The Danaan were only a few days’ march away from the Giant’s Maw, and their numbers were still too many for the clans to meet in a full-on battle. So Shalana had redoubled their efforts, sending her troops out in rotating wave after wave. Each group was only able to grab a few hours’ rest before having to rejoin the fight, and the relentless battles were taking their toll.
Had they been fighting any ordinary foe, they would have broken the Danaan ranks and routed them long ago. But no matter how he tried, Vaaler couldn’t think of a way to overcome the ogre. Each time the clans began to gain the upper hand on the battlefield, the beast would come loping over and single-handedly turn the tide. So many had fallen to the beast in the first few encounters that the clans were now instructed to retreat at first sight rather than attempt to engage the slime-covered monster.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder as he continued to ladle thin stew into the bowls of the endless line of hungry, weary soldiers.
“Shalana is back,” the young man told him. “I can do this if you want to see her.”
Vaaler nodded his thanks and abandoned his post. He still couldn’t bring himself to fight his own people; he didn’t know if he could look them in the eye as he spilled their blood. So he had taken to supporting the warriors in other ways besides offering tactical advice to Shalana and her thane-chiefs. He helped with the food; he helped set up and take down the mobile camp they used as their staging operation; he helped haul the supply sleds to each new location.
But I won’t fight for them. Do they resent me for that?
He found Shalana huddled by a peat fire, warming herself with the flame. Seeing Vaaler, she motioned him over. Reaching her side, he saw that her eyes were sunken. Her face and clothes were caked with dirt and grime. She smelled of sweat, blood, and death.
“How many this time?” he asked as he sat down beside her.
“Forty on our side before the ogre came and we scattered. A few hundred on their side.”
“They can’t go on like this much longer,” Vaaler said, shaking his head. “Not with those kinds of losses. Not with winter coming and no supplies.
“They can,” Shalana answered sadly. “Even with their losses, they still outnumber us more than two to one. Without the ogre we might have a chance, but with that creature in their ranks …”
She trailed off, not saying what they both knew.
“Maybe Norr and Hadawas will bring back the Sword,” Vaaler said, though he knew Shalana still doubted the Talisman’s existence.
“I realize why so many of the rank and file cling to that ridiculous idea,” she whispered. “In the absence of all hope even a fool’s tale was welcome.”
“What other choice is there?” Vaaler asked.
“The Giant’s Maw borders the mountains at the edge of the world. We could tell Roggen to start leading the refugees up into the peaks. They could hide up there for weeks.”
“That only means they will starve or freeze before the enemy slaughters them,” Vaaler noted.
Shalana sighed.
“After our first victory, I truly thought we could win this war,” she said.
“So did I,” Vaaler admitted.
“I thought the Danaan would turn back by now,” he said, his voice rising with anger. “I don’t understand how the Queen can keep driving them forward with so many dying each day!”
“She is bent on revenge,” Shalana said simply. “It poisons our hearts and minds. It makes us do things that make no sense.”
“She wants to punish me,” Vaaler said, bowing his head. “I betrayed my people. My own flesh and blood. Maybe if I surrender, they will turn back.”
“You know that’s not true,” Shalana told him. “If it was, you’d have already done it. I know you.”
Vaaler expected her to say something like, “Don’t blame yourself,” but she didn’t bother to waste her words. She understood platitudes couldn’t heal the complicated mixture of guilt, anger, and shame that churned inside him. Instead, she just sat with him, offering the comfort of her companionship.
Without allowing himself time to reconsider, Vaaler suddenly reached out and clasped her hand in his own. He’d never acted on his feelings for her in any physical way before, and she stiffened at his touch. But just when he thought she was going to pull away, he felt her relax and she leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder.
Despite their grim surroundings and the crushing inevitability of their fate, Vaaler’s heart suddenly felt lighter.
“The Sword is real,” he promised. “It can save us. There is still hope.”
“Sitting here with you,” she whispered softly in his ear, “I can almost believe it.”
