Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (27 page)

Torg did not believe the Asēkhas would obey, but to his amazement they ran—all except Kusala. Always prone to belligerence, the chieftain could not bear to abandon his king, no matter how clear his command. Then, Kusala did run, but when the chieftain stopped and plucked the Silver Sword from the ground, Torg realized that his longtime friend had no intention of departing.

Invictus saw this too.

“As my prisoner, you will be made to suffer,” the Sun God said to the chieftain. “The sword you hold will become your chain.” Then Invictus unleashed swirling beams of yellow light from his fingertips that crackled through the air, round and round, before enveloping the sword.

Kusala cried out and dropped the blade, then stared in amazement at the palm of his hand, which was so charred he could see bones. In four centuries, Torg believed that the chieftain had never been injured so severely. But also for the first time, the sorcerer was meeting resistance he could not overcome. Invictus had intended to melt the Silver Sword so that he could mold it around Kusala’s body, but though the hilt-wrapping and crossguard quickly disintegrated, the blade and tang remained suspended in the air, unharmed.

Beads of sweat erupted on the sorcerer’s forehead, and his cheeks were flushed from the intensity of his effort. Even the energy that held Laylah in place seemed to wobble. Torg took advantage and attacked again, punching Invictus’s pale shield with the glowing head of Obhasa. Blue-green fire dueled with yellow, sending out tendrils of power that squirmed around the magical buffer like probing snakes trying to find entry points in an invisible wall.

Invictus seemed not to notice Torg’s presence, so intense was he on destroying the supernal blade. Then, without warning, he ceased the assault, causing the blade to fall and stick point-first in the soft ground.

When Invictus turned on Torg, the whites of the sorcerer’s eyes were blood-red, and yellow mucus gushed from each nostril. Clearly, there were limits to his power, but would those limits make him vulnerable? Using every shred of his remaining strength, Torg poured his essence into Obhasa and blasted it at the sorcerer. The power that emanated from the Death-Knower was capable of leveling stone buildings. Slowly the sorcerer’s shield began to succumb.

“Hmmph!”
Invictus said, and he swept his arms upward as if tossing a ball underhanded. Another bubble of energy blew outward, knocking Torg off his feet again.

Torg stood and prepared to continue his attack, but then Laylah was beside him, freed from the paralysis of her temporary prison. Now her entire body was aglow with her own white power, and from her fingers burst white beams that flared angrily when they contacted the sorcerer’s magical buffer. Torg joined the assault, bombarding Invictus with blue-green fire. Again the Sun God took a step back, then several. But to Torg’s dismay, the sorcerer managed to smile even while bearing the brunt of their power.

“You have forced upon me an unexpected concession,” he said, his voice quivering only slightly. Then he raised his hands skyward and cried, “
UЇhak
ālā, viramāhi
! (Heat, desist!)”

An instant later, a cool breeze swept over the land, as sweet and glorious as spring. Invictus had released the spell that had turned Triken into a furnace, but the strength he had been using to maintain it flooded back into his body.

“Now
 . . .
where was I?” Invictus said.

The pale-yellow shield encasing the sorcerer expanded, shoving Torg back. As Torg struggled to resist its growth, he saw within his peripheral vision a flash of silver streaking toward the Sun God. The supernal blade of the Silver Sword struck the magical buffer point-first—and punctured it.

Invictus cried out and tried to dodge the weapon, but the ultra-sharp point punched through the sorcerer’s thigh and protruded at least a span out of the back of his leg. Crimson blood spilled out.

Until then, Invictus’s defense had been nearly impenetrable, but now he fell to the ground and screamed in an almost childish manner, grasping the sword’s exposed tang in an attempt to draw the blade from the dense muscle. The pain distracted the sorcerer, and he lost focus. His pale-yellow shield wobbled, then vanished. For the briefest of moments, the Sun God was vulnerable.

Torg and Laylah sprang forward to finish him.

