Wrath of the White Tigress

by David Alastair Hayden

  The unwelcome rain slid from the oiled cloak Uurta had donned over his burnoose. Often the wind sprayed this runoff into his face. He couldn't wait until his turn was up. He was suffering from a cold and felt miserable. He was getting too old for this and had already lost his edge. He had considered retiring, but like the others, he had forfeited a peaceful life when he vowed to serve the White Tigress and avenge his murdered family.

  Something moved within the shadow of an outcrop. Chills ran across Uurta's skin. His hand fell to his sword hilt. His orders were to sound the alarm as soon as he even thought he spotted an enemy. But he delayed, not wanting to look like a frightened fool, as he had a month ago when he had nearly beheaded a washerwoman who caught him by surprise.

  Suddenly, a mesmerizing voice whispered through the rain. "You cannot move, and you will do nothing to resist me."

  Uurta stood dumbstruck as the rust-red shadow of Jaska the Slayer closed on him. He called on his training but couldn't break free of Jaska's mind control. His only peace was in knowing that when he didn't call out in turn, the others would be alerted. Thunder struck and lightning illuminated murderous eyes as the steel claws of the Slayer's bagh nakh tore through Uurta's throat.

  ~~~

  Jaska placed his left hand over the dying templar's throat and chanted a spell before dumping the body into the canyon. In the back of his mind, he began counting. It was a technique all palymfar mastered, that they could count even while talking, sneaking, or fighting. Only spell casting could disrupt his counting.

  His students rushed past him and moved into their attack positions, following a narrow trail he'd spotted when scrying, a trail their enemy apparently didn't know about, or had forgotten. Most of these templars had probably been children when the temple was destroyed.

  Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine… "Uurta Kalara!" yelled Jaska using the voice he'd stolen from the templar. "All's clear!"

  Jaska did not follow his men. Instead, he took a different, more difficult route. Using a spell of darksight, which allowed him to see through the night's veil as if it were early twilight, Jaska scurried over boulders and talus with ease.

  On the backside of the shrine's courtyard, he reached a sheer rise the height of three men. Jaska spoke another spell. The magic crawled down through the tendons and muscles of his legs. Once he felt the muscles tighten until it felt like they might burst, he knew the spell was ready.

  He leapt up and caught the ledge.

  Quickly, he glanced into the sparse courtyard. To his left, twenty yards from the shrine, the mountain's flattened summit fell into the Gasrah River Canyon. To his right the shrine melded into the surrounding rock. Opposite him, a gap in the crumbling defensive wall marked the location of the former gate.

  Two templars paced the cliff edges, but currently, neither patrolled close by. The remainder waited in the courtyard's center. Within the shrine, the priestess chanted her profane rituals. He didn't see the templars' captain anywhere. A sixty-count passed with no reply from Uurta and the templars stiffened.

  Suddenly an arrow whistled on the wind then punctured a templar's eye. The victim writhed and moaned as he died. A second arrow thunked against a readied shield as the templars took defensive positions.

  Kasap and his brothers Denar and Tebyn charged through the gap and crashed into the nearest templars. Kasap swung a battle-axe in sinister arcs while Denar and Tebyn slashed with their sabers and tiger claws. The templars recoiled in surprise.

  After a few moments, the three palymfar retreated, as if they were overwhelmed, drawing the templars along with them.

  When the two patrolling templars rushed to join the others, Jaska climbed up into the courtyard. Blended with shadows and rain, he passed unseen and entered the shrine.

  A short hallway opened into a torch-lit sanctuary thick with the dizzying smoke of burning leaves and incense. Jaska's breath caught in his throat. On the dais stood the pristine statue of the White Tigress. At the altar below knelt the priestess Zyrella. Her pale, naked flesh bore painted tiger-stripes that trailed from her onto the floor and up the dais to the statue.

  Though he needed to kill Zyrella swiftly, Jaska eased forward with lethargy. Already her presence was mesmerizing him. But he willed himself on, knowing he must strike before she turned this strange force directly against him.

  A single tear of blood streaked down her face as a swelling of agony grew in her mind. Her limbs trembled and ached. Chills ran beneath a sheen of sweat. And yet, with her voice still strong and clear, Zyrella held herself together, even though the powers she summoned ravaged her body and soul.

  She could hold on because she knew she was winning.

  For the first time in all these years, she held the advantage. She could feel Salahn's presence, battling back against her, but he was confused by her counter-spell. There was no way he could have anticipated the trick the White Tigress had devised, using the newly awakened link between herself and Zyrella to channel the counter-spell over a distance of more than three hundred leagues. And Salahn's binding spell was complex. He was fatigued after months of sorcery. From time to time, the strength of his spell would wane.

  Suddenly Zyrella convulsed. Her heart raced. A scream threatened to break her chants, but she held it in check, locking down her primal fear with all the willpower she could muster.

  The Slayer had entered the shrine.

  His spirit burned with the heat of a bonfire. In the deepest part of her being, she felt an unreasoning desire to throw herself into that flame. But she maintained focus on her ritual. To do otherwise would invite disaster and assure failure. Zyrella could only trust that Ohzikar—her poor, outmatched champion—would delay Bavadi long enough.

