Chaos Unleashed (19 page)

As her arm was incapacitating her opponent, her feet took a single step to the left so that the charging man’s momentum wouldn’t send him crashing into her as he collapsed. Instead, he slammed into the edge of the heavy table with a loud thud. The table rocked slightly but didn’t give way. The pirate, on the other hand, ricocheted off and hit the floor hard.

The fight was over before any of the others even realized it was happening. Bo-Shing’s eyes went wide a second later once his mind caught up and processed what had just happened. Then he threw back his head and laughed as his man writhed on the floor, coughing, wheezing, and turning purple as he struggled for air from the blow to the throat.

“Shoji never was a smart one,” Methodis remarked, even as he bent down to check on the fallen man’s injuries.

“He’ll live,” Cassandra assured the others. “But the next person who attacks me won’t be so lucky.”

“I like you, girl,” Bo-Shing said, flashing a wide grin that exposed several missing teeth. “I think we can do business.”

“I’m looking for an island,” Cassandra said, jumping straight to the heart of the matter. “One with a large black obelisk on it.”

“I’ve seen it,” the old man sitting at the table said, his voice thin and reedy. “Through my looking glass.”

“Tork,” Bo-Shing said by way of introduction. “My navigator.”

“And you can take me there?” Cassandra asked.

“The island you seek lies on the edge of the world,” Tork said. “Beyond the Kraken’s Eye.”

He didn’t look at Cassandra as he spoke; he seemed focused on something above and behind her—something too far away for even her Sight to detect. And there was something disconcerting about the way he spoke; the inflection and pacing of his words were more than a bit unusual.

“Is he drunk?” Cassandra asked.

“Tork was always a little off,” Methodis said as he helped the still-wheezing pirate up to a sitting position.

“He has the far-sight,” Bo-Shing explained, though Cassandra had no idea what that meant. “If he says he’s seen your island beyond the Kraken’s Eye, then that’s where we’ll find it.”

“What’s the Kraken’s Eye?”

“A stretch of ocean filled with titanic waves and massive whirlpools large enough to swallow a ship whole. Some say it marks the edge of the world—that no ship can pass.”

“But you’ve been through it?”

“Tork has. Twenty years ago. But if another ship can survive the journey, then so can
The Chaos Runner.
”

“Aye,” the old man said, still staring off into space. “I can guide you safely through.”

“Does this mean you’re agreeing to take me?” Cassandra asked.

“First tell me why you want to go there,” Bo-Shing said.

“That is something I cannot reveal,” Cassandra replied. “But I assure you it has nothing to do with the treasure hidden on the island,” she added, building on the foundation of the lie Methodis had laid down earlier.

“Is there really a treasure there?” the pirate asked, cocking his head and squinting one skeptical eye at her.

“For centuries the Order has been manipulating and controlling the rulers of the Southlands,” she answered. “With all the gold and coin that has gone into their coffers, do you really think it would all be kept at the Monastery?”

“And you’d just let us take it?”

“I am not interested in material wealth. I serve a higher purpose.”

Bo-Shing laughed again. “I should have guessed.”

“Methodis says there is no other sailor skilled and daring enough to take me there,” she said, hoping the pirate was susceptible to flattery.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Bo-Shing warned. “Getting supplies for the voyage is difficult. Nobody knows how long this siege will last. Food is going to be expensive.”

“I have enough to fund the expedition,” Methodis volunteered.

Bo-Shing raised an eyebrow. “The medicine man has done well for himself, has he?”

“Not all my clients live on the streets,” the old man said. “Nobles pay very well for my discretion.”

“Getting onto the ship and casting off from port is another problem,” the pirate continued. “I’ve heard the Order has spies watching the docks. Probably looking for you, right?”

“If this were going to be simple, I wouldn’t have come to you,” Methodis reminded him. “You’ll figure something out.”

Bo-Shing crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, staring intently at Cassandra as he mulled the offer over.

