Oathkeeper, p.8
Oathkeeper, page 8
“I’m going to kill you with my father’s warpick, not a grooming aid.”
“Of course.” Grivek’s own pale skin and dark eyes looked so frail in comparison to her youth and vigor, the bronze of her skin. Wrapped in voluminous robes to ward off a cold Rae’en could no longer feel now that her adult integumentary system had things under control, it was hard not to pity him. “All a full-grown Aern needs,” her Dwarven uncle Glinfolgo had said once, “are good hobnailed boots, hardwearing pants, a belt to keep the trousers up, a shirt of chain to keep the weapons on the outside, and an enemy to kill.”
I’m well-equipped then, Rae’en thought, outfitted in steam-loomed denim jeans dyed black from her uncle’s most recent dye lot with an additional blue pair in her rightmost saddlebag. The two warpicks crossing her back, Testament and Grudge, were more than she would ever need to kill the Oathbreaker across the camp table from her.
She remembered a time only a few days ago when the weight of one warpick had made her wince in pain, her muscles beyond exhaustion after the race she and her father had run across Bridgeland. Now that she was Armored, she wondered if they would ever hurt again.
Only if you want them to, Bloodmane thought.
I wasn’t thinking to you.
My apologies.
Fine. Shut up then. On some level Rae’en knew the warsuit meant well, but she couldn’t stand his hollow metallic voice in her mind. It felt wrong. He shouldn’t be joined to her. He shouldn’t—
“It looks nice,” Grivek said softly.
“What does?”
“The hair.”
“I think so, too,” Yavi put in.
“No one cares!” Rae’en snapped her teeth at the Flower Girl, half in annoyance at having failed to notice her arrival. Stupid little Flower Girl with her yellow hair petals and Wylant-looking face. What was she trying to prove wearing doeskin leather and flouncing about?
Heartbow or not. Fighter or coward. Rae’en wished the pretty little Vael would take flight with Wylant and stay gone. Her presence was pointless anyway. There would be no peace. She’d failed whether she’d managed to bed Kholster or not. She wasn’t pregnant, or Caz would have been able to feel the bone metal growing within and since she wasn’t, she’d failed in that mission, too. So what use was she to anyone? Playing dress-up in the woods? Luring male Aern away from female Aern?
“Back to it.” Rae’en slapped a hand down on the document that was spread out on a camp table, disturbing one of the chunks of rock that held it in place.
“Of course.” Grivek inclined his head in assent, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stifle a shiver.
“What?” Yavi said. “Vael here. Hello? Allies to the Aern.” She leaned down between Rae’en and Grivek, breaking their eyelines. “That smell like familiar spoor to you?”
“Yes,” Rae’en hissed between gritted teeth. “Of course. Please be sure to keep your head clear when I kill this Oathbreaker. It’s a pretty little face and I’m sure someone would be quite upset if I put a warpick through it.”
Grivek chuckled softly.
“I’m sorry,” he said in response to Yavi’s shocked expression, “but here at the end of my life, my sense of humor has become questionable.”
“End of your life?” Yavi scoffed. “That hasn’t been decided yet.”
Rae’en raised an eyebrow at that. What did the Flower Girl think she had to do with that decision?
“I’m afraid it has,” Grivek told her.
I hope you aren’t planning to kill the Vael, too, Vander thought at Rae’en.
Of course not, Rae’en thought back. Though maybe if she slipped at just the right moment and fell in front of my warpick . . .
Vander didn’t laugh. Rae’en sighed.
Fine. Back to it then.
“You release all those we accept as Aiannai.” Rae’en tapped in the vague area of the clause on the document to which she was referring. “Both in the future and in the past from any oaths they owe the Eldrennai kingdom, the Eldrennai crown, the Eldrennai schools of elemental magic, the Artificer’s Guild, and any and all oaths from which you in all your capacities personal, private, and public may free them?”
“Yes,” Grivek nodded.
“Really?” Yavi shook her head and stepped toward the statue of Xalistan, muttering to herself. “That’s very generous.”
“Sign and seal,” Rae’en spat.
The king bent over the camp table, hesitating over the document.
“What now?” Rae’en snarled.
