by Jim Melvin
More silence.
“But . . . if any of you feel that you can do a better job, feel free to come forward—one at a time, or all at once . . . I don’t care. Any who wish to challenge me, do it now.”
No one moved.
“As I thought.” From the tines of Vikubbati, golden spears of energy leapt into the sky, like bolts of lightning in reverse.
Again the newborns cowered, but the energy dissipated high above and did not fall upon them.
Mala laughed. “We have defeated Nissaya. Jivita is next. Before all is said and done, more of us . . . of you . . . will die. But all of them will die. If there are any complaints, speak to my face. Otherwise, stop your grumbling, and do as you’re told.”
Afterward, he ordered them to set up camp. As expected, no one complained—to his face.
WHINER WAS BACK to his old habits. Rather than running around snarling, maiming, and eating, he now lay on his side complaining about his bulging stomach, which pressed hard against the inside of his armor. What had he eaten to cause such a paunch? He couldn’t remember. Or could he? One thing was certain: he no longer was hungry or thirsty. In fact, he had no desire to eat or drink ever again.
Whiner’s head pounded, and his mouth tasted like the cesspit of a castle’s most frequented garderobe. Somehow he had misplaced the padding beneath his armor, and now the golden metal pressed directly against his tortured skin. He tried to remove his helm but found that he could not; it took all his strength just to raise his visor, and even that seemed glued to his eyebrows.
In an unusual display of compassion, Mala allowed them to rest. Whiner didn’t believe that it was possible to lay upon hard ground in a full suit of armor and manage to sleep, but sleep he did—like a dead man.
Of course, his dreams were not pleasant. He ran crazily to and fro, searching for victims and tearing them apart with his teeth.
Whiner sat up with a yelp. It was broad daylight. This amazed him.
The march toward Jivita began. The golden soldier fell grumpily into place.
15
EVEN INVICTUS WAS caught unaware by the kickback from his bolt of power. The chain around the dragon’s neck glowed in response, temporarily clinging to the sorcerer’s inner thighs like a magnet. Both he and Bhayatupa were cast upward and away at magnificent speed, traveling league upon league before their momentum finally halted. Then they tumbled a thousand fathoms from the sky, the chain still aglow. Things happened so fast, the sorcerer was unable to slow their descent, and they smote the base of a mountain in spectacular fashion, striking a talus soil and sod had long obscured. The collision cast debris farther than the eye could see.
Invictus lay still for a time, but not because he was harmed. Rather, the unexpected experience had turned his anger into exhilaration, and he allowed himself a few moments to revel in it.
The collision had separated him from the dragon, which now sprawled about a stone’s throw away, the chain finally cooled. But that wasn’t right. The chain wasn’t just cool, it was dead. Did this mean that Bhayatupa had perished along with it?
Invictus went to investigate, stepping over miniature fires scattered across the blasted landscape. The dragon’s eyes were closed and his body motionless, but smoke oozed from his nostrils, each as broad as Invictus’s forearm was long. This time Invictus did not believe that Bhayatupa was pretending. But was he severely injured or just unconscious? That remained to be seen.
Invictus placed his hand on the side of the dragon’s jaw just below his eye. He could sense energy beneath the crimson scales, but it was weak and fading. A moment later, Bhayatupa’s life force flickered out.
“A pity,” he said out loud. “It’s a long walk from here to Nissaya.”
Without further thought, Invictus abandoned the dragon’s corpse and strolled southward, moving at a brisk pace through a stand of blooming poplars. The Sun God whistled as he walked, realizing with sadness how few had been the times he had journeyed alone without care, even as a boy. Most of his childhood had been spent with Vedana, and whistling for whistling’s sake was not part of her agenda.
It was a beautiful evening, clear and especially warm, due in most part to his sorcerous interference with the weather patterns, which was a constant drain on his immense power. Invictus found himself taking time to observe the sights and sounds of night; he preferred, of course, the light of day and rarely wandered abroad after dark. But though nighttime made him feel weak and queasy, he retained enough strength from the previous day’s saturation to last easily until dawn.
