Children of Fire (41 page)

Keegan woke with a gasp. The sensation of returning to his mortal shell was like the shock of plunging into an icy river. The first thing he noticed was how physically weak his body felt: exhausted, drained. But his spirit felt strong. He tingled with energy and power. The witchroot was still coursing through his veins; it would be weeks before it all passed from his body. And there was something else. The very air of this place was thick with magic. He could almost see the ancient spells, enchantments woven many centuries ago but still strong enough to permeate the air around him.

He was acutely aware of his surroundings. They were in a forest: a thick, dense wood with a canopy so lush it blocked out any view of the sky above. He was lying in a small clearing, maybe twenty feet across. Jerrod hovered anxiously over him, drawn by the sudden signs of life. For some reason, the monk was naked.

Across the camp were two strangers. No, Keegan corrected himself. Not strangers. He recognized the young woman from the inn they had stopped at during their journey. The man he also recognized, though that was no great feat. Anyone of his massive size was likely to leave a lasting impression—the red-headed barbarian from the bar; the seven-foot, four-hundred-pound giant of a man who had foolishly picked a fight with Jerrod. Like the monk, he was also bereft of clothes.

Keegan realized that he was naked, too, but he was too weary to be embarrassed.

“Why are they here?” Keegan tried to ask, but his voice was only a cracked whisper in his parched throat.

Jerrod knelt down beside him and gently placed a water-skin against his lips. He tilted it just enough to allow a slow trickle, which Keegan greedily sucked down.

“Why are they here?” he asked again once he had drunk his fill, his voice still barely above a whisper as he tried to piece everything together.

He felt disconnected, out of sorts. He vaguely remembered the big man being thrown to the floor beside him, bound and naked as Keegan himself had been. But he couldn't remember where or why this had happened. He thought he could remember the woman, too: a figure emerging from a haze of heat and smoke and flames. And there were other flames. The fires of Chaos. And a presence … something alien, and ancient beyond imagining.

“They travel with us now,” Jerrod said, still crouched down beside him. His relief at hearing Keegan speak was obvious. “The man is Norr, the woman is Scythe.”

Keegan struggled to sit up so he could get a better look at their new companions, hoping it would help him reorganize his thoughts. Jerrod was quick to slip a hand behind his head and neck to support him.

The man raised a mighty paw in acknowledgment and smiled at him. The woman only glared at him with an expression he couldn't read.

He stared at them from across the camp, his head spinning with a fierce collage of unconnected thoughts and sensations. His brain was a tangled a mess of overlapping images. He knew there was something important buried beneath the jumble, but he couldn't sort it out from the mess quite yet.

“I feared you might be lost,” Jerrod said. “I didn't know if you could find your way back to us.”

Scythe and Norr had made their way over from the other side of the camp to check on his condition. They stood just behind the monk, who was still crouching down to help hold Keegan in a half-sitting position.

“I am glad to see you awake,” the big man said. “You saved me from the fire … me and Scythe both. For that, I owe you my life.”

Keegan wasn't sure how to respond, and before his stumbling mind could formulate an answer the woman cut him off.

“Can you stand?” she asked. “We have to get out of here before the Danaan find us.”

“Do not rush him!” Jerrod snapped back angrily. “He can barely sit up. He needs to rest.”

“No, I'm okay,” the young wizard said, his voice stronger than it was before.

He sat up a little straighter, no longer leaning on the monk for support. The memories of what he had seen were slowly coming back to him.

“The Pontiff is dead,” Keegan said flatly. “The Monastery is destroyed.”

Jerrod's head snapped back in surprise. “Destroyed? How?”

“The Slayer's Minions have crossed over to this world. They came for the Crown. They laid siege to the Monastery and slaughtered everyone inside. Even the Pontiff.”

“And the Crown?” Jerrod asked.

Keegan shook his head. “Gone. Sent away before the Minions arrived. I'm not sure where—it's like something was hiding it from me.”

