Lord Azanth was presiding over a council of war at the castle of the demon Psarfell and if any of the seven nobles present found there was something comedic in the presence of a Tupperware box at the head of the table, they were wise enough to conceal their amusement. The meeting was nearly at an end, with consensus having been reached that they should march to the coast in order to rendezvous with Lady Sylandt’s fleet, when a bone demon entered and bowed low.

‘What is it?’ muttered Psarfell, a corpulent, red-skinned horned demon.

‘Lords, ladies, forgive the interruption but I thought you would want to know: your enemies have been seen approaching Yallis Gap.’

‘How many?’

‘A hundred mounted troops, five hundred on foot with spears, axes and swords, another hundred archers.’

‘Not enough to storm the Castle of Silver Tears,’ Psarfell interlocked his sharp-nailed fingers and rested them on his large stomach. ‘Let us change our plan to remain here and withstand their siege while our allies come to us.’

Lady Jandalanu bared her fangs, ‘Let them have the castle. We should unite with Lady Sylandt’s fleet and then confront our enemies.’

‘Let them have the Castle of Silver Tears!’ Psarfell’s voice rose an octave and he nearly fell from his chair. ‘Certainly not. I haven’t been loyal to Lord Azanth all this time to see my collection of the finest wines in fifteen planes fall into the hands of those angel lovers.’

Tedious were the voices that then were raised, many of them overlapping. Only after the hubbub of debate had died down did Lord Azanth address them all.

All servants out!

Alone with his nobles, Lord Azanth broadcast to them. There is a tide in the affairs of demons, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Either waiting in this castle, passively watching; or retreating and surrendering the castle, is to let the tide pass us and suffer on its turn. Let us instead take this news as an opportunity to surprise our foes. I propose we march upon them. We prepare to leave in the morning and make it known we are going north to the coast.

No one responded and Lord Azanth continued, In fact, we shall go east and then take the south road in a forced march to bring us to the foothills through which the enemy will be making their way. There shall we ambush them and determine the fate of this war.

‘They outnumber us two to one,’ protested Psarfell, ‘we are much safer waiting here behind the walls of this castle. It is almost impregnable. The cement is made with the tears of the broken hearted.’

Consider. Currently, the majority of demons favour our cause. Disgusted by Lady Liseth’s dalliance with Earl Clarence, those who were neutral at the time of my fall are inclined to make their peace with me. Yet should the news travel far and wide that I am trapped here and under siege then I feel that the momentum will move to the other side and that it will be Lady Liseth who attracts the demons who think only of themselves (and let us admit, that this accounts for most demons). There are times when caution is the least safe option; times when the risk of battle is more likely to see us all to safe and long-lasting rule of our dominions than the passivity of caution.

With a sharp sound as her hand struck the table, Lady Jandalanu said, ‘Lord Azanth is right! Trapped here under siege, we could not even be sure that Lady Sylandt would continue to consider herself our ally, let alone those with greater reservations.’

In his former role as the most senior noble on the Seventh Plane of Wickedness Lord Azanth would simply have issued the order to march and dismissed the council. His decisions had been unopposed and final. Here, perhaps because he was a crisp, or perhaps it was because he was less than half their level, he had to put up with the frustrating experience of everyone present taking the liberty of expressing their opinion. It was an inefficient way to arrive at an agreed course of action and Psarfell, in particular, required much persuading. Even so, Lord Azanth controlled his impatience until at last his plan was agreed.

Well and good. We assemble in the courtyard at dawn. Tell no one outside of this room our true destination.

***

Demon Lord Geoffrey ‘the Racoon’ was smirking as his infantry shoved the carts of Lady Zantha off the path and occupied the best route down the valley towards the fields that had been designated as their army’s campsite for the night. The previous night, Lady Zantha’s troops had occupied the only flat terrain and were adjacent to a stream that had become horribly polluted by the time it reached the rest of the army, uncomfortably arrayed on the slopes. Lady Liseth, his liege, had been furious at the disrespect shown to her by Zantha. But what could she do? Only Level Three and with her main allies deserting her, Lady Liseth had to tolerate this snub.

