The Unwaba Revelations: Part Three of the GameWorld Trilogy

by Samit Basu

  King Zibeb had not anticipated having to wait so long; he had not expected the Dark Tower to respond so quickly and efficiently to the Artaxerxian betrayal. The first jinn attack had been remarkably successful, but the Dark Lord had hidden reserves; a hidden tributary of the river Abet had solved Izakar’s water problems, and asurs from Taklieph had brought supplies of food through underground tunnels from the north and west. The Red Queen had rallied the forces of the Dark Tower against the jinn; gargoyles and pazuzus had battled them in the air, and asur blacksmiths, after extensive foraging through ancient halls full of plunder from Xi’en and two nights of intensive, magic-aided weaponcraft, had produced large quantities of jade-tipped arrows that burned holes in jinn spirit-skins and sent them screaming back to their controlling sorcerers. And three nights after Angda’s rescue the Red Queen, with Alpha Laakon and his werewolves, had launched a daring raid on the Artaxerxian camp, crossing the ravian lines through an underground tunnel and emerging amidst the sleeping Artaxerxian sorcerers. The jinn had lost their masters that night; it had been a furious battle, fought in just a few minutes. Like grey streaks of lightning, the werewolves had moved from tent to tent, shadowy death-dealers slashing, ripping, tearing; by the time the ravians and Omar’s soldiers had come to the aid of the sorcerers, most of the werewolves had left, leaving a camp full of blood-soaked corpses and a collapsed tunnel behind them. Most of the freed jinn had disappeared; perhaps they were already back in the desert, hiding in the ever-shifting sands. A few jinn had remained on their own volition, out of sheer malice, to finish the carnage they had started. King Zibeb had ordered them to wait for his command before they attacked again. As a matter of principle, they had ignored him completely. Some of them still flew around Izakar, occasionally hurling themselves at defenders who caught their fancy, picking them up and hurling them to their deaths from great heights.

  As the great battering ram Khanzab burst into tiny pieces, signaling beyond all doubt the failure of yet another plan, King Zibeb summoned his council to help him decide his next move. Lady Nenses was strongly in favour of using the six remaining Ravian Stars to bring down the Dark Tower, but Dalmaan insisted that the ravians’ most powerful weapons should be held back until the vamans entered the fray; he had recently received word that the ravians’ allies among the vamans had been captured and executed, which meant that vaman trouble was inevitable, and soon. Lady Nenses pointed out that this meant that the rakshases should be dealt with at once; a prolonged battle over Izakar would only give Kol and Bhumi more time to rally their forces and come to the Dark Lord’s aid. What better way to prevent this than with a little Ravian Star dropped on the Dark Tower, destroying the Dark Lord in a blaze of white fire just as Isara had two centuries ago?

  At that very moment, the Dark Lord’s war council, assembled in his private chamber, was interrupted by someone who had never before dared to climb the stairs to the upper levels of the Dark Tower: Ublyet the asur. It was evident that the dungeon-master was deeply troubled, and not just by the unaccustomed altitude.

  ‘My little pretties,’ he said, shuffling his feet. ‘They gone.’

  ‘Have your monsters been killed? Are there ravians in the dungeons?’ asked the Red Queen.

  ‘No, no. All tunnels full, pisacs doing fine, ravians ripped and rotting,’ saib Ublyet, looking most depressed. ‘My pretty pretties vanished.’

  Since no one knew exactly what Ublyet’s pretties were, only that they were horrible monsters that tried to eat anyone foolish anyone to enter the lower levels of the Izakar dungeons, this news did not cause the sort of inconsolable mass grief that Ublyet had evidently been expecting.

  ‘I’m sure they will turn up,’ said Aciram. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Ublyet, we have a battle to plan.’

  Ublyet bowed miserably and shuffled out, only to burst in again a second later. ‘They’re here!’ he yelled, leaping up and down in excitement.

  ‘Your pretties are back? Good,’ said Aciram. ‘Leave us now, noble Ublyet.’

  ‘No, no!’ yelled Ublyet, spitting and rolling his eyes joyfully. ‘Not lovely pretties! Heart still broken, but! Dragons are coming!’

