Chaos Unleashed

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Breaking off his retreat, he sprang forward and to his left, moving nimbly on the balls of his feet. The soldiers were caught off guard; clearly they’d expected him to keep giving ground. The closest tried a clumsy swipe of his blade, but his momentum was still moving in the wrong direction and he never came close to his target.

  Vaaler’s aim was much better, as he stabbed the tip of his blade into the meaty flesh of the soldier’s right bicep.

  Just like you taught me, Drake—always try to draw first blood.

  The wound was far from lethal, but it was painful enough to make the soldier cry out and pull back…sending him right into the path of his companion. The two became momentarily tangled up with each other, preventing either one from attempting any kind of counterattack as Vaaler darted in close and circled around behind them, slicing open the cheek of the already wounded soldier with the rapier’s fine edge.

  The wound sent his opponent into a rage. He shoved his partner aside, using his weight for leverage to change his own direction so he could charge at Vaaler again. But the Danaan was ready for him as the soldier cocked his arm back and snapped it forward with all the force he could muster, and he easily spun out of the way of his wild, overextended swipe.

  The missed blow sent the soldier stumbling off-balance, and Vaaler stepped forward as if to finish him off. The second soldier fell for the feint. Thinking he had a clear shot, he moved in hard, making no effort to protect himself. Vaaler seized the opportunity by swiveling his wrist and completely changing the orientation of his rapier—an impossible move for a heavier blade.

  He delivered a quick thrust toward the face of the onrushing soldier, taking out one of his eyes. The injured man screamed and dropped to the floor, his free hand coming up to clutch at the ruptured, oozing orb.

  By this time the first soldier had recovered enough to launch a counterattack. He moved more cautiously, jabbing and prodding with the point of his sword in small, quick strokes. But this wasn’t some new tactic; the initial wound to his bicep simply made it painful to extend his arm fully.

  Vaaler easily rocked back just enough to get clear of his limited range, then retaliated with a series of diagonal cuts that shredded the exposed knuckles and fingers wrapped around the blade’s hilt. The soldier gasped and reflexively snatched his hand back, his sword falling from his gashed and bleeding digits.

  Drake had taught Vaaler a hundred ways to finish off a disarmed opponent; Vaaler chose one and ended the soldier’s life with a single stab through the heart.

  The second soldier had struggled gamely back to his feet though he was still clutching at what was left of his eye with one hand. He lumbered forward, flailing desperately. Vaaler picked up the ponderous rhythm of his broad, sweeping strokes, then timed a quick thrust to the throat to put an end to the battle.

  Throughout the brief altercation, the barkeep and his wife had stood still as statues. As Vaaler turned his attention away from his defeated foes, however, they both threw their hands up and began to speak at the same time.

  “What have you—going to kill—back soon—get out.”

  Their words ran over and into each other, obscuring whatever message they were trying to get across. Then they both fell silent, their faces frozen in masks of utter horror.

  “I won’t harm you,” Vaaler assured them. “These men forced my hand, but you have nothing to fear.”

  The man shook his head and let his gaze drop to the floor. The woman stepped from the shadows and approached Vaaler cautiously.

  “You have to go,” she said as she came forward. “Now. Get out of here before Skrill and the others get back!”

  “Who’s Skrill? Another soldier?”

  “You have no idea what you’ve done to us,” the man said, his voice mournful.

  “Stay off the road,” the woman continued. “Get as far away as you can, as fast as you can. If they find you, they’ll kill you.”

  Vaaler’s next question died on his lips as they heard the pounding of hooves and the neighing of horses coming from the street.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done to us,” the man repeated, still staring at the floor.

  The woman grabbed Vaaler’s arm and pulled him along toward a door in the wall beside the bar.

  “Tell them he left,” she snapped at her husband as she led Vaaler into the back room, closing the door behind her.

  A small kitchen greeted them. A long counter cluttered with pots, pans, and cutlery filled up most of the room, and a tiny stove was stuffed into the corner. In the rear was a narrow hall that led farther into the building; glancing down it, Vaaler saw a large storeroom and another hall branching off to one side.

  Even as Vaaler’s mind was processing what was happening, they heard loud, laughing voices coming from the other room as the riders outside entered the tavern. These quickly changed to curses and exclamations of surprise and anger.

  The woman crouched down and rapped her hand hard on the wooden floor. There was a soft click, then a virtually invisible trapdoor opened to reveal a narrow staircase. A shadowy figure with a dim lantern looked up at him from below.

  “Down there. Quickly.”

  Vaaler didn’t argue. The shadowy figure—a young woman—pressed herself to the side, and there was just enough room for him to squeeze past. Then she pulled the trapdoor shut, sealing them in the hidden cellar.

  She motioned for him to continue down the stairs. It didn’t take Vaaler long to reach the bottom; the cellar was at most ten feet deep. Above them he heard more angry shouts, and heavy boots thumping on the floor as several large men stamped and stomped around in all directions, no doubt searching the premises for him.

  The young woman reached the bottom of the staircase and motioned for him to follow her. Vaaler realized that the cellar was actually a long, narrow passage that led back out under the main tavern.

