Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles

Melvin shows his literary mastery as he weaves elements of potential and transformation; his tale dances among literal shape shifters and more subtle powers of mind.

—Ann Allen, Charlotte Observer

“Adult Harry Potter and Eragon fans can get their next fix with Jim Melvin’s six-book epic The Death Wizard Chronicles . . . Melvin›s imagination and writing equal that of J.K. Rowling, author of the fantastically popular Harry Potter series, and Christopher Paolini, author of Eragon and Eldest. Some of his descriptions—and creatures—even surpass theirs.”

—The Tampa Tribune

“Jim Melvin’s Death Wizard Chronicles crackle with non-stop action and serious literary ambition. He has succeeded in creating an entire universe of interlocking characters—and creatures—that will undoubtedly captivate fans of the fantasy genre. It’s a hell of a story . . . a hell of a series . . .”

—Bob Andelman, author of
Will Eisner: A Spirited Life

“Jim Melvin is a fresh voice in fantasy writing with a bold, inventive vision and seasoned literary style that vaults him immediately into the top tier of his genre. The Death Wizard Chronicles
 . . .
is scary, action-packed and imaginative—a mythic world vividly entwining heroes, villains and sex that leaves the reader with the impression that this breakthrough author has truly arrived.”

—Dave Scheiber, co-author of Covert: My Years Infiltrating the Mob and Surviving the Shadows: A Journey of Hope into Post-Traumatic Stress

“Action-packed and yet profound, The DW Chronicles will take your breath away. This is epic fantasy at its best.”

—Chris Stevenson, author of
Planet Janitor: Custodian of the Stars
and
The Wolfen Strain

“Triken truly comes alive for the reader and is filled with mysteries and places that even the most powerful characters in the book are unaware of. That gives the reader the opportunity to discover and learn with the characters
 
. . . Melvin has added to the texture of the world by integrating Eastern philosophies, giving the magic not only consistency but depth. He has worked out the details of his magical system so readers can understand where it comes from and how it works.”

—Jaime McDougall, the bookstacks.com

Book 1:
Forged in Death

Book 2:
Chained by Fear

Book 3:
Shadowed by Demons

Death Wizard Shorts by Jim Melvin

Torg’s First Death

The Black Fortress

The Death Wizard Chronicles Book Three

by

Jim Melvin

Bell Bridge Books

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books
PO BOX 300921
Memphis, TN 38130
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-314-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-287-3

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 by Jim Melvin
Torn by War
(excerpt) copyright © 2013 by Jim Melvin

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.
Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo credits:
Woman (manipulated) © Konradbak | Dreamstime.com
Castle (manipulated) © Javarman | Dreamstime.com
Raven (manipulated) © Antaratma Microstock Images © Elena Ray | Dreamstime.com
Background (manipulated) © Bolotov | Dreamstime.com

:Mdsz:01:

In Book 1 of
The Death Wizard Chronicles
, the sorcerer Invictus imprisons Torg in a pit bored into the frozen heights of Mount Asubha. After his escape, Torg and several new friends make their way toward Kamupadana, commonly known as the Whore City, where Torg hopes to learn more about Invictus’ plans.

Meanwhile, Laylah, the sister of Invictus, appears briefly as a sorceress whom Invictus also has imprisoned. Unlike Torg, she has not yet managed to escape. In fact, she has been her brother’s captive for more than seventy years.

In Book 2, the tale is told of Laylah’s escape. Under the guidance of the demon Vedana, she flees to Kamupadana, where she eventually meets and is healed by Torg. Along with the Asēkhas, Torg and his companions flee into the wilderness, with Mala, a.k.a. the Chain Man, and an army of monsters in hot pursuit.

Book 3 continues to chronicle their desperate plight.

To Jill, who came next.

“Does life matter?

Only if you don’t let it.”

