by Jim Melvin
Bhojja and Torg continued their journey, rounding the northern shores of Hadaya and storming down the middle of the Gap of Gati. That evening it rained, and the Faerie suffered another setback, again transforming to Jord and begging to be cradled in Torg’s arms. They huddled together, one asleep, the other departed to a distant place far beyond any living being’s ability to comprehend.
The Fiends
66
IT HAD TAKEN TWO full days, but Asēkha-Rati, nineteen Tugars, a lone Pabbajja, a Senasanan countess, and a Duccaritan pirate had assumed control of the southern gates of Avici. All were adorned in stolen golden armor, including Gorlong the Pabbajja, who had been forced to use his trident to burn holes into the lower portion of his breastplate just so he could see. His legs were too short for him to walk properly in the armor, so Tugars took turns carrying him and then leaning him against a wall or pillar, where he often was left unattended for long periods of time. Gorlong appeared none too pleased over his immobility, but he tolerated it with the knowledge that vengeance for the surviving homeless people remained a possibility.
By Rati’s count, seven hundred twenty-two of the enemy had been slain without a single loss to their own company. They had worked their way along the Golden Wall, sometimes at its base, other times directly on its battlement, killing any they encountered and leaving no survivors to report back to Avici. It amazed Rati that large portions of the bulwark had been painted with gold. Such an abuse of wealth could not be defined in words.
The nearer they came to the southern gates, the more valuable Maynard Tew had become. His memory of the locations of guard houses and storage units was impressive.
Along the way Rati noticed Bhasuran and Svakaran scouts flanking the outside of the wall. The Asēkha called down to them with descriptions of his plans to gain control of the gates that swung beneath the southern bridge spanning the Ogha River. The scouts rode off in a rush, promising they would return with larger numbers.
The evening after they secured the gates, a massive storm swept over Avici. Rati could not have conjured better camouflage if he had been Invictus himself. When the immense iron gates swung open, more than two hundred score Bhasurans and Svakarans entered on foot, racing up the interior stairwell that led to the top of the towering bridge, then crossing eastward over the river to join Rati and the Tugars.
Under cover of the tempest, they entered Avici, sluicing into the cobbled streets unimpeded. Though the Golden City was believed to contain more than half a million people, Avici appeared as deserted as a ghost town, with all its residents apparently riding out the storm behind closed doors. Rati and the others could have entered home after home and slain thousands in a single night, had they so desired. But they were after Mogols, monsters, and golden soldiers, not innocent citizens—if anyone residing in Avici could be considered innocent.
Debating their next move, Rati huddled beneath a balcony with several Tugars and the lone Pabbajja, who had spat disdainfully upon his armor after discarding it. With Dhītar at his side, Maynard Tew approached from the mottled darkness, his recently grown beard plastered to his jaw. “If you don’t mind my saying so, there’s no sense hanging around here,” the pirate said to the Asēkha. “What’s left of the Mogols and the other bad guys will be over by the tower. The problem is, that’s where Invictus will be too, and if he’s half as dangerous as everybody says he is, then he’ll blow us all to bits, whether we like it or not. To make it worse, there’s a valley surrounding the tower that is pretty much wide open. We won’t be able to cross it during the day without being seen by a lot of eyes.”
“What if we cross during this storm?” Rati said. “Is there a way inside Uccheda?”
“When we were getting ready for the war, I was in the great tower a few times. There are doors that open and close like magic, but I was always with somebody and never saw how they worked. When you are standing outside looking at the tower, it’s like there are no doors at all. So to be honest, I don’t know if there’s a way in or not.”
“We could scale its exterior,” a Tugar said.
“The outside of that thing is pure gold and slick as ice. Not even one of them snow giants could climb it.”
“Still, now is as good a time as any to approach,” Rati said. “This storm feels to me as if it wants to linger a good deal longer. You know the way, Maynard Tew. We will follow.”
Before they departed, a female Bhasuran approached Rati. “E-qua Sa-wu (Great one), my name is Talutah. It is an honor to be in your presence. But I am sorrowful to report disturbing news.”
