Crown of Steel (Chaos Awakens)

by Heath Pfaff

  Chaos Awakens: Servant of Steel

  by

  Heath Pfaff

  Edited by

  Hannah Bartlett

  Cover art by

  Kaji

  http://www.kajito.de/

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Death Has Come

  PART 1 - Through Woods Deep and Dungeons Dark

  Chapter 1: Cabin in the Fog

  Chapter 2: The Raft to Nowhere

  Chapter 3: Hungry Like A Wolf

  Chapter 4: Footprints

  Chapter 5: Hello Assassin My Old Friend

  Chapter 6: Vengeance, Thy Name is Xandrith

  PART2 - To Cities Silent and Landscapes Lost

  Chapter 1: Annoying Little Crow

  Chapter 2: Everything Wants Us Dead

  Chapter 3: Gray Times

  Chapter 4: Incredibly Stupid

  Chapter 5: Will it Hurt?

  PART 1

  Through Woods Deep and Dungeons Dark

  "I wish it were only my paranoia making me say this, but I believe the

  world is on the cusp of its final age. The Order of Mages isn't the problem.

  They've destroyed themselves which is unfortunate, as they may

  have otherwise offered a source of hope."

  The Great Secrets, Tibsenth Avalon

  Prologue

  Death Has Come

  "Hey, what are you doing here? This wood is private. How'd you get through the gate?" Stahlt's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, but he hadn't yet drawn his weapon. Behind him he could hear the sounds of his men getting up from their places by the fire and drawing their weapons as they came to join him. This gave Stahlt a boost of confidence. Whoever this stranger was, the guard captain wouldn't need to deal with him alone. Between him and his fifteen men, one trespasser wouldn't pose much of a threat.

  The man didn’t respond immediately. He was dressed in a strange black outfit that was made of a thin fabric banded with straps that held it tight to his body, a strange outfit to be certain, and one not entirely suited to the frigid cold of the north. He was looking all around him as though confused about where he was and how he'd come to be there. Stahlt took a step towards him and spoke up again, this time strengthening the authority in his voice.

  "How did you get in here? This is Dawnsend Keep, and unless you have a writ from Lord Camber this area is off limits. Do you hear me?" Stahlt made sure his tone was calm but firm. He had no desire to bring this incident to a direct conflict. Whoever the stranger was, if he could be ushered away without bloodshed it would be best for everyone. It would be even better if Stahlt didn't have to report to Lord Camber that someone had breached the walls without being caught. Lord Camber was already paranoid enough about the plague without needing to know that random crazy men were walking around through his private woods.

  The stranger seemed to notice Stahlt for the first time, his haunted eyes coming to rest on the captain with a seemingly vacant incomprehension. There was something distinctly wrong about the man in black. He felt out of place and inhuman, dangerous even, but Stahlt couldn’t figure out why he felt that way. Stahlt's eyes poured over the newcomer. He was wearing a long knife at each hip, but no sword. He had dark hair and a beard that hung in a braid from his chin. His eyes were a light color, but it was hard to tell the exact shade beneath the light of the three moons. His outfit was certainly strange for the climate, but he appeared to be nothing more than a man. Then what was causing the sense of unease Stahlt felt rising around him?

  "If you tell us how you got in here and let my men escort you out, there doesn't need to be any trouble tonight. Sounds good, doesn't it? No bloodshed, no trips to the prison?" Stahlt tried again. Was the man drunk, insane, or a little bit of both?

  "They're going to kill you." The stranger spoke, and then snapped his mouth shut as if surprised that he'd done so.

  "We don't want to have to kill anyone." Stahlt said, taking his hand away from his sword and showing that his palms were empty. "Do we, guys?" Stahlt directed the last at his own men who were now standing around with their weapons drawn, equally bewildered by the intruder. There was a general consensus of nods and agreement, and some few weapons were returned to their scabbards. "We're reasonable people. We just need to know how you got in here, and then we'll turn you free at the gate."

  "Wake up!" The stranger yelled suddenly, startling Stahlt and his men. A moment later he whispered more quietly. "Where are you?"

  "He's crazy." One of Stahlt's men spoke up. "I think we're going to have to restrain him and boot him out the gate."

