The Heart of Hell

by Wayne Barlowe

  “No. We are here to demand our freedom and see what terms we can work out so that our two peoples can live alongside one another. That is all.”

  “That is a lot and nothing at all. Your people already live harmoniously with us. Many in our city. Here.”

  “As second-class citizens. We have no leaders equal to yours governing us. We want more.”

  Eligor looked back at the city. His hand tightened on his sword hilt.

  “‘Here’ will not exist for much longer if you will not help. And then where will your petition for freedom get you? I daresay you will not get what you want from that god-thing.”

  Boudica audibly sucked in air as she stiffened.

  “Everything comes at a cost, Boudica. Especially freedom.” He raised his sword. “We demons tried our bid for freedom eons ago in the Above and look where it landed us.”

  Boudica looked toward the city. He was right. But this was not the souls’ war. Or was it?

  She took a deep breath and turned to the souls around her.

  “It seems that our freedom from the demons is to be bought with some of our lives!” she shouted. “We are being told that unless we fight that host out there, alongside demons, there is little or no chance for our own nation, let alone our eternal existence. We came here to negotiate and now we are being asked to fight. For them. With them.”

  She let that all sink in. And she waited for her words to spread.

  “I leave it to you all. But I think we have little choice. What say you?”

  She looked toward Eligor, who met her eyes clearly and without guile. She sensed the urgency in him and felt, despite the fact that he was a demon, a sense of indebtedness to him. He had raised her from oblivion and she could not forget that. And he seemed a demon of character, even nobility.

  Whether the souls were answering their innate, base selves and the urge to shed blood or they recognized, politically, that the situation called for them to join the battle for Adamantinarx, their response came in a huge wave of shaking weapons and cries of, “Fight!”

  She looked out at the sea of souls, saw their answer, and turned to the waiting demons.

  Eligor was smiling fiercely.

  “Thank you, Boudica.” He absorbed a series of incoming glyphs. “You have become more than Sargatanas could have ever imagined. Or hoped for.”

  Boudica did not know how to respond to that. She bowed her head slightly. After all, that demon lord had consigned her to becoming a brick, even as he had ordered her freedom.

  Eligor’s wings opened and the other demons behind him rose into the air.

  “Where shall I send my troops?” Boudica’s steady voice belied her apprehensions.

  “The Seventh Gate … do you remember where that is? The fighting is still heaviest there. Other wards are nearly equally at peril, but the Proconsuls both feel that if we break the siege there we may have a chance.”

  “I do remember. The Proconsuls?”

  “Put Satanachia and Lilith.”

  She unconsciously put her hand to her necklace. Eligor could not have missed it.

  “Know this. I will keep watch over you and your souls, Boudica. I will not let them perish needlessly.”

  She raised the sword he had presented to her long ago in salute.

  And he was off. She watched him fade into the clouds and then turned to her army.

  Raising her swords, she cried, “Follow me!”

  * * *

  He sensed Abaddon moving up from the rear of his army. He would soon be in the thick of things. And then the Heretic’s city would fall. The fighting had been far more difficult than Adramalik had imagined. The counterattack by the city’s Flying Guard had been a real mauling, but eventually his Abaddim had prevailed and the ground lay thick with the winged enemy. And perhaps, too, it was the addition of the souls. While they were destroyed easily, they were much quicker than he had remembered and they harried his Abaddim from within buildings, a cowardly tactic that he disapproved of. It had forced him to waste valuable troops on the demolition of many of the smaller buildings hugging the wall and beyond.

  But now he was making steady gains and the fact that they were nearly halfway up most of the main avenues of the city—halfway to that accursed Central Mount and its gleaming palace—was something he could point to Abaddon as real and promising. The battle for Adamantinarx was far from over. The real resistance would come when the Demons Minor had been destroyed and whatever Demons Major were left to defend their palace came into their own. Experience had taught him to never underestimate cornered Demons Major.

