Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  From where he stood, Kusala was able to see the Kojin as it stepped into Balak’s wide entrance and grasped the first portcullis with her six powerful arms. The beast shook the heavy iron grating with spectacular strength, attempting to wrest it from the stone. But despite her best efforts, the grating held. This seemed to enrage the monster further, and she shrieked. In response, thousands of black knights cheered and shouted insults. The Kojin backed out of the entrance and pounded her bulbous chest in defiance, which served only to increase the volume of jeering.

  Mala seemed none too pleased. He sent several trolls into the entrance with their golden hammers, and the pounding began again, only this time it was metal against metal instead of metal against stone. After what seemed like a long time, the trolls backed away from the grating, also unsuccessful. There was little doubt they could batter it down eventually, but Mala was losing patience.

  Next he sent for one of the three-headed giants. As soon as it came into range of the defenders, but before reaching the protection of the magical shield, a shower of arrows and trebuchet fire rained upon it. But the beast paid the assault no more heed than an ordinary man might give to a swarm of mosquitoes.

  This dismayed Kusala. Even the Asēkhas were no match for such might. Short of Utu and The Torgon, who among them could stand against these giants, especially if they were to somehow find a way to surmount Ott and Hakam and enter the city?

  The monster had to lower its three heads to enter the tunnel. Then it lifted its iron hammer and dealt the portcullis a mighty blow. The iron grating caved inward and tore from the stone, bent and twisted. The sound was ear-splitting even to Kusala, and a collective gasp rose from the battlements of Ott and Hakam.

  The giant took pleasure in the destruction, attacking the next portcullis with enthusiasm. It also fell from a single blow, as did the third. When the final grating gave way, the giant stomped through and howled. The sound was stupendously loud, dwarfing even the trumpeting of a mammoth, and it enraged Mala’s followers.

  Trolls, druids, vampires, Mogols, and wolves stormed into the entrance in a mad rush. But just as the front-runners were about to emerge from the tunnel, Henepola raised his Maōi staff and fired a beam of milky energy at a small disk that protruded from the wall just above Balak’s entrance. After an explosive burst, the tunnel became clogged with tons of quicklime that dropped from the murder holes. Jagged boulders fell too, sealing the passageway. At least five hundred monsters were crushed in the upheaval.

  Meanwhile, the three-headed giant had become stranded inside Balak, and once again it was barraged by arrows and missiles. This only seemed to anger it. But in its rage, it slipped on the narrow walkway in front of the moat and tumbled face-first into the dark waters, its ponderous weight driving it downward onto the razor-sharp spikes just below the surface.

  Despite the severity of its wounds, the giant managed to raise its heads and crawl across the spikes on hands and knees. But each movement wrought further damage, shredding its bloodied flesh. Finally the beast fell forward again and lay still, its hideous back still visible above the surface of the water.

  Kusala sighed with relief. No matter how huge or intimidating, even the greatest of the monsters weren’t invincible. Nissaya would not fall as easily as Mala must have hoped.

  But the Chain Man refused to quit. He brought forth the Kojins and all his remaining trolls to unclog the tunnel. The quicklime irritated their hides but did little harm, and no boulder was too heavy for them to haul away. Kusala was stunned by how quickly the entrance was being cleared.

  FOR THE SECOND time in recent days, Maynard Tew considered himself lucky to be alive. He had just missed being buried in the tunnel by the skin of his teeth, and if the rocks hadn’t crushed him, the nasty quicklime would have done him even dirtier. He wasn’t as tough as the trolls and other monsters, or even the Mogols. Quicklime would burn him up just like it would any ordinary guy. The only reason he was still living was that the stronger monsters had shoved past him and crowded in the entrance before he could get inside.

  Now he managed the courage to stay near Mala while the Kojins and trolls cleared the way. Standing under the magical shield, made by the Pabbajja, made him feel a lot safer. Unlike many of the monsters, he could be killed by a stray arrow, no problem. If the shield went away, he was in deep poop.

