The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (38 page)

Norr tossed a small brick of peat moss into the pit, and one of Hadawas’s warriors lit it with his flint and tinder. Scythe and the others pressed in close, eagerly absorbing the dull heat while ignoring the heavy, cloying smoke curling up.

“We will never be able to climb these peaks,” Jerrod noted once everyone had settled in. “Even if the weather holds.”

Scythe didn’t normally agree with the monk, but in this case she felt the same way.

“There are passes through the mountains,” Hadawas informed him. “Narrow, treacherous, and well hidden. But I know where to find them.”

“And what about the Sword?” Jerrod pressed. “Where is it?”

“For centuries it has been hidden away in a small cave, watched over by the Guardian—the last surviving servant of the Old Gods.”

Of course
, Scythe thought.
Why wouldn’t there be an ancient, magical protector taking care of the Sword?

A few months ago she would have dismissed the Guardian as an imaginary character in a folktale. Now, given all she had seen, she would actually be more surprised if the Guardian weren’t real.

“How do you know all this?” Jerrod demanded.

“Most clans have forgotten the tales of our forefathers,” Hadawas said. “But some—like the Sun Blades—have kept the history of the East alive. These stories were told to me by my mother, who learned them from her father. They have been passed down generation to generation since the Cataclysm, preserving the ancient knowledge.

“I have spent many years gathering the stories from any who preserve and protect the knowledge of our past. This is how I learned of the Sword and its protector.”

“So do you know how we can defeat the Guardian?” Scythe asked.

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Norr suggested. “Keegan is destined to save the mortal world. Maybe if we explain this, the Guardian will give him the Sword willingly.”

“Perhaps,” Hadawas said, though he clearly didn’t think that would happen.

From somewhere far away and high above them a strange cry echoed through the night, sending a shiver down Scythe’s spine. The sound fell somewhere between a howl and a scream before trailing off in a maniacal, throaty laugh.

“What was that?” Keegan asked, clearly as unsettled by the strange noise as Scythe, though she did a better job of hiding it.

“Yeti,” one of the warriors whispered.

“Twisted half-human monsters that stalk the mountains,” Hadawas explained. “Legends hold that they were once a clan who sought Daemron’s Sword shortly after the Cataclysm split the world, though they never found it.

“The power of the Sword changed them, transforming them from men and women into beasts while driving them mad.”

Another of the bizarre howls rang out, answering the first. Though it was difficult to pinpoint a location, it clearly came from another direction than the first.

“How many of those things are there?” Keegan wondered.

“Nobody knows the yeti numbers,” Hadawas said. “Maybe a few dozen. Maybe hundreds. Maybe more.”

Several more cries echoed over the peaks. Despite what Hadawas had said about the yeti’s origins, Scythe heard nothing intelligent or human in them. Even the cackling laughter at the end was bestial and unnatural.

“Should we post a guard?” Jerrod asked.

“The yeti never leave the mountain,” Hadawas assured him.

“What about once we enter their territory?” Scythe wanted to know.

“The yeti do not hunt humans,” the old chief stated confidently. “They will not bother us.”

Despite his reassurances, Scythe barely slept that night, shivering uncontrollably even with Norr’s great bulk pressed close against her and snapping awake each time a yeti howled.

The camp woke next morning to a light snow flurry; large flakes swirled around them, dancing in the air that had dropped another twenty degrees.

By focusing his mind, Jerrod was able to regulate his body temperature and protect against the chill. Instead of blood flow to his extremities being cut off, it continued to circulate through his fingers and toes, keeping them from going stiff and numb. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the cold, and he knew how much discomfort it brought the others.

They’d debated whether to continue, but Norr had insisted they needed to press on for the sake of the clans—every day they waited represented more casualties for those who tried to stand against the Danaan army. And so, despite the weather, they had continued.

By midmorning, the path they were following became too steep and slick to continue with the sled. The provisions they’d packed were quickly divided up, with each member of the expedition taking as much as they could carry, stuffed into packs they threw over their shoulders. Remarkably, Hadawas vowed to continue as their guide even though it meant he must travel on foot.

