by J. F. Lewis
“Thank you, Father, you won’t . . .”
“. . . under Bloodmane. I will go to the . . . to Oot with Kholster and Yavi for the Grand Conjunction.”
“There may be some dissension,” Dolvek said frankly.
“And you will make sure our troops are won over, that they heed every hollow intonation which issues forth from that remarkable suit of armor.”
Dolvek closed his eyes, swaying as if he might faint. “And if I can’t?”
“Execute them,” the king answered grimly. “Bloodmane may be our only chance to drive back the Zaur without Wylant’s leadership. Only one being on this orb has more experience fighting the Zaur than General Bloodmane and that is the being who forged him. Kholster has given us five days to defeat the Zaur. It will be hard, but not impossible, if our people do exactly as the warsuits command. Though they are but armor, they have, after all, done it before.”
Grivek left the room in silence. Yavi crept out after him. She had no interest in watching the temper tantrum she was sure would soon take place.
CHAPTER 55
EMPTY WORDS
Nothing about the mission was going as planned. The long rows of Aernese warsuits, standing aboveground in the open sunlight, heartened Kholster, until he considered their desire to help the Eldrennai. Bloodmane stood at the far end of the group with the nine other suits who had been placed on display in Prince Dolvek’s Aern exhibit. Kholster’s keen ears picked up the sound of protesting Oathbreakers, residents and business owners arguing with the knights about being confined to their homes. King Grivek clearly did not want a fight to spring up on his doorstep.
Kholster, eyes forward, walked the entire length of the arrayed force. A chant began as he started, and by the time he reached Bloodmane, it was deafening. “Kholster! Khol-ster! Khol-ster!” Light flickered within the crystal eyes of the warsuits of the One Hundred, a sign his Armored were conversing mentally with their chanting creations. Kholster assumed his Aern were trying to silence the army, but the troops were too excited. It had never happened under his leadership, but after their millennia in captivity, Kholster was inclined to let them yell.
“Maker,” Bloodmane’s hollow voice greeted Kholster. The voice was strange to Kholster, so empty compared to the words he felt in his head when he conversed with the armor.
“Kholster Bloodmane,” Kholster replied with a nod, a gesture of equality.
“I am not a kholster.”
“Yes.” Kholster placed his hand on the armor’s spaulder and sparks flashed around his fingertips, the contact burning him. An Artificer might have used long words to explain what was happening, how their souls, once part of the same being, had over time become incompatible. Kholster needed only one word: betrayal.
Bloodmane had sided with the enemy, and in doing so, the touch of the armor, which had once been soothing and pleasurable, had become pain and loss. Unnatural and unholy as it was, Kholster could not bring himself to hate the armor that had once been one with him. He pressed his hand down despite the pain. “You are. You became one when you sided with the Oathbreakers. Your army is there.” He raised his chin to indicate the ranked warsuits. “They were once a part of my army, but no more.”
“But you are Kholster Bloodmane, I . . .”
“Wrong!” Kholster’s voice was a shout. Grinding his teeth together, the Aern bridled his anger and removed his still-sizzling hand from the armor. “We were Kholster Bloodmane, together. Now you are kholster Bloodmane, the new kholster Bloodmane, and I am merely Kholster and my soldiers are the Aern. Though the Ossuarians and their warsuits are one, my army is not. My army fights without its mighty armor of old. Even the humans know that.”
“Don’t do this.” Bloodmane held out its empty gauntlets in supplication.
“Do not lay this at my feet, kholster,” Kholster continued, holding his scorched hand up to the armor’s crystal eyes. “I did not change. You changed! I stand here now only because I said we would be together again, and I keep my word. Keeping my word is what I am! I am an Aern, an Oathkeeper, a Grudgebearer! And this,” he raised Grudge high over his head before slamming it down, burying it point first in the white marble street, “is my Grudge!”
Long strands of violet energy surged between Grudge, Hunger, and Bloodmane, violently forcing the armor and its weapon away from Kholster and his. Silence swept over the assembled warsuits, their crystal eyes flashing with accelerating rapidity.
