Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (33 page)

BHOJJA GALLOPED along the plain as fast as a gust of wind. But Torg’s heart beat even faster. What lay ahead?

About a mile from the edge of the forest, he came upon Lucius, Bonny, Ugga, and Bard. Torg leapt off the great mare’s back and rushed to the firstborn. “Where is she?” he shouted, causing the air to crackle.

Lucius stepped back, his legs wobbly. “They
 . . .
they took her. The druids. And the witch. And the vampire.”

“And you
allowed
it?” Torg drew the Silver Sword and thrust a sharp edge near Lucius’ throat. “Kusala was right
 . . .
you are
worthless
! I should have let the chieftain kill you.”

Bard gasped. Ugga started to blubber.

Bonny, however, slithered between Lucius and Torg and positioned her own neck between the firstborn and the blade. “If you wants to kill him, then you will have to kill me first. But it might be better if you listened to our story before you act like such a bully. Besides, it’s more your fault than ours. You are the one who wandered off and left her to the monsters.”

Torg saw the truth in her words, and his rage faded. “Tell me what happened—quickly.” He lowered the sword. “I must follow before their lead becomes too great.”

Meanwhile, Ugga and Bard, always quick to recover, moved up next to Bhojja, admiring her with adoring eyes. “Where did ya find such a bew-tee-ful horsey?” Ugga asked.

“I don’t have time to explain. But it appears you’re holding something that belongs to me. Or do you plan to keep it for yourself?”

Ugga’s cheeks reddened above his beard, and he handed over Obhasa. “It burned the vam-pie-er’s hand real bad, but when
I
picked it up, it was cool,” the crossbreed said. “So I brought it with us to give to ya.”

“I’ll have need of it soon, I’m sure.” Then Torg turned and climbed onto Bhojja’s back. “Corral the Daasa and head for Jivita, all of you. Hopefully we will meet again there.” He left them behind without telling them what had happened with the fiends and demons. He could see that Lucius and Bonny were furious with him. But he was in no mood for apologies.

The great mare knew her way far better than her rider, and she seemed able to follow a scent as well as a mountain wolf. By midafternoon, they had plunged several leagues into the darkening forest, with Bhojja dodging branches and clumps of trees as if she knew every cubit of the terrain.

“I’m coming, my love,” Torg whispered over and over.

He knew this was yet another trap. But that made little difference. He wielded Obhasa and the Silver Sword. Nothing short of Invictus could withstand him.

LUCIUS HAD never felt so humiliated, which was saying something considering how many times he had been tormented in Avici. Yet how was he supposed to have stopped the druids from taking Laylah, especially when the Daasa had inexplicably abandoned him? Not to mention that Laylah herself had ordered him not to resist the Warlish witch. If the wizard had stayed with them, things might have turned out differently. It was the Death-Knower’s fault that Laylah had been captured.

Then again, a part of Lucius believed everything Torg had said. Lucius
was
worthless. It
would
have been better if Kusala had killed him. What good was he to anyone? He was as powerless as a child.

He also didn’t feel very well. He was hot and flushed, and when he pressed his hand against his face, his cheeks were bloated and numb. He looked at his forearm, and it too appeared thicker—with rougher and darker skin. And since when had he grown so much hair on the back of his hand?

“Are you feeling all right, Lucius?” Bonny said. “You don’t look so good. Sit down, sweety, and take a rest. Have a sip of water.”

“I
 . . .
I
 . . .
don’t know what’s wrong,” Lucius muttered. “I’m dizzy.”

Ugga and Bard took his arms and lowered him gently to the grass. He drank some water and soon began to feel better. When he stood up he was almost normal again, other than being extremely hungry.

“I’m all right. Whatever it was has passed. I think I was just mad at Torg. I can see why Rathburt gets so aggravated with him.”

Lucius tried to laugh it off, but Bonny seemed unconvinced, as if she knew something he did not.

“Have you ever felt this way before?” she said.

“A few times, I guess, when I get really mad. The blood must rush to my head.”

“Ya was looking kind of scary to me,” Ugga said. “Your face was da color of a beet!”

This time, Lucius did laugh. “Ugga, you have a way with words.”

Just then the first of the Daasa came into view, appearing at the top of a rise and trotting excitedly toward Lucius. Soon he was engulfed.

“Look, they’ve gone all nicey again,” Ugga said.

“They are cute, like their master,” Bonny agreed.

Bard walked over to one, reached down, and wiped its muzzle with his hand. When he held up his palm, it was bathed in sticky blood. “They might look cute, but they’ve gotten into some sort of trub-bull. Must have had a nasty tangle with something. But it doesn’t seem like many of them got killed, at least. We can be happy for that.”

“They are so many, it’s hard to tell,” Lucius said. “And I’m not about to back-track and find out what it was they butchered. We have decisions to make, the four of us. Do we obey Torg’s order and march to Jivita?”

“What other choice do we have?” Bonny said. “By now, it’s too late to follow Laylah or Torg. Like Rathburt said, we’d probably get lost in the forest.”

“True enough,” Lucius said. “But I have another concern. Suppose we go to Jivita. What happens when we get there? Without Torg as our ambassador, who’s to say the white horsemen won’t mistake us for enemies?”

