The war born, p.10
The War Born, page 10
Desh closed his eyes and considered that fact for a moment. He had known Jeron for centuries, had considered the man a good friend at one point, and even now he wanted to think of the man as an ally – but that was looking less likely all the time.
“I think we’d have been better off if he’d died in that damned fire.” His brows pulled down and his face settled into a scowl that was becoming far too common. “If Jeron is using necromancy, we have a serious problem on our hands.”
“How so?”
“Jeron has always longed for the easy answer. Necromancy is easy. It grants power with remarkably little effort.”
“How can he know necromancy? It’s been forbidden for centuries.”
“Jeron was one of the first necromancers.” He put down the spoon and finished off the bowl of broth before continuing. “Believe me, he was very resistant to the notion of outlawing the art. He had ways of dealing with the dead that were outrageous long before I arranged to banish the school from the records, and I suspect I would have found several volumes of research on the best ways to feed on the dead if I’d ever gone to that tower of his.”
“Is that why you didn’t go?”
“No. I wasn’t invited. We’d been very close before I outlawed necromancy. I don’t think he ever quite forgave me.”
“He never seemed that bitter about it.”
“Jeron was always good at masking his darker emotions.” Desh leaned back in his seat and Goriah snatched up his bowl, pouring more of the broth and setting it down in front of him. “Thank you.” His eyes looked into the bowl, at his distorted reflection. “Jeron is a very serious threat. He’s a threat I need to take care of personally, frankly. He’s too powerful to be left to soldiers, and he’s too good at what he does to be left alone. If he is behind the work of the Overlords then we have a very serious problem on our hands, and one that scares me.”
“You’re scared of Jeron?”
“No. I’m scared of what he’ll do if he’s left alone. If he no longer follows the rules established by the council, he could cause a great deal of damage in a very short amount of time. If he is doing the work of the Overlords, then they might well be encouraging his worst habits.”
“I have found very little information on these Overlords.”
“That’s because we didn’t know all that much about them. They arrived in Fellein in the early days, they established themselves peacefully in the Wellish Steppes, and then, when we very nearly forgot about them, they attacked. Their armies were not human. They corrupted everything they ran across, Goriah. The people who served them were bent out of shape, broken and twisted until they no longer looked human, and the armies they raised slaughtered everyone they encountered. They did not leave survivors. Mercy was not a concept they even considered.”
Goriah stared at him in silence for several seconds and then asked, “When did you start remembering all of this, Desh?”
“I have read over my old notes. They were enough to remind me that the Overlords were a very real threat. To this day I’m not certain why they retreated.”
“The Sa’ba Taalor tell stories of them. I’ve asked Swech and some of her people about them.”
“Well, then maybe they can handle the situation for us.”
“According to what we know, they have already had a few encounters with these War-Born.”
“And?”
“So far there are no clear winners.”
“You heard about Merros and the mercenaries?”
“Oh yes. I heard about the number of mercenaries who died horribly, too.” Goriah shook her head. “Only a fool would charge down into a combat with the Sa’ba Taalor.”
“To be fair, they were expecting Fellein soldiers.”
“Well, there is that.”
Desh grinned. “I imagine that’s rather like expecting a few alley cats and encountering a pack of wolves.”
“Have you ever crossed a feral alley cat? Not a wise move.”
“And yet less likely to be fatal than the wolves, my dear.”
“True, but days could be spent tending those wounds.” She pushed his bowl closer. “Eat before it gets cold.”
“I think I’ll need something with more substance.”
“You’ll have it, but drink the broth first.” He nodded and took a spoonful of the stuff, grateful for the Sisters who reminded him to eat and tended to his needs.
“I don’t know how this will end, Goriah, and that bothers me.”
“You never know how things will turn out, Desh, despite your beliefs.”
“I can usually make a fairly accurate guess, but not in this case. The Overlords have been gone too long, the Sa’ba Taalor who follow them are an unknown variable, the Sa’ba Taalor who are aligning themselves with us are too unpredictable, and the Fellein armies, while vast, have to spread out over too large an area for us to quickly assemble any large-scale fighting forces. Until we know more about what the Overlords have planned, we are effectively moving around a campsite without any supplies.”
“We need to find Jeron.”
“No, my dear, I need to eliminate him.” He sighed. “He cannot be allowed to break the rules of sorcerous engagement so causally.”
“He doesn’t seem to care about the rules at all,” Goriah sighed too and brought a tray of meats and cheeses into the room from where she had likely prepared them while he was trying to find answers to his many questions. Desh’s stomach made rude noises as he stared at the platter, and he once again lifted the bowl of broth to his lips and drank down the nearly scalding liquid. There was a selection of sliced breads on the platter and Desh took full advantage.
“Jeron is a dangerous enemy to have, Goriah. If there is any news about where he is, I need to know immediately. I cannot risk him being out there any longer than necessary.”
“The moment I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
For a time that would have to be enough. He needed to find Jeron. He needed to eliminate a threat that very few people could comprehend because they had never known a true fight between sorcerers.