“You changed,” Kholster whispered, his voice filled with a pain that was far from physical. “You forgave. You let go of your hatred for the Oathbreakers.”
“They changed too.” This time the voice came from Eyes of Vengeance, Vander’s armor.
“They did not change!” Kholster protested with a voice so loud it reverberated within the metal bodies of the armor nearest him. “They merely no longer have the ability to treat us as they once did because we,” he waved a hand to indicate both himself and the armor, “took it away from them.”
His voice softened but still carried to all the warsuits. “You were there, all of you. Of course they seem different. They no longer have slaves. They have servants. They pay humans to do their dirty work. But I have stared into their hearts, and I see no reason for forgiveness.” Both his voice and his eyes hardened as he ripped Grudge from the marble, shouldering it once more. “Deaths cannot be undone! For the wrongs they committed there can be no atonement.”
“They will give us back to you,” Bloodmane told him almost pleadingly. “I spoke to the Eldrennai king.”
“They offer what they cannot give.” Kholster’s head dropped, the sun beating down on him, glinting off his mail. “They offer me my warpick, my warsuit, my old friend, but it no longer exists. In its place, there is only you, a new people, a people once made by the Aern but no longer one with the Aern. A good people. A proud people.”
“We will do whatever you wish,” Bloodmane countered. “If you want us to kill the Eldrennai, we will do it. We are implements of war.”
Kholster laughed dryly. “Clearly not. You are more. The Aern are weapons. You wish to be shields. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. I will not forge you into something you are not, nor will I enslave my own creation.”
“Maker, please.” Bloodmane stepped closer to Kholster, but the Aern warded him off with a hand.
“Not maker. You’ve remade yourselves. Become more than we made you. You are your own makers.” He almost spat the final word. “I am Kholster, First of One Hundred . . .” again his voice softened, “and I ask you, kholster Bloodmane, to limit your army’s aid to the Oathbreakers to the end of the Grand Conjunction.”
The response was instant and unanimous. “We agree.”
“At that point, my army intends to invade the Eldren Plains, to kill all the Eldrennai, and retake our homeland,” Kholster warned. “Fight against us, aid us, or ignore us. The choice is yours to make.”
“I understand. We will help you, if you will let us.” Bloodmane stood strong and tall. Kholster wondered if this was what it was like for others to stare up at him thousands of years ago, when he was younger and the world made sense . . . when he stood inside his own skin, his warsuit, born of his spirit . . . and belonged.
“Why?”
“By helping the Eldrennai now, we are merely killing Zaur. It has been many years since we last saw battle; we long for it. It was to fight the Zaur that we were forged. The desire to fight them was worked into us all.”
Kholster saw Rae’en’s gift to him from the race across the Junland Bridge: his smoked-glass spectacles lying on the ground, unsure of when he had dropped them. He put them on, staring at Bloodmane through the darkened lenses. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“We will never fight the Aern. Always, we will come to your aid. Together or apart, our place in battle is with the Aern.”
After no more response than a simple nod, Kholster saluted the armor and turned to leave. As he made the long walk past the assembled war
suits a second time, there was no chanting, but in every company there was at least one suit of armor that reached out to him tentatively, as one might reach after a loved one who is going away on a long journey.
Grivek stood waiting for him at the long stair leading down from the royal tower. “I will be taking my son’s place at the Grand Conjunction, if you will allow it,” Grivek told him.
“Good,” Kholster told him. “It’s always better for a father to die before his children. When the meeting at Oot is done, that favor, at the very least, I hope I can grant you.”
Once inside the tower, alone in the shadow of the entryway, Kholster knelt down, his head in his hands, and wept. It was not the first time he had ever cried, but he thought he could count the number without taking off his boots.
Kholster. Bloodmane’s voice echoed in his mind. I have never led an army before, not without you.
I will help you, Kholster thought back. Guide you, teach you; you may ask me anything. Connected as we are, I will be with you no matter where you go. Which reminds me . . . what of the unborn Aern? Did you wake him?
