A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (45 page)

Nathaniel slid his feet off the bed, then hopped to the floor. He wore his long loose bed robes, and he was surprised to see they were soaked with sweat. Was the heat of the gems truly so great? But he didn’t feel it. He hardly felt anything beyond the comfort of the gems.

“What must I do?” Nathaniel asked, dismissing such thoughts.

Dress yourself, then leave the mansion. Your task lies beyond its walls.

Nathaniel stripped naked so he might wear something more appropriate. Each movement was steady and slow, emphasizing the feeling of a dream. He almost thought it might be, and he looked to his bed. Empty. For some reason that convinced him. If he were asleep, he’d be in his bed. He wasn’t, so he must be awake. If his mind was muddled, it was only due to his own fear and weakness, which the gems were thankfully muffling.

To change, he had to put the gems atop the dresser. The moment they left his fingers his panic returned. The wailing from outside had stopped, but it didn’t seem to matter. He felt afraid, felt certain that enemies were closing in on him from all sides. He dressed as fast as he could, yanking on his pants and then flinging on a shirt. It was still bunched around his chest when he reached out and grabbed the gems, knocking two to the floor.

“Better,” Nathaniel mumbled. At their touch he felt their comfort return, and such a minor inconvenience like shrieking skulls could not irritate him. Why had he panicked? Why had he feared for his life? Karak was with him. Karak would always be with him. Bending down, he scooped the other two into his hand, held them tight. Finally ready, he went to the door, used the tips of his fingers to turn the knob, and then stepped out.

The vast majority of Alyssa’s mercenaries and house guards were out with her, attempting to rescue Zusa from whoever had taken her. She’d told him this before leaving, insisting he remain safe inside, and lying to his face that no one would dare hurt him while she was gone. Too many had broken into their home for him to believe that. When he looked up and down the hall, he saw it was empty. What few soldiers remained were all patrolling outside the mansion. Who would protect him? The servants? Even they’d been sent home, given no explanation, though Nathaniel had known the reason. An army was approaching, Karak’s army, the liberators of the oppressed, and his mother wanted them to be with their families when it arrived.

Nathaniel made his way to the front door, hurrying as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew he should be planning ahead, trying to figure out a way to escape the notice of the guards, but he did not. Karak had told him he would be the one to open the way. What hope did a few hired soldiers have to stop the plan of a god? He opened the door with confidence and stepped out onto the stone path leading to the front gate.

Two men watched the door, one on either side of him, and both seemed perplexed by his arrival.

“Little master?” the one to his left asked. “You should be inside. This rain’ll give you a cold.”

“The kid’s just scared to be alone,” said the other.

Nathaniel peered at them both, saw neither seemed alarmed. Good. Then they wouldn’t be ready. When the first reached down to take him by the shoulder, Nathaniel burst into a run, the chrysarium’s gems held securely against his stomach. He heard the men shout, but the surprise was enough for him to gain distance, and they in their armor would have trouble keeping up.
Faster
, Nathaniel urged himself, the comfort that encompassed his mind dipping slightly.
Go faster, run faster, move, move!

The stone path flew beneath him as he raced toward the gate. Three more men waited there, and hearing the commotion, they turned to see Nathaniel’s approach. The iron gate was locked, and the way the three drew their weapons, he knew they had no intention of letting him past even if they would not actually hurt him. With just one arm and no time, he saw no way to scale the fence or slip past the guard. But it wasn’t his wisdom he was relying on.

Trust in my power
, Karak spoke into his mind.
Let me open the way
.

The gems in his hand were hot now, incredibly hot. Twenty feet from the three guards, he skidded to a halt, and he dropped all but one of the gems, an emerald pulsing a green that seemed deeper than the mightiest of pines, purer than the thickest fields of grass. Before the soldiers could decide what to do, Nathaniel flung the single gemstone at the gate. It landed amid them, bounced once, and then Nathaniel had to look away from the sudden explosion of light.

