Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

With a decisive victory and some good battlefield luck Adramalik would have his kingdom soon. The Prince's grasp, he realized, felt looser already.

THE FLAMING CUT

'They are out there, my lord, just over that rise,' said Eligor loudly over the winds, folding his wings to enter the main campaign tent. Situated on the top of a small hillock in the middle of the camp and denoted by its giant seal, it commanded an excellent view. But exposed as it was, the wind played havoc with its skin sides, creating an enormous flapping sound that was difficult to ignore.

'And the town beyond?'

'No one walks its streets.'

Sargatanas pulled back the skin-door flap and looked out over the ash-shrouded expanse between the two crouching armies. Past his huge camp he could see the ground-sheets of gray flesh undulating as if his hot, summoned winds were rippling them. Less distinct because of the ash clouds were the two soaring sheets of red flame that, topping the twin ridges, gave the region its name.

'Hannibal?'

'The Soul-General is concealed and in position with his troops, awaiting your commands.'

As they spoke, a series of glyphs began to stream from Sargatanas, speeding away toward the camp's many generals' tents—orders to assemble, the Captain noted. It was beginning.

Eligor waited silently with the Demon Major standing beside him in the doorway of his huge tent, a calm, motionless figure with eyes closed, a corona of glyphs emerging from his brow and forming a circle of luminosity that hung in the dark.

Presently, Sargatanas' general staff began to appear, some by wing, others quickly by foot. As they entered the tent, each demon wiped away the ash and passed before his lord solemnly greeting him, their expressions ranging from clench-jawed determination to glittering-eyed eagerness. Taking up positions in the growing rows, they first knelt and then sat upon folding camp stools, their silence a measure of their anticipation and respect. Eligor watched them, impressed, not for the first time, that his lord had gathered such a disparate yet formidable host of followers.

When Eligor turned back it was the lean figure of Baron Faraii who stood, framed by the doorway, bowing stiffly, before Lord Sargatanas. 'My lord,' Faraii said quietly, 'I thank you for giving me the opportunity to lead my troopers once again.'

Sargatanas nodded curtly and gestured for the Baron to enter, his eyes following him and watching, Eligor guessed, the other generals' reactions as Faraii took his seat.

Lord Valefar entered and was greeted with a grin by Sargatanas. The Prime Minister, hefting his sword, waited by his lord's side to accompany him to the head of the gathering.

Sargatanas looked wryly at him, indicating the sword, and said, 'I see you have brought my old friend with you.'

Valefar, looking amused, said nothing but patted the sword's hilt affectionately. Eligor wished he could have been present when the sword had been revealed to Sargatanas.

When no more demons appeared at the entrance, Sargatanas and Valefar walked the length of the tent and stopped just in front of the seated figures. Eligor saw that his lord had shifted his armored form to accommodate the many cascading winglets and fins that hung elegantly about him like a multilayered cape. Half his height above him his Great Seal hung, casting its steady, fiery glow upon his head and shoulders. In his hand was the curved sword Lukiftias, which twitched and trembled, eager, it would seem, for the impending battle.

'Brethren,' he began in a clarion voice that sliced through the sounds of the wind and the flapping of the tent sides, 'brethren, it would be all too easy, looking out across the plain toward the Cut, to lose our will, to think that nothing could overcome the forces of Moloch that we will face today.

'I will not lie. I cannot tell you that we will not suffer losses, perhaps even great losses. The armies we face are huge indeed, but as the battle unfolds you will see that I and Lord Valefar and each of you have more than evened the odds. We bring an advantage to the battlefield in the very legions we are fielding, in the shape of weapons and warriors of which Dis itself has never conceived.

'But we have another advantage as well. It is that the unclean Pridzarhim Moloch, in the fullness of his arrogance, believes he is unvanquishable. Today you and your legions will show him that he is wrong! Today, together, we will send a clear message back to the creature that sits upon the throne in Dis! And that message is that nothing, no force in Hell great in arms or invocation, can keep us from returning to the world we once loved and left.'

Eligor saw how the words spoken by his lord galvanized the generals, how a murmur of approval escaped from nearly every grinning mouth.

'Lords, each of you will be receiving my orders as you leave. Be certain that if you obey them and stand firm upon the battlefield we will prevail. Baron Faraii, I would have you and your troopers close by to augment my personal guard upon the battlefield. Lord Furcas, I need you by my side.'

'But what of the Soul-General and his army, my lord?' a voice was heard to ask from the ranks of dark seated figures.

'Lord Vismodeus, General Hannibal and his troops will be there for me when they are needed.'

'But ... souls ... how can we be certain they can be trusted?'

'How can the souls be certain they can trust us? Since Hell was colonized we have been their tireless, unyielding masters meting out Hell's justice like a hammer. The battle at hand started as our rebellion and yet Hannibal has marshaled a force willing to fight, not only for their own eternity but for ours as well. I ask you, do we not owe them our trust?'

'Lord, it was not my intention to question your will.'

'It is your right as one of my trusted generals to ask.'

And then Eligor saw and heard a measure of what made Sargatanas so unique among the demons of Hell.