by Jim Melvin
Though it was the middle of the day, the passageway that led to the inner chamber of the lair was dark. The dragon had ordered his Mogol slaves to extinguish all torches. Bhayatupa’s eyes were profoundly sensitive, making it difficult for him to sleep, even in dim light.
As Vedana slithered toward the dragon, the blackness of her coming made the natural darkness appear gray in comparison. Her gooey, tubular essence crept toward Bhayatupa like a magical snake, slow but dance-like in its movements. The Mogols who stood guard at the inner mouth of the passageway could not see or hear her approach, but Vedana imagined that chills ran up their spines, nonetheless.
The dragon, however, saw her. And heard her. And definitely felt her.
Bhayatupa raised his head. His mouth opened wide, exposing an angry set of glowing fangs.
“Vedana, this had better be good,” he said in his growling voice. “I’m not in the mood for your nonsense. The past few days have been . . . difficult.”
Her black essence came forward and caressed the dragon’s snout, slipping in one nostril and out the other. Bhayatupa snorted in disgust.
“You were always my favorite creation,” Vedana purred.
“I was born from the seed of the old gods and am far beyond the likes of you.”
“That is not so. It was my vision that gave birth to all the dragons, including you, Mahaasupanna.”
“Then why do you fear me?”
“It’s possible to fear your own handiwork. Not pleasant, but possible. I fear Invictus, as well. Do you doubt I created him?”
He snorted again. “What do you want? As you can see, I’m trying to sleep. I don’t feel particularly well, thanks to your handiwork.”
“Don’t be so gruff. I want what you want. And what Invictus wants, as well. Control over everyone and everything. Short of that, I’ve come here to ask you to perform an errand. If you do, I’ll reward you with some valuable information.”
“What could you possibly offer that would provide any interest to me?”
“Well, there’s the little matter of your craving.”
Anger flared in the dragon’s huge eyes. Spurts of crimson flame leapt from his nostrils, illuminating the chamber. For a moment, his treasure sparkled like the surface of the sea at sunset. “Do not toy with me, demon. You’re not immune to harm. Speak quickly! Or leave my presence.”
“Allow me to confirm, then, what you probably already suspect. Your precious Death-Knower lives.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve seen him. I’ve . . . how would you say it? . . . been with him. But more importantly, I’ve aided him.”
“I don’t believe a word. Why would you want to help the Death-Knower? He is honest and moral, qualities you despise.”
“Ha ha! As my witches would say, you are sssso funny. Why would I want to help the Death-Knower? There’s a very good reason . . . Invictus.”
“You speak gibberish.”
“Do I? In regards to my grandson, both you and I are having difficulties, wouldn’t you say? Our young adversary has outgrown himself, but that only makes him more dangerous. If he appeared in this chamber, he could destroy both of us—and we both know it.”
The dragon sighed. “I’m listening.”
“It took you long enough. Well then, hear my plan—and see for yourself if it serves us both. And when I’m finished, there’s an obnoxious monster that needs to be dealt with. I’ll even tell you where to find him. A dracool girlfriend of mine has been most helpful.”
Then Vedana whispered in the dragon’s ear, telling him how she intended to defeat Invictus. The more she spoke, the more interested Bhayatupa became. The dragon was pleased, and he eagerly agreed to carry out Vedana’s errand.
“You need not have offered a reward,” he said. “I would have rewarded you for the opportunity to destroy this despicable Adho Satta.”
“Don’t underestimate Mala,” she said. “He won’t be easy to kill. The Chain Man has an odd sort of luck. There are no guarantees.”
“I care naught for luck. I care only for myself. Have I not said so before?”
“More times than I can count,” said Vedana, and then she vanished. These days, her schemes required a lot of moving around—in ways of which only she and her kind were capable.
Good thing she finally had some help.
42
When the vines encircled his bulging calves, Mala instantly knew what it was that attacked. Most believed him to be an ignorant bully, though none dared say it to his face. Was he a bully? Yes. Ignorant? No. Mala loved to learn. It was one of the few traits of his former self that remained intact. The only difference was that while Yama-Deva had studied out of a simple love of life, Mala did it to gain advantages over his enemies.
