“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.”
“Well, we must do something!”
“Then weaken him as he moves. When he is weak enough, strike! Give him Lananda. Khaipur, too, if necessary. Even Kilbar and Hamsa. When he is weak enough, smash him. We can spare the cities. How many have we destroyed ourselves? You cannot even remember!”
“Thirty-six,” said Brahma. “Let us return to Heaven while I consider this thing. If I follow your advice and he withdraws before he becomes too weakened, then we have lost much.”
“I’m willing to gamble that he won’t.”
“The dice are not yours to cast, Ganesha, but mine. And see, he has those cursed Rakasha with him! Let us depart quickly, before they detect us.”
“Yes, quickly!”
They turned their slizzards back toward the forest.
Krishna put aside his pipes when the messenger was brought to him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Mahartha has fallen . . .”
Krishna stood.
“And Nirriti prepares to march upon Lananda.”
“What have the gods done in defense?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Come with me. The Lokapalas are about to confer.”
Krishna left his pipes upon the table.
That night, Sam stood upon the highest balcony of Ratri’s palace. The rains fell about him, coming like cold nails through the wind. Upon his left hand, an iron ring glowed with an emerald radiance.
The lightning fell and fell and fell, and remained.
He raised his hand and the thunders roared and roared, like the death cries of all the dragons who might ever have lived, sometime, somewhere. . . .
The night fell back as the fire elementals stood before the Palace of Kama.
Sam raised both hands together, and they climbed into the air as one and hovered high in the night.
He gestured and they moved above Khaipur, passing from one end of the city to the other.
Then they circled.
Then they split apart and danced within the storm.
He lowered his hands.
They returned and stood once more before him.
He did not move. He waited.
After a hundred heartbeats, it came and spoke to him out of the night:
“Who are you, to command the slaves of the Rakasha?”
“Bring me Taraka,” said Sam.
“I take orders from no mortal.”
“Then look upon the flames of my true being, ere I bind you to yon metal flagpole for so long as it shall stand.”
“Binder! You live!”
“Bring me Taraka,” he repeated.
“Yes, Siddhartha. Thy will be done.”
Sam clapped his hands and the elementals leapt skyward and the night was dark about him once more.