DESPITE ALL THAT was occurring around him, Kusala took momentary pleasure in the cool breeze. But it was obvious even to the chieftain that Invictus’s release of the pervasive spell would make the sorcerer even stronger. If the Sun God were to be defeated, it was now or never.

When Invictus’s fire had destroyed the Silver Sword’s handle, it had exposed the tang. Kusala grasped the tang, tore the point of the blade from the ground, and flung it at the sorcerer with the prowess only an Asēkha possessed. The point punctured Invictus’s shield and stabbed him in the leg, and when the sorcerer fell, his magical buffer vanished. Immediately, Torg and Laylah leapt toward Invictus, and for the first time since the Sun God had appeared on the battlefield, the chieftain felt like they had a chance.

But then out of nowhere, the demon appeared. He had never seen Vedana with his own eyes, but he had been told enough about the most ancient and powerful of demons to recognize her. A black hole opened in midair, and she simply stepped out, incarnated as a slump-shouldered woman, her tattered robes and mottled flesh bizarrely translucent. Though she was old and gray, she appeared anything but helpless. Instead, her eyes blazed with crimson fire, and poison-tipped talons sprang from her gnarled fingertips. The demon leapt upon Torg like a rabid dog, and the pair rolled on the grass in a snarling tangle.

Rather than attack Invictus while he remained vulnerable, Laylah chose to chase after Torg and Vedana. This amazed Kusala. How could Laylah waste such an opportunity just to aid Torg, who was fully capable of taking care of himself? Kusala screamed at Laylah to kill Invictus, but he realized his protests were in vain. It was obvious that madness had taken her. It was up to him to slay the sorcerer before the window slammed shut.

The Sun God seemed not to notice any of this. His full attention was focused on removing the Silver Sword from his leg. His flesh glowed eerily, but the yellow flames seemed unable to encase the supernal blade.

Kusala ran so hard he grew dizzy, attempting with all his will to close the distance between him and Invictus before the sorcerer could withdraw the blade. Just as the point was exiting the sorcerer’s flesh, Kusala leapt feet-forward to crush Invictus’s throat and chest. Few beings could have survived such an assault, but Kusala arrived a moment too late.

The magical buffer reappeared.

Kusala smashed against the glowing magic, shattering the bones of his ankles and lower legs. Then he dropped straight down and landed roughly on his side next to the Silver Sword, which Invictus had dropped disdainfully to the ground.

Golden energy swirled around the sorcerer’s thigh, magically healing what had been a dreadful wound.

Kusala sought to stand, but his legs were ruined. In a final act of desperation, he grasped the tang of the blade with the intent of driving the point into the sorcerer’s heart. The sword had pierced his magic once; perhaps it could do it again. This time, however, Invictus was better prepared. Before the chieftain could complete his strike, bolts of light as hot and dense as molten stone sprang from Invictus’s eyes, striking Kusala in the face.

The Asēkha’s skull shattered.

The journey toward his next life began.

So ended the long reign of Chieftain Kusala.

LAYLAH HAD forgotten how much she despised Vedana, but when the demon incarnated almost directly in front of her, rage overcame her with such enormity that she lost her wits. Rather than attack Invictus and finish him, Laylah chased after Vedana, intent on destroying her.

Laylah caught up to the unlikely pair and prepared to strike, but as quickly as Vedana had appeared, the demon vanished in a cloud of black smoke. When it cleared enough for Laylah to see, she discovered Torg lying on his back on the grass.

“Our one chance,” he was saying. “She ruined our one chance. She stopped not just me, but you as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Laylah said, kneeling and then cradling Torg’s head. “I could not bear to see you harmed by her. It
 . . .
it
 . . .
” Laylah could think of no more to say. The demon had once again used magic to defeat her.

Torg’s eyes were blood-red. “It is over, my love. Kusala is dead—and we are lost.” Then his eyes closed, and he appeared to lose consciousness. Had Vedana poisoned him? Laylah could see no scratches.