Rati arched an eyebrow.
“The Bhasurans and Svakarans have entered many of the homes and taverns of the white slaves of the Sun God,” Talutah continued, “and we have found none where there should be many. Every building is abandoned, and there is spoiled food left on trenchers that is being eaten by rats and roaches. We do not believe it possible that all these people have fled Avici. The Bhasurans or Svakarans would have noticed such an exodus.”
Rati motioned to several of his warriors, and they nodded and rushed off into the rain. Gorlong followed them, scurrying along faster than the Asēkha would have believed possible.
“How far to the tower?” Rati said.
“From here, less than a league,” Tew said. “At the crest of the main causeway, you can see down into the valley. The tower is there, and it’s not pleasant to look at. Downright scary, if you ask me.”
Rati waited under the balcony until the Tugars and Gorlong returned. The Pabbajja was the first to speak.
“It is as reported,” Gorlong said, his protruding eyes wobbling. “Everything is abandoned. But we saw something else, perhaps equally disturbing. Almost every room we entered contained pewter goblets identically shaped and designed. It is as if, before departing, all of Avici shared a toast.”
“At least we can walk openly on the causeway,” Rati said. “It appears there is no one here to detect our movements. Lead us to the tower, Maynard Tew.”
Avici was a maze of stone buildings and temples, the latter used, of course, to worship Invictus. Two-story homes with elaborate facades and balconies that protruded over the streets lined the main causeway.
The eastern portion of the city was built upon a dead volcano. Near its crest, a tangle of buildings blocked any view of what lay beyond, though the storm would have done the same, regardless. Tew seemed to know exactly where he was going, and Rati found himself admiring the pirate, despite his inherent distrust for anyone who hailed from Duccarita.
When they finally reached the top of the crest, Rati gazed down upon the valley, expecting nothing but swirling darkness. Instead, he saw a golden spire that dwarfed any single edifice on Triken. Even more amazing, Uccheda glowed so brightly not even the storm could obscure it. But whatever else resided in the valley was hidden. An army of newborns, Mogols, and monsters could have been encamped beneath the tower, and Rati and the others would have been blind to its presence.
“E-qua Sa-wu, do we proceed?” Talutah said.
“Yes . . . but slowly,” Rati said. “I don’t like the feel of this.”
“Neither do I,” Tew agreed.
“Nor I,” said Dhītar and Gorlong in unison.
More than four thousand strong, they started down the side of the volcano, Rati and the Tugars now leading the way. The storm did not appreciate their approach, blowing more fiercely than ever and hurling fist-sized balls of hail at their faces. Even Rati, larger and stronger than any among them, found it difficult to proceed. The Asēkha felt like he was back in the evil swamp, trudging through the hungry mud. If he extended his hand in front of his face, he couldn’t see it. Though it hardly seemed possible, he eventually found himself walking alone in the infernal darkness.
By chance more than skill, he sensed movement just ahead. Without knowing if it were friend or foe, Rati thrust his uttara forward. The point of his blade punched into the side of a large beast, which squealed and then fell heavily onto its side.
Rati withdrew his blade and then wiped his eyes, the dark, pounding rain still blinding him.
A glowing object appeared above his head, and the Asēkha spun full circle and swept his blade before him. There was a squishing resistance. And then the glow fell to the ground at his feet. Rati knelt and felt about with his hands, discovering that this single stroke had slain a black mountain wolf and a Mogol bearing a stone war hammer.
The Asēkha clambered over the fallen bodies and continued forward, eventually coming upon a glimmering palisade that sparked and hissed in the thunderous darkness. The magical fence gave off enough light for Rati to see a stone’s throw in all directions. It was a good thing, too.
Immediately, three Mogols mounted on wolves assaulted him, as well as an ogre and vampire. Rati needed twelve strokes to kill them all, which annoyed him almost as much as the lack of visibility. Soon after the skirmish, half a dozen Tugars, who also had fought their way to the palisade, joined him, and they bunched together in a group. On the other side of the fence was a dense mass of dark figures emitting eerie snarls and howls.
