Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (32 page)

TORG’S VASI master used to say, “History repeats itself.”

As Torg ran across the plain, he saw the truth in those words. For the second time in his long life, a druid queen’s diversion had fooled him. The first time was during a war long ago with the Stone-Eater Slag. This, the second time, might cost him Laylah and everything else that mattered.

Eight centuries before, Bhojja the great mare had aided him, carrying him to the lair of the druid queen. Now he again heard the thundering of hooves. When he stopped and turned, she was there beside him, her jade coat glistening.

“I know you, in all your forms,” Torg said, “and I dared to believe you still lived.”

The mare pranced forward, her green eyes full of adoration. She flung her huge head from side to side, whinnying excitedly, and then bent down her neck, inviting him to mount.

Torg leapt aboard.

Without further encouragement, Bhojja galloped as fast as the wind, her hooves sparking on the grass.

Soon, they came upon the Daasa. All ten thousand were stampeding eastward, making a sound that resembled thunder. Bhojja stopped and allowed them to surge past her, some passing within a finger-length of her muscular barrel. At first Torg was confused, but then he understood.
They were things of rage drawn by rage. And the druids, or whoever led them, knew they could bend the Daasa’s will in this direction.

Torg urged Bhojja forward, but she resisted. Then to his surprise, she veered around and followed the Daasa.

“Wait! Wait!” Torg shouted. “I care naught for these beasts. Take me to Laylah. Only she matters. Only
she.
”

Bhojja would not stop.

When Torg tried to leap off, a strange gravity pinned him to her back. For a moment he grew wild with frustration, drawing the Silver Sword from its scabbard as if to pierce her. But then he heard growls and screams and looked up to see the Daasa crashing into the fiends, tearing and rending in a rage unlike any he had ever witnessed. At first it appeared the Daasa would destroy the enemy with ease, but then the demon joined the fray, cracking her whip in a series of blurring snaps, each one striking a single Daasa and blowing it to pieces.

In the brief moment it took Bhojja to reach the demon, Pisaaca had killed more than a hundred. It was possible the demon could kill them all, if given enough time. But Torg saw Bhojja’s mind and realized he still had a duty to perform before he could attempt to rescue Laylah.

All around the wagon, fighting and bedlam reigned. The Daasa battled both the fiends and the mounted wolves, winning with relative ease. But they were no match for Pisaaca, who rained death upon them as she wailed.

The winged demon was so preoccupied with killing, she seemed not to notice when Torg stood on Bhojja’s back and leapt onto the seat of the wagon. This incarnation of Pisaaca was more than four times his height, the top of his head barely reaching her knee, but her immense size was more illusion than grandeur. If the demon had known who stood beneath her and what weapon he wielded, she would have fled back to the Realm of Undeath. But now it was too late to escape.

Torg drove the Silver Sword into the meat of Pisaaca’s thigh, twisting it and tearing it out sideways with such force that he almost severed the leg.

The demon screamed—loud enough to be heard leagues away—and then collapsed on her wounded leg and tumbled off the wagon.

Torg leapt after her, landing feet-first on her chest and slashing at her throat—once, twice, three times, until her head fell away. Crimson flames and a putrid cloud of fumes burst from the base of the demon’s neck, and she ceased to exist, both in this realm and her own.

Fleeing the deadly smoke, the trolls dropped the wagon tongues, but they managed only a few strides before the Daasa engulfed and mangled them.

With the threat of the demon removed, the Daasa had their way with the enemy. Like Torg, they were immune to the
undines
. The fiends were mindlessly vicious, but they lacked the Daasa’s size and strength. Recognizing they were outmatched, the wolves and Mogols fled, riding northward toward the nearest ridge of mountains.

Bhojja came up and urged Torg to mount, but there was still one last thing for him to do. He climbed back into the wagon and freed the captives, hacking apart their metal chains. Afterward, they stared at him with pleading eyes.

“I know naught who you are or where you are from, but I cannot remain with you,” Torg said. “You must find your own way. There are no safe places left in the world. If I were you, I would go south and search for haven in the mountains.”