His eyes found the precise cuts still visible as new-forming skin met the edges of the old where Rae’en had sliced away the outer layer in a perfect rectangle, width established by slicing just below her breasts and above her pelvis, the length by extending the incision around her sides and terminating within a finger’s breadth of the scars running down her back. She’d seen Aern skilled enough to begin along their spine and work toward the front, leaving the bisected patrimonial scars visible at the edge of the finished parchment as further proof of the document’s authenticity and author, but she’d only had to do it twice before (once to create the initial register sheet for the accounting of her bone-steel by the Ossuary and again to document the name, composition, and means of manufacture of her warpick, Testament.
“You saw me cut, stretch, and scrape the skin, Oathbreaker. Cured with my own blood and saliva, it is legal parchment!”
King Grivek coughed, hiding his face. “No. I know. That is . . . of course it is.” Their eyes met. “I merely . . . well . . . doesn’t it hurt?”
“I’m not tracking what that spoor has to do with this hunt, but yes. On the first day.”
“Isn’t there anything that—”
“Sign and seal or refuse,” Rae’en snapped. Rage bubbled under the surface at the edges of her being. Denied the full legacy of her father’s memories, she still had a great wealth of them available to her from her link with Bloodmane and with Vander. When she looked at Grivek, images of every wrong he’d ever committed in the sight of an Aern, each slight, each misstep swam before her mind’s eye.
It will fade in time, Vander’s voice spoke in her mind. You will come to summon the memories only when you need them. Most of the time.
Most?
Have you ever seen you father freeze for a moment at the mention of your mother’s name if he wasn’t expecting to hear it?
Yes, she thought back.
If the emotions tied to the memory are strong enough . . . There was a pause. They can still surface unbidden, kholster Rae’en.
Please, just call me Rae’en in my head, Rae’en asked. Even Zhan calling me New Bones is better than you calling me kholster.
Habit, Vander thought back. I’ll work on it.
King Grivek sat very still, head bowed, eyes searching for . . . what were they searching for? It looked like he was trying get a better look at her through her bone-steel mail.
If he makes another belly button comment or rather lack of belly button comment, I’m going to kill him.
Does that mean you aren’t going to kill him otherwise? Bloodmane’s echoing voice filled her thoughts.
No one is talking to you, Makerslayer.
My apologies, Daughter of Kholster. I try to filter out when you mean me and when you mean to commune with others, but you still transmit quite broadly.
Shut up!
And, I hate to ask again, but you did say that Coal could assist us, but he has yet to arrive and—
He’s a dragon, not a soldier, Bloodmane. The great gray dragon doesn’t march where I tell him to march. He went wherever he went and he’ll show up when he feels like it!
Ah . . . and Skinner informs me Coal has arrived at West Watch. I apologize again, Daughter of Kholster, I should have been more patient.
Fine. Good. I’m busy!
Not that yelling at Bloodmane accomplished anything, but it did make her feel better. Well . . . not really. Rae’en let her eyes focus on Grivek, then the document itself. He looked old and tired; the look in his eyes reminded her of Parl’s when she’d stared into those unnatural eyes and saw such a mixture of emotions, depth she hadn’t properly fathomed.
He wanted to live, because living things want that in general, but living was such pain, tinged with such regret with actions and words that could never be undone. Grivek, like Parl, was at her mercy. His future surrendered to her. Make the choices, he seemed to say, I can’t make any more, I have chosen poorly so often that I leave everything to your wisdom. You decide.
“Well?” She nodded at document. “Read it.”
Grivek read through the document, eyes squinting in the sunlight. He sniffed as he read, the sound reminding her of the cave-in when her mother died, the way her father, nose bleeding, had stared at the pile of rocks covering his dead wife, clutching Rae’en.
“What are we going to do?” Rae’en remembered asking.
“Wait for it to stop. Dig out her body. Avenge her. Then wait for the pain to subside.”
“Will it?” Rae’en had choked.
“We’ll pretend it does.”
Rae’en blinked away an emotion she refused to acknowledge and rubbed her eyes. When her hand came away Grivek was watching her.
“Two things.” The old Eldrennai held up one finger on each hand. “Before I sign anything.”
