He let go of the Ring and fumbled with the clasp of his chain until it came free. Then he placed the Talisman on his finger.
The Keystone suddenly changed from black obsidian to translucent glass, revealing the shifting shapes to be the churning blue flames of the Chaos Sea.
Keegan shuddered, remembering the time Scythe had nearly killed him with an overdose of Chaos root. His mind had been lost in the fires of creation for many days.
But eventually I found my way back. Why can’t I do it again?
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, letting his body fall toward the Keystone. The glass surface shimmered and fell away as he toppled downward, falling through the window and into the swirling Chaos below.
Heat enveloped him, the flames wrapping themselves around his body as he plunged into the depths of the Burning Sea. But his mind remained tethered to the Keystone in his dream—a lifeline he could use to find his way back.
For an instant he teetered on the edge of panic as the flames dragged him down deeper and deeper, but he fought it back with the mental discipline of a true Chaos mage. He’d used the Ring several times; the surge of power when he opened himself up to the infinite ocean of Chaos no longer overwhelmed him.
I am in control. Tethered to the Keystone. My lifeline keeps me safe.
He lost all sense of time as he continued to sink. Around him the heat grew more intense, but he felt no pain. And then the blue flames fell away and disappeared.
He found himself standing on a barren, gray plain beneath an ashen sky, staring at an army of disfigured Chaos Spawn, his tail twitching slightly.
This isn’t my body!
He was no longer a too-thin young man with a missing hand. He stood eight feet tall, on thick legs atop a pair of hooves. The red, scaly skin of his massive arms and chest rippled with muscle, and he felt the weight of giant horns on his head. A pair of enormous wings sprouted from his back, thick and leathery.
He sensed another consciousness brush up against him, something so alien and ancient it caused his mind momentarily to recoil in horror.
—
Daemron senses the intruder; like an insect crawling along the skin at the base of his skull—a mortal mind, reaching across the Burning Sea to touch his realm.
How is that possible?
Then he senses the spark of the divine, a tiny ember inside the mortal shell, and he knows this particular mortal is one of his Children, born from the ritual two decades ago.
Orath was right; they’ve grown far stronger than I thought possible.
Looking out over his assembled armies, he is careful not to react to the unwelcome visitor. There are rebel spies among his legions, watching him for signs of weakness and vulnerability. He does not want them to know how powerful their enemies have become.
And he does not want the mortal to escape.
—
Keegan had recovered from his initial shock though he was still awed by what had happened.
I’m inside the mind of a God!
He could feel the unfathomable strength and power flowing through the Slayer—a deep reserve of pure Chaos far greater than anything he’d felt even when using the Ring.
How can we defeat an enemy like this? Keegan wondered.
A sudden terror gripped him, and he knew it was too dangerous to stay. Reaching for the invisible tether linking him to the Keystone in his vision, he frantically began to pull himself back before he was discovered.
—
Daemron senses the invader’s flight, and a low growl rises from his throat. He lashes out at the retreating mind with his own, trying to snatch it in his mental grasp. But the trap is sprung an instant too late.
He can feel the mortal’s panicked retreat, fleeing into the obscuring flames of the Burning Sea.
You are not free yet, he thinks, quickly gathering Chaos.
He lets the power build for several seconds, then lashes out with a single burst, sending his rage shooting into the depths of the Burning Sea and along the path left by a mortal foolish enough to think he could escape the vengeance of a God.
—
The image of Daemron and his army vanished, swallowed up by the blue flames of the Burning Sea as he climbed back up toward the Keystone.
Across the gulf of time and space he heard a bestial scream, deafening in its fury despite the distance. In response, he felt a ripple in the Chaos that surrounded him. Then the ripple became a wave that picked him up and spun him around.
Another wave hit him a second later, and then another, battering him and tossing him about. Disoriented, it was all he could do to cling to his lifeline as the Burning Sea was racked with a Chaos storm unleashed by the anger of a God.
Above him, he could sense the Keystone drawing closer as he continued to climb.
Almost there! Almost there!
The waves continued to hammer away at him, and he cried out in fear and pain. A second later he breached the surface of the Burning Sea, dangling from his tether above the raging maelstrom of Chaos, the Keystone just above him.
One final wave surged up from the fiery depths, reaching for him like a grasping claw. It hit him with enough force to snap his mental lifeline, and his mind plunged back down into the abyss.
—
Daemron hears the mortal’s psychic scream as his essence is swallowed up by the blue flames, and a thin smile of satisfaction parts his scaled lips.
Now there is one less to oppose me.
DESPITE THE LATENESS of the hour, there was a bounce in Andar’s step as he made his way through the castle halls to meet his Queen. As leader of the Regent Council, he spoke to her almost every day, but the meetings were always at his request. This was the first time since they’d returned from the East that she had asked him to come to her.
Maybe she’s starting to feel like her old self. Maybe she’s thinking about retaking her throne.
