Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (22 page)

Julich sensed more than saw the Kojin. The morning already was absurdly hot, and the padding beneath his armor was so drenched with sweat it felt heavier than the metal. Now something even hotter approached, causing Julich to choke. The newborns nearest him shied away, and suddenly a monster almost as tall as a snow giant came into his range of vision. At first Julich thought it was Mala himself, come to crush them all. Then he saw the six arms and the bulbous breasts and recognized the creature as a Kojin.

As if somehow sensing Julich was a senior commander, the gigantic ogress came straight for him. Julich felt his destrier back up into the warhorse behind, and then suddenly it tried to rear, though the heavy barding prevented it from rising on its hindquarters. Regardless, the captain was nearly thrown, and would have been had his steed not been sandwiched between two other massive destriers. Just as suddenly, his horse regained its composure, as if sensing help was on the way. A gap appeared in the wall, and
The Torgon
and Asēkhas rushed through it.

Julich found himself screaming.

Not in terror. But in joy.

AFTER TORG LEFT her, Laylah’s heart sank. When he disappeared into a crevice in the shield wall, the sorceress wanted to scream. Would this be the last time she ever saw him? She didn’t know. The uncertainty made it even worse.

But Laylah didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Soon after Torg vanished, another wave of newborns and monsters emerged from the shield wall. Without the wizard and the Asēkhas to bring down the worst of them, the fighting was even more desperate. Laylah saw Rajinii strike down a Stone-Eater, cleaving its lumpy skull with the jade head of her oaken staff. Lucius and Bonny, transformed into hideous monsters, killed newborns one by one with their bare hands, though it wasn’t easy, even for them. Ugga was shouting, “Get him, little guy!” to Elu, and then the Svakaran jammed his Tugarian dagger into the visor of a newborn that had clambered onto the croup of their destrier.

Still, among them all, Laylah wreaked the most havoc. Other than Torg’s sword, Obhasa was the most powerful weapon they possessed, its blue fire, laced with her white, blasting apart anything it struck. Not even the newborns were a match for it, and Laylah lost count of how many she slew. But it was at least five score.

The fighting was fast and furious. A Warlish witch, mounted on a black mountain wolf almost as tall at the shoulder as Izumo, approached Laylah with murder in her hideous eyes. The witch bore a long wooden staff aflame with crimson magic, and she swung it at Laylah, who countered with Obhasa. When the two staffs met, there was a crackling conflagration.

It was no contest. The witch’s staff burst asunder, and almost instantly she and the wolf were consumed in a flurry of blue-white flame.

However, without the considerable aid of Torg and the Asēkhas, this ambush did not go as smoothly. At least fifty newborns still lived when the next wave entered the fray, and almost two hundred still survived when the wave after that poured through the shield wall. Laylah did her best to bring things back under control, increasing the ferocity of her attacks by showering dozens of newborns with fire that melted their metallic flesh.

Though she estimated that more than five thousand of the enemy had been slain, it still represented just a fraction of what remained. Fear took hold of her heart, but at the same time she felt a macabre sort of hope. If she died in battle, Invictus would not be able to harm her further. Disregarding her own safety, Laylah urged Izumo deeper into the fray.

“Let them come!” she screamed, as she fought with a frenzy that surpassed the greatest of either side.

WITH A SUDDEN halt to his whistling, Invictus shouted,
“There!”

This startled Ulaara. “My liege?”

“There she is
 . . .
I see her
 . . .
her essence.
Look
at her. She has grown in power since she last was with me.”

“I see nothing, my liege, other than a tangled mass of
Adho Satta
. Do you wish me to descend?”

“Yes, you fool—she’s no good to me dead, though the way she acts around me she might as well be.”

“My liege?”

“Never mind. Go
down
! I’ll lead the way. If you skim along the ground, I might be able to scoop her up without us even having to land.”

“As you command, my liege.”

In a series of tight spirals, the black dragon plummeted more than fifteen hundred fathoms, finally skimming along the surface of the newborn horde.

“Not here, you fool! There
 . . .
there
!”

Ulaara twisted his neck and peered back just enough to see where the Sun God was pointing. Then he gained altitude and soared over the shield wall. As he did, hundreds of iron-spiked bolts from crossbows bounced harmlessly off his black scales, but a blast of blue-green energy clipped his tail, burning like acid and causing him to yelp.

“Never mind that! Pay attention to me. Do you see her? So
close
!”

Then Ulaara did see her, a vision in white with long black hair. But when he approached, Invictus squeezed the base of his neck with his thighs, spurting fiery agony into his shoulders.

“Not
her
, you idiot! To your right
 . . .
your
right
!”

Now Ulaara truly saw her. This one also wore white and rode a white horse, but her hair was yellow like the sorcerer’s, and her aura was magnificent to behold. Ulaara prepared to pounce upon her.