“You are in no position to—”
“I am old and about to die.” Grivek took in a long deep breath, drawing himself up to his full height. “I am going to sign this document and agree to all of your demands.” He let it out again, sagging with the exhalation. “Please let me speak.”
Rae’en nodded, wondering in the moment what Parl, the Foresworn, might have said if she’d let him keep talking?
He looked pretty regal there for a moment, Vander thought at her.
If you say it’s true . . . Rae’en thought back, begrudging the Oathbreaker even that scant token of admiration or respect.
“One: I will be allowed to choose my successor and you will honor my choice. By which I mean, you will allow him time to perform the Test of Four, be acknowledged, and grant him one audience with you before the Aern attack his people.”
“More delays?” Rae’en slammed her fist down on the camp desk cracking the wood. “I have had enough of your—”
“You could at least listen to him,” Yavi broke in but seemed not to have the heart to press the issue.
“Just the one request then.” Grivek lowered his hands, fingers folding in like dying spiders. “Will you grant it?”
You could have at least—
Shut up, Bloodmane!
“What was the second request?”
Grivek looked away, his eyes lingering at the feet of the statue of Kilke. The massively muscled god with his two extant heads each sporting horns stared down at the pair of them as if bemused by the whole affair, one finger raised to scratch the center stump that had once held a third head before Shidarva had dethroned him and taken his place as ruler of the gods.
“I don’t want to be eaten.”
Rae’en laughed. “What? Why? You’ll be dead. When you’re dead you’re meat. It hardly matters what happens to it then.”
“Even so.” Grivek looked at her with rheumy eyes.
If I remember correctly, Vander thought to Rae’en, the Test of Four takes a few candlemarks. Not more than that. Even if there is to be a funeral first, it’s a three- to five-day delay.
“Five days?” Rae’en asked.
“Two at most.” Grivek shook his head. “I will have no funeral. I wish my body to be burned. I will not have my children coming to visit a pit of rotting meat when I am gone.”
“Done,” Rae’en said.
“I have your oath?” Grivek assessed her warily.
“Yes, but only if the fleet can make port unopposed at Port Ammond.”
“They will not attack until after your audience with my successor?” Grivek asked.
“Unless he fails or things take longer than you’ve specified.” Rae’en leaned in. “I won’t get caught in some oath trap like—”
“Granted,” Grivek interrupted. “This isn’t like that. I know you won’t believe me. You have every right not to, but I’m not attempting to outmaneuver you.”
“Done then.” Rae’en drummed her fingers on the document.
“I need to hear the words.” Grivek looked into her eyes.
“And I need to see the orders.” Rae’en folded her arms across her chest.
Grivek waved over one of his guards and hastily wrote out a set of orders, which he let Rae’en review before he signed, sealed, and dispatched them with the guard to Port Ammond.
“And now the words?” Grivek asked.
What does he expect to happen? Rae’en wondered.
Aldo knows, Vander thought back, but this agreement will make the landing at Port Ammond a lot less exciting.
Anything I can do to make sure Uncle Glin doesn’t fall overboard and sink to the bottom of the Bay, Rae’en agreed.
“I swear,” Rae’en began, “it is my intention to grant up to two days’ time, beginning today, to allow your chosen heir a chance to undertake the test you named. Assuming he passes, I will agree to meet with him, also within the same two days, unless he delays or it becomes unreasonable, in my opinion, or in an opinion expressed by my Overwatches, to do so. As for your body, I shall agree to let your people dispose of it and if they keep your wishes or fail to do so . . . that is up to them.”
You swear it is your intention? Vander asked.
He’s an Oathbreaker, Rae’en thought back at Vander. He gets what he gets. He won’t catch me oathing off until I have my back to a wall.
“She swears it is her intention.” Grivek gave a bitter chuckle. “I suppose it’s the best I’m likely to get. Very well.”
A blade of violet flame rose from the tip of Grivek’s forefinger, and he signed the document with it, the scent of burnt skin rising from the page. Placing his palm over the signature, the Eldrennai king closed his eyes, lips pulled tight into a severe line of grim concentration. When he pulled his hand away, the symbol of the Royal Bloodline lay emblazoned in its wake.