  Mala seemed to have some sort of plan to get past the moat, but what it might be was beyond a simple pirate from Duccarita. And what the Chain Man intended to do with the golden soldiers also confused him. It was a stupendous waste of manpower, as far as Tew could tell. Maybe Mala was just mad at them. It wouldn’t surprise Tew one bit.

  By the time the trolls had cleared the entrance, it was midafternoon. Mala stomped forward with a bunch of the weird-looking Pabbajjan guys beside him. It was obvious the Chain Man didn’t intend to step inside the first wall and expose himself to all manner of bad stuff, at least not without the shield. That thing sure did come in handy.

  All of the witches were with him, maybe four score, along with a bunch of their hags. Tew had to admit that even now he couldn’t help but stare at the witches and hags who were pretty. They were something else. He had bedded a pretty hag once and was proud to have survived it with all his parts intact. To this day, it was the best sex he’d ever had, but also the scariest. He wouldn’t dare mess with a real witch, at least voluntarily.

  That trident of Mala’s was nasty. When the Chain Man held it up, the shield grew right back over their heads. The Pabbajjans and the witches joined in. Pretty soon, the whole bunch of them, including Tew, were inside the first wall, safe and sound. And there was nothing the Nissayans could do about it. Those black knights were scary guys too, no doubt about it, but not as scary as Mala.

  Still, the moat was blocking their way, and they all could see, clear as a bell, what it had done to one of the three-headed giants. All Tew could do was watch and wait. Mala was the boss. Let him decide how to cross it. And if he asked for Tew’s advice again, well . . . he’d do his best to come up with something. It was either that or get his head bashed in. And pirates were never fond of that.

  The Pabbajja were spooky guys. Tew sensed something in the way they acted that he didn’t quite trust. They had an arrogance that most of the other monsters lacked. A couple of times, Tew considered talking to Mala about it, but each time he kept his trap shut. The Chain Man could break him in two with one swipe of his hand. No sense stirring up trouble when you didn’t need to.

  Mala was aiming the trident down at the water. Some of the Pabbajjans were doing the same with their much-smaller tridents. The shield already had a roof and walls, but now a floor was forming, and it streaked across the water flat as a pancake. Tew was amazed. As easy as that, they had a way to walk over the moat. Then Mala was grabbing his arm—man, that hurt even worse than when he’d smacked him on the back—and dragging him toward the scary black water.

  “You first,” the Chain Man screamed.

  Tew tried to resist, but Mala was strong as an elephant—hell, a dozen elephants—and he found himself being thrown onto the magical bridge. He let out a screech and wet his breeches again, but the nearly invisible platform held his weight, no problem at all. So he walked a few more steps, turned around all brave-like, and waved for the others to follow.

  “Come in, the water’s fine,” he felt like yelling. But Mala didn’t seem to like jokes too much, ’less they were his own. So the pirate just kept on walking.

  WHEN MALA AND the Pabbajja used their magic to form a platform over the moat, Torg and the others finally understood how the Chain Man intended to cross the deadly waters and begin his assault on the gate of Ott. The pale-yellow floor was three times as broad as the largest of the fortress’ elaborate wooden drawbridges, key portions of which had been hauled up over the battlement with thick ropes to render them useless to the enemy.

  The aerial assault from the Stone-Eaters continued, forcing the defenders to maintain their own buffer, whic
h was tiresome, even for Torg. The conjurers were already fading, their dark faces bathed in sweat. Still, as long as Utu lent the strength of the ring, their shield remained strong enough to ward off the fiery spheres. But it would be difficult to mount an attack on Mala’s shield while maintaining the integrity of theirs.

  Meanwhile, the Chain Man, witches, and Pabbajja lined up along the walkway that ringed the inside base of Balak. Mala’s trident spewed massive gobs of magic into the air, and when joined by the homeless people’s tridents and the witches’ staffs, the shield they formed grew wider, taller, and stronger. Soon it was cavernous in height and girth. Mala used his magic to raise the shield over the moat and lean the magical roof against the side of Ott. If the defenders could not defeat it, the Chain Man and his minions again would have free rein at the foot of a gate.

