Chaos (25 page)

"Leave him alone," the man at the foot of the bed said. "Fetch tea and food. He's going to need his strength."

Sasha smirked and shifted on the bed so that his back was against the wall and legs stretched out before him. "So do you have a name?"

"You may address me as High Seer," the man said.

"Why would the High Seer have been trekking about the countryside looking for me? My understanding was that the Seers do not leave Unheilvol, and he most especially does not. That aside, your magic isn't good enough to be High Seer. If I had faced the High Seer in that clearing, I very well could have lost the fight."

The man bristled with anger, reminding Sasha of a little dog that—he winced as the memory collided with the curse. But he remembered that little dog and how much he had hated the way it startled easily and would go yipping and running about until something made it forget it was upset. "I am High Seer. The question is, who are you? Other than the chaotic threat ruining our fine country."

Sasha shrugged. "I am Sasha, and I think it safe to say I am a sorcerer—and a far better one than you—but past that, I could not say. The other sorcerer took care of that." He paused, thinking of that fight. Had it really been months since that day? He supposed it had. "He was better than you as well, come to think of it. The curse nearly got me." Reaching up, he undid the laces of his shirt and pulled it open, revealing the spider web that still faintly ached. "I do not suppose you can remove it?"

"I think I prefer to let it stay," the man replied. "Be grateful I don't order them to recast it correctly. If that curse had taken hold of you, you'd be a drooling, broken mess."

"Try it," Sasha said coldly, smirking when the man started to recoil before he caught himself. "I promise you, it's the very last spell any of you will cast on me."

The man gestured sharply, but his words did not hold all the weight they needed to sound convincing when he replied, "You're all bluster. More importantly, you are my prisoner. I suggest you keep that in mind lest we're forced to give you reminders."

"So what are you planning to do with me?"

"Lord Teufel has ordered us to bring you to him in Sonnenstrahl, so that is what we are going to do."

"Sonnenstrahl?  You can get through the gates of the Great Wall? How?"

The man's mouth tightened with anger—and jealousy, Sasha realized. "We have a man who can get through them."

Sasha desperately wanted to know who that man was, but did not ask. He would figure it out soon enough. If what Achim had told him was true … but best not to get his hopes up.

As much as he loved the idea of being taken straight into Sonnenstrahl, he had the feeling that nothing good would come of it in the end. If he was going to kill Teufel, then it must be done his way and not with a private escort comprised of Teufel's most faithful lackeys.

He would be much happier finding a way to escape and locating David, travelling with him into Sonnenstrahl. Fires, he did not even know how he was going to find David again. Wherever he was, Sasha hoped David was safe.  

The door opened before either one of them could say something further, and the man from before came in with a tray bearing tea and some rather sad looking bread and cheese. He set the tray down on the table and began to fuss with it.

The so-called High Seer glared at him and said, "Are my men ready to depart?"

"Nearly, High Seer," the man said, jumping. "Perhaps another hour or so. There is much to be packed if we are to make such an arduous journey."

"Do it faster," the High Seer snarled. "See that Friedrich is brought to me."

"But he needs his rest—"

"Do it!"

"Yes, High Seer," the man said and all but ran from the room.

Sasha sighed and stood up to fix his own tea, grimacing at the stale, over-steeped taste of it. "Why are we in such a hurry?"

"Because you've destroyed enough of the country and killed more than enough people," the High Seer snapped. "Raven Knoll is in ruins because of you. The entire country is in shambles because you decided you had the right to interfere in a god's choice, to reshape a land that is not yours."

"Teufel is no god and he had no right to act like one," Sasha said. "People should not be enslaved, and I will not be sorry that I am helping to set them free. If, in the end, they choose to live according to a strict fate, then at least the choice will have been theirs."

The High Seer sneered. "You speak nonsense and blasphemy."

Sasha ignored him in favor of finishing his awful tea and taking a piss. His magic was slowly returning to him, but it would still be some time before he had his full strength back. Best to cooperate until he had both strength and opportunity. It might, in fact, be best if he waited until they got him through the gates.

