Free The Edge of Chaos by Jak Koke

ability that came with it, was a good part of why Duvan always asked for Moirah.
    She reached the bar and pulled his head down to breathe into his ear. “I’m ready when you are,” she whispered.
    Duvan looked at Pritchov. “No interruptions,” he said, lifting his pack. Then he let Moirah lead him by his belt down the hall and into a room.
    *** *** ****** ***
    Slanya awoke well before dawn, donned her travelling leathers, ate a quick breakfast, and left the temple on foot. She walked past the hospital tents and the smoldering funeral pit, heading into the city. Gregor had said that Tyrangal was expecting her at dawn, and she intended to be prompt despite her doubts.
    Chances were slim that the guild leader would know of anyone willing to guide her into the changelands, let alone someone capable. Slanya figured such a guide didn’t exist. Who would be stupid or desperate enough to risk his or her life like that?
    Slanya skirted the main thoroughfare, which was already awake with locals and eager pilgrims. She fought down a surge of disgust. These people sought power and uniqueness but were unwilling to work hard for it. Greedy for their spellscars and whatever abilities that came with them, the pilgrims risked their lives for an instantaneous transformation. .
    Sighing, Slanya reminded herself that she was here to help the pilgrims, not to pity or despise them. Fools would always exist, would always hasten their own deaths. Such was the way of things. If she succeeded in gathering more plaguegrass for Gregor, perhaps the elixir would help give some of them a second chance.
    Slanya walked up the ancient road that led north out of Ormpetarr and up toward Tyrangal’s mansion—away from the Plaguewrought Land. Slanya had never been to the changelands before, nor had she seen the border from closer than the city’s main thoroughfare. It was danger enough living so close to the edge of the wild magic.
    Tearing her gaze from the border veil, which stretched up into the sky, Slanya passed through the once-grand city gate and out of the city. The cool pre-dawn light cast the city walls and structures in deep indigo and cobalt.
    Tyrangal’s home stood just up the hill from the northeast corner of Ormpetarr and was easily the most expansive and commanding building in the whole city. As she climbed up the winding road toward the mansion, Slanya realized that she was being watched. She caught glimpses of burnished red armor—members of Tyrangal’s Copper Guard, which kept peace in Ormpetarr as well as protected Tyrangal’s interests, whatever those were. But nobody approached or detained Slanya. The benefits of making an appointment, she presumed.
    Slanya passed through an old iron gate hanging crookedly on rusted hinges. Then she picked her way across an expanse of pitted rubble and collapsed stone buildings. Huge craters gaped where house-sized chunks of earth had been uprooted.
    The smell of soot and blackened pitch mingled with the odor of brine blowing in from the dry mud flats on the far edge of the ruins. Ormpetarr had been a lake town in its heyday—a bustling commercial port. But the huge lake had dried up decades earlier, drained into the Underchasm like the seas themselves.
    Finally, Slanya reached the doors of Tyrangal’s mansion. Gargoyles leered down from the gutters and cornices of the clean and sturdy masonry. A gemstone amongst trash, Slanya mused—and a well-protected gemstone at that. She knocked on the carved wooden door that towered in front of her, filling a stone archway at least three times her height.
    The door opened to reveal a high-ceilinged vestibule. “Please come in, Sister Slanya.” The voice was melodious and deep for a woman’s. “I won’t bite, I promise.”
    Feeling drawn forward, Slanya stepped inside. And before she realized it the door was closing behind her, plunging the room into darkness. “I have had brief communication with your Brother Gregor,” came that musical voice again,