4
The Feathered Serpent
Khama missed the days when he was a simple herder of goats. For twenty years he had enjoyed that blissful existence on the yellow plains west of the Pearl City. During that time he had been only a Man, with a loving wife who bore him four perfect children. He missed the sweet winds playing over the tall grass, the bleating of his docile herd as he led them to water, and the serenity of the open sky. He missed Emi’s brown face and soft lips, the laughter of his children and their warm hugs.
Goats were so much easier to guide than Men.
He might have lived in domestic bliss on his tiny farm for decades more, might have forgotten his ancient past completely, if the two hawks had not come south from the Land of Giants. One of the hawks was Iardu the Shaper, the other his disciple–daughter of the dead Giant-King. It was Iardu’s prismatic eyes that made Khama recall the truth he had hidden from himself. Iardu’s soft voice woke him from the dream of tranquility he had woven so carefully about his family.
All dreams must end eventually, as all dreamers must awaken.
Khama stood upon the forecastle of the Bird of War, wrapped in a fluttering cloak of scarlet feathers. The calls of sailors and soldiers mingled with the songs of low-flying seabirds. A powerful wind filled the white sails of four hundred Mumbazan swanships, a wind Khama had summoned himself and kept steady for three days. Three hundred Yaskathan galleys glided among the swanships, the silver Sword and Tree insignia bright upon their crimson sails. Nearly two hundred black-sailed reavers, newly pledged to the Slave King of Khyrei, served as rearguard for the southern fleets.
Soon the emerald hills of the Jade Isles would dot the eastern horizon. Khama hoped the combined fleet was not too late. The Hordes of Zyung approached the island chain even now from the far east. If the Jade King were a wise man, he would surrender to Zyung immediately and accept the yoke of his rule. By doing so, he would save thousands of lives. His island folk, never a warlike race, might prefer slavery to slaughter. They were more like goats in that way than the people of Mumbaza or Yaskatha. However, the Jade King would have little choice in the matter if Undutu and D’zan reached his court before Zyung. They would persuade him through mighty orations, chests of gold, and implied threats if necessary, to join his small fleet with their own. Khama sighed and breathed deeply of the marine air, dreading the battle that would ensue.
Since that day eight years ago when Iardu had caused Khama to remember his own history, the herdsman had given up his agrarian life for a palatial estate near the palace of Undutu. There his family dwelled in luxury and privilege. All save Kuchka, his oldest son, who had attended the College of Sages before joining the cavalry legions of Undutu. Khama was thankful that his warrior-sage son had not joined the royal navy, or he would be on one of these ships right now, and sailing toward a grim fate.
In the past eight years Undutu the Boy-King had grown into a strapping young man, a brash lion eager to prove himself by cutting down foes and winning glory. Two years ago his mother’s regency had come to an end as Undutu reached his seventeenth year. On that same day Khama’s position was elevated from Chief Advisor to Prime Vizier. Undutu had needed his advice more than ever as his mother’s fading health kept her from the throne room. The voices of generals and diplomats filled the young King’s ears constantly, but always he came back to Khama when making important decisions. Undutu had never known his father, a victim of the plague while Undutu was yet an infant, so he came to view Khama in a paternal light. Khama, too, saw the King as more than his liege. At times Undutu seemed more like Khama’s son than the fiercely independent Kuchka. The King of Mumbaza was often called Son of the Feathered Serpent, but only Khama knew the irony of that honorific.
Tuka and Bota were both well into their teenage years now, strong boys showing much promise. And little Isha, Khama’s only daughter, was twelve. All three spent most of their time with tutors, or in the company of other highborn children. Khama wished he knew them better, as well as he had come to know Undutu.
Undutu’s tutors had filled the young King’s head with stories from the Age of Heroes, legends from the Age of Walking Gods. The King’s martial instructors, General Tsoti chief among them, had honed his gift for swordplay, spearcraft, and war strategy to the point of obsession. This had begun well before Khama had come to court. For years now he had persuaded Undutu to avoid the call to war; the Sword King of Uurz made ceaseless overtures to the King on the Cliffs. Each year it had become more difficult to sway the young lion with the wisdom of peace. When the King of Yaskatha at last joined the Sword King’s crusade to conquer Khyrei, Undutu had gone deaf to Khama’s words. There would be war, and Khyrei would finally pay for its long list of crimes.
