The Heart of Hell Page 3

  The ice sheet was like a living thing, cracking and buckling and sending rumbling groans and creaking screams into the frigid air. As they shuffled along, the party no longer took notice of the sounds. At first, when they had entered the Frozen Wastes, they had been startled, looking about anxiously when they heard the sudden cries of the ice, their apprehension at the sounds’ origins manifold. But, after so long on the ice, they had grown so accustomed to the sharp sounds that none of them flinched. Adramalik noticed that they had not, however, grown used to the enormous apparitions that floated before them mere yards from the ice’s surface, tendrils wavering and forms distorting as if in the throes of a body-stretching torture. Conjured by the moaning wind of the dark ice particles that settled restlessly upon the sheet’s surface, they seemed to follow the party, to shadow their steps. It was impossible not to notice the faint traceries of glyphs that twined within them and Adramalik worried that, perhaps, the ice-cloud apparitions were less a natural product of their surroundings and more some kind of thaumaturgic sentinels sent by some unknown demon lord. But, he reflected time and again, there was little he could do to influence them and so he and the other demons tried to ignore them.

  Even as the blue star stayed fixed, strangely never rising or setting, Algol dipped slightly in its shallow traverse of the darkening blue-gray sky as the Knights moved slowly toward their promised goal. Adramalik had told them many times about Pygon Az, the Black Ice City. Their enthusiasm for the stories had, like a carcass being bled, drained away long ago when the realization of its distance and the hazards reaching it had set in. It was a place in which the Grand Master had spent considerable time and that he had regarded more as a punishment than an abode, and this sentiment had unintentionally seeped into his description of the city. But the logic of the far-flung capital’s choice as a favored destination was irrefutable. With its former ruler, Lucifuge Rofocale, long gone, it seemed to Adramalik perfect as a safe haven and, more important, ripe for a political takeover.

  The party crested a low rise and watched a flight of Ice-shears slowly flap off, their sharp, distinctive honking filling the cold air, their glowing spots all that remained visible as their forms faded into the sky. As the demons’ eyes followed the Abyssal flyers, in the distance they saw the marker that Adramalik had found so long ago. He hoped that none of the Knights could sense the almost palpable relief he felt upon seeing it once again.

  Split in two huge pieces, the floating wedge-shaped stela was crusted upon its windward side in a thick layer of gale-burnished black ice. Below was another stone wedge, inverted, with its pointed edge thrust deep into the ice. Joined only by the brilliant blue connective sigils of Rofocale, it, and the dozen others like it, served as a boundary marker delineating, in this case, the southernmost edge of his bleak territory. As with all such markers, it served also as a catalog of sorts, a listing of the founding demon’s exploits in war and peace. While its form was simple in contrast to the markers Adramalik had so frequently seen outside Dis, it was impressive nonetheless for its remote location.

  The party drew nearer the twin stones and Adramalik, whose eyes were especially keen, began to read aloud some of the inscriptions. They were ancient, compelling words and he wanted the Knights to hear them and to know whom their former lord, Beelzebub, had so easily dispatched.

  “‘I, Lucifuge Rofocale, Demon Major Lord of Pygon Az, Bearer of the Order of the Fly, Grand Marshal of the Severing Blade, upon having descended in my Fiery Glory from the forsaken Above and established these borders of my Realm, have captured and imprisoned those miserable native creatures that call themselves Salamandrines numbering in the tens of thousands, and thus have I made safe the lands surrounding my great City.’”

  Adramalik paused. The Knights were staring out into the ice beyond the rise.

  “Something is out there, Grand Master,” Demospurcus said evenly. Adramalik heard nothing in his voice to belie fear. They had all seen enough of what the Frozen Wastes could offer to be neither surprised nor concerned.

  “Something is always out there,” Adramalik said. “I think this one has been following us.” He turned back to the floating boundary marker. Lucifex had separated himself from the party and was slowly making his way to the buried portion, the radiance of its glyphs edging him in brilliant blue.

  “Ever the one to lead the way, eh, Demospurcus?” Adramalik said, nodding toward Lucifex.

