by Jim Melvin
Rajinii lowered her head and sat in silence, her silky black hair tumbling about her beautiful pale face. Her faith was strong, but it harbored shreds of doubt. Why had Ekadeva permitted Invictus to infect her? Had she strayed so far from his grace? And why did he allow the sorcerer’s army to plunder and cannibalize Nissaya? It was true that the defenders of the fortress were blind to the truth of Ekadeva, but they were not evil. And even if the black knights deserved punishment, surely her people did not. The One God could strike down Invictus and his army with a wave of his hand. Why not do it?
Rajinii knew what Archbishop Bernard would say: The will of God was beyond mortal comprehension. He—and only he—knew what was best for his servants. Besides, what were a few moments of suffering on Triken when compared to an eternity of paradise in heaven?
“Still,” she whispered out loud, “the children, the weak, the helpless. If we fall, they too will perish . . . at the hands of monsters. If I possessed just a fraction of your strength, I would strike down our enemy—thine enemy—and bring peace to the world. Will you not give me a sign?”
Rajinii also knew what The Torgon would say: Their predicament was nothing more than a confluence of karma with a yet-to-be-determined resolution. Death would come to them all, painful or otherwise, regardless of the circumstances. Rebirth would follow, unless enlightenment was achieved.
“I prefer my beliefs,” she whispered. Then in her best impersonation of Torg’s voice, she said, “What does belief have to do with it? I have died . . . and returned.”
Though she remained in the chapel until almost dawn, she received no sign from her god—at least none she could discern. When she finally departed, she felt sad and lonely. Henchmen came to her and bowed, but she waved them away. Surprisingly, she found herself wandering the hallways and eventually stopping in front of Elu’s door. Rajinii let herself in.
The Svakaran slept soundly in his large bed.
She slipped out of her robes and nestled in beside him. When Elu awoke, his eyes sprang open. “Shhhhhhhh,” Rajinii purred. “Shhhhhhh. Just hold me. Please . . .”
Long a widow, Rajinii had not lain with a man for many years. Now, on the eve of doom, she found that she needed the comfort only a man could provide her. Torg wasn’t available, so Elu would have to do. His body was small, but she discovered—much to her eventual delight—that not every part of him was diminutive.
26
THE FOLLOWING morning, William Navarese stood in his bedchambers, hunched over a broad wooden table littered with parchments. Though he was alone, the general spoke loudly, as if presiding over a gathering of advisors.
“Fifty thousand destriers. Twenty-five thousand white horsemen. Two thousand Tugars. Six thousand Daasa . . . maybe. Twenty necromancers. And a smattering of others. Too few. Too few.”
Would aid come from Nissaya? Torg had indicated that most of the Tugars had survived. If seven thousand more were to arrive in Jivita, it would be an incalculable boon. But even then, their army would be puny when compared to Mala’s host.
“And if we lose the Daasa, it will be even worse,” he said out loud to no one.
Still, he would do his best to devise new schemes that might give them a chance. His earlier plans were no longer applicable. None had been made with the knowledge that the newborns could transform. A week remained to revise his strategies—and he would need every moment of that time. When an idea finally came to him that might make best use of the particular skills of both his horsemen and the Tugars, Navarese swung open his door and screamed down the hall to any who might hear.
“Someone get me The Torgon, dammit! And the queen. And tell them to meet me in the throne room. Hurry!”
Navarese’s vision prompted a long planning session among Torg, Navarese, and Queen Rajinii about the upcoming war. Afterward, most of the pieces were in place. For whatever solace it gave them, Mala, at least, would not catch them unprepared. However, only two thousand Tugars were currently at Jivita. Podhana and the other Tugars, along with Kusala and the other Asēkhas, were still missing.
In the Green Plains east of the White City, the Jivitan army was already entrenched. A broad area of lush grass and wildflower blooms would host the final battle. At least in terms of terrain, the white horsemen would have the advantage. No one knew how to fight better on the plains than the Assarohaa. But they had never encountered a host so vastly superior in strength, numbers, and ferocity.
