Haradum sounded reverent, “Every day for ten days and every night for ten nights, you recited the entirety of the code of hoksune.”
As if of one mind, every warrior in the room went to their knees and bowed.
PART THREE
THE TWIN SWORDS OF BALAASH had been placed reverently on the stone floor before her as Makeda had knelt in meditation. At times she was envious of the extollers and their ability to commune with the exalted dead, because the swords were silent to her ears. Hours had passed, but still the answers eluded her. If only she could truly know the wisdom of her ancestors, perhaps then, choosing between the demands of honor and the potential future of her house would not be so difficult.
They were high in the Shroudfall Mountains, and the air in the uppermost chamber of the tallest tower of the old fortress seemed permanently chilled. Makeda’s measured breathing left clouds of steam in the air. The sun would rise soon, and when it did, her army would need direction.
There was a sound from behind her, a shuffling and wheezing on the stairs. Makeda did not need to look to know that it was Aptimus Haradum. The aged extoller had made it a habit to check on her. “Archdomina Makeda?” she called out.
“That is not my title, Haradum.”
“Your warriors seem to think it is.”
Makeda stared at her swords. “They believe me to be more than I am.”
Haradum wheezed and shuffled her way into the upper chamber. “So many stairs, and it is so cold here. This place must have been built by nihilators wishing to suffer. I am lucky our young dakar with the reiver allowed me to pass. I believe he has appointed himself to be your personal guard.”
“Urkesh?” Makeda asked. She had not been aware that the Venator had been following.
“Yes, yes. He took the final order of Primus Zabalam most seriously. I collected Zabalam’s soul by the way. He killed twenty warriors before catching a spear in the throat.” She patted a glowing stone chained to her apron. “He will make a fine revered companion to Vaactash.”
Makeda was surprised by the sudden feeling in her chest. She hid the physical reaction, and merely nodded in approval. “A wise choice.”
“As for the young Venator, after you were overcome with poison, he lost control of the ferox. Wily beasts have no patience for untrained masters. He carried you on his back for miles until reaching your decurium. He never left your side the entire time you were consumed with fever.”
“I was unaware.” Urkesh’s commitment to duty was commendable. Perhaps it was possible to honor hoksune even without looking into a warrior’s eyes as you killed them.
“What troubles you, Makeda?”
“I have a decision to make, but the code does not provide me with clarity on this issue. I do not like being uncertain.”
“You always were one for clarity. As Vaactash used to say, when a titan is chasing, do not dither, pick a direction and run!”
That really did not sound like something her grandfather would have said at all. “I would ask a favor of you, Aptimus.”
“I am already aware of what you seek, and I already have an answer for you. While you were battling the fever, I attempted to commune with the essence of your grandfather’s spirit which dwells within your swords. Such a task is onerous and difficult, and sometimes our exalted ancestors do not deign to answer. Sometimes they know that the living must seek out wisdom for themselves. There was only the briefest communication.”
“What did he say?”
“The true heir of House Balaash has already won.”
Makeda was not surprised. It was not like Vaactash to provide an easy way out. “Akkad is the eldest, thus it is his legal right to rule. However, should an heir be deemed unfit, and I believe his dishonorable and cowardly murders—”
“Do not forget the blasphemy!”
“Of course.” Makeda had to suppress a small smile. “That too. These things prove he is unworthy to lead House Balaash. So it falls to me to issue a challenge. It is my duty to defeat him in single combat and assume the mantle of archdomina.”
“Assuming of course you could defeat the finest warrior of his generation in a duel, but that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Akkad will ignore my challenge and merely have me killed. Someone so dishonorable will not risk his throne. Akkad declared me an outcast. Officially, I am of lower status than a newly captured slave.”
“Most slaves do not have their own armies.”
“Yes. And if I march this army south, then somewhere on the plains north of Halaak we will clash against the rest of House Balaash. Thousands upon thousands will die.”
“It will be glorious.” Haradum shook one of her bony fists in the air. “To war! To war! The blood will flow like rivers!”
Makeda sighed. “The problem with a civil war is that whoever wins, House Balaash loses. Akkad or I, the victor is irrelevant. We will rule over a house that is weakened and ripe to be conquered by our neighbors. House Balaash has far too many enemies to gut our army and expect to survive.”
“Yes, yes.” Haradum was nodding along. “Perhaps you should accept your title of outcast and wander the wastes the rest of your days. I hear the Abyss is quite the sight to see.” Haradum’s laugh sounded like old bones being shaken in a dried-out leather bag.
“My fate does not matter, Aptimus, only that of my house. Is it better that a blasphemous fiend rule than I start a war that ends House Balaash? Will my house rot under the rule of a dishonorable archdominar? I am of the warrior caste. I must fight for the good of my house.”
“Is that why you fight?”
Makeda paused. It was such a simple question with such a complicated answer. Why did she fight? Why did the skorne have to fight? She thought back to the very first time in her life when she had come to understand the reasoning behind that question, in a hall filled with silent ancestors . . .
And then Makeda had her answer. Thank you, Grandfather.