One elderly woman dared to challenge him. “You would leave us here with these monsters?” she said, pointing a wrinkled finger at the Daasa. “It would be more merciful if you slew us with your sword.”

“They have no interest in you and will not harm you,” Torg said. “As for mercy, it has become too precious a commodity these days. I cannot afford it.”

Then he leapt onto Bhojja’s back and headed west in a rush.

JĀKITA AND URBANA each grabbed one of Laylah’s arms and dragged her toward the trees. The druids closed around them, forming an impenetrable wall, and then moved off with surprising speed. Whether her companions were spared or harmed, Laylah could not tell. The druids were almost twice her height, blocking her vision of everything but the ground at her feet and the uppermost portions of the trees. The volume of their humming dazed her senses.

They marched for more than a league before the trees thickened considerably. Though it still was early afternoon on a sunny day, it became as dark as dusk in the forest, its canopy closing above them like a thatched roof. Laylah did not recognize these trees, though it seemed obvious they were some form of evergreen because of their straight trunks and sharp scent. They reminded her of pines or spruce, but they were many times taller and broader than any she had seen before, and their skin-like bark was as dark as kohl. A spongy layer of fallen needles covered the ground, choking off plant life other than a few odd-looking ferns and some clumps of moss that glowed as if phosphorescent. Brown deer mice scampered near her feet, their pointed noses twitching. Nutcrackers and crossbills flew in startled bursts just overhead. Black-furred squirrels leapt from branch to branch.

Somehow the massive army of druids managed to pass by without damaging the surroundings. As ugly and evil as they were, Laylah sensed that they treasured this forest and anointed themselves its keepers.

One time she stumbled over a fallen branch and nearly fell.

“Keep your feet, your horrid little bitch,” Urbana said, digging clawed fingers into the flesh of Laylah’s arm. “There’s a long way to go. If you don’t keep up, I’ll kick your curvy ass all the way there.”

“I musssst say, Urbana, you have a way with words,” Jākita said. “Don’t you agree, ssssister of the king?”

“Except for my brother and his servant Mala, she is the most hideous creature in the world,” Laylah said, glaring at Urbana. “No matter what else occurs, you will not survive this.”

The ancient vampire hissed, but the Warlish witch remained amused.

“You have spirit, Laaaaylah,” she said. “Perhaps, when all is said and done, you and I will become friendssss.”

Laylah permitted herself a brief smile. If the witch believed that Laylah was becoming compliant, it might work to her advantage later—when Torg came for her, as she knew he would.

Then they all heard the far-off wail of the demon.

“The Torgon has destroyed Pisaaca
 . . .
as planned,” Jākita said, just loud enough for Laylah to hear. “Come to me,
Maranavidu
 . . .
and we’ll plaaaay together, you and I. It will be sssso much fun.”

WHEN THE DRUIDS had swarmed around Laylah, Lucius tried to force his way toward her, but one of the monsters had grabbed his shoulders and heaved him away. His friends had also been shoved aside. Ugga had put up the biggest fight, but eventually even he’d succumbed.

Then as quickly as they had come, the druids withdrew. In a matter of moments the forest was empty, including the bodies of the druids slain in the initial battle.

Now, only the carcasses of several Daasa remained, lying motionless beneath the trees. Mysteriously, they had reverted to their “nicey” selves, which made their deaths all the more difficult to bear. Elu went to each one and bowed.

When he returned, he was shaking his head, his eyes glazed. “They gave their lives for the pretty lady.”

“We’ve got to follow her,” Bard said, as he retrieved arrows from the ground near the sundered shaft of his spear.

Lucius noticed that the handsome trapper was moving more slowly and with less grace than he had when he had first met him at Kamupadana.

“Without Torg at our side, pursuit is meaningless,” Lucius said, his face flushed and swollen. Even his fingers felt thick. “The result would be the same. The wizard is her only chance now.”

“Maybe just Bard and I should go. We are the strongest,” Ugga said. “We don’t want the pretty lady to get herself killed.”

