Children of Fire (43 page)

Bereft of their bows, the Danaan drew their swords and fell upon the group en masse. From where he lay on the ground Keegan saw one of the patrol struggling with his rapier, trying to free it from the tangle of his belt and the string from his broken bow. Before he could, Scythe fell upon him. The keen gleam of the six-inch razor in each hand glittered as she slashed relentlessly at her screaming opponent. The Danaan threw his hands up to protect his face, already gashed wide open by the flickering blades. Scythe responded with a series of fluid, rhythmical swipes—forward, back, and forward again, her wrist nimbly turning so that each pass left a mark on the hands of her enemy.

The savage grace of her surgical strikes held Keegan enthralled. The Danaan's fingers and palms were sliced open to the bone, each cut sending a fresh stream of blood splashing across his clothes. The entire sequence had taken less than a second and Scythe wheeled away, her tiny body little more than a blur as she twirled over to the next closest enemy. The man she had carved up fell forward and landed only a few feet away from Keegan, already dead from the deep slit across his throat.

The mage tried to stand but collapsed helplessly back to the ground, unable to support his own weight. A deep grunt caused him to roll over onto his side and look to his right.

Norr had scooped up a large, heavy branch and was using it as a makeshift club to keep one of the soldiers at bay. The Danaan ducked under the wide swath of his sweeping cudgel and tried to move in near enough to bring his rapier to bear. But the barbarian's reach was too great and before the Danaan could get close he was forced to retreat, narrowly dodging another swing of the stout tree limb that would have removed his head from his narrow shoulders.

A second member of the patrol joined the fray and they attacked in tandem, trying to coordinate their efforts so one of them could get inside the radius of the club's wide arc. The first soldier saw an opportunity and darted in, only to be met full in the chest by Norr's massive foot. Neither Keegan nor the unfortunate Danaan had expected such an agile maneuver from the hulking savage, and the force of the kick sent him reeling.

As he stumbled and fell onto his back, Norr leapt forward. The second solider tried to step between the barbarian's charge and his fallen comrade but Norr's massive bulk bowled him over, knocking him to the earth as well. Then the tree limb came crashing swiftly down, caving in the crown of the first soldier's skull, reducing his head to a pulpy, bloody mess. Keegan turned away, but the sickening wet thud told him the second soldier had suffered a similar fate.

The sharp clash of swords drew Keegan's attention next, and he rolled over to see Vaaler and Drake hammering at each other with their blades. The rapiers flickered and danced in quick cuts and parries, the steel moving too quickly for the eye to follow. Drake seemed to be pressing forward; Vaaler was on the defensive. A lunging thrust by the older man got through his enemy's defenses, but Vaaler spun out of the way and the blade caught only air. The unexpected miss caused Drake to overbalance ever so slightly, and Vaaler seized the moment, delivering a sharp counter-thrust to a suddenly exposed flank.

The blade bit deep into Drake's side, drawing a gasp of agonized pain. Vaaler's next strike was even more lethal as he drove the point of his sword through Drake's rib cage and into his heart, killing him instantly.

And just like that the melee was over. None of the Danaan patrol had survived. From where he lay untouched in the center of the battlefield, Keegan surveyed the carnage. Three of the corpses had obviously been slain by Scythe, their skin all but flayed from the skulls by her razors. There were at least four with broken necks, the telltale mark of Jerrod's unarmed combat. Another four seemed to have had their skulls caved in by Norr's club.

Yet in all the slaughter, none of his companions had been harmed. Jerrod stood protectively over him, unmarked despite tackling four trained and armed soldiers without any weapons or armor of his own. Norr and Scythe stood together on the far side of the clearing covered in blood and gore, none of it theirs.

On the other side of the clearing Vaaler stood trembling over the body of the vanquished Drake. Keegan felt he should say something to his friend, but he wasn't sure what. Before he could speak, Vaaler collapsed to his knees.

