The Scorched Earth

by Drew Karpyshyn

  When the last defender fell, the clan warriors turned their fury on the supply wagons—breaking the axles and wheels, smashing the frames, and slicing open or chopping up any sacks, packs, and containers within reach.

  “Find their oil!” Shalana shouted, knowing they didn’t have long before reinforcements arrived. “And the torches!”

  By the time the Danaan forces showed up, Shalana and her people were gone. All they left behind were enemy corpses and dozens of shattered wagons, their contents engulfed in flames.

  Vaaler didn’t want to take pleasure in war, but it was hard not to be swept up in the congratulations of Shalana and the others. His plan had worked brilliantly: men and women on both sides were dead, but the clan casualties were a fraction of what they had inflicted on the enemy.

  I wonder how many of the fallen Danaan I knew personally? he thought.

  After burning the supply wagons, Shalana’s force had scattered in all directions, making it harder for the Danaan to pursue them. By now most had made it back to the temporary camp they’d used as their initial staging point, though a few stragglers were still coming in.

  Shalana had chosen to make camp several miles from the site of the battle, far enough away that the Danaan wouldn’t stumble upon it by chance. A handful of small lamps provided just enough light to see but did little to ward off the chill of the night. The others were used to the cold, but even covered in furs, Vaaler was shivering.

  The vast majority of the clan warriors had remained at the camp during the battle. Vaaler’s initial plan wouldn’t have worked any better with a larger force, and he knew the more warriors Shalana sent, the more likely they’d be to try to engage the Danaan in a real fight. Fortunately, she’d seen the wisdom of his fears and agreed to hold them back.

  Better to hide our true numbers for as long as possible anyway, Vaaler thought.

  Of those who’d been chosen to go with Qarr, most had already returned. To confuse the Danaan pursuit, they’d split their force up into smaller groups, each led by one of Shalana’s thane-chiefs. Only the Black Wings and their chief had yet to return, though that wasn’t surprising. To draw the Danaan as far away as possible, he and his clan had gone in the exact opposite direction of the camp. Even if the Danaan had abandoned their pursuit after realizing Qarr’s attack was only a ruse, it would take some time for the Black Wings to weave their way through the Frozen Sea’s hills and back to their hidden location.

  Several skeins of wine and mead had been unpacked from the supply sleds and passed around to the troops, but their celebrations were subdued. Individual tales of bravery from the recent battle were recounted, along with toasts to honor those comrades who would never return.

  But far fewer had died than any of them had expected, and they all recognized who was responsible. Vaaler had the honor of being personally thanked and congratulated by each and every chief and thane who entered the camp. At first he thought Shalana had ordered them to do it, but it quickly became clear their gratitude was sincere.

  A person is judged by his actions among the clans, he realized.

  Even Terramon came over to see him.

  “A great victory,” the grizzled warrior grudgingly admitted. “But this was only the first battle. Your trick with the horns won’t fool them again.”

  “Maybe with their supplies ransacked, they’ll have to turn back,” Shalana said, having come over to stand by Vaaler protectively when she noticed her father’s approach.

  “Is that the way of your people?” Terramon asked Vaaler. “Can you so easily be forced into retreat?”

  “My people have changed,” Vaaler told him. “Before, they never would have sought out this war in the first place.”

  Terramon scowled, then turned and wandered off.

  “Ignore him,” Shalana said, placing a comforting hand on Vaaler’s shoulder.

  This close to her, he could see the angry red slash on the pale skin of her cheek. She’d laughed off the injury, but Vaaler knew she’d come inches away from losing her eye … or her life.

  “You have proved yourself this day,” she told him as he stared at the wound that somehow enhanced rather than marred her beauty. “The chiefs will not forget.”

  Before Vaaler could reply a young woman stumbled into the camp. Even in the dim light of the lamps it was clear from her expression that something was wrong.

  “Qarr?” Shalana whispered.

