Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (9 page)

The Mogols spoke a language unlike any Sōbhana could recognize. She tended to avoid such learning—and her Vasi master often had chastised her for this. Torg could have spoken fluently with them. But her King could do many things others could not.

In the corners of her mouth, Sōbhana suddenly felt something warm and wet. She realized it was her own saliva. She had eaten little for several days, and the fare placed before her was enticingly arranged. She bent down, eyes trained on the Mogols, and grabbed a chunk of meat, swallowing it whole. She stuffed a handful of nuts and grapes into her mouth, chewed once or twice, and devoured them too. She wasn’t concerned about being poisoned. Tugars were immune to such things. In a rush, she ate everything on the tray.

The Mogols remained bowed—except for the woman. She approached Sōbhana and removed the now-empty serving dish.

Sōbhana still held the sword. She rose to her full height and glared at the gathering. “Do any of you speak the common tongue?”

There was a long, silent pause.

Finally a sinister voice echoed from far back in the tunnel.

“I do.”

The speaker came forward.

It was no Mogol.

A female demon entered the torchlight. “How beautiful you are,” she said to Sōbhana. “Bhayatupa has chosen a worthy bride. I wouldn’t mind a taste of you, myself.”

“What?” was all Sōbhana managed to say.

The demon sashayed forward and stopped just a few strides away. She had chosen to appear as a mature woman who was not particularly well-preserved.

The demon laughed at Sōbhana’s bewilderment. “I speak in jest,” she said, continuing to cackle. “Lord Bhayatupa asked me to keep you safe until he returned. I told the Mogols you were their god’s bride-to-be. Your choice of that crown completed the effect. His last wife wore the same one, more than ten thousand years ago.”

“Wife?”
Sōbhana said.

“Child, surely you know that dragons prefer human wives,” the demon said. “It’s all symbolic, of course. They don’t actually have
sex
with them.
That
would be a little difficult.” She cackled again. Small puffs of gray smoke sprang from her ears, as if her insides were burning.

“Come no closer,” Sōbhana said, but her arms trembled, and she could barely retain her grip on the heavy sword. “I will slay you. I swear it.”

The demon laughed so hard, she almost fell.

“Why do you torment me?” Sōbhana said.

“You are so
 . . .
innocent. So
 . . .
precious. My dear, how can you slay someone who does not live? Do you not know me?” For a moment, Vedana’s eyes went pure white. Then their color returned to a semblance of normalcy. “Ahhh
 . . .
I see that you do not. At least, not fully. Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Vedana, mother of all demons, and I am ancient beyond all others. Even Bhayatupa is young compared to me. Your master—the
Desert Peasant—
knows me well. But, alas, he is not here.”

At that, Sōbhana’s countenance changed. She lowered the sword until its tip pricked the stone at her feet. “Does
 . . .
he
 . . .
live?” she whispered.

Vedana seemed to consider this for a moment, then she smiled wickedly. “You’re in love with him.”

“We all love him,” Sōbhana responded, too quickly.

“Not I, though he will be of use to me. But that is not what I meant. You
love
him. Ha! Don’t you know, child, what would happen to you if he fucked you?”

“Shut your disgusting mouth,” Sōbhana said, suddenly enraged. She hoisted the sword above her head. “I will smite you where you stand.”

Through all this, the Mogols remained bowed. But their chins were raised, and they watched attentively. Vedana took one step back and waved her arms overhead. There was an explosion. A gout of smoke followed. When Sōbhana was able to see clearly, the demon had disappeared.

Sōbhana scrambled into the passageway, past the Mogols. None attempted to thwart her. She left the cave and entered the bitter cold that encased the mountaintop. Now that she was fully clothed, it did not affect her so drastically. Vedana was nowhere to be seen. The demon, for reasons of her own, had vanished.

Sōbhana calmed herself by investigating her surroundings. There was a wide stone balcony outside the cave’s mouth that provided plenty of room to move about. But beyond the platform the mountain fell steeply in all directions, its sheer stone walls coated with an ultra-slippery glaze of ice. It would be near-suicide to attempt a descent. The cave was a prison as secure as Asubha. The dragon must have transported even the Mogols here.

She turned back toward the cave. The Mogols were there, still bowing. The servant woman gestured to her, enticing her to come out of the icy wind. Sōbhana lowered her head and sighed. She was at Bhayatupa’s mercy.

She walked to the edge of the precipice and shouted into the abyss. Her voice echoed for leagues. “Damn you, dragon! Why did you strand me here? Time is precious. He might already be dead.”

The wind rose in response. Within its roar she heard the demon’s laughter. Vedana was out there, somewhere. But now she would not show herself. Was the demon’s bravado overstated? She didn’t seem to fear Sōbhana, but did Vedana fear the sword Sōbhana now wielded?

Sōbhana looked more closely at the weapon, which was plain but heavy. Its double-edged blade gleamed like freshly polished silver, and its hilt was wrapped with a material that resembled blackened leather secured with metal cords. The warrior in her recognized it as a special weapon, despite its simplicity, and she decided to test it. She let out a piercing cry and drove a cutting edge onto the side of a granite boulder, expecting the sword to snap. Instead it buried itself more than a finger’s width into the frozen stone, and then slid back out with the ease of a dagger in flesh. This was a special sword, all right. Such a blow would have broken even a
uttara
.