And then the disowned heir to the throne vomited on the blood-soaked ground.

In the aftermath of the skirmish, Scythe was flush with the adrenaline-fueled thrill of victory. The battle was gruesome, but she had seen far worse while sailing the Western Isles or working the back alleys of Callastan. The violence and gore hadn't disturbed her in the least … until she saw Vaaler's reaction.

The young man was doubled over retching uncontrollably. Jerrod stood over Keegan's prone form, as if awaiting a second wave of attackers. The young mage didn't appear hurt, but it was obvious the monk wasn't about to leave his side.

She glanced up at Norr and he merely shrugged, uncertain what to do. If anyone was going to help Vaaler, it was obviously going to have to be her.

Silently cursing the men for their incompetence she crossed the clearing and crouched at Vaaler's side, rubbing his back until the seizing of his stomach passed. She helped him to his feet and gently walked him over to a clean patch of ground.

“Sit down,” she said.

He obeyed without question, his eyes those of a lost little boy.

“Haven't you ever killed anyone before?” she asked sympathetically.

“I have killed more trespassing humans in these woods than I can count,” the young Danaan had replied in a dull monotone. “Any who work the patrols are intimately familiar with death and killing.

“But you've never had to kill one of your own, have you?”

He shook his head.

“Drake was my mentor,” he whispered. “He was my teacher. He was like a father to me.”

An hour ago the prince had been in high spirits, the prodigal son leading them to the capital of his people. Now he was banished, an outcast with the blood of his mentor on his hands. Scythe knew what it was like to lose everything in a sudden cut of fate's cruel blade; she knew what it was like to suddenly realize you were alone in the world.

“You had no choice,” Scythe assured him, hoping at least to ease his guilt. “You were forced into this. It wasn't your fault.”

“He couldn't bring himself to kill me,” the prince said after a long silence. “Even when he attacked me, he was holding back.”

“What do you mean?” she asked gently, hoping to help him work through this.

“Drake was the greatest swordsman in the kingdom. His prowess with a blade was legendary. Everything I knew, every move and every counter, I learned from him,” he said slowly, his mind struggling to form coherent thoughts. “I should never have been able to beat him. He
let
me win. He let himself die rather than kill me. Why? Why would he do that?”

“Destiny,” Jerrod called out, still poised at the fallen wizard's side. “Keegan is meant to be our champion, he is meant to have the Ring. Those who oppose us must fall.”

Scythe shot a wicked glare back over her shoulder at him. The Danaan was in a vulnerable state; his world had just collapsed around him. This was not the time for the monk's stupid prophecies!

Fortunately, the Danaan was stronger than she thought.

“No,” Vaaler said, rising to his feet and turning to face the others. “This wasn't about destiny. This was about a good man trapped in a terrible situation.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled, collecting himself before continuing.

“Drake knew my mother's command was born from her illness. He knew it was wrong: I could see it in his eyes. But he had been raised all his life to obey the will of the Monarch. Duty was everything to him.

“He could not disobey her command, even though he knew it was wrong. And he couldn't bring himself to kill me, either. For him, death was the only honorable way out.”

“Duty and honor are fine things,” Scythe commented, “but I can't ever imagine a situation where I'd be willing to die for them.”

“I can,” Norr said unexpectedly.

She glanced over at him, but he turned away and couldn't meet her eye.

“Is Keegan okay?” Vaaler asked suddenly, noticing for the first time his friend lying on the ground.

Scythe was relieved. The best cure for one's own grief and pain was worrying about the well-being of someone else.

“I'm fine,” came the tremulous reply. “Just a little weak. Summoning the Chaos took more out of me than I thought.”

“You should know better than to try and cast a spell without invoking the proper enchantments first,” Vaaler said, walking over to crouch down and check on his friend. Jerrod stepped aside wordlessly and let him approach. “Even I learned that much during my apprenticeship.”

