Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  At first it seemed too easy. One on one, the druids were no match for the Daasa, and soon more than one hundred score were slain; as far as Lucius could see, none of the Daasa had fallen, their dense hide too tough for the druids to gash or burn. Lucius killed ten wood-eaters himself before encountering the first of the larger, more powerful kind. Its height and girth were amazing. Though Lucius now stood almost six cubits tall, the druid was almost ten and more than twice his weight.

  This time, when Lucius crushed his fist against the creature’s chest, it met much tougher resistance. Instead of caving in, its upper torso barely cracked, and then it pounded a bony hand onto the top of Lucius’ head, stunning him and drawing blood. In defense of their leader, a dozen Daasa leapt onto the creature, snarling like a pack of wolves. As a group, they were able to rip it to pieces. But more of the larger ones joined the fray, and for the first time the Daasa suffered casualties. Even in his new incarnation, the deaths devastated Lucius, making him fight with more desperation. Despite his efforts, he and the Daasa suddenly were outmatched.

  When Bonny fell and was engulfed, he thought he might go mad.

  THOUGH PART OF her yearned to join the battle, Urbana knew that her current duties were more important. Once she decimated the Jivitans, she would have time to deal with the sorcerer’s bitch of a sister and the damnable firstborn traitor.

  The former vampire was encamped within the square-shaped druid horde. An obedient line of Kattham’s children stood before her, each eagerly awaiting their turn. Again and again, Urbana lowered her magical staff and touched a druid on top of its head, causing the dragon jewel imbedded in the staff to flare. Though Kattham was a hundred leagues away, the druid queen was able to funnel her power through Urbana into the staff, where it merged with the might of the jewel. This transformed the druids, making them larger, stronger, and more dangerous. The changes were relatively temporary, which is why this act had not been performed en masse prior to the march, but they would last through the night, which was long enough for her needs.

  Urbana sensed more than heard a disturbance in the rear. The firstborn and his pathetic Daasa were up to no good, but this was to be expected. Against the enlarged druids, the enemy would fall as easily as the Jivitan horsemen. She willed more of the transformed druids to go in the direction of the traitor, resisting an urge to leave her duties and deal with Lucius herself. How sweet that would be, drinking his blood. But waves of disapproval burned into her skull. Kattham would not allow her to halt her duties yet. After all, it had taken supreme patience to give birth to such an army. It honored Urbana to be given the opportunity to strengthen it even further.

  DURING THE SEVENTH charge, Torg was surprised to see that the large druids at the front of the horde seemed less numerous. With the Tugars joining the fray, the thirty-first row attacked with a vengeance. The ordinary druids, many of which had been wounded by the latest volleys of flaming arrows, were easy victims. Torg and the Tugars drove half a league into the host, killing at will, and by the time Bard ordered the retreat, Torg estimated that they had slain ten thousand while losing only fifty horsemen and no Tugars. For the second successive charge, Laylah, Ugga, and Bard had rested their mounts, and when Torg returned to the thirty-sixth row, his companions were there, anxiously waiting to return to battle. By then, Navarese had joined them, as well.

  Even as the next volley of arrows rose skyward, the general thundered over to Torg, his face as red as fire.

  “What happened to the queen?” he shouted above the violent humming. “She slumbers, as if in the throes of poison.”

  “Madness overcame her, and she fought without regard for her safety,” Torg answered. “I spoke words that induce sleep. She will awaken soon enough, stronger than ever.”

  “How dare you . . .” Navarese started to say, but then his expression changed. “Wait . . . I see . . . I see . . .”

  Torg nodded. “There are battles yet to be fought. She will be needed.”

  Captain Julich rode forward and greeted Navarese. “I am about to call the next charge, general. Should I delay?”

  “No . . . no. Continue, captain!”

  Torg looked at Laylah, Ugga, and Bard. “Where is Elu?”

  “The little guy went back with the queen to watch over her,” Ugga said. “I is happy, to be honest. It was too rugged for him out there.”

  “I’m relieved too,” Torg said.

  Julich ordered the charge.

  “This time, I will rest,” Torg said to his companions. “Go in my stead. I have an idea, but I must discuss it with the general first.”

