Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (29 page)

These last words stunned Torg and the others into silence. The sweet aroma of roasting fowl wafted throughout the clearing, but they did not notice. Rathburt stared at the ground, his tears puncturing the snow.

Finally the Svakaran broke the long silence. “The vines were gone, the pain was gone, and Elu was alive. But Rathburt was lying on the ground, and Elu thought he was dead. His face was white like a ghost’s, and he was wrinkled and weak. To Elu, he looked like a giant—ten cubits tall—but Elu didn’t know then how small he had become. Rathburt brought Elu back, but only part of him.” Then he flexed one of his arms, displaying a bulging muscle. “Elu had the same strength as before, just in a smaller body, and he dragged Rathburt for ten days, giving him food and water when he could. When Elu finally reached his village, his people did not recognize him, and they shunned both of us. Elu tried to tell them who he was. They didn’t believe
 . . .
at first. But when Elu told them the things he knew about each and every one, they believed him then, and they gave us the longhouse and asked us to stay away from the village. Once there, Elu tended Rathburt and brought him back to the world of the living. It wasn’t as great as what he did for Elu, but at least it was something.”

“It was more than just something,” Rathburt said. “Thank you, my friend.”

Ugga and Bard began to cry again. But Torg did not. He stood and held his muscled arms aloft. “I believe the five of us have been brought together for a purpose,” he said in a loud voice, as if speaking to more than just his companions. “The fate of Triken lies in the hands of a few. I stand on the side of good and invite any and all to join me. What say you?”

“We are good friends,” Ugga said, as if that were all the answer Torg required.

Then they gathered in a circle.

“Good friends,” the crossbreed said again.

“Good friends!” they shouted in unison.

At that moment, an alliance was formed that would change the world.

In Torg’s perception, it had taken Ugga less than a day to form an adoration for little Elu. And if there were any lingering doubts about Ugga’s feelings, the roasted fowl and che-ra stew seemed to erase them forever. The crossbreed devoured the food with the urgency of an animal, and his contagious smile widened farther with every bite. The rest ate with similar passion.

Torg and Rathburt remained silent about whatever it was they had discussed in the hut, but it was evident to Torg that it had taken a toll on Rathburt—and the tale of the
Badaalataa
had made matters worse. The gardener, as Bard had begun to call Rathburt, looked even older and more haggard than when he had first arrived.

It was nearly dark when they finished their meal. A new storm was brewing. The wind increased its vehemence, prompting the pines to whisper urgently.

There still was no sign of Jord. If she were anywhere near, she was well hidden. But Torg believed she was far away.

“It’s time to go inside,” Torg said. “It’s going to be an ugly night. In the morning we’ll make our final plans. Rathburt suggests we wait out the worst of the winter at his longhouse, rather than venture to Kamupadana now. I agree. The longer I remain undiscovered, the better for all of us.”

Ugga was especially pleased. “Elu says there is lots of beer at the longhouse. I says we stay there all winter—maybe all spring, too.”

Rathburt laughed. “Ugga, you’re a charmer.”

“Thank ya, Master Rad-Burt.”

The storm struck not long after they had retired to the hut, sweeping through the forest like a giant broom. But the house of Jord was up to the challenge. Though winds ferocious enough to topple trees surged all around the small hut, its roof and walls held firm while the hearth fire burned merrily, as if unaware of what was transpiring outside. Torg slept side by side with the men, snoring and farting as only men can do, and caring not a whit.

By morning the storm had dissipated, and the sky was as blue as a Tugar’s eyes. But it seemed to take all of Ugga’s strength to push open the door. More than two cubits of snow had fallen, which would make the march to the longhouse even more difficult. Elu predicted it now would take from morning till dusk to complete the journey. But at least they wouldn’t starve. There still was enough roasted turkey left to last through the day, and Elu said there were grapes high in the trees that remained edible.

The stores at the longhouse had been stockpiled to sustain two men, not five. Once there they would have to hunt frequently, and fruits and vegetables would be in short supply, unless they could convince the nearby Svakaran villagers to part with some of theirs.