  A lone pirate, appearing pitifully small when compared to the others, led the way across the moat, but trolls, Mogols, and wolves soon followed him. The Kojin, a demon, and several druids joined them. Some of the witches also started across. Soon, the magical platform supported at least a thousand, yet it did not bow.

  “Torgon,” Henepola shouted, “you and Utu must separate from the rest of us and attempt to break their shield. The conjurers and I will hold off the assault from the Stone-Eaters.”

  “Without them, we will not be enough,” Indajaala said.

  “We have no other choice,” Henepola said.

  “Mala’s shield must be defeated,” Torg agreed. “Come, Utu. We must release our strength and attempt to fracture theirs.”

  “I think not,” Kusala said.

  “What?” Torg and Henepola said in unison.

  “Behold,” the chieftain said, pointing a thick finger at the Pabbajja below.

  THIS TIME, THERE would be no convenient excuse. The betrayal would be evident, and it was unlikely that any of the Pabbajja at Nissaya would survive their traitorous actions. But if it meant the end of Mala, it would be well worth the sacrifice. Perhaps then the black knights and their Tugar allies would have the strength to defeat the invading army and win back freedom for the remainder of the homeless people who were hidden on the borders of Java.

  Psychically, Gruugash ordered his people to lower their tridents and decease. Then they focused their magic on destroying the shield, rather than nourishing it. When they did, the floor and ceiling of the shield wobbled, crackled, and weakened. In a cacophony of terror and rage, more than a thousand monsters tumbled into the moat. Instantly the Mogols and wolves were shredded on the ugly tangle of razor-sharp spikes hidden in the dark water. But the other monsters, some tougher than others, writhed near the surface in shrieking agony.

  No longer protected by the shield, the attackers were assailed by arrows and stones. Gruugash saw Tugars and black knights scrambling down rope ladders, apparently to finish off any monsters that had crossed the moat and reached the walkway beneath the second bulwark. But then, the high overlord turned his attention to his true quarry. The entire contingent of Pabbajja, two hundred and fifty score strong, turned their tridents on Mala and—in unison—blasted him with all their power.

  Caught by surprise, the Chain Man was blown backward through the entrance of Balak, tumbling head over heels onto the gravel road that led to the gate. So mighty was their assault, the witches and other monsters that had not fallen into the moat were cast aside. The rage and frustration of countless millennia had been unleashed—with Mala as the focal point.

  Gruugash led the charge through the tunnel, howling as loud as any of the others. The Chain Man was on his knees, clinging to Vikubbati for support, when they struck him a second time. Few beings on Triken could have survived such an accumulation of power. Mala was thrown back again, as if the winds of a hurricane had battered him, but now the other monsters were rushing to their leader’s side. They did not love the Chain Man, but they feared him greatly, and more so his master.

  Gruugash felt more than heard a disturbance at their rear. The Kojin that had fallen into the moat had pulled itself out, its own magical sheath too strong to be punctured by mere rocks, no matter how sharp. Now the beast named Harīti, who loved Mala more than any other, attacked the homeless people from behind, smashing dozens of them with her massive fists. The three other Kojins joined her. The witches had rallied too, striking vicious blows with their staffs. And almost forty thousand monsters rushed toward them from the plain, braving arrows and trebuchet fire from Ott.

  The Pabbajja were forced to fight not just Mala but countless others. Within his mind, Gruugash screamed at his people to ignore the onslaught and make one final attempt to destroy the Chain Man, but it was too late. The homeless people were whelmed and swept away, and though they killed as many as they lost, in the end it was no matter. Not even the defenders of Nissaya had been able to aid them, being trapped on the other side of their own moat.

  Soon after defeating the Pabbajja, the monsters again withdrew out of range of arrow and trebuchet.

  As Gruugash lay dying, a strange quiet arose.

  All this, and it was not even dusk.

  EVEN BEFORE KUSALA gave the order, Churikā lowered a rope ladder and scrambled down the steep side of Ott. Against powerful monsters, opportunities such as this were rare. Havoc needed to be wreaked—fast!

