Oathkeeper, p.32
Oathkeeper, page 32
“Ah, then you won’t need a dragon there.” Before he’d slain the hurricane and stolen its heat, prompting the return to youthful vigor—albeit a brief last gasp before the grave—taking off had required flexing and preparation. When taking off from the surface of the ship the Aern had built to carry him, he had sunk it, but now . . .
Coal sprung into the air with ease, powerful wingbeats taking him aloft. The warsuit shouted after him, a voice that was lost in the snap and shake of the wind beneath his wings. If the Eldrennai followed after him, he outpaced him, because when Coal looked back after a few jun, he was alone in the air, flying free. In a few hours he would be at Port Ammond. How long had it been since the capital city of the Eldrennai had seen a dragon? Had it been before the other dragons had departed, before he was called Betrayer? It did not seem like it could be, but then again, who among the elves had lived so long? Hasimak, perhaps?
*
<
A mass of Lurkers skirted along the seafloor into their own predetermined spots, ready to swim from the bottom and break the war, leaping like sharks upon the dock proper.
Dryga swam to the pier closest to the warehouse Asvrin’s Shades had located, filled with thoughts of junpowder and victory, of handing Warlord Xastix not only the third vial of blood he required but also a barrel of the Dwarven secret of death. Young and eager, he swam forward, obsessed with the idea of training a squad, not just of crossbow wielders but Zaur fighting with junpowder, Zaur wielding weapons that hurled slugs of metal powered by a dash of pink powder.
*
Walking his standard patrol route along the docks, Private Jevin stopped and sniffed the air. Overhead the clouds hung heavy, promising rain before nightfall, but he smelled something else. The docks always had loads of different odors, but this wasn’t fish exactly. Wrinkling his nose, he put it out of his mind.
Two sets of ten Grudgebearers stood out front of the Bimley Brothers warehouse guarding whatever cargo the Dwarf and his carnivorous friends found so blasted important. With predominantly their own ships in port it seemed a waste to have an Eldrennai patrol, but then again, it wouldn’t do to let their guests feel like they could do whatever they pleased in Port Ammond, even if the new king was hells-bent on doing just that.
Rounding to the port master’s office, open but unoccupied given the current state of things, Private Jevin saw a clawed, scale-covered paw reach up over the edge of the docked Aernese warship. By the time he opened his mouth to shout the alarm, he saw a dozen others. Some climbed the piers and walkways, while others disappeared into the docked vessels themselves.
“Zaur!” he shouted, wishing he was a Thunder Speaker or possessed of some other elemental magic. Merely a Geomancer grunt with little enough talent, he grabbed for his alarm whistle, put it to his lips, and blew one loud, shrill blast.
Any thought of fighting vanished. There were too many. He’d raised the alarm and done his best. He ran for the harbormaster’s office. If he got inside, maybe he and the others could barricade the doors and windows. That one thought locked firmly in mind, Private Jevin reversed course, boots skidding on the damp wood.
It landed on the edge of the walkway, a gray shark-skinned horror, bigger than a Zaur but obviously related to them. Dead eyes, like on the doll he’d given his niece last birthday, stared at him as it drew two Skreel knifes from thigh-hugging sheaths. Jevin grabbed for the hilt of his sword, managing to draw it and hold it shakily.
The thing dropped to all fours and charged. How does it run on its front paws while holding the Skreel blades like that, knobby knuckles bare on the hard wood? He was still thinking that as it opened his belly and throat, charging on with more Zaur than Private Jevin had ever imagined he might see in its wake, Zaur after Zaur pouring upward out of the bay.
“Well,” Kholster told him as he seized his soul, “at least you got your sword out even if you didn’t actually do anything with it.”
“Am I dead?” Jevin asked the armored figure.
“You certainly aren’t alive.”
“Do I go to paradise?” Jevin asked. “The white towers? I’ve always longed to see them. Please, even if I don’t get to go there, can I have a glimpse of them?”
Kholster dragged him by the neck and took a single step. Shimmering towers of pure white glistened in the golden light of eternity. White pennants flew over fields of amber grass. Jevin gaped in awe. It was not as he imagined it. It was better, except . . .
“Where is the singing?” he asked.
“There is no singing.”
“Why?” Jevin met the red crystal gaze of the death god’s warsuit.
“Because there is no one here but us.”
“I am the only one who made it?” Jevin could not believe that. He’d spent the last moments of his life in abject terror, trying to do nothing more than get away.
“No.” The warsuit’s helm opened, as if the entire irkanth’s skull “face” were a cleverly constructed visor. Amber pupils rimmed by jade irises in pools of black were waiting for him. “Torgrimm sent them all back before I fought him.”
“Back?”
“Reincarnation,” Kholster told him.
“Like the gnomes?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” Paradise could not be empty. It was impossible, but in every direction Jevin looked, he saw no sign of the revered souls he’d expected to find. He pulled free of Kholster, running toward the central tower where Shidarva or Aldo, it was said, would greet the most valiant of the dead, but the grand hall was empty. “No!” Jevin shouted. “No!”
“It’s not as bad as it seems, Jevin.” Kholster appeared next to the soul, already holding him by the arm. “You won’t be staying here either, but you wanted to see it. So here it is.”
