Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles (32 page)

But none heard him say it.

Before leaving the scene of the battle, Torg tended his companions’ wounds. The gash on Ugga’s forehead was the worst of the injuries. Torg cauterized it with a tendril of blue-green flame from the tip of his right index finger, stopping the bleeding and eliminating the chance of infection. The others stared, wide-eyed and silent.

“What should we do with the carcasses?” Ugga said to Torg. “It will take too long to bury them, and burning could attract evil eyes.”

“Let them rot. The forest will consume them at its leisure.”

“I likes that idea,” Bard said. “We need to go back quick as we can. If the wolves have ruined the skins, I’ll come back here and kill them again.”

Elu obviously thought that was funny and wrapped his arms around the trapper’s leg.

“When you’re finished hugging Bard, can we get back to our business?” Rathburt snapped.

“Rathburt is right, we should delay no longer,” Torg said. “The wolves have been routed, but there are other enemies in the forest more dangerous in the dark than in the light.”

Elu let go of Bard’s leg and began to inspect the remains of the Kojin. Sparkles of purple light still spun from the creature’s wounds. The beast’s chest was thicker than the Svakaran was tall. Elu poked at it with his dagger.

“Be careful, little guy,” Ugga said. “It might still be dangerous.”

Torg approached. “Stand back, all of you.”

None questioned his order, and they retreated down the slope in a rush.

“
Vanadevataayo
! (Gods of the forest!)” Torg said in the ancient tongue. “
Paapam imam visodetha
. (Purify this evil.)”

Torg lifted the Silver Sword high into the air and whipped the blade down upon the back of the Kojin’s neck. The bulbous head fell away, and a conflagration of purple light raced along the ground. But the remnants of the ogress’ power proved impotent.

Torg rejoined the others. “The Kojin is no longer dangerous. Now even the crows can feast on her flesh without fear.”

“Always the showoff,” Rathburt mumbled, though he said it this time with little conviction.

After retracing their path, Bard was delighted to find the skins unmolested. Torg had been right. The wolves were interested only in their prey. But after they restarted their trek, the litter regained its status as an enormous nuisance. At this pace they wouldn’t reach the longhouse until deep into the evening. Their only consolation was that the sky remained clear.

Now Torg was wary of using his powers to clear paths. The litter slid on top of the snow relatively well, but the men’s feet dug deep. The whiny Rathburt wondered aloud if they would arrive at all.

“At least we won’t freeze,” Ugga said, trying to cheer Rathburt. “We have enough of the skins to keep an army warm.”

At dusk they stopped briefly near a running stream, drinking their fill of the frigid water and eating what remained of their food. The quarter moon already had reached midpoint in the darkening sky. Stars winked on, one by one. The air became as icy as a demon’s breath. But there was no wind, not even the slightest breeze, and the men—clad in thick cloaks and boots—did not feel the cold.

“How much farther now?” Torg said to Elu, his patience withering along with the rest of them. “It feels like we’ve been walking for weeks.”

“If there were no snow and wolves and skins, Elu could make it to the longhouse in a short time,” the Svakaran said. “But as slow as we’re going, it will be a while yet. A third of the night will be gone before we arrive. And that’s if there is no more trouble.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen someone yet,” Rathburt said. “Not that Elu’s people make a habit of running around in the middle of the night in the freezing cold, but there usually are scouts about, and I’d have guessed they’d be especially vigilant after receiving the news that the Great Ogre,” he nodded toward Torg, “is in the vicinity.”

“We should have met someone by now,” Elu agreed. “There are more than a thousand in the village.”

“What about the wolves?” Bard said. “Maybe the people are afraid to go outside.”

“That could be,” Torg said. “Regardless, we have only two choices: to continue on or to stop and make camp. But I’m not certain we dare risk a fire. On a night like this, the smoke will cling to the ground like a fog and attract any number of nuisances.”

“Nuisances?” Rathburt said. “There are worse than nuisances about. I, for one, vote against a fire. Let’s keep walking. Once we reach the longhouse, we can build a nice fire inside and sleep till noon.”

For the first time, all agreed with Rathburt. Ugga grabbed the litter while Torg and Bard went ahead and dug a path through the thigh-deep snow. Elu was sent out to look for any signs of a fellow Svakaran, but he reported discovering no other humans out on this night.

Later on, they heard tormented cries. At first they mistook them for snow owls, which make haunting sounds that carry long distances on still nights. But the men became convinced that animals had not made the noises. There were words among the screams.

“Are these woods haunted?” Torg said to Rathburt.

“You believe in ghosts?” the fellow Death-Knower said.

“Of course. I’ve spoken with them.”

“I wants to speak to no ghosties,” Ugga said, his small eyes darting about. “Ya talk to them, Master Hah-nah. I will stand behind ya.”

“Ghosts are nothing to fear. Unlike demons and ghouls, they lack power over the living. But even if they were dangerous, none would dare approach while I am with you.”

“I’m glad ya are here,” Bard said. “The ghosties, demons and ghoulies give me the shivers.”

