King of Chaos

by Dave Gross

  In Cheliax, where I had been raised, and in Kyonin, where I had gone to rejoin my people, I had found deception and betrayal at every turn. Here in fallen Sarkoris, so near the Worldwound, I had expected even worse.

  Instead we had found a miracle.

  From a dark corner of my mind, suspicion continued to niggle at my thoughts. Yet no sooner did I entertain the doubt than a pang of guilt shook me from my suspicions.

  The Inheritor promised solace to those who fought with courage and devotion. Did it not then follow that she should offer her greatest miracle in the heart of this wretched ruin?

  To the east lay a large space where once the congregation had gathered. If nothing else, it provided ample room for the horses.

  Hesitantly, doubtless sharing my initial suspicions, the others obeyed. I remained atop Bastiel, hoping my presence would calm him. He nickered and swished his tail unhappily.

  "It's a trick," said Aprian.

  Normally I would have agreed, but some unbidden intuition argued that we had found a sanctuary against the evil surrounding us. It was a test of our faith, surely. "Jelani?"

  She had already traced a now-familiar rune upon the air. "There is no magic here, none that I can discern. That only makes sense if ..."

  I followed her gaze to what lay upon the altar before Saint Lymirin. How had I not noticed it before?

  It was a Kellid man, but not one I recognized. He rose, and his eyes widened as he saw us. "Captain?" He shook his head as if awaking from a deep slumber, confused.

  "I don't know you," I said. "Who are you?"

  He gaped, first at me and then at himself as he looked at his hands, then his arms.

  "Your courage has earned the blessing of resurrection," said Saint Lymirin.

  The man continued examining his naked body, his expression of incredulity growing stronger by the second. "I'm Porfirio!" he said. "This isn't my body!"

  "Liar!" shouted Dragomir. "This is a trick!"

  "Faithless!" whispered one of the angels at Lymirin's side. "Would you question this miracle?"

  "No!" cried the man who said he was Porfirio. He turned to Dragomir. "Don't you know me? You must."

  "Impossible," I murmured. Aprian and some of the others echoed my doubt. Yet were we not paladins? Were we not the ones whose faith was mean to be tested and retested?

  Dragomir stood unmoving. His eyes narrowed, anger building beneath those dark lashes even as his lips trembled. "You lie. This is all an illusion."

  "No," said the blonde angel. "Such visitations as this are rare."

  "Accepting them is a test of faith," said the redhead. "But if you must reject the miracle ..."

  "Dragomir, believe me! I'm Porfirio, your dark falcon."

  Dragomir choked. He took a step forward but stopped himself. He looked to me for permission.

  "No," I said, but without certainty. I drew the Ray of Lymirin and urged Bastiel forward, hoping the presence of the sword or unicorn would somehow reveal the truth. "We have seen such fell magic in this ruined city. You think you can deceive us?"

  "If in your heart you know that to be true, strike me down," said the saint. She dismissed the girls with a gesture. They stepped aside with such grace that I could no longer deny what they truly were: angels. Their lips moved in quiet prayer.

  With Bastiel's first step forward, I knew I must challenge this seeming miracle, to expose it for the falsehood it must surely be.

  With his second, I saw the saint raise her hand, but only in a gesture of benediction. How could I strike a blow against my patron saint?

  With his third, I lowered my sword, knowing I had made a terrible mistake. I sheathed the blade and placed my hand upon Bastiel's neck, his signal to bow. Grudgingly, he obeyed as I dismounted and dropped to one knee.

  "Peerless saint, forgive my doubt. Let us receive your blessing."

  "That you shall, my dear," said Saint Lymirin. She raised her hand for another benediction. I felt its power settle upon me like the weight of a thick, warm cloak.

  "Oparal," whispered an unexpected yet familiar voice. "You have been enchanted. We are here to help."

  Without further warning, Bastiel reared and shrieked.

  Behind me, my crusaders shouted and drew their blades. I drew the Ray of Lymirin, but a moment too late. A fiend leaped over me and stabbed its wicked blade deep into the face of Saint Lymirin.

