by Jim Melvin
The long fall from the sky had not been lethal to the dragon. Instead, it was the explosive impact of Invictus’s might that had shut down his inner workings. A force of grand magnitude had interrupted the electrical impulses that powered his heart, and without that great organ to pump crimson blood throughout his flesh, death was inevitable. Invictus could have saved him, if he had reached him in time, but Bhayatupa had perished before the sorcerer could make the attempt.
Now his karma leapt from his body and exploded into the night, leaping titanic distances across time and space. The instant after his demise, Bhayatupa became enveloped in profound silence. Though his mind/awareness realized its host body was dead, there was no grief or regret. In fact Bhayatupa felt no emotion at all, just a dry curiosity. He had feared this moment, obsessively, for millennia. Now he saw that his fears had been a stupendously foolish waste of energy. Death was neither to be abhorred nor treasured. It simply existed as part of the natural cycle.
As a swirling sphere of karma, Bhayatupa tumbled toward his future. Countless other spheres sped alongside him in the dark firmament. But none of them was nearly as large or as fiery, as if their previous existences had paled in comparison to his.
A deep-blue ball, larger than a galaxy, awaited his arrival. Upon seeing it in the far distance, Bhayatupa recognized the source of The Torgon’s power. The Death-Knower had been here many times—and then returned to his former body. As Bhayatupa approached, he experienced no urge to attempt a similar feat. Plunging into the immense ball and continuing his existence in another body satisfied all his desires.
At the same time, Bhayatupa coldly realized that he was as capable as the Death-Knower of making the return. The jolt alone would revive his heart, and his other injuries weren’t serious enough to cause concern.
But was there any reason to go back to his old body? Would not his next existence offer opportunities that were just as tantalizing? And why return when Invictus would still be there to torment him?
The broiling ball of Death Energy beckoned him. Bhayatupa struggled to enter, only to find that he could not. Instead, tendrils of energy rose from the ball and engorged him. Then without warning, he was pulled away from the ball and steered in the direction from which he had come. Powerful outside forces wanted him to return; in fact, demanded it. Bhayatupa was cast backward at an alarming rate, and when he awoke within his original body, he howled.
Bhayatupa sat up on his haunches and looked around, stunned yet exhilarated. As he did, the chain slipped off his neck and tumbled impotently to the ground. But it wasn’t the end of that pain that so enthralled him. It was the cessation of Tanhiiyati—the insatiable craving for eternal existence—that filled his now-thudding heart with joy. He no longer feared death.
Bhayatupa was free.
In more ways than one.
But who or what had brought him back to life?
And why?
Then he discovered that he no longer cared why or how he had been brought back. The joy that surged through his mind and body made him want to laugh until he cried. And cry until he laughed.
Bhayatupa leapt into the air and flew through the night like a blazing comet, tucking his wings and swirling like a playful child. He soared to the upper heights where it was cold beyond measure and then dove to just a span above the ground. He smote the air with magic and blew flames from his nostrils. It was glorious to be alive—without fear shadowing his sensations.
Death was not to be feared. It was as natural as breathing.
Bhayatupa roared with delight.
In a state of delirium, he flew far and wide. Eventually, he found himself lighting on the rooftop of Uccheda. When golden soldiers raced out from hidden portals to confront him, the great dragon knocked them over the side with sweeps of his tail. A pair of dracools came within sight but then raced away. Bhayatupa sprang from his perch, hunted them down, and ate them both. By the time he returned to the rooftop, it was dusk.
“What to do? What to do?” he thought, his mind ablaze with possibilities.
“I know what you should do,” came a cackling voice.
“Vedana . . . not you again.”
“Did you miss me?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings. After all I’ve done . . .”
“All you’ve done? Why would that give me reason to miss you? Hate you is more like it.”
“Don’t be so droll. I foresaw . . . well, it wasn’t really me . . . but it was foreseen that you would die and return. If not for me, you still would be Invictus’s puppet. Now look at you. Why, I’m . . . proud of you.”
