The Rotunda contained only a single demon in attendance to the Prince. Sitting cross-legged in the blood before the flesh-throne was Faraii, and as Adramalik approached him he could see that something was not quite right about the Baron. Motionless, still clad in the dark and tattered garments he had worn on the battlefield, he made no move to indicate that he was aware of the arrival of the Chancellor General and the ex—Prime Minister. Adramalik narrowed his eyes as he looked at the seemingly oblivious figure, as he began to more fully appreciate the extent of the Prince's plans for Faraii.
Adramalik stepped closer to the throne and knelt down on one knee while Agares squatted nearby in what had to be an uncomfortable position. The Battle of the Flaming Cut had changed things; a degree of subservience was now demanded of him that had never been necessary before. He was unsure whether this new requirement would remain in place even after his ongoing punishment subsided. As the thought crossed his mind a jolt of withering pain sliced through; they were fewer these days but no less intense. When it subsided he looked up and saw the headless body of Prince Beelzebub seated atop the rotting pile.
A muffled howl arose from deep beneath the bowels of the Keep. The Watcher had been unusually restless these past few weeks, Adramalik thought. Was it a portent, some sign of impending disaster? The dying sound reverberated through the Rotunda, creating myriad concentric ripples in the puddles. He looked back at Husk Faraii, who gave no evidence of having heard the sound; instead a familiar buzzing now seemed to be emanating from within him. Adramalik noticed a large pool of saliva gathering inside the gray-blue Husk's slackly opened mouth. Due to a slight tilt in his gaunt head, the saliva began to drop in a slowly lengthening rivulet from his mouth until it touched his thigh.
As Adramalik watched, he saw a few flies appear inside Husk Faraii's mouth. Emerging from within, they perched for a moment upon his lips and teeth and then took wing, rising higher and higher until they were directly over the shoulders of Beelzebub's waiting form. An improbable number of them began to issue forth, a steady stream adding layers of solidity to the featureless head that was forming and then, once the last of them was in place, refining itself into the Prince's countenance.
Without preamble, as the last flies were settling themselves, the Prince asked, "What is noble here in Hell?"
"Nothing, my Prince," Adramalik said. "Nothing can be noble in such a place. You have always said that nobility has the stink of the Above."
"And yet ... and yet somehow Sargatanas can create the illusion, through his actions and aspirations, of nobility?"
"No, my Prince."
"How else can you explain, then, the sudden flocking of allies ... important allies ... to his side?"
Adramalik paused. Whatever he thought, he must tell Beelzebub what he needed to hear.
"They are weak and stupid," Adramalik ventured. "They are cleaving to him because they think that aligning themselves with a new, defiant power in Hell will bring about a chance to topple your court. They do not care at all about his 'cause.' "
"Well, Adramalik, there
The words hung in the air. Adramalik looked over at Husk Faraii and saw that the saliva had pooled upon his thigh and was now slowly dribbling downward. Agares, too, was staring at him.
"Dis is now deprived of Moloch's standing army; it is ash upon the winds as we speak. My Great Summoning Pits are, for the moment, impotent ... my conjurors sit idle at their edges, waiting for them to bestir themselves. But I am sure the same can be said for him; it will take some time for his allies to gather their armies. It was nothing short of genius for him to use his souls."
"It was
"You speak of 'angels' and 'abominations.' Just where do you think you are?" asked Beelzebub.
"But to use them as he does is to become as dirty inside as they are."