The old man moved slowly, but when the trail they were following came up against a sheer rock face he proved his value.

“There’s a crevice along the right side that cuts through the rock,” Hadawas told them.

In the snow it took several minutes to find the passage, but in the end he was proved right. The endless cycle of ice melting and refreezing had carved a fissure in the otherwise impassable face. Without Hadawas, they would have had to either attempt to scale the fifty-foot rock wall blocking their way or turn back and seek out another route.

Even so, it was a tight fit for Norr. His back and belly scraped along the rock wall even after he’d shed all but the last layer of his clothes.

“How far does this passage go?” he asked, his teeth chattering.

“It opens up on the other side of the wall,” Hadawas promised him. “A few hundred feet ahead.”

They edged through the narrow crack single file, dragging their supply packs along the ground behind them on short straps of leather tied to their belts. Jerrod took the lead and Keegan followed right behind him, leaning on Rexol’s staff for support. Norr brought up the rear. A few feet in the ground began to slope upward, the fissure continuing to climb at a sharp angle. At the halfway point it became noticeably darker, and looking up, the monk saw that the channel narrowed dramatically above them, cutting off the light.

In that moment he suddenly realized they were surrounded on all sides by thousands upon thousands of tons of rock and ice. He could feel it beneath his feet, and he could sense it pressing in on him from in front and behind.

If the snow and ice on the peak above us gives way, it will pour into the fissure and we’ll be buried alive!

He tried to push the thought from his mind, but it was impossible to ignore given their surroundings. Yet there was nothing he could do at this point but continue onward. When he finally
reached the other side and stepped out from the narrow passage, he felt a major sense of relief … until he looked down.

The tunnel ended on a narrow ledge, no more than five feet wide. Beyond it was a drop of at least fifty feet to the jagged rocks below. The snow had stopped falling by the time he emerged, but the wind had picked up. The rock beneath his feet was covered with a layer of ice, making the footing treacherous.

The ledge continued in only one direction: upward. Repositioning his pack, Jerrod pressed his back against the edge of the mountain and inched his way along it to give everyone else room. One by one the others crawled out of the crevice. From their expressions and gasps, the monk could tell they had a similar reaction to his own—claustrophobia followed by a short-lived relief that was replaced by mild vertigo.

“How far does this ledge continue?” Norr asked once they were all outside. As he spoke, Scythe helped wrap him back up in the clothes he had shed to fit through the fissure.

“A quarter mile up the side of the mountain,” Hadawas answered. “It will bring us to a plateau at the top of this peak.”

Jerrod noted that the old man was breathing heavily though he was the only one not burdened by a supply pack. The air here was already thin, making physical exertion even more difficult.

“Maybe we should use ropes to tie us together,” Scythe suggested, peering over the edge of the trail.

“There’s nothing to secure them with,” Jerrod countered. “If one of us falls, the others would all be dragged over, too.”

“Tread carefully,” Hadawas advised them, “and you have nothing to fear.”

Jerrod’s senses were focused on his balance and footing, reducing his awareness to a small circle that included only himself and Keegan. He didn’t know if he would be able to help the savior if he fell, but he knew he’d give his life trying.

“What was that?” Scythe suddenly called out.

“What?” Norr asked her.

“I thought I heard something.”

“How can you hear anything over this wind?” one of Hadawas’s soldiers asked.

A good question, yet all of them stood still and listened for several seconds before Scythe declared, “I guess it was nothing.”

Jerrod, however, wasn’t so sure. As they inched their way farther along the ledge, he slowly expanded his awareness, reaching out with his Sight. And then he sensed the yeti.

The creature clung to the stone of the mountainside twenty feet above them, using the claws on its hands and feet for purchase. It was about two-thirds the size of an average man; even smaller and slighter than Scythe. Its face was simian, its eyes set in a deep, protruding brow. It was completely covered in white fur, allowing it to blend in perfectly with the snow-covered surface of its perch.

