Chaos Unleashed (29 page)

Pulling up just short of the new arrivals, Vaaler leapt down from his horse and rushed forward to wrap his arms around Keegan in a fierce hug, laughing.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he said.

Shalana arrived a few seconds later, her long strides not quite able to keep up when Vaaler’s horse broke into a run.

“Where’s Norr?” she asked.

Keegan looked down at the ground, and Jerrod shook his head. Vaaler’s smile vanished and a somber mood fell over the reunion.

To Scythe’s surprise, Shalana stepped forward, bent down, and wrapped her long arms around her.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I know how much you loved each other.”

Scythe couldn’t answer; she was too choked up to speak. The taller woman held her for several seconds, then let go and stepped back. Scythe could see she was also fighting back tears.

As the rest of the vanguard arrived, Shalana said something in her native tongue that Scythe couldn’t understand.

“The Red Bear has fallen,” Vaaler translated, speaking softly.

As one, the other Easterners bowed their heads in silent honor of their fallen champion. It was all finally too much for Scythe to take, and the tears began to flow.

After the initial meeting, the group gathered over breakfast to discuss what must happen next. In addition to Shalana, Scythe, Keegan, and Jerrod, Vaaler had asked Andar to join them as well. Darmmid had left them, heading off to join the main bulk of the army after Keegan told him, “You have served me well. I absolve you of your debt to me, and I release you from my hold. You are free!”

Vaaler wasn’t surprised that the mad soldier had stumbled across his friends outside Callastan. It was one just one of many events that went beyond the scope of fathomable coincidence. Clearly there was something greater at work, driving them toward a single goal.

We were all born under the Blood Moon. Our fates are inextricably intertwined.

“Callastan has fallen,” Jerrod said to start their meeting. “But we believe Cassandra escaped the city by ship with the Crown.”

Andar glanced over at Vaaler, who gave him a nod of encouragement.

“We might know where she is going,” the High Sorcerer told them. “There is an obelisk of black stone on an island near the farthest edge of the Western Sea—”

“You know about the Keystone?” Keegan exclaimed in surprise, cutting him off.

“The Queen has seen it in her visions,” Andar explained. “She believes that is where you must go to fulfill your destiny.”

“You’ve had the same visions, haven’t you?” Vaaler said with a knowing smile. “You’ve seen the Keystone and the island in your dreams.”

“I have,” Keegan admitted. “But those visions are a trap sent by Daemron to mislead us.”

“But Cassandra may not know this,” Jerrod interjected. “We think she believes that once she reaches the Keystone, she can use the Crown to restore the Legacy. Instead, she may bring it tumbling down.”

“Someone in the city helped her escape,” Scythe added. “A man named Methodis. The Pontiff is holding him prisoner. If we free him, he can tell us exactly where her ship was going.”

“There may be another way to get to the island,” Vaaler said. “Instead of traveling by ship, it might be possible to reach the Keystone by using magic.”

“Magic?” Keegan said, eager and excited. “How?”

“Before the Cataclysm,” Andar explained, “magic was far stronger than it is now. The most powerful wizards were able to summon enough Chaos to open a portal through space and time. They could pass through this portal to travel instantly from one location to another.”

“Rexol had me transcribe several accounts of mages who attempted this during the time of Old Magic,” Vaaler said. “But the ritual is extremely complicated and very dangerous. Even Rexol thought it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Theoretically, though, it is possible.”

“This is fascinating,” Scythe interrupted. “But what about Callastan? What about Methodis?”

“If there is another way to get to the Keystone, we may not need his help after all,” Jerrod said.

“Methodis raised me!” Scythe snapped. “I’m not leaving him in that prison!”

“We serve a higher purpose,” Jerrod reminded her. “You are letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment.”

“This is as personal as it gets!” Scythe shot back. “After Norr’s death, I tried to be like you. I swore I would bury my emotions and focus only on fulfilling your prophecy, no matter what the cost.

“But I can’t do it. I can’t sacrifice someone I love for some greater cause even if I know that cause is real!”

“She’s right,” Keegan chimed in. “We have to save Methodis. Going after Cassandra can wait.”

I don’t know if it can,
Vaaler thought. But he actually agreed with Scythe. Jerrod’s dedication to his cause had turned the monk into some kind of monomaniacal zealot.
He’s lost his humanity.

He’d seen the destruction Keegan could unleash. If he lost the ability to feel compassion for others, he’d become a monster.
Is that what happened to Daemron?

Jerrod was silent, studying Keegan and Scythe with the unsettling gaze of his blind eyes. When he finally spoke, he surprised them all.

“I see how much this means to you. And saving your friend will deal a crushing blow to the Pontiff. Perhaps it will be enough to finally break the Order’s hold over the Southlands.”

