Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  “I am King Henepola X, sovereign of Nissaya. What is your name?”

  The pirate blinked, as if surprised to have not yet been beaten or tortured. “I am called Tew, your lordship. Maynard Tew.”

  “I have a question for you, Maynard Tew.”

  “I will answer all your questions, your lordship!”

  “Just one will do. Tell us why Mala tortures the golden soldiers. What devilry is this?”

  Tew’s eyes sprang open. “Your lordship, you will believe I am lying to you, but I promise I’m not. Of all the questions you could have asked, this is the only one I can’t answer. I don’t know why the Chain Man is doing this thing. It’s pure crazy! But nobody can tell Master Mala what to do. If you just look at him wrong, he’ll whack off your head.”

  With a speed that impressed even Utu, Churikā knelt in front of the pirate and placed the edge of her Tugarian dagger at the base of his throat. “Do you take us for fools? Answer the king’s question, or I will cut off your . . .” Then she moved the point of the dagger between his legs.

  Tew’s face went red, but even then his eyes dared to stray to the warrior’s exposed cleavage. “I am not lying, mistress, I swear. Master Mala doesn’t trust nobody. He didn’t even tell the general, the guy he heaved over the wall.” He glanced up at Utu. “That was a good catch, by the way.” Then he returned his gaze to Churikā. “I don’t know why he’s doing it, mistress. Ya can cut me anywhere you like, but it won’t change my answer—not ’cause I’m loyal to Invictus, only ’cause I don’t know. If I did, I’d tell you right now, no problem.”

  “Stand!” Torg said to Churikā, with what sounded to Utu like annoyance. Then the wizard knelt down and placed the palm of a large hand on the pirate’s face. A blue-green glow enveloped Tew’s head and shoulders, and he momentarily went slack.

  “Why are the newborns tortured?” the wizard whispered.

  “I don’t know,” said the pirate, his voice monotone.

  Torg rose and faced the others. “He could not have lied.”

  Tew shook his head and seemed to regain most of his composure. Then Utu knelt down and positioned his massive face just a span from the pirate’s. “I have questions.”

  Tew’s face went pale. “You . . . you . . . kinda look like him . . . like Master Mala . . .”

  “Never mind that. Just listen. Does Deva . . . I mean, Mala . . . ever behave strangely?”

  The pirate grunted, then managed a nervous chuckle. “Are you kidding?”

  “Answer!”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Master Giant. If you ask me, Mala acts strange all the time.”

  “Does he ever act different? Does he talk to himself? Does he ever act . . . nice?”

  “He talks to himself . . . and to everyone else. But I have never seen him act nice.”

  Utu grimaced, then stood, towering above them all. “This one is worthless,” he said to the others. “Do with him as you will.”

  Then he stormed away.

  IT TOOK UNTIL midnight for Mala to regain enough composure to renew the assault on Nissaya. The Pabbajja’s betrayal had been unforeseen. At no time had he been suspicious, and it enraged him. Mala felt like falling on his back and kicking his legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But that would be embarrassing, even to him.

  Without the Pabbajja, it would be far more difficult to maintain the shield. Then again, that didn’t matter so much anymore. It soon would be time to enact the next phase of his plan, which finally included the newborns.

  He had no reason to hold back. The assault on Balak had been purposely methodical, and he had hoped to breach the gate of Ott before unleashing his secret weapon. But the Pabbajja had messed things up. Now it was time to repair the damage.

  Mala chose the most dangerous monsters to come with him: the four Kojins; six Warlish witches; a dozen Stone-Eaters; ten demons; and a score of others of undetermined breed, including a spider with a human head and a worm that walked on a thousand tiny legs. Last but not least was the remaining three-headed giant, thirty cubits tall and still enraged over the death of its sibling. This contingent, three score all told, was as powerful as an army of ten thousand ordinary men.

  Beneath the crescent moon that would soon set in the west, the monsters passed through the shattered entrance of Balak and approached Ott. Thousands of arrows fell upon them, but such was their might that few were seriously harmed. Mala glared up at the dark-shrouded battlement of Ott and issued another challenge.

