Wrath of a Mad God (31 page)

“Every life?” asked Hirea, for even though he understood much of what Pug had told him of the Dread and the creature known as the Dark God of the Dasati, he still couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of the concept.

“Why not?” said Magnus. “He has eleven other worlds. There are many more millions of Dasati to kill on Kosridi if he runs out here. And when Kosridi is barren, he’ll start on another after that.”

“How did we become like this?” asked the old trainer.

“Generations of lies and manipulation,” said Magnus.

Pug nodded his agreement. “Let me tell you of what I know of the Chaos Wars.” He began to tell the two old fighters about the visions he had on the Tower of Testing in Kelewan and other stories and tales, woven together in a long narrative about the fall of the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning and the rise of the Valheru on Midkemia, the banishment of the Dragon Lords, and the Battle of Sethanon after the Riftwar. He told the story without embellishment, and when he had finished, both of the old Deathknights sat silently.

Finally Martuch said, “Do you think that war extended here?”

Pug said, “I think that war existed in every aspect of reality. I think from the Chaos Wars down to the struggle we face today, the fight is all the same: the balance of the universe has been distorted and we are caught up in the conflict to restore it.

“It never made any logical sense to me that this was only some internal struggle between those forces we call good and evil; for even evil exists within a paradigm that requires a balance with good, or if all is evil the term loses meaning.

“There is nowhere in my plane of existence where evil predominates as it does in the Dasati Empire, yet here you are, and with other agents of the White, you seek to restore the balance. Because evil cannot exist without good to contrast with and to balance it.”

“I don’t understand,” admitted Hirea. “Yet I will accept your explanation.”

“It’s not simple,” said Magnus. “But somewhere before history, a breach was made between what is our collective, real universe, including all the planes of existence, and the Void. It is from the Void that the thing you call the Dark One came. He distorted the balance of this universe so much, disrupted the normal give-and-take between opposing forces so severely, that he was able to supplant the Dasati deity of evil and grew in power after seizing his place and driving out all the original Dasati gods.”

Knowing that Pug had mentioned the Talnoy on Midkemia, Magnus added, “We may never know who gave the Dasati gods safe haven on my world, but there they remain, and perhaps if they were to return…perhaps the balance in this realm would return that much faster.” He let out a slow breath. “But for that to happen, the Dark One needs to be destroyed, I think.”

A sound from above caused everyone to fall silent. Feet were pounding on the ground above, followed by others in close pursuit. Pug said, “Soon. We can move soon.”

“I hope Valko and his knights are safe,” said Magnus.

“They are safe or we are all lost,” said Hirea.

“Where are they?” asked Pug.

“We have one place, prepared against this day, that has never been used before. It is very close to an ancient entrance into the
palace that will lead us to the heart of the TeKarana’s private apartments. It is our plan to burst into those apartments from below, to kill the TeKarana before his Talnoy guards overwhelm us and claim the throne.”

“Claim the throne?” asked Pug. “How is that possible?”

Martuch and Hirea exchanged glances, then Martuch said,

“It is easy to forget that despite your appearance and your ease with our language, you lack fundamental knowledge of our culture, human.” He pointed to his friend. “Should I kill my friend in battle, that is one thing. I gain honor for my house and society, and can take what I will from his body as the spoils of battle, on the field. But should I kill my father, I become ruling lord of my house, as Valko did when he killed Aruke. And if I kill my liege lord, overpower him and take his head, then I am entitled to keep all that which was his.”

Hirea finished: “If Valko kills the TeKarana, he
becomes
the TeKarana. Why do you think the TeKarana keeps an army of fanatically loyal Talnoy with him at all times?”

Magnus said, “But that means—”

“Someone must kill the Dark God,” finished Pug. “Or Valko’s reign as the TeKarana will be a very short one.”

“What do you propose?” asked Alenburga.

Kaspar said, “The Tsurani are as brave as any soldiers I’ve ever seen, but they lack a sense of organization above the company level. Coordinating this could prove difficult.” He looked toward young Jeurin of the Anasati. “My friend, I have a very difficult task for you.”

“Whatever I must do, Lord.”

The entire Tsurani command structure was now located in a makeshift pavilion erected on a hillock near the river, less than half a mile from where the river emptied into the plains. They could easily see the dust raised from the fighting a short distance upriver and soon they’d be able to hear the sounds of battle. The Tsurani were being slowly rolled back, and Kaspar was seeking a plan to thwart their advance as Alenburga had requested. Miranda and a half dozen magicians had just arrived after beginning the evacuation and were standing off to the side, ready to do whatever the General bid them.

