Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (6 page)

A FEW HOURS before Bhayatupa would fly to Duccarita to do battle with Jord, a pair of beings as wicked as the great dragon huddled together on the second floor of the ziggurat. Vedana’s grandmotherly incarnation leaned over the glass basin that contained a magical silver liquid. The mother of all demons was Triken’s unquestioned master of scrying, and when she waved her translucent hands, the contents of the basin came colorfully to life.

Jākita-Abhinno, queen of the Warlish witches, stood beside her demon creator, in awe of her but also afraid of her.

“Does Torg have the strength to destroy something as great as the
Mahanta pEpa
?” asked Jākita, at that moment choosing to be in her beautiful state. “I haaaate to admit it, but I would be impressssed. That creature is as deadly as a druid queen.”

“
They
can destroy the Great Evil,” Vedana corrected. “Without Laylah’s
 . . .
uh
 . . .
assistance
, it might not get done.”

Both of them cackled.

“Things are going well,” Vedana said, “but I must keep
The Torgon
and his cutesy little girlfriend out of trouble for a while longer yet.”

“Do you think Invictus will go after them himsssself?”

“I doubt my grandson will leave Uccheda until the wars are almost over, except maybe just to sneak a few peeks at the goings-on. If he were to engage in the actual fighting, he would win too easily. He’ll much prefer to sit back and watch the rest of us tear each other apart. Only if his army is on the verge of defeat would he deign to save the day. Invictus has a flair for the dramatic. It helps to relieve his boredom. But I am smarter—and more dangerous—than he gives me credit.”

“Issss he not invincible?” Jākita believed he was.

“That depends
 . . .
” Vedana said.

Jākita always felt uneasy when Vedana said something like that. She quickly looked back at the basin, hoping to distract the demon from further musings. “Shouldn’t we do ssssomething to thwart the wizard’s movements?” Jākita said, trying to sound helpful. “I could send witches to harassss him.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Vedana snarled with enough force to knock Jākita onto her haunches. “You always want to stick your noses into things, and yet you have no idea what’s really at stake. Perhaps I should dispose of you and promote someone a little more compliant.”

Jākita buried her face between her own spread legs and began to moan. As she transformed, rancid smoke oozed from her hair. Crackling explosions followed. Vedana, of course, would be unaffected. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

“I meant no offense, Mistress,” the now-ugly Jākita said. “Please do not punissssh me. I am your most loyal sssservant.”

“Stop whining. I’ll allow you to exist another day. Besides, I have business with the dragon that is more important than any I might have with you.”

Jākita continued to sob and cough, filling the chamber with her foul-smelling breath. But Vedana paid her no heed. A dark hole opened in the ceiling above Vedana’s head, and she leapt inside, vanishing in an instant.

LATER THAT DAY, the great dragon Bhayatupa mused and smoldered in his lair. Though more than a week had passed since his battle with Mala, Bhayatupa’s wounds still caused him pain. The molten liquid that gushed from Mala’s chain had scorched Bhayatupa’s snout and the inside of his mouth. Already bearing previous injuries suffered during his escape from Avici, the dragon now had a swollen tongue, charred fangs, and a broken bone in his right front foot—all the fault of the most despicable
low one
ever to exist.

To make matters even worse, Bhayatupa suddenly realized that an unwelcomed guest had unexpectedly arrived. Vedana, the mother of all demons—of which she bragged endlessly—slipped into his lair and appeared before him as a raven. As an added touch, the demon perched on the erect penis of one of his marble statues, this one a gift from King Lobha just before Bhayatupa had gone into hibernation ten millennia ago.

“Why does it not surprise me that you would choose this place to rest?” Bhayatupa said. “Vedana, you have become too predictable in your old age.”

“I thought my little joke might cheer you up. You look terrible.”

When Bhayatupa sighed, smoke poured from his nostrils. “I suppose you watched my encounter with Mala from the ziggurat. Did you and your horrid little witches take pleasure when the wretched creature managed to escape?”