The creature didn’t move, and Jerrod realized it had been there for some time, watching their progress. The monk turned his head up toward it, and it scuttled higher up the mountain and vanished, the sound of its claws scraping on the icy rocks covered by the wind.

Not wanting to alarm the others unnecessarily while they navigated the precarious trail, Jerrod kept silent. But now that he knew what to look for, he decided to split his focus between the path ahead and the rocks above.

A few minutes after the first yeti vanished, several more appeared. Like the first they clung to the rocks above, watching. This time Jerrod didn’t look up to scare them away, and slowly their numbers began to grow. Soon there were a dozen of the white-haired humanoids prowling the path above them. They were silent as ghosts, sliding easily along the mountain’s face as they tracked the progress of the humans below.

They’re stalking us
, Jerrod realized.

Hadawas had said they were drawn to the power of Daemron’s Sword; if that was true, it was logical to assume they could sense the Talisman Keegan wore around his neck as well. But something was holding them back. Despite their growing numbers, they never came too close, and they seemed more wary than violent.

Are they afraid of us? Or is it the Ring itself they fear?

It took almost two hours for them to reach the plateau though it wasn’t Hadawas who slowed them down. The venerable chief was the most sure-footed of them all, and though he never hurried, he had no trouble keeping up with the others as they took tentative, cautious steps on the slippery surface.

The yeti had stalked them through most of the journey, but once Jerrod was close enough to the end to actually see the plateau above them they vanished en masse. Only once everyone was safely on the plateau did he tell them what he’d seen.

“The yeti were following us. Watching us.”

“I knew I heard something!” Scythe exclaimed.

“How many were there?” Norr wanted to know.

“I counted twenty,” Jerrod said. “But there could have been more higher up where I couldn’t sense them.”

“And all they did was watch us?” Keegan asked.

“The yeti are no threat to us,” Hadawas assured them. “They will not keep us from claiming the Sword.”

“How much farther is it, anyway?” Scythe asked.

“The Guardian’s cave is beyond the valley that lies over the next peak,” Hadawas told them. “Another two or three days. Maybe more—the way becomes harder from this point.”

“Good to know the easy stuff is behind us,” Scythe grumbled.

“We should rest here for a few hours,” Hadawas told them. “There is a cave nearby where we can take shelter from the wind.”

Once again, their guide was right. On locating the cave, the entire group squeezed inside. The ceiling was low enough that
even Jerrod had to duck, and Norr was bent over nearly double. As they pulled blankets from their pack and spread them on the floor, the heat from their bodies quickly warmed the cramped quarters.

How could he know about this cave unless he’s been over these mountains before?
Jerrod wondered.
And how did he know the yeti wouldn’t attack us?

There was something Hadawas wasn’t telling them. They couldn’t have come this far without his help, but Jerrod was starting to wonder if the Sun Blade chief would betray them before it was all over.

He was planning to go after the Sword before we came. Will he really just surrender it to Keegan, or will he try to take it for himself?

The Crown had destroyed Rexol when he dared to use it; Jerrod assumed the Sword would do the same—its power too great for most mortals to endure. But what if he was wrong?

What if Hadawas knows something about the Sword that we don’t?

Keegan and the others were already bedding down, the mental and physical strain of the day’s climb having left them completely drained. Hadawas’s eyes were already closed, his breath coming in a slow, steady rhythm.

Jerrod was tired, too, but when he closed his sightless eyes he kept his mind alert and his awareness focused on the entire cave, keeping watch over Keegan and his friends while everyone else slept.

L
YING FLAT ON
their stomachs almost completely buried beneath the snow, Shalana and the thirty Stone Spirit warriors with her waited anxiously for the Danaan patrol to draw close enough for them to strike.

The scouting reports confirmed what young Ullis had told them—the hostile army marching across the Frozen East was massive. Traveling in small, loosely organized bands, the Tree Folk forces created a front that extended for several miles. Even united, the clans were badly outnumbered. And at the head of the invasion was some kind of enormous beast—a massive, heavily muscled creature that seemed to be formed of slime and sludge and rotting gray flesh.