by J. F. Lewis
“No.” Dolvek smiled at the Vael. “While the Armory housed all the armor and the weapons, this museum was originally part of the barracks. It had to be thoroughly redecorated.” He gestured to a series of lifeless tapestries and paintings all focusing on the greatness of the Eldrennai and their Royal Family through the years. She found the portrait of Uled to be in particularly poor taste. “May I show you the Vaelsilyn exhibit?” he offered.
“Why would I want to see that? I am a Vael.” Was that too harsh? Gah! “What can you tell me about myself that I don’t already know?” That’s better. “Any of our books and artifacts you have will just be depressing because you will have let them die, right?” Too much. Now his brain is going to fall out.
“But you said,” Dolvek began.
“What I meant to say was,” she batted her eye petals and looked directly into his brown and white eyes. “May I please see the Aern exhibit first? I’m a little worried having never seen an Aern before, and I,” she leaned in closer, “I thought maybe this way . . .” I could find out if the armor with the irkanth’s head will really talk to me.
“This way,” Dolvek acquiesced immediately. He offered her his arm, and she shook her head, taking a quick step away from him.
“I’m fine. Why don’t you just lead the way? You can tell me about the Vael exhibit while we walk.”
Dolvek almost cheerfully did so.
*
Yavi seemed to take everything in with a mixture of excitement and sadness. Perhaps she regretted her decision not to see the Vaelsilyn exhibit? The prince resolved to give her another opportunity after she saw the Aern exhibit. Females did so often change their minds.
“The exhibit isn’t open to the public,” Dolvek said as they reached two iron-bound doors. “The new curator and I designed and implemented it as a surprise for my father on his most recent centennial.” He waved his lieutenants up to open the doors. “I suppose he must have liked it, because he decided to keep it sealed. Only the nobility can get in.”
Watching Yavi for every nuance of reaction, the prince felt his pulse quicken as the door opened to reveal the jewel of his collection: a seven-foot-tall stone homunculus, perfect in every detail. It had never been animated. Dolvek assumed this was because Uled had decided he wanted the Aern to be shorter.
Yavi froze, expressionless, eyes wide.
She loves it! he inwardly crowed. “I came across a brief reference to it during my first year of studies, back when I thought the tedium of the Artificer’s path to be a worthwhile pursuit.”
He swept past her. “I spent twenty years tracking it down.” She still wasn’t moving. “In the end,” Dolvek turned back toward her. Is she okay? “I found it in an old storeroom of alchemical supplies, perfectly preserved.”
Yavi screamed. Babbling in Vaelish, she gestured wildly at the homunculus, but the torrent of words came out too fast, too furiously, for Dolvek to make all of them out. “Trap?” He tried to translate. “Release . . . er . . . spirit something?”
Yavi turned on him, continuing her stream of desperate Vaelish. Dolvek saw the mistake even as his guards made it. The Vael reached for the front of his robes, Dolvek assumed to further convey her urgency. Almost in slow motion, he saw Yavi’s hand moving toward his chest. One of Dolvek’s guards grasped Yavi’s arm, his fingers closing completely around her exquisite wrist, and then everything erupted into chaos.
Ten mystic crystal cases, specially designed to protect the Aernese warsuits from the ravages of time, shattered simultaneously as all ten suits of armor Dolvek had ordered to be so painstakingly displayed stepped forward as one. Another ten cases exploded as the Aernese weapons leapt into the gauntlets of the animated warsuits.
Great Aldo, Dolvek cursed inwardly. They really are alive. Why the hells didn’t they say so? Frozen in surprise, Dolvek watched as his lieutenant released Yavi and turned with the other guards to face the new threat. There will be no living with that bald harpy Wylant now.
Bloodmane leapt past the homunculus on display and landed with a crash in front of Dolvek’s two scrambling guards. Marrit, Dolvek’s second-in-command, drew his crystal sword only to cry out in sudden fright as the empty armor reached out and crushed the blade with its left gauntlet.
