Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (47 page)

“Many swords have been more exquisite in appearance, yet none are the equal of this one. Even the most finely crafted
uttaras
pale in comparison.”

Around the next bend, a score of golden soldiers—armed with steel crossbows—met them. The jittery newborns released a slew of poorly aimed quarrels before fleeing, their clanging armor echoing in the passageway. The few quarrels that found their mark bounced harmlessly off the snow giant and Torg, except for one that slipped inside one of Torg’s nostrils and drew a drop of blood. This embarrassed more than hurt him, and he unleashed a shower of blue-green energy that cooked six soldiers inside their armor. The others escaped into the darkness.

“Do they still have the ability to transform?” Torg said.

Deva shrugged. “Without the magic of the trident, probably not. If they were exposed long enough to the Daasa, it might happen. But Invictus was always ordering the Mogols to keep the newborns separated from the Daasa whenever possible, and there are few if any Daasa now remaining in Avici, that I know of.”

They journeyed downward for many fathoms before encountering the stoutest resistance yet. Two cave trolls, bearing golden hammers as long as Torg was tall, stood within a high-ceilinged vestibule that opened into a far larger chamber. Unperturbed, Torg started forward, but Deva stopped him with the stump of his left arm.

“Those hammers are dangerous, regardless of Invictus’s condition,” Deva said. “We used similar ones to bash down the gates of Nissaya. Even you and I might suffer harm from such a weapon. And there’s more. I sense creatures of magic in the dark chamber beyond. And worse
 . . .
a Kojin among them.”

Torg was in no mood for caution. Wielding both Obhasa and the Silver Sword, he shoved past Deva’s outstretched arm and strode toward the trolls. Torg’s boldness seemed to disconcert the great beasts, and they attempted to back out of the vestibule. But something blocked their escape from behind, and they realized that their only chance was to fight. In an instant, they changed directions and stomped forward, grunting and slavering, their golden hammers aglow.

Torg was far too fast. He leapt into the air, somersaulted over their heads, and landed behind them before driving two lightning-quick backstabs into the meat of their thighs and severing their hamstrings. Howling, they fell forward and were dispatched by Deva, whose memory also included Mala’s ability to kill.

The room beyond was dark as a cave, except for dozens of glimmering eyes set at varying heights. Torg stepped into the chamber and willed Obhasa to glow to its full magnificence, illuminating the entire room, which was as large as the chancel of a Jivitan cathedral. All told, Torg guessed that twenty score of the enemy stood at the ready, including golden soldiers, Mogols, ghouls, and vampires. No matter their numbers, these beings posed little threat to Torg and Deva. But against the far wall stood the real dangers: a Kojin flanked by Warlish witches and a Stone-Eater.

The blinding glow from Obhasa seemed to freeze the enemy in place. Torg watched them warily, considering his next move. Deva came up beside him, bearing in his blood-stained hand one of the trolls’ massive hammers.

“Killing is an ugly business,” the snow giant whispered.

“You are free to leave,” Torg whispered back.

Deva grunted but did not respond.

Torg took another step into the room. “You are not our concern,” he shouted in a voice almost as deep as Deva’s. “Stand aside, and you will not be harmed.”

In response, at least two dozen golden soldiers skittered past Torg and Deva and into the vestibule beyond. But Mogol arrows impaled several who tried to flee, the iron tips piercing the back plates and punching between their ribs. This halted any further attempts at flight.

Deva spoke next. “Sankāra!” he shouted to the Kojin. “Do as the Death-Knower requests and stand aside. I must speak to the king. Would you thwart your general?”

The Kojin stomped into the middle of the huge room, her bulbous face even more contorted than usual. To Torg it was clear that she was puzzled. In some ways Deva was similar in voice and appearance to the Chain Man, but in other ways he was far different than before. Torg saw little resemblance, though the ogress might have been able to sense more of the Chain Man buried in Deva’s psyche than Torg realized.

Sankāra pounded her fists against her swollen breasts. Three witches and a Stone-Eater stood by the ogress, their faces filled with malice. Apparently their loyalty to Invictus was not feigned, and they were prepared to fight on his behalf. Torg wondered how much they knew about what had occurred to the witches and Stone-Eaters in the Green Plains. Had messengers returned with news? Or could they psychically sense the demise of their own kind? Torg believed the latter was probable, which meant that the monsters had to be in the mood for vengeance.

“Sankāra orders that we drop our weapons and surrender,” Deva said to Torg. “What say you?”

“Tell her that I’ve already slain several Kojins,” Torg said. “As for witches and Stone-Eaters, I’ve killed my share of those, as well. Any and all who choose to thwart me will surely die. And I will not be gentle.”

Deva slapped the iron hammer against his ruined forearm. In his hand, the weapon glowed with far more intensity than it had when the troll had held it.

“You heard him,” the snow giant said.

The Kojin became enraged, shrieking so loudly that many of the golden soldiers cast off their helms and held their ears.

Torg lowered Obhasa, aimed its rounded head at the densest concentration of the enemy, and unleashed three blasts of fire that cast bodies of all sizes and shapes about the room. Then he waded into the fray, stabbing and hacking with the Silver Sword in his right hand while bashing skulls with Obhasa in his left. Deva joined him, swinging the hammer side to side.

Golden soldiers, Mogols, vampires, and ghouls were no match for such ferocity, and dozens fell. Arrows, quarrels, and blades crashed against Torg and Deva, but they harmed neither. Crimson fire from the staff of one of the witches splashed Deva in the face, but it only served to make him angrier, and he dealt her a death blow with the hammer. At the same moment, the Stone-Eater emerged from a tight group of soldiers and grabbed Torg from behind, wrapping his stubby but powerful arms around him. But Torg looped the sword back and over his shoulder, punching the point of the blade into the crown of the creature’s head.

