Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (11 page)

THE ENORMOUS VENT in the bedrock reached all the way to the surface, but by then it was not much larger than one of Ulaara’s eyes. The great dragon was forced to squirm into a side tunnel he had never before explored, but it turned out to be just large enough to contain him. Eventually Ulaara the Black stood above ground for the first time in thirty millennia. It was a bright morning. From the appearance of the surrounding trees he guessed that it was midspring, but the heat felt like midsummer.

Ulaara’s first encounter with the
Adho Sattas
(Low Ones) that lived in this time had enthralled him. The black dragon had been impressed that Blue Eyes had spoken the ancient tongue so fluently. If he were to regain his rightful position as
Mahaasupanno
, he would be able to communicate with at least some of his new slaves. He might even give Blue Eyes a high position in his royal court, as a reward for his scholarly adeptness.

Though uncomfortably warm, the air was fresh and sweet, and the surrounding land lush and beautiful. During the height of
Supanna-Sangaamaani
(the Dragon Wars), much of Triken’s surface had been scarred. Now Ulaara saw no evidence of the destruction, and he had to admit that he liked it better this way. The black dragon always had been a connoisseur of physical beauty.

To his amazement, a large deer trotted into view not one hundred paces from where he crouched. In the old days, a buck of this size could only be found deep within the densest forests, yet here was one wandering around in the open without a care in the world. With little effort Ulaara pounced on the animal and chomped it in half, relishing the juicy flesh and crunchy bones. He swallowed the other half and even licked blood off the gray grass. This only served to spark his appetite.

In a short time, he killed and devoured a dozen more deer and even a large male Tyger.
Ahhhh, it was good to be awake
.

Now if he could just learn more about Bhayatupa’s whereabouts. The black dragon was not the crimson dragon’s match, even in the best of times, and he still was stiff and weak from long years of sleep. It would not be good to be caught unawares. Stealth would serve as his armor, surprise his strategy, secrecy his weapon, at least until he could determine if Bhayatupa still retained his former strength. If he did, Ulaara would flee again, having no other choice.

For the first time in thirty millennia, Ulaara the Black took to the skies. Stretching his wings was both joyful and agonizing. With the sky so clear he dared not reveal his re-emergence by soaring to the upper heights, so he stayed just above the tree line of the foothills that formed the southernmost border of Mahaggata, his eyes darting to and fro in search of enemies.

He flew westward along the Gap of Gati. The ancient road called Iddhi-Pada was visible to his left, and it was in better condition than he remembered. The
Adho Sattas
of this age were productive creatures, to say the least, and would make excellent slaves, if he could somehow figure out a way to dispose of the only dragon he had ever feared. After what Ulaara had done to Bhayatupa’s son, his ancient enemy had reason to be vengeful.

From this low height Ulaara could not see for long distances, but eventually he spied a wagon abandoned in the middle of the road. Normally, Ulaara would have paid it little heed, but there was something inside the wagon that astonished him. When he looked at it directly, it seared his eyes.

“Is it possible?” he thought. “While I slept, did the demon-mother finally manage to create a Sun God?”

Except for Vedana, Ulaara knew more about
Akanittha
(the being of highest power) than almost any creature on Triken. The black dragon was more learned than the dracools. If a Sun God lived, then it wouldn’t matter if Bhayatupa also roamed this world. An alliance with the Sun God would doom the crimson dragon.

The nearer he approached, the surer he became. Now the unnatural heat of midspring made sense. The tiny but magnificent being that loomed beneath him was the source of the heat. When Ulaara came to rest a dozen paces from the wagon, the Sun God turned and looked upon him, as if just then noticing him.

At first, the
Akanittha
spoke gibberish, which puzzled Ulaara. Then in the ancient tongue, the Sun God said, “What have we here?” And then, “Can it be? Has Ulaara the Black resurfaced? How
interesting
!”

Ulaara also found it interesting. “It is I,” the black dragon said in the ancient tongue. “And you are Vedana’s spawn?”

“I am her spawn, but not her slave.”

The black dragon nodded, slowly digesting the implications of such a statement. Then he lowered himself on his haunches in obeisance. “My liege, I have a question, if you would deign to answer.”

