by J. F. Lewis
Captain Pallos walked next to her father, keeping up a one-sided conversation of inanities, while the guards walked around them in a moving rectangle. A few of Mason’s citizens paused to notice the two Aern but most went quickly back to their work, exactly as might be expected of “The City that’s Seen Everything.”
“The Guild Leaders will greatly appreciate this, Kholster Bloodmane.”
Rae’en wondered how long it would take Pallos to notice the way her father’s ears flattened a bit more each time “Kholster Bloodmane” rolled off his tongue.
She didn’t mind it so much, humans calling her father by that name. To many of the younger generation, it seemed only right that the names of the Armored should be entwined with that of their warsuits. Was it that her father and the others were reminded of the fact that they were not yet reunited with their warsuits? When they were together again, would it be okay then to refer to them that way? Rae’en was afraid to ask. Anything that made her father’s ears flatten in anger was best avoided.
The grit-scuffing sound of walking the streets of Mason was high on her annoyance list at the moment. The sounds happened with each step, magnified by the guards walking with them. Cadence did it the worst, though, shuffling her feet as though she was looking for coin on the dirty streets. No, Rae’en thought, not actually dirty. Gritty. There seemed to be a thin layer of dust, dust and grit, over the entire city. Inescapable deposits of rock dust, grit, and sand pooled at street corners. She spotted two men in what she guessed were city uniforms, working to move the deposits into rolling bins and sweep down the streets, one using buckets of water to damp down the grit and dust, the other sweeping or scraping up what he could. Rae’en did not envy them their endless work.
A few paces behind her, Cadence took an uneasy step, breaking the sound of her steady shuffling.
“Bird squirt.” Rae’en managed to catch the shoulder of Cadence’s top as the human fell, ripping the garment at the neck but managing to turn a full-out fall into a gentle drop to the stones without dropping baby Caius.
“She’s down,” Rae’en called to her father. Caius (marvel of marvels) stayed asleep despite a thorough jostling.
“Now that she’s out . . . ?” Pallos ventured, hand straying to his sword.
“She will be carried.” Kholster’s eyes narrowed, ears flattening completely against his head like a challenged wolf’s or angry cat’s. “And kept safe.”
“Safe as bones,” said the Bone Finder, who dropped down from a nearby balcony, startling both the guards and the sculptor in purple. A broad stripe of dust marked his black brigandine as if he’d been climbing around the rooftops and had to pull himself up and over a ledge, resting on his abdomen. Ignoring the guards, he pulled a pick-head axe from his back. The spiked poll-and-leather-wrapped bone-steel haft, the blued to near-black surface of the tool, identified the Aern as Teru to Rae’en as quickly as if his name had been scrawled across his chest.
Kholster’s warpick dropped from his back as he turned to face Teru. He caught it in his left hand as it reached waist level and clanged pick head against axe head before the two of them smoothly returned their tools to their backs in a single, fluid motion.
A skull-shaped half-helm obscured Teru’s features, but his strong jaw and dimpled chin led Rae’en to picture him with a handsome face.
“Kholster, Rae’en,” Teru said with a nod, his voice deep and full with an underlying confidence which sent thoughts of mating through Rae’en’s head that she sincerely hoped her Overwatches hadn’t heard.
“Ossuarian,” Rae’en answered formally.
Dropping to one knee, Teru slid one arm under Cadence’s back and the other under her knees. He stood in one swift motion.
“I have the bones, Kholster.”
Rae’en had never before imagined a situation in which she might like to be hamstrung and carried off the field of battle by a Bone Finder. But now . . . if that Bone Finder were Teru . . .
“Kholster Bloodmane,” Captain Pallos began, “I must object.”
“Must you?” Kholster bared his canines.
I hope Pallos doesn’t mistake that for a grin, Rae’en thought to Kazan.
“Captain Pallos,” Kholster hissed between clenched teeth, “I am attempting to remind myself that I have shirts older than you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Kholster’s ears ticked up, the first in a series of incremental upticks that brought them fully upright again. “She,” he pointed to Cadence, “is under my protection to the extent that, when she fainted, a Bone Finder arrived to tend to her. Until my hundred hours of protection has ended, when you threaten her, you threaten me. I hate to repeat myself, but I hope you didn’t intend that as a threat, Captain Pallos.”
