by Jim Melvin
Escaping Kamupadana could be done.
The Asēkhas encircled their king and his six companions. Of them all, only Torg seemed aware of the warriors’ presence. Even Rathburt, who should have been able to recognize fellow Tugars, was oblivious.
Kusala walked three paces to his king’s right, dressed as a well-to-do merchant. Three paces to his left, Podhana shuffled along, pretending to be crippled. Three paces in front walked Rati, appearing as a warder from one of the inns. Three paces behind was Tāseti, the most powerful female Tugar in the world and the first in line to succeed Kusala as chieftain; she wore a narrow cloak with silken cords, mimicking a noblewoman strolling among commoners. The male Asēkha next to her also was fancily dressed, playing the role of her husband. Fourteen others completed the circle, each indistinguishable from the swarms of people around them despite the fact they were a span taller than most others in the crowd. Their uttaras were hidden, as were their daggers and slings, which the warriors used as effectively as bows and arrows, casting metal beads with wicked force, accuracy and rapidity.
Although Torg was in the center of the circle, it was he who led their procession. The Asēkhas were sensitive to his every movement: a twitch of a finger, tilt of the head, shift of the shoulder. Their circle was part of a larger group of at least one hundred people, which veered to the right and passed through one of the widest gates in the eighth wall, finally flowing into the crowded market area.
Though they appeared to be strolling from booth to booth, Torg and the Asēkas were on high alert, watching the movements of the Sāykan soldiers with a mixture of interest and bafflement. Torg was convinced that at least some of the soldiers were aware of his presence, but for whatever reason, the Sāykans feigned disinterest. Torg could think of no explanation for their behavior—which made him distrust it even more. Were they waiting until he reached open ground before attempting an ambush? That was possible, he supposed, but would they risk giving him that much of an opportunity for flight? Torg couldn’t help but think they were under orders to avoid him. If so, whose orders? Only a Warlish witch or a high priestess would have the authority to command such an act, and why would they want to help him, especially after the damage he had inflicted inside the ziggurat? The only other being who could command the Sāykans was Vedana—and again, why would the demon want him to escape?
Your daughter is lost in the darkness!
Kusala looked at him with puzzlement. Torg’s mind had wandered, and it had shown in his expression. This was no time for carelessness. Too much was at stake. Torg regained control of his concentration. His musings would have to wait.
He gestured to his traveling companions, and the Asēkhas took note. For whatever reason, their lord wanted these six to accompany them. The warriors would not question his command, but they were confused. The strangers would slow them down. Of what value could they possibly be? Regardless, the warriors would defend each of them with their lives.
Now it was well past noon. The sky was perfectly blue and the sun ablaze, as if too impatient to wait for the arrival of spring before spewing its fire. Already, as many people were leaving the city as entering. Most of the early morning crowd was returning to a heavily populated area along the Ogha River, which lay about a half-day’s journey to the east.
Torg, however, had no plans of going that way. East and south would bring him ever closer to Avici. Instead, he had decided to head southwest toward the Gap of Gamana and then skirt the northern edge of the gap, using the foothills and forests as cover. If he were able to journey past Duccarita, he would come to the portion of Dhutanga that reached almost all the way to the mountains, thereby avoiding a dangerous crossing of the gap.
But that was weeks into the future. Assuming they were able to escape the city, they still faced three leagues of open plains before reaching the foothills. In that regard, Rathburt had been right: The woman would slow them down. Considering how ill she had been just a short time ago, she was moving along quite well now. But would she be capable of outrunning pursuers?
As they approached the grand gateway of the ninth wall, Torg’s suspicions expanded. Their departure was progressing far too conveniently. If the Sāykans were determined to prevent his escape, they at least would have lowered the massive stone slab and sealed the entrance. Yet the gateway was open and lightly guarded. For whatever reason, the Warlish witches had chosen to let him go. The more he pondered it, the more Vedana entered his thoughts. Somehow the demon had become his ally—at least temporarily.