Wind blew against him, he felt the ground shake, but he focused on none of it. His hands were empty, and he needed the gems,
craved
them. They were his protection, the weapon of Karak, his key, his shield. And they were his, only his. They still pulsed with light and heat, the rain that fell upon them turning to mist upon contact. They would not burn him, though, for it was his touch they were meant for. When he had them safely back in his grasp, he stood and ran, thinking nothing of the carnage he passed through, the blackened ground, the torn and twisted metal, the dying men with their armor broken and their exposed flesh bleeding.

I will save everyone
, he thought.
I will be the one to open the way
.

Nathaniel looked back only once to see several soldiers chasing him. Sprinting faster, he moved without thinking, seeking only to turn and shift at random intervals. He passed by several alleys before choosing one, immediately left it at the first opening to his right, then crossed the new street he emerged onto, sliding his thin body through the slender gap between two wooden buildings. All the while he heard shouts, directions, but they were losing him in the darkness and the rain. They had no clue where he was going, nor for what reason. But he did.

The southern gate. The image of it pulsed in his mind, hovering before him as clear as day. No matter which way he turned, he knew the direction of it, could have pointed at it blindfolded if he must. The distance was great, but he could manage if he kept running, if he ignored the burning in his lungs and the aching in his limbs. The moment he thought of their pain, the heat of the gems pulsed, and the pain faded.

Thank you
, he thought as he finally made it to the main road running north and south through Veldaren. The gems pulsed once, as if in acknowledgment. Wiping his face with his elbow to try to clear away some of the mud and rain, he returned to sprinting, this time not quite as fanatical. He’d make it, he felt certain of that. Never mind the bodies he saw littering either side of the road, many wearing either colored cloaks or the four-pointed star. Never mind the distant drums and cries of battle. The way was clear, and if it wasn’t, Karak would make it clear. His god, the one who had granted him power, offered him a future of peace and calm. He’d never lie to Nathaniel, never betray him. The light of the gems was almost blinding, and he nearly lost himself in its euphoria.

They dimmed, his mind gained a sliver of clarity, and he saw the gate before him. There must have been some sort of battle, he realized. Soldiers lay dead at the gate, and near them were corpses in long dark robes. Though they were strangers to him, the sight flooded his heart with a terrible ache, coupled with overwhelming rage.

Those were my faithful
, Karak spoke to him.
Slain in my service. You must accomplish what they could not
.

Granted new strength, Nathaniel raced to the stone steps, trying not to look at the bodies, a distant part of him fearful of the anger that filled his chest when he did. One at a time he climbed the steps, and he held the gems so tightly he felt his hand hurting, and when he glanced at his fingers he saw tiny droplets of blood dripping down.

Behold
, Karak spoke, denying him a chance to dwell on the injury he’d inflicted upon himself.
Mankind perfected
.

Nathaniel had reached the top of the wall, and when he gazed out upon the fields that spread from beyond the gate, he saw the thousands standing at attention. They were a minuscule representation of the legion Nathaniel remembered from his vision. Men and women of all ages, all sizes, standing in perfect rows. They gazed upward, uncaring of the rain, glimpsing things through the clouds Nathaniel could only wish to see again. Nathaniel felt tears run down his face as he felt his mind slipping through their ranks. He sensed no pain, no fear. They did not hunger. They did not thirst. They would never strike down their brother, nor betray their sister. Such a perfect, simple, harmonious peace.

“Because of me?” he whispered, as if in disbelief that he might somehow have caused such a creation. The heat of the gems in his hand was an unrelenting fire, and from within them he heard Karak’s voice speak with an excitement he’d never before heard.

Let the gems go, Nathaniel
, Karak ordered.
Make open the way
.

They flared a brilliant white, but Nathaniel did not close his eyes. All sight was replaced with the image of himself, sitting on a throne, a silver crown resting on his forehead. Most important of all, his amputated arm had returned, healthy as ever, rendering him whole. This promise of Karak, this offered gift, Nathaniel would give anything to have it. Letting out a mindless cry, he tossed the gems into the air, off the wall to the ground before the sealed city gate. They landed, one by one, until the very last.