  Stahlt shook his head. "Not unless he tells us how he got in. We can't have him wondering back in later. If Camber hears about this, he'll have us all working double shifts around the clock." This was met with a groan of disapproval from the surrounding men. They were already on extended hours.

  "If you don't turn yourself over now, I'm going to have to have my men collect you. You don't want that, do you? Don't make us resort to violence." Stahlt warned. He'd been more than fair with the man, and it was his job that was on the line. Stahlt put his hand back on the hilt of his sword. "What do you say stranger? Can we handle this as civilized men?"

  The stranger was whispering to himself but he stopped as Stahlt stopped speaking. "Where are we?" His voice was sharp and dark.

  "You are on my Lord's land. This is Dawnsend Keep, and I'm afraid you're trespassing. If you cooperate we'll take you to the gate and let you be on your way. If you resist, well, things won't go so smoothly for you." Stahlt reiterated again, hoping this time the man would see reason.

  "Where is Dawnsend Keep? Are we near Terrial? What day is it?" The stranger threw questions like daggers, fast and cutting. He wasn't waiting for answers, but it was clear he expected them. Stahlt was almost positive the man was under the influence of something more than strong cider.

  "Isn't Terrial a port city down south?" One of Stahlt's men asked.

  "This guys brains are addled. Great. Why does the weird shit have to happen on my shifts?" Another replied.

  Stahlt was just shaking his head. It was obvious that things weren't going to go smoothly. He'd have to file a report later, and then he'd have to deal with his Lord's unhinged temper. "Alright, get him and restrain him for now. We'll hold him until morning and see if he's cleared his head enough to talk straight by then. Make sure you get those knives off of him. I don't want any extra injuries on the books."

  The stranger took a step back and straightened defensively, though he didn't reach for his knives. His eyes glimmered in the darkness like those of a nocturnal animal caught at the edge of torchlight. Stahlt felt a deepening sense of unease settle on him, but it was too late to take his words back. He didn't really have any desire to confront this stranger, but his options were limited. The man wasn't cooperating and his men were eager to see the business done. Two of Stahlt's men went forward, both held a sword in one hand and reached towards the stranger with their other hands. The captain found himself holding his breath, but he wasn't sure why.

  "Now put down them knives, real slow like, and we'll see that you get them back before we set you free, alright?" The man on the right spoke. Kirim was an old hand of the guard, having served nearly ten years alongside Stahlt. He wasn't a hot head, and he was good in a fight. The other was one of the younger recruits. Pellin was full of bravado and fight, but if he could live through his formative years he'd probably be a great guardsman some day. He had sharp eyes and a good sense of duty. The calm way they were handling their strange work made Stahlt proud to be in charge of them. Even Pellin was keeping level headed and going about things the proper way. They were a force to be proud of.

  One
of them was dead. Stahlt had only blinked for a fraction of a second, but as his eyes came back into focus Pellin's head turned into a ball of roaring liquid flames that splashed over his body and burned away the cloth of his uniform. Kirim was frozen in horror and staring at the mess that remained of his recently alive squad mate, but the figure in black wasn't hesitating. He stepped forward towards the distracted Kirim and placed a hand on the man's chest.

  "Run!" Stahlt screamed at the man, but he knew it was too late. Kirim's head turned back to look at the stranger. Before he even realized the mistake he'd made in taking his eyes off of the man to begin with there was a concussive thud in the air that knocked Stahlt backwards from his feet. For Kirim the result was far worse. The front of the man's ribcage exploded out of his back, dragging pieces of organs and flesh with it in a gory spray of destroyed humanity. The hard leather armor he'd been wearing hadn't done anything to stop the damage. There was screaming and chaos as some men ran away and others drew their weapons and charged the black clad stranger. Stahlt tried to gather his breath to command a retreat, but his words wouldn't come to him. The force of the blow and his impact with the ground had knocked the wind from him. He flailed in the dirt trying to pull himself up and to find his breath all at once. He felt weak and lethargic. The stranger stood his ground, radiating menace. Stahlt watched in stunned silence as the black clad man tore through the men who had been foolish enough to charge him. He never drew his knives. Stahlt had heard men say in whispers around the campfire that death was a man who walked the world as any other, but until that moment the guard captain had never believed it was true. If he survived, he would never again doubt those stories. Death was a man dressed in black.

