Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (18 page)

The Silver Sword had come to rest amid a tangle of obsidian, the volcanic glass protruding from the ground like black fangs. Yet the great weapon appeared unharmed. Through his tears, Torg saw it glimmering in the bright noon sun.

He crawled toward the sword. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to retrieve it; he barely had the strength to pick it up. But on this stark and frozen ridge between Asubha and one of its sister mountains, the sword was his last connection to his former self. Though he had held it for just a little while, it felt like his only remaining friend. And it reminded him of Sōbhana, who also had wielded the weapon.

As he struggled forward, Torg laughed and cried as if deranged. If a young Tugar had seen him—naked, hairless, toothless—the child probably would have fled in terror, mistaking him for a sinister monster that had slithered from a cave.

But Torg was delirious with grief and had no concern for his appearance. Not even he could endure such prolonged torture. He had been placed in the pit while already weak, and had spent many long days trapped within its black horror. Finally he had escaped, only to discover that the person in the world who loved him most had suffered in ways every bit as terrible as his own—and all because she was trying to rescue him. Torg had once thought of Sōbhana as a young sister, but her true connection to him was revealed in her final moments of life. Flashes of her memory and personality still clung to his psyche. Torg mourned her loss as if she were his longtime lover.

Hill-sized heaps of stone, torn from Asubha’s crown, stood in Torg’s way, but he clambered over them like a drunken chameleon. He approached the obsidian and climbed onto the razor-sharp rocks. He reached for the sword and closed his hand on the hilt.

Suddenly a heavy foot stomped on his fingers.

Torg cried out and looked up. The sun blinded him.

Something kicked him in the face and sent him tumbling into the teeth of the obsidian. When his sight cleared a few moments later, he saw a stout figure looming over him. Flames flared from its flat nostrils, smoke seeped from its pointed ears, and its hide had the texture of an elephant halfway turned to stone. The creature had grabbed the sword from Torg and now held it in one hand while waving a spear of obsidian in the other. The beast brought the black volcanic glass to its mouth and began to chomp on it, as if snacking on an ear of corn.

“You killed my father,” it said. “For that, I will enjoy a long-awaited revenge. But first, I have promises to keep.”

Several other Stone-Eaters stood nearby.

“Give him a sip of Asava,” Gulah said. “We need him alive, but barely. He could still be dangerous. Do not underestimate him, despite his pathetic appearance.”

One of the Stone-Eaters lifted Torg’s head and poured scorching liquid down his throat. He felt like he was swallowing lava. Though his stomach burned, strength surged through the rest of his body, along with a drugged weariness. Soon afterward, sleep strode forward and claimed him. He could not resist it.

Torg did not know how long or deeply he slept, but he regained partial consciousness several times and was able to look about. Gulah and his fellow Stone-Eaters had strapped him to a crude litter and were dragging him across the rocks. It was a bumpy ride.

More of the Asava was splashed into his mouth. He gagged, but Gulah slapped his hand against Torg’s lips and forced him to swallow. Once again, Torg felt the odd combination of strength and weariness. It was the first nourishment of any kind he’d received in almost a month. But more than anything, he craved cold water. If he could take a long drink and pour the rest over his head, he might be able to shake this drowsiness.

Again he slept, but his dreams raged out of control. A particularly wicked thud shook him awake, and he looked up and saw they were approaching the mouth of a large cave in Asubha’s sheer side. Several Stone-Eaters stood guard at the maw of the cavity, as well as an enormous troll who shied from the bright sunlight. There also were three women, two extremely beautiful and one extremely ugly. Warlish witches
 . . .
just what he needed.

But the Asava—whatever it contained—had re-energized Torg’s spirit. Though he was drugged and barely able to move, he felt his body responding internally to the sizzling sustenance, increasing his desire to resist.

When the Stone-Eaters dragged him into the cave, the ground became smooth and the ride less chaotic. Torg was able to sleep in relative comfort.

He dreamed again.

This time he wandered in absolute darkness, but his hearing was acute, and he could sense objects before bumping into them, which enabled him to move boldly forward, unperturbed by his lack of vision. Torg heard a small figure rise up beside him. It grasped his hand. He could not see it, but he knew who it was.

“Peta, I have missed you so much, my dear little friend. But how came you here?”

The little girl giggled. Torg remembered the sound of her laughter with fondness.

“You rescued me from the tower. For that, I am grateful. When you saved me, I foresaw your future and knew that you would need my help. So I chose to stay and look out for you.”

“I don’t understand. When you died—when I released you—your karma should have moved on. Only demons are immune to the natural cycle of life and death. You aren’t a demon. This should not be.”

“I cannot defy my future forever, but a few hundred years is no great matter. In my reckoning, you ended my suffering just a moment ago.”

Peta squeezed his massive hand. “But we have already spent far too much time in greeting. I must tell you some important things before she returns.”

“She?”

“The demon
 . . .
Vedana.”

“Was it the demon who imprisoned you in the tower?”

“Vedana recognized my abilities.”

“Your father told me you were blind. But he also said you had powers that the demons found valuable. What did he mean?”