The explosion that followed was the loudest thing Nathaniel had ever heard, a cacophony of cracking stone, twisting metal, and shattering wood. Beneath him he felt the wall lift up as if in the grip of giants, and then he was flying. Suddenly deaf, he landed amid silence, rolling at dizzying speed. Pain flared throughout his body, particularly his hand. When he came to a stop, he let out a sob. His fingers ached, his face and arms were scratched, his clothes torn. Rolling onto his stomach, he tried to regain his senses. He lay in the wide street, corpses and rubble on all sides of him. What had once been the southern gate was now a gaping hole in the wall, and through it he watched the approach of Karak’s perfection.

Only it wasn’t perfection. Rotted men and women lumbered in from the fields, pale flesh hanging loose from their bones. Open wounds marked their faces, some missing hands, eyes, others whole sections of their bodies. No blood poured from them, no pus oozed out of them. A few were little more than dust and bones, and still they came, step after step. From those clouded eyes he saw no anger, no fear or lust … but he saw nothing else, either. They were dead, mindless, moving husks without any shred of life. If there was life within them, it was buried down deep, locked away in the undead prison that was their very own bodies. Karak ordered, and they obeyed. That was what mattered. That was
all
that mattered.

Whatever comfort Nathaniel had felt was gone. Whatever peace, it faded away as he witnessed the terrible lie that was Karak’s truth.

This?
he thought.
This is Karak’s desire for all mankind?

Slowly his hearing returned, and with it came scattered shouts and preparations for defense, all drowned out by the rattling, clanking horde pouring into the city.

“No,” Nathaniel whispered, tears streaming down his face. “No, no, no, please, I didn’t know. I didn’t know!”

They were almost upon him. Huddling into a ball, his hand atop his head, Nathaniel closed his eyes and waited for his life to end.

Has this whole world gone insane?
Deathmask wondered as he staggered back to his feet. He’d lost his balance come the explosion, the entire southern gate blasting inward as if smashed by the fist of a god. His eyes were still filled with spots from the brightness of it, a combination of light, fire, and smoke that had been overwhelming in the darkness. Ignoring the discomfort, he watched as through the rubble and smoke an army of undead marched upon the city. The sight only confirmed to him that, yes indeed, the world had gone insane.

“Get Vel to safety,” he told the twins. “We’ve got incoming.”

“Fuck you,” Veliana said, pushing off the wall to a stand. “It’s just a broken nose. I can fight.”

Deathmask knew she lied, but he had no time to argue.

“Fine,” he said. “Follow me. Try to sever limbs and break the spine. They’ll shrug off everything else.”

He led them out of the alley to the center street, and it took all his strength to keep his composure while facing the approaching throng. He counted at least a thousand, if not more, and they were already beginning to flood through the opening straight toward them. They had only moments …

“Guard the sides,” he told them. “I’ve got the middle.”

They obeyed, not knowing what he planned or even meant, and it filled Deathmask with pride that he commanded such trust. Staring down the undead army, he took in a deep breath. He’d never been the strongest at the Council of Mages. He’d never commanded fire the size of entire fields, never been able to conjure strange monsters larger than buildings or summon windstorms of such power they could peel the flesh from a man’s skin. But he’d been crafty, using what power he had to its extremes. Most of all, he’d learned whatever spells suited him, uncaring whether they were considered fair on the field of battle, or in poor taste when it came to a wizard’s duel. That was why he’d frightened them. That was why they’d been so eager to see him exiled. No one higher in rank could ever sleep comfortably at night knowing he might have set his eye on them during his steady, unrelenting climb.

And now that he faced a foe that could feel no pain, could lose no blood, and could fight on despite missing whole limbs? Deathmask grinned behind his gray cloth mask. Now he’d have to get creative.

Putting his palms together, he opened them, and a swirling orb of white electricity blinked into existence. Such a tiny thing, no bigger than his eye, but it took a tremendous amount of energy to conjure it. With a gasp Deathmask sent it hurtling toward the opened gate. Thin lines of light sparked off it as it traveled past the houses, coupled with audible pops and cracks as if it were a thunderstorm trapped within a marble. It flew over a dozen undead that had already entered the city, Deathmask trusting Vel and the twins to handle them, then passed through the broken remains of the gate and into the army beyond.