Neither gave any indication they could hear him. Disoriented and confused, they each rolled to the side, breaking the grip they had on each other’s hand. A second later, Jerrod felt the unmistakable sensation of Chaos building.
“The Ring, Keegan!” he shouted. “You have to remove the Ring!”
The young wizard still didn’t acknowledge him. Instead of removing the Ring, he clenched his fist and instinctively clutched the Talisman closer to his body.
Jerrod glanced over at Scythe, who lay in the fetal position, clutching at the Sword with both hands. Realizing neither one was in a state to react to what was happening, Jerrod threw himself on top of Keegan.
The young man tried to fight him off, but though the terrible power of Chaos was rapidly building up inside him, physically he was still much weaker than Jerrod. The monk seized his wrist and twisted, forcing him to expose his hand. Wrapping his legs around Keegan’s arm and shoulder to lock the limb in place, Jerrod clawed at his still-clenched fingers, peeling them back so he could get at the Ring.
A second later he had his prize, and he yanked the Talisman free. In response, the still-semiconscious wizard released the gathering Chaos in a single burst of raw power. The burst sent Jerrod flying twenty feet through the air, still clutching the Ring.
He hit the ground hard, momentarily dazing him. By the time he got back to his feet, the worst was over; the wave of Chaos had dispersed into the mortal world.
And what consequences will the backlash bring?
By this time Scythe was back on her feet, swaying slightly as she fought to keep her balance. She staggered over to Keegan and collapsed on top of him.
“You did it,” she said, her voice trembling. “You brought us back!”
Keegan reached up with his good hand to caress the back of her head as she lay across his chest.
“No, you did it. I was lost, and you came for me.”
For an instant they stared into each other’s eyes. Jerrod saw Keegan’s head tilt forward slightly, even as Scythe pulled back and rolled off of him, then sprang to her feet.
He was going to kiss her. And she knew it!
Scythe had insisted she had no feelings for Keegan; she’d even tried to convince Jerrod that Keegan’s feelings for her could be a bad thing. Now, however, the monk wasn’t so sure.
You risked yourself to save him because you care—and it worked!
Scythe reached down and offered Keegan her hand. After a brief hesitation, the mage took it and she hauled him to his feet. Then she turned to Jerrod.
“What are you staring at, White-eyes?” she asked.
White-eyes?
Jerrod had gotten so used to struggling with the strange double vision of his restored sight that it took him a moment to realize it was gone.
“I don’t understand,” Keegan said, staring at the monk in utter amazement. “Is your Sight back?”
“It never left,” Jerrod said, speaking slowly as he pushed out with his awareness, testing its limits. “But having my normal vision restored interfered with my ability to use it.”
He walked toward them and extended his hand, offering the Ring back to Keegan.
“Backlash,” Scythe said. “That has to be it, right? I felt the burst of Chaos when you yanked the Ring off Keegan’s finger.”
“Backlash is a destructive power,” Jerrod told her. “It does not heal.”
“Technically you’re not healed,” she reminded him. “Raven used the Sword to heal you when she restored your sight. The backlash just undid her spell. Basically, it made you blind.”
She’s right, Jerrod thought. I’m blind, and now I can finally see again!
—
Keegan wolfed down his food, not caring that he was devouring three days’ worth of their rations in a single sitting. His ordeal had left him physically and emotionally drained, and he needed to eat to restore his strength.
“How are you feeling?” Scythe asked, kneeling beside him to catch some of the heat from the small fire.
“Better with every passing second. I think I’ll be ready to head out for Callastan tomorrow morning.”
“I’d rather we wait another day,” Jerrod said, striding over to join them.
The milky veil covering the monk’s eyes had only returned a few hours ago, yet already Keegan sensed a difference in Jerrod. He stood up straighter; he moved with more purpose and confidence.
“I agree,” Scythe said. “Even I wouldn’t mind another day to recover, and I wasn’t trapped in there nearly as long as you were.”
But I’ve been there before, Keegan thought. And I’m a mage. The training Rexol gave me helped me survive.
He didn’t bother to argue, however. If Scythe and Jerrod were united on the issue, he knew it would be almost impossible to change their minds.
“If you’re up to it,” Jerrod said, “I would like to speak about what you saw.”
Keegan froze, his hand halfway to stuffing another piece of hard cheese into his open mouth. Then he slowly set it down and nodded.
“I…I think I’m ready.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Scythe asked. “I can barely remember what happened when I was trapped on the other side. I don’t want to remember.”
“Keegan became lost because he tried to find the source of his vision,” Jerrod said. “Given all that happened because of this, I hope he at least discovered something valuable.”
“Hey,” Scythe snapped. “Don’t sound so high-and-mighty. If he hadn’t done this, you’d still be stumbling around half-blind. Or double-sighted. Or whatever.”
“I am grateful my true Sight has been restored,” Jerrod admitted. “But it doesn’t change the fact that what he did was foolish and rash.”
Their bickering had a comfortable, familiar feel, and Keegan couldn’t help but smile.
For the first time since Norr’s death, they finally seem like their old selves.