His gut twisted at the thought, because doing so would mean leaving David behind. It had been hard enough leaving David in Oak Hill. Selfish though it was to want David with him, he did not feel right without David at his side.

Setting his selfishness aside, however, he was forced to concede David was safer when he was not with Sasha. There was no telling what he would be facing on the other side of the Great Wall. He was already convinced he would not survive it. He did not want David to share that fate.

Putting thoughts of David to the back of his mind so he could think clearly, Sasha washed his hands in the bowl on a table by his bed. The soap was coarse and did his cold-roughened hands no favors, but having them clean again was something. Returning to the tray of food and tea, he poured himself a fresh cup.

The door banged open and two panicked-looking men filled the doorway. "He's gone! The High Seer is—I mean, the Old Seer is gone."

"Gone?" The High Seer asked in a dangerous tone of voice. "What do you mean he is gone? He was locked up and insane! Find him at once! Send men down into the city, tear this temple apart. Bring me Friedrich or I will take your heads!"

The men fled and with another snarl of rage and a last warning look at Sasha, the High Seer left, slamming the door shut and locking it before the sound of his footsteps slowly faded away.

Sasha moved to the window and tore away the tapestry covering it. To judge by the amount of light, it was morning to midday. He would rest, wait for dark, and then see what he could do about escaping. By then, his magic should be sufficiently restored.

Returning to the bed, he lay down, closed his eyes, and fell asleep thinking of David.

Friedrich huddled in the ruins of a building, burrowing as deep into the knotted mass of broken wood and shattered stone as he could. He tensed when he heard footsteps and voices, and breathed a soundless sigh of relief when they passed him by.

Cold, so very cold. But better than the dark, damp room where he had been. Away from the voices, away from the hate, the fear. The cold was so much better than that place he had been.

Beloved.

The voice again. He hated the voice, hated more the whispers that he could no longer understand, the images that were shown to him in the shards of a shattered mirror. Broken. Broken. Something was broken. He was broken. Was he? He didn't know.

More voices, but this time they were outside his head. Bad voices. All voices were bad voices. Friedrich tensed and waited for them to go by again because he refused to go back up into the black hole from which he had escaped. When the outside voices finally moved away again, he nearly wept with relief.

Beloved, please, come to me.

Broken. Broken.

I can fix you.

Can't be fixed. Shattered mirror and the pieces have sharp edges.

Fritz, please. Come to me.

I just want to escape all the voices.

The inside voice tried to say something else, but Friedrich ignored it. He crept out of the wreckage in which he hid, stuck his head out, and looked around. When the saw that the street was clear, he crawled free and stood up. He winced as he moved because every part of his body hurt. At least the bleeding had stopped. Moving and hiding would be impossible if he was still bleeding.

He moved deeper into the city, moving around broken buildings and bodies. So many bodies. Human. Sentinel. What had killed the Sentinels? Magic had. He could taste it on the air.

Thoughts of magic made him shudder, caused him to stumble, and he fell with a cry, landing on his hands and knees. Rough stone scraped his palms, made them bleed a little. He heard a shout and climbed to his feet, racing through the streets, searching frantically for a place to hide that did not
look
like a place to hide.

Outside voices grew louder, grew closer, and he finally threw himself into a building that was mostly still standing but wouldn't be for much longer. He ran through the ground floor all the way to the back, to the kitchen, hiding in the enormous fireplace where four or five men could have stood easily. Sinking down into a corner, he huddled there, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

He was tired. He was hurt. The pieces that made him were shattered, scattered.

Come to me.

Friedrich fought the voice. He was tired of voices. They were all bad. The voices broke him.

I will fix you, beloved. You know that. Remember it. Fritz …

"Shut it," Friedrich howled, holding his hands to his head, willing the noise to stop. All he wanted was quiet. Why would no one give that to him?

