin
again when Garnet felt it necessary.

Already they had
been fighting for nearly two hours, and there seemed little hope of rest
anytime soon. The damned souls of Hell pressed forward in a never-ending wave
of hideous, tortured flesh, clawing their way over each other in an effort to
reach the forces of Heaven. Garnet had seen those twisted faces close-up, seen
the remnants of humanity that lingered amidst the scales and leathery skin. His
living heart trembled at the thought of a mortal creature becoming such a
monstrosity.

A flight of
Erelim sped by overhead and unleashed a devastating storm of arrows on the
crowded creatures below. The angelic bows had no physical strings but rather a
band of
āyus
-powered light, and their arrows were little more than
a blur of iridescent light as they streaked unerringly toward their targets.
Each arrow that struck felled one of the damned souls, and only a fraction of
the monsters ever regained their feet.

At the center of
the Heavenly lines of defense, a wall of mortal paladins held firm against an
overwhelming press of demons and damned souls that surged against them. Garnet
noticed that the true demons were playing a much more active role than they had
through much of the Barrier War, and he guessed this was due to the relative
weakness of the damned souls against the angels and the strength of the demons
against most of the blessed dead. Shadow Company faced mainly damned souls,
which Hell had in virtually unlimited supply and could throw hundreds away just
to slay one of Garnet’s denarae warriors. Fortunately, no one had been lost
yet, thanks to the Sarim. While generally considered the weakest Choir
[21]
of angels, the Sarim were among the most
gifted healers in the immortal plane.

Between the
paladins and Shadow Company stood a mass of the blessed dead, the souls
fortunate enough to be judged worthy of Heaven upon their mortal deaths. These
now fought – or were forced? – to defend the holy immortal plane.

On the far side
of the paladins was a narrow ribbon of Siran’s elves, who fought with graceful
ferocity to hold their line against the infernal invaders. They, too, were
pitted primarily against the damned souls.

Interspersed
throughout the lines were clusters of angels – mostly Parasim and Cherubim –
who fought on foot, wielding swords of shining power as they sliced through
whole groups of damned souls with one swing of their mighty weapons. Other
angels flew overhead, looking for weaknesses in their defenses that they could
help shore up in an emergency. Alternating flights of angels flew overhead in sweeping
patterns to lay down suppressing fire against the demons where necessary and,
in general, rain havoc and heavenly pain down on the demonic horde wherever
possible. Overlapping flights of angels protected their companions from swarms
of flying demons and twisted souls, searing them from the skies with blinding
waves of lightning-like arrows.

Uriel commanded
these flying legions with his elite Archangels always in the fore, and every so
often Garnet imagined he could hear the warrior angel’s voice booming over the
din of battle as he bellowed his war cries. Mikal commanded the angels on the
ground, and he now towered above all the other angels as he raced behind the
defensive lines, rallying the Heavenly Hosts and urging them to hold their
lines.

“Garnet,
relay from Gerard,”
Trebor’s voice broke into Garnet’s thoughts.
“The
horde is retreating for the moment, and we’re going to use this opportunity to
pull back and regroup. Most of the forces from the stronghold are safe at the
next defensive position, so we’re clear to go.”

“Acknowledged,”
Garnet thought back.
“Just give me the word and we’ll start our
withdrawal. Relay to Gerard, Shadow Company requests the honor of being the
last to hold. End.”

Garnet could
hear the frustration in Trebor’s mental voice as the denarae replied,
“He
said you’d want that, and the request is denied. He’s got a group of paladins
and angels under Mikal to hold the line. You’re last out before them, though.”

“Well, that’s
something,”
Garnet thought as he ground his teeth. Was Gerard still upset
over the ego bruising in the command tent? Garnet thought about it a moment and
rejected the notion. Gerard was too good a commander to let something like that
endanger the lives of his soldiers. Garnet’s former mentor had too much experience
with just that sort of petty-mindedness to perpetuate it, especially after
Garnet had all-but accused him of following that exact path of dishonor.

