The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  The blue-skinned titan was sitting with his back against the wall near the entrance of the cave, peering out into the snowstorm.

  As far away as he can get from the Crown, Cassandra noticed.

  Ever since she realized the toll the Crown was taking on her host, she’d studied him carefully, searching for more telltale signs he was growing weaker. But it was like trying to watch someone age: the changes were imperceptible yet nonetheless relentless. Though still a magnificent physical specimen, his once-flawless immortal beauty was now marred by scattered gray strands in his dark hair and beard and faint creases around his eyes. The aura of invincibility, the glow of enduring, eternal power that had once radiated from him, was gone.

  He will die before he casts me out.

  “I have to leave,” Cassandra told her protector, rising to her feet and coming over to stand beside him.

  “The storm will pass in a day or two,” he assured her. “Rest until then.”

  A familiar refrain, but one it was hard to argue against. Her journey would be hard enough without having to battle the elements.

  Does he believe he can keep me safe if I stay here? Or after so many centuries alone, does he just like having someone else around?

  She knew the storm wouldn’t slow the creatures she had seen in her vision. And in his weakened state, she wasn’t certain the Guardian could defeat them. She had to leave. Soon.

  Tomorrow, then. Even if the storm doesn’t break.

  Why wait? the voice in her head that was not her own insisted. The storm is nothing compared to the power of the Talismans! The Guardian is tired; he is ready to pass on his burden. Ask for the Sword, and he will give it to you! Take it and the Crown and leave now!

  Cassandra shook her head, knowing she couldn’t do that. The Crown was already too much for her to bear. If she dared lay claim to a second Talisman, she feared the temptation of such power would be too much to resist.

  Would that be a bad thing? the voice demanded. Daemron used the Talismans to turn himself into a God! Why can’t you do the same?

  With a sudden start, she realized why the unwelcome voice sounded so familiar. The ruthless ambition and arrogance reminded her of Rexol. She knew her former master was dead—consumed by the power of the Crown when he tried to use it. But he had marked her before his death; he’d cast some kind of spell over her that had made her betray the Pontiff and help him escape his prison in the Monastery.

  His spell must have awakened something inside me. Conjured up buried memories of him from deep within my subconscious. Or maybe it unlocked something selfish inside me that seeks to undermine all I learned during my time in the Order.

  Recognizing the source of the voice did nothing to quell it, however.

  If you won’t take the Sword, at least ask the Guardian about it. You need to learn more about the Talismans. You need to understand their power. You need to unravel their mysteries if you hope to stop the Slayer’s return!

  The words still didn’t seem like her own, but in this case she found it harder simply to dismiss them. Huddled in the cave so close to both the Crown and the Sword, it was hard not to obsess over them. There were many questions Cassandra wanted to ask about the Talismans, but she had held her tongue for fear of upsetting her host as she’d done when she’d asked him about Daemron and the True Gods. But balanced against the fate of the entire mortal world, her fears seemed foolish.

  He is the last surviving link to a forgotten age, she admitted, conceding the argument to the other voice. I cannot stay here forever, and there may come a time when I have need of his knowledge and insight.

  Gathering her courage, she dared to break the silence of the cave.

  “May I ask you something?”

  The Guardian stiffened; she could see the thick muscles running from his neck to his shoulders tensing ever so slightly. But he nodded his approval.

  “The Sword. The Crown. How did they get here? In the mortal world, I mean? When Slayer fled the final battle, didn’t he take the Talismans with him?”

  The Guardian’s posture relaxed, and a sly smile slowly crossed his features as he chuckled softly.

  “Daemron was not as clever as he thought. The Gods had created the Talismans to protect the mortal world; the physical artifacts were bound to it. They could not pass through the portal into the Slayer’s nether realm, and when he fled they were left behind.

  “In their weakened state, the Gods did not have the strength to destroy the Talismans, and they knew the combined power of all three would be too great a temptation for any one individual.

