Consequences Within Chaos

  CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS

  ~~ACT ONE~~

  By

  Derek Barton

  I want to dedicate this to my wife, Erika, for all your support and love. You gave me the energy and motivation to make this happen!

  Thank you, Doug Sanburn, for all your help and inspiration. You woke the sleeping dragon in me and I will always be grateful for that.

  To Ted Barton and Jon Hersh, I owe a mountain of debt for all the valuable editing and proofing!

  Daniel Thomas of Dark Art Komics did a fantastic job on this cover!

  And lastly, I want to thank each of my beta-readers for their suggestions and efforts: Doug Sanburn, Ron Rhoads, Carrie Anne Moniak, Chris Gatti, Susanna Willey, Melissa Skinner, Anthony Garza and JD Miller.

  PROLOGUE…

  Brooding and thick with mists, the moonless nightfall swallowed Letandra whole as she stood before a grove of pine trees. Fear coursed through the young woman and her hand subconsciously dropped to rest upon her mace’s hilt. She held her breath…waiting and listening. But the wind washed over the treetops and prevented anything else to be heard.

  Impatient, but unsure of the next step, the princess looked over her shoulder at the treacherous stone path behind her. Turning back now, she could be back at the steps of Adventdawn Castle before anyone knew she had gone.

  Further ahead, rocks dislodged into the brush. She spun around, scanned the darkness and soon spotted a figure climbing a sheer cliff wall.

  Retreat was not an option. Steeling her resolve, she unhooked her barbed mace and followed after.

  Moments later, Letandra climbed, pulling herself up along the same cliffside. Beads of sweat and dirt caked her face and hands. Inside her head, she imagined her mother’s voice barking at her. What are you doing? No Lady of the Throne acts this way! Bad enough you train and fight with that weapon, but now you are rock climbing? Letandra sighed, mentally pushed the reprimands away and focused on the next ten feet of cliff wall. Queen Demetryce’s ignorance became more apparent daily and frustrated her beyond words.

  This had not been the first time nor the last time she had raced after Taihven. Her brother had frequent episodes that in his mind, he would go into another reality. This malady had haunted him and the family for his entire life. Letandra protected him whenever possible.

  “I am telling you, that is him!” A gravelly voice spoke over her head.

  “For all this work, you better be right. I did not even eat dinner yet!” Another whined in response.

  Their voices had carried down with the chill breeze. Two men, an older man and a younger male, somewhere above her and climbing in the dark.

  Were they talking about Taihven? Who else could it be? The thoughts raced in her mind. Her instinct cried that she had to find him first.

  Letandra climbed faster, but with care to not make much noise. She scoured the cliffside yet it was too black to find her targets. The climb seemed infinite and her heart pounded loud in her chest.

  Once more voices argued yet were drowned out this time by the night winds. Moments later, she found the edge of the plateau and crawled over the top. She immediately dropped into a fighting stance and retrieved her mace. Nobody moved and nothing was visible, but more pine and tall, scrabble grass.

  On the tips of her feet, she worked her way forward. Every fiber of her body alive and sensitive to each sound of the nightfall.

  “…hurt, but that will not lower the payout, I am thinking. Get Pek’s rope and tie the feet, will ya?”

  “Wait! What is he doing?” A low hissing disturbed the silence.

  She sensed that they were near. Reflex shot her forward like an arrow. A low guttural growl escaped her lips as she charged into a clearing.

  “—What is that?”

  The first male had turned to face her as Letandra’s mace caught him square in the ribs. He barely had time to bend forward before her left leg swept him off his feet. The heavier man’s head bounced against the rocky ground knocking him out cold.

  She spun around, but the second male had already fled into the abysmal shadows. Hairs on the back of her neck warned her though that there was something else in that clearing: a tangible energy that crackled and vibrated in the frigid air.

  Her heart caught in her chest as she spotted her brother laid flat on the ground, tiny flickers of bluish lightning washed over him. His jaw hung open in a silent scream, eyes widened by an invisible terror and his chest moved with each labored breath; he was very much alive.

