Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (5 page)

“Do you know what he proposes?” the general said. “He wants us to lay down our arms . . . now! . . . and pray. Forget about fighting the druids. Or Mala. Or Invictus. He believes if we pray—and do nothing else—
Ekadeva
will reach down his hand and sweep aside our enemies. I, for one, will not abide such madness. I am as much of a disciple of
Ekadeva
as any good citizen of the White City, but I believe that the
One God
demands more of his servants than cowardice. If I were king, Jivita would not be in peril—from
any
enemy! I would ride throughout the lands and force all to succumb to the will of God!”

“And if I were king, peace would reign over the lands, not war,” Bernard said as he rose to his feet. “We are God’s children, not the children of murderers. Besides, Invictus cannot be defeated by force . . . at least by the force of man. Only
Ekadeva
has the might. And such might he has aplenty. Do you doubt it, general?”

“I doubt only your sanity.”

“And I yours.”

The queen stumbled down the stairs and stood between them.

“Gentlemen,” Rajinii said, in almost a whisper. “Both of you want what is best for the White City. But am I not still your Sovereign? Listen to
my
counsel. I offer a third alternative.”

“Tell us,” Torg said, his voice wary.

“Death is the alternative . . . death in battle,” Rajinii said, her eyes glowing. “Jivita will fight until none among us lives—and afterward we will reunite in the Kingdom of Heaven. Not even Invictus can stop us from attaining glory, though he tear us limb from limb with his bare hands.”

Then she stumbled from the chamber—with her aide Manta and Elu skittering behind.

Navarese watched her leave and then picked up where he had left off. “As we all know, Queen Rajinii’s reign is unchallenged while she lives. But we also know that she is a warrior of high renown who fears no conflict and will insist on leading our charge. This puts her life in peril. If she were to die in the coming battle, Jivita would be without a Sovereign, and since she continues to refuse to appoint a successor, I demand a vote now among the council. It’s obvious the queen is in no mood or condition to play any role in this. Besides, the law is the law. A three-fourth’s majority will determine the outcome, even without the queen’s input.”

“So in other words,” Torg said, “you think so little of her that you would do such a thing behind her back.”

“This is not your business, Death-Knower. We don’t need your permission to enact our own laws, which are known by all Jivitans. We don’t tell the Tugars what to do, so extend us the same courtesy.”

“It will be our business, if you become king, triple your forces, and then make us all ‘succumb to the will of god.’”

“You and your warriors would be better off for it.”

“Your opinion.”

“For once I agree with Navarese,” Bernard interrupted. “Let’s get this over with.”

Navarese grunted, obviously even more impatient than Bernard. “I call the vote now,” the general said. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard our arguments ad nauseam, so there is no need for further debate. But keep in mind that if there is no majority, the next opportunity to decide this issue won’t occur until the wars are over. By then, the queen might already be dead. Would you have us be without a Sovereign at such a crucial period in our history? I think not. But enough talk. I vote for myself and Bernard for Bernard, so it starts out one-to-one. Please commence.”

“Not so fast,” the archbishop said. “I have had a change of heart and do
not
vote for myself. Instead, I choose
Lord Torgon.
”

There were several gasps, including an especially startled one from Laylah.

“This is insanity,” Navarese shouted, his eyes bulging. “Only a pure-blooded Jivitan can be bestowed the honor of being her successor.”

“The law states only that it be a person of royal blood. Nowhere does it say
Jivitan
royal blood.”

“We are speaking of the
Jivitan
charter! You’re playing with words, Bernard, and you know it.”

“Nonetheless . . .”

A woman stood, tall and beautiful. “I cast my vote for
The Torgon
.” Then she sat down quickly.

“Lady Margaret . . .” Navarese said, his voice puzzled.

“Two-to-one,” Bernard said a moment later.

Torg watched with interest as a short but muscular man stood next. He bore a scar on his cheek that obviously had been the work of a blade. “Navarese,” he said.

“That’s a surprise,” Bernard snorted. “Two-to-two.”

After that, there was a long silence in which no one said a thing.

“Counselors!” the general finally shouted. “Do you wish for your next king to be a Tugar? Where is your loyalty?”

An especially pale woman with dark circles under her eyes stood timidly and said, “Navarese.”

“Thank you!” the general said. “Three-to-two. Now it’s time for the rest of you to represent the White City like true Jivitans. Let’s end this charade quickly so that our fate will be in proper hands.”

The most elderly of the gathering, other than Torg, stood next. Torg knew him well—Baron Kentigern, the richest man in Jivita and perhaps the world, except for Invictus. But Torg had always found Kentigern to be open-minded, and he was one of the few Jivitans who had never attempted to lecture him about the
One God
.

