Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles

by Jim Melvin

  “I often wonder that,” she shouted into the rushing wind.

  Bhayatupa laughed. The sound was disconcerting, but no longer as eerie as it had first seemed. “You Asēkhas consider yourselves great. But compared to me, you are Adho Satta. Do you doubt it?”

  His words offended her, replacing her original fear with rising irritation. “What you consider low is not what I consider low. Compared to you, we are physically puny, that is true. But Asēkhas are loyal and honorable, attributes that are beyond your arrogance.”

  Bhayatupa sneered. Smoke puffed from his nostrils. Traces of it blew against her face, causing her to sneeze. “Loyalty . . . honor . . . only words. Time is the true master. All else pales before it, but you pale far more than I. Your lifespan is but a single breath compared to mine.”

  “I have confessed my puniness. What more do you want, O Exalted One? Does it please you to denigrate your victims before you eat them? Tell me where you are taking me . . . and why.”

  “Such insolence! Your bravery is impressive for one so tiny.”

  “Tiny? Yes. But not helpless. Even when unarmed, an Asēkha does not lack weapons. I am strong enough to drive my fist through the flesh of your breast and punch a hole in your heart. Do you doubt it?”

  In reaction to Sōbhana’s sudden threat the dragon panicked, realizing that he had unknowingly left himself vulnerable. He stopped in midair, rearing like a horse, his great wings beating frenetically as he reached for her with massive talons, hoping to pluck her from his breast before she could attack.

  “Whoa,” she said. “Relax! Relax!” And then she began to laugh. “If I had wanted to destroy you, I would have done so without warning.” And then she sighed. “There is only one desire left to me, Dragon. I wish, somehow, to rescue my king.”

  Bhayatupa warily resumed his flight, but Sōbhana sensed a change in his demeanor. Now there was at least a smidgeon of respect. “I have underestimated you,” he finally admitted. “Mogols, witches and ghouls have not your . . . substance. That is a good thing. I am pleased . . . because . . . I have a task for you that will benefit both of us if you are successful.”

  Bhayatupa landed at the opening of a cave near the peak of a bony mountain. He removed her from beneath his scale and set her down on the stone. A nasty wind blew, causing Sōbhana to shiver in her nakedness.

  “Tell me, then, what is this task?” she said, staring up at the humongous creature.

  “Your desire is my desire. I want to help you rescue the Death-Knower.” Then without saying more, he sprang into the air and flew eastward, faster than the wind.

  Sōbhana watched the dragon diminish to a crimson speck. She was exhausted and vulnerable. She had no choice but to enter the cave, which obviously had been Bhayatupa’s intent.

  The mouth of the cave was five times her height and at least that wide. Just a few strides within its opening, the temperature warmed considerably—to above freezing, anyway. She followed a long passageway that descended into the bowels of the mountain. Cold water dripped from the ceiling onto her bare back and buttocks. It was unpleasant, to say the least. The stone beneath her feet was smooth and slippery. She pressed her hand against the wall of the tunnel, which was oily and wet as if slick with sweat.

  The passageway narrowed slightly, growing so dark she began to stumble. But as she walked farther, the darkness lost its intensity. Eventually she saw a glowing light in the distance.

  The tunnel emptied into a cavern large enough to swallow the entire temple of Bakheng. The hollow was lighted with hundreds of torches. Sōbhana gasped and pressed her arms against her bosom. Piles of treasure—magnificent to behold—were neatly arranged on the expansive stone floor. Near where she stood was a miniature mountain of gold and silver coins. Another pile contained daggers, swords, and scabbards adorned with jewels. Farther back were belts, buckles and sandals, all exquisitely designed. Still farther were rings, necklaces and bracelets. There were five tall trees constructed entirely of black pearls, and ten silver coffins encrusted with fist-sized diamonds. There were suits of armor made of solid gold, along with axes and clubs, helmets and shields, hauberks and gauntlets. There were plates and goblets, silks and tapestries, crowns and thrones.

  A vast sea of treasure shimmered in the torchlight. And it was well maintained. Polished and dusted. By someone. Or something.