“I did watch, a little, but I spent more energy veiling the whole affair from Invictus. Mala’s survival makes things more difficult for me, too, you know. Without the Chain Man to lead my grandson’s armies, it would have been easier for me to manipulate the necessary outcomes. With him still alive, I will have to be even more careful.”

“Then why don’t you just destroy Mala yourself?” Bhayatupa snarled.

“You know the answer to that as well as I. It’s the same reason I’ve put up with your threats and insults for hundreds of centuries. I am only able to secrete a portion of my power into the Realm of Life, which is not enough to destroy Mala, especially considering how Invictus coddles him. The energy that surges within that damnable chain is the same energy that flows in my grandson’s flesh. So don’t feel like such a failure, dragon. Mala was closer to being your match than you realized.”

Bhayatupa groaned. “I have learned that firsthand. So tell me, what now? I seem to have become another of your pawns. What is my
next
assignment, master?”

“Oh, don’t be so droll. You’re no more my pawn than I am yours. You’ve already agreed that we both will benefit from this arrangement. So stop whining, and listen instead.”

“What else is there for me to do but listen?”

“I wish you would say
that
more often. But enough about Mala. There is another obstacle in the path of our success that is more immediate. The horrid Faerie is sticking her nose into things again. And if she isn’t removed, she could cause even more problems than the Chain Man.”

“I’ve never liked her, particularly,” Bhayatupa said. “But she’s always seemed rather harmless. Why has her ‘removal’ suddenly become so important to
our
cause?”

“Can’t you trust me just once and not ask so many questions?”

“I will never trust you, Vedana. But in this instance, I appear to have little choice. All right then—tell me what you would have me do.”

Later that day, he crept from his lair and sprang into the sky. He soared high over the Gap of Gamana, impressed by the number of Mogols, wolves, and other
Adho Sattas
he saw swarming along the open plain. He was tempted to fly low and wreak some havoc, just for amusement, but his business was too pressing. Vedana had given him two assignments: destroying Jord and her accompanying mountain eagles was one, but there was another of almost equal importance. According to the demon, the remaining eagles still alive in the world had gathered on Catu, the northernmost mountain in all of Triken. It was there that Bhayatupa headed first, skimming above the towering peaks that marched toward the end of the world.

When he approached, the eagles rose to meet his challenge, more than thirty in all. They fought as ferociously as dracools, but their anger over his abominable intrusion clouded their judgment. Rather than attack as an organized group, they flew at him as enraged individuals—and fell, one by one. As far as Bhayatupa could tell, none survived the battle. After devouring several of the fallen birds, he turned and headed back toward the City of Thieves, feeling more like his old self—Mahaasupanno, mightiest of all. In an irony of sorts, he felt grateful to Vedana for restoring his proper standing.

The birds of prey he found perched on the towering rock walls of Duccarita fared no better than those at Catu. But when the Faerie assumed the form of a dragon-sized eagle and rose to confront him, her ferocity amazed Bhayatupa. The green torrent that blazed from her beak scorched more than his scales; it slithered inside the smallest fragments of his being. He reacted with panic, blasting the Faerie with all his magical might. Thankfully, it had been enough. Her ruined carcass plunged to the ground beyond the wall in a flaming heap.

When Bhayatupa flew down along the rooftops of the city, his massive eyes glowed like cinders. He first sensed and then saw the Death-Knower. The magnitude of the wizard’s essence impressed Bhayatupa. For something so small,
The Torgon
was formidable. He would have to be careful in his future dealings with Torg.

“
Abhisambodhi
! (High enlightenment!)” Bhayatupa howled. And as he sped away, he whispered: “Teach me the truth, Death-Knower. Release me from this madness.”

Afterward, Bhayatupa lay in his lair and mused over his latest encounter with a supernatural foe. His failed attempt to destroy Mala had bruised his ego, but his successful defeat of the Faerie had bruised his soul. Her green radiance burned like no other. Even Invictus’ golden energy had done less damage.

But not in a surface way. Rather, the Faerie’s assault had hurt him underneath.

“
Bhayatupa amarattam tanhiiyati
(Bhayatupa craves eternal existence),” he said out loud within his hidden lair, unaware he had given voice to his thoughts. A pair of Mogol slaves fell to their knees and covered their faces. But Bhayatupa was too deep in concentration to pay them heed.

