Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Jim Melvin

  “More than I knew about Mala.”

  “Hmmmm. A hateful name for a hateful being. But I am not Mala. If I remember correctly, he had two hands. My name is Yama-Deva. Do I remind you of the monster?”

  “I saw Mala only briefly, at the battle in the Green Plains. And no . . . you do not remind me of him, other than your great stature.”

  “I am pleased to hear you say so.” Deva paused, then added, “Since you know some things about snow giants, then you must be aware that we are capable of running very fast, when the mood strikes—far faster, even, than a Tugar. Or a horse, if you could find one. If I wished to leave you behind, I would be capable of it, especially now that I am no longer burdened by the chain.”

  The Asēkha shrugged. “My assignment is to follow. I would do my best.”

  Deva chuckled. The sound was low and rumbling, but not intended to be threatening. “As you might guess, I am in need of succor. I will return to Okkanti to reunite with my own kind and also to report the death of my brother, Yama-Utu, of which I share the blame. Will you journey with me all the way to the place of my birth, Asēkha? It is many leagues distant.”

  “I will journey with you until it makes sense to do otherwise.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To learn from you.”

  “To keep an eye on me, you mean.”

  “That, too.”

  Deva laughed. “I welcome your company, Asēkha—but on one condition. Since you know my name, it is only proper that I know yours.”

  “I am Ukkutīka.”

  “Come along, then, Ukkutīka. You said that you wish to learn from me? Perhaps we can learn from each other.”

  “I am Asēkha,” he said, as if the snow giant’s last statement had been painfully obvious.

  Deva laughed even louder. It felt good.

  62

  DURING THE BATTLE of the Green Plains, three thousand Kantaara Yodhas had been slain—an unprecedented number in Tugarian history. Dalhapa, though one of the youngest and most inexperienced of the Asēkhas, had been chosen by Chieftain Podhana to lead the six thousand who had survived. It was obvious he had faith in her abilities, and the four Asēkha males who accompanied her seemed to share it, taking commands from her as if she were chieftain in Podhana’s stead, though two of them had been members of the Viisati for more than a century longer than she.

  “They see in me what they saw in Sōbhana,” she mused. “I am honored and hope not to fail them.”

  On midafternoon of the fourth day since entering the Gap of Gati, Dalhapa and her company stood in the northern foothills of the Kolankold Mountains and studied the black fortress from a distance. The Asēkhas were at her side, as well as the majority of the Tugars. Lacking the vitality of the Tugars, the black knights of Nissaya had lagged behind and not yet arrived, though Dalhapa believed they would join them by dusk.

  For the first time in as long as she could remember, the skies were overcast. Though she would believe it when she saw it, it appeared that it might soon rain. The Asēkha welcomed the possibility. A storm would conceal their approach better than anything else. Unless the enemy had found a way to repair the broken gates, the concentric walls of Nissaya were about to be breached a second time in two weeks.

  To Dalhapa’s delight, the rain did come, arriving in conjunction with dusk. The storm struck like the war hammer of a god, unleashing violent blasts of lightning and thunder. Shortly thereafter, ten score black knights arrived, staggering through the deluge with bent backs. But resting was not an option. If they were to retake Nissaya, there was no better time than now.

  “The Tugars will wait no longer,” she said to the knights. “Any among you with the strength to join us are welcome. The blasphemies of Nissaya will be wiped clean this night.”

  “We are weary,” a black knight said. “But our love for the fortress will give us strength. God sleeps within Nissaya’s granite bones. Where you lead, we will follow.”

  Dalhapa nodded and then moved forward. The Tugars, of course, made no noise, but the knights’ black armor creaked and clanked. Still, it mattered little. The driving rain made enough noise to camouflage a herd of destriers. The illumination caused by the flashes of lightning created the greatest risk of detection, but the bolts were sporadic enough to be of minor concern.

  They approached the door of Balak without incident. The first gate remained as they remembered it, shattered into a million shards of granite and iron. Though tons of debris still cluttered the passageway, it had been sufficiently cleared to allow a wide wagon to pass through unhindered. Dalhapa and the four Asēkhas entered first, creeping slowly through the battered opening.

