Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

at the front of his troops and dropped down to the ground as the demon lord and his retinue drew close.

Hannibal had been warned that his souls, now mobilized as an army, were not to be permitted within the walls of Adamantinarx, and so he dutifully drew them up some distance from the towering gate. There they re- formed into parade squares facing the legions of demons that poured out of the city and the Soul-General had to applaud their discipline for not breaking and running at the sight of it.

Sargatanas stepped up to Hannibal and looked up and down the front ranks of soldiers, nodding approvingly.

'So what I have heard is true, Hannibal,' he said. 'It appears that you have done a fine job of assembling and organizing your army. Their numbers are far greater than I would have expected. Many said it could not be done.'

'Thank you, Lord,' Hannibal said, bowing his head. He was proud of his ability to levy such an enormous host.

'It is time now, perhaps prematurely, to test them against an enemy who is both strong and bold. But I have been giving their usefulness some thought, and this I will discuss with you as we march.'

'March, my lord?'

Looking up at the demon's shifting countenance, at his spark-nimbused head, Hannibal could feel the radiating contagious mixture of determination and excitement. 'At this moment the formidable Grand General Moloch, the Imperial Mayor of Dis, is himself headed toward us with a handpicked host whose sole purpose is the destruction of me, my court, and Adamantinarx. I will not meet him here in the shadow of my city so that he may divert our efforts with his siegecraft. It is my hope to pick where and when we will meet him.'

Hannibal's chin dropped suddenly.

'My lord ... ,' he said with eyes closed, a quaver in his voice, 'the general's name? What did you say his name was?'

'It is Moloch.'

The Soul-General remained still and Sargatanas looked intently at him, reading him.

'The same, Hannibal,' Sargatanas said softly. 'This battle will be important for both of us.'

For a moment the demon and the soul stood facing each other, the unspoken emotions passing between them.

'We will prevail, Hannibal,' Sargatanas said. 'Everything must change eventually. You, me ... even Hell.'

As he spoke, Hannibal saw the legions part and a column of light mounted soul-beasts emerge from the city, padding quickly toward them. Watching the Spirits approach in precise formation, Hannibal felt a twinge of envy; leading his beloved Numidian cavalry had been a special thrill for him, and he knew that there would be no such similar joys for him in Hell. And yet as he watched the first of the cavalry pull up he saw a decurion put the reins of a smaller mount—an Abyssal—into the hands of the Spirits' commander.

Sargatanas raised his hand acknowledging the approaching mounted demon. 'Lord Karcefuge has had this mount prepared for you; he had it captured recently, thinking it inappropriate for a general not to have a proper mount in battle. I agreed.'

Tribune Karcefuge sat nearly fifteen feet above Hannibal upon a saddle of ornately carved bone that had been impaled into the huge soul's back. He leaned down and offered Hannibal the reins.

The creature, unlike any he had seen, was half the height of the other steeds but still towered over the demon foot soldiers; Hannibal looked forward to it affording him a superior view of the battle to come.

'Thank you, my lords,' Hannibal said, beaming. 'It is an unbelievable gift, a gift beyond my hopes. But what kind of creature is it?'

'We call them qirial-pe-latha ... skin skippers to the Waste dwellers. It has been trained to answer to 'Gaha.' Its name means 'Cub of the Wastes' in our tongue.'

Unlike the tough-hided soul-beasts, its body was encased in the broad, almost gaudy silver-black scales characteristic of so many Infernal species, scales that Hannibal knew were both flexible and tough. Low spines adorned most of the plates' edges, growing into a short, spiky mane around its shoulder girdle. Its front legs, more like thin arms, were considerably shorter than its rear pair but nonetheless gave it a lithe and quick look. Arching away from its narrow shoulders, its neck supported a vertically flattened, heavily beaked head equipped with two yard-long daggers, which curved downward dangerously from its bottom jaw. Four tiny red eyes stared at him, watching him warily, and when he extended his hand and said, 'Gaha,' it pulled back, emitting an odd hissing chatter.

Encouraged by a nod from Sargatanas, Hannibal walked to its side, grasped the thick stirrup strap, and took hold of one of two strangely placed projections on the newly made saddle and climbed atop the creature's back. His knees fit perfectly in front of two strangely placed projections, and he guessed that he would sit very securely if the beast reared. With a grin, Karcefuge handed him a sparking crop. Tapping the beast's plated haunch with it, Hannibal brought Gaha around to face the demons. The smile was unmistakable upon his face; it had been so long since he had ridden. The demons were right; a general should be mounted.

'Ride him with care, Soul-General,' Karcefuge said. 'Gaha may have a few surprises for you on the battlefield.'

'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.

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