  ***

  Bleak and barren landscape stretched in all directions from Taihven. Heat from twin suns blazed down and sweat trickled along his face. He blinked away stinging tears and tried to focus upon the landscape before him.

  Like a mirage, thin, yellow tendrils of light emerged and danced in graceful sweeps along the ground. The golden wisps swayed to and fro on an invisible wind.

  Taihven stood motionless as the ribbons enveloped him in an amber mist. They heated his skin like warm winds and even passed through him. He had never experienced anything like this before.

  At his feet, another tendril wove between his legs and curled around his torso. As it advanced up his body, a pair of piercing, red eyes snapped open and a narrow snake-like head formed. It hovered in front of his face, as if sizing him up.

  In spite of the awkward position, he spoke with confidence. “I am Taihven, Prince of the Artadeus Court.”

  Its translucent head jerked back in surprise and cocked dog-like to the left.

  “Do not be frightened. I do not—.” Garbled words caught in his throat as tiny, black-clawed legs sprouted from its worm-like body. Another light-form thickened and draped about his right arm and shoulder. It too sprouted legs.

  He flailed his arm violently. Taihven blurted, “Hey! Stop!”

  More centipede-like creatures swarmed up his legs. Their miniature claws scratched and tore at his skin through his clothing. He wanted to run, but his legs were wrapped within the undulating body of the first centipede.

  “Stop! Please—.” The boy shrieked and again his words were cut off as one of the creatures plunged into his mouth and filled his throat, choking him.

  Unable to move on his own volition, Taihven strained against the light-forms as they squirmed over his prone body.

  The Menders had always told him that all of this was made from his imagination. Nothing can hurt you and nothing can be hurt by you. It was a mantra that he was forced to repeat many times. But to the boy, often this world seemed more real than his own.

  Taihven felt his weight drop a few nails-lengths into the desert sand and settle upon hundreds of writhing centipede bodies. Strands of grey webbing were stretched across him, his arms pinned to his sides.

  Along with the pain from the scratches, heat built within his hands and feet. Panic exploded through his mind. Must escape, got to break free! The words repeated non-stop. Must escape, got to break free!

  The light-forms kept digging their webbed pit out from under him. Must escape, got to break free! As he receded deeper, above him the sky darkened as one sun passed in front of its sister causing shadows to crisscross the plain. Must escape, got to break free!

  Rocky peaks like jagged teeth, rose and broke through the desert floor. A peak now towered over Taihven and its black shadow fell on him like a blanket.

  Must escape, got to break free! Must escape, got to break free!

  Buried alive in inky darkness and webs, instinct enveloped Taihven’s control. The internal fire burst and the infection spread up his arms and legs, blasting into his core. He jolted through the strands and onto his feet, his back arching and twisting to the side. His arms bent and stretched high over his head; the bones exte
nding and snapping. The skin of his fingers melted, folding over each other like wax candles.

  The swarm of centipedes bolted and scattered off his body fleeing the transformation. The prince snapped his head back and looked over his shoulder. His arms were now gray, fleshy wings that jutted from his back. Lifting his head to the twin suns, a horrific howl erupted from his elongated jaws.

  ***

  “NO, TAIHVEN! STOP!”

  He ignored Letandra’s screams as she tried to hold him down. His body bubbled and elongated into odd angles under her hands. Only Taihven’s pine green eyes remained recognizable. She stumbled back in terror.

  Wing-like limbs ripped through his shirt as he stood facing away from her. She could only watch as he leaped out into the canyon below.

  Taihven soared high and soon only a silhouette of his molten, misshapen form could be seen against some low-hanging clouds.

  Letandra hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing in frustration and out of breath. She was horrified by the image of his body changes and could not even begin to chase after him now.

  Questions overwhelmed her. What did this all mean? Was he gone forever or was this some new spell he had worked out?

