"My lord, Baron Faraii's Shock Troopers committed the deed; the Baron did nothing to prevent it," Eligor blurted, realizing his mistake immediately. "In his defense, however, he fought heroically; your goals could not have been achieved without him."
"One of my goals, Captain, was Astaroth's survival."
"Yes, my lord."
"Where is the Baron, now?" said Sargatanas, probing the outside ranks of troopers. They had regained their feet, forming a circle once again, and stared sullenly at him, avoiding his eyes.
Sargatanas strode forward, falcata in hand, pushing brusquely, angrily, into the troopers. He was no Astaroth, weakened and old, but instead was capable of wondrous acts of carnage—a fact not lost on the assembled warriors. Not accustomed to being swept so easily aside, they reacted with baleful, hissing intakes of breath and nothing more.
Sargatanas found Faraii at the circle's center crouched, with Astaroth's disk in hand.
"Baron, what has happened here? Why have you disobeyed me?" The ominous rumble was unmistakable.
"My lord," Faraii said, rising, "it was not I but my troops. They destroyed him." He paused, shaking his head. "You did not see him ... in the miserable condition he was in. My troops, in their overzealousness, did him ... and you as well ... a service by ending his life."
"You decided this? On your own?" Sargatanas' faceplates shifted, and even from where Eligor stood, he could see that the new configurations were threatening. Flames atop the demon's head blossomed wildly.
"I neglected to give my demons explicit orders regarding his disposition; that is my fault." Faraii's free hand nervously played with the hilt of his sword. "But as I said, my lord, he was a broken figure ... pathetic. He would have asked for that end ... a noble end ... if he had been thinking clearly. But clearly the battle's outcome affected his—"
"So you did the thinking for him ... and me as well."
"His demise saved everyone much trouble."
"Not yourself, however. You will return immediately to Adamantinarx, where you will consider yourself confined to your chambers. Only your exemplary past service to me is keeping you alive, Faraii." He reached out and plucked the disk from Faraii's hand.
The Baron dropped to one knee, saluted, and rose. Without a backward glance he walked stiffly through his troopers, who, in turn, filed away with him.
"Valefar," Sargatanas said, "you and Eligor are done here. Send the legions on to Askad. I must remain and go in and secure Astaroth's wards. Or what is left of them."
Valefar nodded and sent out the command.
Sargatanas regarded the Astaroth disk, holding it tightly, and sighed. And then, with reverential solemnity, he put the disk to his breast, where, with a bluish glow, it fused.
* * * * *
Many hours passed before Adramalik felt he could approach the place where, from afar, he had seen Astaroth destroyed. The Duke had already withdrawn and was heading back to Dis via a discreet route, and Sargatanas' legions were well into Astaroth's wards.
The Chancellor General walked with some difficulty through the turbulent darkness of the storm, its winds seeming to delight in gusting the knee-high ash up into his face. The only sound upon the once-tumultuous battlefield was that of the wind-driven grit that pelted his bony armor. He climbed the cairn that he had watched Sargatanas' troops build from the rubble of dead legionaries and stared up at the commemorative sigil that hung above it. It had been a marvelous victory, one worthy of his own lord—complete in its outcome, merciless in its devastation. Faraii's performance had been incredible; Beelzebub would have to know how adept he was. And just how brilliant a commander Sargatanas had become. A foe to be reckoned with for sure, Adramalik mused.
On the positive side, Adramalik reasoned, at least he did not have to shepherd that ridiculous old demon all the way back to Dis.
Again he looked up at the luminous sigil. Maudlin sentimentality, he thought. Perhaps that and that alone was Sargatanas' greatest weakness.
Chapter Sixteen
ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON
It was as if the very buildings, their vaulting exuberance, their relative lightness of architecture, mirrored her exultation at arriving in Adamantinarx. This city, so unlike shadowed Dis with its flattened and oppressive vistas, was more alive in its spirit than most of Hell's inhabitants.
Seated within an inconspicuous, unadorned howdah atop a giant Waste crosser and swathed in folds of skin, Lilith drew not even a single glance. Just, she thought, as Ardat Lili had not on her many treks to this place. And now she was gone and her mistress, for whom she had sacrificed all, was here.
With some effort Lilith reined in her deepening sadness. Ardat Lili had known the dangers and would have wanted her to be safely ensconced in Adamantinarx. Of all the cities, this had been her favorite. Lilith tended to look at the cities of Hell as organic, as immense bodies lying strewn upon the unholy ground. They had streets that flowed with the souls that were their blood and buildings that were their bones, lower demons that functioned as vital organs, and, for better or worse, the demon aristocracy that served as their minds. Most, she had concluded, were necrotic, and some quite insane. But this city was living, somehow rational, and its attempts at diversity and relative tolerance could only make it rise above its rivals.
As she passed through the mammoth Eastern Gate she saw Sargatanas' Captain of the Foot Guard, Zoray waiting patiently with a small contingent of his demons, all clad in their fine, green-hued skins. Upon his shoulder sat the small, winged form of her familiar, which, upon seeing her, sprang into the air and flapped its way to her extended arm. Lilith smiled behind the cowl of her traveling skin. This was all like a dream. To be free of Dis and the Fly!
"My lady," Zoray said, watching her dismount. "Welcome. Your journey was not too difficult, I hope?"
"My journey has always been difficult, Lord Zoray," she said with a light laugh as she stroked the stubby-winged creature. "But I expect that will change now that I am here."
"Your chambers await you, my lady," he said, gesturing in the general direction of the central mount.
"Is Lord Sargatanas back from his campaign?" she inquired, unfastening her cowl at the neck and letting it fall heavily to her bare shoulders.
Zoray hesitated and she could hear the breath catch in his throat as he tried not to stare at her. "He will return in a few days, my lady. Winning a battle is one thing; securing an entire province with all its wards in disarray is another."
Lilith nodded and the small party began the long ascent to the palace complex. The long, arcing avenue that sliced through the city was really an attenuated series of steps that rose so gradually Lilith only realized they were climbing when she looked behind. Outlying Adamantinarx was fairly sparsely populated, but the crowds grew the farther into the city she walked.
Whereas her former master had viewed the uselessness of Dis' incarcerated souls as an excuse to torture them, Sargatanas' attitude seemed to be one of enforced industriousness. There were no souls cast limbless to the curbsides, no lines of the damned impaled against row upon row of quivering houses, and no unpredictable roundups by unrestrained Order Knights bent on simple slaughter.
Instead, as she looked around her, she saw nothing but the ceaseless toiling of souls as they built, crafted, and enriched Adamantinarx. Creaking bone scaffolds, enormous piles of winking bricks, great mounds of rendered soul-mortar, all bore witness to Sargatanas' grand vision of his capital. Her escort pointed out many of the new landmarks that dotted the metropolis, including the monumental standing portrait of Sargatanas himself, its head ablaze in a vibrant cowl of flame. She paused when Zoray drew her attention to it.