by Samit Basu
- The battle began predictably enough. The asurs charged enthusiastically, and we sent in the churls to meet them. A rather ineffective move, because giant rakshases appeared out of nowhere between the churls and the asurs and proceeded to wreak havoc. I saw an elephant fly today. This world is quite delightful at times. We learned a lot about the enemy’s battle plans; they plan to slaughter us.
- After this exchange of pleasantries, it was time for the real battle. I tried to stay as uninvolved as possible, but the rakshases appearing on the flanks, striking hard and then vanishing. They seemed enthusiastic that I participate in the festivities, and I felt it would be rude to disappoint them. They were our hosts, in a manner of speaking. Meanwhile, our peerless tacticians had observed that the asurs, instead of charging us blindly in a massive tidal wave of bodies, split themselves up into small groups, moving in random patterns across the battlefield, attacking from several directions at once. Each group was made up of a mixture of danavs, as well as a few lesser rakshases to provide magical support and prevent us from taking over their minds. How unsporting.
- Having spent some time admiring the enemy’s tactics, we decided it was time to put an end to this nonsense. I sent a division of cavalry, horses held firmly in mind-riding control, charging into the asur companies, scattering them, giving our mages more chances to control asur minds. But the asurs had taken lessons in the art of attacking us; they never attacked one at a time, never gave us a chance to read the patterns in their movements and plan a series of sword-strokes that would parry their blows before they even made them. I saw this pattern everywhere; six or more asurs would leap at a ravian at the same time, each dragging a weapon or limb down as he fell dead, creating opportunities for at least one asur to land a telling blow. Some asurs even smeared themselves with a strange green poison-paste that stuck fast to ravian skin, slowing their victims down so that some other monster could attack unhindered. They also managed to execute a nice pincer movement. We were surrounded within minutes, though there were at least twenty thousand of us. Despite all this, they were still asurs, of course, and no match for us. As the day wore on, we filled Danh-Gem’s Wasteland with bodies, and then we killed some more, and made tombstones for them by breaking pashans. I use the term ‘we’ loosely; my main function was to provide moral support and stand attractively with one foot on the largest corpse available afterwards.
- As the battle wore on, the Dark Lord’s stronger minions came to the fore, and the fighting grew more intense and less showy. After we had sent off two waves of asurs, a company of heavily armed gorilla-men and man-sized lesser rakshas attacked the mounted Nergol battalion on the left, forcing them inwards, and a band of grotesque creatures I could not identify met King Zibeb’s swordsmen in the centre. There were goat-headed creatures I learned later were called goborchends, who bore strange clubs called k’opalas, clubs that had mouths of their own, with sharp teeth and harsh screeching voices. Phiams, demonic beasts that cast spells that choke and strangle their victims, were advancing steadily on the right, and I was so engrossed in organizing their defeat that I was almost left out of the manouevres that eventually won the battle.
- When Zibeb saw that several massive rakshases, possibly members of Kirin’s personal guard, had joined the battle and a vast number of men on horseback, possibly Artaxerxian, were getting into position for what might have been a decisive charge into the ravian centre, he prudently decided to call for the formation of a Spirit Trench. About an hour later than he should have, but no doubt he was distracted by the sight of his lovely bride slaughtering his men in a most efficient manner.
- As the steeds of the Artaxerxians began their charge, several ravian nobles, such as myself, built the Spirit Trench. It is difficult to describe the moves that create it; it is somewhat similar to the state we go into for Trance-duels, though there is a crucial difference. Unlike in Trance-duels, we remain on this plane, but our minds are somehow connected, and this increases manifold the effects of a spell cast by any of us.
Zibeb waited until the Artaxerxian horses were committed to the charge, and then we united our minds. Orro, eyes glowing white with power, began shaking uncontrollably as we focused our destructive energies on him. When the horses were merely feet away, Orro leaped forward and struck the ground with all his might with his ice-mace.
The older rakshases must have been familiar with ravians’ ability to rend the earth individually, but nothing could have prepared for this. A huge furrow appeared in the earth as Orro struck it, as if some great bear-clawed god had gouged out some part of the world that annoyed him. The earth exploded upwards, emptying out a huge trench at least three hundred feet in length and a hundred across, and the charging Artaxerxians disappeared into it and were never seen again. They must have found this at least slightly unpleasant.
- With the loss of his cavalry, the Dark Lord’s spirit broke and this day was ours. He vanished from the battlefield, taking nearly all his rakshases with him. We killed anything that was left behind and was not ours. Queen Maya left as well, which was disappointing, as she might have killed Dalmaan if given a little more time. It was a resounding victory by any standards – very few ravians were lost, and King Zibeb seemed pleased enough. Many well-worded congratulations were passed around and the more well-known ravian corpses were wailed over.
- We killed more asurs than anyone cares to count, and the monkey-men would have remembered our matchless valour, but cannot, because they are all dead. But rakshas casualties have been minimal, and they have seen how we fight. They outnumber us easily, and they are fiercer than any creatures I have seen on any other world. We have not even encountered Omar the Terrible, or Bjorkun the Skuan, or Angda queen of the vanars, or the werewolves. Or the jinn, who are supposed to be unpredictable and very powerful. We have not met any of the rakshas generals in battle. Worst of all, all the ravian heroes on my list are still alive. The next battle will be more difficult, which is encouraging, but I think a rearguard position is what suits me, tactically speaking.
