Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (5 page)

Whenever the procession approached a village, the fishermen and farmers who resided near the river bowed their heads. They were not capable of resisting such a well-equipped militia. Where was Anna? Nissaya? Jivita?
Sōbhana heard them say more than once that Torg had been forsaken.

All the way from Senasana to Avici, Sōbhana avoided being seen by any of Mala’s soldiers. Twice she encountered Tugarian scouting parties who were unaware of their king’s orders not to follow, having left the Tent City before Torg’s capture. She told them what she had seen and then sent some of them southeast to Anna and some west to Nissaya and Jivita. Kusala would have advance notice to ready the Tugars, and the armies of Nissaya and Jivita would at least be warned to prepare for battle. If Invictus were willing to send forces as far south as Senasana and Dibbu-Loka, then it was clear the young sorcerer was no longer concerned with reprisal.

Much of Invictus’ lack of fear was probably based on the fact his stronghold—Avici and its sister city, Kilesa—was virtually impregnable. An oblong wall that stood thirty cubits tall and nearly two hundred leagues in length protected both cities. Sōbhana had heard it had taken twenty thousand slaves twenty years to construct the grand bulwark. Invictus even had the gall to order large portions of the stone to be slathered with liquid gold.

The Golden Wall, as it was aptly named, encircled Avici, Kilesa and more than twenty-five-thousand hectares of surrounding territory. As the Ogha River flowed south on its winding way to Lake Keo, it roared through Avici, cleaving the massive city in half. A pair of majestic bridges—one north and one south—spanned the river where it sluiced through gaps in the Golden Wall. Immense iron gates swung beneath the catwalks, protecting Avici from attack at these two otherwise vulnerable locations.

From where she hid, Sōbhana could now see the southern bridge, which rose steeply from the main wall, towering above the churning currents. As Mala approached the bridge, the main strength of Invictus’ army greeted his brigade of ten thousand. Sōbhana guessed that more than two hundred thousand lined Ogha’s steep banks, some of whom stood ten-deep on the bridge and wall. Having a warrior’s ability to discern the extent of an enemy’s forces, Sōbhana quickly recognized that the majority of the army was made up of golden soldiers. But at least a fifth of it appeared to have been recruited from other places. The druids of Dhutanga, who had spent centuries rebuilding their numbers after their failed war with Jivita, probably numbered ten thousand. The wild men of the Kolankold Mountains had provided another five thousand, and at least five thousand Pabbajja, the Homeless People who lived on the fringes of Java, were there. Added to the horde were five thousand Mogols, who dwelled in the Mahaggata Mountains. Many wicked creatures from Mahaggata’s interior also had answered Invictus’ call, including dracools, Stone-Eaters and wolves. There were dark places beneath the mountains, as well, and from there Invictus had lured cave trolls and mud ogres, and apparently given them potions to enable them to tolerate sunlight. There were smaller numbers of other zealots: demons, ghouls, and vampires from Arupa-Loka; murderers, rapists, and thieves from Duccarita; Warlish witches and their servant hags from Kamupadana. Also included in the hideous menagerie was a slew of misshapen monsters that Sōbhana had never before seen: a pair of three-headed giants who dwarfed even Mala; creatures who were part human and part animal or insect; and beasts with mouths full of sharp teeth that hungered for human flesh.

The sheer numbers staggered Sōbhana.

But her dismay was minuscule compared to what next appeared before her. Apparently the Chain Man wasn’t Invictus’ only favorite pet. As if the sorcerer needed any more weapons in his vast arsenal, another mighty ally had joined his army. A great dragon perched on the highest framework of the bridge. Even so far away, she could see the beast was fully two hundred cubits long from head to tail and probably weighed several thousand stones.

Though she had never actually seen one, Sōbhana had heard tales of the great dragons. The eldest among them was named Bhayatupa, who was said to be as powerful as he was ancient. As the legends foretold, Bhayatupa had ruled sprawling kingdoms, fought countless battles and slaughtered many brave warriors during his millennia-long existence. Could this be that dragon? How could it not? It was huge beyond comprehension.

With the vast gathering watching Mala’s every move, the Chain Man strode toward the bridge. The army cheered. Invictus was its king, but Mala was its general. It was obvious that this army had been bequeathed to him. When it came time to unleash its power, the ruined snow giant would be at its helm, and Sōbhana and the Tugars would face their sternest test.

