Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (22 page)

Dvipa grew serious. “You have traveled far—and hard.”

“I left the havens just ten days ago.”

“Ten days? I’m impressed! But why have you come in such a hurry?”

“The second in command is escorting the noble ones to Anna under orders from Chieftain-Kusala. They are in need of our assistance.”

“Tāseti in need? I cannot believe it.”

“Five hundred noble ones, Father. And less than a score of Tugars as escorts. Do you believe it now?”

Dvipa sighed. “I will send aid, but I can spare less than you might have hoped. We are rebuilding the Simōōn.”

“I see that, Father. But why was it lowered in the first place?”

“As my Vasi master likes to say, it’s a long story.”

“Regardless,” Appam said, “you should cease your efforts until the noble ones arrive. Otherwise, you will just have to lower it again.”

AS DVIPA AND Appam discussed the Simōōn, the fiends were scrambling up the dune twenty-five leagues to the west. Besides their hunger and rage, the fiends’ greatest strength was their endurance. Though awkward, they also were tireless. The demonic
undines
that swam in their blood and swarmed in their flesh gave them above-average strength but superhuman stamina. Ordinary wounds temporarily slowed them down but did not kill them. If their legs were severed, they would crawl with their arms.

With two-handed grips on their
uttaras
, the warriors stood ready. This battle would not be about finesse. Brute strength would be the Tugars’ greatest ally, and they had plenty of it. Aya, who was second in line behind Dalhapa to ascend to the rank of Asēkha, found himself wishing that Rati were with them, if only to count the fallen. Each warrior would have to kill at least three score fiends. Not impossible, but a wearisome task, especially in the desert heat with limited supplies of food and water to replenish their strength.

The
undines
could not infect the Tugars, nor could they be severely injured by bites, but it was conceivable that individual warriors could be trampled and suffocated beneath a pile of fiends. It would not be a pleasant—or honorable—way to die.

The dune served the same purpose as the bulwark of a fortress. As the fiends scrambled up its grainy side, many lost their footing and tumbled back, careening into others as they fell. Those who did reach the top were easy marks for the warriors, who took their heads and kicked their bodies back down the dune, adding to the confusion below. Within minutes, several thousand fiends were dead, and the rest already seemed to be losing their desire to surmount, as if the Tugars weren’t worth the effort when less-formidable prey was available elsewhere.

Aya grew concerned over the enemy’s hesitance. “Retreat,” he ordered.

“There is no need,” a warrior shouted back. “We are in no danger.”

There was no time to explain. “
Retreat
! And make lots of noise.”

Then Aya sprinted down the backside of the dune, screaming as loud as he could and spraying sand with every stride. Though confused, the Tugars followed their leader, shouting and yelping. The fiends were enraged, and they charged after their prey with renewed enthusiasm, crawling over the now-abandoned crest and starting down the other side.

The next dune was about five hundred cubits away. Aya halted in a hollow between the sand mountains. Some of the fiends were quicker than others, and they were the first to be dispatched. Two thousand more fell before their concentrated weight forced the Tugars to retreat to the crest of the second dune.

“Jump and scream! Curse at them. Do anything to make them angry.”

“Waggle your big cocks at them,” a female warrior shouted.

This caused a spate of laughter.

“Don’t get overconfident,” Aya said. “This is far from over.”

Newly enraged, the fiends clawed their way up the second dune, only to meet the same fate. Though not a single Tugar had fallen, as many as five thousand more fiends were eliminated before they again lost their desire, forcing Aya to call another premature retreat. It worked in similar fashion, and by the time the Tugars crested the third dune, almost half of the monsters were destroyed—and it was not yet noon. But the survivors now lingered in the hollow between dunes, unwilling to attack again, and the Tugars knew it would be hazardous to leave the crest and enter the dense throng.

Though it had gone well to this point, they suddenly found themselves in a stalemate. Then without warning, the fiends turned away, no longer interested in continuing a losing battle with their black-clad foes. Instead, they marched southward between the dunes.

In the direction of Wuul.

ON THE SAME morning that Appam reached the Tent City, Rati and the noble ones finally passed through Barranca and entered Tējo. The sand ocean beckoned to the Asēkha like home.

Their Beydoo escorts had proven to be more beneficial than Rati had dared to hope, working tirelessly to help the monks and nuns endure the crossing of the wastelands. In response, the noble ones had come to adore the diminutive tribesmen. Dammawansha, senior among his people now that Tathagata was missing, began giving lectures to the Beydoos during the hottest portions of the afternoon, though Rati wasn’t sure how much of the monk’s wisdom they were able to absorb.

“Air is blown into the hole of the flute. Beautiful music is the result,” Rati heard the monk say to the fascinated Beydoos. “The structure of the flute and the breath of the performer bring the music into existence. When the breath stops, so does the music. Is life not the same? It comes into existence, plays beautifully, and vanishes.”

Dammawansha paused for dramatic effect and then pressed the palm of his hand against his heart.

“Do you not see the paradox? Paths must be followed, but there are no followers. Deeds must be accomplished, but there are no deed-doers. Why? Because the concept of
self
is an illusion.”

He stood and pressed his palms together, touching his chin with the tips of his fingers.