  There were no guards in sight, and she could sense none in hiding. Was it possible that Mala had left the fortress unguarded? Perhaps, but not likely. Dalhapa believed they would encounter resistance sometime before this night was over. If so, she and the others would welcome it. They were in the mood for killing.

  The gate of Ott also was unguarded. But for the first time, Dalhapa saw signs that the fortress was not unoccupied. The broad wooden drawbridge built to span the moat between the first and second bulwarks had been reassembled, crudely but effectively enough to bear considerable weight. Were the besiegers loading wagons and emptying the fortress of its enormous wealth? Or were they simply planning for the eventual return of Mala’s army?

  Dalhapa didn’t care, either way. To her, the bridge was an unexpected boon.

  Beneath an inundation of rain almost as dense as a waterfall, she led the Asēkhas across the bridge. Hundreds of broken and decaying bodies still lay amid the wicked spikes, including the three-headed giant that had met its demise in the moat during the recent assault on Nissaya. Dalhapa entered the broken gate of Ott. At the end of the passageway, a colossal bolt of lightning revealed the first signs of movement. Black mountain wolves guarded the entrance of Hakam.

  Along with other creatures of the night.

  WOOSER, STRONGEST of all the wild men in the world, couldn’t believe his misfortune. Until the damnable witch had shown up, things had been going smoothly. Just like that, he no longer was the boss of Nissaya, the hated fortress that had so long been a bane to his people. To make matters worse, the Warlish whore had come with a Stone-Eater, a pair of nasty hags, a vampire, a Porisāda chieftain, and a dozen big wolves.

  When the witch had seen the wagons stuffed to overflowing with Maōi, black armor, and weapons, she had nearly scorched him right then with her tall wooden staff. How was he to know that she or anyone else from Mala’s army would be back this quickly? Weren’t they supposed to be off fighting the Jivitans?

  For reasons they would not reveal, the witch and her companions had fled the battle and returned to the fortress, much to Wooser’s dismay. It wasn’t that he and his wild men were weaklings; the hags, vampire, Mogol, and wolves could be beaten. But five score wild men were no match for a witch and a Stone-Eater together. The witch’s name was Wyvern-Abhinno, known to be among the most powerful of her kind, and the Stone-Eater was called Glax, known by all to be Bunjako’s younger brother. You didn’t want to mess with these two, if there were any way you could avoid it.

  Wyvern was giving him a wicked tongue-lashing when the skies let loose. At first, Wooser had cursed the sudden storm. But then he began to wonder if it might work to his advantage. If he could get the witch and the Stone-Eater to seek shelter in one of the interior buildings, he and the rest of the wild men could sneak out with a couple of the wagons while they slept. Wooser doubted anyone would come looking for them once they were gone.

  But bad luck always led to worse. No matter how hard it rained, the witch, who was damn beautiful, and the Stone-Eater, who was damn ugly, didn’t seem to have any interest in going inside. It was as if they carried invisible umbrellas; the rain didn’t seem to touch them.

  “You were told to hold the fortressss, not to pillage it,” she was shouting. “Everything in Nissaya is property of the ssssorcerer.”

&nbs
p; “We were just getting it ready for when Mala returned,” Wooser said, unable to conceal his fidgeting. “We were going to take every bit of it straight to Avici.”

  “You dare lie to a Warlish witch?” the Stone-Eater said, his small eyes aglow.

  “Queen of the Warlish witches,” Wyvern corrected.

  Glax grunted.

  Then one of the wolves moved its snout within a finger-length of Wooser’s nose and snarled. Foul-smelling spittle sprayed his face. The wild man stepped back and considered drawing his hunting dagger, then thought better of it. Though several score of his men were within bowshot of where he stood, it didn’t matter if they managed to kill the wolves, witch, and Stone-Eater, if he too were slaughtered.

  Then, with the suddenness of a lightning strike, the wolf fell onto its side, blood spurting from one of its ears.

  Wooser held up his arms, as if to say, “I didn’t do it . . .” And then a metal bead struck his right temple and exited through his left. Just like that, Wooser was no longer.