Startled, but not totally unprepared, Marrit raised his arm in what Dolvek was sure would be taken as an attempt to ward off a blow with his forearm. Instead, a blast of elemental ice erupted from the steel foci running from Marrit’s wrist to elbow. Bloodmane vanished, encased in a block of whitish-blue ice.
“Cleverly done, Marrit,” Dolvek said.
Marrit smiled, turning to face the other suits of armor. His smile vanished as the ice shattered from within. Its captive stepped easily free of the remaining chunks of ice and buried the long pointed spike of its warpick in the top of Marrit’s skull.
Bloodmane’s horned lion helm roared as it turned toward the other lieutenant.
Yavi tried to interpose herself, but Dolvek grabbed at her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said, “That’s Kholster Bloodmane’s armor. It’ll . . .”
A swift elbow from the young Vael knocked the breath out of him, and Yavi cursed as the ancient armor ripped its weapon from Marrit’s skull and struck the other guard dead with the flat hammer-like side of the warpick’s head. By then, the other suits of armor had reached them. Dolvek straightened and went for his sword. Even if he died, he would save the Vaelsilyn representative . . .
Crystal eyes inset into each helm glowed bright red, turning his translucent blade a matching shade in their combined light. Yavi yelled a word in Aernese, “Cho!”
Stop, Dolvek’s brain translated automatically. Bloodmane’s armor held up its clenched left gauntlet, and the other nine suits of Aernese war armor halted in their tracks, waiting, weapons at the ready.
“I’m not hurt,” Yavi explained as quickly as her limited Aernese vocabulary permitted. “The Oathbreakers brought me here to show me this place because I asked them to. When I saw your . . . when I saw the un . . . the unborn Aern, his spirit still tied to him . . . waiting to be born . . . I . . . just . . . I couldn’t . . . I don’t know the words. I’ve never seen a spirit in so much pain before. I wasn’t expecting it. The guard was defending his prince . . . I’m sure he wasn’t thinking when he grabbed my arm.”
“I speak Vaelish,” Bloodmane said in a whisper.
Dolvek felt sick. Everyone knew about the Vaelsilyn aversion to being restrained, had been endlessly drilled on how to behave. Everything had happened so quickly, they had all just . . . reacted. The warsuits he was facing had acted not to attack his men so much as to protect his guest.
Sheathing his sword, Dolvek took a step back, his feet scattering ice. Blood, ice, and shattered crystal covered the floor, staining both the carpet and his memory. Aldo, how could this have gone so wrong? He gritted his teeth and looked at the Vaelsilyn. If the flower girl hadn’t insisted on coming to the museum in the first place—
No. It was not her fault. She was clearly distressed. Kholster Bloodmane’s armor had murdered two of Dolvek’s Lance—any guilt here lay firmly at the Aern’s bloodstained boots. Kholster would have much to answer for when Dolvek finally met him at the Conjunction.
“I understand,” Dolvek said bitterly. “Oh, sheath your swords,” he shouted as his two remaining lieutenants arrived in response to the noise. “No need to lose all four of you. Help me get Marrit and . . . help me get them out of here.”
CHAPTER 25
ENTOURAGE
For the ninth time, Kholster caught the Long Arm with her fingers in her mouth probing her new molars. When it wasn’t her fingers, it was her tongue. She stood with her mouth open, head cocked in the opposite direction of whichever side of her mouth she was exploring. Kholster wasn’t sure whether she would swallow an insect or fall over first.
“You’ll want to stop drawing attention to them like that by the time we get to Mason,” Kholster said, eyes forward. “And before you ask, about sixteen gra
ms.”
“Try not to spend it all on god rock,” Rae’en said with mock cheer. She could just imagine the woman selling off her father’s teeth, and the Bone Finders having to hunt them down one at a time across a continent.
“Gods,” Cadence’s mouth snapped shut like a rich man’s purse.
The three of them threaded an unimpeded line through the normal traffic on the Commerce Highway at a walking pace Cadence was barely capable of maintaining in her weakened condition. Not three, Kholster corrected himself. Four. Kholster watched Rae’en toting the young crystal-twisted babe, Caius, on her hip as if a baby had always been there. Either the humans didn’t care about the babe’s red eyes or they found Rae’en and himself stranger still.
