by Jim Melvin
Mala escorted Torg into the square. The mob followed. The temple grounds soon swarmed with soldiers and onlookers. Sōbhana, in her new dress and hat, blended into the throng. She positioned herself as best she could to get a clear view.
Though most areas of the courtyard were packed, an open space remained around Mala and Torg. The Chain Man towered above everyone, and few dared approach the monster and his prisoner. Several golden soldiers stationed themselves a dozen paces away, but would go no nearer. The five druids and the Kojin, however, pressed in as close as they could. Mala’s presence seemed to fill them with bliss.
The druids of Dhutanga stood almost seven cubits tall. They were thin and angular but deceptively strong. Their outer flesh looked more like bark than skin, and they had fiery eyes and large mouths, with black holes where there should have been ears and noses.
The Kojin was an enormous ogress with a bloated head and six muscled arms. Only a few of her kind still existed in the world, and those rarely had ventured outside of Java—until the emergence of Invictus. Sōbhana recalled her lone confrontation with a Kojin, which had occurred while traveling with two Asēkhas through Java. A vicious fight ensued—three against one. Despite their most concentrated efforts, the warriors could not seriously injure the beast, and they struggled to avoid its wicked counterattacks. Finally they were forced to flee. Sōbhana had never overcome the humiliation. She hadn’t thought it possible for a trio of Asēkhas to fare so poorly against a single foe.
The Kojin who stood near Torg was even larger than the one she’d encountered. It was only a span shorter than Mala, dwarfing the druids in height and, especially, in breadth.
Next to these giants, even Torg looked pitifully small.
“How could anyone stand against monsters so terrible?” Sōbhana heard a woman in the crowd whisper to a man next to her.
He shrugged, looking nervous. “I know I couldn’t, is all.”
“Where are the Tugars?” another man said. “Where are the Asēkhas? Do they tremble?”
“We all tremble,” the first man said.
Mala let out a roar that echoed throughout the courtyard. Flames sprang from his massive chain, flinging gouts of black smoke into the air.
All went silent.
The monster’s booming voice was as concussive as thunder. “Citizens of Senasana . . . as you know, The Torgon stands accused of treason. He has conspired against King Invictus and his loyal followers. But fear not. As you can see, he has been captured and will be brought before the throne of the king in the Golden City—there to be fairly judged.”
Mala’s speech was greeted by scattered applause and cheers, but also by a fair share of grumbling.
Hidden near the gates, Sōbhana shouted, “Liar!”
Soldiers raced over, but by then she was settled in a different place.
“Liar?” Mala said. His chain glowed like hot coals. “There is only one liar here, and he kneels before me.” Mala looked down at Torg, who indeed knelt, head bowed.
There was a brief silence, broken by a piercing call from a different area of the courtyard. Sōbhana simply could not bear it. “Let him speak!”
Several others, apparently braver than the rest, echoed this request. “Let him speak!”
Ebony fumes puffed from Mala’s mouth and nose. Rancid liquids oozed from his ears. The Kojin, infected by the Chain Man’s rage, pounded her fists against her hairy bosom. The druids swayed like reeds in a windstorm, humming in unison.
The event was not proceeding as Mala had apparently envisioned. The monster struggled to control his rage. His instinct must have been to wade into the crowd and bust heads, but even he was not that crude yet, was he? His king had not waged war, and a slaughter of civilians might do more harm than good.
“You wish him to speak?” Mala bellowed. “I will honor your requests. Speak, Torgon.” He lowered his voice and said something to the wizard that Sōbhana could not hear.
The Death-Knower lifted his head. Silence again blanketed the courtyard. Even the druids grew quiet. Torg’s beauty stunned Sōbhana. In comparison, Mala and the other monsters were repulsive.
“I will go to Invictus,” Torg said, “and be ‘fairly judged.’”
The silence broke like shattered glass. Clapping, cheering and cries of woe intermingled in the courtyard.
Sōbhana shouted, “No!” But this time her voice was whelmed.