“I meant no offense,” Pallos answered looking a bit green. “I thought—”
“I know what you thought.” Kholster held the man’s gaze until the human seemed to have calmed. Then his ears pricked up as though at some sound in the distance Rae’en hadn’t caught, and he was on the move.
“This way, Teru.” Kholster headed to a side street with a haunted look in his eyes. “I am summoned.”
CHAPTER 31
THE HUNDRED-YEAR OATH
“Murderer!” A cracked leather and strangled cat voice cut the stale air above the noise of the bustling crowd, stopping Kholster as surely as a sledgehammer to the temple. City guards in green brigandine, having replaced Mason’s contingent when they passed through the gate from Mason to Commerce, stared imploringly at Captain Pallos, seeking guidance. Even as she wanted to mock the guards for not knowing how to react in the developing situation, Rae’en caught herself watching Teru, hoping to glean some clue as to how she should respond.
Teru stood impassively, eyes on Kholster, waiting unabashedly to follow his lead. Would he drop Cadence if he needed to attack? What should she do with Caius? Would the babe be safe if she just put him down?
Not exactly halting their commerce, the bazaar crowds split like an ooze, hollowing out an area around the woman, creating a path toward her in a way Rae’en had never before seen. A glow lit the periphery of Kholster’s pupils, but whatever the memory was, her father did not share it.
“My apologies, Kholster Bloodmane,” Captain Pallos choked. “I’ll have the guards—”
“No.” He took one short, sharp breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and then Kholster was in motion, striding in that I-Am-Going-This-Direction-And-None-Shall-Dare-Oppose-Me way Rae’en couldn’t imagine herself ever mastering. “I know this woman.”
Parting without argument or orders, the guards relegated themselves to observers in whatever was about to unfold. A child in brightly colored cloth stumbled into Kholster’s path as the adult he’d been following turned abruptly to stay clear of the Aern, a bag of candied corn kernels falling from his hands. Dropping into a low spin, Kholster caught both the bag and child in one smooth motion, leaving them righted in his wake without slowing his pace. The streams of vivid ribbon festooning the market snapped in a breeze which sprang to life and died between the final steps which brought Kholster to his destination.
Standing under the recently repainted sign of an apothecary, a wrinkled old thing, crook-backed, with long, matted hair an untamed mass of white shouted, “Murderer!” again, showing a mouth full of ivory dentures. Her pale robes clung tight to her wizened form in the heat, a black shawl hung around her shoulders like a badge of office.
“Iella,” Kholster towered over her, peering into her fierce black eyes. “You summoned me?”
“You remember me, Murderer?” She shook with equal portions emotion and infirmity. “You know what you did?”
“I remember everything.” Kholster nodded. He bent toward her. At the door of the apothecary behind the old woman, a mass of young children crowded, held back by two young women and a pot-bellied man.
“Gramma!” one of the boys shouted. “Run, Gramma!”
“Get him
, Gramma!” bellowed the smallest of the girls, leaning on the display window of the apothecary, colored glass bottles shifting precariously as she jostled them aside to get a better view. “Stab him inna nose!”
“You have an oath in your eyes,” Kholster said when the old woman did not speak again. “What did you promise you would do if we ever crossed paths again?”
“I swore I would spit in the face of my father’s killer!” She rocked back as she spoke, hocked her best and spat, a coughing fit robbing her projectile of its force and sending the gob of saliva to the ground at Kholster’s feet. Eyes wet, she began to try again, gums moving up and down as she attempted to conjure more ammunition.
“Here.” Kholster knelt on the ground in front of her. “Try it now.”
Face turning red with frustration the woman worked her jaws, but nothing came.
Only subconsciously aware before, the crowd grew curious, acknowledgment of what was taking place spreading through the market. One man in a gray tunic and breeches let loose a braying laugh, which Kholster cut off with a shout of “Mock this and die.” No one else laughed.
