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Eligor. I must be beyond careful when facing Astaroth; he taught me so many of my
command-glyphs. Fly to Valefar then, and to Karcefuge as well, and tell them to advance,
to draw up the ends of our line."
With a nod, Eligor took wing and sped over the five legions between the center and
Valefar. He hovered beside the bone-armored Prime Minister, momentarily admiring his
effortless handling of the giant soul-steed.
"Valefar, Sargatanas wishes you to begin drawing up the wings."
"Is Astaroth where we want him?"
"Yes, if he does not alter his position at his army's center he will be enfolded." Eligor
paused, looking out at the chaos of the battlefield ahead. "It will be sad to see him under
these circumstances, Valefar."
"True, but he will survive. I am to escort him back to Adamantinarx on Sargatanas'
orders."
"It will be a quiet journey."
Valefar looked down, frowning. "I had not thought of that."
He shook his head and then, unseating his pike, spurred his mount with the two large
spikes on the insides of his boots, and beast and rider leaped forward. Eligor raised his
hand and waved Valefar on. The Spirits around him were whining, straining to break into
a gallop, and in a few short strides got their wish.
* * * * *
They are advancing too fast, too far. Reckless. What is he thinking?
Adramalik could barely see the rear guard of Astaroth's army as it disappeared across the
gray-olive skin of the field and into the haze, and while Duke Fleurety could have issued
an order to keep up, he seemed disinclined. So began the betrayal. Just as well, reasoned
Adramalik. There was no place for fat upon the bones of Hell. Astaroth, and what was
left of his .army, would be absorbed by the urban body of Dis.
Reports had been coming in since the two armies had engaged each other. Sargatanas'
destruction of his own town a bold move after the Demolishers' elimination had been
a surprise, his ruthlessness commendable. And now, when he could have dashed into the
unknown and attempted to overrun Astaroth, Sargatanas' restraint was proving admirable.
It would be interesting to watch him perform upon this field. The Chancellor General
smiled inwardly; Sargatanas could be an enjoyable opponent if it ever came to it. But for
now, at least, Adramalik knew the Prince had no interest in confronting him.
* * * * *
As he flew back, after conveying his lord's message to Karcefuge, Eligor saw that the air
had grown thick with the gyrating bodies of fighting demons. Both forces had waited
until the sky was heavy with smoke to throw their flyers up into the air, an effort to
conceal their true numbers. In Astaroth's case it was a prudent measure; it seemed he
could not field more than a legion of the winged soldiers, and this he broke up to create
the illusion of greater numbers. But it was this very tactic that spelled their destruction as
Sargatanas' flyers chopped them into even smaller groups until they were no more,
raining their crumbling limbs down upon the combatants below.
Nearing Sargatanas' position, Eligor saw three winged forms drop down around him. He
pulled up and saw that it was an officer a Demon Minor and his aides. They were in a
grievous state, their wings tattered and weapons notched, but Eligor knew better than to
think of them as anything but a serious threat. Even with his many battle-earned wounds,
the officer whose sigil proclaimed him as Scrofur was an imposing demon bearing
massive horns upon his shoulders and dozens of tiny, luminous eyes that spattered his
face like blood-drops.
Eligor cowled the two small neck-wings about his head protectively and slitted his eyes,
studying the two aides for a brief instant. They would have to be dealt with first and
quickly.
He grasped his lance and threw it vertically as hard as he could. The three demons, jaws
agape, stared up at it for just long enough for Eligor to raise his hands and create two
destructive glyphs glyphs that Sargatanas had taught him which he fired into the bony
torsos of the flanking aides. They each looked down in amazement as a livid fiery script
from within burst them apart. With a snarl, Scrofur leveled his halberd and attacked, and
Eligor, with the deftness and assurance of one well practiced, reached out and felt his
descending lance slide into his waiting hand. Dodging sideways, he parried, evaded the
other's strike, and lashed out, feeling his jagged blade tear satisfyingly at the officer's
wings. It was not a painful wound, but it was a telling one. The Demon Minor lurched
and spun as his wings tried to compensate for their sudden loss of effectiveness. He
stabbed out desperately and caught Eligor under his cowl and behind the ear-hole,
chipping the bone and causing him to wince and pull back.
