Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  “What do you think, Iriz?” Invictus said with boyish mischief. “The great Bhayatupa doesn’t amount to much anymore, does he?”

  More rage.

  “I don’t trust him, my liege,” Iriz said. “Are you certain he isn’t pretending?”

  The rage was replaced by the beginnings of alarm.

  “I saw grandmother place the spell with my own eyes and heard her with my own ears,” Invictus said. “It was performed flawlessly, with exquisite timing.”

  “I know a way to test him, my liege. If he is truly ruined, he will not react.”

  “Interesting,” Invictus said. “Perform your test, then. But do not seriously harm him. I am in need of his services. I plan on doing some sight-seeing.”

  If Iriz was amused, she didn’t show it. Though she was twice the size of Invictus, she was many times dwarfed by a great dragon. Bhayatupa watched her waddle cautiously over to his left side. Guessing her intention, he again was filled with alarm. His scales were virtually impregnable, but the flesh beneath the scales, especially closest to the heart, was vulnerable. When dracools attacked dragons in large numbers, they often attempted to pry back the scales, biting and clawing until the heart was exposed. Even the slightest cut was hideously painful.

  In a show of disrespect, Iriz spewed acidic liquid onto the scales above Bhayatupa’s breast. The sputum did little physical damage but a great deal of emotional harm. Once again, it took supreme discipline for Bhayatupa not to respond. It would be so easy to bite the dracool in half before Invictus could stop him. But this would accomplish little. So Bhayatupa lay still.

  With powerful talons, the dracool grasped the outer edge of a scale, which was as broad as she was tall, and pried it outward. At first Bhayatupa felt little discomfort, other than more humiliation. A gust of warm fragrance blew out from beneath the scale and wafted all the way to where Invictus stood. The sorcerer breathed deeply and sighed. Its allure affected even him.

  Iriz pried the scale farther back, until she could easily reach a patch of the tender flesh. “Do you wish to watch?” she said to Invictus.

  The sorcerer strolled forward, his expression a mixture of curiosity and impatience. “Watch what?”

  “Behold.”

  Iriz drew her claw along the flesh, tearing into it as easily as she might a human abdomen. Crimson blood surged out, pooled along the cut, and then oozed onto the roof of Uccheda, sizzling on the stone. Bhayatupa’s pain rivaled the first moments of the magical chain, and he became convinced he could not tolerate it. But somehow he did not attack or attempt to defend himself.

  “Stop!” the sorcerer ordered. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  Iriz backed away and bowed low. “The dragon has passed the test, my liege. Bhayatupa is indeed ruined. His pride could not have tolerated this, otherwise.”

  The sorcerer cauterized the cut with yellow fire. This hurt Bhayatupa even worse than the dracool’s claw. But still he bore it.

  “Go away,” Invictus said petulantly. “I’m through with you now. Be grateful that I don’t punish you.”

  “Yes, my liege . . . I am indeed grateful.” And she leapt into the sky and flew toward the mountains as fast as her wings could carry her.

  Invictus snorted. Then he turned to Bhayatupa and nestled the scale back into place. “Let’s see how much you remember,” the sorcerer said, before climbing onto the dragon’s neck and clamping onto the base of the chain with his inner thighs. Instantly, the chain glowed yellow-hot.

  “Fly!” Invictus shouted. “To Duccarita! Can you find the way?”

  Bhayatupa did as he was told, springing off the rooftop of Uccheda and soaring westward faster than any living being had ever flown before. How stupid should I pretend to be? Bhayatupa mused. This is a game that has no rules. There’s a difference between remembering nothing of your life and nothing of your surroundings, isn’t there? He hoped that Invictus would think so.

  They reached the City of Thieves—or what remained of it—in the late afternoon. Though Bhayatupa did not show it, the extent of the destruction amazed him. The last time he had been there, Duccarita had been a thriving, though also grotesque, metropolis. He had battled the Faerie in the night sky, scorching her and sending her to ruin, though not before experiencing the agony of her green magic. In the daylight almost three weeks later, Duccarita was a smoldering husk.

  “There,” Invictus said, pointing to an area more devastated than any other. “Take me there.”

  Bhayatupa obeyed, finally perching on a pile of scorched and twisted timber. The sorcerer leapt off his neck and floated down onto the ragged surface.

