by Melvin, Jim
“At least this explains why we haven’t encountered anyone,” Tāseti said. “We might have to march a ways yet before finding aid.”
Kusala sighed. “I was hoping help would come sooner. Time is short.”
“I could carry you to Nissaya,” Yama-Utu said. “I can run faster than any horse, and I do not tire. These walls of broken stone will not deter me.”
“Consider the snow giant’s offer, for all our sakes,” Tāseti said. “You no longer need to protect us. It’s unlikely we’ll encounter dangers other than our own sore feet and stiff backs.”
Kusala relented, partly out of frustration, and partly because he knew that it meant Yama-Utu would be with him when they first encountered the knights of Nissaya.
“If you would carry me, I would be most grateful,” he said. “But when the black knights approach, let me do the talking . . . please. They can be rude to strangers, especially ones as large as you.”
“Rudeness seems common among the little people,” Utu responded, but he was smiling as he said it.
DURING HIS LONG life, Kusala had ridden on the backs of camels, horses, elephants, mountain eagles, and emus, to name a few creatures common to the world—but never on a giant. Utu had not exaggerated when he said he could run faster than a horse. Each of his strides covered twenty cubits or more, and when they came to the first wall, the giant leapt over it with ridiculous ease. The wind blasting in Kusala’s face caused his eyes to water. In what seemed like a very short time, they reached the first of the three remaining Asēkhas.
“Return to the company,” Kusala shouted as they blazed past the amazed scout. He gave the same order to the others. After that, he and Utu were alone on the road. Now it was midafternoon, and they were within ten leagues of the fortress. At this rate, Kusala guessed they would reach Nissaya before dark.
Iddhi-Pada dipped and swelled, but for the most part it gradually ascended from east to west. Because of this, the fortress, when approached from the Gray Plains, was not visible from a distance, while from the west it could be seen many leagues away. Kusala and Utu came upon a stretch of road that had been demolished, its stones disgorged and cast recklessly about, forming a spiny surface nearly impossible for a large army to traverse. More than just muscle had performed this work. Nissaya’s conjurers had played a role in the destruction. This amazed Kusala. And also dismayed him. Why go to so much effort, when it would do little more than slow Mala down?
Regardless, the giant bounded over the rubble with ease, pouncing from broken boulder to jagged rock with the grace of a mountain goat. Once past the wreckage, they continued at an astounding pace, witnessing no further damage to the road. Either Nissaya wanted to keep the last few leagues clear, or it had run out of time. Kusala also noticed that the fertile fields bordering the road had been razed, and that nearby villages had been burned to the ground. The keepers of Nissaya were determined to leave as little as possible for the invading army in terms of food, supplies, and building materials—a devastating but necessary expenditure.
Approximately five leagues from the fortress, Kusala and Utu finally encountered a mounted squadron of black knights. When the Nissayans saw the giant and its rider, they rushed forward and encircled the unusual pair, their black destriers stomping rhythmically on the stone. The knights were lightly armored, each wearing a coat of plates over a mail hauberk—both of which were black, matching their ebony skin and short-cropped hair. All the knights were at least a span shorter than Kusala, but they were thick in the chest, arm, and leg—and armed with powerful crossbows.
Kusala climbed slowly off the snow giant’s back, being careful not to reach for his sword. He was relieved to see amusement in Utu’s expression. He had been afraid what might happen if the giant were to do anything threatening, though Kusala worried more for the welfare of the knights than for his companion.
Kusala placed his palms together and bowed low to the ground, then stood upright and folded his arms across his chest. He knew he would be recognized, but out of respect, he formally introduced himself.
“I am Chieftain-Kusala, leader of the Asēkhas and longtime servant of Nissaya. My companion is Yama-Utu, a snow giant from Okkanti, who comes to offer assistance in the war against Mala. It would be wise for you to accept. I have seen few his equal.”
One warhorse was urged forward, bearing a proud knight with keen black eyes. The knight dismounted and came face to face with the chieftain, pausing briefly before dropping to one knee and lowering his head. When he looked up, he was smiling.