“I vote for
Lord Torgon
,” the baron said. “I
am
a loyal Jivitan, and I
do
love our people, but none of us are the wizard’s equal.”

“Three-to-three!” Bernard bellowed.

“Old man,” Navarese snapped at the baron. “Your vast holdings would be worthless if my army did not protect them.”

“Good one, general,” Bernard said. “If you keep talking like that,
The Torgon
will win with ease.”

Two more men stood, both dressed as clergymen, and cast their votes for Torg.

“Five-to-three!” Bernard said to Navarese. “You cannot prevail!”

“These proceedings are a sham,” the general said.

The final four who had not yet voted looked about nervously. Navarese walked over to an older man who bore a stern expression. Torg recognized him as the high justice of Jivita.

“Eadwig,” the general said, his voice now pleading. “I cannot win, but cast your vote for me so that at least a Tugar will not become our king.”

The high justice stood. “I abstain.”

Navarese sighed. “It is over.
The Torgon
cannot earn the required number of votes.” Then the general rushed out of the room.

WHEN NAVARESE WAS gone, Eadwig strode over to the archbishop. “What was that about, your grace?” he said with obvious irritation.

“He needed to be taught a lesson, my lord,” Bernard said. “With humbling comes wisdom.”

“He is young and brash, but his genius cannot be denied. He remains our greatest hope in the wars to come.”

“No, Eadwig, he does not.
Ekadeva
is our greatest hope . . . our only hope.”

“We’ve been through this before, Bernard. Faith is one thing, foolishness another.”

Finally Laylah had caught her breath. Almost everything she had witnessed since entering the Throne Room had confused her. While the remaining eleven members of the Privy Council gathered in a tight circle and continued their noisy debate, Laylah joined Torg on the stairs.

“Torg, what happened this time?”

The wizard chuckled, but there was little pleasure in it. “Apparently, the general was ‘cut down to size,’ as my Vasi master used to say. And I was the weapon used to do the cutting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Despite Bernard’s fervor, I doubt he truly would have Jivita lay down its arms. Of all the people I have known, only Sister Tathagata would support such extremes. But it appears that the archbishop and his allies feared that Navarese was becoming
too
confident. After this, the general will move more slowly and with more respect for those who disagree with some of his viewpoints.”

Laylah sighed. “And this is a good thing?”

“It would seem so.”

“But the real problem wasn’t resolved. If the queen were to fall, Jivita would be without a leader.”

“In most ways, the White City runs itself. The queen is a powerful figure, but there is only so much she can do, especially when it comes to the minutiae of commanding such a large population. If Jivita were without a Sovereign for a short period, little harm would come of it, other than the loss of the inspiration she provides.”

“Which is not what it was,” came a voice from the side. Bernard stood there, wearing a sheepish grin. “I apologize,
Lord Torgon
, for my behavior here today. It is likely the general will eventually become our king. His support has outgrown mine. But he isn’t ready yet. For his benefit as well as ours, I had to put him in his place. I would have explained my plan to you beforehand, but you were . . .
unavailable
.”

“Believe me,
Lord Torgon,
” came a second voice, this time belonging to the high justice. “I was unaware of any of this. The archbishop took it upon himself to humiliate the general.”

Lady Margaret and Baron Kentigern joined them. Margaret slapped Torg on the back playfully. “I would love it if you were our king,” Margaret said cheerfully. “
I
wasn’t pretending, at least.”

Kentigern chuckled. “Torg is too homely for such an honor.”

“
You
should know,” Margaret said.

Torg and Laylah laughed, but the archbishop grew serious.

“One disaster has been averted, at least for the time being,” he said in a low voice. “But the larger one remains. Some members of our esteemed council still fear for the queen’s sanity.
Lord Torgon
, we all know she listens more to you than anyone else. Is there something you can do?”

Then in an even more serious tone, he added, “Do you have the strength to heal her mind?”

PEERING THROUGH solid stone was one of the most difficult feats Invictus had ever attempted, causing his eyes to burn and water. The sensation was unfamiliar. Other than the horrendous agony of the solar eclipse, he had felt little discomfort in his entire lifetime. It was a distasteful but interesting experience.

Invictus was convinced that Bhayatupa again hid somewhere in the peaks of Mahaggata. The dragon wouldn’t be so careless as to return to the deep cavern where Invictus had originally discovered him, but the young king believed that the traitorous beast was somewhere in the snarl of mountains between the gaps. Invictus knew that the dragon would weave a spell at the mouth of his cave that would repel the most powerful of prying eyes. But would he think to put a veil over the stone itself?

