Dawn of Chaos

by Tony Donadio

  “We both know what I have to do,” he said. “Run, Randi — and always remember that I love you.”

  Gerard’s wand flared to brilliant life in his left hand, and he drew her dagger with his right. Armed with the enchanted blade and the last magic of a dead wizard, he turned and braced himself for the demon’s charge.

  Perhaps it was part of the power of the ring she now wore, but time seemed to stop for her as she stared at the unfolding scene. Stefan knew that Gerard’s wand lacked the power to kill the demon. The most he would be able to do is slow it — and when the magic was spent, he would die. He was sacrificing himself to buy her time to escape.

  She started to run toward him, to stand with him. Then she stopped.

  The consequences of that choice unfolded in her mind with ruthless clarity. If she joined him, they would both die. They would die together, but they would die — and Gorath would take the ring. Her mission to bring it to the Archmage would fail, and their last and only chance to stop the demons would be lost. The city would fall. And with the hellgate to endlessly replenish their numbers, the world would inevitably follow it into slavery to the Dark.

  She remembered the tale of Calindra. Wielding the Shield of the Defender she had stood against the Horde, defeated its captain, and destroyed its hellgate. Now the Age of Legends was playing itself out again. Only this time, there were no gods to protect them, and the Archmage was their only Defender. Without the ring, he would fail.

  She loved Stefan with a passion beyond anything she had ever known. How could she go on without him? His bright smile, his quirky humor, his handsome roguishness, his bold audacity? Her heart ached to scream that no, she couldn’t — and to run to him, and die at his side.

  But if she did, then his sacrifice would be in vain. What he was doing was an offering of love, not only to her, but to the world itself. If she stayed, then she would be surrendering to the very evil that he had chosen with his last act to defy.

  And if she ran, then even if by some miracle she survived, she would never be free of the pain of abandoning him. Her heartbreak would be endless.

  Stefan’s fate was sealed. She could die with him, or she could honor his last stand by trying to complete her quest. Those were the only choices she had, and she had no time to choose.

  All of those thoughts flashed through her mind in a fraction of a second. When they were done, she knew what she had to do. Voice choking, soul shattering with grief, she called out to him for the last time.

  “I love you, Stefan!”

  Then she ran.

  She didn’t look back, couldn’t look back. The tunnel opening seemed to rush toward her, its light broken and scattered through the tears that flooded her eyes. Her breath came in gasping sobs, and her chest felt like it was being constricted by a metal band. And all of her hopes began to burn in a heart that felt as though it were being torn apart by fate.

  The deafening concussion of another lightning strike cracked through the passage. But the bolt never reached her, and she knew why. Stefan had blocked it with her brother’s wand. He had saved her.

  Behind, she heard Gorath’s roar of anger, and Stefan’s challenge.

  “For the Princess Bard!” he cried.

  And then she was out of the tunnel. The clouds that had been summoned to hide the arrival of the dragons had dissipated, and the light before her was bright despite its fading with the westering sun. She blinked to try to adjust her eyes to it, to clear away some of her tears.

  She was on the far side of the spur, now. The path from the tunnel merged onto a road that ran to her left and right. The view ahead was blocked by a line of trees and homes, but she knew that the bluff dropped away sharply just on the other side of them. She took the right-hand way and kept running.

  Behind her, she could hear Stefan’s confrontation with the demon — the monster’s roars, his cries of defiance, the concussions of magic. The opening of the tunnel seemed to amplify the sounds like a megaphone. She would hear every moment of his end as though she were right at his side. She braced herself as she ran, knowing what would soon come.

  When it did, she thought she would be prepared for it. She was wrong.

  Gorath’s roar rose in a note of triumph. Stefan’s voice met it in a cry of defiance, suddenly cut off. There was the sound of an impact, and then a long pause.

  And then she heard him scream.

