Chaos (4 page)

No one answered him, but the grim set to their faces was all the reply needed. David closed his eyes against the fear that washed over him. How long until he could work again? Would he still be in time to make his journey to Unheilvol?

Before the thoughts could get the better of him, he succumbed to the medicine and slipped gratefully back into oblivion.

The journey home was three weeks of long, hard travel. Two Mill was closer to the middle of the country, where the land was flat and smooth. Black Hill, where David lived, was in the foothills of the Haunted Mountain. It was hard going and crawling with Sentinels.

After the first week, David could sit up and manage food and drink on his own. The wounds still bled and had to be treated frequently, but at least they were healing. Hopefully once he was home and able to get real rest, they would heal faster. Maja would make it better; she always did. He would be able to get back to work.

"Here," Killian said and thrust a cup of hot tea into his hands before sitting down next to him with a cup of his own. "Feeling any better?"

"A little," David replied and sipped the tea, grateful for the warmth of it, even more so for the medicine he could taste that would ease the pain already climbing back up to unbearable levels. He nodded at the group of men on the far side of the camp. "What are they whispering about? They look scared."

Killian shifted, looking anxious himself. "They found a dead Sentinel yesterday. You were asleep, and they don't want to talk about it much because they're scared."

"Sentinels die, though it's rare to find the bodies, I admit."

"No," Killian said, shaking his head and then looking up at David with fearful eyes. "It was killed. Someone used a sword, thrust it right through the eye into the brain. Magic was used, too. It's like a rogue sorcerer killed it. Someone said something about another being found the same way up close to Oak Hill."

"Two? Someone killed two? I don't believe it. I think someone is telling tales," David said dismissively. Oak Hill was roughly five days travel from Black Hill, and they'd stop there before making the last part of the journey home. "No one would kill a Sentinel. Lord Teufel would never permit such a fate. The Sentinels watch for intruders and keep them from tainting Schatten." They also ensured that people stayed where they were meant and did not travel more than strictly necessary. They were Teufel's faithful, terrible beasts. Like the sorcerers, they were meant to be guards but in reality were monsters. "He would never tolerate a fate that included killing them."

Killian nodded, but did not look convinced. "What else could kill a Sentinel and leave something resembling a sword wound, though? And two of them—that many people would not make the same mistake about the Sentinels being killed by a person."

"Sure they would," David said and finished his tea, already beginning to feel the effects of the medicine. "It's like that time three years ago when everyone swore old Rufus had been murdered. Remember? Because he had been fighting with most of the town, and he looked all blue-ish? One person said it was murder and everyone else picked that up, and it took that priest coming in and saying no, he'd died all natural."

"I suppose, but it still seems strange to me." Killian finished his own tea and took their cups back to the campfire to wash out and put away. By the time he returned to David's side, it was getting difficult for David to keep his eyes open. Killian laughed at him, but was careful as he helped David lie back down in his little nest. "You'll get better soon."

David just grunted.

"Thank you," Killian said quietly, and he kissed David's cheek as he slipped into sleep again.

When he woke, it was to the sound of shouting—frightened shouting from most, though there were a couple voices trying to get people calmed down and under control. David whimpered as he forced himself to sit up and crawl to the edge of the cart. It sounded like something bad had happened.

Then he saw it:  a dead Sentinel. Not a small one either, but a full grown bull with horns and wings. He shivered just looking at and hastily made the sign of protection, touching fingertips to his forehead, lips, and heart.

He saw why everyone believed a person had killed it. The air still reeked of magic, and the Sentinel showed not just signs of having a sword plunged through its eye, but the telling marks of a whip across its snout and remaining eye. One of its horns had been broken, and the dark violet membranes of its enormous wings had been burned in several places.

Who could possibly kill a Sentinel? But it was just as Killian had said before:  only a sorcerer had all of those abilities. They were the only ones allowed to carry sword
and
whip, and possessed magic. But sorcerers knew their fate the moment the black diamond appeared on their foreheads. They were destined to serve Teufel, to protect the children of shadows, maintain justice, and guard the land. No sorcerer would be fated to slaughter Sentinels—but then how and why would he?

