The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (34 page)

I wanted to know if she felt cheated by what happened, then Keegan showed up and I haven’t mentioned it since. She has to wonder about that, doesn’t she?

Shalana teased him about being a spy for Norr, but what if she was the one hoping to draw information out of him? She seemed to have accepted Norr as the new chief, but what if she was just biding her time? Did he really know her well enough to say for certain she wasn’t harboring some deep resentment, just waiting for a chance to get even?

She’s not like that
.

But he honestly couldn’t say whether that was true or simply what he wanted to believe. People were unpredictable. His own mother had sentenced him to exile; even if Shalana did like him, she might jump at the chance to reclaim her title.

So what if she does? I should be used to betrayal by now
.

Yet even as he thought it, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“How many more days until we reach the Conclave?” he asked, hoping to distract his mind from its dark turn.

“Probably late tomorrow at this pace,” Shalana told him. “We’re making good time because of the mild weather.”

As if mocking her words, a sudden gust of wind swept in, stirring up icy flakes of snow from the small drifts that covered the ground.

“Why didn’t Hadawas wait until spring to call the Conclave?” Vaaler asked.

“A good question, Spy,” she answered. “Maybe you should ask Hadawas when you meet him.”

“I doubt I’ll get the chance,” he answered. “Why would a clan chief want to talk to an Outlander?”

“You’re not just an Outlander,” Shalana reminded him. “You’re a prince. A leader of your people.”

“Not anymore,” Vaaler reminded her. “They took that title away from me.”

“There’s more to being a leader than a title,” Shalana insisted.

“Careful,” Vaaler warned. “That almost sounds like you’re criticizing Norr.”

“Some might see it that way,” she agreed. “But only time will tell if they are right.”

Vaaler was tempted to just let her comment slide; he didn’t want to upset her and risk the fragile friendship growing between them. After a few seconds, however, he realized he owed it to Keegan and the others to try and find out if Shalana was a threat they had to worry about.

“You have to be bitter about everything that’s happened,” he said.

She didn’t answer right away, and Vaaler was beginning to think he’d pushed her too far. When she finally spoke, the familiar teasing, mocking tone she used with him was gone.

“I’m the one who challenged Norr,” she said. “I put him in a position where he had no other choice. If I am to blame anyone, I must only blame myself.”

“What about before, though?” Vaaler pressed. “You and Norr were going to be married. You were in love, and he abandoned you.”

“We were never in love,” she said. “Not in the way you mean. We cared for each other; we were close. But I see how he looks at Scythe. I see how he acts around her; how she is at the center of his thoughts at all times. He was never like that with me.”

“Are you jealous?”

Shalana shook her head. “They feel something for each other I have never felt. If I had loved Norr, I wouldn’t have challenged him when my father chose him as successor. If I loved him, I would have accepted the decision. I would have been happy for him.

“And if he had loved me—truly loved me—he would have never left,” she added. “Norr and Scythe will never abandon each other. Even I can see that. Only death will tear them apart.”

“How do you feel about Norr now?” Vaaler wanted to know. “Do you think he will be a good leader for the clan?”

The tall woman cocked her head to one side and gave him a sly smile. “That remains to be seen, Spy.” The teasing lilt had returned to her voice. “But you can tell your friends I’m willing to give him a chance.”

“They’ll be glad to hear that,” he answered with a smile of his own.

They continued on without speaking after that, unconsciously matching each other step for step.

Keegan could feel the creature in the shadows, watching him with bright red eyes that burned like fire. He was surrounded by Easterners—armed
men and women wearing fur vests and heavy boots—but he didn’t recognize any of them as members of the Stone Spirits
.

Daemron’s Sword was clutched in his hands, the perfectly balanced blade held out in front of him as he scanned the darkness for the monster stalking him
.

The crowd shifted, and suddenly the creature in the shadows was standing right beside him—a naked woman with wings and the head of a bird. The crowd around him seemed oblivious to the monster in their midst, however—none of them reacted in any way
.