The General looked at Kaspar who spoke to the young Tsurani lord. “I need you to take the vanguard, there”—Kaspar pointed to a position halfway between their current location and the first rolling hills on either side of the river—“and I want two detachments of as many soldiers as we can muster on either side. Lord Jeurin, you must retreat, very slowly, drawing in the Dasati. We will surround them and press in.”

The young noble saluted and hurried out of the tent, shouting orders to his retainers.

Kaspar said, “What of those behind the vanguard?”

Alenburga turned to Miranda. “Can you keep them busy for as long as an hour?”

She sighed. “We can try.”

“How goes the evacuation?” Alenburga asked.

“Badly,” she answered. “A second rift is being fashioned as we speak, one that will empty into Novindus, but it will take some time, perhaps another day. The one that stands open now is in a small chamber in the Assembly, and we can only send through dozens of refugees at a time. And even then they’re going to be on an island in the Sea of Dreams in disputed lands between Kesh and the Kingdom.” She cursed herself for not having heeded the note given to her with the word “evacuate” on it. She was forced to admit that she only had so many resources, so many hours in the day, yet she had been warned this step would prove necessary. If only she could have started sooner. If only her husband had been here. She pushed aside this unexpected bout of self-pity and said, “The only good news is that thousands of Tsurani are on their way to the rift sites, so when they are ready to open, they will be able to travel through at once.”

“Thousands,” said Erik von Darkmoor quietly, leaving unsaid what everyone knew: millions of Tsurani would be left to die if something miraculous didn’t occur.

At three hours after noon, the order was given to retreat and what was left of the Tsurani forces fighting in the gaps of the river canyon fell back. The Dasati pushed forward, but halted when they saw the army arrayed on the plains less than half a mile away.

Thirty thousand Tsurani soldiers stood in fixed ranks, in three squads of ten thousand each. Clouds of dust from the rear spoke of thousands more soldiers on the march, and the commander of the TeKarana’s Deathknights realized that at last they faced a formidable foe. Until now, the slaughter had been immense, the Deathknights killing Tsurani soldiers at whim, but adjusting to the Kelewan climate and the energies of this level of existence was starting to take its toll. For every Deathknight killed by Tsurani weapons, two were falling ill and having to return to the Black Mount, where Deathpriests would see to them, or kill those too weak to recover.

However, more Deathknights were coming through the portals every hour, and the Mount was expanding. Kaspar reckoned that a full headquarters was now probably housed inside it, and his opinion was shared by the rest of the staff.

From what Miranda had reported about her captivity by the Deathknights, he knew that this probably wasn’t merely an invasion site, but the point at which they would begin to transform the world, to turn this entire planet into a habitable world for the Dasati. And every Midkemian present knew that it was literally only one step away from Kelewan to reach their own home world.

“Soon,” said Erik. They were far enough behind the lines that they would face Deathknights only if their plan failed totally, but Erik drew his sword out of habit. He had stood in the line in too many battles over the years not to feel the need to have it in his hand.

Miranda and the Tsurani Great Ones had removed themselves to a position on a high hill to the west of the invaders, from which vantage point Miranda could make out most of what occurred. They were waiting until an agreed-upon signal to attack the rear of the Dasati column and inflict as much damage as possible on the Deathknights and Deathpriests. Opposite them, in a small vale hidden from sight, waited the Tsurani cavalry, six thousand horsemen ready to strike from behind when ordered.

Alenburga said, “They’re coming!”

The Dasati began to move forward, but rather than their previous mad charges, they moved in lockstep.

“Good,” said Erik. “They’re accepting the gambit.”

Alenburga said, “Let’s hope none of them plays chess.”

Kaspar grinned. “Let’s hope our young Tsurani lord can keep his forces from acting like Tsurani and they play their part.”

Slowly the Dasati advanced toward the waiting Tsurani.

“Archers!” shouted the Supreme Commander, wishing he had a host of catapults and trebuchets here as well.

A flag was waved and a company of Lashiki bowmen responded, launching a volley of arrows high into the air. It was as if the Dasati were ignorant of archery as an element of war. The arrows rained down and hundreds of Deathknights faltered, impaled by shafts. Those behind merely shoved the wounded aside, or stepped on the backs of the fallen. Onward they marched.

“Wait,” said Kaspar as Alenburga was about to give another order.

The Supreme Commander looked at him. “How long?”