There were several seconds of silence before Jerrod spoke again.

“The Pontiff may be dead, the Monastery may be razed. But the Order lives on,” he replied. “The death of Nazir will throw them into confusion for a time, but they will soon regroup.

“As Prime Inquisitor, Yasmin will be elevated to his position. It may have happened already. And she will continue the hunt for us.”

“She's not the only one hunting us,” Keegan whispered.

“The Minions.”

Keegan nodded.

“Look,” the young woman—Scythe—interjected, stepping in from where she and the enormous barbarian had been standing off to the side. “I'm not sure exactly what you two are talking about, but it's pretty clear that you have a lot of people after you.

“In my experience,” she added, “if you're on the run, then sitting and waiting for someone to find you is a pretty bad plan.”

“She's right,” Jerrod admitted. “We need to find somewhere to hide. We have too many enemies and not enough allies.”

“There is someone who can help us,” Keegan assured him. “Someone I trust completely.”

“Great,” Scythe chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should send him a message. Let him know we're here.”

“I already have. The Danaan are coming for us.”

Scythe knew it was pointless to argue; she was dealing with men who were ruled not by logic, but by visions, dreams, and prophecies. But if she couldn't reason with them, at least she could try to make Norr see how mad they were.

“If you think the Dwellers will help us, then I know you're mad!”

She spun to face her lover, turning her back on the other two men.

“Please, Norr,” she begged, looking up into his eyes. “Don't you see how crazy this all is?”

He didn't reply, only stared down at her with an expression of despair so deep it made her cringe.

“You don't owe him anything,” she whispered. “He saved your life, but I saved his—everybody's even! We can just leave.”

He shook his massive head, his eyes beginning to film up with tears.

“I can't, Scythe. This debt is not so easily wiped away.” His voice broke for a second, the words sticking in his throat before he could continue. “If you wish to leave, I will understand.”

She almost did. Part of her screamed at her to just walk away. But she and Norr had been through too much together. He had given up his life in Praeton so she could pursue her vengeance; that was the whole reason they were here. It was her fault he had become involved in this. She couldn't abandon him now.

She sighed in resignation, reaching up with a tiny hand to grab a fistful of his red beard. She pulled his head down level with hers and kissed his cheek. “I'm not going anywhere. I think you're a fool to stay, but you're
my
fool. So I'll stick around to keep an eye on you.”

The smile of relief on her lover's face was almost enough to make everything that had come before worth it. And a small part of herself—a part she still refused to acknowledge—actually wanted to stay.

She turned back to the other two men.

“So how long before the Dwellers find us?”

In a shower of leaves and twigs a man dropped down from the forest canopy twenty feet above, landing with cat-like grace on the ground at the edge of the clearing not five feet from where Scythe was standing.

“Not long at all,” the tall Danaan said.

Keegan's calling had been answered, and Scythe supposed she should be grateful. The Danaan had been able to give them some clothes—simple robes for Jerrod and Keegan to cover their naked bodies. Of course, they didn't have anything to fit Norr. In the end they had sliced the stitching out from several cloaks and sewn them back together into a loose-fitting sleeveless shirt that hung down to his knees. A belt around the waist made the outfit at least passable.

In addition to the clothing, the very fact that they had been found and not killed on the spot brought Scythe some sense of relief. It was obvious from the way they had greeted each other that Keegan and the leader of the patrol knew each other.

Upon arriving at the clearing, the Danaan had knelt down by the young wizard's side and clasped his hand in a firm embrace. And then Keegan had introduced him as Vaaler Avareen, heir to the throne of the Danaan kingdom.

That had managed to get Scythe's attention. Out of habit she tended to study and scrutinize everyone she met, but with the Danaan prince she had paid particular attention.

Vaaler looked to be young, about the same age as Keegan. Roughly the same age as her, though she imagined she was far more mature then either of them.