Rae’en unslung Grudge, her father’s warpick, from her back. Grivek held up a hand, imploring her to delay a moment.
He took the thin crystal and silver circlet from his head and whispered fire along it. “Rivvek,” he said over the glowing crown. “I name Rivvek my heir. Seek him.”
The fire grew. Mystic heat suffused the metal and crystal until it flowed, the molten composite fashioning itself into the likeness of a small bird. The crown flew out over the water where a sea hawk dove, struck, and died in a screeching conflagration.
“In your own time,” Grivek said after the crown was out of sight.
“But Rivvek is Aiannai,” Rae’en scowled. “Oathkeeper.”
“Yes,” Grivek agreed. “Your father’s scars are on his back. Rivvek is the only Eldrennai other than Wylant he personally accepted.”
“This changes nothing.”
“He will.” Grivek coughed. “He’s the only child I’ve ever had who was brave enough to see what we did to the Aern. Understand it and try to make amends.”
“Amends?” Rae’en scoffed, picking up the document, rolling it up, and putting it into her right saddlebag.
“Ask him how he got those scars,” Grivek suggested.
“Don’t you know?” Rae’en asked.
“It’s his tale to tell.” Grivek shook his head as he spoke. “And now you have one more reason to grant him an audience.”
Did he tell you, Vander?
Only Bloodmane, Vander sent. Well, and your father. Rivvek asked to share it with them first and afterward Kholster said Rivvek had asked him to keep it to himself. You could always—
I’ll ask Rivvek when I see him.
“Seriously,” Yavi said as she walked back over, “can we all just put our weapons away and—”
Sharp and shrill the cry of Grudge, the warpick of her father, her kholster, and now her god rang out as Rae’en struck, ending the final Grand Conjunction the only way Rae’en could ever envision it ending . . . with the death of the Eldrennai king. Blood from King Grivek’s punctured throat sprayed across Yavi’s face, spattering the statue of Kholster before which a small broken camp table lay.
Yavi drew her heartbow, nocking an arrow even as the king’s lifeblood dripped down the silvery expanse of her bark-stripped skin, standing out in sharp contrast to the cheery yellow of her head petals.
“What have you done?” Yavi shouted.
“Killed the king of my enemy.” Rae’en eyed the Vael with contempt, the jade irises surrounding the amber pupils of her eyes expanding slightly, banishing a portion of the black sclera so unique to Aern. She bared her doubled canines. “I told him I had a few favors—” she gestured at the signed documents on the table, “—to ask before I killed him. It was not unexpected. Why are you so surprised?”
“But then you killed him!” Yavi shouted. “You really killed him!”
“What else would I do?” Rae’en jerked the hooked beak of Grudge’s head free of the dying king’s throat as his guards and attendants rushed forward, weapons drawn. “The last Conjunction is ended. Why don’t you go home and play with the other flowers, Yavi? Surely they have something or someone useful you could be doing.”
CHAPTER 9
PICKING SIDES
Yavi only took two blinks to think before choosing sides. Rolling away from the Aern and the charging guards—cries of outrage on their lips, a wolfish grin set upon hers—Yavi unslung her heartbow.
Was there really any choice at all?
The temptation to shoot Rae’en was there in her core, but next to it burned an understanding of why Rae’en had killed King Grivek. It was all fair hunting to try to change the Aern’s mind, but to believe Rae’en might actually choose other than she had didn’t track at all. There was no other decision for Rae’en to make: Kholster was dead and Rae’en blamed the Eldrennai for it.
Or Yavi assumed she did. And even if she didn’t hold Grivek personally accountable, Rae’en had granted Grivek’s last requests, gone so far as agreeing to delay the war even further. True, it might be nice if the Aern weren’t so darned stubborn, but when Yavi thought back to Kholster’s interactions with the Eldrennai, to the hatred that burned within him tempered by a willingness to reinterpret his oaths as liberally as he could, to grant requests he hadn’t been required to even consider. . . . And, again, Rae’en might be less willing to bend than her father, but she’d still done so, still made concessions she had no strategic reason to make.
