Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (43 page)

When Malith
turned to regard Birch, however, he felt something was wrong. Birch’s eyes
still glowed in that disconcerting manner, but there was something else about
Birch that didn’t make sense. After only a moment’s careful study, Malith
realized with a deep shock that Birch wasn’t dead!

I rammed two
feet of steel through his heart!
Malith raged internally, showing nothing
of his thoughts where others could see.
He died, I’m sure of it, and yet
there he stands alive. Strange, though…
Malith paused as he studied the
feeling of power that radiated out from Birch….
A demon!?

Was it possible?
Had the demon within Birch brought him back to life? No, Kaelus was separate
from Birch. Malith’s demons had been able to confirm that Kaelus was nowhere
near this parlay, even though they hadn’t been able to pinpoint his exact
location. Even had Kaelus somehow revived Birch, the power emanating from the
Gray paladin was not that of his former…occupant.

Malith put the
problem aside for another day. He would ask his lord and perhaps the King of
Hell, with his power and knowledge, would have an explanation.

Next to Birch
was Daevis, a Red paladin Malith recognized from his old training days as well.
Daevis was a member of the Prismatic Council, but Malith hadn’t heard that his
former brother had lost an arm.
During the war in Nocka, I suppose
,
Malith mused idly.

After Daevis was
a young, dead denarae wearing a Green paladin’s cloak.
A denarae paladin?
What’s next, women?
he thought maliciously. Next to him stood a trio of
young Violet, Yellow, and Orange paladins Malith finally recognized from his
briefings on Shadow Company. The Blue paladin with them – at the end of the
half-circle – was from Shadow Company as well, but he was also Birch’s nephew.
A study of the youth’s features showed no overt family resemblance, but a few
similarities existed.

Of course, wild
reports from the so-called Barrier War hinted this young man might be so much more
than just a paladin. Demons that had infiltrated Nocka swore he was an angel of
some sort, but Malith scoffed at most of their wild theories. However strong a
paladin he might be, this young de’Valderat was a mortal like any other, and he
would die like every other. And yet… Malith remembered an angelic presence that
had rescued Birch from Malith’s own clutches. Could it be?

On the other
side of the semicircle, Malith recognized Mikal and Uriel, Seraphim who were
second in power only to Maya, the ruler of Heaven. Malith was surprised to see
both of them present at such a minor point of battle. Was there some strategic
importance he’d overlooked that would bring two of the most powerful entities
in Heaven to this place at this time?

Next to the two
angels was a wiry elf who radiated death and an aura of determination Malith
had never before encountered. That would be Siran, then, captain of the
Elan’Vital. Malith had received reports of the elf’s prowess in battle, and
some even claimed he was a match for childris demons. Looking at him now,
Malith could almost believe some of the more far-fetched reports about this
lethal elf.

Towering over
the elf were two of the largest men Malith had ever seen. One he recognized all
too well, and the other he deduced from family resemblance. The elder was Garet
jo’Meerkit, and the younger…

Malith tensed as
Garnet jo’Garet locked eyes with him. Slowly, deliberately, Garnet winked at
Malith.

Blood that no
longer flowed with life seethed through Malith’s body as he stared at the face
of the man – the
boy!
– who had defeated him.

“Well, what have
we here?” Malith taunted, forcing himself to look away from Garnet. He sneered
at the assembled mortals and angels. “Heaven’s finest, culled from the purest
the mortal realm has to offer, led by a pair of limp-winged Seraphim and a dead
failure. Were there no children or beggars to join your ranks, that you must be
represented by this?”

“Better this
company than a platoon of traitors led by a man strong enough to die in the
moment of his triumph,” the young Violet paladin said.

Malith graced
him with a look of mocking amusement.

“Ah, the wit of
youth,” he said condescendingly. “I don’t think you’ve sharpened this one’s
blade enough yet, Gerard. Tell me, however did they manage without you around
to breastfeed them their brains and what passed for skill?”

Gerard stared at
him for a moment, still stone-faced, then suddenly his expression relaxed a
fraction and he actually smiled at Malith.

