The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (4 page)

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Scythe answered without turning her head, her eyes focused on the dim outline of the charging horse ahead of them. “The monk’s soft in the head about a lot of things, but on this one he might be right. Just let us handle it and try to stay out of the way.”

“I won’t let you sacrifice your lives to save me,” Keegan countered. “No matter what Jerrod says.”

“It’s not all about you, you know,” Scythe shot back, irritated. “The Inquisitors are out for blood. We’re all mixed up in this now.

“Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Face flushing with embarrassment, Keegan held his tongue for the rest of the ride.

Scythe wasn’t stupid. She recognized Keegan’s clumsy declarations for what they were. Plenty of men—and women—had developed
crushes on her before. She wasn’t against using it to her advantage in the right situation, but this was neither the time nor the place for romantic games.

She felt a bit guilty about how she’d shamed the young wizard into silence. He was just a foolish kid who didn’t know any better, and he’d already suffered through plenty of pain and loss. But the dynamics of their little group were already strained, and she didn’t want to further complicate matters.

She wasn’t worried about Norr. Her lover wasn’t the jealous type, and he knew Scythe well enough to step back and let her deal with these kinds of problems in her own way. He’d just smile and let out a deep, rumbling chuckle if she told him about Keegan’s feelings for her.

Vaaler probably wouldn’t care, either. The Danaan prince had plenty of other things on his mind, given his banishment and the horrors he’d seen unleashed on his former people.

Jerrod, however, might see this as more than just a harmless crush. He’d probably accuse her of being a distraction, a temptation to lure his chosen savior away from the righteous path or some similar fanatical nonsense.

Not that she cared what some self-important monk thought about her. But Keegan listened to Jerrod. If the monk decided she was a danger to the young man’s destiny, he might try to turn him against her.

Or do something even more drastic
.

The monk had made it clear that he valued Keegan’s life above anyone else’s. She didn’t think he’d do something as rash as attack her right in front of everyone; he was too smart for that. But Jerrod never seemed to sleep. If Keegan and Vaaler woke up one morning to find that she and Norr were gone, it wouldn’t be hard for the mad monk to convince the others that they’d simply left.

She wasn’t completely convinced he’d try something like that, but she wouldn’t put it past him, either.

Do you really think Keegan’s feelings are going to disappear just because you told him to shut up? This isn’t over
.

Scythe grinned, baring her teeth against the chill of the night air as her horse continued its stumbling gait.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and the Inquisitors will kill us all so I don’t have to deal with this
.

She laughed quietly at her own joke, though she knew nobody else would find it funny. Even Norr couldn’t appreciate her gallows humor.

As desperate as their situation was, however, she didn’t feel afraid. She didn’t want to die, of course. But for some reason she was convinced they were going to come out of this relatively unscathed. Instead of dreading the confrontation, she was looking forward to it. Eagerly.

Methodis had taught her about adrenaline; she knew it was natural to feel a rush of excitement in times of danger or stress. But this was different. She’d felt it ever since they left the North Forest, a feeling that grew stronger the farther east they traveled. Something about this harsh land spoke to her; it made her feel energized. Alive.

She imagined Norr felt it, too, even though he hadn’t said anything about it to her. This was the land of his people, his home.

Or maybe his return is bittersweet
.

Norr had never spoken about why he’d left the Frozen East and journeyed into the Southlands. Scythe suspected there were old wounds, and she wasn’t about to start picking at the scabs … not when she had so many of her own.

And then all her thoughts were wiped away in an instant as the horses went down.

The focus of Jerrod’s Sight was split between their immediate surroundings and the enemies pursuing them. Yet he was still aware
enough to react to the sharp crack of bone as the fetlock of Norr’s mount snapped beneath the barbarian’s weight.

The animal screamed as it went down, taking the rider with it. Vaaler, following too close behind in their mad rush to reach the
Gerscheld
, couldn’t change course in time and was caught up in the crash.

