Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (31 page)

AFTER TORG disappeared from sight and raced eastward away from the forest and toward the gap, Lucius turned back to Rathburt. “You heard him. Which way to Dhutanga? Or is it as simple as turning right?”

Rathburt ignored the question. “Isn’t that just like Mr. Showoff to run away when we need him most? What has gotten into that loon?”

Suddenly, Laylah stormed toward Rathburt and pounded the base of Obhasa at his feet, causing a portion of the ground to split. The Death-Knower cried out, dropped his own staff, and fell backward onto his rump. Lucius cringed, out of sympathy for Rathburt’s clumsiness, but also fearful that Laylah might be angry enough to hurt him.

The sorceress loomed over Rathburt, spittle flying from her mouth. “Torg puts up with your insults,” she snarled, “but I will
not
! He would never run away from anyone or anything. Do not say such a thing in my presence again.”

Tears welled in Rathburt’s eyes. It broke Lucius’ heart to see it. After all, he had been bullied by superior powers himself many times when he was in Avici and still under Mala’s sway.

Laylah continued to glare at Rathburt, refusing to move.

Finally Elu came over and tapped her lightly on the thigh. “He doesn’t really mean it, pretty lady. Elu has heard him say things like that a thousand times. But deep down, he’s a nice guy. And he respects the great wizard as much as you do, to tell the truth.”

Still visibly shaking with anger, Laylah backed off. “Then he needs to grow up,” she said. Rathburt remained on the ground, not moving. “Get up,” Laylah said. Her voice was softer, much to Lucius’ relief. “I’m not going to do anything more,” she continued. “But time is short. Answer Lucius’ question. Which way to Dhutanga? The quicker the better.”

Rathburt struggled to his feet and leaned against his staff, his face gaunt. He pointed weakly toward the southwest. “It’s been a
 . . .
long time. But if my memory is correct, the quickest way to the forest is that way.”

Still amazed by Laylah’s outburst, Lucius started off in the direction Rathburt had suggested, hoping that if he got them moving, the incident might be forgotten.

The Daasa followed, seemingly pleased to be on the move. It was obvious they were less comfortable in the open than in the trees, and Lucius wondered if they could sense the nearby forest. He looked back several times for signs of Torg, but all Lucius could see were flat plains leading to the northern mountains. He also did a quick check of Laylah and Rathburt, who now seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Good.

As Torg had predicted earlier, they came upon the perimeter of the forest before noon. Early on, the trees were widely spaced—a mixture of pines, oaks, poplars, and occasional black walnuts, many of which already had sprouted their spring blooms. But Lucius quickly noticed something unusual: most of their branches stretched eastward, away from the forest, as if these ordinary trees wished they could somehow sprout legs and walk away from what loomed to the west.

The Daasa seemed enthralled. They poured into the forest at full gallop, foraging in beds of fallen leaves and crunching noisily on acorns that Lucius imagined must have been lying there for months. It was amazing the Daasa still found them to be edible.

Following Torg’s earlier directions, Lucius continued forward until the forest began to thicken. At noon, they came to a wide stream. The Daasa rushed toward it and drank like fiends, lining the watercourse for almost a mile. Lucius called the others to a halt, and they sat and ate from what they had hastily gathered before leaving Duccarita.

“We only have enough food left for one or two more light meals,” he said. “After that, we’ll be on our own.”

“Elu believes there is plenty to eat here, but it takes time to catch it and cook it,” the Svakaran said. “You can live for days on wild berries, if you don’t mind the grumbling of your stomach.”

“I hopes not to live on berries for days,” Ugga said glumly. “I is already so very hungry.”

“We’re all hungry,” Laylah said. “But I’d rather be hungry and free than a prisoner with a full belly.”

Even as they spoke, Lucius noticed Rathburt looking around nervously, his slump more pronounced than ever. “I wish the Daasa didn’t make so much noise,” the Death-Knower whispered.

Just then, Lucius heard a commotion in the trees.

Something approached from the west.

ON THE OPEN plains of Gamana, there were few places to hide, though the land sometimes changed elevation slightly, providing occasional concealment. Torg ran as fast as a trotting horse, covering several leagues in a surprisingly short time. The farther he ran, the larger and more visible the approaching cloud of dust became. He came upon a hillock rising about thirty cubits above the plain, and there he cast himself onto his stomach on the iron-colored grass
 . . .
and waited. For better or worse, he soon would discover what pursued them. The desire to do so consumed him.

First to appear were black mountain wolves ridden by Mogols. It relieved Torg to see that they were ordinary warriors, not Porisādas. But they still were dangerous. The riders were having difficulties holding back the wolves, which yearned to rush forward and attack their quarry. But whatever commanded them from behind was strong enough to contain them. Torg was glad he had obeyed his inner voice and come to this place by himself. It was the wise thing to do.

As the dust cloud intensified, more mounted wolves, the vanguard of a larger force, came into view. But they passed by without noticing his presence; such was his ability to remain unseen. From his prone position, Torg could feel the rumblings of an approaching army, and he began to fear that he had underestimated their numbers. The vibrations were peculiar, unlike anything he had encountered before—chaotic instead of rhythmic.