  “Stay,” he said. Then he disappeared into the debris.

  An urge to escape surged over Bhayatupa. If he were to spring into the sky and fly along the broken rooftops, not even Invictus would be quick enough to emerge from the rubble and strike him down. Perhaps the sorcerer knew this too and saw it as one final test. But Bhayatupa believed that Invictus would just use the chain to render him helpless and then find him again, like a viper tracking prey paralyzed by venom. As precarious as it was, he was better off in this new situation, at least for the time being. So he sat and waited like a loyal dog.

  Invictus was gone for half a bell. When he finally emerged, he held a gooey substance in his hands that resembled thick, white glue. The sorcerer appeared unsettled, and he mumbled words that even Bhayatupa could not understand. Finally he cast the strange substance aside, cursing all the while.

  “Do they think the destruction of the Mahanta pEpa will stop me?” he shouted. “Now that I’ve seen it for myself, it’s annoying, I have to admit. But it’s too little too late. The damage has already been done.”

  The sorcerer climbed onto Bhayatupa’s neck. Again the chain glowed in response.

  “To Jivita!”

  Bhayatupa launched into the sky, swept along the rooftops, and soared up and over the natural stone bulwark that partially encircled the ruined city. A short time later, the unusual pair flew over Dhutanga, its spring canopy a magnificent green. Bhayatupa found Cariya and followed its course.

  As darkness stole the day, Bhayatupa wondered how the sorcerer would react to the lack of light. Would it lessen him to the point of vulnerability? But his answer came quickly—and painfully. When dusk arrived, Invictus simply leaned down and gripped the magical chain with his arms, causing it to roar to life and cast a staggering array of colors. As long as he held it close, the sorcerer would not weaken.

  Though he did it subtly, the dragon groaned.

  It was near midnight when they passed the southern border of Dhutanga. With eyes as keen as any living being’s, Bhayatupa could see the druids massing at the forest’s edge, and just three leagues away, the great host of Jivita awaiting its doom. The size of both armies impressed him.

  “Who do you think will win?” Invictus shouted into the wind.

  Bhayatupa, of course, did not answer.

  “Sorry, I forgot . . . you’re stupid now. Well, let me tell you what I think. The Jivitans will prevail, but not without heavy losses, which will make it all the easier for Mala, when he comes this way.”

  “No matter what happens in the end,” Bhayatupa thought, “I will kill Mala, if someone else doesn’t beat me to it.”

  “I want to give them all a little thrill,” the sorcerer said.

  Bhayatupa kept circling. The comment baffled him but he did his best to maintain a neutral expression.

  “Down!” Invictus shouted. “Let’s show the silly white horsemen what we’re made of.”

  The dragon dipped his left wing and veered sharply, leveling out just a few cubits above the Jivitans’ heads. As expected, Bhayatupa could hear shouts and cries and horses bolting. But what happened next was unexpected. With the slightest of effort, Invictus caused the chain that encircled Bhayatupa’s neck to burst into multicolored flame. The ensuing pain caused Bhayatupa to buck in the air like a frightened stallion, and he let out a howl as loud as any living being
had ever issued. Jivita’s precisely arranged army was thrown into chaos.

  “Up!” Invictus ordered, cackling all the while.

  When Bhayatupa responded, the agony diminished to tolerable levels, though he continued to wail, like a child whose finger was no longer in the fire but still bore lingering pain. Despite his anguish, he remained lucid enough to catch a glimpse of the Death-Knower, seeing him for the first time since Avici. How he desired to soar down and sweep him away to some distant place, so that the two of them could discuss Tanhiiyati, the insatiable craving for eternal existence.

  “To the fortress!” the sorcerer said, interrupting Bhayatupa’s tortured reverie.

  It was just past dawn when Nissaya came into view, a black splotch in a sea of gray. Again, what Bhayatupa saw impressed him. The fields outside the fortress swarmed with the largest single ground army he had ever seen, surpassing even the mighty hosts that had done his bidding during Supanna-Sangaamaani (the Dragon Wars).

