"Is he injured?"
"Yes, but it did not seem to cause him too great discomfort. It was but a flesh-wound, deep but not debilitating. He would not let anyone minister to it, though. And there is something else."
"Yes?"
"I saw him the day he returned. His appearance was shifting so rapidly, so awfully, that were it not for his sigil I would have scarcely recognized him. The seraph has never been further from him."
Lilith looked at the throne and shook her head slightly. His misery at Valefar's loss must have been consuming him.
"Is he in his chambers?"
"We think so, but there is no way to be sure. Perhaps you ..."
"If he wishes to be alone then it would not be my place to intrude," she heard herself say with apparent conviction. But Lilith knew what she would do. And she knew where she would look first.
"Tell me of the Soul-General, Zoray."
"He is terribly wounded; Moloch's Hooks dug too deep; he cannot possibly heal himself. On the battlefield he was patched up, but we have not been able to do much more. We have purged and safeguarded the traitorous Baron's quarters and Hannibal now lies within. But he is not well. My lady," Zoray said gravely, "we are not accustomed to healing souls and we are not certain he will survive."
"Then I must go and see what I can do; I have some knowledge of them and may be able to help him." She pressed Zoray's arm and turned away. And then, so as not to arouse any undue suspicion, she said over her shoulder, "Zoray, if he should venture out ..."
"If he should venture out, my lady, you will be among the first to know."
"Thank you, Zoray."
Zoray bowed and she continued down the steps, her bird-feet clicking lightly against the stone. First, she thought, first I must see to Hannibal. But then I will go to him.
* * * * *
Lilith was relieved and pleased to see Captain Eligor outside Hannibal's chambers. Eligor was a levelheaded demon and someone whom she trusted. And better than that, he was a relative expert in the ways of souls. She knew quite a bit about them herself but welcomed his bolstering presence as she entered the chambers.
The room that Hannibal occupied was dark and warm, and as she approached she saw that he lay upon a soft pallet, unconscious and still. Even though Faraii's chambers had been purged and the walls sealed, complex glyphs-of-protection circled at ceiling height, designed to raise an alarm if the Fly in any way attempted to reenter this particular chamber. Lilith passed a solemn Mago on her way to his brother's side. Leaning over the Soul-General, he examined the wound that had him so close to destruction. His entire shoulder and arm, attached to his torso only by the crude field-glyphs, had been peeled down in thick strips, the result of the multiple prongs of the Hook, which lay by his side. It was huge and she picked it up by its thick handle with difficulty, turning it in both hands and noting how the moving light of the glyphs overhead played upon its diamond recurved prongs. As she placed it back upon the table with a loud scrape she noticed, lying in shadow, the large, round disk that had been Moloch. She ran a finger over its blotchy surface and withdrew it quickly. She knew that it was inanimate but somehow, whether real or imagined, she felt a malevolent energy emanating from within. She hastily turned to Hannibal. The soul's torso was open and she could easily see the very large black scab that ran from his neck to his hip. That was good, she thought. It had probably been the only thing that had kept his fluids within him. She would have to remove that and clean the wound beneath, but she knew that whatever she did, he would lose his arm completely; the glyphs apparently healed demons but were not effective on souls. The Arts Curative were not very highly developed among demons, but as she was careful to distinguish, she was no ordinary demon. She had known human beings from their own beginnings.
The arm was already shriveled and useless, the black, slow-moving blood having entirely drained away. She imagined that the organs within his chest must still be vital enough for him not to have been destroyed on the spot. The viscous blood in souls she knew was present only to keep the body flexible; it had no other properties that any demon had ever been able to discern.
"Mago," she said haltingly, "he will lose his arm and a part of his shoulder as well." She did not easily speak the common language of the souls, and it always sounded harsh and percussive to her ears.
Mago rose and stood by her, watching her pulling gently on Hannibal's skin, gauging just how she would stitch him up. She unrolled her little kit of tools and selected a sharp little knife—her favorite carver. With this she deftly sliced the few remaining ropes of skin that had kept the arm attached to the torso.
"Eligor, if you would," she said, pointing to another larger knife with a blackened finger.
Silently, they worked off the scab and immediately saw the black fluid begin to seep quickly, dangerously, from Hannibal. Lilith put the knife down and picked up a needle she had also brought from her chambers and quickly threaded the thinnest sinew into it. As Eligor pulled the gray skin taut, she began to carefully stitch the two flaps together. She knew that this was less than an ideal solution and that she would have to seek out someone with more knowledge of soul anatomy and the Arts Curative than herself.
Her stitches were very fine, close, and tight, and it took longer than she wanted to work her way up to Hannibal's neck. As she worked she realized just how much she had invested in this soul; not only was he a capable general, but he also had a profound potential to govern his kind. In fact, she would do whatever she could to help him do just that.
Eligor was told that as she closed the gaping wound he could gradually release Hannibal's skin. When Eligor could completely let go he stood back and admired Lilith's deft finger-work; he commented that her stitches were so precise that he could barely see the sinew, and when she finally tied the tiny knot at the soul's neck and straightened to look at her handiwork she was smiling faintly. No fluids seeped from any point, but just to be sure she uttered a single word and traced her finger lightly over the seam. It vanished completely.
"Now, that should do. I can do nothing for the damaged organs. We shall have to see how they affect him."
Eligor nodded and turned and saw Mago, the hope written upon his face.
"He will mend, Mago," Eligor said fluently and convincingly in the souls' tongue. "The loss of his arm will be a problem only for a short time. Considering what souls are used to here, his problems will seem insignificant."
Lilith was looking at Eligor with a raised eyebrow. "That is a skill I did not know you had, Eligor."
"What? Lying?"
"No, Eligor," she said gently. "From what I could tell, you were reassuring. I meant speaking their tongue. It is very difficult."
Eligor looked pleased. "I have made them a focus of study, my lady."
"So I have heard. Once again it is clear to me that Lord Sargatanas has chosen his staff with great care." Lilith replaced her knives and rolled her tool-blanket, carefully tying the skin ribbons that held it together. She looked once more at the soul. His features were as strong as his will. He must have been quite a force to reckon with in his Life, she thought. And then, in an odd way, she realized that she was proud of him. In Hell, he was her finest creation.
Lilith turned to Eligor and looked up at him. For a moment she looked deep into his silvered eyes.
"I want to go to Sargatanas, but I am sure that I cannot find the way. Will you take me?"
There was the briefest of hesitations.
"But, my lady, he is certainly in his chambers."
Whether Eligor knew his lord's whereabouts and was simply protecting him as was his duty or truly did not know Lilith could not be sure.
"No, Eligor, he most certainly is not."