The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “Stop it, both of you!” Jerrod snapped. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”

  Something in his voice killed the snide reply in Scythe’s throat. Keegan was similarly silent.

  “Backlash,” the monk whispered. “From the curse. It’s turning the three of you against each other.”

  His words hit Scythe like a punch to the stomach, and the truth became painfully obvious. Suddenly, her suspicions about Vaaler and Shalana seemed ridiculous.

  “You’re right,” she muttered, remembering how angry she’d gotten at Vaaler the last time they spoke. “Vaaler and I had the stupidest argument. I was almost ready to fight him.”

  “Me, too,” Keegan admitted sheepishly. “The last couple times I spoke with him he ended up storming away.”

  “I thought Vaaler prepared the ritual so this wouldn’t happen,” Scythe said.

  As the words were leaving her mouth, she felt anger and blame toward the Danaan bubbling up inside her. This is his fault! But now that she knew her emotions were being manipulated by some kind of magical aftereffect, she was able to ignore them and they faded almost instantly.

  “Backlash is unpredictable,” Keegan said. “A wizard can try to minimize or contain it, but sometimes Chaos still breaks free to wreak havoc on the mortal world.”

  “We need to warn Vaaler,” Jerrod said. “It could be the backlash that is driving him toward Shalana.”

  Guess my fears about him getting too close to her weren’t so stupid after all, Scythe thought, though she bit her lip to keep from spitting the words out. That’s the backlash talking. Trying to start another fight.

  “Let me do it,” Keegan offered. “I said things to him I had no right to say. I need to apologize.”

  “Just be careful you don’t make things worse,” Scythe warned, and she saw Keegan momentarily bristle. Then, just as she had, he seemed to realize the source of his anger and it vanished as quickly as it had come.

  “I’ll speak to him tonight,” Keegan promised.

  “This must happen now,” Jerrod insisted. “If the backlash is left unchecked, there is no telling what it could cause Vaaler to do.”

  Vaaler was enjoying being able to walk without dragging several hundred pounds of food and supplies on a sled behind him. However, he knew Shalana would probably volunteer to take another turn on the tow ropes before they stopped for nightfall; it was like she was trying to re-prove her worth to the rest of the clan by taking extra shifts.

  She’s taking this harder than she lets on.

  The other Stone Spirits were still basically shunning her, but Vaaler got the sense they were doing it more out of cultural habit than anything else. She had lost her position as chief; clan society demanded some kind of punishment. But from the way they spoke to her when they were forced to exchange words while setting up and taking down the camp, it was clear they still respected her.

  Does she realize that? Vaaler wondered, glancing over at the tall woman loping along beside him.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said aloud.

  “You’ve already asked me lots of things, Spy,” she reminded him.

  It wasn’t a no, so Vaaler plunged ahead.

  “Are you bitter over losing the duel?”

  Shalana didn’t answer right away but tilted her head up and seemed to stare at the sky for several seconds.

  “I guess you wouldn’t be much of a spy if you didn’t ask me that,” she finally said with a heavy sigh.

  “I’m not plotting some kind of revenge against Norr or your friends,” she assured him. “I’m not like my father.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vaaler said. “Are you angry over what happened? Do you feel cheated because of what happened in the duel?”

  Shalana turned her head and gave him a curious look.

  “Cheated?”

  “Your staff broke,” Vaaler hastily explained. “If it weren’t for that, it seemed like you were going to win.”

  “Norr bested me fairly,” she answered, turning away. “He earned the right to become chief.”

  Vaaler already felt he knew her well enough to tell she wasn’t being completely honest with him. Her answer was a stock reply—the kind of thing she had to say to keep others from seeing her as a sore and spiteful loser.

  She doesn’t want to talk about this. Just like you don’t want to talk about getting exiled.

  But Vaaler had chosen his own path. Shalana’s fall wasn’t her fault. Not really.

  We stole what was rightfully hers. She deserves to know that, no matter what the consequences might be.

