of brutal labor finally exposing the trapdoor. The ordeal had left their limbs mangled and useless, their bodies and spirits broken. In their eyes, Orath could see they yearned for death. But they still had one more purpose to serve before he would grant them that release.
Knowing even their Chaos-augmented strength wouldn’t be enough to snap the lock that held the trapdoor closed, Orath stepped forward and wrenched it open. Then he turned to his victims and marched them down the cellar stairs, their broken bodies staggering and stumbling grotesquely with every step. Halfway down, the woman’s already damaged kneecap dislocated completely and she toppled forward into the soldier ahead of her. The pair tumbled down the stone steps in a tangle, bones snapping and cracking until they ended up in a heap of quivering flesh at the bottom.
For an instant Orath feared they might have snapped their necks, and he cursed his carelessness—he needed them alive! But as he scrambled down to check on them, he found fortune was on his side. Gruesome as their injuries were, none of them had proved fatal.
They couldn’t walk anymore; even Orath’s spell had its limits. But he didn’t need them to go anywhere else.
“Soon this will all be over,” he assured them, though he doubted they could hear him through the shrieking agony of their abused bodies.
It would take many hours to make the necessary preparations for the spell to reach across the Burning Sea and contact his liege. Though the Legacy was fading, the power of the Old Gods was still strong enough to keep Daemron banished. But piercing the Legacy was the least of Orath’s worries. Once he reached beyond the mortal world his consciousness would have to cross the Burning Sea, an ocean of Chaos in its purest and most powerful form. If he wasn’t careful, he would be consumed by the fires.
In theory, it was possible to reach across the Burning Sea to send a message to Daemron through sheer force of will. But doing so would push Orath’s strength to its limits, and leave his reserves of Chaos drained. Instead, he would call upon the rituals he had learned at the feet of the Slayer himself. He would use the life energy of his victims to summon Chaos into the mortal world, controlling it with runes and arcane symbols traced in their still-warm blood. When the spell was over the mortals at his feet would be gone—their bodies, minds, and spirits completely consumed by the power of Chaos.
But their sacrifice will keep me safe. Shield me from the backlash of the spell and protect me from the Chaos flames of the
Burning
Sea.
Or so he hoped.
He took a deep, cleansing breath, focusing his will for what was to come. Then he climbed the stairs and pulled the trapdoor closed again, sealing the three of them inside the suddenly pitch-black cellar.
“It is time to begin.”
—
“Remarkable,” Methodis said, shaking his head as he finished rewrapping the splints and bandages around Cassandra’s legs. “If there were some way to share these incredible healing powers with the masses, maybe the Order wouldn’t be viewed with such suspicion and fear.”
Cassandra didn’t say anything. Rexol had claimed that much of her amazing recovery could be attributed to her drawing on the power of the Crown; despite her mistrust of most of what the wizard said, she thought in this case he was right. But so far Methodis hadn’t asked her about the Talisman, and she didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.
“I suppose it takes years of intense training,” the healer continued. “Though I imagine there are some who would be willing if given the chance to learn the Order’s secrets.”
“Training alone wouldn’t be enough,” Cassandra said. “Those of us brought into the Order have been touched by Chaos. It gives us abilities beyond those of ordinary men and women.”
“Like the film over the eyes,” he said, nodding in understanding. “According to all medical knowledge,
Knowing even their Chaos-augmented strength wouldn’t be enough to snap the lock that held the trapdoor closed, Orath stepped forward and wrenched it open. Then he turned to his victims and marched them down the cellar stairs, their broken bodies staggering and stumbling grotesquely with every step. Halfway down, the woman’s already damaged kneecap dislocated completely and she toppled forward into the soldier ahead of her. The pair tumbled down the stone steps in a tangle, bones snapping and cracking until they ended up in a heap of quivering flesh at the bottom.
For an instant Orath feared they might have snapped their necks, and he cursed his carelessness—he needed them alive! But as he scrambled down to check on them, he found fortune was on his side. Gruesome as their injuries were, none of them had proved fatal.
They couldn’t walk anymore; even Orath’s spell had its limits. But he didn’t need them to go anywhere else.
“Soon this will all be over,” he assured them, though he doubted they could hear him through the shrieking agony of their abused bodies.
It would take many hours to make the necessary preparations for the spell to reach across the Burning Sea and contact his liege. Though the Legacy was fading, the power of the Old Gods was still strong enough to keep Daemron banished. But piercing the Legacy was the least of Orath’s worries. Once he reached beyond the mortal world his consciousness would have to cross the Burning Sea, an ocean of Chaos in its purest and most powerful form. If he wasn’t careful, he would be consumed by the fires.
In theory, it was possible to reach across the Burning Sea to send a message to Daemron through sheer force of will. But doing so would push Orath’s strength to its limits, and leave his reserves of Chaos drained. Instead, he would call upon the rituals he had learned at the feet of the Slayer himself. He would use the life energy of his victims to summon Chaos into the mortal world, controlling it with runes and arcane symbols traced in their still-warm blood. When the spell was over the mortals at his feet would be gone—their bodies, minds, and spirits completely consumed by the power of Chaos.
But their sacrifice will keep me safe. Shield me from the backlash of the spell and protect me from the Chaos flames of the
Burning
Sea.
Or so he hoped.
He took a deep, cleansing breath, focusing his will for what was to come. Then he climbed the stairs and pulled the trapdoor closed again, sealing the three of them inside the suddenly pitch-black cellar.
“It is time to begin.”
—
“Remarkable,” Methodis said, shaking his head as he finished rewrapping the splints and bandages around Cassandra’s legs. “If there were some way to share these incredible healing powers with the masses, maybe the Order wouldn’t be viewed with such suspicion and fear.”
Cassandra didn’t say anything. Rexol had claimed that much of her amazing recovery could be attributed to her drawing on the power of the Crown; despite her mistrust of most of what the wizard said, she thought in this case he was right. But so far Methodis hadn’t asked her about the Talisman, and she didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.
“I suppose it takes years of intense training,” the healer continued. “Though I imagine there are some who would be willing if given the chance to learn the Order’s secrets.”
“Training alone wouldn’t be enough,” Cassandra said. “Those of us brought into the Order have been touched by Chaos. It gives us abilities beyond those of ordinary men and women.”
“Like the film over the eyes,” he said, nodding in understanding. “According to all medical knowledge,
Similar Books