Keegan tried to swing the weapon, but his arms wouldn’t move. The woman didn’t speak, but she reached out toward Keegan with both hands, her fingers ending in long, hooked talons …

Keegan woke from his dream, barely stifling the scream that was building in his throat. Several of the Stone Spirit early risers were already up and eating their breakfast, tearing into strips of jerky with a grim efficiency. Vaaler and Shalana were among them, as was Jerrod. Scythe and Norr, however, still slept.

Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, Keegan stood up and stretched, the dream already fading.

His body was sore, but it wasn’t in agony as it had been the first few days of the journey. Now his muscles simply felt tired, a familiar dull ache that he’d come to accept as simply part of his life since he and Jerrod had first fled the Monastery.

He was sick of traveling; right now he wanted nothing more than to spend a week in the same place, even if it was a half-frozen field of snow. Fortunately, Norr had said this would be the last day of the journey: they’d reach the Conclave before nightfall.

And then what?

Norr had spoken of trying to recruit Hadawas and the rest of the clans to his cause, but Keegan didn’t even know what that meant. Since joining up with Jerrod, he’d been in a constant state of flight, trying to stay one step ahead of the Inquisitors.

It didn’t seem to bother Jerrod, or if it did, he kept his concern
hidden. But Keegan was starting to feel frustrated at not having some type of plan of action.

And whenever we do plan something, it goes horribly wrong
.

They’d sought shelter with Khamin Ankha in Torian, only to have Rexol’s former apprentice betray them. They’d left Torian in shambles as they fled into the North Forest, hoping Vaaler could help them get Daemron’s Ring while offering them the protection of the Danaan people. Instead, they’d been forced to flee yet again after waking a dragon and leaving Ferlhame in ruins.

Is it just bad luck, or is it my destiny to spread death and destruction everywhere I go?

He hadn’t told Jerrod about his talk with Vaaler yet. He doubted the monk’s faith would be rattled by learning that the backlash from Keegan’s magic couldn’t be controlled anymore—he’d probably just see it as further proof Keegan was the all-powerful savior he was looking for. But if he knew Vaaler couldn’t do anything to help Keegan master his talents, he might think the Danaan was an unnecessary distraction.

He won’t mind Vaaler’s being around if he thinks he still has some role to play in his prophecy
.

He hadn’t told Scythe about it yet, either. He’d stopped obsessing about her kiss, but he couldn’t blame all his feelings for her on the backlash. He didn’t want her to leave, and he was afraid she might decide she and Norr were better off keeping their distance if she knew the truth.

It had actually been Norr who’d insisted he and Scythe join Keegan’s quest. Now that he was back with his own people, would he be willing to risk everything—not just his own life, not just that of the Stone Spirits, but the lives of all the clans answering Hadawas’s call—to help Keegan if he knew the real risks?

Better to just keep quiet about it until after the Conclave. That’s what Jerrod would do
.

Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better about his decision as he gnawed on his jerky.

There was less than an hour of daylight left when they finally came into view of the Conclave—several hundred Easterners scattered across a wide, open plain. Had they been in the Southlands, Jerrod would have noticed the massive barbarian horde much earlier, but in the East his Sight was limited to a more modest range.

As they drew closer, more details began to emerge. What had first appeared to be a single large group of Easterners was actually many smaller groups gathered together in separate camps at the base of a large, rocky hill.

Each clan must have set up its own camp
.

The size of each camp varied greatly. The smallest were only five or six individuals, most had somewhere between a dozen and twenty, and a handful matched the thirty that made up the Stone Spirit delegation. In total, Jerrod estimated their numbers at close to three hundred.

Far toward the rear of the gathering, butting right up against the base of the hill, were six large buildings that resembled the size and shape of the Long Hall in the Stone Spirit camp. Instead of being made from mud and rock, however, these were constructed entirely from a single unfamiliar type of smooth, dark stone.

As the Stone Spirit convoy drew closer a welcome party marched out to meet them—ten large, heavily armed warriors. Seeing them approach, Norr held up his hand and called out for his people to stop.

