Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (15 page)

“If that’s all he’s worth, we might as well end his life now,” Tāseti said.

The soldier started to yelp, but Churikā clasped her hand over his mouth once again. Kusala waggled his finger.

“No
 . . .
no
 . . .
no.”

The soldier nodded. Again Churikā released him.

“There is something that could work
 . . .
maybe,” the soldier whispered hopefully.

“Name,” Kusala said.

“Name?”

“What is your name?”

“Ohhh, uh, Fabius
 . . .
sir.”

“You were saying, Fabius?”

“I was saying? Ohhh
 . . .
yes. It’s just a thought, mind you, but I
might
know a way you could sneak across. I heard some of the bosses talking earlier about a big bunch of wagons coming from Avici to help with the war. They were to be brought around north of Ti-ratana and stocked with supplies as they moved through the farmlands—and then taken to Nissaya to help feed our army when it arrives there. When the wagons cross the gap, they’ll be lightly guarded—you know, because they’re empty right now. You might be able to steal a ride. Could you sneak into the beds without being seen? Or maybe you’re strong enough to hang on underneath?” Kusala said nothing, intensifying the soldier’s discomfort. “Does that help at all?” More silent staring. “Are you going to kill me, anyway?”

Kusala’s face grew soft, as if he had been sincerely mollified. “Your idea has merit. We’ll consider it. But I have another question: What should we do with
you
?”

The soldier’s eyes brightened. “If you let me go, I promise I won’t say anything to anybody. I’ll wrap myself in my bedroll and go right to sleep.”

“You expect us to believe that? Do you take the Asēkhas for fools?”

“The
Asēkhas
? I
 . . .
I
 . . .
no, of course not. I meant no offense, SIR!”

“Shhhhhh
 . . .
lower
your voice.”

“Yes
 . . .
sir
.”

Kusala rested his hand on Fabius’ shoulder. “Do you doubt the honor of the Asēkhas?” he said sternly.

“Doubt it? Of course not. No one doubts it.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“No
 . . .
sir.”

“Do you remember my vow?”

“You said you wouldn’t kill me if I behaved. Which I
did.
I’m not lying about the wagons, neither.”

“An honorable man can sense honor in another. I want to believe you, Fabius, but it behooves me to be
cautious
.”

“Cautious? Does that mean you’re going to kill me?”

“No. A vow is a vow. This is what I’m going to do, for the sake of
caution
. While the rest of us go to find the wagons, Churikā will remain here with you
 . . .
just to ensure we get a good head start. At midnight she’ll let you go, but she’ll stay here and watch you enter the camp, just in case. If you betray us, she will hunt you down and kill you in the most painful manner she can devise, regardless of who tries to stop her. Do you doubt it?”

“No, sir. And I’ll stay quiet as a mouse, I promise. I
am
an honorable man, just like you.”

“Very well, Fabius. We’ll be going now. If you’re not ‘quiet as a mouse,’ Churikā will cut off your head. Do you think you can stop her?”

“I know I can’t,” the soldier whispered. “But she won’t have to. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

“From one honorable man to another, I hope you do.”

A LITTLE BEFORE midnight, the cloud cover thickened, and cool rain began to fall. The soldier shivered miserably in his underclothes. Churikā took mercy and motioned for Fabius to return to his camp.

“I’ll be watching from the darkness,” she said. “If you betray us, the first thing I’ll do is fillet your little cock with my dagger. Then I’ll jam my sword into the hole between your buttocks—and twist the blade.”

Fabius went pale. “Yes, sir
 . . .
er, ma’am
 . . .
er, mistress. I won’t say a word to nobody. All I want to do is curl up in my blanket. No one will ever know this happened.”

“Go, then.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now!”

“Thank you, mistress.”

Then he stumbled toward the nearest fire. Soon after, Churikā sprinted off—but not in the direction of Ti-ratana.

The moment Fabius entered the camp, he lost his honor and began to scream at anyone and everyone. “The Asēkas are here
 . . .
and the Tugars—a whole
army
of them. Someone save me. She’s going to cut off my cock!”

Meanwhile, the rain began to fall harder, causing the bonfires to hiss and crackle. Soon, it became a downpour. Internally the bonfires remained blazing hot, but externally they were temporarily extinguished, causing them to exude enormous amounts of smoke. Wolves bearing Mogol warriors were sent east to hunt down the invaders, along with several hundred hastily gathered soldiers. A dozen more wolves and riders went off in the direction that the Asēkha assassin was said to be lurking. But Kusala and the other Asēkhas, who had paid little heed to Fabius’ earlier suggestion, had moved half a league to the west and were watching the delirium while lying on their chests in the short grass.

The Asēkhas watched and waited—for just the right moment. When the downpour intensified yet another notch, Kusala leapt up and ran toward the western flank of the camp.

“
Paharati ca Evati
! (Kill and flee!)” he shouted. The Asēkhas raced forward like a herd of snarling beasts armed with razor-sharp claws. Golden soldiers fell, along with Mogols, wolves, vampires, and ghouls. Kusala and the Asēkhas entered
frenzy
, and they were not to be denied.

By the time the storm ended, several hundred of the enemy lay dead or maimed.

The Asēkhas, meanwhile, had accomplished their goal. They had crossed the gap.