The Badaalataa, according to Invictus’ historians, were demonic creatures Vedana had incarnated into the world of the living, though the books called her “Invictus’ grandmother,” as if that were her only claim to fame. Once introduced to the land, the vines had spread like weeds, but only where large areas of mountain laurel were present. The reason for this was obvious: Laurel provided the Badaalataa with excellent concealment.
When the vines entrapped him, Mala became enraged. The queen, the traitor and the Death-Knower were so close he could taste it. If not for the Badaalataa, he would have had them. But somehow his enemies were able to move through the laurel without being harmed. Was it some conjuration of the wizard? Or maybe even Laylah’s doing? He was puzzled. At the same time, he realized that if he didn’t retreat, the vines might harm him. Anything that could take down a Kojin was extremely dangerous, even to him.
With the Badaalataa snapping at his heels, Mala returned to the safety of the trail and then backtracked to where the bulk of his army cowered. Except for the cave troll, only the Kojin had dared to venture into the laurel. Mala mourned her passing. He always could count on the ogresses for loyalty and adoration, and so few of them were left.
Mala stormed over to a Porisādan chieftain, pounding his boulder-sized fists together to gain his full attention.
“They are escaping, you red-skinned moron. We must follow!”
“Lord Mala, the Badaalataa are everywhere,” the chieftain said. “We cannot follow. We must approach from another direction.”
“If we do that, they’ll be lost to us. And I don’t plan on allowing that to happen.”
A dracool waddled up, her leathery wings spread wide for balance. “Lord Mala, may I have a word?”
“Why should I listen to you? You’re not large enough to carry me where I need to go. All of you are worthless. All of you!”
“But lord, there is something you must know,” the dracool rasped. “The others of my kind who flew with your army are dead. A mysterious illness befell them, and they plunged into the vines. I only survived because I was returning with news of the enemy’s whereabouts.”
This attracted Mala’s attention. “What have you to say?”
“I’ve seen the extent of the laurel and the direction the enemy was headed. If they survive the vines, they’ll be many leagues from where we now stand. Given a day and night, a black wolf at full run could not overtake them, even if our quarry were to sit down and await its arrival. If you wish to catch up quickly, you’ll have to fly.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Besides a great dragon, only one creature is capable of bearing you. If you command it, I will fly to Avici and return with a Sampati and more dracools. We can be back by midmorning.”
“Go then!” Mala said.
As the baby dragon disappeared from sight, Mala ordered the Porisādas and the rest of the Mogols to ride on wolves along the edge of the laurel forest and attempt to pick up the enemy’s trail on the other side. When the Sampati arrived, Mala and the dracools would join the search from above. Meanwhile, he told the druids and remaining monsters to march into the gap and watch for any attempts at a crossing. If the fools turned south, they would be easy prey. But
Mala believed they would continue north and west. Lucius and Laylah were too stupid to think clearly, but the Death-Knower was a sly one. With him as their guide, they would be difficult to track.
While he waited for the dracool’s return, Mala realized he was hungry. He eyed the remains of a dead troll the Asēkhas had slain, but it already was roasting within a massive pyre, and Mala preferred his meat raw. A single Mogol had remained to service Mala, and he ordered him to go into the forest and bring back fresh food. A short time later, the Mogol returned with the carcass of a small black bear. Mala tore off one of its hind legs and tossed it to the Mogol and then devoured the rest of the beast raw—fur, bones and all. After that, he slept through the night. While roasting his portion of the bear, the Mogol was told to stand guard over his leader, though Mala knew it was a needless act. Who or what would dare ambush a fanged monster that stood more than ten cubits tall and weighed seventy stones?
When Mala woke, the eastern sky was brightening. The Mogol presented his master with three wiggly rabbits (their hind legs broken), which Mala greedily chewed up and swallowed. The juicy flesh and crunchy bones put him in a good mood. At one point he even joked around with his companion and smacked him on the back—a little too hard. The Mogol quivered, spit blood and stopped moving.
