The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (11 page)

Orath tried to approach, but his body was completely spent from the ritual. Staggering in the soft earth, he fell face forward where he lay motionless and only semiconscious.

When he heard the ogre begin to move once more he struggled to rise but could only manage to roll over onto his back. He saw the beast was crawling toward him again, and this time Orath was powerless to stop it.

The creature slowly rose to its feet as it reached his side, a foul-smelling mountain of swollen gray flesh looming above him. Orath braced for the killing blow, knowing a single swing of one massive fist could pulverize him into nothing. Instead, the ogre dropped to one knee and bowed its head.

“Master,” it croaked out in a thick, wet voice.

K
EEGAN COULDN
’
T REMEMBER
much about the journey to the barbarian camp. He vaguely remembered the arrival of the Pack Masters, and he could recall Norr carrying him as they trudged through the wind and rain. Everything else was a hazy blur of fever dreams and hallucinations.

At one point he’d imagined Norr as some kind of monster—an ogre that had crawled up from the bottom of a dark and sinister lake, coming to kill him. Another time, he imagined himself to be an elk, racing across the tundra with an army of barking, slavering dogs in pursuit. Most of the time, however, he’d just slept.

But he was feeling better now. Two days had passed, or maybe three. It was hard to track the passage of time inside the small deerskin tent. Apart from Vaaler’s checking up on him numerous times, he’d had no contact whatsoever with the outside world.

Keegan welcomed the visits from his friend, though he was disappointed none of the others had come to see him. Especially Scythe. At first, he’d been too weak to wonder about their absence; just staying awake and eating the warm soup Vaaler fed him was all the effort he could manage. This morning, however, he had woken up feeling refreshed and strong. And he couldn’t help but think something strange was going on.

Maybe she’s avoiding you because you made a fool of yourself last time you talked to her
.

Even if that were true, what about Jerrod and Norr? He couldn’t think of any good reason why they wouldn’t have at least come to check on him.

Knowing he wouldn’t find any answers trapped inside the tent, he kicked away the heavy hides he’d been sleeping under. Someone had removed his boots; in the darkness of the tent he fumbled around until he found them tucked away in the corner.

Before he could pull them on, a stream of light poured in, followed by a cold blast of air as Vaaler squeezed through the tent’s small slit of an entrance.

“You’re awake,” the Danaan noted with surprise.

The tent was too small to stand up in, so Vaaler had to crawl forward on his hands and knees. Once fully inside, he turned and closed the entrance behind him, quickly lashing the thin sinew strips dangling from the hide-flap door to the tent’s bone frame.

“Are you hungry?”

With the flap closed it was once again dark inside, turning both men into dim silhouettes. But Keegan was able to see that his friend was holding something out toward him.

“Jerky. Figured you’d be sick of soup by now.”

Keegan took the strip of dried meat and tore into it, his stomach rumbling. It was so tough to chew, it made his jaw ache, and so salty, it made him wince. But Vaaler was right—he’d had his fill of soup.

“How come you’re the only one who’s come by to see me?” Keegan asked between bites.

“Sorry if I’m boring you,” Vaaler said, taking mock offense.

“I’m serious,” Keegan pressed. “Jerrod and the others—are they okay?”

“We’re all alive and well,” Vaaler assured him. “But everyone’s been acting a little strange since we got here.”

“How so?”

“Jerrod told me he doesn’t want to put you in danger. The Pack
Masters don’t trust him; they’re watching him pretty close. He probably figures it’s best to keep his distance. Avoid drawing any extra attention your way.”

“Normally he won’t let me out of his sight,” Keegan muttered. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I think seeing the pack take down the Inquisitors rattled him,” Vaaler explained. “He’s afraid the Ice Fangs will set their dogs on him if he so much as breathes funny.”

“Ice Fangs?”

“That’s the name of this clan. I think the literal translation is actually “snow tooth,” but Ice Fang sounds more impressive.”

“Did Norr tell you that?”

“No. I’ve studied Verlsung enough to pick up a few phrases here and there.”

Keegan recognized the formal name of the Eastern language from his studies under Rexol, though most people in the Southlands simply called it Clan-speak.

