Chaos Unleashed (4 page)

Not surprisingly, nobody came forward, though Terramon glared sullenly at the crowd as if he was trying to will one of them to step up.

“As Vaaler already told you,” Shalana said, “the journey to Callastan will be dangerous. We are much more likely to find death than victory. But though the risk is great, we must make the attempt: The fate of the clans—of the entire world—hangs in the balance.

“We will leave tomorrow,” Shalana continued. “After this meeting, go to your thanes and your clans and tell them what must be done. If any of your warriors wish to join our cause, they are welcome…though they must understand there is a good chance they will never return.”

The morning of their departure was clear but bitterly cold. Shalana had expected their escort to be made up mostly of Stone Spirit warriors, but to her surprise nearly fifty men and women—some from virtually every clan at the Giant’s Maw—had volunteered to join them. Selecting only twelve from among them—seven men and five women—had been difficult, but fortunately the high turnout had allowed them to choose those with the courage and skill to give them the best chance of success.

Despite the cold and the early-morning hour, a massive crowd of men, women, and children had gathered to see them off, including Roggen and the other chiefs. Even Terramon was there, leaning on his cane and scowling at everyone.

Two small sleds had been loaded with supplies: hides and blankets to wrap themselves in when they camped each night; several bricks of peat they could burn to ward off the cold; and enough food to get them to the edge of the Southlands.

After that, the sleds won’t be much use,
Shalana thought.
We’ll have to abandon them.

The hope was that they’d be able to find enough supplies to keep going once they reached the more populated regions. Exactly how that was supposed to happen was something they hadn’t yet figured out. Sort of like how they planned to get through hundreds of miles of hostile territory without being arrested or killed.

Vaaler was confident they would find a way to succeed. Shalana trusted him enough to believe the same thing despite all evidence to the contrary.

And everyone coming with us believes enough in me to follow my lead.

The honor guard were making the final preparations to the sleds; it was time to move out. From the crowd, Roggen stepped forward and held up a hand for silence.

“We are gathered here to wish good fortune on Shalana and Vaaler,” he called out, his voice rising clearly in the cold, crisp air of the morning. “Together, they defied impossible odds and led us to victory when all seemed lost.”

He paused, and a loud cheer rose from the crowd. Shalana raised a hand to acknowledge their support though she couldn’t help but notice Terramon standing motionless and silent at the front of the throng.

“Hadawas, Norr, and the others have forged ahead,” Roggen continued. “Now these brave warriors must join them, for their destiny lies far to the South.”

Roggen stepped forward to clasp first Vaaler, then Shalana by the forearm. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, his words meant not for the crowd but for them.

“Every winter must give way to spring. When the ice melts, we will be here, waiting for your return.”

Neither Vaaler nor Shalana replied; everything that needed to be spoken had already been said. Roggen nodded, then turned away and retreated back into the crowd.

Before Shalana could give the signal for their escort to move out, Terramon stepped forward, his cane angrily stabbing into the snow-covered earth with every step.

“What does he want now?” she heard Vaaler hiss beside her ear, but she forced herself to remain calm.

The argument is over. We’ve won. Nothing he can say will change my mind.

Terramon kept coming forward, stopping only when he was directly in front of her. Then, leaning heavily on his cane, he reached out with his free hand and gripped her firmly by the shoulder.

“I still think this is madness,” he told her. But he wasn’t speaking loud enough to address the crowd; this wasn’t some final political speech.

“Be careful among the Outlanders,” he added, much to her surprise. “They are Barbarians with no honor.”

“I will,” she said, slightly taken aback.

“Look to Vaaler to guide you; he knows their ways. If anyone can keep you safe and bring you back, he can.”

“We will look after each other,” Vaaler promised, speaking up at her side.

Terramon nodded, but his hand kept its grip on her shoulder.

“You are my daughter,” he added after a brief hesitation. “No matter what happens, never forget that.”

And then he let his hand drop, pivoted on his cane, and quickly stomped off to disappear into the crowd. Stunned, Shalana watched him go in silence, trying to decide if she had caught a brief glimpse of a tear in his eye in the instant before he turned away.

“I guess that’s his way of saying he’s proud of you,” Vaaler said softly once he was gone.

“I guess so,” Shalana agreed.

With a final look over the faces of her people—faces she might never see again—she gave the signal and she, Vaaler, and their chosen dozen set out into the snow.

“Pay attention, Cassandra.”

Rexol’s voice was low but firm. The Chaos mage loomed over her, a little blond girl with emerald-green eyes dwarfed by his tall, lean frame. His dark skin and cloak made him appear little more than a shadow in the flickering light of the lone candle that lit the small, circular room. His long black hair was tied in uneven braids that draped haphazardly over his forehead and shoulders. Only his bright white teeth—filed to points—and his wide, wild eyes stood out in the gloom.

“Look at the symbols on the floor,” he instructed, and Cassandra cast her eyes downward. At her feet, a series of circles of varying sizes overlapped each other. Inside each one was an unfamiliar rune.

“You must learn to read the words of power before you can bend Chaos to your will.”