“Get her some water,” Kholster called over his shoulder, never taking his eyes from Iella’s. Rae’en looked to see who would do what her father asked, starting when she saw Teru staring at her expectantly.
Rae’en fumbled for the canteen in her saddlebag.
“From the shop, Rae’en,” Kholster corrected.
“Sir,” Rae’en jogged briskly to apothecary, hushing Caius as the motion stirred him to petulant half-wakefulness.
Fear, the stink of it, hit Rae’en as she reached the door, but the woman in the shop met her two steps from the door with a clay cup of what smelled like tea. Taking the cup from the woman’s trembling hands, Rae’en stammered, “I can pay you?”
“No,” the woman said with the briefest of head shakes. Her eyes darted to the woman. Don’t let him hurt her, those eyes begged.
“Thanks,” was the only answer Rae’en had to give.
How on Barrone should I know what he’s going to do? she thought to Kazan.
Struggling against Caius’s flailing, Rae’en managed to get the cup to the woman with only a drop or two sloshed over the rim.
“Here.” Rae’en held it out. “I think it’s tea. The lady in the shop.”
“Myra,” the old woman snapped.
“Myra, then,” Rae’en said. “She sent it out for you.”
Only mildly defeated, Iella took the tea and sipped at it hesitantly, shaking so hard Rae’en feared the cup would break if the woman’s fingers didn’t give way first.
Somewhere in the bazaar, a donkey brayed. Wind snapped the ribbons overhead once more with sails filled by a wind that, again, died as soon as it had begun.
“Get her something to sit on.”
Rae’en looked back at the shop, but a nearby rug merchant was already holding out his stool. Rae’en ran over to him, gratefully took the stool, and ran back, cooing to Caius with some success as he woke up the rest of the way but remaining quietly curious, not in a tantrum as Rae’en had worried he might.
Rae’en reached out to steady Iella as she sat but drew back her hand at a subtle shake of Kholster’s head.
“You’re his?” the aged woman squeaked as she settled in a series of painful near-collapses onto the stool.
“Yes.”
“You know what he is?”
“He is Kholster, First of One Hundred, First Forged of the Aern, First Armored. He is my father and my kholster.”
“You’re proud of him.”
Rae’en nodded even though it wasn’t a question.
“If there is any justice in this world, one of you will have to watch the other die.”
“You made an oath,” Kholster prompted.
Iella jumped as if she’d sat down next to a deadly serpent and forgotten, only to be reminded by its hiss. She seemed to forget Rae’en’s presence the moment she locked eyes with Kholster. Dropping her empty cup to the ground, she placed one hand on each of Kholster’s shoulders. Rae’en wondered if she even noticed the way Kholster caught the cup and set it gently down safe and unbroken.
This time, the old crone didn’t miss. Her spittle struck Kholster full in the face, a gob of it dripping down his forehead and into his unblinking eye.
Rae’en had seen the looks of triumph on the faces of the Elevens she’d kholstered in their first battle, the exultation in M’jynn’s smile when his soul-bonded weapon was completed, and the pride in her own father’s eyes both when she’d explained how she wanted to forge Testament and when it had worked. Rae’en had never seen anything like the look in Iella’s watering eyes.
“There,” Kholster said as the spittle continued down his face, dripping from his upper lip to the lip below, “do you have it in your mind? Is it locked there so you can never forget the fulfillment of your hundred-year oath?”
Iella nodded, suddenly uncertain. “Why did you kill him?” she choked. “My father. Why?”
“Because,” Kholster said as he stood, making sure to give her time to shift her grip to the stool, “I am a monster.”
“Will you kill me now?” She looked small and frail in his shadow, as if, oath fulfilled, she was diminished, an old wine skin into which no new wine would ever be poured lest it burst.
Giving her his back, Kholster headed toward the opposite side of the street, the crowd parting for him as he walked.
“Why?” The voice, now tired and trembling.
“Who can know why monsters do what they do?”
Rae’en kept watching to see when her father would wipe the spit from his face, but it dried there, untouched by all save gravity and the weather.