A word rose up in David's mind then, and he shuddered, ashamed and afraid to even think it.
Chaos.
It was impossible. Lord Teufel had cast out chaos centuries ago for the good of his people, to honor Lost Licht who had died for them, died fighting the chaos that sought to destroy them.

Gritting his teeth, David slid from the cart. He bent over in agony as his back protested the movement, but he couldn't sit around useless in the face of such a problem. He slowly made his way across camp to where the men were all shouting and arguing, stopping close to Reimund. "What's going on?"

Reimund turned and scowled at him. "You shouldn't be moving about, you'll just make your injuries worse and be stuck abed longer."

David drew himself up, biting back whimpers of pain. "I'm fine. It's healing well enough. I think whatever is going on is more important. Shouldn't we be leaving?"

"Can't," Reimund said, scrubbing a hand through his stiff, gray hair then scratching at his beard. "One of the sorcerers just left to fetch help from Deer Run and send a message to the High Sorcerer in Unheilvol. We have to remain to help guard the body and vouch for what we've seen, especially the magic, since in a couple of days all residue of that will be gone. Also don't want nothing eating the corpse. They'll send better sorcerers, probably men to start hunting the blasphemer committing these atrocities."

"Good," David whispered. "It shouldn't be happening."

He ignored the treacherous part of his mind that hated the Sentinels, was terrified of them, and was tired of the way they made everything more difficult and dangerous. "Where's Killian?"

"Went hunting with his father," Reimund said with a grunt. "It'll take days, even weeks, for someone to come see us, take our accounts, and finally send us on our way." He heaved a long sigh. "Hopefully, we do not have to wait for someone to arrive from Raven Knoll. But whatever Lord Teufel wills, so shall it be, and we are grateful. Enough of that for now. Would you like some tea, a bit of medicine to help the pain, but not so much it'll put you to sleep."

David nodded. "Tea would be good, thank you. I'll try not to be a burden—I'm sorry, I know—"

"Och, boy," Reimund said and gave his shoulder a light, awkward pat. "I'm a grump, it's true, but if not for you that brat Killian would be dead. Think seeing you all bloody and close to never waking again shook him good, finally put some sense in that fool head of his. I'll not be tossing you out for taking someone else's beating, boy. Hm, I suppose it's not much fair to call you that anymore, is it? Killian is a boy; you're well into being a man. Good lad. Have a sit, I'll get that tea."

Trembling with relief, David sat down before the fire, pulling his heavy wool cloak more tightly around him. The snow was piled high on either side of the rode and all around the small clearing where they'd made camp. High above, the clouds were heavy and almost black, foretelling still more snow.

It made him think of his parents, as it always did. He'd been twelve when he lost them to Sentinels after they left Black Hill without permission. Maja, Reimund, and Sigmund—they'd always said that his parents had gone out in search of food during an especially lean year, but David had heard too many other whispers around the village to believe that.

His parents had been trying to escape, to make it up the Haunted Mountains and escape to the other side, to the Lost Lands that Licht had sealed off so that his people could be safe in Schatten. David had wondered a thousand times what fate they'd heard that made them so desperate to defy Teufel and try to escape it.

Mostly, he wondered why they had not taken him. He would rather be alive, but … why hadn't his parents wanted him with them?

David tried to shake the thoughts off and mustered a smile of thanks when Reimund handed him a cup of tea. He sipped at it slowly, surprised when Reimund sat down next to him. "You're looking gloomy, but you always do this time of year."

"I'm fine," David said with a shrug. "I just hate the cold."

"They knew you were better off here," Reimund said. "Whatever drove them, they knew it wouldn't work. Stop dwelling on it." He gently ruffled David's hair. "Faithful as you are, I just know Lord Teufel's fate for you will be a generous one. Maybe … " Reimund trailed off when they heard the sound of several horses racing toward them.

