The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Instead of feeling the cold steel wedging itself between his ribs, however, Vaaler heard a heavy thud and the fatal blow went askew, knocked off line by the feathered spear protruding from the man’s sternum.

  As the Danaan toppled lifeless to the ground, Shalana yanked Vaaler back to his feet. Without saying a word, she wrapped her hands around the shaft of her spear, braced her foot on the corpse, and hauled her weapon free.

  Vaaler looked around frantically, expecting to be assailed on all sides by more of the enemy. But he and Shalana were standing alone in a small pocket of calm.

  Eye of the storm, he thought, as the battle continued to rage unchecked all around them. And then he heard a vile, sickening sound rising up over the din of battle: a wet, ravenous, rumbling growl.

  “Run!” Shalana screamed, her eyes going wide with fear.

  But it was too late. The monster had spotted them, fixing its baleful gaze on the pair that stood momentarily untouched by the fray. The ogre had joined the battle, and it was coming for them. The walls that imprisoned her couldn’t block Cassandra’s Sight from sensing dawn as it rose over Callastan. She’d hoped someone would come to see her at first light, someone she could reason with. Someone she could convince to let her out of her cell before the Crawling Twins came.

  But morning stretched to afternoon, and she realized she would have to find another way out of the cell.

  “I need to speak to someone!” she shouted, once again pounding her fist on the door. “Please—lives are at stake!”

  She knew the guards were out there; she could see them in a room at the end of the hall, three men seated around a table playing cards while pointedly ignoring the cries of their prisoner.

  It’s too late, Rexol told her. The Crawling Twins have come.

  She sensed them in the same instant, their misshapen forms scuttling through an alley less than a block away.

  “Please!” she screamed. “Please! I’m begging you!”

  With a muttered curse one of the men threw his cards onto the table and got to his feet. He grabbed a key from a rack on the wall and began to walk down the hall toward her cell. Whether he intended to listen to her or simply unlock her cell to administer a beating she never found out.

  The door to the street exploded as he walked past, the heavy wood blasted from its hinges with enough force to pin the unfortunate guard against the opposite wall, crushing the life from him.

  The Crawling Twins spilled in, the blue-skinned one turning left and rushing toward the guards, the red turning right and coming for Cassandra. Memories of the Inquisitors’ bloody slaughter filled her head; images of blood and gore that made her want to throw up caused her to start trembling in terror.

  The Crown! Rexol shouted in her head. Use the Crown!

  The red Twin paused outside her door, crouched low on all fours. Its limbs jutted out at strange angles as it rocked from side to side, then tilted back its snout to sniff the air. Behind it, the blue Twin had already eviscerated the guards, pausing just long enough to lap up a small pool of the freshly spilled blood before joining the other outside her door.

  The Crown! Do it now, or the Minions will take the Talisman for the Slayer!

  Cassandra stepped to the side as one of the Twins smashed open the door to her cell with a single kick. As the door hurtled across the room to splinter against the wall, she was already pulling the artifact she had faithfully carried since she’d fled the Monastery from its sack. As the first Twin stepped through the door, she placed the Crown atop her head.

  Cassandra’s mind reeled as the power of the ancient Talisman poured into her, freezing time and all existence. Fueled by Chaos, her Sight exploded into omniscience, her awareness instantly stretching out to every corner of the mortal world, taking in every sight, sound, and even smell. Her consciousness recoiled as the thoughts of every living man, woman, and child bombarded her simultaneously. She was everywhere; she was everything. And the tiny, insignificant part of her being that was Cassandra was lost in the glory of infinity.

  Chapter 38

  REXOL WAS READY and waiting as Cassandra’s essence and identity were overwhelmed by the Crown. The same had happened the first time he dared to use the Talisman; it had nearly destroyed him. But he was stronger now. Wiser.

