The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (7 page)

“Were you there when Daemron fell?” Cassandra asked.

“He never fell,” the Guardian corrected her. “He fled.

“I fought on the side of the Gods in the final battle. I was locked in mortal combat with the ogre, my dark twin, when Daemron realized all was lost. In a last, desperate act he cast a powerful spell, ripping open the fabric of existence to create a portal to another realm.”

“The Cataclysm,” Cassandra whispered, suppressing a shiver.

The Guardian nodded. “The fury of the Chaos he summoned split the mortal world in two, unleashing earthquakes, floods, and fires across all the lands.

“Daemron and many of his followers fled through the portal, abandoning the mortal world. In the confusion, the ogre escaped me though I cannot say for sure if the beast made it through the portal before it snapped shut.

“Many of the Chaos Spawn did not; they were trapped here. But with their leader gone, they scattered, disappearing in the turmoil of the Cataclysm. Acting quickly, the Gods combined their power to heal the rift in the mortal world before everything was completely destroyed. But the ritual crippled them; in saving us all, they themselves were mortally wounded.”

The Guardian paused in his tale, as if gathering his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and choked, as if holding back tears.

“The Gods knew they were dying, so they had to act quickly. With the last of their strength they created the Legacy, a barrier between this world and the Burning Sea that trapped Daemron and his followers in their banishment.

“No longer able to draw freely on the power that had created them, the Chaos Spawn that were left behind quickly became weak. To survive, they went into hibernation deep beneath the earth: a sleep from which we hoped they would never wake.

“And then the Gods just … slipped away.” The Guardian’s voice had dropped to a low whisper, and his eyes’ gaze was distant and unfocused.

“The True Gods gave of themselves to bring peace to the mortal world,” Cassandra added, reciting the familiar words from her earliest lessons in the Monastery. “They sacrificed themselves that we could live on, bequeathing the Legacy to us that we may preserve it for all time.”

The Guardian bowed his head and closed his eyes, and Cassandra realized that she could never fully comprehend the depth of his grief. She had spent most of her life worshipping the True Gods: revering them and seeking to honor them by protecting the Legacy. But the great titan had actually known them. He had spoken with them and walked at their side. He had felt the love and glory of the True Gods firsthand, only to have it taken away as he watched them die with his own eyes.

He’s been alone in this cave for hundreds of years—trapped with nothing but the memories of what he has lost. And I just forced him to confront those memories head-on
.

She wanted to say something to comfort him, but she knew any words she spoke could do little to ease his suffering. And so she watched him in silence. After a few minutes he seemed to regain his composure, and he stood up to his full height, his right hand clutching his massive spear.

“The storm is waning,” he told her, his voice rough and catching
slightly in his throat. “It’s time to hunt, or tomorrow we will run out of food.”

Cassandra nodded, though she sensed this was just an excuse to end their conversation. Clearly she had touched a nerve in her otherwise stoic host.

He disappeared into the swirling snow beyond the entrance, leaving her alone in the warmth of the cave. Doing her best to ignore the Sword in the far corner of the cave, she curled up near the fire and closed her eyes, hoping her sleep would not be plagued by more nightmares of Yasmin or the dark-winged hunter.

R
OGGEN WAS THE
first to see the unusual tracks—a single set of footprints in the thin layer of snow, partially obscured by the hooves of the elk herd they’d been following since dawn. He held up his right hand in a fist, and the other five members of the Sun Blade hunting party immediately came to a halt.

Crouching, he took a closer look. They were fresh, and clearly human—medium-sized boots; but judging by the depth and the gait of the stride he guessed they were made by a woman rather than a man.

The footsteps headed off in the opposite direction of the herd. The clan was running low on stores; they couldn’t abandon the hunt. But Roggen couldn’t ignore the tracks, either—trespassers couldn’t be allowed to cross through clan territory unchallenged.

Odd to find solitary tracks. Is she some kind of outcast from one of the neighboring clans?

Exile was a rare punishment, reserved only for the most heinous of crimes: treason, cold-blooded murder, or cowardice.