Bonny smiled and reached into her jacket, pulling out a small scroll wrapped in a sheath of soft leather. “Rakkhati gave me this before he left with Torg and Laylah. Will this help?”

After reading it, Lucius handed it back to her. “Keep it safe, Bonny.” Then he turned to the others. “It’s settled, then. We will march to Jivita.”

In response, the Daasa chittered loudly. They seemed anxious to move on.

Lucius was quick to accommodate them.

THE WITCH AND vampire kept Laylah moving at a near trot. As she struggled to keep up, a druid pressed against her and thrust a dried root into her hand.

“Chewwww on it,” Jākita said. “It will give you strength.”

Laylah curled her nose and started to cast it away, but Urbana snapped at her. “Do as she says, you horrid little bitch. Do you think we’re trying to poison you? If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If you don’t eat it, one of the druids will have to haul you the rest of the way.”

The thought of being carried was even more disgusting than the root, so Laylah broke off a small piece and tasted it. It was surprisingly sweet, causing her mouth to flood with saliva. Soon after, she felt strength surge through her body. She saved the rest of the root in a pocket in her tunic.

The trees became as dense as blades of grass, and it was almost too dark to see. Though a part of her enjoyed the relief from direct sunlight, Laylah now found it difficult to breathe. Jākita walked directly in front of her, weaving this way and that. Laylah was forced to follow in the witch’s footsteps to avoid walking head-on into one of the dark trunks, some of which were forty spans thick. At times she had to turn sideways to slip between the trees, though the druids—who were twice her height and many times her weight—were able to flatten their pliable torsos and squeeze through the crevices without difficulty. Laylah could see thousands and thousands of glowing eyes, bobbing about like fireflies. Occasionally, Urbana shoved her from behind, all the while muttering obscenities that never failed to make Jākita giggle.

Laylah was tempted to turn on the vampire and kill her then and there, but it would have accomplished little. She knew she needed to bide her time. Until Torg arrived, she stood little chance of escape or retribution.

Laylah wasn’t sure how long they had been walking—she guessed five leagues, at least—when she noticed the ground had begun to ascend, slowly at first, but ever more steeply. To keep up her strength, she ate more of the root. Even so, her thighs burned, and her breath came in heavy gasps, making her feel light-headed and hallucinatory.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard, or thought she heard, a low roar, but all she could see was the witch’s glowing flesh—and beyond that, the fireflies. Everywhere, fireflies.

Then, without warning, Laylah stepped out of the trees and into light so bright it caused her to grimace. The roaring sound had not been her imagination. She looked down and almost swooned. They stood at the edge of a precipice that towered hundreds of cubits above a frothy river winding between sheer rock walls. Swarms of druids loomed ahead of her, striding across a slab of stone that had been cast across the gap. “Don’t even think about jumping,” Urbana said, “unless you never want to see your precious wizard again. Boulders are hidden just beneath the surface of the river, and some of them are razor-sharp. Even if you somehow survived the fall, you’d be battered to pieces in the currents. Not that I would care.”

Laylah was not afraid of heights, but still it terrified her to step onto the bridge, which was disturbingly narrow and slippery. The druids’ thorny toes gripped the mist-covered rock like roots, so they had no problems crossing. But Jākita slowed her pace and positioned herself in the center of the pathway. Again Laylah followed in the witch’s footsteps. Part of her
did
want to leap off the bridge and dare the perils of the river. That kind of death was preferable to Invictus capturing her again. But she first had to give Torg a chance to rescue her. Besides, she desired to see his face one last time.

BY THE TIME Rathburt and Elu made it to the river, it was near dusk. Rathburt leaned heavily on his staff, and even the Svakaran seemed weary. Several times during their hurried march they had come upon fresh water, so thirst was not a problem. Hunger and exhaustion, though, more than made up for it. They were out of food and had found none along the way. The sight of the river so far below gave them both a start.

“That’s a long way down,” Rathburt said. “The last time I was here, I didn’t dare go this far into the forest. The great river, Cariya, amazes me. It’s every bit as nasty as the worst portions of the Ogha.”

“Elu doesn’t like this river. It has a mean feel.”

“Everything about Dhutanga has a mean feel,” Rathburt agreed.

“What are we going to do when we catch up to them? Do you have a plan?”

“I guess you could call it a plan. I’m going to do my best to tame the druids, sort of the way I tamed the vines. I’m hoping there’s enough of the forest in their blood to make them susceptible to me.”

Elu made a strange face.

“You think I’m crazy?” Rathburt said.

“No
 . . .
Elu doesn’t think you’re crazy. He thinks you’re brave. Elu is proud of you.”

Rathburt smiled and patted the Svakaran on the head. “I know I’ve been tough on you all these years. But I’ve never really meant it. I’ve loved you like a son. No, that’s not right. More like a brother.”

The Svakaran hugged Rathburt’s leg. “Elu knows that. You can’t fool him. He will always be grateful.”

Rathburt’s smile broadened. “Well, now that we’re finished saying ‘nicey’ things to each other, we’d better get back to business. You asked if I had a plan. Here’s the first part of it. We cross this damnable bridge, find a place to hide, and wait for Torg to catch up. We can’t do anything without him, anyway. And my guess is he’ll be along shortly.”