  Being imprisoned inside the Crown had changed him in ways far greater than the loss of his physical form. He had become attuned to the Old Magic used to forge it in ways even the great mages who predated the Cataclysm could not fathom. He had prepared for this moment; he’d yearned for it. And when Cassandra faltered, Rexol seized control of not just her mind but also her body.

  It all happened instantly; at the speed of thought while the world outside crept along so, so slowly. In the entire time it took for Cassandra to lose her battle against oblivion and Rexol to seize control, the first of the Crawling Twins had only passed halfway through the door of her cell.

  The Chaos was building, gathering so fast inside Cassandra’s body that her flesh began to pulse and crack as the magical fire threatened to consume her mortal shell as it had consumed Rexol’s. But this time the wizard was prepared, and instead of trying to contain and control the unstemmable tide, he let it pass through him and unleashed it on the mortal world.

  Old Magic erupted like a geyser from Cassandra’s body, an explosion of pure Chaos that sent ripples across the sky to every corner of the mortal world.

  Dark purple clouds rolled in from the west, blotting out the cold winter sun that shone down on the empty, snow-covered plateau high among the mountain peaks. Bolts of silver lightning arced back and forth across the sky and deafening cracks of thunder echoed over the land. For several seconds the fury of the storm raged, and then it was gone, vanishing as suddenly and mysteriously as it had appeared.

  Entombed beneath the earth, the Guardian felt the power of Chaos as it swept through. His eyes snapped open as he shook off his hibernating slumber, invigorated by the touch of Old Magic.

  With a roar, he rose to his full height and thrust his fists toward the unseen sky, bursting through the avalanche of rock and ice that had buried him in the cave. A shower of debris rained down on the newly fallen snow as the surface of the ground exploded, leaving a gaping wound of a crater.

  Freed from his prison, the Guardian leapt from the hole and up onto the surface of the plateau. He scooped his spear up from the ground, his muscles quivering with the crackling energy of raw Chaos. And then he felt it—a foul, hateful presence he had not sensed since before the Cataclysm.

  The ogre has risen!

  Turning to the west, he set off at a run toward the battle that raged on the other side of the mountain, devouring the ground with each massive stride.

  Vaaler grabbed Shalana’s arm and turned to flee, but the ogre was already charging toward them. Despite its size, it moved with incredible speed, leaping forward on squat, powerful legs and clawing at the ground with its long arms to help propel it along.

  It closed the distance between them in seconds. In their frantic flight, Shalana stumbled over a fallen body and tumbled to the ground. Unwilling to let go of her arm, Vaaler was dragged down with her.

  The ogre landed beside them, the ground shaking and shuddering from its massive bulk. It raised its fist above its head, and Vaaler threw himself on top of Shalana as if he could somehow save her from being crushed.

  And then the sky above them exploded in a storm of purple clouds and silver lightning. The strange storm seemed to mesmerize the ogre, freezing it in place, arms raised above its head as it stared up at the sky.

  Vaaler and Shalana scrambled to their feet and began to run, not knowing or caring what was happening. The storm vanished a few seconds later, and Vaaler heard the ogre unleash another terrible, gurgling roar. Glancing back over his shoulder, however, he saw the beast wasn’t following them. Instead, it had turned on the Danaan soldiers that had rallied around it: massacring the men and women who, only moments before, had been its allies.

 
Standing in the back ranks of the Danaan army with the stilldominated Rianna at his side, Orath felt a sudden surge of power as the Chaos storm materialized above them. It invigorated him; restoring much of the power that had bled away since he’d crossed the Legacy.

  But he knew the ogre felt it, too. And while Orath was descended from countless generations of men and women mutated and transformed by the terrible power of unchecked Chaos beyond the Legacy, the ogre’s connection to magic was far greater. The beast was Chaos Spawn, born from the most primal fires of creation. It fed on the storm’s fury, drinking deep and growing stronger—too strong for Orath to control.