“Do you fear nothing, Master Showoff?” Rathburt said.

“I fear desire and aversion. Greed and suffering. But I don’t fear ghosts. Does that answer your question, Master Complainer?”

“Do you fear
fear
?” Elu said.

“A wise question,” was Torg’s response. “I wish Sister Tathagata were here. She could answer better than I.”

“Who is that?” Ugga said. “I heard ya say her name before.”

“A very wise woman. The wisest of women. Even Jord could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Could you learn from her?” Rathburt sneered. “Or are you beyond her teaching?”

Torg did not respond.

The quarter moon had set by the time they arrived at the longhouse. The men covered the litter with several tarps and then went inside, the ghostly cries following them all the way to the door. The weary travelers lit candles and started a fire. They ate jerky and dried apples and then opened the first barrel of beer. But on this rare occasion, they didn’t drink very much. Exhaustion overcame their desires, and they cast themselves upon furry blankets and slept like dead men.

In the morning
the men woke amid a cacophony of stretches and groans, their legs and backs sore from the previous day’s exertions. All except Torg and Rathburt had cuts and bruises that Torg had not had time to heal.

Torg discovered that the longhouse was divided into three rooms: a main area for cooking and sleeping; a storage area for food and supplies; and a stable housing three goats and nine chickens, which had produced several dozen eggs while Elu and Rathburt were away.

The Svakaran built a fire in the hearth, heated slices of salted pork in an iron skillet, and scrambled eggs in the pork fat, tossing in onions and herbs. Then he spread hickory-nut butter onto slices of dark bread. Even Rathburt got into the act, brewing a pot of black tea.

The men sat on the floor around the fire and spooned the eggs out of wooden bowls. The meal was not large enough to satisfy Ugga, but it worked wonders for the rest of them. Afterward they went outside to relieve themselves, and when they returned they drank more tea.

“There’s enough food here for two men to survive the winter, but not five, especially the way Ugga eats,” Rathburt said. “We’ll need to go to the village and barter. Either that or
Torgon
can just scare them into giving us what we need.”

“Let’s try bartering first,” Torg said.

Elu, however, was in no mood for jests. “The village is not far, but it will take until early afternoon to reach it and until dark to return. We should leave as soon as possible.”

“What’s the hurry?” Bard said. “There’s enough food to last awhile. Shouldn’t we rest a few days before we go tromping ’round again?”

“Elu is worried,” the Svakaran said nervously. “Something is wrong. We should have seen someone. These woods are not usually so empty.”

“Your people are hiding from the
great one
,” Rathburt said. “Cowering in their huts, afraid to breathe. Maybe they fear he will stomp into their village and burn it down like an angry dragon.”

“I feel it too, Elu,” Torg said, ignoring Rathburt’s sarcasm.

“Did the wolves come this way?” Ugga said.

With that, Elu threw on his deerskin coat and raced out the door. “There are
children,
” he screamed.

Without hesitation, the others followed. Each brought their weapons, a bag of jerky, and a single skin over their cloaks to have something to trade if the opportunity arose. They planned on returning to the longhouse by nightfall with more supplies. The weather remained cold and clear, but if a sudden storm arose, they would have to make the best of it.

Without the litter to slow them down, Torg felt as if they were flying. Torg, Ugga, and Bard took turns churning trenches through the deepest drifts of snow. By the time the sun was in the middle of the sky, they were within a league of the village.

That’s when they saw the first bodies—or what remained of them. Their small company had stopped to rest, and Rathburt was leaning against a tree when he looked up and screamed. An arm that had been torn off at the shoulder dangled from the crook of a limb. The thumb of its hand was missing, which somehow magnified the gruesomeness.

Elu screamed too, but for a different reason. The dismembered arm seemed to confirm his worst fears.

They found the head a dozen paces away, resting upright on a bank of snow. It stared at them, mouth agape. No tracks surrounded it, and there was little blood, except for a trail of red dots that led to the real carnage. At least three corpses lay beneath the trees, disemboweled and shredded. Elu ran to the tattered bodies.

“Are they
all
dead?” Rathburt said. “Did the wolves slaughter the entire village? There were good people here,
Torgon
.”

They rushed on. When they reached the village, what they saw stunned even Torg. They stood on a hillock and observed the carnage from above. There had been no fires—they would have noticed the smoke long before they approached—but many of the huts had been battered to pieces, and misshapen bodies lay strewn about, some of which were as small as babies. Elu charged down the hill, heedless of the others’ cries. Torg, Ugga and Bard followed, with Rathburt trailing behind.

Most of the victims had been disemboweled—the work of black wolves. This became even more evident when they found the carcasses of half a dozen wolves, felled by arrows and spears. But the destruction of the huts and other structures made it plain that the Kojin had played a major role in the slaughter. Against such a fiend, even a thousand Svakarans had been helpless.

Elu came to a sudden halt, sat on the ground, and took a corpse in his arms.

Torg knelt beside him. “Who?”