  Her worse fear was what he might do in his present state of mind and body.

  Her mother’s voice dripped like acid in her mind. The queen’s words this time came from her memory and not imagination.

  “He is a danger to the family and should be locked up like the animal he has become!”

  PART I – A FATHER’S DUTY:

  Eve of Abriddine 20th ~~

  1#

  Heavy winds rattled the tavern walls, whistling around the shutter boards and under the oak doors. Winter was on the march, soon be a guest within the valley. By contrast, the evening air was toasted by the center hearth and the body heat of twenty-some villagers eating their meals.

  In a crowded corner, an old bard struggled to play an upbeat tune keeping tempo with the cadence of the patrons, but was drowned out by the clinking of silverware, meaningless chatter and the clank of armor on twelve Wyvernguard in Neydden’s Nest. These twelve sat solemn, quiet and mechanical.

  A tall figure shuffled abruptly through the double doors. Another member of the guard, slender yet solid. However, his shoulders were dropped, his head down and face hidden. The man stood motionless at the steps going down into the main dining area. Nobody paid notice. He held in his grip a marred sword, pointing down and stuck into the floorboards.

  He descended the first step, then down heavily upon the second. The sword scratched out a path as it dragged out behind him. Blood trickled down his arm forming fresh pools behind him upon the floor.

  Merina was the first to glimpse Lieutenant Jesswick, shreds of the warrior he once was. The serving girl’s gasp in disbelief struck the air as loud as any scream. Where the wounded soldier passed, the room deadened. Sentences cut off, mouths stopped chewing, faces blanched and eyes gawked. As a ghost, he slipped through like a knife and the crowd parted in surprise and fear.

  The guard table erupted in reaction in unison, rushed to their comrade as Jesswick’s legs failed and he fell forward in a heap. Surrounded by fellow guards, only a few of the villagers witnessed the man’s injuries. Seeping wounds crisscrossed his face and neck. Broken plate armor was smeared with gore and blood. His right leg was caked with a black ichor. In his left hand, the soldier gripped a bound, hard-leather pouch.

  Six of the guards carried the warrior away from the hushed crowd and called out for Menders. The other six marched in a determined, fast pace for Adventdawn and Captain Ruessard’s quarters.

  Taihven, bundled and hidden in furs, had slipped unnoticed inside the doorway amongst the excited gathering. The prince being only seventeen years of age, stood just under six feet with a medium build. He had never been considered an imposing figure and often felt invisible.

  His hunger was astonishing and barely outmatched his need for rest. Taihven sat down at a dirty table and stole a scrap of meat followed by a splash of wine.

  He stared at his hand that held the cup. An image of his fingers folding like wax drifted through his mind. The intense power that had fluxed within him had been utterly amazing and yet horrifying. The metamorphosis had been such an undertaking; so much effort for him to control. Yet it was all a delusion, just a phantasm.

  Nothing had changed permanently nor any signs of damage from his morphing. “Course not.” He chastised himself and he mimicked the Sages, “He is broken, flawed, Your Sire.”

  Rardsden, a portly older man who stood behind the bar, shouted, “It had to be another attack. They just will not stop. Keep nibbling away outside our doorstep like stray dogs. And King Art continues to do nothing, but eat his lamb and get fat!”

  Several grunted in agreement with his words, but a ranch owner, Karstell, protested, “Bah! Your words would be more credible if you actually left the city walls. You sit and whine behind that counter, but I dare the lot of you to brave my fields, guard my cattle—”

  “—was told just yesterday that the Viestrahl were seen north of Carlysle Hills!” a leathery, old farmhand interrupted.

  “We all have seen their prints along the trails and in the river banks,” declared another patron.

  “If it is another Horde March—”

  Karstell shook his head, “Wyvernshield scouts reported the Viestrahl were seen gathering in the Vast, but no closer than that.”