The Council had governed effectively enough in her stead, focusing mostly on rebuilding Ferlhame, ensuring food supplies were available, and restoring the patrols guarding the borders of the North Forest. But though the Council could manage the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom, it couldn’t inspire the Danaan people. Not the way a single strong, confident ruler could.
The royal line is part of who we are. We need our Queen.
The appearance of the Blood Moon had only made things worse; it was generally seen as an ill omen. There were persistent rumors in the city that the Queen was dying—or that she was already dead. The Council had issued an official proclamation attesting to her health and insisting she would soon resume her monarchial duties, but Andar knew only a public appearance by Rianna herself would end the speculation.
The guards ushered him in when he reached Rianna’s private chambers. To his relief, the Queen wasn’t lying in her bed even though it was past midnight. Instead, she was seated at a small table that had been set for two. A collection of bread, cheese, and wine rested on a tray atop a cart in the corner. A single valet stood by the cart, ready and eager to be of service to her monarch.
He waited patiently at the threshold of the room for Rianna to acknowledge him. The Queen was wearing a simple—almost plain—dress, but the fact that it was embroidered with the royal seal further fanned the flames of Andar’s hope.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, extending a still-frail-looking arm toward the seat opposite her own. “Please join me.”
Andar did as instructed, and the valet brought over two small plates of food, poured them each a glass of wine, then smoothly returned to her station by the cart.
“It’s good to see your appetite returning,” Andar said, as the Queen popped a small cube of cheese into her mouth.
“With each day I am feeling better,” she told him. “Though I fear it will be some time before my full strength returns.”
“The Council would welcome a visit from you when you are feeling up to it,” Andar reminded her, as he did every time he came to see her.
&
nbsp; “Soon, I hope,” she replied—the same answer she’d given every other time.
The Queen finished off what was on her plate, but to Andar’s dismay she didn’t signal the valet to bring her more.
Hopefully she already ate a full dinner earlier in the evening.
She waited patiently for the High Sorcerer to finish his own helping. Once he was done the valet swooped in and whisked their plates and cups away. She piled everything onto the cart and disappeared with it through the door, closing it softly behind her and leaving the two of them alone.
“I had a dream last night,” the Queen told him. “A vision. The first one since the Ring was taken from me.”
Andar’s heart skipped a beat with excitement. This was what the kingdom needed! The prophetic abilities of the royal line had guided the Danaan for hundreds of years. Knowing their Queen’s powers had returned would ignite the flames of patriotism in her people.
“This is excellent news!” he exclaimed. “We must tell the rest of the Council right away!”
“No,” Rianna said. “Not yet.”
“What’s wrong?” Andar asked.
“The vision makes no sense,” the Queen said. “I cannot understand its meaning or purpose.”
“That is not so strange,” Andar assured her. “Throughout history our monarchs often turn to their advisers to help interpret their visions.
“What matters is that your visions have returned. Eventually they will guide us down the proper path.”
“Will they?” Rianna countered. “My husband saw a vision of a Chaos Spawn prowling the depths of the forest. He went to destroy it, and lost his life.”
“But the beast was defeated,” Andar reminded her. “The kingdom was saved.”
“My visions led me to banish my son,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “They turned him against us and led us into a war from which it will take generations to recover.”
“It was Orath that led us into war,” Andar said. “Not your visions.”
“But my visions were the catalyst,” she insisted. “And they did nothing to spare Ferlhame from the destruction wrought by the dragon.”
Andar couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so he simply stayed silent.
“We thought less of Vaaler because he didn’t have the Sight,” she continued. “But maybe what seemed a weakness was really a strength.
“Instead of relying on obscure dreams to rule us, he would have used logic and reason. Maybe he would have been the greatest Danaan King of all.”
“Vaaler was a good man,” Andar said. “And maybe you were wrong to banish him. But he is no longer one of us.”
“Have you heard anything more about him?” she asked.
The High Sorcerer shook his head.
“Pranya’s spies have been focusing on the Free Cities and the Southlands, watching for signs the Purge might turn its focus in our direction.
“For now the Free Cities remain strong in their resolve to resist the Order, and the Pontiff seems to be concentrating on Callastan. There was some dissent among her followers, and even rumors of a failed assassination attempt. But the Order has reasserted its authority.
“Most of the monks and Inquisitors are already gathered at Callastan, and the Pontiff is leading an army of ordinary soldiers toward the city. If the Free Cities don’t intervene, Callastan will fall within a fortnight.”
Partway through his report, he realized Rianna was only half listening to him though he had dutifully continued to the end.
She really only wanted to know about Vaaler.
“I would like you to tell me about your vision,” Andar said, trying another tactic to engage her. “Despite all that has happened, I cannot believe that the incredible gift of your Sight is a curse. I still believe your visions will do more good than harm.
“If you share it with me,” he continued, “perhaps together we can understand what it means—and why it came to you.”
She didn’t answer right away, and Andar thought she might refuse. But in the end a lifetime of believing in the importance of her visions overcame her recent lack of faith, and she relented.
