Adan walked past the mounted wreth mage, studying the nearest pile of shadowglass. Tentatively, he touched the intriguing stone, expecting the black surface to feel hot under the open sun, but it was cold and eerily slippery. He withdrew his tingling fingertips and looked at them as if they had been burned by magic. His glassmakers and stonemasons would be fascinated by the shadowglass. “How fragile is it?”
“Shadowglass is dangerous, not fragile. Queen Voo is convinced that your Suderran army will serve us well in the final war. You will be rewarded for it. Some of your people might even survive.” His voice grew deeper. “Voo watches you, King Adan Starfall. The queen is counting on you, and she will know when your army is ready.”
Adan felt a chill, but he met the mage’s deep amber eyes. “Thank you for this powerful gift.”
The ominous mage nodded. “Voo has faith in humans. She is impressed that your race survived after the ancient wars. Some sandwreths disagree with me, but I suspect that humans may be more than they seem.”
Once the heavy loads were unhitched from the augas, the worker wreths mounted the reptile saddles again. Mage Axus nudged his auga and bounded off. The worker wreths turned their now-unhitched mounts, and the entire pack thundered off toward the hills and the barren expanse of desert, leaving the sledges behind.
* * *
An Utauk caravan arrived in Bannriya carrying the usual assortment of spices and craft items, but the caravan leader, a bearded man named Melik, also brought the best possible news. The man brushed road dust from his colorful cloak. He grinned, bowed, raised his head, and grinned again. “Your wife sends her greetings and her love, King Adan.” He drew a circle around his chest. “The beginning is the end is the beginning.”
Adan reflexively did the same. “Where is she? How is she? Is the baby born yet?”
Melik’s bushy brows drew together. “She and Hale Orr have hidden themselves among the Utauk tribes, Sire. It is not safe to tell you any further information.”
“Her location is secret even from me? I am her husband.”
“Penda says you are also in contact with the sandwreths. Who knows what evil magic Queen Voo might use to extract information from your mind?”
Adan felt a hard knot in his gut. “So answer my other questions—is the baby born yet? How is Penda?”
“She still has time,” Melik said, “and she is in good health and good spirits, except that she misses you.”
“Except for that.”
“We parted ways more than a week ago, but she asked me to bring her message to you if I ever returned to Bannriya.”
Though the caravan leader had said little of substance, the mere contact from his beloved wife made Adan giddy. “Thank you, Melik. Bring your wares to our kitchens and castle staff. We may find some of it useful.”
Melik had a twinkle in his eye. “I charge high prices, Sire, especially when I know that you feel obligated to buy something.”
Adan laughed. “I expected nothing less!”
Because of the encounter, the king was smiling as he entered the council chambers for the day’s session with his advisors, but when he looked at the sour faces and heard his commanders issue their reports, the warmth in his heart quickly faded.
“Shadowglass is an interesting substance, Sire,” said Lenon, his most experienced military commander, a man who had put down a brief rebellion a decade ago. “The armorers and swordsmiths experimented with samples of the stuff. It does indeed fuse well with steel.”
On the table lay samples on display—a sword, a handful of arrows, a shield, even a metal helmet. Adan picked up the sword, which had been inlaid with patches of shadowglass. He turned it from side to side.
One advisor, Elfas, held up a bleeding thumb he had been nursing. “Careful, Sire. I nicked myself on the stuff.”
Adan stepped closer to the open window and lifted the blade into the sunlight. The glass was as black as a lonely night. He swung the blade slowly forward, and then in a backstroke, swift and sure. The sword whistled with a low, mournful sigh. He picked up the arrows, each one tipped with a sharp triangular fragment of shadowglass. The edges were like razors, each tip a dagger. “How many of these can we make?”
“Thousands,” said Lenon. “It all depends on how you want to distribute the materials the wreths gave us.”
Urgar, another military advisor, spoke up. “If the material is as powerful as Mage Axus says, we should create as many weapons as possible. Equip our army and build a large stockpile. Can we ask her for more shadowglass once we’ve used all of the first shipment?”
“Possibly,” Adan said, “as long as we keep convincing her that we are doing her bidding.”
“Why are we doing her bidding?” growled an unsettled vassal lord. “Now that we know what those wreths are all about and how they intend to enslave us or let us be killed on the battlefield, why help them at all?”
“Because Voo is watching us,” Adan said. “We’ll use this shadowglass to arm our soldiers, as she requests. I want her to keep thinking of us as allies.”
“But why do it, Sire?” pleaded Elfas. “It is foolish to build such a huge fighting force for her benefit! Why accept these weapons?”
Adan made his voice as sharp as one of the shadowglass blades. “Because this substance is deadly to wreths—all wreths.” He looked around the table. “That means we can use shadowglass against sandwreths, as well.”
Around the table, the others smiled as understanding dawned. Lenon nodded, because clearly the thought had already occurred to him. Adan touched the obsidian surface on a displayed shield, feeling the cold that reached all the way to the core. He had a lot of work to do and much blood to shed so he could make the future safe for his child.…
Before the end of the meeting, a courier arrived after riding hard and changing horses along the way. He was breathless when he delivered the folded message from Konag Mandan. With a sense of foreboding, Adan broke open the wax seal, not overly mindful of the ornate “M” on the konag’s stamp. He read with widening eyes.