  Battle plans were thrown to the wind as the Dark Lord’s council raced to the balcony, shoving one another aside like children. Was this possible? Could Ublyet be telling the truth? Had the dragons arrived to save the day?

  From the west, from the Mountains of Shadow, faster than the wind, lighting up the pale morning sky in the distance with gusts of wild fire, came the dragons, little bat-winged specks growing ever larger, and hope came with them, and thunderclouds followed. The Dark Tower echoed with cheers and roars as their shapes became clearer, fleet-winged Skuan fire-drakes and Xi’en serpent-worms slithering through the sky, speeding to the Dark Lord’s aid. The Dark Lord’s generals sped to the city to assemble their troops; the arrival of the dragons could not be greeted with anything less than a full-scale, all-out assault on the enemy. The ravians would be caught between earth and sky, and every life Imokoi had lost would be avenged. Drums and horns echoed insistent summons; the Dark Tower’s time had come.

  ‘It would seem,’ said King Zibeb, studying the sky gravely, ‘that we will have to use a Ravian Star,’

  Lady Nenses smiled smugly, and Dalmaan stood and bowed.

  ‘In light of the dragons’ arrival, I withdraw my previous objections,’ he said. ‘Should we bother to vote?’

  He looked around at the rest of the council, and said, ‘No doubt Lady Nenses has already decided how best to get the Ravian Star to the Dark Tower. We have no air support after the unfortunate removal of the jinn, but she must have taken that into consideration.’

  ‘I have,’ said Nenses. ‘I will cast a stability charm on a Star, and we will use a catapult to deliver it.’

  ‘Why?’ said Omar. ‘It might be intercepted at the wall. Much better to let a jinn drop it on the very top of the tower.’

  ‘What jinn? And even if we had them, jinn would not be able to deliver a Ravian Star,’ said Satorin. ‘It would explode on touching something that is magical and not ravian.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Omar. ‘I will drop it myself.’

  ‘You intend to fly to the Tower?’ asked Dalmaan.

  ‘No,’ said Omar in freezing accents. ‘I will hold the Star, and the jinn will hold me.’

  ‘An excellent idea, my dauntless human friend,’ said Dalmaan. ‘And if you had protected your sorcerers better, the jinn would still have been under their control, and this plan could have been carried out. Right now, there is a minor flaw in your plan; you have no jinn.’

  ‘As it happens,’ said Omar, ‘I do have one jinn with me, and under my control. I have in my possession a lamp that was among the original five items needed to raise Danh-Gem from the dead. The jinn is sealed inside this lamp with a jade bead, and will obey my instructions even without the pentacles and amulets that my sorcerors needed to restrain their savage servants.’

  He drew the lamp out from his robes and placed it on the table, smiling innocently at Dalmaan’s blank face.

  ‘It is settled, then,’ said Zibeb. ‘Give Omar the Star, Nenses. The rest of you, to arms! The dragons will be with us soon, and so will the rakshases. We must receive them graciously.’

  As the other champions left Zibeb’s tent, Lady Nenses looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps I should drop the Star myself,’ she said. ‘Omar has been very useful, but this is too great a matter for him.’ Omar’s brow clouded, but he held his tongue and tried to pretend, as the ravians were, that he was not among those present.

  ‘You will be needed on the battlefield. Remember, we will have dragons to fight, and you are our greatest mage,’ said Dalmaan swiftly. ‘Omar’s humans can do without him.’

  ‘But what if he fails?’ asked Nenses.

  ‘We have five more Ravian Stars, and several catapults,’ said Zibeb. ‘He will not fail. The Ravian Star, please.’

  Lady Nenses drew out a black sphere from a bag on the floor. The sta
rs inside it glittered and glowed as she handed it to Omar.

  ‘Let us see this jinn of yours,’ said Dalmaan. ‘How do we know he will not turn rogue like the others?’

  Omar smiled again, reached out with long, slender fingers and rubbed the side of his lamp gently. After a while, the lamp began to shake gently, but Omar did not remove the jade bead.

  ‘Jinn of Al-Ugobi, slayer of the sands, hear me now!’ he called. ‘I will let you out of this lamp only if you promise to carry out for me, fully, promptly and diligently, three wishes of my choosing, at a time of my choosing, while also promising to obey no master but me until all my three wishes are fulfilled.’

