A susurration gradually filled the demons' ears as the chamber came alive, the faintest of whispers growing as the myriad dry mouths of countless bricks gave voice.
The two demons unconsciously stepped back as the brick at the Conjuror's feet coughed. For a moment it was silent, working its lips as if to speak. And then it retched up a fine mist of blackish blood that reached eight or ten feet into the air, spattering Agaliarept. Burst after burst of the mist hung before them until they saw a shape appear within it, the motionless, congealing form of a Demon Major.
A low buzz, Adramalik imagined of approval, emanated from the flies around the Conjuror.
The blood-formed demon, an avatar only, raised his head and looked at the demons present. Adramalik recognized the Grand Duke Astaroth, his sigils palely lit against his dripping chest, his sagging shoulders creating an impression of age and weariness.
The buzz of the circling flies became a Voice.
"Your spies have not returned, Astaroth. They were intercepted through the efforts of a Baron Faraii, I believe. Sargatanas' Guard are very well trained."
The conjured demon hesitated. Two tiny glyphs of sight blazed in his blood-filled eye sockets.
"Indeed. I taught him their drills." Astaroth's voice was distorted, gurgling.
"Their leadership is quite good as well. Of this," the buzzing Voice said, "I am sure you are also aware.
"My six legions," it continued, "are marching into your wretched wards as we speak. They will be held back until they are needed. They will reinforce yours, if yours falter. There must not be the perception in Adamantinarx that we are leading the attack on his wards."
Astaroth's chin sank. "It will be as you say, my Prince."
Adramalik knew that the old demon had hoped for more, that he wanted Beelzebub's alliance to be known to all in Hell.
"Are your troops in readiness?"
"No, my Prince, but we are close."
"While you may have superior numbers on your side, Astaroth, do not be fooled. Sargatanas has managed his wards brilliantly ... far better than you ... and he is cunning. This is a second chance. Be clever and what is his will be yours. And mine."
Astaroth's chin rose and he nodded.
"Victory to you, Astaroth!"
The distant Demon Major bowed and was gone in a shower of descending blood. Agaliarept, spattered from head to toe, bent and plucked the brick from the floor.
The Voice returned.
"Agares, see to it that Duke Fleurety's legions in the field do not engage Sargatanas' armies. They will remain after the battle. Also, Adramalik, have your Knights and Nergar's agents round up all of Astaroth's emissaries here in Dis and have them destroyed. That weak fool Astaroth's time in Hell is at an end." And with that the Voice trailed off into a barely audible wheeze and then nothing at all.
Adramalik and Agares bowed and turned to ascend out of the Conjuring Chamber. Before he was too far from its center the Chancellor turned, for a moment, and caught a glimpse of Agaliarept, his many long tongues extended. The Conjuror General was cleaning himself, lapping the blood from his darkly glistening robes. Adramalik shook his head and followed Agares.
ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON
Hani was pushed up against the giant plinth along with the hundreds of other brick workers. After the quayside ramp had been completed he and the remaining souls were shunted to a new location—the site of a towering figure of Sargatanas that loomed over the Forum of Halphas.
It was a colossus among colossi. Cruciform, with its arms and six wings outstretched, the black statue stood nearly five hundred feet tall. Built upon a natural rise in Adamantinarx, it faced the river, chin down, eyes closed in the tragic, court-sanctioned idiom of nearly all monumental statuary in Hell. During breaks, Hani looked at it, trying to fathom the emotion that must go through the demonic mind when it regarded such works. It was impossible; not having been an angel, he could only guess.
Work had finished on the statue itself. Hani and his gang had been called in at the very last days of construction. Only the last step of the plinth remained unfinished, and as the demon engineers and architects gathered at its base he could see that some sort of ceremony was about to take place.
Overseers prodded him and Div and the others into a long line that paralleled the plinth. There Hani stood waiting, watching.
The demons assembled in what he could plainly see were hierarchical ranks, anticipating the arrival of some official. Hani tried to hear any name, but the moaning of some of the workers was too loud to penetrate. It was amazing, he thought, how much sound some of the mouthless souls could make.
After standing for a short time, he saw the vanguard of the approaching party—standard-bearers carrying their narrow, vertical banners with the ubiquitous sigil of Lord of Adamantinarx Sargatanas blazing above. A thrill of fear washed over Hani; it would be his first close-hand glimpse of a Demon Major and he did not know what to expect. Whatever a high demon's appearance, it was the awareness of his dreadful capriciousness when it came to souls that terrified Hani.
Scourges set about the throng of souls, whipping them into silence. For that he was almost grateful.
Looming behind the phalanx of skin-cloaked standard-bearers were three enormous soul-beasts, creatures that Hani had seen before but never so close. He had heard that these souls were special, that in their Lives they had been prominent but corrupt religious leaders from many sects and that their transgressions had been deemed even more punishable than most. Because of this the demons had taken an unusual and heightened interest in them. Hani thought it showed.
As the small procession approached, he could hear the dull thud of the heavy beasts' feet, the scraping of their unshorn nails upon the flagstones, the grunting exhalations of their breath. A dozen harness-spikes were driven into each of their heads, through which their jingling bridles and reins were strung. They were so near as they passed him that he felt the air move from the swaying blankets that hung upon their rough-hided bodies. He could not help but be amazed at their size. One of them rolled its giant head and its bloodshot eye fixed upon him. A strange ripple of some distant memory, of creatures nearly as ponderous and eyes nearly as intelligent, flashed before his mind's eye. He closed his eyes to try to grasp it, to analyze it, but it was too fleeting and vanished altogether.
He was so distracted by the beasts that he almost neglected to look upon their riders. And when he did he was thoroughly, breathtakingly impressed. These were dark, godlike beings, terrible to look at, yet fascinating in every detail of their appearance. When their creatures came to a halt before the plinth, they dismounted, light upon their feet for creatures more than twice his height, and his stomach churned as they came toward the line of souls.
Sargatanas, for it must have been him, led the trio, and he was all that Hani would have expected of the Lord of Adamantinarx. Huge legs covered in skins and bone greaves and as thick as Hani's torso carried him easily toward the assembled demons. Tiny sparks sprayed when he walked. His steaming body was covered in layers of deep-crimson trailing robes, finely decorated with his sigils picked out in gold thread, and adorned with long garlandlike strands of organs picked out from choice souls. A gaping hole, jagged and seemingly ember filled, glowed from his medal-decorated chest, but it was nothing next to the fires that crowned his bone-plated head. Hani stared at his face, aquiline, broken, animated, and fierce. He saw tiny, wholly nonhuman bones shifting as unfathomable emotions played upon its surface. It was a face that, even in its frightful, degraded state, suggested something lost long ago—an alien grace, perhaps. Hani knew what Sargatanas had been—the colossus showed him that—and now knew what he had become. Stealing a closer look, craning his head up, he saw the silvered eyes that glittered and darted, veiled, armored eyes, he imagined, to look upon the sights of Hell.