Yet the Slave King had arisen before the Legions of Uurz and Udurum had arrived. There was no longer any need to assault the black city, for Gammir the Reborn and Ianthe the Claw were vanquished at the hands of Sharadza Vodsdaughter and an army of vengeful slaves. Word of the aborted siege had reached Khama before the southern navies reached the shores of Khyrei. But Khama remained skeptical until Undutu’s flagship had docked at the Khyrein harbor; then he saw that Iardu the Shaper had been behind the entire affair.
Iardu had awakened Khama to the reality of his own past years ago. And now he had called together the Kings of the Five Cities and awakened them to the reality of what was to come. He showed them Zyung the God-King, Lord of the Living Empire, and his hordes of Manslayers. After three thousand years, Zyung’s mighty hand was finally reaching across the world. A great invasion was coming. It wasn’t until he saw Iardu’s vision that Khama realized how inevitable this war had become. Long ago Khama and Iardu had led their peoples to a land where the Living Empire had no foothold. Khama had fostered Mumbaza, a kingdom based on peace and freedom; he had worked hard to maintain its peace and advised every King of the Pearl City’s lineage. Yet all of it was about to end, unless the Hordes of Zyung were repelled.
Undutu would get his chance to be a hero.
The Son of the Feathered Serpent would not sit idle and await invasion. As any hero from the sagas would do, Undutu must sail his fleet to meet the invaders on the open sea, carry the fight to the aggressors. King D’zan agreed, despite the Shaper’s disapproval. Iardu’s manipulations had come to an end; he could no longer trick the assembled Kings into following his advice. So the fleets had sailed eastward, and Tong the Avenger had contributed his own navy to the armada. The Khyreins were only too glad to avoid persecution by pledging themselves to the Slave King and his allies. The two hundred black warships with their devil-head prows had been scourges of the Golden Sea when Ianthe and Gammir had ruled. Now they would serve well in the coming battle, if only as fodder for Zyung’s dreadnoughts.
This would not only be a battle of Men and metal, flesh and blood. A second battle would determine the true course of events. A battle of sorcery. Khama contemplated the immense sky-ships that carried Zyung’s legions and the flocks of flying lizards that supplemented their numbers. Soon he must begin to weave spells for his King and the double fleet. For now, he stood at the prow of the flagship and watched the fleets slicing through the waves.
Undutu approached from midship. Sunlight glinted on his peaked silver helm, its white ostrich feather dancing in the wind. The King’s dark, muscular arms were bare except for the golden cobra torques wound about his biceps. A vest of pearly scale mail covered his broad chest and midriff. His cloak was whiter than the ship’s sail, and the golden insignia of the Feathered Serpent was stitched upon it.
“What do you see, Khama?” asked the young lion. His right hand lingered on the golden pommel of the cutlass at his belt.
“I see blood,” Khama said. “The Golden Sea stained to crimson. The Jade Isles flaming and littered with corpses. Drowning men and crying mothers.”
Undutu frowned. “I thought you were behind me in this war.”
“I am,” said Khama. “What I see is the truth of war, the reality to which heroes, soldiers, and even Kings, are often blind until it is too late.”
“Ah,” said Undutu. “So it is the future you see. Like Iardu’s golden cloud. Tell me you see a victory for us.”
The wind tore at the feathers in Khama’s headdress. He turned to face the King. In the bright eyes, broad cheeks, and handsome smile he saw the face of Kuchka flash for a moment.
“I cannot do this,” said Khama. “Yet I can tell you that there are many futures, as there are many roads a man may travel to reach his destination. He may find each of these several roads, but ultimately he must choose only one.”
“And how does a man know he has chosen the right path?”
Khama shrugged. “He discovers this when he reaches his destination.”
Undutu laughed at the wind. “I ask for sorcery and you give me philosophy.”
“I will give you more than that, Majesty,” said Khama. “I will give you hurricanes to cast at these sky-ships. I will give you knowledge and power and wisdom. I will give you the Feathered Serpent in all his glorious fury.”
Undutu clapped him on the back. “I know you will, my friend. Look at this armada. The warships of three nations joined together. Soon to be four! There has never been anything like this assembly in all of history.”
Now it was Khama’s turn to frown. “Not in your history, Majesty. Yet there are many lands ancient and powerful that lie beyond your own. The Land of the Five Cities is a tiny thing compared to the Living Empire of Zyung, whose history goes back ten thousand years.”
Undutu leaned against the railing. The ship’s figurehead, a great swan head with a curved neck, loomed above him. “Tell me of this history,” said the King. “Tsoti tells me it is wise to know one’s enemy.”
