Chaos Trapped

by Eric T Knight

  The hulking man didn’t blink. “We’ll see how you do with a dozen more stuck in you.” At his words, bows were bent.

  It was time for Fen to act. He’d seen Barik stagger when the arrow struck him. He didn’t know how much more stolen life-energy was coursing through the Fist’s veins, but he had to have limits.

  Fen dropped to one knee and placed his hand on the ground. Summoning Stone power was as easy as drawing breath. He focused and released it all in one instant.

  The ground in front of him bucked. A wave rose and surged toward the palisade. When it struck the wall there was a low, muffled explosion as the power was released. The palisade disintegrated, splinters and chunks of wood flying in every direction. The Ankharan soldiers were tossed like rag dolls, hitting the ground with meaty thuds.

  Barik looked at Fen with a raised eyebrow. “How long have you been able to do that?”

  Fen considered this. “Always, I think. I just didn’t know it.”

  “I’ve been listening to the wrong people.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Barik nodded. “Let’s go kill some sorcerers.”

  They passed through the shattered remains of the palisade, and another squad of soldiers hit them, pouring out of a darkened lane between two tall stacks of large, wooden crates. They came so fast Fen didn’t have time to use his power. He turned as the first one swung a war hammer at his head. He ducked, but not enough. The hammer struck him in the temple. There was a flash of dull, reddish light, and the head of the war hammer melted half away. The enemy soldier staggered backward, the hammer falling from his nerveless fingers, stunned surprise on his face.

  He still looked surprised as Fen’s blade went deep into his chest.

  Fen had struck too hard. The blade caught between his ribs. Instead of trying to pull it out, Fen simply channeled Stone power through his arm and swung his sword—dead soldier still stuck on it—at the next two men who were charging at him, curved swords upraised. They were knocked sprawling, and his sword came free.

  Three converged on the Fist. He bellowed like a bull and cut the first down with his sword. The next got past his blade and sliced deep into his shoulder. Before he could follow it up, the Fist swung his blade back around, the cross hilt smashing in the man’s teeth. He kicked him away and spun to face the third.

  The man slipped on blood and fell at the Fist’s feet. The Fist bent over, and one hand closed on the man’s shoulder. Before the Ankharan could twist away, purple sparks flared around the Fist’s hand. A look of horror came over the Ankharan’s face, and he sagged back, white light pouring from his eyes and mouth and into the Fist. He was dead and withered in seconds.

  Four closed around Fen in a tight knot, hacking and stabbing at him. Fen parried several attacks, but there were too many and some got through. His power protected him from wounds, but he was borne to the ground by the sheer mass of their numbers.

  Once again Stone power answered his call. Wild strength flooded his limbs. He threw his arms wide and burst upwards. His attackers were flung in every direction like straw men. He swung down at the nearest fallen man, who put up his blade to fend off the blow. Fen’s attack smashed through the man’s defense, and his blade chopped away half of the man’s head.

  Another ran at him from the side. Fen took the man’s blade on his left forearm. It skipped away, and he punched with his right hand, letting Stone power leak into the punch. There was a crack of breaking ribs, and the man was flung backwards.

  Fen turned and saw Barik grab the last two by their necks. He lifted them like they were children’s toys and dashed them on the ground. Barik kicked the bodies away and looked over at Fen with a bloody smile.

  Fen tensed, not sure if Barik would attack him or not. There was no sign of recognition in the man’s eyes. They glowed with a wild, feral look. His flesh and muscles had filled out, his muscles straining against the fabric of his tunic. He was panting, the veins in his neck bulging.

  He advanced on Fen, blood streaming from him. His hands, empty of weapons, were spread out to either side like a wrestler.

  “Barik?” Fen said, taking a step back. Still the Fist came on. “Barik? It’s me, Fen.”

  Barik charged. Fen ducked as the man tried to grab him. Sergeant Flint’s training kicked in, and he pushed his hip into Barik, grabbed one arm, swiveled and threw him on the ground. As Barik began to rise, he twisted one of his arms behind his back and locked an arm around his throat.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Remember who you are. Remember who you fight.”