But, for the moment, Desh needed to eat and that was what he focused on.
Jeron
The cold barely fazed Jeron, but beside him Roledru was shivering.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s winter. I need a thicker cloak.” The man’s teeth were chattering.
Jeron reached out and touched the cloak around his assistant’s shoulders and immediately the man’s face changed to a smile of gratitude. There was a faint distortion where the air around the man grew warmer. It was a simple enchantment that he would have never considered before the Overlords granted him power. The math was quite simple: the Overlords made it easier for him to use sorcery. There was still a cost, but a simple enchantment that would have exhausted him before, like the one he had just used, seemed nearly effortless in comparison.
“That’s amazing. Thank you, Jeron.”
“For all you do for me, my friend, it is my pleasure.” And it was, but still he considered the ease of the spell and was pleased. Desh Krohan’s limitations on sorcery had nearly crippled him for years and he hadn’t even realised until now.
The Overlords took a great deal of power. Every death their War-Born caused was siphoning the life force of the victims, drawing it into their bodies and from them, through their Godless generals, through Jeron himself and finally to the masters of this new changing world, the Overlords.
It was not an easy process, and it was hardly the most efficient. The paths the energies took likely left a lot of those precious energies dispersed into the universe, but there was power to be had and Jeron was getting a good enough portion of it along the way. In the process he was growing more powerful than he had ever been, than he could imagine any sorcerer being.
All of which was a nice way of realizing that destroying Desh Krohan would be easy when the time came, and he knew the time would soon be upon him. Jeron was many things now, but he was never, and would never be, a fool.
“Sooner or later Desh Krohan will learn that I’m behind everything happening here. When that happens, he will come after me, Roledru.”
The man stared at him with wide eyes. To Roledru, to most people, Desh Krohan was a nearly legendary figure. Either he was so far removed from their lives that he was little more than a name, or he was the source of nightmares. Roledru had seen the man, had been witness to the destruction of the army of the dead that Desh Krohan accomplished in one masterful stroke.
Jeron frowned at that memory. How long had the First Advisor been preparing himself for casting a spell that powerful? The energies used to destroy that army must have been massive. There had been the odd time when Jeron had possibly had enough stored energies to destroy an army, but seldom. That sort of energy required months or even years’ worth of spell stones collected and gathered into one place.
“He’s a dangerous enemy.”
“I can’t even imagine.” Roledru shivered. “When he destroyed the army, I saw the lightning come down from the skies and burn everything. I thought I’d be blind for the rest of my life.”
“So you’ve said.” He nodded. “It must have been an amazing spectacle.”
Roledru ignored the comment. “The sound,” he continued. “I thought the world would end.”
“When the time comes, I’ll have to strike fast and hard.”
“Do you really feel like you can best him, Jeron?”
“I assure you, I’m at least as powerful as Desh Krohan. He is a potent opponent, but I have been changed by the Overlords, made stronger than I have ever been before.” He would not have to save the energies that Desh would have to save. He was powered by godlike beings. He no longer had to play by the old fool’s rules, not ever again.
“Will you wait for him to find you? Or will you look for him?”
“I think it might be best to find him, my friend. Better by far to choose the time and place.” He considered the Sisters and nodded. He could take Desh Krohan by himself, but the notion of fighting the four of them together did not sit at all well. Besides, it would be possible to recruit them to his side if he was careful. Better to have the Sisters with him than against him.
The winds roared around them and he blocked them with a simple enchantment, pushed them away.
Not far away he could see the tents of the Godless. Winter was truly upon them and he was grateful for the Sa’ba Taalor that had aligned themselves to his cause. They did not cry over the cold weather. They did not complain about sending the War-Born back into the sleeping stage, where they were even now becoming different creatures, better prepared for the winter weather.
He looked into the darkness, studied the shapes of the War-Born in their cocoons, and smiled to himself.
Soon enough the creatures would emerge once more, altered by his will and the power of the Overlords. They had been a threat before, but now they would be so much greater at stalking their prey.
Roledru spoke, but Jeron didn’t hear the words. He asked the man to repeat himself.
“I said I think the Dark Passage will be buried in snow if we’re not careful.”
“Let the snows come. I’ll drive them away.”
“Shouldn’t you be saving your sorcery for Desh Krohan?”
“No.” He smiled again and shook his head. “You worry too much. The Overlords have been preparing for this for hundreds of years. Nothing is being left to chance, my friend. We will win over the First Advisor with ease, and the War-Born will destroy Morwhen.”
“Why here? Why Morwhen?”
“Because these are the best that Fellein has to offer when it comes to soldiers. When they fall, Fellein will fall as well.” A lie, but not one that Roledru could know. In fact, he’d chosen Morwhen because that was where he’d been born, oh so very long ago. He wanted to remove the memories of his youth, and the people he had known back then. They were all long in the dust, but he hated them still.
“What about the Sa’ba Taalor?”
