by James Wyatt
“All right, Vor,” Sevren said. “You lead us through the maze, and I’ll steer us away from recent tracks and try to keep us out of a Khuruk ambush.”
“One other thing,” Vor said. “The Labyrinth is treacherous, and it changes often. I know the passages, but I don’t know the location of every chasm plunging into Khyber, every river of lava, every gout of flame that might spew up from this accursed land. We need to watch for rockfalls, and if there’s any sign of rain, for flash floods. The ground might open beneath our feet.”
“Is there anything else?” Zandar said.
Vor’s gaze was hard as steel. “And there are fiends in here that will as soon feast on your soul as devour your flesh.”
“They’ll find my soul scrawny and full of gristle,” the warlock said with a grin.
“That won’t matter.”
For all Vor’s dire warnings, he led them safely through the final hours of the day. Kauth quickly lost any sense of direction, and he was certain he couldn’t retrace his path. There was only one moment of abject terror, when the left side of the canyon crumbled away beneath his feet. Sevren scrambled to catch him before he slid down the rubble into a black chasm, and pulled him up to solid ground.
“Be more careful,” Sevren said, still clasping Kauth’s hand. “You were supposed to warn me.”
“Then I’ll be more careful for you.”
Night fell quickly in the narrow gorge. Sevren and Vor searched for a safe place for their tents, and finally settled on a place where the canyon widened slightly. By pitching their tents in the middle, they figured, they could avoid the risk of rockfalls in the night, and they’d have some warning if anything came up the canyon in either direction or crept down the sides to attack them.
Sevren took the first watch, longer than his fair share. The night was nearly half gone when he woke Kauth.
“See anything?” Kauth asked. He pretended to rub his eyes while checking his face to make sure nothing had changed in his fitful sleep.
“Nothing,” the shifter said. “Somehow that only makes me more nervous.”
“I know what you mean.” The quiet of the night felt like the calm before a storm. “Sleep well.”
“Not likely.” Sevren crawled into his tent and Kauth was alone.
A field of stars and two moons shone in a sliver of sky framed by the darkness of the canyon walls. The silence was oppressive—except for Zandar’s quiet snoring, nothing made a sound. No animals scurried over the canyon walls, no owls called to each other, no frogs or crickets chirped into the darkness. He saw no bats flitting across the stars. The land could not have been more different than the teeming forests of the Eldeen Reaches.
He had to pace to keep himself awake, listening to the soft crunch of gravelly soil beneath his feet. When he heard a quiet tumble of rocks, he first looked down, thinking he’d opened another crack in the earth. Then he realized the sound had come from above him, to his right.
Looking up, he saw a shadow just disappearing behind the lip of the cliff. It looked like a head, probably belonging to a person rather than a predator, which might have pounced rather than taking cover. He scurried to the flap of his tent and whispered Vor’s name.
The orc sat up, his new sword already in his hand. “What is it?” he asked, clambering out of the tent.
Kauth pointed to the place where he’d seen the shadow, where a trickle of pebbles still tumbled down the canyon wall. “Somebody’s up there,” he said.
“Wake the others.” Vor strode to the base of the cliff and looked up. While Kauth rattled the peak of the other tent, the orc growled in his native tongue. “Ghazak kurdun!” The phrase defied translation, but it could be a greeting or a challenge.
The rustle of Zandar crawling out of the tent was the only answer. Sevren emerged in silence.
Weapons in hand, they waited, trying not to move or even breathe too loudly. Kauth strained his ears for any sound, any hint of an ambush. Nothing.
Vor was the first to lower his sword, shaking his head. Kauth relaxed, and Zandar let out a long breath.
“What was that all about?” the warlock asked.
“I’m sorry,” Kauth said. “False alarm.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Vor was still looking up the canyon wall. “Someone was up there.”
“Someone?” Zandar said. “Or something?”
“Ghaash’kala. I’d bet my life. Probably a scout. Probably Maruk.”
Zandar looked puzzled. “Maruk? How do you know?”