“Do we actually have the numbers to attack Callastan?” Andar asked. “It would be one thing if they were still camped outside the walls. But if they’ve taken the city, they’ll have a fortified position.”

“And we can’t expect any help from Callastan’s forces if they’ve already been routed,” Shalana added.

“There are still those inside the city willing to fight against the Order,” Scythe assured them. “If we attack, they’ll join in.”

“The Order seized control of the city in a single day,” Jerrod added. “But they had greater numbers and the element of surprise on their side.”

“But we have Daemron’s Sword and his Ring,” Vaaler reminded them.

“They won’t let me help them,” Keegan said, his eyes cast low. “They’re afraid I won’t be able to control my power.”

Vaaler knew his friend well enough to realize Keegan believed the same thing.

“There still might be a way for you to help us,” Vaaler suggested, the outline of a plan already forming in his head. “You said the Order struck with the element of surprise. We need to do the same thing.

“Maybe you can cast some kind of spell that will hide our forces from them until we reach the city.”

“It isn’t just the army’s scouts who must be fooled,” Jerrod reminded him. “You must also blind the Sight of the Pontiff and her followers.”

“The spell would have to be subtle,” Vaaler agreed. “So that they don’t even realize what’s happening until it’s too late.”

“I…I don’t know if I can do something like that,” Keegan said.

“Vaaler can help you,” Scythe blurted out, grabbing the young mage by the arm. “Right?”

The Danaan nodded.

“What about the backlash?” Keegan asked. “How can we control it?”

“The Sword,” Scythe said. “Remember when you were lost in the Burning Sea? We used the Ring to bring you back, but I used the Sword to keep the Ring’s power in check.”

“Are you saying the Talismans actually balance each other out?” Vaaler asked, his mind reeling with the potential implications of this new bit of knowledge.

“There is some evidence to support that theory,” Jerrod confirmed.

“Maybe if Keegan uses the Sword and Ring together, he can control his power,” Scythe said, her excitement growing. “If he can use magic to hide us so we can catch the army in Callastan unprepared, we can take back the city and save Methodis!”

Vaaler looked at his friend and saw a storm of conflicting emotions at play. He clearly wanted to help Scythe, but he was afraid of failing.
Or even accidentally killing the man they’re trying to save.

“I can help you prepare a ritual to hide us from the scouts and the Order,” Vaaler told him. “But only if you’re strong enough to do this.”

Keegan looked over at Jerrod, then at Scythe, his uncertainty painfully clear.

“You can do this,” the young woman told him, offering him the hilt of Daemron’s Sword. “I know you can.”

Reaching out slowly, he took the blade from her grasp and turned to Vaaler. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Show me what to do.”

“Shalana,” Vaaler said, “you and Jendarme prepare a battle plan.”

Turning back to Keegan, he warned, “This won’t be easy.”

“I’m ready,” the young mage vowed, his head held high and his shoulders thrust back.

Even though he was looking directly at Vaaler, it was clear to the Danaan that he was actually talking to Scythe.

“I promise I won’t let you down!”

T
HE
P
ONTIFF WAS
in a foul mood. Three days had passed since the healer’s capture, yet he was still in a state so addled it would be pointless to question him. He was no longer giggling uncontrollably; as the drug began to clear his system, his body had gone into extreme withdrawal. He was sweating, vomiting, and shaking uncontrollably as he slipped in and out of consciousness, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

As if echoing her emotional state, the city was enveloped in a dense fog that had rolled in from the sea during the night. It did nothing to hinder Yasmin’s Sight, of course, but for some reason she found the thick mists unsettling.

You’re just frustrated by the healer,
she told herself.

She tried to tell herself that his withdrawal was a good sign; soon his mind would be clear again, and she could begin her interrogation. She just had to remain patient; Xadier would come find her when the prisoner was ready.

Yet for some reason, she felt compelled to go to the prisons to check on him herself. As she marched through the city streets, the vague sense of unease continued to grow.

When she reached the prison, she could immediately tell she wasn’t the only one affected by the fog. The guards outside were nervous, anxiously peering into the mists. They tensed up and raised their weapons as she materialized from the haze, but quickly lowered them when they recognized her bald, scarred scalp.

She passed by without a word and made her way past the cells on the upper floor and down to the torture chamber in the basement. The Inquisitors standing guard seemed just as nervous as the soldiers outside.

They stepped aside as she entered the small room where Methodis lay huddled in the corner. The room reeked of his bodily excretions, and the Pontiff crinkled her nose in revulsion. But he was no longer convulsing.

Crouching beside him, she whispered, “Methodis, can you hear me?”

He groaned and twitched in response to his name, but didn’t open his eyes.

Soon,
she thought.
A few more hours at most.

