by Melvin, Jim
The religious aspects of the Nissayan culture also were highly prized. They disdained the beliefs of others—not so much out of disrespect but out of an all-encompassing conviction that their way of thinking was indisputable. Their neighbors, the Jivitans, believed in the One God, whom they saw as an omniscient being that had created humans in his own image. The Tugars believed in karma, in which all behaviors resulted in consequences and in which living beings existed in an endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The savages of Mahaggata believed that gods existed in nature, and they worshipped the stars and the entities of the world in equal measure. The followers of Invictus venerated only the sorcerer, who proclaimed himself God.
The Nissayans, of course, knew the truth. There was a single God, but he/she/it was not a male deity resembling humans in appearance. Uppādetar, the Creator, was the loving energy that existed in all things, whether living or inert. God was beyond nature and beyond the stars, paying no interest to the petty machinations of mortals. Instead, God drove all goodness, and for that reason was to be worshipped and revered. Who could possibly believe otherwise, when there was so much proof in existence itself?
The Jivitans and Tugars shared many of Nissaya’s views on morality, so the black knights tolerated them. The Mogols of Mahaggata did not, so the black knights despised them. And Invictus was the ultimate evil, so they were determined to resist him at any cost. But the Nissayans saw themselves as the true champions of good and were incensed that their allies did not gather enthusiastically behind their banner to counter the sorcerer’s first—and greatest—strike.
Chieftain-Kusala knew all these things in immense detail. He had visited the fortress many times during his centuries-long life, and he was well aware of its strengths and weaknesses, both literally and figuratively. The Nissayan kings seemed close-minded to anything other than the welfare of the fortress, and King Henepola X was no exception. In fact, he was the most prideful of the Nissayan sovereigns that Kusala had encountered. Even Torg had said so—several times to Henepola’s face. But what the king lacked in diplomacy, he made up for in power. Henepola was the first of his bloodline to be born with the innate magic of a conjurer. As far as Kusala was concerned, if anyone other than Torg could stand against Invictus, it was Henepola.
As Kusala, Utu, and Palak approached the first gate, the darkness deepened. But the road was lined with torches, providing plentiful light. Thousands cheered their arrival, including the Tugars among them, who bowed before Kusala as if he were a king.
Despite the raucous welcome, Kusala was unable to enjoy the moment, mainly because of the presence of Yama-Utu. The snow giant still seemed in awe of his surroundings, but it was one thing to be well-received among the masses, and another to be respectfully greeted by the king. Since his encounter with the Pabbajja, the snow giant seemed more in control of his emotions, but Kusala still didn’t trust his combustibility. If Henepola were insulting, would Utu lose his temper? If so, would there be bloodshed in the hall of Nagara? Kusala feared the worst.
Commander Palak rode a few paces ahead, his black destrier clopping along proudly. The enthusiastic greeting seemed to thrill the Nissayan commander, and Kusala could see that—“senior” commander or not—Palak was not used to being treated with such reverence. Though Nissaya now boasted more than thirty thousand knights and another twenty thousand sergeants and squires, its high court was disproportionately small and—in Kusala’s opinion—heavily weighted by those who agreed with everything the king said. Henepola was not one for open discourse.
“Behold the glory of Nissaya!” Palak shouted at Kusala and Utu.
Just then a company of knights emerged from the first gate, flanked by men bearing Nissayan banners: black flags with white lightning bolts outlined in gray, the bolts symbolizing the puissance of Uppādetar, the gray his minions, the black his dominion.
At the head of the company rode a woman and a man, both clad in glistening black armor. The woman’s hair was as black as the surrounding stone, much like a Tugar’s, but it hung past her waist, shiny as silk. The man’s ebony skin mirrored those around him, but his hair—almost as long as the woman’s—was the same color as the snow giant’s mane: a stunning alabaster. Of course, Kusala recognized them: Henepola’s only daughter, Princess Madiraa; and a powerful conjurer named Indajaala. All true conjurers of Nissaya had white hair.
Kusala had always admired Madiraa, who was almost as strong in body and mind as a Tugarian female. Indajaala was another story.