  Stahlt's men were dead in seconds and only the shade of Death stood. All others were corpses or had fled the scene as Stahlt lay on the ground still gasping for breath and trying to gather his wits. Death stepped towards him, stirring dust with his boots. He strode forward calmly, as though he hadn't just dispatched half a dozen men in a less than a minute. He stopped above the captain, looking down at him.

  "Is this Central Appox?" Death asked, and this time Stahlt no longer looked at the man like he was crazy. This monster, this force of nature, had obviously arisen from its slumber confused, and it had been Stahlt's mistake to interfere with it to begin with. Whatever it wanted to know, he was more than willing to tell it. He felt his breath return to him as though it were the will of this monster alone. It was still difficult to get a full breath, so he spoke quickly.

  "Yes, sir. This is Central Appox. This is Dawnsend Keep, sir, just off the northwestern coast. We're about two days trek south of Dandivar, three south of the lower hills of the Ragged." Stahlt tried to be as clear as possible. His voice was ragged and strained.

  Death sighed in reply, looking exasperated and angry at the answer. "What have you done to us?" He asked, his voice full of acid and rage, but Stahlt felt that the question wasn't directed at him. "I know you're still here. I can feel you." He said to himself as he began to pace. "I need to know what you've done to us!" His every word echoed with violence that made Stahlt only too happy to not be the focus of his maddened ranting. Eventually Stahlt's luck ran out though. The stranger's cold eyes fell on Stahlt again. "Get up. I need a horse, provisions."

  "Sir, I don't have access to those kinds of things. We were out here on foot." Stahlt said as he dragged himself to his feet. "Please don't kill me, sir."

  "Would your Lord have access to those things?" The man in black asked.

  Stahlt nodded. "Yes, sir, he'd have all the provisions you'd need. I will take you to him if you'd like."

  "That won't be necessary." Death replied, and drew one of his daggers from his hip. In that moment Stahlt knew that his time was done. He could see the certainty of his demise in the inhuman man's eyes. "I can't let you live now, not having seen what you've seen." Death hesitated. "You ...understand what I must do? And the others, they had to die. It was their own fault. You should never have stood in my way." He took a step forward, and then just as fast as it had all begun the murderous look fled from the stranger's gaze. He looked down at his knife as if surprised to find it in his open hand. "No." He said loudly. He put the blade back in its scabbard, turned his back, and walked away into the night. The guardsman watched him vanish into the black of the woods before he fell to the ground and wept for the loss of his friends, and for the relief of being alive, and for the fear of having been so very close to the incarnation of Death. He didn't even care that he'd have to write the damned report in the morning. In fact, he didn't even plan on staying in the keep until morning. He would take his belongings and move as far away from that place as he possibly could, plague be damned.

  Chapter 1

  Cabin in the Fog

  Haley's fist passed within an inch of the impassive face before her. Not close enough. Her opponent dropped a shoulder and swept a leg out between Haley's wide stance before she could do anything about it. Haley went down hard, hitting the ground with a loud expulsion of breath. A split second later the outer edge of a foot was resting against her throat. Haley grabbed the offending foot and kicked and spun her legs, using the twisting momentum to turn her attacker's weight off of her throat and to the side. For a brief second she was at an advantage as the other stumbled off to the side. Haley pushed herself back to her feet. She'd bought herself a moment, but it was clear that she was fighting a losing battle. Most people would have retreated at that point, but Haley wasn't most people. She was Xan's apprentice and she wasn't going to let him down so easily. Instead of falling back on the defensive, Haley leapt forward and lashed out with a particularly aggressive set of combat forms. They were newer forms that she wasn't yet comfortably familiar with, but she buffered her lack of style with an extra burst of ferocity.

