by J. F. Lewis
“You were taught that Uled went mad after creating your kind? Driven mad by the one flaw in his last masterwork, your people?” Grivek shook his head. “He was no longer King Zillek’s court Artificer, and it’s true he was unhinged. Which is one reason I never paid much attention to his scribbling from the years afterward; it all seemed too much like Dwarven rune magic to me.” Grivek said that last bit quickly and with what sounded to Yavi like a hint of regret. “If I had known, things might have been different.”
“Okay, so thanks for breakfast.” On that uncomfortable note, Yavi popped the last egg into her mouth and replaced her samir. “I’m heading to Oot this morning.”
Flustered, Dolvek bit his lip, head cocked to one side. “The time of the Conjunction is near.” Yavi said the words in unison with him, even getting the emphasis on “is” to match. Dolvek’s frustration grew in proportion to the twinkle in her eyes.
“I’ve already gathered my things,” she said. Darting out into the hall she grabbed up her pack from beside the door outside the dining room. Snatching her bow out from under a china cabinet and her quiver from the top of a display case, Yavi walked past him ready for traveling: pack on her back, her quiver over one shoulder and her bow on the other. “Come along, will you? We mustn’t be all day.”
*
As they traveled, Dolvek expounded on their destination, but Yavi paid him little heed. She knew all about it, could not wait to see it, for Oot was one of the few spots on Barrone where mortals could see statues of the gods as they actually appeared. Or perhaps, as they chose to appear. One such location, the Great Temple of Shidarva, had sunk beneath the waves with Alt in the last Demon War. Now, the one most people visited was in Castleguard. Yavi wanted to see it too someday.
Oot was special, though, and the excitement of seeing it for the first time put an extra spring in her step the farther they got from Port Ammond. Where the monument on Pilgrim’s Hill was made of a white marble impervious to harm, Oot’s construction was blacker than obsidian. Near Oot, the forest gave way to three separate black paths, one for each race of the Conjunction, approaching the statue of Shidarva. The goddess of justice and retribution’s statue had not always been in that position, according to Dolvek. Once the god Kilke had stood at the entrance, his three heads tilted at a haughty angle, resplendent in his role as king of the gods.
Shidarva’s statue now held a curved blue sword in its left hand, dangling at its side; her right hand held a scale with a dagger on one side and a shield on the other. Kari had told her daughter that when she saw the statue, Shidarva had been holding Kilke’s disembodied head, and when she’d seen it, she had wanted to run from it or warn the goddess, because the head’s eyes still seemed alive, its expression twisted toward Shidarva in a mask of hate.
Yavi imagined Shidarva could take care of herself, but she still wanted to see the statues. After all, it wasn’t bad luck to visit Oot during a Conjunction. Visiting it at any other time was said to incur the wrath of the gods. As the expression went: “On Pilgrim’s Hill, the gods smile still, but blackest Oot shows their dispute.”
“You believe that drivel?” Dolvek asked, puzzling Yavi until she realized that she had spoken the old expression aloud.
“Well, my mother has been to the Garden of Divinity,” Yavi said defensively, “and she said that the gods’ statues all faced toward a fountain and that they were all smiling, even Kilke’s disembodied head.”
“Perhaps the Garden of Divinity is a fake, then,” Dolvek allowed. “Everyone knows that Jun has been angry with the other gods since time immemorial, facing away from them completely. If my people were allowed to go there, then perhaps we could study it for ourselves.”
“But the kings of Castleguard have always sided with the Aern on that one, I know. I know,” Yavi said gently. “You can’t even hire Long Speakers anymore and I’m sorry, but the Vael have nothing to do with that.”
“You’re right,” Dolvek answered softly. “Please forgive my manners.”
“Maybe you should try being polite to Kholster when you see him,” Yavi offered, “Try asking him nicely if he might allow a few of the Eldrennai, the ones born after the Sundering, to visit the south?”
