Chaos Unleashed

  Before any of the riders could react, a familiar voice rang out from the shadows outside the ring of horses.

  “How about a spear?” Shalana shouted.

  Hirk half turned in his seat to see who was speaking, so instead of piercing him through the back, Shalana’s weapon buried itself in his right side just below his armpit with a heavy thud. The force of the blow knocked him from his saddle and he fell hard to the ground.

  For a second the sight of their leader going down seemed to stun the others. And then as one they broke ranks and turned to flee. But the honor guard of Eastern warriors fell on them like a divine wind of retribution.

  Vaaler simply watched as the soldiers were slaughtered in brief and brutal fashion. Shalana marched out of the shadows and pulled her spear from Hirk’s side, then rolled him over with her foot to see if he was still alive. Satisfied that he was gone, she left him lying in the dirt, his frozen face staring up at the night sky in an expression of utter disbelief.

  “You were supposed to stay out of trouble,” Shalana said, coming over to check on Vaaler.

  “I told you I couldn’t promise that,” he reminded her, as they embraced.

  For a few seconds he simply held her, reveling in the warm feel and familiar scent of the woman he loved. I almost died tonight, and she knows it.

  His heart was pounding even faster now that the threat was gone, his mind conjuring up all the horrible things that could have happened.

  But they didn’t. And there’s no point imagining the worst when it didn’t happen. Shalana understands that.

  Of course, that didn’t mean they shouldn’t take proper precautions.

  “This might not be over yet,” Vaaler said, reluctantly breaking their embrace. “There could still be other soldiers nearby.”

  “I think we found them all,” Shalana reassured him. “Took out a handful at a nearby farm earlier tonight.”

  “I still need to go back into town,” Vaaler said. “We need supplies, and I want to check on some people who helped me.”

  “Okay,” Shalana agreed. “But this time, we’re all coming with you.”

  —

  As they marched back to town, Shalana was well aware that the people of Othlen might not welcome their arrival; a dozen armed Easterners descending on a town that had been terrorized by soldiers had the potential to cause a panic. But she wasn’t willing to let Vaaler go off alone again.

  Until we know for sure there are no more mercenaries in the area, we aren’t splitting up.

  The dark streets were empty as they approached, guided by the light of the moon above. But as Vaaler led them to the tavern in the center of town, she caught glimpses of light shining through shuttered windows.

  They’re watching us from inside, too scared to come out.

  She felt pity for these people. Among her culture, the stronger clans demanded tribute from the weak. But they also provided protection and stability; they wouldn’t commit atrocities against helpless victims.

  Mercenaries have no honor. They’re animals.

  “This is it,” Vaaler said, stopping at the tavern’s closed door. “Let me go in alone first.”

  Shalana shook her head. “What if there’s an ambush inside?”

  Vaaler sighed, then nodded.

  He knocked on the door, waited a few seconds then gently pushed it open.

  The tavern was empty save for the bodies of two soldiers in the middle of the floor.

  “I ran into some trouble when I first got here,” Vaaler explained in response to her raised eyebrow.

  “Hello?” Vaaler called out as the rest of the warriors made their way into the building. “We don’t mean you any harm.”

  In response to his call a young woman emerged from the back room.

  “Milliss,” Vaaler said. “Where’s your father? Is he hurt?”

  “Mother’s looking after him in the back,” she said.

  “May we see him?” Vaaler asked. “I’m not a healer, but I know something about treating injuries.”

  The young woman nodded, and Vaaler signaled for the others to wait where they were. Shalana ignored him and fell into step at his side.

  They passed through a door in the rear of the tavern and into a small kitchen, where a middle-aged man was resting on the floor as his wife pressed a damp cloth against his temple. His face was badly bruised and swollen, and his shirt was stained with blood from his nose. But his eyes were clear and focused, and when he saw his new guests enter he gently pushed his wife away and gingerly rose to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he said, extending his hand in Vaaler’s direction. “I fear they would have killed me.”

