Most of the soldiers were going to make it back to the capital, however, before the spell ever reached them. Realizing this, Keegan dispelled the fog with a simple wave of his hand, breaking the enchantment that had given life and malice to the trees, and allowing them to revert to their natural form.
He was in complete command of the Chaos now. He felt strong, invincible. An aura of blue light shimmered and crackled around him. He had routed his enemies with his magic and he still felt an untapped ocean of power pulsing within the Ring, his for the taking. His ears roared with the sound of victory, his heart pounding with the euphoria of conquest. The battle was over, but he was ready to continue the fight.
The wizard crossed his arms above his head, and the aura around him flared in response. He gathered the Chaos into a ball of light hovering above him then released it with a single word. Keegan’s body began to grow.
He shrieked as his bones cracked and reknitted a hundred times in the space of a few seconds, growing longer and thicker. His muscles ripped and tore, then re-formed, then ripped and tore again. Three times his outer layer of skin split and peeled away as he shed the useless husk of flesh for a new one.
Moments later the transformation was complete. Keegan stood twenty feet tall, a giant towering above the trees surrounding the clearing. Oblivious to the fate of his companions, the wizard set off toward the Danaan capital with a purposeful stride, smashing tree and limb as he went and leaving a path of destruction in his wake.
Those who had escaped the forest were safe, for now. But they could not escape him. He would level the Danaan city completely. And none could stand against him.
Chapter 53
Sleep. The immortal sleep of seven centuries beyond death. The cold sleep of rocks and stones buried in the earth, a spell of such power it cannot be broken. Power. The power of Chaos, the magic of the Gods. The sleeping mountain beneath the earth stirs.
Far to the north of the Danaan capital, in the depths of the forests never seen by human or Danaan since the first Cataclysm, the ground shuddered. Screaming birds took flight, the sound of their beating wings filling the crisp night. Stags and deer and hares crouched trembling low to the ground, paralyzed with fear so great it overwhelmed their instinct to flee.
Slowly, it wakes. And remembers. The wars. Wars against the Gods, led by the one once called Daemron, champion of the Immortals, defender of the mortal world and slayer of the Chaos Spawn. But then the Slayer joins their side and leads them against the Gods to claim the power that is rightfully theirs.
Far below the surface the beast clawed at the soil of the grave from which it was never supposed to rise. Its horned, scaled head burrowed up through the dirt atop its serpentine neck. Powerful foreclaws carved deep furrows through strata of rock and stone; massive back legs kicked as it swam up from the ocean of earth and mud. Its long, thick tail twisted and turned, propelling it ever upward to an escape it was never supposed to know.
It stirs and it remembers the wars. It remembers bitter defeat. It remembers the invincible power of the Immortals. It remembers eons spent frozen beneath the earth, chained by a power too great to resist. Now the power calls it to awaken, and the creature must obey.
The ground erupted in a shower of dirt and stones and uprooted trees as the dragon burst forth. It spread its great leather wings and took to the sky, screaming its rage and fury at centuries of magical captivity. It swooped and dove and turned, stretching and flexing muscles and limbs that had lain still for seven hundred years. And then it climbed. Higher and higher it soared, clouds of sediment trailing behind in a great plume as the residue of centuries was washed away from its glittering green scales by the rapid ascent.
At the apex of its climb, the dragon twisted its sinewy neck to regard the mortal world far below with black reptilian eyes. It dove down to the earth and spread its massive jaws to unleash a blast of fire that ignited the trees in a blaze of blue flame. The inferno spread far faster than the terrified animals below could flee, racing through the forest in every direction, incinerating all in its path.
The dragon flapped its fifty-foot wings and climbed once more, high above the smoke and the sweet stench of the charred flesh from the animals caught in the fire. Here the air was pure and clean. The scent of power reached its scaly nostrils, the scent of Chaos magic. The beast wheeled in the air, turning to the south, drawn by the power of an ancient Talisman.