  Walkways wound between the arrangements, and Sōbhana wandered along them, still naked, her jaw slack. She was a warrior, not a princess obsessed with baubles, but even she was allured. The entire room sparkled.

  She found clothing in the back of the cavern. Amid a stack of finery, she chose a pair of tight-fitting silk pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. Both were black, which was to her liking. She picked up a pair of boots made of black leather with wool insoles, and, finally, a coat of dark fur. The coat was too extravagant for her tastes, but she took it for warmth.

  Off to the side, something caught her eye. A gold crown laden with diamonds, rubies and pearls seemed to beckon to her. She placed it on her head. It fit perfectly.

  She chuckled. If the dragon took her to rescue Torg, she’d look good in doing so.

  There was a sudden movement at the edge of her peripheral vision. She spun, crouched defensively, and then somersaulted forward, grasping a sword from a pile of weapons. Its straight, double-edged blade was longer and heavier than she preferred, but it would do. The crown somehow stayed on her head.

  Standing at the entrance to the cavern were a dozen large men, their faces colorfully painted. They held long wooden spears and wore deerskin ponchos and furry moccasins. Despite the cold, their hairy arms and legs were bare.

  Sōbhana recognized them as Mogols, the brutal enemies of Nissaya who roamed the Mahaggata Mountains. Tugars despised them, hunting them down whenever they could. They were formidable warriors, but no match for an Asēkha. Sōbhana was already planning her mode of attack. Weapons lay all about her, and she knew how to use each one.

  But the Mogols did not strike. Instead they lowered their spears and knelt before her. A lone woman hurried forward, bearing a tray of dried meat, roasted nuts and blue grapes. The woman laid it at Sōbhana’s feet, then respectfully backed away.

  The Mogols spoke a language unlike any Sōbhana could recognize. She tended to avoid such learning—and her Vasi master often had chastised her for this. Torg could have spoken fluently with them. But her King could do many things others could not.

  In the corners of her mouth, Sōbhana suddenly felt something warm and wet. She realized it was her own saliva. She had eaten little for several days, and the fare placed before her was enticingly arranged. She bent down, eyes trained on the Mogols, and grabbed a chunk of meat, swallowing it whole. She stuffed a handful of nuts and grapes into her mouth, chewed once or twice, and devoured them too. She wasn’t concerned about being poisoned. Tugars were immune to such things. In a rush, she ate everything on the tray.

  The Mogols remained bowed—except for the woman. She approached Sōbhana and removed the now-empty serving dish.

  Sōbhana still held the sword. She rose to her full height and glared at the gathering. “Do any of you speak the common tongue?”

  There was a long, silent pause.

  Finally a sinister voice echoed from far back in the tunnel.

  “I do.”

  The speaker came forward.

  It was no Mogol.

  A female demon entered the torchlight. “How beautiful you are,” she said to Sōbhana. “Bhayatupa has chosen a worthy bride. I wouldn’t mind a taste of you, myself.”

  “What?” was all Sōbhana managed to say.

  The demon sashayed forward and stopped just a few strides away. She had chosen to appear as a mature woman who was not particularly well-preserved.

  The demon laughed at Sōbhana’s bewilderment. “I speak in jest,” she said, continuing to cackle. “Lord Bhayatupa asked me to keep you safe until he returned. I told the Mogols you were their god’s bride-to-be. Your ch
oice of that crown completed the effect. His last wife wore the same one, more than ten thousand years ago.”

  “Wife?” Sōbhana said.

  “Child, surely you know that dragons prefer human wives,” the demon said. “It’s all symbolic, of course. They don’t actually have sex with them. That would be a little difficult.” She cackled again. Small puffs of gray smoke sprang from her ears, as if her insides were burning.

  “Come no closer,” Sōbhana said, but her arms trembled, and she could barely retain her grip on the heavy sword. “I will slay you. I swear it.”

  The demon laughed so hard, she almost fell.

  “Why do you torment me?” Sōbhana said.

  “You are so . . . innocent. So . . . precious. My dear, how can you slay someone who does not live? Do you not know me?” For a moment, Vedana’s eyes went pure white. Then their color returned to a semblance of normalcy. “Ahhh . . . I see that you do not. At least, not fully. Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Vedana, mother of all demons, and I am ancient beyond all others. Even Bhayatupa is young compared to me. Your master—the Desert Peasant—knows me well. But, alas, he is not here.”

