by Melvin, Jim
Torg ignored Rathburt’s sarcasm. “For a brief time, I cannot be your guide,” he said in a sober tone. “I’ve decided to back-track and find out what it is that follows us.”
“Torg, what are you saying?” Laylah cried out. “It’s far too dangerous.”
“From here on out, everything will be dangerous, but this is not about my taking unnecessary risks. If I go alone, it will be easier, and safer.”
Elu made an angry face.
“As good as you are, there are times I prefer to act alone,” Torg said to the Svakaran. “Rathburt, I need you to lead everyone into Dhutanga. At first, the trees will be sparse and the ground beneath them easy to traverse. Proceed no farther than a league into the forest, and then veer to the south. When the sun is overhead, stop just long enough to eat. If all goes well, I will have returned to you by then.”
Despite the exertion of walking, Laylah’s face had gone pale. But she didn’t protest, seeming to recognize that Torg’s mind was made up.
Of course, Rathburt was as riled as ever. “Torgon, this is not the time for your shenanigans. I’m no leader, and you know it. We need you here with us, not off gallivanting in the wrong direction. What happens if we’re attacked while you’re gone?”
“Lead them to Dhutanga, Rathburt,” Torg said, with more anger than was necessary.
Carrying the Silver Sword in a scabbard strapped to his back, Torg then swung about and started toward the enemy. He could feel Laylah’s eyes for a long time. Somehow the Daasa knew not to follow.
Witch, Vampire, and Druid Queen
29
ON THE SAME day that Torg and his companions left the City of Thieves, three dracools circled lazily above the open area of the forest, searching for a place to land. Tens of thousands of druids clogged the mile-wide clearing, which was anchored in its center by a single tree taller than any other on Triken—four hundred and fifty cubits it stood, and absurdly wide at its base. The druids seemed drawn to its magnificence like shamans to a prayer pole.
Finally the dracools landed on branches near the top of the enormous tree.
“We are not overly fond of the wood-eaters,” one of the dracools said to Jākita-Abhinno, now in her beautiful state. “They are as stupid as sheep. But they are also dangerous, especially when there are so many. You and the vampire can deal with them, if you feel so bold.”
Urbana was incensed. “This is not acceptable, dracool! How do you expect us to get down from here? Neither of us are monkeys . . . and neither of us can fly. Stop being such cowards and take us to the ground.”
But the dracools only shrugged their wings. “We were told to take you here—and bring you and the sorceress back when the time came—but nothing more,” said the second dracool, in a raspy voice. “We are not your slaves. Only the sorcerer has the strength to command us. But out of courtesy, the three of us will remain nearby. When you are ready, call us . . . and we’ll find you. As for getting down, that will be less of a problem than you think. Behold, the druids come.”
And then the baby dragons sprang into the air and soared toward a place they deemed more hospitable.
As soon as the dracools departed, Jākita and Urbana looked down at the druids, who were pressing against the base of the tree in enormous numbers. Their bodies and limbs seemed too long, angular and inflexible for them to be effective climbers, but their methods were successful, nonetheless. Hundreds and then thousands began to stack onto each other’s backs and shoulders, forming a living ladder that quickly grew in height. As the druids came nearer, the peculiar humming sound intensified, causing the tree to shiver. In a matter of moments, the druids had reached the witch and the vampire.
Jākita and Urbana were lifted off the branch and carried to the ground, handed from druid to druid with surprising gracefulness. As Jākita expected, the druids had no desire to harm this pair. Their leader anxiously awaited their arrival.
At the base of the tree, a dozen druids half again as large as any of the rest, guarded a cavernous opening. When Jākita and the vampire stepped forward, the guards spread apart, beckoning them to enter the hollow trunk.
“She is here?” Urbana said. “It seems too obvious a place for her to hide.”
“She doesn’t care about obvious,” Jākita responded. “She caressss only about revenge—as do I. Her strength has grown beyond the need to hiiiide. Soon you will see for yourself.”