“But why?” Jevin asked again. “Why would he send them all back?”
“Because.” Kholster’s grin bared doubled canines. “He was afraid of what I, or one of me, might do to them if he did not.” With a wave of Kholster’s gauntlet, Jevin found himself in the hands of a different god, one clad in farmer’s garb, and soon he was being born to a human mother in a Guild City home.
CHAPTER 30
THE MASTER OF ELEMENTS
Glayne got word of the attack on the harbor to Rae’en while she was still out on the Lane of Review. Hasimak had caught her eye when he returned from the Tower of Elementals. Had he sensed he would somehow be needed? In memories she’d been shown, Rae’en had seen snatches of how many of the Oathbreakers revered the Elementalist . . . as some wizened old master teacher. While she could tell that he was very old, he seemed so . . .
What did it matter? She could stand there all day studying the way the Oathbreakers and Aiannai interacted with each other—scrutinize the subtle glances that the four Elemental Nobles cast at Hasimak as if they were waiting for him to react to what King Rivvek was doing. The old Elementalist himself remained utterly neutral in a way that even Kholster had seldom managed.
Unflappable in the face of all this slaughter—wasted meat—yet this was the same Oathbreaker who had screeched and shouted when the warsuits had destroyed the Port Gates when the Ghaiattri had tried to come through. Lingering on that memory, shared with her via Eyes of Vengeance at a time when she’d taken a breath between frantic dives to find her father’s bones beneath the waves of the Bay of Balsiph, Rae’en could not help but relive that moment, seeing her father burning, falling into the water.
How had it happened? How had her father’s invasion resulted in this strange succession of events? Death for one king meant life for his people. But what had Kholster’s death accomplished? She couldn’t imagine her father wanting to be a god. Could not conceive of him striking out at Torgrimm unless there were some greater plan, but she did not know what it was.
She knew her father had planned for her to be First, but he could have appointed her First anytime he wanted to! He hadn’t needed to die, so why—
A muffled cry escaped one of the Oathbreakers no Aern would claim. “But I only ever gave one order,” the elf wearing a chef’s apron cried. “Please!”
“You held the leash,” Rae’en snapped. “Consider the years of life from then til now as merciful gift. . . . And if you want to go charging into a Port Gate to try and rescue the Lost Command, and you survive, we might even call you something interesting.”
She wished King Rivvek could do this himself, though she knew she had to be there, or Bloodmane did. It was better than hiding in the castle, even if she did have to listen to Oathbreakers begging as they were dragged off to a common barracks to decide whether they wanted to die filling a Ghaiattri’s belly or an Aern’s.
How many of these Oathbreakers are going to turn out to be Aiannai? she thought at Bloodmane.
Many of the Leash Holders died in the Demon Wars or on Freedom Day or the war that followed, Bloodmane answered. More than half of their current population has been born in the last six hundred years. Even among those who lived while the Aern were enslaved, there are a large number who were peasantry or who never had the occasion or authority to hold the leash.
The warsuit gestured for those newly named Aiannai in the prince’s current group to follow a cadre of knights to different barracks to receive their scars. Tears streamed down their faces, and Rae’en kept expecting to feel happy about it. Vindicated. If she had to put a name to her emotions, though, she would have picked embarrassment or shame.
They had this coming, Rae’en thought at her warsuit.
I have never argued that they did not, Bloodmane acknowledged. I have merely argued that one need not always get what one deserves. There is no shame in mercy if no oath is broken in its granting.
“This is mercy,” Rae’en growled, drawing the looks of the king and his Elemental Nobles.
After a fashion, kholster Rae’en, Bloodmane thought. I believe I feel about mercy the same way you might when you’ve finished eating a slab of your favorite meat.
Full? Rae’en thought back at him.
I wish there were more of it.
Kholster, Glayne interrupted. You need to see this.
Then show me, Rae’en thought. This sad lot is making me wish for a good clean fight.
Glayne sent the images, but Rae’en could not tell whence he was getting them. Unfolding before her was a scene from her last journey with her father wrought large. It had been one of the first nights when she and Kholster had set out for the Grand Conjunction. So recent, for so much to have changed. When they’d made a reluctant stop, Rae’en had started to lay out her bedroll when Kholster had called her over to him. He’d broken open a beetle-infested log, the hard, shiny bodies swarming over its surface covering every scrap of wood.
“They remind me of Issic-Gnoss,” he said. “If you ever fight them, remember that the ones you see are only a meager serving of the whole dish. Always be sure you don’t tuck into a meal you can’t finish. Even blue wasps can take down an irkanth if they swarm.”
Kholster’d thrown her a piece of liver and smiled.
Those had been long days of travel with liver at every opportunity Kholster could find. Rae’en missed it, wished she could relive it once more and pay better attention, but once your parents are gone, you only have the memories you made, not the ones for which you might wish.
Zaur swarmed the harbor in unfathomable number.
“How many are there?” Rae’en asked, then remembering Kholster’s words, she revised it to “How many do you count?” When Glayne did not answer, she realized she had asked aloud instead of in her mind, but Bloodmane answered.
