Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (23 page)

Torg’s bold words dumbfounded all three of them. The crossbreed’s mouth sprang open. The leader clapped his hand against his forehead and chuckled. But the woman reacted without hesitation, letting the arrow fly.

Despite her quickness, Torg was not caught unaware. He could have knocked the arrow out of the air with his sword, but he wanted to impress them, so he allowed it to strike his chest. The arrow bounced off, as if his flesh were made of stone.

“He is Demon Spawn,” the woman said. “Me arrow would’ve killed a Buffelo.”

“None of you wields a weapon capable of harming me,” Torg said. “I’m beyond you. Do you doubt it?” Then he willed his eyes to glow with a deep-blue intensity. “I’m no ogre or demon,” he continued in a booming voice. “I’m far
greater
! If you test my patience too severely, you’ll do so at your peril.”

Whether frightened or enraged, the crossbreed could stand no more, and he rushed at Torg with his axe held high, swinging a mighty blow. Torg avoided it easily. One thousand hours of
Aarakaa Himsaa
were more than a match for such a crude attack.

The smaller man flung his dagger. This time Torg didn’t allow himself to be struck. He flicked the Silver Sword, knocking the blade out of the air.

Torg believed he was capable of killing all three with ease. But he preferred not to kill unless it was absolutely necessary, and his instincts told him that these odd companions might be of use to him. They were ruthless but not evil. Still, he needed to disable them, at least temporarily, until he could earn their confidence. They were too feisty to be trusted just yet.

The crossbreed dropped his axe and slung his arms around Torg’s torso in an attempt to crush him. Torg dropped the sword, placed his palms on the sides of the giant’s neck and compressed the main arteries, temporarily cutting off the flow of blood to the brain. During his warrior training, he had practiced this move only a few dozen times, but it was simple to learn and always effective.

The crossbreed’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Then he let go of Torg, took a step back, and said “Huh!” before collapsing into unconsciousness.

“Ya have killed Ugga, ya Bastud!” The smaller man sprinted toward Torg and threw the spear.

Torg ducked as the spear zipped past, clattering against a boulder. The man continued forward at full speed. But in Torg’s perception of time, the attacker moved in slow motion.

Torg caught the man by his wrists, rotated on his hips, and flung him face-first into the smoldering remains of the fire. His adversary squealed like a pig and rolled off the embers, brushing himself frenetically.

“Bard, me dears. I comes to save ya!” The white-haired woman leapt at Torg, snarling like a lioness protecting her cubs. But Torg punched her in the solar plexus—lightly, by his standards—and then tossed her aside. She landed awkwardly on the hard stone by the mouth of the cave and lay still.

The one she called Bard stood up warily, bits of charred debris still smoking in his beard. Without the dagger and spear he had no visible weapons, though Torg suspected he had more hidden beneath his cloak.

“Will ya kill us all?” Bard said. “We deserve it, I supposes. But Master Ogre, ya could do me a great favor if ya killed just me and let the others go. I loves them and would hate to witness their endings.”

“Put your hands by your side and come to me.”

“If I does, ya will skewer me with that blade,” said Bard, motioning toward the sword that lay at Torg’s feet.

“If you do as I say, I promise not to kill any of you. My word is worth much.”

Bard looked down at Ugga, who lay flat on his back, eyes closed, breathing slowly, as if taking a nap. The woman lay still as well, though she was moaning.

“And what of Jord?” Bard said, pointing at the woman. “Will ya defile the Bitch? I could not bear it.”

“I’m no rapist,” Torg said. “If you could see me as I truly am, you would find my words more believable. Still, you have no choice but to trust me. You cannot defeat me in battle. I say it again, put your hands by your side and come to me.”

Bard remained unconvinced. “Ya could not best me again, so easy.”

Torg sighed. “If you do not come to me, I will come to you. And we shall see what we shall see.”

Bard reached inside his coat and drew out another dagger.

Torg closed the gap between them and grasped the man’s hand with his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed wickedly, contorting the wrist.

Bard cried out and dropped the weapon.

Torg drew the man’s face close. “
Niddaayahi!
” Blue smoke burst from his mouth and swirled into Bard’s nostrils. The trapper instantly fell into a deep sleep, and Torg lowered him gently to the ground.

Next, he walked over to the woman by the mouth of the cave. Scattered patches of ice clung to the stone floor, and he struggled to keep his footing in his flimsy sandals. Jord held her abdomen, groaning and coughing. Torg knew he hadn’t struck her hard enough to do serious damage, but he leaned down to get a closer look.