“Chieftain-Kusala, it is with honor that I greet you. May I rise?”
“Of course, sir.”
The knight stood and clasped Kusala’s forearm, in Tugarian fashion. “I am Palak, a senior commander of the Kalakhattiyas. We are pleased that you have returned, though we hoped Lord Torgon would be with you. You set out from the fortress several weeks ago to find him. Were you not successful?”
Kusala sighed. “I mean no offense, Commander Palak, but time is short, and I do not wish to repeat the same story several times. Please take me to your king, and you can hear all that I have to say at that time. As for Yama-Utu, do you bid him welcome?”
The commander stared with wonder at the snow giant’s broad face. “Any friend of Kusala is welcome in Nissaya.” He bowed again.
Utu also bowed. “You will not regret your decision. When Mala assails your walls, I will be there to greet him.”
“What little hope we have of victory has grown more on this day,” Palak responded.
Before they continued toward the fortress, Kusala told the commander about the freed slaves and asked him to send help as quickly as possible.
“There are enough horses among you to carry them to safety, if you were to ride in pairs, though your own barriers will make the journey more difficult. What you have done to Iddhi-Pada would be quite impressive, if it were not so depressing.”
“Everything about this war is depressing,” Palak said. “How can we be expected to prevail against such evil? Nonetheless, we will meet Mala in battle. As for you and the snow giant, you will enter the gates as my guests, and from there I will take you to the king.
“As for your other companions, do not fear. The rest of my squadron will ride to them and carry them to safety—and once within our walls, they will be provided with food and shelter. I would also say warmth, but there is precious little of that nowadays. The chill of doom consumes our hearts. As always, Nissaya will bear the first and mightiest strike. And as always, few will comprehend how hard we toil in the name of freedom, both for ourselves and others.”
“You receive more credit than you know,” Kusala said. “But you are not the only ones who sacrifice in the name of freedom. You will not stand alone. The Tugars will be with you.”
“Some of you, but not all,” Palak said. And then he urged his horse forward.
Despite carrying Kusala, Utu had to slow his pace considerably in order for Palak’s destrier to keep up. As dusk approached, the trio came to the peak of a great swell in the road—and for the first time, their view of Nissaya was no longer obstructed. They still were a league from the main gate, but even at this distance the fortress was an awe-inspiring sight. The snow giant slammed to a halt and stared, his green eyes aglow.
“I have heard tales of Nissaya,” Utu said, “but they pale in comparison to what stands before us. Surely, not even Mala and his army can hope to assail such a thing. They might as well attempt to defeat a mountain.”
“The grandeur of Nissaya moves any who view it for the first time,” Palak said. “There is no greater stronghold in the known world, nor has there been since our ancestors first occupied it more than twenty millennia ago. In all that time, the black fortress has never fallen. But neither has it faced an enemy of such rumored might.”
“The might is rumored no longer,” Kusala said. “Lord Torgon looked upon Mala’s host and spoke to me of its immensity.”
As they continued their approac
h, a host of knights galloped out to greet them, cheering the arrival of the Asēkha chieftain and the snow giant as if an army had come to join them. The land surrounding the fortress swarmed with knights, squires, and vassals. Kusala also recognized Tugars scattered among them, their gracefulness obvious even from a distance. But compared to the immensity of the fortress, they all seemed as tiny as ants.
Indeed, Kusala knew that Nissaya was as close to impenetrable as any fortress that had ever existed on Triken. It was situated on a rounded body of black granite that rose from the ground like an inverted bowl, its surface gently ascending more than six hundred cubits above the surrounding terrain. Much like the stone walls of Duccarita, the bulwarks and some of the buildings of Nissaya were mainly the work of nature, but the knights and their ancestors had spent thousands of years hammering, chiseling, and sculpting the igneous rock into the most majestic walls and towers in the world.