“What have you to do with my return? It is my greatness that accomplished it, not yours. Still, I must admit I haven’t felt this good since before the Dragon Wars began. The weight of madness has been removed from my awareness. I am free of the fear of death.”
“Yippeeeeeee!” Vedana said. “And I have more good news, if you’d like to hear it.”
“If it involves your plan to destroy Invictus, leave me out. What little you’ve already told me got me into enough trouble already.”
“What little I told you? What do you mean?”
“I am not such a fool as to believe you would have told me what you’re really planning.”
“That’s twice you’ve hurt my feelings . . .”
Bhayatupa grunted. “Do you think I care?” Then he lumbered across the rooftop and peered over its edge. Vedana, incarnated as the raggedy old woman, knelt beside him and also peered down. Now it was so dark even Bhayatupa could barely see the ground, but there was enough torchlight to reveal a large gathering at the base of the tower, as well as a strange glowing fence encircling Uccheda that had not been there before.
Bhayatupa focused one of his large round eyes on the demon. “If you really want to give me good news, then tell me that Invictus is somewhere far away from here.”
“He is,” Vedana said, her smile revealing jagged teeth. “But it gets even better. Oh, so much better.”
“Stop playing and just tell me.”
The demon stood, and her face grew serious. He could see her heart pounding beneath her translucent robes and flesh. When she got like this she was dangerous, even to him. Bhayatupa watched her carefully.
“Ulaara the Black is alive . . . and awake,” she said. “He no longer hides from you.”
Bhayatupa’s expression changed from wariness to rage.
The White City Waits
18
AFTER TORG HAD departed to join the war at Nissaya, Laylah had stood by herself on the western bank of Cariya through the rest of the night. Moments after the wizard had vanished, the crescent moon set in the west, leaving the sorceress feeling twice abandoned. Could life be any more miserable?
Then she chided herself. Of course it could. Freedom was vastly superior to its alternative. Though her heart was saddened, at least she was not Invictus’s prisoner . . . yet.
Was it only a matter of time?
When dawn finally clawed out of its dark grave, Laylah was surprised to see that she had company. Ugga and Elu lay nearby, sleeping side-by-side without blankets on the lush grass. And farther back stood a dozen Tugars, as steadfast as statues. Had they been there all night? Laylah’s senses were acute, but her despair over Torg’s absence had dampened her ability to detect the presence of others. She loved the wizard more than she loved herself. Though his life was in terrible danger, his was a less cruel fate than the one she now was forced to endure. Fighting, at least, would distract his mind from the worry and loneliness.
An unexpected sound shattered her reverie. It took her a moment to realize that Ugga had emitted a magnificent fart in his sleep. The Tugarian warriors, ever composed, couldn’t help but laugh. Even Laylah chuckled. As if in response, the crossbreed sat up and shook his head.
“Did I just . . .?” Then he added, “I is sorry.”
Despite her amusement, Laylah was touched by the crossbreed’s heartfelt
apology. Losing Bard had continued to torment Ugga, yet he already seemed to be rebounding from the anguish—at least for brief stretches.
When Elu woke, he also was disoriented. “Where is Elu?” he muttered. Then he saw Laylah and sprang to his feet with an impressive surge of energy. “Are you all right, pretty lady? Elu is worried about you. Last night, you were crying. It made Elu cry too.”
Next, a male Tugarian warrior came forward and bowed. Laylah recognized Ukkutīka, the senior Tugar at Jivita.
“Mistress Laylah, we are at your service,” he said, gesturing toward the Tugars who waited close by. “Most others who took part in the great battle have already returned to the White City to eat, sleep, and tend to their wounds. For your own safety, please allow us to escort you to your chambers in the palace so that you might finally take some respite.”
“Safety? Respite?” Laylah said. “Do such things still exist?”
“Your point is well taken, mistress,” Ukkutīka said. “I cannot deny that the times are dire—more so for you than for anyone else. But the Tugars would rest easier if you were to enter Jivita. The Torgon left us with orders to attend to your every need, though we would have done so regardless, so much do we love you already. Will you not come?”