“Oh, my protégé
Garnet took over the company,” Gerard said, gesturing to the mountainous youth.
“I believe you’re familiar with his handiwork.”

Malith shifted
his attention to Birch, who was idly rubbing at one of his teeth with the flesh
of his left thumb.

“Birch, my old
second-rate comrade,” Malith said with a malicious grin, “how’s the chest feel?
Doesn’t ache in the cold, I hope.”

“It’s fine,
Malith,” Birch replied calmly. The Gray paladin deliberately jerked his thumb
and looked down at a cut in his finger. He twisted his hand about and Malith
saw fresh,
living
blood welling on the surface of the cut. Birch looked
back up and for the briefest of seconds locked eyes with Malith. “How’s the
neck?”

Malith glared at
Birch and bit back a sharp retort.

“You know,
Malith,” Gerard said in a wicked tone, “I don’t think they ever buried your
body. I think they just threw you in a cesspool and let you rot. Did you want
us to make a tombstone for you? Here lies Malith, black of heart, weak of will,
and short of head.”

Uriel stepped
forward and spread his six violet wings out behind him the way a man might
throw out his arms for silence.

“Enough,” the
Seraph commanded in a hard voice. “We aren’t here to listen to you mortals pick
at each other, no matter how petty or pitiful this black-cloaked fool might
be.”

“Indeed,” Malith
said, ignoring the angel’s comment. He assumed an arrogant expression once more
and pointedly did not look at Gerard.

“Why are we here
then, O damned one?” Mikal asked. As he stepped forward, Uriel fell back into the
semicircle, his wings once more furled about his body. Two wings stretched down
to wrap around his ankles, while two more curled about and settled across his
armored shoulders and chest like a mantle of feathery cloth. The largest pair
settled carefully behind him with a minimum of rustling.

“I was curious
about this battle,” Malith replied simply. “My forces have been pounding this
stronghold for days while the little Cherubs and Powers and lesser-Choir angels
all cowered within. Every day brought us closer to the utter annihilation of
this tiny corner of Heaven, until suddenly today the angels grew a backbone and
put up a stiff front. I was so used to them folding over and taking it like
women, I’d almost forgotten there were men in the Heavenly Hosts.”

Malith chuckled
and shook his head.

“The stronghold
will fall, if not today, then the next, or the day after that,” he said with
malicious joy. “I wanted to see why the sudden change, and I can spare one day
to satisfy my curiosity. Know your enemy, Gerard; isn’t that what that dusty
old Red used to tell us during training?”

“That dusty old
Red was your grandfather, Malith,” Gerard said with a hard face, “in case
you’ve forgotten, and one of the best paladins I ever knew.”

Malith shrugged.

“He was a fool,
just like the rest of you.” Malith paused and stared deliberately down the line
of Shadow Company officers, pausing briefly on each of the six colors and
sneering at the virtues they represented.

“Look at you
all, extolling virtues you barely understand, all because some angels who
claimed they were from God told men thousands of years ago what they thought
was good and evil,” Malith said, his voice laden with contempt. “Temperance,
they said, tempers your emotions and helps maintain self-control. Never mind
that it dulls your mind and stills your passions! Passions that give you
strength, passions that make you alive.

“Justice, the
true equalizer among men. Bah! It leaves the strong prey to the same rules as
the weak and unworthy, shackling the great men of our world and destroying
their strength of vision and will. Where has justice been in Heaven of late?”
he mocked them.

“Knowledge, but
only the proper amount and only gained in the proper way, and always to be
shared for the benefit of others.” Malith snorted. “If knowledge is power, what
good is sharing it with others? Why not hold it close and wield it as you would
any other weapon? Two men can’t wield a sword at the same time.

“Piety, perhaps
the weakest of all virtues, telling us to trust and have faith. Faith in what?
A God who won’t even step in to stop the annihilation of His beloved angels and
blessed mortals? I followed that God for years, and where did it get me?
Compelled into Hell and tortured until I finally saw the truth, that our world
has been crippled by the very virtues and beliefs we think are
saving
us.