30
LESS THAN A league from the clearing, the dracools lighted on the upper branches of a black tree and immediately began to scan their surroundings for food. Dracools are as quick and athletic as mountain eagles, and individuals are capable of killing prey as large as an elephant, though they prefer smaller quarry such as Buffelo, deer, and the occasional human. Only a limited variety of animals thrived in the bowels of Dhutanga, but there were enough to provide three dracools with a tasty meal. After their long flight from Avici, they were hungry.
Ravens were barely a mouthful for a hungry dracool, and they were too quick and wily to make the chase worthwhile. So the baby dragons ignored the one that landed nearby, though even if they had attacked or tried to flee, it would have made no difference.
“Namuci!”
Already dead, the dracools fell from the tree, crashed through the canopy, and smote the ground with their ruin.
31
THE INSIDE OF the hollow tree was as immense as a banquet hall, though not nearly as lavish. The shadowy air reeked of sewage-like mist. But rather than be repulsed, Jākita felt comfortable in this foul place. When she turned to look at Urbana, she saw that the vampire also seemed pleased. The presence that resided inside the tree was worthy of their worship.
They bowed before the queen of the druids, who was the daughter of the previous queen that The Torgon had slain more than eight centuries before. Though she was young and her reign short in comparison to her predecessor’s, the new queen had surpassed her mother in size, scope, and power. An all-consuming hatred of the one called Maranavidu (Death-Knower) had fueled her rapid ascendancy.
Several days after her mother’s gruesome murder, the daughter had emerged from the hidden birthing chambers to take control of her kind. By then, most of the druids had wandered into the depths of the forest and died. Only a few hundred survived, just enough to nurture her until she became strong enough to lay eggs of her own. And lay them she did, without rest—one at a time, day after day, month after month, year after year.
Her name was Kattham Bhunjaka, though no druid could pronounce it in words. The rise of Invictus had further emboldened her, and now the druids were stronger than they had ever been in their long history. One hundred thousand worshipped her, more than twice the number that had last dared to attack Jivita, home of the horrid white horsemen.
After bowing to Kattham, Jākita advanced within an arm’s-length of the pale, throbbing blob, which was broader than a dragon’s torso. Jākita could sense the queen’s immense telepathic power and was relieved it was not directed against her. She knew she could not survive such an assault. Few beings on Triken had that level of strength. But rather than attack her, Kattham bathed her with erotic energy, causing Jākita to gasp with pleasure.
“Thank you, Kattham, for your warrrrm welcome,” Jākita said. “My companion and I are honored to be in your pressssence.”
Urbana nodded, her bloodshot eyes glazed. “I am at your command,” the vampire said blankly.
Jākita chuckled. “Your greatness overcomes her.”
The druid queen could not vocalize, but her mind more than made up for it. She pummeled Jākita with a series of queries, causing her knees to tremble. When Kattham was finished, Jākita did her best to answer, wanting more than anything to please this wondrous being.
“Your ssssenses do not fail you, Kattham. The hated Maranavidu (Death-Knower) is indeed near Dhutanga, no more than fifty leagues from where you laaaay. He hopes to avoid the forest on his way to Jivita, where he will join the white horsemen and take ssssick deligh
t in the murder of your precioussss offspring.
“But like you, I too despise The Torgon. My wounds are fresher than yourssss, but no less painful. I have come to you to beseech your aid, so that together we might destroy the Death-Knower, once and for all.”
“I am at your command,” the vampire repeated blankly.
Jākita nudged her with her elbow. “Urbana, you’re embarrassssing me.”
But the vampire was too enraptured to listen.
Jākita turned back to the druid queen, responding to further questions. “Yes, Kattham, I understand and respect your desire to witnessss the Death-Knower’s demise. That would pleasure me, as well. If youuuu will lend me a portion of your druids for just a little while, I will set the stage for The Torgon’s arrival. I only beg that you allow me to participate in his destruction. You can paralyze him while I perform the slowest and cruelest of tortures. That way, both of ussss will taste the sweetness of revenge. But first I need you to twisssst his mind, from afar. The Daasa’s, too. And I’ll tell you how.”
