Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (8 page)

This was the true reason he tolerated Invictus: The sorcerer provided him with the most direct access to the Death-Knower.

And not just any Death-Knower. Hundreds had existed during Bhayatupa’s tenure, but none like this one.
The Torgon
was different than all the rest. Perhaps
 . . .
just perhaps
 . . .
the wizard could teach the dragon how to achieve immortality.

Bhayatupa craved the Death-Knower’s knowledge, but first he needed to get the wizard away from prying ears and eyes. And if Torg did not then talk voluntarily, Bhayatupa would force him—brutally.

Twelve years before he rescued Sōbhana at the base of Uccheda, Bhayatupa had been deep in the throes of dragon-sleep in one of his many hiding places in the remote heights of Mahaggata. Somehow Invictus had found him in the misty cave. The sorcerer had crouched by his pointed ear and spoke to him, though it had taken several days for Bhayatupa to awaken fully. But even before he achieved the lucidity to open his eyes, he had been aware enough to listen—and he was stunned by the extent of Invictus’ knowledge. It was as if the sorcerer could read Bhayatupa’s mind and regurgitate his thoughts.

Eventually Invictus explained that he was born of demon blood and knew many things only demons knew. When the sorcerer told Bhayatupa that Vedana, mother of all demons, was his grandmother, the puzzle began to take shape.

Invictus left the cave on Bhayatupa’s back, bragging endlessly about the might of his growing kingdom. The pair flew over Avici and Kilesa, and the dragon saw the sorcerer’s great army. They visited the prison on Mount Asubha, and Invictus stood proudly by the pit as Bhayatupa squeezed his titanic body into the courtyard and managed to bend down his long neck and peer into the hole, which was barely wider than one of his eyes. The dragon jerked upward, in pain and disgust.

Invictus laughed. “Be thankful you’re too large to fit inside,” the sorcerer said. “Not even the demons know of the dark magic I used to summon the beings that inhabit the walls of the pit. They are from a place beyond all awareness—save mine.”

And now, the Death-Knower would be imprisoned in the pit, and the greatest chance at immortality Bhayatupa had ever encountered was in dreadful peril. Unbeknown to Invictus, Bhayatupa had briefly flown alongside Mala and the Sampati just out of eyesight. He had considered killing the foul-mouthed
Adho Satta
that clung to the Sampati’s neck, and then taking Torg to some distant place. He knew, though, that kidnapping the Death-Knower would enrage Invictus and invite open warfare. The dragon was not prepared for that. There had been ages in Triken’s long history when Bhayatupa had commanded magnificent armies. But now he was alone except for a few Mogol slaves. For this reason he had to move carefully and choose the perfect moment. So he’d returned to Avici just in time to rescue the female Asēkha.

Perhaps the warrior could free
The Torgon
. It was worth a try. Besides, it now appeared to be his best chance.

Such limited options annoyed Bhayatupa. And he did not like being annoyed. If he achieved immortality he would take revenge on all living beings, including Invictus.

And if immortality were unachievable? Then he would at least force the Death-Knower to teach him how to overcome
Tanhiiyati,
the insatiable craving for eternal existence.

If he were not cured of it soon, he would go mad, if he hadn’t already.

Sōbhana felt drowsy.
One of Bhayatupa’s thick crimson scales held her against the interior flesh of his breast. The pounding of his massive heart—which she guessed was larger than her entire body—lulled her toward sleep. The skin beneath the scale was covered with a sweet silky fleece as warm and dry as a luxurious blanket.

Her warrior curiosity finally overcame her weariness, and she managed to squirm and wriggle until her head poked out from beneath the scale. Thick clouds obscured her vision. Everywhere she looked, the air was white.

Bhayatupa was far larger and more powerful than a Sampati. His enormous wings swept through the air with long, steady strokes. His legs were tucked against his body, and his neck, which Sōbhana guessed was more than fifty cubits long, stretched straight forward, while his tail, which was even longer, extended straight behind his sleek torso. Despite weighing more than several desert elephants, the great dragon flew faster than a diving hawk.

Sōbhana realized she was no longer terrified. Ironically, the closer she got to the dragon, the less she feared him. Perhaps it was because she no longer cared if she lived or died. Perhaps her hopelessness had eliminated fear from what remained of her tattered range of emotions. Perhaps it was the spicy smell of his skin.

There was an occasional break in the clouds. For brief moments she could see land far below. To the southeast she recognized Ti-ratana, the largest lake in the known world. To the west was the Gap of Gamana, where Arupa-Loka and its demon inhabitants lay hidden. She had flown more than once on the backs of eagles, so seeing the land from so high above was not unique to her experience.

The dragon’s intentions puzzled Sōbhana. Obviously he had ingested the corpse that wore her black outfit in an attempt to fool those who watched from below. But why? And now he flew northwestward toward the mountains. Was he taking her to a secret place to devour her at his leisure?

“I hear your thoughts,” Bhayatupa said, in his indomitable baritone voice. “Your mind is more closed than most, but I do comprehend some of what you say. You wonder why you are not already dead. Is that not so?”

“I often wonder that,” she shouted into the rushing wind.

Bhayatupa laughed. The sound was disconcerting, but no longer as eerie as it had first seemed. “You Asēkhas consider yourselves great. But compared to me, you are
Adho Satta
. Do you doubt it?”

