by Robert Brady
Glynn couldn’t argue with the disgusting woman. She had entirely surmised their predicament. According to Avek, the king had planned to enrage the Emperor sufficiently to get him to attack Volkhydro, where a monstrous army awaited him. What now, if he came for the Uman-Chi or the Confluni instead?
Especially considering that, if they stood here defeated, then the invasion of Thera must be doomed.
* * *
Xinto of the Wood lay on his back on a battlefield, in bloody red dirt with a dead man for a pillow and his pain to comfort him.
His own people had abandoned him, not that he really blamed them. His life slipped away, and none of their Wizards could help him, having been left too drained by the battle.
His vision clouding, Xinto wondered at what they thought they were accomplishing with this resistance of Glynn’s. They’d certainly seen a good number of people killed, with more to come. They’d antagonized the Emperor. There would be no perfunctory invasion—Lupus the Conqueror had something to prove now.
He still remembered the boy on the huge horse who’d nearly run him down in the streets of Outpost IX, a messenger for the Dwarves. The first thought in his head had been that he’d be perfect for this mission of Prince Ancenon’s. Short on brains and long on personal opinion, he’d be Ancenon’s puppet and later thank Xinto for the opportunity.
He’d never asked himself how a stupid Man had tamed a stallion from the Herd that Cannot be Tamed, befriended the reclusive Dwarves, and crossed three nations in so short a life. Most people never strayed more than ten daheer from the house that birthed them.
What had Vedeen said? They weren’t asking themselves the right questions.
Glynn sang of ‘The One, who others wait upon.’ He was waiting upon one now—the goddess Eveave, to take him to her bosom, to his last reward.
He didn’t wait upon the Emperor. If Lupus found him now, he’d save him just to kill him one hundred more times.
Xinto stirred in the muddy paste his own red blood had made. His vision continued to blur. It shouldn’t be long now.
Already the crows gathered overhead. They’d feast on his eyes. He hoped to be dead by then.
“The One, who others wait upon, To fight forever more.”
That could mean anything. Typical gods—they couldn’t just say, “Go here and turn the knob to the left.” No, they had to speak their vagaries. They had to play their silly games.
The question, he reasoned, wasn’t who the One was. That seemed obvious. The question, of course, was what waited upon him.
And in that thought, he got it. With that knowledge, he rattled the whole song off in his head.
The shock hit him so hard that, before his blood loss could take him, he succumbed to a heart attack instead, gripping his chest almost comically as he died.
* * *
Genna walked the remains of the battlefield. It had already begun to stink, and the birds to feast on eyes and entrails. Here she kicked a sword aside; there she stepped over the carcass of a horse.
If anyone ever guessed she refused to ride because she refused to be the reason why so noble a creature died, then she’d be mortified, but that secret was hers.
Hers and her dark, dark son’s. In fact, she traveled West now to be near him, to rejoin him, now that she’d done as much damage as she dared.
Crossing the battlefield, she came across, of all things, Xinto’s comical little cap, seated in a puddle of dark blood. Stuck into the center of that puddle was a brand new dagger, its hilt intricately carved and distinctive, its crossbar carved into the shape of two clutching hands.
She frowned. It was the type of unbalanced, gaudy thing she’d expect the Scitai to have. In fact, she strayed through here because she wanted to see the Scitai’s corpse. He’d eluded her and started her on this journey—even if she couldn’t kill him for it, she’d have liked to see him dead.
She pulled the dagger from the ground and it came away clean. Odd—not a grain of sand clung to the metal, much like the Emperor’s blade.
She’d loved Lupus once. He’d betrayed her. She’d wept every day for a month when she’d discovered he’d blindsided her with his seed. Over the years, she’d had to admit to herself that she’d wanted his child. Why else give herself to him so frequently? She’d expected that son to be shining and tall, but that was not to be.