“Another minute.” Kaspar paused and at last said, “Now!”

Alenburga signaled to Jommy, who waited on a horse at the base of the hill. Jommy nodded once, then turned and put his heels to the barrel of the animal and raced to the rear of the waiting Tsurani. He had one job and he knew exactly what it was to be, yet that didn’t diminish his concern. Where he was going was about to become very dangerous.

Another flight of arrows rained down on the Dasati as Jommy reined in next to Lord Jeurin. “Orders from the Supreme Commander, my lord! Now’s the time!”

The young ruler of the Anasati shouted, “Advance in order! Advance!”

The Tsurani had been given detailed instructions as to their role in this battle. They knew that those in the center of the line were the most likely to die today, but to a man they stepped forward briskly and marched head-on toward an enemy more powerful and harder to kill than any foe they had ever faced; an enemy, moreover, determined to kill every living thing on this world.

From his vantage point on the hill behind the lines, Kaspar turned to his companions. “Now it begins,” he said softly.

P
ug signaled.

He had used his ability to send his sight upward one more time: the way ahead was clear and without any apparent traps. “It’s time,” he said to Valko. It was now or never.

Martuch, Magnus, Hirea, and Pug had made the dangerous journey from their hideout in the Grove of Delmat-Ama to Valko’s staging area, a vast chamber, easily able to contain the thousand or more Deathknights of the White who had gathered there. Even now as they prepared to launch their assault on the TeKarana, dozens of stragglers were finding their way into the chamber.

Their orders had been simple, but for those Dasati who served the White they had been hard to accept. They had been told that when word came they had to
go to ground, not to fight, but to hide. As if they were children or females, they were to hunker down and wait until they were told otherwise.

Trusted Lessers who served the White had been given the critical task of spreading the word. And despite all the years of preparation it had almost been too late. Half a dozen key messengers had been swept up in the massive drive to bring sacrifices to the Black Temple and were assumed to be lost. Another hundred or more Deathknights had died fighting the TeKarana’s palace guards. They had been given no choice, for any Deathknight found in the city after the call to muster was presumed to be of the White; all others were many miles away awaiting their orders to invade Kelewan. The only warriors in the city not the TeKarana’s men or Temple Deathknights were enemies.

Valko now drew his sword and ordered his men to be both cautious and silent. Pug marveled at the discipline shown by the Deathknights of the White, for caution and quiet were hardly hallmarks of the Dasati warrior.

A lever was tripped and a massive stone wall now slid sideways, revealing a gaping black tunnel leading upward. Valko moved forward and Pug found himself amazed once more by the acuity of Dasati vision and their lack of need for torches as long as there was the merest hint of light or heat.

They moved into the darkness.

Kaspar signaled to Servan, who turned his horse and rode as if a thousand devils were chasing him. He had his sword drawn, ready to fight if need be, but his mission was to carry a message to a sorely beleaguered Anasati command bearing the brunt of the Dasati assault. He got close enough to Lord Jeurin, to shout, “Now! My lord, now!”

The Tsurani noble had been barely seventeen years of age when word of his father’s death had reached him. Despite losing his father, along with the family’s First Advisor, Force Commander, and all senior leaders attending the High Council, he had shown a remarkable intelligence and resolve. He had stood ready to defend himself, but willed himself not to fight until
given permission. Now he had been told to put his soldiers in harm’s way, and to fight a delaying retreat, but no longer would he let his soldiers die protecting him. He saluted Servan, then shouted, “Withdraw in order! Withdraw!”

Servan saw him push forward, past retreating Anasati warriors, who were doing their best to delay hundreds of Dasati Deathknights while hundreds more pushed in from behind. The young ruler was afire with rage, venting the pent-up fury he had held in check since the death of his father. He leaped past one of his falling men to strike downward, hamstringing a Dasati Deathknight, who reached for him with an outstretched mail gauntlet, missing the young Tsurani warrior by mere inches. “Back!” shouted Jeurin. “Retreat slowly!”

Another Dasati Deathknight leaped forward, but the two Anasati warriors flanking Jeurin intercepted him. Individually, the Tsurani were no match for the Deathknights, but these soldiers had trained together for years, and they were protecting the life of their young ruling lord. One took a shield-shattering blow that drove him to his knees, but the other took advantage of a slight opening and drove his sword into the exposed area under the arm of the Deathknight’s armor. Orange blood spurted out in a fountain as he yanked loose his blade, and the three fell back another step.

