Norr had explained that each individual was expected to pack their own food, clothing, weapons, and other essentials. That way if anyone’s supplies ran short on the journey, they had only themselves to blame. But, he’d added, an exception would be made for the Outlanders—someone would pack for them to make sure they didn’t forget anything.
Vaaler still would have been happy to help load the sled. But being unfamiliar with the specific way the clan had of placing each bag, there wasn’t anything he could do to help except stay out of the way.
Along with Jerrod and Keegan, he stood awkwardly off to one side while the sleds were loaded, not speaking. That wasn’t surprising with Jerrod—the monk wasn’t one for small talk. And he and Keegan hadn’t spoken since their argument the day before.
Scythe and Norr were strangely absent. Vaaler had risen early, but the pair were already gone, the flap on their tent hastily tied from the outside.
Norr must have already packed for them. Now they’re either meeting with the thanes one last time before we go, or Scythe and he are off somewhere private still fighting about Shalana’s coming with us.
Standing idly by as the clan worked left plenty of time for Vaaler to think about his own recent argument with Keegan. The former prince knew he’d overreacted; Keegan’s words were cruel but he’d heard far worse. So why did his friend’s casual comments about Vaaler’s failings cut so deep?
Because it’s the kind of thing Rexol would say.
The thought that Keegan was slowly changing, becoming more like their former master, was more than a little troubling. Rexol was arrogant, selfish, and ruthless—a dangerous combination for someone who could summon Chaos.
Keegan isn’t like that. At least, he didn’t used to be.
Vaaler had initially dismissed the young mage’s interest in Scythe as a harmless crush. But now he feared it would turn into an obsession. He wanted Scythe: what if he decided Norr was the only thing standing in his way?
He likes Norr. The old Keegan would never betray a friend. But Rexol wouldn’t even think twice about using his power to eliminate a rival.
Vaaler looked over at his friend, wondering if he should try to talk to him again to smooth things over. As if sensing he was being watched, Keegan turned and glared at him, then looked away dismissively.
That’s something Rexol would do. Like I’m beneath his notice.
It was possible he was overreacting. Keegan had used his talent to cast a curse on Shalana to help Norr. Rexol wouldn’t have done that.
Or would he? What if Keegan didn’t do it to help Norr but to impress Scythe? Or maybe he just wanted to see if he was strong enough to actually make the spell work.
Manipulation and egotistical overconfidence were part of Rexol’s nature; had they become part of Keegan’s? Was this an inevitable progression in the journey from apprentice to full-fledged Chaos mage? The corrupting influence of having unimaginable power at your fingertips?
Or is it something else?
He remembered the rapidly deteriorating health of his mother and her descent into madness—a decline he blamed on the Ring the Queen always wore around her neck.
Keegan didn’t just wear the Ring on a chain—he unleashed its full power!
He could say something to Jerrod about his fears, but he doubted the monk would listen. His belief in Keegan was too intractable to allow for the possibility of a flaw in his chosen savior … particularly if the flaw was triggered by the very Talismans they were trying to find.
He could always talk to Scythe once she returned. She seemed to care about Keegan, though clearly not in the same way the young man felt about her. But if she was still angry about Norr’s inviting Shalana to the Conclave, she’d have trouble focusing on anything else. Recalling their last meeting, he decided the last thing he needed was another argument with her, too. And if he was right, Keegan’s infatuation with Scythe was actually part of the problem.
If I tell her about that, she might decide to take matters into her own hands.
Scythe was just crazy enough to slit Keegan’s throat while he slept if she thought he was going to hurt Norr.
You’re overreacting!
Vaaler shook his head, surprised at the violent turn his thoughts had taken.
Scythe has a temper, but she’s not insane.
Vaaler realized that brooding over the situation wasn’t helping. Like it or not, he had to talk with Keegan.
Keegan watched Vaaler coming toward him with a mixture of relief and dread. He knew he’d crossed a line during their argument; Vaaler’s greatest shame was his inability to summon Chaos. He had no right to throw it in his friend’s face like he did, but the words were out before he’d even realized he was saying them.
Vaaler isn’t an innocent victim here, the darker part of his mind chimed in. He’s the one who started lecturing you about how to use your power.
Keegan ignored the voice. Vaaler was his closest friend; it was time to make amends.
“Keegan, we need to talk,” the former prince said. “Alone,” he added, casting a glance in Jerrod’s direction.
The monk shrugged and wandered off to the other side of the camp. Keegan waited until he was far enough away that even his Chaos-heightened senses couldn’t overhear them, then began before Vaaler could start.
“I’m sorry, Vaaler. I said things I didn’t mean. I … I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”
The apology seemed to catch Vaaler off guard for a moment, but then he forced a smile.
“I think we were both out of line. But everything you said was true. I don’t have the Gift, and it’s not my place to tell you how to live with it.”
“You may not have Chaos in your veins,” Keegan assured him, “but you’re one of the smartest people I know. You were always a better apprentice than I was.”
“Until it came time to actually cast a spell,” Vaaler added, his smile slipping.
