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

How close was the Chain Man? Kusala shuddered at the thought.

Vampires and ghouls crawled along the walls above them, their sticky hands and feet clinging to the ashlars with dreadful surety. Even though the Tugars were in full flight, they were able to kill some of the monsters with their slings, and any who dared pounce onto a potential victim were quickly dispatched. But their eerie presence added to the hysteria of the retreat.

Madiraa ran beside him, her closed helm obscuring the expression on her face. More than once she veered aside to hack at a pursuer, screaming as she attacked. A variety of blood types dripped off her blade, staining her hilt and gauntlet. But she never faltered.

“How far?” Kusala said to her, as loud as he could manage.

“We were forced to go the long way,” she shouted back, “but it is not far now. Once around this bend, Nagara will loom before us.”

“And what of Henepola?”

“Those who bear Father have somehow outdistanced us. At least that is my hope. If his body is not at the keep when we arrive, I will hunt for it.”

“Mala is on our heels,” Kusala said. “Once we enter the keep—and if your father is there—we will have to slam shut its doors, no matter who else remains outside.”

“I will give the order—
if
Father is inside.”

“Agreed.”

As Madiraa predicted, once they rounded the bend, Nagara was easily visible. In this area there was an abundance of torchlight, and Kusala could see that the courtyards surrounding the keep were filled with swarms of bodies, though whether friend or foe he could not easily discern. Another shower of golden lava fell upon them, and hundreds more collapsed. Madiraa’s helm was struck, but Kusala yanked it off her head and heaved it away before the bead could burn into her skull. Now her waist-length hair hung freely, and her beautiful face was exposed.

“I think I saw him,” she shouted.

“Princess?”

“I think I saw Father’s body being carried into the keep.”

“Let’s hurry, then. Any who attempt to thwart our coming will do so at their peril.”

“What of the Tugars who are left behind?” Madiraa screamed.

“Before the doors are closed, I will give the command for them to flee by whatever means possible. I fear far less for them than for the remainder of your people and the innocents they protect.”

“Ghosts will haunt this place for time immemorial,” she said, her eyes desperate. “Will Father still be their king?”

MAYNARD TEW could tell that things weren’t going well. When the fireball fell into the city not far from where he had been trussed up, the captured pirate knew that the fortress was in trouble. Not even a Stone-Eater could shoot one of those nasty things that far, which meant that Mala and his monsters were past the walls and inside the city. Now all hell would break loose. Having only recently been on Mala’s side, Tew realized that he should be all gay and happy about it, but he wasn’t. In a very short time, he had grown to respect his captors.

“If you untie me, I will help you fight them,” Tew said to the woman who had been assigned to guard him. Though she bore an ugly cut above her right ear, she was a real beauty, one of those rich Senasanan countesses with the kind of breeding that produced soft skin and firm breasts. And Tew could tell she had taken a liking to him. After all, he was a good-looker himself.

“And explain to me again why should I believe you?” she said, waving a Nissayan dagger.

“Because I really am a nice guy?” he said in a hopeful tone.

To his surprise, she spat in his face. Up until then, she had been kind of cozy with him, but now it was obvious she was getting scared. And so was he, if forced to be honest. It’s not like the monsters would pat him on the back. It was far more likely they’d gobble him up as fast as any of the so-called enemy.

Because his hands had been tied, he couldn’t wipe the spit from his face, but he didn’t care. Instead, he licked some of it with his tongue, and it tasted damn good. Despite the fact that he probably was going to die real soon, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to slide his tongue between her sweet lips and taste some more of it.

Even as he was thinking these things, one of the scary knights came running up, his black armor clanking.

“Hakam is breached,” the knight said to the countess in a panic. “Your protection is no longer guaranteed. You must fight for your lives . . . or hide wherever you can.”

Shouts and screams followed, and suddenly the courtyard became as empty as a bar that had run out of ale. Only the Senasanan woman remained, and she stared hard into his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to fight for us,” she said. “But if I let you go, will you promise not to harm any of us?”