A moment later, five horses came around the bend in the road and entered the  camp. Five sorcerers … David's breath lodged in his throat as he stared at the man in the center of the group. He had pale hair—a rarity, and a high blessing, to be so marked in the Lost Licht's color. David had only ever heard of one sorcerer had such pale hair:  High Sorcerer Torben.

How had the High Sorcerer arrived so quickly when he resided in Raven Knoll, the holy city where the temple of Unheilvol was located. It was a two month journey from Black Hill, but the Sentinel killings had only started a few weeks ago according to Killian—not even a full month had passed since the first if the whispers were to be believed.

David looked hastily away when the High Sorcerer caught his eyes, bowing his head low.  Magic. If the High Sorcerer had travelled so far, so quickly, then he must have used powerful magic.  David had not seen much magic in his life, only the warding and fire spells used by the sorcerer guards who protected them from the Sentinels, but whispers ever murmured of the might and power that the sorcerers and priests could wield when the situation arose. It was said the High Sorcerer could cast black curses that destroyed a man in a moment or made him suffer a long, agonizing nine-day death.

The only man more powerful than the High Sorcerer was the High Seer, and whispers said that he spent his days lost in visions that would break the mind of an ordinary man.

David hunched down and focused on his tea, wishing that he were home safe and warm and praying that everything quickly returned to normal.

He woke with a groan, his head feeling as though someone had attempted to bash it in with a rock. Gingerly reaching up to touch the source of the pain, he was relieved to feel only a massive knot—annoying and painful, but unlikely to be a real problem.

Dropping his hand, he forced himself up, making it to his hands and knees before the world starting spinning a bit too much for his taste. He felt weaker than a newborn kitten. What had happened to him?

A chill ran through him when he realized he didn't know. Well, 'what' he could probably figure out if he could provide 'where,' but that too came up blank. He tamped down on the panic that tried to rise up and tried an easy question:  who.

Sasha
, his mind supplied.

Relief poured through him, and Sasha forced himself to his feet. He looked around his surroundings and took in almost too much information at once:  he was in a small cave, the entrance mostly covered by snow. It was bitterly cold. The smells of blood, magic, and death were thick on the air. He moved closer to the cave entrance, kicked away the frozen wall of snow, and clambered out.

Bodies—there were bodies everywhere. Sasha stood staring at them, trying to put memories to them. He hadn't just magically appeared in the cave; the state of his head said he'd been involved in something. In proper light, his clothes only confirmed that he'd been involved, somehow, in whatever had killed the men before him. His clothes were torn and stained with blood. He was battered and bruised and exhausted.

He was also missing his weapons. Sasha didn't know where that thought came from, or how he knew it, but his hands moved of their own volition to his hips, and as suddenly as that he could see the missing weapons in his mind:  a black whip supple from use, the grip worn to his hand. A sword given to him as a gift from … someone who made him feel happy and sad all at once. It was set with a piece of amber in the pommel, a flower petal caught in its depths.

Looking around, not immediately seeing them, he began to pick his way through the bodies. He found the whip by a man with a dagger through his throat and realized that belonged to him as well. Pulling it free, he cleaned it in the snow, and slipped it back into its sheath at the small of his back. He retrieved the whip and cleaned it as best he could, looking it over for damage. Flicked once, twice, thrice, each crack echoing through the surrounding mountains and somehow steadying his nerves. He coiled it with easy motions, secured it at his right hip, and continued on to find his sword.

Images flickered through his mind:

Violet eyes.

He was tired. The third beast killed in as many weeks—he thought. Time was hard to track, the days bled together and became a blur of snow and hiding and fighting.

The sound of horses alerted him, and he whipped around—

Sasha cried out as pain shot through his head, driving him to his knees. His chest ached with a deep, throbbing pain. He fumbled at his cloak, tore it off, then fought with the buttons of his heavy wool jacket and the laces of the linen shirt beneath, pulling all away to reveal a black-violet spider web inked into his chest.