The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (43 page)

Jerrod had wanted to carry the Sword himself, of course, but Scythe had strenuously objected. The fanatical monk was already arrogant and dangerous enough; the Sword could push him over the edge.

She’d tasted the Talisman’s power when she used it against the Guardian—she’d felt invincible, unstoppable. But she’d also felt the hunger for battle, for what use was it being invincible if you had no enemy to defeat?

It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before—an adrenaline rush amplified a thousand times, combined with a heightened awareness so sharp it felt like she could see through time, peering into the future to anticipate and counter her enemy’s attacks before they happened.

She’d also been filled with a fierce confidence that bordered on the irrational; even the mighty Guardian had seemed like a helpless child before her. It was exhilarating, intoxicating and—looking back on it—a little bit terrifying.

It’s no wonder Daemron felt like he could challenge the Gods
, she thought. Then, a second later,
Does Keegan get that same kind of rush from using the Ring?

Norr had suggested that Keegan carry the blade, but Jerrod had worried that the young man was still mentally drained from using the Ring. The Sword could heal most physical wounds—though it couldn’t restore the young mage’s lost hand—but it wasn’t able to replenish his will.

Having felt the Sword’s power, Scythe had to agree with the monk. And based on what the Guardian told them, if they caught up to Cassandra, they’d need the combined power of both Talismans to defeat the demons hunting her. It was hard to imagine Keegan’s using the Ring and the Sword at the same time.

She’d been the one to actually suggest Norr carry it. Partly because she knew Jerrod would object simply on principle if she offered up her own name, and partly because she was a little afraid of what the Sword had made her feel. She didn’t like the idea of surrendering herself to an inanimate object, even one created by the Old Gods.

Norr won’t lose himself in the Sword’s power. It won’t consume him like it might with the rest of us
.

Out of all of them Norr was best suited to carry the Talisman. He was a warrior, but he was humble and self-sacrificing. He put others before himself. Scythe imagined the Guardian shared many
of the same characteristics as Norr, which was probably why he had been chosen by the Old Gods to watch over the weapon.

Was Norr the reason he changed his mind about us?

Norr had put himself in harm’s way to defend their fallen foe from Scythe’s wrath. If he hadn’t stopped her, she would have removed the Guardian’s head with a single blow of the very blade he was sworn to defend.

Norr’s always doing that. Reining me in. Keeping me from doing things in the heat of the moment that I’ll regret. He doesn’t just save others from my anger; he saves me from myself
.

Fortunately, Jerrod had agreed with her suggestion, a further testament to Norr’s character. And in the end her lover had, reluctantly, accepted the burden.

For years he refused to carry a weapon, now he’s armed with the greatest weapon ever forged. No wonder he’s hesitant
.

After several hours the massive peak that housed the Guardian’s lair was already behind them, though according to the directions they’d been given, they wouldn’t reach the Serpent’s Tongue—a narrow, twisting pass that would finally leave the mountains behind them—until sometime tomorrow.

Then we still have to cross the frozen plains and the entire breadth of the Southlands
, Scythe reminded herself.

But at least they wouldn’t have to worry about squads of Inquisitors anymore—not while they had the Sword. Having felt the weapon’s power, Scythe knew it would take an entire army to stop them now.

Keegan woke the second morning from a mercifully dreamless sleep. He’d feared the presence of two of Daemron’s Talismans might trigger an endless onslaught of dreams and visions, but that hadn’t happened.

Chaos is nothing if not unpredictable
.

Despite this, he couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding as they set out. The sky was dark and the wind was both strong and cold, but it wasn’t a storm he feared.

Though it had been muted in the Guardian’s lair, he’d unleashed the power of the Ring. He’d summoned Chaos into the mortal world and set it free, and he feared the consequences of the backlash.

Maybe there won’t be any. Maybe the Sword somehow absorbed it
.

A reasonable assumption, but one Keegan couldn’t quite get himself to believe. Part of him still believed something terrible was about to happen. And then they heard the distant howling of the yeti, rising over a brief lull in the wind tearing at their clothes.