“I
will
fight for you,” he said, meaning it.

“Why?”

“ ’Cause you guys are nice
 . . .
”

With the dagger, she cut the ropes.

“Pretty lady, you won’t regret this,” Tew said, meaning it again.

“Call me Dhītar.”

Then the two of them raced into the densest part of the city in search of a place of safety. Instead, they barreled into a swarm of newborns pouring toward them like a river overflowing its banks. In one of the few acts of selfless bravery in his sordid life, Tew stepped in front of Dhītar to shield her from the monsters. To his surprise, the newborns swept around him. Somehow they still recognized him as a member of Mala’s army, which was fine with him.

For a moment, the two of them were again alone on the street, though more monsters were coming toward them from afar.

“This way!” she screamed in a voice that sounded as surprised as he felt. “We have to get to the keep. I’ve heard the black knights say that there are tunnels beneath Nagara that lead to the mountains. It’s our only chance.”

“Any hope is better than none,” he shouted back. “Lead the way.”

When they got to the courtyards that surrounded Nagara, the newborns and other monsters were everywhere. To their left, Tugars and black knights were fighting their way toward the keep, but it was an uphill battle. Tew and the countess joined them, but now it was Dhītar who was protecting Tew from getting killed and not the other way around. They ran and stumbled to the point of exhaustion, and then they were staggering through a wide entrance into a magnificent hall. To his amazement, Tew was the last one to make it inside before a great wooden door was slammed shut, followed by a portcullis and then a boulder rolled and chained into place.

The banquet hall was filled with all kinds of nasty-looking Tugars and black knights, each of them gasping frantically and looking mad as wet hornets. Tew wasn’t sure what scared him more: these guys or Mala.

“Will you protect me if they think I’m still a bad guy and try to kill me?” Tew said in a trembling voice.

“Only if you continue to behave,” Dhītar responded.

“There’s no worries about that, pretty lady,” Tew promised. And again he meant it. He really did.

NOT EVEN TORG’S magic was a match for Mala now. The trident and ring bloated the Chain Man with too much power. Still, the wizard’s attack had knocked Mala down, and he needed a little help from the Kojins to stand back up. Though his face was stinging and he felt a little dizzy, Mala took back control of his senses with surprising ease.

After regaining his feet, he prepared himself for another assault from the Death-Knower. But then he noticed that the cowardly Death-Knower had vanished, so Mala paid both him and the fallen Utu no more heed. Instead, he stomped toward the interior of the city, his trident and ring aglow. The remaining Kojins and a contingent of trolls followed. Newborns by the thousands—as well as witches, ghouls, vampires, Mogols, and wolves—flanked his sides. They rushed onto the main causeway, striking the black knights and Tugars from behind. The chase was on.

Mala guessed where the enemy was headed—to the catacombs beneath Nissaya. The only other ways to escape were the inner stairways of Hakam, and as a precaution, Mala already had ordered a sizable force of Mogols and wolves to remain outside the fortress, patrolling the plains for any evacuees who might somehow slip through the broken gates or climb down the walls on rope ladders.

When Nagara finally came into view, Mala saw that many of the bastards already were escaping inside.

“Cut them off, you flea-ridden dogs,” he screamed. “I’ll skewer anyone who lets them reach the keep.”

But Mala could see that despite his best efforts, a few of the enemy would make it inside the great spire. In some regards this enraged him, but in other ways he didn’t really care. He could fight them here or at Jivita. Either way, he would win. Whoever survived the slaughter at Nissaya would flee to Jivita and there face doom on the Green Plains.

The doors at the base of Nagara slammed shut. The newborns huddled hungrily outside, some of them pounding against the ancient wood with their metallic fists. Mala came forward and stood before the nearest opening. He raised his trident and aimed the tines at one of the doors. The monsters around him grew quiet in anticipation of another enormous display of power, and Mala took pleasure in the spotlight. But then he sensed something that caused him to grunt and step back.