  “What happened to Hirk and his men?” the wife asked as Vaaler shook the man’s hand. “Are they coming back?”

  “No,” Vaaler told them. “They’re dead.”

  The hint of a smile touched the woman’s lips, then vanished as she turned back to her husband’s swollen face.

  “Bastards deserve no better,” she muttered.

  “Do you know how many men Hirk had working for him?” Vaaler asked. “We need to know if some got away.”

  The husband closed his eyes and did a run-through of the names, his lips moving silently as he counted them off on his fingers. “Fourteen, I think. Including Hirk.”

  “We killed five at the farm,” Shalana said. “And seven riders when we caught up with you in the woods.”

  “And two more here in the tavern,” Vaaler added. “I think that’s all of them.”

  Milliss, the young woman, put her hands up to her face, her eyes brimming with tears. Then she stepped over and wrapped her arms around Vaaler in a fierce hug.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve saved us all.”

  Looking awkwardly over at Shalana, Vaaler untangled himself from the girl’s gratitude.

  “We don’t have much to repay you,” the father said. “Hirk and his crew took almost everything of value. But whatever we can spare is yours.”

  “We need supplies,” Vaaler said. “And a place to rest for the night.” Then he added, “There are fourteen of us in all.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here in the tavern,” the barkeep told them.

  “We can feed you tonight, but we don’t have enough food in stock to get you very far,” his wife warned.

  “What about the rest of the town?” Milliss said. “They’ve been storing up for winter. Hiding and rationing food since the soldiers came. Maybe they have enough to spare?”

  Her father hesitated, then nodded his agreement.

  “The people here will want to show their gratitude,” he told Vaaler. “If you’re willing, I’d like them to come here tomorrow to meet you.”

  Vaaler looked over at Shalana. “I think we can spare one day,” she said. “It’ll give us time to recover from the battle.”

  “Go across to Irven’s shop,” the barkeep told his daughter. “Tell him what’s happened. Have him send his sons out to the surrounding farms to share the news.”

  Milliss turned and vanished through the kitchen door the instant he was finished speaking.

  “She’s been cooped up in those smuggler’s tunnels for too long,” Vaaler noted. “Probably dying to go outside.”

  Shalana didn’t follow what he meant but the words weren’t meant for her anyway.

  “I only have enough beds for four,” the barkeep apologized. “The rest of you will have to sleep here in the tavern.”

  “I’m so used to sleeping on the ground that I doubt a bed would do me much good anyway,” Vaaler said.

  “I’ll send Genny and Sill back to the camp to get our stuff and bring it here,” Shalana added. “They’ll welcome spending a night with a roof over our heads and a warm meal in our bellies, even if we all sleep here on the floor.”

  —

  Vaaler was roused from his slumber the next morning by the smell of freshly baked bread. He stood up and stretched, amazed at how rested and refreshed he felt. He’d gotten
used to sleeping on the road, wrapped tightly in blankets to ward off the chill. Even so, it was nice to have a night where the wind wasn’t whistling by his ears or the damp morning dew seeping through his bedclothes.

  Shalana and the others were already up. They were gathered at the bar, laughing and chatting among themselves in Verlsung as they feasted on eggs, bacon, and buns. Vaaler made his way over to the bar to find a plate had been set aside for him. In addition to what everyone else had been served, there was a small bowl of wild berries.

  “Milliss picked those just for you,” Shalana said, grinning. If she was jealous of the young woman, she didn’t show it.

  She knows she’s got nothing to worry about.

  “It would be rude not to eat them,” he said, giving his love a wink as he popped one into his mouth.

  The berry was so tart it made his mouth pucker and his eyes water.

  “Those aren’t really in season yet,” the barkeep said as he emerged from the kitchen. “But Milliss wanted to get you something special.”

  “Very kind of her,” Shalana said, trying not to laugh. “It would be rude not to eat them,” she reminded Vaaler.

