Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (33 page)

Nimm could not bear the thought of another loss. She had grown to trust Ura, but Tāseti was her favorite. What would be the use of living, if the Asēkha was no longer?

As other Tugars raced frantically around the monster’s legs, slashing and stabbing in a desperate attempt to free their leader, the little girl stumbled forward, choking on the smoke. Ura screamed from a distance, but she was too far back. No one else tried to stop Nimm, or even seemed to notice her presence.

Except for Tathagata. The fiend, almost twenty times her height, looked down upon the child—and paused. Then grimaced, pressing her free hand against her temple.

FROM DEEP WITHIN the cacophony, the tiny portion of Sister Tathagata’s awareness that remained sane recognized the presence of the child. The High Nun had halted her resistance to the
undines
, but not because she was too weak. Rather, she had lost her desire to fight. In an astounding irony, the horrid destruction of her flesh had helped her to accomplish what three thousand years of placid meditation had not. Tathagata had achieved
Arahantship
(high enlightenment). Never again would she be reborn.

But the child, wandering toward the monster through a maelstrom of despair, engaged Tathagata’s compassion. Enlightenment did not forbid all forms of action, only those that were unworthy.

The
Perfect One
pressed forward one final time—and forced the fiend to speak. “Tāseti, can you hear me?”

The Asēkha gasped. “Sister?”

A smile spread across the monster’s broad face, exposing fangs that no longer seemed menacing. “I can maintain control for a very short time. There is only one way I know to slay this body, which in turn will destroy the
undines
. But it will cause your death, as well. Are you willing?”

Without hesitation, Tāseti said, “Yes.”

“Very well.” Then Tathagata whispered something that only the Asēkha could hear—and proceeded to place the warrior inside her mouth.

THE MOUTH REEKED of gore and poison. Tāseti knelt on the foul tongue and raised the point of her uttara above her head, locking her elbows against her breasts. She had desired battle more than anything, had spent almost her entire lifetime striving to become the best of the best. When Kusala had ordered her to undertake this mission, she had been furious, believing that all her efforts had been in vain. Instead, she had been cast into an adventure far more gratifying than she could have imagined. She would play no role in the outcomes at Nissaya or Jivita, but in Anna she forever would be remembered as a hero.

Tāseti smiled. If her next lifetime were half this exciting, it would be well worth living.

When Tathagata again retreated to the far corners of the fiend’s ruined mind, the monster regained control of her body and felt the prey inside her mouth, closing upon the Asēkha with jaws as powerful as a great dragon’s. The point of the
uttara
drove up through the roof of the mouth, punctured the nasal passages, and entered the brain. Even as Tāseti was being crushed, she spun the blade. It was not decapitation, but it was enough.

Tathagata collapsed face-first onto the smoking wreckage of the Tent City. The fiend spit up blood, quivered, and lay still. Tāseti spilled from the open mouth, her body broken in a hundred places.

For a few surprising moments, Tāseti continued to live. The Tugars surrounded her, and a warrior lifted her gently and carried her away from the fiend’s hideous face, which already was beginning to putrefy as the
undines
, perishing by the millions, released their undead grip on the once-living flesh.

Then Nimm knelt by Tāseti, followed by Ura. From the expressions on their faces, Tāseti realized that her crumpled body must not be a pretty sight. She tried to smile, coughed up blood, and then did smile.

“Do not . . . weep,” Tāseti said to Nimm. “You saved us all . . .” Then she looked at the nearest Tugar. “Sister Tathagata achieved enlightenment before she fell . . . tell the noble ones.” More coughing followed.

“Don’t die,” Nimm said. “
Please
 . . . don’t die. I won’t be able to stand it.”

“I will die . . . and be reborn. Do not weep for me . . . my brave little friend.”

Nimm tried her best to honor Tāseti’s last request, but in the end she could not hold back her tears.

Ura and the Tugars wept alongside her.

AT THE APPROACH of midnight, the crescent moon sank beneath the western horizon, leaving the stars in charge of the night. The sky was cloudless, but minus the moon’s presence, a grave darkness gripped the Green Plains. To Laylah it felt like weakness.

The humming dominated all sound. Even the lush turf at their feet seemed to quiver. The lead destriers grew restless, their riders struggling to hold them in position. Laylah felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, which remained disturbingly warm and humid.

Though she had faced many dangers in her life, she had never before been in a full-scale battle. One hundred thousand druids were about to march down their throats. She realized she was terrified.

Laylah turned to her beloved for support. He had fought in many wars. Could he rebuild her confidence? But when she turned to him, he appeared almost hypnotized, gazing silently at the northern sky.