  “Cast aside your weapons and open your gates—and I will be merciful,” Mala shouted, his voice booming throughout the fortress.

  From above came a voice that sounded meek in comparison. “We will do neither,” the king said.

  Mala growled. “Very well.” Then . . . “Behold!”

  Gripping Vikubbati’s staff with both hands, Mala dipped the tines into the moat. The trident glowed, as did the ring Carūūl and the chain. Immediately the dark waters bubbled, and then boiled, casting off a foul-smelling stench. From the battlement of Ott came panicked screams. The moat became a hissing ring of crimson. Steam rose in a swirling crescendo, containing foul substances that burned eyes and flesh. There were more screams from above. Several bodies tumbled off the wall. The moat continued to broil.

  After a time no water was left, all having evaporated to mist. It revealed the labyrinth of rock spikes, which glowed like molten spears. The three-headed giant howled, and the other monsters joined in.

  But Mala wasn’t finished. Now he stepped back and raised the trident. Three stupendous beams of golden energy sprang from the tines and leapt into the sky, casting a light over the fortress that for a time was as bright as day. The beams merged and formed a broad circle that expanded far beyond the outer wall. Then a ringlet of power, writhing and crackling, fell from the sky—directly upon the newborn soldiers.

  WHEN THE FIRE fell from the sky, Whiner—who until that moment had been lying visor-down in the grass—arched his back and howled. In response to Mala’s magic, the newborn’s golden armor, sword, and scabbard first melted and then fused with his flesh, creating a level of agony beyond the power to endure.

  Like Lucius and Bonny, Whiner was “of the Daasa.”

  The same was true of all the newborn golden soldiers, of which more than one hundred thousand still lived. Each transformed into a carnivorous monster far stronger than the greatest of the black knights, their flesh now metallic and impervious. Mala had tortured and starved them for a reason. He wanted them to be hungry.

  When he called, they came.

  A swarming, glowing blur of fury.

  Within the walls of Nissaya lurked the one thing the transformed newborns craved most . . .

  Flesh.

  5

  BHAYATUPA SPRANG from the rooftop of Uccheda, consumed by the wildness of freedom. A spirited wind blew toward the northwest, which was exactly where the great dragon planned to go. He would hide from Invictus somewhere in Nirodha, where he would feast on mammoths and fat white bears. Surely in the frozen wastes of the far north, the chain that constricted his neck would lose its fire, and he could eventually find a way to pry it off his scales. He was done fighting, for now. Survival was his only concern—even if it meant giving up his quest to parley with the Death-Knower.

  But Bhayatupa was no more than a half-mile from the rooftop when the chain glowed red-hot, searing through his scales into the tender flesh beneath. Without even realizing it, he plummeted from the sky and smote the ground, his fall cushioned only by a blanket of wildflowers. Colorful petals blew out in all directions, fluttering in the breeze. Bhayatupa lay motionless, smoke oozing from his nostrils and ears.

  Somehow he retained consciousness, though he could not seem to open his eyes. Or maybe they were open, and he was blind. Eventually, he heard the distinct sounds of a dracool’s leathery wings and then soft footsteps.

  “You are interesting, Bhayatupa . . . I must give you that. But you are not my match.”

  Bh
ayatupa finally managed to open his eyes just enough to see the sorcerer standing a few paces from the end of his snout. When Bhayatupa spoke, it hurt to move his jaws. His baritone voice quivered like a coward’s. “How long . . . have you known?”

  Invictus threw back his head and laughed. “From the beginning, of course!”

  Bhayatupa groaned. “Was I that . . . transparent?”

  “Not at all. As an actor, you were brilliant. After all, you fooled even my grandmother. But I knew something you did not.”

  Bhayatupa’s eyes opened slightly wider. “What . . . might that be?”