No reply came, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He waited for the outside voices to find him, sure that the blood he left behind would be his ruin. But he waited and waited, until exhaustion began to claw at him, and still they did not find him. Still he made himself wait, until he had to move again.

Creeping from the fireplace, he walked back through the building, sidestepping holes and chunks of rock and the shattered roof. In the doorway to the street, he hesitated, looking up and down and all around to be certain that he was alone.

Assured the outside voices would not find him, he resumed traveling through the city. He had to go somewhere, had to be somewhere. But he could not remember the
where
, only that that he had to get there. If he kept moving, eventually he would find it. Right? So he walked through the streets of the city he knew and yet did not know. He remembered when he was little, before the voices had gotten worse. When it was only one voice.

Me. I'm not just any voice. I belong to you. I always have. Come back to me, Fritz. Don't stay there in the dark, please. I beg of you. I love you. Come to me.

Friedrich shook his head back and forth, resisting. No more inside voices. He couldn't break anymore. If he broke more, he did not know what would happen, but he knew it would be awful.

I can fix you. Please.

The voice sounded like it was crying, but Friedrich would not be fooled. Inside voices, outside voices. All were bad.

He slipped on the snow and went down hard, crying out when he landed badly on his right hand, twisting his wrist. Biting back another cry of pain, he waited—but no outside voices came. Slowly standing up, holding his hurt wrist close to his chest, he resumed walking.

The smell of a storm made him draw to a sudden stop. How could it smell like thunder and lightning in the middle of a blizzard? Summer storms and winter storms did not mingle, so how had they? Friedrich followed the scent and realized that it was tangled with the smell of magic he had noticed earlier.

His feet eventually carried him to one of the larger city squares, one that was still in sight of the city gate. Dead Sentinels were piled in an unusually high concentration, as though they had been closing in on a particularly intriguing prey.

But that prey had been the one to come out the victor, for of him there was no sign save the bodies left behind. The residual magic and energy in the air prickled along his skin, brushed against his mind like licks of flame. Friedrich stood in the square and tried to figure out what had happened.

Too late, he realized he was letting the voices consume him, and could only whimper, sob, as the memory of the recent past filled his mind, sharp and bright and agonizing.

He tamped down on his fear when he saw and felt the Sentinels, refusing to look terrified when Sasha appeared so calm. But his fear spiked as he watched Sasha hold out his arms, felt the prickle as Sasha called upon his magic. "David, stay close to me. I'm going to try what I meant to use on the Great Sentinels before I met Achim. I am probably going to pass out when this is done."

"I'll take care of you," David replied, afraid for Sasha, but determined to stand by him and take care of him when he fell. He could not do much, but by the Light he could do that.

"I know," Sasha replied. "Be careful."

The soft, firm tone of the words warmed David despite his fear. He didn't need a god to give his faith to—all his faith belonged to Sasha. Everything he had to give belonged to Sasha. Nodding in reply to Sasha's words, he stepped up behind Sasha and twined his arms around Sasha's waist. He closed his eyes as he felt the magic come, listening to the way the words rumbled and resonated when Sasha spoke them. "
Wind and water, snow and ice, thunder and lightning. The depths of the sea and the infinity of the sky answer only to the Storms. Dragons of the Three Storms, Lords of Chaos, destroy these rotted threads of fate.
"

For a moment, the entire world seemed muffled, like dragging a heavy blanket up over his head. Then he head the thunder, soft at first, but then it boomed and crashed and roared, and his eyes snapped open in a panic as the entire world seemed to shake. Around them the Sentinels reared back, screamed, bellowed—faltered.

Before they could recover, lightning began to fill the sky, bursting in the clouds, racing along them, and filling the word with blinding flashes so close together it seared his eyes. He closed them again, but that only made him more aware of the sting of the snow that had turned more to jagged bits of ice, razor sharp in the force of the raging wind. In his arms, Sasha turned, clung tightly to him, dragged him to the ground, and covered him.