Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (36 page)

“I’m not sure what to do,” he said to Bonny. “I thought it would just come to me.”

“I know what you have to do. But I don’t think you are going to like it. You need to send me and the Daasa out first. You need to see some of us in trouble.”

Lucius’ face went red. “How can you say such a thing? If anyone goes first, it should be me.”

“Lucius, it’s either that or you and I will need to sneak off somewhere and get naked. But I don’t think you are in the mood for that right now.”

“I’m not willing to let you and the Daasa go first.”

“Willing? What’s that got to do with it? You have known all along that the Daasa would be in danger. You have known all along that at least some of them would not survive this night. But the Daasa carry lots of anger. This is their chance for revenge. My chance too. And yours.”

Lucius sighed. “We were supposed to attack at a bell past midnight. Do you think it’s time?”

“Yes, sweety,” she said. “Don’t worry, once the fighting starts, your doubts will disappear. It hurts . . . but it hurts good.”

Lucius stepped out of the protection of the trees. The Daasa followed almost timidly, mimicking his posture. Lucius realized what was causing his hesitation. Though he had seen the druids kidnap Laylah and knew in his heart that they were evil, he still reserved most of his hatred for Invictus and Mala. In fact, if he were honest with himself, there was a part of him that hated Torg worse than the creatures looming before him. But even as he was musing, he heard a strange noise to his right that sounded like dry sticks snapping.

When he turned, Bonny was no longer there. In her place stood a hideous giant, her head swollen and lumpy. Even her petite breasts had become huge, each nipple as large as one of his fists. For the first time since meeting her, Lucius saw Bonny in her “meanie” state before he had changed himself, and it disgusted him. He bent over and vomited.

But if the transformed version of Bonny was offended, it didn’t show. Instead, she smiled, revealing a pair of fangs as long as his thumbs. Then she beckoned him to follow her onto the plains. The Daasa also transformed, becoming monsters intent on clawing, biting, and rending.

“Wait!” Lucius shouted as tears burst from his eyes. “
Wait
! You don’t have to do this.”

But neither Bonny nor the Daasa seemed to hear. He watched as they crashed into the rear of the druid army. Then he heard the strange snapping sounds again. Only this time, the noises came from within:
his
bones breaking, lengthening, mending;
his
flesh stretching, tearing, healing;
his
head a bloated vat of agony. But with the pain came anger. With the pain came strength. With the pain came power.

Yet his mind remained intact.

After completing the transformation, Lucius thundered onto the plains, following his woman and his kin. From behind, he watched Bonny wrestle with a druid, lift it high over her head, and cast it upon a thick swarm of others. When she turned and saw him, she smiled again. This time he didn’t vomit. Instead, he was filled with lust and desire.

Lucius swung a fist, now as large as a man’s head, at the first druid that approached, smashing its upper torso and punching through the bark-like hide into hot, green gore. With his other hand, he caught the creature on the side of its pointed head with the Mogol war club, which now seemed absurdly small. The club struck the druid just below the black hole that served as an ear. The head cracked at the base and drooped sideways.

The hand that had punctured the torso burned as if on fire, but the pain was mild in comparison to the agony that already enraged him. Lucius flung himself at the rear of the enemy. Bonny fought beside him, howling. The Daasa joined them both. Together they tore into the druids like harbingers of destruction.

At first it seemed too easy. One on one, the druids were no match for the Daasa, and soon more than one hundred score were slain; as far as Lucius could see, none of the Daasa had fallen, their dense hide too tough for the druids to gash or burn. Lucius killed ten wood-eaters himself before encountering the first of the larger, more powerful kind. Its height and girth were amazing. Though Lucius now stood almost six cubits tall, the druid was almost ten and more than twice his weight.

This time, when Lucius crushed his fist against the creature’s chest, it met much tougher resistance. Instead of caving in, its upper torso barely cracked, and then it pounded a bony hand onto the top of Lucius’ head, stunning him and drawing blood. In defense of their leader, a dozen Daasa leapt onto the creature, snarling like a pack of wolves. As a group, they were able to rip it to pieces. But more of the larger ones joined the fray, and for the first time the Daasa suffered casualties. Even in his new incarnation, the deaths devastated Lucius, making him fight with more desperation. Despite his efforts, he and the Daasa suddenly were outmatched.

When Bonny fell and was engulfed, he thought he might go mad.

THOUGH PART OF her yearned to join the battle, Urbana knew that her current duties were more important. Once she decimated the Jivitans, she would have time to deal with the sorcerer’s bitch of a sister and the damnable firstborn traitor.

The former vampire was encamped within the square-shaped druid horde. An obedient line of
Kattham
’s children stood before her, each eagerly awaiting their turn. Again and again, Urbana lowered her magical staff and touched a druid on top of its head, causing the dragon jewel imbedded in the staff to flare. Though
Kattham
was a hundred leagues away, the druid queen was able to funnel her power through Urbana into the staff, where it merged with the might of the jewel. This transformed the druids, making them larger, stronger, and more dangerous. The changes were relatively temporary, which is why this act had not been performed en masse prior to the march, but they would last through the night, which was long enough for her needs.

