Touched by the Gods

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  And on all sides, the nightwalkers were stirring – not the few hundred the vanguard had fought every night for so many triads, but all of them.

  Thousands of them.

  #

  Asari Asakari crouched on the blackened, half-burnt grass, peering back toward the camp.

  His part was over. Rebiri Nazakri had said so. One more day of burning everything that could be burned, so as to hide the sun with smoke – and then, when the old wizard had realized what the Domdur were up to with their wooden constructions, digging at the tunnel ceilings to create pitfalls that would hamper their advance, and a final desperate defense, keeping the enemy away from the nightwalkers until the sun had set.

  Now the sun was down, the sky was dark, and the nightwalkers were stirring. Asari had done everything the Nazakri had asked of him. He was free to go – to return to Matua, or Olnami, or anywhere he chose.

  But what would he do there – beg? The Nazakri had abandoned him, and left him no better off than before. Worse, really – he was no longer in Hao Tan, but instead out on this vast, empty plain.

  At the very least, he decided, he should stay and loot the bodies when the nightwalkers had finished.

  Chapter Fifty- Seven

  “Hold fast,” Malledd shouted. “Retreat if you need to – anything to stay alive until dawn!”

  The little knot of men clustered about him closed together more tightly, preparing for the onslaught. On all sides of them nightwalkers were sitting up, getting to their feet, picking up weapons.

  Most of the scattered Domdur troops, who had spread out across the plain pursuing their fleeing foes or chopping the heads off corpses, were now forming into groups like this one, and retreating slowly toward the makeshift bridge. All of them understood the situation – they had put the living enemy to flight, and if they could hold out until the sun rose again they would win. Dawn would drop the nightwalkers in their tracks, leaving them so much dead meat to be butchered.

  But dawn was hours away. It was midsummer, when the nights were shortest, but nine long hours still lay before them before they could expect to see new light in the east.

  Nine hours of hell. Malledd saw several of his companions shuddering in weary anticipation. They had already fought one full night and a long afternoon with only a brief morning's rest in between, and now they would have to fight on.

  Malledd himself was not tired – he never tired, and knew now that this was his divine gift. Those around him, though...

  It struck him that most of them would probably die tonight – perhaps all of them. They were outnumbered almost ten to one by creatures that felt no pain, that could only be killed by decapitation.

  The nightwalkers were upright now, upright and armed, a great seething mob of them; thousands of dead staring eyes turned toward the retreating Domdur.

  Red light flared to one side, and Malledd looked quickly for its source as a scream rose, then cut off in a dying gurgle.

  The wizard, of course; a burst of his baleful fire had broken through the defenses of one of the New Magicians and burned the man's chest to smoking black ruin.

  The crystals of the other New Magicians all seemed dim, scarcely sparkling, let alone glowing with their usual golden fire. Their power was draining away, while Rebiri Nazakri seemed as strong as ever.

  The New Magicians were falling back – and as Malledd watched the black wizard stepped down from his place atop the heap, a heap that Malledd now saw was largely made up of severed heads. They weren't the fresh remains of Domdur, but the half-rotted skulls of decapitated nightwalkers – the wizard's staff had been reabsorbing their dark essence.

  The Nazakri was advancing toward the bridge, Malledd realized. The New Magicians milled about, confused and exhausted, and did not pursue.

  “He's going to blast it!” someone shouted. “He's going to trap us on this side of the river!”

  At that, a mad rush for the supposed safety of the western bank began, but Malledd held up his arms and held back his own little party. “Wait and see,” he shouted. “We don't want to be caught on the bridge!”

  The nightwalkers still hadn't attacked – not Malledd's band, nor anywhere else – and that made him wary. Something strange was going on here.

  This was the night Rebiri Nazakri had been waiting for, the night when Ba'el's Triad began, the night when whatever dire scheme the Olnami had devised was meant to be put into action; this move toward the bridge might be part of that scheme. Malledd had no intention of falling into any more traps.