The company halted just outside the gates and remained atop their mounts, awaiting the trio’s approach. Palak urged his destrier forward, riding toward Princess Madiraa with the confidence of a man bearing excellent news.
Kusala and Utu followed the commander on foot.
The daughter of the king spoke first. “Welcome, Commander Palak. I see that you bring guests to Nissaya. Have they come to strengthen our arms or brighten our halls?”
Palak also remained mounted, but he bowed slightly while still in his high saddle. “My lady, my guests shall do both,” he said with laughter. “Chieftain-Kusala, of course, requires no introduction. But his companion has traveled far to join us. Allow me to present Yama-Utu, a snow giant from Okkanti and mighty among his kind. He offers his assistance in the war against Mala. His arrival is indeed a boon for our people.”
At these words, the conjurer rose in his saddle. He held a glowing spike of Maōi in his thick black hand.
“Only our king can determine whether this beast’s presence is boon or calamity,” Indajaala snapped. “Or have you become so proud, Commander Palak, that you believe you speak for Nissaya?”
Palak lowered his head in obeisance.
Utu growled just loud enough for Kusala to hear. Kusala sensed trouble, but it was Madiraa who regained control of a potentially volatile situation.
“Nonsense,” the princess said to the conjurer. “Palak does not need our king’s permission to be pleased by the arrival of a snow giant. A being of such greatness should not be treated with scorn.”
Madiraa then cast her gaze upon Utu. “You are most welcome in Nissaya. Though I must admit I’m surprised you have come. I’ve never heard of a snow giant leaving Okkanti—willingly.”
Utu’s lips curled, exposing the full length of his fangs. “I am here for one reason—to destroy Mala, who was once my brother. He is a bane that must be eliminated.”
Indajaala spoke again, as if to prove that he was not easily cowed, either by a princess or a giant. “And who is to say that you are not a bane, as well? Who is to say you are not like your brother? If rumors are to be believed, your kind succumbs easily to the guiles of the sorcerer.”
Kusala stepped between Utu and Indajaala, convinced the snow giant would pounce upon the conjurer and tear him to pieces. Instead, Utu lowered his head and sighed. “Easily?” the snow giant said softly. “Yet succumb he did. Will I? That is yet to be seen.”
Madiraa whirled toward Indajaala and spat at the ground beneath his destrier. “Enough!” she said, drawing a heavy black sword from her scabbard and whipping it above her head in an impressive display of strength. “If you say one more foul word to our guest, I will strike you down.”
For a moment, the conjurer smiled wickedly, but then his defiance wavered. Indajaala turned his horse and spurred it through the first gate, galloping wildly in the direction of the keep. Several of the company followed, but most stayed with the princess. She sheathed her sword and dismounted, walking over to Kusala. Though she was three spans shorter than the chieftain and barely a third the giant’s height, she did not appear small. Her pride enlarged her presence.
“I apologize for such uncouth behavior,” she said to Utu, and then she placed her hand on Kusala’s shoulder and looked earnestly into his deep-blue eyes. Her eyes were black. “Since you were here just a few weeks ago, the mood of the fortress has changed—for the worse. I have never seen my father so . . . bitter. It’s as if he would rather go to war against o
ur allies than our enemies. And Indajaala is not helping matters.
“Your arrival, Kusala, could not have come at a better time. You are one of the few who dares speak openly to the king. But I had hoped The Torgon would be with you. The Death-Knower is the only person my father regards as an equal . . . other than Invictus himself.”
“I, too, wish that Torg was here,” Kusala said. “But my lord takes no directions from me. Will you escort me to Henepola? I must speak to him, for my journey does not end here.”
“You will not stay and fight by our side?” Palak said from his mount. “Those are cruel words. Perhaps the king is right, after all. It seems none but his own people will stand by Nissaya.”
“Tāseti will stay, along with the other Asēkhas,” Kusala said. “Two thousand Tugars are already here, and five thousand more are within a three-day march. Do not say again that none will stand at Nissaya’s side. The Kantaara Yodhas (desert warriors) do not cower.”
