Although they refused to surrender to the Uloans, the Matile were beginning to succumb to an inevitable fatigue and despair as the fighting wore on. Even so, some of the surviving city-dwellers had taken up fallen weapons and were fighting at the side of the soldiers. And they wreaked their share of vengeance against the marauders who burned their homes and killed their families.
Yet despite their most desperate and courageous efforts, the defenders were unable to forestall the destruction of the city and their lives. Now, their only solace was that they were prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
The smoke that had enveloped Khambawe like a deadly, choking fog rendered the mysterious mist nearly invisible. Only the leaping flames of a thousand fires provided illumination through the swirling gray clouds that had become a barrier between Khambawe and the rest of the world. It was toward the flames that the mist drifted.
Floating in tiny tendrils, the mist appeared as insubstantial as morning dew – until it reached the fires that were devouring the buildings of Khambawe. The moment the substance of the mist touched a licking flame, a small hiss sounded – and the flame went out. This happened again and again, as though the fingers of a gathering of giants were reaching down to snuff out hundreds of candles.
One by one, the fires were extinguished. At first, the combatants did not notice what was happening because they were fully absorbed by their fight for survival. But as more and more flames disappeared, darkness gradually descended until Matiles and Uloans alike paused in their struggle and watched with haggard and apprehensive expressions on their faces as the last of the flames winked out.
With a pall of smoke obscuring the Moon-stars, a shroud of near-total darkness enfolded Khambawe. The fighting ceased altogether, for the combatants could no longer see their foes. Even the jhumbis stopped moving. The only sound that could be heard was the labored breathing of people who had pushed themselves beyond the limits of their endurance, but didn’t realize they had done so until now.
Then a point of light appeared in the sky ... a speck that rapidly grew into an orb the size of the sun. The new night-sun was clearly visible even through the smoke. It was as though the hidden Moon Stars themselves had coalesced into a single sphere of radiance. From that sphere, a flood of silvery-blue luminescence poured down on Khambawe, its illumination picking out the smoldering ruins of buildings; the dead and wounded that littered the streets; the pools of blood awash in the gutters; the lines of fatigue that scored the faces of those left standing.
As the Matile and Uloans blinked in the unnatural illumination, the jhumbis stood immobile. The clay that covered their skin seemed to be attracting the light ... and absorbing it. Within moments, the jhumbis glowed like torches – yet they cast no heat. Even so, the jhumbis did not move. Their weapons remained in their hands, but they no longer swung in deadly arcs. The jhumbis looked like crude effigies of clay rather than fearsome creatures of nightmare. They stood forlornly, helplessly within nimbuses of pale luminescence.
Then cracks began to form on the jhumbis’ coverings, spreading like spiderwebs. And the bits of shell that formed their eyes and teeth loosened and dropped to the ground, where they broke into tiny pieces. The cracks widened, and the gaps were filled with a pale, foul-smelling ichor that streamed down their bodies and pooled at their lumpish feet. And flakes and shards of clay from the jhumbis’ body-coverings rained into the spreading puddles of ooze that mingled with the blood in the streets.
Then the jhumbis swayed, staggered, and finally collapsed, as though the eldritch forces that animated them had abruptly disappeared. Their weapons clattered to the stones that paved the streets, and where seemingly invincible enemies once stood, there now lay nothing but heaps of clay, bone, shell, and rapidly decomposing viscera.
An eye-watering stench rose from the remains of the jhumbis. But to the beleaguered Matile, that noisome odor was as welcome as a fresh sea-breeze. For with the demise of the jhumbis, the Uloans had just lost their most effective weapons and their most reliable shields. Now, they would be forced to continue the fight on the defenders’ terms.
Even worse for the Uloans was the sudden disappearance of the goading influence of the huangi from the depths of their minds: a constant prodding and encouragement that kept fear and weariness at bay and pushed them to efforts well beyond the limits of human endurance. As long as that presence was there, the warriors were nearly as tireless as the jhumbis, if not nearly as impregnable. Even deep wounds had less effect on them than scratches; their courage blazed like an unquenchable fire. Even death did not daunt them, for they believed that in death, they would live forever in Legaba’s Realm.
Now, their link to Jass Imbiah and, through her, to Legaba was gone. As their weapons dangled slackly in their hands, the Uloans stood confused and uncertain in the glare of the silver-blue sphere in the sky. Their maddening chorus of “Retribution Time” had fallen silent since the flames had vanished and the blue light appeared. And now, no Uloan was willing to resume the shouting of their battle cry.
At that moment, the defenders of Khambawe needed no command from their leaders to take advantage of the opportunity that fell into their hands. A murderous rage lifted their spirits and banished the fatigue from their limbs. Now it was they, not the Uloans, who were the tireless ones. Yelling in triumph and vengeance, they fell upon the dispirited Uloans like a pride of lions ravaging a flock of sheep.
3
Tiyana was lost in the
