Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (24 page)

Even this early in the day, the interior of the fortress swarmed with people. Most resided year-round in Nissaya: black knights, sergeants, squires, and bowmen, all of whom were black-skinned Nissayans; and armorers, merchants, and craftsmen, some of whom were outsiders who had won a permanent place in the city through long years of labor. But the farmers, villagers, and fishermen who had recently fled there from as far west as Hadaya and east as the Ogha had more than doubled the usual population of the fortress. All seemed in a nervous rush to go from one place to another. “There are so many to feed,” Madiraa said in a loud voice, attempting to make herself heard over the din. “Our stores are impressive, but they are not limitless. If Mala chooses to camp outside our walls and wait for us to starve, we will be forced to flee the secret ways to the mountains.”

“That is the least of your concerns, my lady,” Kusala said. “Mala is many things, but patient is not one of them. It is the only thing he and I have in common. When his army arrives, he will give it time to settle. But after that, I believe he will attack with all his power.”

“Let him, then. If there were but a few hundred defenders on each wall, Mala could not prevail. And yet, our numbers have never been greater. From the battlements, our bowmen alone could destroy an army. How does he hope to defeat us?”

“If Mala were an ordinary man, and his army made up of ordinary men and women, he would stand little chance. But among his host are monsters more terrible than any seen on Triken, save the dragons themselves. Who knows what these monsters are capable of? But one thing is certain. If any place in the world can withstand Mala, it is Nissaya. And if his army somehow prevails, it will not do so without loss.”

“Which will please the white horsemen, I’m sure,” Madiraa said bitterly. “In this regard, at least, I agree with my father. The Jivitans should be here, where the hammer will fall the hardest, not cowering a hundred leagues away. They speak so highly of their
One God
. Are they not ashamed to behave so meekly in his presence?”

“I have never known the
Assarohaa
(white horsemen) to cower,” Kusala said. “Do not believe such talk. Their motives may be selfish, but they are not cowardly. On horseback, they fear nothing. Do not forget the threat of Dhutanga. The druids are dangerous, as well. And their hatred is older and deeper.”

“All of what you say may be true. But what good does it do my people?”

For that, Kusala had no answer.

They continued down the street, turned into an alley, and emerged onto a narrow roadway. Finally they came to the foot of a zigzagging stair that led to the top of the third bulwark, which towered some two hundred cubits above them.

“Why have we come here?” Kusala said. “I need to find the snow giant.”

“So you shall.”

The stairway was built of ordinary stone, though cleverly constructed and well-maintained. However, it was not made for anyone suffering from a fear of heights. The stairs themselves were four cubits broad, but there was no rail. A false step meant certain death. But neither Madiraa nor Kusala was cowed. The princess had played on these walls since she was a toddler, and Kusala had faced things far more frightening than falling.

The stairway rose at a left angle for fifty cubits before the first landing, then turned right, left, and right again. They finally reached the wall walk of Hakam, where black knights and bowmen greeted them ceremoniously. Several Tugars also approached, bowing low and then clasping Kusala’s forearm.

The view was magnificent. Kusala could see for leagues in all directions. Mahaggata loomed to the northwest, Kolankold to the southwest.

“This day will be beautiful,” Madiraa said. “But it is already so warm. It feels more like a summer morning than early spring.”

“I find it odd too,” Kusala said. “If this were Dibbu-Loka, it would not be so unusual. But this far north
 . . .
”

From the head of the stairs, Kusala caught sight of Yama-Utu. The snow giant stood on top of the low wall of the battlement, his bare toes clinging to the stone like roots. As was typical of his kind, he wore only a loincloth. When Kusala and the princess approached, he paid them no heed.

“Good morning to you, Yama-Utu,” Kusala said. “I trust you slept well. Or did you sleep at all? And were you properly fed?”

At first the snow giant didn’t answer, but then his head slowly turned, and he looked down somberly. “Sleep and sustenance are not my concern,” he said, his white mane swirling in the heavy breeze that swept through the air at such a height.

Kusala tried to sound friendly. “But won’t you grow weak? Nissaya will be in need of all your strength in the coming days.”

“
Eso aham himamahaakaayo
(I am a snow giant),” he said, as if no other answer were required.

Madiraa was clearly uncomfortable, but she also tried to sound cheerful. “It must feel awfully hot to you, being so far from Okkanti. Can I at least have someone bring you something to drink?”

Utu hopped off the wall and faced them. Except for a few of the Tugars, Kusala was the tallest man on the battlement, yet the snow giant was more than twice the height of the Asēkha chieftain.

“How long before Mala arrives?” Utu said. “I grow weary of waiting.”

“I left you in a much better mood last night than I found you in today,” Kusala said. “You remind me of the Utu I met before the Pabbajja succored him.”

“How
long
?” said Utu, his voice like a growl.

“Three weeks,” Kusala said.

“Three
 . . .
weeks,” Utu repeated.

