Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles

by Melvin, Jim

  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.”

  Mala stood shakily.

  Invictus reached up and clasped one of the Chain Man’s fingers. Like a tiny father with a colossus for a son, they walked through the field toward their mounts. The Chain Man climbed aboard the Sampati, Invictus the dracool, and side by side they flew back to Avici.

  Laylah’s Recovery

  1

  IN HER LONG life, Laylah had known a lot of pain. But nothing compared to this.

  With methodical precision, a million tiny mouths devoured her body with thorny teeth. She felt as if she were being skinned alive, but it was her essence being peeled away, not her flesh.

  The only thing that kept her sane was the man who held her close. Where his body touched hers, she experienced a semblance of relief. Through the hysteria of her agony, she could sense his strength providing just enough succor for her to survive one more moment.

  And another . . . another . . . another . . .

  Laylah’s back arched. White flames sprang from every pore, flaring inside the cramped chamber. She cried out. He screamed in response. She was hurting him, and she cursed herself. In such a short time, she had grown to love him. She wanted to give him pleasure, not pain. She tried to push him away, but her arms lacked the strength. He was strapped to her like a chain. For better or worse, they would endure this nightmare together.

  In some ways her senses were blunted. When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but white. When she tried to listen, she heard nothing but dissonance. She could barely feel the sweat on her skin. Or the blanket on which she lay.

  In other ways her senses were heightened. She could smell Torg’s sweet breath and feel the beating of his heart. And somehow, when her eyes were closed, she could see through the stone to where Lucius and the others lay sobbing outside the cave. She wanted to tell them that the pain belonged to her alone. But she didn’t know how.

  Laylah’s body went into a spasm, her legs kicking like a pair of insane scissors, her arms flailing against the stone floor with wicked thuds, her eyes opening and closing frenetically, casting beams of molten light that smote the walls and ceiling. In the midst of this chaos, the efrit slept peacefully within her abdomen, perceiving no threat.

  She felt Torg hold her even tighter, attempting to corral her white rages with his blue-green might. Part of her wanted to embrace his magic, part of her expel it. But he did not ask for permission. Instead, he rode her waves of agony like a leaf on the surface of a raging river. The worst of her pain went on for almost half the night. Without him, she would have perished.

  Just before dawn, the pain finally lessened, allowing her to regain full consciousness and to realize where she lay. Now she could feel the sweat on her body and the chill of the stone. When she opened her eyes, she was relieved to see darkness; the all-consuming white had fled. Even better, the voracious mouths that had tormented her seemed to have lost their hunger and blessedly departed. She shivered in her nakedness. In response, large arms held her. It had not been just a dream amid nightmare. Torg was truly here.

  “The tide has turned,” she heard him whisper.

  She tried to respond but could manage nothing intelligible.

  “Shhhhh . . . quiet now,” he soothed. “Try to sleep. You need to rebuild your strength. And when you wake, we’ll try a sip of water.”

  In the silence of the cave, they lay entwined.

  And for a time she knew no more.

  WHEN THE FINAL shreds of the murky shroud slipped off the surface of the moon, the explosions of light emanating from the cave ceased. One last puff of smoke issued from the maw, as if the den were burping after a spicy meal. Lucius sat up, wiped tears from his eyes, and stared at the narrow entrance distrustfully, not allowing himself to believe that the dreadful cacophony had ended.

  He turned to his companions and was surprised to see that all had fallen asleep. Just a moment before, they had been sobbing and moaning, but now Ugga, Bard, Rathburt, and Elu slept beneath the setting moon as silently as corpses. Even their usual harmonic cascade of snoring was surprisingly absent. But nature’s chorus returned from its temporary absence. Lucius could hear the songs of crickets and the hooting of an owl.

  On hands and knees, he crawled to the mouth of the cave and peered inside. He could see only darkness, but could smell the wispy remnants of smoke swirling in the air. For reasons he could not define, his heart pounded like a frightened child’s. Part of him wanted to scramble into the cave and rush to Laylah’s side. But another part knew that she no longer belonged to him, if she ever had. The sorceress was beyond him, in power and scope. Denying this would only cause more anguish.

  While the owl continued its lonesome call, Lucius sat outside the cave, his face flushed and swollen. He felt disoriented, as if his body were not his own. He stayed there as the moon plunged hurriedly behind a line of trees.

  Even as dawn took hold of the day, the cave remained silent. But it beckoned him, nonetheless. The realization that Laylah
was lost to him did not lessen his feelings for her. If he could not be her lover, he still could protect her as a friend. That wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, considering he was little more than a freak born of a madman, being Laylah’s friend was more than he deserved.

