Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles

by Melvin, Jim

  Meanwhile, Rathburt had collapsed onto his side and was breathing heavily, grasping his chest. Torg knelt down and placed his hand on his forehead. His fellow Death-Knower felt feverish.

  “I’m old, Torgon,” he managed to say.

  “You may be old, but that’s not what’s causing this problem. I’m sorry, Rathburt, I should have seen this before. The reason we’re struggling is all around us. The trees are assaulting us—and you worst of all—for they perceive you as the greatest threat among us.”

  Torg placed his hand on Elu’s muscled shoulder. “I don’t like it, but I’m going to have to take you up on your offer. We need to reach the river before nightfall. In full darkness, the strength of the trees will increase beyond our ability to resist.”

  AT ANY OTHER time in his life, Rathburt would have been humiliated by Torg carrying him. But now he was beyond caring. Rathburt suddenly understood that he was under assault, not just from one tree but from thousands of hectares of forest. Like the druids, the trees fought in a unified group—an interconnected organism with many bodies but a single mindset.

  He could sense the trees groping inside his mind in an attempt to crush his will. They could not move about like druids, strangling and rending. They even lacked the ability—or desire—to trip with a root or crush with a fallen limb. The selfishness of their species, their desire to cover all of Triken, drove their single-mindedness. Eons ago, they almost had achieved their purpose, but now Dhutanga was all that remained of their kind.

  Within their borders, they tolerated only what benefited them: the druids, who were the shepherds of the forest; the great apes, which ate the pesky shrubbery that managed to take root in the fallen needles; a variety of birds and rodents, which helped to control the insects; and several species of wild cats, which kept the birds and rodents under control. Otherwise, not much else lived in Dhutanga, except near its outer borders and along the banks of the Cariya River, where a variety of monsters, animals, and ordinary plant life still thrived.

  The trees were encouraging Rathburt to rest . . . to lie down and take a nap. A long nap—until his body decomposed and enriched the soil. Could anything be more pleasant? Rathburt always hoped he would die in his sleep, now more than ever. Here was the perfect opportunity.

  Rathburt fell asleep in Torg’s arms, entering a darkness rivaled only by death, his dreams sweet with relief but sour with surrender.

  LAYLAH COULD feel it too. Though it was a relief to be shielded from sunlight, her legs were rubbery, her mind drugged. Each step was more difficult than the last. Elu leaned against her more and more, and Torg was right. The little guy was heavy. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could walk on her own, much less continue to support the Svakaran. Plus, she was finding it increasingly difficult to see what lay beyond.

  She guessed it was late afternoon above the canopy, but here on the ground, there was only darkness, speckled with trickles of light that provided scant visibility. Even Torg appeared to be weakening. She wondered if it might be a good idea for all of them to lie down and take a rest. Surely, they had earned some sleep after all their travails.

  Use Obhasa, you idiot!

  The words tore through her mind like a bolt of lightning on a black night. She found that she had stopped walking altogether and was leaning against a tree, with Elu lying at her feet, snoring. Torg stood a few paces ahead of her, still holding Rathburt but otherwise not moving, except for a subtle sway.

  How many times do I have to say it? Are you deaf? Use Obhasa!

  Stop it. That hurts.

  I’ll make it hurt a whole lot worse if you don’t do what I say.

  All right. All right. Just let me rest a little while longer.

  Use it!

  Just to make the annoying voice stop, Laylah grasped Obhasa firmly in her right hand and willed it to glow. As always, it responded to her with gusto, lighting up the forest for a hundred paces or more in all directions. A pair of Tygers with drooping fangs had been stalking them just a stone’s throw away. The sudden light startled them, and they snarled and fled. Laylah cried out. In a blur of motion, Torg dropped Rathburt and his wooden staff, drew the Silver Sword, and spun around. But his eyes were glazed, as if he had been rudely awakened from a deep sleep.

  Torg staggered toward her, growing stronger with each step, and he grasped Obhasa just beneath where her hand also gripped the staff. The two of them forced their wills into the ancient ivory, and the staff grew brighter, illuminating the forest as far as the eye could see.