The base of the mammoth outcrop, which guarded the Gap of Gati’s eastern maw, extended deep into the ground, its bedrock interlaced with a spider web of caverns and passageways, a few of which extended outward more than a dozen leagues—north to hidden places in Mahaggata or south to Kolankold. The secret entrances and exits were known only to the knights, and if an enemy ever did breach the walls, at least some of the defenders of Nissaya still would be able to escape to the mountains without the likelihood of pursuit. Any who tried to follow their flight without knowing the way would become lost within the intricate catacombs.
Iddhi-Pada swept past the fortress, continuing westward through the gap until encountering Lake Hadaya, but a hundred paces north of the portion of the road upon which they now stood, the black granite of Nissaya began its slow rise from the otherwise level terrain. At first, the stone floor was only a cubit above the plain. But even then, grass and vegetation ceased to exist, except for a voracious form of lichen that gnawed at the stone, creating depressions that gathered soil and dust, which in turn became home to gnarled bushes and miniature trees. Some of the depressions filled with rain water, forming pools within which edible shrimp lived and bred. And in the summer, a strange species of grasshopper abounded, becoming a noisy nuisance to the human inhabitants of Nissaya. Voles, snakes, and songbirds inhabited crannies in the stone year-round, serving as prey for thousands of black-feathered hawks that circled the skies above the fortress like a ring of storm clouds.
The black granite was too smooth and slippery for the passage of wagons and horses, especially when wet. So the Nissayans had constructed a broad avenue of pebbles and sand that led from Iddhi-Pada to the only visible entrance to the fortress. As dusk took firm hold, the unusual trio made its way toward the first gate. The toughened soles of the snow giant’s feet crunched on the crumbled surface. Thousands of black knights cheered their arrival, both from the ground and the towering battlements. Kusala also could hear the high-pitched screeches of Tugars.
Three concentric walls of black granite encircled the fortress. Each had been given a name from the ancient tongue: the exterior wall Balak, the middle wall Ott, the inner wall Hakam. Each was a natural bastion of stone that human hands had sculpted only on the battlements, inner stairways, and tunneled entrances.
Balak was the shortest and longest of the three: fifty cubits tall, thirty thick, and more than four leagues in circumference, surrounding all of Nissaya. Its crenellated battlement was fitted with thick wooden shutters that could be held open with iron props or removed entirely, depending on the course of the battle, and it also contained numerous loopholes for archers. Fifty trebuchets on the wall walk could be rolled into different positions, depending on the placement of the enemy far below. On its interior side, several hundred sets of stone stairs led up from the narrow walkway at its base to accommodate its guardians.
Balak contained just a single entrance, thirty cubits wide and tall, that was guarded by a stone door as thick as a man was tall. The door, which was said to weigh seventy thousand stones, took more than half a day to be mechanically raised or lowered. Behind the door were five iron portcullises flanked by “murder holes” in the ceiling of the entryway from which defenders could unload an avalanche of debris onto any that might have performed the seemingly impossible task of crashing down the door.
Balak and Ott stood one hundred cubits apart and were separated by a moat filled with black water, concealing thousands of razor-sharp spikes. Anyone or anything that fell into the moat was unlikely to survive.
Four wooden drawbridges spanned the moat. The largest was directly behind the gate, and it was wide and strong enough to hold four wagons abreast. During peace time, this bridge remained lowered except for repairs; but during a siege, it was raised to prevent the enemy from crossing the moat. The defenders of the wall used the other three drawbridges to cross the moat back and forth.
Ott was identical in design to Balak, except twice its size with twice the number of trebuchets. A stone walk five cubits wide encircled the outside of its base, allowing just enough room for the movement of troops around the moat. Ott also contained just one door, though it was twice as large as Balak’s with ten portcullises protecting the tunneled entryway.
No moat or other obstruction lay between the second and third walls. None was needed. Just twenty cubits of open space separated the walls. Any enemy who somehow managed to breach the second wall would then be caught between Ott and Hakam, where it would be bombarded with arrows, stones, boiling water, acidic liquids, quicklime, and burning oil—an untenable situation, to say the least, that was made even more difficult by the immensity of Hakam, which dwarfed all other bulwarks on Triken.