For his own part, Kholster took in his surroundings more in terms of elevation, lines of sight, and potential cover than for beauty or the picturesque inedible plantings which appeared with greater and greater frequency as they approached the Guild Cities. He found the periodic stepped farms growing rice, potatoes, yellow mustard, wheat, and other crops far more interesting. The way humans shaped the land to suit themselves and eke out a meager living or a thriving one fascinated him.
He supposed it might dismay his fellow travelers to know that he marked each farm in passing as an asset to be seized or razed should he need to attack the Guild Cities at some future date.
Kholster passed the stone signpost without looking, following a bypass route away from the grand approach to the western road which led to Mason, the point of entry Kholster usually took when visiting the Guild Cities of Barrony. Kholster shook his head, eliciting a quizzical look from Rae’en and a startled jump from Cadence.
“Problem?” Rae’en asked, ceasing for the moment her game of pointing things out to the baby and naming them in both Aernese and Trade, a common language used by mixed groups and merchants of all races.
“Just thinking.”
Cadence seemed ready to snatch the child away at any moment, but from the way sweat rolled down her face, Kholster suspected she couldn’t carry him far even if she got him. He sniffed the air in her direction, but he couldn’t smell the rotten egg scent of a failing liver or the ammonia smell of kidneys shutting down. She might yet survive.
Kholster, a Vael, Bloodmane spoke in his mind.
Kholster watched the whole exchange in the museum, keeping one eye open to the world of his immediate surroundings and the other closed so he could see through Bloodmane’s eyes. When Bloodmane killed Marrit, he had to bite back a laugh. “Die well and tell Uled more of you are coming!” he barked aloud, wrinkling his nose as they dragged the dead Oathbreaker from the museum.
Caius’s lower lip began to tremble at that burst of venom.
“Who?” Rae’en asked in a bright, happy tone, rubbing noses with the child and staving off an outburst of tears in the process.
Kholster did not understand where Rae’en’s gift with children came from. He had always been a fair hand with Aern children, but Rae’en seemed as good with the baby human as Okkust did with his adopted human children. Had she been spending time with Okkust? He could not recall.
“Who?” Rae’en repeated.
“The Oathbreakers,” Kholster eyed a nearby farmhand walking alongside a wagon hauling stone and frowned. “I’ll tell you about it later.” The humans around them on the road were giving them a wide berth, but Kholster didn’t want to be overheard.
You did well, Bloodmane.
This doesn’t cause any problems, General?
Kholster shook his head. They know you’re alive, that your movements aren’t simply maintenance charms hung upon you by some long-forgotten Artificer. Given the information available, and given that they are Oathbreakers, they have no way of knowing that we can still communicate with you. They’ve no reason to suspect that we know some of you have been moved.
But General . . . if they do . . . if the prince admits that he has unintentionally broken the truce . . .
He won’t, Kholster thought. That would take humility and foresight, or the wisdom to listen to Wylant. This . . . Dolvek . . . possesses none of those qualities. He is a true Oathbreaker.
Kholster closed his eyes to take in the Vael with his full attention, continuing to walk in a straight line and trusting Rae’en to guide him by the elbow if he started to wander off-course.
From Bloodmane’s point of view, he stood in shattered crystal, ice, and blood. Yavi looked up at him, eyes wide, lips curling into a smile. Torgrimm, but she looked like Wylant. Not that he hadn’t seen other Vael who favored her as well. Queen Kari could have passed for Wylant’s sister were she an Aiannai, but the head petals on Yavi . . . if Wylant had been a Vael . . .
Kholster took a deep breath and held it for a hundred count, grateful for the slower pace of this trip and the extra time he could spend getting used to that face before he had to see it in person.
Kholster, a thought pierced his concentration, ending his reverie.
What is it, Vander?
We have a debate.
Bloodmane, can you—?
Yes, Maker.
Without further prompting, the world swam before Kholster’s eyes and he found himself looking through Vander’s vision into the face of an angry Dwarf.
“They have to see us eventually, Glin,” Vander said.
