Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(87)

Batuk glowered and slouched against his throne. There’d been a time when he’d lived a flesh-and-blood life as a revered Kujoo warlord, one his foes feared and women worshipped. When he’d loved one woman above all others . . . the reason he’d lifted a sword against the Beladors. What sin had he committed to end up in a place worse than Fene where the damned were sent upon death? None, as far as he was concerned.

He’d only warred against the Beladors to regain what was rightfully his. That and he’d trusted Ekkbar’s assessment of Ravana’s offer.

Where was his manservant? The spindly magician had sworn he was close to finding a way out of their demise or Batuk would never have given permission for the fool to experiment with a new incantation. Ekkbar’s last attempt infested their underworld home with lost souls screaming in pain nonstop until he’d concocted a way to remove them. Exterminating rodents from an infested dung pile would have been easier. The stench the damned left behind hung in the air for decades.

If the idiot had blundered again, Batuk would . . . what? He’d already neutered the loathsome blight on his existence.

A ball of smoke rolled into the room, parting the fine nihar—a pungent-smelling veil of myst floating chest high—and stopped in front of Batuk.

Ekkbar appeared on his knees, head bent and hands in supplication.

Batuk almost laughed. No God listened to the prayers of the damned. “Where have you been, knave? I’ve called you for hours.” His fingernails sharpened and curved into steel claws with the desire to rip out a throat. Ekkbar’s.

“My lord, my lord,” Ekkbar began in his echoing manner, his voice humble. “I’ve just awakened from being hurt unmercifully, most unmercifully.”

Batuk flipped a braided strand of hair from his face, waiting for the eunuch to lift his milky-yellow gaze. Only Batuk and his elite Kujoo soldiers had double pupils, each surrounded by a ring of deep gold—to mark them as cursed.

What? Did Ravana think they’d forget? Wasn’t like any of them could stray from this forsaken pit.

Ekkbar’s brows puckered with feigned distress. He lied with the expertise of Ravana some days. But unlike the demon god who was safe from repercussions, his manservant was not.

“My lord, my lord, I see you do not believe me, but I speak the truth.” Ekkbar crossed his delicate arms in front of his naked bony chest in a child’s attempt at indignation. Torchlight danced across his shiny head wrapped with a cloth bandage. “I had just found a way to leave this—”

“What?” Batuk sat forward, not believing his ears. Could the fool really deliver his people from this hellhole?

“As I was saying”—Ekkbar adjusted his position, jade-green silk pants reflecting off the polished stone floor—“I believe I’ve found a way to leave, but—”

“Show me now!” Batuk bellowed.

Ekkbar frowned. His eyes shifted toward the heaven none of them would ever see, then back to Batuk. “My lord, my lord, if you’ll allow me to finish, I might be able to explain all.”

“Careful not to take that tone, lest you pay the price.”

“What more would you take from a man who can no longer bed a woman?” he groused.

“Do you risk finding out by raising my ire?”

Ekkbar muttered something, pouting about ungrateful warlords and all he’d done.

Batuk fantasized putting them both out of their miseries by killing the irritation, but none of his people could die as long as they lived beneath Mount Meru, a curse in itself since no one aged beyond the point at which they’d arrived.

But they could feel the pain of his sword.

Batuk sighed heavily. “Finish your tale, magician.”

Ekkbar straightened his scrawny back and began anew. “I found a connection, yes a connection to the outside world. A witch heard my chants and communicated with me. I explained my, er, our, yes our dire dilemma and pleaded for her help, swearing you would repay her handsomely. She agreed to help me open a portal through which we could travel to her world. As I was experimenting—with all intentions of contacting Your Highness once I could ensure success—I was attacked in a most unkind manner. Most unkind. When I awoke the path had disappeared.”

“Who did this?” Batuk shouted, vibrating with the need to crush a skull. Who would have ruined their chance to escape?

“I, uh, believe it was one of your elite soldiers.” Ekkbar touched his bandaged head in a wasted effort to incur pity.

“What?” Batuk’s elite would lay down their lives for their warlord and the people he protected. “Who?” The walls glowed again at his roar. Heat churned the nihar into steam.

“Vyan. I found his shield in the room when I awoke.” Ekkbar began wringing his hands. “My lord, he must come back.”

“No.”

Ekkbar’s dull skin paled to a mottled gray. “Wh-what? Vyan is possessed with a fierce need for revenge. He rages over the loss of his wife and family at the hands of Beladors. He will go after the Belador leader, he will. You know what that will mean!” Ekkbar trembled, eyes turning pure white.

“Yes. It means if he is successful, Vyan will have found a way out for all of us and not just himself as you were obviously trying to do.”

“Not true, not true! I merely planned to test the pathway before inviting your wrath for failure.” Translucent gold tears spilled from Ekkbar’s eyes. “What about the curse? If we start a war again, we will be sent to Fene for a thousand years.”