“Do you know what the foulest of all words is, Haradum?”
“Surely something involving rhinodons. They are obnoxious things with disgusting reproductive habits!”
“The foulest of all words is peace.” Makeda took up her swords and rose. “Come. I must prepare the warriors. We march.”
The ancient extoller squealed with delight. “Many will be exalted, I am sure!” Haradum cackled and patted one of the many empty sacral stones she wore like jewelry, knowing that it would soon be filled. “To war! To war!”
During the journey south, her body healed, but her mind was at turmoil. At night, sleep would not come, and when it did, it brought uneasy dreams of disapproving ancestors and House Balaash in flames.
Her cohort grew. New warriors joined her daily. From simple Hestatians from the plains wearing basic armor stitched together from titan hide, to proud Cataphract so large of stature and wearing so much steel and laminate armor that they looked more like ancestral guardians than mortals, to nihilators obsessed with death and with barbed pain hooks embedded in their flesh, to Venators armed with nothing more than slings and vials filled with corrosive acid, to other rich and powerful tyrants with their own stables of warbeasts.
Veterans knelt before her. Great leaders presented their swords or their mortitheurgy and swore to fight in her name. She formed new datha and taberna, and promoted warriors to lead them, gave battle orders, and saw to their logistical needs. They travelled fast and lean, often making do with innate toughness rather than sufficient rations. By day Makeda had to learn to balance the politics, bickering, and petty ambitions of so many competing warriors, and by night she dreamed of war.
The warriors came for various reasons. Some because of old loyalties to Telkesh, or belief in the code, or disgust over the dishonor of losing an archdominar to poison, or vassals who decided to support one heir over another, to others who simply wished for a battle worthy of their skills. But whatever the reason, they continued to join, and the further south they went, the stronger her army became.
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Within a week of leaving the Shroudfall, her army had grown large enough to pose a real threat to House Balaash. She estimated that nearly a quarter of House Balaash’s total sabaoth was under her command. A host so numerous, in fact, that even if they were to go down in defeat, it would be a great enough battle that it would surely ruin the entire army of House Balaash in the process.
And for one of the only times in her life, Makeda understood what it was to fear.
She feared not for herself. If she was to be found wanting, let her be cast into the Void with the rest of the failures. That did not matter. Makeda feared only for the future of her house.
Ancestors, if I am to be defeated, let it happen swiftly, so that my house may be spared.
Each night she would counsel with her officers and listen as the tacticians made their plans. Far too many of those plans ended with a slaughter that would lead to the eventual destruction of her house. She spoke with each of the officers individually, searching for ideas that would accomplish her mission, yet leave the great army of Balaash relatively intact.
Yet it was not one of the mighty war leaders that had finally proposed a possible solution to her dilemma.
It had been a slave.
“I do not see Akkad’s personal banner among the horde,” Urkesh said as he slowly moved his eyes from side to side, searching carefully for targets. “He did not bother to come himself.”
The Venator had proven to have the most acute vision of any of her officers so Makeda was inclined to believe him. “I should not be surprised.” It was difficult to keep the disgust from her voice. “But I am disappointed.”
The morning mist had risen from the lake and a low fog hung over the plains. Makeda had spent most of her life in this region. She knew it well. Within a few hours the sun would rise enough to cut through the kneehigh fog, but until then the air would be still. To the east was what seemed like a never-ending sea of red and gold marching through the churning grey. The majority of the great army of House Balaash was arrayed before her, thousands strong. A few miles behind that army was House Balaash itself, once her home, and now her target. At her back was a much smaller army, made up of warriors who still believed that honor meant something. To their north was the long crystal-blue expanse of Mirketh Lake. To the south was nothing but miles of open plains until the great city of Halaak.
It was a fine place for a civil war.
Makeda and Urkesh had stopped on top of a small rise to survey the opposition. The rest of her command staff was making their way up the hill for a hasty council before the battle commenced. It had taken a month to march south from the Shroudfall Mountains. During that time they had been met by a few small cohorts of Akkad’s loyalists, but had faced no serious combat. Judging by the great force waiting for them, that was all about to change.
It did not matter. Makeda had looked upon these officers and judged them worthy. The warriors of House Balaash who believed in hoksune and the traditions of their ancestors had flocked to her banner. Despite being outnumbered three to one, victory would be hers. The real question was whether House Balaash would survive for long after the slaughter necessary to achieve such a victory.
It was the potential fall of her house which had kept her awake each night during the journey. “I was afraid of this. I had hoped he would show himself. Curse Akkad. This complicates matters, Urkesh.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Makeda glanced at her subordinate. The Venator had barely left her side since their march had begun. “You assume much, Dakar. I know what I must do, but in order to succeed, I fear I must behave as dishonorably as my brother.”
“A Venator spends so much time looking at targets in the distance that often we cannot focus on things that are near.” Urkesh studied her for a moment. “I know what vexes you. The burden can be seen in your countenance, Archdomina.”
“That is not yet my title.”