Keegan wasn’t surprised by the admission, and he suspected Vaaler’s command of the foreign tongue was far greater than he made it seem. He spoke Allrish, the language of the Southlands, without any accent whatsoever—it was almost easy to forget that Danaan was his native tongue.

He’s probably just as proficient in Clan-speak
.

Vaaler had expected to rule the Danaan kingdom one day; it only made sense for him to try to learn the culture, customs, and tongues of neighboring peoples. And during their time together under Rexol, Vaaler had shown a fluent mastery over the strange words and arcane chants they’d had to memorize for their spells.

He always learned stuff quicker than I did. Probably still remembers every word of it, too. He would have been the perfect apprentice—or the perfect King—if Chaos hadn’t played such a cruel trick and left him blind to the Gift and the Sight
.

“Norr hasn’t been talking to anyone lately,” Vaaler continued,
oblivious to Keegan’s train of thought. “It’s like he’s gone into some kind of deep depression. Even Scythe can’t snap him out of it.”

“That’s why she hasn’t come to see me,” Keegan realized. “She’s worried about Norr.”

“He’s keeping secrets,” Vaaler added. “Big ones. There’s more to his past than he lets on.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The Ice Fangs don’t know I can understand them. I’ve heard some things.”

Keegan understood his friend’s hesitation. Norr had kept his secrets from the group for a reason; exposing them might seem like a type of betrayal in the loyal Danaan’s eyes. But keeping the truth hidden could put all of them at risk.

“If you know something important, you can’t keep it to yourself,” Keegan told him.

“Okay,” Vaaler relented, clearly relieved to finally be able to share his news with someone else. “But you can’t tell Jerrod or Scythe. They tend to overreact. That could make things worse.”

“Worse? You mean they’re already bad?”

“The Ice Fangs didn’t exactly rescue us,” Vaaler confessed. “We’re not guests of the clan; we’re prisoners.”

“What do they plan to do with us?” Keegan asked.

“I think they’re planning to turn us over to another clan in exchange for supplies and weapons. Ransom us off, basically.

They’ve sent envoys to the Rock Spirit clan. Or maybe Stone Heart is more accurate. Names are difficult to translate properly.”

“Let’s go with Stone Spirit,” Keegan suggested.

“Fair enough,” Vaaler conceded. “But whatever we call them, I think they’re Norr’s former people.”

“I can understand why he wouldn’t want to tell us,” Keegan admitted. “Jerrod wouldn’t like the idea of our being prisoners.”

“There’s more,” Vaaler said after a brief pause. “Most of the
Eastern clans are nomadic. They don’t normally take prisoners—they just use up food and resources the clan has been storing up for the winter. If they don’t kill you in battle, they’ll usually just strip your weapons and supplies and set you off to fend for yourself.”

“Sounds like a death sentence to me,” Keegan muttered.

“Depends on the weather and how close the rest of your own clan is,” Vaaler countered with a shrug. “It’s just the way things are done out here. But if they capture someone special, they might make an exception.”

“What do you mean by special?”

“Somebody important. Somebody so valuable that another clan would be willing to pay a heavy ransom to get them back. Maybe a famous warrior or champion. Or, more likely, someone closely related to the clan leader’s family.”

“You think Norr is some kind of barbarian royalty?”

“The clans only take prisoners if the payoff is going to be worth the cost of keeping someone around until the exchange can be made,” Vaaler noted. “The Ice Fangs figured Norr was valuable enough to keep all five of us around.”

“So this is a good thing,” Keegan said. “If Norr’s that important, then the Stone Spirits will make the exchange. Then he can get them to help us.”

“Just because you’re royalty doesn’t mean your people want you back,” Vaaler cautioned bitterly. “We don’t know why Norr left in the first place. Maybe he was sent into exile. Maybe he fled because he lost some kind of power struggle.

“The Stone Spirits might not want him back. If they refuse to pay the ransom, the best case is that we get set loose on the tundra with no food or weapons.”

Keegan didn’t want to ask about the worst case.
I bet the dogs are always hungry
.

“And even if they pay the ransom,” Vaaler continued, “it might
be because Norr fled some kind of clan justice. They could want him back just to finish him off.”

“No wonder Norr is upset,” Keegan muttered. “Any more good news?”