“I saw an island, deserted and remote. A large obelisk of black stone rose from the center. The Destroyer of Worlds—the one who woke the dragon—was there.
“But this time he did not appear as a figure bathed in the flames of Chaos. He looked like an ordinary mortal man. Young and scared.”
“Was he alone?” Andar asked.
“I don’t believe so,” she said. “The vision wasn’t clear. Much of it was faint and blurred. I was only able to pick out a few details.”
That doesn’t sound like the kind of visions you used to have, Andar thought. Their meaning might have been unclear, but you always described them with incredible clarity and precision.
“Perhaps this wasn’t even a vision,” the Queen said with a sigh, possibly picking up on Andar’s feelings. “Maybe it was only a foolish dream.”
“Do you believe it was just a dream?” Andar asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But as I said before, I have no idea what it means.”
“Let me search the Royal Archives,” Andar suggested, hit by a sudden inspiration. “Maybe in the ancient texts I can find some mention of this obelisk that will help us find the proper interpretation.”
“There are thousands of volumes in the archives,” the Queen noted. “It would take months—maybe years—to look through them all.”
“With your leave, I could recruit others to aid me in the task. Lormilar is more familiar with the ancient texts than I am, and I’m certain he knows several other capable scholars who would be eager to help.”
“That would mean telling him that my visions have returned,” Rianna noted.
“Yes,” Andar said, not bothering to dance around the issue. “And Lormilar still serves on the Regent Council. He will probably want to share this knowledge with the rest of them, as well.”
Please, my Queen, he silently added, do not be afraid. Letting the Regent Council know your Sight has returned is the first step toward restoring you as the ruler of the Danaan.
“Very well,” Rianna said. “Tell Lormilar and the rest of the Council what I have seen. With luck, you will find something in the archives that will help me lead my kingdom down the proper path.”
My kingdom. It was an offhand comment, one probably delivered out of habit more than anything else. Yet those two little words were enough for Andar to hope that Rianna would soon reclaim her throne.
—
Jerrod woke early, his body instinctively rousing itself as the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. The clouds from the night before had turned to a gray haze that would probably burn off by noon.
Scythe was awake, of course—she had taken the final watch to let Jerrod rest. And he actually felt the extra sleep had helped wash away some of his mental fatigue.
But will it be enough to help my Sight return to full strength?
He turned his attention to Keegan, who was still sleeping.
No, not sleeping—something’s wrong!
The young man’s eyes were closed, but his body was tense and his breathing was too rapid and shallow. His hand was clutching the Ring at his neck, the grip so tight the thin metal chain had actually cut the skin.
“Keegan!” he called out, dropping to a knee at the young man’s side. “Keegan—can you hear me?”
“Let him sleep,” Scythe said. “He’s exhausted.”
“He’s not asleep,” Jerrod said, reaching out to place a palm on his forehead.
An instant later Scythe was crouched beside him, her features wrinkled up with concern.
“No fever,” Jerrod said, taking his hand away.
He reached out gently and lifted one of Keegan’s eyelids. The eye beneath had rolled so far back into his head he could barely see the pupil.
“What’s wrong with him?” Scythe demanded.
“His mind is lost in t
he Burning Sea,” Jerrod said, adding a silent curse. “I told him not to do anything foolish!”
“He tried to find the source of his vision,” Scythe muttered, as she stood up and stepped away from the catatonic young man. “We should have known he would try this.”
She was right, but Jerrod knew there was no point in blaming themselves now.
“What can we do?” Scythe asked.
“Nothing,” Jerrod said. “He will have to find his own way back.”
“Step aside!” Scythe snapped.
Jerrod did as he was told, and the young woman stepped forward and laid the blade of Daemron’s Sword across Keegan’s chest. The Talisman glowed softly, and Keegan’s body shuddered and seemed to relax. His hand fell away from the Ring, and his breathing became soft and even.
“Keegan,” she said, dropping to a knee and gently shaking his shoulder. “Keegan, wake up!”
When there was no response, she lifted his eyelid as Jerrod had done. The white orb of his rolled-back eye stared out at her.
“The Sword can heal his physical wounds, but it cannot guide his mind back to us,” Jerrod said. “There is nothing we can do but wait.”
“Well we’re not just going to sit here on the side of the road!” Scythe snapped. “Help me carry him!”
“This hollow is hidden from any travelers passing by,” Jerrod argued. “And moving him might make it harder for his mind to retrace its path to our world.”
“Do you know that, or are you just guessing?” Scythe demanded.
“A guess,” Jerrod admitted. “But even if moving him does no harm, it won’t help.”
Scythe glared at him, then gave a curt nod.
“How long until he comes back?” she asked.
“He may not come back at all,” Jerrod said.
“How long until we know, one way or the other?” Scythe pressed.
Unfortunately, her question was one Jerrod couldn’t possibly answer.
—
I’m still alive, Keegan thought.
He was floating in the Burning Sea, but he wasn’t drowning. The Chaos flames swirled around him, searing him with their intense heat. But though he felt the pain, he wasn’t being devoured. Not yet.