by J. F. Lewis
Kholster pushed himself upright, Grudge hanging loosely in his right hand. The maneuver brought him cheek to cheek with Yavi, the Eldrennai blood on his face leaving a thin red smear along her samir. Startled, she skipped back a step and the guardsmen reached for their blades.
“You have until three dawns have passed. I . . . or my representative . . . will uphold the Grand Conjunction the Eldrennai care so much about, delayed though it may be,” Kholster spat out. “One. Last. Time. Then our truce is ended.”
“But,” Yavi began.
“Prophecy or no prophecy,” Kholster bulled on. “By my own life and the lives of those who died still in Eldrennai bondage, I so swear, there will be war between the Aern and the Eldrennai until every last one of them is dead or . . . until I am.”
Yavi turned away. It was too late, and she seemed to know it.
Maker, Bloodmane began. Kholster. Please.
No, Kholster thought back at the armor. If you want to stop me, Bloodmane, words won’t do it. Kill me, then refuse to accept my bones. My oath allows the Aern to stop if I’m dead. I leave this plane of existence or they do.
To Kholster’s left, the healer knelt over the fallen guardsman. His eyes found the Aern’s and they stabbed at him with their accusations. “He’s dead. My magic should have been able to heal him, but . . .”
An eagle’s cry sounded from the warpick in the general’s right hand. “He was wounded by the grudge I bear, healer. No magic could save him, only strong medicine and a stronger will. He had neither,” Kholster replied wearily. “Let’s get Prince Stump Ears to the palace before you lose another patient.”
The healer nodded, and the procession moved on.
CHAPTER 52
CLOSE QUARTERS
Dolvek’s personal suite had been hastily rearranged to accommodate his two new guests. Though Yavi’d had her own set of rooms during her recent stay, all agreed that the Conjunction necessitated a certain proximity. The prince sat out on the balcony, attempting to perform his daily exercises and frustrating the ministrations of his attendant healer. Yavi found him quite entertaining. She made another circuit around the spacious quarters.
The suite was larger than one person could possibly actually need. Three doors led off to adjoining rooms: one to the prince’s bedroom, another to a private guest room, the other to the prince’s washroom. A steel door stood ajar, open to the hallway, its spell-seal currently disengaged. Yavi watched a small, bored spirit, the embodiment of the magic within the spell-seal, mimicking the prince from its perch atop the large bolt that could be brought across the door.
A new suit of crystal armor already hung on a mannequin set in what Yavi privately thought was a small shrine to Dolvek’s military prowess. Weapons of steel, crystal, and other more exotic material hung in neat rows on the wall. Above the armor, a mystic rendition of the prince in full armor glowed brightly, sneering down at her.
Prince Dolvek’s small military library occupied one corner of the room and held Kholster’s interest to the exclusion of all else. He sat in the prince’s reading chair, a map spread out on the desk before him, looking back and forth from it to the book he was reading. His warpick lay propped against his thigh for, she assumed, easy access in case a horde of Zaur managed to climb the battlements and storm the balcony.
How could her mother have ever been attracted to this Aern? A certain charm, a very primal charm, did exist there, but it was overbalanced by a hatred that confounded Yavi. “You’re reading an updated record of public works?” she asked.
He nodded. “For the invasion. It will be much easier to capture the city or reclaim it from the Zaur if I know what changes have been made.”
“He’s reading what?” Dolvek stormed in from outside, his healer protesting ineffectually. “How dare you? You sit here, in my home, enjoying my hospitality and . . .”
Kholster shut the book with a loud pop. “I think,” he said as he stood and walked to a bookshelf, “I will make this,” reshelved the book firmly enough to rock the shelf, “my son’s art studio,” and turned, arms crossed, to the prince, “when I capture this place. He may never visit, but it will be nice to have one waiting for him all the same.”
“Do you have to threaten him every five minutes?” Yavi asked. Their bickering never seemed to end for long.
“I only speak to him when spoken to, Yavi. Is it my fault he refuses to keep his mouth shut?”
