"I have no other such items at hand," Sargatanas said. "I am sure one will turn up eventually, but not in time for the upcoming battle."
Hannibal looked down, considering the possibilities.
"This is our way ... the demons' way," Sargatanas said plainly, putting a hand to the countless layered phalerae that were embedded in his chest. "There is no telling how it may affect you. I have never heard of this being done with a soul, and so there is no precedent. In all likelihood you will benefit by simply growing a new arm ... that is the invocation I would be using. It would be too unpredictable to attempt to augment your abilities in any way."
"We can give you a short time to decide," Lilith said, "but the allies' armies are arriving and very soon Sargatanas will be departing." She looked toward the demon and Hannibal saw the concern flash across her features. "You will have to decide before then."
Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment and saw the fleeting image of his daughter's face, still fresh from his dream. It would feel like another betrayal of her to accept the Moloch disk. But would it really be one? What would Imilce say? He did not relish the idea of fighting with only one arm, nor could he be the kind of general who stayed behind the front ranks, ordering others to fight. He was in Hell, and to survive he needed every advantage.
"There is no need to wait, my lord and lady. I will accept this." The ashen taste of fear, an unfamiliar taste, tightened his throat.
Lilith put a hand on his shoulder.
"You need not worry, Hannibal. Sargatanas has no doubts regarding the outcome of this invocation."
"Then let's get it over with."
Sargatanas set himself, took a deep breath, and began to intone four phrases four times in a voice comprised of four harmonics:
"Ogiodi Azdra ... Tplabc Zibra ... Rnoizr Nrzfm ... Rplalen Bbemo ... Yolcam Abzien!"
Four large glyphs, simple in form but different in color, appeared and began to circle the Demon Major's head and by the fourth revolution they spread out, two on either side.
Lilith squeezed Hannibal's hand as Sargatanas used the disk's sharp edge to slice open her careful stitches. With a powerful thrust he pushed it deep within the shoulder until it was lodged beneath the soul's collarbone. Immediately the demon spoke one of the four paired words and the corresponding glyph dropped down into Hannibal's open wound, causing a terrible burning that spread throughout his body. The next glyphs brought, in rapid succession, the sensations of drowning in some engulfing, cloying liquid followed by a sudden cracking coldness and finally parching dryness. He saw Sargatanas' lips moving but could hear nothing. Shocked and nauseated, Hannibal retched until his stomach ached. When he was finished he looked weakly at his wound and was dimly amazed that, without stitches, it had sealed itself.
"I chose you well, Hannibal Barca," Lilith said softly. "Your strength is matched only by your courage. Rest now and we will send Mago in to be with you."
She turned to leave, but Sargatanas lingered.
"There is one small thing more." He extended his hand and with his index finger described a flowing pattern in the air above the soul's shoulder, an arcing, actinic line of blue flame that looked, to Hannibal, like a charging animal. The glyph did not fade, and with every slight movement the soul made it moved with him.
"You are the first soul in Hell's long, dark history to have earned his own sigil. It will be a mark of distinction ... of power and protection ... upon the battlefield," the demon said with a touch of pride. And then, as he stood, he added, "You will be needing it in the next days!"
Exhausted as he was, Hannibal managed a faint grin.
* * * * *
Lilith glanced at Sargatanas and thought he had never seemed more preoccupied. He was at once attentive and loving but consumed, as well, with the minutiae of state. He had an army to create—even greater than before—and time was running short. Accompanied by Zoray and a cohort of his Foot Guard, he and Lilith, after reviewing the remaining legions just outside the gates, ascended along the Rule from the tangle of the Acheron's bank-side streets up toward the distant palace. On either side of the avenue, souls and demons alike knelt silently, staring at the two white figures in wonderment.
These were the days that she would long for, Lilith knew, even as, like jewels falling one by one from a broken necklace, they fell away. Though Adamantinarx was in a bustling state of mobilization, she and Sargatanas managed to keep constant company, to go from site to site and watch the mustering city at its finest. Part of her sensed that he was bringing her along not only out of love but also to familiarize her with the workings of the great city. In some place in her mind she wondered if he was grooming her for some role in the city.
Walking next to the demon lord, Lilith found it difficult not to descend into melancholia; the thought of his possible impending loss—through either the attainment of his goal or his destruction on the battlefield—was so daunting. And the third alternative—a hollow victory wherein he simply returned to his city, unfulfilled—worried her nearly as much. She did not want to feel dependent upon him, but that possibility was becoming truth. The pushing and pulling of her conflicting desires—her own admittedly selfish hunger for him against her urge to help him attain his goal—confused her. Perhaps it was just the vapors blowing off the Acheron that had made her so low spirited.
As they entered the palace precincts, a messenger approached Zoray, saluted, and spoke briefly as they walked. When he departed, the Demon Minor turned to Sargatanas.
"My lord, we are still coming up short on the numbers of souls. Mago and his commanders have informed me that they are able to field only nineteen full legions ... not even close to what you had hoped for."
Sargatanas looked up at the sky and sighed. "We need to be ready to march the moment our allies' armies arrive. Begin to take down the buildings."
"My lord ... ?"
"And conscript the workers as well. Mago will know how to integrate them into the soul army. Every soul who survived the Flaming Cut should be put in charge of a new cohort."
"But, my lord, the city's buildings ... ?"
"Are a resource to be used. Start with the domiciles, destroying those within, then the shops, then the bigger buildings, and so on until we have the numbers we need. And, Zoray, use the palace as well."
They resumed walking. Zoray looked confounded.
"My lord ... you are sacrificing Adamantinarx?"
"The city can be rebuilt ... but not with souls. There is plenty of native stone out there to be quarried."
"And the number of souls is to remain as high as you had first said?"
"Yes. We are marching on the capital of Hell, Zoray, not some insignificant ward of Astaroth's."
Zoray nodded and then saluted. Breaking away from the procession, he hurried ahead and disappeared amidst the streams of legionaries that were heading down to join the gathering legions.
Lilith, who had overheard the exchange, moved closer to Sargatanas and placed her hand on his forearm.
"What's to become of the souls who return?"
"They can do as they please ... within limits. Limits that I'll leave up to you. They can build their own cities out in the Wastes or live in what's left of this one."
"Why not decide their future yourself?"
"Because I don't love them the way you do, Lilith," he said simply.
"Not even Hannibal?"
"Perhaps Hannibal," he admitted with a grin.
The party entered the palace, splitting apart, with the Foot Guard and other functionaries leaving Sargatanas and Lilith to head up the giant staircase to his chambers on their own. Without a word they took each other's hands and the gentle, reassuring squeeze that he gave her brought a smile to her lips. The day's great meal was being prepared, but she looked forward to feeding their other hungers beforehand.