“If only the white horsemen of Jivita could say the same,” Madiraa said. “But enough debate. We linger too long outside the gates and bandy words in the absence of the king. Indajaala will soon report my insolence to Father. Let us go to him before his impatience turns to rage.”
“I fear no man’s rage,” Kusala said.
“I fear no man at all,” Utu said.
19
THE HALL OF Nagara was as magnificent as any chamber in the world—almost as broad as the entire keep, with ceilings higher than a strong knight could hurl a stone. Boulder-sized chunks of Maōi, as beautiful as the finest chandeliers, protruded from the ceiling like glowing eyeballs. Circular windows of glazed glass lined the upper third of the walls while palls of black silk framed the windows and extended all the way to the sunken floor, which was covered with rugs of strewn herbs and flowers. A long table constructed of black oak dominated the center of the chamber, with enough chairs to seat five hundred. At the far end of the hall, a granite platform rose ten cubits above the floor, and on it rested a black throne studded with rubies and fist-sized balls of Maōi.
Upon the throne sat King Henepola X, his long white hair cast about his shoulders, displaying to all that he was a conjurer as well as a king, a rare and formidable combination. Minus only his helm, Henepola wore full armor, black as kohl, except for silver spikes on the knuckles of his gauntlets and the toes of his sollerets. At his side stood Indajaala, a sneer on his dark face. The conjurer had changed quickly into a black robe speckled with pin-sized chips of Maōi, a garment worth a fortune anywhere on Triken.
At the base of the platform, fifteen steps beneath the throne, Madiraa and Palak were on their knees. Several paces farther back stood Kusala and Utu. Kusala wore the black outfit of an Asēkha, though it was stained gray from dust and grime. Utu wore only a loincloth, and his white mane was knotted and filthy. Compared to the king and the conjurer, they looked like peasants—though particularly large ones. Kusala was at least a span taller than any of the knights, and Utu was two and a half times their height and many times their girth.
When Henepola stood, all others in the room—save Kusala and Utu—mimicked Madiraa and Palak and dropped to their knees. The king held a long staff, ornately chiseled from Maōi and worth far more than Indajaala’s robe.
“So, Madiraa, you have finally deigned to alert me that Kusala has returned to Nissaya. You certainly took your time doing so. Do you deem me so trivial—a doddering old man incapable of greeting guests of high esteem?”
Madiraa raised her head, her expression grim. “Those are his words, not mine,” she said, nodding toward Indajaala.
The conjurer hissed. “She has always needed a mother to teach her the meaning of respect. See how she speaks to you.”
For a moment, Henepola glared at the conjurer. Then his face softened. “When her mother died, I vowed never to remarry, so deep was my love. It is I who raised my daughter. If she is insolent, I am to blame.”
To the amazement of all, Kusala stepped forward, without introduction. “And no sons have you, as well,” he said to the king, “so when you pass, it is Madiraa who will rule Nissaya.” Then Kusala glared at Indajaala. “Perhaps you would be wise to speak with pleasantry while in her presence.”
The conjurer hissed again. The chamber became as silent as a tomb.
But Henepola laughed. “Ahhh, Kusala, it is refreshing to be in the presence of one so bold. You have always spoken your mind, even to your own king. Come, my friend, let us retire to less opulent surroundings, where we can converse in private.”
Then he turned to Madiraa. “My daughter,” he said, with a touch of playfulness in his voice, “I will forgive you, if you personally see to it that the snow giant is fed and well-cared for. After all, Kusala has vouched for him.”
Madiraa smiled, her expression relieved. “It will be as you say, Father.”
Kusala looked up at Utu. “Would you mind if we separated?”
The snow giant shrugged disinterestedly.
“I will seek you out in the morning and tell you all that I know,” Kusala promised. “I would recommend your taking pleasure in the luxuries of Nagara while you can. There will be few opportunities for rest and relaxation in the coming days.”
“I desire neither,” Utu said.