  ‘Not bad,’ said Dalmaan with a smile.

  The jinn, however, did not respond.

  ‘Shake once for yes, and twice for no!’ called Omar.

  After a brief pause, the lamp shook once.

  ‘You are shaking in response to the conditions I set out for you now regarding my three wishes, and not in response to anything said by any other person at any other time?’ called Omar. This time, Dalmaan, Zibeb and Nenses all smiled appreciatively.

  From the lamp there came a sound somewhere between a moan and groan. Then the lamp shook once.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Omar, and removed the jade bead. The jinn floated out, a shimmer in the air, its white eyes glowing as they found their place in its body. It looked around.

  It was hungry.

  ‘What are your wishes, Master?’ it said.

  ‘Carry me to the top of the Dark Tower, and stay there with me until I have dropped the Ravian Star on it. I will then give you further instructions.’

  ‘As you wish, Master,’ said the jinn.

  The ravians stood in battle formation outside the Black Gate, weapons drawn, looking at the sky, their hearts pounding in time with the thunderous wing-beats of the dragons streaking towards them. In front of the ravians stood legions of asur churls. The Skuans and Artaxerxians held the flanks. Inside the Dark Tower, Aciram’s forces filled the first three circles of the city; hordes of asurs, Angda and her vanars, and rakshases in human size waited for the Dark Lord’s command. Laakon’s werewolves, united and itching for their first taste of open battle, prowled the walls of the third circle, dressed in enchanted rakshas-hide armour, layered leathery skin-plates that would change shape with them.

  The jinn soared skywards, holding Omar the Terrible by the shoulders. He clutched the Ravian Star close to his chest, afraid it would fall, afraid that something would happen to ruin this moment, his moment. He could not breathe; his heart was trying to climb out of his throat. Rakshases hurled fireballs at the jinn from the walls; the jinn dodged them without apparent effort. Omar had never flown before; nothing could have prepared him for the sight of armies far below like little ants in the sun, for the wind roaring in his ears, for the jinn’s ghost-talons cutting into his body. His stomach rebelled and threatened to empty itself. His face froze in a mask of terror, and strange demonic visions clouded his eyes. But he was still Omar the Terrible, commander and future Sultan of Artaxerxia, and he mastered his struggling mind and body, concentrating only on the sphere in his hands.

  Four pazuzus converged on the jinn, shrieking harshly. The jinn floated in mid-air, observing them calmly as they grew closer, scorpion tails twitching, fangs bared and gleaming.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ yelled Omar. ‘Protect me! Kill them!’

  ‘As you wish, Master,’ said the jinn.

  A few seconds later, three dead pazuzus plummeted earthwards. The jinn held Omar in one hand, and held the fourth pazuzu in the other as it munched on its neck. It deposited Omar on top of the Dark Tower and hovered in the air, eating the pazuzu with much relish.

  Omar stood on top of the Dark Tower, watching the world beneath him, listening to the roar of conch-shells, drums and horns far below as the Dark Lord’s doomed army prepared for battle. This was where he belonged, he thought, with the world beneath him, waiting for him to decide its fate. He laughed, and held the Ravian Star aloft, rejoicing in the wind that whipped through the Dark Lord’s banners around him, savouring the moment. They had five more! They could have won the war at any time of their choice, but had held back only to conserve their resources! Below him, grotesque stone gargoyles crawled slowly upwards, their jaws opening and slamming shut as they approached the intruder. Omar ignored them. He looked at the Dark Lord’s army again, somewhat irked that no one significant had even noticed him. He would have liked to have stared into Kirin’s desperate eyes as he dropped the Ravian Star on his beloved city. He would have liked to have had the whole world’s eyes upon him as he showed them the peril of underestimating humans, of ignoring him. Omar the Terrible. King of the world. One day.

  ‘Carry me into the air,’ he said. ‘If I drop this here, it will destroy us both.’

  ‘As you wish, Master,’ said the jinn. It dropped the half-eaten pazuzu on the nearest gargoyle, picked Omar up and soared high into the sky above the Dark Tower.