Though she was only a child, Cassandra knew he wasn’t speaking the entire truth. The runes were only a mnemonic device; they helped create patterns of thought that allowed the mind to properly focus. But the true power to control Chaos came from within.

“Don’t be so stubborn, child,” Rexol told her even though she hadn’t spoken her doubts aloud. “The Crown is too powerful to use without proper training. Let me help you.”

“No!” Cassandra shouted, the sound of her own voice inside the dream snapping her awake.

Cassandra’s blind eyes sprang open, an instinctive reflex that served no real purpose. The world of her dream quickly fell away as her supernatural awareness filled in the missing pieces of her surroundings. She was tucked under the covers of a small bed, her legs splinted and bandaged. A low fire burned in one corner of the room, a single desk and writing table stood in another. The Crown lay on the mattress beside her, hidden from view by the plain sack she had carried it in since fleeing the Monastery.

The only door to her chamber was closed, though in her mind’s eye she could clearly see Methodis, the bookish healer who was caring for her, puttering around in the apothecary that stood on the other side. He moved with purposeful calm, checking the inventory of vials and jars that lined the many shelves.

He’s going to steal the Crown!
Rexol’s voice warned her, speaking inside her head.

Cassandra ignored him. Had Methodis truly wanted the Talisman, he could have easily taken it when he first found her, unconscious in the rubble at the center of the earthquake Rexol had caused when the mad wizard had tried to possess her body to escape his imprisonment inside the Crown.

I saved you,
Rexol protested.
I was the one who turned the Crawling Twins against each other. If not for me, they would have ripped you to shreds.

“And then you almost wiped Callastan off the map when the Crown overwhelmed you,” Cassandra whispered, abandoning her efforts to ignore him.

But you are stronger than me,
Rexol countered.
I understand Chaos in ways the Order never could. I can teach you how to master your power. And the Crown.

Instead of continuing the argument, Cassandra thought back on her dream. It wasn’t a memory—not a real one, at least. The Order had saved her from Rexol when she was only six, but in the dream she had been older; nine or ten at least. And in the dream she still had her brilliant emerald eyes rather than the pure white orbs that signified Cassandra’s willing sacrifice when she gave up her vision to gain the Order’s mystical second sight.

I was showing you what could have been,
Rexol insisted.
What should have been if you hadn’t been stolen away from me.

“Is this how you’re going to try to control me now?” she demanded. “Through my dreams?”

Rexol didn’t reply, and a second later there was a knock at the door. With her awareness, Cassandra clearly saw Methodis on the other side, waiting patiently for her to respond. In one hand he held a cup filled with a thick, cloudy liquid. Tucked under his opposite arm was a roll of cloth similar to the bandages binding the splints on her legs.

“Come in,” she called out.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Methodis said as he opened the door and stepped into the room. “But I heard you talking, so I deduced you were awake.”

He didn’t bother asking her who she was talking to, despite there being no one else in the room.

Have I been speaking to Rexol often?
she wondered. Though she felt clearheaded now, much of the last few days was still hazy. It was possible he’d heard her carry on her one-sided conversations many times.
He must think I’m mad. Or fevered from my injuries.

Out loud she asked, “How long have I been here?”

“Nine days have passed since I found you in what was left of the jail,” the healer replied as he crossed the room and set the cup down on the table beside her bed, just a few inches from the cloth sack containing the Crown.

He has a limp,
Rexol pointed out, sounding almost jealous.
Faint, but noticeable. An old injury that never properly healed.

If he’s hiding that,
the wizard pressed,
what else is he keeping from you? What other deceptions will he try?

Cassandra recognized his paranoid ramblings for what they were and didn’t acknowledge them.

The healer took a seat on the edge of her bed and set the bandages down beside him, being careful not to jostle or disturb his patient any more than was absolutely necessary.

“I can’t believe I’ve been here nine days already,” Cassandra remarked. Based on what she remembered, she would have guessed three or four at most.

“I gave you something to help dull the pain,” Methodis explained, pointing at the mug of opaque liquid on the little table. “You spent much of that time asleep.”

“You kept me here the entire time? Looked after me?”

He nodded.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?”

“Perhaps,” he answered, “but not because of anything I have done. I took you from the jail wrapped in a sheet. I did the same with the remains of the guards. The people in the neighborhood think there were no survivors.

“But if the Order is looking for you,” he continued, “you would know better than I if they could track you here.”

The Order aren’t the only ones looking for you,
Rexol reminded her.

Though she didn’t bother to answer, she knew it was true. The Crawling Twins weren’t the only Minions of the Slayer that had crossed over to the mortal realm. The shadowy huntress that had stalked her through the Frozen East could still be looking for her. There might even be others.

“It isn’t safe for me to stay,” she said, struggling to rise despite the splints on her legs.

Methodis stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“You are in no condition to go anywhere,” he reminded her, nodding in the direction of her splints. “You need to lie still.”

I will keep you hidden,
Rexol assured her.
I’ve used the Crown to set up a maze of false trails throughout the city. If you let me, I can show you how to do the same.