  ~~~

  Jaska stepped into the sanctuary. As he rolled his weight onto his lead foot, he sensed danger. He sprang back and a tulwar chopped through the space he had occupied.

  A large templar captain barreled into the hallway. It said much for the man's mental fortitude that Jaska hadn't sensed his presence. Knowing mind control probably wouldn't work on such an opponent, Jaska withdrew to the courtyard. There, he went on the offensive, using the open space to his advantage.

  Jaska dropped beneath a sword slash and jabbed upward with his bagh nakh. The steel claws tore through the templar's burnoose and raked across the chainmail protecting his chest. Jaska followed with a kick to the stomach and a downward slash that the templar barely blocked with his shield.

  Another series of dazzling attacks resulted in a shallow cut across the templar's sword hand, a rip in his leather greaves, and a crack in his shield. Forced back into the entranceway, the templar gathered himself and lunged. Jaska ducked under the warrior's sword, caught him by the arm, and threw him over his shoulder.

  Ohzikar landed hard. He surged to his feet and found the assassin sprinting toward the shrine. He slipped his arm free of his shield, twisted, and flung the disc. The Slayer sensed the attack and ducked soon enough to avoid a crippling blow, but not soon enough to avoid a hit.

  The shield glanced off the top of the Slayer's head. Bavadi stumbled and nearly fell. Ohzikar charged and Bavadi recovered and dodged again, but with slower reflexes this time. Ohzikar hoped that would even the odds. Otherwise, he wasn't going to last much longer.

  Bavadi's eyes narrowed as he backed into the shrine.

  Not more than twenty feet away, Zyrella continued her ritual, seemingly undaunted. Ohzikar wished he knew how much time he needed to buy her. His comrades were fighting beyond the wall. He called for them to return and regroup, shouting as loud as he could.

  Jaska considered rushing the priestess but felt certain the templar, despite his lesser speed, would strike him down before he reached her. The templar kicked a toe under his shield, flipped it up, and caught it deftly.

  "You will perish tonight," Jaska said.

  "Perhaps," replied the templar as he lunged with his sword. "But not before our work is done."

  Too late Jaska saw the fei
nt for what it was. The warrior's shield crashed into his shoulder and knocked him back. He stumbled and parried two sword strikes. He recovered his balance, but the templar now stood between him and the priestess.

  Still dazed, Jaska didn't think his head would clear while breathing in the hallucinogenic smoke within the shrine. He would have to withdraw outside again. He was getting frustrated. This was taking too long and he sensed that something was amiss in the pulses of magic he had felt within the shrine.

  ~~~

  Minutes became like days for Zyrella, locked into the ritual, weaving shadows and half-lights, bending the forces of existence to her will. As she continued to battle Salahn, exhaustion set in and drained her internal energies. He was regaining strength and was no longer confused. But Zyrella still held the upper hand, except that she lacked the power to finish and only two sources remained: the last of her life force and the storm. Her life she must maintain to finish the ritual, so Zyrella called to the heart of the rumbling thunderclouds above.

  Her hair fanned outward. Her skin tingled, her muscles numbed. She felt hollow inside, empty and waiting, her life force nearly spent. But the storm answered and filled the void.

  "Get out, Ohzi!" she yelled in her mind. "Run!"

