There was a murmur of assent among the crowd. The image of the magnificent, blue-skinned titan emerging from the mountains to grapple with the monstrous ogre was one none of them would soon forget.
“Even if some of the legends are real,” Terramon argued, refusing to back down, “that does not change anything. Winter is here. The only enemies we must concern ourselves with are frostbite and starvation!”
“You cannot turn a blind eye to this,” Vaaler warned, joining in the conversation. “The ogre slaughtered too many of your people to pretend the threat is not real.”
“The ogre was born in the forests of the Treefolk,” Terramon countered. “And the Guardian was a remnant from a forgotten age. They may have fought in our lands, but they had no place here. And now they are both gone—vanished like the ghosts of ancient history that they were.”
“The ogre was not the first Chaos Spawn to rise,” Vaaler warned. “And it won’t be the last. Before I left my people, I saw a dragon awaken and level an entire city before it was slain.”
“You only prove my point!” Terramon shouted. “The prophecy you and Norr follow came from the Order. You let your actions be guided by the blind monks who rule the Southlands, and you brought war to your people…and ours! How many more of us must die for their cause?
“We’ve already been drawn into someone else’s war once,” he reminded them. “Are we fools enough to let it happen again?”
“Hadawas understood the danger Shalana and Vaaler speak of,” Roggen said, openly siding with them before any of the other thanes could speak. “He alone among us had the ability to see the future though his visions were faint and dim. Yet he knew a time of great upheaval was coming.
“That is why he called the Conclave. That is why he joined Norr and the others in their search for Daemron’s Sword after learning of their quest. He understood that the Slayer’s return will bring another Cataclysm upon the world, and the clans will suffer just as much as those in the North and the South.”
“Even the bravest warriors can grow weary of battle,” Shalana admitted, openly acknowledging what they all felt. “But a new threat is coming. If we ignore it with the excuse of trying to survive this winter, then none of us will live to see another.”
Shalana paused, scanning the faces of the thanes in a desperate attempt to gauge their reactions. She feared she would see disbelief or scorn, but what she saw instead was concern and fear.
“What would you have us do?” a voice called out from somewhere in the back.
“The Guardian spoke to us before he died,” Shalana told them. “He said he had given Daemron’s Sword to Norr and the others. They are headed for Callastan now, in search of another who will join forces with them to defeat the Slayer. But they will not succeed without our help.”
“What kind of help could we even give?” Terramon wondered bitterly. “The war with the Danaan has left us with nothing to spare.”
“Vaaler has been part of this from the beginning,” Shalana explained. “His fate is tied to those who will stop Daemron’s return. We must escort him through the Southlands so that he may rejoin his friends.”
“The journey will be dangerous,” Vaaler admitted. “But I cannot make it alone. There are too many enemies between me and my friends. The Order is hunting them…and possibly me as well.”
“This is madness,” Terramon mocked. “If we march into the Southlands, they will see it as an act of war! With our numbers so low, we wouldn’t stand a chance against their united armies!”
“Sending an invading army would be suicide,” Vaaler admitted. “But a small group moving quickly might be able to make it to Callastan with minimal resistance.”
“All we are asking for is a dozen warriors to accompany us,” Shalana said.
“You’re going with him?” Terramon said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought my own flesh and blood would have more sense than to throw her life away.”
His disapproving, disgusted tone was one Shalana was all too familiar with; she’d heard it all her life. But it no longer held any power over her, and she didn’t even bother to respond.
“We can spare supplies for the first part of the journey,” Roggen chimed in. “Enough for Shalana and her honor guard to reach the Southlands. After that, they will have to get by on what they can find for themselves.”
“Roggen will stay behind to guide you through this winter,” Shalana added. “Unless there is one among you who feels you can do better than he.”
Not surprisingly, nobody came forward, though Terramon glared sullenly at the crowd as if he was trying to will one of them to step up.
“As Vaaler already told you,” Shalana said, “the journey to Callastan will be dangerous. We are much more likely to find death than victory. But though the risk is great, we must make the attempt: The fate of the clans—of the entire world—hangs in the balance.
“We will leave tomorrow,” Shalana continued. “After this meeting, go to your thanes and your clans and tell them what must be done. If any of your warriors wish to join our cause, they are welcome…though they must understand there is a good chance they will never return.”
—
The morning of their departure was clear but bitterly cold. Shalana had expected their escort to be made up mostly of Stone Spirit warriors, but to her surprise nearly fifty men and women—some from virtually every clan at the Giant’s Maw—had volunteered to join them. Selecting only twelve from among them—seven men and five women—had been difficult, but fortunately the high turnout had allowed them to choose those with the courage and skill to give them the best chance of success.
Despite the cold and the early-morning hour, a massive crowd of men, women, and children had gathered to see them off, including Roggen and the other chiefs. Even Terramon was there, leaning on his cane and scowling at everyone.
Two small sleds had been loaded with supplies: hides and blankets to wrap themselves in when they camped each night; several bricks of peat they could burn to ward off the cold; and enough food to get them to the edge of the Southlands.