Suddenly he sat upright on Bhojja’s back and shouted in a booming voice, “Horror approaches! The dragon comes. Hold your positions. Hold!”

Seconds later, Bhayatupa swept out of the sky, trailing crimson fire like a comet. A rush of super-heated air blew down upon them, knocking riders off their mounts and panicking the destriers. The war horses had been bred and trained for battle, but it was one thing to stare down a druid and another to stand true against a great dragon twenty times as long and thirty times as heavy.

Without warning, Bhayatupa came to a near halt in midair, reared back, and emitted a sound that evoked not terror, but pity. A multicolored chain was wrapped around his neck from head to shoulder, and from five hundred cubits away, Laylah could feel the heat it emitted. The dragon’s agony must have been incomprehensible. Of all living beings, only Invictus was capable of such cruelty.

At that moment, she saw her brother sitting on Bhayatupa’s neck, his body a small yellow blob that seared her eyes. Even as the dragon flew away and disappeared, Laylah cried out. Izumo sensed her distress and attempted to rise up on his hind legs in a panic, but his heavy barding was too inflexible, causing the stallion to bolt forward instead. Laylah was thrown, and she landed heavily on her back, the weight of her armor carrying her down like a stone. She heard Torg shout her name, but before he could reach her, another horse trampled her, pounding one of its hooves onto the plate just below her breasts. Though the Jivitan white iron barely crinkled, Laylah felt like a child who had fallen off a swing and had the wind knocked out of her. For a moment, she was dazed and couldn’t seem to breathe.

Then Torg was kneeling beside her and sitting her up, his eyes wide with concern. She nudged him away and managed to stand on her own, saying, “I’m fine . . . don’t worry.” When she regained her bearings, she discovered that she
was
fine.

By then, Navarese and Queen Rajinii were shouting commands in an attempt to instill order. A Tugar warrior rode toward her, gripping Izumo’s reins. The stallion came to her almost apologetically, head lowered as if his cowardice embarrassed him. Laylah stroked his muzzle and—with Torg’s assistance—remounted. The wizard handed her Obhasa, which had fallen on the grass beside her.

“Are you sure you’re all right, my love?” he said to her, tenderly stroking the greave above her solleret.

“If I can’t handle a simple fall off a horse, how am I going to survive a battle with druids?”

Torg smiled sheepishly. “I know I can’t protect you every moment. And I know you don’t need my protection, even if I could. Actually, I was more concerned by your reaction to seeing Invictus, not by your falling. You’ve got a hard head, remember?”

Laylah laughed. “My skull is harder than the helm.”

“And far more beautiful.”

Like lovers alone in the world, they stared at each other.

Then Navarese and Rajinii approached, breaking their reverie. “The druids come,
Torgon
,” the general said. “It is as if the appearance of the dragon called them forth.”

“We are ready,” the queen said, her voice fell.

AT FIRST, THE sight of the dragon and its rider had terrified the queen, causing her to scream and cover her face with a gauntleted hand. Rajinii also had seen the yellow blob, and it reminded her of the constant nightmares she’d endured before
The Torgon
and Laylah had removed the sorcerer’s influence. While Invictus was present, all seemed hopeless. But when the dragon carried him away, Rajinii was infused with a frantic desire to kill. The druids were dangerous, but they were an enemy she could confront without hopelessness.

“We are ready,” she said to
The Torgon
and Navarese. And she meant it. Even Arusha seemed emboldened, pounding her front hooves on the grass. “General, gather your army.”

“The white horsemen heed your call, your highness,” Navarese said. “But I beg you, one final time. Please retreat with me to the back.”

“
No
!” the queen shouted. The square chunk of jade on the head of her staff flared like green fire, eliminating any further desire by Navarese for debate. In terms of military strategy, he was her superior, but in terms of physical and magical prowess, he was nowhere near her match.

The general turned his horse and retreated through the ranks. No one viewed this as cowardice. Navarese’s most dangerous weapon was his mind. He would direct his army from the rear on a specially built platform that towered one hundred cubits above the plains.

No sooner had Navarese disappeared than the humming intensified tenfold. Rajinii watched with dismay as dozens of her horsemen cast off their helms and pressed their gauntlets against their ears. The sound was as loud as thunder, only ceaseless. Eyes watered. Teeth chattered. Hearts beat out of control. Rajinii realized with sudden horror that it was worse than even she had expected. The tumultuous cacophony robbed the mind of clarity and stole courage from the stoutest of warriors. Would the
Assarohaa
flee in terror? She wouldn’t blame them if they did.

And then
The Torgon
was beside her, shouting in a voice even louder than thunder. “Murder and mayhem!” The wizard raised the Silver Sword high above his head, and from its point blazed an eruption of blue-green fire that superheated the surrounding air. “Murder . . . and . . . Mayhem!”

