by Jim Melvin
The king waved his staff of Maōi back and forth, showering the attackers with milky globs of energy. Even the newborns could not withstand him. But his black knights were no match for the golden creatures, and they were being slaughtered by the hundreds, then stripped of their armor and cruelly devoured.
“Father, they are too strong and too many,” he heard Madiraa shout. “And they desecrate our people.”
“Stay near me!” was all he could think to say.
“I am with you, as well,” Indajaala said. “As are most of the conjurers and several Asēkhas, but Utu has fallen, and Torg has been swept away.”
Slowly they were forced backward toward the main causeway that led from the courtyard into the front portion of the congested city. Henepola witnessed a black knight slay a vampire and then realized it was Palak who had performed the deed. One of his conjurers struck down a ghoul before a troll trampled him. A horrific creature with the body of a spider but the head of a man leapt at one of the Asēkhas but was vanquished with a blur of strokes and left wiggling on its back without the use of its eight gnarled legs—though its head continued to emit a sickeningly humanlike wail.
Then Henepola noticed that several hundred Tugars were backing toward him, engaged in battle with an enormous shape that emerged from the darkness like a walking mountain. There was just enough starlight and torchlight to reveal the remaining three-headed giant stomping toward him, casting aside all in its path with titanic sweeps of its hammer. Even the desert warriors were no match for its ferocity.
Henepola sighed. “You are right, my daughter,” he thought, “they are too strong and too many.” Nonetheless, the conjurer king strode forward to meet the monster, his long white hair flowing beneath his black helm.
“Father . . . no!” he heard Madiraa shout. But Henepola paid her no heed, watching as the giant swung the hammer downward. Henepola leapt aside just in time to avoid the crushing blow. The great iron head smashed the stone near his feet, casting shards of granite. Now on his knees, Henepola aimed his staff and unleashed a terrific blast of milky fire, striking the creature in the chest with enough force to stagger it.
While Henepola was preoccupied, a dracool swept down from the sky and tried to ambush him, but an unseen bead from a Tugar sling dropped the baby dragon a few paces from where Henepola knelt. The dracool, far heavier than a man, rolled when it fell and knocked Henepola onto his side. From this position, Henepola unleashed a second blast to the giant’s chest, but it had less effect than the first. The titan swung the hammer again, splattering the stone less than a pace from where he lay. Then it raised the tree-sized weapon above its head in preparation for a third blow.
However, before the giant could attack again, its middle head tilted oddly and then tumbled off its shoulders to the ground. The outside heads wailed in agony before meeting similar fates, one after the other. The giant’s enormous knees gave way, and the body followed, sagging with surreal gentleness before collapsing onto its chest. From amid the ruin of the gigantic carcass came The Torgon, flicking blood off the blade of the Silver Sword.
Henepola stood and heard cheering all around.
FENDING OFF NEWBORNS and other monsters, Kusala fought his way back to Henepola just in time to see Torg scramble up the giant’s back and wreak havoc with the Silver Sword. Kusala cheered along with the rest, but then his eyes opened wide, and he shouted words of warning to Henepola that the cacophony of battle drowned out. Unseen by all but a few, a Kojin charged from the darkness and grabbed the king from behind, squeezing with crushing force. The Maōi staff tumbled from Henepola’s grasp and clattered onto the stone floor, casting angry sparks from its head. From his chest to his knees, the king’s armor crinkled like tin.
Madiraa cried out, “Father!”
Shrieking in triumph, the Kojin released Henepola from her grasp. The king landed on his sollerets, sagged to his knees, and collapsed onto his chest in the same almost gentle manner as the giant had so recently fallen.
Kusala reached the Kojin first, lashing at the ogress’s heavily muscled thigh. The magical sheath withstood the blow, but his assault bought the time needed for Torg to close the gap. The wizard leapt in the air, spun, and took off the Kojin’s head. Purple flames spewed in all directions.
