The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (6 page)

A hard rain began to fall, pelting her with cold water and stinging hail. A jagged bolt of blue lightning split the sky and arced toward the ground. Just beside Cassandra, the earth exploded, and the shock of the impact knocked her from her feet
.

Confused and disoriented, she somehow managed to keep hold of the Crown. Rising to her knees, she saw a dark figure swoop down from the clouds—the Minion that had hunted her across the Frozen East. The creature had the body of a naked woman, but its skin was black and featureless—like a shadow come to life. It had the wings and head of a bird of prey; its fingers were long, sharp talons; its eyes burned red
.

When it touched the ground, however, it transformed. The wings melted away and the body began to shift and shimmer, taking on the form of a woman Cassandra knew well
.

“Give me the Crown,” Yasmin said
.

The tall woman towered over Cassandra, standing straight against the driving rain, seemingly oblivious as the hail struck her on the face and the scarred skin of her naked scalp
.

“The Pontiff gave the Crown to me,” Cassandra protested, pulling the Talisman close against her chest
.

“Nazir is dead,” Yasmin reminded her. “The Monastery is fallen. Because of your actions, I am the Pontiff now.”

She stretched out her hand, palm up
.

“Give me the Crown.”

Cassandra shook her head
.

“You are a traitor to our cause,” Yasmin whispered. “A heretic. For that you must be punished.”

Yasmin stepped back and lifted her arms to the sky. A ring of fire burst forth from the ground, encircling Cassandra. The flames hissed as the rain struck them, but instead of being extinguished, they grew higher
.

Cassandra felt the heat as the fire slowly closed in. There was only one escape, one way out. With trembling hands she placed the Crown atop her head … and the world exploded
.

Cassandra woke with a start, heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst through the bones of her chest. Her body was soaked in sweat, and even though it was blessedly warm in the Guardian’s cave, she shivered.

“There is nothing to fear here,” the deep voice of the Guardian reassured her. “It was only a nightmare.”

Cassandra nodded. She was a prophet of the Order; she knew the difference between a nightmare and a vision.

This was no prophecy. But it was more than an ordinary dream
.

“Are you hungry?” the Guardian asked.

In response to his words, or possibly the scent of stew cooking over the fire near the rear of the cave, Cassandra’s stomach grumbled. She crawled out of her bedroll and crossed the cave in silence, her mind still trying to make sense of her dream.

The Guardian was hunched over the fire near the entrance of the cave, his back to the swirling snows of the blizzard outside.
The orange glow emanating from the flames cast a strange light across the blue skin of his naked, heavily muscled chest. Despite the howling wind just beyond the open mouth of his lair, no draft dared enter to disturb the warmth inside.

As she approached him, the Guardian stood and stretched, rising to his full fifteen feet and reaching up so that his massive hands nearly scraped the uneven rock ceiling. Though one of the Chaos Spawn, he appeared human save for his blue skin and massive size, though Cassandra had never seen any mortal man so exquisite.

His features were sharp and defined—the hard line of his square jaw framed by a short black beard, his eyes piercing and dark. He was naked except for a black fur loincloth and hard black boots that came halfway up his massive calves. As he stretched his arms up to the ceiling, the muscles of his perfectly proportioned limbs rippled and flexed, and Cassandra had to stop herself from letting out an awestruck gasp.

She knew there was more to the Guardian’s unearthly beauty than mere physical perfection. There was an ancient wisdom in his eyes and a calm yet unyielding strength in his words when he spoke. He radiated an aura that made her feel safe and secure, and she knew that as long as she stayed under his protection nothing could harm her.

But I can’t stay here forever
.

The Guardian shrugged his shoulders, working out a knot in his muscular neck before sitting down once more. Cassandra took a seat next to him, her heart involuntarily speeding up as her host leaned in and handed her a bowl of steaming stew.

The bowl was enormous, and Cassandra had to use both hands to support its weight. Her grip was awkward; she’d lost the ring and pinky fingers of her left hand to frostbite traveling across the mountains to reach the Guardian’s lair. But she managed to raise the bowl to her lips, tipping it back so the delicious broth spilled down her throat.