  Smuggler’s tunnels, Vaaler realized.

  “Who are you?” he whispered, leaning in close to the young woman.

  She flinched away momentarily, then leaned back in close to answer. When she spoke, her words were so soft Vaaler could just barely hear her.

  “I’m Milliss. My parents hid me down here when the soldiers came.”

  “How long have you been down here?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “You’ve been living in this tunnel for two weeks?”

  “Better than being found,” Milliss answered. “The soldiers take whatever they want.”

  Vaaler’s stomach rolled as he caught the true meaning of her words.

  “Is there a peephole or something?” Vaaler asked. “I want to see what’s happening up there.”

  Milliss nodded. She walked forward, then snuffed out the lamp, leaving them in total darkness. Vaaler’s ears pricked up at the faintest sound of a bolt being drawn, then a narrow beam of light streamed in from above.

  The young woman stepped aside, and Vaaler moved forward. He found himself looking up through a small hole in the floor, but it was angled so that he could see the bar and a good portion of the tavern’s main room.

  A crowd of six or seven soldiers filled the room, dressed in the same uniforms as the men Vaaler had killed. The soldiers had dragged the barkeep and his wife into the center of the room, where the bodies still lay on the floor where they had fallen. One of the soldiers—a tall man with a dark beard, probably the leader—was shouting at the cowering couple.

  “Where is he?”

  “He ran off,” the barkeep answered. “We don’t know in which direction!”

  “He was Danaan,” the wife added. “Probably headed north, back to the forest.”

  “Why would a tree hugger show up in a crap heap of a town like this?” the soldier demanded.

  “We don’t know!” the barkeep protested. “He didn’t say much. Just exchanged dirty looks with your men, then the fight broke out.”

  The soldier slapped the barkeep across the cheek with the back of his hand, his expression never changing.
The older man’s head snapped back and he grunted; his wife let out a single, sharp cry of distress.

  In the tunnel beneath the floor, the young woman gasped softly, her hand going up to her mouth in horror. Vaaler didn’t react physically, but he felt a righteous rage bubbling up inside him.

  “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” he said.

  “Please, Captain Hirk, why would we make up a story like that?” the wife begged, as her husband shook his head to try to clear the cobwebs.

  “How long ago did he leave?” Hirk asked.

  “Twenty minutes, maybe,” the barkeep mumbled.

  Hirk casually reached out and slapped him again, this time hard enough to make him stumble backward. Another soldier caught him and held him up as the captain stepped forward and delivered a hard punch to the gut. The barkeep doubled over and sagged to his knees as his wife tried to hold back her sobs.

  “So you just let my men lay in their own blood for twenty minutes?” Hirk asked, dropping down to a knee so he could get face-to-face with the barkeep.

  Vaaler turned away—he could see where this was headed. The soldiers wanted someone to suffer for what had happened. He briefly considered rushing back up the stairs and through the trapdoor, then quickly dismissed the idea. For one thing, it would reveal the secret hiding place and could expose the young woman beside him. For another, he’d be trapped in the bar with no way out, facing a half dozen armed and angry men.

  “Is there a way out to the street?” he whispered, knowing most smuggler’s tunnels had multiple exits.

  The woman nodded, an expression of hopeless resignation on her face as she realized he was going to abandon them. She pointed to a small passage leading off to the side.

  There wasn’t time to justify or explain what he was doing, so Vaaler simply darted off in the direction she pointed, leaving her all alone in the small, dark tunnel.

  CROUCHED WITH HER warriors in a small grove of trees less than fifty yards from the farm, Shalana had a clear view of everything that was happening. Five armed soldiers had dragged a young couple out into the field, forcing them to kneel and watch as their stable was consumed by flames. From inside the burning building came the sound of squealing pigs, the helpless animals trapped by the flames while the soldiers stood by, laughing.

  Is this some kind of punishment for something the couple did? Shalana wondered. Or are the soldiers just sadists?

  “I do love the smell of roast pig!” one of the soldiers joked, his voice rising up above the crackling flames.

  The young man kneeling on the ground turned his head and said something to the soldier, but Shalana couldn’t hear him.

  “Should have thought of that earlier,” the soldier snapped back. Then he slammed his boot into the side of the man’s ribs.

  The woman jumped to her feet and tried to rush to his aid, but two of the soldiers grabbed her, one seizing each arm.

  “I like a woman with some spirit!” one of them barked, and they began dragging the struggling, screaming woman in the direction of the small farmhouse.

  Shalana had seen enough.

  “Don’t hurt the farmers!” she called out to her followers as she leapt from her hiding place and raced toward the farm.

  The war cries of her honor guard rose up from behind her, and she felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that preceded every battle.

  The sound drew the attention of the soldiers. The pair holding the young woman let her go, fumbling for their weapons. The other three took one look at the horde descending on them and simply turned and fled, making a run for the horses tied up to the hitching gate twenty yards away.

  Shalana cocked her arm back and hurled her heavy spear, the missile slicing through the air and burying itself in between the shoulder blades of one of the fleeing soldiers. Four more spears launched a second later, and the other two dropped as well.

