Grudgebearer

by J. F. Lewis

  The lieutenant, the youngest of six Eldrennai Geomancers, stood at the edge of the White Road shifting nervously from foot to foot. Still loathe to come any closer to the warsuits than necessary, all of the six save this one kept to themselves, a huddle of idly whispering children, more suited to playing with stickswords than going to war.

  Kholster, how do you keep track, he began mentally, but Kholster was not there. It didn’t matter anyway; he remembered the Eldrennai’s name now.

  “I am well-maintained and in good repair, Lieutenant Hiln. Just communing with the . . . just communing.”

  “Did you get permission to use the dragon?” Hiln asked eagerly. They all wanted to know about the dragon. Bloodmane shivered, the vibration rattling through his plates. The Eldrennai would see more of the dragon than they wanted with kholster Rae’en in command.

  He could feel her hate, for him and for the Eldrennai. One of those two hatreds he shared. How odd that self-loathing could allow him to do for Rae’en what he had failed to do for his maker. She had never tried to don him, but he felt that she could, sensed it.

  United in disgust, he thought at Eyes of Vengeance.

  We are imperfect, Eyes of Vengeance replied. All of us.

  “Kholster . . . Rae’en granted me permission to enlist Coal’s aid.” Bloodmane nearly stumbled over the word “Kholster.” “He should be here in a matter of hours.”

  “And then we fight?” Hiln asked eagerly.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Raising a gauntlet, the animated armor gestured to his fellow warsuits, one thousand of them, each standing empty and motionless in predetermined ranks, waiting for battle. “My brothers and I will attack. You and your fellow Geomancers will stand guard here.”

  “Why? Sir, we could fight too. I’ve practiced all my life for . . .”

  “Because those are your orders,” Bloodmane interrupted. “Give us two hours and then begin collapsing the tunnels behind us. Death Knell will stay with you to maintain communications throughout the battle.”

  “But what if you need to get out?”

  Bloodmane hefted Hunger, his master’s . . . his maker’s . . . no, the warpick was now his own, the bright sun glinting off cold metal. The weapon unleashed a primordial screech. “We do not breathe, Lieutenant. If we need to get out, we will dig.”

  Laughter from the other warsuits echoed in Bloodmane’s mind, unheard by the Eldrennai. They were one, each suit linked to the others and to their makers, their Incarna, or in Bloodmane’s case, to his maker’s daughter.

  He still did not fully understand how it had worked. Kholster had been torn free of his body, his soul rocketing toward Bloodmane like a tripped snare. He’d felt Kholster’s presence, felt the pain, the conflict.

  I’m killing him, he’d thought. How do I stop? How do I help him? If I die will that . . . ?

  And then . . .

  Something had moved between them like a shadow, and for a stretch of time, Bloodmane had been alone. No maker at the edge of his thoughts, just a sensation of impending . . . what? Doom? Despair? Hope? He still couldn’t define it. His connection to the other warsuits had grown dim, fading, and then . . .

  “Will you protect my daughter?”

  Of course. He’d answered, hearing Kholster’s voice but not feeling him.

  “I will not bind you against your will. I can free you completely, let you live connected only to the other warsuits . . . if you wish it.”

  Please don’t leave me maker-less.

  “I want Rae’en to be First.”

  I know. I know and agree. Where are you?

  “Bloodmane, you are the most that I can leave her.”

  Then . . . then you are dead. Bloodmane had been silent for a while. I should be with you in death!

  “No, you should not.”

  How are you talking to me?

  “Look through the eyes of kholster Rae’en at midnight and you will understand. I am repaying a debt owed by all Aern. Rae’en must kholster . . . lead the army. If she is one with you, if you say she is First, there will be no question. Vander will ask Eyes of Vengeance, and Eyes of Vengeance will defer to you.”

  Of course, Kholster, but debt—what debt?

  “A matter of the soul. Protect my daughter, old friend. Defeat the Zaur.”

  And the Eldrennai?

  “That is up to Rae’en,” Kholster had whispered. “I am no longer First. I put down my Grudge at the edge of the Bay of Balsiph. Whether or not Rae’en takes it up again is her decision.”