In the silence of the forest, Invictus heard a sudden sound behind him that resembled a loud bark or yelp. Was a bear or some other predator stalking him? How marvelous! It would be exciting to watch the creature’s behavior as it came close. He was in such a good mood he might even toy with it a while before blowing it apart.
Then he noticed a squirrel on a low branch not far from where he stood. The rodent chittered at him, probably in an attempt to protect a nearby nest.
“Ahhh,” Invictus whispered. “Here’s a chance to test my spell.”
He raised his right hand, spread his fingers wide, and began to whistle. Tendrils of blackness oozed from his mouth, followed by streams of golden fire that leapt from his fingertips. In an instant, the squirrel’s body was enveloped, causing the rodent to writhe and squeal until, ever so slowly, the hide beneath its fur began to tear. Though the creature was small, the expenditure of power necessary to enact such a spell was considerable, even to Invictus.
As the volume of his whistling intensified, Invictus’s forehead started to tickle, and he realized with surprise that beads of sweat were causing this sensation. The squirrel squealed even louder, using every shred of its strength to break free of the golden fire and flee the agony, but Invictus exerted even more power and pinned the rodent firmly to the branch. From beneath the splitting skin arose what resembled brown bone, but Invictus knew better. When Invictus finally halted his magical assault, what remained on the branch could no longer be recognized as a squirrel. Instead, a short stump of wood clung to the poplar’s arm—with the rodent trapped inside, still alive.
Invictus sighed and wiped his brow with his hand. All other sound had ceased. Even the crickets were muted.
“It can be done,” he said out loud, his voice breaking the silence with startling intensity, “though the next time will be more difficult.”
Then he continued on to Nissaya, whistling as he walked.
After examining the fortress—so discreetly that no one would even know he was there—he would follow Mala’s army on its way to its next destination . . . Jivita, where his sweet sister now cowered.
Laylah, Laylah, Laylah.
Here . . . I . . . come.
And no one.
No one.
Can stop me.
INVICTUS ARRIVED AT the fortress late that evening and spent the dark hours spying and investigating, while at the same time remaining purposely unseen by the wild men who had been left by Mala to serve as Nissaya’s temporary guardians. Invictus was in no mood to interact with underlings, but he was curious enough about Nissaya to sniff around all through the night.
The following morning, he began the journey from Nissaya to Jivita. The trailing edge of Mala’s army was just a league beyond where he now stood, but Invictus had no desire to catch up to it. Instead, he preferred to hang back and watch the eventual battle from a hidden place, finally making his grand appearance when he deemed the time to be just right.
Invictus was certain that The Torgon would be among the Jivitans, and the Sun God was determined to make an example of the Death-Knower in front of whatever witnesses remained alive. He wasn’t so sure about Laylah, though. Would she already have fled to some faraway place? It was possible. But Invictus couldn’t envision his sister deserting her precious wizard, regardless of the peril. Ironically, her pathetic loyalty would work to Invictus’s advantage. Rather than hunting her down in some faraway place, he could s
imply recapture her after the battle and take her back to Uccheda where she belonged.
As he walked, he whistled—and extremely well, in his opinion, though the animals, birds, and insects he encountered didn’t seem to appreciate his talent, growing silent as he approached. The sorcerer found this disconcerting. Was he really that unlikable? Yes, his sexual appetites were a bit perverse. But was that so unusual? Besides, if they all would simply bow to him and not put up such a fight, he might even permit them some personal freedoms. Well, probably not, but how could they know?
The fact that so many loved The Torgon instead of him only irritated him more. Why did people like goody-goodies so much, anyway? Then his thoughts drifted to his grandmother. Where was Vedana now? Was she watching him from her scrying chamber in Kamupadana? Was she following him, disguised as a raven or some other creature? Or was she simply cowering in the Realm of the Undead, peeking out through a hole in the fabric between dimensions?
