Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  She removed a small limestone bowl from her saddle pack, a shallow basin little more than a hand’s breadth in diameter. With a dagger of crystallized bone, she sliced open the ska’s belly and pulled out the entrails. She placed them in the stone bowl and flattened the ropy guts along the bottom. She squeezed the ska’s body until blood filled the bowl up above the entrails.

  “This ska sees what all skas see,” Ulla said. “One of them will know where Penda Orr has gone.”

  Wanting a better view, Quo slipped out of the saddle and came forward, but the mage was so focused on her spell that she did not notice her audience.

  The blood in the bowl shimmered, brightened, and shadowy images formed on the surface. When they became sharp and clear, Quo could discern Penda’s face. She was a beautiful human with long dark hair, brown eyes, and elfin features that even a wreth might find attractive. “There she is,” he said. “But where?”

  The blood image made no sound, but Quo could see that Penda was obviously speaking. Ulla rotated the bowl as if turning a knob, and the image receded until they could see Penda sitting on a wooden stump. Given the obvious state of her pregnancy, the woman would give birth soon.

  “We may have only a few more days,” Quo said.

  Ulla raised her eyebrows, wrinkling her shaved scalp. “I thought Queen Voo merely wanted the infant. Does it matter whether or not it is inside the woman?”

  Quo considered. “It makes no difference. We will take it, one way or the other.”

  The mage continued to turn the bowl, and the view drew back to show a larger camp, as if the observer rose higher and higher. Quo looked down on a gathering of wagons, horses, people dressed in colorful garments. Utauks. That was what those tribes called themselves.

  Finally, from a great height, Quo could see familiar landforms, and he knew where to find Queen Penda Orr. He smiled and nodded. “We must ride hard. I wish to reach them before they move to a new location.”

  Ulla dumped the bowl with its bloody entrails on top of the gutted ska. She wiped stained fingers on her leather robe, and the fresh blood vanished into the runes.

  Quo and his sandwreths headed out to find the Utauk camp.

  77

  STANDING at the clear ice window and surveying the frozen world, Onn watched a bedraggled group of frostwreths ride toward the palace. They seemed battered, wounded, their wolf-steeds limping along, but she could not tell who they were.

  Her lips curved in a cold smile. It must be Koru and her troublemaking party. They had gone to prod the dragon Ossus beneath the mountains.

  Onn was weary from a long night of rough lovemaking. Irri’s stamina was unparalleled after centuries of spellsleep, and now she reaped the benefits. If all warriors were as strong as that one, her army would be invincible against the sandwreths.

  Impatient for the riders to arrive, she dispatched Irri to receive the party and find out what they had to say. Later, Onn would sit high in her throne, look down on Koru, and listen to her failure. It was time for her daughter to fall in line with true frostwreth priorities.

  On her way to the throne room, she commanded her drones to bring a meal. On a whim, she also called Birch, so the boy could sit at her side. He seemed quiet and dull, as meek as the drones. Maybe she should have sent him back home to Norterra, as the two emissaries had requested.

  Onn wore a gossamer gown of white silk and a diamond-studded belt. Because her mind had turned toward thoughts of war, she donned a sword at her hip, a stout blade of milky white metal. She waited on her throne and dragged a sharp-nailed finger across her lower lip. What was taking the party so long?

  Drones entered the chamber with ornamental trays of food: cold fruits, frozen meat sliced so thin it was just a film of red fibers. Birch accompanied the drones as if he were one of them, even carrying a tray. Annoyed to see how her pet had lowered his standards, she snatched the tray from the boy’s hands. “You are not a servant! I commanded the drones to bring me food. Why do you follow them like a simpering slave?”

  For a moment she saw an unexpected flash of defiance before he made his expression dull and unreadable again. “They take care of me,” he said. “You sent me to them.”

  “Sit near my throne, down on the lower step. That is where you belong, until I give you leave otherwise.”