Jākita endured another blast of psychic power. “Yes, Kattham, I understand that the druidssss will soon march on Jivita. Why do I need so many of your brave warriors? I only wish to ensure our success. And if my plan succeeds, very few will be harmed. Besides, issssn’t The Torgon’s demise more important than anything else?”
At that moment, the druids guarding the opening began to hum loudly, sounding an alarm. Something else had entered the chamber—unwelcomed. A raven settled on the floor and began to writhe and smoke. In its place, a gray-haired woman appeared, her robes and flesh eerily translucent.
“Jākita, slimiest of sluts,” Vedana screamed. “Have I not warned you many times about the perils of disobedience? How dare you attempt this betrayal! Do you mistake me for a doddering old fool?”
“I am at your command,” Urbana said.
Jākita ignored the vampire. “You have not lisssstened to me, Mother!” she shouted back. “The Torgon entered the ziggurat and killed many of my precioussss sisters. I will not allow it to go unpunished.”
“You will not allow it? You are nothing but a witless whore I created for my amusement. It seems the Warlish witches are about to lose another queen. My patience with you has run out.”
As the demon strode forward, Jākita backed up and pressed against the druid queen’s slimy hide.
“Do you think she can protect you?” Vedana said. “You underestimate me if you think this worm is my match. Her mind has no power over me.”
In reaction to the demon’s words, the druids sprang to life, rushing into the chamber in large numbers to protect the queen.
Vedana paid them no heed. “The Death-Knower belongs to me. I will not allow him to be harmed until the time is right. You should have listened to me, Jākita.”
The demon raised her gnarled hands above her head. Crimson lightning burst from her fingertips, blasting at Jākita face. In response, Jākita’s flesh glowed like molten gold, absorbing the demon fire with unexpected ease.
Instantly Jākita launched a counter-attack, casting a pair of golden spheres from the palms of her hands that struck Vedana squarely between her breasts, knocking her physical incarnation against the inner wall of the tree.
Amazed, the demon struggled to her feet, her heart pounding visibly within her chest.
Jākita laughed wickedly. “Invictussss protects me, Mother. You cannot harm me. But I can harm youuuu!”
Jākita raised her arms to deliver another blow against her creator, but Vedana was too fast. A black hole opened in the wood, and the old woman leapt into it, howling as she disappeared. When the hole closed, the demon was gone.
Jākita turned back to the druid queen, her expression triumphant. “She will trouble ussss no longer, Kattham. My powers are beyond her. Shall we retuuuurn to our business?”
Escape from Dhutanga
32
AFTER TORG disappeared from sight and raced eastward away from the forest and toward the gap, Lucius turned back to Rathburt. “You heard him. Which way to Dhutanga? Or is it as simple as turning right?”
Rathburt ignored the question. “Isn’t that just like Mr. Showoff to run away when we need him most? What has gotten into that loon?”
Suddenly, Laylah stormed toward Rathburt and pounded the base of Obhasa at his feet, causing a portion of the ground to split. The Death-Knower cried out, dropped his own staff, and fell backward onto his rump. Lucius cringed, out of sympathy for Rathburt’s clumsiness, but also fearful that Laylah might be angry enough to hurt him.
The sorceress loomed over Rathburt, spittle flying from her mouth. “Torg puts up with your insults,” she snarled, “but I will not! He would never run away from anyone or anything. Do not say such a thing in my presence again.”
Tears welled in Rathburt’s eyes. It broke Lucius’ heart to see it. After all, he had been bullied by superior powers himself many times when he was in Avici and still under Mala’s sway.
Laylah continued to glare at Rathburt, refusing to move.
Finally Elu came over and tapped her lightly on the thigh. “He doesn’t really mean it, pretty lady. Elu has heard him say things like that a thousand times. But deep down, he’s a nice guy. And he respects the great wizard as much as you do, to tell the truth.”
Still visibly shaking with anger, Laylah backed off. “Then he needs to grow up,” she said. Rathburt remained on the ground, not moving. “Get up,” Laylah said. Her voice was softer, much to Lucius’ relief. “I’m not going to do anything more,” she continued. “But time is short. Answer Lucius’ question. Which way to Dhutanga? The quicker the better.”
