bearing a tray of dried meat, roasted nuts and blue grapes. The woman laid it at Sōbhana’s feet, then respectfully backed away.
The Mogols spoke a language unlike any Sōbhana could recognize. She tended to avoid such learning—and her Vasi master often had chastised her for this. Torg could have spoken fluently with them. But her King could do many things others could not.
In the corners of her mouth, Sōbhana suddenly felt something warm and wet. She realized it was her own saliva. She had eaten little for several days, and the fare placed before her was enticingly arranged. She bent down, eyes trained on the Mogols, and grabbed a chunk of meat, swallowing it whole. She stuffed a handful of nuts and grapes into her mouth, chewed once or twice, and devoured them too. She wasn’t concerned about being poisoned. Tugars were immune to such things. In a rush, she ate everything on the tray.
The Mogols remained bowed—except for the woman. She approached Sōbhana and removed the now-empty serving dish.
Sōbhana still held the sword. She rose to her full height and glared at the gathering. “Do any of you speak the common tongue?”
There was a long, silent pause.
Finally a sinister voice echoed from far back in the tunnel.
“I do.”
The speaker came forward.
It was no Mogol.
A female demon entered the torchlight. “How beautiful you are,” she said to Sōbhana. “Bhayatupa has chosen a worthy bride. I wouldn’t mind a taste of you, myself.”
“What?” was all Sōbhana managed to say.
The demon sashayed forward and stopped just a few strides away. She had chosen to appear as a mature woman who was not particularly well-preserved.
The demon laughed at Sōbhana’s bewilderment. “I speak in jest,” she said, continuing to cackle. “Lord Bhayatupa asked me to keep you safe until he returned. I told the Mogols you were their god’s bride-to-be. Your choice of that crown completed the effect. His last wife wore the same one, more than ten thousand years ago.”
“Wife?” Sōbhana said.
“Child, surely you know that dragons prefer human wives,” the demon said. “It’s all symbolic, of course. They don’t actually have sex with them. That would be a little difficult.” She cackled again. Small puffs of gray smoke sprang from her ears, as if her insides were burning.
“Come no closer,” Sōbhana said, but her arms trembled, and she could barely retain her grip on the heavy sword. “I will slay you. I swear it.”
The demon laughed so hard, she almost fell.
“Why do you torment me?” Sōbhana said.
“You are so . . . innocent. So . . . precious. My dear, how can you slay someone who does not live? Do you not know me?” For a moment, Vedana’s eyes went pure white. Then their color returned to a semblance of normalcy. “Ahhh . . . I see that you do not. At least, not fully. Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Vedana, mother of all demons, and I am ancient beyond all others. Even Bhayatupa is young compared to me. Your master—the Desert Peasant— knows me well. But, alas, he is not here.”
At that, Sōbhana’s countenance changed. She lowered the sword until its tip pricked the stone at her feet. “Does . . . he . . . live?” she whispered.
Vedana seemed to consider this for a moment, then she smiled wickedly. “You’re in love with him.”
“We all love him,” Sōbhana responded, too quickly.
“Not I, though he will be of use to me. But that is not what I meant. You love him. Ha! Don’t you know, child, what would happen to you if he fucked you?”
“Shut your disgusting mouth,” Sōbhana said, suddenly enraged. She hoisted the sword above her head. “I will smite you where you stand.”
Through all this, the Mogols remained bowed. But their chins were raised, and they watched attentively. Vedana took one step back and waved her arms overhead. There was an explosion. A gout of smoke followed. When Sōbhana was able to see clearly, the
The Mogols spoke a language unlike any Sōbhana could recognize. She tended to avoid such learning—and her Vasi master often had chastised her for this. Torg could have spoken fluently with them. But her King could do many things others could not.
In the corners of her mouth, Sōbhana suddenly felt something warm and wet. She realized it was her own saliva. She had eaten little for several days, and the fare placed before her was enticingly arranged. She bent down, eyes trained on the Mogols, and grabbed a chunk of meat, swallowing it whole. She stuffed a handful of nuts and grapes into her mouth, chewed once or twice, and devoured them too. She wasn’t concerned about being poisoned. Tugars were immune to such things. In a rush, she ate everything on the tray.
The Mogols remained bowed—except for the woman. She approached Sōbhana and removed the now-empty serving dish.
Sōbhana still held the sword. She rose to her full height and glared at the gathering. “Do any of you speak the common tongue?”
There was a long, silent pause.
Finally a sinister voice echoed from far back in the tunnel.
“I do.”
The speaker came forward.
It was no Mogol.
A female demon entered the torchlight. “How beautiful you are,” she said to Sōbhana. “Bhayatupa has chosen a worthy bride. I wouldn’t mind a taste of you, myself.”
“What?” was all Sōbhana managed to say.
The demon sashayed forward and stopped just a few strides away. She had chosen to appear as a mature woman who was not particularly well-preserved.
The demon laughed at Sōbhana’s bewilderment. “I speak in jest,” she said, continuing to cackle. “Lord Bhayatupa asked me to keep you safe until he returned. I told the Mogols you were their god’s bride-to-be. Your choice of that crown completed the effect. His last wife wore the same one, more than ten thousand years ago.”
“Wife?” Sōbhana said.
“Child, surely you know that dragons prefer human wives,” the demon said. “It’s all symbolic, of course. They don’t actually have sex with them. That would be a little difficult.” She cackled again. Small puffs of gray smoke sprang from her ears, as if her insides were burning.
“Come no closer,” Sōbhana said, but her arms trembled, and she could barely retain her grip on the heavy sword. “I will slay you. I swear it.”
The demon laughed so hard, she almost fell.
“Why do you torment me?” Sōbhana said.
“You are so . . . innocent. So . . . precious. My dear, how can you slay someone who does not live? Do you not know me?” For a moment, Vedana’s eyes went pure white. Then their color returned to a semblance of normalcy. “Ahhh . . . I see that you do not. At least, not fully. Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Vedana, mother of all demons, and I am ancient beyond all others. Even Bhayatupa is young compared to me. Your master—the Desert Peasant— knows me well. But, alas, he is not here.”
At that, Sōbhana’s countenance changed. She lowered the sword until its tip pricked the stone at her feet. “Does . . . he . . . live?” she whispered.
Vedana seemed to consider this for a moment, then she smiled wickedly. “You’re in love with him.”
“We all love him,” Sōbhana responded, too quickly.
“Not I, though he will be of use to me. But that is not what I meant. You love him. Ha! Don’t you know, child, what would happen to you if he fucked you?”
“Shut your disgusting mouth,” Sōbhana said, suddenly enraged. She hoisted the sword above her head. “I will smite you where you stand.”
Through all this, the Mogols remained bowed. But their chins were raised, and they watched attentively. Vedana took one step back and waved her arms overhead. There was an explosion. A gout of smoke followed. When Sōbhana was able to see clearly, the
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