“It is not unexpected,” he said in a hoarse voice. His brother had declared outright war against Ishara. In an impetuous and poorly planned strike, Mandan had lost many ships in a naval attack against Fulcor Island—an attempt to recapture the garrison, which failed miserably. Now he wanted revenge even more than before.
Adan read the message aloud to the disbelieving council members. “The konag demands that we send all the military resources of Suderra to join his war against Ishara. He commands that I offer up my entire army, march our soldiers to Convera, where they will be dispatched across the ocean to fight.” His tight grip wrinkled the edges of the letter. “He orders me to leave my kingdom defenseless! At a time like this!” He shook his head, barely noticing the gasps of astonishment and angry disbelief. “I want to avenge my father as much as anyone, but … but my entire army? I cannot. I cannot!”
With the sandwreths watching everything he did, Queen Voo would never let him send away what she considered to be her army.
58
A HUMAN emissary and his party from Konag Mandan arrived at the edge of the desert. After a long journey, the man and his four dusty escort soldiers looked plaintive and lost.
Queen Voo found them disappointing. She had expected something more extraordinary from the great ruler of the three kingdoms. She had demanded to see Mandan himself, as a gesture of respect, and this mere emissary was not at all satisfactory.
A wreth patrol had spotted the humans stumbling through the rocky canyons. Per Voo’s instructions, her scouts surrounded the konag’s party, then herded them to the sand palace.
When the sunburned and inadequate emissary was brought before her throne, Voo tried to be polite. After all, King Adan had proved useful and interesting in certain ways. And she had him under her thumb. She had sent him shipments of shadowglass so he could prepare his army for her. Perhaps this Konag Mandan could be useful as well, provided he learned to show respect.
Wearing drawn expressions, his human escort soldiers stood behind him, trying to look intimidating in their flimsy armor. Voo’s guards had not bothered to disarm them; perhaps it calmed them to think they had some chance of defending themselves. Every man among them looked out of his depth.
The escort soldiers had carried a weighty chest into her throne room, some kind of gift, she supposed. Either they were weak, or the chest was filled with a heavy burden. They wallowed in the soft sand of the floor as they stumbled forward.
Voo lounged on her throne, showing the tan skin of her thigh and calf. She wore only scant armor that left her midriff bare. She did not desire any of these men, but she wondered if they found her enticing.
Standing before her on the clean sand floor, the emissary brushed dust from his heavy garments and cleared his throat. “It is my honor to introduce myself to you, Queen Voo of the sandwreths. I am Lord Goran, designated representative of Konag Mandan. He sent me in response to your invitation.”
He bowed from his neck rather than kneeling or prostrating himself on the sand. She didn’t know what sort of gesture she had expected, but this disappointed her, too.
Goran continued: “We rode long and hard to see you.”
Voo wondered if their konag considered himself her equal. She leaned forward on her throne like a predator sensing its next meal. “King Adan of Suderra shows respect by speaking to me in person when I call him. He understands my power and he knows his place. My instructions to Konag Mandan were quite clear. I commanded him to come to me in person, and yet he sent … you.” She nearly spat the last word.
Goran bowed again, and his escort soldiers shifted uncomfortably. They stank of fear. “My deepest apologies, Queen Voo. Konag Mandan is currently engaged in a terrible war. Defending the three kingdoms against Ishara commands his complete attention.” Goran remained awkward, a poor diplomat. “Under other circumstances, he would have come here himself, but he sent me, one of his most respected vassal lords, in his stead. I have his countenance.” The simpering man pressed his hands together and bowed a little deeper, as if he began to understand his dire situation. “I hope you find my presence acceptable.”
Voo scowled at him. She still felt frustrated that Adan had refused to bring his pregnant wife, despite Voo’s clear invitation. Sooner or later, Quo would find Penda wherever she was hiding out in the wilderness. But at least King Adan and King Kollanan had come to see her in person, rather than sending some insulting substitute. “I do not find you acceptable.”
Fourteen wreth warriors stood around the throne room, holding their weapons ready. In mere seconds they could cut the escort party to pieces. Voo had only to lift a finger.
Flushed and sweating, Goran scuttled to the ornate chest his soldiers had delivered. “To show his generosity, Konag Mandan sent this gift for you.” He lifted the wooden lid to reveal mounds of gold coins, chains, jeweled rings, and loose gems. Oily white saltpearls were scattered among the treasure like the remnants of a hailstorm. “He scoured his treasury to find beautiful and worthy items for you. He hopes that you and I will have fruitful discussions, and that at some point you will visit him at Convera Castle.”
Voo stepped down the dais and glided across the sand floor, leaving no footprints as she approached. Goran seemed proud of the treasure he had just offered. Without looking at him, she sifted her hands through the coins, chains, and gems. She held a saltpearl between thumb and forefinger, then flicked it across the room. With two fingers, she pushed the entire chest over and dumped the contents onto the sandy floor.
