Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (6 page)

“
YES!
” the crowd shouted.

Mala lunged at Torg with murder in his eyes. But the sorcerer waved his hand—just slightly—and the Chain Man froze.

The Death-Knower’s belligerence, rather than anger Invictus, appeared to amuse him. “Of course,
Torgon
. As my subjects will readily attest, I am fair and just. Feel free to say whatever is on your mind.”

“
YES!
”

Torg spoke slowly. “I gave my word to Mala that I would allow him to bring me here to you. As of now, I have honored my vow. And I can sense in my heart that the noble ones are safe, which means that Mala has honored his.”

“Go on,” Invictus said. “This is fascinating.”

“Henceforth, I consider myself free of any bonds. I will now make every effort to escape. And there’s more. I tell you and all present that I despise you and your servants. This means, I suppose, that I plead guilty to your charges.”

Bhayatupa, still poised on the roof of Uccheda, lifted his head and chortled. It was an eerie sound, deep and rumbling. Mala shook with rage, and the Kojin leapt up and down, pounding her numerous fists. The druids also reacted by re-creating their peculiar rhythmic humming, while in the background the crowd chanted, “
YES! YES! YES!”

Regardless, the young sorcerer seemed unperturbed. He stepped off the balcony, descended slowly to the ground—his golden robes spread like wings—and landed as gently as a fallen leaf. With a quick little hop, he pounced onto the wagon bed and stared into Torg’s eyes. The massive gathering was shocked into silence.

Sōbhana slithered within striking distance, but she was terrified. If Invictus attacked Torg, would she have the courage to defend him?

“Ah, such entertainment,” the sorcerer said. “You enthrall me, Death-Knower. You are so
 . . .
interesting
. And nowadays, I find so few things interesting. Being a god can be so
boring
. There aren’t enough challenges. Everyone does exactly what I say. Do you understand my predicament?”

“I understand you are a spoiled child,” Torg said. “A wicked child, as well, blind to your failings. I can redeem you, if you will allow me into your heart. You will not regret it. But you must somehow find the wisdom to listen.”

Somewhere in the clouds Bhayatupa laughed again. The crowd seemed to stir.

Invictus’ composure began to diminish. “Do not test me too severely. I find you amusing, but not so amusing that you are beyond punishment. I can see that you do not fear for yourself, but what of your precious others? Do you truly believe that the noble ones are safe? Perhaps I could destroy them all with only a thought. Or even worse, I could infect them with an evil that would force them to perform my bidding.”

“Not even you are that powerful,” Torg said. But Sōbhana detected doubt in his voice.

Mala stood next to the wagon. Though the monster’s feet were on the ground, his eyes were level with the wizard and sorcerer’s. “
Pleaaaaase
, my king, I beseech you,” he said, his fangs spewing poison. “Allow me to rip him to pieces.”

“Nay, I have prepared a place for him of
my
choosing,” Invictus said. “There he will endure pain far greater than what you are suggesting. After a time he will
beg
to join us
 . . .
if he manages to survive.”

Then Invictus raised his arms, and his voice again boomed throughout the valley. “You have heard for yourselves.”

“
YES!
”

“
The Torgon
admits his guilt.”

“
YES!
”

“I will now pronounce his sentence.”

“
YES!
”

“
The Torgon
will be taken to Asubha where he will be imprisoned until he repents.”

“
YES! YES! YES!
”

“No,” Sōbhana begged. “Please
 . . .
no.”

Invictus abandoned Torg
in the wagon at the base of Uccheda for three days, giving him nothing to drink or eat. Apparently Invictus intended to weaken the wizard even further. Twice the skies darkened and rained lightly. Sōbhana watched her king catch water on his tongue. The brief sprinkles appeared to entrance him despite his dismal situation, as if the scattered drops were things of beauty. He even managed to smile.

Sōbhana could not approach too closely. After Invictus disappeared within the tower, the massive surge of onlookers wandered off, and the soldiers returned to their duties, leaving her with fewer places to hide, despite her disguise. Even after the others departed, at least fifty golden soldiers continued to guard the wagon. They were regimented and seemed to know each other well. If she had attempted to infiltrate them, she quickly would have been exposed as an intruder.

Mala, the Kojin and the druids also checked on the prisoner often. Sōbhana doubted Invictus felt threatened so near the great tower, but obviously the king of the Tugars was important to him. You can put a prized jewel in an impregnable chamber and still feel compelled to stand outside and watch the door.

Sōbhana would have sacrificed her own flesh just to speak with her king for a few moments. But even if she had been able to find a way, she remained wary of Torg’s vow to kill any Tugar who followed him. She had heard him say to Invictus that his pledge was fulfilled. Did that free her as well? Could she help him now? She wasn’t certain.

During the long journey from Dibbu-Loka, Sōbhana had not suffered as much as Torg, but it had been hard on her too. She was hungry, thirsty and weaker than usual. She crouched in a damp culvert and shivered in the autumn cold. The golden armor lay discarded at her side. She could bear it against her skin no longer. Some time during the third morning, her exhaustion overcame her, and she slept.

A while later Sōbhana jerked awake. Now it was almost noon, and the day had grown unseasonably warm for Avici’s northern clime. The sky was cloudless, the air crisp and clear. She crawled to the edge of the culvert and gasped. Torg and the wagon were gone, but swarms of citizens and soldiers were pouring back into the valley. Though it disgusted her, she hurriedly put the golden armor back on and blended into the thickening crowd.