“Oops!” Mala said, looking around guiltily. Then he picked up the warrior and cast him into the laurel, laughing hysterically when the Badaalataa fell upon the corpse—if it was a corpse. Mala wasn’t certain if the Mogol had been dead or not. But who cared? He commanded thousands of them. Plenty more would die before the wars were over. Gods, he thought, this is going to be fun.
Halfway through the morning, the dracool returned, along with a Sampati (the same one Mala had forced to carry him from Asubha), nineteen other baby dragons and a flock of ravens. The Sampati’s rider climbed off and bowed to Mala, who shoved him aside and clambered onto the hybrid condor’s scaly neck. As soon as they launched into the sky, Mala was able to see the full extent of the laurel forest. The breadth of it amazed him. Thousands of hectares dominated the slope of the mountain. The Badaalataa lay hidden within, quiet but hungry. It would be an amusing place to bring prisoners, later on.
Mala was no dragon, but his eyes were keen. To the southwest he saw his wolves and Mogols marching along the border of the laurel. But of more interest were the wide scorch marks running through the middle of the laurel. To Mala, they resembled a giant arrow aimed at his prey. He grinned.
Mala motioned to one of the dracools, which peeled off and dove toward the wolves to report what had been seen from the air. Mala believed he could handle the enemy himself, but the memory of his painful encounter with the Death-Knower at Dibbu-Loka still haunted him. It never hurt to have some backup.
Out of nowhere, something huge streaked down and crashed into the dracool, tearing it to pieces in midair.
“Huh?” said Mala, as a great dragon swept around and flew directly at the Sampati.
Squawking loudly, the crossbred condor swerved, forcing Mala to hold on for dear life. Somehow Bhayatupa had found him, and he appeared quite angry.
The ravens flew into the dragon’s face, pecking at his eyes and the ear holes beneath his horns. But blasts of crimson fire incinerated most of them. The dracools attacked next, barely slowing Bhayatupa’s approach. But they purchased, with their lives, enough time for Mala to force the Sampati toward the blackened trail that led to the end of the laurel. As fast as a diving hawk, the massive beast shot downward.
Mala was confident in his own abilities, but he knew he was no match for Bhayatupa without Invictus to protect him—especially a thousand cubits above the ground. Either the dragon would kill him in the air, or he would perish when he fell into the vines. He had to reach the forest beyond the laurel and find a place to hide.
A torrent of superheated flame engulfed him and his mount. Mala cried out. The Sampati lurched forward, most of its wing and tail feathers incinerated, exposing bare scales. It tumbled out of control. Mala was thrown off.
By now he and the Sampati were only a few cubits above the slope. Mala fell into the trees just beyond the border of the laurel, crashing to the ground in a painful series of thuds and grunts. The Sampati smote the side of the slope just a few paces beyond and lay still.
Though he was injured in many places, Mala knew he could not lie there and feel sorry for himself. In a moment the dragon would be upon him, so he scrambled on hands and knees into the thickest stand of trees, attempting to conceal his massive frame. But he might as well have tried to hide a mammoth in a bale of hay.
Still, the trees did provide some protection. Bhayatupa could see him but could not approach. He was twenty times as long as Mala and sixty times his weight. Though he was as flexible as a worm, the dragon did not have room to squeeze between the sturdy trunks.
“Adho Satta, why do you cower?” the dragon said, in a growling voice that made Mala shudder. “You so love to give orders. Why not come out from your hiding place and face me?”
“When Invictus hears of this, you’ll not speak so boldly,” Mala said, but his voice quivered.
“Aaaaaah . . . so that is how it is. As long as the sorcerer is near, you are big and brave. But when you are alone, you are a coward, low among the low. How pathetic you are. How obscene. I was hoping you would at least put up a fight. But alas, when it comes to facing me, few have the courage to raise a sword. Most just relieve themselves in their breeches, and I’m forced to endure the taste of their scat and urine while I devour them.”