  Perhaps threescore Imperial troops reached the bridge before the wizard and fled across it in disorder, while the rest stood and waited, surrounded by the horde of waiting nightwalkers. Then Rebiri Nazakri reached the water's edge and turned to face them all. He raised his staff above his head, smoking red flame to his right and utter blackness to his left, and spoke.

  His words rang out like the beating of a great gong, in a voice that was no longer human, a voice that carried easily to every corner of the rebel encampment and out onto the plains beyond.

  He spoke in Olnami; Malledd could not understand the words, but he recognized the tone as that of command. The wizard was issuing instructions to his undead followers.

  Then one word rang out clearly – “Seidabar.” A moment later Malledd caught another, “Domdur,” and then “Seidabar“ again.

  Then the Nazakri turned to face the west and marched out through ankle-deep water to the bridge.

  Behind him, ten thousand nightwalkers turned to face west and began marching.

  They didn't attack; they didn't fight; they marched due west, pushing around or climbing over anything in their path. The Domdur in that path hacked and slashed and cut their way through the oncoming masses, meeting no active resistance, but merely the steady press of more and more bodies pushing westward, pushing past or over them.

  “Destroy the bridge!” Lord Duzon shouted. Malledd turned to see the commander swinging back up into his saddle and spurring his mount toward the river. “Destroy it, before he can cross!”

  Soldiers turned in confusion; several of those who had escaped across the bridge paused and looked back. A few of the New Magicians moved halfheartedly toward the crossing.

  “How?” Malledd heard someone ask.

  That was a sound question; how could they destroy the bridge? It couldn't be burned, sunken as it was two inches below the surface, nor was there any easy way to break apart its component sections. It was a solid, sturdy construction.

  And Rebiri Nazakri was marching relentlessly westward across it.

  Someone screamed, and Malledd turned to find a wall of nightwalkers approaching his own position. None had raised their weapons; none of them bothered to spout their usual mockery; they simply marched westward, and looked ready to trample anything in their path.

  “Into the holes,” Malledd said. “Into the tunnels!”

  Indeed, the nightwalkers were moving around the openings, not allowing themselves to drop back down into the earth from which their dark spirits had been pulled. Hurriedly, the Domdur retreated and slid down into the openings.

  Above them on all sides they could hear the unceasing tread of the nightwalkers. The ground seemed to shake beneath them, and clods of earth tumbled down around the cowering Domdur.

  At last, after what seemed like hours, the army of the undead was past; Malledd led his little band quickly through the tunnels to the pit, and back to the surface.

  There they looked around at a scene of untold devastation.

  The rebel camp had been reduced to rubble and ash and the remains of the dead. Countless bodies lay scattered across the landscape – Domdur, and rebel, and the headless remnants of hundreds of nightwalkers. The surviving Imperial forces wandered among the dead, dazed and weary.

  But to the west, beyond the Grebiguata, an undead horde was marching away, following the smoky red glow of the wizard's staff.

  “I don't understand,” someone said. “Where are they goi
ng?”

  “Seidabar,” Malledd replied. “Didn't you hear the wizard say that?”

  “I didn't understand any of it,” the other answered.

  “Malledd!” someone called, and Malledd heard the jingle of harness. He turned to find Lord Duzon riding up.

  “Your lordship,” Malledd said, bowing.

  When he arose from his bow he looked up to find Duzon grinning.

  “We've beaten them!” he said.

  Malledd made no answer; he frowned thoughtfully.

  “We'll follow them,” Duzon said, “and when dawn comes we'll slaughter them all. They'll be defenseless.”

  “The wizard doesn't sleep as they do,” Malledd said. “I'm not sure he still sleeps at all.”

  “True enough,” Duzon admitted, “but our own wizards can match him once the sun's up, match him magic for magic, wear him down and eventually destroy him!”

  “Maybe,” Malledd said. “When the sun comes up.” He glanced westward. “But I think he said they would destroy Seidabar.”

