“Be careful, Baron. Remember what you see here at Maraak. When you are facing him across a battlefield.”
“Sound advice, indeed, from a broken, old demon. I will be doing Hell a favor by destroying you.”
Faraii backed up slowly, leaving Astaroth alone in the circle of Shock Troopers. Faraii caught Eligor’s eye, held it for an instant, and then turned away grinning. Whether it was upon a signal from the Baron or not Eligor never knew, but he saw the troopers set upon the kneeling demon with a fury. He closed his eyes. Their ferocious snarls and the sounds of the Great Lord’s demise lingered terribly in the air.
Eligor opened his eyes in time to see Astaroth’s Great Seal fade away. He saw that Faraii was nowhere to be seen and saw, too, his lord and Valefar arrive on foot, their gaze flashing over the scene.
“What is happening here?” Sargatanas said to Eligor over the din. “Where is Lord Astaroth?”
“He is no more, my lord. There was nothing I could do.”
Sargatanas’ eyes widened. “Who did this, Eligor? Who disobeyed me?”
Eligor’s insides twisted. The admiration, the loyalty, and the closeness he felt for Faraii were suddenly unclear. But his fealty to Sargatanas was not.
“My lord, Baron Faraii’s Shock Troopers committed the deed; the Baron did nothing to prevent it,” Eligor blurted, realizing his mistake immediately. “In his defense, however, he fought heroically; your goals could not have been achieved without him.”
“One of my goals, Captain, was Astaroth’s survival.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where is the Baron, now?” said Sargatanas, probing the outside ranks of troopers. They had regained their feet, forming a circle once again, and stared sullenly at him, avoiding his eyes.
Sargatanas strode forward, falcata in hand, pushing brusquely, angrily, into the troopers. He was no Astaroth, weakened and old, but instead was capable of wondrous acts of carnage—a fact not lost on the assembled warriors. Not accustomed to being swept so easily aside, they reacted with baleful, hissing intakes of breath and nothing more.
Sargatanas found Faraii at the circle’s center crouched, with Astaroth’s disk in hand.
“Baron, what has happened here? Why have you disobeyed me?” The ominous rumble was unmistakable.
“My lord,” Faraii said, rising, “it was not I but my troops. They destroyed him.” He paused, shaking his head. “You did not see him… in the miserable condition he was in. My troops, in their overzealousness, did him… and you as well… a service by ending his life.”
“You decided this? On
“I neglected to give my demons explicit orders regarding his disposition; that
“So you did the thinking for him… and me as well.”
“His demise saved everyone much trouble.”
“Not yourself, however. You will return immediately to Adamantinarx, where you will consider yourself confined to your chambers. Only your exemplary past service to me is keeping you alive, Faraii.” He reached out and plucked the disk from Faraii’s hand.
The Baron dropped to one knee, saluted, and rose. Without a backward glance he walked stiffly through his troopers, who, in turn, filed away with him.
“Valefar,” Sargatanas said, “you and Eligor are done here. Send the legions on to Askad. I must remain and go in and secure Astaroth’s wards. Or what is left of them.”
Valefar nodded and sent out the command.
Sargatanas regarded the Astaroth disk, holding it tightly, and sighed. And then, with reverential solemnity, he put the disk to his breast, where, with a bluish glow, it fused.
Many hours passed before Adramalik felt he could approach the place where, from afar, he had seen Astaroth destroyed. The Duke had already withdrawn and was heading back to Dis via a discreet route, and Sargatanas’ legions were well into Astaroth’s wards.
The Chancellor General walked with some difficulty through the turbulent darkness of the storm, its winds seeming to delight in gusting the knee-high ash up into his face. The only sound upon the once-tumultuous battlefield was that of the wind-driven grit that pelted his bony armor. He climbed the cairn that he had watched Sargatanas’ troops build from the rubble of dead legionaries and stared up at the commemorative sigil that hung above it. It had been a marvelous victory, one worthy of his own lord—complete in its outcome, merciless in its devastation. Faraii’s performance had been incredible; Beelzebub would have to know how adept he was. And just how brilliant a commander Sargatanas had become.
On the positive side, Adramalik reasoned, at least he did not have to shepherd that ridiculous old demon all the way back to Dis.
Again he looked up at the luminous sigil.
Chapter Sixteen
It was as if the very buildings, their vaulting exuberance, their relative lightness of architecture, mirrored her exultation at arriving in Adamantinarx. This city, so unlike shadowed Dis with its flattened and oppressive vistas, was more alive in its spirit than most of Hell’s inhabitants.
Seated within an inconspicuous, unadorned howdah atop a giant Waste crosser and swathed in folds of skin, Lilith drew not even a single glance. Just, she thought, as Ardat Lili had not on her many treks to this place. And now she was gone and her mistress, for whom she had sacrificed all, was here.
With some effort Lilith reined in her deepening sadness. Ardat Lili had known the dangers and would have wanted her to be safely ensconced in Adamantinarx. Of all the cities, this had been her favorite. Lilith tended to look at the cities of Hell as organic, as immense bodies lying strewn upon the unholy ground. They had streets that flowed with the souls that were their blood and buildings that were their bones, lower demons that functioned as vital organs, and, for better or worse, the demon aristocracy that served as their minds. Most, she had concluded, were necrotic, and some quite insane. But this city was living, somehow rational, and its attempts at diversity and relative tolerance could only make it rise above its rivals.
As she passed through the mammoth Eastern Gate she saw Sargatanas’ Captain of the Foot Guard, Zoray waiting patiently with a small contingent of his demons, all clad in their fine, green-hued skins. Upon his shoulder sat the small, winged form of her familiar, which, upon seeing her, sprang into the air and flapped its way to her extended arm. Lilith smiled behind the cowl of her traveling skin. This was all like a dream. To be free of Dis and the Fly!
“My lady,” Zoray said, watching her dismount. “Welcome. Your journey was not too difficult, I hope?”
“My journey has always been difficult, Lord Zoray,” she said with a light laugh as she stroked the stubby- winged creature. “But I expect that will change now that I am here.”
“Your chambers await you, my lady,” he said, gesturing in the general direction of the central mount.
“Is Lord Sargatanas back from his campaign?” she inquired, unfastening her cowl at the neck and letting it fall heavily to her bare shoulders.
Zoray hesitated and she could hear the breath catch in his throat as he tried not to stare at her. “He will return in a few days, my lady. Winning a battle is one thing; securing an entire province with all its wards in disarray is another.”