Orath resented having to answer the Queen’s summons; he was not some pet that ran each time the master called. But he still needed the Danaan army. If the wizard who had stolen the Ring was waiting for them in the refugee camp, the ogre would need to focus all its power on stopping him. As devastating as the beast was, it couldn’t defeat the Destroyer of Worlds and an army of barbarians at the same time.
If the Destroyer of Worlds is even still with them.
The trail of the Ring had gone cold, and Orath was no longer completely certain they were heading in the right direction. Rianna’s vision had shown the Destroyer of Worlds in league with the Eastern clans, but Orath now wondered if she had been misled or deceived.
He’d expected the Danaan army’s wanton destruction of the Eastern lands would draw the wizard out. But the mortal was either a coward too afraid to show himself, or too cunning to fall for such a ploy, and he stayed hidden.
Or he’s abandoned the clans to their fate and fled into the mountains.
If that was the case, then once the clans were wiped out Orath would command the ogre to hunt the fugitive Chaos mage down.
And then I will have no further use for you, my Queen.
He entered her tent without rapping on the outside and waiting for her to invite him in, a breach of protocol none of her mortal subjects would ever have dared. But either she didn’t notice or she knew better than to take him to task for it. The Queen was standing with her back to him, staring at the blank canvas wall at the rear of the tent.
“I wanted to speak with you alone,” she said without turning around.
To Orath’s surprise, he and Rianna were actually alone. Not even the ever-present Andar was lurking in the shadowy corners.
“You seem troubled, my Queen,” he said in his most ingratiating voice, coming up close behind her.
“I was walking among the troops,” she said, still facing away from him. “Hoping to lift their spirits.”
“Their spirits will be lifted once we crush the armies of the clans and defeat the Destroyer of Worlds.”
Rianna didn’t answer at first but brought her hands up to rub her temples.
“The soldiers say the ogre feasts on the corpses of the fallen immediately after each battle,” Rianna whispered, and from behind Orath saw her shiver.
“The creature has to feed,” he said. “Why do you care if he defiles the bodies of your enemy?”
“They say he eats both barbarian and Danaan flesh. Some even say they’ve heard screams and cries as he feeds on the wounded before we can find them and bring them back from the battlefield.”
The ogre likes his meat fresh and warm, Orath thought, but he had the sense not to say it aloud.
“You told me you could control the beast,” Rianna said, suddenly spinning around to face him. “I want this to stop!”
“That is not possible,” the Minion explained. “Andar’s interference in the summoning ritual weakened my mastery over the ogre. If I keep the beast from feeding, hunger will make it turn against us.”
Rianna nodded slowly, as if she had expected this answer.
“My war council believes we should turn back.”
Orath tilted his head to the side and reached up to run his long fingernails over his bald, batlike skull.
“You h
ad a meeting of the war council without me?” he asked.
“I feared they would not speak openly in your presence,” she told him.
You mean Andar feared it, Orath thought, realizing where the idea must have originated.
“In only a few days this will be over,” the Minion reminded her. “Victory is too close to turn back now.”
“Each day hundreds of my people die,” she said, her voice rising. “Starvation and exposure take as many as the savages kill in their raids. And in this frozen wasteland we cannot even bury or burn our dead. We must leave the bodies of friends and family for a monster to devour!”
“You told me you were willing to do anything to get back the Ring,” Orath reminded her, his voice calm and cold. “This is the price you must pay to stop the Destroyer of Worlds.”
“I fear the Destroyer of Worlds is no longer with them,” the Queen said softly. “I cannot feel the Ring’s presence anymore. I no longer dream of his face.”
“Chaos is weak in this land,” Orath cautioned her. “And your connection to the Ring is fading with each day it is no longer in your possession. You must not rely on your visions to guide you.”
“But what if the Destroyer of Worlds is no longer with the clans?” she pressed, echoing his own earlier thoughts. “Then all this will be for nothing.”