Then she heard Invictus approaching. The sorcerer was mumbling.

“Grandmother, why did you come to my aid? If you had not intervened, they might have prevailed. Do you not wish to see me destroyed? Once again, your motives are beyond my comprehension. What are you up to?”

Laylah stood and turned toward her brother, fully prepared to continue the fight. But when she saw him, her arms sagged to her sides. Invictus was healed and returned to full strength, his puissance as magnificent as a star.

Then she saw Kusala’s headless corpse. She gasped. The sound tore Invictus from his reverie, and he focused his gaze upon her face.

“Dear sister, you have led me on a merry chase. But now it is over. You and I will return to Uccheda. I’ve kept your room just how you like it. However, first I must deal with the Death-Knower.”

“Stay back!” Laylah screamed. “If you take another step, I will slay my beloved and then myself.”

Invictus halted. “‘My beloved’? I’m not certain I like the sound of that.” Then he smacked his fists together hard enough to create sparks. “
I
am your beloved. You and he spent a few miserable weeks together, but you and I shall be entwined for eons. Eventually, you will forget that he even existed.”

Terrified and sickened, Laylah fought the urge to collapse into hysteria. “I shall
never
forget him. No matter what you say. No matter what you do.”

“Aaaaaah, but you shall forget. Still, I won’t have you going around telling people that I’m incapable of mercy. So I will present you with a gift. Remember the tree that was so special to you when you were a girl?”

“The one you twisted and deformed?”

“I did no such thing. Your sycamore is the grandest tree east of Mahaggata. And just to prove to you how fond I am of trees, I shall create another for you. But first I must incapacitate you again. When you’re in this kind of mood, you are so
difficult.
”

Laylah had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t like the sound of it. Meanwhile, Torg was attempting to sit up. “Wait,” she said to her brother. “Don’t hurt him
 . . .
please! If you’ll leave him alone, I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Leave him alone? After all he’s done? Lovely Laylah, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Besides, you’ll do whatever I say, regardless. Everyone does. I am
Akanittha
.”

With a wave of his hand, a yellow bubble of energy again encased Laylah and froze her in place. She tried to scream, but her lips wouldn’t open. It was as if she were encased in a block of ice, only the ice was warm. The only things she could move were her eyeballs, though she still could breathe.

To her horror, Invictus sauntered over to Torg. Now the wizard was on his knees, leaning against Obhasa for support. Before Torg could stand, her brother tore the ivory staff from his grasp and tossed it aside. But not before Obhasa flared, burning the sorcerer’s hand. Invictus snarled and then slapped the wizard hard in the face with his other hand.

Torg’s head snapped to the side, but instead of injuring him, the slap seemed to shake him from his stupor. Torg leapt to his feet and launched a roundhouse kick at the sorcerer’s temple, leading with the toe of his boot. Any other human-sized creature would have suffered a cracked skull. But Torg’s blow never made contact. Lights flashed, flames flared, and the wizard’s bones seemed to crack. Torg fell to the ground and grasped his ankle. Laylah tried to scream, but only silence came from her mouth.

“Hmmph!”
Invictus said, as if amazed that Torg could have come even that close to harming him.

As Torg writhed on the ground, her brother raised his right hand, spread his fingers wide, and began to whistle, the sound eerie and ominous. Tendrils of blackness oozed from Invictus’s ears, nostrils, and mouth. Then globules of golden fire encased his fingertips and coalesced into streams that sprang through the air toward Torg, incinerating his clothing and boots and enveloping his now naked body, causing him to squeal. Never before had Laylah heard Torg sound so helpless.

In her paralytic state, Laylah shouted, “No
 . . .
no
!” But whatever sound she made did not carry.

Torg’s deeply tanned skin bubbled grotesquely and then began to split, first down the center of his chest and the front of his thighs, then the sides of his arms and lower legs. Eventually his cheeks ripped apart, exposing white teeth. The wizard howled, as if pain more severe than any living being had ever experienced was blistering through his body. Magically, Torg was lifted and forced to stand upright.

