Chains of Legacy (The Chaos Cycle Book 2) Read online

  Rylan could only shake his head in disbelief. The Turan Khar had mortgaged their lives to the God of Chaos, and now their entire society was bound by chains of evil. Without the Hellpower, their civilization was destined for collapse… but the price of survival was the sacrifice of the same mages who made such a Unity possible.

  It simply wasn’t sustainable.

  Gathering his courage, he asked, “So that’s what we’ve been reduced to? Roving the world in search of mages to feed to Xerys?”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  He believed her, even though he didn’t want to. She was his Empress, and her voice commanded every fiber of his being. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel appalled. She was talking about sacrificing people he knew, people like Gil and Ashra.

  “What we are doing… it can’t be justified,” he argued.

  The Empress’s expression hardened. Lingering over him, shrouded in a cloak of innate power, Isaerae seemed like a vengeful goddess descending from the sky. “It is justified. Our society is the pinnacle of human achievement and must be preserved at all cost. The lives of the mages we sacrifice are a small price.”

  Rylan didn’t agree. “And when the last mage is sacrificed? What then?”

  Her iron gaze held his own. “Then we descend into madness.”

  She called it madness, but he knew it was worse than that. What she described was the extinction of their entire civilization. Having known nothing but a sheltered existence within the Unity, the people of the Khar Empire could never exist apart as individuals. They were not mentally capable of surviving in isolation.

  “Do you understand now?” Isaerae asked softly.

  “Yes.” Unfortunately, he understood every nuance of their situation too well. And he also understood how impossible that situation was. There was only so much mage-blood in the world. He gazed up into his Empress’s beautiful, perfect face, finally recognizing the source of the sadness behind her smile. Isaerae understood, too. She knew they were already defeated, and yet she refused to surrender.

  He admired her for that. Or blamed her. Or both at the same time.

  She considered him with a cool and expectant gaze. “You are Rylan Lauchlin, son of Darien Lauchlin, but you are also Keio Matu. If there is any hope left for our Unity, it will come from you. You must open yourself wholly to the A’isan. You must assume your place at my side. You must become Warlord.”

  Rylan frowned down at the band on his wrist, groping to understand why she thought him suitable to the task. He was the son of a demon, and had made a dark compact of his own with the realm of Chaos. Who was he to bring hope to a dying civilization? Surely, Isaerae could find another man far more suited to be Warlord.

  “Why me?”

  Her enigmatic smile returned. “Because you defied Shiro.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “When Shiro became Warlord, he wrest control of the Unity from me. He became my isan, and reduced me to his subordinate—his sayan. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t reverse the link. Shiro was far too strong, and his control was absolute. The way I saw it, you were our only hope of defeating Shiro. And now I believe you are our only hope again.”

  Rylan held up his arm, displaying the silver band that encircled his wrist. “If I open myself to this, will you control me as Xiana did?”

  The Empress nodded. “You will be my sayan, and I will be your isan,” she answered. “I will be in command of the link, but we shall share all with each other. We will be as husband and wife, and I will treasure you with all my heart and value your judgment. Together, we will be kaiden-sumato, and together we will rule the Khar Empire.”

  Rylan sagged, for he understood. He would once again be at the mercy of another mage in control of his mind and magic. But this woman was not Xiana. She had not lied to him or tried to manipulate him. Instead, Isaerae had been completely transparent and forthright, even when he didn’t like the answers. He ran his thumb over the cold, silken surface of the band, shivering.

  “And what will you ask of me?”

  Reaching down, she helped him to his feet. “All I ask is that you be my partner in this life and commit yourself wholly to our cause. Find a way to free us of Xerys’ covenant. Failing that, take us back to the Rhen to harvest its mages.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Isaerae smiled as though he had just plied her with a compliment. The expression was self-assured, almost gloating. “You won’t.”