  Chapter Five

  The Coven

  Radovan

  As we came up from the bone cellar, the boss started to cast a riffle scroll on me. Instead, he handed it over. "You do it."

  "Seriously?" There wasn't any time to argue. I took the little book and snapped it off. Even as I tossed the spent scroll over my shoulder, I felt the magic tingling in my legs.

  "Well, what do you know? Desna smiles."

  The boss cast a few more spells. He made me quick and strong as hell. One more, and he vanished from sight.

  Before we poked our heads up into the cathedral, the boss made the rest of us invisible, too, telling us to stick close. Lucky thing we'd brought only four of the Kellid swordsmen, including the seven-foot giant Kronug. We'd left the rest of them with the Red Carriage across the river.

  Once Alase came back to the Looter's Market with me, everybody who'd turned me down before suddenly wanted to join. She might have been little, but she had a big reputation, at least in Gundrun.

  And she seemed to know everybody—which ones were drunkards, which ones cowards, and so on. She talked me into firing one of the guys I'd picked and helped me choose the new ones. At first I didn't trust her so much, but when she explained why each one made a good guard, I started to come around. We ended up hiring nine instead of eight, like the boss said. But we both knew he only told me eight because he didn't want more than ten.

  Along with Kronug, we ended up with the braggart Valki, Barek and his big mustache, an axe-thrower named Selka, Roga with the punched-out teeth, Gannak with the pierced nipples, Zoresk with fists the size of quart jars, and a kid named Dolok whose scarred red face was his scariest weapon. We even ended up hiring Kala, the harper from the Splinter. She said she'd write an "epic" about our "quest."

  I told her she was real cute, since we were exaggerating.

  The four we'd brought to the cathedral were bright enough to do what the boss said. Arni had already learned the trick of sticking tight to the boss even when he was invisible. And Alase, she was little enough you had to squint to see her even when she was visible. They'd be all right.

  None of us needed telling it was all an illusion upstairs. There hadn't been any altar to Iomedae when we'd come through a couple hours earlier. There sure as hell weren't any saints and angels and choirboys and stained glass in the windows. It didn't take a wizard to suss out that the saint was running a scam. I figured the boss was way ahead of me on that count.

  On that count. Sometimes I crack myself up.

  When I saw Oparal and that pointy-headed horse of hers, I got a lump in my throat. It never occurred to me I'd end up missing the elf paladin, but there it was. She looked so fine even in the fake holy light that I was going to get a second, lower lump if I didn't put my mind back on business.

  The boss did some magic whispers that only those of us he picked could hear. By the way he was talking, I knew that included Oparal. When the time was right, he slapped my shoulder. I was going to be the opener.

  I took a running start and jumped like I used to do back in Tian Xia. With the boss's magic running through my veins and muscles, I could jump as high now as I could when I was living in a devil's body. Desna smiled, and I didn't crack my head on the rafters.

  After I flew clean over Oparal and her stupid unicorn, I figured I'd hit the saint hard enough to drive the knife clean through her bird skull.

  I figured wrong.

  Whatever the thing was—and it sure wasn't a saint—it had a skull plenty harder than bone. The knife scraped deep into the side of its face. It would have taken off an ear if she
'd had any. Instead I just sheared off some feathers.

  Saint Birdface didn't appreciate the free shave. She opened her yellow beak and let out one hell of a screech. She didn't sound half so much like an eagle as a banshee. Before jumping in, I should have asked the boss what his Shadowless Sword showed him she really was.

  The crusaders didn't notice the—what's the boss's word?—the incongruity. As far as the knights knew, I'd just stabbed Iomedae's messenger in the face. They drew their swords and came at me.

  "Hey, I'm not the bad guy here!" I shouted. "Come on, boss! Show them what we got."

  I expected to hear his magic message again, but he was busy trying to wipe out the illusion. I heard his riffle scrolls snapping off across the room. The illusion over the room and the bad guys stayed in place, but all of a sudden I could see little Alase.