  Barik snarled and fought. His strength was unbelievable, but Fen wielded the power of Stone, and he could not break free. He sagged in Fen’s grasp.

  “Fen?” he said uncertainly.

  Fen let him go. Barik stood up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. When he looked at Fen next, he was back. “Fen.” He looked around at the bodies on the ground as if he’d never seen them before. Then his gaze lit on the one he’d drained, and he shied back from it. One hand went to his mouth, and he gave Fen a guilty look. “No…”

  “It’s okay,” Fen said. “You had no choice.”

  “I swore I wouldn’t do that again. Fen…I don’t think I can control it.”

  “You can, and you will,” Fen told him fiercely. “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know.”

  Barik stood there for a minute, his eyes closed, then he opened them and looked at Fen. “Okay. I’m okay. Let’s finish this.”

  Fen looked around. Down at the shoreline the skeletons of three ships were rising, racks of scaffolding around them. On the scaffolding were the shapes of people moving. Even at this hour the work was going on, accompanied by the ring of hammers and the sound of shouts. To the left was a large warehouse with several smaller buildings clustered around it. The street led to its wide, sliding doors. Past the warehouse was empty beach. Low, steep hills ringed the harbor, crowding in close.

  “Let’s head over to the ships,” Fen said. “Maybe they’re over there.”

  Barik picked up his sword, and they started that way. Stone power buzzed through Fen’s veins. He felt as solid as a mountain, ready for anything. He glanced over at Barik. The man had a manic gleam in his eye. His lips were pulled back, exposing his canines. He looked eager. What had the Ankharans done to him, really? Fen wondered. Would he ever fully recover? And what will I do if he doesn’t? Will I fight him? If it comes to it, which allegiance is stronger? My king or my country?

  The answer was surprisingly simple. It was his country. As much as he loved Barik, no one person was more important than the lives of all the men, women and children of Samkara.

  If Barik was lost, and he had to take him down, he would.

  He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

  They got close to the half-finished ships, and Fen paused in the shadow of a stack of huge barrels. Barik kept going, and Fen had to grab his arm and pull him back. “We need to look around first.”

  At first Barik tried to pull away, and he gave Fen an angry look, then Fen’s words penetrated, and he nodded.

  Illuminating the area were lanterns hung from long poles driven into the ground. Scores of Maradi slaves moved to and fro on the scaffolding around each ship, carrying planks and other materials, all of it under the watchful eyes of the Ankharan shipwrights and overseers. Curved swords hung from the overseers’ hips, and they carried whips, which they used liberally on any slave who slowed or stumbled. The inhuman cruelty of it angered Fen. The Maradi might be age-old enemies of Samkara, but they were still people, and no one deserved to be enslaved and worked to death.

  There was no sign of either sorcerer, though. He glanced over at the warehouse, wondering if they were in there, but there were no lights coming from its windows. None from any of the surrounding buildings either. He turned back to survey the ships. When he did, he saw a woman carrying a bucket filled with steaming pitch catch her foot on a tool that someone had left on the walkway. She stumbled and dropped the bucket, which b
ounced and fell to the ground.

  Immediately the nearest overseer unlimbered his whip. He stepped forward and began whipping her mercilessly. Her high, thin cries for mercy went unheeded as he struck her again and again.

  That decided it for Fen. Whether the sorcerers were here or not, he wasn’t going to stand by and watch this woman get whipped to death. “Come on,” he said to Barik. Raising his sword, he took off at a run. Barik howled, a wild, crazy sound that even Fen found unnerving, and came running after him.

  The overseers spun when they heard the howl. Those on the lowest level of the scaffolding jumped down to the ground, while those on the upper tiers started pouring down the ladders. A handful of others appeared from behind the nearest ship and came running at the two men.

