The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “I made a vow,” Norr said, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. “I will not break it.”

  “If Norr’s not going, neither am I,” Scythe said.

  “Then Keegan and I will continue without you,” Jerrod said flatly.

  “I thought you said I was linked to Keegan’s destiny,” she reminded him.

  “Maybe, like Vaaler, you have now played your part. He helped us acquire the Ring; you helped us find the Sword.”

  “You can go,” Scythe told him, “but you’re not taking the Sword!”

  They stared at each other without speaking, wary and tense, neither willing to back down. The Guardian watched the standoff with obvious concern though he, too, was silent, as was Norr.

  “There is another way,” Keegan said quickly, an idea springing into his head that could solve everything.

  “Norr,” he said, turning to the big man, “you promised Hadawas you would give him something to defeat the Danaan army. So what if the Guardian vows to help the clans win the war?”

  “Do you have that kind of power?” Norr asked after considering it for a few seconds.

  “I have guarded the Sword for seven centuries,” the Guardian told him. “Its power flows through my veins. I can use it to bring victory to your people if that is what you wish.”

  Norr looked over at Scythe.

  “Whatever you decide, I will stand with you,” she told him, turning away from Jerrod to place a hand on Norr’s arm.

  He took a deep breath and held it a long, long time before letting it out.

  “Go to Hadawas,” he told the Guardian. “Tell him you will help my people. And we will go after Cassandra and the Crown.”

  Chapter 32

  RAVEN’S EYES SNAPPED open, and she knew something had gone very wrong with her plan. The Guardian had left his lair and was coming in her direction.

  Did Jerrod see through my disguise?

  She’d been switching back and forth between the forms of Hadawas and Berlen for weeks; ever since she’d given up hope of getting the Crown. Surrounded by the gullible Easterners, she’d become sloppy and careless. Instead of taxing her waning strength with a true spell of transformation, she’d started hiding her identity with a simple illusion—one the monk’s Sight had almost seen through when he she had first greeted him as Berlen.

  During the trek over the mountains she’d been more careful, but she knew Jerrod had sensed something unusual about Hadawas. He was suspicious of her, constantly on guard and watching for betrayal. That was one of the reasons she hadn’t tried to take the Ring by force though she’d sensed it dangling from the young wizard’s neck.

  The Guardian was the other reason. The Ring couldn’t help her defeat him; in his lair the power of the Sword would dull and mute the other Talisman, making it almost useless. So she had tried to manipulate Jerrod and his companions into doing what she couldn’t: getting the Sword from the titan. She’d led them through the mountains, using her power to keep the savage yeti at bay, before sending them on ahead alone once she was certain they would reach their goal.

  She’d planned to take the Ring and the Sword both when the four mortals—bound by Norr’s promise—returned. With two of Daemron’s three Talismans in her possession, Orath would have no choice but to welcome her back … assuming she didn’t simply use their power to destroy him and become the Slayer’s new right hand.

  But something had gone wrong with her plan, and it was the Immortal titan—not the humans—who was coming for her.

  There isn’t much time.

  The Sun Blade warriors escorting her were milling about the cave, not paying any attention to the frail old chief resting in the corner. But when she stood up, they turned to her with looks of confusion and concern.

  There was no longer any point in continuing the charade, so Raven didn’t bother to say anything to them. She simply reached up to her face and began to peel away the outer shell of flesh and blood that enveloped her true form.

  The Sun Blades stared in horror, then began screaming, unable to understand what was happening. As the last bits of muscle and skin fell to the floor with a wet plop, Raven fell on them.

  In the close confines of the cave they never stood a chance. She tore into them with her hooked beak and the long talons on her fingers, a dark shadow moving too quickly for their pitiful mortal senses to follow. Blood splattered and sprayed the walls of the cave, the warriors’ shrieks echoing off the walls as she gashed open deep, ragged wounds and ripped off their limbs. The carnage lasted only a minute, but Raven didn’t kill her victims. Instead, she left them in mutilated, quivering—but still living—heaps on the floor.