Despite her sudden movement, the Mogols did not flinch. Sōbhana found herself admiring their discipline. Though they lacked proper training, Mogols were respectable fighters. The best of them could hold their own against a Jivitan rider or a Nissayan knight. Of course, they were no match for a Tugar, but who was?

She returned to the cavern and began to make a bed out of a pile of clothing. The servant woman approached her, shook her head and took Sōbhana’s hand, guiding her even deeper into the cave. They arrived at a room about the size of an ordinary bedchamber. It was lit by a single torch. A plump mattress on the floor, two low wooden tables and a simple chair filled the rest of the room. Food, wine, wooden utensils and a ewer of cool water were arranged on one table. On the other lay a basin of steaming water, a cake of soap probably made from oils and tree bark, a comb carved from balsa and several wool towels. Before leaving the chamber, the servant drew a heavy curtain across the opening.

Sōbhana was blissfully alone.

When had she last bathed? Other than an occasional dip in the icy waters of the Ogha River, it had been almost two months. Her hair was greasy and knotted, and she shuddered to think what her underarms and private parts must smell like. She laid the sword on the mattress, removed her clothes, and took a long time cleaning herself. Then she laboriously combed the knots out of her black hair, which had grown a finger-length past her shoulders.

Afterward she spread some nutty-tasting butter onto a slice of crusty bread and ate it along with dried meats and grapes. She drank wine, which was potent and flavorful. This made her wonder how the Mogols had managed to get fresh provisions up to the mountaintop, but drowsiness muddled her thoughts. Her life had become filled with too many questions and too few answers. She lay down on the mattress with the sword at her side. Before she slept, she tried to make sense of Vedana’s foul words.

Don’t you know, child, what would happen
 . . .

Sōbhana thought she knew: It would be paradise. What did the demon understand that Sōbhana did not? She remembered asking Chieftain Kusala—it seemed like several lifetimes ago—why their king never shared a tent with a woman. Kusala had made it clear that Torg was dangerously sensitive about the subject.

Vedana had hinted at something. What could it be?

Sōbhana didn’t believe it was simply a demon’s trick.

Finally her mind emptied of thought. Exhaustion overcame her, and she slept deeply, the sword beside her like a cold lover.

Sōbhana spent more than a week
in the cave, rarely leaving the small chamber that had become her bedroom. She ate, slept and waited. Several times a day the Mogols served her food and wine, and they also provided her with clean water and towels whenever needed.

On the ninth night of her captivity she had a wonderful dream. Torg was kissing her on the mouth. How delicately he caressed her lips. How deliciously he entwined his sweet tongue with hers.

In her dream she was naked, and he was upon her, breathing on her neck, licking her breasts, nibbling her belly. And then his beautiful face pressed against her pubic hair, and his tongue went between her legs.

It was glorious.

And all too real.

When she opened her eyes, she recoiled. She was indeed naked, but Vedana was the one between her legs, not Torg. The demon’s tongue was as long as a snake and as black as coal. It swirled frenetically.

Sōbhana kicked in disgust.

Vedana tumbled to the floor. Unscathed, the demon bounced up and laughed wickedly. “Why did you stop me? You were enjoying it so much.”

Sōbhana reached for her sword, but it was gone. The demon must have put some kind of spell on her. Otherwise the weapon could not have been removed from her side.

“You want to fight, my beauty?” Vedana growled. “I want that too. It makes it so much sweeter.”

The demon glowed, her flesh translucent. Sōbhana could see Vedana’s bones and bulbous heart, and it made her feel faint. Vedana was too strong, wielding magic that stole the fire from her limbs. The demon rushed toward Sōbhana, intending to defile her.

When all seemed lost, Bhayatupa came to her rescue. A torrential fire blew through the cave, consuming the curtain of her small chamber. The demon seemed to fear the dragon flame, and she withdrew, snarling in frustration.

“Your future has been foreseen,” she said to Sōbhana. “You would have much preferred
me
to the suffering that awaits you.”

Bhayatupa’s deep voice boomed down the passageway. “Vedana! If you have harmed her
 . . .
”

The demon stepped back. This time instead of a smoky explosion, a circular black hole opened in the wall, and Vedana leapt into it. As quickly as it had appeared, the hole vanished.

Sōbhana stood naked in the chamber, wiping tears from her eyes. She fell to her knees. Then darkness claimed her, taking her to the stronghold of nothingness.

Sōbhana inhaled deeply.
A curious aroma entered her nostrils, a wondrous combination of honey, spices and sweet smoke. Visions flowed into her mind, wave upon wave, endless in number. Civilizations rose and fell. Brave warriors lived and died. There was glory and shame. Courage and fear. Beginnings, middles, and endings.

When she opened her eyes she lay at the mouth of the cave. Bhayatupa’s head was a finger-length away, and a tendril of smoke oozed from his nostrils to hers. She sat up so fast her face bumped against the dragon’s enormous snout.

Bhayatupa withdrew and chuckled. “I see you have returned to the living,” he said. “Are you pleased?”

The memory of the demon’s perverted act flooded Sōbhana’s awareness. She spat, and then stood up, leaning shakily against the stone wall. “I . . . don’t . . . understand.”