Chaos Unleashed (36 page)

“They’re back!” Jerrod shouted from the other side of the door. “Keegan and Scythe! They’re here!”

Vaaler wrenched the door open, his heart pounding with excitement.

“Are they hurt? Where are they?”

“They appear unharmed,” Jerrod assured him. “Though they are cold and wet. A patrol found them treading water near the docks.”

A thousand questions were racing through Vaaler’s head.
What happened? How did they return without magic? Why were they in the harbor?
But none of these things really mattered: His friends were alive!

Vaaler grabbed the monk in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around, laughing with unbridled joy.

V
AALER SAT ATOP
his horse, watching as Andar and the rest of the Danaan contingent left Callastan. Nearly half the army of the Free City soldiers marched with them, serving both as an escort and as couriers to deliver a message to Lord Bonchamps: After decades of distinguished service, Captain Jendarme was stepping down as leader of Cheville’s city guard.

That didn’t mean the old man would be retiring, however. At the official request of the nobles, and with the unofficial sanction of the gang bosses and crime lords, the legendary soldier had agreed to serve as temporary Governor of Callastan until the city’s ruling class had reestablished itself.

“Good luck to you,” Andar said, reaching up to shake the young man’s hand.

“And you,” Vaaler replied. “And Keegan and Scythe wanted me to thank you again on their behalf.”

Since being fished out of the Callastan harbor three days ago, both Keegan and Scythe had been fighting a nasty cold. Under Methodis’s overprotective care, they’d been put on a strict regimen of bed rest and liquids.

“We should all be thanking them,” Andar replied. “They saved us all and restored the Legacy.”

Vaaler couldn’t say for sure, but he thought he picked up a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Would that be so surprising? He’s the High Sorcerer. Of course on some level he’s going to resent losing his powers.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Andar asked, but Vaaler simply shook his head.

“No matter how many times you ask, it will always be the same answer.”

Over the past few days the High Sorcerer had made numerous appeals to Vaaler, trying to convince him to accompany the delegation on their return to Ferlhame. All to no avail.

Vaaler knew there were still many among the Danaan who would brand him a traitor, but he didn’t decline out of fear for his safety. From what Andar had told him, the Queen and most of her advisers did not see him that way. But that didn’t mean they would welcome him with open arms.

And I’m not ready to see Rianna yet,
he thought, watching the Danaan head out through the city gates.

As if reading his thoughts, Shalana asked, “Do you think you will ever forgive your mother?”

“I honestly can’t say,” he told her.

“The Danaan will have need of a strong leader,” she reminded him, “now that they can no longer rely on visions and mages to protect their kingdom. It will be a difficult adjustment for them.”

For all of us,
Vaaler thought.

He had never considered himself to have any kind of magical ability. Despite the pedigree of his bloodline, Chaos did not flow in his veins. Yet with magic gone, he found his memory wasn’t quite what it used to be. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten everything he’d learned, but many of the details weren’t quite as sharp or as clear anymore.

I was born under the Blood Moon,
he reasoned.
Maybe I was touched by Chaos, after all. Maybe it enhanced my skills and abilities in ways too subtle to notice until it was gone.

That realization was daunting, but Vaaler knew there would be many others who had a far more difficult time adjusting to the new world than he. Magic and visions were ubiquitous in both the Southlands and the Danaan kingdom. To have such a common tool taken away was going to have many unforeseen consequences…not all of them desirable.

“You may not be ready to return to the North Forest yet,” Shalana noted, interrupting his train of thought, “but one day you will go back. It is your home.”

“Not anymore,” he assured her. “Once we’re done here in Callastan, I’m heading with you to the Frozen East.”

“What if I don’t want to go back right away?” Shalana asked. “What if I want to explore the Southlands?”

“It will be an interesting time,” Vaaler conceded, not quite sure if she was teasing him or not. “Maybe it’ll be worth sticking around to see how it all turns out.