“It would not be my place to disagree with you, but if it was, I would tell you that you are wrong. You are nothing like your brother. He would burn your house in order to rule it, but you would kill yourself in order to save it. This army follows you because to them you embody the code of hoksune. You are more the true heir of House Balaash than your brother could ever hope to be, and these warriors know it.”
Her caste did not display their emotions openly, so Makeda gave the Venator a small, respectful nod. “They follow me because they follow the code. So why are you here, Urkesh?”
He shrugged. “The code means different things to different warriors. Just because I am not good at it, doesn’t mean that I don’t believe it.”
“You are wiser than you look.”
“Thank you, Archdomina.” Urkesh went back to surveying the opposing army. “Now where are you hiding, One Ear?” Urkesh looked over at her and grinned. “I didn’t think you would mind me calling him that now.”
Makeda sighed. “Do not tempt me. Beheading you could still boost morale.”
The incorrigible Venator chuckled. The other officers had reached them, so Urkesh put on a much more serious face. “Since Akkad is telling everyone that our army is only a minor rebellion that needs to be squashed, apparently he decided we’re not nearly worthy of his attentions, and has failed to honor us with his presence.”
Her officers took in the great horde awaiting them. “Leading from the rear? That is not how Akkad was taught,” muttered Primus Tushhan of the Cataphract. “I served Telkesh and Vaactash before him. They would never have done such a cowardly thing.”
Aptimus Haradum had shuffled her way up the hill along with the officers. “Not cowardly—cunning,” she interjected. “Akkad is a shrewd one. He knows that his sister will take the honorable and direct path, thus his absence is the most politically expedient choice.” At times Makeda suspected that the ancient extoller was not nearly as mad as she liked everyone to think, but then she cackled with glee and removed all doubt. “House Balaash will be emptied of blood before you crack him from that shell. Extollers will have gathered from all across the land! So many will die! Everyone will die! It will be glorious!”
Makeda ignored the crazed extoller and addressed her officers. “I cannot challenge Akkad if he’s not present. If he were here, he would either have to accept and risk potential defeat, or decline and be dishonored. I was hoping he had retained enough honor to come out and face me.”
The gigantic young Cataphract from the vassal house of Kophar had a deep, hearty laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. I have trained against Akkad. He is a mighty warrior, the finest of our generation. I do not mean to question your skill with the blade and offer no offence, but know that Akkad is one of the greatest combatants I have ever seen.”
There were solemn nods of agreement from every officer who had ever served with Akkad in combat. Even her most loyal warriors understood that honor alone would not carry her through that duel, yet they followed anyway.
“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy watching you two duel,” Only a small contingent of House Kophar volunteers had jointed her forces, but they were renowned for their size, ferocity, and strength. “But I did not come all the way from Halaak to leave without a proper battle.”
“Do not worry, First Born Xerxis. You will get your fight, but it is better to spill my own blood than leave our house without an army to defend it. I intend to finish this quickly.” The time had come to share her plan. It would be controversial, but it was necessary. “Tell me, noble Cataphract. Does your house still speak of how my grandfather conquered you?”
Xerxis frowned, obviously not liking having to admit his family had ever been bested. “Of course we do. Each of us studies the battles in great detail.” He folded his thick arms. “There is no dishonor in losing against the greatest tactician of all time.”
“Of course not. When Vaactash went to war against House Kophar, your warriors impressed him greatly, so much in fact that he decided it was a waste to kill them. I remember him telling me the story
, Why kill these warriors who would be able to fight so capably in my name? So instead Vaactash concentrated his strength against your dominar, defeated him, and added the proud Cataphracts of Kophar to his own army, strengthening us all.”
That seemed to placate the heir of Kophar. The rest of her officers were nodding. “What do you propose then?” Xerxis asked.
“There was great wisdom in what Vaactash did to House Kophar. I will not see House Balaash destroyed. I will not satisfy my honor only to see House Muzkaar or Telarr sitting upon our throne within a year. As Vaactash said, ‘Why kill those who would be able to fight so capably in my name?’ Yes, you will fight here today, but seek your exaltation quickly, because you will only fight long enough for me to reach Akkad.”
“There is the matter of a very large army standing between the two of you,” Tushhan pointed out.
“Indeed, but Haradum spoke the truth. Akkad will expect me to do the honorable and direct thing. He knows that honor demands that my place be here, leading this cohort. Yet, I remember the lessons of my sword master. Show your foe one blade, and kill him with the other.” Makeda looked toward the waters of Mirketh Lake. “Today you will be the first sword. I will be the second.”
Ancestors communed with, blades sharpened, and armor readied, the battle of House Balaash commenced. Hundreds of eager extollers looked on, seeking those worthy of exaltation from the masses.
It began simply enough, as affairs of such historical magnitude often did, but every veteran on the field knew that by the time the sun crawled to the middle of the sky, thousands upon thousands of House Balaash’s warriors would be dead.
Venator catapults hurled balls packed with explosives and steel shards high into the air to hurtle down into the opposing ranks. The mechanical whine of millions of needles filled the plains as thousands of reivers fired simultaneously. Beasts bellowed and shrieked, whipped into frenzies by the beast handlers, before being released on paths of destruction.
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