“It should have been you,” Keegan said after a brief pause. “Rexol could have turned you into the greatest mage the world has ever known.”
The Danaan shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not sure I would have wanted that. Rexol was a cruel, heartless bastard. I wouldn’t want to turn into someone like that.”
Are you saying that’s what’s happening to me? Keegan thought, though he bit his tongue. Instead, he said, “I think he was like that to begin with.”
Realizing the implications of his words, Vaaler quickly backpedaled. “I’m sorry—that didn’t come out right. I know you, Keegan. I know you’re not like him. I know you want to use your power to help people. But Chaos has a way of twisting good intentions.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t have cast that curse on Shalana?”
“No,” Vaaler answered, though he seemed to think about it first. “I think Scythe was right—we really didn’t have a choice. But I feel bad for what happened to Shalana. For what we did to her.”
“She brought this on herself,” Keegan reminded him. “She didn’t have to try to force Norr into marrying her.”
“Maybe,” Vaaler conceded, though he clearly had his doubts. “We don’t really know the politics of the clan that well, though. Marrying Norr might have been the only real way she could keep her position.”
“Don’t let Scythe hear you defending her,” Keegan warned.
“Too late,” Vaaler answered, flashing another smile that disappeared almost immediately. “She nearly tore my head off.”
There was a long pause before Vaaler added, “I guess it’s easier for me to understand what Shalana was going through. We were both raised to be leaders of our people, then we both had it torn away by circumstances beyond our control.”
This isn’t really about Shalana, Keegan realized.
“Are you saying it’s my fault the Queen exiled you?” he asked, his voice more defensive than he’d intended.
“No, of course not,” Vaaler assured him. “I’m the one who stole the Ring.
“But it’s imp
ortant to remember there are consequences for our actions,” he added. “Ferlhame was nearly destroyed by the dragon. Thousands of my subjects lost their lives that night.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Keegan answered, his voice cold. “I carry the guilt of that night, too.”
“I’m not blaming you,” Vaaler insisted, and this time he was the one who sounded defensive. “None of us knew the Ring would awaken the dragon. That creature’s the one who devastated the city. If you hadn’t gone back to Ferlhame to stop it, nobody would have survived.
“If there was any justice in the world,” he added, “my people should be hailing you as a hero. You saved them.”
Keegan could have let his comments go. Nobody but Scythe knew the real truth: that he’d gone back to Ferlhame looking for revenge, only to be attacked by the wyrm that had gotten there first. But he didn’t want to lie to Vaaler. Not about something like this.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said in a whisper. “I didn’t go back to help them. I didn’t even know the dragon was there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted revenge for the Danaan patrols that attacked us,” Keegan explained, his voice still low. “I wanted to make them pay. I wanted to wipe Ferlhame off the map.”
Vaaler’s eyes went wide, his features twisting into a mask of horrified shock.
“You’re no better than Rexol,” he accused. “What kind of monster have you become?”
“I’m not a monster!” Keegan snapped at him. “And I’m not like Rexol!
“You don’t know what it’s like to have that kind of raw power rushing through you,” he explained, his voice pleading. “It’s overwhelming. Like an ocean that floods your mind, drowning out your very thoughts!
“You studied under Rexol enough to know how dangerous and unpredictable Chaos is,” Keegan reminded him. “If it isn’t properly contained, it can twist your emotions. Drive you into fits of insane rage.”
“I don’t remember Rexol’s teaching us anything like that,” Vaaler shot back. “It sounds like an excuse for a wizard to act without conscience. No responsibility. No accountability. Just deny the consequences of your actions and blame it all on Chaos!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Keegan snarled. “You’ve never felt it, so how would you know?”
Vaaler didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he spun on his heel and stormed away.
Watching him go, Keegan realized they’d ended up exactly where they’d been in their last argument—Vaaler trying to tell him how to deal with his power and him throwing Vaaler’s Chaosblind blood back in his face.
Good thing we both apologized, he thought bitterly, wondering how things had gone so wrong.
Scythe was beginning to despise the Long Hall, mostly because she still didn’t understand enough of the language to follow what was going on. Sitting by Norr’s side listening to him talk gibberish with his thanes was a poor way to pass the morning.
It’s your own fault. If you’d ever asked Norr to teach you Clan-speak, he would have done it gladly.
She knew Jerrod was already taking lessons; Norr had assigned one of his thanes the task of teaching the monk. She could have joined them, but that would have meant abandoning Norr’s side, and she wasn’t about to do that.
He’d told her that most of the thanes spoke Allrish, but she wasn’t going to ask Norr to make them abandon their native tongue for her sake. It was bad enough their new chief had chosen an Outlander over Shalana; she didn’t need to rub their noses in it.
They probably wouldn’t have objected if Norr translated everything for her, but that would only make the meeting drag on even longer. And, to be honest, she didn’t really care that much about what was going on. The main reason she’d come here was to keep an eye on Shalana.
Even after defeating her in the duel, Norr didn’t believe she’d try to betray him. He was too trusting; he always wanted to see only the good in people. Fortunately, Scythe was there to watch his back.