  Ugga and Bard rode off. Laylah followed. Torg felt his heart sink. If she were hurt the one time he wasn’t there, he would never forgive himself. But the Tugars were with her, and he watched as several dozen formed a barrier around her, though subtly, as not to offend her. Torg smiled and then turned to Navarese.

  “You know, of course, of the larger druids.”

  “I do now. I thought you only saw a few of them when you rescued Laylah from Kattham. Were the rest hiding?”

  “I witnessed no more than two dozen when in the depths of Dhutanga. But many things have changed since then. The last time I saw Urbana, she was bleeding to death from a wound a Tugarian dagger had inflicted, and yet now she leads our enemy. Kattham is a schemer, full of ancient malice. It was foolish not to expect surprises.”

  Navarese’s face reddened further, but he recognized the truth in Torg’s words and contained his anger. “You said you have an idea?”

  “Though there are more large druids than we thought, are there more druids altogether?”

  “I think not. Your point?”

  “Is it possible the druids are transforming, even as we speak?”

  Navarese’s eyes brightened. “The ordinary ones are changing? That would explain much. But if so . . . how?”

  “I’m not sure. Kattham is not here, but what of Urbana? Is she capable of performing this feat?”

  “You’ve got to take the Tugars and hunt her down.”

  “Agreed.”

  Navarese turned his mount and started to depart, but Torg shouted after him. “During the last charge, I noticed that many of the larger druids had been drawn away from the front. That can mean only one thing.”

  “Lucius and the Daasa have arrived,” Navarese yelled back.

  Just then, the eighth charge returned. Torg was relieved to see Laylah and Ugga, though the losses among the Jivitan horsemen were worse than he had hoped. The Tugars were intact, but their destriers were weary. Then he heard frantic shouts coming from Ugga.

  HIS ARROWS SPENT, Bard strapped his bow to his back and fought in close quarters with the war hammer the Jivitans had given him. The sturdy weapon was only half the length of a longsword, but it was deadlier than a mace. Its shaft was made of white oak with a green-leather grip, and its head—sharpened on one side to pierce and blunted on the other to pummel—was made of white Jivitan iron. His only other weapons were a pair of daggers hidden in his boots.

  This was the first time Bard had joined the real combat, and he was the only one among them—besides Torg and the Tugars—who did not wear heavy armor. But he rode a barded destrier, having traded with a retreating horseman. When Julich came to him and asked to reclaim his position as master of the charge, Bard had gleefully accepted.

  With Ugga at his side, Bard rode into battle, pounding against a wall of druids. The humming obscured his own screams as he swung the hammer this way and that, punching his enemy full of holes. Ugga’s axe whizzed by his head several times, hacking dozens of druids apart.

  “Get ’em, Ugga!” Bard screamed, and then a Tugar was beside him, her uttara glowing in the darkness. The three of them beat up one of the larger druids and then looked for more.

  Bard never saw the ball of sputum that landed on top of his skull-cap, splashing like a skin of water dropped off a cliff. Ordinarily, the woodsman would not have been severely injured, but tendrils spilled into his eyes.
Bard dropped the hammer and swiped at his eyes with his hands, but this only made it worse. In reaction to the pain, he squeezed his legs together so fiercely his destrier bolted forward, believing his rider was urging another charge. Bard was carried deep into the fray, away from Ugga and the Tugars. Suddenly a hundred powerful hands ripped him off his horse and dragged him away.

  “So, this is how I dies,” Bard thought. “After all these years, it’s not what I expected.”

  “MASTER HAN-NAH! Master Han-nah! Come quick! We need ya. The monsters grabbed Bard and took him!”

  Laylah was nearest to Ugga. “Show us the way!” she said.

  After the last volley of arrows was launched, the second-to-last row of armored horsemen charged forward, strengthened by Torg and two thousand Tugars. Laylah and Ugga joined the wizard. With the three of them in front, they tore through the enemy, casting aside druids of all shapes and sizes. In Laylah’s hands, Obhasa thrummed, spewing death upon any who came near. The druids did their best to stop them, but not even the greatest could stand against Ugga’s axe, Torg’s sword, and Laylah’s staff. Deep they cleaved into the heart of the horde.

  Without warning they emerged into a clearing, within which stood the monstrosity that had once been Urbana.