Yavi saw Prince Dolvek begin to open his mouth and spoke first to cut him off. “How is Irka? Any new sibs?” Kholster’s broad grin took her by surprise. He looks like any other parent when he thinks of his son, she mused.
“He has a sister, alive, I hope.” His chest puffed up with obvious pride then deflated as some dark thought banished the light.
“You hope?”
“The Zaur take no prisoners. She went missing, apparently among Zaur. I had intended her to take my place at Oot.”
“You’d feel it if something happened to her, though. Right?”
“I like to think I would.”
“Tell me about her.”
It was on his lips to say no, she could almost see the words in outline on his breath, but he relented.
“She’s something special. Females are rare among my people; each one is a treasure, and not just because of their scarcity. . . . They are a triumph over the Eldrennai—it was intended by our creator that all Aern be male. When she was ready I intended to make her First.”
“First?” Yavi asked.
“To bestow upon her my rank. More so than your half-brother, Irka, Rae’en has what it takes to kholster my people, and she was Freeborn. Don’t think that means she’ll be easy on you.” He pointed at Prince Dolvek. “You had best hope that matters are settled between our peoples before she becomes First. You’ll be torn apart like a hunter who’s stumbled across a mad irkanth defending her cubs. When . . . one day the Aern no longer need me, I will surrender my spirit to her and give her my strength, knowledge, all that I am, and she will truly be First. It’s a process usually reserved for Incarna, but Torgrimm has allowed male Hundreds to bequeath themselves to their female offspring before. It’s why there are nineteen female Hundreds now. He will grant me the same favor.”
“Aernese tale spinning!” Dolvek spat.
“See it so,” Kholster quipped. “Live long enough and see it so.”
King Grivek stood in the open doorway, a shadow across his face. “It’s true, I’m afraid,” he said without entering. “I’ve seen it happen. It’s why the Aern don’t worship any gods, because their souls do not leave Barrone.” He stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him, leaning against it. Yavi felt the tension between Grivek and Kholster so strongly that it appeared to her eyes a spirit in potential, a powerful thing she could have unleashed with her magic. But it would be a wild and untamable creature, beyond her control. The spell-seal spirit sensed it too and hid behind its lock.
The king held his hands out to Kholster palms down and fingers splayed, a gesture of respect as old as the Aern—one that the Aern had been forced to offer their Eldrennai masters. “Kholster, I bid you welcome . . .”
“Spare them,” Kholster snapped. Confused, the king began to speak again, but Kholster interrupted him. “Your words, Eldrennai king, and your empty gestures. Do not break them on my battlements. They can neither take the castle nor storm the gates . . . so spare them; they are ill spent on me.”
“At least let me thank you for saving my son.”
“I did not save him.” Kholster’s voice dropped in volume until it was barely perceptible. “If you must thank someone, your gratitude belongs to Yavi.”
Yavi’s cheeks darkened. “No, Kholster,” she protested. “I could have never tracked how to help him without you. The antidote wouldn’t have worked without your . . .”
“Do not shame me further.” Kholster stepped close to her, his body pressed against hers. She flinched, expecting him to grab her arms, but his hands remained at his sides
. His words hissed into her ear, tiny impassioned whispers. “What you did with the information I gave you, with what you took, for good or for ill, is on your ears, not mine. Please understand that.”
Dolvek drew his sword, dumping the attendant healer onto his rump. “Get away from her!”
“You think I would hurt her?” Kholster laughed, taking a step back from Yavi. “Me, with whom she is safest? She should have let you die and spared your father the grief of yet another half-wit son.”
“I can take care of myself, Prince Dolvek.” Even as she spoke, Yavi was struck by Kholster’s choice of words, so similar to the words Bloodmane had spoken when they met in the museum: He will think that you are in danger, the armor had scoffed, here where you are safest.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” The prince’s voice softened.
“You didn’t mean, you didn’t understand, you didn’t think,” Kholster berated. “You are all the same. You only mean something if it works. You only accept responsibility for a gambit if it succeeds. Any failings should be forgiven you, because the high holy Eldrennai always have the best intentions!”
“Could you please not shout like that right over me?” Yavi held her hands to her ears.