Khama smiled. “Nearly three thousand years ago, long before I had taken the shape of a Man, I guided Ywatha the First across the Cryptic Sea to the wild land he would name Mumbaza.”
“My venerable ancestor,” smiled Undutu. “Every boy knows this story.”
“Yet have you ever wondered where the First Son of the Feathered Serpent and his people came from?”
Undutu’s brow knotted. “The Ancient Land… a place of curses and monsters.”
Khama smirked. “So grandmothers tell their children. Yet the truth is this: A great continent lies beyond the Cryptic Sea, and also beyond the Golden Sea, for as you’ve learned our world is a sphere. Like a golden ring, it doubles back upon itself until the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. This great continent is many times the size of our own. Entire seas are found within its borders. This is the land where Zyung built his empire, and now it bears his name.
“Ages ago the God-King began the campaign of conquest that would build this empire. He knew it would take thousands of years to subdue all the realms of the great continent, but being an immortal, this did not concern him. He gathered together those of the Old Breed who would take up his cause and began to topple the capitals of minor kingdoms. With each kingdom that fell to him, he gathered more power, more legions, and more fuel to feed the fires of his great dream.”
“What was this dream?” asked Undutu.
“The same as it is now,” said Khama. “To remake the world in his image. To remove free will and conflict and individual thought and replace it with his vision of perfect unity. To rid this world of all those who would oppose him and create an empire of slaves living as one beneath his tread. There would be only one King and one God for the world. Zyung would be both. In the name of peace and order he slaughtered millions. His empire grew slowly, but it crept like a disease across the great continent.
“Your own ancestors, the People of Ywatha, lived free and wild on a great plain called Orbusa. A land of wild oxen and crystal streams, silver grasses and fertile soil. They built no cities, erected no walls, kept no armies, for they had no enemies. Until the legions of Zyung came and razed the villages, cast down their wooden idols, and enslaved the proud tribes of Orbusa. I had lived among these tribes for generations. They had built a temple for me from the holy wood of the sacred ahbroa trees. They worshipped the Feathered Serpent as their deity, though the wisest among them knew that I was not truly a God. Yet I was their protector.
“One of the Old Breed had come to me a century earlier, urging me to quit the silver plain and take my people across the ocean. He led his own tribe of refugees, survivors of Zyung’s early conquests, and promised a new land across the waves where the God-King’s legions could not reach. I should have listened then, but it was a century later when the Manslayers of Zyung reached Orbusa. Only then, watching my people cut down and their fields set to the torch… only when the conquerors burned my beautiful temple and forced me to wrath… only then did I hear the wisdom in what Iardu the Shaper had said to me. More of Zyung’s legions would arrive to replace the ones my power had annihilated. I had no wish for further slaughter. I only wanted to protect those I loved. An exodus was the only answer.
“I gathered together the surviving tribes of Orbusa and ordained Ywatha as their King. We marched toward the shores of the Cryptic Sea. Many were the hardships and sufferings of the Orbusans as they migrated. Once we came to the edge of the great continent, we built ships from the wood of an ancient forest. For long months that tiny fleet endured the waves and the storms. Many were lost to the ocean’s wild hunger.
“I flew ahead of the ships and found the lesser continent that Iardu the Shaper had promised. His people had fanned out across this new land, yet none had claimed the golden lands beyond the Pearl Cliffs. There I advised Ywatha to build his new capital, and there his son Ybondu was crowned as the Second King. Before Ywatha died, content that his life had been most fruitful, he named this new land Mumbaza.
“I served Ybondu and his people as I had served their ancestors. I aided them through early wars and kept them safe from plagues and famines. I tried my best to secure peace for them. Before the Usurper Elhathym returned to Yaskatha eight years ago, Mumbaza had enjoyed a hundred years of unbroken peace. Nor was this the first era to be blessed with the absence of war.”
Khama sighed. “Yet always war returns, as our tiny world spins among the stars. Perhaps it is an inevitable part of what we are. You, me, the Old Breed, all of us slaves to unknown forces that drive the universe. Now Zyung rules the entirety of the great continent, and he reaches across the Golden Sea for the Land of the Five Cities. Now we must go to war again, or choose to be slaves.”
Khama had almost forgotten all of this during his two decades as a goatherd. Taking the form and life of a simple man, he had almost become that man. Part of him was glad that Iardu had shaken him from the peaceful dream, while another part resented the Shaper for robbing him of a few more years of bliss. Yet Khama could never abandon the people of Mumbaza. He loved them deeply, and they were all his family. He could no longer hide them from the blazing eyes of Zyung. Now they must stand and fight. They would live as a free nation, or die as a legend of freedom. Khama would die with them if he must. He would not give himself to the sway of the God-King’s power. Not in the past, and not now.
