Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (26 page)

“Move!” Torg screamed, prompting Podhana to dive to his left. Then Torg unleashed another gout of power, striking Invictus in the face. Again the sorcerer was knocked off his feet, and when he tried to stand a second time, Bhayatupa buffeted him with dragon fire. When the emanations of magic ceased, Torg towered over the Sun God and whipped the Silver Sword downward with enough force to cleave a slab of granite.

Their greatest hope lay in the result. Was the Silver Sword powerful enough to slay the Sun God?

The supernal blade struck the pale shield at the base of Invictus’s neck. The resulting fulmination raced up Torg’s arms and shook his entire body, flipping him backward. The Silver Sword was torn from his grasp, and it spun high in the air and flew far away. Finally, it struck tip-first fifty paces from where Laylah and Kusala stood.

This dazed Torg, but strong arms lifted him to his feet, Churikā on one side, Dalhapa on the other. Torg looked toward Invictus and saw that he also had stood. Without pause, Bhayatupa attacked again, but the sorcerer already had increased the strength of his magical shield, and the dragon fire now seemed to cause little damage.

“Podhana’s blade was ineffective,” Churikā shouted to Torg. “The Asēkhas are helpless against him.”

“There is nothing you can do,” Torg admitted. “The sorcerer cannot be harmed by blade or blow. Return to Laylah
 . . .
and take her from here in haste!”

Podhana raced over. “Where should we go?”

“Anywhere but
here
!”

Without further delay, the Asēkhas sprinted westward toward Laylah and Kusala. Now, only Torg, Bhayatupa, Rajinii, the necromancers, and Burly remained to confront the Sun God. Rajinii seemed to have gone mad, writhing on the ground and alternating between desperate sobs and insane laughter.

To Torg’s dismay, Invictus withstood Bhayatupa’s assault, though now he stood in a smoldering depression several cubits deep that the force of the dragon fire had excavated. Torg unleashed yet another blast, but this time the sorcerer was able to retain his footing. The pale yellow shield expanded, encasing Invictus in a seemingly impenetrable shelter.

The Sun God smiled. “I am impressed. Your resistance was—how should I say?—stouter than expected.” Then he looked up at the dragon. “Bhayatupa . . . now I understand. You also wield Death Energy. How interesting. Sadly though, at least for your sake, it is still not enough. I am Akanittha. How many times must I repeat it?” Then he pointed at them, one by one. “All told, you are not my match. Why do you continue to resist? The Pale Queen, at least, has surrendered.”

Manta let out a howl and ran toward Invictus with her staff held high. But when her body, still fully armored, encountered the pale shield of magic, she was consumed as easily as a dry leaf tossed into a bonfire. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. Nothing remained, not even ash.

“Death-Knower,” Torg heard Bhayatupa cry from above. “We cannot win on this day. We must flee!”

“Flee to where?” Invictus said. “Anywhere you go, I will find you.” Then he cast his right fist forward, and a globule of golden energy erupted from the shield and struck the dragon full-force. The explosion threw Torg to the ground, and when he managed to stand and look about, he saw that Bhayatupa was no longer aloft. Though still alive, the great dragon lay on the plain, twisted and broken. Entire scales had been torn away, revealing bloodied flesh.

Invictus strode toward Bhayatupa, the pale shield following along obediently. The necromancers attempted to impede his progress, but they were incinerated, one by one. Torg felt something tugging on his breeches, and he looked down to see Burly standing timidly at his feet. Never before had he seen the Gillygaloo look so frightened.

“
Torgon
, I am outmatched. What would you have me do?”

“It is not your place to die here,” the wizard said. “Run
 . . .
and never look back. Hide in the deepest, darkest places.”

With uncharacteristic cowardice, Burly sprinted off.

Now only Torg, Bhayatupa, and Rajinii remained. With barely enough strength left in his legs to walk, Torg grasped Obhasa and staggered toward the sorcerer.

“Invictus
 . . .
wait! Don’t do this
 . . .
wait
!”

But the Sun God paid him no heed, striding confidently toward the broken dragon with a grin on his face.

“This time, you will not return,” Torg heard him say to Bhayatupa. “I will make sure of it.”

The dragon looked past Invictus at Torg—and managed to smile
 . . .
knowingly. “Do not despair, Death-Knower,” he gurgled. “Perhaps
 . . .
one day
 . . .
we will meet again.”

Before Torg could get any closer, the sorcerer unleashed another torrent of golden energy. The dragon was blown apart. Hundreds of his scales spun in the air like massive three-bladed disks. Bhayatupa the Great was no more.

The destruction of such a being stunned Torg, but he had no time for sorrow. Now only he and Rajinii remained. Torg sprinted to the queen and knelt by her side. “Stand
 . . .
and run,” he whispered harshly. But she did not acknowledge his presence.

“And now,
Torgon
,” Invictus said. “It is time that you and I settled our differences. But I am not without the capacity for mercy. If you bow to me and beg my forgiveness, I will make your punishment as painless as possible.”

Torg stood, using Obhasa for support. “I would no more bow to you than I would to any god,” he said in a shaky voice. “And beg the forgiveness of a spoiled brat?” Torg spat upon the ground. “I will do no such thing. Even you are impermanent.”

Torg expected Invictus to explode with rage. Instead, the sorcerer only laughed. Then he started toward Rajinii. Torg moved between them.

“Out of my way,” Invictus said, and he waved his arm.