  Birch dutifully did as she told him. She inspected the food on the tray he had carried—a plate of silver icefish covered with frozen crystals but still wriggling. With her fingers, she slurped two of them, then set the tray aside to see what other delicacies the drones offered.

  Finally, Irri returned to the throne room, his blue and silver armor studded with spikes, his hair combed long and free like a comet’s tail. She noticed a scratch on his cheek from where she had marked him during the throes of passion.

  One of the drones offered Irri a sampling of food, which the warrior ignored. His expression was stormy and alarmed. Behind him came several injured, defeated-looking frostwreths, but it was not her daughter’s party. Instead, they brought far worse news.

  * * *

  By now Birch had managed to hide several sharp knives about the frozen palace, where the frostwreths would never find them. Sometimes, he was brave enough to carry one on his person. He had taught the drones how to make weapons, too.

  Now, as he followed them into Onn’s throne room, he tucked a small scrap-metal knife into his waistband. The blade was barely as long as his finger, but he could hurt one of them if he had to. Day by day, he grew more bold. On their way to the throne room, he had even snatched several of the icefish and some of the berries, knowing the queen would never notice.

  He watched intently as Irri ushered the bedraggled wreths into the throne room, and the disheveled newcomers shuffled forward, six warriors and one noble, scuffed and injured. Birch had never before seen the wreths shaken. They looked stunned, defeated.

  One of the warriors spoke. “We escaped from Lake Bakal, my queen.” He bent, wincing as a long gash on his pale bare arm broke open, oozing blood.

  Birch perked up when he heard the name of his village.

  “Our fortress is destroyed,” said the lone noble. “We watched it collapse as we rode away to the north.”

  Onn rose from her throne, as if she hadn’t understood. “No, my fortress there is being expanded and reinforced.”

  “It is only rubble, my queen,” said the defeated noble. “We were attacked.”

  The bleeding warrior gave more details in brisk military fashion. “King Kollanan came with an army, much larger than the force he brought earlier.”

  Onn stared in disbelief, then said in a mocking tone, “Human soldiers again? Why did you not eradicate them?” Birch looked away, hid his smile.

  “They were joined by a war party of sandwreths.” The injured warrior paused to let the word resonate against the ice walls. “Sandwreths, my queen—warriors, mages, and a noble.”

  “And more half-breeds,” said another warrior, “along with that dark-haired one who came here and demonstrated his power.” He looked at Irri, who growled in annoyance at the memory. “They brought down the walls, my queen—killed everyone inside, massacred our army.”

  “That is not possible,” Onn said. “Even the sandwreths cannot be so powerful.”

  The noble looked at her, his mouth slack. “And yet it occurred.”

  Irri struck the floor with a deadly pike. He glowered at the survivors. “King Kollanan has allied with the sandwreths!”

  “Obviously it is only the first of their strikes against us,” the bedraggled noble said.

  The drones stood motionless with their trays of food, but Birch’s heart swelled to know that his grandfather had caused such harm to the frostwreths. Someday, he would do the same.

  “Sandwreths!” Queen Onn screamed toward the vaulted ceiling. She drew her frozen sword in a rage. “Sandwreths!” She leaped down the steps of the dais and went wild.

  The drones could see what was coming, yet they did not move. La
shing out blindly, Onn hacked the small creatures to pieces. The ice blade sliced their flesh as if they were no more than soft cheese.

  Birch flinched as blood spattered his skin. Each one of those drones had been his friend. He pulled his new wool blanket tighter around him, afraid to make a sound, but he began to feel more anger than fear. Queen Onn fancied herself capable of slaying the giant dragon at the heart of the world, yet all she killed were helpless drones. He could not hate her more.

  Looking down at the carnage, Onn panted hard as she turned to Irri. “I had a mind to ignore those humans. They were not worth my while, but now I cannot brush them aside, especially if they are helping the sandwreths. I must send a swift and unequivocal message.”

  Irri’s lips quirked in a smile. “Let me be your messenger, my queen. I will not disappoint you.”