For several days after his battle with the Faerie, he lay as still as one of the bejeweled statues scattered among his vast treasure, accumulated over eighty millennia of existence. Bhayatupa’s mind wandered back to his youth, when Triken had been a much different place. Once there were thousands of dragons roaming the skies. Though they often fought among themselves, the dragons were the undisputed rulers of the land. None could stand against them—and rather than try, the kings and queens of the mortal world became their willing servants, like pawns in a game of chess played from above.

There was a time, early on, when Bhayatupa was not supreme among his kind. Ulaara the Black was the greatest of the great, and his brother and sister named Sankhayo and Sankhaya—both of whom were almost as powerful as their leader—ceaselessly accompanied him. When Bhayatupa was twenty thousand years old, the first of the Dragon Wars began in earnest, and they continued for an additional thirty millennia, until fewer than one hundred great dragons remained active in the world.

Among the casualties was Sankhayo, who drowned in Lake Hadaya after suffering a terrible wound and tumbling from the sky. Bhayatupa found Sankhaya lying by the shore of the lake, mourning her brother’s death, and he slipped down from above and pounced on her back, snapping her neck with his massive jaws. Now that Ulaara was unprotected, Bhayatupa issued an official challenge to a duel for supremacy, with the winner being accorded the coveted title of
Mahaasupanno
, mightiest of all.

But in one of history’s great anti-climaxes, Ulaara refused to fight.

Instead, he fled to Nirodha and was never seen again, revealing himself as craven. At first Bhayatupa was enraged at being robbed of his opportunity to reign supreme, but as it turned out, Ulaara’s cowardice worked to Bhayatupa’s advantage. The remaining dragons were awed that the mere rumor of Bhayatupa would cause Ulaara to flee, and most bowed to Bhayatupa. He destroyed those who didn’t. The few who remained realized that Bhayatupa would abide no others, and they began to disappear from the world. As Bhayatupa lay in his lair after his battle with the Faerie, only nine great dragons remained active in the world—though he could sense three times that many still survived, hidden here and there throughout Mahaggata, Kolankold, and even Okkanti. Perhaps one day, when Invictus was destroyed and the Death-Knower had taught him how to achieve eternal life, Bhayatupa would re-awaken the remainder of his kind and form a new ruling class, less mighty than before, but still far too powerful for the
Adho Satta
(Low Ones)
to resist.

How grand it all had been. So many wars. So many kingdoms. So much glory
.

But much to Bhayatupa’s chagrin, nothing seemed to last forever. Over the last twenty millennia, he had begun to experience the first hints of mortality. His magic remained as strong as ever, but there was a subtle change in his metabolism, a strange sort of hollowness, that terrified him. The specter of death, ever secretive and mysterious, had begun to pay him shadowy visits. When it did, Bhayatupa shivered like a coward. He had lived for eighty thousand years, but he had somehow expected to live far longer than that.

I am Bhayatupa the Great. How does Death dare threaten me?

After destroying the Faerie and paying the Death-Knower a quick visit, Bhayatupa had been pleased with his accomplishments. The annoying demon had promised him full access to the wizard after Invictus was destroyed. And once
The Torgon
helped Bhayatupa achieve immortality, no one would be able to stand against him, including the meddlesome she-devil. He put up with her for now because he needed her help, but he would deal with her later—and that would be oh-so-amusing.

Bhayatupa’s brief good mood began to sour. The hollowness and weariness returned with a vengeance. The Faerie’s green energy was a substance he had never before encountered, and it made him feel strange and lonely, as if the bitter truth of all things had been revealed.

There is no such thing as immortality
, voices whispered in his mind.
There is only impermanence.

To Bhayatupa, the concept of impermanence was unacceptable.

Eighty thousand years isn’t long enough. Not nearly long enough. I crave
 . . .
eternity.

“Death-Knower,” he said, his voice causing the very stone to tremble. “You
must
help me.”

The frightened Mogols bowed again, though their terror paled in comparison to the fear that humbled Bhayatupa the Great.