Far, far back.

“Huh?” he finally said.

Unexpectedly, the exterior of the keep began to glow, and for a moment it eerily resembled Uccheda. Then the black granite cracked and crackled and moaned before bursting asunder.

Nagara fell upon itself.

AFTER KILLING THE three-headed giant and the Kojin, Torg struggled back toward the broken gate of Hakam, where he found himself alone in a sea of monsters. All other defenders of the fortress had been driven from the courtyard into the city. Had the enemy made a concentrated effort to slay him, Torg would have fallen. But most of them seemed more concerned with the prey that fled before them, which allowed Torg to slip by without too much confrontation. Still, he had not advanced this far without considerable fighting. In a short distance he had slain several dozen newborns, a Warlish witch and her hags, a Stone-Eater, a demon incarnated as a constricting snake, and a nasty pair of wild men who had fought with surprising ferocity despite their small stature.

Like a tidal wave rolling over an island, the monsters swept past Torg and left him behind. Now he was alone just a stone’s throw from the gate of Hakam, except for a dozen or so newborns that surrounded Utu, waiting like vultures for him to die. In a frenetic rage Torg dispatched the ones that didn’t flee. A contingent of Mogols and wolves left to guard the broken gate witnessed his wrath and scattered; they were not his match and knew it.

Soon after, Torg found the snow giant lying within the deep depression. Setting Obhasa aside and sliding the Silver Sword into the scabbard on his back, Torg knelt next to Utu and lifted his huge head in his lap. The top of Utu’s skull was cracked open, revealing an inflamed portion of brain tissue. Blood oozed from his mouth, nose, ears, and even the corners of his closed eyes. Both of his enormous fangs had been blown apart, and his gray hide was charred and shriveled.

“Utu, can you hear me?”

The snow giant did not respond, but Torg could sense that he still lived. Then the large eyelids slowly opened, revealing a pale glow visible in the shadows beside the towering bulwark. “Is Mala destroyed?” Utu whispered.

Torg’s eyes filled with tears. “You were so close.”

“What
 . . .
happened?”

“Invictus somehow intervened.”

“Aaaah
 . . .
and the ring?”

The three holes that Mala’s trident had bored into the bedrock were barely visible from where Torg sat. From the middle one came a milky smoke, subtle but apparent.

“It is lost to us. I’m sorry.”

Utu’s face sagged. He closed his eyes and coughed up more blood. When he opened his eyes again, the glow was almost gone. “What
 . . .
can be done?” the snow giant murmured. “Even if you defeat Mala, the sorcerer is too strong
 . . .
for you or anyone.”

“All we can do is fight.”

Utu coughed again. Torg knew the snow giant had little time left. But Utu managed a few more words, and strangely his voice was steadier than before. “If you ever see Bhari again, will you tell her that I love her? More than Yama-Deva. More than anyone. Or anything.”

“If I ever see her again, I will tell her.”

The snow giant smiled, revealing teeth that Invictus’s power had shattered. “I’m worried for you,
Torgon
. My time is past
 . . .
but great suffering awaits you.”

“Is that not so for all living beings?”

Utu smiled again. Then he enveloped one of Torg’s biceps with a massive hand and squeezed. “
Torgon
 . . .
I have seen the truth, and it is neither comforting nor frightening. It is simply
 . . .
the truth.”

Then the glow left his eyes and he was no longer, his great karma already hurtling toward its next existence. Silently, Torg sat alone with Utu’s body for a few moments. Not far away, a slaughter of epic proportions was taking place. Obhasa glowed and thrummed, as if anxious to rejoin the fight, but the Silver Sword was cold as ice on his back.

Torg sensed Jord’s approach before seeing her. The white-haired woman stared at him with sad eyes.

“What can be done?” Torg said to her, mimicking Utu.

“As you say, you must continue to fight.”

“But why? Invictus cannot be defeated.”

“The sorcerer will fall,” Jord said. “But not here, not now.”