More than one hundred cubits above them, dozens of soldiers paced the wall walk. For every visible soldier, ten more probably crouched behind crenellated parapets and peered through loopholes. But if any of them saw him, they did not react. Torg, the Asēkhas and his six companions walked out of the city as easily as everyone else. In a short time they were more than a mile from the wall—and still nothing pursued them.
When they veered toward the southwest, they finally separated from the crowds. For the first time, Torg’s companions recognized the presence of the Asēkhas.
“Do not fear,” Torg said. Then he gestured toward the warriors. “They are with me.”
Lucius wasn’t impressed. “I don’t know them. What other surprises do you have in store?”
In two strides Kusala was upon him, nudging the woman aside and knocking Lucius to the ground. Then the chieftain placed the cutting edge of his uttara against the man’s throat.
“Speak to him like that again and I will spill your blood.”
“Do not harm him . . . please,” the woman pleaded. “If not for him, I would be dead.”
“Kusala, desist,” Torg said.
“As you command,” the chieftain said, backing away.
Lucius stood and brushed himself off, his face swollen with rage.
Torg walked over to Kusala and placed his hand on his shoulder. “He knows me naught. But now is not the time or place for introductions. I have much to say to you, not the least of which is I’m overjoyed to see you. But we must reach the feet of the mountains before exchanging pleasantries. As of now, consider these six as my guests and treat them accordingly.”
Then Torg nodded at Rathburt, who was watching with mouth agape.
“Kusala, it has been long since you have last seen him, but Rathburt has returned. Another Death-Knower walks among us.”
In response, the Asēkhas bowed.
“See, Bard?” Ugga said. “I told ya Master Slump isn’t such a meanie.”
The Asēkhas laughed heartily at the crossbreed’s words, but after their mirth subsided they urged the others to proceed as quickly as possible.
Lucius remained red-faced and angry, glaring at Kusala whenever the chieftain appeared not to be watching. But the Invictus look-alike continued to assist the woman, who obviously was not in condition for such a brutal march.
The ground was thick with the iron-colored grass of the Gray Plains, and though the land was relatively flat, sneaky swells sucked the energy out of unwary travelers. The Asēkhas, who never seemed to tire, brought forth tubular skins and passed them to the others.
“Aaaaaaaah,” Rathburt said, after a long swig. “The nectar of Tējo. There’s not much I miss about Anna, but this wine is unsurpassed.”
“Anna . . .?” the woman said, but Ugga spoke over her. “And it makes ya feel so good,” he bellowed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Master Hah-nah, please thank your buddies for me. It’s dee-licious!”
The wine cheered everyone except for Lucius. Torg offered to help with the woman, but the yellow-haired man growled at him. Finally Kusala nudged Lucius aside, courteously, and lifted her in his arms.
“The foothills are two leagues distant,” the chieftain said. “Unless we quicken our pace, it will be dark before we reach them. This woman is not well. We should take turns carrying her.”
“If you harm her . . .”
“You will do what? Cut off my head with the back of your hand? It is unwise to make empty
threats . . . sir.”
“If we wished to harm either of you, it would have already occurred,” Torg said. “But our intention is only to help. As of yet, we have not been pursued. The reasons for this are unclear. But we’re not free from danger.”
Kusala nodded briskly. Though he was walking and carrying the woman at the same time, his voice remained steady. “Indeed, Lord, there is much evil about—north, south and east. Wolves, Mogols and monsters roam the land, in search of someone—or something. When we arrived at Kamupadana this morning, a great force was less than half a day from the city.”
“Avici has come alive because of me,” the woman said.
“Do not say more!” Lucius snapped.
“Of what use is secrecy?” she said. “These men and women are not allies of Invictus.”
“Allies we are not,” Torg said. “Invictus has no greater enemies. These ‘men and women’ are the Asēkhas of Tējo, and you can not hope to match them. Do not doubt it, for I am their king.”