  ~~~

  Ohzikar debated whether he should follow Bavadi. If the palymfar aided his comrades outside, he would kill the other templars and return with help. But that might give Zyrella time enough to finish. He looked to her, chanting and swaying, and somehow he knew that he must leave the shrine, that he must pursue Bavadi.

  Lightning strikes increased as wind and rain pounded the mountain. In the dark and the elements, the Slayer held the advantage, but Ohzikar strolled into the courtyard as if on a casual walk. He would not go into death as a frightened man. Paradise belonged to the brave and true of heart. Though his comrades had failed to return, he could still hear them fighting beyond the wall. He hoped they were faring well, but he feared the worst.

  Bavadi launched a series of rapid attacks in a fighting style Ohzikar had never seen before. He had never imagined anyone could move with such speed. His defense faltered and the Slayer landed a hard kick to his ribs. He doubled over, and Bavadi elbowed him across the jaw. Ohzikar fell to his hands and knees. He rolled to the side, and a saber slash meant to decapitate him struck his shoulder instead. The sword dented his chainmail, and broken links jabbed into his skin. As soon as he stood up, a kick slammed into his jaw and knocked him back down. Ohzikar's head swam and his vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious.

  As the Slayer started to pounce on him, a lightning bolt speared down from the clouds and struck the shrine with a cracking pop. A slight charge ran through Ohzikar as the blast illuminated the mountain and nearly blinded him.

  While Jaska stood dumbstruck, Ohzikar staggered to his feet. Having heard the sound of stonework shattered, he looked to the shrine, expecting ruins. But from the outside it looked no worse.

  "Zyrella!" he called out. "Zyrella!"

  He heard no response.