I will never serve him. Better to face annihilation.
Iardu must feel the same way.
Khama wondered if the Shaper would truly find others of the Old Breed to stand and oppose Zyung’s invasion. How many of the Dreaming Ones could be awakened? How many of them would make a difference in the face of ultimate power? How many of them even still existed as entities separate from the living world itself?
Khama had no answers to these questions, so he refocused his thoughts on the battle to come. The first strike in the final war for freedom. Many of these ships would perish, and thousands of Men would die. Yet the Feathered Serpent would do what he could to protect the dream of his beloved Mumbaza.
Undutu’s face was grim. He stared at the blue waters rushing past the prow of his flagship. The Bird of War and D’zan’s Kingspear led the triple fleet.
“Zyung was once of the Old Breed?” asked the young lion.
“He was the greatest of us all,” said Khama. “Also the cruelest.”
Undutu swallowed. Perhaps he regretted rushing toward the invaders so readily. Yet it was too late now. The King could not change his course.
Undutu waved his hand toward the horizon. “Bah! This tyrant is only another sorcerer. Let the people of his great continent crawl before him like insects. We will face him and die like Men. We will tear his ships from the sky and make his Manslayers scream like weeping children. He may destroy us, Khama, but he will remember us.”
Khama grabbed the young lion by his shoulder. He smiled.
“Do not forget that Iardu stands with us,” he told the King. “Even now he travels with the Vodsdaughter to enlist more sorcerers. Together we will stand against Zyung as none have ever dared to stand. Remember too that nothing ever truly ends. Life and death are twin illusions.”
“And honor?”
“Honor is what defines us.”
Undutu nodded. His own honor would lead him to victory or death; he was prepared for either. A surge of pride swelled in Khama’s chest. Here was a King who truly deserved to be called Son of the Feathered Serpent.
Wake them, Iardu. Wake them all, as you awakened me.
Through our sacrifice you will have the time you need.
The nine black hawks of Iardu’s creation were dispatched on the day of the triple fleet’s launch. Eight of them ranged far and wide across the Golden Sea, searching for signs of the God-King’s airborne forces. After three days only the ninth hawk returned, the one sent as messenger to the Jade Isles.
The bird dropped out of a bloody sunset to perch on the forward railing. Sailors sent word to Undutu’s cabin that his envoy had returned. Khama came up with him to speak with the hawk that was a Man. He did not like the choice of form the Shaper had chosen.
Hawks always bring trouble.
If his own sorcery could weave and warp others’ flesh the way Iardu’s could, Khama would have changed the soldiers into seabirds. Yet the Feathered Serpent’s magic was confined mainly to his own person and the realms of wind, storm, sun, and cloud. Iardu had called him a Creature of the Air. Once there were others like Khama, but they were lost in the rushing depths of time.
The black hawk bowed its head and screeched a welcome as the King and his Vizier drew near. It spoke in a human voice, barely a whisper but easily understood. Onyx eyes focused on Undutu.
“Majesty, I bring word from the court of Ongthaia,” said the transformed one, using the true name of the island kingdom. Only in the Five Cities was Ongthaia referred to as the Jade Isles.
“Speak, last of my hawks,” said Undutu. Khama steadied himself for dreadful news.
“An emissary of Zyung has arrived at the Jade King’s palace,” croaked the bird. “Robed all in silver, he stands at the King’s side as an honored guest. He offers the Jade King a choice: Surrender to Zyung or face death.”
Khama looked at Undutu. The young lion’s jaw was firm-set.
“What was the Jade King’s answer?” asked Undutu.
“I know not, Majesty,” said the hawk. “The foreign emissary is a sorcerer. He knew me for no natural bird and caught me with his bare hands. I feared he would snap my neck, but instead he gave me a message for you.” The false hawk screeched again, as if it would rather take to the sky than deliver the words of the enemy’s herald.
“Well? What is the message?” asked Undutu. He was angry. The young lion was too quick to anger these days. As a young boy he did not have this weakness. It was the weight of full Kinghood that had changed boy to man and set fire to his temper.
The hawk fluttered its wings. “Turn your ships about,” it said. “Return to your Five Cities and prepare for the blessed peace of Zyung to fall upon you like the summer rain. There will be no further warning. So the emissary spoke, Majesty.” The hawk turned its glimmering eyes toward the clouds.