  “So before they passed, three of us were chosen, each tasked to guard and protect one of the Talismans. The ring was given to a powerful wizard named Lassander Avareen; he and his followers hid it deep in the forests of the North.”

  Cassandra recognized the name. According to Danaan legend Lassander Avareen was the founder of their kingdom, the first in an unbroken line of monarchs that continued to rule the Dwellers even to this day.

  “The Crown was given to the prophet Salidarr; the founder of your Order. As you well know, he took it deep into the deserts of the South. And the Sword was given to me.”

  “The Order revered the history of the Old Gods,” Cassandra said, confused. “Why have I never heard this before?”

  “The Gods feared another mortal might try to possess all three Talismans, as Daemron had done. They didn’t tell Lassander or Salidarr about each other; only I knew the full story.”

  Because they knew you couldn’t use the other Talismans even if you wanted to, Cassandra realized. Just being near the Crown is poisoning you.

  “And even what they knew could have been lost over the centuries,” the Guardian added. “The presence of the Talismans would have been a closely guarded secret. Even if they passed the tale down from generation to generation through their successors, mortal memories are not perfect. Details would be lost or confused.”

  Or someone might have died before sharing everything he or she knew, Cassandra thought, recalling the Pontiff’s violent end. How much of the truth had he known? How much, if any, had he passed on to Yasmin before his death?

  “The Sword protected me from the effects of the Legacy,” the titan continued. “It gave me strength to endure while the other Chaos Spawn went into hibernation.”

  “But the Crown is doing the opposite,” Cassandra noted.

  His lips tightened, but he didn’t deny her accusation.

  “Each of the Talismans is different,” he said. “Surely you’ve felt that during the time here in my cave?”

  Cassandra nodded. While carrying the Crown, she’d felt its power enveloping her. It was difficult to describe with mere words, but it had wrapped her in an aura that was complex and layered, subtle and amorphous.

  In contrast, the Sword felt more physical, more direct. She could still sense the divine spark of the True Gods inside the blade, but instead of reaching out to surround her it seemed to draw her in, as if trying to absorb the Chaos that flowed in her own blood.

  “The Sword gave Daemron strength and prowess in battle, but it also protected him from the spells and magic conjured by the enemies he faced,” the Guardian explained. “The Ring, on the other hand, was designed to allow him to reach into the Burning Sea and draw on its power without the necessity of complex rituals.”

  “And the Crown?”

  “The Crown balanced the other two, bridging the gap between the body and spirit. It also gave him foresight and allowed him to peer into the minds of others, so that he could guide his followers down the proper path.”

  Cassandra nodded, but in her mind she was mulling over the implications of what she had just learned.

  Lassander took the Ring into the North Forest and founded the Danaan kingdom. Salidarr took the Crown into the desert and founded the Order. The Guardian took the Sword to the Frozen East and founded …

  “The clans,” she gasped aloud as understanding came crashing down on her.
r />   The Guardian gave her a quizzical look.

  “That’s why there are no prophets or mages here in the Frozen East,” she explained, speaking quickly with the rush of realization. “The Sword’s presence made them evolve a warrior culture. And that’s why Chaos feels so faint here—the Sword absorbs the power from the land and its people!”

  Her head was spinning. She had known the Talismans were powerful, but the idea that the entire history of the Frozen East had been shaped and guided by the mere presence of the Sword was mind-boggling.

  “It’s the same for the Danaan,” she continued excitedly as her theory began to crystallize. “You said the Ring allowed Daemron to call on the power of the Burning Sea at will. The history and culture of Lassander’s kingdom were shaped by the Talisman he was given! They evolved into a nation of wizards!”

  She looked to the Guardian for confirmation, but he only shrugged and shook his head.

  “I remember what used to be,” he told her, “but the world has changed, and I know little of what is beyond these mountains.”

