Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (35 page)

Soon after passing the pyre, the stench of decomposing flesh assaulted him. Little more than a day had passed since the battle had ended, but the smell already was bad enough to make Rathburt want to vomit. Still, he had felt nauseated even before encountering the odor. What he was about to attempt would sicken the bravest warriors of any time or age, much less a slumped old man who had been a coward since the day he sprang from his mother’s womb.

Rathburt stopped in front of the lone tree, collapsed to his knees, and sobbed. “Damn you,
Torgon
! All I ever wanted was to be a simple, humble gardener. In the name of Anna, what’s so terrible about that? And yet here I am
 . . .
being asked to be so much more.
Damn you
!”

Rathburt was far enough away to be out of earshot of the Jivitans. Otherwise, the battlefield was devoid of life. Except for scavengers
 . . .
and the tree.

“You don’t understand,” Rathburt said, still sobbing. “None of you understand. I’m a coward
 . . .
I
know
I’m a coward. But the pain
 . . .
this
pain. It’s too much to ask of
anyone
.”

Since he had foreseen his fate in the frozen waterfall west of Kamupadana, Rathburt had spent months trying to escape this moment. But not even dying had freed him from his doom. Now he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life—and that was saying something—but out of nowhere an unexpected calm began to bloom. Perhaps it was the dragon essence. Or his own weariness. But he understood with finality that the horror he was about to endure would not last forever. Like all things, it would have a beginning, middle, and end. And once it was over, he would benefit from it for eons to come. In a relative sense, what was about to occur would pass in the blink of an eye. He could
do
this.

Even more surprisingly, he discovered that he wanted to. Not for himself, but for his king.

“
Torgon
,” he said, still on his knees. “I would like to say something to you that I’ve never said before.” Rathburt sobbed again—then, haltingly, whispered, “I
 . . .
love
 . . .
you.”

Rathburt laid his staff gently on the ground at the base of the tree, stood gracefully, and took a step forward before wrapping his spindly arms around the trunk, just beneath the base of each branch. Then he squeezed hard, as if hugging his dearest friend.

Rathburt remained in this position for several hundred long breaths. Anyone who might have passed by in the darkness would not have differentiated him from the tree, so motionless was his body. It was as if he had become a part of the wood, absorbed into the smooth bark. But finally his body began to glow—as blue as a clear winter sky.

Rathburt whimpered.

The thick knob at the top of the tree quivered, ever so slightly. Black fibers sprouted from the bark and sprang upward.

Rathburt let out a raspy yelp.

But he held on tight.

And the blue glow intensified, incinerating his clothing.

Next, a pair of glimmering orbs—half a finger-length apart—formed on the front face of the knob. Smoke oozed from their openings, and black fibers sprang from their upper rims. Meanwhile, the hair on Rathburt’s head, as well as his eyebrows and eyelids, curled up and disintegrated.

He howled.

As if invisible hands were peeling it off, the bark at the top of the knob fell away. Revealed was a silky blanket of black fiber, and beneath that the barest hints of human skin. More bark tumbled to the ground, exposing eyes, ears, and then nostrils that suddenly flared, hungrily sucking air. In response, the skin on Rathburt’s scalp, face, and ears bubbled and split, revealing fatty tissue and white bone.

Rathburt screamed in agony. But he held on tight.

And the blue glow grew even brighter.

When Torg’s mouth was finally freed of its sorcerous prison, the king of the Tugars shouted in dismay. “Rathburt, don’t do this! Please
 . . .
please
 . . .
don’t do this!”

Rathburt responded by squeezing the trunk even tighter.

Torg’s muscular neck, shoulders, and arms tore from the bark, revealing his upper torso. The wizard reached down and attempted to shove Rathburt away. But Torg was too weak, and his rescuer too determined.

Meanwhile, Rathburt’s own skin and muscle seemed to implode, exposing more white bone to the cool night air. He wailed and whimpered, flinging his skull-like head from side to side. But he held on tight.

And the blue glow became bright as a star.

“It’s not worth it!” Torg pleaded. “Even if you save me, I can’t do anything. He’s too
strong
.”

Rathburt continued to wail.

Torg’s chest appeared. Then his stomach.

Rathburt’s rib bones appeared. Then his internal organs became visible. “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” Rathburt screamed. “Yaaaaaeeeeeeeeee
 . . .
Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”

“No
 . . .
no
 . . .
no
!
 . . .
Raaaaaaathburt
 . . .
don’t
 . . .
do
 . . .
this
!”

But Rathburt did not relent. Until he had no strength left. His final words, in this lifetime, were “I
 . . .
love
 . . .
you
 . . .
Torgon
.” When he finally released his grip, he was little more than a skeleton. His corpse crumpled onto the grass.

There, Rathburt lay still. He was no longer.

THOUGH IT PAINED him almost beyond tolerance, Elu kept his promise. A portion of Invictus’s magic still clung to his and Ugga’s flesh, making both resistant to Rathburt’s sleeping spell. After the wizard departed, they had risen and followed—and when Rathburt stopped in front of the tree, they’d hidden behind a pile of corpses.