From the safety of the trees beyond the clearing Scythe, Norr and Vaaler watched Keegan’s startling metamorphosis.
“What’s he doing?” Vaaler asked when the transformation was complete and the now giant mage had turned to the north and strode off through the trees.
Neither of the others answered him.
“Keegan!” he called out, taking a stride toward the clearing. “Keegan, wait!”
Norr dropped a heavy hand on the Danaan’s shoulder, holding him back. “No, don’t go after him. It’s too dangerous.”
Vaaler turned and looked up at Norr’s towering form.
“But the horns have sounded a retreat. It’s over. We won. Someone has to tell him.”
“I doubt he’d even hear you,” Scythe said. Like Norr, she had seen the murderous intent in the gigantic wizard’s eyes, and she understood what it meant. “You saw what happened to Jerrod.”
“That wasn’t Keegan’s fault,” Vaaler protested. “He wouldn’t hurt one of us. Not on purpose.”
“I agree,” the barbarian said, then added, “But he is not himself right now. Let him go.”
A soft groan from Jerrod’s prone form drew their attention. Norr rushed into the clearing and crouched down beside him.
“He’s still alive,” he said, surprised. “Scythe, come help him.”
Scythe made her way over to the fallen monk, Vaaler following uncertainly behind her.
“I doubt there’s anything I can do,” she said without even bending down to check him out.
Still crouched over their injured companion, Norr’s gaze was now level with her own.
“Please,” he said, looking into her eyes. “At least try. For me.”
She sighed and bent down to investigate.
“Help me get this cloak off him.”
Under the Danaan garment Jerrod’s body was badly bruised. Dark purple splotches covered his torso and limbs. Scythe checked for broken bones, but to her surprise found nothing more serious than a few cracked ribs. He had suffered a blow to the head that had knocked him unconscious, but there didn’t appear to be any fractures in the skull.
“He’ll live,” she said. “But he’ll be in a lot of pain when he wakes up.”
“I’m awake now,” Jerrod replied in a weak whisper, responding to her voice. “Where’s Keegan?”
Vaaler was the first to answer. “He … he left. He was heading north.”
“We have to go after him.” Jerrod struggled to stand up, but Scythe held him down easily.
“You’re not going anywhere. Not with the beating you’ve taken.”
Ignoring her he turned to Norr.
“Help me up. Hurry.”
The big man glanced at Scythe, who rolled her eyes and moved aside. He lifted Jerrod to his feet then stepped away gingerly, ready to catch the wounded monk if he was unable to stand on his own.
Jerrod swayed but remained standing, though he was nearly doubled over from the pain in his cracked ribs. He bowed his head in concentration and took a long, deep breath.
The bruises on his body began to fade. Scythe had heard tales of the Order’s supernatural recuperative abilities, and she had suspected them to be true while watching Jerrod tend to Norr’s injuries after their escape from Torian. Now her suspicions were confirmed. Even so, she was amazed at the miraculous recovery happening before her very eyes. Within seconds his healing magic had knitted his bones so that he could stand up straight.
“Now,” he said, gasping slightly from the exertion of mending his injuries, “tell me again where Keegan went.”
“He went
north,” Vaaler said. “I think … I think he was heading back to Ferlhame.”
A shadow passed across the monk’s face.
“Are you certain?”
“He’s heading to the city,” Scythe confirmed. “I’m sure of it.”
“I still don’t understand why,” Vaaler admitted. “We’re safe now. I heard the horns blowing their retreat.”
Jerrod frowned but didn’t answer, and Scythe shook her head in disgust.
“You can’t even admit it, can you?”
“Admit what?” Vaaler asked her. “What are you talking about?”
“Jerrod’s precious savior is going to destroy Ferlhame.”
“No,” Jerrod said defiantly. “He would not do that. He is our champion; he is the protector of the mortal world.”
“I saw the look in his eyes,” Scythe said. “He wanted revenge. He wanted to destroy.”
“No,” Jerrod repeated. “There must be some other explanation. He must have gone north for some other reason.”