Jerrod looked back, his normally expressionless face registering both surprise and concern. The Guardian had told them the yeti stayed only in the north; he’d assured them they wouldn’t have to worry about the creatures if they went south after Cassandra.

Backlash!

“Everybody else heard that, right?” Scythe asked, and the others nodded.

The wind had picked up again, drowning out the cries for the moment. But there was no mistaking the insane, gibbering laughter.

“Any idea how close?” Jerrod asked.

“Their cries echo strangely in the mountains,” Norr said with a shake of his head. “But it would be wise to pick up our pace.”

The monk didn’t need to be told twice, and they pushed on. Without saying it, they all knew the yeti were coming for them; probably drawn far from their natural territory by the irresistible call of the Sword itself.

Each time the wind died, they could hear the disturbing calls.

There must be hundreds of them
, Keegan realized.
The howls are constant. They don’t ever stop; we just can’t hear them unless the wind is down
.

That changed after another hour. The mad, keening laughter was now strong enough to rise above the wind in a constant, endless wail. There was no doubt they were getting closer.

“The Serpent’s Tongue is just ahead,” Jerrod called out, hoping to inspire them to greater speed with a few words of encouragement. “If we get clear of the mountains, the yeti might not dare to follow us onto the plains.”

Keegan didn’t necessarily believe that was true, but he didn’t object as they picked up the pace yet again, moving at almost a full run, their packs thumping against their backs.

Heavy black clouds blotted out the sun and a thick, wet sleet began to fall. It turned the ground under their feet into a treacherous trail of ice and slick rock, impeding their efforts. The yeti grew steadily louder, and Keegan realized that even driven by fear and desperation, they weren’t going to make it.

The sleet turned to snow as the temperature dropped. The wind gusted and swirled, whipping up snow and ice that stung their eyes. But it wasn’t strong enough to drown out the howls of their pursuers.

“There!” Jerrod shouted, pointing up ahead. “The Serpent’s Tongue!”

Ahead of them stood an enormous heap of rock, ice, and snow. It looked as if two great mountains had been smashed together, crumbling into a pile of debris hundreds of yards thick. It stretched for miles to the left and right, and upward as far as the eye could see.

Maybe that’s what actually happened
, Keegan thought.
The Cataclysm reshaped the land
.

It would take days, if not weeks, to climb or go around the obstacle. But as they drew closer, Keegan saw a single hairline crack running through the center—a fissure in the rock that went all the way through to the other side. The Serpent’s Tongue.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Keegan realized the yeti were
now close enough to actually see. They rolled down from the rocks and slopes behind them, a writhing, twisting, screaming mass of white fur, claws, and teeth.

Calling on the final reserves of their strength, the four made a final sprint for the pass. When they reached the mouth of the pass, the yeti were only a few hundred yards behind and closing fast.

The Serpent’s Tongue was only a few yards across, hemmed in on either side by walls of ice and snow too tall to see the top. It twisted and turned sharply, and the ground was littered with piles of ice and rock that had dislodged from the high walls and shattered on the ground below.

It’s hopeless
, Keegan saw.
The yeti move faster than us over this terrain. They’ll climb along the walls and come at us from above. We’ll never make it
.

Instead of plunging into the winding pass, Keegan stopped at the entrance and turned back to face the horde.

“What are you doing?” Scythe screamed as she almost ran into him.

“Go!” he shouted, waving her and Norr on past. “Go!”

The pair hesitated, but as he reached up for the Ring on his neck they understood and took off. Once again Keegan struggled to get the Talisman over a finger with only one hand, but it was easier than the last time.

The power of the Ring ripped through him, knocking him off his feet. It wasn’t as strong as it had been in the Danaan Forest, but it was far, far greater than what he had felt in the Guardian’s lair.

For a second he thought the Ring would overwhelm him, and he teetered on the brink of insanity. But he had used the Ring before. He knew he was strong enough to master it, and he slowly dragged his consciousness back from the precipice. Then, still lying on the ground where he had collapsed, he began to gather Chaos.