She hefted the blade. The metal looked almost black, and on closer inspection she found tiny jewels, wraps of wire, bits of wood and string and all manner of impurities carved into the hilt. It was as if the weapons maker couldn’t decide on what to use, and had instead wrapped in a little bit of everything.
She shrugged and sheathed the blade in her belt scabbard. She’d give it to her son. It suited him. For the life of her, in proximity to her nethers, the thing actually seemed to warm to her.
She started off at a trot to the east. Some said the fumes of a new battlefield drove women insane, and in this case they might be right.
Chapter Fourteen
A Guardian Will Take You There
Thirteen battered Tech Ships of the Trenboni Imperial Fleet limped into the harbor at Outpost IX, escorting just under three hundred Volkhydran warships and fewer than twelve thousand weary warriors.
Admiral Geledar Taboorin stood at the prow of My Lady’s Lovely Way, his arm in a sling and his face still covered in ash and blood, even after four days. He directed the ship himself, his captain having died, and other similarly trained individuals being scarce in their ranks.
‘Victory!’ the thought rang in his head. In his more than seven hundred years, he’d never fought so hard nor so well, his ships dancing in his command beneath him, coordinating a series of feints, drawing the Eldadorians out wider than they could defend themselves, then cutting their ships off at the knees.
Sea Wolves are faster, they carry more warriors, and they deliver more punishment in a one-to-one fight, armed not only with catapults but their considerable magic.
However a Tech Ships’ enchantment is born of superior Uman-Chi Casters, and works at greater range. Admiral Geledar Taboorin had realized this at the Battle of the Deceptions. He became the rabbit to the hound and, from outside of the Wolves’ strike circle, destroyed them.
When the Eldadorians had lost thirty ships they withdrew into four large fleets and formed a half-circle before the Trenboni. Were he to have pressed that, he would have had to come in close, and suffered. To have survived the fight at all, he knew, counted as his victory.
Now Angron Aurelias himself, with an Uman-Chi whom the Admiral recognized as Duke Haldan Evoprosee, a premier Caster of an old house and one whose magic had helped build this fleet, waited for him on the docks.
Taboorin had no magic, or he might have used his power to leap from the bow to the docks. As it was, he knelt on the deck and lowered his head to his liege lord for his fleet.
Angron nodded and, with his retinue, waited patiently for the Admiral to disembark.
My Lady was made fast to her space as the flagship of what remained of the fleet. Already another hundred masts had been commissioned. This violated the very laws of the Fovean High Council, laws the Uman-Chi themselves had put in place, but those would not see these lonely docks for years. In that time, many things would change.
Taboorin left his first mate, an Uman boatswain who’d served him personally for six decades, to commence repairs and see to the crew. None of them, bone weary as they were, would see a night in port for a week. My Lady had felt the scorch of Eldadorian Fire and the heat of magical lightening, even a few boulders from other catapults.
She wasn’t the worst off in what remained of the fleet.
He left the ship, strode down the dock to where his King honored him by waiting, and knelt again before Angron Aurelias, his hand to his shoulder.
“Rise, Admiral Taboorin,” Angron informed him. “It is We who must honor you, the savior of My fleet.”
“Or what’s left of it,” Duke Evoprosee sneered, looking dow
n his nose at Taboorin. The Admiral rose, stiff in his knees, to look the Duke in the eye.
He’d received the reports. “I didn’t quit the field at first wounding,” he answered, “and so my charges remain alive.”
“My Lords, please,” Angron said, raising his hand as Evoprosee stiffened. “I’ll hear nothing of loss today. If we can beat the Emperor on the Bay, then this nation is safe, and we ourselves are saved.”
The King turned to walk back down the docks, where a litter would bear him back to the palace. Evoprosee walked to his left, while the place of honor, a step behind and to the right, was left for Taboorin in his glory. Much as he swelled with pride, he felt himself filled with caution as well.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “prithee, do not overestimate this victory, for in it, we still lost a fourth of our charges and more than half of our fleet.”
