The Scorched Earth

by Drew Karpyshyn

“The Conclave,” Vaaler said, recalling Shalana’s words to the Ice Fang emissaries. “Someone named Hadawas is calling all the chiefs together.”

  “Well, Norr’s decided to ask this Hadawas and the rest of the clans to join us in Jerrod’s stupid quest to save the world.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Vaaler said, failing to see what had gotten Scythe so worked up. “We’ve made a lot of enemies already. We can use a few more allies.”

  “He wants to leave tomorrow,” Scythe added, her voice dripping with contempt. “He’s bringing all his favorite thanes with him.”

  Something about the way she said favorite clued Vaaler in.

  “Shalana?”

  “Even after everything she did, even after she tried to force him into marrying her, that idiot still wants to bring her with us!”

  “That actually seems like a smart thing to do,” Vaaler countered. “Shalana still has supporters in the clan. Things will go better for Norr if he can get everyone to believe they’re all on the same side.”

  “Should have expected a former prince to want to play politics,” she sneered. “Guess I’m the only one around here who doesn’t want to crawl into bed with my enemies.”

  “Shalana’s not your enemy.”

  “Really? All she had to do was agree to help us and everything would’ve been fine,” Scythe protested. “But she wanted to make trouble instead.”

  “Try to see things from her side,” Vaaler urged. “Norr hurt her when he left. He abandoned her.”

  “Because she challenged him to a duel!” she spat out. “It’s her own fault!”

  “It’s not that simple,” Vaaler reminded her. “When her father chose Norr over her, Shalana was humiliated. Shamed. Everything she had worked her whole life to achieve was suddenly taken away. She’s been struggling with that for the past five years, trying to rebuild what she’d lost. And when Norr suddenly showed up again, it all came crashing back down.”

  “Quit making excuses for her!” she snapped. “She needs to pay for what she did!”

  “You won, Scythe!” Vaaler shot back. “Norr’s the clan chief, and the two of you are still together. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” she said. “She needs to suffer.”

  “She’s already suffering,” Vaaler assured her. “More than you can know.”

  “You feel sorry for her, don’t you?” Scythe accused.

  “Maybe I understand what she’s going through better than you can,” he said quietly.

  “Pick your side carefully,” Scythe warned. “You’re either with her or me.”

  “I’m on your side,” Vaaler snapped, jabbing a finger into Scythe’s face. “I helped Norr win that duel, remember?”

  “Get your finger out of my face before I slice it off,” Scythe warned in a low whisper.

  Vaaler hesitated, then finally dropped his hand and stepped to the side. Satisfied, Scythe pushed past him, gracing him with a parting scowl as she left.

  First me and Keegan, now me and Scythe, Vaaler mused as he watched her go. What’s wrong with the three of us?

  He was still wondering about it when the door to the Long Hall opened a few minutes later and the thanes began to make their way out. They filed past him, most seemingly in good spirits. He noticed that Shalana wasn’t among them.

  Probably still recovering from the duel.

  Norr was the last to exit, limping along on a splinted leg and using a makeshift crutch wedged under his arm to help support his weight.

  Noticing Vaaler, he asked, “Did you see Scythe when she came out?”

  “She wasn’t happy,” he replied.

  “I’ve never seen her so mad,” Norr admitted. “Maybe making Shalana a thane was a mistake.”

  “It was the right decision,” Vaaler reassured him. “Scythe will see that in time.”

  “She can be stubborn,” Norr noted. “She holds grudges. But even for her this was extreme.”

  “Just give her some space,” Vaaler suggested. “Let her cool off during the journey to the Conclave.”

  “She told you?”

  The Danaan nodded.

  “We need to leave first thing tomorrow if we want to get there in time,” Norr added. “Can you tell Jerrod and Keegan?”

  “I don’t think Keegan wants to see me right now,” Vaaler told him. “We had a fight of our own.”