  She needed magic to stop the Guardian, but the Chaos in her blood had grown thin after so much time on the mortal side of the Legacy. To summon enough power, she’d need to perform a ritual to pierce the Legacy and draw on the flames of the Burning Sea. And for the ritual, she needed six still-beating hearts.

  The Guardian had hunted this territory for centuries; the Sword kept him young and strong, but he still needed food to sustain himself. He knew every inch of every mountain in a twenty-mile radius, and when Jerrod described the cave where Hadawas was waiting for them he recognized it immediately.

  He hadn’t told the mortals that giving them the Sword would cause him to rapidly age and die. He hadn’t told them that once he left his lair, his body would no longer be impervious to weapons. It had no relevance to their quest, and the Guardian had grown weary of the mortal world. In passing the Sword on to them, he had served his purpose. And though he could already feel his strength slowly ebbing away, it would be weeks before his body began to falter.

  Yet it wasn’t just his physical strength that would aid the clans. After so many centuries watching over the Talisman, some of the power of Daemron’s Sword now flowed through him. He projected an aura that would inspire his allies and demoralize their foes—a power that could turn any mortal battle though doing so would weaken him further. But the Guardian had sensed their cause was noble; sacrificing himself for their victory would be a fitting way for him to end his long, long life.

  He loped across the valley, the powerful muscles in his legs propelling him across the terrain with incredible speed. In his right hand he clutched his heavy spear, the end now sharpened to a point where the Sword had sliced off the metal tip. When he reached the mountain on the other side he climbed straight up the face, leaping thirty feet in the air and using the massive fingers of his free hand to clutch and grab at holds, his grip never faltering on the uneven, ice-covered rock.

  It was only when he stepped onto the wide, windswept plateau that he felt something was wrong. There was a foul stench in the air; a smell he recognized from when Cassandra had first come to him.

  The winged huntress!

  Suddenly alert, he sensed the dark presence of Chaos—a powerful spell had been unleashed on the plateau. And then the trap was sprung.

  An army of yeti swarmed down from the cliffs surrounding the plateau, their howling laugh drowning out all other sound. Hundreds and hundreds of the creatures poured in from all sides, their bloodlust enraged by the Chaos that hung like smoke in the air.

  With his retreat cut off, the Guardian realized escape was impossible. The yeti barely reached up to his knees, and he met the first wave with a mighty roar. Swinging his spear in a wide swath, he sent their bodies flying.

  Normally the yeti were cowardly scavengers who would flee a superior foe. But driven by the spell, even his Immortal fury could not slow their advance. They leapt at him with suicidal recklessness, using their claws to latch on to his arms and legs, then clambering up his chest and back. First five, then ten, then twenty.

  Dropping his spear, the Guardian flailed wildly, clutching and grabbing at the savage beasts as they bit and scratched his now-vulnerable flesh. Each time he seized one of the creatures and hurled it away, two more would take its place. They covered his massive body like a squirming blanket until the sheer wei
ght of their numbers dragged him down.

  Unable to stand, the titan rolled, turning himself into a living juggernaut and crushing the yeti with his bulk. The unexpected move threw the howling mass of bodies into momentary disarray, and the Guardian sprang to his feet. Bleeding from a hundred bites and gashes, he began to run, swatting furiously at the creatures as they flew at him.

  He couldn’t bat them all away, and once again they threatened to overwhelm him. But somehow he kept his feet until he reached the mouth of the large cavern below the plateau’s surface. The entrance was barely wide enough for him to fit, and he wouldn’t be able to stand up inside. But if he made it to the cave, the yeti would only be able to come at him from one direction and with limited numbers.

  Stumbling, he managed to pull himself into the steep tunnel, sliding face-first down the incline to the floor below with a dozen of the creatures still clinging to him. He quickly shook them free, snapping their necks with his bare hands and crushing the skulls of those that lost their grip and fell to the floor beneath his boots.