“The Torgon speaks wisely,” Mala said. “He trusts the wisdom and mercy of King Invictus. Perhaps there is hope he can be rehabilitated. The journey to Avici is long, however, and I will take no chances with such a dangerous prisoner. Bind him.”
Several soldiers came forward alongside a four-wheeled wagon hauled by six oxen. Others bore a restraining device that had been wickedly conceived.
Mala smiled.
The soldiers laid Torg upon a full-length jacket of thick fabric and guided his arms through holes in the jacket before tying them against his chest with cruel leather straps. Then they threaded the jacket from his feet to his chin. After the Death-Knower was secured, Mala wrapped golden ropes, probably steeped in the sorcerer’s magic, around the wizard’s prone body. Torg was bound like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
The Kojin stomped forward and lifted the wizard high into the air. Making full use of her six arms, the ogress strapped Torg to a wide board that was attached at an angle to the bed of the wagon.
The Death-Knower was helpless. And on display.
Sōbhana had never felt so impotent. All she could do was watch, wait and follow.
And so began the lumbering one-hundred-league journey from Senasana to Avici, the home of Invictus. Mala and his army escorted the Death-Knower along the rolling banks of the Ogha River for thirty-eight days, by Sōbhana’s count. During the absurdly slow and dreary march Torg remained bound, apparently unable to move anything but his head. Yet Sōbhana did not once see him squirm or otherwise resist. Instead he lay as still as a corpse, eyes closed, accepting occasional sips of water and spoonfuls of gruel without enthusiasm.
Whenever the procession approached a village, the fishermen and farmers who resided near the river bowed their heads. They were not capable of resisting such a well-equipped militia. Where was Anna? Nissaya? Jivita? Sōbhana heard them say more than once that Torg had been forsaken.
All the way from Senasana to Avici, Sōbhana avoided being seen by any of Mala’s soldiers. Twice she encountered Tugarian scouting parties who were unaware of their king’s orders not to follow, having left the Tent City before Torg’s capture. She told them what she had seen and then sent some of them southeast to Anna and some west to Nissaya and Jivita. Kusala would have advance notice to ready the Tugars, and the armies of Nissaya and Jivita would at least be warned to prepare for battle. If Invictus were willing to send forces as far south as Senasana and Dibbu-Loka, then it was clear the young sorcerer was no longer concerned with reprisal.
Much of Invictus’ lack of fear was probably based on the fact his stronghold—Avici and its sister city, Kilesa—was virtually impregnable. An oblong wall that stood thirty cubits tall and nearly two hundred leagues in length protected both cities. Sōbhana had heard it had taken twenty thousand slaves twenty years to construct the grand bulwark. Invictus even had the gall to order large portions of the stone to be slathered with liquid gold.
The Golden Wall, as it was aptly named, encircled Avici, Kilesa and more than twenty-five-thousand hectares of surrounding territory. As the Ogha River flowed south on its winding way to Lake Keo, it roared through Avici, cleaving the massive city in half. A pair of majestic bridges—one north and one south—spanned the river where it sluiced through gaps in the Golden Wall. Immense iron gates swung beneath the catwalks, protecting Avici from attack at these two otherwise vulnerable locations.
From where she hid, Sōbhana could now see the southern bridge, which rose steeply from the main wall, towering above the churning currents. As Mala approached the bridge, the main strength of Invictus’ ar
my greeted his brigade of ten thousand. Sōbhana guessed that more than two hundred thousand lined Ogha’s steep banks, some of whom stood ten-deep on the bridge and wall. Having a warrior’s ability to discern the extent of an enemy’s forces, Sōbhana quickly recognized that the majority of the army was made up of golden soldiers. But at least a fifth of it appeared to have been recruited from other places. The druids of Dhutanga, who had spent centuries rebuilding their numbers after their failed war with Jivita, probably numbered ten thousand. The wild men of the Kolankold Mountains had provided another five thousand, and at least five thousand Pabbajja, the Homeless People who lived on the fringes of Java, were there. Added to the horde were five thousand Mogols, who dwelled in the Mahaggata Mountains. Many wicked creatures from Mahaggata’s interior also had answered Invictus’ call, including dracools, Stone-Eaters and wolves. There were dark places beneath the mountains, as well, and from there Invictus had lured cave trolls and mud ogres, and apparently given them potions to enable them to tolerate sunlight. There were smaller numbers of other zealots: demons, ghouls, and vampires from Arupa-Loka; murderers, rapists, and thieves from Duccarita; Warlish witches and their servant hags from Kamupadana. Also included in the hideous menagerie was a slew of misshapen monsters that Sōbhana had never before seen: a pair of three-headed giants who dwarfed even Mala; creatures who were part human and part animal or insect; and beasts with mouths full of sharp teeth that hungered for human flesh.