  And off to the side, another monster . . . Lucius?

  “There’s Bard! There’s Bard!” Ugga shouted.

  And then the druids closed around them.

  THE DAASA WERE even quicker than Lucius, thundering toward Bonny and heaving druids off her one by one. By the time he reached her, she’d already regained her feet, her eyes ablaze with rage. But she had deep cuts on the side of her neck and beneath one of her bulbous breasts, and they were bleeding profusely. Even in his altered state, Lucius was able to think clearly enough to realize that if Bonny were to survive the night, they needed to find Torg.

  With a psychic command, Lucius ordered the Daasa to form a wedge. Fewer than eight thousand of the original ten thousand responded, the others either dead or too seriously wounded to answer his summons. Lucius put his arm around Bonny to hold her up, but she snarled and shoved him way, refusing to believe that her injuries were as serious as they appeared.

  In this new formation, the Daasa drove deep into the druid horde. Lucius planned to pierce all the way through to the Jivitans on the other side. They fought forward for almost a mile, but it was taking a serious toll. Now engulfed, the Daasa were forced to fight more defensively, and their numbers were diminishing. The larger druids, especially, were wreaking havoc. Everything was falling apart. It was as if he, Bonny, and the Daasa were fighting the enemy all by themselves. Where were Torg and Laylah? The Tugars? The Jivitans?

  As if entering the eye of a massive storm, they emerged into a clearing, perhaps a quarter-mile in diameter and illuminated by thousands of glowing eyes. Instantly a wall of larger druids encircled them. The Daasa closed around Lucius, snapping and snarling, but giving him just enough of an opening to see toward the middle of the clearing, where a hideous female being, at least as large as a Kojin, stood. She bore a black staff twice his height with a jewel on its head that blazed as bright as a hundred torches.

  “General, we meet again,” Urbana said, her voice booming above the nauseating humming. “Now I comprehend the difference I sensed in you before. Both of us have changed somewhat since the last time we were together, wouldn’t you agree?”

  A large man lay motionless at Urbana’s feet. At first Lucius didn’t recognize him, but then the former vampire touched him with the fiery jewel, causing him to arch his back and scream. Lucius saw Bard’s face and gasped.

  “Friend of yours?” Urbana said. “Wasn’t he there when we stole the little bitch from you at the edge of the forest?”

  Then she touched Bard again, and he fell forward and lay still.

  Urbana grunted. “You’re not much of a talker, Lucius. I can’t seem to get you to say so much as hello. Then again, you never were very interesting, to be honest.”

  Lucius felt his fangs digging into his lower lip, his rage compounded tenfold. But then Bonny collapsed, and his anger turned to fear. Lucius knelt beside her, prompting Urbana to cackle.

  “Aaaah . . . your ugly girly-friend isn’t feeling well? Serves her right. None of you will be feeling well by the time I’m through.”

  He did not respond, could not respond.

  “You know, an idea just came to me,” Urbana boasted. “I might not kill you tonight. Instead, I’ll save you—just you—as a gift for Mala.”

  A growl was building up inside Lucius’ throat, obscuring all else with its intensity. He intended to fling himself at the monster and slay her with his war club—or die trying. But just as he started to move, a disturbance outside the circle distracted him. Suddenly a portion of the druids were swept aside, and black figures poured through the breach, including one on a great horse, its coat the color of jade.

  The Torgon had come. With the Tugars. And he also saw Laylah, Ugga, and Captain Julich.

  WHEN TORG ENTERED the clearing, he became even more determined to confront the monster that drove the druids in Kattham’s absence. If Urbana was the conduit through which the druid queen worked her magic, then it was imperative that she be destroyed. The ordinary druids could be beaten, but not even he and his Tugars could prevent the larger ones from slaughtering the Jivitans.

  Torg heard Ugga shout, but when Bhojja charged, Urbana reacted with surprising speed, pressing the bejeweled head of a long black staff against Bard’s back. The woodsman arched up and screamed. Immediately Bhojja halted, as did the others.

  The hideous monster cackled.

  “So . . . he is important,” she said in the direction of Lucius and Bonny, whom Torg now saw for the first time in their transformed states. “Even the great Torgon, slayer of Kattham’s mother, cares for this one.”