  To his surprise, the yeti didn’t follow him in. There was only a sliver of light in the cave, spilling in from the tunnel’s mouth above. Yet it was enough for the Guardian’s eyes to see.

  The walls were stained with blood. Six freshly slain bodies were scattered about the room, five arranged at the points of a pentagram traced in blood on the floor and the last in the center. The bodies had been dismembered and their chests torn open, as if their hearts had been ripped out while they watched on in helpless horror.

  The stench of death filled the cave, and he knew this was the epicenter of the spell that had driven the yeti to madness. He could feel them out there, prowling anxiously around the mouth of the cave, howling in frustration but too afraid to enter.

  He was safe, for the moment. Or so he thought. And then the cave collapsed, burying him under countless tons of ice and stone.

  The yeti scattered as Raven approached the mouth of the now-sealed cave. She could sense the Guardian below her, entombed but miraculously still alive.

  He knows I am here, she thought. Just as he sensed me near his lair, he can feel me standing above his grave.

  And then suddenly the earth beneath her feet began to tremble. At first she thought it was an aftershock of the quake she had unleashed. But when it happened again, she realized with amazement that the Guardian was trying to dig himself out.

  Ignoring the yeti army that now covered the entire plateau, she began a soft, rhythmic chant, calling on the last few drops of the Chaos she had summoned with the gruesome ritual in the cave.

  A cloud of fine green mist formed around her, settling slowly to the snow which melted at its touch. The mist seeped into the rock, working its way down toward the still-struggling titan.

  “Sleep,” Raven whispered, calling on the same magic the Old Gods had used to send the Chaos Spawn into deep hibernation centuries ago. “Sleep forever.”

  After a few more seconds the ground stopped shaking under her feet as the Guardian succumbed to the spell.

  Exhausted, Raven knew she needed to rest before she dared use any more magic to track the Ring and the Sword. But she had a suspicion as to what had happened to them.

  “Find the humans!” she called out to the yeti army that filled the plateau. “Find them and tear them apart!”

  Chapter 33

  SCYTHE AND THE others didn’t set out immediately from the Guardian’s cave. They rested for half a day, recovering and recuperating before setting off in pursuit of Cassandra.

  They headed west: the only thing east of the Guardian’s lair was an impassable range of mountains that marked the edge of the mortal world, just as the ever-thickening forest, the seemingly infinite desert, and the whirlpools and krakens of the sea bordered the north, south, and west respectively. But while the Guardian was angling north to meet Hadawas in his cave, they were heading south in the hopes of picking up the young woman’s trail before she reached Callastan.

  The way was difficult, but not as arduous as the journey Hadawas had led them on. Jerrod was leading the way, with Keegan following close behind. Scythe and Norr brought up the rear, the big clan chief carrying the legendary blade across his back.

  Jerrod had wanted to carry the Sword himself, of course, but Scythe had strenuously objected. The fanatical monk was already arrogant and dangerous enough; the Sword could push him over the edge.

  She’d tasted the Talisman’s power when she used it against the Guardian—she’d felt invincible, unstoppable. But she’d also felt the hunger for battle, for what use was it being invincible if you had no enemy to defeat?

  It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before—an adrenaline rush amplified a thousand times, combined with a heightened awareness so sharp it felt like she could see through time, peering into the future to anticipate and counter her enemy’s attacks before they happened.

  She’d also been filled with a fierce confidence that bordered on the irrational; even the mighty Guardian had seemed like a helpless child before her. It was exhilarating, intoxicating and—looking back on it—a little bit terrifying.

  It’s no wonder Daemron felt like he could challenge the Gods, she thought. Then, a second later, Does Keegan get that same kind of rush from using the Ring?

  Norr had suggested that Keegan carry the blade, but Jerrod had worried that the young man was still mentally drained from using the Ring. The Sword could heal most physical wounds—though it couldn’t restore the young mage’s lost hand—but it wasn’t able to replenish his will.