  Adramalik dismounted, glyph-staking his steed inside a partially demolished building. He pulled his two axes from his saddle and stalked confidently onto the ruin of the avenue called the Rule.

  The twisted and cleft bodies of souls lay amidst the ashes and broken remnants of demons and he trampled both underfoot without a second glance. When he felt something alive beneath his horny clawed foot he pressed all the harder until it gave way with a crack or a scream.

  Any fleeing or resisting demon or soul whom he encountered alive he cut down without even trying. They were exhausted and he was not. And he was, he had to admit to himself with a snarl, an indomitable force of destruction. He would see this city broken and bleeding and forever his vassal.

  He followed the Rule up its gentle slope, passing collapsed and smashed shops, massive toppled statues, and piles of Abaddim cadavers. The ground had not been given up easily. And he had no idea what Abaddon would make of the losses. As long as he survived, he did not care. So far, he thought, he had acquitted himself well.

  A dozen demons leaped from behind a pile of rubble. One, a Demon Minor, flashed a glyph at him and it stung momentarily, angering him. He piled into the demon with both axes flying and made a point of chopping away each limb before delivering the fatal blow as the demon lay on the pavement. The others attacked him en masse and were dispatched with a single blow each. This is almost too easy!

  He did not even bother to scoop up the vanquished demon’s disk. What possible use did he have for it?

  As he turned back to ascend the avenue, a strange sight met his eyes. Seven females, clad in white, weapons extended, faced him. One he knew immediately.

  “You!” she spat, her red eyes wide and flashing.

  This was almost too good to be true. Adramalik felt himself getting aroused by the very sight of her. It would be nothing at all to destroy her bodyguard, for certainly that was what these other demons were. Then he could take her, perhaps have her right on the avenue before Abaddon appeared. His chest swelled in anticipation.

  “Yes, it is me, whore to the Fly. From your million yesterdays and your million tomorrows. You have no idea what I will do with you for eons to come.”

  “He is mine.” She squared off with him, the huge white sword held out. That sword, he thought, looked familiar.

  She waited, her hands moving the blade almost like a lure, the tension in her stance obvious. He towered over her, naked, dripping with souls’ black blood, fire wreathing throughout him, embers ablaze on his face. And yet she seemed not in the least intimidated by him.

  He spun suddenly, powerfully, both axes outstretched, and, for a moment only, he thought he could take her by simply smashing her into unconsciousness with the sides of his axes. It was a good move, a move he had practiced many times. A move that did not work.

  She was very quick. Perhaps, he thought in a flash, those feet were what enhanced her agility. He felt her blade slice lightly into his side, deeper than he had been hit ever before. He leaped back, grimacing, sparks flying from his nostrils.

  He said nothing, did not even feel the wound to see how deep it really was. Instead, he spat on the ground at her feet, a look of utter contempt on his face.

  He watched her white hands change her grip slightly and she dropped the point of the blade, providing an open target of her chest if he chose to go for it. But he did not go for the obvious blow. He dropped his
axes nearly to his sides, an echo of her movement. His own invitation. He circled her slowly, like a predator and she pivoted deftly with each of his steps.

  He took her in, licking his lips as he studied her face, her eyes, her lips, the horns on her head, the full breasts beneath her ivory skins. She was panting, slick with sweat and Abaddim blood. A crooked smile split his face.

  Lilith raised her blade, dropped it again and then lashed out toward his head with a blindingly fast move. The smile had worked. Too easy! He dodged that slice, feinted to one side, crouched, and hurled himself toward her with a great arcing of both blades. He swept her feet out from under her with the flat of his blades and she twisted in midair trying to regain her balance. She fell hard but did not lose her grip on the white sword. With one hand she held the blade out to parry any blows that might follow.

