Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

“I didn’t find much,” he said, more to buy time than anything else. “Just a few things, most of them worthless.” Duvan took another step, adjusting his posture so that he’d be ready if an attack came.

“We’ll just see about that,” Beaugrat said. “Hand over your sack.”

“I think you know that’s not going to happen.”

A predatory grin spread across the big man’s face, reminding Duvan eerily of the manticore. “Seerah,” Beaugrat said, “on the count of five, if he hasn’t given over the haversack, put an arrow in him.”

“Now hold on.” Duvan put on his most reasonable expression. “Drop this mutiny, and I promise I’ll pay you double what we agreed.”

The sun had set and dusk was nearly here. Not many shadows to hide in if he could get away, but the waning light would make it difficult to distinguish shapes. Under the jungle canopy, this would be perfect for invisibility.

“That’s a very generous offer,” Beaugrat scoffed. “But we seem to have the advantage here.”

Duvan held up one hand. “Hold it,” he said, taking a step back toward the relative safety of the deeper jungle. “You do understand that you can’t take Tyrangal’s property. She won’t allow it.”

“Tyrangal’s power is waning, Duvan. Soon the accordants of the Blue Fire will reign.” Beaugrat’s voice had grown dreamy and reverent.

Duvan edged one more step back. If he could get close enough to dash-

“Stand still, or Seerah will shoot you.”

Duvan stopped and gave a conciliatory nod in Seerah’s direction. The ranger smirked back. Yes, she would shoot, Duvan knew. Any hesitation on her part would be brief. But while she was distracted with the exchange, her aim drifted ever so slightly-down and to her right.

Now! As soon as he formed the thought, he was in motion. His left hand, held in front of him to signal “wait,” served as a distraction for his right hand, which was already in his flash powder pouch. A smooth motion pushed a pinch airborne, and with a flick of his fingers, two of his rings chimed together, one flint and one steel.

Duvan dived right as the spark ignited the dust, blinding in the dim light. And by the time the ranger brought her crossbow back to where his chest had been, her quarrel missed him by a good six inches.

He hit the ground and rolled once, then used the momentum to hop back on his feet. They would expect him to bolt into the jungle, and that would be the prudent thing to do-try to lose them amid the dense undergrowth, wait them out, then later make his way back to Ormpetarr on foot.

Instead he decided to attack, quickly and decisively. An enemy dead was always better than him dead.

Duvan plucked one of his paralytic-coated daggers from his sash and flicked it with dead-on accuracy toward the shoulder gap in Beaugrat’s plate armor. Before that dagger landed, Duvan hurtled the next dagger, also coated with poison, at the twisting torso of the ranger. He finished his throws while both were still dazed by the blinding flash.

The first dagger was aimed perfectly and flying too fast for Beaugrat to dodge. It hit home, buried deep in the fighter’s spellscar, and should have dropped him mid-motion. Instead, the dagger vanished in a burst of blue fire.

The second dagger wasn’t aimed quite as well, but Duvan could tell it was enough. The point barely made it through the skin of Seerah’s thigh. But that would be enough; the poison would eventually lock up her muscles. The ranger was already stumbling, and after a moment she lay still on the ground.

Instinct prompted Duvan to dive to his right again, and he’d learned to trust that feeling. Just in time, too, as one of Beaugrat’s steel-covered gauntlets, barbed with sharp extensible spikes, swept past Duvan’s cheek. If it had been any closer, it could’ve taken his three-day stubble with it.

Duvan stood, now having circled so that he was between Beaugrat and the horses. Taking on the barbarian directly would be folly; Duvan would be giving up any advantages he had and would be playing into the other man’s hand.

Beaugrat wore plate armor and was no doubt at least half-again stronger than Duvan. The openings in his armor were limited to his face and the spellscar.

But Duvan was faster, more agile, and smarter. Well, he hoped he was smarter. That would be determined by the outcome.

Beaugrat gave a quick glance at his fallen cohort, and it registered on his face that she was out of the game. She would be dead shortly if an antidote wasn’t delivered.

“You should’ve taken the deal,” Duvan said, breathing heavily in the humid jungle air. “Now it’s even odds, and you’re about to go down.”

Beaugrat grinned again. “I don’t think so,” he said. Then he extended his arms and pressed his wrists together, palms out toward Duvan. Immediately, his right arm erupted in gauzy blue-white flames. Spellscar.

“My master and I were hoping it would not come to this,” Beaugrat said, “but I see no choice now.”

“Your master?” Duvan said.

“Not that it matters to you anymore, but the Order has plans for Ormpetarr and the changelands. Tyrangal has been a consistent impediment and is standing in the way of unity and progress. She must be eliminated.”

Duvan spread his arms. “All right, but what does that have to do with me?”

“We’ve been interested in you for quite a while, Duvan. You are Tyrangal’s darling, but we can’t figure out why. She sends you to find things, but we don’t know what they are and why she wants them. You are a mystery, and we don’t like mysteries.”

“I am happy to fade away. Disappear.”

“Enough talk,” Beaugrat said. “Time to die.” The fire engulfing his arm shot from his hand toward Duvan. The big man screamed in rage as the blue energy fire swirled like a tornado around Duvan.

But it did not touch him. It did not affect him.

Duvan felt a weakening in the base of his gut, like the whole of his being was transforming into liquid. It was a feeling he’d had before, many times-a feeling which brought back flashes of torment at the hands of the elves-memories of long, painful nights caged inside the plaguelands.

Duvan had always tried to keep his resistance to spell-plague secret. It had been the source of more pain in his life than anything else. The fire’s energy dissipated the closer it got to Duvan, all of its potency gone by the time it reached his body.

Beaugrat lowered his hands, his eyes going wide in disbelief. The big man’s shoulders and back slumped from the exertion.

It was Duvan’s turn to grin. His gut and body felt solid once again, and he sized up his angle of attack.

Abruptly, Beaugrat lunged directly for Duvan.

By reflex, Duvan sprang sideways to dodge the onrush. He simultaneously drew one of his daggers from a scabbard on his thigh.

Beaugrat, however, didn’t attack. He kept running, past Duvan and into the cluster of horses. Duvan looked on as the big man pulled himself, plate armor and all, up onto his war horse.

Duvan watched the barbarian ride off, and decided not to go after him. Their paths would no doubt cross again, and Duvan would deal with Beaugrat then. The present crisis was past, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

“Kill me,” said the ranger, Seerah, in her northern dialect. “It’s burning me up on the inside.”

Duvan looked over at her. She had dragged herself a few yards, although it wasn’t clear where she’d been trying to get to. The skin around her mouth and eyes had turned blue; it was too late to administer the antidote. Seerah would be dead shortly.

Duvan had miscalculated. “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he said. “Life comes and goes. Death will take me one day, just as it has taken you and your sorcerer friend down in the chasm today.”