Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (27 page)

TWO DAYS AFTER Rati’s battle with the witches, the greatest ground army ever assembled began its ponderous march from the Golden City to Nissaya, announced by drums as large and clamorous as Tugarian
Bheris
. Hundreds of thousands of civilians cheered from the streets of Avici, but only Invictus and a few servants were permitted outside the southern gates.

Invictus stood on a golden platform erected on the steep eastern shore of the Ogha River while the army marched beneath the bridge on the opposite shore along a cobbled road that eventually led to Iddhi-Pada.

Mala, of course, was at the head of the procession. Thanks to Invictus, the ruined snow giant was fully healed from his encounter with Bhayatupa, and he now rode on the back of a massive elephant. The beast, which wore a thick iron collar at the base of its neck to protect its flesh from the searing heat of Mala’s chain, stood fifteen cubits at the shoulders and weighed more than fifteen hundred stones. Still, the Chain Man looked overly large for the elephant to carry a long distance. In fact, this ride was only for show. In a league or so, the general would dismount, feed his elephant to the Kojins, and walk the rest of the way.

“My liege,” shouted Mala, his booming voice heard for more than a league. “I beg your permission to lead your army into battle.”

“It is
your
army, General Mala,” Invictus said, his voice equally pervasive. “Lead it where you will.”

“We march on Nissaya, my liege. And after we topple the fortress, Jivita will follow.”

“Go forth and make me proud. But wait one moment. I have a gift for you.”

Invictus stepped off the platform and floated slowly to the ground, his golden robes flowing like wings. A dozen newborn servants rushed to him, carrying a special weapon made by Invictus’ own hands: a golden trident three times as long as he was tall and weighing twenty stones. Despite its size, Invictus lifted the trident with ease and strolled to the river’s edge, halting just a step from its hungry currents.

“When I was a young boy, I nearly drowned at this very spot. At least, that is what I have been told, for I remember it not. The concept of my dying seems rather absurd now.”

Then he strode forward, as if to complete the act he had barely avoided a century before. But instead of being swallowed by the uproar, he stepped lightly onto the surface of the water and walked across unharmed. If Mala was amazed, he didn’t show it. Invictus came to the foot of the elephant and handed his general the magical trident.

“I have named it Vikubbati. You know what it is for,” Invictus said, before returning to his platform on the far bank.

On cue, a cave troll thundered toward Mala, bearing a massive war horn made from the hollow leg bone of a long-dead dragon. The ruined snow giant took the horn, put it to his lips, and blew a single blast that was heard as far north as Kamupadana and as far south as the borders of Java. In response, the elephant sprang forward on its columnar legs. The drums began anew, and the army of Avici started its slow march.

Behind Mala came representatives from the various races, each carrying the banner of Avici: a yellow sun outlined in red on a white field. The human-sized creatures were mounted on golden destriers. These included a newborn soldier named Augustus, who had replaced the traitor Lucius as Mala’s second in command; a pirate from Duccarita named Maynard Tew who had provided Kilesa with a steady supply of Daasa slaves; a Warlish witch named Wyvern-Abhinno who represented her kind in the stead of Queen Jākita; a Stone-Eater named Bunjako who was the eldest son of Gulah; a vampire named Broosha who was a daughter of Urbana; a Pabbajja named Gruugash who was the chief overlord of the homeless people; a Porisādan chieftain named Tohono who rode a black mountain wolf; a demon named Uraga who chose to be incarnated as a man with the head of a boar; a wild man named Wooser who had come from the foothills of Kolankold; a ghoul named Angont who was large for his kind and especially odiferous; and an ogre named Hrolma who had successfully begged forgiveness for the rude behavior of the now-deceased Olog.

Several other beasts, too large to ride a horse, strode alongside the mounted creatures: a cave troll named Orkney who could tolerate sunlight because of the magic of Invictus; a Kojin named Harīti who was rumored to be infatuated with Mala; a druid named Druggen-Boggle who was one of the few of his kind possessing a will of its own; and a dracool named Arula who had been a longtime rival of the traitor Izumo.