  Her opponent retreated a full two steps but never lost control of their form. Every executed block and slide of their feet was precise, smooth, and executed with the grace of one who'd lived or died by the strength their fight. These were the exacting skills of a trained assassin. Xan's precision movements and tried battle tactics were undeniably perfect. Haley's flailing blows were turned to the side effortlessly and before she saw it coming, she was struck four times quickly along her right shoulder and side. Each blow drove the assassin's apprentice further and further from her own center of balance. Haley was still trying to correct herself when her attacker closed to grappling distance. In desperation Haley dropped her head to use her forehead as a weapon, but that action was far too predictable. A strong left arm wrapped around her neck and with a solid kick to the back of Haley's leg, the young woman went down fast. There was no hope for recovery. She was pinned down in a tight hold. The fight was over. The blistering fast, perfect technique she was attempting to overcome was far too much for her. Her opponent was a killer, and Haley was just a killer in training.

  Haley pounded her fist on the ground to signal that she was done and the pressure around her neck finally eased up. She stood up and dusted herself off. She was dressed in her work outfit, a set of gray and black leather clothing that were secured tight to her body with a crisscrossing set of belts and buckles. The clothes fit her like a second skin and gave her all the freedom of motion she could ever want while still providing a nice layer of protection from the rigors of abrasive physical labor. Xan had insisted the clothing be designed for her based on his own outfit, and Haley had to admit that it was the most comfortable suit she'd ever owned. Even with all the range of motion in the world, she'd been bested yet again. Her opponent was older than her, but was also shorter and less physically powerful. The fact that Haley was repeatedly bested during every encounter was frustrating to the younger woman, but it was also an important lesson on the importance of form over brute force. Xandrith would have found the lesson amusing, Haley was certain. Haley frowned. Kassa was everything she wanted to be now that she'd taken Xan's skills as her own. She was fast, deadly, precise, and still feminine and attractive. Haley was ju
st a little burnt girl, and her continued losses only served to remind her of that.

  "Winter Wind was shaky, and the transition into Pounding Rain was poorly executed. You need to spend more time on your forms." Kassa said, not even breathing hard from their practice. "I won't be teaching you any new techniques until you've at least become proficient with the ones I've already given you."

  Haley stifled a groan. It was terribly unfair. Kassa had literally woken up one morning with an entire library of combat forms trained into her body and mind as though she'd spent an entire life working on them. Whatever Xandrith had done to bring her back from the void had also imparted her with his lifetime of combat expertise. She didn't have his hard earned strength to back up all that she suddenly knew, but her technique was flawless and she certainly wasn't weak.

  "When you switch from technique to force, that's when you really defeat yourself. You don't need to prove that you're stronger than me, Haley. I'm aware of that. These fighting techniques don't rely entirely upon power to make them effective. They are two-tenths power and eight-tenths technique. Having our weight and balance in just the right place at just the right time is what makes this kind of fighting so effective." Kassa explained, as she had many times prior, and Haley stifled another groan. She sounded so much like Xandrith at times that it was painful to listen to her. Kassa constantly reminded Haley of just how much she missed the dry-humored assassin. It wasn't really her fault. Kassa hadn't adapted to the changes in herself with ease. There had been a week after her recovery in which she'd been a confused mess as she tried to pick pieces of herself out of the jumble that Xandrith had left of her mind.

  At twenty-nine years of age, Kassa wasn't exactly a young woman any longer. Before she'd become involved with Xandrith she'd been a captain of the watch, an expert swordsman, and an upstanding citizen who prized herself on being a pillar of justice. She wasn't gorgeous, but she had warm brown eyes and long dark brown hair that framed her somewhat angular face in a pretty fashion. Her body was generously curved, but not overtly so, and she was leanly muscled and strong. Haley was actually somewhat jealous of the captain's looks. Kassa might not have been gorgeous, but in comparison to Haley's scarred visage she was doing quite well. Haley was only thirteen, but she was exceedingly tall for her age and the feminine curves she did have were slight. Worse yet, beneath her fine leather outfit those signs of femininity were a scarred mess of burned and mutilated flesh. Haley would never be alluring. She'd decided not to bother trying. Her dark brown hair was cut short, though slightly longer on the top. She kept what little of her chest that existed bound back so that it wouldn't interfere with her fighting. On top of that, Haley was strong. Even without her cursed axe to aid her strength she could pull herself up onto a ledge with just one hand and climb a tree as easily as she walked down the road. Xandrith had been insistent that she learn how to move with ease and grace, and she'd taken that to heart. Haley was proud of the muscle definition that lined her body and the lithe way she could move through any environment. Beauty be damned, she felt as though she could fly.