WHILE HENEPOLA’S squires removed the king’s armor in his personal quarters, Kusala waited in a nearby antechamber on the top story of the keep. At the approach of midnight, Henepola, now wearing flowing white robes, joined Kusala at a stone table set adjacent to a northward-facing window that provided a panoramic view of the Mahaggata Mountains. The moon, waning gibbous, glowed like a malformed boulder of Maōi in the cloudless sky, illuminating the mountains, fortress, and surrounding terrain.
A servant arrived with goblets of wine, crusty brown bread, white cheese, and several dozen skewers of tiny pink shrimp bathed in butter and herbs. Finally realizing the extent of his hunger, Kusala devoured the shrimp, which were one of his favorite reasons for visiting the fortress.
“You see, my friend,” the king said, “I do not forget . . . only the best for Chieftain-Kusala.”
Kusala wiped grease from his mouth with the side of his hand. “As always, your hospitality is much appreciated. If you would ever visit Anna, we would return the favor. There are delicacies in the desert, as well.”
Henepola grimaced. “I will never leave the fortress again. I have grown too old and weary for journeying. Besides, have you not noticed? There is a war to wage.”
“Have I not noticed? I am here, as are two thousand Tugars. And the rest of the Asēkhas will soon join us. Or have you not noticed?”
The king rested his elbows on the table and leaned way forward so that his glowing eyes were just a span away. “The Asēkhas are a boon, I cannot deny. But two thousand Tugars, you say? The last I heard, there were ten thousand Kantaara Yodhas. Have the rest become lost on their way from Tējo?”
Kusala leaned forward until the tips of their noses nearly touched. “Will you have us abandon Jivita?”
“We stand between Avici and Jivita.”
“Have you forgotten Dhutanga?”
“Dhutanga? Do the white horsemen fear a few miserable druids? The army of Invictus is two hundred thousand strong.”
“Two thousand Tugars are at Jivita, but five thousand remain near Hadaya, ready to march to the aid of whichever side needs it most. Only one thousand remain in Anna, by the way. Have you missed the subtlety of that?”
Henepola grunted. “Leave two thousand at Jivita. I care naught. But call the five thousand to Nissaya . . . now. It is what your king would do, were he here. And speaking of The Torgon, where has he gone? When you and I last spoke, you were on a quest to find him. Did you fail, chieftain?”
Kusala leaned back in his chair. “Torg is alive. But where he is, and how he fares, is beyond my present knowledge.”
Henepola grunted again. “And yet you managed to return to Nissaya, so it must not have been such an impossible undertaking. The fate of
Triken hangs on victory or defeat . . . here. And yet it seems no one deems Nissaya of much import. The Torgon is needed here, not gallivanting in the wilderness like a love-struck boy. Do you know, chieftain, that the great army of Invictus began its march this very day? I say again, the Tugars and Jivitans should be here.” The king lowered his head. “And yet, there are only two thousand Tugars, eighteen Asēkhas, and one snow giant,” he whispered. “Too few have the courage to stand with us.”
Kusala felt a chill run up his spine. “I am confused, sire. How could you know the exact size of Invictus’ army and when it began its march? How could you know there will be only eighteen Asēkhas at Nissaya? And why do you use the words ‘love struck’ when you speak of Torg?”
Henepola’s black face crinkled.
“Let me show you,” the king of Nissaya said.
“Show me what?” Chieftain-Kusala said to King Henepola X.
“Follow me,” Henepola said. “There is an object within my private quarters that you will find interesting.”
The look in the king’s eyes and his eerie tone disturbed Kusala, but he was not one to shy from any form of danger, so he stood and followed Henepola. The chamberlain and several other servants trailed behind.
The king waved them off. “Leave us . . . and allow no one to disturb us.”
Henepola closed and barred the heavy door, which hung on iron hinges driven into the stone. Though Kusala had visited Nissaya hundreds of times, he had never been inside the king’s personal bedchambers. It was smaller than the massive royal bedrooms of Jivita’s opulent castles, but impressive, nonetheless. The bed was large enough for six and bore a white damask quilt trimmed with black lace. Four round windows had been chiseled out of the wall, each bearing curtains that matched the quilt. The other furnishings included tables, chairs, and a looking-glass as tall as a man. There also were several closets and a private latrine.