  “That is not like you two,” Norr remarked.

  No, it’s not.

  “I’ll tell Jerrod, and he can tell Keegan,” Vaaler offered. “We’ll be there.”

  As he watched the big man limp away, he kept replaying his arguments with Keegan and Scythe over and over in his head, trying to figure out how they’d become so confrontational so quickly.

  After a few minutes he gave up in frustration, convinced he was missing something very, very obvious.

  Chapter 20

  THE HEAVY IRON collar chafed at Andar’s neck, as did the shackles on his ankles and wrists. The restraints weren’t actually chained to anything; their role was mostly symbolic, marking him as a criminal.

  The metal was inscribed with ancient runes meant to strip him of his power; glyphs to bar him from summoning Chaos. Had they still been in the Danaan lands, such safeguards might have been necessary, but now they were little more than ornamental. None of the Danaan mages—not even the former High Sorcerer himself—could call upon the power of magic here on the snow-covered plains of the Frozen East.

  Moving slowly, but with purpose and precision, he made his way about the large tent that had been erected only an hour before, setting out the plates, cutlery, and cups for the Queen and her war council. The iron restraints made his movements awkward, their weight a constant reminder of his lowly station as he carefully set the table.

  For his treasonous acts, Rianna had chosen an ancient and little-used punishment. Andar had been stripped of his former title and forced into the role of an indentured servant. The sentence was both merciful and particularly cruel.

  It was better than banishment or execution, or even a long imprisonment in the dungeons beneath the castle, where he would suffer cold, hunger, and other physical torments. But the humiliation and shame of being forced to serve those who were once his equals was its own peculiar brand of torture.

  According to the ancient laws Rianna had invoked, he wasn’t permitted to speak to anyone but the Queen herself, on threat of having his tongue removed. Andar wanted to believe his monarch lacked the cruelty to enact such a barbaric price should he slip up and say something in the presence of the others, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.

  Doing so would also undermine the entire purpose of the sentence, and despite his seditious acts during the ritual at the Black Lake, he was still loyal to the Queen. Rianna needed him to be an object lesson to her still-loyal followers; an ever-present reminder that anything other than absolute, unquestioning loyalty would be met with harsh consequences.

  Yet even though he was now a slave, there were advantages to his new position. He was the Queen’s personal attendant, present at virtually every meeting of the war council. Despite being officially removed from any position of authority, he was still privy to the innermost workings of the monarchy and the Danaan campaign against the barbarians of the Frozen East.

  Andar liked to believe Rianna had done this intentionally, that some part of her admired how he had stood up to Orath and wanted to keep him close so he could advise her and help guide her through her most difficult decisions.

  And maybe even protect her from falling too far under Orath’s influence.

  Once the table was set, Andar began to place the food. Loaves of bread, bricks of cheese, and sides of meat were placed in the center of the table—simple fare, but the best that could be managed with the Danaan army on the move each day.

  He then placed a cup at each of the six seats and filled it with wine, finishing just as the first councillors began to arrive. Andar bowed low and retreated into the far corner of the tent. In
the shadows of the dimly burning lamps it was easy to remain unobtrusive and forgotten.

  There were five councillors in all; Rianna had left the rest of her high-ranking advisers back in Ferlhame to oversee the rebuilding of the city. They were forbidden from acknowledging his presence, though as they entered he caught each of his former peers glancing over, then quickly averting their eyes before taking a seat at the table. Once, they had been Andar’s friends. Now, they had to pretend that he didn’t exist.

  The Queen and Orath were the last to arrive, coming in together. Protocol dictated that the Queen arrive last, but Rianna had waived this bit of formality while they were in the field. She knew her advisers were uncomfortable in Orath’s presence when she was not around.

  They’re uncomfortable even when she is here, though it’s far worse when they must face the Minion alone.