  “Why, only a being of supreme intelligence would be able to tolerate the pain caused by the chain I placed around your neck. From the very beginning, a mindless creature would have writhed and screamed without cessation. Your ancient strength betrayed you.”

  “But you played along . . .”

  “Of course.”

  Bhayatupa sighed. “What . . . now?”

  “Ahhh, a good question. Well, it has become obvious to me that you and my grandmother are . . . how would you say? . . . allies of sorts. Is that not so?”

  “It is not so.”

  “Ha! Don’t think me such a fool. I’ve seen you together . . . and I know that Vedana schemes against me. Tell me her plans.”

  “I know naught. Nor do I care.”

  “Dear dragon, I can increase the heat of the chain around your neck anytime I desire. Do not insult me again.”

  “All right . . . I do know her plans. Or at least what she wanted me to know. But I will not tell you.”

  The sorcerer sneered. “With very little effort, I could have you begging to tell me.”

  Bhayatupa managed to raise his head a few spans off the ground. “I do not doubt it. Still, I will resist with the strength I have left.”

  “Which will not be enough.”

  Bhayatupa’s eyes came fully open. “Except for one thing . . . there is something about great dragons that even you don’t know.”

  “Ahhh?” said Invictus, his expression curious. “Please tell me.”

  “I have the ability to end my own life, at the time of my choosing.”

  The sorcerer appeared startled. “I would stop you.”

  “No. You can cause me pain, of that there is no doubt. But you could not stop me from killing myself. I can do it in less than a heartbeat.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “No . . .”

  “You wouldn’t. You love yourself too much.”“As your prisoner, I would not be myself.”

  “Hmmm . . . an interesting quandary. What if I were to tell you that I don’t really care what grandmother is planning? That she cannot possibly harm me. That I like not knowing. It creates excitement that is otherwise lacking.”

  “I would tell you that I’m not even sure that she told me the truth. For all I know, her real plans are entirely different.”

  “Knowing Grandmother as I do, that would be my guess,” Invictus said. “Which means, dear dragon, that I don’t care whether you end your life or not.”

  “Oh . . . but you do.”

  “Why might that be?”

  “You enjoy the grand stage. It’s one of the few things that still interests you. And what could be grander than having Mahaasupanna at your side when you finally vanquish your enemies? But you were right about one thing, at least. I do love myself—and I do not wish to die.”

  Invictus sat down cross-legged in the grass, as if he were having a chat with a friendly acquaintance. “Do as I say . . . and I’ll allow you to live. Do as I say . . . and I might do more than that. The Death-Knower isn’t the only one with the secret to eternal life. I know many secrets, and you’ll like mine far better than his. My powers could keep you alive for as long as you desire.”

  “Even if what you say is true, it would come with a catch. I would forever be your slave.”

  “Partner, Bhayatupa . . . you would be my partner.”

  “And Mala?”

  “He has been loyal . . . while you have not. If you wish to outrank him, you would have to earn back my trust.”

  “I could not take orders from Mala.”

  “Let me show you what you can and cannot do,” Invictus said.

  The pain flared again. Bhayatupa arched his back and howled, spewing crimson flames into the sky. Just as suddenly the agony ceased, replaced by intense relief that surged through his sinews, creating a sense of pleasure rivaling an orgasm. The chain glowed again, but this time gloriously and even sensually. For a miraculous moment, Bhayatupa was filled with the joy of youth. Yet his mind saw far, and he understood even more deeply the scope of Invictus’ power—which was so strong that even death could not withstand it. Bhayatupa panted with desire. When the epiphany came to a regretful end, he moaned with aversion.

  “Do you see?”

  Bhayatupa did see. And he was stunned. But even then, he did not permit himself to yield. “No matter what glories you provided, I could not take orders from Mala.”

  “Ha! The stubbornness. Very well, then . . . I offer you a deal: Do as I say . . . when I say . . . and I will not harm you further. And when the wars are over—and it won’t be long now—I will show you the true path to eternal life. But if you attempt to betray me again, or to flee, I will not be merciful.”

