Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

"For now, have your brother assume command of your army, Hannibal," said Sargatanas. A command-glyph blossomed above his head like a fiery flower, split apart, and sped off to ten different unit commanders. "We have much to discuss, and I want you by my side for the first leg of our march." Whereupon the Lord of Adamantinarx wheeled his huge beast and, unsheathing the sword Lukiftias, signaled his fellow demons to mount and, amidst the shrill blaring of war horns and the hollow, rhythmic beat of kettledrums, set his army out to face the advancing legions of Moloch. The exultation that Hannibal felt at that moment was in no way dampened by his awareness that he might not return to the city he had sworn to defend. He was, and it would appear always would be, a warrior, and warriors by trade had to be pragmatists; the risks were no different in Hell than they had been during his life. He simply hoped, as he had so many times before, that if Oblivion took him it would find him with a sword in his hand. It was a simple hope, an age-old warrior's hope.

* * * * *

Lilith woke suddenly to the sounds of horns and the deafening flapping of countless wings and banners mingled with shouted orders. She reached the window just in time to see Sargatanas and his lords pass beneath at the head of a large contingent of Foot Guard. They continued down the Rule and then took a turn marching out of sight toward, she guessed, the Fifth Gate. She looked up and saw the gathering formations of flying demons begin to stream in the same direction, following their lord's command like migratory Abyssals answering the imperative of instinct. She watched this gathering of forces for some time, until something made her peer out farther into the darkness beyond the walls. There she could just discern a gathering clot of infinitely tiny figures that she knew must be another army, and she realized that this must be the Soul-General Hannibal's army. Seeing them forming up, she was suddenly overcome with emotion; she realized that this was the army she had always en-visioned, the army she had begun with her little statues, the army for which Ardat Lili had been flayed. But notwithstanding that bitter memory, Lilith recognized that she, with Sargatanas, had given the souls something they could never have had in Hell otherwise, something she valued beyond almost everything—a semblance of free will. It was the beginning of their Infernal emancipation, and no matter whether they won or lost their battles, they were now more than they could ever have been without her efforts.

THE WASTES

The march lasted two full days, during which Hannibal had watched his army carefully, measuring their spirits as they trekked through the umbral landscape. Yen Wang and his Behemoths had been left behind; Sargatanas deemed them too precious to use in this encounter. Well into the second day, winged scouts brought word that a suitable location for their camp had been found, the shallow valley between two long ridges that smoldered with perpetual flames known as the Flaming Cut. When Sargatanas and his staff arrived at the scouts' favored location the demon lord appeared satisfied that the lay of the surrounding terrain favored him.

In his Life Hannibal had seen many eves of battle but only one eve of war. That war had lasted sixteen long years. Here, in Hell, it was no different; this eve of war was as pregnant with possibility, both fearful and glorious, as that one had been in his Life. He knew that conflicts had raged for eons, since Hell had been colonized, tearing away at the uneasy borders of every established feudal kingdom. But while those borders had constantly shifted no demon had ever gained anything that might threaten the hegemony; war, true war that feeds hungrily upon entire kingdoms, had not been permitted. But, Hannibal reflected, all that was about to change.

"Mago," he said, approaching his brother, who was seated, quietly sharpening his blade. "Gather the generals. There is something I must tell them."

Mago hesitated but, seeing that Hannibal would not offer any explanation, set about his task. The Soul-General waited, impatiently. Sargatanas' plan came at a price, and Hannibal was almost as reluctant to relay its details as he was to disobey his new lord.

One by one the souls appeared and stood before Hannibal, anxiously awaiting word of what their roles would be in the coming battle. When he was satisfied that all were present, Hannibal cleared his dry throat.