“Yes, Vander, but there is no need to give the Oathbreakers any forewarning. If they spot us, let it be because they’ve been canny, not because of any foolishness on our part.”
“What then do you suggest?”
“I suggest we sink the merchant vessels . . . and not waste any more time in talk.” Glinfolgo pointed out over the bow. In the distance, Vander (and therefore Kholster) could only make out the ships as glowing blobs of red in the night, visible only through heat vision. Even so, the profile of the lead ship was unmistakably Eldrennai. “We can’t risk any of them getting away. It is not important this day whether those aboard are survivors of the Sundering or not. If their deaths are uncalled for, then let the goddess Queelay comfort them in her depths.”
Merchants? Kholster sent to Vander.
Yes, we spotted a trio of merchant vessels headed along the shipping lane to trade with the Guild Cities.
What are they doing past the Strait of Mioden?
I don’t know. They’re flying independent trading flags, but they aren’t fooling anyone.
Not you anyway, Kholster sent. The other two vessels are Oathbreaker as well?
They’re Leash Holders, all right. Vander’s use of the old term for the Eldrennai, the hate in his mind when he thought it, was all the evidence Kholster needed that his campaign to stoke the fire of his people’s hatred back up to a killing heat had worked. It sent a chill of regret through Kholster’s core, but that was where he wanted it. At his feet, troubling his dreams, not those of his people.
And your suggestion? Kholster asked.
I agree with Glinfolgo, Vander sent, his thoughts filled with a mixture of pride and approval, right down to the thought about the water goddess. I had no idea Glin hated them this much.
He’s had thirteen years to justify that hate, to hear our people talk about all the wrongs, to see old wounds ripped open for new eyes. It cannot have been without effect on those who call us kin.
“I’m sorry,” Kholster whispered into his hands.
“Tell Vander I said Hello,” Rae’en quipped.
Kholster did so, pleasure easing his regret.
She doesn’t miss a feint, Vander thought warmly. Kholster shared his Overwatch’s immense pride at Rae’en’s ability to sense the internal conversation even though she had no warsuit through which to discern it, to deduce that he had gone from talking to Bloodmane to Vander from . . . from what, my body language?
Kholster’s pride pushed the remainder of his negative emotions away so effectively that he blinked in amazement even as he transmitted Vander’s orders. Go ahead. Attack and sink the Oathbreaker merchant vessels.
Maker? Kholster f
elt his connection to Vander fade into the background as Bloodmane intruded.
What is it, Bloodmane?
The Vael is talking to me. She can see our spirits.
Show me. Kholster saw the Vael reaching up to touch Bloodmane’s faceplate with the tips of her slender fingers.
It’s all right, he told the warsuit. She means no harm.
I know. The long black fingers of the warsuit’s gauntlet touched the girl’s cheek as she caressed its helm, making sure to touch her cheek as lightly as she touched his surface.
It’s just been so long since I was touched like this.
Good, Kholster approved. You remember. Courting a Vael is like befriending a wild animal. They do not remember exactly why they fear being grabbed and held, but that does not diminish their fear. In a similar way, they remember the Litany for each Leash Holder who had done them harm but no longer recall exactly what was done.
“How dare you touch the Vaelsilyn!”
Kholster’s attention swung to Dolvek as the prince reentered the room. The urge to kill the Oathbreaker for daring to speak and tarnish that moment between his warsuit and the Vael snapped into place like a key in a familiar lock. A hate that could never go, only fade, burn down, an ever-present ember waiting to be restoked. Dolvek was dry leaves and good air to those flames.
“You, I will never allow as Aiannai,” Kholster growled. “I swear it.”
“What is Aiannai?” Kholster dimly heard Cadence ask from somewhere behind him. He declined to answer, and Rae’en’s only response was to hush the Long Arm.
Dolvek. The Oathbreaker was more muscled than he had been the last time Kholster had seen him, but his eyes still struck the Aern as rat turds stuck in bird squirt. If ever Kholster had viewed a sentient as being of no useful purpose whatsoever, it was this Eldrennai.
That one is particularly good at stupid, Vander offered.