  It was a shriek of agony. She knew it was involuntary, and the kind of pain needed to force such a cry from him. The demon had him in its claws, and it was tearing him apart.

  The shrieks continued for what seemed like an eternity. She heard the monster’s laugh as they rose higher and higher in pitch, all dignity now gone from his voice.

  She found herself screaming with him as she ran. But she did not stop.

  Then, finally, Stefan’s voice changed. A horrible wet sound mixed in with his shrieks, followed by a loud burbling noise. They faded quickly and were gone. The silence that followed was broken by the screeching of Gorath’s voice.

  “Your consort is dead, princess!” it cried. “Surrender, and I will spare you his fate!”

  Randia stumbled and fell against a tree at the side of the road. She still carried Flamebane in one hand, and the sword’s edge bit into the bole and stuck fast. For a few moments she could do nothing but lean there, mind and spirit numb. She felt her world collapsing around her, all of her dreams turning to ash.

  Then she shook her head and forced herself to straighten. The worst was over. All that was left now was the race.

  She grasped Flamebane’s hilt and ripped the sword from the tree. Running with it in her hand was keeping her off balance, slowing her down. She slipped the blade into its sheath and snapped the buckle back into place. Then she began to move again.

  The next minutes were a blur. To her relief she once again found herself feeling a peculiar sense of detachment, as she had earlier in the day. It helped her still her tears and focus on what she needed to do to survive. On running, and making it to the stair that led down to the next terrace of the city.

  Behind her she could hear the lumbering of Gorath’s pursuit as it followed her scent. It was closing on her, slowly and relentlessly. Stefan had bought her time, and she could only pray that it would be enough.

  The road ahead suddenly took a sharp turn to the left. Randia sprinted around the corner and found herself at the edge of a cliff. To her right she saw the winding stair that led down toward the Silver Star. And beyond the stair and several hundred feet below, she could finally see the eastern end of Lannamon.

  The scene that met her gaze seemed as though taken from a nightmare. Fires raged, uncontrolled, throughout the city. Bands of demons, dragons, and Hellmen were everywhere, pillaging and killing at will. The Carlissan fleet had been burned or sunk, and the army base on the north shore of the firth was little more than a ruin.

  She barely noticed it. She stared instead, wide eyed, at the Silver Star Adventurer’s Academy. It stood just ahead of her, at the bottom of the stair and the base of the cliff.

  It was burning.

  The main gates had been shattered and great gaping holes had been torn in its walls. Demons surged in and around them, invading the grounds. Loud reports of magic boomed as blasts of fire and lightning tore through the few defenders who seemed to be left. The adamant and bluesteel spire of the great tower, once the pride of the academy and her grandfather’s home, was a solid column of flame.

  The Star had fallen.

  She stumbled forward to stand at the brink of the cliff and stared at the vista of destruction. Her one hope had been to reach the academy, to bring the ring to her grandfather. That hope was now gone.

  I should have died with Stefan, she thought numbly. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed them all. I’m too late, and now the world will pay the price.

  Her eyes wandered across the burning city. Bitter despair churned in her soul like bile.

  It’s all my fault. All because my brothe
r stopped to save me. If he had let me die, then perhaps he could have gotten here in time to stop this.

  She heard Gorath roaring behind her. The demon’s voice was very loud now, and very close. It would be on her in seconds. There was nowhere left to run, and nothing left to run for.

  She looked down from the brink. A dozen waterfalls cascaded from the southeastern cliffs to her right, and fell, misting, into a network of pools and reservoirs. Aqueduct channels ran along the cliff-face below, branching out to feed the lower terraces as they extended toward the center of the city.

  Heart numb with the loss of everything she loved, the demon crashing through the trees only moments behind her, she leaped from the precipice and into space.

  The Fall of House Killraven

  “The demons are taking the palace?” Kuhl demanded angrily. “And the King has abandoned us? To hide at the top of his tower?”

