Sargatanas took a deep breath and Eligor saw his head tilt skyward, his eyes reach into the clouds above.
Hannibal found it odd that he could feel so at peace with Hell that he could laugh and relax with his troops and even look forward to the battle ahead. It was almost as if the dark clouds had parted and the golden sun of his life was shining upon him, not the cold, dispassionate rays of Algol’s bloodshot disk. Whatever had caused his shift in mood, it barely troubled him; he had come so far that even if he was destroyed attacking Dis, his would be a name demon and soul alike would remember. It was more than he could ever have hoped for and, in the end, all that he had truly received in his life.
Breaking away from his staff, he descended from the rostrum and walked alone amidst the quiet, orderly lines of soul infantry, watching as they touched weapons, passing simple spell-glyphs the demons had given them from one to another. Traced in every fiery hue imaginable, the glyphs would make their swords and pikes and axes only fractionally more powerful, but, he thought, what little advantage they could take from their former masters could make the difference. When they looked up at him passing, seeing his blue sigil for the first time, they bowed their heads in respectful, silent salute. They were tarred with the brush of evil, many much worse than himself, but they would fight, whatever their reasons, for him and the mere chance of redemption, and that was enough for him.
Eventually growing tired, he returned to Mago and the other generals, all of whom were huddled and asleep, trying to get as much rest as possible before the long march. As Hannibal settled in and pulled his heavy cloak around him, he looked out toward Adamantinarx, the city he, like all of the other souls, had helped build, and saw a beauty there that he had never seen before. Ruddy from the light of the ascending star, its few remaining buildings, mostly huddled on the central mount, were, he realized, aesthetic wonders. Even though the streets were now devoid of the smaller dwellings and mostly barren of the larger edifices, he could see the city, in his mind’s eye, for what it had been—a noble, and some might say naive, attempt by Sargatanas to bring something of Heaven to Hell. The dark grandeur of it had been unlike anything that had ever existed, and Hannibal was saddened by its precipitous razing. The great and gleaming domed palace, intact only from the outside, rose through the enveloping shroud of dust, the broken heart of a stricken city. And within it, somewhere well inside its hollowed interior, he knew Sargatanas and Lilith abided. For now.
Hannibal’s lids grew heavy and he slipped into his Tophet dream again. Only now, as he descended deeper and deeper into the familiar smoke-filled world of his great guilt, it seemed, as he faded away, that he saw himself through new, more accepting eyes. Less pained eyes. And very dimly, though he could not question why, he felt grateful that, after so much time, he could be at peace with himself.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The arrival of Lucifuge Rofocale went, as far as Adramalik could tell, unheralded. As important a figure as he was, he and his Ice Legions entered the First City with little fanfare. The Prime Minister was certain that Lucifuge, as an old ally of the Prince and near equal in abilities, would have been welcomed in a more obvious fashion, but he had been instructed to meet the demon himself at the gate and bring him up to Beelzebub.
Lucifuge was an unusually mannered and proper demon, as rigid in his behavior as he was in his overly elaborate appearance. Glowing blue from his exclusive diet of a rare flying Abyssal’s flesh, he was extremely conscious of every detail of his form, manifesting a staggering array of low horns and trailing finlets and fiery tendrils. Around him orbited a dozen small abstract objects of dark and unknown purpose. Having retreated to the frigid region surrounding the Pit and viewing himself as its guardian, he seemed to have become as cold as the black fire, ice, and frozen brick of his capital, Pygon Az. His arrogance was as legendary as his reclusiveness. Barely acknowledging Adramalik, Lucifuge dismounted his huge Shuffler, leaving his army under his field marshal Uricus’ command as it entered Dis, and merely jerked his head to indicate he wanted his audience with the Prince.
The ascent into the uppermost levels of the Keep was achieved without a word passing between them. Adramalik, uncomfortable with the silence, could feel the irritation that the Demon Major exuded, irritation, he imagined, at being wrenched from his isolated wards to support the Prince against an upstart demon. The relative warmth and humidity of the Keep’s bowels must have made the journey upward unpleasant for Lucifuge, used to the cold, and this alone was solace for Adramalik. And now that his punishment was over, thanks to his carefully calculated tidings, nothing could trouble him. For hours they climbed the myriad stairs and wended their way through the convoluted maze of tunnel-corridors until they finally arrived at the Rotunda. Adramalik hung back as the door sphinctered open, allowing Lucifuge his moment, ostensibly as a sign of respect.
The ubiquitous buzzing was barely audible above the sighing of the hanging skins. Beelzebub, distant atop his carrion throne, was feeding as Lucifuge approached, and Adramalik thought, only briefly, to dissuade Lucifuge from interrupting him, but the part of him that delighted in seeing his fellow demons in discomfort was curious about the Prince’s reaction. And so as Lucifuge strode stiffly toward the throne, Adramalik held his breath, the unpredictability of his master both terrifying and exhilarating.
As always, Husk Faraii sat at his Prince’s feet and the Prime Minister took little notice of him; he neither spoke nor moved in all of his past audiences, and there was no reason to expect more of him. He looked more emaciated than ever, and the bluish gray of his face had visibly blackened around its flaking plates’ edges. Not surprisingly, the Baron was not faring well on his newfound diet of leavings from the throne.
When he and Lucifuge drew near, Adramalik noticed that what had appeared to be the Prince’s fully round torso was, in fact, only half-finished, its shoulder and left arm completely missing. The other half had dissolved into a thick layer of flies that contentedly rasped at the large, unidentifiable chunk of offal that lay in its lap. The partial body of Beelzebub turned disconcertingly toward them.
“Prince-in-Exile Lucifuge,” he buzzed, the trace of mockery unmistakable, “how was your journey?”
“My journey was long and tiresome, Beelzebub. And,” he added, “disturbingly necessary.”
“It has been a long time since you retreated to your frozen wards, an equally long time since you visited us here in Dis.”
“Retreated? No, ‘distanced myself’ would be more accurate. It is no secret between us that when Lucifer handed his scepter over to you I felt… slighted. What he was thinking I cannot guess, but we are now bearing witness to the consequences of that ill-chosen act.”
Adramalik could not believe Lucifuge’s brevity. No one spoke to the Prince with such candor, and suddenly Adramalik could feel the swirling of some momentous event about to take place. Lucifuge would be an invaluable ally; few so far had answered Beelzebub’s call. But, even so, there were limits to his tolerance.
“Perhaps if I had stayed by your side as Lucifer had wanted… ,” Lucifuge continued. “Ah, but that was never really a possibility, was it?”
The flies stirred for a moment and then settled back onto the glistening meat.
“So, what is it I hear about our old friend Sargatanas? I understand he is no longer happy here in Hell. Why not simply let him see if he can find a way to go?”
“Because free will has no place in Hell. Not for him or anyone else who might be inspired by him.”
“You never questioned Lucifer’s free will.”
“Sargatanas is
“Nor are you. Do we have Lucifer’s Seal on this? According to the First Infernal Bull, ‘no Demon Major may set out against another with the express goal of destroying that Demon Major himself.’”
“We do not need it. The Heretic Sargatanas is coming here.”
“Then, if you succeed in fending him off, he can be taken prisoner and exiled. Not destroyed. Only Lucifer’s Seal can mandate that. As I just said, no Demon—”
“I am not a Demon Major.”
“But