  The young woman shook her head.

  “He wasn’t supposed to fight!” Vaaler said, more angrily than he’d intended. “What happened?”

  “The ogre,” the young woman muttered. “We followed your instructions. Once the Danaan began to chase us, we split up into smaller group. We stayed beyond the range of the archers. We led them in circles, listening to their horns to know which directions they were heading to try and cut us off. Everything was perfect.

  “And then that monster appeared out of nowhere. It was fast—too fast to outrun. So Qarr ordered us to stand and fight.”

  She was speaking in a dull, emotionless monotone, and Vaaler realized she was in shock.

  “A trap?” Shalana guessed. “The Danaan used the ogre to lure you into an ambush?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “The beast was alone. Qarr died first. It tore his head off with a single blow.

  “Our weapons couldn’t harm it,” she continued, still talking without any visible emotion. “Our spears bounced off its hide and our swords bent and snapped when they struck it.

  “Every blow from its fists left another dead. Those of us still alive tried to run, but it chased us down. It was fast. So fast.”

  “How many of you got away?” Shalana asked softly.

  The woman shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I heard others screaming, but I didn’t stop to look back.”

  A pall fell over the camp; Qarr had over thirty Black Wing warriors with him.

  She can’t be the only one who survived, Vaaler thought. They can’t all be dead!

  “Get the sleds ready,” Shalana ordered. “We break camp now.”

  Andar watched silently from the corner of the tent as the Queen’s war council debated what had gone wrong in the day’s battle.

  For the first time since entering the Frozen East they had been faced with real resistance, a devastating counterattack that had left them short of supplies and crippled morale. Now each of the councilors was desperately trying to shift the blame as they gave their reports.

  “We should have been warned to expect a possible attack in that location,” General Greznor declared. “It was the perfect environment for an ambush.”

  “My scouts aren’t being given enough time to survey the territory,” Hexiff countered. “You’re advancing too quickly.

  “And your troops should never have been spaced so far apart,” Hexiff added. “It makes it difficult for them to provide support and reinforcements.”

  “We were trying to cover as much ground as possible to make sure none of the smaller clans slipped through our lines,” Greznor shot back. “If I’d known all the barbarians had joined together, I would have used different strategies,” he added, casting a dark look at Pranya.

  The Queen’s spymaster scowled.

  “How are my people supposed to infiltrate the clans? They’d kill us on sight. We’d need some way to hide our true nature. A charm or illusion to alter our appearance.”

  “You know that isn’t possible here,” Lormilar snapped, his insecurity over his impotence making him even more defensive than the others. “We must focus on the things we can control—like the number of soldiers protecting the supply wagons!”

  “Half my guards were called away by the horns,” Bassi, the quartermaster, reminded everyone.

  “And the vanguard patrols closest to you were too busy walking into barbarian ambushes to help,” Greznor added.

  “That wouldn’t happen if our spies had given us proper warning!” Hexiff protested.

  “
If your patrols are too stupid to watch for an ambush, there’s nothing I can do to save them!” Pranya fired back.

  “Enough,” the Queen commanded, her voice weary. “How bad are our losses?”

  “The actual casualties aren’t the issue, my Queen,” Greznor said after clearing his throat. “It’s the supplies that concern me the most.”

  “We salvaged what we could,” Bassi told her. “But even with the rationing, we’ll run short of food in another week.”

  The Queen nodded grimly, then dismissed the councilors with a wave of her hand. Slowly they rose and bowed before leaving the tent, each wondering who would bear the brunt of her—and Orath’s—wrath for this catastrophic failure.

  Eventually only Andar, Rianna, and the Minion remained in the tent. Only then did Rianna say what they all knew but none of the others had the courage to voice.

  “My son is helping the enemy. He has chosen to stand with the Destroyer of Worlds rather than his own people.”

  “We will change the signals,” Orath answered, as if that would somehow solve the real problem.

