single soul who walks the streets of Dis… they are all to be used either to build it or to be built into it. All the Maws and Demolishers in the armies of Dis are at your disposal as well. After construction is completed you are expected to layer atop it the most potent of guardian-glyphs you can formulate.
“And one thing more, Mulciber. You are to supervise the construction yourself.”
“But
Adramalik did not need to look at the pedestals and the walls where the demon’s body parts were strewn to know what he was asking. “Your first task clearly is to become ambulatory. I could not care less how well formed you turn out or how uncomfortable you will be. I—the Prince expects you to be present on the wall to deal with any problems, not up here, quiet and removed, as you put it.”
Mulciber’s eyes closed in resignation. Adramalik thought he saw small puffs of steam start to obscure them.
“As you will, Prime Minister.”
Adramalik turned and left Mulciber, content in the knowledge that the one demon in Hell who had found relative peace was about to become the busiest.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Algol had finally risen.
The din of ten thousand war trumpets and drums, of uncounted sigils flaring to light, of a million impatient, armored bodies rising to their feet, was beyond anything in war Hannibal had known or could have imagined. The ground beneath his feet trembled in response and he clenched his toes just to remain standing. He knew that if he had had a heart it would have been thundering in his chest.
Algol had climbed to its zenith and with it the great Second Army of the Ascension had taken up arms to begin its long march toward Dis. As they left their front ranks to join Satanachia for the beginning of the march, Hannibal and Mago exchanged grins, but each knew what was in the other’s mind: would they ever see Adamantinarx again? The Soul-General looked behind him toward the city and saw, still standing on the distant rostrum, the white form of Sargatanas and the less distinct shapes of Eligor and all of the others who were to stay behind until their moment came.
There had been no grand speeches, no ceremonious invocations, nothing in the host’s departure that could be construed as anything but necessary. What had been said in the past was enough for the present.
The briefing had been short and direct, with Sargatanas and Satanachia doing most of the talking. The assault on Dis was to be something of a ruse, as Hannibal understood it. The massive ground attack would ultimately prove to be a diversion from the more covert aerial attack to follow. Eligor and Satanachia’s Flying Corps commander, Barbatos, would combine their forces and train until they were sent to Dis. The generals under Satanachia’s command had been given their orders and departed for the field, leaving the two Demons Major and the Soul-General to linger with Sargatanas.
Walking slowly before each of them, Sargatanas had said, “Demons, Hannibal, I cannot tell you what we will find waiting for us in Dis or how this will come out. But I can tell you that even though we live in shadow, we fight for light. Go now, and spread that light where none has ever shone!”
Each of them had bowed and then returned to the head of the waiting army. When Hannibal found his brother he remained silent for some time, his mind swimming with the tactics and possibilities of the impending siege. His and the other ground armies, no matter how huge, were effectively a delaying force. And that meant staggering attrition. From what he knew of the Prince and his spies, the armies of Dis would know well in advance of the size and nature of the opposing legions. Little was known in Adamantinarx of the demons who might have allied with the Fly. But such was the nature of war, and after explaining what he knew of Sargatanas’ plan to Mago, he felt somehow better. Talking it through with his brother, as he had before so many campaigns so long ago, relaxed him for the time being. But he knew, as their host drew near Dis, his apprehensions would surface anew. Some said it was a sign of a good general to fret; soldiers should not have to worry, only fight. With his world of experience, he agreed.
Attendants brought up Gaha, and he had difficulty mounting the Abyssal. He could not have been more impatient for his new arm to grow in but knew that it would not be in time for the upcoming battle. He smiled inwardly; he certainly did not need more incentives to want to survive. Once he was in the saddle he swung around and made for Put Satanachia’s position. The beast was light on its feet and moved quickly across the crowded field, never misstepping. Hannibal passed rank upon rank of troops, both demon and soul, and even he. accustomed as he was to multicultural mercenary armies, was impressed with their variety. The demons that had arrived from every corner of Hell, formed and tempered and improved in the crucibles of their unending border-wars, were equipped with a dizzying array of weapons. His gaze shifted from demons who bore everything from integrated axes, maces, halberds of every shape, and pikes to more exotic legionaries from distant realms whose arms were the separated blades of great scissors or ended in huge, sharp-toothed, gaping mouths or giant claws. There seemed to be no restrictions on the ingenuity that the demons had exercised in growing implements to cleave, cut, rend, and smash one another. Such was the way of Hell; any exploitable advantage over neighboring demons could prove decisive upon the battlefield and garner a ward or two from a rival. The souls, not benefiting from the creative energies of their masters, had been equipped as best as the demons could manage with an abundance of improvised weaponry. Many, he saw, wielded the sawn-off weapons of demons who had fallen on both sides in the last battle while the rest gripped crude, but effective, weapons that had been hastily manufactured in Adamantinarx before the Forges themselves had been dismantled.
Satanachia, resplendent in his newly formed opalescent armor and standing at the very tip of the gathered legions, was waiting for him. Flattered, Hannibal realized that it was a measure of their esteem for him that the demon second in prestige to his lord would only give the signal to advance when he was present. As the enormous blue glyph, visible for many hundreds of spans, billowed up into the ashen sky Hannibal felt the vortex of fate pulling him toward Hell’s capital. As the army slowly surged forward, uncertainty flooded his mind. Whichever way the battle went, the outcome in Dis would prove to be the end of the rebellion. Of one thing he was certain: Sargatanas would not sell himself cheaply and, even if the Fly somehow managed to survive, the shape of Hell would forever be changed.
The wind whipped fiercely over Eligor’s straining body, snapping at his folded wings, as he clung, one-handed, to the gently rounded exterior of Sargatanas’ dome. The heavy, bifurcated prongs of Eligor’s newly issued climbing- staff were firmly lodged in the crack between two massive roofing stones and had, regrettably, damaged the surface where they had been inserted. He had been dismayed when Sargatanas had outlined his planned training regimen, knowing that the final exercise was going to do extensive damage to the once-majestic dome. But Adamantinarx was no longer the city it had been, and the Captain was gradually growing accustomed to the unfortunate changes the city was undergoing.
Looking through the shifting clouds at the gray curve of the dome, Eligor saw the generalized shapes of his dying troops, hammers in hand, begin the mock-assault for the tenth time. They, like Barbatos and his flyers performing the same exercise on the dome’s opposite side, would only be ordered to actually strike the building when their tactical maneuverings were satisfactory, an achievement that Eligor guessed would be about a week hence. While the breaching of Sargatanas’ dome would only be executed once, for obvious structural reasons, the Guard Captain wanted to feel completely confident that the hundreds of flyers were able to move about comfortably in a high wind on a curved and polished surface. He saw the other flyers trying to hover above where the giant hole would be opened, and even as he watched, chaos erupted as a particularly strong gust buffeted them and sent hundreds of them crashing into one another. And then, to worsen matters, Eligor felt a few drops of blood hit him and soon a steady light rain began to fall, spattering the already treacherously smooth dome, slickening it dangerously. Truly, he thought, this was a good and difficult test. Within moments the rain had streaked the dome shiny and red and, almost mesmerized, he watched myriad thin rivulets winding their way like fast, thick worms downward. He saw how his demons scrabbled and slipped and suddenly one lost his handhold and slid down into another and then another and, before he could warn them, more than twenty of the flyers were tumbling, trying to disentangle from one another and open their wings. But, to his mixed disappointment and anger, they did not