  With the onset of morning, the tunnel leading to the interior of the cave became partially illuminated, but darkness still obscured Torg and Laylah’s whereabouts. If Lucius were to find the courage to crawl inside, he would need to bring a torch of some kind with him.

  “Elu made this for you,” a high-pitched voice proclaimed.

  Lucius yelped and sprang to his feet so fast he grew dizzy, staggering sideways against a boulder that fronted the cave. Elu stood nearby, holding a torch—not yet lighted—that he had constructed using bark stripped from a birch tree and rolled into a tube.

  “Elu, you scared me half to death,” Lucius said, his cheeks stained with crimson shame.

  Rathburt sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s all the shouting about? Isn’t it a little early for fussing?”

  Bard and Ugga continued to sleep, but now they snored loudly.

  “Well, I can see everything has returned to normal around here,” Lucius huffed.

  Elu shook his head. “Not yet,” the Svakaran said, handing him the torch. “You must go to the great one and his pretty lady.”

  “I must go?” Lucius said. “What’s so special about me? Why don’t you go? You can squeeze in there better than I. Or how about Master Rathburt? He’s the only one of us out here who wields any magic to speak of. I have no desire to go in there, believe me.”

  “Elu does not believe you. We all know that you love the pretty lady. And you are stronger than you look. Go to them. They need you.”

  Groaning, Rathburt stood and walked to Lucius’ side. “For once Elu is right. Someone needs to go inside, and you make the most sense. But hurry up. As much as The Torgon annoys me, I have to admit that I’m worried about him . . . and your sweetling, too.”

  “She’s not mine,” Lucius said, motioning toward the cave. “She belongs to him.”

  “This is hard enough on all of us without you causing more problems,” Elu said to Rathburt. Then the Svakaran swung toward Lucius. “There are many ways to love someone—and be loved. She might be lost to you in the way you most desire. But she does not have to be lost to you entirely.”

  Elu pulled a sliver of flint from a pouch tied to his breeches and held it close to the torch, striking it against the blade of his Tugarian dagger. Instantly the birch bark caught fire.

  “Beyond belief, Elu is right twice in the same day,” Rathburt said, but this time his voice was kind rather than derisive. “Lucius, you must go to her . . . to them. You are connected to her in ways that we are not. And you say I have magic? Maybe so. But I don’t have your courage or strength.”

  Lucius didn’t feel the least bit courageous, but it was obvious that none of his companions were in the mood to make things easy for him. Finally, his love for Laylah—along with an ever-growing curiosity—compelled him to slither inside the mouth of the cave. Elu and Rathburt huddled by the opening, while Bard and Ugga continued to snore, heedless of anything but their dreams.

  Lucius crawled deeper into the tunnel, sliding the torch along the floor of the cave with his left hand. The flames crackled merrily, but cast only enough light to see about two body lengths ahead. Again Lucius’ heart pounded erratically. He could not pinpoint why he was so frightened, but he felt as if he were on the verge of entering a place he did not belong, interrupting the reverie of a pair of divine beings who might smite him for his insolence. After the previous night’s display of power, Laylah no longer seemed like a mortal. Instead, she felt more like a creature of supernatural magnificence—and not necessarily safe for someone lesser to be around.

  Suddenly the chamber before him was illuminated, revealing a pale mass pressed against the stone. His first glimpse of flesh did not look human, resembling a grotesque blob. Had Laylah blown herself and Torg to pieces?

  Lucius gasped. But then he realized that what he had seen was a trick of perception. The longer he stared, the more he began to recognize the sorceress and wizard, wrapped in each other’s arms, naked and shivering. Obhasa lay next to them, glowing ever so slightly. Amid his fear and confusion, Lucius felt a surge of jealousy. Then he heard Torg’s voice.

  “Lucius . . .” the wizard whispered. “Bring . . . bring our clothes. I tossed them out there . . . somewhere. And get the rest of the blankets. Now that it’s over, she’s . . . so . . . cold.”

  For a treacherous moment, Lucius considered sneaking over to Torg and throttling him. He could not match the Death-Knower under ordinary circumstances, but with the wizard so weak, could Lucius kill him now? The fantasy was fleeting. Instead of attempting murder, he found himself obeying the wizard’s commands. He leaned the torch against the wall near Torg and hustled back out, barking orders to Elu and Rathburt.