This is a mistake,
Rexol warned.
The instant you’re out at sea they’ll try to take the Crown from you!

They don’t even know about the Crown,
she reminded the ever-paranoid mage.
And if they try, I can stop them.

She could sense that Bo-Shing was intrigued, but he still needed one final push to get him to accept.

“I feel I must be honest with you,” she said. “The treasure on the island will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams, but the Pontiff will not be pleased. The Order will forever curse your name. Inquisitors will search high and low for the outlaw Bo-Shing, and you will always be remembered as one of history’s greatest villains.”

“Fabulous wealth, infamy, and the chance to piss off the Order?” Bo-Shing said, uncrossing his arms and clapping his hands together. “How could I possibly refuse?”

V
AALER AND
S
HALANA
walked side by side down the corridor of cheering men and women lining the street. Their honor guard marched close behind them, followed by a long, irregular column of their ragtag army.

“Another hero’s welcome,” Shalana whispered.” And more mouths to feed in your ever-growing legions of followers, no doubt,” she added.

Vaaler was too busy smiling at and waving to the exuberant crowd who had come to greet the liberators of their town to reply, though he knew she was right.

Since slaying Hirk and his band in the tiny hamlet of Othlen, they had been steadily gathering more and more volunteers eager to strike back at their oppressors. The people in Othlen had pleaded with him to drive out the mercenaries occupying the nearby village of Shelder, and a half dozen men and women had aided in the attack.

Their victory in Shelder had been quick and decisive, just as it had been in Othlen. Not only did they have the element of surprise on their side, but a small company of deserters bullying helpless townsfolk were no match for the battle-hardened clan warriors who made up the honor guard he and Shalana had brought with them from the Frozen East.

After Shelder, they moved on to nearby Pilkin and Howellend, striking fast before the scattered mercenary bands could unite and form some kind of coordinated resistance. And at each town, Vaaler’s tiny army grew. People were tired of being terrorized. His arrival ignited the smoldering hatred the people had for the soldiers exploiting the political turmoil to set themselves up as petty warlords and dictators.

Vaaler had welcomed them into the ranks, though not out of any real need on his part. In the last few towns they’d come to, they hadn’t even encountered any resistance. News of the avenging band of Easterners was spreading quickly, and the mercenaries who were happy to bully and harass helpless victims weren’t nearly as willing to stay and fight to protect the territory they had previously claimed.

Just the rumor that we’re coming their way is enough to send the cowards running,
Vaaler noted, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at what they’d accomplished in such a short time.

But even when their victories came without fighting or bloodshed, the people of the town still hailed them as heroes. And many of them still wanted to join the fight. They numbered over a hundred now, and Vaaler and Shalana spent as much time worrying about the logistics of keeping their soldiers fed and clothed as they did planning tactics and picking targets.

“Sill said our supplies are running low, even with the rationing,” Shalana reminded him as their victory parade wound through the town’s main street. “Tell this mayor we don’t need more farmers to march with us. We’d rather have them give us some of their winter food stores than their loyalty.”

Vaaler nodded, though he didn’t hold out much hope. The towns they saved were quick to offer what they could, but these were not rich people. They had little to spare, and any surplus from their harvests had been sold and shipped off to the Free Cities at the beginning of the winter.

That’s one of the reasons so many of them are so eager to join us. They’re tired of living in rural poverty, tired of living a hand-to-mouth existence.

The crowd was funneling them toward the town square, where a matronly woman was standing along with several middle-aged men, patiently awaiting their arrival.

“How come these welcoming committees always seem so puffed up by their own importance?” Shalana grumbled. “If I was a leader of one of these towns, I’d be ashamed that I needed outsiders to come in and protect my people.”

“Things are different here in the Southlands,” Vaaler reminded her. “They rely on government and the rule of law to keep them safe.”

“And when all that breaks down, what are they left with?” Shalana wondered.

“It doesn’t usually break down,” Vaaler reminded her. “These are strange times.”