“Love? Such a
backwards virtue with its manifestation as healing. It’s as weak as piety. Love
your neighbors, love the little children, love the trees, love your pets, but
never love yourself more. Even as a mortal, I never bought that touchy-feely
tripe.” Malith barked a laugh. “No wonder I couldn’t heal so much as a splinter
cut.”

Malith chuckled
silently to himself for a moment until someone’s voice cut into his moment of
gloating.

“And courage,
Malith?” Birch asked. “What of courage? You were a Red paladin once. You used
to know what courage meant. I remember, even back then, you were one of the
most courageous men I knew. What has a Black paladin to say of the virtue he
betrayed most?”

Malith stared
with hard eyes at Birch, and for a long moment their eyes met and neither man
flinched away. The Black paladin was not immune to the effects of Birch’s eyes,
he merely refused to show weakness. Flames and pain-filled memories of torture
and demonic cruelty flashed through Malith’s thoughts and left his soul
trembling as though he had just relived the worst of his own tortures in Hell.
Still, he betrayed no outward sign of the sensation, and he even managed to
slowly look away instead of recoiling as most men did.

I was chosen
for this!
he reminded himself firmly.

“Courage,
Birch?” Malith said. “I wasn’t courageous, I was idealistic and foolish. I
believed in prudence and bravery, honor and righteous zeal. To face your foe
and neither charge forward recklessly nor shy away in cowardice, ah yes, I
remember those days. Then I learned the true rule of courage. Crush your foes
and make
them
fear
you
. Let your foes worry about cowardice and
let them try to stand courageously before your might. Courage is for fools,
Birch. I am beyond such a petty
virtue
,” he sneered the word, “and have
entered a place of such power that there is no courage, only strength.

“Power is the
ultimate virtue, Birch. Let them put
that
on my tombstone.”

- 2 -

In a secret chamber
deep within the city of Medina, a lone figure sat motionless in a high-backed
chair. Six pink wings wrapped around her shoulders, breasts, and lower torso,
the only covering on her otherwise naked flesh.

“Is it truly
flesh?” Maya said softly aloud, contemplating her own appearance. “Mortal
creatures have flesh. Eons ago, I remember a time when we immortals had no form
or substance. We had no weapons, for we had no need of them. Likewise, we had
no bodies, no emotions, and no concerns besides our own immortal existence. No
need for language, we communicated by pure thought. We were perfect.

“How did this
change?” she wondered. “When did this change? Long before the mortals appeared.
Yes, it was before then when we all suddenly felt that urge. The Will of God,
it must have been, instructing us to take shapes of perfection so we could one
day inspire the mortals to emulate us. Look like them, show them what they can
be – pure and perfect – and they will look to us as the paradigm for all they
should aspire to be.

“That perfection
can only have been by divine design, and our perfection comes because we are
wholly good, untainted by the possibility of evil,” Maya said firmly. “Angels
are incapable of evil, therefore anything we do must be toward some good, even
a greater good that must be served by whatever means. These means, then, are to
be considered good.
My
means are to be considered good. I am Metatron.
It can be no other way.”

Maya’s eyes
shone brilliantly with an inner fire of angelic ferocity. Her wings slipped
from her body as she stood and spread her arms and wings wide behind her.

“I am Metatron!”
she proclaimed loudly for no one to hear. “I am the Voice of God. If these
others were truly faithful to Him, they would willingly submit to me. They do
not, and they consort with a demon, therefore they must be beholden to the
powers of darkness and Hell.”

Reveling in her
confirmed righteousness, Maya was nevertheless aware of a presence just outside
the door to her sanctuary. There was no knocking – a lowly mortal habit, used
because they were inferior and incapable of sensing another being’s approach –
merely a sense of patience as the other waited calmly for her to admit him.

Maya seated
herself carefully on her chair, which she had personally crafted as a smaller
approximation of the true Throne. She allowed her wings to rest on either side
of the throne, leaving her naked body exposed.

For those
such as I, nakedness means nothing,
she thought idly.
What is modesty to
the Voice of God?