After that, the sleds won’t be much use, Shalana thought. We’ll have to abandon them.
The hope was that they’d be able to find enough supplies to keep going once they reached the more populated regions. Exactly how that was supposed to happen was something they hadn’t yet figured out. Sort of like how they planned to get through hundreds of miles of hostile territory without being arrested or killed.
Vaaler was confident they would find a way to succeed. Shalana trusted him enough to believe the same thing despite all evidence to the contrary.
And everyone coming with us believes enough in me to follow my lead.
The honor guard were making the final preparations to the sleds; it was time to move out. From the crowd, Roggen stepped forward and held up a hand for silence.
“We are gathered here to wish good fortune on Shalana and Vaaler,” he called out, his voice rising clearly in the cold, crisp air of the morning. “Together, they defied impossible odds and led us to victory when all seemed lost.”
He paused, and a loud cheer rose from the crowd. Shalana raised a hand to acknowledge their support though she couldn’t help but notice Terramon standing motionless and silent at the front of the throng.
“Hadawas, Norr, and the others have forged ahead,” Roggen continued. “Now these brave warriors must join them, for their destiny lies far to the South.”
Roggen stepped forward to clasp first Vaaler, then Shalana by the forearm. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, his words meant not for the crowd but for them.
“Every winter must give way to spring. When the ice melts, we will be here, waiting for your return.”
Neither Vaaler nor Shalana replied; everything that needed to be spoken had already been said. Roggen nodded, then turned away and retreated back into the crowd.
Before Shalana could give the signal for their escort to move out, Terramon stepped forward, hi
s cane angrily stabbing into the snow-covered earth with every step.
“What does he want now?” she heard Vaaler hiss beside her ear, but she forced herself to remain calm.
The argument is over. We’ve won. Nothing he can say will change my mind.
Terramon kept coming forward, stopping only when he was directly in front of her. Then, leaning heavily on his cane, he reached out with his free hand and gripped her firmly by the shoulder.
“I still think this is madness,” he told her. But he wasn’t speaking loud enough to address the crowd; this wasn’t some final political speech.
“Be careful among the Outlanders,” he added, much to her surprise. “They are Barbarians with no honor.”
“I will,” she said, slightly taken aback.
“Look to Vaaler to guide you; he knows their ways. If anyone can keep you safe and bring you back, he can.”
“We will look after each other,” Vaaler promised, speaking up at her side.
Terramon nodded, but his hand kept its grip on her shoulder.
“You are my daughter,” he added after a brief hesitation. “No matter what happens, never forget that.”
And then he let his hand drop, pivoted on his cane, and quickly stomped off to disappear into the crowd. Stunned, Shalana watched him go in silence, trying to decide if she had caught a brief glimpse of a tear in his eye in the instant before he turned away.
“I guess that’s his way of saying he’s proud of you,” Vaaler said softly once he was gone.
“I guess so,” Shalana agreed.
With a final look over the faces of her people—faces she might never see again—she gave the signal and she, Vaaler, and their chosen dozen set out into the snow.
“Pay attention, Cassandra.”
Rexol’s voice was low but firm. The Chaos mage loomed over her, a little blond girl with emerald-green eyes dwarfed by his tall, lean frame. His dark skin and cloak made him appear little more than a shadow in the flickering light of the lone candle that lit the small, circular room. His long black hair was tied in uneven braids that draped haphazardly over his forehead and shoulders. Only his bright white teeth—filed to points—and his wide, wild eyes stood out in the gloom.
“Look at the symbols on the floor,” he instructed, and Cassandra cast her eyes downward. At her feet, a series of circles of varying sizes overlapped each other. Inside each one was an unfamiliar rune.
“You must learn to read the words of power before you can bend Chaos to your will.”
Though she was only a child, Cassandra knew he wasn’t speaking the entire truth. The runes were only a mnemonic device; they helped create patterns of thought that allowed the mind to properly focus. But the true power to control Chaos came from within.
“Don’t be so stubborn, child,” Rexol told her even though she hadn’t spoken her doubts aloud. “The Crown is too powerful to use without proper training. Let me help you.”
“No!” Cassandra shouted, the sound of her own voice inside the dream snapping her awake.
Cassandra’s blind eyes sprang open, an instinctive reflex that served no real purpose. The world of her dream quickly fell away as her supernatural awareness filled in the missing pieces of her surroundings. She was tucked under the covers of a small bed, her legs splinted and bandaged. A low fire burned in one corner of the room, a single desk and writing table stood in another. The Crown lay on the mattress beside her, hidden from view by the plain sack she had carried it in since fleeing the Monastery.
The only door to her chamber was closed, though in her mind’s eye she could clearly see Methodis, the bookish healer who was caring for her, puttering around in the apothecary that stood on the other side. He moved with purposeful calm, checking the inventory of vials and jars that lined the many shelves.
He’s going to steal the Crown! Rexol’s voice warned her, speaking inside her head.
