Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (43 page)

But the Jivitans’ military brilliance was not the main reason they were superior to their enemies. The
One God
was their true general, providing them with the strength and courage to succeed against any foe. Without
Ekadeva
, their exploits would be meaningless. All victories were due to God, he who did not sleep.

So shall it be
.

LAYLAH CARED little about
Ekadeva
.

The bulk of her religious indoctrination had been formed during her brief time with the Ropakans and had clung to her for the rest of her life. The Great Spirit, the ruler of nature who reigned from the sky, was supreme in her world, but there were other gods representing animals, plants, rocks, and soil that also played important roles in the affairs of mortals.

As she and Torg approached Jivita, she pondered these thoughts and realized that she didn’t yet know much about Torg’s beliefs. But she didn’t care. It had to be something good, or he couldn’t have become who he was.

By the time they reached the wall encircling the city, tens of thousands greeted their squadron of three hundred. Some were mounted horsemen, some infantry, and some civilians who had chosen not to evacuate to the havens by the sea. But all were cheering as if the
One God
had come down from the sky for a personal visit. For the first time, Laylah gained a full appreciation of Torg’s stature among the free peoples of the world. She looked at Elu and saw that the Svakaran was also impressed.

“I guess it’s a good thing Rathburt isn’t here,” she yelled at Elu, trying to make a joke. “You know how angry
this
would make him.” She regretted the words even as she spoke them.

“Elu still wishes Rathburt was here. He misses him.”

“We have not seen the last of Rathburt,” Torg said. “Do not doubt it.”

Elu did not respond, as if he somehow knew differently.

The company rode in pairs through an open set of wide wooden gates, entering a grassy field much like the one they had left behind. Though the field was hundreds of hectares broad and long, Laylah could easily see the great expanse of the city spread out before her in the distance. Castles, cathedrals, and manses dotted the horizon as far as the eye could see, while immense clusters of buildings dominated the interior. In terms of area and opulence, it dwarfed even Avici, though no single structure rivaled Uccheda, her brother’s wretched tower.

As impressed as Laylah was with Jivita, the field directly in front of her was even more captivating. Spring wildflowers bloomed all around her, and a thousand horses—white as the clouds above—pranced delicately among the flowers, their alabaster coats every bit as beautiful as the petals. Some of the horses approached near enough for Laylah to see their eyes, which were as multicolored as the blooms. Laylah gasped with pleasure. Other than Torg’s face, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“We love our horses more than ourselves,” Julich said to her. “We believe they hold a more sacred position in heaven than we.”

“Seeing how graceful and beautiful they are, I can understand why.”

The captain seemed pleased. “There are many fields like this inside the wall. For every horseman, there are at least three steeds. Jivita has never been so strong. Every soldier, including infantry, has exquisite armor and weaponry. How can the druids—or even Mala himself—expect to defeat such might?”

“You have done well, as has Nissaya,” she heard Torg say. “Nonetheless, whatever victories you attain will be hard fought.”

“Only the
One God
can determine victory or defeat. Our strength is due to his grace. Even Invictus must bow to his will.”

“As you say,” Torg responded.

A wide gravel road meandered through the fields toward buildings beyond. They passed several manses with lawns as broad as pastures. Soldiers and civilians continued to greet them. Laylah noticed a group adorned in black, perhaps three dozen all told, sprinting toward them on foot with astounding speed and grace.

“Tugars come,” Julich said.

Beneath the palms of her hands, Laylah could feel Torg’s back muscles tense. The wizard urged their stallion into a canter. As they grew near, the Tugars began to shout.

“
Maranavidu
!
Maranavidu
! (Death-Knower! Death-Knower!),” they cried in unison, each drawing a curved sword that glittered in the bright sunlight. “
Nandaama te garukaatum
! (We rejoice in honoring you!)”

“Well met,
Kantaara Yodhas
! (Desert Warriors!)” Torg said. “
Nandaami te garukaatum
!”

Laylah watched with fascination as Torg dismounted and hurried to greet them. The Tugarian males were mirror images of Torg and the Asēkhas. But despite being tall and heavily muscled, they moved with stunning fluidity. Even the females among them were taller than any of the white horsemen.

Torg grasped forearms with a Tugar who appeared to hold special rank.

“How came you here, lord?” the warrior said. “The last we heard, Kusala and the Asēkhas had gone in search of you, but there has been no word from the chieftain, and we have not been in contact with our other sisters and brothers for several days. So we know little of the world outside the White City. To make matters worse, the eagles have quit making appearances, causing much grief. Even the pigeons seem hesitant to fly.”

“Kusala and the Asēkhas found me, but I was forced to take a different route than they. I journeyed through Dhutanga, while Kusala was to travel east of the mountains en route to Nissaya. If all is well, the Asēkhas are already at the fortress.”

“I see that you did not journey alone.”