“Sir Elu loves you too,” said the Svakaran with adoring eyes. “But he must return to his duties with the queen.”
Ugga chimed in. “And I has to admit that I is kinda hungry and thirsty. I’d like to go with the brave Tugars back to the palace too, just to get some breakfast. It would be nicey if ya would walk along with the little guy and me. We are still very sad and need the company of our good friends.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Laylah said. Then she turned to Ukkutīka. “But tell me one thing before we leave this place. Where are Lucius, Bonny, and the Daasa?”
“The firstborn, his mate, and the Daasa have returned to the forest. I overheard the Jivitan general ordering the construction of a pavilion to accommodate General Lucius and his companion.”
“Loo-shus says he wants us to come for a visit, once we’re rested,” Ugga said. “He asked me to make sure we bring a barrel of ale so that we can all drink together.”
Laylah nodded. Then she and her companions began the long walk toward the northern gate. Though it still was early morning, the air already was stiflingly hot. Eventually they passed some of the massive pyres that had burned so fiercely the night before. Already strong breezes had scattered most of the white ash, uncovering scorched patches of grass. Laylah knelt and ran her hand through the ash. It was as fluffy as flour, containing neither chips of bone nor shards of wood. The pyres had burned down to their most basic essence. By next spring there would be little evidence that a battle had occurred.
“Your magic played a role,” Ukkutīka said, as if reading her mind. “The pyres burned magnificently and without cessation, until everything was consumed. Even the queen was amazed, or so I have been told.”
“It was Obhasa more than I,” Laylah said.
“Nay,” the Tugar said. “The flames were white, not blue. I remained here last night after you and The Torgon departed . . . and witnessed this myself.”
Laylah shrugged. “No matter how powerful I have become, it will not be enough.”
“The Tugars will stand by you, my queen.”
“I am not yet your queen.”
“We regard you thus.”
Laylah blushed. “Your words honor me.”
“If Laylah’s not a queen, nobody is,” Elu said.
“Ema! Ema!” the Tugar escort chanted.
“Who’s this Em-muh lady ya guys are always shouting about? Is she a queen too?” Ugga said.
Some of the Tugars laughed so hard they fell to their knees.
19
THE FOLLOWING morning—at the same time Mala’s army was breaching Ott—a small group of friends rode out of the gates of Jivita and entered the Green Plains. Laylah, Ugga, Rajinii, and Sir Elu were in solemn moods, barely speaking to each other as they journeyed northward.
Laylah’s distress was obvious. She could not keep her mind off Torg and the dangers he must be facing at Nissaya. Regarding her companions, it was easy for the sorceress to surmise what caused them to grieve: Ugga over Bard’s death; Elu over the disappearance of Rathburt; and Rajinii over the specter of yet another invasion of Jivita, not to mention her obsessive desire for Torg. The queen probably was as worried about him as Laylah, though the latter could no longer work up much jealousy over it.
Knowing that an impending confrontation with Mala was a week away at the earliest, they took the opportunity to ride to greet Lucius and Bonny at their pavilion, which had been constructed near the southern border of Dhutanga. At least it would be something to take their minds off the constant worry.
A dozen Tugars followed behind them on foot, along with an ass that bore a keg of beer as large as a man. A special supper was planned that would include onion soup, fish stew, and roasted meats. Normally, Laylah would have been looking forward to it, especially since she had not eaten breakfast, but her stomach felt queasy. Until recently she had been accustomed to feeling this way whenever she wandered openly during the brightness of day, but she knew that it now was Torg’s plight that caused her discomfort far more than the sunlight.
Rajinii startled her with a sudden comment. “Do you sense anything?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you sense anything? About Torg?”
“My thoughts are blank,” Laylah said. “And you?”
“Nothing.” Then she added, “I believe that I . . . we . . . would know if he were harmed.”
“I agree,” Laylah said, “but in some ways, that makes it worse. I’m so afraid I can barely breathe.”