Not that it mattered. That oversized heifer didn’t even have the decency to show up.
Nobody else seemed bothered by Shalana’s absence, at least not as far as she could tell through the language barrier. In Scythe’s eyes it was a major insult, considering everything Norr had done for her. But maybe they were cutting her some slack because of the physical punishment she took during the duel.
But she gave as good as she got, and Norr managed to show up.
Her lover was covered with welts and bruises that would take days to heal, but instead of bed rest he was using a makeshift crutch to help support his weight.
At least he agreed to ride on a sled while we head for the Conclave.
The meeting droned on and on, but Scythe gritted her teeth and suffered through it with as much grace as she could muster. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go or anyone she wanted to talk to, anyway. Keegan was still mooning over her like some lovesick puppy, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that. She was still mad at Vaaler for taking Shalana’s side the last time they’d spoken. And if she spoke to Jerrod, she’d probably have to sit through another of the monk’s didactic lectures on how she’d become part of Keegan’s great destiny.
Maybe I should go look for Shalana. Let her know that I’m watching her.
She dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. Norr wouldn’t want her stirring up trouble. And if Shalana really was plotting something, there was no sense getting her guard up. It’d be easier to catch her in the act if Scythe stayed in the shadows.
Guess I’m here till the end.
There was a pause in the conversation, and she briefly hoped the meeting was over. Norr turned to look at her, and she knew him well enough to read his intent without words.
Are you holding up okay?
She forced a reassuring smile and a nod, and he turned his attention back to the thanes. Realizing they could still be some time, Scythe shifted in her seat until she found a more comfortable position.
Keegan’s magic had made Norr the chief, but Scythe wasn’t actually sure things were any better. Norr had the responsibility of the entire clan on his shoulders now, not to mention the danger of Shalana or her father plotting some kind of revenge. And she had the added worry of making sure Norr never found out about the curse. If Jerrod figured it out, others could, too.
That spell really didn’t solve anything. Guess this is what the monk meant when he warned me to watch out for backlash.
Vaaler wasn’t walking with any purpose or direction; he just needed to put one foot in front of the other as forcefully as possible. He focused on the physical act of slamming his boots onto the cold, hard ground in an effort to ignore the vicious anger Keegan’s words had stirred up inside him.
He was going to slaughter my people!
Only they weren’t really his people anymore. He wasn’t their prince anymore. He was an exile. A fugitive. An outcast. So why did Keegan’s admission make him so angry?
It’s the Queen’s fault. She’s the one who sent Drake out to meet us. She’s the one who sent the patrols after us. My mother gave them orders to kill us; Keegan only responded in kind.
His steps began to slow as his anger faded away. As his mind cleared, he thought back on the argument and realized Keegan wasn’t some soulless monster—his friend had been deeply troubled by what had happened.
He opened up to you, and you instantly turned on him. Why?
Before he could come up with an answer, he noticed Shalana walking gingerly through the camp. The tall woman was bent over, a bulky sack thrown over her left shoulder. Her right hand clutched the long, feathered spear she’d carried when she first met them at the parley with the Ice Fangs. But now she was using the weapon more like a crutch to help her bear the weight of the bag as she made her way slowly to a large supply sled a hundred yards away.
Though she wasn’t sporting the visible bruises and welts that covered Norr’s face and arms, she was clearly injured. Vaaler r
ecalled the final moments of her duel with Norr. The big man had brought her to the ground with a savage blow to her side, then pinned her to the ground with his massive bulk.
Probably broke her ribs.
It was only now, watching her hobble across the camp, that he realized things could have been worse.
We really had no idea what the curse would actually do to her. If she’d died, her blood would be on our hands.
Fortunately she’d survived, but Vaaler couldn’t help feeling guilty as he watched her struggles. He’d cracked a rib once on patrol; he knew how painful an injury it was. Every step pulled on tender muscles that screamed in protest, every breath stabbed at the lungs with a sharp blade.
There were plenty of other Stone Spirits around, moving quickly and efficiently to load the sled. Yet none of them offered to help their former chief. They didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
She’s ostracized. A pariah among her people. That’s on us, too.
Still fifty yards from her destination, Shalana paused to gather her strength and adjusted the pack on her shoulder, leaning heavily on her spear. Her jaw clenched to keep from crying out as she twisted awkwardly, sending a fresh wave of pain through her side.
Unable to bear it any longer, Vaaler jogged over to her side.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, holding out his hands toward the pack.
Shalana didn’t react at first; she just stared at him with suspicious eyes. If not for her injury, Vaaler suspected she would have turned her back on him.
“You speak Verlsung,” she finally said.
“I do,” he admitted. Vaaler couldn’t tell if she was angry or just surprised.
“Should have kept that quiet,” she told him. “A good way to learn our secrets.”
“But not a good way to make friends,” Vaaler countered.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Nobody here wants to be your friend, Outlander.”
Vaaler looked around at the other Stone Spirits. They were still carrying on with the task of loading the sled, none of them paying any attention to their conversation.