“More ships are in the offing,” Evoprosee protested, and was silenced once again when the King raised a thin-fingered, pale hand.
“Can you repeat this victory again, with the resources you have?” he asked Taboorin, without turning.
“When my ships are repaired?” Taboorin asked, and sensed more than saw the King’s nod. “Then I could defeat my own number and, with no other ships to protect, perhaps a few more.
“But the Eldadorian Empire’s full navy, versus ours?” Taboorin shook his head. “No, your Majesty. We won the day when their losses exceeded ours, however had they persisted then, in time, we would have failed, and we did not see the Emperor’s whole fleet.”
“Then we celebrate nothing,” Evoprosee said, as they approached the litter.
Angron remained quiet as he turned and leaned back into his seat upon the litter. He regarded neither of them, but looked south, to his enemies.
In the last decade, the King had worried himself thin enough where Taboorin feared a strong breeze might carry him away. The once-glorious white hair had come to lay thin and weak upon his shoulders. Where once Kings had begged his wisdom, now Dukes and Earls sneered at his side.
“Contact Glynn Escaroth,” he said finally, to Evoprosee. The Duke folded his hands before him and nodded.
“It matters not now that we betray her position,” he continued. “Let her know the names of some of our operatives in Eldador, the less reliable ones which we might lose with small cost.”
“And your message, your Majesty?” the Duke asked.
The Uman porters lifted up the litter and gently carried him toward the palace. Taboorin and Evoprosee walked along either side.
“She is to inform them of our glorious victory on Tren Bay,” he said, “and of the sad performance of the Imperial Fleet under Lupus himself.”
Taboorin actually missed a step as he walked. The Uman porters traded looks of shock from what they overheard. Even as Evoprosee cleared his throat, Taboorin knew it would be quite a scandal at that evening’s dinner banquet.
“Your Majesty, I obey even your slightest whim, but in fact we know—” Evoprosee began.
“We know nothing but what we can surmise,” Angron answered him, rudely cutting the Duke off. “If I say the Emperor was himself defeated, then let him defend his honor, if he has any.”
“Of course, your Majesty,” the Duke said. “Shall I triple our guard and burn our ports in anticipation of the Emperor’s arrival?”
As close to insolence as Taboorin had ever heard before the King. These times troubled him.
“If you wish to,” Angron informed him. “However not before our Admiral carries me from here.”
“Your Majesty?” Taboorin asked him. To insult the Emperor and then leave the security of Outpost IX made no sense to him.
“I am too long cooped up here,” the King informed them. “I have not been to Volkhydro in three generations of the lives of Men. It is time to remind them of our greatness.”
Taboorin smiled. The original plan had been to enrage the Emperor into making a bold attack, and then to catch him in his anger.
Surely their wise King had found another way.
“Your will be done,” Evoprosee said. “I will make the necessary preparations, of course.”
Taboorin grinned to himself. Wily if aged, that much was certain. Lupus the Conqueror would hear this challenge and not only rise to it, but seek to destroy its purveyor.
It would be bloody days in Volkhydro.
* * *
Empress Shela Mordetur, called the Mother of the Empire, the Bitch of Eldador and, perhaps, one of the most feared women alive, stood naked in a guest chamber in the ducal estate of Thera, her delicate hand on the cold, stone wall before her, her head down in the room’s dim light, the curtains drawn on the real glass windows, the one door to this room shut.
The lash fell across her back, its leather kiss a hot line of pain from her shoulder to her hip.
She whimpered, tears flowing from her eyes down the perfect olive skin on her face.
She’d designed this room when she and her husband, then her master, had designed this place. She’d commissioned the high bed and the furniture; she’d carefully chosen the colors to accent the rest of the household and to make guests feel welcome. The estate was to have been their perfect home, the place for their children to be born, a place where every room had special meaning, every piece of furniture and painting an expression of their love.