The Eldrennai are caring for him, Kholster. Bloodmane sounded embarrassed. He is alive, but he neither blinks nor speaks. He does not respond in any way to anything. They think that it might be trauma induced by his long time of waiting.
They will tell you if he responds?
I left Call to Battle watching over him as well.
Kholster wiped his eyes and slumped against the wall in exhaustion. Five more days, he told himself, and all of this waiting will be over. I will wipe out the Eldrennai, and perhaps, in time, our armor will be one with us again.
CHAPTER 56
ROLE REVERSAL
Dolvek’s raised voice echoed from a planning chamber in the central mess hall where the assembled leadership of the Eldrennai military and the College of Elementalists had convened to discuss the matter at hand. “We should charge through the tunnels and assault the main force.” The prince stabbed his finger at a point on the mystic battle map spread across the table.
Your boyfriend is an idiot, Kholster spoke in Bloodmane’s mind.
Not exactly. Bloodmane loomed behind the prince without audible comment, preferring to grant Dolvek time to demonstrate to those in attendance what the armor felt King Grivek should have recognized long before: the prince had a sound tactical mind, but his arrogance blinded him. He had been spoiled and for far too long. “My cavalry can lead the assault . . .”
That’s an excellent plan. Let the Crystal Knights lead the charge, Kholster thought gleefully to the armor. They are the most battle-ready units the Eldrennai have available, and if they charge down those tunnels like overeager children after a treat, they will be shattered, scattered, and completely undone.
My thought was to locate as many of the tunnels as possible and collapse them, Bloodmane countered to Kholster. The Geomancers can ride with Lancers to the six known access points and seal them, except for the northern tunnel.
You think the northern tunnel overextends them? Kholster thought.
Bloodmane felt a burst of pride from his maker as the Aern considered the idea. The armor wondered briefly if Kholster knew Bloodmane could feel his emotions even when he didn’t give them voice.
I do.
Not a bad plan, Kholster agreed. How are you planning on making that work within your timetable?
There is only one way I can think of to make it work, Bloodmane continued. If the College will consent to allow access to the Port Gates in the Tower of Elementals, we could deploy seven Eldre . . . Oathbreaker teams through the gates.
Those cowards? Kholsters thoughts brimmed with disdain. They won’t want to risk the possibility of a Ghaiattri coming through one of the ports while it’s open.
There is no other option. Bloodmane wished there was one. Unless you . . . ?
I’ll evaluate your plans, old friend, but don’t expect me to help you help them any more than that.
So you do see another way?
Tell me more about your plan.
Bloodmane squelched the desire to ask more of Kholster. We’d have to use the Port Gates sparingly. I would station fifty warsuits in the chamber, and we would only access one gate at a time.
You should be able to accomplish, Kholster sent, six or seven transports before the Ghaiattri become an insurmountable problem, but you’re still looking at definite small-group contact.
No more than one or two, Kholster.
It only takes two. A single Ghaiattri your combined forces can handle, but not without paying a price for it, a price that might impact my troops if the Ghaiattri use soul fire, which you know they will. If two come through . . . just two . . .
It would be a new Demon War, Bloodmane replied. Two will not come through, he added confidently. I will not allow it. I will then send one thousand warsuits down the northern tunnel. Once they have progressed sufficiently, we will seal that tunnel as well.
And if I take casualties from a fight at which my Aern are not even present?
I . . . Bloodmane had not considered that. Do you wish to order me not to—
I’m not giving you any orders at all. Kholster’s thoughts seemed strained. There was something in his tone. I just want you to know that if I lose Aern in this, with my own warsuit helping the Oathbreakers. . . . It’s on your helm.
Kholster, I—
Your helm. Now, what of the other forces? Kholster asked.
Half of the force will remain to defend Port Ammond. I am dispatching two thousand warsuits to the Vael territories to reinforce their own defenses in case the Zaur plan to assault them as well. We must assume the Zaur have numerical superiority.
