Valefar suddenly looked puzzled. "Does it, my lord? I ask because I do think, after all these centuries, Eligor is warming to this place. Just last month he told me that he missed his trips here. He said that he really could not wait to come back."
Eligor's mouth opened.
"Perhaps we should make this an annual pilgrimage then, eh, Eligor?" Sargatanas said earnestly.
Eligor was so surprised that the most he could do was vehemently shake his head. Sargatanas and Valefar looked at each other and smiled.
The streets around them broadened, though the conditions in them hardly-improved. Monumental statues commemorating the fallen heroes of the War rose from ornate pedestals too thickly, Eligor thought, to connote anything more than insecurity and forced patriotism. They entered a district of larger, more imposing buildings. These were part of the mayoral complex of this ward, and hanging high above them was the unfamiliar aerial sigil, Valefar told them, of the general Moloch.
"He is never in residence at these palaces; he favors the Keep," Valefar said, and added, "so that he can be at his master's feet at all times."
"Bitter, Valefar?" asked Sargatanas.
"No, my lord, simply aware."
"I think it is time for us to take flight and meet the Prime Minister. I am feeling well enough grounded in this place."
They opened their wings and in moments were flying over the city. Eligor was grateful to be up and out of the streets. The hot air was refreshing compared to the clammy, close air of the city.
Hours later, as they drew close to the Keep, Eligor could see activity; the sky was filled with demons swarming around the towers and spires, while in the flat courtyards other administrative clerks and court functionaries bustled to and fro.
The three demons dipped down, sweeping low over the wide, incandescent lava moat known as Lucifer's Belt. It was an artificial defense, and Eligor saw the open mouths of the conduits lining the far embankment that carried the magma up from the depths and poured it into the surrounding channel. Mulciber's genius again. Eligor could feel the shimmering heat when they landed at the foot of the Keep, and it barely diminished as they climbed the long steps to the gate itself.
Valefar, in his capacity as Sargatanas' Prime Minister, approached the captain of the sentries and made the formal announcement of their arrival. The demons waited briefly until a small door in the great gate opened and the many-horned secretary to Prime Minister Agares ushered them inside.
* * * * *
It was strange, Adramalik reflected, strange that suddenly so much should turn on Astaroth's faltering wards. Agares had been informed weeks ago of the departure of Sargatanas and his caravan. That was unusual; it had been six hundred years since his last journey to Dis. So long, in fact, that Beelzebub had grown petulant about the unorthodox, charismatic Demon Major and his evident lack of respect.
And now waiting with him and Agares in the Rotunda was a messenger from Astaroth. Spies in Adamantinarx had been informed of Sargatanas' intentions, and when news had reached Astaroth in his crumbling capital, Askad, the messenger had been hastily dispatched. He had flown the entire trip without pause and was still trembling from the effort. His wings were shredded and Adramalik saw tiny smoking pits upon his skin from embers that had buffeted him; he had apparently taken the most direct and perilous route.
When he landed he had been brought straightaway into Agares' chamber and met almost immediately by the Prime Minister. There they had spoken for some time, and even though Adramalik could not hear the conversation, he knew, afterward, that the messenger was here to strengthen his lord's alliance with Beelzebub and weaken Sargatanas'.
And now all three stood in the Prince's Rotunda awaiting him. Adramalik knew he was up amidst the hangings, watching them with his thousand wary, calculating eyes. He also knew that the messenger's journey was not to have been in vain. Beelzebub's jealousy-born indifference to Sargatanas was no secret among those in his court; the Demon Major's ways were appealing to many who still thought of themselves as Fallen angels and not as demons. For the Prince, who had watched the slow rise of Sargatanas as a potential rival with suspicion, it was a delicate yet irresistible moment to exploit. And for Astaroth, whether it ended as he wished or not, a moment that would bear the sanguinary rewards of war.
No one saw the slight smile that crossed Adramalik's face. Dis had grown boring of late, he thought. A war of some significance would certainly make it more interesting.
* * * * *
The steep ascent through the Keep to Agares' tower took nearly a day. Adjacent to the Black Dome and protruding through the flesh-mantle, it was a many-spired and buttressed claw tearing at the clouds that tried so hard to conceal it. From the long, vertical windows that ran the height of the building the small party caught breathtaking glimpses of the city. When they arrived in its vaulted reception hall adjacent to the Prime Minister's chambers, the secretary indicated a long row of bloodstone benches and then disappeared hurriedly into one of the smaller adjoining rooms.
None of them sat. Valefar paced while Sargatanas stood at a window, gazing down at the soaring thousand-foot-high Arch of Lost Wings. Eligor studied a dingy fresco of some long-forgotten battle that must have been applied millennia past.
When Agares finally did appear he seemed preoccupied and distant. He ushered the three demons into his opulent chamber of state and indicated some heavy chairs. A pallid greenish light streamed through the windows in broad, dusty shafts. Tall and gaunt, Agares had a brittle, bureaucratic air, and his movements were almost nervous. While Valefar had never said anything in favor of the Prime Minister, Eligor remembered, neither had he said anything too condemning.
"The Prince has asked me, in his stead, to discuss your situation. He is, at the moment, with his Consort and has asked not to be interrupted." The Prime Minister's clipped, scratchy voice seemed grave but oddly tentative to Eligor's ears.
"We can wait," said Valefar evenly. A frown had worked its way onto his features.
"I am afraid that will not be necessary, Prime Minister. The Prince has fully briefed me on his views regarding the situation on your border." The Prime Minister folded his arms and Eligor could see the large gold fly-shaped ring of rank on his thin finger. It was clearly an intentional gesture.
Eligor saw Sargatanas tilt his head. Agares was neither looking at him nor addressing him but speaking instead to Valefar while adjusting his floor-length robes. An insult to be sure, Eligor thought. Had things degenerated this far between the Prince and his lord?
"Lord Astaroth is poised on our border," Valefar said. "We are simply asking what the Prince's reaction will be if we engage Astaroth."
"You will not engage him on the field of battle and, therefore, there is no reaction to anticipate. We will assure you that he pulls his troops back. And we will attempt to revive his failing economy as well."
"And if he strikes at us first? Should we not defend ourselves?" Valefar's tone was sharper, edgier.
"He will not," Agares said, finally turning to Sargatanas. "Lord Astaroth is desperate. You know the state of his wards. If he were to launch an attack he would lose everything, and he knows it. This is merely a posture to gain attention. Our attention, not yours."
Sargatanas slowly rose. The hornlets that floated above his head were encircled by orbiting jets of flame. "You do know, Prime Minister, that I will do what I must to protect my wards. I have spent far too much energy building them into what they are to let them be jeopardized. I may not have been waging incessant war on my neighbors, but trust me, I remember how it is done."