  The Queen didn’t speak but simply sat in her chair, staring down at her hands.

  “Can you blame Vaaler for this betrayal?” Andar said, daring to speak up despite knowing it could cost him his tongue. “You cast him out. You drove him into the arms of these savages, then you unleashed this army on them! What did you expect?”

  “Silence, slave!” Orath barked. The Queen, however, didn’t speak.

  Ignoring the minion, Andar approached Rianna and dropped to his knee beside her chair. He reached out and placed his hand gently on her wrist, and she finally raised her eyes to look at him.

  “We have no supplies. The soldiers are exhausted and frozen and reeling from this defeat. If you press on, this can only end in disaster.”

  Orath reached out and seized Andar by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet, his grip strong enough to make the former High Sorcerer gasp in pain.

  “If the Destroyer of Worlds has united the savages under a single banner,” the Minion hissed in the Queen’s ear as he shoved Andar aside, “then our victory will come even more quickly.

  “Hexiff’s scouts have spotted a mass exodus of refugees, all heading in the same direction. They are gathering in one place. If we follow them to it, we can wipe out your enemy in a single battle!”

  “Slaughtering defenseless refugees won’t stop the warriors who attacked us today!” Andar protested.

  “It will draw the warriors out,” Orath insisted. “Instead of scattered patrols, tell Greznor to transform your troops into a real army and we can meet them head-on!”

  “We don’t even know their true numbers,” Andar cautioned. “The farther east we go, the greater the toll it takes. Our bowstrings freeze and the wood warps in the cold, rendering the archers useless. Frostbite takes the fingers and toes of too many soldiers each night, further thinning our numbers. Add in starvation and the threat of a winter storm, and your army might be a mere fraction of what we have now by the time the savages make their stand!”

  “We still have the ogre,” Orath reminded her. “It slaughtered dozens of the savages today; they are powerless to stop it. With the beast under our command, the enemy cannot stand against us. The Destroyer of Worlds will fall and the Ring will be yours once again.”

  Rianna turned her head slowly from Orath, to Andar, then back to Orath.

  When she finally said, “Tell Greznor to gather our forces and change course for the refugee camp,” Andar’s heart sank.

  Chapter 31

  JERROD STILL DIDN’T trust Hadawas, but the physical ordeal of the second day of their mountain trek left him little time to focus on his suspicions. Hadawas led them through a frozen labyrinth of ice and stone, somehow finding every nook and cranny they could use to go farther and farther into the otherwise impassable mountain range.

  Encumbered by the extra layers of cloth wrapped tightly around their bodies and the packs strapped to their backs, they crawled on all fours through twisting, seemingly endless dark and drafty tunnels. They hugged the cold mountain face, buffeted by fierce winds while creeping along slick ledges so narrow their heels dangled over the edge. They scaled sloping rock formations so steep that Hadawas’s warriors had to go ahead and use a harness to hoist the elderly chief to the top, then half climbed, half slid down the other side, always on the verge of losing control and careening over the precipice at the bottom.

  Once again the yeti followed them the entire way, growing more numerous and more agitated as the humans forged deeper and deeper into their domain. They came closer and closer until it wasn’t just Jerrod who noticed them lurking above. Norr let out a cry of anger and surprise as one reached down to paw at the big man’s arm, triggering a round of the howling laughs from the others as the offender bared its teeth then scampered away up the sheer side of the mountain, taking the others with him. The clawed swipe didn’t leave a mark, but it shredded the top layers of Norr’s thick clothing.

  By the time they reached the relative safety of the wide, flat plateau at the bottom of the peak they’d just crossed, the light was fading. Darkness came early as the sun disappeared behind the massive mountain peaks, but Jerrod felt it was for the best—they desperately needed to rest.