Third in line, Jerrod tried to wheel his mount to the side. But the animal didn’t share the monk’s supernatural reactions. Already pushed to the edge of its physical limits, the horse planted one hoof awkwardly as it tried to respond to its rider’s urgent command. The ankle didn’t give way, but the beast stumbled off balance and went tumbling forward.

Jerrod threw himself from the saddle to avoid being crushed by his own mount. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs even though he was able to tuck and roll to absorb some of the impact.

Behind him, Scythe and Keegan were swept up in the carnage as well: carrying two people, there was nothing the horse could do to stop its momentum from sending it headlong into the fallen riders ahead of them.

One second Keegan was riding behind Scythe, silently cursing himself for all the stupid things he’d said. The next he was hurtling through the air. His body did a half somersault before he slammed into the frozen turf, his neck and shoulders taking the brunt of the impact.

Disoriented and dazed, he lay motionless on his back, his eyes staring up at the dark night sky above. A burning, tingling pain radiated out from his spine and down through his limbs, and for an instant he feared he’d broken his neck. But after a few moments he managed to roll over and lift himself up to his knees, his arms and the fingers of his surviving hand numb but functional.

The high-pitched, bloodcurdling neighs of the horses drew his attention, and he turned to see a mass of twisted, writhing chaos. He couldn’t tell how many horses were down; in the darkness, their thrashing bodies and flailing hooves made it impossible to tell one from another. But he could pick out other forms in the mayhem—the riders who fell with their mounts.

Still too woozy to stand, he started to crawl forward to help his friends. And then Jerrod was there beside him, holding him back.

“It’s too dangerous!” he shouted. “One kick could stave in your skull!”

Keegan knew the monk was right, and he didn’t have the physical strength to resist him anyway. Helpless, he was forced to watch as the mess of limbs and flesh slowly untangled itself. One of the horses sprang to its feet. Uninjured but panicked, it raced off into the night.

A massive figure—clearly Norr—crawled from the scrum on his hands and knees. He paused to grab hold of a shadowy form lying motionless, dragging the unconscious victim clear of the chaos before collapsing a few yards away.

Another horse managed to find its feet. Like the first, it bolted, heading in the opposite direction. Keegan could see that it was limping badly.

The remaining horses were screaming in agony; too injured to rise. But Keegan ignored their gruesome suffering; his attention focused on the two shadowy figures nearby.

Norr pulled someone out. Was it Vaaler or Scythe?

In the gloom the other person looked small and delicate beside Norr, but the barbarian dwarfed everyone. In the darkness, it was impossible to be sure from a distance.

Shaking free of Jerrod’s restraining hand, Keegan rose to his feet and rushed over to his fallen friends. The monk followed close behind. As he drew closer he realized the figure beside Norr was Vaaler.

Both men were conscious now, sitting up gingerly and checking themselves for broken bones or other serious injuries. Keegan’s relief at seeing his closest friend still alive was quickly washed away by his concern over the missing fifth member of their group.

“Where’s Scythe?” he demanded.

Vaaler was still too shaken to answer, but Norr managed to shake his head.

“I didn’t see her. She must have been thrown clear.”

Before Keegan could even suggest looking for her, Jerrod tapped him on the shoulder.

“There,” he said, pointing back toward the suffering horses.

Keegan could just make out Scythe’s silhouette circling the wounded animals. She was crouched low to the ground, like a predator ready to strike. Driven mad by the pain, the horses still kicked and struggled, their shattered limbs flopping about at unnatural, sickening angles.

Scythe suddenly darted forward then jumped back. One of the horses shuddered, then a few seconds later it went still. By that time Scythe had already slit the throat of the second tortured creature, and it, too, became still as its life slipped away. Turning away from the animals she’d been forced to put down, the young woman made her way over to the others.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Norr assured her, grunting as he levered his bulk into a standing position.

“You know you’re a terrible liar,” Scythe warned him.

“Cracked ribs, maybe,” her lover admitted. “A twisted knee. Nothing serious.”

“What about you, Vaaler?” Keegan asked. “You weren’t moving when Norr pulled you clear.”