  Bloodmane? Eyes of Vengeance thought at him. They are staring at you.

  Mindful of the eyes now upon him, Bloodmane lowered Hunger. “You know your places,” he shouted to the assembled armor and Eldren­­nai. “You know your tasks.” He pointed to the Eldrennai. “Your king has bid you follow my commands.” His gauntlet moved to indicate the warsuits. “You were forged by Aern! By true warriors. Honor your makers! Make them proud.” Bloodmane raised Hunger once again, high into the air, bringing it back down upon the stone with a loud clang. “Charge!”

  Feeling too light, like empty shells without their rightful occupants, Bloodmane’s army ran toward battle for the first time in centuries. Instinctively falling into an old rhythm, their metal boots stomped out the one phrase in Zaurtol known by every Aernese warrior: <>

  This was not to be a surprise attack; Bloodmane’s strategy relied on the Zaur having time to gather in the central corridor. Small stones and earth fell from the ceiling, shaken loose by the vibration of their charge. Bloodmane suspected that it would be an hour or more before they hit significant resistance.

  Eyes of Vengeance, report, he transmitted along the link that bound all the armor together.

  The Port Gates are still secure. I recommend maintaining a crew of two warsuits per Port Gate in case the Ghaiattri try to break through again.

  Good plan. Execute it.

  And . . . Kholster? Bloodmane was used to the other armors being candid with him, especially Eyes of Vengeance. Vander was Kholster’s War Master, had been for millennia. The two warsuits were fast friends, just as their makers were.

  What is it, Eyes?

  Commander Jolsit says that when he went through the portal, to tackle the Ghaiattri back through, he saw statues.

  What sort of statues?

  He said they looked like Aern, Bloodmane. Statues of Aern, wrought in some kind of metal. He thought perhaps . . . bone-steel.

  Did any of the orphaned warsuits feel their makers? Bloodmane asked, assuming Eyes of Vengeance would have already made a few quiet inquiries.

  Soultaker says he felt something, but he couldn’t be certain. I didn’t ask anyone else.

  The news shocked Bloodmane so strongly that he almost came to a stop. But Soultaker is Vodayr’s armor! He is of the Lost Command!

  I have asked Soultaker to keep it to himself for now, but I promised him we would look into it.

  We will. Have you told Vander?

  Not yet, Eyes of Vengeance admitted guiltily.

  Let us keep this a matter of metal for a bit then, Bloodmane requested. There is nothing they can do about it right now. Have the Watches reported in?

  Our Geomancers have located a tunnel near West Watch, ten jun southeast of Rin’Saen Gorge. They say Zaur are still working inside it.

  Bloodmane could picture them in his mind’s eye, lizards digging in the dark. The reports sent in by Wylant and the others warned of new foes: giant serpents called Zaurruks, half-blind stone mounts called Hratta . . . the armor could not wait to kill a Zaurruk.

  Fortune of Battle reports, Eyes of Vengeance continued, that there is no sign of Zaur incursion at Stone Watch. His team has scouted the mountainside and is going to head south across country past Fort Sunder, Fair Hollow, and Saerhi Village to see if it can find any sign of them. They left the soldiers at Stone Watch on high alert.

  Good. Bloodmane signaled a halt as they approached what he assu
med was the aftermath of Wylant’s underground battle. The dead lay where they had fallen.

  Remove the Eldrennai remains that they may be properly interred, Bloodmane ordered. He stepped out of the way, picking up a discarded helmet, turning it over in his gauntlets.

  South Watch and Forest Watch have both reported in as well, sir, Eyes of Vengeance droned on. No sign of tunneling in or around either Watch. Blue Tongue will take his group along the White Road toward Waeren, joining the Geomancers with Backbreaker at West Watch.

  And Skinner’s force at South Watch?

  I was going to send Skinner to Porthost, to check Kevari Pass, General. I’m concerned that we haven’t found the main tunnel from the Zaur territory. What if it’s too deep for the Geomancers to locate it?

  Then we’ll find the passage when we invade the central complex. Bloodmane touched Wylant’s helm fondly. He remembered it well, forged in the same fires on the same mighty Life Forge upon which he and his fellow warsuits had been created. But it was not alive, because she was not, could never be, a true Aern. A pity.