  Adramalik saw the white-clad female warriors crouching, their eyes darting, blades at the ready. What were they? Succubi? One of them looked familiar, almost like one of the playthings his Knights had shared. It did not matter. They would be destroyed soon enough. He expected an attack from them the moment Lilith was out of the fight, whereupon he would easily take them on and litter the ground around her with the ashes of her companions. It would be an enjoyable way to complement his capture of Lilith.

  He closed on her, one ax held up, one leveled at the former Consort. He smashed the upraised sword away. She rolled, but his ax hit her solidly on the side of her head. She spasmed and lay still.

  And just as he had predicted the succubi lunged toward him. He dodged two of them, but the others were quicker and their blades found their mark on his legs and arms. One jumped onto his back, clawing her way up and putting an arm around his throat.

  Adramalik roared, dropped an ax, and tried to get the arm locked around his neck free. It was surprisingly powerful. He felt a blade begin to painfully saw away at his armored throat, quickly working its way between the plates and finding his windpipe. Shocked, he thought to summon up a Glyph of Protection, but the world around him was growing dim and the words could not easily come to his lips. He felt things in his throat snap, cut clean through. The pain was sublime and he watched in astonishment as a geyser of black blood spouted from his mouth. He dropped his other ax, reached up to pry the arm away, and immediately felt three blades stab deeply into his belly, carving downward until, revoltingly, he felt his bowels bursting outward, his genitals hacked away.

  Is this how I die? At the hands of filthy succubi?

  He swore.

  And then nothing.

  26

  ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON

  Boudica saw the huge demon fall in a dark, dense cloud of ash as she rounded a corner. Her army had encountered only sporadic fighting as it had negotiated the streets and plazas and avenues of the city’s flank. Only when they had approached the ward containing the Seventh Gate had the fighting begun in earnest.

  Eyes wide, she took in the tableau of the Sisters standing, blood dripping from their crooked blades, turning to kneel around the demon she had met on the parapets of Dolcha Branapa—Lilith. She gave orders to the souls to form a fighting perimeter and ran to join the Sisters, pushing her way next to them. They looked at her only briefly, saw her anguish, while one of the succubi held Lilith’s face in her hands, looking for any sign of life.

  Lilith’s eyelids fluttered and the reaction was immediate.

  “Back to the palace!” the succubi shouted.

  Boudica ordered a hundred heavily armed souls to surround the Sisters as four of them carefully lifted Lilith and began to move up the avenue. But then something caught her eye. It gleamed dully in the pile of ash that had been the great demon lord. A disk! She reached down and hurriedly swept it up and followed the departing Sisters.

  One of the Sisters looked at her, the tension written upon her face.

  “I am Araamah. Who are you?” the succubus demanded.

  “Boudica, leader of the souls.”

  Araamah’s eyes alit on the pendant of Lilith.

  “Come, if you want.”

  Boudica was torn. She could remain at the head of her army or accompany Lilith back to the palace. In a moment that she knew swirled with import, she elected the latter, delegating command to one of her captains. Lilith had been her Light through all of her long millennia as a slave. She could not abandon her now no matter what the souls might think.

  She turned and followed the Sisters up the Rule, stepping over the dead and dying, through windblown hummocks of ash and rubble. It was slow going and the confusion of the soul army flooding down to fill in the gap left by the retreating Sisters did not make it any easier. Up above, surmounting the Central Mount, she could see the palace. She had never been there. It would have been unthinkable. As a slave, she had glimpsed it vaguely, a very long time ago, through the fire and ash, and wondered what it looked like, what treasures lay within, and who resided within its forbidden confines. Now events were leading her there and she almost felt as if she were dreaming. None of this felt real.

  They continued laboriously up the inclined avenue as demon flyers screamed overhead, their heads fiery, their scythes bloody. She took a moment and glanced back from where they had come. Something was happening down there. The darkness had gathered and something huge was making its way into the city, knocking down a section of wall and then buildings. It frightened her more than anything she had ever seen in Hell. Shaking, she turned away and busied herself climbing and lending a supportive hand to the Sisters when she could.