  WHEN THE RAINS came, Podhana and his company were within a half-day’s march of Nissaya. Obhasa seemed to welcome the downpour, glowing mightily while remaining relatively cool to the touch. The white ivory created an enormous amount of light, but this did not concern Podhana. With Mala’s army in ruins, there was no one left to assault them other than the sorcerer himself, who surely was back in Avici by now. So he openly used the illumination to guide them through the tumult.

  If not for the staff, they might have walked right past the unusual pair—one a large man, the other a massive giant—who sat cross-legged in the grass a stone’s throw from Iddhi-Pada. Podhana and the other Asēkhas surrounded them. But then the large man stood, and they recognized Ukkutīka.

  “Hold!” the newly ascended Asēkha shouted through the downpour. “Sheathe your swords. There are no enemies here.”

  Then the giant stood, towering over them like a tree. But though the creature was huge and formidable, Podhana could sense no malice in its radiant eyes.

  “I was once known as Mala and was most certainly your enemy,” the snow giant said. “But now I am Yama-Deva and am most certainly your ally.”

  Ukkutīka went to Podhana and grasped his muscular forearm. “Chieftain, the snow giant had planned to return to Okkanti immediately, but he has since changed his mind and now desires to return to Nissaya and examine the place where his brother fell before continuing on. Yama-Deva is filled with grief—and guilt—over what occurred at the fortress, but I believe the evil that once surged inside him has been removed.”

  “I want to see,” Deva said. “Then I will trouble you no longer.”

  Podhana blinked away the rain and looked up at the snow giant’s beautiful face, which was lighted by the glow from Obhasa. “We don’t know what we will find there,” the chieftain said. “There might be fighting . . . killing. Mala would have found this pleasurable, but what of Yama-Deva? Will you thwart us? If so, we will again consider you our enemy and will strike against you with all our strength.”

  Deva sighed. “I am hopeful that my days of killing are over. As are my days of wandering. I simply desire to visit the place of my brother’s demise—and afterward return to my homeland.”

  As surely as he could sense danger, Podhana could sense sincerity.

  “Very well, you may come. But if murder and mayhem accompany us on our journeys, do not judge us too harshly.”

  By the time they reached the fortress, it was less than a bell before dawn. Even as they passed through the entrance of Ott, the rain came to a halt. Podhana and his company found dead bodies strewn around the entrance to Hakam, including a Porisāda chieftain, a vampire, several dozen wild men, and a handful of wolves. Soon after, they encountered a Tugarian warrior.

  “Chieftain, the fortress is secured, but we need your help,” she said urgently. “The enemy is defeated, except for a Warlish witch and a Stone-Eater who have taken refuge inside of a hollow spire. They are surrounded by Tugars and cannot escape, but our attempts to roust them from their hiding place have been unsuccessful. Dalhapa did not wish to risk further lives.”

  Podhana turned to Deva. “We could use your help.”

  The snow giant smiled wearily. “Anyone who wields the Death-Knower’s staff needs naught my help. It is here that we part ways. I shall visit the death place of my brother and then leave the lowlands forever.”

  A slight twitch of Podhana’s left index finger signaled Ukkutīka to remain with the snow giant, but Yama-Deva only laughed. “Still don’t trust me? To be honest, I don’t blame you. As even the lowest of beings are aware, trust must be earned.”

  Deva turned and walked the short distance to where Utu had fallen. Then he knelt and examined the granite floor. Ukkutīka knelt with him.

  Podhana shrugged and turned to the Tugarian warrior. “Lead us.”

  As they jogged into the interior of Nissaya, the first glimpses of dawn provided just enough light to see for a considerable distance. Though the streets were devoid of life, debris was strewn everywhere: bent and scarred armor, swords and daggers, remnants of fabric. But only a few shreds of flesh and bone.

  The newborns had eaten their fill—and then some. Tens of thousands of human bodies had been brutally slain and devoured. Podhana would not have believed it possible had he not witnessed the aftermath of the slaughter with his own eyes. Each newborn must have eaten more than its own weight.

  The warrior led them through an open courtyard, into a narrow alleyway, and onto an adjoining street. Pebbles crunched beneath their boots as they ran. Finally they came to another courtyard, within which stood a spire of stone perhaps thirty cubits tall and half as broad. A thousand Tugars were jammed into the courtyard, standing guard over a single wooden door, shut and presumably barred. Several crude windows pockmarked the tower above the door, but all were dark.