She was craftier than he had given her credit. She kicked at his left ankle, knocking his foot off the ground. His other foot was positioned on some ice, and it slid sideways. Torg fell on his face, amazed. He had never been bested in such a way before.

The woman ran toward the trees. But Torg was up in an instant, kicking off the annoying sandals and chasing after her.

“Wait
 . . .
wait! I will harm you no further.”

Even barefoot, Torg was quicker. She must have sensed his approach because she tried to run even faster, which caused her to stumble and fall. She scrambled to her knees just as he caught up.

Torg grabbed one arm, but she spun around and bit him on the wrist. Her teeth were hard and flat but no match for his flesh. Her eyes flew open, as if she had chomped on a piece of wood, and when she felt the strength of his hand, she went limp.

“Do not kill me, Master Ogre! Do not eat my heart or slurp my blood. I will do whatever ya ask. I will be your Concubeen, if I must. But please, don’t kill me. I doesn’t want to die so young.” Then she burst into tears and shivered on the ground at his feet.

Torg wasn’t fooled. Her cowardly display was mostly for show, buying her time to think up another way to escape. Grasping a handful of her hair, he yanked her to her feet. She yelped like a dog that had been kicked in the ribs.

Tugars knew more than fifty pressure points on the human body which, when stimulated, were capable of causing debilitating pain. Torg pressed his thick thumb into a spot just below her right elbow. Jord screamed so loudly her voice echoed in the trees.

“I’m beginning to think that all three of you are deaf,” Torg said. “I’ll try to make my intentions clear, yet again. If you do as I say, I will not harm you. And I have no desire to make you my Concubeen, whatever that might be.”

Through the long strands of white hair that had fallen over her eyes, Jord looked up at him with renewed anger. “Do ya think me ugly?”

Torg couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. “No, you’re not ugly. This has nothing to do with how you look, though you’re in more need of a bath than I.”

She drew her breath in with a hiss.

“Do not take offense,” Torg said. “For now, sex is the least of my concerns. What I need more than anything is warm clothing and a hot meal. I would love some bread. Vegetables. Roasted meat. A mug of beer or a cup of wine. Aaah
 . . .
what I wouldn’t do for either.”

The woman sat on her haunches and brushed the hair from her eyes. She looked at Bard and Ugga. “Are they dead?”

Torg chuckled again. “The big one—Ugga, you call him?—will have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, and Bard might be groggy. But otherwise they’ll be fine. I’m glad you care. You’ll be more likely to do as I say, if you fear for their safety.”

“I ran like a coward,” Jord said. “I’m ashamed. But ya scared me so.”

“Make it up to them. Do as I say, and I won’t hurt them any more. Do you have a camp nearby?”

“We have a house, less than a league from here. It’s
my
house. We were hunting for our breakfast when we smelled your fire. We planned to make off with your sword, which has the look of value.”

“It does have value. But it’s mine, and I plan to keep it. Do you have any food at the house?”

“I has flour and yeast for bread, and plenty o’ hickory butter. There is a barrel with squashes and wild potatoes. And I has spices, too.”

“Take me there. We’ll prepare a meal. Before this is over, you and I will be friends.”

Jord motioned to Ugga and Bard. “Will ya leave them? The cold’ll kill them before just a short time passes.”

“No, I won’t leave them.”

“But they are too big to carry.”

“Not for me.”

Torg offered his hand to Jord. The green-eyed woman allowed him to lift her to her feet. He turned away and walked back to the cave, where Ugga and Bard lay unconscious. He reached down, picked up the Silver Sword and slid it into the belt of his robes.

Jord followed him.

Torg imagined she must be tempted to pick up a stone and bash his skull. But she had seen how he fought, and probably didn’t dare. First he went to Bard and lifted the smaller man with little effort. Then he laid him alongside the giant crossbreed.

Jord got on her hands and knees and put her ear against Bard’s chest—and did the same for Ugga. “Are ya sure they will live, Master Ogre? If they die, it will be the foulest torment to me.”

“If they are half as strong as they appear, they will not die. Ugga will wake up first. Bard won’t open his eyes until late tonight or early tomorrow, but when he does he’ll feel strong and rested.”

“Ya have performed these fantastical deeds before? Where did ya learn such trickery? Ya felled Ugga with a slap of your hands. And ya made Bard sleep with smoke belched from your stomach. I would not have believed it possible. Ugga and Bard have never been bested, at least whilst I was watching. Even the blows of wicked savages do not injure them.”

“I’ve received proper training.”

“Ya do not fool me. Ya persist in saying ya not be Demon. But I believes ya not be Man. Ya must be a great Conjurer of Magic, arisen from the bowels of the mountains to haunt this world. What is your name, Master Ogre? Can ya tell me that?”

