Forged In Death, Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles by Jim Melvin Page A

demon had disappeared.
    Sōbhana scrambled into the passageway, past the Mogols. None attempted to thwart her. She left the cave and entered the bitter cold that encased the mountaintop. Now that she was fully clothed, it did not affect her so drastically. Vedana was nowhere to be seen. The demon, for reasons of her own, had vanished.
    Sōbhana calmed herself by investigating her surroundings. There was a wide stone balcony outside the cave’s mouth that provided plenty of room to move about. But beyond the platform the mountain fell steeply in all directions, its sheer stone walls coated with an ultra-slippery glaze of ice. It would be near-suicide to attempt a descent. The cave was a prison as secure as Asubha. The dragon must have transported even the Mogols here.
    She turned back toward the cave. The Mogols were there, still bowing. The servant woman gestured to her, enticing her to come out of the icy wind. Sōbhana lowered her head and sighed. She was at Bhayatupa’s mercy.
    She walked to the edge of the precipice and shouted into the abyss. Her voice echoed for leagues. “Damn you, dragon! Why did you strand me here? Time is precious. He might already be dead.”
    The wind rose in response. Within its roar she heard the demon’s laughter. Vedana was out there, somewhere. But now she would not show herself. Was the demon’s bravado overstated? She didn’t seem to fear Sōbhana, but did Vedana fear the sword Sōbhana now wielded?
    Sōbhana looked more closely at the weapon, which was plain but heavy. Its double-edged blade gleamed like freshly polished silver, and its hilt was wrapped with a material that resembled blackened leather secured with metal cords. The warrior in her recognized it as a special weapon, despite its simplicity, and she decided to test it. She let out a piercing cry and drove a cutting edge onto the side of a granite boulder, expecting the sword to snap. Instead it buried itself more than a finger’s width into the frozen stone, and then slid back out with the ease of a dagger in flesh. This was a special sword, all right. Such a blow would have broken even a uttara .
    Despite her sudden movement, the Mogols did not flinch. Sōbhana found herself admiring their discipline. Though they lacked proper training, Mogols were respectable fighters. The best of them could hold their own against a Jivitan rider or a Nissayan knight. Of course, they were no match for a Tugar, but who was?
    She returned to the cavern and began to make a bed out of a pile of clothing. The servant woman approached her, shook her head and took Sōbhana’s hand, guiding her even deeper into the cave. They arrived at a room about the size of an ordinary bedchamber. It was lit by a single torch. A plump mattress on the floor, two low wooden tables and a simple chair filled the rest of the room. Food, wine, wooden utensils and a ewer of cool water were arranged on one table. On the other lay a basin of steaming water, a cake of soap probably made from oils and tree bark, a comb carved from balsa and several wool towels. Before leaving the chamber, the servant drew a heavy curtain across the opening.
    Sōbhana was blissfully alone.
    When had she last bathed? Other than an occasional dip in the icy waters of the Ogha River, it had been almost two months. Her hair was greasy and knotted, and she shuddered to think what her underarms and private parts must smell like. She laid the sword on the mattress, removed her clothes, and took a long time cleaning herself. Then she laboriously combed the knots out of her black hair, which had grown a finger-length past her shoulders.
    Afterward she spread some nutty-tasting butter onto a slice of crusty bread and ate it along with dried meats and grapes. She drank wine, which was potent and flavorful. This made her wonder how the Mogols had managed to get fresh provisions up to the mountaintop, but drowsiness muddled her thoughts. Her life had become filled with too many questions and too