Undutu stood silent for a moment, then raised his head and laughed into the wind. “This servant of Zyung does not understand us, Khama. We must educate him.”
Khama nodded. We will all learn a lesson that only spilled blood can teach.
“Your work is done,” Undutu told the hawk. “Rest now and eat well. Soon we reach the isles and soon after we meet our enemies.”
The hawk’s feathers began to fall out as its form lengthened, swirled like dark smoke, and took once more its true shape. The dusky-skinned soldier, freed now from Iardu’s spell, sank to one knee before Undutu then trundled off to find clothing, armor, and weapons. Khama supposed the man was glad to be back to his true self, even on the eve of war and death.
“We must deal with this emissary,” said Undutu.
“He may have already persuaded the Jade King to turn against us,” said Khama.
Undutu stared into the darkening horizon. “We shall have to be more persuasive.”
Khama bowed and took himself below decks to find his rest. Tomorrow the fleets would arrive at Ongthaia, and there would be little time left for sleeping. Unless death itself could be counted as slumber. Of that unwelcome sleep he was sure there would be no lack.
Ongthaia was a chain of thirteen islands, each one larger than the last. Six of them possessed wide harbors where ships from the Five Cities and the Southern Isles came to trade mainland goods for green stone, yellow spices, woven silks, and black plum wines. Villages of thatched dome huts sprouted thick as palm trees on every island, but the only proper towns were found on the harbor isles. The kingdom’s capital city, Morovanga, rose from the shoulders of a dormant volcano on the largest isle. Its double walls were of black basalt, but the towers that stood within were built all of sparkling jade. The greatest of those spires rose from the Jade Palace, where King Zharua sat upon a throne made of that same far-famed stone.
The harbors were full of ships from the mainland, all identifiable by the colors of sails and standards flying from prow and mast, yet Khama saw no sign of invaders’ ships. No looming dreadnought floating in the clouds above the green palace. He wondered how the emissary of Zyung had come to Ongthaia. Perhaps he flew under his own power. He might even be one of the Old Breed. Khama could remember few of their names after so many ages.
The royal harbor of Morovanga was crowded with vessels, mostly Jade Isle traders. The Bird of War and the Kingspear had entered the harbor with an escort of six ships. The rest of the triple fleet assembled itself in a crescent that enclosed the western side of the great island. Ongthaia kept no warships among its own fleet. The Jade Folk traded peaceably with every country–even Khyrei during Ianthe’s rule–therefore they had no need of armies or galleons of war. However, their traders were big and sleek, with massive hulls that could hold half a legion if required. In previous ages those holds had carried slaves, and the Jade Isles had built their early reputation in that unwholesome trade.
Some recent ancestor of Zharua’s had received a message from the Sea God that slave-trading was an unholy practice, so that noble monarch outlawed it forevermore. Khama believed there must still be an illegal black market for slaves here. The Jade Folk still kept slaves for themselves, but they no longer bought or sold them with outsiders. On these islands slaves were simply the lowest form of social class. The poorest of the poor were born into it, yet any of them could gain freedom through years of hard work and loyalty.
Khama wondered how many slaves staffed the great Jade Palace as he walked through its gates in the company of Undutu and D’zan. A company of Mumbazans in white cloaks and plumed helms followed them, as well as a cadre of Yaskathans in chain mail and crimson tabards. As a sign of respect for the Jade King’s court, they carried no spears. Yet each warrior retained his sword, curved cutlasses for the Mumbazans and longblades for the Yaskathans, all worn at the waist. The Yaskathan King was the sole exception: D’zan carried a greatsword on his back. The Sun God’s mark was set into the scabbard with a pattern of rubies and diamonds. Khama carried no weapons at all; it had never been his custom to bear arms. Word of his powers usually assured a peaceful reception wherever he traveled. Perhaps this would not be the case with an emissary of Zyung waiting inside these viridian walls.
The procession had wound through the narrow streets from the royal harbor, drawing the stares of curious Jade Folk and the smiles of scampering children. Sages and merchant lords watched the mainland Kings from the balconies of their green towers and the eaves of garden walks. There were few horses on the Jades, so most of the wealthy here traveled on slave-borne litters. The poor walked, and those who could afford beasts of burden rode shaggy yaks with curved horns. A squad of guardsmen mounted on these curious beasts had greeted Undutu and D’zan at the wharves, guided them on the quickest route through the metropolis, and now granted them access through the King’s Gate.