“Once the barbarians are crushed,” Orath promised, “we can find the Destroyer of Worlds at our leisure. He cannot hide; the ogre has the scent of the Ring. The Talisman will be ours once more if you listen to me.”
He could see indecision in the Queen’s eyes. She was hesitant. Uncertain. Lost. The fury that had burned inside her was gone, snuffed out by the brutal reality of waging a winter war against the Frozen East. But with her resolve fading, her spirit was now weak.
Orath’s hands lashed out and seized her by the shoulders, pulling her close. He leaned his face in toward hers; the Queen’s eyes went wide with horror and her face twisted up in revulsion. She opened her lips to scream, and Orath breathed deep into her mouth—a black cloud that crawled down her throat and into her lungs, smothering her voice.
He let go and Rianna stumbled back, coughing and choking on the Minion’s vile essence. Orath watched her struggle, patiently allowing the spell to take effect. Using magic to bind her completely to his will wasn’t something he wanted to do—every time he called upon Chaos on this side of the Legacy, he grew a little weaker. But her current mental state made her vulnerable; she wouldn’t be able to fight him like she could have earlier. And even though controlling both the Queen and the ogre at the same time would further tax his slowly waning power, it would only be for a few more days. The reward was worth the risk.
Rianna had stopped coughing and was standing up straight, her eyes unfocused and her head slowly turning from side to side as she stared around the tent without any hint of recognition.
“Tell the war council we will go on,” Orath said, reaching out with his mind to twist and bend her now-malleable thoughts. “Tell them we will see this through to the end. We will not turn back until every last barbarian is dead.”
The Queen nodded, the glazed look in her eyes slipping away as her reeling mind latched on to and embraced Orath’s projected will.
“The savages gave sanctuary to the Destroyer of Worlds,” she said, snarling out the words. “For that they must be exterminated!”
Chapter 35
KEEGAN COULDN’T STOP looking over at Scythe as the three of them trudged across the empty, snow-covered plains. The weather here was slightly warmer than it had been in the mountain peaks, and they’d shed their outermost layer of clothes. They hadn’t bothered to repack them; they’d simply left them behind, knowing they could make better time by traveling light.
Their pace was slow enough already, their minds unfocused as they struggled with the shock of Norr’s loss. Yet he knew she was taking it far harder than he and Jerrod, and he was worried about her. He also couldn’t help wondering if this was his fault.
I used the Ring twice. What if the backlash caused Norr’s death?
Two days had passed since Norr’s sacrifice had let the rest of them escape the yeti at the Serpent’s Tongue. In the immediate aftermath of the avalanche, Scythe had thrown herself against the mountain of ice and snow, digging frantically at it with her daggers as if she could somehow reach Norr through the hundreds of tons of debris.
Keegan would have rushed to her side, but unleashing the Ring against the yeti had left him too weak to stand. He could only watch, helpless to offer any kind of support or comfort.
Eventually Jerrod did go to her, but only, Keegan noted, after first picking up Daemron’s Sword.
“He’s gone, Scythe,” the monk had told her, reaching out to put a restraining grip on her shoulder while still clutching the blade in his other hand.
She’d wheeled on him with hatred in her eyes, her razor-sharp blades held poised and ready for combat. Jerrod didn’t even flinch.
“Why did you knock me down?” she demanded. “I could have gone to him! I could have helped him!”
“Then you would be dead, too,” the monk had answered, his voice emotionless as ever.
“Maybe that’s what I wanted!” she shouted.
“That’s not what Norr wanted,” Keegan had called out, still lacking the strength to stand.
“Use the Sword and get Keegan on his feet,” Scythe had suddenly snapped, turning away from both of them and slipping her knives out of sight. “There’s no reason to stay here.”
Those were the last words she had spoken to either of them. Jerrod did use the Sword to help Keegan, placing the blade gently on his shoulder. The young mage had felt the strength returning to his limbs—enough to walk again. But he knew he was still too mentally spent to attempt calling on Chaos again anytime soon.
