behind Bezejel
ready to protect her. There was no need. 'You soldiers are a
shambles,' she shouted in a voice that rang with authority. 'Stand
to attention.' The demons snapped to. They were all facing
different ways. 'I know your unit,' she shouted. 'You're the Tower
Guard. Report to your officer and tell him you're for a punishment
detail.' Above and around her the eyes in the hooded windows
watched in silence. 'When you're on duty you don't lose your
concentration. For anything.' The soldiers' faces were rigid. Their
terror was absolute.
'Ready. March. Left,
righ t, left, right.' The troop tramped
off to Bezejel's command leaving their sergeant behind. Bezejel
turned to him. 'Come here and hold out your arms in front of you,'
she commanded. As his arms came up, a puzzled expression on his
face, Bezejel barked out another order. 'Hold him steady.' Gog and
Magog took position to each side of the unfortunate NCO, each with
an arm around his chest.
Bezejel grasped his sergeant's
stripes and twisted the sleeve towards his face. 'You won't be
needing these for a little while, ex-sergeant. Not till you've
learned to discipline your men.' She wrenched on the tough leather
with such force that the stitching ripped at the shoulder and came
away in her hand. Bezejel threw the sleeve on the
ground.
'Turn.' As the terrified creature
turned his other arm towards her she tore
off the second sleeve and threw it behind her.
'Now report to your officer and explain
to him how you came to lose your stripes. Go.'
As the soldier marched away,
stricken , Bezejel looked up at Gog and
Magog. 'An army needs discipline. Total discipline. That's the only
way we'll ever beat the angelic host.'
With that, she turned and strode
away at a ferocious pace leaving Gog and
Magog scrambling to keep up.
As the three of them climbed,
other demons with business in the Tower passed them on the way
down. All gave them plenty of room. No-one spoke to them.
Bezejel finally reached the top of the spiral walkway and
approached the gate of the crown. Huge chain-mailed satyr demons
scrutinised her features and checked her for weapons before raising
their poleaxes to allow her to pass. Satyrs were the highest male
caste in Inferno. They were demons transformed from men, but they
had the strength of large beasts.
Gog and Magog were forbidden
entry to the crown. Bezejel entered
alone. Inside the gate a stone staircase led upwards and outwards
to the external ring room. Here a line of newly-arrived beauties
from Earth awaited their turn in chains to please the Leader. It
would be his pleasure, not theirs. If they failed to please, the
trap doors awaited.
They would have to wait a little
longer this day for the Leader was keen for his meeting with
Bezejel. Unusually keen, for the Leader was accustomed to keep all
visitors waiting a long time. On this occasion however, Bezejel was
waved through from the external ring by his personal female guard
and ushered through two more concentric curved halls into his inner
chamber. This was known as the Oven. Not for its heat, but for the
searing intensity of the welcome that visitors received
there.
She bowed low. Lucifer, Satan, the
Devil. He had many names but in Inferno he was known simply as the
Leader.
She waited for him to speak first, as
protocol demanded.
'Look at me,' he commanded.
Bezejel raised her head and forced
herself to meet his burning eyes. As a fallen angel he was still as
beautiful as he was terrifying. His magnificent wings were works of
art with bright, perfect plumage that shone as if they had their
own light. His face was as if carved by an inspired sculptor. From
any angle his arch-angelic features inspired awe and
devotion.
But it was his eyes that
seized the heart and stopped all hope.
His stare inspired terror in every one of his subjects. There was
no compartment of the mind that he could not inspect at will,
scouring it for any trace of rebellion or independence. The Leader
demanded complete