Sargatanas went about his tasks with a preternatural intensity that bordered on the obsessive. He never tired of directing the large and small matters of state. It was, Eligor guessed, his way of not thinking about the reality of their situation. He seemed, too, to be preoccupied with the affairs of his neighboring fiefdoms. The lands of his mentor from before the Fall, Lord Astaroth, bordered his largest ward, and this pleased him. Astaroth was old, genial, perhaps a little inept in his governing, and Sargatanas looked with some dismay at his old teacher's failures. But, in those early days, he posed no threat to Sargatanas or his realm and peace reigned.
Adamantinarx was not dissimilar, in its composition, from many of the cities of Hell; its flagstoned streets ran red with the blood of its souls, its soul-bricks sighed and blinked as one passed them, and its countless low buildings groaned and shuddered like any others in any other infernal city. But it was also the least tortured of Hell's cities, and its underlying openness was due solely to Sargatanas' will. Just as Hell's capital, Dis, was a horrific reflection of its creator, Beelzebub, Adamantinarx seemed, to its demonic inhabitants, as tolerant as its lord. There was a difference, a nobility, to this demon. Eligor could see it, as could any who entered Sargatanas' court. When he laid the foundations, high atop the center mount, for his many-bastioned palace, he consulted not only with Halphas but also with each of his chief underlings. Eligor saw how this openhandedness affected the court, how it served not only to bring together each demon but also to make them loyal to Sargatanas.
The Streets of Dis - (from Barlowe's Inferno - acrylic on ragboard) Hell's capital is a teeming metropolis of many millions. A tangle of streets beyond count, the city's arteries are clogged with work-gangs of souls and demons of every description.
During one such consultation, high atop the windswept crag, Sargatanas had convened a general meeting to discuss the number of tiers the palace would have. The hot, ember-laden wind whipped Halphas' plans about, making it hard for all to see, and Sargatanas bent down to gather a few rocks to anchor them. When he had arisen, a newcomer had joined the party, having climbed the steep ascent unseen by all. Eligor's hand went to his sword, as did a half-dozen other demons'.
'Do you not know me?' the shrouded figure asked, putting down a long, narrow box and looking directly at Sargatanas. A long, bony needle pierced the flesh of the newcomer's hood, holding the heavy folds closed save for a gathered hole left for speech.
Sargatanas was a full head and a half taller than all assembled. It was a habit of his, when confronted or challenged, to fold his arms and straighten up to his imposing full height. The bony plates of his face began to shift subtly while the flame that crowned him grew more brilliant. The gathered demons knew the signs when he grew impatient and each looked at one another with anticipatory relish.
'How can I possibly know you, cloaked as you are? Your sigil is not lit.'
'Surely you must remember me ... from before the Fall. My voice, at least, must be familiar.'
And of course, Eligor thought, that was the most absurd thing he had heard in a very long time. No one's voice had remained the same. The bells of the Above had left their throats long ago, burned away by the fire and the screams. The newcomer was playing a foolish, dangerous game.
Nonetheless, there was something compelling about the words that made Sargatanas look more intently at the enigmatic figure. Sargatanas' personal Art was to divine the hidden, but, strangely, in this case he seemed unable.
'Draw aside your hood.' The rumble in his voice was unmistakable.
'Perhaps—if you were to ask me in the Old Tongue ...'
'My old tongue is gone. Only this sharp one remains.'
'Well then, perhaps your ears and eyes are as they were Above.' The figure slowly reached up with a skin- covered, gloved hand and withdrew the bone needle from his hood. 'Micama! Adoianu Valefar!'
Eligor and the others watched in wide-eyed astonishment as their lord released the Demon Major, the purest joy pouring forth from him. Here, Eligor knew, was Sargatanas' dearest friend from before the Fall, the loss of whom had been spoken of only briefly, and to only a select few, for all the long millennia. Valefar's absence had been a great blow to Sargatanas, as if more than just his great heart had been torn from him by the victorious seraphim.
'Where have you been all this time?'
'I was in Dis,' Valefar said, dropping his chin. 'I lingered there much longer than I would have liked. It is not an easy place to leave, once one enters.'
Sargatanas put his clawed hand upon his friend's shoulder. 'Ah, Valefar, all that is behind you. You are here now and here you will stay.'
Picking up the long metal box, Valefar swung it easily over his shoulder, the charred plates of his face shifting into a broad grin.
Together they descended the mount. As Sargatanas passed, he nodded to Halphas, who began to roll the plans into a tube; the palace could wait.
Eligor saw how Valefar's arrival seemed to complete his lord. Though both figures were physically greatly transformed by the Fall, it was easy to see how they might have been before the great battle. Sargatanas carried his looming flesh-cloaked form more lightly And Valefar, who knew his somewhat secondary role perfectly, also knew exactly how to prize his lord away from his dark moods. Valefar's was a lighter spirit that seemed, to Eligor, totally out of place in Hell.
Chapter Two
DIS
Lucifer was gone.
By all accounts, his had been the most spectacular descent of all. Those who were able to remember said that the entire sky had lit up with his passing, that the entire surface of Hell had glowed and rippled when he Fell, yet no one could remember any one site for his impact.