His words offended her, replacing her original fear with rising irritation. “What you consider low is not what I consider low. Compared to you, we are physically puny, that is true. But Asēkhas are loyal and honorable, attributes that are beyond your arrogance.”

Bhayatupa sneered. Smoke puffed from his nostrils. Traces of it blew against her face, causing her to sneeze. “Loyalty
 . . .
honor
 . . .
only words. Time is the true master. All else pales before it, but you pale far more than I. Your lifespan is but a single breath compared to mine.”

“I have confessed my puniness. What more do you want, O Exalted One? Does it please you to denigrate your victims before you eat them? Tell me where you are taking me
 . . .
and why.”

“Such insolence! Your bravery is impressive for one so tiny.”

“Tiny? Yes. But not helpless. Even when unarmed, an Asēkha does not lack weapons. I am strong enough to drive my fist through the flesh of your breast and punch a hole in your heart. Do
you
doubt it?”

In reaction to Sōbhana’s sudden threat the dragon panicked, realizing that he had unknowingly left himself vulnerable. He stopped in midair, rearing like a horse, his great wings beating frenetically as he reached for her with massive talons, hoping to pluck her from his breast before she could attack.

“Whoa,” she said. “Relax! Relax!” And then
she
began to laugh. “If I had wanted to destroy you, I would have done so without warning.” And then she sighed. “There is only one desire left to me, Dragon. I wish, somehow, to rescue my king.”

Bhayatupa warily resumed his flight, but Sōbhana sensed a change in his demeanor. Now there was at least a smidgeon of respect. “I have underestimated you,” he finally admitted. “Mogols, witches and ghouls have not your
 . . .
substance. That is a good thing. I am pleased
 . . .
because
 . . .
I have a task for you that will benefit both of us if you are successful.”

Bhayatupa landed at the opening of a cave near the peak of a bony mountain. He removed her from beneath his scale and set her down on the stone. A nasty wind blew, causing Sōbhana to shiver in her nakedness.

“Tell me, then, what is this task?” she said, staring up at the humongous creature.

“Your desire is my desire. I want to help you rescue the Death-Knower.” Then without saying more, he sprang into the air and flew eastward, faster than the wind.

Sōbhana watched the dragon diminish to a crimson speck. She was exhausted and vulnerable. She had no choice but to enter the cave, which obviously had been Bhayatupa’s intent.

The mouth of the cave was five times her height and at least that wide. Just a few strides within its opening, the temperature warmed considerably—to above freezing, anyway. She followed a long passageway that descended into the bowels of the mountain. Cold water dripped from the ceiling onto her bare back and buttocks. It was unpleasant, to say the least. The stone beneath her feet was smooth and slippery. She pressed her hand against the wall of the tunnel, which was oily and wet as if slick with sweat.

The passageway narrowed slightly, growing so dark she began to stumble. But as she walked farther, the darkness lost its intensity. Eventually she saw a glowing light in the distance.

The tunnel emptied into a cavern large enough to swallow the entire temple of Bakheng. The hollow was lighted with hundreds of torches. Sōbhana gasped and pressed her arms against her bosom. Piles of treasure—magnificent to behold—were neatly arranged on the expansive stone floor. Near where she stood was a miniature mountain of gold and silver coins. Another pile contained daggers, swords, and scabbards adorned with jewels. Farther back were belts, buckles and sandals, all exquisitely designed. Still farther were rings, necklaces and bracelets. There were five tall trees constructed entirely of black pearls, and ten silver coffins encrusted with fist-sized diamonds. There were suits of armor made of solid gold, along with axes and clubs, helmets and shields, hauberks and gauntlets. There were plates and goblets, silks and tapestries, crowns and thrones.

A vast sea of treasure shimmered in the torchlight. And it was well maintained. Polished and dusted. By someone. Or something.

Walkways wound between the arrangements, and Sōbhana wandered along them, still naked, her jaw slack. She was a warrior, not a princess obsessed with baubles, but even she was allured. The entire room sparkled.

She found clothing in the back of the cavern. Amid a stack of finery, she chose a pair of tight-fitting silk pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. Both were black, which was to her liking. She picked up a pair of boots made of black leather with wool insoles, and, finally, a coat of dark fur. The coat was too extravagant for her tastes, but she took it for warmth.

Off to the side, something caught her eye. A gold crown laden with diamonds, rubies and pearls seemed to beckon to her. She placed it on her head. It fit perfectly.

She chuckled. If the dragon took her to rescue Torg, she’d look good in doing so.

There was a sudden movement at the edge of her peripheral vision. She spun, crouched defensively, and then somersaulted forward, grasping a sword from a pile of weapons. Its straight, double-edged blade was longer and heavier than she preferred, but it would do. The crown somehow stayed on her head.

Standing at the entrance to the cavern were a dozen large men, their faces colorfully painted. They held long wooden spears and wore deerskin ponchos and furry moccasins. Despite the cold, their hairy arms and legs were bare.

Sōbhana recognized them as Mogols, the brutal enemies of Nissaya who roamed the Mahaggata Mountains. Tugars despised them, hunting them down whenever they could. They were formidable warriors, but no match for an Asēkha. Sōbhana was already planning her mode of attack. Weapons lay all about her, and she knew how to use each one.

But the Mogols did not strike. Instead they lowered their spears and knelt before her. A lone woman hurried forward, bearing a tray of dried meat, roasted nuts and blue grapes. The woman laid it at Sōbhana’s feet, then respectfully backed away.