The Scorched Earth

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “I could say the same to you,” he noted.

  Shalana snorted, then slowly started walking again, ignoring his offer. But Vaaler wasn’t about to give up so easily, so he fell into step beside her.

  He’d noticed most of the Stone Spirits were bringing two or three bags at a time when they emerged from their respective tents. In addition to bringing enough food for the journey to the Conclave, some of them were no doubt stuffed with clothes and other personal effects they might want during the trip. Because of her injuries, however, Shalana could only handle one pack at a time. And given how slowly she was moving, he guessed she still had to make at least one more trip.

  “It’s going to take you all morning to do this alone,” Vaaler noted. “And none of us can leave for the Conclave until everything is loaded onto the sleds.”

  Shalana turned her head and fixed him with a scowl, clearly annoyed at his transparent effort to appeal to her sense of duty to the rest of the clan. But after a few more steps she stopped and let the bag slip from her shoulder and fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

  “Do you even know where it goes on the sled?” she demanded.

  “You’ll have to show me,” Vaaler said, groaning softly as he hefted his new burden.

  The weight surprised him, and he staggered for a couple steps before finding his balance.

  “You don’t seem to be doing any better than me,” Shalana said smugly.

  From the corner of his eye, Vaaler swore he saw the hint of a smile touch the corner of her mouth. But when he turned to look it was gone, replaced by the same stern expression she’d been wearing since their arrival.

  They made better progress with him carrying the bag, though Shalana still wasn’t able to move much faster than a brisk walk.

  “Lay it down at the back, on top and crosswise to the ones below,” she instructed once they reached the sled.

  Vaaler swung the bag back and forth a couple times to build momentum, then hoisted it into place. Shalana reached forward to make a small adjustment to its position, wincing as she did so.

  “Try not to reach or twist,” Vaaler advised her. “Or bend.”

  “Or breathe,” she added in a surly tone. “I know.”

  “How many more bags?” Vaaler asked, hoping they’d be lighter so he could take more than one at a time.

  “Did Norr send you to spy on me?” she suddenly asked.

  “Does that seem like something he’d do?” Vaaler countered.

  “Not unless his little Islander whore told him to.”

  “Don’t let Scythe hear you call her that,” Vaaler warned. “Be careful you don’t make the same mistake I did and slip into the Southern tongue.”

  “Is that what she used to win Norr over? Her Southern tongue?”

  Vaaler laughed, not so much at the crude joke but more at Shalana’s deadpan delivery.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said after a brief pause. “Are you supposed to watch me in case I’m plotting my vengeance?”

  “If I say no, you’ll just think I’m lying anyway.”

  Shalana nodded solemnly. Using her spear, she pivoted away and started walking back toward her tent.

  “Come on, Spy. Three more bags to go. We don’t want to keep the rest of the clan waiting.”

  Chapter 22

  CASSANDRA COULDN’T STOP shivering. She’d left the Frozen East behind, but here in the sparsely populated farms that dotted the outer borders of the Southlands there was still a biting chill in the air when the sun went down.

  She’d left the Guardian’s cave feeling strong and determined, but the elements were taking a toll on her body’s dwindling reserves. And for the past two nights, she hadn’t slept at all, pushing her pace as she sensed the monstrous Crawling Twins getting ever closer.

  They’ll catch you tonight. It’s time to use the Crown. You have no other options.

  She shook her head, an unconscious gesture she’d adopted after rejecting the advice from the ever-present voice inside her mind.

  She could still escape; she just needed to find a horse. She couldn’t outrun the Twins on foot, but mounted she’d be able to keep ahead of them.

  You had a chance to get a horse, but you passed it up.

  Yesterday she’d noticed a small mare in a field near a lone farmhouse. The voice in her head had urged her to steal the animal, but instead she’d given the property a wide berth. No matter how dire her situation, she didn’t want to inadvertently lead the Crawling Twins to an innocent family.

  Sometimes we must sacrifice a few innocent lives to save thousands.