“I was wondering how I ended up here,” the prince replied, slurring his words slightly. “Thank you,” he added with an appreciative nod in the barbarian’s direction.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Keegan pressed. “Are you hurt?”

“Took a nasty bump to the head. Everything else seems to be okay.”

“Let me see,” Scythe said, stepping forward to make a quick inspection. “You’re cut. Bleeding quite a bit. Head wounds are always messy. But it looks worse than it is. You’ll be fine.”

Satisfied with Scythe’s prognosis, Keegan extended his good hand and helped pull Vaaler to his feet.

“Now what?” the Danaan asked. “The Inquisitors are still after us.”

“We’re only a mile away from the
Gerscheld
,” Norr offered.

“Maybe they’ll split up to follow the horses that ran off,” Scythe suggested. “Help even our odds.”

“They won’t,” Jerrod replied. “They’re close enough to sense us now, just as I can sense them.

“Grab what we can from the horses,” the monk ordered. “We’ll continue on foot.”

T
HEY WEREN
’
T ABLE
to salvage much from the two fallen mounts. Most of the food had been on the animals that had panicked and fled off into the night, and the bedrolls and other camp gear would only slow them down as they continued on foot.

As far as Keegan was concerned, the only thing of real value was Rexol’s staff. Somehow it had survived unharmed; even the horned gorgon’s skull was undamaged. Whether this was a stroke of luck or an indication of the power trapped within, Keegan couldn’t say. But he was grateful to have the Talisman with him as they marched on through the night.

Scythe quickly cut several strips of cloth from the bedrolls and wrapped them tightly around Norr’s injured knee, then they set off again. The walked single file, the barbarian leading the way. Even with the support of the wrap, the big man was limping slightly, but his long stride still enabled him to set a pace the others had to work to keep up with. It wasn’t long before they could see the outline of the
Gerscheld
looming ahead of them, a black shape rising fifty feet, set against a twilight sky that heralded the approaching dawn.

In addition to being significantly larger, the
Gerscheld
was also shaped differently than the other small, rolling hills that dotted the tundra. The
Gerscheld
was wider and flatter. Three of its sides were sheer cliffs, though the face they were approaching didn’t shoot
straight up. Instead, it was sloped like a steep ramp leading to the summit.

By the time they reached the base of the plateau it was light enough for Keegan to make out the uneven path winding through the jagged rocks that covered the sharp incline. An irregular, twisting trail had been carved into the rock face; in places it couldn’t have been more than a few feet wide.

The path was clearly man-made, and Keegan suspected the
Gerscheld
itself wasn’t a natural formation. To his eyes it appeared the earth had been wrenched apart, then folded back on itself.

This place probably dates back to the Cataclysm
.

But if magic had created the
Gerscheld
, there was no lingering trace of its presence. The charge in the air Keegan had felt in the North Forest was absent; like the rest of the Frozen East, this was a place where Chaos was thin.

Still in single file, they trudged up the path to the top of the plateau. The ground was uneven and the going hard; Keegan had to lean heavily on Rexol’s staff for support during the ascent. Even Jerrod seemed to struggle with the steep incline.

At least it won’t be easy for the Inquisitors to get to us
.

Reaching the top, he was surprised to find several dozen large, rectangular stones arranged in a wide circle near the center of the plateau. The stones were all the same size and shape—roughly six feet across, ten feet high, and four feet deep. They stood on end, evenly spaced from each other as if someone had set them there. They were fashioned from a smooth blue mineral unlike anything Keegan had ever seen.

“What is this place?” Vaaler gasped.

“I told you,” Norr said. “It was a meeting place for the ancient clan chieftains. During times of conflict, they could come here to parley without fear of an ambush.”

Keegan saw it was true; from their vantage point they’d have a clear view for miles in every direction once the sun came up.

“This was once hallowed ground,” the barbarian added. “It was forbidden to spill blood here. But Pertor the Defiler violated the sanctity of the
Gerscheld
when he butchered his rivals during a parley.”