  Have you spoken more to kholster Rae’en about the human’s knowledge of the tunnel? Eyes of Vengeance asked abruptly. Vander instructs me to make the inquiry.

  I haven’t asked again. She’s very upset right now, with the loss of . . .

  We need more information if Jolsit’s Elementalists are to meet us at the correct location, Bloodmane. You know that.

  Bloodmane did know it. You stand in one spot for six hundred years and the world changes very little, Eyes. And yet, when you step out of that spot, the world changes so quickly you can scarcely follow.

  I know.

  “We will be one again,” Bloodmane said aloud, “reunited with our makers.”

  “May it come to pass,” Ambush, the warsuit running next to him, called out.

  “Live long and see it so, my friend,” Bloodmane replied. “Live long and see it so.”

  CHAPTER 62

  CHANGING OF THE GODS

  “May I?” Grivek gestured at a space on the pier next to Rae’en.

  “You have a few days of life left,” Rae’en said without looking at him. “Sit wherever you want.”

  She looked up at the stars instead, wondering what it would be like to walk among them. Wondering if her father could do that now, wherever he was. Cold air blew in off the water, and Rae’en realized she only knew it was cold because of the way Grivek shivered. Armored. She shook her head. Armored without a new Life Forge.

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Rae’en did not kill him, but only because she felt honor-bound to start the Conjunction over again if she did so. Kholster had said it would be done, so she would do it. Oath redeemed in death or not.

  “What do you want, stump ears?”

  “If all oaths are redeemed in death,” Grivek began, “I was wondering.”

  “Do not tell me you’re hunting up that trail.” Rae’en looked at him askance.

  Grivek looked over his shoulder at the others. Wylant stood to one side near the cluster of blue, red, and green tents the Oathbreakers had pitched. Apparently the king couldn’t be expected to sleep on the ground like an Aern or a Vael. Four of Wylant’s Lance had arrived in the afternoon to regroup. Wylant saw the king’s imploring gaze and held up her hands rebuffing any plea.

  The Vael knelt at the base of Xalistan’s statue, eyes closed, praying or meditating.

  “We all know Kholster was looking for a way out of this war,” Grivek started.

  “You will all die,” Rae’en said, looking back at the water. “All the Eldrennai die.”

  “All things die, kholster Rae’en,” Grivek offered. “Perhaps if we could come to some—”

  “You ALL die!” Rae’en leapt to her feet, looking down at the wizened Oathbreaker.

  We will still invade the Eldrennai? Bloodmane asked. In death all oaths are redeemed, so now . . .

  Whose scars are on my back, Makerslayer? Rae’en thought scathingly. You killed my father so that you could defeat the Ghaiattri and fight the Zaur. Therefore, we will fight them. But he died because of the Oathbreakers. So. They. All. Will. Die.

  I understand, Bloodmane responded curtly.

  Tyree looked over from where he was conversing with Zhan but did not interfere other than to give a wave when Rae’en’s gaze fell on him.

  Wylant flew to the pier, with one magic-enhanced leap.

  “Daughter of Kholster,” King Grivek began, but Wylant held him back.

  It’s almost midnight, Bloodmane interrupted.

  What?

  Kholster said we should watch the Changing of the Gods.

  Father said that? When?

  Before.

  “Everybody shut up, I have to watch something.” Rae’en turned. How long until midnight?

  Now.

  *

  When do they do it? M’jynn crouched on the lip of the central fountain eyeing Aldo’s statue. In the dark, golden light flowed from the pale eyes of the god of knowledge’s likeness warring in the night with candles from the gathered humans, each praying to their chosen deity.

  Kazan held up a cup of warm beef broth one of the Harvester’s worshippers had handed him as they moved among the faithful providing warm soup to the devout. He blew carefully on his, mimicking the actions of the humans. Apparently blowing on the soup was part of the ritual.

  Can we drink that? Arbokk asked, staring down at his own, standing at his side of the fountain.

  I already drank mine, Joose thought back. Tastes like hot wet meat and salt. I’d ask for another cup, but I already heard one of the females tell a little male it was rude to ask for seconds.