The Deathknight tried to raise his sword arm, but couldn’t. The weapon fell from fingers unable to grip, and he went to his knees. One of the Tsurani warriors was about to step forward to deliver a killing blow, but Jeurin grabbed him by the armor at the back of his neck and yanked hard. “No!” he shouted. “Back! Fall back slowly!” Then to himself as much as the others, he said in wide-eyed wonder, “It’s working. The outworlder’s plan is working.”

On all sides, the Tsurani were pressing in, save the middle, where Jeurin was withdrawing. This forced the Dasati to press forward in a large circle, with those Deathknights caught in the middle unable to reach the Tsurani. Suddenly the majority of the Dasati were forced to watch helplessly as the surrounding Tsurani cut and hacked down every Deathknight before them. Now, if they pushed forward, all they achieved was to shove their own men into the waiting Tsurani line.

The most senior Deathknight in the center looked around, helpless, uncertain of his next move; an experience no Dasati had ever encountered before.

Alenburga watched all this in admiration. “That young man is worthy of any honor the Emperor wants to give him,” he said to Kaspar and Erik.

“They all are,” said Erik.

The Dasati were now forced together in an even tighter cluster, and Alenburga waited to see a break between those now surrounded by the Tsurani and those still streaming down the trail from the Black Mount. When a break occurred, he said, “Signal Miranda it is time!”

A Tsurani soldier standing nearby picked up a very tall post upon which a banner of bright green hung, and began waving it back and forth.

On a distant hill, Miranda saw the signal and shouted, “Now!”

As coordinated as court dancers, a dozen Great Ones of the Empire of Tsuranuanni rose up as if being carried by a giant invisible hand. Reaching down with their magic, they raised two additional magicians each, so that thirty-six of the most powerful magicians on this world floated high in the sky, giving them an unobstructed view of the gap between the river trail and the plains beyond the foothills. As she had expected, Miranda saw the lines of Dasati were broken, and those in the gap were slowing, waiting to see what was occurring in the battle less than half a mile ahead of them, while their commanders decided what to do next. She was no student of military tactics, but she had witnessed enough battles to realize that the Dasati were even worse than the Tsurani at coordinating large numbers of warriors. She was not certain exactly what Kaspar’s plan was in every detail, but she understood enough of it to realize it was working.

“Forward!” she cried, and signaled them to move on.

In formation, thirty-seven magic-users of enormous power swept down to a position high above the invading Dasati, and from there began to rain death on the invaders.

Jommy turned to Tad and Zane as Servan raced back from the battle to join them. “Look at that!” he shouted. In the distance,
above and behind the battle, was a great display of lights and energies, towers of flame and pillars of smoke rising up, almost blinding the onlookers.

Tad grinned at his companions. “Don’t get Miranda mad.”

“Come on,” said Zane, pointing to the command position. “We need to get back.”

The four youngsters, together for the first time in months, were enjoying their new role as leaders of men while still testing their capabilities. Jommy was by far the most confident, being the eldest and most experienced, but right now they were inexperienced youngsters being given a huge amount of responsibility.

The Tsurani command structure was in tatters, as every ruling lord save a handful had been obliterated by the Dasati raid on the High Council. Those left alive were in key positions around the Empire, but at this particular battle no seasoned veteran leader was present. Worse, most of the houses of the Empire had lost their First Advisors, Force Commanders, Force Leaders, and others in the dead lords’ retinues who would have been valuable assets in this struggle.

Now tens of thousands of Tsurani soldiers awaited commands from foreigners, relayed by other foreigners, to inexperienced leaders, aided by soldiers roughly of the rank of corporal or minor sergeant in Midkemian terms. The few Strike Leaders and Force Leaders who were still alive had been placed in critical positions and were desperately trying to coordinate those soldiers under their command.

“So far it seems to be working,” said Zane, pointing to where the Dasati were being drawn into a tighter group.

The four rode back to the command position, in time to hear General Alenburga shout, “Archers! Pick your targets!”

The word was relayed, and the Lashiki archers—the finest in the Empire—shot high into the air so that the arrows fell straight down into the middle of the Dasatis’ congested position. They were helpless to defend themselves against such an attack.

Jommy drew up his mount, jumped down, and tossed the reins to a lackey. Rushing to where the general staff was arrayed,
he saluted the officers and said, “Orders have been relayed, General. They await your signal.”

“Not yet,” said the crafty old soldier from Novindus.

