"But we have another advantage as well. It is that the unclean Pridzarhim Moloch, in the fullness of his arrogance, believes he is unvanquishable. Today you and your legions will show him that he is wrong! Today, together, we will send a clear message back to the creature that sits upon the throne in Dis! And that message is that nothing, no force in Hell great in arms or invocation, can keep us from returning to the world we once loved and left."
Eligor saw how the words spoken by his lord galvanized the generals, how a murmur of approval escaped from nearly every grinning mouth.
"Lords, each of you will be receiving my orders as you leave. Be certain that if you obey them and stand firm upon the battlefield we will prevail. Baron Faraii, I would have you and your troopers close by to augment my personal guard upon the battlefield. Lord Furcas, I need you by my side."
"But what of the Soul-General and his army, my lord?" a voice was heard to ask from the ranks of dark seated figures.
"Lord Vismodeus, General Hannibal and his troops will be there for me when they are needed."
"But ... souls ... how can we be certain they can be trusted?"
"How can the souls be certain they can trust us? Since Hell was colonized we have been their tireless, unyielding masters meting out Hell's justice like a hammer. The battle at hand started as our rebellion and yet Hannibal has marshaled a force willing to fight, not only for their own eternity but for ours as well. I ask you, do we not owe them our trust?"
"Lord, it was not my intention to question your will."
"It is your right as one of my trusted generals to ask."
And then Eligor saw and heard a measure of what made Sargatanas so unique among the demons of Hell.
Sargatanas stood and looked deeply, for many moments, into the eyes of those gathered before him and then said, "Brethren, we are about to engage the enemy in the opening battle of what may be a long and terrible campaign. If we lose we will not be given any quarter. But if we win, as I know we will, it will shape our existences forever. Each and every one of you bears within him the past we once cherished. When we unsheathe our weapons let us remember the angels we once were but fight like the demons we are.
"Heaven awaits!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE FLAMING CUT
The furnace-breath of stinging cinders blew forcefully into the determined faces of Moloch's legions as they streamed from their camp. Even with that and the vicious winds, Adramalik could not help but reflect on how much he thrilled at the unforgiving world he lived in. Kneeling next to his giant soul-steed, Adramalik washed his dusty hands in the red blood of an artery broken besides a fallen tree. This day, he thought, this day, to me, is what it means to live in Hell. The ash, the blood, the fires, and this battle—I am truly in my element!
As he savored the moment, he heard an enthusiastic shout go up from the front lines and carry back through the legions to his position; the summoned sulfurous wind had suddenly faded and ceased altogether; slowly the blackened veil lifted from the landscape. Adramalik saw more clearly now the two sheets of fire that extended on either side nearly to Sargatanas' camp shimmering into the sky for hundreds of feet. A natural wonder, he thought, so beautiful. It seemed almost like a punctuation to complete his contentment, an ironic gift from his enemy. Moloch's battlefield conjurors must have found a way to counter Sargatanas' invocation. We can match anything he has to offer. We will crush him and his misguided army. And when we have finished him we will punish the wards of his allies.
For some minutes the two armies faced each other and the only sound was of the breathing of demons.
Drawing his saber from its scabbard, Adramalik swung lightly up into his saddle and pulled the reins until he was facing Moloch. You will be the instrument of my goals, Pridzarhim general, he thought, raising his sword in a perfunctory salute to the mounted general. Moloch, barely acknowledging him, cast a command-glyph in his direction and set off at a trot toward the head of the decamping army.
Absorbing the glyph, Adramalik closed his eyes, visualizing its meaning. The battle plan was relatively simple. Massed heavy cavalry, followed by the legions, would punch its way through the middle of Sargatanas' lines, flank them, and return to split them into smaller and smaller blocks. The legions would then engage those pockets of disorganized infantry that fought on as he was certain they would. Having borne witness to Sargatanas' battle with Astaroth, Adramalik had little doubt that the fighting would be fierce.
Around him he heard the thunder of a million footfalls as the heavy cavalry formed up and began to gain speed. He saw the innumerable banners of Dis, surmounted by the Prince's fly-and-sigil device and attached to long lances, lower in anticipation of the final contact. With a word eagerly uttered, glyphs appeared along his sword's tempered length, giving way to white-hot flames. While not even close in power to the swords of the Above, it was still more than most demons could withstand. Adramalik pulled his battalion alongside that of Moloch and off to his left, a few hundred yards away, he could just see that the general had lit his baton and was issuing commands, tightening the formation. He held both Hooks in one massive hand, at the ready.
Looking far ahead between the two camps, the Chancellor General saw what appeared to be a distant wall, low and long, and, he imagined, hastily thrown up. Behind it troops of some kind could be seen scurrying back and forth. Even though they were faintly illuminated by the suspended sheets of flame, he could not tell what kind of infantry they would be meeting shortly.
Moloch cast out the command to pick up speed and suddenly, at his urging, Adramalik's soul-steed was galloping, racing over the ground-skin in huge, bounding bursts. Exhilarated, he watched as the distances between the armies rapidly closed. He could now plainly see the small figures, cowering in fear, he was sure, behind the wall, and to his complete astonishment he realized they were souls. By Abaddon's Pit, this is unheard of! Bringing in dirty larvae to fight against demons! Directly behind them Adramalik thought he could discern a motley array of legions, including a few composed of pike-wielding demons— most likely Sargatanas' phalangites. Is this all that he has brought to face us? The battle with Astaroth and the occupation of his wards must have stretched his resources more than I thought. The phalangites are tough veterans ... but souls? How desperate is he?
As Adramalik and the speeding cavalry drew closer he began to see more and more legions waiting in the wings. Distant and without any demon's sigil of possession, they were concealed within summoned smoke, he imagined with some dismay, so as not to alarm the onrushing forces of Moloch. Obscured by clouds in the far gloom, high above Sargatanas' lines, Adramalik even thought he saw airborne troops, but he could not discern their numbers. And suddenly it seemed to him as if the day might not be won so handily.
* * * * *
With Metaphrax Argastos in command of his Flying Guard, circling overhead, Eligor felt at some ease accompanying Sargatanas to the front. There Eligor's flyers would stay, concealed in the clouds, ready to pounce if and when needed.