Sōbhana searched in all directions, but Torg was nowhere in sight. Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. She was through with self-pity. Whoever had taken him while she slept would pay. She didn’t care about her own life. She’d failed her king and deserved to die. How could she have slept so deeply? It was as if her proximity to the sorcerer had drugged her.

The throng began to chant. “Sampati
 . . .
Sampati
 . . .
Sampati
 . . .
”

Sōbhana gazed upward. Bhayatupa circled high above the rooftop of Uccheda, a splotch of crimson in the blue sky. But it was not the dragon that occupied the crowd’s attention this time. Instead, it was a shimmering black speck that appeared in the northern sky, growing larger as it approached. Though it was no match for Bhayatupa in sheer size, it was huge, nonetheless. A Sampati, which meant
crossbreed
in the ancient tongue, flew toward Uccheda, its tremendous wings pumping the air. Apparently, Torg’s transportation to the prison on Mount Asubha was about to arrive.

From where she stood, Sōbhana couldn’t see who or what waited on the pinnacle of Uccheda. Although there were no clouds to block her view, the angle was too severe. Still, she could sense Torg on the rooftop. And if he were there, Mala and Invictus would also be present.

Overcome by madness, Sōbhana frantically removed the armor and stood alone in her black outfit among the thousands who wore either gold or white. She held her
uttara
in her right hand and her dagger in her left, and entered into
frenzy
. She attacked soldiers and citizens alike, first just a few and then by the dozens. Wherever she went, there was shouting and confusion. Blood splattered. Heads fell. She murdered any and all within reach. As the Sampati landed on Uccheda’s rooftop, Sōbhana wreaked havoc below—killing, killing, killing. Not even the magnificent armor worn by the golden soldiers could withstand her.

Sōbhana cut off a soldier’s leg, slicing through his cuisse as if it were paper. She spun in a full circle, simultaneously severing the head of a civilian woman with her sword and slashing the jugular of a man with her dagger. The woman’s head flipped round and round in the air and tumbled into the arms of a boy, who screamed wildly and tossed it aside.

Although most of the crowd still was focused on the approach of the crossbred condor, a few began to take notice of Sōbhana’s mayhem. More than a dozen druids rushed toward her, humming in their peculiar fashion. She dove into them, slicing and thrusting. Though they were almost twice her size, they were no match. She had trained for fifty years with a Vasi master and was one of the deadliest of her kind. The druids fell in a torrent of green blood.

Hacked in half. Beheaded. Stabbed through their foul hearts.

She was, after all, Asēkha-Sōbhana.

One of the most dangerous warriors in the world.

She could not kill everyone in the valley.

But she would die, trying.

The flat rooftop of Uccheda
had no protective wall or other adornments and was the only sizable portion of the tower’s exterior not coated in gold. Invictus did not desire for it to be slippery.

In anticipation of the arrival of the Sampati, the rooftop was abuzz with activity. Ten golden soldiers faced ten others about fifty cubits apart, holding thick ropes between them. When the huge beast finally landed, its sharp claws scratched along the surface, tearing up chunks of mortar. The Sampati slid forward, out of control.

“Now!” Mala commanded.

The soldiers heaved on the ropes, which grew taut just as the Sampati rammed into them. The six-inch-thick strands stretched but did not break. The hybrid bird slammed to a halt. Immediately a pair of soldiers raced over and attached chains to the beast’s legs.

A thin but muscular pilot leapt off the condor’s neck, strode to Invictus and bowed nimbly before him. “The Sampati and I are at your service, my king.”

The condor, crossbred with a dragon to increase its size and strength, was one of eleven of its kind. Only a few remained in captivity. The others had escaped and now flew freely about the peak of Mount Asubha, feeding on prisoners—and sentries.

The Sampati had a black torso with white splotches at the tips of its wings, which measured forty cubits when extended. Most of its body was covered with feathers, but its head, neck and feet were laden with crimson dragon scales. A sturdy platform was attached to its back by thick straps that clung to its torso.

The enormous bird was high-strung, struggling against the chains and flapping its wings. Invictus knew it wasn’t wise to keep the creature waiting too long. Its hooked beak could tear and rend. Passengers and supplies—with a combined weight of as much as a ton—were loaded quickly.

“We will need the Sampati, but not you,” Mala said to the pilot. “I’ll fly the beast to Asubha myself. This one will carry precious cargo.” The Chain Man nodded toward Torg, who lay on the rooftop, still restrained and under heavy guard.

“As you command,” the pilot said, before stepping aside.

Mala ordered the guards to secure Torg to the platform. Before this was completed, a soldier hustled over and dropped to his knees in front of the Chain Man.

“Pardon my rudeness, Lord Mala,” the soldier said. “But something is happening in the valley below that might be of interest to you and King Invictus.” Then the soldier turned toward Invictus. “There is an odd commotion, my liege.”

Curious, Invictus walked to the edge and looked down. The valley far below was bursting with soldiers and citizens. From the rooftop they looked like a swarm of bugs. Near the base of the tower some of the bugs had encircled a single tiny figure.

Mala joined him at the edge of the precipice. “What
is
going on down there?” he asked, sounding sincerely baffled.