“They haven’t attacked yet.”
“Yet,” Kauth said. “When, then? Will they wait until morning?”
“Probably not.” Vor hefted his breastplate from its resting place in front of his tent and slid it over his head. “Best to get ready,” he said, working on the buckles. Kauth and Sevren moved to get the heavier pieces of their armor they removed for sleeping.
Zandar smirked. “I’m ready. What’s taking you so long?”
Vor threw a heavy gauntlet at the warlock.
Once they were ready for battle, Sevren decided they might as well pack up the tents and be ready for travel as well. Kauth was tying the last strap around his bedroll when the challenge came.
“Travelers in the Labyrinth!” a low voice resounded in the canyon.
Three shadows loomed in the night ahead of them, tall and broad like Vor. Starlight gleamed on chain links and polished blades, but their faces were in darkness. Feet crunched on the gravel behind them, and Kauth glanced over his shoulder to see two more dark shapes blocking the way back. Four orcs total, he figured, and one human, probably a convert from the Carrion Tribes.
“You stand on cursed ground.” The speaker was one of the orc trio, standing a little in front of the others. His voice carried a thick accent, but his Common was impeccable, like a well-rehearsed ritual. “You may proceed no farther into this place of evil, and you may not leave to spread its taint. I offer you a choice: Commit your lives to the service of Kalok Shash and the holy calling of the Ghaash’kala, or die where you stand.”
Right to the word, Kauth thought—Vor knew the speech. Did he once lead a band like this one? Was the orc who stood before them now a paladin?
Vor stepped forward. “Durrnak,” he said.
The orc leader’s face clouded, and he answered in the orc tongue. “Voraash? You dare return? And now you lead outsiders to damnation—you compound your sin. You escaped punishment once, Voraash. You will not escape again.”
“You were a friend to me once.”
“May Kalok Shash forgive me.”
“Durrnak—”
“Silence!” The orc leader’s voice was harsh with anger. “You let a demon escape the Labyrinth into the world beyond! There is nothing to discuss.”
“A pregnant woman, Durrnak!”
“Carrying the taint in her womb! In her blood! You knew our holy command, and you spurned it. Your sentence is passed, Voraash. You will die here today.”
So that’s it, Kauth thought—a pregnant woman. He broke the laws of his people, was stripped of his family name and his paladin’s honor and sentenced to death in the Labyrinth, because he spared the life of a woman and her unborn child.
Vor’s sword—the sword they’d found in the serpent’s lair, enshrined among the words of the Prophecy—sang as he slid it from its sheath.
The other orc turned away from him to address the others in his accented Common. “Voraash is doomed,” he said, “but your choice remains. You can join us, or you can die here.”
“You won’t kill Vor while we live,” Sevren said.
“Then you will die with him. I am sorry. Kalok Shash grant you a swift death.”
What a strange prayer for victory, Kauth thought.
Durrnak hefted his shield, raised his sword, and charged. With a chorus of roars, the others joined the charge, closing in from both sides.
“I think this means the talking’s over,” Zandar said. A blast of black fire erupted from his hand and eng
ulfed the orc leader, searing his flesh. “And now the party starts.”
Durrnak howled in rage but didn’t slow his charge. He caught Vor’s swing on his shield and drove his own sword at Vor’s shoulder, but a quick dodge sent the sword’s point sliding off a shoulder plate.
“So this is the company you keep in your exile,” Durrnak snarled at Vor, jerking his head in Zandar’s direction. Motes of fire still danced across his face and armor. “To what fiend has he sworn his pact?”
Kauth couldn’t hear Vor’s response, if he gave one. One of the other orcs came barreling into him, swinging his axe with clumsy ferocity. Kauth stumbled back before the sheer force of the charge, then found his feet and stepped to the side, wheeling his mace around to smash the orc’s shoulder. They both tottered, off-balance, for a moment in a strange sort of dance, then the orc crashed to the ground. Kauth stepped forward, lifting his weapon, but hesitated too long—the orc rolled away and scrambled to his feet.