- A messenger has arrived with a secret summons from Dalmaan. This is most irregular. What secret does he wish to share? If he is plotting against the king, why would he want to talk to me? Perhaps he is looking for a young and gullible ally. Most interesting. I had several more interesting observations to make, but I suppose my deathless prose can wait a while.
(Eridon’s war journal ends here. Contrary to the predictions of Nenses the Seer, he did not see the Dark Tower fall. He was charged with treason after his journals were discovered by Dalmaan’s servants, and his present whereabouts are unknown.)
Chapter Three
Kirin did not know whether he was asleep, awake, dreaming or even alive; all he knew was that he was wrapped in a dense blanket of darkness, silence and general dullness. He fought to control a sudden surge of panic, and succeeded without much effort. How many times in the last two years had he woken up with absolutely no idea where or how he was?
The last thing he remembered was Zivran’s thunderous voice and Maya’s face across the table, her eyes wide and horrified as the lights began to blur. That seemed long ago, and far away; something that had occurred in another lifetime, or in a dream, leaving only Zivran’s words echoing faintly in his mind and the aftertaste of Zivran’s voice burning a thick, slimy trail in his throat.
He tried to move, but could not. He tried to look around, to gain at least some sense of where he was, and failed. He knew he was not still in the heavens, and the safat-shell trance had worn off; then, he had felt light as air or fire, and had floated at will in infinite space. Now, he was locked in, weighed down, trapped, though he had no sensation of having a body at all, which made it difficult to investigate his condition further. Zivran had something about their minds being lost; did that mean his mind was now stuck in some kind of hole for all eternity? That didn’t make much sense, because if he was wandering around in some sort of cosmic void, there would definitely have been a better view.
He concentrated, searching for a sound, a hint of light, any sensation whatsoever. And his efforts were soon rewarded; a faint thumping sound in the distance slowly grew into a hearbeat, he began to feel faint contractions and see floating, colourful shapes, and realized he was back inside his own body. With this knowledge came surprise and wakefulness; he felt blood racing through his arteries, bringing warmth and life, felt his muscles move and flex, felt his nerves snap to attention in ever-widening arcs of awareness, heard the roar of air gushing into his lungs as he breathed, deeply, in relief and wonder. He’d never felt more alive; it was as if his body was a glove he was fitting into, a home he was reclaiming, and he marveled at the complexity of its construction. His senses were beginning to return; already he could feel his skin begin to tingle, and hear the dull roar of the world outside. Soon an avalanche of sensation from the physical world beyond the borders of his body would smother this new acquaintance with the marvels within; he was beginning to wake up, and he felt a definite sense of regret. There was so much he would not remember. He felt relaxed, languorous – more than happy, he felt euphoric, as if his whole body were glowing, as if a great weight had rolled off his shoulders.
Speaking of which, there was a weight on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly, not yet wholly awake.
Maya’s head was next to his, her breath soft and warm on his neck. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as blissful as he felt. Kirin realized, with a sudden start, that their bodies were intertwined, draped comfortably around each other’s on a blanket of leaves. He shut his eyes, trying to understand, to remember, to ask his body exactly what had happened while he’d been away, and opened them again, afraid that Maya would vanish, afraid that this was a dream, afraid that she would wake up, terrified that he would lose this moment.
But she was still there, nestled in his arms as confidently as if she’d been there for years, and the sight of her stopped his heart. He held her close, wanting to touch all of her, wanting to drive away the darkness and see her, wanting her. He ran his fingers slowly down her back, feeling her skin respond to his touch, feeling desire run hot and fiery through him.
‘I’m not awake,’ she murmured, and he sensed her smile.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then you can’t leave.’
‘Why would I want to?’
She snapped her fingers softly, and a tiny ball of light appeared above Kirin’s face. He blinked and turned his face, their lips brushing together. His eyes were half smiling, half anxious, drinking in the sight of her as if seeing her for the first time.
‘Remind me to leave my body lying around with yours more often,’ she said, grinning. ‘It simplifies things.’
‘Do you remember what happened?’
‘No, but judging from how I feel’ – she stretched, and snuggled up to him – ‘we made up for lost time. Very vigorously. And rather well.’
‘Did we…’
‘Bits of us are stuck together, Kirin. What do you think?’
‘Oh.’
‘A masterly summation of events.’
‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
‘It’s just that – I’ve been dreaming about this, about you, ever since I met you. And we missed…’
At this Maya laughed, deep and soft, and kissed him. And Kirin was delighted to find out that the first remembered kiss was a perfectly acceptable substitute for the first kiss; that none of the most important moments of his life would ever come when he was prepared for them, and that he was happier than he had ever been before.