  With a roar that echoed across the entire battlefield, the ogre wrested its mind free, shattering the invisible chains the Minion had used to bind its will. Orath staggered from the shock as his connection to the beast was severed, a sharp pain shooting like a knife through the back of his skull.

  Beside him, Rianna—still linked to him through magic—gasped and doubled over, clutching her head with her hands.

  Orath ignored the Queen’s suffering, his mind racing. The ogre was free, and though there was still a tenuous link between them, without another ritual he wasn’t strong enough to dominate its mind again.

  But the link is still there. The beast can sense you. It will seek revenge.

  Orath hated to abandon his hunt for the Ring, but the mortal who carried the Talisman had not joined the battle. And now he knew where to find another Talisman.

  The storm had come from the west, and though it had passed, there were still lingering traces of its power traced across the sky. Orath could follow them back to their source and resume his search for the Ring after he had claimed Daemron’s Crown.

  With a flick of his wrist he ripped away the magic binding the Queen to his will. She fell unconscious to the ground, her body limp as a marionette with its strings cut. Orath knew she might never wake, but her fate mattered little to him.

  He could feel the ogre’s brutal, bestial mind probing for him, seeking him out among the Danaan ranks, and he knew it was time to flee. Unlike Raven he did not have wings, but there were other ways to fly. The spell was difficult and taxing, and it required such intense concentration he could only sustain it for an hour or two at a time, but he was driven by the direness of his situation.

  Calling on his renewed reserves of Chaos, he began a quick, rhythmic chant. The air around him began to swirl rapidly, lifting him off the ground. When he reached a height of twenty feet, the pitch of his words changed. In response, the spinning winds shifted direction, whisking him away from the battlefield, the ogre, and the Ring.

  Andar was up at dawn, though in truth he hadn’t slept the entire night. When the horns sounded the initial charge, he found a small hill from which to watch the battle at a distance, trying to gauge the ebb and flow. The barbarians fought with savage desperation, inflicting heavy damage. But the Danaan had too great an advantage in numbers, and it quickly became clear the outcome was inevitable … though not before many, many more would die on either side.

  But though he mourned for those who would fall, most of his focus was not on the doomed soldiers but the ogre that towered over them. The beast had spent the early moments of the battle in a strange, almost trancelike state.

  It feels Orath growing weaker. It’s fighting him. Trying to break free.

  But despite its struggles, the Minion finally imposed his will and drove the beast into the fray, further shifting the battle in the Danaan favor.

  And what happens when the last barbarian falls, and we still have not found the Ring or the Destroyer of Worlds? Will Orath simply turn the ogre on us? Or will he find some other use for Rianna and her army?

  His thoughts were cut off by pealing thunder, the clear blue sky disappearing behind a sudden formation of violet clouds. Andar immediately recognized the power in the storm as silver lightning flashed above him: Old Magic—the same power he had called on in the forests around Ferlhame.

  A desperate, foolish plan formed in his head, and he opened himself to the Chaos. The storm lasted only a few seconds, but it was long enough for the former High Sorcerer to gather a concentrated reservoir of power.

  He ran down from his observation perch, racing recklessly through the tents of the Danaan camp. The power inside him bubbled and broiled, making his skin twitch and crawl as it tried to break free.

  This is madness, he thought. You are no match for Orath. He will destroy you!

  But if the Minion was distracted, focused on the ogre, there might be one chance for Andar to unleash the stored Chaos against him.

  When he reached Rianna’s tent, however, Orath was nowhere to be found. Instead, the Queen lay unconscious, partially supported by Greznor’s thick arms. Lormilar, the unofficial chief medic of the Danaan army, was examining her closely, a troubled look on his face. Hexiff and Pranya were there, too, standing anxiously off to the side.

  “What’s wrong?” Andar demanded, throwing himself to his knees at Rianna’s side. The Chaos pumping through his veins turned his concerned question into a frantic shout.

  “Orath has disappeared,” Greznor answered. “When he left, the Queen collapsed.”