The city itself smelled of sea winds, ripe citrus, and the smokes of spicy cooking. Within the walls of the Jade Palace these odors were replaced entirely by incense redolent of jasmine and purple lotus blossoms. Murals in a thousand colors decorated every surface, from floor to walls to ceiling. Precious stones gleamed in swirling arabesques and glyphs between pillars of smoky quartz, ruddy chalcedony, or the ever-present jade. Slaves in gaudy robes dropped to their knees as the mainland Kings passed through the palace halls.
Tiny red monkeys skittered up and down the pillars wearing jeweled collars. Young nobles gathered the tittering beasts on their shoulders and made way for the foreign delegation. A sense of urgency hung in the air stronger than the smoke of incense that burned in ubiquitous braziers. Sunbeams fell through cleverly designed skylights, bringing the colors of the palace to life in all their splendor.
King Zharua was a fat man with tiny eyes. He sat upon a throne of pale jade–what else?–carved into the likeness of a thirteen-rayed sun above his round head. His hair was black, cut short, and his eyes were dark slits above brown cheeks and a tiny chin. A wisp of mustache fell from either side of his broad-lipped mouth. A necklace heavy with topazes and opals hung on the breast of his silk robe, and his tall golden collar rose higher than his golden crown. Khama marveled at the crown’s simplicity, given the opulence of everything else in the Jade King’s domain. A single emerald was set directly at the center of Zharua’s forehead.
A black tiger slept at the Jade King’s feet, its collar chained to a ring at the base of the throne. A bevy of beautiful women lay upon cushions spread across the royal dais. Zharua kept a harem that was the envy of the world. Beauties from every kingdom lounged about the monarch and his tiger; they stared at the visiting Kings with heavy-lidded eyes. Yet many of these concubines were natives of the Jade Isles with flowing black hair and olive skin. Khama had heard an old saying: “To be born beautiful in the Jade Isles is to be the King’s treasure.” Now he saw the truth of the adage. He thought of Emi’s dark eyes staring into his own, and he looked from the harem girls toward the emissary of Zyung.
The pale man was tall with a bald head and large ears. His eyebrows were white and bushy, the only sign of hair on his head. A ring of platinum hung from his long nose, which overshadowed a wide mouth. A long robe of silvery substance hid most of his lean body. Sunlight flashed across the rippling fabric. His long-fingered hands were crossed before his waist as he offered the Southern Kings a passive smile. He stood to the immediate left of Zharua’s throne, bare feet visible on the middle of three broad steps.
Zharua called for padded chairs to accommodate his visitors. Slaves rushed forward and soon Khama found himself seated between Undutu and D’zan. He declined the goblet of dark wine offered him by the slaves; the young Kings followed his example.
“This is a rare honor,” said Zharua. He looked at them with a mixture of worry and awe. “Not only does the legendary Feathered Serpent grace my court, but two mainland Kings.” His voice was soft yet powerful enough to dominate the hall, which was built to amplify his speeches. His Ongthaian accent was barely noticeable; he was the Trader King, and he spoke all the dialects of the mainland superbly. In his younger years, Zharua had traveled to each of the great cities. Khama remembered a much thinner version of the Jade King meeting with Undutu’s father some twenty-five years ago.
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” said Khama. The Southern Kings had agreed that he should speak for both of them to begin negotiations. “Surely the Jade King knows why we have come.”
Zharua nodded, his double chin bouncing. “I received your hawk messenger,” he said. “My trade captains have brought word of your great fleet. Is it true that the Five Cities have achieved unity after centuries of feuds and squabbles?”
Khama nodded. Undutu and D’zan bristled in their cushioned seats. “It is true. The threat that we now face threatens to destroy us all. Your realm lies in the path of that threat. The Hordes of Zyung approach from the other side of the world.”
Zharua’s eyes shot toward the silver-robed emissary, then back to Khama. “I am pleased to introduce the esteemed Damodar of the High Seraphim. Envoy of the God-King. Voice of the Living Empire.”
Damodar bowed his hairless head for the briefest of moments.
Khama did not meet the envoy’s gaze. Before he could respond, Undutu spoke.
“Has this bald mouthpiece offered you the chance to be the God-King’s slave? Has he swayed you with polite words to give up your isles and your people to Zyung? Or have you chosen to stand with the Five Cities?”
Khama frowned inwardly. The boy’s temper will be the death of him.