“I figured if I started waving my arms around and chanting strange words those archers would have killed us all.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” was the grim reply.

The Danaan extended his hand, and Keegan reached up to grab it. Jerrod swooped in to seize the mage's other arm and the two of them helped him back to a standing position. He swayed unsteadily but managed to keep his feet by leaning on his staff for support.

“This changes things,” Jerrod said. “The Danaan know we are coming. We can't fight our way through a whole army to reach the capital.”

Vaaler frowned, his brow wrinkled in deep thought.

“No,” he said at last, “I don't think they do know. My mother would have tried to keep my banishment secret. She believes our kingdom is teetering on the edge of destruction, and she cares too much about her people to make things worse with a public schism between the Queen and her only heir.”

“Are you saying nobody else knows?” Jerrod pressed.

“She sent Drake and his patrol because she knew they could be trusted not to say anything to anyone. She must have wanted to keep it secret even from Andar—the High Sorcerer—or she would have instructed him to send some of his war wizards with Drake.

“There may be a few among her personal guard who know of her decree,” Vaaler concluded, “but I doubt it is common knowledge, even among the staff of the castle.”

“Then there is still hope for us,” Jerrod said.

Vaaler nodded.

“But if we enter the city together they are sure to report it to her. There hasn't been a human in Ferlhame since before the Cataclysm.”

“But you could go in alone. The prince returning to the castle won't draw any undue attention,” the monk pressed. “You could slip in, seize the Ring, and bring it back to us!”

“Hasn't he been through enough already?” Scythe objected, jumping into the conversation.

“He's right,” Vaaler said with a shrug in Scythe's direction. “Drake's death changes nothing. Keegan still needs the Ring, and I can still get it for him.”

“Don't do this,” she pleaded, suddenly certain the plan would be a disaster. “Don't let all this talk of dreams and prophecies turn you against your own people!”

“I'm doing this for my people … and for their Queen,” he replied calmly.

Scythe found something about the prince's sudden serenity disturbing.

“I have seen what the Ring has done to my mother,” he explained. “It will destroy her completely unless I do something. This is my only chance to save her.”

“This goes far beyond your mother's fate or the borders of the Danaan kingdom,” Jerrod reminded him. “We are on a quest to save the entire world.”

Scythe didn't even bother to glare at the monk this time. Vaaler had found a way to deal with his grief; he'd made his choice. And like everything else that had happened since she and Norr had been swept up in this mad quest, there was nothing she could do about it.

Keegan was worried about his friend. In the hours since the slaughter of the Danaan patrol, Vaaler had spoken little, though the wizard knew him well enough to sense his inner turmoil. But there was little he could say to help the prince cope with everything that had happened.

Besides, Keegan had problems of his own. He was still weak from summoning the Chaos. He'd been able to draw upon the power of Rexol's staff in lieu of a charm, but being unable to invoke any kind of incantation to direct the power of his spell, he'd been forced to use himself as a conduit. And while his will was strong enough to withstand the ordeal, the toll on his physical form had been high.

When they found the horses of the patrol tethered a mile away from the ambush, he had been able to ride without slowing the group down, Rexol's staff lashed across his back. By the time they stopped for the night, though, he was ready to collapse from his saddle in exhaustion.

But the weakness of his body wasn't his primary focus. During the ride, he'd sensed that he had been fundamentally changed by all that had happened. He'd been transformed in some subtle yet meaningful way.

The Chaos was stronger in him now. That much was undeniable. He had felt it ever since waking from his coma; the force of the magic he had unleashed during the attack only confirmed what he knew to be true. But he had lost something, too.

The heat of the flames coursed through his veins, but beyond that he felt little else. Part of him sympathized with Vaaler, but he felt no real grief or sadness. His concern for the prince was strangely muted, as if it were coming to him across a great distance.

