“I’ll get you your priest now. Hold the line.”
Now after the fall of Lananda, Nirriti held a service amid the ruins of that city, praying for victory over the other cities. His dark sergeants beat the drums slowly and the zombies fell to their knees. Nirriti prayed until the perspiration covered his face like a mask of glass and light, and it ran down inside his prosthetic armor, which gave him the strength of many. Then he lifted up his face to the heavens, looked upon the Bridge of the Gods and said, “Amen.”
Then he turned and headed toward Khaipur, his army rising at his back.
When Nirriti came to Khaipur, the gods were waiting.
The troops from Kilbar were waiting, as well as those of Khaipur.
And the demigods and the heroes and the nobles were waiting.
And the high-ranking Brahmins and many of the followers of Mahasamatman were waiting. These latter having come in the name of the Divine Esthetic.
Nirriti looked across the mined field that led to the walls of the city, and he saw the four horsemen who were the Lokapalas waiting by the gate, the banners of Heaven flaring beside them in the wind.
He lowered his visor and turned to Olvegg.
“You were right. I wonder if Ganesha waits within?”
“We will know soon enough.”
Nirriti continued his advance.
This was the day when the Lord of Light held the field. The minions of Nirriti never entered Khaipur. Ganesha fell beneath the blade of Olvegg, as he was attempting to backstab Brahma, who had closed with Nirriti upon a hillock. Olvegg then fell, clutching his stomach, and began crawling toward a rock.
Brahma and the Black One then faced one another on foot and Ganesha’s head rolled into a gully.
“That one told me Kilbar,” said Nirriti.
“That one wanted Kilbar,” said Brahma, “and tried to make it Kilbar. Now I know why.”
They sprang together and Nirriti’s armor fought for him with the strength of many.
Yama spurred his horse toward the rise and was enveloped in a swirling of dust and sand. He raised his cloak to his eyes and laughter rang about him.
“Where is your death-gaze now, Yama-Dharma?”
“Rakasha!” he snarled.
“Yes. It is I, Taraka!”
And Yama was suddenly drenched with gallons of water; and his horse reared, falling over backward.
He was upon his feet with his blade in his hand, when the flaming whirlwind coalesced into a manlike form.
“I’ve washed you clean of that-which-repels, deathgod. Now you shall go down to destruction at my band!”
Yama lunged forward with his blade.
He cut through his gray opponent from shoulder to thigh, but no blood came and there was no sign of the passage of his blade.
“You cannot cut me down as you would a man, oh Death! But see what I can do to you!”
Taraka leapt upon him, pinning his arms to his sides and bearing him to the ground. A fountain of sparks arose.
In the distance, Brahma had his knee upon Nirriti’s spine and was bending his head backward, against the power of the black armor. This was when Lord Indra leapt down from the back of his slizzard and raised his sword Thunderbolt against Brahma. He heard Nirriti’s neck break.
“It is your cloak that protects you!” Taraka cried out, from where he wrestled on the ground; and then he looked into the eyes of Death. . . .
Yama felt Taraka weaken sufficiently to push him away.
He sprang to his feet and raced toward Brahma without stopping to pick up his blade. There on the hill, Brahma parried Thunderbolt again and again, blood spurting from the stump of his severed left arm and streaming from wounds of the head and chest. Nirriti held his ankle in a grip of steel.
Yama cried out as he charged, drawing his dagger.
Indra drew back, out of range of Brahma’s blade, and turned to face him.
“A dagger against Thunderbolt, Red One?” he asked.
“Aye,” said Yama, striking with his right hand and dropping the blade into his left for the true strike.
The point entered Indra’s forearm.
Indra dropped Thunderbolt and struck Yama in the jaw. Yama fell, but he swept Indra’s legs out from under him, carrying him to the ground.