  Fen didn’t hold back. The doubt and fear of the past days combined with the rage he always felt when he saw people hurting the weak, and it all came pouring out in a rush. There were no thoughts of only injuring. He wanted all of them dead. They were a stain to be wiped from Samkara forever.

  He was at a dead run when he reached the first knot of overseers, four bearded men with wolfish smiles on their faces. All of his rage and hatred poured into his sword arm as he swung, bolstered by the reservoir of Stone power that surged within him.

  In the instant before his blade struck the first man he saw that his sword was outlined in a reddish glow, small tongues of flame flickering along its length.

  The blow sheared through the man’s upraised sword as if it were made of straw and carried on through without slowing. The blow landed with such force that the man was cleaved nearly in two. He ripped his sword free and kicked the body into the next enemy, knocking him down.

  He swung backhanded at the next man, cutting off his sword arm, then let the momentum of the blow carry him around in a spin rather than trying to arrest it. As he came back around, he struck the next overseer at the waist. There was a hiss, as of red-hot steel meeting water, and the blade passed completely through him, cutting him in half.

  The fourth staggered to his feet in time to take Fen’s fist to his face. Bone crunched, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

  From the edge of his vision, Fen saw Barik engage three other overseers. The Fist was swinging his sword like a club, with no effort at finesse or sword play. His blade smashed into the sword of the first man, breaking the man’s weapon and his sword arm and driving him to his knees. He dropped his sword but made no attempt to pick it back up. The momentum of his charge carried him into the other two. He fought like a maddened bear, punching one of the overseers in the face so hard the man’s neck snapped, the sound of cracking bone strangely loud amidst the other sounds. The final overseer managed to get one swing in—cutting deep into Barik’s shoulder—and then Barik got his hands on him. He picked the man up over his head, then brought him down on his knee, breaking his spine.

  Fen saw no more, for the next wave of attackers had arrived. They were more cautious than the first wave, and they spread out in a half circle as they reached him. A whip flicked out and wrapped around Fen’s sword arm. The man’s exclamation of triumph was cut short when Fen grabbed the whip and yanked. The man was pulled forward so fast his feet left the ground, and Fen stabbed him through the throat.

  The rest yelled and charged him simultaneously. Fen knew that no matter how good anyone was with a sword, there was no way they could possibly engage a half dozen men at the same time, and so he didn’t even try. Trusting his innate abilities to protect him, he turned his focus on the closest man. His first swing slashed open the man’s belly.

  As he turned to the next, he felt two blows hit home, one on his shoulder, the other high on his hip. Both bounced off harmlessly, the men’s eyes widening in shock. He darted forward, stabbed one man in the chest, then kicked the feet out from underneath the one next to him and slashed his throat on the way down.

  His sword was still outlined in red, and each time it touched flesh there was a sizzling sound like fat on a fire. With the Stone power infusing it, the sword cut through flesh as easily as a knife through butter. His next swing cut down through the man’s collarbone and into his chest. He pulled his blade free as more of the enemies struck him, and new ones arrived to join the fight.

  Time ceased. Everything outside the immediate circle around Fen ceased. He slid from one form to another, dispatching overseers with every blow. A few of their attacks got through, but they were no more than minor annoyances, scratches he hardly even felt. The dead began to pile up at his feet.

  Fen cut down yet another man, and when he turned to find his next target, realized there were no more. A score or more enemies lay scattered around him, several moving feebly, most dead. Several men were fleeing.

  He turned and saw an equal number laying around Barik. Barik was splattered with gore. He’d lost his sword. Dozens of wounds marked him, including one in his side through which viscera showed. As Barik turned to the last enemy still standing, the man stabbed him in the chest. Barik ignored the wound and grabbed the man, snapping his neck with a sudden, brutal twist. The man slumped to the ground.

  The Fist looked down at the sword sticking from his chest, pulled it out with one hand and tossed it aside. He looked around hungrily and seemed disappointed that there were no more enemies nearby.

  “Barik, are you…?” Fen asked, gesturing at his wounds.