Unfortunately, thinking of Norr brought on a fresh wave of guilt as he recalled how close he had come to kissing Scythe only a few hours ago, and his smile slipped away.
She came to save me—she still cares about me. But when I tried to kiss her she recoiled in disgust. And why wouldn’t she? Norr’s only been gone a few weeks.
Yet Keegan couldn’t help but feel there had been an instant when she’d almost kissed him back.
We still share a connection; I felt it. Without it she couldn’t have pulled me from the Chaos Sea.
“Come on, Keegan,” Scythe encouraged. “Tell White-eyes that this wasn’t just a waste of time.”
“I did see something,” Keegan admitted, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Before I became lost.”
Both Scythe and Jerrod hunched forward, eager to hear what he had to say.
“The vision wasn’t spawned in the Burning Sea. That’s why it felt so strange to me.”
“Where did it come from?” Jerrod asked.
“Daemron sent it.”
“Why?” Scythe demanded.
“It’s a trap,” Keegan said. “I think he’s trying to lure us to the Keystone. I think if we go there, the Legacy will fall.”
“Simple solution,” Scythe said. “We just don’t go there.”
“Keegan may not be the only one who saw this vision,” Jerrod reminded her. “Cassandra is also a prophet and one of the Children of Fire.
“The Order teaches us that our most sacred duty is to preserve and protect the Legacy,” he continued. “If Cassandra saw a vision of the Keystone, she might think her destiny is to take the Crown there to repair the Legacy.”
“But instead she’ll bring it crashing down,” Keegan said. “And Daemron will return.”
“We must get to Callastan and stop her,” Jerrod said.
“Like I said before,” Keegan told them, “I think I’ll be ready to head out in the morning.”
This time nobody objected.
“WELCOME BACK, PONTIFF,” Xadier said, gracing Yasmin with a deep bow. “The troops hav
e been eagerly awaiting your return.”
Yasmin very much doubted that was true, but she saw no point in correcting the Seer.
“See to it that my reinforcements are well fed and stationed somewhere they can sleep well when night comes,” she instructed. “They need to rest before we launch our attack.”
“Of course, Pontiff.”
A stiff wind was blowing in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt mingling with Callastan’s putrid stench.
“After you’ve seen to the troops, come to my quarters and deliver a status report,” she commanded.
Xadier bowed and scampered off to carry out her orders while Yasmin made straight for her tent.
The bare interior offered little comfort, but once inside she was able to pull the flap closed to keep out the worst of the stench.
Soon that smell will be swallowed up by smoke from the fires of the Purge, she thought, and a smile crossed her lips.
By the time Xadier arrived to make his report, Yasmin had already taken water and bread to refresh herself from the long journey. Yet even with her superlative physical prowess, she still felt the weariness of the long march from Norem deep in her bones as she sat cross-legged on the ground. Her fatigue didn’t bode well for the state of the ordinary soldiers.
I pushed them too hard. I am overeager to see this end. I must be careful lest I make a mistake.
Yet she couldn’t wait forever. The Crown was still in Callastan—or so she hoped—and the longer she waited the greater the chance Cassandra would slip through her fingers.
“Join me,” Yasmin offered, motioning to the bare earth in the middle of her tent.
Xadier lowered himself and mimicked her cross-legged position. Even with both of them seated on the ground, Yasmin towered over him, her scarred scalp a full head higher than his.
“Status reports,” she said.
“Our troops are tense, but discipline still holds,” the Seer assured her. “We have plenty of supplies and the weather has been mild.
“Word of what happened to Carthin when he betrayed you has also helped keep potential agitators in line,” he added.
“What about Callastan?”
“The weather has been a boon for our enemy as well,” Xadier admitted. “Our spies within the city report that their morale is still high despite our presence beyond their walls.
“The numbers of armed defenders is greater than we expected; the Enforcers have opened their ranks to anyone able to swing a club. Despite this, we should still have the numbers to overwhelm them quickly thanks to the reinforcements you have brought us.”
“What about passage into and out of the city?”
“We have been able to secure most routes by land,” he told her, “though it was more difficult than we first imagined.”
“This is a smuggler’s city,” Yasmin reminded him. “There will always be tunnels for the rats to flee. As long as Cassandra and the Crown do not escape.”
“That has not happened,” Xadier promised. “Inquisitors patrol the perimeter on a regular basis. They would sense the Talisman if she passed anywhere near them.”
“What about those who come and go by sea?”
“As you instructed, we have teams of Inquisitors watching the docks in case Cassandra attempts to flee by ship.
“They patrol the water’s edge, boarding any vessels that try to launch. But given our limited numbers, I have instructed them to focus only on those trying to leave. They have done little to stop the arrival of the small skiffs and rafts bringing food into the city.”
“We never intended to starve them out,” Yasmin reminded him. “Making sure the Crown does not leave by ship was always our primary goal.”
Xadier bowed his head respectfully at her implied approval before continuing on with his report.
“We have agents spreading information and rumors within the city walls,” he added. “We are offering a bounty for Cassandra though there are no reports of anyone fitting her description yet.
“And we have made it known that when the attack comes, any who wish to switch sides and join our ranks will be welcomed without judgment.”