  Before Torg’s eyes and the eyes of the others, Lucius transformed back to his original self, his body shrinking like a goatskin drained of water. He stood naked over the fallen Bonny, now dwarfed by her immensity, and spoke to Torg in a pleading voice.

  “She’s dying! Please help her . . .”

  And then Ugga shouted, “Bard’s in trub-bull too!”

  “I don’t care about Bard! I don’t care about anyone but her . . .”

  “Lucius . . .” Laylah said.

  “I don’t even care about you! Torg, please save her . . .”

  “Torg, please save her,” Urbana mocked. “How touching.”

  Of the thousands who watched, only Torg saw Bard reach inside his boot and draw out the dagger, so subtle were his movements. When he punched it into the top of Urbana’s foot, the enormous monster emitted a howl heard for leagues. But Urbana did not succumb easily, pounding the dragon jewel onto the back of Bard’s neck. A flash of crimson illuminated the clearing. A fiery blast followed.

  In one graceful leap, Bhojja crossed more than five hundred cubits, landing in front of the monster like an angel come to punish a sinner. Torg stood up on the mare’s back, leapt into the air, and spun in a circle, whipping the Silver Sword toward Urbana’s throat. She was fast enough to raise her staff in defense, but the sword sundered the shaft and then the front portion of her neck, ripping through vessels and sinew. Green blood sprayed out, filling the night with a horrendous odor. The upper end of the shaft spun in the air, the jewel still spewing crimson fire. When it settled on the ground, it continued to quiver, glow, and smoke.

  Urbana stepped away, holding the huge gash with her hands. Her now lifeless head fell backward and flopped hideously between her shoulder blades. But to Torg’s amazement, the monster did not collapse.

  In response, the druids stormed into the clearing. The Tugars and Daasa were beset. Torg found himself separated from all but Ugga. Several dozen druids descended on the crossbreed, but Torg watched him kneel down and pick up the sundered portion of the staff that contained the glowing jewel. Suddenly Bhojja appeared next to the Ugga, but now she was in the form of Jord. The
druids backed away, as if afraid, but then Torg’s view was blocked.

  Above the tumult of humming, shouting, screams, and sobs, he heard Laylah’s voice—not fearful, but defiant—and it spurred him into action. Wielding the Silver Sword like a scythe, he swept toward her voice, ignoring all other sounds. Soon he entered a smaller clearing, and within it was Urbana, still very much alive. Where the gash had been, a new head had emerged atop of a snake-like neck, resembling the bloody skull of a baby plunging from the womb. But the new face no longer looked like Urbana’s. Instead, it more resembled an insect with dozens of small black eyes and a mouthful of fangs. Beneath the hideous thing stood Laylah, still in full armor, and she held Obhasa out in front.

  The insect mouth opened, and a long tongue emerged, wriggling hypnotically. With sudden quickness, the monster reached for Laylah with huge, gnarled hands, but the sorceress batted them away with the ivory staff, scorching the vampire’s palms. The insect head hissed and then spat venom at Laylah’s face and chest, striking the helm and breastplate and dissolving large portions of the Jivitan iron. To Torg’s relief, the sorceress appeared unharmed, and she punched the fiery head of Obhasa into the swollen flesh of Urbana’s abdomen.

  More druids assailed Torg, but he leapt in the air, spun, and decapitated the snake head. Gore, hot as magma, sprayed outward. The monster fell forward, tumbling against Torg while he was still off his feet and knocking him head over heels, so that he landed on his back with a grunt. When he looked up he saw yet another head growing out of the severed neck, this one even larger and angrier. Before he could stand, a hundred druids pounced upon him, and for a time there was only darkness.

  LAYLAH WATCHED AS the monstrosity that had once been Urbana sprouted a third head, this one even uglier than the second. It happened so quickly, Laylah barely had time to aim Obhasa and launch a bolt of blue-green energy, striking Urbana between her bloated breasts. The stroke blew clean through the monster and out the other side, tearing off the original head that was still dangling against her back on shreds of flesh. Laylah blasted her again, this time in the stomach, then between her legs. Urbana was driven even farther backward, but still she did not fall, the new head staring at her with murderous intent.