Torg’s heroics came too late. Henepola was mortally wounded, blood oozing from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. But his eyes continued to glow defiantly. For a few moments the nearby fighting halted, as it had when Utu and Mala had come together. Sobbing, Madiraa knelt and took her father’s head in her arms, but the king seemed more intent on Kusala, gesturing for him to come closer. Kusala dropped to his hands and knees and pressed his ear against the king’s bloodied mouth.
“Take her . . . to the keep,” Henepola said. “Don’t let her die . . . like this.”
Though Indajaala stood nearby, Madiraa was the only other close enough to hear. “Father . . . I won’t run. Not now.”
Henepola continued to focus on Kusala. “Take her to the keep. Please . . . I love her so much.” Finally he turned to Madiraa. “I love you so much.”
Then the glow left the king’s eyes, and life passed from his body. Madiraa continued to sob, cradling her father much as she had on the balcony of the great keep named Nagara. The snow giant Utu had healed Henepola then, but now there was no hope of a miracle cure. The king of Nissaya was no longer.
Torg leaned down. “There is nothing to be done for him. Even if Utu were here, healing would not be possible. You must honor his final request and retreat to the keep.”
“I will not!” the princess said.
“Madiraa, you must honor his request,” Kusala agreed. “Besides, the keep is far from this place. There’ll be plenty of fighting to be done between here and Nagara.”
This made Madiraa smile, but her expression was filled with madness. Then she stood and raised her sword high above her head. “Squires of the king, heed my call! Bear my father’s body and his staff to Nagara and burn them with honor upon the pyre prepared for this occasion. Thus will King Henepola X avoid desecration.”
Even as she spoke, the fighting grew heavy all around them, and the air became filled with snarls, screams, and the clanging sounds of longswords careening off the newborns’ magical armor. An escort of black knights and Tugars bore Henepola away. Kusala looked to Torg for orders, but once again the wizard stunned him with his commands.
“Henepola knew the truth,” Torg said. “The fortress is lost. Not even the Tugars can prevent a slaughter. Call my warriors to your side and lead them and the princess to the keep. Escape through the catacombs and then march as quickly as you can to Jivita. I will meet you there.”
“Lord, will you not fight alongside us?”
“I must go to Utu,” Torg said. “He might still live—and if not, I will see to it that his body is not desecrated. If possible, I will return to you. But do not wait for me. Once you are inside Nagara, seal its doors and flee. Before all is said and done, you and I will meet again.”
The wizard sprinted toward the entrance of Hakam. For a moment, Kusala stood motionless, watching his king disappear into a throng of hideous monsters. But then Churikā was yanking on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Chieftain, our position is difficult to defend. We must make for the keep. It’s now or never!”
Kusala nodded. But before he started forward, he looked toward the sky and let out a high-pitched shriek that was audible only to his own people. The chieftain had called the Tugars, and they would come without question, though anything that blocked their path along the way would be fair game.
Their company started toward the keep, which loomed in the heart of Nissaya like a symbol of escape. It was a long and winding march from where they stood, and the streets were flooded with thousands of the enemy. Kusala shuddered to think what horrors already were occurring inside the city. But, as Torg had said, there was little he or the Tugars could do about it now. When Utu failed to destroy Mala, their hopes of avoidi
ng a slaughter had ended.
Kusala, Madiraa, and Indajaala led the way. Two dozen conjurers, seventeen Asēkhas, several thousand Tugars, and at least fifty score black knights joined them. Overall, the monsters were far greater in strength and number, but the concentrated force surrounding Kusala and the princess was too dense to penetrate. They flew into the city like a spear, gliding through the streets and casting aside anything that stood in their path.
The monsters were vicious and ravenous, but also disorganized, especially with Mala nowhere to be seen. To anyone not familiar with its layout, Nissaya appeared to be a titanic labyrinth of narrow streets, courtyards, and blind alleys. Though the newborns and other monsters numbered more than five thousand score, there remained a lot of territory to be covered and countless places to hide. In terms of nooks and crannies, Nissaya resembled the world’s largest termite mound.