  “Ossajahi no. Nibandhissatha ce, mayam sevissaama aggim. N’atthi samsayo. (Leave us be. If you persist, we will use our fire. Do not doubt it),” Torg said to the trees.

  It probably was her imagination, but the trees seemed to shiver.

  In response, Elu sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Elu fell asleep. He is sorry.”

  Even Rathburt stirred. When he stood, his own staff glowed, as if taking its cue from Obhasa. “I feel much better now that I’ve had a nap,” Rathburt said. “As the Vasi masters like to say, ‘shouldn’t we be moving on?’”

  IT HAD BEEN a close call. They probably had been standing there for just a few moments, but it would not have taken much longer for all of them to succumb. If Laylah hadn’t used Obhasa when she did, they would have become easy prey for the Tygers or druids. Torg had ventured into Dhutanga several times in his life, but never while so weary. And the last time he had fought a druid queen, Bhojja had been there to carry him out. The great mare somehow was immune to the will of the forest.

  “The trees fear us, as they should,” Torg said to the others.

  “They no longer desire to kill us,” Rathburt added. “They only want us to leave.”

  “Elu agrees with the trees. He also wants to leave.”

  “How far do you think it is to Cariya?” Laylah said. “I wouldn’t mind washing this sticky stuff out of my hair and clothes with some nice, fresh water.”

  “I would guess no more than three leagues,” Torg said. “But the druids move faster than we do, and they are probably past the fire and on our trail already. We must hurry.”

  “And what do we do when we reach the river?” Laylah said. “What I saw of Cariya didn’t look swim-able.”

  “Despite the evil of the forest, a few people manage to live along some portions of Cariya,” Torg said. “The will of the forest does not extend to its banks, on either side. If we are lucky, we’ll find a craft.”

  “But even if we get a boat, isn’t most of the river just a series of rapids?” Rathburt said. “We’ll be drowned.”

  “There’s no good way out of here,” Torg agreed. “But Cariya is my choice. And look on the bright side, Rathburt. If we die, at least it’ll be fast.”

  “Too fast. I’d rather die in my sleep,” Rathburt said, remembering his dreams. “I’ll leave the painful deaths to people like you.”

  Torg laughed. “Tell that to the Warlish witch you stabbed in the chest.”

  Rathburt had no response.

  VEDANA CONTINUED to watch from above.

  She had seen the four of them come to a complete stop, as if they had all day to lollygag about. It had taken a massive dose of her strength to jolt Laylah into using the wizard’s ivory staff, but at least it had gotten them going again—and none too soon.

  Several thousand druids had breached the dragon fire and were marching toward them with alarming speed. The demon believed the foursome would reach the river before the druids, but it would be close. Still, there wasn’t much else she could do. There were too many druids to use efrits. And beneath the canopy, the forest was too dense for Bhayatupa to be of any help. All Vedana could do now was get the Mogols into position so that Torg would find the boat soon after reaching the river.

  “Mother, may I go to them?” came a sweet voice from a bubble of darkness floating in the air beside Vedana.

  The raven cawed, the disturbance annoying it. “How can you possibly help?”

  “I can guide him,
Mother,” Peta said. “That’s what I do.”

  The raven considered this. “I will be listening to every word you say. If you reveal one word of my plan, I will shut you up for good.”

  “I want your plan to work as much as you do,” Peta said. “I am Father’s best chance. I promise to do just enough to help him escape Dhutanga. Besides, it will be wonderful to breathe fresh air again. Except for a brief moment just before my . . . death, I have not done so for thousands of years.”

  “You will still be blind,” Vedana said, taking pleasure in the proclamation. “You will always be blind.”

  “I know, Mother. But until you entered my life, it had never caused me pain.”

  40

  LAYLAH NOTICED that the forest was thinning. Soon she no longer needed to use Obhasa to light their way. She also began to hear the distant sound of rushing water. But almost at the same time, she heard the druids approaching from behind.