As dawn approached, the rain finally relented—and light entered the valley. Now Rati could see for a considerable distance, and what was exposed to his eyes made him feel ill. Thousands . . . tens of thousands . . . hundreds of thousands of people milled within the palisade.
Moaning.
Growling.
And wailing.
Now Rati understood. Invictus had used the citizens of Avici to create another army to protect Uccheda from invaders.
A titanic army of fiends. And someone, or something, had opened a gate in the magical palisade, and from it issued thousands upon thousands of fiends. Rati and his company were under siege.
“Take their heads!” the Asēkha screamed. “And do not allow them to draw your blood. To all but the Tugars, a bite or even a scratch will bring worse than death.”
The desert warriors fanned out, picking off the fiends one by one. Well before noon, Rati already had slain fifty. The Mahaggatan warriors, though they fought bravely, were faltering—and those who fell did not remain where they lay. Instead, they rose to join the enemy. It was terrifying to behold. In the heat of the day, the Tugars’ newfound allies began to lose their nerve.
More and more fiends flooded the valley floor, and Mogols also joined the fray—though they too seemed to fear the fiends, who appeared more than eager to rend and devour anything living, whether enemy or ally.
By noon, Rati and the others had been driven out of the valley and back into the streets of Avici. From the top of the hilltop, Rati could get a clearer view of the enemy now that the previous night’s storm had driven away the unnatural mist. He gasped. At least one hundred thousand fiends were outside the palisade, flowing toward them like a massive wave. And many more still milled within the magical fence. Somehow Invictus had managed to transform virtually all of Avici’s citizens into fiends. Ironically, Uccheda was even better defended than it had been before Mala’s massive army had marched on Nissaya.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Rati heard Tew shouting to Dhītar. “There are way too many.”
Though Rati hated to hear these words, he could not deny their simple wisdom. They had to flee. But where? Within Avici there were countless places to hide, but if they shut themselves up inside homes or temples, the fiends eventually would smash down the stoutest of doors. Then Rati had an idea.
“Follow me to the southern gates!” Then he turned and raced along the middle of the main causeway, the Tugars and Mahaggatans hot on his heels. Clumsy and awkward, the fiends quickly fell behind.
When Rati reached the southern bridge that spanned the Ogha River, he ordered all that remained of his company—including Tew, Dhītar, and Gorlong—to cross over and gather on the far bank. It dismayed Rati to see that less than a third of the original number of Bhasurans and Svakarans had survived the battle. How many of those fallen now walked with the enemy?
“When they come,” Rati shouted across the river, “make as much noise as possible. Jump, scream . . . do whatever you can. You must make yourselves heard, even above the roar of the river.”
The interior stairwell that led to the top of the towering bridge was relatively narrow: about the breadth of half a dozen average-sized men. Rati and nine other Tugars blocked this way, while the remaining ten desert warriors took a position at the top of the stairwell, effectively shutting off the eastern entrance of the bridge. The fiends came forward in a rush, crushing into Rati and the others with terrific force. But there was room for only about a dozen to strike at a time.
The Tugars leaned forward, crossed their uttaras, and bore the brunt of the blow more easily than Rati had feared. Meanwhile, the Bhasurans and Svakarans that had gathered on the far bank were making an enormous racket. This distracted the fiends, and they stumbled en masse toward the river’s edge, gathering along the eastern bank in increasingly dense numbers.
Rati held his breath. Would it work?
At first it appeared it would not. The fiends hesitated. But then it was Tew who saved the day. The scrappy pirate walked to the edge of the western bank, drew a dagger from his boot, and ran it along the palm of both hands. Then he held them up, in full display, as blood leaked down both of his forearms. Dhītar did the same, and most of the Bhasurans and Svakarans joined them.
Bloodlust overcame the fiends. First by the dozens, and then by the hundreds and thousands, they cast themselves into the frothy rapids. The mass suicide gained momentum, and in a relatively short time, the hungry river had swallowed most of the fiends.