Kaspar looked from Erik to Alenburga and saw in their expressions the same murderous satisfaction he felt at trapping a large force of Dasati and destroying them, without incurring worse casualties.

More and more arrows rained down on the center of the Dasati formation and Erik said, “I find it impossible to believe they don’t have shields.”

“I don’t begin to guess how these creatures think,” answered Alenburga. “All their swords look like hand-and-a-half. Maybe they’ve become so tradition-bound, variation isn’t encouraged, or even allowed.”

Kaspar said, “If the vision I had is real—and so far nothing shows me it wasn’t—they are a strange and twisted people who gave up innovation centuries ago.”

“Or maybe they just think they’re invincible?” suggested Erik.

In the distance they could see the flying magicians were continuously pounding away at the contained force of Dasati hemmed in along the river above the plain.

Kaspar’s laugh was a bitter sound. “Another hour of magic raining down from above and they’ll lose that vanity.”

“Perhaps,” said Alenburga, “but what I want to know is where are their Deathpriests and why aren’t they answering the magicians’ attack?”

Miranda was tiring but she was still energized by her chance to lash out at the enemy. Not since the war against the Emerald Queen’s army had she felt this outraged or so focused in her anger. Down there were those who had put her husband and her eldest son at risk, captured her and subjected her to insult and indignity; she was more than happy to be the architect of their chastisement.

But she found that focus was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing moment, as fatigue began to rob her of much-needed energy. She took a moment to glance first to one
side, then the other, and saw that some of her fellow magicians were also beginning to show signs of exhaustion.

Gathering as much energy as she could muster, Miranda cast down a huge ball of crimson energy. This served two purposes. Firstly, it was causing serious harm to a large number of Dasati now held up in the river pass, with their way downward stalled by the immobile forces in front of them, and their way back to the Black Mount jammed by those following behind. And secondly, it signaled to Alenburga that it was time to unleash the cavalry.

The massive red flash was also seen by the Lord of the Tolkadeska, a sixteen-year-old lad who had never been in a serious fight in his life, let alone a battle. He tried to keep his voice from breaking as he raised his sword and shouted, “Forward!”

A thousand horsemen hidden in an arroyo west of and just to the rear of where the Dasati line of march had been severed moved out in orderly fashion. The boy leading them might be without experience, but the riders of the four horses that followed him were not. They were veteran horsemen all. Horses had come to Kelewan during the Riftwar, Kingdom mounts taken as prizes. Kasumi of the Shinzawai had been the first noble to understand the value of cavalry and House Shinzawai had been the first to breed horses on Kelewan.

Like Kasumi, many Tsurani nobles quickly became mad for horses across the Empire, and in the decades since then, more horses had come through the rift from Midkemia via trading. Now the Tsurani prided themselves on having light cavalry the equal of any on Midkemia, including the legendary Ashunta horsemen of the Empire of Great Kesh.

Every rider was as anxious to answer this insult to their nation’s sovereignty as those on foot. They were eager to join the battle and drive out the invaders. As the first thousand moved out, two other companies took up position, ready to reinforce when ordered.

Young Lord Harumi of the Tolkadeska made a prayer to Chochocan, the Good God, asking not to shame his ancestors by failing in his mission. He raised his sword and shouted, “Charge!” and none of those nearby noticed that his voice broke.

Hooves slammed the soil like thousands of hammers at a forge, and the ground shook. Dasati Deathknights on their right flank felt the vibration before they could hear the sound because of the havoc raining down from above as the magicians in the air kept throwing every evil spell of destruction they could conjure at them.

The Tsurani cavalry slammed into the left flank of the Dasati, turning a slow retreat into a roiling mass of confusion. On foot each Dasati was the match of dozens of Tsurani, but when they were confronted by cavalry, the odds of their attackers were significantly improved. Dasati Deathknights were bowled over and sent flying into the mass of their own forces retreating up the trail. The fury of the onslaught drove dozens of Deathknights off the trail and down the steep embankment, landing many in the river, where they were pulled under by the weight of their armor.

Lord Harumi of the Tolkadeska lashed out with his sword and was easily blocked by an experienced Deathknight, who then quickly reached up and grabbed his leg, pulling him from the saddle. Slammed hard to the ground, the young ruler of his house didn’t have time to raise his sword in defense as the Deathknight drove the point of his sword through the traditional laminated hide armor of a Tsurani ruler, ending a line of Tolkadeska lords going back over a thousand years. Those around him took note that the boy brought no shame to his lineage, and when he died, his voice didn’t break.