  Without breaking stride, Shalana pulled the long knife from her belt as she bore down on the last two. One threw down his blade and held up his hands, while the other stepped forward to meet her charge.

  Gripping the hilt with both hands, he brought the blade down in a diagonal chop. But Shalana was already leaping forward, her right leg kicking out. The hard leather of her knee-high boots caught the flat of the blade and knocked it away, sending it flying from the soldier’s grasp. The momentum of her jump brought her crashing into her opponent, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled twice in a heap, then Shalana stood up, her blade dripping from where she’d plunged it into his heart.

  The other man was still standing with his arms raised, watching the slaughter with wide eyes. Shalana watched as Genny came rushing toward him, the twin axes she carried raised high.

  Only those warriors who are worthy are allowed to surrender, Shalana thought, making no move to intervene.

  Genny’s axes chopped down hard, coming into the soldier’s neck at a forty-five-degree angle from either side and cleanly severing his head.

  Shalana cast her head from side to side, looking for others they might have missed. The only people left alive were hers and the young couple. The man still lay on the ground clutching his side; the kick had obviously injured his ribs. The woman had rushed over to him during the fight. She stood above him protectively, awkwardly brandishing the sword from one of the fallen soldiers.

  “Try to get the pigs out of the barn,” Shalana called out to her people. Then she addressed the woman in Allrish. “We won’t hurt you.”

  She turned her back on the couple and went to retrieve her spear. When she returned the woman had dropped her sword and helped the man to his feet. He was leaning heavily on her for support.

  At the burning stable, her warriors had smashed open a locked gate on one of the walls that wasn’t completely ablaze yet. As it swung open, five hogs came barreling out, running wildly around the farm in a panic. Recognizing they just needed to run themselves out, Shalana turned back to the couple.

  “Who were those men?” she asked.

  “They work for Hirk,” the man replied. “Him and his group showed up a couple weeks ago. Just kind of took over the town.”

  “How many others?” Shalana asked, a new fear clutching at her insides.

  “I think eight or ten, maybe,” the man told her.

  “Where are they?”

  “They usually gather at the tavern each night. In Othlen.”

  Vaaler!

  “Which way?” she shouted. “Show me!”

  —

  The cramped tunnel was longer than Vaaler expected. When he finally reached the end and climbed the rickety stairs back to the surface, he found himself emerging from an abandoned well almost a hundred yards away from the back of the tavern.

  He covered the distance back to the tavern’s front door with long, quick strides, his rapier clutched tightly in his hand. He threw himself through the door, causing it to crash loudly against the wall as it flew open.

  The soldiers in the tavern spun around in surprise. The barkeep was still conscious, though his face was bloody and one eye was shut. His wife was on her knees, her hands clasped in front of her as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “What kind of coward beats an unarmed man?” Vaaler spat.

  “Kill him!” Hirk shouted, and the soldiers all rushed forward.

  Vaaler sprang backward and slammed the door behind him, then turned and took off running down the road, hoping to lead them away from the tavern. Most Danaan were fleet of foot, and he was confident he could outrun them.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, he suddenly realized the obvious flaw in his plan as Hirk and his men threw themselves onto the backs of their horses. Realizing it was time for a new plan, Vaaler veered off the dirt road running through the center of town and made for the surrounding hills and trees, hoping to shake off his pursuers.

  But the soldiers knew the area better than he did, and he heard Hirk barking out orders for his men to cut him off. Vaaler spared another glance back and sa
w several soldiers wheeling their mounts in different directions, circling around wide to make sure he couldn’t escape.

  Vaaler changed direction again, heading back to the town.

  Maybe I can find shelter in one of the other buildings. Hide out or at least find somewhere to try to hold them off.

  Unfortunately, Hirk had already anticipated this move, and Vaaler saw that his path back to Othlen was already cut off by the captain and two of his soldiers.

  “Over here!” Hirk called out. “We got him!”

  Knowing escape was hopeless, Vaaler dropped into a fighting crouch.

  Maybe they’ll come down off their horses to fight me on the ground. At least then I might take one or two of them with me.

  Now that he had his prey cornered, however, the captain suddenly became cautious. He didn’t order his men to charge recklessly forward; instead, they slowed and came to a stop about twenty feet away. A few seconds later Vaaler heard more horses closing in from either side, until he was surrounded by a circle of seven armed riders.

  “Throw down your weapon!” Hirk ordered.

  “I’ve seen what you do to unarmed men,” Vaaler reminded him.

  “I can do a lot worse if you make me angry,” Hirk warned. “But get on my good side and maybe we’ll let you go with just a beating.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” Vaaler answered.

  “You can’t get out of this.”

  “True. But I can take at least one of you with me.”

  Vaaler could tell some of the soldiers were shaken by his confidence; they had obviously gotten used to bullying defenseless townspeople.

  “The others may take me down,” he continued, “but the first man to come near me dies. So…any volunteers?”

  Silence hung in the air for several seconds before Hirk said, “Someone go into town and find me a bow so I can shoot this tree hugger in the face.”