Rathburt struggled to his feet and leaned against his staff, his face gaunt. He pointed weakly toward the southwest. “It’s been a . . . long time. But if my memory is correct, the quickest way to the forest is that way.”
Still amazed by Laylah’s outburst, Lucius started off in the direction Rathburt had suggested, hoping that if he got them moving, the incident might be forgotten.
The Daasa followed, seemingly pleased to be on the move. It was obvious they were less comfortable in the open than in the trees, and Lucius wondered if they could sense the nearby forest. He looked back several times for signs of Torg, but all Lucius could see were flat plains leading to the northern mountains. He also did a quick check of Laylah and Rathburt, who now seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Good.
As Torg had predicted earlier, they came upon the perimeter of the forest before noon. Early on, the trees were widely spaced—a mixture of pines, oaks, poplars, and occasional black walnuts, many of which already had sprouted their spring blooms. But Lucius quickly noticed something unusual: most of their branches stretched eastward, away from the forest, as if these ordinary trees wished they could somehow sprout legs and walk away from what loomed to the west.
The Daasa seemed enthralled. They poured into the forest at full gallop, foraging in beds of fallen leaves and crunching noisily on acorns that Lucius imagined must have been lying there for months. It was amazing the Daasa still found them to be edible.
Following Torg’s earlier directions, Lucius continued forward until the forest began to thicken. At noon, they came to a wide stream. The Daasa rushed toward it and drank like fiends, lining the watercourse for almost a mile. Lucius called the others to a halt, and they sat and ate from what they had hastily gathered before leaving Duccarita.
“We only have enough food left for one or two more light meals,” he said. “After that, we’ll be on our own.”
“Elu believes there is plenty to eat here, but it takes time to catch it and cook it,” the Svakaran said. “You can live for days on wild berries, if you don’t mind the grumbling of your stomach.”
“I hopes not to live on berries for days,” Ugga said glumly. “I is already so very hungry.”
“We’re all hungry,” Laylah said. “But I’d rather be hungry and free than a prisoner with a full belly.”
Even as they s
poke, Lucius noticed Rathburt looking around nervously, his slump more pronounced than ever. “I wish the Daasa didn’t make so much noise,” the Death-Knower whispered.
Just then, Lucius heard a commotion in the trees.
Something approached from the west.
ON THE OPEN plains of Gamana, there were few places to hide, though the land sometimes changed elevation slightly, providing occasional concealment. Torg ran as fast as a trotting horse, covering several leagues in a surprisingly short time. The farther he ran, the larger and more visible the approaching cloud of dust became. He came upon a hillock rising about thirty cubits above the plain, and there he cast himself onto his stomach on the iron-colored grass . . . and waited. For better or worse, he soon would discover what pursued them. The desire to do so consumed him.
First to appear were black mountain wolves ridden by Mogols. It relieved Torg to see that they were ordinary warriors, not Porisādas. But they still were dangerous. The riders were having difficulties holding back the wolves, which yearned to rush forward and attack their quarry. But whatever commanded them from behind was strong enough to contain them. Torg was glad he had obeyed his inner voice and come to this place by himself. It was the wise thing to do.
As the dust cloud intensified, more mounted wolves, the vanguard of a larger force, came into view. But they passed by without noticing his presence; such was his ability to remain unseen. From his prone position, Torg could feel the rumblings of an approaching army, and he began to fear that he had underestimated their numbers. The vibrations were peculiar, unlike anything he had encountered before—chaotic instead of rhythmic.
Finally he could make out the leading edge of the mysterious army, which seemed to be gathered around a lone wagon, huge as a house and drawn by a pair of mountain trolls. Torg wanted to work his way around the side to get a better look, but there were too many Mogols and wolves. Instead, he was forced to wait until the army passed directly in front of him. Nearer and nearer it came, slowly but steadily—and yet Torg remained confused. He had never witnessed such disorder. The soldiers seemed to be bobbing this way and that, almost as if they were dancing.