Chaos Unleashed

  “I found him outside the Free Cities,” Darm said, though he never took his eyes off Keegan. “With his Barbarian followers.”

  No, Keegan thought. This isn’t possible.

  “Vaaler is bringing his army to Callastan,” he said again. “I came ahead to tell you.”

  “How did you find us?” Jerrod asked.

  “The hex,” Darm told Keegan. “Vaaler said he broke it, but I could still feel your pull.”

  “The Chaos you used in the ritual,” Jerrod said. “Remember?”

  “That was just for show,” Keegan protested. “It was nothing. Just a tiny spark!”

  Could this really all be because of the backlash from that one seemingly insignificant act? Keegan wondered.

  “You bound me to your will,” Darmmid insisted. “And I have done everything you asked. Please—release me!”

  “You said Vaaler is leading an army to Callastan,” Keegan replied, an idea of how he could help Scythe forming in his head. “Where are they?”

  “A day or two behind. I scouted ahead. I knew I’d find you.”

  “I have one more task for you to perform before I set you free,” Keegan told him. “Take us to Vaaler!”

  —

  They broke camp and set out immediately, much to Scythe’s relief. Every second Methodis was being held inside the Order’s prison was one too many.

  She was worried about how Keegan would handle the journey, but he’d had almost a full day to rest while she’d been searching out her contacts in Callastan and he was able to keep up.

  If it had just been her and Jerrod, they could have traveled much faster. But they needed Darmmid to guide them, so Keegan wasn’t really slowing them down anyway.

  The soldier marched out in front, carrying a smoldering torch to illuminate his path through the night. As they walked, Scythe was still grappling with the implications of Darm’s unexpected arrival.

  Keegan didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was just a tiny flash of magic—a light show to sell his lie. But somehow that was enough to bring an army to Callastan.

  His power continued to grow. Scythe had no idea if it was because the Legacy was getting weaker or if it had something to do with all the time he’d spent carrying Daemron’s Ring, but he was clearly much stronger than even he realized.

  She shuddered to think what kind of havoc he would have unleashed if he’d tried to use magic to free Methodis.

  Sometimes White-eyes is right; Chaos really is dangerous.

  In the end, Vaaler’s army was even closer than Darmmid had guessed. By the time morning broke, she could see the mass of soldiers traipsing across the Southlands, and it wasn’t long until a small vanguard broke off from the main army to come and greet them, with Vaaler and Shalana at the head.

  The Danaan was on horseback; Shalana on foot beside him. A dozen Easterners followed close behind.

  As they drew closer, Vaaler spurred his horse forward and Shalana broke into a run, leaving the others behind.

  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 o
f 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!”

  THE PONTIFF 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 a
te 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.