Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (4 page)

TO THE OTHERS the moon was a nuisance, providing too much light for prying eyes. But to Laylah the golden orb had returned to its former glory, nourishing her with strength and vitality. The wrongness she felt before the onset of the eclipse had vanished. For the first time in a long while, she felt whole.

Thanks to the combined magic of the moon and Obhasa, Laylah grew steadier with each step. As Lucius had claimed, the mountain trails
were
treacherous, blanketed with exposed roots, jagged rocks, and muddy bogs. Low-hanging branches slapped at their faces. Sudden drop-offs appeared without warning. But Laylah thrived in this environment. Her years with the Ropakans had taught her how to survive in the mountains, whether day or night. And she still remembered these skills instinctively.

Torg led the way. Elu also was capable—the diminutive Svakaran had proven to be a master of the wilderness—but the wizard was the only one among them who had wandered in the mountains this near Duccarita. Ugga and Bard appeared comfortable in any setting, and even whiny Rathburt was a capable woodsman. But Lucius encountered all kinds of problems. He was an army general used to open terrain. In this bony and vertiginous world, he was out of his element. Laylah felt sorry for him.

When they reached a dip in the trail sheltered by tall pines, Torg suddenly stopped. In the oppressive darkness, the wizard’s eyes glowed like coals.

“Do you hear them?” he whispered to his companions.

Rathburt, of course, was the first to respond, his voice overly loud. “What are you babbling about now, Torgon? Hear what?”

“The taunts of the demons.”

“I doesn’t hear any demons,” Ugga said worriedly. “And I doesn’t want to. Where are the demons, Master Hah-nah? Are they somewhere near?”

Laylah grasped Torg’s arm. “I don’t hear them, either.”

To her surprise, Lucius spoke next. “Arupa-Loka is not far from where we stand. If we turned south, we could reach the Ghost City before dawn. Is that why you hear them, Torg?”

But the wizard didn’t answer.

Which, of course, annoyed Rathburt.

“For Anna’s sake, someone
please
slap him!”

“Be quiet, Rad-burt!” Bard said. “If Master Hah-nah needs to think, let him think.”

“I
think
he’s gone crazy,” Rathburt responded.

“She watches us,” said Torg, in a voice so deeply eerie that Ugga yelped.

Elu tapped the wizard on the leg. “Who watches us, great one?”

Torg’s facial muscles contorted. Laylah stroked his back to try to calm him, but he didn’t respond.

“Beloved,” Laylah whispered. “You’re frightening us. Come back.”

Not knowing what else to do, she gently touched the side of his face with Obhasa’s rounded head. Unexpectedly, a burst of energy leapt from the staff and sizzled between Torg’s eyes.

The wizard tore the shaft from her hand with frightening strength.

Lucius drew his
uttara
from its scabbard, but Laylah said, “No!”

The wizard held the staff aloft and shouted words from the ancient tongue.

“
Dhiite
!
Dhiitaake
!”

Blue-green energy spiraled skyward, crackling as it ascended and leaving a column of smoke in its wake. A flock of bats sprang from the trees and flew in wild circles around the smoke, which resisted dissipation despite a strong breeze.

Torg froze again, but his strange facial contortions continued.

“He’ll kill us all,” Laylah heard Rathburt whisper.

She couldn’t bear to see the wizard in such distress. Despite his fey mood, she flung herself against his chest. “Torg, I’m here. Come back to me!”

The others watched with relief as Torg lowered the staff and gazed at her face. His body relaxed, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry, my love
 . . .
”

“Beloved
 . . .
” she purred.

Elu hugged Torg’s calf. “If the demons are hurting you, Elu will kill them all.”

“You can’t kill a demon,” Rathburt said, his voice quivering. “They’re already dead. Well, sort of.” Then his characteristic annoyance again took hold. “Oh, forget it. Torgon, if you’ve finished terrifying us, would you mind telling us what just happened?”

Torg seemed to take extra time to absorb the meaning of the question.

“Let’s just say that I’m not as strong as I thought,” the wizard finally whispered. “For a moment, the demons were able to take hold of my mind. They are better
 . . .
organized
 . . .
than they used to be.”

“Are the nasty demons going to get into
my
mind?” Ugga said.

“We need to keep moving,” Lucius said with renewed annoyance in his voice. “We’re too near their stronghold.”

“I agrees with Loo-shus,” Bard said. “Let’s run
 . . .
far, far away.”

Laylah listened in silence, then spoke directly to Torg. “You shouted words from the ancient tongue. I don’t know what they meant. What did the demons say that upset you so?”

Torg shook his head. “Not now.” Then he turned to the rest of them. “Lucius is right. We need to get away. If the demons were to attack us here in the middle of the night
 . . .
”

After that, Torg would say no more, which seemed to annoy Rathburt, per usual. Instead, Torg handed Obhasa back to Laylah and led them hurriedly down the path, setting a pace that even Elu found difficult to match. Despite her newfound strength, Laylah struggled to catch her breath, her thighs burning from the exertion. Lucius fell almost out of sight. They went on this way for three torturous leagues.

As much for the firstborn’s benefit as her own, Laylah finally said, “Torg, you must slow down. I’m too weak.”

Torg halted. “Sometimes I forget who I am with,” he said apologetically. “The Asēkhas can march like this for days.”