  “We have to fall back!” Andar barked, the only one who understood the true implications of the general’s words.

  “The ogre!” he snapped, seeing the confusion on their faces. “It will turn against us!”

  A look of dawning horror spread to each member of the war council.

  “Leave the Queen with me!” Andar shouted, reaching and roughly hauling the unconscious woman from Greznor’s grasp. “Go sound the retreat!”

  Spurred on by his manic urgency, the others scattered in all directions. Taking a deep breath to try to calm himself despite the fiery Chaos coursing through his veins, he lay the Queen gently on the ground.

  He wasn’t sure exactly what Orath had done to the Queen, but he knew her mind was lost, drifting in the void. Clenching his teeth against the pain of the searing heat burning him up from the inside, Andar reached out and placed his hands on the Queen’s temples.

  Unlike the human mages, the Danaan didn’t use complex rituals and incantations. Their magic was primal, instinctual. Andar didn’t recite any arcane words or mystical chants, he simply focused his will and released the Chaos he had gathered through his hands.

  Rianna’s body bucked and heaved, thrashing about in a violent seizure. Somehow, Andar kept hold of her head as his palms began to smolder.

  Come back to us, my Queen!

  He poured everything he had into his spell, igniting a burning flame to guide his monarch safely back from the void. But in the brief storm, he’d only gathered a few seconds’ worth of power, and in only a few seconds his strength was spent.

  Exhausted and drained, he slumped forward, resting his weight on his hands and knees, panting heavily. In the distance he heard the horns calling the Danaan into a full retreat. As if in response, Rianna twitched and moaned. Then—to Andar’s great relief—the Queen opened her eyes.

  Chapter 39

  HUDDLED IN A small corner of her own mind, Cassandra slowly felt her strength returning as Rexol redirected the terrible, awe-inspiring power of the Talisman away from her and into himself.

  Her former Master had claimed her body as his own, using it as a gateway to return to the mortal world and steal the Crown. But he had also saved her life. Even if her will had been strong enough to withstand the crushing force of infinite knowledge and awareness, her body would have been destroyed.

  Now, however, she was the one trapped inside the Crown; an unsettling noncorporeal quasi-existence in the netherworld between Chaos and reality. Even for one used to the Sight, her perception was weirdly doubled and reflected. She had a broad, all-encompassing awareness of everything around her, as if looking at it from high above. Yet she also saw everything from the perspective of her mortal body, looking out from the center at the world that surrounded her. The effect was confusing and unsettling, her
mind twisting in on itself over and over as it tried to find some way to reconcile the impossible duality.

  How many weeks was Rexol imprisoned here? How did he keep from going mad?

  The answer, she realized as he unleashed a massive storm of pure Chaos up into the sky, was that he hadn’t.

  Her mind flickered and spun, the two views overlapping and blurring together into a radically distorted semblance of reality. She saw that the Crawling Twins were still there; coming toward them. She felt Rexol drawing on the Crown, carefully summoning Chaos now that he had cast off the first irresistible rush of power.

  She could feel the spell as it took shape in the mage’s mind, and she realized he had used similar—though far weaker—magic when he had compelled the Crawling Twins to attack the Inquisitors instead of her. There were no other enemies this time, so Rexol simply turned the Twins against each other.

  The twisted creatures fought briefly against him, but their minds were crushed by the Talisman, their free will snuffed out in an instant. They threw themselves at each other, ripping, tearing, and shredding. Equally matched in their suicidal fury, their battle didn’t last long.

  Even a Minion can die from its wounds, she realized, if enough damage is done.

  The blue one fell first, the killing blow coming as the other finally sunk its teeth in and ripped out its throat. But as the victor turned its attention to the human in the cell it was already struggling to stand. Dark blood poured from a dozen deep wounds in its bright red flesh to form a sticky black lake on the floor, including a hole in the stomach so deep Cassandra could see its twisted, twitching intestines. It took a single step forward, then keeled over, dead as its Twin.