“That will be your job,” Rathburt said to Torg.

Besides their weapons they packed little gear, other than a litter that had been built to haul the impressive stack of skins collected and tanned by Bard, Ugga and Jord during the fall. Torg bore the Silver Sword, Ugga his axe, and Bard his spear and the bow and quiver of arrows abandoned by Jord. Rathburt carried no weapons except for his oaken staff. Elu had a pair of daggers. His spear still was buried in the trunk of the tree, and they left it there. Perhaps anyone who found it would take it as a sign that the hut was not to be disturbed.

“Other than our pretty faces, the skins are the only things we’ll have to trade in the markets of the Whore City,” Bard said.

“I have no desire to see Kamupadana,” Rathburt said, “but if you want to go, I certainly won’t try to stop you.”

“I likes the Brounettos,” Ugga said.

“Aaah
 . . .
I see,” Rathburt said. “Beer and Brounettos. What an excellent combination. And what hair color do you favor,
Torgon
?”

Torg reached over and pinched Rathburt on his shoulder near the base of his neck. Rathburt yelped.

“Some jests are beneath even you,” Torg said, threateningly.

“Sorry
 . . .
sorry,
” Rathburt said. “Some people have
no
sense of humor.”

“I doesn’t understand,” Bard said. “Does Master Hah-nah not like Brounettos?”

“Drop it!” Torg said, and he grumpily lifted the arms of the litter and strode into the woods. The others shrugged and followed.

Soon they passed into a thick grove. Torg stopped and gazed eastward, the opposite direction of the longhouse. The others watched him, puzzled. Finally Ugga could stand it no more.

“What is it, Master Hah-nah? Do ya see something? I would dearly like to know.”

Torg emerged from his reverie. “Do you not hear their song?”

“Whose song?” Rathburt said.

“The giant pines. Jord’s pines. They sing to us.”

“I hears nothing,” Ugga said. “Do ya hear the pines, Bard?”

“I hears nothing but the crunching of our boots. But if the pines call to Master Hah-nah, I would not be surprised. Maybe it’s Jord saying goodbye. If so, I hopes it’s not forever.”

“Me too,” Ugga said.

“Elu has seen the pines,” the Svakaran said. “His tribesmen believe they’re possessed by powerful spirits that protect Bard and Ugga. If not for the pines, our warriors would have raided their hut and stolen their skins.”

“We’re not helpless to defend ourselves, nor is Jord,” Bard said.

“Elu has never seen Jord,” the Svakaran said. “Only Bard and Ugga, though Elu didn’t know your names until we were introduced. Our warriors call you Man and Bear.”

Torg raised an eyebrow.

“If ya know of us, ya would have to know of Jord,” Ugga said. “She’s with us lots of the time. She likes to pretend she’s a helpless woman, just to have fun. But when she’s angry, she scares even Ugga and Bard.”

Elu shrugged.

“Jord played that pretend game with me,” Torg said. “But she has revealed herself. And I will not be so easily fooled again.”

“All your strange talking is scaring me,” Ugga said. “Without Jord around, this place feels creepy, almost like we’re trespassing.”

But Rathburt wasn’t quite finished. “When we were in the hut, you mentioned these great trees,
Torgon
, but I was too weary to pay much attention. Now you’ve made me curious. You know how much I adore trees. How far are they from here? Do we have time to see them?”

“We’ve dallied too long already, thanks to me,” Torg said. “We’re hardy men and can endure the cold, but I’d prefer to arrive at the longhouse before dark
 . . .
if possible.”

“There are more reasons to arrive before dark than just the cold,” Elu said. “Beasts roam the wilds that are new to Elu’s land, nameless things that can shrivel the stoutest heart. They come from the south in search of prey and take the unwary back with them.”

“How do ya know all this, little guy?” Ugga said.

“Elu still has friends in the village. The Svakarans know these mountains and foothills better than anyone. Some stray as far as Lake Ti-ratana. When they return, they speak of the sorcerer’s slave hunters.”