The trails didn’t fool the Crawling Twins,
Cassandra reminded him.
Sooner or later, one of the other Minions will come searching for me.

I can teach you how to use the Crown to destroy them!
Rexol reminded her.

“I’d like to check the injuries to your legs,” Methodis said, breaking the silence of the room left by her inner monologue. “To make sure they are healing properly.”

Cassandra nodded, and the little man smiled reassuringly.

“I’ll try to be careful,” Methodis warned her, “but this may hurt. Your injuries were severe.”

Reaching out slowly, he began to unwrap the bandages that bound her left leg to its splint. His touch was gentle, but practiced and sure, and it didn’t take him long to unwrap the dressing and expose the limb.

“This is…unexpected,” he said once he was finished, clearly perplexed.

“Is something wrong?”

“Far from it. You are healing far better than I could have hoped for.” From his tone, Cassandra knew there was more he wasn’t saying.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Methodis hesitated briefly before replying.

“Your injuries were extensive. Your skin was nothing but black-and-purple splotches. The bones of your legs weren’t just broken; they had basically been shattered. The tendons and muscles were mangled and crushed, as if some great force had slammed into your legs over and over. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He knows you caused the earthquake!
Rexol shouted in warning.

No, you caused it,
Cassandra snapped back.
I stopped you.

“I did my best to set and splint them,” Methodis continued, unaware of the silent debate raging inside his patient’s thoughts, “but I feared you would never walk properly again…if at all.

“But the bones are already mending, and the bruising is almost completely gone.”

“Then my recovery is a tribute to your talents,” Cassandra suggested.

The old doctor shook his head.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he insisted. “I’ve heard tales of the Order’s physical prowess. Rumors of unbelievable speed and strength. Incredible stamina. Remarkable healing powers. But I never imagined anything like this.”

This is not just because of the Order’s teachings,
Rexol chimed in.
It’s the Crown. You’re instinctively drawing on its power.

“How much longer until I can walk again?” Cassandra asked, ignoring the wizard.

“I really can’t say,” Methodis admitted. “If you continue to heal at this rate, another week or two, perhaps.”

I don’t have that much time,
Cassandra thought, recalling something Methodis had told her the first time she had regained consciousness under his care. The Order was descending on the city. Even now, she suspected, Yasmin would have Inquisitors scouring the streets looking for her.

You could be fully healed in a few days if you embrace your full potential,
Rexol reminded her.
All you have to do is let me teach you.

“I can’t stay here,” Cassandra told him. “You’ve put yourself in great danger by taking me in. If the Order discovers what you’ve done, you will be burned at the stake as a heretic.”

“If defying the Order makes one a heretic, the Pontiff will have to burn down the entire city,” he replied with a shrug.

“What do you mean?”

“When the Pontiff declared her Purge, Callastan refused to bow down,” he said, an unmistakable hint of pride in his voice. “Too many of us remember the last time. The senseless executions. The mindless fear that turned neighbors against each other.

“For all its failings, Callastan at least has the courage to defy the Pontiff. When she declared the Purge, we responded by exiling all her followers.”

“I thought the earthquake changed all that,” Cassandra said. “When I woke up the first time, you told me the city was in ruins. You said there were riots in the streets. You told me the Order was coming to claim what was left of the city.”

“I feared the worst,” Methodis admitted. “Callastan is a mosaic of every sin and vice you could imagine. But despite this, or possibly because of it, there is a strength among its people. From the corrupt rulers to the ruthless crime lords all the way down to the cunning pickpockets who work the crowds at the market, all the citizens share one single trait: They do not bow down easily to authority.

“That is the reason the Enforcers police our streets. Yet even armed soldiers on every corner cannot fully keep the fiery spirit of Callastan’s people in check.”

“I thought the Enforcers used fear and violence to dominate the lower classes,” Cassandra noted, recalling her lessons from the Monastery.

“There is some truth in that,” Methodis admitted, “but in this city they are a necessary evil. Without them, the streets would run red with blood.

“And as unpopular as they are, the Order is even more so,” he continued. “When word spread that the Pontiff’s followers were coming, the ranks of the Enforcers tripled overnight as the nobles and the underworld set aside their differences and banded together against a common foe.”

“An inspiring tale,” Cassandra said grimly, “but in the end it won’t matter. Even together, they are no match for the Pontiff and her Inquisitors. Not with the armies of the rest of the Southlands at her back.”

“That may be true,” the old man conceded. “But for now, the mere threat of resistance has kept the Order at bay. They are gathering outside the city; their numbers growing day by day. Yet so far they have not even dared to approach our walls.”

Cassandra was puzzled by Yasmin’s strategy. Callastan was a port city; laying siege to it was futile if the Order couldn’t control the docks.

What is she waiting for?

You overestimate the Pontiff’s power,
Rexol told her.
Your mind is clouded by years of indoctrination inside the Monastery walls. The Order is not what it used to be.

“Eventually their numbers will be enough that they will attack,” Methodis said, as if he were privy to her and Rexol’s private conversation. “But fortunately that day is not here yet.”