The yeti horde was closer now—only fifty yards away, their
shrieking laughter almost deafening. There wasn’t time for subtlety or precision, and even if there was, Keegan’s entire focus was on trying to keep the Chaos building inside from breaking free in a single explosion that blew his frail mortal shell apart.

Gritting his teeth against the energy threatening to burst through his skin, he grabbed Rexol’s staff from the snow at his side and used it to haul himself back to his feet. Then he opened his mouth and screamed.

His voice was transformed into a blast of blinding blue light that rippled out in a concussive wave, washing over the onrushing yeti. The front ranks were pulverized, hit so hard the fur was ripped from their flesh as their bones shattered into dust. Those close behind were lifted from their feet and thrown a hundred feet through the air, spewing blood from their nostrils and throats as their internal organs liquefied from the impact. Those farther back—by far the greatest number—were knocked back and sent sprawling to the ground, shaken and stunned but not mortally wounded.

In the wake of the spell Keegan toppled forward, still conscious but too weak to break his fall as he landed face-first in the snow.

Jerrod didn’t hear Keegan’s scream—the spell directed it at the yeti and away from his friends—but he felt its power as the ground beneath his feet heaved and shook, sending a shower of snow and small rocks to rain down on the narrow pass.

Scythe and Norr, like Jerrod, had retreated into the safety of the first few feet of the Serpent’s Tongue as Keegan unleashed his spell. Now they turned and rushed back to help their fallen comrade. But Jerrod got their first, his limbs propelled by the internalized Chaos he had spent decades in the Monastery learning to control.

The yeti were no longer howling; those that survived were
dazed, temporarily paralyzed by Keegan’s spell. How long that would last, the monk had no idea.

Reaching the young mage’s side, he yanked the Ring off his finger lest the Talisman’s power run wild and destroy the Savior. Keegan’s eyes were open and alert at first, but they fluttered closed as Jerrod removed the Ring.

He was instinctively keeping the Chaos in check
, Jerrod realized.
He’s getting stronger!

But that would mean little if the yeti decided to continue their pursuit once they recovered. Jerrod shed his pack and stripped off Keegan’s own, then effortlessly slung the young man up over one shoulder. With his free hand, he scooped up the supply packs, knowing that without food and extra blankets to stay warm they’d never survive the journey. And then he raced off back into the Serpent’s Tongue. As he expected, Norr and Scythe were quick to follow.

Even carrying Keegan and both packs, Jerrod was able to navigate the uneven ground faster than the others, and Scythe and Norr were soon left far behind. The Frozen East limited his abilities, yet his Sight still gave him surer footing, and his training still gave him far greater reserves of energy than those outside the Order. Yet he was only halfway through the Serpent’s Tongue when he heard the howls of the yeti begin once more.

He’d hoped the beasts would flee in terror after witnessing Keegan’s power, but something compelled them to ignore their fear.

Is their hunger for the Sword really so great? Or is something else to blame?

Their cries were tentative at first, confused and disoriented. But they quickly transformed into the familiar call of the hunt, and Jerrod didn’t need his Sight to know they were being followed into the pass.

He reached the other end a few minutes later, the rock walls on
either side stopping abruptly as the Serpent’s Tongue spilled out onto a wide, snow-covered plain of gently rolling hills. He tossed the packs to the ground, then lay Keegan down before turning and rushing back to aid the others.

Norr and Scythe were three-quarters of the way through the pass, standing shoulder to shoulder with their backs to Jerrod. They had shed their supply packs; the bags lay at their feet as the pair braced themselves for the inevitable battle. The young woman had her daggers out, and Norr held the hilt of Daemron’s sword with both hands, one clasped overtop the other. The silver blade seemed to pulse with a barely visible red glow.

The monk raced up to stand with them, the pass just wide enough at this point for all three to stand abreast.

“Thought you ditched us,” Scythe snarled, not taking her eyes from the pass ahead.

“I had to get Keegan to safety,” he answered. “We cannot let any of these monsters get past us—he is still unconscious.”

There wasn’t time for Scythe to say anything back before the first few yeti—those that had recovered quicker than the rest—suddenly materialized around the closest bend in the pass.