Dolvek did not answer, and Yavi let the silence hang between them as they walked on along the extension of the White Road. At one time the Eldrennai had wanted to build a grand road to Oot, surround it with walls, and guard it. Fortunately they had asked the Vael’s opinion about it before they actually began construction, and the Vael had pointed out that if they proceeded as planned, the Aernese representative would not set foot on it. Instead, they had built an extension of the Big Road that stopped five miles short of the obelisk and had then ceded the borderland on which the obelisk stood to the Vael. Over the years, the forest had reclaimed the land, running almost up to the coastline.
As they entered the forest, Yavi felt a profound sense of homecoming. As if The Parliament of Ages had missed her almost as much as she’d missed it. But The Parliament was disturbed here, ill at ease. Yavi strained her senses, listening for a trace of what caused the disturbance, but Dolvek interrupted again, distracting her.
“This is idiotic,” Dolvek started. “We have to hike for five miles through the forest because some Grudgebearer refuses to set foot on Eldrennai land.”
“Mother says they only like it when Dwarves call them that,” Yavi chided. “From them it’s a compliment; from your people it’s an insult.”
Dolvek threw up his hands in disgust. “Aldo forbid we should insult the Butcher of the Sundering. He single-handedly killed more than five hundred Eldrennai that day, Yavi. He shed our blood in the Halls of Judgment! Even without him in it, his armor killed two of my guards. You saw it! They are barbarians! His warpick was so drenched in our blood that it is permanently stained. If your people hadn’t interceded, he would have wiped us all out.”
“I suppose you think he was overreacting to the whole thousands of years of slavery thing,” Yavi muttered, more to annoy Dolvek than really to argue. One thing the Vael knew was that arguing with the Eldrennai was useless. In many ways they were more stubborn than the Aern.
As they came closer to Oot, a strange, almost fishy smell assailed Yavi’s nose, and she noticed that the animal noises in the forest had gone silent. As it became more distinct, the odor seemed less and less like fish. It was too earthy for that, almost reptilian. Her nose twitched, and she held up a hand.
“Shush,” Yavi whispered. “I smell something up ahead.”
Dolvek stopped and cupped a hand to his ear. “I don’t hear anything,” he replied, also in a low voice.
Scrambling up a tree without answering, Yavi saw the obelisk of Oot in the distance. Ninety hands tall, it towered over the surrounding representations of the gods. The statue of Shidarva loomed at the conjunction of the three black paths. Her hair sparkled with bright-blue shidarvite crystal. Yavi knew the eyes, could she see them, would match, shining forth from the goddess’s grim and disapproving countenance.
Milling about the base of Shidarva’s statue were creatures the young Vael had never seen outside of scrolls but recognized instantly. Seven Zaur crawled across the site, gray tongues flicking out over the stone, their scales as black as the stone upon which they stood. Each wore splint armor and carried two strangely angled long knives and a heavy crossbow. They moved on all fours, sometimes rearing up on their hind legs to peer about. One, smaller than the others, lay flat on the stone and let its long gray forked tongue flick across the ground before gesturing to the woods in Yavi’s general direction.
“Dolvek,” she hissed, darting down the tree as quickly as she could manage. “Dolvek! It’s the Zaur!”
CHAPTER 42
BOW AND BLADE
Kholster watched from the shadows. Seven Zaur weren’t enough to guarantee a kill. They might get the job done, but Zaur preferred overwhelming numerical advantage on the order of twenty to one.
Maybe if they didn’t send their you
ngest into battle first, they wouldn’t need such an advantage, Vander sent.
Kholster ignored the old debate. The Zaur fought the way they fought, preserving the Named among them, treating the Nameless as fodder.
There was a Named here, Kholster thought back, but he departed, leaving these seven. Can’t you smell it? The scent is far too strong for just these.
I wonder where it went? Vander thought back.
Kholster frowned but sent no response.
Are you going to help them? Bloodmane asked.
Have you heard anything about Rae’en?
Not yet. They haven’t reached—
Not even the Vael? Vander cut in.
Look at her heartbow; the Vael doesn’t need my help.
Yavi and Dolvek backed slowly away from the obelisk and the Zaur scouts that stood at its base. Kholster could only guess it was the material of which the monument itself was composed which prevented the Zaur, even with their inferior hearing, from sensing the vibrations of the Oathbreaker’s approach. Sounds were dampened by the monuments, giving even raised voices a muffled effect.
