Free The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

pass.”
    “So we just sit around and wait?” Scythe asked, her voice betrayingher frustration. “And if nobody shows up, then what? We die?”
    “If we challenge the Inquisitors without help, we’re dead anyway,” Vaaler reminded her.
    “But at least we’ll go out fighting! At least we’re not giving up!”
    As usual, it was Norr’s calm, deep voice that made her see past the red veil of anger that so often blinded her.
    “We’re not giving up, Scythe,” he promised her. “We’re holding on for our one chance to get out of this alive.”
    Scythe chewed her lip, trying to find a hole in his logic to rip apart his argument. But in the end she had to admit he was right—they were better off waiting.
    She dropped to the ground beside Keegan, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms tight around them.
    “You better be right about this,” she warned him. Of course, he made no reply.
    The storm hit them an hour after dusk. The thick clouds completely blotted out the moon, but the near-absolute darkness didn’t bother Jerrod as he peered out into the distance with his second sight, desperately searching for some sign of their prophesied rescue.
    He stood apart from the others, away from the meager shelter of the stone circle. Hailstones struck him with enough force to leave welts and bruises on his exposed skin, but he ignored the pain.
    If Keegan is wrong—if no one is coming—then we are all doomed
.
    Jerrod knew all too well that prophets could be wrong. He had once been a Seer of the Order; he understood that his visions were only glimpses of possible futures. What he foresaw was never inevitable. Sometimes his dreams were warnings, showing himwhat would happen if he didn’t take action to prevent it. Other times he dreamed of things that could only come to pass if he worked to make them real. Usually, though, his dreams were open to interpretation: symbols and portents with numerous meanings.
    It was the same for the other Seers. A prophet’s dreams were spawned by Chaos; by their very nature they lacked clarity. It was easy to misinterpret or be misled by a vision; it was possible to walk down the wrong path for the right reasons.
    But with Keegan it was different. He was one of the Children of Fire. He wasn’t just touched by the flames of Chaos; the divine spark of the Old Gods burned inside him. Or so Jerrod believed.
    But what if I’m wrong? What if Keegan isn’t special? What if he isn’t the savior? Or worse, what if he is and I’ve led him down the wrong path?
    “See anything yet?”
    Jerrod barely managed to conceal his startled reaction. He’d been so focused on scouring the surrounding plains that he hadn’t noticed Scythe’s approach.
    “Not yet,” he admitted. “But I know they’re coming.”
    “How long do you plan on waiting?” Scythe wanted to know. She stood with her shoulders hunched against the storm, her head down and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.
    “If they don’t come tonight, then what?” she pressed. “Do we wait another day? Two? Three? Or at some point do we finally decide to fight?”
    “Are you really so eager to meet your death?” Jerrod asked.
    Scythe shrugged. “If death is coming, I want it to be on my own terms.
    “Besides,” she added, “I’ve been in impossible situations before and fought my way out.”
    “I could have guessed that,” the monk replied. “You have an irrational confidence in your own abilities.”
    “You put your faith in prophecies,” she countered. “I like to put my faith in myself.”
    “Admirable. But surely there are times when you must doubt yourself.”
    “Sometimes,” Scythe admitted. “But I usually get over it.”
    In spite of himself, Jerrod smiled.
    “What about you?” Scythe wanted to know. “You ever have any doubts about your faith?”
    Jerrod didn’t answer for a long time. When he finally broke the silence all he said was, “They’re coming.”
    “You can’t ever admit