Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (29 page)

WHEN THE AGONY of the transformation finally ceased, Torg’s next sensation was panic. Invictus’s demonic spell had encased his flesh inside of living wood, but it had not vanquished the workings of his mind. When Torg tried to breathe, he found himself incapable of inhalation, as if his nostrils and mouth were packed with mud. The resulting hysteria was even worse than he had experienced in the claustrophobic tunnels beneath Mount Asubha. Torg’s screams were as pathetic as they were silent.

When Invictus punched the Silver Sword into the trunk, he actually did Torg a favor. The pain—unlike any Torg had experienced before but nonetheless excruciating—drew his mind away from his dread of suffocation. Now his entire concentration was focused on the blade. Yet even then he was able to hear the sorcerer’s foul words, if only in a psychic sense. Invictus was taking Laylah away, and there was nothing Torg could do about it.

In his mind, Torg wailed. But he was rooted to the ground and unable to move. Long after the sorcerer departed with Laylah as his prisoner, the blade burned inside him. Then without warning, a sudden lack of pain caused Torg to moan. Afterward, the sensation of suffocation returned. He screamed again, knowing he would die, and yet somehow not doing so.

It took Torg what seemed like forever to realize that he no longer needed to breathe to survive. The tree now sustained him, in ways he could sense but not define. Eventually, he was able to beat down the panic and achieve a state of placidity. Only then did the realization that Laylah had been taken from him fully enter his awareness. Torg sobbed silently, but this time his agony was purely emotional.

At that moment, Torg chose to commit suicide, only this time it would not be temporary. Surely his next existence would be better than this.

But when he made the attempt, he discovered that he no longer was capable of achieving Sammaasamaadhi. Invictus’s demonic spell had been brilliantly contrived. Not only was he trapped inside a tree that might continue to live for hundreds of years, he was denied this option of escape. By the time Torg finally passed away, his mind would be long ruined. The sorcerer had won.

When morning came, bright sunlight caressed his leaves and bark, and Torg experienced pleasure for the first time since he had been transformed. He could not see, but he could sense so many things that had never before been part of his awareness. Energy flowed into his body from above and below. The leaves absorbed light, the roots water and nutrients from the soil. It was not so bad being a tree. At least it was a far simpler existence than being a Tugar. He could just stand there—and go about the business of staying alive.

Then he remembered Laylah, and the voiceless screaming resumed.

IN THE PHYSICAL sense, it had not been difficult for the Faerie to vanish from the battlefield. Peta had long since told her the exact time and place to make her exit. While the fighting was at its peak, she had blended into the throngs and then galloped northward toward Mahaggata. A pair of Mogols mounted on black wolves had given chase, but quickly veered away when they saw she was too fast to overtake.

In the emotional sense, her decision to abandon Torg had caused the Faerie deep discomfort. The ability to experience passionate sensation was not an attribute of her kind, but when watchers of the
Vijjaadharaa
spent enough time in the Realm of the Living, they eventually absorbed some of their characteristics.

The Faerie had dwelled among the living of Triken—as Jord and a myriad of other incarnations—for endless millennia, but only in the past five thousand years had she endured such extensive degrees of craving and aversion. Now, as Sakuna the eagle, she perched on a frozen peak in southern Mahaggata, her guilt over abandoning Torg to such a hideous fate making her feel nervous and disoriented. The Faerie had grown to love the wizard—not quite like Laylah loved him, but close enough.

What had happened to Ugga further magnified the Faerie’s guilt. It wasn’t as if she wielded the power to defeat Invictus, but it had been within her means to warn the crossbreed so that he could flee before his forced transformation had occurred. Now he was returned to his former self, and there was little she could do about it. If the bear again drew human blood, she possessed the ability to change him back into human form, but he would become someone other than Ugga, perhaps lacking most of the lovable crossbreed’s best attributes. It was better to leave him in the form of a bear; at least then, some of what had been Ugga would remain intact.

Her only consolation was that Ugga had thrived for thousands of years under the protection of her magic. As Vedana had said in her nasty voice, “Stick to the plan. Besides, did you expect him to live forever?”

Seeking solace, the Faerie called to the other
Vijjaadharaa
. None answered. She was low among her kind—and still young when compared to the elders. Perhaps they were disappointed in her for becoming so emotionally attached. But no, that wasn’t right—even disappointment was a form of emotion. Rather, they failed to comprehend her predicament. Their only concern was for her to succeed in destroying Invictus before he grew so great that he threatened the fabric that bound the universe together.

That fabric, of course, being her kind, the
Vijjaadharaa.

