Chained By Fear: 2 (13 page)

It is one thing to love your creator, another to respect him. After all that had occurred, General Lucius still loved Invictus for giving him the gift of life. But he no longer respected him. Lucius had seen too much.

Laylah’s hatred of her brother had been born above the surface. But the sorcerer’s worst deeds, as far as Lucius was concerned, occurred in the labyrinth of dark tunnels beneath Uccheda.

As general of Invictus’ growing army, Lucius had spent many hours in the hidden chambers the sorcerer’s magic had bored out of solid rock. Invictus’ powers appeared limitless. Lucius believed the sorcerer could burn a hole all the way through Triken, if he so desired. Where it might take a thousand slaves more than a year to tunnel through a wall of granite, Invictus could do it in the time it took to dig a grave.

Not that the sorcerer lacked slaves, some of which were better treated than others. For the most part, the newborns imported from Kilesa were respected in Avici; the majority of the males became soldiers, while the females filled the servile needs considered most prestigious. But the slaves brought from outside the Golden Wall were not so lucky. Invictus took great delight in the art of torture, both viewing and performing. And most of it occurred in the underground.

Sadistic sexual orgies were a large part of what the general found so distasteful. But what else would you expect from a collection of monsters? They hungered for suffering as much as blood. The more fear and anguish they inspired, the more they relished it.

Invictus often summoned Lucius to watch the proceedings. They sat on stone benches in a cathedral-sized chamber hollowed out of solid stone. When you received a direct invitation from the sorcerer, you agreed enthusiastically without protest. But libidinous gatherings secretly sickened Lucius. Most times, he could barely resist vomiting.

The events usually took place at midday. Though the chamber was more than a thousand cubits beneath the ground, Invictus kept it well-lit with torches, candles and magical globes. In addition, gold traceries—the same design that had produced solar energy for Invictus’ gardens—laced the ceilings, walls and floors, glowing ardently. When the witches, vampires, and demons pranced onto the lewdly decorated stage, Invictus clapped his hands with delight, giggling like a boy who knows he is misbehaving but also knows he will get away with it. The monsters stripped off their clothes and performed erotic dances. Some of their bodies were physically beautiful—especially the Warlish witches who chose to appear that way—and some were supremely ugly. To Lucius, all were hideous. But while seated next to Invictus in the front row, the general smiled and clapped along with his king and the rest of his guests. The ramifications of doing otherwise were unthinkable.

After the monsters finished their opening performance, an eclectic assembly of male and female slaves paraded onto the stage. Most sobbed, screamed and begged for mercy. The bravest remained quiet, resigned to their fates. Among the chattel were Jivitans, Nissayans, Senasanans and villagers and farmers from the Gray Plains and eastern foothills of Mahaggata. But Lucius never saw a Tugar, supporting the desert warriors’ perceived formidability.

With Invictus urging them on from his seat, the monsters befouled the slaves with all manner of perversion. They treated those who begged the loudest the least cruelly at first, but eventually the most cowardly received the worst punishments. Lucius smiled when Invictus smiled. He laughed when Invictus laughed. But inside, his heart was sickened.

Near the end of the carnage, a lone female slave—usually the one who most resembled Laylah or was made to resemble her—was left alive. And relatively unscathed. While the girl huddled in a fit of near insanity, Invictus would rise and go to her. As if on cue, everyone including Lucius would flee the chamber. Servants slammed shut bronze doors as thick as boulders. A short period of silence ensued, then thunderous booms shook the bedrock. Finally the sorcerer emerged, his flesh glowing like cinders.

One time Lucius risked creeping back into the theater soon after Invictus had departed. What he saw stunned him. All the bodies, blood and gore had disappeared, and the stone glistened as if scrubbed by hand with soapy water, rinsed well and polished dry. But there had been no time for such extensive cleaning. Lucius believed that the sorcerer’s cathartic release of magic had incinerated everything within the chamber. He could not even find a trace of ash. Whether you adored Invictus or despised him, one thing was certain: In terms of puissance, the sorcerer
was
a god. Nothing on Triken could stand against him. He reigned as master of all, a king among peasants, a man among children.

As repulsive as the orgies were, they were not what finally caused Lucius to betray his king. Instead, it was the ruin of the snow giant. At first the general paid little attention to the creature, considering him just one prisoner of many. But an unplanned encounter had disturbed him profoundly. Lucius was making his rounds through the lower chambers, which served as a dungeon for the most volatile and valuable prisoners, when he came upon the cell that held Yama-Deva.

“You are like him and yet are not,” the snow giant said. Golden chains, imbued with the sorcerer’s magic, held him against a wall of granite. He had been whipped, beaten, and starved. But his voice still sounded kind. “What I mean is, you
look
like him. But you don’t
behave
like him.”

“Haven’t you learned by now to keep your mouth shut?” Lucius said. “If someone hears you, you’ll be severely punished. Why do you risk further abuse?”

“You see?” the giant said, laughing softly. “You are not like him. You care about the innocent.”

“I do what I’m told. My personal feelings mean nothing.”

“I can see your future,” the giant said. “You will perform remarkable deeds before your life ends. A great many will rally around you.” Then Deva lowered his head and sighed. “I can see my future, as well. It will not be as pleasant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will become the thing I most despise. But that is not the worst of it.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“I won’t be able to remember who I am. My name is Yama-Deva. My people call me
The Wanderer
. But I will not remember. It will be as if I’m dead, but my body will live on without me. Could you do me one favor?”

“I make no promises,” Lucius said, stepping backward.

“Fair enough. But at least I can ask. If you are ever given the opportunity, would you tell whoever might listen that I’m sorry for the harm I will cause? Yama-Deva does not intend to hurt anyone. But what I will become will take pleasure in inflicting pain.”