Shaking his head, Eligor twisted back in and determinedly focused on his opponent's
wings, slicing and tearing while evading the hurricane of blows that Scrofur was dealing.
As they fought they both dropped lower and lower toward the battling legionaries below,
who reached up with their pole arms in a vain effort to hook the demons. Ribbons of
slashed wing-flesh gathered and swirled around Astaroth's officer as he tried to stay out
of Eligor's lance's reach, but the inevitability of the fight must have been apparent to him.
Wings beating twice as hard as his opponent's, Scrofur's breath came out in great,
stentorian coughs.
With a move as graceful as it was deadly, Eligor whirled and severed one of Scrofur's
wings at the elbow-joint. Pulling his lance free, he stabbed again at the reeling demon,
thrusting unerringly and deeply into the demon's gaping heart-hole. Amidst a blaze of
ruby light Scrofur began to collapse into himself, shrinking and compacting until he was
nothing more than a hand-sized flattened disk adorned with his frozen face and glowing
sigil. Teeth bared in a smile, Eligor snatched at the tumbling trophy and, holding it tightly
to his breast, watched as it fused to his bone breastplate a permanent phalera imbued
with the powers that had been Scrofur's.
Eligor paused, wings beating slowly, and breathed in deeply. A palpable ripple of
pleasure warmed him, causing him to relax momentarily. As he dropped even farther,
three heavy, hooked pole arms came up to greet him from Astaroth's legionaries waiting
below and he immediately flapped his wings hard, shooting upward.
Dodging knots of winged combatants, he flew back to his lord. The front line had slowly
bowed backward, not, he knew, because of Astaroth's legions'
ferocity but because Sargatanas had ordered it so. The mounted Spirits had curved around
behind the enormous force of enemy legions and were driving them in upon themselves. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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Eligor. I must be beyond careful when facing Astaroth; he taught me so many of my
command-glyphs. Fly to Valefar then, and to Karcefuge as well, and tell them to advance,
to draw up the ends of our line."
With a nod, Eligor took wing and sped over the five legions between the center and
Valefar. He hovered beside the bone-armored Prime Minister, momentarily admiring his
effortless handling of the giant soul-steed.
"Valefar, Sargatanas wishes you to begin drawing up the wings."
"Is Astaroth where we want him?"
"Yes, if he does not alter his position at his army's center he will be enfolded." Eligor
paused, looking out at the chaos of the battlefield ahead. "It will be sad to see him under
these circumstances, Valefar."
"True, but he will survive. I am to escort him back to Adamantinarx on Sargatanas'
orders."
"It will be a quiet journey."
Valefar looked down, frowning. "I had not thought of that."
He shook his head and then, unseating his pike, spurred his mount with the two large
spikes on the insides of his boots, and beast and rider leaped forward. Eligor raised his
hand and waved Valefar on. The Spirits around him were whining, straining to break into
a gallop, and in a few short strides got their wish.
* * * * *
They are advancing too fast, too far. Reckless. What is he thinking?
Adramalik could barely see the rear guard of Astaroth's army as it disappeared across the
gray-olive skin of the field and into the haze, and while Duke Fleurety could have issued
an order to keep up, he seemed disinclined. So began the betrayal. Just as well, reasoned
Adramalik. There was no place for fat upon the bones of Hell. Astaroth, and what was
left of his .army, would be absorbed by the urban body of Dis.
Reports had been coming in since the two armies had engaged each other. Sargatanas'
destruction of his own town a bold move after the Demolishers' elimination had been
a surprise, his ruthlessness commendable. And now, when he could have dashed into the
unknown and attempted to overrun Astaroth, Sargatanas' restraint was proving admirable.
It would be interesting to watch him perform upon this field. The Chancellor General
smiled inwardly; Sargatanas could be an enjoyable opponent if it ever came to it. But for
now, at least, Adramalik knew the Prince had no interest in confronting him.