  Lord Rugon looked at him and sighed wearily. The other councilors and what remained of the palace staff stood in a semicircle before him. Their faces wore a mixture of anxiety, fear, and entreaty.

  “With the Queen and the prince,” he said. “To make a last stand. To kill as many of the enemy as they can before they die.”

  Gasps ran through the safe room. Several of the councilors began to weep, and one backed away, shaking his head in denial — repeating the word “No,” to himself, with a slow, rhythmic cadence.

  “What happened?” Lady Rayne demanded. “How did it come to this?”

  “We fought the demons together at the gate,” he replied. He closed his eyes, and a shudder ran through his body. “But there were thousands of them. We held them as long as we could, but in the end we were driven back into the main hall.”

  “And our forces?” Kuhl pursued.

  “Most of the guard and the warrior priests are dead. What remained of the Knights of the Light withdrew into the tower to make their stand with the King.”

  One of the serving girls rushed forward and took his arm.

  “Is this the end, My Lord?” she asked. Her voice was terrified, and her innocent, doe eyes ran with tears. “Are we all to die here today?”

  He took her hand and patted it gently. He met her gaze, his look kindly and protective.

  “I do not know, my child,” he said. “My orders were to withdraw here with what was left of the guard, and to protect the council.” His eyes hardened with a sudden bitterness. “And to surrender when the demons finally broke through to take us.”

  Kuhl’s eyes widened in surprise. “The King wants the council to give up?”

  Lord Rugon shrugged. “He said that our deaths would serve no purpose. He hopes that the monsters will spare us.”

  The serving girl lowered her head. “Is there no hope, then, My Lord?” she asked meekly.

  He closed his eyes, remembering his last conversation with Danor and Elena.

  “I wish I could tell you, child,” he said. The candor in his voice surprised him. “The King spoke of a last hope, but said that he could not reveal it.”

  She looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering shyly. “But surely he gave you some idea of what this hope might be?”

  Lord Rugon looked at her and shook his head sadly. God, but the girl was beautiful, he thought. So innocent, so vulnerable. I wish there were something I could do to protect her. To give her hope, to make her feel safe. She deserves to know the truth …

  “He said he could tell us nothing,” he said. “And asked us to trust him. All I know is that whatever this hope is — if indeed there is such a hope, and he was not just saying so to comfort us — that he does not believe that he and the Queen will live to see it.”

  Kuhl had turned to debate with the other councilors. He was arguing forcefully that they should do as the King commanded and make accommodation with the enemy. Their attention was diverted for the moment.

  The girl moved a slim hand to touch Lord Rugon’s arm. Her dark eyes peered searchingly into his.

  “You are bitter, My Lord,” she said quietly. “Bitter that your King ordered you to stand with the council. That he would not let you make that last stand with him, and die at his side.”

  A sound, almost an involuntary sob, escaped Lord Rugon’s lips. He nodded to her, feeling suddenly grateful for her empathy and understanding.

  “Yes,” he said. “But he believes that Zomoran will spare the council. That he will instead try to co-opt and corrupt it. That he will need someone whose heart he can trust to stay with it, and to work on for the good of the Carlissan people.”

  The girl sighed. Raising herself on tiptoe, she gently kissed Lord Rugon’s cheek.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” she said. “For all you’ve done for us. And the King is right. You will need to find a way to make accommodation with the new rulers of Carlissa. To bring the people together under their rule, for the good of all. It is a grave responsibility. But I know that the King chose wisely in selecting you for it.”

  He smiled. His eyes looked slightly unfocused as he patted her hand once again. “You are quite welcome, my dear,” he said absently.

  A guard stepped up to their side. “My Lord?” he asked tentatively.

  Lord Rugon shook his head as if to clear it, and then turned to face him. “Yes?”

  “The demons are making their way down the passage,” he said. “All of my men have fallen back to the entrance to the safe room. Do you have any further orders?”