Torg laughed again. “In some ways, you speak the truth. I
did
come from the bowels of the mountains, though not by choice. I’m
not
a man, at least not in the way I take you to mean. And I
am
able to conjure magic, though there have been times in my life when I’ve been more capable than now. As for my name, I choose not to reveal it. Please do not take offense. I’d make a dangerous ally. Knowing who I am could be perilous.”

Jord sighed. “We must call ya something.”

“Very well. Call me
 . . .
Hana. That name is as good as any.”

Torg retrieved his bag of food and offered Jord a mushroom. To his surprise, she took it without protest. After tasting it, her eyes opened wide with delight.

“Hah-nah, do ya have great quantities of these mushrooms? They are better than any I has ever tasted. I begs to know—from where did they come?”

“As for quantity, I have only what you see,” Torg said, opening the bag for her perusal. “As for where, let me just say that the world beneath our feet is not lifeless.”

“I hopes to never find out,” said Jord, who reached back into the bag, pulled out another mushroom, and chomped hungrily. Torg envied her full set of teeth.

“Wait, Hah-nah! I changes my mind. I wants to go into the cavern and get some more. Will ya show me?”

Torg sighed. He suspected she was exaggerating her pleasure for his benefit. “One day I’ll return to the cave, if my karma allows. But for now, my errands are too urgent.”

Then he handed the bag to Jord and knelt between the two unconscious men. The woman gasped when Torg threw Ugga over one shoulder and Bard over the other. When he stood, Jord almost swooned.

“Can ya carry Buffelos with your bare hands?”

“I must admit, these two are heavier than I thought,” Torg said, trying not to grunt too much. “But I’ll manage. Lead the way, Jord. The quicker we get to your camp, the quicker I can put them down. Their stink is worse than their bulk.”

Jord found that quite amusing, bending over and slapping her knee. The woman started off through the woods. After a few hundred paces the land sloped downward into a hollow. The footing was treacherous, especially considering Torg was lugging more than forty stones of dead weight. Plus, he was walking barefoot, and his feet were already numb. But his dense flesh was otherwise impervious. Rocks or roots could inflict minor pain, but they could not cause cuts or bruises of any consequence.

They soon came upon a clear-running stream. Torg set down his burden, buried his face in the icy water, and drank deeply despite the cold. Jord joined him, getting down on hands and knees and burying her face in the water, but when he lingered too long by the water, she became annoyed.

“Come. It is yet a far ways.”

The white-haired woman traveled much lighter than Torg. All she carried was her bow and arrows, Bard’s spear and Torg’s small bag of food. She had been forced to leave Ugga’s immense axe, though she had hid it under some leaves before they departed.

Jord sprinted as fast as one of his Tugars. Torg wondered suspiciously how he had been able to catch her so easily back at the cave. Gasping for breath and sweating
profusely, he was forced to halt several times and drop the men on the ground less gently than he should have.

“Must ya wander along so slowly?” Jord said. “We’ve gone less than a hectare. Almost a league still lies betwixt here and our neighborhood. Would ya like me to carry the sword? Ya keep trippin’ over it.”

“If you had any idea what I’ve been through in the past few weeks, you would be amazed that I could walk on my own, much less carry these brutes. And no, I don’t want you to carry the sword. But if your wildness demands it, go on ahead. I’ll follow your footprints.”

“An excellent idea, Hah-nah. I’ll start the fires. Beyond this hollow, ya will find a splendorous wood where the pines rise to vast bigness. Our house lies beyond the great trees.”

“Whatever you say. But in the time it takes me to catch up to you, please try to learn a proper language.”

“Hmmph! Your speech is the one lacking, Master Ogre.”

“You will lack your head, if you’re not careful.”

She responded with another hmmph! Then she ran off, fast as a filly.

Torg watched Jord sprint along the base of the hollow, scramble up the side of a hill, and disappear into the trees. Despite the presence of Ugga and Bard, who lay at his feet like a pair of logs, Torg felt alone. He fantasized about leaving them and jogging after Jord, ridding himself of his annoying burdens.

But he knew if he ever did something so selfish, his karma would haunt him. Nothing good ever came from such an act of cruelty.

Torg sighed. For better or worse, Ugga and Bard were in his care. He hoisted both men onto his shoulders, slipped a little on the icy ground, uttered some ancient profanities and started forward. His toes were numb. He was in no danger of frostbite, but he was not immune to discomfort.

“Must ya wander along so slowly?”
Torg said, mimicking Jord’s annoying pattern of speech. “Let’s see how fast you could wander with these two Buffelos on your back, ya bitch.”