“In that case, I’ll visit the trees another time,” Rathburt said. “I have no desire to be captured by the sorcerer, especially if he is as powerful as
Torgon
says he is.”

“I don’t know
how
powerful he is, but I do know I’m in no position to find out right now. Enough talk. Let us travel in silence for a spell. Elu, you lead the way.”

“Yes,
great one
,” the Svakaran said. “But Elu must warn you that parts of the trail will be treacherous, especially with this new snow hiding all the roots and fallen leaves.”

Then Elu strode through the trees. Because of the pines and hemlocks, the canopy was dense enough to hold back a portion of the previous night’s snowfall, and in some areas it was only about knee-deep to Elu, and barely above the ankles of the larger men.

The Svakaran expertly avoided the thicker pockets of snow. By noon they had traveled more than a league, seeing and hearing no humans or animals, not even a rabbit or woodpecker. When they stopped near a tumble of boulders for a rest and some bites of turkey, Elu scampered into the woods to search for grapes.

“The forest has a strange feel—as if a hidden menace is abroad,” Rathburt said.

“I sense it too,” Torg said. “Also a feeling of being watched. But I don’t believe we’re in immediate danger. Perhaps what we sense is the evil of Invictus. His grasp expands every day.”

“I hope to never meet him, if his strength is so great that he can change the mood of a forest with his will,” Rathburt said.

“I agrees with Rad-burt,” Ugga said. “I’ll leave In-vick-tuss for Master Hah-nah to handle. Or Jord, if she ever returns. Could the Bitch defeat the Sore-sir-err, Master Hah-nah?”

“I’m not sure what she can do,” Torg said. “She’s beyond my knowledge. But there’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you and Bard since we first met. Why do you call her ‘the Bitch’?”

Bard laughed. “Ugga and I has heard the whores call her that, when she’s not around. They say, ‘Ya are grown men. Ya can do what ya want. Don’t listen to what the Bitch says. Come in where it’s warm and lay beside us.’”

“When we told Jord, she laughed,” Ugga said. “She liked it when we called her that.”

“Aaaah
 . . .
now I understand. It appears Jord, whatever she is, does have a sense of humor.” Torg winked at Rathburt.

Just then, Elu emerged from the trees carrying an armful of frozen grapes.

“There aren’t many left. The bears are eating up the last of them. Elu had to climb very high to find these.”

“Bears?” Ugga said. “If ya see one, let me know, little guy. I loves bears.”

“Elu doesn’t like bears. They want to eat Elu. But he will tell Ugga if one comes near.”

The crossbreed seemed pleased.

After a cold meal they continued their march. To their right loomed the Mahaggatas, which the company skirted along a bony trail that meandered toward the southwest, rising for hundreds of cubits along gentle slopes and then tumbling into coves. The litter became a severe annoyance, and they cursed it like a hated enemy. But the skins were too valuable to leave behind.

Everyone except Rathburt, who complained of a sore back, took turns hauling the litter. Even Elu managed it for short distances, proving he was far stronger than he looked. Though the temperature was well below freezing, they became sweaty and overheated, and at times two or more of them had to lift the litter over rocks and fallen trees. Other than Rathburt, they were not lacking for physical strength. But the litter was awkward, frustrating, and just plain heavy.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give it a try?” Torg said to Rathburt during one of his turns. “A little exercise might do you some good.”

Rathburt rubbed his lower back. “It’s an old injury that never fully healed. But you, Bard and Ugga are so big and strong. It’s as if you were made for this task.”

“You’ve missed your calling,” Torg said, his heavy breaths casting balls of white mist into the frozen air. “Instead of a gardener, you should have been a jester. You could make a fortune in the courts of Nissaya.”

“Don’t forget that Elu is strong too, and he isn’t lazy like Rathburt.”

“Watch yourself. I’ll turn you back into a vine.”

The Svakaran didn’t find that the least bit funny. He pounded his small fists together and then stomped ahead.

“It appears you are a poor judge of talent,” Rathburt said to Torg. “Apparently I’m not much of a jester, after all.”

After Elu disappeared around a bend, Torg counted fifty paces before the Svakaran returned.