by Melvin, Jim
“How much more of this pressure can he take?” she thought. “His kinsmen are dying before his eyes, and he feels he is to blame. Someone must give him a respite.”
The fourth retreat came earlier than Laylah expected, further evidence that Julich’s condition was deteriorating. When they reached the twenty-first row, she saw that Elu had joined Ugga on the crossbreed’s mount. Bard was with them too, his bow strapped to his back and now bearing a Jivitan war hammer. Rajinii no longer wore her helm, and the side of her face was bruised. Julich rested on his destrier’s neck, panting so hard that he appeared to be hyperventilating. Meanwhile, Torg raised his arms and let out a high-pitched shriek. The Tugars, she assumed, had been summoned.
Already the next four rows of archers had loosed most of their arrows. There was so little time between charges it was difficult to make alterations in Navarese’s original plan. The druids were exerting relentless pressure—and gaining ground.
“Let me take over for Captain Julich,” Laylah shouted.
“No,” Julich said wearily. “I’m all right.”
“I’ll order the next two charges and retreats,” Bard said to the captain. “It will free ya to fight. That will do ya more good than rest.”
At that, Julich smiled. “My queen?”
“I couldn’t care less who orders what,” Rajinii said, her voice nearing hysteria.
“So be it,” Torg said. “Bard, perform your duty.”
“Charge!” the handsome trapper shouted.
Only this time, two thousand Tugars charged with them.
The twenty-first row crushed into the densest resistance yet. Now more than half the druids were the more dangerous kind, and some were even larger than before, almost as large as Kojins. Against these druids, the ordinary horsemen fared poorly. But for the first time since the initial charge, the druids were driven back, thanks to the addition of the entire force of Tugars. The desert warriors’ ferocity amazed Laylah, and she watched in stunned silence as they methodically broke apart the leading edge of the massive army. Many of the druids had been able to avoid Torg, Rajinii, Ugga, and her. But it was impossible to flee from two thousand warriors whose strength, dexterity, and fighting skills were unparalleled in the world. When Bard called for a retreat, all but one score of white horsemen had survived the onslaught; and as far as Laylah could tell, not a single Tugar had fallen.
When they returned to the twenty-sixth row, spirits were high.
“We killed at least five thousand in a single plunge,” the queen shouted. “Why weren’t all of the Tugars with us at the beginning?”
“The general believed it would be best to spread the Tugars throughout our host,” Julich said. “He knew little of these more powerful druids, at least in terms of their numbers.”
“The bigger ones are meanies,” Ugga agreed. “I doesn’t like them one bit.”
The Svakaran nodded. “They killed Elu’s pony,” he said from the crossbreed’s lap. Then he held up the Tugarian dagger. “So Ugga and Elu killed them back.”
“Your highness,” Torg said. “Of all our mounts, only Bhojja is capable of fighting throughout the night without rest. Even Arusha will falter. Now that the Tugars are with us, I suggest that you rest during the next couple of charges.”
This made sense to Laylah, but obviously not to the queen. She changed from exhilaration to anger in a single breath. “I will not! Until every one of them is dead, I will ride at the front.”
“Or until you are dead,” Torg countered harshly.
“You are not my king,” Rajinii said. “Do you presume to dictate my behavior?”
“I presume to do nothing.”
Bard interrupted. “The archers have retreated. It’s time for another charge.”
Torg turned to Laylah. “Will you, at least, listen to reason? Sit out just two charges so that your mount can rest and take water. And you too, Ugga.”
“Elu and I will rest,” the crossbreed said. “My horse is about to fall over.”
“Very well, beloved,” Laylah said. “But only two.”
“Excellent,” Torg said. And then he turned and galloped toward the enemy.