Torg was lifted up and over the fallen queen, and he flew through the air and landed in a heap on the grass, not ten cubits from where Mala, now become Yama-Deva, lay unmoving. The thick-linked chain that had long tormented the snow giant was within Torg’s grasp. Out of delirious fascination, he touched it with the tip of his index finger. Despite the ferocious heat, the golden metal now was as cold as the blade of the Silver Sword.

Torg struggled to his knees. By then, Invictus was towering over Rajinii and leering wickedly. Torg tried to stand but grew dizzy and stumbled face-forward. Finally, he did regain his feet, only to trip over what he mistook for a boulder but then realized was the decapitated head of a cave troll.

For the first time since the battle began, Torg took note of the enormity of the slaughter. Strewn all about as far as he could see was a bizarre conglomeration of broken, bloodied, and twisted bodies. He recognized witches and Stone-Eaters, ogres and vampires, Mogols and wolves—and of course, golden soldiers transformed to human form. Interspersed with the monsters were white horsemen and destriers, black knights from Nissaya, Daasa, and even Tugars. Within his range of vision he could recognize several dozen
Kantaara Yodhas
, and this filled him with misery. How many of his warriors had died on this day?

Torg started toward Invictus again. The sorcerer had torn away Rajinii’s breastplate as easily as parchment, and now he was strangling her with his bare hands. The queen grasped both his wrists and fought with what strength remained to her, but to no avail. Invictus was a giant among children.

Torg’s entire body glowed blue-green. Energy ran up and down Obhasa’s white shaft, crackling on the rounded head like an oil-soaked torch set aflame. But when Torg approached within five paces of the sorcerer, he smashed directly into the yellow shield and again was cast aside. By the time he was able to stand, he saw with horror that Rajinii’s eyes were bulging from their sockets, and her arms were flopping about in obscene spasms.

Torg cried out, stepped forward, and pounded Obhasa against Invictus’s magical buffer. The shield bent inward, but did not break. Invictus didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he pressed the queen’s lips against his and kissed her as she died.

“I will see you dead, I swear it,” Torg screamed, pounding Obhasa against the shield. “You disgusting, perverted freak.”

The sorcerer dropped the queen’s corpse with a thud. Only then did he look at Torg, as if he had forgotten for a time that he was near. Then, a series of white explosions distracted him, and he jerked his head to the right and stared westward toward Jivita. The piles of dead bodies obscured what caused the flashes, but Invictus seemed to know anyway—and he smiled.

“You see? Laylah loves
me
, after all. She attacks her kidnappers.”

Invictus started westward. The bodies that littered his path—even the largest and heaviest—were blown aside when they came in contact with the shield. Torg shuffled after him, cursing, screaming, and striking with Obhasa from all angles, but the sorcerer gave him less heed than a Tyger might have paid a pesky sparrow.

Torg gave up the attack and sprinted past Invictus, leaping over gruesome mounds of corpses and swerving in front of the sorcerer. Finally, he saw what he had feared most: an enraged, defiant Laylah doing battle with Kusala and the Asēkhas. But Torg knew this had nothing to do with Invictus. Instead, she was fighting to remain near Torg.

“Laylah
 . . .
no!” Torg screamed. “You must flee
 . . .
now!”

Then he realized that calling her name had been a mistake. Laylah ran toward him. Kusala dove into her and knocked her down. Then the chieftain tried to lift her onto his shoulder and run, but Laylah’s body lit up like a bonfire, knocking Kusala off his feet.

Laylah scrambled up and ran again, shouting, “Torg! Torg!”

“No!”
Torg screamed again, but then a blast of energy more powerful than any he had ever experienced struck him from behind. As if a gigantic wave had swept him up, Torg was hurled forward and would have been carried far beyond where Laylah stood. But Podhana leapt from the side and caught his ankle, jerking him down. The billowing energy swept over Torg and the Asēkha and then continued on its way, passing out of sight and sound south of Jivita.

Churikā snarled and charged at Invictus, heaving a pair of Tugarian daggers with terrific force at the sorcerer’s chest. Both weapons incinerated when they struck the magical buffer.

Invictus said,
“Hmmph!”
and held up his right hand, palm facing outward. A thin but concentrated beam of yellow light struck the young Asēkha between her breasts, severing her spine as it exited her back, her corpse collapsing face-first on the turf.

When Laylah saw this, she became filled with such rage that her long blond hair cast off sparks. “I hate you,” she screamed at her brother. “No matter what, I will always hate you.” Then she raised both her hands and unleashed a pair of white beams at her brother’s face. The beams struck the pale shield and penetrated several cubits, but not far enough to reach her brother’s flesh.

“Laylah, I do this for your own good,” Invictus said condescendingly. “The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

Another bubble of yellow energy broke away from the magical buffer and floated toward Laylah. Dalhapa saw it coming and leapt between it and the sorceress, but this sent the Asēkha tumbling. Kusala also attempted to stop it and suffered the same fate. The bubble fell upon Laylah and encased her, freezing her in place. The chieftain struck at it with his
uttara
, but in doing so, his blade was destroyed.

“Lord, I have failed you,” the chieftain cried to Torg. “She is beyond my reach.”

Invictus snarled. “Beyond your reach? What does that mean?” Then he turned to Torg. “What does
that
mean, Death-Knower?”

Torg sighed. “Rather than become your slave again, she preferred to die.”

“And you would have permitted this? Interesting. Of course, you know that I cannot allow this to go unpunished. As far as I’m concerned, killing my sister would have been an unforgivable offense. When traitors are caught in the act, they must suffer the consequences.”

Torg understood all too well what the sorcerer meant. In a voice loud enough to shatter glass, Torg shouted, “Vikkhipati ca evati! (Scatter and flee!)” Then again, “Evati!”