“Just as long as we’re together,” he added, leaning over in his saddle to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

“I finally understand the purpose of that horse,” she said with a coy smile. “Now you don’t have to get on your tiptoes to kiss me.”

As he made the long walk from the kitchen to the bedrooms, Methodis was reminded why he hated treating patients in the mansions of the nobility. Every time he prepared a medicinal mixture—or even made a bowl of soup, like the ones he now carried—he had to traipse from the servants’ wing to the private chambers of the owner.

As temporary Governor, Jendarme had commandeered this particular residence for Keegan and Scythe to use while they remained in the city. Officially it still belonged to the original owner, but there were reports that his ship had sunk when he tried to flee Callastan during the Order’s attack. He and all his heirs were lost beneath the deep, dark waters.

Yet Methodis had heard a slightly different tale. There were rumors of the nobleman’s having an affair with the daughter of one of the local crime bosses that ended badly. Some claimed he disappeared to avoid the wrath of an angry father who also happened to employ several highly skilled assassins.

Of course, none of that had any effect on the health and welfare of the doctor’s current patients. He knocked with his foot against the door of their bedchamber, carefully balancing the tray of soup.

“Come in,” Scythe called out, her voice still stuffy and congested.

As usual, she was up and about, pacing around the room. She had never taken to bed rest well. Keegan, on the other hand, had made himself comfortable in the luxurious bed, wrapping himself in the down-filled comforter.

“I’m glad at least one of you is following doctor’s orders,” Methodis said, coming in and placing the soup down on the small, ornate table in the room’s breakfast nook.

“Any idea how much longer until we’re better?” Keegan asked, punctuating his question with a trio of wet sneezes.

“A few more days,” Methodis said. “If you rest up,” he added, glaring at Scythe.

“Too bad I’m not a wizard anymore,” he groused. “I could just snap my fingers and make this all go away.”

Methodis smiled, relieved the young man was able to joke about what he had lost.

He’s coming to grips with this. It won’t be easy, but he will find his way.

“It’s probably for the best,” Scythe chimed in. “You were always a bit careless with your spells. Probably turn this cold into a plague that would wipe out half the city.”

The young man laughed softly and shook his head.

They’re so comfortable around each other,
Methodis thought.

He was glad that Scythe had taken his advice and finally opened herself up to the young man. It would help him in his recovery, and Methodis thought it was good for her, too.

Scythe was different since they’d returned. The change was subtle, but for someone who had raised her it was easy to see. She didn’t seem as confrontational or quick to anger, as if the fire that had always burned inside her had softened somewhat.

Privately, Vaaler had speculated to Methodis that with the Legacy restored, Chaos was no longer acting as a catalyst for her temper. A possibility, but one Methodis discounted.

He saw the way Scythe and Keegan looked at each other, and he recognized young love.
Hang on to this one, my little Spirit,
he thought.

Another knock came on the door, and Jerrod poked his head inside. It took a moment for Methodis to recognize him. With the white veil no longer covering his eyes, his features were so plain as to be almost generic.

“I came to say good-bye,” the former monk announced. “I’m leaving in a few hours.”

“I need to go check on my shop,” Methodis said, coming up with an excuse to give them some privacy. “I’ll be back later tonight.”

As a parting shot, he added, “Make sure you eat the soup!”

“He’s a good man,” Jerrod said, as Methodis slipped out the door. “You are lucky to have him back in your life.”

You have no idea,
Scythe thought. Out loud, she answered, “There is no kinder or more caring soul in the Southlands.”

“I just wish his daughter took after him a little more,” Keegan said, earning a snarky glare from Scythe.

“You sure you don’t want to wait a little longer before leaving?” Scythe asked, turning her attention back to Jerrod. “Or, better yet, just forget about this crazy plan altogether?”

To Scythe’s dismay, Jerrod was determined to wander the Southlands, telling everyone the tale of the Children of Fire.

“Cassandra sacrificed herself to save us all,” Jerrod insisted. “People must be told of what she has done. She must be remembered and honored.”