  Somehow, he managed to finish off the bowl, hiding the bitter taste with generous mouthfuls of egg and bread.

  “The townsfolk have gathered outside,” the barkeep told him once he was finished. “They’re waiting to meet you.”

  “We’re ready if you are,” Shalana said.

  “No sense keeping them waiting,” Vaaler replied.

  The crowd outside was far larger than he’d expected: nearly sixty men, women, and children had gathered in the middle of the dusty road going through town.

  They must have come from every farm in a ten-mile radius, Vaaler thought.

  As soon as he and Shalana emerged from the tavern, a smattering of applause broke out. As their honor guard came out to join them, the applause spread until the entire crowd was cheering enthusiastically.

  It continued for nearly twenty seconds before an older, portly man stepped forward and held up his hand, calling for silence. Based on his age and the way he carried himself, Vaaler guessed he was the mayor or some other kind of elected official.

  “My name is Lember,” the man said, his voice carrying to the farthest edges of the crowd. “Reeve of Othlen. On behalf of our village, we offer you great thanks for liberating us from the monsters who terrorized our homes!”

  Again, the crowd broke into cheers. The reeve let them continue for a few seconds, then motioned for quiet.

  “We have gathered here today not only to thank you,” he continued. “But to offer our support for your cause. Whatever you need—food, weapons, horses—we will give you.”

  “Thank you,” Vaaler said, staring out at the crowd. “The food is welcome, but we have weapons of our own. A packhorse or two might be useful, but most of us aren’t used to riding—we will travel better on foot.”

  “Make a list of what you need, and we will have it for you by nightfall,” the reeve promised.

  A short, stocky man of about forty stepped forward from the crowd. His leather smock was black with scorch marks, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders were so thick they seemed ready to burst from his shirt.

  Must be the local blacksmith.

  “I’m Irven,” he said, executing a clumsy bow in Vaaler’s direction. “My sons and I want to volunteer to join your army.”

  He pointed a beefy thumb back over his shoulder at three young men, short but as thick across the chest as their father.

  “You want to come with us to Callastan?” Vaaler said, confused by the unexpected offer.

  “Callastan?” the reeve said. “We thought you were heading to Shelder next.”

  Vaaler quickly consulted the image of the childhood map still lodged in his memory: Shelder was the next town over, roughly two days ride from Othlen.

  “My sister lives in Shelder,” the smith said. “They’ve had trouble with soldiers, too.”

  “Hirk’s group aren’t the only mercenaries in the area,” the reeve explained. “Several of the other nearby towns are suffering just as we were.”

  “I’m sorry,” Shalana chimed in. “But I think there’s been some confusion. We didn’t come here to liberate your town. What happened was just a fortunate accident. We need to get to Callastan.”

  There was some grumbling from the crowd, but it stopped when the reeve held up his hand.

  “Have the Free Cities decided to try to break the siege, then?” he asked.

  “What siege?” Vaaler asked.

  “The Pontiff’s army has surrounded Callastan. I would have thought that news would have reached the Free Cities by now.”

  “What do the Free Cities have to do with us?” Shalana asked.

  “Aren’t you one of the patrols from the Free Cities?” the reeve asked.

  “Do we look like we’re from the Free Cities?” Vaaler replied.

  “I…I don’t know,” the reeve answered. “I’ve never been there. None of us has.”

  Vaaler wasn’t surprised by the admission—the Free Cities were at least a week farther north and west. It was doubtful anyone in a small town like Othlen would ever need to go there. All they would know about the Free Cities were tales told by travelers and merchants passing through; to them they would seem like wild, exotic locations populated by strange people wearing even stranger clothes.

  Can’t really blame them for assuming that’s where we came from. Makes a lot more sense than the truth.

  “We heard a rumor the Free Cities were sending out patrols to protect the nearby villages from the Order’s mercenaries,” the reeve explained. “We thought we were too far away to get help, then you showed up.”