  This time the voice in her head sounded different. It wasn’t Rexol, her old Master, but rather the memory of something the Pontiff had told her long ago when she was still training to join the Order.

  If you want to save anybody, Rexol’s voice chimed in, you have to save yourself first.

  Cassandra reflexively shook her head again, even as she refocused her mental energy to her physical form. She’d been traveling for two days without rest at a pace faster than most people could run, but she forced her body to release a fresh burst of adrenaline. Her weary legs redoubled their efforts, but she knew she couldn’t sustain it for long. Her heart was already pounding and her lungs burned; in an hour or two she’d have to slow down again.

  But at least it quieted the voices for a while.

  Inside the Crown, Rexol raged against his prison. The link between him and Cassandra was steadily growing, but she still resisted his efforts to manipulate and control her.

  Even when she was a child you sensed how strong her will was.

  Though he was powerless to affect his former apprentice, Rexol was aware of the mortal world through Cassandra’s senses. The monsters that hunted her were too close now; any hope of escape was impossible.

  Rexol had recognized this much earlier than Cassandra. For the past few days, he’d known she wouldn’t survive on her own. And so the disembodied wizard had sent out a call for help.

  Using the Crown’s power to affect the physical world was difficult, but he was getting better at it. He’d used it to lead the flying huntress away from Cassandra during her flight to the Guardian’s cave. Now he was doing the opposite, using it to try to lead someone to them. Hopefully, someone would answer the call before it was too late.

  Cassandra sensed the men ahead of her long before their torches were visible through the night’s gloom. She’d changed course to try to avoid them, but when they matched her movements she realized they could sense her in the darkness, too.

  Inquisitors.

  As they drew closer, she realized they weren’t alone. There were only three of her brethren from the Order, traveling on foot at the head of a small company of armed soldiers. Five rode on horseback and another fifteen marched along behind on foot.

  The Inquisitors forged ahead, leaving the footmen to scramble along in their wake as they closed in on her. At the same time, the riders broke away from the main group, two circling out to the left and three to the right to keep her from trying to flee.

  Even if she hadn’t been near the limits of her endurance, Cassandra wouldn’t have been able to escape. But she’d already given that hope up. Instead, she headed directly into the teeth of their trap.

  I have to warn them!

  The Crawling Twins were only minutes behind her now, and she didn’t have any illusions of what would happen if they ran across the unsuspecting patrol.

  “Cassandra!” one of the Inquisitors called out as they drew close. “Yasmin the Unbowed, forty-fourth Pontiff of the Order, has declared you to be a traitor to the True Gods!”

  She recognized the speaker, a young man named Mirgul. He was only a few years older than she was; seeing him in a position of authority reinforced how badly the Order’s numbers had been devastated when the Monastery fell.

  The Inquisitors had blocked her path, their staves at the ready, but Cassandra didn’t stop or slow down as she approached.

 
; “Run, Mirgul!” she called out, drawing on the last reserves of her inner power to amplify her voice so the soldiers in the distance could hear her. “Everybody scatter!”

  Unfortunately, the soldiers were too well trained to obey her shouted commands, and they didn’t even hesitate as they continued toward her and the Inquisitors.

  Mirgul and his compatriots dropped into fighting stances, convinced she was charging toward them with hostile intent. But before she came close enough for them to bring her down, their Sight saw what she was running from.

  “Run!” Cassandra screamed again, and for a second she thought Mirgul might listen.

  Then he raised his arms above his head, twirling his weapon as he shouted, “Destroy the Chaos Spawn!”

  At the same time, Cassandra sensed one of the riders who had circled around charging in hard from behind her, unaware of the monsters lurking in the nearby shadows. In his hand he had a large cudgel, and as he closed the gap between them he brought it around in a wide, sweeping arc meant to knock her flying from her feet.

  Without breaking stride, Cassandra ducked as the horse came alongside her, the heavy club whooshing harmlessly over her head. She let the pack with the Crown slip from her shoulder and fall at her feet. At the same time she spun and grabbed the rider’s leg with both hands, then yanked him out of his saddle.