  Rylan considered the band she wanted to collar him with, contemplating it grimly. The smooth metal felt cold against his skin, chilling him in more ways than one. Looking at it brought painful and unwanted memories of Xiana to the forefront of his mind. She had chained him with a similar band and had used that bond to control him. He did not want to be controlled again.

  And yet, somehow, he had defied her will. He had used the corrupt power placed within him by Xerys to kill her and sever that bond. He had accomplished what should have been impossible: he had slain his own isan.

  At last, he understood why Isaerae had chosen him. The demon who assaulted him in the cornfield had given him a terrible and yet mighty gift. With it, he had overthrown Shiro Nagato and spared the people of Karikesh. Shiro had desired him for his capacity to destroy, just as Isaerae desired him for the same purpose.

  But he still didn’t know why the awful man in the cornfield had created him in the first place. Someday I will call, Gerald. And you will come. Those had been his words, his threat. Rylan doubted that man was done with him yet.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, battering away the thought. No. He wouldn’t be that demon’s pawn.

  He opened his eyes. Looking up at Isaerae, he told her firmly, “I won’t sacrifice the Rhen’s mages. I’ll find another way.”

  She shook her head. “There is no other way. I understand, Rylan. It’s a terrible choice. But it is our only choice.”

  He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t believe that. “Why not use the magic field to keep the Unity together?”

  She scrunched her lips. “The magic field is too inconsistent. It ebbs and flows, compounds and nullifies. We must have a consistent and reliable power source.”

  She turned away from him and moved back toward her throne. Her long hair cascaded to her waist in silken waves. The gown she wore was open in the back, exposing the smoky skin between her shoulders. He had never seen such an exquisite woman before. Even without a chain between them, the Empress of the Turan Khar infected his mind, igniting a deep and hungering desire.

  He looked away. “Will you force me to act against my will?”

  “No.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

  For the second time in his life, Rylan closed his eyes and opened up his soul to another. And, in doing so, opened his soul to the Unity.

  He wasn’t prepared for the sensation, even though he had experienced it once before. The room around him drained away, twisting into darkness. He was overcome by a sudden dizziness, and he staggered. Suddenly, he could feel the presence of others there with him. Many others. Thousands—tens of thousands. Some alive. Most dead. He felt them all, an intimate and immersive connection. Warmth and solace poured into him along with a growing feeling of strength. Never before had he felt so accepted, so appreciated, so well-loved. Their faith in him was both staggering and humbling, and it was far more than he had ever earned or deserved.

  They trusted him more than he trusted himself. A profound sense of belonging filled his heart, and he was overcome with gratitude and an urgent need to protect and shelter these people who had forgiven him and accepted him for all that he was, with all of his weaknesses and flaws. Defending them was the only important thing in the world, his reason for existence. He understood that now.

  The Unity had to be preserved at all cost, at any price.

  And it was now his duty to ensure that it was.

  Rylan opened his eyes to find his Empress standing next to him, holding his han
d. There was no chain linking them, but there didn’t have to be for him to feel her moving into his heart, assuming the place that Xiana had once occupied—that his wife had once occupied. He was linked to her by a connection no physical bond could ever replicate. He could feel her moving through him, seeking, exploring, folding back his layers and discovering new depths beneath them. When she pressed her soul against his, he felt a thrill of contentment.

  He basked in the gratification brought to him by her presence. The aching grief he felt for Xiana was washed clean from his mind, replaced by the joy at finding refuge in another beautiful soul.

  No longer did Rylan question his choice. Isaerae was beautiful and strong, magnificent in every way, the only woman in the world deserving of adulation. Feelings of devotion bubbled to his surface while, deep inside, the warmth of desire stirred awake in his loins.

  No.

  He drew in a long, stabilizing breath. His gaze went to her, delving deep into her eyes. It took him long moments to realize that the desire he felt was merely an echo of her feelings for him, not his own. He did not want another lover. He would much rather worship Isaerae from afar. After all that he had been through, he was far too drained to give her anything more, at least not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  It was time to test her honesty. Isaerae had promised not to force him to act against his will. He wondered if she would keep that promise.