  They finally arrived at the great, marble staircase that led directly to the Palace Plaza. Here the going was easier. There were no bodies or piles of rubble to work around and the simple repetitive rhythm of the stairs made carrying Lilith predictable and a bit easier. The din of the battle diminished somewhat and she heard the Sisters whispering among themselves. Were those prayers?

  Another female demon, one who looked very similar to Lilith, waited at the top of the stairs, a look of terrible pain written upon her face. She rushed to Lilith’s side as the Sisters lay her down on some hastily provided skins.

  Boudica saw Lilith’s eyes open.

  “Where am I?”

  “The Palace Plaza, Lilith,” Ardat said quietly.

  A terrible look crossed her features, one of both concern and pain.

  “Adramalik?” she said, spitting out the name.

  “Destroyed,” Araamah said. She smiled, showing her tiny pointed teeth. “We finished what you began.”

  A faint smile crossed Lilith’s face that lingered until she saw Ardat, holding her side.

  “Why are you out here? You need rest. And to be safe.”

  “Something made me come out. I guess I could not stand being shut in like that.” She looked out over the dying city. “It … the city … it is falling.”

  Lilith propped herself up. She looked at two of the Sisters, silently asking to be lifted to her feet. They knew better than to refuse.

  She stood and Boudica saw her take in the full measure of what was happening to Adamantinarx. It was a spectacle of destruction. Great billows of smoke rose from every quarter; flames licked the sky. Command glyphs soared and flying demons banked and attacked. Battle cries rose from the streets. And then she looked toward the great darkness that approached. The darkness Boudica had so feared.

  She turned and faced them. Her eyes turned to Boudica.

  “You. You came to help us. Why?”

  Boudica nodded and looked down. The necklace made the words easier.

  “Because once you believed in us.”

  Lilith walked slowly to her and folded her arms around her.

  “I do still, Boudica. It has not always been easy.”

  Lilith drew away and shook her head.

  “The city is falling. Somewhere out there Satanachia is fighting for it, along with Eligor and the rest. And I feel powerless to stop it from happening. The need is great to…”

  Boudica saw a strange look com
e over Lilith’s features.

  “The … need … is great.”

  Lilith turned again to the vista of the burning city and turned back again.

  She began to whisper a phrase and immediately a pinpoint of azure light glowed before her, growing in intensity, separating until myriad pinpoints had formed tiny glyphs, which in turn coalesced into a winged being of Light the like of which Boudica could have never imagined.

  “Legate,” Lilith said almost breathlessly.

  The being’s corona flared, the sigils within it pulsing.

  “Legate, do you have the disk?”

  The Legate slowly nodded once. It produced the disk as if from thin air. It floated out in front of it, red and gleaming.

  A huge thunderclap rent the air and all gathered turned as one and stared out at the abomination that was Abaddon, fully revealed and wreathed in red lightning. The ground shook and buildings near the god toppled.

  Boudica looked up and saw Eligor drop down and hurry over. He looked haggard and harried and bore more than a few minor wounds. One eye was missing. He carried a severed Abaddim head, which he angrily tossed aside.

  “The city cannot endure this for much longer, my lady. Can anything be done?”

  Instead of answering, Lilith addressed the apparition.

  “Legate, the … need is great.”

  The being nodded again. It regarded Lilith for a moment and then spoke in a voice that resonated like chimes.

  “The need is great. And so shall be the sacrifices. A being of True Light must be created.”

  “How? From what?”

  “From those you love.”

  Lilith’s eyes hardened. “But why?”

  “The sacrifice must be real.”

  Lilith frowned.

  “But my lady. Hannibal!”

  “Hannibal be damned. He will have to find his own way to redemption! Or destruction.”

  She looked at the Legate, the fierceness apparent in her eyes.

  “Who?”

  “A demon. A soul. And myself.”

  That last caught Lilith by surprise.