Finally he could make out the leading edge of the mysterious army, which seemed to be gathered around a lone wagon, huge as a house and drawn by a pair of mountain trolls. Torg wanted to work his way around the side to get a better look, but there were too many Mogols and wolves. Instead, he was forced to wait until the army passed directly in front of him. Nearer and nearer it came, slowly but steadily—and yet Torg remained confused. He had never witnessed such disorder. The soldiers seemed to be bobbing this way and that, almost as if they were dancing.

Whatever stood at the front of the wagon emanated a cloud of noxious gas. The creature who led this army was a demon, incarnated into the physical world. Was it Vedana? No, her scent was different.

And then he recognized his adversary. The demon’s name was Pisaaca, second in rank and power only to Vedana among their undead kind. She appeared in the Realm of Life as a grotesque beast with the head and body of a woman, but with bat-like wings protruding from her back. Though Torg knew her to be human-sized, she now chose to be twenty cubits tall, twice the height of a snow giant, and she held a magical whip as long as a dragon, slinging it this way and that so fast that the very air crackled.

The trolls dragged the enormous wagon forward with great effort, but it was not only the demon’s weight that caused their exertion. The bed contained something else, but Pisaaca’s bulky frame blocked Torg’s view.

The sun loomed directly overhead, intensifying the unseasonable heat. A mounted wolf trotted past Torg only a few paces away, but paid him no heed. Though the Duccaritan clothes he wore did not blend well with his surroundings, his stillness of mind made him virtually invisible.

Engulfed in a haze of dust, the soldiers who trailed behind the wagon continued to act crazily, jumping, waving their arms, knocking into each other, even fighting among themselves. And they seemed to be wearing no armor or uniforms of any kind. It was as if the sorcerer had called a mishmash of drunken villagers to duty. And still they came.

Finally Torg could see the side of the wagon. Its bed was jammed with at least fifty people, well-dressed but otherwise normal in appearance—equal numbers of men, women, and children chained together at the ankles, some screaming, some sobbing, some silent and pale.

Torg gasped.

The people in the wagon were bait.

Or an even better description: food.

And the army that followed was an abomination. Ordinary villagers had been infected with
undines
, creatures of the demon world that entered living flesh and multiplied until the mind and body were ruined. Torg saw at least ten thousand of the cannibalistic fiends. Obviously his efforts to destroy the
undines
in the ziggurat had been in vain. The witches had succeeded in summoning more, either from Kamupadana or elsewhere. And now these mindless monsters were on the prowl, stumbling behind the wagon in a state of bloodthirstiness.

But the fiends were frenetic and disorganized, moving too slowly to overtake the wagon. Instead, they remained a few paces behind, growling, slavering, howling. It was horrifying to watch, and he could only imagine the terror the chained prisoners were experiencing. Who were they, he wondered? Elite citizens of Avici who had somehow fallen into disfavor? And how long had they been forced to endure this level of torment? Surely not all the way from the Golden City. Torg could think of no way to rescue them. If he were to set them free, either the fiends or Mogols would kill them.

How and where this army had been assembled was a mystery, but not the why. Invictus had sent it to hunt down Laylah and kill all of those with her. Pisaaca must have been included to make sure Laylah wasn’t harmed in the melee.

But something still didn’t make sense. It would be relatively easy for Torg, Laylah, and their companions to outrun the fiends—all the way to Jivita. Surely Invictus—or whoever had planned this attack—knew this.

Torg was missing something.

The next instant, he was up and running, killing several wolves and Mogols who strayed too near. Otherwise, the enemy did not see him. He sprinted as fast as he ever had in his life, breath blasting from his lungs. Rathburt had been right, after all. This was no time for gallivanting. What had he been thinking? Or what thoughts had been forced upon him?

Laylah and his friends were in danger.

And it was his fault.

LAYLAH GRASPED Obhasa in both hands and waited. Countless foes, seemingly driven by an immense will, surged out of the deep woods. She heard Rathburt moaning, Ugga growling, Lucius shouting commands, but those sounds were secondary to the intensity of the humming.

The druids came in droves, clattering forward like walking trees, their long fingers snapping, their eyes red with rage. There were more than Laylah could count, and it appeared obvious that she and the Daasa were outnumbered. But she was not afraid. She cried out in anger and then strode to meet them.

Instantly the Daasa reacted to her call, transforming into monstrous killing machines. They attacked the druid surge head-on, tearing into them with their own kind of rage.

Without hesitation, Ugga rumbled forward heedlessly, swinging his axe like a scythe. Bard cast his spear into the fray, then loosed every arrow in his quiver. Lucius stabbed a druid with his
uttara
and then battered another to pieces with his war club. Though less than a third their height, Elu wounded several with his Tugarian dagger. Even Rathburt got into the act, spewing blue fire from his staff with surprising effectiveness.