  She knelt with an open hand on the floor, like she was feeling for tremors. Instead, a blue circle of light formed all around her, and the paint across her eyes blazed under her shaggy black bangs. In the days since we'd left Gundrun, she hadn't showed us anything other than the best path to get us there, despite all her big talk of being a god caller.

  Now she was cooking up some big magic.

  While I was distracted, the bird-saint shoved me back, strong as an ogre. I kept hold of the knife, but only barely. I planted my feet to stop from falling into the crusader's swords. They raised their blades, ready to cut me down.

  "Oparal, tell your pals I'm all right!" I shouted. The unicorn reared like he was going to come straight down on my head, but he'd never been fond of me. "This whole joint is all one big illusion, sweetheart."

  Oparal hesitated. Lucky for me, her men—and a few women, I'd noticed, a couple of them not too hard on the eyes—waited for her nod before cutting me to bits and gobbets. One of the guys was naked, but another of the crusaders sheltered him with his shield.

  Oparal said, "Stay your hands. I know this man. He's not capable of harming a saint."

  "Hey, sweetheart, I'm plenty capable. You know better than anybody, after all we've been through."

  Oparal jumped down from the saddle and put herself between me and the unicorn. "You will address me as Captain."

  "You got it, Captain Sweetheart." I tipped her a wink.

  She shot back a look meant to turn me to stone. It worked, a little. Good thing it wasn't me that was naked.

  I turned back to the fake saint just as one of her talons caught me under the chin.

  Turns out even fake saints pack one hell of a wallop.

  The blow sent me flying ass over teakettle all the way over the illusion of the altar. The floor hit me just as hard, shattered glass and stone tearing holes all over me and my new jacket.

  It's always got to be the jacket.

  I'd get mad about it later. At the moment, all I could see were green and yellow starbursts.

  I blinked and rolled, trying to figure which way was up. A strong hand grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. My vision cleared in time for me to stop myself from stabbing Oparal. Mussing her pretty elf face would have been a damned shame.

  It was her eyes I remembered best. The elves don't have whites—or, like the boss explained, their irises are so big that that's all you can see. Oparal's were the color of iron.

  "What are they?" she said. Her head kept turning as she tried to keep an eye on me and the angels at the same time.

  She looked so serious, I wanted to kiss her. But like the boss always says, now was not the time. Besides, the last thing I needed was another shot to the jaw. I remembered real good just how hard Oparal could punch. "None of this was here when we came in. It's all a trick, and you can bet that ain't your saint."

  Behind the paladin, the eagle-headed woman leaped toward us. I kicked Oparal's foot and pulled her down with me. The saint's talons swept through the space where the elf's neck had been.

  The crusaders brought their shields up and tried to put themselves between the saint and their captain. The choirboys groaned and shuffled while the two little angels jumped onto the backs of a couple crusaders.

  Oparal rolled up to her knees. She sneered at me, knowing perfectly well I'd jerked her away from trouble but still mad about it. She raised her shield to catch the saint's next strike.

  The blow struck her shield but still beat her down into a lower crouch. I rolled to the side and kicked the saint's legs.

  I might as well have kicked a couple of stone pillars.

  One of the angels who'd jumped on a crusader grabbed his head in two cute little hands and twisted it right off.

  I shouted, but a second later I realized it was just the guy's helmet came off. His face was all red under his beard, but he kept his cool. When he twisted around to headbutt the little angel, a flash of yellow light exploded between their skulls. She flew back and hit the floor hard. A second later she jumped to her feet again, an evil grin on her face.

  The other guy with an angel on his back was a dwarf who took it personal when she started beating him with his own shield. He shook his axe. "I won't have it, angel or waif! I'll crack your wicked little noggin!"

  The angel dimpled, giggled, and disappeared. The dwarf stood straight, like a weight had just come off his back.

  Arni leaped to help the dwarf. He shook his head, confused by the angel's disappearance. He snuffled at the floor and whimpered at whatever he smelled.

  That's when I realized the place didn't stink half so bad as it had when we first came in. Whatever illusion they'd put on the place, it masked the stink as well as the sights.

  "Here, boy!" I took a swipe at the saint to keep her off me. Arni ran in to bite at her heels, keeping her spinning between me, Oparal, and the crusaders.

