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vortex of steam. A messenger approached him, and Hannibal could not help but hear their
conversation.
"Lord," the trooper said breathlessly, "I have just now come from the border. Lord
Astaroth has launched a massive attack on our western margin."
"Is there any evidence of support from the Prince?"
"No, Lord."
"Our losses, so far?"
"Demolishers are eating away at the buildings on the edge of Zoray's Thirty-fourth Ward.
Lord Astaroth's reconnaissance was good; with no true resistance there he has made
substantial gains."
Sargatanas waved the trooper away and then turned to the massed soldiers.
"Legions," he shouted, his voice like a pure trumpet, "the first move in our campaign has
been made for us! We are at war!"
And Hannibal heard a martial cheer spring from thousands of inhuman throats and rise to
the heavens, a cheer as he had never heard before.
After conferring for a moment, Valefar turned away from his lord and looked back at the
soul. The Prime Minister was shaking his head, an expression upon his bone-plated face
that seemed amazed.
"The fruits of your boldness come sooner than you could have imagined, soul!" he
shouted through the cheers. "Hannibal Barca, you are now a general in the active service
of his lord Sargatanas, Brigadier-Major of the Armies of Hell, Lord of Adamantinarx!"
Chapter Fifteen
ZORAY'S THIRTY-FOURTH WARD
The flight to the border with Sargatanas, Faraii, and Valefar had been quick and easy.
War had been imminent for some time, and Sargatanas had had his chosen troops in place
long enough for their camp to be well dug in. Upon landing, Faraii headed off to join his
Shock Troopers, while Sargatanas and Valefar joined the staff that had gathered beside a
conjuring pit. Eligor, wings twitching in anticipation, volunteered to reconnoiter and
chose six flyers from the Flying Corps. They took to the air and, after a few dozen wing
beats, Eligor realized just how much he enjoyed being in his lord's service at a time as
important as this.
Looking down through a heavy mist upon the remnants of the border outpost, Eligor saw
Astaroth's Demolishers chewing their way through the remaining low buildings. Broad-
backed and flattened, each slow-moving creature was, in reality, hundreds of souls
compressed together to form nothing more than a giant mobile digestive tract. Myriad
enlarged mouths bit off large sections of soul-brick wall and masticated them into pulp.
Eligor saw the ruddy haze kicked up by the destruction and the long, straight reddish
mounds that trailed behind them, the excreted remains of processed souls. The mounds
extended for hundreds of spans, all the way back, he guessed, to the edge of the ward.
The slickened ground they left behind was scoured and bloody, smooth and featureless.
The lower he and his half-dozen lightly armed scouts flew, the more distinctly he could
see the buildings twisting upon their foundations in a futile effort to protect themselves
and hear them crying out. When he had witnessed Demolishers in the past, Eligor had felt
a sort of pity for those soul-bricks, mostly, he thought, based upon their complete
defenselessness. The wailing only heightened this.
He flew on until he spotted the carpet of slowly marching soldiers that was Astaroth's
army. Glyph-commands sprang up from its officers, guiding the Demolishers, opening
the front so the legions could advance. Eligor counted twelve full legions but due to the
mist could not find any evidence of Astaroth's Flying Corps. The more Eligor peered into
the concealing clouds, though, the more convinced he was of their presence.
Eligor turned his flight back toward the massed legions of Sargatanas' advance army. A
virtual legion of fleet mounted decurions had been dispatched with utmost haste to the
region's lava-fields to conjure an army as quickly as possible in immediate defense of the
distant ward. They had been marvelously successful; arrayed like a vast checkerboard,
they only awaited orders to march on the invaders. Eligor knew that, once engaged, these
few legions would serve as a delaying force until Sargatanas could bring his approaching
ground army to bear.
Eligor descended and swooped in low over the legions, seeking his master's personal sigil
amidst the many glowing unit commanders' emblems. He found the glowing emblem
and, beneath it, his lord standing next to his mount discussing the terrain with the
Decurion Primus, a scarred, battle-hardened commander named Gurgat. The one-armed
veteran seemed just as interested in Eligor's findings as his lord.
"It is just as you thought, my lord," the Captain of the Guard said. "The town of Maraak-
of-the-Margins is almost gone. Its inhabitants are scattered. A full dozen Demolishers
have seen to that. Behind them is Astaroth's entire army; he is gambling everything on
this move."
"He feels he has nothing to lose," Sargatanas said gravely, shaking his head. "We must
show him that, in fact, he has everything to lose. Gurgat, rouse the legions. I have orders
to issue. It is finally time for this to begin."
The Decurion Primus mounted a waiting soul-beast and trotted off. Already shrill horns
could be heard. Sargatanas turned to Eligor. "I want my old friend Astaroth taken alive,
Eligor. I have said as much to Valefar and Faraii as well. It is the least I can do for him.
But as for his army, it must be annihilated to a demon."
"I understand, Lord."
* * * * *
A red, permeating blood-haze from the Demolishers hung low and heavy above the
glistening rubble, making it difficult to see their looming forms as well as their relentless
progress. Only Astaroth's protective guiding seals hovering over them could be seen
easily, each slowly growing as they drew nearer. Eligor could hear the siege creatures
masticating their way through buildings and streets alike, the cacophony of their thousand
jaws mingling with the sound of crumbling walls and the diminishing cries of the bricks.
The metallic tang of the pulverized souls' blood upon the hot air reached Eligor's nose.
The winds were, largely, heading obliquely to them; otherwise they, like the landscape
before them, would have been stained red from the mists.
Eligor looked at Sargatanas, who stood, impassive, as if rooted to the ground. His
unblinking eyes were fixed upon the vaguely seen Demolishers. The plates of his face
shifted, reconfiguring his visage into a rigid series of bony planes, barbed and heavily
textured. Where there had been eight eyes only three remained, and these were mostly
hidden behind protective sclerotic armor.
"Enough of this," he said softly, almost to himself. "They are close enough."
Sargatanas raised both hands and a blue effulgence grew between the floating horns [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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