“
Torgon
 . . .
Ugga
 . . .
I’m
sorry
!” she screamed. “Please
 . . .
please
 . . .
forgive me.”

Her voice echoed among the peaks.

“Please
 . . .
please
 . . .
forgive me.”

“Please
 . . .
please
 . . .
forgive me.”

IN THE REALM OF the Undead, Peta sat in the darkness and waited until Vedana had exhausted her profane litany. Sparkly remnants of blue and green energy still shimmered on the demon’s grotesque form, creating illumination where none otherwise existed. The ghost-child couldn’t see the colorful light, but she could sense it. To her, it felt like warmth.

Finally the mother of all demons composed herself. It was not until then that she even noticed Peta’s presence. “Taking pleasure in my injuries?” Vedana said petulantly.

“
Your
injuries? Only you are capable of saying something so absurdly selfish. If not for you, Invictus would already be destroyed. Kusala’s use of the Silver Sword was unforeseen, and it opened a door that would have permitted Invictus’s destruction without the need for all the pain and suffering that otherwise will accompany it. But you slammed that door shut. If I had had the power, I would have stopped you myself.”

“If this, if that. The bottom line is you didn’t have the power to stop me. And one day soon, no one will. Besides, who cares about what might have been? My plan is the only one that we
know
will work. If Torg and Laylah had tried to kill Invictus and botched it, everything would be doomed—even your little fantasy involving your next life.”

“And what of
your
next life? There are ramifications to bad behavior. Have you given it no thought?”

“Of course. Why do you think I’m working so hard to ensure that
this
life will last forever?”

Peta sighed. “I have to go. It stinks in here, and I can’t stand it.”

“Don’t be stupid. There’s no smell in here at all.”

“To you there’s no smell
 . . .
but not to me.”

THE QUEEN SURE was a looker. She was easily the prettiest Nissayan Maynard Tew had ever seen. But for maybe the first time in his life, he found himself interested in just one woman. Dhītar obsessed his every waking moment. He even dreamt about her while he slept.

Now it was midafternoon of the hottest day he could remember in his life. They had left the scary Tugar guys behind yesterday morning and had marched almost fifteen leagues since, skirting the foothills of Mahaggata. Now they were on the western border of Java, and Tew was feeling very uncomfortable. His memories of the march through the forest with Mala’s army were not pleasant. All kinds of spooky monsters lived inside that place. Would they attack now? Then he laughed to himself, surprised by his own feelings, for it wasn’t fear for his own life that worried him; rather it was that he wanted to keep Dhītar safe.

“What’s the queen doing?” Dhītar said, startling him.

“Huh? What? Looks like she’s going deeper into the trees. Why would she do that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you, Maynard.”

She had started calling him Maynard last night. He liked it. “She’s taking a couple of the conjurer guys in with her. You want me to go and get a closer look?”

“Stay where you are and wait,” said the black knight named Palak. “The queen knows what she’s doing and certainly doesn’t need your help.”

“But I
 . . .
”

“Take another step, and I’ll cut your throat.”

“You don’t have to be so mean all the time,” Dhītar said. “He’s as much a part of our company as any of the rest of us.”

Palak sneered. “I’ve never once met a Duccaritan who could be trusted.”

“Well, there’s always a first time,” Tew said. “But don’t worry
 . . .
I’ll stay right where I’m at.”

Palak only grunted.

The queen disappeared for such a long time Tew began to wonder if she might have been kidnapped. Everybody huddled under the shade of the trees, drank lots of water from a nearby spring, and even started to doze. Near dusk, Madiraa and the conjurers returned, but they weren’t alone. Ten score of the spooky Pabbajja guys were with her, each bearing one of those little tridents that glowed in the dark.

“Old advesaries have sheathed their swords,” the queen announced to her company. “Our strength has increased. Perhaps our numbers will grow even further on our way to Avici. Regardless, we will strike a fiercer blow than our enemy would prefer.”

The Pabbajja’s weird eyes wobbled as she spoke. It gave Tew the shivers. But then one came up to him and spoke to him in a feminine voice. “You have chosen wisely,” she said, touching him with her trident. Tew felt a surge of comforting energy flow into his limbs.

“Thank you, dear lady.” Then, stumbling, he added, “You are a lady?”

She sighed. “I have not always looked like this.”

Afterward, Tew felt bad about what he had said, even though he had meant no harm. But then the queen ordered another long march, and the sway of Dhītar’s small but curvaceous butt distracted him. Soon his smile was as broad as a dragon’s.