  “We were just passing through,” Shalana said. “We can’t stay.”

  “If you leave,” the barkeep said, stepping out from where he stood behind Vaaler near the door of his tavern, “it won’t be long before another group of soldiers comes to claim this town for their own.”

  “Please,” the smith said, “Hirk and his crew were bad, but I heard the ones in Shelder are even worse.”

  “You won’t have to do this alone,” the reeve promised. “Irven and his sons aren’t the only ones who will join you.”

  “He’s right,” a young man said, stepping forward from the crowd. “You saved my farm last night,” he said, nodding at Shalana. “I won’t be a helpless victim again! If you give me a weapon, I’ll fight with you when you go to Shelder.”

  “So will I!” a voice called out from the crowd.

  “Me, too!” another chimed in.

  “We can’t waste our time clearing out every band of rogue mercenaries and deserters wandering the countryside,” Shalana whispered in Vaaler’s ear. “Not if you want to get to Callastan anytime soon.”

  She was right, of course. But even if they got to Callastan, what would they do next? He’d been hoping they could find Keegan and the others while they were looking for Cassandra. But if the Order had an army camped outside the city walls, what help could his small group of warriors be? They’d never even get close to the city.

  The fate of the mortal world is at stake, Vaaler thought. But do I really have any part in that anymore? I already abandoned Jerrod’s cause to help Shalana and the clans. How is this any different?

  “If Callastan is under siege, then going there would be suicide,” Vaaler said, speaking softly to Shalana. “We’d be throwing our lives away for no reason.

  “And these people need us,” he continued. “We can make a real difference here. I don’t know if I can just turn my back on them.”

  Shalana smiled and reached out to grasp Vaaler’s shoulder, turning him slightly so they were staring directly into each other’s eyes.

  “We are not here because of the blind monk’s prophecy,” she told him. “We are here because of you. We trust your judgment. And so should you.

  “If you feel your destiny has led you here to help these people, then that is
what we must do. Whatever you decide, we will stand with you.”

  Her words crystallized and clarified what had moments ago seemed so confusing. Keegan and Scythe don’t need me—they have the Talismans. Whatever part I had to play in their destiny has come and gone; the fate of the mortal world is in their hands now, not mine.

  The fate of the villagers before him, however, was another matter. These people were suffering. They needed help.

  I can’t turn my back on these people. This is where I belong.

  Turning to the crowd, he called out in a loud voice, “Tomorrow we march on Shelder, and we welcome anyone who will march with us!”

  CASSANDRA NO LONGER fought against Rexol’s presence in her dreams. After witnessing the gruesome ritual of the Slayer’s Minion, she had finally embraced the necessity of becoming his student. Yet at the same time she wasn’t ready simply to cast aside everything she had learned in the Monastery, and she remained guarded even as she began her apprenticeship.

  Each night in her dreams she would find herself studying at his feet. And in the surreal realm of her subconscious, her studies were progressing at an astonishing rate. In a single night she could grasp what might take months to fully understand in the real world, the knowledge passing from Rexol directly into her eager, hungry mind.

  She didn’t have a use for everything he taught her; many of the lessons were focused on the ways a wizard could summon and control the power of Chaos. And though she couldn’t help but learn something of the mage’s art, she made no real effort to memorize the spells and incantations Rexol shared with her. Without Chaos root to open her mind, she reasoned, even the simplest spell would be far too taxing.

  The underlying theory of his lessons, however, was immensely valuable. It had helped her understand the fundamental nature of Chaos. In many ways it was like a living thing though its existence was awash in paradoxes. It could be incredibly malleable and pliant, yet at the same time it was stubbornly resistant to a mage’s will.

  The teachings of the Order were rigid and dogmatic; they had given her will great strength, but at the cost of flexibility. With Rexol’s help, her mind was becoming more adaptable and versatile—a key component in mastering and manipulating Chaos.