The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Is it just bad luck, or is it my destiny to spread death and destruction everywhere I go?

  He hadn’t told Jerrod about his talk with Vaaler yet. He doubted the monk’s faith would be rattled by learning that the backlash from Keegan’s magic couldn’t be controlled anymore—he’d probably just see it as further proof Keegan was the all-powerful savior he was looking for. But if he knew Vaaler couldn’t do anything to help Keegan master his talents, he might think the Danaan was an unnecessary distraction.

  He won’t mind Vaaler’s being around if he thinks he still has some role to play in his prophecy.

  He hadn’t told Scythe about it yet, either. He’d stopped obsessing about her kiss, but he couldn’t blame all his feelings for her on the backlash. He didn’t want her to leave, and he was afraid she might decide she and Norr were better off keeping their distance if she knew the truth.

  It had actually been Norr who’d insisted he and Scythe join Keegan’s quest. Now that he was back with his own people, would he be willing to risk everything—not just his own life, not just that of the Stone Spirits, but the lives of all the clans answering Hadawas’s call—to help Keegan if he knew the real risks?

  Better to just keep quiet about it until after the Conclave. That’s what Jerrod would do.

  Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better about his decision as he gnawed on his jerky.

  There was less than an hour of daylight left when they finally came into view of the Conclave—several hundred Easterners scattered across a wide, open plain. Had they been in the Southlands, Jerrod would have noticed the massive barbarian horde much earlier, but in the East his Sight was limited to a more modest range.

  As they drew closer, more details began to emerge. What had first appeared to be a single large group of Easterners was actually many smaller groups gathered together in separate camps at the base of a large, rocky hill.

  Each clan must have set up its own camp.

  The size of each camp varied greatly. The smallest were only five or six individuals, most had somewhere between a dozen and twenty, and a handful matched the thirty that made up the Stone Spirit delegation. In total, Jerrod estimated their numbers at close to three hundred.

  Far toward the rear of the gathering, butting right up against the base of the hill, were six large buildings that resembled the size and shape of the Long Hall in the Stone Spirit camp. Instead of being made from mud and rock, however, these were constructed entirely from a single unfamiliar type of smooth, dark stone.

  As the Stone Spirit convoy drew closer a welcome party marched out to meet them—ten large, heavily armed warriors. Seeing them approach, Norr held up his hand and called out for his people to stop.

  Ignoring Scythe’s objections, he hefted his bulk up from the sled he’d been riding on and strode to the front of his followers. Spitting out a curse, Scythe took her spot at his side. The pair were quickly flanked on either side by the five thanes Norr had chosen to bring with him. Behind this group the rest of the Stone Spirits stood in a seemingly haphazard collection, though Jerrod noticed they all had their weapons in easy reach.

  At the front of the welcome party were two hard-looking men. One was huge—only a few inches shorter than Norr and heavily covered in muscles. But it was the other who spoke.

  “My name is Roggen,” the man said. “This is Berlen. On behalf of Hadawas, venerable Chief of the Sun Blades, we welcome you to this Conclave.”

  Jerrod’s study of Verlsung had progressed quickly; the Order had trained him to focus his mind so he could absorb new information at a remarkable rate. By concentrating on not only the words but also the facial expressions, vocal cues, and body language of the speakers, he was able to follow the entire conversation.

  “I am Norr, Chief of the Stone Spirits. We are honored to hear the wisdom of Hadawas.”

  Roggen eyed Norr’s group with open suspicion, but Norr offered no explanation for the Outlanders in his entourage. Berlen, on the other hand, was staring only at Jerrod, who stood near the rear of the group.

  The big man’s gaze was unsettling in a way Jerrod couldn’t quite explain. There was something in his eyes that went beyond mere suspicion of Outlanders or even hatred of the Order. His gaze was hungry, almost predatory.

  Without even realizing he was doing it, Jerrod reached his hand up and closed his fist around the Ring still dangling from his neck. As he did so, Berlen licked his lips, then quickly looked away.