ON THE SAME evening that Kusala greeted Torg, Madiraa and her rapidly expanding company reached the western bank of the Ogha River. The queen had begun the journey five days before with little more than twelve hundred at her disposal; now her host was three times that large. Farmers and villagers—poorly armed but eager for vengeance—had joined Madiraa, as well as fifty score mounted Svakarans and Bhasurans, who had emerged from the foothills, citing their hatred of the Mogols as reason enough to fight by the queen’s side. Renowned as archers, these warriors were almost as formidable as her black knights, and their horses were clever and courageous. Each day, Madiraa’s confidence grew. Now she led a force that could do considerable damage, if properly commanded.

Crossing the Ogha was never a simple task, especially for large numbers, but there were those among them who had spent most of their lives on the banks of the greatest river in the world and knew the locations of the few bridges that spanned it. Madiraa was led to a fishing village only thirty leagues south of Avici. Less than a year ago, the village had been home to more than one thousand and also had been one of the main stopping points for those making the long journey from Senasana to Kamupadana. Several inns anchored a sprawl of wooden buildings that extended for a quarter-mile north and south along the western bank. Kaalika, it was named, but it was active no longer. If any still lived there, they dared not show themselves.

Madiraa called Indajaala and Commander Palak to her side. “We shall rest here tonight. As fast as we’ve traveled thus far, we’ve earned a good sleep. Tell the black knights to search the village for provisions—and comfortable beds.”

Several villagers, some of whom had once lived in Kaalika, proudly announced that they knew where to find nets that could snare enough fish for a feast.

“Make it so,” Madiraa proclaimed. “And tonight, we shall dare open fires.”

“That will not be necessary,” one of the villagers said. “There are cook stoves aplenty within the inns.”

They spent that night in comfort, with bellies full of fish stew and mulled wine. The following morning, as they were preparing to set forth again, more than a thousand farmers and fishermen, including elderly and children, approached from the south.

Apparently, news was spreading. Madiraa was pleased to welcome anyone who could fight, but she was in no position to provide protection for the weak, nor could she afford to leave any of her current force behind to assume that role. After a good deal of pleading and bargaining that took most of the morning, two hundred of the fittest men and women agreed to march with Madiraa, their hatred of Mogols driving their decision. Under Invictus’s protection, the dreaded Mahaggatan warriors had raided hundreds of villages up and down the Ogha, raping, kidnapping, and murdering.

“As long as this involves killing anyone who has sided with the sorcerer, then we’re with you, missus,” one of the new recruits said to Madiraa.

Palak stomped forward. “Address the queen as her highness.”

But Madiraa only smiled. “It’s all right, commander. Anyone willing to risk his life for my cause has my permission to call me missus anytime he pleases.” Then she nodded at the man. “Just be sure that enough able men and women remain to protect those among you less equipped to fight.”

Now they numbered almost four thousand, though less than half bore weapons of any consequence. A few of the villagers wore rusted hauberks or leather jerkins that had seen better days, and some carried notched swords or heavy axes with fan-shaped blades. How this ragtag bunch would fare against armored golden soldiers, even if the soldiers did not transform, wasn’t promising. At least her black knights and the mounted Bhasurans and Svakarans were deadly fighters—and the conjurers wielded great power.

As it turned out, the village—though abandoned—was not without booty. They found flour, nuts, dried fruit, and several barrels of wine, the last of which they emptied into goatskins. They would take only what they could carry on their backs.

This pleased Madiraa. “We’re actually starting to resemble an army,” she said to Palak with a touch of sarcasm. “If we grow any larger, Avici will tremble at our feet.”

The commander couldn’t help but smile. “Now all we need to do is build a few dozen siege engines, and we can breach the Golden Wall by force.”

“Do not forget Kauha,” Madiraa said, her voice suddenly stern.

Indajaala stood nearby. “If there is any other way to enter Avici, we must consider it, your highness.”

“We shall see what we shall see,” Madiraa said.

At the northern border of the village, the breadth of the Ogha narrowed to just fifty cubits. A wooden bridge—wide enough to accommodate five horses side by side—spanned the frothy waters. There was evidence of charring on the far side of the bridge, as if villagers had attempted to set it aflame as they fled. Perhaps Mogols had come and extinguished the fire before it did too much damage, so that they could continue to use it to make raids on the eastern bank. Palak and Indajaala examined the bridge carefully before deciding it remained stable enough to traverse.

It took until midafternoon for Madiraa’s entire host to cross. Afterward, the small army marched north for about two leagues before coming to a stand of bald cypress clinging to the water’s edge. Madiraa was surprised to find these huge trees growing this far north, but the shade they provided was a welcome respite from the sun. Madiraa knew they needed to get into the habit of marching at night to avoid the worst of the furnace-like heat, so she ordered a halt. Again they dared cook fires, finding little need for secrecy. It was as if Mala’s army, now making its way toward Jivita, had drained the area of evil.