THOUGH KUSALA had never had any intention of following the soldier’s
suggestion
, it did plant a seed in his methodical mind. If indeed there were a line of wagons headed southward along Ti-ratana’s shore, it would be wise to disrupt it. Kusala believed Torg would have agreed, if he were with them. His king rarely passed up an opportunity to befuddle the enemy.

“But you said you wanted to reach Nissaya in
fewer
than ten days,” Tāseti argued after being told of Kusala’s plan. “Now you want to add more to our duties?”

“We’re very close to Ti-ratana already, a couple of leagues at most,” Kusala countered. “I simply want to go to the shore and see what we see. If there are no signs of wagons, we’ll continue southward. But if they do exist, and we can disrupt their passage, we’ll reduce Mala’s supply line. It’s a temptation I can’t resist.”

Churikā, whose youthful boldness seemed to have no bounds, spoke next. “It appears our ruse fooled the enemy. But it could end up working against us. Many of them had already marched off—in the direction of Ti-ratana—before we assailed what remained of their camp. If they reach the wagons before we do, they will no longer be lightly guarded.”

She reminds me so much of Sōbhana
. “If that’s the case, we won’t reveal ourselves,” Kusala said. “Torg made it clear that he wanted all of the Asēkhas to stay alive. That is my intention, as well. But I’ll allow no further discussion on this matter. Let us make our way to the lake. Dawn approaches, and I would prefer to arrive while a little darkness yet remains.”

Kusala and the Asēkhas trotted into the lightly forested area between the eastern foothills of the Mahaggatas and the western coast of Ti-ratana. Eventually they passed into the open field of a lakeside farm that its human inhabitants appeared to have abandoned. Spinach, carrots, and corn had already been planted, and even this early in the spring, some of the spinach was ready to harvest. In the distance they could hear the bleating of goats and the yapping of cattle dogs. Something stirred these creatures, but the desert warriors were too far away to determine what it might be.

As they neared the lake, the field dipped sharply downward, revealing Ti-ratana’s glittering surface. A pair of fifty-oared galleys was anchored offshore, and several kabangs roped to a half-dozen dinghies had been dragged onto the sandy bank. Just a few paces from the water’s edge, an angry interrogation was taking place in the light of a blazing fire. The Asēkhas crouched in the darkness, gauging the situation. Soon after, they moved in close enough to hear what was happening.

A tiny man—entirely naked—was being harshly questioned by what appeared to be a high-ranking golden soldier and a ship captain probably in the soldier’s employ. A dozen other tiny people, two of whom were cradling whimpering infants, were roped at their ankles, Mogol-style, off to the side. They looked nervous, but not cowed.

“Where did she say she was going?” the soldier shouted at the prisoner.

“I tell you before,” the little man responded, “she say nothing to Moken. She and man who look like you fly away on
baby dragon.
Moken and his people see them no more.”

The Mogol reached down and slapped Moken hard on the face.

“If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll kill all of you,” the soldier said. “But the children will die first—and it won’t be quick or quiet. I’ll ask you one last time, where did she say she was . . .”

“. . . goiiiiing” came out of his mouth as his head separated from his shoulders and tumbled into the fire, still wearing an expression of disbelief. The Mogol was the next to lose his head, and the thirty or so other captors died, silently, within the next few moments. After being freed of their bindings, the boat people bowed at the feet of the Asēkhas.

“Rise, there is no need for deference,” Kusala said. “Your enemies are our enemies.” Then he pointed at the galleys anchored offshore. “Do you know how many of our enemy remain aboard?”

“At least thirty on each boat, and one hundred other big people who are their slaves. They somehow find us in darkness. Moken surprised.”

“What did the soldier want to know?”

“Golden-haired lady and golden-haired man were with us. The bad man wanted to know where they go. But Moken does not know.”

“Very well. Rest assured that those who remain on the ships will soon be removed from their posts. Where you go from here is your business. We’ll take one of the galleys. You may have the other.”

“Moken grateful, but big oars too heavy,” the little man said. “My people just want to return to our kabangs and be left alone.”

As the first sliver of sun peeked over the lake’s horizon, a team of Asēkhas boarded each galley. Most of the crew surrendered without a fight, knowing the futility of facing the most supreme of desert warriors in battle. The few who did resist were quickly dispatched, taken ashore, and thrown into the fire. The air stank of burning flesh.

The slaves onboard were composed mostly of men and women kidnapped from villages along the shores of Ti-ratana and the banks of the Ogha, but there also were several Mahaggatan natives, including a female Bhasuran who had been forced to serve as a cook.

Kusala and Tāseti interrogated the captain of the second vessel. After surrendering faster than anyone else, he claimed to have found Moken and his people more by luck than design, though he and the others had been searching for almost two weeks.

“The day after the sun went funny, we were sent out,” he said, obviously trying to please Kusala any way he could. “It was big stuff straight from the tower. Somehow the dracools figured out that the boat people knew things about the king’s sister, though how the little lake rats would know anything about her is beyond me. But when it comes to the tower, you do what you’re told and don’t ask questions.”

“If you call my friends ‘little lake rats’ again, I will hack off both your legs just beneath your scrawny butt,” Kusala said. “After that, you’ll get to feel what it’s like to be little.”