  The quartet of councillors rose as a sign of respect for their liege as she made her way to her seat at the head of the table. Unlike the others, neither Orath nor Rianna glanced in his direction. For the Queen, it was important that she shun him in front of the others to reinforce the gravity of his punishment. As for Orath, he simply didn’t like Andar.

  He’d rip out my throat and feast on my blood if he thought he could do it without incurring the Queen’s wrath.

  Fortunately Orath still needed the Queen, at least for now. Andar wasn’t certain if that would always be the case.

  Once Rianna was seated, the others joined her. As he always did, Orath remained standing, looming over the Queen’s shoulder at the back of her chair. Unlike the Danaan advisers, he wouldn’t partake of the food.

  When and what does he eat? Andar wondered, then decided it was better not to know.

  After a moment of silence, Rianna took a small sip of wine—the ceremonial start of their nightly feast. The meal was a grim and silent affair. The councillors she had chosen to join her on the campaign all had served in the patrols; they understood that in the field when it was time to eat, you ate quickly and efficiently in case the opportunity was interrupted.

  Standing over them, Orath studied the subdued diners with an implacable, unreadable expression.

  Andar also watched them carefully, ready to swoop in with the wine if any of the cups should run dry. But none of the assembled were in a mood to drink, and his services weren’t needed.

  Once everyone had finished, Andar was compelled to step forth from the shadows and clear away the plates and cutlery. As he did so, the meeting began in earnest, the councillors doing their best to talk around him as if he weren’t there.

  “Status reports,” the Queen ordered.

  “We found the main camp of the dog clan,” Greznor, her grizzled senior military adviser, informed her. “We caught them completely unprepared. The archers finished them off without any casualties on our side.”

  Greznor had no practical experience in large-scale battles—none of the Danaan did. But he was considered the kingdom’s foremost academic expert on the subject and had served two tours in the Danaan patrols during his youth. Limited as they were, those credentials were enough for him to be given the title of general and command over the entire Danaan force.

  “Were you able to take any prisoners?” the Queen asked.

  “Unfortunately not. They fought like animals, and we had to put them all down,” Greznor said, his voice betraying no emotion.

  “They are barbarians, my Queen,” Lormilar, the newly appointed High Sorcerer, chimed in.

  “It would be useful to interrogate some of them.” The speaker this time was Pranya, the middle-aged woman who oversaw the Queen’s espionage and spy network. “We need to learn the numbers and location of other nearby tribes.”

  “I doubt it would do much good,” Lormilar countered. “The clans are nomadic and very insular. They would only be able to tell you about the clan they came from, and most would die before betraying their own people.”

  He’s studied the Easterners, Andar realized. He knows his power beyond the North Forest is virtually nonexistent, and he’s eager to make himself useful.

  Unfortunately, Lormilar’s knowledge would be limited to what was available in the royal archives—a collection of stories, tales, and very limited firsthand accounts that would be woefully out of date.

  The truth is, we know almost nothing of these people beyond myths and legends. And now we are at war with them.

  The Danaan had always seen the Southlands as the real threat to their kingdom. For generations spies and informants had been gathering whatever information they could about the Seven Capitals and the Order. The tribes of the Frozen East had been nothing but an afterthought—they never dared venture into the Forest, and the Danaan never crossed the icy tundra.

  Until now.

  “One of my patrols hasn’t reported back yet,” Hexiff said. The young man was in charge of the army’s advance scouts though ultimately he answered to Greznor. “It’s possible they encountered an overwhelming enemy force.”

  “Or a blizzard,” Lormilar noted. “This is a hostile land.”

  “The winter is making it difficult to replenish our supplies,” Bassi, the female quartermaster, agreed. “We have been unable to forage for anything edible for our reserve stores.”

  “How long will our food last?” the Queen demanded.

  “Six weeks,” Bassi replied. “Two months if we start rationing now.”

  “Then start rationing,” Orath intoned, his voice devoid of emotion.

  Bassi looked to the Queen for confirmation, and Rianna gave a curt nod.