FROM THE PLATFORM at the rear of his army, General Navarese watched the progression of the battle with growing dread. Though the darkness made it difficult to see the majority of what was going on, there were ways that he was able to remain informed. Whenever the flaming arrows were loosed, the front portion of the druid army was illuminated, including many of its dead and dying. The glow of the druids’ eyes also betrayed its locations. And his own army carried thousands of torches. With scouts coming to him with constant updates, the general felt like he knew enough to make intelligent decisions.
The initial moments had gone exactly as he had foreseen. Rather than spread out across the Green Plains and assail his army from a variety of positions, the druids had attacked from a relatively dense formation. Navarese’s plan had been twofold: Kill thousands with flaming arrows; and inhibit advancement with armored charges.
When the first row of cavalry reached the rear to water their mounts, rest, and regroup, the reports were promising. Only twenty white horsemen had fallen. When the next row returned, he learned that several thousand druids had already been slain. However, he also heard disturbing news. The second row lost fifty horsemen, and one of the scouts reported seeing druids that were larger and more dangerous than expected. This was confirmed when the tiny Svakaran warrior rode up on his pony, frantically shouting that the flaming arrows did not daunt the larger druids, which were almost impossible for ordinary horsemen to kill.
“Tell Torg to call the entire force of Tugars to the front,” Navarese said.
The Svakaran nodded and rode off in a rush.
By the time the third row of armored cavalry returned, it was half a bell past midnight. Now the reports were worse. Five score horsemen were dead and at least that number injured. The larger druids were plucking arrows from their flesh as if they were just annoying thorns, and swords that struck their hide came away notched or even sundered. Some of the druids were as strong as Kojins, killing destrier and rider alike. To make matters worse, several horsemen claimed that the queen was fighting recklessly, discarding her own safety to appease her bloodlust; they did not believe she would survive the night.
When the fourth rank returned, the news was dire. Almost half of the men and women who comprised this row had been slaughtered, and the druids were advancing too quickly, making it difficult for the archers to loose their full contingent of arrows. More and more of the larger druids were appearing, and the white horsemen could not contain them. Where were the Tugars? Had Torg not called them?
The fifth rank of cavalry brought better news. The Tugars had joined the fray in full force, and their presence turned the tide. Only twenty horsemen did not return, and reports confirmed that the druid advance had been slowed. Navarese’s hopes were renewed. But he remained cautious. No matter how well the Tugars could fight, the desert warriors still were outnumbered fifty to one. His horsemen and archers would have to be more effective, if his army were to prevail. Then his thoughts returned to Rajinii.
“My queen, why does this death wish obsess you so?” Navarese mused. “You should be here with me, not exposing yourself to the enemy. And General Lucius . . . where are you now? The time nears for the Daasa to strike.”
WHEN THE SIXTH armored row charged forward, Rajinii quickly outdistanced it. Arusha lowered her head and galloped determinedly, but even the magnificent white mare could not continue forever. Already, blood sprayed from the horse’s nostrils, and she bore numerous wounds, mostly on her exposed lower legs. But Rajinii paid her destrier little heed. Her only desire was to vanquish the enemy—or die trying. Either was an acceptable outcome.
For the time being, the Tugars had turned the tide. When Rajinii reached the forward edge of the enemy, the druids clearly were more tentative. But she was dismayed to see that the latest volley of arrows seemed to have done lit
tle damage. Bemusement dampened her lust. Why were there so many large ones? Now, three out of four were the more dangerous kind.
In the previous sortie, several druids had engulfed her, and one had managed to smack her so hard on the head that her helm had caved in and pressed against the side of her face, forcing her to fling it off. After that she rode without helm, her long black hair flowing behind her. She knew this was ill-advised, but she cared naught. The fresh air on her face was liberating. Besides, if one of the druids managed to bash in her skull, did she really care? Few among them were more eager to join Ekadeva in paradise. And dying on the Green Plains tonight would guarantee her immediate ascension to the highest state of heaven. The One God would greet her with arms spread as wide as the cosmos.
And then her pain would cease . . . finally. Unrequited love had proven to be even more intolerable than Invictus’ sorcery.