  Jerrod dropped his hand, realizing nobody had spoken for several seconds. The men and women with Roggen were anxious and tense. They shifted their weight restlessly, their hands clenching the shafts of their spears and the hilts of their swords tighter as they glared at the unwelcome foreigners.

  “The Conclave is a place of parley,” Roggen said, though whether he was directing the words at Norr or his own nervous followers wasn’t clear. “There is to be no bloodshed—is this understood?”

  “The Stone Spirits will honor the sanctity of the Conclave,” Norr answered, the emphasis making it clear he had his doubts about the other clans.

  “Hadawas has promised the protection of the Sun Blades to any who answered his summons,” Roggen assured him.

  “He will speak in two days,” he continued. “Until then, you may make camp wherever you can find space.”

  “I wish to speak with Hadawas before the Conclave,” Norr said.

  “Hadawas is not well,” Berlen answered quickly before the other man could reply. “He must conserve his strength. He will see no visitors.”

  Roggen cast an annoyed glance at his larger companion before turning back to Norr.

  “Berlen is right. You will have to wait until after the Conclave to meet with our chief.”

  Norr grimaced but nodded his agreement. Roggen and the others turned away; the Stone Spirits stood motionless, watching them leave. Once they were gone, Norr began issuing orders to his people, directing them to an open area on the edge of the assemblage with enough space for all of them.

  Jerrod joined in with the others as they made camp. There was something odd about Berlen, but for some reason the more the monk tried to think about it the harder it became to pinpoint exactly what felt so wrong about him. By the time the camp was set up, his suspicions were gone, lost like a shadow in the darkness of the night.

  Chapter 27

  NORR WAS LOST deep beneath the ocean of sleep when he heard Scythe’s voice close to his ear.

  “Get up!” she hissed. “Hurry! Something’s wrong!”

  He opened his eyes to find his lover standing over him, brandishing the twin blades she always kept close by.

  “What is it?” he asked, his mind still groggy.

  “Fifty warriors, all armed,” Jerrod said, the monk materializing from just behind Scythe. “We’re surrounded.”

  Adrenaline kicked in, tearing away the final cobwebs clouding his mind. He sprang to his feet and saw that Keegan and Vaaler were also up. Jerrod must have roused them when he sensed the danger, leaving Scythe to drag Norr from his typical heavy sleep.

  He peered out into the night but saw nothing. However, he knew better than to doubt Jerrod’s abilities. He’d posted several sentries around the Stone Spirit camp, but if the enemy had crept up on them under cover of darkness they might not see them until it was too late.

  Fifty warriors? Norr thought, realizing the number was too high to be from any single clan. The only explanation was that someone had united several of the clans against the Stone Spirits, though he couldn’t imagine why.

  “We are betrayed!” Norr roared, his booming voice shredding the silence of the night. “Prepare for battle and hold your ground!”

  In response to his cry, the entire camp came alive as his thanes and warriors scrambled to their feet and grabbed their weapons. As they did so a dozen torches flared to life around the perimeter of the camp as the hidden enemy realized the element of surprise had been lost.

  In the flickering light of the torches Norr sa
w that Jerrod was right—an enemy force had completely encircled the Stone Spirit camp, cutting off all hope of retreat. He held out his right hand to the side, and one of his recently roused thanes slapped the hilt of a heavy sword into his palm. Hefting the massive blade, he carefully shifted his weight onto his injured leg. The knee felt good; strong—the rest had done wonders.

  Reassured his own body wouldn’t fail him, the big man braced himself for battle, certain the enemies would charge. Instead, Roggen’s voice rang out from somewhere amid the throng.

  “We have no quarrel with the Stone Spirits. We have only come for the Outlanders!”

  Norr felt an icy hand close around his heart at the words.

  “Show yourself, Roggen!” Norr shouted. “I will not parley with a coward who hides in the shadows!”

