He found Palvlag at the very end of the formation. The demon was the last of the elder ones, now that Pazuzeus and Shabriri were no more. He who had been the least of them alone survived now. Vuron couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be the last of his own sort . . . He dismissed the thought quickly.
Palvlag was busily marshalling the new arrivals, evidently planning to use the bar-lgura unit as a flank guard, and the mixed formation as a reserve against a breakthrough of his portion of the front. Vuron liked the initiative shown by the protodemon. It was the sort of care and forethought that had probably been instrumental in Palvlag's ability to survive through the millennia. That, coupled with his hatred of Infestix and all those allied to the daemon ruler in any fashion, made Palvlag the most reliable of the greater demons serving Graz'zt — and Vuron himself, the albino added mentally.
Although he wasn't sure, Vuron thought that Shabriri had been some blood relation to Palvlag; not a brother, but a cousin or uncle, perhaps. The two of them had been as friendly and close as ones of demonkind ever became. When Shabriri had been slam because of Gravestone's bumbling, and because the latter had been Infestix's tool, the last of the protodemons had sworn a terrible oath, witnessed by Vuron at Palvlag's request. Palvlag would never rest until the master of the pits was no more, and he cared not if his own existence was snuffed out in the process.
"My Lord General?" Palvlag said with curt politeness when he finally noticed Vuron nearby, watching.
"Death to the enemy. Lord Captain," the albino demon responded formally. "Order the mixed regiment to the left flank of the bar-lgura immediately. Then you will command it as both units wheel out and sweep across the front parallel to our main line."
"There are naught but dumaldun trash there to fight. . . Even as he said that Palvlag's eyes clouded, going from burning orange to dull gold. Then all four suddenly lit up more fiercely than before. "Yes, General Vuron, I obey. I can sense Mandrillagon's approach. He is near! Who is to have overall command here, though?"
It was a logical question. "I will accompany you, Palvlag. The enemy must think this is more than two regiments attacking, that I plan a major offensive movement. At any time, however, I may have to leave the area. The moment that happens, you will become commander again. Is that clear?"
"Most clear. General. Mandrillagon will probably panic at our approach. He will withdraw, and we will inflict severe casualties on whatever troops are there. Then the enemy will respond in some fashion, and your presence will be needed elsewhere."
Vuron gave the ancient protodemon a cold smile. "You are ever astute. Captain Palvlag. I will be sure to inform our liege lord of that. Graz'zt needs good generals."
"Generals? I care not a single turd for that," Palvlag spat. "I wish only to slay those who serve— "
"Enough! Carry out my orders, Palvlag. I know of your vendetta." He watched as the protodemon sped off, took charge of the body of mixed babau-ogres, nikomars, and the snaky ssilhex. The unit responded in clumsy fashion, but the troops seemed obedient and willing enough. Even as Palvlag marched it into position, though, there was a din along the front nearby. Mandrillagon and whatever force he commanded had begun their attack.
At the opposite end of the long line Nergel had Just sent his sweepings forth to harass the enemy skirmishers. The dumaldun were at least a match for the rutterkin and dretch, so those in the area began to cluster around the few hundred demon foes and fight. Then Nergel himself took the field, with the shambling boorixtroi on either hand. Dumaldun flew through the air, some dead, some dying, some in dismembered segments and serving as missiles. The hunched demon lord captain relished the slaughter, and in his mind he pictured it all clearly, putting it into a pattern that could be easily picked up by Vuron.
Nergel was so delighted by the success that he was careless. The message meant for his superior was broadcast too widely. The distant lords serving Demogorgon managed to snare the thought-picture and alert their master. And just then, another bit of information came to them.
"Lord Nergel," Leda called mentally, using more than the usual strength in the process. "Please receive this information." As she telepathically informed him of the important news, the dark elven priestess also pictured what was occurring around her. The scene sprang into the crooked demon's mind, Nergel was even further elated — and the enemy was even better informed.
Two regiments of the stolid fesroo soldiery were only a few minutes away from joining his foray around the right flank The gila monster-visaged demons were obviously fresh and full of fight. Noble ssilhex led them. They were all Nergel's to command. Better still, massed just behind them were other reinforcements: companies of ghouls holding massive hyaenadons; battalions of ravening gholes, the trolls of ghoulkind; and finally at the rearmost position a brigade of tall gnoles, hyaena-headed demonlings of no great power but in numbers sufficient enough to be useful. With these were the fiercest of their sort, the ghulaz. It was sufficient to make the demon lord send forth peals of hideous, rippling laughter, as if Nergel were imitating the calls of the carrion beasts that approached.
"Yeenoghu's spawn!" he shouted aloud. "This means that Graz'zt has at least released some strength to us — to me! I command! Now, you sodden lumps of petaled flowers!" he called, shaking his gnarled fist in the direction of Demogorgon's position across the broad plain, using the foulest of names he could conjure to name his foes. "You sweet-smelling butterflies! Now you will howl under my heel!"
Clearly the pictures from Nergel's mind came to the watchers, and they relayed all just as quickly to their twin-headed master, Demogorgon. The great demon immediately had reserves brought up to be ready for the coming attack, but otherwise he remained waiting. Mandrillagon was Just striking the demon left with a corps of troops from outside the Abyss: a devil legion, a division of dreggals from Gehenna's depths, daemons and cacodaemons from Hades and Tarterus. The formation was echeloned so that it would first overlap the line Vuron had drawn, then strike it successive blows from the edge toward the middle. The legion of devils would meanwhile fall upon the flank and rear. If that succeeded, then the sudden addition to the enemy force on its right would be useless — better than useless. It would help in the destruction of the whole.
"Desperate trouble!" That was a panicky message sent by Mandrillagon.
Over the confused images being sent, Demogorgon sorted out what he could with one of his brains while the other head mentally asked, "What is it?"
"Renegade filth! The devils, the whole legion of them, were caught on the flank and ran away!" The words were accompanied by Mandrillagon's images of the occurrence. Antlered cohorts, devils of red hue and black scaled, bristled, spined. Attacking them were thousands of bounding, leaping furies, the gorilloid demons called bar-lgura. "How did the sixfingered mound of perfume gather so many?" Mandrillagon referred to Graz'zt, of course, and his consternation came from the fact that most of such demons as those who had routed the devils were dwellers on the spheres ruled by himself.
"Who cares?" his master telepathically returned with acidic thought. "I want all the picture now!"
Mandrillagon cringed mentally and physically but managed to comply. "It was the eunuch, Vuron, with the Theorpart — Palvlag, too. The fossil leads a whole corps of fresh troops." As he said that in his mind, the baboon-headed demon allowed pictures of the horde that Palvlag led to come to the surface of his thoughts.
"Bah! A few thousand of the babau-ogres, saucer-eyed nikomars in lesser numbers, and erhaps a thousand ssilhex. You are influenced by fear — by cowardice!"