At first the wizard appeared to be doing nothing more than hugging the trunk. But then they witnessed Rathburt’s agonizing sacrifice, on behalf of his king. The Svakaran cried and covered his eyes; the bear coughed and growled. When it was over, Elu felt as if he had shared in Rathburt’s physical and emotional agony, and the sadness he felt over the loss of his longtime friend was almost too much to tolerate.

Though there had been a significant amount of flashing light and raucous noise, the Jivitans who had remained to tend the pyre about a mile to the west had not seemed to notice. As far as Elu could tell, most were too busy splashing the crackling fire with pitch to pay attention to anything else.

Before Elu dared approach Torg, the bear went first, swaying his huge head nervously. The tree was gone, and in its place lay the wizard, naked and whimpering. Rathburt was next to him, resembling a corpse that vultures had stripped partially clean. Though Elu had seen his share of carnage in his lifetime, he still could barely bring himself to look at his friend’s remains—mostly because of Rathburt’s face, which bore an expression of horror despite being little more than a skull with a few shreds of dangling flesh.

When Ugga nuzzled Torg, the wizard sat up and screamed. Then he smacked the bear on the snout with his hand. Ugga squealed and backed away before squatting on the grass and snarling.

“Get away from me,” Torg shouted. Then he buried his face in his hands.

The bear backed up another few paces and sat again.

Now it was Elu’s turn to approach, though the Svakaran was warier than ever. “Great one?” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He took a few steps nearer. “It’s Elu. Do you remember me?”

Though he did not look up, Torg removed his hands from his face. In a dangerous voice he said, “Come no closer
 . . .
”

Elu felt a chill run up his spine. It was so dark he couldn’t tell if the wizard was even whole. Perhaps his lower legs were still covered with bark or his feet still buried in the soil.

“As always, I will do what you ask,” Elu said timidly. “But are you certain you don’t need some help? I have a skin of wine Rathburt left me. There’s not much left, but at least there are a few sips.”

The wizard seemed not to be listening. Instead, he had returned to a heart-wrenching whimpering.

Despite Torg’s warning, Elu edged closer, finally coming within a few paces before dropping to his hands and knees and literally crawling toward the wizard. Before he knew it, the bear was beside him.

When Torg looked up and saw them, his face softened—if only slightly. “Rathburt’s dead,” he said, as if stating the obvious might somehow lessen the tragedy. “He sacrificed himself
 . . .
for me.”

Elu sat down next to Torg. Ugga did the same, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

“We saw,” the Svakaran said. “Rathburt was
 . . .
determined.”

“He threw his life away,” the wizard said, his voice again dangerous. “I was better off the way I was before—and no more helpless than I am now. Rathburt wasted his life
 . . .
for a lost cause. He was a fool.”

“He chose to save you,” Elu said, gripping the shaft of Ugga’s axe. Anger flooded into his own voice. “He wasn’t
forced
. His final act was one of bravery. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

In one swift motion, Torg stood. Steam poured off his naked body. “Do not banter with me, Svakaran. I’m in no mood for debate. And if you choose to use that axe, do so at your peril.” Then he strode eastward into even deeper darkness.

Elu looked at the bear and shrugged. “Do we follow?”

Ugga licked him on the nose. Despite all the turmoil, the Svakaran chuckled. “Before we do, we should bury Rathburt,” Elu said. “Our friend deserves at least that.”

The bear grunted.

Where the tree had stood, the ground had been disrupted. Elu used the axe as a shovel, scraping out chunks of dirt and sod in an attempt to create a trench large enough to contain Rathburt’s remains. The bear joined in, his powerful front paws digging far faster than the Svakaran could manage. Elu gently laid the skeleton in the grave, covered it, and then scattered wildflowers upon the mound. The Svakaran used Rathburt’s staff as a marker, driving the dense wood deep into the soft ground, so that only the head remained visible. When he was finished, the first hints of dawn were creeping over the grisly scene.

Elu loomed over the grave, head bowed, eyes filled with tears. The bear stood at his side.

“Somehow, this feels right,” the Svakaran said. “What better place to bury a warrior than in the battlefield upon which he fell? I’ll miss you more than you know, Rathburt. You rescued me from horror and gave me back my life, and though I was never able to properly repay you, at least you know that I loved you. May you find peace among the gods, my dear friend. You, more than anyone I’ve ever known, deserve peace.”

Elu turned to leave, but he noticed the bear clawing at the ground a short distance from where Rathburt was buried.

“Come, Ugga,” the Svakaran said. “The Death-Knower has a lead.” But the bear wouldn’t listen. “What
is
it?” Elu said. Then he noticed that Ugga had uncovered a sliver of metal that glimmered in the growing light. The Svakaran grasped it with his hands and drew a long blade from the soil.

“Ugga! You’ve found Torg’s sword.”

The bear rose up on his hind legs and roared.

“Shhhhhh
 . . .
” the Svakaran said. “Don’t draw
too
much attention.”

Then Elu started eastward, with the Silver Sword—minus the wrappings of its hilt—in one hand and Ugga’s axe in the other.

The bear followed.

Rathburt stayed where he lay.