  Having felt the Sword’s power, Scythe had to agree with the monk. And based on what the Guardian told them, if they caught up to Cassandra, they’d need the combined power of both Talismans to defeat the demons hunting her. It was hard to imagine Keegan’s using the Ring and the Sword at the same time.

  She’d been the one to actually suggest Norr carry it. Partly because she knew Jerrod would object simply on principle if she offered up her own name, and partly because she was a little afraid of what the Sword had made her feel. She didn’t like the idea of surrendering herself to an inanimate object, even one created by the Old Gods.

  Norr won’t lose himself in the Sword’s power. It won’t consume him like it might with the rest of us.

  Out of all of them Norr was best suited to carry the Talisman. He was a warrior, but he was humble and self-sacrificing. He put others before himself. Scythe imagined the Guardian shared many of the same characteristics as Norr, which was probably why he had been chosen by the Old Gods to watch over the weapon.

  Was Norr the reason he changed his mind about us?

  Norr had put himself in harm’s way to defend their fallen foe from Scythe’s wrath. If he hadn’t stopped her, she would have removed the Guardian’s head with a single blow of the very blade he was sworn to defend.

  Norr’s always doing that. Reining me in. Keeping me from doing things in the heat of the moment that I’ll regret. He doesn’t just save others from my anger; he saves me from myself.

  Fortunately, Jerrod had agreed with her suggestion, a further testament to Norr’s character. And in the end her lover had, reluctantly, accepted the burden.

  For years he refused to carry a weapon, now he’s armed with the greatest weapon ever forged. No wonder he’s hesitant.

  After several hours the massive peak that housed the Guardian’s lair was already behind them, though according to the directions they’d been given, they wouldn’t reach the Serpent’s Tongue—a narrow, twisting pass that would finally leave the mountains behind them—until sometime tomorrow.

  Then we still have to cross the frozen plains and the entire breadth of the Southlands, Scythe reminded herself.

  But at least they wouldn’t have to worry about squads of Inquisitors anymore—not while they had the Sword. Having felt the weapon’s power, Scythe knew it would take an entire army to stop them now.

  Keegan woke the second morning from a mercifully dreamless slee
p. He’d feared the presence of two of Daemron’s Talismans might trigger an endless onslaught of dreams and visions, but that hadn’t happened.

  Chaos is nothing if not unpredictable.

  Despite this, he couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding as they set out. The sky was dark and the wind was both strong and cold, but it wasn’t a storm he feared.

  Though it had been muted in the Guardian’s lair, he’d unleashed the power of the Ring. He’d summoned Chaos into the mortal world and set it free, and he feared the consequences of the backlash.

  Maybe there won’t be any. Maybe the Sword somehow absorbed it.

  A reasonable assumption, but one Keegan couldn’t quite get himself to believe. Part of him still believed something terrible was about to happen. And then they heard the distant howling of the yeti, rising over a brief lull in the wind tearing at their clothes.

  Jerrod looked back, his normally expressionless face registering both surprise and concern. The Guardian had told them the yeti stayed only in the north; he’d assured them they wouldn’t have to worry about the creatures if they went south after Cassandra.

  Backlash!

  “Everybody else heard that, right?” Scythe asked, and the others nodded.

  The wind had picked up again, drowning out the cries for the moment. But there was no mistaking the insane, gibbering laughter.

  “Any idea how close?” Jerrod asked.

  “Their cries echo strangely in the mountains,” Norr said with a shake of his head. “But it would be wise to pick up our pace.”

  The monk didn’t need to be told twice, and they pushed on. Without saying it, they all knew the yeti were coming for them; probably drawn far from their natural territory by the irresistible call of the Sword itself.

  Each time the wind died, they could hear the disturbing calls.

  There must be hundreds of them, Keegan realized. The howls are constant. They don’t ever stop; we just can’t hear them unless the wind is down.