Hakam was two hundred cubits tall and one hundred and twenty thick. Due to its great height, its battlement contained just a single low wall with no crenellations or trebuchets. Only a bowman of extraordinary strength and ability could hope to strike effectively at someone so high above.
Hakam’s only weakness was its single door, if you could call such a masterwork a weakness. The door was twelve cubits thick and weighed three hundred thousand stones. Twenty portcullises stood behind the door within the tunneled entryway, and there were chambers above the iron grates that contained enough rubble to clog the passage if the main door were somehow defeated.
Within the third bulwark stood the inhabited portion of the fortress, a titanic labyrinth of roads, alleys, courtyards and buildings. Some of the buildings were made of ordinary brick and wood; others were natural stone towers with hollow interiors. At this point, the labyrinth ascended so steeply that the buildings toward the center stood even higher above the floor of the gap than Hakam.
In some ways Nissaya was as much a city as a fortress, and it could house—on a temporary basis—more than one hundred thousand, in addition to its army and populace. There were hundreds of markets, mills, taverns, and shops, and the large business district hosted armorers, goldsmiths, shoemakers, oil merchants, wine sellers, and numerous craftsmen and makers of wares. Throughout the interior there were courtyards large enough to sleep thousands.
At the center of the fortress, the great keep of Nissaya rose like a titanic spire into the sky. Nagara it was called, which meant citadel in the ancient tongue, and it was second in size only to the tower of Invictus. The keep was a natural formation of black granite as huge as the arm of a god, its interior laced with passageways and chambers, most of which had formed naturally over the passage of time long before humans existed on Triken. But some of the chambers had been chiseled and molded over the millennia to better accommodate its most-recent inhabitants.
On its exterior, Nagara was pockmarked with hundreds of natural windows, causing it to resemble a mountainous termite mound. At ground level, it had four massive wooden doors, each protected by a portcullis. Behind these doors were boulders that could be rolled and chained into place, plugging the openings as securely as cave-ins. And even then, there remained a final method of escape. A passageway descended into the bedrock, winding for many leagues in damp darkness and leading to
chambers where large quantities of food were stored and deep pools of potable water existed, even during times of drought.
Over the millennia, the knights had explored the tunnels, mapping every rise and fall, twist and turn. They could walk in the dark like the cleverest of blind men, navigating their surroundings without the use of sight, even though some of the caverns were thousands of cubits tall and wide with precipitous cliffs offering certain death to anyone wandering the pathways without foreknowledge of their meanderings.
The Nissayans had delved deep—too deep, some said—and had uncovered many mysteries in the hidden bowels of the world. Dangerous creatures still resided in the farthest depths, but the knights—who reigned supreme over the fortress, both above and below—had destroyed or chased away most of the monsters.
The conjurers of Nissaya had wandered with the black knights and brought back great wealth, including all manner of precious metals and jewels. They found pockets of black iron to forge their weapons and armor, and black crystal, resembling obsidian in color and feel, which glowed brightly when brushed by magic or flame. The knights and conjurers named the crystal Maōi and prized it above all else.
Among the people of Triken, it was said that the knights of Nissaya had not always been black-skinned. Some believed they were descendants of the pale-skinned Jivitans whose prolonged exposure to the ebony stone had stained their skin and hair. Others believed the knights had not even begun their existence as humans; rather, they were black bears or panthers that had evolved over the millennia, taking on human form in order to better defend their beloved fortress. Still others believed the knights were spirits of the stone in the guise of men and women.
The Nissayans believed none of these things. They were intricate recorders of history, especially in terms of their purebred ancestry, and their vast libraries contained the names and descriptions of every man and woman who was ever born of uncorrupted Nissayan blood. Like the Tugars and Jivitans, the Nissayans preferred the company of their own kind, and it was considered uncouth to breed outside their race. The purity of their physical appearance—including the marvelous color of their skin—was sacred to their order. The few who dared to produce children with outsiders faced banishment.