  “It has to be,” Cassandra stated with a confidence that surprised even herself. “It all makes sense.”

  “If that is true,” the Guardian asked, “then what of the Crown?”

  Cassandra paused. She couldn’t define the Southlands as easily as she’d labeled the Danaan and the clans. Was that because the Crown’s power was more subtle or because she had grown up there and it was harder to see the truth about her own people?

  “You said the Crown balanced the other Talismans. In the Southlands, children are born with Chaos in their blood, though it is more rare than in the Danaan kingdom.”

  And the Crown helped Daemron rule and control his followers, Rexol’s voice chimed in. Just like the Order manipulated and controlled the nobles of the Southlands.

  Cassandra didn’t like the implication, but she saw no point in arguing with the contrarian part of her own mind, so she let the comment slip by unacknowledged.

  “If the Talismans are strong enough to guide the evolution of an entire people,” she said slowly as another realization hit her, “then they are surely strong enough to cause changes in the weather.”

  “The storm?” the Guardian asked.

  “It hasn’t let up since I arrived,” Cassandra reminded him. “Even here in the mountains of the Frozen East, that must be unusual.”

  “It is,” the titan admitted.

  “It’s because of the Crown,” she declared. “It’s in conflict with the Sword. It’s poisoning you, and it’s causing this blizzard.”

  “You don’t know that’s true.”

  She had no physical evidence, no way to prove her theory. But Cassandra knew she was right.

  “This storm won’t pass,” she told him. “And there are other enemies coming. I’ve seen them in my dreams. They won’t be slowed by the blizzard.”

  “I can protect you against them,” the titan vowed, though she saw in his eyes that even he didn’t believe the words.

  “You’ve done so much for me already,” she assured him. “You gave me shelter and protection while I recovered my strength. But now it is time for me to return to the world beyond this cave.”

  When he didn’t object, Cassandra knew he was suffering even more than she suspected.

  “Where will you go?” he asked instead.

  Cassandra had wondered the same thing herself. Staying in the Frozen East, hiding from the barbarian clans while trying to survive the brutal winter, wasn’t an option. She might be able to reach the Danaan forests, but the Tree Folk killed any who entered their kingdom without permission. And in the Southlands, Yasmin would have the Order searching for her. She could avoid capture for a time, but if she remained there, they would inevitably find her.

  “Callastan,” she said. “I’ll find a ship and head for the Western Isles.”

  “Your enemies will follow you,” the Guardian warned. “The Crown will call to them, even across the ocean.”

  “There is no other choice,” she explained. To her dismay, he didn’t contradict her.

  “Take whatever you need before you go,” he said. “Anything I have is yours if you wish it.”

  She knew what he was offering, but despite the desperate pleas from Rexol’s voice inside her head, she wouldn’t ask him for the Sword. She knew better than to overreach her own capabilities.

  The Sword is not meant for me. The Crown is burden enough.

  “I wish I could stay here with you,” she told him, “but that is not my fate.”

  The Guardian nodded but didn’t speak, though he did reach out his arm to gently caress Cassandra’s cheek with the back of his massive hand. Even now, she felt a sudden thrill at his simple touch.

  The moment passed and his hand fell back to his side. Reluctantly, Cassandra turned away and headed to the back of the cave. She took the Crown from where it lay on the ground at the base of the Sword’s pedestal and placed it back inside the plain leather sack she had used to transport it during her previous flight.

  Closing her eyes, she slipped into a light meditative trance. Focusing her will, she prepared her body and spirit for the journey ahead. As she readied herself, she could once again sense the Crown on the edge of her awareness, shining like a beacon. Ignoring it, she called upon the restored reserves of her own inner strength, steeling her flesh so it could survive the fury of the storm. She would still suffer from the cold—and fatigue, and hunger—but at least she would be able to sustain herself during the journey.

  Once she was done, she rose to her feet, slung the leather sack over one shoulder, and crossed back to the front of the cave where the Guardian stood waiting. In his eyes she could see a sorrow so deep it made her heart ache.