Kusala felt as if he were in the feverish throes of a nightmare. The darkness swarmed with myriad sounds, which all told were as loud as an army of humming druids. Though he stayed within a pace of Madiraa, he could barely hear anything she said, even when she shouted orders. Flashes of magic filled the smoky air, lighting the sky like fireworks. The conjurers of Nissaya fought bravely alongside the black knights and Tugars, unleashing gouts of milky flame from their staffs of Maōi. But beings of superior magic pursued them, including the Warlish witches, Stone-Eaters, and remaining Kojins.
To make matters worse, Kusala sensed rather than saw an even greater menace closing in from behind. Mala had joined the chase. Kusala urged Madiraa to quicken their pace. If the Chain Man overcame them before they reached Nagara, they would be doomed.
A cave troll that stood at least seven cubits tall thundered within an arm’s length of Madiraa and punched at her with a boulder-sized fist. But the blow never met its mark. Instead, the hand separated from the wrist and thumped onto the pebbled causeway. The troll’s resultant howl halted abruptly when its head leapt into the air. Kusala saw Podhana flick kohl-colored blood off his blade before plunging back into the horde.
Suddenly, the causeway narrowed, creating a funneling effect that slowed their retreat. They were sandwiched by tall black buildings, some hollowed from natural stone spires but most made of stone blocks sheathed with ashlars. Nissayan archers leaned from many of the windows, and Kusala marveled at their courage. Rather than flee to the deepest recesses of the fortress, they chose to fight. Kusala saluted them.
They moved so quickly and in such a restricted area, the slowest and weakest began to stumble and fall, and those who did were trampled. It grew even worse when refugees joined the evacuation. More than once, Kusala heard things squish and crunch beneath his boots, yet he could not have stopped had he tried with all his strength. He felt as if he were trapped in the currents of an angry river, the buildings resembling towering cliffs and the streets channels and sluices.
Though he knew Nissaya well, Kusala began to feel disoriented. Nothing looked as he remembered, and he realized that he was lost, trusting whoever led them. Suddenly, a shower of golden fire swept over their heads, and from it fell tiny gold beads, each as deadly as a spoonful of molten stone. The beads seared through helm and skull alike. One landed on top of Kusala’s head, and though it did no serious harm to his Tugarian flesh, it was quite painful. This was Mala’s work.
How close was the Chain Man? Kusala shuddered at the thought.
Vampires and ghouls crawled along the walls above them, their sticky hands and feet clinging to the ashlars with dreadful surety. Even though the Tugars were in full flight, they were able to kill some of the monsters with their slings, and any who dared pounce onto a potential victim were quickly dispatched. But their eerie presence added to the hysteria of the retreat.
Madiraa ran beside him, her closed helm obscuring the expression on her face. More than once she veered aside to hack at a pursuer, screaming as she attacked. A variety of blood types dripped off her blade, staining her hilt and gauntlet. But she never faltered.
“How far?” Kusala said to her, as loud as he could manage.
“We were forced to go the long way,” she shouted back, “but it is not far now. Once around this bend, Nagara will loom before us.”
“And what of Henepola?”
“Those who bear Father have somehow outdistanced us. At least that is my hope. If his body is not at the keep when we arrive, I will hunt for it.”
“Mala is on our heels,” Kusala said. “Once we enter the keep—and if your father is there—we will have to slam shut its doors, no matter who else remains outside.”
“I will give the order—if Father is inside.”
“Agreed.”
As Madiraa predicted, once they rounded the bend, Nagara was easily visible. In this area there was an abundance of torchlight, and Kusala could see that the courtyards surrounding the keep were filled with swarms of bodies, though whether friend or foe he could not easily discern. Another shower of golden lava fell upon them, and hundreds more collapsed. Madiraa’s helm was struck, but Kusala yanked it off her head and heaved it away before the bead could burn into her skull. Now her waist-length hair hung freely, and her beautiful face was exposed.