  Ever since his moment of agony above the Green Plains, Bhayatupa had found himself praying that the sorcerer would not cause him such pain again. It entered Bhayatupa’s tortured mind more than once to confess his ploy and pledge eternal allegiance, but something held him back; whether pride, courage, stubbornness, or stupidity, Bhayatupa could not say.

  “Down!” Invictus shouted again, and the dragon complied, first circling the central keep and then flying low above the three battlements. Bhayatupa expected a barrage of well-aimed arrows—harmless to himself but maybe, just maybe, deadly to his tormenter, but none were loosed. Some unexplained discipline stayed the archers’ hands.

  To his utmost distaste, Bhayatupa recognized Mala. The Chain Man was striding angrily away from the first bulwark, but the whooshing sounds of the dragon’s wings caused the Adho Satta (Low One) to turn and look skyward. Bhayatupa recognized fear and confusion in Mala’s expression, and it gave him momentary satisfaction. But again, the sorcerer caused the chain around his neck to erupt, and Bhayatupa howled even louder than before. Despite the misery clouding his vision, Bhayatupa saw the Chain Man collapse to his knees, his chain also glowing. Then Mala managed to stand and salute his king, holding something in his hands that Bhayatupa had never seen before: a trident taller even than its wielder. From it came a yellow heat that scorched the air.

  “Up!” the sorcerer shouted. “To the east!”

  The pain relented enough to allow Bhayatupa to continue. As he and Invictus soared away, Bhayatupa could hear the howling of Mala’s monsters, tens of thousands strong.

  By midafternoon, they passed over Senasana. A few months before, while still in the sorcerer’s good graces, Bhayatupa had flown over the merchant city, its size, scope, and decadence impressing him. But now it was every bit as devastated as Duccarita. Smoke rose from the crowded marketplaces. Gleaming skeletons littered the wide roadways. Vinipata, the spectacular domed shrine, was aflame. Worst of all, hundreds of fiends wandered the streets, hunting for human survivors, though Bhayatupa doubted many were left. “This is the work of Vedana’s horrid little undines,” Bhayatupa mused. Nothing else could have created such witless havoc.

  Bhayatupa landed in the massive courtyard within the temple complex. Invictus leapt off his neck and ran through the square this way and that, waving his arms and shouting.

  “What is this? These were not my orders! Who has dared such a thing?”

  A mob of fiends—as many as twenty score—scrambled toward the sorcerer, mistaking him for food. At first Invictus didn’t notice their approach, but when the leaders got within twenty paces, the Sun God finally heeded them. Bhayatupa heard him say, “Tcccch!” And then he waved his arms nonchalantly. Immediately the fiends caught fire and exploded into tiny flakes of ash.

  “This child has more power than all of us combined,” Bhayatupa mused to himself. “Maybe even more than all living beings combined. What hope have we?” And then, more characteristically, “What hope have I?”

  As was his wont, Invictus quickly regained control of his temper. Soon he was laughing and babbling like an overexcited toddler.

  “Grandmother! Grandmother! You’ve done it again. You’re amazing.”

  Then he walked over to Bhayatupa and spoke to him as if he still believed the dragon had not been altered.

  “Look what she’s done. Can you believe it? I tried to unleash undines twice—and failed both times. First the annoying Death-Knower ruined everything at Kamupadana. And then some of his Asēkhas managed a similar feat near Ti-ratana. Meanwhile, Grandmother makes it happen without my even knowing.”

  More fiends came, stumbling hungrily toward Invictus. Now when the sorcerer destroyed them, he laughed. But the sound was not comforting. Though Bhayatupa sat on his haunches and maintained a glazed appearance, he was internally horrified.

  “Vedana, what have you done?” Bhayatupa thought. But he didn’t mean the destruction of Senasana. Instead, he referred to the creation of Invictus, a man-child who wielded power that dwarfed any god’s.

  “We must find Anna,” the sorcerer said to him. “Do you know where it is?”

  The words were so compelling, Bhayatupa almost answered. Instead, he remained motionless, attempting to maintain a pose of disinterest.

  Invictus grunted and then climbed onto the dragon’s neck. “To the desert!” Invictus shouted, and Bhayatupa consented.