“How can you know this?”

“
Eso aham himamahaakaayo
(I am a snow giant),” he said, as if that explained all.

The next time Lucius saw Yama-Deva, the snow giant no longer existed. Mala, a.k.a. the Chain Man, stood in his place. Soon Lucius recognized that his days as the king’s right hand were over. In some ways, he no longer cared. But in others, he was appalled. Yama-Deva had been such a wondrous creature, and now he was the epitome of evil. It was an affront to anything sane. This pleased Invictus, of course. In his twisted mind, ten years of torture and humiliation finally had paid off.

Lucius still loved Invictus. How could he not love the being that gave him life?

But he also despised him. How could he not despise the being that introduced him to evil?

As the seeds of traitorous thought were taking root in Lucius’ mind, he soon discovered that Izumo also was turning against the sorcerer—and for a similar reason. As he later described to Lucius in great detail, Izumo had adored Yama-Deva from the first moment he saw him foraging for roots in the foothills of Okkanti. When the slave-hunting expedition encircled him, Yama-Deva barely put up a fight. But Izumo could sense it had nothing to do with cowardice. Instead, it appeared as if the creature had failed to resist out of concern for the welfare of his assailants. This had impressed the dracool. Only a being of extreme intelligence could be so selfless.

Lucius knew that dracools were called
baby dragons
because of their similar appearance to real dragons but much smaller size. Indeed, dracools and dragons shared common traits—a lizard-shaped snout, heavily scaled flesh, flexible necks and tails, and powerful wings—but their commonality did not breed respect. In fact, they hated each other intensely. Dragons enjoyed eating dracools, for one thing, and they considered themselves superior not just in size, but in intelligence. Dracools, on the other hand, claimed to be the most learned beings alive, and they classified dragons as crude bullies. Great dragons were more than twenty times larger, but dracools were more numerous. Gatherings of dracools often killed great dragons in battle.

Since they were long-lived, dracools had witnessed the rise and fall of many kingdoms. Like mercenaries, they tended to ally themselves with whoever appeared most powerful at the time, making Invictus an irresistible lure. But there was more. The sorcerer was the first being in an eon that possessed knowledge beyond their awareness. To the dracools, meeting the sorcerer was like discovering a library full of previously unread books.

Dracools did not give much credence to the concepts of good and evil. In their minds, erudition and strength were good, obliviousness and weakness, evil. In other words, an intelligent devil was superior to an ignorant saint. Invictus’ sadism and perversion meant little in terms of how they judged him.

But wasteful behavior was another matter, and dracools viewed it with disdain, regardless of the circumstances. When Izumo watched Invictus systematically destroy Yama-Deva, he began to lose respect for the king. Orgies and bloodbaths with meaningless slaves were one thing; mutilating a creature with so much to offer was another. The dracool told Lucius that he had been looking forward to spending long years with the snow giant, who was impressively wise in his own ways. Yama-Deva also was like a library, but instead of magic, potions, and spells, the snow giant burst with placidity. After the sorcerer ruined him, Deva had become a loud-mouthed buffoon.

And the dracool became Invictus’ enemy.

Lucius and Izumo discovered the similarity of their feelings by accident. While the two of them were overseeing a series of military exercises ten leagues east of Avici, Mala had approached and lambasted them for not following one of his inane dictates regarding troop deployment.

“What part of my order did you not understand?” Mala said to Lucius, towering over him as if he were a child.

Lucius removed his helm. “The cohorts on the right flank were too loosely assembled,” the firstborn said, attempting to appear defiant—but trembling, nonetheless. “Jivitan horsemen could penetrate too easily. I ordered a tighter formation to mimic the left flank. Am I deemed incapable of modifying a command when I see fit?”

The Chain Man’s swollen eyes sprang wide open. Vile liquids oozed from their sockets. He turned his rage on Izumo.

“You delivered Lucius’
revision
to the commander on the field,” Mala said. “Did
you
not understand my command?”

“I’ve followed General Lucius’ orders since I arrived in Avici,” Izumo said.

Mala became so angry, molten gobs spewed from his chain. To avoid being scorched, Lucius dove sideways and Izumo sprang backward, barely dodging the acidic fusillade. Before Lucius could stand, the Chain Man leapt upon him, grabbing his armor at the shoulders and lifting him five cubits off the ground. Izumo took to the air, hovering just out of Mala’s reach.

“Listen to me,” the Chain Man said to Lucius, easily loud enough for Izumo to hear. “I know things neither of you know. There are reasons I do what I do. I want the soldiers to march until they’re exhausted
 . . .
and nothing more! Do you understand? If you ever
modify
my commands again, I’ll shove my fist up your bony ass, grab your tongue, and yank it back between your cheeks. And the same goes for you, dracool. I don’t know how to make it any clearer. I am General Lucius’ superior in all ways. I am the superior of every member of this army and of every being who dwells in Avici and Kilesa. I am
superior
to all, save Invictus.”

Mala then tossed Lucius onto the grass. “Now, if you wish to challenge my superiority, here’s your chance. It’s two against one. No others are near enough to aid me. Fight me
 . . .
if you dare.”

Izumo continued to hover but did not come closer. Lucius stood up, brushing blades of grass off his armor, but he too remained in place.

The Chain Man stared at them both—and then laughed. “As I thought
 . . .
a pair of worthless weaklings.” Then he pointed at Lucius. “I knew you didn’t have the courage to change.” Mala paused. “But I don’t want anyone saying I’m not fair. If either of you wishes to pursue this further, feel free to go to Invictus and complain in person. Otherwise, heed my warning. If you disobey me again, I will end your lives.”