Five thousand golden soldiers were next to appear, the first of thirty-two legions. The newborns marched ten abreast in cohorts of one thousand each, their golden helms and rectangular shields glistening in the morning light. Included in each legion were two hundred horsemen. Drummers and trumpeters announced their approach.

Invictus waved at them and smiled. He was so proud. Each one of the newborns had been magically bred from a single drop of his own blood—with the help of the Daasa, of course. And Invictus knew exactly what role they would play in the siege of Nissaya. How
interesting
.

After that came one hundred cave trolls hauling supply wagons as large as houses. Five thousand Mogols mounted on black wolves followed. Among all of Invictus’ allies, none had been more loyal than the savages from Mahaggata. Invictus loved them and waved enthusiastically.

Five more legions of infantry came after the Mogols, along with more supply wagons hauled by oxen and asses. After that came ten thousand druids, five thousand wild men, and five thousand Pabbajja. From then on, the rest of the golden soldiers—one hundred and sixty thousand strong—were interspersed with several hundred pirates from Duccarita, one hundred Stone-Eaters, one hundred Warlish witches accompanied by one thousand hags, and one thousand each of demons, ghouls, ogres, and vampires. Three more Kojins also joined them, along with a variety of nameless monsters, some of which had to be kept in cages to prevent them from attacking the lesser among them.

All told, two hundred thousand marched toward Nissaya, stretching five leagues from front to back. Though Mala had left Avici long before noon, it was almost midnight before the tail of the great army exited the southern gates. The last in line was a pair of three-headed giants, each thirty cubits tall and bearing iron hammers as heavy as trees. By then, Invictus wasn’t there to witness their passing, having long since retired to his chambers in the bowels of Uccheda. But he knew they would be there, because he had planned the entire thing.

Fewer than ten thousand of Mala’s army remained to protect Avici, but Invictus wasn’t concerned. If anyone dared attack his city while the Chain Man was elsewhere, it wouldn’t matter. After all, the army was just a plaything. He didn’t really need it to accomplish his purposes. But it made things more fun—and kept Mala entertained, as well.

A lot was happening that held his interest. He so enjoyed not being bored.

TWO DAYS AFTER Mala’s army departed Avici, Jākita-Abhinno landed on the pinnacle of Uccheda aboard a dracool. Jākita, queen of the Warlish witches, was surprised to find the rooftop of the tower unguarded, as if the sorcerer feared nothing.

“Would a grown man wielding a longsword fear children armed with goose feathers?” the dracool asked her.

Jākita felt unnerved in the bright sunlight, wondering if she had made a mistake in daring to approach the king. “What do weeee do now?”

“Wait,” the dracool responded coolly.

Eventually, a small portal hissed open, and Invictus strode onto the rooftop, wearing yellow robes that matched the color of his shoulder-length hair. His eyes were brown spheres floating in a sea of disturbingly flawless white. Though he made no threatening gestures, Jākita found herself backing away from the sorcerer and unexpectedly transforming into her hideous state.

“Do not fear,” the sorcerer said, in a tone that sounded boyish and amused. “I have not come to harm you, Jākita-Abhinno. But I
am
curious as to your motives. Come with me to my bedchambers, and we will discuss them.”

When she entered his room near the top of the tower, Jākita willed herself to change back to her beautiful persona. Instantly her scent filled the room with intoxicating perfumes. She assumed the sorcerer would want to have sex with her, and she started to disrobe, but Invictus only smirked.

“Do not flatter yourself,” he said, licking his lips with his thick red tongue. “Warlish whores have never been my type. But it might be that we both can profit from a partnership. At least, I am willing to listen. What have you to offer, other than your body?”

“I have the ability to deliver your ssssister to you
 . . .
unharmed.”

“Why should I believe that you possess this
ability
, when others, far greater than you, do not?”