Rathburt strode forward and stood in the center of their small group. “I remember Dhutanga as a strange and dangerous place, full of darkness and evil. If any of you tried to follow, you would eventually become lost and would never find your way out. The forest would not allow it. So you should not follow. Laylah was right. The rest of you belong with the Daasa. Your fates are tied to theirs. Besides Torg, there is only one among us who should go after Laylah
 . . .
me.”

Rathburt’s brashness seemed to stun the others.

“If ya know the way, then show us,” Bard said. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”

“Master Rathburt is right,” Bonny said to Bard. “Our place is with the Daasa. It’ll take magic to free Laylah, the kind only Rathburt and Torg possess.”

Lucius tried to protest, but Rathburt interrupted. “Go! And take the rest with you. Find Torg and tell him what happened. Find the Daasa and lead them to Jivita. The White City needs you.”

Then Rathburt strode into the thicker trees, leaving the others behind—all except Elu, who refused to abandon his friend and sneaked up behind him.

Lucius waved his good arm in frustration. “Doesn’t anyone listen to
me
? I thought I was in command.”

“I listen to you, sweety,” Bonny said. “But sometimes even the leader has to pay attention when wise words are spoken. Come, Lucius. Our fate lies elsewhere.”

She jogged off, followed by Ugga and Bard.

Lucius was the last of the foursome to leave the forest, though several times he glanced back, seeing nothing now but the trees.

RATHBURT HAD amazed himself with his uncharacteristic bravado. Usually, he would have been the first to argue that Laylah was doomed, and it would be foolish to follow her. But when she’d yelled at him earlier, something inside him had come to life. The truth of her words had stung his pride—and awakened his courage; at least, what little he harbored.

Plus, he knew things his companions did not. The forest of Dhutanga was like no other, which included Java and much of the woodlands surrounding the Mahaggatas. In Java you were more likely to encounter an evil monster or beast, but in Dhutanga, the trees themselves were evil, as if they had minds of their own. They were similar to the Hornbeam, feeding off ruin and despair in nearly the same way that normal trees fed off sunlight and soil.

The
Badaalataa
had shied from Rathburt’s power. Would the trees of Dhutanga do the same as the deadly vines? For his entire life people had bullied him, but for whatever reason, plants respected and even feared him. That’s why he had told Lucius to flee. Rathburt was the only one who could bear this dreadful place, except of course for The Torgon, who could bear anything, always.

So when Elu appeared at his side, Rathburt was stunned.

“What do you think you’re doing, you rascal? Didn’t I tell you and the others not to follow? Have you gone deaf as well as dumb?”

“Elu did not want you to go alone. If there is fighting, he can help you.” He drew the Tugarian dagger from his boot and held it aloft. In the murky darkness its blade shone like a torch.

“Put that away!” Rathburt hissed. “Don’t let the trees see that weapon. Not even I will be able to control them if they believe you might use it on them.”

“The
trees
?” Elu said, obviously confused.

Rathburt knelt and whispered in his companion’s ear. “These trees are like the Hornbeam, only stronger and many times more numerous. Do
not
anger them.”

Elu looked around, his eyes fearful. “As you say.”

Rathburt knew from years of experience that Elu would be too stubborn to turn away. It was no use arguing with him. It would only delay him further. So he sighed deeply, turned and continued westward, with Elu in tow. The trees became even taller and denser, making it difficult to see and breathe. The few animals they encountered were small and timid: a peculiar menagerie of squirrels, mice, and birds. But eventually they saw larger things with glowing eyes and shiny white fangs that loomed in the shadows. Rathburt finally was forced to call on his staff to guide them—and when he willed it, blue streams of sparkly energy obediently rained from its head, lighting the forest and fending off the beasts that lurked nearby.

Elu stayed close, causing Rathburt to chuckle ruefully. He had never seen the little warrior so cowed.
I wasn’t joking, Elu
,
this forest is dangerous. I wish you hadn’t followed me. Then again, I’m glad you did, my dear friend.