Torg and Navarese stood together beneath the newly risen moon. For the past four days, they had searched for ways to defeat Mala’s army of monsters. Rajinii and Laylah also had been with them, along with top commanders representing the white horsemen and Tugars. Some believed they should march immediately and attempt to catch the Chain Man unawares, but these suggestions were cast aside, most vehemently by Navarese himself. Victory in this battle, the general argued, could be achieved only through discipline. Meeting Mala anywhere east of Lake Hadaya would be suicide. Better to take what time remained to them to settle into place, feeding and resting both the soldiers and their steeds.
Almost twenty-five thousand armored horsemen and twice that many destriers remained from the battle with the druids. Of those, five thousand were former infantry now aboard barded destriers. All were heavily armored, bearing some combination of lance, longsword, mace, and crossbow. Jivitan armor was so well made, shields usually were disdained. But in this battle, Navarese believed that they would prove useful. Therefore, each rider now bore a kite-shaped shield, fronted with thick white iron but padded on the back with soft leather.
Tugars roamed among the host. Per usual, they disdained armor, wielding only uttara, short sword, daggers, and slings. Their flesh was their armor.
To the joy of all, the number of Tugars swelled to almost nine thousand when Podhana arrived from Nissaya, his company weary from its excruciating march. One thousand black knights and five hundred refugees were with them, most of the latter barely able to stand.
Torg rushed forward and clasped forearms with the highly ranked Asēkha.
“Abhinandanena te garukaromi (I greet you with great joy)!” Torg said. “You have made the journey quickly.”
“Abhinandanena te garukaromi!” Podhana echoed. “There were times when the lesser among us had to be carried, which slowed us down. I told them that I would abandon them if they didn’t keep up, but my heart has grown soft.”
Torg chuckled ruefully. “How many went with Kusala and Madiraa into the catacombs?”
“Twenty score.” Then Podhana leaned close to Torg and spoke in a near-whisper. “Mala was so obsessed with the queen and chieftain, he paid us little heed. From a distance, I witnessed the collapse of the keep. It crumbled like the remnants of a log on a blazing fire. What became of Kusala and Madiraa afterward, I cannot say.”
Navarese came forward. “Welcome to Jivita, brave warrior. It was wise of you to flee the fortress without risking further injury. The best hope of defeating Mala lies here in the Green Plains.”
Podhana grunted. “Wisdom is small solace. We fled because we had no other choice, but it made it no less shameful. Cowardice is a heavy burden.”
“Nonsense!” Navarese said. “Choosing to fight another day is not cowardice, when suicide is your only other option.”
The Asēkha looked at Torg, his deep-blue eyes sad. “My lord, I am too weary for this debate. Is there a place prepared for us?”
By then, Ukkutīka, the senior warrior at Jivita until the arrival of Podhana, stepped forward. “Asēkha, a place has been prepared, and we are well-provisioned. Your brothers and sisters have long awaited your arrival. There will be great joy among us.”
When Podhana departed, Navarese seemed puzzled. “He had no choice but to flee. Why does he berate himself?”
Torg sighed. “He was there, general. He saw. The Tugars have never abandoned so many. He feels responsible for the slaughter. As do I.”
“Invictus and Mala are the only ones responsible,” Navarese said. �
�You did your best. And you’re not finished. You may yet achieve vengeance.”
“Nonetheless . . .” Torg said.
Afterward, he sought out Laylah and found her standing alone on a hillock. She was staring up at the full moon, as if in a trance.
“My love,” he said, “most of the Tugars have arrived from Nissaya. Only the few who remained with Kusala have yet to appear.”
“That is wonderful news,” she said, though her voice sounded anything but joyful. Then she gestured toward the moon. “Is it not beautiful? If only I could bask in its reflection . . . without dread.”
Torg could think of no response. He too was filled with dread.
After a long silence Laylah said, “Beloved?”