What happened next caught Ulaara utterly by surprise.

WHEN BHAYATUPA saw the speck spiraling down from the sky, a plan quickly formed in his mind. If he could strike with enough devastation, perhaps he could cause Invictus to lose his grip and fall, leaving Ulaara undefended.

Now that Bhayatupa comprehended death, he knew that vengeance would carry far less satisfaction. But the ancient part of him that had remained intact after his Death Visit still craved revenge. Mūlaka, his once-beautiful son, deserved no less.

Without saying goodbye to Rathburt, Bhayatupa launched straight up in the air, hovered for a moment above the treetops of Dhutanga, and then surged southward, driving his leathery wings up and down in a series of mighty pumps. To further increase his speed, the crimson dragon extended his neck forward and tail back, becoming almost as aerodynamic as a spear. With eons of rage intensifying his strength and endurance tenfold, Bhayatupa skimmed just above the canopy, his velocity ever-increasing as he streaked down the length of Cariya. When he reached the White City, he veered sharply left, flying so low that the tips of his wings brushed the grass on each down-stroke.

In all his long life Bhayatupa had never flown with such speed, the steamy air rushing past his face in a tumultuous roar. The timing would have to be just right, or he would overshoot and lose the advantage of surprise. And if Invictus saw him before he attacked, his effort would be for naught.

Bhayatupa approached the rear of the Jivitan army and then was forced to hesitate. Hovering above the battlefield was a black splotch almost as large as himself. Bhayatupa could sense Ulaara as well as see him, and it only served to magnify his anger. But he also could sense the presence of Invictus, a blob of energy as blinding as a star.

It was now or never.

Bhayatupa exploded forward, tucking his head against his breast at the very last moment, so that the thick, curved middle of his neck plowed into Ulaara’s ribcage like a battering ram. With relentless determination, Bhayatupa continued to drive his enemy upward and then sideways, covering a vast distance in mere seconds. When Hadaya’s blue waters appeared far beneath them, Bhayatupa reached out and grasped one of Ulaara’s wings with his front talons, shaking the black dragon with all his might. As hoped, Invictus lost his grip and plummeted a thousand fathoms before striking the shimmering surface of the huge lake.

Now that the sorcerer was gone, Bhayatupa could focus his full attention on the creature he had hated for hundreds of centuries.

“Coward! Murderer! I have found you at long last,” Bhayatupa said in the ancient tongue. “You slew my son. Now it is your turn to die.”

As Bhayatupa expected, Ulaara was in no mood for a fight. The black dragon turned and fled northward, filling
Mahaasupanno
with glee. If Ulaara had been thinking clearly, he could have dived toward the lake and sought the sorcerer’s assistance, but the black dragon never was cool under pressure. Without Sankhayo and Sankhaya to protect him, Ulaara had been revealed as a fraud thirty millennia ago. Without Invictus, he was revealed again.

The black dragon flew fast despite tears on his wing, but the crimson dragon was faster. Bhayatupa allowed his quarry to reach the southern foothills, far from Invictus’s reach, before he closed the gap.

Ulaara sensed his approach, twisting and weaving in a pathetic attempt to avoid the attack. But then it was as if he simply gave up.

Bhayatupa grasped the black dragon with his front and rear talons and bit with terrific force on his neck just below the jaw line.

Scales cracked. Gristle and bones crunched.

Black blood gushed from Ulaara’s mouth and nostrils.

In midair, his body went limp.

It all happened so fast, Bhayatupa barely had time to take pleasure in the kill. It had been too easy, but perhaps, at least for Ulaara, it had been a relatively quick and painless way to die. And perhaps, Ulaara’s own guilt had motivated his surrender.

Bhayatupa released the titanic corpse and watched it plummet. The remains of his ancient enemy smote the side of the nearest mountain. A tremendous explosion filled with black fire cast rock and debris in all directions, followed by a dense plume of smoke that rose far into the sky.

Ulaara was no longer.

WHEN THE NARROW channel opened at the front rank, a mass of snarling newborns greeted Torg. They were so densely packed there was barely room to breathe. Torg held his left hand aloft and willed blue-green energy to pour from his open palm. The sizzling flame cleared a temporary path. Bhojja veered immediately to her left and cantered along the front rank. It was obvious the Faerie knew, as usual, where to go.

Above the sea of gold towered a bulbous head. A Kojin had pressed in against the front rank and was reaching behind the kite-shaped shields, plucking white horsemen off their mounts one by one and bashing their helms together before casting them aside and reaching for more. As Torg drew closer, he saw Captain Julich raise his own shield in defense, but the heroic Jivitan was so weak he could barely remain in the high saddle. The white horsemen already were mentally and physically exhausted, having faced horrors that would have tested a Tugar.

