Black Warrior

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 38 – Plans Within Plans

  Winter stood on top of a hillock next to the Forsaken camp, watching the bloody light of dawn color the sky. The wind was still and nothing stirred around him other than his thoughts.

  The previous day, after Arnhvatr had tasked him to be their god, all the Forsaken had filed past him. Each had exchanged oaths with him. Him, to be their god, and them, to be his worshiper. The eyes of each had bored into him. And he remembered each and every one of them. He could recall all of their faces, even now. But not really their faces; their souls. He saw them as they were, living, dead, undead... it didn't matter. He saw into their hearts.

  All through the night he felt them. He stood here, above them all, and felt their soul, their will. His mother had explained to him, during the god war, that the Ævatar was a construct of great power, but no Will. It was the Will of the person inside of it that gave direction to its force. She said this to him as they watched it destroy virtually all of the gods that existed.

  That's what he felt like now. The Will of all of these Forsaken, his people, was pressing on him. The stars reeled overhead as he stood and the night passed. All their pain, their misery, their hate, and their anger flowed into him. It filled him until it became his own. Would he become a killing machine like the Ævatar? Was that their plan from the beginning? Did they want him to be their secret superweapon? Did he have no agency of his own, as a god?

  But, no. All of the gods were once people. His mother had also told him of Gwendolyn. An Elf from a far off age. She had seen the new magic created, and rose up with companions against it. Those companions became the gods. Othr was one of them. They were far from being purely the will of their worshipers. Otherwise the Romitu gods would have sided with Queen Jesca as she won the hearts and minds of her subjects, rather than her enemy.

  He dug deep within himself for reassurance. But the will of his people penetrated deep. But as he sought to find his place in it, he saw it with a different nuance. Any creature with plans has hope. Any soldier who freely follows a leader has aspirations. To fight with such dedication required much passion. These qualities were there as well in their Will, playing in harmony to the main despondent theme.

  But the dawn had come. The camp was stirring about him. He hadn't slept, but he also hadn't felt the need. Maybe all he needed was his worshipers to sustain him.

  He strode down from the rise and was met by Makaira and his Tritons. Winter clasped him somberly. “I'm sorry this didn't turn out as I had hoped”, he said.

  Makaira shook his head. “You are the one who taught me that 'no insight can see past the first battle'.”

  Winter sighed. “Yes. Yes, I did.” He looked around at the marshaling troops. “Look, this isn't your fight. It has nothing to do with the Northern Seas. Go. Go to the 22nd. They will take care of you.”

  “We came to follow you”, said Makaira. “Wherever that leads. We go where you go.”

  Winter looked intently at him. Then looked at the others. “I'm not sure you want to go where these people want to go.”

  “You were our god first”, said Makaira. “We will not let you go so lightly.”

  Winter smiled sadly at that. “There is that.” He looked at each of them again. He found he could see their hearts as clearly as the Forsaken. They were unsettled, worried, scared, and confused. But they were all resolute. They were his. “Very well. Having a reminder that my domain is more than a bunch of creepy undead will help me.” He looked around and said under his breath, “Stick close.”

  Winter continued into the camp until he came to Arnhvatr. “What is the will of the commander today?” he asked with resignation.

  Arnhvatr nodded at him. “We will assemble. We will await their envoy. Then we will pick champions and fight another challenge.”

  Winter looked at him oddly. “Same as you've been doing for the last two weeks?”

  “Yes”, said Arnhvatr, smiling. “Let us go.”

  Winter followed him. Everyone moved to their positions around the arena with practiced familiarity. On queue the 22nd marched forward with their standard. General Porterhouse and his officers approached and they entered the pavilion and began discussing champions.

  Winter kept waiting for something to happen. Some grand strategic betrayal. After the events of yesterday, and the addition of him to their army as their god, he expected some great plan to unfold. Some way that all of this lead up to a great advantage they would use and bring slaughter down on their enemy.

  But nothing out of the ordinary happened. The mood of the troops, which he now felt in his pulse, was no different than before. There was anticipation there. There was expectation. But it wasn't tied to what was happening now.

  He watched Arnhvatr pick a selection of champions. Then he picked the opposing champion from among General Porterhouse's selection. They did the same and the arena was prepared for the fighting.

  “The fighting of champions”, said Winter to Arnhvatr, while they assembled for the pronouncement of the deeds of the champions. “That's not important, is it?”

  Arnhvatr looked at him with the same smile he wore earlier. “Is that so?”

  Winter knew Arnhvatr in a way he didn't before. It wasn't that he could read his mind. It was as if he had grown up with him. He was a leader. A warlord. He was up to something. But whatever it was he had been up to for a while. Nothing had changed today because Winter's arrival hadn't changed his plan. His plan was something else.

  “If the fighting of champions isn't important, than fighting Romitu isn't important to you either, is it?” he asked.