  The Svakaran gathered their clothes and blankets while Rathburt rushed to Ugga and nudged him with his staff. The giant crossbreed, who had been sleeping with the Silver Sword protectively at his side, leapt up and waved the weapon in front of him, unsteady on his feet but determined to fight. The commotion woke Bard, who screamed like a jittery child. Despite his own distress, Lucius couldn’t help but chuckle. For the first time, he realized that he considered his companions to be friends.

  “Get up, you sleepyheads!” he heard Rathburt saying. “Torg and Laylah are still alive, but they need our help. Do you expect me to do everything?”

  “Master Hah-nah is alive? And the pretty lady too?” said Ugga, his deep voice still raspy. “That is very great news! I loves them so much.”

  “If you love them so much, then start a fire and make them—and us—something to warm our bellies,” Rathburt said. “Can’t you see that I’m busy with more important matters?”

  Ugga and Bard complied, hastily arranging a pile of deadwood. Elu handed Lucius several blankets, along with Laylah’s shawls and Torg’s tunic and breeches. Lucius crawled back inside the cave and returned to the chamber, where he found the wizard cradling Laylah. Though she appeared to be deeply asleep, she continued to shiver. Both were filthy, as if they had rolled in ashes. The chamber smelled like a hearth gone cold.

  “I believe she’s going to survive,” Torg whispered. The wizard wrapped Laylah in her shawls before dressing himself. “She was near death last night, but she fought so hard.” He paused, and then said, “Are the rest of you all right?”

  Lucius was amazed that Torg would even ask.

  “Other than being worried, we’re fine,” he said, also in a whisper. “Ugga and Bard are starting a fire. I’m sure Elu will prepare a nice breakfast. Are you hungry? Will Laylah be able to eat? When will she wake up?”

  Torg chuckled. “You always ask a lot of questions, though I’m beginning to find them endearing. Am I hungry? Famished is a better word. Will Laylah be able to eat? Probably not for another day or so, but we need to force her to drink some water. When will she wake up? As my Vasi master used to say, ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ And allow me to answer your next question before you even ask it. Is she healed? She’ll be weak for a while, but otherwise healthy, I believe. The worst is over, my friend.”

  Despite his envy, Lucius was touched. “I’ll get water,” he said softly.

  “Let me get it,” Torg said. “I need to stretch my limbs and breathe some fresh air. Will you stay with her for a short while?”

  At first Lucius wasn’t sure what to say. He was no longer frightened, but he felt even more like an outsider. Still, an opportunity to be alone with Laylah was too precious to decline.

  “I’d be honored.”

  When Torg was gone, Lucius crawled next to Laylah, wrapped the blankets more securely, and took her in his arms. The side of her face pressed against the fabric of his tunic near his heart. She breathed slowly but with occasional gasps, as if something in her dreams startled her. He stroked
her cheek. Her skin felt clammy, and there were lines of dirt encrusted on her lips. He wet his index finger with his own saliva and wiped some of the dirt away, then continued to cleanse her with his tears. Since his encounter with the Hornbeam, he seemed able to cry at a moment’s notice. Was he losing his mind? Did he even have a mind?

  One of Laylah’s legs jerked.

  Lucius stroked her face again and tried to soothe her by humming, though he wasn’t much of a singer. His love for her filled him with bittersweet pain. If Laylah could not be his, it was better to learn it sooner than later. His mind pondered a life without her as his wife, and an entirely new future was unveiled. If Invictus were somehow defeated and they were all made safe, who was to say that he could not find a love of his own?

  “How’s she doing?”

  Lucius jumped.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Torg said.

  “I scare easily nowadays. And I can’t seem to stop crying.”

  Torg chuckled wearily. “Ah, Lucius . . . I know what you mean. I’ve been the same way. For so-called fighting men, we must appear rather fragile.”

  Lucius grunted. Then he stared hard at Laylah’s lovely face. “I’ve known her for more than seventy years. I’ve grown to love her so much. It’s . . . painful . . . to have to let her go.”

  Without warning, Laylah flailed her arm. Both Lucius and Torg squealed. Afterward they laughed.

  “Then again, if she moves around like that in her sleep, maybe I don’t want to be with her,” Lucius said.

  They laughed even louder.

  The sorceress lay still, as if silently pleased to witness the beginning of a friendship.

  With tenderness, Lucius relinquished his hold on Laylah and allowed Torg to take her back. The wizard sat next to her and rested her head in his lap. He had brought a skin filled with water, which he drizzled onto her lips. Though she never opened her eyes, she managed to take some in her mouth and swallow. Torg gave her more. She swallowed again.