  Dalhapa trotted over and greeted Podhana, grasping his forearm enthusiastically.

  “Chieftain, I’m pleased you have joined us. The fortress is secured, and to our delight we have found several hundred survivors hidden here and there. They are now under our protection.

  “We also discovered a courtyard that contained the bodies of our fallen, haphazardly cast there by Mala’s minions. Already, proper burials are being arranged.

  “Otherwise the enemy is routed, except for the two monsters that have taken refuge inside the tower. They led us on a frantic chase through the streets, often stopping boldly to confront us. The witch’s staff spews a deadly flame, and the Stone-Eater vomits molten liquids hot as lava. We were too numerous for them to threaten, yet due to my commands to avoid injury to our people, we were overly cautious in our pursuit, enabling them to escape to this place. Now I fear I have erred. To roust them will surely cost lives.”

  Podhana was considering this when a black knight stepped forward. “Asēkha, I know this place well. It is a spire of natural stone, ill-placed and little used. Long stairs lead downward into a lower chamber that contains brooms and buckets used by the street cleaners.”

  “Does the chamber lead anywhere else?”

  “No, Asēkha . . . they are trapped within. But anyone who attempts to go down those stairs will be vulnerable to attack.”

  “My inexperience has created a standoff,” Dalhapa said. “I am sorry, chieftain, for allowing this to occur.”

  “There is no need for apologies,” Podhana said. “Too many of us have perished in the recent battles. It would have been terrible to lose more. Still, we are faced with a quandary. We cannot simply walk away and leave these monsters to their own devices, but neither can we afford to stand guard for days at a time. Something must be done quickly.”

  While Podhana pondered the dilemma, rays from the morning sun crept into the courtyard and filled it with yellow light. Suddenly a shadow loomed over Podhana from above. Podhana jerked around, then shielded his eyes as he looked up into the face of the snow giant. Though Yama-Deva remained beautiful, there was anguish in his express
ion that had not been there just a while before.

  “I was naïve to believe that I could return to a life of pacifism,” the snow giant grumbled. “I have caused too much harm and experienced too much horror. My brother was slain in an attempt to rescue me from doom. I shall see to it that his death was not in vain.”

  Deva pushed past Podhana and approached the spire. With one stroke from his boulder-sized fist, the door blew apart.

  63

  WHEN DEVA HAD knelt in the depression Invictus’s blast of power had created, a sudden flash of memory burst into his awareness, during which the snow giant recalled his final moments with Utu. He remembered his brother taking him in his arms—and in response, the thick links of his chain going icy cold.

  Had Invictus not intervened, Utu would have succeeded in wresting Deva from the spell of Mala, which in turn would have returned control of his body to its rightful owner. But the sorcerer’s crackling bolt, a thousand times more powerful than any feat of magic Deva had ever witnessed, crumpled Utu’s beautiful body, while at the same time reigniting Deva’s chain. In fact, if Utu had not taken the brunt of the blow, it might have cracked the bedrock beneath the fortress and started an earthquake.

  Later on, it had taken the power of Bhayatupa to finally wrest the chain from Mala’s body. It also had cost him his left hand, a small price to pay for such a gift. Now Deva knelt in the rain amid his brother’s muddied ashes, crawling toward the three holes he himself had bored into the granite with the trident Vikubbati. The two outside holes remained open, but the middle of the three had been filled with molten stone that now was cooled and hardened. Deva recognized this as the work of Invictus. The sorcerer must have visited this same site sometime recently and decided to bury Utu’s ring of Maōi forever.

  The tragedy struck the snow giant like an unexpected slap in the face. When Utu had dared to come down from the mountaintops, he had left behind the only way of life he had ever known. Deva had earned renown among the Himamahaakaayos for his wanderings. But even he had never voluntarily left the foothills of Okkanti, while Utu had come all the way to Nissaya in an attempt to rescue his brother from Invictus’s clutches. And how did Deva plan to reward his brother’s bravery? By crawling back to Okkanti and hiding in its peaks like a coward?