The lash fell again. Her back exploded in pain. She cried out despite herself, the wall before her dotted with her tears. Her husband wasn’t angry, he was furious with her, and she bore the brunt of his rage.
Normally he’d speak to her when she needed to be disciplined, tell her where she’d failed him, demand better behavior over and over. Sometimes the humiliation of the lecturing was worse to bear than the actual punishment.
Not this time. This time he was silent. Many said, “ Fear the Emperor in his anger, be terrified of him in his calm.” This was such a time. Dressed in his black leather pants and boots, his unadorned white cotton shirt, his blonde hair loose around his shoulders, his lips were pressed in a thin, pink line, his blue eyes as hard as diamonds. Her startling disobedience left him so upset, he couldn’t speak.
The lash fell across her buttocks.
They’d ridden here with their son in quiet. She’d followed him to the stables with her brother, feeling the eyes on her, the quiet pregnant with suspense. It was the talk of the Empire that she would be subjected to his discipline. Some speculated as to why. She could crush him with her power. With a gesture and a thought, she would have Emperor Rancor Mordetur on his knees with his hair in his hands, screaming for her mercy. With an extension of her will, he would die in twisted agony between the time it would take him to pull back his arm, and for the lash to fall.
As it did.
As it did again.
She cried out and wept. His breathing was heavy. The fury was passing. He might be rethinking himself, or he might be startled as to what he’d done to her already.
This was as bad as she’d ever been beaten by him. He’d dragged her here by her hair past the estate servants, ripped the leather travel harness from her body before he’d shut the door. He’d shoved her to the wall and pulled out the lash—something to be used on the aurochs by the herders.
He hadn’t spoken from that moment to this, but he’d let his point be known with the lash.
“Maybe you need to spend a year with your people,” he said, finally.
She gasped. “No!” she wept. “No, Yonega Waya. Please—please no. Not away from you. Never away from you.”
Her tears and sweat ran down her breasts and belly, running through the stretch marks on her otherwise flat muscle, however faint. They formed puddles on the floor.
“You have no respect for me,” he said. “My words mean nothing to you.
“I won’t have this.”
She wailed and spun on her heel, threw herself at his feet, her cheek to his boots. She’d die. She knew it. She’d die without him. She loved this man. As much if not more
now than the first day she’d met him, she’d pledged herself to him. She’d faced down a god for him. She’d pitched her life to his path a dozen times, born the pain of childbirth for him. Left her people.
“No,” she said. “No, no, no, no, no.”
He was hard as stone. She knew he had it in him to make this decision. To put her on a horse with a thousand Wolf Soldier guards and to move her to her father’s tribe.
She’d made such a bad decision. She’d do almost anything to take it back. And he knew—not about her being barren, but about what she’d nearly had to do to their children. She could see it in his eyes. That’s where the anger came from. He loved his children almost as much as he loved her.
And she knew it was so, because had anyone else been guilty of what she’d done, that person would certainly be dead.
“Get up.”
She stood before him, dust mixed with sweat on her face and breasts, in her hair. She arched her back and put back her shoulders for him, her eyes on his white shirt, stained with his sweat, avoiding his eyes because he’d put her right back against the wall if he thought she still defied him.
She didn’t think he’d broken the skin on her back. He’d never done that. But he’d given her bruises that would shock her friends, if she let them see them.
His eyes ran over her naked body. She’d seen where Raven shaved her pubic hair away, and she’d done it with Nina’s help. If this was the way of women of his world, then she’d do it.
She’d do anything for her man. Not because she feared him, but because she knew him. She knew his heart. She knew why he was so cruel to her sometimes, and he knew why he could beat her like he had.
Because if he didn’t, then she’d simply defy him and, eventually, she’d discard him. There was a reason why her father had been willing to trade a powerful sorceress for a horse he could have stolen: because no other man would have her. No other man could keep her.