“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.