“You’re getting stronger,” the Guardian said approvingly.

But you’re getting weaker
.

It was subtle but undeniable. Though his features and frame were still inhumanly perfect, his appearance had changed. When she’d first arrived, the Guardian’s blue skin had almost seemed to glow, as if he were illuminated from within by the spark of immortality. Since her arrival, that luster had begun to fade.

Cassandra glanced over to the back corner of the cave. A stone pedestal stood in a recessed alcove. At its base rested the Crown she had come so far and suffered so much to deliver into the Guardian’s care.

Embedded in the top of the pedestal, blade pointed down and hilt toward the ceiling, was a magnificent sword. The handle was black, and carved with a subtle pattern that seemed to shift and flow as if it were alive. The silver blade radiated power, and when Cassandra glanced at it from the corner of her eye it seemed to take on a reddish hue—a lingering reflection of all the blood it had spilled.

Daemron’s sword, given to him by the True Gods before he rose up against them. A weapon infused with the power of Old Magic, entrusted by the True Gods to the Guardian after the Cataclysm
.

It was far too small for the Guardian to wield—in his enormous hand it would be little more than a dagger. When he left the cave to hunt for food, he armed himself with a heavy spear, the shaft as thick around as Cassandra’s thigh.

Yet even if the Sword had been properly proportioned for the Guardian to use, Cassandra knew he wouldn’t have dared. For him the blade was a holy relic; his entire existence focused on the single task of protecting the Talisman bequeathed to him by the True Gods.

In return for his unwavering devotion, the Guardian had become immortal. For centuries he had dwelt alone in the cave, sustained by the power of the Talisman. Until Cassandra’s arrival.

Like all who served in the Order, she knew the history of the Talismans well. The Crown and the Sword, along with a magical Ring, had all been forged from the fires of Chaos by the True Gods. Yet each was imbued with a unique type of power. The Sword had sustained the Guardian for seven hundred years, but the mere presence of the Crown was slowly killing him.

Such are the ways of Chaos. Opposition and conflict are inherent in its nature. Even the True Gods couldn’t change that
.

“The one who hunted you is gone,” the Guardian said. “She has fled back over the mountains though to what purpose I cannot say.”

Cassandra nodded, remembering the dark avian figure that still stalked her dreams.

“She may return,” the Guardian warned. “Or others may come. I will try to protect you, but my power ebbs.”

This was as close as he would ever get to admitting the truth. The Crown was anathema to him, slowly poisoning him. Yet he would never cast her out. The Guardian would sacrifice his own life without a second thought to keep her safe.

But eventually he would succumb. And once he was gone, Cassandra would be defenseless.

You are not defenseless! You have the Crown and the Sword! Use them to destroy your enemies!

Cassandra shook her head. The words were not her own; they seemed to materialize from some unknown source. But just for an instant, she considered them.

The Talismans will destroy you!
she reminded herself.
Rexol was the most powerful mage in the Southlands, and the Crown devoured him when he tried to use it
.

And even if she were strong enough to survive, unleashing the power of Old Magic could bring down the Legacy, unleashing Daemron the Slayer and his hordes of Chaos Spawn upon the mortal world.

“I can’t stay here forever,” Cassandra told him. “My fate lies outside the safety of your cave.”

“Where will you go?”

The obvious question, but one which Cassandra couldn’t answer.

“Rest awhile longer,” the Guardian urged, taking advantage of her uncertain silence. “A few more days to recover your strength.”

Surrounded by the warmth of the cave and with her belly full, Cassandra could find no reason to argue.

Setting down her empty bowl, she watched the Guardian in silence as he filled his own dish. He was Chaos Spawn, but he was no twisted monster. And it wasn’t just his physical perfection; there seemed to be a spark of the divine inside him.

“Did you know the True Gods?” Cassandra asked him.

He nodded, then set his meal down on the ground beside him.