  “We have to move faster,” Laylah said.

  “I hear them too,” Torg said. “Hurry . . . everyone! I believe they are many.”

  For once, it wasn’t just Rathburt who was slowing them down. Elu was struggling.

  “I might have to stay back and fight them,” Torg said. “The three of you should go on ahead.”

  “No,” Laylah shouted, with enough force to rustle the needles at his feet. “I will not allow you to leave us again. We succeed . . . or fail . . . together.”

  “She’s right,” Rathburt said. “Your wandering off is what got us into so much trouble to begin with.”

  Torg started to argue, but then Laylah noticed Elu pointing at something. “Who is that?” the Svakaran said.

  Laylah turned. A young girl with hair the color of sand and a fluffy dress that seemed to glimmer stood nearby. She beckoned them with her tiny hand and then scampered toward the river.

  “Dhiite! Dhiitaake!” Torg shouted. “We must follow. She will show us the way.”

  The wizard ran after her, with Laylah and the others in pursuit. The girl’s surprise appearance gave them a burst of energy, and they ran faster than before. Laylah had no idea who the girl might be, but she remembered Torg using those same words when they had come too near Arupa-Loka. Was this child some kind of demon? An ally of Vedana? If so, why would she want to help them? But Torg seemed to know her, which was enough reason for Laylah to follow.

  No matter how fast they ran, the girl maintained the same distance from them. She angled down the side of a steep hill and raced along a path that weaved through a misty bog, then down an even steeper hill laden with crusty boulders. They followed in her footsteps, and Laylah learned to trust the girl’s judgment. Every decision she made seemed to be the right one. Without her guidance, they would have struggled mightily to traverse this area of the forest. But why and how would a little girl in a pretty dress know so much about Dhutanga? Appearance-wise, she could not have been more out of place.

  Then the girl slipped through a wall of trees and momentarily was lost from view. Torg followed her and also disappeared. Laylah was next. Beyond the trees was another steep cliff. The river—wider and calmer than when Laylah had first seen it—lay fifty cubits beneath them.

  Torg knelt in front of the girl and hugged her. Was he crying? From her vantage point, Laylah couldn’t tell. But she could see the girl’s face—as beautiful as a Warlish witch’s—with full red lips that curled upward at the corners. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, yet her aura seemed almost ancient. Her eyes were closed, and she was hugging Torg with strong little arms. When she opened her eyes, Laylah was startled; they were pure white, with no iris or pupil. Obviously she was blind. But then how could she have led them so well?

  “The druids come,” the child said. “We have to jump.”

  “Jump?” Rathburt said. “I’m not jumping.”

  “It’s not far, Rathburt,” the girl said. “And the water is deep.”

  “How do you know my name? Are you a demon?”

  “She is many things,” Torg said, standing up and towering over the girl. “But our enemy, she is not. If she says jump, we jump. Besides, what other choice do we have? The druids are upon us.”

  Torg grasped the girl’s hand and then Laylah’s and stepped to the edge of the precipice. “Hold on tight to Obhasa,” he said to Laylah. Then: “Are you ready, ladies?”

  The girl giggled. Laylah found it charming.

  They jumped.

  Laylah hit the water hard. It was stunningly cold but plenty deep, and Torg never let go of her hand. They surfaced soon after, taking big gulps of air. The current was strong but not a problem for good swimmers. A moment later, Laylah heard a splash and twisted her head in time to see Rathburt and Elu coming to the surface. Rathburt had lost his grip on his staff, but Elu reached out and grabbed it. Even injured, he was tougher than the slumped wizard.

  “What now?” Laylah said to the girl as they floated down river.

  “There’s a canoe up ahead,” she said. “A couple of Mogols guard it, but they’ll run when they see us.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I know many things.”

  Then she broke away and swam for the far bank, clambering onto a flat rock. The others followed, relieved to be out of the icy water. Laylah was pleased that quick dip had washed the troublesome goo almost completely out of her skin and clothing. Rathburt coughed and spluttered as though he had nearly drowned.