The sheer numbers staggered Sōbhana.
But her dismay was minuscule compared to what next appeared before her. Apparently the Chain Man wasn’t Invictus’ only favorite pet. As if the sorcerer needed any more weapons in his vast arsenal, another mighty ally had joined his army. A great dragon perched on the highest framework of the bridge. Even so far away, she could see the beast was fully two hundred cubits long from head to tail and probably weighed several thousand stones.
Though she had never actually seen one, Sōbhana had heard tales of the great dragons. The eldest among them was named Bhayatupa, who was said to be as powerful as he was ancient. As the legends foretold, Bhayatupa had ruled sprawling kingdoms, fought countless battles and slaughtered many brave warriors during his millennia-long existence. Could this be that dragon? How could it not? It was huge beyond comprehension.
With the vast gathering watching Mala’s every move, the Chain Man strode toward the bridge. The army cheered. Invictus was its king, but Mala was its general. It was obvious that this army had been bequeathed to him. When it came time to unleash its power, the ruined snow giant would be at its helm, and Sōbhana and the Tugars would face their sternest test.
Since departing Dibbu-Loka, Sōbhana had been barely able to tolerate watching Torg endure such ruthless torment. But seeing the dragon pained her even more. Mala was frightening, but not invincible. Invictus, whom she had yet to face, still felt more like legend than reality. The golden soldiers, despite their daunting numbers, were not nearly as well-trained as the Tugars. The other monsters presented certain difficulties, but they could be defeated. The dragon, however, was far more perilous.
From her hiding place in a thick copse several hundred paces from the bridge, Sōbhana saw the behemoth as the coming of doom. As she gazed at the dragon, she felt true fear for the first time in her life. This creature was beyond her in all ways.
Finally she understood Torg’s mind. Her king had recognized before any of the rest of them that the Tugars could not prevail against Invictus by force. The legions of good had enjoyed many years of peace and superiority on Triken, but the Sun God, in a mere century of life, had changed all that. Sōbhana recognized that the world now approached a dangerous crossroads, and higher forces—karma, truth, love—would play the determining roles in the outcome. She now understood that Torg had surrendered to Mala in order to set those forces in motion.
What happened next caused her to tremble yet again. When the dragon spied Torg, it spread its colossal wings and sprang off the high bridge, landing on the ground in front of the wizard, who still was confined on the wagon by the magical restraining device. Its crimson head alone was twice as long as Torg’s entire body, and each of its fearsome eyes was more than two cubits in diameter. The beast bent its long neck, tilted its right eye toward Torg and glided within a finger-length of the Death-Knower’s face.
All went quiet. Even Mala dropped his arms and froze. There was magic in the air—born in a time long past.
Sōbhana was close enough to make out the details of Torg’s face, and she saw that he did not flinch. His courage smote her heart.
When the dragon spoke, some fell to their knees. Its voice assaulted the senses. It reminded Sōbhana of the dust in a hoary crypt. “Te tam maranavidum aacikkhanti. (They call thee a Death-Knower),” said the dragon, speaking in the ancient tongue.
“Te tam rakkhasam aacikkhanti. (They call thee a Monster),” Torg responded.
The dragon snorted. Blood-colored flames spewed from its nostrils, bathing Torg’s face but doing little visible damage. When the dragon next spoke, it was in the common tongue that most understood. “I would learn more.”
“Tell me why,” Torg said.
“Abhisambodhi. (Enlightenment),” the dragon said.