“We should go get reinforcements from Port Ammond,” Yavi said as she thumped the Oathbreaker’s shoulder. “We might do fine against these seven, but what if there are more? Zaur like to fight in large numbers, right? There should be more.”
“There aren’t more,” Dolvek whispered back. “A larger force couldn’t have made it through from the mountains without getting spotted by patrols. I can see how seven could have gotten past your people, but not . . .”
“My people!” Yavi winced and lowered her voice. “My people didn’t miss them. Oathbreakers are the ones who use mystic artifice to patrol their borders. These could come through Rin’Saen Gorge, or even through the pass at Albren. Unless the few nonmagical patrols you have were paying more attention than they usually do, an army of Zaur could get through!”
Dolvek shook his head and drew his glittering longsword, the blade erupting in mystic blue flame. “If you want to get reinforcements, go. I shall rid the world of these Zaur personally.”
With that, he ran toward the Place of Conjunction, flaming sword in his right hand and a conjured shield of ice on his left arm.
This one’s not worth saving, Kholster sent to Bloodmane from his spot in trees.
But he’s a prince.
Royalty doesn’t season the meat.
“Of all the pompous . . .” Yavi fumed quietly. “Magic doesn’t work against the Zaur! Did they forget to mention that in your training?” She shook her head.
Even in the heat of battle, he’s running up the Eldrennai path, Vander scoffed.
“I just hope Kholster gets here soon,” Yavi muttered. “If not, I’ll have to save Gloomy’s hide myself.”
Kholster felt a tinge of guilt and unslung his warpick. I’ll intercede if she needs me.
Good, Bloodmane answered.
The young Vael stopped talking and concentrated on her connection to the forest. Kholster had seen it often, the way a Vael spread out her arms, fingers splayed, even the long ears flexing out in an arc reaching, stretching for the forest. Muttering a quiet prayer to Xalistan, god of the hunt, Yavi readied her bow and ran in a wide arc to attack the Zaur’s flank.
Kholster admired the bow. He could no more grow such a weapon from a living tree than a Vael could forge a soul-bound weapon, but he respected the craftsmanship that went into creating a Vaelish heartbow. It was hard enough for some Aern to convince their own souls to bond with a forged implement; he could not imagine how the Vael cajoled nature spirits, or in rarer cases, a sliver of the spirit of the forest itself, to abide within their bows.
She’ll be fine. Even so, Kholster lowered his warpick and moved closer . . . just in case.
*
For the life of her, Yavi couldn’t understand what Dolvek was thinking. Noiselessly gliding through the forest, Yavi paused at the edge of the clearing and blanched as the Zaur crossed swords with Dolvek. He clearly wasn’t used to fighting opponents like these, and it showed in his sword work. The Zaur darted about like quicksilver, striking with their angular blades.
Taking careful aim, Yavi nocked an arrow, drew it back, and fired. The first arrow thunked against a Zaur’s left vambrace. Yavi fired again, and the second shot struck home, piercing one of the Zaur at the base of its skull and sending it crashing to the ground, rolling and twitching like a dying snake.
Dolvek swung at the Zaur in front of him, inflicting a deep cut to the Zaur’s right shoulder, but as the fiery blade touched the creature’s skin, the sword’s flame flickered and went out. Ignoring his misfortune, Dolvek blocked two blows from a Skreel blade with his ice shield, only to watch, mouth agape, as the shield began to crack.
He probably wouldn’t believe a berry was poisonous until he’d eaten three of them.
Dolvek soldiered on, the thin core of steel worked into his longsword gave him something to work with even without the layer of flame and crystal, but the shield would soon be completely useless. Moving around him in a circle, the Zaur lashed out at him with their Skreel. Dolvek didn’t notice when the first Zaur Yavi killed went down, but he did hear the cry of pain when her next arrow took a Zaur to his right through the arm.
It shrieked, black blood running down the injured limb, a shriek that was echoed by Dolvek when one of the Skreel blades found its mark and cut through his crystal armor, shattering his right vambrace. Maintaining the grip on his longsword was the perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever done, but he smiled when he slashed the throat of one of his attackers.