  “You’ll find them just around the bend,” the girl told Torg. “They’ve been ordered to run without a fight.”

  “Ordered? By whom?” Laylah said.

  Suddenly, a fist-sized rock whizzed past Laylah’s head, missing her by less than a finger-length. Hundreds of druids had gathered on the other side of the river, their strange, round eyes aflame. They picked up more rocks in their bony fingers and hurled them with terrific force.

  “We must reach the canoe,” Torg said. “Stay behind me . . . and cover your heads.”

  The wizard drew the Silver Sword from the scabbard on his back and sprinted forward. Just around the bend, they came upon the Mogols sitting near a large canoe that was tied to a boulder at bow and stern. When they saw Torg’s approach, they hooted and ran.

  Torg cut both ropes with his sword, and the five of them leapt into the boat, Laylah in the bow, then Rathburt, Elu, the girl, and Torg. Laylah took one of the paddles, Torg the other. They shoved off and entered the current, rocks whizzing all around them. One struck Torg on the top of his head with such force that it split in two, but it didn’t seem to bother the wizard. A few moments later, they were racing down the river, paddling hard and riding the current. The druids could not keep up.

  “Here we go!” the little girl said, waving her arms excitedly.

  SOON AFTER THEY left the druids behind, the river calmed and broadened, though its current remained swift. Peta watched Torg, who sat in the stern, steer them down the middle of the watercourse. Until then, the air temperature had been warm enough to dry their clothes and keep them from shivering. But as dusk fell, a chilly breeze raced along the surface of the water in the same direction as the current.

  To Peta, however, being cold was just one of an array of exquisite experiences. She was alive again—and even though the majority of her essence still resided in the Realm of the Undead, a significant enough part of her was incarnated into the Realm of Life. And it felt magnificent. Now she fully understood why Vedana was so driven to find a way to enter this realm permanently. The glory of it defied description. Though her eyes were dead and saw nothing but darkness, her other senses reveled in every sensation: the sound of bubbly water, the smell of fresh air, the touch of lumpy bark, the taste of warm saliva.

  It was all so fantastic.

  She smiled.

  “I’m hungry,” Peta heard Rathburt say. Of all of them, he was the funniest, always moaning and complaining, but in a manner that she found attractive.

  Peta reached between her legs and found a canvas b
ag in the bottom of the canoe, knowing, of course, that it would be there.

  “Here’s some food,” she said, tapping Elu on the chest after sensing that he had turned and was watching her. She and the Svakaran were almost the same height, though he was far heavier and more muscular.

  “Thank you, missus,” Elu said timidly.

  “My name is Peta,” she said, “and yours is Elu. I know you well.”

  Peta could hear Elu searching through the bag. “There’s salted fish, cornbread, hickory nuts, and berries,” the Svakaran said. “Lots and lots.”

  “Then hand it over,” Rathburt snapped. “In another moment, I’ll be dead of starvation.”

  Peta threw her head back and laughed.

  VEDANA WATCHED Peta from the branches above, listening carefully to every word the little girl said. Vedana had the strength to remove her from the Realm of Life at any time. The ghost-child’s abilities as a soothsayer were unrivaled in Triken’s history, but her other powers were minuscule in comparison to a master demon’s. Vedana could toss her around like a doll, if she so chose. And if Peta betrayed her now, she might do just that.

  After all, a bargain was a bargain. Vedana had invited the ghost-child’s karma to enter her unborn child given life from Torg’s seed, but only as long as Peta did what she was told when she was told. Peta had agreed, knowing better than anyone that the future of Triken hung in the balance. Vedana’s plan was selfishly devised, but it was the only one with any legitimate chance of unseating Invictus from his throne.

  The way Peta had guided the foursome to the river had impressed Vedana. Though the girl was as blind as a Mahaggatan bat, she had not once stumbled or tripped, despite a wicked labyrinth of trees, roots, rocks, and bogs. Peta knew, in advance, the location of most every impediment. In some ways her knowledge was as immense as a god’s, but she had limited ability to control or change what she foresaw.