  The serving girl stepped quietly away from them. A shimmering grey mist seemed to form around her as she walked briskly toward the room’s only door. No one noticed it, or her. She strode through the entrance and began to make her way up the long corridor to the great hall.

  It wasn’t long before she heard loud sounds ahead. She turned a corner to see a line of battle demons striding toward her. The passage was barely wide enough to accommodate their great size.

  They saw her as she saw them. The lead demon growled. With a wicked smile, it charged.

  The girl’s eyes flashed with magic, and a blood-red gem appeared on a chain around her neck. The demon staggered backward, clutching its head in pain. The monsters behind it looked at her with sudden fear as she waited patiently for the creature to recover.

  “Report,” she said to it at last. Her voice was no longer meek, but filled instead with power and menace. “And do it on your knees.”

  The monster stumbled forward. Then it fell groveling before her.

  “Forgive me, Lady Desire,” it said. “I did not recognize you. I thought you were —”

  The girl’s eyes flashed again, and the demon gasped. “Report,” she repeated. Her voice was impatient.

  “The palace has fallen,” it choked. “All except the Sky Dome and whatever is down this corridor.”

  She placed a hand on the demon’s head and stroked it, as though petting an animal. The creature shuddered, this time in obvious pleasure instead of pain.

  “Good boy,” she said. “So the royals are making their stand at the summit of the tower?”

  The creature nodded hastily. “Yes, Mistress. Incanus Thad prepares the assault to breach it.”

  The girl’s eyebrows arched. “So the Horde Captain has mastered itself,” she mused. “Good. I will join it.”

  The demon bowed its head subserviently. “Yes, Mistress,” it said.

  “Take your troops to the end of this passage,” she continued. “You will find a heavily fortified safe room. The last of the guard are there, protecting civilians and the council. You will parley, and offer to accept their surrender.” Her eyes hardened. “You will not kill them, and they are not to be given to the Hellmen. Is that clear?”

  The demon looked up in surprise. “But why —”

  It looked down again when it saw her suddenly dangerous expression. “Yes, Mistress,” it said hastily.

  The girl smiled. “Feel free to injure a few of them in the process, if you wish. But not too badly. Many of them are witnesses to a particular event, and I want word of
it to spread.”

  She fingered the gem that hung at her throat. “Widely,” she added. “Do you understand my orders?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the demon replied.

  “Good. Now clear a way for me to pass.”

  It scrambled to its feet and pressed itself against one wall of the passageway. The creatures behind it quickly followed suit. The girl strode past them, barely acknowledging their presence.

  When she was back in the great hall she looked around. The chamber was a sea of demons, surging in and out of the many doors to other parts of the palace. A particularly heavy concentration of them milled around the base of the tower, pressing into the long, circular stairway that ascended it. They backed away hastily as she approached.

  Feathered objects sprouted from her back in a blur of dark magic. They grew quickly into a pair of black wings. They unfurled as she sprang into the air, carrying her toward the entrance.

  Once she was inside she ascended to the Sky Dome. Her wings beat powerfully, carrying her straight up the shaft that had once been used by Gerard’s magical elevator. The levitating disk had been smashed, and the rubble of its remains lay strewn at the base of the tower.

  She hovered as she came level with the top of the stairs. A great, jagged hole gaped in the wall where the fortified door to the wizards’ laboratories had been. She floated through it, and, dainty feet touching the tiles once more, made her way toward the center of the complex.

  She observed the devastation around her with satisfaction. The labs were piled with the bodies of wizards, priests and demons, all torn apart by claw, sword, or magic. Rubble choked the way, much of it from walls obliterated by explosions of fire and lightning. Only demons remained alive in the level now, and they moved hastily out of her way.

  She stopped when she found a group of battle demons clustered around a short ascending staircase that ended at a gleaming metal door. It was reinforced with bluesteel, as were the walls and ceiling around it. Runes and wards glowed brightly along their surfaces, indicating that they were protected by magic.