“Berlen,” he called out to the largest of the hunters. “Follow these tracks. Find out who this woman is and why she’s here.”

Berlen hefted his spear and nodded. Just before he broke away from the rest of the group, Roggen grabbed his forearm.

“Be careful,” the leader warned, seized by an urgent but vague premonition of danger. “She might be armed.”

The big man scowled. “If you don’t think I can handle it,” he snarled, “then send someone else!”

Roggen released his grip, realizing he’d overstepped.

Berlen knows how to look out for himself. That’s why you chose him
.

“I just meant don’t kill her unless you have to,” Roggen backpedaled, releasing his grip on his friend’s arm. “You know how you get.”

A lie, but one necessary to avoid giving offense. Mocking Berlen’s infamous temper was far more acceptable than casting doubt on his martial prowess.

“I’ll bring her back in one piece,” Berlen promised, his bearded face breaking into a grin.

Feet crunching over the crystal carpet of snow blanketing the ground, Raven walked with a smooth, steady pace. Another storm was rolling in, but she ignored the icy wind clawing at the exposed flesh on the face and hands of her new human form, just as she ignored the rumbling of her empty stomach.

In her youth, she had spent many nights shivering on the desolate, ashen plains of Daemron’s blighted kingdom. Before rising through the ranks of the Slayer’s followers, she had fought and clawed with others of her kind to claim a share of the foul-tasting sludge that was the realm’s only source of sustenance. But with power and position came privilege, and it had been decades since she’d felt the pains of cold or hunger.

Yet Raven understood that these physical torments were ephemeral, an illusion brought about by her transformation into a flesh-and-blood woman. Born and bred in a realm where the power of Chaos was not blunted by the Legacy, she was stronger and more resilient than the weak and physically vulnerable denizens of this world. And though she had cloaked herself in the essence of a mere mortal—a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in the
style of the local clans—beneath the surface Chaos still sustained her true form.

It would have been possible to alter her appearance with a simple glamour, a superficial veneer that would blind the eyes of any ordinary men and women she encountered. But those touched by the power of Chaos wouldn’t be fooled by such artifice. The mortal she had hunted, the one carrying the Crown, would still sense her presence, as would the Guardian who now gave her prey sanctuary. Like calling to like.

It wasn’t these two she most feared, however. She had failed in her mission, and Orath did not forgive failure. By now, the leader of the Minions had probably sent others after her: most likely the Crawling Twins. Those who had come to power under Daemron’s rule had not done so by being merciful, and any excuse to eliminate a potential rival would be eagerly seized. If they sensed Raven’s presence nearby, they would be quick to turn on her.

Yet there was more to Raven’s plan than simply hiding from the wrath of her fellow Minions. The Crown alone wouldn’t be enough to bring down the Legacy and usher in Daemron’s return. Orath was searching for the rest of the Talismans, and eventually he would learn what Raven already knew—the Sword was with the Guardian. She had felt its power just before she had abandoned her hunt and fled beyond the Guardian’s reach, muted and faint but unmistakable. Merely returning to Orath with news of the Sword’s location wouldn’t be enough to atone for her failure. She would need to do much more if she wanted to redeem herself.

Soon the Crawling Twins would arrive. Unlike Raven, Erus and Cerus would not hesitate to challenge the Guardian. Together, they might defeat him though she suspected the battle would destroy them as well. She was not so willing to throw her life away. But if she could find some way to defeat the Guardian and claim both the Sword and the Crown for Daemron, she wouldn’t just be
returned to favor—she might even usurp Orath’s position at the Slayer’s right hand.

Until then, she would bide her time, dwelling among the locals and waiting for her chance to strike.

Berlen caught his first glimpse of the lone figure as the snow began to fall. From a distance, she seemed attractive: tall and broad-shouldered, with long, unbraided black hair fanning out behind her in the wind.

Seeing she wasn’t armed, he broke into a run and closed the distance between them. Fifteen feet away he stopped, but the challenge he was about to call out died on his lips as the woman suddenly whirled around to face him.

