Hannibal excused himself and moved to speak with Mago and the other gathered soul field marshals. He had much to work out with them, and once again Eligor admired Hannibal's calm under such pressure.
As Eligor approached, he saw the pale form of Sargatanas with Put Satanachia—a five-pointed starburst of flame above his head—standing just to one side. The two were so similar in their height and bearing, the stamp of their rank, Eligor knew, but Sargatanas' intensity was nothing at all like Satanachia's more open nature, the latter's personality more closely resembling Valefar's. Certainly, Eligor realized with self-reproach, Sargatanas had changed within most recent memory, gone from being more composed to being more closed, a creature of deeper introspection. Such were the enormous pressures he had created for himself; such was the burden of the decision he had made. But even sympathetic to that, Eligor had to admit that he missed the Sargatanas of old, the attentive mentor of millennia past.
Eligor saw Satanachia's Glyph-caster, the flamboyant Demon Major Azazel, in deep conversation with the two principal demons. Like most Glyph-casters, he was an especially ornate demon, crested and frilled in thin spines and stretchy membranes and like Eligor hued a brilliant scarlet. Until Satanachia's arrival, Sargatanas had never used a Glyph-caster, choosing to issue orders himself upon the field, but given the vast size of this army he had bowed to his new ally when he had offered him the specialized and exalted talents of Azazel. Eligor, knowing the value of such a generous gift, was more than content to defer some of the responsibilities of messenger in favor of one so well equipped.
Satanachia acknowledged him with a lifted hand as he stepped closer. All three saluted in response and then turned to look out at the dark swath of sigil-crowned officer demons.
Upon a signal from Sargatanas, Azazel flared to life, covering his body in a hundred Demon Majors' sigils and raising his new lord's in a fiery vertical column high above him. The newly reinforced, newly dubbed Second Army of the Ascension, massed behind their commanders, rose thunderously as one and lit their countless unit-glyphs. Eligor's eyes widened at the sheer number of them, at the legions nearly beyond count that extended into the darkness of the night.
"Was there ever so magnificent a sight in Hell ... or the Above, for that matter?" Satanachia remarked.
"It is impressive," agreed Sargatanas.
"Impressive? This," Satanachia said, waving his hand at the expanse of soldiers, "this is power beyond anyone's wildest imaginings. Only the Fly commands numbers like these. I envy you, Sargatanas, envy you because I did not think to do this myself millennia ago." He paused, smiled to himself, and said, "You know, I actually think Lucifer would approve."
"Do you?" Sargatanas' voice lowered, but Eligor was close enough to hear him nonetheless. "The idea of going against his delegated proxy ... it felt as if I were going against him. I am still his loyal warrior no matter where he is."
"As am I, old friend," Satanachia said with conviction. "I would not have joined you in this if I had thought otherwise."
Sargatanas turned and took in what was left of his city. His eyes settled, Eligor saw, in the direction of the enormous fire-topped statue of himself. Now, with so many varied structures no longer standing, it, as well as all of the other giant statues that dotted Adamantinarx, stood out oddly, seeming somehow naked without their covering of buildings.
"Amazing how this all could have started because of the souls," he said almost to himself.
"The War in Heaven?"
"And the War in Hell."
"They are ceaselessly difficult." Satanachia stared at the fields where the souls waited. "I think they have much to answer for."
"Yes, and so do we regarding them," Sargatanas said. "When Lucifer rebelled I do not think there was one among the Seraphim who dreamt that we would find ourselves so enthusiastically meting out their punishment."
Sargatanas grew silent. Was he thinking of the past, of the life from which he was trying so hard to extricate himself, of his own treatment of the souls— of Lilith? Eligor could not guess.
Sargatanas turned abruptly and said to Azazel, "Your first order, Glyph-caster: we march at Algol's zenith."
Azazel bowed ceremoniously and immediately the sigils that hovered inches above his body began to transform, each quickly growing an attached order-glyph, which peeled away from him and sped into the night air.
"That is not too long from now," Satanachia said, looking at the angry star.
"My Conjuring of Concealment was successful. ... Eligor's Flying Guard, as well as your own, will not be visible to the Fly or his defensive glyphs. At least not for the initial assault over Dis."
Eligor's head turned at that and he caught Sargatanas' knowing grin. He had been foolish to think that he could eavesdrop if his lord had wanted it otherwise. And Eligor felt privileged to know that it did not trouble Sargatanas that he had heard.
"There is little for me to do now other than roam the empty halls of my palace," Sargatanas went on with a disingenuous sigh.
"Oh, the tragic demon!" said Satanachia gravely.
Sargatanas' grin broadened. It was, Eligor realized, an exchange such as his lord would have had with Valefar, and it gladdened him. It seemed that, now that the weighty decisions had been made and the day of departure was now upon them, Sargatanas had reverted to his former self. None but Satanachia— or Valefar himself—could have brought him back.
The demons turned as one as a low, incongruous peal of laughter came from the souls surrounding Hannibal, who clapped his only hand upon the back of one of his generals. Hannibal looked past his staff and saw the demons' reaction and, as if to make amends, without hesitation knelt and withdrew his sword and saluted. The gesture was taken up by each of his generals. In answer, the demons spontaneously unsheathed their own weapons and saluted, eliciting a deafening roar of approval from the army at their feet. It was an unrehearsed moment, a moment of undeniable potency, precipitated by the Soul-General, and Eligor immediately recognized its value. It was the kind of moment every general dreamt of.
"Hannibal is an inspired general," Eligor heard Satanachia say as the din died down. He sheathed his sword. "You chose him well."
"I did not choose him; he chose me. With Lilith's help. And you are right. He leads the souls as if this were his own rebellion."
Satanachia looked again toward where the still-clamoring, sigil-less soul army stood.
"What will become of them?"
"Truly, Satanachia, I do not know. Their fate is no clearer than my own. And they know it."
"Given that, their bravery is commendable."
"Their bravery is a measure of their hope and desperation," Sargatanas said. "Again, not unlike my own."
"And what of Lilith's future?"
"Lilith is more than capable of deciding that for herself. It is what she wants more than anything."
"Not more than you."
Sargatanas took a deep breath and Eligor saw his head tilt skyward, his eyes reach into the clouds above.
* * * * *
Hannibal found it odd that he could feel so at peace with Hell that he could laugh and relax with his troops and even look forward to the battle ahead. It was almost as if the dark clouds had parted and the golden sun of his life was shining upon him, not the cold, dispassionate rays of Algol's bloodshot disk. Whatever had caused his shift in mood, it barely troubled him; he had come so far that even if he was destroyed attacking Dis, his would be a name demon and soul alike would remember. It was more than he could ever have hoped for and, in the end, all that he had truly received in his life.