Fortunately, there were no signs of pursuit. Virtually all of the yeti had been trapped in the pass with Norr when it collapsed. And the handful that weren’t would have had to spend days either going around or over the mountains that were falling farther and farther behind them.
After the first day, however, Keegan wasn’t certain that was a good thing. If one or two of the yeti had somehow made it through to attack them, Scythe’s warrior instincts might have kicked in and snapped her out of her fugue. Instead, she’d been completely uncommunicative.
For the past two days she hadn’t spoken, made eye contact, or even acknowledged them with a nod. She simply walked along beside them, stopping when they stopped, eating when they ate, sleeping when they slept. But she didn’t seem to be aware of what she was doing; everything was automatic and instinctual, as if her conscious mind had completely shut down.
Keegan understood the numbing emptiness of her grief; he’d gone through the same thing when his father had died. Vaaler had pulled him out of that black abyss, but he’d done it slowly. He’d given Keegan time to grieve. They needed to do the same for Scythe.
But you also need to let her know that she’s not alone.
Jerrod was leading the way, Daemron’s Sword lashed diagonally across his back with leather straps and each hand clutching one of the two remaining supply packs. He and Scythe followed close behind, walking side by side, though Keegan was giving her plenty of space.
He slowly sidled a few feet closer to her, then in his most comforting tone said, “It’s okay to cry, Scythe. It might even help.”
She didn’t respond, but she turned her head to look at him with narrowed eyes, never breaking stride.
“I know how you feel,” Keegan assured her. “I felt the same thing when I lost my father. Frustrated, helpless, angry. It’s a terrible thing to watch someone close to you die and know you couldn’t help them.”
“You could have helped him,” Scythe growled, coming to a sudden stop.
“I—there was nothing I could do,” he stammered awkwardly, caught off guard not by the resentment in her voice but by the fact she had replied at all.
“You’re a wizard
. You could have used the Ring.”
“I couldn’t,” Keegan protested, suddenly feeling guilty. “I was exhausted. Drained.”
I couldn’t help him. But his death could be my fault.
He opened his mouth, ready to admit his fears about the backlash from the Ring. But at the last instant he thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut.
“Some savior,” Scythe snorted, turning away from him in disgust.
“Keegan is not to blame for Norr’s death,” Jerrod said, having dropped back to join the conversation. “You know that.”
Unlike Keegan, there was no compassion or sympathy in his words. As always, his voice was cold and emotionless. The wizard also noted that Jerrod had dropped the supply packs he’d been carrying, leaving his hands free and ready.
“I do,” Scythe agreed, turning back to them as a grotesque smile spread across her lips. “He’s just your pawn. We all were. And it cost Norr his life.”
“Norr recognized the truth,” Jerrod countered. “After we fled Torian, he saw that Keegan was special. He chose to help him find his destiny.”
“That’s not true!” Scythe shouted. “He wanted to take the Sword back to Hadawas. But you convinced him to go after the Crown—and now he’s dead!”
“We all cared for Norr,” Keegan said, sensing her rising anger and trying to calm her down. “None of us wanted this to happen.”
“But it worked out good for you, didn’t it?” she snapped. “Norr’s gone and now you get to swoop in to offer me comfort. Is that your plan, Keegan? Use my grief to make me fall in love with you?”
“I don’t … that’s not what this is, Scythe!” he assured her. “Norr was my friend! I would never do anything to hurt him!” Not on purpose.
“And what about you?” she barked, wheeling on Jerrod. “You still think Keegan and I are connected somehow, don’t you? You think we’re both part of this prophecy you follow!”
“I do,” Jerrod admitted.
“But Norr was just getting in the way,” Scythe continued, her voice having risen to a yell. “He wasn’t part of your plan. Now that he’s gone, everything is just the way you always wanted it!”
The Scorched Earth Page 35