Now they were fewer than twenty leagues from the Kauha Marshes. Given the ease of the terrain away from the river, they could reach the marshes in just two more long nights, traversing the distance between Nissaya and Avici in a third of the time it had taken Mala’s army.

When the gibbous moon began its slow rise in the eastern sky, they set out again, skirting the river for five more leagues before finally turning away from its banks. The Gray Plains became as flat as the surface of a lake. Vast fields of stunted grass extended as far as the eye could see. As usual the sky was clear and full of stars, and even in the darkness there was excellent visibility. If rogue Mogols were anywhere in the vicinity, Madiraa’s army would be forced to fight in the open. But Bhasuran and Svakaran scouts constantly returned with reports that the plains were devoid of activity.

By midmorning they had marched at least ten leagues, finally stopping at a rock formation that rose suddenly from the plains. The limestone walls leaned enough in places to provide patches of shade. They huddled to escape the searing heat.

Several among the company had traveled this way before, and they told Madiraa that there would be little shade to be found between these rocks and the marshes. The queen decided to remain there until dusk.

The Bhasurans and Svakarans rode far to the east in search of game, returning with several gazelle that were roasted over open fires. Though she still had little fear of attack, Madiraa was relieved that the wind was blowing strong to the southeast, carrying the wispy smoke into a vast empty landscape far from prying eyes. That afternoon the company feasted on gazelle and consumed the rest of their wine, but they still carried enough water to last several days, which would be long enough. The border of the marsh was believed to contain potable water.

At dusk they continued their journey. One by one the stars appeared in the night sky, and less than a bell later the moon joined them. The land began to roll slightly, making the march more wearisome, but they still made excellent progress. Less than a bell before dawn, the southern border of the Kauha Marshes came into view, and soon the hard-packed ground softened and grew damp as the stunted grass gave way to taller grasses, sedges, and reeds. Indeed, the water proved to be fresh and drinkable. Everyone refilled their skins.

At sunrise Kauha was an impressive sight, a misty wetland surrounded by an otherwise arid plain. The marsh was huge, perhaps a fifth the size of Java. Madiraa had never seen Kauha before, but its exterior didn’t look malevolent. Waterfowl with dragon-like necks and long, skinny legs waded through the reeds in search of fish, frogs, and small snakes. Hawks, eagles, and vultures circled the skies. A family of raccoons skittered by and then dove into thorny brush after catching sight of the large band of humans.

“What’s so dangerous about this?” Madiraa said to Indajaala.

“If we remain on its border, we will be safe,” the conjurer said. “It is Kauha’s interior that is deadly.”

The Senasanan countess overheard their conversation. “Any who go to the heart of Kauha never return,” Dhītar said. “At least that’s what I’ve been taught since I was a child. When I misbehaved, my parents used to threaten to punish me by leaving me here alone at night. I was terrified of it.”

As always, Maynard Tew was at the countess’s side. “I heard that Invictus would send the worst of the slaves into the marsh. The sorcerer liked it when they screamed.”

“Until I see reason to fear something, I don’t fear it,” Madiraa said. “Still, we will skirt the marsh until we reach the Golden Wall. If there is any way to breach the bulwark without entering Kauha, we will do so. But I believe we will have no choice but to enter the swamp.”

She turned to one of the homeless people. “What do you sense?”

The Pabbajja shrugged. “It has been years beyond count since any of my kind traveled this far to the north and east. What now lies within Kauha is beyond our perception.”

There was no more to be said.

They rested through the worst of the heat, some of them wading into the shallow water to find shade amid the cattails. At dusk, they resumed their march. Other than a few poisonous snakes and an enormous wild cat that fled at their approach, they encountered nothing threatening. The marsh was indeed huge, and it took most of the night before they finally came within sight of the Golden Wall.

The army huddled in tall grasses and surmised its situation. A cylindrical watchtower, three times as tall as the bulwark to which it was attached, flanked the northwestern border of Kauha—and there was no gap between the tower and the tangled foliage. The roof of the tower was ablaze, as if a giant bonfire burned behind its crenulated parapet. The battlement of the Golden Wall also was well-lighted by torches. Dozens of soldiers could be seen patrolling the wall walk, which stood thirty cubits above the ground. It was clear that Invictus had not left Avici entirely unprotected.

“We cannot pass this way,” Madiraa whispered to her confidants. “Kauha is the only answer.”