Again Invictus began to wonder about Vedana’s plan. He found himself regretting not forcing Bhayatupa to tell him immediately, though he doubted the dragon knew the real story. Invictus would have little forewarning of the demon’s schemes until he encountered them firsthand. Normally this would have been of little concern, but lately, an annoying paranoia had crept into his awareness. He felt that something watched him that was even more powerful than his grandmother—something he could not yet control—and it nagged at him and made him grumpy.
Invictus came upon a wagon that had been abandoned in the middle of Iddhi-Pada after one of its wooden axles had split in two. Barrels of wine and crates of food had been left inside the bed. Mala’s army needed far fewer supplies than were usual for such an enormous host, especially where the newborns were concerned.
Bright sunlight gave Invictus all the sustenance he required. He could go for weeks without food and water, if he so chose, but eating and drinking did provide tactile pleasure. Invictus climbed into the wagon, broke open a barrel, and drank deeply of the wine. He also ate bread, cheese, dried meats, and fruits. He was surprised by how good it tasted, and he became so distracted he didn’t even notice the mammoth shape descending from above.
16
THE ENORMOUS VENT in the bedrock reached all the way to the surface, but by then it was not much larger than one of Ulaara’s eyes. The great dragon was forced to squirm into a side tunnel he had never before explored, but it turned out to be just large enough to contain him. Eventually Ulaara the Black stood above ground for the first time in thirty millennia. It was a bright morning. From the appearance of the surrounding trees he guessed that it was midspring, but the heat felt like midsummer.
Ulaara’s first encounter with the Adho Sattas (Low Ones) that lived in this time had enthralled him. The black dragon had been impressed that Blue Eyes had spoken the ancient tongue so fluently. If he were to regain his rightful position as Mahaasupanno, he would be able to communicate with at least some of his new slaves. He might even give Blue Eyes a high position in his royal court, as a reward for his scholarly adeptness.
Though uncomfortably warm, the air was fresh and sweet, and the surrounding land lush and beautiful. During the height of Supanna-Sangaamaani (the Dragon Wars), much of Triken’s surface had been scarred. Now Ulaara saw no evidence of the destruction, and he had to admit that he liked it better this way. The black dragon always had been a connoisseur of physical beauty.
To his amazement, a large deer trotted into view not one hundred paces from where he crouched. In the old days, a buck of this size could only be found deep within the densest forests, yet here was one wandering around in the open without a care in the world. With little effort Ulaara pounced on the animal and chomped it in half, relishing the juicy flesh and crunchy bones. He swallowed the other half and even licked blood off the gray grass. This only served to spark his appetite.
In a short time, he killed and devoured a dozen more deer and even a large male Tyger. Ahhhh, it was good to be awake.
Now if he could just learn more about Bhayatupa’s whereabouts. The black dragon was not the crimson dragon’s match, even in the best of times, and he still was stiff and weak from long years of sleep. It would not be good to be caught unawares. Stealth would serve as his armor, surprise his strategy, secrecy his weapon, at least until he could determine if Bhayatupa still retained his former strength. If he did, Ulaara would flee again, having no other choice.
For the first time in thirty millennia, Ulaara the Black took to the skies. Stretching his wings was both joyful and agonizing. With the sky so clear he dared not reveal his re-emergence by soaring to the upper heights, so he stayed just above the tree line of the foothills that formed the southernmost border of Mahaggata, his eyes darting to and fro in search of enemies.
He flew westward along the Gap of Gati. The ancient road called Iddhi-Pada was visible to his left, and it was in better condition than he remembered. The Adho Sattas of this age were productive creatures, to say the least, and would make excellent slaves, if he could somehow figure out a way to dispose of the only dragon he had ever feared. After what Ulaara had done to Bhayatupa’s son, his ancient enemy had reason to be vengeful.
From this low height Ulaara could not see for long distances, but eventually he spied a wagon abandoned in the middle of the road. Normally, Ulaara would have paid it little heed, but there was something inside the wagon that astonished him. When he looked at it directly, it seared his eyes.