Up close, he could see that his first impression was right: She was attractive. Beautiful, even. But there was something in the sharp features of her face that chilled him to the bone. Her eyes were cold and empty, and her expression was one of hateful contempt.

The warrior shook his head to dispel the irrational fear: the woman was half his size and wasn’t carrying any kind of weapon.

“Who dares enter the land of the Sun Blade clan without permission?” he demanded.

The woman tilted her head to the side and her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to understand the meaning of his words.

“Who are you?” Berlen repeated, gripping his spear tightly with both hands and holding the tip out toward her, waist high. “What clan are you from?”

Slowly, the woman began to walk toward him, her head tilting slowly from side to side like a hungry hawk contemplating its next meal.

Resisting the urge to take a step back, Berlen held his ground.

“Stop right there!” he shouted, raising the spear a few inches. “No closer!”

Either she didn’t understand him, or she was ignoring him. Whatever the explanation, the tall woman continued to walk toward him.

Letting loose a battle roar, Berlen stepped forward and thrust the spear into the woman’s midsection. The tip dove through her fur vest and plunged into her stomach, burying itself several inches deep.

The woman stopped her advance but didn’t scream or cry out. She didn’t fall to the ground, but instead wrapped her hands around the shaft of the spear protruding from her gut and slowly began to pull it out.

Berlen was still gripping the other end of the weapon, and he tried to resist by shoving the spear deeper into his adversary. But the woman barely noticed his attempt as she effortlessly slid the tip free. With a quick flick of her wrist she wrenched the shaft from Berlen’s grasp and casually tossed the weapon aside.

The barbarian staggered back, his eyes transfixed by the gaping hole in her stomach. Ragged bits of flesh dangled down from the fist-sized puncture, but instead of blood gushing out, there was only a slow trickle of black ooze.

Following his gaze, the woman looked down at her wound. Then she grasped it by the dangling flaps of skin on either side and slowly began to pull it apart. There was a sick, wet sound as the tissue ripped, and she tilted her head back and screamed—a hideous, inhuman screech.

Berlen dropped to his knees and pressed his hands over his ears as blood began to drip from his nose. The woman continued to tear at her own flesh, peeling it off in great, dripping chunks. In seconds everything human had been stripped away, revealing a living shadow nightmare beneath: a naked, muscular woman with
perfectly smooth, black skin and the head and great unfurling wings of a bird.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, Berlen tried to flee. But the shadow fell on him, ripping and tearing with vicious claws instead of fingers. Seizing his shoulder, it flipped him over so that he was facing the sky. Then a hooked talon sliced horizontally across Berlen’s belly, carving a long, wide gash. The other hand plunged inside, seized his innards, and ripped them free, sending Berlen into shock.

Still alive, he lay paralyzed and helpless on the ground as the horror gorged itself on his stomach and intestines. The stench of his own eviscerated bowels wafted up into Berlen’s nostrils, causing him to gag and retch. The mutilated remnants of his stomach reflexively clenched and a wave of agonizing pain sent his body into spastic convulsions.

After a few seconds the shadow broke off its gruesome feast and crouched beside him, tiny red eyes peering out over its cruelly curved beak as his seizures slowly passed.

Closing his eyes, Berlen silently prayed for death as his body finally went still. Before the merciful darkness could take him, a clawed hand seized him by the top of the head, two talons plunging deep into his skull.

Berlen’s eyes snapped open and his jaw stretched in a silent scream as the monster began to feed on his memories. Ravenous, it took everything: his language, his culture, his clan, his friends, his family, and even his own identity were all stripped away.

When the creature finally finished and stepped away, all that was left of Berlen was a quivering lump of mindless flesh. Still technically alive, he saw but didn’t register as the creature crouched low to the ground, its arms wrapped around its knees, a huddled lump of blackness on the white snow.

Gurgling and choking on the blood crawling up into his throat
as the last of his life spilled out of his mangled stomach, his eyes blinked instinctively as the shadow was enveloped in an intense green light. When the light vanished seconds later, his stripped and ravaged mind couldn’t even recognize that the monster had transformed into a perfect replica of himself.