The Blood Moon still hung in the sky each night, waxing and waning, but its color never changed.

Another reason we have so many volunteers. They’re scared. They don’t feel safe unless they’re part of an army.

Few of the volunteers understood the true horrors of war. A handful were retired veterans who had served as guards in some of the Free Cities, but even these had never seen any real battles.

Not like what we went through at the Giant’s Maw.

Apart from the Easterners, his followers still clung to an idealized, romanticized notion of war. The easy victories against overmatched opponents had only strengthened their misconceptions.

“Remember,” Shalana whispered, as they finally reached the dignitaries waiting for them in the town square. “We need food, not volunteers!”

“I am Mayor Thelna,” the matronly woman said, stepping forward to clasp Vaaler’s outstretched hand.

“On behalf of the entire city, I wish to thank you for driving off the brutes and cretins who terrorized us for far too long!”

Her voice was surprisingly loud for her size, and it carried well into the crowd. Predictably, her words elicited another round of cheering and applause. Vaaler turned and acknowledged the adulation with a wave. Shalana did the same, he could tell she was weary of these public performances.

The townsfolk who had joined their army along the way were basking in the moment, smiling and shaking hands with people in the crowd. In contrast, the members of their honor guard stood straight and tall, with stoic expressions on their faces, looking every inch the Southland stereotype of the noble savage.

They’re playing to the crowd,
Vaaler realized.
They like being seen as emotionless warriors who only live for battle.

“Anything we can provide is yours for the asking,” Thelna said. “We owe you our lives.”

“And many of our people are ready to swear allegiance to you and join your ranks,” one of the men behind her added.

Beside him, Shalana groaned. Fortunately, Vaaler doubted anyone else was close enough to hear it over the buzz of the crowd.

“Your generosity is much appreciated,” Vaaler told them. “And we have need of any food you can spare.”

“They say an army travels on its stomach,” Thelna agreed. “Our winter provisions are low, but I will give you whatever we can spare.”

Shalana groaned again. This time it was loud enough to cause the mayor to give her a funny look. Then she turned her attention back to Vaaler.

“We have a special gift for you,” she said, holding up her hand and motioning to someone hidden in the crowd.

The people parted and two burly men came forward, each holding the arm of a bearded soldier. His hands were tied in front of him, and his face was swollen and bruised.

Vaaler felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a prisoner.

Given everything that’s happened, they’ll probably want some kind of public execution to satisfy their hunger for vengeance.

“My brother and I caught him trying to steal a horse at my farm!” one of the men holding his arm said. “Put up quite the fight!”

“I can’t stay here!” the prisoner shouted. “I have to go to the Free Cities or the curse will kill me!”

The man’s eyes were wild, his voice high and shrill. His hair was tangled and filled with leaves and small twigs, and his clothes were dirty and rank.

“Clearly this man isn’t in his right mind,” Vaaler said. “Is he really one of the men who terrorized your town?”

“No,” the mayor admitted. “He wasn’t with those scum. But look at his uniform. He’s a mercenary, just like the others!”

“I’m not!” the man shrieked. “You have to let me go. I have to get to the Free Cities. I have to tell them to help Callastan! The wizard said so!”

Vaaler let out an inward sigh. The mayor and the others were looking at him expectantly, no doubt waiting for him to pronounce some kind of judgment.

“I don’t know what crimes this man has committed,” Vaaler said. “And neither do you. Clearly he is unbalanced, and he may be a danger to himself or others. But I do not think we can punish him for what was done to your town. That would not be justice”

The mayor’s expression changed from expectation to disappointment, then to one of resignation.

“Of course,” she said, chagrined. “You’re right.” Addressing the men holding the prisoner, she said, “Take him away but be gentle with him.”

“No!” the soldier squealed, bucking and thrashing against the men holding him. “I have to go to the Free Cities!”