“Yes, my love?”
“If you fall . . . I will end my life. Do you doubt it?”
“I do not doubt it.”
“But . . .”
“Yes?”
“If Invictus has taken me from you . . . and you still live . . .”
“If that occurs, you must somehow close your mind to him . . . and stay alive,” Torg said. “If I still live, I will find you. Do you doubt it?”
“I do not.”
“Laylah?”
“Yes, beloved?”
“I will find you . . . even if I die.”
The sorceress burst into tears.
27
THEY WERE NOT quite as fast as stallions or as tireless as camels, but when the need arose, Tugars could cover long distances on foot with amazing speed. Marching with Kusala were sixteen Asēkhas and twenty score Tugars, and the chieftain took satisfaction in knowing that none among their company would slow them down, despite their exhaustion from their ordeals at Nissaya.
Along the border of the forested foothills the terrain was difficult, but Kusala, unsure of the current location of Mala’s army, was loath to leave the cover of the trees, forcing a slower pace than he preferred. Still, it was better than being spotted by one of Mala’s dracools. Kusala had one goal in mind: reach Jivita as fast as possible. The Chain Man’s army probably had a lead, but it would move far more slowly than the Tugars. Kusala hoped to reach the White City long ahead of his enemy.
During the worst heat of the afternoon they stopped to rest and eat.
The Tugars carried few provisions, but in midspring there was abundant food and water to be found in the foothills. They ignored game because they dared not light a fire, but they could hardly walk a step without encountering wild greens, potatoes, onions, and a variety of edible roots. That morning, they already had feasted on honey from an enormous beehive found in the crook of a tree. Around noon they had come across an abandoned farmhouse and discovered dried meat and fruit in the kitchen pantry. All in all, they were well-fed.
Whether running or resting, Kusala could not stop thinking about Madiraa. A part of him regretted allowing her to separate from the Tugars, but when he brought this up to the Asēkhas, Churikā had scolded him.
“Chieftain! What were you going to do? Tie her up and drag her all the way to Jivita? She’s a queen, for Anna’s sake. She goes where she chooses. Besides, she’s safer going east than west, if you ask me.”
Though he didn’t take well to scolding, especially by someone so much younger than he, Kusala realized that Churikā was right. Afterward, he began to feel a little better. Madiraa was safer going east, and maybe when she approached Avici and saw the futility of her quest, she would turn aside. Yes . . . and camels will learn to fly.
When they reached the northern shore of Lake Hadaya, the Tugars encountered a Jivitan scout aboard a lean white stallion bred for endurance.
“Well met, Kantaara Yodhas!” she called to them. “A great army of your kind passed this way less than two days ago, and there were black knights and refugees with them, though they were struggling to keep up.”
Knowing that most of the Tugars still survived made Kusala smile. “And The Torgon?” he said to the scout.
“He returned to Jivita the morning after the fall of Nissaya. It must be that he can fly . . . or at least run faster than you.”
Kusala laughed loudly. “That is wonderful news.”
“The Jivitans are overjoyed by his presence. Among us all, there are none greater.” Then she asked, “What say you of the whereabouts of Mala’s army? Without the mountain eagles we are blind to the enemy’s movements, and we dare not ride any farther east than this.”
“We have traveled far in a short time,” Kusala said. “Yet the enemy had a head start. My guess is that Mala is no more than half-a-day behind us.”
“The storm approaches,” the scout said. “I will ride in a rush to Jivita. Should I send aid? Are there injured among you?”
“We need no aid that a keg of ale and a good night’s sleep won’t cure, but we have time for neither. Go now and alert the others.”
The scout drew a white horn from her belt and put it to her lips. Soon after she sounded the horn, Kusala could hear other horns in the distance. Then she waved to the Tugars and rode off in a frantic gallop.
“The storm approaches, indeed,” Kusala whispered. “At least the Tugars will face it with our king at our side. If it’s time to die, then we will welcome it alongside greatness.”