With her full attention focused on snaring Julich, the Kojin didn’t notice Torg’s approach until it was too late. Torg’s anger was unleashed, and with one downward stroke of the Silver Sword, he hacked off all three of the ogress’s left hands. Howling in agony, the Kojin backed away, purple fire spurting from the stumps.

Bhojja continued forward, enabling Torg to strike again. With another powerful downward stroke, Torg first cut the Kojin’s left breast, splitting the beast’s swollen nipple and continuing crosswise down her abdomen and right thigh. The ogress was dealt a mortal wound, and she fell backward. More purple energy blew outward, destroying the nearest dozen newborns.

Inspired by their king’s heroics, the Asēkhas slew anything that dared approach. But then one horror was replaced by another. A disturbing shadow, cast upon them from above, interrupted the frenzy of battle.

At first, Torg thought that a cloud had swept over the sun, but the shadow was moving too quickly. He looked up just in time to see a black dragon pass overhead. Faster than the eye could follow, Torg raised his hand and unleashed a fiery bolt, but he was too late and barely clipped the end of the dragon’s long tail.

Bhojja reacted quickly, turning toward the front rank and attempting to force her way through. But amid the chaos they could find nowhere to enter.

“Open!” Torg screamed. “Let us pass!” Out of a frantic desire to reach Laylah, Torg considered burning his way through the shield wall, which ironically held him out as effectively as it had the newborns. But then the massive shadow returned, only this time it passed overhead in the opposite direction. Torg saw Bhayatupa jammed against the interloper, driving him into the sky with all his titanic strength. In a matter of moments, the two dragons shrank into a speck that disappeared from sight.

The spectacle paralyzed both sides of the battle.

Only Torg seemed able to move. “Kusala, lead the Asēkhas along the front rank and lend aid where you may,” Torg shouted. “The horsemen are faltering. They need hope. Provide it!”

“And what of you, lord?” the chieftain said. “Will you return to the rear?”

“Where I go is my business. Obey my command!”

Then Torg patted Bhojja on her neck. “Into the fray,” he said. The great mare nickered, as if pleased.

FROM A HILLOCK half a league away, Mala watched the progression of the battle with increasing perplexity. The white horsemen, arranged in a wall-like formation, seemed to be doing little more than holding their ground against the newborns, which pounded against them like a fast-rising tide. And where were the Tugars? He couldn’t see a single one.

A few of the newborns found a seam in the wall and poured into it. The Chain Man raised his trident and cheered. The two remaining Kojins screeched in response.

Then the breach in the wall closed.

“Now the pathetic horsemen are being assailed on both sides,” Mala said to the ogresses. “Soon we’ll see them break apart.”

The Kojins nodded enthusiastically.

However, though the shield wall continued to form temporary cracks, it did not break apart.

Mala became increasingly agitated. “What is holding them together?” he shouted. “Parājeti, go down there and see what’s going on!”

The Kojin squealed in obeisance and thundered down the hillock. Mala watched her admiringly, but then his attention was drawn to a small shadow descending from the sky. One of his dracools landed near him and approached. Uncharacteristically, Mala remembered the
baby dragon
’s name, sort of: Alula, Agula
 . . .
wait, Arula!

“General Mala,” Arula said in a raspy voice. “I have disturbing news.”

“As if you foul-smelling lizards ever have anything good to say. What is it? Quick, you idiot!”

The large male’s eyes narrowed, and he bared a nasty-looking row of fangs, but Mala was not intimidated.

“Well?”

“The Tugars—close to nine thousand strong—are hidden behind the Jivitan formation. The white horsemen are purposely allowing small numbers to pierce the shield wall. Once on the other side, the newborns are being slaughtered. It is an unusual tactic, but thus far the enemy has suffered almost no casualties. As long as the wall holds, our losses will mount.”

“Do something about it, then,” Mala said. “Are the dracools a bunch of cowards?”

This time, Arula growled loudly. “General! The dracools have suffered more than any other. We lost many at Nissaya. Less than a score of our original number remains. We are no longer a viable fighting force.”

“Like you ever were! Get your ugly carcass out of my way. You’re blocking my view.”

Though enraged, the dracool dared not challenge Mala. Instead, he returned to the sky, but this time with little motivation to report back with further news. Arula decided that he no longer desired to serve Mala or Invictus, and he fled northward. Most of the other dracools saw him and followed. But Mala didn’t care.

Above the mass of newborns and monsters, Mala could see that Parājeti had reached the front rank of white horsemen and was wreaking havoc. Now the formation would have to crumble, and when it did, the Jivitans and Tugars would be scattered and slaughtered. Mala was so excited he could barely stand still.

