Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

The outpost, a low, jagged silhouette of broken buildings, was situated between two long, flaming ridges. It was not on any map that Adramalik had seen back in the chart-rooms of Dis, but that, he knew, meant nothing; those floating maps had been drawn and redrawn dozens of centuries ago, and with relations growing strained between the two cities surveyors had not been sent out since. The ridges may not have even been aflame back then. Or, he thought, perhaps this was simply a convenient roosting spot for the abandoned buildings that had been cut from the city and had floated into the wilds.

Adramalik followed as Moloch and the staff entered the empty town. Old weapons, swords, long spears, and hatchets lay about everywhere, some in piles, others strewn randomly amidst the rubble. How old they were or why they had been left behind Adramalik could not begin to guess.

The light wind that had been easy to ignore picked up and grew turbulent, blowing ash in thick swirls that seemed alive in their determination to attack the warriors; some thought they saw the telltale tendrils of glyphs woven into the shifting fabric of the clouds. Aware that the winds whipping in from over his wards might be an artifice of Sargatanas', Moloch's legions took a full day, under the slitted, watchful eyes of their leaders, to pass cautiously through and around the town, flowing down into the valley between the ridges like a dark and viscous liquid. There, as they built their fortified camp, each of them saw the distant lights of Sargatanas' encamped army, a broad and incandescent swath of fires and picket-sigils that stretched into the distant gloom. Flanked by his two Knight-Brigadiers, Melphagor the Primus and Salabrus, Adramalik stared into the carpet of light and tried to gauge the strength of the opposing force but found that it was impossible due to the obscuring clouds.

"They have no idea what they face, Chancellor General," Melphagor said in his hoarse voice, relishing the thought. Wisps of fire flicked at the burned corners of his mouth. "Sargatanas is as misguided as he is indecisive."

"I have seen otherwise, Brigadier. Sargatanas is no mere upstart to be ridiculed and easily shunted aside."

"Yes, and Moloch is no mere general. Are you doubtful of our coming success, Adramalik?"

Adramalik's eyes narrowed. This was no time for the shadow of suspicion to fall upon him. Not with the prize so close. His trust for the Brigadier was significant, born in battle and in the Keep. But trust, in Hell, went only so far, and Adramalik's was a coveted position.

"Not in the least," he said smoothly. "I am simply saying, Melphagor, that while we may have greater losses than the Prince or Moloch expect, the battle's outcome has never been in question."

Melphagor smiled, seemingly satisfied.

A squadron of pinpoint lights, winged scouts keeping watch, banked across the sky over the enemy encampment. What is he planning? Clearly he did not want us near his precious city.

He turned back to the growing camp and was rewarded with the sight of dozens of their own protective picket-sigils blazing to life with a loud hiss. They would not withstand Sargatanas himself but would, at least, slow him down were he to be foolish enough to attack them where they were en-camped. Adramalik looked at the two scarlet-swathed field officers and knew that what he was about to say would appeal to them.

"I want both of you to understand something. Moloch's personal protection is Moloch's business. If he has any bodyguard at all, it is little concern of ours. We enter into this battle for the enduring glory of the Knights of the Order of the Fly, not to further the general's cause. Do I make myself clear?"

The two brigadiers nodded curtly, hands flat to their chests, claws extended outward in salute. Adramalik saw their predictable and savage grins and knew that they would relish spreading the word to all their fellow Knights; there was no loyalty to be had for the ex-god. As powerful as he was, Moloch would have to be very careful indeed to survive an enemy assault upon his person. And survive he might, but the Chancellor General vowed it would not knowingly be with his aid or that of his Knights.

With a decisive victory and some good battlefield luck Adramalik would have his kingdom soon. The Prince's grasp, he realized, felt looser already.

THE FLAMING CUT

"They are out there, my lord, just over that rise," said Eligor loudly over the winds, folding his wings to enter the main campaign tent. Situated on the top of a small hillock in the middle of the camp and denoted by its giant seal, it commanded an excellent view. But exposed as it was, the wind played havoc with its skin sides, creating an enormous flapping sound that was difficult to ignore.

"And the town beyond?"

"No one walks its streets."