Approximately twice the number of the combined Aern and warsuit invasion force. Ten thousand. But, Bloodmane added, if my advice is not unwelcome . . . where there are ten thousand Zaur, there are never only ten thousand Zaur. I think we have underestimated this Warlord Xastix.
The warehouse guards Glinfolgo asked to have assigned to his warehouse are down, Glayne sent. Awaiting orders, kholster Rae’en. You have a small window of decision. Do we engage?
She wanted to give the order to attack, would have done so immediately if the stupid lizards hadn’t found a way to kill Armored, but now . . . with Vander down and others truly dead . . . she knew they would not hesitate to give their lives, even permanently if it served the whole, but she couldn’t see how dying defending Port Ammond served the Aern at all.
What does Vander think? Rae’en asked.
We should attack, kholster Rae’en, Glayne thought. Vander is barely conscious and—
Glayne, you are relieved of your duties as Prime Overwatch, Rae’en thought. Thank you for standing in, and I may need you to resume that function very soon, but I need answers right now, not arguments.
I . . . Glayne thought back, his stung ego clear in his thoughts, but he was just as shocked at the way he’d responded to his kholster as he was embarrassed by being replaced. I apologize, kholster.
Apology accepted, Rae’en thought back. Now gather up your soul-bonded weapons and get ready to use them. I’m going to need you in top fighting form faster than I think will allow you the time to collect them all.
She watched Glayne’s thoughts for a response to that and was glad to see him leap at the challenge. He was a good soldier, and it wasn’t as if any Aern other than her Overwatches would have any idea what had happened . . . and even then, she had a perfectly acceptable excuse for Glayne to hide behind, if he chose to use it.
Amber! Rae’en thought hard. I’m rotating Glayne out of the Prime slot because I need a different perspective on this and I need it now.
I think we should retreat to Fort Sunder, Amber answered. All the warsuits who aren’t here or there already are on their way to one of the two places. We’ll pull back and let the Oathbreakers handle the Zaur. Port Ammond is their city.
Noted. Rae’en turned to Bloodmane and waved him over. Can we move Vander?
As Amber delivered the bad news, Rae’en pulled off her glove and placed a bare palm on Bloodmane’s chest. When Kholster had touched Bloodmane’s surface upon their reunion after six hundred years of exile, their fundamental differences in opinion over the fate of the Oathbreakers had caused a physical wound. But now, only a handful of days later, Rae’en’s hand did not burn, did not blister as her father’s had. Did this mean she had forgiven the Oathbreakers, or was it evidence Bloodmane had come to accept what must be done? Either way . . . no burn.
Are you up to being worn? Rae’en thought.
Yes.
Do you mind being worn by me?
I would be honored. You are my rightful occupant.
King Rivvek bit his lip when Bloodmane turned and split open at the back. Rae’en stepped forward and was enveloped, Bloodmane’s senses and hers becoming one. If being Armored had made her feel strong and powerful, being physically one with Bloodmane brought with it a sensation of unadulterated invincibility.
Rae’en had already been wearing Wylant’s bridal armor when she stepped within the warsuit, but she couldn’t feel it.
How di—?
A moment, kholster, Bloodmane sent. I am still adjusting.
Rae’en felt a sense of inner movement as if her skin were simultaneously being stretched and shrunk. She felt trapped, unable to move; she was suffocating and then . . .
All is well, kholster Rae’en, the armor told her, and she could breathe again. Try to move now, please.
She rubbed the fingers of Bloodmane’s gauntlets together, and it felt like skin on skin. When she breathed, Rae’en felt her nostrils flaring, the slight movement of air across her philtrum as if her face were completely uncovered.
Will it feel that way every time? Rae’en asked.
The discomfort? No. Bloodmane’s thoughts were colored with shades of amusement and traces of sorrow. You are your father’s daughter, but you are not his physical duplicate. Adjustments were required. I have made them.
How different do you look?
Fractionally smaller with slight proportional differences. Do not worry. I am quite recognizable.
But you’re okay? Rae’en asked. I didn’t even think about—
Bloodmane laughed. It was nothing compared to the dismay I felt the first time your father decided he wanted to take off my helmet. At the time, I was not designed to allow it.
How many Armored can wear their warsuits now? She thought, and the answer came to her. She knew the information originated from Bloodmane, but this wasn’t like a conversation—it was as though there were no difference between them, as if Bloodmane were subsumed by her. The lack of an all-out war against the Oathbreakers, combined with the death of Armored and the threat to the remainder, had worked a fundamental change.
This was what Kholster’s death had bought the Aern: freedom from their old oaths and the return of their warsuits.
Bloodmane’s mind sank deeper and deeper within her as if he were willing to allow all that he had become to fade so that she could—
No! Rae’en thought. If it is okay with you, unless we’re in battle and don’t have time, talk to me. We know you are your own people now. Kholster would have never wanted me to endanger or belittle that.
I am never belittled by my rightful occupant, Rae’en. Love and a fierce desire to protect and aid coursed from Bloodmane to Rae’en, and she understood why the Armored referred to the warsuits as their true skins. If you learn nothing more of me, please, know that.