“You fear death, as do most,” the wizard said. “But what you desire to achieve is beyond you—or anyone ignorant enough to take up with this rabble.”
The dragon was startled, and it rose to its full height, towering high above all in attendance. But Mala appeared to have heard enough. He boldly stepped in front of the dragon and slapped Torg across the face. “Shut up, little fool. Do not speak again unless my king demands it.”
Then he shook his bulky fist at the dragon’s titanic presence. “Until we stand before our king, all interrogations of the prisoner will be carried out by me. Do you understand?”
The dragon’s head and neck made loud swishing sounds as they swayed through the air. Sōbhana thought the beast might bend down and devour Mala whole. Instead the dragon said, “I understand . . . Adho Satta. (Low one.)” But before returning to his perch on the bridge, he said one more thing to Torg: “Bhayatupa amarattam tanhiiyati. (Bhayatupa craves eternal existence).”
So it was Bhayatupa.
Sōbhana was so amazed, she failed to hear if Torg said anything more.
2
In order to enter the southern gates of Avici, Sōbhana was forced to kill again. When a lone soldier wandered too near her hiding place in the copse, she sprang out and drove her Tugarian dagger beneath the back of his helm into the gristle at the base of his neck. He collapsed without making a sound. With so much excitement surrounding Torg, no one seemed to notice this silent death.
Sōbhana dragged the soldier into the thick shrubs and took a long time stripping off his golden suit of armor, which was nearly perfect for her height but overlarge for her girth. She retained the arming cap but tossed aside the interior doublet and hose, parts of which had become soaked with his blood. Then she meticulously put on the armor, which was difficult but not impossible to perform without assistance. First she slid on the steel-hinged shoes, followed by the greaves, knee-cops, and cuisses. The breast, shoulder and back plates were cleverly blended into one piece that she was able to drop over her head, and she attached the brassards and elbow-cops to the shoulder plates with hinge pins. Finally she donned the single-visor helm, which had narrow eye slits with two dozen breath holes.
The soldier had carried a long sword with a straight blade. Her curved uttara would not fit properly into his scabbard, which created a new problem. Up to this moment, she had been able to conceal her sword and dagger beneath the loose-fitting kirtle she had stolen in Senasana. She would not part with her sword, no matter the circumstances, but she could not hide her uttara inside armor and also could not use her own scabbard because of its mismatched appearance. The sword had been awarded to her on the day she had become an Asēkha, and she would rather be exposed as an intruder than discard it. Despite all this,
Sōbhana wasn’t overly concerned. Her weapon was similar enough in appearance to avoid detection, as long as she held it next to the soldier’s scabbard and covered most of the ornamented handle with her gauntleted hand.
Even without the padded undergarments, the metallic armor felt more comfortable than Sōbhana had expected, as if it were designed to meld with flesh. She knew little about how it was made, but whoever constructed it must have used magic to enhance its effectiveness. It felt stronger than iron, yet surprisingly pliable and light, the entire suit weighing less than two stones. Nothing worn by the Jivitan riders or Nissayan knights could match its quality; theirs was either much heavier or less protective. This added to her growing sense of hopelessness. Invictus seemed able to do no wrong.
She joined the tail end of the brigade as it entered the gates. Amid the cheering and commotion, Sōbhana’s sudden appearance went unnoticed, even by the officers. Soon she was inside.
Avici turned out to be everything Anna was not.
The Golden City swarmed with hundreds of thousands of people. The Tent City in the heart of the Great Desert housed fewer than twenty thousand Tugars and about five thousand others.
Avici appeared before Sōbhana as a maze of ponderous stone buildings and temples, interconnected by wide roadways. Its sheer mass astounded her, especially considering it had been little more than a village less than a hundred years before. Anna was a nomadic kingdom, able to pick up and relocate across the sands of Tējo. It was far older than Avici, but it contained no structures too large to transport by hand.
The citizens of Avici were servants of Invictus, subject to his orders and whims. Despite this, some of the community appeared to enjoy great wealth.
The inhabitants of Anna were free to come and go as they pleased. They worked hard and lived simply—depending on hidden oases for sustenance.