“I’ve felt that way for years,” Rajinii said, still bearing bruises on her face and torso from the battle with the druids.
“Me too,” Laylah said. “And I’m tired of it.”
“Yes.” Then Rajinii looked down at Elu, making a good-natured attempt to lighten their moods. “How about you, Sir Elu?”
“Your highness?”
“What do you sense?”
The Svakaran spoke slowly. “Elu doesn’t have great magic like you and Queen Laylah. But he believes that the great one will return to us unharmed.”
“That’s what Ugga thinks too,” the crossbreed said. “Master Hah-nah is not meant to die just yet.” Then he lowered his head and hid his face, but not before they saw him resume his crying over the loss of Bard.
“This is going to be quite the party,” Rajinii remarked.
As if on cue, a Tugar trotted forward. “King Torgon will return. Do not doubt it,” Ukkutīka said. “When Sir Elu calls our lord the great one, his words are more accurate than he knows. Torg always returns.” Then he fell back and rejoined the other desert warriors.
“We’ve been properly chastised,” Rajinii said.
Laylah chuckled. “Yes. But hearing the words from a Tugar’s mouth brings comfort.”
“I can’t deny it,” Rajinii said.
20
THAT SAME MORNING, Lucius and Bonny woke early, left the privacy of their curtained pavilion, and rushed into the woods to check on the Daasa. Since the battle with the druids, the Daasa had returned to their nicey state, as Ugga called it, and had not strayed from it, preferring to eat, sleep, and play—in no particular order. They also had proven to possess remarkable recuperative powers. Though most of the survivors had borne gashes and punctures, some of which were life-threatening, they now appeared miraculously healed and were thriving again. Long swims in the frothy currents of Cariya seemed to hasten their recoveries, as if clean water was all the magic they needed to succor their wounds.
However, Lucius was not faring as well. His back bore several long scratches due to an especially spirited bout of lovemaking. Would the pirate woman kill him before Mala and Invictus got the chance? The thought made him chuckle.
“What is it, sweety?” said Bonny, her eye
s playful. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
Lucius laughed. “Only that I love you so much.”
Bonny smacked him on the buttocks. “You are a liar. That’s not all you were thinking. But some lies are good ones.”
After playing with the Daasa by the river, they returned to the pavilion. By then, General Navarese and a squadron of white horsemen had arrived with cooks and servitors who already were preparing supper. When Laylah and the others approached in the afternoon, Lucius was pleased—in more ways than one. The presence of his dear friends filled him with joy, but so did something else: the realization that Laylah now was truly just a friend. His jealousy was gone, his love for Bonny overwhelming it. Lucius was proud of himself and also relieved. His obsession with Laylah had been a larger drain on his mind and body than he had realized. Lucius felt like he could breathe again.
All things considered, the meal went well. They purposely spoke little of Nissaya or the upcoming battle, instead focusing their attention on bittersweet revelry. They drank every drop of ale, and then wine on top of that—masking their anxiety with drunkenness. In the midevening their companions began the return journey to Jivita, depending on their horses to find the way. Lucius kissed Laylah goodbye, but Bonny didn’t appear jealous because he also kissed Rajinii, Navarese, Ugga, Elu, and the ass that had brought the beer.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow at the Privy Council,” Navarese said, his voice slurred. “It is important that you are there.”
But Lucius was staggering toward the pavilion and did not hear. Bonny already was inside, snoring softly.
“At least there’ll be no scratches tonight,” Lucius thought. “We’re both too tired.”
As it turned out he was wrong. Bonny’s appetites transcended even exhaustion.
21
LAYLAH ARRIVED back at Jivita less than a bell before dawn. She had surprised herself by sleeping during most of the ride back, resting her head on the base of Izumo’s strong neck. When she and the others reached the palace, she said quick goodnights and then walked to her room. Servants had prepared a bath, but she ordered them to leave, and then cast herself onto her bed fully clothed. Her grief, compounded by drunkenness, had created a level of exhaustion she could no longer resist.