  And then the palymfar attacked. Ohzikar noticed it too late. He deflected Bavadi's saber, but not enough. The blade glanced from Ohzikar's shield and dented his helmet. His ears rang, the ground swirled, and he collapsed.

  ~~~

  Lightning fired down into the shrine and shattered the statue of the White Tigress. Zyrella shielded her head as marble fragments pelted the sanctuary. As the dust settled, she wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and looked up.

  Above the dais, shadows and light swirled and coalesced into the true form of the White Tigress, her sleek, feline body shimmering with the aura of divinity. The goddess again stood within her home shrine, whole and free. Her slitted pupils flared as she opened her fanged maw and roared with the voice of a hundred tigers.

  Tears welling in her eyes, Zyrella stared dumbstruck at the goddess she had served but had never seen. The White Tigress dipped her majestic head then bounded toward the entrance. Zyrella bowed once and then raced after her. Dizzy and fatigued, her muscles spent, Zyrella nearly passed out, but adrenaline and awe kept her going. As well as a growing sense something had gone wrong.

  As she caught up to the White Tigress, she knew what it was. Though the Tigress was free, a chain of binding yet linked her to Grandmaster Salahn. With another hour or two of casting, Salahn would yet prevail. Zyrella decided to finish what she had begun, even though she knew performing the ritual again would kill her. But maybe her sacrifice would be enough to—

  "There is no point in trying, my brilliant child," interrupted the White Tigress in a voice as strong and soft as spider silk. "You cannot stop Salahn's magic, and your ritual has achieved all that I desired."

  Questions arose within Zyrella's mind but faded when she spotted Ohzikar fallen with the Slayer standing over him.

  The White Tigress roared. "Jaska Bavadi, I command you cease!"

  Jaska halted and stared at Zyrella and the scintillating white tiger beside her. Together they befuddled his mind. He made the crescent mudra of warding and spoke a spell of banishment. Neither had any effect. He wasn't prepared for this. Never had he imagined the witch could not only ruin Salahn's ritual but also free the demon.

  The Tigress stalked toward him. "Jaska, turn from the evil that binds you to Salahn. Open your eyes and see the world as it is. You are not the palymfar you believe yourself to be. Your mentor has corrupted you."

  Jaska lowered into a defensive stance. He was the Operations Master of the Hareez Palymfar. He fought for justice and peace. A witch and her demon-goddess would not defeat him. "I'll not heed to your raving, demon."

  Hesitantly, Zyrella stroked the smooth coat of her goddess, a familiarity allowed only to priestesses. The fur seemed impossibly soft and yet her fingers tingled with energy. The struggle of this day was almost worth this one experience long denied her by Salahn.

  Zyrella didn't understand what was happening between the Tigress and Jaska, but desperation and confusion burned in his eyes. Whatever the White Tigress intended, her tactic was working. Zyrella joined in, though she didn't know if what her goddess said was true or merely a bluff.

  "Listen to the White Tigress, Jaska Bavadi. Your ways are evil. You have brought suffering to Hareez, and Salahn brings doom to us all. Surrender to us and--"

  "I am palymfar! I will never surrender!"

  The White Tigress shook her head. "You call yourself a palymfar, but you are no such thing. You are a perversion of what that order once stood for. You are a twisted shadow of the real Jaska Bavadi."

  Jaska backed away from them. What power did they use against him that his qavra and training provided no defense?

  "The power of truth recoils you," the White Tigress said, having read his mind.

  Jaska knew then that he couldn't resist them. The White Tigress was bad enough, but Zyrella's voice was undeniable, shattering all his defenses. He backed up to the ledge. If he couldn't win, he must retreat and gather new resources. Jaska intoned a spell and readied himself to vault backward and scale down the sheer mountain face.

  But suddenly, a new power blossomed from within his qavra. Grandmaster Salahn had stored this magic there. Jaska recognized his mentor's aura, and he was certain the energy uncoiling within him would protect him from the hypnotic abilities of the demon and her witch.

  Ohzikar, fighting off nausea and exhaustion, pulled himself up into a crouch. A score of bruises ached into his bones and a steady stream of blood rolled down his face from the wound on his scalp. But he would never give up while Zyrella faced danger, and he took heart from the appearance of his goddess, freed at last.

  Ohzikar quietly gathered his tulwar and shield. And when Jaska's qavra blazed to life with a dark energy that glowed through his eyes, Ohzikar was glad he had prepared himself.

  As Jaska subtly shifted his weight into an attack stance, Ohzikar closed, unnoticed, to within a few steps of his side. On a blast of thunder, he surged forward.

  Responding to instinct
alone, Jaska bent backward. The templar's blade missed his skull and instead tore down his cheek and through the leather choker that bound the qavra around his neck. Then the tulwar ripped a deep wound across his chest.

  Jaska staggered back toward the precipice. His saber fell from his right hand, then the bagh nakh from his left. The templar captain began his next attack. Jaska couldn't stop him. He could hardly keep his balance and remain conscious. He prepared for death, but unexpectedly, the White Tigress pounced onto the templar and stopped him.

  As Jaska clutched the wound on his neck, his choker and the attached qavra fell free and landed in a puddle of mud.

  In eighteen years as a palymfar, his qavra had never left him.

  A horrid scream tore from his throat as he reeled backward. Lightning arced, splintered, and spread until a giant web illuminated the sky. Jaska looked about in utter confusion, trying to remember what was going on. The lightning trails broke apart and rained down as fire, hurting no one. In fact, it seemed he was the only one who saw them.

  Jaska's heels reached the edge. His balance wavered. A strange white tiger moved toward him. Jaska lifted his arms to defend himself but lost his balance. A paw swiped at him as he went over the precipice. The claws ripped through his burnoose and Jaska tumbled into darkness.

  The White Tigress snarled at Ohzikar then bounded down the trail with greater speed than any normal tiger could manage. Zyrella rushed over and grabbed Ohzikar's arm.

  "Come on! We've got to follow her."

  Ohzikar climbed to his feet but then collapsed. "Give me a moment."

  "She doesn't have many moments left!"