  However, before he could think of a good way to tell her about the curse they had afflicted her with, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him from farther back in the caravan of sleds.

  “Vaaler!” Keegan shouted as he ran toward them. “Vaaler, we have to talk!”

  What more is there to say to each other?

  He held his tongue until the young wizard came up alongside them, panting slightly from rushing to catch up.

  “There’s something you have to know,” Keegan said. “It’s important.”

  “So tell me,” Vaaler insisted.

  Keegan glanced over at Shalana, then said, “It’s private.”

  That’s not suspicious at all, Vaaler thought, annoyed at his friend. If Shalana didn’t actually think I was spying on her before, she probably will now.

  “Talk with your friend,” Shalana said, trying to pass off Keegan’s rudeness with an indifferent shrug.

  She picked up her pace until she was well ahead of them and everyone else in the caravan. But even that wasn’t good enough for Keegan, as he reached out and grabbed Vaaler’s arm, slowing him down and directing him off to the side, away from where anyone could possibly overhear.

  “Let go of me,” Vaaler warned, his voice calm but cold.

  Keegan snapped his hand back like he’d been bit.

  “I’m sorry. Please, just listen for a moment. That’s all I ask.”

  Vaaler narrowed his eyes and nodded, wary of some trick or con.

  “The arguments we’ve been having … I know what’s causing them.”

  Me, too. Your being a selfish, arrogant jerk.

  “Backlash. From the curse.”

  Vaaler’s head actually snapped back in surprise.

  “No,” he said. “That’s impossible. I made sure the ritual wouldn’t allow it.”

  “It’s true,” Keegan insisted. “Think about: the curse was only possible because Scythe, you, and I all worked together. Now the backlash of that spell is tearing the three of us apart.”

  He’s right. That’s how Chaos works.

  “It wasn’t just me you’ve been fighting with, right?” Keegan pressed. “It’s Scythe, too. Every time any of us tries to talk to each other, we end up having a huge fight over the stupidest little things.”

  Vaaler still didn’t say anything as the full implications of what Keegan was telling him slowly sank in. He hadn’t even been sure Keegan would be able to summon enough Chaos to make the curse work. Was it really possible he’d unleashed so much power that it had been manipulating their thoughts and emotions for days?

  I was on the verge of telling Shalana about the curse!

  Looking at it now, he was able to see how bad an idea that would be. But only a few minutes ago, it had seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do.

  “Vaaler,” Keegan said, reaching out slowly to place a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I know,” Vaaler finally answered. “I just … it’s a little hard to wrap my head around.”

  “I guess you were right after all,” Keegan said, releasing his grip on Vaaler’s shoulder and dropping his hand.

  “How so?” Vaaler’s head was still spinning, making it difficult for him to follow Keegan’s train of thought.

  “You wanted me to worry less about Scythe and more about my ability to summon Chaos.”

  Vaaler vag
uely remembered saying something like that, but at this point how could he be sure the idea was really his? What if it was something he only thought because of the backlash?

  “So now that we know about this, what do we do?” he asked.

  “I thought you’d know,” Keegan told him. “I mean, you’re the expert.”

  Vaaler shook his head. “This is beyond anything Rexol ever taught me. This might even be beyond anything he ever experienced.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That ritual wasn’t that complicated. The safeguards were simple, but strong. There shouldn’t have been any backlash from the curse.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  A good question, Vaaler thought. He ran through the ritual one more time, checking and double-checking the safeguards. And in the end, there was only one explanation that made sense.

  “It’s you,” he said to his friend. “Your power is growing. Maybe because of the witchroot overdose Scythe gave you in Torian. Maybe something happened to you when you used the Ring.

  “Whatever the explanation, the runes and wards Rexol taught us aren’t enough to contain your spells anymore. Even something small like a curse.”

  “The stronger the spell, the stronger the backlash,” Keegan muttered after taking a moment to digest the idea.

  Vaaler nodded.