“Kauth!” Sevren called. “This isn’t a tournament!”
Kill him, Kauth told himself. What’s wrong with you?
“Kill him!” Kelas yelled. “Cut his ugly throat.”
Haunderk gripped the too-large sword in a shaking hand. He knew the forms, he’d knocked Ledon’s sword away and beaten him to the ground. But he’d never dealt a final blow, never killed before.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kelas’s big hand curled around his, strengthened his grip on the hilt, and drove the blade down. Haunderk watched in terrified fascination as the point dimpled the skin, as blood welled up and the man’s eyes widened. He felt the blade pause at the cartilage in the throat, then pierce that too and press on to the bone.
I am Kauth Dennar, he reminded himself. An ugly man made for ugly work. No fear, no mercy.
He remembered the care he’d put into his eyes—hard as steel, pitiless eyes. He hadn’t seen a mirror, but he had a feeling those eyes had changed.
The orc circled him warily, then lunged in again and landed a solid blow on Kauth’s shoulder. Reflexively, Kauth brought his weapon up to smash the orc’s face and hurl him back.
Pitiless eyes.
The orc faced the final blow without any sign of fear, and Kauth delivered it swiftly. Then a flash of light drew his eye to Durrnak, who was still locked in battle with Vor. The orc leader’s sword glowed with silver-white fire, and it flared to brilliance as it struck another blow on Vor’s upper arm. Vor staggered backward.
Sevren and Zandar were locked in their own battles, Zandar forced to fight with a strange crystal dagger that gleamed purple in the darkness. Kauth drew a steadying breath and circled around Durrnak. Before the orc leader was aware of his presence, Kauth’s mace crashed into his skull.
Durrnak fell to his knees. He shook his head then looked up at Vor.
“I gave my life to Kalok Shash and the Ghaash’kala,” Durrnak said. “You rob them, not me.”
Vor stepped closer. “Forgive me, old friend.”
“No.”
With a mighty swing of Vor’s sword, Durrnak’s head rolled from his shoulders.
“What happened to Dania?” Auftane asked. He could see her, a crumpled heap on the floor.
Janik walked to her body and fell on his knees beside her. He rolled her onto her back. The front of her armor was covered with drying blood. Janik lifted the helmet from her head and smoothed her red hair back from her face.
In a daze, Auftane shuffled to stand behind Janik, blinking his burning eyes. His gaze fell on Dania’s sword, and he bent to lift it from the ground. He saw the magic in it, but what he felt was something entirely different—holy power pulsing through it. He handed it to Janik.
Janik was explaining Dania’s sacrifice, how she had taken the evil that possessed Maija into herself, imprisoned it with the magic of the silver torc she wore, then implored Janik to kill her and so destroy the possessing spirit. Auftane couldn’t wrench his eyes from the torc. It filled him with loathing.
Vor was staring at him, looking puzzled. Kauth remembered his eyes, pitiless eyes, and shot Vor a cruel grin. As if killing Durrnak were a victory.
Damn fool martyrs, he tried to tell himself. They deserve what they get.
CHAPTER
17
No point in trying to sleep any longer,” Sevren said. “Kauth, can you go on? You didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’m ready if you are.”
“I’m fine. I thought you looked a little drowsy while we were fighting those orcs.”
Those orcs, Kauth thought. As easy as saying “those bugs” or “that gray render.” As though they were just monsters or vermin.
“I said I’m ready,” Kauth snapped.
Kauth is growing soft, he thought. I need a new face.
Vor led them on as the sky slowly brightened to its unearthly red, and farther on as it grew dark again. The going was hard. The ground in places was littered with rubble they had to scramble over, and in other places it broken by crevices—small ones that would swallow a foot and break an ankle, and large ones that forced them to climb up and around on the canyon walls.
Kauth was glad for the hard terrain. It meant that there was no chance for idle conversation. And it let him try to convince himself that he too was hard—hard as the canyon walls.
