Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (19 page)

AFTER DEPARTING Avici, Bhayatupa flew aimlessly for three days among the peaks of Mahaggata, taking pleasure in the cool air of the upper heights. But more and more he found himself drawn away from the mountaintops, as if a salubrious presence lured him. Vedana, or more precisely, Peta the ghost-child, could have told him why and where he should go. But the great dragon was weary of being just another pawn in their myriad schemes. He decided to discover what beckoned him without their help.

Bhayatupa flew southwest toward Jivita, which is where he eventually intended to go, anyway. Vedana had told him that Ulaara was with Invictus. Destroying the black dragon superseded all else, even if it meant again exposing himself to the sorcerer’s wrath. Before he left this body and was reborn elsewhere, he would avenge the murder of his son.

The moon was full when Bhayatupa finally settled in a broad cove just west of Cariya, landing oh-so-delicately amid a tangle of trees. Whatever it was that he sought was hidden nearby. Rather than attempt to scare it into showing itself, Bhayatupa lay still and did not move. He had no desire to frighten the being. Instead, it was as if he had discovered a long-lost brother.

Bhayatupa waited until the full moon was directly overhead before he broke the silence. “I know you are there
 . . .
and I mean you no harm. Will you not speak to me?”

From somewhere in the darkness, a trembling voice replied, “Since when have
you
meant no harm?”

“Do you not sense our connection?”

A long silence followed. Then: “I sense something. But I don’t know what it is.”

“I have died
 . . .
and returned,” Bhayatupa said.

Another long silence. Then, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing more than pleasant conversation. We have much in common, you and me. Will you not show yourself?”

“Pleasant conversation? I don’t believe you.”

“An exchange, then
 . . .
of knowledge.”

“I know so little
 . . .
and you so much.”

“Once I would have agreed with you. But no longer.
Please
 . . .
show yourself. You are safe among the trees.”

The man who emerged from the darkness was a thin, slumped version of
The Torgon.
Bhayatupa’s eyes flared—and glowed. Tiny crimson flames sprang from his nostrils, but now they contained tendrils of blue.

“I guess not everything that Vedana told me was a lie,” Bhayatupa said. “The demon has spoken to me of your importance.”

The man lowered himself and sat cross-legged on the fallen trunk of a long-dead oak. “That’s good of her.”

Bhayatupa laughed, though it sounded more like the grumblings of an earthquake. “The demon cares naught for others, it is true. I used to be like her, but I have changed.”

“From being a mean dragon to a nice dragon? Instead of killing and eating people, you’re now going to fly around all day and perform good deeds? How about doing one for me? Put me out of my misery.”

“Will you not perform the task set before you? I know some version of it, though it is probably distorted.”

“Would you perform it, distorted or not?”

“Even in my former madness, I did not fear pain.”

“This will extend beyond pain.”

“Nonetheless,” Bhayatupa said, “I would do it.”

Rathburt sighed. “You know what the worst thing is? I believe you. And I also believe that Torg would do it too, along with a myriad of others. I appear to be the only craven of the bunch. But then I’ve always been a coward surrounded by heroes.”

“You underestimate yourself, Death-Knower.”

“That’s what Torg always says.”

“Your master is wise.”

In a sarcastic tone: “My
master
? Ha!” Then, in a humbler tone: “My master
 . . .
is that what he is?”

“Is he not your king?”

Rathburt seemed puzzled. “My
 . . .
master.” Then the wizard looked up at the dragon, as if seeing him for the first time. “We both seem to know what’s in store for me,” Rathburt said. “But what about you? Have you been told
your
future?”

Bhayatupa snorted. “An excellent question. For an
Adho Satta
, you are wise. I’m sure that Vedana knows something about my fate, but she has blessedly spared me the details. However, I do have plans of my own, whether foreseen or not. An enemy of mine, long hidden, has reappeared. I shall pay him a visit in the near future.”

“Why don’t you pay Invictus a visit, instead? Your killing him could save us all a lot of trouble.”

“Alas, I have tried
 . . .
and failed. I am no longer too proud to admit that the sorcerer is beyond me, though I might yet play a role in his destruction.”

“My role will be short and
 . . .
sweet,” Rathburt said.

Bhayatupa eyed him carefully. “Before I depart, there
is
something I can do to lessen your torment—friend to friend.”

“We are friends?”

“Our commonality appeals to me. Is that not friendship?”

“Perhaps
 . . .
”

“Then come to me—and face me.”

Bhayatupa did not expect the wizard to trust him enough to comply, but Rathburt walked directly to the dragon and stopped just three paces from his nostrils, each of which was large enough to swallow the man’s head.

“Close your eyes,” Bhayatupa said.

Rathburt obeyed.

Bhayatupa inhaled deeply, his great ribs expanding until they pressed against trees on both sides, and then slowly exhaled. Crimson smoke tinged with sparkles of blue oozed from his mouth and nostrils, encompassing the wizard in a thick, sensual cloud of dragon essence blended with death energy. Rathburt breathed it in, hesitantly at first but with increasing enthusiasm.

Afterward the wizard said, “I’m tired.”

“Sleep then,” Bhayatupa said. “I will watch over you.”

Rathburt obeyed again.

“HE DID IT,” Vedana crowed. “The pathetic little fool did it. Just as you said he would.”

“He’s not a fool,” Peta said. “He’s actually a wonderful man, once you get to know him. Unlike you, he has a future. Perhaps I will be part of it.”