  “Seidabar is more than a hundred miles away,” Duzon said. “They can't possibly reach it before dawn!”

  “Then why would he try?”

  “He must be hoping we're too tired to pursue him,” Duzon said.

  “Some of us are too tired to pursue him,” Bousian replied from behind Duzon. He wiped sweat from above his one remaining eye.

  “Well, some of us aren't,” Duzon retorted. “We'll pursue them, and we'll finish them! Come on – who's with me? For the Empress! For the Domdur!” He raised his sword in a dramatic gesture.

  Malledd wasn't tired, but he couldn't find the spirit to join the ragged cheer that answered Duzon's flamboyance.

  Something was wrong here. Rebiri Nazakri could not have fought so long, and waited so patiently, only to let himself be conquered as easily as Duzon predicted.

  Dawn would bring not just any day, but the first day of Ba'el's Triad. Ba'el favored the Olnami, not the Domdur. Could they really expect to triumph under Ba'el's fiery gaze?

  But what could the Nazakri be planning?

  When Duzon led his cheering band of volunteers back across the bridge, in pursuit of the nightwalkers, Malledd followed reluctantly.

  #

  Asari whirled at a sound behind him, raising his sword.

  “Don't!” a voice called. “It's just me!”

  Asari recognized the voice even before he saw the golden glow beneath Aldassi's cloak, and lowered his weapon.

  “Aldassi,” he said, “What's going on?”

  “I don't know,” Aldassi said. “My father never confided in me.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Seidabar, of course. I know that much.”

  “But... but they can't reach it before dawn, and they left the Domdur alive!”

  Aldassi shrugged. “This is what Ba'el told my father to do. Perhaps he knows more than we do, and all will be well – or perhaps my father has been betrayed, and Ba'el is still a god of the Domdur.”

  “Don't you care?”

  “Of course I care!” The glow brightened, and for a moment Aldassi shone like a candle on the darkened plain. Then the brilliance faded again. “But what can I do against the gods?” Aldassi asked.

  Asari glanced to the west, where the Domdur soldiers were carrying torches in their pursuit of the nightwalkers.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “We find shelter, find food,” Aldassi said. “My father will succeed or fail without us. If he succeeds, we will hear, and go to join him; if he fails, we have a choice – avenge him, or get on with our own lives.”

  “Which will it be?” Asari asked. “Vengeance?”

  Aldassi paused before answering, “My family has pursued vengeance for a very long time. It would be hard to give it up; I have little else left. Sometimes, though, one must give up all one has in order to survive and begin anew. It's not a matter to be decided in haste – and besides, can you doubt that my father will triumph?”

  Asari didn't answer; instead he followed as Aldassi led him away in search of food and shelter.

  But in truth, he found it quite easy to doubt.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Lord Duzon looked up at the sky for what was surely the hundredth time, studying the moons; he glanced once again at the eastern horizon. Malledd saw the action and gritted his teeth.

  All of them, all the determined little band that was still pursuing the Olnami wizard and his undead warriors, had done the same. All of them had noticed the wrongness, though no one had yet said anything about it above a whisper.

  The moons were fading.

  The Domdur knew more than a hundred moons; in the ordinary course of events the sky would hold anywhere from a dozen to ninety or so at a time, moons great and small, scattered or clumped together, their colors ranging from the drying-blood color of Ba'el to the cool blue of Sheshar, from the intense white of Samardas to the dim dull brown of Dremeger. On very rare occasions the sky might be completely moonless, or the entire complement might gather in a single part of the heavens – such gatherings usually meant fierce storms, earthquakes, and other upheavals.

  The movements and interactions of the many moons were far too complex, too intricate, for anyone but an astrologer to track. Even so, the presence of so many moons, day and night, made it almost impossible for anyone in the Domdur Empire to not learn certain basic facts.

  One of those facts was the relationship between sunlight and the phases of the moons. When one could observe a sunset and simultaneously see a scattering of moons above it ranging from the thinnest smiling slivers in the west to full round circles on the eastern horizon, it was hard not to recognize that moonslight was reflected sunlight.

