Lord of Light

"If we win, Siddhartha, toppling the Celestial City, breaking the old religion, freeing man for industrial progress, still will there be opposition. Nirriti, who has waited all these centuries for the passing of the gods, will then have to be fought and beaten himself. It will either be this or the same thing all over again — and at least the Gods of the City have some measure of grace in their unfair doings."

"I think he would have come to our assistance whether invited or not."

"Yes, but by inviting him, or accepting his offer, you owe him this thing."

"Then I will have to deal with that situation when it arises."

"That's politics, I guess. But I like it not."

Sam poured them of the sweet dark wine of Keenset. "I think Kubera would like to see you later," he said, offering a goblet.

"What is he doing?" asked Yama, accepting it and draining it off in a single swallow.

"Drilling troops and giving classes on the internal combustion engine to all the local savants," said Sam. "Even if we lose, some may live and go elsewhere."

"If it is to be put to any use, they will need to know more than engine design . . ."

"He's been talking himself hoarse for days, and the scribes are taking it all down—geology, mining, metallurgy, petroleum chemistry . . ."

"Had we more time, I would give my assistance. As it is, if ten per cent is retained it may be sufficient. Not tomorrow, or even the next day, but. . ."

Sam finished his wine, refilled the goblets. "To the morrow, charioteer!"

"To the blood. Binder, to the blood and the killing!"

"Some of the blood may be our own, deathgod. But so long as we take sufficient of the enemy with us. . ."

"I cannot die, Siddhartha, save by my own choosing."

"How can that be, Lord Yama?"

"Let Death keep his own small secrets. Binder. For I may choose not to exercise my option in this battle."

"As you would, Lord."

"To your health and long life!"

"To yours."

The day of the battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.

A small mist drifted in from the river. The Bridge of the Gods glistened all of gold in the east, reached back, darkening, into retreating night, divided the heavens like a burning equator.

The warriors of Keenset waited outside the city, upon the plain by the Vedra. Five thousand men, with blades and bows, pikes and slings, waited for the battle. A thousand zombies stood in the front ranks, led by the living sergeants of the Black One, who guided all their movements by the drum, scarves of black silk curling in the breeze like snakes of smoke upon their helms.

Five hundred lancers were held to the rear. The silver cyclones that were the Rakasha hung in the middle air. Across the half-lit world the occasional growl of a jungle beast could be heard. Fire elementals glowed upon tree limb, lance and pennon pole.

There were no clouds in the heavens. The grasses of the plain were still moist and sparkling. The air was cool, the ground still soft enough to gather footprints readily. Gray and green and yellow were the colors that smote the eye beneath the heavens; and the Vedra swirled within its banks, gathering leaves from its escort of trees. It is said that each day recapitulates the history of the world, coming up out of darkness and cold into confused light and beginning warmth, consciousness blinking its eyes somewhere in midmorning, awakening thoughts a jumble of illogic and unattached emotion, and all speeding together toward the order of noontide, the slow, poignant decline of dusk, the mystical vision of twilight, the end of entropy that is night once more.

The day began.

A dark line was visible at the far end of the field. A trumpet note cut the air and that line advanced.

Sam stood in his battle chariot at the head of the formation, wearing burnished armor and holding a long, gray lance of death. He heard the words of Death, who wore red and was his charioteer:

"Their first wave is of slizzard cavalry."

Sam squinted at the distant line.

"It is," said his charioteer.

"Very well."

He gestured with his lance, and the Rakasha moved forward like a tidal wave of white light. The zombies began their advance.

When the white wave and the dark line came together there was a confusion of voices, hisses and the rattle of arms.

The dark line halted, great gouts of dust fuming above it.

Then came the sounds of the aroused jungle as the gathered beasts of prey were driven upon the flank of the enemy.

The zombies marched to a slow, steady drumbeat, and the fire elementals flowed on before them and the grasses withered where they passed.

Sam nodded to Death, and his chariot moved slowly forward, riding upon its cushion of air. At his back, the army of Keenset stirred. Lord Kubera slept, drugged to the sleep that is like unto death, in a hidden vault beneath the city. The Lady Ratri mounted a black mare at the rear of the lancers' formation.

"Their charge has been broken," said Death.

"Yes."