  “If you truly are destined to be our savior,” Vaaler noted, “this could actually be a good thing. You need to be more powerful than Rexol ever was. As powerful as the legendary wizards who used Old Magic.”

  “But if that’s true,” the young mage asked, “then how do I stop something terrible from happening every time I summon Chaos? How do we control the backlash?”

  “I don’t know,” Vaaler admitted. “But it’s something you’re going to have to figure out.

  “Until then,” he added, “think very carefully before you decide to use your power.”

  Chapter 24

  AS THE KEEP’S drawbridge lowered a powerful oily stench wafted out to assail Yasmin’s nostrils. She knew the smell of burning flesh well: tonight the Purge had truly begun.

  A small company of Lord Carthin’s soldiers marched out to meet her and the eight armed Inquisitors who traveled at her side; an honor guard to escort her into the central courtyard. There, three large bonfires were still burning, sending flames high into the night sky. Yasmin didn’t need her Sight to pierce the veil of smoke and darkness to know the figures lashed to the stakes at the center of each blaze had already perished; the lack of screams told her that.

  Lord Carthin stood imperiously off to the side, witnessing the proceedings in his official capacity as Justice of the Order. Normally the role of judging the unworthy would be reserved for Yasmin’s Inquisitors, but their ranks had dwindled, forcing her to invoke a long-forgotten custom of granting divine authority to carefully chosen secular followers. The new title further strengthened Carthin’s loyalty, and he seemed to enjoy the work.

  We need his wealth, political influence, and soldiers. Keeping him happy is essential to our cause.

  The announcement of another Purge had been met with mixed reaction. In some places, like Carthin’s righteous capital of Brindomere and the recently born-again Free City of Torian, the citizens eagerly set out to find and destroy those who practiced the foul arts of magic. But not everyone in the Southlands was as virtuous, and there were reports of minor nobles and various villages and towns who defied the Pontiff’s will. Callastan had not only refused to uphold and enforce Yasmin’s edict but had taken the drastic step of banishing all members of the Order from their city.

  Callastan would be dealt with in due time, but first Yasmin was determined to snuff out those pockets of rebellion closer to home. Lord Fellmar had been a minor baron of little consequence: idealistic, educated, and impassioned about the plight of those less fortunate in the harmless manner of so many other bored young nobles. For several generations his family had ruled over a small estate a day’s ride west of Brindomere’s borders, and with his father’s passing the previous year he had assumed the family title.

  Though not an ardent supporter of the Order, he had never spoken publicly against them. But when Lord Carthin’s spies informed the Pontiff that Fellmar’s keep was secretly harboring a pair of fugitive wizards instead of turning them over to the Order as decreed, Yasmin decided to make an example of him.

  She’d commanded Lord Carthin to lay siege to Fellmar’s keep; his first act as a newly appointed Justice of the Order. In the end, though, no siege was necessary. On learning a force five times their numbers was en route, Fellmar’s own guards had placed him under arrest, seized the rogue mages, and opened the drawbridge wide for the advancing army.

  Beside Lord Carthin stood an old, grizzled soldier wearing the colors of Lord Fellmar; Yasmin assumed he was the guard who’d led the revolt against his former Master. Like Carthin, he was watching the bonfires, his face an unreadable mask of stone.

  As Yasmin approached, both men turned toward her. The old soldier took a half step back on seeing her blind eyes and the burned, scarred flesh of her bare scalp. Lord Carthin, in contrast, dropped to one knee and graced her with a florid bow.

  “I did not expect you so soon, Pontiff,” he said as he rose to his feet.

  “Yet not soon enough to oversee the trial and execution of the heretics,” Yasmin noted.

  “I did not realize that was your intent,” Carthin replied. “Forgive me if I overstepped my authority.”

  Yasmin waved off his apology. Technically, he had done nothing wrong. As the former Prime Inquisitor, she would have preferred to witness his first acts as a Justice to ensure he brought an appropriate measure of decorum and gravitas to the position. However his overzealousness could be considered more of a strength than a flaw, and she had no wish to chastise him for it.