  When a score of moons gradually faded out, full and half-moon and crescent alike, dimming like dying embers while still far above the horizon, and while the stars stayed clear and bright, almost any Domdur with any wit at all would know it meant something was wrong with the sun.

  The Domdur rarely bothered with lanterns or torches when traveling long distances by night; moonslight was usually sufficient. This time, though, even though it meant losing ground in the pursuit of the nightwalkers, Duzon had called a halt so that torches could be prepared and lit.

  The distant glow of the wizard's staff vanished in the west as the soldiers struggled to get tarred rags tied onto whatever scraps of wood they could find; they would need to make up that lost ground. At least, Malledd thought, the wizard and nightwalkers had veered to the south and were now following the highway, rather than trampling cross-country through fields and over fences; that would make the going easier, and he was fairly certain that it would be more of an advantage for the Domdur than for the nightwalkers.

  Many people muttered and cursed as the lights were prepared and distributed, but still, no one spoke openly of the strange phenomena overhead. Finally, though, as the last torch blazed up and the weary warriors prepared to march on, someone could keep quiet no longer.

  “Lord Duzon,” Kiudegar called, “what's happening? Has that wizard shut out the sun somehow?”

  “I don't know,” Duzon replied unhappily. “It doesn't matter; whatever he's done, we still need to follow them, to be ready when the sun appears.”

  “But what if it doesn't?” someone with a Seidabar accent demanded.

  “Then it's the end of the world and we're all dead anyway!” Duzon retorted, momentarily losing any pretense of calm. He glanced eastward again. “The sun will rise, just as it always has.”

  Malledd wasn't so sure. The moons had begun to dim shortly after midnight, and this was to be the first day of Ba'el's triad – the three days of the year when Ba'el's power, and his power alone, kept the sun burning.

  And Ba'el wanted Rebiri Nazakri and his nightwalkers to win.

  It was hard to believe that any god could so completely abandon his duties, could allow the well-ordered world to be so deranged, but those dying moons, faint brown shad
ows where they should be bright and golden, were an irrefutable sign that something was wrong in the heavens.

  Three days until Ba'el's Triad ended, and Vedal could restore the sun. Three days of darkness, when untiring nightwalkers could march on, not stopping to rest for even a moment, unhindered by any sort of packs or baggage, untroubled by living escort, along Gogror's Highway where there were no obstacles to slow them.

  Three days.

  Malledd knew he could easily cover four miles in an hour by walking briskly. At twenty-four hours a day, and with half a night at either end, that would mean the relentless nightwalkers could almost certainly cover more than three hundred miles before the sun rose on the first day of Vedal's triad.

  Seidabar lay only slightly more than two hundred miles from the Grebiguata.

  This was Rebiri's plan, clearly; this was the revenge he had schemed for, the plot he had somehow connived with Ba'el to devise. He and his horde of nightwalkers would march to Seidabar in the unnatural darkness and lay waste to the city, destroying the seat of Domdur power and plunging the world into chaos and conflict.

  Ba'el would have his wars, and the Nazakri would have his vengeance.

  But what of the main body of the Imperial Army? What about the defenses of the fortress, those great black walls that guarded Seidabar? Could the nightwalkers overwhelm them all in the single night that would remain to them at the end of their march?

  Undoubtedly Ba'el and the Nazakri thought they could, and so far those two seemed to have known what they were doing. Perhaps they believed the extinguished sun would panic the Domdur into leaving the city undefended.

  In fact, Malledd thought, the darkness might do just that, if no one was able to rally the defenders.

  Someone like the divine champion, for example.

  And he was here, on the wrong side of the nightwalker army, pursuing them instead of confronting them. Perhaps he should never have left Seidabar at all.

  With that thought he patted Onnell on the shoulder and told him, “I need to go talk to Lord Duzon.” He waved to Darsmit and Bousian and Vadeviya and Kiudegar, and then ran forward.