  “Good. Find some of these humans and kill them.” She looked at Birch for a long moment, considering him, then turned away. “Any ones will do. Deal with the pests, so that they no longer interfere with our war.”

  78

  THE city of Serepol shuddered as their new allies swarmed through the streets. The key priestlord began to realize the enormity of his error.

  He might have to summon the godling if it had recovered enough, although the crowds seemed to spend more time offering prayers and sacrifices to Empra Iluris.

  Klovus followed Magda as she barged into the empra’s palace. The barbarian leader admired the ostentation, the marble pillars, the gold leaf and inlaid jewels, but she had no interest in the artwork or cultural treasures.

  The brutish woman looked around the empty throne room and let out a loud hooting call, then grinned as she listened to the echo. Laughing, her Hethrren companions tried the same trick until the throne room resounded with their bestial noises.

  “Please!” Klovus said. “This is our palace.”

  “I see only an empty throne,” Magda said. “Where is your empra? I need to know if she is worthy of commanding us.”

  “Empra Iluris is … absent. She has other priorities.” Despite his search parties, no one could find where Iluris had gone, but he could never admit that to Magda.

  “What are her priorities if she leaves her city without a leader, her land without guidance?” Magda playfully punched him in his soft biceps. “It is a good thing we came here. You obviously need my Hethrren. Your people look soft and lost.”

  Klovus was forced to show indignation. “Ishara is strong.” He’d had many conflicts with Iluris, but he would much rather be sparring with her than with these barbarians. He almost regretted commanding Zaha to assassinate her.

  The hawk guards had disappeared from the palace at the same time as Iluris vanished, and Klovus feared that they were planning some kind of rebellion. But how? An uneducated girl, a comatose woman, and a handful of guards? Iluris might even be dead by now. What if that was what her scant followers were trying to hide?

  He was far more worried about the Hethrren. His personal guards, stationed in the palace and on the streets, were outnumbered. The barbarians continued their unruly behavior, but since Klovus had declared that they were allies, soon to depart across the sea, the city patrol didn’t know what to do, other than to stop the most egregious infractions.

  Magda sniffed and looked around, then made up her mind. She crossed the polished stone floor, climbed the dais, and threw herself into the empra’s throne. Her bearlike body barely fit.

  The key priestlord quailed in disgust. “Please don’t, Magda! You must—”

  She slapped the arm of the throne with her thick hand. “What does an empra do all day? Sit in this uncomfortable chair? Ridiculous! No wonder she vanished.”

  Klovus found himself making excuses. “An empra has many ministers, countless treaties, trade negotiations among the thirteen districts. Our treasury is vast, but the money is required for roads, sewers, canals. We have to store grain in preparation for times of famine. We—”

  Magda lost interest in the conversation. “You worry so much about the future that you forget to live. At least take time to enjoy coupling—especially with me.” She let out a guffaw and punched him again. “Now that you have had me, lover, you will find every other woman insufficient. We must try it tonight on a fine bed. I’ve never had that before. Where does your empra sleep?” She crushed him against her.

  He managed to squirm away. “Alas, our time is short. You agreed to sail to the Commonwealth, and our ships are nearly ready. We should discuss our war plans. I have maps of the three kingdoms, a list of targets along the Osterran coast.”

  “I agreed to that, but I did not say when we would go. We have never seen a city like Serepol, and we want to explore it. What better time to enjoy it than before we go off to war?” She glowered at him. “You would not try to stop us, would you?”

  Klovus did not think he could stop them. “So long as you tell your Hethrren to restrain themselves.” He had only one viable threat. “Or do I have to summon the godling?”

  “We are not skilled in restraint.” She sighed as if the look in his eyes pleased her. “But we will make the attempt.”

  Claiming urgent business, Klovus retreated before he could be forced to entertain Magda in one of the spacious palace beds. He escaped to the safest place he could imagine—the Magnifica temple, where construction work continued, but at a slower pace, because many of the work crews were with their families, trying to defend their homes.