  Barik gave him a bloody smile and waved it off like it was nothing. Before Fen’s eyes his wounds began to close up. In a very short time he was fully healed. He kicked his way through the bodies around him, found his sword and picked it up.

  Fen looked at his shoulder, where he remembered a hard blow landing. There was a large cut in his tunic. Through the opening he could see a line of reddish stone where the blade had hit. He shrugged and most of it flaked off, though not all. There were similar patches everywhere else he’d been hit. He glanced at them, and then ignored them. If he was turning to stone, that was something he would have to deal with later.

  Fen looked up and saw the slaves were standing there, frozen in shock, staring at the two of them. From their expressions it was clear they thought they would be next to be cut down by the two berserkers.

  “Go!” Fen called out to them. “Get out of here! You’re free!”

  At first, they didn’t move, but then a couple jumped down off the scaffolding and started to run. That broke the spell holding the others, and they began to stream after them.

  Barik walked over to Fen. “Some ran away.” He pointed with his sword to where a number of their attackers had fled around the unfinished prow of the nearest ship. “Let’s go after them.”

  Fen shook his head. “I don’t think the sorcerers are here. If they were, they would have attacked us.”

  Barik didn’t seem to have heard him. Muttering, “Kill them all,” under his breath, he started off. Fen grabbed his arm, and the man turned suddenly on him. For a moment he thought Barik would attack him, and he braced himself.

  “Focus,” Fen said. “The sorcerers. That’s who’s important. That’s who we have to find. Do you understand?” Barik’s eyes cleared, and he relaxed fractionally. He nodded.

  “I think we should go check out that warehouse next.” Fen pointed. “They have to be here somewhere.”

  The warehouse was several stories tall, a large, barn-like building with a row of darkened windows high up. They saw no one moving as they approached it. The only sounds were the fleeing slaves. Fen stared at the windows as they approached, but they were empty black eyes that revealed nothing.

  When they reached a door, Fen paused and turned to Barik. “I think we should talk about how we want to do this, come up with some kind of plan.”

  Barik kept walking. He hadn’t heard him, or he didn’t care. It didn’t matter either way. Barik threw open the door and strode inside, his bloody sword down by his side. Fen shook his head and hurried in after him.

  Dim light came in through the windows, providing some illu
mination, though only in patches. Most of the floor was pools of darkness. Stacks of barrels and crates lined the room. An enemy could be lying in wait on top of or behind any of them, waiting to strike.

  “We really need to—” Fen began, but Barik cut him off.

  “You go that way,” Barik said, pointing with his sword. “I’ll go this way. Shout if you find them.” So saying he strode off into the darkness.

  Fen hesitated, not sure what to do. Splitting up was almost assuredly a bad idea. He started to follow Barik, but then he headed down a lane between two long stacks of crates. He kept his eyes moving as he went, scanning the gaps between the crates for movement, looking along the tops, glancing up at the ceiling. It was very quiet in the warehouse. He could hear Barik’s heavy footsteps somewhere off to his left, but other than that, there was nothing.

  He crossed half the warehouse without seeing or hearing anything. He was starting to think this was a waste of time, when he caught a hint of movement up ahead where outside light cast a dim pool beside a stack of barrels. His heart sped up as he crept forward cautiously, his sword held up before him.

  But a few steps later he saw it was only a large rat. The animal glared at him defiantly before scurrying away. He let out a sigh of relief and lowered his sword.

  The only warning he had was a hiss in the air overhead. Before he could react, something landed on his head. Claws dug into his scalp. He twisted, catching a glimpse of leathery wings as he tried to knock the thing away. A beaked head flashed toward him, and he felt a sudden sharp pain at the base of his neck.

  Instantly he felt the familiar icy foulness of chaos power starting to spread through him.

  But he was ready for it this time.

  He met the poison with a red pulse of raw Stone power. The Stone power washed over the taint, pushing it back and devouring it. The creature’s beak was still piercing his flesh and with a thought he flexed the area. There was a crack, and the thing’s beak snapped in two. He grabbed it and threw it to the floor.