Her expression grew stormy. “I hoped to find something else hidden at the bottom, but all I see are jewels and pretty metals … things that I can create anytime I wish.” Goran blinked at her, not knowing what to say. Voo raged. “Do you think to impress a wreth queen with shiny objects? We are your creators! When I have need of you, you must obey.”
Goran didn’t seem to understand what she was saying. “But Queen Voo, uh, Majesty…” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry, but I do not know the proper way to address you. Konag Mandan meant this treasure as a great honor. He sent this chest hoping you’d accept it as a gesture.”
“A gesture? Very well. I will return his gift with a gesture of my own.” Voo looked at the overturned wooden chest and sized up the pathetic man. “Go back to your konag with a message from me.” She touched the wooden chest. “You may have difficulty fitting inside, but I will help.”
Concentrating on the quivering human, Voo used her magic to bend his arms, until his bones snapped. Goran gasped in terror, and his eyes bulged with pain. She broke his leg bones, folding him up, shoving him down. With the flick of a finger, she cracked his spine. Goran screamed.
The human soldiers drew their swords and yelled, but they were vastly outnumbered by the wreth warriors around them. Voo told them not to kill the escort, though. Instead the horrified humans were forced to watch as she bent, twisted, folded, and compacted Goran’s body. With magic, she tucked his head down to the center of his chest, and turned it, reshaping him, while keeping him alive. In the end, the broken and compacted Goran fit inside the treasure chest, though not an inch of space was wasted.
She closed the lid on his agonized face and stepped back to regard the pale, horrified soldiers. “You may take him back to Convera Castle, so that they may all glimpse my power. Then tell Konag Mandan that the next time I issue an invitation, I expect it to be properly obeyed.”
59
UTHO was reluctant to leave at such a crucial time, but he had Brava business to attend to. He made certain that the konag had issued the proper instructions for the vengewar, and the glamorous royal wedding plans continued apace. Then, leaving Mandan in the care of his inner council, Utho packed his saddlebags and rode off.
Utho promised he would be back in a week, but he could not tell anyone where he was going, since the training villages were not marked on any map. Long ago, after the massacre of Valaera, the Bravas had vowed never to be vulnerable again.
Departing from Convera, he rode west through the trees, following main roads into the mountains where traffic had dwindled since the eruption of Mount Vada. He knew exactly when to leave the main route and head off on what looked like a game path into the tall stands of beech trees. The forest floor was strewn with layers of sweet-smelling brown leaves. He turned north at a thin stream and followed the bank until he found another trail that led him to a cluster of buildings surrounded by pines.
As he approached, he expected to see Brava children practicing with wooden staffs and blunted swords. Instead, the settlement was eerily quiet. His horse whickered, and the silence made him alert. He touched the sword at his side.
When he found Onzu, however, he saw that his old training master had merely put the students to work on daily chores instead of mock battles. The eleven Brava children had smooth movements and a lissome flexibility, even when they were pulling weeds. Every child here would become a black-clad warrior once he or she became proficient in necessary skills.
Many of the children sported purple and yellow bruises as if they were regularly beaten by a stern master, but Utho knew they were the marks of relentless rough-and-tumble training. No student of Onzu’s, regardless of skill or talent, emerged unscathed from a day’s session. The wizened old warrior insisted that a sore body promoted humility; he also wanted to hammer home the realization that no Brava was ever immortal.
“We will all fall to an opponent one day,” Onzu had said. “Death will claim each one of us, but I want my final opponent to be old age rather than some fighter on a battlefield.”
Each qualified Brava went out as a paladin to defend the land or to bind their services to a patron. Many came back to live in the training village for a year or so, performing necessary work for the Brava people before they departed for their larger duty.
Utho had a sudden flash of one other Brava paladin, the young man Onder—one of the sons of Master Onzu, though the family bond was not strong—who had faced a rampaging godling alongside Utho at the fishing village of Mirrabay. Onder’s courage and training had broken that day, though, and he had fled, disgracing himself. The Brava had been banished, his memory stripped away with a rune of forgetting applied by Utho himself. That young man had been trained here, by Onzu.
Master Onzu knew what his son had done, and what Utho had done, but they did not speak of it. The old master had a calm, strong grasp on what was necessary.
Today, Onzu had put the children to work in the community gardens. Some excavated potatoes from dirt mounds, others harvested tomatoes and beans. The children looked up as Utho rode in. One boy set down his shovel.
The training master sat on a rock observing the work, ready to offer criticism. His smile showed a broken tooth from where he had let his defenses slip in a battle—once. “Utho! Come to do your Brava duty? There are no women here waiting for a man. The last one rode out two weeks ago.”
“And I’m sure you did your own duty.” Every Brava had an obligation to continue the half-breed bloodline, but Utho had no love for any of those women. After losing Mareka, Utho had also lost his capability for love and romance. All that remained for him was duty, his vow to protect the Bravas, the Commonwealth, and the konag. “I came for a more serious purpose.” He assessed the children of various ages who had stopped their garden work to listen, but realized they were all too young. “None of your students are ripe yet, but I would ask you for your help.”
Vengewar Page 30