Two of the Zaur broke off and ran for Yavi. As one, the other three rushed Dolvek and grappled him to the ground. Something stung the back of his hand, and the sword dropped out of it. Pain shot up from his wrist to his elbow, and he realized that one of the Zaur had bitten him. He could already feel the arm going numb.
“Run for reinforcements!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Don’t let them get you, Yavi! Get out of here!”
*
Yavi fired at one of the two Zaur charging her position; her arrow struck it in the eye. The point drove deep into its brain, and the creature only took two more steps before falling dead on the ground. The second Zaur kept coming, running in a low, tucked position and zigzagging as it came.
Nocking an arrow, Yavi held her shot, aiming as long as she could. She would only get one shot before the Zaur would be upon her. Taking two quick breaths, she let go the arrow between them and cursed as the creature nimbly dodged.
Yavi drew her long knife, whispered a spell, and hoped that the breeze spirits would respond quickly.
The Zaur closed with her, delivering two rapid slashes with its blade. Yavi parried the strikes with equal parts luck and skill.
“C’mon,” she said in a singsong voice. “Please? It’ll be fu-un!” Around her, the wind slowly picked up, a cooling zephyr from the Bay of Balsiph. It began as a small breeze but grew in strength with each passing second. Continuing its strikes, the Zaur darted in to attack, but Yavi felt two ethereal hands grasp her under the arms and jerk her into the air.
“You are marveficent!” Yavi cheered. “Fabtacular!”
“Come back here, little bud!” The Zaur rose on its hind legs and hissed at her. “We have your mate.”
“Not mine,” Yavi sheathed her long knife and drew her bow, firing with less grace than usual, her hair petals flapping in her face. The first arrow went wide, thudding into the ground, but the second struck her opponent in the neck.
A series of grunted curses in Eldrennaic brought Yavi’s attention back to Dolvek. The prince struggled, facing the three remaining Zaur, and—to Yavi’s amazement—appeared to have disabled one.
One of the last two opened its maw to bite. Dolvek reached into its mouth and grabbed its serpentine tongue. The other Zaur sank its teeth into the prince’s shoulder, but Dolvek refused to let go.
Letting her spell fade, Yavi dropped lithely to the ground, mouthing a quick tha
nks to the wind spirit before loosing another arrow. Dark blood gushed from the throat of the Zaur biting Dolvek’s shoulder. It fell dead, and the prince rolled atop the remaining one, continuing to pull at its tongue. Dolvek’s face seemed transformed before Yavi’s eyes from the arrogant scholar who played at swords and magic to the beginnings of some new barbaric thing, mouth opened in an unintelligible cry of aggression. With a wet, tearing sound, the Zaur’s tongue came free.
Dolvek rolled to one side, kicking the choking lizard off of him. Yavi quickly finished it with a shot from her heartbow.
“That was utterly revolting,” Yavi said, walking over to him. “And why didn’t you fly?”
Dolvek’s blood ran from numerous shallow cuts, his crystal armor covered in weblike cracks and jagged holes where chunks had broken away.
Three separate bite marks, one on his shoulder and two on his arm, had already begun to swell and turn red. Yavi thought she remembered something about Zaur poison only being fatal during their mating season; the rest of the year the fast-working venom acted only as a paralytic agent. Purple lines lanced away from the bites, following the veins. “That can’t be good.”
“It will only paralyze me.” Dolvek tried to get back up but fell onto his back instead with a groan.
“And you know for certain that this isn’t the Zaur mating season?” Yavi asked.
“You can tell by their bellies.” Dolvek propped himself ineffectually on an elbow. “According to Sargus, their underside turns purple, and they emit a very distinctive scent.”
Yavi looked over the one that had gnawed at the prince’s shoulder, nudging it onto its back with her boot. A faint purple blotch darkened the center of its stomach. It smelled different than the others too, reptilian, but coppery and bitter. “I’m going to call this a bad sign.”
“Depends on your point of view,” growled a deep voice behind her.