“The ultimate goal of existence is to achieve clarity. But do not despair or feel cheated—for this is wondrous news! There
need
be nothing else. Clarity is more beautiful than any music and sweeter than any pleasure. Clarity is where true blessedness is found, all questions are answered, and all mysteries are solved. Watch your breath with mindfulness . . . and see the truth for yourself.”

Later that day, before they began another march, Rati approached Dammawansha.

“Answer me this,” Rati said to the monk. “When I swing my
uttara
, the blade does not shimmy. I find such perfection more beautiful than clarity. What say you?”

Dammawansha smiled. “Instead of asking me, ask your blade. Or even better, ask the air through which the blade passes.”

THE
KANTAARA YODHAS
harried the army of fiends until dusk and beyond. Though bloodthirsty and deranged, the monsters had an annoying ability to learn from their mistakes. Rather than risk any more of their number in suicide attacks on the desert warriors, they now bunched together like a dense school of fish, making it far more difficult for the Tugars to slaughter them en masse.

As the fiends moved southward along the border of Tējo, the warriors encircled them, keeping pace and attacking whenever an opportunity presented itself. Any monster that wandered or stumbled was dispatched, but the process of killing had slowed down considerably since the initial battle among the dunes. From morning until noon, the Tugars had killed fifteen thousand, but from noon until dusk they had slain fewer than five hundred more.

“The longer this goes on, the more it favors our enemy,” Aya said to the nearest warriors. “Even Tugars will tire eventually, but these monsters seem never to grow weary.”

“We could form wedges and punch into them easily enough,” a warrior said. “It would force them into smaller groups.”

“If we use that tactic, the risk will increase,” Aya said. “Any trapped within the mob would be difficult to rescue. But I agree that we will have to become bolder, if things do not change.”

“Another thing to consider,” the warrior said. “If the fiends march without rest, they could reach Wuul in two days.”

“Which would not be good,” Aya said. “Send a pair of scouts ahead to spread words of warning.”

“It will be so.”

At darkness, the fiends did not slow their march. If anything, they quickened their pace. Shortly before midnight, a lone Tugar appeared unexpectedly from the south.

“
Abhinandanena te garukaromi
(I greet you with great joy)!” Aya said above the clamor of barks and growls. “But why are you not at the havens, Silah? How came you here?”

“My story is long, but not pleasant,” Silah said. “Eleven days ago, Tāseti and Rati arrived at the havens with orders to transport the noble ones to Anna. But during our travels, things went awry.” Then Silah described the infection of the noble ones and the ruination of Sister Tathagata.

“I was met by one of your scouts in the late afternoon, and he told me of your plight,” she continued. “I fear the timing could not be worse. Rati and the noble ones are also headed to Wuul. I lent Yoen a desert gelding and sent him on his way to warn Rati. But I believe they will have no choice but to continue to Wuul, regardless of the threat of the fiends.”

“We do not seem able to slow them,” Aya said. “We are yet to lose a warrior, but the risks are becoming greater. They are wearing us down, forcing us to march without rest. Our skins are nearly empty, and we’ve had little to eat. Without Cirāya, we would already be failing. Even before this battle began, we had journeyed long.”

Silah nodded. Then she walked within a few paces of the fiends and drew her sword. The monsters on the exterior snapped and snarled, but they also pressed even tighter against the others, as if cautiously afraid. The warrior returned to Aya.

“You haven’t been able to slow down the fiends,” Silah said. “But might it be possible to redirect them?”

“Away from Wuul? I doubt it. I believe they
intend
to go there.”

“Not
away
from Wuul, just slightly more eastward. Remember the limestone ridge that rises out of the sand north of the oasis? A pass runs through its spine, its sides loose and treacherous. If we could guide them into it . . .”

THE TUGARIAN SCOUT named Yoen took an instant liking to Chieftain. The desert gelding, though thirsty and weary, refused to surrender to exhaustion. By morning of the following day, Yoen found Rati and the noble ones setting up camp within a natural concourse walled off by boulders. Several hundred Beydoos were with them, stretching canvas tarps between the rocks to create more shade. Though the sun had barely risen, it already was more than one hundred degrees. This day, Yoen believed, would surpass one hundred and twenty.

The Asēkha was overjoyed to greet the scout, but Yoen’s news diminished his enthusiasm.

“You are not the only ones who have dealt with the horror of
undines
,” Rati told Yoen. “Of the five hundred monks and nuns, one hundred and thirty perished before we could quell the assault, including the High Nun, who fled toward Barranca. Have you heard of her whereabouts? Or of Tāseti’s?”

“I know nothing of either, though Silah informed me of Tāseti’s mission as well as your perils,” Yoen said. “I have come to warn you of the army of monsters. It appears to be headed to the same place as you.”

“That is not the news I wished to hear,” Rati said. “Regardless, there is nowhere else for us to go. Without the aid of the Beydoos, we might not have gotten this far. But even with their help, there is no turning back. To keep such a large number alive under these conditions, we need more water and food. Only Wuul is close enough to supply both.”

“You are Asēkha,” Yoen said. “
Bhavissaama anuvattatum
(Thy will shall be done). Onward to Wuul.”