33
Torg sent four Asēkhas out as scouts, one in each direction. They sprinted through the grass and vanished, leaving no evidence of trampling in their wake. The remaining warriors took turns carrying the woman. By midafternoon the foothills were within sight, and there still was no sign of pursuit. One after another, the scouts returned. The last to appear was the only one with anything substantial to report. Churikā, the newest Asēkha as Sōbhana’s replacement, had witnessed wolves, Porisādas and monsters within a league of Kamupadana.
“But that’s not the worst of it,” Churikā said. “Mala was among them—and with him, a Kojin.”
“Let them come,” Bard growled. His memories of the cannibalistic Mogols were fresh in his mind, despite the many centuries that had passed since his traumatic boyhood.
“There are too many for us to face openly,” Torg said. “Flight is our best recourse.” Then he turned to Churikā. “Are we being followed?”
“Not yet. It’s as if we’re invisible.”
“But it will not take wolves long to pick up our scent,” Elu said worriedly. “And they run much faster than horses.”
“Your friend is correct,” Kusala said. “The wolves and their riders travel great distances quickly. We cannot outrun them over a long stretch.”
“It doesn’t matter how much danger we’re in,” Rathburt said. “Some of us are not Asēkhas. We must rest, eventually.”
“As you say, my lord,” Kusala said.
The chieftain’s reverence toward Rathburt amazed Ugga. “Is Master Slump a king, too?”
“In some circles,” Torg replied.
Rati and Podhana were sent ahead to search for a hiding place. By the time they returned, the rest of the party had reached the foothills. Great mountains loomed on their right.
“My lord, we found a shelter hidden by boulders on the side of a slope,” Rati said. “An angry stream blocks our way, but there’s a shoal on which to cross. I believe we’ll be safe there.”
“Lead us, then,” Torg said.
Once they reached the foothills, the woman demanded to be allowed to walk, and her wish was granted. They entered a dense forest. The oaks had not yet flowered, but a few of the other hardwoods had begun to bloom, filling the woods with sweet perfumes. After traveling another league, dusk approached like a centipede as broad as the sky. They encountered the stream and then passed along a series of rapids and eddies before finding the shoal. The woman started to cross on her own, but Tāseti came behind her and lifted her as easily as Kusala had earlier.
“If you were not ill, I’m sure you would be more than capable, my lady,” the Asēkha said. “But as of now, your body is not as bold as your mind.”
Though the water came up only to the knees of the warriors, the current was powerful and the rocks very slippery. Elu considered it for a moment and then wisely leapt onto Ugga’s shoulders. Even Rathburt succumbed, allowing Kusala to carry him. Lucius struggled but made it on his own. The others crossed easily, except for five of the Asēkhas, who were sent back to disguise the tracks left by Torg’s companions.
They marched another mile before reaching the rock shelter, and much of that was a difficult uphill climb. Try as she might, the woman couldn’t manage it, so the Asēkhas again took turns carrying her. But Torg avoided her, believing that Lucius would rage out of control if he touched her, and Torg wasn’t sure he could resist injuring the man if he were insulted again.
Torg was fully capable of eliminating Lucius in a manner that would appear accidental. But he pushed that thought aside, knowing it would upset the woman too much, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Her well-being was his prime concern, even if it meant swallowing his pride.
The shelter was tucked into the side of an abrupt incline. Giant oaks clung precariously to the steep slope, their roots as vulnerable as fingers. The entrance was about five cubits wide and only three tall, but it opened into a sizeable chamber. Once inside, even the Asēkhas, who were almost as tall as Torg and Ugga, could stand upright with room to spare.
Within the chamber it became too dark to see, so they dared a single torch in the far back. The Asēkhas, who carried their supplies in cloth packs wrapped around their waists, dealt out dried meat and fruit, including small squares of a green cactus called Cirāya that, when chewed, flooded the mouth with a tangy but refreshing juice. When Tugars were on the move, especially in the heat of the desert, they chewed the flesh of Cirāya for long stretches. Just a small amount kept a warrior going for a full day without any other food or liquid. In fact, the more the body relied on just the cactus juice, the more beneficial its effects became.