Now Sankāra and Deva were wrestling in the middle of the room, one giant against another. Torg moved closer, looking for an opening to stab the ogress without harming the snow giant. But the remaining pair of witches—both in their hideous states—stepped in front of him and lashed out with their staffs. Their combined power forced Torg back into the arms of a cave troll, and the beast latched onto him with such force that he lost his grip on Obhasa. When the staff left his hand, the illumination that had lighted the chamber went dim, casting the room into semi-darkness.

Immediately, one of the witches grabbed the ivory staff, but Obhasa reacted with offended ferocity, searing her hand to the bone. The witch cried out and dropped the staff, then fell to her knees and continued to howl.

Torg managed to wrench his right hand free of the troll’s grip and punch the Silver Sword deep into the beast’s side. The troll dropped Torg, bent over, and vomited several buckets of black blood. Torg whirled around and took off the troll’s head with a ferocious downward stroke.

Meanwhile, the battle between Sankāra and Deva had intensified, the snow giant struggling with his opponent more than Torg would have expected. Having the use of just one hand versus six was an obvious handicap, but Torg wondered if hesitation also hampered the snow giant. Deva was battling the very creatures he had once commanded. And he was—at heart—a being of passivity. Torg felt a wave of pity for the snow giant. So great had been his ruination, could he ever fully heal?

Torg slew the injured witch with his sword and then picked up Obhasa, willing it to re-illuminate the chamber. Then he shoved past soldiers and Mogols in an attempt to reach the snow giant, but again he was a step too slow. The remaining witch snuck up behind the grappling giants and swung her staff with both hands, striking Deva on his right calf. Though she lacked the might to harm him significantly, the blow was fierce enough to cause the snow giant’s leg to buckle. Deva crashed onto his side on the stone floor with the Kojin on top of him, using all six of her hands to strangle and rend.

A sudden rage consumed Torg, and he leapt past them all and landed on the Kojin’s back. Then he ran the point of the blade along the ogress’s spine, splitting her from the base of her neck to the crack of her hideous buttocks. Purple flame exploded from the gaping wound, casting Torg into the air.

Deva shoved the dying Kojin to the side and stood, his face visibly shaken. “Such hatred
 . . .
” he murmured, his eyes glassy.

Torg wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking.

Perhaps ten score of the enemy remained alive, though none except the witch had the might to make a stand against such a fearsome duo. Even the surviving Mogols wanted no more of this battle, and they fled along with the others through a variety of doors and passageways.

To Torg’s surprise the witch didn’t run or fight; instead, she moved away from the foul poisons gushing from the Kojin’s carcass, laid her staff on the floor, and fell to her knees. Then she transformed to her beautiful state and bowed in obeisance, choosing to assume a position that gave Torg a clear view of her suddenly marvelous cleavage.

“Great one,”
she said directly to Torg, knowing that the snow giant was unlikely to find her attractive, regardless of her appearance. “Sankāra commanded that we stand and fight, but now that she is no longer, I am free to choose my own path.” Then she looked up at Torg and smiled, her perfect white teeth glistening. “Might I become your slave? I will serve you tirelessly . . . in all ways . . . of that you can be certain.”

Torg smiled, took a step forward, and cleaved her skull with the Silver Sword. Foul smoke filled the air, joining the reek still issuing from the Kojin. “Your death serves me better than your life ever could,” he said bitterly. Then he turned to Deva, who appeared sickened by the entire affair. “How much farther?”

There was no response.

“Deva! How much
farther
?”

The snow giant looked down at him and then began to mewl. “She is evil,” he said, nodding toward the Kojin. “They all are evil. But I could not bring myself to mangle her. I am weary of
 . . .
killing.”

“I don’t blame you,” Torg said. “I’m sick of it too. More than you might imagine. But at least one more has to die before any of us can rest.”

“Violence begets violence,” Deva said, his voice trance-like. “This is the law
 . . .
immutable.”

“To hell with the law! Take me to Invictus. Show me where he is. After that, I don’t give a damn what you do.” Torg stomped the tail of Obhasa on the stone floor, casting blue-green sparks. “Laylah’s
life
is at stake. I’d kill everyone in the world, if it meant saving her.”

“If you performed such an act, she would not be saved.”

“I don’t
care
.”

With his remaining hand, the snow giant wiped tears from his large eyes. Then he pointed his stub at a door more enormous than any they had yet encountered. “That way leads to the theater where Invictus held his bloodbaths,” Deva said. “If we pass through to the other side, we will be just a stone’s throw from his lower bedchamber. But I do not wish to go to either place.”

Torg sighed. “You have done enough. I will do the rest. Return to Okkanti and seek out the
Himamahaakaayos
. Perhaps one day I will visit, and we will speak of these atrocities in a world that has since been cleansed of them.”

Deva shook his head. “You don’t understand, Death-Knower. It is not my memories I fear. There is something in the theater
 . . .
now
 . . .
that I find
 . . .
appalling. Can you not feel it?” Then Deva staggered back. “No
 . . .
no
!”

To Torg’s surprise, the snow giant turned and ran from whence he came. Torg called after him, but Deva did not halt. Soon he disappeared from sight. This stunned Torg, but he had no desire to chase after his newfound ally. Instead, he went to the enormous door and pulled on its ornamented handle. It was not barred and swung open with a long, eerie creak.