Ignoring Scythe’s objections, he hefted his bulk up from the sled he’d been riding on and strode to the front of his followers. Spitting out a curse, Scythe took her spot at his side. The pair were
quickly flanked on either side by the five thanes Norr had chosen to bring with him. Behind this group the rest of the Stone Spirits stood in a seemingly haphazard collection, though Jerrod noticed they all had their weapons in easy reach.

At the front of the welcome party were two hard-looking men. One was huge—only a few inches shorter than Norr and heavily covered in muscles. But it was the other who spoke.

“My name is Roggen,” the man said. “This is Berlen. On behalf of Hadawas, venerable Chief of the Sun Blades, we welcome you to this Conclave.”

Jerrod’s study of Verlsung had progressed quickly; the Order had trained him to focus his mind so he could absorb new information at a remarkable rate. By concentrating on not only the words but also the facial expressions, vocal cues, and body language of the speakers, he was able to follow the entire conversation.

“I am Norr, Chief of the Stone Spirits. We are honored to hear the wisdom of Hadawas.”

Roggen eyed Norr’s group with open suspicion, but Norr offered no explanation for the Outlanders in his entourage. Berlen, on the other hand, was staring only at Jerrod, who stood near the rear of the group.

The big man’s gaze was unsettling in a way Jerrod couldn’t quite explain. There was something in his eyes that went beyond mere suspicion of Outlanders or even hatred of the Order. His gaze was hungry, almost predatory.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Jerrod reached his hand up and closed his fist around the Ring still dangling from his neck. As he did so, Berlen licked his lips, then quickly looked away.

Jerrod dropped his hand, realizing nobody had spoken for several seconds. The men and women with Roggen were anxious and tense. They shifted their weight restlessly, their hands clenching the shafts of their spears and the hilts of their swords tighter as they glared at the unwelcome foreigners.

“The Conclave is a place of parley,” Roggen said, though whether he was directing the words at Norr or his own nervous followers wasn’t clear. “There is to be no bloodshed—is this understood?”

“The
Stone Spirits
will honor the sanctity of the Conclave,” Norr answered, the emphasis making it clear he had his doubts about the other clans.

“Hadawas has promised the protection of the Sun Blades to any who answered his summons,” Roggen assured him.

“He will speak in two days,” he continued. “Until then, you may make camp wherever you can find space.”

“I wish to speak with Hadawas before the Conclave,” Norr said.

“Hadawas is not well,” Berlen answered quickly before the other man could reply. “He must conserve his strength. He will see no visitors.”

Roggen cast an annoyed glance at his larger companion before turning back to Norr.

“Berlen is right. You will have to wait until after the Conclave to meet with our chief.”

Norr grimaced but nodded his agreement. Roggen and the others turned away; the Stone Spirits stood motionless, watching them leave. Once they were gone, Norr began issuing orders to his people, directing them to an open area on the edge of the assemblage with enough space for all of them.

Jerrod joined in with the others as they made camp. There was something odd about Berlen, but for some reason the more the monk tried to think about it the harder it became to pinpoint exactly what felt so wrong about him. By the time the camp was set up, his suspicions were gone, lost like a shadow in the darkness of the night.

N
ORR WAS LOST
deep beneath the ocean of sleep when he heard Scythe’s voice close to his ear.

“Get up!” she hissed. “Hurry! Something’s wrong!”

He opened his eyes to find his lover standing over him, brandishing the twin blades she always kept close by.

“What is it?” he asked, his mind still groggy.

“Fifty warriors, all armed,” Jerrod said, the monk materializing from just behind Scythe. “We’re surrounded.”

Adrenaline kicked in, tearing away the final cobwebs clouding his mind. He sprang to his feet and saw that Keegan and Vaaler were also up. Jerrod must have roused them when he sensed the danger, leaving Scythe to drag Norr from his typical heavy sleep.

He peered out into the night but saw nothing. However, he knew better than to doubt Jerrod’s abilities. He’d posted several sentries around the Stone Spirit camp, but if the enemy had crept up on them under cover of darkness they might not see them until it was too late.