Valefar removed the shelves and, springing an unseen latch, opened the once-hidden door. More dust billowed forth, and Valefar pulled back, waiting until it had settled. When it had he reached into the dark compartment with both hands and withdrew a long, metal box that Eligor had seen only once, when Valefar had first appeared, so long ago, upon the crag that was to become the palace's home.
Solemnly, the Prime Minister carried the box to the cleared table, placing it, with apparent reverence, in the center. With head bowed, he whispered something that Eligor could not hear, and with a hiss and the angelic word gemeganza issuing from within, the box sprang open. Eligor's eyes grew wide as they lit upon an ialpor napta—one of the flaming swords of the War. But all had been lost in the Fall! he thought. Yet one is here, in Hell! He could not take his disbelieving eyes from the blade.
It lay, lightly, in its cushioned box, a thing so thin that it seemed little more than a memory of a sword. Shaped like a long, slim primary feather, it hardly seemed substantial enough to cut vellum. But he knew what the angry seraphim could do with such a blade; he shuddered when he remembered how many angels on both sides had fallen under such weapons.
Valefar slowly picked the sword off its gossamer-gold bed and held it aloft. A single ominous point of fire traveled from the hilt to the tip.
"Let me tell you a small story, Eligor," said Valefar, studying the blade. "It took place long ago, on another eve of war. But I can remember it as if it was two days ago. I sat upon a hill near the Tree basking in the Light and enjoying the rainbow-purple chalkadri as they swooped and played in the burnished azure sky, their calls echoing like glass pipes. The air was cloudless and crisp and smelled like ... well, you remember. How I miss that air." Valefar paused, dropping the point of the sword only a little as his memory flew backward.
"Sargatanas came to me that brilliant afternoon, as I sat, and before he spoke I could feel the anger that seethed beneath the surface in him. It had been Lucifer's anger, but now it was his as well. I shared it, too, Eligor, as did you, but not with the fervor he did. Sargatanas' resentment was palpable. He stood next to me, just as you do now, and told me what had been said in the last meeting with Lucifer. And I felt myself growing sadder with each word. Not angry, not then, but unhappy knowing that nothing would be the same again once the War began. With his hand trembling upon his sword's hilt ... for he wore it always at that point ... he repeated Lucifer's unfortunate rhetoric. I asked him then, as I just asked you, if war was what he wanted. Just at that moment, just as he vehemently said, 'Yes!,' a young chalkad flew down, landed upon the ground, and paused, cocking its head as if listening to us. Sargatanas, blinded by his rage and frustration, drew his sword and, in a move as swift as a dark thought, cleaved the creature's serpent-body in two. Perhaps he feared the Throne was listening to him through the innocent creature; I do not know. But upon seeing what he had done to one of the Throne's own he knelt down, tears streaming from his eyes, and gave me his sword. This sword."
Valefar turned the great blade in a quick shadow-parry. Heat waves from a sudden burst of blue flames caused the air around it to shimmer. "He told me that he did not want it, any more than he wanted war. But, he said, the anger had taken root and would never go away, and that war was inevitable. I took the sword from him and because he was my great friend followed him into war and, not wishing to waste such an important weapon, I wielded it in the Great Battle. Of course he had another ialpor napta, but like all the other Fallen save myself, he lost that one eventually in the Fall."
"Why did you get to keep it?" asked Eligor with genuine curiosity.
"I do not know. It lay there next to me in the crater when I awoke. At the time I thought nothing of it; I imagined that all demons had retained their weapons."
"It is odd."
"Yes, odd." Valefar spun around cleaving the sizzling air with a practiced flourish, grinned fiercely, and then, quickly placing the sword back in its box, closed the lid and sealed it with a word. "And so we have another great war at hand, Captain, a war unlike the incessant wars we have been fighting since we were sent here. Again, Sargatanas chooses to go to war, but this time, I believe, for the right reason."
Eligor looked at Valefar and knew, more then than ever, that Sargatanas had chosen his most trusted friend well.
"As do I," Eligor said. Both demons turned toward the door.
Valefar paused. "We will need him, Eligor."
"Who?"
"The Baron. As potentially dangerous as his troops are to us, we are going to have to put our trust in them and use them. And keep a very watchful eye on their fractious leader. If we keep the Baron and them in line, they will do grievous work upon the armies of the Fly."
"I understand. I will go to him now and see how his newfound solitude has affected his disposition."
Valefar began to create a series of command-glyphs in midair and then enfolded them into a hovering pyramid of light, which he sent off to Faraii. "Are you prepared for what will come?"
"Yes, Prime Minister. And yourself?"
"For Abaddon's Pit, if that is how it ends," he said with a half grin.
Valefar then turned away and Eligor opened the door. Something made him look back at the demon, who was again standing before the window, back to him, his steaming hands upon the long box. His head was bowed, his jaw seemed to be moving, and for a moment Eligor thought he might be silently praying. It was such an improbable notion that, as Eligor pulled the door quietly behind him, he shook his head slightly and then, as he started toward Faraii's quarters, began to focus on the difficult conversation that undoubtedly lay ahead.
When he arrived outside Faraii's chambers Eligor knocked upon the door, and when he heard no response he pressed his ear against its cold surface. He heard a faint rasping from within and, puzzled, pulled the knob-latch on the door. With some difficulty he pushed his way into the darkened room, smelling the tang of blood, stumbling over some unseen obstacles on the floor, and then, reflexively, invoking a glyph-of-illumination to better see his surroundings. The room and its objects were as he remembered them from his last visit, but only when he entered farther did he see the damage wrought. Every bit of furnishing, every square foot of floor and wall, was hacked and sliced as by a very sharp blade until the flesh of the bricks hung in long, bloody tatters, the floor was uneven, and the sparse furniture teetered on sword-chiseled, bony legs. And punctuating his examination was the ever-present rasping of what sounded like metal upon stone.
Eligor's eyes narrowed as he put his hand upon his sword hilt and walked slowly in the direction of the continuous sound. There is madness here. But when he actually set eyes upon the Baron, seated upon an untouched chair, Eligor was no longer certain. Faraii appeared composed, even serene, and were it not for the conditions of the surroundings and the whetting of his black sword, performed with ominous deliberateness, Eligor would have thought nothing amiss.
"Faraii, are you ... ?"
"I am fine ... Eligor."