Cassandra ignored him. Had Methodis truly wanted the Talisman, he could have easily taken it when he first found her, unconscious in the rubble at the center of the earthquake Rexol had caused when the mad wizard had tried to possess her body to escape his imprisonment inside the Crown.
I saved you, Rexol protested. I was the one who turned the Crawling Twins against each other. If not for me, they would have ripped you to shreds.
“And then you almost wiped Callastan off the map when the Crown overwhelmed you,” Cassandra whispered, abandoning her efforts to ignore him.
But you are stronger than me, Rexol countered. I understand Chaos in ways the Order never could. I can teach you how to master your power. And the Crown.
Instead of continuing the argument, Cassandra thought back on her dream. It wasn’t a memory—not a real one, at least. The Order had saved her from Rexol when she was only six, but in the dream she had been older; nine or ten at least. And in the dream she still had her brilliant emerald eyes rather than the pure white orbs that signified Cassandra’s willing sacrifice when she gave up her vision to gain the Order’s mystical second sight.
I was showing you what could have been, Rexol insisted. What should have been if you hadn’t been stolen away from me.
“Is this how you’re going to try to control me now?” she demanded. “Through my dreams?”
Rexol didn’t reply, and a second later there was a knock at the door. With her awareness, Cassandra clearly saw Methodis on the other side, waiting patiently for her to respond. In one hand he held a cup filled with a thick, cloudy liquid. Tucked under his opposite arm was a roll of cloth similar to the bandages binding the splints on her legs.
“Come in,” she called out.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Methodis said as he opened the door and stepped into the room. “But I heard you talking, so I deduced you were awake.”
He didn’t bother asking her who she was talking to, despite there being no one else in the room.
Have I been speaking to Rexol often? she wondered. Though she felt clearheaded now, much of the last few days was still hazy. It was possible he’d heard her carry on her one-sided conversations many times. He must think I’m mad. Or fevered from my injuries.
Out loud she asked, “How long have I been here?”
“Nine days have passed since I found you in what was left of the jail,” the healer replied as he crossed the room and set the cup down on the table beside her bed, just a few inches from the cloth sack containing the Crown.
He has a limp, Rexol pointed out, sounding almost jealous. Faint, but noticeable. An old injury that never properly healed.
If he’s hiding that, the wizard pressed, what else is he keeping from you? What other deceptions will he try?
Cassandra recognized his paranoid ramblings for what they were and didn’t acknowledge them.
The healer took a seat on the edge of her bed and set the bandages down beside him, being careful not to jostle or disturb his patient any more than was absolutely necessary.
“I can’t believe I’ve been here nine days already,” Cassandra remarked. Based on what she remembered, she would have guessed three or four at most.
“I gave you something to help dull the pain,” Methodis explained, pointing at the mug of opaque liquid on the little table. “You spent much of that time asleep.”
“You kept me here the entire time? Looked after me?”
He nodded.
“Does anyone else know I’m here?”
“Perhaps,” he answered, “but not because of anything I have done. I took you from the jail wrapped in a sheet. I did the same with the remains of the guards. The people in the neighborhood think there were no survivors.
“But if the Order is looking for you,” he continued, “you would know better than I if they could track you here.”
The Order aren’t the only ones looking for you, Rexol reminded her.
Though she didn’t bother to answer, she knew it was true. The Crawling Twins weren’t the only Minions of the Slayer that had crossed over to the mortal realm. T
he shadowy huntress that had stalked her through the Frozen East could still be looking for her. There might even be others.
“It isn’t safe for me to stay,” she said, struggling to rise despite the splints on her legs.
Methodis stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.
“You are in no condition to go anywhere,” he reminded her, nodding in the direction of her splints. “You need to lie still.”
I will keep you hidden, Rexol assured her. I’ve used the Crown to set up a maze of false trails throughout the city. If you let me, I can show you how to do the same.
The trails didn’t fool the Crawling Twins, Cassandra reminded him. Sooner or later, one of the other Minions will come searching for me.
I can teach you how to use the Crown to destroy them! Rexol reminded her.
“I’d like to check the injuries to your legs,” Methodis said, breaking the silence of the room left by her inner monologue. “To make sure they are healing properly.”
Cassandra nodded, and the little man smiled reassuringly.
“I’ll try to be careful,” Methodis warned her, “but this may hurt. Your injuries were severe.”
Reaching out slowly, he began to unwrap the bandages that bound her left leg to its splint. His touch was gentle, but practiced and sure, and it didn’t take him long to unwrap the dressing and expose the limb.
“This is…unexpected,” he said once he was finished, clearly perplexed.
“Is something wrong?”
“Far from it. You are healing far better than I could have hoped for.” From his tone, Cassandra knew there was more he wasn’t saying.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Methodis hesitated briefly before replying.
“Your injuries were extensive. Your skin was nothing but black-and-purple splotches. The bones of your legs weren’t just broken; they had basically been shattered. The tendons and muscles were mangled and crushed, as if some great force had slammed into your legs over and over. I’ve never seen anything like it.”