Then without warning, he scooped both Kusala and Madiraa into his arms, stepped onto the low wall—and jumped off Hakam.

KUSALA’S ARMS were pinned against his sides by strength more crushing than he had ever encountered. Even if he had tried, he could not have drawn his
uttara
from the scabbard on his back. But he was too amazed to entertain the thought. Air rushed against his face and exploded in his ears—and above the roar, he could hear Madiraa screaming next to him.

Utu landed feet-first on the battlement of Ott—just thirty cubits away from Hakam but one hundred cubits farther down—and then pounced again, flying through the air across the spiked moat before landing on Balak with equal aplomb. Then he leaped one last time, with much greater force than before, and finally came to rest on the grassy field that surrounded the granite base of the fortress, several hundred paces from the first gate.

The snow giant put Kusala and Madiraa down and backed away.

Instantly Kusala drew his
uttara
and the princess her longsword. A dozen others, who had witnessed the spectacle from the ground, raced to their aid, including several angry-looking Tugars.

Utu was encircled. The snow giant seemed more amused than threatened.

“Do you doubt my strength
now
?” he said.

At first, this stunned Kusala into silence. He was angry, frightened, and exhilarated at the same time. Never before had he been bested in such a manner, and so easily.

“Shall we slay the beast, chieftain?” said a female Tugarian warrior poised nearby. “We await your command.”

Utu grunted but did not speak.

“We were not injured,” Madiraa said.

Her words surprised Kusala, who said, “Nonetheless, our
friend
has again become unpredictable. What say you, snow giant? Is there a reason to trust you further?”

Utu grunted again. “Snow giants love to jump. We leap from peak to peak just for fun. I meant no harm.”

Even as they spoke, a thundering squadron of mounted black knights charged out of the fortress—with Henepola in the lead, his staff of
Maōi
burning like fire.

“It appears you have accomplished something that the rest of us cannot. You have awakened the king,” Kusala said. “Your fate is no longer in my hands.”

“Nor his,” Utu said. “Nor any mortal’s.”

Suddenly the snow giant let out a piercing cry, so loud that even Kusala had to hold his ears. And then he sprinted northward far faster than any horse could gallop, save Bhojja herself. The Tugars started to follow, but Kusala ordered them to halt. Several Nissayan bowmen loosed arrows at the fleeing beast, but none met their mark. In a matter of moments, Utu had vanished.

Henepola and the Nissayan squadron veered to the left and gave chase, but it was clear they could not catch him. For better or worse, the snow giant was gone again.

“When my father returns, he will be angrier than ever,” Madiraa said. “But the giant sealed his own fate. It was as if he
wanted
to be banished. Do you think he will return to Okkanti?”

“No, he will not return to his home,” Kusala said. “At least, not yet. His desire to confront Mala is too great. Amid his madness and anger, a fierce intelligence still burns. Sometime before the Chain Man strikes, his brother will show himself. And we all must keep in mind that as dangerous as Utu may seem, Mala is far deadlier. I will feel more comfortable with a snow giant on our side, even if he is unpredictable.”

“After what just occurred, my father will not permit it,” Madiraa said.

“Then it will be up to you and me to change his mind.”

A short time later, a thousand more mounted Nissayans rode off after their king. To say the least, it was not a good time to exhaust knights and their mounts, especially in pursuit of a single foe that might not even be a foe.

KUSALA WAS LEFT standing, in the words of a Vasi master, with his hands in his pockets. So he left the field and went to meet with the Tugars already encamped at Nissaya. The desert warriors packed around their chieftain, encircling him so tightly that no others could hear his words, save Madiraa. But first they bowed low.

“Rise,” Kusala said. “You all know that I am not one for ceremony.” This was met with scattered hooting and applause. “Let it be known,” he continued in a more serious tone, “that The Torgon lives!”

This elicited cheers and clinking of swords, though Kusala knew that his warriors already were aware of this news. If Torg had fallen, they would have sensed it internally, so in tune were they to their king.

“I have ordered the Tugars camped near Lake Hadaya to come to the fortress. Soon we will be seven thousand strong.” Cheers and whistles. “Also, the Asēkhas will arrive in a short time, and with them a score of freed slaves who fought bravely by our sides during a perilous journey. They will be weary. See personally to their comfort.”

And then, unrelated to Kusala’s speech, there were more loud cheers and then a hearty chant. “The Asēkhas come! Just as you say!”

Kusala was relieved. “We are together again,” he whispered to himself. “If only Torg were here to complete us.”

NOT OVERLY FOND of socializing outside their own people, the Tugars had set up camp in a field west of Nissaya, pitching tents made from camel hide woven with sagebrush leaves and waterproofed with resin extracted from piñon pines. Kusala, Madiraa, and Tāseti sat cross-legged on the ground in the center of an open pavilion, the female Asēkha supping from a bowl of goat-stomach stew and drinking Tugarian wine from a tubular skin.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Kusala said to the princess, “but shouldn’t you go back to the fortress and await your father’s return?”