  “Even if we ration our supplies, do any of us really believe this campaign will be over in only two months?” Greznor asked, unwilling simply to let the matter rest.

  “You are being too cautious, my Queen,” Orath said, speaking directly to her and ignoring Greznor. “The army is only advancing a few leagues each day. We should sweep across this land like a storm instead of creeping like thieves afraid of being discovered.”

  “We have no idea how many barbarian tribes there are, or how far their territory extends,” Pranya cautioned. “Stumbling blindly into unknown terrain is a poor way to win a war.”

  “The scouting patrols should give us this information,” Orath said, fixing his yellow eyes on Hexiff.

  “We’ve scouted everything within a twenty-mile radius of the main force,” the young man answered defensively. “It’s the rest of the troops who can’t keep up the pace.”

  A silence settled over the table as all eyes turned to Greznor. He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t speak.

  “General,” Rianna said, “can your troops move faster?”

  “If that is your wish, Your Majesty. Though I fear we will run into a trap.”

  “My scouts won’t let that happen,” Hexiff assured them.

  “Does anyone have anything further to add?” the Queen asked after another moment of heavy silence.

  When none of the councillors spoke up she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Wordlessly, the five Danaan seated with her rose from their chairs and left. Once they were gone, Rianna turned to Orath.

  “What of the ogre?” she asked him. “You told me the beast could track the Ring. Lead us to it and the Destroyer of Worlds.”

  “Patience, my Queen,” the Minion assured her. “The trail is cold, but once the ogre picks up the scent of the Ring he will not lose it.”

  Rianna considered his words, studying them as if she sensed there was some deception or subterfuge in them. Ultimately, however, she accepted his explanation with a nod.

  “Leave me,” she said, dismissing Orath as she had the others.

  The Minion cast a pointed glance in Andar’s direction before gracing Rianna with a faint bow and exiting the tent.

  Alone with just the Queen, Andar moved in and slowly began cleaning up the chairs, stacking them in the corner so they could be quickly loaded on one of the supply wagons when the army packed up camp and set out the next morning.

  Riann
a watched him for a few moments before saying, “I sense you do not approve of Orath’s plan to increase our pace.”

  “There is nothing that creature says or does that I approve of,” he replied even as he continued with his task.

  “The slower we go, the more time we give for the barbarians to unite their forces against us,” Rianna explained, as if she felt the need to justify the decision. “We must hit them hard and fast to minimize our losses.”

  “If you say so, my Queen.”

  Rianna chewed her lip.

  “This is our only hope to get the Ring back,” she insisted. “It’s our only hope to stop the Destroyer of Worlds before he unleashes its power again.”

  “If he sees a Danaan army descending on him, he isn’t going to surrender,” Andar warned. “He will have no choice but to turn the Ring against your soldiers. Do you really think even an army can stop its power?”

  “That’s why we have Orath and the ogre,” the Queen reminded him. “The beast will slay the Destroyer of Worlds while our armies wipe out his barbarian followers.”

  If he even has barbarian followers, Andar thought, but didn’t bother to say.

  “Even if you’re right,” the disgraced mage asked, “and the ogre destroys him, are you certain Orath will command it to deliver the Ring to you?”

  “We have no choice but to trust him,” the Queen said with a sigh. “There is no other way. We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

  Andar couldn’t have disagreed more.

  Chapter 21

  THE STONE SPIRIT camp was a flurry of activity as the five thanes and two dozen clan warriors selected to accompany Norr to the Conclave made ready to depart.

  Vaaler watched the activity with interest. At first it appeared to be a chaotic mess: men and women scrambling to load food, clothing, and other supplies haphazardly onto a half dozen large sleds. But soon it became clear there was a pattern and precision in their work: the sleds were packed in a specific order, layer by layer. Sacks and packs were stuffed tightly together to make the most efficient use of space before being tied off.