  Taihven’s thoughts went back to the evening’s earlier events when the lieutenant had stumbled literally upon him in the forest. The prince had had no way to explain himself, but Jesswick did not even register Taihven’s presence. Using his limited Mending capability, the boy did the best he could to mend the man’s most serious wounds. Afterwards, they made the long trek back together to the city. Jesswick had not spoken more than a few words.

  Rardsden stammered, “Well, look! You have all seen him. Seen those cuts. Only them fiends can do that to a man and cut through his armor like that.”

  Taihven had not seen the Viestrahl or signs of them himself. Even though he had never encountered the creatures in person, the beasts were not easily overlooked. They had large, gorilla-like bodies topped with oval heads. Their massive jaws, shaped like venus flytraps, protected and hid their eyes inside.

  Known for their animal ferocity, the Viestrahl were also extremely violent. Their temperament and constant in-fighting kept their pack numbers low and scattered within the arid deserts of the Corrta Vast.

  The crowd’s angry accusations thrown at his father had bothered him, haunted him. He wanted to defend the family, but to do so he would be exposed. It was obvious he would not change their minds. Fear had found their hearts and clouded their perspective. He could not judge them.

  Taihven stood up and stretched, his back sore from the nightfall’s excursion. Circumventing the mob debating with the barkeep, none paid mind to his entry into the back room. Within the Nest’s storage room, boxes and barrels lined the walls, rats ran among bags of wheat, and a set of small wine racks stood in the southern corner.

  In the opposite corner of the doorway, he pushed back a couple of empty barrels to reveal a trapdoor. Inside one of the barrels something caught his eye – he spotted a cloth bundle. Taihven leaned in and swept it up. Beneath the thin cloth was a basket of biscuits and cheese.

  “Letandra…” he whispered and shook his head in surprise. Nothing was kept hidden or secret for long around his sister.

  He raised the sewer trapdoor and climbed down the ladder into a drafty tunnel below.

  2#

  Tension filled the air, smothering all in silence. While the unseen pressure uncoiled and filled the room, no one spoke. Only their eyes spoke volumes of their anxiety as each sat around the table. Spread out before the five people sitting in the War Room was a mammoth map littered with small flags and markers spread randomly. Next to Captain Bardun Ruessard, a grizzled man with salt-and-pepper hair, was the bloodied pouch previously held by
Lieutenant Jesswick. Possessively, he had his partially-amputated left arm clamped down over the leather bag.

  The room was sparse and plain. It housed a round table with accompanying chairs, sets of book shelves along the east and west walls with a large chalk board along the south. Accompanying the veteran, Captain Ruessard were two other soldiers: Sergeant Renald Devin and Sergeant Deliah Blackstaff. Sergeant Devin was dark-skinned, short in stature and barrel-chested. Completely opposite in build, Sergeant Blackstaff was a tall, pale female fighter with raven locks and crystalline blue eyes.

  Captain Ruessard sat opposite the royal couple, King Haedrec and Queen Demetryce Artadeus.

  “This information is reliable,” he barked. “My man risked his life, being with his family, everything, to find these positions. I will not sit here and listen to your doubts in its validity!” He bolted to his feet and pushed back his chair violently.

  “You will sit down and know your place, Captain!” Queen Demetryce scolded him. “Who cares how the info—”

  “—Of course we care about Lieutenant Jesswick, Bardun. And there is no questioning…” King Haedrec tried to answer the captain’s challenge, but was seized by a coughing fit and fell back into his chair. After a bit, he continued, “There is no question of the lieutenant. It is very late in the night and we are all tired. These numbers are very disturbing that he is reporting. Your Majesty did not mean to offend you.” He motioned for the captain to take back his seat.

  “Never have the Viestrahl been seen in these formations or in cooperation with each other,” inserted Sergeant Devin, who sat left of the captain. “With this report, we have confirmed our suspicions. This could be a whole new march. And right now, we do not have the resources for a defense, King Haedrec.” Devin always had an aura of confidence about him. His own demeanor seemed to defuse his emotional superior.