  Arnhvatr's smile grew into a grin. “Is that so?” he asked again.

  “You're just doing this to buy time”, said Winter.

  “What would I be buying time to spend it on?” said Arnhvatr.

  “The new moon”, said Winter. “Every new moon all your wounds heal. Those incorporeal gain new bodies. You are at your strongest.”

  Arnhvatr nodded. “And new loyalties. Oaths of service are only binding until the next new moon.”

  Winter rubbed his chin. “But by waging a battle of champions you've suffered almost no casualties. There's no point waiting. You aren't going to be appreciably stronger after the next new moon than you are now.”

  “You are right”, said Arnhvatr. “We are as strong now as when the moon was first waxing.”

  Winter thought it through. “You aren't buying time to get stronger. Romitu certainly isn't getting any weaker.” Then he snapped his fingers. “It isn't about you. It's about them. The other Forsaken!”

  Arnhvatr's grin widened even further. “Oh? What about them?”

  “Nothing has changed”, said Winter. “Nothing has changed.” He spread his arms. “You're out of the Black Hole, but nothing has changed. You're still playing the same game. You're still fighting the same fight. You and your army against the other Forsaken. You aren't waiting until the new moon so you are at your strongest. You are waiting until just before the new moon when they are at their weakest.”

  “Same game”, said Arnhvatr and winked. “Larger playing field.”

  “Are the others still playing the same game?” asked Winter.

  “If they are”, said Arnhvatr, “I think they're playing it pretty badly.”

  “You're going to mop them up once Romitu have worked through their main force”, said Winter. “Then what?”

  “Then the new moon comes”, said Arnhvatr. “They can rally to their old commanders who brought them to such disaster, or they can rally to me.”

  “You want to unite all of the Forsaken as your own”, said Winter.

  “It's not been done in a thousand years”, said Arnhvatr. “It would be quite an accomplishment.”

  “Then what?” asked Winter.

  “Perhaps, then, we'll find a new game.” He looked meaningfully at the troops of Romitu, now cheering the fighting champions.

  “Are you all right?” Devonshire had finally managed to get
close to Winter after the champions were done. Porterhouse had cornered Arnhvatr and was talking his hear off about the finer points of the fight. It wasn’t clear that Arnhvatr understood their language well enough to follow Porterhouse’s monologs, but it didn’t stop Porterhouse rambling on.

  Winter looked around. They were not immediately being watched, but he was pretty sure that Arnhvatr was not distracted enough not to know he was talking to his mother. And, if he knew, and hadn't intervened, then Winter chose to presume that he wasn't against him talking to her.

  “It's a difficult question to answer”, said Winter.

  Devonshire took his arm and looked him in the eye. “Son”, she said. “Are you all right?”

  He met her gaze. “I am still your son”, he said.

  “That's good enough for me”, she replied, releasing his arm. “Is there any way I can help?”

  “That's also a difficult question to answer”, said Winter. “We're on different sides now.”

  “Are you going to do something that puts my loyalties into conflict?” asked Devonshire.

  Winter glanced at Arnhvatr then back to her. “I don't think so”, he said. “Not, at least, in the near term.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “But 'no insight can see past the first battle'.”

  “Do you need a mage?” asked Devonshire.

  Winter looked at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

  Devonshire shrugged. “If you aren't going to do anything that conflicts with my loyalties, then there shouldn't be any reason I can't join you.” She smiled. “Your regiment seems a bit short of magic.”

  “Yes, but...” started Winter. “Listen. You won't be answering to me. I'm not calling the shots here. I'm just their god. I think they just think of me like siege artillery. It's him you would be answering to.” Winter nodded in Arnhvatr's direction.

  Devonshire gave the Forsaken leader a skeptical look. “Well, that's not going to happen.” She turned back to him. “The Tritons still fight for you. I can be your high priestess.”

  “Mom!” protested Winter. “That's just... so wrong!”

  “Captain of your guard?” she suggested.

  “OK”, said Winter, gathering himself together. “I might be able to swing that. Arnhvatr respects you. Or, at least, your... ability to kill gods. He probably won't immediately kill you as a Romitu spy.” He leaned closer to her. “Will they let you?”

  “You're my son”, said Devonshire, forcefully. “They can't stop me.” She let the glare fade. “This means they’ll let me.” She waved nonchalantly, “let me have a word with them.”

  Winter nodded gravely. She turned to go as the conversation about the fight started to break up. Winter grabbed her arm. “And, mom. Thanks.” He bowed his head. “I'm trying hard to keep my head together. To be your son. But... I'm afraid of being drowned out.”

  “I can't imagine what you are going through”, said Devonshire. “This is more than anyone knows or has had to bear. All I can do is be here for you.”

  “Thanks”, he whispered, again.