“Seven were with me at one point, but only two remain,” Torg said, nodding toward Laylah and Elu. “For various reasons, I was separated from the rest. But these two must be treated with the highest honor. They have survived great perils, and each fought bravely. The lady, especially, is dear to my heart. Defend her above all else.”

“Thy will shall be done,” the warrior answered. “And what of the Tugars at Hadaya? More than five thousand are camped on its shores. Will you call them here?”

“Of this, I can say no more until I speak to Rajinii,” the wizard said. “Make it known that I have returned. War is at hand. The druid queen has birthed a mighty army. Jivita is in peril.”

The Tugar nodded, turned away, and trotted down the road, followed by the others.

Torg climbed back onto his horse and urged him forward. “To the queen,” he told Julich.

“As you command,” the captain responded. “But I would know the answer, as well. Will you call the rest of the Tugars here?”

“I cannot yet say.”

Meanwhile, Laylah leaned forward and spoke in Torg’s ear. “I am dear to your heart?”

“More so than all things.”

They rode on toward the palace of Queen Rajinii. Torg told Laylah that it had been constructed within sight of the bustling business district of Jivita, though there were still more than forty hectares of manicured lawn separating it from that massive tangle of stone and wood buildings. Most of the land on which Jivita stood was as flat as the surface of a pond, but a few low hills sprouted from the ground in various places. The palace stood upon one of those.

A moat, purely for show, surrounded the base of the hill. Several wide bridges spanned its indigo waters. Dozens of white marble fountains, arrayed between the spans, spewed foam high into the air. Laylah was especially impressed by a sculpture off to her right: a partially submerged chariot driven by a single rider and drawn by four horses poised on the water’s edge, as if in the process of rising from the depths. While most of the other fountains and statues were white, this one was made of gold. The complexity and perfection of its design were astounding.

During the ride to the palace, the squadron that had accompanied them since midmorning had declined in number, peeling off here and there to attend to other duties. Now just Captain Julich and a dozen horsemen remained with them. Before crossing the moat, they dismounted and marched over one of the bridges onto a paved walkway lined with tulip poplars. A battalion of guards carrying banners mounted on poles as tall as the trees met them. The guards wore white plate armor, mail skirts and flowing green cloaks. Suddenly Laylah felt like a servant girl.

As if sensing her discomfort, Torg took her hand.

Julich approached the guards and bowed. “I bring honored guests to greet the queen.”

The master of the guards also bowed. “Queen Rajinii is aware of King Torgon’s arrival. She will address you at the main entrance, but she commands that afterward, the wizard be brought to the Throne Room alone. Guest suites have been prepared for his companions.”

Torg started to protest, but Laylah squeezed his hand. “It’s all right, Torg. I’m not much in the mood for company anyway. What I’d love more than anything right now is a hot bath.”

Julich also looked perturbed, as if an insult had been issued that Laylah did not fully perceive. They continued on in silence, except for the clanking of armor and the snapping of iron shoes on the concrete pathway. As they approached the front entrance, Laylah looked up at the palace in amazement.

The five-story edifice—constructed with white limestone, sandstone, and marble—was only a tenth as tall as Uccheda, but it was several times broader at the base, containing more than nine hundred rooms. A pair of massive columns supporting a pointed arch framed the main arcade. Within the arcade were the two largest windows Laylah had ever seen—as tall as the poplars and filled with monochrome glass. Between the windows were the main doors, which were carved from rare white oak found only in the heart of Kincara, fifty leagues south of the city. While still Invictus’ prisoner, Laylah remembered reading about these very doors during one of her visits to his library.

“Do you like it?” Julich asked her.

“The palace is magnificent.”

“It was built by the queen after the death of her husband, King Avikheppa X,” Torg said.

“How long ago?”

“More than fifty years,” Torg said.

“Jivitans are not like Tugars,” Julich said. “Our life spans rarely exceed one hundred springs. But the queen is much older than that, and yet has retained her youthful beauty. There is magic in her veins. You will see for yourself. Like all true-blooded necromancers, her skin is white, but her hair is black.”

As they spoke, the doors swung open. Henchmen clad in white robes emerged, formed an aisle, and fell to their knees. Laylah could see a well-lighted foyer and beyond that a majestic staircase with a banister of green marble. Standing on the bottom stair was the queen.

She wore a belted, V-necked gown of white samite with silver speckles, its collar, hem, and cuffs trimmed with green velvet. She held a tall staff of white oak with a fist-sized square of jade on its head. Her black hair was unadorned, hanging freely past her waist, but she had donned a magnificent crown made of white ivory studded with emeralds. She was a tall woman, though not quite as tall as Laylah, and she moved with long-practiced grace. When she approached, Laylah saw that her gray eyes were as sparkly as the silver in her gown.

A woman who also had black hair accompanied the queen. The severe contrast of white against black caused Laylah to shudder. The woman reminded her of Urbana.

Everyone bowed, including Torg, though his was less pronounced.

The queen appraised Laylah with a glance, then focused her attention on Torg.