  A bird doesn't have much personality on its face, but by the way her head kept turning, I figured she knew this wasn't going her way. Her beak opened and closed, her throat bulging. It looked like she was about to hork up a mess.

  I wasn't wrong.

  Gallons of spiders poured out of her mouth, spilling onto the floor all around us. I got some on my kickers and had a bad second or two trying not to scream too high.

  Get it straight: I'm not afraid of spiders. I just don't like them.

  Some of the crusaders didn't like spiders any better than I did. Once they started screaming, I didn't feel so bad.

  Most of the swarm poured out over Arni. He threw himself on his back, rolling to get them off. A few fell away or got crushed under him, but it wasn't going to be enough.

  "Arni, out!" I pointed to the wall where I hoped the boss was still standing. "Come on, boss! Show us what we got in here!"

  He had a bunch of spellbreaking scrolls left. At least, I hoped he did. This fight was going to be a lot harder if we couldn't see what we were really fighting.

  I couldn't see the boss or our guards, but I had a pretty good idea where they were. Nearby, Alase stood up. Her hair was damp. She was panting like she'd just run a mile, and the blue rune on her forehead glowed under her bangs.

  "What'd you do, girl?" She didn't even look my way, and I figured she couldn't hear me over the shouts of the crusaders and Kellids, not to mention the groans of the choirboys who were hemming them in against the west wall.

  A giant boulder fell down among the choirboys. That's how it looked, anyway. It wasn't a boulder, though. It was black and furry, and when it growled I felt the need to pee. It stood up, tall as a bear—tall as the biggest damned bear I ever saw. Only it wasn't a bear. It was a wolf with a glowing blue rune on its head. The rune and the wolf's eyes were the same color as Alase's.

  Halfway back to the boss, Arni rolled once and came up in a low crouch, growling. He was born to hunt wolves, but he'd never faced one this size.

  "Arni, down!"

  Before whatever was going to happen happened, the boss ripped off another scroll. All the holy images in the cathedral melted away.

  The first difference was that there was no shrine to Iomedae in this joint. I already knew that, but no
w all the crusaders could see the cathedral was dedicated to Pharasma, Lady of Graves. Even with most of the carvings of saints and martyrs gouged out, you could tell where we were just by the bones and spirals carved into the gray stone beams. Shards of stained glass littered the floor beneath arched windows, and you could still see where there'd been railings to separate the priest from the congregation.

  The cathedral wasn't the only thing hiding under an illusion.

  That wasn't a bird-headed saint but a hag standing in front of us. She was a big, ugly gal wearing a skirt of river weeds braided with rusty blades. A damp rat scampered through her skirt like a squirrel through vines. Her cheek and ear were ragged flaps of gray skin oozing blood. Her hair hung down in slimy hanks, and a pale green ghost of her hand hovered just over the real thing. Even hunched over, she stood almost as tall as the boss or Oparal.

  There was a smaller hag where one of the angel girls had stood. Her yellowed eyes opened big as saucers as she saw the boss had blown their cover. It took her a second to recover her cool. Then she cackled and made a nasty sign with her rubbery fingers before vanishing.

  The choirboys were drowned men, once crusaders and swordsmen, burglars and wizards—the kind of guys dumb enough to explore a place like Storasta for treasure. Now they were equal parts rust, rot, and river slime, dropping bits of themselves at every step. I'd fought things like them before. They stink in more ways than one.

  But they weren't alone in that. With the illusion gone, the whole cathedral reeked. We'd smelled it when we first snuck in to explore the cellars.

  The worst stench came from the corpse of a gigantic—well, I don't know whether it was a frog or an octopus. When we passed through here earlier, the boss had called it "the amphibian," but that didn't do it justice. He'd also told me it was still just a baby, so I knew I didn't want to meet its mama. Before moldering away against the north wall, it must have weighed five or six tons. Now it had to be less than half that, because what the rats hadn't eaten had shrunk down to a mess of rotten hide and slime.

  I thanked Desna the hag had thrown me into the sharp pile instead.