Zharua’s eyelids fluttered. He was not used to being addressed in so loose a manner. “Son of the Feathered Serpent,” he said. “King on the Cliffs… Master of Pearls… the fire of your youth exceeds your courtly decorum. Still, these are troubled times, and I attribute your rudeness to the sense of urgency you must feel.”
“I, too, am a young King,” said D’zan. His green eyes blazed. The hilt of the Sun God’s blade rose above his right shoulder. “Yet we both are schooled by those far wiser than ourselves. We speak plainly because there is little time. We extend to Ongthaia the goodwill and martial protection of the Five Cities. We also bring a tribute of gold and jewels. Our triple fleet stands ready to oppose these invaders. Will you stand with us?”
Beads of sweat glimmered on Zharua’s round face. His eyes flittered to the face of Damodar. Instead of the Jade King, it was Zyung’s envoy who answered.
“The Great Zharua has not yet answered the Almighty’s offering of peace,” said the envoy. “Though his time for reply grows short.”
Khama spoke before either of the young Kings could. “What offer has he made you, Zharua? The choice to die as a King or live as a slave? There is no true choice here… only a veiled threat.”
Zharua nodded. A slave fanned him with a great peacock feather at the end of a gilded pole. “Damodar tells me the God-King brings three thousand great warships.”
“Holy Dreadnoughts,” corrected Damodar. “Each carrying a thousand armored Manslayers.”
Zharua swallowed a lump in his throat and downed a cup of wine offered by a female slave. Khama sensed fear hanging about the Jade King like an invisible fog, a stink of desperation. Could these numbers be true? Iardu’s vision supported the claims. Best not to consider this conflict in terms of numbers. The Manslayers were only Men. It was the God-King’s sorcerers that were the true threat. This Damodar must be one of them.
“Three million soldiers,” said Zharua, his small eyes growing wide. “Can you imagine this, Feathered One? The forces of this Living Empire dwarf those of the Five Cities combined. And Damodar tells me there are yet more–legions of knights who ride the skies on the backs of scaly beasts…”
“Trills,” said Damodar. “Twenty thousand, each driven by a skilled Manslayer. The Almighty’s empire is beyond anything established on this side of the world. There is no standing against his will. Yet he would rather have your loyalty than your blood.”
“We will tear your ships from the sky!” said Undutu. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword. Khama knew he longed to cut down the emissary. D’zan sat in silence, perhaps stunned by the numbers revealed by Damodar’s boasting. He might now regret sailing east with Undutu’s fleet.
Damodar smiled as one who indulges a child’s foolishness.
Zharua seemed at a loss for words. How could he refuse an offer that was his only certain chance at continued existence? The Jade Islanders were not warriors. Perhaps their healthy trade would continue, even increase, under the auspices of the Living Empire. He did not realize that the true price he would pay, that all of his people must pay, would be their very souls.
Khama stood up. “Great Zharua,” he said, “perhaps you should remove your lovely concubines and eager servants that we may speak more openly.”
Zharua waved his hand and the ladies rose from their cushions in a jangle of jewelry and rustle of silks. They followed the slaves from the hall, one of whom led away the black tiger by its chain.
Khama stepped closer to the nervous King. Damodar’s eyes followed him closely, the eyes of an adder moments before it strikes. “Know this, Majesty,” said Khama. “This man offers you death, not life. The death of your freedom, your sovereignty, and the independence that has made the Jade Isles a true power in the world. His master will replace your crown with a yoke; your temples will be cast into ruin and your Gods forgotten; your people will no longer be able to earn their way from slavery to wealth because all of them will be slaves to Zyung. Those who resist his smallest command will be slaughtered without mercy. The God-King cares nothing for individual lives, only for his all-consuming Order.
“I know these things because I have walked the shores of the Living Empire. Long ago my own people fled Zyung’s hordes. I have seen lakes of blood spilled in his name. There is no other choice but to stand against him. If we must die, we will die together with honor. To do otherwise is to accept the slow death of all you hold dear. Look into my eyes, Great Zharua, and know that I speak the truth.”
Zharua did stare into Khama’s eyes. His fear did not lessen, but an understanding dawned in his mind. Khama urged it to grow as a man fans a fire to greater heat. Zharua’s lips quivered, but he made no sound.
“Enough!” said Damodar. For the first time the envoy’s composure was shattered. He stepped between the Jade King and Khama. The sparks of an unrevealed power glimmered in his eyes. “You speak of matters that border on heresy. You pour words into Zharua’s ears like a poison to murder his wisdom. I see now that you are a sorcerer.”
“As are you,” said Khama.