  At that, Sōbhana’s countenance changed. She lowered the sword until its tip pricked the stone at her feet. “Does . . . he . . . live?” she whispered.

  Vedana seemed to consider this for a moment, then she smiled wickedly. “You’re in love with him.”

  “We all love him,” Sōbhana responded, too quickly.

  “Not I, though he will be of use to me. But that is not what I meant. You love him. Ha! Don’t you know, child, what would happen to you if he fucked you?”

  “Shut your disgusting mouth,” Sōbhana said, suddenly enraged. She hoisted the sword above her head. “I will smite you where you stand.”

  Through all this, the Mogols remained bowed. But their chins were raised, and they watched attentively. Vedana took one step back and waved her arms overhead. There was an explosion. A gout of smoke followed. When Sōbhana was able to see clearly, the demon had disappeared.

  Sōbhana scrambled into the passageway, past the Mogols. None attempted to thwart her. She left the cave and entered the bitter cold that encased the mountaintop. Now that she was fully clothed, it did not affect her so drastically. Vedana was nowhere to be seen. The demon, for reasons of her own, had vanished.

  Sōbhana calmed herself by investigating her surroundings. There was a wide stone balcony outside the cave’s mouth that provided plenty of room to move about. But beyond the platform the mountain fell steeply in all directions, its sheer stone walls coated with an ultra-slippery glaze of ice. It would be near-suicide to attempt a descent. The cave was a prison as secure as Asubha. The dragon must have transported even the Mogols here.

  She turned back toward the cave. The Mogols were there, still bowing. The servant woman gestured to her, enticing her to come out of the icy wind. Sōbhana lowered her head and sighed. She was at Bhayatupa’s mercy.

  She walked to the edge of the precipice and shouted into the abyss. Her voice echoed for leagues. “Damn you, dragon! Why did you strand me here? Time is precious. He might already be dead.”

  The wind rose in response. Within its roar she heard the demon’s laughter. Vedana was out there, somewhere. But now she would not show herself. Was the demon’s bravado overstated? She didn’t seem to fear Sōbhana, but did Vedana fear the sword Sōbhana now wielded?

  Sōbhana looked more closely at the weapon, which was plain but heavy. Its double-edged blade gleamed like freshly polished silver, and its hilt was wrapped with a material that resembled blackened leather secured with metal cords. The warrior in her recognized it as a special weapon, despite its simplicity, and she decided to test it. She let out a piercing cry and drove a cutting edge onto the side of a granite boulder, expecting the sword to snap. Instead it buried itself more than a finger’s width into the frozen stone, and then slid back out with the ease of a dagger in flesh. This was a special sword, all right. Such a blow would have broken even a uttara.

  Despite her sudden movement, the Mogols did not flinch. Sōbhana found herself admiring their discipline. Though they lacked proper training, Mogols were respectable fighters. The best of them could hold their own against a Jivitan rider or a Nissayan knight. Of course, they were no match for a Tugar, but who was?

  She returned to the cavern and began to make a bed out of a pile of clothing. The servant woman approached her, shook her head and took Sōbhana’s hand, guiding her even deeper into the cave. They arrived at a room about the size of an ordinary bedchamber. It was lit by a single torch. A plump mattress on the floor, two low wooden tables and a simple chair filled the rest of the room. Food, wine, wooden utensils and a ewer of cool water were arranged on one table. On the other lay a basin of steaming water, a cake of soap probably made from oils and tree bark, a comb carved from balsa and several wool towels. Before leaving the chamber, the servant drew a heavy curtain across the opening.

  Sōbhana was blissfully alone.

  When had she last bathed? Other than an occasional dip in the icy waters of the Ogha River, it had been almost two months. Her hair was greasy and knotted, and she shuddered to think what her underarms and private parts must smell like. She laid the sword on the mattress, removed her clothes, and took a long time cleaning herself. Then she laboriously combed the knots out of her black hair, which had grown a finger-length past her shoulders.