“Murder and mayhem!” Rajinii responded. And others joined the chant.

As if meeting the challenge, the druids appeared, their fiery eyes bleeding hatred. The first row of the Jivitan army moved forward to greet them—and with it rode
The Torgon
, Laylah, Sir Elu, Ugga, Bard, Manta, more than ten-score Tugars, and of course, Rajinii.

Impossibly, the humming intensified to an even higher level.

But Rajinii was not dismayed—and her strength gave courage to the others.

When the two sides were only twenty paces apart the humming ceased. In some ways, the silence was more disturbing than the torrent of noise. Both sides halted and glared at each other, though the darkness obscured much, even at close range. A voice from behind the druids scorched the air like a revulsion.

“Rajinii . . . a word!”

“Show yourself!” Rajinii called back.

“I will not . . . not yet.”

“Identify yourself!”

“Do you not know me? For I know you.”

“Have you come to banter?”

Cackling. “I offer terms of surrender.”

“Yours or ours?”

At that, the white horsemen guffawed—and then cheered.

Growling replaced the cackling. Then: “Term number one. Surrender Laylah to me.”

Rajinii turned to Torg and giggled. “That’s not such a bad idea,” she said.

The wizard arched an eyebrow.

“I’m just
teasing
,” Rajinii said. Then she turned back toward the wall of druids. “Denied!”

More growling. “Term number two. Surrender
The Torgon
to me.”

Rajinii looked at Laylah. “What do you think?”

The sorceress smiled. “Not today. But the next time he misbehaves . . .”

Torg arched his other eyebrow.

“Very well,” the queen said, before shouting, “Denied!”

A throat-wrenching screech. “Term number three: Lay down your arms and surrender. If
all
these terms are met, you will be permitted to return to Jivita and live in peace, as long as you never enter Dhutanga or re-arm yourselves.”

“Are you finished? Then I answer again . . .
denied
! I deny your terms. I deny your words. I deny your right to exist. As for my own terms, I have none. I am ready to fight . . .
now
! None among your horde shall leave the Green Plains alive.”

“You know naught what you say, fragile queen. Nor to whom you speak! I am servant to
Kattham Bhunjaka
, ruler of Dhutanga and all surrounding lands, including the Green Plains. If you refuse to bow, then you choose to die.”

“I bow only to
Ekadeva
, the
One God
, he who is almighty. I fight in
his
name and for
his
glory. Even if I stood alone, without weapon, your army would fall. But I do not! The white horsemen are with me. You should have considered more carefully before trampling the Green Plains with your foul feet. In Jivita, such an act is punishable by death.”

“You will not be so bold when you are brought before the throne of
Kattham
.”

To Rajinii’s surprise, Laylah rose up in her saddle and shouted. “Urbana? Do you remember me?”

A pause, then: “How could I forget, little bitch.”

“There is something you need to know . . .”

“I’m dying with anticipation.”

“While imprisoned in Avici, there were many times that I dreamt of killing you. I couldn’t then . . . because my brother protected you. But as you saw for yourself, he has flown away and left you to your own devices. There is nothing now to stop me. Tonight I shall witness your demise!”

More cackling. “We shall see . . . we shall see.”

Then the humming resumed, louder than ever.

THE LEAD PORTION of the druid horde thundered forward. The first row of cavalry met the challenge. There was a titanic clash of man and destrier against the keepers of Dhutanga. Each druid stood at least seven cubits tall and weighed as much as a war horse. Due to the excellence of their armor, the white horsemen bore no shields, swinging their longswords with both hands while maintaining their balance by gripping the high saddles with their inner thighs.

The druids spat acids at the eye slits of their helms and attempted to knock the Jivitans off their horses with long, angular arms. Several horsemen were torn from their mounts, screaming as the attackers dragged them away. But wherever a Tugar was present, the druids were beaten back.

Rajinii swung her staff this way and that, its fiery chunk of jade incinerating any druid it touched. Laylah wielded Obhasa with deadly fury, slaying the enemy by the dozen. Ugga’s heavy axe splintered the bark-like flesh, and none could stand before it. Even Elu got into the act, killing a druid three times his height with Sōbhana’s Tugarian dagger. But it was Torg who wrought the most damage. Without fear, Bhojja bore into the horde, purposely allowing Torg to become surrounded. Then he brought the Silver Sword to bear, slashing, stabbing, and hacking in a blur of movement. The tough hide of the enemy was no match for the ancient weapon, the greatest of its kind ever to exist, far surpassing even the finest
uttara
. Torg killed more than a hundred; yet it represented just a few drops in a sea of monsters.