But to Laylah’s dismay, she soon discovered that the druids were not alone. The enemy separated, creating a path for a Warlish witch, who appeared in her attractive persona. She was more beautiful than any witch Laylah had ever seen, even the legendary Chal. Her flesh glowed like gold, causing the dead leaves at her feet to crinkle and burst into tiny flames. And a woman Laylah recognized as her longtime nemesis, the vampire Urbana, followed.

As the witch approached, the druids froze.

The Daasa also halted, but not for the same reason. Their noses raised upward, as if sniffing something in the air. Without explanation, they shifted their bloated bodies and stampeded eastward. Lucius shouted for them to stop, but for the first time they paid him no heed. Laylah believed they were abandoning her and the others out of fear of the druids, but then she heard the ferocity of their growls and realized they weren’t fleeing at all. Instead, they were hunting something that enraged them even more than the druids, leaving Laylah, Lucius, and the others to face a Warlish witch, a vampire, and an army of druids alone.

The witch strolled within a pace of Laylah. She wore golden robes that matched her skin. “I am Jākita-Abhinno, queen of the Warlish witches, and I have come to take you prisoner, ssssister of the king.”

Lucius and the others, including Rathburt, gathered around the sorceress to protect her, but Laylah waved them off. “We cannot prevail by fighting. Not now,” she said to her loyal companions. Then she turned to the witch. “I imagine you have come for me and care little for these others?”

“Sssso true,” said Jākita, her smile remarkably lovely. “If you return with ussss without resistance, I will allow your friendssss to live.”

Urbana interrupted in characteristically obnoxious fashion. “Why should we do that? Now that the Daasa are gone, we have no need to bargain. Let’s kill them all—especially the traitorous firstborn—and
then
take her back with us, screaming and kicking. That would be so much more fun.”

“We
might
die,” Lucius said to the vampire, waving the
uttara
menacingly. “But you most certainly would.”

Urbana hissed, but Jākita only laughed. Then she raised her hand, and a yellow glob of molten fire leapt from her palm and incinerated the
uttara
’s blade.

Lucius staggered back and dropped the blackened handle at his feet.

“For now, these otherssss are not our concern,” Jākita said matter-of-factly, as if her display of power was beyond question. “Death will come to them all, whether now or later. All who oppose King Invictus will eventually perish or become his slavessss.” She smiled at Laylah. “What say you, ssssister of the king? Your life for theirs? Or would you prefer I turn Urbana and the druidssss loose? As you have heard, they would relish an opportunity for slaughter.”

“How can I know you’ll be true to your word?”

“If you fight ussss,
you
might be hurt or killed,” the witch said, her long auburn hair swirling, as if electrified. “That would not please your brother.”

Lucius stepped between the sorceress and the witch, his hand still shaking from the blow of Jākita’s power. “None of us will abandon you to these monsters, as long as we’re able to stand.”

The others nodded vigorously, but Jākita threw back her head and laughed. “Let me ssssee: a newborn freak, a pirate whore, a failed wizard, a dimwit crossssbreed, an overgrown boy, and an under-grown man against thirty thousand druidssss.”

“We will die, but ya and the ug-gly beastie woman will die too,” said Ugga, in a tone of voice that caused even Laylah to shiver.

Jākita, however, was not impressed. “None of youuuu, save the sorceress herself, is capable of harming me. But enough talk. What say you, Laaaaylah? Your cooperation will buy your friendssss their lives.”

Laylah turned to her companions, her face resigned. “We are outmatched,” she said, prompting all six of them to protest. “Listen to me
 . . .
we are
outmatched
. And all of you know it. I must accept her offer. It is your only chance—
my
only chance. The rest of you must follow the Daasa and see if you can win them back.”

To her surprise, Rathburt was the next to speak. “Do not fear, my lady. Though the battle appears lost, you will not be forsaken.”

“Aaaah, Rathburt. I’m so sorry now for my harsh words.”

“If you all don’t stop it, I’m going to bawl like a baby,” Urbana said. Then she turned to the witch. “Enough talk, Jākita. Let’s take her and be done with it. I’m sick of this rabble.”

Laylah looked into her friends’ eyes, one at a time. “Do as I say
 . . .
please. Do not fight. Leave now. Run.” She started to hand Obhasa to Rathburt, but Urbana leapt up and yanked the staff from her hands.

“Give me that, you horrid little bitch. Do you mistake us for fools?”

Even as she wrapped her ugly fingers around the shaft, Obhasa crackled with explosive blue-green power. The vampire screamed and cast the staff to the ground, the palm of her hand charred and smoking.

Jākita laughed again. “Leave it,” she said to the vampire. “Like its masssster, it cannot be tamed. Come, Laaaaylah. Honor your bargain, and I will honor mine.”

The druids rushed forward, encircling the three women. Lucius and the others were shoved back and knocked to the ground. For several moments, the druids hovered over them, glaring with fiery eyes. Then they retreated, like a wave receding from shore. When the forest again was empty, Laylah was gone.