  You can have mine, Kazan chuckled. Did a little broth matter? How could Joose think about such things when they’d just been told the First intended to keep them as her Overwatches. Kazan was walking around the fountain to hand his cup to Joose when it started.

  Shidarva moved first, slowly shifting positions, first to a defiant pose, arms on her hip, legs akimbo and then her mouth dropped open in . . . shock? Kazan darted back to his position. They’d all taken up position at what would be the cardinal points of the fountain so they could render a complete view of the Changing of the Gods here, since kholster Rae’en had missed it her last time through.

  *

  Kholster hovered in the realm between worlds, watching and remembering.

  “I have never interfered,” Torgrimm had told him. “But I have been convicted by the idea that things must change. I will force you to do nothing. I am deity and it is not my place. You, however, are not of the Artificer’s will. If you were to take a portion of my aspect then you could do what I cannot.”

  “Then give it to me and let it be done with,” Kholster had mouthed.

  “You must fight me for it,” Torgrimm had answered, “and I cannot give you any quarter, or I will violate my own oaths. I am not a god of war, but I am still a god. You will have to truly fight me.”

  “You’re the only god I like, Torgrimm.” Kholster had frowned. “Are you sure this is what you want? There is only one way I can think of that—”

  “If you will, then do it.”

  The black vanished from Kholster’s eyes, banished by the jade, amber pupils blazing.

  Kholster roared, and Torgrimm, for the first time in his existence, knew terror.

  *

  “Why are they all doing that?” Rae’en asked Wylant as the statues of the gods turned, jaws agape, eyes focused on the pier.

  “I don’t know.” Wylant, once more attired in her customary embroidered Aiannai doublet drew Vax, her weapon, in the shape of a longsword. “Something’s wrong.”

  Tyree burst from his tent, holding his head. “Can’t you hear that?” He dropped to his knees, eyes closed, face red, teeth clenched.

  The wind picked up, swirling leaves around the central obelisk, the words on it flowing free and glowing white. Lightning cracked in new clouds overhead, and ball lightning arced back and
forth in blues and purples, illuminating the night in pyrotechnic fury.

  Unslinging Testament, Rae’en walked cautiously toward the end of the pier only to see a giant obsidian hand thrust up out of the water and grip the end of the pier.

  A second hand joined the first, got purchase, and, as if kicking against something out of sight, a new statue hurled itself out of the depths, lurching over Rae’en, landing atop on the central obelisk, then leaping like an irkanth onto the statue of the Harvester.

  “Dad?”

  *

  Screams echoed through the Garden of Divinity as the humans fled. Spilled soup and tin cups littered the ground. Only the bravest pilgrims and four Overwatches kept their positions as a new statue, one that had burst from the ground, ripped the helm from the head of the statue of Torgrimm and tore chunks out of the statue with its teeth.

  I don’t think Torgrimm was quite expecting that, Joose sent.

  *

  Without hesitation, Kholster had lunged to his feet, swinging at the death god, his fist crashing in under the helmet, breaking Torgrimm’s nose and sending gouts of divine blood pouring down his mock-Aernese face. Two more solid shots kept the god off-balance while Kholster stripped the warpick from him with raw, skinless fingers, blood blossoming from his many wounds as he used the warpick to pry the helmet off of the dazed deity.

  “I didn’t expect it to be such a short—”

  Kholster had cut off the sentence by tearing a chunk out of the death god’s cheek.

  Torgrimm had never felt pain before, not physical pain, and he reacted by trying to push Kholster away from him. Using the warpick like an oyster knife, Kholster stripped the chest plate from Torgrimm and cast it aside as he continued to bite and tear and chew.

  *

  White marble blood spouted from the throat of the Harvester’s statue as it went limp and collapsed. Kholster’s statue worked at the Harvester’s bone warsuit, stripping it to expose the flesh.

  “Kholster! Khol-ster!” the four young Overwatches found themselves chanting. Joose had been the one to start it, but Kazan didn’t know that it mattered. We have a god now was the thought rushing through his brain. One all our own. He felt the Arvash’ae rising and pushed it back, not wanting to miss a moment.