The Zaur always have numerical superiority, Kholster transmitted. It’s a good plan. Once those tunnels are closed, will the sealing groups spread out in search of other tunnels?
Yes, I’m also dispatching Crystal Knights and Aeromancers as air patrols to spot suspicious activity.
The Crystal Knights won’t like being used as scouts. Kholster sounded pleased at that.
They would like being dead less, the armor retorted.
“Have you been listening to a thing I’ve been saying?” In the room, Prince Dolvek’s face was flushed with red.
“No,” Bloodmane admitted easily. The irkanth-head helmet turned, taking in the room, meeting one by one the gazes of all present, crystal eye to organic. “I can see by the faces of those assembled that it is a bad plan. I expected nothing from you, honored prince, but a plan rife with glamorous conflict and needless deaths. You are a fool, and if the assembled did not sense it before, they know it now.”
Jolsit, the captain of the guard, and Hasimak, High Elementalist of the College, were the only two who managed not to look relieved. Bloodmane raised his arm, pointing a gauntlet finger at each of them in turn. “Jolsit, you are my new second-in-command. I am relieving Prince Dolvek of his leadership responsibilities and rank. He has much to learn, and he will learn it as your aide.”
“I will not!” Dolvek smashed his fist into the table.
“Failure to follow the orders of your commanding officer is a serious offense.” Bloodmane spoke passionlessly. “I believe it can be punishable by summary execution in times of war.” The armor reached back of its shoulder and gripped Hunger’s haft.
Dolvek nodded, his black bangs falling in his face. He managed a “Sir, yes, sir,” but it came out choking and weak. No one in the room laughed, but Kholster’s amusement was evident from a chuckle that Bloodmane heard clearly.
“Hasimak,” the armor continued, “are there any mages left who have the ability to activate the Port Gates?”
All heads turned to face the wizened Elementalist. Hasimak was one of the few Eldrennai Bloodmane had ever encountered who actually looked old. Faint lines showed on skin that had been smooth for millennia; his black hair was streaked with white and gray. The voice that left his lips was musical and concise, sounding younger by far than the aged exterior would h
ave suggested. “Three, counting myself. I always maintain a minimum of three, but not to open the gates. I train them in case one should open so that the memory of how to force them closed will remain. Of course all recruits receive some basic training, but nothing I would consider completely reliable. It is forbidden to open the gates.”
“Then you will all die.” Bloodmane lowered his gauntlet, thrumming the fingers on the table in an approximation of the tell-me-I’m-wrong stance Kholster had often employed in similar situations across the wars the two had fought together.
Eight Eldrennai bored holes into Hasimak with their gazes. Hasimak’s eyes locked with the armor’s crystal eyes, but warsuits do not blink. “Could you tell me why we need to use them? If I understood that the gain outweighed the risk . . .”
“Of course, High Elementalist. This is what I have in mind . . .” Reluctant initially, the gathered commanders began to nod their heads as he explained.
They had questions. Bloodmane had expected questions, but what he had been unprepared for was the immediate acceptance of his own role as general. He had seen these looks before. He remembered them from previous wars, in some cases on the exact same faces. Jolsit made the same insightful, refining queries he’d made in the distant past. The Elementalists had the same concerns as always. The only thing lacking was the comfort of his bearer, enfolded safely within his metal casing, warming him from within, providing guidance.
He remembered the sight of Kholster’s burning flesh, as their spirits collided and rejected one another. Bloodmane had hoped that spending time with the Eldrennai, seeing the infighting, the prejudice, would change him back to the way he had been, make him hate them irredeemably once again, but it did not. They could change, were changing, had changed. All they required was assistance in completing their transformation, rooting out the final threads of stupidity and misinformation.
If only Kholster could change too, then Bloodmane would not have to fight those he now protected once the Conjunction was complete. Bloodmane watched the Eldrennai in the room, all confident, sure they had a chance, and wondered what they would think if they realized that in a handful of days he and his warsuits would turn against them, crush them beneath their metallic heels and wipe them from Barrone like an unsightly growth. Such, the armor told himself, is war, and he tried to think of it no more.