Damodar uncrossed his lean hands. They hung limp at his sides now. His silver robe shimmered. “Perhaps the battle for Ongthaia begins right now,” said the envoy.
“It does,” said Khama.
A bolt of lightning crashed through the glassy panes of a skylight. It struck Damodar with a clap of thunder. Zharua shuddered on this throne. Undutu and D’zan leaped backward, tossing their chairs to the floor.
Damodar’s struck body did not fall. He stood steaming in his splendid silver vestment, a grimace distorting his face for a moment. Then he laughed long and loud, perhaps at Khama, perhaps at his own fleeting pain.
Khama’s flesh flowed like water, taking on a dozen different colors as his arms and legs merged with his torso and a riot of feathers sprouted. The two Southern Kings drew their swords, as did every man of their escorts. The guards stationed about the Jade King’s throne rushed forward to shield Zharua with their bodies.
Damodar should have been a mass of charred flesh. The proof of his Old Breed power was evident in the fact of his surviving Khama’s strike. Now the Feathered Serpent coiled his serpentine body across the length of the hall. The maw of his triangular head bristled with fangs. He raised the black stinger at the end of his tail, broad nostrils flaring and steaming.
The silver sorcerer was quick. He leaped above the Feathered Serpent and shot a bolt of green flame from his open mouth. Khama’s plumage ignited, black smoke streaming from his elongated body. His forked tongue shot out to constrict the envoy, but Damodar grabbed it with a flaming fist and nearly ripped it out by the roots. Khama roared in agony and his roar became a peal of thunder. Men dropped their spears and clasped hands over their ears. Damodar’s body slammed into the wall high above the marble floor.
The Zyungian did not fall. He hovered before the cracked palace wall as mortar dust rained upon the carpets below. Khama launched himself at the sorcerer. His snout caught Damodar in the chest and tore through the shattered wall. He burst into the sky between the jade towers with Damodar clinging to his jaws. Freed of the palace confines, Khama could now bring the full force of his power to bear.
Damodar’s eyes were silver-gray like his raiment, and blood trickled from his mouth. “You cannot survive his coming!” shouted the envoy. “We are all but sparks about his great flame!”
The envoy released his hold on Khama’s snout and fell toward the streets of Morovanga. The Feathered Serpent coiled about in mid-air and belched a streak of lightning hotter and brighter than the one he had called from the clouds. The bolt found Damodar as he fell. This time, however, the lightning struck a sphere of light that enclosed the envoy’s body like gleaming crystal.
Khama sped toward him on currents of hot wind, but the radiant bubble arced toward the eastern coast of the island. Damodar was no longer falling; he was flying. He shouted back at Khama, who struggled to overtake him.
“There are hundreds of us, Khama! We are the last of the Old Breed! All of us serving him! You have a few more days to think on this…”
Khama opened his maw to spew another thunderbolt, but the sphere of light shot away with terrible speed. Soon it was lost over the eastern horizon, where Khama saw only the green waves of the Outer Sea. Somewhere beyond that horizon, not too far from him, the Hordes of Zyung were winging their way toward the Jade Isles and the Land of the Five Cities.
You have a few more days…
Khama turned his wingless body back toward the island chain, a few smoldering feathers falling free of his leathery flesh. New ones grew instantly to replace them in shades of scarlet, emerald, azure, and gold.
A matter of days. The God-King’s forces are near.
Damodar’s power was undeniable. He could have stayed and fought Khama to a standstill. Perhaps he would have even won. Yet he fled instead back to Zyung to fulfill his mission and report Zharua’s answer. The Jade King’s decision had been made for him.
There are hundreds of us…
Khama soared above the Jade Palace as the islanders pointed and stared against the sun to catch a glimpse of him. He swerved and spiraled for a few moments below the heavy clouds that marred the blue sky, then sank head first toward the hole he had made in the Jade King’s roof.
In the throne room the soldiers had sheathed their weapons. Undutu and D’zan stood close to Zharua’s throne. They spoke in tones of assurance and comforted the Jade King with statements of bravado. Great Zharua wept on his green seat, nodding his head at the words of his allies. He seemed relieved that the weight of an impossible choice had been removed from his shoulders. Yet now he must face the consequences of rejecting Damodar’s terms.
Khama sank to the floor on a soft current of wind and resumed his manly shape. His cloak of crimson feathers had been altered; it now bore all the motley shades of his serpentine plumage. Singed feathers and shards of glass littered the carpets and pillows.
The faces of all three Kings turned to hear Khama’s next words.
“Zyung is coming.”