  The Knight grunted. As the most recently inducted Knight, Lucifex was both the least experienced and the least cautious of the remaining Order Knights. Adramalik had marveled that he had survived this long. And because of his relative inexperience he had become something of problem to them all. Even now, Adramalik saw how the others looked to him to see if he would call the young demon back, but instead, shaking his head slightly, he resumed reading.

  “‘I, Lucifuge Rofocale, Demon Major Lord of Pygon Az, upon having Descended in my Fiery Glory from the forsaken Above and having established my capital—’”

  A deep groan reverberated beneath their feet, lingering as a vibration that made each of them simultaneously look down into the ice. Adramalik thought he saw a shadow darken and shift, but he could not be certain. He pursed his lips and continued, “‘… and having established my capital upon the river Lethe, have, by crushing a million Souls, erected a Great Temple unto Lucifer the Lost to honor him and keep his memory vivid. And upon having erected this Great Temple in Lucifer’s memory I sacrificed to him those tens of thousands of captured Salamandrines that served me as workers and, as further tribute, I used their blood to paint the Temple black.…’”

  From the corner of his eye Adramalik noticed that Beleneth and Chammon had drifted a few paces away as if to follow Lucifex’s rash example.

  They do not share my interest in this place. How could they? They lack the foresight. I saw what Rofocale was trying to do with his canonizing of Lucifer. And I know how it outraged Beelzebub. He forbade me ever mentioning it. But I remembered.

  He took a deep breath to call them back when the ground suddenly jolted and he heard a sound like a thousand giants’ bones cracking. With an earsplitting roar, a giant form burst upward from beneath the ice sending massive frozen chunks and demons alike into the sky. Before he was able to attempt any protective glyphs Adramalik was knocked roughly to the ground by Rahab, pinned momentarily by his flailing body.

  What Thing has the Wastes disgorged?

  He heard the other demons’ cries as, one by one, they smashed back onto the ice.

  Was it drawn to my guiding glyph from below? Did it follow us all this way? Stupid to have used it!

  A rain of jagged ice shards tumbled upon him as the enormous, bellowing creature pulled itself free from the tunnel it had opened.

  Like some terrible nightmare-statue come to life it was huge, dark, and shiny and along its bony flanks were the strange glowing markings that resembled glyphs but were not the forms of letters. Steam, born of the warmer habitat beneath the ice, poured from its heaving sides as it angrily shook the chunks of ice away from its spined and beaked head. Adramalik saw the massive floating claws it had used to burrow its way to the surface reattach to its paws, the unknown magic of their disarticulated anatomy amazing and intimidating. He had never seen such a large ice dweller; to him no two Abyssals ever seemed quite alike, but this one was exceptional. What birthing pit of a hellmouth is spewing out these nightmares?

  Adramalik pushed Rahab roughly off him and scrambled to his feet, trying to determine the whereabouts of each of his Knights. Of those who had been thrown into the air, only Chammon was on his feet and he was barely visible behind the great beast, while the others were just regaining themselves. Suddenly, to Adramalik’s amazement, he heard laughter. Turning back toward the marker, he saw Lucifex, sword aflame, madly charging the creature. Of course! Imbecile! Instead of sending out a protective glyph for all of the demons, Adramalik was forced to cover the impetuous demon’s pell-mell charge with a lesser, individual
glyph.

  Fool! This creature is too large for any single demon to take down, let alone one with so little experience!

  As if it had read the Grand Master’s mind, the Abyssal pulled its hind legs free of the tunnel entrance and spun toward Lucifex with a roar and a hooked paw, effortlessly sending him sprawling and sliding on his belly across the ice. The glyph had held. Had Adramalik not acted with haste, the demon would have surely been destroyed. Irritated, he turned his attention to the other Knights. Each was now standing, weapon in hand, and with a quick command glyph he ordered them to form a circle around the creature. The demons responded quickly, sliding into positions roughly equidistant, and he shot out a shielding Glyph of Protection that covered them from above but allowed them to wield their swords. He joined them and, as one, they drew their flaming swords and began to advance confidently, tightening the cordon around the beast.