“Of all your loyal sssservants, only I have been with Vedana when she spied on Laylah and The Torgon. Only I know where they have been and where they are going. Even youuuu, my king, have been blinded. Your grandmother told me herself that she has cast a veil over your eyessss to discourage you from following their movements.”

Jākita could not gauge the sorcerer’s reaction. He stared at her with a blank expression for what seemed like a very long time. When he finally responded, the room grew wickedly warm, causing the witch’s sweet-smelling armpits to become drenched with sweat.

“It is true that I have had difficulty in locating her. And I am unaccustomed to difficulty.”

“My liege, pleasssse do not punish me for my bold words. I meant no offense. I come to you for one reason only. The wizard is the sworn enemy of my coven, and it is my utmost desire to destroy him. I need but one thing from youuuu: protection from Vedana. If she finds out that I plan to betray her, she will vanquish me. Only you have the power to prevent her. Will you shield me from the vengeance of the demon?”

Invictus laughed loudly—and then seemed to converse with himself.

“Grandmother, grandmother
 . . .
do you inspire so much fear? Aaaah
 . . .
but you are a treasure. I must admit that I miss your company
 . . .
” Then he gazed into Jākita’s eyes. “I can accommodate your request. But first, tell me your plan.”

As she spoke, the sorcerer’s smile widened.

After the witch departed, Invictus remained in his upper bedchamber near the top of the tower, sealing the door with a demonic spell that was simple in design but invincible because of the strength of his magic. Mala himself could not have pounded his way inside.

Invictus sauntered to the far side of the room, approaching a folding screen with an obsidian frame and golden silk panels that was carefully arranged to conceal one of his prized possessions. He stepped behind the screen and approached his toy: a basin of yellow glass balanced on a pedestal of white crystal.

He leaned over the basin, which was filled with a thick liquid that captured his reflection like polished silver. He smiled at himself, unendingly proud of his boyish handsomeness and yellow hair.

All people should look like me
.
And one day, all people will.

Waving his hand over the basin, his fingertips exuded a yellow glow that caused the liquid to erupt with color. His experimentations with scrying were relatively new—at least when compared to Vedana’s. His first attempts occurred when he was a teenager searching for Laylah after the death of their parents. By then his relationship with his grandmother had—how would you describe it?—soured. Invictus had come to discover, in ever more frustrating fashion, that scrying was one of the few dark arts he could not easily master, requiring a delicacy that eluded him. If he used sheer power to force the liquid to reveal its visions, it steamed up and evaporated. But when he tried to be gentler, the visions often became too hazy to decipher.

Over the decades his proficiency had improved, at least enough to make it useful. He could see to the far corners of the land, peeking into bedrooms and spying on private affairs, from kings to peasants, saints to monsters. All brought him a perverted sort of pleasure. But all eventually bored him.

Almost
everything
became boring—even the approach of the war that so tantalized Mala, though Invictus found it amusing that the Tugars, Nissayans, and Jivitans believed they had any real chance of defeating him. Mala’s army was greater than they realized, containing hidden surprises that not even the quick-witted Death-Knower had foreseen. But even if they somehow conquered the army, what did it matter? Invictus was a thousand times more powerful than all of them combined. He could destroy everyone with a sweep of his hand. For these reasons, he preferred to remain in Uccheda and work behind the scenes. It would be too easy—too
boring
—to force himself on his enemies, unless it reached a point where he would have no other choice.

In reality, boredom was his greatest foe. Not even acts of torture and sexual perversion, which he performed on an almost daily basis to keep his mind alert, would interest him forever. He was a god, after all. And gods are easily distracted.

Blessedly, a few things still engrossed him—his obsession with Laylah being one. Everything about his sister amazed him. Her beauty and vitality were unrivaled. Her magic was far more powerful than she realized. And then there was the matter of the
efrit
that Vedana had so cleverly planted in her belly. How exquisite! An obstacle he couldn’t overcome? Marvelous! But, he had to admit, also frustrating. It had prevented him from achieving the one goal that inspired him beyond all others: an heir
 . . .
a son. Someone so much like him that no one would be able to tell them apart.