“We wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her,” Keegan agreed. “Everything we have—our lives, each other, the entire world—we owe to her. And keeping her name alive is the only thing we can do to repay her.”

“And there are others who sacrificed as well,” Jerrod added. “Their story must also be told.”

Scythe nodded, knowing exactly who he meant. Even though she’d finally given in to her feelings for Keegan, she still cared deeply for Norr. She always would. She wanted people to know about him and what he had done.

“Of course you’re right,” she admitted. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just weird. Almost seems like you’re starting some new religion.”

“In a way, I am,” he answered. “The Order is gone, but people still need guidance. They still need a shining example to inspire them in their daily lives. What better example than Cassandra’s courage and selflessness?

“People have seen the new constellation in the sky,” Jerrod added. “Already they are calling the cluster the Children of Fire.”

Scythe groaned. “Can’t you just leave me out of all this? Cassandra’s the one you want everyone to worship, anyway. She’s the savior, right?”

“Much was asked of you all,” Jerrod reminded her. “For a time you each bore a great burden, and you bore it well. The world owes you a debt they can never repay, but at least they should know what you’ve done.”

“Maybe you could just change Scythe’s name or something,” Keegan offered, trying to find a compromise to satisfy them both.

“I’m sorry,” Jerrod replied. “I must tell them the entire truth. I cannot pick and choose what goes in or stays out.”

“Why not?” Scythe challenged. “Every other religion does it.”

“I hold myself to a higher standard,” he told her.

“Great,” Scythe grumbled. “So I get to suffer for your principles.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Keegan told her. “Nobody’s going to believe him, anyway. They’ll just think he’s crazy.”

Jerrod smiled at the jab, knowing it was delivered by a friend in jest.

It always looks strange when he smiles,
Scythe thought.
His features are too harsh and stern.

Even without the unsettling white eyes, it was easy to guess he’d once served the Order. He still carried an air of grim authority about him.

People are going to believe him when he tells his tale,
she realized.
Many of them, at least.

Jerrod came over to the bed and clasped Keegan’s arm. “Good luck to you,” he said. Then he turned and offered his hand to Scythe.

On a wild impulse she grabbed him in a fierce hug, just to see how he’d react. To his credit, he endured it with aplomb.

“Just remember,” Scythe told him when she let go. “If this religion of yours takes off, I want a cut from the collection plate.”

He smiled again, nodded at them both, and left the room, closing the door behind them. Once he was gone, Scythe crossed over to the bed and climbed in beside Keegan, snuggling close under the covers.

“I can’t believe you’re not more bothered by what Jerrod is doing,” she told him.

Keegan shrugged. “I guess I just got used to being told I was some kind of all-powerful savior. Maybe it’s hard for me to let that part of my identity go.”

Scythe knew Keegan was still struggling to come to terms with losing his gift. But she truly believed he was better off without it. And she needed him to believe it, too.

“You’re not letting that identity go,” she told him. “You’re breaking free from it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our lives were never our own,” she explained. “We were controlled and manipulated by Chaos. We were just pawns in some greater plan. Slaves to our fate. But that’s over now.

“Now we can be anything we want! Go anywhere we want! Do anything we want! That’s an amazing gift, and Cassandra gave it to us.”

“I hadn’t really looked at it like that,” he said, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, it’s time you started,” she told him. “The future is whatever we make of it. So let’s make it a good one. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he said, flashing her a bright smile.

He doesn’t smile enough,
she thought.
But unlike Jerrod, it looks good on him.

“Glad you’re on board,” Scythe said, satisfied. “So tell me—what is the one thing you want to do more than anything else?”

“This,” Keegan said, pulling her close and giving her a long, hard kiss.

Daemron crouches on the cold stone floor of his inner sanctum, his wings wrapped protectively around him. Slowly he unfurls them and stands, every muscle and fiber of his body aching with exhaustion. The spell that he used to transport himself instantly back into his nether realm is draining, even for a God, but it has served him well.