Torg gestured toward the city. “Hundreds of thousands must perish so that one can be defeated?”

“Life cannot exist without death.”

“You sound like Sister Tathagata. Since you seem to know so much, tell me how she fares?”

“The High Nun is no longer, but before her death she achieved
Abhisambodhi
(high enlightenment). She will never again be reborn.
Jaati pariyaadinnaa
(Birth is exhausted). She suffered terribly before she died; I cannot deny it. But in the end, her suffering paved the way. You should rejoice for your friend.”

“Rejoice? I don’t even believe you. And why do you say she suffered so?”

“Now is not the time to explain.”

“Peta told you this? About the enlightenment?”

“Yes.”

Torg turned away from her and gently laid Utu’s head on the stone and stood. “His body must not be desecrated.”

“His karma cares naught.”

“Still
 . . .
” Torg used Obhasa to incinerate Utu’s remains. Without the intensity of life energy flowing through its sinews, the massive carcass burned like fatwood. Torg bowed his head and said a quick chant. “
Tumhe marittha bahuumaanena ca vikkamena. N’atthi uttara pasamsaa
. (You died with honor and bravery. There is no higher praise.)”

“N’atthi uttara pasamsaa,”
Jord repeated.

Torg turned and started back toward the city.

“Where are you going?” the Faerie said.

Torg’s voice sounded harsh, even to himself. “To snap at the heels of my enemy.”

“There is nothing left here for you to accomplish,” said a female voice, but it did not belong to Jord. Peta had joined them, and her eyes—though blind—also looked sad.

Torg was not surprised to see her. “I should flee
 . . .
like a coward?”

“Your words are foolish,” the ghost-child said. “If remaining within Nissaya and continuing to fight would save those who are trapped within, I would not speak against it. But it will not. Besides, Kusala and Madiraa have reached Nagara, and soon its great doors will be closed. Even if Sakuna carried you to the base of the keep, you would not arrive in time to enter.”

“And what of the rest of the Tugars? I should abandon my own people?”

As if in response, Torg heard Kusala’s shriek, its order clear: flee the fortress by whatever means possible.

Torg pounded the tail of Obhasa against the bedrock. “I could challenge Mala now. His death would mean much.”

Peta sighed. “Trust me, Father
 . . .
please
. For now, Mala is beyond you. He has too much power and protection. The time will come when the Chain Man will fall, but it will not be at Nissaya. As foreseen, Mala has won the fortress.” Then she approached and took his hand. “Father, go with Jord and rejoin Laylah. For Invictus to be defeated, this must occur.”

“What else
must occur
?” Torg said. “Tell me now
 . . .
or to hell with your schemes.”

“Trust me, Father
 . . .
please
,” the ghost-child repeated. And then she faded into the darkness.

But Jord remained.

“Should I trust her?” Torg said to the Faerie. “Should I trust
you
?”

“A way has been found to defeat Invictus,” Jord said. “If you trust us, it can be done. If not, you must find your own way.”

Torg groaned. “Can you tell me, at least, what role I will play? And what will become of Laylah?”

But Jord was no longer there. Sakuna, the mountain eagle, stood in her place. Torg mounted her, and they departed the fortress. From high above, Torg could see the true scope of the disaster. Nissaya had become a slaughterhouse. Even Tugars were dying.

As Sakuna carried Torg away from the fortress, he felt like a deserter. Far below, he could see the newborns swarming through the streets like molten gold poured into a stone mold, and he knew what this meant to those trapped inside the concentric bulwarks. The enormity of the massacre was beyond his comprehension. Thousands of scores would be slain this night, and the majority of those would not be soldiers. Countless children and elderly would be among the victims. It was all Torg could do not to lose his mind.

But Peta had pointed out the obvious: if he had remained within Nissaya’s walls, it would have accomplished little. He might have postponed a few deaths, but in the end he would have been slain, along with the rest. This time, self-sacrifice would have been a meaningless gesture. Nonetheless, he could not stop from sobbing.