* * * * *
As he flew back, after conveying his lord's message to Karcefuge, Eligor saw that the air
had grown thick with the gyrating bodies of fighting demons. Both forces had waited
until the sky was heavy with smoke to throw their flyers up into the air, an effort to
conceal their true numbers. In Astaroth's case it was a prudent measure; it seemed he
could not field more than a legion of the winged soldiers, and this he broke up to create
the illusion of greater numbers. But it was this very tactic that spelled their destruction as
Sargatanas' flyers chopped them into even smaller groups until they were no more,
raining their crumbling limbs down upon the combatants below.
Nearing Sargatanas' position, Eligor saw three winged forms drop down around him. He
pulled up and saw that it was an officer a Demon Minor and his aides. They were in a
grievous state, their wings tattered and weapons notched, but Eligor knew better than to
think of them as anything but a serious threat. Even with his many battle-earned wounds,
the officer whose sigil proclaimed him as Scrofur was an imposing demon bearing
massive horns upon his shoulders and dozens of tiny, luminous eyes that spattered his
face like blood-drops.
Eligor cowled the two small neck-wings about his head protectively and slitted his eyes,
studying the two aides for a brief instant. They would have to be dealt with first and
quickly.
He grasped his lance and threw it vertically as hard as he could. The three demons, jaws
agape, stared up at it for just long enough for Eligor to raise his hands and create two
destructive glyphs glyphs that Sargatanas had taught him which he fired into the bony
torsos of the flanking aides. They each looked down in amazement as a livid fiery script
from within burst them apart. With a snarl, Scrofur leveled his halberd and attacked, and
Eligor, with the deftness and assurance of one well practiced, reached out and felt his
descending lance slide into his waiting hand. Dodging sideways, he parried, evaded the
other's strike, and lashed out, feeling his jagged blade tear satisfyingly at the officer's
wings. It was not a painful wound, but it was a telling one. The Demon Minor lurched
and spun as his wings tried to compensate for their sudden loss of effectiveness. He
stabbed out desperately and caught Eligor under his cowl and behind the ear-hole,
chipping the bone and causing him to wince and pull back.
Shaking his head, Eligor twisted back in and determinedly focused on his opponent's
wings, slicing and tearing while evading the hurricane of blows that Scrofur was dealing.
As they fought they both dropped lower and lower toward the battling legionaries below,
who reached up with their pole arms in a vain effort to hook the demons. Ribbons of
slashed wing-flesh gathered and swirled around Astaroth's officer as he tried to stay out
of Eligor's lance's reach, but the inevitability of the fight must have been apparent to him.
Wings beating twice as hard as his opponent's, Scrofur's breath came out in great,
stentorian coughs.
With a move as graceful as it was deadly, Eligor whirled and severed one of Scrofur's
wings at the elbow-joint. Pulling his lance free, he stabbed again at the reeling demon,
thrusting unerringly and deeply into the demon's gaping heart-hole. Amidst a blaze of
ruby light Scrofur began to collapse into himself, shrinking and compacting until he was
nothing more than a hand-sized flattened disk adorned with his frozen face and glowing
sigil. Teeth bared in a smile, Eligor snatched at the tumbling trophy and, holding it tightly
to his breast, watched as it fused to his bone breastplate a permanent phalera imbued
with the powers that had been Scrofur's.
Eligor paused, wings beating slowly, and breathed in deeply. A palpable ripple of
pleasure warmed him, causing him to relax momentarily. As he dropped even farther,
three heavy, hooked pole arms came up to greet him from Astaroth's legionaries waiting
below and he immediately flapped his wings hard, shooting upward.
Dodging knots of winged combatants, he flew back to his lord. The front line had slowly
bowed backward, not, he knew, because of Astaroth's legions'
ferocity but because Sargatanas had ordered it so. The mounted Spirits had curved around
behind the enormous force of enemy legions and were driving them in upon themselves. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]