“My apology is yours, Yavi,” Kholster responded instantly. “I let him get beneath my armor.” The backs of his fingertips touched her cheek, soft and feather-like, a phantom touch. Gromma, she thought, you’d think he was a Vael, no grabbing, no confining movements. Even when he stood against me, he didn’t grasp; he left me free to escape. I think I know what Mother saw in him after all.
“And my forgiveness is yours, Kholster; just keep it down to an irkanth’s roar.”
Kholster nodded. Yavi waited for someone else to say something, but they all stood in the silence, glaring at one another. Dolvek sheathed his sword grudgingly but showed no sign of returning to his exercises.
“Do you have to wear that in the house?” Yavi tapped the center of her forehead then flicked the finger outward, an expression of noncomprehension.
“As long as the Aern is here,” Dolvek said defensively, “and it’s a castle, not a . . .”
“Put it away,” Grivek said acidly.
The prince complied by drawing his sword and hurling it at the wall, where the blade stuck point first. Yavi and Kholster remained silent. The king stood quietly too, but his silence seemed born of embarrassment, rather than the hatred between Kholster and Dolvek.
“Have you heard back from your scouts, Oathbreaker?” The Aern returned to his seat at Dolvek’s desk.
“From three of them,” Grivek answered. “The South Watch is safe, as is Forest Watch. My Lancers also checked in on Silverleaf and Porthost as they traveled the White Road.”
“And the third watch city?” Kholster asked.
Grivek looked down, his emotions unreadable. “The North Watch tower is gone. Wylant led her Lancers down into a tunnel they found in its place. I have not heard more than that which young Kam brought with him.”
“Wylant will be fine,” Kholster snorted, leaning back in the chair and propping his boots up on the desk. “She’s just decided to engage the enemy. You’ll hear back from her when the fighting’s over.”
When he spoke of Wylant, Yavi thought she heard fondness, almost affection, in his voice. I must be hearing things, she told herself.
“I hope that is true.” King Grivek looked away.
“The North Watch is gone?” Dolvek demanded. “When did this happen?”
“While you were sleeping.” Kholster drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the bone-steel rings of his mail shirt. “I’m impressed they’ve decided to use tunnels. They’ve dug pits before, but to tunnel under a Watch and take it from below . . . Warlord Xastix must be a cunning reptile indeed.”
“Kholster,” Grivek began. “Since you’re here, perhaps you would give us the benefit of your military advice?”
“I suggest you build a tremendous bonfire and burn yourselves on it.” Kholster put a hand casually on the haft of his warpick. “Why ask me? Why not ask your dear friend Bloodmane? He seems sympathetic enough to your cause.”
“Great Aldo,” King Grivek sighed. To Yavi, it seemed his spirit flickered and dimmed. She offered him a hand for support, but he waved it away. “So you do know.”
“I knew before I came, Eldrennai king.” Kholster slid his boots off the desk, his heels leaving a faint scuff on the finish. “When your idiot son dared speak down to my wife, when he questioned whether or not I could even read. More than thirteen years ago he implied that I was not ‘a specter of death looming in the shadows and waiting to destroy’ you all. That’s exactly what I was. More than thirteen years ago, Dolvek shattered our truce, and yet here I am, fulfilling my part of the bargain, keeping my oaths. I said that I or my representative would return in one hundred years for the next Grand Conjunction.” He stood, brought Grudge up in an arc and slammed it down, reducing the desk to splinters. “And here I am.” He pointed at Grivek with his warpick, and it let loose the angry cry of a bird of prey. “As promised. My other oaths will be kept as well.”
“Kholster, I know what we have done to your people. I recall your oath, and yet it is my hope . . .” Grivek began cautiously.
“Do not beg from him, Father,” Dolvek interrupted. “If our truce is no more, then he is an enemy of the Eldrennai. I say we put him to death.”
Kholster grinned at the prince, as if daring him to try.
“Be silent, Dolvek,” roared the king, “or blood or no blood, son or no son, I will put you to death! You don’t have the barest inkling of what is at stake here. If the Aern come for us, they will destroy us. If we do not have the Aern’s help, the Zaur will destroy us. How many Zaur do you think there are in the mountains? How many of them do you think are trained from birth as warriors?” He reached out to put a hand on Dolvek’s shoulder, but his son turned away.