Well, now the boot was on the other foot. And although officers of Lady Zantha’s supply carts were shouting complaints and cracking their whips, the pass was in the hands of Lord Geoffrey’s infantry and they were making sure his army were going to be first to the campsite.

All of his soldiers were delighted to be one up on those who had mocked them the previous night and they almost ran down the hill, such was their eagerness. They were singing too, their most popular marching song, and Lord Geoffrey was feeling merry enough to join in.

Where did he go? Where did he go?

When he was overthrown? He was overthrown!

Down to the abyss? No! He’s a crisp!

Shame on Lord Azanth.

Shame on Lord Azanth.

At Lady Liseth’s say so.

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He became a potato.

This mood of good cheer among his troops meant that they lent an eager hand to the pitching of tents. Long before the rest of the army would come up, they would have their food cooked. Lady Liseth would dine in comfort this evening and Lord Geoffrey looked forward to her approval.

***

How far away is the rest of their army? Lord Azanth asked Lady Jandalanu, whose riders were the scouts of the allied army. He broadcast his question, so that the other lords nearby would also hear it.

My scouts assure me that at least an hour of hard marching would be required for them to arrive here.

Lords and ladies of the Seventh Plane of Wickedness; my trusted allies. We must be bold. This is a situation which, as my human friends would put it, must be taken on the half-volley. Now is not the time to halt the march of our army and form up for careful manoeuvres. A direct attack is called for and our trumpets must sound it within the next few minutes. Fortune, it is said, favours the bold. Well, be bold. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Order your ranks. Charge these tents. And when victory is assured, do not fall to looting and feasting on the corpses. We must re-form our ranks and win a second battle today.

In a matter of hours, we can secure the plane for my cause. And my cause is your cause. All the territories and souls of the defeated lords and ladies will be ours. Do not doubt you will be well rewarded for your deeds this day. My name is Generosity.

With several cheers and expressions of agreement, the leaders of the army returned to their troops, those at the rear hurrying their soldiers to catch up and fall in behind the front ranks. As the army marched past him, carried by his Chief of Spies, Lord Azanth cast Rush of a Prawn Cocktail Crisp, buffing them with Haste, Strength and Physical Attack.

It was thoroughly satisfying to lead an army once more. And to make a difference to the outcome of battle. No longer was he the tank-breaker, but Lord Azanth found that the compensation of being a support class who made a genuine contribution to the success of the battle was considerable. His level was too low to make much of a difference to a duel between high level Players but it was not too low to contribute a small amount that was multiplied by the number of troops in receipt of his buff.

By the time he had exhausted his mana pool, the scent of prawn cocktail lay heavy in the air. It was the scent of victory.

From the rear of the army, Lord Azanth watched as his allies crashed through the camp of Lady Liseth’s army like a tsunami rushing upon the shore. Utterly unexpected, the clash of metal on metal and the screams of the wounded soon were drowned by cries of panic. Those who attempted to rally the defenders were cut down. Tents were collapsed. And hundreds of bewildered demon soldiers were captured before they’d even armed themselves.

To the credit of his own officers, the troops were kept in hand. Of course, there was a certain amount of looting and trophy hunting. But the mood of his army was not over-confident. They knew a second battle faced them. Several of the enemy had escaped on horse or flown off. Lady Liseth would soon know that her enemy was near. And she would also know that she had lost her vanguard.

As he was carried through the wreckage of the enemy camp, Lord Azanth sensed the warmth and flavour of stew that was still cooking.

Have our troops eat and fortify themselves for the battle ahead.

