Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

Much to his disgust, Adramalik found himself accompanying the Duke Fleurety and his ten legions well to the rear of Astaroth's army, there, he knew, more as a symbol of support than a perceived weapon of final resort in the event that things went badly. Marching behind the ragtag legions, he mused that it was more than likely that he would not see action, that Astaroth's army would be obliterated quickly, leaving the demons of Dis to simply fade away to do the Prince's bidding. Adramalik could see that this army of Astaroth's was as poorly trained as it was ill equipped. Most would undoubtedly perish against one of Sargatanas' relatively small but well-trained border armies. Fleurety, empowered with a seal from the Prince, would step in and assume control in the Prince's name of the old demon's wards while Astaroth would be offered exile in Dis—a choice even he could not be foolish enough to dismiss. And after Astaroth had been escorted back to Dis, after he had fulfilled his master's misbegotten sense of honor, Adramalik vowed to ask Beelzebub to send someone else on these kinds of official missions. His place was with his Knights, not serving as escort to an impotent lord. For now, Adramalik rode next to the Duke and off in the distance Astaroth and his army etched their fate upon the ash-gray ground with each footstep.

* * * * *

The two lines met with a thunderous impact, like that of many massive stones colliding. Eligor saw the long, continuous point of contact flicker with the incessant sparking of tempered-stone weapons upon tempered-stone armor.

Sargatanas, Eligor saw, was keeping his troops' line taut, neither advancing nor falling back. The demon lord, protected by Faraii and his enormous Shock Troops, had moved slowly toward the front line of his legions while Valefar and Karcefuge were keeping the Spirits in place.

A shroud of smoky ash began to ascend where the two armies met, blanketing their frenzied ferocity in gray and muffling, somewhat, the clash of arms. Astaroth's legions fought with an urgency born, Eligor suspected, of the awareness that uncompromising annihilation lay in defeat. There would be no prisoners, no demons left standing to swear allegiance to a new lord. Astaroth had removed that conjured element—that possibility of shifting allegiances— from their seals of obedience. He had committed them that completely in his final cast of the die.

Eligor saw the distant Great Seal of Astaroth dimly through the pall and knew that beneath it that that lord was guiding his army. And for the thousandth time, he wondered how one as great as he could have let his realm sink so far. Turning his gaze behind Sargatanas, he saw his own Guard, lances and shields in hand. Five hundred strong, they awaited his orders with eyes trained upon him, gleaming eagerly.

Sargatanas broke Eligor's momentary reverie. "I do not trust the air to my next command, Eligor. I must be beyond careful when facing Astaroth; he taught me so many of my command-glyphs. Fly to Valefar then, and to Karcefuge as well, and tell them to advance, to draw up the ends of our line."

With a nod, Eligor took wing and sped over the five legions between the center and Valefar. He hovered beside the bone-armored Prime Minister, momentarily admiring his effortless handling of the giant soul-steed.

"Valefar, Sargatanas wishes you to begin drawing up the wings."

"Is Astaroth where we want him?"

"Yes, if he does not alter his position at his army's center he will be enfolded." Eligor paused, looking out at the chaos of the battlefield ahead. "It will be sad to see him under these circumstances, Valefar."

"True, but he will survive. I am to escort him back to Adamantinarx on Sargatanas' orders."

"It will be a quiet journey."

Valefar looked down, frowning. "I had not thought of that."

He shook his head and then, unseating his pike, spurred his mount with the two large spikes on the insides of his boots, and beast and rider leaped forward. Eligor raised his hand and waved Valefar on. The Spirits around him were whining, straining to break into a gallop, and in a few short strides got their wish.

* * * * *

They are advancing too fast, too far. Reckless. What is he thinking?

Adramalik could barely see the rear guard of Astaroth's army as it disappeared across the gray-olive skin of the field and into the haze, and while Duke Fleurety could have issued an order to keep up, he seemed disinclined. So began the betrayal. Just as well, reasoned Adramalik. There was no place for fat upon the bones of Hell. Astaroth, and what was left of his .army, would be absorbed by the urban body of Dis.