Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

As Lilith watched, the rack begin to ascend, carrying the pathetic skin up into the gloom of the dome, and she heard Adramalik's soft laughter and splashing footsteps fade away. Only the Prime Minister remained with her and the Prince. He stood over her and reached down, putting his hands under her arms and legs and lifting her carefully.

Agares carried her through the Rotunda, and when he brought her back to her chambers and laid her gently upon her skin-covered pallet the only thing circling erratically through her mind like a fly was the droning sound of the Voice that had oscillated through the dome.

"Remember this, dear Lilith. She will."

ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON

Eligor studied him as he sat motionless upon his throne. Far away, deep beneath the Audience Chamber floor, he thought, he could hear the distant sounds of new construction. The barely audible, muffled clink of hammers upon stone was all that disturbed the stillness of the enormous chamber. He knew that the faraway hammering had to be of native stone being worked; the flesh-bricks always cried out when they were being cut and placed.

Sargatanas, too, seemed far away. He had returned to his palace in silence and had remained there, not leaving his throne and speaking only briefly to Halphas and then to no one for days. Eligor and the dozen Guard troopers stood some paces from Sargatanas like a frozen tableau. Once a day, for some hours, a dim shaft of Algol's red light would enter through the oculus and pirouette upon the floor, marking time, only to fade away as if it were sad to be ignored.

Sargatanas sat, only occasionally lifting or lowering his flaming head. A few times he raised a finger to his lips as if he were about to speak but then changed his mind. Through the night he did not stir, the only sign of life being the guttering sparks from his knit brow. His form shifted frequently, sometimes subtly, sometimes drastically. For one night he had no head at all, only concentric multicolored rings of flames with rotating horns at their center.

It is strange, Eligor thought, to see my lord like this. So deep in thought and yet not exactly brooding. Eligor's mind wandered back to the events of recent days and he realized that Sargatanas had more than enough upon which to reflect. Certainly their treatment in Dis was disappointing and redolent of darker implications. But Dis had brought unexpected rewards as well; Lilith had surprised them all. The imminent war with Astaroth, too, was something to address, something that always took much planning, albeit with the general staff. And then there was that soul, Eligor remembered, that insolent female soul. What had she stirred up? She had obviously affected his lord, though why Eligor could not be sure. Never had he been so happy to see a soul so transformed.

Sargatanas shifted his torso and Eligor saw him trace Valefar's sigil in the air. It was the first real action the Demon Major had taken in days, and Eligor felt something ineffable in the pit of his stomach. There was a decisiveness in the movement that contrasted with Sargatanas' earlier seeming lethargy.

Whether he had been concerned for his master and waiting outside the vast chamber or he had used other occult means, Valefar appeared at the arcades startlingly quickly. Walking briskly, resplendent in tissue-thin embroidered skins, he climbed the steps to the dais three at a time and bowed deeply, formally, before Sargatanas. He, too, seemed to sense something.

Eligor stood closer to the throne than the Guard and always heard his lord's conversations. He thought of it as a privilege of rank.

"Prime Minister," Sargatanas said, staring fixedly into Valefar's eyes, "I have no stomach for it anymore."

"I know, Lord," said Valefar softly. "It was that soul, was it not?"

"She made me see them all as ... people."

Valefar was silent.

"Before that moment, Valefar, they were nothing. I resented them and, because of that, I used them. As we all did. But now, when I pull back after all of these many eons, I see with clarity what this place is ... and how I cannot endure it, as I see it now, any longer." He paused. "It is time for change, time to make a stand. Time to do instead of dream."

"My lord?"

"The incessant wars. Old Astaroth upon our border, hungry and desperate. What will happen when we destroy his legions as we surely will? Nothing. We will appropriate his broken wards, rebuild them with uncounted souls, and return to our complacency. Hell will not change. And neither will we; we will still be here, exiled, punished ... rejected."

"Rejected?"

"By Those Above."

"That is our lot."

"For how long? Eternity? When will the Fallen have had enough punishment?"

There was silence and Eligor worked at the question in his own mind. "For some," Valefar said with no irony, "there can never be enough punishment."