The Guard had landed, gathering at a respectful distance, while he and Metaphrax Argastos tried to make the stricken demon as comfortable as they could.
Eligor wished that Satanachia could have been there. He felt there was little comfort in the presence of Demons Minor to a fallen seraph. Eligor regretted not knowing whether Satanachia had even survived the Battle of the Keep, let alone where he was.
Eligor looked down at Sargatanas, whose bony lids were fluttering open. It was so difficult to see him as Beelzebub had left him. His entire body and head looked as if it had been drilled through in a thousand places and the once-resplendent white plates of his armor showed tiny cracks throughout. When he moved, Eligor could hear the faintest of crackling sounds as bits flaked off.
“Eligor… Eligor, it is over,” he said in a voice like the whispering ether of the Wastes. Small, almost invisible puffs of ash appeared with each word. “Did you ever… believe?”
“Always, my lord.”
Sargatanas lifted his hand to place it upon Eligor’s arm, but a piece fell away, shattering on the plinth. Metaphrax looked away, but Eligor gently took the once-heavy hand and placed it upon his own. The once-beautiful copper eyes were clouding over, patinated in a muddy greenish film.
How he loved his lord!
“It had to end like this,” Sargatanas said painfully. “Like Lucifer, I, too, was selfish. And like him I have failed my followers. I had hopes it would be otherwise. I had… hopes.”
“And dreams, my lord. You once said that it was time to
“You did understand, Eligor.”
A thin dusting of ash was forming upon Sargatanas as the tiny cracks grew ever so slightly wider. His lids closed with each significant piece that fell away.
Eligor heard a soft, harmonic sound; he saw his lord’s chest barely rising and falling and knew it had not issued from him. He looked up at Metaphrax. who shrugged, and then heard the faintest of tinkling sounds, like distant bells. Eligor looked up past the shattered dome and at the sky beyond. He thought it looked odd, lighter and cooler in hue, and would, he thought, be seen as a sign, spoken of millennia hence in tales of Sargatanas’ Passing. It pleased him enormously.
He looked back at his lord, whose eyes were closed.
An earsplitting peal, as from some enormous bell, suddenly rang throughout the dome and simultaneously the floor around them rippled, sending rubble tumbling in all directions. A thick pillar of silent blue lightning streaked down from Above, piercing the clouds, entering the dome, and splitting into six separate, blazing columns directly before them. And then Eligor, whose breath had caught in his throat, inhaled and the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of blossoms filled his nostrils. It was a smell that he had nearly forgotten, and he closed his eyes, embracing it with every fiber of his soul. It was the celestial fragrance of Heaven.
The columns collapsed into six coruscating oval shapes, heavenly glyphs spinning within, and then, with a burst of purest, supernal light that momentarily blinded Eligor and the other demons, the shapes became luminous six-winged Seraphim of the First Order.
Sargatanas’ hand tightened upon Eligor’s arm.
One of the Seraphim separated himself from the rest and moved forward on barely wavering wings. His armor, fabulously chased and jeweled, shone fiercely with the Light and was almost painful to regard. Eligor looked at him and, at first, did not recognize him, so radiant was his face, but as the angel drew nearer Eligor almost leaped up, his joy was so profound.
Floating before him was Valefar.
“Is that you, Valefar?” Sargatanas said, his eyes closed again. Thin wisps of steam could just be seen at their corners.
“It is, my brother,” Valefar said, his voice musical again. “I am here for you.”
Sargatanas tried to raise his hand from Eligor’s arm but could not. “What is it like?”
“You will soon see. It is as it was before. So full of Light.”
“And the Throne…?”
“…can always forgive those who strive against Darkness. Whether it’s from outside or from within.”
Sargatanas’ chest rose and he sighed. Eligor saw him laboring to breathe, saw even more of him dissipating into ash and bone shards.
“But I’ve failed them all, Valefar.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Only Beelzebub is gone.”
“No, dear friend, no. You’ve given them hope where there was none. The Gates are now opened and it is for them to find their own way back.”
Valefar came toward the three demons. He knelt and took Sargatanas’ hand from Eligor’s arm. He leaned in close to Sargatanas’ ear.
“Rise, Sargatanas,” he whispered. “Rise and reawaken.”
Eligor felt a gathering wind begin to swirl around his lord and watched it focus upon and erode his body until only the vaguest shape of the Demon Major lay outlined on the cracked and windswept plinth. An enormous pulse of energy exploded from the plinth, expanding outward until it hit the far walls of the Rotunda. The countless skins that had hung for so long from the dome’s ceiling and were now draped about and under the rubble began to stir, to fill out and take shape as the souls they had once been.
The wind subsided. Of Sargatanas’ body very little was left. In its place a radiance formed and became a brilliance that, in turn, became substance, and Eligor saw Sargatanas as he had been from before the Fall. Gone were the trappings of Hell, the flesh-robes and bone-plates and flames above his head, replaced now by the supple, golden flesh, wings, and pearlescent raiments of Heaven. Slowly, the Seraph sat upright and rose to his feet. He bent and picked up his flaming sword.
“Leave it behind, Sargatanas,” Valefar said. “You will not be needing it.”
Sargatanas nodded, regarding the blade, and then held it out to Eligor. The demon took it and held it closely, reverently. He dropped to one knee and Sargatanas put his hand on Eligor’s shoulder.
“Follow me, Eligor. Heaven will shine brighter for your presence.”
“I will, my lord. I promise.”
Sargatanas turned away and Eligor heard Valefar say to him, “Come, my friend; it is time to go home.”
One by one, the seven Seraphim extended their wings and launched themselves into the air. Before they reached halfway to the dome’s broken opening they had each flared into a dazzling concentration of light and, like wayward stars returning to the firmament, shot up through the clouds.
Clutching the sword, Eligor stared up into the dark sky of Hell for some time, waiting until the lambency of his lord’s passage had faded. But, to Eligor’s amazement, a blue-white spot remained, fixed and brilliant, visible between the scudding clouds. A new star! To Eligor, it was the perfect symbol of the hope that now lay before them.
When he brought his gaze down, the Flying Guard was dispersing, undoubtedly to pursue the remnants of the Fly’s legions, and only Metaphrax remained. He, like Eligor, was silent, affected. He turned with a stunned, halfhearted wave and followed the troops out of the Rotunda.
Eligor looked at the plinth, at the spot where his lord had lain. A handful of light, clumped ash remained roughly where his hand had been—and something else. Reaching down, Eligor pushed the ashes gently, reverently, aside and pulled from them a small, white figurine. Lilith. It had been in Sargatanas’ closed hand all the while.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Keep would be razed. That much the soul knew as he made his way up flight after flight of its dank steps.
The fighting had been over for some time—long enough for Hannibal to send back to Adamantinarx for some