His knees suddenly gave out, catching the men holding him off guard as he slid from their grasp and collapsed on the ground. Hands still bound, he scurried across the earth to grovel at Vaaler’s feet.

“You have to let me go to the Free Cities,” he whimpered. “If you don’t, the wizard’s hex will kill me. I must obey the will of Keegan of the Gorgon Staff.”

“Wait!” Vaaler shouted, holding up a hand to stop the men who were rushing forward to haul the prisoner back to his feet.

He dropped down to one knee so that he was eye to eye with the man.

“What was that name?”

“Keegan of the Gorgon Staff,” the man whispered. “The wizard cursed me. Bound me to his will. Told me I had to go to the Free Cities.”

“Describe this wizard.”

“Tall. Thin. Young. And he has only one hand!”

“I need to speak with this man in private,” Vaaler said. “Right now!”

Shalana’s head was spinning as she and Vaaler followed the mayor to one of the nearby buildings, the two farmers dragging the struggling prisoner along with them.

“You have to let me go!” he wailed. “The wizard will kill you all if you interfere with my mission!”

The chances that the mad soldier had actually come across Keegan were small. The odds that he would then run into Vaaler were so infinitesimal they defied believability.

This is no coincidence. The forces of Chaos are at play.

When Vaaler first told her he had to leave the East and return to the Southlands, she had been reluctant. But her love had explained that he and Keegan shared something deeper than their time together studying under Rexol. He said he was bound to the young wizard’s destiny to save the world. Though Shalana wasn’t certain if she believed in such things, Vaaler clearly did, and so she had agreed to go with him.

“Our town is too small to have an actual jail,” the mayor explained as she walked. “So we converted one of the stalls in the stable into a cell for emergencies.”

Vaaler nodded, but Shalana could tell he wasn’t listening.

This must be as shocking for him as it is for me.

Faced with the suffering of the townsfolk in Othlen, Vaaler had undergone a dramatic change of heart. He chose to help those who needed it most, rather than pressing on toward Callastan to try to play some unknown role in Jerrod’s prophecy.

Shalana had actually been relieved when he asked her to abandon their original quest. She was a warrior, plain and simple. She knew nothing about Chaos and magic and the fate of the world. She preferred what she could see and touch and feel. She understood the plight of the villagers they helped, even if their inability—or unwillingness—to fight to protect themselves frustrated her at times.

My role in Keegan’s destiny is finished,
Vaaler had whispered to her that night.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Almost there,” the mayor said, turning sharply to the left and heading down a small side street. A simple wooden structure stood at the end. From the smell it was obviously the stable the mayor had mentioned, though Shalana guessed it was only large enough to hold three or four horses at any one time.

Or one prisoner.

Inside the animals had been removed, and a stall in the corner had been lined with sharp, twisted wire along each wall. The wire extended out above the stall and was wired together at the top to form a rudimentary cage.

“Don’t put me back in there!” the soldier shouted, renewing his struggles to break free of the men holding him. “I must serve the wizard’s will!”

“You are,” Vaaler assured him. “I am Keegan’s ally. We studied together for many years.”

The soldier froze in place, his head tilting to one side.

“You don’t look like a wizard,” he mumbled.

“I’m Danaan,” Vaaler said. “We are all wizards.”

The man nodded slowly, obviously accepting his words as fact.

“Leave us alone with him,” Keegan said to the mayor.

“Do you think we can’t protect ourselves from one man?” Shalana asked when she hesitated.

“No, of course not,” she replied. A few seconds later she and her entourage were gone, leaving Shalana and Vaaler alone with the prisoner.

“What’s your name?” Vaaler asked him.

“Darmmid. But they call me Darm.”

“Good, Darm. My name is Vaaler. Keegan is my friend.”

Darm shook his head vigorously from side to side.

“No! It’s a trick! You’re lying!”

“I know Keegan and his companions,” Vaaler assured him. “A giant with red hair. A man with pure white eyes like the monks of the Order. And a young Islander woman.”