“I’ll bet even
you
can’t do this, Grandmother,” Invictus had said to himself on the same morning Torg and Laylah ate breakfast at
Boulogne’s
. “One day, my scrying will surpass even yours.”

When he first caught sight of the crimson tail, he let out a yelp. Then he examined the tail from the sides, above, and below. But when he tried to search farther down its length toward the body and head, he met with too much resistance. The innate emanations of the dragon’s magic prevented Invictus from seeing more. To make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he ordered his servants to bring him one of the five dracools that had remained in Avici after the departure of Mala’s army.

A skinny but seemingly fearless female named Iriz entered his chambers in the upper reaches of Uccheda and eagerly peered into his basin of yellow glass.

“Yes, my liege, that is most definitely the end of a great dragon’s tail,” the dracool rasped. “But there is no guarantee that you are viewing Bhayatupa. Of the remaining dragons in the world, several are crimson. If you could somehow show me his head, I could tell you for certain.”

Invictus grunted. “If I could see the dragon’s head, then I wouldn’t need you.” Then, more calmly, he said, “I want to see for myself . . . in person. You will take me there.”

Rather than protest, Iriz seemed pleased by the challenge. “Can you show me the mountaintops above where the dragon sleeps? If so, I can find the lair.”

Invictus found this request to be an interesting challenge. He leaned over the basin and concentrated. The vision retreated through the stone and launched high into the air. At first, one peak was visible, then several—though all were shrouded in mist.

“To anyone but a dragon or dracool, the peaks would look the same,” Iriz said boldly. “But I know this place.”

“Take me there now.”

“With pleasure, my liege.”

Despite being able to fly almost as fast as a moutain eagle, it still took Iriz several hours to reach the peak of a remote mountain about forty leagues southwest of Avici. Despite the unseasonable heat, it remained chilly in the upper heights. It didn’t matter. Invictus was incapable of feeling cold.

Iriz perched outside the entrance of a tunnel that entered the mountain on a steep decline. For the first time, the dracool appeared frightened.

“Bhayatupa is no match for you, my liege, but if the two of you do battle, I will stand little chance of survival. If it pleases you, I will wait outside until you have concluded your business with
Mahaasupanna
(mightiest of all dragons).”

“A wise choice,” Invictus said. “I recommend that you go far away until I’m finished.”

“Yes, my liege.” Then Iriz sprang into the air and soared upward until she became just a speck in the firmament, even to Invictus’ eyes.

The passageway was colder and damper than the outside air, its floor as slick as ice. Invictus removed his slippers and left them near the entrance. Then he focused his mind on the soles of his feet, encasing them with magical fire. Each time he took a step, the golden energy sizzled on the stone, incinerating the oily coating and improving his footing. He walked for what seemed like a long time. The tunnel narrowed to the point that he began to doubt a dragon of Bhayatupa’s girth could have managed to slither inside.

After more than a thousand paces, the passageway finally opened into a large cavern. There were no torches, but the yellow glow emanating from Invictus’ flesh provided sufficient illumination. Within the cavern was a glittering treasure, and lying on the treasure was a great dragon in the throes of deep sleep.

Instantly, Invictus recognized this wasn’t Bhayatupa. This dragon was a female barely half his size. And from the looks of it, she had been sleeping for many millennia, the rise and fall of her ribcage barely perceptible.

Throughout his life, Invictus had been prone to temper tantrums. They had begun when he was a toddler on the day he nearly drowned. As he grew older, he’d gained better control, but occasional bouts of anger still overcame him. This was one of those times. He was incensed that he had discovered this female instead of Bhayatupa, causing his body to glow like a miniature sun. The interior of the cavern began to superheat, melting the mounds of gold and silver.

The dragon sensed the glowing menace from the depths of her sleep and attempted to rouse herself. But awakening from dragon sleep is a slow process, even in the midst of imminent peril. Her scales, though impervious to almost any other form of magic, succumbed to Invictus’ power—and liquefied, along with the treasure. Then her tender flesh caught fire, and she blew apart.

Invictus’ rage was all-consuming. Nothing could stand against such power: animal, plant, or even stone. The rooftop of the mountain erupted, casting wagon-sized chunks of debris into the sky. Afterward, a heavy wind swept the dust toward Gamana.

Despite the tumult, Invictus was unscathed.

When Iriz dared to return, she found Invictus standing barefoot on top of a smoldering boulder, his robes clean and unwrinkled. He held something between the palms of his hands, purposely preventing the dracool from seeing it.

Then he mounted Iriz back and ordered her to return to Avici . . . although first, there was a detour.