Chaos Unleashed by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

the courage to attack. Had they all charged at once, Scythe realized, they probably could have taken Jerrod down. But they were hesitant and unsure.
    Is that just normal fear and respect for a dangerous foe? Or does Daemron’s Sword undermine the confidence and morale of its enemies?
    She didn’t have time to ponder the question. Keegan had let Rexol’s staff fall to the ground and was fumbling for the Ring on its chain around his neck, the young wizard preparing to unleash Chaos against his enemies. But she knew they didn’t need magic to win this battle, and she didn’t want to face the consequences of any backlash he might unwittingly cause.
    Scythe fell on the soldiers like a savage wind, and the euphoria she’d felt earlier overwhelmed her. Surrendering herself to the power of the Talisman, she stopped trying to consciously control it and instead let it become an extension of her will. The blade seemed to move with a mind of its own, and she felt herself responding to it instead of the other way around. The padded vests and thin mail shirts offered little protection as Scythe carved the soldiers up; in a matter of seconds all six were down.
    Keegan hadn’t even had time to put the Ring on his finger. Hampered by his missing hand, he’d just barely managed to slip it off the chain hanging from his neck. He was holding it in his fist, staring dumbfounded at the carnage he’d just witnessed.
    “The Inquisitor!” Jerrod called out, and Scythe snapped her attention back to the last remaining enemy.
    He had given up any thoughts of victory; instead, he was trying to flee, hoping that the night could hide him from the she-devil who had slaughtered the others. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have been able to escape. But Scythe was no longer ordinary. Despite his head start, it took her less than thirty seconds to catch up and finish him off.
    As she stood over his corpse, a crushing sense of emptiness fell on her. With the battle done, the euphoria vanished, leaving nothing to fill the void. The sense of loss was unlike anything she’d ever felt before—even worse than the instant she’d watched Norr buried beneath an avalanche of ice and stone.
    It hit her so hard she rocked back and nearly lost her balance. For an instant the only emotion she felt was despair, then—as suddenly as it had come—the feeling disappeared, leaving her with the familiar, numb-stricken grief she’d carried ever since Norr’s death.
    Shaking her head, she turned and walked slowly back to Keegan and Jerrod. To her surprise, one of the soldiers was still alive. He lay on the ground, with Jerrod kneeling beside him, an expression of fear and pain etched on his hard, bearded features. His right arm was badly injured; the limb was bleeding profusely as the monk sought to staunch the flow of blood.
    “Just let him die,” Scythe muttered.
    “We can’t question him if he’s dead!” Jerrod snapped without looking up from his patient.
    With an annoyed sigh, Scythe stepped forward and gently lay the flat of the blade on the man’s shoulder. He flinched away at the initial contact, his eyes wide and his teeth gritting against the pain of his wounds. And then he was bathed in a faint silver aura, and the fear and pain melted away. The arm stopped bleeding immediately, and a few seconds later the young man began to bend it at the elbow, staring in wonder at his own hand as he carefully flexed his fingers.
    “Thank you,” he whispered.
    Scythe snorted and turned away, breaking the connection and snuffing out the silver light.
    “You owe us your life,” Jerrod said, taking over. “Do you understand that?”
    “I do,” he replied, though his tone was suspicious.
    He’s older. Midthirties. Probably been a blade for hire for at least a decade.
    “Why were the Inquisitors waiting here for us?” Jerrod demanded. “How did you know we’d be coming this way?”
    “They saw you earlier. Coming toward the