“Is it possible?” he thought. “While I slept, did the demon-mother finally manage to create a Sun God?”
Except for Vedana, Ulaara knew more about Akanittha (the being of highest power) than almost any creature on Triken. The black dragon was more learned than the dracools. If a Sun God lived, then it wouldn’t matter if Bhayatupa also roamed this world. An alliance with the Sun God would doom the crimson dragon.
The nearer he approached, the surer he became. Now the unnatural heat of midspring made sense. The tiny but magnificent being that loomed beneath him was the source of the heat. When Ulaara came to rest a dozen paces from the wagon, the Sun God turned and looked upon him, as if just then noticing him.
At first, the Akanittha spoke gibberish, which puzzled Ulaara. Then in the ancient tongue, the Sun God said, “What have we here?” And then, “Can it be? Has Ulaara the Black resurfaced? How interesting!”
Ulaara also found it interesting. “It is I,” the black dragon said in the ancient tongue. “And you are Vedana’s spawn?”
“I am her spawn, but not her slave.”
The black dragon nodded, slowly digesting the implications of such a statement. Then he lowered himself on his haunches in obeisance. “My liege, I have a question, if you would deign to answer.”
“Yes?”
“Are you allied with Bhayatupa?”
“I am . . . was . . . but no longer. The crimson dragon is recently deceased.”
This amazed Ulaara—and thrilled him. “This is not just rumor?”
“Do you doubt my word?”
Ulaara did not. “My liege, I am at your service.”
Invictus chuckled. “Yes, you are.” Then he added, “My name is Invictus, but you may continue to call me ‘my liege.’ And I . . . we . . . are now going to walk to the Cariya River. And west of the river, we will approach a great city named Jivita, which houses many thousands. That is my eventual destination.”
As quick as that, off they went, an unusual pair, to say the least.
During a lifetime that began even before Bhayatupa was born, Ulaara had always detested walking, considering it an absurd waste of time and energy. Surprisingly, great dragons could run extremely fast for short distances, but over long stretches they tired easily, their titanic bodies exhausted by too much lumbering. And yet here he was, strolling alongside the Sun God like a pet dog of extraordinary size.
Not only was the Akanittha tiny, he also was annoying—especially the obnoxious whistling. But never let it be said that Ulaara wasn’t quick to recog
nize a superior. In his memory there had been only two: Bhayatupa and now Invictus, the latter the far more powerful of the two. So walk he did, clumsily or not.
Still, Ulaara could not help but protest a little. “My liege,” he said in the ancient tongue. “Do you mean to walk all the way to Cariya? It will take days. If we flew, we could be there before midnight.”
Invictus momentarily stopped his whistling. “I’m in no hurry . . . at least not yet.”
Ulaara walked for another league before daring to bring up the subject again. By now it was nearing dusk. “My liege?”
Appearing irritated, Invictus stopped his whistling again. “Yes?”
“Do you not find this . . . tedious?”
“Find what tedious?”
“All this . . . walking.”
“The walking I love,” the Sun God said. “The questions I don’t.”
Ulaara didn’t like the look in the sorcerer’s eyes, so he quickly changed the subject. “When I last was active in the world, there was a city west of Cariya, though in truth it was little more than a village. Now you say it has grown huge and houses many thousands?”
“Was I not clear? Or are you somewhat dimwitted?”
“I am just attempting to be cordial, my liege.”
Invictus stopped and looked up into one of Ulaara’s huge round eyes. “I want to whistle,” he said.
“My liege?”
“I . . . want . . . to . . . whistle. If you wish to tag along, feel free. But you must remain quiet, until I say otherwise.”
Tag along?
“Yes, my liege.” Quiet he remained.
17
IRONICALLY, THE final moments of Bhayatupa’s life were joyfully pleasant. The chain that encased his neck went cool, and though he was nearly unconscious, a portion of his huge brain was aware of the cessation of agony—and reveled in it.