  “The reports said there were only two wizards hiding here,” she noted, “yet there are three bonfires.”

  “Lord Fellmar was put to the flame for blasphemy,” Carthin explained. “Even in chains, he spat out vile insults and called upon his followers to reject your authority.”

  “Regrettable,” was all Yasmin said, though she realized she would have to speak with him privately about the value of discretion later.

  Executing those of noble blood is a dangerous game.

  It was important for the nobility to fear the consequences of the Purge; not even a king was above divine will. But nobles also expected the Order to protect them and even offer mercy if they surrendered. If those in power feared too much for their lives, many would resist to the bitter end, stretching the limited resources at Yasmin’s disposal.

  “Lord Fellmar was an only child, and he had yet to produce an heir,” Lord Carthin mentioned, speaking as lightly as if discussing the weather.

  “Then by right his land and holdings shall pass on to you, Lord Carthin,” Yasmin replied, adopting a similarly casual tone.

  She had no doubt Carthin was already well aware of the ancient laws of which she spoke. Had Lord Fellmar still been alive when Yasmin arrived, he might have recanted and offered a portion of his wealth to the Order as atonement for his wicked ways. With his death, however, Carthin was free to lay claim to everything.

  Sometimes we must suffer such small evils for the greater good.

  “There are some who might think you acted too harshly,” Yasmin cautioned. “But we can quell such criticisms by entering his blasphemy into the official records.”

  She expected Carthin to hesitate, but if he had any reservations about his actions, they didn’t manifest themselves.

  “He said the Purge exposed the Order as blind fools. He accused the Seers of being false prophets leading us to our doom. He said if they could truly see the future, they would have warned us about the Danaan army instead of turning us against each other.”

  “The Danaan army?” Yasmin asked aloud, remembering Xadier’s vision of battle and bloodshed sweeping the land.

  “It’s t
rue, my lady,” the old soldier chimed in. “A messenger arrived from Lady Fellmar’s cousins last night. They have holdings near the barbarian lands, but they’ve fled their estate. They claim a massive Danaan force emerged from the North Forest last week. They’re laying waste to all the tribes that cross their path.”

  Yasmin didn’t say anything at first, weighing this new information. She could think of no good reason for such a message to be sent as a deception or jest. But if it was true—if the Danaan had formed an army—why hadn’t she heard about it earlier?

  The unrest of the Purge had caused some lines of communication to break down, particularly on the far fringes of the Southlands. It could take a week or more for news from the borders to reach the heart of the Southlands, particularly if the scouts who’d spotted the Danaan army were ordered to silence. Lady Fellmar’s family wouldn’t want to cause a panic while the nobles and their households made their clandestine flight to safer lands.

  The Order had its own spies and agents in the Free Cities who always kept one eye out for a potential Danaan invasion, but their limited knowledge of the Dweller kingdom ended at the southern edge of the impassable forests. If the Danaan hadn’t marched south—if they’d massed their legions deep inside their borders and entered the wastelands of ice and snow far to the north of the Free Cities—it wasn’t likely any of her people would know.

  Was this what Xadier’s vision showed? Was it a warning of a Danaan invasion?

  But if the reports were accurate, the Danaan weren’t invading the Southlands—they were going to war against the Eastern savages. Why, Yasmin had no idea.

  And then, in a flash of divine inspiration, she realized it didn’t even matter. Xadier’s vision had led them down the proper path after all.

  “The Dwellers and barbarians will slaughter each other,” she said, knowing Lord Carthin and the old soldier were both waiting for some reply. “While they spill each other’s unholy blood, the Purge will cleanse the Southlands of those who do not follow and accept the true faith.

  “And once the Purge is over, the righteous will be joined in a great army that will wipe away the tattered remnants of the savages and the Tree Folk in a single glorious battle!