***

The sun was still above the hills when the banners of Lady Liseth’s army came into view. Their enemy was still deploying, bodies of riders and infantry were sending up clouds of dust. For a few moments, Lord Azanth considered the consequences of a direct assault. But no, the enemy front lines were formed up, with blocks of archers at the ready. Survivors of the massacre of their vanguard must have alerted them some time ago.

Instead, Lord Azanth decided they would draw up their own formation, with the steady but overly-cautious Psarfell at the centre and the impetuous Lady Jandalanu on the left flank. Hers would be the decisive charge once the armies were engaged. Having explained his thoughts to the demon lords and ladies – and having had to clench his crisp body with irritation at the tedious discussion that subsequently ensued – Lord Azanth took a position near the centre.

‘My lord, a message from Lady Zantha.’ Two demon halberdiers stood either side of a small, lithe Rogue in leathers.

What does my cousin say? It had been no surprise to Lord Azanth when his cousin Lady Zantha had joined his enemies. They had always despised each other. It was a surprise, however, that she would send a message to him on the cusp of the decisive battle.

Lady Zantha offers to withdraw from this battle; her one condition being that you allow her to leave unpursued and retain all her lands and castles.

I will grant this, on proof it is not a ruse. Have her deliver Lady Liseth to me, or her head.

The messenger nodded and Lord Azanth indicated to the guards to lead her away.

Do you believe her? His Chief of Spies still carried him at her chest.

Lord Azanth thought about this. There were dozens of reasons to mistrust his cousin. And yet she was no fool. She would be well attuned to the mood among the demon nobility of the Seventh Plane of Wickedness and know that it had switched from support for Lady Liseth to an acceptance of the return of Lord Azanth.

On balance, I do. It would be entirely in her character to betray an ally as battle begins. The demand we made of her, though, might be beyond her. We must prepare for a difficult battle. Bring me to the front lines.

With his mana pool almost empty from buffing the army, Lord Azanth had been concentrating on the soldiers in his immediate vicinity when cheers from further away broke out.

What’s happening?

They are surrendering, replied the Chief of Spies.

It was true! Ahead, the banners of the enemy troops were being thrown to the ground, along with their weapons. Some of the soldiers were running, streaming back up the hillside. Lord Azanth was filled with a sense of relief as much as delight. Even though he had maintained a confident demeanour throughout this crisis, he was too well aware of the fickle nature of battle to have been sure of success.

Even better, trussed face down and bound to a horse, Lady Liseth was being walked towards them by three soldiers in the livery of Lady Zantha.

Psarfell’s spearmen moved aside until the horse with the captured Lady Liseth came to a halt in front of the Chief of Spies.

‘Is Lord Azanth here?’

I am.

Your cousin, the Lady Zantha, fulfils your condition.

So I see. Cut down Lady Liseth and you may all leave. Tell her I will honour our pact.

A crowd gathered and Lord Azanth was aware of the presence of his allies, who had hurried over to watch.

Lady Liseth, your cause is lost, Lord Azanth broadcast for all within range to hear, I possess tremendous power to make your life miserable. I can be a tool of torture. I can humiliate and hurt. But I would rather have you out of my thoughts in remote exile. Come with us and secure the surrender of all your followers and instead of a life in chains, you will have the tower on the Island of Scarlet Dreams to live in. What say you?

Lady Liseth looked up. I accept. Somehow you have turned the demon world against me. Though you are but a crisp. I acknowledge my defeat and I know I will never recover from this humiliation. Nor will my supporters forgive me when you take their lands from them and give them to your own. Nevertheless, I will be able to make them see reason.

‘Long Live Lord Azanth!’ A nearby sergeant began the call and soon the sky was echoing that sentiment, roared by an entire army who no doubt looked forward to months of feasting at the expense of their enemies.

Hoisted onto the shoulders of a pit demon, the Chief of Spies held up his Tupperware case and while there was something unsatisfactory about this, Lord Azanth found that all the same he was very much enjoying this moment of victory.