Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) by Jim Melvin Read Free Book Online

Churikā and Podhana, stood there with uttaras drawn, still facing a group of heavily armed sentries and squires. But neither the Asēkhas nor the king’s men seemed interested in fighting one another, and Kusala was relieved to see that there had been no bloodshed.
    “Lower your weapons,” he said to everyone. “We are all friends here. The king has been rescued from peril, but it remains to be seen whether he will survive the ordeal.”
    “Kusala!” Madiraa shouted from her father’s bedside.
    Kusala turned and peered back into the room. “Yes, princess?”
    “Tell the squires to bring a dozen Yādava-samas (rabbis) to the king’s chambers immediately.”
    Kusala started to repeat the order, but several squires had already scrambled off. He was pleased.
    “Return to your duties,” he said to the Asēkhas. “You are no longer needed here.”
    “ Ema !” they said in unison and strode down the hall toward the stairs.
    Kusala returned to Madiraa and placed his hand on her shoulder. Indajaala stood timidly nearby. Henepola lay on his back on top of the bedcovers, his dark face peaceful. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he might have been dead. His white hair, tangled and greasy when the chieftain found him sprawled over the basin, now was silky and unsoiled. The snow giant’s magical essence had burned away the grime and left the king scrubbed clean.
    “I will pray for him,” Madiraa said, not taking her eyes off her father’s face. “The snow giant healed the king’s body. The energy of God, born during the creation, will heal his mind.”
    “As you say, my lady.”
    “I love him, Kusala—with all my heart. He can be gruff and rude. But he is a wonderful man and a great king.”
    “I doubt it not. Do not forget that I have known him since his birth. Let us hope that he returns to being the man he was before he dared to use his scrying basin and challenge Invictus to a psychic battle of wills.”
    “Is that what occurred?”
    “Indajaala and I believe it to be so.”
    Madiraa’s head twisted toward the conjurer, the king’s long-time aide. “If not for the kinship I hear in Kusala’s voice, I would have thought you played some role in this evil.”
    “I can testify that he did not,” Kusala said. “Quite the opposite: Indajaala always had your father’s best interests at heart. But he is a friend of the Tugars, as well.”
    “A spy, you mean,” Madiraa said, but Kusala sensed no anger.
    “I have never done anything to compromise the well-being of your father or Nissaya,” Indajaala said. “In fact, I love them both. And you, as well, my princess.”
    “These are strange times,” Madiraa said, “when a man I have long considered an enemy turns out to be a friend.”
    “These are indeed strange times,” Kusala said. “But it is not men such as Indajaala who make them so. Lay the blame at the feet of the one who hails from Avici.”
    Even as they spoke, six men and six women wearing black robes hurried into the room, their heads shaved bald, though the men wore long black beards. After catching their breath, they encouraged Madiraa to stand. Then they joined hands with the princess and recited a prayer of healing.
    Before the completion of the first recitation, Kusala and Indajaala had passed down the narrow hallway to the dark room that contained the scrying basin. Kusala was relieved to find the silvery liquid lying dormant. He’d feared he would see Invictus’ face sneering at him.
    Kusala lifted the clear-crystal basin off its obsidian base, dumped its slippery contents onto the floor, and then slammed the crystal onto an upraised knee, intending to smash it to pieces. But the basin withstood the blow. Kusala grunted, hoisted the basin above his head, and cast it onto the floor. It bounced and struck the wall, but did not crack. Angrier still, Kusala drew his uttara and struck the basin a mighty blow. Though the Tugarian blade was not notched, neither was the