  She must have read his emotions through the link. Smiling reassuringly, she said, “Of course, I will never ask you for anything more than you are willing to give.”

  Instantly, the emotions he felt coming from her faded. Not gone, but muffled, as though the link between them had narrowed substantially. Rylan gasped, feeling suddenly destabilized. It took him a long second to realize that Isaerae had erected a buffer between them that had returned to him a large portion of his anonymity. He felt relieved. But at the same time, a feeling of loss crept over him, for he was aware of the kind of all-encompassing intimacy and comfort he was electing to forgo.

  Moving forward, she took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Come, Beloved. I will show you to your chambers.”

  4

  Besieged

  It had been a full month since the Siege of Karikesh had ended, and yet the streets of the city were still barely navigable. One improvised wooden bridge had been built over the Grand Canal, and it was barely stable enough to drive a cart across. That wooden bridge was the only connection between the devastated North City and the southern districts.

  The neighborhoods surrounding the Lyceum had been decimated, most of the buildings razed to the ground. The streets were endless fields of debris that continued to be cleared to make room for the passage of soldiers and equipment going to and from the forward command center, which had been reestablished in Murkaq Square.

  The mages of the Lyceum had built their own temporary campsite in the neighborhood just west of the square. It consisted of only a few dozen tents, which was all they needed, for the moment. Every available body had been sent to repair the city walls.

  Behind the tents, the charred bones of the Lyceum lay scattered like picked-over carrion. Every time Gil stumbled across a chipped piece of enameled tile in the street, he felt a sharp pang of sadness, reminded of the splendor of the Lyceum’s magnificent halls.

  He made his way across the campsite, nodding greetings at the scattered people going about their chores. Woodsmoke was heavy in the air from the cook fires, and the persistent, sharp ringing of metal striking metal echoed from the surrounding ruins, the sound of work parties excavating the remains of crumbled buildings.

  He crossed the camp to the command tent, which was really just an improvised wooden frame covered with oiled canvas the size of three or four of the surrounding tents put together. In the absence of the Lyceum, it had become the mages’ administration center. Gil had a desk in there himself, which he’d scavenged from one of the nearby buildings. He rarely occupied it, using it more often to gain a scant few minutes of sleep than he did reviewing lists of requisitions and supplies, which were becoming fewer as the days went by. There was a scarcity of parchment in the city, a scarcity of everything, really, including people.

  He found Prime Warden Naia behind her desk, surrounded by five black-cloaked mages including her acolyte, a small woman with dull brown hair. Upon sight of him, Naia motioned Gil over, then proceeded to ignore him while she finished her conversation with the bulky Malikari captain who was in charge of the soldiers guarding their camp. After she had sent that man on, she turned to the next petitioner, launching into what looked like was going to be a lengthy conversation. Frustrated, Gil conspicuously cleared his throat to get her attention. When that attempt failed too, he interrupted her midsentence.

  “Can I speak with you?”

  The Prime Warden trained an irritated look at him. “Can it wait?”

  “No.” Unfortunately, Ashra was being Ashra, which made the situation on the walls unpredictable.

  Naia sent the rest of the men and women out of the tent with a wave of her hand. She turned to look at her young acolyte, who sat on a stool behind her with a leather-bound book in her hand that looked to be nearing the end of its life.

  “Priya, why don’t you go get some rest,” Naia said.

  The woman rose silently from her stool, bobbing a quick curtsy. She flashed Gil a disgruntled look as she passed him, walking out of the tent with her book clutched tight against her side.

  The Prime Warden motioned for him to have a seat at one of the two chairs that sat in front of her desk. Grateful to be off his feet, Gil took her up on the offer, setting his morning star down and spilling into the chair with a heavy sigh.

  “It’s Ashra,” he grumbled. “She’s not stepping down.”