“I think I saw him,” she shouted.
“Princess?”
“I think I saw Father’s body being carried into the keep.”
“Let’s hurry, then. Any who attempt to thwart our coming will do so at their peril.”
“What of the Tugars who are left behind?” Madiraa screamed.
“Before the doors are closed, I will give the command for them to flee by whatever means possible. I fear far less for them than for the remainder of your people and the innocents they protect.”
“Ghosts will haunt this place for time immemorial,” she said, her eyes desperate. “Will Father still be their king?”
5
MAYNARD TEW could tell that things weren’t going well. When the fireball fell into the city not far from where he had been trussed up, the captured pirate knew that the fortress was in trouble. Not even a Stone-Eater could shoot one of those nasty things that far, which meant that Mala and his monsters were past the walls and inside the city. Now all hell would break loose. Having only recently been on Mala’s side, Tew realized that he should be all gay and happy about it, but he wasn’t. In a very short time, he had grown to respect his captors.
“If you untie me, I will help you fight them,” Tew said to the woman who had been assigned to guard him. Though she bore an ugly cut above her right ear, she was a real beauty, one of those rich Senasanan countesses with the kind of breeding that produced soft skin and firm breasts. And Tew could tell she had taken a liking to him. After all, he was a good-looker himself.
“And explain to me again why should I believe you?” she said, waving a Nissayan dagger.
“Because I really am a nice guy?” he said in a hopeful tone.
To his surprise, she spat in his face. Up until then, she had been kind of cozy with him, but now it was obvious she was getting scared. And so was he, if forced to be honest. It’s not like the monsters would pat him on the back. It was far more likely they’d gobble him up as fast as any of the so-called enemy.
Because his hands had been tied, he couldn’t wipe the spit from his face, but he didn’t care. Instead, he licked some of it with his tongue, and it tasted damn good. Despite the fact that he probably was going to die real soon, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to slide his tongue between her sweet lips and taste some more of it.
Even as he was thinking these things, one of the scary knights came running up, his black armor clanking.
“Hakam is breached,” the knight said to the countess in a panic. “Your protection is no longer guaranteed. You must fight for your lives . . . or hide wherever you can.”
Shouts and screams followed, and suddenly the courtyard became as empty as a bar that had run out of ale. Only the Senasanan woman remained, and she stared hard into his eyes.
; “I’m not asking you to fight for us,” she said. “But if I let you go, will you promise not to harm any of us?”
“I will fight for you,” he said, meaning it.
“Why?”
“ ’Cause you guys are nice . . .”
With the dagger, she cut the ropes.
“Pretty lady, you won’t regret this,” Tew said, meaning it again.
“Call me Dhītar.”
Then the two of them raced into the densest part of the city in search of a place of safety. Instead, they barreled into a swarm of newborns pouring toward them like a river overflowing its banks. In one of the few acts of selfless bravery in his sordid life, Tew stepped in front of Dhītar to shield her from the monsters. To his surprise, the newborns swept around him. Somehow they still recognized him as a member of Mala’s army, which was fine with him.
For a moment, the two of them were again alone on the street, though more monsters were coming toward them from afar.
“This way!” she screamed in a voice that sounded as surprised as he felt. “We have to get to the keep. I’ve heard the black knights say that there are tunnels beneath Nagara that lead to the mountains. It’s our only chance.”
“Any hope is better than none,” he shouted back. “Lead the way.”
When they got to the courtyards that surrounded Nagara, the newborns and other monsters were everywhere. To their left, Tugars and black knights were fighting their way toward the keep, but it was an uphill battle. Tew and the countess joined them, but now it was Dhītar who was protecting Tew from getting killed and not the other way around. They ran and stumbled to the point of exhaustion, and then they were staggering through a wide entrance into a magnificent hall. To his amazement, Tew was the last one to make it inside before a great wooden door was slammed shut, followed by a portcullis and then a boulder rolled and chained into place.