Invictus had to admit that the Death-Knower also enticed him. There was something about the wizard’s smugness. The Torgon had dared to call Invictus a “spoiled and wicked child.” Was it true? Invictus wasn’t sure—and not being sure was interesting.

Now the Death-Knower wandered in the wilderness with Laylah, wreaking all kinds of havoc. It must have been the wizard and his sister who’d killed the
Mahanta pEpa.
Few other beings, besides him, wielded that kind of power.

Invictus had sensed the Great Evil’s demise, but it would have been obvious to him anyway. The Daasa he himself had imprisoned in Avici had also been released from the
Mahanta pEpa
’s sway, and they had gone on a rampage that had taken several days to quell. Invictus could only imagine what must have happened to the slave traders in Duccarita. The dracools he had sent to investigate still hadn’t returned. And for reasons he did not comprehend, his attempts to magically peer within the walls also had met with failure. Was Vedana so strong that she could veil an entire city?

To make matters even more annoying, Invictus had surmised that Vedana’s special
efrit
wasn’t designed to harm Laylah if she actually enjoyed it—which meant, of course, that his sister and the Death-Knower were destined to become lovers during the course of their adventures. The pesky wizard would be just her type: a moralistic do-gooder
 . . .
ha! The absurdity of it tantalized Invictus.

Regardless, he was intent on recapturing Laylah. It wasn’t that he really loved her or even cared about her. But he was concerned that she might get herself killed, which would seriously hinder his quest for an heir. The wilds contained many dangers, not all of which were under his immediate sway. None were any threat to
him
, of course, but Laylah remained vulnerable.

During the days that followed her second—and far more recent—escape from Avici, Invictus had attempted to locate Laylah with the art of scrying. He was convinced he had come close several times, but when he tried to focus on a specific location, the vision blurred and vanished. One time he seized on the image of a waterfall, and behind it, a small cavern containing several shadowy shapes. But that, too, fizzled away.

Still, the Warlish witch had supplied him with valuable information, making him aware that his grandmother was playing a role in his inability to pinpoint Laylah’s whereabouts. But why? Was it simply Vedana’s unquenchable thirst for revenge? Surely she knew that harming him, in any permanent manner, was beyond her—or anyone.

He was forced to acknowledge, though, that his failure to perfect the art of scrying proved one thing: He actually had weaknesses. Unlike his grandmother, who existed more in the world of the ethereal than the physical, he could not travel great distances without the help of a Sampati or dracool, his spirit remaining trapped within his flesh. In time, he would find ways to overcome this, but it would take longer than a mere century. He was, after all, still very young.

Also, there was that nagging incident involving the eclipse. In his entire life, even as a toddler, Invictus had never felt so vulnerable. Immediately, his scientists had gone to work on the problem, and they promised the sorcerer that another eclipse of the sun wouldn’t occur in the skies of Avici for several hundred years. During that time, there would be frequent lunar eclipses, but these would have little effect on him.

It was a good thing that none of his enemies had known about the solar eclipse. Otherwise, they could have killed him then and there. If not for Mala, he might have died, anyway. Dear Mala. The ruined snow giant was the most loyal of all his servants, even more so than the Mogols.

Invictus’ thoughts returned to Jākita and her plan.

“It just might work,” he said out loud, causing the magic liquid to ripple. “Pisaaca is an especially nice touch. I will make sure that grandmother is unaware of Pisaaca’s role.”

Providing the Warlish whore with protection from Vedana had been simple. Now he would sit back and wait for the witch to deliver. He looked into the basin, saw Jākita soaring over the Gap of Gamana on the back of a dracool, saw Urbana flying alongside her—queen of the witches and queen of the vampires, together. How
interesting
!

Then the liquid momentarily clouded, and when its clarity returned, a new vision appeared. Invictus stared into the wrinkled face of King Henepola X. The old man was searching for him again, believing himself strong enough to spy on a Sun God. This was too easy. If Invictus weren’t such a “spoiled and wicked child,” he might have felt sorry for the fool.