“Yes?”

“Are you allied with Bhayatupa?”

“I am
 . . .
was
 . . .
but no longer. The crimson dragon is recently deceased.”

This amazed Ulaara—and thrilled him. “This is not just rumor?”

“Do you doubt my word?”

Ulaara did not. “My liege, I am at your service.”

Invictus chuckled. “Yes, you are.” Then he added, “My name is Invictus, but you may continue to call me ‘my liege.’ And I
 . . .
we
 . . .
are now going to walk to the Cariya River. And west of the river, we will approach a great city named Jivita, which houses many thousands. That is my eventual destination.”

As quick as that, off they went, an unusual pair, to say the least.

During a lifetime that began even before Bhayatupa was born, Ulaara had always detested walking, considering it an absurd waste of time and energy. Surprisingly, great dragons could run extremely fast for short distances, but over long stretches they tired easily, their titanic bodies exhausted by too much lumbering. And yet here he was, strolling alongside the Sun God like a pet dog of extraordinary size.

Not only was the
Akanittha
tiny, he also was annoying—especially the obnoxious whistling. But never let it be said that Ulaara wasn’t quick to recognize a superior. In his memory there had been only two: Bhayatupa and now Invictus, the latter the far more powerful of the two. So walk he did, clumsily or not.

Still, Ulaara could not help but protest a little. “My liege,” he said in the ancient tongue. “Do you mean to walk all the way to Cariya? It will take days. If we flew, we could be there before midnight.”

Invictus momentarily stopped his whistling. “I’m in no hurry
 . . .
at least not yet.”

Ulaara walked for another league before daring to bring up the subject again. By now it was nearing dusk. “My liege?”

Appearing irritated, Invictus stopped his whistling again.
“Yes?”

“Do you not find this
 . . .
tedious?”

“Find what tedious?”

“All this
 . . .
walking.”

“The walking I love,” the Sun God said. “The questions I don’t.”

Ulaara didn’t like the look in the sorcerer’s eyes, so he quickly changed the subject. “When I last was active in the world, there was a city west of Cariya, though in truth it was little more than a village. Now you say it has grown huge and houses many thousands?”

“Was I not clear? Or are you somewhat dimwitted?”

“I am just attempting to be cordial, my liege.”

Invictus stopped and looked up into one of Ulaara’s huge round eyes. “I want to whistle,” he said.

“My liege?”

“I
 . . .
want
 . . .
to
 . . .
whistle. If you wish to tag along, feel free. But you must remain quiet, until I say otherwise.”

Tag along?

“Yes, my liege.” Quiet he remained.

IRONICALLY, THE final moments of Bhayatupa’s life were joyfully pleasant. The chain that encased his neck went cool, and though he was nearly unconscious, a portion of his huge brain was aware of the cessation of agony—and reveled in it.

The long fall from the sky had not been lethal to the dragon. Instead, it was the explosive impact of Invictus’s might that had shut down his inner workings. A force of grand magnitude had interrupted the electrical impulses that powered his heart, and without that great organ to pump crimson blood throughout his flesh, death was inevitable. Invictus could have saved him, if he had reached him in time, but Bhayatupa had perished before the sorcerer could make the attempt.

Now his karma leapt from his body and exploded into the night, leaping titanic distances across time and space. The instant after his demise, Bhayatupa became enveloped in profound silence. Though his mind/awareness realized its host body was dead, there was no grief or regret. In fact Bhayatupa felt no emotion at all, just a dry curiosity. He had feared this moment, obsessively, for millennia. Now he saw that his fears had been a stupendously foolish waste of energy. Death was neither to be abhorred nor treasured. It simply existed as part of the natural cycle.

As a swirling sphere of karma, Bhayatupa tumbled toward his future. Countless other spheres sped alongside him in the dark firmament. But none of them was nearly as large or as fiery, as if their previous existences had paled in comparison to his.

A deep-blue ball, larger than a galaxy, awaited his arrival. Upon seeing it in the far distance, Bhayatupa recognized the source of
The Torgon
’s power. The Death-Knower had been here many times—and then returned to his former body. As Bhayatupa approached, he experienced no urge to attempt a similar feat. Plunging into the immense ball and continuing his existence in another body satisfied all his desires.