  In truth, Bhayatupa did not know where Anna was. Since his awakening, he had flown no farther south than Senasana. But he believed it would be easy enough to locate. From the heights he was capable of attaining, the Simōōn would be visible for ten leagues or more, but by late evening, there still was no sign. Even Invictus was becoming frustrated. Just when Bhayatupa believed the sorcerer would order a halt to the search, Invictus noticed a trail of smoke darker than the night sky.

  “Go there!”

  They passed over a large oasis, its trees and bushes aflame. Small black figures raced to-and-fro. Bhayatupa’s finely tuned sense of smell detected more than just burning wood. Animal hide also had caught fire . . . camel hide, to be exact. The Tent City had been ransacked, and whatever had attacked it had somehow managed to lower the Simōōn.

  “This is too easy,” Invictus said, disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping the Tugars, at least, could put up a better fight. How boring.”

  Soon after, Bhayatupa and the sorcerer began the return trip to Avici. All through the endless night, Invictus squeezed the chain with his legs. All through the endless night, Bhayatupa moaned. When they finally reached the rooftop of Uccheda, it was past noon.

  Invictus climbed off, opened a hidden door, and disappeared inside the tower.

  Bhayatupa had had enough.

  He waited.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  And then flung himself into the sky.

  6

  THE SAME MORNING that the Jivitans left the White City to do battle with the druids, the monster that would become known in legend as Anna’s Bane stood on the border of the oasis that contained the Tent City. Far below, thousands of pesky prey scrambled around, making lots of noise. This only served to make her angrier.

  And hungrier.

  She already had gotten several tastes of Tugarian flesh and had found it much to her liking. She would not be satisfied until she had eaten a lot more.

  Annoying stings pricked her flesh, mostly around her eyes. A few even pierced her eyeballs, which hurt the worst. But little real damage was done. She was too great for whatever feeble assaults the tiny ones could muster. She had grown beyond all of them—even the nagging voice inside her skull that used to cause the headaches. As her strength had grown, the voice had diminished, enabling Tathagata to focus on what she did best: kill and eat.

  The nagging voice was gone, but so too was the voice that had encouraged her to attack Anna. This left Tathagata feeling a little disoriented, but also less constrained. She no longer had to pause and wait for the second voice to tell her what to do. Now she could make
her own decisions. She would devour as many of the tiny black prey as her stomach could contain, while infecting a bunch of others with gentler bites. With these new fiends at her side, she would be able to conquer the world.

  ASĒKHA-DVIPA, guardian of Anna in the absence of the king and chieftain, was stunned by how close the monster had come to the Tent City without the Tugars’ knowledge. Nor did this bode well for the welfare of the scouts that patrolled its perimeter. But as usual, the desert warriors were quick to react once the threat was revealed. Dvipa, the Vasi masters, and the five hundred remaining warriors were armed and ready, along with the rest of the non-warriors and citizens, some fifteen thousand strong.

  The beads, coated with deadly poison made from ground-up blister beetles, seemed to be having little effect, even when striking the fiend’s eyes. Next, the Tugars tried fire, but the monster’s flesh would not even char. To make matters worse, the fiend was much faster and more flexible than seemed possible, and warriors who wandered too near were hard-pressed not to be trampled or ensnared. But worst of all was the black smoke that gushed from the fiend’s mouth, nostrils, and ears. The slightest exposure was enough to cause blindness. Already at least two-score Tugars, including a Vasi master, had succumbed and been led away just in time to avoid being eaten. Yet the fiend kept coming, reaching the outskirts of Anna and wading into the tents like a child intent on kicking apart a toy city.

  Dvipa and the others discovered that they could tolerate the black smoke if they kept their eyes closed. But fighting a creature of such might with perfect vision was difficult enough; doing it without sight was next to impossible, even for a Tugar. So they were forced to keep their distance and watch as the fiend tore Anna to shreds. Dvipa had never felt so helpless. Was flight their only recourse?

  The Vasi masters seemed more effective than the ordinary warriors. They were able to maintain a ring of defenders around the giant, performing an extraordinary version of Aarakaa Himsaa (away from harm). When the fiend made a charge, the masters in the front retreated, while those behind and on the sides closed in. They also wielded weapons that ordinary warriors—and even Asēkhas—tended to disdain, including poisoned darts and sharpened disks, both of which could be thrown with force and accuracy. But the fiend absorbed them all with what appeared to be only mild discomfort.