  Two figures stepped forward from the shadowy army surrounding them, one much, much taller than the other. Roggen carried a torch in one hand, a heavy spear in the other. Berlen, the second figure, held no torch; instead, each of his hands hefted a large axe.

  “You promised us your protection,” Norr sneered. “I did not know the Sun Blades were oath-breakers!”

  “And we did not know the Stone Spirits were harboring spies!” Berlen shot back.

  Norr hesitated, wondering if there was any value in further words. Was there any way he could convince Roggen his friends weren’t spies, or was this going to end in bloodshed no matter what he said?

  He doubted the Stone Spirits could win a fair fight; they were too badly outnumbered. But from the corner of his eye he noticed Jerrod had one hand on Keegan’s shoulder and the other wrapped around the Ring hanging from his neck, ready to give the Talisman to the mage if there was no other way out.

  He’ll lay waste to the entire Conclave if they rush us.

  As Norr tried to think of a way to end the standoff peacefully, Shalana spoke up to fill the silence.

  “What proof do you have for these accusations?” she demanded.

  “The proof comes from your own father!” Berlen sneered at her.

  “A messenger from the Stone Spirits arrived an hour ago,” Roggen explained, speaking loud enough for his words to carry across the entire camp. “Sent by Terramon himself.

  “He told us a Danaan army is laying waste to our land. They slaughtered the Ice Fangs, killing the entire clan—even the children. Now all the clans are fleeing before the Danaan. Even the Stone Spirits have abandoned their camp and joined the exodus.”

  There were murmurs of shock and disbelief from Norr’s followers.

  “How do we know this is true?” Shalana asked. “And not some trick?”

  Another figure stepped forward from the shadows to stand in the torchlight. Norr recognized him as Ullis, a young Stone Spirit warrior.

  “I saw it myself, Shalana,” he said. “They appeared on the horizon three days after you left. While the camp was being evacuated, your father sent me ahead to warn you because I’m the fastest. But I couldn’t catch up before you reached the Conclave.”

  The young woman was stunned into silence, as were the rest of the Stone Spirits. They knew Ullis was telling the truth; he had no reason to lie. And in the face of the shocking news, Norr could sense their anger building.

  “Runners have already been sent to warn all the other clans,” Roggen added. “We must gather an army to meet the Tree Folk in battle.”

  “But first you will give us the Outlanders,” Berlen added. “So Hadawas can question them and find out what they know.”

  “No,” Norr said. “You cannot have them. They are with us!”

  “Are you really so blind?” Roggen asked, clearly hoping to avoid a fight. “You bring a Dweller to your clan, and days later a Danaan army drives them from their homes. How can you not see what has happened?”

  “These are my friends,” Norr insisted. “I know them. They are not spies!”

  “You spent too long away from your own people,” Berlen accused.

  “If the Red Bear is willing to throw away his life for an Outlander,” he continued, now addressing Norr’s followers rather than the big man himself, “then maybe he has forgotten what binds a clan together. Maybe he is not fit to be your chief.”

  “They are not Stone Spirits,” an anonymous voice from the warriors gathered behind Norr whispered in agreement. “They’re Outlanders.”

  The words weren’t loud, but they hung in the air. Norr could sense the resolve of those standing with him slipping away. These warriors had welcomed Norr back and celebrated his victory when he became chief, but would they really be willing to die on behalf of his Outlander friends?

  Will they blame me for the clan’s having to flee our homeland? Will they turn on me if I refuse to surrender my friends? Are they right to?

  “Take me, then,” Vaaler said, suddenly stepping forward. “I’ll surrender, but you must promise to let the others go.”

  Norr was momentarily caught off guard, partly by the self-sacrificing gesture and partly by the revelation that Vaaler understood their language. Shalana, however, was quick to react.

  “No!” she said, stepping forward to stand beside Vaaler, drawing an audible gasp from somewhere in the ranks at Norr’s back.

  “The Stone Spirits do not bow down to the whims of the Sun Blades and their doddering, senile old chief!” she declared. “This is an insult to our honor!”