  Klovus went to the underground vaults, where he often communed with the godling and felt its power. Now, he sensed the terrible, restless entity that lived in its own place between realities, but it watched over Serepol, and it watched him. He could summon the godling and turn it against the barbarians, but then he would not be able to launch such an immense army against the Commonwealth. He still hoped he could herd the barbarian horde onto the ships and dump them upon the godless shores. He had to walk a fine line.

  Soon enough, though, he might have to take drastic action. The new shadowglass panes shimmered against the far wall. He opened himself to the godling, his godling.

  Zaha and three other Black Eels joined him. “To ensure your safety, Key Priestlord, several of us were in the palace disguised as guards, watching you. If the barbarians tried to harm you, we would have stopped them.”

  Klovus was exasperated. “Why didn’t you stop the entire army?”

  “Black Eels are effective assassins for individual targets, but we are not an army.” Zaha’s calm was maddening. “We believed this was what you wished. Did you not invite the Hethrren to come here?”

  “I want the barbarians to ransack the old world, but while they are here, we need to keep them under control.” Klovus went to the newly installed shadowglass on the wall, which let him see the godling growing more powerful and more angry in its realm. He leaned close and whispered to the obsidian surface. “I can sense that you hurt as much as I do.” The entity thrummed and throbbed, ready to protect him. Thousands of the barbarians could not harm him, if the entity stood in their way.

  “We will make the people pray harder,” Klovus said, speaking to the entity as well as to Zaha and the Black Eels. “To us, not the empra.” These Hethrren needed to be reminded of who held the power here. He had let Magda bully him, but he had been shortsighted and weak.

  Through the bond, Klovus felt the godling swell inside him. These barbarians needed to expend their destructive energies across the sea, not here in Serepol.

  Yes, he would have the people sacrifice. They would pray and strengthen the godling even more because it manifested their will. Klovus could use the people’s faith to make the Magnifica godling invincible. He would evict the barbarians before they could cause permanent damage to Ishara. He would make them fear him.

  But when the godling was whipped up with such powerful fury, Klovus wasn’t sure he could control it.

  79

  RETURNING exhausted but victorious to Fellstaff Castle, King Kollanan ordered wine barrels rolled out
and food stockpiles released in a great feast for the soldiers and vassal lords.

  Soldiers and lords crowded the main hall as kitchen workers brought in cauldrons of hot soup, cartloads of fresh-baked bread, and platters of roasted vegetables with Tafira’s Isharan spices. The noise of conversation was as loud as the sounds of battle. The celebrating fighters bragged about their prowess, showed off their wounds, and sang songs for their fallen comrades.

  Carrying a large book, Shadri wandered among the soldiers and talked with them. She wrote notes as she collected stories and names of the fallen soldiers so as to preserve their legacies. The scholar girl looked weary with her long, straight hair hanging loose, but she didn’t stop her quest. She insisted the project was as important as translating the wreth historical records with Thon.

  Elliel and Lasis joined the king and queen, accompanied by Thon, who looked beatific after what he had accomplished. Koll was wary about celebrating a complete victory, but his wife reminded him, “The enemy fortress has fallen and many wreths died. Take a moment to be pleased with what we’ve done.”

  “Agreed, but I won’t let them swagger too much. Ancestors’ blood…” He did let himself smile as he remembered the thunder of crashing walls and the screams of dying frostwreths. “I had hoped Quo and his party would stay to help with our defenses. Sandwreths are unreliable allies, at best.”

  Lasis said, “I don’t like to rely on those creatures, Sire. We know they have enslaved humans, even as they pretend to be our friends. Wreths!” He spat out the word, then looked at Thon, who responded with a bland smile.

  The king grew serious. “If Quo and his sandwreths had not charged recklessly into battle without a plan, others might have been saved. Cerus is dead, as well as nearly a hundred of our soldiers.”