  A wave of pity washed over her. The Guardian’s entire existence was focused on a single purpose: protect the Sword; defend it against the enemies of the True Gods. For centuries he had lived a solitary existence, sustained only by the knowledge that he was invincible, unassailable. But her arrival had taken that from him. The Crown had left him vulnerable, and in her hour of need he was forced to admit that he was too weak to protect her.

  “The creatures hunting me want the Crown, but they are not the only enemies we must guard against,” Cassandra reminded him, hoping to restore and renew his sense of purpose. “There are others who seek the Talismans. I’ve seen them in my visions.

  “The flying huntress is still out there; she may still return. Or others may come in her place. Remain vigilant, and may the True Gods watch over you.”

  The Guardian bowed his head, and she couldn’t tell if he took comfort in her words or not.

  “The True Gods are dead,” he said sadly. “But I will honor the vow I made to them. I will not surrender the Sword while I still live.”

  Cassandra hesitated for one last, lingering moment in the magical warmth of the cave before stepping out into the blizzard. Despite her preparations, her lungs flared with pain at the shock of the frigid air. Cold, hard pellets of ice stung her face, and the fierce wind threatened to rip her from the narrow ledge and send her toppling into the abyss below.

  Pressing herself against the slick wall of frozen stone, she began to shuffle slowly along the treacherous path, a fugitive on the run once again. The pack with the Crown, still slung over her shoulder, swung wildly in the wind, striking her hard on the back over and over as if constantly trying to remind her of its presence.

  Chapter 11

  “TREASON IS A serious charge,” Rianna said, speaking slowly and giving emphasis to each word. “I will not tolerate unfounded accusations.”

  “Andar intentionally tried to disrupt the summoning ritual,” Orath insisted. “He willfully disobeyed my instructions and put us all in danger.”

  Though his voice was calm, in the empty council chamber his words seemed to echo off the walls.

  “How do you know his actions were intentional?” the Danaan Queen asked. “You warned us the spell was dangerous, and the ritua
l used a type of magic my people are unfamiliar with. Perhaps Andar was merely overwhelmed by it.”

  Orath knew the High Sorcerer’s actions were no accident. It wasn’t just that he’d pulled away from the spell to save himself from being consumed by Chaos; that could be dismissed as an instinctive reaction. But when Andar realized what was happening, he’d somehow led the rest of the Danaan mages with him in his retreat.

  He couldn’t admit this to the Queen, of course. She would be outraged if she realized the Minions had intended to sacrifice Andar and his brethren all along, and Orath needed her now more than ever.

  Technically, the ritual had succeeded. Consuming Gort and Draco had given the spell enough power to bind the ogre though it had drained much of Orath’s own strength as well. Even though the beast had groveled at his feet, he had felt a bitter resentment in its submission.

  The ogre sensed its new master’s vulnerability. The beast’s allegiance was just barely held in check by invisible chains of Chaos fire. Each time Orath gave an order or command, it would test the chains, probing and prodding for weakness. If Orath’s will wavered, the ogre would break free and turn on him.

  He could still use the ogre as a tool, but the creature’s resistance would limit its effectiveness. If he wanted to recover the Ring, he’d need the Danaan armies as well.

  “I made the risks clear before the ritual began,” the Minion explained, hoping he could still convince Rianna that Andar had betrayed her. “I warned your people of the consequences if they did not follow my instructions exactly. Had Andar done so, none of this would have happened.”

  For a moment he considered trying to use Chaos to make the Queen more susceptible to his arguments, but ultimately he decided against it. The more he used magic to try to influence or persuade her directly, the more likely she was to recognize what he was doing. If that happened, she would turn against him and his only recourse would be to crush her will and turn her into a mindless puppet. The cost and effort would be too great; he needed to conserve his strength so he could keep control over the ogre.