  As he came crashing down to the ground his mount, confused by the sudden loss of its rider, circled around, then pulled up short.

  The horse! Grab the Crown, get the horse, and flee!

  The other riders were closing in on her now, too. The foot soldiers were coming up behind the Inquisitors, who stood poised and ready for battle. And then the Crawling Twins arrived, bringing Chaos with them.

  In the dim illumination of the soldiers’ torches, the creatures would look like little more than gangly, misshapen shadows crawling low to the ground. But though their eyes couldn’t grasp the true nature of the scuttling horrors that confronted them, the Twins let loose with a long, baying howl that was clearly not of the mortal world.

  Somewhere between a roar and a scream, their cries rose to an ear-shattering pitch that made everyone drop to their knees and cover their ears. There was some malevolent magic in the howl; it left Cassandra’s head spinning and her senses disoriented. Even her mystical second sight was blurred by the terrible sound.

  It took only a second to recover, but by then the Twins were charging forward, still crawling on all fours but moving with alarming speed. Instinctively, Cassandra threw herself forward, covering the bag containing the Crown as if her frail mortal body could somehow protect it.

  She braced for the agony of claws and teeth ripping her flesh apart, but instead she felt a strange pulse of energy from the Crown. At the same instant, the Twins leapt over her prone form and threw themselves at the still-reeling Inquisitors.

  Rexol recognized the power of Chaos in the unholy scream, even from inside the Crown. Though lacking any physical form, he somehow still felt a wave of pain and terror. But though the Minions were strong, so was Rexol.

  He’d been praying for Cassandra to free the Crown from its sack and place it on her head. He was convinced if she tried to unleash the full fury of the Talisman, he could escape his prison and destroy the Crawling Twins. But when she failed to do so, he was forced to improvise.

  The Crown’s power was focused on the mental rather than the physical. Calling on it, Rexol reached out and brushed against the dark, fetid minds of the red and blue beasts as they charged their helpless victims. Trapped inside the Talisman, he couldn’t stop their deadly assault; their wills were too strong. Instead, he manipulated their instincts and emotions, heightening their savage bloodlust while subtly pushing their fury away from Cassandra and redirecting it to the other enemies before them.

  Cassandra didn’t have time to wonder why the Twins had ignored her and the Talisman to go after the Inquisitors. She needed to get away from the battle before the creatures finished off the others and turned on her.

  Though her Sight was still fuzzy, she was aware of everything happening around her. Several of the soldiers had fled into the night, driven away by the horrific scream, but most—inspired by zealotry or coin—were standing by the Inquisitors. Two of the riders had vanished, but the other two were driving their reluctant horses into the fray. The Inquisitors were flipping, spinning and whirling like living tops, their staves whistling through the air with blinding speed as they met the Twins’ charge.

  The monsters didn’t bother unleashing more Chaos magic at their foes; instead, they tore them apart with brute strength and raw speed. The red one lashed out a foreclaw, hooking it deep into the belly of Mirgul as he tried to leap over the crouching demon. The muscles of its gangly arm flexed and with a flick of its malformed wrist, the beast ripped out his innards, sending bits of gore and viscera spewing across the battlefield.

  Mirgul’s face went white with shock and he fell to his knees, his staff slipping from his grasp as he fumbled at the entrails spilling from his belly. Ignoring him, the beast twisted to the side, its back leg jutting out at an impossible angle to grab the nearest soldier by the throat in its curved toes. His eyes bulged as the beast contracted its claw, crushing his windpipe.

  One of the horsemen tried to run the blue Twin down as it scurried along. But instead of being trampled beneath the mount’s hooves, the creature twisted its torso and leaned back so that it caught the horse’s underbelly in its clawed hands. The creature then stood up, lifting both horse and rider high above its head.

  Four soldiers took the opening and rushed in, hacking and slashing at the monster’s legs, chest, and back with their swords. A dozen blows rained down, but instead of slicing the creature to bits, only a handful even managed to draw blood.