  When the Knights were a few dozen paces from the creature, Adramalik saw it reach for two heavy chunks of ice from the tunnel’s edge and purposefully hurl them at Chammon and Vulryx. Both demons twisted away from the missiles as the ice boulders crashed into and were boiled away by the defensive glyph barrier, but the Knights’ posture changed somewhat. As they crouched, their movements slowed and the Abyssal took advantage of this to bombard them each with ice boulders. Seeing that it could not penetrate their shield, it began to throw chunks at their feet and each demon found he needed to melt a path with his sword, sending disorienting clouds of vapor into the clear air. It was, Adramalik thought, no stupid creature.

  Nonetheless, the cordon tightened. As the demons slowly approached it, the Abyssal drew up and ceased pawing for ice chunks, seeming, for an instant, to be appraising the situation, seeking out potential weaknesses in its adversaries. And it found none. The flaming red swords of the Knights, now being waved almost tauntingly out before them, seemed to confuse it, and instead of charging in any one direction it hunkered down, bristling its many spines in some kind of defensive posture. It let out a very deep rumble.

  Upon reflection, Adramalik was never sure what the creature did next to cause so much mayhem. As he and his Knights came within swords’ distance of the Abyssal it seemed to puff out a cloud of impenetrable darkness, a billowing shadow so dark one could only just see the glowing markings on its flanks. From within that cloud, accompanied by the creature’s echoing snarls, came a whirlwind of blows, a phalanx of disembodied claws that catapulted three of the demons far into the air and out of the fight. From the corner of his eye, Adramalik saw their stunned forms lying on the ice, motionless. At least their ashes are not upon the wind!

  With his protective glyph ring disrupted Adramalik saw each standing demon hurriedly light his own weaker defenses, intricate, sizzling webs of glyph charms that each had crafted through eons of individual combat. Demospurcus, shrouded in red-violet ribbons of writhing glyphs, raised his sword overhead and, roaring, charged into the unnatural darkness. Adramalik saw the ribbons fade into the shifting shadow cloud and then saw only his flaming sword rising and falling, stabbing and slashing. For a moment he hesitated, debating whether he should follow the Knight into the cloud, but then, as he watched, the sword swung in a long curve, ascending upward in an arc higher and higher and then higher than any wingless demon could jump. And suddenly, without warning, the great head of the Abyssal thrust out of the dark cloud and there, high above and dangling by one leg, was Demospurcus still flailing his sword at the beak that held him aloft.

  Adramalik leaped forward, taking wing, and with sword extended hurled himself at the massive head. He had hoped to distract the monster into dropping Demospurcus, but instead the razor-sharp beak snapped fiercely shut, clipping the demon’s leg off at mid-calf and sending the shrieking demon plummeting to the ground, a trail of ash emanating from the wound. The Grand Master knew he would only be able to deal with the urgency of a wound as grievous as that if he could quickly dispatch the Abyssal. He aimed for the creature’s eye socket and plunged his sword deep into its pallid eye and into the orbit behind. Clinging to the bony head, he gritted his teeth as the animal roared in pain and tried to dislodge him, shaking its head until the demon found himself briefly hanging by his sword hilt. Adramalik flared his wings and, pulling backward, yanked the sword free, leaving a smoking, bubbling wound that sprayed him with bitter fluid. Without hesitating he raked another eye with the fiery blade and then, with the fight gone out of it, the animal reared back into the dissipating cloud of darkness. Through the veil of shadow, Adramalik saw it frantically search for the hole it had sprung from and then, finding it, claw its way back down under the ice. Its whimpering cries faded quickly as it retreated into the caverns below.

  Descending hurriedly, Adramalik fell to one knee before Demospurcus and quickly laid his hand on the demon’s leg. Though the wound was not fatal, it was serious. Its gathering ash had eaten its way nearly up to the Knight’s knee and the Grand Master found that he needed no fewer than three battlefield glyphs to stop its advance. He crouched there for some time, waiting for the other stunned Knights to regain themselves. At first, only Lucifex and Vulryx joined him, the former looking serious and contrite. Adramalik did not acknowledge him.

  Slowly, on unsteady legs, Rahab and Beleneth joined their brethren gathered around their fallen comrade, a mixture of relief, exhilaration, and anger written upon their tired faces. It was clear that Demospurcus would not perish, but it was also clear that he would be a burden until they could reach Pygon Az. When Adramalik rose, each knew that they would not halt during their journey until they were within the walls of the Black Ice City.

