by J. F. Lewis
A dragon? Tsan already felt larger and stronger than she had in any of her previous careers and the various bloodline changes that had accompanied them.
Not even that daunts you, does it? Kilke asked.
Becoming stronger? Was Kilke a fool? Did he fail to understand the workings of a true Sri’Zaur even as he worked might into her body? Strength is an asset I have long understood.
With Kilke’s help, clearing the long-sealed escape route the Zaur had used to effect the first exile had been the work of an hour when it should have taken weeks, proper equipment, and crews of workers . . . even a Zaurruk. The sheer power of her limbs, the way her body moved . . . Each action felt an effortless inevitability the likes of which she expected the Armored in their tireless warsuits might feel.
Perhaps not even they. Tsan wondered if even an Aern evolving from mortal to nigh immortal with the forging of a warsuit, back when the Life Forge had been whole, could relate to the changes Kilke had wrought within her.
We are close enough to smell outer air, Kilke thought.
Luminescent mushrooms lit Tsan’s path unnecessarily, as her new eyes drew in every measure of light, magnifying it until the tunnels felt as if they were in full sun, bringing out previously unseen details in the stone gardens and rock formations of which her people were so proud. Despite the fear scent, she could indeed detect hints of mountain air.
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Tsan ducked under a stone curtain whose wavy lines were reminiscent of the splash of a rock thrown into a pond, its surface flash frozen by the preamble to a dragon’s first breath when the heat leeched out of the world.
Am I still growing?
Did you want to stop? One-Headed Kilke’s voice cooed in her mind. I’m becoming fond of the dragon idea now that I’ve thought of it, and I sense some of Jun’s primal flame has been released from its flesh. A rare opportunity exists to birth a dragon as they were in the beginning.
Already larger than the Zaur who served under her, Tsan had increased in size beyond that of the largest Sri’Zaur she had ever known. Increased alacrity had come with the change, too, and the new stamina . . . she’d had to set one of the surviving Sri’Zauran guards to notify her when the lesser reptiles had to rest so Kilke could reinvigorate them. For three days she had slept only when others needed it, when Kilke informed her that further mystical stamina would damage her army in the long term.
Could I fight it then? Tsan asked. The thing that took Warlord Xastix’s body?
You could fight him now, Kilke thought, but defeat . . . I have no idea how to destroy what Uled has become. Who can say if even the Harvester knows how to deal with such a being . . .
If it’s a secret, then surely— Tsan thought.
Uled. Kilke used the name as just another proper noun, without the sense of gravitas and hate all of the mad Eldrennai’s creations held for him. Tsan’s gender cycle had been completed more times than she could count or recall since Uled had twisted the Zaur, taken the primitive idyllic sun-basking nomads and shaped them into the Sri’Zaur. A memory so deep as to be near instinct told her she had been among those early clutches, but the details had worn away little by little over the centuries, an erosion of the old to make way for new selves, new careers, and even the new breeds she had been forced to assume. That she had remembered the ancient route they’d taken to escape Uled so many thousands of years ago seemed a gift from the gods.
I may have helped a bit, Kilke said, but it was still there in your mind. All it needed was a little nudge to bring it forth. Easy enough to do while keeping your most recent persona intact. Might as well shift a few other valuable nuggets from past careers in the process. Yes?
Memory.
Tsan’s skills remained bright and hot, freshly encoded in her muscles and membranes, but she lacked the perfect recollection of self-history with which Uled had imbued the Aern. Tsan suspected it was akin to the Litany wrought into the very roots of the Weeds, each knowing the names and faces of all who had offended their people but lacking the facts of each case, retaining only its gravity and punishment. At times she envied the scarbacks their memory, wished she could shut her membranes, still her thoughts, and send herself back along the corridors of her mind to relive past triumphs and injuries.