No, if Gerard
had already thought past Garnet’s request, he must have a reason for structuring
the retreat as he did. Garnet would ask him afterwards to better understand
Gerard’s strategic thinking, but for now Garnet was content to trust and follow
his orders.

“Garnet!”
Trebor bellowed into the Red paladin’s mind. Garnet cried out and felt like his
ears should be ringing, so loud had been the mental shout.

“Sorry,”
Trebor said in a calmer, but still anxious voice.
“Gerard just received a
report from the front lines. Someone’s coming forward under the parlay flag.”

Garnet looked
down and saw to his relief that the demonic horde had pulled back from Shadow
Company and was no longer engaged. Already, they were twenty yards apart, and
the distance was steadily increasing. He asked his angelic escort to carry him
higher, and in a moment Garnet was able to see the scene unfolding at the
center of the conflict.

The black wall
of demons and damned souls had pulled back all along the combat line, and the
two sides faced each other uneasily across a few dozen yards. At the very
center of the battle, a large bubble had opened up around a small cluster of
humanoid figures. Garnet was too far away to see any details, but what he saw
told him enough.

He cursed
himself violently for not considering it sooner.

In the distance,
a dozen men wearing gleaming platemail stood in a circular formation around a
thirteenth warrior. Each of the men wore a black cloak that Garnet could see
even at such a great distance, and he pictured in his mind the ebony blades
that he knew each warrior carried. One of the men carried a limp yellow flag of
parlay.

These were the
Black Viscia, paladins who had turned their backs on the teachings of the Prism
and were now counted among the elite of the enemy ranks. Standing in the center
of their circle was their commander, the general of Hell’s armies, a man Garnet
had only truly met once, and yet he knew him all too well.

 “But
he’s dead!”
Trebor protested, reading Garnet’s thoughts.

“So are you,
Trebor,”
Garnet replied grimly.
“Even in death, he serves his master.”

Garnet stared at
the miniscule figure, his feelings a tumult of confusion. Anger and even hatred
mixed with fear and shock. Here was the man responsible for Gerard’s death and
the fall of the Barrier, a man whom Garnet had already put in his grave once.

“Malith.”

As his lips
parted, Garnet wrapped his teeth around the man’s name like a pit-bull clamped
on its prey, unyielding and implacable.

A self-aware man knows the price at which he can be
bought. A moral man knows he has none.

 
- Yellow
Paladin El’Tikan Norel,

“A Treatise on Imposed Morality”
[22]

- 1 -

The two groups
met in the center of what had only minutes before been a raging battlefield
where angels and demons, blessed and damned, had fought without thought of
mercy or surrender.

Twelve
black-cloaked warriors formed a broad arc behind their commander, an implacable
wall of honor and virtue gone awry. Malith felt their presence behind him as a
comfort; they were the steel gauntlet to his fist. The Black Viscia had all
given their lives in the service of the King of Hell, and they served him still
in death. Malith also served his lord, the most powerful demon in Hell and soon
the unchallenged master of all existence.

Malith would
gain that power for him by crushing Mephistopheles’s foes and destroying every
angel in Heaven to gain the Throne for his lord. When Mephistopheles sat on the
Throne of God, then he would be truly invincible – omnipotent! The King of Hell
would rule all of creation, and Malith would stand at his right hand, the
general-knight who served his liege and enforced his will.

The Black
paladin’s lips spread in a humorless smile of anticipation. Power undreamed of
would be his, and nothing would stand in his way.

Especially
not this ragtag group of mewling weaklings,
Malith laughed to himself as he
surveyed the thirteen representatives from the Heavenly Host.

Most of them he
recognized, either through experience or by reputation.

Gerard Morningham
and Birch de’Valderat. Malith remembered both men clearly from his days as a
living mortal, and he had killed both men during the Barrier War. Malith held
Gerard’s gaze. The dead man’s stony face pulsed with fury, and the scars that
covered his features throbbed with emotion.
 
Slowly, deliberately, Malith winked at his former comrade.