Laylah turned her eyes away, unable to bear seeing him in such agony, and instead looked upon Invictus. Her brother’s body was bathed in golden light, but his face was slathered with sweat, and he gasped for breath. She heard Torg scream again and could not resist looking back. From beneath the splitting skin arose what Laylah mistook for discolored bone, but then she recognized it for what it truly was—wood.

Before her eyes, Invictus transformed Torg from a thing of flesh and sinew into a small, crudely formed tree. His feet and lower legs turned into roots, his upper legs and torso merged to form the trunk, each arm became a branch, and his head morphed into a stub at the top of the trunk. From each branch a single leaf sprang and dangled—one dark-green, the other dark-blue.

Finally Invictus stopped whistling. Then he sat down roughly on his rump and took several dozen long breaths. It was obvious he was exhausted, but not so exhausted that he had lost control.

“I’m not quite finished,” he said, still breathing heavily. “But I need to rest
 . . .
just a bit. That was
 . . .
difficult.” He lowered his head and grew silent for a while. Then he stood up shakily and said, “This spell was ancient even before grandmother was born. It took me a long time to discover it, and even longer to learn how to perform it. Aaaah, but it weakened me.” He sighed. “Now my strength returns. The sun renews me. It will never fail to do so.”

Laylah, of course, could not respond. But she would not have answered, anyway. She felt as if her life had been drained away, turning her body into a dried-up husk. She watched with disinterest as her brother retrieved the Silver Sword and punched it into the trunk of the tree that had once been Torg, burying the blade so deep that only the tang was visible. Then he laid Obhasa at the base of the tree, grunting again at the pain it caused him to have physical contact with the ivory staff.

“Death-Knower
 . . .
I know you can hear me, and I’d like to tell you something that you might find of interest. When you made love to my sister, you killed the creature that protected her from me. Isn’t that marvelous? Now I can have my heir, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve allowed you to live. In fact, you’ll live for a very long time. You’ll have oh, so much time to ponder her fate. Isn’t that considerate of me?”

When Invictus returned to Laylah, he looked as pleased as a young boy who had finished his chores and now was free to play.

“Ahhh
 . . .
perfect timing. Here comes my Sampati. They always answer my call, even if it takes a while longer than I would like.” He pointed toward the darkening sky. “Ready to go, lovely Laylah?”

ONCE THE PESKY Death-Knower was properly punished and out of his way, Invictus turned his full attention to his sister. When the Sampati landed on the blood-stained fields, he slyly added an intoxicant to the magical sheath that encased Laylah, causing her to fall deeply asleep. Then he strapped her firmly to the crossbred condor with golden ropes made of his own magnificent energy.

But he was not quite ready to depart and signaled to the wiry pilot sitting nervously at the base of the beast’s long neck. “There is one last thing I need to do. Make certain that the Sampati doesn’t panic and take flight without me.”

“I am at your command, my liege,” the pilot said.

“Yes, you are.”

Invictus started across the field. Finally he knelt and looked into the face of the creature that had once been Mala.

“What a shame,” Invictus said. “I made you into something so beautiful. And now look at you. You’re as ugly and pathetic as when we first met.”

Then he rested his palm on the snow giant’s left breast. “
Hmmmm
 . . .
not quite dead yet, but soon
 . . .
” Invictus lifted the snow giant’s left arm and examined the bloody stump. Then he stood and sighed. “You and your army are destroyed,” Invictus said, “but it doesn’t matter. I have a new army waiting for me at Avici.”

Invictus strolled back toward the crossbred condor. The pilot had obeyed his commands, keeping the Sampati under control. Invictus mounted.

“To Uccheda!” he said in a suddenly cheerful voice. “It’s time for my sister and me to go home.”

“Your word is my command,” the pilot said.

“Yes.”