A sudden impulse hit her, brought on by a combination of her anxiousness about the fog, her impatience to begin the interrogation, and her disgust at the smell in the tiny room.

“Clean the prisoner up and bring him to my private quarters,” she instructed.

Keegan sat atop the back of Vaaler’s horse, his right arm fully extended above his head. Daemron’s Ring was on his finger, the Slayer’s blade clutched firmly in his hand and held aloft. He had been stripped naked save for a loincloth, and arcane tattoos and sigils of power carefully drawn by Vaaler the night before completely covered his skin from head to toe…though they were much fainter than they had once been.

He sat completely motionless save for a slight trembling of his muscles as he struggled to control the Chaos, summoning it with the Ring, then channeling it through the Sword to project the heavy fog that covered Callastan. Scythe walked at his side on the right and Vaaler on the left, watching carefully to make sure he didn’t topple over in the saddle while he focused on maintaining the spell.

He’s been doing this for hours,
the monk thought.
He can’t last much longer.

They were only a few miles away from Callastan. The bulk of their army, including Shalana and her Eastern honor guard, had already pressed on ahead, outpacing the wizard’s slowly walking mount as they moved into position. Reaching out with his awareness, Jerrod could sense the dark gray cloud of vapor that had descended on the city. His Sight pierced the misty veil, but all he saw were the buildings and inhabitants of the town: It was as if the army hidden within did not exist.

Just a bit longer,
Jerrod silently implored him.
We’re almost there!

Keegan swayed in the saddle and the Sword drooped, the blade angling downward as the last of his strength left him. The faded markings on Keegan’s skin suddenly began to disappear, vanishing in seconds as Chaos ate away at the symbols Vaaler had designed to hold it in check.

Keegan let out a low moan, and the air around him rippled as he was enveloped in a blue aura. Both Vaaler and Scythe staggered back as if they’d been hit, grunting in surprise. Jerrod tried to rush to the wizard’s side, only to be knocked off his feet as the invisible wave of power rolled over him.

Scythe was the first to recover, lunging forward as Keegan slumped over in the saddle and Daemron’s blade slipped free from his hand. But instead of snatching for the falling weapon, Scythe let it clatter to the ground. The tiny woman somehow managed to catch Keegan, taking the brunt of his weight and easing him gently down to the ground as he slid from his perch.

“Get the Ring!” Jerrod shouted as he scrambled to his feet, but Scythe was already ahead of him.

She slipped the Talisman from his finger, and ahead of them the bank of fog vanished like a puff of smoke in a strong wind, exposing the army that had crept to within a hundred yards of the walls. Horns sounded from their ranks, and an angry roar rose up from the soldiers of the Free Cities as they charged. Bells rang out from inside the city, sounding the alarm. The battle had begun.

Jerrod’s attention, however, was focused entirely on Keegan. He rushed to the young man’s side, where he lay breathing hard on the ground, Scythe protectively cradling his bare torso. His face was drawn and flushed, his brow beaded with sweat. Despite this, he was shivering, but his eyes were open.

He looked around, momentarily confused, then his gaze focused on Scythe.

“You did it, Keegan,” she said, gently wiping her hand on his brow. “You did it!”

“I did it,” he whispered through chattering teeth. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head against Scythe.

Vaaler appeared a second later, carrying a heavy woollen blanket.

“Help me wrap this around him,” he said, lifting Keegan up with Jerrod’s help.

Scythe watched as the two men swaddled him like a child, then scooped up Daemron’s blade.

“Go,” Jerrod told her. “Find your friend.”

“We’ll look after Keegan,” Vaaler promised.

Scythe didn’t even bother to reply. She simply turned and took off, moving so fast she appeared little more than a blur.

It didn’t take long for Jerrod to be satisfied that Keegan was exhausted but otherwise unharmed.

Coming to the same conclusion, Vaaler motioned over one of the small company of soldiers who had stayed behind as an escort.

“We’ll make camp here,” he said. “Set up a perimeter and get a fire going.”

As the soldier scurried off, Jerrod turned to Vaaler.

“Keep him safe,” the monk said.

“Where are you going?” Vaaler asked in surprise.

“I have something I must do. If I don’t return, don’t look for me. Once you have Methodis, go after Cassandra.”

Before the stunned Danaan could ask any further questions, Jerrod took off. Though not quite as fast as Scythe while she carried the Sword, it wouldn’t take him much longer than her to reach Callastan.

And then there will finally be a reckoning.

The Pontiff was so focused on watching her prisoner that she didn’t realize the fog had lifted until she heard the ringing of the watch bells.

“We’re under attack!” one of the guards who’d brought Methodis to her chambers exclaimed, stating the obvious.

With the unnatural mists dispelled, Yasmin could sense them clearly now: an army swarming over the walls and into the city.