“He turned himself into a giant and marched off to destroy the city,” Scythe insisted. “What other explanation can there be?”
“Jerrod,” Vaaler asked, fear in his voice, “What if she’s right?”
“We must have faith in Keegan,” Jerrod assured him. “He will stand against the forces of Chaos and destruction; he will not unleash them on us. He is our champion.”
“How can you say that?” Scythe protested. “You saw what he did to Torian. He’ll do the same to Ferlhame.”
“Torian was not his fault,” Jerrod muttered. “It was an accident. Chaos is difficult to control. Keegan needs more training to master his power so he can fulfill his destiny.”
“You think he’s some mystical savior, but you’re wrong,” Scythe said. “He’s just a mage drunk with ambition, a wizard gone out of control. Why can’t you admit that?”
It was Norr who answered her.
“Because there is no one else. Keegan is his last hope.”
Vaaler turned to the monk.
“Is this true?” he demanded angrily. “Are you willing to stand idly by and let my people be slaughtered?”
“I do not believe Keegan will slaughter your people,” Jerrod said without hesitation.
Scythe threw her hands up in exasperation.
“You can’t argue with a fanatic,” she noted, dismissing Jerrod’s opinion. “But you aren’t like him, Vaaler. You saw what we saw. And you know I’m right. Keegan is going to destroy the city.”
Vaaler didn’t want to believe her. He knew Keegan, or at least he thought he did. But he’d thought he had known Drake, too. And the young man he remembered from their days studying under Rexol was not the same man he had seen today. Keegan was a wizard now, and Vaaler knew from his studies that the Chaos left its mark on all who used it. It could have changed Keegan, perverted him into something he wouldn’t recognize. It could have turned him into Rexol.
“I can’t let him destroy Ferlhame,” he said solemnly. “We have to stop him.”
“You can’t.” Scythe said simply. “We’ve seen him level a city and rout an army with his magic. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“I’m the one who brought him here; I’m the one who gave him the Ring!” Vaaler shouted. “This is my fault, and those are my people in that city!”
“Forget about the city,” Scythe snapped back. “We have to worry about ourselves now. I say we get the horses and ride south, away from Ferlhame.”
“What about Keegan?” Norr asked. “We can’t just abandon him.”
“Keegan can look after himself. But we have to get out of these woods before the patrols have a chance to regroup.”
“No, we have to go after him,” Jerrod said, joining the conversation again. “But not to try and stop him.
“The power of the Ring is limitless, but Keegan’s ability to control it is not. Eventually his strength will falter and he will be vulnerable. We must be there to help him when that time comes.”
“Then there’s still a chance to stop him before he reaches the city,” Vaaler said hopefully.
“Right now all the power of the Ring is his to command,” the monk said. “Until his will is spent no mortal can stand against him. I do not believe he intends to destroy the city, Vaaler. But if that is his purpose you must understand that he cannot be stopped.
“And you must understand that Keegan is still the only one who can stand against the Slayer’s return. Even if he destroys Ferlhame, you must accept that he is our only hope. When you brought us the Ring you made a choice. Do not turn your back on that choice now. Your loyalty must be to the future of the entire world, not just your people.”
Vaaler opened his mouth to say something else, then dropped his head and slumped his shoulders in resignation.
Jerrod was right. He had felt the terrible power of the Chaos that Keegan had summoned; he had seen the remarkable transformation of his friend in the clearing. Such things would have been impossible, even for Rexol. Keegan’s magic was beyond that of any other mortal; there was nobody else who could wield the power of the Talisman and survive. He gave a grim nod to show he understood the truth of the situation.
Satisfied he had secured the loyalty of the Danaan prince, Jerrod turned to Norr. “Gather the horses. We must move quickly or we will arrive too late.”
As the big barbarian moved off to follow the monk’s command, Scythe realized her lover wasn’t about to abandon Keegan yet, despite all that had happened. Which meant she wasn’t going anywhere yet, either.