As he mulled over his altered state he realized that even his reaction toward Scythe had been affected. He still knew the Island girl was exotically beautiful, but it stirred up no emotion in him. No lust, no passion, no desire. Nothing. He felt dead inside; empty; hollow. Numb to everything but the ever-present Chaos burning inside him.

“We're only a league away from the city, and the Queen might have set up patrols around the perimeter,” Vaaler said once they had finished setting up the camp. “We'll wait here until nightfall, then I'll go on alone.”

Keegan closed his eyes to help himself concentrate, focusing his attention on the strange hyperawareness he had been experiencing ever since waking up in the enchanted forest. Another change, though Keegan suspected this second sight was merely a response to the Chaos that hung like a thick fog in the woods.

He cast his senses out like a net, searching for signs of the Danaan patrols. He scanned the area around them, inspecting every branch and leaf for a full league in every direction. It took him less than a second.

“There's nobody around. Not for miles.”

“Then we'll stay with you right up until the edge of the city,” Jerrod said. “Your destiny is tied with Keegan's now, Vaaler … just like the rest of us. I don't want to separate the group any longer than we have to.”

Scythe gave him a strange look but didn't say anything. The prince just nodded.

Once it was dark, they broke camp and pressed on until they were within sight of the city's edge. Keegan sensed their destination long before they actually reached its borders. The magic was strong in the Danaan people, he could feel the pulse of their collective energy coming from the capital. And he could sense the Ring, calling to him. Even so, when they emerged from the obscuring tree line he couldn't help but be impressed by what he saw.

Ferlhame had been founded in the center of a large clearing—or perhaps the clearing had been the result of harvesting the trees to create the massive city. In many ways the architecture resembled that of Torian: tall, elegant towers in orderly rows. But the Danaan capital had a more natural feel to it, as if order and symmetry had not been imposed upon the city by regulations and building codes but had evolved organically over the centuries.

Everything in the city was built not from mortar, stone, or brick but rather wood, furthering the natural aesthetic. To the wizard's eye the towers and buildings reaching up toward the night sky had obviously been created with magic, the lumber shaped and reinforced by the power of Chaos during the construction so each structure would be as stable and secure as any edifice made of more conventional materials. However, despite the changes wrought by the spells bound into their surface, the buildings were still unmistakably made of wood.

“No human has looked upon this place since it was founded seven centuries ago,” Vaaler said, his voice so soft Keegan thought he must be speaking to himself. “And now the isolation is broken by a small group of thieves in the night.”

Keegan wasn't sure if his friend sounded resentful or just sad.

“We can go no farther together,” he said more loudly. “I can approach the castle without drawing attention. You humans cannot.”

“We'll wait here with the horses for you to bring us the Ring,” Jerrod agreed.

Scythe laughed.

“You make it sound so simple. Like he just has to go into the Queen's jewelry box and pull it out.”

“It won't be in any jewelry box,” Vaaler said flatly. “She wears it on a chain around her neck, even while sleeping. She never takes it off.”

“Even better,” Scythe replied. “You really think she'll just hand it over to us? After what happened with Drake? Am I the only one who sees how foolish this all is?”

“I have no choice. The Talisman has taken control of my mother's mind; it uses her own visions to bind her beneath its spell. Unless I free her from it, she is doomed. We all are.”

“So how do you plan to get it from her?” Scythe asked. “I've lifted my share of necklaces without getting caught, but this isn't like clipping the chain from an unsuspecting mark in a crowd.”

When Vaaler didn't immediately respond she added, “How do you even plan to get close enough to try and steal it? You've been banished—remember?”

“I doubt anyone but Drake and my mother's personal guards knows anything about that,” he reminded her. “No one will challenge me when I enter the castle.”

“Okay, so you get inside the castle,” Scythe conceded. “Then what? How are you going to get close enough to the Queen to pull this off?”

“I know a way,” was all he said.

Giving up on the young Danaan, she turned to Jerrod. “Even if he succeeds, what are we supposed to do after we get the Ring? Do you even know?”