Bard and Ugga started to break out their own supplies, but Torg stopped them.
“Save that for later.”
After their quick meal, the Asēkhas fanned out along the hillside.
“Now would be a good time to sleep, if you can,” Torg said to the woman. A lingering glance passed between them. Then he crept out of the cave with Kusala, and he and the chieftain climbed up the slope and sat on a ledge of banded gneiss. They clasped forearms and stared silently at each other for fifty short breaths, in honor of the number of years it took to become a warrior.
Finally Torg spoke. “Kusala, I apologize for my behavior at Dibbu-Loka. I struck you with Obhasa and humiliated you. Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord. Your word is law.” Then the chieftain’s eyes glowed. “There was a time we believed you were no longer. Our connection to you was severed. Even the Vasi masters lost hope. But then you re-emerged in our consciousness. Every Tugar heard your call. I summoned the Asēkhas, and we left Anna the next morning, but it still took us months to find you. Early on, scouts who had encountered Sōbhana along the river brought reports. But later, there was no word of you anywhere. We sent hawks and owls, but even their keen eyes could not locate you. It was as if you were in disguise. My lord, how could you be gone and yet not gone?”
“Every time I achieve Sammaasamaadhi, I am gone and yet not gone. But I don’t mean to bandy with words. Let me try to explain.”
As briefly as possible, Torg described his long journey with Mala; his encounters with Bhayatupa and Invictus at Avici; his imprisonment in the pit; and finally the death of Sōbhana.
“I was lost to you and the Tugars as soon as I was lowered into the pit. As for being ‘in disguise,’ let’s just say that the poisons and evil magic changed my appearance. Only recently have I returned to my former self. So it’s possible your spies saw and yet didn’t recognize me. More likely, they flew the other way in a panic.”
Kusala allowed himself a brief laugh, but then his serious side took over, as was his custom. “Sōbhana was a great warrior. Churikā sensed her death and ascended at that moment, but we knew nothing else of her fate until now. She will be sorely missed.”
“I will never forget her,” Torg said. “Her place among the great is beyond question.”
Kusala nodded. Then
he said, “It’s a long journey from Anna to Kamupadana. We rode camels to Dibbu-Loka and then marched from there to Nissaya. The black knights knew nothing of your whereabouts, but they did not take the threat of Invictus lightly. I have never seen the fortress so well-prepared. At least fifty thousand walk the wall. And they have nearly one hundred conjurers, as well.”
“That is welcome news, though I have heard some of it already. What do you know of Jivita?”
“We’ve heard that the White City is also strong, boasting more than forty thousand horsemen and thousands more infantry.”
“Yet the army of Invictus is greater still,” Torg said. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Jivita, Nissaya and Anna combined are outnumbered two-to-one—and that, just against his main strength, which includes many terrible creatures. Countless more will join the Sun God when summoned, including the druids, whose numbers are unknown. Alas, if only the Tugars were as prolific as their enemies. We have only ten thousand warriors. I fear we are too few.”
“The Tugars are never to be underestimated,” Kusala said fiercely. “But your concerns are well taken. And not all news from the fortress was good. Nissaya and Jivita are on poor terms. Neither seems willing to aid the other, both desiring to remain within their borders. In some ways I can’t blame them.”
“Intelligent decisions are one thing, disharmony another. If ever there was a need to band together against a common foe, it is now. Even unified we will be hard-pressed. Divided we will be easy prey.” Torg grew silent. When he looked up, his eyes glowed blue-green in the darkness. “How are the Tugars dispersed?”
“Despite the protection of the Simōōn, I did not wish to leave the citizens of Anna entirely unguarded, so I ordered Asēkha-Dvipa to remain in the Tent City with one thousand warriors. I then sent two thousand each to Nissaya and Jivita. The remaining five thousand are camped on the northern shore of Lake Hadaya, ready to march east or west, wherever the need is greatest.”