But perhaps it was for the best she lacked such talents. Tsan still could not close her nictitating membranes without seeing that misshapen wretch forming itself out of the unspooling flesh of her former warlord. Everything had been going according to plan. Kilke had demanded her warlord produce a sample of Eldrennai, Vael, and Aern blood to demonstrate Warlord Xastix’s fealty. Tsan had not known the bodiless deity had done so only to buy himself time to—
Kilke? Warleader Tsan thought. Why did you ask Xastix to gather exactly what Uled needed to complete his ritual?
I asked for no such thing, Kilke sent, his thoughts filled with admiration at the Eldrennai’s cleverness. You must understand. Uled’s is a mind unlike any others who have walked this world. I don’t believe he can actually see the web of destiny, but even from down here I can feel him working to change it. All, I presume, based on deductive reasoning on his part. He has successfully theorized the grand designs of the Artificer.
Who? Tsan asked.
The god who created the gods, Kilke thought. When Uled was born, I wanted to destroy him at once, but Torgrimm put up such a fuss I relented. Uled’s thoughts are the turning of wheels within wheels. As I mentioned, the very gear work of the universe is obvious to him and when it comes to games of strategy Uled, even as a young apprentice, excelled not so much at seeing his opponent’s next move but at being able to develop a counter for all of the opponent’s possible moves and setting those counters into place with speed and precision, adjusting all possible outcomes to benefit him . . . eventually.
So, Tsan thought, you did not do what he wanted, but rather he had a contingency in place to take advantage of such a request in case it were to be made?
Daunting, isn’t it? Kilke purred.
If he is that forward thinking, Tsan thought, then how did he die in the first place?
Some, Kilke answered, as sunslight became visible in the distance at one of the larger exits into Rin’Saen Gorge, think his greatest weakness is his evil. But I find Uled’s largest obstacle to be a failure to account for the ability of his creations to function beyond their intended purposes. To do so would require a sense of wonder, of love, and of compassion beyond the rudimentary emotional algebra he uses to understand the feelings others possess and he lacks.
So an Aern killed him? Tsan stepped into the light, her claws gripping the rocky soil of the gorge bottom. A light rain was falling, the cool drops most often unwelcome to cold bloods such as herself washed over her scales like the words of alliance to a doomed lesser tribe. Mist rose off the trickling stream that ran along the gorge’s base. Earthy and rich, the smell of dampening soil filled Tsan’s nostrils even as the gentle rhythm of precipitation danced in those specialized organs reserved for sensing motion and vibrations.
No, General Wylant working with Uled’s own spawn: Sargus.
How?
It doesn’t matter, Kilke thought. He’ll not be slain by the same beings again or by any mortal.
Then what do you suggest?
I usually rely on Kholster and his kin to handle this sort of threat. Kilke’s thoughts came tinged with admiration and disappointment in a complicated tangle.
And you can’t do so now? Tsan asked.
I am . . . uncertain. Do you still plan to try to kill the Aern?
I’ve discussed it with the current warleader, Tsan thought haughtily, and she thinks that if the Vael want peace between the three of Uled’s races, and th
e Aern are willing to help us kill our creator, then the need for redress with regard to certain other, more recent, grievances may be obviated.
How enlightened of you, Kilke purred. If only I had more accurate information about what has been happening out beyond the tunnels, I could make a better plan. How I miss my other heads at moments like this.
Is that the first step of our plan, then? Tsan asked. Scout out and see what we can see?
No, Kilke answered. Normally, yes, I would delve into the secrets available and find some juicy little piece on the board, forgotten by all but me, and play it. Likely my others heads are doing just that. They have that luxury. Who knows what complications or secrets lie ahead? I don’t. Not currently. But power is always a good bet and, at present, it is my only play. So as to my plan . . . As the rain stopped, clouds dispersing, the sunslight seemed to catch on the golden scales of Kilke’s head, his horns growing translucent, filling with their own inner brilliance. Our first move is: dragon.