But then Maya broke the kiss and looked at him with an expression he could not fathom, and there was no trace of laughter on her face. The light-ball disappeared, but he had already seen that her eyes were glistening.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Unexpected and, well, unreasonable attack of maidenly reserve. This is complicated.’
‘Very.’
‘I mean, it’s you, and I just love you terribly, but it’s – and everything’s so – you know?’ She sniffed loudly and defiantly.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Kirin. ‘But if you don’t kiss me again, immediately, I will be forced to take drastic action.’
She giggled and kissed him enthusiastically. ‘You love me very much, don’t you?’
‘Yes, and you should give me a chance to say it from time to time.’
‘Well, I did. Several years, and look what you did. It took direct intervention from a god to bring us together.’
‘You know, all the time we spent apart trying to do what we thought was earth-shatteringly important – it just wasn’t worth it. You’re all I ever wanted in this world, and I was an utter fool not to have realized it when I should have.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I just needed to distract you and confuse you into compliance.’
And having thus laid bare his intentions, Kirin reached out for Maya and they made love again. And it was as beautiful and unexpected, ecstatic and passionate as it was always going to be. There was tension, and sweat, and relief, and comfort, and lust, and laughter, and madness and incredible bliss. And there was fumbling, and knocking of teeth, and grunts and unexpected strands of hair. There were embarrassing noises, flashes of pain and clashing limbs. There was love, and trust, and honesty, and they had each other. And for the moment they could have asked for nothing more.
* * *
Deerst Maya,
My sincerst regrds to you, and my respex to your esteemd fathr Mantric:
I must aplogis for my roodness in not being presnt when you returnd to the world outside. I was, at the time, somewat overcom by gelosy, rage and sorro, all of which had been groing and festering all throu the severl days you spent in the cave. This was, of corse, completly uncalld for givn my currnt state. These emoshns were eckos from my formr life, and I hope you will forgiv me.
Spikes, who has turnd out to be a frend I shud have made while alive, told me the tale of your adventurs. You have survivd a jurney to the hevns and back. I am filled, as always, with admirashn. But the news Spikes gave me trubls me gretly; the gods have ronged us all, and the unwaba’s betrayl is enuff to make me lose faith in everythng I once held sacrd. It fills me with despare to think how we have all been toyd with, to lern that the all-knoing unwaba, the arkitct of this Age, chose to do nothng to avrt my death, that he used us all as his pupets with a heartlessnss well sooted to his cold-bloodd form.
I must also aplogis for the clumzness of this lettr, which you must attrebut to the fact that it is a work of diktashn. Spikes is riting it. My caligraffy is not what it used to be, givn the stifness of my fingrs. The fysicl appernce of this letter also leaves much to be desird; we had no papr or kwill, alas, and Spikes had to make do with the skin and bons of a passng tigr.
Enuff chit-chat, as you used to say.
Let me come to the crux of the mattr, then. My life, or un-life, call it what you will, has not turnd out as I hopd it wood, and I have decidd, after much delibrashun, to change its corse one last time. I have, to the best of my abilty, been a hero. I have always tried to conduct myself in a manner befiting the great honor bestod upon me in life and death, as a Prince of Avrnti, as a champion of Kol and as a herld of the Faro. I must confess this has led only to bitternss. I see now that my life was but a farce playd out to tickle the humors of waywrd gods, and the existens that was given to me after my mortl life endd was one of mear servitood. The story of my life, it now turns out, is but a crool jok. I nevr thout for myself as much as I shud have; I shud have been a troo leadr, but have always allowd myself to be led, and have errd not once but ofen in ways that would fill me with shame were I capabl of feelng that emoshn. I beleevd all my life that the gods were wachng over me, not nowing the terribl truth; they were. But peraps it is still not too late to make amnds.
On to more personl mattrs. I was your lovr, and you have now chosen anothr; I want you to feel neithr gilt nor regrt. I hope you find happinss w
ith Kirin; a far cry from the days when I wachd him gelosly and secretly wantd to challeng him to a dool! I no he cares for you deeply, and I wish you a long and joyus life together. I will do what I can to ensur that you have a world to live this long and joyus life in; to that end I must now retrn to the army of the Scorpion Man, and try my very best to make its leadrs understnd how twistd the gods they serve truly are, and see if I can turn the tide of destruckshun, or at least delay it, to help the world and eez its passng even if I cannt save it. The unded must be made to understnd that they were creatd for idl amusmnt, by the same crool forces they had spent their lives worshiping. We – the unded, that is, not you and I - must do what we can to remind ourselvs - and the gods - who we were, who we coud have been had they not destroyd us.
In partng, let me say that it was an honor to have met you and lovd you. You were a consrt for a greatr hero than I, and I was lucky to have won your affecshn when I did. And I hope Kirin will gro one day to be worthy of you. If you remembr me, then remembr me as I was on our last nit togethr, befor fate turnd agnst me, befor you were takn away from me and I lost my way. Asvin lovd you until the end, but I can be Asvin no longr. The gods brok me and reforgd me, and it is time for me to becom the Cold Princ they creatd and give them a taste of the froots of their own powr. Zivran wants to give the othr gods a spectacl. He shall have one. I will provid it.