Since departing Dibbu-Loka, Sōbhana had been barely able to tolerate watching Torg endure such ruthless torment. But seeing the dragon pained her even more. Mala was frightening, but not invincible. Invictus, whom she had yet to face, still felt more like legend than reality. The golden soldiers, despite their daunting numbers, were not nearly as well-trained as the Tugars. The other monsters presented certain difficulties, but they could be defeated. The dragon, however, was far more perilous.

From her hiding place in a thick copse several hundred paces from the bridge, Sōbhana saw the behemoth as the coming of doom. As she gazed at the dragon, she felt true fear for the first time in her life. This creature was beyond her in all ways.

Finally she understood Torg’s mind. Her king had recognized before any of the rest of them that the Tugars could not prevail against Invictus by force. The legions of good had enjoyed many years of peace and superiority on Triken, but the Sun God, in a mere century of life, had changed all that. Sōbhana recognized that the world now approached a dangerous crossroads, and higher forces—karma, truth, love—would play the determining roles in the outcome. She now understood that Torg had surrendered to Mala in order to set those forces in motion.

What happened next caused her to tremble yet again. When the dragon spied Torg, it spread its colossal wings and sprang off the high bridge, landing on the ground in front of the wizard, who still was confined on the wagon by the magical restraining device. Its crimson head alone was twice as long as Torg’s entire body, and each of its fearsome eyes was more than two cubits in diameter. The beast bent its long neck, tilted its right eye toward Torg and glided within a finger-length of the Death-Knower’s face.

All went quiet. Even Mala dropped his arms and froze. There was magic in the air—born in a time long past.

Sōbhana was close enough to make out the details of Torg’s face, and she saw that he did not flinch. His courage smote her heart.

When the dragon spoke, some fell to their knees. Its voice assaulted the senses. It reminded Sōbhana of the dust in a hoary crypt. “
Te tam maranavidum aacikkhanti.
(They call thee a Death-Knower),” said the dragon, speaking in the ancient tongue.

“
Te tam rakkhasam aacikkhanti.
(They call thee a Monster),” Torg responded.

The dragon snorted. Blood-colored flames spewed from its nostrils, bathing Torg’s face but doing little visible damage. When the dragon next spoke, it was in the common tongue that most understood. “I would learn more.”

“Tell me why,” Torg said.

“
Abhisambodhi
. (Enlightenment),” the dragon said.

“You fear death, as do most,” the wizard said. “But what you desire to achieve is beyond you—or anyone ignorant enough to take up with this rabble.”

The dragon was startled, and it rose to its full height, towering high above all in attendance. But Mala appeared to have heard enough. He boldly stepped in front of the dragon and slapped Torg across the face. “Shut up, little fool. Do not speak again unless my king demands it.”

Then he shook his bulky fist at the dragon’s titanic presence. “Until we stand before
our
king, all interrogations of the prisoner will be carried out by me. Do you understand?”

The dragon’s head and neck made loud swishing sounds as they swayed through the air. Sōbhana thought the beast might bend down and devour Mala whole. Instead the dragon said, “I understand
 . . .
Adho Satta
. (Low one.)” But before returning to his perch on the bridge, he said one more thing to Torg: “
Bhayatupa amarattam tanhiiyati
. (Bhayatupa craves eternal existence).”

So it
was
Bhayatupa.

Sōbhana was so amazed, she failed to hear if Torg said anything more.

In order to enter the southern gates of Avici, Sōbhana was forced to kill again. When a lone soldier wandered too near her hiding place in the copse, she sprang out and drove her Tugarian dagger beneath the back of his helm into the gristle at the base of his neck. He collapsed without making a sound. With so much excitement surrounding Torg, no one seemed to notice this silent death.

Sōbhana dragged the soldier into the thick shrubs and took a long time stripping off his golden suit of armor, which was nearly perfect for her height but overlarge for her girth. She retained the arming cap but tossed aside the interior doublet and hose, parts of which had become soaked with his blood. Then she meticulously put on the armor, which was difficult but not impossible to perform without assistance. First she slid on the steel-hinged shoes, followed by the greaves, knee-cops, and cuisses. The breast, shoulder and back plates were cleverly blended into one piece that she was able to drop over her head, and she attached the brassards and elbow-cops to the shoulder plates with hinge pins. Finally she donned the single-visor helm, which had narrow eye slits with two dozen breath holes.

