Roger Zelazny: Lord of Light

"You are always stressing those last words."

"Yea, preacher. For you have not been battle-tested since your return from bliss. . . . Tell me, can you make the Buddhists fight?"

"Probably, but I might have to assume an identity I now find distasteful."

"Well. . . perhaps not. Keep it in mind, in case we're hard put. To be safe, though, practice every night in front of a mirror with that esthetics lecture you gave back at Ratri's monastery."

"I'd rather not."

"I know, but do it anyway."

"Better I should practice with a blade. Fetch me one and I'll give you a lesson."

"Ho! Fair enough! Make it a good lesson and you've got yourself a convert."

"Then let us adjourn to the courtyard, where I will proceed to enlighten you."

As, within the blue palace, Nirriti raised his arms, the rockets screamed skyward from the decks of his launch ships to arc above the city of Mahartha.

As his black breastplate was buckled into place, the rockets came down upon that city and the fires began.

As he donned his boots, his fleet entered into the harbor.

As his black cloak was clasped about his throat and his black steel helm placed upon his head, his sergeants began a soft drumbeat beneath the decks of his ships.

As his sword belt was hung about his waist, the soulless ones stirred within the holds of the vessels.

As he put on his gauntlets of leather and steel, his fleet, driven by winds fanned by the Rakasha, approached the port.

As he motioned to his young steward, Olvagga, to follow him into the courtyard, the warriors who never spoke mounted the decks of the ships and faced the burning harbor.

As the engines within the dark sky gondola rumbled and the door was opened before them, the first of his ships dropped anchor.

As they entered the gondola, the first of his troops entered Mahartha.

When they reached Mahartha, the city had fallen.

Birds sang in the high, green places of the garden. Fish, like old coins, lay at the bottom of the blue pool. The flowers in bloom were mainly red and big-petaled; but there were also occasional yellow wunlips about her jade bench. There was a white, wrought-iron back to it, upon which she rested her left hand while she regarded the flagstones across which his boots scuffed as he moved in her direction.

"Sir, this is a private garden," she stated. He stopped before the bench and looked down at her. He was beefy, tanned, dark of eye and beard, expressionless until he smiled. He wore blue and leather.

"Guests do not come here," she added, "but do use the gardens in the other wing of the building. Go through yon archway—"

"You were always welcome in my garden, Ratri," he said.

"Your . . . ?"

"Kubera."

"Lord Kubera! You are not—"

"Fat. I know. New body, and it's been working hard. Building Yama's weapons, transporting them. . ."/p>

"When did you arrive?" "This minute. I brought Krishna back, along with a load of firepacks, grenades and antipersonnel mines. . ."

"Gods! It's been so long , . ."

"Yes. Very. But an apology is still due you, so I have come to give it. It has bothered me these many years. I am sorry, Ratri, about that night, long ago, when I dragged you into this thing. I needed your Attribute, so I drafted you. I do not like to use people so."

"I would have left the City soon, at any rate, Kubera. So do not feel overly guilty. I should prefer a more comely form, though, than this which I now wear. This is not essential, however."

"I'll get you another body, lady."

"Another day, Kubera. Pray sit down. Here. Are you hungry? Are you thirsty?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Here is fruit, and soma. Or would you prefer tea?"

"Soma, thank you."

"Yama says Sam is recovered from his sainthood."

"Good, the need for him is growing. Has he made any plans yet — for us to act upon?"

"Yama has not told me. But perhaps Sam has not told Yama."

The branches shook violently in a nearby tree and Tak dropped to the ground, landing upon all fours. He crossed the flagstones and stood beside the bench.

"All this talk has awakened me," he growled. "Who is this fellow, Ratri?"

"Lord Kubera, Tak."

"It thou beest he—then oh, how changed!" said Tak.

"And the same might be said of yourself, Tak of the Archives. Why are you still an ape? Yama could transmigrate you."

"I am more useful as an ape," said Tak. "I am an excellent spy — far better than a dog. I am stronger than a man. And who can tell one ape from another? I will remain in this form until there is no longer any need for my special services."

"Commendable. Has there been further news of Nirriti's movements?"

"His vessels move nearer the large ports than was their wont in the past," said Tak. "There appear to be more of them, also. Beyond this, nothing. It would seem the gods fear him, for they do not destroy him."

"Yes," said Kubera, "for now he is an unknown. I'm inclined to think of him as Ganesha's mistake. It was he who permitted him to leave Heaven unmolested, and to take what equipment he did with him. I think Ganesha wanted someone available as an enemy of Heaven, should the need for one ever arise in a hurry. He must never have dreamed a nontechnical could have put the equipment to the uses he did, and build up the forces he now commands."

"There is logic in what you say," said Ratri. "Even I have heard that Ganesha often moves in such a manner. What will he do now?"

"Give Nirriti the first city he attacks, to observe his means of offense and assess his strength—if he can persuade Brahma to hold back. Then strike at Nirriti. Mahartha must fall, and we must stand near. It would be interesting even to watch."

"But you feel we will do more than watch?" asked Tak.

"Indeed. Sam knows we must be on hand to make more pieces of the pieces, and then to pick some up. We will have to move as soon as someone else does, Tak, which may be soon."

"At last," said Tak. "I have always wanted to go to battle at the side of the Binder."

"In the weeks to come, I am certain that almost as many wishes will be granted as broken."

"More soma? More fruit?"

"Thank you, Ratri."

"And you, Tak?"

"A banana, perhaps."

Within the shadow of the forest, at the peak of a high hill, Brahma sat, like a statue of a god mounted upon a gargoyle, staring downward into Mahartha.

"They defile the Temple."

"Yes," answered Ganesha. "The Black One's feelings have not changed over the years."

"In a way, it is a pity. In another way, it is frightening. His troops had rifles and sidearms."

"Yes. They are very strong. Let us return to the gondola."

"In a moment."

"I fear, Lord . . . they may be too strong—at this point."

"What do you suggest?"

"They cannot sail up the river. If they would attack Lananda they must go overland."

"True. Unless he has sufficient sky vessels."

"And if they would attack Khaipur they must go even farther."

"Aye! And if they would attack Kilbar they must go farther yet! Get to your point! What are you trying to say?"

"The farther they go, the greater their logistic problems, the more vulnerable they become to guerrilla tactics along the way — "

"Are you proposing I do nothing but harass them? That I let them march across the land, taking city after city? They will dig in until reinforcements come to hold what they have gained, then they will move on. Only a fool would do otherwise. If we wait—"

"Look down below!"

"What? What is it?"

"They are preparing to move out."

"Impossible!"

"Brahma, you forget that Nirriti is a fanatic, a madman. He doesn't want Mahartha, or Lananda or Khaipur either. He wants to destroy our Temples and ourselves. The only other things he cares about in those cities are souls, not bodies. He will move across the land destroying every symbol of our religion that he comes upon, until we choose to carry the fight to him. If we do nothing, he will probably then send in missionaries."