“They—she—found my powers valuable enough to imprison me for ten millennia. The amulet you discovered on my chest kept my physical body intact while Vedana’s magic controlled my spirit. She used me
 . . .
for terrible things. And eventually, for the most terrible thing of all. You see, without my clairvoyance, she could not have created Invictus.”

“You foresaw his birth?”

“I cannot deny it. Vedana had spent almost her entire existence breeding with mortals. Her offspring were magical and powerful, but none attained the might she desired. When she discovered me, her hopes were renewed. She knew I could guide her, in all the ways that mattered. And—against my will—I did guide her.” Peta paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. Then she said, “But you came along and disrupted her plans, removing me from her sway before she was ready. In most ways I had already shown her enough. Due to my guidance, she was able to mate with a man whose bloodlines were interwoven in just the right order, and from his seed she bore Invictus’ father, who in turn bore the greatest bane in all of history.

“However, when Vedana lost my guidance she also lost the knowledge that would have enabled her to control Invictus. And now no one is his master. The Sun God is like wildfire in a forest long plagued by drought. He threatens more than just our land. If he continues to grow unimpeded, he will endanger all things.”

“I know not how to impede him,” Torg said.

Peta nodded, as if in agreement. “Invictus’ rise has not gone unnoticed. There are beings beyond all known laws, natural or otherwise, and they are watching the sorcerer with growing interest—and making plans for his demise.”

“How do you know this? Who are you, really?”

Peta giggled again. “I am just a little blind girl who can see too well for her own good. But allow me to finish, before the demon comes to stop me. There is more you must know. Vedana still desires control, but her grandson has become her most lethal enemy. Invictus wields enough power to eliminate the demon and her kind. She and her minions fear that more than all else. For this reason—and others—Vedana schemes to dethrone him. The first step in a long process is for her to become impregnated
 . . .
by you.”

“Then her plan will fail. I cannot impregnate anyone. I can only burn and destroy.”

“You are wrong. There are three females on Triken who can abide you. Vedana is one. She is great enough to withstand the fury of your orgasm and retain the wonder of your seed.”

Such words, coming from a child, made Torg uncomfortable. But then again, was Peta really a child? “If that is so, then how do I thwart her? I am a prisoner and lack the strength to resist.”

“I beg you
 . . .
do not thwart her. Do
not
! She must bear your child.”

Torg felt pressure on his arms. The skin on his face began to sting.

“She comes. Farewell!” Peta said.

Thick hands shook him, and Torg was torn from sleep. Someone slapped his face, hard and often. When he finally opened his eyes, it took several moments for his vision to clear.

There stood Vedana, the mother of all demons. And she was not alone.

“Bastards! Asses! Fools!” Vedana shouted. “I told you, ‘Do not let him sleep.’ She has
spoken
to him.”

“Who has spoken to him?” Gulah said. “What are you talking about? No one has been near him.”

“You don’t understand, you idiot,” Vedana said. “Who knows what she is capable of? She sees. She sees! Are you blind, as well as stupid?”

Gulah drew the Silver Sword and waved the point in Vedana’s face. “Be careful with your words, Demon. I have endured enough abuse in recent days from Mala, and my patience is gone. Because we are allies, I will allow you to have your way with him. But be quick. I will not tolerate you much longer.”

“Put away the ssssword, Gulah,” a voice purred. Chal-Abhinno’s beautiful self strode forward. Then she turned to Vedana. “No serious harm has been done, mistress. Who cares what the wizard might have been told. He is our prisoner, and he is far too weak to ressssist us. Your plan cannot fail.”

Ignoring the witch, Vedana continued to glare at Gulah, her eyes blood red, her flesh eerily translucent. “You are too much like your father,” the demon said, with a fanged snarl. “
My
patience is gone as well.”

The tone of Vedana’s voice seemed to disconcert the Stone-Eater, but he held his ground.

Chal intervened again. “We are all friends here, Gulah. We wish to ssssee the Death-Knower punished as much as youuuu. But Vedana needs him first
 . . .
for one little
 . . .
thing
.” This last word caused her to giggle. Chal sounded like a virgin shyly attempting to flirt.

Then she turned to Torg and bent over the litter, which had been placed on a flat stone bed. Her gorgeous, sweet-smelling mouth came within a finger-length of his lips.

“Ssssso,
Torgon. W
e meet again. And as youuuu predicted at Bakheng, I have been given a second opportunity for revenge. As pathetic as you now look, it hardly sssseems worth the effort. Still, you should have killed me when you had the chance, my darling. A lady doesn’t forget these things.”

“Lady?” Torg said. “Where?”

Gulah slammed the sword back into its sheath and burst into laughter. The other Stone-Eaters joined him. Even the cave troll grinned and grunted. Torg wasn’t sure if they were laughing at what he said or how oddly his voice sounded. Either way, Chal became enraged and unwillingly began to transform to her hideous self. But then she reined in her anger and somehow managed to maintain her attractive appearance.

The witch stepped back and folded her arms beneath her large, round breasts.

“A
lady
doessssn’t forget,” she said, her voice as cold as a mountain spring. “I will take great pleasure in your death,
Torgon
.”

“Take pleasure where you will. I care naught.”