  The Twin growled and slammed the upraised horse and rider to the ground, crushing two of the attackers beneath the animal’s bulk. It then whirled around and seized the other two soldiers as they tried to run and slammed their heads together with enough force to crush their helmets and cave in their skulls.

  The second rider had pivoted his mount away from the violence, realizing flight was a better option. But as he set his spurs to his horse’s side, the blue Twin leapt forward, flying twenty feet through the air before landing on the horse’s back.

  The impact brought mount, rider, and the Twin down in a heap, and the Minion tore into them both with claws and the sharp fangs of its piglike snout. The man managed a single scream, and the horse thrashed violently for several seconds before lying still, blood pouring from ragged holes in their throats.

  There’s nothing you can do to save them! You have to get out of here now!

  Cassandra forced herself to ignore the carnage as the other two Inquisitors fell on the red Twin, trying to drive it away from Mirgul. Their leader had collapsed onto his side, his body convulsing while a red froth bubbled up from his lips.

  The animal she wanted to grab—the horse from the rider she’d dislodged at the start of the battle—was already gone, racing off in terror. The horse that had been thrown to the ground still lay on its side, whinnying and kicking frantically but miraculously uninjured. The rider was unconscious, his body tangled up in the saddle and harness so that his weight kept the horse from getting to its feet.

  Cassandra scooped up the sack at her feet and raced toward the panicked beast, knowing it was her only chance of survival. Nearby, the blue Twin was taking deep chunks out of a still-living soldier’s cheek with its tusks while using a long, sinewy tongue to lap up the geyser of blood.

  As she reached the horse’s side, she felt another pulse from the Crown and the thrashing animal suddenly became calm and docile.

  The red Twin had already broken the neck of one of Mirgul’s companions, and had seized the last surviving Inquisitor by the shoulders with its hands. Rolling onto its side, it pulled the Inquisitor to the ground, then used its rear claws to grab the flailing man’s ankles. Then it arched its back and ripped him in h
alf, separating upper and lower torso with a wet pop.

  Cassandra pulled a knife from the unconscious soldier’s boot and sliced the leather straps of the saddle and bridle. The instant it was cut loose, the horse scrambled to its feet. But instead of racing off, it waited calmly as if it somehow knew Cassandra would keep it safe.

  The Crown, she realized.

  She paused for only a second to see if the men pinned beneath the horse were still alive, but both had been crushed to death when the beast had landed on them.

  The battle was effectively over—only a handful of soldiers were still alive, and they were all trying to escape. But the Crawling Twins had other ideas. Reveling in the brutal massacre, they were toying with those that remained: picking the soldiers off one by one as they tried to run, mutilating and maiming them out of sheer malice.

  Go now! Once the soldiers are dead, they’ll come after you!

  Cassandra slung the pack over her shoulder, grabbed a fistful of the horse’s mane, and swung herself up onto its bare back. She dug her heels into its side, and the beast took off.

  Channeling her own power through the animal she rode, Cassandra was able to push the pace, racing over the gently rolling terrain and leaving the gruesome slaughter far behind them.

  They won’t catch me now, she realized after a few minutes with no signs of pursuit. But they won’t give up the hunt, either.

  Chapter 23

  Keegan grimly raised the Sword above his head as the Chaos hordes rushed toward him, pouring through the breach in the Legacy. Time seemed to stop: the charging enemies becoming statues; the dark storm clouds above and the waves crashing against the sandy shore behind him frozen in place.

  A young woman lay unconscious at his feet, but his attention was focused on the exquisite weapon clutched in his hand. The black handle tingled in his grasp; the silver blade shimmered and pulsed with power.

  Armed with the Sword, he had the strength to stand alone against any mortal army. But the creatures bearing down on him weren’t mortal, and they were legion. This was his desperate, doomed final stand against overwhelming odds. He could stain the beach with the blood of a thousand foes, but in the end he would fall. Death was inevitable.