The soldier had carried a long sword with a straight blade. Her curved
uttara
would not fit properly into his scabbard, which created a new problem. Up to this moment, she had been able to conceal her sword and dagger beneath the loose-fitting kirtle she had stolen in Senasana. She would not part with her sword, no matter the circumstances, but she could not hide her
uttara
inside armor and also could not use her own scabbard because of its mismatched appearance. The sword had been awarded to her on the day she had become an Asēkha, and she would rather be exposed as an intruder than discard it. Despite all this, Sōbhana wasn’t overly concerned. Her weapon was similar enough in appearance to avoid detection, as long as she held it next to the soldier’s scabbard and covered most of the ornamented handle with her gauntleted hand.

Even without the padded undergarments, the metallic armor felt more comfortable than Sōbhana had expected, as if it were designed to meld with flesh. She knew little about how it was made, but whoever constructed it must have used magic to enhance its effectiveness. It felt stronger than iron, yet surprisingly pliable and light, the entire suit weighing less than two stones. Nothing worn by the Jivitan riders or Nissayan knights could match its quality; theirs was either much heavier or less protective. This added to her growing sense of hopelessness. Invictus seemed able to do no wrong.

She joined the tail end of the brigade as it entered the gates. Amid the cheering and commotion, Sōbhana’s sudden appearance went unnoticed, even by the officers. Soon she was inside.

Avici turned out to be everything Anna was not.

The Golden City swarmed with hundreds of thousands of people. The Tent City in the heart of the Great Desert housed fewer than twenty thousand Tugars and about five thousand others.

Avici appeared before Sōbhana as a maze of ponderous stone buildings and temples, interconnected by wide roadways. Its sheer mass astounded her, especially considering it had been little more than a village less than a hundred years before. Anna was a nomadic kingdom, able to pick up and relocate across the sands of Tējo. It was far older than Avici, but it contained no structures too large to transport by hand.

The citizens of Avici were servants of Invictus, subject to his orders and whims. Despite this, some of the community appeared to enjoy great wealth.

The inhabitants of Anna were free to come and go as they pleased. They worked hard and lived simply—depending on hidden oases for sustenance.

True to her warrior instincts, Sōbhana memorized each twist and turn of Avici’s main causeway. Nevertheless her efforts lacked conviction. Of what use was resistance? Invictus was too great. With Bhayatupa as its ally, Avici was a power beyond compare. The forces of good were destined for slaughter.

Even so, on that sunny morning she continued to follow the ox-driven wagon and the hordes, always staying within sight of her king. Sōbhana’s spirit was fading, but her love for Torg was not. She would stand by him until doom took them all—even if the mountainous dragon himself tried to stop her.

Mala paraded Torg along a paved roadway lined by two-story cement buildings with elaborate marble facades. Men, women and children wearing white robes leered from the balconies that protruded over the street, the adults shouting obscenities, the children hurling chunks of garbage. Sōbhana was incensed, but helpless. She couldn’t kill thousands and thousands.

She knew through her studies that the eastern portion of Avici was built upon the remnants of a volcano that had raged and fumed before the Ogha River was born. The volcano now was lifeless, and its sides had long since crumbled and smoothed. A tangle of buildings—jammed side by side on the hill—blocked Sōbhana’s view of what lay beyond. When she finally came to the crest, she was able to see more clearly. At that moment she beheld Uccheda for the first time.

The great tower of Invictus dominated the valley that lay on the northeast side of the city. It filled Sōbhana with the same dismay she’d felt when she’d seen the dragon. The evil sorcerer’s dwelling place was by far the largest edifice she had ever beheld, dwarfing the temples in Senasana and Dibbu-Loka. Even the central keep of the fortress of Nissaya did not match this level of grandeur.

Uccheda was spherical in shape, tapering slightly as it grew—and it was so tall, clouds sometimes gathered about its roof. But the tower’s height was not its most amazing attribute. What stunned Sōbhana more than anything else was the scope of its decadence. Much of its outer surface was coated with gold. Of all the known bullion in the world, it had been rumored that more than a third had been used in the construction of the tower, which blazed beneath the rising sun like a beacon of despair, blinding anyone who attempted to look at it directly.

The main roadway led downward into the valley. Torg was drawn toward the tower. Hundreds of thousands followed. Mala marched ahead of the wagon. Bhayatupa glided in lazy circles above Uccheda’s roof. No one paid Sōbhana any attention. She walked freely in her new disguise.

There were no visible apertures at the tower’s base, but fifty cubits above the ground, hundreds of doors and windows opened onto a circular balcony. The largest portal, adorned with jewels and inscriptions, faced the roadway.