—Sister Tathagata, in a lecture to the monks and nuns of Dibbu-Loka

WHEN SHE RAN like this, all she knew was joy. Her hooves thundered, her white mane fluttered, her green eyes glowed with delight. The Faerie called Bhojja, Jord, and Sakuna, among other names, galloped eastward faster than the wind.

During Triken’s long winter,
Vijjaadharaa
(which means Faerie in the ancient tongue) had strayed from the mortal world. After removing the demon’s poison from Torg beneath the magical pine trees in the frozen wilderness, she had wandered far in the north, shape-shifting between horse, eagle, woman, and lesser creatures. However, spring had arrived, and now she was needed again.

Like the ghost-child Peta and the demon Vedana, the Faerie had the gift of foreknowledge, though not as superbly developed. However, her superiors kept her informed in ways that were almost as efficient. They were always alert, always watching. And when they saw things that concerned them, they took steps to correct the problem.

The Faerie heeded their call. In the form of Bhojja, she galloped across the Gray Plains and was fewer than ten leagues north of the Golden Wall that encircled Avici and Kilesa. Avici is where the evil sorcerer dwelled. Could Invictus sense her out here, so close to his stronghold? If so, he issued no challenge.

When Bhojja passed farther eastward and eventually reached the foothills of Okkanti, she came to a halt and rested. In two days she had galloped two hundred leagues. Now she fed on sprigs of rye and drank from crystal streams as cold as the cosmos. Bony mountains towered before her. Somewhere in their treacherous heights lay Triken’s salvation.

After her strength returned, Bhojja transformed into Sakuna and took flight, rising toward the peak of a mountain several thousand cubits taller than Asubha, its sides sheer and slippery. The eagle was at home in the heights, taking pleasure in the vertiginous surroundings. Finally she landed on a narrow ledge near the summit and waited there, instinctively comfortable in her choice of location. Though it was early spring, falling snow gathered on her plumage. She plucked out several enormous feathers with her beak and laid them gently on the icy stone. Then she changed into Jord, the green-eyed, white-haired woman, and used the feathers as a blanket.

The first snow giant approached within ten paces before Jord even saw her. Jord had existed on Triken in her current forms for more than ninety millennia, but amazingly this was the first time she had journeyed to Okkanti and seen a snow giant. The creature’s elegant beauty amazed Jord. Like her own Faerie eyes, the snow giant’s were green—but a richer, more luxuriant shade—and her mane was white. This female stood nine cubits tall, slightly shorter than a male. A surprisingly thin coat of fur covered her thick gray hide. Regardless, the cold did not seem to affect the huge beast.

“Are you a sorceress?” the snow giant asked curiously. “We watched from afar as you changed from eagle to human—and were impressed.”

“We?”

“Others of my kind are nearby. But neither they nor I will harm you. I sense no evil in your nature.”

“Nor I in yours,” Jord said. “And I have certainly not come to assault you. Quite the contrary: I am here to beg your aid. Before I say more, allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Jord.” She held out her hand, and the snow giant smiled tenderly. Long fangs were exposed, but Jord did not find them threatening.

“I am Yama-Bhari, wife to Yama-Utu.”

“Could you ask the others to join us?” Jord said. “Time is of the essence, and I would prefer to not have to repeat myself.”

“You have aroused my curiosity,” Bhari said. “There is rarely harm in listening.”

The snow giant raised her massive arms and let out a howl that echoed eerily among the frozen peaks. Immediately, seven other snow giants appeared. Most of them had been standing nearby, but their colorings blended so well with the ice and stone, it was as if they had been invisible. Even to Jord.

They sat in a circle around her, and though Jord remained standing, they still looked down upon her. One by one, they introduced themselves, including Yama-Utu, who proudly announced that he was the brother of Yama-Deva, the wanderer.

“Have you seen my brother?” Utu said with pleading eyes. “He has been missing for many years, and I have begun to worry. Is it possible he has found mountains even colder and more beautiful than these?”

Jord was stunned. Were these creatures unaware that Yama-Deva had become perverted by Invictus into a creature of malice and was now known as Mala? Then Jord noticed Bhari’s green eyes welling with tears.