A small army,
she silently amended, her awareness giving her a general sense of the size of the force arrayed against them.

If we hold our positions, they have no hope of overrunning us.

“Go to your posts,” she snapped at the guards, who saluted, then ran off.

“You, too,” she told the Inquisitors who had come with her. “Hold the city and drive the enemy back.”

“What about the prisoner, Pontiff?” one asked.

“Do you really think he poses any threat I cannot handle?” she asked.

Rather than reply, the Inquisitors wisely rushed off to join in the defense.

Methodis still wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings, but it wouldn’t be long now. Without any of her tools, the interrogation would have to be more blunt, but Yasmin was confident she’d soon know everything about Cassandra and where she had taken the Crown.

Scythe never broke stride as she raced toward the battle, heading for the main gate. The defenders were struggling to close them, while her soldiers fought to keep them open as more and more of their army poured through.

Though outnumbered, the enemy was bolstered by a pair of Inquisitors, giving them the edge. Scythe’s arrival, however, changed everything.

Fueled by battle lust and Daemron’s Sword, she carved through a half dozen ordinary soldiers before the Inquisitors were able to blunt her charge. They came at her with a coordinated attack, striking from opposite sides so one would be guaranteed to flank her.

Their tactics were sound, but Scythe was too quick. Recognizing what they were doing, she threw herself at the closest foe in a reckless assault. Had he simply retreated, he might have survived. But he made the mistake of trying to meet her head-on, throwing up his staff to deflect the first blow from her silver blade. The Talisman sliced effortlessly through the Inquisitor’s weapon. Its momentum unabated, it cleaved deep into his torso, severing flesh, bone, and internal organs with ease.

As he dropped, the second Inquisitor lashed out at Scythe from behind. Though she was looking away, the Islander sensed the blow coming and threw herself into a forward roll. The staff whistled harmlessly through the air, throwing the Inquisitor off-balance.

Scythe spun around, crouching low and extending one leg to sweep her enemy’s feet out. The Inquisitor reacted by leaping high in the air and jabbing the butt end of his staff at Scythe’s face. Throwing her head back, Scythe avoided the worst of it and only took a glancing blow on the side of her chin.

She rolled clear, ready to launch another attack. Before she could, however, four of her soldiers threw themselves at the monk. Hacking and slashing with a mad fury, they brought their opponent down in seconds…much to Scythe’s amazement.

Daemron’s Sword doesn’t just affect me!
she realized.
It inspires my allies, too!

“Hold this gate!” she shouted, before racing off toward the prison.

The fighting raged all around her as the Free City soldiers pushed into the city, but she was focused only on one goal. Despite this, wherever she passed she sensed an immediate turn in the battle in their favor. Bolstered by the presence of the Talisman, ordinary soldiers fought like berserkers, routing the enemy with their unbridled ferocity.

By the time she reached the prison it wasn’t just the Free City soldiers battling the Order. In the streets around the jail, the gangs of Callastan had emerged from the sewers to join the fray.

Several Inquisitors outside the prison had managed to rally their troops, but they were hemmed in on all sides by a mob of armed thugs and violent criminals. In an ordinary battle they might have stemmed the onslaught and even started to push out. But they weren’t just fighting an opposing army. The Talisman was a gift from the Gods, and against its power they had no chance.

Within minutes of Scythe’s arrival all resistance at the prison was vanquished in an orgy of blood and screams. Leaving it to others to free those in the cells on the main floor, Scythe raced to the stairs that led to the torture chambers below.

The narrow hall was deserted. She rushed toward the heavy door at the end and slammed the Sword into it. The door was wrenched from its hinges by the force of the blow, and a shower of splinters and chunks of wood flew into the room.

Methodis wasn’t there. Instead, she saw a young man with a shaved head and pure white eyes.

“Where is he?” she snarled.

“Please,” the man said, holding up his hands. “I’m not a warrior. My name is Xadier. I’m just a Seer!”

“Where is he?” Scythe asked again, raising her blade and taking a slow step toward him.

“I can’t tell you,” he said defiantly. “I won’t!”

Scythe removed one of his hands with a casual swipe of the blade. Xadier screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching the spurting stump against his chest.

Laying the flat of her blade on his shoulder, Scythe called on the Sword to heal the wound, instantly staunching the flow of blood before he passed out.

“Where?” she asked again.

This time when he refused, she took his left leg below the knee. By the time he finally told her what she wanted to know, he was little more than a blubbering, limbless torso.

She took just long enough to grant Xadier the mercy of ending his life before turning and racing back up the stairs and out of the prison, heading for the Pontiff’s private chambers.

By the time Jerrod reached the battle, the Free City forces had already secured Callastan’s front gates. The bulk of the army was already inside the walls and pushing steadily deeper into the city.