Slowly the portal swung slowly open.

The crowd grew silent—and bowed.

Bhayatupa landed on the rooftop of Uccheda. Even at such a great height, she could see him clearly on a day as cloudless as this one.

Then her eyes were drawn back to the portal. Ten standard-bearers, adorned in golden armor studded with diamonds and rubies, led the way onto the balcony, their banners bearing yellow suns outlined in red on backgrounds of white.

Next, a woman of unparalleled beauty appeared, wearing a crimson gown and a bejeweled chaplet. Sōbhana curled her upper lip, recognizing Chal-Abhinno, the Warlish witch who’d obviously chosen to return to Avici after her humiliation at Dibbu-Loka. A pair of dracools, winged beasts that looked like small dragons but waddled on two legs, escorted her. Behind the dracools strode an impressive soldier wearing decorated armor. He carried his helm in the crook of his arm, and his golden locks danced in the breeze.

A stately woman with luxurious blond hair hanging past her waist joined the soldier. She was tall and magnificent in her long white gown. Despite her dignified entrance, she immediately bowed her head, as if uncomfortable.

As soon as the blond woman appeared, Sōbhana jealously observed Torg resist the restraints for the first time since being strapped to the wagon by the Kojin. Her king looked up at the woman, who appeared to return his gaze. Suddenly, pale beams of light leapt from both their eyes and collided in midair. No one but Sōbhana seemed to notice, except for Bhayatupa, who snorted in amusement, and the golden-haired soldier, who looked at the woman—and then Torg—with what appeared to be a mixture of surprise and anger.

A thunderous roar from the crowd shattered the blond woman’s reverie. She seemed startled and stumbled sideways. The soldier caught her and held her up.

Then Invictus came through the door, and Sōbhana’s jealousy was swept away. The young sorcerer commanded her full attention, and his presence rendered all her emotions impotent. She watched him walk to the edge of the balcony and raise his arms toward the sun.

Morning ended. Noon took its place. Invictus bathed in the glory of light.

Physically, the young sorcerer was not as impressive as she’d expected. He was smaller and less muscular than a Tugar, and less graceful in his manner. His yellow hair was shoulder-length, his face boyishly handsome despite being a century old, and he wore long golden robes that glimmered in the sunlight. In Sōbhana’s opinion, he was not as beautiful as Torg—or most any Tugar male.

Nonetheless she sagged to her knees. There was no hope. Invictus’ might was irrefutable. From where she stood, she could barely tolerate the power that emanated from the Sun God’s body. It felt as if she stood too close to the open door of an immense furnace. Torg, whom she’d long believed to be the most powerful being on Triken, was puny in comparison. This alarming apparition dwarfed even Bhayatupa.

Sōbhana turned to Torg for guidance. His face was far away, but she still could interpret his expression. His eyes were closed, but he grimaced, apparently feeling the same despair as she. Her king was outmatched. And if
The Torgon
was outmatched, so was everyone, and everything, else.

“I will speak to you now,” Invictus said to the throng. “Say yes, if you hear my words.”

“
YES
!”

Of everyone in attendance, only a few, including Torg, did not respond. Mala leaned over the rail of the wagon and slapped the Death-Knower’s face even harder than he’d done earlier. “Did you not hear our king? Are you deaf, little worm?”

From above, Invictus spoke again. A hidden magic amplified his voice, so that it was clearly audible throughout the entire valley. “General Mala, please be more polite.
The Torgon
is our guest. He does not know our customs.”

Mala’s chain glowed, spitting globules of acidic liquid. Then the Chain Man stepped aside. “As you command, my king.”

“Yes,” Invictus said. “As I command.”

“
YES!
” the crowd chanted.

“Now, where was I? Oh
 . . .
as I was saying, I have some things to tell you all. Can you hear me?”

“
YES!
”

This time Sōbhana unexpectedly shouted along with the obedient crowd. It felt as if the word had been torn from her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. Torg remained silent. Mala continued to glare at the wizard but did not strike him again.

“As you can see,
The Torgon
is our prisoner.”

“
YES!
”

Sōbhana resisted the sorcerer’s will, but it took all of her strength.

“He has been brought before me to stand trial.”

“
YES!
”

“I will interrogate him now.”

“
YES! YES!
”

“
Torgon
, you have conspired with others to corrupt the free peoples of Triken. I accuse you of treason. What is your plea?”

When Torg responded, Sōbhana was surprised that his voice also could be heard throughout the valley. “May I tell you some things?”