Podhana said. “But without guard.”
“Come,” Tew said to her, “we’ll face whatever it is together.”
Around a bend, they came to the end of the passageway. A pair of huge bronze doors—undamaged by fist or sorcery—stood slightly ajar before them. Golden light poured from within. Podhana found that even he had no desire to discover what lay beyond.
But he was Asēkha. Retreat was not an option.
Podhana opened one door, Rati the other. Inside was a room like neither had seen before. Large flasks, bottles, and tubes—all made of thin glass—were arranged haphazardly on the mottled surfaces of long metal tables. Within these translucent containers, water boiled, acids hissed, and horrid blobs of flesh swam in the viscous marinades. Much of the glass had been broken and its contents dumped, as if the room recently had been the scene of a wicked struggle. The floor was slick and disgusting. Dhītar leaned over and vomited.
“There is no shame,” one of the Asēkhas said to her.
“Thank you,” she rasped and then vomited again.
Now the groaning sounds were even louder, and they came from somewhere deep within the chamber—beyond the tables, bottles, and saturated flesh. Even Podhana felt afraid.
He and his companions stumbled upon the snow giants almost unexpectedly. There were three, including Deva, sitting on the cold floor and positioned like the vertices of a triangle. Their heads were lowered, their arms interlaced upon each other’s shoulders. Each of the titanic beings was sobbing.
Podhana moved toward the three great creatures, sheathing his uttara out of respect as much as fear. If the snow giants noticed his approach, they did not show it.
“Deva?” Podhana said in almost a whisper. And then louder: “Deva?”
Deva the Wanderer, who had once been Mala, tilted his head slightly upward. His eyes, swollen and bloodshot, focused on the Asēkha chieftain. “You . . . should . . . leave.”
Podhana took another step—and then stopped. “I will not.”
A snow giant, slightly smaller than Deva, lifted his head. “ Tvam na icchito . (You are not wanted.)”
And the third, a female, said, “ Tvam siyā hato . (You might be harmed.)”
“I will not leave,” Podhana repeated.
And then another voice rose, from behind him. But this one filled Podhana’s heart with hope. “Step aside, chieftain. I love you much, but this is beyond you.”
Podhana turned . . . ever so slowly.
From the darkness, The Torgon approached. With him came his lady. And beside her, the Faerie named Jord, her green eyes aglow.
10
BACK IN THE Tent City called Anna, the dissipation of the great darkness was greeted with joy.
“ Obhāso punāgato, mangalo ca tatto . (Light has returned, blessed and warm),” Aya said in the ancient tongue. “ Anumodeyyāma tathārūpam pābhatam . (We should not discount such a gift.)”
“ Kim no kareyyāsi kātum ? (What would you have us do?)” the Tugars said in unison. Aya was pleased to see that even Nimm and Ura had joined in the chanting.
“The sorcerer is no longer,” Aya said. “And The Torgon still lives, or so we believe. When our people return from the wars, there will be more reason for celebration. Though our numbers are small, we have little to fear. Let us put forth all our efforts in returning Anna to its former glory. When our king arrives . . . and our queen . . . I wish to be prepared.”
“Ema! Ema!”
And so, the Tent City was made ready for the return of its king.
11
WHEN THE DARKNESS went away, Jivita surged back to life. Navarese returned to his former self, giving orders to everyone within hearing distance, but there was gentleness in his demeanor that had not been there before. The general met often with Archbishop Bernard, and the pair was seen walking together in the fields. Vikkama found this as amazing as anything she had witnessed since Torg’s encounter with Mala in Dibbu-Loka the previous summer.
Now that Invictus
“Come,” Tew said to her, “we’ll face whatever it is together.”
Around a bend, they came to the end of the passageway. A pair of huge bronze doors—undamaged by fist or sorcery—stood slightly ajar before them. Golden light poured from within. Podhana found that even he had no desire to discover what lay beyond.
But he was Asēkha. Retreat was not an option.
Podhana opened one door, Rati the other. Inside was a room like neither had seen before. Large flasks, bottles, and tubes—all made of thin glass—were arranged haphazardly on the mottled surfaces of long metal tables. Within these translucent containers, water boiled, acids hissed, and horrid blobs of flesh swam in the viscous marinades. Much of the glass had been broken and its contents dumped, as if the room recently had been the scene of a wicked struggle. The floor was slick and disgusting. Dhītar leaned over and vomited.
“There is no shame,” one of the Asēkhas said to her.
“Thank you,” she rasped and then vomited again.
Now the groaning sounds were even louder, and they came from somewhere deep within the chamber—beyond the tables, bottles, and saturated flesh. Even Podhana felt afraid.
He and his companions stumbled upon the snow giants almost unexpectedly. There were three, including Deva, sitting on the cold floor and positioned like the vertices of a triangle. Their heads were lowered, their arms interlaced upon each other’s shoulders. Each of the titanic beings was sobbing.
Podhana moved toward the three great creatures, sheathing his uttara out of respect as much as fear. If the snow giants noticed his approach, they did not show it.
“Deva?” Podhana said in almost a whisper. And then louder: “Deva?”
Deva the Wanderer, who had once been Mala, tilted his head slightly upward. His eyes, swollen and bloodshot, focused on the Asēkha chieftain. “You . . . should . . . leave.”
Podhana took another step—and then stopped. “I will not.”
A snow giant, slightly smaller than Deva, lifted his head. “ Tvam na icchito . (You are not wanted.)”
And the third, a female, said, “ Tvam siyā hato . (You might be harmed.)”
“I will not leave,” Podhana repeated.
And then another voice rose, from behind him. But this one filled Podhana’s heart with hope. “Step aside, chieftain. I love you much, but this is beyond you.”
Podhana turned . . . ever so slowly.
From the darkness, The Torgon approached. With him came his lady. And beside her, the Faerie named Jord, her green eyes aglow.
10
BACK IN THE Tent City called Anna, the dissipation of the great darkness was greeted with joy.
“ Obhāso punāgato, mangalo ca tatto . (Light has returned, blessed and warm),” Aya said in the ancient tongue. “ Anumodeyyāma tathārūpam pābhatam . (We should not discount such a gift.)”
“ Kim no kareyyāsi kātum ? (What would you have us do?)” the Tugars said in unison. Aya was pleased to see that even Nimm and Ura had joined in the chanting.
“The sorcerer is no longer,” Aya said. “And The Torgon still lives, or so we believe. When our people return from the wars, there will be more reason for celebration. Though our numbers are small, we have little to fear. Let us put forth all our efforts in returning Anna to its former glory. When our king arrives . . . and our queen . . . I wish to be prepared.”
“Ema! Ema!”
And so, the Tent City was made ready for the return of its king.
11
WHEN THE DARKNESS went away, Jivita surged back to life. Navarese returned to his former self, giving orders to everyone within hearing distance, but there was gentleness in his demeanor that had not been there before. The general met often with Archbishop Bernard, and the pair was seen walking together in the fields. Vikkama found this as amazing as anything she had witnessed since Torg’s encounter with Mala in Dibbu-Loka the previous summer.
Now that Invictus
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