Vaaler shook his head.

“So what do you think we should do?”

“We don’t have a lot of options. We can’t fight our way out of here, and if we try to run, the dogs will hunt us down.”

“So we just sit and wait to find out if the Stone Spirits will pay the ransom?”

“The Ice Fangs are expecting an answer in the next day or so,” Vaaler told him.

Instead of replying, Keegan popped the last bit of jerky into his mouth, grimly chewing the leathery meat until he could force it down his throat.

“I’m going to wander around the camp and see if I can learn anything else,” Vaaler said to break the silence.

Keegan watched his friend go, his thoughts bleak. Once the Danaan was gone, he shoved his boots in the corner and crawled back under the hides. For some reason, he no longer felt up to leaving the tent.

It actually took three more days for the Ice Fangs to get their reply. During that time, Vaaler could feel the bitter, hateful gazes from the Pack Masters and the other threescore members of the clan following him wherever he went.

Outlander. Interloper. You eat our food and take the heat from our fires; you sleep in our tents, and you give us nothing in return. You have no place here, you do not belong
.

Vaaler shrugged their hatred off; he was used to being an outsider. But he knew their smoldering resentment would explode
into violent anger if they didn’t get the answer they wanted from the Stone Spirits.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. When the envoys finally returned they came bearing good news for the Ice Fang clan—their ransom terms had been met.

Of course, that wasn’t how Norr explained it to the others.

“The scouts have tracked down my people,” he told them in a brief gathering. “My family. My clan. The Pack Masters will escort us to them tomorrow morning.”

The big man was clearly relieved as he delivered the news; obviously, he hadn’t been sure the Stone Spirits would want him back.

But we still don’t know why they want you back
, Vaaler thought.
And it might not end well
.

Scythe reacted to the announcement with uncharacteristic reserve. She simply squeezed Norr’s hand, and in a subdued voice muttered, “I imagine it will be good to see them again.”

Norr nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt.

She knows he’s still keeping something from her
, Vaaler recognized,
but she can’t bring herself to ask him about it. Maybe she’s afraid of what he’ll tell her
.

Jerrod’s response was stoic silence, betraying no hint of his emotional state.

He’s used to being in control. Taking charge. He doesn’t like being forced to sit around and rely on others
.

Keegan and Vaaler both played along with the ruse, smiling and congratulating Norr on the pending reunion. They gave no indication that they knew more than they were letting on save for a single, shared glance of concern.

The next morning they set out on foot, leaving the Ice Fang camp behind. The weather had warmed slightly; the wind was light and the sun was shining. The Pack Masters led the way, accompanied by a half dozen other members of the clan.

The dogs came with them, too, swarming around the humans with seemingly boundless energy. Some ran excitedly up ahead, others dropped behind to investigate something that caught their eye, only to quickly return to the rest of the pack. Their ears perked up and their tails wagged, and it was hard for Vaaler to see them as the same monsters that had torn apart the Inquisitors at the
Gerscheld
.

The Pack Masters were unarmed, but the regular Ice Fang warriors carried heavy wooden spears, giant battle-axes or massive, crudely crafted swords. Vaaler couldn’t help but think the weapons were almost primitive in their quality. Combined with the motley assortment of ragtag, ill-fitting fur garments they wore, it was easy to understand where the stereotype of the Eastern savage originated.

As they set out, the Ice Fangs had a casual, almost carefree air about them. It really did seem like they were being escorted by allies rather than marched off as prisoners to a ransom meeting.

Is that because Norr asked them not to alarm us, or is it because they know they have nothing to fear from us?

They set an easy pace, but Vaaler could tell that Keegan was laboring to keep up as he leaned on Rexol’s staff for support. Jerrod noticed it, too. Despite his worry of drawing unwanted attention, the monk had fallen into place only a few steps behind the young wizard.

It’s strange they didn’t take the staff away from him
, Vaaler thought, before remembering that magic was all but unheard of in the Frozen East. It was possible they thought it was some kind of exotic Southern weapon. They hadn’t bothered to take Vaaler’s rapier or Scythe’s razors away, either, so maybe it wasn’t that odd for them to let Keegan keep his staff.