CHAPTER 13
PERMANENT TEMPORARY SOLUTIONS
Rae’en watched in silent appreciation as huge slabs of stone soared through the morning sky. Some flew high enough to chase the stratus clouds through the air, the contrasting grays rendering it hard—for brief moments when rock passed through cloud—to tell one from the other. Larger masses of stone rode across the surface of the plain like an army of uncharted statues. Slabs landed in the waiting gauntlets of warsuits on construction details or in pre-dug trenches.
Humans, and elves lacking elemantic abilities but possessed of architectural knowledge, observed and assisted, each holding relevant sections of the grand plan on sheets of thin flexible crystal produced by elven artificers under Dwarven command.
“If I had a gnome on hand,” Rae’en heard Uncle Glinfolgo bellowing, “I might let him explain the math to you, but for some sections we’ll need concrete and for those parts, you don’t get to know why it works or how to make it. Nor do you get to help. You’ll just have to accept: The Dwarf said so. Or go live in a mud hut someplace and pray Kholster comes quickly!”
Torgrimm, Rae’en corrected subconsciously without actually speaking it aloud. Dad does something else now. Something mysterious.
I can explain the matter to your Uncle, if— Bloodmane thought. The warsuit’s voice, which such a short time ago had been a source of anger and grief, had morphed into a source of indescribable comfort and reassurance.
Leave it, she thought at her armor. I can tell him later.
Running her gauntleted hand along a completed section, Rae’en felt the stone against her skin as if there were no bone-steel between them. With her warsuit, Rae’en felt strong enough to unsling Testament (or Grudge, which hung on the opposite shoulder) and pound through the mass of rock like it was nothing.
Don’t you think that would defeat the purpose? Kazan teased.
Rae’en sent him a burst of wordless amusement by way of response, letting her gaze turn along the extant portion of the great barrier: a wall built by elven, human, Aern, warsuit, and Dwarven cooperation. She smiled, glad to feel like she was doing something, even if it wasn’t actively pursuing the Zaur or holding off their attack.
Rae’en had been expecting an attack imminently, but it hadn’t come. Not from the Zaur Army. Not from the stubbornly restless dead. Not from anyone.
Yet.
Or maybe never, if the new Vael-Sri’Zauran alliance were to be believed.
Kazan showed her images of Sri’Zaur and Flower Girls fighting bands of the dead. More grievously injured corpses fought with chaotic nonsensical tactics, each attacking the nearest living thing, abandoning the careful formations the more intact dead used. A calculating mind lurked behind those battle plans. As she watched, a group of reptiles scattered in all directions only to form up again with synchronized grace in another portion of the battle, letting the squads with more advantageous positions take over their abandoned melee.
Each Zaur opponent the dead felled rose up with little or no pause to resume the battle alongside the creatures that had slain them. The newly risen fought with less martial skill than their fellows, dropping their weapons and wielding fang and claw. Fighting as they did drew attacks of opportunity to exposed flanks and ignored parries, but the dead withstood most wounds without noticing. Only severely crippling injuries hampered them and only being hacked to pieces and burned appeared to have any permanence.
Their overall strategy is like Aern, Rae’en thought.
Old ones, Kazan agreed. Amber says they are pre-Sundering formations.
They are setting up for a big strike. Rae’en circled a section of the battle in her mind, painting the section of the battlefield in black. It’s meant to look like normal drift, the sort of thing you can’t see from within the battle.
Setting up an Armored thrust, Kazan thought.
What’s their equivalent? Rae’en asked. Mounted Skria wielders? Zaurruk?
“Hold it! Hold it!” Queen Bhaeshal bellowed, directing the Aiannai from the air herself, voice booming in that annoyingly impressive way Thunder Speakers possessed, the sound jerking Rae’en back to the world around her. “Kam, reinforce him before he drops the whole section.”
Kam, the youngest of the queen’s newly appointed guard (once Wylant’s Sidearms, now Bhaeshal’s Royal Lancers) shot out under the listing hunk of rock, cloud-like familiar at his side to shore up the other Aeromancer’s weakening hold.
The name “Cerez” appeared over the other Aeromancer’s head, identifying him even as he collapsed atop the very stone he’d been transporting. With a yelp of pain and a grunt, Cerez rolled off the edge of the rock, only to be caught by the queen.