“Yeah, yeah
 . . .
whatever.” Then the demon slapped the ghost-child’s physical incarnation on the back. “This is cause for celebration, daughter. I feel better about our plan than I have in a long time. Rathburt was the one most likely to mess things up. Now that he’s breathed dragon essence, he’ll be brave as a warrior
 . . .
at least long enough to fulfill his role.”

“I believe he would have had the courage, regardless.”

“I believe he would have had the courage, regardless,”
Vedana mimicked. “You act like you’re in love with him or something. Well, there he is
 . . .
sleeping like a baby. Go over there and grope him before he wakes up. That’s what I’d do.”

Peta sighed. “Do you have any idea how disgusting you are?”

“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?”

FROM HIGH IN the trees, where even Vedana could not see her, the Faerie also watched. As
Vijjaadharaa
, she was beyond the foresight of the ghost-child or the demon, so she feared naught their awareness. But her attention was on neither. Instead, she focused her gaze on the dragon.

Hatred was not a trait of her genus. For the most part, the
Vijjaadharaa
lacked feelings of any kind. However, when they assumed living form for long periods of time, they were capable of absorbing the characteristics of the creatures they impersonated. Jord, the white-haired woman; Sakuna, the mountain eagle; and Bhojja, the huge, jade horse, had been incarnated among the living on Triken longer than the dragon had been alive. And during this extensive exposure, she had acquired an overly large taste of the sensation of emotion.

The Faerie had grown to love the mountain eagles. When Bhayatupa slaughtered them, she had grown to hate the dragon, and a part of her wanted to pounce upon the dragon’s back and attempt to break his spine. But the Faerie chose not to attack. She knew that Bhayatupa had an important role to play, and she would not doom everyone just to appease her own thirst for vengeance. Nothing she could do would bring the eagles back to life. Their karmas had long since moved on. So she waited and watched.

Before dawn, she took to the skies and soared toward Jivita.

ONCE AGAIN MALA had purposely exhausted the newborn soldiers; only this time he did so with speed instead of slow torture. In eight days the huge army marched from Nissaya to the Green Plains east of Jivita, almost as far a distance as Avici to Nissaya, which had taken three weeks.

As before, the newborns were given almost nothing to eat or drink. The first several days of the march their stomachs were so full it hardly mattered. But eventually their thirst and hunger returned. Even their armor began to fit again, no longer pressing against their once-bloated bellies.

At midnight, the gibbous moon hung lifelessly in a clear sky. Dracools reported that Jivita’s army was entrenched just two leagues from where the Chain Man stood. By morning, the bulk of Mala’s army would be in place. After that, the fun would begin. First there would be a parley, during which he would give the enemy one final chance to surrender. Of course, the proud Jivitans and pesky Tugars would refuse. To Mala it mattered little. Either way, he would kill most and enslave the few who remained.

Since the beginning, Mala had known about the newborns’ ability to change. For more than twenty years, he and Invictus had conducted halfhearted training sessions on the fields east of Avici, but in truth it mostly was done just to keep the soldiers occupied until the real wars began. Their strength would not be in swordsmanship, discipline, or tactical excellence. Instead, it would be their bloodthirsty nature—born of their parasitic relationship with the Daasa—that would make them unstoppable.

When Kojins, Warlish witches, Stone-Eaters, and other monsters were added to the mix, Mala’s army became the most powerful to ever walk the world. Though there had been far more casualties at Nissaya than Mala had expected, his host had remained invincible. He was so confident, he believed the battle with Jivita would be over before darkness of the following day.

One of the two remaining Kojins stood by his side. Parājeti wasn’t as attractive as Harīti had been, but she would have to do now that his favorite had been butchered.

Parājeti spoke to him through her mind.

“No
 . . .
I’m not worried about ambushes,” Mala responded. “After the parley, they will arrange in defensive formation and await our attack.”

Parājeti squealed.

“How do I know this?” Mala said. “Invictus told me, and he knows everything. The white horsemen believe themselves to be masters of the open field. They will prefer to pit their strength against ours.”

The Kojin pounded her six fists together.

“Of course we’ll win,” Mala shouted. “We outnumber our enemy almost three-to-one. And after we rout them, Triken will be ours.”

Parājeti seemed to sigh.

“No
 . . .
No!” Mala said cheerfully. “The fun won’t be over. There’ll still be plenty to do. Hunt down the Jivitan civilians, march on Anna and destroy the Tent City, even sail across the ocean and enslave more Daasa. The world will be our playground. Isn’t it marvelous?”

Mala spent the rest of the night walking among his host, greeting new arrivals and succoring the witches and Stone-Eaters, who seemed more worried about surprise attacks than did the Kojin. Eventually, he became angry and told anyone who brought up the subject to stop their grumbling. Still, as a precaution he sent out Mogol patrols. Several warriors returned saying they had ridden within bowshot of the enemy and had not been accosted. The Jivitans and Tugars seemed as content as Mala to await the morning, just as Invictus had predicted.

When dawn finally arrived, the sun rose like a ball of angry fire. Though summer was weeks away, the bulk of this day would be remembered for generations as the hottest in the history of Triken. Not even
Majjhe Ghamme
(midsummer) in the heart of Tējo had produced such heat. Even before the fighting began, the battlefield would be an inferno. Mala adored it.

“I do this for you, my liege,” Mala said.

Then he gathered a small entourage and strode fearlessly toward the enemy.