  Adramalik looked at Lucifex pointedly. “He is your responsibility, Knight. See that he makes it to Pygon Az alive. Let him perish and I will prove to you that I do not care if I lose two demons.”

  The Knight nodded gravely and carefully gathered up the barely conscious Demospurcus, pulling him with some difficulty onto his back.

  The demons set off, moving more slowly across the ice because of the demon-encumbered Lucifex. Countless times Adramalik saw him nearly fall only to quickly catch himself with a well-placed foot or an outstretched arm. Gradually he found himself letting go of his anger toward the Knight and his impulsiveness, realizing pragmatically that he had so few fellow demons from Beelzebub’s former court that it would be foolishness to ostracize or humiliate any one of them.

  The party crested a ridge and saw the bend of the river Lethe, silvery against the dark ice. Beyond, the jagged spires of Pygon Az appeared, the city’s black towers seeming to grow from the very ice of the Wastes, its fires tiny pinholes of glittering light that outlined its walls. The umbral clouds of an ice storm hung in the skies overhead and, as the demons felt the first pricks of shard-fall, it descended upon the city, obscuring it until only the fires winked through the shimmering curtain of ice.

  Slowly, ice shards plinking noisily on their armor, they made their way to the city’s giant gates. They were almost as large as the gates of Dis, itself, and were coated in frozen stalactites of black ice. The demons stood before them, gazing up and panting. Over the shard-fall, the billowing sound of the giant blue-flamed braziers atop the walls greeted their ears. From beyond, there were no sounds.

  “These gates and walls are huge, Grand Master,” Chammon said. “Who could they possibly be defense against out here?”

  “Abyssals?” Adramalik ventured. They had not been erected when he had last visited the city. To his knowledge, Abyssals did not attack settlements. “Walls are never a bad thing … except when one is trying to breach them. I am sure we will soon find out why they are here.”

  With that, he pounded with the pommel of his sword upon the slick surface of the gate, and moments later, without inquiry from within, the massive doors parted and the demons entered Pygon Az.

  3

  THE WASTES—EMBER FIELDS

  With every hissing footfall, Lilith and Ardat Lili dislodged a hundred flakes of glowing ash, tiny embers that rose weightle
ssly in a glittering wake behind them. And yet with every step that took them away from Adamantinarx, Lilith wondered why her sorrow did not diminish. She had known, in her heart, that Sargatanas was going to succeed, had known he would be torn from her forever. Part of her was angry with him even as she had told him she would not be. She cursed herself for not having learned from her experience with Lucifer just what parting from Sargatanas would feel like.

  It was a hollowness beyond her imagining.

  Lilith stepped easily through the ash. Her bird feet gave her a distinct advantage over her companion as they crossed the stinging Ember Fields. The ground layers of thin tissue, burned, flakey, and easily disturbed, were hard on Ardat’s feet, but, deep in her own thoughts, she said nothing. Punished by the Fly for doing Lilith’s bidding, Ardat had escaped an eternity worse than most in Hell. When she had spoken of it, and that had only been once after awakening from a dream of blind terror, she had told Lilith what it had felt like to be suspended high above the Prince’s Rotunda, a peeled skin devoid of rational thought. Her mind had been eaten away, emptied, and the very few thoughts she had had were flighty and chaotic, echoing the flies that had surrounded and penetrated her.

  Lilith kicked her feet through the smoldering embers, certain she would never be able to repay her handmaiden for the evils she had endured. She only hoped that she could always be there for her when the nightmares came.

  The faint roar of a firestorm could be heard and Lilith knew that shelter must be found. The Ember Fields would become alive with whirling pillars of incandescence within which they would never survive. The pair pressed on toward a distant rocky outcrop, a dark oasis in a sea of radiance. They would rest there until the storm passed, huddled beneath their makeshift Abyssal-skin shelter.

  Just as Lilith’s feet gained purchase on the volcanic rock the first winds began to press her garments against her. She turned to help Ardat up onto the rocky shelf and saw the concern in her face. Having traveled from city to city solely with the heavily protected caravans, Ardat was less than experienced in the wilds of Hell, whereas Lilith’s time spent in the Wastes before the Fall had taught her much about survival that even the demons themselves did not know.