Bloodmane amplified Rae’en’s vision enough that the wave of metal advancing along the elemancer’s arm was plainly visible.
His elemental focus, right? she thought.
The gold tokens of her Overwatches—still strange to have so many of them—lit up gold in her mind indicating their agreement.
He’s pushed himself too hard, Bloodmane intoned.
A pang of guilt tightened her chest. Maybe she should have found a way to have forgiven more of them. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could do so until Prince, no, King (now) Rivvek had thrown the idea in her face as he led his troop of brave fools through the Port Gate into the Demon Realm. Could it have been that easy? Her father couldn’t have done it. She’d felt his rage, his desire to be able to feel other than he did, but he’d been so incapable of forgiveness for the Eldrennai that simply touching Bloodmane, who had forgiven them, was enough to burn Kholster’s skin.
It no longer matters, Bloodmane thought. We hunt the prey we are tracking now. It is irkanth for dinner or bones for the Bone Finder.
I haven’t heard that saying since I was a Fourteen. Rae’en laughed.
It seemed appropriate.
There are other Eldrennai out there, you know, Joose thought, Unless all of the Watches were completely emptied or destroyed. I know the Zaur took some and others were ordered to pull back to Port Ammond, but do we know if they actually all got there?
Rae’en watched as the queen sent Cerez off to rest (and to be examined by an Artificer) and Kam took his place. The twins, Frip and Frindo, took up positions closer to their queen. And so construction continued, following the plans Sargus, Rae’en, and Glinfolgo had laid out.
In an upper quadrant of her visual field other viewpoints cycled at her whim or at the suggestion of one of her Overwatches. Unable to trust the Geomancy of the elves within a few dragon lengths of the existing fortress, the new wall wended its way around the exterior of the invisible area so that Aiannai elemancers could help patrol the walls more effectively.
Within the walls, working from local supplies as well as new deliveries brought in by crews of Aern, elves, and humans, the assembled refugees worked to build the bones of a proper city. Glinfolgo had been referring to it as the Northern Annex, but Rae’en had heard the name Scarsguard bandied about by humans and
elves who seemed to think the name appropriate. Scarsguard sounded good to Rae’en, too, but maybe not just for this place. Maybe . . .
She shook her head to clear the thought, not banishing it, but hanging it out to cure for a bit, to make sure it was ready. With the excess time granted them by whatever was going on with the dead, Rae’en intended to secure this place as best she could; and even if every elf and human died, Scarsguard would stand as a foothold in the Eldren Plains for the Armored and any Aern reinforcements she called forth. But how long before one enemy or another showed up to complicate matters?
Hunters ranged far and wide, bringing in meat and livestock (when possible), and every day it seemed more human families arrived. Some came with tales of the dead heading for the mountains, others with stories of being raided (or ignored completely) by Zauran and Sri’Zauran forces of varying size.
Updates? Rae’en thought at Kazan.
I think you’re right about the Zaurruk, he sent back instantly. Wylant slew one of which we know. There were mounted Zaur in that battle, too.
Warn them.
I did, kholster, he thought back. But it’s already here.
Show me.
Charred and with only one eye, a ghastly hole where the other had been, the Zaurruk burst up from the forest floor, sending chunks of rock and clouds of dirt in its wake. It charged and struck, scattering Vael and Zaur alike as it thrust at the center of the assembled Zaur-Vael troops. Calvary of the dead rode out after it, trying to widen the break and scatter the living, break their formations. Twelve riders in all rode up out of the tremendous hole in the forest floor through which the Zaurruk had erupted.
But the Gliders and Vael, already in motion, leapt up and away, soaring on membranous flaps of skin or lifted by air spirits, escaping unscathed.
The Zaur felt the Zaurruk’s vibrations before it broke the surface, Joose thought. Everything is clear back here at the main Zaur camp. Do you need us to come get you, Kazan? We can bring Cadence.