When Kusala and his company finally arrived at Jivita, they were greeted with shouts and cries of joy by desert warriors and white horsemen alike. It was late evening, two nights past the full moon, when the chieftain grasped forearms with The Torgon, who was accompanied by Laylah, Podhana, and Ukkutīka, among others.
“Abhinandanena te garukaromi (I greet you with great joy)!” Torg said to his longtime friend.
Kusala repeated the salutation. Then he turned to Laylah. “It is wonderful to see you again, my lady.”
The sorceress curtsied. “The pleasure is mine.”
“And what of Ugga and Elu?” Kusala said. “Though I knew them for just a short time, I grew fond of their company.”
“They are out and about,” Torg said, chuckling. “They are especially clever at being in the right place at the right time whenever a fresh keg of ale is brought forth.” Then the wizard’s face grew puzzled. “It was reported by Jivitan scouts that Madiraa was not with you. Did the queen perish in the catacombs?”
Kusala sighed. “The story is long, my lord. Might I tell it over food and ale?”
The Cleansing of Tējo
28
ON THE SAME evening that Mala and Utu finally came face to face, the noble ones of Dibbu-Loka began the long march from the oasis of Wuul to the Tent City of Anna. Accompanying the monks and nuns were one hundred Tugars, including not one but two Asēkhas. Three days earlier, Aya had woken from a sound sleep in the late afternoon, his eyes ablaze. Another of The Twenty had fallen, though he knew not which. At that moment, Aya had become a member of the Viisati.
After his ascension, the newly crowned Asēkha had sent almost twenty score warriors into the depths of the desert to hunt down any fiends that still threatened the people of Tējo. Now well-provisioned, the Tugars were ordered to scatter, which would enable them to cover as much territory as possible, though all were told to return to Anna within a fortnight.
Between Wuul and Vimānal—the oasis that hosted the current version of the Tent City—lay many leagues of desert. But this stretch of land was not entirely barren. Even moving slowly, large companies could reach shaded areas to rest and recuperate.
They marched through the night without altercation, seeing no living beings that walked on two legs. It was as if the human inhabitants of Tējo had vanished into thin air, though it was more likely that most had traveled farther east to escape the threat of the fiends. There were several more oases deep within the desert that could host sizable gatherings of people. Aya hoped that most who had fled the fiends had managed to find their way to these life-supporting havens.
Near morning, a small company of Tugars leading thirty camels laden with supplies approached them from the opposite direction. A Vasi master nam
ed Mudu came forward and bowed.
“Until now, Tējo has been eerily quiet,” Rati said to Mudu in a loud voice. “But you and your company were making enough noise to wake the dead.”
“Shhhhhh,” Mudu said. “Do not jest about such things. There are fiends about.”
“Most of them are destroyed, my friend,” Aya said, clasping forearms with the teacher. “And I have sent out Tugars to hunt down the rest. But what brings you here? Have you come for our benefit?”
“What do you think?” The master blinked. “You have ascended. I congratulate you,” he said to Aya. “Do you know which of The Twenty has fallen?”
“We were hoping you might tell us,” Aya said.
Mudu only shrugged.
Afterward, they continued on toward Anna, even better supplied than they had been before. When they reached the top of a particularly tall dune, it was nearly dawn. In the pale light they could see for several leagues. To their relief there were no fiends, only a flat expanse of empty sand—and in the distance, an awkward gathering of boulders that would provide that day’s protection from the raging sun. Several Tugars, including some of the new arrivals, raced ahead to begin preparations for a morning meal. The noble ones trudged along slowly but without complaint.
“It will be joyous to finally return to Anna,” Rati said. “I have not been there for many months.”
“I have been gone for just a short time, yet I too am eager,” Mudu said, “though with so many of our brothers and sisters off to war, the Tent City feels deserted.”
“There is so much we don’t know,” Rati said. “I wonder how Nissaya and Jivita fare. And I wish someone could tell me which of The Twenty fell.”