But even the canyon walls weren’t indestructible—something had cut through the earth to carve the canyon walls. Kauth had first thought of it as concentrated evil corroding the ground like acid, but for just a moment he imagined the holiness of Kalok Shash burning through the corrupted earth like a purifying fire, forming this barrier between the evil of the Demon Wastes and the rest of Khorvaire.
When they made camp that night, Sevren and Zandar laughed and joked. Their victory against that small party of Ghaash’kala had bolstered their confidence, and their healthy fear of the Demon Wastes had evaporated. Vor sat in silence. That was not too far off from his usual behavior, but Kauth suspected that his final exchange with Durrnak—which the others had not heard—was weighing on his mind.
Kauth lay back on the hard ground beside Vor, trying to lose himself in the churning clouds that still glowed dimly red. The gravel dug into his back—such a strange feeling, heightening his awareness of the body that was not his own. He focused on that feeling, mentally tracing the shape of his body and the lines of his face. Trying to keep his mind from replaying their battle against the Ghaash’kala.
Sevren and Zandar were celebrating, but to Kauth the battle had been a disaster. His hesitation to kill the first orc—which Sevren kindly attributed to drowsiness—galled him. It was one thing to grow attached to his traveling companions and to regret the mission that forced him to lead them into certain death. That was bad enough. But hesitating in battle against an enemy … It went against a lifetime of training and, worse, could well end up as a fatal mistake.
And then Durrnak’s death. Kauth hadn’t hesitated in striking Durrnak to protect Vor, but still it troubled his conscience.
Conscience? he wondered. When did I develop one of those?
Auftane gazed at the silver torc, the shape of a serpent coiled around Dania’s neck. It was the reason he was there, the purpose of his mission. He had lied his way into Janik’s confidence, sailed to Xen’drik and trekked into its depths, fought monsters and demons, and somehow grown to care about his companions—all so he could stand over Dania’s lifeless body, trying to figure out how to remove that torc.
Maija stirred, Janik rushed to her side, and Auftane found his chance. He yanked the torc from Dania’s neck and broke the thin crystal rod that would teleport him back to Fairhaven.
Sitting up, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a shard of masonry. It had caught his eye when he stood in the ruin of Gaven’s cell in Dreadhold—a piece of Gaven’s wall, where he had written all his ravings about the Prophecy and his dreams. He rubbed his thumb over its rough surface and turned it over in his hand, not quite prepared to look at it.
Instead,
he turned his head to look at Vor. The orc was lost in his own reverie, his eyes fixed on the ground.
“Why did you let her go, Vor?” he asked. “The pregnant woman?”
Vor didn’t move or speak.
“Vor?”
“I heard you.” He didn’t turn his head. “I didn’t know you understood the language of the Ghaash’kala.”
Kauth felt his cheeks flush. He had overheard a conversation meant to be private—Vor revealing his deepest and most painful secrets.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “perhaps I should—”
Vor cut him off. “Never mind. It’s not an easy question to answer.”
“I’m just trying to understand …” Understand what? What it meant to have principles?
“She begged me,” Vor said. “She begged you? That’s it?”
“I offered her the choice, the same one Durrnak offered us today. If she had stayed with us, we might have been able to deal with her child when it came, either purify it or destroy it before it grew too powerful. But she refused. She said that she had friends who could exorcise the evil from the child before it was born and let her give birth to a normal child free of evil’s taint.”
“And you believed her.”
Vor hesitated, tracing some pattern in the gravel. “I’m not sure I did, actually. But I wanted to.”
“You wanted to?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to live here, Kauth. Wandering the Labyrinth you can go days without seeing another living thing. Anything you do see you usually have to kill. It’s a war of relentless extermination. To believe that she could bear a normal, healthy child—it was like believing that something could grow and flower in the Demon Wastes.” Vor slowly shook his head. “A damn fool dream.”
“As though life could somehow grow out of death,” Kauth said. He looked down at last at the masonry in his hand. … recapitulates the serpents’ sacrifice, binding the servant anew so the master shall not break free.