Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

Perhaps he could follow her.

But young Duvan lacked the will to do anything active to take his own life. He merely lay with Talfani’s spiritless corpse slowly souring next to him. He blocked out the devastation of his village outside. He cried and cried that he had let this happen to her. He didn’t deserve to live when she was gone. He didn’t want to live if that meant being alone.

And Duvan might have died there too. Starvation or pestilence may have eventually taken him if the Wildhome elves hadn’t come through the village.

“He’s coming around.” The voice was deep and male.

“Was he dead, Renfod?” Vraith asked.

“Nearly, but not quite,” said the clipped voice. “I have healed him, but you might want to be more careful.”

“I’ll determine that.”

“Of course, Commander.”

The fluttering gray gave way to dim torchlight as Duvan opened his eyes. Milky, cataract-clouded eyes stared down at him, very close, seeming to look through and beyond Duvan at that same time. After a moment, the man blinked and stood up, retreating slightly.

Renfod, Duvan guessed, the cleric who so graciously brought him back to endure more torture. Renfod’s thin, brown face displayed dour concern. He did not seem to be enjoying this part of his job one bit.

Next to the dark cleric, Beaugrat’s wide, boyish face grinned down at him. He seemed to be relishing Duvan’s torture. Duvan silently vowed to kill the big fighter, if he ever made it through this.

“Renfod, step back if he is healed,” Vraith said. “Let’s continue. Guraru?”

Renfod retreated to stand next to Vraith. Into Duvan’s field of vision stepped the red-bearded dwarf again. Oh, this is going to hurt, Duvan thought.

Abruptly, an icy dread crystallized in his chest. The dread spread through Duvan, freezing him to his very core. The chill seized the marrow of his arms and legs. He struggled to breathe against the chill.

One breath, two breaths.

The third breath didn’t come, and he felt the sharp tingle of frostbite in his fingers and toes. His skin grew numb, and the numbness spread behind advancing waves of needles, to his heart.

Duvan welcomed the numbness. He felt no pain by the end. And he welcomed the approaching death. He could just barely see the gray plane again as he wavered between worlds like a fluttering ghost.

Finally, he might be able to rest.

Slanya’s head pounded with pain, sharp and pervasive. But even so she felt more integrated with her body, more whole. Her vision was no longer fragmented and split into disparate shards. In the quiet of her chambers, she was acutely aware of the persistent ringing in her ears, but she was confident that it was fading slowly. Her hearing was otherwise keen.

Almost back to normal.

Slanya’s throat was thick with the taste of medicine. She scraped the top of her tongue with her teeth to try to get rid of the bitter anise flavor. Sitting on her straw cot, in the quiet of her small chamber, she took slow, deep breaths and tried to clear her mind.

The yellow light of the late-afternoon sun streamed through the small window opening and warmed her face. Some of the clerics and monks sang evening prayers in the chapel, and she smelled the smoke from the funeral pyre, but it was faint.

In the back of her mind, she knew that further challenges lay in her path-dangerous and full of peril-but for this moment in time, she sought to clear her mind and body. To bring calm and unification, and with that, health and renewed strength, so that she could meet those challenges.

After a few moments of meditation, there was a soft knock on the door, after which it cracked open admitting High Priestess Kaylinn. She wore her daily cleric’s robes, and Slanya noticed that the beige fabric bore fresh bloodstains.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Kaylinn said. Concern was evident in her voice. “I think I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to you, but you are as whole as I can make you by magic. I also gave you something for the pain. You’ve had a great deal more exposure to the plaguelands than most pilgrims who manage to survive.”

Slanya blinked and noticed that she was absently rubbing the stub of her missing pinkie. So much for order and peace of mind.

“Your spellscar is intriguing,” Kaylinn said. “It’s spread throughout your body like a fishing net-concentrated knots of spellscar connected by a web of thinner, physical scars. I don’t recommend you use your spellscar ability too much. Channeling that much wild magic is likely to tear your body apart.”

“Thank you for the advice, High Priestess,” Slanya said, her tongue still thick with the medicine. “Do you know what it … does??”

Kaylinn shrugged. “You will figure it out.”

“Thank you, Priestess, for healing me. I am indebted.”

“Not at all,” Kaylinn said. “You are family. I think you should know that.”

“I do,” Slanya said. “Of course.”

After a short pause, Kaylinn continued, “I need to speak with you about Brother Gregor. I am concerned that he has lost his way, that his pursuit of personal glory has blinded him to the harm he is causing others.”

Slanya nodded.

“This … pact with Vraith is inappropriate, to say the least. The Order has long supported our presence in Ormpetarr, but the situation with the young man and Gregor’s elixir … I no longer trust they have our congregation’s best interests in mind. We need to determine if something is influencing Gregor and then isolate him from it, if so. I need your help, Sister Slanya. I need the backing of all clerics and monks of our monastery, especially those loyal to him.”

“I agree with you, High Priestess. I will help however I can.”

There was a knock on the door, and Kaylinn’s eyebrows raised in surprise. She went to the door and opened it a crack, and in the space Slanya was shocked to see the tall slender figure of Tyrangal.

“I must speak with Slanya,” she said. Tyrangal was at least two heads taller than Kaylinn, her long auburn hair shining in the sunlight of the courtyard.

Kaylinn didn’t budge. “She’s in no condition.”

Tyrangal’s gaze softened, and a smile graced her young face. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Priestess.” Her voice grew melodic and convincing. “And Iam just going to talk with her. I need to tell her something very important.”

Kaylinn frowned. “Do not try to charm me.”

“I apologize for the attempt,” Tyrangal said, “and merely plead urgency as the motivator. It’s imperative that I have a few words with Sister Slanya, and what I have to say cannot wait any longer.”

Kaylinn made no move to allow Tyrangal into the room. “I have no reason to trust you,” she said. “This is a most unusual breach of protocol.”

Slanya spoke. “It’s all right, High Priestess. I will speak with her.”

Kaylinn’s resolve melted just a little. “Very well, but I will remain here.”

Tyrangal gave a catlike smile. “Of course. What I have to say might be important for you as well.” She strode into the room and looked down at Slanya. “I hope you’re feeling up to some action,” she said, “because we need to rescue Duvan.”

Slanya sat up. “You know where he is?”

Tyrangal nodded. “I do. He is being held in the Order of Blue Fire headquarters, in one of the underground rooms.”

“Is he well guarded?”

Tyrangal nodded. “Aye,” she said, “but I have considerable resources. My Copper Guard is ready to assist us, but we cannot do it alone. I was hoping that you and a number of your trusted clerics and monks could help us get Duvan out of there.”

Kaylinn interjected, “Why do you want to rescue Duvan? What is he to you?”