  Afterward she spread some nutty-tasting butter onto a slice of crusty bread and ate it along with dried meats and grapes. She drank wine, which was potent and flavorful. This made her wonder how the Mogols had managed to get fresh provisions up to the mountaintop, but drowsiness muddled her thoughts. Her life had become filled with too many questions and too few answers. She lay down on the mattress with the sword at her side. Before she slept, she tried to make sense of Vedana’s foul words.

  Don’t you know, child, what would happen . . .

  Sōbhana thought she knew: It would be paradise. What did the demon understand that Sōbhana did not? She remembered asking Chieftain Kusala—it seemed like several lifetimes ago—why their king never shared a tent with a woman. Kusala had made it clear that Torg was dangerously sensitive about the subject.

  Vedana had hinted at something. What could it be?

  Sōbhana didn’t believe it was simply a demon’s trick.

  Finally her mind emptied of thought. Exhaustion overcame her, and she slept deeply, the sword beside her like a cold lover.

  Sōbhana spent more than a week in the cave, rarely leaving the small chamber that had become her bedroom. She ate, slept and waited. Several times a day the Mogols served her food and wine, and they also provided her with clean water and towels whenever needed.

  On the ninth night of her captivity she had a wonderful dream. Torg was kissing her on the mouth. How delicately he caressed her lips. How deliciously he entwined his sweet tongue with hers.

  In her dream she was naked, and he was upon her, breathing on her neck, licking her breasts, nibbling her belly. And then his beautiful face pressed against her pubic hair, and his tongue went between her legs.

  It was glorious.

  And all too real.

  When she opened her eyes, she recoiled. She was indeed naked, but Vedana was the one between her legs, not Torg. The demon’s tongue was as long as a snake and as black as coal. It swirled frenetically.

  Sōbhana kicked in disgust.

  Vedana tumbled to the floor. Unscathed, the demon bounced up and laughed wickedly. “Why did you stop me? You were enjoying it so much.”

  Sōbhana reached for her sword, but it was gone. The demon must have put some kind of spell on her. Otherwise the weapon could not have been removed from her side.

  “You want to fight, my beauty?” Vedana growled. “I want that too. It makes it so much sweeter.”

  The demon glowed, her flesh translucent. Sōbhana could see Vedana’s bones and bulbous heart, and it made her feel faint. Vedana was too strong
, wielding magic that stole the fire from her limbs. The demon rushed toward Sōbhana, intending to defile her.

  When all seemed lost, Bhayatupa came to her rescue. A torrential fire blew through the cave, consuming the curtain of her small chamber. The demon seemed to fear the dragon flame, and she withdrew, snarling in frustration.

  “Your future has been foreseen,” she said to Sōbhana. “You would have much preferred me to the suffering that awaits you.”

  Bhayatupa’s deep voice boomed down the passageway. “Vedana! If you have harmed her . . .”

  The demon stepped back. This time instead of a smoky explosion, a circular black hole opened in the wall, and Vedana leapt into it. As quickly as it had appeared, the hole vanished.

  Sōbhana stood naked in the chamber, wiping tears from her eyes. She fell to her knees. Then darkness claimed her, taking her to the stronghold of nothingness.

  Sōbhana inhaled deeply. A curious aroma entered her nostrils, a wondrous combination of honey, spices and sweet smoke. Visions flowed into her mind, wave upon wave, endless in number. Civilizations rose and fell. Brave warriors lived and died. There was glory and shame. Courage and fear. Beginnings, middles, and endings.

  When she opened her eyes she lay at the mouth of the cave. Bhayatupa’s head was a finger-length away, and a tendril of smoke oozed from his nostrils to hers. She sat up so fast her face bumped against the dragon’s enormous snout.

  Bhayatupa withdrew and chuckled. “I see you have returned to the living,” he said. “Are you pleased?”

  The memory of the demon’s perverted act flooded Sōbhana’s awareness. She spat, and then stood up, leaning shakily against the stone wall. “I . . . don’t . . . understand.”

  “That does not surprise me. You are Adho Satta. There are forces at work beyond your comprehension. But The Torgon knows and understands. I brought you back for his sake, not for yours.”