As usual, the larger druids shied from her approach, exposing the smaller ones to her wrath. Rajinii obliged, incinerating more than a dozen with super-heated blasts of green flame from the head of her staff. Then a fist-sized ball of sputum struck the base of her neck, sizzling on her flesh like fire and dripping down her back beneath her armor. The queen cried out and wiped at the viscous fluid with a gauntleted hand, but her preoccupation with the pain left her momentarily exposed. An enormous druid—almost ten cubits tall—swatted her across the jaw, knocking her head back. Rajinii managed to stay on her mount, but she lost her grip on her staff, which tumbled to the grass. Instantly other druids swarmed upon her.
“Death, I welcome thee,” she mumbled.
But Torg entered the fray. A hundred Tugars followed, and the nearest druids were beaten back. Then Rajinii’s necromancers encircled her, and Manta dismounted and retrieved the queen’s staff.
“You should have let me die,” Rajinii moaned. “Just . . . let . . . me . . . die.”
Then the wizard was beside her again, pressing his beautiful lips against her ear. “Niddaayahi,” he whispered. And for a time, she knew no more.
THE CRESCENT MOON had already set before the last of the druids passed through the cove. Lucius, Bonny, and the Daasa waited until past midnight before daring to wander down the slope of the ridge. Though Lucius was downhearted and frightened, Bonny seemed almost exhilarated, and the Daasa had returned to their usual playful selves, sniffing around the base of the hollow like a pack of curious dogs after the passing of an exotic animal. The scent of the druids created more excitement than anger, but Lucius believed that soon would change.
From behind, the humming was far less intense than Lucius had expected. It seemed the power of the druids’ voices was directed mostly forward. Lucius and the others followed their trail, but slowly. The last thing he wanted was to catch up to the tail end of the druid army before the time was right.
General Navarese’s plan was sound. Lucius was to hold back the Daasa until one bell past midnight, then attack from the rear when the fighting was at its heaviest. The general hoped by then that the druid numbers already would have been significantly reduced, and the savagery of the Daasa would spell their doom.
“What do I look like when I change?” Lucius said to Bonny, seeming to startle her.
“Huh?”
“What do I look like when I change into the ‘meanie’ state?”
“You have seen me when I change. Use your imagination.”
“But I haven’t seen you, that’s my point. When you and I make love, it’s all a blur. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very pleasurable blur, but I don’t remember most of the . . . details.”
The pirate woman giggled. “Aren’t all men like that?”
“I’m serious, Bonny. I need your help. You’ve had a lot more experience with this than I have. If I plow into the druids without thinking, I could get myself killed—and you and the Daasa along with me.”
“Sorry, sweety . . . I’ll be serious. What do you look like? Hmmm. For one thing, you are bigger.”
“How so?”
“Well, you are very big down there.” She pointed at his groin.
“What?”
Bonny laughed. “I’m not joking, I swear. But it’s not just that, sweety. Your whole body gets bigger . . . taller . . . heavier.”
“How much taller and heavier?”
She held her hands more than a cubit apart. “I’d say this much taller and thicker than Ugga.”
Lucius’ jaw dropped. “And I’m stronger, too?”
“You are stronger than me, I know that. And I am strong.”
“Am I as strong as the Daasa when they change?”
“Even stronger.”
“Does my face look a lot . . . different?”
“To be honest, you are quite the handsome booger, either way.”
“Now you’re joking again.”
“I am not. Put it this way, I think somebody like Missus Laylah or even Ugga might still be able to recognize you, if that’s what you are worried about.”
Finally, Lucius had to laugh. “It’s not that at all, Bonny. I’m just concerned about what I might do after I change. When you and I are together, it’s just the two of us. And you’re there to watch over me and keep me in line. When we attack the druids, I’m afraid I might go crazy and never change back.”
“Let me tell you a little secret,” Bonny said. “When you are in the ‘meanie’ state, you know exactly what you are doing. It’s just that you don’t remember so good later on.”