Mala knew the dragon was hoping to anger him enough to lure him into the open. And in some regards it was working. He was angry. Smoke puffed out of his mouth, nostrils, and ears, and his chain glowed hot enough to catch nearby trees on fire. But without Invictus or an army of monsters to back him, he was not Bhayatupa’s match. Of all the beings on Triken, only Invictus was capable of humbling the dragon. Very capable, oh yes. If Mala didn’t survive this encounter, Bhayatupa still would pay for his insolence.
“I will be the one to devour you,” Mala said, trying to sound brave. “But I’ll be sure to wash you nice and clean first.”
“Tsssk. Tsssk,” the dragon said, and then slowly reared back. What happened next was not slow, however. Bhayatupa brought his head forward with such force, his neck cracked like a whip. When he opened his jaws, Mala could see down his cavernous throat—from which came a blast of crimson fire, followed by a concussive explosion. Mala was blown backward against the trunk of a great oak. The tree shivered, and its upper half split and fell.
Blood flowed from a gash on the side of his head, but he managed to stand and clear his vision. Now the forest was burning, and amidst the flames the dragon approached, knocking down trees with wicked sweeps of his neck. In self-defense, Mala commanded a gout of molten gold to spray from his chain, showering Bhayatupa’s face and front talons.
The dragon screeched and pulled back, fanning his snout with his wings.
You can be injured, Mala realized with exhilaration. Here’s some more!
The bubbling liquid that burst from the chain was born of the magic of Invictus and was even more destructive than dragon fire. More of it stung the great lizard. Bhayatupa swiped at the viscous fluid with his wings, feet, and tail attempting to brush it off his scales. But it clung like hot wax. Finally, the dragon used his own fire to incinerate the poisons and then turned to face Mala again, his rage tenfold.
But Mala had not been idle. He knew he could not defeat the dragon in open combat, but his counterattack had distracted Bhayatupa long enough for him to run. Now he thundered down the slope like a maddened elephant, weaving through the trees as best he could. Suddenly his feet struck stone, and before he could slow his descent, he was tumbling over the lip of a rock overhang and falling a hundred cubits into a gorge cleaved by a roaring river. Mala let out a long cry. It felt like he fell forever.
Then he landed in deep water, and his weight carried him to the bottom, where the swir
ling currents momentarily pinned him. After a moment, his massive body was blown downstream. Mala struggled to the foamy surface and took a gulp of air, only to squeal as the dragon’s front talons closed around his shoulders, lifting him from the river like a squirming fish.
As the talons ripped into his thick hide, the chain erupted. Bhayatupa howled and dropped him back into the river just a few paces from the edge of a titanic waterfall. The powerful rapids spilled Mala over the side, and he fell fifty fathoms toward a tangle of boulders. But halfway down, Mala reached out one of his huge hands and caught hold of an outcropping, slowing his momentum. A moment later, he lost his grip and fell a few more cubits onto a ledge, where he lay stunned beneath a rumbling buffet of icy water. When Mala lifted his head, Bhayatupa was just a few cubits away, hovering like a mountain-sized hummingbird.
A lethal blast of dragon fire flared all around him, but the wall of water between Mala and the dragon saved him. He rolled away, not sure what to do next, but fate—or luck—provided him with a chance to escape. Behind the ledge was a circular opening in the rock. The dragon snapped at him, but the power of the falling water thwarted his attempts. Mala squirmed inside the cave, deeper and deeper, until he could go no farther. Then he collapsed on the dripping stone, bleeding and exhausted.
For a long time after, he heard Bhayatupa cursing him and saw blasts of dragon fire lighting up the mouth of the cavern. But he was safely beyond reach. The hole was too small for any part of the dragon to enter.
Mala lay in semi-consciousness. He barely noticed when dusk approached and Bhayatupa gave up the chase, flying off in a rage. Eventually the Mogols and wolves found him huddled in the cave, shivering and barely coherent. A passageway led to open ground. They built a great litter and carried him back toward Avici.