“You are a coward, Father, just like Rivvek.” Dolvek walked back to the balcony doors, his attendant doing his best to stay out of the way. “You bow down to the Aern like we owe them our lives,” he snarled. “So we enslaved them? We freed them as well. We created them! Wylant could have wiped them out at the Sundering, but you stayed her hand. We let them go. We owe them nothing else! Price paid.”
“He’s such a nice bowel movement,” Kholster told Yavi, stepping over the splinters of the desk. “Aren’t you glad you decided to preserve him?”
“And you accuse us of hatred?” Dolvek shouted from the balcony. “What did we do that was so terrible? I’ve read the histories and nothing seems . . .”
“The Battle of As You Please,” Kholster said softly.
“More tale spinning,” Dolvek laughed. “Everyone knows that did not happen.”
“It happened,” said King Grivek dully.
“Oh, please,” Dolvek protested. “Maybe something like it happened, but . . .
“It happened just as the Aern say it did,” Grivek continued, almost emotionlessly. “I have never heard it told falsely, except by Eldrennai.”
Yavi held up her hand. “Um, right, just so that I’m tracking you all . . . what is the Battle of Azupleez? I don’t even know where that is.”
“As. You. Please,” Kholster corrected. “The Battle of As You Please. There are other reasons. Being used as breeding stock. Being forced by magic to follow orders, being treated as property instead of as allies . . .” He shook his head. “Not allowing my direct descendants to forge warsuits and join the ranks of the Armored. I can forgive many things, but I cannot forgive the Battle of As You Please.”
CHAPTER 53
THE BATTLE OF
AS YOU PLEASE
Grudgebearer, Vael, and Eldrennai stood in the prince’s chambers. Yavi sat down on an overstuffed sofa, and Dolvek’s father sat next to her. Both of them looked on with rapt attention as Kholster deliberately removed his bone-steel mail. Seeing the Aern bare to the waist increased the prince’s ill temper, but he shepherded his
words carefully. Anything he said at this point would only make Yavi more likely to side with the lying Grudgebearer. What was the Aern trying to prove by wearing mail without a gambeson? As if he were actually that hardened.
The prince leaned against the sofa reluctantly, watching Kholster as he drew a bone-steel chain bearing little charms and ornaments—also bone-steel—from his pack, attaching them reverently to his warpick until the chain-wrapped weapon resembled an awkward percussion instrument.
“These are the bones of my children, a single chain or charm from each of the slain. The links from sons. The charms from my daughters.”
Yavi made a surprised noise and covered her mouth with both hands, but Kholster did not look at her. He turned away from them, revealing his broad, muscular back. Dolvek had expected it to be covered in battle scars but instead found the tan skin of Kholster’s back oddly smooth except for the scars, identifying lineage, borne by all Aern. A wedge as long as Kholster’s index finger angled inward along each shoulder blade, and a vertical thumb-width line marred the flesh along his spine. The last scar was at the small of his back. It was a diamond shape, each flat side of the diamond bearing two matching lines parallel to it.
Kholster flexed, and the marks whitened.
“These are not my father’s scars.” Kholster pounded his warpick on the floor rhythmically, speaking in a singsong voice, calm but pregnant with emotion. “I have no father. I am of the One Hundred, the First, held by no womb, without mother.”
The jingling beat of the warpick and the cadence of Kholster’s words reminded Dolvek of an entertainer who had once come to them from the far-off land of Khalvad, but the Aern’s performance was neither whimsical nor erotic. It was somber and rebellious.
“When you hear these chains and charms, tremble, for you hear my children and they are born slayers. Rae’en of Helg: my heart; Irka of Kari: my peaceful son—my Incarna. They are my only Freeborn children, for I took no wife for five centuries, to honor the memory of my sons and daughters who died in a battle against no enemy. To them I was no father but Kholster only, yet they bore my scars and were my offspring. Of their mothers I know not.”