“It’s not enough that we’ve lost Yama-Deva to the Sun God,” she wailed. “Now we are losing my husband, Yama-Utu, as well. His grief ruins his mind, and he forgets about his brother’s terrible transformation. Do you wield enough magic to heal Utu?”

“I am a healer,” Jord said, “but I have not that level of strength. Perhaps not even the Death-Knower, known as The Torgon, could perform such a feat.”

“Maranavidu (Death-Knower)
 . . .
” Bhari said in a tone of awe. “Can you bring Torg to us? We would be most grateful.”

“I cannot,” Jord said regretfully. “At the moment, I’m not even certain where he is. But I can offer you something else. An opportunity for revenge. If you would come with me, you could strike a blow against the sorcerer who has caused your kind so much torment.”

Bhari arched a bushy eyebrow. “And this revenge you offer would heal my husband and his brother?”

“I cannot make such a promise,” Jord said. “But what I have to offer would be well worth the effort, I promise you.”

Bhari sighed and then slowly lowered her huge head. Tears slipped from her eyes, freezing as they fell and clicking against the stone like fallen baubles.

“You do not comprehend us
 . . .
” the snow giant whispered. “Mayhem is not in our nature. We are not capable of it. Nothing can result from violence but more violence. If you are asking us to fight on your behalf, then our answer is no. Besides, if we left these mountains, we could not survive for more than a few months. Of all our kind, only Yama-Deva strayed from the peaks, and even he never left the foothills—until the day Invictus stole him from us forever.”

“If you do not help me, the world as you know it will fall,” Jord said. “And the evil that destroyed Yama-Deva will rejoice. I admire your pacifism, but it’s obvious you also possess great strength. Will you not wield it?”

“Violence begets violence,” Bhari said. “This is the law
 . . .
immutable. All of my kind would prefer to perish than to live with another’s blood on our hands.”

Jord grunted. Her superiors had sent her to enlist help for the forces of good, but she saw no help here. What did the Vijjaadharaa know that she did not?

“Do you need food
 . . .
or a place to rest?” Bhari said. “We can provide comfort, if nothing else.”

“I have neither the need nor the time. My mission is urgent. If you cannot help me, then we must part ways now.”

“We cannot help you,” Bhari said.

Soon after, the snow giants vanished into their surroundings. But when Jord stepped to the edge of the ledge and prepared to transform back into an eagle, a massive hand grasped her thin shoulder. She turned and looked up into the broad face of Yama-Utu.

“I will come with you,” the snow giant said, his voice as resonant as tumbling boulders. Apparently, his earlier confusion had been short-lived. “My wife fears my madness, but in truth I have never been saner. You offer revenge? I thirst for it. I want to destroy the thing that Yama-Deva has become. Will you help me find Mala?”

“I know those who can,” Jord said. “And I will take you to them.”

Utu smiled, but not nearly as pleasantly as his wife. Now the fangs looked deadly.

“Climb onto my back, and I will carry you down,” he said. “We will journey together. And when the need for violence arises, I will be more than equal to the task.”

ON THE SAME day that Jord first met the snow giants, the brother of Yama-Utu—now known as the monster Mala—lay shivering and incoherent in a cave behind a waterfall. It was the morning after his vicious battle with the great dragon Bhayatupa, and Mala was near death.

But he would not succumb on this day. Invictus would see to that.

A band of Mogol warriors found Mala and began his rescue. Blood as foul as poison oozed from a gash on the side of his head and from a dozen other places on his huge frame. His chain glowed sporadically, spewing globules of molten liquid that killed several Mogols trying to rescue him. But the warriors were not deterred, for Invictus had given them orders, and they knew he was watching them even now. They finally managed to drag Mala through a tunnel that led out the back of the cave. Afterward, they built a great litter. It took ten men to hoist him onto it.