At the same time, Bhayatupa coldly realized that he was as capable as the Death-Knower of making the return. The jolt alone would revive his heart, and his other injuries weren’t serious enough to cause concern.

But was there any reason to go back to his old body? Would not his next existence offer opportunities that were just as tantalizing? And why return when Invictus would still be there to torment him?

The broiling ball of Death Energy beckoned him. Bhayatupa struggled to enter, only to find that he could not. Instead, tendrils of energy rose from the ball and engorged him. Then without warning, he was pulled away from the ball and steered in the direction from which he had come. Powerful outside forces wanted him to return; in fact, demanded it. Bhayatupa was cast backward at an alarming rate, and when he awoke within his original body, he howled.

Bhayatupa sat up on his haunches and looked around, stunned yet exhilarated. As he did, the chain slipped off his neck and tumbled impotently to the ground. But it wasn’t the end of that pain that so enthralled him. It was the cessation of
Tanhiiyati—
the
insatiable craving for eternal existence—that filled his now-thudding heart with joy. He no longer feared death.

Bhayatupa was free.

In more ways than one.

But who or what had brought him back to life?

And why?

Then he discovered that he no longer cared why or how he had been brought back. The joy that surged through his mind and body made him want to laugh until he cried. And cry until he laughed.

Bhayatupa leapt into the air and flew through the night like a blazing comet, tucking his wings and swirling like a playful child. He soared to the upper heights where it was cold beyond measure and then dove to just a span above the ground. He smote the air with magic and blew flames from his nostrils. It was glorious to be alive—without fear shadowing his sensations.

Death was not to be feared. It was as natural as breathing.

Bhayatupa roared with delight.

In a state of delirium, he flew far and wide. Eventually, he found himself lighting on the rooftop of Uccheda. When golden soldiers raced out from hidden portals to confront him, the great dragon knocked them over the side with sweeps of his tail. A pair of dracools came within sight but then raced away. Bhayatupa sprang from his perch, hunted them down, and ate them both. By the time he returned to the rooftop, it was dusk.

“What to do? What to do?” he thought, his mind ablaze with possibilities.

“I know what you should do,” came a cackling voice.

“Vedana
 . . .
not you again.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings. After all I’ve done
 . . .
”

“All you’ve done? Why would that give me reason to miss you? Hate you is more like it.”

“Don’t be so droll. I foresaw
 . . .
well, it wasn’t really me
 . . .
but it was
foreseen
that you would die and return. If not for me, you still would be Invictus’s puppet. Now look at you. Why, I’m
 . . .
proud
of you.”

“What have
you
to do with my return? It is
my
greatness that accomplished it, not yours. Still, I must admit I haven’t felt this good since before the Dragon Wars began. The weight of madness has been removed from my awareness. I am free of the fear of death.”

“Yippeeeeeee!” Vedana said. “And I have more good news, if you’d like to hear it.”

“If it involves your plan to destroy Invictus, leave me out. What little you’ve already told me got me into enough trouble already.”

“What little I told you? What do you mean?”

“I am not such a fool as to believe you would have told me what you’re really planning.”

“That’s twice you’ve hurt my feelings
 . . .
”

Bhayatupa grunted. “Do you think I care?” Then he lumbered across the rooftop and peered over its edge. Vedana, incarnated as the raggedy old woman, knelt beside him and also peered down. Now it was so dark even Bhayatupa could barely see the ground, but there was enough torchlight to reveal a large gathering at the base of the tower, as well as a strange glowing fence encircling Uccheda that had not been there before.

Bhayatupa focused one of his large round eyes on the demon. “If you really want to give me good news, then tell me that Invictus is somewhere far away from here.”

“He is,” Vedana said, her smile revealing jagged teeth. “But it gets even better. Oh, so much better.”

“Stop playing and just tell me.”

The demon stood, and her face grew serious. He could see her heart pounding beneath her translucent robes and flesh. When she got like this she was dangerous, even to him. Bhayatupa watched her carefully.

“Ulaara the Black is alive
 . . .
and awake,” she said. “He no longer hides from you.”

Bhayatupa’s expression changed from wariness to rage.