  The dragons flew over the western walls of Izakar. At Aciram’s signal, thirty pashans picked up chains. Great gears ground, and the Black Gate creaked, shuddered and sang as it opened.

  Omar stared at the dragons in disbelief. They had been so far away just a few seconds ago! They seemed to be heading straight for the Dark Tower, and appeared not to have noticed him. He would drop the Star when they reached the Tower, he decided; the ravians would marvel at their own wisdom in offering him their friendship.

  ‘I have a question,’ said the jinn.

  ‘What?’ asked Omar irritably, torn from his dreams of world domination.

  ‘Why three?’

  ‘Why three what?’

  ‘Wishes. Why three?’

  ‘I don’t know. How does it matter?’

  ‘It should matter to you,’ said the jinn.

  ‘Why?’ asked Omar.

  ‘You’ve spent them all.’

  The jinn bit off Omar’s head, thus effectively silencing him. It looked at the Ravian Star, black and shiny in his lifeless hands.

  It then opened its mouth wide, and swallowed Omar whole.

  There was a spectacular explosion. A blinding white sphere lit up the earth for a second, and then disappeared, and so did the tip of the Dark Tower. Danh-Gem’s banners burned as they floated downwards and the gargoyles were shattered into tiny pebbles. The dragons felt the impact as they raced over the Tower; three Skuan drakes were thrown downwards, but they recovered, flapping their great wings, and reformed their line, screaming defiantly and sending sheets of flame gusting upwards.

  ‘What was that?’ asked the Red Queen, turning to Aciram, whose face had suddenly gone white.

  ‘You’d wanted an open ceiling,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘I ordered it specially.’

  The Black Gate was open. The two armies stared at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘Charge,’ said Aciram, matter-of-factly.

  The Artaxerxians paid dearly for Omar’s failure; Lord Degin sent them racing into the heart of the enemy, and there they met the werewolves. Horses and men were slashed to ribbons by the Pack, and even the rakshases paused and shuddered at the werewolves’ ferocity. Not that the rakshases were being particularly gentle themselves; swelling to giant size, they trampled over asur, human and ravian alike, looking to end the battle swiftly and not let the dragons take all the glory.

  The ravians fought with savage, controlled skill, each thrust taking a life, each smooth, seamless movement perfectly planned, perfectly executed, each charge a dance of metal and blood. But as the dragons reached the battle, even the bravest ravians looked up and trembled. There were more dragons here than even the veterans of the Great War had seen, more dragons than anyone knew existed, darkening the sky and shaking their earth with the pounding of their wings.

  The ravians were, therefore, extremely pleased when the dragons did not attack them, but simply flew over the battle, showing no sign of even noticing it. Rakshas cheers turned into angry yel
ls; Satorin led a charge that ended in the deaths of Katnaved and Katnaran, and Nenses sought out the Red Queen. They duelled, with fire and light and will-thrust and illusion, showing no signs of fatigue as those around them were destroyed by their magical attacks. Lord Degin fell, crushed by leaping vanars. Angda ripped off his head and held it up for all to see, screaming and pounding her chest, and the vanars fought with new zeal, flying over the heads of their enemies, landing, striking and leaping again, avenging fallen Vanarpuri. And King Zibeb met the Dark Lord, and they roared in battle-frenzy as they clashed, for power, for victory, for the world.

  At the head of the dragon army, Tjugari the Destroyer, fastest of the Skuan dragons, waited until he crossed the ravian army and then dipped, spreading his wings, and skimmed further southwards, searching the earth for a sign. Behind him, the dragons spread out, their shadows diverging as they streaked over the ground. Some flew on towards Danh-Gem’s Wasteland, others rose higher in the air and circled. Messages flew between their minds, brief, precise signals that intensified into excited chatter as the earth below them began to shake. From the Dark Tower, both armies watched and wondered: What could possibly be so important that this battle, the battle to end all battles, did not even distract the dragons?

  From the west, the Xi’en serpents raised the alarm; a thick mist was flowing in from the Mountains of Shadow, heading towards the Dark Tower and spreading every second; what it concealed they could not tell, but there was something in it, something that roared and hissed and chattered. They wanted to fly down and investigate, but Tjugari ordered them to wait; this was not what they were here for.