Bhayatupa had slaughtered the dracools and the Sampati that had been summoned to aid Mala during his search for Torg and Laylah, but several hundred ravens had survived the assault. Some of these had returned to Avici and alerted Invictus of his general’s dire situation. Some flew back and forth, reporting all that they saw from the skies.

The rescue of Mala was slow, even with a team of wolves dragging the litter. All the rest of that day and night, they managed only two leagues. At that rate, Mala would be long dead before they reached the Golden City. But the next day around noon, another Sampati and a dracool landed nearby. Invictus climbed off the dracool. A thin, muscular pilot leapt off the crossbred condor and quickly roped one of its massive legs to the stump of a tree.

As Invictus approached, the Mogols fell to the ground and buried their faces in the grass, not daring to move. A happy band of crickets stopped chirping, a bubbling spring slowed to a crawl, and a frisky breeze lost its way, no longer rustling the spring leaves, as if Invictus’ mere presence turned off even nature’s sound effects.

With surprising tenderness, Invictus climbed onto the litter and placed his hand on Mala’s boulder-sized forehead. “My dear, loyal pet. I’m sorry you’ve been through so much and that it took me so long to come to you. But do not doubt that I will avenge you. Bhayatupa will become my puppet, before all is said and done.”

The Chain Man moaned but did not open his eyes.

Invictus turned to the Mogols. “You have done well, and you will be rewarded. But you are no longer needed here. Return to Avici and await further orders.”

As if in relief, the wolves and Mogols fled. Only the dracool, the Sampati, and the pilot remained. The man came forward, his wiry limbs trembling.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“I have need of you,” Invictus said. “Come here now.”

“My liege?”

“I have need of you.”

The pilot hesitated. “I should stay near the Sampati, my liege. It has a wild temperament.”

“Do you disobey me?”

“No, my liege. I would never dare such a thing. It’s just that
 . . .
”

“Come here.”

“Yes, my liege.”

The pilot stumbled forward, finally clambering onto the litter and staring into Invictus’ brown eyes.

“Give me your hand,” Invictus said.

“Yes, my liege.” The pilot held out his right arm.

“You must have misunderstood my command,” Invictus said. “Must I repeat it?”

“My liege?”

Invictus sighed. Then he grabbed the pilot’s forearm and spat a ball of yellow mucus onto his wrist. The flesh sizzled, and the hand fell onto Mala’s chest, its fingers still wiggling.

While the pilot howled in agony, Invictus calmly said, “If you wish to live, give me your hand.”

“Yes
 . . .
yes
 . . .
” the pilot managed to mumble. He reached down with his remaining hand, picked up the severed one, and gave it to Invictus.

“Very good,” Invictus said. “Now you are free to go.”

The pilot scrambled off the litter and ran, disappearing into the woods. Invictus could hear him emptying the contents of his stomach somewhere beyond the trees. He returned his attention to his prized servant.

“Everything’s going to be all right, my general. You saved my life. Now I’ll save yours.”

Invictus’ body glowed. In a slow and controlled fashion, the severed hand began to melt, dripping liquid globs of flesh, blood, and bone. Invictus held it over Mala, allowing the steamy goo to ooze into the Chain Man’s wounds.

“My most loyal servant deserves nothing but the best,” Invictus whispered tenderly.

Mala groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. Suddenly the ruined snow giant tore away the restraints that bound him to the litter and sat upright. Even in a seated position, he towered over Invictus.

“Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You are with me. I am healing you.”

Deep within Mala’s tortured subconscious, did Yama-Deva briefly emerge? The once-beautiful creature looked down at Invictus and seemed to recoil. Then tears sprang from his eyes.

Invictus didn’t care. “Tears of joy, my general? Yes, I have healed you. You and I have much to celebrate.”

The Chain Man smiled broadly, his blood-red fangs glistening in the sunlight, his black tongue stabbing the air like a serpent’s. “My king. You have not forsaken me. I feared you would be angry over my failure.”

“Angry? Never. I love you. You did your best, my pet. Rejoice! Your dreams will come true, I promise you.”