  It was obvious Keegan could barely walk another step; his missing hand making all the crawling and clambering through the mountain passes even more difficult. Norr was grimacing in pain, having pushed his knee too hard. Scythe was exhausted and shivering uncontrollably, her small, lithe form lacking any natural insulation against the cold. The Sun Blade warriors carried themselves with the herky-jerky motion of men so tired they had trouble controlling their limbs. Even Jerrod felt as if his body were ready to shut down.

  How is Hadawas still on his feet? the monk wondered. Even being lifted up the worst of the slopes, a man his age shouldn’t even be able to stand after all this.

  And then, almost as if Jerrod’s thoughts had triggered it, Hadawas collapsed face-first in the snow.

  One of the Sun Blades cried out in dismay, and two of them dropped down and gently rolled the old man onto his back.

  “There’s a cave close by,” he gasped, each word struggling to escape his lips, then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he lost consciousness.

  Knowing they had to get Hadawas—and the rest of them—shelter quickly, Jerrod pushed out with his awareness. His head began to ache from the effort, a throbbing in his temples that he feared would last for hours. But he finally sensed what Hadawas was talking about—a small opening in the ground, almost completely buried beneath the snow.

  Norr and two of the Sun Blades swept the snow clear to reveal the mouth of a sharply sloping tunnel leading down into the rock below their feet.

  “It extends for several yards, then opens into a larger chamber,” Jerrod assured them. “There’s room for all of us. The ceiling is even high enough for Norr to stand up.”

  Once they were all inside, Norr took out the last of their peat supply and lit it. The smoke made everybody’s eyes water, but as the heat spread slowly through the cavern nobody complained. The warmth seemed to revive Hadawas, who opened his eyes after a few minutes. With the help of one of his warriors, he managed to sit up.

  “I can go no farther,” the old man wheezed. “But you must continue on without me.”

  “How will we know where to go?” Norr asked.

  “The worst is over,” he told them. “There is a trail on the other side of this plateau. It leads down into a small valley. On the other side you will see another peak—much larger than any of the others. The Guardian’s lair is on the other side, but you will not have to scale the mountain.

  “There is a trail. Follow it up and around the peak; it will bring you to the Sword.”

  “What about you?” Scythe asked. “We can’t just leave you here.”

  “You have enough food to spare,” he told them. “Leave some with me and I will rest in this cave. Brin
g the Sword back to me here and I will lead you back down the mountains.”

  “We won’t leave you here alone,” one of the Sun Blades declared.

  “Two of you stay with me,” Hadawas ordered. “The rest go with Norr.”

  “I think that’s a mistake,” Jerrod cautioned, seeing a chance to eliminate any chance of Hadawas’s double-crossing them. “You saw that yeti strike at Norr. The creatures are growing bolder. If they attack this cave, you will need all your warriors to protect you.”

  “Why are you so eager to leave my people behind,” Hadawas wondered aloud, as if reading Jerrod’s true motives. “Is this a trick to steal the Sword for yourself?”

  Norr knelt down beside the old man and gently took his bundled hand in his own.

  “We have our own need of the Sword,” he admitted. “But I made a vow to the clans. I will not leave my people defenseless against the Danaan. This I swear to you.”

  Hadawas looked deep into Norr’s eyes, then nodded.

  “Tomorrow you four will go on alone,” he said. “And we will wait here for you to return with the Sword.”

  Then he lay back down gingerly and closed his eyes, exhausted by the effort of speaking.

  Keegan woke in the middle of the night from a familiar dream. Once again he’d been standing on the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping on the shore at his back as he brandished Daemron’s Sword and faced the onrushing army of Chaos Spawn. But this time he’d recognized the woman lying unconscious at his feet before the ravaging horde tore him apart.

  Cassandra, Rexol’s old apprentice. The one who helped us escape the Monastery.

  Identifying the woman with him did little to clarify the meaning of the dream, however. The vision of his own death—and failure—was troubling enough to keep him awake for several minutes, but in the end his body’s fatigue won out and he drifted back to sleep.