  Before the Pabbajja sabotaged the shield, fewer than a dozen monsters had reached the walkway at the exterior base of Ott. Churikā was the first defender down, and she went to work with typical Asēkha precision. While a Mogol, astride a black mountain wolf, struggled to calm his mount, Churikā took out the wolf and warrior with one thrust, punching her uttara through the beast’s neck and into the Mogol’s belly. Then the Asēkha withdrew the blade and cast them both into the moat.

  A Warlish witch and a pair of hag servants had also made it across. When they saw Churikā, they snarled and charged. But now several other Asēkhas were by her side, including the recently ascended Dalhapa. The hags were slaughtered, and Churikā beheaded the witch, though a splotch of acidic blood splashed on her black jacket between her breasts, burning away the fabric and exposing her cleavage.

  In a short time, only a lone Duccaritan remained on the walkway, and he was escorted up the wall on a rope ladder. The pirate did not resist, seeming almost relieved to become their prisoner. Churikā was amazed that, despite all the surrounding madness, the man seemed to be leering at the exposed portions of her breasts.

  Meanwhile, the monsters that had fallen into the moat continued to thrash and shriek. The trolls were especially hideous, shredded and bloodied but too stubborn to die. The druids also were brutally slashed, humming their teeth-chattering song. The witches and a lone demon, protected by sheaths of magic, struggled through the foaming madness toward the walkway at Balak’s base. Churikā unleashed her sling and peppered them, one by one. A metal bead penetrated the base of a witch’s neck, piercing the gristle. The witch exploded, gushing fetid fumes.

  But they could not kill them all. The Kojin escaped from the moat, along with most of the witches and the demon. Eventually Churikā, the other Tugars, and the black knights were ordered back to the battlement.

  Soon after, the rope ladders were withdrawn.

  YAMA-UTU WATCHED the Pabbajja strike Mala with the combined force of their magic, blowing his brother’s body through the entrance of Balak. It was obvious that this stunned Mala. Was this Utu’s chance? He could leap down upon the deserted battlement, then pounce on the Chain Man and strangle him, ending Yama-Deva’s long suffering.

  But if he were looking for excuses, he had plenty: The Pabbajja might destroy Mala on their own; and even if Utu did attack, the other monsters would reach him before he could finish the job. Besides, Nissaya still needed his strength. But he knew all these excuses were hollow; now was as good a time as any. Yet he could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Kusala had asked him several times if he had changed his mind. The true answer, which he had not revealed, was twofold: He planned to confront Mala, but not in the way he h
ad previously envisioned. Rather than slay his brother, Utu hoped to heal him.

  And so, he waited. When he and Mala finally met, when their bodies finally touched, Utu wanted the opportunity to embrace his brother and make him whole.

  The ring given to him by Henepola made it possible.In front of his eyes, the Pabbajja were overwhelmed. Utu felt grief over their deaths but also a bizarre relief. If the homeless people had managed to defeat Mala, then Yama-Deva would have been lost forever. Yama-Utu could not bear the thought. How he longed to be with his brother again. To talk with him. Sing with him. Admire the glorious beauty of the mountain peaks together. With Yama-Deva returned to Okkanti, the Himamahaakaayos would be whole—and Bhari would be so proud. “You were right,” she would say, “to leave us for a time. It took one wanderer to rescue another.”

  Utu could sense Kusala’s eyes on him. The chieftain was not the Death-Knower’s equal, but he was clever.

  “The Pabbajja have fallen,” said Kusala, his voice just loud enough to be heard by Utu above the clamor of battle. “But Mala has not.”

  “It wasn’t the right time.”

  The chieftain arched an eyebrow. “As you say.”

  Soon after, a dread silence ensued. Thousands of the Pabbajja lay dead, their bodies mangled and tridents broken. The Kojins killed several hundred, and the witches and remaining trolls also wreaked terrible damage. Many monsters perished, as well: more than a thousand Mogols and wolves; at least five hundred wild men; and hundreds of ghouls, ogres, and vampires. However, in the end, the Pabbajja had been outnumbered and had received no aid.

  Once the Asēkhas brought their lone prisoner onto the battlement, the Duccaritan pirate immediately was taken to the king. Utu listened intently.