  At the news, Naia rubbed her temples wearily. “And you tried reasoning with her?”

  Gil nodded. “I did. She’s not having it.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs. He’d been up most the night, and spent most of that time on his feet. He’d gotten precious little sleep over the past week, with the reports that had been drifting in of another approaching army. The citizens of Karikesh, already war-weary, had taken the news with predictable panic. The looting had increased, with more petty squabbles escalating into bloodshed and murder.

  Leaning her head heavily on a hand, Naia looked up at him through an aura of hair that had escaped her braid. Very seriously, she said, “I can’t have a mage leading an empire into war.”

  “I know.” Gil blew out an exaggerated sigh, feeling his stomach tighten. He already knew what Naia would say. He knew it because he would make the same decision himself, if he were in her place.

  “Then there’s nothing more to talk about,” she said. “You have my authorization to take Ashra into custody.”

  He’d expected that kind of order, but he would’ve preferred a little more direction. Shuttered in her command tent, Naia was shielded somewhat from the atmosphere of the city. Perhaps she didn’t appreciate the logistics of what she had just asked.

  Leaning forward, Gil said, “I can’t just go arrest her in front of the entire Malikari army. They’re all running around calling her ‘Sultana,’ for gods’ sake. So how do you recommend I go about it?”

  Unmoved, Naia lifted her eyebrows. “It’s not my job to figure that out. It’s yours.”

  Of course it was. Over the past few weeks he’d been given a lot of impossible tasks, but this one seemed heavier than all the rest of them put together. Gil scowled at Naia, for the first time noticing how haggard her face looked. Her eyes were bloodshot and ringed by dark circles, her skin paler than he remembered it. Like him, the Prime Warden hadn’t been getting enough sleep. There simply wasn’t enough time in the day to get it all done.

  “All right, then. I’ll find a way to bring her back.” He scooted the chair out and stood, scooping his morning star up off the floor, then he turned and started toward the entrance.

  “Gil.” N
aia’s voice stopped him.

  Turning, he looked back at her over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a look of sympathy in her eyes.

  Gil left the tent, the apology not doing much to quench his guilt. Outside, he stood looking around at the encampment. There were a few people sitting around the fires, though not many. The scent of cooking food hung on the air, not strong enough to disguise the other, less palatable odors seeping from the surrounding buildings. They had done all that they could to clear the bodies from the rubble, but there were still victims they couldn’t get to, buried under the fallen structures.

  He walked up to one of the fires, where a few spits of meat were braced over the flames. They looked cooked enough for him, so he removed a spit from off the fire with a nod of thanks at the man tending them. Taking a bite, he recognized the taste of half-rotten horsemeat. He’d never particularly cared for horse before the war, and liked it less after eating so much of it recently. But the orchards surrounding the city were barren, and the Turan Khar had devastated the surrounding farms, reaping them of their food stores as well as their citizens.

  Tearing off another mouthful of gristly meat, Gil made his way back toward the North City. It took him some time to wind his way back through the streets, as navigating the city had become far more difficult, with obstacles ranging from broken pavers to the remains of entire buildings spilled across major thoroughfares. As he walked, the devastation around him became more acute; the North City had been devastated by the attack, far more so than the districts south of the canal.

  A group of about a dozen soldiers ran toward him down the center of the street, forcing him to dodge quickly out of their path. He took it as a sign that something had changed, and probably not for the better. The sounds of shouts echoed from somewhere far away, ringing through the streets. The crippled city no longer slept, but was stirring awake.

  Gil quickened his pace as more soldiers jogged past him in the direction of the walls. Ahead, the sounds of shouts grew louder and more emphatic as the quarter around him broke down into chaos. He already knew what to expect by the time he reached the square in front of the Dog Gate. There, Malikari soldiers had formed a defensive line behind the freshly repaired gate, which was barred and reinforced by beams set against it at an angle. Men scurried along the tops of the walls and collected in the spaces where the wall had been breached, working frantically to plug the holes.