“The Old Gods created me,” he whispered. “Back when the world was young. They called me forth from the ice and stone of the mountains and breathed life into my form.

“Back then,” he added after a momentary pause, “even the Gods did not understand the dangers of creation.”

“What do you mean?”

“The spell that gave me life sent ripples through the Chaos Sea. In the slime and filth far below the burning waves, a vile brute was born. My dark twin. The ogre.”

Cassandra nodded, remembering her lessons in the Monastery.
Chaos rebels against order
.

“The Gods gave life to this world, but in doing so they unwittingly called forth creatures like the ogre. Monsters that crawled from the Burning Sea to wreak destruction on these mortal shores.

“Once they understood the terrible consequences of their actions, the Gods realized they could no longer dwell in this realm. Their very presence caused ripples in the Chaos Sea that would
bring harm to those they sought to protect. Yet they could not abandon the people, either. They needed a hero to defend this realm.”

“But why did they choose Daemron?” Cassandra asked. “Why didn’t they choose you?”

“He was a mortal naturally born into this world. I am a creature formed from Chaos.” The Guardian spoke slowly, choosing his words with great care, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “The Talismans they gave to Daemron would have affected me in dangerous and unpredictable ways.”

Like how the Sword has sustained you for all these centuries
, she thought,
yet the Crown is now slowly killing you
.

“In the beginning, I fought by Daemron’s side,” the blue-skinned titan continued. “Together we drove the Chaos Spawn into hiding.”

“What was he like?”

“A great warrior,” the Guardian replied. “A powerful wizard. A brilliant prophet. A mighty king.”

As he spoke, he looked away from her and reached down to pick up the bowl from the ground beside him, his gaze focused intently on his meal.

“Were you friends?” Cassandra asked, sensing he was holding something back. “Before he betrayed the True Gods?”

The boldness of the question surprised her, but if the Guardian was offended, he gave no sign.

“We were allies,” he answered, turning his head to look at her once more. “But there was always something dark within him.

“A true hero fights for something greater than themselves. He or she is willing to sacrifice everything to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

Like you
, Cassandra thought.

“But Daemron was different. His courage was selfish. He risked
his life for glory and praise. He was fearless, but only because he was so proud he did not believe he could die.

“It wasn’t enough that the Gods had chosen him as their Champion. It wasn’t enough that they had gifted him with the Talismans. He believed he was their equal; he believed he deserved to be immortal. And he used the very gifts the Gods had given him to take what he thought he deserved.”

Is that so wrong? To seize what you want?

Once again Cassandra was momentarily caught off guard by the words that sprang unbidden into her head. The concept went against everything she had been taught, everything she believed in.

“Didn’t the True Gods sense Daemron’s corruption?” Cassandra asked, ignoring the stray—and unwelcome—thought.

“All mortals are corrupt and flawed next to the perfection of the divine,” the Guardian countered. “Perhaps they felt Daemron was the best they could find.”

“But you knew he was dangerous,” Cassandra pressed. “Didn’t you try to warn them?”

“Who was I to question the judgment of the Gods?” he countered. “I thought my doubts about him were evidence of my own failings: manifestations of my jealousy and resentment that they had elevated him over me. It was only after his betrayal that the truth became evident to all.

“The Talismans were imbued with the essence of the Gods themselves,” he continued. “They possessed the power of raw Chaos: the power of life and creation. Daemron discovered a ritual to unleash that power; he used it to transform himself from a man into an Immortal. But the backlash of his spell changed him in other ways, too.”

“How so?”

“The darkness inside him grew stronger; it consumed his mind and spirit. And his physical appearance was forever altered. The
Chaos changed him from human into something demonic and twisted. His exterior form became a reflection of the evil inside. He became as monstrous as the Chaos Spawn he once fought against—a being that fed on violence, suffering, and death.”

Cassandra knew the rest of the story: Daemron the Slayer, former hero and protector of the mortal world, rallied the Chaos Spawn to his banner … along with thousands of mortal men and women who chose to follow him instead of the Gods that had given them life. But in the end, his rebellion failed.