Torg walked clumsily along the floor of the hollow, which was littered with fallen trees and crumbled boulders. Compared to Jord’s joyous trot through the bowl-shaped depression, he moved as slowly as a snail. When he reached the hill that she had ascended so easily, Torg looked up with dread. How could he possibly carry these two lugs up there and have the strength to go any farther? He was hungrier than he was thirsty, and he remembered—with renewed annoyance—that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. To make matters worse, Jord had taken what little food he had left.

Torg’s legs were wobbly. His sojourn with the cave monkeys had strengthened him somewhat, but he was not even close to being fully recovered from his ordeal in the pit. A journey this physically stressful was the last thing he needed. But disabling Ugga and Bard had been his choice, so he subdued his internal whining.

The hill was steep, but not high—no more than fifty paces to its peak. Still, scaling it turned out to be even more difficult than Torg had feared. About halfway up he had to put Bard down, hoist Ugga to the top and return to his smaller companion. By the time all three were out of the hollow, it was almost noon. Torg sprawled on the ground next to the two men, wheezing like a weary old man.

As he lay on his back, he was surprised to hear Ugga moaning. Torg didn’t believe it possible that the crossbreed could awaken this quickly. Maybe the bear part of him had better recuperative powers than an ordinary person’s. Torg watched Ugga closely, curious to see if he would move.

Suddenly the crossbreed sat up, let out a roar and struggled to his feet. But he didn’t stay upright for long. Instead he fell forward onto his face and lay still for a few seconds before rising to his knees. Then he made a strange face—and vomited. The stink was terrible.

Torg stood up and backed away.

“How did I get here?” Ugga said. “Where are ya, Bard? Where are ya, Bitch? My head hurts terrible. And I has lost me axe!”

“Are you able to walk?” Torg said, from behind the crossbreed’s back. “I surely hope so. Carrying you has been most unpleasant. You’re as heavy as a camel.”

Still on his knees, the crossbreed spun around in reaction to the voice. He stood up again, lost his balance and tumbled backward, landing roughly on his rump. Then he sat there with a quizzical expression, staring at Torg with a sort of awe.

“Do ya mean to kill me, Master Ogre? Without me axe, I knows I can’t stop ya from ending me days. Have ya murdered Bard and the Bitch? Did ya swallow them while I sleeped?”

Torg rolled his eyes. “Let me answer your questions one at a time. Do I mean to kill you? Not if you behave yourself and do what you’re told. Have I murdered Bard and the Bitch? Bard, as you can see, is sleeping soundly just a few paces away, and ‘the Bitch’ is already back at your camp, preparing a meal. Or she’d damn well better be. Have I eaten your companions while you slept? I’m not that hungry yet, but if I don’t get some normal food soon, I might eat all three of you
 . . .
raw
.”

Ugga began to cry. It was an unusual sound, coming from someone so large and dangerous. “Please, Master Ogre. Don’t kill poor, ugly Ugga
 . . .
or his two nicey friends. Bard and the Bitch have treated me kindly. I
will
behave, I promises.” He covered his face with his hands.

“All right,” Torg said. “I believe you, Ugga. As I said before, you and the others have nothing to fear from me.” Then Torg held out his hand. “Trust me. If I meant to kill you, would I have waited until you woke up? And would I have carried you all the way here on my back? I need food, drink and clothing—not murder and mayhem. And I’d relish some friendly talk by a warm fire after I’ve filled my stomach.”

Ugga’s small eyes opened wide, apparently stunned by the strength of Torg’s grip. He stood and faced him. They were almost the same height.

“I trusts ya, Master Ogre,” Ugga said, bowing his head. “I will do as ya say.” Then the crossbreed looked at his smaller companion, who lay on his back on the frozen ground, with a grin on his face. “Will Bard ever wake up?”

“Probably not before next morning. But he won’t be sick like you were. Still, we do need to get him to a warm place soon. Is her house—as Jord calls it—comfortable?”

“Her house is small, but it’s very nice, I thinks. I takes ya there now, Master Ogre. Would it make ya mad if I carried Bard?”

“Ugga, if you’ll carry Bard, I promise to be your friend for as long as we both live. But there’s one other thing you must do for me, regardless.”

“What’s that, Master Ogre?”

“Please
 . . .
please
 . . .
call me Hana!”

As they started out, Torg shivered in his thin robes, and his bare feet were now numb past his ankles. Otherwise he felt like he was in paradise. He had forgotten how pleasant it was just to walk on his own, without lugging forty stones of odoriferous weight. Ugga now carried Bard, and the muscular crossbreed appeared to be having an easy time of it.