Urbana sensed more than heard a disturbance in the rear. The firstborn and his pathetic Daasa were up to no good, but this was to be expected. Against the enlarged druids, the enemy would fall as easily as the Jivitan horsemen. She willed more of the transformed druids to go in the direction of the traitor, resisting an urge to leave her duties and deal with Lucius herself. How sweet that would be, drinking his blood. But waves of disapproval burned into her skull.
Kattham
would not allow her to halt her duties yet. After all, it had taken supreme patience to give birth to such an army. It honored Urbana to be given the opportunity to strengthen it even further.

DURING THE SEVENTH charge, Torg was surprised to see that the large druids at the front of the horde seemed less numerous. With the Tugars joining the fray, the thirty-first row attacked with a vengeance. The ordinary druids, many of which had been wounded by the latest volleys of flaming arrows, were easy victims. Torg and the Tugars drove half a league into the host, killing at will, and by the time Bard ordered the retreat, Torg estimated that they had slain ten thousand while losing only fifty horsemen and no Tugars. For the second successive charge, Laylah, Ugga, and Bard had rested their mounts, and when Torg returned to the thirty-sixth row, his companions were there, anxiously waiting to return to battle. By then, Navarese had joined them, as well.

Even as the next volley of arrows rose skyward, the general thundered over to Torg, his face as red as fire.

“What happened to the queen?” he shouted above the violent humming. “She slumbers, as if in the throes of poison.”

“Madness overcame her, and she fought without regard for her safety,” Torg answered. “I spoke words that induce sleep. She will awaken soon enough, stronger than ever.”

“How dare you . . .” Navarese started to say, but then his expression changed. “Wait . . . I see . . . I see . . .”

Torg nodded. “There are battles yet to be fought. She will be needed.”

Captain Julich rode forward and greeted Navarese. “I am about to call the next charge, general. Should I delay?”

“No . . . no. Continue, captain!”

Torg looked at Laylah, Ugga, and Bard. “Where is Elu?”

“The little guy went back with the queen to watch over her,” Ugga said. “I is happy, to be honest. It was too rugged for him out there.”

“I’m relieved too,” Torg said.

Julich ordered the charge.

“This time,
I
will rest,” Torg said to his companions. “Go in my stead. I have an idea, but I must discuss it with the general first.”

Ugga and Bard rode off. Laylah followed. Torg felt his heart sink. If she were hurt the one time he wasn’t there, he would never forgive himself. But the Tugars were with her, and he watched as several dozen formed a barrier around her, though subtly, as not to offend her. Torg smiled and then turned to Navarese.

“You know, of course, of the larger druids.”

“I do now. I thought you only saw a few of them when you rescued Laylah from
Kattham
. Were the rest hiding?”

“I witnessed no more than two dozen when in the depths of Dhutanga. But many things have changed since then. The last time I saw Urbana, she was bleeding to death from a wound a Tugarian dagger had inflicted, and yet now she leads our enemy. Kattham is a schemer, full of ancient malice. It was foolish not to expect surprises.”

Navarese’s face reddened further, but he recognized the truth in Torg’s words and contained his anger. “You said you have an idea?”

“Though there are more large druids than we thought, are there more druids altogether?”

“I think not. Your point?”

“Is it possible the druids are transforming, even as we speak?”

Navarese’s eyes brightened. “The ordinary ones are changing? That would explain much. But if so . . . how?”

“I’m not sure.
Kattham
is not here, but what of Urbana? Is she capable of performing this feat?”

“You’ve got to take the Tugars and hunt her down.”

“Agreed.”

Navarese turned his mount and started to depart, but Torg shouted after him. “During the last charge, I noticed that many of the larger druids had been drawn away from the front. That can mean only one thing.”

“Lucius and the Daasa have arrived,” Navarese yelled back.

Just then, the eighth charge returned. Torg was relieved to see Laylah and Ugga, though the losses among the Jivitan horsemen were worse than he had hoped. The Tugars were intact, but their destriers were weary. Then he heard frantic shouts coming from Ugga.

HIS ARROWS SPENT, Bard strapped his bow to his back and fought in close quarters with the war hammer the Jivitans had given him. The sturdy weapon was only half the length of a longsword, but it was deadlier than a mace. Its shaft was made of white oak with a green-leather grip, and its head—sharpened on one side to pierce and blunted on the other to pummel—was made of white Jivitan iron. His only other weapons were a pair of daggers hidden in his boots.

This was the first time Bard had joined the real combat, and he was the only one among them—besides Torg and the Tugars—who did not wear heavy armor. But he rode a barded destrier, having traded with a retreating horseman. When Julich came to him and asked to reclaim his position as master of the charge, Bard had gleefully accepted.

With Ugga at his side, Bard rode into battle, pounding against a wall of druids. The humming obscured his own screams as he swung the hammer this way and that, punching his enemy full of holes. Ugga’s axe whizzed by his head several times, hacking dozens of druids apart.

“Get ’em, Ugga!” Bard screamed, and then a Tugar was beside him, her uttara glowing in the darkness. The three of them beat up one of the larger druids and then looked for more.