  Shalana’s bold words seemed to rally her companions, her appeal to clan pride strengthening their resolve.

  “Do you think we fear you because we are outnumbered?” she pressed. “You could have a hundred warriors at your back, and they would not be the equal of the men and women you see standing before you!”

  Shouts of affirmation and support rang out from the Stone Spirit ranks, and Norr could feel the energy of his followers building.

  “The Sun Blades can make no demands on us!” Shalana shouted. “Hadawas can make no demands on us! We are the Stone Spirits, and we answer to no one but our own chief!”

  She raised her spear high above her head as cheers broke out behind her.

  The ranks behind Roggen and Berlen tensed, ready to surge forward in anticipation of the command to attack. But Roggen was silent, still desperately trying to find a way this could end without bloodshed.

  Seeing his opportunity, Norr called out, “I wanted a meeting with Hadawas when we first came.” He spoke loudly so that everyone on both sides could hear. “A meeting Hadawas refused.

  “Now I demand another meeting. If he will agree to a parley, we will go to him—not as prisoners, but as guests. And after our meeting, he will know the truth: the Outlanders are here to help us!”

  “Hadawas should meet with them,” Berlen said, surprisingly throwing his support behind the idea. “We should accept the terms.”

  To Norr’s great relief, Roggen finally nodded.

  “Go back to your camps,” he told the warriors he’d gathered, and the army reluctantly began to disperse.

  “I will go wake Hadawas and help him prepare for your arrival,” Berlen said, excusing himself, too. “He will see you in one hour.”

  “I will stay with you as your hostage as a sign of good faith,” Roggen said, offering up his spear. “I give you my word no harm will come to you.”

  Norr shook his head.

  “Keep your weapon. You will stay with us, but not as a hostage. If the Danaan have invaded, then we will not survive unless we are all on the same side.”

  As the small army surrounding them began to disperse, Keegan let out a long slow breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He hadn’t been able to follow the conversation, but it was clear Norr and Shalana had talked them out of a very tight spot.

  Jerrod still had his hand on Keegan’s shoulder; instead of letting go, he used it to draw the younger man in close.

  “I think it’s time for you to take this again,” the monk said, handing over the Ring on the chain he’d been wearing since Ferlhame.

  Keegan instinctiv
ely reached out for the Talisman with the stump of his left hand, then quickly pulled it back, ashamed. Jerrod lifted the chain and placed it over Keegan’s head and neck, letting it fall so that the Ring disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

  “Keep it close, but only use it as a last resort,” Jerrod cautioned.

  He’s scared, Keegan realized. He’s afraid something will happen that he can’t protect me from.

  The Ring felt strange rubbing up against his skin of his chest, and the chain chaffed at his neck.

  The Talisman is meant to be worn, not carried.

  The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, startling Keegan with its intensity. But by the time Roggen was ready to lead them through the camp for their parley, the young mage had almost forgotten the Ring was there. Almost.

  Keegan had expected the Stone Spirit thanes and warriors to come with them; they had already been betrayed once by the Sun Blades. But Norr took Roggen at his word, and it was only the five of them—Norr, Scythe, Vaaler, Jerrod, and Keegan himself—who went to meet with Hadawas.

  It was still too dark to see much beyond the small circle of light cast by Roggen’s torch, but it felt like the eyes of every man and woman gathered for the Conclave were upon them as they slowly trekked across the meeting grounds. Eventually they reached the six stone buildings at the base of the hill, but this was not their destination. Just behind the permanent structures, hidden from sight, was a large tent. It was fashioned from hides in the same style as the ones the Stone Spirits used, though it was much larger than any of the ones Keegan had seen so far. Outside two women stood guard, each armed with the heavy spear that seemed to be the most common weapon in the East.

  “Hadawas’s great-granddaughters,” Roggen whispered as they approached, speaking in Allrish so that the Outlanders could understand.

  The women were both older than Keegan. If they were his great-granddaughters, it meant that Hadawas had to be well into his eighties or nineties.