He had the same flawless, pale green hue to his complexion as the anonymous Danaan traveler Scythe had shared a night with many years ago in Callastan, and she found herself wondering if the skin of his arms and chest would be as smooth and hairless as the man she had lain with. The hair on his head was long and fine, hanging straight down to his shoulders. He was taller than her nameless lover had been, and thinner. But his shoulders were broad, and his arms were made of lean, wiry muscle. She suspected there was more strength in him than one would first imagine.

He carried himself with the natural grace of one born into high nobility, but he didn't possess the air of palpable arrogance Scythe normally associated with those of his class. Humans born into such privilege often became insufferably proud, despite the fact they had done nothing to earn their lofty positions. Perhaps it was different with the Danaan. From the way the other members of the patrol acted around him, it was obvious he had earned their respect.

That respect was probably the only reason Scythe and the others were still alive. She had seen the unbridled contempt in the eyes of the archers accompanying the prince. She could feel the tension of racial hatred in every short, curt word they said to the interlopers in their nearly impenetrable accents.

Vaaler must have felt it too. Why else would he have sent the entire patrol on ahead, leaving him alone with the humans?

Naria, the Danaan woman who seemed to be his second in command, had balked at the order. “We will not leave you alone with these outlanders, my prince!”

“Keegan is like a brother to me,” he had assured her. “I will be perfectly safe while we wait for his strength to return. And when he is ready, I will escort him and his companions to the capital to meet the Queen.”

His words had done little to calm Naria. “Since the earliest days of our kingdom, no human has set foot in any of our cities … let alone our capital,” she had objected.

“All the more reason you and the others must go on ahead. This is a momentous event in the history of our people. The Queen must be told of our coming, so a suitable reception can be prepared for these most honored guests.”

Naria had obeyed without further protest, leading the rest of the patrol away into the forest to alert the city and the Queen of their coming. But Scythe had read the look in her eyes. The Danaan woman didn't think too highly of Vaaler's “honored” guests. Scythe couldn't really blame her. She herself looked like little more than a common rogue, her clothes smoke-stained and scorched from their escape at Torian and crumpled and soiled from several days of camping in the clearing. Norr looked even more primitive and bestial than usual, thanks to the dark bruising and swelling that still lingered from his recent beatings. Jerrod was obviously one of the Order, and everybody knew they had no love for the Danaan people. And Keegan's skin was still covered with the wild tattoos and strange symbols marking him as a wizard. A thief, a savage, a monk, and a mage: Scythe wouldn't have trusted their group, either.

She watched the Danaan disappear into the forest, and she couldn't deny a sense of relief once the last of them had gone. She briefly considered the notion that they might leave someone behind to watch them from the camouflage of the trees, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Vaaler would probably notice, and even if he didn't Scythe couldn't imagine the Danaan daring to spy on the man who would one day be their king.

“It is good to see you again,” Vaaler said, taking a seat on the ground beside the young wizard. “I only wish it could be under better circumstances.”

Keegan gave him a tired smile. “I always told you I would one day come to see you.”

The Danaan shook his head. “But I never really believed you. You are lucky my patrol found you before any of the others did. You know the penalty for trespassing in these woods.”

“We had no other choice,” Jerrod said, breaking into the conversation.

Unsure who he should be speaking to now, Vaaler turned his head from the young man on the ground to the blind monk, then back again. “Why
are
you here?” he asked of no one in particular.

There was a long silence before Keegan said, “We can trust him, Jerrod. He can help us.”

Much to Scythe's surprise, the monk told him everything. Even more surprising, the prince seemed to be familiar with much of the tale. Apparently, the Danaan prophets saw as much as their counterparts within the Order.

“My people have known the Legacy is weakening for many years,” he said when Jerrod mentioned the magical protections the Gods had set up to protect the world against their ancient foe. “In the weeks before I was born one of the Chaos Spawn awoke to ravage the land, shaking off the magic that had kept it in slumber for nearly a thousand years. An entire army was needed to destroy the beast, and a score of soldiers fell in the battle. It took the life of the King … my father.”