“This is the first place he’ll come,” Madiraa said. “He has always preferred to deal with men over women. Regardless, I want to be here when he confronts you.”

“Your father will never catch the snow giant,” Tāseti said. “When the black knights found us, we shared their mounts and rode all through the night and morning at a brisk pace, and yet the snow giant managed to cover the same distance—with the chieftain on his back—in a third of the time or less. The beast can run as fast as a dragon flies.”

“My father is stubborn, but not stupid,” Madiraa said. “Once he realizes the cause is lost, he will return. But he will be enraged.”

When Tāseti finished her meal, she prepared to rise so that she could bathe and then rest. She had not slept for several days. But Kusala bade her to remain seated. “I have an assignment for you. You will not like it, but you must obey me.”

“Chieftain?”

“The Torgon and I spoke for a brief time before I left him,” Kusala said, “and our king made it clear that he feared for the safety of Anna. He ordered me to return there as soon as possible.”

“You’ve already told me this.”

“Yes. But since arriving at Nissaya, I have learned some things that concern me greatly, and I have made a decision to remain at the fortress.”

“That is excellent news,” Tāseti said. “Nissaya will need you in the battle to come. Anna can take care of herself—especially with Dvipa in control. Besides, no invading army could pass through the Simōōn and survive.”

Kusala lowered his gaze. “You do not understand. Yes, Dvipa is capable, as are all Asēkhas, but our lord was not comfortable with only his presence. He greatly feared the wiles of the sorcerer and wanted me to retrieve the noble ones from the haven and return with them to Anna. Since I now cannot go, I must send you in my stead.”

Tāseti’s facial expression remained calm, but Kusala knew her too well. She was furious. An uncomfortable period of silence followed Kusala’s words, prompting Madiraa to excuse herself and leave the pavilion.

When the princess was gone, Tāseti finally spoke. “I am a warrior, not a
babysitter
!” she said, her lips quivering. “I have trained my entire life for this moment. Not a day has passed in more than two centuries that I have not striven to better myself. And now, with battle at hand, you order me to leave? Send someone else. Send Podhana or even Churikā. Please, Chieftain,
anyone
but me.”

Kusala sighed deeply. “If Lord Torgon were here with us and made the same request of you, how would you respond?”

It was Tāseti’s turn to sigh, long and deep. Kusala could see the defeat in her eyes. “Very well, Chieftain
 . . .
when do you wish me to depart?”

“Rest today and leave tomorrow morning
 . . .
and Tāseti?”

“Yes?”

“When I pass, you will take my place as head of our order. In no way will this have any effect on your position.”

“To be honest, I have no desire for you to ‘pass.’ I don’t like you very much right now. But I will always love you.”

And then she rushed out of the pavilion. Though he could not explain it, Kusala somehow knew that he would never see her again.

FOR A LONG time afterward, Kusala sat by himself, battling conflicting emotions: guilt over what he had done to Tāseti; dread over his soon-to-occur confrontation with Henepola; apprehension over the fate of the snow giant; sorrow over what was about to happen at Nissaya and then the rest of the world. To diffuse his growing agitation, he chose to meditate, watching the beginning, middle, and ending of each slow breath. When thoughts inevitably arose, he observed them too—and let them pass, returning to the breath
 . . .
peaceful but alert.

Henepola found him this way, sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, and body still. The king pounded the base of his black staff into the ground just an arm’s-length from where Kusala sat. The
Maōi
flared and crackled, causing the stakes of the pavilion to tremble. At first Kusala did not react, but then he opened his eyes and looked up at the conjurer king, noting that Indajaala and two dozen black knights flanked him.

Behind them stood five times that many Tugars,
uttaras
drawn.

“Who is your enemy? Mala or me?” Kusala said slowly. “Do you wish to begin the battle now, between two peoples who hitherto have fought side by side for centuries? The sorcerer would find that amusing, I’m sure.”

Though he appeared weary, Henepola’s eyes smoldered. Wisps of smoke oozed from his nostrils and ears. The
Maōi
glowed like a log long in the fire. “I would ask you the same questions, desert warrior,” the king said, his voice low and sinister. “Under the guise of friendship, you willfully brought a monster into our midst, and it nearly cost my only child her life. What say you to that?”

There was a commotion off to the side—and then Madiraa came forward, shoving her way past Indajaala. “Father, don’t do this. It is unnecessary.”

“This is no longer your affair,” the king said angrily. “Leave this to me.”

“I will not! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m some feeble creature, too delicate for important matters. Do not our women wear armor and fight alongside the men? And are we not best with the bow? I will speak on my own behalf.”

Indajaala gasped but said nothing.

Henepola glared at her. “Very well,
daughter
 . . .
speak.”

“The snow giant meant us no harm,” she said quickly. “If he had wanted to kill us, we would be dead. We challenged his
 . . .
strength
 . . .
and he met the challenge. To be honest, the jumps were exhilarating. You know how much I love the heights. If he were here now, I would ask him to do it again.”