When they reached the southernmost border of Dhutanga, the humming sound grew louder again. Though the dark made it difficult to see long distances, Lucius felt like he was watching the end of the world, and his war club seemed to agree, burning in his hand. Every few minutes, sprays of crimson lighted the sky, illuminating broad portions of the Green Plains. Each time the arrows were loosed, much of the druid army was revealed, and the size and scope of it caused Lucius to gasp. How could there still be so many when the battle had been raging since before midnight? This couldn’t be good. But it wasn’t as though he had the option of retreat. It would be the worst kind of cowardice to turn back now.
“I’m not sure what to do,” he said to Bonny. “I thought it would just come to me.”
“I know what you have to do. But I don’t think you are going to like it. You need to send me and the Daasa out first. You need to see some of us in trouble.”
Lucius’ face went red. “How can you say such a thing? If anyone goes first, it should be me.”
“Lucius, it’s either that or you and I will need to sneak off somewhere and get naked. But I don’t think you are in the mood for that right now.”
“I’m not willing to let you and the Daasa go first.”
“Willing? What’s that got to do with it? You have known all along that the Daasa would be in danger. You have known all along that at least some of them would not survive this night. But the Daasa carry lots of anger. This is their chance for revenge. My chance too. And yours.”
Lucius sighed. “We were supposed to attack at a bell past midnight. Do you think it’s time?”
“Yes, sweety,” she said. “Don’t worry, once the fighting starts, your doubts will disappear. It hurts . . . but it hurts good.”
Lucius stepped out of the protection of the trees. The Daasa followed almost timidly, mimicking his posture. Lucius realized what was causing his hesitation. Though he had seen the druids kidnap Laylah and knew in his heart that they were evil, he still reserved most of his hatred for Invictus and Mala. In fact, if he were honest with himself, there was a part of him that hated Torg worse than the creatures looming before him. But even as he was musing, he heard a strange noise to his right that sounded like dry sticks snapping.
When he turned, Bonny was no longer there. In her place stood a hideous giant, her head swollen and lumpy. Even her petite breasts had become huge, each nipple as large as one of his fists. For the first time since meeting her, Lucius saw Bonny in her “meanie” state before he had changed himself, and
it disgusted him. He bent over and vomited.
But if the transformed version of Bonny was offended, it didn’t show. Instead, she smiled, revealing a pair of fangs as long as his thumbs. Then she beckoned him to follow her onto the plains. The Daasa also transformed, becoming monsters intent on clawing, biting, and rending.
“Wait!” Lucius shouted as tears burst from his eyes. “Wait! You don’t have to do this.”
But neither Bonny nor the Daasa seemed to hear. He watched as they crashed into the rear of the druid army. Then he heard the strange snapping sounds again. Only this time, the noises came from within: his bones breaking, lengthening, mending; his flesh stretching, tearing, healing; his head a bloated vat of agony. But with the pain came anger. With the pain came strength. With the pain came power.
Yet his mind remained intact.
After completing the transformation, Lucius thundered onto the plains, following his woman and his kin. From behind, he watched Bonny wrestle with a druid, lift it high over her head, and cast it upon a thick swarm of others. When she turned and saw him, she smiled again. This time he didn’t vomit. Instead, he was filled with lust and desire.
Lucius swung a fist, now as large as a man’s head, at the first druid that approached, smashing its upper torso and punching through the bark-like hide into hot, green gore. With his other hand, he caught the creature on the side of its pointed head with the Mogol war club, which now seemed absurdly small. The club struck the druid just below the black hole that served as an ear. The head cracked at the base and drooped sideways.
The hand that had punctured the torso burned as if on fire, but the pain was mild in comparison to the agony that already enraged him. Lucius flung himself at the rear of the enemy. Bonny fought beside him, howling. The Daasa joined them both. Together they tore into the druids like harbingers of destruction.