With a sigh she asked, “So what happens when we get to the city?”
“By the grace of the True Gods we will arrive in time to help Keegan when his strength falters,” Jerrod replied. “And I pray we will find that your assumptions about him were wrong.”
She didn’t say anything, simply leapt up into the saddle when Norr brought her horse around. Jerrod scooped up the wizard’s fallen staff from the ground and secured it to one of the mounts. Then they set off toward the city without speaking, easily following the path of destruction Keegan had carved through the forest.
Chapter 54
Keegan moved quickly in his new form, covering the ground in great, loping strides. The earth rumbled beneath his feet; trees were bent and broken as he charged heedless through the forest, oblivious of his surroundings. His mind raged with thoughts of Chaos unleashed upon a defenseless city: images of fire, death, and destruction. But when he emerged from the trees on the edge of Ferlhame the city was already burning.
Confused, he stood on the edges of the inferno, taking it all in. The entire north side of the capital was ablaze, the glow from the fires lighting the night sky. Screams of terror filled the air, though he could barely hear them above the roaring Chaos that filled his head. The smell of acrid smoke and immolated flesh assailed his nostrils as he watched the panicked Danaan fleeing the inferno, tiny figures running through the streets to the sections of the city not yet touched by the flames.
And then, from a thousand feet above, he heard something else: a sound no mortal was meant to hear. The shrill cry sliced through the night, shredding the very fabric of the mortal world. The Danaan fleeing the carnage collapsed and threw their hands over their ears, writhing in pain, their minds ripped apart by the terrible shrieking. But Keegan only turned his gaze skyward.
For a brief moment he was mesmerized by the terrible beauty of the creature above, circling so high its forty-foot length was small enough to blot out with a thumb. But even at this distance Keegan recognized the telltale signs of a dragon, greatest of the Chaos Spawn.
The wyrm continued to circle, descending slowly, its eyes piercing the night as it sought out its prey. Its massive body glowed with a supernatural green light, emerald scales not just reflecting the moon but alive with their own inherent illumination.
Keegan knew it was searching for him. He knew it could sense the Ring; the beast was drawn to the well of infinite power contained within the simple g
old band. But he felt no fear. The power of the Gods was his to command, and even a dragon was no match for him now.
Never taking his eyes from his enormous adversary, the young mage began another incantation. In response to his spell the sky above began to glow with blue light and jagged, surreal turquoise clouds began to form, coalescing around the still-hovering dragon. The mists thickened and churned as Keegan first gathered the Chaos then unleashed it in a storm of death.
From far below the man who was now so much more watched with morbid fascination as blue lightning struck the dragon from all sides. The clouds opened and poison rain engulfed his reptilian foe. The beast’s great body shuddered and trembled beneath the onslaught, but the creature refused to break off its circling descent.
The fury of the storm continued unabated. Wherever the tiny drops of concentrated acid fell on the city they left a scorched hole through buildings, into foundations, and deep into the earth. Hundreds of fleeing Danaan fell victim to the deadly shower, the poison rain turning them into withered husks seconds after burning through their clothes and making contact with their bare skin. But the dragon did not fall.
In the face of his foe’s implacable, ponderous circling Keegan’s will briefly faltered. And in that instant, deep within himself, he felt something strange. His connection to the infinite well of Chaos contained within the Ring was fading, ever so slightly. And he realized his own power was not so infinite after all.
Surprised, the wizard refocused his will on the storm, drawing on the magic of the Talisman to give his spell more power before his strength faded, channeling ever-increasing amounts of Chaos through him. The lightning intensified, the sky constantly lit up by incandescent blue flashes. The rain became a solid sheet of burning liquid. The torrent of acid dissolved the towers and homes of Ferlhame’s central district, melting them like statues carved from salt and thrown into a raging river. Fierce winds rocked the wooden towers, and several buildings—their foundations weakened first by fire and then by the terrible rains—collapsed, toppling still more structures with their falling mass.
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