Only, it didn’t turn out that way. Mala saw strange movement near the front, as if a trickle of black had oozed among the gold—and then Parājeti was howling. At first this astonished Mala. Then rage took over, and he started down toward the Jivitans. If you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself.

As if things weren’t confused enough, a massive shadow swept overhead. Mala gasped. What the hell? Invictus was riding Bhayatupa into battle, only the crimson dragon now was black. Had his king cast some sort of spell to further humiliate the disgusting lizard? Or had he charred him from head to tail, just to keep him in line?

When the real Bhayatupa appeared and plowed into the black dragon’s side, Mala was even more confused. The battle should have been over already, but instead had become a monumental mess. To make matters worse, the remaining Kojin had abandoned him and charged down into the melee. Mala could hear her psychic shouts:
“Sister!
Nooooo!”

Why couldn’t anything ever go smoothly?

Mala decided to march on down and bash a hole through the Jivitan formation himself. Witches and Stone-Eaters gathered around him. But just when it appeared things were going to get fun again, there was another strange occurrence. Like overexcited dogs, newborns were leaping into the air. No, that wasn’t right. They were being thrown into the air—
blown
into the air.

“What is going
on
?” he said to the Warlish witch named Wyvern-Abhinno, his obnoxious voice exasperated.

“Lord Mala, we are assaulted,” said the witch, now in her hideous state.

“Lord Mala, we are assaulted,”
Mala mimicked. “Are you as stupid as you are ugly? Tell me
who
or
what
assaults us, you idiot!”

“Among the enemy, only the Death-Knower wields such power,” Wyvern said.

“Aaaah, the Death-Knower. I’m going to have to start calling him the Pest-Knower. Come
 . . .
all of you,” he said to the witches and Stone-Eaters. “Let’s trap the Desert Rat and put an end to his meddling.”

Though Mala stood taller than the rest, he still had a difficult time determining Torg’s exact location among the dense throng. Here and there, newborns were cast into the air, some blown to pieces, but when Mala and his entourage would arrive at that place, the Death-Knower would already be gone. This happened several times, enraging Mala to the point that he could barely see through his swollen eyelids. Finally, Torg charged into a clearing atop the largest horse Mala had ever seen. Before the wizard disappeared again, Mala issued a challenge.

“Desert Rat! Why waste time killing peasants when you can kill their general? Here I am! Or are you too much of a coward to face me?”

“No more a coward than you, who would not defend his own brother,” Torg shouted back.

“You underestimate my power, Desert Rat,” said Mala, while raising his trident. “You have ventured too near!”

At the same time as Mala launched an attack on Torg, a torrent of fire as hot as molten stone struck Mala’s broad back, knocking him forward onto his face. The blast from Vikubbati went awry, scorching a trench in the ground fifty cubits long and five deep. But it missed Torg.

Suddenly there was fire everywhere.

Bhayatupa the Great had returned, and his rage was turned on Mala’s army. Mala heard Torg laugh and then shout, “Yama-Deva, the dragon fire is streaked with blue! Do you know what that means?” Then the wizard’s jade horse sprang away.

When Mala regained his feet, he was stunned to see that his vast army was in disarray. Newborns and monsters were trampling each other in a chaotic attempt to flee the dragon’s wrath. Then a mighty horn blared so loudly that Mala had to cover his ears. In response, the white horsemen broke formation and thundered forward. And now leading the way were thousands of black-clad Tugars.

Even worse, an unforeseen foe, numbering in the thousands, approached from the north, and it ripped into the newborns like tumbling boulders.

The Daasa had come.

THE MORE OFTEN Lucius converted to the larger, deadlier state, the clearer his thoughts became once he did. But pain accompanied the transformations, dancing throughout his body like a ballerina with molten slippers, burning and scorching every shred of his flesh.

He hated it.

But also treasured it.

Bonny was right. Pain could bring pleasure. And strength.

Though the golden soldiers were in many ways his kin, slaying them did not trouble the firstborn. In his mind, the newborns were an extension of Invictus and Mala and therefore just as despicable. Of course, wanting to kill them and actually killing them were two different things. Each newborn was bigger and more powerful than even the greatest of the druids. Lucius had watched Laylah destroy dozens in the time it had taken him to defeat just one, and Bonny seemed to be struggling in similar fashion.

Eventually, other monsters filtered through the gaps in the shield wall, and Lucius found he was better-equipped to kill these than he was his brethren. After a brief but ferocious struggle, he managed to strangle a cave troll, then crack the skull of a female vampire that eerily resembled the Urbana he remembered from his years spent in Avici. A mountain wolf leapt onto his back and bit down on his left shoulder, but Lucius reached around, grasped its jaws, and tore them apart. A Stone-Eater gave him the most trouble, vomiting molten bile onto his bare chest, but a sweep of his hand sent the creature flying.