Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles by Jim Melvin Read Free Book Online

in fact, seemed to enjoy eating them.
    Once they reached the road, they made much better progress. On the fourth morning after leaving Dibbu-Loka, they approached within a league of Senasana, where one of Mala’s scouts met them. The Chain Man barked out orders, and the scout raced into the darkness. As Mala and Torg drew nearer the city, several dozen golden soldiers marched toward them. A captain came forth and stood at the foot of the monster, trembling as he saluted.
    “Did you bring it?” Mala said. “ Tell me you brought it.”
    “Yes, lord,” the captain stammered. “It is with us  . . . as you commanded.”
    “It was wise of you not to fail. I have not yet eaten breakfast.”
    The captain swayed on his feet, as if about to swoon. Torg almost felt sorry for the man.

Warrior’s Sacrifice
     

1
     
    Sōbhana watched Mala and Torg scramble down the pyramid’s stairs and jog along a causeway that led to the northern wall of Dibbu-Loka. The Chain Man was shouting orders and shoving Torg from behind. It was unbearable to watch.
    Sōbhana was a warrior. Pain and sacrifice were second nature to her, but this was something else. Her lord’s commands did not make sense. The golden soldiers were subdued. Mala stood alone. He was a formidable monster but not invincible.
    “Chieftain, this is madness,” she said to Kusala. “We must not permit it.”
    Kusala held Obhasa in his right hand, but his face remained downcast. “He will slay any who follow. I do not doubt it. I have never seen him like this. Madness or no, we must not pursue.”
    Kusala turned from Sōbhana and swept his arm in a half circle. “All heard the commands of our king. We must take the noble ones to the haven we have prepared. Find carts and oxen. I want them all far from the city by dawn. Do not harm the soldiers, unless we are attacked from without. However, there is one thing not mentioned by our king that I will encourage: If you feel the need to relieve yourselves, aim for a sleeping face. It will match their gaudy armor.”
    There was grim laughter and a few guarantees—even from several of the women—that not a drop would be wasted. Then the Asēkhas sprang into action. Thirty ox carts were found, but only enough oxen to haul ten of them. It didn’t matter. The Asēkhas were strong enough to tow the carts by hand. The noble ones, still deeply asleep, were laid side by side on beds of hay. The evacuation had begun.
    Tugars were not just warriors. They also were hard workers. It was said that twenty Asēkhas could outperform a hundred ordinary men and women. Nineteen Asēkhas could do almost as well.
    Nineteen would have to do.
    Sleek as a cat, Sōbhana slipped over the northeastern wall. She had not asked Kusala’s permission, nor had he demanded it. Regardless, she was on her own.
    Now she watched with rage as Mala shoved and kicked her king. It took every shred of her will to resist pouncing on the wicked monster. But she held herself back. If she attacked now, she knew Torg would kill her. Her own death did not concern her, but she would be no good to her lord if she were eliminated. She had to be patient and carefully choose the time and place to reveal her presence.
    Plus, she knew Torg’s senses were extraordinary. She hoped Torg’s focus on Mala would dilute the wizard’s alertness. If she stayed cleverly hidden, she might be able to follow undetected for a considerable distance.
    She had no plan, other than to be certain Torg did not travel this path with Mala alone. She loved him, after all, but not only as she would love a king. She desired to become Torg’s wife.
    Sōbhana had begun her warrior training at age sixteen, achieving the rank of warrior at sixty-six and Asēkha at seventy-eight. Both were unprecedented. Torg had not become a warrior until he was sixty-eight and an Asēkha until eighty. But he had become a Death-Knower just two years later. Sōbhana knew in her heart that she could not follow in those