“They will be elsewhere. I’ve arranged a proper distraction for them.” Jeron smiled at that thought. There were more of the War-Born than Roledru understood, and they were clay to be sculpted, formed and shaped and made all the more dangerous.
“When will you attack, Jeron?”
Jeron looked up into the skies where snow fell lazily toward the ground, and smiled as the cold air caressed his face. “Within the hour. All is finally ready.”
Asher
Surviving the Dark Passage had been a blessing, Asher supposed, but considering how much of his crop he’d lost, it hardly seemed that way. A year’s worth of farming and he’d be truly blessed if he could break even after the Tolfah had attacked.
The one thing that worked in his favor was simply that there weren’t that many farmers growing Pabba fruit. The cost would be much higher now for anyone who wanted some of the already rare treat.
Daken Hardesty was once again leading the mercenaries who would travel with him. They were still considering the best path to Lake Gerheim and Goltha. The river route or the ocean – each still had their advantages and their pitfalls. The Sa’ba Taalor were everywhere in the area, and though they were in abundance, none of them had caused any actual troubles as yet. If anything, their presence was actually beneficial. They had battled some sort of monstrous things on the Dark Passage, from what he was hearing. Something worse than the Tolfah. That was a thought that offered little comfort.
“What do you say, Asher? Which way do we turn the caravan?” Daken was as patient as he could be, but the day was not growing longer, and they wanted to be a fair distance away from the area before the Tolfah roused from their slumbers. There were fewer reports of the beast-men of late but that didn’t mean the area was clean of them. It simply meant they’d fed on his Pabba fruit enough to sate their limitless appetites, he supposed.
“The ocean paths are blocked by the gray skins.” Asher sighed. “But there are worse things on the Dark Passage. So we go for the ocean and take the extra time.”
Daken nodded. “That’s wise. The Sa’ba Taalor can be reasoned with.”
Asher snorted, but nodded as well. “Aye. One supposes.”
Daken called out to his men, and they formed a rough line on either side of the wagons. The mercenaries were more seasoned this time around. Not a one of them young enough to avoid shaving. This was a serious business, and it was the difference between whether or not Asher survived the winter with any fortune worth noticing. They’d be paid handsomely but, chances were, each one of them would earn that pay.
With a nod, Daken moved forward and the mercenaries followed. The wagon drivers did their part and the whole train of them headed out, traveling east toward the ocean harbors in Danaher and the ships that would take them the long way around to the capital city.
The snows were growing worse, and Asher pulled his cloak in closer, trying to preserve as much body heat as he could. Heavy blankets covered the horses, keeping them safe from the worst of the elements. He had never travelled this late in the season before and hoped to avoid doing it again.
Daken rode on, unimpressed by the weather. He was a soldier and had been stuck in far worse situations, Asher supposed.
That was far enough away to avoid the nightmares that came to Morwhen while they were gone.
Sometimes the gods are kind.
Mallifex Krous
In Darrow, the capital of Morwhen, Mallifex Krous looked upon his father’s likeness and scowled. Theorio Krous had been a hard man and, even years after his death, Mal found he could not mourn him with any sincerity.
He sat on the throne and considered what to write to his distant cousin, the Empress of Fellein. Much as he hated to ask for help, it looked like Morwhen would need to beg a favor. The only good news on that front was that his father had answered the call to war during the battles with the Sa’ba Taalor, and now he could expect a proper response to his requests.
He was a king. He ruled the country as fairly as he could, while asking as much as he could of the citizens who lived there. The armies were vast, the soldiers well-trained and ready for any event that might come their way. In all of Fellein there were none better prepared for war.
Dester, his best friend, and the man he trusted most in the world, stood nearby, reading over his shoulder. “Maybe try not to sound so much like your father.”
“Alright. Who should I sound like?”
“Try sounding like you, Mal. You’re actually very eloquent when you want to be, and your cousin likes you.”
“My cousin barely knows me.”
“She knows you better than you think. It’s part of her duty as Empress to know what you are doing and what you are capable of.”
“The last time I saw her was when we were celebrating Pathra’s birthday.” He sighed. “I think I was ten or so.”
“Well, you must have made a good impression. She’s spoken of you several times and always favorably.”
“How would you know that?”
“I have spies everywhere.” Mal wished the man was joking but knew better.
“Why do we need spies?”
“For moments like now. To make sure we know who we can count on when the time comes to borrow favor.”
“And there’s the problem. Why must we borrow anything?”
“Soldiers insist on being paid and you do insist on having the largest army in the empire.”
“It’s tradition.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Mal, but it works better if there’s a war going on.”
“Wars cost even more money.”
“Not if you win them.” Dester sighed and poured them both a glass of sweet ale. He drank too much. They both did. It was a fault Mal needed to remedy and he damned well knew it.
“Highness. My king, we are attacked!” Drosmod was the bearer of bad news, as was often the case. The man had served his father and grandfather before him, and while he looked his years, he was still able bodied and sharp of mind.
“What are you on about?”
“We are attacked.” The old man looked genuinely worried, which didn’t happen very often.