  “And Vedana’s plan?”

  “Do you think it will work?”

  “I never did. But I believed it might buy me some time.”

  “Marvelous! I love surprises. Don’t tell me more. When her plan fails—as it will—we can laugh together.”

  “At Vedana’s expense?”

  “Of course.”

  Bhayatupa grunted.

  “You still don’t trust me,” Invictus said, with an exaggerated pout.

  “No . . .”

  “Hmmmm . . . what can I do to persuade you? Wait . . . how’s this?”

  The sorcerer spun around and gestured to the dracool. “Iriz! Come here.”

  “My liege?” the dracool said.

  “Come here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you disobey me?”

  “My liege! I would never . . .”

  “Then . . . come here.”

  The dracool waddled forward, her eyes darting to-and-fro. When she came within ten paces of Invictus, she stopped again. “Is this close enough, my liege? I fear the dragon.”

  “Yes,” Invictus said. Then he raised his hand and released a blob of golden energy that swept around the beast, engulfing and withering first her wings and then her lower legs. Iriz cried out.

  “Mother . . . save me!” the dracool screamed.

  “You see?” the sorcerer said. “This is what I typically do to those who betray me. The dracool has long been a pawn of my grandmother’s. Dear dragon, does this not prove my love for you? I give you, and no other, a chance at redemption.”

  Horrified, Iriz wriggled helplessly on the ground.

  Bhayatupa sat up on his haunches and smiled his dragon smile. “I’m hungry.”

  “Be my guest.”

  The dracool tasted like chicken.

  As always.

  6

  “THE MYSTERY IS revealed,” Torg shouted to all who stood near. “The newborns have changed—and they come for us.”

  “They are of the Daasa,” Jord said, her voice disturbingly monotone.

  “I don’t understand, lord,” Kusala shouted above the ever-rising clamor. “What does this mean?”

  “The newborns are transformed into something far deadlier that we could have imagined,” Torg said. “And they are more than five thousand score.”

  “And very hungry,” Henepola said, as if realizing for the first time the direness of the situation.

  As the crescent moon plunged out of sight in the west, the transformed newborns broke from the ringlet and stormed toward the broken entrance of Balak. The defenders loosed their bows and launched missiles from trebuchets, but these weapons had little effect on
the newborns, who—in addition to having grown almost as large as trolls—now had flesh of magical armor that glowed as fiercely as Mala’s chain.

  “So many . . .” Torg said, but this time in a whisper no one heard.

  “They still cannot cross the moat,” the king said. “If anything, it is even more dangerous now than before. See how the spikes glow.”

  “Regardless, we need to prepare oil and fire,” Torg said. “And the great door of Hakam should begin to be lowered. You should delay no longer.”

  “Agreed!” Henepola said. “Commander Palak, give the orders.”

  Vats of oil, clear as spring water but slippery as ice, were dumped over the side in front of the gate, forming a slick but invisible coating on Ott’s exterior. Torg turned his focus to Mala. The Chain Man was aglow, and the Kojins and other monsters surrounding him were agitated, to say the least. Something was about to happen that sent chills up Torg’s spine, but he knew naught what to do but wait and watch.

  “What is their plan?” he said to Jord.

  “They are of the Daasa,” she said yet again. “They do not fear pain or death. They are already in pain, and death would bring relief . . .”

  The newborns poured through the entrance of the first bulwark like a flood of phosphorescence. But instead of funneling along the narrow walkway of Balak’s interior, they plunged straight forward, heedless of what awaited them. The leaders spilled into the moat as if intent on committing suicide, striking the glowing spikes with enough force to pierce their armored hides and become impaled. Hundreds, then thousands followed, leaping onto the backs of the others and scrambling over and through the razor-sharp spines. In just a few moments at least ten thousand were skewered by the weight of the others pressing at their backs, but their deaths were not in vain. A gruesome bridge of metal, gore, and sinew slowly crept across the moat. At two bells before dawn, the first of the newborns made it across.

  The moat was breached.