Rati and the Tugars ran amok, taking care of the rest.
Despite the apparent victory, four times that many fiends still guarded Uccheda—far too large a number to challenge.
“What now, Asēkha?” Gorlong said. “Do we return to the valley and attempt to lure more fiends to their doom?”
“As my Vasi master liked to say, ‘I don’t want to press my luck,’” Rati responded. “We will remain here and hold the southern gates. Surely, allies will eventually come to our aid.”
“I believe the same,” Gorlong said. “In fact, I sense their approach.”
“I sense something,” Rati said. “But what it is I cannot say.”
“So do I,” Tew said, his palms still oozing blood. “And I’m not so sure I like it one bit.”
67
PODHANA WATCHED Deva spring away. The snow giant moved at such a ridiculous speed, it was useless to attempt to follow. Bhojja herself would have been hard-pressed. Mala was no longer, but Deva presented his own set of problems. The new chieftain of the Asēkhas sighed and then turned to the others.
“Nissaya is secure. But as long as the Sun God lives, the world is not. Torg is no longer with us. Neither is Kusala nor Tāseti. So it falls upon me to decide the fate of what remains of the Tugars.” He took a deep breath and then spoke in a bold voice. “Twenty Tugars shall be sent to Anna. When they arrive, they shall order those who have remained in the Tent City to withdraw into the hidden heart of Tējo.
“The rest of us shall march on Avici and wreak what havoc we can. As for the black knights of Nissaya, I have no commands. But I would suggest, politely, that you remain at the fortress and defend it the best you can.”
“It will be as you say,” a Nissayan captain proclaimed. “But it will be dire to view your departure.”
“These days, all things are dire,” Podhana agreed. Then he shouted in a booming voice: “Come, Kantaara Yodhas! We shall run like we have never run before. We are not snow giants, but neither are we snails. To Avici we go, showing no mercy to any who stand in our way.”
Then they did run: through the shattered entrances of the three great bulwarks, over and around the broken crumbles of Iddhi-Pada, mile upon mile, league upon league. No two-legged creatures, other than the snow giants themselves, had ever run so far so fast. What had taken Mala’s army days to traverse, the Tugars journeyed in half a day. By midnight, they approached t
he border of Java, having traveled more than twenty leagues. But as impressive as that feat was, by then something greater had occurred. Their king had paid Podhana and the Tugars a visit—before departing on the back of the jade mare, taking Obhasa with him.
The Torgon was alive!
Now filled with hope and joy, Podhana and the Tugars continued onward, skirting Java to the west and finally regaining Iddhi-Pada on the forest’s northeastern border. Their mission felt even more urgent than before. Torg also was on his way to Avici, but the Death-Knower rode Bhojja and would not tarry.
Before reaching Avici, they encountered friends. The Pabbajja had set their sights on the Golden City, as well.
“Fifty score wish to join you,” Bruugash said to Podhana. “The snow giant already passed this way and made it clear that he did not require our assistance. But we are formidable in our own right. What say you?”
“I watched as your people battled Mala at the feet of Nissaya. In the eyes of the Tugars, the Homeless People now rank among the greats. Come, Bruugash! Let us march to the gates of Avici, where we shall fight together at the foot of doom.”
68
DESPITE HIS SORROW over the terrible loss of Rathburt and his many dear friends, Elu couldn’t help but feel some joy. If nothing else, being large and strong was a relief, as if he’d finally emerged from a cramped cave into an open valley. Ugga’s transformation wasn’t all bad, either. The former crossbreed did not seem the least bit unhappy. Perhaps shedding the responsibilities that came with being human wasn’t an entirely negative thing.
Now Elu and the bear walked along Iddhi-Pada with the ghost-child, whose apparent blindness played no hindrance to her ability to navigate. Not that the road would be difficult for anyone to follow, but Peta seemed to know the location of every pothole and also the best places to eat and rest—to the point of it being downright eerie.