“Now he insults us,” snapped Rathburt, leaning heavily on his staff. “Not everyone is as robust as one of your precious Asēkhas, you know.”

By now, Lucius had caught up. “Don’t slow down because of me,” he said, dripping with sweat despite the chilly night.

“Dawn approaches,” Torg said. “Soon we’ll reach an area of flatland that will be easier to traverse. But also more dangerous. We’ve had a respite from the eyes of the enemy. They will be upon us again.”

“If we continue in this direction, won’t it take us directly to Duccarita?” Lucius said between heaving gulps of air. “I thought you wanted to pass north of the city.”

“You must trust my instincts,” Torg said. “Follow me just a little while longer. Then we can eat and rest up for tomorrow night.”

“What happens then?” Lucius said.

“We shall see what we shall see.”

WHEN DAYLIGHT arrived, they settled in a rock shelter behind a small but robust waterfall. Once inside the stone chamber, Torg permitted them to dare a small fire, knowing the running water would filter out most of the smoke.

Elu hurriedly made a wild vegetable stew that was not nearly to his usual standards, but at least it put something hot in their stomachs. After eating, they cast themselves onto their blankets and fell into deep sleep—except for Torg, who remained seated with his back against the sweating stone. Laylah lay with her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, admiring her beautiful face and flawless skin.

One day, my love, all of this will be behind us
 . . .

Torg closed his eyes and tried to rest, but his mind remained overly active, replaying the previous night’s encounter with the demons. Somehow they had homed in on his presence, bombarding his mind with an ugly torrent of threats and obscenities. The demons had remembered his previous visits to the Ghost City—but not fondly—and they had invited him to return and face them again.

Do you dare, Death-Knower
?

Even as Torg struggled to thwart their assault, another voice rose above the tumult, causing him a different kind of pain.

“
Dhiite
!
Dhiitaake
!” he had cried in response to the voice, unwittingly unleashing a powerful blast of chaotic energy from Obhasa. Without Laylah’s assistance, he might have put on a display that would have alerted anyone within ten leagues. Just in time, she had brought him back.

During his psychic battle with the demons, a terrible secret was unveiled, staggering Torg with its ramifications. When and how he would reveal what he knew to Laylah and the others was unclear. He wished he could speak to Sister Tathagata, whose insights always aided him.

Movement outside the chamber interrupted Torg’s thoughts.

Ugga and Bard murmured in their sleep, as if a ghostly visitor disturbed them. It took Torg a moment to realize that someone—or something—was standing on the other side of the waterfall, just a few cubits from where he sat. The large figure cast a wobbling shadow. Torg believed the being contained formidable power, but he did not sense evil.

He rested Laylah’s head on a rolled-up blanket and placed Obhasa in the crook of her arm. Then he strapped the Silver Sword to his back and left the shelter with the silent grace of a Tugar.

Torg stepped through the sheet of water. Temporarily he was soaked, but he dried his hair and clothes with blue-green flames. To his right was an odd-shaped boulder, with a curved finger of rock protruding from its side. Perched upon it was the largest mountain eagle Torg had ever seen. Other than its extraordinary size, its appearance was not unusual: dark-brown plumage with a golden wash over its head and neck. But then he noticed that its glowing eyes were the color of pine needles, and they gazed at Torg with a fierce intelligence. Torg recognized those eyes. They belonged to the white-haired woman named Jord who had watched—for centuries—over Ugga and Bard in the foothills of the northern mountains.

“Jord?” he whispered. Then he approached within a single pace. The eagle lowered its hooked beak until it touched the tip of his nose.

“Why have you come? Have you something to say? Or show?”

The eagle hopped onto the ground, turned away from Torg, and offered him its broad back.

“Will the others be safe while I’m gone? Will
she
be safe?”

As if in response, another eagle landed nearby. It was smaller than the first, with black eyes instead of green, but even so it was a formidable beast fully capable of protecting his friends. Torg nodded and then climbed onto the back of the larger bird, which sprang into the air and gracefully climbed several thousand cubits before banking southwest.

Torg caught a glimpse of Duccarita before the eagle carried him over the western maw of the Gap of Gamana. Wolves and other creatures patrolled the open plains. As he already had surmised, it would be nearly impossible for him and his companions to cross this portion of the gap on foot without encountering the enemy.

The eagle surged farther southwest, quickly approaching the eastern border of Dhutanga. From this height, the largest forest in the known world looked like an immense green blanket, its towering canopy unbroken as far as he could see—except for the Cariya River, which ran through its middle like a blue spine.

The eagle flew faster than the prevailing winds, covering vast distances. They passed over the heart of the forest and then spiraled downward until they skimmed the tallest trees, which towered four hundred cubits above the floor of the forest. The great bird of prey found a perch on the canopy.

Torg climbed off its back and knelt on a branch. Far below was a mile-wide clearing, within which clustered an army of druids as thick as swarming termites. Tens of thousands hummed in unison, torturing Torg’s ears. In the center of the clearing stood a single tree, taller than any he had ever seen. Druids poured in and out of an opening in its hollow base. It was obvious that this was the home of the druid queen, a bulbous egg-layer that ruled her vicious army with her psychic will. But it appeared she would not make the same mistake as her predecessor, whom Torg had slaughtered almost a millennium before. This queen was well protected.