CHAPTER 32
NO SIGN OF THE ZAUR
King’s Watch was as quiet as North Guard had been. Farther west along the coastline, situated near the tip of a small peninsula, the tower of King’s Watch provided an excellent outpost from which the Eldrennai kept an eye on the Holsvenians to the northwest. The only substantive differences between the two watch posts in Wylant’s eyes were the view and the cuisine.
Seated alone at a small table on the balcony outside the office’s quarters, Wylant looked down at the brilliant blue shell of the broiled Nar Lobster on her plate and sighed.
“Sir?” Kam, the youngest member of her Lance, stepped out onto the balcony after a curt knock and paled when he saw the dead crustacean on her plate. “Great Aldo, is that . . . I mean . . . I’ve never seen you . . .”
“Eat meat?” She took a forkful of the tender flesh and teased it free of the shell, dipped it in drawn butter, and put it in her mouth. It tasted wonderful, but her appetite was still off. Too much jallek root.
“What do you think I crumbled up into your stew when that broken hand wasn’t healing last moon?”
“That?” He pointed at the lobster.
“No, but it was meat.”
“General!” His eyes widened.
“The only reason we stopped eating meat to begin with was so we’d have plenty to feed the Aern, Kam.”
She took another bite. Not eating it would offend the tower’s old caretaker, Hakkin. For a human, he had served long and well. For a human, Wylant? She chided herself as she caught the casual racism in her thoughts.
His post was always in good repair, his journals always well organized and up to date. His performance was exemplary regardless of race, and she knew that. So why had she qualified her appraisal? She didn’t really know, and the pang of guilt she felt at that lack of self-knowledge drove her to keep her seat and continue eating.
Hakkin always remembered her eating habits and had something wonderful for her to eat. She couldn’t shame him by turning her nose up at food just because worry was turning her stomach in knots and the continual use of jallek root left a constant bitter aftertaste in her mouth.
The food was excellent and it was a delicacy and she was going to eat it, by the gods. Well, no, not by the gods, she thought. Never by t
he gods.
“The Vaelsilyn,” Kam began. He is such an infant, Wylant thought. Barely seventy and still so new to the service Wylant felt sure he’d snap to attention in his sleep if she walked past his billet in the middle of the night.
“Vael,” Wylant corrected. “You even met one, Kam. Remember Malli?”
“Yes. Of course. Sorry, sir.” Kam flushed at that. Yes. He would never forget his first Vael sighting. At his shoulder, the batwinged storm cloud that was his elemental familiar darkened as well, reflecting its master’s emotions, if imperfectly. “The Vael representative has arrived safely in Port Ammond.”
He held out a crystal. “A courier sent this.”
“Activate it,” she said around another mouthful.
She felt Kam touch the elements, wending a delicate combination of air magic into the blue crystal. An image in rich colors sprang to life, revealing Yavi, full grown in the thirteen years since Wylant had seen her, the Vael who, if it were at all possible, would wind up keeping the uneasy peace between the Aern and the Eldrennai and, given the yellow tint of her hair, the subtle curve of her mouth, and the narrowness of hip Wylant knew Kholster found so appealing . . . stood a fair chance of sharing her husband’s bed. Ex-husband, she reminded herself.
“What do you think?” she asked Kam.
“Sir?”
“The Vael,” Wylant pushed, “what do you think of her.”
“She’s quite shapely?”
“And is that what’s important?”
“Sir?”
“Her physical attractiveness.” It was almost cruel to make the young Lancer feel so trapped, but Kam had potential and Wylant wanted him to show her how much. “Is that the key to her success at Oot?”
“Oh, I see.” Kam’s eyebrows arched as he considered the Vael more closely. “No. That she’s female is important, because her scent will have a calming effect on a male Aern, which will help her keep Kholster calm in the presence of the lackluster wit King Grivek is sending to represent the Eldrennai, but that alone . . .”
“It will help, but don’t expect an Aern to be overpowered by the scent of some Flower Girl.” Wylant winced at her own use of the racial slur, but she bulled on. “Even one as pretty as this one. It will help, but what else?”