Yasmin nodded. Normally she wouldn’t approve of such a decree: Righteous punishment of the sinful was a sacred duty. In a perfect world, every inhabitant of Callastan would suffer for defying her and the entire city would be turned into a smoking ruin.
But this was not a perfect world, and breaking the city’s spirit wasn’t her true goal. Nothing mattered but capturing the Crown.
Everything Xadier said was as she expected; he had done well in her absence. Yet despite his assurances, she needed to know for certain that he had not failed her.
Yasmin took a deep, cleansing breath then reached out with her Sight, pushing her awareness to its farthest limits. Thousands of images assailed her: the soldiers in her camps, biding time until the battle; the inhabitants of Callastan going about their daily business even as the threat of attack loomed over them. Ignoring these, she let her mind drift rapidly back and forth until she sensed it: the familiar pulse of the Crown.
It was clearly emanating from somewhere inside the city, though when Yasmin tried to focus her Sight, the Crown suddenly seemed to move and jump around erratically.
She has learned how to lay false trails to mislead us. No wonder the Inquisitors searching for her have failed.
But though she could hide the exact location of the Crown from the Pontiff, Cassandra couldn’t fully mask its presence. The Talisman was still there, waiting for Yasmin to claim it.
To this point, Cassandra had been more patient than she imagined. Given the girl’s youth and inexperience, the Pontiff had expected her to try to flee Callastan long ago.
She’s more clever than I thought. She’s going to wait for the battle to begin before she makes her move. But I still have some tricks up my sleeve.
“The only way to flush the heretic out is to attack the city,” she told Xadier. “Spread the word among the troops that we will storm the walls in five days.”
“Is it wise to announce our plans so far in advance?” Xadier asked. “There could be enemy spies among our ranks. They will alert those inside the city to our plans.”
“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Yasmin said with a smile.
—
Rianna’s health was returning. She was eating again and had gained back much of the weight she had lost in the dark days before Vaaler stole the Ring from her. But though she had made great progress physically, there were still deep mental scars.
Sometimes she still imagined she could hear Orath whispering inside her head—compelling her and controlling her like some kind of puppet made of flesh and bone. The sensation never lasted more than a fleeting second—their connection had been severed when the Minion fled. But each time it happened, she remembered the horror and violation of having a demon crawling inside her thoughts, and it was all she could do not simply to curl up into a ball on the floor, weeping with terror.
Yet not all her scars had come from Orath. There were emotional wounds as well. She’d exiled her only son; she’d driven him away and turned him into a traitor against the people he was supposed to rule. And then, when her kingdom was in crisis, she’d put her own desire for vengeance over the needs of her people.
I don’t deserve to rule them anymore. When Andar arrives, I will tell him that the Regent Council must choose a new monarch.
She had struggled with this decision for many nights, never quite having the courage to take the final step. But tonight, when Andar came to share the decisions the Regent Council had made that day, she would finally tell him.
The High Sorcerer arrived soon after, prompt as always. When his face appeared at the open door to her chambers, she ushered him in with a brief wave. As he always did, he closed the door behind them so her guards wouldn’t be privy to their conversation.
“I have important news,” he said.
She noticed he was slightly out of breath, as if h
e’d run over from the nearby council chambers. He joined her at the table where they shared a small bite each night. For convenience, she no longer had the serving staff on hand as they ate only to be dismissed once their discussions began. Instead, everything was set out beforehand.
Normally they would dine before they discussed the events of the day, but obviously Andar was excited enough about something to break form.
“I also have important news,” she said. “I’ve reached a crucial decision.”
Andar’s face momentarily lit up, but his joy quickly faded as he picked up on her somber tone.
He so badly wants me to return to my throne, she thought. He clings to some idealized notion of what I used to be. He doesn’t see what I’ve become.
“Before you tell me anything,” he said, an unexpected urgency in his voice, “you must listen to what I have to say!”
His words were mildly inappropriate; even though he was head of the Regent Council, it wasn’t proper to tell the Queen she must do anything. However, considering she was about to abdicate, Rianna didn’t see any point in correcting him.
“Very well,” she said. “Tell me your news.”
“Two things,” he said. “First, Vaaler is alive!”
Rianna felt herself swaying in her chair, and she grabbed on to the table to steady herself.
“My son is alive?” she whispered, her brain still reeling from the shock. “He survived the battle with the ogre?”
“He’s been seen in the Southlands,” Andar confirmed. “They say he’s gathering an army of peasants and farmers.”
“An army? For what?”
“They say he’s liberating villages in the borderlands from the tyranny of soldiers and mercenaries left behind by the Order,” he told her. “His reputation is spreading far and wide. They’ve even heard of him in the Free Cities.”
“It sounds as if these may be nothing more than rumors and tall tales,” she said, some of her hope fading.
“There are too many accounts to dismiss them,” Andar assured her. “They all speak of a Danaan named Vaaler and his honor guard of Eastern Barbarians.”
“This makes no sense,” Rianna said. “First, he leads the armies of the clans when we attack them, and now he’s gathering another army in the Southlands?”